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⇒ Blueprint Apartments
8:20am

"Channie?" A half-awake Felix yawned, crusty eyelids struggling to part for a clear view of the one responsible for the open bedroom door, "Channie are you there?" His arms stretched up and outward, jaw slackening, again, to let out an even louder yawn as he sat up.

"Morning, Lix," Chan barely mumbled, face meditative, a soft pout plumping his plush lips as he shuffled the drawer in search of something. "Slept alright?"

"Mhm," Felix frowned, sighing and moving to the edge of the mattress. Scooting back in a bit to lift his knees to his chest, he eyed Chan's side profile, head leaned sideways on his folded arms. "Why are you dressed up so early?" He asked, confused but attracted to Chan's ironed trousers, formal button-up, and matching dress shoes; he was most probably searching for a tie.

"Interview," Chan cracked a subtle smile, Felix growing disappointed at the recognition that it was only a self-reward for the elder finding a decent tie, rather than a warmer greeting for the morning. "Job interview."

"W-what? Already? You got fired like... yesterday. How?"

"Well, I didn't sleep at all last night," Chan chuckled, breathy and sarcastic as he strolled toward the mirror, fixing the creased tie around his collar. "I did a lot of searching, and found a vacancy for a security guard at an elementary school not too far from here," he sighed, "Besides, you did say that your salary isn't enough for us both. So why waste time?"

With slumped shoulders and pursed lips, Felix came down from the bed, timid steps guiding him up to Chan's back, "Channie," he whispered, eyes locked with the elder's through the clean mirror, "You know I didn't mean it like that- I was just shocked, and scared. I didn't mean for you to rush and stress to get a job today for tomorrow."

Lightly tugging at Chan's shoulder for him to turn and provide more direct eye contact, Felix lifted one hand to his face, sincere concern sewed into his expression. And with his reluctance to show emotion until the receipt of a proper apology, Chan objected to coo at his Lixie's palm's adorable size difference with his face. "Look at your eyes," Felix whispered, his thumb carefully caressing the raised fractions underneath Chan's lower eyelid, "Your eyes are so dark, Channie. This isn't healthy. You need to sleep... you can't just pull all-nighters like that, especially in front of a screen."

"I'm fine, Lix," Chan protested, hesitantly taking Felix's hand from his cheek, down to his lips for a moist kiss, then at its respectful side near Felix's hip, "Don't worry about me."

"I'm sorry about last night," Felix said with a quivering chin, voice low and raspy, giving off a shallow idea of the unspoken guilt that he had to suffer before falling asleep around midnight. "I- I didn't mean to make reference to that... I'm really sorry Channie, I really am. I love you. And I promise to be more careful with my words from today."

Sighing and looking to the side whilst both hands slid their passage around Felix's slim waist, Chan poked at the inside of his cheek with his tongue, sighing, again, before locking eyes with his lover. "I understand," he said, kissing Felix's forehead, the tip of his nose, then the sweetest pair of lips, in Chan's perception; absolutely no competing flesh out there. "I know you didn't mean to... hurt my feelings. But I just- I couldn't. Yesterday was the worst."

"And I didn't make it any better... I'm really sorry," Felix took him in for another kiss, bringing his slender arms to hug Chan's neck, deepening the contact, "What time is your interview?"

"Your presence in my life is all I need to stay sane, Felix," Chan assured, winking before rubbing his nose against the younger's, sounding the most genuine song of joy since the morning before, Felix swift to echo the quiet giggle. "And it's at 11no'clock this morning. It seems like this job is urgent, considering the time of year and, well, how quick it was to get the interview."

"Mmh, my good luck Channie," Chan laughed with the blond, "do you want me to come with you for the company?"

"No, don't worry. You have work too, this morning, remember?" Chan shook his head playfully, kissing and hugging Felix one more time before pulling away completely, and blushing profusely when the younger's hands met the knot of his tie, straightening it so that it ould at least deceive with the title of an ironed accessory. "Thanks..."

"I don't mind calling in late to be able to follow my man to his interview," Felix joked, pecking Chan's lips when the tie was fixed before padding to the wardrobe for the day's uniform. "But it's up to you. Let me get ready quickly so you can take me to the office and still be on time."

"Alright Lixie," Chan smiled, spraying some moisture into his brown hair before leaving their shared bedroom, "I'll prepare and pack some breakfast in the meantime."

-

⇒ 0325 Street, District 9, Seoul, South Korea
8:30pm

Minho had a good instinct.

Passed down from his mother, and was partially groomed by his father. He only wished that he had obtained the full potential of his gut feeling's dominance as a fetus.

Or maybe he did.

Perhaps Minho was indeed fully aware of the realistic possibilities that had most likely already walled his path to marriage with Han Jisung.

Mayhap he was just too blinded by love; reprimanded his logical thinking into naive submission, just to let the ship of their scheduled matrimony sail smoothly.

