Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Yunho is already tipsy when he meets Mingi for the first time.

He's out for drinks with some colleagues around his age, Seonghwa and Yeosang. Earlier that day, they mentioned bringing along some mutual friends they think Yunho would like to meet.

He appreciates being included - being adopted into the friend group - especially as he's only been in the city for three months, and adjusting from his small town to the city is hard enough. It’s nice to not spend an evening alone in his apartment.

Wooyoung and San turn up on time, introduce themselves, and the younger man decides semi-instantly that Yunho is his new best friend. He lets it happen, endeared and slightly pleased. The man is loud, brash, and it reminds Yunho of a friend back home with a sudden pang.

Hongjoong and Jongho arrive just after them, rolling their eyes and complaining about the Metro, and Seonghwa shuffles over to make room for them at the table.

Mingi arrives late.

Yunho notices him before he makes his way over, working through the dense crowd of the dingy venue, drawing attention. He’s a head taller than most of the patrons of the place, a feeling Yunho knows well, with bright pink, short hair that makes several people in the place double-take. He’s beautiful, eyes darting around the room as he tries to find his friends, and it’s with a strange stab of nerves that Yunho realises that he’s looking for them, that the man is Mingi.

They’d somewhat pre-warned Yunho, before this meeting, of who was coming and what they were like. It doesn’t feel like nearly enough warning for the person that is Song Mingi.

He makes his way over, pushing past a short girl who stares at him like she wants to devour him, and he ignores it completely, too focused on grinning at the group gathered in the corner. Yunho absently wonders how often that happens, how frequently people stare at his beauty, entranced, for him to be able to push past it so easily, like it’s common, normal.

He realises with a horrible jolt that he’s one of those people, entranced, and snaps his eyes back to his drink.

Yeosang laughs at the tall man, shoving a beer into his ring-laden hands, asking if he got distracted by watching porn again and forgot they were meeting. The handsome guy chuckles, loud and pretty, wrapping his arm around Yeosang’s neck jokingly, faking a headlock. His red-haired colleague gets pushed into the squish of Mingi's chest, and Yunho tries his best to stop staring.

Mingi is really fucking hot, distractingly so, and he tries his best to keep his face in a somewhat neutral expression. He doesn’t know if he’s successful.

San accidentally nudges his thigh with his knee as he stands to slap Mingi on the back, breaking him out of his thoughts. He shuffles up and gestures to Yunho, making him slide to make room on the bench seat, offering the space next to him. The pink-haired man slumps onto the bench easily, thighs brushing as he squeezes in, too small for three, broad, grown men. Or at least two, Yunho doesn’t know if he can class himself as broad, but Mingi and San make up for it with their wide shoulders. He swallows dryly.

“You're Yunho then?” Mingi says, chewing on a string of his hoodie, extending a hand. Yunho nods, shaking it distractedly, eyes focused on the man’s plump lips around the plastic end of the cord, his teeth poking out as he smiles around it. It drops back to his chest with a swing, and Yunho tracks it with his eyes, unintentionally. “Nice to meet you!”

“Y-Yeah,” Yunho manages, smiling the best he can, “You too.”

His so striking, even more so up close, and Yunho doesn’t know if he’s drunker than he thought or just starting to feel a bit dizzy from the way his heart is racing.

His hair should be kind of ridiculous, especially paired with the sunglasses he has perched on the top of his head, even though it’s been fully dark outside for several hours. But it complements the honey tone in his skin, matches the soft pink of his plump lips, and Yunho finds himself glancing up at him much too often to be excusable.

His lips are difficult to ignore, especially as he brings an unlit cigarette to his mouth, letting it dangle off his bottom lip as he listens to Hongjoong rant loudly about something that Yunho doesn’t quite catch.

Yunho struggles to hide the way he watches the man all night, maybe because of the alcohol in his system, maybe because of the atmosphere of the sweaty bar, maybe because Mingi is just that captivating, harsh features softening as he laughs, grinning as Wooyoung shrieks loudly, smacking his arm, hard. He turns and catches Yunho's eyes, and he blushes, caught staring. Mingi's eyes widen minutely before he grins, and Yunho notices his slightly uneven front tooth, digging into his bottom lip.

“You having fun?” the pink-haired man asks, softly, and Yunho nods, grip around his pint tightening slightly. He feels too hot, even though he stripped off his jumper thirty minutes ago, sat in his t-shirt, bare arm brushing against Mingi’s when he reaches to grab his drink.

“Yeah, t-thanks for like, adopting me, or whatever,” he mumbles, and Mingi laughs, pretty and warm. Yunho doesn't know why his heart is beating so fast in his chest.

“Yeah, you're part of the group forever now, bad luck,” he jokes, patting Yunho on the shoulder before San screams at something and Mingi’s attention is stolen by the chaos of the group.

Yunho doesn't remember anything else about that night except the way Mingi's eyes squinted when he laughed, the scent of his cologne next to him, and the feeling of his thick thigh pressed against Yunho’s.

The next time he meets Mingi, he’s thankfully sober and can hide his inability to keep his eyes to himself slightly better. The man arrives on time for a change, and Seonghwa gloats that telling Mingi the meeting time is thirty minutes earlier is the only way to get him here at the right time. The pink-haired man pouts, looking betrayed, and Hongjoong laughs as he smacks his back.

Yeosang and Jongho’s apartment is probably the nicest out of the group, and Yunho sits quietly in the armchair observing. Despite the way the guys have taken him under their wing, he still feels a bit nervous about interacting with them all as a group, so he takes the easier route of staying silent and only speaking when spoken to. It’s silly, really, his nerves, but he can’t stop the way his heart is beating hard in his chest. He ignores the way it only gets worse when Mingi slings himself onto the sofa closest to him, rolling his eyes.

“Traitors, the fucking, nerve, the gall,” the man chunters, fidgeting with the rings on his fingers absently. “These guys suck, Yunho, you should get out while you can.”

It takes Yunho by surprise that Mingi is talking to him directly, and he blinks around his mouthful of Coca-Cola, eyes wide.

“O-Oh,” he manages, “Maybe you should just… Turn up on time?” He offers, and Wooyoung wheezes from where he’s sat next to the coffee table, shuffling cards. Hongjoong laughs loudly at that, smacking Seonghwa on the thigh as he picks his way through the living room, stepping over their outstretched legs.

“Did you hear that?” He says loudly, and Mingi pouts at him, eyes wide and sad. Yunho’s not sure his heart can take it. “Yuyu was like, “You should just turn up on time”,” he paraphrases, and Seonghwa snickers, rubbing Mingi’s hair as he passes by to get to the kitchen.

“Yeah, I mean, he’s kind of right Minki,” the taller man says as he rummages in the cupboards. “I don’t give a shit what Arin is doing or whatever, she sucks.” Mingi sighs loudly, letting his head thud back into the sofa.

“Why are we talking about her?” he whines into the ceiling, and Yunho tilts his head slightly, confused. He’s morbidly curious.

“Who?” Yunho asks, not sure if he truly wants to hear the answer.

“Oh, Yunho isn’t up to date with Mingi’s terrible choices when it comes to romance,” Jongho comments, and the pink-haired man whines, rummaging in his pocket to shove a cigarette in his mouth. “No, no smoking in here dude, you literally just had one outside.”

“You’re stressing me out!” Mingi pouts, cigarette dangling from his plump bottom lip, reminiscent of memories that have been playing on a loop in Yunho’s mind. He averts his eyes.

“Then stop hooking up with her!” Yeosang inputs, dropping beers on the table with a clank. “Every time she’s like ‘oh, he was so mean to me, he broke my heart,’ and you fall for it!”

“Oh, Mingi, help me, I’m so heartbroken, come comfort me with your massive dong,” Wooyoung teases, and the pink-haired man blushes the same colour as his hair.

Yunho feels something gross and horrible grow in the pit of his stomach at the information, something he doesn’t want to consider. So, he doesn’t, he ignores it in favour of grabbing a beer from the table and opening it with his teeth.

“Ouch, dude, we have bottle openers,” San comments idly, eyebrow raised, and Yunho shrugs, spitting the top into his hand.

“Teeth work,” he mutters, taking a gulp, and when he looks up, Mingi is watching him with an unreadable expression.

“Okay, let's stop clowning on Minki now, his terrible choices are his to make,” Seonghwa states, dropping the bottle opener on the coffee table, “and don’t damage your teeth, use an opener, you weirdo.” Yunho pouts instinctively, and Mingi’s expression is strange, tight around the edges, reaching to place his loose cigarette on the wooden surface, and grabbing a beer.

“No, no, I want to tell Mingi how much I disapprove,” Yeosang carries on, flopping into the space next to the man in question on the sofa, shoving his shoulder into Mingi’s hard, playfully.

“I’m aware,” he mutters, rings clanking against the glass bottle of his beer as he takes a swig, rolling his eyes. “It’s not like that, she’s just… It’s whatever, casual,” he tries to explain, and Seonghwa raises an eyebrow at him as he places snacks on the table and sits on the sofa opposite them, on the other side of Yunho.

“Your definition of casual must be different to mine,” Hongjoong mutters from his place on the floor, watching Wooyoung as he continues shuffling cards for no apparent reason. “I think fucking the same girl every three to five weeks because she’s incapable of keeping a relationship is the opposite of casual.”

“Okay, okay, can we…” Mingi gestures vaguely at the stack of cards in Wooyoung’s hands. “Let’s just play the fucking game, I don’t want to talk about her anymore.”

“Why? Is she fucking someone else right now?” Jongho asks, sounding somewhere between genuinely curious and kind of mean, and Yunho blinks in surprise. “Fucking bitch.” The broad man sounds genuinely angry, and he isn’t sure who the anger is entirely aimed at.

“Woah,” Yunho mumbles unintentionally, and Mingi stands abruptly.

“I’m going for a smoke,” he says sharply, fiddling with the lock on the door with fumbling hands. “If anyone wants one,” he adds, and Yunho feels himself standing up before he realises what he’s doing.

“Oh, you smoke?” San asks, sipping his beer, and Yunho blinks awkwardly. He doesn’t.

“Nah, I just… Want some air,” he mumbles, and Mingi finally manages to get the door open, looking back at the taller man, gesturing with his head.

“Come on then,” he mutters, sounding stilted and pissed off, and Yunho stumbles his way over on his long legs, clumsy and stupid. They walk down the flight of stairs in silence, and as they get outside, Yunho shivers immediately at the cold.

“That was… Um,” Yunho mumbles, slumping against the wall, wrapping his arms around himself, rubbing his upper arms to stay warm. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Mingi says around his cigarette, puffing a long, thin stream of smoke into the air. “They’re dicks sometimes, but they just want what’s best for me.”

“Yeah?” he whispers, watching as the pink-haired man sniffs. His eyes seem sad, and Yunho doesn’t like it. Doesn’t like seeing Mingi look distressed. He wonders why he’s thinking that, considering he barely knows the guy, and he swallows awkwardly. “I’m sure she isn’t a…” he gestures lamely. “Fucking bitch, or whatever.”

“No, she is,” Mingi laughs stiffly, flicking the ash from his cigarette with his thumb. “They’re completely right, but it’s… It’s complicated.” He sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “Women or something, right?” he tries to joke, and Yunho blinks at him widely.

“O-Oh, I’m… I’m gay, so… I don’t know?” he stutters awkwardly, deciding to get it over with.

He’s not sure if Yeosang or Seonghwa will have mentioned it, but it’s not something he’s particularly ashamed of, not anymore. It doesn’t stop him from watching the other man’s expressions carefully, his guard up. Mingi’s eyes widen for a brief second before he rearranges his expression into something neutral.

“You’ve never hooked up with a girl?” he asks, sounding genuinely curious like he can’t quite fathom it, and Yunho’s hit with the realisation that he’s potentially talking to one of the straightest men he’s ever met in his life. It’s surprising, somehow, but also completely expected. Someone this beautiful is unlikely to be interested in someone like Yunho, even if they aren’t painfully straight. At least he can pretend his lack of chance is down to sexuality, and not a personal deficiency.

He ignores the way that information makes his stomach hurt anyway, his heart sinks somewhere down by his feet.

“No?” Yunho answers, sounding less confident than he was going for, and he thinks his ears are probably already bright red. “I mean, like, I’ve kissed girls but… They’re not, uh, my thing?” Mingi laughs, sudden and loud, a puff of smoke spilling out of his mouth as he does.

“Fair,” he says through a smile, nodding. “Good for you.” And he sounds like he means it, genuinely unbothered. Yunho feels himself relax minutely.

“Not that like, I hook up with that many people,” Yunho hears himself admitting, bafflingly, and he shrugs stiffly. “It’s not… I mean, it’s different in the city, but back home it’s not like, really, cool to be…” he gestures at himself.

“Oh, what, that’s fucked up,” Mingi scowls around his cigarette, almost smoked to the filter in the time they’ve been talking. “Fuck them, honestly, you should fuck who you want to.”

Yunho has to bite his lower lip to stop himself from admitting that, maybe, actually, it’s Mingi that he wants to fuck. He keeps that thought deep in the recesses of his brain and screams at himself to leave it alone, like a badly trained dog.

“Hongjoong said he wanted to take me to one of the gay clubs,” he mumbles instead, “But honestly, I’ve been clubbing like once in my life and I don’t think it counts because there were like fifteen people in the entire place, and we went home at like 11 PM.”

He wonders why he’s speaking so much; wonders why he’s making himself sound lamer and lamer every time he opens his mouth. Mingi chuckles, reaching to pick a bit of fluff from Yunho’s t-shirt casually. It takes everything in him not to freeze up at the brush of the shorter man’s fingertips.

“Are you nervous?” he asks, gently.

It takes a second for Yunho to realise he’s asking about going out, not the way his long fingers brush against the fabric of his shirt. Yunho feels himself nodding, seemingly unable to lie.

“Kind of,” he admits quietly, embarrassed at himself.

“I’ll come with you as well if you like, we could go with a group of us, so it feels less intimidating,” he suggests, and it’s so sweet, so kind that Yunho blinks hard to stop himself getting ridiculously emotional over the tiny crumb of kindness.

“Y-Yeah, that sounds… Yeah, thanks,” Yunho agrees and watches as Mingi throws his dead cigarette to the floor and stomps on it, in his stupid sliders and socks and long jean shorts that should look dorky and stupid, but the younger man manages to pull off.

“Cool, let’s go play some, uh, what are we playing?” he mutters, holding the door open for Yunho as he trots back in. “Poker?”

“I think Woo wanted to play Go Fish,” Yunho says, and as he goes to grab the door, their fingers brush on the glass, just for a second. It sends sparks down Yunho’s arm, into his chest, and he has to bite the inside of his own cheek to get his shit together.

The night is as chaotic as expected, and as everyone around him gets drunker and drunker, Yunho decides to stick to Coca-Cola, abandoning his half-drunk beer in the kitchen, not sure he’ll be able to cope with his pounding heart if there’s any significant alcohol in his system. No one notices, except Mingi, who raises an eyebrow at the can in his hands.

“Ah, I… I’m getting up early, tomorrow,” Yunho half-lies, and the pink-haired man nods easily, accepting his excuse at face value.

“Sensible,” he comments idly and then gets distracted by Yeosang screaming as he hands over three Kings to Wooyoung, who’s laughing evilly as he takes them.

Yunho doesn’t wake up early. In fact, he stays in bed until 1 PM, scrolling through Instagram for much too long with very little to show for it. He’s about to shut his phone off, actually get out of bed, when the little notification pops up with a follower request, and he freezes when he realises it’s Mingi.

He scrolls through the man’s profile, which is public, and chews on the loose skin around his thumbnail absent-mindedly.

There are photos of the friend group, blurry shots of clubs and bars, beaches, sunrises, the usual stuff. But there is one photo that grabs Yunho’s attention, several months old.

It’s a candid shot, dark, obviously in the interior of some car, of him with a girl's hand on his thigh, even though she’s mostly cropped out, it’s obvious that it’s female, with the long, pretty nails, the way it’s softly laid on his denim-clad thigh. It’s grouped with some photos of a restaurant, skewers on a grill, little cups of soju, and Yunho wonders if it’s a date.

He scrolls further back, even as his chest starts to ache, even though he knows he’s only going to hurt his own feelings and chews his bottom lip. He’s not even justified in having any feelings in the first place, he thinks, not that it stops the way his skin feels a little too tight when he’s around the other man.

There’s a single photo of them together, or at least, Yunho assumes it’s her. She’s laughing with Mingi’s big arm around her, making her look petite. Yunho burns with some bizarrely placed jealousy and tries to convince himself that it’s just because he wants to feel small, cared for.

It’s probably just the turmoil of the move playing on him, the lingering vague loneliness and homesickness that occurs with a big life change. Not that he has anything to miss, back home, but he supposes it’s normal, to miss somewhere that you lived for your entire life.

He’s projecting, must be, he convinces himself, confusing the strange buzzing under his skin around Mingi as something deeper than it is. He’s just lonely, wants friendship, wants to belong. He blinks his phone screen back into focus.

Mingi is grinning as he looks at her, face mostly in profile, and Yunho realises with a jolt that the look in his eyes is something close to devotion. It makes him feel a bit sick.

She’s pretty, long dark hair with blunt bangs, streaks of green and blue through it, several tattoos and piercings. Despite Yunho’s lack of attraction to women, he can see that she’s beautiful, hot, and the confirmation that he doesn’t have a chance, never did, hits him with a sharp stab, which he deliberately ignores in favour of falling deeper into his investigation. He clicks on her profile, tagged in the photo, public and easy to stalk.

It’s her, he realises, only confirmed by her username, and he scrolls through her profile with a strange mixture of guilt and sick fascination. She’s got almost six thousand followers, and as he flicks down on her profile, he realises why. She’s gorgeous, posting artsy photos of murals, some political graffiti pieces that she tags around Seoul, posting photos of herself covered in spray paint in her underwear, laughing as she reaches for the camera, beautiful even candidly. Yunho thinks he might hate her. He doesn’t know where that nasty thought even comes from and shoves it back into the recesses of his brain hastily.

He zooms in on the photo, like a nosy creep, and notices with a horrible, unfathomable pang that he can see Mingi’s rings on the blurry hand reaching to push her hand away. He doesn’t understand their relationship, doesn’t understand his own feelings, so he backs out of his social media rabbit hole and accepts Mingi’s follower request, shutting off his phone and dragging himself to the shower.

He's drying his hair when his phone buzzes loudly from where it’s abandoned on the bed, several in quick succession before it stops. It’s the group chat, the one they added him to a few weeks back and that he’s too shy to speak in. It’s Mingi, who’s messaged, and Yunho opens the chat with poorly disguised interest. Not that anyone is around to see him.

Mingi: so when is this club thing happening bc i need time to plan an outfit

Mingi: and also i want to get very drunk

Mingi: this is your warning

Yunho chuckles at the message, and wonders if he should reply, or add a reaction, but by the time he thinks of what to say, several people have answered, and he thinks the opportunity has probably passed.

Hongjoong: not surprised but still disappointed

San: we were thinking Friday? does that work for everyone? woo says to tell u that it’s a gay club

Mingi: i know yun told me :)

Jongho: omg mingi gay era? have woosan finally got you?

Mingi: sexuality is fluid my dude we are in 2025 open ur mind

Seonghwa: is it?! cool it’d be nice to try something different, we go to the same three places and its boring as hell now

Hongjoong: did i not tell u this hwa… also mingi shut up u loser like u’d even know what to do w a dick if it smacked u in the face

Yunho carefully decides not to think about that imagery, ignores the weird swirling in the pit of his stomach and carries on rubbing the towel half-heartedly on his hair.

Yeosang: god are u trying to rebound whore it out with some dudes bc arin is back w her plug ?

Mingi: shut the fuck up

San: does Friday work for everyone?!? Please just say yes or no

Hongjoong: yes

Seonghwa: yes

Yeosang: yeah i guess :/

Jongho: yeah but can we predrink at someone elses bc we hosted last time

Mingi: yeah we can chill at mine if u want

Yunho takes a deep breath before typing his message, weirdly nervous.

Yunho: yes, sounds good :) thanks for coming w guys haha ! could i get an address for ur place Mingi?

Mingi: yeah lemme send it :D

Yunho: also, what’s a plug?

Mingi: don’t worry about it !!! hahahah !!!

Hongjoong: cute, it’s her drug dealer lmao

Yunho: oh ! right ! hahah cool :)

Yeosang: not cool don’t do drugs yuyu ur too pure

Yunho: hahahaha i wont dw lol

Mingi: ANYWAY come to mine at like 8 or something idc

The conversation descends into unfathomable messages swiftly, and Yunho decides against trying to decipher what the inside jokes mean, throwing his phone back on the bed and deciding to grind for a bit on Valorant to avoid real life.

He doesn’t particularly want to dismantle the strange emotions he feels when he’s around Mingi, doesn’t want to address the horrible bubble of pain and jealousy that gathers behind his ribcage when he thinks about the photo of the girl and Mingi together, obviously happy.

Even though he’s somewhat aware that it’s not like that anymore, that it’s grown into something complicated and painful, by the sounds of it, he doesn’t want to think about Mingi being in love with someone else. He doesn’t even want to consider why he doesn’t want that. Someone on the chat swears at him for getting killed, again, and he shakes his head like that can get rid of his swirling thoughts.

He loses several hours in the game, and when he finally logs off to stand up, and get water, his phone has several missed messages. He opens them without thinking, surprised at the notification that he’s been tagged in a photo, clicking on it instantly.

It’s on Mingi’s profile, a handful of photos from their night in the dingy bar, images of their glasses on the table, of Jongho grinning, hat pulled low over his eyes. The photo he’s tagged in is the last one, a shot of his side profile as he smiles, listening to someone across the table speak, and San is peeking around him at Mingi’s phone, poking his tongue out. It’s a sweet photo, makes him feel included in the group, feel like they’re his friends, but Yunho hyper-focuses on the way he can see the tips of Mingi’s fingers resting against his own thigh, gentle, barely there.

He can’t remember feeling it, can’t remember Mingi tapping him to get his attention, the photo being taken, but he stares at it for a long time before he decides to like it and scroll to the comment section.

@gnabnahc: sannie is so cute <3 <3 <3

@junieyeon: omg? who is the hot new guy…

• @fixon_non: no one. go away. stop hitting on my friends !!!!

@wooyounggg_: the way im not in any of these photos is homophobic btw

• @fixon_non: stop being ugly then?
• @wooyounggg_: HOMOPHOBIC

@arin_rina: cute! :)

• @fixon_non: <3

Yunho doesn’t like the way his chest constricts as he reads the comments, so he throws his phone back on the bed and decides to take some painkillers to get rid of the start of the headache that’s brewing behind his left eye. He doesn’t think about it.

Yeosang comes over in the evening. Yunho’s got a soft spot for his colleague, his first friend, and he can’t say no when the red-haired man appears at his door with a bottle of Soju and some greasy fried chicken.

“Did you see Yeonjun asking about you in the comments?” the pretty man says, laughing around his mouthful of food, hand over his lips. “He’s such a whore, honestly, good for him.”

“Have I met him?” Yunho asks, wiping his own mouth with a napkin, and reaching for his drink. “Yeah, I saw the comments though, Wooyoung was pissed off.”

“Ah, he was mostly joking, I think,” Yeosang dismisses, throwing the bone of his chicken into the empty bucket easily, his aim perfect. “You’ve not met him, nah, but he’s out a lot, we might see him at the club.”

“Oh, r-really?” Yunho says, and he wonders if he should pretend to show interest, then wonders why he’s pretending in the first place. It’s not like he has anyone to stop him, not all the way in Seoul. He deliberately avoids thinking about bright pink hair and tan skin. “Is he, like, nice?” he tries to sound casual, sipping his drink to disguise his facial expressions.

