Chapter Text
Jaemin doesn’t like lying.
It’s not that he’s terrible at it. In fact, he finds that he’s unusually good at it, in a concerning way. Maybe it’s the smile. He looks too sincere, even when he isn’t. He has too many teeth is what Mark tells him. But just because he’s capable of swallowing down the prickly truth doesn’t mean he likes doing it.
Especially not when it comes to his family—his mother.
He could count the number of chances he was given to break the news. The soft, lingering silences between phone calls where he could’ve seized the opportunity to tell his mother about it. ‘Renjun and I are getting a divorce’.
The words had formed in the back of his head, pulled to the front of his mind and travelled down to his lips until his tongue froze when asked how Renjun had been doing. Jaemin’s answer returned a variation of the same ones he’d given a hundred phone calls before. He’s okay. He’s busy. I’ll ask him to call soon. Renjun never calls. Jaemin doesn’t know if he’s okay. He knows he’s busy.
It was difficult to keep the lie up for a month after they separated. But by the time six months had flown by, it barely felt like a lie anymore. He had told his mother a lot of things. Not everything was true. He says Renjun is rarely home because of his demanding job which is why doesn’t join their phone calls like he used to. A half-truth, at least. More than he’d like to admit. Jaemin says they’ve made renovations to the house when the camera is on and his mother asks about the cream-coloured walls being replaced by a dull white.
She doesn’t need to know that he’s living half an hour away from the house—in a small apartment too similar to the one he and Renjun first moved into. Admittedly, it was one of the more selfish things he did after the separation. He had spent too much time in that empty house.
He doesn’t know how well Renjun is taking his absence. Then again, Renjun was never home much, to begin with. The house must be empty most of the time now. He wonders if Renjun waters the plants regularly—if he even remembers they have any.
Jaemin is picking at his dried cuticles when the phone stops ringing. Renjun picks up on the eighth ring. He greets Jaemin solemnly with a sigh.
“It’s me,” Jaemin says, for good measure. He’s never sure if Renjun still has his contact or deleted it off his phone. It’s been a couple of weeks since they last spoke. Last time, it was about the divorce papers Jaemin mailed over to their house. It was less of a conversation and more so a chain of angry texts he received the morning after. His number was blocked for a while until it wasn’t.
He has yet to hear back about the papers.
“Yeah,” Renjun replies as if he already knows where the conversation is going. Good. Jaemin doesn’t want to spend more time than he needs to.
“You read my texts?”
“I did.”
“And?”
There’s a silence between them that hangs more like a deafening echo. In the past, Jaemin didn’t feel the need to fill it. Now every beat of silence between them feels suffocating—the potential of saying something that would cut deep constantly lingers. There were a lot of things Renjun could say. They were civil but Renjun doesn’t owe him kindness. That much he’s made clear.
Instead, he says, “I thought you told them.” He doesn’t sound upset, just tired. Jaemin honestly can’t tell which is worse.
He’s rolling a coin between his fingers to calm his nerves.
He wonders if Renjun thinks talking to him feels like a chore now. There was a time when the thought of hearing Renjun’s voice after a long day made his stomach coil in excitement. It coils for a different reason now.
“I was going to. I just couldn’t find the right time.”
“It’s been six months, Jaemin.”
He can hear the sound of a keyboard clacking in the background. The muffled creak of a worn out chair. Renjun must still be at the office.
The digital clock on his bedside table reads 10 PM. It’s another late night and Jaemin doesn’t want to argue.
“Are you coming or not?”
The prospect of knowing someone to such an extent is a double-edged sword. He knows the answer just by the sound of Renjun’s breathing before his lips could even curl around each syllable.
“I’m going to be busy. They finally let me supervise a feature.” Renjun’s teeth grind through the last few words as if punishing himself for going into such detail. They don’t have to do this anymore. He doesn’t have to tell Jaemin anything. “It’s a big project. I can’t just leave for a few days.”
“But you’re always busy.” His cuticles are entirely picked open—blood pooling out of a wound the size of a hair’s breadth. Renjun always hated the habit. “It’s the holidays. It’s Christmas. And Jisung is coming home.”
The typing halts at the end of the line. “I know. He texted me a few days ago.”
He can tell Renjun has stood up. Probably stretching like a cat after a nap with his own terrible habit of popping the joints in his back. Jaemin would chastise him if he still had the right to.
“You have to tell them at some point, Jaemin. They’re going to find out and I don’t want them to find out from me. It has to be you.” The implication doesn’t go unnoticed. You've made your bed, now lie in it.
Renjun doesn’t have to say the words for Jaemin to feel the burn.
When he was a child, he had dreams of being a figure skater—with enough potential and stubbornness to make it to the world junior league championships. At 15, he almost breaks his spine in half and spends seven months in physical therapy. He can’t stand or sit for too long and his posture is crooked no matter how hard he tries to hide the pinch in his lower back. His father tells him it’s what happens when you put all your eggs in one basket. Now, at 34, it feels like nothing has changed.
“I will. I promise. I’ll tell them by New Year’s. I swear. I won’t ask you for anything else. Just this.”
He doesn’t know if he imagined Renjun’s tone going sour. “I’ll think about it. This isn’t a yes.”
He drops the coin on one side. Heads or tails. Jaemin never wins.
🏠
The plan is easy enough.
It’s only a four-day visit. All they would have to do is act like a married couple. Legally, they are still married. In reality, Jaemin hasn’t been in a room with his husband for more than 45 minutes in the past six months. Still, it shouldn't be too hard when they’ve been married for 6 years and were together for another 8 before that. It should be easy. But when you’ve been stuck in a weird state of limbo for months—torn between resentment and acceptance, it’s suddenly difficult to remember how to act. In hindsight, he should’ve been more prepared to endure a five-hour car ride with Renjun.
