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Chan flipped the ‘Will Return in 15 Minutes’ sign on the front of the shop, grabbing his pack of cigarettes off the counter as he slipped into the back room and out the door into the alley. It was late enough for the only things around to be stray cats and moonlight, but something was off.
There was no sound of the familiar feline faces rummaging in the scattered refuse by the bins, only the distant thrum of traffic from the nearby street. Quiet wasn’t normal in the city, especially in this district, and it held the same kind of feeling as pure silence in the middle of a forest: danger.
Chan pulled out a cigarette, tucking it between his teeth and flicking his lighter to spark it to life. In the brief glow of the flame, he caught a better glimpse of the alley and the dark wet drips along the dirty concrete. It was entirely possible it was just motor oil or piss, all things considered, but there was just as much of a chance that it was blood.
The thing about dabbling in the gray areas of legality was that it came with an inherent risk of consequences, and not just from the police. The kind of information Chan traded in his side hustle was far from clean, and the people it came from were straight from the underbelly of Seoul. If Chan was ever found out, if someone managed to catch his signal while he was in the back of another secure system and traced it to the source, then there would be hell to pay.
He took a long slow drag of his cigarette, letting that tiny ember flare up just enough to shed a shred of light on the space again. It was still too quiet, and it made the hair on the back of Chan’s neck stand up. He wasn’t unarmed, never, but that didn’t mean he would have time to make use of it. His gun, acquired as merely a safety measure despite the contraband status of having it, was tucked under the register inside. Right here and now, Chan had only himself and an intimate knowledge of the area on his side.
Another drag on the cigarette, another cloud of milky white smoke curled up toward the sky.
A car skid to a stop in the distance, but it didn’t entirely cover the fainest sound of a gasp for breath coming from the darkest part of the alley.
Chan knew better than to follow the sound to the source, but he did so anyway, his feet moving without his mind willing them to do so. It was darker than usual toward the alley center, the light overhead burned out-- glass crunched under Chan’s boot-- no, not burned out, broken.
Immediately, Chan went statue still, the only thing moving the curling wisp of smoke from the tip of his half burned cigarette. He tried to scan through the shadows, but his eyes were too weak after spending hours under fluorescent lights in the shop. He squinted, trying to see or hear anything.
He felt the bite of cold steel against his throat before he heard the pant of ragged breath behind him. Every nerve in his body was screaming with the urge to turn and look, but he kept steady, willing his heartbeat to calm. He started to move his arms to try to hold up his hands in a show of surrender and placation, but the bite of the blade deeper into his skin made him stop.
“Don’t fucking move.” The stranger’s voice was as icy cold as his blade, and yet, there was almost the note of a purr underneath it. “Who sent you?”
“What?” Chan spoke around the cigarette still clutched in his teeth, trying to keep his tone calm and steady in spite of his confusion. “No one sent me? I just came out to have a smoke.”
The stranger scoffed, but the sound was strangely wet. “Liar.” He stepped closer, the heat of his body radiating against Chan’s back. “Last chance to answer the question before I slit your fucking throat.”
Shit.
Several things were racing through Chan’s mind at once. Where had the man come from? Why did he assume Chan was ‘sent’ for him? What did that even mean? Judging by the knife on his throat, the man perceived Chan as a threat, but that didn’t track with the kind of people that would be looking to cause problems with Chan. It was clear the stranger wasn’t here for Chan specifically, that he assumed it was the other way around, but that didn’t make any sense.
“I’m not lying to you.” Chan closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, clearing his head of everything but the presence behind him. “My name is Bang Chan. I have a computer repair shop in the building behind me. I really am on my break to have a smoke.”
There was a pause of silence without so much as the inhale of breath on either side before the stranger spoke again, his voice low and laced with venom. “Who’s afraid of the Big Bad Wolf?” He chuckled, low and dark, and once again backed in a wet edge. “I’m not.”
A shiver shot down Chan’s spine. ‘ BAD WOLF’ was his hacker handle.
Fuck.
“I--” That was all Chan managed before he was wrenched around by the shoulders and shoved back against the alley wall, knocking the air from his lungs. It took a second for his brain to catch up to what happened, especially with the knife freshly pressed against his throat, but he could see the stranger now in the barely there light and it stole Chan’s breath away once again.
The stranger’s face was smeared with blood, stemming from his sharp nose and a split in his too pretty lips. His eyes were impossibly dark, like they stole every drop of light that hit them into a deep black hole. He looked to be around Chan’s age, a few centimeters taller, and in spite of the very clear threat he posed, he was beautiful.
But now was not the time for Chan to be thinking with his dick.
“Now, I’ve been patient enough with you.” The stranger flicked his eyes down to the cigarette nearly burned out between Chan’s lips and back up again. “Last chance. Try again.”
Chan swallowed. “I didn’t lie, but I didn’t tell you the whole truth.” He bit back a whine when the stranger pressed him harder against the wall and that was definitely new. “Yes, I am the Bad Wolf, but I have no idea who you are of why you’re here.” His voice dipped low and nothing but sincere as he held the man’s gaze. “I promise.”
For one millisecond the stranger’s facade broke and Chan caught a glimpse beneath the mask. The stranger looked tired and almost scared, but the look was gone as soon as it was there. “Who do you work for, Wolf?”
“I don’t. I work for myself.” Chan kept his voice steady and as soothing as he could, treating the man like a wild animal. He had the demeanor of a wounded stray cat lashing out at anything and anyone before they could strike first, and it made Chan’s heart ache with a need to help. “You’re bleeding. If you come into the shop, I have a first aid kit in the bathroom I can clean you up with.”
The stranger’s eyes narrowed to judgemental slits as he assessed Chan, but the blade against Chan’s throat eased off just a fraction. “Why?” It was raw and unfiltered, as if he had no intention of voicing the question aloud.
“You’re hurt.” Chan stated plainly, honest. “I won’t ask why or how it happened, but if you’re running from something, then it’s better to be out of the open.” Hopefully the logic was sound enough to hold weight.
There was a long pause as the stranger scanned Chan’s face for any sign of a trick. He raised the hand not holding the knife toward Chan’s face, plucking the nearly burned out cigarette from Chan’s lips and bringing it to his own to kill the last of it in one long drag before tossing it down to the ground and snuffing it with a snub of his boot. “Fine.” He took a single step back, lowering the knife but still holding it at the ready by his side as he exhaled a billow of smoke. The light hit him then, showing just how much blood was on him. “But don’t get clever. I guarantee I bite harder and faster than you ever could, mutt.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.” Chan held up his hands in emphasis, making sure the man could see them as he approached. “It’s the door this way.” He jerked his head in the direction, not breaking eye contact. “You can lead if you want, it’s unlocked.”
“No.” The man stepped to the side, circling behind Chan and pressing the point of the knife to Chan’s lower spine. “I’ll follow you.”
For some inexplicable reason, Chan didn’t feel threatened by the literal knife at his back. It was easy to close the short distance to the side door to his shop and open it wide enough to usher the stranger in. “It’s just me, and I have the front locked so…” He watched as the stranger slipped past into the back room, his eyes flicking about every nook and cranny. In the brighter light, the stanger’s hair shone a rusty orange almost like an alley cat. It was odd how he seemed more skittish than a threat, but that was something for Chan to unpack later. “The bathroom is just over there.” He motioned to the once white now graying door in the far corner of the cluttered room. “I keep the first aid kit in the cabinet under the sink.”
The stranger gave a single nod, slinking with silent footsteps around the racks of equipment toward the bathroom door in spite of the heavy combat boots he was wearing. It might have been impressive if the circumstances weren’t so tense. He paused with a hand on the doorknob, flicking a sharp gaze over his shoulder toward Chan. “Come on, Wolf. I don’t trust leaving you alone.”
Chan blinked, slow on the uptake. Yeah, hot stranger definitely was into some shady business. “You know…” He weaved the shelves to close the gap between them and past to hold the bathroom door open for the stranger. “You call me wolf, but what should I call you?”
“I can’t tell if you’re simply that stupid or if you think I am.” The man, who Chan was really starting to think was more like a cat in a human suit, slid past Chan into the bathroom with an affronted glare. He paused, nose scrunching up briefly before he hissed and a fresh gush of red oozed from his nostril. “Fucking shit.”
“Here.” Chan let the door swing shut to close them in the tiny room and reached under the sink to retrieve the fist aid kit. “Just sit and ill get you sorted, okay?” He had no room to be throwing around orders, but perhaps out of shock alone, the stranger complied. “I know your nose and your lip are a problem, but are you hurt anywhere else? You have a lot of blood on you so it’s hard to tell.”
Alley Cat, (as Chan had deemed him in lieu of a name), looked away and hugged the arm not holding the knife around his own waist. “If you’ll just move, I can handle it myself.”
Chan bit back the smile trying to tug at his lips, Alley Cat’s sulking as threatening as a kitten. “Can you just tell me?” He grabbed a few cotton swabs, soaking them in alcohol before turning to kneel on one knee in front of Alley Cat. “You can see everything I’m doing, I’m not a threat to you. I just want to help.” The cotton swab dripped a single dot on the tile floor where Chan held it between them.
Alley Cat hummed, expression guarded as he leaned just a fraction of a centimeter closer to Chan as if in invitation. “If you think this will earn you a favor, it wont.” There was a rumbling sound that was likely meant to convey threat but was too alarmingly wet to hold weight. “Underst--” The sound morphed into a pink spray of a cough across the back of his hand.
“Hey, hey, hey.” Chan hovered both hands vaguely around Alley Cat’s shoulders, trying to soothe. “How about we stop hissing and just let me work, okay? The faster I can do that, the faster you’re rid of me.” A strange part of him mourned the thought of not seeing Alley Cat again.
“...I’m not hissing.” Alley Cat softened just a fraction, sweat starting to bead at his brow. In the dingy overhead light above he looked a bit sallow and paler than he had seemed outside, but it was probably only a trick of the light. “Just-- do whatever, fast.”
Chan gave a quick nod, steadying Alley Cat with his free hand on one shoulder. “If I thought you’d answer, I’d ask you why you’re in such a rush, but instead…” He slid the hand up from Alley Cat’s shoulder to his face, cradling his jaw as his other hand lifted the alcohol soaked cotton swab to dab at a bloody nostril. “How much time do we have?” The inclusion of himself wasn’t a conscious choice.
This time Alley Cat did hiss at the sting of the cotton ball on his bloody nose, cursing low under his breath and trying to flinch away. His impossibly dark eyes scanned Chan’s face almost frantically, in search of something Chan couldn’t hope to name, before he mumbled. “I don’t know.” There was another bite of a sharp sound and a flinch when the swab moved down over the cut on his bottom lip, and then, even softer. “Not long if you want to keep out of it.”
“Okay.” Chan nodded, not giving himself time to think things over in a rational or sane way. “Okay, then I need you to tell me if you’re hurt anywhere else.” He pressed his fingertips lightly into Alley Cat’s jaw, tilting his head to better catch the light. “Because you are covered in a lot of blood and I know at least some of it is yours.” He tossed the dirty swab into the bin, grabbing another and dragging it down the streaks of red on Alley Cat’s throat. “And for the record, I’m already in this.”
Alley Cat narrowed his gaze to sharp slits, the expression likely intimidating to someone without Chan’s dogged determination. “If you’re going to kill me, at least make it quick.” He swatted Chan’s hands away, shrugging off his jean jacket and tugging the blood stained tee over his head with a wet curse under his breath. “Here.” There was a brief sway of his body before he met Chan’s gaze, motioning flippantly to the soaked through gauze patch taped below his sternum.
“Shit-- no wonder you look so pale.” Chan didn’t even have time to really appreciate the lithe muscle of Alley Cat’s physique with the wave of panic that washed over him. He watched a fresh drop of blood seep through the weave of the fabric and trickle down Alley Cat’s stomach. “This is-- Okay. Shit, just lay back against the tank. It’s clean, I promise. That’s why I don’t let customers back here.” The entire time his mouth was running on auto pilot, he was sorting through the first aid kit, readying a new gause pack, peroxide, and a clean cloth to wipe away the inevitable mess. “So, I won’t be able to stitch anything right now, but I can at least get you a little more-- stable? Not bleeding out? Fuck, sorry. Probably a shit time to make jokes.” He was talking more for Alley Cat than himself at this point because the twitches in his expression let Chan know he was still cognisant, but that stopped the second he peeled away the ruined bandage to expose the wound beneath. “Oh, Alley Cat, this is
deep.”
He gave the oozing gash a quick wipe with an alcohol swab, applying firm pressure until he could cover it with the fresh pack of gauze. “You shouldn’t move around much until this gets stitched up, you’ve lost a lot of blood already.” Carefully, he sealed the gauze down with tape, finally looking up to meet Alley Cat’s unreadable gaze. “There no chance you’ll let me take you to a hospital, is there?”
Alley Cat was quiet for a pause before his eyes went distant. “No.” He grabbed his jacket and pushed off the lid to his feet, staggering and barely catching himself with a hand on the edge of the sink. “Now, get out from underfoot dog. I’m leaving.” In spite of the comment, he didn’t attempt to move, his grip almost as white as his face.
Chan moved before he let himself think, scrambling to his feet just in time to catch Alley Cat’s limp form. “--Shit.”
“Mnn?” Alley Cat’s eyes fluttered open, his legs supporting his own weight again. He caught a glimpse of himself in the cracked mirror, locked eyes with Chan’s reflection, and went briefly stiff before his posture relaxed like a ripple. “I need to sit down.” He let Chan ease him back down onto the lid of the toilet, expression sour. “Look, five minutes and I’ll--”
There was a sharp knock at the front door followed by a rattle of the handle on the back door so hard it made the shelves in the staff room shake.
The flash of white rimmed around Alley Cat’s eyes was all it took for Chan to make a split second decision. He held up a finger to his lips, urging silence as he motioned for Alley Cat to stay put and he backed out of the bathroom with a final mouthed word: ‘stay’.
With one last steadying breath, he adjusted his lapel and stepped out to the front counter and past to the door. “Sorry about that.” He flipped the lock and pulled open the door with a winning smile, motioning the two sharply dressed men inside. “What can I help you with this evening? Cracked phone screen? New SIM card?” The tension in the air was palpable, making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end as he slipped back behind the counter.
The taller of the two men gave a strained smile, the other looking around the storefront like a dog hunting for rabbits. “We’re not here for repairs. We were just wondering if you heard anything down the alley here tonight, seen any less than desirables come through, you know?” His voice was raspy and thick at once, the vocal equivalent of nicotine stains on cheap motel walls.
“Not that I’ve noticed, no.” Chan kept his tone even and laid back, shifting slightly into latent concern after. “Why? Is there something I should be worried about?” He frowned.
Nicotine Stain Guy gave a smile that felt almost as greasy as he was and slid a business card across the table. “Oh, no. Of course not. Just feel free to give us a call if you see anything out of place. We’d appreciate it.”
“Will do.” Chan gave a nod as he palmed the card and tucked it into his pocket. “While you’re here, are you sure there isn’t anything I can help you two with? I have a sale on Otter Boxes right now.”
“No thanks.” Nicotine Stain Guy gave a less than subtle wave at his companion, heading for the door and pausing. “If you see anything--”
“--I’ll give you a call.” Chan cut him off before he had a chance to finish, but luckily it didn't seem to bother the greasy duo.
He waited until they were both well out of sight before locking up and flipping the sign to ‘Closed’. On the way back to the staff room and Alley Cat’s hiding place, he snagged not just his keys and the till but the hand gun from under the register too.
The door to the bathroom was open, no signs of the first aid kit or Alley Cat in sight.
“They’re gone.” Chan tucked the gun into the back of his waistband before holding up both hands in a show of placation. “It’s just me, you can come out.” He waited, and he couldn’t help but wonder if Alley Cat had slipped out the back never to be seen again.
“Where do you store your footage from your security cams?” Alley Cat’s voice came from directly behind Chan, earning a startled yelp and a jump. “You have to erase it.”
“Feeling better?” Chan turned to face Alley Cat with a lopsided grin, only to falter. Alley Cat had a bit of color back in his face, but more importantly he had apparently helped himself to the locker and was dressed in one of Chan’s oversized hoodies. “You look better.” The completely unhinged side of his brain was delighted with the choice in attire.
Alley Cat’s nose twitched and he let out a low hiss of breath through his teeth as it trickled a single drop of blood along his philtrum. “I’m fine.” He reached into Chan’s pocket, retrieving the business card and ripping it into tiny pieces of confetti. “The camera footage, Wolf.”
“You can just call me Chan, you know. It’s not like you don’t know who I am.” Chan sighed, strangely endeared by Alley Cat’s prickly to-the-point demeanor. “None of my footage is stored here. It all dumps to my home system. I have a dummy mirror here, just in case, but I’m not going to lie to you and say it’s gone.” Without thinking about it, he reached out to brush the drip of blood off Alley Cat’s lips with the pad of his thumb. “I promise I’ll wipe every trace of you.”
There was a flicker of something Chan couldn’t quite catch across Alley Cat’s gaze before he jerked away from the touch with a click of his tongue against his teeth. He paused and gave another stilted shake of his head, seemingly to himself rather than Chan, before he rubbed at the trail of blood with the back of his hand. “Only a fool would take your word for it. Wipe the dummy drive and then we’re going to yours.”
Chan blinked, taken aback. He had every intention of trying to convince Alley Cat to let him give him a ride somewhere safe, but his own apartment hadn’t exactly been on the list. He laughed, rubbing at the back of his neck as he moved over to where the mirror drive was tucked in the corner. “I’m a bit surprised you trust me enough for that.” He flipped the switch to power on the tiny static rimmed monitor, making sure to move out of the way while the footage erased.
“I don’t. But I’m a much bigger threat to you than you are to me.” Alley Cat slid feather light fingers down Chan’s spine, earning a startled shiver before he puled the gun free from its waistband hiding place. “What did you really think this was going to do for you? Do you even know how to use it?” He checked the magazine, snapping it back in place and checking the site before tucking it away into his own jeans. “You’ll hurt yourself playing with dangerous toys like that.”
Chan’s dick gave an ill timed twitch of interest. “I know how to use it, but I hope I never have to. I got it as a--”
“--Last resort?” Alley Cat scoffed, and the sound was only a little wet this time. “Look, Wolf, the kind of people you would need a contraband gun against aren’t going to hesitate long enough for you to wave it around as a warning. Real monsters shoot first, trust me.” There was something weighted in that statement, like it rang a little too close to home. “Now, its time to leave before anyone else comes sniffing around.”
“Okay.” Chan stood, turning to face Alley Cat and allowing himself the luxury of really looking at him for the first time. He was young, definitely not older than Chan himself at least, but he carried himself like he had so many more years on him. Something about it made Chan’s chest ache. “Think you can handle a ride on my bike? If not, I can get us a taxi and just pick it up tomorrow.”
Alley Cat’s expression went blank and distant as his tone. “I would rather walk than ride on handle bars for however many kilometers it is to your place.”
Chan smiled, boldly looping an arm over Alley Cat’s shoulders to guide him toward the furthest part of the shop. “Not a bicycle.” He picked up the glossy black helmet from his seat, gently pushing it into Alley Cat’s hands. “A motorcycle.”
Alley Cat’s eyes went briefly wide as he clutched the helmet to his chest. “Oh.” There was so much unsaid behind that single word it was impossible to untangle it all.
“I locked the front already, so we can go out the back and hopefully stay out of sight.” Chan lifted the kick stand, walking his bike toward the door. “And I’ll keep to the back roads if you think that’s better. I don’t live too far from here, but still.” He flipped the deadbolt and used the front tire to gently push open the door to the alley. “Better safe than sorry, right?” He flashed a smile back to Alley Cat.
Alley Cat stayed silent, his expression an eerie sort of neutral as he slid the helmet on and effectively blocked his whole face from view. He lingered just outside the door as Chan locked it behind them and only moved once Chan swung a leg over the bike to tuck in flush behind him.
“Hold on tight.” Chan coaxed Alley Cat’s arms a little further around his own waist, making sure the grip was secure. “Don’t worry, you can’t squeeze me too hard. I can take it.” He revved the engine, pulling them out of the alley onto the main road opposite the front of the shop.
Thankfully, the ride was peacefully uneventful, almost pleasant with the whip of wind in Chan’s face; but by the time he rounded the last corner to the apartment building and eased into the parking structure, he could feel Alley Cat’s grip on him start to falter and the body behind him begin to dangerously sag.
“Hey, c’mon.” Chan tilted his head to bump against the helmet braced on his shoulder with Alley Cat inside. “Stay with me just a little bit longer.” Worry lapped at the pit of his stomach. In the mix of everything else, especially his own pseudo-infatuation, he’d nearly forgotten just how bad Alley Cat’s wounds really were.
He pulled into his parking space and killed the engine, keeping a hand on Alley Cat’s side as he slipped off the bike. It only took one glance at the half limp body to make Chan go full ‘fuck it’ mode and lift Alley Cat into his arms bridal style.
“I’m fine.” Alley Cat’s voice was muffled through the helmet as he fumbled with the clasp to get it off, but ultimately, he gave up. “Put me down.”
“Look, you’re hurt, and there’s no elevator in this building.” Chan took the stairs two at a time, glad that all his time spent in the gym was paying off for something more than aesthetics. “It’ll be faster if you stop arguing and just let me take care of you.”
Alley Cat stiffened before, finally, his body relaxed in Chan’s arms.
At the front door, Chan eased Alley Cat down to the ground, keeping one firm arm around his waist and their bodies pressed flush for support as he punched in the code. “Forgive the mess. I don’t often get visitors.” He walked Alley Cat through the entry past the living room to the kitchen, lifting him by the hips to set him on top of the counter. “Wait here, okay?” He unclipped the strap on the bike helmet, lifting it carefully free of Alley Cat’s head and setting it aside. “I’m gonna grab some things to help.”
Alley Cat nodded, shoving a hand through his orange hair and making it stick out at all angles. It might have been endearing if Chan wasn’t so worried about him blacking out again.
Chan tore apart his medicine cabinet, snagging a bottle of forgotten pain killers, tweezers, a sewing kit, and a bottle of disinfectant. It was a far cry from perfect and still would have an alarmingly high chance of infection without a proper look form a doctor, but needs must. He stacked everything onto a pile of clean towels, carrying them back out to the kitchen and setting them on the counter next to the sink. “Here.” He popped open the pain killers, holding out two for Alley Cat in his palm. “I’ll get you a glass of water.”
“Don’t bother.” Alley Cat threw back the pills, swallowing them dry. “Let’s just get this over with.” He shifted to pull up the hem of his stolen hoodie and winced, cursing under his breath with bared and pinkened tinted teeth.
“Easy.” The tweezers clattered into the sink as Chan reached for Alley Cat, gently coaxing his hands away. “I’ve got you.” Slowly and without breaking eye contact, he slid his hands under the soft cotton and eased it up over Alley Cat’s head. “There.” He smiled, feeling a spark of something warm in his chest at the little gasp that Alley Cat gave in response.
“I don’t have anything to numb you with, I’m sorry.” The words half tumbled their way out of Chan’s mouth as he came back from his briefly self-indulgent moment of staring. “But with how much it was bleeding before, you really need at least a few stitches to keep it closed long enough to heal.”
“It’s fine.” Alley Cat made a half hearted gesture of dismissal with one hand, leaning heavily on the palm of his other for support. “I’ve felt worse.”
That was an alarming thought that brought up so many more unanswered questions between them, but Chan kept his mouth shut. He picked up the tweezers from the sink, cleaning them the scissors and a sewing needle with disinfectant before carefully setting them on a towel. “It will probably be easier if you lay down.” Alley Cat gave a weak shrug and began to shift on the counter while Chan scrubbed his hands with soap. “Last chance.” He picked up the sewing needle and strung it with thread, bending the metal into a ‘C’ curve as much as he could with finger strength alone. “Are you sure I can’t take you to a real doctor?”
Alley Cat sighed, eyes closed and head cushioned on the stolen hoodie bunched up into a vague ball. “No. Just do it, Chan.”
The shock of Alley Cat using his real name left Chan briefly suspended in time before he remembered the task at hand. “Alright. But remember, you say the word and I stop.” At Alley Cat’s tiny nod, he reached for the blood soaked gauze and peeled it away to expose the wound beneath. The ride definitely hadn't done it any favors, the edges stretched wider and angry red beneath the smear of blood. “What happened to you?” The words were to himself more than anything, soft under his breath, and earned no answer.
He picked up a towel and the disinfectant, pouring a generous amount directly onto Alley Cat’s skin to flush the wound. It made Alley Cat tense and bare his teeth, but otherwise he remained still.
It had been a long time since Chan took that paramedic course in university, but he did his best. He could feel the way his hands wanted to tremble, but he forced them steady, focussing on his breathing as he pushed the needle through the skin and out the other side, pulling it taught. The strangest thing about the process wasn’t the blood or the feeling of sewing a person together, but the fact that Alley Cat remained so impossibly still and quiet that, for a second, Chan had to wonder if he’d gone into shock. He tied off a knot, knowing the thread wasn’t going to last for long. He really needed to pick up some surgical grade thread or at least fishing line for when they needed to do this again.
Wait.
He was definitely getting ahead of himself there. What the fuck?
“You need to keep it clean and dry. If it gets too wet, the stitches might rot and that will cause infection.” Chan wiped away the mess from Alley cat’s torso with a damp cloth, the motion gentle but firm as his tone. “I can tape it, but it should really be able to breathe if you want it to heal faster.”
Alley Cat hummed, gripping Chan’s shoulder with one hand as he pushed himself upright again. The hand remained. “I’ll wager a shower is off limits.” His tone was flat and tired, but the hint of teeth under it spoke more of controlled pain than anger.
“‘Fraid so. You’re stuck with sink baths for at least a few days.” Chan didn’t dare move, just holding Alley Cat’s gaze as he felt every molecule of heat pass between them through that singular contact point. “I can help you wash your hair, if you want. You have some--” Impulse won over enamored tharn as he reached to tuck a bloodied lock of orange behind Alley Cat’s ear. “Blood in it.”
“My hands are fine.” Alley Cat hopped off the counter, pushing Chan back a few steps in the process. “Just need to know where your bathroom is.”
“Right.” Chan rubbed at the back of his neck, motioning with his other as he led them down the short hall. “Bathroom is here, soap and stuff is easy to find. Help yourself to whatever you like.” He looked down at the rust stains on Alley Cat’s dark jeans. “Let me bring you a change of clothes and I’ll wash yours.”
Alley Cat flicked an assessing gaze over Chan’s face before giving a subtle nod and slipping into the bathroom.
While Chan gathered fresh clothes for Alley Cat and cleaned up the mess in the kitchen, he allowed himself a brief moment to process. There was a stranger, a very dangerous stranger, in Chan’s house because Chan brought him here. It was insane to think about it, how truly disastrous it could be. Alley Cat could rob him blind, kill him in his sleep, drag him into some big chaotic mess that would change his life forever. The thing was, Chan didn’t care. Something about the stranger made him feel compelled to help, like this was fate for them to meet.
That, or Chan was just blinded by how fucking pretty Alley Cat was under all the blood.
He knocked on the bathroom door, easing it open slowly as he spoke. “These will probably be too big for you, but they're comfortable.”
Alley Cat had his head in the sink, orange hair soaked through and streaking the bowl with pinkish suds. “I’m sure they’re fine.” He righted himself, droplets of water running down his now clean face and neck to pool in the deep divot of his collar bones. “I like oversized clothes anyway.”
It was the first piece of personal information Alley Cat had openly shared and it made warmth bloom in Chan’s chest. “Then I’ve got you covered.” He placed the folded clothes on the edge of the sink, eyes glued to the way Alley Cat ruffled a towel half-heartedly through his hair. “I’ll uh, let you change. You can leave the things to wash in the hall and I’ll take care of them.” Before he could get too lost again, he backed out of the bathroom and shut the door.
Shit.
What was wrong with him today?
This wasn’t how he usually handled himself, even around attractive, dangerous, people. Alley Cat was really throwing him for a loop. Luckily, he had enough to keep himself busy and not dwell on it. He grabbed the spare set of sheets and pillows from the hall closet and took them to the couch, setting them in a pile on the cushion for the means to throw together a bed. It wasn’t that he expected Alley Cat to stay the night, and especially not on the couch, but just in case.
“Don’t worry about washing the clothes, they’re pretty ruined.” Alley Cat padded down the hall, looking painfully soft dressed in the oversized set of sweats. He set Chan’s gun on the kitchen counter, leaning back against the edge beside it facing the living room and Chan. “But I must insist on you deleting that footage.” His eyes flicked to the blinking switch board on the wall behind Chan, the command center of the room. “For both our sakes.”
“Are you safe?” Chan held Alley Cat’s gaze, his voice quiet but clear. “I know you’re running from something, but will you be safe when you leave here?” He kept his eyes on Alley Cat as he moved over to his overcrowded desk, entering his passcode and fingerprint for access. “If you aren’t, if there’s even a chance you wont be…” He opened the folder with the security footage, shifting aside so Alley Cat could see him shred the contents from the day. “You’re welcome to stay here.” He shut down his computer, turning his attention back to Alley Cat in full. “As long as you need.”
Alley Cat blinked several times in rapid succession. “Why?” His tone was equal parts confused and accusatory, his shoulders tensing. “I can’t tell if you’re too pure hearted for your own good or just stupid.” He scoffed, flicking a wary gaze over the whole of Chan’s frame before looking toward the front door. “Look, dog-boy, you’re in over your head. I don't need or want your help, okay? The only reason I even agreed to let you bring me back here is because my fucking bike is--” He cut himself off, nostrils flared and eyes wide before he schooled his expression to calm. “Burn the damn bloody clothes for all I care. I’m leaving.” He pushed off the counter and moved toward the door, but didn’t make it more than a single step before doubling over and clutching at his ribs.
“Whoa there.” Chan made it across the living room in record time, steadying Alley Cat with gentle hands in spite of his grumbling resistance. “Let’s sit down, yeah? Just for a bit while I fix something for you to eat. Then you can leave, okay?” He kept a steady hand on the small of Alley Cat’s back as he guided him down onto the couch. “There.” He smiled, kneeling beside the coffee table in front of Alley Cat with what he hoped was a reassuringly warm smile. “Be right back.”
Alley Cat said nothing, just tucked himself into the corner of the couch like a pound cat trying to vibe check their new forever home. It was cute, especially with the way he was dressed in Chan’s clothes, even if it was only temporary.
“I don’t have much to choose from, I’ll be real.” Chan frowned at the gun on the counter as he moved past it to rummage through the cabinets. “I’m kind of stuck on the whole take out or convenience store food habit I picked up in uni and haven’t quite grown out of. Sorry.” He grabbed the last two bowls of instant ramyeon from the back of the cabinet with a triumphant little noise.
“You don’t cook?” Alley Cat said it so softly it was almost drowned out by the sound of the sink filling a pot with water.
Chan laughed, rubbing the back of his neck as he set down the pot of water and flipped on the burner for the stove. “I’ve been meaning to learn, but it’s only me around so… No real reason, I guess? I’m not picky as long as it’s not spicy.” He opened the fridge, considering the beer before grabbing two melon sodas instead on his way back to the living room. “The water will take some time to boil, so I’m gonna step out for a smoke. You wanna come?” The question was backed in a raised brow and a tilt of his head as he gently nudged one of the soda bottles into Alley Cat’s sweater paw hand.
Alley Cat frowned in a way that pushed out his upper lip, exaggerating how it was slightly larger than the bottom. “Everyone should learn to cook.” He set the bottle on the coffee table and pushed up off the couch, a little unsteady on his feet. “Balcony?”
Chan could feel the warmth of Alley Cat’s body with how close together they were standing, looking up into that dark gaze. “Right, yeah.” He laughed it off, slipping away toward the door but still keeping a watchful eye on Alley Cat as he followed. “You’re really observant. Most people don’t clock the curtains as more than a window next to the computer.” Shoving said curtains aside, he flipped the lock on the sliding glass door and pushed it open to the tiny patio space.
“You don’t put furniture in front of it and the curtain goes to the floor.” Alley Cat stepped onto the balcony, leaning back against the rail and facing in toward the apartment rather than toward the city view. “The exterior of the building doesn’t have any floor length windows but does have balconies, it was the only reasonable assumption. Besides, your carpet is worn slightly along your regular path of travel. You smoke, so you would use a balcony more than you’d open and close a window.” He tilted his head back against the cradle of his hood, face turned up toward the sky. “All the appartment buildings here share the same basic layout in three variations. Same architect.”
It was the most Alley Cat had spoken since they’d met and it left Chan completely stunned. He didn’t even register just how specific some of the details were or why it would be weird for Alley Cat to know about the architects and layouts and whatnot. The important thing was that Alley Cat was finally opening up and talking.
“Like I said, clever.” Chan flashed a smile to Alley Cat’s sharp profile, trying not to get distracted by the way the city lights showed off the angles of his face. Settling his soda on the narrow rail, he pulled out his pack of cigarettes and lighter, tucking one into the corner of his lips and pausing. “Do you want one?” He held the pack out toward Alley Cat, brow raised.
“I don’t smoke.” Alley Cat shifted his gaze to Chan, looking at him from the corner of his eye rather than turning his head.
“Ah, I get that. It’s a bad habit, I know.” Chan felt a bit of heat on the back of his neck from embarrassment, like he was caught doing something wrong. “I picked up the habit at uni and keep telling myself I’ll quit, but... Clearly I struggle with breaking bad habits in general.” He laughed again, a bit stilted, before sparking his lighter and coaxing the cigarette to life. “Maybe next year.” He tucked the lighter and pack away, taking a long drag and blowing the smoke out in wide lazy rings. “What about you? Have any bad habits you want to break?”
Alley Cat scoffed, raking his fingers through his still damp hair. “Does it matter?” He sighed, closing his eyes as his brows pinched together. “I’m not real.” There was an eerie sort of finality to his tone as if the truth of it applied to more than just the moment at hand. “I’m just a blip on the radar, a bad dream you’ll forget in the morning like it never happened.” His eyes opened and they were even more distant than before as he pushed off the railing and crowded into Chan’s space. “None of this matters.” Without breaking eye contact, he plucked the cigarette from Chan’s lips and brought it to his own, taking a long steady inhale before blowing the smoke directly into Chan’s face.
