Chapter Text
The Wandering Poet was a boutique café nestled in the small space between two towering skyscrapers. It was miles away from fashion week, but that was to be expected. The amber walls were plastered with quotes from the great poets.
Heather tapped her manicured nails on the tiny round table in wordless restlessness. She was early. He'd said it wasn't urgent, but she felt different.
She'd accepted that Jisung wasn't going to answer her calls or texts. Perhaps there had been signs. She'd missed them if there were.
Now that she knew to her core that Jisung was no longer hers, she was determined to make sure that Lee Know would not have him either. Her friends had seen them at the airport, exchanging looks that told her all she needed to know.
Jisung was down bad for him. Maybe it was that she was a woman, and it had always been that she was a woman. Maybe she'd pushed him just a little too hard. Her dominance at times strayed out of her control.
Either way, Lee Know's past was a means to an end. Such a man could never enter the upper echelons of society. He was not for their world.
If she managed to drag Hanco down with them, she would be most pleased. The scandal of two of their executives revealing that they were gay hadn't had quite the effect it should have. Likely because Jisung, and his father before him, had done a supreme job of keeping their identities out of the limelight. It was only through sheer dumb luck the paparazzi had discovered who, exactly, Seungmin Kim and Jeongin Yang were at the art museum gala.
So first, she had to fix that little problem.
The man who entered the Wandering Poet was nondescript, if you weren't looking for him. An ordinary haircut in a very normal, mousy shade of brown. Glasses that framed a face that wasn't gorgeous, yet was not unhandsome either. He wore a plain button-down shirt and jeans. If you didn't know the shirt was Prada, the jeans tailored, hand-embroidered, and Valentino Garavani to boot, you'd be forgiven.
Especially in LA, in a place like the Wandering Poet.
He slid into the seat across from her with an easy smile and set his phone on the table. Brand new.
"Miss Reid?"
"Yes." She smiled and batted her eyelashes with a flirtatious glamour. "Mr. Samuel Finch?"
"One in the same," he said. A waitress appeared and took drink orders from them both. When she left, he studied Heather. "Your contacts said you had a story for me."
"Yes," she replied with a coy smile. "First, I think it's about time the world got to know the CEO of Hanco... And the male stripper he is dating."
Samuel leaned forward and hit record on an app on his phone. "I think you and I will be very good friends, Miss Reid."
"Please. Call me Heather."
***
The room was silent save for the slow, even breaths the sole occupant of the king-sized bed made. Seungmin groaned softly in his sleep, turning toward the side where Jeongin should be.
He reached across the sheets.
Froze.
Patted the cold silk beneath his hand.
Bleary eyes opened. Seungmin blinked slowly in the dark, processing the cold and empty expanse in front of him. He sat up and looked around the apartment bedroom.
Jeongin wasn't there.
"Innie?" He called into the still morning.
No answer.
Seungmin tore his phone from the charger on his bedside table. He scrolled through all the notifications from the night before while they slept. No new texts from Jeongin. No messages. It was just shy of five in the morning, before either of their alarms were to go off.
Beginning to panic, he threw the covers from his legs and checked the bathroom, the closet, the living room and kitchen, the spare room. No signs of him. No notes. Nothing on the stove, no coffee made.
His keys and wallet missing from the entryway.
He texted first. Innie? I woke up and you're not home. Is everything okay?
After several minutes with no reply, he hit the call button. The phone rang and rang before Innie's voicemail message played. You’ve reached Jeongin Yang, please leave a message.
Seungmin hung up and tried again.
A third time.
A fourth.
On the fifth, he left a message.
"Baby, I'm getting worried. Is everything okay? Are you all right?"
He hung up. His hands itched with concern, his feet paced their bedroom without his thought or knowledge.
After half an hour, he tried to call again.
It was six by the time his phone rang with a number he didn't recognize. He answered it, praying it was Jeongin.
"Mr. Seungmin Kim?" A gruff voice asked on the other end of the phone.
"Yes?" Seungmin said, confused. "Who is this?"
