windows \\ meanie

sixteen.

warning: masturbation

mingyu fucked up, but he's a big asshole.

wonwoo groans softly. this essay was killing him. what he was writing was the same thing over and over again, but in different wording.

the soft breeze of the late night from wonwoo's window lightly refreshes him.

wonwoo wants to sleep. but he can't.

mingyu light turns on. wonwoo looks over to see him again, but this time, his heart is shattered into nothing.

she's an hourglass type. brown haired. mingyu holds her so easily; his hands look large on her back. he bends over to shove his head onto her chest.

wonwoo must be a masochist. he's too tired to think of it.

he watches the whole thing until he's numb.

watches as he fucks her deep into his bed, seeing his hips snap, seeing his back start to gloss in sweat.

wonwoo feels like he can hear the moans, as it haunts him in his room.

it stops. the light turns off.

wonwoo sits up, shuts his window, draws the curtains shut, and turns off his light.

right as he settles in his bed, he wipes his face to find out that he's been crying this whole time.

it was so unexpected.

——

mingyu wakes up alone in his room. his skin lightly itches. his mouth taste cheap beer, garlic, and salt.

he has morning wood. hard in his boxers. he grabs his pillow, and his thighs hug it. his bed smells somewhat of wonwoo. the thought of him intoxicates his mind.

his mind half asleep, his hips rolls into the pillow, rutting as if he's embarrassed to touch himself.

the girl from last night vanished from his memory. sure, she was pretty and all, and she even offered to suck him off before she left. but all he can think of is wonwoo. thinking of him just chilling in his bedroom. or wonwoo whispering naughty things to mingyu's ear.

mingyu groans softly, flopping over and putting his hands in his boxers. he jerks himself with quick, fast, and pathetic strokes and in a few minutes, he comes, white staining his boxers. he lets out a choked out moan.

he wipes his hands on the bed sheets, making a note to remember to wash them later. he slowly gets out of bed. his throat is dry, and the hangover is slightly fading away.

he puts on old sweatpants and exits his room, entering the kitchen. minghao is sketching something. mingyu takes out a cold bottled water.

"what are you sketching?"

minghao looks at him. the look isn't pretty. the look is pinning mingyu down, exposing him to his fears. his secrets are transparent to all. mingyu feels so vulnerable from that look.

mingyu hates it.

"you're a fucking idiot, i hope you know that." minghao says, and goes back to sketching.

even half naked, mingyu feels like he's wearing skin tight clothing that's suffocating him. he can't breathe.

he wants to fight back, defend himself.

but in the end, minghao is always right.