Jisung was a horny man.

Often craved attention, even though it wasn't all the way. But he posed to adjust so smoothly when a sex ban was discussed in their relationship. Jisung was so compliant, now that Minho truly thought about it. Never complained, always understanding.

Always fulfilled.

But in recent weeks, the comfort of their shared bed regained the full trust of Minho's body, allowing his manhood greater opportunities to itch for internal contact with his fiance. Causing him to feel for the Jisung whom he had fallen in love with.

But Han didn't want that, for some reason.

And at first, it was okay. No suspicion, no confusion. A very assuring lack of unanswered questions. But an entire month?

Was Minho the problem?

He thought so, until then. Until searching his partner's gallery for the picture of an important document that was snapped in case of the need for review at home.

Minho's regretful wishes abided along the lines of Jisung sending him the photo beforehand to avoid the night's sudden wails for confrontation, and that he had never given that man a second chance in the first place.

In fractioned squares, sectioned at the earliest portion of recent photos on Han Jisung's iPhone were images of some tanned, clear skin, causing Minho to think nothing of it at first glance. But then a pink aspect stood out, centered in between two round cheeks that Minho had known too well, yet grew unfamiliar with in the past couple of weeks.

And so he clicked.

It was his fiance's cellphone, right? Jisung wouldn't be mad. If there was something to hide, why would he have given Minho the password anyway?

Oh right, scratch that. Minho had been the one to absentmindedly record it in his memory, not even with the intention of permanence, one of those days gone by.

But still, he didn't want to allow himself the suspicion. He didn't want to grant one half of his conscience the privilege to chastise the second for permitting a caught cheater back into his life so soon, so effortlessly.

Yet he clicked, breath held in and eyes narrowed as if not ready for what his mind perceived the grouped pixels to paint.

Because Jisung hadn't sent nudes to his fiance in over three years.

Over three years.

So who were those for? Why were there recently snapped selfies of a dildo, which Minho knew nothing about, teasing Jisung's lips? Another with his legs spread wide for the flavored view of his lower half, as well as more from his behind, boasting the entrance that Minho had previously craved to enter, but now nearly gagged at the imagination of all who had passed?

Minho felt sick; knees weak, stomach churned, and head aching with fury, betrayal, heartbreak, and each of their respective relatives. His long, masculine fingers gripped the phone in his palm so, so hard, powering off the device in the process.

Minho's eyes closed, nose flared, and aching chest swearing at all of the irksome instinct to turn the phone back on and search for any illicit conversations that Jisung may have held with some other man or woman.

"Han Jisung," Minho whispered, the hot tears skating down his cheek only known to himself when a drop met the tip of his tongue; salty and heavy with emotion. His insides were too full. Too full to keep it all in, or await the right opportunity for relief through verbalization.

"Han Jisung I hate you," he loved him, "I hate you so fucking much. I hate everything about you." Minho loved every single aspect of Han Jisung, apart from the proven infidelity. "Jisung," he said louder that time, but the named man was too caught up in a lovely tune, one too pure for his character, in the shower to take note of his partner's distress.

So, fueled by justifiable rage and irritation, Minho marched into their closet, taking down two suitcases, and opening them both on the carpeted floor. His tears kept up, and his throat widened to pave a freer escape for his sobs, sight blurred by the salty water. But his hands knew what they were doing.

As if not even willing to ever feel Jisung's warm frame in their hold again, and regretting every sensual trace down the slim w(j)aist of the younger male, they grabbed all manner of clothing from Han's side of the closet, chucking them into one of the cases, and taking down another when two appeared to be too little for Jisung's wealthy possession of cloth.

Minho packed and packed, and his narrator assumed that he'd even reflect in the near future, and conclude that he added some of his own stuff in there too...

"Minho? What the... what are you doing?" A soaked Jisung marveled, bath towel hung loosely around his w(j)aist, eyebrows scrunched and lips parted some, wondering why the hell his fiance was filling bags with his belongings with sobs riding past his tongue.

"Fuck you," Minho muffled, bringing the bottom of both his palms up to his eyes, wiping and wincing a the harsh method, "Fuck you, Han Jisung. I hate you, and I want you out of my house tonight."

"Minho, what's gotten into you?" Jisung asked, voice a pitch higher with guilt, and the room's air condition worsening the temperature along his damp skin. "Why- why are you doing this? And whatever it is, why can't we talk?"

"Because what is there to talk about, Jisung? Tell me what there is to sit at a fucking table with you to talk about," Minho scoffed, blowing his nose into his T-shirt, "you disgust me."

Ouch.

That one stung a bit, and Jisung felt more and more exposed with each slow passing of the idle seconds. "At least tell me what I did," he pleaded, quiet, carefully walking up to Minho's side to collect a pair of dry boxers that hung from one of the suitcases, as well as a sweater that wasn't snatched away yet, from a hanger.