Jaemin is still trying to decide on how to say hi when he pulls up into their driveway. It’s 7 AM and Renjun is easily irritable in the morning, so he reminds himself to hold his tongue. That, among other things, Jaemin cannot forget. Then again, it’s difficult to forget anything about Renjun. He’s convinced in all the years they’ve been together, his brain has developed a nook perfectly reserved for all things Renjun related.
It doesn’t make the divorce any easier.
When Renjun had left a message for him three days after their call (a simple, ‘What are the days?’ followed by a sharp, ‘Pick me up the morning we leave’), Jaemin doesn’t question his decision. Whether it’s pity, a form of self-loathing or nostalgia—he decides it’s better he didn’t know.
Renjun slides into the front seat easily. His bags take up an unnecessary amount of space in the backseat but it’s okay. Jaemin planned for this. Renjun doesn’t pack well when he does it alone. He gets distracted easily and overthinks everything he’d need then ends up packing for three different occasions. Thankfully, Jaemin only packed two small bags of essentials, squeezed together to make space for him.
The first thing he notices (besides the overpacked bags) is Renjun’s face. He’s dressed from head to toe in beige—a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie that barely conceals the red of his nose from the misty morning. His face is still soft with sleep, if not a little puffy. Jaemin doesn’t realise how long it’s been since he’s seen him like this until now.
The second thing, surprisingly, is the presence of their wedding band on his finger. It’s only logical Renjun would put it back on but it’s still a jarring sight. He hasn’t seen it on him ever since they discussed the divorce but Jaemin hasn’t taken his off just yet. He tells himself it’s because he doesn’t need any questions at his workplace.
It’s different for Renjun. He works as an editorial assistant for a large magazine where people come and go before you can even learn their last name. There are always more interesting things to talk about than a failed marriage. He doubts people even knew Renjun was married, to begin with.
Jaemin wishes he could say the same thing about his job. He works at a preschool where the most entertaining thing to happen all day is hearing other teachers complain about scraping vomit off the classroom floor in the break room. He’s learned the hard way that children aren’t the only ones capable of unwarranted opinions.
“Can we turn the heater down?” Renjun’s voice, laced with sleep, temporarily breaks him out of his reverie. Jaemin isn’t sure when he managed to fall asleep since he’s been turning in his seat for an hour now.
“I’m pretty cold. My hands get stiff when I drive.” He stops himself from saying ‘You know this.’
Renjun’s reply comes back completely unamused. Predictably irritable. “It’s really warm, Jaemin. I can’t sleep.”
“And I can’t drive with cold hands.” Objectively, Jaemin knows he’s being difficult. But he’s not doing it out of spite. A few years ago, he would have said the same thing teasingly and Renjun would have held his hand—kept it warm between his own.
This time, Renjun is turning in his seat again for the nth time. He’s no longer facing Jaemin but his tone sounds final. “I’m not asking you to turn it off. Can we not argue about this?”
They don’t talk for most of the ride aside from the times Renjun requests to stop at the gas station to use the bathroom. Besides that, he mostly snacks on the crisps Jaemin packs, continues reading the book on his iPad or falls asleep between quiet, winding roads. It feels somehow unbearably worse than arguing.
Jaemin tries peeking at the book he’s reading to spark some kind of conversation and finds that it’s a cover he’s seen before. Simply because it’s one of the many books Renjun has collecting dust on his bedside table. When they were still together, he would only read up to 40 pages of a book before folding the edge of the page. And then it remains untouched for months.
He’s nearing the end of the book now.
“Is it good?”
It startles Renjun out of his focus. “Hmm?” He stares at Jaemin with bleary eyes and then he’s processing the words. “Oh. Yeah, I guess.”
“What’s it about?” Jaemin’s hands are slick with sweat. His ring might slip off his finger at any moment.
Instead of a real answer, Renjun tells him it’s about a coffee shop and that the book is written in Japanese. When he senses Jaemin’s confusion, he adds, “I’ve been taking a class.”
Jaemin doesn’t know what to say so he nods silently and continues feeling the mid-day sun burning his knuckles.
He doesn’t know how much of Renjun has changed over the few months they’ve been apart. He can’t comprehend how much more he’ll have to miss out on.
🏠
Huang Renjun is not a difficult person to love.
In fact, Jaemin would say it would be even more difficult to avoid loving him.
There isn’t a moment in their relationship that he regrets spending with Renjun. He has the kind of heart pure enough that it bleeds into anything he touches.
He was the one who encouraged Jaemin to get his teaching license. Who admitted he believed in signs from the universe when he told Jaemin he loved him for the very first time. Who had worked two jobs to help cover the bills when they first moved in together.
Everything he does is driven by passion and loving is not an exception.
For the longest time, before they even began dating, Renjun seemed almost unattainable. They ran in the same circles in college but Renjun was a social butterfly and Jaemin enjoyed the comfort of his bed far too much to trade it in for social events and parties with loud music.
But Mark had refused to let him stay home on his 20th birthday.
That was how Jaemin had found himself tucked between the sliding door of Mark’s balcony and the dying plant, hiding from the party being thrown in his honour. The cold air sobered him up quickly as he leaned back against the wall.
Over the next half an hour, he had lost count of the number of times he heard the sliding door opening with a couple stumbling into the balcony, barely concealed moans falling off their lips until they became aware of Jaemin’s presence and left.
