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“You know, three weeks ago you were a lot happier,” Type says knowingly, putting yet another shot of something bright blue in feont of Can.

Can downs it without meeting Type’s eyes. “So?”

“So, you wanted to avoid being miserable. And you clearly failed. What are you going to do?”

“There’s nothing I can do,” Can mumbles into his empty glass. “I wouldn’t even know what to tell him, or where to begin.”

Type lines up three new shooters before Can. “Maybe these can help. Drink, get honest with yourself, then write down all the things you wish you could tell him and read it over in the morning. Then you can sort out your feelings.”


Can wakes up to the buzzing of his phone and the death taste of too many shots in his mouth, head pounding and throat raw. He vaguely recalls Type and Techno driving him home and putting him to bed, and then… nothing.

His phone buzzes again, and he sits up so fast the room spins when he sees it’s from Tin. He closes his eyes, feeling like he’s the one spinning now and wills the hangover to pass, to no effect. Gingerly, he opens up his Line discussion with Tin, wincing at the bright glare of his screen.

There are three messages from Tin, all from less than ten minutes ago, asking what the hell Can means. Can scrolls up to a wall of text he apparently sent at 2 in the morning and that he has no memory of, but as he reads it he finds all his insecurities and fears laid bare. And now Tin has seen them, and shit.

“I was drunk last night, I don’t remember sending this,” Can texts back, feeling like a coward. It’s an usual feeling these days, but it doesn’t help alleviate the stink of guilt in his throat.

“Ok.” Tin writes back immediately.

Can doesn’t get any new text from Tin afterwards.


“Can! Can we talk?”

Can stops in his tracks, Good looking back at him to make sure he’s okay, bless him. He nods at his friend to go ahead and waits for Tin to walk up to him. He owes him a talk, at least, and it’s the first time Tin asks him for anything since that day.

Tin looks thinner, paler and tired, with dark circles under his eyes, and he’s looking at Can with an intensity that makes his breath catch. It suddenly seems very important to do something with his hands, like hiding them in his pockets or clasping them together or something.

“You said,” Tin starts, looking at Can’s hands, “you said you wished you could let me love you. I keep thinking about this, Can, I know I shouldn’t, but I need you to tell me where you stand. Because your message didn’t feel like another rejection.”

“What… what did it feel like?” Can asks, because maybe, just maybe, Tin can be the one to sort out Can’s mess of emotions and it would be so much easier.

“Like hope. Like you’re more miserable without me in your life than what you feared you would be if I stayed,” Tin says so softly Can barely hears him.

His eyes are still on Can’s hands, and Can wants to make him look up, because he’s right, dammit. Now that he’s got Tin in front of him, within reach, he doesn’t want to let him go away again. And Tin is talking of hope like he would take Can back, like Can didn’t break his heart barely a month ago.

“I hurt you so much, Tin,” Can says around the lump in his throat. “I don’t deserve another chance, I am still scared shitless, but…” he stops, wishing Tin to understand him without him having to say anything, but Tin stays silent.

Can takes a deep breath and takes Tin’s hand in his, feeling such an unexpected wave of relief at the contact he nearly sobs. Tin holds onto him, and Can finds the words he needs.

“I love you. I’m scared of it and I don’t understand it but I do, and I’m so, so sorry for putting you through all this, and-”

Tin’s thumb on his lower lip makes him stop talking. Tin’s smile makes him stop breathing. And Tin’s kiss makes him stop thinking.






(inspired by guxuehangzhou's gifset on tumblr : x