Archive of Our Own ^beta

“And you laugh, loudly – head tipping back. And while your eyes are on the ceiling, I am mouthing something too heavy even for this steady night to shoulder. This is not a joke, I mouth. Love me. Love me.”

──────────────────────────────

“Thank you, like actually, I owe you one,”

Mingi just waves his hand in the air. He doesn’t have time for this.

Not at all, if he’s being honest. He’s already late with turning in his literature assignment as it is, and the last thing he needs is to wake up to yet another email from his professor telling him how he can’t keep extending the deadline and that he’d hate for this to affect Mingi’s grades.  

Try being in your twenties yourself, Mingi almost types in response, see how easy it is.

Then he remembers his professor has been in his twenties at some point, and erases the proof of his frustration and attempt at denying his ability to turn in assignments on time with shameful fingers.

“Don’t,” He doesn’t tell Wooyoung that, though. 

He doesn’t tell him how he, frankly, does not have time for this and how sick he is of being in his twenties and how his professor doesn’t seem to understand, well, just that — that he’s in his twenties, of course he’s not going to turn in his assignments on time — he has other things to do. Important things.

Such as sleeping in and then staying up binge-watching this new anime he found, and managing to completely forget that right, he’s very much still attending college and has assignments to turn in, then proceeds to pull an all-nighter to write a literary analysis on a novel he hasn’t even read.

The charm of being in your twenties, really. 

There’s nothing especially charming about it, though — not to Mingi, not even when he’s on his third cup of coffee and he’s not even halfway done — and especially not when Jung Wooyoung decides to show up somewhere in the middle of the fifth cup and Mingi considering dropping out.

“It’s nothing, really.” He tells his friend, and bites back the urge to tell him it’s just about everything.  

Every second he spends by his front door, shivering from the cold night air and wondering just how Wooyoung isn’t shivering when all he’s wearing is a t-shirt, could be spent in front of his computer instead — desperately scrolling through book review after book review until he has managed to gather enough information to write a halfassed analysis, and possibly avoid a scolding from his professor.

Each ticking second he spends in the doorway of his front door, however, the more he starts to dread the email he knows he’ll wake up to.

Wooyoung, both hands shoved down the front pockets of his jeans, shakes his head. Mingi kind of wants to wipe the sheepish smile that decorates his lips right off. 

Of course this is funny to him, and perhaps the situation would’ve been kind of amusing to Mingi, too, if he hadn’t spent the night in front of his computer with blurry, over-exhausted eyes and now stress-bitten nails.

“I would take him to my place, but he kept complaining about how far it is and I just,” Wooyoung continues, then shakes his head. “I know you said you were busy tonight, and like, if it’s too much trouble I’ll just force him to walk to my place. Are you sure it’s okay? You said something about a late assignment, I’ll t-” 

Jesus Christ.

Mingi does not have time for this.

“Wooyoung,” Perhaps not as firm as Mingi would’ve liked for it to be, but it does shut the shorter male up. “It’s fine, really. I wouldn’t have told you it was okay when you called if it wasn’t, I’ll just tuck him in and finish the assignment.”

It’s not really fine, but Wooyoung doesn’t have to know that.

He doesn’t have to know about his inability to say no to just about anything when it involves Jeong Yunho, either. 

He has a feeling Wooyoung might already know, though — otherwise Mingi’s phone screen wouldn’t have lit up with an incoming phone call from him just shy of 2 A.M., and otherwise he wouldn’t be standing in his doorway with a sprawled-out male back in his living room, taking up his couch and probably eating what was supposed to be Mingi’s study snacks.

And the worst part is that he doesn’t even have it within him to get mad. Not at Wooyoung for bringing Yunho to his house when he knows he doesn’t have the time, and not at Yunho for eating his snacks. Fuck. 

Wooyoung’s lips form into a thin line, such a contrast to the sluggish grin that had decorated his lips moments prior, and Mingi wonders if perhaps he feels bad now. Bad for interrupting Mingi and his precious study time, bad for dumping the load that is drunk Jeong Yunho on him.

Then, “At least you get a cuddle buddy for the night?”

Mingi closes the door before Wooyoung has the chance to say anything else, the squeals of laughter coming from outside forcing through the thick wooden door even when Mingi’s fingers come down to click the lock in place, followed by a muffled ‘text me when he’s asleep ’.

Perhaps he is the tiniest bit mad at Wooyoung. Just a little.

Mainly because of course he doesn’t feel bad, and of course he doesn’t care about Mingi being on the verge of his educational downfall, which if he’s being honest, he might’ve found himself in more times than he can count, but the point still stands nonetheless. Of course Wooyoung doesn’t care.

But then he walks into his living room, and sees the figure slumped down on his couch, and of course Mingi can’t stay mad.

He never can whenever Yunho is involved, and the glazed over eyes that meet his own prove just as much. Maybe that’s something to be mad about. 

His own inability to be mad at Yunho.

Because frankly, he should. It’s a Thursday night, now Friday morning, for god's sake — and he doesn’t really think Wooyoung nor Yunho has any business getting drunk on a Thursday night — but maybe that’s just the part of him that’s salty because he had to decline their offer for him to join speaking.

No, he should be mad at Yunho. He really should.

“Can’t believe you,” Suddenly, there’s an accusing finger being pointed at him, “Can’t believe you didn’t join us tonight.”

Mingi, brows previously raised at the accusing finger and the slightly squinted eyes staring at him, can’t stop his lips from curling into a small smile. So much for being mad.

“And I can’t believe you,” He counters, “Getting drunk on a Thursday night. What are you, sixteen?”

Yunho, head resting against the back of the couch, just grins. Mingi takes the opportunity to take in what the other male is wearing, something he didn’t really have time to do when Wooyoung knocked on his door and Yunho stumbled through the door — inviting himself in before Mingi even had the chance to properly greet him, yet even let him in — and then he finds himself wondering where they went, where he’s been to be dressed like that.

It’s nothing fancy, it’s really not, but when worn and hanging off Jeong Yunho’s frame, just about anything looks fancy. The white shirt has three buttons undone at the top, and Mingi wonders if the third button is intentional or if it came undone during the night, and if it is intentional — Mingi kind of hates it.

He hates it because it’s not really fair.

It’s not fair that despite whatever hairstyle he had decided to go with for the night has long since been ruined and Mingi can practically smell the hair gel all the way from across the room, strong and musky, he still looks good.

Then he notices the stain on the front of his shirt, liquid that has seeped into the white fabric and tainted it an off-white color, and holy shit. Maybe it is possible for Mingi to get mad at Yunho after all.

Because how is it fair, that such a mess of a man is capable of looking so good, so captivating?

“Wouldn’t that be something? Like, going back to when we were sixteen, you weren’t as tall as me then,” Yunho says, and Mingi can hear the grin on his lips as he speaks. 

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” Mingi is quick to interrupt, pushing himself off the wall he had been leaning against using his hip, “Let’s get you to bed before you get all nostalgic on me,” The telltale sign of Yunho being drunk, whenever he starts reminiscing about the good old days as he likes to call it — Mingi wouldn’t exactly call it that, but whatever Yunho says, he supposes. “C’mon, get up.”

Yunho remains silent, for just a moment, “Help me up?”

Mingi snorts. “You’re perfectly capable of doing so yourself.”

He’s not entirely sure if Yunho is, in fact, perfectly capable of doing so himself — but by the time he’s rounded the corner and walked into the kitchen, he hears Yunho mumbling something he doesn’t manage to catch before he hears heavy steps drag across the floor. Maybe he should add Yunho acting like a child to the list of telltale signs of Yunho being drunk.

Filling up a glass of water takes no more than a few mere seconds, and when he walks through the door leading into his bedroom, Yunho has already made himself at home in his bed with long limbs taking up too much space. Not that Mingi expected any less.

“I got you some water,” Mingi mumbles, walking over to the window to shut the blinds. He knows how cranky Yunho will get when the sun wakes him up otherwise, he always does. “I really need to get this assignment done, so I’ll be on the couch if you need me. Drink the water before you fall asleep, too.”

Yunho hums from behind him, low and somnolent. “Can you get me a shirt?”

Mingi hasn’t even properly turned around to look at the sprawled-out male before a chuckle rips through his chest. “What, you want me to kiss you goodnight, too?”

He expects Yunho to laugh, or make some sort of comeback. Something along the lines of yeah, come here or you’d like that, wouldn’t you? — anything — anything along the lines of what Yunho usually says whenever Mingi teases him like that. He never does.

A frown is what he’s met with when he fully turns around. There’s no grin, and there is no snarky comeback sitting at the tip of his tongue, waiting to be spilled past his lips. Mingi waits, and when he realizes there is no toothy grin waiting to spread on Yunho’s lips, he himself almost frowns.

“You talk too much shit, Mingi,” Yunho suddenly mumbles, voice garbled when he speaks and spreads his legs.

To get more comfortable, of course, and not for Mingi to stare. Mingi’s eyes don’t seem to understand that, though, and Mingi doesn’t think it’s necessarily fair to blame him for staring — not when Yunho has legs like, well, those.

“You say these things, like they- like they don’t matter, like they’re supposed to be jokes,” Yunho goes on to continue. Mingi’s grip on the glass of water only grows firmer. “And then you expect me to know when you’re joking and not. I can’t, can I?”

