Archive of Our Own

Chan gave the can of spray paint one last hard shake before he started adding hues of pink to the masterpieces he had started on the wall in the lobby of the old swimming pool. The place had been abandoned for ages and was already covered in hundreds of scribbles and amateur tags, and Chan’s art was just another spot of colors on the decrepit walls. 

It was a place for everyone, for connoisseurs of art like Chan or errant kids wanting to paint in peace, not quite daring enough to attempt a utilized building or a train. Desolate and far from civilization, it was the perfect place to be alone. 

With practiced ease, Chan moved along the blue lines he had already made, coloring just enough so that the green in the back was still present, but so that if one’s eyes were to skirt over his work, the pink contrasting the black in the background would be the first thing one noticed. 

Music filled his ears as he worked, blasting from his headphones, his body swaying along to the beat. His hands were steady as he slowly conjured the image from inside his head onto the wall, and with nothing but himself as company, Chan was at complete ease. 

Next would be the blue, then the green again, the world coming to a halt as his work stole all the focus of the eyes locked on it. He couldn’t stop the corner of his lips from turning upwards into a smirk, and he drew the last line, finishing it up in a matter of seconds. 

Chan stepped back, admiring his perfect work of art. 

His art, or his vandalism, as his dear mother called it once upon a time, was the only thing Chan enjoyed. Sure, he liked speeding after midnight, enjoyed getting drunk, relished in fucking, anticipated getting high, appreciated his degree in literature and classical music well enough, and he adored sitting down to play the piano, but none of them really gave him the calm peace that painting did. 

No, Chan might find value in a lot of things, but none of them came close to painting. Except maybe a certain someone, but other than him, art was Chan’s one true love.

One of the few times his head was in order was when he was creating, when there was just one thought, one goal, one singular thing to pour his never-ending focus on. He felt almost like it when he did music, not quite the same, not quite as quiet, but close. If his parents had allowed him to study music when he was younger instead of insisting that he choose something more serious and sophisticated, this might not have been what would have become of their only child and heir. 

If Chan could have chosen freely, this was what he would have done. Paint all the time. All Chan wanted was to create, to pour the colors stuck inside his head out and onto the world. 

As it was, literature and classical music were as liberal a degree as his parents had allowed him to get. So, there Chan was instead, with an old building as his canvas and spray paint as his medium, as he tried to convey the blistering feeling of being trapped onto the wall. Still, he wouldn’t trade it for anything, not the canvases Hyunjin favored, not the computer and drum pad Changbin fiddled with most evenings, or Jisung’s overwritten notepads, no, Chan’s muse was the sound of spray nozzles and the blasting of pop, rock, and hip-hop in his ears. 

Truly, he had outdone himself this time, and if not for the fact that it would be unwise to linger around too much with pink-colored fingertips, he would have stayed behind to admire his own work for hours on end. This was the worst part of painting in the wild, of not having legal canvases to explore; every minute he lingered was a minute he could be discovered. 

And, truly, more than enough of Chan’s inherited fortune had already been used on getting him out of jail and making ‘issues’ disappear. 

Chan could have easily waited until the sun broke through the horizon, just admiring his own work, but security had gotten a lot less lax these last few months since Jeongin managed to make the electricity work, causing the old swimming hall to light up in the middle of the night. Now it wasn’t just Chan who hung out among the decaying buildings.

Good people, most of the time, but also the kind of people that drew the cops’ attention. 

He crouched down and started gathering the empty canisters he had thrown on the ground, too caught up in his masterpiece to care much for making the cleanup job easier for himself, and stuffed them into his messy paint-stained backpack. If he was lucky, Jisung wouldn’t ask him too many questions about the amount of spray paint he had nicked from his stash and would ignore it until Chan had gotten himself together and replaced all of them.

Jisung wasn’t too fond of him at the moment.

He hadn’t told Jisung that he and Minho were still a thing. If you could even call fucking-a-few-times-a-week-when-they-had-nothing-better-to-do for a thing. Chan, despite his degree in literature, wasn’t good at putting words to emotions or relationships, and thus, he simply didn’t. 

Another thing he could blame on his parents’ shitty upbringing if he needed to, but he knew Jisung wasn’t going to buy that one. Not when it came to Minho, not with how Jisung knew better than anyone just how terribly Minho could break someone’s heart. 

Jisung had been the first victim of Minho’s inability to love anything but his cats and his car. 

Jisung was lenient with a lot of things, but he already quickly ran out of patience, especially when it came to Chan and his ‘life-ruining’ habits such as stealing, drugs, fucking the wrong guys, and well… the whole affair with Minho. Given Jisung’s history with the man, it made sense. 

Nevertheless, Chan wanted to stay on Jisung’s nice list for a little longer this time. Things had been so good since Chan quit drugs and tried to keep clean. 

