Title: Midnight Steps

Pairing: Onho

Characters: Minho, Jinki, Jonghyun

Genre: slice of life

Words: 5635

Summary: Minho and Jinki live in the same apartment, but they are not that close. Minho usually keeps people at a distance, but there comes a time when he has to reconsider the way he lived before.

---

Minho heard an awkward shuffling sound and a muttered curse.

“Mind your feet, old man,” he admonished briskly, still moving forwards with a peaceful look on his face. To him, it was a perfect morning: the air was still soaked with freshness from the midnight raining, he liked all the greenery around and all the sleepy people being dragged away from the asphalt paths and into the grass by their excited pets.

“You should mind something too,” a discontented voice responded.

“What?”

“Your business.”

Minho chuckled and turned back to take a look at his companion.

Jinki's dark hair had grown so long it covered a half of his sulking face securely. No wonder he was tripping over his feet. The sleeves of his grey hoodie were too long and his shorts were too rumpled to look presentable. In short, he was simply an oversized baby, and it made Minho laugh again.

Jinki normally hated jogging in the morning. It was too early. It was too cold. He was still tired from yesterday. But sometimes he would yield to Minho's pleads and sermons and tear his heavy body off the bed with a groan to join his roommate in his daily routine, panting grumpily behind his lanky, antelope figure. It's not that he wasn't athletic enough. It's just that Minho was more so.

Minho normally hated jogging with company. It was hard to concentrate. He couldn't admire the scenery. He didn't care about their gossip. But Jinki was an exception. He knew the value of silence, and when he did break it, it wasn't an annoying disruption. His voice was too soft to be annoying anyway. Plus, he said funny stuff sometimes.

Minho wanted to bug him a bit more.

“Do you think I could do some grocery shopping while you are snoozing there?”

“Who's snoozing? I'm not snoozing,” Jinki protested as they passed a pooping American bulldog. “I just don't want to...” He took a big breath. “…intimidate you by my superspeed.”

“Oh really? Show me a glimpse.”

Jinki sniffled, wiped his face with his sleeve, and started moving his legs faster. Soon he caught up with the other.

“Wow, you've gotten good,” Minho admitted. “Don't get too good though,” he added, seeing that Jinki was almost taking over now. 

“Why not?”

“I'll have to get competitive with you and I don't want to turn this peaceful activity into a race.”

“A race you're going to lose?”

Jinki flipped his hair like a stubborn horse.

“I'm sorry, Jinki, but you're being delusional.”

“Nope, you're just afraid.”

Minho shook his head, too dignified to answer the other boy's useless teasing. He could hear Jinki's frantic breathing and wanted to ask him to stop pushing his own limits, but before he had a chance to do that, the random-minded boy was already speeding forwards like some furious battleship. Minho had no other choice but to make  his long legs move faster. And they ran, and nobody won, so they ran more, and still ran for a while after it had begun drizzling. When the raindrops became too frequent and too heavy, they leapt to the safety of a bus stop. Panting sparingly, Minho watched Jinki shake his wet mane and squat down, his hands pressed to his side.

“Ah, really…” Jinki lamented, his face twisting in pain. All regret of the world was in the moan that followed.

“What was that about?” Minho asked after he smiled to an old lady who was not impressed by the sight of Jinki collapsing on his .

“Me being an idiot,” his friend grumbled. “It's just annoying how you're great at everything.”

“Yeah, I get that a lot. I'm not good at math, though.”

“You're always number 1. You don't even have to deal with any other digits.”

“Jinki,” Minho said through his laughter.

 

“What are you doing?” Jinki protested when, on their way back, Minho took the glasses off his face.

“They're full of water,” Minho answered, wiping them on his sweatshirt.

“Maybe I like it that way.”

“Sure you do.”

The taller boy could have just given the glasses back to their owner, but he thought it best to put them directly on his face. Watching Jinki flail his hands in the air was too much fun.