“What?” Mingi manages to utter, and tearing his eyes off Yunho’s legs is harder than it should be. He shouldn’t even be staring in the first place. Fuck.

Yunho sighs when he leans against the headboard of Mingi’s bed. Mingi kind of regrets agreeing to let him stay now, because not only will his sheets smell of Yunho’s husky perfume and what he thinks might be beer that has gotten spilled onto the front of his shirt, but also because Yunho gets way too honest when he’s drunk. 

Too honest for Mingi’s own good, at least.

“Yeah, like,” Yunho counters, slow and kind of sluggish. “What if I do, what if I do kiss you one day? And you just, play it off as a joke? I can’t know, because you talk too much shit all the time,”

Mingi’s brain short circuits as soon as the words leave Yunho’s spit covered lips. What?

The unbearable tightness that engulfs him and spreads across his chest is almost instant, and so is the promise of a ‘what if’ that echoes through the static of his brain and burns what might as well be a hole into his mind. 

The only thing Mingi has drunk during the night is coffee, perhaps one cup too many, a vast difference from the beer that Yunho has drunk and proceeded to spill down the front of his shirt at some point — yet he’s the one who can feel his stomach churning, and forming into one, tight knot.

What if I do kiss you one day?

Mingi feels ill.

Yunho, however, does not — something he proves when he lazily pulls at the sheets crumpled up beside him to pull it over his torso. Mingi doesn’t tell him to take his shirt off before he gets his sheets soiled and dirty with the sticky remains of beer lingering in the fabric, mind too busy to even register it and mouth too dry to even attempt speaking.

Then, another sigh follows. Not annoyed, or frustrated in any way — just a sigh to signal the drowsiness that has been present in his eyes ever since Mingi first let him in — although it doesn’t matter much to Mingi and his now scrambled brain.

Mingi chooses to bite back and swallow the lump in his throat when he rounds the bed, and tries his hardest to ignore the feeling of Yunho’s eyes following him as he does. “Can I stay here tonight?”

The sound of the bottom of the glass sliding onto his bedside table almost feels too loud when Yunho asks if he gets to stay the night, and so does the eyes Mingi feels burning into the side of his face. “That’s why you’re here, stupid.” Mingi manages to mumble, and the moment his eyes land back on Yunho’s sprawled-out figure, he regrets it.

Low eyes meet his own, the faint sheen of spit on his lips — which, now that Mingi’s thinking about it, do they always get so plump whenever he’s been drinking? — enough for him to feel like he’s on the verge of passing out.

What if I do kiss you one day?

Yunho then smiles, kind of lopsided but still a smile nonetheless, tongue coming out to wet his lips for what must be the nth time since he laid down. He doesn’t need to, his lips are already covered in enough spit as it is.

What the fuck.

“Had to make sure,” He shrugs, and it’s not until he tilts his head to the side and away from him that Mingi feels like he can properly breathe again, “Maybe you were joking when you said I could stay the night.”

Mingi just stares at him for a moment, watching the lanky fingers resting against the covers and taking in the pieces of hair that fall just above his eyes, before he looks away. For his own well-being. Before his brain has the chance to short-circuit all over again.

Not that it ever stopped short-circuiting, to begin with.

“Holy shit,” Mingi mumbles when he reaches for the pillow placed right beside Yunho’s head, to take with him to the couch where he’ll be staying for the remainder of the night. He usually stays and sleeps next to Yunho, but not tonight. He can’t. “Am I really that horrible to you?”

Yunho hums when Mingi’s fingers curl around the fabric of the pillow, and then, “No, you just get my hopes up too much.”

Then he freezes.

His fingers remain curled around the soft fabric of his pillow long after the words have spilled past Yunho’s lips in the form of a barely audible mumble, one Mingi almost misses and one Mingi wishes he had missed.

“What did you say?” Mingi breathes, fingers clenching onto the fabric when he looks back down at Yunho. The answer to his question never comes.

Yunho is out like a light and has already fallen asleep by the time Mingi even manages to utter as much as a single word, and the only thing he’s met by is Yunho’s limp body and the small huffs of air that quietly leaves his lips.

Mingi leaves the pillow for Yunho to find in case he wakes up during the night with his neck hurting from the awkward position he fell asleep in, and hopes that he doesn’t accidentally wake Yunho up when he steps into the shower and the water hits the bottom of his bathtub a little too harshly.

He doesn’t finish the assignment nor does he text Wooyoung to let him know Yunho has fallen asleep, and he’s not sure what feels more daunting.

The email from his professor he knows will be awaiting him when he wakes up, or how he’s supposed to ever tell Yunho that maybe, just maybe, it’s never been just him talking shit.

༝༚༝༚

When Yunho emerges from behind the bathroom door the following morning, one of Mingi’s t-shirts hanging off his frame and all remains of hair gel stripped out of his hair thanks to Mingi’s cheap shampoo, Mingi is already up and getting a cup of coffee ready.

Not that he ever really went to sleep, to begin with. He’ll tell Yunho he was too occupied with trying to finish the assignment if he asks about the lack of sleep lingering behind his features, although he never even turned it in.

Yunho doesn’t have to know about the real reason, he figures. None of them will particularly benefit from him telling the truth, Yunho is probably too hung over to take the discussion, and Mingi, well.

Mingi chooses to blame it on him being too tired, and not because he’s kind of freaking out. Like, a lot. He’s freaking out a lot.

To his surprise, and maybe to his dismay, Yunho doesn’t seem hungover in the slightest when he walks into the kitchen and lets out a quick hum when he spots the coffee placed on the counter. “Good morning,” He lets out, voice devoid of any tiredness or fatigue Mingi expects his words to carry, “Did I wake you up by showering? I’m sorry if I did,”

Mingi, leaning against the counter, just stares at him when he leans over to grab the coffee cup, his arm slightly brushing against his own as he does. Mingi ignores the shivers that get sent down his spine at the mere touch.

The look he offers him when he sits down at the table looks almost apologetic, like he’s actually sorry for waking Mingi up even though he never did, and Mingi’s brain almost short circuits again.

He’s acting too normal. Yunho is acting too normal.

Too normal for having said the things he said the previous night, at least. Is it me, Mingi suddenly thinks, am I the one overthinking this?

“No,” Mingi manages to choke out. “No, you’re fine, I was already up. How are you feeling?”

He takes a sip of his own coffee in an attempt to conceal the utter confusion and maybe even fear that lingers inside of him, hoping that the coffee he swallows will take the knot in his chest with it.

Yunho is the first one to avert his gaze, fingers curling around the blue cup of coffee. The one he got Mingi for Christmas a couple of years back, the one with his favorite cartoon on — the same one Mingi had been adamant about bringing with him when he moved out from his parent's house, the same one Yunho insists on drinking out of every time he comes over even though he knows it’s Mingi’s favorite cup.

Mingi lets him have it, nonetheless.

He then hums, and then shrugs. “A little tired, but I feel fine, I guess? I’m sorry you had to deal with that last night, though.”

“Deal with what?” Perhaps Mingi utters the question a little too quickly, a little too hastily. A little too eagerly, even, eager to find out what the that in question is and if it’s the same thing Mingi thinks it is.

What if I do kiss you one day?

Yunho, once again, shrugs, before he brings the cup up to his lips. “Having me crash at your place unannounced on a Thursday night, I suppose,” He chuckles against the rim of the cup, before taking a sip. “I know you’re busy with school and stuff, and if it makes you feel any better, I never intended on crashing here and interrupting your study time, you know.”

Well, somehow that makes Mingi feel worse.

Mingi takes another sip of his coffee and proceeds to burn the tip of his tongue in the process. “It’s alright,” Casual, he tries to sound casual and not let the bitter taste in his mouth seep into his words. “I’m used to it.”

Yunho almost chokes on his coffee when a laugh rumbles through his chest, followed by a couple of coughs in an attempt to clear his throat. Mingi covers up the lack of smile on his lips by keeping the cup of coffee to his lips. “Lucky me, I suppose,” Yunho says, “That you love having me here so much.”

Now that’s the Yunho Mingi knows. 

The Yunho who stares at him from the table, lips curled up in a smile and his eyes slightly creased when the remark — the teasing — leaves his lips. The Yunho who replies to Mingi’s teasing with all the more teasing, the Yunho who laughs at Mingi’s weak attempts at banter.

So, where the fuck was he last night?

Mingi is starting to think he doesn’t even want to know. Maybe he doesn’t wish to know where Yunho’s wide grin was yesterday when he was sprawled out on his bed, and maybe he doesn’t have to know where the quick remarks were to counter Mingi’s own.

Yeah. Maybe he doesn’t have to know. 

But he really does want to know.

Fuck, he thinks. Fuck, he does want to know. He really, really wants to know, at that.

“Do you,” He begins, and he doesn’t even know what or how to continue, “Do you, like, remember last night at all?”

Okay, well, maybe it’s not as smooth as he would’ve liked for it to be. Maybe it’s a little too upfront, because to his ears it sounds like he’s fishing for something in particular, which he doesn’t want. He doesn’t want Yunho to catch onto him too quickly, because if it’s nothing — if it’s just Mingi and his brain being prone to overthinking that’s speaking — then he’d rather not have to explain himself.