Chan sighed as he pulled his headphones off, the music dying as the expensive pair rested around his neck. He pulled out his phone, the biggest, most expensive one his father had been able to throw at him to make Chan look like the quadrillion-Won or whatever heir he was. Chan felt a certain amount of pride in using it to snap pictures of his street art, the yellow, horror-like glow of the flash going off.

With a few taps, another one of Chan’s pieces was eternalized in the digital world, ready to be shared with his followers. He knew he should find another place than the deserted natatorium, but Chan liked the place. 

Besides, his work was halfway famous here; many of the younger kids were not daring enough to paint over his odd pieces. 

Chan stuffed his phone into his pocket, ready to upload his latest creation later when he was nowhere near the place, and preferably using the local cafe’s wifi, before zipping up the bag and slipping it on. The familiar weight settled uncomfortably over his shoulders. It was digging into the already sore muscles there due to the thickness of the leather jacket he had stolen from Minho… or rather borrowed, if anyone asked. 

Perhaps Changbin had been onto something when he told Chan to look into his kleptomaniac tendencies when he told him to fix some of his shit the last time they argued about two years ago. 

Hmm, maybe tomorrow or the day after, or the next time Chan wanted to be told he was desperate for attention or whatever it was his parents used to excuse their upbringing for leaving him scared of living. Chan had been in rehab before - he had done his fair share of some soul-searching, so for the time being, he was more concerned about the footsteps echoing through the hall signaling that he wasn’t as alone as he thought he was. 

Carefully, Chan took a step backward when he saw the long shadow peak around the corner, his big, broad flashlight - which he was clearly going to leave behind - lighting up the wall he had been painting on. A quiet whistle followed the person as he approached. 

Chan’s heart kept its pace, but for a whole other reason. His body relaxed, a smile blooming on his face. He turned on his heels and ran towards the sound, rounded the next corner quickly, then pushed open the doors that led into the changing rooms.

He weaved through the benches, grabbed onto the frame of one of them, and jumped over the bench with all the grace the endless dance lessons his mother had thrown at him to calm him in his younger years had earned him. His feet landed with a loud sound that was quickly drowned out by the door to the changing room opening, only to be shut out by Chan entering the pool area. 

Long ago, before they had decided to close the swimming hall down and the place had been bought and sold, and bought once again, before it was forgotten by everyone, it had been the place where Chan had come with Changbin almost every weekend. So many good memories were tied to the building that had looked haunted for almost a decade, but regardless of how scary others found it, to Chan, this would always be a part of his home. 

The last part of a once-rich community that was now so filled with lower-middle-class people that the rich had moved on from, leaving the whole place stranded between becoming a luxury spa and another shopping center. 

Chan wrapped his hands around the handrails, jumped into the empty pool, and ran over the slippery tiled floor, his footsteps loud in the large room. He couldn’t stop a laugh from bubbling up his chest and past his lips when the whistling got louder, the tune familiar to his ears. 

Chan was the one who had played that song to Minho for the first time, so it made sense that hearing that melody from the man himself made him feel giddy. It meant Minho had listened, it meant Minho might even care, just a little, but most importantly, it meant Chan had left a piece of himself inside Minho’s mind. 

Even if it was just a few notes of a melody. 

“How long must you try to run?” Minho asked, his voice echoing through the large space. 

Chan laughed loudly, turning around and walking backward, uncaring if he tripped on the trash on the floor. He glanced up and caught sight of the man who had long ago stolen his heart - just like Chan had stolen his leather jacket. 

Of course, Minho remained under the impression that their hookups were purely casual, not steeped in tender emotions as they were for Chan.

“Until you catch me!” Chan called back, smiling widely.

His heart was beating loudly in his chest, both from running and because Minho always looked good in the yellow light streaming in from the outside. It shouldn’t be possible for anyone to look anywhere near decent in that lighting, and yet Minho kept on proving him wrong every time.

Minho stood by the edge of the empty pool, and on any other day, he usually sat down and waited until Chan eventually realized he wasn’t going to chase him around the pool like he wanted, but tonight, he stayed standing on the edge.

“They’re tearing down the old mall today,” Minho said, and Chan tilted his head to the side, readjusting the straps of his backpack. 

His voice was somber, yet brimming with hidden excitement. 

“What does that have to do with me?” Chan asked, taking a step closer to Minho, drawn to the danger and the heartbreak of the man as he had always been drawn to drugs. “What do you want?”

“What do I want? Well, I want to kiss you while the world collapses,” Minho replied, with a light upward quirk of his lips, and Chan’s heart skipped a beat or two. Minho was rarely the first one to seek out Chan since the start of their arrangement. “But since I can’t do that, I want to make out while they tear down the mall.”

“But it’s the middle of the night,” Chan said, moving closer and closer to Minho until he stood right in front of him, looking up. 