“Yeah,” the redhead says, shrugging. “But he’s also slept with half of Seoul – not that I’m hating,” he rushes to add, “I wouldn’t fuck with him unless you want to get into your whore era. Which, good for you if you do,” he babbles, and Yunho is vaguely endeared by his friend all other again.

“Nah, I… Think I’ll pass on the whore era,” he says carefully, and Yeosang’s eyes scrunch prettily as he giggles, a mouthful of chicken.

“Fair enough,” he mumbles and then tilts his head minutely at Yunho like he’s considering. “Do you already like someone?”

“What, no?” Yunho says immediately, too fast, and Yeosang raises an eyebrow. “You would know if I was like, talking to anyone or anything,” he adds, and the man nods in agreement.

“Well yeah but talking to someone is different than having a crush on someone,” Yeosang points out, and Yunho feels his heart speed up a little in his chest. “You could be interested in someone?”

“N-No,” Yunho denies, not even sure if he is interested in anyone, thoughts and emotions still in vague turmoil. Because of the big move, he reminds himself, because of the typically stressful life changes he’s going through right now. “I’m not interested in anyone. I don’t know anyone who I could even be interested in.” He wonders if he’s laying it on a bit thick.

“Oh, that’s a shame,” Yeosang pouts. “You might find someone at the club, exchange numbers or something,” he says, looking pleased as he glances up, nodding. Yunho nods in return, semi-distracted by his own thoughts.

“R-Right, yeah,” he mumbles, biting into his chicken instead of making eye contact. “I’ll keep an open mind.”

They watch shitty TV together until Yeosang starts yawning, excusing himself so he can sleep, and hugging him as he leaves. Yunho drags himself through his nighttime routine, exhausted for no apparent reason, yet when he lays down, his brain won’t quiet enough to let him sleep.

He clicks back onto Mingi’s profile, hating himself for doing it, and scrolls down until he finds the old photo again. He stares at it for a long time, despite the way it makes his stomach roll with some strange, horrible feeling that he doesn’t want to think about too deeply. He clicks on the comments by accident, almost having a heart attack when he realises how close to liking the photo he was, almost exposing himself by liking a nearly year-old post, but gets distracted by the comments he sees.

@fixon_non: mine.

• @arin_rina: yours <3

He backs out of the profile, out of the app, and closes his phone off abruptly.

He runs into Mingi completely by accident, late at night on a Wednesday. He’s in Spiderman pyjama pants and a hoodie that is probably older than any other item he owns, comforting in the way it’s horribly stained and worn. He’s visibly exhausted, bags deep in his eyes, hitting the mid-week slump hard. He goes to get noodles, considers maybe getting some strong coffee for before work the next morning, and almost drops his phone when he looks up and sees a figure, strikingly familiar.

Mingi’s leant outside, smoking, hoodie up around his head, and bafflingly, sunglasses on. He raises them onto his forehead when he notices Yunho and grins immediately. His eyes are red and swollen. He’s not sure if he’s been crying, or if it’s something else, but a sharp sting of concern works through Yunho before he decides against saying anything.

“Yu!” He says, too loud, and Yunho laughs, toddling over.

“I mean, I knew you lived nearby because you sent me your address, but this is kind of crazy,” he jokes, letting Mingi knuckle punch him, despite the intrinsic straightness of it. He thinks he can cope playing the straight bro friend if it means spending time with the younger man.

Mingi smells like weed and a strong cologne that he remembers from the first night they met, something spiced and overpowering, but not enough to hide the aroma of the drug. Yunho looks up at him again, his sore eyes, and wonders if it’s his place. He keeps quiet.

“Small world or whatever, right?” Mingi says through a grin, eyes squishing as he does. He lets out a long stream of smoke, and Yunho smiles the best he can.

“What you getting?” he asks, shoving his phone in his hoodie pocket, then looks down at himself, suddenly embarrassed at his outfit. “Damn, I didn’t think I’d see anyone.” He feels too hot again, vague humiliation rolling through him.

“I was gonna say, cute pants,” Mingi laughs, flicking his sunglasses back down. “Ah, Arin’s just in there getting, I don’t even know, actually, I just gave her my card.” He thinks he manages to stop his expression from displaying anything too exposing.

“Damn,” Yunho raises his eyebrows despite himself, “Are you… Back together?” he tries, not even sure if that’s the question he should be asking in this situation. Mingi shakes his head immediately, face unreadable from behind his dark glasses.

“No, no, definitely not,” he sighs, “She’s just struggling at the moment, is all,” he says vaguely, dropping his cigarette butt to the floor and immediately lighting another. “I’m… I can’t just like, let her suffer, y’know.”

“Right,” Yunho says, like he has any understanding of the situation. There’s an awkward beat of silence, and he’s about to open his mouth to make his excuses to leave, to get the items he came here for, but then a short, pretty girl strides out. She’s chewing gum, slightly obnoxious in her mannerisms, and she shoves the card back at Mingi carelessly.

The pink-haired man fumbles with it, and Yunho doesn’t know if he manages to disguise his judgemental expression.

She’s in a huge hoodie, obviously not her own, probably Mingi’s. Yunho decides against considering that any deeper than surface level, for his own mental health.

“Gi, come on,” she says, flapping the card impatiently. “Are you stupid?” Mingi laughs, like it’s funny and not nasty and awkward, and Yunho swallows.

“Uh, I’m… Gonna get my noodles, I think?” he tries, and the girl, whom he assumes it’s Arin, turns to look at him appraisingly, not even trying to hide her judgement.

“Who are you?” She asks rudely, eyebrows furrowed and lip jutting, Her Gyeongsang accent is so strong that he has to focus to understand her. He blinks.

“Oh, I’m… Yunho,” he offers stiffly, and Mingi finally manages to get his card back in his wallet, shoving it deep in his pockets.

“This is my friend, ‘Rin, he’s cool, be nice,” and she pouts, eyebrows still judgemental and harsh on her face. “Yu, this is Arin.”

“I’m always nice,” she says, and Yunho thinks she’s probably lying. “Nice to meet you.” She adds and it sounds false, even to his ears. Mingi glances at her for a second, obvious even with his sunglasses on.

“Nice to meet you too,” Yunho lies, and then bows a little awkwardly, “I’m gonna go get my food now, but see you on Friday, Min, yeah?”

“Oh shit, yeah, I’m excited!” Mingi says, grinning again like his expression never changed. Relighting his cigarette, gone out in the time he was fiddling with his wallet. “It’ll be good, we’ll look after you, don’t worry.”

“Thanks,” Yunho laughs, and the pink-haired man smiles wide, all his teeth on display. The brunette stubbornly ignores the way his heart picks up. “I’m looking forward to it too.”

“Okay, so can we go now?” Arin interrupts, and Yunho kind of forgot she was even there, jumping slightly. Mingi appears the same, head snapping to her, and his smile drops for a split second before he nods.

“Yeah, sure, let’s get you back, it’s cold,” he says, much too caring for what she deserves. He wonders where that thought cropped up from and wrestles it back down.

“See ya,” he mumbles, and Mingi smacks him on the back, bringing him in an awkward bro hug that Yunho doesn’t respond to very smoothly.

“Yeah, see you soon Yuyu.”

Friday comes around much too quickly for Yunho’s liking. The work week passes much too fast, and he’s barely mentally prepared himself before Yeosang is hanging off his arm outside the office, much too excited for his own good. He goes over the plan, again, like Yunho doesn’t know, isn’t in the group chat, and he lets him yap for several minutes before he excuses himself, so he doesn’t miss his bus.

He showers, gets changed, and does his hair and makeup. He pretends that he isn’t nervous, despite the way his stomach is rolling, and his heart is pounding. His brain seems more anxious about going to Mingi’s than the actual event of the night, and he re-checks the address he’s been sent despite the way he’s planned out his journey several times already.

It takes many, long seconds for him to get the courage to press the buzzer to Mingi’s flat, somewhere on the upper floor. Once he does, the man’s deep voice rings through clear despite the terrible quality of the line.

“Hello?”

“Hey,” Yunho answers, hoping the nerves aren’t audible in his voice. “It’s Yunho.”

“Ah, I’m just coming down for a smoke, wait there for me, and I’ll walk you up?” he offers, and Yunho nods, before he remembers that Mingi cannot see him.

“Sure,” he answers, and the line crackles and dies. He blinks at the door and then pulls out his phone to scroll mindlessly to distract himself. It’s only a few minutes before the door in front of him clicks open, and Mingi shuffles out. His hair has faded slightly, not nearly as bright as it was when they first met, but it suits him, making him look more tan, healthier.

He’s wearing a completely see-through mesh shirt, black and tight, underneath a cropped, bulky, motorcycle-style jacket. His dark-wash jeans are tight, but fit perfectly, only accentuating his tiny waist and thick thighs. Yunho swallows hard, stepping back and letting Mingi out into the cold.

“You look good,” he hears himself say, despite the fact he was planning to keep that to himself, and he silently curses the shot he took for his nerves before he got here.

“Thanks,” Mingi says, and he smiles shyly, “You too.” Yunho glances down at himself, surprised. He’s not nearly as dressed up, a plain white t-shirt underneath a black blazer, fitted slacks that make his ass look a little less flat than it is. “Your makeup is pretty,” the man murmurs around his cigarette, patting his pockets for a lighter.

“Oh, tha-Thanks.” Yunho manages, shuffling to lean against the half-wall, the railing on top of it. “Are the others already here?”

“Yeah, you’re the last one,” he confirms and takes a long inhale of the cigarette in his mouth. His cheeks are a little pink, and Yunho absently wonders if it’s the cold, or if he’s already started drinking. “Jongho was clowning me for saying sexuality is fluid.”

“O-Oh?” Yunho says, raising an eyebrow. “I mean, I did see your message, but like, you’re kind of right?”

“Right!” Mingi says, gesturing with his lit cigarette, much too enthusiastic. He realises that the pink-haired man must have had something to drink already, can kind of tell by the flush on his face, the tone of his voice. “Like, the package of the item doesn’t matter, right, it’s the interior that matters. The rest is all just, some people are hot, and some people aren’t.” He shrugs, like that’s that, and Yunho squints at him for a second.

“That sounds not very straight of you,” he murmurs, which makes Mingi turn to him with wide eyes, choking on the smoke in his mouth.

“What do you mean?” He asks, sounding confused, and Yunho tilts his head.

“I don’t find women attractive, so as much as I could see a hot woman and logically say that she’s hot, I don’t want to fuck her,” he offers, ears turning a bit red as he speaks. Maybe he should have done two shots, to deal with this conversation.

“You wouldn’t?” Mingi asks, blinking hard, and Yunho shakes his head. The pink-haired man stares at him for a long second, like he’s trying to figure something out.

“Would you fuck a guy?” Yunho asks, and then wonders why he even asked that, because neither answer is going to be good for his mental health.

“Sure, everyone would if they were hot, right?” the man dismisses, and Yunho laughs despite himself, amused.

“Yeah, that… You’re maybe not straight, Min, I don’t think,” he tells him carefully, reaching to pat his upper arm. “Have you… Have you fucked around with a guy before?”

“No,” Mingi admits easily, letting a thin stream of smoke out of the corner of his mouth. “But I’ve wanted to.” He says, and bizarrely when Yunho looks up from where he’s adjusting his blazer, Mingi is already looking at him.

“Yeah, I mean, no harm in experimenting, right?” Yunho tries to say neutrally, casually. Mingi nods, like he’s considering it, and shrugs.

“Yeah, no harm,” he parrots, a little distant. Yunho wonders if his statement has upset the younger man, and made him insecure in his sexuality, but that doesn’t seem to be it, not as Mingi’s eyes flick over his body. “It is what it is,” he mumbles, and Yunho decides to leave it, despite the way he’s desperate to prod, to find out.

“Yeah, sexuality is just, figuring it out, I guess,” he agrees, even though that’s not entirely his experience, hoping to soothe the man as best he can.

“Yeah,” he says quietly and then keeps smoking, eyes focused somewhere in the distance.

He quickly finishes his cigarette, throwing it on the floor and stomping it out with his big boots, opening the door for Yunho to go through. He leads him upstairs, shoving the door to the flat hard with his shoulder.

“It sticks,” he explains, even though Yunho doesn’t ask, and leads the brunette into his flat.

It’s chaotic, on first entry, with mismatched furniture and items everywhere, cramped and crowded in a way that’s halfway between homely and messy. When he enters the living room, he notices that there is a mural painted around the big window overlooking the street, half covered with posters in an attempt to hide it, and if he wasn’t a horrible, terrible person, he wouldn’t recognise the painting instantly.

It’s Arin’s, obvious with the style and strokes of spray paint, and he tears his eyes away and looks at the group instead of dealing with whatever tight squeeze of emotion that is trying to work its way out his throat.

“Hey, how is everyone?” He says, for something to say, and they all give various affirming responses, Wooyoung appears through the beaded curtain to the left, shots on a tray.

“Oh, Yuyu!” He squeals, sounding excited, “You’re in time for tequila shots.”

“Oh, yay,” he says, unable to hide the disgust in his voice, and San bursts into giggles from the beanbag, close to the speaker system. The music is kind of loud, but not enough that he can’t hear what everyone is saying, some Kendrick Lamar remix with too much bass playing.

They all do shots, and Mingi laughs at Yunho for wincing, guiding him to the ugly, surprisingly comfortable sofa, flopping next to him easily. Wooyoung shouts at San to turn the music down a little, begs them to play a game with him, and after another, strong, drink – thanks to Seonghwa’s mixing skills – they agree.

“Min, please, your recycling almost fucking decapitated me when I went to get these,” Yeosang complains, pushing through the curtain – obviously leading to the kitchen – with several bottles of Soju balanced in his hands. “I love you, but you live like a squatter.”

“What’s wrong with squatting?” Mingi fires back, raising an eyebrow, and Jongho sighs.

“Min, you have a job, you don’t need to squat,” he points out, and the pink-haired man just shrugs, like that’s not relevant. “Or let your recycling pile up so high that it’s almost touching the ceiling.”

“This place has low ceilings,” Mingi protests, and Yunho has to bite his bottom lip to stop himself laughing.

“Never have I ever, spin the bottle style?” Wooyoung suggests, and Seonghwa whines as he returns from somewhere else in the apartment, brushing his silver hair from his face dramatically.

“Are we teenagers? When are we gonna start being sophisticated, doing dinner parties or whatever people in their mid-twenties are supposed to do?”

“Look around you ‘Hwa hyung, you are not in a friend group that’s going to do dinner parties. I’m so sorry,” Wooyoung places a hand on the taller man’s upper arm, like he’s trying to let him down gently, and Seonghwa sighs, loudly.

“By the way, Min, I cleaned your bathroom, it was stressing me out,” he announces as he sits down, “and I threw out the spare toothbrush because you aren’t going to have anyone over who needs to use it, are you?” He says cryptically, staring directly at Mingi, who just blushes and averts his eyes, looking caught.

“Y-Yeah, new leaf, or whatever, right?” He mutters into his beer, and Yunho blinks in surprise. Mingi refuses to look at anything but the bottle in his hand, swinging from his fingers idly. The brunette absently wonders what has happened in the past two days since he last saw the man that’s made him decide this.

“How long will he actually stick to it this time,” San comments, slipping off the sofa to join the others on the floor. “Come play the game, losers, drink some more.”

“Don’t go too hard Sannie, last time I really struggled to get you home,” Seonghwa pouts, and the bulkier man pouts in return.

“Sorry Hyung,” he mumbles, and Hongjoong plonks himself down on the floor with an ungraceful thump. Yunho decides to follow suit, folding up his long legs so he can sit with his back against the sofa, and Mingi copies him, sitting next to him.

The others join, all crowded around the bottle on the floor, and Yunho is very much struck by the memories of being sixteen and playing this with a group of friends back home. He hadn’t done much, didn’t have much to drink for, and he has a feeling that’s only going to be repeated tonight.

It starts easily, stupid statements that make the group dissolve into giggles, making Wooyoung squeal and slap at the arms around him, entertained. Then, the alcohol obviously starts kicking in, and the bottle lands with a smooth glide on Mingi.

“Never have I ever…” he starts, and he pours some shots out, in preparation for whatever he’s going to say. “Kissed a guy.” And he turns to look directly at Yunho as he speaks.

“Oh, Min, that’s so targeted!” Wooyoung whines, reaching for the shot, necking it. “I’ll take Sannie’s shot because he’ll fall asleep if he has anymore,” he mutters, grabbing another one. Yunho takes his shot, averting his eyes, ears red.

Seonghwa looks embarrassed as he grabs a little glass, taking it back with a wince, and passes one to Hongjoong as well, instinctively. Then he freezes at the implications of what he’s just done, eyes darting around the room.

“Hyungs?” Jongho asks, sounding greatly amused. “Something to tell us?” he teases, and Yeosang watches with poorly disguised glee. Yunho is just glad that it’s made Mingi’s eyes leave his face, distracting him from his flushed cheeks.

“We were just really drunk,” Hongjoong explains, and the silver-haired man’s face flickers with something for a second before he nods in agreement.

“Yeah, it was just a one-time, drunk thing,” he says, and Yunho wonders if he’s the only one who can hear the slight tension in his voice. “Okay, next round, let’s go.”

“Damn, fine, okay, keep your secrets,” San whines, slurring slightly from his place on the sofa, red-faced and sleepy. “I’ma drink to that,” he says, taking a large gulp of the water bottle that Wooyoung has placed in his hands. Mingi spins the bottle, hard, and it spins for entirely too long before slowing down.

It lands on Yunho, and he blinks, unsure of what to say.

“Oh, me? Uh,” he gets out awkwardly and then glances at Mingi, eyes wide. “Wait, so do I… Something I’ve done, or something I haven’t?” He asks, and the pink-haired man laughs, nudging his shoulder into Yunho’s playfully.

“Something you haven’t, loser, have you not been paying attention,” he jokes, and Yunho smiles at him, hiding his grin behind his hand.

“Sorry, okay, uh,” he thinks for a long second, mostly drawing a blank, “Never have I ever hooked up with the same person twice,” he decides, and Mingi chokes a little, taken by surprise.

“Wow, okay, damn,” Mingi whistles, reaching to take a shot. “What a whore,” he jokes, raising his shot to Yunho before he downs it.

Wooyoung and San both take shots or rather, Wooyoung takes the shots for both of them, as the bulkier man is still lying on the sofa, on a group-imposed sobering-up session. Yeosang takes a shot, Jongho doesn’t, Seonghwa and Hongjoong both take shots, but refuse to make eye contact as they do it, and Yunho watches them with interest.

“That was a good one, you got loads of us,” Yeosang comments happily, tucking a strand of red hair behind his ear. “You’re good at this!”

“I didn’t know you could be good at this game,” he admits, sipping his beer. The game continues for a while until it lands on Mingi again, and he grins, slightly evilly.

“Never have I ever fucked a guy,” he states, and again, he’s looking directly at Yunho as he says it. He sighs in response, raising an eyebrow at Mingi, taking the shot easily. Wooyoung and San aren’t in the room, have gone to the bathroom or kitchen or something, but Seonghwa glances at the shot glasses like he’s considering whether it’s worth telling the truth.

“Hyung?” Yunho says to the silver-haired man, trying to distract Mingi from the way he’s staring at him, watching him. “You need a shot?”

“Well, do you mean like, topping a guy? Or just, having sex with a guy, because they are very different things,” he mutters, sounding pained as he asks, and Yunho turns to Mingi, eyebrows raised.

“Just, sex in general, I’m not gonna discriminate against bottoms,” Mingi says easily, and Yeosang snorts, spraying crisp crumbs as he does. Jongho is watching silently from the sofa, drunk enough that he’s not really paying attention, and Yunho wonders absently if he’s going to be the only one to remember what Seonghwa is admitting.

“Fine, pass me one,” he sighs, and Yunho does as he’s told, wiggling his eyebrows, which makes the silver-haired man laugh, despite the situation.

“Like I’m one to judge,” he murmurs, and Seonghwa smiles at him gratefully. Hongjoong swallows audibly from the space next to him.

“Yeah, me… Me too,” he gestures at the shots, not making eye contact, and Yunho passes one over easily. “Shut up Mingi.”

“I didn’t say anything!” The pink-haired man protests, “I’m not judging, I’m literally not judging, you could be fucking…” he gestures vaguely, ”Multisexual, into monsterfucking, for all I care.”

“Multisexual?” Yunho teases him, amused. Mingi is obviously kind of drunk if the flush of his face is anything to go by. “You mean, bisexual?”

“Yeah, yeah, that,” he nods solemnly, then pauses for a long moment, thinking, “and I’m gonna, fucking, try stuff, and turn a fresh leaf, or whatever!” he adds, nodding to himself jerkily. Yunho can’t let himself think about that any deeper than surface level, not with the alcohol in his system, not when Mingi’s thigh is brushing against his where they are crushed together on the floor.

“Good for you,” Yeosang says cheerfully, throwing a crisp in his mouth. “The taxi is in about thirty minutes, should we try and corral Woosan now, in preparation?”

“Yeah, probably,” Seonghwa sighs, standing and cracking his back with an audible pop. “I’ll go get them, Jongho, baby, you ready to go in like half an hour?”

“Oh, yeah, hyung, sure,” the broad man answers, apparently coming back into the room from wherever his head was, wherever his thoughts were swirling. “Sounds good.”

Yunho is already entirely too drunk when Mingi joins him in a booth, sweat on his forehead and sunglasses on. The brunette wishes he could hate him, for being so ridiculous, but he manages to make it look cool, attractive, and Yunho has to gulp down a mouthful of his cocktail to stop himself saying anything stupid.

The club is loud, sweaty, everything that Yunho was expecting from a Seoul nightclub. The dancefloor is packed, easy to get lost in, and he’d danced for a long while before he’d gotten too hot, too sweaty, and needed a breather. He’s surprised that Mingi followed him. He deliberately does not think about it.

“Fuck, it’s like, insane,” Mingi says loudly, right into Yunho’s ear, and he nods the best he can around the rim of his glass.

“Yeah, it’s crazy,” Yunho agrees, and the pink-haired man leans his head on the older man’s shoulder, breathing hard. “You okay?”

“I kind of want to get some air,” he says into Yunho’s ear, breath tickling his skin, and he grips hold of the glass in his hand, hard, to stop himself shivering. “Come with?”

“Sure,” Yunho says easily, anything to distract himself from the way he wants to grab Mingi’s jaw and kiss him, hard.

He baulks at that thought, downing the last mouthful of his drink and shuffling out of the booth as quickly as he can, desperate for distraction. He helps guide Mingi out via his upper arm. He’s a bit wobbly on his feet, dizzy and drunk, and it shouldn’t be endearing, but Yunho burns with it. He wonders if he’s maybe had a little too much alcohol.

The air outside is cold, refreshing, which helps Yunho feel slightly more sober. Mingi slumps into a plastic chair and fumbles with his lighter pathetically, until Yunho takes pity on him and tuts, leaning to take it out of his hand and help him light up.

“Thanks, you’re such a good friend,” Mingi grins, flicking his sunglasses up onto his forehead so he can blink up at Yunho, who’s standing over him. “You’re so cool.”

“You’re so drunk,” Yunho dismisses, steadfastly ignoring the way his chest is constricting, the horrible conflicting emotions of joy and grief that are swirling in his stomach at the other man’s words. He sits in the seat next to Mingi, shuffling it so he can look at him properly, watching as he breathes out a lungful of smoke.

“I’m glad you moved here, Yu,” the pink-haired man says suddenly, placing a big hand on Yunho’s thigh as he does. It feels burning, even through the fabric of his trousers, hot and comforting and terrifying all at once. His skin feels too sensitive, like if Mingi placed his hand directly on it, it would burst into flames. He swallows hard, half-distracted, and he glances up at the man, who is watching him with sincere eyes.

“M-Me too,” Yunho manages, trying his best to smile, and the other man’s thumb rubs absently at his leg. It’s so hard to focus, with the alcohol in his system, with Mingi’s hand on his thigh, with the way he’s looking at him.