Mark was yelling something over the Black Eyed Peas playing before the sliding door made a swooshing sound again and Jaemin could feel the migraine starting to form in the back of his mind. As miserable as it sounded, he just wanted to be left alone on his birthday.
“Can you guys just do it in the bathroom?”
There was silence. And then a snicker.
“Am I missing something in the bathroom?” A voice asked back. Honeysuckle and faded around the edges. Sweet. Not unfamiliar but stranger than he’d like.
Jaemin’s eyes met a perfect shade of brown.
Renjun was used to keeping his hair dyed. Today, his hair is midnight black—styled messily under hurried fingers. It made him look boyish.
Even out in the dark, Renjun looked warm and approachable—the streams of light that linger after a sunset. “Oh, nothing’s going on in the bathroom. Sorry, I just thought–Sorry. I thought you were someone else.”
“Good, I thought I was missing another party in the bathroom.” Renjun shut the door behind him—his smile hadn’t left his face, albeit a little lopsided. He wasn’t tipsy but he was close. He and Jaemin must have been the only two sober people at this party. “You mind if I sit down?”
But before Jaemin could even answer, he had taken a seat beside him—legs crossed. There was a crinkling sound in his pocket before he pulled out a poorly rolled blunt, barely the length of one of his fingers. “I’m Renjun. Do you have a lighter?”
Jaemin bit back the urge to respond with, Yes, I know because who didn’t know Renjun? It can be difficult to reject the urge to look directly at the sun once you feel its presence. Being around Renjun felt a lot like that. Instead, Jaemin said, “Try the plant pot. That’s where Mark usually hides it. I’m Jaemin.”
“I know. It’s your birthday party.” Renjun tilted his head like he found it amusing—the way Jaemin’s mouth hung agape. “And we went to high school together.”
Now, that. Jaemin would have remembered that. He wouldn’t have forgotten a face like Renjun’s. “We did?”
“You probably don’t remember. We were in AP Biology. I was a little shorter then.” The blunt was beginning to burn between his fingers. Jaemin heard every word but couldn’t tear his eyes away from Renjun’s lips—the way his tongue curled around each word and his pink lips closed around the blunt. “And I had a snaggletooth. Right here.”
When his finger pointed to his gums, a blurry face began taking shape in Jaemin’s mind. Same nose, same almond-shaped eyes. Renjun has grown taller, but not by much. He had lost a bit of that boyish look on his face and replaced it with sharp angles and high cheekbones. His voice was still the same, if only a little more mature. A warmer shade of yellow.
“Oh. Yeah.” Jaemin smiled at the image of a timid transfer student that sat in the back of the class. “Yeah, I do remember you.”
(Months later, he would go on to tell Jaemin of the crush he used to have on him then. That he had been one of the many people to slide a note into his desk during lunch break. He was teased for it afterwards but years later, Jaemin had remembered to add the little anecdote to his vows.)
“You made that Yangyang kid cry with your project,”
“I didn’t know he was that scared of frogs,”
The thought of the loudest kid in class jumping nearly high enough to hit his head on the ceiling made Jaemin laugh. It drowned out most of the music and the sound of his heart jackrabbiting in his chest.
“Happy birthday,” Renjun handed him the blunt. He was smiling, a little too wide for friendliness. His eyes were a black hole. The fingers that brushed against Jaemin were enough to make him blush.
He had spent so long admiring the sun from afar, only to realise it was the moon all along. Renjun’s brightness was not swallowed by the darkness that surrounded him nor does it come from within him—instead, he reflects everything around him. A broken mosaic made of a hundred thousand pieces mirroring the light. And Jaemin felt like he was burning from the inside out—a flame that cannot be extinguished.
It was his 20th birthday and he was sitting with a beautiful boy, and Jaemin thinks he owed Mark a thank you.
Renjun went home with him that Sunday and he never left.
🏠
They survive the drive without arguing again.
Renjun complains a few hours in about his stiff back and they stop at a gas station to stretch their legs. He sleeps off the remainder of the journey and Jaemin tries his best not to let the silence bother him as much. The boredom was excruciating painful enough to make him wish they’d gone back to arguing.
His father is standing in the garage when their car pulls into the driveway. Renjun rustles awake at the sound of the car door opening. It’s been a little long since the last time Jaemin has spoken to his father. He looks a little greyer from the last time they spoke.
His mother calls almost every week but he only hears from his father whenever he’s in the background. They’ve exchanged only a few words over the past few months. The last time they had a conversation was during his father’s birthday. The last time they saw each other face to face was in June, right before he and Renjun decided to separate.
“Hi, Dad.”
There is a moment of hesitation. And then his father hugs him easily as if it was an afterthought. He pulls away just as quickly. “Jaemin.”
He hugs Renjun next with a pat on the shoulder. They talk briefly about the ride here and the weather, although Renjun seems to have spaced out somewhere in the middle of the conversation—sleep still clinging tightly to his features.
The hand Jaemin rests on his lower back is enough to seize his attention. “Why don’t you greet Mom? She’s in the living room. I’ll take care of our bags.”
If he’s being honest, he’d rather Renjun stay. He hasn’t thought of enough convincing lies to tell on their way here. Being separated immediately doesn’t seem like a very clever strategy. Even if his father isn’t known to prod or engage in conversation. Jaemin still doesn’t like their odds. But Renjun only nods and excuses himself into the house. The smile he flashes, before he leaves, is barely a smile at all.
“Is Jisung already here?” He starts. The wrinkles on his father’s face are much more apparent now that they’re standing so close.
“We picked him up from the airport just an hour ago but he left to go to the store. He’ll be here soon. You should talk to him. He has a lot of stories.” His father is rolling Renjun’s suitcase into the house by the time Jaemin locks his car. “How’s work?”