He was adorned in his black leather, red detailing lighting up the otherwise completely black outfit. 

“It was in the middle of the night,” Minho said, and pulled out his phone. He crouched and turned the screen to Chan, who squinted at the bright light, but he had to give it to Minho. It was closer to 6 am than he had thought. 

“In that case, let’s go fulfill your dreams,” Chan agreed all too easily and held his hand out for Minho to take. His neck ached slightly from having to look up, but he didn’t have to wait for long until Minho reached a hand down to him, and Chan jumped up and caught it. 

Chan let himself get pulled right into Minho’s warm embrace. He smelled of motor oil like always, and also a bit burnt. He had probably been out doing something stupid with Seungmin before he stopped by the swimming pool to pick up Chan and whisk him away. Chan remained in his arms for a moment too long before finding the courage to remove himself. 

“Let’s go fulfill my dream,” Minho said and grabbed Chan’s hand, tugging him along as he started running like Chan had wanted him to do before. Chan laughed and followed along happily, the empty cans in his bag clanging loudly every time his feet hit the ground.

Minho kicked open the door of the natatorium and guided Chan to his car - an old Toyota he and Felix had absolutely decimated before reassembling it to be far more illegal than it ever should have been. 

“Get in,” Minho said, not even bothering to open the door for Chan before he walked around and got behind the wheel. 

It didn’t matter too much. Chan was used to Minho just commanding him around. He opened the door to the passenger side and threw his backpack into the back, but he couldn’t get into the car just yet.

“What about my bike?” Chan asked, casting a look over his shoulder towards where he had left his motorbike. 

Minho had already turned on the car and curled his fingers around the wheel, impatiently waiting for Chan to get inside.

“I’ll drive you back so you pick it up,” Minho promised and while Chan didn’t like leaving behind his baby, at the same time, the glint in Minho’s eyes promised more than just a lift - it promised Chan the rush of speed, and if there was a drug along on par with Minho’s touch it was the kick of adrenaline Chan got when Minho was behind the wheel. 

Changbin might claim Chan was a rich asshole who didn’t care about his possessions, but his bike kinda meant the world to him. Chan threw a final look at his motorbike, hoping it would still be there when he returned, and got into the passenger seat. He closed the door behind him and settled into the smooth leather seats Felix had “found” somewhere a couple of years ago. 

Minho put the car in reverse and pulled out of the empty parking lot, leaving behind the abandoned swimming pool along with Chan’s treasured bike. 

“You know,” Minho said, something fond in his voice. Chan looked away from the window and found Minho giving him a glance before his focus returned to the darkness of the early morning ahead of them. “Sometimes I wonder if you like that piece of metal more than you like me.”

“Likewise,” Chan said and put his feet up on the dashboard, much to Minho’s dismay. He knew that once they were out of the small and narrow streets, he would have to sit properly, but for now, he could mess around with Minho for a bit, irk him a little, and annoy him until all he could do was threaten to hit Chan without ever following through. 

Minho was cute. The cutest there really was. 

“Sometimes I’m convinced you’re only with me because I don’t mind your endless speeches on cars and actually show up to your races when you invite me,” Chan said, trying and failing to keep up his pouty expression when Minho rolled his eyes at him and reached over to flick his arm. “I’m not kidding! All you want to do is talk about cars and speed and how much you want me to bend you over the hood of your car.”

“Are you complaining?” Minho asked and took a sharp left turn. There was something so utterly alluring about his confidence and how the car was an extension of Minho, moving effortlessly under him. It made Chan’s stomach burn with need. “Because all three of those things can easily disappear if you don’t want them to happen anymore,” Minho continued, cutting through the haze of Chan’s desire.

“I never said that!” Chan exclaimed with a laugh, slumping back in the seat and struggling not to fidget too much in his impatience to be close to Minho. After all, it wasn’t just Minho’s body he wanted, but also the rare moments like these where they got to talk just the two of them. “But you have to admit that you’ve got a bit of an unhealthy obsession with your car,” he added, knowing it wasn’t a lie.

Minho loved his car, and the last person who had scratched it had left with more than just a scratch themself. 

“I have a bit of an unhealthy obsession with you,” Minho said, his hand landing on Chan’s thigh, his smaller hand strong and almost burning through the fabric of Chan’s jeans. “Down,” he ordered, clapping Chan’s leg with just the right amount of force for it to sting in a way that made Chan’s stomach twist again as Minho gestured to Chan’s feet on the dashboard. “Wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable once I speed up,” he continued, keeping his hand on Chan’s thigh while he pulled his legs down and settled properly into the seat.

Chan didn’t know if it was an excuse to keep touching Chan, but Minho didn’t speed up the moment Chan’s feet hit the floor of the car, nor did he take any sharp turns. Besides, they weren’t anywhere near the long stretches of tarmac Chan knew Minho was driving them towards. 

