Work Text:
Then
“Say something,” Mingyu taunts. “Beg. Beg me to stop.”
Wonwoo says nothing. He never did.
“Fine. You lose.”
Wonwoo’s eyes follow his backpack as it is thrown into the fountain in front of the school. The backpack is heavy, full of notebooks and school supplies and a library book he’s meant to return tomorrow, and it collides loudly with water and ceramic.
“Well?” Mingyu says, pointing towards the fountain. “Go get it.”
Wonwoo doesn’t move.
“I told you to go get it.” Mingyu shoves Wonwoo hard enough to make him fall, and he watches as Wonwoo collides with the pavement. He doesn’t make a sound. Instead, he gently pushes himself off the ground and brushes the dirt off the pants his mother just bought him.
Wonwoo stares at the fountain for a few moments before climbing over the edge, one shiny dress shoe after the other. He moves towards the center, water splashing and the bottoms of his grey school pants turning black. A gust of wind reminds Mingyu that the water is freezing.
Wonwoo lifts his backpack, arms shaking from the extra weight, and puts it on.
Mingyu watches him walk home like that: stoic, backpack dripping, shaking.
+
The Beginning
Mingyu’s head is itchy. He would scratch it, but there’s a sequin cowboy hat on top of it, which is coincidentally the reason why it itches so fucking much.
It’s a themed night at their favorite club, though Mingyu refuses to say the name of said theme out loud, because there is something humiliating about hearing the words Wild Wild West come out of his mouth. It’s tacky and lame, and Mingyu is only slightly embarrassed in his cowboy hat, but his friends thrive off tacky and lame, so spirits are high.
He also really, really, really can’t decide if he makes for a sexy cowboy or not. The hat must be throwing him off. Sexy vampire? Obviously. Sexy pirate? It’s been done. But sexy cowboy? He’s not so sure, and he’d prefer to not test the waters in such a public affair. (By public, he means Chan’s Snap story.)
His chest is out, obviously, but he doesn’t think the bootcut jeans are doing him any favors, and the cowboy hat is flashy in all the ways he hates, which may be because he let Soonyoung talk him into sequins over velvet. Fuck Soonyoung and fuck sequins.
Speak of the devil (cowboy?), Mingyu can see him already drunk out of his mind on the dance floor, strutting around in the stupid cowboy boots he insisted on buying for tonight and tonight alone.
Mingyu is in the middle of listing the pros and cons of approaching a drunk Soonyoung when he feels someone running a hand up and down his arm before he sees them.
“Mingyu,” Jeonghan says, dragging the word out.
“Hannie,” Mingyu answers, turning to face his friend in full. “It’s been a minute. How have you been?”
Jeonghan ignores the question. “Have you been working out?” He squeezes Mingyu’s biceps for good measure, and Mingyu can tell he’s in one of his flirt-for-fun moods. Mingyu has no problem entertaining.
It’s a back and forth of taking the bit too far until Soonyoung sniffs them out, which is neutral news with an equal number of pros and cons, Mingyu decides.
“My beautiful friends,” Soonyoung shouts, posing with his arms outstretched.
Mingyu rubs his ear, and Jeonghan looks reasonably less entertained. “Go away.”
“Hi, Soonyoung,” Mingyu says without flair. It’s obligatory because Soonyoung happens to be Mingyu’s best friend in the entire world.
Soonyoung goes to pull Mingyu in for a drunken hug. At least, Mingyu thinks it’s going to be a hug, but then Soonyoung leans in with closed eyes and puckered lips and a sweaty forehead. Jeonghan looks disgusted.
Mingyu swats Soonyoung away. “Don’t be weird.”
“Can a man not greet his friends anymore?” Soonyoung cries, hands up like he’s being arrested.
“Calm down, partner,” Mingyu says, immediately regretting it. He shakes it off. “You’re going to scare everyone away.”
The irony of the situation is that Soonyoung is Mingyu’s wingman (self-proclaimed), and Mingyu is Soonyoung’s ex-wingman (fired), though Mingyu thinks he should look into firing Soonyoung, too, because he’s never actually wingman-ed without it ending in Mingyu going home alone or Soonyoung crying.
There are several reasons for this, the first being that Soonyoung is a sloppy drunk with a sloppier mouth and a profound inability to remember a task the moment he looks away. The second and more complicated reason, in Soonyoung’s defense, is that Mingyu has a type, one he’s very specific about. He likes pretty boys, neat and smooth like a decorative tea set, but not too neat, because that’s boring and usually a sign that they’re incredibly boring to talk to. He also likes dainty things, wrists and hands and necks, things he can move around and handle easily, because Mingyu is strong and likes to feel like it, too.
The biggest problem with having Soonyoung as a wingman is that, when things don’t work out, Mingyu almost always ends up going home with Soonyoung instead, and his best friend is a horrible kisser. It feels more like a punishment than a backup plan, and Mingyu sometimes isn’t sure whether Soonyoung sabotages on purpose or not. He’s afraid to ask.
The next chunk of the night is spent collecting their friends like Pokémon. Joshua shows up in a pantsuit and cowboy hat, which should feel out of place but doesn’t, and Seungkwan and Chan show up an hour late because their Uber got into a “minor but surprisingly damaging” car accident, and they had to walk the rest of the way. At some point, some guy named Vernon shows up, and though no one knows where he came from, they keep him around because they think it’s funny that he wore cargo shorts and a graphic tee to a bar.
Mingyu is in the middle of trying to get Vernon to tell him whether he prefers being called Vernon or Hansol, to which Vernon keeps shrugging instead of saying anything back, when his attention gets caught at the other side of the room.
It’s difficult to make out the full picture because Mingyu is far away and the boy is turned to order a drink, but Mingyu can make out a few things that interest him a lot: broad shoulders, small waist, hints of a pretty face. Pretty hands, too, one of which is holding up the number two at the bartender. Mingyu ignores this fact, instead admiring the outfit of choice: a silk button up that feels slightly off-theme, black low-rise jeans, very normal looking sneakers. It’s a confusing aura, a little stiff without being awkward, a little like he wants to be here and a little like he doesn’t.
Mingyu feels a very sudden and distracting need to shake him around.
He chugs the rest of his drink, which is just melted ice, and thrusts the empty cup into Vernon’s hand before pushing his shoulders back and walking towards the bar.
As he approaches, he realizes the boy is also wearing thin wired glasses, and what he thought was a choker is actually the string of a cowboy hat wrapped around his neck, the hat resting against his back. It’s all so casual and thoughtless, and Mingyu finds it checks a lot of boxes he didn’t know he had.
Mingyu gets closer, and though something starts to feel a little off, it doesn’t click until the boy’s head turns to look at Mingyu, and Mingyu’s entire body goes stiff.
He wishes it was for a fun, sexy reason. Instead, it’s because the boy is familiar in a way that hurts Mingyu’s brain.
“Wonwoo?” he says. “Jeon Wonwoo?”
Wonwoo does a better job at containing his surprise. Mingyu watches his eyes widen only slightly, his brow furrow just a bit, before everything is neatly put back into place.
“Yeah,” is all he says back, and Mingyu’s stomach starts to twist uncomfortably at the tone, at the look on Wonwoo’s face, at how there’s something accusing in the word, though Mingyu can’t place what it is.
It’s all very disorienting. The boy looks like Wonwoo and he doesn’t; has the same eyes and mouth and hair, but he’s also tall and twenty-something and hot, which Mingyu is suddenly and forcibly aware of. He’s an entire person, one with long legs and decent posture and a killer stare, and nothing like the timid, half-person Mingyu knew when they were kids.
There’s little time to process because Seokmin of all people throws an arm around Wonwoo’s shoulder, which is just as confusing as seeing Wonwoo in the first place, and Mingyu is certain he’s going home with a headache.
“Mingyu!” Seokmin beams. “I didn’t know you knew Wonwoo!”
Wonwoo answers before Mingyu can. “Not well.” There’s something ugly hiding in the words, and Mingyu feels out of his element.
“We went to middle school together,” he tries.
Seokmin smiles big and with teeth, though his eyes squint like he’s trying to understand something. “What a coincidence. Did you really not know we went to university together? We were roommates.”
Mingyu did not know this, and, for some reason, the information makes him uneasy. “I had no idea.”
“Yep. Me, Wonwoo, and Minghao. I’m surprised you didn’t run into each other sooner.”
“Me too,” he plays along, though he knows it’s because Seokmin is really a friend of a friend, not someone he sees often unless Minghao arranges it.
“Perhaps for the better,” Wonwoo adds, looking Mingyu right in the eye. Mingyu feels disoriented again.
There’s an awkward stretch of silence, mainly because Mingyu has no idea what he’s meant to say now. He’s almost thankful when Wonwoo leans in to say something in Seokmin’s ear, smiling as he does so, which makes everything feel even more bitter, before Seokmin shyly tells Mingyu they’re going to go dance.