Mingi’s so beautiful, it makes Yunho ache, deep in the recesses of his chest. Even now, with his smudged eyeliner, his flushed face, the alcohol making him red and sweaty. Yunho can see the little shadow of stubble growing back on his upper lip, the way his uneven front tooth is digging into his bottom lip as he smiles.

He doesn’t know when they got so close, and he clears his throat, suddenly too dry, too tight.

“Do you believe in soulmates?” Mingi says abruptly, and his hand is gone, he’s leaning back in the chair and has the cigarette back in his mouth and Yunho can finally breathe again.

“What?” Yunho blinks, still semi-distracted and trying to recover, shuffling in his chair. “Like… What?”

“Like, you meet someone, and they just… They make sense, it all makes sense,” he sounds a little sad, tight around the edges, and Yunho tilts his head, squinting at the younger man.

“Are you talking about Arin?” He asks, and Mingi’s eyes snap to him, wide and slightly hurt. He feels instantly bad, but he needs to get some even ground, needs to be back on the upper hand before he does something stupid, like pretend Mingi is talking about him.

“No,” he whispers, “I’m… I’m not.” He sounds like he’s confused by himself, by his own words. “Seonghwa thinks I should block her.”

“I mean, yeah,” Yunho says, unable to help himself. “I know it’s not my place or whatever,” he mumbles, and Mingi shakes his head quickly, speaking with the smoke of his cigarette held in the back of his throat.

“No, I… I want to know, what you think,” he insists, and Yunho blinks at him, surprised. “Tell me.”

It’s strange, the feeling of being trusted. It makes the older man’s ribcage feel too small, makes his heart feel too big. The violent unnamed little knot of emotion in the pit of his stomach grows inside him.

“I just don’t… I don’t think it’s a healthy thing, Min,” he mumbles, feeling too big for his body, like he’s speaking out of turn. “Relationships are supposed to make you happy, and she just… She doesn’t seem to make you happy.” Mingi squints at him for a long moment. Yunho can’t read his expression, can’t read the way he’s looking at him, and he averts his eyes, overwhelmed.

“Yeah. She doesn’t,” he mumbles abruptly. “But she… She needs me, I think?” He doesn’t sound sure.

“No, she doesn’t.” Yunho snaps, unbidden, and he can’t hide the irritation in his voice. It falls out of him, bypassing his brain-to-mouth filter. “She takes advantage of you because you never say no. If you told her no, she would find someone else to cling to.” He wonders if that’s a bit harsh, a bit too mean. He can’t take it back, and it hangs there for a second.

“You think?” Mingi whispers, cigarette hanging from his bottom lip. Yunho glances up, and the other man is watching him, eyebrows slightly furrowed. He doesn’t appear upset, like he sort of already knows that what Yunho’s saying is the truth.

“Even if she doesn’t Min, you deserve to be happy. You…” He glances at Mingi’s lips, can’t stop himself, the way they’re so close together, knees brushing. He forces himself to look back at Mingi’s eyes. “You deserve someone who actually loves you, doesn’t keep hurting you.”

“Right,” Mingi mumbles, looking dazed. Yunho isn’t sure if he’s even going to remember this conversation, with how drunk he appears to be. “Yeah, I mean, you’re right,” he sighs, leaning back in his chair, the seat wobbling dangerously.

“I tend to be,” Yunho says, trying to ease the tension. “You’ll work it out, Min, it’ll be okay.”

“Yeah, yeah, we’ll be okay,” he whispers, and Yunho doesn’t want to know what he means by we.

Yunho wakes up hungover, woken up by raised voices, and squints at the unfamiliar room he’s woken up in. It takes him a few seconds to remember where he is, remember that he came home and crashed in Mingi’s spare room, and rolls over on the creaky single bed, wincing as his head pounds. He’s so dehydrated that his throat hurts, and he blindly feels around for the glass of water he knows he left on the bedside table. He almost knocks it over but manages to save it, gulping it thirstily.

The voices rise for a second, and then there is the familiar sound of slamming doors, rattling keys. He squints at the door and manages to wrestle himself out of the tangle of sheets so he can leave the room.

Mingi is standing in the living room, staring out the window distantly, and Yunho clears his throat loudly. The pink-haired man turns around, and he blinks a few times before he manages to put a smile on his face.

“Hey, morning, did you sleep okay?” Mingi murmurs, taking a few steps forward. Yunho nods, rubbing his eye harshly, trying to get his brain back online.

“Was someone here? I heard voices,” Yunho hears himself say, mouth working before his brain kicks in, and the younger man freezes for a second.

“Y-Yeah,” he admits, and then sighs, sinking into the sofa and putting his head in his hands. “Arin was here.”

“Oh,” Yunho mutters, and he knows he sounds disappointed, too hungover to filter his emotions. His eyes feel a bit glued together, and his head is kind of hurting, but he still feels bad at the way his voice sounds as it falls out of his mouth.

“N-No, not- God, no not like that,” Mingi protests immediately, lifting his head. “I was telling her I… I told her it was like, over. Properly.”

“Oh,” he says, again, with a different intonation this time and the pink-haired man visibly swallows. “She… Took it badly?” He guesses, and Mingi nods, looking tired. He rubs a hand over his face roughly.

“Yeah. I knew she would, though,” he murmurs, “but I’ll block her number, and then I guess I just… Won’t know if she’s upset still or not.” He whispers, and he sounds sad, a bit guilty. Yunho squints at him for a second, before he sighs, sitting next to him with a soft thud.

“You really aren’t going to see her again?” he asks, and he wonders if he sounds as selfish as he feels for asking that, wonders why the hope is bubbling in his chest at the idea of it.

“Yeah, I mean, that’s the… That’s the goal, anyway,” Mingi mumbles, picking at his thumbnail absently, nervously.

“What changed?” Yunho blurts, tilting his head, and Mingi turns to stare at him, eyebrows raised in surprise.

“What?” He asks, and Yunho is confused by the way the tips of his ears are red, the way his eyes dart around the brunette’s face. He doesn’t want to read into it, doesn’t want to think he had any influence on it, doesn’t know if he can make himself out to be that important in the other man’s life already.

But they had the conversation, drunk and flushed in the frigid smoking area, of this exact scenario, and Yunho can’t help but hope. Can’t help but want to be that important to Mingi. He remembers the pink of Mingi’s cheeks as he spoke, the smell of cigarette smoke on the man’s breath, so close that he could feel it on his face. He tries his best not to think about it.

“The… The guys, they say they’ve been trying to make you do this for like, months, wh-what changed?” Yunho asks again, even as his voice wobbles a little, even as Mingi maintains eye contact like he’s looking for something on the older man’s face.

“N-Nothing,” Mingi lies, and Yunho knows he’s lying from the way his voice shakes, from the way he tugs on his ear, nervous. “I just, you know, decided, it was time.”

“Right,” he says, even though he doesn’t really believe it, and he tracks Mingi’s trembling hands with his eyes. “Well, good,” he adds belatedly, awkwardly, and the pink-haired man tries for a smile, despite the way it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

Mingi orders them some breakfast through a delivery app, something greasy and probably overpriced, but he refuses to let Yunho pay towards it. The brunette realises he has no idea what Mingi even does for work, doesn’t know how he gets his money. He doesn’t get a chance to ask, not as the buzzer sounds on the intercom and Mingi has to go let the guy in, shuffling clumsily in his sliders.

He opens the door and a blur of black and blue hair flies past furiously. It takes Yunho a couple of seconds to understand what the person is screaming about.

“You can’t just decide! I get a choice too, and I’m saying no,” the girl shouts, and Mingi appears semi-frozen at the door, blinking slowly.

“Arin…” He says, and he sounds tired, exhausted, actually. Yunho stands, awkwardly, and she glances towards him, scowling as she notices.

“Who the fuck are you?” Arin spits, looking him up and down, and Yunho wonders if she genuinely doesn’t remember who he is or if she’s just being cruel. Neither of those scenarios would surprise him.

“Yunho, we met outside the convenience store,” he tells her, and she raises an eyebrow, blatantly judgemental with her expression.

“Okay, well, can you get the fuck out?” She says, like it’s obvious. Like he should know that’s what he’s supposed to do, and Mingi finally moves, going to stand between them.

“What the fuck, Arin, no,” his voice is tight, and Yunho can see the way his hands are clenched in fists next to his body. “Yunho’s my friend, you don’t get to order him out, this is my flat.”

“Mingi, come on, we need to talk about this…” she tries, and Mingi shakes his head jerkily, gesturing to the door.

“No, you need to leave. Did you not listen to me?” and the tattooed girl scowls at Yunho like it’s his fault.

“You’d rather hang around with your lame friend than talk to me about our relationship? Gi, that’s actually fucked up.” She spits, and Mingi stares at her, eyebrows furrowed.

“What relationship? We weren’t in a relationship, you said that yourself, months ago. And you made that very clear by fucking your plug!” he sounds listless as he speaks, voice tired, “And even if we were, it’s fucking over, Arin!”

He sounds irritated, like he doesn’t understand why Arin isn’t comprehending what he’s saying. Yunho shifts awkwardly, not sure whether to stay or go, feeling horribly out of place. He steps back, and Mingi turns to him, eyes softening slightly.

“Sorry, Yu, just…” he doesn’t finish what he’s going to say because Arin interrupts.

“So, you’re choosing him over me?” she asks, cold, and Mingi’s eyes snap back to hers. Arin stares at Yunho, hatred obvious in her eyes and takes a few steps towards him. Yunho doesn’t really know what to do, frozen in place, and she looks him up and down again.

“Arin, can you just…” Mingi tries, but she carries on anyway.

“What, you think you have a chance?” She says to Yunho, who blinks at her with wide eyes, completely thrown off-kilter by her words. “You’re a fucking small-town loser who knows nothing about Gi, and you just think you can come in here and try and fucking indoctrinate him into your weird gay shit?” She gathers saliva in her mouth and spits at his feet with a horrible wet sound. “Go fuck yourself.”

Mingi moves so fast that Yunho is still processing it - the way the liquid splashes on the floor, a little seeping onto the fabric of his sock - when the younger man grabs Arin by the upper arm, shoving her towards the door.

“Get the fuck out, get out.” He says, and his voice is cold, horribly so. Yunho’s never heard it before, never heard Mingi sound so angry, so upset. “Never contact me again, I’m serious, get out.” He shoves her hard, one last time, out the door, and she turns to him, visibly furious.

“Gi, what the f-“ she starts, and Mingi shuts the door in her face. Yunho can’t move, can’t get himself to react, and Mingi breathes hard, forehead against the door for a second. Arin starts pounding on the wood, shaking it, and the pink-haired man shakily locks the door, puts the chain on.

“Min…” Yunho tries, and Mingi turns, shaking his head.

“I’m… Fuck, sorry, I’m so sorry,” he mumbles, and he takes a few steps towards Yunho, looking at him. The knocking, the thumping doesn’t stop, and Mingi glances at it, pinching the bridge of his nose for a second before he gently grabs Yunho’s arm, pulling him further into the apartment.

He guides him into his bedroom, and Yunho barely gets a chance to process that he’s seeing it for the first time before Mingi shuts the door, fiddling with the speakers, obviously trying to drown the noise out.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, slumping to sit on the edge of the bed, head in his hands. “What the fuck. What the fuck,” he mutters, mostly to himself, and Yunho sits next to him instinctively, easily. Some soft music Yunho doesn’t recognise plays in the background.

“Min, it’s okay, it’s literally not your fault, in any way,” he reassures the younger man, nudging his shoulder into his softly, “I’ve heard worse.”

“That’s so fucked up.” Mingi sounds horribly sad, voice tight, “She fucking spat at you!” He whines, and he finally looks up.

Yunho hates that his eyes are a little wet as he blinks up at him, baby pink hair matching the slight flush of his cheeks, probably from the adrenaline of the argument. Yunho shrugs, finally taking in the room that Mingi has pulled him into.

The bed is unmade but soft, clean, and comfortable. He has some random posters on the walls, a mix of prints of artworks and album covers of musicians that Yunho doesn’t recognise, some half-peeling off the walls. One wall is recently painted over, bare and a slightly different colour to the rest of them. Yunho averts his eyes, trying to avoid thinking about it. He doesn’t want to know what it’s covering up.

“Your room is nice,” Yunho says awkwardly, into the silence and Mingi glances at him, blinking slowly, before he breaks, giggling slightly deliriously.

“Thanks, Yun,” he mumbles, knocking his shoulder into Yunho’s softly. The brunette’s skin feels warm where they brush, and his pulse picks up ever so slightly. He wonders when he’s going to stop feeling like he’s about to have a heart attack every time Mingi touches him. He doesn’t want to think about the implications of his reactions to the other man, not now, not here, not ever.

Mingi lies down, patting the space next to him, and Yunho takes a deep breath before he lies down next to him on the bed, ignoring the way his hands are shaking as he pulls the pillow under his head. He looks up at the ceiling, endeared by the glow-in-the-dark stars that are adhered to it, clustered together.

“Are they real constellations?” Yunho asks, pointing at the ceiling, and Mingi nods, looking a little embarrassed.

“Yeah, I… You don’t really see the stars much here,” he mumbles shyly, “Because of the light pollution, so I just…” he gestures vaguely. His ears are a bit red at the tips, and he’s gnawing on his bottom lip, nerves obvious in his face. Yunho wonders what he’s nervous about.

“That’s cool,” the brunette hears himself saying, and he tears his eyes away from the pink-haired man’s profile, looking back up. “It’s really pretty.”

“Yeah?” Mingi whispers, and Yunho nods, eyes staring straight up and nowhere else. “Yeah, it… It’s pretty,” he mumbles, and when Yunho finally gets the courage to glance at him again, he’s already looking straight at him.

“You okay?” he whispers, and Mingi nods, glancing back up.

He reaches, slowly, softly, for Yunho’s hand, limp against the covers, and gently intertwines his fingers together with his own. It’s slow enough that Yunho could pull away if he wanted to, but he doesn’t. He lets Mingi hold his hand, slotting between his long fingers without fanfare. The skin-on-skin contact burns through Yunho, straight through his veins, to his heart. His pulse increases drastically, and he’s semi-convinced that Mingi is going to hear it.

“Yeah, I’m… I’m good.” He says quietly, squeezing Yunho’s hand. “I’m okay.” He’s seeking comfort, Yunho realises, and he squeezes back just as softly, lungs feeling tight in his chest.

Mingi wants his comfort, and he’s too busy complicating things with his torrid feelings to not hyper-analyse the simple touches. He mentally scolds himself, and shuffles ever so slightly closer to the other man, arms brushing, moving their intertwined hands up to rest loosely on his stomach.

Mingi shuffles too, leaning his head so he can rest it on Yunho’s shoulder, so timidly, like he’s worried the brunette will tell him to get off, to leave.

But he doesn’t, of course, he doesn’t, couldn’t ever tell Mingi to leave, to go. Even as his heart ricochets around his chest, even as his face feels so hot that he’s convinced he’s going to combust on the spot, he stays quiet, letting the younger man rest on him, cling onto his hand.

The takeaway gets forgotten, their phones ignored, and Yunho desperately fights off the horrible, all-encompassing feeling that he’s maybe, just maybe, falling for Song Mingi.

Nothing particularly changes for almost two months, the group meets up at least once a week – sometimes more - usually around beers in some sticky bar or someone’s flat. Yeosang remains the only person who has seen his apartment. He doesn’t notice this, really, until Mingi starts whining at him one night, flushed from the beer and hot food.

“You have to let me come over, please!” He moans, knocking his knee repeatedly into Yunho’s. It’s got easier to let Mingi touch him, as the man is naturally physically affectionate, throwing himself into any arms that’ll pet him, like an over-enthusiastic dog. He’s just friendly, loves skinship with his friends, or at least, it’s easier to compartmentalise that way.

“Why?” Yunho can’t help but ask, raising his eyebrow around the rim of his glass and taking a sip. “It’s boring, I’ve like, not decorated at all.”

“I don’t care, I want to know what’s in the mind of Jeong Yunho,” he announces, slightly tipsy, prodding a finger against the side of Yunho’s head. It makes the brunette laugh, reaching to flick him away, batting at him half-heartedly.

“Fine, you can come over, you’re gonna be disappointed though,” he warns and Mingi’s eyes light up with joy, gulping down the last of his beer, gesturing at Yunho’s glass.

“Okay, come on then,” he says, excitedly, and Yunho blinks at him, eyes wide.

“Oh, you mean right now?” the brunette asks but gulps down the last few mouthfuls of his beer anyway. “Fine, okay,” he glances at Jongho and Yeosang, sitting opposite them, in their own conversation, and taps the table in front of them. “We’re gonna head out,” he tells them, and they nod, bidding their goodbyes quickly.

It’s still cold out, slowly getting warmer in the days but still frigid at night, and Yunho pouts, wrapping his arms around himself. He thought he could get away without wearing a coat, but he regrets it instantly. He forgets that Seoul is a lot colder than home.

“You cold?” Mingi asks, cigarette already in his mouth, and the brunette shrugs.

“Ah, yeah, but I’ll probably warm up as we walk,” he dismisses, and Mingi frowns. He shrugs off his leather jacket, leaving him in his hoodie, and places it on Yunho’s shoulders. The older man tilts his head at him, reaching to stop the jacket slipping off.

“I’m hot anyway,” Mingi says and then laughs at his own words. “Ha, I meant from the beer.”

“Figured,” Yunho chuckles, and puts the jacket on properly, zipping it up. It’s a little big on his shoulders, as Mingi is slightly broader than him, but he doesn’t care, too hyper-focused on the way it smells like the pink-haired man, like strong cologne and cigarettes, like Mingi. He smiles, mostly to himself. “Thanks.”

“No worries, now lead the way Pup,” he teases, nudging him with his shoulder.

The nickname shouldn’t make him burn, shouldn’t send his heart racing in double time around his ribcage, but it does. It’d come about on a stupid drunk night, a stupid dare that Yunho had been too tipsy to refuse, too endeared by Mingi’s bright eyes as he giggled at him, asking him to bark.

It was ridiculous, really, silly and stupid, but Yunho had spent slightly too much time thinking about it in the following weeks. The nickname only serves as a reminder, and every time it spills out of Mingi’s mouth, he burns afresh.

“Are you ever going to let it go?” Yunho whines, but starts walking, glancing back to make sure Mingi’s trailing him. The pink-haired man catches up to him easily, falling into step with him, grinning.

“No, you were so sweet, barking for me,” Mingi teases, reaching to ruffle Yunho’s hair, even as he pouts and tries to wrestle down the confusing, hot sensation that’s sparking in his stomach. “You’re a good Pup.”

“S-Shut up,” Yunho protests weakly, hating the way he shivers with it, the way he’s so attracted to the other man. “I hope you don’t have your expectations too high, by the way,” he murmurs to change the subject, glancing at Mingi, who’s smoking his way through a cigarette, fingers against his mouth. His rings glint in the streetlights.

“For what?” Mingi asks, tilting his head, and letting out a stream of smoke from the corner of his mouth.

“My flat,” Yunho reminds him, and the pink-haired man raises an eyebrow, amused. “It’s so boring, I feel like you’re gonna judge me.”

“I’m not going to judge you!” Mingi insists immediately, shaking his head. “Are you actually worried?” And Yunho reads the words for what they are, a chance to back out, a check of the boundaries. He appreciates it.

“Nah, not really, I’m just prepping you for the worst, you know,” Yunho mumbles, knocking their shoulders together as they walk. “Your place is cool, so…”

“My place is a fucking mess,” Mingi laughs, flicking the ash off the end of his cigarette with a quick tap of his thumb. “The first time you came over I was like, certain you were gonna think I was a gross little, stoner boy, or something,” he adds, and Yunho can’t help by laugh, endeared.

“You are a gross little stoner boy,” he teases, easily and Mingi pouts at him, even though he can see the humour in his eyes.

“Hey, I’m not a stoner,” he whines. Yunho raises his eyebrows, and the pink-haired man whines louder. “I literally haven’t smoked weed in months!”

“So, you’re just a gross little boy, then,” the brunette jokes, and Mingi sighs like he’s walked into his own demise.

“You’re so mean to me,” he moans, through a pout, “Why do I like you?” Yunho is slightly caught off-guard but manages to save it with a choked little laugh. Mingi glances at him, a grin on his face, and their arms brush as they walk, hands skirting past each other.

For a brief second, Yunho thinks Mingi is reaching, going to hold his hand, but then he veers around a puddle on the pavement and the moment is gone.

“And then she was like, well, everyone has a like, assigned fursona, that’s the whole point,” Mingi babbles as they approach his front door, gesturing wildly. “And I was like, well, I don’t want to be a fucking chicken, that’s dumb, can’t I be something cool, like a tiger or something!”

“Chickens are cool too,” Yunho says, wrestling with the lock to get them inside. “They descended from dinosaurs. Closest living relatives or whatever,” he manages to get the door open.

“True,” he agrees easily, and then walks straight into Yunho’s apartment, like he’s been here before. “Oooo, you have a Playstation 5?”

“Yeah,” Yunho laughs, toeing off his shoes and shutting the door behind them, vaguely endeared. “My PC is in the bedroom, I built it myself,” he mumbles, weirdly proud of it, and Mingi turns to him, eyes sparkling.

“Are you in IT then?” Mingi asks, and Yunho is hit with the realisation that, despite how fast they’ve become friends, there is a lot they don’t know about each other. He doesn’t even know when the other man’s birthday is.

“Ah, nah, I work with Yeosang and Seonghwa, remember?” he mumbles, wandering to the kitchen, offering Mingi a glass of water, which he accepts. They lean against the counters as they drink, and Mingi opens a few cupboards, opens his fridge. Yunho’s not sure what he’s expecting to find but lets it happen anyway.  

“Wait, what do they do for work?” He asks suddenly, clueless, and Yunho hates that he’s so endeared by it, biting his bottom lip to stop himself from smiling.

“We work in insurance, it’s boring and dry, but the money is good,” he explains. Mingi nods like he knew that all along, and glances down the corridor.

“Can I see your PC then?” He asks, obviously not paying attention and Yunho bites his lip to stop himself laughing. He wonders how long it will be before Mingi asks him what he does for work again. He leads the other man down the corridor to the bedroom but points at the other door.

“That’s the bathroom, by the way, and then yeah, this is, uh, me, I guess,” he mumbles, suddenly nervous, and Mingi pushes the door open and wanders in, oblivious to his nerves.

“Woah!” Mingi says from inside the room, sounding awed. Yunho can only assume he’s looking at the PC, doubts anything else in the room would warrant that reaction. He follows him in, sinking onto the edge of his bed, and letting Mingi poke around. He would have tidied a little more if he knew the other man was going to be over, and he shoves an abandoned pair of jeans under the bed with his foot as he sits down.

He glances at the little row of photos he’s tacked above his mirror, unintentionally, but the pink-haired man follows his eyes, curious.

“Oh, just…” Yunho mumbles, feeling self-conscious, but Mingi’s already there, looking at them closely.

“That’s me!” He exclaims, jabbing at the photo with his finger. “Oh, this is cute, this was from Wooyoung’s birthday, right?” He asks, glancing over his shoulder, and Yunho nods.

“I just printed out some photos from my phone that I thought were like, nice, or whatever,” Yunho tries to explain, reaching to pull at his ear, nervous. Mingi turns back, scanning the others.

“Who is this?” he asks, voice curious, and Yunho swallows dryly. He gets up, goes and stands behind Mingi, peering to see what he’s looking at. He’s pointing at a photo of him, about five years younger than he is now, with his older brother. Yunho bites his bottom lip habitually, chewing at the dry skin. It’s one of the last photos he has with his brother.

“M-My older brother,” Yunho’s voice shakes and Mingi turns. They’re suddenly so close, Mingi looking at him, only a breath away. The brunette’s heart thumps painfully in his chest, but he can’t bring himself to step back, too stuck on the way the younger man is staring at him.