“Fine. Normal. You and Mom doing okay?”
“We’re doing just fine. Your mother’s been excited to see you. All of you. We spent a while in the grocery store to get ready for the weekend and I think she’s determined to make Jisung full enough to last him an entire semester.” He laughs and it leaves an unusual ring in Jaemin’s ear. “Are you and Renjun doing alright?”
Jaemin knows he’s only asking because Jaemin asked in the first place. But he still can’t help but get defensive. He wants to say ‘Why wouldn’t we be? ’. Instead, what comes out is, “Better than ever.”
He doesn’t expect it to sting as much as it did.
He’s halfway through rolling their suitcases into the hallway when the laughs in the kitchen causes him to wander. It’s been months since he’s stepped foot in this house. He didn’t have the courage to return home for Thanksgiving all alone. Would Renjun have said yes then too?
The umbrella they left here from their last visit still rests against the coat rack.
He finds Renjun in the kitchen with his mother. They’re sitting by the kitchen island, hunched over and laughing about something Jaemin had been too late to catch.
Renjun looks more awake than he did minutes ago with a warm drink in his hand. It’s the first time Jaemin has seen him smile in months. A real smile. The kind where he’s trying too hard to contain it behind his teeth and the scrunch of his nose does nothing but make him look as if he’s laughing harder.
Jaemin wants to move but he’s stunned, all too afraid of being the one to ruin the moment. Afraid of having to watch Renjun’s walls go up and be the only person in the room to be blamed. His feet feel as if they’ve been planted in place, held down by wet cement.
Better than ever, his own words come back to mock him.
🏠
Jaemin and Renjun recall the night before their wedding slightly differently.
If someone had asked Jaemin, this is how he’d say it went.
He sat silently, amused as he watched Renjun pace around their room aimlessly as he mumbled to himself. His suit was steamed fresh of wrinkles but his face was littered with lines. Jaemin found himself laughing when he ran out of things to worry about.
“Can we sleep? You do know we have to be awake in a few hours right?”
Renjun was standing by their wardrobe, frantically sorting their socks and shuffling between their drawers to swap their ties out. Again. His hair was pushed back with a pink headband. The only thing that stopped Jaemin from kissing the mole on his forehead was exhaustion shackling him to their bed.
He didn’t understand how Renjun could still have the energy to worry. They had been on their feet all day, trying to resolve a sudden issue that came up with their caterers. Thankfully, Donghyuck stepped in and worked it out quickly (Best man duties, he said) (He was not the best man), but the problem had left Renjun anxious enough to start rethinking all the little choices they made.
“I should check on our shoes again. They were the right size, right? I feel like maybe I should’ve gotten a size bigger. It’s gonna hurt my feet if we’re going to be standing for too long.”
“Renjun,”
The frown on Renjun’s face grew twice as wide as he held their ties up to the light. His pinched mouth made it difficult to take him seriously.
Jaemin remembered the first time Renjun had ever caught him staring while they were arguing. His cheeks dusted pink when Jaemin told him it felt like he was being scolded by a cat.
“I told Mark to get us Light Navy blue ties, not Royal Blue. I knew I should’ve picked them out myself.”
“Babe,” Somehow, Jaemin found his way next to him with a hand on his arm. Renjun looked at him for the first time all night and even now, his breath caught in his throat.
Eight years together and Jaemin was still not immune to the effect Renjun had on people. Sometimes, it still felt like he remained the same 20-year-old who was embarrassingly oblivious to his feelings, only now a little older. It’s a funny thing—to have a crush and to be in love at the same time. Jaemin knows Renjun so intimately, more than anyone ever could—knows all the buttons to push to make him red in the face—and yet he couldn’t stop feeling giddy around him. It’s a maddening thing.
He smoothed the lines on his face with his thumb and smiled when Renjun’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment. “Stop worrying so much. I’m going to start getting jealous if you pay more attention to your tie than your own husband.”
Renjun’s pout only grew impossibly wider.
Lately, Jaemin has found that Renjun gets easily shy whenever Jaemin referred to him as his husband. Naturally, he’d been using it as leverage ever since. Even at 28, Renjun was still as cute. “We’re not husbands… yet.”
“You’re right. We have about 10 more hours. So, can we please go to bed?”
Somehow, Jaemin managed to tug him closer to their bed. Their ties are left by the dresser, along with the twenty pairs of socks his fiancé had dug up on accident. But they’ll have plenty of time to clean up after. All the time in the world to do anything.
“I just want it to be perfect,” Renjun said, from where he was snug underneath their weighted blanket. Which was really just a regular blanket since Jaemin sleeps on top of him anyway. “We’ve been saving up for this for three years now. I don’t want to regret anything. I don’t want you to regret anything.”
Jaemin hummed above him. He could hear the steady beat of Renjun’s heart beneath his ear. The familiar pattern of it almost lulls him to sleep. He wasn’t worried. “It’s going to be perfect. I’m not going to regret anything.”
“How do you know? I constantly feel like we’re missing something.”
He propped his chin on Renjun’s chest, the divots between his ribcage creating a space for Jaemin. He could tell it tickled a little from the way Renjun’s eyebrows twitched. “It’s going to be perfect because I’m going to be married to you. We’ve been saving up for this for three years, but I’ve been planning to marry you since the day I met you.”
There was an amused twist on Renjun’s mouth. “That’s so stupid. When we went back to your place, I threw up in your bathroom for an hour.”
“Yeah, and then I became obsessed with you forever. You’ve literally never been more desirable to me.”
