Archive of Our Own

It’s cold. The kind of cold Mingi can see from inside the hotel. People are bundled in thick coats and warm gloves on the sidewalks below, but the bitter winter wind keeps their noses pink.   

He’s out of breath after running back to his room to grab the pastries he picked up for his journey. He was supposed to be downstairs five minutes ago, but doubts and a misplaced beanie veered him off-schedule.  

Schedule , he scoffs internally at himself. What’s the point of a break if you still have to be on schedule.   

The elevator is quiet and empty, and Seojun is waiting in the lobby. When Mingi rounds the corner with his rolling suitcase in hand, his favorite manager—his hyung—is already filming like they had discussed.   

Still catching his breath a bit, Mingi smiles. “Hello.”  

“You’re a bit late.” Seojun doesn’t sound annoyed. If anything, there’s a faint note of amusement woven between his words.   

“One minute,” Mingi brushes off. He holds up the prepackaged pastries. “I was just grabbing these. Let’s go.”  

The camera is only off for a few minutes. Mingi and Seojun catch up, even though they saw each other yesterday. Mingi asks what he got up to the last night—a late night solo cafe visit and a night walk. And Seojun, while he doesn’t have to ask what Mingi did, he asks how he slept instead.   

Mingi lies, telling him he slept well.  

Seojun turns off the camera. “I’m your videographer this weekend.”  

Mingi chuckles. “I guess so.”  

While they wait for their cab, Seojun turns the camera back on. They agreed to film their overnight trip for the fans. Working on a day off. Idol life.  

Mingi looks past the camera to Seojun. “How do I look, hyung?”  

It’s not supposed to be a test, but he’s apprehensive for the answer. He didn’t put makeup on this morning, only rubbing toner, lotion, and sunscreen into his skin before rearranging the bits of hair that went wild overnight.   

“You’re looking good.”  

It makes his chest feel warm. A little tingly, even.   

Since debut, Mingi has struggled. He wasn’t graced with a handsome face. He wasn’t given perfect skin. Years of acne left scars on his cheeks, ones that dermatologists couldn’t fix in a quick trip. Small eyes and a long face weren’t the standard of beauty. He isn’t handsome like Yeosang, Hongjoong, or Yunho.   

Yunho.   

“Can I see it like this?” He motions for the viewfinder to flip, so he can see his face.   

There was a time when he wouldn’t be caught dead on camera without makeup. As his skin healed, his confidence grew, but self-consciousness never fully goes away. When Seojun does as he’s asked, Mingi leans in close, checking his appearance. He fluffs his hair and steps back again, explaining to the camera that even though he’s travelled a lot with the members for events and concerts, this is his first overseas trip.  

He runs a hand through his hair, the fluff flattening almost instantly. They catch each other’s eye and smile. Mingi looks down, shy. “It’s such an honor to be on a trip with a hyung that I really like.”  

When he looks back up, Seojun is still smiling.   

Heart thumping, he puts his stage voice back on. “Let’s get it.”  

Somehow, when the camera is off, Mingi feels hesitant. There isn’t a persona to hide behind, a snarky joke to crack when he’s uncomfortable. When the cab arrives, he lets Seojun stick their luggage in the trunk of the car while he gives the driver their destination address.   

Seated in the backseat together, Seojun opens the camera again. “I’ll turn it back on now, just explain what we’re doing today, simple and sweet. Okay?”   

Mingi nods. He’s good at doing what he’s told. He tells future fans that he found a ryokan in Hakone, and since it wasn’t far from Tokyo, where they were working, he booked it and invited Seojun—without mentioning his name, of course. The farther they get from the hotel the lighter he feels and the bigger his smile grows. “We’re headed to Shinjuku, then we’ll take the train all the way there. The train has a name.” His memory has been less than superb lately, forgetting details and schedules—names even, but he’d rather forget that whole day. “Was it Romance Train?”   

“Romance Car,” Seojun corrects.   

“Romance Car,” Mingi repeats. “We’ll take that all the way there.”  

Seojun bumps their knees together. “Let’s have some fun.”  

For the first time in a while, he’s excited. He’s not working, not producing, not doing anything but sitting. Sitting in a cab with his friend.  

His manager.  

His friend.  

Seojun looks good. Dressed in a nice pair of jeans and a thick black sweater under a thicker khaki-colored coat. Ankle boots. He didn’t shave this morning, just a shadow of stubble across his jaw. He wears the cap Mingi got him for his birthday last month. Handsome.  

When they arrive at the station, Seojun has to take a call, leaving Mingi alone for a while. Sitting at a small table in the corner of the station, he eyes the camera on top of Seojun’s suitcase. They’ve already got a nice start to the footage, and it’s not a bad thing, but there’s still a part of him that wishes they didn’t have to.   

A sliver of his brain, one that likes to wriggle inside and wreak havoc, tells him that’s the reason Seojun came along. Like the company didn’t think he would film if he had been allowed to go alone.   

But that’s not right.  

There were no assignments. He invited Seojun. The staff asked if he was willing to film while away. Mingi agreed.  

He can’t remember the moment their relationship turned from strictly work to work-friends. Maybe when they got back from the tour. When they ran into each other on the street when Mingi was supposed to be in the dorms. They got tteokbokki and noodles and stayed out too late. It was before Tunnel. Mingi only told a handful of people, and Seojun was one of them.   

He’s a friend.  

He would’ve come either way.  

Needing to busy his mind, he picks up and turns on the camera, flipping it around to record himself.   

“We’re here at the Hakone train station.” He holds the camera close, trying to be inconspicuous. His face takes up the whole screen. “We’re here to take the Romance Car.” The legs of the stand are flimsy, and after a bit of failed fumbling, he resigns to holding it while he rambles, “What will we do today... First, we’ll get something to eat. There’s a restaurant that is close to the train station there that seems very yummy. Then we’ll ride a cable car, relax in the hot tub, and have dinner at the ryokan.”   

It’s boring.  

“I’m all alone right now, but it’s not too bad.” He rubs his face. “It’s been a while since I got up so early, and I still had to hurry. But I'm feeling lighter than ever.”  

The last part he means. He hopes that whoever ends up editing the video won’t cut it. He turns the camera off again and rests his head on his arms on the tabletop.   

“Hey, sorry, I didn’t think it would take that long,” Seojun apologizes. He slides into the seat next to Mingi’s and sets a plastic bag on the table.   

Mingi turns his head to the side, cheek resting on his forearm. “All good. What’d you get?”   

“Bento.” Seojun peels back the side of the bag. “For the train ride.”  