The whiplash had Chan reeling yet again, jaw slack. Out of everything, his mind only seemed to process one thing. “I thought you said you didn’t smoke.” He gripped the railing on either side of himself mostly to keep from giving in to the urge to set them on Alley Cat’s waist.
“I don’t.” Alley Cat smiled, taking another long drag and letting the smoke curl out around the edges of his smile. “Like I said, none of this is real.” He took one more pull of smoke into his lungs and held it there as he snuffed out the butt of the cigarette on the rail beside Chan’s soda bottle. “Breathe.” His fingers slid into the hair at Chan’s nape, holding taught as he leaned in until their lips were only a centimeter apart. Slowly, he blew a stream of milky white smoke against Chan’s parted lips.
Chan nearly choked on his inhale, the rush of air and secondhand smoke into his lungs leaving him dizzy. His eyes fluttered briefly shut before he could focus on Alley Cat again, exhaling a thinner wisp of smoke into the space between them. “Are you sure this isn’t real?” His brain was both sluggish and running on overdrive, spinning out of orbit as if something in the very fabric of the universe was actively shifting.
“Of course it isn’t. It can’t be.” Alley Cat stepped back, a flicker of pain crossing his features as he touched a hand to the hidden wound in his chest. “The kind of man that would face a threat with nothing but kindness, who doesn’t ask questions he very much should when bringing a stranger into his home, isn’t the kind of man that should be around someone like me.” The words were quiet and honest in a way that made Chan ache with the desire to find a way to change them for a prettier lie. “Your water should be boiling.” He turned, sliding open the door and making his way into the kitchen.
It took a solid few seconds for Chan to collect himself before determination won over common sense. If Alley Cat didn’t think himself worth helping, then Chan just had to try harder. He snagged the bottle from the railing, sliding the balcony door closed behind himself with a click. “You should sit and rest.” He left the soda bottle on the coffee table beside Alley Cat’s, crossing to the kitchen to where Alley Cat stood at the stove. “Please, you shouldn’t strain yourself while you’re healing.”
“And what happens when I leave and I’m on my own again? It’s fine. It’s just ramyeon.” Alley Cat didn’t even look at Chan as he added the noodles and seasoning packets to the pot. “You don’t even cook.” He seemed relatively fine aside from the knuckle white grip of his free hand on the edge of the counter.
“C’mon Alley Cat.” Chan didn’t let himself overthink as he took Alley Cat’s waist in both hands and gently coaxed him aside, his voice soft and soothing against the shell of Alley Cat’s ear. “At least let me take care of you for tonight. This isn’t real, right? So you don’t have to push yourself so hard for the sake of appearances.”
Alley Cat’s breath hitched and there was a beat of still silence before he slowly but steadily relaxed under Chan’s hold. “Don’t overcook the noodles.” He turned, briefly meeting Chan’s gaze with an unreadable expression. “And if you’re selling me out, make them give you the money up front.” There was an odd note of tired acceptance in the words as he moved past Chan out of the kitchen to take back up his spot in the corner of the couch.
Chan blinked. “Okay. I’ll be careful.”
There was so much about Alley Cat that didn’t make sense; and yet, if Chan let himself pick apart the pieces and laid them out together, the truth was right at his fingertips. Clearly Alley Cat was running, not just from something but someone, likely multiple someones if the two thugs in the shop were anything to go by. The most alarming thing wasn’t that, however. Chan had dealt with his fair share of questionable characters in passing and he didn’t exactly spend all his own time in the light so to speak, but Alley Cat was different. He might be around Chan’s age, just from appearance alone, but there was an air of age beyond years in the same way that children get after deep trauma. It made Chan’s heart ache with more than fondness, with more than just the desire to slap a band aid onto a proverbial bullet wound. He wanted to be a friend, a safe place, someone Alley Cat could rely on because from the way Alley Cat spoke about himself, about things ‘not being real’, it was like he was teetering on the precipice of oblivion with solemn acceptance rather than bravado. Still, that didn’t mean Chan could pry about it. True to his namesake, Alley Cat didn’t seem the type to trust or accept an offered hand. So, Chan would just have to be patient, would have to sit quietly and let Alley Cat make the first move. He had to let Alley Cat choose to trust on his own.
Chan clicked off the stove, grabbing bowls and chopsticks and carrying them with the pot to the coffee table in the living room. “Dinner is served. Next time it’ll be something a little more filling.” He laughed, passing a bowl and chopsticks to Alley Cat as he took a seat on the couch beside him.
“Thanks.” Alley Cat put the bowl in his lap, leaning forward to grab the pot from the table. Rather than serve himself, he piled steaming noodles into Chan’s bowl first and then his own after. “I’m not picky when I’m not the one cooking it.”
“Do you cook often?” Chan picked up a bite of noodles, blowing off a bit of steam before shoving them into his mouth. They weren’t glamorous, but they still hit the spot after such a long day. He could only imagine how much harder Alley Cat’s day had been.
“I have to eat, so I cook.” Alley Cat stuffed noodles into his mouth a lot more reserved than Chan at first, but after the initial bite, his second was almost ravenous. He swallowed before continuing. “I didn’t want to eat shit food, so I learned to make things that weren’t shit. Like my mom used to.” The last bit was much quieter and his eyes stayed fixed on the bowl in his lap as he said it.
“Ah, you’re a better man than me then.” Chan huffed a laugh, taking another bite. “I was too busy being strong willed to pay attention to my mom’s cooking, but I regret not doing so now. I miss her kimchi, you know? Store bought just isn’t the same.”
Alley Cat hummed, the tension in his shoulders leaving little by little with every bite. “We never know what we have until it’s gone.”
Chan considered that for a moment, the weight with which Alley Cat said it. Again, he was painfully aware of just how much was locked away inside of his temporary companion’s chest, the burden he had to be carrying. “Yeah, you’re right. But kids are kids. You can’t tell a teenage boy that they’ll regret something, they won’t believe you. At least, I wouldn’t have.”
Silence settled between them then, but it wasn’t entirely uncomfortable. Alley Cat wasn’t exactly the conversationalist, and Chan didn’t mind. He was used to the quiet of being alone.
Once the ramyeon was gone, Alley Cat picked up the dishes and carried them to the kitchen before Chan even had time to open his mouth.
“Hey, it’s fine.” Chan quickly followed Alley Cat into the kitchen, sidling up beside him at the sink. “You’re hurt, and a guest. I’ve got it.”
Alley Cat frowned, his eyes scanning Chan’s face like he was looking for some kind of trick or answer that Chan couldn’t begin to parse. “At least let me dry.”
Chan shrugged, not at all opposed to the company even if he would have preferred Alley Cat rest. “Alright, alright.” He turned on the tap, letting the water heat up as he soaped the sponge. “So, I know I said I wouldn’t ask any questions… but I have to ask one.” He felt Alley Cat stiffen beside him, already on the defensive. “Who does your hair? It looks amazing, healthy even with the color, and I’ve been wanting to try something new with mine for a while.”
There was a beat of silence where Alley Cat just blinked several times in rapid succession before letting out a bark of laugher that made butterflies erupt in Chan’s chest. “Of all the things…” He shook his head, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips as he accepted a bowl to dry. “I do it myself. I’ve never trusted anyone else to touch it.”
“Really?” Chan was genuinely surprised and deeply impressed. “Even the bleach? How to do you get the color so even, even on the back?”
“Practice.” Alley Cat set the first bowl aside and accepted the second. “I fucked it up royally the first few times, looked like a mess, but I learned. I cou--” The words died on his tongue, like he caught himself saying too much, but Chan took it as a good sign anyway. “What color are you trying to get?”
Chan considered a moment, handing the pot over and turning off the tap. “I’m not sure. I was thinking blonde might be fun, but I don’t know if my hair could take it, you know? That’s a lot of bleach and I hear it can make your hair melt.”
“Mashed potatoes.” Alley Cat finished drying the pot and set it aside, turning to face Chan with his hip braced on the counter. He narrowed his eyes, reaching a hand up to comb careful fingers through Chan’s dark fringe. “Bleach strips out the protein in the hair follicle, makes it weak mush, but if you do it slowly, don’t use too strong of a developer, and tone it well, then it holds.” He curled his fingers in Chan’s hair at the roots on the back of his head, giving it a firm tug that nearly pulled a moan out of Chan’s mouth. “Your hair is a little delicate, but manageable. I’m assuming you’ve never dyed it?”
It took a solid three seconds for Chan to reset his brian enough to remember how to make words again. “Uh, yeah, err-- no, I haven’t.” He cleared his throat, trying to ignore the lap of simmering heat in his core. “So, you think it would work?”
Alley Cat shrugged, withdrawing his hand and leaving Chan feeling the tingling ghost of his touch. “Won’t know until you try.”
“Fair enough.” Chan was reluctant to move, to shatter whatever pleasant calm had settled over them. “It’s pretty late.” He smoothed his palm over the edge of the sink, an outlet for the nerves that were trying to claw at his stomach, the impending end. “You can stay the night if you want. I don’t mind giving you a ride to… wherever in the morning, and my bed is soft.”
A flicker of something unreadable flashed across Alley Cat’s face before it was replaced with blank neutrality. “You’re pretty, but I’m not fucking you, Chan.”
Chan couldn’t hide the shock on his face, backing up two steps with both hands held up. “No no no-- I don’t mean-- I was going to take the couch.” He was a fool, an overzealous fool that, and had fucked everything up by wording things terribly.
“Oh.” Alley Cat tilted his head, brows furrowing slightly. “Why would you take the couch in your own home?” He wasn’t outright denying the offer, which was a pleasant surprise.
That, Chan could work with. “You have my shitty attempt at playing doctor for stitches, the couch is no place for you to sleep right now. Besides, I crash on that thing all the time. It’s actually pretty comfortable if a little cold. The heat in this place isn’t the best, but the rent is good, you know how it goes.”
The ghost of a smile tugged the corner of Alley Cat’s lips. “I’m used to the cold.” He looked past Chan to the living room as if he was mapping the layout. The silence lingered just a beat too long, a second shy of stagnant, before he spoke again. “Fine. I’m too tired to fight you on it.”
Though Chan wished the acceptance had come for a different reason, he wasn’t in a position to be picky. “Alright.” He smiled, motioning with a jerk of his head and a jut of his thumb toward the hall. “I’ll show you the room and grab my stuff so you can get settled. I’m not sure if you need a charger or anything for your phone, but I have a box of them somewhere.”
Alley Cat followed Chan down the hall to the bedroom, his footfalls cat quiet. “No phone.” He idled in the doorway, watching Chan move around the room without making any indication of stepping past the threshold.
“No phone? Wow. I can’t imagine being without technology. But I guess that’s just the trade talking.” Chan grabbed a set of sweats and a tank top to sleep in, returning to where Alley Cat still stood in the doorway. “Can I get you anything else before I let you get settled?”
“No, I’m fine.” Alley Cat pushed off the doorframe, slipping past Chan into the room and pausing halfway to the bed to look over his shoulder. “Thank you, Chan.” It was quiet but completely sincere. “I hope your kindness doesn’t kill you.”
Chan didn’t know how to respond to that, offering as much of a smile as he could with his hand on the light switch. “Anytime. Goodnight, Alley Cat.” He waited for alley cat to reach the bed before flicking off the light and easing the door closed.
In the bathroom, he stripped and changed into his sleep clothes, trying to sort through the questions flying around in his head. He tried not to let them spiral, tried to fight the urge to go digging after answers. It wasn’t like he had much to go on, no name or identifiers other than Alley Cat’s face. And beyond that, it felt wrong to betray the tentative trust that had been placed in his hands. He would simply wait and place his own trust in Alley Cat to share if and when he was ready. After all, the light of day had a way of changing people.
By the time he made up the couch with the spare blankets and tucked himself in, the exhaustion took over, and he fell into a deep dreamless sleep.
-⧖-
When Chan woke in the morning, prying himself up off the couch with a groan and shuffling to the bathroom, he was greeted with a strange sight in the mirror. On the corner of his lips was a dried rust colored stain, just barely there, in the vague shape of a familiar bottom lip. He was suddenly very awake, touching at the mark of what must be blood and immediately crossing the hall to the bedroom.
Empty.
Alley Cat was gone.
-⧖-
A week passed with Chan hoping every day that Alley Cat would show up again either at his apartment or the shop. He took his smoke breaks a bit more frequently out in the alley, always scanning the darkness and listening for any signs of life to no avail. It was hardly unexpected, but Chan couldn’t help the feeling of loss that settled into his chest. He hoped Alley Cat was okay, healing, safe.
By the second week of radio silence, Chan had started to accept that Alley Cat was gone for good. The clothes that Alley Cat had worn sat folded and cleaned of the rusty stains in the back room of the shop, a silent reminder that the night had been real and not just some strange dream. Still, a part of Chan held out hope, every glimpse of copper hair through the front window making him jolt to attention and rekindling the spark.
Nearly a month after Alley Cat was gone and had become a bittersweet memory, Chan flipped the closed sign on the front of the shop and locked the door as he always did before headed to the back to get his bike. He passed the pile of folded clothes and moved around the single floor to ceiling shelf piled high with spare parts and stopped dead in his tracks.
“Hello, Bad Wolf.” Alley Cat leaned casually against Chan’s motorcycle with arms crossed, dressed head to toe in a blue so deeply midnight it was like the night sky turned to fabric. He seemed far better off than the last time Chan had seen him, but there was still a gauntness to his face that made his sharp cheekbones stand out further under the harsh overhead light. “Think you can take one more customer tonight?”
“Alley Cat.” Chan felt light headed, like he was seeing a hallucination out of his dreams rather than a real person. He couldn’t help but smile, though it quickly faded into a frown. “Wait, how did you get in here? I locked the back last time I went for a smoke, I checked…”
Alley Cat gave Chan a deadpan stare like the answer should be obvious. (It wasn’t, at least to Chan.) “Everyone has their tricks, don’t they?” He tilted his head, looking down his nose in a way that made a shiver go down Chan’s spine, one brow raised. “Well?”
“Oh.” Chan shook his head to clear it, taking a few careful steps closer. He didn’t want to scare Alley Cat off too soon. “Oh, yeah. I can-- What do you need?” It was strange to be standing around, but there wasn’t exactly a more formal setting to be had without risking the front windows.
“That’s a rather open ended question, isn’t it?” Alley Cat flashed a wry smile, reaching into the pocket of his dark wash jeans and pulling out a phone. “I need an untraceable SIM card and an impenetrable firewall.” He held the phone out toward Chan. “Is that something you can do?”
“Technically, no. Even the best firewalls on the market, including the black market, have their loopholes, but I can give you something that sends a tracker tag back down a line breech.” Chan pushed up the sleeves of his crew neck, the colder weather making him trade out his work polos for their seasonal counterparts. “I’m gonna take a guess and say you don’t have a number already, that’s going to be the tricky part. I should have a few burners somewhere though, so I can scrape one if need be and register it to a net based line.” He turned his attention to the shelf behind him, grabbing the box of cracked and broken phones he used for scrap parts. “While I look, you should grab your clothes. I was able to get them washed well enough, but the hole in the shirt will need to get stitched up.”
Alley Cat gave a noncommittal hum, passing in Chan’s periphery behind the shelf likely in search of the clothes. “I told you just to burn them, but I’m not surprised you didn’t listen.”
Chan set the box on the floor, rummaging through the collection of phones looking for something intact enough to salvage what he needed from it. “Guess I’m just stubborn.” He picked up an older model Samsung, trying the SIM slot before just prying off the entire face to get to the tray. Good, it was in there. “How are you feeling, by the way? Did the stitches hold alright?”
“The stitches held up fine. Took them out myself a week and a half ago.” Alley Cat’s voice was suddenly so close behind Chan it made him jump. “Skittish.” He laughed when Chan looked over his shoulder toward him, the sound reverberating down Chan’s spine. “You’re more like an excitable puppy than a wolf.”
Chan huffed a breathless laugh of his own, shaking his head as he lifted the box back up onto the shelf. “I just thought the name was cool. I wasn’t trying to make it a persona or anything.” He turned to face Alley Cat, holding out his hand. “Phone, please.”
Alley Cat handed over his phone, fingertips gliding against Chan’s palm in a way that felt almost deliberate. “You’re far too deep in the thick of things to pretend that an avatar isn’t a reflection of self. Haven’t you seen Perfect Blue?” He withdrew his hand and settled with one shoulder against the shelf. “How long will that--” he motioned toward the phone, “take?”
A selfish little voice in the back of Chan’s head wanted to lie and say it would take longer than it actually would just to keep Alley Cat around, but he couldn’t bring himself ot do it. “Depends on how strong you want the firewall. Setting up the SIM and new number-- wait, you do need a number right?” Alley Cat nodded. “Right. That part is easy enough, maybe thirty minutes or so? The firewall will take a bit more time. I don’t have my full setup here, just my laptop. I keep my advanced software on my drives at home.” He popped the SIM tray out and slid in the burner card for safe keeping. “If you come over, I can get it set up in a few hours or I can keep it overnight and you can pick it up here tomorrow. Your choice.” He really hoped Alley Cat would choose the former option rather than the latter, but either way it bought more time.
“I’d say buy me dinner first, but I feel like you’d take it seriously.” Alley Cat pushed off the shelf and crossed to the bike, picking up the helmet from where it hung on the handlebar only to pause. “Actually, there’s something else you might be able to help me with.”
“What’s that?” Chan could only assume based on Alley Cat’s behavior that they were going back to his apartment as he joined him at the bike.
“A mechanic.” Alley Cat traced idle patterns with his fingertips along the dome of the helmet. “My bike is beyond my ability to fix myself, but I need someone that’s not keen on sharing information or asking too many questions.” His gaze was sharp on Chan’s face, the familiar guard drawn back up.
Chan considered for a moment, tucking Alley Cat’s phone into his pocket beside his own for safe keeping. “I might know a guy. I’ve worked with him a few times and he comes in asking for parts pretty regularly. No idea what he’s using all that stuff for, but he’s done good work on my bike, so, I’m not one to pry.”
“One of your better qualities.” Alley Cat slid on the helmet, the black reflective visor blocking his face from view and muffling his voice. “We can discuss it further while you’re working.”
What could Chan do but agree?
Once they made it back to Chan’s apartment, with Alley Cat walking up the stairs on his own two feet this time, Chan immediately went to his ‘command center’ and turned on his home rig.
“Make yourself comfortable.” Chan settled into his chair, plugging in Alley Cat’s phone on the desk. “Feel free to grab whatever you want from the fridge. I have water, a few sodas, beer if you’re into that.” He cracked his knuckles, opening up his proxy and filtering through his partitions to get to his firewall collection on auto pilot.
Alley Cat folded himself into the same corner of the couch he had the last time he was there, looking very much like the creature of his namesake. “Have you eaten?”
Chan was so engrossed in his work that he nearly missed the question, starting the SIM software upload before turning toward the couch. “Have I eaten?” He realized then that he hadn’t. He’d meant to grab lunch at the convenience store across the street but a walk-in client with a laptop broken in half had come in and he’d completely forgotten. “No, I haven’t actually. Are you hungry?”
“I already ate.” Alley Cat pushed up off the couch, padding silently into the adjacent kitchen. “I’m going to assume your pantry is just as barren as the last time, unless you actually took my advice to heart.”
To Chan’s shame, he hadn’t. “Unfortunately, not. I have some leftover takeout I was going to heat up, but I can go grab something.” He checked the progress on the setup before joining Alley Cat into the kitchen. “I thought you said you weren’t hungry.”
“I’m not.” Alley Cat opened the fridge, looking through the various containers and setting some on the counter while putting others back. “You should at least get the basics. Making rice or yachaejeon isn’t rocket science.” He opened and closed drawers and cabinets, gathering an assortment of utensils and cookware.
Chan felt out of place in his own home, unsure what to do to help Alley Cat without just getting in the way. “I mean, I have rice, but that’s not much of a meal on its own.” He decided to just park himself against the counter beside the sink to watch. “If you aren’t hungry, then what are you doing?” It was a genuine question.
Alley Cat gave Chan a look as he set down a cutting board and emptied a container of half finished kimchi onto it. “Cooking.” He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world, which it was, but it didn’t exactly answer the real question at hand. “Go do your tech nonsense. I work better without some dog hovering around waiting for scraps.”
Part of Chan wanted to protest, if only to watch the way Alley Cat was wielding the knife, but it seemed better to just roll with it. “Okay…” He stole one last lingering look at Alley Cat before taking his place at his desk again.
As he went through the process of reformatting the phone’s native UI and software to a more custom and distinctly more secure interface, he could hear Alley Cat in the kitchen. It was strangely comforting to have the ambient presence of another person in the apartment after so much time living alone. It had been some time since his last partner had practically lived there, and he hadn’t realized how much he missed having company around. Sure, it was likely to be as temporary as their last meeting, but maybe if he played his cards right Alley Cat would at least take his contact info before he disappeared.
“Wow. I have no idea what you’re making, but it smells great.” Chan clicked start on the next upload, turning his chair toward the kitchen with a smile. “But really, you don’t need to make a fuss on my account. I feel bad having you cook while I’m just sitting here.”
“Consider it repayment for last time.” Alley Cat clicked off the stove, spooning fried rice out of a pan onto a plate. “Come eat before it gets cold.” He set the plate on the counter, pushing it toward the bar side.
Chan made his way over, rubbing the back of his neck. “You don’t owe me anything, really. I didn’t do it because I wanted a debt between us.” He slid onto a barstool, taking the spoon that Alley Cat held out to him. “I just wanted to help.”
“How altruistic.” Alley Cat wiped down the countertops with a dishcloth before turning on the tap for the sink. “Tell me about that mechanic of yours.” He rolled up his long sleeves, pouring soap onto the sponge before reaching for the dishes.
“Wait-- don’t worry about those.” Chan made to get up off the stool but was stopped in his tracks by Alley Cat’s sharp gaze.
“Eat.” Alley Cat said it like a command, leaving no room for protest as he started in on the dishes in the sink.
Chan ignored the way Alley Cat’s firm tone made heat lap at the pit of his stomach, picking up a spoonful of rice and shoving it into his mouth. It tasted amazing, like it was fresh and not thrown together form the questionable remnants of old takeout boxes. “You really are a great cook. This is so good.” He spoke behind the cover of his hand, giving a thumbs up with the other.
“I did the best I could with what pathetic options you had on hand.” Though his tone was contrite and a bit scathing, there was the hint of a smile on the corner of Alley Cat’s pretty lips. “The mechanic, Chan. What do you know about him?”
“Just the usual stuff.” Chan did his best not to be rude as he juggled eating and speaking. “His name is Hwang Hyunjin. He seems to really know his shit, works out of this rusty old shack of a garage on the far side of town, but I think it’s just because he’s young. The old man that owns the place has arthritis or something and can’t work like he used to so he leases the space for cheap as far as I understand. Prices are good, fair, you know? Only a little bit over the parts themselves. Honestly, he can’t be turning much of a profit. When he comes in to buy parts from me, I try to return the favor. Though I have no idea what he’s using all of it for. It’s not remotely things that can be used for vehicles that I know of.”
Alley Cat hummed, finishing with the dishes in the sink and leaning on the counter across from Chan. “What kind of parts is he buying?” His expression was contemplative and a bit wary, which tracked.
Chan paused with his spoon suspended halfway to his mouth. “A lot of random things? Ultra-thin wires, delay switches, transmitters, miscellaneous chips, flux. Like I said, random parts.” He shoved the rice into his mouth, chewing and swallowing before speaking again. “I fixed a cracked screen for him one time and his phone seems pretty normal. Not that I was looking through it, that’s a breech of client privacy.”
“Says the man that regularly hacks into the secure systems of some very dangerous people.” Alley Cat rested his chin on his palm, head tilted to the side so his orange bangs fanned over one eye. “Why do you go poking around in places you shouldn’t, I wonder. Is it just because you want to prove you can, or are you actually a player on the board?” There was a hint of silver on his tongue, not so much for charm but as a scalpel blade.
“I sell it.” Chan probably shouldn’t have been so direct about it, but he wagered if Alley Cat had any intentions of harming him or selling him out it would have already happened. “Sure, the tech business is fine, but rent is expensive and the kind of equipment I buy for myself costs more than than I can manage after paying the bullshit rent on the shopfront. You know how it is these days. Everyone needs a side hustle.” He scooped up the last of the rice and savored it on his tongue while he carried his plate and spoon around the counter to the sink.
“You should be careful sharing those things so readily. Honesty like that will get you killed.” Alley Cat shouldered Chan out of the way of the sink, picking up the sponge again to wash the plate and spoon himself. “I’m not the kind of person you should put your trust in.”
“But I do trust you.” Chan accepted the dish and spoon once they were clean, drying them off and setting them on the rack. “Why shouldn’t I?” It was a fool’s question and he knew it, but he hoped it would open the door for Alley Cat to return some of that trust in kind.
“You’re an idiot, but you’re not stupid, Chan.” Alley Cat wiped off his hands and rolled down his sleeves, turning to the fridge and pulling out two cans of soda and passing one to Chan with a disappointed frown. “I shouldn’t have to spell that out for you.”
“Sorry to disappoint, but I think you’ll have to if you want me to believe it.” Chan popped the top on his coke, taking a sip with an expectant arch of a brow.
Alley Cat was still and silent for a solid few seconds before rolling his eyes and moving past Chan to take up his perch on the couch. “I’m not a good person. I’m not trustworthy, I’m not kind, I’m barely even human.” The last part had a bitter edge to it that almost seemed like regret. “You have eyes and I hope some form of common sense. You can put the pieces together. I put a knife to your throat the moment we met, left before you woke up in the morning, came to your shop after hours and let myself in through your locked back door.” He leveled a blank stare at Chan after Chan took his seat at the desk across the room again. “You might play in the shallow end of the shadows, but you have no idea what kind of monsters are lurking there just out of sight, and I hope you never do, for your own sake.”
Chan was quiet for a time, setting down his soda and letting himself really look at Alley Cat. He wasn’t stupid, but he had already made peace with whatever kind of work or recreation Alley Cat got up to on his own. “You think you’re one of the monsters.” It was a statement, not a question, and filled with nothing but sadness.
“I am a monster, Chan.” Alley Cat looked away, but for the brief moment Chan still held his gaze, there was a flicker of shame there. “The sooner you get that through your thick skull, the safer you’ll be. You don’t--” The words died on his tongue as he frowned at the sliding glass door, his voice dropping to a whisper barely audible over the hum of the tower fans in Chan’s computer. “Nothing good lives in the dark.”
A heavy silence fell over the room, thick with so many unspoken things.
“You know...” Chan turned his attention to his screen, giving Alley Cat a bit of space to breathe as he checked on the firewall. “You don’t have to live in the dark, Alley Cat.”
Again, the silence stretched between them, only broken by the clack of keys.
“Some of us didn’t get a choice.” Alley Cat crept up behind Chan’s desk, slipping a hand into the pocket of his jeans and retrieving the pack of cigarettes there before Chan could so much as flinch. “Come smoke.” Another command that Chan was compelled to follow.
“You don’t smoke.” Even as he said it, Chan was following Alley Cat out onto the tiny balcony and into the frosty night air.
“Nope.” Alley Cat pulled out two cigarettes from the pack, tucking one between his own lips and handing the other to Chan, before sparking the lighter and holding the flame aloft.
Chan didn’t get it, but he didn’t understand a lot of things about Alley Cat. He held the cigarette between his teeth, leaning in to catch the tip of the flame and taking a crackling inhale.
Rather than use the lighter himself, Alley Cat slipped it back into the carton and reached out to grab Chan’s jaw with his free hand. He held firm and steady as he closed the distance between them and touched the unlit tip of his own cigarette to the glowing tip of Chan’s. He took a long drag to coax his to life before pulling back to exhale a cloud of milky gray between them. “Thanks.” He flashed a smokey grin as he tucked the pack safely into Chan’s pocket.
The only thing inside of Chan’s mind was radio static and the cigarette in his mouth nearly fell from his lips with the shock. “Anytime.” He laughed, breathy and a bit nervous, as he rubbed the back of his neck to try to regain some semblance of composure. Alley Cat had a habit of throwing him for loop after loop in so many ways Chan could hardly keep up. And yet, he was secretly glad for this chaos. His life had been rather mundane before Alley Cat came into it. “So, you ride?” It was a deplorably pathetic attempt at small talk, but Chan had to cut himself some slack after that cigarette kiss. “What kind of bike do you have?”
Alley Cat had a bemused expression on his face as he leaned back against the balcony rail. “I drive a Hyosung GT605R Sportbike. Black.” He took a drag from his smoke, exhaling around his words. “Yours is a 250, right?”
Chan nodded, leaning against the rail so he was still facing Alley Cat directly. “Yeah. I wanted to get the 650, but I couldn’t afford it before they went out of production. That’s a nice ride. I’m sad to hear it needs work.” He took a long inhale, letting out the smoke in lazy rings mostly for show, not that he thought Alley Cat would be impressed or anything.
“I didn’t buy it, but I’ve priced them out and as nice as the 650 is, I get it. I’d have gotten the 250 under other circumstances.” Alley Cat sighed, his expression going distant. “The issue now is sourcing parts. Hopefully your Hyunjin has some connections and won’t price gouge.”
The urge to pry at that barely cracked door was strong, Chan’s curiosity lapping at the back of his brain with a vengeance. If Alley Cat didn’t buy the bike, then did he steal it? Was it a gift? If it was a gift, who was the person that gave it to him and where was that person now? Truly, it was none of Chan’s business, but he was only human. “I mean, Hyunjin and I aren’t close, so I’d hardly say he’s ‘my’ anything, but as far as when I’ve worked with him, the prices are fair. Then again, I have no idea what kind of work you need to have done. Did something on it fail or…” He didn’t want to assume there was a crash, but he suspected it was likely the case.
“It’s mostly body damage, which I could do on my own if I had the space for it, but the frame is pretty out of shape and I suspect the engine will have to be completely rebuilt.” Alley Cat turned his face to the sky, and Chan was struck with a wave bitter sweet nostalgia from their last meeting. “The other problem is going to be getting it to the shop. It’s not drivable.”
“I figured that might be the case.” Chan considered his options for 0.3 seconds before caving to impulse. “If you need it, I can borrow a truck from the older gentleman two doors over form my shop. He does junk removal and promised me a favor when I set up his website a few months back. It wouldn’t be any trouble, I’d just need to know where to pick it up.” The offer was mostly because he wanted to help, but the idea of having an excuse to see Alley Cat was an added bonus to his motivation.
Alley Cat turned his face toward Chan, eyes narrowed in a way that seemed equal parts curious and hesitant. “I have to wonder if you’re this forthcoming with your kindness to everyone. It’s not a very good habit to foster. People will take advantage of you.”
Chan huffed a laugh with a shrug. “I mean, people that would take advantage of someone will do it whether you’re kind or not, right? I’d rather be kind and a fool than bitter and cruel. Even if only one out of a hundred people really need the help, that’s worth the effort.”
Alley Cat scoffed, shaking his head. “You and your stupid altruism.” He turned to face Chan directly, lifting the cigarette to his lips and taking a long steady pull. As he spoke, the smoke seeped out from his mouth and nostrils like some kind of demon. “If you want to keep playing the part of a wolf, you’ll need to lose that golden heart of yours and grow some sharper fangs. There aren’t any sheep for you to hide amongst in the underworld, Chan.”
“I have teeth.” Chan leaned his elbow on the railing, casual rather than the imposing presence that he was trying to convince Alley Cat he could be. “I just choose if and when I want to show them.”
There was a long pause of smoke filled silence between them before Alley Cat barked a laugh and patted his free hand on Chan’s chest. “You’re cute, but you’re in over your head. Trust me.”
“I do.” The words were out of Chan’s mouth like a promise, hanging in the air before he continued. “I trust you.”
Alley Cat frowned, taking one last puff from his cigarette before snuffing it out on the railing and tossing the butt over the edge. “Since you seem to have trouble remembering things, mutt, you shouldn’t trust me.” He turned on his heel, yanking open the sliding door and heading inside.
As true as that might be, it didn’t change Chan’s feelings any more than the first time Alley Cat had said it. In fact, it only made his trust grow stronger. He put out his smoke and followed Alley Cat back inside, locking the door behind them and taking a seat at his desk. “So, was that a yes on the truck or?”
“It depends on how much it’ll set me back after my phone.” Alley Cat was curled back up in his spot on the couch. “You haven’t bothered to give me a quote for your services.”
“Oh.” Chan hadn’t even realized, had no plans of charging Alley Cat anything in the first place. “Don’t worry about it. It’s on the house.” He flashed a smile before turning his chair around to check on the progress of the phone. “You cooked dinner, that’s payment enough.”
“No.” Alley Cat’s tone was firm, a command without any real directive. “I told you, I don’t fucking keep debts. How much will it cost, Chan.” Again, it was an order, not a question.
Chan swallowed down that spark of heat in his core that came with Alley Cat’s sharp tone, doing the last check on the phone. “I guess I’m not the only one with memory problems.” He unplugged the phone and shut down his computer, turning the chair to face the couch. “I told you already, you don’t owe me anything. There’s no debt between us.” He stood and crossed the room, offering the phone to Alley Cat with a warm smile.
“Life doesn’t work like that.” Alley Cat took the phone and checked it over briefly before tucking it into his pocket. His eyes remained anywhere but Chan’s face as he spoke again, his words quieter and with a little less venom behind them. “Just give me a price, Chan.”
It was clear that this was a sticking point between them, one Chan was conflicted on how to navigate. He truly didn’t need anything in return, the time he was offered in Alley Cat’s presence more than enough, but he understood that it ran deeper on Alley Cat’s side of the fence. “Okay.” He sat on the couch, leaving a fair bit of distance between them to make sure Alley Cat wouldn’t feel backed into a corner. “How about this? You take the phone, you let me get the truck for your bike, and all I want in return is something to call you. It doesn’t have to be your real name or anything, I just think you’d prefer something other than ‘Alley Cat’.”
There was a beat of stagnant silence before Alley Cat finally met Chan’s gaze with a guarded expression. “I don’t care what you call me. Dead men have no names.” He slipped a hand into his pocket to retrieve his phone, opening up KaKaoTalk before holding it out to Chan. “Put in your contact.”
