Chapter Text
The elevator doors slid open to the top floor of Aether Group, spilling light from the wall-to-wall windows looking out over the cityscape. Yunho stepped out, shoes silent against marble, the smell of sterilized air and too-expensive cologne clinging to the space. He tried his best not to make a face. He was a professional after all.
Yunho had been in a lot of boardrooms over the course of his career - boardrooms, throne rooms, briefing rooms, you name it. They all felt different, but under it all, uniquely the same. Like stepping into the belly of a machine that believed itself to be infallible. He heaved a sigh as he waited patiently for the woman at the front desk to finish up the call she was on and acknowledge him.
Protection. That had always been Yunho’s calling, the thing that made him feel useful, steady. But lately, the work had lost its shine. These days, the people who could afford protection were the ones least deserving of it: trust fund heirs, corrupt CEOs, politicians with blood under their nails - people whose safety came at the cost of everyone else’s.
He’d talked about quitting more than once, mostly to Hongjoong, his captain, and the only one who’d listen without judgment. Hongjoong had been sympathetic, sure, but practical too. “I get it, man. They’re the worst, but bills don’t pay themselves, Yunho,” he’d said. And he was right.
Yunho couldn’t afford to throw in the towel. Not when his brother still needed round-the-clock care, not when the hospital bills kept piling up, no matter how many extra shifts he took. The pay here was good, better than good, and for now, that was reason enough to stay.
Even if every new assignment made him feel a little more like the hired muscle for the very people who’d never lift a finger to help someone like him.
The woman behind the front desk hung up the phone and turned her attention to him, her eyes sweeping up and down his suited body. He smiled his most charming and professional smile. “Good morning, miss. I’m Jeong Yunho. I was sent on behalf of Sector One at the request of Song Minjae.”
She blushed a bit, and Yunho’s grin widened. Still got it. “Ah, yes. The new bodyguard. I’ll let Mr. Song know you’ve arrived.”
Yunho nodded in thanks, hands going into his pockets as he took in the office space. Gosh, why did it always feel like color of any kind was strictly forbidden in places like these? Was a little personality too much to ask?
“Mr. Song will see you now.” She gestured him past her desk to a set of large double doors. Yunho bowed in thanks.
Across the office, Song Minjae stood behind a monolithic desk of dark glass, the skyline stretching behind him like a kingdom. The CEO of Aether Group was as imposing as his reputation, every line of his suit crisp, his face drawn in a severe line.
He had a cold dignity to him, the kind that inspired respect, or fear, depending on who you were and what tax bracket you were in. Yunho could tell he was used to giving orders and getting what he wanted.
When Minjae’s gaze met his, it lingered just long enough to weigh and judge as he took the seat at his desk. Yunho remained standing, body reacting before his mind did, shoulders squaring, stance firming into parade rest.
“Mr. Jeong,” he said. “Your company has come quite recommended.”
“Thank you, sir.” Yunho inclined his head, his voice low and steady, his tone the exact blend of respect and readiness that most executives found reassuring.
Minjae gestured him closer. “I’ve been told you come with experience in personal security.”
“Yes, sir. Our agency predominantly prioritizes private contract work. In that capacity, I’ve handled diplomatic clients, political figures. I’ve also led extraction teams-”
“I don’t need extraction,” Minjae cut him off. “I need control.”
Yunho allowed the interruption, blinking once. “Control, sir?”
Minjae held a finger up to silence him for the moment while he pressed the call button on his desk. Yunho swallowed his eye roll...just barely. “Chaerin, send in my son.”
Chaerin’s voice filtered through the intercom, gentle and tentative, “He...he hasn’t arrived yet, sir.”
Song's jaw clenched before he burst out, “Well, get him here!”
Yunho swallowed a sigh at the terse command and the frankly unnecessary volume. Chaerin has been nothing but kind to him, poor woman.
Visibly stealing himself, Minjae leaned forward, folding his hands with deliberate calm that belied the frustration bleeding off of him. “My son has become a target of certain…threats. Over the past few weeks, there has been an increase in anonymous messages, stalking, more tangible threats. Last week, one of our cars went up in flames…a bomb in the engine.”
“Yes, I was briefed.” Yunho had read the records.
“What they didn’t tell you,” Minjae continued as though Yunho hadn’t spoken, his voice tight with irritation, “is that half of those threats are a result of his own choices! He’s reckless. He’s undisciplined. He surrounds himself with idiots, stoners, and tabloids. He lives off my name and does nothing to protect or earn it.”
Yunho said nothing. Years of service had taught him that silence was often safer than put-upon sympathy.
Minjae exhaled sharply, gaze flicking toward the skyline. “And as if that weren’t enough, now we’ve got someone inside the system, some hacker playing games with our databases, holding sensitive information hostage. Client files, payout records, internal communications, everything that keeps this company stable. They think it’s some kind of joke, but if any of that data goes public…” His mouth tightened, the line of it sharp as glass.
Yunho didn’t interrupt, but he logged the information (hacker, ransom, internal breach), all of it. It wasn’t necessarily in his purview, but threats like that, no matter how disconnected they seemed, had a way of coming back around.
Minjae hesitated, eyes narrowing. “And now my son seems to have caught their interest, too.”
“He’s your youngest, yes? Your eldest hasn’t seen the same harassment?” Yunho asked carefully.
“Please. Minhyuk would never,” Song said, the words edged with cold pride. “He understands discipline, discretion, the value of restraint. Mingi, on the other hand, is the only one reckless and foolish enough to open himself up to this sort of thing.” His tone hardened, jaw flexing. “Which means it’s my responsibility to keep him alive…despite his best efforts.”
The intercom blinked red in interruption. Song stabbed the button. “What?”
Chaerin’s quiet voice filtered through the speaker. “Your son has arrived, sir.”
“Send him in.”
Moments later, the glass doors swung open.
Song Mingi strolled in like he owned the place…which, technically, he did...more or less. He wore a leather jacket over a faded t-shirt, artfully messy hair, sunglasses indoors, the picture of careless wealth. But Yunho noticed the details: the squint, the slow step, the left-leaning list. Hungover. High. Maybe both. Definitely running on fumes.
“Dad,” he drawled, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I thought we agreed no more of these little performance reviews.”
“We did no such thing,” Song replied coolly. “You chose to ignore direct orders, as usual.”
Yunho turned slightly, assessing.
He knew the youngest Song heir’s face before he’d ever stepped into the room. Everyone did. The tabloids had seen to that. Photos of him draped over strangers in dimly lit clubs, stumbling out of bars with a man and woman on each arm, laughing with his head thrown back like the world was his to ruin. Always some scandal, some headline. Another entitled rich kid who thought consequences were for other people.
The file and the tabloids hadn’t done him justice, though. Mingi was tall, all lean muscle and long lines, dressed in all black like sin and money had a baby. His beauty was intimidating, sharp, arrogant, but magnetic in a way that made a man want to do stupid, ill-advised things. And, damn it, he was beautiful. Too beautiful.
Yunho straightened, mentally slamming that door shut. No. No. Walk that thought right back out the door, Jeong. This is a job for god’s sake. You’re here to protect him, not think about how his body would look spread out across…
“This is your new bodyguard, Mr. Jeong,” Song said, pulling Yunho out of his introspection, thank heavens for that. “He’ll be with you full-time until I’m satisfied that the security team has neutralized the threats as we see them.”
Mingi’s sunglasses slipped down his nose just enough to reveal his eyes, sharp, brown, assessing Yunho with open skepticism and disdain. “Seriously? This guy?”
“Yes,” his father said. “You need someone competent for once.”
“Competent? He looks like a Boy Scout.” Mingi laughed under his breath, a sound halfway between disbelief and defiance. “But, let me guess, ex-military? Secret agent type? You gonna frisk me for weapons every morning, soldier?”
Yunho kept his tone neutral; he had plenty of experience dealing with spoiled children, “Only if you give me a reason, sir.”
That made Mingi pause, just slightly. Then he flashed a shark-like grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll take that as a challenge, Boy Scout.”
Song exhaled loudly through his nose. “Mr. Jeong, your quarters will be arranged in the guest wing of the penthouse that I pay for.” The last part was directed at his son, who made no effort to hide the most exaggerated eye roll Yunho had ever witnessed. His professionalism was the only thing keeping him from cracking a smile as Song continued. “I expect you’ll keep him out of the news, out of the clubs, and ideally, out of trouble.”
“Yes, sir,” Yunho said evenly.
Mingi reached up to pluck the sunglasses from his head. “This is bullshit. Maybe try keeping yourself out of my life.”
“Enough,” Song snapped. His voice cut through the air like a blade. “You’re behaving like a child. For once in your life, Mingi, you will do as you’re told.”
For a second, something flickered across Mingi’s face. A flash of hurt, maybe? Then, nothing. He straightened, sunglasses and smirk sliding neatly back into place. “Sure,” he said lightly. “Whatever makes you feel less like an absentee father.”
He turned on his heel and strode for the door. “Come on, Boy Scout. I’ll show you around the gilded cage.”
Yunho hesitated, looking to the elder Song for confirmation. The man waved him off, “Kang, my head of security, will be at the penthouse at two. He’ll go over the details with you.” Yunho nodded and turned to catch up with Mingi. The door clicked shut behind them.
In the silence of the corridor, Mingi shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, not looking at him. “Just so we’re clear,” he said, voice low. “I don’t need saving like some damsel in a fucked up fairytale. I don’t need babysitting. And I don’t trust you. Or anyone my father hires.”
Yunho’s reply was quiet, sincere. “That’s fine. You don’t have to trust me.”
Mingi glanced sideways, eyes narrowing. “Then why are you here?”
He thought about lying, but opted for the truth instead, “Because your dad paid my boss a helluva lot of money for my services.”
The other man turned his back on Yunho, heading towards the elevators. “Cool. Good to know where your motivations are, I guess,” he called over his shoulder.
Yunho followed his new charge, stopping at the front desk briefly. “Thank you for being so accommodating today, Chaerin. You’ve been a delight.”
The secretary looked up from her computer, a blush rising high on her cheeks as she sputtered out a thank you. Yunho gave her a parting bow before joining Mingi in the elevator. The other man was staring at him like he was a puzzle to solve. Yunho met his gaze, unwavering.
Eventually, Mingi broke eye contact, leaning against the elevator wall, arms crossed. “So…how much is it going to cost to get you to leave me the fuck alone then?”
Yunho shot him a placid smile, “That’s a no-go, champ. I’m already on retainer - it would be bad business to back out on that now. Besides, someone wants you dead,” Yunho said simply. “And until that changes, I’m not going anywhere.”
For the first time since meeting the other man, Mingi didn’t have a comeback. He just turned his face away, signaling the end of their conversation. Yunho didn’t mind. Mingi had quite a lovely profile….which was a thought he absolutely did not think about his totally off-limits client. But, as the silence stretched, Yunho caught Mingi’s reflection, the tension in his jaw, the flash of something vulnerable beneath the arrogance.
It struck him then that maybe Mingi needed protecting in more ways than one.
Or maybe Yunho was just projecting.
Hard to say.
Chapter Text
The car that picked them up to take them to the penthouse was all black with tinted windows. Yunho felt a little apprehension as they shut the doors behind them, but Mingi flopped back against the seat with an unbothered air, pulling out his phone and ignoring Yunho completely. Yunho used the time to catalog the route from Aether headquarters to Mingi’s apartment.
When they pulled up to the apartment, Mingi slid out of the car and headed toward the entry. Yunho trailed after without prompting, nodding in thanks to the doorman as he followed his charge inside. He picked up the pace as he saw the younger man push the 'close door' button, sliding into the elevator just before the doors could shut on him. Mingi regarded him with practiced disinterest. Yunho assumed a neutral stance, arms behind his back, and smiled at him.
Mingi rolled his eyes at him as they ascended. When the elevator doors opened, they were able to walk straight into the penthouse. The place was a spread of glass, chrome, and white marble that screamed money, but said nothing about the person who lived there.
Yunho stepped out first, eyes sweeping the space out of habit. Expansive windows framed the skyline, the city glittering far below, and the river cutting through it. Every surface gleamed like new, the kitchen untouched, the couches too sculptural to be comfortable, art on the walls that was expensive enough to draw your attention, but hollow in expression.
Mingi brushed past him, tossing his keys and sunglasses onto the marble counter and slipping his jacket off and onto a chair at the kitchen island. “Home sweet home,” he said dryly, stretching his arms over his head. The movement lifted the hem of his t-shirt, flashing a strip of toned skin and the faint line of his hip. Yunho averted his eyes immediately, jaw tightening.
“You live here alone?” Yunho asked, mostly to distract himself.
Mingi barked a humorless laugh. “You see anyone else? Dad keeps this place for the image. I’m just a pretty squatter as far as he's concerned.”
Yunho didn’t answer. He was taking mental notes: exits, layout, blind spots. But that only seemed to encourage Mingi.
“So,” Mingi said, circling him like a shark in the water. “What’s your deal, Boy Scout? You’re a little young to be ex-military, aren’t you? You married? Kids? Maybe a tragic backstory…dead wife, vengeance arc, that kind of thing?”
Yunho’s expression didn’t shift. “I don’t make a habit of sharing personal details with clients, sir.”
“Client,” Mingi repeated, smirking. “Ice cold, man. Alright, fine. I’ll guess. You look like the oldest child. Military background, obviously, with that stance, though I do love when you call me, sir.” He grinned at that, trying to get a rise out of him. Yunho didn’t give him the satisfaction.
Undeterred, Mingi continued, “You probably iron your socks and drink black coffee for excitement. No friends. No fun…boring.”
Yunho exhaled slowly through his nose. “You done?”
“Oh, I’m just getting started, big guy,” Mingi said, leaning against the counter. “Is it too much to ask for a little bit of personality from the guy who’s basically my jailer?”
“I’m not your jailer,” Yunho said evenly.
“Oh, right. You’re more of a consensual stalker,” Mingi shot back. “Except you don’t really care about my consent, do you? It’s my father’s that really matters.”
That hit with more bite than humor. Yunho tilted his head slightly. “You two don’t get along.”
Mingi snorted. “Wow. Your powers of observation are super-human.” He sauntered over to the liquor cabinet, pulling out a snifter and topping it up with a generous helping of whisky. Maybe a bit too generous for 1:15 in the afternoon on a Thursday.
“Dad thinks I need a leash. Says I ‘don’t understand responsibility.’” He made air quotes, voice tightening. “Says the guy who hasn’t taken personal responsibility for a single person in his life unless they’re on payroll. And even then, barely.”
Yunho stayed quiet, watching. Mingi didn’t seem to notice, or he pretended not to. He took a swig of whisky and sauntered toward the living area, sprawling on the couch with a grimace of discomfort. “Okay, so, ground rules, Boy Scout. I don’t care what my dad says. You don’t tell me what to do. You don’t tell me where I can go or who I can see. You don’t—”
“Get in your way?” Yunho supplied mildly, setting his duffel bag by the entry.
“Exactly,” Mingi smirked, pointing at him. “You stay invisible. Pretend you’re one of those little security cameras in the corner. Silent. You can watch if you must, but no interference.”
“Creepy analogy,” Yunho said.
“Fitting one, though, you have to admit.” Mingi tilted his head. “You look like a guy who's good at following orders. It must drive you insane to babysit someone who doesn’t give a damn.”
Yunho gave a short, almost imperceptible smile. “Not insane…yet. But give it time.”
Mingi downed the rest of the whisky in the glass - ill-advised, but impressive.
He pushed himself off his terribly uncomfortable-looking couch and started toward the hallway. “Come on, big guy. You’re supposed to ‘secure the perimeter,’ right? Let’s do the grand tour before I die of boredom.”
They moved through the penthouse: a minimalist kitchen, a sleek home office, a guest wing where Yunho dropped his duffel. He felt like he was in a hotel - everything curated, designer, and lifeless.
When they reached the hall to the master suite, Yunho noticed an open door to the side that Mingi had avoided.
Peering inside, the contrast hit Yunho like a slap. The space was alive. Multiple computer monitors and music equipment cluttered one corner. Books stacked precariously on the nightstand. A paint-splattered denim jacket hung over a chair. The bed was unmade, sheets a deep wine red instead of sterile white. There were posters on the wall - bands, film stills, a few abstract sketches that looked like they’d been done by hand.
He didn’t say anything, but he lingered a fraction too long at the threshold.
“Hey,” Mingi’s voice snapped him back as an arm reached past him to slam the door shut.
“Sorry,” Yunho said quickly. “I didn’t mean to overstep. Just… wasn’t expecting color.”
Mingi bristled, but the corner of his mouth twitched up…not quite a smile. “Yeah, well. Dad says it makes me look unprofessional. ‘Juvenile’ was the word, I think.” He shrugged like it was meaningless, “Guess that’s fitting though, right? I am the disappointment.”
Yunho frowned before he could stop himself. “He’s said that to you?”
Mingi looked at him, something flashing behind his eyes before he smirked again, sharp and fast, shutting the door on any sympathy. “Aww, don’t look so heartbroken, Boy Scout. It’s nothing a few million won and a couple of bad decisions can’t fix.”
And with that, he cracked the door, slipped past into his room, and slammed the door in Yunho’s face.
Yunho stood there for a moment, exhaling through his nose. “Right. Yeah. Good talk.”
He rubbed a hand over his face and turned back down the hall, stopping by his assigned room. Chrome and white. Nothing personal. Nothing lived in. He reached into his duffel to pull out two frames. He looked at the photos in his hands.
One was his family - his father, mother, brother, and himself - smiling and whole. Before he’d enlisted. Before Gunho’s accident. The other was, well, his other family. The crew at Sector One - Yunho’s eyes traced his brothers, Hongjoong and Seonghwa, arms around the other’s shoulders, smiling at each other instead of the camera. Jongho pretending to gag over their shoulder and himself off to the other side, eyes locked and smiling at the camera. He placed each on the nightstand next to his bed with a smile.
His mind drifted then, unbidden, to his brother’s hospital room, the machines, the quiet. Then back to the task at hand. To the obnoxious man-child locked away in the other room, no doubt plotting how best to make Yunho’s life a living hell.
The paycheck, he reminded himself. The bills. His family. That’s why you’re here.
Not for the boy with red sheets and broken edges.
Definitely not for him.
A few hours later, Yunho had unpacked his meager belongings and circled the penthouse twice when the alert of the elevator arriving snapped him out of his standard routine. His hand flew to his back before he remembered that he was unarmed at the moment.
Still, instinct kicked in, alert, measured. He crossed the space in three long strides, ready to face whoever entered the penthouse head-on.
The man who entered was…pretty…and a head shorter than him, but solid, all muscle and quiet authority. His stance was military, feet shoulder-width, weight balanced, eyes sharp.
“You must be Jeong,” the man said with a polite nod. “Kang Yeosang, head of private security for the Song family.”
“Jeong Yunho, sir,” Yunho replied, shaking his hand. Yeosang’s grip was firm, professional, with a flicker of familiarity that put him at ease.
“We're glad to have you join us. I served with Seonghwa a few years back - he sent over your file himself.” A faint smile tugged at Yeosang’s mouth. “Said you were reliable to a T. Unflappable.”
“I’ll do my best to live up to his recommendation,” Yunho said, stepping back to let him in.
Yeosang’s gaze swept the penthouse, practiced and quick. “So, how are things going so far? Had much chance to talk to him?”
“Barely,” Yunho admitted. He weighed his next words carefully before landing on, “Still getting a read on him.”
Yeosang huffed a laugh, low and knowing. “Yes…Good luck with that.”
He crossed to the kitchen, resting a hand against the counter. “Alright, so, now on to the fun part. Logistics.”
Yunho cracked a smile and joined the other at the kitchen island. He liked Kang already. He carried himself with competence but had a little give to him. He’d probably be a lot of fun in civi life…and Yunho was usually a pretty good judge of character, pretty corporate heirs notwithstanding.