 

Minho's secret of success could be put into one word – organization. Everyday he knew when and what he would be doing. What he would be eating. How long he would be working out in the gym, or reading a book,  or even doing nothing. He had a strict sleeping schedule too. Once he figured that it usually took him about eight minutes to fall asleep, he started going to bed at 23:52. At 23:57 the door lock would click and the last thing he would hear that day would be the rustle of Jinki's steps past his bed. He wouldn't be bothered by the noise of running water coming from the bathroom. Minho was not the nervous type. It was Jinki who had to bury his head every night under the blanket to eliminate all of the sounds in existence.

Coming home at 23:57 on weekdays was perhaps the only precise thing Jinki did.

Minho had no idea whatever the hell was going on with his roommate's life now. He knew that he had failed that entry exam to the college of architecture and was probably still working at that takkalbi restaurant by the subway station. Maybe it was another part-time job that kept him busy until late at night these days. Maybe he was trying to compensate. Was he still dating that girl he had met through a gaming message board? Minho didn't know. They didn't discuss their lives that much.

 

It took time and patience to convince Mrs. Kim, the landlady, to buy a new couch for the living room instead of that creaking, threadbare, food stained horror they had been forced to use for the last four months. She had promised to get rid of it right away, but her memory had failed her miraculously one reminder after another. Then, an armrest had fallen off. Jinki avoided the woman at all costs, so Minho had taken it into his own hands.

She didn't order the to-the-door delivery, saying it was a waste of money when there were two grown men in the house. (Her 25-year-old nephew spent too much time watching adult movies and being hungover to be called a grown man.) So, Minho and Jinki conquered the stairs to the fourth floor by themselves. Minho didn't know Jinki was able to swear that much.

On the second floor, after they had spent a good half an hour just to make a turn and let an old woman limp grumpily past them, they took a break. They were tired and wet, and they would probably never get that beast up to the door of their apartment. Jinki laughed.

“What?”

“Nothing. Just your face.”

A surprised crease appeared on Minho's moist forehead.

“My face?”

“On the stairs... You had that movie hero look. Like you were saving the nation or something.”

A demonstration followed. Jinki assumed a dramatic frown and bit his lip determinedly, looking very much like Minho did just a minute ago, to be frank. Minho knew that.

“You looked like you were pooping hedgehogs anyway,” he parried.

Jinki clapped his hands delightedly.

“Aigoo! You joke so well for someone so weak.”

“And you are not that funny for someone so strong.”

“It's hard to be pooping  hedgehogs and jokes, you know,” Jinki sniffed and wiped his nose on the sleeve of his stretched sweatshirt.

“Not even one tiny pun nobody asked for?” Minho .

“No. Today is not my pun day,” Jinki said with a grave expression that made the other chuckle.

“Okay, let's get this beast over with. I'm really hungry,” Minho said, rubbing his hands.

“Ready? One-two-three!”

They lifted their heavy burden again.

“Who knew...” Jinki sighed, sweat trickling down his smooth forehead.

“What?” Minho breathed.

His roommate took a triumphant pause.

“Who knew we'd have to carry this sofa.”

Jinki couldn't hear the bad word Minho threw at him because of the noise of the front door being shut. But he read it from his lips. He smirked.

“What? Is it not punny enough?”

And Minho lost again. No matter how hard he tried to act annoyed, his shoulders shook with laughter.

 

At last, the new couch took its place in front of the TV in their living room. They looked at it for a moment, panting, and threw themselves on it – not to test its softness, but because their limbs were aching. Without a word, they let themselves sink into the cushions. Minho threw his shirt off. They were both dripping with sweat.

“We did it,” Jinki said in a weak, but victorious voice.

“Yeah.”

Minho snatched an opened water bottle off the floor and put it to his lips. It had gotten warm in the sunlight, but his thirst was so bad he couldn't stop drinking.

“Let me,” Jinki panted, fearing that there would be nothing left for him soon.

Minho ignored him. He kept gulping.

“Give me some, dammit!” the other cried, grabbing for the bottle, but Minho put a hand right over his face to hold him back. “Minho, you jerk!”