Minho didn’t remove his hand. Instead, he started caressing Chan, rubbing small circles into his thigh with his thumb, digging torturously into the muscle and melting Chan’s brain. His palm was warm against Chan, distractingly so since Chan’s entire body was a lot colder than it should have been. He could already feel how Minho wanted to chide him from the hours he had spent loitering around the swimming pool in the middle of winter, at night, while only wearing designer jeans, a t-shirt, and a leather jacket. 

But then again, Chan had never been much for rules. 

He wanted Minho to scold him, to ask why he had decided it was a good idea to neglect his health like that, wanted him to care beyond casual friendship, but that was something you would do to your partner, not some guy who had asked you to fuck them on the regular. 

“I’m never uncomfortable with you,” Chan said after a moment of silence, only realizing how quiet the car had become, the hum of the motor keeping them company. 

Minho hadn’t turned on the music like he usually did. Somehow, the silence wasn’t suffocating, but that might have been because Chan had been too busy watching, as if hypnotized, by the hand touching his thigh. 

Usually, a touch like that would lead to something more, and perhaps it would later, but Minho had plans, and even Chan begging for him to fuck his throat in the passenger seat wouldn’t be enough to make Minho diverge from his plan. 

Chan had learned that from experience. 

“I know,” Minho said without the slightest hint of doubt, and Chan didn’t need to look at him to know he was smiling, but he did so anyway, unable to stop himself from turning his head to take in the view of him. Minho kept his hand where it was. “That's why we’re so compatible,” he added, hand creeping a little higher up Chan’s thigh. 

We’re compatible because I don’t ask questions, Chan wanted to say, but he couldn’t. We’re compatible because I don’t ask more of you than you’re willing to give. We’re compatible because I don’t expect you to love me, he wanted to add, but of course, he couldn’t. Without their arrangement, Chan would wither away, and he wasn’t risking that for the sake of himself and the selfish feelings he should have suffocated the moment he had first felt them towards Minho.

Lee Minho wasn’t someone you fell in love with. He was someone who broke your heart and left you ruined for everyone else. Chan was just the latest of Minho’s conquests, the longest lasting perhaps, but also the least complicated. 

Chan knew what he was getting himself into when he jumped into Minho’s web and got himself stuck. 

“Hmm, of course,” Chan hummed, keeping his eyes on Minho’s hand. Even though it was pretty high up, Chan wanted it to move higher, to press into the flesh of his thigh, to burn Chan’s skin and leave proof that he belonged to Minho. A proof that what they had was real, that it had happened. A memory for when all this was over, and Minho moved on. But more than that, he wanted to put his own hand on top of it, but he refrained. “No one knows me like you do.”

And the sad thing was that out of all of Chan’s little lies, this one wasn’t one of them.

“Not even Jisung?” Minho asked, giving Chan a squeeze. He had to bite his lip not to moan at the touch, though it was difficult from how Minho was slowly working up his thigh, making something warm and expectant blossom in his stomach. 

“Not even Jisung,” Chan said, trying to sound less breathless than he actually was. “Jisung has never fucked me.”

“But have you fucked Jisung?” Minho asked, and Chan couldn’t stop himself from laughing, the tension in his body slowly ebbing out as Minho moved his hand down Chan’s thigh again and away from where Chan had feared he intended to grab. 

It wouldn’t be the first time Minho had done something like that while driving. 

“No, I think Jisung’s been too busy getting fucked by Seungmin if I’m supposed to be completely honest,” Chan said, relaxing back into the seat. He finally managed to take his focus away from Minho’s hand and onto the road ahead of them.

“I thought Seungmin was stringing along Hyunjin,” Minho said, and finally removed his hand from Chan to change the gear. 

The hand didn’t return to Chan. It wrapped around the steering wheel once again, leaving Chan cold.

“Nah, Jeongin finally got Hyunjin into his bed, and going by how Hyunjin is looking, I don’t think Jeongin is giving him a moment to think about his old crush on Seungmin,” Chan said, hoping the young racer knew what he was doing. 

Knowing Jeongin, he was just enacting a carefully curated plan he had thought out for months in order to achieve what he wanted, which in this case was carrying Hyunjin’s babies. 

“I hope they both know it’s a matter of time before all three of them are exclusive and they’ll have to come to terms with the fact that they’re in a loving relationship and not some odd sexual-tension-ridden rivalry.”

“I think they were cute rivals,” Minho smirked lightly. Chan ignored the twist in his stomach from how he knew Minho had a soft spot for Jeongin. It shouldn’t annoy Chan because there was nothing romantic about it, but it still hurt a little. Like a splinter in his fingertip. 