Mingyu watches them as they go. He feels strange, like rocks he thought were too heavy to turn are all facing the sun, like a secret he forgot he had has been parading about with his friends. He wants to go home and take a shower and wash the entire interaction out of his hair.
He does just that, and when he’s done, he looks in his bathroom mirror and wonders what Wonwoo saw. Wonders if his eyes are still the same as they were back then, if he grew into his teeth at all. Wonders if the child from back then is still hiding somewhere inside him, trying to peek out through his squints and smiles and habits, or if that version of himself is dead and gone, buried beneath all the versions of himself he created in its place.
He supposes it doesn’t really matter.
+
It’s morbid curiosity. Mingyu is well aware of this; knows that opening the box might kill the cat, but he feels his hands itching to look nonetheless, even if it’s just for a second.
So when he hears Soonyoung mention going out with Seokmin during their weekly boba date, he straightens up.
“Seokmin? Minghao’s friend?”
Soonyoung nods while sipping his drink. He loudly chews a few tapioca pearls before answering. “Yep. We’re going to some fancy club on the West Side. I forget the name.”
Mingyu is annoyed at Soonyoung for not answering all the questions he refuses to ask.
“Is it just you and Seokmin?”
Soonyoung glares at Mingyu like he’s stupid. “Why the fuck would it just be me and Seokmin?”
“Because you said it was you and Seokmin.”
“Obviously Minghao is coming. That would be so weird if he wasn’t.”
“Okay, so it’s you, Seokmin, and Minghao?”
“No. Jeonghan is coming, too.”
“Did something happen with him and Seungcheol? Why isn’t he coming?”
Soonyoung leans back in his chair and sighs, making a display of the rise and fall of his chest. “Obviously Seungcheol is coming if Jeonghan is coming. That would be so weird if he wasn’t.”
Mingyu imagines his hands around Soonyoung’s throat. He refrains from actually doing so for the sake of the shop’s Yelp reviews. “Okay, is that it then? Is that everyone that’s going?”
Soonyoung looks up towards the ceiling, eyebrows furrowed and index finger tapping his chin thoughtfully. The dramatic display ends with, “I don’t know. I can’t remember.”
Mingyu does a deep breathing exercise he found on Reddit until he decides that Soonyoung’s answer is perfectly fine, and that he doesn’t really need to know who’s going, because he doesn’t really care anyway, and not knowing doesn’t affect him at all.
“Okay,” he says. “I’ll come.”
Soonyoung narrows his eyes. “I didn’t invite you.”
Mingyu narrows his eyes back. “Were you even invited? Or did Minghao tell you his plans and you invited yourself?”
Soonyoung’s mouth opens and closes. “Fine. You can come.”
+
Mingyu does go, but mostly because Seokmin is going, and Mingyu knows how to use context clues.
The club is nice, sleek and dark and more crowded than he’d expect for an upscale place. It takes him a few minutes to find his friends, who seem to be scattered throughout the upstairs floor.
Minghao notices him first. “Hey Mingyu,” he greets, looking exceptionally neutral at Mingyu’s arrival. There’s a boy Mingyu doesn’t recognize with his hands on Minghao’s waist. He offers Mingyu a half smile, charming in a way Mingyu isn’t used to.
“Hey Minghao,” Mingyu says, turning his attention back to his friend. He waits for an introduction that never comes, though Minghao has always been the possessive type, so it doesn’t come as a surprise.
The interaction doesn’t have a chance to turn awkward because Mingyu’s attention is pulled to the body pressed against his back and the hands snaking around to the waistband of his jeans.
“Mingyuuu,” Soonyoung sing-songs, mouth pressed against the shell of Mingyu’s ear.
Mingyu can tell Soonyoung is trashed right away. The main indicator is the touchiness, but Mingyu can also smell it on his breath and feel it in the way he sways back and forth. He turns to face Soonyoung, who clumsily puts his arms around Mingyu’s neck, and then Mingyu can see it on his face, too: the bright redness, the half-open eyes, the distant expression. Mingyu’s free hand moves to Soonyoung’s hip to hold him steady.
“You’re a mess,” Mingyu says, not in the mood to deal with horny Soonyoung tonight.
“Give me a kiss,” Soonyoung sighs. He closes his eyes and leans in. Mingyu swats him away.
“Not tonight, Soonyoung, okay?”
Soonyoung pouts before nuzzling into Mingyu’s neck, mumbling something that Mingyu doesn’t even try to understand because his eyes settle on something much more interesting across the room.
The sight is enough to make his head go completely blank. He sees Seokmin, drunk and feeling himself, dancing against an equally drunk and touchy Wonwoo, whose hands can’t seem to decide on a place to stay. It’s crude, and Mingyu can’t look away no matter how much his pride is begging him to. There’s just something about the way Wonwoo’s touching Seokmin, the way they’re moving against each other, that has Mingyu frozen in place.
It's when Seokmin starts kissing up Wonwoo’s neck that Wonwoo’s eyes meet Mingyu’s, and Mingyu begins to hear his own heart pounding over the beat of the music. There’s a moment of realization, a flicker of contemplation, and then Wonwoo smiles, satisfied, before pulling Seokmin by the hair into a full kiss.
Mingyu looks away. He brings his drink to his lips and downs it in one go, slowly becoming aware again of his surroundings. When he turns back towards his friends, he finds Minghao staring at him.
“What?”
Minghao looks away. “Nothing.”
+
Mingyu gets another drink. And then another, and another, and another. He tries to chat up a pretty boy he finds on the dance floor, but it feels forced and wrong and Mingyu decides he just isn’t in the mood tonight. His mind is elsewhere—busy stealing glances across the room, looking to see whether Wonwoo is still pressed against Seokmin, or getting another drink, or laughing in a way that confuses Mingyu because it isn’t anything like the boy he remembers. Sometimes he looks to see if Wonwoo is scanning the crowd for Mingyu like Mingyu is doing for him. He never is.
The night ends, and though Mingyu isn’t sure what his goal was for coming out, he’s certain he hasn’t accomplished it. If anything, there seems to be a bigger pool of something heavy growing in his stomach, and the feeling is uncomfortable and foreign and frustrating because Mingyu doesn’t know how to make it stop.
Mingyu sits on the curb in front of the club alone, waiting for his friends. Soonyoung made a scene about needing to go to the bathroom before they left, and Minghao lost rock-paper-scissors, which was great news for Mingyu and terrible news for Minghao. Mingyu is a few seconds away from calling to complain about them taking too long when he spots Seokmin, Wonwoo, and the unintroduced boy leaving the club.
He’s feeling especially reckless tonight, so he rises and marches up to the group, seemingly guided by that strange feeling he can’t shake, and also the fact that he can’t remember how many drinks he had.
“Hey Seokmin, Wonwoo,” he calls, causing three heads to turn his way. None look particularly pleased.
“Mingyu,” Seokmin smiles, always the polite one.
“We didn’t get to talk much tonight,” Mingyu says in an attempt to make casual conversation. He briefly loses balance and has to pause to steady himself.
His eyes shift to Wonwoo’s, and he finds they’re already looking at him.
“I’m not interested in whatever you think you’re doing,” Wonwoo deadpans, and even Seokmin and the other boy look surprised, like this is out of character for Wonwoo. Mingyu briefly wonders what is in character for Wonwoo, if he’ll ever get to find out.
“I’m not—I’m not trying to do anything,” Mingyu stutters. “I’m being polite.”
“I said I’m not interested.”
“I don’t think you’re being very fair right now,” Mingyu says, feeling desperate. For what, he isn’t sure.
“I don’t need to be.” The words are icy, but there’s a hint of something else, as if Wonwoo is trying to get Mingyu to understand. Mingyu doesn’t want to.
“Can’t we just be civil?” he pleads, though it ends up sounding more condescending than anything. “Aren’t we capable of that?”
The corner of Wonwoo’s mouth twitches upwards. “Are we capable of that?”
Mingyu feels the spotlight. His mouth falls open to say something thoughtless, anything to get the blinding light off him, when Minghao and Hoshi stumble outside.
“Take him,” Minghao grumbles.
Mingyu does, and is then aware that people exist in this universe besides him and Wonwoo, that Seokmin and company have been here for the entire conversation.
“Can we Uber home?” Soonyoung mumbles, eyes closed. “I don’t want to walk.”
Mingyu falls into the distraction. “Yeah, yeah, sure. I’ll call one.”
Minghao is the only one that bids them farewell, and Mingyu Ubers back with Soonyoung before walking back to his own place.
When he gets home, he looks in the mirror again. Tilts his head around to get the full picture. He wonders if the cracks had always been there.
+
“Do you know Minghao’s one friend?” Mingyu asks one morning while on the phone with Soonyoung.
“Which one? He has, like, a million.”
“Minghao has, like, six friends total.”
“That’s basically a million.”