“I thought the saying was ‘dead men tall no tales’?” Chan gave a stilted huff of a laugh, accepting the phone and entering his details before offering it back. He watched as Alley Cat typed out a message and pressed send, his own phone vibrating in his pocket and prompting him to take it out to look. There was a single word in the notification from an unknown number. “Minho?”
Minho hummed, locking his phone and putting it away as he turned his attention to his drink.
Chan couldn’t help but notice the flicker of something on Minho’s face that seemed almost like a smile. “I like that name. It suits you.”
“Whatever.” Minho took a swig of his drink and stood, carrying the can to the kitchen and throwing it into the trash. “I’m leaving. I’ll text you the details for the bike.” He moved toward the door, lacing up his boots as he spoke. “Saturday is probably our best option since I doubt your mechanic offers the same after hours service you do.”
“Probably not.” Chan followed Minho to the door, already missing him which was silly. He really needed to take stock of himself because this infatuation was turning into a problem. “Saturday works. Just let me know what time.” He turned the handle on the door and paused. “Minho.” The name tasted like rich coffee candy on his tongue, his tone soft and sincere. “If you need anything, anything at all, call me. I’ll answer.”
Minho looked at Chan through narrowed eyes for a long moment before his shoulders relaxed just a fraction, his own voice barely a whisper. “I know you will.”
-⧖-
Early Saturday afternoon, Chan walked over to Yeongsu’s storefront and got the keys for a small flat bed truck. Minho had only texted him once during the week to confirm the time and address to retrieve the bike, but that was fine. Chan was just happy to hear from Minho at all.
He braved the midday traffic on the main roads, not trusting himself on the back streets with such an oversized vehicle, until he made it to the place Minho had told him to meet. It wasn’t an apartment building or even a garage, just a mundane street corner with a convenience store and a few retail shops. That was fine. He had hardly expected Minho to be forthcoming with a home address considering how stilted he’d been with everything else.
Minho was nowhere in sight, another expected thing, so Chan pulled over and parked a little ways past the convenience store to send a message. A few seconds later, his phone chimed with a response and there was a knock on the passenger seat window.
It took a consolidated effort from the both of them to get Minho’s mangled bike up onto the back of the truck and strapped in, but they managed and headed to Hyunjin’s garage.
The ride was silent save for the soft music Chan had playing on his phone speakers, but he didn’t mind. It was a pleasant sort of silence, comfortable, like sitting with a cat in the room.
When they made it to the garage, Chan backed the truck in and got out with Minho in toe. “There’s no formal desk, but Hyunjin should be around here somewhere.”
Minho hummed, his eyes scanning the space in the way he did Chan’s apartment that first night. It was a little dizzying how acutely aware of his surroundings he was.
“Hyunjin?” Chan stepped into the overpacked garage, ducking around a few half-finished cars and bikes in the crowded bays. “It’s Chan. A friend of mine has a bike that needs some work. Are you in?”
There was a clattering clank from the far corner of the space coming from underneath a sedan jacked up in the front followed by a voice. “Shit--” Another clang and Hyunjin popped up, pushing a flop of messy blonde back from his face and streaking it with dark grease. “Hey Chan-hyung, sorry. I can hardly hear when I get in the zone. This thing is a nightmare.” He chuckled, wiping his hands a little too late on the legs of his jumpsuit as he rounded the car. “How can I help you?”
Chan smiled, trying not to stare at the dark swath of grease sticking down Hyunjin’s hair. “My friend’s bike needs some TLC. Definitely body work and probably some engine repair too. We brought it in on the truck out there.” He jutted his thumb toward the bike outside. “Think you can take a look at it?”
Hyunjin opened his mouth to speak before his eyes moved from Chan to Minho and he paused. A multitude of things flashed across his face too quick for Chan to really catch before his smile and tone turned a level of charming that made Chan prickle with something unpleasant. “Why hello, handsome. You’re having bike troubles? Well, I’m happy to help.” He wiped his hand off on the stained leg of his jumpsuit again before offering it to Minho. “Hwang Hyunjin. And you are?”
Minho returned the smile in a way that didn’t remotely meet his eyes, but he didn’t move to take the offered hand. “Hoping you can make this a rush job, Hyunjin-ssi.” His tone was an oddly saccharine kind of ice, but it didn’t seem to register as anything but sweet judging by Hyunjin’s face.
“Ah, yes of course.” Hyunjin gave a dismissive wave with the hand that had been hoving mid-air before heading out of the garage toward the truck. “Do you know the extent of the damage? Was it a crash or-- oh.” His face fell completely when his eyes landed on the bike and he placed a hand over his heart with a gasp. “Oh this poor baby. What happened to you?” He was clearly speaking to the motorcycle as he climbed into the truck bed and ran gentle fingertips over the mangled frame. “This is a lot of damage, but I can see why you’d rather try to fix her than send her to scrap. GT650R’s are a treasure.”
Chan stood aside, letting Minho and Hyunjin handle things on their own. He was admittedly curious about what caused the damaged as much as Hyunjin clearly was, especially the holes that looked suspiciously like they came from bullets, but he knew better than to press Minho about it.
“They are.” Minho tilted his head, arms crossed as he regarded Hyunjin. “Think you can handle it or should we not bother unloading?” Even with such a to the point comment, it came off with a compelling sort of feel to it.
“I mean, it wouldn’t be for most mechanics.” Hyunjin knelt down, lifting a broken panel up to check the engine with a tsk of his tongue. “But lucky for you, I’m not most mechanics.” He stood up and faced Minho directly. “I might have to do a bit of a frankenstein job on her depending on what’s salvageable form that engine, but if you’re good with custom, I can take her in.”
Minho arched a brow. “And what is a service like that going to put me back?”
“That depends.” Hyunjin leaned down to rest his arms on the edge of the truck bed with a smile, face level with Minho’s. “What are you doing later tonight?”
A sultry smile bloomed across Minho’s lips as he leaned in closer to Hyunjin’s face, almost as if he would kiss him, making a nasty trickle of jealousy crawl down Chan’s spine. “Not you, dollface. I only pay in cash.”
Guilt laden relief washed over Chan at Minho’s contrite response to Hyunjin’s advances.
Hyunjin blinked before straightening himself up with a forced sounding laugh. “Message received, hot stuff. I like money more than sex anyway.” He moved back to the bike, unhooking one of the straps holding it down. “Chan-hyung, mind helping me get this thing down? I’d rather not pull out the hoist unless we have to.”
“Sure.” Chan hopped into the truck bed, helping Hyunjin with the straps.
“You still haven’t answered my question, Hyunjin-ssi.” Minho moved aside to let Chan and Hyunjin wrestle the bike out of the truck and walk it into the garage, following behind them. “How long do you think it will take?”
“I won’t actually know until I get a proper look at it.” Hyunjin pulled a set of chains and hooks down from the ceiling, attaching them to the bike to keep it up. “Based on first impressions, I’ll need at least a full day to take it apart and assess the internal damage, and then another to make the repairs there. Then, it’ll be a couple hours on top for the body damage and wiring. That’s all without the time it’ll take to source parts, so I’d wager roughly a week, maybe two. If you can give me twenty minutes or so to pull off the body panels, I can give you a better estimate on it.”
Minho hummed, his expression just barely on the displeased side of neutral. “And I assume the price will also be determined by the work and parts.” He sighed, closing the distance to Chan and slipping the pack of cigarettes out of his pocket without him even noticing. “Fine. We’ll wait.” He gave Hyunjin a smile that didn’t reach his eyes before he snagged Chan’s arm and gave it a little tug. “Smoke?”
Chan let himself be led out of the garage, giving Hyunjin an apologetic smile and wave on the way. “I feel like I’m fostering a bad habit here.” He kept his tone light but his voice a little quiet to offer them a sense of privacy out in the yard away from anything flammable. “Not that I’m complaining about it.”
“I just wanted an excuse to get away from the uppity grease ferret.” Minho pulled two cigarettes from the pack, tucking one behind his ear and the other between his lips to retrieve the lighter. He sparked the flame and lifted it to his smoke, lighting the tip with a few quick inhales before holding it out to Chan.
Chan was never going to get used to the strange quirks Minho had when it came to smoking, but they were also somehow endearing. “Thanks.” He accepted the offered cigarette and brought it to his own mouth, trying to ignore the way his cheeks heated just a little at the indirect kiss. “Sorry about Hyunjin. He’s really nice, I promise, but I guess he’s not your type.” It dawned on him, then, that he wasn’t even sure if Minho was interested in men which was unfortunate considering his own little crush.
“No, he’s not.” Minho moved the cigarette from his ear to his lips, slipping a hand into Chan’s hair and gripping tight to hold him steady. “I prefer my men big, dumb, and tragically sweet.” He held Chan’s gaze as he tightened the grip in his hair and leaned in to touch the ends of their cigarettes together.
Chan’s breath hitched and his eyes went wide as he watched Minho coax the smoke to life, still stunned after Minho pulled away looking like he’d done nothing earth shattering at all. “Oh.” It was hard not to think that Minho was flirting with him, or at least giving a green flag for that kind of interaction between them. Yet, something deep down told Chan it was unwise to read too deeply into it, especially with how things were so delicately balanced between them. “I-- I’m bisexual.” Well, he definitely fit the bill on ‘dumb’.
Minho looked amused, letting out a soft laugh under his breath before taking a drag of his cigarette. “Noted.”
They lapsed into a comfortable silence, leaning against the back of the truck shoulder to shoulder. Though Chan would have happily filled the time with conversation, he appreciated the quiet just as much. It reminded him again of Minho’s former namesake and Chan was quickly coming to realize he wasn’t just a ‘dog person’ after all.
The somewhat unfortunate side effect of the quiet between them was that Chan was left to his own thoughts, or more specifically, picking apart Minho’s actions from only moments before. It seemed far too ambitious to bank on permanence between them in any form, friendship or otherwise, simply because Minho was such a wild card. So instead of get his hopes up, Chan decided it was better to indulge a different part of his mind and curiosity. The bullet holes, for that’s all they could be, in the frame of Minho’s bike were definitely a cause for concern and in the same breath offered some insight into Minho’s general demeanor. He wondered if those bullets were from the night they met, part of Minho’s running. It was more than likely, considering Minho hadn’t had the bike then, but that just brought up more and more questions. Clearly, Minho was part of the dark side of the underground of Seoul, far deeper than Chan by Minho’s own admission. However, that didn’t give a single clue as to the kind of role he played in those shadows.
Who was Minho, really?
Chan had no idea. He only knew as much as Minho let him, and that was fine. He could be patient and steady; he could give Minho the choice to share when and if he wished to do so. But just because Chan respected Minho’s right to privacy didn’t mean his imagination wouldn’t wander. Judging by the way Minho used a blade and handled a gun, he was clearly skilled in combat of some kind. And yet, he’d been bested enough to suffer the chest wound. That was another worry to consider. Just who exactly was hunting Minho? In Chan’s own exploration of the underground, he’d come across a number of names of people, organizations, things that only had a name tied to them and no other details at all, but none of it included even the ghost of Minho. Chan hadn’t searched for that information directly either, again, out of respect for Minho’s choice in the matter. It was more than likely a case of pseudonym, or a code name if he wanted to be a little more cliche about it. What sort of code name would Minho have used? Chan could come up with a few of his own, but none of them seemed to fit quite right. Maybe he shouldn’t let himself go too far down that road anyway. He should stay focussed on something more important, like a way to keep Minho safe.
That was a tall order. How do you protect someone who seems to vanish from existence the moment he isn’t in sight? It was probably a good thing, a way to stay out of. not just Chan’s radar, but out of sight from whatever real monsters were hunting in the shadows. He wanted to tell Minho that he was there to help, that Minho wasn’t alone, that he had more than himself to face the monsters, but how could he? Chan was a simple man with a humble profession in spite of his dabbles in the gray. Dipping his toes in was not nearly enough to garner any sense of trust or security on Minho’s part, to make Chan a viable asset. Still, he wanted to try.
“Minho--”
“Do you--” Minho stopped as soon as he realized Chan had been speaking too.
Chan waved the hand not holding his cigarette. “Sorry, what were you saying?”
Minho narrowed his eyes briefly before taking a pull of smoke and speaking through the milky cloud. “I was just going to ask if you still wanted to dye your hair.”
Chan blinked, a laugh bubbling up in his chest. “Oh, I mean, yeah? I’d like to, but I’m not really in a rush. I still have no idea who to go see to get it done.” He took a pull of smoke, his cigarette nearly burned to the filter. Wow, he was in his head for a while. “Why do you ask?”
“I need to touch up my roots.” Minho finished his smoke and tossed it to the ground, scuffing it out with his boot. “I’ll have to get bleach anyway. It wouldn’t make much of a difference to get more than I need for just myself.” He didn’t look at Chan as he said it and it came across a bit shy under the aloof exterior. Cute.
“Really?” Chan tried not to come off too excited even if his stomach was doing funny little somersaults. “If it wouldn’t be a hassle or whatever, I wouldn’t say no. I could even help you try to get the back of your head and stuff if you want, but you’ll have to give me directions because I’ve never done anything like that before.”
Minho barked a single sharp laugh, loud but bright. “I’m not letting you get near my head with bleach, dog boy.”
“Fair. I wouldn’t really trust me with something that delicate either.” Chan could feel his cheeks heat, rubbing the back of his neck as he put out the butt of his smoke. “But yeah, anytime you want, I’m down.”
“Of course you are.” Minho gave Chan a look that was just outside of Chan’s purview to parse before he pushed off the back of the truck. “Let’s see if the grease ferret has finished. I don’t want to stand here all day.”
Chan followed Minho back into the garage where Hyunjin had the bike in pieces strewn out across the floor. “How’s it looking, Hyunjin?”
Hyunjin looked up from where he was kneeling beside the engine, a frown on his face. “This poor girl is a mess, but I can fix her.” He wiped his hands on his thighs and stood to face them. “My initial take was right. I’ll need to source some parts, but I should have her back up and running in about two weeks.”
Minho hummed, arms crossed over his chest. “And the price?”
Hyunjin looked over at the mess of metal and back to Minho and Chan. “Well, I can’t say for sure until I call a few places about the parts, but it won’t be that cheap. There’s the body work, the engine, the hole in your fuel tank that a patch can only take so far, and your suspension is fucked. You also had some damage to the control panel, it’ll need a complete rebuild. But, because I’m just as generous as I am pretty, and because you’re a friend of Chan-hyung’s, I’ll give you the house discount. All in all, I estimate it’ll run you back about three-hundred thousand won. But again, that depends on parts.”
Minho gave no visible reaction, he simply nodded. “You have Chan’s number I assume?”
Hyunjin seemed a little confused, but nodded. “Yes, I do.”
“Good.” Minho placed a hand on Chan’s arm just above the elbow, gripping tight enough to feel it but not put any real pressure. “Send any updates through him and I’ll bring the appropriate payment on pick up.”
“Normally I take a deposit, but I’ll take it on good faith considering your friendship with Chan-hyung.” Hyunjin gave them each a nod. “I’ll keep you informed on the process as I work.”
Minho didn’t bother with a formal good-bye and didn’t leave room for more than a passing wave and a stilted thank you from Chan as he used the hold on Chan’s arm to lead them both back to the truck.
Once inside the truck and buckled in for travel, Chan put on some quiet music from his phone and pulled out of the yard. “I’m assuming you wanted updates through me so you didn’t have to give Hyunjin your number. That’s fine, to be clear. I get that you like your privacy.”
“Yes.” Minho kept his face turned toward the window, posture tense like he was on guard, though Chan couldn’t understand why when they were alone. “But I also would prefer to prevent the chance for him to solicit my attention further than professionally.”
Chan laughed, feeling a bit of guilt laden relief at that. “Fair enough. Though, I can’t say I blame him for shooting his shot. You’re very attractive.” He was being bold, testing the waters in a way that he could back out of if Minho took it poorly.
“How much do you know about your little friend?” Minho turned toward Chan as he said it, completely ignoring the compliment.
“I mean, just as much as I mentioned before which is really just surface level.” Chan stole a glance over at Minho at a stoplight, brows raised in curiosity. “Why?”
“He’s not just some pretty-boy mechanic.” Minho’s voice was devoid of any tonal indicators to expand upon his careful wording.
Chan frowned, not understanding what Minho was trying to imply. “What do you mean?”
“I mean…” Minho leaned back in his seat, gaze fixed straight ahead and expression clouded. “No normal mechanic would see the kind of damage I had to my bike and not ask a single question, not react at all. He didn’t even bother pushing for a name, not that I would have given it to him. He’s more clever than he lets on, but his dumb blonde facade is just that, a cover. I saw the things he had tucked into the corners of that garage, things that have nothing at all to do with standard mechanic work. Adding in the price he quoted and the kinds of equipment he comes to you to purchase, I wouldn’t be surprised if he was into things a lot more questionable than fixing up cars.”
Chan couldn’t imagine what kind of work Minho was referring to and further couldn’t possibly imagine Hyunjin of all people being involved in shady business. “You’ll have to forgive me for being an idiot here, but I don’t see the red flags you do with him. At least, I’m guessing you’d consider them red flags? I always figured he just had a hobby building drones or something.”
Minho scoffed, shaking his head. “Of course you would, most people wouldn’t think about it at all. It’s better for you if it stays that way.”
Well, shit. Chan had definitely fucked up on that one because Minho lapsed into silence and didn’t seem keen to elaborate further. “You know, you can talk to me about anything. I’m never going to judge you for it, and I truly wouldn’t share that information. I don’t really have anyone to share it with anyway.” He laughed, a little self-deprecating. “Obviously, I’d never push you, but… the door is open.”
“The less you know, the less you have to be exploited for.” Minho’s voice was quiet, a little soft around the edges in a way Chan was coming to understand was a sign of care, or at least worry. “However, if your curiosity is too much to take, I might suggest looking through the underground for signs of him. Everyone has secrets if you dig deep enough, no matter how good they are at hiding them.”
“Does that include you?” Chan knew it was a mistake the moment the words were out of his mouth, but he couldn’t take them back now.
Minho barked a single laugh, his tone flat. “You know the answer to that.”
Chan did, but he also wanted to offer reassurance. “For the record, I haven’t gone digging and I promise you I won’t. I will never take away your agency, your choice in what you share about yourself with me.”
Minho was silent, but Chan could see the way his shoulders relaxed ever so slightly.
They returned the truck to Yeongsu with Minho waiting outside the shop and out of sight, and after, Chan was left with the urge to find an excuse to keep Minho around even if he knew their time was up.
“So.” Chan pulled out his pack of cigarettes, offering one to Minho only to be waved away. “I’ll keep you in the loop on the progress with your bike.” He lit his cigarette and tucked the pack away, taking a long pull of bitter nicotine filled smoke.
Minho hummed, eyes on Chan’s mouth and the cigarette tucked between his teeth. “Do you have plans next weekend?” He posed the question as he reached out to pluck the cigarette from Chan’s lips, bringing it to his own mouth to take a drag.
Chan couldn’t help but smile, more amused than anything that Minho chose to share a smoke after turning down one of his own. “Nothing I can’t skip out on. I don’t exactly have the most exciting social life.” He did his best to remain casual, to not get his hopes up, as he accepted the cigarette back. “Why do you ask?”
“I told you.” Minho combed his fingers through his hair, pushing it back form his face. “I need to touch up my roots and there’s no sense of doing your bleach job another time.”
“Oh.” Chan was positively beaming now, butterflies tickling at the pit of his stomach. “Oh, yeah, that would be great. I can pay for supplies and stuff, and feed you of course.”
Minho arched a skeptical brow, the corner of his lips quirked up in the hint of a bemused smile. “You can’t cook.”
“I didn’t say I would cook.” Chan pushed out his bottom lip out in a bit of a pout, pleased to see how Minho rolled his eyes at it but his posture relaxed regardless. “I can order us take out, whatever you like to eat.”
“I like meat.” Minho said it in a way that made heat touch Chan’s cheeks, holding eye contact. “And I prefer cooking it myself since restaurants in the city are always overpriced. I’ll send you a grocery list and you can go shopping so you actually have food in your apartment that isn’t pure MSG.”
Chan couldn’t help but feel fond. It was said like an insult, but he could read beneath the lines. “Sure. And I mean, I’m down to learn. I’m very good at taking directions.” He took another puff and offered the cigarette to Minho.
“I know you are.” Rather than take the offered smoke outright, Minho curled his fingers around Chan’s larger hand and brought the cigarette to his mouth to take a drag with Chan still holding it. “How does noon next Saturday sound?”
“Perfect.” Chan was a little mesmerized by the way the smoke curled around each of Minho’s words and didn’t even notice his own voice was a little breathless and smitten.
Minho flashed a smile that was equal parts mischief and sweet, letting go of Chan’s hand. “See you then, dog boy.” He gave a two finger salute before slipping into the flow of sidewalk traffic out of sight.
Yeah, Chan was definitely more than a little infatuated.
-⧖-
The entire week leading up to the not-date-hair-dying-session, Chan was impossibly giddy. He found himself humming as he worked, smiling every time his mind wandered to thoughts of Minho which was often. They texted regularly, at least as far as Chan was concerned considering how dry things had been prior. Hyunjin had managed to source the parts needed for the repairs, which Chan relayed promptly to Minho; but even beyond that, they had a slow rolling but steady conversation.
Chan learned that Minho’s favorite color was mint green, that Minho liked looking at the stars at night, that he preferred the cold weather to the heat of summer. They were all simple things, surface level, but they were still a tiny window into Minho as a person. He learned that Minho drank iced americanos, that he liked cats (no surprise there), and that he listened to all different genres of music. Little by little, Minho was letting Chan in and Chan was grateful for it.
On Saturday morning, Chan took the list Minho had sent him and made a trip to the grocery store. He was genuinely looking forward to a home cooked meal, and watching Minho cook again. There was something so wonderfully domestic about it, not in the most literal sense, but in the sharing of time and space with another person. Again, Chan was reminded of just how long he’d been alone in his apartment and how much of a toll it had really begun to take on him. Maybe a part of him wanted to connect with Minho not just for Minho’s sake.
He returned to his apartment with bags filled to the brim, taking his time putting everything neatly away as he counted the seconds before Minho would arrive. Belatedly, he remembered what Minho had mentioned about Hyunjin, about digging for secrets, and his curiosity got the better of him mostly as a means to have something to do.
It was easy enough to find Hyunjin’s social media accounts, the most frequently used app being his instagram. It was private, but that wasn’t going to stop Chan from breaking the proverbial lock to look inside. Hyunjin’s posts were surprisingly aesthetic, photos of the city skyline and selcas of his outfits on nights he went out. He also posted artwork which was a surprise. Hyunjin was a talented painter and Chan made a mental note to ask about it when they went to pick up Minho’s bike.
When the surface information didn’t glean anything suspicious, Chan dug a little deeper. He dipped into the logs of a few of the underground networks he had tapped before, skimming through to see if there was anything he could trace back to Hyunjin. There was a lingering temptation to search for Minho too, but he snuffed that out almost immediately. Trust was earned and couldn’t ever be repaired the same once broken.
He was nearly ready to give up when something caught his attention. It was innocuous enough to nearly fly under his radar, a single file regarding a prototype for a small remote pilot robot in the shape of a spider, but something about it seemed familiar. He remembered seeing Hyunjin wear a spider charm necklace and when Chan had commented on it, Hyunjin had expressed his love of spiders. Maybe he was grasping at straws, but there was no harm in saving the file to go over when he had more time.
Just as he was about to close out of the system he was scraping, another strange set of files caught his attention. Call it a bad habit, but the way the files were labeled made it seem like something worth copying for himself. He wasn’t going to go through the bulk of them now; but when he wasn’t busy with Minho, it might be something he could sell as long as he kept it out sight of the people he stole it from. But that was just how the information trade worked, steal something and then make sure to keep it hidden until a buyer was found.
There was a knock on the door, and immediately Chan shut down his system and went to answer it. “Hey.” He smiled, stepping back to let Minho inside.
Minho looked softer than usual, though that was a bit hard to gauge given Chan’s limited time with him. He was dressed in his usual skinny jeans and tee with a leather jacket on top, but it was his demeanor that was different. “How did your shopping go?” His tone was light and a little teasing as he set down his messenger bad and unlaced his boots. “I can’t imagine the last time you were in a grocery store.”
Chan laughed, enjoying this new energy from Minho. “I ended up getting more than I planned, but I guess on the bright side it means I’ll have ‘real food’ in the house for more than just today.”
“That’s only going to help you if you can cook it.” Minho grabbed the bag again as he straightened, carrying it over to the kitchen counter to start unpacking a plethora of hair supplies. “I suppose, since I’m already here, I can meal prep for you.”
“You don’t have to go out of your way. I’m sure I can find a recipe and wing it enough to make something edible.” Chan tried to make sense of the products piling up on his counter, but it was out of his depth. “I think you might have been right about Hyunjin, by the way.”
“Oh?” Minho arched a brow, sorting between bottles of dye, developer and tubs of bleach. “Did the wolf go on a hunt?”
Chan felt some kind of way about Minho calling him wolf so casually. “I can’t prove anything, but I have a hunch. Not that it really matters. Hyunjin’s business is his own, just like my side gig.” He paused. “Can I help you with anything?”
“No, you just need to stand there and look pretty while I mix the bleach.” Minho scooped blue powder into a bowl before pouring a white gloopy liquid on top of it and stirring it together with a long handled flat brush. “Speaking of your little lucrative hobby, have you seen anything interesting lately?” There was a strange sort of tone to his voice that was hard to decipher.
“I haven’t really been keeping tabs lately.” Chan didn’t mention it was because he was too busy thinking about Minho in his spare time. “But when I was searching for information about Hyunjin, I found something that might be worth a little. I don’t know for sure yet, I haven’t actually looked at the files thoroughly, just saved them for later.”
Minho was quiet for a long moment that felt a bit tense before he hummed and set the bowl of bluish white paste aside. “I’ll need a mirror for my hair, but I can do yours here since the light is better.” He turned his attention to Chan. “Have you washed your hair today?”
“Uh, not yet. I read that it’s better for hair to be dirty if you’re going to bleach it.” Chan rubbed the back of his neck, feeling a bit hot under the collar with Minho’s eyes on him. He really needed to get a handle on his silly crush. “And sure, we can do it wherever you want. I’m not picky and you’re the one doing me a favor. Which reminds me, how much do I owe you?”
Minho rolled his eyes, grabbing Chan’s sleeve and maneuvering him over to sit in a dining chair with surprising strength. “You don’t. Now, sit still and let me work. It’s going to be a challenge to get your virgin hair to lift high enough to go white.”
“I’m not a virgin.” Chan knew it was stupid the moment it was out of his mouth, even before he felt the flick of Minho’s fingers against his head. Oh, that did something to him that he decidedly needed to ignore. “If it’s a hassle, you don’t have to bother with it. I don’t want to--”
“--Can you just shut up?” There was no real bite to Minho’s voice as he carded his fingers through Chan’s hair and earned a half-stifled shiver in response. “Roots lift faster than the rest of your hair, so I’m going to do your ends first and then hit the roots after. Your hair is short enough that we don’t need to do mids, at least. So, that helps.”
Chan didn’t really understand, but he nodded anyway, relaxing under Minho’s touch. It was soothing to feel fingers in his hair, blunt nails scraping over his scalp and lulling him into a trance. He could get used to this, perhaps too much, because his lack of sleep was urging him to close his eyes and succumb to a nap while Minho worked his magic.
They lapsed into a comfortable silence as Minho sectioned through Chan’s hair, applying the bleach paste little by little. It smelled strongly caustic to Chan’s nose, but nothing that could lessen the overall pleasant feeling of the experience. Time became liquid, backed in the scrape of the brush in the bowl and the quiet shift of Chan’s hair.
“I’m going to set a timer to let you process a bit before I do your roots.” Minho spoke in nearly a whisper, close enough for Chan to feel it against the exposed skin on the back of his neck. “We can go for a smoke while we wait if you want.”
Chan hummed, blinking his eyes open. He hadn’t even noticed when they closed. “That’s not going to mess with the… process?”
“No, you silly thing, just don’t touch your hair or you’ll make a mess.” Minho gave Chan’s shoulder a playful nudge before heading toward the balcony.
“I wasn’t planning to.” Chan followed Minho out onto the tiny balcony, pulling out his pack of cigarettes and lighter. He tucked one between his lips and offered the pack to Minho, who accepted one of his own. “I can’t help but think that I’ve given you a new bad habit.” His tone was light hearted as he sparked the lighter and held out the flame for Minho.
Minho leaned down to light his smoke, taking a few puffs to get the tip burning nicely before exhaling a steady cloud into the night air. “There are worse bad habits.” He leaned back against the balcony rail, facing the sliding door. It was the way he always stood in the space and it made Chan curious.
“For someone who loves the stars, you never seem to take in the whole view when we’re out here.” Chan lit up his own cigarette, too shy to attempt a cigarette kiss with Minho.
“I don’t like heights.” Minho sighed, turning his face up toward the sky. “I avoid them when I have the option.”
It was a new piece of personal information Chan was pleased to have and he couldn’t help but smile. “Ah, makes sense. Lucky for us, I doubt hair dye involves a ladder.”
Minho huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “I’m taller than you, big bad wolf.” There was a quirk of a smile on his lips as he slid his gaze over to Chan without turning his head. “Smoke fast. It’s cold out and that will make your hair take longer.”
“Does temperature really make a difference?” Chan posed the question through a cloud of smoke, hip braced against the railing so Minho had his full attention. “You’ll have to forgive my lack of knowledge here.”
“Heat makes the bleach work faster, helps it ‘cook’ in a way. The cold won’t stop it completely, but heat speeds it up.” Minho took a long inhale before blowing lazy smoke rings toward Chan’s face. “That’s why your roots process faster, because they feed off the heat of your scalp.”
Chan could listen to Minho talk about anything, truly. “Interesting.” He took a lungful of smoke and held it until Minho blew another ring at him, meeting the wobbly circle half way with one of his own. “What are we cooking tonight? I know you sent me your ingredient list, but I have no idea what we’re actually doing with it. Especially all the baechu and chili powder.”
Minho blinked at Chan like he was completely dense, which wasn’t far from the mark in this case. “Kimchi. You’ve been eating all that store bought bullshit, so I figured you should have some proper home made kimchi. It’s stupid to cook with garbage.”
“The closest I’ve had to home made kimchi in years is the stuff I get from mom and pop places.” Chan was stunned, touched with the sentiment that Minho wanted to do something so labor intensive on Chan’s behalf. “But wait, I don’t have a proper container for it. I can run down to the--”
“I brought one.” Minho said it like it was nothing, but Chan’s heart ached with fondness over the gesture. “And you aren’t cooking anything today. I am making us galbi-jjim and some banchan for you to put together on bibimbap later this week. No more instant noodles.”
Chan was grinning like a fool, positively giddy with Minho’s signs of care. Maybe there was hope for Minho to stick around in his life after all. “Is that an order?” He played it off as a joke, brow raised and smile turning mischievous.
Minho rolled his eyes, taking one last drag of his cigarette before putting it out against the top of the railing. “Careful what you wish for, mutt.” He pushed off the rail and reached for the door. “Come on.”
“Yes, sir.” Chan chuckled at Minho’s over exaggerated sigh, following him back inside to sit at the dining table again. “Seriously though, you don’t have to put in so much effort on my account, but I do appreciate it.”
Minho hummed, checking the timer on his phone before mixing another batch of bleach. “I’m just paying my debt.”
Chan opened his mouth to protest but was silenced by the feeling of Minho’s fingers in his hair. Distantly, he wondered if gloves would have been a good choice, but he trusted Minho knew best. Again, he let his eyes slip closed while Minho painted the bleach over his roots down to the scalp, fighting off his shiver at the way it tickled.
“Once this goes on, I’m going to move to the bathroom and do mine. It should take me just enough time to do your rinse after.” Minho combed his fingers through Chan’s hair, slicking it down onto itself with the bleach acting almost like gel. “Feel free to join me if you want.” He grabbed the second full bowl of bleach Chan hadn’t even noticed him mixing and padded down the hall toward the bathroom.
“Are you sure I can’t help you at all?” Chan leaned against the bathroom doorframe, eyes glued to the way Minho set his bowl down on the edge of the sink and started parting through his hair with the tapered end of the brush. “It can’t be easy to work on the back of your head.”
Minho huffed a dismissive breath through his nose. “I told you, I’m used to working alone.”
“I know.” Chan frowned, voice going soft. “I’m not saying you can’t do it on your own, but… you don’t have to this time.”
There was a pause as Minho’s body went completely still, hand suspended mid-air. He stayed like that for a beat too long before dipping his brush into the bleach. “You don’t know how.” His tone was a bit off, like he was actively trying to convince himself it was a bad idea rather than Chan. “I don’t want you to fuck it up.”
“I’ll be careful.” Chan meant it, keeping his voice calm and as soothing as he could. “I told you before I’m good at following directions, and I can watch you do the front first so I’ll have a better grasp of things.”
Minho worked quickly and efficiently, using the back end of the brush to section his hair and flipping it around to apply the bleach with the bristles. “It’s not you following directions that I worry about, it’s you applying the bleach wrong and either missing a spot or going too high up and leaving a hot band.” He turned his head to the side, watching out the corner of his eye as he added bleach to his temples. “But fine. If you’re confident you can handle it, I’ll-- I’ll trust you.” He tripped a little over the words and didn’t make eye contact, but they still held weight as far as Chan was concerned.
“Just tell me what I need to do and I’ll do it, Minho.” Chan didn’t let himself think too deeply about just how far that sentiment applied between them. He barely even knew Minho, could hardly call them friends with any confidence, but he wanted to open that door between them.
Minho didn’t respond, just continued his work until the majority of his head was coated in bleach. He sighed, rinsing off his hands and turning to look at Chan directly. “Are you ready? I don’t want to wait too long or it wont lift at the same rate.”
Chan nodded, moving into the tiny space to stand close to Minho. “Just tell me what I need to do.”
“Take these,” Minho picked up the bowl of bleach and brush and placed them into Chan’s hands. “Apply the bleach just to the part of the hair that’s not orange. Make sure you coat it thoroughly and don’t leave any of the roots untouched. Make small sections otherwise the bleach wont penetrate through.”