Yeah, like, you talked about kissing me and I was just wondering if you were being serious or if you were just kind of joking around because I couldn’t really tell and now it’s everything I can think about.

Mingi almost winces at the thought.

Therefore, he takes yet another sip of his coffee and just prays that it doesn’t seem too unnatural. Fuck.

Yunho just stares at him for a moment, a moment too long or a moment too short, Mingi can’t decide — and then shrugs. “Yeah,” He lets out, fingers lightly tapping against the porcelain of the coffee cup, “Yeah, I think so. Why? Did I do something?”

Mingi is quick to shake his head. “No,” He says, exclaims, more like, “You were just, really drunk. Surprised to know you even remember coming over here, to be honest.”

Yunho then snorts, and shakes his head. “We have really different ideas of what being really drunk is, Mingi-yah.” He takes another sip of coffee, before placing the cup to rest against the table. 

“I’m more worried about Wooyoung. He kept talking about calling San, which is like, the number one thing he shouldn’t do after drinking. I tried talking him out of it, not sure how successful I was, though.”

Ah.

Suddenly it makes sense to Mingi as to why Wooyoung suddenly decided to dump Yunho at his house instead of dragging him home like they had originally planned. He’s too tired to walk, my ass, he thinks as soon as the words spill past Yunho’s lips.

If Mingi fails his literature class, he’ll put the blame on Jung Wooyoung and his stupid infatuation with Choi San. 

“Did you manage to finish the assignment, by the way?” Yunho asks and rips Mingi out of his thoughts in the process, his gaze landing back on Yunho once more.

Curious and equally warm eyes meet his own, and Mingi hates himself for lying when Yunho looks at him with such fondness and remorse for possibly being the reason why he never managed to finish the said assignment. 

“Yeah,” He lies. “Yeah, don’t worry about it, I got it done.”

Yunho then smiles at him, soft and warm like always, completely oblivious to the lie Mingi chooses to tell him and the fact that yeah, he is, in fact, the reason why Mingi couldn’t finish it and now has an email sitting at the top of his inbox from his professor.

A simple nod follows the warm smile. “Let’s order some food, I’ll pay. As a thank you for the hassle.” 

Mingi, desperately trying to wash away the lump in his throat by taking another sip of coffee, nods. He should say no, that he has other things to get done — those other things being the assignment he never finished and really has to get done — but he doesn’t.

Instead, he nods, because if there is one thing Song Mingi is utterly incapable of doing, it’s denying Jeong Yunho just about anything.

If it’s a curse, or a blessing, he’s not sure.

༝༚༝༚

“Hey, Wooyoung?”

Wooyoung is too busy doing whatever on his phone to look up at him when Mingi asks the question. Instead, he just hums, “Hm?”

Mingi shifts in his seat. Not because he’s uncomfortable, or, maybe he is. Now that he’s thinking about it, he kind of is. Not because the seat that is Wooyoung’s old leather couch is uncomfortable in any way, no, it’s actually Mingi’s favorite couch. Not that he has a lot of them.

Yeah, he is kind of uncomfortable, now that he’s really thinking about it.

“Have Yunho ever, like,” He doesn’t even know what it is he wants to ask. “Said anything weird to you?”

Wooyoung laughs, loudly and it sounds kind of like a squeal, and his eyes stay on the screen of his phone. Uninterested, it would seem. “Yunho says weird shit all the time,” He says, amusement present behind his words. That’s not the answer Mingi is looking for. “Yesterday he told me about how Australia is wider than the moon. Not sure if I actually believe him, he probably got it off some meme page on Instagram.”

Yeah, he probably did, Mingi thinks. But it’s still not the answer Mingi is looking for.

“No,” He continues, shifting from laying on his stomach to sitting up straight. For what reason, he doesn’t know, because he still feels just as uncomfortable. “I mean, you know,”

Wooyoung does, in fact, not know. Not even Mingi knows what he’s talking about.

“About me, I mean.”

Only then does Wooyoung look away from whatever app he had been scrolling through for the past ten minutes, and Mingi can’t quite read the expression rooted inside of his eyes once they meet his own.

Wooyoung just looks at him for a moment, “No,” He says, and Mingi feels kind of stupid for even asking now because Wooyoung is looking at him like something’s wrong. “Why? Did something happen?”

Mingi plops down on his back, and Wooyoung doesn’t protest when he rests his feet on his lap. “No.” Is all he offers in response, vague and mumbled, even though he’s not sure if he’s telling the truth.

He doesn’t get an answer to his question, and he doesn’t even know what he would’ve liked for said answer to be. All he knows is that Yunho not having said anything considered weird, whatever that would be, about him feels heavier than it should.

It shouldn’t even feel heavy to begin with.

Mingi almost lets out a scream in confusion and frustration he himself doesn’t even understand, and Wooyoung just stares at him with furrowed brows.

He’s not sure which one of them feels the most confused.

༝༚༝༚

Mingi can still recall the moment he first realized what the feelings he harbored for the man who was supposed to be his best friend meant. 

Which is kind of funny, at least if you ask Mingi, because he can’t say there was this one defining moment that really set it all off — one world-changing, almost like a breakthrough moment — but more so a series of events.

The whole timeline of their whole friendship, if you will.

From the very first time Yunho stumbled into his life at the ripe age of fourteen, when Mingi still had yet to catch up with his spouting and seemingly never-ending growing limbs — something Yunho, all these years later, still takes pride in. It’s two centimeters, Mingi says. And two centimeters is a lot, depending on the context, Yunho always counters. Wooyoung agrees, and so does Yeosang. Mingi doesn’t wish to talk about it.

Mingi has seen Yunho grow from lanky limbs into something much more filling and not as awkward looking, he has witnessed a boy with a squeaky laugh and teeth kind of too big for his face turn into something much more of a man, with defined features and a laugh that no longer sounds like the preadolescence one he first fell in love with.

He’s not sure where in the timeline the admiration went from platonic to something more, and as the years pass, Mingi wonders if perhaps it’s never been platonic — not when they were fourteen and Yunho would throw his arm around Mingi’s shoulders to pull him close and Mingi would smell his laundry detergent for days on end afterward, and not now.

Now, that they’re no longer teenagers and now that every trace of their youth has been washed away and only exists in the back of Mingi’s head in the form of fond memories and the undisclosed longing that seems to always have existed.

It has. It has always existed. The longing, the untold and disguised longing for something more. It’s always been there. Mingi just never knew.

Then, one day, he knows.

And it’s still not world-changing, nor is it any sort of breakthrough moment, it’s Yunho’s voice coming from the other side of the phone when he calls to ask if Mingi would like to grab some food because he just got paid and it’s Yunho’s deep laugh that ricochets of the restaurant walls twenty minutes later.

Against old leather chairs of the chicken place that has been there for as long as Mingi can remember and with chicken way too greasy and paid for by Yunho, Yunho laughs when he tells him about one of the customers he met at work and Mingi laughs with him and they fear they’ll get kicked out for being too loud and they miss the way the older lady fights back a smile of her own at the sound of childlike laughter, and Mingi knows.

And it’s silent, it’s not loud and it’s not earthshattering — it’s a warm feeling in the pit of his stomach, one he has felt so many times before, one that flushes his ears red and makes his fingers feel fidgety, so he curls them around the cold can of coke and hides his ears with his hair.

Yunho talks about his shitty and low-paying job at the convenience store, buys Mingi too greasy chicken and Mingi realizes that he’s in love.

And it’s funny, because of course he’s in love, and if not with Yunho, then who?

No one, Mingi thinks. It’s Yunho. It has always been Yunho, it always will be Yunho. It has to be.

He never tells Yunho. He never tells him about the realization that comes to him in the back of the chicken shop, nor does he tell him about the longing for something more that erupts inside of him and threatens to expand beyond his skin, not even years later, years after the initial realization. 

Because while it’s always been Yunho, has it ever been Mingi?

༝༚༝༚

Is it okay to ask now, Mingi wonders when Yunho lies beside him. 

Asleep, mind somewhere far away from where Mingi currently finds himself. He wasn’t supposed to spend the night, he was only supposed to come over and help Mingi install some new update on his computer, but Mingi can’t say he’s surprised that he does end up spending the night. He’s the reason why Mingi stores an extra pillow in his wardrobe, after all. Is it okay to ask for something more now?

Maybe one day he will have the courage to ask the question out loud. And when he turns the lights off and lies down beside the man who’s seemingly completely oblivious to the love he holds, Mingi just hopes that day comes soon.

Please, he silently begs and traces the outline of Yunho’s features through the darkness. Please tell me it’s okay to ask.

༝༚༝༚

Two weeks later, Mingi still has yet to finish his literature assignment. Sitting on the top of his phone screen, there’s a notification from his professor, and one from Yunho right underneath it.

yuyu (9:34 p.m.)

game?

Mingi already finds himself seated in front of his computer when his phone buzzes against the hard surface of his desk.

mingi (9:42 p.m.)

ok but only one round. duty calls

yuyu (9:43 p.m.)

you’re so in love with me

Mingi puts the phone face down, and pretends like the text sitting on top of it doesn’t exist.

༝༚༝༚

Apparently, San and Wooyoung start dating.