“Thank you,” Mingi says softly. The bits of food he can see through the bento container look delicious: a rainbow of colors arranged in pretty patterns, and Mingi’s stomach growls, even if the slices inside are mostly vegetables.   

The older laughs. “Tell your stomach to be patient. We’ll eat soon.”  

“How long is the ride?” Mingi asks around a yawn. “Ninety minutes?”   

“You arranged this,” Seojun laughs. He pokes his side. “You should remember.”  

“But I have you to remember for me.”  

His tongue feels thick in his mouth, a little awkward. They wait together at the tiny table in the corner until it’s time to board, plunking down side-by-side in the reclining seats. The website boasted about how roomy the train would be, but their shoulders still press together. Mingi sits next to the window, the cold from outside creeping in.   

“This has to be the cleanest train I’ve been on.”  

Seojun is a little strange. He notices odd things, comments on small details. Mingi thinks it’s nice, like the English saying, “It’s the little things.” He heard the expression for the first time at a fan meeting in New York, and it hasn’t left his mind since. They have lots of events, lots of calls with fans, but that one Mingi will always remember. He even did the silly Spiderman poses when the fans asked.   

That same evening, he and Yunho watched the movie for the nth time.   

He blinks and looks at Seojun. “Should I film?”   

The answer is always yes. This time, he’s prompted to talk about what they’re going to do. Mingi doesn’t argue, agrees, doesn’t say that he’s already done that. When the camera turns on, it’s just another day.   

“I said this before, but we’re going to have some food when we arrive.”  

Seojun hums in agreement.   

Mingi runs his hand through his hair. “We’ll go to a restaurant called Buta. It’s known for its pork,” he smiles, “then we’ll ride the cable car, go back to the ryokan, and have dinner.”  

“Right.”   

“Enjoy some time in the hot tub after our meal.”  

“Mhm.”  

Mingi’s stomach rumbles, and his mind fizzles. Seojun’s little words of encouragement are nice, but they make him realize just how little he has to say when he’s not in a whirlpool of emotions on stage. This isn’t an ending ment. It’s practically a script.  

“It would be legendary if we saw a capybara.” He explains that while he was away, Seojun got them bento, doing a silly interpretation of the Gento challenge he did not too long ago. “Bento! Bento!”   

His stomach growls again.  

“Okay, time to eat before your stomach eats you.” Seojun says fondly.  

As soon as Mingi is finished, he falls asleep. For the first time in weeks, he doesn’t dream. He doesn’t see his face or their tears. He’s surrounded by blackness, and he finally gets to rest.   

For a little bit at least.  

“Hey,” Seojun shakes his leg gently. “You can see Mount Fuji.”   

Bleary eyed and disoriented, Mingi pushes himself up from his slouch, head returning to center from where it was on Seojun’s shoulder. He clears his throat. “Sorry.”  

“You’re okay.” He nods toward the window. “You see it?”   

Mingi nods, lip between his teeth. Although he’s pretty sure he’s seen it before, Mount Fuji is very pretty. A natural wonder, standing taller than the other mountain peaks around it, snow-capped and gleaming in the afternoon sun.   

Keeping the lens away from his face, Mingi turns the camera on and points it out the window. “Over there, you can see Mount Fuji.” It’s less impressive through the camera and layer of glass. He can barely see it. He looks to Seojun, “How do I zoom?”   

He leans over and presses a button Mingi didn’t notice on top. The lens widens and the mountains get clearer.   

“That’s Mount Fuji.” He zooms back out. “And we’re here right now.”  

Mingi spends the rest of the ride in a state of half-sleep. His eyes are heavy, body and mind relaxed. His thigh is warm where it’s pressed against Seojun’s. He peeks at his manager from behind his sunglasses, watching him tap away on his cell phone. Not the company one, but his own. The screen is cracked, and it makes Mingi feel more human.   

The sun is warm on his face when they step off the train. He keeps his sunglasses on, the reflection of the sun off the snow almost blinding.   

“Right now,” he begins, holding the camera in one hand, clutching the strap of his bag in the other, “we’ve just arrived. There’s a delivery service for our bags, so we’re going there to do that.” He flashes the camera a smile. “Then we’ll explore!”   

It’s a bust. They’re three minutes too late. The delivery station is closed, and there’s not a worker in sight. Seojun calls a cab without discussion. There’s no back and forth. No, You Do It . It’s nice to be taken care of.  

As soon as they get to the ryokan, they’re out the door again.   

“Do you want to walk back?”   

Mingi shrugs a shoulder. “It’s nice enough.”   

It’s a longer walk than he realizes. And colder, especially without a proper coat. By the time they get to Buta, Mingi is sweating, and his nose is so cold he can’t feel it. The tips of his ears are numb, and his toes tingle in his boots.   

He films their meal before they dig in, then props the camera up against a napkin holder to show his face while he eats, carefully angling it to not reveal Seojun’s face. The older tells Mingi stories of when he came to Japan before he started working for the company: of crazy adventures with friends and strangers alike.   

“You’ve lived a lot of life, hyung.”  

Seojun finishes chewing before speaking, “So have you.”  

“It’s different.”  

“Well yeah. I’m not a global superstar.” He’s teasing, and Mingi knows it. “Doesn’t make your experiences any less authentic.”  

He sits back in his seat, the heaviness of life creeping back over his shoulders. “I guess.”  

“Don’t be sad.”   

It’s shocking how quickly the man learned all of Mingi’s expressions.   

He pushes his empty dish forward. “So.” he says, a challenging glint in his eye directed at Mingi, “Are you going to eat the infamous black egg?”   

He does. The cable car ride is fun, although a little wobblier than Mingi expected. And colder—the small observation cards doing little to keep out the cold. Still, it was fun, and the view of the mountains and natural sulfur deposits tucked amongst the jagged slopes is a little breathtaking.   

The egg is just an egg, though.  

Mingi cracks the shell off his head for the camera, but after peeling back the smooth black shell, all he’s left with is an ordinary, white, hard-boiled egg. Seojun teases him—Did he really expect anything different?   

“Ya! You’re the one who asked me if it tasted like sulfur...”   

Seojun laughs. “Don’t pout. Give me the other one.” He eats the second egg and agrees: it’s just an egg. “It’s still good, no?”   

“Yeah. It’s fine.”  

After a few photos, they’re on their way back to the ryokan for dinner.   

“I feel like all we’ve done today is eat,” Mingi says.   

“That’s what breaks are for,” Seojun says without looking away from his company phone. Mingi watches him send off a text before looking up with a smile. “Good meals and drinks.”  