“I didn’t know you had a brother,” Mingi whispers, and the older man shrugs awkwardly, eyes darting around the other man’s face.

“He… He’s not, uh,” Yunho doesn’t quite know how to word it, doesn’t quite know if it’s the right time. “He’s dead.” He blurts, bluntly, and Mingi’s eyes widen for a second, obviously surprised.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Yun, I…” He starts, but Yunho shakes his head and tries for a smile.

“It’s okay, it’s been a long time, I’m… It’s okay,” he says, and Mingi is still staring at him, still so close to him. He takes a shaky step back, pointing at the photo next to it, anything to distract him from the way his stomach is fluttering, the clench of his heart. “That’s my old friend from home, Minho, we call like every week.”

He’s significantly younger in the photo, still a bit gangly and lanky, awkward around the edges. Minho is significantly shorter than him, still mostly is, and they’re caught in that strange stage of puberty where everyone is hitting growth spurts at different rates. He looks like a baby, standing with a younger, even more child-like baby.

Mingi turns to look at the photo, and the moment disappears so quickly that Yunho wonders if he was imagining it.

“Cute,” Mingi mumbles, and as he turns the brunette notices the red flush of his ears. “You were cute!”

“Shut up,” Yunho can feel his face getting hot, nudges his shoulder into Mingi’s casually, “I was like fourteen.”

“Aw, baby Yunho,” Mingi coos, teasing, and their eyes meet again for a brief second. Yunho smiles, despite how shy he feels.

“And that’s my Auntie Boksoon,” he says, pointing at the photo he took of his Auntie, laughing in her folding chair behind her stall, a hand waving. He loves that photo; loves the way she’s grinning. He misses her, he realises with a pang, homesick for the first time in months. “I miss her.” He hears himself say.

“Do you get homesick?” Mingi asks, like he can read his mind, and Yunho takes the few steps back required to sit on the edge of his bed, hoping that putting some distance between them will break the weird feeling in his chest.

“Not really,” he admits, bringing his legs up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. “Just for her.” Mingi looks at him for a long moment, before he takes a few steps over and sinks onto the bed next to him.

“I miss my mum too, sometimes,” he whispers, and Yunho’s eyebrows raise, surprised. “She died, like, a few years ago,” he adds.

Yunho recognises this for what it is, Mingi’s attempt at relating, to say he understands, even if it’s not quite the same. He’s not quite sure what expression he pulls, but whatever it is, it makes Mingi reach for him, pulling him to his chest.

“Sorry,” Yunho mumbles, and he realises with a pang that they’re both a little tipsy, a little emotional. Wonders if he’ll regret it in the morning. Mingi squeezes him gently, and the brunette shivers in his grip. He can smell the pink-haired man’s stupid strong perfume, the way it doesn’t quite hide the stink of cigarettes on his clothes. He can feel the press of his rings against his back, jacket abandoned in the hallway. He swallows. Mingi finally lets him go.

“I like your room,” Mingi murmurs, and despite everything it makes Yunho laugh, knocking his shoulder into the other man’s affectionately. “It’s nice, sick PC, by the way,” he jokes, and the brunette man smiles at him, unable to stop himself from grinning.

“Thanks, Min, I’m glad you like it,” he says quietly, and Mingi grins back at him. “Now we know each other’s deepest darkest secrets, have we levelled our friendship up?”

“That’s the nerdiest fucking way you could have said that Pup,” he laughs, leaning his head on Yunho’s shoulder, giggling. “I feel like…” he pauses for a second like he’s considering what he wants to say.

“Mmm?” Yunho encourages, reaching his hand up to scratch at Mingi’s scalp, unthinkingly. His hand stutters when he realises what he’s doing, but Mingi pouts when he stops.

“No, keep scratching, feels nice,” he mumbles, and Yunho can hear the pouting in his voice. He bites his bottom lip to stop the stupid grin that wants to spread across his face. “But, yeah, I feel like I owe a secret, feels uneven right now,” he murmurs, and Yunho wonders if it’s the alcohol talking, wonders if Mingi’s going to regret this tomorrow. He wonders if he should shut this down, not pry, but he’s also desperately greedy, biblically so.

“Mmm, what type of secret?” Yunho asks, and Mingi peels himself from his shoulder, chewing his bottom lip, suddenly nervous.

“I… The…” he pauses, eyes darting around Yunho’s face. “I’ve been thinking about like, my sexuality or whatever,” he whispers, and the brunette blinks at him for a second before nodding.

“Right, yeah, I mean, what I said about you being maybe not straight doesn’t mean like, you aren’t, or whatever, I was just…” Yunho feels bad for a split second, but Mingi shakes his head.

“No, I don’t mean- You were right, I think,” Mingi interrupts him, and his ears are bright red against his hair. It’s now a faded baby pink, almost blonde, and growing out, some strands falling around his ears. “I… I want to kiss a guy.”

Yunho’s heart stops for a long second in his chest before he manages to at least pretend he’s not having a breakdown. He nods stiffly, trying his best to look encouraging, even as the imagery of Mingi kissing another man enters his brain.

“Yeah, I mean, as long as it’s chill with everyone involved like, experimenting is cool, you know?” Yunho wonders if his voice sounds normal, wonders if he’s managing to hide the way his ribcage feels like it’s about to shatter into a million pieces.

“Th-That’s kind of what…” Mingi averts his eyes, bottom lip back between his teeth. He’s nervous, and Yunho doesn’t know why. “I… Want to do it with someone I trust.” He murmurs, and he looks back up at Yunho with big, wide eyes.

“Right,” the brunette whispers, not letting himself hope, ignoring his fluttering pulse. “Yeah, that’s… That’s a good idea,” Yunho adds, searching Mingi’s expression desperately. He doesn’t know how to read this, doesn’t know if he should be stopping it, doesn’t even know what he’s supposed to be stopping in the first place. He blinks. Mingi blinks back.

“Can I kiss you, Yunho?” He asks, and his voice is clear, sure. Yunho is convinced his heart is going to beat its way out of his chest, leaving a spray of viscera and gore all over them, leaking pathetically on Mingi’s lap.

He should say no. His feelings for Mingi are already too close to something unnameable and terrifying, and complicating it further is something that Yunho should desperately avoid. He should let Mingi down gently, be kind.  

Instead, he swallows. He nods.

Mingi takes his nod at face value, doesn’t double-check, and dives straight in. It takes Yunho by surprise, and it takes him a moment before he remembers he’s supposed to kiss back, hand hovering awkwardly. Mingi’s hand lifts, cradling the brunette’s jaw gently, chunky rings cool against his flushed flesh.

His lips are soft, warm, against Yunho’s. He tastes like cigarettes and cheap beer, and it should be disgusting, but Yunho can’t help but lean closer, kiss him deeper. It feels safe, comforting, bafflingly familiar despite this being the first time they’ve ever kissed. Like maybe this is what Yunho was supposed to be doing his whole life. His hand tremble as he lifts it to Mingi’s cheek, and the pink-haired man nudges his tongue gently against the seam of Yunho’s lips.

He concedes, lets Mingi in, and he consumes a piece of his heart as he licks his way in. The heat of it sparks down Yunho’s spine, and he knows he’s shaking. Mingi’s other hand goes to the small of his back, big and heavy, and the older man suddenly feels so small, so safe. He knows he’s completely fucked, and feels it in the recess of his chest, down to his marrow. He’s falling for Song Mingi and there is nothing he can do about it.

Mingi pulls apart with a deep inhale, and when Yunho opens his eyes, the pink-haired man looks at him with some unreadable expression on his face. His cheeks are flushed, lips a little spit slick, plump in the low light of Yunho’s room. His pupils are more diluted than they were, Yunho thinks, but convinces himself that he’s imagining it, or maybe it’s just the dark of the room.

“I…” Mingi starts, but trails off, eyes darting around Yunho’s face. “Thank you, for doing that, for me,” he sounds a bit stiff, a bit awkward around the edges.

“Of course,” Yunho hears himself saying, slightly out of body. He tries his best to arrange his face into something neutral, something casual. “Thanks for trusting me.” Mingi nods, tongue darting out of his mouth to wet his lip.

“Right,” Mingi whispers, and then blinks, hard. “I’m really tired,” he says, suddenly. Yunho chuckles, flopping back on the bed, and patting the space next to him.

“It’s late, just stay here tonight,” he mumbles without thinking, stretching his arms above his head. Mingi’s eyes dart down to the sliver of his exposed stomach for a second before he looks back up, nodding again.

“Sure, can I borrow something that won’t suck ass to sleep in?”

“Yeah, but if you smoke in it tomorrow morning shove it in the laundry.”

“Sweet, thanks Pup.”

Yunho wakes up to Mingi’s arms slung over his waist. It’s unsurprising, what with the pink-haired man’s love for physical affection, but he still has to take a second to gather himself.

He unpeels himself from the younger man’s body, slowly, not wanting to wake him. Mingi rolls into the warm space where his body used to be almost instantly, seeking him. It’s hard to stop the way his stomach flips at the movement.

He makes two cups of coffee, butters some toast. It’s hardly breakfast, low effort, but he knows Mingi won’t mind, and probably will want to eat it outside while he smokes anyway. Better to give themselves portable items. He trots back to the bedroom, and Mingi’s sat up, looking blearily around the room, barely-pink fluff in chaos around his head.

“Wha’ time is it?” He slurs, squinting up at Yunho, and he grins immediately, endeared. It’s not good for him, not good for his heart, seeing Mingi like this, seeing him soft and gentle in the morning light of his bedroom, in his clothes.

“Like 10:30, I made coffee and toast though,” he answers, distracting himself by wandering over to his wardrobe to grab a hoodie, already knows the next question Mingi’s going to ask.

“Come out for a cig with me?” he mumbles, proving Yunho’s theory right, still sleepy, and the brunette bites his lower lip, amused.

“Sure, here,” he says, throwing a hoodie into Mingi’s lap. “I’ll bring the toast; can you grab the coffee?”

“Mmm, sure Pup,” Mingi mumbles, rubbing his eyes, rolling out of bed. “Thanks.”

They sit on the bottom step of the fire escape, and Mingi sprays toast crumbs as he laughs, coffee and cigarette in one hand, sleep-mused and puffy. Yunho can’t stop the way he’s giggling, holding his stomach with it, and the pink-haired man slaps at his thigh.

“Stop it, I’m going to choke to death,” Mingi gets out through coughs, and Yunho slaps him on the back in return, gesturing to his cup.

“Have a drink then, loser,” he teases, still smacking him. “Sorry for being the funniest person in the world.”

“Sharp,” he mutters, gesturing at his throat. “The crumbs are sharp.” Mingi manages to clear his throat, manages to breathe again, but then immediately shoves his cigarette in his mouth, making him choke a little again.

It’s ridiculous, really, the way they fall so easily back into normality, the way it doesn’t feel awkward. Mingi presses his bare thigh against Yunho’s leg, borrowed shorts rucked up from where he’s sitting and laughs as he gestures with his lit cigarette, sipping bad instant coffee.

“What do you even do for work?” Yunho asks, sipping his own coffee, leaning back against the railing of the step. “I feel like I should know.”

“I write music,” Mingi says, eyebrows furrowed as he brushes ash off his leg. “Freelance for a few different idol companies,” he adds, and looks up, smiling. “Did I never tell you?”

“Damn, no you didn’t, so are you like, rich rich?” Yunho asks, cradling his mug to his chest, using the hot drink to warm his hands.

“Why? You looking for a sugar daddy?” Mingi wiggles his eyebrows, and Yunho snorts into his mug, almost choking. “But yeah, I’m fine, comfortable or whatever.”

“Damn, that’s so much cooler than fucking…” he gestures vaguely with his mug. “Insurance.” He feels inadequate for a brief moment, before he wrestles that horrible feeling back into the furthest nooks of his brain.

“What do you even insure?” Mingi asks, and, surprisingly, he sounds genuinely curious, watching Yunho’s face with big eyes. He lets out a stream of smoke out the corner of his mouth, and the brunette can’t help but glance down at the pink-haired man’s lips, a subtle reminder.

“Old people, mostly,” Yunho blurts, blinking for a second before he frowns. “I mean, it’s like, life insurance and investments and stuff, it’s, boring.”

“Oh damn, yeah that’s…” Mingi gnaws on his bottom lip like he’s not sure what to say, “How did you even get into that?” Yunho shrugs, bringing his legs up onto the step, knees to his chest.

“I just applied for a lot of internships straight out of university, knew I needed something stable and with good money considering I couldn’t move back home,” he shrugs.

“Why not?” Mingi asks cluelessly, tilting his head, and flicking his now dead cigarette on the floor.

“Oh, well,” his eyes dart around the pink-haired man’s face for a second. “The gay thing.” Mingi frowns for a second, like he’d forgotten that homophobia existed in Korea, like Yunho just reminded him.

“Oh, that’s fucked up,” he mutters, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “Fuck them.”

“Yeah,” Yunho mumbles, averting his eyes, unable to stop the way his heart is thudding in his chest. “Fuck them.” There’s a long beat of silence and the brunette carefully examines his left knee.

“Are you happier here?” Mingi asks suddenly, and Yunho’s eyes snap to his instantly. He's got a strange expression on his face, something the older man doesn’t really understand.

“Yeah, I am,” he says honestly, a small smile forming on his face. “A lot happier.” Mingi blushes a little, bafflingly, and averts his eyes, staring into his mostly empty mug.

“I’ve been happier, too,” he mumbles, sounding shy, and Yunho blinks at him in surprise. “Since you’ve been around,” Mingi adds, and he won’t make eye contact, won’t look up. Yunho doesn’t know what to say, so he just knocks his knee into the younger man’s gently, trying to coax him into looking up.

“I’m a good influence, obviously,” Yunho jokes, and Mingi finally raises his eyes, cheeks bright pink. The brunette can’t quite get his head around what the younger man is so embarrassed about, and he chuckles gently, rubbing Mingi’s thigh soothingly, instinctively.

“You are,” he insists, knocking his knee in return, visibly relaxing as Yunho pets him. “Thanks for being around, I guess,” he mumbles, still a bit shy, dropping his head onto the older man’s shoulder.

“You’re welcome, Min,” Yunho murmurs. He ignores the thrum of electricity under his skin, the heat crawling through his veins. He doesn’t even want to know what they mean.

Mingi leaves around 3 PM, and they don’t speak about it. They speak about almost everything else, but not that.

Yunho desperately avoids thinking about it, as much as he can, but it’s hard when he’s alone in his apartment and his bed still smells like Mingi.

He crawls back into bed, hugging the pillow like he can pretend it’s the other man and wonders when he got quite so pathetic.

It’s painful, really, the way his heart is desperately pounding when he thinks about Mingi, thinks about his lips against his own, thinks about the way his rings dug into the small of his back.

He knows it’s not like that, that he’s not got a chance, has no reason to hope, but his chest aches anyway. He feels guilty for taking advantage of Mingi’s confusion, his sexuality crisis, using him for his own selfish desires. He spirals down the thought trail until he’s scrolling through Mingi’s Instagram profile again, searching for a specific photo.

It’s been deleted.

He’s hovered on the photo enough to know exactly where it is on the profile page, knows where it should be, and it’s not there. He blinks, refreshing the page just in case. It’s definitely been deleted. He’s not sure what emotion he feels when the realisation sinks in, doesn’t know what his chest is doing, or why his stomach is flipping.

He’s about to close off his phone, about to try and distract himself with some video game that he doesn’t have to use much brain power for, when he gets a notification that he’s been tagged in a photo.

He clicks on it instantly.

It’s Wooyoung’s profile, photos of the group from various nights out, blurry shots of San with his pink face, laughing at the camera. Photos of Hongjoong flipping off the camera, photos of Yeosang and Seonghwa dancing, grinning at each other.

The fourth photo is of Yunho and Mingi.

Yunho is mid-laugh, pint in hand, semi-collapsed into Mingi’s shoulder as he giggles, eyes in crescents, teeth out. Mingi is looking down at him, face slightly in side profile, and he’s smiling, fond and soft, hand slung around his shoulders. The older man doesn’t understand the expression in Mingi’s eyes.

@wooyounggg_: losers /fond

@starhwa: cute! Sannie so pink bless him

• @wooyounggg_: he was so hungover the next day poor baby :( did have to laugh at him a tiny bit
• @starhwa: ur so mean to him, sannie come to me baby ill look after u
• @choi.san: hyung save me my boyfriend is so mean to meeee

@jutdwae: understand why junie was asking about hot guy lmao ! !

• @fixon_non: go away!!!! tell him to GO AWAY !!! leave yu alone! !
• @wooyounggg_: hes just too handsome for his own good
• @fixon_non: :(

Mingi's slightly possessive comment makes his heart flutter in his chest, wild and uncontrollable. He likes the photo and turns his phone off, too confused and hungover to deal with whatever emotions are whirling through him.

He tries to play some game on his Playstation, but he’s too distracted to focus on it properly, ending up aimlessly walking in circles on the screen instead of playing the game. He opens the photo again, saves it to his phone, feels weird and deletes it, and then saves it again, thoughts in complete turmoil as he wrestles with the horrible bubble that’s caught in his lungs.

He sleeps badly that night.

Things return to some vague form of normality for another handful of weeks, nearly a full month, long enough to lull Yunho into a false sense of security. Mingi still clings to him, still throws himself into the older man’s hands,

He also texts him, almost constantly. It starts slowly, little stupid memes with the messages ’thought of u lol’ and ‘us haha’. It’s endearing, to know that Mingi’s thinking of him, even if it is in the form of a gif of two smoking ducks nodding in sync, the caption saying ‘two dumb bitches telling each other exactly’. It’s the thought that counts.

But then it spirals, morning texts, texting under the table at work, distracted at lunch by Mingi’s messages. He finds himself laughing out loud at something the other man has said, alone in his apartment and has to put his phone flat on the table for a second to evaluate himself.

His crush is getting slightly out of hand.

It’s difficult when Mingi is so naturally affectionate and has taken to him so easily, clinging and sweet and kind. He’s dorky and handsome and cool all at once, some weird mix of the biggest loser he knows and the most breathtakingly beautiful. His habit of wearing sunglasses at night, inside, somehow looking like a model despite the fact it should be desperately uncool. His stupid socks and sliders, slapping on the floor as he scuffs his way along the floor, so irritating and endearing that Yunho wants to kiss him.

Yunho wants to kiss him, again.

He can’t stop thinking about it, actually. He’d semi-hoped that the alcohol would dampen the clarity of the memory, making it hard to recall the details. But it doesn’t, and Yunho remembers every second, almost in slow-mo.

It replays in excruciating detail in his brain as he tries to sleep, images of Mingi’s flushed cheeks, his spit-slick lips. The way he tasted. After the first week of replaying, his brain decides to fantasise a little further, imagining the feeling of cold rings pressing into his waist, smoothing down his stomach.

The first night his brain throws these images at him, he physically sits up to stop his thoughts from racing, feeling guilty and hot. By the third night, he’s pressing the heel of his hand against himself, hard in his pyjama pants, biting his bottom lip to stop himself groaning.

It’s embarrassing, how quickly his resolve breaks, how fast he goes from fighting it to falling directly into it.

It’s the fourth night when he completely gives up, pulling himself out of his pants, spitting in his hand, stroking himself. He pictures Mingi’s thick lips, a little swollen, a little pink. He thinks about those big wet eyes looking at him, begging. He wonders if Mingi would take it well, if he’d have to train him, guide him through it gently. He wonders what he’d sound like moaning Yunho’s name.

He cums so fast that it surprises him, choking over his moan, spurting all over his own stomach. He jerks a little in the aftershocks, and it doesn’t take long for the feeling of guilt to catch up with him. He wipes himself clean half-heartedly, tucks himself back in his trousers, and stares blankly at the ceiling.

His crush is getting very out of hand.

But then, Mingi decides to turn up at his apartment, and it somehow gets even worse.

It’s a Thursday, and Yunho’s washing dishes, playing music from his shitty speaker that needs to be plugged in all the time to work, no longer portable. He hums under his breath, distracted, when suddenly there’s a heavy knocking. It makes him jump, unprepared.

He opens the door a crack, confused, and as soon as he sees the puff of pink hair, he pulls it open fully. Because it’s Mingi.

“Hey,” he mumbles, and he looks a little shy. “Can I… Come hang out for a bit? My brain is…” he gestures vaguely.

“Sure,” Yunho says instantly, understanding, retreating into the apartment. “Do you want a tea?”

“Do you still have the strawberry aloe one?” Mingi asks, toeing off his shoes and shutting the door behind himself, locking it. “That slaps.”

“Ah yeah, I got some more yesterday,” he smiles, and Mingi smiles back, even though his eyes are a little red, a pinch of sadness to his expression. “Do you want to talk about it?”

It’s not like it’s unusual for Mingi to come over, for him to go see Mingi. In fact, they see each other several times a week, it’s just that the younger man usually texts him first, and it takes Yunho by surprise. Not that he minds, he thinks he could probably spend every second of every day with Mingi for the rest of his life and never get bored.

That thought strikes him hard, and he has to blink to get himself to focus on the situation at hand, stubbornly dodging it.

“How did you know you were gay?” Mingi blurts out, and then flushes, sinking into the sofa stiffly. “I mean, you don’t- I’m just…”

“It’s okay,” Yunho interrupts, quietly amused. He’s not offended, can read Mingi easily enough to know why he’s asking, to understand where his anxiety is spiralling from. He turns to put the kettle on. “I just…” he pauses, wondering how to explain it in a relatable way. “I kissed girls, and felt like, nothing really, it was fine, but I wasn’t like…” he searches for the word.

“Right?” Mingi suggests, and Yunho nods instantly.

“Yeah, it wasn’t right,” he agrees, “But then I kissed a guy, and all the things I thought I was going to feel at kissing someone for the first time, suddenly happened, and it was like, overwhelming? I guess?” He pours the boiling water into the mugs and carries them to the living room where Mingi’s sat on the sofa. He sits next to him instinctively.

“Overwhelming bad, or overwhelming good?” Mingi presses, reaching for his mug, cradling it to his chest.

“Good,” the brunette answers, placing his mug on the coffee table to cool. “Like, the first time I made out with a guy, I was just, rock hard, instantly,” he grins wonkily at Mingi, who snorts out a laugh, taken by surprise.

“Oh my God, Yunho,” Mingi grins back at him, the tension broken. It’s good to see the pink-haired man smile, to relax a bit on Yunho’s beat-up sofa.

“It was nice to know that I wasn’t like, broken or whatever, I just… Liked guys,” Yunho shrugs, leaning back into the sofa.

“Yeah, I can see that,” Mingi mumbles, still smiling. “So, you basically found out with your dick?” He teases, raising an eyebrow, and Yunho snorts, fond.

“Like a dowsing rod to water,” the brunette jokes, raising his eyebrows in return, and the pink-haired man dissolves into giggles, kicking Yunho’s thigh with his foot.

“Stupid,” Mingi gets out around his laughter, rolling his eyes. “Dumb.”

There’s a long beat of silence where the pink-haired man sips his tea, blowing on it to cool it down. Yunho shifts, turning to tuck his legs up, crossed-legged facing the other man.

“So… If, hypothetically,” Mingi starts suddenly, staring into his mug intently. “You get hard kissing girls and guys…” he mumbles. Yunho feels his heart stop for a second in his chest.

He doesn’t know which situation would be better, the idea that Mingi has kissed other guys since they did, who got him hard, or the idea that Mingi hasn’t kissed anyone else, and Yunho made him hard. Neither of those trains of thought feels like a great path to trip down, not right now.

“Bisexuality exists Min,” Yunho teases, to distract himself from his torrid thoughts, already desperate to start spiralling.

“Right, but like, what if I just… I think I like guys, and then I like, go to do something and just… Fuck it up, or do something stupid or don’t actually like them and then I’m just fucking some poor guy around an-“

“Woah,” Yunho interrupts, putting a hand on Mingi’s shoulder carefully, trying to calm him down. His eyes are darting around frantically, and he glances up at Yunho, looking nervous. “Min, you don’t have to be so stressed about this, it’s okay if you try it and don’t like it, it’s not the end of the world.”