“I’m sure Hongjoong briefed you on all this, but humor me while I reiterate. Based on our contracting with Sector One, you’re on twenty-four-hour assignment, though you’ll get off-hours to sleep when he does. The penthouse is pretty iron-clad, so you can let your guard down a bit here. Two guards are stationed downstairs in the lobby and one at the elevator at all times. No one comes in or out of this penthouse without approved biometrics or override code.”
He slid a file folder over to Yunho with all the details of the gig. Though at this point, Yunho had them memorized.
“Sector One already sent me a copy of your fingerprints, so all good there, but I’ll need to grab a retinal scan. You’ll get one day off a week for personal use. Your coverage is already cleared for Fridays. If you need extra time, we can make it work as long as we know it in advance.”
“Someone from Sector One’s on standby as well if I need coverage,” Yunho said. “Seonghwa signed off on him.”
“Love it,” Yeosang said with a short nod. “Sector One runs a tight ship. You trained under Hongjoong, didn’t you?”
Yunho nodded once. “The one and only.”
“Explains a lot.” Yeosang’s mouth quirked faintly before he leaned his elbows on the counter, his shirt pulling tight over the width of his shoulders. “Listen, officially, you’re here to keep the boss’s son out of trouble. Unofficially…” He trailed off, searching for the right words. “You’re not his babysitter. You’re not going to be able to control what he does. And you shouldn’t try.”
His eyes shifted to the hallway to make sure they were still alone. “He’s going to do his absolute best to push your buttons, test you, maybe even drag you into something extra messy just to see if you’ll flinch.”
“I can handle him,” Yunho said.
“Good.” Yeosang’s tone softened. “Thing is, if there’s anyone who wants leverage on his father, Mingi is the easiest target.”
“I didn’t think they really got along.”
“Oh, they don’t. Mingi is his youngest - the spare, as it were. But he’s still tied to the Song name. You know how these families are. It’s all about progeny and the family line.”
The candor took Yunho back a bit. This wasn’t new, but the idea that family operating on obligation over love was a foreign concept to him. It always made something heavy settle in the pit of his stomach. The spare.
“He’s always been reckless, but he’s very far from stupid,” Yeosang continued. “He just…doesn’t always see the danger he surrounds himself with until it’s too late.”
Yunho studied him. There was something like affection under the words, something unspoken. It made him curious. “You like him,” Yunho said carefully.
Yeosang chuckled, shaking his head. “I mean, he’s leaps and bounds better to deal with than his brother, even if he does have me going grey prematurely.” Yunho snorted and made a show of searching for a single grey on Yeosang’s head.
The other man sobered for a moment, “…but, I do worry about him. He’s got more in him than his old man or his brother has ever given him credit for. You’ll see.” His expression cooled again. “Just… try not to let him self-destruct before you do.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Yunho said.
Yeosang straightened and gave him a firm pat on the shoulder as he began to make his way toward the elevator. Guess we’re done here. Yunho followed, one last question he felt he needed to ask the other, “He says he doesn’t trust his dad’s men. Any advice on earning it?”
Yeosang paused at the door, hand resting on the frame. “Hmm. That’ll have to come from you, I’m afraid…if it comes at all. He’s not as sharp as he pretends to be,” he said. “But he’s sharper than he wants anyone to realize. Figure that out, and you’ll be fine.”
Before Yunho could respond, a door slammed down the hall. Both men turned as Mingi emerged, bare-chested, toweling his hair dry.
Yunho blinked at him. Mingi’s torso was long and lean, sculpted in a way that spoke to hard work but not overly bulky. Yunho’s eyes caught on a water droplet as it followed the line down his neck between his pecs, past his abs… Eyes front, idiot. He forced his eyes back up to Mingi’s face and his newly bleached hair. Yunho cocked his head. Two hours ago, his hair had been it’s natural black. Now it was pale blond, nearly white under the penthouse lights.
“You look like a puppy when you do that.”
The voice startled him, but Yunho didn’t let it show. He glanced up, dry as ever. “New look?”
Mingi smirked, running a hand through still-damp blonde hair. “What? Things change.”
Yeosang barked a quiet laugh. “Couldn’t wait to see a professional, huh?”
“I did amazing work, thank you very much,” Mingi said, ruffling the ends. “Besides, gotta keep the public guessing. And Dad’ll hate it...it’s a win-win.”
Yeosang shook his head, mouth twitching. “Behave yourself, Mr. Song.”
“No promises, Yeosangie,” Mingi grinned, clapping him on the shoulder. The gesture was easy, familiar, comfortable in a way that told Yunho this wasn’t their first exchange.
Yeosang sighed, amused and exasperated all at once. He gave Yunho a lazy salute and a sympathetic look. “See you around, Jeong. Try not to strangle him.”
“I’ll do my best,” Yunho muttered.
When the elevator doors slid shut behind Yeosang, silence settled. Mingi leaned back against the counter again, long and loose-limbed, like he was deliberately showing off. Hip cocked, one hand braced behind him, he was watching him openly, amusement flickering in his eyes. His gaze lingered on Yunho, a smirk ghosting at the corner of his mouth.
“Did you need something?” Yunho asked.
Mingi tilted his head, studying him like an interesting puzzle. “Just wondering how long it’ll take before you start regretting this.”
His voice was lazy, teasing, but there was a challenge underneath. Yunho recognized it instantly. “I’m a harder nut to crack than you think.”
Mingi laughed softly. “You talk like a grandpa.”
“Well, back in my day,” Yunho said, tone bone-dry, “the younger generation showed some respect to their elders.”
That earned him a smirk. “What if I’m the elder here?”
“You aren’t.”
“How would you know?” Mingi pressed, eyes bright. “Ah, right…you probably know everything about me already. Age, blood type, Myers–Briggs, medical history.” He gave an exaggerated shiver. “Creepy, by the way.”
“It’s my job to know.”
“Okay, stalker.” Mingi’s grin flashed, sharp and boyish, before he turned and padded back toward his room, an unnecessary and far too obvious sway in his hips.
Yunho watched him leave, exhaling slowly. He’d worked with every kind of client, diplomats, dignitaries, movie stars, but none had made him feel quite this… disarmed. He reminded himself that this was just another assignment.
Just a pretty boy trying to push his buttons and make him lower his guard.
Chapter Text
Hours later, the penthouse was quiet except for the low hum of the city through the glass. Yunho sat at the kitchen counter, the glow from his tablet casting pale light across his face.
The report open in front of him listed all the minute details of Song Mingi’s life: schedules, contacts, dietary preferences, relationships of interest. Necessary intel, but it made Yunho’s skin crawl a little tonight.
It does feel a little stalker-y, he admitted to himself, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
He was still reading when movement caught the corner of his eye. Footsteps. He glanced up and froze.
Mingi stood in the hallway, transformed.
The hair was styled now, the blonde catching the warm lamplight like fire. The eyeliner made his eyes seem darker, more deliberate, sharper. His shirt was black and nearly translucent, dipping into a scandalous V that left little to the imagination. Silver caught at his throat, his fingers, his ears. He looked…good. He looked like trouble.
“Get your shit together, Boy Scout,” Mingi said, breezing in, not even looking at him. “We’re going out.”
Yunho blinked once. “Excuse me?”
Mingi spread his arms, spinning slow, the picture of self-satisfaction. “Can’t waste the new hair color. What’s the point of looking this good if no one gets to enjoy it?”
Yunho stared at him, unimpressed…or trying to be. “It’s ten p.m. on a Thursday.”
“Exactly. Prime time.” Mingi was already halfway to the front closet. “I need a stiff drink and someone tall and sweaty pressed against me ASAP or I’m going to scream.”
“You realize there are active threats against your life,” Yunho said evenly, tracking him with his eyes. “You were nearly blown up two days ago.”
Mingi rolled his eyes, hands grabbing his keys and sunglasses despite the hour. “And that’s why you’re here. To make sure I don’t die while I’m blowing off a little steam.”
Yunho’s jaw flexed. Don’t take the bait. Don’t engage. “Where exactly are we going?”
“Somewhere loud.” Mingi shrugged into a jacket, pausing just long enough to flash that deliberate grin. “Try to keep up, stalker.”
Yunho folded his arms, waiting him out. “I’ll need details. Address. People you’re meeting.”
“Oh my god, you’re worse than Yeosang.” Yunho deliberately settled himself into his seat, crossing his arms firmly across his chest.
Mingi groaned dramatically, throwing his hands in the air, “Fine! Club Parallax. My friends are already there. You can run background checks when we get there if it makes you feel better.”
“Noted.”
Mingi looked him up and down, taking in the suit. “And wear something other than that funeral outfit. You’ll cramp my style.”
“I could not care less about harshing your vibe.”
“Oh my god, you’re so old. Just lose the jacket, roll up your sleeves, or something. Try to look less like my accountant.”
Yunho didn’t move. Mingi threw his hands up again and stalked toward the elevator, “God, you’re hopeless.” Yunho smiled to himself. He took his time retrieving his sidearm and slipping it beneath the suit jacket before following at a sedate pace.
Mingi was waiting when the doors opened, foot tapping impatiently, jaw tight. “Can we go now?”
“Lead the way, princess.”
The words were out before Yunho could stop them: light, dry, too easy. Mingi turned to shoot him a glare, but the flush high on his cheeks betrayed him.
Yunho caught it. Filed it away.
Interesting.
The bass was rumbling through his body like a physical thing, a low, constant thrum that crawled through the floor and settled behind Yunho’s teeth. They’d been here for a little more than an hour, and Yunho was already ready to leave. The strobes made it hard to track time, each flash catching on glass, sequins, sweat.
He hated places like this. Too dark. Too loud. No clear exits. He’d mapped them, sure, checked with the staff on employee exits, too, but it didn’t matter; people were packed shoulder to shoulder, all potential obstacles if they had to make a quick exit.
Mingi, of course, was in the middle of it all.
He’d started drinking before Yunho had even found a spot to stand, one shot, then another, then something neon and on fire. Now he was a blur of movement and laughter, glitter-slick and golden under the lights, body twisting to the beat with two women clinging to him. One poured tequila down his throat from the bottle while the other licked salt from his collarbone.
Yunho clenched his jaw until it ached.
He’d confirmed the background checks on every “friend” Mingi had mentioned in the car on the way over. Most of them were harmless, socialites and models with nothing better to do and who flocked to open wallets like moths to a flame. But places like this tend to introduce an unpredictable cast of characters.
He kept scanning the sea of people. Kept counting faces, cataloging movement. But every time his gaze returned to the dance floor, it found the same thing: Mingi laughing like the world didn’t scare him, like he’d live forever.
He wasn’t supposed to care what Mingi looked like, but under the pounding lights, it was impossible not to notice the way sweat caught on his throat, the low curve of a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
Yunho stayed in the shadows, back to the wall. His shirt clung to his spine. He should have changed like the younger man had suggested, but he wasn’t about to concede defeat. Mingi was the kind who took a mile when given an inch or whatever the saying was. God, he couldn’t hear himself think.
Another burst of laughter from the floor, sharp, too bright. Yunho subconsciously moved closer as Mingi stumbled, someone catching him before he fell. He said something Yunho couldn’t make out, then threw his head back and cheered at nothing.
Obnoxious. Infuriating…Vulnerable.
Yunho pressed two fingers to the bridge of his nose and exhaled slowly. He’d spent years guarding people who wanted to live recklessly, so he understood the signs. This was deliberate. This was Mingi daring the world to take another shot at him. At least he wasn’t doing drugs. Yunho had expected that. The tabloids painted him as a full-spectrum disaster, powder, pills, parties, but the other man hadn’t touched a thing stronger than tequila. That, at least, was something.
He turned his attention back to his charge in the center of the floor, bathed in violet light. Mingi had shed his jacket somewhere along the way; his shirt clung to him like a second skin, open far enough to flash the glint of a chain and the smooth dip of his sternum. He was wrapped around someone new, a man this time, as tall as him, but slighter. The music slowed, bass pulsing like a heartbeat. Mingi’s body followed it effortlessly, a ripple of motion that had the whole circle around him watching.
The first time their eyes met, Yunho thought it was a coincidence, a passing glance through the crowd. But Mingi didn’t look away. Not once.
Every movement after that seemed deliberate. The way his hand slid up the stranger’s thigh. The tilt of his hips. His gaze stayed locked on Yunho’s through all of it, lazy, knowing, a taunt wrapped in a smile. The young man he danced with laughed, touching him, tugging at his shirt, but he barely seemed to see him. His focus never wavered.
Yunho’s throat went dry, but he kept his face neutral. He wasn’t going to be the first to back down.
He told himself it was irritation, that Mingi was doing this on purpose, trying to get a rise out of him, test his limits. That it was nothing more than another power play. But the heat creeping up the back of his neck said otherwise.
The song swelled, lights cutting across the room in jagged beams, and for a second, the world went white, and when the flash passed, Mingi was gone.
Yunho blinked, eyes searching. What the fuck?
A voice, low and amused, brushed his ear from behind, “Enjoying the view, Boy Scout?”
Yunho spun, pulse already spiking…And there he was. A spike of cold hit his stomach. You lost him...even for a second. That was unacceptable.
He blew out a breath, “Maybe stay where I can see you, yeah?”
Mingi snorted, moving closer, his body brushing against Yunho’s. “Isn’t it your job to guard my body?”
Unmoved by the proximity, Yunho turned his head to look Mingi in his eyes, “Ideally, you’d give me a hand on the protection front.”
A ring-clad hand reached up, long fingers running from his collar to his navel in a slow motion, provoking. “Hmm, now where would the fun be in that?”
He’s doing it on purpose.
“Mingi,” Yunho said, keeping his voice level, calm…the calm that always came before a storm. “Maybe it’s time to go.”
Mingi laughed, the sound sharp and breathless. “No, it’s time to dance. You see this crowd?” He gestured lazily toward the floor, where the music had kicked up again. “I’m a hot commodity tonight.”
“Yeah,” Yunho said dryly. “Because you’re paying the tab.”
Mingi shot him a crooked grin. “So what? At least they love me for tonight.”
That landed harder than Yunho expected, a half-second of quiet under the noise, a flicker of something small and sad under the bravado. His chest tightened before he could stop it.
“I think you’ve had enough for the night,” he said, lowering his voice. “We should go.”
Mingi pulled back, watching Yunho with narrowed eyes, defiance flickering even through the fog.
“You don’t get to tell me what to do,” he said. He pushed himself away from Yunho and into the crowd that welcomed him back with cheers and more shots. Yunho heaved a sigh, more at himself than Mingi. Don’t try to control him, Yeosang said. But why can’t he just listen? He sighed and steeled himself for a long night.
The night dragged on, each hour bleeding into the next. Every time Yunho's eyes caught Mingi, another glass was half gone, another round already waiting. His so-called friends, hangers-on more like, were happy to keep it coming.
“Come on, Mingi,” one of them purred, pressing in close with a smile too sharp. “You said you’d buy another bottle.”
He laughed, lazy and loose. “Did I?” He thumbed through his phone, didn’t even check the total before he waved his card at the server. “Put it on the tab.”
Yunho caught the number on the screen. Enough to cover a month’s rent for most people. None of them even blinked. The group cheered, glasses lifted. Someone poured vodka straight into Mingi’s mouth while another snapped a photo. Flash, laugh, flash. The sound grated against Yunho’s nerves.
Mingi’s eyes were glassy now, smile a half-second slow. When he tried to stand, he swayed. A hand shot out to steady him, not out of care, but because they didn’t want him spilling the next drink.
Yunho’s jaw ticked. He could see it clear as daylight, the way they orbited him, laughing too hard at his jokes, dragging him back to the bar when he tried to move away. They weren’t friends. They were spectators, circling a slow-motion crash. His hackles rose on the other man's behalf.
He caught sight of Mingi’s hand trembling slightly as he reached for another glass, only for someone else to push it into his grip. His smile faltered. Just for a second, a flicker of something tired before the performance snapped back into place.
That was when Yunho moved.
He pushed through the crowd, shouldering past the glitter and noise until he was close enough to grab Mingi’s wrist midway to his mouth. “Mingi.”
The word came out low. Controlled.
Mingi blinked up at him, disoriented. Then he grinned, lazy and defiant. “Oh, it’s you again.”
“You’ve had enough.”
“Enough what? Fun?” He tried to pull his hand free, but Yunho held fast. “Don’t be such a buzzkill.” He snorted, wobbling on his feet. “You really don’t know how to relax, do you?”
Yunho’s patience snapped like glass. “We’re done here.”
He pulled at Mingi’s wrist, intending to guide him toward the exit. Mingi finally steeled himself enough to yank it back, stumbling a step. “Don’t touch me-”
“Mingi.” Yunho’s voice came out low, a warning.
“I said-” Mingi’s hand shoved weakly at his chest, “-don’t!”
That was it. The line between professionalism and frustration vanished. In one smooth, practiced motion, Yunho ducked down, caught Mingi around the waist, and hoisted him up and over his shoulder. Damn the kid's long limbs.
“WHAT THE-?! Put me down!” Mingi’s fists pounded uselessly against his back. “Are you insane?! I’ll have you fired!”
Yunho adjusted his grip, ignoring the gawking crowd. “File a complaint with management,” he said through his teeth.
Mingi kicked, shouting, furious. “This is kidnapping! You can’t just-”
“Keep struggling,” Yunho said evenly, “and I’ll drop you on your ass in front of everyone here.”
That earned him a surprised bark of incredulous laughter. “Oh my god, you would, wouldn’t you? You’re actually insane.”
He was halfway to the door by then, every head turning as they passed. The music thumped on, oblivious, but the people weren’t. Phones were out, flashes catching Mingi’s flushed face, Yunho’s tight jaw.
Outside, the air hit cool and sharp. Yunho didn’t stop until they reached the car.
He dumped Mingi into the back seat. “Stay.”
Mingi sat up, eyes blazing, chest heaving. “You’re unbelievable.”
“And you’re drunk,” Yunho said, yanking open the passenger door. “So we’re even.”
He slid in and nodded at the driver, who started the engine and pulled away before Mingi could say another word.
For a few blessed seconds, there was silence. Then, softly, almost to himself, Mingi muttered, “You didn’t have to carry me.”
Yunho’s head thunked back against the headrest.
Chapter Text
Mingi seemed to take the club incident as a personal challenge.
Yunho had gotten a call the next morning from Hongjoong when the tabloids started circulating.“Day one and you’ve already resorted to a fireman’s carry?”
He dragged a hand down his face. “I’ll try not to make it a habit.”
Hongjoong had choked out a laugh. “We’ve been given the authority to manhandle the client if it’s in his best interest. Just try to save it for special occasions, huh? Let the man have a little dignity, Yun.”
That was probably good advice. It just turned out to be impossible to follow.
If Yunho’s job was to keep Mingi alive, Mingi’s new mission seemed to be making him regret it every hour of every day. The next few weeks became a low-grade war.
They were never apart, not even for an hour when Yunho was on the clock, but Mingi acted like that was Yunho’s punishment, not his own protection. Every day, he looked for new ways to slip his guard, and when he realized he couldn’t - Yunho was not about to make the same mistake he’d made at the club again - he found fresh ways to push, prod, and provoke.
When they were in public, Mingi would start fights. Maybe for himself, maybe just to see what Yunho would do. And Yunho would always intervene, de-escalating where he could, disarming where he couldn’t. In crowded places, Mingi would make comments at his expense - always cutting, always looking to humiliate - waiting for Yunho to snap back or walk away. He never did. High school bully tactics, really, and Yunho had long since grown immune to those.
Then there were the 'fieldtrips' as Yunho started to think of them. “Let’s go. I’ve got some errands to run,” Mingi’d say without warning, halfway through breakfast.
“Where?” he'd ask, already reaching for his jacket.
“Does it matter?”
It always mattered. Mingi would say grocery store, and somehow they’d end up drag racing along the Han River in a vintage Aston Martin, the speedometer climbing toward a hundred and fifty while Yunho silently prayed the seatbelt would hold.