“Um, glasses? He’s always wearing glasses.” Mingyu isn’t sure why he doesn’t just say the name.
“Everyone wears glasses these days,” Soonyoung sighs.
“I hate you.”
“I love you.”
Mingyu thinks for a moment. “He’s kind of lanky. Dark hair.” He pauses. “Always with Seokmin.”
“Dude, you should have opened with that,” Soonyoung huffs. “Seokmin’s friend. That’s his title.”
“So you know him?” Mingyu says, a little too upbeat, but he doesn’t need to care about pride when it comes to Soonyoung. “What’s he like?”
“Are you into him or something?”
“Just answer the question.”
Soonyoung stops to hum loudly into the phone. “He’s cool, I guess. Kind of quiet, but really nice. He makes Seokmin laugh a lot. I’d probably trust him to housesit or something like that. You know, like, those people that you know wouldn’t do anything weird if you left them alone in your house? I feel like that’s him.”
Mingyu pinches his nose. “Forget I asked.”
+
Mingyu wakes up with an itch.
It starts in his head, like a little needle that’s just noticeable enough to be annoying. He stretches, puts a shirt on, brushes his teeth. It gets worse, moving down his neck and back until it’s all over, pulsing and distracting like there’s something under his skin.
He looks in the mirror but sees nothing. He squints into the glass to catch something wrong, to find something out of place, but there’s just nothing. All he sees is himself staring back, eyes and nose and mouth in their usual spots. He looks right but feels wrong, and the contradiction is frustrating because Mingyu likes when things make sense.
He spends the rest of his morning scratching. He chugs water and eats a good breakfast and calls his mom, but the itch won’t go away no matter what he tries.
The internet tells him to see a doctor. He calls Soonyoung instead.
“I’m dying,” he says.
“You sound fine,” Soonyoung replies, muffled.
Mingyu explains his situation. Soonyoung is no help.
He decides to go on a run, then he showers, and forty-five minutes of scrubbing leaves him feeling like he spread the sensation all over instead of making it go away. He looks in the mirror again. It’s still his face.
Mingyu spends the rest of the day like that: itchy, restless, trying in vain to make himself feel normal. After a while, it starts to feel like the itch is inside him, snaking through his organs and upsetting his stomach. Or maybe Mingyu is being dramatic—he never dealt well with being sick. He had always hated having something he didn’t invite come and mess with his body; hated that he could do everything right and still wake up with a cold.
The sun sets. Mingyu thinks sleep could be the answer, so he’s in bed with the lights off before eight. This is a good idea in concept, but Mingyu can’t lie still. He tosses and turns for an eternity, though the clock on his nightstand says it’s a just past nine, and his sanity is a few hairs away from catching the itch, too. He stares at the ceiling until it tells him to go on another run.
Within the minute, he’s out the door in a pajama shirt and running shorts. It’s a humid night, bad for running, but it’s distracting enough that Mingyu doesn’t care. He follows his usual route until he’s blinking up at his house. The itch is still in his stomach and down his throat, so he knows it isn’t enough. He turns and runs in the opposite direction.
He runs until his lungs fill with sand. It still isn’t enough. He runs until his breaths come in such quick succession that he isn’t really getting air and his axis tilts with every stride. He stops and heaves so hard he briefly contemplates throwing up. His world is still tilting when he tips his head back to look at the sky—orange and starless from the pollution of the city. He considers shouting up to ask what he did to deserve this. He doesn’t.
When the angle of the world feels familiar again, Mingyu walks even though his legs feel like lead. The thrumming in his ears lessens as his heartbeat slows to normal, and by the time he reaches the front door, it’s quiet.
Instead of taking his keys out, he knocks.
The door opens, and the worst part is that Wonwoo doesn’t even look surprised.
He just stands there, wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt and looking so much like a person that Mingyu hates it. He looks so plain, so ordinary, and it makes Mingyu feel stupid, as if he finally opened the door to find that the monster in the closet was something he imagined—his own doing.
“What do you want?” Wonwoo bluntly asks. It doesn’t feel like a question, which is fitting because Mingyu doesn’t have an answer. He soon realizes that he doesn’t have a plan, either, and that there’s a good chance he woke Wonwoo up because Wonwoo may or may not look like the type of person to be asleep before ten thirty. The thought irritates Mingyu.
“We need to resolve a few things,” he says boldly, voice echoing throughout the quiet neighborhood.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Go on,” Wonwoo says, leaning against the doorframe and looking disinterested. Mingyu resists rolling his eyes.
“Obviously you still have some…feelings from when we were kids,” Mingyu starts, getting right to the point. “It’s not fair to me to hold that over my head. I was a kid, too. Kids are stupid. You should be over it by now. It’s been…” He stops to count.
“13 years,” Wonwoo finishes for him.
Mingyu briefly falters. “Right,” he says. “It’s been 13 years. I think that’s a long enough time for this to not matter anymore.”
Something cracks in Wonwoo’s demeanor. “Is that so?” he asks, tilting his head and tonguing his cheek. “You think I should be over it?”
It’s a deadly look, and Mingyu feels his stomach drop despite keeping his face unbothered. Words, the right ones, get caught in his throat, and he hears himself say something that already tastes sour coming out of his mouth.
“Yeah, I do. You’re an adult. It’s childish—pathetic, actually—to cling to some little conflict from middle school. I’ve grown up. You should too.”
Silence follows. It’s more terrifying than anything Wonwoo could have said, so heavy that Mingyu can feel it tugging at his seams and pulling out things he wrote away.
Mingyu is a few seconds away from opening his mouth again to say something, anything, when he catches Wonwoo’s jaw tense. Mingyu braces himself.
“You haven’t changed at all.”
The words are simple—plain, even—but there’s so much weight in them, so much hate that Mingyu can feel it wrapping around his neck like a tether, like a worn-down rope that’s been around his neck since they were kids, one Mingyu has faded lines from trying to claw off. He thought he did. He thought he wasn’t responsible for that version of himself anymore.
He can feel the cracks now.
Mingyu doesn’t know who moves first. All he knows is that one moment he can feel the humidity of the night slipping through his shirt, and the next he can feel the wood of the doorframe biting into his back, and Wonwoo’s mouth against his, warm and sweet and nothing like what Mingyu has come to know of it.
It’s too hateful to be a kiss. Wonwoo is aggressive, hands roaming over Mingyu’s body like they’ll get burned if they stay anywhere too long. One hand comes up to grip Mingyu’s jaw, to keep him at the angle Wonwoo wants him, and Mingyu’s breath catches because it’s painful and he isn’t used to being handled.
Mingyu is different, touches more curious than anything. Wonwoo’s face is smooth and his waist is smaller than Mingyu thought it would be, and he smells faintly of the candle Mingyu’s mom used to light when he would get sick. He drags his hands over Wonwoo’s body like he’s taking notes.
Mingyu has things under control until Wonwoo palms him through his shorts, and Mingyu moans into Wonwoo’s mouth without meaning to.
“Yeah?” Wonwoo says, breathy and hot, and Mingyu shudders. Wonwoo’s hand applies more pressure, and Mingyu is embarrassed by how hard he already is, at how eager his body is to press into the touch.
Mingyu is confused, too. He shouldn’t be reacting this way. Something distant and quiet in his brain is telling him to push Wonwoo away, to yell at him to stop tricking Mingyu into something that doesn’t make sense.
But all Mingyu can do is roll his hips into Wonwoo’s hand and cling to the doorframe to stay upright. His brain is foggy—he knows this feels wrong. Knows he’s supposed to be the one pushing someone against a wall and whispering to them, but—
Wonwoo licks Mingyu’s ear, and Mingyu should find it gross but instead makes a needy, whiny noise he’s never heard himself make before. His hips grind harder into Wonwoo’s hand.
“You’re so desperate,” Wonwoo says, voice quiet.
“Oh my god, I—“ Mingyu chokes out. He doesn’t understand what’s happening to him.
“Are you going to cum in front of all my neighbors?” Wonwoo asks, and Mingyu nods in half understanding. “Are you going to cum for everyone to see?” Wonwoo says, even quieter, and Mingyu only then remembers that they’re still outside, that anyone walking by would be able to see him like this.
The thought of being exposed like that should turn him off. Instead, his hip movements turn erratic, and he moans too loudly for the setting, realizing after it happens that he does it on purpose.
Mingyu is a few seconds away from making a mess when Wonwoo pulls away, stepping back to look. Mingyu’s breathing is erratic.
“You’re a mess,” Wonwoo scolds, and the way he says it makes Mingyu twitch. He wants to ask Wonwoo to say it again. Thinks Wonwoo would laugh at him if he did. Thinks he would be okay with that. Just this once.
“Please, just—”
And then Mingyu is being pulled inside, head spinning until his back collides with a bed. He briefly makes out a desk and frames and stack of books until his eyes are closing because Wonwoo is touching him again.
