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The table was too small. Seungmin sat across from Minho, knees nearly brushing the other man’s beneath the red-checkered cloth.
The restaurant hadn’t changed – it still smelled like garlic and tomatoes, the air thick with herbs and slow-cooked sauce. Flickering candles sat in glass holders at every table, casting dim, dancing light on dark wood and aging wallpaper. It was the kind of place people fell in love by accident.
Minho had chosen it, of course. He always knew how to weaponize nostalgia.
“You’re late,” Minho said casually, setting down his menu as Seungmin slipped out of his coat.
“I let you pick the place,” Seungmin replied, smoothing the front of his shirt and adjusting his beret before sitting down. “So I get to walk in whenever I want.”
Minho smiled, soft and unfairly familiar. He wore a black button-down, crisp and rolled at the sleeves, showing his forearms in a way Seungmin hated noticing. His hair was parted neatly, just a little mussed from the wind. He looked like a page Seungmin hadn’t turned fully – half-folded, still waiting to be read.
“I wasn’t sure you’d actually come,” Minho said, fingers brushing over the stem of his wine glass. “Thought maybe you’d say you have other plans. Or just… Leave me hanging.”
“I thought about it,” Seungmin said truthfully.
Their waiter arrived, and they both ordered quickly – Minho didn’t even look at the menu. Aglio e olio for him, like always and mushroom risotto for Seungmin with a small Gorgonzola pizza to share. They ordered wine – one glass each. Not more than one glass, Seungmin promised himself.
Minho lifted his glass toward Seungmin when it came. “To… old habits?”
Seungmin clinked it with his own. “To better decisions.”
Minho chuckled and took a sip. Seungmin only held his glass, fingers curled around the stem, eyes fixed on the flickering candlelight.
“So,” Minho said, resting his cheek on his knuckles, elbow on the table. “Still teaching?”
“Yes.”
“Still giving me the silent treatment?”
“That depends. Are you still pretending nothing happened?”
Minho hummed, swirling his wine. “No. I’m here, aren’t I?”
Their food arrived. The scent made Seungmin’s stomach tighten – not from hunger, but memory. The first time he met Minho’s family, they ate here. Minho’s mother complimented his manners. His dad called Seungmin polite. They held hands under the table, like they belonged. Two weeks later, he woke up to an empty bed and a note from Minho saying he decided to take a trip to Mexico.
Minho twirled his pasta casually, eyes drifting across the room. “You always used to complain about how loud it was in here.”
“Because it was loud,” Seungmin said, picking at his risotto. “You said it felt like home. I said it felt like a fire drill.”
Minho laughed under his breath. “I still remember what you wore that night.”
“For your mom's birthday?”
Minho nodded.
Seungmin looked away, recalling how long it had taken to pick out the pastel blue sweater that Minho's mom had fawned over. “You said I looked like someone your mom would approve of.”
“She did,” Minho said. “So did I.”
A silence hung between them, heavy and soft, like a curtain about to fall.
Minho leaned forward, elbow resting near Seungmin’s plate. “Do you remember what happened after?”
Seungmin’s lips twitched. “You kissed me in the alley behind the restaurant. Garlic breath and all.”
“You let me.”
“I was twenty-three and stupidly in love. You could’ve eaten a truckload of garlic and a dozen fish and I would've still kissed you.”
Minho’s smile faded just slightly. His eyes flicked over Seungmin’s face – lingering too long at his lips.
Seungmin took a pointed bite of risotto, breaking the gaze. “I’m not here to relive the greatest hits,” he said once he swallowed.
“No,” Minho agreed. “You’re here because you miss me.”
Seungmin scoffed, “I'm here because for some reason, you want to celebrate your promotion with your ex.”
Minho blinked in confusion, “You think there's anyone else I'd like to celebrate with?”
Seungmin kept his eyes fixed on his plate and shrugged, “I don’t know who you hang out with these days.”
Minho’s voice dipped low. “There's been no one since you, Seungmin. And you know it.”
Seungmin set his fork down, hard enough to clink against the plate. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Act like this is some romance movie with a happy ending where argue, we fuck, and we get back together.”