“I want to try it.” he confirms, “I just don’t like being bad at stuff,” Mingi admits quietly, looking embarrassed.

“Being bad at stuff is the start of being kind of good at stuff,” the brunette says, shrugging, and Mingi gnaws on his bottom lip for a second.

“I… Would y-you…” Mingi starts, but then swallows, cutting himself off. “Sorry, it’s fine, I’m… God,” he shakes his head. He looks seconds from vibrating out of his skin.

“It’s okay, Min,” the brunette mumbles, slightly concerned. “Breathe though, ‘cause you’re worrying me.”

“Sorry,” Mingi whispers, breathing deeply. “I think I’ve been thinking too much.” His cheeks are a little pink when he looks up, eyes darting between Yunho’s eyes and lips. “Could you… Like, could we…” he struggles with his words. “I trust you.”

“I trust you too,” Yunho hears himself answering, wondering where this is going, wondering if he’s reading the room right. “What are you asking, Min?” Mingi visibly swallows, and places his mug on the coffee table, decisively.

“I want to blow you, please,” the pink-haired man says, eyes averted, hands trembling as he fiddles with his rings. “Like, teach me, a bit, I guess.” His eyes dart up to Yunho’s, big and hopeful, and the brunette feels himself nodding before his brain even catches up. It feels surreal, a bit like a fantasy brought to life, like any second he’s going to open his eyes and be staring at his own bedroom ceiling.

“Yeah, I can do that,” he murmurs, like it’s fine, cool, doesn’t make his heart beat painfully against his ribcage.

“I… I haven’t done this before, s-so don’t judge me,” Mingi mumbles, and then he slips between Yunho’s legs next to the sofa, kneeling. The brunette doesn’t know if he can stop the way his eyes widen.

“N-Now?” Yunho stutters and Mingi looks up at him from between his knees, blinking.

“Is that okay?” He asks, tilting his head slightly, and Yunho can’t stop the way he nods jerkily. Mingi smiles at him as he nods, and then looks at him for a long second. “W-What do I do?”

“Uh, like, well, usually there’s some kind of like, foreplay?” Yunho tries for a joke, doesn’t know if his voice quivers as he speaks, nudging Mingi with his knee softly. “Most people don’t just go straight for a blowjob.” Mingi nods seriously.

“Oh, right,” the man says, standing and sitting directly on Yunho’s lap, motions clumsy. “I-Is this okay? Can I… Kiss you again?” Yunho’s pulse thrums painfully under his skin, hot and cold all at once, hyper-aware of the way Mingi’s thighs are caging him in, the weight of him on his legs. He doesn’t know if he’s going to survive it.

“Yeah,” Yunho hears himself saying, brain too dazed to stop it falling out his mouth. “Go ahead, whatever you want.” It sounds as achingly pathetic as he feels, devotion leaking through the cracks of his voice. Whatever you want Mingi, take it all, even my heart.

“O-Okay,” Mingi leans in, and his lips are pressed against Yunho’s before he can gather his thoughts.

He tastes like cigarettes, familiar and intoxicating, like warm strawberry tea and plain lip balm. Mingi wiggles a little further forward on his lap, and the brunette steadfastly ignores the friction, doesn’t let his brain capture onto the sensation.

The pink-haired man’s big hand lifts, one falling easily on Yunho’s waist, gripping softly. The other cradles his jaw, and for once, Mingi’s not wearing his stupid chunky rings, and Yunho can feel the heat of his flesh pressing against his own. Mingi’s hands tremble as he holds him.

He nudges his tongue in, shy and gentle, and Yunho can’t stop himself from grabbing onto the back of Mingi’s shirt, pressing deeper. He lets Mingi lick into his mouth for a moment before he wrestles dominance back, insistent. The younger man yields with a quiet gasp, hands flexing for a second before grasping tighter.

Yunho doesn’t know what comes over him, but he can’t stop it, can’t stop the way he’s diving in, pressing himself closer. Mingi shifts down on his lap, squirming slightly, and Yunho gasps into his mouth unintentionally. They make out messily for a long time, Mingi accidentally grinding on him as he gets more visibly turned on, pressing his own hard-on against Yunho’s hip, like he wants to crawl into his skin.

It messes with Yunho’s mind, the way the younger man seems so desperate, so into it. It gives him false hope, just for a second, and he hates the way his chest aches with it.

“C-Can I blow you, now?” Mingi asks, and his voice quivers as he asks, breathless and shy. Yunho nods, silent, and the pink-haired man pulls away, lips already swollen and red. He slips back between the older man’s legs, pushing his knees apart slightly. He lifts a shaky hand to the waistband of Yunho’s sweatpants, glancing up at him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Yunho murmurs, lifting his hips a little so Mingi can pull them off. He pulls them down just enough for the brunette’s dick to pop out, slapping against his stomach with how hard he already is, and he has to avert his eyes. Mingi makes a strange noise in the back of his throat.

“D-Do I just, like, go for it?” He asks, and he sounds so endearingly nervous, so unsure.

“Like, uh,” Yunho is struggling to form coherent thoughts, let alone full sentences. “you can, like, lick and stuff first, like, use your hand as well, before…” He tries, and Mingi nods seriously, shuffling forward.

The first contact of Mingi’s big hand against his cock makes his pulse increase rapidly, even as he tentatively strokes him, grip loose and unsure. He dips down, glancing up at Yunho as he does, hot tongue licking a strip across the tip of his dick. The brunette grips his bottom lip between his teeth, hard.

“Yeah and, um, like, you probably can’t like, take all of it str-straight away,” he stumbles over his words as Mingi laps over him again, running his tongue up the shaft of his cock. “Like, what you can’t take you can use your ha-hand.”

Mingi doesn’t warn him before he takes him properly into his mouth, just the tip at first, like he’s trying it out. Then he goes down a little further, careful with his teeth, and Yunho gets the impression that he maybe knows more than he’s letting on.

He bobs his head a little, sinking slightly further down each time, before he hits his limit and gags a bit, pulling back.

“Shit,” he mumbles, blinking away the slight wetness in his eyes. “You’re big.” The comment is casual, but it catches Yunho off-guard, and he doesn’t know if he quite manages to stop the way he flushes hot, cheeks probably bright red.

He doesn’t get to answer in time, because Mingi is already leaning forward, taking Yunho back into his mouth. He drools a little bit, spit slipping out the corner of his mouth, dripping over his fingers that are wrapped around Yunho’s shaft. It takes every atom of willpower in Yunho’s body not to grab the back of his head.

“Fu-Fuck,” Yunho stutters, hand grasping into the sofa cushions next to him. “Yeah, like that,” he murmurs, “You’re doing good.” Mingi looks up at him, keeps eye contact as he moves, as he strokes him, seeking approval. It makes the chambers of Yunho’s heart constrict.

“Mmm?” Mingi asks, mouth full, and the vibrations of his voice make Yunho’s breath catch, muscles tightening with the way the heat of it all is pooling in the pit of his stomach.

“Yeah, you’re doing good, yo-you can go a bit faster,” he says quietly, watching carefully as Mingi takes him. The realisation that no one else has seen this, that he’s Mingi’s first, hits him with a sudden heat, and he trembles slightly.

Mingi’s spare hand stays on Yunho’s thigh, keeping his legs apart, even with the way he’s between them, pushing them with his body. It’s a little messy, a lot of saliva, and his rhythm is uneven, but the pink-haired man watches him the whole time, eyes wide, and it drives Yunho insane.

He looks pornographic, thick lips stretched around his cock, hair flopping in his eyes as he blinks up wetly at Yunho.  

“Shit,” Yunho whispers, mostly to himself, hands flexing mindlessly. “You’re doing so good baby, fuck,” he feels out of body, completely insane, and Mingi’s eyes flutter for a second before his hand falls from Yunho’s thigh. He watches as the man drops his hand, pressing his palm against himself, hard, moaning at the sensation.

The realisation that Mingi’s hard, horny as he blows Yunho, shoots through him with such intensity that he almost whimpers, head falling back against the sofa. He can’t watch unless he wants to blow his load in three seconds, so highly strung from the sensations.

“Y-You don’t have to… Fuck, Mingi, you don’t have to make me cum,” he mumbles, reaching for Mingi’s cheek, reaching to guide him off. He pulls off with a pout, hand still between his own legs. Yunho tries his hardest to ignore it.

“I want to,” Mingi says, like it’s that simple, that normal, and the brunette blinks at him for a second before he realises that he can’t say no to the younger man, even if it kills him.

“Ar-Are you sure?” Yunho asks, and Mingi just nods easily, before he reaches back, intention obvious.

“Can I?” He asks, and Yunho nods stiffly, hand drifting up to the baby-pink strands, scratching his fingers against Mingi’s scalp habitually. His eyes flutter again, and he dives back in with renewed enthusiasm.

It’s an embarrassingly short few minutes before Yunho feels like he’s threads away from cumming, watching dazedly as Mingi moans quietly around his cock, palms himself, lips stretched obscenely, wet with spit and precum.

“M-Min, I’m gonna cum,” he warns, and Mingi just keeps eye contact, still moving, and it almost looks like he’s begging with his eyes.

Yunho groans, pulling slightly on the younger man’s hair, and Mingi’s eyebrows furrow, back arching slightly as he moans again. It only takes a few more strokes before Yunho is careening into his orgasm, panting as he trembles, cumming into Mingi’s mouth.

The waves of heat roll through him, making his muscles pulse with it, and he shivers with the scorching pleasure that crashes through him. Mingi’s eyelids flutter prettily as he takes it, and he pulls off after a few moments, a string of saliva connecting his bottom lip to the tip of Yunho’s cock. He laps over the head of his cock for a long second, swallowing his release naturally, and Yunho watches him with wide eyes.

“Fuck,” Yunho whispers and Mingi suddenly flushes, eyes darting around the other man’s face. “You’re good at that,” he mumbles, and the pink-haired man snorts out a laugh.

“I watch a lot of porn, I guess,” he shrugs and leans back on his heels. Yunho sees that Mingi’s still hard in his own sweatpants, obvious through the grey material, and he wonders where the boundaries are, wonders when they got so blurry and difficult to negotiate. “Was it okay?” he asks, shy again, and Yunho’s dick tries valiantly to get hard again.

“Shit, yeah of course, Min,” he taps Mingi’s chin softly, trying to get him to look up. “Can I…” he whispers, and swallows, throat dry. “Can I return the favour?” Mingi’s head snaps up to his, cheeks bright red. He searches Yunho’s eyes for a second, before he nods, shakily.

“Y-Yeah, if… If you want to,” he whispers back and shuffles awkwardly on his knees. “Wh-Where do you want me?”

“Let’s swap,” Yunho mumbles, shuffling to pull his sweats up, to move out of the way so Mingi can sit on the sofa. He does so, and Yunho falls between his legs easily. The pink-haired man watches him closely, swollen lip tucked between his teeth, nibbling lightly. He looks so nervous, cheeks so flushed as he looks down at Yunho.

“You’re sure?” Mingi asks croakily, and the brunette nods, fingers dipping into the waistband of Mingi’s sweats.

“Can I start?” he murmurs, and Mingi nods jerkily, leaning so Yunho can pull his pants down to his thighs. The brunette is surprised, a little, at the way Mingi’s cock is so hard, already damp from where he’s been leaking into his boxers.

“S-Shit,” he mumbles under his breath, almost as pink as his hair, averting his eyes. Yunho laps at the precum with his tongue, and Mingi’s breath catches in his throat at the sensation. The older man glances up, watching as the younger man takes his bottom lip into his teeth, eyebrows furrowed as he watches Yunho sink onto his cock. “Fu-Fuck.”

Yunho isn’t shy to admit he shows off a little bit. If he’s only getting one chance to blow Song Mingi, he’s going to try hard it. He lets saliva drip over his weeping tip, rubs his tongue over the length of it, tracing the veins. Mingi’s big, but Yunho’s done this enough times to know his way around a larger cock, and he takes most of the pink-haired man into his mouth easily.

“Holy s-shit,” Mingi gasps out, and Yunho blinks at him innocently, tightening the suction of his mouth as he moves. “Fuck, fuck, fee-feels good, fuck,” he chants out, breathless, and Yunho is endeared by his inability to stay quiet, hands gripping hard into the sofa next to him.

It a wild wave of confidence, Yunho reaches for Mingi’s hand, guiding it to his hair. The pink-haired man takes a second before he actually grips on, but as Yunho speeds up his rhythm, it clenches tighter.

“Fuck, Yu, fucking Christ,” he mutters, and he gently pushes at the back of Yunho’s head, encouraging him further. “Fuck, you take it so well,” he murmurs, and Yunho feels his dick twitch in his sweatpants. He pushes a bit further, watching Yunho’s face closely, but when the brunette only raises an eyebrow at him, slightly taunting, he starts guiding him properly.

It feels good, the way his big hand is clutched in his hair, moving his head for him, making him take it. Yunho barely has a gag reflex, easily swallowing Mingi down, and the man trembles under him, where his hand is pressed on his thigh. He moves him up and down his cock for an unknown amount of time, and Yunho’s too entranced by his expressions and noises to keep track of how minutes pass.

He's vocal, babbling praises, and it’s so achingly Mingi that it makes the brunette’s veins burn with it. His blood feels bruising as it runs through him.  

“God, fu-fuck, Yunho, you’re so good, shit,” he groans, breathing fast as he gets close, and Yunho watches him the whole time, hypnotised. His abdominal muscles flutter, thighs trembling, and the brunette can’t peel his eyes away.

“Fu-Fuck, Yunho, fuck, fuck,” he gets out around his shaky breaths, “C-Cumming, fuck, Y-Yunho,” and his head falls back against the sofa as his hips jerk, pushing himself further down Yunho’s throat. “God, fuck,” he chokes, spurting cum into the older man’s mouth, down his throat. The brunette swallows carefully, catching the little drip that escapes his mouth with his tongue. Mingi’s chest is still heaving as he looks down at him, eyes wide. “Holy shit.”

“You okay?” Yunho mumbles and his voice sounds a bit rough, a bit dry. Mingi flushes slightly but nods instantly.

“Yeah, fuck, like, fucking hell,” he stumbles over his words, and his eyes dart around Yunho’s face. The brunette raises an eyebrow, bemused, and Mingi blinks a few times before he giggles, shuffling to pull his trousers up and pull Yunho up onto the sofa. “God, that was insane.”

“Insane in a good way or in a bad way?” Yunho asks, even as Mingi tucks himself against the brunette’s chest. The pink-haired man chuckles, getting comfortable, pulling the blanket off the back of the sofa to drape over them.

“Good way,” Mingi mumbles, blinking sleepily, “Thanks Yu.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” he mumbles back, letting Mingi reach for the TV remote, and settle across his lap.

“Okay, then I won’t,” Mingi jokes, poking into the brunette’s side, ticklish. Yunho pokes his stomach right back, snorting as the pink-haired man finds some anime to put on, obviously more interested in taking a nap than actually watching it. “You’ll like this, I think,” he mumbles, and Yunho feels vaguely like a toddler being distracted so a parent can sleep in peace.

Yunho falls asleep halfway through the second episode.

Yunho knows he’s truly fucked when Wooyoung accosts him. He should have seen the trap laid out for him, should have considered why Wooyoung was asking him specifically to help him construct flat-pack furniture. But now he’s stuck in a room - exit blocked by wardrobe doors that have yet to be attached to the furniture - with the younger man, alone and unable to escape his questions.

“So, you and Mingi…” he starts, struggling with some screws and a hinge that Yunho doesn’t quite understand the anatomy of. “Seem close.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Yunho tries his best to keep his voice neutral, already concerned about where this conversation is going, already irritated by the way he keeps hitting his thumb as he tries to hammer tiny nails into the stupid backboard of the wardrobe. “Is that… Bad?”

“No!” Wooyoung says instantly, waving his screwdriver around for emphasis. “It’s interesting though, Mingi isn’t always the most sociable I guess,” he explains, squinting as he wrestles the hinge back into where it’s popped out of place. “I think you’re good for him.”

“Me?” Yunho asks, raising his eyebrows, taken aback. If anything, he feels the opposite is true but explaining that would mean explaining several situations that he’s desperate not to let Wooyoung catch wind of. “Why?”

“He comes out a lot more, he blocked Arin – fucking finally,” he gets the hinge in place and sits back on his heels, looking up at Yunho. “He seems happier.”

“Oh, that’s…” Yunho doesn’t know what it is. He doesn’t understand the brutal knot of emotions that keeps growing and growing in his stomach, wrapping around his ribs. “That’s nice.”

“Do you like him?” the younger man asks bluntly, reaching to grab his bottle of water. Yunho is glad the other man’s eyes are averted because it gives him a second to wrestle his expression back into something neutral.

“He’s cool, yeah, of course, I like him, he’s my friend,” Yunho mumbles, smacking the nail a little too loudly. “Everyone likes Mingi.”

“Well, yeah,” Wooyoung agrees, rolling his eyes. “But do you like Mingi?” Yunho can’t hide the way his eyes widen for a second, the way his eyes snap up to Wooyoung’s, the way his ears burn. The younger man takes in his expression, raising an eyebrow.

“N-No,” Yunho lies, badly, and the dark-haired man barks out a laugh, looking disbelieving.

“Yunho, that was terrible, at least try to lie better,” Wooyoung scolds him, and the brunette pouts instinctively.

“No, I don’t like Mingi,” he tries again, and the younger man rolls his eyes, throwing his water bottle back onto the bed.

“You’re a terrible liar,” he mutters, reaching for the next hinge. “So, like, are you doing anything about that?” He asks, and Yunho sighs, hammering in the last nail to give himself a few seconds before he has to answer. He puts the hammer down, reaches for his water, shrugs.

“No, I don’t think so,” he says, trying to at least sound casual, bringing his knees up to his chest. “It’s complicated.”

“How?” Wooyoung asks, raising his eyebrows. “Unless there is something you aren’t telling me, it’s literally not complicated in any way.”

“Wh-What?” Yunho chokes on his water, and he knows his ears are burning hot. “What would I not be telling you?” his eyes dart around Wooyoung’s face, and his eyebrows rise higher.

“I don’t know Yunho, what would you not be telling me?” He presses, staring at him intently like he’s tracking the brunette’s facial expression for any slight crack. Yunho squirms a little under his gaze.

“Wekissedtheotherday,” he blurts out, and Wooyoung’s eyes widen even larger.

“Did you just say you kissed?” the younger man checks, hinges forgotten, screwdriver lost in the debris of furniture parts and packaging. “What the fuck, when? Why?”

“Like, last month, he said he wanted to see if he liked kissing guys, was confused about it a bit, I guess, said he wanted to do it with someone he trusted,” Yunho whispers, face bright red. He can’t believe he’s saying it, can’t believe the words are falling out of his mouth. He glances up at Wooyoung, “Please don’t tell anyone.”

“Oh my god, no, I’m not going to say anything,” Wooyoung promises, looking genuinely concerned at the sadness on Yunho’s face. “So, he’s using you as an experiment?” the younger asks, eyebrows furrowed.

“I had like, so many opportunities to back out,” Yunho moans into his knees. “But I just… Fucking, like him so much and I just said yes, and God,” Wooyoung hand shocks him when it lands on his shoulder, didn’t realise he was clambering over the chaos of the bedroom to come to sit next to him.

“Just, don’t say yes next time Yunho, that’s not fair on you,” the younger man says, suddenly serious. Yunho glances up at him guiltily, chewing on his bottom lip. “Yunho…” Wooyoung sounds unsurprised, but disappointed.

“He asked if I could teach him how to blow a guy,” Yunho whispers, and the dark-haired man grips his shoulder hard.

“And you said ‘No, Mingi, because my feelings for you will complicate things’, right?” Wooyoung says, shaking him slightly. “Didn’t you?” His eyes look wild, like he’s desperate to hear that Yunho made the sensible decision.

“I said yes,” Yunho admits into his own hands, hiding his face as best he can. “And I blew him, after.”

“Fucking hell, Yunho,” Wooyoung mutters, and he hears the thud of the man’s head hitting the wall next to him, obviously leaning next to him in defeat. “You have to tell him, either that you can’t do it anymore, or that you like him, or… Something,” he sounds stressed on Yunho’s behalf, which would be endearing if it wasn’t deeply embarrassing.

“I know,” Yunho whines and Wooyoung sighs.

“Seriously though, are you sure you’re okay? That’s kind of…” he trails off, trying to find a way to describe it without upsetting Yunho any further.

“I know it’s fucked up,” Yunho mutters, hitting his head against his knees with a thump. “He’s just so fucking likeable, I tried so hard not to like him,” he whines, and Wooyoung pats his back gently.

“I don’t think that’s quite how it works, Yu,” he murmurs, “but you really should talk to him.” He lifts his head to pout at Wooyoung, who just shrugs, like he doesn’t know what else to say.

“Yeah I… I know,” Yunho rubs his face harshly, blinking hard. “I will, I just, don’t say anything, please, I’ll work it out,” he begs, and Wooyoung turns to him, looking sympathetic.

“Yeah, I know you will, I’ll keep my mouth shut, don’t worry,” he murmurs, nudging his shoulder into Yunho’s arm affectionately. “But I think you should tell him you like him.”

“Right,” Yunho mumbles, rolling his eyes. “Well, I’ll figure something out, anyway.”

“How are you still in here?” San calls through the door, interrupting them, struggling loudly with the handle. “I’ve been out for four hours; I thought it was a two-hour build?”

“Shit,” Wooyoung swears, standing up. “We’re like so close to done, babe,” he lies, glancing around at the chaos of the room. “Give us like half an hour!” Yunho hears San laugh from the other side of the wood, followed by his retreating footsteps.

Wooyoung, luckily, gets distracted by assembling the furniture, and Yunho escapes any further questioning.

In Yunho’s defence, he does talk to Mingi. In fact, he talks to him every day, multiple times a day usually, and they stay over at each other’s places so often that Mingi has a spare toothbrush at Yunho’s, and vice versa. It’s sickeningly domestic, makes the violent tangle of devotion and guilt that’s crawling around Yunho’s ribcage grow, lets it start to root, embedding itself in the older man’s marrow.

But he doesn’t talk to Mingi.

Wooyoung sticks to his word, he doesn’t bring it up in front of anyone, and Yunho doesn’t hear any whispers of rumours in the group. Wooyoung does, however, occasionally send Yunho photos.

The first time it happens, Yunho is confused, replies to the image with a series of question marks. It’s Mingi and Yunho walking to the convenience store, Wooyoung’s obviously run ahead to take their photo, asking them to smile, but the pink-haired man hasn’t looked in time, is still gazing at Yunho.

The brunette can’t place where he’s seen that look in Mingi’s eyes before.

Wooyoung replies three minutes later with a message that simply says, ‘I thought you should see it :)’. Yunho doesn’t feel any less confused.

Yunho has the intention to say no, the next time Mingi asks. The intention, but not the willpower, because the pink-haired man shyly asks about being fingered, and Yunho finds himself two fingers deep in Mingi before he even has the thought that maybe he shouldn’t be doing this again.

Mingi pants so prettily under him, arm thrown over his eyes as his chest rises and falls, breathing fast. Yunho doesn’t even notice his own cock, rock hard in his pyjama pants, aching from the lack of attention.

“Y-Yun, fuck,” Mingi whimpers, clutching into the sheet next to him blindly, hips jerking mindlessly. “C-Can I have another?” he asks, so politely, and Yunho draws blood from the way he bites into his bottom lip. The pink-haired man is flushed, all down his chest, up his neck, so shy and squirmy that Yunho wants to devour him. His cock is leaking uselessly against his stomach, twitching whenever the brunette hits his prostate dead on.