+
He wishes he could taste the remnants of alcohol in his mouth, or feel the sugary aftertaste against his teeth, but there’s none of that. He looks into his mirror and sees himself, his whole self, and that’s the scariest part.
He dreams of sad eyes and scrapped knees and the feeling of being tall. He wakes up with his breath caught in his throat, and it takes a few minutes to be able to breathe again.
He tries to fall back asleep, but his mind won’t stop retracing steps he swore he forgot.
+
That weekend, Mingyu goes out and tries to be himself again. He drinks and flirts and brings a boy back to his house, but everything feels slightly off, and he ends up kicking the boy out before they’ve even begun because Mingyu can’t fucking get hard.
It’s pathetic, and he tries to fix himself with more alcohol, drinking so much that he ends up laying on his back a few blocks away from his house on the sidewalk, looking up at the sky, feeling dizzy and so very small.
He hopes for a shooting star that never comes and wakes up to an old lady kicking him in the thigh and threatening to call the police.
+
The next time Mingyu and Wonwoo cross paths, it is of the universe’s doing and not Mingyu’s.
Mingyu goes out for drinks with Soonyoung, Jeonghan, and Seungcheol at the local bar one Friday night. It’s a standard evening until Jeonghan is on the phone explaining to the caller where their table is, and it appears someone forgot to tell Mingyu that Minghao, Seokmin, and Wonwoo were invited, too.
Once they arrive, they all pull chairs up to the table, and Mingyu feels a growing sense of dread when Wonwoo pulls his chair right next to Mingyu’s.
It’s a funny gesture considering Wonwoo ignores Mingyu for the first half of the night, sparing him not a single glance. This should be a relief for Mingyu, since he really can’t look at or even think about Wonwoo without wanting to die, but instead he’s disappointed, like he was anticipating something…different.
Mingyu is in the middle of sipping his drink when he chokes, using all his willpower to keep the liquid in his mouth and succeeding about ninety percent. The entire table stops to look at him.
“Shit, dude, are you good?” Seungcheol asks.
“Wrong pipe.”
Mingyu waits a healthy amount of time before stealing a glance at Wonwoo, who is still paying Mingyu no attention. He’s actually engaged in a lively conversation with Jeonghan, talking casually like he doesn’t have a hand resting on the middle of Mingyu’s thigh under the table.
Mingyu finds he can’t think about much else except the feeling of Wonwoo’s hand, which he swears is creeping higher and higher up his leg as the night goes on. It doesn’t help that Wonwoo seems to find entertainment in giving a firm squeeze every time Mingyu says something to the table, which always ends in stuttering and odd changes in the pitch of his voice.
After a while, Mingyu discovers that it isn’t his imagination at all, and Wonwoo’s hand is moving closer and closer towards Mingyu’s upper thigh. His fingers lightly move against Mingyu’s crotch, and Mingyu is embarrassed that he is hard.
It gets a bit ridiculous when Wonwoo’s hand starts to fully touch Mingyu under the table, and it also gets ridiculous when Mingyu starts to really enjoy it. There’s a hint of shame but mostly arousal, and Mingyu really wishes he could warn Wonwoo that he might become obvious if this goes on any further.
Mingyu is busy trying to play it cool when a question is directed at him from the most unlikely person at the table.
“Is everything alright?” Wonwoo asks, and Mingyu is taken aback because Wonwoo sounds pleasant instead of mocking, like he’s watching a silly cartoon and not torturing Mingyu in front of their friends.
All eyes turn to Mingyu, and Mingyu tries and fails to detach himself from the feeling of Wonwoo’s hand adding more pressure.
“Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?” His words sound rushed as he turns to meet Wonwoo’s gaze, learning that looking at Wonwoo makes it worse.
“Your face is so red. When did you become such a lightweight?” Soonyoung jokes.
“Funny,” is all Mingyu can say before busying himself with the remainder of his drink.
An hour later, Mingyu is pinned down on Wonwoo’s bed. He supposes this is something they’re doing now.
+
Wonwoo turns into a very unexpected routine, one Mingyu doesn’t entirely understand but indulges in nonetheless, even if it’s for the worse.
They don’t say much, the only words of substance typically being the quiet “go home” Wonwoo feels the need to say every time, like some final swipe at the upper hand. Mingyu sometimes thinks of telling Wonwoo that he already has it.
No, instead of resolutions, it’s an outlet for all the other stuff. Mingyu has to pretend there isn’t guilt shadowing his movements as he gets down on his knees, has to force himself to forget that it’s hate making Wonwoo pull the tether around his neck like a leash.
Has to pretend he doesn’t feel the cracks.
Somewhere in the Middle
Wonwoo pulls Mingyu inside.
“What took you so long?” he breathes into Mingyu’s mouth.
“Sorry,” Mingyu mumbles back.
+
A few more weeks pass. Mingyu closes his eyes for just a second after they finish. They started later than usual, because Wonwoo had plans with friends from college, so it’s past one when Wonwoo detaches himself from Mingyu and disappears into the bathroom.
Mingyu tells himself that it will only be for a second—he’s tired and just got fucked and thinks he deserves a moment of reprieve before getting up and washing himself off and dragging his tired legs down the street. Except Wonwoo’s bed is warm and smells like detergent, and Mingyu is exhausted because he hasn’t been sleeping well these days. He’s asleep before he can remind himself that he is not welcome—that this is not his role to fill.
He falls asleep and dreams of somewhere warm and safe and of the feeling of hands running through his hair. It’s a heavy sleep, one he hasn’t had the luxury of having for weeks, and he hates himself for choosing now to do so.
He wakes up when it’s still dark outside to clean legs and an empty bed. He’s disoriented because his furniture is in all the wrong spots, and it takes him a solid minute of panicking to remember where he fell asleep. He’s still disoriented but knows he should leave, knows this even now, so he stumbles to get dressed and find his keys and wallet in the pitch-black room because turning on a light would be too much right now.
He slinks through the hallway and into the living room, and even though it’s dark, he can tell that Wonwoo is sprawled out on the couch; can feel that he’s awake.
Mingyu stops for a moment at the door, his back turned to Wonwoo. When he realizes there isn’t anything to be said, he leaves without a word, softly shutting the door behind him.
Mingyu means to say so many things but always says so very little.
+
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”
“You’re lying face down on the floor,” Chan says, eyeing Mingyu. “I don’t sweep, by the way. And I don’t own a Swiffer. I legitimately do not clean these floors. Ever.”
Mingyu groans and pushes himself up. “Gross.”
“You’re acting like you clean your floors. Literally no one does that.”
Mingyu glares. “People clean their houses, Chan.”
“Whatever you say. Doesn’t change the fact that you look like dog shit.”
Mingyu continues his glare. “Don’t be a dick.”
Chan throws his hands up. “I’m not being a dick. You look like shit. Your eyes are glazed over and you look a little sweaty, like, all the time, and you’re all slouchy like you aged ten years.”
Mingyu straightens his posture. “I’m not slouchy.”
Truth be told, Mingyu knows he looks horrible. He sees it every time he looks in the mirror, but he can’t help that he’s been having trouble sleeping, or that he feels on edge all the time for no reason.
Chan’s face softens. “Whatever, Gyu. Just take care of yourself.”
Mingyu is trying.
+
The next time Mingyu is at Wonwoo’s, Wonwoo breaks the rules.
Perhaps it’s because he can see the dark circles around Mingyu’s eyes, or the redness that won’t go away, but instead of telling him to get out, Wonwoo says, casually, “You don’t need to rush out.”
Mingyu understands that this is as much as an invitation as he’ll ever get, and he takes it selfishly. His legs hurt and he’s eyes burn and he just wants to lay down for a bit before he goes.
He cleans off in the bathroom, splashes cold water on his face, lays back down in the bed. He curls into a ball on top of the covers, because getting under feels too intimate, and closes his eyes.
“Just a few minutes,” he mumbles.
It is not a few minutes. He wakes when the sky is dark blue, which is reasonably less disorienting than black. He finds that he’s still in Wonwoo’s bed, only this time, Wonwoo is also there, back turned to Mingyu on the other side.
He’s quiet even when he sleeps, breathing so faintly that Mingyu stares for a few moments to make sure Wonwoo is still alive.
Mingyu gets out of the bed carefully, taking extra precaution when gathering his things to not make noise, and finds himself pushing down a smile as he walks home.
+
There were a lot of sensations and Mingyu was having a particularly bad day, so when Wonwoo goes a little too hard one night, Mingyu is a little too sensitive and cries more than he means to. He doesn’t even realize when it starts; one moment he feels so good he sees stars, and the next he can feel hot tears pooling at his chin.
Wonwoo doesn’t notice until they’re panting and finished, and Mingyu is angry because he has trouble stopping once he starts, and also because it has nothing to do with Wonwoo not being gentle and everything to do with Mingyu being soft and sensitive and bad at keeping things at bay once they start to spill over.
