Work Text:
Minghao had always imagined falling in love to be something exhausting and then gentle, all at once, like falling asleep and learning how to ride a bike. Love, he had imagined, would be the burn of his eyes, dry and red with sleep just out of reach and then, and then waking up to the sun pouring through the windows. That he would wake up and realise, oh this is love and then live with it.
He is good at making peace with things. He can compromise and compartmentalise his feelings without making the situation more complex. He spent years trying to achieve the easy equilibrium his soul currently is in.
While Minghao did have a vague notion about falling in love he really did not understand the magnitude of it. He could have never fathomed the size and the weight of it, as large as an elephant trying to fit itself into the muscle protected by a cage of ribs while trying not to break him in ways that would leave him broken and lacking forever.
Kim Mingyu was never part of the equation and he comes plundering through Minghao’s ideals like a bulldozer.
Minghao falls for Mingyu recklessly. He thinks the love he’s built up for Mingyu is similar to the sudden and peculiar fear of forgetting how to breathe and possibly suffocating to death. Or perhaps, becoming overly conscious about something as simple as breathing or swallowing, something innate and mindless.
Mingyu starts out as his best friend, the one person he can rely on to be his home away from Anshan. Minghao loves him, of course he does, but it never crosses his mind that the love he hoards for Mingyu may be part of something bigger than just the ones of a friend. He doesn’t question it, he has no reason to. Mingyu holds him close and cooks for him on days he is too tired to and — and Joshua would call it a defense mechanism, Minghao’s lack of admission and acceptance and say something about Minghao trying to protect himself from losing a friendship by ignoring the glaringly obvious reality that is splayed out right in front of him but what would Joshua know.
Joshua is not Minghao and Minghao is not Joshua. They are two separate entities and Minghao knows him not being privy to his love for Mingyu is not a defense mechanism but just a fact he hasn’t reevaluated. He had no reason to.
There was never a question of whether Minghao loved Mingyu because the answer has always been yes. Maybe even back when Minghao was not entirely sure he would stay and spend years of his life sharing space with Mingyu. Even on the precipice of a change as drastic and life-altering, deep down, Minghao’s soul already knew on some level.
Minghao realises that he is in love with Mingyu over his morning tea. He stares at his reflection in the sunset orange of his tea as the realisation washes over him.
It doesn’t change him. He washes his hands before he washes the tea-pot and the cup he used before showering. He goes to film, he goes to the gym and then the chiropractor appointment. He goes through the motions of a normal day and patiently waits for the realisation to really, truly sink in before allowing himself to react about it in any capacity.
He thinks of the salt in the air and the sun as it shines down on him, how he had called Mingyu every night when he went back to see his family, when he was in Hai Cheng, when he was shooting for twelve hours a day. He thinks about it as he rides back, body sore and heavy, speaking of a long day filled with work.
A series of notifications light up his screen.
He swipes at it, curious. They turn out to be from Mingyu. His pulse quickens slightly but his cheeks don’t flush pink nor do his ears burn red.
scallions were on sale today
I’m making pajeon
the way you like them
want me to bring you some?
wonu hyung is going out to meet some friends
it’ll be just me for dinner
Minghao bites the inside of his cheek once and types out a simple yes. He waves off the fluttering in his sternum as excitement. He is simply excited for Mingyu’s cooking. Nothing more and nothing less.
— 🐳 —
Mingyu comes over just a little after seven, bare-faced and unstyled hair. He immediately shrugs the jacket off and reveals strong arms. Minghao remembers him talking about a recent trip to the beach with his family, he can see the tan. Mingyu always looks good but Minghao has a partial weakness for the bronzed arms.
“How was the beach trip,” he asks, as Mingyu makes himself at home, kicking off his shoes and shoving his feet into the slippers he’d insisted Minghao buy for him.
“Sunny, sweaty. I liked it. My sister did her makeup to take pictures but the heat ruined it and then my cousins tried to bury me in the sand,” he recalls, moving to the kitchen, the bag of groceries swinging from his elbow.