“Got it.” Chan moved behind Minho, giving him a smile in the reflection of the mirror before coating the brush with bleach and lifting it up. He did his best to mirror what he had seen Minho do, using the back of the brush to part Minho’s hair and then carefully globbing a thick amount of the paste onto the dark roots without getting it on the part that was already dyed. “I’m curious how you do this normally. You know, without another set of hands.”
“Mostly by feel and memory.” Minho relaxed little by little under Chan’s touch, living up to his cat persona when he subtly leaned into the contact. “And two mirrors.”
“You’re really skilled if you can do that. I can’t even imagine how much practice and blind faith it takes.” Chan continued his careful work, moving from the upper part of Minho’s hair down to the shorter hair along his nape. “Do you always go red with it? Or orange, I guess.”
“No.” Minho’s eyes were half lidded, his weight braced against the edge of the sink on his palms. “I did brown for a long time because it seemed more professional, but when I dropped out, I said fuck it and did whatever I wanted with it. I’m thinking I might try a blue-black or something next, but that might be a stretch to achieve directly over the orange base. I’ll probably have to take it a deep auburn first.”
Chan didn’t dare ask what Minho dropped out of, but he assumed school. It begged the question of what Minho did for a living, though that was another definite mine field. If he played his cards right, hopefully Minho would come to tell him on his own, Chan just had to stay patient. “I think any color would look good on you, but I would be lying if I said I didn’t think the orange was perfect.”
Minho gave a quiet laugh, keeping his head steady. “I think you could pull off orange, or red. Blue might be fun. Though not a dark blue, more bright and electric.” He blinked his eyes open again, meeting Chan’s gaze in the mirror. “But we have to see how well your hair handles this bleach before we get ahead of ourselves.”
Chan smiled, once again pleased to hear something from Minho that spoke of a more permanent connection. “I hope it comes out okay, not that I don’t trust you or anything. I just know that other hairdressers have mentioned it isn’t great for dye.” He scraped the bottom of the bowl, collecting the last bit of bleach and dabbing it over the last empty place behind Minho’s ear. “Done. Ready to check my work, teach?”
“Stop that.” Minho rolled his eyes before turning his head two and fro to try to look over what Chan had done. He hummed, brows lifting in an expression that was almost impressed, almost. “Not the worst you could have done.” He turned around, taking the empty bowl and brush from Chan to rinse out in the sink. “Now.” Setting the bowl aside, he coaxed Chan between himself and the sink, squinting as he pulled at a lock of saturated hair on Chan’s head. “It’s about time to rinse you out. It’s probably easier to do it in the kitchen sink then here if you don’t have a hose attachment on your shower.”
Chan liked the feeling of Minho crowding him against the sink a little too much, nearly forgetting to reply. “I have a hose attachment, but I’m good with whatever.”
“Is there anything I could suggest that you would deny? I’m starting to wonder.” There was a hint of a bemused smile on Minho’s lips as he grabbed Chan’s wrist and tugged him toward the shower. “We can rinse with warm water, but I’m warning you now, the toner needs to be rinsed with cold to set the color.”
“That’s fine.” Chan offered a sheepish smile and rubbed at the back of his neck when that response earned him a look from Minho.
Minho turned on the tap and let the water run a little bit to heat up before placing a hand on the base of Chan’s neck and pushing him down under the spray. “Close your eyes and try not to breathe the water in.” He worked his fingers through Chan’s hair, guiding the head of the shower along with until the water swirling in the bottom of the drain ran clear. “Stay.” He grabbed a bottle of shampoo from the caddy, pouring a bit directly onto the back of Chan’s head before massaging it into a lather. “I’m skipping conditioner this time because we’ll need to wash it again after the toner sits.” He rinsed the suds clear and tugged at the back of Chan’s wet shirt collar to urge him backward. “Towel dry it gently while I wash mine.”
“Let me do it.” Chan reached for the shower head, hand atop Minho’s smaller one. “Please?”
There was a moment of tense silence before Minho sighed and relinquished the shower head to Chan. “Make sure you get all of it out, and don’t use conditioner either.” He gave Chan one last wary look before pitching his head forward.
Chan checked the temperature on the water, even if he already knew it would be fine, before gently running his fingers through Minho’s hair. It was soft to the touch in spite of the dye and the sticky bleach at the roots and moved easily between his fingers as he rinsed it clean. Like Minho had done, he grabbed the shampoo and poured it over Minho’s head, biting back a smile at the way the roots looked so light against the rest of his hair. “Have you ever gone blonde?” He massaged the shampoo all over Minho’s scalp, breath hitching when Minho’s hand grabbed at his hip for support.
“It wouldn’t suit me.” Minho waited until the sudsy water ran completely clear before righting himself and shoving the wet mop back from his face. It dripped down his face and neck, soaking the neckline of his tee shirt in a way that was too painfully attractive for Chan’s heart. “You, on the other hand.” He raked his eyes over Chan’s body in a way that made heat lap at Chan’s core.
“Here.” Chan offered Minho a towel before finally taking one for himself, uncaring of the chill that came with the wet state of his own shirt. “For the record, I think you could pull off blonde just fine. Or any color for that matter.”
“Flirt.” Minho swatted at Chan’s chest as he accepted the towel, patting at his wet hair and stepping past him toward the hall. “Let’s go start on dinner. The color will take better if your hair is fully dry and I don’t want to do any more damage to it right now by using heat.”
Chan patted carefully at his own head, unsure how gentle he needed to be with it. He paused at the mirror, taking a peripheral look at himself and getting a shock. He hadn’t realized just how light Minho would be able to take it, and even before the toner it looked good. Drastically different, but good different. “You said we’re making galbi-jjim and kimchi tonight, right?”
“And some other banchan, yes.” Minho left the towel draped over his shoulders as he moved the hair supplies to the edge of the counter out of the way. “Most of that is just prep work, easy things that will keep in the fridge. You can buy it pre-made at the store, but I think doing it yourself makes it taste better.”
“Nothing beats a home cooked meal.” Chan mirrored Minho with his own towel, opening the fridge and pulling out the meat and vegetables from Minho’s list. “Are you sure I can’t do anything to help? I mean, you trusted me to do your hair so I think cooking is a little lower stakes.” He laughed, meaning it as a joke.
Minho shot Chan a look as he joined him beside the fridge, sorting through ingredients. “You can get me your biggest cutting board and the knife block, then you can make us rice.”
Chan gave Minho a thumbs up, gathering the requested items and setting them out beside the sink. “You remind me of when I used to try to help my mom in the kitchen. She never let me do more than use the rice cooker and wash up after.” He pulled the rice cooker out of the cabinet and went to the pantry to scoop a few cups of rice into the bowl. “I can’t really blame her, though. I had a lot of energy as a kid, so I probably would have done more harm than good. Still, it would have been nice to learn so I wouldn’t be embarrassing myself as an adult who lives off take out and convenience store food.”
“If that’s your worst trait, I think you’re fine, dog boy.” Minho carried an assortment of things over to the cutting board, selecting a small cleaver rather than a chef’s knife from the block. “Is your mother not in the picture anymore? If she is, you can always just ask her to teach you now.” In spite of the size and style of the knife, he used it with a deft hand to peel the skin from a few carrots and a daikon with the same precision as someone might wield a paring knife.
“She’s still in the picture, yeah, but I can’t go see her as much as I’d like. My parents live in Australia where I grew up.” Chan rinsed the rice in the sink, stealing glances over to the way Minho was preparing the vegetables as he waited for the water to rinse clear. “I call when I can, which I should really do more often, but I don’t have any staff for my shop which makes taking time off basically impossible.”
Minho hummed, slicing up an onion paper thin. “Why not be the Bad Wolf full time?” He said it casually, but there was a subtle tension to his shoulders that spoke of something beneath the surface. “It’s a hell of a lot more lucrative than removing malware and replacing cracked phone screens as long as you know the right people.”
That threw Chan for a bit of a loop and he nearly missed shutting off the water for the rice when it reached the right line. “I mean, it’s not exactly legal. Having the shop lets me launder the money. Besides, I don’t know enough about what I’m doing to find what’s worth selling, let alone who would buy it from an independent source.” He set the rice in the cooker, pressing the timer before moving around the counter to sit on a bar stool across from Minho. “Speaking of my side job, how did you know who I was? I thought I was untraceable…” For the first time, he felt a flicker of fear.
“Nothing is untraceable if you dig hard enough, Chan.” Minho looked up to meet Chan’s gaze, not stopping his knife work for even a second. “You should know that given the kind of nasty business you’re into.”
“Shit…” Chan pressed his palms flat against the counter, trying to come to terms with the implications his actions could have, especially in the long run. “Does that apply to you?”
Minho scoffed, turning his attention back to the food. “Dead men are hard to trace, but not impossible. Luckily, as far as the world is concerned, I’ve died twice.” He carried the cutting board to the far counter, back to Chan as he took out a large pot from under the stove as if he lived there. “Or three times now, I hope.”
Chan could barely follow what Minho was saying, especially so casually. What did Minho mean when he said he’d died three times? If Chan had to guess, it was likely something to do with the business Minho was involved in, but that was a mystery of it’s own. “You really are a cat, aren’t you? You must have nine lives.”
“Most people think I’m a rabbit.” Minho seared off the short ribs in the pan, mixing together a sauce in a spare bowl and pouring it over them once they were browned. “But I like cats the most, more than people actually. Though by your logic, I should be careful. I only have six more lives left.” There was a hint of a smile to his tone as he continued to tend the stove.
“I like all kinds of animals, but I can see why people would call you a rabbit.” Chan fought the urge to get up and join Minho in the kitchen, trying to respect Minho’s space and not get in the way.
“Why? Because of my front teeth?” Minho looked back at Chan over his shoulder, brow raised and bunny teeth on display.
“No.” Chan smiled, ignoring the touch of heat pinking his cheeks. “Because you’re cute.”
“What did I say about flirting?” Minho rolled his eyes and turned back to the stove, adding the last of the prepped ingredients before carrying the now empty sauce bowl to the sink to fill it with water. “I want to be very clear, Chan.” He waited with the full bowl of water until Chan met his gaze before speaking again. “All of this is just me settling our debt. Nothing more, nothing less. We’re not friends and I’m not interested in fucking you because you’re the type to catch feelings and I am decidedly not.”
Chan had to look away at that, rubbing at the back of his neck as a wave of shame and guilt tangled together in the pit of his stomach. “I’m not trying to fuck you, Minho…” His words were soft, saturated in equal parts guilt and sincerity. While he might have a crush on Minho, wouldn’t turn down any advance Minho might make of his own accord, he wasn’t about to presume Minho wanted that. “I’m sorry.” The real thing that stung, however, was the fact that everything between them was so starkly transactional because he had really been starting to believe there was a friendship blooming between them.
Well, lesson learned.
A tense silence fell over the room as Minho added water to the pot and gave it a stir before closing it with the lid. He didn’t look at Chan when he rinsed the cutting board and knife in the sink, either. That silence stretched on as he collected the tubes of dye from the counter and headed for the bathroom.
Chan didn’t bother following Minho, just sat at the counter staring at the bubbling pot on the stove. He had flown too close to the sun and now he didn’t know how to repair his broken wings.
“Are you coming?” Minho called from down the hall. “It has to cook for at least an hour before the next step. Might as well do something productive in the mean time.”
“Yeah, sorry.” Chan slid off the bar stool and walked into the bathroom, keeping his gaze on the floor. He felt a bit like a spurned dog with no idea how to restore the tentative peace from before. Still, he wanted to try. “Can I do anything to help or do you just want me to sit somewhere?”
Minho was shaking a little bottle of something in one hand, motioning to Chan with the other toward the closed toilet lid. “Sit so I can put your toner on.”
Chan did as he was told, sitting down on the lid of the toilet and keeping quiet. He was still trying not to look at Minho directly, but that was impossible when Minho nudged his thighs apart to stand between them.
“I should really be using gloves for this, but because we’re going so light with you it shouldn’t stain too bad. The red on the other hand…” Minho combed his fingers through Chan’s hair, turning his head to and fro as he squirted the liquid from the bottle onto the mostly dry strands. “Stains like a bitch.”
“Mmm…” Chan closed his eyes, balling his hands into fists on the tops of his thighs to keep from accidentally touching Minho. He could feel the heat radiating off Minho’s body and distantly remembered that he should turn on the heater in the apartment. It was getting later in the day and if he didn’t set it now, it would be freezing cold in the place by nightfall. Though wether or not the heater would do its job was a gamble. It had been giving him trouble for the past week and the building maintenance crew hadn’t come to fix it yet.
Minho massaged his fingers through Chan’s hair, assuring the whole of it was saturated in toner before he tossed the empty bottle into the bin. “Still want to help?”
“Yes.” Chan opened his eyes and tipped his head back to look up at Minho where he still stood between Chan’s spread thighs. It made a muted sort of heat lap at the pit of his stomach, but he quickly snuffed that out. Minho had made it very clear where things stood between them. “What do you want me to do?”
“First, put those on.” Minho gestured to a pair of purple gloves on the edge of the sink beside the bowl of pre-mixed copper dye. He turned on the sink and washed the purple-gray toner off his hands, and true to his prediction they came clean. “Then just apply it the same way you did the bleach, but make sure to saturate all the hair, not just the roots since my color has faded a bit.”
Chan stood and pulled on the gloves, picking up the bowl of bleach while Minho took position on the lid of the toilet. Belatedly, he realized he would have to stand the same way Minho had, and that made him a little nervous. “Is there any place I should start with or does it not really make a difference?”
Apparently he hesitated too long because Minho grabbed him by the waist and pulled Chan over to stand between his legs. “It doesn’t really matter as long as you make sure everything gets completely coated with the color.”
Chan swallowed dry and nodded, swirling the brush around before reaching his free hand out to push the hair back from Minho’s face. It was hard to keep it together when Minho was looking up at him with his hands still resting on Chan’s hips, but he managed. “Why don’t I start with the back so it doesn’t stain your forehead when you lean forward?”
Minho hummed, bowing his head and exposing the back of his neck. At the first stroke of the brush over the short cropped hair there, he shivered, fingers tightening on Chan’s waist.
“Sorry.” Chan breathed the word, continuing his work with care so he wouldn’t touch Minho’s skin too much with the color, only his hair. “I’ll turn the heat on after this.” He painted of the back of Minho’s head, using the clean end of the brush to section the longer hair and assure no strand was left untouched. It was kind of therapeutic to watch the color go on, making the stripes of brassy blonde disappear beneath the brush. “Head up for me?” He waited for Minho to comply, indulging himself in a lingering look at his face while Minho’s eyes were closed. “Almost done.”
Minho was completely pliant, letting Chan adjust the angle of his head with the gentle coax of the brush. His face showed nothing but a sense of calm, as if the process of letting himself be cared for offered an equal level of comfort and catharsis that it brought Chan. He didn’t move unless prompted, his hands unchanging in their position, but his shoulders relaxed until that radiated outward to the whole of his body. Maybe the misstep from earlier could be rewritten after all.
Chan smoothed the last lock of Minho’s fringe back onto the rest of his hair, all of it saturated with the copper dye and leaving the whole of Minho’s pretty face on display. “There.” He placed the brush back into the bowl on the edge of the sink, carefully peeling off his gloves and tossing them inside out into the bin. “You’re free to move.”
Minho slowly blinked his eyes open, staring up at Chan through long lashes. It was a little unfair how beautiful he looked. “You’ll need to move so I can check it and clean up.” He gave Chan’s hips a push, finally dropping his hands from their once permanent resting place after.
“Right.” Chan moved away to give Minho room to stand, lingering in the doorframe of the tiny space. Already, he missed the heat of Minho’s touch. “I followed your instructions as best I could, so, I hope it’s good enough.”
“We’ll see.” Minho stood and took his place in front of the sink, inspecting the dye as he turned his head to one side and then the other. “Not bad.” He slid his gaze over to Chan’s reflection with the hint of a smile on his lips. “Now we can work on the banchan while we process.”
Chan nodded, making space for Minho to pass before following him back down the hall to the kitchen. “How long will that take?” He wasn’t exactly sure what cooking was to be done in the interim, so he hovered in the space beside the fridge feeling a little out of sorts.
“About the same time it takes to finish the rest of the cooking. Why?” Minho opened the fridge and pulled out an assortment of ingredients. “Do you have a date tonight?”
“No.” Chan fought the urge to rub at the back of his neck, not wanting to risk messing up his hair in spite of the flush to his cheeks. “I was just curious.”
Minho hummed, shoving containers of spices into Chan’s arms. “Then why don’t you help by mixing these up for our kimchi paste.” He gave a nod and turned back to grab the cabbage and garlic, taking them over to the rinsed cutting board. “You may not be able to cook, but I’m sure you can get a bowl and spoon, yes?”
Chan looked down at the containers in his hands and back up at Minho with a pouty sort of frown. “Well, yes. I can do that.” He carried the spices over to the empty space on the far side of Minho, setting them down to grab a bowl and spoon as instructed. “But I do have to ask how much of everything I should add.”
“Use your heart to guide you.” Minho split the bottom of the baechu into quarters, pulling the rest of the leaves apart by hand into sections and rinsing them in the sink. “Or, you can hand me a bowl big enough to soak this and I can tell you how much to use.”
“I like that second version better.” Chan laughed, searching through his cabinets for the biggest bowl he had and handing it to Minho. “Will this work?”
“It’s fine.” Minho set the bowl down in the sink, placing the quartered baechu in the bowl and spreading course salt through the leaves. “Do you know the basics of kimchi at all or..?”
“I mean I know the part where you make the paste and spread it through the leaves to let it sit, but that’s about as far as it goes. Sorry.”
“I figured as much.” Minho turned on the tap and filled the bowl with water, massaging the leaves a little and assuring they were submerged. “You cut and soak the baechu in salt water so that it wilts and brines, that’s what I’m doing now. Then,” he shifted to the cutting board, putting a few cloves of garlic onto it and crushing them with the flat of the knife. “You prep the paste with garlic, ginger, onion, gochugaru, saeujeot, and fish sauce. So while I mince, you can add two cups of gochugaru, a half cup of fish sauce, and a fourth cup of saeujeot to your bowl and give it a mix.”
Chan did as instructed, being extra careful with his measurements until Minho bumped his shoulder.
“Lighten up. It’s more about taste than exact measurements, Chan.” Minho’s voice was sweeter than usual, warm. “You cook with your heart, nose, and tongue. Baking, on the other hand, is more of a science.”
“Do you like to bake?” Chan was genuinely curious, being a little less careful with his measurements and relying more on ‘vibes’ with his mental fingers crossed it wouldn’t lead him astray.
“I can bake, but I prefer things with less rules.” Minho scooped up the minced garlic and ginger onto his knife and added it to Chan’s bowl before starting on the onion. “Give that a good stir then go look at the pot on the stove and check if the meat is still firm on the bone or if it’s starting to come away from it.”
Chan liked that Minho was including him, showing the tiniest rebuilding of trust between them in letting him help. He opened the lid of the pot and was hit with the most delicious smell, his mouth already watering in anticipation. “It looks good, but the meat is still stuck in places. Do I need to do anything to it?”
“No, just put the lid back on and let it cook. I figured it would take the full hour, but it’s always good to check as you go.” Minho scraped the onion into Chan’s bowl, rinsing down the knife and board in the sink before setting it back on the counter. “Stir that together while I rinse the baechu, then we get to the messy part. We’ll both want gloves for that.”
“Yes, sir.” Chan mixed the spices together into a thick paste, feeling a domestic sort of warmth in his chest. He liked cooking with Minho, even if he wasn’t doing much of the actual cooking.
After Minho had thoroughly rinsed and drained the baechu and Chan found them two sets of gloves, they huddled together shoulder to shoulder at the counter to spread the paste between the leaves. It was messy work, like Minho had mentioned, but the upside of it was the inherent proximity it afforded. They worked in silence, but Chan didn’t mind, especially with how often their fingers brushed together in the confined space. Once the kimchi was thoroughly seasoned, Minho took off his gloves and brought out the storage container, directing Chan on how to layer the cabbage inside it.
“One last thing we need to do before closing it up.” Minho reached down and tore a single leaf off the top and folded it up before holding it out. “Taste it.”
Chan hesitated until Minho shoved the piece of kimchi closer, opening his mouth and letting Minho push it into his mouth. He was pleasantly surprised by the fresh taste, the crunch giving it a nice texture. It was a far cry from the kimchi he could get in the store or even the kind from the little family shops. “It’s good.” He gave a thumbs up, peeling off his dirty gloves and tossing them in the bin.
Minho washed his hands in the sink before snapping on the lid and placing the container in the fridge. “Now all we need to do is prep work and then it’s time to rinse our hair and finally eat.” He seemed in good spirits, julienning carrots, zucchini, and daikon on the cutting board while Chan leaned on the edge of the sink beside him, watching. “These just get a bit of seasoning and go into containers. You should be more than capable of refilling them on your own, right?”
“Probably, but I don’t have the knife skills you do.” Chan meant that in more ways than one, remembering the way Minho had wielding the knife at his throat on the night of their first meeting. “How long does this stuff keep?”
“These will only keep for about a week, but you should go through them in that time if you swear off your take out.” Minho packaged each item in its own container, layered with a variance of spices, oils, and vinegar. “The kimchi will last for months as long as you make sure to press down the lid to keep it air tight. The container I gave you adjusts, so that won’t be an issue even as you eat it.” He set the containers in the fridge and turned back to Chan with arms crossed. “Alright, I’m going to add the jujubes and turn down the heat on the stove and then we can finally finish our hair.”
Chan waited for Minho before going down the hall to the bathroom. “Do you want a change of clothes? You’re wearing white, and I don’t want it to get stained.”
Minho blinked slowly, lips pursed in a frown. “It’s a bit late for that now, don’t you think?” He shook his head, pulling the towel off his shoulders and looping it over the towel bar. “But if you help me keep it from touching my hair, I’ll just take the shirt off.”
“Oh.” Chan was not remotely ready to see Minho completely shirtless, but he wasn’t about to complain. “Yeah, sure. I can do that.” He took a step forward, hands hovering awkwardly in the air. “How do I…”
“Here.” Minho grabbed Chan’s wrist with one hand, lifting up his shift with the other. “Just pull it straight up and I’ll block my hair with my hands. Got it?”
Chan nodded, gripping the hem of Minho’s shirt where it had fallen back down. “Okay.” He took a deep breath, trying not to think about how warm Minho’s skin felt against his knuckles or how golden he was beneath the fabric. Slowly and carefully, he lifted the shirt off of Minho’s body, and to his delight, there was not a streak of orange in sight. “Success.” His voice was a little breathless as he kept his gaze glued to Minho’s face so his eyes wouldn’t wander downward.
“Your turn.” Minho took the shirt from Chan’s hands and tossed it onto the edge of the sink before tugging the towel off Chan’s shoulders to do the same and reaching for the hem of Chan’s own shirt. “Use your hands like a shield so the fabric doesn't touch your hair.
“Got it.” Chan did as he was told, swallowing hard and fighting back a shiver as the brush of Minho’s fingers over his body. It was far more intimate than it had any right to be, especially with the boundary Minho had set between them so fresh in his mind. When the shirt was off him, he let his hands fall back to his sides, suddenly a little self conscious of the way Minho unashamedly raked his gaze over Chan’s exposed skin.
“I’d ask if those muscles are just for show, but I already know the answer.” Minho’s lips were quirked up at the corners in a wry smirk as he turned to turn on the shower. “Bad news. We need to rinse and wash with cold water to keep the color in. Hot water makes it bleed more.”
“I’ll turn the heat on after this. I was meaning to anyway.” Chan was mesmerized by the way Minho’s lithe muscles flexed under his skin. Minho was lean but broad in the shoulders, making his waist look smaller by comparison, and it made Chan a little dizzy if he thought about it too much. He really needed to turn off his brain before he got himself in more trouble. “I almost feel like it would be easier to just shower at this rate.” He huffed a laugh to try to cover the wave of nerves at his stupid comment.
“You’re not wrong.” Minho looked back at Chan over his shoulder, expression not giving anything away. “But cold showers suck. Come on, I’m hungry.” When Chan hesitated a few seconds too long, Minho grabbed him by the wrist and tugged him closer.
Chan pitched forward, bracing one palm against the far wall as Minho moved the shower spray over his head. The water was cold, as Minho had warned it would be, but not freezing. Still, it did little to stave off the shiver that went down Chan’s spine at the feel of it. Thankfully the massage of Minho’s fingers against his scalp completely lulled away any discomfort the temperature brought about.
He found himself once again drifting inside his mind, wondering if there would ever be a day when Minho would truly trust him. It wasn’t impossible, but the road was unlikely to be an easy one. Minho had every reason to distrust him from an outsider’s point of view, and Chan kept telling himself he was patient and could wait, but his heart ached, not for his own loss, but for the idea that Minho might have nowhere he could truly find peace or solace.
Chan would just have to keep trying to be that person, that safety net, for Minho’s sake.
Minho gave Chan’s hair one final comb through with his fingers before gripping the back of his neck and urging him to stand. “Trade you.” There was a note of mischief in his tone and the quirk of a smile on his lips like the cat who got the cream as he pushed the wet hair back from Chan’s face. “Make sure you wash until the water runs clear, otherwise I’ll stain your towels.”
“I mean, I own bleach. It’s not the end of the word, but I’ll be thorough.” Chan gave Minho a playful smile, testing the waters for his response. It earned him a roll of Minho’s eyes before he leaned down in the way Chan had before. “Thank you for this.” He ran the water through Minho’s hair, watching the curtain of orange liquid cascade down to the tile floor. “For everything, really.” It was an honest sentiment, one he couldn’t quite begin to unpack himself let alone explain to Minho. Since the night they met, it felt like his whole world had shifted, like everything was exciting and new all over again. Maybe it was the crush talking, but he couldn’t help but believe that they were meant to find each other.
“It’s just hair dye, Chan.” Minho’s voice was a bit muffled as he reached to steady himself with a hand on Chan’s bare stomach. “It’s not that deep.”
“I’m serious.” Chan poured shampoo onto Minho’s head, feeling the muscles of his abdomen twitch beneath Minho’s palm as he lathered it into a peach colored froth. “It’s more than just the hair dye. You’ve cooked for me, helped me learn a few basic kitchen skills for myself, given me a social life thats more than just customers and people behind a screen. It’s… nice to have someone to make this place feel lived in rather than just a box I sleep in.” He rinsed the shampoo clear and poured more on, giving it a second pass to assure the dye was truly gone. “Sorry if that’s a bit much. I just wanted you to know how much I appreciate the time.” The second shampoo was enough to make the water rinse clean, so he traded it for conditioner and spent a little longer than necessary running his fingers along Minho’s scalp to distribute the product throughout. It seemed to be a desired contact based solely on the way Minho relaxed and leaned more heavily against Chan’s body. Finally, he washed the conditioner out and turned off the shower tap, placing the head back onto the hook. “Let me grab us some fresh towels, the ones form earlier are probably too damp.”
Minho gave his head a little shake before righting himself and pushing the wet fringe back from his face. “Do you have a blowdryer? It’s too cold out for us to sit around with wet hair.” There was a softness to his entirety that hadn’t been there before, like he had taken Chan’s words to heart in some way even if he made no outward acknowledgement of them.
“Yeah, it’s in the cabinet under the sink.” Chan slipped out to the hall to grab two towels from the linen closet. When he returned, Minho was already plugging in the blowdryer by the sink. “Here.” He handed a towel to Minho, using the other to ruffle at his own hair.
“Stop that.” Minho swatted Chan’s bare chest, flicking at one of his nipple piercings in the process and earning a faint gasp. “Sensitive.” He arched a brow with a wry smile as he tugged Chan over to sit on the lid of the toilet. “If you scrub that thing around, you’ll cause breakage. Even after toner, your hair is delicate because of how light we lifted it. You want to pat dry with the towel and then use the blowdryer with low heat.” As he spoke, he took Chan’s towel and gently patted at the wet strands in demonstration.
Chan let Minho do as he pleased, just enjoying the attention. It had been years, perhaps all the way back to his childhood, since someone else had dried his hair like this, put so much effort into caring for him in general. It was a true gift, but not one he was going to take for granted. As soon as Minho’s bike was fixed, there was nothing keeping them tied together. It was a sad truth, but truth all the same.
Chan would make the most of every second he was afforded.
“The color came out better than I thought it would.” Minho adjusted the angle of Chan’s head with a hand on his jaw, lifting his head up so their eyes met. “It suits you. You actually look the part of a wolf now.” He smiled, a real smile that made butterflies erupt in Chan’s stomach so fast he had to bite his tongue. “Handsome.”
Heat bloomed over Chan’s cheeks, but he couldn’t even feel embarrassed with how breathless the compliment left him. “Thank you.” The words were barely a whisper, more a swoop of his thin breath than sound.”Can I… dry yours for you?”
Minho scoffed, shaking his head as he stepped back to make what little room the space allowed. “Considering I’ve let you do every other step, why would I stop you now?” He waited for Chan to move before taking a seat and looking up at him with a quirk of a grin. “Nice piercings, by the way. I wouldn’t have thought you the type.”
“What type did you think I was?” Chan focussed on that part rather than the increasing heat on his face. For someone that said no flirting, Minho was sure doing a lot of ‘not flirting’ with him. “I’m going to assume ‘boring’, because that’s what everyone thinks.”
Minho frowned, tilting his head to the side as Chan directed the warm air onto his hair. “You’re not boring, Chan. Anyone that assumes so is too stupid to be worth your time.” His eyes slid half closed as Chan ruffled his fingers through the damp hair, posture lax and pliant as it had been before. “I think you’re a good person, kind and a little naive, but not boring. Just because your interests are specific or uncommon doesn’t make you lesser. You just haven’t found the right people to see your worth.”
Chan was stunned, at a complete loss with what Minho had said. It was the most sincere and thoughtful thing anyone had ever said to him. Even his previous partners had only ever complimented his body or his willingness to please. But now, with Minho’s assessment laid bare between them, it made Chan realize how rarely he had given himself the value he was due. “How old are you, Minho? I thought we were peers, but you… You’re not like anyone else I’ve ever met.” He kept on task, steadily getting the hair on Minho’s head fluffier and fluffier until it was a silky cloud.
“Trauma makes you grow up fast.” Minho said it casually, but there was a bitter undertone that alluded to a life lost. “I’m twenty-three, a year younger than you are.”
“I’m sorry.” Chan knew it wasn’t enough to apologize, especially when it wasn’t something he could change, but he did anyway. He didn’t wonder how Minho knew his age either, the information Minho had on him was clear from the moment he clocked him as Bad Wolf from his real name. “It goes without saying that I won’t ask what happened, but if you ever need an ear to lister or just someone to sit next to you while you cry, I’m here for you.”
There was a beat with only the sound of the blowdryer in the room before Minho sighed. “If things were different, I’d take you up on that offer.” The words were nearly lost under the dryer, but when he opened his eyes to look at Chan, the sincerity of them was all too clear.
Chan gave one last pass with the heat before clicking off the dryer and setting it on the edge of the sink. “You should be all dry now.” He smiled, trying to come across reassuring in both his respect of Minho’s boundaries and the understanding of Minho’s confession. “And you look… pretty.” Hopefully that compliment wasn’t too far.
“You’re the one that did it.” Minho stood, the tiny space putting them bare chest to bare chest. “Is that offer to borrow something to wear still on the table?” He posed the question with an arch of his brow, palm pressed flat to Chan’s stomach. “I’d appreciate something a little warmer than my tee shirt.”
“Yeah.” Chan didn’t want to move, didn’t want to break the thin line of tension he could feel in the exchange of body heat. “I’ll turn on the heater too. You know where my room is, yeah? Take anything you like.”
Minho smiled, patting Chan’s stomach before slipping past him out to the hall. “Bold of you to trust me not to snoop.” His voice was light and playful, teasing. “Should I grab something for you as well, dog boy?”
“Please.” Chan took a moment to look at his reflection in the mirror, running his fingers through his freshly platinum hair. Minho was right that it looked good, suited him, and it did give his appearance a sort of edge it didn’t have before.
He cleaned up the mess in the bathroom, gathering both their discarded shirts and towels to take to the laundry. On the way, he stopped at the thermostat and clicked it over to heat, internally crossing his fingers it would actually work. Just as he finished putting the laundry down and turned back to the hall, he was greeted with the sight of Minho dressed in one of his oversized hoodies looking far too cozy for Chan’s mental health. “Cute.”
Minho rolled his eyes and shoved a sweater against Chan’s chest. “Get dressed, it’s time to eat.”
Chan tugged on the sweater as he followed Minho to the kitchen, all too pleased to have gotten away with his remark. “It smells heavenly in here.” He tugged open the fridge, scanning the contents. “What do you want to drink?”
“Do you have beer?” Minho pushed up the sleeves of his borrowed hoodie, grabbing two bowls from the cabinet and portioning rice into them. “Since we’re having a special occasion meal we might as well indulge.” He ladeled the galbi-jjim into the bowls with the rice, carrying them around the counter to the dining table. “Grab some silverware while you’re there.”
“I have beer, but I should warn you. I’m not a big drinker.” Chan grabbed two bottles from the fridge and the requested silverware before joining Minho at the table. “Thanks again for cooking, it looks so good. I didn’t even realize I was hungry until now.”
“Considering I doubt you had breakfast and we’ve been at this for ages, I would hope you have an appetite.” Minho accepted his bottle of beer, popping the cap with the back of his spoon before taking a drink. “Why don’t you drink? Can’t hold your liquor?” There was a bemused smile on his lips, as if he already knew the answer.
“Ah, not really. I can handle a couple beers, but I don’t care much for the taste of most liquor. And yeah, I’m a bit of a lightweight, but not the worst.” Chan tried to use the spoon trick Minho had to open his beer, but struggled until Minho took it from his hands and popped the cap. “Thanks.”
“You have to stop thanking me so much.” Minho scooped a spoonful of rice and meet into his mouth, coving his mouth after to speak. “I told you, it’s just repaying a debt so we’re even.” Though he had said as much before, this time it seemed more performative than sincere, and he didn’t quite meet Chan’s gaze.
“Well, be that as it may, it doesn’t mean I can’t thank you for it.” Chan spooned a portion of food into his mouth and had to bite back a moan at just how good it was. He was projected back to his childhood when his mother would cook for them on holidays, and it was nearly enough to bring him to tears. “Wow, Minho, really this is… It tastes like home.”