“Of course, baby,” Yunho grits out, hoping his voice sounds more stable than he feels. “You’re doing so good,” he adds, thoughtlessly, and Mingi moans, head falling back, thighs trembling.

“Pl-Please, fuck, please,” he begs, and it’s so hot, it makes Yunho feel like he’s burning from the inside out. He adds another finger carefully, massaging gently, and Mingi lets out a shaky whine, chest heaving. “Pl-Please, please, c-close, oh, fu-fuck, Yunho, please.”

“It’s okay Min, relax baby, I’ve got you,” he soothes, reaching with his other hand to stroke the younger man’s big cock, drooling and hot in his hand. He’s so hard it must be painful, and Yunho can feel the heat coming off it as he strokes him slowly. “You’re doing so good, such a good boy,” he hears himself speaking, out of body, and he watches in awe as Mingi chokes over a moan. He spurts out cum over Yunho’s fingers, gasping through it, mouth stuck open as he trembles under the brunette’s hands.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chants, and it takes him a few seconds before his muscles appear to unlock, slumping back into the mattress. “Fucking hell, what the fuck.”

“What the fuck good or what the fuck bad?” Yunho asks, slowly removing his fingers, reaching for his abandoned shirt, wiping his hand and Mingi’s stomach. The pink-haired man snorts out an amused little laugh, looking at Yunho with a stupid grin on his face.

“Good, what the fuck good.”

The next time Wooyoung sends a photo, Mingi is at his apartment, lying flat on his floor to ease his back off, complaining about being old before his time. Yunho mostly ignores him, occasionally nudging his thigh with his foot, playing Spiderman on his PlayStation. His phone buzzes, and Mingi groans.

“Who text you?” he mumbles, sitting up, rubbing his lower back. “You have friends other than me?” Yunho snorts, nudging his socked foot gently into Mingi’s chest. He grabs the arch of his foot and pretends to bite it, which makes Yunho giggle, pausing his game.

“Dunno,” he mumbles, reaching for it, “oh, Wooyoung,” he frowns, opening his phone, squinting at the message. “God, he’s being so weird at the moment,” and Mingi leans closer, trying to read over his shoulder.

“What?” Mingi asks, shuffling closer, leaning against Yunho’s thigh. “Is that us?”

“Yeah, he sent me one the other day of us walking to the store, and now this one, it’s giving stalker,” he jokes, and Mingi snorts, reaching to click the photo, making it bigger.

It’s from the last time they all went out as a group, some basement venue that a friend of Mingi’s had been DJing at. It had been ridiculously cramped, both him and Mingi struggling with the height of the beams. Yunho didn’t even notice Wooyoung taking this photo.

They’re dancing together, bodies so close that only a tiny crack of neon light shines between them, green strobes illuminating them. Mingi is watching Yunho’s face, and he’s grinning wide, looking fond as the brunette sings loudly in his face. It’s a nice photo, cute, but Yunho doesn’t understand. He sighs.

“I don’t get it,” he mumbles, mostly to himself, and Mingi raises an eyebrow at him.

“What’s to get, he probably just thought you wanted a nice photo with your best friend or whatever,” Mingi dismisses easily, lifting himself to slump onto the sofa. The words best friend ring through Yunho’s brain, echoing on repeat for a few long seconds. He doesn’t know what to feel, something between flattery and horrible grief fighting inside him.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Yunho says eventually, saving the photo to his files. Mingi laughs, wrestling his phone off him. The brunette doesn’t put up a fight, lets it slip out his hand, and Mingi flicks through something before tapping decisively.

“There, now you can be reminded of me every time you open your phone,” he says, thrusting the device back into Yunho’s hand, looking pleased with himself. “You’re so welcome.”

Yunho wakes his phone up, unsurprised to see that Mingi has set his lock screen to the photo Wooyoung sent, a little more cropped in, a little closer to their faces. He grins the best he can, even as his heart does something strange and painful in his chest.

“Cute,” he murmurs, and Mingi smiles before flopping back, reaching for his own phone to scroll mindlessly.

Yunho promises himself that the next time he will say no.

“It’s probably not that different from fingering a girl,” he hears himself saying, as Mingi’s eyes dart over his face.

“Have you fingered a girl?” He asks, sounding weird, and Yunho shakes his head, sipping his cheap, disgusting beer and shrugging. He doesn’t want to know why Mingi’s voice sounds different, a bit tight around the edges.

“I’m just guessing,” he mumbles, tucking his legs under himself on Mingi’s sofa. He keeps his eyes on the repainted wall around the window, the slightly newer paint than that around it. It keeps his heart from trying to beat itself out of his chest.

“Teach me?” Mingi whispers, and he’s too close on the sofa, his thigh is pressed flush against Yunho’s, bare under his baseball shorts. “I… Can I try fingering you?”

“Do you even have lube, here?” the brunette asks, not sure which answer would be better for his racing thoughts, his constricting stomach. Mingi snorts, butting his knee against Yunho’s softly.

“Yeah,” he says, with no explanation, “So, can I?”

“Fine,” Yunho agrees before his brain catches up with him, before he remembers the promise he made to himself. “Can we move to a bed or something though?”

“Sure,” Mingi agrees instantly, standing, and Yunho doesn’t even need to ask if he means right now, because his movements are obvious. He takes another deep gulp of beer, trails Mingi to his bedroom, and wonders why the air feels thick and difficult to inhale.

He keeps his eyes on the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling, desperate not to see the pink-haired man between his legs, pushing his thighs apart with his hands, rings cold and biting against his sensitive skin.

“Rings off, probably?” Yunho doesn’t sound as certain as he hoped he would, and Mingi blinks at him for a second before the command registers, and he’s shuffling to deposit his rings on the bedside table. The clinking of the metal onto the wood isn’t distracting enough to pull Yunho out of his own head.

“Does it always feel as good as when you did it, or are you just good at it?” Mingi asks, once his hands are bare and he’s back between his legs. Yunho laughs, despite himself, and looks down, taking in the pink-haired man’s wonky smile, the way he’s rubbing his thumb over Yunho’s inner thigh.

“I’ve had practice, I guess,” he mumbles, and he doesn’t want to read into the expression that flits over Mingi’s face at that statement. “Just go slow.”

“Right,” Mingi murmurs, and then he’s nudging a lubed finger against Yunho’s entrance, pressing lightly. “Tell me if I fuck this up.”

“You won’t, probably,” Yunho says, and the pink-haired man snorts even as his finger starts slipping inside.

“The confidence you have in me is inspiring,” he sounds amused, slowly working his way into Yunho’s hole. “Oh weird.” He mumbles to himself.

“Weird?” Yunho parrots, slightly offended, sitting up on his elbows so he can look down at Mingi, who glances up at him, eyes wide.

“No I don’t mean, you’re weird, I mean, it’s weird, feels different than I was expecting,” he explains, obviously trying not to laugh, “Shut up, let me finger you.”

“Fine, whatever,” Yunho pouts, flopping back onto the pillows. “You can move.”

Mingi does as he’s told, slowly moving his finger in and out, and it’s a little clumsy and awkward, enough that Yunho can distract himself by staring directly at the ceiling.

“Where’s the… Thing,” Mingi mutters, exploring with his finger, twisting his wrist strangely. “This is harder than you made it out to be.” He pouts, and he removes himself, shuffling to push Yunho’s legs up further.

“I’ll take that as a compliment, I guess,” Yunho rolls his eyes, grabbing the back of his own legs to help Mingi a little. “You have to crook your fingers a little, like, upwards,” he explains, and the pink-haired man nods seriously, adding more lube to his digits, rubbing two fingers against Yunho’s hole.

“Is two okay?” He asks, and Yunho nods, eyes back up to the weak glow of the plastic stars. Mingi nudges his fingers in, slowly, carefully. “Upwards?”

“Yeah,” the brunette mumbles, hates that he notices himself already half-hard against his stomach. “Like you’re beckoning something.” Mingi snorts at the description but does as he says, and Yunho has to bite on his bottom lip to stop the little gasp that tries to worm out of him.

“There?” Mingi asks, prodding with a little more pressure. Yunho swallows dryly, nodding.

“Yeah, like, kind of,” he readjusts his grip on his own thighs, “but like, further up?” he tries, and Mingi’s eyebrows furrow, a sliver of tongue poking out as he focuses. He searches with his digits, shorter than Yunho’s but thicker, and the stretch of his walls around the man’s fingers feels good, especially as he brushes hard against his prostate. He chokes out a gasp, hands gripping hard.

“Oh, there?” Mingi asks, glancing up at him, looking pleased, and Yunho can barely nod properly, his fingers still massaging his bundle of nerves gently. “Oh yeah, it feels like, a different texture.”

“Y-Yeah,” Yunho manages, even as he tries to control the way his breathing is speeding up, the way his heart is pattering in his chest. “It’s not like, al-always exactly the same, b-but it’s around th-there,” he stutters, ignoring the way Mingi is watching him as he struggles over his words. He throws his head back, and closes his eyes, embarrassed by the way he’s hardened up instantly, sparks of heat licking up his spine, pooling in his gut.

“It moves?” Mingi asks, sounding confused, and Yunho chokes out a weak little laugh, endeared despite everything.

“N-No, loser, I mean, fu-fuck,” he interrupts himself with a choked-off little gasp. “In different people and stuff, fuck, God,” he moves his head to the side so he can at least try and hide in the pillows.

“Oh, right,” Mingi mutters, and his voice sounds weird again, tension that Yunho doesn’t understand. “Feels good though?” He asks, sounding shy.

“Y-Yeah, you’re do-doing good, Min, feels good,” he reassures, keeping his eyes squeezed firmly shut. “You can add an-another.”

“Right,” the younger man grabs the lube, clumsily squirting some onto his fingers, still half inside. It’s cold, and Yunho shivers with it, thighs trembling.

“Fuck, cold,” he grumbles, and Mingi catches his eye, glancing from his stretched hole to his face. He doesn’t know where he’d prefer the other man to look.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, pushing his third finger in, a little messily, catching on the way in. “Sorry,” he repeats and rubs his thumb on Yunho’s perineum soothingly. “Okay?”

“Y-Yeah,” Yunho whispers, squeezing his eyes shut again, unable to look at the man fingering him, pressing maddeningly against his prostate. “Good.”

“Mm,” the pink-haired man hums, “Can you cum like this?” he asks, and Yunho nods jerkily, tightening his hold on his own legs, pulling them further to his chest. He feels like if he lets go, he’s going to float away, the heat inside him growing and licking through him rapidly.

“Y-You don’t have to-“ Yunho starts, but Mingi shuffles closer, leaning his weight on one of the brunette man’s thighs.

“Want to,” he interrupts, speeding his fingers up a bit. Yunho can’t answer him, too busy holding on for dear life, fighting against the way his muscles are trembling with the feeling, the fire spreading in his veins. It builds quickly, especially now he can feel the weight of Mingi pressed against him, keeping him in place.

“S-Shit,” Yunho pants, can’t stop the way he’s squirming. “M-Min, fuck, shit.”

“Close?” Mingi asks, and when the brunette peels open his eyes, he’s watching his face closely, something strange in his eyes. “You’re squeezing my fingers, baby,” he mutters, and his voice is thick, rough. Yunho whimpers pathetically, unable to tear his eyes away from the way Mingi is biting his bottom lip, eyes dark as he watches him.

“C-Close,” he stutters, and he can feel the way he’s drooling precum all over his stomach, cock damp against his fluttering abdominal muscles. “Fuck, pl-please, shit, Min,” he chants, can’t keep the pathetic little noises from falling out his mouth. “Please, please.” Mingi leans in, keeps moving his fingers, presses his forehead against Yunho’s gently.

“I’ve got you Pup,” he murmurs, pressing a paradoxically soft kiss against his lips. Yunho can barely get himself to respond, so close that his jaw aches, muscles tight and shaking as he careens closer and closer to the edge. “You’re so good, you’re so good.”

“M-Min, fuck, fuck,” Yunho pants into Mingi’s mouth, leaning closer, seeking touch. “G-Gonna cum, please,” he says mindlessly, and the pink-haired man doesn’t answer, just bridges the gap between their lips and kisses him deeply, desperately.

Yunho cums with such intensity that he has to grab onto the back of Mingi’s shirt, sobbing over a pathetic moan as he shoots his release all over his stomach, untouched. His ears ring, the waves of it completely taking him by surprise, so hot and sudden that he can barely catch his breath.

“So good, you’re doing so good,” Mingi murmurs, slowing his fingers down, helping him through the aftershocks. “Good job Pup, well done,” he whispers, thumb stroking softly, fingers stilling.

“Fu-Fuck, fuck,” Yunho pants out, head falling back into the pillows limply. “Shit.”

Mingi chuckles as he removes his fingers, wiping his sticky fingers on the sheets, and Yunho grimaces at him.

“I’ll wash them tomorrow,” he dismisses, and falls into the space next to Yunho on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. “Was that okay?” he murmurs, and Yunho doesn’t understand how he still sounds shy, unsure.

“Yeah, you’re a quick learner,” Yunho mumbles, sitting up with a wince. “I need a shower.”

“Mm, I think there are fresh towels in the dryer,” Mingi says quietly, still looking at the ceiling, sounding distracted. Yunho decides against pressing it, stumbling a little as he gets off the bed.

“Right,” the older man says, for something to say, not liking the weird tension in the room, the strange expression on Mingi’s face. “Okay, be right back.”

“Yeah, sure,” the man says, and he tries for a smile, not quite reaching his eyes. “I’ll order some food.”

The third time Wooyoung sends a photo, Yunho turns up on the younger man’s doorstep sweating.

He knocks hard on the door, and there is the sound of a raised voice inside the flat before San pulls open the door, blinking at him in surprise.

“Hello?” He says, looking confused, a little guilty, like he’s worried he’s forgotten something. “Are we… Doing something tonight?”

“No, I need to talk to Wooyoung, like right now, or I’m going to physically explode on your doormat,” Yunho blurts out, and the shorter man’s eyes widen. Wooyoung appears behind him, pulling at the back of his shirt.

“Let him in, Sannie, come on,” he coaxes, and San steps out of the way, gesturing Yunho in easily. He makes some cups of tea, glancing at the older man’s face worriedly, sending Wooyoung questioning glances.

“Why are you sending me these?” Yunho whines pathetically, shoving his phone into the younger man’s face, and San’s eyebrows shoot up, obviously confused. “Have you told San?”

“You told me not to tell anyone!” Wooyoung protests and the bulkier man glances between them rapidly, appearing lost.

“I kind of just assume you guys are a two-for-one thing,” Yunho mutters, locking his phone, and taking the mug from San. “Thanks,” he mumbles, blowing on his tea. “But not the point, why are you sending me pictures of Mingi looking at me.”

“Oh, the ridiculous fond eyes?” San asks, bafflingly, “Like that one he posted on Instagram?”

“What?” Yunho’s voice is high with confusion. “What did he post on Instagram? When?” Wooyoung snorts, amused.

“He’s got fond eyes in the past three posts he’s shared on there,” he dismisses, like this isn’t soul-shattering information. “I’m just adding in the ones I’ve been managing to capture. I think Yeosang probably has a couple too, I could ask him to send them across if you want.”

“What?” Yunho asks again, like it’s the only word in his vocabulary. “I wasn’t tagged in these photos?” His brain hurts, feels too wrung out to make coherent thoughts. He scrambles for his phone. “Why didn’t he tag me?”

“I’d be embarrassed too, to be fair,” Wooyoung mutters, but Yunho’s too engrossed to reply, navigating to Mingi’s profile easily.

There are two new posts that Yunho hasn’t seen, and he clicks on the older one first. His heart almost stops in his chest when he sees the first image, breath caught in his throat.

They’re leaning into each other, Yunho’s blatantly mid-rant, eyes wide and glancing to the side as he gestures with his hand. Mingi’s ring-laden digits are softly placed on his thigh, looking at him intently, like he’s enraptured by what Yunho is saying. He’s smiling, something in his eyes, warm and gentle, and Yunho’s heart squeezes painfully in his chest. The other photos are just of the venue, of the streetlights, and no other photos of the group are included. There’s no one else that the caption could be about.

@fixon_non: soft spot

@ junieyeon: begging you to stop gatekeeping and share his number. on my knees actually.

• @fixon_non: i will bite you fuck off
• @wooyounggg_: ur possessiveness is showing bestie chill
• @fixon_non: you can fuck off as well actually

@choi.san: the way u’ve literally cropped me out of this photo :( just say you hate me I guess damn

• @fixon_non: don’t hate u </3 let me cook god damn
• @choi.san: what are you cooking?

@starhwa: im staring at you very hard right now through my phone.

• @fixon_on: GO AWAY
• @no1likeme: I’m also staring at you. Can you feel it?
• @fixon_on: FUCK OFF FUCK OFF LEAVE ME ALONE

“I’m so confused,” Yunho mumbles, flicking the comments away so he can scroll to the other new photo, and San raises his eyebrows at him. Wooyoung sighs, sipping his tea loudly and dramatically.

The next post is somehow worse.

It’s three photos of Yunho in a row. The caption makes his heart seize in his chest.

@fixon_on: my soulmate.

The first photo is of him on the fire escape outside his flat, he can see the smudge of smoke in the corner of the photo, obviously from Mingi’s cigarette. He’s sipping his mug, eyes squinted in crescents as he laughs, framed against the orange of the sky.

The second photo is of him, drunk and flushed, leaning over the table to try and grab the phone that Mingi is holding. Their hands are interlinked on the top of the surface, not the main subject of the photo but plainly in sight, chunky rings against his thinner, longer fingers.

The third photo is the one that completely shatters his heart, sends debris ricocheting around his chest.

It’s a photo of him asleep, curled up against Mingi’s chest. It’s taken at a strange angle, a little blurry, but the soft lights of Yunho’s room light up the plains of his face, reflecting in the pink-haired man’s rings. His hand is resting, soft, against Yunho’s brunette hair, cradling him. Protective. Possessive.

“What the fuck, what the fuck,” Yunho mutters, mostly to himself, and Wooyoung snorts, amused.

“Do you get it yet?” He asks, and the brunette man looks up at him with wide eyes. He wonders if he looks as pathetic as he feels.

“Why are you freaking out?” San sounds baffled, tilting his head. “You look good.” Yunho blinks at him, confused. How he looked in the photos didn’t even cross his mind, and he stares at him for a long second.

“I don’t think…” Wooyoung starts, but Yunho interrupts him by accident.

“I taught him how to finger a guy,” he blurts, locking his phone and placing it flat on the table so he doesn’t have to look at his stupid lock screen, look at the stupid post. “And fingered him.”

“Oh,” San says, eyes widening, and Wooyoung’s eyebrows raise so far up his forehead that it’s almost impressive.

“I thought you were going to say no, next time?” the younger man accuses, sounding disappointed.

“Next time? There was a before time?” San yelps, eyes darting between Yunho’s and Wooyoung’s quickly. “Oh, oh, you… You’ve fucked?”

“No! No!” Yunho rushes to correct him, waving his hands. “He just… He’s just…” he struggles to explain. “He wants to figure his sexuality out, I said I’d help, I… Fuck, I fucked up,” he groans, head in his hands. “It started just with like, kissing or whatever, but then it was like, ‘teach me how to blow a guy, teach me how to finger a guy’ and I just… I can’t say no!”

“You literally can,” Wooyoung mutters over the mug in his hands, “how have you not spoken to him about it properly yet?” The horrible guilt in the pit of the older man’s stomach only grows at his words, making him feel a bit sick.

“The right opportunity never came up!” Yunho protests and San pushes his dark hair back, leaning back on the sofa, looking vaguely stressed. “What do I do? Do I just, move away, move back home? Drop off the face of the planet?”

“What, no?” San blurts out, eyebrows furrowed. “Just tell him you like him too?”

“What do you mean, too?” Yunho demands and both men look at him with vague disappointment in their eyes.

“Are you stupid?” Wooyoung states, deadpan and flat, staring at him. “He obviously likes you? Have you not been looking at the photos I sent you? The photos he’s posting?”

“Wh-What, no,” Yunho dismisses, “I mean, yeah, I’m looking at them, but he’s my best friend, it’s… It’s not like that.” San gapes at him for a long moment before he turns to Wooyoung like maybe his boyfriend will help. The younger man rolls his eyes, shrugging.

“Yeah, I know,” Wooyoung mutters to his partner, “I literally don’t know how much more meddling I can do.”

“N-No!” Yunho blurts out, “No meddling, I’ll talk to him, I’ll… We won’t do anything like… Like that again, I’ll… It’ll be fine,” he sounds like he’s trying to convince himself more than anything else, and San sighs.

“It’s like you enjoy punishing yourself.” San mumbles, gulping down his tea with big mouthfuls. “Stupid.” He mumbles around his full mouth.

“Why did you come for advice if you aren’t going to listen to what we say?” Wooyoung whines, reaching with his foot to kick Yunho’s thigh, hard. “You’re so irritating.”

“I am listening!” Yunho moans back, rubbing his leg with a pout. “But I just don’t think it’s like that, he just… He wants someone he trusts to experiment with,” it hurts him to say it out loud, and he can hear the way his voice wobbles pitifully. “Figure his sexuality out or whatever.”

“Right,” Wooyoung doesn’t sound convinced, eyebrows furrowed above the rim of his mug.

“I just… I’ll get over it, this weird…” he gestures to his chest lamely, slumping back onto the sofa. “I’ll say no, next time, honestly.”

“Right,” the younger man says again, still just as coloured with disbelief. “I mean, even if you don’t want to talk to him about the fact you’re in love with ea-“ Wooyoung starts and Yunho chokes over his mouthful of tea, taken by surprise.

“I’m not in love with him!” He interrupts, heart pounding in his chest, pulse racing. “What the fuck?”

“You’re not?” San asks, tucking his legs underneath himself on the sofa opposite him. “Could have fooled me.”

“Anyway,” Wooyoung carries on, ignoring Yunho’s outburst. “You should let him know you’re calling off the weird, experimenting thing soon. You can’t just, reject him out of nowhere, he’ll get all…” he gestures vaguely, and San nods in agreement.

“Yeah, he’ll get mopey as fuck,” the bulkier man mutters, and Yunho doesn’t even have the brain power to consider why Mingi would be upset in the first place.

He’s so overwhelmed, so confused, the conversation not helping his racing thoughts in any way, shape or form. He slumps more, slipping slightly onto the floor in his distress, and Wooyoung goes to sit next to him, patting his back softly.

“Yu… It’ll be okay, you know, it’s Mingi,” he mumbles, and Yunho hates the way his eyes are watering.

“But, it’s Mingi,” he whines, “I can’t lose him. He’s my best friend.”

“Why are you so convinced you’re going to lose him?” San asks, slipping down on the floor with them, reaching to pet Yunho’s head softly. “Why can’t you see how he looks at you?”

“Because,” Yunho mumbles, letting his head flop onto Wooyoung’s shoulder pathetically. “It’s Mingi.”

The next few weeks are hellish.

Yunho hates that he knows what Mingi looks like when he orgasms, hates that he knows what he looks like as he squirms under Yunho’s hands. It plays on a horrible, brutal loop in his head, and the horrible clawing roots of his feelings embed even further, anchoring into his heart.

He starts wondering if maybe, just maybe, Wooyoung was right.

He starts wondering if he is in love with Mingi.

Mingi is blissfully unaware of the way Yunho stares at him, unaware of the way Wooyoung stares at Yunho, unaware of the way San glances between all of them, something between pain and confusion on his face.

Yunho thinks he’s handling it perfectly well, thank you very much, doesn’t understand why Wooyoung keeps shooting him looks over the table, over his pint glass.

“Why is Wooyoung looking at you like that?” Mingi murmurs into Yunho’s ear, crushed against his side in the peeling leather booth seat, leaning closer to speak lowly to him.