“I thought you cooked already,” Minghao says, pulling out his phone to make sure he didn’t misread the texts. He receives a sheepish laugh in return.
“I did but I gave it to the manager hyung. It was his day off and I called him to drive me here and I felt bad about it.”
Minghao thinks of his porcelain tea cups and pots he brought back from his trips around the world. Mingyu keeps existing in his kitchen, rummaging through the cabinets and drawers as if he wasn’t the one who helped Minghao arrange all of it. As if he hadn’t stayed over for two days so Minghao could finish unpacking. Minghao loves him, it seems stupid that he had not realised this until recently.
“I could’ve come to yours then,” he faintly says, mind already drifting to the time where his own place was still a goal and not a reality.
Mingyu turns on the stove and pours oil into the pan. He is rhythmic but inconsistent, adding ingredients without a proper measurement. “I saw your schedule, Myungho-ya. There’s no way you could have gotten any sleep if you came to ours.”
Minghao doesn’t sleep well in places that aren’t his bed. Even when he goes back to Anshan, it takes him over an hour to slip into slumber because of the way the air smells. It is home, it will always be, but Minghao’s made a home somewhere else too and he’s clung to it far more fiercely. “You’re unreal,” he mutters, looking at his black painted nails. The nail polish is chipping and his nails have grown considerably. He needs to get them done again. Or maybe he will do them by himself.
The aroma of the food permeates the air and Minghao temporarily shifts his attention and pads towards the kitchen to watch Mingyu cook. There’s batter drying on the back of Mingyu’s hand.
Mingyu smiles at him, canine flashing. “Do you want to have a beer with this?” he asks. Minghao keeps his eyes on the food as he contemplates. He could have a drink.
“I don’t think we’ll stop with one,” Minghao says. He turns off the stove as he puts another perfect pajeon on his plate, crispy and browned.
Mingyu grins, teeth flashing. “You’d let me stay the night, right?”
Minghao should refuse, his heart is still tender, the realisation sitting on him like an unbroken yolk, golden and round. He could jeopardise it with one wrong move. His friendship with Mingyu isn’t so fragile that Minghao’s feelings would shatter it but they cannot afford the space and time it will take for it to go back to normal if the night goes awry. Space and time are luxuries in a profession like theirs and Minghao knows it better than anyone else.
But the man Minghao loves is Mingyu. His best friend. The one who makes his pajeon the right amount of crispy and soft and the one who wears pororo socks to bed.
“The food is getting cold,” Mingyu points out. The batter is no longer on his hand, he must have washed it when he was cleaning up. Minghao is endeared a little bit.
Minghao snorts and nods. “Stay the night,” he sighs, fond and exasperated.
The smile that graces Mingyu’s face at his words could power his house for the night. His heart thumps like a rabbit. Mnghao refuses to mull over it and instead lets Mingyu retrieve glasses from the upper cabinets to drink beer out of.
— 🐳 —
Five beers into the night and emptying an entire bag of prawn crackers is when Minghao realises the salt and the sun are drifting out of his reach which is to say, he is pleasantly buzzed and instead thinking about spring and watching cherry blossoms and drinking plum wine with Mingyu on their next break. The glasses need to be put away before bed just in case Mingyu wakes up in the middle of the night and bumps into the coffee table and they end up breaking but he instead falls into the arms of sakura blossoms and matcha in the evening.
Mingyu rolls to press into his side. Minghao doesn’t even remember when they ended up lying on his floor but his stomach is full with food and beer that doesn’t taste like shit and his heart is bursting at the seams. It sinks in the exact moment Mingyu burps, face turned away from Minghao because he is nice like that, considerate. He has the strangest urge to kiss him, beer stained tongue and all, scallion and garlic-breathed.
“Are you going to paint them again?” he asks, thumbing over one of Minghao’s painted nails.
He has to clear his throat before he can answer and even then it takes him a minute to find the words in Korean. “They look pretty when painted right?”
It’s not an answer, if anything Minghao is going on a completely different tangent but Mingyu is nothing if not indulgent, so he goes along with it and says, “They make you look really chic, Myungho-ya.”