Minho faltered for a split second before taking another bite with a hum. He might have convinced Chan the compliment did nothing if not for the faintest tint of pink on the tips of his ears. “Then eat up before it gets cold.”
Chan didn’t need to be told twice.
They ate in relative silence, exchanging passive pleasantries and small talk just enough to keep the creeping silence at bay. It was pleasant, the sort of thing Chan didn’t realize he had missed so much. It was nice not being alone.
After dinner, Chan managed to convince Minho to stand aside while he did the dishes. It was less mess than he would have thought would come from so much cooking, but that was likely due to Minho’s habit of tidying up along the way. It was cute, if a little disheartening that Chan hadn’t done more of the labor load.
When everything was neatly put back in its place, Chan reached into the fridge and grabbed two fresh beers, holding them up toward Minho. “It’s still pretty early, want a beer and a smoke before you go?” Really, he wanted to ask Minho to stay, but he was struggling to find a proper excuse. “Or I can skip the second beer and drive you, if you prefer.”
Minho accepted the offered drink with an arched brow and a quirk to the corner of his lips. “Who said I was leaving yet?”
Chan felt heat touch his cheeks and he rubbed at the back of his neck as he closed the fridge. “I’m by no means kicking you out, I just figured you were probably busy.”
“Nope.” The ‘p’ made a popping noise when it left Minho’s lips and he slid a hand into Chan’s pocket on his way past to snag the pack of cigarettes. “Come on wolfie, let’s go indulge in some vices.”
Chan wasn’t about to question a good thing, following Minho out onto the cramped balcony. It was only a little colder outside than in the apartment and it didn’t bode well for the heater. He really needed to call maintenance again. “So…” It was a filler word to push away the silence above the thrum of the city below. He fumbled with the cap on his beer, stalling for time until Minho took it out of his hands and replaced it with his own open bottle. “Thanks.”
Minho hummed, popping off the cap with the edge of the railing like he’d done for the first bottle. He remained silent, setting the beer down to open the pack of cigarettes and retrieve two from the box.
“That’s a cool trick, by the way. The whole bottle thing, I mean.” Chan accepted the cigarette Minho offered and was only a little disappointed to not get to indulge in a cigarette kiss when Minho sparked the lighter and held out the flame. “I’d say I want to learn how to do it, but I think I’d just wind of breaking the bottle and making a mess.” He took a slow drag, feeling the sweet embrace of nicotine in his lungs and wishing it came secondhand.
“It just takes practice.” Minho tucked the lighter back in the box and then the box into Chan’s pocket before turning to face him. “Just like anything else.” He brought the cigarette to his lips, leaning in close to light it off the tip of Chan’s with two knuckles hooked under Chan’s chin. When he pulled back, he was smiling around the curls of smoke, reaching up to card his fingers through Chan’s hair. “This color really does look good on you, but I’m a bit worried about maintaining it. You can’t wash it too hot or it’ll turn brassy, and you’ll need to be careful about your roots. If you don’t catch them at just the right time, you’ll either end up overprocessing what’s already been bleached or wind up with banding.”
Chan was listening, really he was, but it was hard to pay attention with Minho’s fingers in his hair especially in the wake of the cigarette kiss he’d craved so much. “Is this your way of telling me this was a one time deal? Or can I find a way to pay and keep you on as my personal stylist.”
Minho laughed, a genuine bark of a sound so different than the pretty face it came from but still so fitting. It made it seem like there was so much more to be uncovered about him that Chan simply hadn’t found yet. “That depends.” He kept his tone aloof, but there was a sparkle of something fond in his dark eyes that made warmth and hope bloom in Chan’s chest.
“On what?” Chan leaned one elbow on the railing, plucking the cigarette from his mouth just long enough to take a sip of his beer.
“On whether or not you also expect me to keep playing personal chef.” Minho flashed a smirk clouded in filmy smoke before he followed Chan’s lead and took a drink. “Which, I suppose since you’re playing middle man with your grease ferret, I can be persuaded.”
“You know I’d happily pay you for your services, or be a diligent student so you’re not always the one doing all the work. Or both.” Chan offered his most winning smile and was pleased to see Minho’s own mouth quirk up in response.
“Rather presumptuous to think I’d already agreed to do this again.” Minho tilted his head, gaze assessing as he took a drag of smoke into his lungs. “Fine, dog boy. Don’t give me those damned puppy eyes anymore. I’ll keep feeding you like some stray mutt that won’t leave me alone.”
Excitement washed over Chan like a wave, making his smile wide and brilliant. “I promise to earn every scrap you give me, sir.”
Something dark flashed across Minho’s gaze at that, but it was gone as soon as it was there. “Down, boy.”
Chan laughed, the air between them feeling light for once. They smoked and drank in amicable silence, Chan looking out over the city below and Minho with his back against the rail and eyes to the sky.
They stayed outside through another cigarette each and then a third shared between them before the cold drove them back inside with empty beer bottles in hand. The interior of the apartment was hardly better, and Chan didn’t miss the subtle shiver that went down Minho’s spine.
“I’ll check the heater, but the damn thing has been on the fritz.” Chan ushered Minho toward the couch, rubbing his palms together as he dipped into the hall to check the thermostat. In spite of it being on and saying it was working, no heat was coming from the vent.
Grabbing an armful of blankets from the hall closet, he returned to the living room and dumped them onto Minho’s lap, earning a little confused noise from Minho that made his stomach do a silly little flip flop. “Sorry. Apparently it just refuses to actually work. We’ll have to rough it on our own.”
Minho hummed, adjusting the blankets with a clear space for Chan left beside him on the couch. “Does that mean we have to huddle for warmth to watch a movie? Tragic.” There was nothing but tease in his tone.
“I mean, if you’re offering.” Chan took the open spot on the couch, Minho moving the blankets over the both of them before Chan could. “How did you know I was going to suggest a movie?”
“You all but pushed me onto the couch. It was either that or some drama, and I’m not in the mood for anything episodic.” Minho shifted until his shoulder and thigh were just barely brushing Chan’s. “Come on, then. What are we watching?”
“I hadn’t gotten that far.” Chan huffed a laugh, grabbing the remote from the coffee table and turning on the television to one of his streaming apps. There were more than enough titles to choose from, but he couldn’t quite seem to feel of a pull from anything in particular. “What are you in the mood for?”
“I don’t really care what we watch.” Minho yawned, leaning a little further into Chan’s space until his cheek was nearly resting on Chan’s shoulder. “Just put on your favorite.”
“My favorite movie?” Chan shook his head with a huff of a laugh, selecting Deadpool from the list. “Okay, but it’s a bit violent and very silly.”
Minho hummed, his cheek finally coming to rest fully on Chan. “Movie violence is nothing like the real thing. They never get the blood right, or the handling of weapons, or how to avoid leaving trace evidence, or… anything, actually.” He sighed, his full weight cradled against Chan’s side.
“I’m not surprised.” Chan did his best to keep still so as not to disturb Minho. Inwardly, he was over the moon with Minho’s voluntary closeness. “It’s all just make believe. Fantasy in the guise of realism.” Part of him wanted to ask Minho what it was really like to do the kind of things he saw in movies, but that was crossing a line of trust. If and when Minho wanted to share about his past, his life in general, Chan would let that happen on Minho’s terms.
For the first part of the movie, Minho whispered quiet commentary against Chan’s shoulder, asking questions or pointing out absurdities. Chan would offer a hum of affirmation or a question here and there in response, and truly he was enjoying himself.
A little over halfway through, Chan felt Minho’s body sag against him. It had been silent between them for several minutes by then, and judging by the soft even cadence of Minho’s breathing, the man was asleep.
Chan indulgently let himself finish the movie before carefully turning off the television without dislodging Minho from his sleeping place. That brought him to an impasse, however. As much as Chan was completely willing to sit and let Minho sleep exactly where he was, it would wreak havoc on Minho’s back in the morning.
Steeling his nerves and willing himself to be careful, Chan gingerly removed himself from under Minho and gathered the sleeping Alley Cat into his arms. It was cold outside the cocoon of the blanket, and he had to fight down a shiver as he tiptoed down the hall to his bedroom. In an impressive show of strength no one but Chan was awake to notice, he pulled back the covers and tucked Minho into bed.
He lingered there, feeling a bit like a creep as he watched Minho grab the second pillow and curl up with it against his chest. In the dim light coming from the curtained window, Minho looked softer than ever, his expression peaceful in a way Chan wished he could provide in consciousness.
With one last look over his shoulder, Chan slipped out into the hall and eased the bedroom door shut behind himself. He gathered a few more spare blankets from the hall closet and made his way back to the couch to put together some semblance of a bed.
For once, he was tired in a way that promised sleep rather than hours staring up at the ceiling until exhaustion finally won over his too busy mind, and for that, he was grateful.
-⧖-
Chan woke with his nose itching like he was being ticked, which didn’t make any sense. None of his blankets had loose threads or fringe that he could remember and his hair wasn’t nearly long enough to reach under his nose.
He groaned, lifting a hand to rub at the itchy sensation only to realize there was more than just the tickle to his nose that was unusual. He was warm, delightfully impossibly warm in a way his heater never could have managed, and there was a distinctly body shaped weight pressed along the whole of him.
Minho.
Chan blinked his eyes open, tilting his head just enough to catch sight of the mess of red hair splayed across the lower half of his face. Apparently, at some point during the night after Chan had put him to bed, Minho had left the comfort of a proper mattress and come to seek Chan out. Minho lay there now, still deeply asleep, with his head tucked under Chan’s chin and his hands folded against Chan’s chest.
It was an endearing sight, making Chan’s heart ache with a longing he pointedly decided to ignore. He didn’t want to disturb Minho’s slumber, unsure how often the man was privy to sleep on the whole. From their texts alone, Chan was familiar with the late nights Minho kept, the same as his own, so he was more than happy to steal a few more winks of sleep for himself if he could.
His eyes just started to close when Minho made a soft little noise.
“What time is it?” Minho’s voice was thick with sleep as he burrowed deeper under the covers and against Chan’s body.
Chan silently cursed the universe before reaching a hand over to the coffee table to snag his phone. “A little before noon.” His own voice was equally rough from unuse, lower than usual and a bit graveled. “But don’t get up on my account.”
Minho hummed, hiding his face against Chan’s chest just long enough to heave an earth shattering sigh before pushing himself to sit upright. It left him perched astride one of Chan’s thighs as he blinked the room into focus. “Coffee.” It was a statement, not a question, followed by a less than graceful journey onto his feet and into the kitchen.
“Hey.” Chan was no less stiff in his movements to get out from under the blankets and join Minho in the kitchen. “You can lay back down, I’ll make us coffee.” He kept his voice soft, not awake enough to handle full volume, and grabbed the bag of coffee from the cabinet.
“I’m already up.” The words were followed by a yawn as Minho stretched his arms over his head. “Want breakfast?” He made toward the fridge, but Chan snagged him with an arm around his waist.
“I’ll handle it.” Chan’s tone was firm but sincere as he used the hold on Minho’s waist to gently lift him onto the counter beside the coffee pot. “You just sit here and look pretty while I handle brekkie.” He flashed a smile, pleased with how pliant sleepy Minho was to his antics.
“You can’t cook.” The statement was flat, but Minho remained on the counter, leaning back on his palms to watch Chan as he moved about the space.
“I can do pancakes, if box mix counts.” Chan set a pan on the stove, grabbing milk and butter form the fridge and the bag of pancake mix from the cabinet and setting everything on the counter at Minho’s side opposite the coffee machine. “That was something mom did get me to help her with on weekends. Every Sunday we did pancake brunch.” Snagging a bowl from the cupboard, he poured the bag into it, adding milk and water per the directions before mixing it all together. “Unfortunately, I don’t have much for toppings other than butter and syrup.”
Minho remained silent, watching Chan work. It was clear he was paying attention, but the remnants of sleep seemed to stick to him like glue, keeping him quiet and docile.
Chan didn’t mind the silence as he finished mixing the batter and turned on the burner under the pan. He waited for it to heat up before adding a pat of butter and swirling it around to coat the whole surface. “Big or small?”
“What?” Minho frowned as Chan looked at him over his shoulder.
“Big or small pancakes?” Chan smiled, holding up a ladle of batter for emphasis.
Minho blinked slowly as if processing, a subtle pout on his plush mouth. “Can you do the ones with the mouse ears?” Cute.
“Like Mickey Mouse?” Chan was completely endeared by the request, nodding and turning his attention back to the pan. “Disney pancakes coming right up.”
As Chan tended the stove, Minho slipped off the counter and poured two cups of coffee, carrying them over to where Chan stood. He set one mug down beside the batter bowl, hooking his chin over Chan’s shoulder and leaning gently against his back while Chan flipped the first pancake. “Impressive.” There was still the smokey sleep quality to his voice, sending a shiver down Chan’s spine.
Chan preened under the paise, double happy with the soft affection sleepy Minho was so ready to give. “Thanks. Like I said, this is the only real food I can make with any confidence.” He slid the pancake onto a plate on the counter, ladling three pools of batter into the empty pan. “But with some help, I’m sure I can pick up a few other things. Basics, at least.”
Minho hummed, snaking his arm around Chan to take a sip of coffee without moving his head from it’s resting place. “Your apartment is cold.” He punctuated the statement with a faint shiver as his free hand slipped around Chan’s middle under the hem of his shirt to rest against the bare skin of his stomach.
“I--” Chan sucked in a sharp breath at the feeling of cold fingers on his skin, shaking his head. “You could warn a guy before you stick your icy hands on him.” He laughed, not at all displeased as he added another pancake to the stack and continued his assembly line.
“Oh, sorry.” Minho went to move his hand away, but Chan caught him before he could, pressing him firmly back in place.
“I don’t mind.” Chan meant it, though it did terrible things to the pit of his stomach. He had thankfully woken up without morning wood, but his betrayer of a cock was very interested in how close Minho’s hand was to it. “I’m a big cuddler, with a willing participant, of course.”
“That tracks.” Minho huffed a breathy laugh, taking another sip of his coffee before setting it on the counter beside Chan’s untouched cup. He moved his newly free hand under Chan’s shirt, lacing his fingers together right above Chan’s waistband. “You’re so warm.” the words came out in a contented sigh as he leaned the bulk of his weight against Chan’s back.
“Were you cold last night?” Chan hadn’t meant to bring it up in case Minho was feeling some type of way about sleeping together-- no, not like that Chan get it together-- but the words were out of his mouth before his brain could catch up.
“Mmhmm.” Minho turned his head, nosing against Chan’s neck and pricking up goose flesh in his wake. “Lucky me, I have me own personal space heater.”
Chan’s cheeks heated and he ignored the echo of said heat coiling tighter in his core. He liked sleepy Minho. Well, he liked Minho in general. “Happy to play human heat pack anytime, Alley Cat.”
Minho laughed softly, nuzzling further against the crook of Chan’s shoulder. “We need a shower.” There was a bitter note to the words and his arms hugged Chan a little tighter. “Food first.”
“Good call.” Chan finished stacking the last pancake, clicking off the stove. “I’d mention that I have plenty of hot water, but I don’t think our hair would like that very much.” He turned around, careful not to dislodge Minho entirely with one arm wrapped around Minho’s back. With his other hand, he grabbed the plate piled high with pancakes. “We should take these to the table unless you want to stand here and eat in the kitchen.”
“Tempting.” Minho sighed, slipping out of Chan’s hold to grab both cups of coffee. “But I’d rather sit.” He rounded the counter to the dining table, setting down their cups and taking a seat.
Chan gathered the fixings and utensils, taking them with the plate to the table. “Oh.” Belatedly, he realized he’d forgotten to grab plates for them to eat off of. “Sorry, let me just--” He moved to stand, but was stopped by a firm grip on his wrist.
“I don’t mind sharing the plate if you don’t.” Minho held Chan’s gaze, waiting for a nod before letting go of the hold on his wrist. “Saves on dishes.”
“Right.” Chan swallowed, strange butterflies swirling in his stomach. He really needed to get ahold of himself because this little crush was getting wildly out of hand. Food was always a good place to start. “What do you like on your pancakes?”
Minho took a drink of his coffee, watching Chan over the rim. “I’m not picky. Add whatever you like.”
Chan couldn’t help but feel somewhat self conscious as he uncapped the syrup and poured a generous amount over the stack. Even if Minho wasn’t picky, Chan had a habit of making things too sweet for most people’s taste buds. “Is this okay?” He motioned to the sticky drip cascading down the little mouse eared stack. “I can grab another plate or make more if--”
“--It’s fine, Chan.” Minho sounded over it but not unkind, waving Chan off with a knife before slicing out a triangle of pancakes and shoving them into his mouth. There was a brief pause of only chewing before he sighed with contentment. “Good job for a dog in the kitchen.”
Laughter bubbled up in Chan’s chest and out of his mouth, settling his ill found nerves. “Glad I passed the brekkie test.” He picked up his own silverware, moving to cut a bite for himself only for Minho to shove a forkful of dripping pancakes in front of his face. “Minho?” He frowned, not picking up on the motive.
“Open.” Minho’s expression was blank as he kept the fork suspended between them, the syrup threatening to drip onto the table.
All Chan could do was comply, opening his mouth and letting Minho feed him. He wasn’t having a soul affirming epiphany of culinary greatness or anything, but it definitely tasted better than usual. That was probably because Minho was the one feeding it to him.
Minho hummed, going back to eating on his own while Chan chewed. That was the only consistent thing with Minho, he was nothing if not unpredictable.
Chan was only a little disappointed when Minho didn’t stop him the second time he tried to get his own bite from the plate, but it wasn’t a big slight. Whatever had possessed Minho, be it sleepy haze or otherwise, was gone.
Breakfast continued in relative silence, Chan’s overthinking mind surprisingly quiet in spite of all the fuel for the fire the morning had provided thus far. When they came down to the last bite, Chan was already full, but that didn’t stop him from gathering the last of the sticky sweet pancakes onto his fork.
“Say ‘ah’.” Chan held up the fork with his other hand aloft beneath it to catch any drips of syrup, facing Minho.
Minho frowned, brows drawn together. “What are you doing?” He seemed on guard, but curious enough not to lean away.
“Returning the favor.” Chan smiled, gesturing with the fork. “Last bite is for you.”
“I can very well feed myself, Christopher.” Even as he said it, Minho leaned forward and held his mouth open.
“Good boy.” Chan fought to keep his smile from growing too wide as he fed the last bite to Minho and set the fork down on the empty plate. “Do you want a refill on your coffee?” He posed the question as he stood, gathering the dirty dishes aside from Minho’s mug.
“Please.” Minho spoke around the hand he was using to cover his mouth, clearly still chewing. But rather than just give Chan the cup, he stood and carried it to the kitchen himself.
“Come on, Minho.” Chan set the dishes in the sink, moving Minho out of the way with a gentle grip on his hips. “You just relax. I’ll handle the coffee and dishes.”
“No chance.” Minho used Chan’s hold on his waist to his advantage, spinning them around so Chan’s back was against the counter. “You already cooked. What you need to do now is ‘sit here and look pretty’.” He punctuated the statement with a shove to Chan’s chest before he moved to the sink.
Chan blinked, moving on auto-pilot to hoist himself up to sit on the countertop between the sink and the coffee machine. “Guess you’re awake now.”
Minho scoffed, turning on the tap and sudzing up a sponge. “I might not be a morning person, but I hardly sleep walk. I was up the moment my feet hit the floor.” He washed the paltry number of dishes, setting them onto the drying rack one by one.
Chan laughed, shaking his head as he topped off Minho’s coffee cup with fresh brew. “Oh, really? I think I like pre-coffee Minho a lot more than the post-coffee version.” It was a joke punctuated by a waggle of brows as he passed the cup over to Minho.
“Why? Like I said, I’m not a morning person.” Minho accepted the mug, turning off the water and moving to stand in front of Chan’s countertop perch. He cradled the mug in both hands, tilting his head with an expectant gaze. “Well?”
“I…” Chan wasn’t sure how to answer safely. Though Minho had been sweet, cuddly even, when he woke up and had come to share the tiny couch with Chan the night prior, the memory of Minho’s boundary lingered. He wanted to flirt and act coy, even in a playful sense, but he worried Minho wouldn’t like that. They were just starting to bond, and friendship far outweighed Chan’s silly crush. “I don’t know.” A half truth and half lie that didn’t really fit the bill, but it would have to do.
Minho looked completely unconvinced, stepping forward to slot himself between Chan’s thighs. He took a sip of coffee and set the mug aside, resting his palms flat on the counter on either side of Chan. It had the added effect of bringing them that much closer together, his chin tilted slightly upward to hold Chan’s gaze. “Liar.” That single word held all the weight of his heavy stare.
Chan swallowed, feeling hot all over. It didn’t help that his brain decided now was a good time to actually register Minho’s words from earlier, the ‘we’ of ‘we need a shower’ most specifically. Had Minho actually meant it that way or was Chan just getting ahead of himself? Only time would tell. “You’re just really… soft in the morning. Not that you aren’t soft other times or anything, or that not being soft is a bad thing. It’s a good thing. It’s nice.” The words were tumbling out of his mouth in a way that made him feel like he was babbling nonsense.
“Soft?” Minho pressed closer, his nose nearly brushing Chan’s own in a way that made it hard for Chan to breathe let alone think. “You like soft things, don’t you Chan? Malleable toys you can play with?”
“Ye-- No.” Chan shook his head, mind finally catching up with his mouth. “No, I don’t like toys. People aren’t playthings, they’re people.”
Minho blinked several times in succession, a slow processing, before he eased away from Chan. “You have morning breath.” He scrunched his nose and swiped his coffee from the counter, heading out of the kitchen toward the liminal space between the hall and living room. “Do you smoke in the morning?”
It took several seconds for Chan to get it together enough to hop down from the counter and follow Minho, checking his breath along the way. Yeah, he needed to brush his teeth, but it wasn’t like he was the only one. “Sometimes? It depends on the morning.”
“I’m asking about now.” Minho turned to face Chan directly, brow raised. “Do you want to smoke before or after a shower? Personally, I think it’s silly to smoke after brushing your teeth, but you do you.”
“Oh, damn. You have a good point.” Chan rubbed at the back of his neck, still vaguely trying to process whatever dynamic was happening here. “Yeah, I should probably grab a smoke now. I don’t need it, but you mentioned it and now I have the urge.” He laughed, the sound a little self chastizing.
Minho didn’t bother with a verbal answer, sweeping past Chan into the living room and snagging the pack of smokes off the coffee table on his way to the balcony door.
Chan followed Minho out into the early afternoon air, the city bustling and lively beneath them. It filled the would be silence with just enough noise to feel safe and familiar. “Was breakfast enough?” He leaned his hip against the railing, reaching for his pack of smokes only to get waved away.
“You worry too much.” Minho pulled out two cigarettes, tucking one behind his ear and one between his lips. “Yes, I had enough to eat, Chan.” He sparked the cigarette to life, taking a few shallow puffs before passing it over to Chan.
“Thanks.” Chan accepted the lit cigarette with a smile, ignoring the surge of warmth that Minho having touched it with his lips first gave. “You know, I’m not really a morning person either. Though, that’s probably because I struggle with sleep. Insomnia or whatever. I can’t get my brain to shut off long enough for me to knock out.”
Minho took a drag on his own newly lit cigarette, fixing Chan with a curious expression. “Insomnia? You didn’t seem to have trouble sleeping as far as I’ve seen.”
Chan laughed, rubbing nervously at the back of his neck. He took a drag to stall for time, exhaling in lazy rings. “I sleep better when I’m not alone. Some sort of safety net, I guess? I don’t know. I don’t have people over often enough to judge.”
“I hate sleeping alone.” Minho leaned back on his elbows, gaze toward the sky as he exhaled a cloud of smoke against the sun.
“Insomnia?” Chan loved the way the sun turned Minho’s copper hair to a vibrant golden orange.
Minho let out a single bark of a laugh, the sound accompanied by a puff of smoke. “Not quite.” He sighed, head lolling onto his shoulder to look at Chan. “I feel safer when I’m not alone, which is stupid. Anyone coming to kill me in the middle of the night would hardly be thrown off by the presence of another body in the room. It just means extra clean up or a very swift departure.”
There was no question in Chan’s mind that Minho understood this truth in a very personal way. It did little to fill in the blanks about Minho’s life outside their shared bubble of safety and comfort together, but that was fine. They were making progress, and quite frankly, Chan couldn’t care less about what sordid things Minho got up to. Or rather, he didn’t have any desire to pass moral judgment. “You know, there’s a really easy solution to both our problems.” He bought time with a drag of his cigarette, holding the smoke in his lungs for an extra beat before exhaling.
“Oh?” Minho arched a lazy brow, still letting his head rest on his own shoulder as if he couldn’t be bothered to lift the weight of it. “What solution is that?” His tone was slightly leading, but his expression conveyed a genuine spark of interest or at least curiosity.
“Well, I have a very large bed with more than enough room for two people.” Chan could feel his heart beat in his throat, but he ignored it. ‘Be bold and great forces will come to your aide’, or so they said. “And neither of us like sleeping alone, so… You’re welcome to crash with me whenever.”
Minho just looked at Chan for a long beat of silence before finally lifting his head and turning to brace his hip on the rail in a mirror of Chan’s own posture. “What is the opposite of ‘If You Give a Mouse a Cookie’? Because that’s you.” He shook his head, a hint of a smile lifting the corners of his lips around the end of the cigarette. “But really, it sounds like you’re just trying to get me in bed with you.” There was nothing but saccharine mischief in his tone.
“That’s not--” Heart rushed to Chan’s face. “I mean it in a very literal sense! Like, sleeping together, not sleeping together-- wait, that-- fuck.” He squeezed his eyes shut, taking a deep breath through his nose and out his mouth and nearly losing his cigarette in the process. “Look, I’ll be honest with you. Yes, you are incredibly beautiful and I am undeniably attracted to you, but I am very sincere when I say that has nothing to do with my offer. You’re my friend first, always. I’m never going to cross your boundaries, Minho.” He opened his eyes again to meet Minho’s gaze, expression open and completely laid bare in its honesty.
“I know.” Minho spoke the word quietly, with care, before making a show of rolling his eyes and gesturing flippantly with the hand holding his cigarette. “I’m teasing you because you make it so easy. Don’t read into it.”
Chan did in fact read into it, but not in the way Minho was outright implying. He might still be utterly lost about whether his crush was against Minho’s wishes, but one thing was very clear: Minho didn’t deny their friendship. “Noted.” He relaxed a bit against the railing, feeling a sense of ease he couldn’t quite explain. “For the record, I’m very serious about my offer. Completely platonic sleep and everything else.”
“Ever the good boy.” Minho polished off the last of his cigarette, snuffing the butt on the railing and tossing it over the edge. He pushed off the railing then, but rather than head for the door or even grab his coffee mug, he took the last step to close the distance between them. “Yet, here you are fostering bad habits.” He waited for Chan to take another drag of his nearly dead cigarette before gripping Chan’s jaw and leaning into his space. “Share?” The question was barely a whisper accompanied by an arch of a brow as he held Chan’s gaze as firmly as he held his jaw.
Chan nearly swallowed the smoke in his mouth when Minho touched him, feeling his lungs start to burn with the strain of holding it in. It took him a few seconds to realize what Minho was asking for before he complied, eyes going half lidded as he blew a steady stream of milky white smoke in the fraction of a centimeter of space between their lips.
Minho inhaled the smoke as it spilled form Chan’s lips, never once loosening his grip on Chan’s jaw. He flashed a closed-lip smile, leaning in to press the ghost of a kiss to the corner of Chan’s mouth before pulling away in a thin cloud. “I’m going to shower. You don’t mind if I borrow something to wear, do you?” He tossed the question out without even looking at Chan, snagging his coffee mug on the way to the door.
The entire world was spinning on its axis. Chan forgot how to breathe, forgot how to think, forgot anything but the butterfly wing sensation of Minho’s mouth against his own. It took a second for him to realize Minho had even asked a question before he could respond. “Yeah, help yourself to anything you like.” He raked his fingers through his hair, his voice coming out more like a croak than anything, and he realized that somewhere along the way he’d dropped the butt of his cigarette.
“Lovely.” Minho opened the door, stepping into the living room and looking back at Chan over his shoulder. “Are you coming?”
“What? Oh-- yeah.” Chan shook his head to clear it, following Minho back inside. He kept playing the memory of Minho’s barely-there kiss in his mind over and over as he shadowed Minho through the living room, down the hall, and into his own bedroom. There, he just sat on the edge of the bed, stomach full of butterflies and head full of fizzy static.
“Do you own anything that isn’t black?” Minho swiped through the contents of Chan’s closet, a sea of monochrome. “I swear you’re the worst type of would-be goth.” His tone was teasing, and he quickly selected a set of joggers and an oversized sweater for himself, tossing the matching pair to each onto Chan’s lap. “You’re on your own for underwear.”
Chan clutched the bundle of clothes to his chest, walking over to his dresser on auto-pilot and pulling out a pair of notably black boxer briefs. “You can shower first.” Hopefully some time to himself would let him settle back down.
“That’s stupid.” Minho grabbed Chan’s bicep, using that hold to guide him out of the bedroom and across the hall to the bathroom. He let go then, setting his clothes on the closed toilet lid and tugging his shirt over his head without fanfare.
“Minho?” Chan kept his gaze pointedly on Minho face, especially when Minho shucked off his pants. “What are you…” He didn’t even know how to finish that thought without putting his foot in his mouth.
“I told you, we both need a shower.” Minho said it like it was the most basic piece of information ever, reaching to take the clothes out of Chan’s arms and set them next to his own. “Why waste water? It’s not like you’ve never seen a naked man before. Unless…” He narrowed his eyes, raking them over Chan’s body with an air of judgment. “Have you seen a naked man before or is the ‘bisexual’ part of your ‘bisexual non-virgin’ status more in theory than in practice?”
“No-- No, I’ve seen plenty of naked men before. Had sex with them and everything.” Chan immediately flushed when his brain caught up with his tongue. “Not that I think this is sex! It’s a shower, right? Just a shower. Yeah, we can… uh, we can, you know.”
“Nervous?” Minho purred the word, a smirk on his lips as he toyed with the hem of Chan’s shirt. “Don’t be shy, Channie, there’s nothing to be embarrassed about.” He gripped the edge of Chan’s shirt, waiting for the tiny nod of consent before lifting it up and over Chan’s head. “Friends shower together all the time.” He said it like it was true, but Chan was struggling to remember a time he’d showered with anyone he wasn’t having sex with outside of his youth.
“Right.” Maybe if Chan said it out loud, it would be enough to convince himself it was true. “It’s totally normal.” He huffed a laugh, willing his nerves to settle as he turned to the side and slid his pants and underwear to the floor while Minho was busy turning on the shower tap.
“Nice ass.” The smile was clear in Minho’s voice as he leaned against the edge of the shower with his arms crossed over his chest.
“Oh, thanks.” Chan righted himself, pushing the hair back from his face as he turned toward Minho.
Minho’s eyes went wide, brows lifting toward his fringe. “Oh, you definitely have been keeping secrets. How does a good boy like you come to get that kind of piercing, hmm?” He motioned toward Chan’s waist, his smile downright predatory but no less thrilling. In fact, it lit a wildfire under Chan’s skin. “Come on, it’s cold out here.” He stepped into the shower, reaching out a hand to snag Chan by the wrist and tug him under the spray. “And for the record, dog boy, you have nothing to be embarrassed about.”
“Thank… you?” Chan was both completely alight with pride and completely off kilter. It didn’t help that his shower was decidedly not meant for two people, the cramped space making it impossible for their bodies not to touch. When it had been just their chests bare to wash the dye from their hair, it hadn’t felt so intense, but now there was no paltry barrier of fabric to play buffer. He swallowed hard, willing his betrayer of a cock not to make things awkward, especially with the topic at hand. “I got it on a dare back in uni and liked it enough to keep it. No sense doing all that only to let it heal over.”
“It suits you, makes you more of the wolf you claim to be.” Minho took a wash cloth and the soap, working up a strong lather before placing it onto Chan’s chest. “Though, I’m starting to see why you chose that persona.” He moved the cloth over Chan’s body, following the movement with his gaze.
“How so?” Chan was genuinely curious, but it was also a good distraction from the way it felt to have Minho bathing him. It wasn’t something he could recall anyone doing for him, intimate in a way that had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with trust.
“More a feeling than anything else.” Minho lifted his gaze up to meet Chan’s as the washcloth moved below Chan’s waist, dragging efficiently over the length of his embarrassingly half-hard cock before moving around to his ass. That brought Minho forward, his body pressing flush to Chan’s own, their noses bumping together. “You strike me as the type to be fiercely loyal, perhaps to a fault.”
All Chan could do was laugh as he forcibly ignored the way Minho’s muscled thigh slotted between his legs and pressed against his cock. “I like to think I’m loyal, at least to the people I care about.” Mostly to give his hands something to do other than explore Minho in the same way Minho seemed so keen to explore him, he poured shampoo into his palm and massaged it into Minho’s orange locks. “I get the feeling you’re loyal too.”
Minho scoffed, his gaze going distant as he dragged the soapy cloth up Chan’s back to his shoulders in a mock embrace. “Maybe once, but not anymore.” He stepped back, turning around so he was facing away. “Now the only person I’m loyal to is myself. The faster you realize that the better.”
While it offered Chan better access to Minho’s hair, it didn’t help to settle the strange ball of worry in his stomach. “Liar.” He whispered the word as he finished lathering Minho’s hair and turned him by the shoulders back around to face him. “You’re not selfish.”This time he turned them both, coaxing Minho’s head under the water to rinse. “If that was true, you wouldn’t have cared if you put me at risk that first night, or any of the nights after.”
“That’s not--” Minho snapped his mouth shut as the water cascaded over his face and Chan combed his fingers through the copper strands to rid them of the shampoo. After, he sighed, fixing Chan with a hard glare while Chan grabbed the conditioner. “That’s not loyalty, Chan. That’s not wanting someone else to be caught up in a life they never asked for.”
“And what if I asked for it?” Chan wasn’t sure what possessed him to say such a thing, but having it out in the open left him with the understanding that it wasn’t completely unfounded. He had lightly considered diving deeper into the underground on and off throughout his ‘career’ as a an information broker of sorts, but never had a desire to pursue it seriously. Now, however, with Minho’s dark eyes staring straight into his soul, Chan could see it. He imagined what it would really be like to work with Minho, but there was a problem: he still had no solid idea of what Minho did.