This got a laugh out of Renjun. For the first time all day, Jaemin watched the worry dissipate from his face. His eyes crinkled into tiny slits. He was the image of happiness and light and Jaemin felt like he was falling in love for the first time all over again.
If he could have any power in the world, he would stop time right here and live in this moment forever. If he had known how this all ends a few years later down the line, he wouldn’t have left the bed the next morning. They would be like this—infinite, forever.
“I’m serious. I don’t care if I’m going to show up with shoes twice my size or a wrinkled suit, or if I have to stand in the pouring rain all day just to say ‘I do’. The best part of tomorrow is when it’s over. Because we’re going to get home,” Jaemin kissed his eyelids, just to feel Renjun’s lashes flutter underneath his lips. “ and then I’ll get to start the rest of my life with you.”
When he pulled back, Renjun’s eyes were already misty with tears. Jaemin couldn’t help the laugh that escaped past his lips. “Babe, I haven’t even said my vows yet. And I worked really hard on them.”
“Shut up, you’re so annoying.” Renjun was rubbing his palms over his eyes and left them there when Jaemin sat up to kiss his face—salt on his tongue. “And weird.” He added when Jaemin licked the tears off his face.
Later that night, when they had properly settled into bed, Renjun whispered softly into the silence between them. “I love you.”
With Jaemin tucked into his side, he heard every word. They only had eight hours left before the wedding and two hours to sleep, but Jaemin never felt more alive. He has never been in love like this before.
“I love you so much.”
(If someone had asked Renjun how he remembered the night before their wedding, he’d recall Jaemin being almost as nervous as he was—if not more. He hadn’t been pacing as Renjun did but Jaemin was never the kind to voice his concerns until they bubble past the surface in uncontrollable waves. Eight years together was enough to teach him that.
Really, Renjun shouldn’t have been as surprised as he was to be served divorce papers six years later.
Jaemin may know him intimately, but he forgets that Renjun knows him just as well. In the end, their marriage was a two-way street Jaemin drove on all by himself.)
(Renjun still waits for him at the end of the road.)
🏠
Jaemin should have seen it coming. Of all the things he prepared for the week, this is something that went completely over his head.
They kept the greetings quick as Jaemin’s mother fusses over their long journey.
“You two must be exhausted,” she says, her face resting gently on Jaemin’s shoulder as they hugged.
He engulfs her thin frame completely with only a pair of arms. Being with her here feels nothing like watching her calls through a screen. She has this warmth that felt like hugging sunlight. Jaemin missed her terribly.
This is the first time he’s felt at peace in months. If they were the only ones in the room, he would’ve told her everything. Spilled his guts about the loneliness and the separation and the new part of his life he isn’t sure he was built to endure. But Renjun is here too, keeping him grounded in a way he isn’t even aware of.
“It was really just Jaemin. He was the one driving,” Renjun says with a small smile on his face. It doubles in size when Jaemin’s mother smiled back at him.
She makes her way to him, opening her arms wide. Renjun doesn’t waste a second before melting into her. “I’ve missed talking to you. I’m your mom too, you know.” She chastises, but her hand rubs his back lovingly.
Renjun is smiling as if he hasn’t been hugged in years. He looks softer around the edges now, yellow glowing from within him. He looks approachable like this. Like Jaemin doesn’t have to rethink his every word before speaking. “You have to call me more.”
“I will next time. I promise.”
The words make Jaemin’s stomach twist in a foreign way. How much of that is real? After the holiday is over, there is no reason for Renjun to want anything to do with Jaemin or his family ever again.
A different kind of guilt surface in his throat and for the first time—he realises they won’t be the only ones affected by this. His mother and Jisung are going to be completely distraught when they find out. Jaemin is losing a husband, but they’ll be losing a son and a brother too.
He changes the subject before he starts spiralling in the middle of the kitchen. With his best overly exaggerated pout, he says, “Why aren’t you scolding me, too? You don’t care about me.”
His mother turns to him, fond. “You’re such a weird kid. Isn’t he such a weird kid?”
Renjun smiles behind red-bitten lips, trying his best to contain his laugh. Jaemin can tell he’s missed this too.
“I’m 34, and how could you say that to your favourite son?”
“Don’t let Jisung hear you say that.”
They hug a little longer until Jaemin is forced to detangle from her. He thinks if he holds on any longer, he might actually tell her everything right here. They speak briefly about the drive here until she turns her attention back to Renjun, who remains more talkative than Jaemin has seen him in months. But he’s always had a soft spot for his family.
He treats Jisung like his own brother and has been calling Jaemin’s mother ‘Mom’ ever since they’ve been married. It’s odd to think that one day, all this will be reduced to history.
They get shooed into the bedroom to settle in before lunch and then Jaemin is faced with his first dilemma. He should have seen this coming. The guest bedroom, which previously belonged to Jaemin, only had one bed.
“Um,” Jaemin stands awkwardly with his bag at his feet. Renjun starts unpacking in the corner of the room as if none of this bothers him in the slightest. “I’ll sleep on the floor if you want to take the bed. It’s only for a few days so I don’t mind.”
In his periphery, he notices the way Renjun’s hands pause for a brief moment before continuing to unpack. It almost slips past him, if Jaemin hadn’t been so used to looking at his every move. When Renjun turns halfway towards him, Jaemin can only look at the sharp outline of his nose. His voice feels freshly sharpened like a knife. The softness that surrounded him earlier seems to have dissipated now that it’s just the two of them.
“We’ve slept on the same bed every day for the past 12 years. You seriously can’t stomach a few days sharing with me?”