Well, maybe not apparently, because Mingi can’t say he didn’t see it coming — especially after Wooyoung decided to ditch Yunho to go see San, something he never got confirmed but something he knows, nonetheless — but apparently, because Mingi is the last person to find out.

It’s not Wooyoung himself that tells him, nor does he do any sort of soft launch on his Instagram story, like a picture of him in the mirror where you can’t see his face nor can you see San’s but you can see the arms that wrap around his torso, something Mingi expects Wooyoung to do. 

No. It’s Yunho who tells him.

“What the fuck?”

Yunho shrugs. “Why are you so surprised? They’ve been hooking up for, like, ever. I’m just surprised it didn’t happen earlier.”

Mingi runs a hand through his hair. He’s not even sure why he feels so distressed. Betrayed, even. “No, I’m not,” He begins. Yunho doesn’t tear his eyes off the screen of his TV, fingers busy fiddling with the controller placed between his hands. Not distressed in the slightest. “I’m not surprised that they got together, just, why didn’t he tell me?”

“I’m sure he was going to, Mingi. It’s still kind of new, it’s only been like a week,”

“He even told fucking Jongho before me!”

Okay, well. Maybe that’s not a valid response. Jongho is Wooyoung’s friend, hell, he’s Mingi’s friend too for god’s sake — of course Wooyoung is going to tell him who he’s dating and not. Just like he tells Yunho. And Yeosang. Seonghwa and Hongjoong, too, for all Mingi knows. Everyone but Mingi. What the fuck.

Yunho quirks an eyebrow and looks over at him, just for a split second. He can’t afford to look away from the screen for more than a moment, he’s gotten too far in the game to lose now. “Why are you so upset?”

I don’t know, Mingi almost exclaims. I don’t fucking know.

He doesn’t know why he’s so upset, why the thought of him being the last one to know about Wooyoung’s new relationship bothers him more than it should — he knows Yunho is right when he tells him that Wooyoung is going to tell him, of course he was. Mingi just doesn’t understand why he has to be the last one he tells.

Maybe the lack of sleep and his scrambled thoughts are catching up to him, making him more sensitive than usual.

Yeah. That’s probably it.

He just leans against the back of Yunho’s couch, gaze averting to look at the screen. Yunho’s playing as Mingi’s favorite character, for good luck, he had said. “I’m not upset,” He mumbles, and doesn’t even believe himself, “If you start seeing someone and I’m the last person you tell, I’m cutting your dick off.”

And maybe the lack of sleep is why he suddenly feels so brave, not for telling Yunho he’ll cut his dick off — that’s nothing new — but brave enough to bring up the topic of dating.

It’s not like Yunho dating is something new to Mingi. Far from it, Yunho has dated multiple people over the years, perhaps more people than Mingi would’ve liked for him to, but it’s Yunho’s life and Mingi has frankly no say in who he dates and not — and despite most of them never leading to something serious, Mingi has always been the first one Yunho tells.

It’s just that, well, that’s kind of all it is.

Yunho tells Mingi he’s started seeing someone, Mingi says something along the lines of good for you or tell me about them, and then— then they don’t talk about it again, until Mingi asks about it months later and Yunho shrugs it off by saying something like ah, yeah, it didn’t work out.

Why, is something Mingi can’t answer, even if he wanted to.

What he does know, however, is that Yunho suddenly fucking freezes in his peripheral vision as soon as the words trail off his lips and– oh.

Wait. Oh?

The sound of Yunho’s fingers coming down to press against the buttons abruptly stops and his character suddenly stops moving and Mingi knows that if he doesn’t dodge the next attack he won’t be able to heal his character back up in time, which is like, the worst case scenario — at least according to Yunho — yet his character stays rooted in place.

And it slowly starts to dwell in on Mingi.

No, he thinks. Don’t tell me.

“What? You’re about to fucking die,” He lets out, even though he doesn’t really care, and looks over at the man seated beside him.

And holy shit, if Mingi was remotely close to being scared before — he’s not even sure what he is now.

Yunho, hands still gripping onto the controller, refuses to meet his gaze. And maybe that’s a good thing, because suddenly Mingi finds himself wishing not to see whatever might be lingering inside his eyes, because he has a feeling that he won’t like whatever it is.

Shit. “Wait,” He utters, stutters even, “Don’t– are you seeing someone?”

The question spills past his lips and into the now stale air before he even has the chance to think it through, because he doesn’t even want to know the answer to his own question — Yunho’s avert gaze and nonmoving hands are enough of an answer in itself, and holy shit, he really shouldn’t have asked. 

He hasn’t mentally prepared himself for this.

No, scratch that, he’s never mentally prepared for this. 

Then, the sound of Yunho’s lanky fingers repeatedly pressing against the buttons resumes. and Mingi can see him barely dodging the attack in the corner of his eye. He doesn’t care. He, frankly, does not care. A part of him even wishes the stupid character would’ve died so Yunho would fucking look at him.

“No,” Yunho lets out, too casual for Mingi’s liking. “I’m not seeing anyone.”

Dirty, dirty liar, Mingi thinks. He can’t have that. 

Suddenly, he’s shifting in his seat, turning his body around so he can properly face Yunho and of course Yunho doesn’t look away from the screen of the TV, “ No, you can tell me,” He presses, for reasons he himself can’t even comprehend because he doesn’t even want to know, “Are you?”

Yunho doesn’t budge. “I just told you, I’m not.”

“Are you scared I’ll get upset?” Mingi is persistent, too persistent for his own good, “Is it because I’m upset with Wooyoung for not telling me he’s dating San? Look, I promise I won’t get upset if–”

“So you are upset?”

He’s trying to change the subject. Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. “No, that’s beside the point, don’t change the subject,”

Then, the game pauses. Mingi can’t see it, but the music abruptly stops and Yunho suddenly drops the controller, which only means that he’s paused the game and– okay. Maybe Mingi is a little scared now. Especially when Yunho finally looks at him, and laughs.

Deep, and if Mingi looks hard enough maybe even forced, a chuckle rumbles through his chest. Mingi’s certain he can feel the vibrations travel through the fabric of the couch. “I’m not dating anyone, Mingi. Sorry to disappoint if that’s what you were wishing to hear, but I’m really not.”

Mingi just stares at him. He is disappointed.

Not for the reasons Yunho might think, but because he’s almost certain Yunho is lying to him. It’s the only plausible explanation, that he’s lying, because why else would he have reacted like that to what was only supposed to be a meaningless joke?

Actions speak louder than words sometimes, and Mingi thinks he’s firsthand experiencing it.

This might be the worst day of his life.

Mingi is the first one to look away, to prove a point, he tells himself. What point he’s trying to make, he’s not sure, but he is trying to make one. “Okay,” Simple and short, he goes back to his previous position, curled up in the corner of the couch with his eyes glued to the TV screen. He can still feel Yunho’s eyes on him. He doesn’t want him to look at him anymore. 

“I’m still going to cut your dick off if I’m ever the last person you tell.”

Yunho snorts, and then the game resumes. “I bet you will.”

If there ever was the slightest of hope rooted inside of him, it all dies and crumbles right there and then, and Mingi is back to square one.

There’s nothing charming about being in your twenties and being in love with your best friend, a bitter realization that comes to him when Yunho clears the level and lets out a groan in accomplishment.

Mingi wishes the character would’ve died.

He’s not upset.

༝༚༝༚

So maybe he’s a little upset. Just a little, though.

At least upset enough to ask Yeosang about it the next time he manages to find the time to sit down and play a few rounds of LoL with him. 

“Do you think Yunho is seeing anyone?” 

The volume of the snort that echoes through his headphones almost hurts his ears. “You’re asking me? ”

And Mingi knows how silly it must sound for him to ask if Yunho is seeing someone, because usually it’s the other way around — people coming to him to ask if Yunho is seeing anyone — so he guesses he kind of understands the amusement behind Yeosang’s loud snort.

“Just answer the question,” Mingi mumbles over the sound of his fingers repeatedly tapping against his keyboard, “Has he like, mentioned anything to you?”

Yeosang snorts again, and Mingi lowers the volume on his computer. He makes a mental note to tell Yeosang to get a new headset later, one with a better mic. “Dude, if you don’t know, how am I supposed to know?”

That’s the thing. Mingi doesn’t know, and he’s kind of grasping at the straws here, because he doesn’t know and he kind of has to know. “I just, I think he is,” Mingi mumbles into his mic, “But when I asked him about it he just denied it. I think it was because I was upset with Wooyoung not telling me he and San started dating.”

Yeosang’s fingers tapping against his keyboard can be heard faintly in the background, “You think he denied he’s dating someone because you got upset with Wooyoung? That doesn’t even make sense.”

“No, but like, maybe he was scared I’d get upset with him too, for not telling me,” 

“You’re losing me,” Yeosang replies, “Still makes no sense. You might think like that, but does Yunho think like that? No. It’s Yunho, in case you’ve forgotten who you’re talking about.”

And yeah, now that he’s said it out loud, it kind of doesn’t make any sense to Mingi either. It is Yunho, after all, and Yunho doesn’t share Mingi’s prone to overthinking and overanalyzing brain.

Well, in that case, there’s only one thing left to say. 

Fuck. Mingi really hoped he wouldn’t have to go there. He really did.