“Don’t be stupid.” Minho batted Chan’s hands away, running his own fingers through his hair to make sure the conditioner was distributed throughout before dunking himself back under the spray. When he surfaced, he grabbed Chan’s shoulders, turning him away with a little too much force. “Stay.” His tone was clipped and caustic, like every bit of progress they had made together was gone.
Chan wilted under Minho’s touch, feeling foolish for fucking things up again. He knew damn well how volatile Minho’s thread bare trust was and pushing boundaries was not something Minho recovered form easily, even when the boundaries were completely unknown to Chan. Still, the feel of Minho’s fingers over his scalp was soothing and enough of a reassurance that things weren’t completely dire. When prompted with a tug on his arm, he traded places with Minho again, rinsing his head under the lukewarm water. “I’m sorry.” The words were a whisper as he looked up at Minho from a downturned gaze.
“I know you were only trying to be kind, but kindness is your problem.” Minho poured conditioner into his palm, cradling Chan’s jaw with one hand as he combed the viscus liquid through bleach blond. “Good people can do bad things, but this isn’t that simple. Once you cross over into the underworld, live in it, you can’t leave. There’s no way out but death.”
Chan tilted his head back as Minho tipped his chin upward, letting his hair rinse clean. “You didn’t choose this life, did you?” He already knew the answer, could feel it in the way Minho closed his doors and incased himself in an iron wall, but he needed to hear it.
Minho held Chan’s gaze, the rush of the running water filling the would be silence that stretched between them. “No, Chan, I didn’t.” He looked away, retrieving the wash cloth and sudzing it up.
Carefully, Chan lifted the cloth from Minho’s hands, giving Minho every opportunity to stop him. Minho didn’t, so Chan began a slow trail of the soapy cloth over Minho’s neck and chest as he spoke. “I made you a promise, and I intend to keep it. However, know that I would gladly listen and keep anything you share with me a secret to my grave.”
“I know.” Minho offered the ghost of a smile, lifting a hand to touch Chan’s cheek in a gesture that spoke more than words.
They lapsed into silence as Chan did his best to swallow his cowardice and curb his latent curiosity while he washed the rest of Minho’s body. He didn’t dare touch Minho below the waist, however, guiltily handing over the cloth for Minho to use it himself. That earned him a raised brow, but nothing more.
After they were both clean and mostly dry with towels slung low around their waists, Minho pulled out the blowdryer and urged Chan down onto the lid of the closed toilet with a firm shove. “You need to use the heat on low if you don’t want to cause too much damage.” It was something he’d said before, but Chan was glad to be rid of the silence.
Chan had an unsettled feeling in the pit of his stomach as Minho ran the blowdryer through his hair. It was like the entire air had shifted between them and there was a storm cloud rolling in above their heads. He couldn’t place why, but something told him that he was on borrowed time once again.
They traded places when Chan’s hair was fluffy and dry, Minho seating himself down without so much as a look at Chan’s face. He stayed like that the entire time Chan coaxed his copper hair dry, eyes closed and jaw set.
Chan clicked off the blowdryer, wrapping the cord around the handle and tucking it under the sink. “I have a spare toothbrush you can use.” He brandished the toothbrush still encased in the plastic wrapper as he stood up again, holding it out to Minho. “But we’ll have to share the toothpaste.”
Minho hummed, accepting the toothbrush and ripping it out of the plastic cover. He tossed the trash in the bin, moving their clothes out of the way and turning on the sink. “Thanks.” Even as he said it, he wouldn’t meet Chan’s gaze.
That stagnant silence returned as they brushed their teeth at the sink, shoulders barely touching together. Chan wished he could think of something, anything to fix the mood, but he was at a loss.
Once they were dressed, with Chan giving Minho some privacy by turning away during the process, they came to stand in the liminal space between the hall and living room. Chan opened his mouth to speak, but Minho beat him to it.
“I’m leaving.” Minho still wouldn’t look at Chan, gathering up his scarce collection of things from around the main living area. “Text me when that grease ferret has news about my bike. I need her back as soon as possible.”
Chan followed Minho around at a distance like a lost puppy. “Of course. I’ll make sure I send word as soon as I get it.” He wanted to say more, wanted to make some excuse for Minho to stay, but truth be told, there wasn’t a reason for it. “Thank you again for cooking, and the hair. It really turned out better than I could have imagined.”
Minho hummed in acknowledgement, tugging on his boots and tying them tight. He righted himself in front of the door, finally meeting Chan’s gaze with an unreadable expression. “Goodbye, Chan.” There was a deep rooted finality to the statement, as if this was the last time they would see each other.
Chan knew it couldn’t be true with Minho’s bike still in the shop, but that didn’t slake his unease. “Be safe.” He forced himself to smile as Minho turned the doorknob to leave. “--Minho.”
Minho paused, the door just barely cracked.
“I’m here if you need me.” Chan swallowed the lump in his throat. “For any reason.”
Minho sighed a long exhale of breath, his shoulders curling ever so slightly inward. “I know.”
-⧖-
Minho went radio silent.
He didn’t send any of the sporadic texts he had prior to the hair dying escapade. He didn’t even reply to Chan’s messages. Chan kept trying. He sent Minho little updates about different projects he was working on, photos of the dosirak he packed with the food Minho had made, photos of the night sky he knew Minho loved so much, but he got nothing in return.
Deep down Chan knew what Minho was doing, that he was putting distance between them because he was trying to keep Chan safe. But the longer it went on, the more Chan was convinced that it wasn’t how things should be. Maybe he was biased and a little bit (more than a little bit) infatuated, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that Minho needed him. Or at least, Minho needed someone.
Minho acted tough, acted like he was the only person who could possibly shoulder the burden he was carrying, and yet, that was intrinsically untrue. Chan knew all too well how crushing the weight of the world was on his own shoulders when he tried to take on too much, tried to push himself past the breaking point, and he saw those same cracks in Minho. He could see, even in the brief moments they shared together, glimpses of a life lost, of a person who was so convinced that things had to be compartmentalized past the point of truly living. Minho was hollow, but there was still the tiny shining pieces of the man in that empty shell. All Chan had to do was find a way to convince Minho that it was true, that Minho was worth caring about, worth knowing, worth loving himself.
That was easier said than done, however, especially with the way Minho was so hell bent on ghosting him.
Luckily, over a week after Minho vanished, Chan got a text from Hyunjin saying the bike was ready for pick-up.
Chan opened his messages to Minho and had every intention of letting him know the news, but then stopped. If he texted Minho now, there was more than a chance that Minho would circumvent Chan entirely and just go get the bike himself without a single word. If Chan was a good person, he would accept the writing on the wall for what it was and let Minho go, but Chan wasn’t feeling like being so ‘good’ anymore.
Instead of doing what he knew was right, he closed his shop early and headed over to Hyunjin’s garage. He parked his bike at the edge of the lot, only then bringing out his phone to text Minho.
“Hi, hyung. Nice hair.” Hyunjin came out to greet Chan, his long hair held back with a pair of safety goggles. “Where’s your mysterious friend?”
“Thanks.” Chan turned to Hyunjin with a smile, letting the not-quite-lie slip from his tongue. “On his way, I would assume.”
“Want a coffee while we wait?” Hyunjin gestured toward the little annex building. “I just made a fresh pot.”
“A coffee would be great.” Chan left his helmet on his bike, following Hyunjin through the garage into the annex. It was a small space, over cluttered with file cabinets and various spare parts in strange configurations. It reminded him of the file he’d found mentioning a spider robot. “You know, I’ve always wondered what you use all the parts you get from me for.” He said it casually, taking a seat in one of the mismatched chairs.
“I like to tinker in my spare time, a hobby.” Hyunjin poured two cups of coffee, handing one to Chan as he sat in the other chair across from him. “Why do you ask?” There was an edge to his tone that seemed like a secret was hidden just under the surface.
“Curiosity, mostly.” Chan took a sip of his coffee, black, just like Minho drank his. “Fellow tech enthusiast and all that.”
Hyunjin shrugged, draping one arm over the back of his chair. “They’re just self indulgent projects, things that I dream up and decide I should make real. Nothing particularly special.” He took a sip of his coffee, making a face and setting it on the nearby desk to add cream and sugar.
“If you ever feel like sharing, I’d love to see some of your work.” Chan meant it, but it was equally because of his genuine interest in technology as it was his desire to find out if Hyunjin was selling creations through the underground.
“When did you say your ‘friend’ was coming?” Hyunjin stirred his freshly doctored coffee, taking a tentative sip before seeming satisfied and leaning back in his chair. “Or should I say partner?”
“Oh we’re--” Chan felt a pang of sadness in his chest. “We’re just friends.”
Hyunjin arched a brow, a smile on his lips that spelled nothing but trouble. “Really? Maybe I should shoot my shot again. After all, the client clause doesn’t apply once he gets his bike back.”
Chan opened his mouth to say something, he wasn’t even sure what, but a familiar voice cut in before he could.
“I was wondering where you’d slunk off to grease ferret-- Oh.” Minho stood in the doorway, his expression going blank as his eyes fell on Chan. The only indication that something was wrong was the subtle tension in his jaw. “Chan.”
Guilt sloshed in the pit of Chan’s stomach as he greeted Minho with a half-watt smile and a nod. He knew he’d crossed an unspoken line, but he was desperate.
“Grease ferret?” Hyunjin placed his free hand over his chest, making a show of looking shot through the heart. “You wound me. But I’ll forgive you since you’re cute.” He winked, setting aside his coffee to stand. “I hate to be so formal about it, but I would prefer we settle payment before I hand over the keys. An assurance, if you will, nothing personal.”
Minho gave a curt nod, slipping a duffle bag off his shoulder and tossing it to Hyunjin’s feet. “Feel free to count it. It’s all there.”
“You’re paying in cash?” Hyunjin blinked, kneeling slowly to retrieve the bag and set it on the desk next to his coffee mug. He unzipped the top and exposed an obscene amount of cash in neat banded bundles. “Fucking shit. You actually brought cash.”
“Is that a problem?” Minho folded his arms over his chest, pointedly ignoring Chan as he kept his attention on Hyunjin.
“No, no. It’s great, actually. I’m just surprised.” Hyunjin picked through the duffle bag, counting the stacks under his breath. “It’s all here, unless you’re stiffing me with hollow bundles, but I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt.” He zipped the bag closed, tucking it under the desk out of sight before moving toward the door. “Let me give you a tour of your new and improved baby.”
Chan could feel the icy tension building as he followed Hyunjin and Minho into the garage. He wished Hyunjin wasn’t there so he could get Minho alone, but maybe he could find an excuse to make Minho stick around after he got his keys. Maybe.
“So, the body work is as close to manufacture as I could get it with a few minor improvements.” Hyunjin pulled the tarp off Minho’s bike with a flourish. “I mainly changed a few of the lines to make it more aerodynamic and then expanded the console to house the new control panel.”
Minho said nothing as he circled around the bike, eyes flicking over each and every detail. He ran his fingertips along the seat and up to the console, raising a brow. “What improvements did you make exactly? We didn’t discuss those details in our original agreement.”
“I know. Don’t fret, it’s on the house.” Hyunjin pulled the key out of his jumpsuit pocket, turning over the ignition and making the engine purr to life. “Doesn’t she sound pretty? I made some improvements to the engine too so that it uses less fuel and gets higher speed. The suspension is also solid and the handling is as tight as it gets. You can corner nearly to the ground without losing control.”
“That’s lovely, but it doesn’t answer my question about the controls.” Minho swung his leg over the bike, flipping up the kickstand to balance it himself. “What changes did you make here?” He pointed to the display, a fully digital screen in place of the standard dials.
“Well, obviously I got rid of most of the mechanical elements to make room for bluetooth connection and storage you can pair with your phone. It would also be able to work as a boost to ear buds under your helmet for music. The days of blasting a stereo for everyone to hear are long gone.”
Minho hummed, smoothing his palms over the handlebars. “Is that everything?”
“Yes?” Hyunjin laughed. “Unless you have any other questions. Or… if you’ve reconsidered my offer for drinks?” His expression was flirtatious and hopeful in a way that made Chan’s stomach twist in nasty jealous knots.
“I’ll pass.” Minho revved the engine. “Thanks for the work. I’ll keep you in mind if I need any other services.”
“Of course.” Hyunjin took a step back, flipping his long shaggy hair over his shoulder. “Glad you’re happy with my work, and next time I hope I can catch your name.”
Minho gave Hyunjin a smile that didn’t reach his eyes before giving the engine another rev and pulling out of the garage.
“Wait--” Chan took off out of the garage, trying to catch Minho before he could disappear again. Hyunjin would have to forgive his lack of a goodbye.
Thankfully, Minho was stopped at the edge of the lot, right beside Chan’s own bike. “What do you think you’re doing, Chan?” Minho’s tone was flat as he finally spared a look at Chan.
“You’ve been ignoring my texts, which yeah, should have been a hint, but I… I wanted to see you again.” Chan felt the guilt in his stomach turn to a low rolling churn of nerves.
“And you thought completely disregarding my own wants and intercepting me here was going to make me want to speak to you?” Minho shook his head, cursing under his breath. “Take a fucking hint, Chan.”
“I know.” Chan approached Minho with his palms out in placation. “I know it was wrong, and I apologize, but I just…” He could feel Minho slipping through his fingers again and his heart was fit to shatter under his ribs. “Would you have seen me any other way?” The question was raw honesty, spoken just above a whisper and edged in hurt.
Minho took a sharp inhale through his nose, eyes darting between both of Chan’s like he was a cornered animal. He sighed, his shoulders dipping just a fraction of a centimeter. “No.”
“Why?” Chan let the hurt color his voice completely, his expression as desperate as his aching heart. “I understand that I crossed a line, and for that I am deeply sorry, but I promise I won’t let it happen again. I wont even ask you to forgive me, or trust me. I just… needed you to know.” His gaze went to the ground, the guilt and understanding that this would be the last time he saw Minho all too much.
Silence stretched between them, the only comfort being that Minho hadn’t left yet.
“Can I get a light?”
Chan looked up to find Minho off his bike, standing just out of Chan’s downturned line of sight with a hand outstretched. “I thought you didn’t smoke.” As he said it, he pulled out his pack of cigarettes and lighter, placing them onto Minho’s palm.
“Bad habits are hard to break once you pick them up.” Minho pulled out a single cigarette, striking the lighter after tucking it between his lips. He took a few quick puffs to bring it to life before taking a long steady drag.
“Yeah, they are.” Chan huffed a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. He reached a hand out for his cigarettes, intending to light one of his own, but Minho shook his head.
Minho held Chan’s gaze through a film of smoke as he tucked the lighter and cigarettes into Chan’s pocket. He remained silent, taking another puff before plucking the cigarette from his mouth and holding it up to Chan’s.
Chan was at a loss for whatever it was Minho was trying to achieve, but he closed that last bit of distance to take a pull of smoke.
“This is the last time, Chan. You know that, don’t you?” Minho kept his voice steady and quiet, assuring Chan was the only one to hear even when they were already alone. He turned the cigarette back around, taking a pointed drag before slotting it neatly between Chan’s fingers.
“I understand.” Chan wanted to deny it, but how could he? He’d already gotten more time than he was supposed to have. “But if things change, I’ll be here.”
Minho offered Chan a smile tinged in sadness, his stoic facade breaking just enough to show a glimmer of something like regret. “Good-bye, Bad Wolf.”
Chan watched Minho get back on his bike and take off down the street as the cigarette between his fingers burned down to the filter.
-⧖-
Minho was gone.
Chan knew it would happen, had told himself that it would be okay, but it still hurt. He knew he should make peace with it, should let Minho settle into nothing but a memory and the half-full container of kimchi in Chan’s fridge. He knew this, and yet, he still held out hope that Minho would come back eventually.
His life felt emptier than before, like he was going through the motions of living without actually participating in his own life. On particularly lonely days, he would send Minho a text or two, just conversational things, and accepted the lack of reply. Their chat log became more of a diary than anything else, Chan sending thoughts into the void with the distant and unlikely chance Minho would at least read the message and remember Chan’s existence. It was a little pathetic, Chan understood that fact intrinsically, but it was so hard to remember when the touches of Minho lingered everywhere in his space.
Minho’s jean jacket still lay folded in the back room of the shop, a collection of Minho’s clothes sat folded neatly atop Chan’s dresser at home, and Chan’s bleach blonde hair was the most unignorable touch left behind. Every time he looked at himself in the mirror, he was flooded with the events of that fated evening and the morning after where it all went wrong.
In hindsight, Chan hadn’t truly slighted Minho in the way his guilt had professed, and it was simply a matter of hidden traps that had pushed the chasm between them to impassable. The more he mulled it over, the more it was clear that Chan’s actions weren’t the root of the problem as much as something far more simple: Minho was protecting him.
As sweet as that sentiment might be and heartening in a sober way, Chan didn’t want to be protected. In fact, Chan was firm in the belief that Minho was the one truly in need of protection. It was easy to put the pieces together with how cagey Minho was in general and the weight of genuine fear Chan had caught glimpses of in their brief shared time. Minho was running, from what Chan couldn’t exactly say without breaking the promise between them, but he was running all the same. Someone was chasing Minho further and further down into his rabbit’s burrow looking for blood.
Chan hated it.
After a month of staying up at night waiting, of checking the alley behind the shop every time he took a smoke break, when his roots had grown out to the point of needing a touch up or simply dying it back to his natural dark brown, Chan finally had to accept that Minho wasn’t coming back.
It was hard, harder than anything Chan had done, but he had to at least try to move on.
He went out for the first time in far longer than since meeting Minho and did his best to enjoy the attention of random strangers, but there wasn’t a spark. He only ever got as far as a sloppy make out or two before his desire would completely fade and he’d make an excuse and apology to leave.
Halfway through the second month, Chan’s sleep schedule was downright tragic. He always had trouble finding peace in sleep, but the brief glimpse of what sleep could truly be like when Minho was around left the lack of it after feeling that much worse. His nights were spent at his command station digging deeper and deeper into the underground in ways he never had before. He found far more information about things that were well beyond his paltry side hustle to sell, storing it all in his external drive like a safe. Occasionally, he would find something that seemed familiar, like the ghost of Minho had led him to it, but his understanding of the inner workings of the underbelly of Seoul wasn’t deep enough to put it to use. The worst thing, however, wasn’t the lack of sleep at all, but the dreams that plagued Chan’s fleeting moments of slumber.
In his dreams, Chan saw Minho.
The setting varied from dream to dream. Sometimes they were standing on a balcony like the one for Chan’s apartment sharing a smoke and talking about things that made no sense in the light of day. Other times they were far more graphic, Chan finding Minho’s bloody body broken and going cold laid out in the street and drenched in blood. Those dreams had Chan jerking himself awake in a cold sweat clutching a pillow to his chest as he tried to convince himself it wasn’t real. But even those dreams were lesser evils, in some regards, than the ones where Minho’s pretty mouth was on Chan’s skin, painting him in bruises and whispering filth into his ears, the ones where Chan was on his knees with Minho looking down at him as he pushed his cock steadily down Chan’s throat. Those dreams left Chan feeling a terrible mixture of lust and guilt as he palmed himself to orgasm from the memory of them.
It was one of those filthy sex dreams that had Chan up in the wee hours of the morning panting into the darkness of his room as he pumped his fingers along his aching cock when there was a knock at the door.
Chan wasn’t sure he heard it the first time, the sound so quiet in the stillness of night that he went back to the task at hand, but then another knock came louder than the first and there was no denying it came from Chan’s front door. He tugged on a pair of boxers that were at least vaguely recently worn as he stumbled out of bed and tried to will his hard on to chill.
On his way to the door, he realized that there was a non-zero chance that the person on the other side was not someone he knew, was possibly dangerous, and greeting them in nothing but boxers sporting a semi would leave him completely at their mercy. Minho had taken his gun that first night they met, and that was fine, Chan had kitchen knives for a reason. Cleaver in hand, he crept up to the front door and peered out the peephole.
The hallway was dark, the overhead light out since the week before, casting everything in gray-blue shadow. But even with the poor lighting, there was a clear outline of a person standing on Chan’s doorstep.
Fuck it.
If Chan was going to get assaulted, so be it. He would simply fight back.
With one last steadying breath, he undid the chain and deadbolt and opened the door.
There, dressed in one of Chan’s own hoodies, stood Minho looking tragically beautiful in spite of the dark circles under his eyes. “I couldn’t sleep.” The words were soft, his head downturned so he looked up at Chan through his lashes in spite of his taller height.
Chan couldn’t breathe. Every molecule of air was suddenly absent from his lungs, hell, the whole room, as he stared down the ghost of the memory that haunted him. “I can’t either.” The words were a croak of sound as he stepped aside and opened the door wider in invitation.
Minho hesitated for a fraction of a second before stepping over the threshold. He went no further, simply looking at Chan as if waiting for permission to do more.
Seeing Minho so timid made Chan uneasy and reminded him of the knife still held in his hand. “Sorry, I didn’t know who would be here at this hour.” He forced a laugh, locking the door and motioning to the knife as he went to the kitchen to put it away. “Do you want some… well, not coffee probably… I can make tea?”
“Tea has caffeine too.” Minho unlaced his boots, padding over to the kitchen island. “I’m just… tired.”
“Yeah.” Chan exhaled, finally feeling the oppressive weight of his shitty sleep schedule catching up with him. “Me too.” He tilted his head at Minho, holding out a hand. “Come to bed?”
Minho pursed his lips in a frown before stepping around the counter and placing his hand gently atop Chan’s own. “Please.”
Silence fell over them as Chan led Minho down the hall into his bedroom, ignoring the faint lingering smell of sex in the room. He pulled back the covers, keeping his hold on Minho as he slid beneath to coax Minho under with him. To his surprise, Minho acquiesced, slotting himself neatly against Chan’s chest with their linked hands tucked between them.
The effect for Chan was immediate, his entire body relaxing completely. “Goodnight, Alley Cat.” He whispered the words against Minho’s hair, lids closing.
Minho hummed, shifting close enough that their bodies molded perfectly together. He was quiet long enough that Chan thought he might already be asleep before he whispered. “Thank you.”
-⧖-
Chan woke up to an empty bed, the smell of fresh coffee wafting in from the open bedroom door. He groaned, checking the time before willing his body to move.
After a quick trip to the bathroom, he made his way to the kitchen and was greeted by a still steaming cup of coffee waiting for him on the counter beside a plate of toast and eggs. The sight made him smile with the knowledge that Minho had taken the time to cook for him and the maybe-promise that Minho wouldn’t be gone for good.
He ate at the kitchen island, scrolling through his email on his phone. It was a work day, so he needed to go down to the shop, but he had a little pocket of buffer time before he needed to head out the door.
It was a lot easier to get through his morning routine after a restful night of sleep and with a full stomach; and once again, he was reminded of just how much of a difference having Minho in his life made. Fingers crossed he could keep Minho around.
After Chan opened the shop and settled at the front counter with his laptop, he pulled out his phone and sent Minho a message to thank him for the breakfast. To his surprise, Minho actually replied, sending back a thumbs up emoji.
The entire rest of the day, Chan had a stupid besotted grin on his face.
-⧖-
The first night Minho showed up on Chan’s doorstep unable to sleep turned out to be a catalyst.
It started as something sporadic. Every so often, Minho would knock on Chan’s door in the middle of the night seeking refuge in the peace of not sleeping alone. Chan always welcomed him with open arms, reiterating in the nighttime quiet under the covers that Minho was always welcome.
After a few weeks, the visits became more frequent and earlier in the night. Minho would show up just after dinner time, prodding Chan about whether or not he’d eaten a proper meal. The third or so time of Chan making vague excuses about not remembering to pick up real groceries, Minho insisted upon giving him a grocery list every week and threatened to simply bring the ingredients himself if Chan neglected to confirm he’d gone shopping via text.
They fell into a much more domestic routine after that, with Minho arriving shortly after Chan returned from work and even meeting him at his shop at close now and then. On one such night where Minho was waiting on his bike in the alley outside Chan’s shop, he greeted Chan with a helmet free grin.
“We’re going for a drive.” Minho said it in a way that was a statement of fact rather than a request, not that Chan would have denied him.
“Where are we going?” Chan walked his bike up beside Minho’s, swinging his leg over to straddle the seat.
“You’ll see when we get there.” Minho tugged on his helmet, the one Chan had gifted him the week prior with little cat ears molded into the carbon fiber on top, and revved his engine.
Chan donned his own helmet, turning over the ignition and revving his engine in kind.
When Minho tore out of the alley, Chan was right on his tail. While Chan’s bike wasn’t nearly as impressive of a machine as Minho’s, he was a skilled enough driver to keep up. They weaved through the cars on the street, pushing the lights and taking corners tight enough for their boots to scrape against the asphalt.
Chan felt alive in a way he hadn’t in ages, the adrenaline pumping through his veins like a drug. He rarely used his bike for more than a means to get to and from work, and this particular outing was anything but practical.
At some point, their journey turned into somewhat of a race, with Minho tearing ahead and Chan catching him on corners. They sped through the night, the city lights a blur of color in the periphery.
Eventually, Minho slowed down, leading them to the entrance of a park on the hill near the base of Namsan Tower. He dismounted his bike, taking off his helmet and waiting for Chan to do the same before walking it up the path toward a children’s playground.
“You know, I’ve lived in this city for years, but I don’t think I’ve ever been here before.” Chan was glad to be rid of his helmet and free to make conversation again. “It’s pretty.”
“It’s quiet.” Minho left his bike and helmet on the path, making his way up the small hill toward the playground. “And it’s one of the few places you can really see the stars.”
Chan followed Minho up the hill, knowing full well how much Minho loved the night sky. “Do you come here often?” He cringed inwardly at the way it came across as a cheap pick-up line, especially when Minho shot him a look with one brow raised. “Sorry, you know what I mean.”
“I usually only come out here when I need to think. Don’t want to make it a pattern someone could track.” Minho said it casually, but Chan didn’t miss the underlying meaning. “It’s been a while.”
“Nothing to think about?” Chan settled in the grass beside Minho, mirroring his choice to lay back to look up at the sky.
Minho huffed a laugh that felt bitter around the edges. “No.” He sighed, folding his arms behind his head in a make shift pillow. “Too much to think about, and I haven’t had my bike back for long. Walking here wouldn’t be worth it.”
“Ah…” Chan wanted to remind Minho that he was here to listen any time Minho needed it, but it felt too much like pressuring it to happen. Instead, he let his eyes rove over the stars peaking out between the light cloud cover overhead. It was chilly, the late spring air still carrying a touch of winter chill without the sun, but it wasn’t enough to make it unpleasant. His apartment was much colder. “Do you know the constellations?” He lifted a hand and pointed up at the sky. “The only ones I really know are Orion’s belt and the two dippers.”
“I can usually find Virgo and Scorpio in the summertime, but I never properly learned how to distinguish them without looking them up on my phone.” Minho seemed at peace in a way that was rare, a smile tugging up the corners of his pretty lips. “When’s your birthday, Chan?”
“Hmm?” Chan let his hand drop back to the grass, turning his face toward Minho. “October third. When’s yours?” It was a new kind of conversation for them, something carefully skipped in their earlier stage of getting to know one another. Of everything he had managed to get out of Minho with considerable effort, Minho had managed to keep it all surface level things, nothing that could truly be tied back to his identity.
“October twenty-fifth, which makes me a scorpio.” Minho turned his head to meet Chan’s gaze, his expression playful. “It makes sense you’d be a libra.”
Chan laughed. “How so? I don’t know the first thing about star signs, I’ll be honest.” He shifted onto his side, one arm tucked under his cheek so Minho had his full attention.
“Well, first of all, astrology is all bullshit.” Minho reached a hand out to brush the overgrown blonde out of Chan’s face. “Most of it is really generic stuff about personalities and habits or whatever, things that are easy for people to relate to. But when it comes to you, I kind of get it. You like balance. You play mediator to situations without even trying. Which usually would piss me off, but for some reason you make it endearing because you’re just so… sincere about it. You’re not trying to do it, you just are because you genuinely believe in what you’re doing.”
Chan was quiet for a bit, letting Minho’s words sink in. “I can see it, I think. But I really am just being myself, always. I don’t think it’s worth it to lie and pretend around people. Why should I? They will either like me or not, and if they don’t, well, then it’s just not meant to be.”
Minho barked a single laugh, shaking his head and turning his gaze back up to the sky. “Such a ‘good boy’ as always.”
“Is that so bad?” Chan scooted just a little closer, the chill of the night air making him seek the warmth of Minho’s presence. “Personally, I don’t think I’m ‘good’ as much as I try to be fair.”
“Okay, libra.” Minho knocked their elbows together. “We should go home. It’s getting cold out and I don’t want to deal with cops.”
“Cops?” Chan sat up when Minho did, shaking the hair out of his face and only making it more of an unruly mess. He really needed to get it cut and his roots bleached. “Do the police really come out to parks in quiet neighborhoods in the middle of the night looking for grown men minding their business watching the stars?” He brushed down his jeans with his palms, trying to shake off the dampness the grass left behind.
“Oh, sweetheart.” Minho cooed, voice dripping with condescension as he lifted a hand to gently fix Chan’s hair. “Don’t you know that secluded parks in peaceful neighborhoods are the best place to get up to trouble?” He flashed a sly grin before brushing past Chan to make his way back down the little hill.
Chan could admit Minho made a good point, following him to their bikes. He hesitated with his helmet in hand, unsure how to ask Minho to come over.
“Do you remember how to get back?” Minho posed the question already straddling his bike, helmet at the ready.
“Uh, yeah? Probably.” Chan swung his leg over his own bike, putting up the kick stand to balance it himself. “Why?”
“Race you back to your place.” Minho flashed a near manic smile before putting on his helmet and revving his engine.
Apparently, Chan didn’t even have to ask, but his excitement for Minho coming over was enough to put him behind on the race. Minho was already taking off down the path while Chan was putting on his helmet, clicking over the engine and peeling out on Minho’s tail.
-⧖-
Chan woke up in a tangle of limbs with a face full of orange hair. It took him a moment to realize where and who he was with, but as soon as he did, he settled back down to simply bask in the hazy morning warmth. This was the first time he was awake before Minho or woke up to find Minho still in bed wrapped like a koala around him since they shared the couch and Chan was not about to let that go to waste.
He felt so at peace, like nothing else in the world could reach them in their tiny bubble of comfort. Distantly, he wondered if Minho ever truly felt peace outside of sleep. From their fleeting conversations on the topic, Chan doubted even sleep brought comfort outside of the nights they shared together. It made his heart ache knowing how much weight was surely on Minho’s shoulders, a constant pressure closing in and threatening to swallow him whole. Even if Chan could do nothing else for him, he hoped nights like this could be a safe haven for Minho.
“Put it back on the shelf.” Minho murmured the words under his breath, face scrunched up as he curled closer against Chan’s chest.
Chan had to bite his bottom lip hard enough to bruise to stifle the affectionate coo that tried to come out of him. Minho talked in his sleep and nothing could be cuter in Chan’s humble opinion. He carefully tugged the covers up around them, keeping them safely cocooned in the warmth. On a whim, he draped his free arm around Minho’s shoulders, completing the seal of their bodies together.
“It’s too hot under here.” Minho’s voice was a gravely murmur under the covers.
“Hnn?” Chan blinked his eyes open, unsure when he’d fallen back asleep, but the moment his eyes adjusted to the blanket-twilight, he forgot how to speak at all. Minho’s face was level with his own, their noses just shy of touching. “Hi.”
Minho hummed, throwing off the blanket and stretching his arms over his head. He yawned, rolling his neck with a sidelong glance at Chan that made him frown. “After breakfast, I’ll touch up your hair.” Slipping out of bed, he tugged off his hoodie and padded toward the bathroom leaving Chan alone in bed.
“Fuck.” Chan breathed the word as he shoved the unruly mess that was his hair away from his face. It was getting harder by the day to ignore the tug in his chest that led him toward Minho, not to mention the throb of his morning wood he really hoped Minho hadn’t noticed. Giving himself one single press of the heel of his palm against his stubborn cock, he followed Minho across the hall to the bathroom.
“Here.” Minho shoved Chan’s toothbrush complete with a dollop of toothpaste on it toward Chan without even looking, his other hand busy aggressively brushing away his morning breath.
Chan muttered his thanks before shoving the brush into his mouth, going about his own oral hygiene routine with considerably less vigor. He wasn’t really awake enough mentally to appreciate the view of Minho’s bare chest in the mirror, but it was definitely not helping with his second brain situation. What he really needed was some space to chill out and be normal again. He spit into the sink, cupping water in his palm to rinse. “If you want to grab a shower first, I’ll put the coffee on.”
“Why?” Minho spit in the sink as soon as Chan made room, doing the same sort of handful of water rinse twice before coming back up. “We can just shower together after I put in your bleach. It’s stupid to do it twice.” He waved a hand toward the closed lid of the toilet. “Sit.”
Chan did as he was told, trying to adjust himself in his shorts when Minho wasn’t looking. Curse his sleepy self for skipping underwear. “Do you even have bleach here?” he huffed a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck to give his buzzing nerves an outlet.
“Of course I do.” Minho dropped down to open the cabinet under the sink, pulling out an assortment of items Chan had never seen in there before. “I’ve been meaning to do it, but you know how it goes.”
All Chan could do was nod along even if he wasn’t remotely on the same page. He could really use a coffee and a self-indulgent ‘me time’ session in the bathroom. Alone. “Yeah.”
Minho mixed up the bleach in the bowl on the edge of the sink, looking just as out of it as Chan yet still managing to move with precision. It was a bit impressive, in Chan’s humble opinion, how Minho moved on muscle memory. “There’s something I want to talk to you about, but I’ll wait until we’ve at least had coffee.” He moved to stand in front of Chan, frowning down at the way his thighs were pressed firmly together before nudging them apart with his knee. “Stay.”
Chan held his breath as Minho stepped closer, too close for Chan’s sanity. His stupid cock wasn’t doing him any favors with how close Minho’s leg was to it, the heat palpable through the thin layer of cotton blend. “That sounds… ominous.” He was a little distracted, but not enough to miss that Minho was alluding to what was surely to be a serious conversion. “But, I mean, I’m always here to listen.”
