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Freshly showered and finally freed from the restrictive confines of his too-expensive clothes, Minho flops onto his hotel bed and ponders his phone. His manager had sent over a flurry of potential images for Minho’s brand-mandated Instagram post ten minutes ago, and he picks out the first five without difficulty. A full body shot, to show off his shiny leather loafers. A couple of photos of his side profile. One with the brand’s creative director, then a shot of him just standing still with a vaguely vacant expression. For variety. To spice things up, you know?
Then he scrolls through the photos he'd taken with some of the other attendees, and his pace slows. There's a couple with an actress a couple of years his senior, who'd been his senior at the company as well until her contract had expired and she'd moved on to bigger, better things. A few with his seatmates, a Western actress Minho thinks he's seen in some Marvel movie or another, a pop star Jisung likes, and a guy who's apparently one of the producers of Uptown Funk. One with a younger actor, with whom Minho had spoken briefly in Japanese before being tugged away. And finally, a handful of shots with the lead actor of a movie he'd watched with Seungmin on tour last spring, both sprawled across a hotel bed much like this one.
“He’s handsome, right?” Seungmin had said, nudging Minho with his foot. “In a dad kind of way.”
Minho had tamped down his knee-jerk ugly reaction quickly enough to quip, “Didn't know you were into dads.”
“Not particularly,” Seungmin shrugged, and Minho internally breathed a sigh of relief, immediately discarding six half-formed thoughts on how to acquire a child as quickly as possible.
He'd forgotten all about that conversation, actually, until he'd arrived at the museum earlier tonight and spotted the actor across the room. Paul Mescal, Minho had learned later that spring night while curled up under the covers, phone screen the sole source of illumination in the room. Irish, two years older than Minho. Not actually old enough to be a DILF, though Minho’d been horrified to realize that people his age probably were having children.
And he was good-looking, Minho had begrudgingly admitted to himself. Though hardly better looking than Minho, if one were to draw comparisons. Not that Minho was doing that.
He’d been more handsome in person tonight, decked out in head to toe designer just like Minho. Had smiled at Minho and asked his name. Leaned close to talk, fingers ghosting over Minho’s elbow, though the background music had been far too quiet to warrant such proximity. Minho had let him, slid him a considering smirk in return, the kind he knows from experience reels men in like carp to earthworms.
He'd been aware of the camera the whole time, of course. Minho can spot a camera from twenty feet away.
Looking through those photos now, satisfaction settles in his gut. It’s an easy choice, picking the one where they're looking at each other, the actor’s face turned wholly towards Minho as Minho smiles at him sidelong. After some consideration, Minho also chooses a picture where the actor’s arm is around his shoulders, the movement tugging the deep V of the actor’s shirt further open.
He drafts his caption (nothing but boring brand hashtags he copy-pastes from his manager's text) and is about to click the post button when suddenly he thinks, oh, what the hell. He thumbs back to the image selection screen and adds a third photo with the actor. This one’s taken from a little further out so the way Minho’s body is turned towards the actor is evident, the satisfaction tugging at his lips clear. A dull red flush travels down the actor's neck and down to his exposed chest.
(What? Minho never claimed to be subtle.)
He tosses his phone across the bed right after he hits post. It’s still daytime in New York where the rest of the kids are. Any second now, the post notifications will roll out. Any second now, the kids will see it, especially the ones that have his notifications on. Especially the ones who'd gone live just today and talked about the way Minho had ruined his minimalist feed aesthetic for monetary gain. Any second now, Minho’s phone will begin buzzing with messages.
Minho lays flat on his back, one hand covering his eyes. He waits one minute, then another. Frowns, grabs his phone in a moment of weakness, then tosses it aside again. Gets up, paces around, does a face mask just for something to do with his hands. Washes it off, then launches himself back into bed. Checks his phone again, dismissing all the nonsense notifications from his 3.5 million Instagram followers, the random Kakaotalk messages from assorted acquaintances who are all varying degrees of surprised, envious, and/or impressed to hear he's in London. Thumbs open the one chat he cares about, then closes it again. Closes his eyes, trying to convince himself he doesn't care, actually, then turns around and screams silently into his pillow when it doesn't work.