He’d say “quick stop downtown” and they’d wind up at an illegal underground casino with enough cameras to make Yunho’s skin crawl.
Mingi was chaos in designer shoes. Every detour was another variable, another risk. Yunho needed predictability; Mingi thrived on combustion.
“Your definition of errand needs revision,” he’d say, low and even, scanning exits while Mingi laughed and ordered another drink.
By week two, the chaos came home with him.
Unannounced guests, champagne towers, smoke, and synth beats spilling into the hallways at three in the morning. Sometimes it was a handful of industry friends, sometimes people Yunho had never seen before - faces that didn’t show up on social media, the kind that paid to stay invisible. Yunho drew lines. Mingi crossed them like it was a game.
“They don’t come in without clearance.”
“They don’t need clearance. They’re my friends.”
“They can be your friends with clearance, or they can be your friends from outside this penthouse. Your call.”
Mingi would grin, wide and infuriating. “Can you even hear yourself, Boy Scout? You sound like a prison guard.”
“I feel like a babysitter,” Yunho would reply, harkening back to their first meeting.
By the time they were a month in, the provocations felt more pointed, more…intimate.
Mingi stopped wearing shirts in the mornings…or pants that could be called appropriate in polite company. He’d wander through the apartment dripping from a shower, towel slung low and loose around his hips, humming, leaning close enough for Yunho to catch a whiff of cologne as he reached across his lap for a mug.
Yunho didn’t flinch, just refocused on his crossword. But his knuckles always went white around his own coffee mug.
By this point, Mingi had discovered the one thing that could actually crack Yunho’s composure: unpredictability. So, to fight back, Yunho started cataloging what patterns he could. Some made sense: the parties, the clubs, the late nights, and later mornings.
Some didn’t fit at all. At least once a day, Mingi locked himself in his room. Hours at a time. No guests, no noise, no music. Just silence. Yunho would walk past and hear nothing but the faint hum of electronics behind the door.
He’d emerge around dusk, hair mussed, eyes tired, expression faintly smug. Sometimes he’d make himself a drink and try to pull Yunho into some verbal sparring, sometimes he’d grab a snack and go right back to it. He never explained what he’d been doing.
Yunho didn’t ask. Partly because it wasn’t his business. Mostly because he suspected he wouldn’t understand the answer.
Still, he noted the precision in Mingi’s movements when he did sit down at a computer, the speed of his typing, the focus in his eyes. He’s sharper than he wants people to know, Yeosang had said once. Yunho was beginning to see what he meant.
But the next morning, the same brat would be out on the balcony, blasting music at nine a.m., dancing shirtless in pajama pants while the neighbors glared.
And Yunho - against every instinct - found himself smiling. Because for all the calculated chaos, there was something disarmingly alive about Mingi. Even at his worst, he burned bright. It made Yunho’s job harder, yes. It also made him want to stay.
Still, once he noticed the patterns, Yunho began adapting his countermeasures the way he would on a mission: distance, neutral tone, professional detachment. Every time Mingi pushed, Yunho stayed steady. And every time Yunho refused to rise to the bait, he caught a flicker of something in Mingi’s eyes. First irritation, then confusion, then something that looked almost like respect. Maybe even relief. It was as if every unbroken silence, every calm answer, forced Mingi to rethink the script he’d been running in his own head.
Sometimes Yunho caught him looking longer than he probably meant to, studying him like a puzzle that didn’t fit together the way he expected. Yunho wasn’t sure what to make of that. Only that it made something in his own chest unclench, just a little.
“You know, most people would have quit by now,” Mingi told him once, sprawled across the couch, half a bottle of wine gone.
“Yeah, well, I’m not most people.”
“That supposed to impress me, stalker?”
“Not really. You’re not my target audience.”
That one earned him a grin, slow and deliberate, the kind that promised payback. “Oh, I’m sure all the girls at the retirement home just go crazy for you.”
Yunho hummed. “Oh yeah, and the boys in the cribbage club fall all over themselves to be my partner.”
He was surprised by the genuine laugh that followed, bright and unguarded, before the liquor pulled the other man under.
Yunho huffed a sigh and got up to transfer his charge to bed. As he deposited him on the sheets, he stopped to take him in. Mingi looked softer when he was sleeping, the sharp edges smoothed by slumber, loose and gentle. Without conscious thought, Yunho reached out and brushed a lock of freshly dyed silver hair to the side before snatching his own hand back.
You’re crossing a line, Jeong.
He had just started to build a modicum of trust with the other man and wasn’t about to ruin it with feelings. He told himself it didn’t matter, that attraction didn’t change the job as long as he could maintain his professionalism.
Mingi was pretty, yes. And Yunho could look all he wanted, as long as he remembered why he was here.
Mingi looked like death incarnate.
He was slumped over the kitchen island in an oversized hoodie, forehead pressed to the cool marble like it might absorb the pain out of his skull. His hair was a wreck, his voice a low, pained groan.
Yunho set a glass of water beside him, along with two aspirin. If he set it down a little harder than necessary just to see Mingi flinch, well…no one needed to know that. “Wine drunk,” he said, tone clipped but faintly amused. “A bold choice. How’s that working out for you now?”
“Shut up,” Mingi muttered without lifting his head.
“I’d say the hangover must be a bitch,” Yunho continued, ignoring the complaint, “but it doesn’t seem like you need me to tell you that.” He checked his watch. “Get dressed. We have a meeting in an hour.”
That got Mingi’s head up. His eyes were bloodshot, his expression incredulous. “Meeting? What meeting?”
“With your father.”
The groan that followed came from the core of Mingi’s being. “Oh, no. Nope. Not happening. Cancel it. Say I fell down a well or something.”
“Tempting,” Yunho said dryly. “But you’re going.”
“I’m not going.”
“You are,” Yunho said, tone even. “Even if I have to drag you there myself.”
That earned him a slow, mischievous smile, the kind that always promised trouble. “Oh, you do love that, don’t you?” Mingi drawled, leaning back in his chair. “Throwing me around. Manhandling me. Gotta admit, Boy Scout, when I first saw you, I didn’t expect you to be the type.”
Yunho froze only long enough to set his coffee down before turning fully toward him. He didn’t glare. Didn’t raise his voice. He just looked at him. Mingi’s smirk faltered, just slightly.
Yunho held the silence for a beat longer, then said, “You have fifteen minutes.”
Mingi exhaled, slumping again, muttering something that sounded a lot like “killjoy” under his breath.
Yunho collected his tablet, straightening his tie. “Brush your teeth and comb your hair at least. You look like you’ve never heard the word ‘hygiene’.”
Mingi’s groan was muffled in the crook of his arm. “You sound like my dad.”
“Well,” Yunho said, walking toward the guest room to finish grabbing his own gear, “Maybe you’ll listen to one of us.”
The car hummed through the city, cutting a sleek path between glass and light. Yunho was playing chauffeur today, a task that he utterly enjoyed whenever he got to take it. Mingi was quiet beside him, head tipped against the window, sunglasses hiding the lingering proof of last night’s antics.
He still looked unfairly good for someone who’d tried to drown himself in wine the night before, pressed shirt, gold rings, hair pushed back in that artful way that said I woke up like this and probably took more than twenty minutes to achieve.
For once, he wasn’t talking. Yunho almost missed the noise… Almost.
They’d been on the road for ten minutes when Mingi finally broke the silence. “So,” he said, voice a touch rough around the edges, “you’ve been with me for like… what, over a month now?”
“Something like that.”
“No death threats so far, well outside the normal ones, but I notice you haven’t taken a single day off.”
“You would be correct.”
“Isn’t that, like, illegal?” Mingi pressed, half-grinning. “Pretty sure OSHA or whoever would be pissed.”
The corner of Yunho’s mouth twitched. “Technically, I get Fridays off.”
“Technically?”
“I just haven’t taken them.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” Yunho said evenly, “but you’re kind of a full-time job.”
That earned a low laugh, unguarded and real. It was so unexpected that Yunho found himself glancing over just to confirm it was genuine. “Yeah, but even babysitters get time off,” Mingi said, still grinning.
“I’ll take it eventually,” Yunho said. “Just wanted to get a feel for things first. The job. The schedule. You.”
“Oh, so you’re a workaholic and a control freak. Cool. Love that for us.”
Yunho’s lips twitched. “Occupational hazard.”
Mingi turned his head back toward the window, voice dropping softer. “Sounds lonely.”
Yunho didn’t respond. He wasn’t sure what to say. Mingi wasn’t looking at him, and maybe that made it easier for him to speak that honestly. The city flickered over his face in passing light, making the shadows on his face sharper. Yunho thought he might not be the only one projecting.
The silence was broken by the buzz of Mingi’s phone. He looked down, read the message, and groaned loud enough to make Yunho flinch.
“What?” Yunho asked, already half expecting the worst.
“My brother’s going to be there.” Mingi slumped back in his seat, tossing the phone onto the console like it had personally offended him. “Is it too late to turn the car around?”
Yunho arched an eyebrow. “You’d rather face your father’s wrath than your brother’s presence?”
“Absolutely.”
“Unfortunately for you,” Yunho said, signaling the turn into the Aether Tower’s private drive and flashing his entry badge to the attendant, “That’s not on the table.”
Mingi groaned again, dragging a hand down his face. “Unbelievable. I should’ve just let the bomb take me.”
“Don’t joke about that,” Yunho said automatically, the words coming out sharper than intended.
For a moment, Mingi just looked at him, and the smirk that followed didn’t quite mask the flicker of confusion before it was quickly pulled back. “Relax, Boy Scout,” he said lightly, reaching over to pat Yunho’s knee, voice a little too bright. “I’m just kidding.”
Yunho didn’t reply immediately, jaw tight as he pulled the car to a smooth stop.
“Sure you were,” he murmured.
Chapter Text
A sense of deja vu washed over him as the elevator doors slid open on the top floor of Aether Tower, except this time, he was coaxing a hungover brat out alongside him. Mingi was moving like every step was one closer to the guillotine. Yunho rolled his eyes and let him pout, making his way to the front desk.
“Good morning, Chaerin. Wonderful to see you again.”
Chaerin looked up from her computer with a smile, shyly tucking her hair behind an ear as she realized who he was. “Good morning, Mr. Jeong. Lovely to see you as well, shall I tell Mr. Song that you have arrived?”
“Yes, thank you. And please call me Yunho. 'Mr. Jeong' is a blow to my ego.”
Chaerin smiled at him and picked up the phone to announce their presence. Yunho felt eyes boring into the side of his head and turned to find Mingi staring at him from over his sunglasses. Yunho cocked his head at him. What? Mingi’s eyes slid to Chaerin, then back to him, judgmental.
“Oh, shut up.”
“Sorry, what was that?” Yunho’s attention snapped back to Chaerin, who was looking at him expectantly. Next to him, Mingi did his best to hide a cackle.
“Uh, nothing. Sorry about that. Is he ready for us?”
“Yes, you can head back to the conference room whenever you’re ready.”
“Thank you, Chaerin.”
They made their way down the back hallway towards the conference room, Mingi a half a step behind him. Yunho prayed he wouldn’t open his mouth. Apparently, God hated him. “So, you’re trying to fuck my father’s secretary?”
“I’m not going to dignify that with a response.”
“Okay, sure. Kinda unprofessional though, don’t you think? Sleeping with an employee of the guy who is paying your bills.”
“We’re not talking about this.”
“I mean, you’re not talking about this.”
“Just get in there.”
Mingi held up his hands in surrender, a grin lighting up his face. It almost made Yunho smile back at him. But it was wiped away moments later as they came to the doors to the board room. Here Mingi visibly steeled himself, taking a deep breath before the blanket of ‘unbothered’ seemed to drape over his shoulders. Yunho filed that away.
When the doors to the boardroom opened, they were greeted with the familiar sight of Song Minjae poised and powerful as ever. Next to him sat a man of similar stature to the other Song men, tall and lean with broad shoulders and sharp eyes: Song Minhyuk. There were a handful of other men and women scattered around the room. Yunho clocked Kang Yeosang at one of the seats at the head of the table. He gave Yunho a nod when their eyes met.
“Mingi. You’re on time for once,” were the first words Song Minhyuk spoke to his brother.
Yunho bristled on Mingi’s behalf, but the other man took it in stride, throwing himself down into one of the seats across from his brother, “Yeah, well. Blame my babysitter for that one.”
“Good to see someone has finally got a handle on you.”
Mingi flipped him off with a smile, chair tilting back and long legs coming up to rest on the tabletop. His eyes scanned the room, searching until they found his, and Yunho could swear the other man’s body relaxed a bit at his continued presence. His chest warmed at that. Yunho stepped back against the wall by the boardroom doors, disinclined to leave unless asked to do so.
He settled himself, content to be a wallflower while more powerful men conversed, when Song Minjae adjusted the cuff of his dark suit, then turned his gaze directly at him. “Mr. Jeong,” he said, making Yunho stand straighter. “You’ve been assigned to my son for over a month now. How have you found the arrangement?”
All eyes turned to him. “Productive, sir. The situation has been stable. No direct threats to Mr. Song’s safety.”
“Other than himself, you mean?” Minhyuk offered from the sidelines.
Yunho ignored him, glancing toward Mingi before continuing, careful with his words. “Mr. Song has followed the necessary precautions, and we’ve had no direct cause for alarm.”
Across the table, Mingi snorted. “You hired the babysitter to watch me like a hawk 24/7, and he does, even though it's hardly been necessary.” His voice was dry, threaded with mockery. “The explosion was a month ago. If someone wanted me dead, they’d have tried again by now.”
Yunho’s jaw flexed. He said nothing, though Mingi’s tone chafed him a bit. He’d thought they’d reached some kind of uneasy rhythm…even, occasionally, understanding. But Mingi had a way of puncturing that with a single barb.
“Watch your tone,” Minjae said coldly.
Then, to Yunho: “Continue.”
“That’s all, sir,” Yunho said, tone even. “My team has been monitoring digital and physical threats, but nothing credible has materialized.”
“Credible?” The word was sharp, this time from Minhyuk, voice smooth and self-satisfied. “You might want to redefine that, considering the mail we’ve been receiving.”
Mingi turned his head, frowning. “Mail?”
Minhyuk leaned back, sliding a neat stack of missives across the table. “Letters. Addressed to you. The first arrived six weeks ago. There have been five since. One a week.”
He spoke with the calm precision of someone who knew he had the upper hand. “We’ve had them analyzed. There are no prints, no traceable sender. Just a lot of creative observations.”
Mingi didn’t react at first. His expression faltered, just a flicker, before he rolled his eyes and set his feet back on the ground. “You’ve got to be kidding me. So some psycho is sending me love letters? So what? My Twitter DMs get like 20 death threats a week.” He wasn’t wrong. That was why Yunho had used the word ‘credible’ earlier.
“But these ones are so much more clever,” Minhyuk said." You might want to read the poetry people are writing about you. It’s quite-” he smirked faintly “-visceral.”
Yunho’s pulse kicked once, hard.
Mingi exhaled through his nose and pulled the stack toward him. The envelopes were thick, off-white, edges smudged. He took one off the top, unfolded the page.
The silence stretched thin.
Yunho saw the way Mingi’s posture shifted, the lazy slouch gone, shoulders drawn tight. The letters made a faint sound as they trembled slightly between his fingers. As Mingi’s eyes skimmed the words, the color drained from his face.
Yunho didn’t even realize he was moving. It was instinct, a soldier responding to threat, even if the danger was ink on paper. He crossed the room in two long strides, ignoring the flicker of disapproval from Minhyuk and his security chief, and stopped beside Mingi’s chair.
“Sir,” he said quietly, reaching down to take the paper.
Mingi didn’t resist.
The handwriting was uneven - jagged. Phrases cut into the page like wounds:
you were made to be taken apart.
want to feel you from the inside.
want to see you insides.
Without realizing it, his hand came to rest on the back of Mingi’s neck, thumb brushing against the tense line of his skin, a silent, grounding touch. When he looked up again, his voice was measured.
“Why,” he said, addressing Minhyuk, “was I not informed of this?”
Minhyuk blinked, clearly taken aback by the steel in his tone and the direct address by someone he deemed ‘the help’. “My team was handling it.”
Yunho’s tone didn’t rise, but the air in the room shifted - charged, brittle. “With respect, sir, that is unacceptable. My job is to protect your brother, and I cannot do that effectively if information about active threats is being withheld from me.”
Minhyuk opened his mouth, but Yunho cut him off, raising the volume of his voice just enough that the authority in it was unmistakable.
“I need every piece of intelligence available. Anything that targets Mingi specifically, and anything that involves your family as a whole or the company. If there are more letters, I want copies. If there’s surveillance, I want access. If your team is handling it, they can coordinate with me directly.”
Minhyuk’s expression hardened. “You’re saying our internal team is insufficient?”
“I’m saying,” Yunho replied, “that any lapse in communication puts your brother’s life at risk. And I don’t take risks.”
“So you’re giving me orders now?” Minhyuk asked, one brow arched.
“I’m ensuring your brother doesn’t end up dead,” Yunho said evenly. “If that’s a problem, we can clarify roles later.”
The silence that followed was cold and brittle.
Mingi hadn’t said a word. He was staring straight ahead, jaw tight, the letters crumpled under his hand. The only sign of life was the faint pulse beating against Yunho’s fingers where they still rested against his neck.
Minhyuk finally cleared his throat. “We’ll forward the rest of the correspondence to your department.”
“Do that,” Yunho said, stepping back but not before one last look at Mingi, silent, still, his eyes fixed on nothing. Yunho on the other hand was burning with frustration.
The rest of the security briefing passed like a blur. Yunho stayed standing near the back wall, posture sharp, expression unreadable. He heard the words - dates, names, threat assessments - and cataloged them all. He was a professional after all, but he was still seething beneath his calm. The lack of accountability grated, the lack of respect for his position even more so, but what lingered was the image of Mingi’s hand trembling on the page, knuckles white.
When the conversation shifted from personal protection to corporate security, Minjae finally spoke.
“Mr. Jeong,” the patriarch said, tone mild but cutting, “you seem particularly invested in our internal affairs today.” His eyes held Yunho’s for a beat too long. “Since you’re so eager to ensure my family’s safety, you may stay for this portion of the meeting. Consider it… educational.”
“Understood, sir,” Yunho replied, his voice clipped. He didn’t miss the condescension or the fact that this was more of a leash than an invitation.
“Mingi, wait in my office. We’ll call you back in when we’re finished here.”
Yunho expected protest, a scoff, something sharp from Mingi. Instead, the younger man only stood. His expression was flat, not angry, not amused, just empty. He left without a word.
That, more than anything, put Yunho on edge.
The door clicked shut behind him, and Minhyuk immediately took the lead. “We’ve had another breach,” he said, sliding a tablet across the polished surface. “Same signature. Same encryption pattern. Whoever these hackers are, they’re escalating.”
Minjae’s expression darkened. “Define escalating.”
A woman at the head of the table took over. Yunho assumed based on the context that she must head up Aether’s cybersecurity division, “They’ve stopped pulling random financials,” she said, sliding a tablet across the table to Minjae. “Now they’re accessing internal correspondence, private communications, family records. It’s clearly targeted.”
She tapped her tablet screen, pulling up a file that she cast to the main monitor for them all to see. The room’s light dimmed slightly as the words appeared. The message was simple, a single text document embedded in the breach folder.
ZERO SUM:
Insurance is meant to save lives. You turned it into profit on suffering.
We will reveal who you protected and who you left to die.
“This isn’t a bluff,” Minhyuk said tightly. “The timing aligns with the attempted breach on our overseas accounts and the tracking of internal mail. They know where to look, and they’re learning how to hurt us.”
Across the room, Yeosang was reviewing the security logs, “Has there been any indication this could be a physical threat, or just digital infiltration?”
Minhyuk’s jaw tightened. “We have no reason to believe a physical threat, but the timing of it all is convenient. We can’t prove this is related to Mingi’s little…problem.”
Yunho spoke before he could curb the outburst, “But you also can’t prove it isn’t.”