“You say that a lot.” Minho carded his fingers through Chan’s hair, applying the bleach to the roots section by section. “I’m starting to wonder if you think I have a memory disorder.” There was a faint tease to his tone even if Chan couldn’t see his face in the moment.
“Some things are worth repeating.” Chan shifted in his seat, trying to adjust the strain of his semi against his shorts, but all it did was bring him closer to Minho. He went suddenly still, holding his breath and hoping he hadn’t made things awkward.
Silence lingered between them as Minho continued to apply the bleach to the hair at Chan’s nape until he set the bowl aside and stepped back. “Coffee? It needs to sit for at least ten minutes and I’d like to not feel like a corpse anymore.”
Chan nodded, trying to think of an excuse to linger while Minho went to the kitchen, but coming up short. “Sure.” He cleared his throat, trying to hide his overly persistent ‘problem’ as he stood up. “What do you want for brekkie?”
Minho moved toward the hall, looking back at Chan over his shoulder with a quirk to the corner of his lips. “As amusing as it is to watch you suffer, I am well aware you’re sporting a hard-on. I felt it when I woke up, dog boy.”
Humiliation and heat washed over Chan’s body in tandem, making him question himself for a moment when his cock gave a kick of interest. ‘The Minho Effect’ was going strong. “Shit, Min.” He didn’t even notice the slip of the nickname, reaching to rub at the back of his neck only to stop himself when he remembered the bleach. “I’m really sorry. I was trying really hard not to make it weird.”
“Oh, you’re definitely hard.” Minho sounded downright delighted by Chan’s torment, sweeping into the kitchen and getting out the coffee to brew a fresh pot. “But you can always take care of it when we shower.” He scooped the grounds into the filter, snapping the receptacle in place and clicking on the machine. “How does yachaejeon sound for breakfast?”
Chan was going to get whiplash at this rate, every sentence out of Minho’s mouth bringing on a new rollercoaster of emotions. “Yeah, that’s fine.” He still felt impossibly guilty, but curiosity was an equal contender for his thoughts. “And, uh, I’m sure it'll go down on its own.”
Minho watched the coffee drip down into the pot like he could will it to brew faster, empty mug in hand. “Whatever you say, Christopher.” He purred the name, the sound dripping with sultry honey.
A shiver went down Chan’s spine, sending him spiraling once again. They had been down this road before, or at least a similar one, and that had ended in disaster. And yet, he couldn’t help but wonder if Minho was doing more than just fucking with him this time. “About that talk… is there anything I should prepare myself for?” He wasn’t sure what Minho wanted to discuss, but it probably wasn’t their escalation in playful flirting.
“Prepare how?” Minho grabbed the coffee pot the second it stopped sputtering, pouring himself a cup and another for Chan. He turned, holding out Chan’s mug with a brow raised. “It’s not…” His lips pressed into a hard line and he paused to take a sip of coffee before he continued. “It’s a serious conversation, but it doesn’t have anything to do with you directly. I just want to ask about your work.”
Chan accepted the coffee with a nod of thanks, holding the mug with both hands to leech the warmth. “I mean, that sounds like it has everything to do with me, actually.” He laughed, the nerves in his stomach twisting again. “Are you sure you can’t tell me what it’s about now?”
“No.” Minho downed the rest of his coffee, setting the mug on the counter for later. “I’d like to at least attempt to have a good morning before we get into it.”
“Okay.” Chan was still firmly in the dark, but at least the change in topic had given his body a chance to not be as much of a menace. He took a sip of coffee, the bitter taste feeling like Minho by proxy. Bad dog. He couldn’t be feeding his delusions right now. “Want to grab a smoke?”
Minho gave Chan a look over the edge of his coffee mug. “You just brushed your teeth.”
“Yeah, and we’ve both had coffee since.” Chan flashed an impish grin. His motivation was partly to fill the would-be silence of wondering what important thing Minho wanted to touch on later but refused to even allude to now and partly to let the cold air assist with his other problem. “You’re free to stay inside. I’ll never force you to do anything.”
“Of course not.” Minho rolled his eyes, snagging Chan’s pack of cigarettes from the coffee table on his way to the balcony. “Stop wasting time. We need to rinse your bleach soon.”
“Yes, sir.” Chan felt a flicker of pride at the falter in Minho’s expression that spoke of interest as he followed Minho out onto the balcony. “We have to do toner again after, right?” At Minho’s nod, he continued. “Ah, yeah, figured. Then, wait, shouldn’t the shower be after toner or is it easier to do that after?”
Minho tucked a cigarette between his lips, sparking the lighter and taking a few drags to bring it properly to life. “Either way, really. Your hair needs to get washed twice regardless, but personally…” He took a long pull, letting the smoke sit in his lungs as he handed the cigarette over to Chan. “I’d suggest after toner so I can condition your hair properly.”
Apparently the joint shower wasn’t a joke because at no point had Minho veered from that narrative. Chan could work with that, even if his stubborn cock was trying to fight against the cold. “Ah…” He took a long inhale, letting the smoke out in lazy rings over the railing. “I notice you kept your own roots up, not that I blame you. I wouldn’t trust me with it again.” He huffed a self-deprecating laugh, offering the cigarette back to Minho.
Rather than accept the smoke as intended, Minho left his coffee mug on the rail and took a step closer, guiding Chan’s hand by the wrist back to his own mouth. As Chan dutifully inhaled, Minho’s expression went aloofly contemplative. “You know… there’s something I’ve always wanted to try, but never got the chance to do.” At Chan’s lofted brows, Minho’s smile turned sultry in a way that nearly coaxed a shiver down Chan’s spine. “Take another hit and hold it for me?”
Chan laughed, more a gust of smokey breath than sound, completely at a loss. “Interesting choice of words, but sure.” He made a show of taking a deep drag and holding it steady, expression expectant.
Minho gently coaxed Chan’s arm holding the cigarette away from his face, taking another step forward so their bodies were nearly pressed together. He leaned in impossibly closer, holding eye contact and speaking in a husky whisper. “Exhale.”
Chan blinked once and did as instructed, but the second his lips parted, Minho tilted his head and leaned further into Chan’s space, stealing the breath from his lungs in a very literal sense.
Chan’s mind completely shut down.
“Usually,” Minho spoke in a much lighter cloud of secondhand smoke. “You kiss to do it properly, but I didn’t want to scare you completely off.”
It took several palpable seconds before Chan’s brain came back online and he forced a laugh out of his lungs that felt flat even to his own ears. “Oh.” He was not remotely functional yet, which was probably why his mouth was moving before he had the sense to stop it. “We can try it again?”
Minho arched a silent brow of challenge.
Chan brought the cigarette back to his lips, taking another drag so deep it almost made him dizzy before making room for Minho to do as he pleased. He really hoped this would pay off and not sign his ruin.
Slowly, Minho slid his palm up Chan’s chest and throat to grip his jaw. Holding firm, he leaned in, keeping his lash-curtained gaze locked with Chan’s until, finally, their lips pressed together.
Chan nearly forgot the point of what they were doing, leaning into the contact on reflex before remembering to pass the smoke over. The kiss was just a light press of lips together and fleeting, but when Minho pulled back in a haze of filmy gray, Chan was on fire down to his very core.
“Better.” Minho smiled, retrieving his coffee mug and making for the door. “You can have one last puff, but we need to wash out that bleach.”
The second Minho disappeared into the living room, Chan had to catch himself on the railing to keep from completely collapsing under the weight of his want.
Desire is a fickle thing that’s rarely thought of with the nuance it deserves. Desire can be the slow kindling of a fire from a spark to embers that builds to a raging inferno until it snuffs itself out. Desire can be the sudden jolt of electricity buzzing through a person’s veins like fizzy static or a lightning strike. Desire can be fostered or tamped down to nothing so long as a will is strong enough. But the problem with desire, the thing that isn’t often considered or spoken of, is how a single taste of something can turn desire into need.
Chan had been satisfied with friendship, with the understanding that Minho was his friend above all else, but now? Now he’d tasted the lips that haunted his dreams, and suddenly, the world was different. His proverbial ‘crush’ could hardly be called such anymore, not after he knew what was just out of reach. Then again, maybe it wasn’t so far out of reach after all. It wasn’t Chan who had made the suggestion nor was it Chan who followed through, it was Minho.
Minho kissed Chan, Chan just kissed him back.
Perhaps the ‘crush’ wasn’t as one sided as Chan thought.
Rinsing out the bleach and applying the toner was uneventful to an almost disappointing degree. Minho didn’t touch Chan with any more or less questionable intent than usual and Chan didn’t make any moves to take things in a more heated direction either. Once again, Chan felt his erection start to die on the pass, and frankly, he was at the point of wanting it to stay down for his sanity’s sake if nothing else. Edging was fine, but this particular method was decidedly not Chan’s cup of tea.
Breakfast was a wholly domestic affair, with Chan shadowing Minho in the kitchen until he was forcibly relegated to a place on the countertop. Chan was grateful for it in the moment, only because Minho’s show of strength to quite literally sweep Chan off his feet and set him down ‘out of the way’ left Chan feeling dizzy. Maybe the real problem was that Chan needed to blow off some steam and he was simply projecting on the person that was most accessible, (albeit also insanely hot), rather than some true escalation of that ongoing crush. It didn’t really matter, however, because regardless of the reason Chan was feeling some type of way that morning, he needed to get himself under control.
After they finished eating and Chan was allowed to wash the dishes and wipe down the kitchen under Minho’s watchful gaze, it was finally time for a shower.
A mix of nerves and excitement coiled together in the pit of Chan’s stomach as they made their way into the bathroom. There was both every reason for him to worry and every reason not to depending on how he looked at the situation at hand. He started to portion the pros and cons into two columns in his mind, but the second Minho stepped out of his borrowed joggers and was left wearing nothing but Chan’s own oversized hoodie, nothing else could possibly take up space in Chan’s mind.
“Let me help you with that.” Minho’s voice startled Chan out of his trance, prompting him to frown in confusion. “Your shirt.” Minho continued, tone flat as he gestured to the garment. “Unless you want to make a mess of it and yourself, you’ll need my help getting it off without touching the toner.”
“Oh.” Chan needed to get laid. There was no way he could keep this strange limbo up with Minho being so suffocatingly everything. “Yeah, right. Thanks.” He tipped forward, lifting his arms up to help ease the process. Once Minho had freed him of his fabric prison, fingertips ghosting over Chan’s ribs and sending a barely stifled shiver down his spine, Chan righted himself with a sheepish smile. “Minho…” His tongue felt a bit dry in his mouth, guilt outweighing his desire. “Are you sure you want to shower together?” At Minho’s pinched look of question, Chan was compelled to come clean in the metaphorical sense at least. “I’m, uh… Fuck, how do I put this? I’m a bit… keyed up, you know? And I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” He could feel the heat on his face, touching the tips of his ears and spreading down to flush his chest under Minho’s indecipherable gaze.
“Ever the good boy, Christopher.” Minho’s lips curved into a dangerous smile as he tilted his head ever so slightly to one side. “I’m well aware of how ‘hard’ of a morning you’ve had today, dollface.” His tone towed the line between sweetness and cruelty, like he was playing a terrible game of cat and mouse, and Chan was the mouse in every sense of the word. “We’re both adult men with needs, Chan. I’m not going to stop you if you need to get off. I’d much rather you be settled and sated for our discussion anyway.” He grabbed the back of his hood, tugging it in one smooth motion off his body and tossing it to the growing pile of laundry leaving him unashamedly bare. “Frankly,” he turned toward the shower, leaning in to twist the tap and let the water heat as he spoke. “We could probably both use the release.”
Chan might be many things, a fool being one of them, but he wasn’t fool enough to pass on an invitation like that. No matter what consequences might come from it, the now throbbing reminder of his sum null sex life would not let him do anything but acquiesce. “Okay.” The word was a puff of air lost in the steam accumulating in the room. He pushed the soft fabric of his shorts down, letting them fall easily to the floor and leaving the proof of his desire on full display.
“Are you coming?” Minho called from inside the shower, always one step ahead.
“Not yet.” Chan was pleased to see the amused smile on Minho face when he stepped into the shower and drew the curtain closed. “But I guess we’ll see how that goes?”
Minho hummed, taking Chan firmly by the shoulders and pushing him under the water. “Let’s get this hair sorted.”
At this point, Chan was used to the feeling of Minho washing his hair. He relaxed into it, going entirely pliant under the attention and moving as Minho’s firm fingers pushed and pulled. It was easy to let his mind slip away to other things, but the only thing that touched his thoughts on this particular morning was the heat radiating in the space between them, far more intoxicating than the lukewarm shower water.
“You’re being so obedient today.” Minho’s usual flat tone was touched with a teasing lilt at the end. “I wonder why.”
Chan didn’t bother with a reply. There was no question as to the reason and the shame that garnered only seemed to fuel his want further. He could practically taste the lust on his tongue, could feel the way every pump of his quickened heartbeat filled out his cock to aching. He was hooked on the idea, almost to a point of not even needing to actually come for it to satisfy. Almost.
Minho combed his fingers through Chan’s clean and conditioned hair, pushing it neatly away from his face almost like petting a dog. “All finished.”
“My turn.” Chan ghosted his hand up Minho’s arm to his wrist, circling it loosely and using it to guide them until their places were swapped. “Just relax.” He smiled, ignoring the weight of his neglected cock hanging between his legs.
Minho allowed Chan to lather the shampoo in his copper hair, gaze fixed firmly on Chan’s face. He was silent and docile, allowing Chan to adjust his body as needed. It wasn’t until Chan was massaging the conditioner into his hair that he finally spoke. “You must really enjoy edging.”
“I’m sorry?” Chan was completely caught off guard, staring at Minho wide eyed. “How do you--” The words morphed to a strangled gasp for breath when Minho’s thigh pressed firmly to the underside of Chan’s cock.
“We’ve been in here for at least ten minutes, and you haven’t so much as touched yourself.” Minho’s voice was flat, conversational at best, but the press of his thigh turned firmer, the flex of the muscle making Chan’s head spin. “I told you it was fine, encouraged even, and yet… You’re acting as if it isn’t even here.” He tilted his head back, letting the water rinse the conditioner clear without Chan’s assistance. When he righted himself again, his expression was dark with something that all too much resembled the want Chan felt. “I can’t decide if you’re just shy, or being tragically respectful. Neither seems very smart on your part, so I can only assume you must enjoy edging.”
If nothing else, Chan could follow the logic. “I…” He wasn’t sure what to say, the brain in his head was quickly losing the battle with his lower half. “I’ve never really done this before, so I don’t… want to assume anything.”
Minho gave Chan a pitying look. “You’ve never masterbated before?” It was clear from his tone and the quirk of a cruel smile on his lips that he was teasing, needling under Chan’s skin to try to get a rise out of him. He took a step forward, the water growing louder where it hit tile rather than skin. “Do I intimidate you, Chan?”
“Yes.” Chan nodded, fighting the urge to either close the distance between them or make more of it.
“Smart choice.” Minho didn’t give Chan any further time to react, reaching down to give the underside of Chan’s cock a two fingered stroke. It earned him a sharp hitch of breath that only pushed his smile wider. “Such a big cock for someone afraid to use it.”
“Fuck.” Chan braced one had on the shower wall, eyes falling closed as precum beaded on the tip of his cock. “Minho--” He swallowed, already so close to the edge that it should be embarrassing. “Please don’t tease me, I can’t take it.”
“Of course you can.” Minho said it matter of factly, taking Chan’s free hand by the wrist and guiding it down to glide the knuckles along his own equally hard erection. “Tell me what you want, Chan. Use your words.”
Chan must be dreaming. There was no way in hell that this was actually happening. He must have taken a fall and hit his head, and now he was stuck in a coma, because nothing else made sense. “I want…” You sat on the tip of his tongue, but it refused to leave in the form of sound. “I want to be good for you.” It was no less true and a far safer answer.
“Is that all?” The smile was clear in his voice as Minho covered the back of Chan’s hand with his own, moving both their hands away from his cock back toward Chan’s. “Well, if you want to be a good boy for me then you only need to do one thing.”
Chan whined, high pitched and thready, when Minho closed both their fingers around the base of his cock. “What?” It was so hard to speak, to focus on anything but keeping himself from thrusting into that ring of water-slick heat.
“I want you to come.”
The words were nearly enough to tip Chan over the edge, his entire body shivering with the need for release. “Minho.” It came out as a moan while he finally gave his aching cock a full stroke from base to tip. He was so worked up that it wouldn’t take much to reach climax, but part of him wanted to draw things out as long as he could. “Fuck.” He started a painfully slow rhythm of strokes, just enough to keep himself on the precipice without quite spilling over.
“That’s it.” Minho’s voice was low and soothing, wrapping around Chan’s body like an embrace. He kept his hand atop Chan’s for longer than necessary, only pulling it away when Chan finally set a steady pace. “Keep going.”
Chan groaned, straining to keep himself steady as he quickened his pace. Everything was so hot it neared suffocating, the least of which coming from the steam.
Minho took it upon himself to get closer, crowding Chan’s personal space. His fingers ghosted along Chan’s skin, touching anywhere they found, his stomach, his ribs, his chest, his arms, his shoulders. He was exploring, mapping out the planes of Chan’s body on touch alone and sending Chan further into a spiral of all encompassing pleasure. “You’re doing so well for me.” The words were a dark whisper against the shell of Chan’s ear as he guided Chan’s head to the crook of his neck and threaded his fingers in wet platinum. “Sound so pretty.”
Chan keened, twisting his hand on the upstroke in a way that made stars bloom behind his lids. “Wanna be good.” He was babbling nonsense, so completely consumed with chasing his release that all other thoughts were entirely gone. There was no shame, no guilt, not even curiosity, just white hot need. “Close.” The word was a desperate groan as he curled in on himself and pressed his forehead harder against Minho’s neck.
“I know.” Minho stroked gentle fingers over Chan’s wet hair, soothing. “Come for me.”
This time, Chan didn’t fight it. The moment those words reached his ears, his entire body pulled taught as a bowstring and he tumbled headlong over the cliff into orgasm with a strangled cry vaguely akin to Minho’s name. Distantly, he heard Minho’s voice guiding him through it, coaxing him through the aftershocks into overstimulation. Even then, he kept going, twitching and fighting against the waves of pleasure-pain until finally, Minho used the grip in his hair to lift his face up until their eyes met.
“Good boy.” Minho smiled, thumbing sweetly over Chan’s cheek. “Feel better?”
Chan nodded, still too fucked out and tingling to do much else. He couldn’t help the soft whine of disappointment that slipped out when Minho peeled away, leaving Chan stranded on his own two feet. His eyes flicked down to where Minho’s leaking cock still stood at attention, curving up toward his stomach. “Minho..?” He frowned, reaching out a hand to block where Minho was reaching for a washcloth. “What about you?”
Minho blinked. “Don’t worry about it.” He made to reach for the cloth once more, only to be blocked again. He frowned.
“Please.” Chan felt downright high between the heat of the shower and his blissful post orgasm haze. “You asked what I want.” He sunk down to the tile floor on his knees, looking up at Minho through wet lashes. “I want you to use me.”
There was a heavy pause of silence between them as Minho’s expression filtered through a litany of emotions before settling into something so intense it cut right into Chan’s very core. “You should know by now to be careful what you wish for.” He threaded his fingers into Chan’s hair, gripping firm right at the crown of his head. “I won’t be gentle.”
“I don’t want you to be.” Chan was drowning in nothing but Minho, every sense filled with Minho alone. He let his jaw go slack, mouth open and waiting.
“As you wish.” Minho wasted no time on pretense, giving himself a few pumps with his free hand before guiding his tip to Chan’s mouth. He rubbed the head over Chan’s tongue, smearing the precum over it to make sure Chan could really taste it, before pushing it steadily toward the back of his throat. “Look at you.” His voice was a little breathless, eyes narrowed to thin slits. “It’s like you were made for it.”
Chan let his mind fade away to nothingness, body pliant and lax for Minho to use as he pleased. It was a different kind of high than his own orgasm, of course, but no less fulfilling in its own right. Above all things, Chan was a giver. He gave willingly and freely often to the point of excess. This was probably one of those times where the scales were tipped out of his favor, where he was straddling the line of willing participant or simply being taken advantage of. The thing was, he didn’t care if Minho was using him in a far broader capacity than the moment itself, Chan would give Minho anything. Consequences would come, but the chance to have even the briefest taste of something more than shared banter and fleeting touches was worth the inevitable downfall.
“Fuck, Chan, your mouth.” Minho nearly growled the words, hips stuttering with an effort to keep from pushing past what Chan could actually take.
The thing was, Chan could take more, he just needed an opportunity to express it. Moving without any active thought behind it, he reached out to place his hands on Minho’s thighs, sliding over the wet muscle until he had a solid hold at the back of them. He used that grip to pull Minho forward, encouraging in the only way he could without letting Minho’s cock slip free.
Minho seemed a bit surprised by Chan’s actions, stilling his thrusts entirely to let Chan’s throat warm his cock as he spoke. “Greedy.” There was a velvet edge to the word, conveying nothing but approval. “Chan, I need you to pay attention and answer me properly.” He waited for Chan’s nod of understanding before easing his cock from Chan’s mouth. “I want to fuck your throat. Are you okay with that?”
It took a few blinks for Chan to remember he needed to respond with words, his jaw already holding a subtle ache from the strain of use. “Yes. You have my complete consent to fuck my throat. I can take it.”
“Such a good boy.” Minho stroked Chan’s hair, soothing away the sting from the prolonged tug on it. “Do you know how to tell me it’s too much?”
Chan nodded before remembering to ‘use his words’. “Yes.” He let go of his hold on one of Minho’s thighs, using two fingers to rapidly tap a signal of distress. “Like that.”
“Good boy.” Minho smiled, giving his visibly leaking cock a few pumps with a hiss of breath through his bunny teeth. “If I push you too far, even a little bit, tell me.”
“I understand.” The moment the words were out of Chan’s mouth, Minho’s cock took their place, sliding past the point it had prior until it was fully sheathed down Chan’s throat. He was grateful, then, for the hold on Minho’s thighs because when Minho began to move, it was anything but gentle.
It was perfect.
Chan let go. It wasn’t in the literal sense, his anchor to Minho was the only thing keeping him steady, but in the sense of everything else. He reveled in the ache in his jaw, the salty-slick glide of Minho’s cock over his tongue and down until it made his throat stretch to accommodate it. His ears were flooded with the pretty grunts and stifled sounds of pleasure Minho made, his own wet mewls that slipped past the suction of his lips, and the smack of skin against skin. Everything was so wet, inside and out, and hot enough to nearly burn.
Unfortunately, it didn’t last long. All too soon for Chan’s liking, Minho’s thrusts turned erratic before he buried himself to the hilt, Chan’s nose pressed flush to the patch hair at his base, and spilled directly down Chan’s throat. Chan diligently swallowed, not allowing even a single drop to go to waste.
Minho eased himself out and knelt down on the tile floor, cradling Chan’s face gently in both hands. “You did so well.” He stroked the pads of his thumbs over Chan’s cheeks and down to his jaw, massaging it softly. “Thank you.”
Chan melted into the contact, eating up every crumb of affection Minho was willing to give. “Wanted to be good for you.”
Minho hummed, easing all the way down until he was seated on the floor and coaxing Chan into a loose embrace. They stayed there for an indeterminate amount of time with only the sound of the shower and their own breath between them.
Slowly but steadily, Chan felt like himself again, his brain finally coming back online with clarity. “I’m good.” He offered Minho a smile, feeling a distant tug in his chest that something had shifted between them in a way he couldn’t quite place. “We should probably finish getting clean.”
“Probably.” Minho flashed a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes, helping Chan to his feet as he stood.
The rest of the shower passed under a looming silence and Chan felt a sense of dread on the horizon. It didn’t make any sense, really. Minho wasn’t treating him differently, still washed Chan’s body and let Chan do the same in return, but that feeling persisted all the same.
Once they were dry and dressed, they went out to the balcony for a smoke at Minho’s suggestion.
“So…” Chan watched as Minho lit a cigarette, passing it over after an igniting puff. “What did you want to discuss?” He lifted the cigarette to his own lips, eyes glued to Minho as he took a long inhale of nicotine.
“Ah.” Minho gave a single scoff of a laugh, leaning his back against the railing and sliding his gaze over to Chan. “Right to the point, I see.”
Chan shrugged, trying and failing to suppress that unshakable worry in his gut. “I mean, it’s important, right?”
Minho hummed, exhaling a cloud of smoke that curtained the way his eyes searched Chan’s face. “I want to hire your services as Bad Wolf.”
Chan waited for Minho to elaborate, but after a few beats of empty silence he spoke. “Okay.” He offered what he hoped was a reassuring smile, one that spoke of his competence in the field. “What do you need me to find for you?”
“Information.” Minho took a drag of his cigarette, being even more cryptic and aloof than usual.
“Well, that’s kind of a given.” Chan laughed, trying once again to ease the weird tension. “Can you elaborate on that? The more I have going in, the better I can find what you’re looking for.” He took another inhale of smoke, feeling the tingle of it against the rawness of his used throat.
“Not here.” Minho took one painfully deep inhale, killing his cigarette and tossing the butt over the rail behind him. “I assume you’ve taken security measures inside, yes?”
Chan didn’t bother with more than a performative puff of his own smoke before scuffing it out and tossing it in the tiny outdoor bin designed specifically for that use which Minho never seemed to notice. “Yeah, it’s secure. The only reason your phone even works here is because I whitelisted it the night you had me set it up.” He pushed off the railing, beating Minho to the sliding glass door and holding it open. “Nothing in, nothing out, unless I say so.”
Minho nodded, moving past Chan without so much as a fleeting touch to perch on the edge of Chan’s desk. “Very well.” He waited for Chan to close the door and take his own place on the desk chair before he continued. “There are rumors circulating the fringes of the underground, rumors that, if true--” He cut himself short with a shake of his head. “I want you to find everything on file for someone called ‘Mourning Dove’.” There was something off in his tone beyond nerves, something that leaned a little too close to fear. “Start with the most recent information and work backwards.”
Chan scoured his memory for the name as he booted up his rig and logged in. It was vaguely familiar, something he might have seen in passing while searching for something else, but not enough to give him a proper starting point. “All you have is the name?” He shot Minho a passing glance as he pulled up his proxy software and scrolled through his mental rolodex of entry points.
Minho folded his arms over his chest, closing himself off further in a reflection of the night they met. “I thought you were a professional.” There was an attempted playful chide in his tone, but it didn’t come across playful at all.
“Like I said, details make it quicker, but I can work with that.” Chan took a single deep breath, exhaling out the weight of Minho’s presence so he could focus.
The first few attempts to find information came to dead ends in a way that only spoke of all too much to find. That was the nature of hiding things, the deeper they were buried, the more locks on the door, the greater the prize behind them.
“You need to be careful, leave not a single fucking trace you’ve touched anything.” Minho bounced his leg before stilling it with the grip of his own hand atop it. “This isn’t… The kind of people holding the information I want are not the type to forgive and forget. If they get even a sniff of you, you’re dead. This isn’t a game.”
Chan hummed, his attention completely eclipsed by the rabbit hole he’d found. There was a blank space, over and over again, like something was scrubbed clean. But no matter how much something was scrubbed from the webs of the digital world, there was always an echo. The same was true for him, but he knew better than to let Minho know it. He understood the gravity of what they were doing, what he was doing, and accepted the risk.
Then he found it, at the very bottom of the hole he’d dug into a network that was far less secure than it likely thought itself, a single missive: ‘Dove is dead’. He pushed further, following the stronger echoes through cyberspace until he found more. There was a police report, photographs of a broken stained glass window spattered with blood, more correspondence, but something about it seemed off. It was too clean, too thin on details that should be easily found in coroner records or other official documents. The harder he pulled at the thread, the more it unraveled. So, he kept digging.
“Well?” Minho’s voice was beyond flat, radiating sharp teeth that Chan knew came from nerves. “Have you found anything yet?”
“Park Jimin succumbed to injuries sustained from a gunshot wound and a thirteen story fall from his apartment building.” Chan didn’t feel a need to establish that Jimin was Mourning Dove, he suspected Minho already knew. “However, I don’t think he actually died. There’s not enough information in the police database, no open investigation, just a single report of his death and a half-assed autopsy report. I’m looking for more.”
“Don’t bother.” Minho shook his head, cursing under his breath. “Change of plans. Tell me everything you can about Vante and Black Swan.” He slipped off the desk to his feet, moving to stand behind Chan’s chair with one firm hand on his shoulder. “Vante owns one of the premier art galleries in Seoul. Black Swan owns a collection of night clubs along the same street. You wont find anything on the Circle, they don’t have a digital footprint.”
“Everything has a digital footprint if you look hard enough.” Chan felt the weight of Minho’s gaze even more than the hand on his shoulder. “But alright, let me see what--” No sooner did he shift his hunting to the next target, he was rewarded with far more information than he could possibly unpack. “Shit. There’s--” He copied file after file to his secured external drive, following each lead until it fizzled out. It was almost an overwhelming amount of information, but that was an all too familiar tactic to keep secrets. No matter, he had more than ample means to chew through data at record speed. “This is going to take some time unless you already know what you’re looking for.” He tilted his head back, trying to catch Minho’s eyes above his head.
“I want everything.” Minho was staring at the screen rather than Chan, his grip on Chan’s shoulder knuckle white and painful. “Is there a way to make it accessible beyond whatever you’ve done to find it?”
“Yes. I’m already making hard copies on an external drive. I can either go over the data myself and give it to you sorted or you can take the raw files and go through them yourself.” Chan turned his attention back to the screen, giving a final scrape to find any remaining dregs he’d missed. “Is there anything else you want me to look for?”
“No.” Minho pried his fingers from Chan’s shoulder, curling them into a fist atop it instead. “We should have discussed payment beforehand. I’m afraid if I give you cash, the ping on your account from the deposit, the timing, will give them a way to find you.” His fingers twitched before they flattened back out, sliding under the collar of Chan’s shirt over his chest, skin to skin. “But barring you keeping a duffle bag of won under your bed and using it sparingly, perhaps, there is another way I could offer payment…” His voice was rich velvet against Chan’s ear, the implication of it all too clear.
There was the shoe Chan was waiting to have drop. His stomach fell with grim understanding, picking apart the way Minho had been acting, the little surreptitious hints scattered across his actions. It hurt, not because Chan thought Minho incapable of manipulating things in his favor, but because Minho felt the need to do so with him. “Don’t worry about it.” He loosely circled Minho’s wrist with his fingers, lifting it out from under his shirt and off his body so he could turn his chair around. “We’re friends.” His smile was forced, but he hoped it read as sincere. “You don’t owe me anything, Minho.”
Minho’s eyes darted back and forth between Chan’s own, jaw tense. “No, this is business.” The word ‘business’ came like a blow to Chan’s chest. “You provided a service and I have to pay you for it.”
Chan wished it was that simple, wished more that he could justify accepting Minho’s offer; but it wasn’t and he couldn’t. Minho had drawn a line in the sand, had reminded Chan of the distance between them, had shattered the rose tinted illusion of the morning. And yet… “There’s a dinner coming up, a benefit front for little more than networking with potential investors.” He turned his chair back around, unable to look Minho in the face and needing to close out his point of access before someone went looking too hard and found it. “I was invited, but I find them to be exhausting to attend alone. I could really use the capital, though, to hire some staff on and grow the business.” Once he was out, he ejected the external drive and powered down his PC. “Come with me as my plus one.” He unplugged the drive and turned toward Minho again, holding it out to him. “All you have to do is dress up and play emotional support arm candy with free drinks and food.”
Minho blinked several time in slow succession, settling on a frown. “You want me to pay you by going on a date?”
“No.” Chan was a little too emphatic, showing the bruises on his ribs. “Not a date, just as someone I actually tolerate in an otherwise miserably boring evening.”
“When?” Minho placed a hand on the external drive, but didn’t move to take it.
“Two Saturdays from now.” Chan pushed the drive against Minho’s palm. “You don’t have to answer now, you can think about--”
“--Okay.” Minho clutched the drive to his chest, expression completely unreadable. “I’ll go with you.”
-⧖-
Minho didn’t stay over after getting the drive, nor did Chan see him at all for the next week. It was probably for the best, all things considered, because Chan was struggling enough with his own feelings.
While it wasn’t a surprise that Minho’s affection was merely a tool to mollify, to make it easier to get Chan on his side, it didn’t make it hurt less. Chan liked to think of himself as a giving person, and even Minho had accused him of being kind to a fault, but apparently that wasn’t enough assurance that Chan would do as Minho asked. That was the real sticking point of it all for Chan, the proof above all else that Minho still didn’t trust him.
He tried to accept it, tried to repaint everything that had happened since they met under a different light, from Minho’s perspective. And yet, it still didn’t quite fit together. There were too many tiny moments where Minho’s mask fell and Chan saw the man behind it, raw and unfiltered. Chan understood implicitly that Minho had been through more than he could ever fathom, and considering how young they both were, it made sense that the weight of that trauma would run too deep for a few evenings of shared company to fix.
If Chan boiled everything about Minho down to the very essence of it, put his own feelings aside entirely, the clearest fact was that Minho, above everything else, needed safety. Minho needed a place, a person, that wasn’t there for selfish reasons, that wasn’t in his life because there was something to gain from it. Chan had thought he was doing exactly that already, giving Minho a sense of stability however flimsy it might be, but maybe he wasn’t being honest with himself. Maybe Chan had let his own feelings muddy the waters too much too soon. He couldn’t help his attraction to Minho, anyone who spent even a single conversation with him would be smitten in Chan’s opinion. Minho was an enigma wrapped in an impossibly pretty shell, but he was also simply human. Beyond whatever trauma, motives, feelings or lack thereof, Minho was a twenty-three year old man, barely a man at all honestly, and he needed a friend.
Chan would be that friend.
He would swallow down his feelings, lock them up tight so that they wouldn’t leech out and stain what was left of the tattered connection between them.
Sometimes, more often than people tend to let themselves see, the way to truly care for someone was not to burden them with feelings, with strings.
-⧖-
In the days approaching the dinner, there was an incident in Gangnam on the news that made Chan close his shop early to go home and do some digging.