“Isn’t that usually how it goes?”
“Not anymore,” Seungmin said, reaching for his wine.
Minho let out a small laugh – almost bitter. “You always were good at pretending you didn’t feel anything.”
“And you were good at pretending you did.”
That shut him up.
Their plates were half-finished. The candle between them flickered violently for a second, like it knew something they didn’t.
When the check came, Seungmin paid without asking. He always did. This time, though, Minho deserved it.
“I thought I could pay this time—”
“Congratulations,” Seungmin said sincerely, “on the promotion. Dinner's my treat.”
“Then, uhm,” Minho cleared his throat, “I could drive you home as a ‘thank you’.”
Outside, the air had cooled. It had rained earlier and the pavement still glistened. Minho stood a little too close as they walked toward his car. The silence wasn’t awkward anymore – it was taut, thrumming with something familiar and electric.
“My apartment is closer,” Minho said, cutting through the silence.
They both knew what that meant. Seungmin turned it over in his head before nodding, “It is.”
In the passenger seat, Seungmin looked out the window while Minho drove, the city lights bleeding into blurs of yellow and red. Neither spoke.
Then, Minho pulled up in front of his apartment.
Seungmin stared at the building for a beat. “This doesn’t mean anything,” he said quietly.
“I know,” Minho murmured. “But you’re still coming in.”
Seungmin didn’t argue. The moment the apartment door shut behind them, it felt inevitable.
Minho didn’t touch him at first. He just looked.
Seungmin stood in the center of the dimly lit living room, stiff and silent, hands buried in his coat pockets. He heard the click of the lock behind him, and then Minho’s footsteps – slow and unhurried – coming closer.
“This is a mistake,” Seungmin murmured without turning around.
“I know,” Minho said.
But then his fingers brushed the back of Seungmin’s neck, tentative, almost reverent. Seungmin closed his eyes.
And then Minho was in front of him, tugging his coat off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. His hands found Seungmin’s waist and stayed there, thumbs pressing lightly into the fabric of his shirt like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to hold on.
Seungmin grabbed his collar and pulled him in.
The kiss was rough, uncoordinated, all teeth and breath and months of denial. Minho’s hands slid under his shirt like he was trying to remind himself what Seungmin felt like – warm skin, tight muscle, sharp breath when fingers grazed his ribs.
Seungmin didn’t moan so much as bite back a sound when Minho pushed him up against the wall, one hand fisting the hem of his shirt, the other curling around the back of his neck.
“You’re such a fucking liar,” Minho muttered against his lips. “Told me this didn’t mean anything.”
“It doesn’t,” Seungmin breathed, dragging his nails down Minho’s back through the fabric of his shirt. “It doesn’t.”
Minho grabbed his jaw and forced him to meet his eyes. “Then why are you so hard for me?”
Seungmin didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Minho’s hand was already sliding down his front, undoing his belt with practiced ease, the sharp clink of metal making Seungmin’s pulse spike.
Minho’s mouth moved to his neck, kissing and biting, teeth scraping skin. “Still letting me ruin you,” he whispered, voice low and rough. “You like that, don’t you?”
“Shut up,” Seungmin whispered, but his hips were already grinding forward, desperate for friction.
Minho pushed his pants down just far enough, dropping to his knees in one fluid motion. Seungmin’s breath hitched.
“You always taste so fucking sweet,” Minho murmured, dragging his tongue along Seungmin’s length, slow and deliberate.
Seungmin’s head hit the wall with a soft thud. “Minho – fuck—”
“Say it again,” Minho said, lips brushing the base of his cock.
Seungmin’s hands found his hair, tugging. “Minho.”
Minho took him into his mouth in one slow, deliberate motion – warm, wet, unforgiving. His pace was unhurried at first, a tease, letting his tongue drag and curl, letting Seungmin fall apart slowly. When Seungmin’s thighs trembled and he hissed through his teeth, Minho pressed his palms to his hips to keep him still and sucked.
“God—” Seungmin gasped. “I – I’m – Min, I'm gonna—”
Minho pulled off with a lewd pop, panting lightly, lips wet and swollen. “Not yet,” he said. “You’re not getting off that easy.”