“I was thinking of painting them or maybe asking one of the stylist noonas to.”
Mingyu peers at the side of his face. Minghao is painfully aware of every breath he takes, of Mingyu’s exhales. “I could paint them for you,” he murmurs. Minghao can smell the beer on his breath. It should repulse him, even in the slightest degree. It doesn’t. Instead, he feels his core burn with something akin to desire. All the beer has muddled his brain. Perhaps he should have taken up Mingyu on the offer of making him more because he feels a little woozy as he rolls onto his side to stare at Mingyu.
“I think I’m a little drunk,” he admits, smiling, words rolling out of him a slow haze. Mingyu smiles back. Minghao follows the mole on his cheek and thinks of the water bodies in Hai Cheng. He thinks of the strokes it takes to write ai, to write love. How easy it is to say, ai, to say love as if it isn’t filled with a million promises. As if the weight of the word is not equivalent to that of a thousand elephants.
Mingyu strokes his cheek and moves closer. He’s warmer than Minghao even though he is wearing only a well-worn tank top. He should pick up his iron pills again, he should go back to pilates. He should do so much more and bring his peace back, let his heart turn back into a yolk, unbroken and still golden.
“Your entire face is red,” Mingyu says through a giggle. He becomes louder when he’s drunk but he’s quiet tonight. Minghao wonders if the moon is witnessing this. Watching them as they unfurl and curl into each other, their story ready to take a turn, their relationship at the crossroads.
Minghao rolls his eyes. It makes him smile anyway. “Your nose is in my face,” he snipes back even though it isn’t. Mingyu pouts to the tone he’s taken up.
“What did you do today?” he asks, trying to keep talking. Mingyu had once told him that he liked hearing Minghao speak. Minghao didn’t understand the bloom of warmth back then. He understands it now.
Unbidden, he thinks about Mingyu in his kitchen. Mingyu doesn’t wash his hands before doing the dishes. He dives into things without thinking twice and if Minghao were to tell him about the love he is suddenly aware that he is hoarding, Mingyu would kiss him. He would kiss him, kiss him, kiss him, until the love becomes something that only Minghao could hold and hoard.
It would wreck his equilibrium. It would take only one honest answer to undo everything he’s worked years towards.
“I realised that I love you,” he whispers, watching Mingyu’s eyes widen, catching the stars even though Seoul’s skies are grey and polluted with smoke. He’s plagued with a vision of Mingyu in Anshan, wearing his clothes, smiling as he watches the star studded sky.
He laughs, Mingyu follows his trail of laughter. It abruptly dies in his throat as Mingyu cups his face in his palms. In the heart of his hands, Minghao secretly notes.
“And did you know, I love you too?” Mingyu murmurs, his nose now truly in Minghao’s face.
Minghao tries to smile but Mingyu is still squishing his cheeks together and it begins to hurt a little so he gently pries his hands away from his face and holds Mingyu’s wrists. He could say of course I knew like a liar or something along the lines of it being obvious but Minghao doesn’t do anything of sorts. The confession is nothing beautiful or extraordinary. When he leans in and kisses Mingyu there are no fireworks and they don’t taste like strawberries and sweetness. It’s ordinary and the loudest sound in the room is his heartbeat and Mingyu tastes like the beer that came from Minghao’s fridge.
It is not exhilarating nor is it exhausting. Mingyu kisses him like he is learning the shape of Minghao’s mouth. It is not gentle either, the teeth too sharp and a little too hungry but – but, Minghao is awake and warmed all over knowing he is in love and he is loved back.
Perhaps he will wake up in the morning and realise that his love is reciprocated, face and ears red as the Hong Baos his parents send him every new year even though he hasn’t been a kid in over a decade. Maybe he will experience all the cliches. Perhaps the equilibrium will be thrown off-kilter and he’ll have to find the perfect balance again but for now he kisses Mingyu again, garlic-breathed and lips slightly malt bitter, letting everything else fade into the background.