"Han Jisung," Minho paused with his impulsive task, looking down with tongue lodged at the inside of his cheek, before locking eyes with a teary Jisung's, "did you ever love me?"

"O-of course," Jisung gulped, bashfully letting down the towel to dry his torso, partially, then letting the oversized top slide down his chest; he was still somewhat wet, and Minho's scoff at his action sent ripples of shame as goosebumps along his skin, but it was too cold to allow that to keep Jisung from wearing something. "I do love you, Minho... I always have, so I don't understand-"

"Look me in the eyes, Ji," Minho commanded, steely, strolling up to Jisung's front, red eyes piercing the matter of the filled ones beneath him. "Look me in the eyes and tell me that you truly love me- that you never cheated again after what happened at the clinic... that those- that those nudes on your phone.... were for me... That you were going to send them to me..."

Jisung gulped.

Fuck.

Panic, fright, and the dire objection to confrontation tickled his throat, persuading it to relax a bit, to let the deep cough of his coming cries out. The well in his eyes grew too full to keep the majority of the salty water in, and Jisung's eyelids could no longer keep apart from each other; not when he wanted to look at anything but Minho.

Anywhere but Lee Minho.

"I... I," he stammered, genuinely lost for words, "Minho, I love you, and only you-"

"Answer the fucking question, Jisung," Minho spat, cold, mild droplets of his saliva eagerly littering the bridge of Han's nose, "Or should I take it for my assumptions? Yes, that you have cheated on me- that you were going to send those pictures to someone else- That you never truly fucking loved me, Han Jisung?"

"Minho that's not true," Jisung coughed, face scrunched, making him self-conscious for the moment, thus fueling his hands up as a covering for his face, his head finally lowered, "That's not true, I love you."

"Han Jisung," Minho sighed, tired, of everything, "Han Jisung you disgust me. And I'm honestly more mad that I wasted so many years on you- my university years on you, money on you, my life, on you."

If only that were true.

Minho could not yet see if fit within himself to regret falling for Jiusng, much less all of those claims.

It hurt.

It hurt so fucking bad, and something inside of Minho's heart still held on to knowingly futile hope that at least one of his conclusions would be proven false. That at least...

At least Jisung had once upon a time... loved him.

"I want you out of my house," Minho said, ignoring the crack in his voice. He wasn't willing to allow himself more tears until that other man had left, for good. "Go pack whatever it is that you want from the drawers. I want you out, Jisung."

"Minho we got the mortgage together-"

"And so fucking what?" Minho cried, arms opening to add emphasis to his frustration. "What, Han? You'd rather I leave? So you can bring your fucking sluts in there while-"

"Minho!"

"Fucking what, Han?! You don't want me to call them names? Refer to you as the fucking slut instead?" Minho rolled his eyes, growing more irritated at Jisung's victim-like crying. "You know what? I'll leave. I'm taking my name off of this shit. I'd pay my share and get the fuck out of your life-"

"Minho..."

"And you're fired."

"W-what? Wait what?" Jisung's breath hitched. And his heart rate sped up at a pace that not even Minho's evident heartbreak could accomplish behind his chest. "What do you mean I'm fired? I- I don't understand."

"The clinic is on my name, Han. You just work for me. So you're fucking fired, and I'm changing the name," Minho scoffed, "And don't you dare try to justify yourself. I should've gotten rid of you a long time ago. You should be grateful I'm not involving the law for what you did to Christopher."

"Minho why are you doing this all of a sudden- why tonight?" Jisung trembled scared, "It- it doesn't have to get to this..."

"So what you're saying is," Minho arched a brow, "I should keep quiet about your cheating, and let you continue leaching onto me and what I have, for your benefit? Is that how selfish you are?"

"Minho-"

"Han, I don't want to hear it," Minho shook his head, "I'll go if you don't want to. So give me my ring back. I'll take some stuff with me tonight, and come get the remaining throughout the week. Do yourself a favor and make the next time you come back to the office be to clear your desk."

"Minho-"

Minho grabbed a duffle bag from the top of his wardrobe, shoving in roughly two pairs of underwear, some sweatpants, and a black sweater, that he'd probably be wearing for the rest of the week. And then he marched past Jisung, harshly bumping his shoulder in the process, and resisting the undeniable urge to smack that man behind his head.

"Goodnight, Jisung," he grumbled, taking his laptop and charger, cellphone, car keys, and other necessities that could carry him through the night. "If you change the lock I'll sue you."

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Questions [optional]
1. What are your expectations for Chan's security job?

2. Thoughts on Minho's outburst? Justifiable or unjustifiable?

3. Do you think that Minho should have given Jisung more opportunity to talk?

4. Thoughts on Minho's decision to fire Jisung and sleep elsewhere? Justifiable or unjustifiable?

[A/N]
Kindly yell at me if I update again before April 8th </3
I have exams, I shouldn't be writing.