Mingi’s stomach drops.  

He's been drinking a lot lately.  

It started with a bottle of soju after his daily schedules. Just one. Then two when just one wasn’t helping him stop thinking enough to get to sleep. Three or four weren’t as manageable, often still awake at dawn. So, he switched to something harder. Liquor that no one knew about—not even San or Seonghwa.  

The possibility of drinking on this trip hadn’t crossed his mind. He shouldn’t. He’s cut back a lot since Tunnel. He doesn’t know what would come out of his mouth if he let himself have one too many, and the last thing he wants to do is embarrass himself.  

When they get back and dinner is served, Japanese wine is placed on the table in little cups, and Seojun pours two glasses of beer, pushing one across the table toward Mingi’s seat.  

They prop up the camera and film a bit. Mingi explains that he hadn’t planned on recording while they were away, that getting a camera had been difficult, and it stopped working while they were out.  

“So, I filmed with my phone a little,” he explains, pausing to chuckle at himself. “Nothing is working out.”  

“No,” Seojun argues, taking a long sip from his glass. “We had a good time.”  

“Yeah.” Mingi agrees, “We had fun.”  

But his mind is already working against him. Moving the trip up by a day. The luggage delivery being closed when they arrived. The camera not working properly. Drinking when he said told himself he was done with that.  

Seojun tops off his beer. He watches the fizz until it falls.   

“I really thought the hot tub was in our room.” Mingi sighs. He’s full, the rice and tempura and sushi filling him quickly after a late lunch. He puts his phone down. “I didn’t know this place was two stories.”  

“It’s three actually.”  

He barks a little laugh. “When I looked it up, there was a hot tub in the room.”  

Just another thing that went wrong. Another thing he couldn’t get right.  

“What would you have done in Tokyo today?”   

Seojun doesn’t hesitate. “Go to Fuji-Q.”  

“Would you do the Labyrinth, just the two of us?”   

“No way,” Seojun shakes his head. He and Mingi have been deemed the company scaredy cats by the other members. “Maybe if Hongjoong came too.”  

“Hongjoongie?” Mingi asks, eyes flicking up to another notification from Hongjoong himself. “He could never go there.” He clears the notification. “Should I call him? He called me earlier about work.”  

They decide to leave the camera on as Mingi’s phone rings.   

“What?” Hongjoong answers.   

Mingi has no clue where the man is—somewhere outside, manager about a foot behind him. He’s got no makeup on, bleached eyebrows looking a little funny under the streetlights.   

“What are you doing?” Mingi asks. “I’m filming a vlog.”   

He holds up the phone, angling himself a bit so Seojun is in the shot as well.  

“I heard you two took the Romance Car together.”  

“So we—”  

“Did you go in the hot tub?” Hongjoong cuts him off.  

“Not yet. We’ll go when we finish eating.”  

Hongjoong scolds Mingi for not texting him back and not listening to the new song. They bicker a bit, Hongjoong expecting Mingi to have listened on the train; Mingi arguing that if he had listened, he and Seojun wouldn’t have taken their trip.  

A master subject-changer, Hongjoong pokes, “You called me because you’re too bored with hyung.”  

“No! We were just talking about you.”  

Hongjoong hums. “Did you go about Hakone at all?”   

Mingi and Seojun burst into a fit of laughter, grinning at each other.   

“Where is it? What’s the place called?” Seojun imitates Mingi.  

He laughs. “Gora! Gora!”   

Seojun shakes his head, draining the rest of the beer from his glass. “I told Mingi the name of the place twenty times today.” He points at Mingi. “He still can’t remember it! He keeps asking, ‘Hyung, where are we going again?’”   

Mingi laughs, cheeks flushing.   

Hongjoong’s eyes narrow slightly. Hardly enough for Mingi to notice. “Did you ride the cable car?”   

“We did.”  

“You guys are practically dating!”   

Mingi’s heart flips. “Yeah.” He doesn’t even feel the words coming from his mouth. “You could say that.”  

Their next round of food is delivered, and Mingi ends the call with a probably empty promise of sending Hongjoong photos. Thoughts whiz through his head—he can’t believe Hongjoong said it was like they were dating. He can’t believe he agreed. In front of Seojun. Who didn’t look at all bothered by the implication.   

“Hongjoong is funny,” Seojun says quietly.   

“He is.”  

The two take their time eating, enjoying each bite and conversation, and once they’ve finished and all of the dishes are cleared away, they change into swim trunks and head downstairs.   

The hot tub is made of cedar and has thick edges. The water inside is perfect, bubbling and steaming and perfect. They sit opposite each other, each with a half-empty can of beer on the ledge next to them. Seojun dips his whole head underwater, so Mingi does the same, hair long enough that it tickles his nape when wet.  

“What a way to end the day,” Seojun says.   

Mingi says nothing, looking up at the sky, splattered with stars. He could stay here forever.   

“Are you okay?”   

“Yeah.” It’s less easy to lie tonight.   

Seojun narrows his eyes. “You’re lying.” There’s a long pause. “Want to talk about it?”   

Mingi shrugs, reality gripping him by the back of the neck again. He opens his mouth to speak, but the first question on the tip of his tongue isn’t fair to ask. “Do you ever feel like you’re not good enough?” Seojun’s brow furrows. “Like good enough for someone.”  

The older sits back. “Everyone feels that way sometimes. But it’s not true. It just means you aren’t the right fit for that person.”  

He’s treading on dangerous territory. Confessing his love to a third party—a manager—is something he can’t go back on. He remembers it well enough when Wooyoung and San went through it, terrified that the group would be disbanded, that everyone would hate them.   

“And that also means that the right person is still out there. Looking for their right person.”  

“What if the right person for you isn’t who it should be?”   

Seojun looks at him, confused.   

“I love someone I’m not allowed to love.”  

“You’re allowed to love whoever you want.”  

“But they don’t love me back!”  

“Then they’re an idiot,” Seojun says, not realizing just who he is insulting. “Mingi, you’re wonderful. You’re funny and adorable and one of the most devoted people I’ve ever met.”  

It’s comforting—the words warming his heart, making his chest flutter. It’s confusing—Mingi doesn’t know which side is up. Where reality blurs into his emotionally exhausted mind. Nothing makes sense. Because if he were those things, why wouldn’t Yunho love him back?  

He doesn’t know why, but he’s starting to cry, and he does what feels right: he surges forward, pushing a wave over the edge of the tub, and kisses him. Seojun freezes. He doesn’t kiss Mingi back, but he doesn’t push him away either.  

Both of their eyes are open in surprise, and it feels wrong .   