“You’re right, Mr. Jeong,” Minjae interrupted smoothly. “Which is precisely why you’re still in this room.” His tone made it sound like a reprimand. Yunho couldn’t find it in him to give a fuck. “Until we understand its reach, I want every measure in place.”
The room echoed with, Yes, sir’s as the team took in the new information.
Yunho glanced once more at the glowing words on the screen. They didn’t read like a hacker’s taunt; they read like a promise. And Yunho couldn’t shake the thought that whatever this was, it was personal.
Mingi didn’t say much when Yunho came to collect him, and he was unusually quiet on the drive home. Yunho didn’t blame him, but the stillness was worrisome. His head leaned back against the seat, jaw tight, lips pressed together in that familiar mask of indifference. Yunho’s eyes flicked to him occasionally, noting the subtle tension in his shoulders, a storm brewing beneath the calm exterior.
Later that night, Mingi emerged from his room like a shot of adrenaline. He was sharply dressed, a long-sleeved shirt unbuttoned to the navel, sleeves rolled up to the elbow.
“Lace up your dancing shoes, stalker, we’re going out.”
Yunho pulled his eyes away from the exposed skin, rubbing a hand over his face. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“It’s a great idea.”
“Mingi, maybe we just take it easy tonight, yeah?”
True to form, Mingi scoffed and threw his hand in the air like a child. “Can you let me have a little fun, for God’s sake? Why are you always such a wet blanket?” His grin was sharp, eyes glinting in the dim light.
Yunho exhaled slowly, pressing a finger to his temple. He could feel the tension in his chest climbing.
“I’m going whether you come with me or not,” Mingi declared, stubbornly.
“You know you’re not going alone.”
“Then come the fuck on, Boy Scout. Every moment I’m not fucked up is a moment wasted.”
It was like the first night all over again. Mingi exercised no restraint, no regard for his own well-being. The club he chose was unfamiliar, the staff unvetted, and the chaos all around prickled Yunho’s nerves. Every loose movement, every laugh and shout, set his teeth on edge.
When Mingi was well and truly sloshed, he snagged the young woman he’d been sucking face with all night and practically dragged her toward the exit. Yunho followed closely, muscles coiled, eyes scanning the perimeter, every instinct on alert.
The backseat of the car was a tight, chaotic tangle. Mingi pressed her against him like he owned the space, lips moving over hers, hands roaming. Every time Yunho dared a glance into the rearview mirror, Mingi’s dark eyes caught his and held. The smirk tugging at Mingi’s lips was infuriating, almost like a dare. Yunho clenched the steering wheel, forcing himself to focus on the road.
When they reached the apartment, Yunho stopped the woman from entering while he pulled her information. Mingi wrapped around her from behind, “Really, stalker? You don’t trust anyone now?” His voice was teasing, but sharp edges cut through it, the kind of half-laugh that made Yunho want to reach out and throttle him.
“Just doing my job,” Yunho replied, jaw tight, every muscle coiled, heat crawling across his neck despite the cold air of the car.
By the time they reached the penthouse, the girl giggled as Mingi practically threw her into his bedroom, lips still brushing hers, the sound of their laughter and movement echoing through the hallway. Yunho followed, closing the door behind him quietly, the pounding bass of the club now replaced by the thud of bodies against walls, muffled voices, and increasingly desperate moans. Loud. Deliberately loud. Pointedly loud.
Exhausted, Yunho sank into the couch in the living room, shoulders heavy with tension and fatigue. God, this was draining. He pressed his palm against his forehead, jaw flexing as the day caught up with him.
He needed a break. Mingi was right; he was a workaholic, and he needed a moment to himself to regroup. Conveniently, tomorrow was Friday. Thank Christ.
Yunho pulled out his phone and shot a quick text to Yeosang’s office to confirm coverage for his day off. A thumbs-up came almost immediately. One day. Just twenty-four hours to see his family and get his head back on straight before the storm picked up again.
Chapter Text
Yunho’s day off started quietly.
He stood in the kitchen, coffee cooling beside him as he scrubbed through last night’s footage. Nothing out of the ordinary, no disturbances, no suspicious activity. His eyes flicked over to Mingi and his guest, who, at some point in the night, had left the confines of his room and were passed out in a heap of blankets on the sofa, the remains of an expensive bottle of whiskey upended on the coffee table.
Yunho rubbed the bridge of his nose, Mingi’s eyes from last night flashing in his memory. The chime of the door broke his thoughts. His relief for the day, Agent Lim, stepped in, young, crisp suit and tie, a little too put together. He had the kind of posture that looked practiced in mirrors. Mingi was going to tear him apart.
“He’ll probably sleep until noon,” Yunho told him, tone clipped and quiet but not unkind. “It was a long night. His guest will need to be escorted out. Get her a car, something discreet. And try to keep him inside as much as possible. Don’t let him go wandering off.”
Lim nodded briskly, "I'll take care of everything, sir."
“Good luck,” Yunho added, slinging his jacket over one shoulder. “You’re on your own until I’m back.”
He hesitated before leaving, eyes flicking toward the living room, a pang of worry tugging at his chest despite the fact that this was technically his day off. He tore himself away and stepped out into the hall, the sound of the lock engaging behind him feeling more final than it should.
Sector One felt like stepping into sunlight after a long stretch underground. The hum of conversation, the faint smell of brewed coffee and cleaning solvent, the click of boots on polished concrete. All familiar. Home.
“Hey, hyung,” Jongho called from across the common area, grinning wide. “How’s life in luxury treating you?”
Yunho’s shoulders eased a little as he returned the smile. “It has its unique challenges.”
“Oh yeah, must be brutal,” Jongho quipped, falling into step beside him. “You’re sipping champagne with the rich and famous while I’m out here wrestling drunk cowboys at country music festivals. You know how I feel about country music.”
“I do,” Yunho said, a quiet chuckle slipping out. “Yours is truly a life of suffering, Jongho-ah.”
“Damn right it is.”
The banter loosened something in Yunho’s chest, the tension that had been coiled tight since he’d left Mingi’s penthouse.
As they rounded the corner, Hongjoong’s voice carried from his office. “I thought I heard your voice.” He appeared in the doorway, small but sharp-eyed, a smile tugging at his mouth. “Get in here.”
He pulled Yunho into a quick hug, brief but grounding, and guided him toward the office with a hand on his shoulder. Inside, Seonghwa sat waiting, composed as ever, eyes kind. Jongho followed, perching on the edge of a chair like the perpetual kid brother he was.
“Good to see you, Yun,” Seonghwa said, tone warm. “How are things with Song?”
Yunho dropped into a seat, sighing. “A mess, hyung. Yesterday, I got dragged into a briefing and found out that Song Minhyuk’s office has been receiving letters addressed to Mingi…dangerous ones. One a week, for six weeks. And no one told me. They’re sending copies over today, but that’s six weeks of threats completely off my radar.”
Seonghwa’s expression hardened instantly. Hongjoong sat forward, calm but cold-eyed in that way that made people nervous. “That’s a violation of our contract,” he said. “They agreed to share any intel relevant to the safety of the asset. Keeping that from you puts your client - and you - at risk. I’ll be damned if I risk one of my men because an entitled ass has an ego. I’ll handle it.”
Relief bled through Yunho’s tension, subtle but real. “Thanks, hyung.”
“How’s Mingi taking it?” Jongho piped up.
Yunho scrubbed a hand over his face, voice quieter now. “I don’t know. The kid’s reckless. Sometimes it feels like no one in that family gives a damn if he lives or dies. Least of all him.”
Seonghwa leaned forward slightly, tone gentle. “I get it. From what Yeosang tells me, Mingi and his family don’t see eye to eye. It tracks why he’d act out.”
“He’s…” Yunho’s words faltered, his gaze dropping to the floor. “He’s actually kind of palatable about twenty percent of the time. The rest, he’s trying to drown himself in bodies or liquor.”
Jongho smirked. “Sounds like you like him.”
Yunho shot him a flat look, but his mouth twitched despite himself. “I like smoking too, but there’s a reason I quit.”
That earned a laugh, even Seonghwa’s lips curved, and Hongjoong shook his head, amused.
For a moment, the laughter and the soft hum of the office filled the space, wrapping Yunho in something that felt suspiciously like safety. These were his people, steady, competent, protective. Here, he could exhale without bracing for impact. Mingi was right. He had been lonely.
Seonghwa rested a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll clear this up with the Songs. We’ll get those letters logged and added to your file. You did good catching it.”
Hongjoong nodded in agreement. “Go see your family, get some rest. You look like you’ve been sleeping with one eye open.”
Yunho smiled faintly, the real kind this time. “Yeah,” he said. “Something like that.”
As he stood to leave, Jongho threw him a lazy salute. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”
Yunho rolled his eyes, shoving at the younger’s shoulder. “Not much is off limits then, is it?”
But as he walked out, the image that came unbidden, the curve of Mingi’s grin, the rasp of his voice, the way he’d looked in that rearview mirror. Yunho swallowed it down and headed out.
The city softened as Yunho drove. The streets thinned, buildings giving way to smaller shops and narrow sidewalks, fewer and fewer people lining the streets. He slowed at a familiar corner, a flower vendor tucked between a bakery and an old newsstand.
The woman behind the cart recognized him before he even spoke. “Is it just me, or have you gotten taller?” she teased, though she had to crane her neck to meet his eyes.
“Must be the boots,” he said, smiling faintly.
He scanned the blooms: chrysanthemums, lilies, a handful of late roses. His hand hovered before he picked out a bouquet of soft pinks and whites, simple and sweet.
“For your mother?” the vendor asked, already wrapping it in brown paper.
“Always.”
She tied it off with a piece of twine and handed it over. “Tell her she raised a good one.”
Yunho paid, murmured his thanks, and tucked the bouquet under his arm before heading the rest of the way home.
The house always looked smaller than he remembered, though he knew that was just a trick of the mind. The front gate creaked when he pushed it open; it looks like his father still hadn’t fixed it. He made a mental note.
When he knocked, he barely had time to lower his hand before the door opened.
“Yunho!”
His mother’s voice broke into a laugh as she grabbed his face in both hands, the bouquet crushed between them. She stood on her toes to kiss his cheek, once, then again…and again. “You didn’t even call to say you were coming! Look at you. Aish, you’re too thin, too pale.”
“I’m fine, eomma.” He ducked his head, smiling despite himself. “Hi.”
His father appeared behind her, gruff but warm. “About time.” He clasped Yunho’s hand and pulled him in for a solid pat on the back. “How’s work?”
“Tiring,” Yunho admitted, stepping inside. “But good. Busy.”
His mother took the flowers from him, cooing softly over them as she set them in water. “You didn’t need to bring anything.”
“Wouldn’t feel right if I didn’t,” he said.
She waved him toward the table. “Sit, sit. You look exhausted.”
He sat, letting the chair creak under his weight. His father took the seat across from him, folding his hands.
“So,” his father said finally. “You started a new one, did you?”
Yunho nodded. “Yeah. Started a few weeks ago. That’s why I haven’t been around much. Sorry.”
His father shook his head. “You don’t have to apologize. You’re working. We understand.”
His mother came back, setting a bowl in front of him - rice, kimchi, a fried egg on top. “You need to eat more,” she scolded gently. “You look tired. Are they treating you well?”
“They are,” Yunho said, picking up his chopsticks. “It’s… different. The client’s a good person, I think. Even if he doesn’t always act like it.”
His mother arched an eyebrow but smiled. “Sounds like a handful.”
He gave her a nod and tucked into his meal while she hovered as if he might vanish if she looked away. His father just watched him, eyes soft beneath the lines of his own exhaustion.
When the food was gone and the quiet settled again, Yunho leaned back in his chair, gaze drifting toward the door down the hall.
“Is Gunho awake?” he asked quietly, eyes sliding to the hallway.
His mother followed his gaze, her hands stilling on the tablecloth. “He should be… He’ll be happy you’re here,” she said. “He always is, when you visit.”
Yunho nodded, throat tight. “I’ll go check in a bit.”
His father reached over and gave his shoulder a squeeze, wordless, steady.
For a moment, Yunho let himself just sit. The city outside kept moving, the world kept spinning, but here, in this small, worn kitchen, time finally seemed to slow.
The hallway to Gunho’s room was dim, the only light coming from the narrow window at the end, filtered gold through lace curtains. Yunho’s footsteps softened against the worn floorboards, the familiar creak outside his brother’s door echoing the same way it always had.
He hesitated before knocking; he always did. Not because he was afraid, but because every time, some part of him still hoped for a voice on the other side telling him to come in.
He knocked twice, gently, then pushed the door open.
Gunho was by the window, wheelchair angled toward the sunlight. Their mother must have opened the curtains earlier to let the warmth in. His brother’s head tilted slightly at the sound of the door, eyes finding him in that slow, searching way that always broke something small inside Yunho’s chest.
“Hey, kid,” Yunho said quietly, stepping in. “You’re up late today.”
He crouched beside the chair, letting his hand brush against Gunho’s arm. The faintest smile tugged at the corner of his brother’s mouth. Yunho smiled back.
“Missed me?” he teased, voice thick. “I missed you.”
Gunho blinked once, slow and steady. Yunho took that as a yes.
He adjusted the blanket over his brother’s knees, the one their mother had knit last winter, navy and cream stripes. Yunho sat down in the chair beside him, elbows on his knees, and just… breathed.
“Work’s been rough,” he said after a moment, his voice low. “Got a new assignment. Complicated one.” He huffed a quiet laugh. “He’s complicated.”
Gunho’s gaze didn’t move, but Yunho kept talking anyway.
“You’d like him, though. He’s loud. Reckless. Thinks rules don’t apply to him. You’d probably call him an idiot.” His lips quirked faintly. “You’d be right.”
He fell quiet again, eyes tracing the curve of his brother’s hand resting on the armrest. “I like him too, I think. Maybe a little too much…” He whispered. “You’d probably call me an idiot.”
No response, but Yunho could feel his brother’s gaze, and he knew he understood.
“You’d be right.”
When Yunho came back down the hall, the smell of sesame oil and garlic had filled the house. His mother was at the stove again, even though he’d told her not to fuss.
She looked up when he stepped into the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “Did he wake up for you?”
“He was already up,” Yunho said softly, setting his hand on the back of one of the dining chairs. “He… looked good. Better than last time.”
Her mouth quirked in a tired smile. “He’s had some good days lately,” she said. “We’ll take what we can get.”
Yunho nodded, eyes tracing the faint tremor in her hands as she reached for the kettle. “How are you doing, Mom? You need anything?
She let out a soft laugh that Yunho could see right through, “Oh, I’m hanging in there, honey. You know how it is. And you already do enough…more than.”
He opened his mouth to say something, to press, but the sharp buzz of his work phone cut through the quiet. He pulled it from his pocket, glanced at the screen: Lim (Coverage).
“Sorry, Mom. Gotta take this.” He turned away slightly, thumb swiping to answer. “Yeah?”
A pause. Then his whole posture shifted, straightening, shoulders tight.
“…What do you mean he’s gone?”
Another pause, longer. Yunho’s hand clenched around the phone.
“Lim. Start from the beginning.”
Chapter Text
The city blurred past the windshield in streaks of gray and glass. Yunho’s grip on the wheel was tight enough to blanch his knuckles, the faint tremor in his right hand betraying the calm he was trying to hold onto.
He shouldn’t have taken the day off. Why the hell had he taken the day off?
He could still hear Lim’s voice in his head, shaky, uncertain, doing his best to stay composed over the comm line:
“He said he wanted to go shopping. Said he needed some things.”
“I waited outside the fitting room, just like protocol - and then he was just… gone.”
Yunho exhaled hard through his nose, jaw flexing. Rookie mistake, leaving the client unsupervised in a public space…but then again, it wasn’t really Lim’s fault, was it?
Mingi didn’t want to be protected. He wanted to test boundaries until they snapped. Wanted to see how far he could push before someone finally broke.
If he wanted to act like a child, Yunho thought, he’d damn well treat him like one.
He sped through a yellow light, the hum of the tires climbing in pitch.
He started running through a mental list, the club from last night. The bar two streets down from it. The music studio he sometimes crashed at. That sushi place on Fifth where the staff didn’t card him anymore.
He’d check them all. Every last one.
So much for a day off.
The bass hit like a pulse beneath Yunho’s ribs, too loud, too chaotic, too many blind spots. He’d swept through two other clubs before this one, irritation grinding low in his chest. Mingi knew how uncomfortable places like this made him, the little shit.
And, there he was.
In the roped-off VIP section, sat Song Mingi. Shirt half unbuttoned, collarbone catching the light, champagne flute dangling from one long-fingered hand. Two young men were draped over him, one in his lap, another leaning across his shoulder, laughing at something he hadn’t even said. There were bottles everywhere.
But when his eyes met Yunho’s across the room, there was clarity in them. Sober. Deliberate. That, somehow, made it worse.
Yunho pushed through the barrier without waiting for an invitation. The bouncer took one look at him and wisely stepped aside.
“Well, look who it is,” Mingi drawled, smile slicing sharp. “Where’d you fuck off to today?”
“Are you kidding me right now?” Yunho’s tone came out low, dangerous. He directed his glare at the young men draped over the other, “Go. Now.” They listened.
“Okay, rude.” Mingi tipped his head toward the nearest bottle. “You want a drink? Might take the edge off.”
“Get up.”
“I’m good right here, thanks.”
“We’re leaving.”
“You can leave,” Mingi added, leaning back in his seat. “You seem good at that. I’ll be staying.”
Yunho’s jaw clenched so hard it hurt. “It’s Friday, Mingi. My day off. I’m entitled to one day. You said so yourself. And you couldn’t behave for one goddamn day?”
“Well, if this is all too much for you, Boy Scout-”
Just then, something shifted in the crowd. A ripple, almost invisible, but Yunho’s body noticed before his brain did. The air changed.
Instinct had him moving before his conscious mind caught up. He grabbed Mingi by the collar and threw them both sideways, toppling them behind the low couch. Less than a half-second later, glass shattered, the champagne bottle on the table detonating into spray and shrapnel. Screams cut through the music.
“Stay down!” Yunho barked, already sweeping the room. One hand braced on Mingi’s shoulder, the other reaching instinctively for his weapon. The crowd was already panicking, stampeding for the exits.
Another gunshot split the air nearby, and Yunho dropped low, scanning angles, calculating cover and escape routes. “Do not move,” he hissed, voice all command. “Do you understand me?”
Mingi’s breath came fast, but he nodded. Yunho’s hand was still pressed firm against the back of his neck, steady pressure, grounding.
Security staff were only just reacting, shoving through the panicked crowd. Yunho snagged one by the arm, voice clipped and professional: “Shooter. Elevated position. Likely the second-floor balcony, west side. Secure exits now.”
He waited until he could be sure the shooting had stopped. Only then did he move, keeping his body between Mingi and every line of sight as he guided him toward the rear exit.
Outside, the night air hit like a shock.
“Into the car,” Yunho ordered, not looking back. His pulse thundered, but his voice was steady.
Mingi climbed in, hands shaking slightly where they gripped the doorframe. “Stay down,” Yunho swept the area once more, scanning rooftops, reflections, corners. No sign of pursuit. Then he slid in after him, locking the doors, starting the engine.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Finally, Yunho said quietly, “You hurt?”
No answer. Yunho's eyes slid to Mingi's in the rear-view mirror, catching on a thin trail of blood running from the younger man's hairline down his cheek, where a piece of glass must have nicked him. "Mingi."
Something in his voice broke through, and Mingi shook his head, then winced when the motion pulled at his cut. “Just-” He gestured vaguely at his forehead. “Just a scratch.” His voice was rough. “You… you saw that coming.”
“It’s my job to see it coming.”
Their eyes met in the rearview, just for a second, and for once, there was no sarcasm, no provocation. Just a thread of raw disbelief and something like gratitude.
Yunho looked away first, hands flexing on the wheel. “We’re going home.”