Mingyu can see the words on Wonwoo’s lips when he looks up; the words Wonwoo always says after the fact despite being fully aware that Mingyu doesn’t need to hear them to leave. But Mingyu gets the sniffles when he cries, and Wonwoo looks at him for what feels like the first time ever, and Mingyu watches the words get stuck in his throat.
“Why are you crying?” Wonwoo deadpans, and Mingyu tries and fails to catch any sympathy in the words. No, his tone is detached, and with Wonwoo’s eyes on him, Mingyu thinks he isn’t exaggerating when he says this is the first time Wonwoo has looked at him after sex. But now Wonwoo is looking at Mingyu and Mingyu is looking at Wonwoo, and the picture is new: Wonwoo’s shirt is wrinkled and his hair is messy and his face is still flushed, and Mingyu realizes for the first time that as much as Wonwoo is having sex with Mingyu, Mingyu is also having sex with Wonwoo.
Wonwoo blinks at Mingyu, and Mingyu remembers that there was a question.
He tries and fails to find the right thing to say, and he still has the fucking sniffles. He gets the sudden urge to gather up whatever crumbs of his pride are left scattered on Wonwoo’s floor and drag himself home.
“Are you—” Wonwoo pauses like the words are painful to get out. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Mingyu says. “It’s—” He sniffles. “Unrelated.”
“Did I—”
“No.”
“Okay,” Wonwoo says, still staring at Mingyu like he can see through him, and Mingyu thinks he prefers when Wonwoo wouldn’t look at him at all.
Mingyu supposes this is his cue to start gathering his things. He scrambles about, a little off-balance and a lot of awkward, and makes it all the way to the front door before Wonwoo stops him.
“Wait.”
+
The fluorescent lights are tacky and loud and make Wonwoo’s skin look sickly green. It suits him, somehow.
Mingyu is antsy. He can’t stop tapping his fingers along the table and bouncing his leg, and he pretends not to notice Wonwoo’s eye twitch as he does so. He’s sitting directly across from Mingyu at the booth, leaning back with his arms crossed and face blank, and Mingyu wants to ask the waitress if Wonwoo looks as terrifying to her as he does to Mingyu, or if it’s just a him thing.
The entire situation is awkward. Mingyu has trouble wrapping his head around the fact that he is sitting across from Jeon Wonwoo at a rundown diner past midnight, drinking a chocolate milkshake he didn’t pay for, the neon lights probably letting the other two people in the diner know that Mingyu had just cried an embarrassing amount.
He drinks out of his bendy straw mindlessly, finding the antique wall décor to be especially interesting, until Wonwoo clears his throat.
“Hmm?” Mingyu says into his straw, still sipping.
“You’re, uh, slurping.”
Mingyu keeps sipping for a good five seconds before he realizes that he is, in fact, making an abhorrent noise as he inhales his milkshake through the tiny straw. He feels his face heat as he stops and pushes his glass away a few inches, sitting on his hands instead.
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
A few more awkward beats of silence pass before Wonwoo abruptly leans forward and squints at Mingyu. Mingyu tries to hold still but can’t—his body shifts away like Wonwoo might bite. He has before.
“What are you doing?”
Wonwoo doesn’t answer.
“Okay,” Mingyu says, nodding.
Wonwoo tilts his head. “What do you do?”
Mingyu tilts his head back. “What?”
Wonwoo looks annoyed. His eyes briefly close like he’s collecting himself. “For work,” he says slowly. “What do you do for work?”
“Oh. I work at a publishing firm.” Wonwoo has no reaction. Instead, he stares. Mingyu doesn’t like it.
“What do you do for work?” Mingyu throws back, feeling the need to divert the attention away from himself.
Wonwoo ignores him. “Hobbies?”
“I like to run. It’s—”
“Anything else?”
Mingyu taps his chin. “I used to take pictures, but I haven’t touched my camera in months, so I don’t know if—”
“Okay.” Wonwoo looks thoughtful, like he’s trying to figure something out.
“Do you have any hobbies?” Mingyu asks, a little hopeful.
Wonwoo ignores him again, leaning slightly closer. “Are you afraid of anything?”
Mingyu’s brows furrow. The question is unexpected, one he doesn’t think he’s ever gotten, and he thinks that isn’t any of Wonwoo’s business. “That’s personal,” he replies, crossing his arms over his chest.
Wonwoo doesn’t react, so much so that Mingyu wonders if Wonwoo is still breathing; if that is even something he needs to do. No, instead he stares like he knows Mingyu will cave. It’s true, but Mingyu is still offended.
He huffs. “I’m not a fan of open water. Or underwater machinery. Have you ever seen those YouTube videos—"
“Do you like seeing me?”
Mingyu’s leg stops bouncing under the table. “What?”
Wonwoo looks frustrated for a moment before setting his face back to normal. “Do you like sleeping with me?”
The question is jarring. Mingyu feels like someone is holding a flashlight up to his face and making him share a secret, which is strange, because it’s a simple yes-or-no question with a somewhat obvious answer. Or it should be simple, but the question is really a trapdoor that leads to a pitch-black room without a light switch, and Mingyu didn’t want to admit that he’s scared of the dark, too.
Mingyu scratches his neck. “I don’t know, I—”
“You don’t know?” Wonwoo doesn’t sound condescending. If anything, it’s the most honest he’s sounded all evening.
“No, I didn’t mean it like that. Of course, I like it, I just—” Mingyu tries to find words that are big enough. There’s nothing. “I like it. But there’s a lot going on in the background, you know?”
Wonwoo hums. “I do.”
They leave soon after that. The short walk back to Wonwoo’s is mostly silent spare the unnecessary commentary from Mingyu and complete silence from Wonwoo.
When they arrive, Mingyu decides against a goodnight and continues walking past Wonwoo’s house, down the street towards his side of town, where he’ll spend the next forty or so minutes forcing his tired legs to move, as he always does. It rained while they were at the diner, too, making the air sticky and the bugs out and about.
“Wait,” he hears once he’s a good thirty feet away. He turns to see Wonwoo still standing in front of his house, making no move to go inside. “It’s late. I can drive you.”
“No, it’s okay, I don’t mind,” Mingyu yells back. He means it even though he’s already getting sweaty in his crewneck.
Wonwoo, for some reason Mingyu cannot possibly fathom, looks awkward, fiddling with his hands like a schoolboy. “Really, it’s no big deal. Let me drive you.”
Mingyu gives in, but only because seeing Wonwoo get all shy makes him uncomfortable.
Wonwoo’s car isn’t messy, but it’s a lot messier than Mingyu would have guessed. Maybe that’s because Mingyu can’t shake the perception of Wonwoo being larger than life. He has to remind himself that Wonwoo is a regular person with a small wrists and a cracked phone and an incredibly disorganized bathroom cabinet.
The car smells a little like Wonwoo, too, and Mingyu thinks he would be asleep against the window if he wasn’t giving directions.
After a few minutes, Wonwoo says, “You really live this far away?”
“It’s not that far.”
“And you walk home every time?”
“Yep. It’s no big deal. I like walking.”
Wonwoo is quiet for the rest of the ride, and when they pull up to Mingyu’s, Mingyu catches him looking at the house. He seems to debate something, biting the inside of his cheek and picking at his nails.
“Goodnight,” is all he ends up saying.
“Goodnight,” Mingyu answers, softly closing the car door.
+
“I want to hear you,” Mingyu breathes. “Please. Don’t be so quiet.”
Mingyu knows it’s a curveball, something he wouldn’t normally say, but the thought popped into his head all the sudden, and he thinks he might die if he doesn’t hear Wonwoo right this second.
“I don’t—“
“Please. Let me hear you.” Mingyu isn’t above begging.
Wonwoo shivers. He’s still fairly quiet, but the noises that do come out have Mingyu feeling like he’s going to explode.
Neither of them last long, and once they’re both sweaty and panting, Wonwoo stops to look down at Mingyu. “You’re so—“ he starts.
Mingyu looks up at him, a little shaky, and Wonwoo turns away.
“Never mind.”
+
It’s still light outside when Mingyu decides to try something for the first time: he makes the first move.
Well, sort of. Wonwoo expects him most days, late in the evening when the summer heat turns bitter and Mingyu is the only one out for a walk. Wonwoo expects his light knock, the hesitant look he always has, as if there’s a chance Wonwoo might change his mind. It’s all part of the routine.
What is not a part of the routine is Mingyu showing up when it’s still light out, when the sky is blue and not black, the temperature is uncomfortably hot instead of the pleasant cool that often has Mingyu cursing himself for not remembering a jacket.
It’s an okay idea, born out of boredom and the sudden need to regain some sort of control, illusionary or not. Mingyu strides up to Wonwoo’s door with an air of confidence and tries to knock casually but fumbles a few knocks while he finds a rhythm that feels normal.
He has about ten seconds to let the doubt eat him alive before a disheveled Wonwoo pulls the door open.
