Chapter Text
Mingi dates people sometimes.
Which makes sense. He’s smart and funny and really, really sexy, so why wouldn’t people want to date him? It’d be weird if they didn’t.
So it’s just common sense that anyone who’s lucky enough to be asked out by him would say yes. And you can’t be jealous of people for having common sense. Nope. That would be mean. And Yunho isn’t mean. No ma’am. No sir. Nope nope nope. Not at all. No.
Nope.
“You haven’t looked at the TV in eight minutes,” says Yeosang.
Yunho glances up, blinking. “What?”
Yeosang puts a tiny piece of chocolate in his mouth. “What are you thinking about?”
“I think, um. I think I slept with Mingi,” says Yunho. Wooyoung chokes on his water.
“I’m concerned by your use of the word ‘think,’” says Yeosang.
Yunho rubs the back of his neck, feeling very awkward. “Okay, I don’t ‘think,’” he says. “I know.”
“When did this happen?” Jongho asks, glancing over at where San is pounding his still-hacking boyfriend on the back.
“Last week.”
“For the first time, right?” Yeosang asks around his chocolate.
Yunho blinks. “Yes? Why wouldn’t it be the first time?”
Yeosang just chews slowly, looking at him. “Because you’ve been flirting with each other since I met you.”
“He flirts with everyone!”
“Not me,” Yeosang points out.
“Okay, but you’re different,” Yunho protests. “You’re scary.”
“He’s not wrong, hyung,” Jongho tells Yeosang, earning him an unimpressed look from his boyfriend.
“Yunho, why don’t you sound more thrilled about this?” San asks while simultaneously contemplating whether he needs to perform the Heimlich on Wooyoung. “You’re always talking about how hot he is.”
“I just don’t know what it meant to him,” Yunho whines.
“What do you mean?” Jongho asks. “You didn’t talk to him about it after?”
“Um,” says Yunho.
“Oh, for the love of God,” says Wooyoung, who’s finally recovered.
“I don’t know if he likes me,” Yunho whines again.
“He slept with you, of course he likes you!” says Wooyoung.
“You can’t know that! Sometimes people just like sleeping with other people.”
“Sometimes people like kicking other people’s asses when they’re being deliberately obtuse,” says Yeosang.
“And you wonder why Mingi never flirted with you,” San remarks. A look from Yeosang makes him avert his eyes and pretend he didn’t say anything.
“Listen, I already feel terrible, I don’t need you threatening me,” Yunho tells Yeosang, head in his hands.
“Why do you feel terrible?” Wooyoung asks, mystified. “Were you drunk or something?”
“No, we weren’t!” Yunho protests. “Which makes it worse!”
“How does that make it worse?” Jongho asks, turning the TV off. Yunho just groans.
San sighs. “Listen, I’m not thrilled to be talking about your sex life, but I do think it’s important to point out that Mingi is crazy about you,” he says. “I mean, I know he’s crazy about all of us and also in general, but he’s the craziest about you.”
“Don’t call him crazy,” says Yunho, muffled.
“Give me evidence to the contrary and I will revise my statement,” San recommends.
“No.”
“Okay,” says Jongho. “Do you want us to call Hongjoong- and Seonghwa-hyung? They’re older and more experienced. Maybe they’ll be better with relationship advice.”
“Noo, don’t tell Mom and Dad,” Yunho whines. “I don’t want them to judge me.”
“Why would they judge you?” San asks.
“Because they’ve got their shit together and they’re about to get married and I’m just sitting here thinking about my best friend’s dick!”
Jongho grabs Yeosang by the sleeve before he can get up to remove himself from the situation.
“Was it a nice dick, at least?” Wooyoung inquires.
Yunho glares at him. “Yes, it was a nice dick. I’m fucked.”
“Literally?” Wooyoung asks. Yunho confines his head in his hands again.
“Babe, remember when we talked about going over things in your head before you say them out loud?” San asks. Yunho groans.
“Wow, that bad?” Wooyoung asks sympathetically, not bothering to address San’s point (which he almost certainly never intended to take to heart in the first place).
“No! Not bad! It was fantastic! He was so sweet and considerate and he had moves!” says Yunho.
“Moves?” says Wooyoung.
“Do not describe the moves,” says Yeosang.
“Believe me, I don’t even want to talk about it,” Yunho moans.
“Oh, come on, moves are great!” says Wooyoung. “Right, guys?” He turns to look at the first person he can find, who is Yeosang. Yeosang just looks at him.
“Okay, moving on,” says Wooyoung.
“Being as vague as possible,” says San, presumably before Wooyoung can’t move on, “if it was so good, why are you so mopey now? Was the end bad or something?”
“If by ‘end’ you mean the wild and morose cacophony that is my brain, then yes, San, the end was bad,” says Yunho.
“Um,” says San.