Seungmin didn’t even realize they were moving until Minho was pushing him down onto the couch, climbing over him, undoing his own belt now with one hand. His eyes were dark, focused.
“You want it?” Minho asked, voice low and serious. “You gonna let me fuck you like I used to?”
Seungmin swallowed hard, arching under him. “I’m already here.”
“That’s not an answer,” Minho said, grinding down into him. Seungmin let out a choked noise, thighs parting instinctively.
“Yes,” he said. “Fuck me.”
Minho kissed him again – slower this time, almost tender – and then pulled away just long enough to grab a condom and lube from the drawer. His hands worked fast, practiced, impatient. Seungmin’s pants were shoved down, legs hooked over Minho’s thighs, and then—
“Relax,” Minho murmured, fingers pressing into him with slick precision. “God, you’re still so fucking tight for me.”
Seungmin arched, breath catching. “Just – do it – don’t – don’t make me wait!”
Minho didn’t.
When he pushed in, it was slow, deliberate, filling. Seungmin gasped, eyes fluttering shut, fingers clenching around Minho’s arms.
“Fuck,” Minho groaned, burying himself deep. “You feel so good. Always do.”
The pace built quickly – fast and punishing. The couch rocked under them. Minho kissed him hard, hips snapping forward, every thrust deep and mean and familiar.
“You missed this,” Minho growled against his ear. “Tell me.”
“I missed it,” Seungmin panted, barely able to breathe. “Fuck, I missed you.”
Minho’s rhythm faltered, just a little. But he didn’t stop. His hand wrapped around Seungmin’s cock again, stroking in time with his thrusts.
“Come for me,” he whispered. “Let me feel you.”
Seungmin spilled between them with a desperate cry, whole body shuddering.
Minho fucked him through it, chasing his own release, burying himself deep with a groan when it hit.
They stayed tangled for a moment, breathless, flushed, sticky with sweat and come. Minho didn’t move right away.
Seungmin stared at the ceiling, heart pounding.
“I shouldn’t have come here,” he whispered.
Minho exhaled against his neck. “You always say that.”
“I always mean it.”
“Then stop coming.”
Seungmin closed his eyes. “I can’t.”
Minho shifted just slightly, arms still around him, voice barely above a whisper. “Stay.”
Seungmin didn’t move.
Minho’s hand traced a slow line down his side. “Just for the night.”
Seungmin opened his eyes, staring past Minho at the shadows on the ceiling. “You know I can’t.”
“I wasn’t lying when I said I missed you.”
“That’s the problem,” Seungmin said softly, gently pushing Minho back so he could sit up. “You mean it. But you never mean it for long.”
Minho looked like he wanted to argue, but the words never came.
Seungmin stood, pulling his pants up, buttoning his shirt with fingers that shook more than he wanted them to. He didn’t look at Minho until he’d reached the door.
“You don’t get to keep asking me to stay when you’re the one who let me go.”
Minho sat there, still shirtless, hair a mess, the flush of sex still high on his cheeks. He didn’t chase him.
Seungmin stepped into his shoes, grabbed his coat, and left without another word. Outside, the night air bit at his skin, and for a second, he thought about turning back. Just for a moment.
But he kept walking.
♡♡♡
The text came at 7:43 PM.
You going to Chan’s birthday?
Seungmin stared at it longer than he should have. The last time they’d spoken, he’d walked out of Minho’s apartment with his hair still damp with sweat and the echo of Minho’s voice asking him to stay.
That was two months ago. Now here he was, watching the cursor blink like it had something to say. He hesitated before typing a reply.
idk.. are you?
The reply came fast.
Yeah. You should come. Celebrate with Chan and the rest of the guys.
The jazz bar on Mary-Ann Street was too intimate for what it pretended to be. Low lights, velvet curtains, exposed brick. A three-piece band played something slow and rich on the stage in the back corner, upright bass humming like a heartbeat. Every table had a candle and a cocktail menu. Everyone looked good – just enough cologne, just enough sheen. It was the kind of place that felt like a secret you weren’t supposed to say out loud.