Jinki pushed his hand away and just waited, totally defeated.

“Ah, really!”

He kicked the air angrily.

“Don't be so pushy, hyung,” Minho said tranquilly, passing him the bottle. “You're not alone here, you know.”

Jinki wanted to kick him in the teeth, probably. But it was more important to survive right now. He was in such a hurry he didn't even wipe the neck of the bottle before drinking.

They ordered some teriyaki chicken. Then they played football on their Sony PlayStation for a while.

It was about two weeks before Jinki said the thing.

 

On another night Minho fell asleep before the eight minutes passed. He had overworked himself lately and saw a nightmare. He was half-asleep, half-awake and felt horribly numb. He wanted the dream to stop, but couldn't open his eyelids. Somewhere, miles away, a door lock clicked. It was 23:57.

His heart was still racing when he opened his eyes, but the dream was undoubtedly over.

Jinki's steps shuffled exhaustedly past his bed.

He watched his roommate take his glasses off and put them on the desk. In the darkness, Jinki removed his shirt, and a glimpse of white light fell upon his bare, broad shoulders for a mere second as some car passed below the window.

Minho's breath steadied up again. He was home. He was fine.

It was a week before Jinki said the thing.

 

On the day of Chuseok Minho went to Gyeongbokgung with a girl from his university. They watched the rope-walkers and a wedding ritual dance. They listened to the traditional music and ate songpyeons until they could take no more. The girl didn't make it all any more interesting, but it was okay, because Minho didn't want to be alone. Also she looked nice wearing a hanbok.

Jinki was home for some reason. Minho found him lying on their new sofa, playing a game on his phone, a very image of uselessness.

“You aren't staying at your parents' place?”

Jinki shook his head, eyes on the screen.

Minho walked past him to the bedroom. He had already opened the door when he decided to be sweet.

“Happy Chuseok.”

“You too.”

Then Jinki sat up and said the thing.

“I'll be moving out next month. As soon as I find a new guy, I'll tell you.”

Minho gulped, staring at his calm face. He asked, reluctantly:

“Found a better place?”

Jinki sighed.

“It's not better. Just closer to the office.”

Minho had no idea what office he was talking about.

He nodded and walked into the bedroom. Jinki returned to his game.

 

He found the new guy soon enough. Students in need of accommodation were easy to find in their area.

“He's good. Not a creeper or something,” Jinki promised as he shook the water off a dish he had just washed.

He really needed a haircut with that long hair of his. But maybe he didn't. It suited him in an odd way.

“It's okay. I trust you,” Minho said, walking out of the kitchen with his phone in his hand.

 

Jinki said he'd be moving out on Saturday. For a few days everything was just as usual, and at 23:57 the door lock clicked, and Minho heard the carpet rustle as Jinki's steps crossed the room in the darkness. It was hard to believe that something was going to change.

On Friday afternoon, when he was dropping by to have dinner, Minho saw a couple of boxes at the door. His roommate didn't have much stuff.

He offered to help with that. But Jinki fixed his glasses and said he'd be alright.

“No, I'll help,” Minho insisted stubbornly.

The other smiled.

“Thanks, but I'm leaving early in the morning. Have some sleep.”

“I always rise early. It's no problem.”

“As you wish, dad.”

Minho frowned. Jinki was almost done tying his shoelaces, and he himself had places to go too. He should ask where he's going perhaps. Why he has to leave early in the morning. What his new situation is like.

Jinki was humming a song in that soft voice of his. He looked so careless.

And Minho said nothing. Their relationship was not like that after all, he figured.

 

Contrary to the usual, Minho was woken up by some restless siren in the middle of the night. Even after the sound was gone he couldn't go back to sleep.

Eventually he rose from the bed and went to the kitchen for a glass of water. A couple of laughing students crossed the road down on the street as he drank. They had a long night ahead of them. Their arms were thrown around each other's shoulders.

He looked at Jinki when he returned to the room. It was a warm night, and he had thrown the blanket off his face in his sleep. His dark hair was messy and tangled. His small hand lay on his stomach, rising slightly with every breath. He looked peaceful, like he always did.