Mingi didn’t argue.
When they finally pulled into the garage beneath the penthouse, Yunho killed the engine and pulled out his phone to call for security coverage. He turned slightly toward Mingi. “Stay here,” he said, already unbuckling.
Mingi blinked, slow. “What? Why?”
“I need to talk to security. Make sure the place is clear before we go up. I’ve got coverage coming down to keep an eye. ”
He reached for the door, but Mingi’s voice, soft, uncharacteristically hesitant, stopped him, “Wait.”
Yunho turned back. Mingi wasn’t looking at him, just gripping his own knee hard enough to make the tendons stand out in his hand. His throat worked once, like he was going to say something else, but then his eyes flicked up and the mask slid back into place.
“Never mind,” he said, too quickly. “Just…make it fast, yeah?”
Yunho wanted to stay. He wanted to tell him he’d be fine, that no one was getting through him again. But there was a line between protection and comfort he wasn’t supposed to cross. So he gave a small nod, stepped out, and shut the door gently behind him.
His chest ached as he walked away.
He spent ten minutes with the front desk and another five with building security. Two security personnel were down with Mingi, two others were sweeping the lobby and elevators; another was on the penthouse level. Yunho coordinated with the agents, but made his own sweep of the lobby. Control Freak Mingi had said. Yeah, well…control made him breathe easier. Control meant Mingi was safe.
When the sweep came back clear, he rode the elevator down to the car again. Mingi was still in the back seat, head tipped against the window, eyes half-lidded. He'd wiped the majority of the blood from his face. He looked exhausted. He looked beautiful.
“Come on,” Yunho said quietly, opening the door for him and nodding at the security guards who had been looking after the young man. They rode the elevator up in silence. Mingi’s reflection wavered in the mirrored paneling.
When the doors opened, Yunho stepped out first. “Stay here,” he ordered again. Mingi didn’t argue as he did one last sweep; every room, every closet, even under the damn bed. It was overkill, but who was gonna give him shit for it tonight? Only when he was satisfied did he turn back toward the main room.
“It’s clear,” he said.
Mingi hadn’t moved. He was still standing just inside the elevator, hands in his pockets, eyes fixed somewhere far away, a faint smear of dried blood on his hairline. Yunho wondered if he’d even heard him.
He stepped closer and laid a hand against the small of his back, light but steady. “Come on,” he said, softer this time. That did it. Mingi blinked, like he was surfacing from underwater, and let himself be guided out, quiet, shoulders trembling as he crossed the threshold.
Yunho led him to the couch, hand still glued to the younger man’s back, steady, grounding. Mingi didn’t protest, didn’t crack a joke, didn’t do anything except drop onto the cushions like his strings had been cut. His eyes were still wide. Shit.
“I’ll be right back,” Yunho murmured.
He moved through the kitchen on autopilot. Opened the fridge. Grabbed the first bottle of water he saw, poured it into a glass, added ice because the temperature would help with staving off the residual panic.
When he came back, he crouched down and held it out. “Here. Drink.”
Mingi took it automatically, his fingers brushing Yunho’s. His skin was cold. He stared at the glass for a second, then took a small sip.
“Hey,” Yunho said quietly. “You okay?”
Mingi nodded, but the movement was mechanical.
“You’re being way too quiet,” Yunho said, softer this time. “It’s freaking me out a little.”
That finally got a reaction. Mingi blinked and looked up at him, really looked at him, like he was seeing him for the first time. His throat bobbed. “Nobody’s ever tried to shoot me before.”
Yunho’s jaw flexed. “There was a bomb in your car like two months ago.”
“Yeah,” Mingi said, his voice almost detached. “It was in my car. I wasn’t even planning to drive it that day. One of the guys from the security team went down to move it for whatever reason and got himself blown up. I wasn’t even in the building.”
The way he said it, flat and empty, made something in Yunho twist.
He let out a long breath and moved closer, settling himself onto one knee in front of the younger man. Mingi didn’t move, just watched as Yunho’s eyes flicked over him, searching for more blood, for bruises, for anything that might have slipped past in the chaos.
Then Yunho’s hands came up, tentative at first, running down Mingi’s arms, over his ribs, along his legs. Not lingering, just checking.
Mingi jerked faintly. “What are you doing?”
“Checking to make sure that cut is the only souvenir from the evening,” Yunho said. “You’re in shock. Sometimes you can’t feel much when your adrenaline’s still up.”
Mingi’s laugh came out thin, shaky. “Why aren’t you in shock?”
Yunho met his eyes. “I’m trained for this, kid.” His tone was gentle but steady. “This is what I do. This isn’t the first time I’ve dodged a bullet, and it won’t be the last.”
That earned him a glare, small but alive. “Don’t call me kid.”
Yunho smiled. “There you are.”
Mingi huffed, rubbed his face with one hand, then looked at Yunho again. His pupils were still blown, his breathing uneven, but there was focus now. Fear, yes, but focus too.
Yunho rocked back on his heels and pushed himself to his feet. For a moment, he just stood there, looking down at Mingi, at the tension in his shoulders, the faint tremor still running through his hands. Then he reached out and patted his knee, gentle but firm.
“Come on, princess,” he said. “Go take a shower. Wash the night off. Get some rest. You’ll feel better in the morning, I promise.”
He half-expected a retort, some sharp comment about princess, or a glare, or that crooked smirk Mingi always used when he wanted to prove he wasn’t shaken. But it didn’t come.
Mingi just looked up at him. The bravado was gone, stripped away in the vulnerability of the evening. His voice was quiet when he finally spoke. “You’re going to be here when I get out, right?”
Yunho’s answer came without hesitation. “Course. I’m not going anywhere.”
Neither of them moved for a moment, then Mingi nodded once, like that was enough. He stood slowly, took a steadying breath, and disappeared down the hall toward the bedroom.
Yunho stayed where he was, listening to the soft sound of the shower starting up. Only then did he let himself sink back onto the couch, elbows on his knees, and exhale the breath he’d been holding since he'd gotten the call from Lim...since the first shot rang out.
While the shower ran, Yunho sank onto the couch and opened his tablet, the blue glow throwing faint light across the dark room. His inbox was a wall of updates, incident reports, background checks, scheduling changes, but one new message from Hongjoong caught his eye.
Subject: “Letters – as requested.” The body had two short sentences. “Brace yourself, Yun. They’re pretty rough.”
Yunho hesitated a beat before opening it.
The attached files were neatly organized, timestamps, postmarks, scanned envelopes. He started reading.
Halfway through the first one, he had to stop. He’d read threats before - stalkers, blackmailers, anonymous obsessions - but this was different. Feverish, vivid, dripping with need and hatred in equal measure.
Every sentence clawed at the page: I see you. I hear the way you breathe when you’re scared. I imagine that breath slowing as your body arches under my hands.
I want to see your eyes when it happens. You think you’re safe behind those walls, but I can still touch you.
By the fourth letter, the tone shifted. Less worship, more rage. The language turned sharp, violent, sexual. Each one worse than the last, each one angrier that there had been no reply.
Yunho exhaled, jaw tight. He’d been in this line of work long enough to be desensitized to fear, but something about these words got under his skin. Not because of the content, but because of the way Mingi had looked at him earlier, wide-eyed and terrified.
He shut the tablet down as the bathroom door opened.
Mingi stepped out in a loose tank top and shorts, towel slung around his neck, blood washed away, damp hair curling against his forehead. The light from the hallway softened him, made him look smaller somehow, gentle in a way Yunho wasn’t used to seeing. How was he supposed to stay mad at the idiot now?
Yunho smiled faintly. “Ready to get some rest?”
“Yeah…” Mingi said, but didn’t move.
Yunho slapped his knees and stood. “Come on then.”
He guided him down the hall, steady hand finding its usual place at the small of Mingi’s back, just enough contact to keep him anchored, to remind him he wasn’t alone.
At the door to Mingi’s room, Yunho stopped. He never crossed that threshold; he understood the boundary, the small bit of privacy Mingi still clung to.
“Things’ll look better in the morning,” he said softly. “They always do.”
Mingi nodded, eyes tired. “Yeah… sorry I ruined your day off.”
Yunho huffed a quiet breath that might’ve been a laugh. “Don’t worry about it.” He gave him a gentle push into the room. “Go on. Sleep.”
Mingi hesitated a moment longer, like he might say something else, but then just nodded again and disappeared inside. The door clicked softly shut.
Yunho stood there for a while, listening to the muffled creak of bedsprings on the other side, before turning back toward the living room. The tablet waited on the table, still glowing faintly in the dark.
He didn’t pick it back up. Not tonight.
The intercom buzzer startled Yunho out of a shallow sleep. He groaned, dragging a hand over his face as he blinked blearily at the clock. Four hours. That was all he’d managed.
He stumbled out of bed, tugged on the nearest T-shirt, and padded barefoot into the kitchen. The buzzer went again, sharper this time.
He pressed the button. “Jeong.”
“It’s Kang.”
Yunho sighed, already knowing. “Come on up.”
Moments later, the elevator chimed, and Yeosang stepped out, immaculate as ever, black suit, tie perfectly straight, not a hair out of place. He took one look at Yunho and smirked faintly.
“Good morning. You look like shit.”
Yunho huffed a humorless laugh. “Yeah. It’s been a long night.”
“Tell me about it.” Yeosang loosened his tie slightly as he crossed to the counter. “I’ve already spoken with security at the club, but I’d like your report.”
Yunho nodded, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “Shooter seemed to be acting alone. Short-range weapon, suppressor attached, probably fired from the balcony on the west side of the VIP section. Not a professional. Sloppy stance, bad timing.” He exhaled. “Couldn’t ID him. Couldn’t even get a look. I was focused on getting Mingi out.”
Yeosang’s expression stayed even, but his tone softened. “My team will work with Sector One on any follow-ups. Hongjoong called, by the way, said he’d also like a full report but wanted to let you sleep a little first.”
“I’ll call him later. Or head down to the office myself.”
Yeosang nodded, then glanced toward the hallway where Mingi’s door was still closed. “You think the kid will be okay being left alone for an hour? I’ve got double-duty security stationed downstairs just in case.”
Yunho followed his gaze. “I can never tell with him. He seemed pretty shaken up last night, but he’s strong.” He hesitated, then added quietly, “All else fails, I’ll call base…or take him with me.”
Yeosang considered that for a moment, then gave a small nod. “Maybe it’d do him some good. Change of scenery.”
He straightened his jacket and moved toward the door, pausing just long enough to clap Yunho on the back. “You did good last night, Jeong. Thanks for keeping him safe.”
Yunho gave a short nod. “Yessir.”
When the door shut behind Yeosang, the penthouse was quiet again. Yunho stood there for a moment, palms braced on the counter, eyes unfocused, before turning on a heel and throwing himself back into bed.
He had earned two more hours of sleep, goddamnit.
Chapter Text
Three more hours. That’s all his body would allow. Yunho woke to the faint grey light filtering through the curtains and the persistent hum of city traffic below. His back ached, his head throbbed, and the stale taste of adrenaline still lingered on his tongue.
He dragged himself out of bed, brewed a pot of coffee, and scrambled something vaguely edible on the stove. By the time he’d finished eating, the clock read nearly 1pm. Still no sign of Mingi.
Yunho frowned, wiped his hands on a towel, and padded down the hallway toward the bedroom door. He knocked once, lightly. Nothing. He waited, listening. No movement inside.
Another knock. Harder this time. Silence.
He pressed his knuckles against the wood, leaning close. “I’m trying to respect your privacy here,” he said, voice low and edged with fatigue, “but cut a guy a little slack.”
Still nothing.
He sighed, lifted his hand again. “Come on, princess. I don’t want to have to break the door down.”
There was a rustle on the other side, a shuffle of feet, the soft click of a lock. The door cracked open. Mingi stood there, barefoot, hair mussed.
Yunho’s irritation dissolved instantly. “Hey,” he said softly, scanning his face. “You okay?”
Mingi shrugged, gaze sliding away. “I’m fine, dad. Can’t I catch up on some sleep without you threatening to break my door down?”
Yunho looked at him. He looked like he hadn’t slept a second. Guilt settled somewhere deep in his chest. He should’ve stayed, should’ve sat up on the couch, just in case. Should’ve said something. But that line, that damn line, sat sharp between them. His job wasn’t comfort. It was protection.
Still… when he caught the faint tremor in Mingi’s hands where they gripped the doorframe, it took everything in him not to reach out.
“Alright,” Yunho said quietly, forcing steadiness into his voice. “Come on. You need food. Coffee’s fresh.”
Mingi blinked at him, slow and tired. He didn’t say thank you, but he followed.
Mingi sat at the counter, fork turning cold eggs into a pile of yellow mush.
Yunho leaned against the counter opposite him, nursing his own mug, pretending not to notice the silence. He’d learned early that sometimes quiet did more good than pushing. Still, he found that he missed his brat.
“Eat,” he said finally, nodding at the untouched food.
“I am eating,” Mingi muttered, stabbing a bite without looking up.
Yunho didn’t argue. He checked this watch for the time and exhaled through his nose, setting his cup aside. “Okay,” he said, tone easy but decisive. “I’ve gotta go in. Need to debrief the team in person.”
Mingi’s head snapped up, eyes sharpening in an instant. “Go in? As in… leave?”
Yunho crossed his arms, fighting a smile. “Relax. Not for long. Just a few hours.”
Mingi stared at him, mouth pressing into a thin line.
“That means,” Yunho went on, “someone else will come up here to stay with you. And you have to promise not to run away from them.” He gave him a pointed look. “Can’t have a repeat of yesterday, yeah?”
Mingi’s brow furrowed, the beginnings of a pout tugging at his mouth.
“Or,” Yunho added, voice softening, “you can come with me. It’ll probably be boring, lots of reports and paperwork and sitting around, but there’s no safer place than Sector One.”
He tipped his head, waiting, a half-smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “So what’s it gonna be, princess?”
Mingi held his stare for a beat too long. Then he pushed his plate away and muttered, “Fine. But I’m not sitting in some office all day.”
Yunho smiled, slow and easy. Hook, line, sinker. “As long as you stay in the building.”
The ride over was easy. He kept the windows cracked and hummed along to some "Dad Rock," as Mingi called it, playing on the radio. The tension from the night before and this morning seemed to have burned itself out.
Now, as they pulled up to the sprawling complex of Sector One, Yunho felt that familiar weight of safety settle back over him. The parking lot was alive with movement, recruits running drills across the tarmac, barked orders echoing off the concrete. Sector One didn't just train bodyguards after all.
Mingi craned his neck to look out the window, brows rising. “So this is home sweet home, huh?”
“More or less,” Yunho said, sliding the car into park and throwing open the door, “Barracks are through there.” He nodded toward a smaller off-building lined with windows. “I used to have an actual apartment like an adult, but I was away too much. Felt stupid paying rent for somewhere I never slept.”
Mingi hummed softly, still watching the chaos outside. “Yeah. Guess that makes sense.”
Before Yunho could reply, a voice called out from across the lot that pulled him out of the car fully.
“Didn’t we see enough of you yesterday?” Jongho jogged toward them, smirking. “Shouldn’t you be, oh, I don’t know, working?”
Yunho pulled himself out, leaning an elbow on the roof of the car and smirked back. “What, and deprive you of this beautiful face?”
Jongho made a show of looking him up and down, lips pursed. “Mm. Only a mother could love that mug.”
“My mother is a lovely woman,” Yunho shot back automatically, and Mingi actually snorted from inside the car, trying - and failing - to hide a smile at Yunho’s expense.
Jongho noticed. “And who’s this? You finally brought home a friend?”
Mingi hesitated, still a little uncertain in the unfamiliar space, but Yunho gestured for him to get out of the car.
“Choi Jongho,” Yunho said, tipping his chin toward the man still half-grinning at him. “This is Song Mingi.”
“Ah,” Jongho said, looking Mingi up and down with obvious curiosity. “The client. Bold move bringing him here, Jeong. Mom and Dad are gonna have something to say about that.”
“Yeah, well,” Yunho replied dryly, shutting the car door, “I figured he could hang with you while I dealt with them.”
Jongho raised an eyebrow. “Yunho.”
“Jongho.”
A long pause. Then: “Fine.”
Yunho turned to Mingi, already fighting a smile. “Don’t take it personally. Jongho is genetically predisposed to give me a hard time. He’s actually a sweet little gummy bear underneath all that attitude.”
Jongho flipped him off without missing a beat. Yunho barked a laugh. Mingi grinned, finally relaxing a little. “Oh, I like him.”
“I thought you might,” Yunho said, and there was something warm and easy in his voice. “Okay, kids, I’m gonna be a few hours. Stay out of trouble while I talk to the parents.”
“You’re not the boss of us!” Jongho grabbed Mingi by the elbow and led him across the compound. Mingi looked over his shoulder at Yunho, who offered a jaunty salute as the other was hauled in the direction of the mess.
By the time Yunho wrapped up with Hongjoong and Seonghwa, along with his mandated psych eval, his head was pounding, and the day had grown late.
He’d gone over every detail of the night before: where the shooter had been positioned, how the crowd reacted, how close the first shot had come. Hongjoong promised they’d pull the security footage and cross-reference every ID from the club’s guest list. They’d coordinate with the Song security team, interview bartenders, bouncers - anyone who might have seen something.
When Yunho stood to leave, Seonghwa clapped a hand to his shoulder. “Keep your eyes open, Yunho. Your instincts are good, but be extra vigilant. You know how these things have a way of escalating.”
“I’ll do my best,” Yunho said. And he meant it.
He left the office, already scanning the halls for Mingi and Jongho. He started at the mess. No sign of them. He circled the compound, checking the training ring, the gym, the main barracks, and still came back empty-handed.
By the time he reached the shooting range, he was already planning how he was going to make Jongho’s life hell when he caught sight of the younger man.
He stepped inside the range and froze.
Mingi stood at the firing line, posture steady, ear protection in place, a nine-millimeter leveled perfectly at the target downrange. The moment he emptied the clip, Jongho whooped and clapped him on the back, grinning wide at the other man and giving him a shake in his excitement.
Mingi turned to him and laughed. Really laughed, bright and unguarded. It was the first time Yunho had seen him look like that. And for just a heartbeat, it knocked the air right out of him.
Oh, fuck.
Mingi saw him first. He grinned and lifted a hand, calling out over the range noise, “Hey, stalker!”
Yunho blinked, remembered that he had legs, and forced them to move. When he reached them, he tried for a dry smile. “You look like you’re having fun.”
Jongho punched Mingi lightly in the shoulder, still grinning. “He’s a natural! Never fired a gun before in his life. Can you believe that?”
The taller man shrugged like it was nothing, a little smug, the faintest pink still on his cheeks from the recoil and the attention. Yunho couldn’t stop the small huff of laughter that slipped out. “Full of secrets, this one.”
“Always,” Mingi shot back, mouth curling in a challenge.
“All right,” Yunho said, straightening and flicking a glance down at his watch and then toward the door. “Time to get out of here.”
Both Mingi and Jongho groaned in unison, twin expressions of disappointment.
“Okay, children,” Yunho said, exasperation barely hiding the fondness in his voice. “Relax. I want to get home before sunset. We can set up another playdate later.”
That earned him twin eye-rolls, one playful, one dramatic. Mingi handed the ear protection back to Jongho with a grin and a fist bump. Yunho ignored the flutter in his chest at seeing two people that were important to him getting along so well. Important to me? He turned on his heel before he could examine that thought more, and said, “Let’s go, Princess.”
Mingi fell into step beside him, still smiling.
That smile remained as they headed back towards the city. For all of Jongho's faults (of which there were many), Mingi seemed lighter now, like the rough edges of him had been filed down for the day. He had his boots kicked up on the dash like he owned the place, humming to himself, looking soft in a way Yunho wasn’t used to seeing.
“So,” Yunho said after a few beats, “did you have fun with Jongho?”
Mingi rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “Yes, Dad. Even though you abandoned me for most of the day.”