Seungmin hovered near the entrance, adjusting the sleeves of his navy blazer. His black shirt was understated and clean, three buttons popped open to give a good eyefull of his chest. He felt eyes brush over him as he scanned the room. He didn’t see Minho at first, but he felt it – somewhere, the inevitable orbit of him pulling closer.
And then—
“There you are,” Minho’s voice behind him. “You’re late.”
Seungmin turned, and there he was: purple silk shirt, silver chain glinting at the base of his throat, dark hair slightly curled at the ends. His smile was soft. Pleased.
“You clean up well,” he added, looking Seungmin up and down. “Is that for me?”
Seungmin arched a brow. “It’s for Chan.”
Minho leaned in slightly, grinning. “Then Chan’s a lucky man.”
Before Seungmin could roll his eyes, a voice called out over the band, “Ayo! Birthday boy’s table’s over here!”
Chan, flushed and loose from drinks, waved dramatically from a booth halfway across the room. Next to him, Jeongin raised his glass. Felix was beside him, draped over the back of the seat like he lived there.
“God, I already regret this,” Seungmin muttered as Minho guided him toward them.
“Seungmin!” Chan said, pulling him in for a quick one-armed hug. “Didn’t think you’d show.”
“Same,” Felix piped up, eyes darting between Seungmin and Minho. “Honestly, thought it’d be too awkward with your situation.”
Minho slid in beside Seungmin, completely unfazed. “What situation?”
“Don’t play dumb,” Jeongin chimed in. “You two have the sexual tension of a bad drama.”
“Exactly,” Felix added with a smirk. “Like... ‘we broke up but we still text each other goodnight and fuck sometimes’ vibes.”
“We don’t—” Seungmin started, then stopped when he saw Minho’s smirk deepen.
Chan raised a brow, sipping his drink. “You don’t what, Seungmin?”
“We don't text each other goodnight,” he said quickly. “Congratulations on turning thirty and still acting like a freshman.”
“Thirty?” Jeongin choked on his drink. “He’s not thirty!”
“Feels like it,” Chan grumbled. “My knees hurt.”
The table broke into laughter, and for a little while, Seungmin let himself settle into it. He sipped something bitter and citrusy, let Jeongin tease him about showing off too much skin and let Felix compliment him on his outfit.
But even with the noise and warmth, he felt Minho beside him like a second heartbeat. Every shift, every breath – he could feel the heat coming off him.
At one point, Minho leaned in and said, low in his ear, “You always did look good in dark colors.”
Seungmin didn’t respond. He just drank.
Later, after the fifth song and the second round of drinks, Chan disappeared into the crowd with someone from work. Felix and Jeongin stumbled toward the bar for shots. And just like that, they were alone again.
Minho stood first. “Walk with me?”
Seungmin should’ve said no. But he didn’t.
The alley behind the bar smelled like old brick, cigarette smoke, and the faint sweetness of rain that had dried hours ago. It was narrow and dim, lit only by the yellow glow of the back door’s motion sensor light. The kind of place you didn’t go unless you were drunk, desperate, or both.
Seungmin pressed his back to the cool brick wall, breath clouding in the air. Minho stood in front of him, hands in his pockets, eyes dark and fixed on his mouth like he’d been staring for hours.
Seungmin licked his lips, head tilted slightly, voice low. “Well?”
Then Minho kissed him.
It wasn’t gentle. There was nothing soft about the way Minho’s mouth found his, or the way his hands came up to grab Seungmin’s hips like he owned them. Like he’d been waiting for this since the moment they walked into the bar. Their teeth knocked. Their lips parted fast, open and messy, tongues sliding against each other like they’d forgotten how to be careful.
Minho’s knee pressed between Seungmin’s legs, nudging them apart. “You came here in those tight fucking pants,” he growled against Seungmin’s neck. “Knew exactly what you were doing.”
“Wore them for you, actually,” Seungmin gasped, tugging Minho’s shirt open, popping two buttons with how fast his fingers worked. “You’re welcome.”
Minho bit down at the base of Seungmin’s throat, dragging his tongue over the mark afterward. “Fucking tease.”