But desperate times call for desperate measures, he figures.

“He talked about kissing me a few weeks ago,” It’s mumbled, almost like he doesn’t even want Yeosang to hear what he’s telling him. Like it’s some sort of secret, not meant to be uttered and leave the confinement walls of Mingi’s brain, “And maybe he’s, I don’t know, embarrassed? Like, it makes sense if he is dating someone,”

Yeosang falls silent, and then he laughs.

Loud and Mingi has to turn down the volume even further because holy shit, his ears hurt when the audio cuts through his headphones and if Yeosang doesn’t get a new pair of headphones, Mingi will personally buy a new pair for him. “Holy shit,” Yeosang cracks out, “He talked about kissing you?”

Mingi frowns. Maybe he shouldn’t have told him. Maybe he should’ve let that piece of information stayed locked up inside his brain, after all. “Yeah,”

“And that’s why you think he’s dating someone?”

Silence, for just a moment. “Yeah?”

If disbelief were to turn into a person, Mingi thinks it’d sound a whole lot like Yeosang when he parts his lips and his voice echoes through his earphones once more. “Mingi,” He begins, and Mingi isn’t sure how much attention he’s still paying to the game, “I don’t know how your brain works, and I’m not really looking to figure it out either, but that might be the stupidest shit I’ve ever heard.”

Mingi almost winces, both because Yeosang might be right, but also because his character is literally about to die. “Doesn’t that make sense to you, though? Like, I don’t even know if he remembers talking to me about it, but maybe he’s just embarrassed,”

The people in the chat are borderline yelling at him, telling him to stop fucking up the game and actually play, but Mingi can’t really find it within him to pay any real attention right now. “Embarrassed about what, exactly? Honestly, do you think he’d say anything like that without meaning it? It’s still Yunho we’re talking about here. You’re getting yourself killed, by the way,”

Yeosang says it like it’s the most casual thing in the world. Like Yunho telling him he wants to kiss him is an everyday occurrence, something not even worth batting an eyelash at, like it’s not worth Mingi losing the ability to form a coherent thought over.

Here’s the thing, though: it’s not. It’s not an everyday occurrence, and it does make Mingi lose the ability to form a single coherent thought.

“Sorry,” He manages to mumble in response, referring to the latter part of Yeosang’s statement when his fingers return to spamming the same keys over and over again to avoid getting himself banned from the game.

Yeosang snorts, again, this time not as loud and it doesn’t make Mingi’s ears hurt this time around. If it’s because he’s turned down the volume, or if it’s because the snort is significantly softer than the other ones, Mingi can’t tell. 

“Look,” He begins, “Honestly speaking, I don’t think he’s seeing anyone. He’d tell you if he was. I just think you have a whole lot of unresolved shit to talk through.”

“You really don’t? Think he’s seeing anyone, I mean,” Mingi asks, and chooses to completely ignore the latter part of Yeosang’s sentence.

Yeosang hums on the other side of the call. “I don’t. I’ll tell you what I do think, though,” He continues, “I obviously don’t know the whole story, but I really don’t think he’d ever say something like that without meaning it. Do with that as you will.”

He then curses, loudly, and Mingi watches as his own character dies on the screen and takes Yeosang’s character down along with him.

What if I do kiss you one day?

The screen flashes red in defeat, and Mingi ignores the chat when they curse him out for not even properly playing the game.

༝༚༝༚

Wooyoung tells Mingi about him and San the next time he sees him.

Mingi pretends like he doesn’t already know and Yunho, seated from across the room, remains quiet when he happily congratulates him, telling him it was a long time coming into the fabric of his sweater when pulls him in for a tight hug. Wooyoung smacks him when he asks if that means he’ll finally stop pining over him, now that he has him.

He’s no longer upset over the fact that he’s the last one to know, and he laughs when Wooyoung tells him no, that he’ll continue pining over San and that Mingi just has to deal with it. Mingi thinks he might understand where he’s coming from.

Yunho doesn’t meet his gaze when Mingi searches for it.

༝༚༝༚

It’s Friday, and Mingi sips on his beer while he listens to Wooyoung mumble something into the phone pressed against his ear. San is there, and Mingi feels bad for ever getting mad about Wooyoung not telling him about their relationship, because San is great. He’s happy for them.

Wooyoung plops down next to them a moment later, phone shoved into the back pocket of his jeans and no longer pressed against his ear.

“Yunho said he doesn’t feel like drinking tonight.”

Mingi tries calling him a few hours and several beers later. Yunho doesn’t pick up.

༝༚༝༚

Yunho doesn’t comment on Mingi’s new Instagram post.

He’s on the couch when his phone vibrates against the fabric, and Yunho’s name takes up the top of his screen.

yuyu (6:04 p.m.)

u look good

It vibrates again.

yuyu (6:05 p.m.)

in the new pic i mean

mingi (6:05 p.m.)

u didn’t even comment. do u not care about me?

yuyu (6:06 p.m.)

feels more sincere to tell u over text tho

Mingi throws his phone across the couch and hopes it breaks when it thuds against the cushions.

༝༚༝༚

Yeosang doesn’t mention their last conversation when Mingi slips his headphones over his head, logs onto his computer and joins an already ongoing call at three in the morning.

Yeosang tells him Jongho and Wooyoung had both been on the call earlier, but that Jongho had to get off early because he has work in the morning and that Wooyoung had gotten so annoyed over the fact that he kept losing that he left the game and then the call. He says he knew Mingi would join sooner or later, he always does — even on the nights he swears he won’t play.

So that’s what they do, they play. Yeosang refuses to give up his position, which is the one Mingi always plays, and then audibly laughs when Mingi borderline yells at him for not playing the role properly. Yeosang then tells him about how he doesn’t have school for another week because he finished all his assignments early, and Mingi tells him how he has about three different assignments to turn in.

They talk about everything, from the game to how much Yeosang hates his dance teacher because he keeps picking bad songs to dance to, ones that don’t match Yeosang’s personal taste and style — everything. They talk about everything.

Everything but that.

That, as in the conversation they shared the last time they played together, and everything that came along with it. 

That doesn’t mean Mingi hasn’t been able to stop thinking about it ever since, though.

I just think you have a whole lot of unresolved shit to talk through.

Maybe it’s time Mingi asks the dreaded question.

Yeah, he thinks.

Maybe it is. Maybe it has been for a while, now.

༝༚༝༚

“Did no one ever teach you how to do basic cooking? Jesus fucking Christ, Mingi,”

Mingi audibly winces when Wooyoung reaches over and snatches the spatula out of his grip.

“You say that like he’s the one taking culinary courses,” Mingi doesn’t need to look over at Yunho to see the roll of his eyes, he can practically hear it lingering behind his words when he speaks up from across the room. “Not everyone knows how to make coq au champagne.”

“It’s coq au vin,” Yunho misses the way Wooyoung rolls his eyes back at him, “And it’s not like I’m asking him to braise the chicken, I’m asking him to fry carrots,”

“It’s literally, like, the same dish, and what the fuck does even braise the chicken mean?”

“First of all, they’re two very different dishes, thank you very much, ” Suddenly, Mingi gets brutally reminded of why he hates cooking with Wooyoung and Yunho. “Second of all, did neither of you learn basic cooking?”

“Champagne and wine, practically the same shit, just with two different names,”

“What?”

“What? Am I wrong?”

“Yes, what the fuck? You’re telling me champagne and wine are the same thing?”

“I mean, yeah, theoretically,”

“Theoretically?”

“Isn’t champagne just sparkling wine?”

“Yes, but, what– yes, but no, not all sparkling wine is champag–”

Mingi thinks his brain is about to explode. 

“You’re so fucking annoying,” Mingi audibly groans, interrupting whatever discussion it is Wooyoung and Yunho have going on. 

He already knew this would happen. It always does, yet he finds himself agreeing to Wooyoung’s pleas for him to come over earlier than the rest of the group to help him prepare dinner. 

It’s the first time in months that Hongjoong’s schedule lines up with the rest of them, and it’s the last time Seonghwa will be able to join their monthly get-togethers before he leaves for an internship in Japan for a few months — and it’s San’s first time meeting the whole group, so of course Mingi says yes to Wooyoung’s desperate pleas.

I’m nervous, Wooyoung had practically whined over the phone. What if they all hate San? Not that I think they will, because, like, how could anyone ever hate San? And it’s the last time we’re seeing Seonghwa for months, I can’t believe he’s actually leaving, oh God, I’m gonna cry so hard, I have to make it perfect, does Seonghwa prefer red or white wine? I can’t remember, fuck, Yeosang doesn’t drink red wine though, right? Right, he doesn’t, and you didn’t hate San, did you? What if they do? Even worse, what if San doesn’t like them? Oh my god, I haven’t even thought about th–

Mingi had already agreed to come over and help him plan the evening before Wooyoung even had the chance to ask.

Wooyoung, however, forgot to mention that Yunho had also decided to show up earlier than planned, something he’s only made aware of when he lets himself through the already unlocked front door and is greeted by lanky limbs spread out across Wooyoung’s leather couch, one hand curled around his phone and the other mindlessly waving at him.

And it’s not that it’s Yunho being there itself that’s the problem, it’s just that, well, it kind of is Yunho being there that is the problem.