“That’s—” That’s not what this is, Jaemin wants to say. But that’s exactly what it is. He can’t stomach a few days of sharing a bed with Renjun. Not like this. Not until looking at him feels at least bearable. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
“I’m already uncomfortable, Jaemin.” Renjun’s voice comes out hoarse. Jaemin knows this tone. They’re teetering on the brink of another argument. There’s been a lot of those lately. “I’m spending Christmas with my ex-husband’s family because he hasn't told them we’ve been separated for months now. Nothing about this is comfortable.”
He looks so small like this, legs folded on the floor, his hands in his lap like the very first time they met. Jaemin feels like he’s towering over him. “I didn’t force you to do this.”
“No,” Renjun sighs after a moment of hesitation. His shoulder slumps like he’s already grown tired of the conversation. Hurt flashes briefly in his eyes before it retreats back into the dark depths of his irises. Jaemin can’t seem to find the right words. “You didn’t. But I’m doing this for your family. And for you too. Because I feel like I owe you this much, at least.”
“You don’t owe me anything. I don’t want you to feel like you’re doing this because you owe it to me to do it.”
Renjun looks at him this time, puzzled. Jaemin knows this look too. The twist in his mouth is meant to cut deep. “Then why else would I be here?”
The reality of his words sting a little more than he would like to admit. It feels like the right words escape him every time he tries to speak. It’s like piecing together shattered glass with grease slicked palms. It’s near impossible. Jaemin can’t tell where he’s going wrong.
The worst thing about this is that Renjun is right. He has no other reason to be here. They aren’t together. They’re not even friends now. Jaemin has to remind himself that Renjun is not here because he wants to be.
All there is between them now is a legal bind and the burden of obligation.
“Just sleep on the bed, Jaemin. We’ll put a divider if that makes you feel better.” He turns back to unpack. Jaemin can see his favourite blue-striped pyjamas folded neatly in the suitcase. It’s worn down now. “You’re going to hurt your back on the floor anyway.”
Jaemin would have missed it with the way he mumbled the words.
They unpack in silence for a few minutes (Jaemin spends most of it sulking in the corner), until a knock on the door pulls his attention. When Jaemin opens the door, he’s greeted with the brightest smile he’s ever seen.
“Hyung, please.” Jisung then croaks from where he’s squeezed into Jaemin’s side by the bone-crushing hug.
“Why didn’t you greet me earlier, you brat.” Jaemin chastises, his arms still wrapped around Jisung’s torso—as if he’d disappear if Jaemin let him go. His face rests in the crook of Jisung’s neck and feels that he has grown considerably taller than the last time Jaemin saw him. Or maybe it’ll always feel like that.
“I didn’t know you’d get here early. I swear,”
“I don’t believe you,”
“Seriously!” Jisung says like he’s complaining, but the grin doesn’t falter off his face. It looks permanently fixed.
Somewhere from the back, Renjun emerges beside them—his smile mirroring Jisung’s, if not brighter. “He’s just giving you a hard time Jisung-ah.”
“Renjun hyung,” Jisung manages to wiggle a hand free to pull Renjun into their hot mess of a hug. Jaemin’s elbow pokes into his ribcage and Jisung’s chin is wedged between them, but no one complains. It reminds Jaemin too much of the times they used to laze around Jisung’s room on weekends back home. Back then, Jisung had only been 13 when Jaemin first introduced Renjun to the family. It was his first time seeing timid and shy Jisung talk so much to a stranger, but Renjun has always had that effect on people. It’s not that difficult to love him after all.
When they pull apart, Renjun’s hand ruffles Jisung’s hair. Like this, despite nearing 26, he still appears somewhat boyish. “I missed you.”
“I missed you too, hyung.”
“What about me?” Jaemin jumps in, just to tease. Jisung only rolls his eyes and squeezes his shoulder.
“I missed both of you. I have a lot to catch you guys up on,” He doesn’t need to ask for permission before he’s seating himself in the middle of their bed.
They listen to him talk about the last two years of his life—the travels, the people he’s met, the lives he’s lived. Jisung tells them about backpacking in Bangkok and cave hunting and Jaemin can’t believe he’s listening to the same Jisung he’s known all his life. His lanky little brother who used to jump two feet high in the air at the sight of mosquitos—has finally found an adventure of his own.
Renjun must be thinking the same when he shares a knowing look. It’s amusing how much they’ve changed over the years, but this—this still remains the same. The three of them, like this, will never change.
Jisung talks and they listen, like they always do.
🏠
The sun sets before they even realise it.
Dinner is still hot on the table when Jaemin takes a seat. Renjun slides into the seat beside him easily, as if he doesn’t think twice about it. Jaemin does.
His mother’s tofu stew is boiling in a clay pot in the middle of the table and two fried mackerels are sliced in half—perfectly placed in a dish Jaemin recalls seeing as a child. Everything about this would feel like home, if not for the secret he’s harbouring.
Jisung hogs most of the food but Jaemin doesn’t blame him when he hasn’t been home for almost two years.
“So, Renjun,” His mother starts and Jaemin already knows it’s trouble, “Jaemin tells me you’ve been really busy lately. Anything exciting going on at work?”
Even Jisung pauses scarfing down the remainder of his soup to look at them. Renjun stiffens beside him, almost unnoticeable if Jaemin hadn’t been doing the same. Then Renjun breaks into a smile easily, his lips curling around his cup as he takes a nervous sip. They haven’t spoken about this.
“Yeah, the magazine is finally letting me supervise a feature and I’m really excited about it. I’ve been working on it for months now. There have been talks about a promotion.”
This prompts Jaemin to look at him too.