“I think we’d be cute as rivals,” Chan quipped, grinning when Minho let go of the wheel to flick his shoulder twice. “Can’t you imagine it? You with your car and me with my bike, racing into the sunset. Bet you’d like that.”

“What’s stopping us from doing just that?” Minho asked, eyes on the road as he sped through Seoul, pushing the speed limit. “Except for the rival part. I don’t think I’d be able to take you seriously as a rival when I know you have the cat keychain I thought I lost hanging on your backpack,” he added, arching an eyebrow teasingly. 

Chan’s eyes widened, and he shot a glance behind him to his backpack, where Minho’s cat keychain was indeed hanging from one of the zippers. It was a pink thing, with a stupid little face and its tiny tongue sticking out from between its canines. 

“How long have you known?” Chan asked. He had nicked it from Minho the first time they had slept together, sneaking out in the middle of the night to grab it from Minho’s drawer before he slipped back under the covers. “And how does that make me less worthy of being your rival?”

“Since the moment you stole it,” Minho said, with a smirk, eyes dark as he looked at Chan, the streetlight making him seem close to other worldly things as it fell through the windows. “You’re not as quiet as you think you are. Also, I don’t think I’d take you seriously knowing you went out of your way to steal a pink keychain of a cat from the apartment of your hookup. You could have easily stolen a lot of other things, but you went for the keychain. That’s cute, not something I’d associate with a heated rivalry.”

“I could be a cute rival,” Chan said with a giggle when Minho took a sharp turn, so Chan slid against the door. 

Finally, the long stretch of the road presented itself in front of them, and slowly, Minho started pressing down on the accelerator. 

“The cutest,” Minho agreed, shifting the gear and making the landscape zoom past them as the speedometer climbed and climbed as they got further away from places where the cops might hang out. Chan’s heart beat faster and faster, while Minho tightened his hold on the gearstick. Shifting it once. Shifting it twice. 

There was something magical about Minho behind the wheel. It was as if he was barely affected by how fast he was driving, by how much power there was in the machine that purred every time Minho eased on the accelerator, gradually building speed before denying himself to keep from losing his mind and getting lost in the high.

Chan, on the other hand, clung to the grab handle, eyes wide and lips slightly parted. He loved it as much as he feared it. He lived for every single moment he got to feel the rush of speeding down the road, but having someone else behind the wheel and being completely powerless was a different kind of rush that Chan would never get tired of. 

He was addicted to Minho and everything he could offer him, every sliver of excitement he would share with him, and as long as Chan could go with Minho by his side, he would die happily. 

*

The sun was slowly rising on the horizon by the time Minho was forced to slow down. They rolled up to the place he had picked out earlier as the perfect spot to watch the demolition of the old mall. Or that was what Chan presumed as he got out of the car and went to sit on the hood, careful not to scratch Minho’s baby. 

Minho joined him a moment later, and Chan was about to ask him what had taken so long when a fluffy scarf was draped around his neck, the wool tickling his cheeks as Minho wrapped him up until only his eyes were visible.

“There we go,” Minho said and fell into place right beside Chan, but not before taking Chan’s hand in his and stuffing it into his pocket to keep him warm from the treacherous winter chill. “Don’t be senseless.”

“But if it’s gonna make you come out and dote on me, then it would be counterproductive since that’s what I want,” Chan said cheekily, ignoring how warm he felt. He was going to steal this as well. Hide it away and keep it to remember this night forever. 

“I’ll push you into that puddle if you don’t promise to wear that scarf wherever you go,” Minho said, pointing at the puddle Chan had no doubt he would end up in if he pushed Minho too close to the edge. “I’m not hooking up with you if you’re sick,” he finished with a grimace. 

“Pinky promise,” Chan cooed, threading his pinky with Minho’s in his pocket, loving how flushed Minho’s cheeks suddenly were. For someone who pretended to be unaffected by Chan, he was quite affected.

“Cute,” was Chan’s response before he turned to look at the old mall in the distance. “So when is it all going down?”

“I actually lied about that,” Minho replied casually. 

“Eh?”

“They’re not demolishing it today, or I think they’re not. It would have been quite the coincidence if they did,” Minho shrugged, looking at the old mall that had been abandoned ages ago. Unlike the natatorium it wasn’t left forgotten, but constantly passed around until someone decided what to do with the spot. 

“Then what are we doing here?” Chan wondered, looking around, partly expecting a surprise party to erupt out of nowhere, but they were alone. Completely alone, with only the slowly rising sun keeping them company. “Because it-”

The words died on his tongue. Not because he hadn’t been intending on finishing his sentence, but because Minho stole the syllables directly from his mouth, his lips pressed firmly against Chan’s. In an instant, Chan melted into him, following easily when Minho’s hand caressed his cheek and angled his head, a quiet sigh slipping from between Chan’s lips when Minho continued to press his lips against Chan’s.