Vante Gallery, the same Vante Gallery that belonged to Kim Taehyung who Chan had dug into on Minho’s behalf, burned. While the news played it off as an issue with faulty wiring, it only took a cursory look through the channels of the underground to find out the real details. It was arson and all roads lead back to Mourning Dove. Clearly, Dove wasn’t dead, but what did that mean for Minho?
Chan sent Minho a message, keeping it vague just in case his encryptions weren’t enough to prevent a hack. There was no response, only a read receipt, but that was enough.
An uneasy feeling settled in Chan’s stomach, too heavy and deep to shake off. So, he did what he did best: he dug deeper.
It became borderline obsession, the way Chan spent hours at his computer burrowing through the tunnels of the underbelly looking for everything he could. He learned of the various ‘ruling class’ organizations, their borders and territories, their trades above board and under the table alike. He immersed himself in the shadows, heedless of the way they lapped at his heels and threatened to keep him there away from the sun for good.
The need for more and more answers to questions he hadn’t even asked kept Chan so distracted that he completely lost track of time, the dinner creeping up on him before he knew it. It wasn’t until Minho sent a message to confirm the time for them to meet that Chan realized he had less than twenty-four hours to find a suit and prepare himself for more social interaction than he’d had in ages.
Truth be told, that was a blessing in disguise because it meant Chan wasn’t left inside his own overthinking head. That didn’t mean he didn’t need help, he definitely did, but he also knew exactly who to ask for it.
Hyunjin was surprised but more than happy to take Chan on an impromptu shopping trip. He swept through shop after shop, gliding his fingers over garment after garment until he found something to his taste.
Chan was a bit overwhelmed throughout the process, trying on suit after suit, each more ridiculous than the last. By the last suit, he was about ready to call it a complete loss and cancel the dinner altogether, until he saw himself in the mirror.
The suit itself was simple, white dress shirt, black slacks, vest and tie, with a crisp white jacket. It was chic but understated and it complimented the platinum of Chan’s hair well. Hyunjin said as much, giving a low whistle of approval the moment Chan stepped out of the dressing room.
Chan paid, feeling a boost of confidence when he and Hyunjin made their goodbyes. Just because he wasn’t going to let his feelings for Minho get in the way of their friendship didn’t mean he wouldn’t dress for the occasion.
-⧖-
The evening of the dinner, Chan took extra time getting ready. He showered and styled his hair in a wavy side parted swoop that curled down over his forehead on one side to highlight the slit in his brow. He put on his nicest cologne and even broke out his rarely used stash of makeup just to give his skin a healthy glow and smoke out the edges of his lash line in a way that even he had to admit made him look good. Finally, he put on his suit, smoothing it down as he took in his complete reflection.
He was hot, and hopefully, that would make potential connections more receptive.
Minho arrived right on time with a knock to the front door, but Chan was not prepared for what lay behind that wooden barrier.
Apparently, Minho had taken the prompt to ‘dress up’ seriously. He wasn’t wearing a traditional suit in the purest sense, but something a bit more daring. His slacks were a deep charcoal gray, almost black but not quite, pinstriped in a silver to match the rings in his ears. His jacket was the same fabric as his slacks, cut low enough to expose his collar bones and a good portion of his chest far wider than most. Underneath, his shirt was a gauzy midnight blue, cinched at the throat into a delicate ruffle trimmed in silver velvet ribbon. His hair was swept back from his face on one side, slicked down, while the only half curved in a pretty ‘C’ against his brow. His face was a downright lethal masterpiece, eyes lined in long tailed cat eye wings that made the feline lean of his face more pronounced, and his lids were dusted in a shimmering silver to match the pinstripe of his suit. All of it was finished off with a perfect crimson tint to the center of his lips that shone under the hall light with gloss.
He looked like a fantasy.
“Wow.” Chan swallowed dry, trying to regain a sense of composure in the face of a beauty beyond his limited vocabulary in either language. “You look…. incredible.”
Minho smiled, tilting his head just so. “You clean up well yourself.” He extended an arm, clearly in invitation for Chan to take it. “Shall we? I’d hate to be the reason you’re late to your little party.”
Chan huffed a breathless laugh, stepping into the hall and listening to the lock click shut behind them. “It’s not really my party, but I appreciate the sentiment.” He carefully threaded his arm with Minho’s, pulling out his phone with his other hand to book a taxi. “Thank you, truly. I never would have had the stomach to actually go if not for you.”
Minho hummed, easily matching his pace to Chan’s as they descended the apartment building stair. “I always repay my debts.”
“Right.” Chan swallowed down the bitter taste in his mouth, making room for that tiny indulgent part of himself that reveled in Minho’s company. “I just hope it’s not going to be too boring.”
“Nothing we do together is ever boring, is it?” Minho arched a brow, something Chan couldn’t place in his tone. “Though personally, I wouldn’t mind a taste of boring now and then.”
“Speaking of things that aren’t boring, I did a bit of… research, you could say? On my own, and it might be worth you seeing what I’ve found.” Chan held up a hand the moment Minho’s lips parted to speak, cutting him off. “Included in our current deal, no extra fee.” It felt shitty to say it, but needs must.
Minho hummed, his grip on Chan’s arm tightening for a fraction of a second before relaxing again. “Perhaps there will be time tonight to discuss, if you don’t overindulge in liquor.”
Chan laughed, this time in earnest. “I never do.”
The ride to the venue was quiet, neither of them inclined to risk any form of discussion in an unsecure place. It gave Chan the chance to steal glances at Minho, putting every tiny detail of his profile to memory in this new iteration. As always, Chan was only human.
After confirming with the doorman that Chan’s name was on the list and an elevator ride to the top floor, they arrived at the venue space. The building itself was a bank office, the top floor converted into a lavish hall currently outfitted as a banquet space with a sprawling outdoor patio and bar. It was grand in every sense of the word, a flaunting of wealth and influence to a level that made Chan’s head spin. But with Minho’s hand tucked into the crook of his elbow, Chan could manage.
They made their way over to to a tower of champagne flutes, taking one each mostly for show as they drifted through the clusters of smartly dressed people scattered about. The dinner itself was slated toward the end of the event, providing ample time to intermingle in the interim.
Chan saw a few distantly familiar faces among the crowd, a few idols and actors, prominent business people and politicians, and a smattering of chaebol families that leaned more into medicine or law for their wealth. It was more than a little overwhelming, and while Chan didn’t see himself as shy by any means, he was still intimidated to cold approach.
“Relax.” Minho breathed the word against the shell of Chan’s ear, earning a shiver. “These people can sense your fear and they wont hesitate to shut you out if they smell blood in the water.”
It wasn’t exactly the most inspiring speech, but the command was something Chan felt himself follow all the same. “I should have asked before.” He was partly stalling for time, taking a tiny sip of his drink mostly just to make an excuse for standing still. “How should I introduce you?”
“Am I not your date for the evening?” There was a hint of mischief in Minho’s tone as he smoothed down the lapel of Chan’s jacket over his chest. “But to answer your question, Kim Minjun.”
Chan huffed a laugh. “Like the actor?”
Minho hummed, a smile lifting the corners of his pretty lips. “Exactly.”
Steeling his confidence, Chan took another small sip of his drink before setting off for the nearest small group of people, a collection of attractive women, with Minho in toe. “Good evening.” He smiled, reminding himself that he was, in fact, invited and not intruding simply by being there. “Mind if we join you?”
“Not at all.” A woman with sleek black hair down to her waist smiled. “Jung Wheein.” She gave a nod rather than offer a hand to shake, motioning to a woman with honey blonde hair dressed in a suit standing beside her. “This is my partner, Moon Byulyi.”
Byulyi gave a nod and took another drink of her cocktail.
“Anh Hyejin.” Hyejin extended her hand, shaking Chan and Minho’s each in turn. “And this beautiful woman is my wife, Kim Yongsun.”
Yongsun laughed, light and pretty. “And you two fine gentlemen are?”
“Bahng Chan.” Chan gave a half bow, motioning to Minho with a sweep of his arm. “And this is my date Kim Minjun.”
“A pleasure.” Minho offered a polite tip of his head and a smile. “And what brings such distinguished women as yourselves to this event tonight?”
Hyejin gave a single laugh of surprise, brow raised in interest. “An invitation from a mutual friend of ours, though I can’t say we’re particularly invested in the industry as much as a night of free liquor and catering.”
“More like an acquaintance that keeps hoping we’ll open our pockets and back their new stupid dating app.” Byulyi rolled her eyes. “It’s always about money.”
Wheein shook her head, a soft smile playing on her lips. “You’ll have to forgive Byul, she calls it how is it.”
“Am I wrong?” Byulyi looked to Wheein, clearly daring her partner to say otherwise.
Chan liked them already.
“The better question is what the two of you are hoping to sell us.” Yongsun said it sweetly, but there was clearly far more shrewdness under the pretty facade. “Obviously, a dating app is off the table.”
Chan laughed, not having to fake his amusement. “Luckily, I’m not here to pitch an app, or anything for that matter. I run a small tech repair shop, and while I did hope to stumble upon some potential business connections, I’m mostly here to broaden my horizons and meet new people.”
“How charming.” Hyejin tilted her head, her tone threading the line of what a parent might use with a child but not quite far enough to come off condescending. “You really took those ‘intro to business’ courses in uni to heart, didn’t you?”
A flush touched Chan’s cheeks because it really did come off that way when he thought about it, and he fought the urge to rub at the back of his neck from nerves. “Ah, seems I have a ways to go in the casual conversation department.”
“You’re doing fine.” Wheein offered a reassuring smile, leaning against Byulyi’s side where Byulyi’s arm was around her waist. “We’re not the norm when it comes to stodgy businessmen, probably because we’re women.” That earned a collective round of polite laughter between them all. “Seriously, we’re just glad to find more than leering old men and their kept wives to talk to.”
“Money tends to breed a heteronormative narrative, but you’d be surprised how many queer skeletons are hiding in closets, pun intended. Though,” Minho’s mouth quirked up in a conspiratorial grin. “I suppose you might know that all too well, actually.”
“Pretty and clever?” Byulyi smiled, finally giving Minho and Chan her full attention. “A lethal combination. Maybe your boyfriend should do the talking for you, Bahng-ssi.”
Chan opened his mouth to correct Byulyi’s perception of them, but Minho beat him to the punch. “While I appreciate the compliment, I think Chan is far better suited to polite company than I am. I have a bad habit of letting my silver tongue tarnish in company I don’t care to keep.”
Byulyi and Minho shared a look of understanding as Byulyi lifted her glass in toast.
The conversation flowed easily from there and Chan had to admit that he was glad to have found such a fun group of people on the first try. It wasn’t going to offer any financial benefit to him, and that was fine, he wasn’t really banking on that happening anyway. The real reason he wanted to go at all was merely to give Minho an out to his presumed debt.
In the middle of Hyejin and Yongsun’s story of how they met, Minho tensed, his hold on Chan’s elbow tightening suddenly. Chan did his best not to make it obvious when he slid his gaze to Minho, noting the faintest flare of his nostrils and firm set of his jaw. It was just enough to put Chan on edge, but not to make him interrupt the conversation quite yet. But Minho didn’t relax, keeping his eyes glued to something across the room. That was enough to make Chan throw pleasantries and manners aside.
“I hate to interrupt, but I’m afraid the champagne has gone to my head and I could use some fresh air.” Chan gave an apologetic smile, ignoring the flick of Byulyi’s gaze down to his nearly full glass of said champagne. “If you would excuse us.”
“Of course.” Yongsun nodded in understanding, pulling out a sleek gold business card from her clutch. “Feel free to keep in touch, we’d love to have some familiar faces at these pretentious events again, and do feel better.”
Chan accepted the card with a genuine assurance to take them up on the offer before making his goodbyes and leading a still all too tense Minho out onto the patio. Once they were free of the press of bodies and out in the chill night air, he felt Minho relax just a fraction as he settled them off to the far edge of the patio railing away from everyone else. “Are you alright?” He kept his voice pitched low, the music playing not enough assurance to cover their words alone.
“I--” Minho slipped a hand into Chan’s inner jacket pocket, pulling out the pack of cigarettes and lighter. He fumbled with them both, hands trembling in a way that did nothing but make Chan’s own nerves flare.
“Here.” Chan took the pack from Minho, pulling out two cigarettes and offering one to Minho. Minho accepted with a strained half smile, but made no other movement. “Did you see something?” He continued at a whisper, using the act of lighting both their cigarettes as visual cover.
“I don’t know.” Minho’s voice was clipped and equally pitched down to almost breath alone. “I think-- There might be someone here that knows me.” He didn’t have to clarify why that was a problem.
“Then we’ll leave.” Chan took a single puff of his cigarette before moving to snuff it out in one of the ash trays scattered across the wide rail only for Minho to stop him with a hand on his wrist.
“No.” Minho slid the hand on Chan up his arm to his shoulder, playing idly with the hair at his nape in a gesture that would read from the outside as nothing more than casual intimacy. “I lost sight of him when we went outside, and if I haven’t been made already, it will only draw further attention to us if we leave so suddenly.”
Chan wasn’t familiar enough with the inner workings of Seoul’s underbelly to do more than take Minho at his word. “Okay.” He fought against the panic trying to rise up in his chest, pushing it away in favor of keeping his head and following orders. “Then what do you want to do?”
Minho’s gaze slid past Chan toward the wall of windows looking into the hall, taking a long deep drag of his cigarette. “The one fucking night I left the house unarmed. Stupid.” The words were a gust of breath and smoke likely not meant to be shared aloud. “Can you dance?”
Chan was so shocked he didn’t know how to respond. “What?”
“Can you dance?” Minho took a final drag of his smoke before snuffing it out in the ashtray. “If not, just follow my lead.”
“I mean, kind of? I haven’t in a while, but I can figure it--” Chan barely had time to flick his still burning cigarette into the ashtray, let alone finish the thought, before Minho was leading him firmly by the arm back inside.
The one saving grace was the difference in music between the patio and inside the hall; the latter a lilting string piece Chan could likely name if he put some thought behind it and far easier to dance to than the pop music outside. He easily caught on when Minho adjusted the placement of their hands at the edge of the central dance floor, following Minho’s lead in something reminiscent of a tango.
They swept further into the collection of bodies on the dance floor, turning, turning, turning until Chan could hardly keep his barings of the room. Instead, he focussed on Minho, the way he lead the dance between them, but more than anything, Minho’s face.
Minho was the picture of elegance, the only tell he was under duress the firmness of his hold on Chan. He pushed and pulled Chan’s body along with such finesse that it was unlikely noticeable form an outsider’s perspective. It only lent more credence to his level of professionalism in ways that Chan couldn’t begin to fathom.
Chan kept his hand steady at the small of Minho’s back as he dipped him down, shielding Minho’s face with the proximity of his own. “You’re a very good dancer.” It was an honest compliment, and he hoped it would aid the cover Minho was trying to achieve.
“In another life, I would have been a professional.” Minho breathed the words with a sad bitter edge, holding Chan’s gaze a moment too long when they righted themselves. He spun outward, almost missing a beat in the music before using the clasp of their hands to curl back inward until their bodies pressed flush again. “Kiss me.” The words came out in a rush.
“What?” Chan wasn’t prepared to go down that road again, to remember the taste of Minho’s lips and reignite the flame of want he’d so carefully locked away. He was about to protest, when he caught the flicker of fear in Minho’s gaze that snuffed out anything but the need to do exactly as he was told.
Minho met Chan halfway, crashing their lips together in an act threaded with heat and desperation in a way that leaned pointedly away from sexual. He deepened the kiss and only half continued the dance between them to bring them to the edge of the dance floor. There, he stilled, breaking the kiss with the drag of the tip of his nose across Chan’s cheek to his ear. “We need to leave. Now.” There was a note of panic to his voice that only solidified Chan’s assumption of danger. “Make it look like we simply cannot wait to get somewhere more private.”
Chan understood the assignment and the way it would not only provide a plausible spectacle, but would offer a barrier to anyone trying to pick out their faces among the rest of the party goers. The real question was how much it would hurt after, but there were much higher stakes at hand than his delicate heart.
He kept one hand on Minho’s waist, using it as an anchor point to steer them slowly toward the door while the other tangled in Minho’s soft copper hair. It was all too easy to dive back in for another heated kiss, even while he divided his attention between the fervent display and keeping their trajectory. Minho responded in kind, hands roaming over Chan’s body in a way that was hedging for indecent. It was lucky that Chan was too full of fear for their safety, otherwise he might have believed Minho actually wanted him.
They made it to the elevator without incident, taking a moment to breathe in the threadbare privacy.
“I’ll book us a taxi.” Chan combed his fingers through his now completely disheveled hair, mostly to keep himself busy.
“No.” Minho shook his head, reaching a hand out to thumb across Chan’s bottom lip, smearing the transfer of red stain onto his cheek. “We might be followed, and I don’t want them to know where you live. We’ll walk until it’s safe.” Something in the way he said it made it seem like there might not be any safety to be found. He was quiet for a moment, watching the lights ding with each floor. “...I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Chan placed a hand on Minho’s arm. “It’s my fault for asking you to come.”
Minho shook his head, opening his mouth to speak but snapping it shut the second the doors opened on the ground floor. He slid his hand into Chan’s, lacing their fingers together and tugging him toward the door.
Just as they were exiting the building, the ding of another elevator arriving sounded behind them.
They merged into the throng of pedestrians on the sidewalk, threading their way through at a pace only slightly above normal walking speed. Chan told himself it would be fine, that he could trust Minho to know how to handle a potential tail, but that didn’t assuage his nerves completely. He knew there was all too real of a threat, that was clear from the night they met, but this time he would be ready.
Chan wasn’t trained in combat, but he was strong; and since he’d been spending more time digging into the underbelly, he had taken up boxing as a side hobby just in case. The thing was, bad people intending to kill them wouldn’t play by ring rules.
They passed building after building in a district of the city Chan was only vaguely familiar with until Minho veered sharply to the right and took them down a narrow alleyway. It was quieter there, only the echo of traffic and distant chatter playing backdrop to their footsteps until another set of footfalls joined them too few paces behind.
There were two options: turn and confront their tale or run and hope they could lose them in the crowd on the other side of the alley. Minho chose the former.
“Are you lost?” Minho moved to block Chan’s body with his own, facing a figure backed by streetlights and shrowded in front by shadows.
“I could ask you the same thing, little bird.” The figure, a man by the sound of the voice, lifted what looked to be a baseball bat by the shape up and slapped it down onto his palm. “I would have expected you to be clever enough to stay out of sight given your pedigree, but your loss is my gain.” He walked steadily forward, giving the bat a swing. “‘Daddy’ isn’t here to save you this time.”
Minho adjusted his footing, but otherwise maintained his signature aloof posture. “I never met my father, so I can’t possibly know what you’re referring to.”
The man didn’t slow in his approach, closing the distance between them all too quickly and lifting the baseball bat for a swing. “I’m going to enjoy ruining that pretty face.”
Something inside Chan snapped.
He moved on instinct, slipping around Minho’s body and catching the bat mid-swing. It must have been a warning more than an intent to make contact because Chan barely felt the impact against his palm, or maybe that was just the adrenaline. The shock of getting interrupted left the stranger vulnerable and Chan immediately capitalized on that window, landing a punch square against his jaw. He wrenched the bat out of the stanger’s hold, flipping it around to grip the handle and taking a swing. It made solid contact with the stranger, sending him stumbling backwards as Chan choked up the bat and readied another swing.
Over and over he slammed the wood against the stranger’s body, beating him to the ground, and still he didn’t stop. The impacts grew wetter, sending a mist of blood over the formerly pristine white of Chan’s jacket, but he hardly noticed. He was completely outside of himself, focussed only on removing the threat to them, to Minho. It wasn’t until he heard a sickening crack and the body below him went startlingly still that he sobered out of his haze, dropping the bat to the ground.
“I killed him.” The words were a whisper as the gravity of his actions came crashing down with crushing force. “Fuck, I don’t-- what do I--”
“Breathe.” Minho’s voice was soothing in its firmness, providing an order Chan’s addled brain could latch onto and follow. “He’s still breathing.”
Chan was shaking all over, the adrenaline in his body ebbing enough for the fear to come back. “How do--” A gentle hand on his shoulder silenced him and he turned immediately into the contact, searching Minho’s face for answers, directions, anything.
Minho tipped forward, pressing their foreheads together and giving Chan some grounding. “Don’t look.” He whispered the words into the space where their breath mingled before gently pushing Chan aside and kneeling down next to the barely breathing man.
Chan closed his eyes so tight that stars spotted under his eyelids, but it did little to block out the sharp SNAP of bone. He could feel the panic rising to critical mass again, flinching when a hand brushed against his before opening his eyes to find Minho.
“We need to leave.” Minho kept his voice low and steady, taking Chan’s hand in his and holding the splintered mess that was the bat in the other. “I took care of him, but if we linger, someone will come looking.”
All Chan could do was nod, numbness finally winning out over the fear. He completely dissociated as Minho eased the jacket off his shoulders and turned it inside out to hide the stains, wrapping the bat in it and tucking it under one arm.
Minho never let go of Chan’s hand, even as he booked them a taxi and they rode with the incriminating bundle back to Chan’s apartment. He kept that grounding contact all the way inside, until they were both huddled safely in Chan’s bathroom. There, he let go, setting the jacket wrapped bat out in the hall before returning to Chan’s side. “Talk to me, Chan. Tell me about where you grew up.”
Chan was so thrown for a loop, the request so out of left field, that he could only comply. “I grew up in Sydney.” He was completely pliant as Minho eased him down to sit on the lid of the toilet in a mirror of the way Chan had done to him the night they met. “Me, my parents, and my younger sister.”
Minho hummed, running a washcloth under the sink before kneeling down and gently wiping the blood from Chan’s hands. “How did you end up back here?” His voice was smooth and steady, a guiding light as he removed the remnants of violence from Chan’s fingers.
“Uni.” Chan swallowed, heartbeat finally slowing to an almost normal rate. “Minho… did you..?” He couldn’t finish the thought, a shudder shaking his entire body like a leaf in a storm.
“Yes, Chan, I killed him.” Minho pulled his hands away, sitting back on his heels and lifting his eyes to meet Chan’s gaze directly.
“You didn’t even hesitate.” The words were out of his mouth before Chan could even try to consider the way it might come across as an accusation rather than a statement of fact.
“No.” If he took offense to Chan’s comment, Minho made no show of it. “It wasn’t the first time and it won’t be the last.”
Chan wasn’t shaking anymore, wasn’t even sure what he was feeling at all other than an impossible helpless confusion. “Why?”
This time, Minho hesitated, heaving a sigh with a long slow exhale. He slid down to the floor, legs splayed wide as his shoulders sagged. “Because you don’t deserve to have blood on your hands.” It wasn’t the answer to Chan’s real question and they both knew it.
A single dark laugh bubble up and out of Chan’s chest as he shook his head. “A bit late for that.” The humor was lost in the silence after.
“I didn’t...” Minho folded the bloodied washcloth up into a neat square. “I hoped it would never come to this point, but I was stupid and selfish.” He didn’t meet Chan’s gaze anymore, looking anywhere else as he tucked the still damp square into his pocket and surely ruined his suit in the process. “I’m sorry, Chan. I never should have let things go so far between us.”
“Don’t.” Chan wrapped his arms around himself, though it offered little comfort. “Please don’t apologize. I was the one who--”
“--Stop apologizing.” Minho’s tone was sharp, full of teeth and venom. “You’re so fucking stupid.” He spat the words out like knives embedding themselves in Chan’s skin. “You’re sitting there with a literal fucking murderer in your house and you think you should apologize?”
Chan knew Minho was lashing out as a defense mechanism, or maybe even some warped intent to protect Chan, but it still hurt. “You’re not a murderer.”
“Yes I am.” Minho raised his voice, positively seething. “Like it or not, I kill people. That’s what I do. I was molded and shaped into an efficient killing machine, no hesitation, no guilt, just death by my hand. I am the monster to fear in the dark. The sooner you get that through your thick fucking skull, the sooner you learn that you should be afraid of me, the safer you will be.” He paused, face contorting with a litany of emotions in rapid succession. “Fuck.” All the fight and anger left him in the single word, his body slumping against the far wall. “Fuck, Chan. If anyone else was there, if they saw us together, then… Then it’s already too late.”
“I’m not afraid of you.” Chan slid down to the floor, carefully easing his way into Minho’s space. When Minho didn’t move, he reached out and gently lifted Minho’s face up to look at him. “And you’re not a monster.” He held Minho’s gaze as he said it, resolute and completely sincere.
Minho flicked his eyes back and forth between Chan’s own, searching, before he jerked his head out of Chan’s grip. “You don’t get it.” He pressed further against the wall, trying to put space between them when there as no more room for it. “This isn’t some scripted drama, this is my life. The reality I live in isn’t pretty, isn’t morning coffee and late night cigarettes on the balcony, it’s blood and filth and death. There are no second chances, one mistake and you don’t see tomorrow. And that’s only if they don’t want to punish you before they finally kill you.”
Chan shook his head, taking one of Minho’s hands into both of his own to squeeze. “No, I don’t understand, but I want to.” Minho opened his mouth, likely to protest, but Chan cut him off with another shake of his head. “Please, just listen.” He waited for Minho to relax, to give any sign that he was willing to hear Chan out, before he continued. “I know you’re trying to protect me, and while admirable, I can’t let you do that anymore. I’m not as stupid as you think I am. Foolish, sure, but I’m under no illusions of the gravity of your world, how impossibly high the stakes are. But the thing is, I don’t care. I don’t care if you killed people. I don’t care that being seen around you is dangerous. I don’t care if you live in the shadows. The only thing I do care about is you, Minho. You may not be able to live in a different reality, but you also don’t have to be alone. Not anymore. Not ever again.”
Minho went deathly still, holding Chan’s gaze but giving no insight to his thoughts. He let the heavy silence stretch between them for what felt like an eternity before speaking. “That isn’t your decision to make.”
“Yes, it is.” Chan knew Minho well enough by now that he could push back, could finally stand firm against him. “You didn’t get a choice in your life, but I won’t let you take away mine.” That was enough to snap Minho’s attention sharply to Chan’s face again, his eyes wide in a mix of shock and guilt, but Chan kept pushing. “I choose this, choose you, and I accept all the consequences that come with that decision.”
Minho shut his eyes tight, brows knit together in a way that looked tragically pained. “I don’t want this life for you.” His voice was so soft, so small and vulnerable, it almost didn’t sound like his voice at all. “Please don’t do this. You’re not…” He swallowed, throat bobbing with the strain of it. “You’re not a murderer.”
“And neither are you.” Chan sat back, giving Minho room to breathe, to process. “Monsters don’t care about the damage they cause, don’t carry the weight of burden, you do.”
A single tear rolled down Minho’s cheek, turning his eyes glassy and distant. “I don’t want to be like this anymore.” It was a raw admission, and judging by his startled expression, he didn’t realize he was saying it aloud.
“You don’t have to be.” Chan could see the frayed edges, the cracks and fissures in Minho’s soul aching for repair. “There’s always another option.”
“There isn’t.” Minho shook his head, rubbing too hard at his damp cheeks until Chan eased his hand away. “I told you, once you’re in you can’t leave.”
“I know.” Chan shifted closer, giving Minho every chance to deny him as he coaxed Minho into his arms. He took a slow steady breath, feeling Minho muffle a sob against his chest. “I’m not saying you can leave the shadows, but living in the darkness doesn’t have to mean killing. There are other ways to navigate the underground.”
Minho hiccuped through a derisive laugh, more a scoff than anything, clutching at the fabric of Chan’s vest. “Killing is the only thing I know how to do anymore.”
Chan hummed, pulling Minho further against his chest. “Then we’ll learn. Together.”
Minho didn’t respond and Chan was fine with that. They simply sat there, tangled together in silence, but not alone.
Eventually, Chan coaxed them up to their feet, washed away the makeup from their faces, stripped them of their clothes in favor of something soft and familiar, and guided them under the covers of the bed. Minho simply let it happen, allowed Chan to tuck him against his chest in warmth and threadbare safety for sleep.
Chan had no doubt in his too heavy heart that he would wake up to an empty bed.
-⧖-
Chan was right. He woke to an empty bed, but there was the smell of coffee in the air that offered a glimmer of hope.
Still groggy, he shuffled out of bed and down the hall to the kitchen. On the counter there were two coffee cups, one empty and the other half full and cold to the touch. Minho, however, was nowhere in sight. It made sense, if Chan was being honest with himself, especially after the conversation the night prior, but it still felt a little like betrayal.
He made no attempt to rush through his morning routine, taking a long shower and fixing himself something to eat before settling on the couch. There was nothing worth watching on any of his streaming services, but he put on some drama he didn’t bother remembering the name of just to have some background noise. The apartment was too quiet without Minho there and it bothered him more than usual knowing Minho wouldn’t return. Normally, Chan would take a smoke break to clear his head, but even that didn’t appeal with the echo’s of Minho so freshly tied to the act. So he just sat, curled up in the mire of his own thoughts, and willed his brain to focus on nothingness.
Chan couldn’t say how much time passed before he was startled out of his thoughts by the sound of his front door opening. He immediately panicked, grabbing the nearest object that could serve as a weapon, his coffee mug, just in time for the door to swing open.
“Oh, you’re up.” Minho slipped off his shoes, dressed in a set of Chan’s sweats looking well rested and showered. His eyes flicked over Chan and the mug. “I see you found the coffee.”
“You came back.” Chan was completely in shock, slowly lowering the coffee mug down onto the table.
Minho blinked, expression turning guarded and a bit confused. “Should I not have?”
“No.” Chan shook his head hard enough to rattle his own brain. “No, I’m glad, really glad, just-- …surprised.” The last word came out much softer, touched with the grim perception he couldn’t quite contain.
“Mmm.” Minho nodded, closing the distance to the living room with silent footfalls. “My personal feelings on the subject aside, you were right.” He sighed, easing down into an armchair adjacent to the couch. “I didn’t get a choice, but I would be cruel to rob you of your own.”
That came as a true surprise, a show of good faith and none too little trust, however delicate it may be, and Chan was grateful. “Thank you.” He sunk down onto the edge of the couch. “I understand your hesitation, but I appreciate you letting me choose for myself.”
Minho shrugged, still a little standoffish, but present. “Last night, before-- before things got out of hand, you mentioned you’d found information I might be interested in.” He tugged at the edge of one sleeve, pulling it down over his fingers. “Can you tell me about it?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I can.” Chan crossed to his desk to retrieve a notebook, returning to the couch and thumbing through the dog eared pages. “There was a lot, similar to how there was too much information the first time I dug into Vante and Black Swan for you, but different.” He found the page he was looking for, lifting his gaze to Minho’s face. “There’s a war taking place within the underground, and it seems that Mourning Dove is at the center of it.”
“I assumed as much, but I lacked the resources to confirm it myself.” Minho sighed, shaking his head and folding his arms over his chest not so much in a way that shut Chan out as much as came across as self-soothing. “We’re there any details? Motives? Incidents that might explain why it happened or some sort of end goal?”
“I’m not sure.” Chan scanned over his notes again. “The names that keep repeating are the same ones you had me look into before with one other I didn’t recognize, someone called ‘the Concierge’.”
Minho’s eyes narrowed and he leaned forward with sharp focus. “Yoongi is part of it?” Apparently whatever sense of secrecy he held prior was gone. “But that doesn’t-- How exactly is he involved in this?”
Chan sighed, frowning. “That’s where it gets confusing, at least for me. There’s only bits and pieces, nothing concrete, which isn’t a surprise. But, as far as I can tell, it seems to all stem from sort of conflict of interest. The fire at Vante Gallery seems to be part of it, too, if that wasn’t obvious already, and that’s here things go cold. All I know for sure is that Vante and Black Swan are at war and Mourning Dove was a casualty. Though, I already told you my suspicions there, that the reports were fake and he isn’t actually dead. Mourning Dove’s trail is impeccably clean, however, and the harder I dig trying to find more about him, even what he does, the more dead ends I find.”
“That’s Dove.” Minho scoffed, his voice bitter. “He runs the tightest ship in the underground because his services are far too specialized to get sloppy about it.”
A question burned at the tip of Chan’s tongue, and for once, he willingly let it slip. “How do you know Dove?”
Minho reached down to pick up Chan’s coffee, taking a sip before cradling it in his lap. “Dove is the one who crafted me in his image.” He let the words hang heavy in the air between them for a beat before he continued. “I lied to you, lied to myself too I suppose, about how I came to be what I am now. I did have a choice, but not in the way that really can be called that at all, which is why I don’t call it one. When I was barely eighteen, I saw something I shouldn’t have, something that I couldn’t be allowed to live knowing. Dove gave me an out, a debt of servitude rather than a death sentence. I chose to live.”
“That’s not a real choice, Minho.” Chan ached to reach out, to close the distance between them and wrap Minho up in the safety of his arms, but he didn’t. “You were just a kid. There was never a universe in which you chose death over any other option.”
“I’ve made peace with it.” Even as Minho said it, it didn’t feel true. “I don’t want to see anyone else become like me, to be tainted, stained with blood that will never wash clean.” His expression was grim and distant. “However, if this is the choice you’re making, I will not keep secrets you should know from you. The more you understand the threat you face, the better you can prepare for it.” He sighed. “But I will remind you again, there is no real safety once you join this life. You will always be running.”
Chan understood what Minho was saying, the weight of it, but his mind was already made up. For better or worse, he would burn himself to the ground to give Minho even the semblance of warmth from the fire. “I understand and I accept the consequences.” The words were soft, not for lack of resolve, but with the quiet realization that came with them.
Like Minho, there was never a world in which Chan would have chosen anything else. However, his choice didn’t stem from fear, not from guilt, not even his bottomless well of kindness or duty of care. No line of friendship urged him toward his decision and not even his buried ‘crush’ was to blame. The real reason was much more simple, a single truth that blotted out anything else: Chan was in love with Minho.
He was in love, not in the sonnets and grand romantic gestures kind of way, but in the way that meant swallowing that love down and putting Minho above his own needs, his own desires, his own life. He loved Minho enough to live with the weight of it unspoken so that Minho wouldn’t ever have to be alone.
Minho looked at Chan with an expression bordering pity and something else Chan couldn’t place. “I hope you don’t come to regret it.”
A single breathless laugh startled itself from Chan’s chest and all he could do was smile. “I wont.” He had never been more sure of anything.