Seungmin shoved his hips forward, grinding against Minho’s thigh. “Then do something about it.”
Minho’s laugh was dark. Rough. “You’re so fucking needy.”
“Not needy,” Seungmin said, breath stuttering. “Just tired of pretending I don’t want you.”
That was all it took.
Minho spun him fast, pressing him chest-first into the wall with a thud. His hand slid down the front of Seungmin’s pants, bold and sure, gripping him through the fabric until Seungmin bit back a moan.
“Fuck, you’re already hard for me,” Minho breathed, nipping at his earlobe. “Being pressed against a wall does this to you?”
Seungmin exhaled a shaky laugh. “Only when it’s you.”
Minho yanked his pants down just enough to expose him, fingers slick with spit and lube from the small tube he’d kept in his coat pocket – because of course he’d known this would happen. Seungmin would never admit that he also brought a small tube with him.
Two fingers pushed in, slow but relentless.
“Still so tight,” Minho said, voice husky. “How do you stay like this when I know you fuck yourself thinking about me?”
Seungmin gritted his teeth, forehead pressed to the wall. “You're delusional.” He was right, actually.
Minho curled his fingers and slipped them out. Then he pushed in with one smooth, deep thrust.
Seungmin cried out, muffled by his own hand and teeth sunk into his wrist.
“Shit—” Minho groaned, hips flush against him. “You take me so fucking well.”
Minho didn’t wait. He started moving fast, hard, fucking into him with an urgency that bordered on reckless. Seungmin’s hands scraped against the brick. His pants were halfway down, shirt bunched up, the cold air slicing across his thighs while Minho’s cock burned inside him.
“Tell me you missed this,” Minho growled, slamming into him again.
Seungmin gasped. “I missed it – fuck – I missed you.”
Minho’s hand wrapped around his cock, jerking him off in time with his thrusts. “Yeah? That why you keep showing up? Keep letting me fuck you like this?”
Seungmin was close – too close. The roughness, the rhythm, the heat, the voice. He couldn’t hold it.
“Please, Minho…”
Minho leaned over his back, lips pressed to his ear. “Come for me.”
Seungmin spilled in Minho’s hand with a cry that echoed down the alley. His body clenched around Minho, pulling him deeper, tighter, until Minho cursed and came with a groan, hips twitching as he filled the condom.
They stayed like that. Panting, trembling, caught between brick and darkness.
Eventually, Minho pulled out slowly, tucking himself back in, and turned Seungmin around, thumb brushing across his flushed cheek.
“Come home with me.”
Seungmin’s eyes flicked up. “Don’t do that.”
Minho’s brows knit together. “Do what?”
“Make it sound like you didn’t know what this was.”
Minho opened his mouth. Closed it.
Seungmin pulled his pants back up, buttoning them with shaking fingers. He didn’t look at him as he spoke.
“We’re not fixed. We just fucked in an alley.”
Minho’s jaw worked like he wanted to say something else. Something soft. Something dangerous.
But Seungmin stepped past him, into the light spilling from the back door.
“I’ll see you,” he said over his shoulder.
And he left Minho standing in the dark.
♡♡♡
Seungmin stirred the last inch of lukewarm coffee in his cup, watching the foam swirl like it might form an excuse for why he had let Jisung and Hyunjin talk him into a blind date in the first place.
Changbin had been nice enough – clean shirt, good manners, a passable sense of humor. But he’d called Seungmin “serious-looking” three times and spent the last ten minutes talking about his gym routine without once asking a question in return. When Seungmin made a polite excuse and slid out of the booth, there was no request to exchange numbers.
Which was fine. He didn’t want a second date anyway.
He was halfway out the café when he heard someone say, “Wow. Doesn't look like that went well.”
Minho.
Seungmin froze, eyes lifting to where the voice had come from – a corner table, window light catching in Minho’s hair, sleeves rolled up, iced americano half-finished on the table beside his phone. He looked annoyingly good. Relaxed. The kind of ex you didn’t want to run into when your date just flopped and you still had coffee breath.
“What are you doing here?” Seungmin asked.