“Like what?” Yunho feigns ignorance, glancing up as if he hasn’t noticed, like he’s only just realised. “Oh, I-I don’t know? Do I have something on my face?” Mingi takes the opportunity to lift his hand, pressing his fingers into Yunho’s jaw as he makes him look at him, scanning his face carefully.

“No, you’re good,” the pink-haired man murmurs, brushing his thumb against the brunette’s cheek, smiling. “Your make-up looks really pretty today, Pup,” he adds, and Yunho blushes instantly, taken by surprise. His fingers are still on Yunho’s face, holding him in place, and he swallows dryly, tries to laugh.

“I’ll do yours next time,” he jokes, and Mingi’s eyes light up, nodding enthusiastically. His hand finally drops, moving to Yunho’s waist, pulling him slightly closer to his body. Like they aren’t already crushed together, no distance between them. The only way they could get any closer is if Yunho crawled onto his lap.

“Get a room, Christ,” Wooyoung comments, sounding amused, and Yunho’s eyes snap to him, wide and shocked.

“Leave them alone,” Seonghwa whines, reaching to slap at the younger man’s arm, slightly tipsy from his beer, flushed from the food. “You guys were the exact same for the first two years of your relationship.” That statement doesn’t particularly settle the slight panic in Yunho’s chest, and he glances up at Mingi, who is staring intently into his pint glass, eyes averted.

“You still are,” Hongjoong complains, beer bottle dangling between two fingers, leaning his arm on his knee, leg up on his chair. “You literally sicken me.”

“That’s homophobic!” San shouts, too loud, red-faced and tipsy. “You’re literally being homophobic!”

“Oh my god, stop shouting,” Yeosang cringes, hiding his face in his hands, obviously embarrassed. “People are staring at us.”

Yunho catches Mingi’s eyes, searching for something, anything that would explain the situation at hand. The pink-haired man looks right back, eyes darting around his face. Yunho doesn’t understand.

“Ignore them,” he mutters, bafflingly, ears red as his eyes dart away from Yunho, back to his glass. “They’re being stupid.”

The conversation descends into vague chaos quickly, and Yunho gets away with simply leaning back, letting the words pass by him, wash over him. Mingi’s arm stays around his waist the rest of the night, protectively.

Mingi shoves his front door with his shoulder to get it open, laughing as he does. Yunho can’t stop the way he’s grinning, so fond of the other man that it spills onto his face, pours out his eyes, too drunk to hide it.

They flop onto the sofa as soon as they have their shoes off, and Mingi sighs, leaning his head back and to the side so he can look at Yunho.

“Can I ask you something?” he says quietly, voice low and soft.

“Mmm?” Yunho answers, rolling his head over to look at Mingi right back. “What?”

“Your brother…” the pink-haired man mumbles, then trails off, seemingly second-guessing himself. “I mean, that’s a weird thing to ask, I… Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay,” Yunho murmurs, shifting so he can lay his head in Mingi’s lap, drunk enough that it doesn’t make his veins thrum, much. “You want to know about him? Right?”

“Yeah,” he whispers, dropping a hand to smooth Yunho’s hair off his forehead, rubbing his fingers against his scalp. “What was he like?”

“He was cool,” Yunho lets his eyes fall shut, leaning into the sensation of Mingi’s hands. “He was a good brother, he looked out for me a lot growing up.” Mingi nods, to show he’s listening.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, like, he was mad, when my parents chucked me out. He was always cool about it, even though he was raised by, well…”

“Them,” Mingi inputs, and Yunho shrugs a little.

“Yeah, exactly.” He pauses, thinking. “I’m glad I had an older brother, even if it wasn’t for a long time.” He whispers, keeping his eyes closed, so he doesn’t have to see the expression on Mingi’s face. “I’ll always be a younger brother, you know?”

“How did he die?” Mingi asks, voice quiet.

“Cancer.” Yunho mumbles, hating the grief in the room, the heaviness of the atmosphere. “He was twenty-four.”

“Oh,” the younger man says. “I’m so sorry Yun, I shouldn’t of…”

“It’s okay,” Yunho interrupts, “I don’t mind telling you.” There’s a long beat of silence. “What about your mum?”

“Oh, she…” Mingi seems to search for the words. “We were really close before she died, like, she was my best friend in a lot of ways.” He sighs, and it sounds sad, full of grief. “It was a car accident.”

“I’m sorry Min,” Yunho mumbles, “We don’t have to talk about it.”

“I don’t mind telling you,” the other man whispers, “But yeah, we can talk about something else.”

“Like what?” Yunho asks, rolling a little to nose at Mingi’s stomach, unthinkingly. The pink-haired man’s breath does something strange in his throat, and Yunho stubbornly ignores it.

“I’m an only child,” Mingi blurts suddenly, and the brunette opens his eyes, biting his bottom lip to stop himself laughing. It’s ridiculous, stupid, completely out of place, but it makes Yunho smile, breaks the weird mood.

“That makes a lot of sense,” he teases, and Mingi looks offended, pouting slightly.

“What does that mean?” he demands, using both his hands to squish Yunho’s cheeks, moving his face around slightly. “Are you being mean to me again?”

“N-No!” Yunho gets out from where he’s being manhandled, where he’s giggling. “You just like being pampered, like a princess, you know! Princess Minki!”

“Oh my god,” Mingi whines, pushing his face away, frowning. “No, that’s the worst, you’re going in the bin, go on,” he pushes Yunho off the sofa, not hard, just enough for him to roll onto the rug. He grabs Mingi’s arm, and pulls him down with him, laughing as the other man yelps, surprised.

He collides with Yunho’s body, chest against his, and the brunette rolls them, victorious as he straddles Mingi’s hips. The pink-haired man looks flushed, hair in a mess around his head, eyes wide as Yunho giggles at him.

“You underestimate my strength, Princess,” the older man teases, raising his eyebrows. “Something, something, I have the high ground!” He butchers the quote completely, too drunk to really recall what film he’s even quoting, and Mingi bursts into hysterical laughter.

“Yunho, what the fuck?” He gets out breathlessly, still wheezing slightly. “You are so…” he pauses, seeming to get stuck on his words. His cheeks are so pink, and Yunho isn’t sure if it’s from the alcohol or their proximity.

“What?” Yunho pouts, expecting to get teased again. “I’m what?”

“Beautiful,” Mingi whispers, blinking at him. “You’re beautiful, and I want to kiss you,” he says, plain and clear, and Yunho’s eyes widen slightly. He hears a vaguely familiar voice in his head, screaming at him not to do it.

“Then kiss me,” Yunho says, adamantly ignoring the voice that sounds scarily like Wooyoung, and the pink-haired man’s hand slips up, pulling him down so he can reach him.

It’s almost familiar now, the way they fall into each other, the battle between them before one of them submits. Mingi tries to roll them, but Yunho grabs his arm, pins it above his head, and the pink-haired man blinks at him, something dazed in his eyes for a second, before they both dive back in.

It’s desperate and messy from the get-go, something charged in the atmosphere between them, and Yunho can’t imagine pulling away, not even for a second. Mingi bites lightly on his bottom lip, and the brunette can’t stop the tiny whimper that falls out of him, pathetic and needy. Mingi’s eyes flash with something, and he, successfully this time, flips them.

His ass presses right on Yunho’s aching cock, already hard just from making out, even with barely any proper friction. Mingi raises an eyebrow, too cocky for his own good, obviously emboldened by the alcohol and grinds himself down slightly. He looks deeply entertained by the way Yunho’s breath catches, the way his hands flex in the rug above his head.

“Shit, you’re so pretty,” Mingi rolls his hips again, smirking as he does. “Pretty puppy.”

“M-Min,” Yunho tries, voice weak and shaky. The younger man raises his eyebrows at the way his voice quivers, seemingly amused. “Please,” he begs, voice quiet.

“What are you asking for, Yun?” he whispers, leaning closer, and Yunho swallows, licking his dry lips nervously. He shouldn’t do it. Shouldn’t suggest what’s desperate to crawl out of his mouth, but he can’t stop it, can’t stop the way he aches for it, the way he wants.

“Do you want to fuck me?” He hears himself saying, out of body, spilling out of him, and Mingi’s eyes widen for a split second.

“Shit, really?” Mingi asks, searching his expression for something, and Yunho just nods at him. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” the brunette whispers, staring at him as Mingi gazes at him, eyebrows slightly furrowed. “Yeah, please fuck me.”

“Fuck, shit, okay, yeah,” Mingi rushes out, and he blinks at Yunho for a second before he seems to realise what he’s agreeing to. “Yeah, fuck, okay, bedroom?”

“Yes please,” Yunho agrees, “The floor’s kind of hard.”

“You know what else is hard?” Mingi obviously speaks before he thinks, because he seems slightly surprised at the words that fall out of his mouth. The brunette can’t stop the way he wheezes with laughter, throwing his head back. The younger man joins in easily, collapsing forward a little as he giggles.

“Stupid,” Yunho chuckles, jabbing Mingi in the side as he does, amused by the way he squirms. “Now get up, come on.”

They are still giggling stupidly as they fall onto Mingi’s bed, rich with the smell of his stupid strong cologne, the scent of his cigarettes. The pink-haired man crawls over him, caging him in, and Yunho bites his bottom lip, suddenly nervous.

“Y-You don’t have to do this with me,” he whispers, and Mingi looks at him blankly. “Like, it’s your first time with a guy, right? You can save it for someone special, I won’t be like, offended.” He mumbles, eyes darting around the other man’s face.

“But you are someone special?” Mingi murmurs, sounding genuinely confused. “I want to do it with you, I…” he searches Yunho’s face for a long moment. “I trust you, Yunho.”

“You’re sure?” Yunho asks, and Mingi nods, fast and certain.

“Are you sure?” he asks back, and Yunho nods just as quickly.

Mingi takes his time fingering Yunho open, rubbing a thumb soothingly on his thigh as he stretches him, murmuring words of encouragement and praise the entire time. It’s maddening, and Yunho feels stretched thin long before Mingi deems him prepped enough.

By the time the younger man is actually lining himself up, glancing up to double-check with Yunho before he presses in, he’s so desperate for it that he feels mindless.

“Can I…?” Mingi starts, and Yunho interrupts him impatiently.

“Yes, please, fuck me,” he rushes, letting Mingi push his legs closer to his torso, letting him nudge against his entrance. “Please.”

“Shit,” Mingi whispers and starts pushing in, slowly. Yunho groans under his breath as he does, the stretch sending hot licks of molten heat up his spine, shuddering through his bones. It’s been a long time since he’s been fucked, and Mingi’s big. The way he presses against Yunho’s walls is addictive, delicious.

“Fuck,” Yunho moans quietly, head falling back against the pillow. “Feels good,” he murmurs, eyelids fluttering. “Shit.”

“God, you’re so tight, Pup,” Mingi grits out, bottom lip back between his teeth, eyebrows furrowed, eyes dark. “Take it so well, fuck, made for it.” he sounds a bit crazed with it, his voice rough as he speaks.

“B-Big,” Yunho chokes out, feeling the way Mingi’s cockhead is pressing against his prostate, nestled perfectly. “God, fuck,” he says eloquently.

“Fuck, you feel insane,” the younger man mutters, mostly to himself. “God, what the fuck.”

“Shit, fuck, move, please,” he begs, and the pink-haired man doesn’t ask twice, starts moving his hips.

Yunho thinks his brain might melt out of his ears, with the way Mingi fucks him so well. It’s insane, the pleasure that rolls through him, so hot and thick that he feels like he’s drowning in it, unable to keep the pathetic whimpers and moans behind his teeth. The younger man watches him, mouth slightly ajar, breathing heavily as he fucks him, eyes never leaving his face.

He thinks he might be drooling a little, unable to close his mouth and stop the weak whimpers that slip out of him, completely drowning in the waves of pleasure, the intensity, the way Mingi’s watching him.

It’s ridiculous, that Mingi’s good at this, good at fucking him, feels so perfect and incredible. It’s equal parts infuriating and completely expected, and Yunho has to grip hard onto the pillow behind his head to stop himself from floating away.

“You’re so, fucking,” Mingi sounds breathless, choking words out around each thrust. “You’re so fucking pretty, fuck,” he speeds up, and his cock is so thick, big, that it’s not hard for him to hit the brunette’s prostate every time, nailing it with maddening precision. Yunho sobs over a moan, gasping, feeling the way his muscles are trembling desperately under Mingi’s big hands.

“Mingi, Mingi, fu-fuck, fuck, Min,” Yunho pants out, unable to form anything more coherent, the pleasure so intense that his brain seems to go offline, unable to focus on anything but the sharp stings of heat that gather in the base of his spine, spread through his body.

“Yunho, fuck, Pup,” Mingi sounds equally mindless, hands gripping hard into the flesh of Yunho’s legs. “Fuck, baby, you’re so good, you’re so good,” he babbles, and one of his hands moves from his thigh to his face, cradling him, forcing him to make eye contact.

The shift of his body means the angles are different, and the crush of their bodies rubs Yunho’s hard, neglected cock just right, and he can’t stop the way he’s rapidly climbing to climax, feels it in his jaw, in his feet.

“M-Min, fuck, please, please,” he begs desperately, staring at Mingi as he gazes directly at him, eyes dark as he refuses to break eye contact. “Please, gonna c-cum, please,” he moans brokenly, and the younger man groans, letting his forehead drop onto Yunho’s gently, hand still cupped around his jaw.

“You can cum Pup,” he murmurs, not slowing down, “cum for me baby.” The words shoot straight through him, and he’s pretty certain he loses vision for a second as he crashes over his orgasm.

“M-Min, fuck, fuck,” he babbles, hands scrabbling uselessly on Mingi’s back, arching mindlessly under the younger man’s body. “Sh-Shit, shit.” The waves keep stretching, his muscles trembling pathetically as he moans through it, letting it wash over him, spraying semen all over his own stomach.

“Fuck, Yun, f-fuck,” Mingi pants out, and then he stills, groaning low in his chest. Yunho feels the warmth of it as Mingi fills him, gasps with the sensation, shivering through the aftershocks. Mingi fucks his release back into Yunho for a few thrusts with a low moan. “Fuck, baby,” he slows down, trying to catch his breath. “Fuck.”

“Fuck,” Yunho repeats, still breathless, lets his head flop back on the pillow. “Shit.” Mingi pulls out gingerly, reaches to smooth the sweaty hair off Yunho’s forehead, and blinks at him.

“Shit,” Mingi whispers, and Yunho can’t help but agree. “Yunho…” he tries, and the brunette swallows dryly, searching the pink-haired man’s expression for any clue to what he’s thinking. “I’ll get a towel,” he mumbles, and Yunho gets the impression that he’s stopped himself from saying something.

“Right,” Yunho agrees, letting Mingi crawl off him and stumble out of the room, probably going to get one out of the dryer.

He stares up at the ceiling, at the feeble glow of the plastic stars, and wonders when it all managed to slip so drastically out of his hands, when he fell in love with Mingi. He pauses, eyes wide as the thought registers in his head.

He’s in love with Song Mingi.

Wooyoung stares at him with something close to rage in his eyes. It would be scary if Yunho wasn’t already considering the best way to fake his own death.

“I need to move to America, my English is pretty good, I think I’d be okay,” he babbles, eyes darting between San and Wooyoung, both of whom are sat on the floor with him, reminiscent of his freak out only a few weeks back. It feels like years ago.

“Yunho, what the actual fuck is wrong with you?” Wooyoung seethes, and he’s clutching his phone so hard that the brunette is vaguely concerned for its safety.

“Babe, that’s a bit…” San tries, but the younger man just sends him a flat look and the man just shuts his mouth and sips his coffee silently.

“I don’t know!” Yunho whines, hitting his forehead against his knees where they are tucked up against his chest. “I literally don’t know, I was like ‘I shouldn’t do this, this is a bad idea’, and then I was like ‘yeah, Min, go ahead, stick your massive dong in me’.”

“God,” San splutters, “Please don’t say dong,” he whispers, and Wooyoung sighs dramatically, leaning back against the seat of the sofa, spreading his legs out on the slightly uncomfortable floor.

“He does have a massive dong,” Wooyoung sounds like it pains him to admit it, “but that doesn’t excuse your terrible decision-making skills.” He glares at Yunho so hard that he can feel it burning on his skin even as he ducks his face back into the safety of his kneecaps.

“He’s just… So…” Yunho moans pathetically, “He’s so Mingi.”

“God, you’re…” San mumbles and the brunette’s eyes snap up to his, wet and big and pathetic. San sighs. “You’re down bad.”

“I’m in love with him.” Yunho blurts. “I’m like, actually in love with him. Seriously.” His heart is pounding so hard in his chest that he wouldn’t be surprised if it bruised, a big purple blotch to show his painful devotion to the pink-haired man. It feels appropriate.

“We know,” Wooyoung mutters, and San sends him a look, something sympathetic and slightly sad.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, patting Yunho’s head softly. It gives him a strong wave of déjà vu. “Please talk to him Yu, you can’t keep doing this.” For some reason, the words coming out of San’s mouth, tinged with grief and understanding, make Yunho’s heart shatter a bit further in his chest.

“How? How can I talk to him?” He whispers, blinking up at them.

“Well, what was it like after? Like when you woke up?” Wooyoung asks, shuffling closer to him so he can rest a hand on Yunho’s shoulder comfortingly, stroking.

It was fine. It was weirdly normal. It didn’t feel wrong or strange or awkward. Yunho swallows.

“It was like, fine. We were just… Yunho and Mingi.” He mumbles, blinking the wetness out of his eyes. He didn’t notice they were watering. “We went and got some greasy breakfast.”

“Right, and the whole, ‘we slept together last night’ thing, didn’t come up?” Wooyoung probes, sounding disbelieving. Yunho shakes his head.

“There was a moment where I was going to, I was going to ask if he… If he regretted it,” the brunette whispers, mostly into his own knees. Wooyoung and San are close enough to hear him, and he hears the bulkier man sigh.

“But you didn’t?”

“No, he wanted to go smoke, so I just… Left it alone.” He mumbles, and his eyes sting, feeling itchy and painful. “I don’t think I wanted to hear the answer.”

“Yunho…” San whispers sympathetically, and his hand pets through his hair softly. “Then what happened?”

“Min smoked about five cigarettes in a row, and we argued about what Spiderman movie was the best.” He mutters, shrugging.

“Damn,” San murmurs, “It wasn’t awkward at all?”

“I mean, no? Should it have been?” Yunho asks, suddenly a bit off-kilter. Wooyoung and San both look at him for a long moment, before they exchange unreadable glances.

“I think if I drunk fucked my best friend, I would probably feel a bit awkward about it, but…” the bulkier man tries, tentative, and Wooyoung shrugs.

“If it’s not awkward, why is it so hard to talk to him?” he asks, raising his eyebrows as he sips his coffee. Yunho pouts.

“I can’t just go up to him and be like, ‘hey, by the way, I think I’m kind of in love with you, can we stop casually fucking around until I figure it out’,” Yunho whines, and San snorts, shaking his head into his own mug.

“You can, though,” Wooyoung protests, “You literally can just say that, what do you think is going to happen?”

“What if he… Doesn’t feel that way, about me, wants it to stay casual?” His heart starts pounding again. “What if he hates me for it because he trusted me and I made it weird and complicated, and fuck,” the brunette can’t stop babbling. “He trusted me, and I said I’d help him figure his sexuality out and…” He heaves in a breath, “I can’t… I can’t keep doing this.” He murmurs, suddenly realising how true that statement is. It hurts, deep in his ribcage.

The previously unnamed, violent, knot of emotions in the pit of his stomach blooms, spreads, and overtakes his whole body. He’s in love with Song Mingi.

“Fuck,” he mutters, “I’m in love with him. Shit. Fuck.”

“Oh god, he’s freaking out again,” San whispers and Wooyoung smacks his boyfriend’s upper arm.

“Yunho, please, just talk to him.”

Yunho avoids Mingi like the plague for almost a week.

It’s not intentional, at least, not at first. He goes to work, goes back to his apartment, puts on his headphones and grinds on Valorant until he can barely keep his eyes open, and then repeats it. It has nothing to do with his horrible, whirling thoughts, nothing to do with the way he feels withered, sucked dry by his own torrid emotions.

Mingi messages him multiple times a day, texts growing more and more concerned as Yunho answers with short sentences, or simply just doesn’t reply. He aches to respond, to ask for comfort, so used to running to Mingi for safety that it feels strange to back behind those boundaries again.

It’s five days of avoidance, and Yunho feels no better than he did before, hungover and crying on Woosan’s floor. His heart hurts, his stomach hurts, his head hurts. He feels like a walking bruise, too sensitive, still raw.

Everything feels too much and not enough, he feels listless and stupid, struggling to force himself to eat. It all tastes like cardboard and slime, disgusting and horrible. He stares at the ceiling for a long time.

Mingi appears at his flat on the sixth day.

He wrestles with the desire to pretend he’s not in, to ignore the knocking on his door, but then it quiets for a second. He goes to peek through the peephole and sees Mingi ducked to grab the spare key from under the mat. He regrets telling him where it is.

He yanks the door open abruptly, making Mingi jump, eyes snapping up to him in surprise.

“I was…” Mingi starts, and Yunho just blinks at him, overwhelmed. “I missed you.” He says quietly, and the brunette can’t hide the sadness on his face, can’t fake a smile. The pink-haired man looks concerned, confused, and he stands, taking a tentative step forward, like he’s unsure if he’s still allowed to touch him.

As he gets closer Yunho notices the bruise on his cheekbone, the small cut next to his eye, slightly swollen. The worry and concern rocks through him, but he’s too frazzled to follow that train of thought, chest still constricting painfully.

“Min…” Yunho whispers pathetically, “I’m sorry.”

“Pup, it’s okay, what’s happened, can I come in?” Yunho steps back instantly, letting Mingi in, into his flat, into his heart. It hurts. He sinks onto the sofa limply, and the pink-haired man hovers awkwardly for a second before he sits next to the brunette, careful, stiff. Yunho’s chest pangs with a horrible, tight, pain.

“I have something I need to… I need to say,” Yunho murmurs and Mingi nods, shuffling so he can look at him properly, eyes searching the brunette’s face carefully.

“Yeah, me too,” he whispers, and Yunho’s eyes dart to his, eyebrows raised.

“You first,” he says, begging with his eyes, not wanting to dive off the edge of whatever this is without some reassurance first. He doesn’t even know where he stands, when the boundaries completely deteriorated around him. “You go first.”

“Arin came to my flat again,” Mingi blurts, and then looks away, biting his bottom lip. He brings his legs up to his chest, wrapping his arms around himself. He looks so small, like this, and Yunho swallows dryly. His eyes drift to the bruise for a second.

“Did you fuck her?” he says bluntly, can’t control the way the selfish hurt spills out of him and the pink-haired man’s eyes snap to his, wide and wet and pained.

“N-No, Yunho, I… No,” he shakes his head, eyebrows furrowed. “I didn’t let her in. But she swung at me, like out in the corridor.”

“Oh, right,” Yunho whispers, embarrassed by himself. He shivers, tucking himself closer to the arm of the sofa, curling up a little bit into himself. “Sorry. I… Shit, are you okay?”

“No, it’s fine, I…” Mingi stares at his own knees for a long second. “It doesn’t hurt or anything, I just, it scared me a bit.” Yunho raises his eyebrows in surprise. “I stayed with Seonghwa for a few days.”

“You didn’t say,” he whispers, and Mingi glances at him, chewing on his bottom lip. The little cut is scabbing over, obviously a few days old, and Yunho swallows down the nasty guilt and pain in his throat.

“You seemed like you wanted to be left alone,” he mumbles, and Yunho looks away, shrinking a bit further into himself. He’s a bit unsettled, the tension in the room is still a bit weird, he doesn’t know what to say. He shrugs.

“You should have told me anyway, Min,” he sounds sulky, like a child. “You should have stayed with me for a bit,” Mingi shrugs in return, still looking shy, awkward. It feels wrong, the atmosphere between them. Too heavy. “Is that what you wanted to tell me?”

