Toy Soldiers
Mino is two stops from his destination when he reads the message. He spends the rest of his commute lost to the world—his mind racing through memories, pausing at tender ones and speeding away from others. It is only by force of habit that he makes it off the train at the correct stop, and he immediately sinks down onto a nearby bench to catch his breath. It feels like wild horses are running in his chest, and all he needs, he swears, is a moment.
It’s fine. It doesn’t mean anything, he tells himself. He’s fine.
At dinner he wonders what his friends would say if he told them about the message. Mino knows they don’t want to hear about it anymore, would think he was pathetic to even consider it. So when his friends mention how quiet he’s been, he lies and says that he’s tired, makes a show of yawning and rubbing his eyes, and begs off early.
Once home he washes the dishes left in the sink, does a load of laundry, and takes the garbage out before finally returning to his phone with that ill-fated message.
Hey, I’m in town. Lets meet! Dinner? Drinks? Both?
It seems so unassuming—affable and innocuous even—but Mino knows better. Even after 19 months without any contact, Mino knows better.
He spends the rest of the night in half memories of long twilight walks by the river, of smoky bars and dark, hidden corners, of waking up at dawn wrapped up in early morning quietness and each other.
Okay. Where? When?
At the restaurant the next evening Mino is on time—of course he is—and Taehyun is running 10 minutes late—of course he is. Mino pops a mint taken from the hostess stand into his mouth and plays with the wrapper, hoping that when Taehyun comes through the door that he will look like he doesn’t care half as much as he does.
Or that he doesn’t hate himself for even being here.
A breeze, and his body shivers, the hairs on the back of Mino’s neck stand on end. He turns, casually, casually, and his eyes drink up the black jeans, the well-loved scarf, the same disarming grin and surprising 7:3 hair.
The force of two years barrels violently into his chest, unannounced and unwelcome, a pure surge of emotions—euphoric and excruciating, and equally nostalgic—overwhelms him and Mino can suddenly not get enough oxygen to his lungs. Two years, he realizes quickly, has done nothing to heal all the wounds he received by that perfect set of eyebrows.
He wonders if anything ever will.
“Hey.”
“Heey.” Whereas Mino’s greeting was clipped and unsure, Taehyun draws out the word and infuses it with warmth.
They stand face-to-face, time being measured by the pounding and fluttering of hearts, and it’s Taehyun who bulldozes through all of the distance that should exist between them, steps into Mino’s personal space and envelops him in a hug.
Mino doesn’t return it but closes his eyes against the feeling of Taehyun’s body pressed lightly against him, the cologne that is invading his senses, and he wishes that he hadn’t come.
“I’ve missed you,” Taehyun says when he steps back. And Mino knows that he means it.
But Mino can’t say those words. Sees them as a weakness. Not that matters anymore. “You’re late, kiddo,” he offers instead.
Taehyun makes a face, hates being called a kid when he’s only a year younger, but the familiarity of it, the roles they both
resume, is comforting. “I’m starving. I hope the food is as good as everyone says.”
Mino hopes he’s smiling as they follow the hostess to their table.
It’s after the appetizer course has been cleared, after they’ve talked about how old each other has gotten, all the new lines and wrinkles they can see, and built a bridge from the last time they saw each other—5 a.m. on the street corner across Taehyun’s apartment, Mino’s suitcases loaded into the waiting taxi, and all the maybes and apologies and hopes trapped in between their pressed lips—to this very moment, that everything falls together.
Taehyun is on his phone, amusement tugging at the corner of his lips as he scrolls through his messages and types out replies, his fingers moving rapidly over the screen. Mino remembers then what it’s like to be with Taehyun, who couldn’t hold a conversation, who was never without his phone, who was never really with you even if he was sitting across from you at a dinner table.
Nam Taehyun, who was always so popular.
Mino feels his face flush, embarrassed by how little he has actually changed in two years. He is torn between informing Taehyun of how rude he is being—but that implied that he cared—and letting Taehyun continue on—but then Mino was a fool for tolerating such behavior.