“Getting caffeine and judging people. What else?” Minho stood up, slinging his jacket over his shoulder. “You look like you could use some fresh air.”
Seungmin narrowed his eyes. “You’re not serious.”
“There’s a park like, two blocks away.”
“I’m aware.”
“So come walk with me.”
“I literally just—”
“Had a date with someone boring,” Minho said, already holding the door open for him. “And now you have a chance to make your day slightly less depressing.”
Seungmin huffed out a laugh. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet,” Minho said, “you’re still walking.”
The park in the early evening was quiet. Golden light spilled between the trees. The path curved wide and slow through the grass, and the further they walked, the easier it became to pretend that this wasn’t a mistake.
Minho walked beside him with his hands in his pockets, shoulder brushing his every few steps. “So. The guy was a dud?”
“Not a dud,” Seungmin said. “Just… not a match.”
Minho glanced over at him. “He didn’t make you laugh.”
“No, he didn’t.” Seungmin kicked at a pebble on the path. “And he kept calling me ‘serious’ like it bothered him.”
Minho hummed. “I always liked that about you.”
Seungmin blinked, caught off guard. “You liked that I was serious?”
“I liked that you didn’t say things you didn’t mean. When you smiled, it meant something.”
“You always knew how to make me smile,” Seungmin admitted. But Minho also knew how to make him cry. Each time Minho just up and left, leaving Seungmin in tears.
They walked a little further in silence. A bird fluttered past. The light was getting lower.
They stopped near the edge of the park, close to the lot where Minho’s car was parked. The sky had shifted from gold to bruised lilac. Seungmin turned to say something, but the look on Minho’s face stopped him.
It wasn’t smug or flirty or teasing. It was quiet. Raw.
Minho took a step closer. “Do you want to keep walking?”
Seungmin swallowed. “Where to?”
Minho’s voice dropped. “My car.”
Seungmin didn’t answer, but he followed anyway.
Minho unlocked the passenger door with a soft click, and Seungmin slid into the seat without a word. The door shut behind him like a promise.
It was quiet inside the car. Too quiet. No music. Just the distant sound of leaves rustling outside and the faint hum of his own pulse in his ears. The air was warm from the sun, and the interior smelled like leather and Minho’s cologne – faint and expensive, the same one Seungmin used to wake up to on his own pillow.
Minho got in on the driver’s side, keys still dangling from his fingers. He didn’t start the engine. Didn’t move to say anything.
Seungmin looked at him once, then again. And then Minho leaned across the center console and kissed him.
It wasn’t rushed, not at first. Just a slow press of lips – testing, questioning, giving Seungmin time to pull away.
He didn’t.
Minho’s hand curled around the side of his neck, thumb brushing the hinge of his jaw, and then Seungmin was on him – straddling his lap, knees digging into the seat, mouth crashing against his like it hurt to breathe anything else.
Minho groaned into the kiss, hands going straight to Seungmin’s waist. “Fuck – what are you doing, baby?”
“What does it look like?” Seungmin whispered against his lips, already reaching down to undo his own pants. His fingers trembled from adrenaline, from anger, from everything he didn’t want to say.
Minho caught his wrists, eyes searching his face. “You sure?”
Seungmin nodded, eyes already glassy. “I can’t – I don’t want to think. I just need you.”
That was all it took.
Minho grabbed the lever and pushed the driver’s seat back as far as it would go. Seungmin kicked off his shoes, shoved his pants down to mid-thigh, and watched as Minho ripped open the glove box, pulling out a condom and a small bottle of lube, because it wasn’t the first time they’d done this.
Minho rolled the condom on with one hand, slicking himself quickly, cock flushed and thick. His eyes never left Seungmin.
“You gonna ride me like you mean it?” he rasped.
Seungmin sank down without answering.
The stretch was immediate, sharp, and perfect. He bit down on his own lip hard enough to sting as he took Minho inch by inch, thighs trembling as he eased himself fully onto him.
“Shit!” Minho hissed, head falling back against the seat. “Fuck, baby, you feel… so good…”
Seungmin braced one hand on Minho’s chest, the other gripping the seat behind him as he began to move, slow at first, testing, adjusting to the angle. But the second Minho’s hand slid around his waist and dragged him down harder, the rhythm shattered.