"Your partner Jeongin was in an accident this morning. He is a little banged up, but otherwise okay. However, I have reason to believe there may be foul play involved."
"Foul play?" Seungmin muttered. He was already getting shoes and his jacket on to head to whatever hospital Jeongin was at.
"Yes," the man continued. "My understanding is that you and he were at the hospital benefit where Heather Reid attacked a young woman?"
"We were there, yes," Seungmin said. He locked the door behind him, even more confused now. "What's this all about?"
"I'll explain what I can once I've asked you both a few questions," the man said. "Ask for Officer Matthews at Tristate Metropolitan Hospital general information desk."
"I'm on my way, Officer Matthews."
Seungmin hung up and slid into his own car to buckle up. He had the feeling the physical action was preceding a metaphorical one. Before he started the car, he called Jaejin Han and gave a rough summary of what he'd been told.
"You two take care of yourselves," Jaejin's gravely morning voice responded once he was through. "I'll hold down the fort here. You go make sure our Chief Secretary is all right."
"Yes, sir."
"Keep me posted."
***
The distant sounds of the city outside the tall windows could have been home. But the telltale absence of Meeks' purrs, and the soft golden light of dawn playing across the small sliver it peeked through told Minho he was not in his own bed. Nor in the guest bed at Jisung's apartment either.
Oh. And perhaps the most telling was the man sleeping on his chest, tucked naturally underneath his chin. Jisung's round cheek rested right at the center of his chest. His arms were wrapped snugly around his body to either side. A soft whistling came with every breath he took.
Minho wasn't quite sure what to do. Even when he'd had a boyfriend before any of this, he had never woken up tangled so tightly before. Not like this.
The touch was gentle, absent. As though even in sleep, Jisung was being careful with him. Protective.
Jisung, who only knew he'd been in trouble and needed a patron.
Jisung, who heard he went to work to eat and bought groceries.
Jisung, who took him for a walk and told him about cardinals.
Jisung, who paid his best friend's student loans off and still paid for meals for the homeless at her restaurant.
Jisung, who reassured him he would not be left alone after Jerk nearly...
Jisung, who told him he'd sell all the stars in the sky for his smile.
Minho stared down at the sleeping billionaire philanthropist CEO, at the man who'd declared he had feelings for him, at the man who had been more concerned about Minho's comfort than his own. At the man who saw his hesitation and gently took control of the situation, yet kept it open for him to take that control back if he wanted.
Minho pressed a soft kiss to the crown of Jisung's head.
He could get used to this.
In the still morning, Jisung's phone notification went off. It took him a minute to recognize the tonal opening of I'm Still Standing. The very first song Minho had performed the night he met Jisung. Just the first ten seconds or so.
The noise was enough to pull the younger man from sleep, a soft groan cut off by a strangled sound. He sat up quickly.
"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to--"
"It's okay," Minho muttered, gently interrupting the panic. "It's okay. I don't..." He could not find the words he wanted to use. The phone notification went off again.
Jisung peered up at him through long lashes, but he checked his phone nonetheless. "It's my father. He says Innie was in an accident."
Minho thought to himself, trying to recall the two men who had been at the art museum gala and the hospital benefit. "The tall one with the ginger hair?"
Jisung nodded, tapping out a text to Seungmin. "Dad doesn't know it, but Innie and Seungmin have been dating for years. If Seungmin wasn't with him at this time of morning, I'm worried."
Minho watched Jisung anxiously wait for a response to his messages. At the way his shoulders slumped in relief. He cared so much about everyone in his life.
What did that mean for Minho to be the one he had feelings for?
"Seungmin is already at the hospital," Jisung said and set his phone to the side. "He'll text me if anything happens."
Minho sighed. He studied Jisung with what he was sure might be more scrutiny than is usually comfortable first thing in the morning. Jisung wasn't looking at him. Lost in his thoughts on his coworkers.
Friends, if Minho missed his guess. They hadn't talked much about Hanco and Jisung's job as its CEO. Minho was beginning to feel that lack.