Perhaps it’s more so the combination of Wooyoung and Yunho cooking together, that’s the actual problem.

“I’ll be on the couch, let me know if there’s anything other than frying carrots I can do,” Mingi mumbles when his fingers curl around the wine glass he had left on the counter, and leaves the room before Wooyoung has the chance to object.

“Take him with you,” Wooyoung yells from behind him even though he doesn’t need to, Mingi can hear him perfectly fine. “Get him out of my kitchen, he’s stressing me out.”

“No need, already on it,” Yunho mumbles, loud enough for Mingi to hear but quiet enough for it to go unnoticed by Wooyoung who’s too busy frying the carrots Mingi was originally supposed to fry. 

Mingi doesn’t even like carrots. Hates them, even — but he doesn’t tell Wooyoung that, he fears he might get decapitated if he does, and he’d like to live at least another day.

“Why’d he let me in in the first place?” Yunho mumbles when he sinks down on the leather couch, followed by Mingi sitting beside him. Yunho kind of takes up too much space, and Mingi can feel his thigh pressing up against his own, yet he doesn’t make an attempt to scoot away. “If I’m stressing him out so much,”

Mingi snorts, then brings the glass of wine up to his lips. “Did he let you in, or did you just show up?”

Yunho falls silent, for just a moment, before he mumbles, “He could’ve just told me to come back later.”

Mingi audibly laughs at that, making sure to swallow the small sip of wine before reaching forward to place the glass on top of the small coffee table in front of him. He can hear the sizzling coming from the kitchen, accompanied by the low hum of Wooyoung singing along to the song playing from the speakers of his phone. “Yeah, like Wooyoung has the heart to do that.”

“He has the heart to tell me how annoying I am, I doubt he’d have any problem telling me to leave and come back later.”

Mingi hums in response as he leans back, resting his head against the back of the couch before tilting it to look at the man seated beside him. His chin almost brushes against Yunho’s shoulder, and only then does he truly realize how close he is.

He still doesn’t make an attempt at widening the gap between them.

“He’s stressed about everyone meeting San,” His eyes dart down to look where Yunho’s hands rest against his lap, fingers curled around a wine glass of his own. “I think he’s kind of upset about Seonghwa leaving, too.”

Yunho hums, and when Mingi looks back up at him, his gaze is on something that’s not Mingi. “I know,” He lets out, “We all are.”

A grin spreads across Mingi’s lips, a barely noticeable one, but one he feels. “What? Stressed about meeting San, or upset about Seonghwa leaving?”

Yunho slightly tilts his head and looks at him then, and Mingi doesn’t stop his grin from growing when a grin of it’s own spreads across Yunho’s lips. “Not San, I love San,” Yunho lets out, “Even though I kind of hate him for becoming Wooyoung’s only personality trait.”

The laugh that rumbles through Mingi’s chest feels a little too loud, and when the side of his face comes into contact with Yunho’s shoulder, the touch feels almost hot to his skin — despite it being a position he’s found himself in countless of times before. 

“He’s in love, cut him some slack.”

I’d make the person I’m in love with my whole personality trait, too, Mingi thinks. What a privilege, to love someone like that, he doesn’t say.

“Mingi?” Yunho suddenly speaks up, and Mingi misses the way his fingers slightly tighten, just ever so lightly, around his wine glass when he cranes his neck to look up at him, brows raised. “Hm?”

His cheek presses up and against Yunho’s shoulder as he does, and he can’t quite tell what it is lingering behind Yunho’s features — if it’s uncertainty or hesitation — the grin long gone and replaced by his teeth lightly sinking into his bottom lip instead. 

Mingi pushes back the uneasy feeling that begins to form in the pit of his stomach before it has the chance to properly form.

“You,” Mingi can’t help but notice the way the wine has slightly tinted his lips a faint red color and seeped into the cracks, and Mingi wonders if he doesn’t use the chapstick Mingi had gifted him a few weeks ago. To prevent said cracks, something Yunho seems to have ignored. “You know when you asked me if I’m seeing anyone?”

Oh.

Wooyoung has slightly turned the volume up on his phone, and Mingi can now clearly hear the music over the sizzling and the sound of a knife coming down to repedeatly hit what he assumes is the cutting board. He can’t remember the name of the song that’s playing, but he thinks it’s something along the lines of cough syrup, because he can recall Wooyoung adding it to his playlist and begging him to listen to it.

If I could find a way to see this straight, he hears Wooyoung sing. He pictures him dancing by the stove, bobbing his head to the beat. Maybe swinging his hips a little, like he always does. As Wooyoung as it gets.

But in front of him, he sees Yunho staring down at him with his teeth still sunken into his wine tainted bottom lip, and Mingi has never felt further away from Wooyoung and the upbeat song coming from the kitchen.

Oh.

His cheek no longer feels hot against Yunho’s shoulder, and when he sits up straight, his head slightly spins from sitting up too quickly, too hastily. Too forced. Too stiffly. His chest slightly burns, stings. Oh, fuck. “Is it– did Yeosang say anything?”

He blurts it out before thinking, and Yunho’s looking at him, now dumbfounded — brows furrowed, and Wooyoung is still singing in the kitchen. “What?”

Mingi runs a hand over his face, then he contemplates reaching for his wine glass to down the remaining wine, “It was Yeosang, wasn’t it? Oh god, I can explain, I know it probably sounded weird,”

Because of course Yeosang has told Yunho about the conversation they shared that one night, the conversation neither of them brought up ever again — Mingi can practically hear the conversation play out in his head, for fucks sake.

Are you dating anyone? Mingi was being all weird about it. He didn’t believe you when you said no.

And of course Yeosang is just trying to be nice, trying to be a good friend, like he always is, trying to ease Mingi’s mind by asking Yunho up straight — and Mingi is going to kill him.

And then he’s going to kill himself, because Yunho is still just looking at him. Dumbfounded, confused. This is horrible. Mingi feels horrible. “Yeosang? What– why would Yeosang– do you think I’m dating Yeosang?”

It then goes from horrible to terrfiying.

Mingi blinks. “What?”

Yunho just blinks back at him. “Do you think I’m dating Yeosang?” 

Why he repeats the question, Mingi has no clue, because he heard him perfectly fine the first time around — and he truly wishes he wouldn’t have repeated it, because what the fuck. What the actual fuck.

“Why– what? Are you dating Yeosang?”

Yunho then looks terrified. Mingi is certain he himself looks just as terrified. “What the fuck, no, I’m– no, I’m not dating Yeosang, why are you talking about Yeosang?”

Wooyoung skips the song that’s playing and a new one starts playing, and Mingi almost yells at him to turn the music off altogether. “Did he not tell you?” He asks, now confused. And terrified. And kind of embarrassed. What the fuck, indeed.

Yunho is still staring at him, equally confused, and maybe even more terrified than Mingi, “Tell me what? That I’m not dating anyone?”

Oh.

“Oh.”

Yeah, oh.

“Is that,” Mingi almost wants to crawl out of his own skin. “Is that what you were gonna say? That you’re not dating anyone?”

Yunho nods.

Mingi wants to disappear. 

He then groans so loudly that he’s certain Wooyoung hears it all the way into the kitchen before he buries his face in his hands, “Why the fuck would you put it like that?”

“What? Like what? I just wanted to make sure that, you know, that you knew,” Yunho lets out, and Mingi refuses to look at him when he speaks into the palms of his hands, “You’ve already told me you aren’t dating anyone!”

“Yes, but,” If Mingi had looked, he would’ve noticed the way Yunho slightly trails off, the way he slightly hesitates. Perhaps he would’ve heard it, too, if he wasn’t too preoccupied hiding his now slightly red face. “I wanted you to know I was being honest, when I told you that I– why are you being so weird? Why are you talking about Yeosang?”

And perhaps he would’ve picked up on the reason why Yunho decides to tell him he’s not dating anyone, too.

Wooyoung’s voice comes as a blessing, Mingi decides, when it echoes through the room. “Can someone get me a towel?”

Mingi stands up before Wooyoung has even finished speaking. He can hear Yunho part his lips, feel the words that are about to trail off them when he turns his back towards him. “On it,” Mingi yells back.

He’s already left the room before Yunho has the chance to speak up.

He refuses to look himself in the mirror when he walks into the bathroom and flicks the light switch on, he can already feel the blood rushing to his ears. He doesn’t need to see it. He doesn’t want to see it. The burning of his cheeks and the loud thumping of his heart is enough evidence of his embarrassment as it is.

It’s not until his fingers grab onto the soft fabric of a freshly washed towel that he realizes.

I wanted you to know I was being honest.

He’ll apologize to Wooyoung for dropping a freshly washed towel on the floor later.

༝༚༝༚

Wooyoung does end up crying.

Mingi is leaning against the wall, arms crossed, when Seonghwa desperately tries to wipe the tears away from Wooyoung’s now irritated and red cheeks. Hongjoong is already standing outside, the door left ajar and the slight breeze that’s forces its way inside the apartment sends shivers down Mingi’s arms. 

He won’t tell him to close it, though, and neither will San who’s leaning against the opposite wall, chewing on his bottom lip, looking kind of worried. Probably from seeing Wooyoung cry, Mingi figures. He finds it kind of endearing, and equally sickening.