“If you’re asking about the end of the sex, then if you think staring up at metaphorical stars after having your mind blown and being spoiled for any future dick is bad, then yes, that end was also bad.”
“What did I say about being vague?” says San.
“I require details on how your mind was blown,” says Wooyoung, having apparently abandoned his extremely brief promise of moving on. “Did he open up new territory for you that you’d never explored before? Did he open your eyes to the wonders of new gadgets? Ooh, did you use coated condoms? Do you need a recommendation? Hold on, there’s this brand that makes a really good cherry flavor, let me look it up—”
“We didn’t use condoms,” Yunho mumbles.
Wooyoung shoots up straight, gasping. “Yunho!” he scolds, sounding scandalized.
“No, it wasn’t like that!” Yunho protests, thinking that now would be a really great time to travel back to sixteenth-century Europe and get burned at the stake for witchcraft. “You know Hongjoong-hyung always pesters us about getting tested, so even though neither of us had been with anyone for a bit we went to a clinic just to make sure we were clean. And neither of us had been with anyone else since that, and I trust him.”
“Oh!” says Wooyoung. “Well, in that case—”
Oh, God. He’s wiggling his eyebrows. No good can come from this.
“—I hope the dick astral-projected you into the fifth dimension.”
Jongho grabs Yeosang’s sleeve to stop him from trying to leave again.
“Stop,” Yunho whines.
“What? Raw dick is good!” says Wooyoung. “Won’t anybody back me up?” He looks around for the first person he can find, who is Yeosang again.
“Do you think I’m someone else?” Yeosang asks.
Wooyoung looks swiftly away. “Okay, so just to sum up quickly,” he says, prompting San to groan preemptively in the background, “when it comes to barebacking it, trust is a must, but in the absence of trust, no rubber no blubber.”
“What?” says Yunho, finally looking up.
“You know,” says Wooyoung. “’Cause the ass is thicc.”
“I don’t know how to explain to you,” says Jongho, holding Yeosang’s sleeve in a death grip, “that I like hanging out with my friends and my boyfriend at the same time, and right now Yeosang-hyung looks ready to spontaneously combust.” They all look at Yeosang, who does indeed seem ready to astral-project himself out of the room at the next convenient (or inconvenient) opportunity. Yunho puts his head in his hands again.
“Getting back on topic,” says San, giving Wooyoung a Look. “Yunho, you live with Mingi. How could you not have talked to him about this if you slept with him last week?”
“I haven’t seen him in four days,” Yunho mumbles.
“What?” says San. “How is that possible?”
“I’ve been going home ridiculously late and I leave in the morning before the roosters can even think about giving themselves laryngitis,” says Yunho. “I’m exhausted. I mean, do I seem hinged to you? Do I?”
“No,” says San.
“Okay,” says Jongho. “Yunho-hyung, why have you been avoiding having a proper conversation with him? Don’t you want to know what it meant to him?”
“Yes, but I’m a coward,” Yunho says, mumbling again.
“Oh, for the love of God, raise your head,” Yeosang snaps. Yunho shoots up obediently, spine ramrod straight as he looks at Yeosang with wide eyes. “Good,” says Yeosang. “Now, talk. Why is it so bad that you slept with him?”
“I don’t want to lose him,” Yunho blurts. It sounds like it’s been pulled out of him unconsciously.
Yeosang’s eyes soften. “Yunho,” he says. “You know he’s not like her, don’t you?” Yunho looks away.
After a moment of hesitation, Wooyoung stands up so he can walk over to Yunho and plop down next to him softly. He puts a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he says. “That we’re talking about it. I know you don’t like to. But Sangie’s right. Based on what Sannie’s told me, Mingi sounds like the exact opposite of her.”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” says Yunho, as short as he ever is.
Wooyoung looks uncertainly at San, who’s chewing his lip. Jongho is looking back and forth between Wooyoung and Yunho nervously. Yeosang has closed his eyes and Yunho is looking away from all of them, staring at the wall. There’s quite a few seconds before Jongho decides to intervene.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “We didn’t mean to make you upset.” Yunho runs a hand through his hair and looks down.
“We very much want you to be happy, No No,” says Wooyoung softly. “I hope you know that.”
“Yeah,” says Yunho, which Wooyoung supposes is better than nothing.
“We want...Mingi to be happy too,” San ventures.
Yunho glances at him. “What do you mean?” San chews on his lip again and doesn’t answer. There’s a few seconds before Jongho speaks again.
“Don’t you think you’re hurting him by staying away?” he asks softly. “He really likes you.”
“He really likes everyone,” says Yunho. “He’s friendly. And don’t—” he continues, looking at Wooyoung, “—tell me that I’m special. You can’t know that’s true.”