Throughout it all, his phone stays stubbornly silent.
***
When Minho wakes up, he's finally met with a handful of messages. Not in the private chat he'd been hoping for, but in the group chat.
hyunjinnie
hyung~ you did well~ 1:12 AM
yongbokkie
wow
you met
salma hayek
she was
my best friend in australia’s
childhood crush ㅋㅋㅋ 2:37 AM
jeonginnie
cool fit hyung 👍🏼 2:42 AM
channie hyung
fighting leeknow-yah!
safe flight today 3:09 AM
changbinnie
buy me a souvenir plsss ♡ 3:12 AM
jisungie
u looked cool jagiyah icb u met MARK RONSON 3:13 AM
Kim Seungmin (JYP)
nice pics 4:35 AM
Minho almost throws his phone across the room. Nice pics? Nice pics??? Minho had posted not one, not two, but three photos with the hot dad from Aftersun for a “nice pics”?????
Oh, Kim Seungmin is dead next time Minho lays eyes on him.
Which should be… yes, about twelve hours from now. Twelve hours before Seungmin meets his timely end. Twelve blissful hours Minho’s going to spend napping and relaxing and not thinking about Kim Seungmin at all, since clearly Kim Seungmin isn't thinking about him.
***
Minho spends the entire flight from London to New York stewing. How dare Seungmin ignore the bait Minho had so deliberately dangled in front of his face? Had Seungmin been the one making eyes at some talented, handsome actor halfway across the world, Minho would've been on the next flight in an instant, ready to stroll up and pretend there'd been a sudden change in schedules, actually, the company had been insistent that someone accompany Seungmin to the next event and Minho had just happened to draw the short straw. He would’ve snuck his way into the fashion show, even if he had to buy his own clothes and bribe a guard to get in. Hell, he would've wheedled his way into Buckingham Palace itself if it meant never having to see Seungmin with some curly-haired, vaguely DILF-y hunk hanging off him.
And yet. Clearly the sentiment was not returned. “Nice pics”? What the fuck?? What did a guy have to do to get his lanky, golden-voiced, stupidly hot dweeb of a bandmate to spare a glance in his direction?
I should've stuck my tongue down Paul Mescal-ssi’s throat, Minho thinks despairingly. Should've taken a picture of it, maybe. “Accidentally” video-called Seungmin while they were making out. Surely that would have provoked a response.
Right?
***
He doesn't strangle Seungmin on sight because, as it turns out, there's no time. Minho lands at JFK at 4 PM, and then they're immediately off to some studio to shoot some YouTube video. Then they go to rehearsals for some American TV show they’re shooting in the morning—thankfully later than the call times for Korean music shows, though Minho’s internal clock is so fucked at this point it hardly makes a difference—then to some other nonsense schedule before finally going back to the hotel, at which point Minho collapses right into bed.
Seungmin’s normal throughout, though, and throughout the next day too. He jokes around like normal, smiles at strangers like normal, lets Minho stick to him like a shadow like normal, deflecting well-meaning staff members with a charming smile and a well-placed quip whenever anyone gets too close.
In other words, he's completely unaffected.
Minho feels stupid for thinking otherwise. Maybe he'd read things wrong. Maybe he's the only one with these feelings after all. Maybe Seungmin just sees him as a friend, a mildly annoying hyung, and he's making a fool of himself for no reason.
He lets himself wallow for half a day before forcibly shaking himself out of it. Fuck Seungmin! Minho is great! He’s hardworking and talented and kind, not to mention hot as hell, and there are a billion people out there who will appreciate that even if the one person he wants to look at him won't. Minho’s going to stop thinking about romance for a bit, he's going to focus on himself, and he is not going to let Kim Seungmin kill his vibe.