Mingi pulls back, returning to his seat across the tub with a red face. He wants to drown himself where he sits. His heart is pounding so hard he can feel it in his whole body. His eyes sting with tears, but he can’t even blink. He can barely breathe.   

“I’m sorry.”  

He can’t look up.   

“I can’t believe I just did that.”  

Kissing your manager is like calling your teacher mom but worse.  

“I’m so sorry.” A long moment passes before either move, the water stagnant between them, cold air prickling Mingi’s shoulders and sending a chill down his spine. “Should I go?”   

Seojun shakes his head.  

He apologizes again.  

“It’s okay.”  

“I shouldn’t have done that.”  

“Mingi,” Seojun says, voice harder than it’s been all day. “It’s okay.”  

It’s not.   

"Do you want to talk about it?” Seojun offers.   

He really doesn’t. Months have passed, and Mingi has done fine keeping everything to himself. His failures are his burdens to bear. He doesn’t want to talk. He doesn’t want to think. He doesn’t want to do anything.  

“You don’t have to. But I think you should.”  

The words sit on the tip of his tongue, ready to run. Seojun’s words are a smoking gun starting the race.  

“ ItoldYunhoIwasinlovewithhim .” After a shaky breath, he makes himself slow down. “I told Yunho I love him, he doesn’t feel the same, and we haven’t spoken since.”  

The older’s eyebrows lift.  

“Yeah.”  

“When?”   

“The day we finished filming the music video for Youth .”  

“Oh.” Seojun shakes his head slowly. “That was so long ago.”  

Mingi nods. “Almost three months.”  

“I had no idea.”  

“We’ve only talked during schedules. It’s so hard. He’s my best friend, but every time I look at him, I just feel sad.” A tiny, sad huff slips past his lips. “And it’s my fault. That song means so much to me. I wrote it for us, but I never ever thought it would become anything. I never thought it’d end up on an album or on stage. Filming the video was so much fun, but I got too into it. Too emotional. And I ruined everything.”  

Seojun frowns. “Don’t say that.”  

“It’s the truth.” Defeated, Mingi submerges himself, sinking until the water touches his chin. “I just have to learn to live with it.”  

He can tell Seojun has more to say but doesn’t question it when his friend keeps his thoughts to himself. It won’t help anyway. He shivers as he sits back up. The night air is frigid. It must be getting late, and they have to be up early enough to be back in Tokyo before lunch.   

“Want to go in?”   

Mingi nods. They climb out and start to towel dry in silence. Refusing to look around too much, Mingi concentrates on what’s in front of him. His heart drops.   

They had propped the camera up before climbing in. Mingi had forgotten, but now every worry of someone finding out materializes as the red light shines bright. Everything that just happened was recorded.  

Before panic starts to set in, Seojun puts a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t stress. This stays between us.”  

Mingi throws himself at the man, wrapping his arms around Seojun’s shoulders and squeezing him. Their still-bare chests are damp, and the touch should probably feel inappropriate, but Mingi is just grateful .   

Wordlessly, they go back inside. Mingi washes up and showers, taking his time blow drying his hair and rubbing lotion into his skin. When he’s done, Seojun takes his turn, and instead of turning on the TV in the room, they just sit together: Mingi on the small cot that was made up for him and Seojun on the bed that Mingi insisted he take.  

“Shame those eggs weren’t anything special.”  

The sudden humor catches Mingi off guard, and he starts laughing. “It is. Makes me wonder if all that stuff is made up.”  

Seojun shrugs. “We’ll never know. Now don’t lose your smile and say goodnight to the vlog.”  

Mingi thinks he does well. He’s exhausted and his eyes hurt from fighting tears, but he’s okay. The trip had been as healing as he wanted, as he had hoped, and telling someone about Yunho, even though he didn’t want to, made him feel a little lighter.  

The next morning, they can’t find a cab and have to run to the station to catch their train. They barely speak until they’re seated. Only then does Seojun ask, “Did you sleep okay?”   

“Yeah.” Mingi doesn’t lie. “I actually did.”  

They film a proper ending to the vlog, Mingi signing off halfway into the ride back.  

“Thank you, hyung.”  

“You’re welcome.” Seojun bumps their shoulders together. “You can talk to me whenever. I know I’m technically in charge of you, but I care about you as a person. A friend.”  

“You too.”  

“Good.” He sighs. “I slept like shit. So I’m taking a nap.”  

Mingi scoffs a laugh. “I’ll wake you when we get there.”  

Looking at Yunho isn’t easier. The curiosity in Yunho’s eyes when Mingi walks into the waiting area for their interview pricks like a pin, a sharp pinch that bleeds into hurt when instead of asking if he had a good time, Yunho looks away instead.   

Things don’t change when they fly back to Korea. They don’t change when they land in Japan again, either. Promotions are exhausting, but it keeps Mingi’s mind busy. He can focus on his work, on performances and fan engagement. He can pretend when he needs to.   

The members ride the high of a new song and a new showcase. The energy carries Mingi through it until he gets home. It dissipates when he’s faced with the mess he left behind. The lined-up soju bottles on the dresser shame him. Locking himself in, he feels the heaviness come back.   

He can’t do it anymore.  

With a deep breath he forces himself out and across the hall. San’s door is closed, but he knows Wooyoung isn’t here. Seonghwa is in the shower, steam flowing out from under the bathroom door.   

After a light knock, he calls out, “San-ah, can I come in?”   

In less than a second, he is face-to-face with one of his closest friends. “What’s wrong?” San asks, worry overtaking his expression.  

“I’d rather not talk in the hallway.”  

“Oh!” San says quickly, “Yes, please, come in. Sorry it’s a little messy.”  

Mingi bites back a scoff. San’s suitcase might be open in the center of the room, a pile of dirty clothes from the trip next to it, but it’s pristine in comparison to his own.   

“Wanna sit?” They sit side-by-side on his bed, a blanket pulled over their laps. “What’s up?”  

He sighs, lips pressed together in a straight line. “I know you’ve known something is wrong with me. You’ve been extra nice and affectionate. I want to talk about it now, if that’s okay with you.”  

“Of course.”  

Mingi reminds himself that this is San—the one he’s shared so many hotel rooms, stories, and secrets. After Yunho, San probably knows Mingi the best. There is no reason to be afraid. San won’t judge him or tease him. He’s San.   

“I’m not sure if you’ve noticed that Yunho and I aren’t good.”  

San offers a small nod, eyes sad.   

“Well,” Mingi swallows his fear, “the reason why is because I told him that I’m in love with him.” He ignores the way San’s breath catches in his throat. “And it didn’t go so well.” A tear slides down his cheek.   