But who is he to judge, he figures.

“Promise you’ll call every night?”

“Yes,”

“And promise you’ll send pictures every day?”

Hongjoong sighs from the other side of the door, “He’s not dying, you know, he’s just going to Japan.”

Mingi doesn’t see the way Seonghwa looks at him, squinting his eyes at him before he’s back to gently stroking Wooyoung’s cheeks. “Yes, Woo, I promise.”

Wooyoung then starts crying, again. 

Seonghwa pulls him into the nth hug of the night, and gently pats the back of his head when he cries into his shirt — and the way San slightly jerks in the corner of his eye doesn’t go unnoticed by Mingi. Maybe it is sickening, after all, to love someone to the point where you physically react to their pain.

Yeosang leaves the dinner quite early, he has dance classes early tomorrow morning — which if you ask Mingi, is kind of stupid, because who willingly takes classes on a Saturday morning? — and Jongho follows shortly after. He makes sure to get San’s number beforehand, with the promise of him teaching him how to play LoL trailing off his lips. San seems a little too eager when he hands him his phone, and his eyes slightly crease when he grins. Wooyoung just watches with a content smile from across the table.

It goes well.

The whole night goes well. They all like San, loves San, which Mingi already knew they would — Seonghwa gasps when Wooyoung brings out a bottle of his favorite wine and toasts to Wooyoung and San and their new relationship even though the night is kind of dedicated to him and not the new couple — it goes well.

Yunho doesn’t take his eyes off Mingi the whole night.

He doesn’t see it, other than the few times they accidentally lock eyes, but he feels it. He feels Yunho’s eyes on him, burning into his skin, leaving invisible marks to decorate the side of his face when he listens to Hongjoong talk. 

And yeah, the night goes well. It goes really well, except the fact that, well, that it ends.

The night ends, and Wooyoung finally manages to say goodbye to Seonghwa and Hongjoong without falling back into Seonghwas arms and making him promise for the hundredth time that he’ll call, and then the door shuts. Mingi wishes to bask in the warmth of Seonghwa’s arms for just a little longer before he leaves, but reluctantly pulls away anyway. He knows he’ll be back soon, and he has promised he’s going to call, Wooyoung made sure of that.

Wooyoung falls into San’s arms before the door has even properly shut, and Mingi slightly feels bad for him when Wooyoung starts crying about Seonghwa leaving — both because Wooyoung makes an incredibly sappy drunk, but also because he can tell San has no idea how to comfort him besides telling him that he’ll be back — which Wooyoung already knows. He still cries.

The look San offers him when he guides Wooyoung towards his bedroom is almost apologetic, and Mingi is quick to dismiss it by waving his hands in front of him and shaking his head. Get him to bed, he doesn’t say. San still seems to pick up on it, though, when he offers him a small nod in response.

The night goes really well.

Until it ends, and Mingi hears Wooyoung’s bedroom door click shut before the apartment falls silent — then he’s alone.

Alone, with the same pair of eyes that has been burning into the side of his face the whole night still looking at him from across the room.

Burning, engraving itself into his skin, the gaze feels heavy when it lands on Mingi.

I wanted you to know I was being honest.

Mingi doesn’t particularly want to look at him, to meet his gaze, but he supposes he has no choice. Not now, not when there’s no one else to look at, now when there’s no one left, no one but him.

So he does. He lets out a small sigh, to make it seem natural, when he slightly tilts his head to look over at the male standing across the room and holy shit.  

He regrets it as soon as he does.

Mingi makes a mental note to ask Yunho what he uses to style his hair, because while Mingi had spent maybe a little too long in front of Wooyoung’s bathroom mirror trying to get his hair to fall just right, the strands has long since lost their slicked back form and fall just above his eyebrows.

While Yunho, he looks just like he did when he walked through the door. Eyes a little heavier, sure, in courtesy of the wine — but the black shirt still hangs off his frame almost perfectly and the small amount of eyeshadow he has dabbed onto the outer corner of his eyes hasn’t even smudged in the slightest. 

Mingi doesn’t even want to see the state of his own eyeshadow. He already knows it's smudged, and the glitter has probably fallen onto his cheekbones by now, too. Nothing is ever fair whenever Yunho is involved.

Never has been, never will be.

“Tired?”

Mingi nods, “Yeah, kind of.” He lies. He’s not tired, not even a little, the slight buzz of the wine still present and prickling at his skin.

“You wanna head home? I’ll walk with you,”

Mingi rests his hands behind his back, placing the palms firmly against the wall before he shakes his head. He wants to look away, hide from Yunho’s gaze, but forces himself not to. 

“No, I was thinking of asking if I can take the couch,” He lets out, nodding his head towards the couch. Yunho’s gaze doesn’t budge, still looking at Mingi even when he signals towards the couch. Mingi can’t say he expected any less. “If San’s comfortable with that, of course. I don’t think Wooyoung will mind,”

Maybe he’s rambling a little, so sue him — Yunho’s gaze feels so fucking heavy when he gazes at him from across the hall, so heavy that Mingi fears he might as well pass out — so blaming him for borderline rambling feels kind of unfair, at least according to Mingi, who’s desperately trying to justify his own rambling and quickening heartbeat.

Yunho just looks at him for a moment, then, “Are you sure? I’ll walk with you, or order you a taxi, whatever works best for you.”

Mingi is quick to shake his head. He wants to wave his hands in the air, too, to further prove his point — but he can’t really move them from where they’re resting behind his back. “No, it’s okay, I kind of just want to go to sleep, to be honest.”

The silence that follows feels almost deafening. He wonders if Wooyoung fell asleep as soon as San put him to bed, and if that’s why he can’t seem to hear anything other than his own heartbeat. “Okay.”

Short and simple, Yunho replies. Mingi nods. “Okay.”

“Yeah,” Yunho lets out. Mingi still can’t bring himself to be the first one to avert his gaze.

“Yeah, so,”

“Mingi,”

His eyebrows slightly raises at the sudden mention of his name, “Yeah?”

And there it is. The hesitation, for just a split moment, a moment so short Mingi almost misses it, and then, “Can I kiss you?”

Mingi is certain he dies right there and then. 

He tries to conceal the way his breath hitches in his throat, although he’s not sure just how good of a job he does, because he can feel his lips parting before he’s shutting them just as quickly, and the ringing in his ears is so loud that he can’t even hear his own heartbeat anymore even though he can feel it, hammering against and threatening to burst out of his chest any second now.

And Yunho, Yunho is still staring at him, heavy, waiting, hoping — like he’s just as close to bursting out of his skin as Mingi is. Mingi thinks he might be. Mingi hopes he is.

His voice almost betrays him, coming out in the form of a croaky whisper and not even remotely close to being as firm as Mingi would’ve liked for it to be when all he manages to get out is, “Yeah.”

Yunho pushes himself off the wall and makes his way towards Mingi before the word has even fully left his lips, and Mingi doesn’t even have the time to move his arms from behind his back before he feels it.

Lanky fingers curling around the side of his face, rough fingertips gripping onto the skin of his cheek and slipping into the gelled strands of hair, followed by Yunho’s hard chest — has he always been this buff, or is it because it’s the first time Mingi gets to feel him like this? — pressing against his own and–

Cracked lips press against his own, and Mingi realizes this is all he’s ever wanted.

This is all he’s ever needed.

Yunho kisses him with urgency, fingertips digging and nails slightly piercing into his skin and Mingi almost melts when Yunho’s tongue swipes across his bottom lip, licking away any of the wine left over to coat and taint his lips.

He tastes like the remains of Carmex applied several hours earlier, washed away by cheap red wine and yearning — and Mingi relishes in the taste, like it’s the best thing he has ever known — which it might just be, he thinks when he manages to push his back off the wall and his hands finally grab onto Yunho.

Anything, he grabs onto anything — tangling his fingers into the fabric of his shirt and pulling him closer, harder. Yunho doesn’t say anything when Mingi thinks the shirt might rip, and instead presses himself firmly against him.

If that’s not enough for an answer in itself, Mingi doesn’t know what is.

The heat licking up his spine numbs the pain of having his back pressed up against the hard wall of Wooyoung’s hallway, even makes him forget that it’s Wooyoung’s hallway he’s finds himself in to begin with, because the only thing he can see and taste, only thing he think about is Yunho.

Yunho, who kisses him with the same amount of longing and craving as Mingi, and Mingi doesn’t even care that their teeth almost clash together and that Yunho’s fingers are digging into his skin so roughly that he’s certain they’re going to leave marks behind and–

Yunho pulls away, and Mingi almost cries.

Don’t, he almost whispers, whines, when Yunho presses his forehead against his own. Please don’t.

“You have to mean it,” His breath feels hot against Mingi’s lips when he speaks, low and if Mingi looks hard enough, he can almost taste the fear lingering behind his words. Mingi wishes to kiss it all away. “I can’t– I can’t do this if you don’t mean it, Mingi,”

“I mean it,” Mingi pants. I’ve never meant anything more in my entire life. “I mean it Yunho, I promise I mean it,”

Yunho looks at him, his thumb gently tugging at his skin when he drags it across his cheek and the wet noise his mouth makes when his lip gets slightly tugged at and lifts upwards feels so loud, too loud, and then Yunho is kissing him again.