“No,” he says seriously, and he glances back up. “I wanted to say that I can’t keep fucking you around like this.” He states, staring at Yunho with his big eyes, seemingly looking for something.

The brunette thinks he can hear the way his heart shatters a little more, the way the pieces of it hit against his ribcage, like the spray of viscera from its explosion is slicing his insides.

“Oh,” Yunho says, not sure what else to say. He’s breaking up with me, his mind provides, and then he frowns at himself, confused as to why he’s thinking that when they aren’t even in a relationship. “Right.”

“I… Yunho, it’s…” Mingi seems to struggle for words, and Yunho shakes his head, tries to smile.

“It’s okay, Min, I know,” he whispers, reaching to pat him on the arm. “I get it.”

“No, you don’t!” Mingi suddenly blurts, dropping his legs and turning to Yunho properly, eyes a little wild and still wet, tears gathering at the bottom of his eyes. “You don’t get it, you don’t!”

“I… I’m sorry,” Yunho tries, so confused and overwhelmed and upset that he can barely get his brain to form coherent thoughts. “I shouldn’t have… I shouldn’t…”

“Do you regret it?” Mingi interrupts, watching him closely, and Yunho doesn’t quite understand the hurt in his eyes. He’s not sure what to say, doesn’t know what the correct answer is. His chest feels raw, spread wide and open, ribcage cracked apart so Mingi can see directly into his heart.

“No,” he whispers weakly, “Do… Do you?” he doesn’t even know if he wants to hear the answer.

“No,” Mingi says immediately, shaking his head. “No, I couldn’t… Not with you.” Yunho doesn’t know what he means.

“Right,” he says again, vocabulary limited by his rushing thoughts, by his aching chest, by the way he feels seconds from crumbling in front of the younger man. “That’s… Good.”

“Yunho, fuck,” Mingi looks frustrated, eyes darting wildly around the brunette’s face. “I… You’re it, for me. Don’t you… Don’t you get it?”

Do you get it yet? Wooyoung’s voice echoes in his mind for a second, unbidden, and all the photos flash up in his mind, painful. Yunho blinks, feels like he’s drowning, feels lost at sea with no land in sight.

“I don’t… I don’t understand,” the brunette says stupidly, examining Mingi’s face, “Mingi what are you saying?” He doesn’t want to hope, to address the brutal thumping of emotions pounding through him.

“I-I…” Mingi stutters, eyes shifting awkwardly, searching. “I don’t want to fuck this up, not with you, you’re… Yunho.”

“Mingi…” Yunho’s voice is weak, a bit pathetic, barely audible.  

“I think I’m in love with you.”

Yunho’s chest aches so headily, vividly that he has to press his own hand to it, surprised. He blinks stupidly at Mingi for a long moment, heart pounding as he processes the words, so long in fact that the pink-haired man looks more and more concerned with every passing second.

“Me?” Yunho asks, suddenly and abruptly, “Are you… Are you fucking with me?”

“What?” Mingi’s eyebrows furrow even further. “What, no, I’m serious? Why would I… Why would I fuck with you about this?”

“Sorry, no I don’t mean-“ Yunho shakes his head, and he blinks wildly, brain spinning in like car wheels stuck in thick mud. “You love me?”

“Yeah, I mean, I think so,” Mingi mumbles, looking embarrassed suddenly, averting his eyes. “I haven’t felt like this about anyone else before, I…” he glances up, “I’m pretty sure though.” Yunho searches his eyes for a second, and then he’s crying, tears leaking from his eyes without warning. “Pup?” he reaches up, using his thumb to wipe the wetness from Yunho’s face.

“I’m in love with you too Mingi, fuck,” he blurts out, unable to keep the violent tendrils of his emotions for the other man inside him any longer. It feels like vomiting up his heart, spitting it pathetically in Mingi’s lap. The man’s eyes light up, and his stupid plump lips turn up into a grin,

“You love me?” Mingi asks, eyes bright and wide, hopeful. “Yunho, I love you,” he announces with more confidence, blinking. He laughs, reaching to cradle Yunho’s face, wiping him softly with his sleeve. “I love you so much, fuck, Pup.” Yunho can’t stop the way he laughs back, the way he’s crying and giggling and probably snotting all over himself.

“I love you, Princess,” Yunho’s voice wobbles a little, with the tears and the fact he’s still giggling. “Yeah, I love you.”

“Fuck yeah,” Mingi says, mostly to himself, pressing a messy, clumsy kiss on Yunho’s lips. “I can kiss you now, right, whenever I want?” he checks, glancing up, and the brunette can’t stop the stupid smile that spreads across his face. He leans in, smacking a kiss to Mingi’s lips.

“Yeah, whenever you want,” he promises, and the pink-haired man leans in immediately, kissing him hard. Yunho giggles into his mouth, endeared, heart still pounding in his chest, but much less painfully. Mingi crawls over him, chest to chest, and deepens the kiss further, hands so gentle against his jaw, on his waist.

“I love you,” Mingi whispers between kisses, “I think I’ve loved you since the first time we kissed,” he admits quietly, and Yunho blinks up at him, surprised. “Maybe even before that.”

“Really?” Yunho can’t keep the shock out of his voice. “I… I had no idea,” he mumbles, and Mingi leans down to kiss him again, gentle and soft.

“I tried really hard to be normal around you,” he says, against Yunho’s lips, and it makes him laugh, pulling away as he giggles.

“I think I’ve loved you for longer than I realised,” Yunho admits, still smiling. “I think I was fucked from the first day we met.” Mingi’s eyebrows raise, disbelief in his eyes.

“I had no clue,” he mumbles, eyes searching Yunho’s carefully, “I just didn’t know why I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he adds, and the tips of his ears a bit pink as he admits it. Yunho bites his bottom lip, amused. “Sorry, it took me so long to figure it out.” Yunho shakes his head, pulling Mingi closer to him, resting their foreheads together. There’s a long beat of silence, comfortable this time.

“I can feel your heart racing,” Yunho whispers suddenly, and Mingi flushes as pink as his hair, all down his neck. The brunette reaches for his hand easily, pressing it against his own chest, squashed between their bodies. Mingi pauses, eyes widening slightly, and he glances up. He can obviously feel the way it’s pounding, just as fast as Mingi’s is, if not harder.

“Oh,” he murmurs, and he blinks. “Yunho I… Be mine, please, I can’t- I don’t ever want to be without you,” and the younger man sounds so achingly earnest, making Yunho’s heart pick up in speed in his chest. Mingi’s hand is still pressed there, can obviously feel the way his heart speeds up if the little smile on his face is anything to go by.

“I’m yours, Min, of course I am,” he speaks lowly, reaching to brush a strand of hair from Mingi’s face, behind his ear. Rubs a thumb softly across the purple-blue bruise.

“I want to be yours too,” he says, serious and honest, and Yunho chuckles, lifting his face to press a kiss on Mingi’s lips.

“You’re mine,” he whispers, and Mingi’s expression shifts for a split second before he bites his bottom lip, nodding. “My Princess.” He adds, teasing, and Mingi’s eyes dart to his for a second before he looks away, ears a bit red.

“W-Would you…” Mingi looks shy again, chewing on his bottom lip. “Would you fuck me?” he asks, and he can barely look at Yunho, shifting his weight back so he can kneel between the brunette’s legs. Yunho sits up a bit so he can see him better.

“Yeah, of course, if you want me to,” the brunette reassures him instantly, and Mingi’s eyes snap to his again. “Did you think I wouldn’t want to?”

“I… I mean, like, n-no, I just…” he swallows, “I’m just nervous,” the pink-haired man admits, and Yunho shifts again, pushing Mingi back and slotting onto his lap. The younger man blinks up at him, caught off-guard.

“What are you nervous about?” Yunho asks, watching him closely, “I want you to enjoy it, Min, talk to me.” He adds, and its instinct to reach for Mingi’s hair, scratching his fingers through it.

“You’re big,” he whispers, eyes darting around Yunho’s face, cheeks pink. “And I’ve only ever… Well, you know what I’ve had in my ass,” he tries for a joke, and it makes Yunho snort despite himself.

“I’m flattered,” he murmurs, smiling, and Mingi breaks, giggling. “I have smaller stuff we could try first,” he admits, reaching to brush an eyelash off the other man’s cheek.

“But I want you to fuck me,” Mingi pouts, “and I trust you, I’m just…” he squirms a little. “You’ll go slow, right?” he asks, blinking up at him, and Yunho is hit with such a strong wave of desire that he has to bite down on the inside of his cheek to get himself together.

“Shit, Princess, yeah, I’ll be gentle,” he murmurs, unable to stop the way his voice drops in pitch. Mingi’s eyes widen slightly, and he visibly gets pinker in the face. He shifts, and Yunho feels the hard press of his cock against his ass, and he raises an eyebrow, amused. “Right now?”

“Please, I… I want to be yours,” he whispers, and Yunho wonders when the pink-haired man is going to stop having such an effect on him, wonders if it’ll ever happen. His chest aches with the devotion, the previously unnamed emotion that was tangling around his rib cage finally making sense. He sees the younger man’s offer for what it is, Mingi showing him a vulnerability that no one else has had the privilege to see, the intrinsic trust that the situation carries.

“Okay, bed though,” he mumbles, pulling Mingi up with him as he stands, even as he pouts. “The sofa is not big enough for two six-foot men to fuck on, Min, come on.”

“True,” he agrees, letting Yunho pull him through the room, to his bedroom. “Maybe you should get a bigger sofa,” he suggests, and the brunette snorts out a laugh, pushing Mingi onto the bed as he does.

“Or you can just be horny in more convenient locations,” Yunho suggests, and the pink-haired man giggles, pulling Yunho onto his lap.

“I can be horny around you all the time now, you’re mine, remember,” Mingi teases and the brunette rolls his eyes, even as he leans down to kiss the other man.

“Shut up, let me kiss you,” he murmurs against his mouth, and Mingi giggles, but does as he’s told.

It’s so achingly familiar now, the way they lean together, the way they meet in the middle. Yunho thinks his heart might shatter his ribs with the way it’s beating so hard, so fast, and Mingi gasps into the kiss when the brunette deliberately rolls his hips down, feeling the way the younger man is hard in his baseball shorts.

“Fuck, Princess,” Yunho groans into his mouth, “you drive me insane.” Mingi whimpers quietly at his words, but the older man catches it. He takes the opportunity to push Mingi flat on the bed, to deepen the kiss, reaching to cradle his jaw, to let his spare hand trail under his shirt, scratch lightly at his abs. “You’re so hot.”

“P-Pup,” Mingi gets out between kisses, sounding breathless. “I’m so hard, please,” he sounds tight, desperate, and Yunho burns with it, breath catching in his throat.

“You want me to fuck you that bad, baby?” Yunho teases, pushing his shirt up, and brushing past his nipples. The pink-haired man shivers with it, tries to catch himself, but Yunho raises an eyebrow.

“I-I’ve been thinking about it,” Mingi sounds so shy, and he bites on his bottom lip as Yunho trails his hands up and down his bare chest. The brunette brushes a thumb gently across his nipple, curious, and the younger man’s breath catches for a second, hips twitching.

“Mmm,” Yunho hums, bringing up his other hand to tease him more, thumbing over his pebbling nipples softly. “Did you touch yourself, thinking about it?” he asks boldly, entranced by the reactions, the little gasps that fall out of Mingi’s mouth. The younger man flushes bright red, averting his eyes.

“Yeah,” he admits, glancing back up at Yunho shyly, “I liked you fingering me a lot, so I just… Thought I’d probably like it a lot,” he adds, and the brunette smirks, leaning down to press a kiss against Mingi’s mouth, suddenly fond.

“Lucky for you, I’m gonna finger you first,” he whispers, and the pink-haired man blinks, then nods jerkily.

“Y-Yeah, please,” he murmurs, and Yunho laughs, leaning back. “Where are you going?” He pouts, and the brunette grins at him, endeared all over again.

“I need to get lube and stuff, Princess.”

A little while later, when Mingi is naked, flat on his back in the middle of Yunho’s bed, flushed and shy and gnawing on his bottom lip, he’s hit with the intensity of his love for the other man.

The brunette is three fingers in, and he can tell the pink-haired man is struggling not to squirm, cock rock hard and drooling against his abs, red all down his chest. He’s so beautiful, even more when he’s like this, under Yunho’s hands, only for him to see. This is a part of Mingi he gets all to himself, something no-one else gets to see.  

“You’ve been so patient, you’re so good,” Yunho praises him, catching the way Mingi’s dick twitches, leaks even more precum into the small sticky puddle on his stomach. “Fuck, baby, you’re leaking so much,” he doesn’t think he manages to sound normal about it, voice a little croaky and rough. Mingi whimpers, eyes squeezing shut for a second, before he looks up at Yunho with wide, wet eyes, begging.

“Please, fuck, please,” he whines, “I’ve been good, please, Yun,” he begs, and Yunho can’t stop the way he surges forward, captures Mingi’s lips with his own.

“One more Princess, be good for me, just a little more, okay?” he coaxes, and Mingi nods easily, noses brushing from where they’re so close together. Yunho adds a little more lube, gently nudges another finger in, can’t keep his eyes off the way Mingi stretches around him, sucks his fingers in.

“Don’t s-stare,” he whispers, sounding embarrassed, and Yunho glances up, confused. He’s pink all the way down to his belly button, right down to his happy trail, and the brunette chuckles, endeared.

“Mmm, I think I’m allowed, considering you’re mine,” Yunho teases, leaning to press a kiss right in the centre of Mingi’s chest, right over his heart. “I like looking at you,” he murmurs into his tan skin, mouthing gently as his chest muscles, softly over his hard nipple.

“Yunho, please, I-I’m so hard, please,” he whimpers, hips twitching mindlessly, and Yunho hums, spreading his fingers a little to make sure. “Please, please,” he begs, so prettily, and the brunette pulls his fingers out, satisfised.

“Okay baby,” he murmurs, grabbing the lube to slick himself up. Mingi squirms, staring up at Yunho as he tries to catch his breath, swallowing hard. “You want it?” he asks, pressing the tip of his cock against the pink-haired man’s stretched entrance.

“Please, Yunho, please fuck me, please,” he sounds so desperate, and he wraps his legs around Yunho’s waist, trying to pull him closer. “I want to be yours, please,” he whispers.

Yunho presses in slowly, watching Mingi’s expression the whole time, holding his hips as he eases in. The pink-haired man’s eyebrows furrow a bit, and his bottom lip gets caught back between his teeth, a little gasp falling out of him. Yunho pauses.

“Okay?” he checks, and Mingi nods instantly, impatiently.

“Yes, please, stop teasing me,” he pouts, eyes begging and damp, and Yunho groans, grip flexing on Mingi’s hips.

“Don’t look at me like that, I don’t want to hurt you,” he murmurs, carrying on his slow pace. It only takes a few more long seconds before Yunho is to the hilt, seated fully in, and Mingi looks like he’s about to vibrate out of his skin, trembling under him.

“S-Shit,” he pants out, and Yunho reaches to cradle his face, search his expression. “Fuck.”

“Fuck good or fuck bad?” Yunho whispers, and Mingi giggles slightly hysterically, head falling back on the pillow.

“Fuck good, fuck really good,” he murmurs, and then gasps when Yunho tentatively moves his hips, pulling out slightly. “Oh fuck, good, o-oh,” Mingi chokes out, and the brunette pushes back in, a little harder. “Please keep going, shit, please.”

“Fuck, Min,” Yunho says, and he can’t keep the awe out of his voice as he starts up a rhythm, starts fucking into him properly. He’s so in love with the man below him, the whimpers and moans falling out of him, the way he’s scratching down Yunho’s back mindlessly, legs wrapped tight around the brunette’s waist.

He speeds up a little, and Mingi throws his head back, moaning, loud, and Yunho can’t stop the way he’s staring at him adoringly, completely bewitched by the pink-haired man. Mingi’s so noisy, panting and whining, so sensitive and receptive, and Yunho feels a little insane with it. He fucks him deep, cataloguing every micro-expression on his face, every beautiful little noise.

“Shit baby, look at you,” Yunho murmurs after a few minutes, resting his forehead against Mingi’s carefully, “Fuck, you were made for it, made for my cock, fuck,” he can’t stop the words falling out of him, so completely deranged with the intensity of it all, the emotions, the sensations. Mingi sobs over a moan, nails digging in hard into the flesh of Yunho’s back.

“For you, for you, I’m yours,” he chants, peeling open his eyes to stare up at Yunho, panting into his mouth where they’re pressed so close together. “I’m yours.”

“Yeah, you’re mine, Mingi,” he groans, feeling the molten desire licking up his spine, gathering in the pit of his stomach. “You’re mine.” The noise Mingi makes almost sounds wounded, the way he squeezes his eyes shut, chokes over it. His muscles spasm around Yunho’s cock as he orgasms, mouth open, panting. The brunette slows his movements, not wanting to overwhelm him.

He looks so good, falling apart under Yunho’s hands, he can’t tear his eyes away as Mingi cums all over himself, untouched and almost violent with the way his muscles convulse.

“Y-Yun, Yun, fuck, fuck,” Mingi gets out, shivering furiously under Yunho’s hands, walls still fluttering around his dick. “Keep going,” he says, opening his eyes, staring up at the brunette. “Please.”

“Fuck,” Yunho groans, but does as he’s told, starts fucking back into Mingi hard. “Shit, fuck, Min,” he’s so close himself, feels it licking through him embarrassingly fast. Mingi’s still trembling, still clenching unconsciously around Yunho, and it only takes a few thrusts before the older man is right on the edge of orgasm, so close he can taste it.

“Fuck, inside, please,” Mingi begs, reaching a hand up to cradle Yunho’s jaw, faces pressed together. “Show me who I belong to, Pup,” he whispers, and Yunho falls into his climax instantly, waves completely engulfing him.

“Fuck, fuck, baby,” Yunho pants.

It’s so intense, the orgasm completely wrecks him, taking him by surprise. He can barely breathe as he paints Mingi’s insides with his release, fucking it back into him, groaning under his breath. His ears ring, and he’s pretty sure he’s leaving nail marks on Mingi’s waist from where his hands lock up, muscles tight as he spasms through it.

“Mine, mine,” he murmurs, probably sounding mindless, and Mingi’s breath catches in his throat, a little whine falling out of him. “Shit. Fuck.” Yunho slows his movements to a stop, trying to catch his breath.

“Yeah, fuck,” Mingi agrees, head falling back again, chest still heaving. “God, what the fuck,” he mumbles after a few seconds, and Yunho snorts, feet still numb from the orgasm, hands still trembling, pulling out carefully.

“Jesus Christ,” Yunho mutters, letting his entire weight drop onto Mingi’s, uncaring about the stickiness and sweat. He shoves his face into the crook of the pink-haired man’s neck instinctively, presses a kiss there as he nuzzles closer, wanting to be as close to Mingi as physically possible. “Was it okay?”

“It was really fucking good, Pup, are you serious?” the younger man turns to press a kiss into Yunho’s forehead, “The, uh, semen dripping out my ass is, not the most good, though so, can we shower?” he mumbles, and Yunho laughs, so endeared that he can’t hold it back.

“Yeah, of course,” he murmurs, sitting up and pressing a kiss of his own on Mingi’s lips. “I assume you saying ‘we’ means I’m invited, right?”

“Obviously,” Mingi grins, “you’re going to get sick of how much I want to be around you,” he jokes, and Yunho shakes his head.

“Not possible,” he protests instantly, “I could spend every day with you for the rest of my life and it wouldn’t be enough.”

“Cheesy,” Mingi mumbles, even though the tips of his ears are red, even though he averts his eyes, shy. “I love you,” he whispers, and Yunho grins, unbidden.

“I love you too, Princess.”

“Oh my god, please, we are literally in a public place,” Jongho whines, placing his pint down with a heavy thud. Yunho tears his eyes away from Mingi’s, glancing over at him, wide-eyed and blinking. Yeosang giggles into his glass, nudging his shoulder into Jongho’s softly.

“Leave them alone, they’re cute,” the red-haired man protests, and Wooyoung slides into the bench seat across from them, depositing the beers onto the table. Jongho raises an eyebrow, seemingly unimpressed.

“Hm?” Wooyoung asks, obviously confused by what he’s come back to, “Who, what?”

“Yungi, being gross in public,” Jongho explains shortly, reaching for a bottle to top up his pint glass.

“We weren’t doing anything!” Mingi argues, and the hand that’s resting possessively on Yunho’s thigh squeezes gently, reassuringly. “I was looking at him!”

“Jongho, you get no fucking opinion on this, you did not have to suffer months, and I mean, months of ridiculous angst! No angst, no opinion, shut up,” Wooyoung argues back, and Yunho feels himself blushing, ears hot. He distracts himself by taking a large gulp of his drink.

“You’re telling me, God,” Seonghwa pipes up, legs slung over Hongjoong’s lap, almost sat on him from their proximity. “I think I was losing hair from the stress.”

“Shut up!” Mingi pouts, and Yunho’s eyes widen in surprise. He wasn’t aware that Seonghwa knew what was happening, and Hongjoong rolls his eyes from behind him.

“How did you know?” Yunho asks, confused, and Mingi’s eyes dart to his, cheeks pink. “Wait, what’s happening?”

“You were being angsty and ridiculous to Woosan, Mingi was being confused and angsty to us,” Hongjoong informs him, bottom lip jutting out as he takes a new bottle of beer from Seonghwa’s offering hand, snatched from the table. The pink-haired man shifts his weight, obviously feeling embarrassed, and Yunho turns to him, surprised but smug.

“Oh my god,” Yunho murmurs, and Mingi pouts, refusing to make eye contact. “Well at least they weren’t actively meddling, feel lucky,” he jokes, leaning against Mingi’s body. Mingi’s eyes snap up to his, and he bites his lip to stop the smile that’s trying to spread across his face.

“I’m glad Woosan meddled,” Mingi mumbles back, thumb rubbing circles on Yunho’s thigh absently. “If it means I get to have you.”

“Oh my fucking God,” Jongho sighs, slumping back in his chair. “Kill me, literally kill me. I can’t be in a friend group with two gross couples.”

“Just get a girlfriend then, loser,” Yeosang teases, butting his shoulder into the younger man’s playfully. Jongho’s eyes do something funny as he looks at the red-haired man, and Yunho wonders if he’s the only one who notices.

“Right, let me just go to the store and pick one up real quick, be right back,” Jongho says sarcastically, but his ears are a little pink, and he won’t make eye contact. Yunho glances at Mingi, twitching his eyebrow, and the pink-haired man smirks, shrugging.

“Anyway, are we doing a toast?” San interrupts from the chair at the end of the table, gesturing with his pint. “To Yungi or whatever.”

“Oh, we don’t have to-“ Yunho starts, suddenly embarrassed, and Mingi laughs, pressing a kiss onto his temple.

“Let them have this,” he whispers, voice low against his ear. “Yeah,” he says louder, to the table. “To Yungi, I guess, although I am going to ask us to reconsider the couple name,” he jokes, and Wooyoung pouts.

“Hey, I came up with it, don’t diss,” he whines, reaching to smack at Mingi’s arm where it’s holding his pint glass on the table. “Babe, do the toast, even if they’re ungrateful and rude.” San stands, holding up his glass dramatically, and Yunho feels his entire face burning.

“To Yungi, for finally getting their shit together!” he announces, face pink, beer sloshing in his glass. “And to us lot, for putting up with it.” The group laughs, clinking their glasses together clumsily, beer spilling on the table. Mingi grins as he turns to look at Yunho over his glass, raising his eyebrows in amusement, and the brunette shakes his head, somewhere between bemused and embarrassed.

“I’m really glad you moved here, Pup,” Mingi murmurs to him, reaching to wipe a little bit of foam off Yunho’s upper lip. The brunette leans forward, and presses a kiss onto Mingi’s unsuspecting mouth, unable to stop himself.

“Me too, Princess.”