A pair of arms encircle his shoulders. San squeezes him tight.  

Mingi squeezes his eyes shut. “I’m really lonely, and I don’t know what to do.”  

“What do you need?” San asks. “Do you want advice, or do you just want me to be here?”  

“Can I tell you what happened? Like the whole story? And you don’t talk?”  

“Sure. Do you want me to let go of you?”   

Mingi chuckles. “Yeah.”  

He sits up, and they shuffle to sit cross-legged, facing each other.   

“I’ve loved him forever, you know? Since we were kids. Since the first time he showed up at my school and took me out to eat.” Mingi sighs. “Over the years it kept building and building, but it reached a new peak when we were filming Youth .”  

/ / /  

They had just wrapped. Two full days of filming is finally finished. It had been a cold day with an early start and a (planned) late finish. But it had been worth it. Mingi knows already, can feel it in his bones, that the video is going to be perfect. It’s just how he pictured it in his head: the cabin, the field, Yunho .   

It had been a perfect day.  

“We should go to the sauna. For old time’s sake!” It’s a joke, mostly. They haven’t been to the sauna, just the two of them, in years.   

But Yunho’s face lights up—”We should!” Mingi must make a face, because Yunho presses on, “It’ll be my treat. We did so well today, and there’s no early schedules tomorrow. We should.”  

Mingi has never been good at telling Yunho no, so they pack up their things, stop at the dorm to take off their makeup, and are out the door again. The moment their feet hit the payment, Mingi can’t stop smiling.   

They take a detour, stopping at a restaurant they also haven’t been to in years to gorge themselves on their favorite foods.  

“Are you happy with the video?” Mingi asks only when they’ve started walking again. He’s been nervous to ask, but he has to know.  

Yunho looks at him and smiles. “Of course. It’s going to be great. You did so well.”  

“We did well,” Mingi corrects, ignoring the bloom of warmth in his chest.  

Hands stuffed in their pockets, they make the rest of the way to the sauna, talking as they go about lots of things. It’s late, and the person behind the front counter who takes their money looks moments from sleep. He yawns, and it makes Mingi yawn, and Yunho teases him. They change side-by-side in the locker room, quickly agree that neither have any room in their stomachs for snacks, and go straight to the steam room. There are a few other people there, but they don’t seem to recognize the pair and leave after only a few minutes.   

Now alone, Yunho tips his head back against the wall. “You don’t give yourself enough credit, you know.”  

“What do you mean?”   

“For what you do. Dancing. Rapping. Singing. Now producing. You’re incredible, and you never give yourself any credit.”  

Mingi’s heart flutters.   

Yunho’s voice softens, melting like butter in the warm room. “You really wrote it when we were twenty-two?”   

Mingi wrote a lot of music over the years, but he knows Yunho is talking about Youth . He swallows and nods. “Right after I came back from my break.”  

If you could call it a break.  

Yunho’s eyes widen for a moment before growing sad. “I’m sorry you struggled so much.”  

Mingi stares at the floor.  

“I know we all said it at the time, but I’m glad you came back.” Yunho can’t see the blush creeping up Mingi’s neck. “I wouldn’t want to do this job without you.”  

Something heavy sits on Mingi’s shoulders. His heart slows, and his palms start to sweat. “You were the biggest reason I didn’t give up.” Yunho reaches forward and squeezes his hand. Mingi watches their hands slot together, brows scrunching together.   

For a second, he forgets to breathe.   

“I have to tell you something.”  

“What?”   

He pulls his hand away and takes a shaky breath. “I should’ve said it a long time ago because it’s important, but I’m scared.”  

“You don’t have to be scared.”  

Mingi believes him.  

“I’ve felt this way for a really long time, and I’ve kept it to myself because I didn’t want anything to change.”  

“Mingi...”  

Ignoring the worry in Yunho’s voice, Mingi takes a breath, sets his shoulders, and looks up from the thick silver ring around his index finger. It’s been years. Years of hiding behind stupid jokes and exaggerated fan service. Years.  

Time stops. The world stops spinning.  

Ears too full of adrenaline, he doesn’t hear Yunho’s soft, “Mingi, wait.”  

“I’m in love with you.”  

Yunho winces and closes his eyes.   

There is no grand declaration in return. No tears. No first kiss after almost a decade of friendship, of skirting around feelings. There is nothing but the backs of Yunho’s hands covering his own face.  

Mingi’s heart pounds, and he feels the blood rush to his face. He swallows his feelings—the shame, embarrassment, and nausea that churn in his gut. He can barely breathe, jolting when a tear drips onto his cheek.  

When Yunho drops his hands, his eyes are wet, and his lashes are clumped together.   

“You don’t feel the same.”  

Yunho doesn’t say anything.  

He doesn’t have to.   

Mingi wipes his face with the back of his wrist and clears his throat. “Right.” He drags his hand through his hair and stands. “I’m just. I’ll go.”  

“You don’t have to.”  

He fights a bitter laugh. “I do.”  

Yunho’s voice cracks, “Mingi—” But Mingi is already gone.  

/ / /  

When he looks up, tears stream down San’s face.   

“After that, I came home. Thankfully no one was here because I was a mess.” He clears his throat. “But yeah. That’s what happened. I overcame my fear of ruining everything, and I did just that. I ruined everything.”  

San makes a face and shakes his head, using the bottom of his shirt to wipe his face.   

Mingi can tell he’s holding back. “You can talk.”  

“I promised I wouldn’t.”  

Mingi huffs a laugh. “The story is done. You can talk.”  

“This isn’t your fault,” San says. “You can’t help who you love, and you didn’t do anything wrong by being honest. I know what it’s like to bottle up all your feelings.”  

“It sucks.”  

“It does!” San agrees, face brightening with the realization that they’re on the same page. It fades quickly, and he asks, “You haven’t spoken since?”  

Mingi swallows the lump in his throat. “No. Only for work.”  

“Oh God, Mingi. I’m so sorry.”  

Mingi shrugs. It is what it is .   

“I can’t believe he didn’t say anything.”  

To be fair, Mingi didn’t give him much of a chance. “I’ve been avoiding him as much as possible. I’m embarrassed, but more than anything I’m just sad. I lost my best friend, and I’ve changed the group forever.”  

“But he should’ve at least talked to you!” San’s face has changed again, now looking angry. “He handled it in the worst way possible. And promotions—Mingi you’ve hidden this for months.”  

“Yeah,” he says with a sigh.  

“And you didn’t tell anyone until me? Until now?”   