Minho pulled away, and Chan was almost disappointed before Minho’s hands were under his thighs and hitched him up on the hood of the car. With a feline smile, Minho settled himself between Chan’s spread legs and connected their lips again, the gasp that had been leaving Chan’s mouth quickly swallowed up by Minho pressing deeper and running his tongue along Chan’s.

Minho ran his hands down Chan’s thighs, his fingers digging into the muscles as he yanked Chan against him, a strangled moan leaving Chan that Minho took full advantage of, kissing him messily just like he knew Chan loved.

Being with Minho was everything to Chan. He was assertive and always told Chan whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted it. With Minho, there wasn’t a single thing Chan had to worry about, because chances were, if it bothered him, it had already irked Minho for weeks and was therefore already solved when Chan decided to voice his dislike of something.

“Ah, shit, you’re so good,” Chan praised when Minho broke away, opting to press wet and noisy kisses along Chan’s jaw, down his throat, tugging at the scarf he had just wrapped him up in, biting and nipping at him like some feral cat while Chan clawed desperately at his jacket to keep him close.

“Hmm, the very best, right?” Minho purred, phrasing it as a question even though there was nothing to question between them. To Chan, Minho would always be the very best in everything he set out to do. Minho made to move away, and in a moment of panic, Chan hooked his ankles over each other, keeping Minho from leaving.

“I’m not done,” Chan said matter-of-factly when Minho raised an eyebrow at him, but he didn’t complain when Chan drew him in by his shirt to kiss him senseless one last time before Chan allowed him to pull away. Minho was like the purest drug, making Chan’s mind spin and his heart race. He was addictive, seductive, and so bad for Chan he knew he shouldn’t, yet he couldn’t stop himself from chasing another hit. 

Carefully, Chan slid down the hood of the car and landed on the ground. Minho steadied him, and Chan nuzzled against him, smiling brightly when Minho didn’t shy away from his affections. 

“Now that you’re done distracting me, can you tell me why we’re here?” Chan asked, smiling when he felt Minho freeze momentarily. Thankfully, it didn’t take long for him to continue raking his hand through his hair, detangling it from where the wind had lovingly tugged at it.

Minho was gorgeous, more like a model with the fine bone structure, his mischievous eyes, and his wicked smile. He looked like the perfect guy, just a smidge taller than Chan, but slimmer yet nearly as strong as Chan. He was even prettier with the sunrise behind him, his dark hair blowing in the wind. 

He was divine, like a god sent from the heavens.  

“I don’t know, but it is a pretty neat sunrise,” Minho said casually, gesturing halfheartedly at the rising sun in the distance. Compared to Minho, it was rather lackluster, though Chan didn’t dare say that out loud. “Do I need a reason to do anything?” 

The smile he sent Chan made him a little weak in the knees. 

“I never said you needed a reason for doing anything,” Chan said, giggling at how Minho was acting. “So you’re saying we’re here to watch the sunrise?” 

“I’m not saying anything,” Minho mumbled, eyes locked firmly on the rising sun, his hand reaching out to grasp Chan’s again. “You’re the one who keeps talking.” 

“Only because you’re not giving any answers,” Chan shot back, threading his fingers with Minho’s once again, but instead of shoving them into Minho’s pocket again, he held up the entwined hand in the light from the sun. “You should let me paint your nails,” Chan said, turning their hands so he could admire how perfectly they fit together.

“You should paint my car,” Minho said instead of the ‘no’ Chan had expected as an answer. 

“Are you for real?” Chan blurted, brows furrowed as he examined Minho for any signs of a fever. Everyone and their aunt knew how serious Minho was about his car, and the fact that Chan was even allowed to sit in the passenger seat said a lot about how much he valued Chan as a friend.

Changbin was still stuck in the backseat. 

“Hmm, yes,” Minho hummed, not sparing Chan a single glance. “I wouldn’t ask you if I wasn’t serious.”

“But it’s your baby!” Chan exclaimed, pulling away slightly and staring at Minho to see if there was anything hidden in his expression, but he averted his gaze as always. “Like, the love of your life, and you want me, of all people, to paint on it?”

“You can put it up on your Instagram,” Minho offered as if that had anything to do with what they were talking about. “I’ll drop by Jisung’s studio throughout the week, so think of something pretty to paint before then.”

Chan was still gawking, worried if Minho had had an aneurysm. Only a select few got to touch his car, and only if Felix had approved of it first. The fact that Chan got to paint Minho’s car, to leave behind a permanent mark on Minho’s life, was close to unbelievable. 

“What the fuck,” Chan exhaled, and slumped back against the car, shaking his head in disbelief. “I’m free Wednesday,” he said, because if Minho had set his mind on Chan painting his car, then there was nothing that was going to make him change his mind. It was easier to give him a day to come by, otherwise he would just drop it off and annoy Jisung until Chan showed up and did his magic. 