Minho sat on the edge of his bed for a while. Then he sighed and lay down again.

A bit later he heard steps rustling by his bed and then the sound of the refrigerator door being opened and closed. But maybe it was just a dream.

 

The sun was wide awake when Minho opened his eyes on Saturday. His silent phone was lying on the floor beside his bed.

He had overslept.

It was awfully quiet. Jinki and his boxes were gone. Only a yellow post-it note on the door smirked at him:

“Told ya! :D”

He was really gone.

 

The new guy was a strong-spirited, glaring presence, who extended his arm and announced: “Kim Jonghyun. Pleased to meet you,” before putting his guitar case on the floor and placing his shoes next to the wall neatly.

“He is a tortured soul,” Jinki had warned earlier, smiling. “But he's funny.”

Jonghyun was alright. He wandered about alone and sat in his headphones a lot. He was alcohol intolerant and Minho had no trouble with him. Sometimes he heard him sing and play guitar, which he didn't mind. Jinki had used to sing all the time. Only Jonghyun's songs were actual songs full of soul and romance, not some dorky stuff made up for fun.

 

There was one thing, though.

Minho couldn't sleep anymore.

He went to bed at 23:52, to fall asleep at midnight, just as usual. But something was not working. His brain simply refused to turn off. And he woke up messy and heavy every morning after a night of torn bits of unconsciousness.

He had sleeping pills prescribed, and he took them diligently. But they actually made it worse, adding headaches to his troubles.

He had no clue what was wrong.

 

“Maybe you should try counting sheep,” the hanbok girl suggested, looking pitifully at the dark circles under Minho's eyes. “Or spell words backwards.”

“Yeah, I've tried that,” he said, staring at his cup of coffee emptily.

“You must be stressed.”

“No, I'm fine. I just can't sleep.”

The girl sighed.

They were surrounded by couples gazing at each other tenderly at their tables. A love ballad was flowing whinily out of the speakers.

“Minho... Are you enjoying our time together?” she asked suddenly.

Minho looked confused for a moment.

“Sure. Why?”

She shrugged.

“Because I can't tell. You look like you're thinking of something else. Or someone else.”

Minho didn't know what to say. He wasn't sure what he was thinking about.

“It's not that... I just...” He scratched his neck wearily. “It's my face. I may look like I'm not pleased, but I actually am.”

The girl diverted her eyes from his to the unopened sugar bag she was twisting in her hands.

“So, usually you don't show… your feelings that much?”

“I guess I don't.”

They sat in silence for a minute or two. Then she mustered up courage to suggest, sheepishly:

“May it be that the people you care about may not actually know that you care about them, then?”

Minho shrugged.

“Maybe. I haven't thought about it.”

Thus the girl gave herself hope.

As a goodbye, she told him to go home and have some rest.

She had sent him some classical music for better sleep. Indeed, the sound of violins and clavichord lulled him to sleep at first. Then the door lock clicked.

Minho sat bolt upright in his bed, looking around and listening. The room was dark.

The hall was dark, too, and Jonghyun's shoes were not there. He had not returned home yet, and the lock hadn't clicked at all.

This had to stop.

 

Minho found Jinki's old green shirt among the dirty laundry. He had tripped on something on the street and spilled his iced coffee all over it.

“Coffee showers are way more effective for staying awake, you know,” he had said in an answer to Minho's raised eyebrows. “I don't want to sleep at all right now.”

He put the shirt into the washing machine with the other stuff and shut the door to choose the right course.

“Are you close with Jinki?” he asked, pushing the “Start” button.

“I'm a friend of a friend,” Jonghyun said, stirring his coffee.

“Oh.”

“Why?”

“Thought I'd ask how he's doing.”

“Why don't you just ask him, though? You lived together for a year, no?”

Minho had a feeling that Jonghyun didn't have to be so blunt about it, but he didn't say anything, except for a curt “sure”.

“Will you hang the laundry when it's finished? I'm running late today, and I want to jog a little before heading to class.”