He starts to nod but stops himself. “I told Seojun.”  

“Oh?!”  

“Um.” Mingi doesn’t know where to start. “I kind of kissed him when we were in Hakone.”  

“You what?”   

He flinches. “Yeah. It was such a good day, and like you said, I had been keeping so much to myself, and my brain got jumbled. He was understanding enough, but I had to explain myself.”  

San pulls him into a hug. “I’m glad you told me. It’s not good to keep things inside.”  

“I know.” Mingi hugs back, cheek smooshed against San’s shoulder.   

“You’re a precious person.” When San moves back again, his face is scrunched. “I’m pretty mad at Yunho.”  

“You’re allowed to be, but it’s not going to help. So don’t stay mad at him.” Mingi says. He pokes San’s cheek. “And stop pouting. You look like an angry cat.”  

San laughs. “You look tired.”  

“I am.”  

“You should get some sleep.”  

The mess waiting for him in his room is too daunting of a task, but it’s one he needs to tackle himself. He nods, limbs heavy and eyes starting to droop, from crying and being up too early that morning. He thanks San again and leaves the room, going straight to the living room, lying on the sofa, and falling asleep.  

The next day, and every day after that, is a fight. It’s still painful, especially when cameras are around. Those days require more effort than the ones he spends in the practice room or in his studio. Sometimes he sleeps there to avoid questions from Seonghwa. When he does go home, he crashes on the couch, still not ready to deal with the mess in his room. San is a good buffer. He talks a lot and lets himself be used as a distraction.   

“I think you should talk to him,” San suggests. “If nothing else, then for closure.”  

“I don’t need closure.”  

“Everyone needs closure.”  

They’re sat in the living room with a pizza box between them and the TV. Mingi stopped paying attention to the drama on the screen a while ago and will have to rewatch the episode   

“I don’t.”  

“His birthday is next week.”  

“I know.” As if he could forget.  

Tomorrow will mark the fourth month without speaking, and it will be the first birthday they spend apart since they met. They should be celebrating together, eating good food with cake. Staying up late playing Yunho’s favorite game even though Mingi sucks. Going for late night walks. Yunho should be teasing Mingi about something, and Mingi should be pretending to pout.   

It shouldn’t be like this.  

Seonghwa rounds the corner, a giant LEGO box in his arms. “What’s this about closure?”   

“Nothing,” San answers quickly.  

Ignoring the concern in Seonghwa’s eyes, Mingi pulls attention elsewhere. “What’d you get?”   

“They sent me the new Animal Crossing collaboration!” Seonghwa’s eyes light up and he shows off the box. “I’m doing a live here in twenty minutes.” He sets the box down on the coffee table, nudging the pizza box to the side. “Prepare to be on camera or clear out.”  

“Wooyoung’s supposed to come over, so I’ll get him now. Can’t get caught.” He rolls his eyes as he stands, then points to the single slice of pizza left in the box. He looks at Mingi. “You want that?”   

Mingi shakes his head. He doesn’t know where he’ll go. To the studio? He doesn’t have work to do, and he really doesn’t feel like driving. He can’t third wheel with San and Wooyoung—it's insufferable sometimes.   

He’ll have to go to his room. After a heavy sigh, he vacates to let Seonghwa set up. The older catches him by the arm as he starts toward his room. “Hey, I’m here, too. If you need me.”  

Mingi’s pulse quickens. He forces a smile and nods. “I know. Thanks, hyung. Have a good live.”  

Time to face the music.  

He closes himself in his room, locks the door, and turns on the overhead light. It’s worse than he remembers. The laundry basket is overflowing, garments that don’t fit spilling over the edges and onto the floor. His desk and dresser are a mess of Coke cans, soju bottles, and takeout containers. His bed is unmade, blankets pulled back from the last time he had slept there.  

It’s so tempting to crawl into bed, pull the covers over his head, and pretend he doesn’t exist. He even sits on the edge of the mattress, centimeters from giving in. But he thinks of San. He thinks of Seonghwa—the horror that would show so clearly on his face. He thinks of his parents, who always loved that he wasn’t the type to make a big mess.   

Before he can talk himself into a pit, he stands back up and leaves again, beelining for the kitchen. They keep the spare garbage bags under the sink, and he isn’t sure how many he’ll need, so he takes the whole box, setting it on his dresser when he’s alone again.   

“The hardest part is the start,” he mutters the words under his breath.  

He turns on some early 2000s hip hop and starts with his nightstand, the least of the worst. Container after container goes into the bag, followed by two empty and partially crushed soda cans that he should recycle, but he’s doing his best and that will have to be good enough.  

His desk is next, shoveling trash into the already half-full bag. Halfway through, he realizes he’s bouncing to the beat of the song. He lets go a little more, letting his head move with his body, still clearing off the desk top. When the bag is full, he ties it shut, sets it next to the door, and grabs a second.   

An hour passes before he realizes, and there’s a knock on his door. He sets the bag down and moves across the room, ready to answer a silly question that San has after a play-debate that he and Wooyoung always seem to end up having.  

But when he opens the door, it’s not San.   

It’s not Wooyoung.  

It’s not Seonghwa, either.  

It’s Yunho.  

His hair is dark and soft and falls over his forehead in an effortless way. He doesn’t have makeup on His eyes are a little red, and his face a little puffy. He’s wearing the hoodie Mingi bought him for his birthday last year with a pair of joggers and bright blue socks.  

“Hey,” Yunho says, looking a little relieved.   

Mingi’s mouth is bone dry, lips glued together. He can feel his heart in his throat surrounded by every emotion: surprise, confusion, frustration, relief, but it all hurts. “Hi.”  

“Are you busy?” Yunho asks.  

Mingi wishes he could lie. If he could, it’d be easy to make something up, to be cold, to close the door in his face.   

But his stupid heart flutters with hope.   

Everyone is home—San and Wooyoung are locked away across the hall. Seonghwa is in the living room in the middle of his live. There’s nowhere to go but here , so Mingi steps to the side, allowing Yunho in his space.   

Mingi trudges through the clutter, sits on his bed, back against the wall, knees pulled up to his chest, and pulls the sheet over his bare legs.   

He can tell Yunho is surprised about the mess, but he can’t bring himself to care. The little furrow between the older’s brows feels like a punch in the stomach, though.   

“You can sit.” He gestures to the space in front of him, assuming Yunho will pull his swivel chair out and sit there. It’s a surprise when the edge of the bed dips instead.  

The awkwardness is palpable. The tension is painful. Yunho startles when a peal of Wooyoung’s laughter rings through the apartment. Mingi loves the man to death, but his laugh, the embodiment of happiness, makes him a little nauseous.   