To that end, he immediately starts making plans for their next day off. He arranges to meet up with an actor friend currently shooting a Netflix show in New York, then a trip to a museum with Jisung. Dinner at a fancy place Minho’d been dying to try, a place he'd thought about taking Seungmin once they’d finally gotten their act together. Not anymore, though. No more waiting—Minho’s going to do what he wants, with Seungmin or without him.
***
Minho’s barely been back in his hotel room for five minutes when there's a sharp rapping at his door. He opens the door, bewildered, to see Seungmin standing there, eyes bright with some emotion Minho doesn't recognize. Not anger—Minho’s familiar with that on Seungmin—but something similar, perhaps. Something adjacent.
Is Minho missing something? Had he forgotten a last minute schedule, a promise to meet up for something or another? He frowns, trying to think, but comes up empty.
“Yes?”
“Minho-hyung.” Seungmin’s voice is flat. “What’s this?”
He holds up his phone so Minho can see… his latest Bubble messages? Sent less than fifteen minutes ago, just as Minho was getting in the car to go back to the hotel from his friend’s apartment.
Pleased surprise blooms in Minho’s chest. “I didn't know you were subscribed to my Bubble, Seungmin-ah.”
“Not the point,” Seungmin grits out.
Minho squints at the messages again, still frowning. “What's the point, then? I just told the fans what I had for breakfast. Like I normally do.”
Seungmin looks at him like he's grown another head. Then he turns his phone back around and starts reading aloud, so slow it's like he's reading to a child. “I went to go eat breakfast with my friend and. He cooked for me!”
Seungmin pitches his voice sarcastically higher at that, before continuing, “Pancakes and eggs and bacon. ㅋㅋㅋ you're jealous right… then you sent a photo of the food.” He swivels his phone around to show the picture, a deliberately steamy shot through which the pancakes had barely been visible.
Minho nods, satisfied with himself. So far, so good. He still doesn't see a problem.
“And then you said, he made me coffee, too. It’s the best coffee I’ve ever had! Yoonhwannie coffee jjang! With a sticker of a hamster giving a thumbs up.”
Ah.
“Seungminnie,” Minho coos, unable to stop the grin from spreading across his face. “Are you jealous?”
He expects Seungmin to deny it, to blush and sputter that of course he isn't, he just can't believe Minho would disrespect the time and effort Seungmin takes to brew his coffee in the morning like that—
“Yes,” Seungmin says simply.
Minho freezes. Wait, what?
“I’m jealous, hyung.” All of a sudden Seungmin is too close, crowding Minho against his still-open hotel room door. “I don't want you drinking some other man’s coffee and going around saying things like this. I want you to wake up with me, drink coffee with me. I want to work harder until my coffee is perfect for you, until there's no one else who can make coffee to fit your preferences as well as I can. Will you let me try?”
“Careful, Kim Seungmin,” Minho murmurs, mouth suddenly dry. “This is sounding an awful lot like a confession.”
Seungmin has the audacity to smile, head tilted to the side in his most puppy-like manner. “That’s what you wanted, right? When you posted those pictures from London?”
That’s all it takes to get the flush blazing down Minho’s neck. Seungmin must see it too, because he reaches out to caress one burning earlobe before leaning in to whisper, “Sorry, hyung. It didn't work. I know too well that our house cat will always come home to me.”
A strangled squawk escapes before Minho can suppress it, and he immediately buries his face in Seungmin’s shoulder. Seungmin’s shoulders shake with the force of his giggles even as he wraps his arms around Minho, cheek pressed against Minho’s hair.
Minho lets him have his fun for a moment before poking him in the side, grumbling, “Don't be too smug, now. You're the one who got jealous over coffee. As if I'd choose his coffee over yours, dummy.”
“I know, hyung.” Seungmin's smile is evident in his voice. “Don’t worry. I know.”