“Sure. Thanks for telling me about your business,” Jonghyun said, his face straight. But there was an ironic spark in his eyes.

He really was a nice guy, but Minho sometimes felt like he was secretly making fun of him.

 

As he was jogging that morning, Minho yawned a few times. Somehow lately he felt sleepy anywhere but his own bed. He passed the spot where the bulldog always did its business and recognized the old woman with a blue bag who always took a walk in the park in the mornings.

Could it be that he didn't show his emotions enough?

Could it be that the reason why he couldn't fall asleep at night was somewhere nearby, hidden from his eyes only?

Behind his back, someone tripped and cursed quietly.

He turned around quickly, a familiar name ready to slip off his lips, and was almost surprised that the person running behind him was a stranger. Minho helped the guy rise on his feet and ran on, suddenly feeling lonely.

He was so caught up in thought that he didn't even notice when it started drizzling.

Only when he felt the drops of cold water upon his neck did he realize that it was raining. Minho saw a bus stop and ran towards it, because he was going to ride the bus to the university anyway, to save time.

The card reader beeped and he walked towards the spot by the window.

No, he couldn't just ask him. It's not that he didn't care how he was. He didn't know how to ask. And wasn't sure if he should.

 

“I thought you said you'd be going out tonight,” Jonghyun's soft voice said from behind Minho's back.

“I thought you said you'd be at the studio,” he replied sourly and hiccuped.

“Didn't work out tonight,” the other answered, sitting down at the other side of the table.

“Having fun?” Jonghyun asked, nodding at a bottle and a glass standing in front of his gloomy roommate.

“Sure. Would you like some?” Minho suggested and screwed his eyes shut. “Dammit, I forgot. Sorry.”

Jonghyun chuckled.

“It's okay. It's not like I'll die if I drink. I just shouldn't have much... You can pour me some.”

That Minho did.

Jonghyun sipped the soju, watching his face. But he wasn't saying anything.

“Jonghyun.”

“Yes?”

“Have you ever had trouble expressing your feelings?”

Jonghyun shook his head slowly.

“No, but I did get in trouble for expressing them. Why?”

“I don't know how to express mine,” Minho said frankly.

“Just start, then. It's hard to stop once you do.” Jonghyun smiled somewhat bitterly. “But that's another problem.”

“I don't know how to start.”

“Little by little. Just think of one thing you feel most sharply and say it. Hit the nail right on the head.”

Minho frowned.

“But what do I feel most sharply?” he wondered aloud.

“Only you know that, buddy,” the other replied, sensibly.

 

The hanbok girl was getting prettier each day. She started wearing her cherry coat perhaps ahead of time, as the cold weather had not yet settled in, but it suited her a lot. She dyed her black hair a bit brighter, and caught glances whenever she walked down the street.

Minho felt bad for making her wait outside in the wind, but it wasn't his fault that a train broke down somewhere down his line.

“You should have gone to a cafe, ” he told her when they met outside the subway exit.

“It's okay, I didn't want to,” she said, sniffing because she had already caught a cold.

She noticed that he looked tired again. It was clear that the classical music was not helping.

“We'll find something for sure,” she promised.

It was hard to hit the nail right on the head, especially when she was being so caring and sweet, and grasping her coffee cup for warmth. But Minho understood very well that it couldn't go on that way any longer.

“I like you a lot. As a friend. But I don't think I can be anything else for you,” he said after she had told him about that movie she had seen last week. He didn't sound harsh, but he knew that the words were hurting her.

But the more she struggled silently with herself, only allowing her lips to purse a little, the more Minho realized that his feelings were his own and he was doing the right thing. He had nothing to be ashamed of.

He did feel for her, of course. As she was walking away, trying to hold her back straight, so small and frail under the street lamps in her new cherry coat, it seemed for a second that he knew what she was feeling.

Missing something that had never happened.

 

Jonghyun was having a gig today with his band and he even had been kind enough to invite Minho, too. “Probably you won't come. But I wanted to let you know that you can if you want.” his message read.