Wooyoung sighs. “It could be, though.” Yunho looks away. There’s a little bit of an awkward silence in which San bites his lip, Yeosang blinks tiredly, and Yunho gazes out at the floor, unwilling to make eye contact with any of them.
Eventually, Jongho shifts in his chair. “Yunho-hyung,” he says. “Do you want to watch a Marvel movie?”
Yunho glances up. “Yes,” he says after a pause. “That would be nice. Thank you, Jongie.”
Jongho gives him a little smile. Yeosang turns the TV back on and pulls up a streaming service. It’s when Tony Stark is getting it on with the Vanity Fair reporter that Wooyoung turns to Yunho.
“Okay, real talk, though,” he says.
Yunho looks at him, chin in hand.
“Who topped?” Wooyoung asks.
Yeosang leaves the room.
Mingles♡♡♡
> hey, will you be coming home today?
> i haven’t heard from you since yesterday so i thought i’d ask
Mingles♡♡♡
> i’m making ramen
Mingles♡♡♡
> is your phone working okay?
Mingles♡♡♡
> sorry, i don’t wanna quintuple text or anything but it’s been a few hours since that last one
Mingles♡♡♡
> yunho?
🐶Puppy🐶
> hey! sorry!
> i was busy so i just saw this, haha
> yeah sorry i can’t come home until late. you’ll probably be asleep. i have a thing
Mingles♡♡♡
> oh
> ok
Yunho glances down at his phone and chews his lip before slipping it back into his pocket.
He does not have a thing.
Well, he does have a thing, if by “thing” you mean a debilitating fear of honest conversations and a deep-seated need not to be abandoned. But. You know.
He sighs, running a hand through his hair and wondering what he can occupy his time with so he doesn’t have to go back home before dark. He just hopes Mingi doesn’t stay awake on purpose so he can talk to him. Maybe San and Wooyoung will let him sleep over?
He doesn’t want to talk. He does. He doesn’t. He knows he couldn’t stand the Why are you being so weird about this or the I’m sorry, maybe this was a mistake or maybe even the Hey, do you want to keep doing this? You know. As friends.
Friends. Because that’s what they are.
Friends who kissed. Friends who put their tongues in each other’s mouths. Friends who had sex not once, not twice, but three fucking times, because apparently Yunho has no self-restraint around pretty boys.
Except Mingi isn’t just a pretty boy. He’s someone who deserves pretty things, pretty flowers and pretty words and pretty songs.
It all started with a song.
Last Week
“Hey!”
Yunho looks up, smiling as he sees Mingi coming into the room. “Hey. Did you get me the Doritos?”
Mingi chuckles. “You’d never stop whining if I didn’t,” he says, giving Yunho a sneak peek at where he stashed the big bag of chips in his duffel bag. Yunho sticks out his tongue at him. “We can eat them later,” says Mingi, smiling. “Workout first, remember?”
“Yeah, yeah,” says Yunho. He stands up, and Mingi looks him up and down.
“What happened to your regular gear?” he asks.
“Hmm?” says Yunho. Mingi just looks at his clothes again, and Yunho glances down. “Oh, they’re the same clothes. I accidentally made the water too hot and shrunk them in the wash.” He pushes a hand through his hair self-consciously. “They’re not too tight, are they?”
Mingi smiles again, turning away and dumping his duffel bag up against the wall. “Nah, you’re fine.”
Yunho nods. “Cool.” He glances around, looking at the empty machines. “I guess we have the room to ourselves,” he says. “What do you want to start with?”
Mingi crosses his arms over his chest, surveying the equipment. “Hmm,” he says. “I kinda want to start with the Doritos, to be honest.”
Yunho laughs. “Feeling lazy all of a sudden?”
Mingi mopes. “It’s the end of the day. I’m tired.”
“It was your idea,” says Yunho, shaking his head fondly.
“Hey, you know morning me always overestimates evening me,” says Mingi. “Evening me just wants Doritos and ocean music or some shit.”
Yunho raises an eyebrow. “I’ve literally never heard you listen to ocean music.”
“Well, maybe I should start!” says Mingi, brightening. “It could be therapeutic. Like a grown-up lullaby or something.”
“I feel like you’re just trying to avoid working out.”
“We could work out to ocean music,” Mingi suggests, seeming genuinely excited about the concept.
Yunho laughs. “We might as well work out to lullabies, Mingles.”
“Ooh, that works too! Why don’t you sing one for me?” says Mingi.
“Why don’t we work out instead?” Yunho suggests.
Mingi pouts. “You won’t even try to sing one? For me?”
He looks so dejected that Yunho almost chuckles. “Aww, c’mon,” he teases. “You know you’re worth all my lullabies, Minnie.”
He thought Mingi would laugh at that, or at least perk up, but he doesn’t. Instead, he rubs the back of his neck. After some awkward few seconds, Yunho clears his throat quietly, wondering if he did something wrong. He’s about to speak, but then Mingi looks back at him. “So, um. Are you going to?” he asks.