He didn’t know that. He knew about the feature when Renjun let it slip during their call but he said nothing about a promotion, especially not one he’s been so working hard to get for years now. And Jaemin knows has no right to feel this way, but he can’t help but feel slightly betrayed that he’s only finding out now—like this. If Renjun had been working on this for months, did it happen before they were even separated? Had Jaemin occupied such a small part of his mind, he barely bothered to tell him?
“Oh,” Interest sparkled in his mother’s eyes, “that is exciting. Work must be really demanding lately then. No wonder we’ve been missing you a lot on these calls. I hope Jaemin still nags you when I’m not there to do it. Are you resting well enough?”
“I am,” Renjun’s shy smile is real this time. He spares Jaemin a quick glance and the way the cogs click in his head is painfully obvious. “Jaemin’s been giving me a lot of space to work. He’s been–” Renjun turns to him, an unrecognisable look in his eyes that’s anything but warm. Where there used to be tenderness, in its place is only cruel indifference. “He’s been really supportive lately.”
As if aiming for a final blow, a hand slips into his that was resting casually on the table and squeezes tightly. The first skin-against-skin contact they’ve had in months and even when it burns, all Jaemin can do is sit and take it. Perhaps a few years ago, Renjun’s words wouldn’t be such a lie.
Just because this is a performance, doesn’t mean it isn’t real.
But Renjun has not let him forget. They are not together. And he has made his choice.
Jaemin is in the kitchen, his sleeves wrinkled with water when he feels someone behind him. His mother is dropping the dirty dishes into the sink with a smile on her face. She looks older in the yellow hues of the kitchen lights, more tired than she looked the last time Jaemin was home. But he doesn’t tell her that. He only smiles sweetly when she pats him on the back of his neck and thanks him for cleaning up.
Everyone else is in the living room—Jaemin’s father in his usual spot by the television while Renjun and Jisung are deep in conversation, their laughs bouncing off the crowded walls.
“You know,” his mother’s voice pulled his attention away from his soap-soaked gloves. She’s standing in the corner, drying the utensils with a cloth and sliding them back into the rack. The table sets are all mismatched, mixing together over the years. “You used to love this bowl when you were a kid.”
She’s drying a blue bowl with little orange fishes that held the seaweed soup they had earlier.
“You would ask me to make all your favourite dishes in this one bowl. You wouldn’t eat without it. You were such a funny kid.”
“I’m still pretty funny.” He pouts, just to be annoying. It manages to get an eye roll out of his mother. He laughs when she mumbles to herself.
“Yeah, I do remember that,” The water ripples from the soap when he stacks the dishes together in the sink.
It’s been a long time since he’s had a meal with someone other than himself. Mark invites him out just to get him out of the apartment, but Jaemin turns him down most of the time. The pitiful looks get unbearable after a while. None of their friends really know where to stand or what to say and Jaemin doesn’t blame them. “I swear food tasted better in that bowl. I guess I grew out of it after a while.”
“Not voluntarily.” She smiles, fond as if she’s reminiscing on old memories. “You loved it so much, you were scared of wearing it down. I told you that couldn’t happen, but you said you didn’t want it to break. Stopped me from using it for all your meals. So it stayed on the shelf, where it was safe.”
The water gushing through the sink allows him solace. Oddly, he can tell this feels like one of those times when she’s trying to say something without actually saying anything.
“But after a while, it stopped being as important because you stopped using it. You only grew out of it when you let go.”
Renjun’s laugh travels into the kitchen. The sound of it rings in his ears. It feels like coming home and being exiled all at the same time.
He doesn’t notice his mother standing beside him, her arm squeezing around his shoulder.
“I’m glad Renjun could take some time off work, I know he was busy. But he looks really happy to be here.” His mother smiles again, warm fondness a shade of pink on her lips. Jaemin looks past the kitchen and sees the image of the moon lit up in the middle of the living room. “I missed him.”
(He wants to say me too). (He doesn’t).
🏠
Renjun is sitting on the bed with his laptop on his thighs by the time Jaemin gets out of the bathroom.
The thick frame of his glasses causes them to droop down his nose every few minutes, but he remains concentrated—pushing it up with his index finger ever so slightly before getting back to work. Jaemin watches him through the mirror as he combs through his hair. It all gets a little repetitive after a while.
Renjun is still typing away by the time Jaemin slips into bed. A line of throw pillows separates them but Jaemin’s legs are long enough to brush against Renjun’s calf.
It, among other things, makes it difficult for him to fall asleep. Renjun’s skin against his, the light reflecting off Renjun’s glasses in the dark room, the clacking of keys—Renjun. There are only so many times Jaemin can huff until it gets annoying.
“Are you going to keep going for a while?”
Renjun doesn’t even spare him a glance. “Yeah.”
“Can’t you go a day without doing work?”
This makes him pause, but no more than a quick second. His tone is flat. He’s tired after the drive and the dinner and of Jaemin. It’s only the first day. “I said I’d come with you for the holiday, Jaemin. I didn’t say anything about not working.”
This time, Jaemin doesn’t think he’s being difficult. He isn’t asking for much. If Renjun had offered to share the bed, shouldn’t he at least try to be understanding? “I need to sleep.”
“Then sleep.”
It’s not that it’s a sudden realisation, but it’s an abrupt reminder.
This is why they don’t work. Jaemin is impatient and Renjun doesn’t compromise. In the past, they might have made an effort to meet in the middle, when you’re young and eager and in love. But over time, even the simplest things seem tedious.
“I’ll just sleep in the living room then.” He reaches for his pillow and lifts the blanket off him.