“Someday I will. Thanks.” Minho had answered.

He was going to spend that Friday night at home alone. He had stuff to think about after he had talked to the girl.

Some things were easier to accept now, when he had laid out the truth before someone for once. Some things weren't a mystery anymore.

He knew why he had taken that green shirt out of the machine at the last moment. Those coffee stains needed to remain, because so did the memory. He knew why he wasn't writing Jinki a text to ask how he was doing. Because that question was not the one he wanted to ask. And the one he did want to ask was not right for that means of communication.

It wasn't the sound of the door lock clicking that he needed to hear to fall asleep at night. It was knowing that the steps would be there too. The steps, and the sound of eyeglasses being put on the desk. And the rustle of clothes being taken off.

He wasn't missing having someone to talk to while he was running in the morning. It was knowing that he could turn around any moment, and there would be the face he wanted to see.

He knew that he'd have to unlearn all those things eventually. Just not now.

Minho took the last sip from his glass and went to bed, as it was 23:52, and he was either too stubborn or too proud to stray from his habits.

He started falling down, his head spinning heavily in the dark. He fell fast asleep, and did not dream of anything, being too tired after days of hard thought.

At 23:57, a key turned inside the lock and the front door opened. In a moment steps rustled on the carpet in the bedroom. They went past Minho's bed, faltered a little and then a yellow light hit his shut eyelids.

“Sorry,” someone said quietly as he stirred. “I tried to wake you up but you didn't hear me. You sleep like a dead man.”

He opened his eyes.

Jinki was kneeling beside the bed that had used to be his, looking for something under it.

“What are you doing?” Minho asked in a cranky voice, his eyes opening and closing again.

“Looking for my piggy bank,” Jinki said casually, reaching his arm as far out as possible. “Dammit, how did it end up so faraway.”

“Your piggy bank?” Minho asked listlessly.

“Yeah, my piggy bank. .” Jinki had hit his head on the bed while crawling from under it.

“It's really a piggy bank,” the other observed, still expressionless.

Because his guest was holding a plastic figure of a pig in his hand. It was full of coins.

“Yeah, it is,” Jinki said, nodding. “Oink-oink.”

“What are you going to do with it?”

“Buy a car. Or a house. Or a carton of milk.”

Minho thought a little. His head was swimming.

“Are you joking right now?”

Jinki laughed.

“Maybe.”

He rose to his feet.

“How have you been?”

“Sleeping,” Minho replied. “Did you come all the way here for a plastic pig?”

Jinki nodded a few times.

“Yep,” he answered like it was the most natural thing. “Let's have a cup of tea? I got soaked in the rain a bit.”

He took a crumpled chocolate out of his pocket and waved it at Minho as if it was a treat he could never resist.

 

Jinki ended up munching pretty much everything they had in their fridge.

“How could you forget about your pig if it's so important?” Minho asked grumpily, sipping his coffee.

“I didn't. I meant to drop by and pick Mr. Snout up one of these days.”

“Oh, you meant to?”

Minho suddenly felt mad for no obvious reason, but Jinki looked perfectly content with both of his cheeks full of rice.

“By the way,” he began, reaching for the kimchi bowl, “did you see my green shirt by any chance? I can't find it anywhere.”

“No. You should take care of your things better.”

“Can't argue with that,” Jinki agreed. “You look crappy, by the way.”

“Thanks.”

Minho sat down in front of him and rubbed his face.

“What's wrong?” Before the other could answer, Jinki suggested: “Can't sleep at night?”

Minho glanced away.

“Yeah. Tough week. I mean, two weeks.” Actually three.

Jinki nodded, thinking.

“Don't overwork yourself. People are sneezing everywhere and...”

“I'll take care of myself, thank you,” Minho said, cutting him short, and Jinki smiled warmly.

“Looks like we've switched roles. I'm giving unwanted advice and you're telling me to piss off.” He glanced at the kitchen clock. “Oh, I really need to go now if I want to catch the bus. The stew was great, by the way.”