And really, while Jisung and Minho were a thing of the past, long gone and never coming back, Chan couldn’t help but be a little jealous that Jisung was the only guy proud enough to have called Minho his boyfriend. 

“I’m serious about the Instagram part,” Minho insisted, nudging Chan with his elbow. “I also think you should post your work from the pool there as well.” 

“The thing is that’s vandalism, painting your car isn’t,” Chan huffed, shaking his head. “What you gonna do when people ask how you got CB97 to paint your damn car?” He muttered, head spinning with ideas. 

“It’s only vandalism if you make it ugly,” Minho said tersely. “And I’ll tell them you owe me a favor. Hell, I might tell them I was your getaway driver once. That’ll make people talk,” he teased, eyes brighter than the rising sun as he grinned at Chan. 

Chan laughed, though it was cut short by a shiver as the wind sneaked in under his stolen jacket. 

“Cold?” Minho asked, giving Chan’s hand a squeeze.

“A little,” Chan nodded. “But we’re here to watch your sunrise so I’ll make due.”

“The sunrise isn’t important,” Minho said, finally looking down at Chan, his eyes full of promises. The curl of his lips gave away what he was about to say. “Besides, I know I can warm you up again.”

Chan didn’t have to ask what he meant before Minho’s mouth was on his again, breaking past the seal of his lips and drawing sinfully sweet sounds from the tip of Chan’s tongue, his hands grabbing Chan’s ass and making him moan into the kiss. Fuck, Chan would be a filthy liar if he said he hadn’t hoped for their escapade to evolve into this.

“How do you want me?” Chan asked breathlessly, following along as Minho wrapped his hand around his wrist and tugged him towards the door to the backseat. He threw open the door, and Chan scampered inside, shuffling awkwardly backward until his back hit the other door. He held his arms out to pull Minho into another searingly hot kiss the moment he was inside the car. 

Chan’s hands quickly snuck in under Minho’s jacket, sighing at how warm he was and how contrasting it was to Chan’s chilled hands. Usually, Minho was the one who ran cold in their arrangement, but for once, Chan got to feel what Minho regularly did. He could see why Minho was so obsessed with sneaking his hands and feet under Chan whenever he got the chance. It was nice to feel someone else’s heat seep into his body. 

“How do you want me?” Chan repeated, exhaling shakily when Minho pulled back to slam the door closed behind them so they could keep the cold outside. 

“You’re the one who’s cold,” Minho said and dug through his pocket before he presented Chan with a small bottle of lube and a condom. “I want to ride you.”

“Fuck,” Chan moaned and quickly got to work, throwing his jacket over the passenger seat so he didn’t soil it and rid himself of his shoes and pants. Before long, Minho sat in Chan’s lap, bracketing his thighs, his cock already out and showing interest between them. Chan wished he could touch, but Minho was the one setting the tempo, not him.

This was Minho’s world, and Chan’s sole purpose was to follow his orders, turning towards him like a sunflower to the scintillating light from the heavens.

Chan bit his lip, leaning back as Minho hovered over him, the rising sun’s light giving his skin a gleam. 

“I hate fucking in your car,” Chan complained, though he didn’t cease kissing Minho’s neck, covering him with small red marks he could look at for the foreseeable future. “It’s so cramped,” he muttered into Minho’s skin, hands trembling as they slipped over him. 

Like all the times before, this might be the last time Chan got to do this, and like all the times before, the thought broke his heart. 

“But you love fucking me, so live with it,” Minho said roughly, though his hand was warm and gentle as the caressing Chan’s sides before he moved behind and started working himself open. Chan wasn’t allowed to, never had been. 

Minho only ever let Chan fuck him when he controlled the pace; Chan was simply a cock to be ridden, a body to be used, a high to be chased. The thought made Chan’s stomach twist, but it didn’t stop him from caressing Minho’s skin. He got to keep this much of Minho, the sensation of his skin heating up beneath his touch.

“I can more than just live with it,” Chan groaned, caressing Minho’s chest while he worked himself open. It didn’t take long before Minho grew impatient, more or less loose with how often Chan had been fucking him lately. With a hiss from Chan, Minho rolled on the condom and sank down on him with a loud moan. 

His breath hitched and Chan threw his head back. Minho took him so perfectly, swallowing him up in his heat and sinking down to the hilt in one swift motion. Chan barely got to enjoy the sensation of being so deeply nestled inside of him because Minho was too impatient to let Chan take his time. Neither of them were gone enough in each other to slow down the pace and revel in each other in languid yet passionate movements.

Minho’s back arched, his hands settling on Chan’s shoulder as he began to fuck himself on Chan’s cock, setting a ruthless pace despite the lack of space in the backseat of his car. 