It’s like Mingyu caught Wonwoo off guard, and this makes Mingyu feel satisfied, like he scored a point in a game. Wonwoo’s eyes are wide with a confused look on his face, and this also feels good, because Wonwoo likes to act like he planned everything even when he didn’t.
There are a few things Mingyu notices right away: Wonwoo is wearing shorts. This should not be a big deal, because people wear shorts all the time, Mingyu especially, but Mingyu has quite literally never seen Wonwoo in a pair of shorts even though it’s summer, and the sight is confusing enough that he stares for longer than what would be considered normal. The second thing is that Wonwoo is wearing a headband, a plastic navy one that pushes the hair out of his face, and that sight is also confusing, but mostly because Mingyu didn’t know you could be attracted to someone’s forehead. The third and final thing is that Wonwoo’s hair is wet and purple and dripping down his neck, which explains the weird stains on his shirt.
Wonwoo is frozen where he stands, eyebrows raised and mouth slightly open. “Hi,” he finally says, a hand reaching up to scratch a particularly purple part of his neck, smearing the color around slightly. “I’m, um, kind of in the middle of something.”
“I see,” Mingyu says.
Wonwoo still looks a bit frazzled, like he isn’t exactly sure how to handle this situation, and Mingyu feels a little evil for enjoying it.
Wonwoo scrunches his mouth to the side, looking vaguely pensive, before saying, “Can we talk inside? I have to wash this out, like, right now.” He doesn’t wait for any confirmation before turning around and briskly pacing into the house.
Mingyu follows, of course, gently closing the door behind him. He’s never seen Wonwoo’s house in the daytime, and the most lighting he’s gotten has been the small lamp that lives in the corner of the living room, so he stops to look around. Wonwoo’s house looks different in the daytime. It’s smaller, a lot less intimidating than he had been imagining now that the rooms aren’t dark and depthless but have color and a little mess and the overwhelming feeling that someone really does live here.
Mingyu finds Wonwoo already in the bathroom, head under the bathtub facet washing purple out of his hair. He does a bad job at keeping the water from getting all over his shirt.
Wonwoo stops his scrubbing to look up at Mingyu, streams of purple running down the sides of his face and neck. “Is, um—” He uses his palm to divert a droplet of purple running towards his eye. “How can I help you?”
Mingyu suddenly feels awkward. “I was in the area. Thought I would say hi.”
Wonwoo squints at Mingyu before taking a gulp of air and putting his head back under the water. Ten seconds of scrubbing later, he emerges. “Okay. Cool.”
Mingyu is surprised at the reaction. He was expecting more pushback, and he isn’t sure where to go from here.
“You’re dying your hair purple?” It’s the first thing that comes to mind.
“No, no, no, no,” Wonwoo corrects, shaking his head and flinging some droplets onto the floor. Mingyu feels one hit his leg. “I’m doing silver. This is supposed to make it stop being yellow.”
Mingyu purses his lips together so he doesn’t laugh. “Was it…”
Wonwoo frowns, a very genuine frown, and Mingyu feels a little bad. “Yes.”
Mingyu notices that Wonwoo’s hair is still very much purple. “Are you sure you used the right amount?” he asks timidly. “It’s still, like, really purple.”
Wonwoo swiftly moves in front of the mirror, shoulder bumping Mingyu in the process. “You make a valid point.”
“Here, let me help,” Mingyu says, sitting on the edge of the tub.
Wonwoo follows, sitting beside Mingyu and tilting his head near the water. Mingyu hesitantly reaches out and runs his hands through Wonwoo’s hair, trying to work out the darker spots of purple Wonwoo missed. He’s too gentle at first, and though he gets a good amount of the purple out, Wonwoo’s hair seems to be stuck at lavender. Mingyu keeps going even after dye stops coming out because he notices Wonwoo’s eyes are closed, and he seems to be enjoying the feeling of Mingyu’s nails against his scalp.
“Okay,” Mingyu says, pulling back. “I think that’s all that’s going to come out.”
Wonwoo shakes some of the water out of his hair, ringing out some of the longer pieces. “Thanks,” he breathes, standing to find a towel.
Mingyu stands as well, watching Wonwoo try to rub the purple stains out of his skin. “Wait,” Mingyu calls, taking the towel out of Wonwoo’s hand. He softly moves Wonwoo’s head to the side, barely applying pressure, before running the towel along some spots Wonwoo missed, one’s out of his line of sight.
Before Mingyu is finished, Wonwoo turns his head to face Mingyu, noses bumping as he does so. Mingyu only then realizes how close they are, closer than they should be with the lights on, and his skin starts to feel hot. He looks at Wonwoo, but Wonwoo isn’t looking at him. He’s looking at Mingyu’s mouth.
Wonwoo leans in, kissing Mingyu so softly that Mingyu feels dizzy. Wonwoo hands cup Mingyu’s face, their cold temperature doing wonders against Mingyu’s flushed face, and Mingyu puts his hands on Wonwoo’s to hold them in place.
It’s so different from every other time Wonwoo has kissed him. It’s more intimate, slower, like a kiss Mingyu would blush about if he were younger.
“Do you—” Wonwoo says between kisses, out of breath. “Would you want to—”
“Yes,” Mingyu answers in a heartbeat. He supposes Wonwoo is also struggling with the change in dynamics, in figuring out how to act when the lights are on and it’s the middle of the day and they can’t hide in the shadows of his bedroom.
They take their time. Nothing is rushed, no touch half-done. They move slow like they could take hours and there would be no consequence. It gives Mingyu courage, and when he shifts to be the one to pin Wonwoo down, Wonwoo lets him.
Mingyu walks home when the sun is setting, feeling like some of his threads are coming loose, telling himself he’s imaging that feeling in his left ribcage.
+
Mingyu struggles to pinpoint what it is, but the next time he goes to Wonwoo’s, something is different. It’s like Wonwoo has no bite, like any harsh movements are for show. Somehow, it makes Mingyu’s head spin even more.
It’s his imagination, it must be, but Wonwoo kisses him like he means it, and Mingyu kisses him back with everything he has. It’s not much, but Wonwoo takes it, he takes it all, and Mingyu briefly wonders what would happen if he kept it.
The thought is lost to Wonwoo’s hands roaming along the waistband of Mingyu’s shorts.
+
Mingyu finds he lingers more at Wonwoo’s. He finds Wonwoo lets him.
There’s more touching that feels unnecessary, out of the routine. They take their time before and drag everything out after.
Wonwoo traces his finger along Mingyu’s jaw, lips, nose. Mingyu tries to hold still, afraid of ruining the moment with his own lines. His eyes flutter shut every few seconds, and he has to use all his strength to open them again.
It feels like pillow talk even though nothing is being said.
+
“Talk to me,” Wonwoo says quietly one of the nights Mingyu lingers past bedtime.
“About what?” Mingyu’s voice is a whisper.
“Anything,” Wonwoo whispers back.
+
Mingyu is on a late-night run when his phone buzzes in his pocket.
He pulls it out, expecting the call to be from Hoshi about the drama they’re both keeping up with, or maybe his mom about forgetting a relative’s birthday, and he immediately stops running once he reads the contact name.
“Hello?” he says, out of breath.
“Hi,” he hears from the other line, voice familiar in some ways and foreign in others.
“Is everything okay?” Mingyu asks, feeling panicky because Wonwoo has never called him before, and also because he doesn’t sound like himself. Or at least like how Mingyu is used to him sounding.
There are some shuffling sounds. “Do you want to come over?” Wonwoo asks, distant, like he moved away from the phone.
Mingyu pauses. “Are you drunk?”
The line is quiet for a few moments before Wonwoo replies, “Yes,” speaking directly into the phone.
+
It’s a quick walk because Mingyu has a habit of running in Wonwoo’s neighborhood anyway.
Wonwoo pulls the door open after Mingyu’s fourth knock, and though the movement isn’t particularly clumsy, Mingyu can tell he’s trashed.
“Hi.”
“Hi,” Mingyu says cautiously, getting the vague feeling of dealing with a wild animal. There’s more than one question on Mingyu’s tongue, but he gets distracted by the unbuttoned top half of Wonwoo’s shirt and the fluffiness of his hair.
“Is your plan to let all the bugs in?” Wonwoo asks, frowning.
“Obviously not,” Mingyu mumbles, straightening out nonexistent wrinkles in his shirt.
He steps inside, and the moment the door shuts behind him, Mingyu almost loses his balance because Wonwoo’s hands are all over him, mouth against Mingyu’s, sloppy and uncoordinated.
Mingyu does his very best to gently push Wonwoo away. Wonwoo is very persistent.
“You’re drunk,” Mingyu says softly. “You’re really, really drunk.”
“Does that even matter to you?” Wonwoo mumbles back, just as soft, kissing along Mingyu’s neck.