“What are you doing here?” Mingi’s razorblade question cuts into Yunho’s, “I miss you,” as they break the silence at the same time.  

“I miss you,” Yunho repeats.  

Mingi closes his eyes, head tilting back against the wall.   

It’s funny how three words can make his stomach do gymnastics.  

“And I owe you an apology.”  

“Don’t. If you’ve come here just to apologize for not having feelings for me, please just don’t.”  

Yunho’s face falls.   

“That’s not it.”  

Mind running in circles, Mingi shakes his head. His eyes sting with budding tears, and he blinks in a lame attempt to get them to go away. He can’t imagine rejection hurts as much the second time, but he also doesn’t think he could feel much worse. After everything that went down: the mistake of confessing, the deterioration of their friendship, the loneliness of being isolated while surrounded by people, the mess of feelings—or non-feelings, he still isn’t sure—for Seojun, to this. To Yunho being in his room, in his bed. He never thought he could feel so empty. But despite it all, even though it hurts, even though his heart aches, Mingi feels warmer and fuller than he has in months.   

And it’s because Yunho is here. In his room. In his bed.   

Even though he hates him for hurting him, for breaking his heart, Yunho is still the only one who can make him feel better.  

Hopeless tears catch in his lashes before falling down his cheeks.   

Yunho’s hand twitches, like he wants to brush the tears away, but instead he curls his fingers into the blanket. He audibly swallows. “Min—” he stops to clear his throat, voice hoarse, “Mingi. Will you let me explain?”   

“If you’re going to—”  

“I’m not apologizing for what happened,” Yunho interrupts. When Mingi’s brow furrows more, he quickly shakes his head. “Well, not for that.”  

There’s a hint of desperation in his voice that plucks at the curious strings in Mingi’s heart. He doesn’t bother to wipe his face, content to feel. Still, he won’t look at his friend. He doesn’t know if he can.   

He takes a deep breath, the same way he does when they perform a song for the first time. The same way he did when he told Yunho he was in love with him.   

“Go ahead.”  

Yunho lets out a shaky breath. “When you told me you loved me, I didn’t know what to do. We had such an emotional day. An amazing, emotional day, and it was perfect.”   

Before I ruined it.  

“It was the last day for filming, and we were on cloud nine. We went to the sauna, you made dinner, I was going to run down to 711 for ice cream. It was perfect,” Yunho repeats, head bowing to look at his hands, fingers idly twisting around themselves. “You told me you loved me, and I knew it already.”   

Mingi’s heart shrivels inside his chest. He bites the inside of his cheek hard. Humiliation floods his body down to each fingertip. Always so transparent, so loyal. Qualities that he was praised for as a child turned to the things he hates most about himself.  

Yunho’s voice gets tighter, like he can’t breathe. “I knew it already, and I was scared. I’ve never loved anyone. Not like that. We tell each other we love each other all the time, but it’s never felt heavy.”  

A burden.   

“It’s always been so natural. You’re my best friend.”  

And that’s all you’ll ever be.   

“I was scared of losing you, and then I did. You left,” he pauses to lick his lips, “and rightfully so. And then everything sucked.” A hollow laugh punches its way from Yunho’s lungs. “I had ruined us. San wouldn’t speak to me. Wooyoung was upset because San was upset. Hongjoong knew something was going on, but he didn’t say anything.” He closes his eyes. “God, Mingi, I’m so sorry.”  

Mingi doesn’t know what to say.   

“You looked so sad every day, and I did that. I did that to you.” Mingi follows the first tear that rolls down Yunho’s cheek. “And then we didn’t have any schedules together. No extra practice. Nothing promotional for Youth. Then we went to Japan for the tour, and I saw you smile for the first time since that night.”  

Mingi’s mouth is dry, but he’s frozen in place, unable to reach for the glass of water sitting on his bedside table.   

“You and Seojun-hyung were going on that overnight trip.” Yunho wipes away his tears. “I was jealous. He was the reason you were smiling. And I was so confused because I kept telling myself that nothing mattered as long as you were happy. But I wasn’t happy. And I was mad at myself for not being happy. Wooyoung was still at the hotel, and I went to his room, and I just started crying.”  

He bites back the instinct to apologize.  

“I told him everything.”   

Panic intercepts the confusion and hurt in Mingi’s gut. It’s fleeting, though, because Mingi is pretty sure Wooyoung, San, and Seonghwa already knew. They carried him home drunk more than a handful of times, and sometimes, after a long day, all Mingi can do is think about Yunho. He’s probably told the story of the time Yunho treated him to beef in high school more times than they’ve chanted Break the Wall in the past year.   

“I know it wasn’t my place to tell, and I’m sorry. But Wooyoung won’t tell. He promised.”  

“It’s fine,” Mingi croaks.   

Yunho presses his lips together in a sad, guilty smile. “Wooyoung asked why everything hit me at once. And I explained. I told him that you and Seojun had just left. He was so serious when he told me I was jealous. And I wanted to scream because I already knew that.” He shakes his head. “I just didn’t know why.”  

More tears slip from the corners of Mingi’s eyes.   

“And Wooyoung laughed at me when I asked why,” Yunho says, sounding incredulous. “I almost got up and left, but he stopped me. He sat me down, put both hands on my cheeks and said, ‘Yunho, has it ever crossed your mind that you might love him back?’  

“And I shook my head. I knew I loved you. You’re my best friend. And I argued with him, told him he was wrong.” He sighs. “When people look at Wooyoung and San, they can see it. They know they’re in love. They’re like firecrackers. The spark was something we could see a mile away. You and I were nothing like that.  

“And Wooyoung told me it wasn’t fair to compare anyone to him and San. He pulled the whole ‘there’s no chemistry like Woosan’ joke. Then he told me that love is never the same for everyone. It’s not always like movies or books. Sometimes it’s love at first sight. Sometimes it sneaks up on you. And sometimes it’s there all along, so quiet and sneaky that you don’t even know it’s there.”  

Mingi’s heart stops when Yunho looks up from his hands and their eyes meet.   

“I sat with him until the sun came up. I cried because I was too late. I realized I loved you too late.” The corner of his mouth lifts in a sad smile. “I love you. I’ve loved you all along, and I just didn’t know it.  

“So, I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I hurt you. And I’m sorry I missed my chance.”  

Time stops. The world stops spinning.  

“You didn’t.”  

Yunho looks at him with confused, wide eyes.   

Mingi wipes the wetness from his cheeks. “Nothing happened with Seojun.” Well. “We kissed, but we didn’t...we aren’t together.”  