And he stood up.

Of course Minho couldn't be really mad. It was Jinki after all. But he felt upset anyway.

Just like he had on that last day, he was watching him put his worn-out sneakers on. And, just like he had on that last day, he was going to let him go.

No, he hadn't forgotten what Jjong, looking at him with those languid, shrewd eyes, had told him about expressing his feelings. It's just that perhaps his feelings didn't matter now. Jinki was obviously doing fine. Minho didn't want to say those words he had on his mind and watch him raise his dishevelled head and look at him in confusion. He was too proud for that. And he would let him go.

“I'm glad we've met again,” Jinki confessed, straightening himself and pulling his jeans up. “And I'm sorry I woke you up.”

“It's okay. Just call beforehand next time.”

Jinki chuckled.

“Yeah... I'm still so used to living here with you I didn't even think about it.”

A pause followed, and Minho realized that the only thing left was the words of goodbye, and after a somewhat awkward hug Jinki would reach for the door handle and walk out of his life with that plastic pig in hand. And he'd have to face the darkness of his room alone.

He gulped and quickly offered to walk him to the bus stop. Jinki, whose face had almost become serious, smiled again.

 

Jinki still needed to catch that bus, but they were walking slowly. They weren't speaking that much, but it didn't feel weird. Only when the bus stop appeared in sight Minho stopped walking and broke the silence.

 

“Why didn't you wake me up?”

Jinki raised his eyebrows as if he was going to ask, “when?”, but then he understood and faltered.

“Oh. I called your name, but...”

“You should've shaken me or something.”

Jinki rubbed his neck.

“Well, I wasn't sure if you… really wanted to be woken up.”

“Didn't I offer to help the night before?”

“You did, but...” he bit his lip.

“You thought I didn't care about you leaving?” Minho guessed.

“Well... Yeah.”

Pause.

“Why?”

Jinki shrugged.

“It's just... When I told you I was leaving, you simply nodded and walked away.”

“But you said it like it didn't matter. You just... stated the fact.  You didn't even tell me where you were going, or who you were going to live with, or when you had made up your mind, or...”

Minho stopped to get hold of his breath.

“You could've asked,” Jinki said quietly.

He was right, of course. Minho could feel the ridiculousness of the situation acutely. But he didn't feel like laughing.

So, he tried to explain, taking pensive pauses between the words:

“It's hard for me... to express care... with words.”

Jinki was not saying anything for a while, but Minho thought he saw a glimpse of understanding in his eyes.

“I know. I think,” he said, finally.

“I just… want you to know that I care. I miss the time when we were living together. And the reason I can't sleep is... Well, it's stupid, but...”

“Tell me.”

Minho waited until a couple of women with children passed them by.

“I can't sleep because I can't hear your steps at midnight.”

Jonghyun had rightly warned him that, once you begin expressing your feelings, it's hard to stop. And Minho knew why. No matter what response you're going to get, you feel relieved, and the sense of relief is addicting.

Jinki laughed for some reason.

“What?” Minho asked.

“You know how you stretch every morning before going out to jog?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“You always count below your breath when you squat. It used to be the first thing I heard in the morning – the counting inbetween breaths. And now that I don't hear it... I just open my eyes and fall asleep again. So I come late everyday.” Jinki grinned, looking up at Minho. “So, either what you said is not stupid or both of us are talking gibberish.”

“Second,” Minho said, and they both laughed.

They arranged to hang out together soon, and Minho, proud as he was, was happy and relieved to know he had been silly all along. Before getting into the bus, Jinki turned around and they waved to each other.

 

No, Jinki was not coming back to their shabby apartment. But Minho felt as if a stone had been lifted off his chest. All was not lost.

He still missed him when he was running, of course. He still called Jonghyun by his name mistakenly once in a while. And he still had trouble falling asleep. But he knew that he would be fine, and that gave him patience.

Minho learned that simply imagining the noise of those midnight steps helped. And somehow it wasn't that hard to believe that they were still there.

Because, in a way, they really were.