Mingyu feels sour. “Of course that matters to me,” he says, trying to hide the hurt in his voice, the hurt that Wonwoo still thinks such terrible things about him, but it shows. He wonders when he got so bad at hiding how he really feels.
He takes hold of Wonwoo’s wrists and keeps him still. It feels wrong, holding him in place like this, like Mingyu shouldn’t be able to touch him this way, but Wonwoo doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, he looks satisfied with the position, like he planned it, doe eyes looking at Mingyu like he’d give him anything he asked for.
Mingyu wants to tell him to stop. The entire situation puts a bad taste in his mouth, and he wishes he could skip to the part of the night where he helps Wonwoo find his bed and makes sure he falls asleep on his side.
Mingyu pulls Wonwoo to the couch, needing some sort of leverage, and is reminded of how much smaller Wonwoo’s frame is than his own. He always seemed much bigger, somehow. Or perhaps that was Mingyu’s imagination.
“You’re boring,” Wonwoo complains.
“I’m not boring, I’m trying to—”
Mingyu is cut off by the feeling of Wonwoo’s head resting in his lap. It’s startling, and Mingyu’s entire body tenses, and he has to force himself not to misinterpret the gesture as anything other than drunken and thoughtless.
After a few beats, Mingyu forces his body to relax and tries not to overthink letting a hand run through Wonwoo’s hair, which has gotten longer in the last few months.
A considerable amount of time passes, enough that Mingyu’s legs numb and his neck feels stiff, and Mingyu is confident Wonwoo is asleep, which is why it comes as a shock when he starts to talk.
“You shouldn’t have come,” Wonwoo says, mumbling slightly.
Mingyu thinks this over for a moment before responding, “I know.” For some reason, he can’t look at Wonwoo.
“I shouldn’t be sleeping with you.”
“I know.” He feels Wonwoo’s eyes on him. He still won’t look.
“You’re a bad person.”
Mingyu looks then, and Wonwoo looks so certain, so sure of his words, and Mingyu feels a pang in his chest.
He wishes it could be different. So very different.
+
It’s meant to be one red thread, but Mingyu can feel Wonwoo all over; something woven into him. Something he can’t remove. He pulls and pulls and pulls but he can undo it without undoing himself.
Mingyu wonders how much longer he can go on like this, how much more until the cracks are so deep that he shatters altogether.
+
Wonwoo stops contacting Mingyu. It’s pathetic because it takes Mingyu some time to put the pieces together—to figure it out. Because sometimes Wonwoo gets busy, and that’s fine, Mingyu is alright with waiting. And sometimes Wonwoo doesn’t answer his texts, because Mingyu often sends too many without thinking, without reminding himself that Wonwoo doesn’t want to hear about how he got home safe or ran into Seokmin at the store or started that one show Wonwoo mentioned in passing.
No, it’s pathetic because it takes six days of rationalizing the radio silence for Mingyu to realize Wonwoo is ignoring him. Which, in hindsight, makes Mingyu feel very stupid, and he deletes their text history because it’s embarrassing and he doesn’t like looking at it.
In theory, it should be a nonissue. There was never an agreement made, nothing solid holding them together. But Mingyu can’t help but feel like something got blurred along the way, and it hurts more than he’d like to admit to think it was only his imagination, his stupid brain finding meaning in the meaningless.
He goes out with his friends to forget. It doesn’t work. Strangers grinding on him makes him feel sick, and he snaps at his friends without meaning to when they ask if everything is alright. The alcohol doesn’t help, either, making all the things he’s trying not to think about float right to the surface. That doesn’t stop him from testing to see if another drink will cancel it out.
He bumps into someone, some of his drink spilling onto his shoes, and when he looks up, he’s looking in a mirror. He sees the face of a child: a twelve-year-old with too much on his plate, too much hate in his heart. He wonders if it’s a trick of the light, or if that’s really still him. He wonders if this is all Wonwoo saw.
The illusion snaps, and then Mingyu sees himself again, six-foot-something and drunk, with Minghao standing behind him in the club bathroom.
“Are you okay?” Minghao asks. “You’ve been in here for a while.”
Mingyu wipes his mouth. “I’m fine.”
Minghao’s expression remains hard. “I’m going to be blunt because I think you need it.” Mingyu turns to look at Minghao face to face instead of through the mirror. “I know you’ve been hooking up with Wonwoo.”
Mingyu doesn’t feel surprised, though he should. The only thing he feels is worse. It’s ironic, really, that he came out to forget about the very knife Minghao is twisting.
“Wonwoo is a very nice person,” Minghao continues, staring Mingyu down. “He doesn’t hookup often.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
Minghao looks frustrated. “I know you, Mingyu. You’re a nice guy, and you’re super loyal to your friends, but you have a habit of only thinking about yourself. You do what makes you feel the best in the moment, even if it fucks someone else over.”
“That’s not—”
“I’m fine with it. I’ve accepted it. You’re fun as fuck to go out with. I’d put you in my wedding. I’d probably trust you with my life. But I don’t think I trust you with one of my best friends. He’s not that type of person, okay? He doesn’t deserve that, even though he’d never say it.”
“I’m not—” Mingyu starts, but the look on Minghao’s face makes him shut up. He wonders when he became this type of person, the type to have one of his best friends look him in the eye and tell him he’s a bad person.
“Okay, got it,” Mingyu says numbly, instead of saying everything else. Instead of telling Minghao that he feels like he’s drowning, like he’s going to keep unraveling until he isn’t a person anymore, and no one would even notice. He’s still the bad guy. He will always be the bad guy. It’s how his story was written.
He pushes past Minghao, walking through the club and out the door. He finds a nearby alleyway and throws up in it, using a dirty wall for support.
“Fuck you,” he says through the spit, though he isn’t sure who he’s talking to.
+
Then
Ever since Mingyu was little, he felt like didn’t really have control over his body. He’d lift his arm up and down and swing his feet back and forth and wonder if he really chose to do that, or if it would have happened whether he thought to do it or not. He felt like someone was playing dress up in his skin, making decisions without him knowing, or like he was an actor in a play where his entire life was planned out for him and all he had to do was say his lines when he was supposed to.
He would often reread books and rewind tapes to see if the endings would ever change, but no matter how many times he checked, they never did. The characters entered the same rooms and spoke the same words and met the same ends, never doing more or less than exactly what had been written, and it made Mingyu nauseous every time.
He remembers being nine years old and standing on the roof of his mom’s five-story apartment complex, trying to figure out whether or not his story was written so that he jumped. He squinted down at the pavement and tried to imagine what the impact would feel like; tried to read ahead in the script and see if that was something he was meant to feel.
His mom found him up there, on the ledge, looking down and crying because no matter how hard he thought, he couldn’t figure it out. She pulled him down, and he decided that must have been how the scene was written to end: his mom tugging his arm so hard it dislocated, Mingyu needing to go to the hospital, his mom crying as she drove them there.
Him and his shoulder sling were brought to a nice older woman after that, one with kind eyes and a soothing voice that made Mingyu sleepy, and every week she asked a lot of questions and Mingyu gave a lot of answers. He told her about how afraid he was to get the story wrong, and how he was most afraid of what would happen to him if he did.
Mingyu liked the woman because she never looked at him like he was crazy. She smiled and nodded no matter what he said, and he really liked that because his mom would usually frown and tell him to stop scaring her.
Eventually, the woman stopped asking questions and started telling Mingyu things instead, usually with his mom in the room. She said things like “depersonalization” and “generalized anxiety” and Mingyu was only half-listening because he knew the words, just not what they meant.
“It’s science, honey,” his mom said to him, clutching his small shoulders and smiling down at him like she was proud. “There’s nothing wrong with you. We can fix it.”
Mingyu just nodded, feeling glad that there was a scientific explanation for why he sometimes stared at his own hands for hours to see if they would move.
+
That summer, Mingyu learned how to cook. He packed his own school lunches and made his own dinners and his mom smiled at him from the living room. He went on walks, too, usually before school but sometimes at night, too, if he felt like it. He planned his outfits the night before and practiced smiling in the mirror and picked out the things he’d say to his friends at school. He felt safe, whole, and the world wasn’t as scary when he knew exactly what to expect.
He could only feel the script if he wasn’t the one writing it, so he spent his days writing and rehearsing, making sure everything went exactly as he planned.
Like most children holding out their hands for more, he got greedy, wanting control where he couldn’t have it. He felt his threads go taut when a classmate would bump into him and he’d drop his lunch, or when it would rain when he hadn’t planned to wear a raincoat. It made his head feel like it would burst, and he often had to close his eyes and count backwards from one hundred to feel okay again.
Looking back, he thinks it was inevitable. Control is a fascinating thing to someone who spent their childhood being pulled by strings. He only wishes he could go back and tell himself that it’s not worth it, that one day he would be a grownup wishing he wasn’t responsible for anything at all.
+
The End
Wonwoo cold calls Mingyu on a Wednesday.