“Oh please,” Yunho scoffed, one hand drumming on the steering wheel. “I was gone for a few hours at most. Besides, you were clearly enjoying yourself.”
“Uh-huh.” Mingi turned his head toward him, voice lilting with mock suspicion. “So what exactly were you doing while you left me to my own devices?”
“I had to meet with my boss,” Yunho said, eyes fixed on the road ahead. “Walk him through last night. Oh, and I had to pop in for a psych eval.”
That earned him a sidelong glance. “Psych eval?”
“Yeah, man. I was almost shot yesterday. Same as you.” Yunho gave a wry half-smile. “Gotta make sure I’m still fit for service. Plus, I missed my last therapy session, so better safe than sorry.”
“Therapy,” Mingi echoed, like he was trying the word out.
“Mm. Comes with the job. But I’d recommend it. Great for processing trauma.”
Silence stretched for a moment, only the sound of tires humming against asphalt. Then Mingi spoke, quieter this time, voice just above the engine’s low growl.
“Did it help you after what happened with your brother?”
Yunho’s fingers froze around the steering wheel. The breath left his lungs in a slow, tight pull. For a second, he forgot he was operating a motor vehicle.
He glanced over. Mingi wasn’t teasing. He looked… curious. Careful. Too careful.
Yunho swallowed. “How did you know about that?”
Mingi’s eyes flicked away, guilt flashing before something more defensive settled in. “You’re not the only one who can run a background check.”
The words hit like a slap.
Yunho’s jaw flexed. He stared straight ahead, forcing his knuckles to unclench from the wheel. He didn’t like talking about this; hell, he didn’t even think about it when he could help it. It wasn’t part of the job. It was personal - it was private.
And the fact that Mingi had found it and used it lit something hot and bitter in his chest.
“You don’t have a right to that information,” he said finally, low and controlled but with an edge that cracked through the calm.
“Oh, so you can know everything about me,” Mingi shot back, eyes flashing, “but I’m not allowed to know a single goddamn thing about you?”
Yunho’s throat tightened. He wanted to yell. He wanted to tell him that it wasn’t the same, that Mingi’s life depended on his knowledge, that this was work, but the words stuck.
Because he was right.
The kid had never had privacy a day in his life. Yunho knew everything about him: his favorite food, his allergies, his medical history, even his dental records. And if he didn’t already know it, he had the clearance to find out in seconds.
But knowing that didn’t make it sting any less. Didn’t make him feel any less exposed.
He forced himself to breathe. “Don’t talk about my brother again,” he said at last, quieter this time, but sharp enough to cut through the hum of the road.
Mingi stared at him for a long moment, mouth half open, something raw flickering in his eyes, then turned toward the window, shoulders angling away.
The silence that followed was not comfortable. It pressed heavy against the air, filling the car until even the soft static from the radio felt too loud.
By the time they pulled into the garage, Yunho’s anger had cooled into something heavier…guilt, maybe. Regret.
He hadn’t meant to snap. Had never done so before in all their time together. Mingi probably hadn’t even meant anything by it; he’d just been curious, trying to bridge the space between them. Trying to know him.
And Yunho had shut him down. Hard.
Now, sitting in silence, he could feel the echo of Mingi’s hurt like a bruise in the air between them. The ride up from the garage was quiet except for the hum of the elevator. Mingi stood on the opposite side, shoulders drawn tight, hands in his pockets, eyes fixed somewhere near his shoes. Tentative and small. It made something in Yunho's chest ache. The space between them felt wider than it was, a stretch of metal and silence Yunho couldn’t cross.
He wanted to apologize, but the words wouldn’t come. Because it wouldn’t be real. Because he was still angry, angry that Mingi knew, that he didn’t know what else Mingi knew, that something private and untouched in him had been seen without permission. He knew he was a hypocrite, but knowing that didn't make the pain go away.
The elevator climbed, floor after floor ticking past. The longer the silence stretched, the more it burned in Yunho’s chest. He was just about to reach out to the other man when the doors finally slid open onto the penthouse. Mingi moved first, stepping forward, then froze.
“Yunho-”
Fear. Yunho’s body moved before his brain did in spite of his existential musings. He stepped in front of Mingi, hand on his chest, pushing him gently but firmly back into the elevator.
The penthouse was a disaster. Furniture overturned. Paintings slashed and hanging from the walls. Glass glittered across the floor like frost. Cabinet doors hung open, drawers pulled out and emptied. The air smelled wrong, metallic, sharp, faintly scorched.
Yunho’s heart stuttered once, then steadied into a hard, controlled rhythm.
Mingi’s hand found his back, trembling. Yunho didn’t shake him off. He pressed the elevator button for the ground floor, keeping his body between Mingi and the open doors as they slid shut again. His phone was already in his hand, thumb flicking through to Yeosang’s number.
Behind him, he could feel Mingi shaking, small, uneven tremors that went straight through Yunho’s spine. “Hey,” Yunho said, voice low, even as he waited for the call to connect. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”
Chapter Text
Yunho didn’t leave Mingi alone in the lobby. He didn’t trust anyone here to protect him, not the front desk staff, not the guards hovering near the entrance, not even the building’s security system that was supposed to be state-of-the-art.
Yes, he was a control freak. But after tonight, he figured he’d earned that.
When Yeosang arrived, Yunho met him halfway across the marble floor, voice low but sharp, “You said no one could get up there without approved biometrics or override codes.”
Yeosang’s face was unreadable, jaw tight. “We’re evaluating the camera footage now. The building’s under watch twenty-four-seven. Whoever made it up there, we’ll see them. Has the place been cleared?”
“Someone’s been up there, yes,” Yunho said. “But I’d like to clear it myself.”
Yeosang arched an eyebrow. “Why haven’t you?”
Yunho exhaled through his nose, glancing at Mingi. The younger man was watching them from one of the lobby couches, shoulders drawn in, hands clasped between his knees. “I wasn’t about to leave him here without someone competent to look after him. And right now, I’m not too trusting of your team’s competence.”
That earned a flicker of something from Yeosang, irritation, yes, but maybe understanding. He took a slow breath. “I get it. Do you trust me?”
Yunho’s gaze snapped back to him. “Can I?”
Yeosang didn’t flinch. “I’ll take care of him, Jeong.”
For a long moment, neither of them moved. Then Yunho’s shoulders eased by a fraction. He turned to Mingi. The younger man was pale but composed, eyes searching Yunho’s face. When their gazes met, Mingi gave a small, steady nod. I’ll be okay.
Yunho didn’t believe it, not really, but he returned the nod anyway.
“Clear or not,” Yunho said quietly, “we’re not going back there tonight.”
He turned back to Mingi, “I’ll grab a bag while I’m up there.” As he spoke, Yunho stepped closer, his hand finding the back of Mingi’s neck, an unconscious gesture, half protective, half grounding. “What do you need?”
Mingi’s voice was soft. God, sometimes Yunho forgot how young he was. “Just some clothes. A toothbrush. My laptop...if you can…”
Yunho nodded once. “Okay. Stay with Yeosang. Don’t move until I come back, clear?” Mingi nodded, and Yunho trusted him. With that, he turned for the elevator again, pulse pounding, every muscle coiled tight in fury.
Yunho moved through the penthouse like a shadow. Gun drawn, pulse steady, every breath measured. The place was a wreck. Furniture overturned, cushions gutted, shards of glass catching in the light like ice. It wasn’t the kind of destruction born of panic or haste. This had been methodical. Personal.
He started the sweep the way he always did, patterned and mechanical. Sweep the edges first and move in. He started in the main room: clear. Kitchen: clear. Guest rooms: empty. Every door was opened, every corner checked, every cabinet pulled wide until the hinges creaked. Still nothing.
When he reached Mingi’s bedroom, his heart sank. The door hung open like a wound. Inside, the destruction was absolute.
Clothes were scattered like debris from an explosion, sliced open, not just thrown. Curtains torn down, furniture overturned. Drawers gutted, their contents flung into piles that made no sense. Mingi’s studio setup was in ruins: keyboard cracked, speakers toppled, mixer splintered down the middle. Whoever did this wanted it to hurt.
That’s when he saw it.
A single sheet of paper, placed neatly in the center of the ruined bed. Everything else around it was chaos, ripped fabric, shredded seams, but the letter sat undisturbed. Deliberate. His pulse slowed to a heavy, dangerous rhythm.
Someone had been up here after Yeosang’s men swept the floor. No one could’ve missed this. Which meant they’d ignored it.
Or worse - it hadn’t been there before.
Neither option sat right in his gut.
He crossed the room and picked it up carefully, eyes flicking to the edges. No dust on the surface, no signs it had been sitting there long.
Mingi’s name was scrawled across the front in thick black ink. Familiar handwriting. The same unsteady, obsessive script as the others.
Yunho’s jaw tightened as he unfolded it.
You always look so warm.
I think about how it would feel - the heat of your skin under my hands, the heat inside you, the way it would fade when you stop moving.
I want to feel the warmth of your body. I want to feel the warmth leave your body.
And your guard dog-
He thinks he’s clever, doesn’t he? Standing so close, protecting you with his body, pretending he can keep you safe. But he doesn’t know what you look like when you sleep. He doesn’t know the sounds you make when you dream. I do.
He can watch if he wants when the time comes. It seems like he likes that.
His stomach turned, hot with fury. Whoever wrote this had seen them. Recently. The cadence, the observation, the knowledge of Yunho’s proximity. The air in the ruined room seemed to shrink around him.
He folded the letter again, carefully, deliberately, even as every nerve in his body screamed get out. Yeosang’s team couldn't have missed this...they hadn’t had the chance to find it.
Which meant whoever wrote it was still moving. Still close. Still watching.
Yunho tucked the letter into his jacket, pulled his weapon higher in his grip, and did one more sweep on his way out, this time with every muscle ready to pull the trigger. He gathered what was salvageable, a few shirts that weren’t shredded, a pair of sweats, a hoodie that still smelled faintly like Mingi’s cologne. He tossed them into a duffel and straightened, ready to get the hell out and back to his boy.
Yunho rode the elevator down with the letter burning a hole in his pocket. The doors sighed open, and Mingi was already there, standing in the middle of the lobby floor, eyes on the elevator doors, already moving towards him. Yunho felt a small, stupid relief: he had been expected. He'd worried about earning Mingi's trust that first day, worried he'd broken it irrevocably today. That worry felt smaller now.
He stepped out and let his hand fall to the small of Mingi's back when they reached one another. The contact was meant to soothe. Mingi or himself, he wasn’t totally sure, but it had its intended effect. Mingi's shoulders dropped a fraction. He relaxed.
Yeosang came up behind them, “Find anything?” he asked.
Yunho handed the letter across without a word. He watched Yeosang read, watched the muscle at the man's jaw tighten with each line. The expression hardened; the paper seemed to cool the room.
“That was on his bed,” Yunho said. “Clear as day. Either your men missed it - and if that’s the case, they should be fired - or it wasn't there when they swept.”
Yeosang met his eyes. “I have men sweeping the maintenance stairwells and hallways. And we’ll review the tapes,” he said. The words were procedural, but Yunho heard the steel under them. He didn’t like the pause that followed. Either the team had been sloppy, or someone had been back up there after they’d cleared the place. Neither option helped him sleep.
“Does my dad know? About the shooting… about this?” Mingi asked, voice small.
“He’s been informed,” Yeosang said, and Yunho caught the way Mingi's fingers brushed his phone, unlocking the screen briefly before he stuffed it back into his pocket, the tiny motion of someone checking for reassurance that wasn't coming.
Yeosang turned back to Yunho. “They’re escalating.”
“No shit,” Yunho said. He heard the sharp little laugh Mingi let out, and it felt strangely bright against the tension.
“What I mean,” Yeosang continued, voice low, “is they seem to see you as a threat.”
“They should,” Yunho rejoined. “They won’t touch him while I’m around.”
Yunho’s hand found the small of Mingi’s back again, drifting instinctively to his waist. It wasn’t for show...the motion was pure reflex, protective. Mingi didn’t pull away. Instead, he leaned in, the warmth of him a quiet, wordless acceptance. When he looked up at Yunho, something unguarded flickered in his eyes, soft enough to make Yunho’s chest tighten. He knew he was already crossing a line...he'd examine that later. When Mingi was safe.
Yeosang watched them for a beat, then let out a single, measured nod. He didn't comment on the closeness; his eyes said what needed saying: understood, and taken into account.
“Let’s get him somewhere safe,” Yeosang said. It wasn't a question. Yunho tightened his grip on Mingi's hip, then loosened it, and they moved. “There are a few Song family safe properties on the outskirts,” Yeosang said, tablet in hand. “Discrete, well-secured. You’ll both be comfortable there.”
Yunho shook his head immediately. “With respect,” he said evenly, “I don’t trust your people right now. I’d prefer to lean on mine.”
Yeosang’s eyes flicked toward Mingi, who was standing just behind Yunho, hands shoved in his pockets. Yunho turned halfway, softening just a little. “That all right with you?” he asked.
Mingi blinked, clearly taken aback. Clearly, no one usually asked him. “Uh… yeah,” he said after a beat. “That’s fine.”
Yeosang exhaled through his nose, every line of his face tight with control. “Fine,” he said finally. “Keep me updated.”
That was how they ended up in Yunho’s personal vehicle, a sleek, unmarked black SUV that smelled faintly of leather and coffee, heading out past the city lights toward the hills. Mingi had the window cracked just enough to let the night air in, but Yunho noticed the way his knee bounced. Every noise from outside still made him tense.
Yunho spent most of the drive on the phone with Hongjoong, running through logistics, clearance levels, and background checks that needed to be re-run.
“-anyone who accessed those biometric systems in the last forty-eight hours,” Yunho was saying.
“Already on it,” Hongjoong replied. His tone was clipped, focused.
“Ask him how long he thinks we’ll be out here,” Mingi interrupted suddenly, turning from the window.
Yunho shot him a sideways look and tapped his phone to speaker. Might as well let the other be involved; it was his life they were upending after all. “You hear the man, Captain?” he said dryly.
There was a pause, then Hongjoong’s voice crackled through the car speakers. “Give it at least seventy-two hours. I want every possible lead followed before we move either of you.”
“Copy that,” Yunho said. “And before you say it, I won’t let my guard down.”
“I was absolutely about to say that,” Hongjoong replied.
Yunho smirked. “10-4, Captain.”
From the passenger seat, Mingi leaned his head back against the window, eyes on Yunho’s face in the dark. He didn’t look away.
Chapter Text
The safe house was small - one floor, two rooms (a bedroom and an office with a treadmill), and a narrow hall that opened into a living space with a small kitchen tucked in the corner. It wasn’t much, but that was exactly why Yunho liked it. He could see every door from where he stood. He could sweep the whole place in under a minute if he had to. The security system was state-of-the-art, coded to his own protocols. His pulse was finally starting to settle.
Mingi dropped onto the couch with a long, shaky exhale, like the weight of the day had hit him. “Finally,” he muttered, sinking into the cushions.
Yunho watched him, the way his shoulders slumped, how his hands trembled faintly before he caught himself and shoved them under his thighs. He wasn’t used to seeing Mingi unguarded, but that has happened more and more these last few days. It did something to him that he'd rather not face within himself at the moment.
Yunho sat beside him, letting out a sigh that escaped louder than he intended.
Mingi glanced over, a small grin tugging at his mouth. “Okay, grandpa.”
Yunho turned his head just enough to side-eye him. “You know I’m only like six years older than you.”
“Yeah,” Mingi said, laughter soft but genuine. “But you act like you’re ancient sometimes.”
Yunho couldn’t help it, the corner of his mouth twitched. The sound of Mingi laughing, really laughing, eased something in his chest. It sounded like relief. Like his world hadn’t completely gone to hell.
They sat there in an easy quiet for a minute, the kind that didn’t need filling. Then, softly, Mingi said, “I know I haven’t been making your job very easy. So… thanks. For still doing it. Even though I’ve been…well, the way I’ve been. Me.”
Yunho turned to look at him, really look. The apology wasn’t flippant. There was an edge of guilt in Mingi’s voice, like he was genuinely trying.
“It’s okay,” Yunho said after a moment. “I get it. I might balk at having someone follow me around 24/7, too.”
“Yeah, but you’re still doing your job.”
Yunho shrugged, the ghost of a smile flickering over his lips. “You’re not the first rich kid with an attitude I’ve dealt with.”
Mingi tilted his head, a teasing glint in his eyes. “But am I the prettiest?”
That earned him an actual laugh. “Don’t let it get to your head.”
Mingi’s grin widened. “That’s a yes.”
Yunho rolled his eyes, but his heart gave a small skip that he ignored. The kid was impossible. And yet, sitting here beside him, watching him grin despite everything that had happened, Yunho couldn’t shake the thought that maybe Mingi wasn’t just an assignment anymore. Maybe he never was. Damn it.
Mingi quieted then, his gaze falling. “I guess I’m also sorry for bringing up your brother.”
Yunho exhaled, long and slow, running a hand down his face. “I should be the one apologizing there. I shouldn’t have snapped. It’s just… kind of a touchy subject. Not something I talk about. Definitely not at work.”
Mingi hesitated, then asked, softer than before, like he was still testing the waters, “What was he like?”
Yunho blinked, caught off guard. He's just trying to know you. Give the kid something. He looked down at his hands, then back up, meeting Mingi’s gaze, steady and searching. “He was… loud,” Yunho said finally. “And stubborn. He used to drive me insane. But he had this way of making everyone feel like they mattered.” He paused, a quiet smile tugging at his mouth. “Even me, when I didn’t think I did.”
Mingi’s expression softened, not pity, but something like understanding. He leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees. “You must’ve been close.”
“Yeah,” Yunho said. “We were.” Then, after a beat, “Still doesn’t feel real, some days. When I see him now, I feel...I don't know.”
Mingi nodded slowly, eyes flicking toward the floor before he leaned his body back into the comfort of the couch. “Thanks for telling me,” he said, voice low, eyes sliding over to find Yunho's. “I know you didn’t have to.”
Yunho’s lips twitched into a faint smile. He reached over and rested a hand lightly on Mingi’s knee. “You’re the first person I’ve told in a long time.” Mingi’s lips curved, his shoulders easing, body relaxing further.
All of a sudden, Yunho realized what he was doing. Too close. He gave Mingi’s knee a friendly pat and stood back up, gesturing to the room around them.
“Okay, so, I know it’s not as fancy as you’re used to,” he said, tone even, “but it’ll have to do for a night or two.”
Mingi smiled faintly, tired and grateful. “I think I can manage. It’s late. I think I’ll go grab a shower.”
He stood up and slipped by Yunho, shutting the door softly behind him.
Yunho busied his hands by unfolding the pullout in the living room and dropping down with a low sigh. The couch cushions were uneven, and the springs dug into his back, but he didn’t mind. He liked being able to see the doorway, the window, the faint blue glow from the security panel. Everything was where he could keep track of it.
He lay there in the dark, listening to the faint hum of the air vents, the tick of the security lock cycling through its pattern. He was just starting to drift when something shifted, so quiet he almost thought he’d imagined it. A soft creak. Footsteps.
He was upright before his mind even caught up, alert, heart rate steady, hand already brushing against the weapon under his pillow.
Then the bedroom door opened.
Mingi stood there, barefoot, hair mussed, shirt hanging loose off one shoulder. His expression was uncertain. Yunho didn’t speak. He didn’t have to. He could read the tension in the young man’s frame, the restless energy of someone who didn’t want to admit he couldn’t sleep.
After a long moment, Yunho exhaled quietly and lifted the other side of the blanket in silent offering, making sure it was the side furthest from the door.
Mingi hesitated for a breath, then crossed the room and slid in beside him without a word.
The pull-out wasn’t built for two, but somehow they fit. Mingi’s shoulder brushed his arm; his warmth seeped through the thin barrier of the blanket.
Yunho lay still, staring at the ceiling. He told himself it was just for tonight. Just to make sure the kid slept. Just until morning.