But those were background thoughts. Jisung's hair was mussed from sleep, strands that stuck up in the back and the rest just falling wherever it felt like. Minho was sure his was in the same state. His eyes were bleary and blinking in the thin sliver of golden light. Not all the way awake yet. Enough to panic over waking up in his arms and make sure friends were okay, but not enough to be fully cognizant.
Minho hesitated. He could do any number of things now. Any of them could be the wrong one. Any of them could spell disaster. Any of them could...
He stopped that line of thinking abruptly in his mind. The result was he lurched forward into Jisung, who yelped in surprise at the sudden movement. The momentum took them both back down onto the rustled sheets. Jisung's arms flew around Minho in a protective envelope. The silence that followed was deafening though brief.
"Kitten..." Jisung whispered hoarsely. One hand stayed where it was, cradling Minho's waist, and the other slipped up into his hair to gently pet the soft strands. "Minho, I'm sorry if I worried you. I knew you weren't used to... any of this, and I panicked."
Minho chuckled softly. "We're a mess. We both compartmentalize until it all..." His lips sealed shut, unable to finish the thought.
"Until it all comes crashing down," Jisung murmured into his hair. He hadn't stopped petting Minho's hair at all even as they spoke. "You have a wall higher than the Great Wall of Westeros. And I've got a series of masks I..." He trailed off.
Minho felt the remaining tension in his shoulders leave. Understood. When was the last time someone had understood what it was he was trying to say? The last time that someone, anyone touched his head like this?
He mumbled into Jisung's chest, boneless.
"I can't take the walls down." He barely knew what he said. Barely registered his own mouth was moving. "But... I'll meet you outside them. Meet you halfway."
Pressure to the top of his head. Oh. Jisung kissed him. "I'll gladly meet you there, kitten. Are you going back to sleep?"
Minho sighed softly. "No. Just want..." He trailed off at another kiss, this to his temple.
"I've got you." Jisung slid his other hand down his spine, accompanied by the soft pets through his hair. "Everything will be all right, Minho. Just you wait and see."
Minho was beginning to believe it.
***
The sharp scent of antiseptic permeated the room like he was breathing it straight from the bottle. Jeongin groggily read the news feed on his phone, just for something to direct his attention to.
His breath caught in his throat at a headline. CEO of Hanco Missing For Weeks: Where is Jisung Han?
Innie clicked the link, adrenaline kicking back in that had left in the ensuing hour or so since the accident. Who blabbed to the press that Jisung was on sabbatical? They specifically had clauses in employee contracts not to speak to the press, in the annual training. Partially so that Jisung's life could be relatively normal.
The fact that Seungmin and he ended up in so many tabloids was a fluke. A blip from a few too many people figuring out who they were, the only gay couple dancing at an event for an LGBTQIA artist. PR had taken care of it, once Jaejin Han had had his fun teasing them.
But this was different. This was detailed. This was correct. Someone knew that Jisung had broken up with Heather. That he had passed out in his office. Had been put on sabbatical for his health by his father.
What they didn't seem to know was where, exactly, he was.
The speculation ranged from an extended vacation in Europe to fucking every bar bunny he could find.
Innie knew something was amiss. He'd had a feeling at the art gala, but he was certain after the events of the hospital benefit. He knows Jisung. Jisung doesn't look at women like he was looking at Knowelle. The way he'd all but sprinted to the lobby after Heather attacked her told him more than all the years he'd been under Heather's thumb combined.
He knew it would look bad, to anyone outside of the inner circle Jisung kept. No one would understand that Heather's abuse, blatant as it was, made him vulnerable in so many ways. Innie could see it. Whether this new relationship with Knowelle would work out remained to be seen, but it was clear to anyone with eyes how smitten Jisung was.
He copied the link address to the article and sent it to PR and carbon copied HR. Someone's head needed to be found. There weren't many who knew about Jisung passing out. It would take less than an hour.
The sound of keys jangling, boots snapping in rhythm on tile, drew his eyes to the door of his room. Officer Matthews had already spoken to him and explained he needed to talk with Seungmin before he could leave to go home.