It’s been weeks. Mingyu feels okay. He convinces himself that Wonwoo was something contained, a side quest he accidentally went on that doesn’t affect the plot. As silly as it is, it works.
It works until he’s scrolling on his phone before bed, and the screen starts to flash incoming call, and Mingyu’s stomach flips.
He doesn’t hesitate at all, and it’s pathetic, and he’s aware of this, but seeing the name reminded him of one very simple fact: he misses Wonwoo. He misses him even if he shouldn’t.
He blinks and he’s staring at Wonwoo’s front door. He takes a few deep breaths before knocking, feeling strangely out of place. A small voice in the back of his head tells him to go home.
The routine begins again, but it feels off from the start. Mingyu wants it to feel right so badly that he kisses harder, tries to drown in the feeling of Wonwoo against him, and it isn’t working but Mingyu tells himself it is, that it’ll feel right eventually if he keeps trying.
Wonwoo is rough with Mingyu in a way he hasn’t been in a while—the kind of rough without the hesitation, the hidden gentle touches, the reassuring looks. Instead, it’s blunt, detached, like a point is being made. It’s overwhelming for all the wrong reasons. Mingyu starts to feel claustrophobic.
“Can we—can we stop?”
Wonwoo immediately pulls back. Mingyu tries to steady his breathing.
“Is something wrong?” Wonwoo’s voice is hollow.
“No. Yes. You’re just acting so different.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Mingyu wants to scream of course you know what I’m talking about. “You’re being cold. Distant. It’s not how you usually act.” He’s feels embarrassed once the words come out.
“Since when was I not cold and distant?” The look on Wonwoo’s face makes Mingyu nauseous.
“Why are you being like this?” Mingyu demands, pulling his arms to his chest. He feels exposed all the sudden.
“Like what?”
Frustration makes Mingyu’s eyes burn. “I don’t understand. I thought—”
“What did you think?” Wonwoo cuts in, and Mingyu watches Wonwoo’s composure slip. “What exactly did you think we were doing here?”
Mingyu feels small. “I don’t know.” He doesn’t know how to word something he doesn’t understand. “I thought we had gotten close. I mean, I was sleeping over a lot. I saw you more than my friends. It seemed, I don’t know, like…” Mingyu’s voice gets smaller and smaller the more he talks.
“I think you’re getting confused.”
“I don’t think I am,” Mingyu says, voice strained. “What if I—”
“Don’t say it.”
“But—”
“You’re confused, okay? It’s guilt, and you’re mixing it up. You’re guilty and trying to make yourself feel better. That’s all this ever was. It’s fucked up, to be honest. You’re fucked up.”
“That’s not true.”
“Isn’t it?” Wonwoo asks, and Mingyu doesn’t know how to make him understand, how to fix it.
“You’re not listening to me.”
Wonwoo takes a step back from Mingyu. Gives him a hard look before saying, “I think we should end this.”
Mingyu feels a knot in his stomach. And his throat. And his head and lungs and heart, and he thinks his whole insides must be tied up because everything feels like it’s in the wrong spot.
“What are you talking about?”
Wonwoo’s eyes are cold. Mingyu feels the knot tighten.
“I want to stop seeing you.”
“You don’t mean that.” Mingyu feels like he’s grasping at nothing.
“I really, really do.”
He wants to yell at Wonwoo; feels resentment and blame and ugliness crawling out, feels the need to point and Wonwoo and scream liar, liar, liar.
“I don’t understand. Help me understand,” Mingyu pleads, stepping closer. It’s all in vain. Wonwoo is like broken glass that Mingyu is trying to pick up, but the pieces are too fine and all he does is cut himself up in the process, but he can’t stop reaching nonetheless, can’t stop even though his hands are bloody and numb. There’s just nothing to hold onto.
“This could never work. It was never meant to work.”
“That doesn’t mean—”
“Do you know how long it took to undo everything?” Wonwoo starts, and Mingyu doesn’t need context to understand. “Do you have any idea what that does to a person? How confusing that was? How long it took to stop being afraid of people walking behind me? How many school projects I failed because I couldn’t present in front of the class? How long it took to remember that I had was allowed to exist?
Wonwoo is out of breath by the time he’s finished. He looks surprised at himself.
“It’s stupid. I know,” Wonwoo continues. “It’s been so long. I should be over it. I am, really. But you took away so much, and I will never get the years I spent hating myself back.” He looks at Mingyu. Really looks at him. “I don’t think I’ll ever forgive you for that.”
This is what Mingyu was afraid of all along; that Wonwoo would remember the ugly. Mingyu knew this would happen, and he’s stupid for thinking it could play out another way.
“I’m sorry,” Mingyu tries, knowing that there is nothing he could say that would change anything. This is their fate.
“I’m sorry, too,” Wonwoo says. “I got carried away. This was a mistake.”
It hurts because Mingyu was certain he didn’t make it all up, that the boy he knew in the privacy of Wonwoo’s bedroom walls was real, that the words they never said were there if you looked.
Because sometimes it was just them in the whole entire universe, and the feeling of Wonwoo’s hands on Mingyu’s face, and Wonwoo’s face getting soft when he thought Mingyu wasn’t looking. It was all the little moments piling up into something heavy, and Mingyu felt it.
“I’m sorry,” he says again before he leaves for the last time, hoping Wonwoo can hear how much he means it, hoping he can feel how much he means other things, too.
+
It was a lofty idea, to think it meant something more than what it was: convenience, guilt, resentment. To think it wasn’t some fucked up arrangement designed to right a wrong in the universe. He played right into it. It was always meant to end like this.
In another life, maybe they could have made it work. Maybe they could have just been Wonwoo and Mingyu—two people who loved each other a lot, none of the extra stuff. None of the bad. None of the mistakes, the fighting, the words said but never meant.
Maybe Mingyu could have seen Wonwoo smile at him without the bitter undertones, could have heard Wonwoo actually say his name. Maybe Mingyu and Wonwoo could have fought over grocery lists and leaving the front door unlocked. Or birthday gifts and stealing each other’s shirts. Maybe they could have been something warm and good, like tea and daisies and the feeling of the sun on your face.
Maybe in a world where Mingyu was not so messed up. Where he didn’t make so many mistakes. Maybe then, could him and Wonwoo been. He would like to see that world—even if it’s just for a moment. He would like that very much.
+
Mingyu is numb and hurting and a drama queen at heart, so he takes the long way home, dragging his feet to feel like a tragic character in a novel instead his pathetic self. (It doesn’t work.)
He supposes this is why, when he finally gets to his house, he finds Wonwoo on his porch, sitting on the ground and leaning against the front door because Mingyu doesn’t believe in outdoor furniture.
Wonwoo’s head snaps up, and then he pushes himself off the ground somewhat clumsily, briefly losing balance.
Instead of words, Wonwoo pulls Mingyu into a tight hug. Mingyu is so shocked that he does not hug back. He simply stands there, stunned and certain he’s hallucinating and still working his way out of the guilt-ridden, subconscious hellscape he’d been lounging in his entire walk.
“I’m stupid,” Wonwoo says, matter of fact. “I’m very stupid.”
Wonwoo lets go, and Mingyu is still failing to form coherent thoughts.
“I got scared,” Wonwoo states, sounding like he rehearsed this. “You are very different from what I expected. And that freaked me out. You’re actually pretty nice, and not really funny but it’s cute, and also kind of a loser.” Mingyu frowns. “But I ended up, like, enjoying it? It was confusing. I’m still confused.”
Mingyu’s heart feels like it’s made of glass.
“And I meant a lot of what I said,” Wonwoo continues. “I don’t forgive you for everything, and I don’t know if I ever will. But I’m not sure how much that matters. Which is also confusing, but good memories can replace bad ones, and I guess what I’m trying to say is: I wouldn’t mind trying. If, you know, you, also, wouldn’t mind.”
It’s too much whiplash for Mingyu to say anything intelligent, and he’s never been good with words anyway, so he pulls Wonwoo close and kisses him, short and sweet.
“I’d like that very much.”
+
Another Beginning
It’s a whole lot of healing, but they make it work.
Mingyu learns that Wonwoo is a lot more needy than he lets on, and Mingyu gets to live out his domestic housewife fantasy every time he sleeps over. They fight a lot, but always over silly things, like Wonwoo trying to suffocate Mingyu with a pillow so he’ll stop talking when Wonwoo is trying to sleep, or Mingyu forcing Wonwoo to watch YouTube videos like “Top 10 SCARIEST Underwater Animatronics” at 2am because Mingyu does not like to suffer alone. It’s a little wonky, but it works, so well that when Mingyu accidentally says “love you” when running late for work a few months later, Wonwoo says it back.
Soonyoung has some healing to do, too, because he “really thought Mingyu was his soulmate”, though Mingyu is pretty sure he’s just horny and demisexual.
[“Are you sure you’re not secretly in love with me?”
“Pretty sure.”]