The warmth of Renjun’s body disappears along with the sleep in his system. But if one thing remains the same throughout the years, it’s that Jaemin is still stubborn above all else.
A small part of him, tucked deep between the soft tendons of his heart, expects Renjun to stop him. To sound at least sorry—before he ushers him back to bed like he used to when Jaemin sulked.
But instead, he feels the silence stretch unbearably longer with each step he takes on the cold, hard floor. He feels pinpricks on the tips of his fingers when his hand pauses on the handle. His face is flushed, partially with embarrassment and the other half with anger, but it’s too dark to see.
Truthfully, he doesn’t want to sleep in the living room. It’s cold and it does hurt his back.
He doesn’t even have any damn socks on and there’s still an old skating injury that never really healed but he’s walked this far to turn back and shamfully slip into the covers. His ego wouldn’t survive.
So, he twists the handle and the door closes behind him.
He doesn’t want to admit that he waits outside for a few extra seconds before walking away. Renjun doesn’t say a word.
Jaemin falls asleep easily on the sofa after browsing through content on Netflix and settling on a nature documentary. He had spent so much time picking something to watch, he tired himself out by the end.
The sofa is nowhere near as comfortable as his bed but at least it was quiet.
He only jolts back awake 20 minutes later when something pokes into his ribcage. His eyes are blurry with sleep and the dark room doesn’t help but he faintly makes out a shadow hovering above him. He wonders if he’s dreaming for a moment because Jaemin has fantasised this very image a hundred—a thousand—times over the last few months. The soft slope of a nose. A pinched cupid's bow. Messy hair. In his dreams, Renjun’s tenderness is not misplaced.
Standing over him, Jaemin could almost reach out and touch. Which he does, but unlike his dreams, this Renjun flinches when Jaemin reaches for his cheek.
Soft fingers gently curl around his knuckles, as if to sober him back awake. It works well enough that it has Jaemin’s ears ringing with realisation.
“The couch is stiff, you should come back to bed,” Renjun whispers, even though they’re the only ones in the room. It’s the middle of the night and everyone else is fast asleep. It feels like he’s whispering so he doesn’t scare Jaemin off instead.
“I can’t sleep if you’re going to be working,” His voice sounds rough even to his own ears.
“I stopped, so, just come back to bed. You’ll hurt your back like this. Or catch a cold.”
Renjun doesn’t give him much room to protest when he’s already standing over him with an outstretched hand to pull him up. It feels vaguely like extending an olive branch.
It doesn’t feel very tedious when Jaemin meets him halfway. When his feet hit the floor, there are socks on his feet where they weren’t before. But he’s much too tired to question it.
All he can think about now is Renjun’s hand in his. How achingly familiar it feels to have their wedding bands pressed against each other—cold as if they’re trying to brand themselves onto each other’s skin. Their initials engraved on the rings scratch with every brush.
He doesn’t question it either when Renjun doesn’t let go the entire way back.
🏠
Renjun and Jaemin rarely fight.
It wasn’t uncommon for them to have petty arguments but when you’ve spent a decade and then some with a person, it was impossible not to, no matter how in love you were.
But throughout all their years together, Jaemin can’t think of a time when they’ve ever truly fought. It was easy to tell when Renjun was teetering on the edge of getting upset. He feels like he has spent an entire lifetime watching him, learning him, loving him.
He has Renjun’s emotional patterns memorised better than his own morning routine. An empty bed. Coffee. Shower. The way Renjun’s lips droop when he’s on the verge of tears. Distance nor time apart could change that.
He knows when to stop pushing before Renjun gets too upset. In the same way, Renjun knows not to prod before Jaemin shuts him out completely. Maybe they’ve become too comfortable with thinking they know each other.
Either way, even in the end, they don’t fight.
Renjun didn’t yell at him when he sat him down on a rainy Tuesday night and told him he wanted a divorce.
They had both come home from work and barely spoke as they passed each other in their new kitchen. Renjun sat quietly, letting the silence stretch on for what felt like aeons. Jaemin didn’t move from his place on their couch (the only piece of old furniture they kept in their new house), watching every emotion flash through Renjun’s face.
There was hurt. And grief. And then nothing. Every single one felt like a stab to the gut, a makeshift knife forged from 14 years of commitment twisting past his organs hard enough to hit bone. Looking back, he wonders if it would have felt any more bearable if Renjun had screamed at him.
Their very first argument as a couple happened only months after they started officially dating. When the honeymoon phase simmered down and Jaemin only grew more obsessed with Renjun the longer they were together. He can’t remember what the argument was about but Renjun stopped talking to him for two whole days because of it. Ironically, it was the very first time Jaemin realised he was in love.
The Renjun-shaped hole in his life had never been more painfully evident. Until now, that is. But back then, it was easy for them to come together and intertwine back into each other's lives like they never left. Jaemin wishes it was still that easy. He wishes Renjun still cared the same way he would have at 20 years old. Or at 28.
(Jaemin didn’t even raise his voice, barely even spoke, when Renjun called him three months after separating to confess that he’d kissed someone. It was a sudden kiss at a club after one too many drinks. But Renjun never called it a mistake. And Jaemin couldn’t find it in himself to feel betrayed. Because how could he get mad at Renjun for that? Especially when they weren’t together. Especially when Jaemin had been the one to dump him.
Renjun said he didn’t want it to feel like a secret when he had done nothing wrong. So Jaemin did the most amicable thing he could think of and hung up, then drank himself through the weekend. They don’t talk about it again).
Renjun and Jaemin rarely fight. In the end, it was stupid of him to assume that, maybe, just this once—Renjun would make an exception for him.