Seungmin's face was white as a sheet when the kindly older officer escorted him into the room. He eschewed the plastic chairs, the stool the doctor used, and sank to his knees next to Innie. Both hands held both his. Tightly, as if insuring to himself that the younger man was alive.
Officer Matthews patted Seungmin's shoulder and gave Innie a nod before he left, closing the door behind him with a quiet click.
"Fuck, baby, you scared the fuck out of me," Seungmin said, his head dropping to their joined hands. "Fuck."
"That's a lot of 'fucks,' Minnie," Innie teased him, trying to lighten the mood.
"He said someone deliberately rolled the other car in front of you."
Innie nodded, frowning. It was obvious, though how anyone knew he'd be there was anyone's guess.
All secret.
A surprise.
He told Seungmin only that it was a surprise. One he didn't want to ruin just because this had uncovered his early morning activities, of which this was the last.
Thank God.
It wasn't long until he was discharged. They went home. Jeongin was not injured badly enough to stay home long, but for today... All he wanted was his Minnie.
***
The soft sounds of the shower falling on the other side of the bathroom door filled Jisung's senses, along with the faint scent of sandalwood that clung to his night shirt. Minho agreed to shower first in case Jeongin or Seungmin needed him.
Jeongin had been careful to tell him he was (mostly) fine, if a little shaken up. The article on his whereabouts had come as a surprise. One he could do nothing much about until they found who had gone to the press about his absence.
Not something he'd worry Minho about. Not while the other man was so fragile. He was not the type to keep things close to the vest ordinarily, but this seemed to be much ado about nothing.
Waking up in Minho's arms, though... Now that was something he hadn't expected. He half expected the reticent dancer to reject his touch in sleep. If anything, he seemed to welcome it.
Maybe... Cherish it?
The tables turned so quickly after the text from his father. Minho's reaction to it all, to the smallest care and regard...
Jisung's heart ached for him. The wounds on his heart were deep, deeper than he could have imagined. He wanted to surround Minho in clouds of all things soft and gentle, surround him in love so vibrant he would be smothered by it.
But Jisung's instincts told him to go slowly. To coax him out like one might a stray kitten, injured and afraid of every noise. Minho's strength was admirable, a beautiful part of this complex man. But it was brittle strength, hardened. If he pressed too much, too soon...
The last thing he wanted was to break him all over again.
Setting up all Jisung wanted to accomplish during this mini vacation without letting Minho know of the surprises in store had been easy enough. The concierge at the Nine Orchard knew Jisung well, but not Minho. Asking for what Jisung needed as far as tickets, venues, shopping, without letting on to Minho that any of it had been planned. A rapid plan encouraged by his financial might, but one nonetheless.
Jisung sighed. He hoped that Minho didn't think he was trying to buy his affection. His anxiety was higher than it ever was when he'd traveled with Heather. He felt odd comparing Minho to her. They weren't even in league with one another.
Jisung's thoughts were interrupted by the door to the bathroom clicking open.
Minho's hair still dripped water down the back of his threadbare plain black t-shirt. Jisung hadn't let Minho bring much on the plane because of part of his loose plans for this morning. Jisung brought his phone with him to the bathroom with his favorite old blue plaid flannel shirt and a pair of black slacks.
"Just relax for a few minutes, kitten," Jisung said, his voice pitched to soothe. "We'll head out soon. Okay?"
Minho ran a hand through his hair. "You said tourist type things last night. Like what?"
"I've got a loose plan, but I'd like it to be a surprise. Is that okay?"
Minho nodded, his shoulders visibly relaxing."Yes. It's fine."
It seemed that Minho was okay with Jisung taking the lead and making plans. Even if those plans were loose. The presence of a plan helped his mind stay grounded.
Jisung showered as quickly as he could.
He emerged to find that Minho wearing a soft mint green sweater, peppered with small holes that revealed the black shirt he'd worn underneath it. The jacket he wore had almost as many snags and was thin in places. Jisung idly wondered if he had bought a coat at all since college.
He sauntered across the room and gave Minho a gentle, soft kiss. "We're almost ready. The concierge has ordered a car to bring us to the first stop. We'll have some coffee and breakfast there."