“Oh.” Yunho frowns. “I’m sorry for assuming.”  

“It’s fine. I tried,” Mingi admits, “but I couldn’t stop thinking about you. And he knew it, and he understood.”  

Yunho just nods.  

“I’m sorry, but can you hand me my water?” Mingi asks, pointing to his glass. His throat is raw, lips dry.   

As Yunho hands him the glass, their fingers brush. And even though Yunho said they aren’t like a movie, Mingi feels the tips of his fingers tingle. He drinks half of the glass before extending his hand, offering the rest to Yunho.  

Yunho looks at it like it’s a piece of abstract art for a long moment, then drinks what’s left. He stares into the empty glass. “Where does this leave us?”  

Lost and in love.  

The hurt is still fresh, wounds raw from trying to heal while being poked at. Mingi is too afraid to rip off the band aid, afraid to take his skin with it.   

He shrugs.   

“Do you still love me?” Yunho asks.  

“Yes.”  

“And I love you.  

“I’ve always loved you, Min, and I'm sorry I didn’t realize that before. I’m sorry I hurt you.” A tear falls onto Yunho’s shirt, gray fabric darkening. “It’ll take some time, but I think I can be the man you deserve. If you can forgive me, and continue to be patient with me, I want to love you.”  

Both of their faces are stained pink with tracks of dried and fresh tears. Mingi reaches forward, brushing one from Yunho’s cheek, tracing his thumb across his cheekbone. Yunho leans into the touch and brings his hand up, covering Mingi’s, to keep it in place.   

“C’mere,” Mingi says softly, pulling the sheet back to welcome Yunho beside him.   

With Yunho beside him, sides and thighs pressed together, the lingering hurt starts to fade. It’s still present, but it’s not as sharp. With their backs pressed to the wall and everything in the open, Mingi feels comfortable. When he turns to look at the love of his life, Yunho is already watching him.   

And as they lean in and their lips touch for the very first time, everything feels right. Yunho’s lips are soft and beautifully hesitant, and it’s more than he could’ve imagined. He feels more than he’s ever felt. And he can be patient for the rest of his life if Yunho is beside him, loving him.   

----  

Hours later, they’re still in the same place, arms wrapped around each other in Mingi’s bed. Mingi’s face is buried in Yunho’s neck. He missed everything. His warmth, his smell, even his energy, as cringy as that feels. Yunho is playing with his hair, holding him tight, and everything feels right.  

“Tunnel was beautiful, by the way. I didn’t get a chance to tell you, but the first time I watched it I cried.” He sighs. “And the second time. And the third.”  

“Thanks,” Mingi says, voice hoarse.  

“You really didn’t tell anyone about it?”  

He shook his head. “Not really.” A moment passes before Mingi sits up. “I was so overwhelmed with trying to hide my emotions that I didn’t realize you were hurting too. I’m sorry I didn’t do anything about it.”  

Yunho pushes himself up so they face each other. “You have nothing to apologize for. I’m the one who messed up. You reacted like any normal person would.”  

“But I don’t like that you were hurting.”  

Yunho lets out a little laugh. “I kind of deserved it, no?”  

Mingi shakes his head right away.  

“I think I did.” When Mingi doesn’t answer, Yunho continues, “But hey, we’re here now.” He holds both of Mingi’s hands. “And we’re okay. Better than okay. Right?”  

“Right.”  

“Can I kiss you again?”  

Mingi looks up and nods.  

It takes his breath away, how Yunho holds his cheek in his palm, fingertips grazing over his ear. They meet in the middle, lips fitting together like they were meant to. How perfect it feels is unreal, and the longer they kiss, the more he never wants to stop.  

Yunho’s other hand finds its way to Mingi’s waist, fingers curling into the fabric of his oversized shirt. He tilts his head, and his tongue slips across Mingi’s bottom lip. It’s subtle, and if Mingi weren’t so aware of everything around him, he might not have noticed. But he does, so he opens his mouth, ready to take whatever Yunho will give him. A soft noise leaves Mingi’s lips when their tongues touch, and it makes Yunho hold him tighter, pull him closer.  

They kiss until they can’t breathe, Yunho pulling back to catch his breath. He still holds Mingi’s face, and it feels like sunshine. It’s everything Mingi has ever wanted. Their chests heave, and Mingi lets out a breathless laugh.  

“This doesn’t feel real.”  

“I know.”  

“What if we’re dreaming?”  

“We’re not.”  

“How do you know?”  

“Are you sure you’re a T?”  

Mingi shushes him. “Let this be a moment.”  

Yunho laughs. The sound is round and bright and pretty. “I guess we’ll just have to keep kissing to be sure.”  

"I love you.”  

“I love you too.”  

Epilogue  

“You let me win,” Mingi pouts.  

“And?” Yunho asks, eyebrow quirked as he wraps his arm around Mingi’s waist. “I’m not allowed to?”   

Mingi’s cheeks go pink, and he shakes his head. “No, you’re not.”  

Yunho pokes his cheek, “You can’t hide the smile though. You’re happy you won.”  

“Everyone is happy when they win.”  

“Not me,” he protests. “I’m happy I lost.”  

Mingi pushes him away.   

“Aw, look at the lovebirds,” Wooyoung teases. “San, you might have some competition for best boyfriend.”  

San frowns, lips pushed together.   

“I’m kidding,” Wooyoung laughs. “It’s cute you made sure I was okay after I fell.”  

“I was worried,” San says in pout.  

The four are stuffed in a company van being driven to the next location. Filming Wanteez is a blast—a break without being a break. As long as they don’t have to do any more physical activity this afternoon, Mingi will be happy with anything.  

Yunho leans in, breath brushing Mingi’s ear. “Are you actually upset?”   

“I’m not.” He rests his hand over Yunho’s knee. “And the piggyback ride was nice.”  

It shouldn’t have been a surprise that Yunho ended up being a very careful partner. His approach is similar to how he handles work—with care and great attention to detail. Yunho is so keyed into each of Mingi’s moods that sometimes he worries too much, which Mingi didn’t think was possible.  

He speaks loud enough for the car to hear. “We’re going out to eat with the money.”  

“Who?” Wooyoung and San say in tandem, whipping around from the middle row of seats.  

“The four of us,” Mingi says.   

“Wow,” Wooyoung grins. “What a gentleman.”  

Yunho squeezes his hand. “Thanks, jagiya.”  

This time, the tips of his ears burn.   

Yunho notices, chuckling and leaning in to press a kiss to Mingi’s cheek.