Hard, openmouthed and they need to get out of there. Like, a long time ago. They needed to get out of there a long, long time ago.

“Home,” Mingi tries to say, but it comes out wet and muffled. Yunho doesn’t show him any mercy, not even when he tries to speak, grip on his face hardening. “We– home, let’s, my apartment, can’t stay– Yunho,”

Mingi practically almost whimpers when Yunho licks into his mouth, one hand squeezing his side before clumsy fingers slip underneath the fabric of his shirt and Mingi does whimper when Yunho’s nails dig into his bare skin. 

Home. They need to get home. Quickly. Fast. Now. An hour ago, preferably. Hell, years ago, for all Mingi cares.

“Yunho,” Mingi pants, warns against his lips, yet the grip on his shirt stays firm and doesn’t falter, not even when his words imply otherwise. “My apartment? Please,”

Yunho pulls back, just ever so slightly and Mingi’s fingers curl around the fabric of his shirt even harder. He’s scared he’s going to pull away, look at him with regret, realize what just happened — leave. 

He doesn’t realize how hard he’s pulling at the fabric of Yunho’s shirt.

Then, “Okay,” Yunho whispers against his lips, out of breath and pecks his lips, “Fuck, okay,” Pecks his lips again, once, then twice, “Do we, Wooyoung, do we tell–”

Mingi kisses him and Yunho allows him to interrupt him, words dying at the tip of his tongue when all Mingi wants to do is kiss him, kiss him, kiss him, kiss him. “Just go, let’s just go,” Mingi begs against his lips, and Yunho just responds by nodding his head against Mingi’s forehead.

His bag gets left behind on Wooyoung’s kitchen floor, and he mentally apologizes to Wooyoung for leaving the front door unlocked.

And he’s not sure just how they get home, but they do.

They do get home, despite Yunho’s hands seemingly unable to leave his body for as much as a single moment and despite Mingi having to stop every two seconds because now that he’s kissed Yunho, he can’t seem to stop — and his sheets feel warm against his back when he lays down.

Above him, Yunho is pressed against him. Heavy, big and warm — warmer than the sheets underneath him — and when his now cold fingers slip underneath his shirt and dances up his sides, Mingi shudders.

A feeling so familiar, yet so foreign all the same, when Yunho’s nose brushes against his neck and leaves a trail of kisses behind. “You’re such a dick,” Yunho mumbles against his skin. 

Mingi groans in response when he gently sucks on the skin. Nowhere hard enough to leave a mark, and Mingi kind of wishes to tell him to please do. “Why?” His voice comes out so shakily that if he would’ve cared, he would’ve felt embarrassed. But he doesn’t. He doesn’t care.

Another kiss onto the side of his neck, “For making me wait for so long,”

He can’t care, not when he has Yunho pressed up against him and nosing at his neck. “ You – you made me wait for just as long, asshole,” He manages to choke out, his neck craned and there’s no real bite to his words.

Yunho hums against his neck, and Mingi almost moans, “Not true,” A wet kiss onto the skin. His lips feel dry and wet with saliva at the same time, Mingi doesn’t care. “I’ve told you so many times, you’re just stupid. Turn around,”

His fingers nudge where they’re resting against his sides, and Mingi complies without asking any further questions because he’d do anything if Yunho asked him to — flipping his body around and then he does moan, because now he can really feel Yunho on him. “What?”

He’s not drunk, maybe not even tipsy and he’s certain that it’s not the cheap red wine’s doing when his whole body feels warm and fidgety. Yunho’s lips press against the back of his neck, fingers pulling at the jeans he unbuttoned the second they stumbled through the door and Mingi gets the answer to why he feels so fidgety then.

“Yeah, always wanted you, only you,” Yunho confesses into the back of his neck and Mingi almost cries when Yunho reaches around and cups the bulge through his underwear. 

The confession echoes through Mingi’s brain, repeating itself over the loud static in his ears when Yunho presses against him. Repeats itself when Yunho clumsily humps against his ass, turns him back around and kisses him, repeats itself when he desperately thrusts into Yunho’s hand now wet with precum, repeats itself when Yunho kisses each gasp that leaves his lips away.

Always wanted you, only you. Always wanted you.

And when he comes, hard and his whole body trembles, he tells Yunho he loves him.

Yunho kisses the words off his lips, runs a thumb through his furrowed brows, and then, “I love you too, always have.”

༝༚༝༚

They don’t talk about it. They don’t need to.

It’s pointless to talk about something that has been so obvious this whole time, none of them says. The lopsided grins, washed away by the morning sun, say it before they have the chance to.

༝༚༝༚

“You thought he was dating me?”

Yunho giggles from above him, and Mingi audibly whines when his fingers get stuck in one of the knots in his hair. “Don’t pull so hard,” He cries, craning his head to look up at the man seated and leaning against the headboard of his bed. Yunho just offers him an apologetic smile in response, before his fingers are back to gently combing through his hair, careful not to tangle it further.

“Okay, what the fuck?” Yeosang lets out, bringing Mingi’s attention back to the phone in his hand. Right, Yeosang. “Are you like, trying to have phone sex with me?”

“No–”

“If you want.”

Yunho winces as soon as Mingi lands a slap against his thigh, followed by a mumbled ‘sorry’. Poor Yeosang, he thinks. He never signed up for this. “I thought you had sent him to, like, I don’t know, reassure me he wasn’t lying? I don’t even know, it’s embarrassing,”

“Okay, and just how does that even turn into him dating me? You’re too complicated for your own good, and kind of stupid,”

“Agreed.”

Yunho cries when Mingi pinches his thigh through the material of his shorts, swatting his hand away. “I’m joking, fuck, why aren’t you pinching Yeosang? He said it first,”

“Because Yeosang isn’t here, asshole!”

“Don’t say that, you love me,”

Yeosang gags on the other side of the phone, “I’m hanging up, you’re both disgusting.”

“Your loss, Sang-ah,” Yunho chirps, smiling down at Mingi who’s staring up at him with squinted eyes. He’s trying really, really hard not to smile back at him. “You won’t get to hear me being disgusting with my boyfriend if you hang up,”

“Jesus Christ,” Yeosang groans, and Mingi can no longer bite back his smile. He doesn’t try to, either. “I wish you would’ve stayed oblivious forever.”

Yunho hangs up and swats the phone out of Mingi’s grip before he’s leaning down, and the buzzing of his phone goes unnoticed when he tangles himself together with Yunho.

yeosang (4:34 p.m.)

so no cyber threesome?

mingi (6:12 p.m.)

get ur own boyfriend

yeosang (6:13 p.m.)

holy shit

did you fuck for two hours????

mingi (6:14 p.m.)

GET UR OWN BOYFRIEND

yeosang (6:14 p.m.)

:( 

༝༚༝༚

Wooyoung is exhilarated to know that Yunho and Mingi share their first kiss in his hallway.

Almost like it’s some sort of holy and sacred place now, he loudly squeals when they tell him. “I can’t even be mad at you for not locking the door,” He lets out, and Mingi almost falls over when he throws himself at him. “I mean yeah, someone could’ve just walked in, but holy shit, I would’ve let them,”

San is smiling at them from across the room, although Mingi can tell he doesn’t exactly understand the reason behind Wooyoung bouncing off his chair and practically jumping into Mingi’s arms. He’ll understand in his due time, he figures — and until then, he’ll pat him on the back and congratulate him, too scared to hug him just yet. 

Mingi finds it really endearing.

Yunho snorts, “Me and Mingi kissing is worth someone breaking into your house?”

Mingi feels warm at the mention of him and Yunho kissing, like Yunho isn’t his boyfriend. 

The thought of it, Yunho being his boyfriend, is enough to make Mingi smile. “You and Mingi kissing is worth someone killing me, for all I care.”

San’s features twist into something of somewhat terror, and Mingi loudly laughs into the fabric of Wooyoung’s sweater.

༝༚༝༚

When Seonghwa comes home to visit, he brings matching bracelets for Mingi and Yunho to wear.

For a long-lasting, sincere love, he says.

Yunho kisses Mingi’s bracelet before Mingi clasps it around his wrist. For extra luck, he says. In case you get sick of me.

Mingi kisses his bracelet back with a toothy grin on his lips, and Hongjoong groans in the background. Nauseating, he says. With the promise of eternal love, Mingi doesn’t say.

“Does this mean you’ll stop talking so much shit all the time?”

Yunho’s fingers linger around the bracelet, ghosting over the skin when he asks. Mingi's skin feels warm at the mere touch.

“What?”

“I don’t think this whole sincere love thing is going to work out if, you know, you don’t stop talking so much shit,”

No, he thinks when a grin spreads on his lips and Yunho grins back at him. Because it’s never been me just talking shit.

I know, Yunho doesn’t say when he kisses him.

Mingi understands nonetheless, and the kiss tastes like adolescent love creeping its way back, it tastes like the chapstick Mingi coaxes him into using and it tastes like Yunho. 

What a funny thing, he thinks, to be so utterly content with something as trivial as the taste of someone you love.

──────────────────────────────

“It is late now, I am a bit tired; the sky is irritated by stars. And I love you, I love you, I love you — and perhaps this is how the whole enormous world, shining all over, can be created — out of five vowels and three consonants.”