“Look at you,” Minho murmured, breath hot and shallow. “Bouncing on my cock like you’ve been starving for it.”
Seungmin whimpered, moving faster, desperate now. The car rocked with every motion, windows fogging up, the air thick with heat and friction and the wet sound of skin meeting skin.
Minho’s hands roamed – gripping his hips, sliding under his shirt, dragging his thumbs over flushed skin. “You’ve been holding out on me,” he whispered. “Trying to fuck someone else, thinking it’d be different. But no one else can fuck you like this, can they?”
Seungmin shook his head, mouth open, breath ragged. “No one else, Minho – fuck – I can’t—”
“You can,” Minho said, voice tight. “You will.”
He thrust up into him, hard and deep, and Seungmin broke. “Oh my god!” he gasped, nails digging into Minho’s shoulders. “Please, I’m gonna – fuck, I’m gonna come!”
Minho grabbed his jaw, forced him to look down at him. “Come for me, baby. Right fucking now.”
Seungmin cried out as he came, back arching, release striping his shirt, his thighs shaking violently around Minho’s hips. Minho groaned low, gripping Seungmin tighter as he fucked into the aftershocks, chasing his own high.
“I’m close, fuck, you’re perfect! Always so fucking perfect for me…” With one final thrust, Minho came, hips stuttering, cock buried deep inside the condom.
They sat there, bodies shaking, still joined. Seungmin’s chest heaved as he sagged forward, forehead pressing to Minho’s shoulder.
Minho’s hands softened on his waist, rubbing slow circles. “You okay?”
Seungmin didn’t answer for a long time. He pulled back just enough to look at him.
“I’m not seeing him again,” he whispered.
Minho’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes flickered – hope, guilt, something softer.
“I didn’t want him,” Seungmin added. “I didn’t even want the coffee.”
Minho brushed the damp hair from his forehead. “What did you want?”
“You,” Seungmin said, throat tight. “And I hate that I still do.”
“You don’t have to hate it,” Minho said softly.
But Seungmin just closed his eyes.
Minho kissed his temple, then his cheek, then caught his mouth again – slower now, lips soft, like he was afraid this was the last one.
♡♡♡
They met at a café. Just a small place tucked between a flower shop and a bookstore – neutral ground, plain walls, soft jazz playing over the speakers, and the kind of lighting that made everything feel quieter than it was.
Seungmin chose it. Minho didn’t argue.
Minho arrived first. Seungmin spotted him from outside, already seated by the window, sipping something that looked too bitter for this kind of conversation. His black coat was slung over the back of the chair, one hand resting on the table, fingers tapping rhythmically beside the cup.
He looked tired. Like someone who hadn’t been sleeping much.
Seungmin pushed open the door and Minho looked up instantly.
Their eyes met.
A flicker of something passed between them – familiarity, ache, caution. Seungmin crossed the room slowly and sat down across from him without saying a word.
A pause. Then, Minho said, “You came.”
“You wanted coffee.”
“Because you said that’s all we were allowed.”
Seungmin nodded, resting his hands on the table, fingers laced together. “Yeah.”
The waitress came. He ordered a latte. Something safe. Something warm. When she left, the silence came back like a third person at the table.
Minho watched him. Not with hunger. Not with hope. Just with something rawer. More careful.
“I haven't been with anyone else,” Minho said softly. “I haven't touched anyone else. I haven't loved anyone else.”
Seungmin’s eyes flicked up. “Okay.”
“I don’t want to.”
Seungmin didn’t answer.
“I know I ruined this. And maybe I don’t deserve another chance, but I still—” Minho swallowed. “I still want one.”
“Why now?” Seungmin asked, voice low.
Minho blinked. “What?”
“Why is it different now?” Seungmin stirred his coffee. “What makes this coffee different from dinner or the jazz bar or the back seat of your car?”
Minho exhaled, leaning back. “Because I’m not trying to sleep with you.”
“That’s new.”
“I’m trying to talk to you, Seungmin.”