But when Mingi’s breathing evened out beside him, Yunho felt something in his chest unclench for the first time in weeks.
Shit.
The next day was an exercise in patience.
Mingi was pacing the small living area like a caged animal, the adrenaline from last night clearly not burnt off.
Yunho tried to ignore him and focused on the updates Hongjoong had been sending all morning. The sweep of the penthouse, the preliminary results of the security scan. None of it was helpful. Apparently, the security cameras in Mingi’s building had glitched for a twelve-minute span. Twelve minutes where anyone could have been there. Twelve minutes of nothing.
“Super cool,” Yunho muttered under his breath. “Not frustrating at all.”
“I’m so bored,” Mingi groaned from across the room.
“I have seen you sleep for upwards of twenty hours straight,” Yunho said, deadpan. “The fact that you can’t chill for one day is honestly insane. Go run or do some push-ups or something.”
“This house is, like, two hundred square feet!”
“It’s not,” Yunho said flatly.
“It feels like it,” Mingi shot back, rummaging idly through the kitchen cabinets. A beat later, he straightened. “Do you have anything to drink?”
Yunho didn’t look up. “Water.”
“I meant alcohol.”
“None here,” Yunho said, tone final.
Mingi leaned on the counter, watching him. “You’re telling me you don’t have even one bottle stashed somewhere? Not even emergency whiskey?”
“Nope.”
“Liar.”
Yunho finally glanced up, one brow raised. “You’ll be fine.”
The pacing started again. Yunho sighed, rolling his eyes but not quite hiding the small twitch of amusement in them. “Please, for the love of God, can you go do something to exhaust yourself physically?”
Mingi stopped pacing, eyebrows shooting up in mock surprise. “I can think of a few ways to exhaust myself physically.”
Yunho’s shoot his head, unimpressed. “Don’t.”
Mingi laughed, that soft, easy sound that had been missing, and threw up his hands. “Fine! But I’m turning on some music.”
“Whatever,” Yunho said, returning his gaze to the tablet. He’d never admit it out loud, but it was a relief to see Mingi acting like himself again. A little noise in the house felt… normal.
A few minutes later, the low thump of bass filled the air, not too loud, but enough to vibrate faintly through the floorboards. Yunho half listened while scrolling through reports, the rhythm fading into background static, until a voice cut through it minutes, maybe hours later.
“Can you teach me how to throw a punch?”
Yunho looked up…and promptly forgot how to breathe.
Mingi stood in the middle of the living room, shirtless, skin slick with a faint sheen of sweat from whatever impromptu workout he’d been doing. His hair was pushed off his forehead, cheeks flushed.
Yunho blinked, slow. “What?”
Mingi planted his hands on his hips, unabashed. “Can you teach me how to throw a punch?”
“Why?”
“I don’t know, man. It seems like a good skill to have. You know. Survival skills and all that.”
“I don’t know if throwing a punch counts as a survival skill,” Yunho said, voice a little rougher than usual.
“Come on.” Mingi grinned, “Can you just be cool for like ten minutes and teach me something?”
Yunho stared at him for a beat too long. Then, with a resigned exhale, he set the tablet down and pushed himself up. “Fine,” he said. “But if you break your nose, you’re explaining it to your father.”
Mingi’s grin widened. “Deal.”
Yunho had taken off his jacket and rolled his sleeves up to the elbow. The movement was casual, efficient, but Mingi’s gaze still snagged on the lines of his forearms before flicking quickly back up to his face.
Yunho caught it. Smirked. “Eyes up, princess.”
Mingi huffed, but did as he was told.
“Alright,” Yunho said, stepping into the open space in the center of the living room. “First thing, stance. Feet shoulder-width apart. Good. Keep your knees soft. You’re going for balance here.”
Mingi mimicked the position, awkwardly at first, then found a rhythm.
“Now, hands,” Yunho continued, lifting his own fists to demonstrate. “Thumb outside the fingers, unless you want to break it. Chin tucked. Elbows in.”
Mingi adjusted, but it was sloppy. Yunho circled him once, assessing, the way he always did with new recruits.
“Not bad,” he said, and then, lower, “but not good either.”
He stepped closer, one hand landing on Mingi’s shoulder, the other skimming down his arm to correct the angle. “Like this,” he said quietly. “You’re too stiff. Loosen your grip.”
Mingi swallowed. “Hard to loosen up with you breathing down my neck.”
“Thought you were used to that by now,” Yunho murmured, but there was a flicker of a smile on his lips. He adjusted Mingi’s elbow, turned his hips slightly. The warmth of him was close enough to feel, steady and grounding.
“Now follow through,” Yunho said. “Don’t just throw your arm, put your whole weight into it. Think about where you want to land the hit, and commit.”
Mingi tried again, stronger this time, cleaner. Yunho nodded approval, and then stepped up behind him, fitting himself to Mingi’s back to guide the motion. His hands found Mingi’s forearm, then his waist, just for a second to anchor him.
“Like that,” Yunho said quietly, voice brushing his ear. “All one line. From the ground up.”
Mingi turned his head slightly, maybe to look for confirmation, maybe just because he couldn’t not, and their faces ended up far too close. Yunho saw the flicker of his eyes, the split-second glance down to his mouth before Mingi caught himself and looked away again.
The silence stretched. Yunho’s pulse thudded somewhere it shouldn’t.
Then he stepped back, clearing his throat, schooling his expression back to something cool and unaffected. “Not bad,” he said backing up. “Now - hit me.”
Mingi blinked, incredulous. “What?”
“You wanted to learn how to throw a punch. Hit me.” Yunho’s voice was casual, but there was steel under it.
“I’m not going to hit you,” Mingi snapped, cheeks already pink with the idea.
“Come on, kid. It probably won’t even hurt.” Yunho’s mouth tilted. “Show me you can follow through.”
Mingi huffed, posture folding into a stubborn, protest-y stance. “No way. I’m not hitting my bodyguard.”
“Can’t you be cool for like ten minutes and hit me?” Yunho mocked dryly.
Mingi glared, then swung, a short, awkward jab aimed at Yunho’s shoulder. It was more bravado than power, but he surprised them both with the momentum behind it. Yunho caught the blow on his forearm with more softness than force and took the hit like it was exactly what he’d been waiting for.
For a heartbeat Mingi froze, eyes wide, searching Yunho’s face for anger or pain. Yunho’s features were unreadable, then he let out a low, theatrical groan and staggered back a step, clutching his arm like the world had tilted. Mingi rolled his eyes at him, but Yunho could see the fondness underneath.
“Okay,” he wheezed, recovering quickly, and then grinned, entirely too pleased. “Not bad. Pretty solid for a beginner.”
Mingi’s shoulders relaxed in a rush, and his mouth split into a grin that was all teeth and mischief. “See, life skills!”
“I’m sure they’ll come in handy one day,” Yunho said quietly. “Now, life skill number two: learn to take direction. Let’s go again.”
Mingi rolled his shoulders and bounced on the balls of his feet, eager. “Round two, then. Maybe don’t be so dramatic next time, old man.”
“Old man,” Yunho echoed, and let himself smile once, because the sound of Mingi repeating it cracked something open inside him he hadn’t expected to want.
That night felt different. Quieter somehow.
They’d had a good day, better than either would admit out loud. Dinner had been a chaotic, shared experiment that left the kitchen looking like a warzone, and the show they watched after was loud and ridiculous, the kind of trash TV Mingi loved to pick apart. Yunho pretended not to watch, but Mingi kept dragging him into the commentary anyway, and before long they were laughing together.
It was… normal. Too normal.
Yunho took a quick run on the treadmill in the office after dinner, trying to burn off the restless hum under his skin while Mingi took the shower. When they switched, steam still curling from the bathroom, Yunho caught himself staring at the damp footprints Mingi had left behind on the tile. He shook the thought away.
When he came out, hair wet and shirt clinging to his shoulders, the bedroom was empty.
Mingi was already stretched out on the pullout couch.
“You know the bedroom’s more comfortable,” Yunho said, toweling his hair dry.
“I don’t mind it,” Mingi murmured, looking up at him. “You seem to prefer being out here anyway.”
“That doesn’t mean you can’t go be comfortable.”
Mingi shrugged. “This is fine.”
Yunho hesitated, but something in Mingi’s tone, quiet, almost shy, kept him from pushing it. He killed the light and slid under the covers beside him. The space between them wasn’t much. Close enough to feel Mingi’s warmth seep through the blanket. Close enough that every breath seemed too loud.
He wasn’t sure how long it had been when Mingi shifted. The bed creaked softly. Then, a touch. A hand resting on Yunho’s shoulder, tentative, testing.
Yunho’s breath hitched. His instincts flared, alert, confused, wanting. “What are you doing?” His voice came out lower than he intended.
“Nothing.” The hand moved, slow, down his chest, tracing the faint damp through his shirt, following the rhythm of his breath.
“Mingi.”
The fingers kept going, brushing lower, featherlight and sure of themselves. Yunho caught his wrist before they got any further, his grip firm but not rough.
“Mingi.”
“I thought you liked me.” The words were soft, but beneath them was something small and trembling. Not seduction. Not confidence. Something closer to fear.
“I do like you.”
“I thought you said I was pretty.”
Yunho’s mouth quirked despite himself, and then fell flat. “You are.” He exhaled hard. “But that’s not the point.”
“If you say something about duty-”
“I have to say something about duty.” He sat up a little, still holding Mingi’s wrist. “And not only that, it’d be wrong, okay? It would be incredibly exploitative and unethical for me to let this happen.”
Mingi laughed once, brittle and small. “You’re not exploiting anything if I’m giving it to you.”
Yunho’s grip tightened, not angry, but pleading. “That’s not how this works.”
Mingi jerked his arm free and rolled away. “Just tell me you don’t want me then.”
The silence that followed was deafening.
Yunho dragged a hand down his face, breath shuddering through his chest. He leaned over, resting a hand on Mingi’s shoulder. The kid was stiff beneath his touch.
“Hey,” Yunho murmured. When Mingi wouldn’t look at him, he caught his chin gently, turned his face until their eyes met.
Mingi’s eyes were wet in the low light, pupils blown wide. “You don’t have to lie,” he said. “You wouldn’t be the first person to say they cared and then change their mind.”
Yunho’s chest twisted. “That’s not—”
“People love me until it costs them something,” Mingi whispered. “Then they decide I’m too much trouble. Too complicated. Too… me.” He gave a small, self-deprecating laugh that didn’t sound like laughter at all. “You don’t have to pretend.”
Yunho frowned at that and gave his chin a little shake. “Don’t you dare get it twisted,” he said, voice low, steady despite the thrum in his pulse. “I’ve wanted you since the first moment I saw you. And despite you being a real jackass through most of our time together, I still do.”
His thumb brushed along Mingi’s jaw, lingering there a second too long before he forced his hand away. “But I’m not going to risk your safety. Not mentally, not emotionally, not physically, just because I want you. I’m not going to be another person who takes something from you when it’s easy. It’s not worth it.”
Yunho leaned back slowly, staring at the ceiling, trying to slow his breathing. The air between them felt electric, charged with all the words neither of them dared say.
Mingi turned onto his back, eyes glinting faintly in the dark as he stared up at the ceiling, “You always have to be the good guy, huh?”
“Someone has to be,” Yunho whispered.
Neither of them slept much after that.
Chapter 11
Notes:
The boys are finally here, baby!
Chapter Text
The next morning, Mingi was quiet.
Not sullen exactly, just… distant. Every word he offered was clipped short, every look too carefully neutral.
Yunho noticed. Of course he did. He knew he had hurt the man. Knew that the other’s ego was bruised, but he didn’t bring it up. Didn’t say a damn thing about the night before, about the way Mingi had looked at him in the dark, or the way his own pulse had refused to settle.
Instead, he made breakfast. Strong coffee, eggs, and toast. All the things a man could do with his hands when he didn’t trust his mouth.
Mingi muttered a thanks when the plate hit the table, eyes never leaving his phone.
“You sleep at all?” Yunho asked.
“I’m fine.”
Which meant no.
“Alright.” Yunho took a sip of coffee and forced himself not to sigh. He’d been shot at, stabbed, chased halfway across the city, but somehow, this was worse.
By mid-morning, he’d almost convinced himself it would pass when a knock came at the door. He checked the monitor before opening it.
Seonghwa.
Yunho exhaled, keyed the lock.
“Good morning,” Seonghwa greeted, stepping inside, sharp as ever in his dark jacket. His eyes swept the room, cataloging details the same way Yunho would.
Mingi looked up briefly from the couch. “Morning.”
Seonghwa arched a brow. “You look like hell.”
“Good to see you too,” Yunho muttered.
Seonghwa’s tone dipped just enough to be teasing. “Didn’t think babysitting would age you this fast.”
Yunho shot him a look that said not the time.
Seonghwa’s brow furrowed as he looked between the two of them. He must have felt the tension then, the unspoken static suffocating the room. His tone shifted. “Everything alright here?”
“Fine,” Yunho said.
“Fine,” Mingi echoed, still scrolling.
Seonghwa didn’t buy it, but he was smart enough not to dig. “Hongjoong wanted me to update you in person. The sweep’s complete. Whoever trashed the penthouse took their time, but they didn’t leave much behind. No prints, no usable DNA. So, whoever it was knew what they were doing.”
“Comforting.” Yunho crossed his arms. “What about the entry point?”
“Maintenance-level access. Someone with a master override on the building’s service elevators.”
Yunho’s jaw tightened. “Inside help.”
“Maybe,” Seonghwa said. “We’re still digging. But Hongjoong didn’t want you sitting in here any longer than necessary. The place has been completely overhauled. We equipped it with new hardware and a new surveillance grid. Every camera has been replaced with encrypted lenses routed directly through our internal servers. The locks have been changed - biometric only, and right now, there are exactly three active profiles.”
Yunho raised a brow. “Me, Mingi, and Yeosang?”
“Correct. Even the Song seniors have been moved to secondary clearance.”
That earned a flicker of surprise from Mingi, though he hid it quickly.
Seonghwa continued, “We’ve also got two guards on the floor below and one posted at the service entrance. If someone tries that again, we’ll know before they hit the door.”
Mingi finally looked up. “So it’s safe.”
“As safe as it can be given the circumstances,” Seonghwa said. “You can head back this afternoon.”
“Good,” Mingi said, already standing, grabbing his jacket. “Can’t wait.”
He disappeared down the hall without another word.
Seonghwa’s eyes followed him, then landed back on Yunho. “You two have a fight?”
Yunho exhaled, slow. “Something like that.”
“Uh-huh.” Seonghwa crossed his arms. “Well, can’t stay mad forever - you’re with each other all the time.”
Yunho didn’t answer. He just stared at the empty space Mingi had left behind, jaw tight. God, I hope he’s right.
The penthouse was back to its impersonal, spotless self.
Every surface gleamed like the place had never seen violence, like it hadn’t been gutted down to its bones just days ago. Even the scent was wrong, industrial cleaner and cold marble instead of whatever candles Mingi used to burn.
Mingi headed straight for his bedroom without a word.
Fine, let the kid lick his wounds in peace. Yunho dropped into one of the kitchen stools, rubbing his palms down his face. His shoulders ached. His mind ached worse. And his heart… well, he wasn’t thinking about that.
For the first day back in the penthouse, time seemed to stand still.
Mingi avoided him, locked away in his room for hours on end, or buried in the gym, bass rattling through the walls like a heartbeat Yunho couldn’t reach. At least he was staying put, staying where Yunho could keep him in his sights and, surprisingly, staying mostly sober. He was grateful for the reprieve, in theory. Quiet meant safe.
In practice, it meant too much time to think.
Not about his feelings - never that. But time to review the new security feeds, to comb through camera logs and threat reports until his eyes blurred. Time to dig into the Song family’s history, to trace the jagged edges of Aether Group, its weak spots, and the web it spun. The more he read, the less it looked like a company and the more it looked like a shadow with teeth.
He told himself it was work. That he was just doing his job. But somewhere between late nights and quiet mornings, he realized he was learning not just about the family, but about a young man who’d been born into it. And maybe that was the point? A connection he could have to the young man who haunted his dreams from two doors down and refused to speak to him.
A few days passed in that same fashion before his phone buzzed in warning. Security Alert: Elevator inbound. Destination: Penthouse Level.
Yunho froze.
With the new system in place, no one could have gotten this far without his or Mingi’s approval. But habit ran deeper than logic. He was on his feet before he even thought about it, weapon drawn, every instinct on edge. He positioned himself in front of the doors, heart steady, focus razor-sharp.
The doors slid open with a quiet chime.
Two men stepped out - one striding fast, sharp, like he owned the place, and another following just behind, quiet and alert, scanning the corners. Both distractingly handsome.
Bodyguard, Yunho thought immediately as his eyes caught on the second man.
“Stand down, Jeong.”
The command came from behind him, quiet but firm. A voice Yunho hadn't heard in days. He froze.
Mingi had never called him by his surname before. It shouldn’t have mattered, but somehow it did. The formality of it. The distance. The sting landed deeper than he wanted to admit. He pushed that away and refocused on the men now intruding on their space.
The smaller man in front, short, sharp-featured, dressed to kill, blew right past him, all whirlwind and attitude. Yunho barely resisted the urge to intercept him, because a second later, the stranger was practically launching himself at Mingi.
“You absolute ass!” the man shouted, voice bright with fury and relief. “Why didn’t you call me the first time somebody tried to off you!?”
The smaller man clung to Mingi like a vine, and the weirdest part was…Mingi clung right back. Tighter. Familiar. Like this wasn’t the first time they’d fit together like that. Yunho told himself to relax. This was totally fine.
“You were in Milan,” Mingi said, muffled against the man’s shoulder. “I couldn’t pull you back for this.”
“Absolutely no runway is more important than your life,” the smaller man snapped, squishing Mingi’s cheeks between both hands. “Do you understand me, idiot?”
Mingi nodded as best he could.
“Good.” The man tapped Mingi's cheeks twice for good measure before turning toward Yunho with a bright, dangerous smile. “Now that that’s settled - introductions!”
Mingi chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Right. Uh, this is my new babysitter…sorry, bodyguard. Agent Jeong.”
Still Jeong. Petty, Yunho thought. But fine. Still in the dog house. He stepped forward, extending a hand. “Yunho. Good to meet you.”
“Good to meet you, Babysitter,” the stranger said, clasping his hand like they were old friends if it weren't for the leer he was also throwing Yunho's way. “I've heard a lot about you. I’m Jung Wooyoung. This idiot’s best friend. Not that you’d know it, considering the number of near-death experiences he’s been keeping from me.”
“I said I was sorry,” Mingi muttered. “I won’t do it again.”
Ah. Jung Wooyoung. Of course. Yunho finally placed the name - Mingi’s old school friend. Now a model, talk show favorite, all cheekbones and chaos. He’d seen the man’s face plastered across billboards in several countries and tucked in Mingi’s photo albums.
Wooyoung stepped aside with a flourish, gesturing to the man who’d been quietly stationed near the elevator. “And you, of course, remember Sannie - my own personal shadow.”
The man inclined his head, posture military-straight.
Then Wooyoung, eyes alight with mischief, added, “He’s also tapping this, finally, but you didn’t hear it from me.”
“Wooyoung!” San’s cheeks turned bright red almost instantly.
"Don't worry, I already knew." Mingi piped up. "He texted me the first time you guys had sex...Like right after."
San face-palmed.
Wooyoung’s laughter filled the room, wild and unbothered. “What? He's my bestie! Besides, transparency builds trust!”
Yunho had to fight not to smirk, but when he turned toward Mingi, that amusement died fast.
Because Mingi was looking at him. Not glaring. Not teasing. Just looking with one brow lifted, eyes full of silent meaning.
See? Other people have relationships with their bodyguards. Nobody’s dying over it. Nobody’s being a dick about it.
Yunho held his gaze for a second too long before exhaling through his nose and looking away. Mingi could have this round.