While the car was cramped and their positions awkward, Chan would take this over being anywhere else. With Minho’s beautiful moans filling up the room around him, it was difficult not to lose himself while Minho took the wheel. Chan could only lean back, hands on Minho’s hips, and get overcome with the euphoria coursing through his veins much like it did when he was speeding down the endless stretches of road he and Minho sometimes visited. 

Minho sank lower, knees bumping into the seat as he all but dragged Chan into a kiss, while matching the rhythm he had set himself. It was messy, awkward, their breath mingling as the air in the car grew hot, and moist, sweat beginning to bead on their skin. 

Chan lived for it. He groaned as Minho began to speed up, tilting his hips so Chan rammed into him deeper. 

“Fuck,” Minho hissed, words pressed into the side of Chan’s face, his breath cassing him. “You’re so fucking big.”

“Not so small yourself,” Chan teased, grabbing a hold of Minho’s cock trapped between them. His cock was slimmer than Chan’s, long, curved, and Chan fucking loved having it in his hands, pulsing and warm, twitching as Chan stoked it hard. “Come for me, babe,” he whispered, voice dark and needy.  

He hadn’t expected it to work, but Minho clenched around him, his body seizing between Chan’s hands. Chan shivered as Minho obeyed his command, coming with a whine, tightening around Chan and pushing him over his edge as well, covering his own stomach and Chan’s in cum. 

They remained still for a moment, breathing deeply as they clung to each other, and Chan could almost imagine that it was because neither of them wanted to let go. 

“You still cold?” Minho asked, chuckling as he gently lifted himself up, making Chan hiss once more as he slipped out. 

He mourned the loss of the intimacy and heat the moment it was gone.

“You’re so fucking stupid,” Chan laughed, shaking his head as he accepted the napkins Minho threw at him, cleaning himself up in a hurry. “But, no, I’m not cold anymore,” he said and turned away from Minho, grabbing his shirt and pulling it back on. 

He wasn’t cold anymore, but his heart was freezing.

Minho did the same, getting dressed again in a hurry. Both of them were too used to quick fucks and non-commital sex to linger on the intimacy. Chan wanted nothing more than to keep snuggling Minho, to hold him in his arms, to take him home to his place, fuck Minho over and over, and then - only then - fall asleep in his arms. Hell, Chan’s hottest dream was waking up to the scent of coffee and fucking Minho against his kitchen counter in his apartment. 

It was fucking pathetic, but Chan wanted all of Minho, but he couldn’t. He would be lucky if they could stay friends after all of this was over. Chan wasn’t really sure if he could handle Minho starting something up with someone else - he wasn’t even sure if he was the only one, or if the nights Minho couldn’t meet him were spent in someone else’s arms. 

Chan was in the middle zipping his pants back up, busy not staring at Minho as he dragged his shirt back on, covering his beautiful chest, when Minho broke their long-held tradition of not speaking till they were back in the front seat. 

“I have a race on Friday,” Minho said, sounding almost shy. 

Chan couldn’t help but perk up, throwing a glance over at Minho, who was looking at him with an unreadable expression on his face. 

“Short notice to give me,” Chan said, struggling to keep his calm despite how he wanted to cheer like he won a lottery. 

“You don’t have to show up if you don’t want to,” Minho said and averted his gaze, slipping out of the car. 

Chan blinked, highly confused. He didn’t hesitate to follow Minho, making sure to grab the scarf Minho had given him. He followed Minho and got into the passenger seat, their doors falling shut at the same time.

“I never said anything about not showing up,” Chan said when Minho remained silent, almost like he was angry, or worse yet, disappointed. “However, next time, give me a bit more time to run on. I’m a busy man.” A busy man who would cancel any and all plans if it meant he got to play a bigger role in Minho’s life. “But I should be able to make Friday.”

Minho nodded, twisting and making the car come alive, breaking the spell on their short meeting. The car purred and Minho shifted the gear, and before long, they were off, driving back in the direction they had come from. Minho had gotten what he wanted, and now he would drive Chan back, leaving him with not even a kiss goodbye before he disappeared out of Chan’s life the next time he craved Chan’s company… or until Friday, it would seem. 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Minho said, and when Chan looked at him, the corner of his mouth was curled up in a smile. “Can’t have your double booked now, can I, little chaebol?” He teased, breaking the last of the awkwardness when Chan punched him softly in the shoulder. 

The radio stayed off as they drove, silence once again settling between them. As he had promised, Minho dropped him off by the natatorium and watched from the comfort of his car as Chan put on his helmet and drove out of the parking lot and into the early morning hours.

Perhaps they would see each other again; perhaps Friday was the last day Chan would ever see the owner of his heart. Perhaps they had several more months left before it inevitably broke apart.

Chan hoped desperately that fate would be kind and grant him countless years with Minho by his side.