Seungmin looked away, jaw tight. “You should’ve done that before. Before all those times you left me with nothing but half-hearted notes.”
“I didn’t know how.”
“That’s not good enough, Minho.”
“I know.” Minho leaned forward again. “But I’m still here. And so are you.”
Their eyes locked again. This time, Seungmin didn’t look away.
“I don’t know what I want,” Seungmin said.
“That’s okay,” Minho replied.
“But I…” Seungmin hesitated. “I still think about you every night.”
Minho’s breath hitched. “Me too.”
“I still hate you sometimes.”
“I deserve that.”
Seungmin looked down at his cup, lips pressed tight together.
“I want to try,” Minho said. “Not because it’s easy, and not because I miss the sex. I want to try because I miss you. I miss hearing about your day. I miss your laugh. I miss falling asleep knowing you’re next to me.”
Seungmin swallowed hard. “You said that kind of shit before.”
“I didn’t mean it the way I should have.” Minho’s voice cracked, just slightly. “But I do now.”
The latte was cold when Seungmin finally took a sip. Outside, the sky was clouded over. People passed on the sidewalk without looking in.
“I’m not promising anything,” Seungmin said at last.
Minho nodded. “You don’t have to.”
“And I’m not doing this again if it goes back to what it was.”
“It won’t.”
“I mean it, Minho. If you disappear, if you go silent, if you—”
“I won’t,” Minho said. “Not this time.”
The silence between them wasn’t painful now. It was patient. Still full of weight, but no longer crushing.
Seungmin set his cup down and stared at it for a long time. Even after the cups emptied and the crowd inside the café shifted from early risers to laptop dwellers, they stayed seated at that little table by the window, as if moving would break the spell of whatever honesty had been finally – finally – let into the air between them.
Seungmin sat back in his chair, legs crossed, fingers curled around the now-lukewarm ceramic. Minho stared at his hands for a while, silent. His brow was furrowed in a way Seungmin hadn’t seen in years – serious, like something was breaking loose from the inside.
“I used to run,” Minho said softly.
Seungmin didn’t speak. He just listened.
“I mean – physically, emotionally. I’d disappear for weeks, months, because I didn’t know how to stay. Not just with you. With anyone.”
Seungmin’s gaze flicked up, but Minho wasn’t looking at him. His fingers tapped once against the side of the cup and then stopped.
“I thought if I stayed long enough, I’d break something. Or you would. And if I left before that happened, maybe I could keep pretending I wasn’t the problem.”
“You were,” Seungmin said. Not cruel. Just… true.
Minho nodded. “I know. I thought commitment meant giving someone the power to wreck me. And the truth is, I already felt wrecked. So it was easier to ghost, to make it about space or work or timing – whatever excuse I could grab.”
“And then you’d come back.”
Minho’s throat moved. “Because I missed you. Because I hated being gone more than I hated staying.”
Seungmin looked at him, really looked. “You made me feel like I was asking for too much.”
“I know.”
“You made me think I was hard to love.”
Minho’s voice dropped, cracked a little. “You weren’t. You never were.” He leaned forward, forearms resting on the table now, gaze steady even as his voice stayed soft. “You were the best thing about my life. And I didn’t know how to hold onto it without fucking it up.”
Silence again. But it wasn’t bitter anymore. Just heavy with the weight of what hadn’t been said until now.
Seungmin’s voice came quieter than he expected. “Why now?”
Minho’s lips twitched, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to smile or break. “Because I don’t want to run anymore,” he said. “And because if I lose you again, I don’t want it to be for a lie.”
Seungmin didn’t answer right away. He looked down at his empty cup. Turned it in slow circles between his palms.
“I don’t trust you yet,” he said finally.
Minho nodded. “I’m not asking you to.”
“But I’m tired of pretending I don’t still love you.”
Minho froze.
And for the first time in all the times they’d met like this – in restaurants and back alleys and dark cars and quiet parks – he didn’t say anything. He just looked at Seungmin like it hurt to breathe.
Then he said, voice raw, “Can we try again? For real this time.”
Seungmin let out a breath and gave him a smile, “One coffee at a time.”