It was always like this between them.
“If you’d rather have dinner with someone else, you’re free to go,” Mino rattles off as he swirls his wine before gesturing to Taehyun’s phone. “I’d hate to be get in the way of such a stimulating conversation.”
Taehyun gets the hint, smirks, and pockets his phone. His eyes sparkle at Mino as he reaches for his own glass. He doesn’t apologize.
Later, they exit the restaurant, scarves wrapped around their necks and hands tucked in deep pockets, and loiter on the sidewalk for a few seconds, adjusting to the cold outside, when Mino turns to Taehyun and says what a nice time he’s had but that he thinks he ought to go.
Taehyun has the most incredulous look on his face—his twisted features momentarily distorting his beauty—and asks Mino if he’s seriously going to leave.
Mino tries to make excuses, is desperate to beg off because he lied and he’s actually had an awful time, but then Taehyun steps close and gently places his hands on Mino’s shoulders and, looking so earnest, asks Mino not to leave.
Mino’s whole heart is in his throat, can feel himself spinning out of control, which was often the case whenever he was with Taehyun, but it’s when he finally makes eye contact with Taehyun that he knows he’s lost.
He always lost when it came to Taehyun.
In Taehyun’s hotel room, they raid the mini-bar and Mino tosses back 3 little bottles of whatever he can find because he’s feeling reckless and unchained and why not because he knows a hangover will be the least of the agony he’s certain to feel in the morning.
Taehyun watches with eyes that don’t betray anything, and he casually selects a beer from the fridge. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he sips leisurely and continues to observe Mino lining up the empty glass bottles like little soldiers on the table—their only witnesses.
Mino doesn’t move when Taehyun creeps up behind him, arms snaking around his waist. Taehyun kisses his neck softly once. Twice. And again. Hands loosen buttons and neither of them register the sound of Mino’s coat falling to the floor. When Mino finally turns around, he kisses Taehyun soundly with his eyes screwed tight, his cry muffled between them.
Taehyun tastes like cigarettes and citrus.
And heartache.
Afterwards, both of them retreat to their separate corners, Taehyun rolling away and taking most of the sheets with him, his back a cold and imposing prospect. Mino is fine with it, is used to it, knows that Taehyun will fall asleep within a matter of minutes.
He also knows that sleep won’t come easily for him tonight. He is contemplating leaving, saving both of them the trouble of saying goodbye in the morning when Taehyun shifts in his sleep and Mino finds Taehyun reaching for him, searching until he’s settled into Mino’s side, head resting on his chest. Bodies pressed close in a tender embrace, all pretense and defenses abandoned, where Taehyun reveals his truest self—these are the moments Mino treasures most.
But they are also the moments that cut Mino the deepest, the ones that make him waver, that make him hope for things he shouldn’t hope for.
When Taehyun walked into the office that one day in the late spring, the new kid with a polite smile and a glint behind his eye, Mino couldn’t deny the attraction he felt. Less than a month later and the both of them were in the midst of a steamy office affair—the two of them barely acknowledging one another by day only to fall into bed with each other by night.
He remembers the afternoon he let Taehyun know that was leaving.
And how Taehyun never once asked him to stay.
When Mino wakes the next morning, it will be to the rising sun and Taehyun's soft caresses. They will shower together and Mino will generously work shampoo through the strands of Taehyun’s hair before kissing his mouth and pressing him against the tiles. Afterwards, when the room service arrives and they both enjoy a light breakfast and each other’s company, the tension and anxiety of the previous evening will be a distant memory. And later, Mino will hail a taxi and load Taehyun’s suitcase into the trunk, a scene that played itself out before in reverse circumstances, and then the awkwardness will be back—the spell of the morning utterly broken. They will hug each other stiffly—one, two pats on the back—and then Taehyun will get into the taxi that will take him to the airport, and Mino will know the devastation of being the one left behind.