Yunho blinks. “Am I going to what?”
“Sing me a lullaby.”
“Uh.” Yunho blinks again, but Mingi genuinely looks like he’s waiting for an answer. “I don’t know any good ones,” Yunho admits. Mingi genuinely looks crestfallen, so Yunho straightens. “Okay, I think I remember one. How does it go? Oh—” He clears his throat; thinks, Ah, fuck it; and sings.
“Below the red sunset, I hold your hand tight with warm eyes.”
Mingi looks at him. Yunho doesn’t really know whether he’s happy or not that Yunho’s singing. He’s not a bad singer, he thinks, but he can’t read Mingi’s expression. Was he actually just joking about the whole thing? Oh, God, that would be so awkward. He decides to plow on.
“When we share our dreams, feel each other and smile, we go back to that place.”
He’s losing more and more confidence the longer Mingi looks at him. He takes a little step toward Yunho, but his expression doesn’t change. He’s just observing Yunho like he hasn’t heard him sing before. Pushing the strangeness of that out of his mind, Yunho gathers together his little shreds of confidence and continues.
“People cannot live alone,” he sings quietly. “Don’t leave me now. Oh, take me home.”
Mingi kisses him.
Yunho just about manages not to sputter into his mouth. He can feel himself gaping like a fish and his hands are flailing around awkwardly, but Mingi doesn’t seem to notice. He doesn’t take the opportunity to slip his tongue inside, just presses sweet kisses against Yunho’s mouth until he pulls back a few centimeters, eyes still shut, resting their foreheads together.
“Shit,” Yunho blurts.
Mingi’s eyes fly open, his hands immediately withdrawing from where they’d been resting on Yunho’s waist. Yunho misses the warmth.
“I-I’m sorry,” Mingi stutters, “I didn’t—I just wanted—I shouldn’t have done that, I’m so sorry—”
Yunho grabs him by the back of his neck, hauls him forward, and kisses him with tongue. Mingi immediately melts, big hands going to Yunho’s waist again, their bodies two hard lines against each other. “Yunnie,” he whispers against Yunho’s lips. “Yunnie.”
Yunho secretly loves Mingi’s nicknames. It’s not like the rest of them don’t call him nicknames too, but only Mingi can make his stomach squirm with it. He presses up against Mingi, arms looping behind his neck. There’s a tingling on his lips that travels down his body, changing into a warm pooling somewhere along the way. He wonders how embarrassed he should be that he’s literally getting hard just from some tongue, and he’s briefly terrified that Mingi is going to make fun of him when he pulls away.
Instead, what Mingi actually says is “You really want to kiss me?” And then he literally glances behind him, like he thinks Yunho might have mistaken him for someone else.
Yunho huffs out a little laugh, heart racing. “Yes, you. Did you think I got you confused with someone else?”
“I just—you—” Mingi stutters, “—you never did anything to indicate that you liked me like that.”
“Neither did you,” Yunho points out, thumb tracing Mingi’s cheekbone.
Mingi makes a funny face. “Well, yeah, but—you could have anyone, you know?”
“What?”
“What?”
Yunho tilts his head. “I’m confused.”
Mingi blinks. “Me too.”
Yunho should probably try to get this sorted out before they continue, but his lips are literally burning with how much he wants to kiss Mingi again. “Does that mean you’re confused about whether you want to kiss me?” he asks, eyes falling to where Mingi’s pink lower lip is parted slightly from the top one as he lets out sweet little breaths.
“No!” says Mingi immediately, looking a little panicked. “I want to kiss you.”
“Okay,” says Yunho, palms sweating. “So kiss me.”
Mingi looks a little unsure, but after a second he tentatively raises a hand and puts it on the side of Yunho’s neck. The touch is light and gentle, but it makes Yunho’s skin feel hot. But Mingi doesn’t kiss him again.
Yunho is opening his mouth to ask whether he’s having second thoughts when Mingi leans forward and presses a soft, gentle kiss to the other side of his neck. Without his permission, Yunho’s hand automatically fists in the back of Mingi’s shirt. He gasps, and Mingi finally pulls away and slots their lips together, pressing forward hard. Yunho clasps the back of his head as he’s pushed slightly backward by the force of the kiss.
His fingers get lost in Mingi’s hair as Mingi tangles their tongues together, gripping Yunho’s waist like an anchor. There’s electricity crackling between their lips, and when Mingi shoves him up against the wall he’s all too eager to wrap his leg around his hip. Mingi shifts him up, catching hold of his legs and pulling them up so they’re both around his waist. He’s hard, he’s aching, he wants.
Mingi pulls back, gasping. “Do you want to go home?”
Yunho’s never nodded harder at anything in his life.