Minho nodded, his eyes holding onto Jisung's long after he'd finished speaking. His gaze fell. The reply was an almost inaudible whisper. "You don't have to do this."
Jisung's eyes softened. He tilted Minho's face up to meet his eyes again, his fingers lingering beneath the taller man's chin.
"I want to. I want to see to your comfort. I want to see to your needs. Your wants. Your desires. I want you, Minho Lee. I'm a patient man. I will wait for you to decide what it is you want from me. Until then... Let me to spoil you. All right?"
Minho's eyes held starlight in a way that Jisung wished to write poetry for. All he had were actions, and he intended to show Minho just how much he loved his beautiful kitten. He held Minho's hands, rubbing small circles on the palms. Minho's pulse raced against his thumbs. He wrapped gentle fingers around his wrists and lifted his palms up to kiss the centers of each.
The whole time, he stared at those eyes that had captured his attention from the very moment they had met at the Pet Club.
"Thank you for your consent to love you how I am able." Jisung's lips caressed Minho’s in the most gossamer of kisses. He did not miss the way Minho's throat collapsed and grew three times. They both jumped like startled bunnies at the sound of Jisung's phone notification.
"Car is here," Jisung said, giving Minho a soft smile. "Ready?"
***
Heather left the interview with Samuel Finch at Wandering Poet feeling vindicated. Her heels clicked against the sidewalk, an almost soothing sound and feeling. For half a second, she felt a twinge of guilt.
Maybe she shouldn't have...
She shook her head roughly, picking up the pace to get to the waiting car. She was Heather Reid. Guilt had no place in her world. Lee Know--Minho--had stolen her Jisung from her. All she did was tell the press who he was, and what he did for a living. He did this to himself.
They both had.
The driver held open the rear door for her, smiling in that pinched way that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She didn't have to look to know that Jerk was in the other passenger seat. Her choice was to either put up with him or find some other way back to the hotel. She sighed and slid into the car next to him.
"Miss Reid," he said as soon as she was buckled in. "How did it go?"
"I think Jisung and Minho's lives are about to get rather difficult," she replied stiffly. "You did not need to come fetch me."
"Oh, but I wanted to. A beautiful woman such as yourself should never be alone." His hand rested on her knee lightly. If she moved it, she ran the risk of alerting the driver. She bit the inside of her cheeks.
"I was not alone anyhow."
Jerk's hand slid further up her thigh. Heather gave him a sharp look. He ignored it and smirked. "The driver doesn't count."
Heather glanced over the seat where the driver most certainly could hear the man. She met his eyes in the rear view mirror. Something flickered there--concern? It was gone before Heather could decipher it.
Jerk none too gently took her chin between his fingertips. "Eyes on me, baby girl."
Heather growled. "I'm not your 'baby girl,' Jerk."
The driver's wheel jerked in his hands, pulling Jerk's attention from her. "Watch the road, moron!"
"My apologies, sir," the driver replied meekly. He continued on without further comment.
"Now where were we...?" Jerk murmured, turning back to her.
~~~
Heather, however, noticed that they weren't heading toward the hotel. She was about to open her mouth to ask where they were going when Jerk's hand dragged her face back toward him and kissed her roughly, silencing the question. Heather shoved at him, at his face, his hands, anything. None of it did any good.
The car came to an abrupt stop a few minutes after Heather had begun attempt to fight him off. The car doors unlocked and opened as abruptly as they'd stopped. Heather was nearly yanked from her seat by the strength with which Jerk was holding onto her, seat belt or no seat belt.
~~~
It took her a few seconds to process the scratchy noise of metal on metal. It took another second to realize that Jerk was being held against the door with his face turned to the side. It took yet more to realize exactly what was happening.
"Ma'am, are you all right?" The police officer on her side of the car squatted down to look her in the eyes. "Are you injured?"
Heather began to shake uncontrollably. Saved. She was... "I think I might have a few bruises but..." She trailed off. She'd never been kissed against her wishes before, especially not like that. No one had ever dared.
She burst into tears.