Mingi disappeared down the hall with Wooyoung, their laughter already echoing from behind the closed door. Yunho watched them go.
When he turned back toward the living room, San was still standing there.
The other man took it all in with an assessing kind of detachment, one hand tucked casually into the pocket of his tailored slacks. Then he clicked his tongue. “Why is it that when people make seven figures, they completely lose their sense of taste?”
Yunho snorted before he could stop himself. “Right? It’s all ‘minimalism’ and ‘clean lines’.”
San grinned, sharp and boyish. “Where’s the creativity, right?”
Yunho nodded, something loosening in his chest. “Exactly.”
They both chuckled, the tension between strangers easing a little. San leaned one shoulder against the wall, posture relaxed but watchful in a way Yunho recognized instantly. The way his gaze kept flicking: doorway, window, hallway, then back again. A professional’s kind of stillness, the kind that said he’d learned long ago how to read a room without moving a muscle.
Yunho realized, suddenly, that he liked the guy despite knowing him for less than ten minutes. He'd always considered himself a great judge of character, and San seemed easygoing and observant with that same wary edge in his eyes that came from too many nights spent assessing threats before sleep. He carried himself like someone who’d fit in well at Sector One - calm under pressure, sharp under the humor. Reliable. A kindred spirit. It made his shoulders relax and his guard lower.
“So,” Yunho said, resting his hands on the back of the sofa, “how long have you been with Wooyoung?”
“Oh, this is my full-time gig,” San said breezily. “Been with him about two years now.”
Yunho’s brows rose. “Not contract work then?”
“Nah.” San grinned, rolling one shoulder in a lazy shrug. “I’m basically a kept boy who happens to know how to use a gun.”
Yunho let out a quiet laugh; he couldn’t help it. “There are worse things to be.”
“You’re telling me,” San said, smirking. “My dental plan’s incredible.”
That earned him another snort.
San eyed him. “What about you? How long’ve you been with Min?”
“His dad hired me after the first incident.”
“The car bomb?”
“Yeah. Been about eight weeks and some change.”
San’s tone softened. “Sorry if it’s not my place, but you two seem a little… frosty for two months in.”
Yunho huffed a quiet breath through his nose. “That’s a relatively new development.”
“Ah.” San nodded, tapping a finger against his thigh. “Makes sense. You’re together all the time. That kind of proximity, it’ll either bond you tight or drive you both nuts.”
Yunho hummed in agreement. “Sometimes both.”
For a moment, they just stood there, the city glittering through the glass like another world entirely.
Yunho shouldn’t ask. He knew he shouldn’t. But…But the silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable; it was companionable. And that, somehow, made it worse, made his brain run in overdrive as he considered his next words.
“So,” Yunho said finally, “you and Wooyoung.”
San groaned immediately, dragging a hand down his face, voice facetious, “I can’t imagine how you caught on to that?”
Yunho laughed, playing along, “It was kinda hard to miss.”
“Yeah…It’s not really supposed to be something we just go around telling people,” he said, voice muffled. “But Mingi’s his best friend, so I get it. And Woo’s never exactly been subtle.”
Yunho laughed, shaking his head. “If you don’t mind me asking… what happened there?”
San’s smirk softened into something quieter. “Look, I know what you’re going to say. I know because I said it to myself every damn day. It’s unethical. It’s emotional manipulation. But it’s not.”
Yunho lifted his hands, palms up. “I wasn’t going to say anything.”
San gave him a look that said he didn’t believe a word of that. “Look, he went after me from day one. I didn’t stand a chance. I thought I was the one in control, but… nah. If anyone got played, it was me.”
Yunho’s laugh softened into something smaller, quieter. There was no real defense in San’s tone, no shame. It was just the kind of honesty that came from someone who’d already lost that particular fight and survived it anyway. It made something tug in his chest, the recognition of a man who’d built the same armor for the same reasons and had it peeled away
“I actually…” Yunho started, hesitating, “It’s not the same, but-”
“Ah.” San’s smile returned, smaller this time, a knowing curve of the mouth. He didn’t know what it was about the other man, but something had Yunho ready to spill his guts.
He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, gaze flicking toward the hallway where Mingi and Wooyoung had disappeared. Whatever words had been climbing up his throat stalled there. San didn’t press, just tilted his head slightly, waiting. The patience in that look made it worse somehow.
Yunho let out a breath, rubbed the back of his neck, then gave in.
He sank down onto the edge of the couch, staring at his hands, calloused and still faintly scarred, the kind that had always felt like tools. “I’ve spent my whole life looking out for other people,” he said quietly. “Protection....It comes so easily for me. But I’m afraid he-” he hesitated, exhaled, “-he mistakes that feeling of safety for something else. I don’t want him to think what he feels is affection when it’s just relief.”
“Because you like him.”
Yunho’s eyes flicked up, caught San’s gaze. He nodded once. “Because it’d kill me,” he said quietly, “to get too far into this and to find out it wasn’t me he wanted - just the way I made him feel when he was at his weakest.”
San leaned back against the couch, studying him for a long moment. Then he said, low and certain, “You know that’s not your call to make on your own, though, right?”
Yunho frowned. “What?”
“Whether his feelings are real or not. Whether he knows the difference between gratitude and love.” San’s tone was easy, but his eyes weren’t. “If you’re afraid, that’s one thing, but you can’t protect someone from that choice. Believe me, I tried.”
Yunho didn’t answer. His throat had gone dry.
Because maybe that was the truth he’d been avoiding. That all this restraint, all this discipline, was less about professionalism and more about fear. That maybe he was just afraid to fall too hard too fast...and to not have someone waiting to catch him when he did.
Chapter Text
Yunho and San heard them before they saw them - Wooyoung’s unmistakable cackle cutting through the quiet, underscored by Mingi’s deeper voice.
“All I’m saying,” Wooyoung was declaring, “is he doesn’t have nearly enough hair to be such a dick all the time. Thank God male pattern baldness doesn’t run in your family. I guess he just drew the short straw.”
The two emerged a moment later, Mingi red-faced and trying to wrangle a very smug Wooyoung by the elbow. Wooyoung, of course, ignored him completely and made a beeline straight for San. He wrapped himself around him, planting a quick kiss on his cheek.
“Are you boys getting along out here?”
San smiled, easy and familiar, dimples on full display. “We’re doing just fine, thank you. Just swapping war stories.”
“Ah, you military men are all the same,” Wooyoung said, sighing dramatically. “So dutiful.” His gaze slid toward Yunho - not subtle, not even trying to be. “But maybe some people would benefit from not leaning so hard on duty as a crutch...maybe they should just, you know, fucking live a little.”
“Wooyoung!” Mingi choked, half-mortified, half-warning.
Yunho said nothing, but he took the comment at face value. He knows they talked about him…about the other night. How he’d shut the whole thing down. He's not an idiot. Well, maybe he is, but he’s also observant. He wasn’t angry. Embarrassed, maybe. Exposed, definitely. But not angry. If anything, he almost respected Wooyoung’s bluntness. Someone needed to say what Mingi wouldn’t.
Wooyoung only shrugged, all innocence and charm. “What? I’m just saying.”
Yunho’s gaze slid to Mingi. The kid was flushed from chest to hairline, lips parted like he wanted to speak but couldn’t quite form the words, but there was a relaxed quality to his shoulders and an ease to him. Yunho decided then that he quite liked Jung Wooyoung.
Mingi and Wooyoung were having a whole conversation with their eyes, some mixture of warning and exasperation passing between them. Then Wooyoung sighed, dramatic as ever, “Well, as lovely as this has been, we should get out of your hair. Expect to see more of me now that I am back in town.”
He stalked over to Mingi, grabbed his face in both hands, and pulled him down to plant a loud kiss on his cheek. “There better not be another near-death experience in the foreseeable future, but if there is, I'd better be the first number you dial.”
“Okay.”
“Love you, idiot.”
“Love you too.”
Wooyoung grinned, satisfied, and finally turned toward the elevator. San lingered a step behind, calm and quiet where Wooyoung was chaos incarnate.
He paused at the door, meeting Yunho’s eyes with a knowing smile and raised brow before following his charge out.
When Yunho turned back around, Mingi had already disappeared down the hall. The sound of his door clicking shut carried through the quiet penthouse.
“I guess no making nice tonight,” Yunho muttered under his breath. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and started a final sweep of the space, every muscle in him wired despite the calm hum of the upgraded security feed. He’d just passed the guest suite when he heard his name.
“Yunho!”
He was across the penthouse in seconds, weapon instinctively drawn before his brain caught up. He reached Mingi’s door and pushed it open. “What? What’s wrong?”
Mingi was sitting on the edge of his bed, staring at the laptop like it might detonate. His hands were clenched in his lap.
“What’s going on, kid?”
Mingi swallowed hard. “I have this compartment in the wall - there.” He pointed to a seam so subtle Yunho might have missed it if he didn’t know where to look. “You’d have to know it was there, and you’d need a passcode to get in. That-” he pointed at the laptop “-was in that compartment.”
Yunho’s brows furrowed. “Okay…”
Mingi didn’t answer. He leaned forward and pressed the spacebar.
A video filled the screen.
Mingi’s bedroom. Mingi asleep. The footage was grainy, lit by the faint glow of the city through the curtains. He was tossing, shifting, a soft sound escaping him that made Yunho’s stomach twist. The video lasted thirty seconds, long enough to feel invasive. Long enough to feel wrong.
Yunho reached over and stopped the playback with a decisive tap. The silence afterward was loud.
Mingi’s voice was shaking. “That was hidden, Yunho. Hidden. How did they even know it was there? How did they find it? How...how did they get that footage?”
Yunho crossed the room and gripped Mingi’s shoulders, firm but steady. “Hey. Look at me.” He waited until Mingi’s frantic gaze met his. “That video’s from days ago, okay? The whole system’s been gutted and rebuilt. Every feed, every line, every damn wire. It’s all running through Sector One now. They can’t see you anymore.”
“What the fuck is going on, Yunho?” Mingi’s voice cracked. “They've been in my house! I feel like I’m going crazy. I don’t know if this guy wants to fuck me or kill me or-” He broke off, dragging a hand through his hair. “I’m just tired.”
Yunho tightened his grip, grounding him. “Hey. That’s exactly what he wants. People like this...they make you feel cornered. They want to wear you down so you start to question everything. It’s psychological warfare.”
“Well, it’s working!” Mingi’s voice cracked again, raw and small. “I feel fucking weak.”
“Hey.” Yunho softened. “You are not weak. This is a moment. It’ll pass. You’ll be back to your ‘fuck the world’ attitude before I even finish my coffee tomorrow.”
Mingi gave a watery, humorless laugh, and then he just moved. One second of stillness, then he was in Yunho’s arms, clutching him tight, face buried against his neck.
Yunho froze, heart pounding, before instinct took over. He wrapped his arms around the kid and held on, solid and steady, letting Mingi shake against him.
“Hey,” Yunho said quietly into his hair. He was well into 'fuck it' territory. “You wanna stay with me tonight?”
Mingi nodded against his throat.
“Okay. Grab your stuff.” Yunho exhaled, reluctant to let go. “I’m gonna have someone from Sector One come pick up the laptop.”
“What?”
“Someone needs to check it for fingerprints, metadata - see if there’s any trail to whoever accessed it.”
“I can do that,” Mingi said quickly. Too quickly. “Please, let me.”
“Mingi, I have to send it in.”
“No. Please, Yunho, you can’t…I need this. Just let me look first. Please.”
Yunho froze, studying him. That wasn’t fear of exposure…it was fear of discovery. There was something layered beneath the panic, something sharper. Mingi wasn’t just terrified of what had been done to him; he was terrified of what Yunho might find.
And Yunho knew enough about people and patterns to recognize a man protecting more than his privacy. It fit, in a way he didn’t fully grasp. The late nights. The locked doors. The times Mingi had been “working” late into the night,
He didn’t know the full picture yet. But he saw the edges. Still, Mingi was looking at him now with those eyes - pleading, tired, breaking open - and Yunho felt something in him bend.
“Fine.” He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. In for a penny, he guessed. “Fine. But you share anything you find. No exceptions.”
Mingi nodded quickly. “Promise.”
Yunho didn’t buy it. But if the kid wanted to tell him, he’d let him do it on his own terms.
For now.
“Good. Now grab your stuff. I’m wiped.”
Mingi moved to collect his things, and Yunho lingered in the doorway, watching him. His heart was still hammering in his chest; not from the footage, not from the threat. From him.
They lay there in his bed, side by side, both staring up at the ceiling like it might offer them something better to focus on than each other.
It wasn’t the first time they’d shared a bed, but it felt different tonight. The silence wasn’t comfortable. It wasn’t exactly uncomfortable either. Just… thick. Heavy with everything Yunho hadn’t said.
He could hear Mingi’s breathing, slow and even, could feel the warmth of him just inches away. Close enough to touch, close enough to ruin everything.
Yunho flexed his fingers against the blanket. He’d spent days trying to bury this, telling himself to stay detached, stay professional. To be what Mingi needed - to be protector, handler, shield. And maybe he could have kept it up if San hadn’t gone and opened his big mouth.
It’s not your decision to make on your own.
That sentence had been sitting like a stone in his gut ever since. Because San was right. Mingi wasn’t a kid, no matter how often Yunho referred to him as such. And Yunho wasn’t fooling anyone with his distance, least of all himself.
He’d spent his whole life keeping things clean and controlled, loving in quiet, invisible ways so no one could see what it cost him. But this kid...this kid who smiled like sunlight and drove him up a wall...he'd crawled under every layer of armor Yunho owned. And he was so damn tired of pretending he didn’t feel it.
His pulse thudded in his throat. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe it would all come crashing down. Maybe he was about to fuck his entire career. But he couldn’t keep holding it in; it was eating him alive.
He swallowed, his chest tight. Time to be brave, Jeong. “Can I be vulnerable with you for a second?”
Mingi turned his head toward him, eyes wide, hopeful, like a puppy offered a treat. “Yeah,” he said softly.
Yunho’s mouth quirked at that, despite himself. “Just…don’t look at me, okay?”
Mingi immediately flopped back onto his pillow, obediently staring at the ceiling. “Okay.”
Yunho let out a long, uneven breath. “I’m not the easiest person to be emotional with. I know that. My therapist has been harping on me about my control issues for years now.” He rubbed his palms against the blanket, like friction might help him get the words out. “This isn’t meant to be a reflection on you, not really. Or maybe it is. I don’t know.”
He huffed a laugh, dry, nervous. God, he felt like a teenager again, and those had not been his best years. He forced himself to keep going. “I was talking with San earlier. He said this isn’t my decision to make alone. And he’s right.” Time for the big plunge, Jeong.
“I told you before that I wanted you, and I didn’t lie about that. But…” He hesitated, eyes fixed on the ceiling light. “You have to understand something about me...I'm an all in kinda guy. I don’t know how to love someone halfway. And I'm not saying that I love you, that would be crazy. We've known each other for two months. But I'm saying that, if I let myself, I could. And I worry that maybe you’d end up mistaking what you feel for me for something else.”
He turned his head, but Mingi still hadn’t looked at him, which somehow made it easier to keep talking. “I think maybe you look at me and see protection. Someone who stands between you and the things that hurt. Someone steady when everything else is chaos. And I worry that you mistake that for affection. But that, when the danger dies down, you’ll realize that you don’t need me anymore…that you don’t want me.”
He drew in a slow breath. “And…I’ve seen you with people, Mingi. You haven't exactly been subtle. And I don’t blame you for it or hold it against you, but it just…stings, I guess.”
Silence stretched again, softer this time.
“When I’m with someone,” Yunho said finally, “I’m with them. Completely. And that’s what scares me, I think. Because I can’t do that if it’s not real for you. I can’t survive that.”
He stared back at the ceiling, feeling the weight of his own heartbeat. “But San’s right. This isn’t just my choice. I can’t be selfish. You at least deserve the chance to talk. To make your case. We should… talk about it together.”
For a long moment, Yunho thought maybe Mingi had fallen asleep. Then-
“So… is it my turn now, or...?”
Yunho huffed out a startled laugh, “Yeah. Now you go.”
“Cool.” Mingi took a breath, then another, like he was trying to organize his thoughts. Then he turned his body so he was facing Yunho’s.
“I’m… not great at this either. Talking, I mean.” He paused, his voice low but steady. “You said you’re afraid I might mistake what I feel for you for something else. But, Yunho, that’s kind of my whole life. People not really seeing me.”
He laughed under his breath, bitter, self-deprecating. “You know the people I hang out with - They're not my friends. I know that, I'm not an idiot. And my family...I don’t think my dad even likes me. My brother definitely doesn’t. I’ve always been too much of one thing or not enough of something else. The only person who ever really loved me, like fully, was my mom. And maybe Wooyoung. And even that…sometimes I think it’s just pity that keeps him around…or obligation.”
“I don’t think it’s that,” Yunho said quietly, because he truly believed it.
“Excuse me,” Mingi shot back, holding up a hand. “I’m talking now. You got your emotional monologue; let me have mine.”
Yunho smiled and mimed zipping his lips.
“I’m just saying that it’s hard for me to believe people like me for me - not for my money or my name. So, yeah, maybe at first I didn’t know what to do with you. You kept standing your ground. You didn’t bend just because I wanted you to. You called me on my shit.”
He lifted his head, finally meeting Yunho’s eyes. “And I guess that’s what made me start thinking. Because most people...they give up. They get tired of me. But you never did."
Yunho watched as he swallowed, throat working around his next thought. “You treat me like a person, not like a liability you have to manage. You could’ve kept everything by the book...you should’ve, probably, but you didn’t. You ask my opinion on things and, like, listen when I talk, not because you’re supposed to, but because you actually mean it. Even though I know I’m just a job."
Yunho really wanted to interrupt there, to tell him that he was never just anything, but he forced himself to stay still. Let him speak.
“And, look, I know I’ve been… testing boundaries, or whatever. Pushing you.” Mingi huffed out a quiet laugh. “Maybe part of that was just me trying to see if you’d stay. If you’d still look at me the same way after I made it hard for you to. Especially then...”
Yunho’s breath caught.
Mingi’s voice softened, losing its edge. “And you always did. You always stayed but pushed back in the right ways. You never let me win just to shut me up. You never made me feel small or unimportant or unwanted. And that…” He hesitated, swallowing hard, eyes flicking toward the ceiling before finding Yunho again. “I don’t know if I can explain how much that means to me.”
He drew in a shaky breath. “So no, I’m not mistaking what I feel for, like, security or whatever, even though I do feel safe with you, but I’ve been pulling your pigtails since you carried me out of that club. Maybe even before.”
A pause. Then quieter: “I just like you, Yunho.”
The air seemed to thin between them.
“I like you when you’re in your stupid funeral suits or in sweats. When you’re teasing me, and when you smile at me after I make fun of you. When you’re laughing with me...or at me.” His mouth quirked, tentative and nervous. “And I know I’ve been… a little loose with my affections, and that might make you nervous. But I can be all in. For you, I can be. I want to be. If you want that too."
Yunho stayed quiet. Not because he didn’t know what to say, but because saying it too fast would cheapen the moment.
Mingi shifted, nerves seemingly catching up with him. “Okay, you say something now.”
Yunho’s lips twitched. He made a show of unzipping them with an invisible key.
With a loud groan, Mingi threw himself back against the bed, covering his face with both hands. “I take back everything! You’re basically ancient and probably only have months, if not weeks, left. I can’t be a widower at twenty-five!”
Yunho laughed, the sound low and warm in the dark. He leaned over, catching Mingi’s wrists and gently pulling his hands away from his face.
Their eyes met, closer than they’d ever been without pretense or defense between them.
Yunho hesitated for a heartbeat, then leaned down and kissed him. Light. Careful. Testing.
Mingi’s eyes flew open, breath stalling for a second like he wasn’t sure if he’d imagined it.
Yunho’s voice came quiet, rough around the edges, but certain. “I do want.” He brushed Mingi’s hair back from his forehead. “Just do me one favor, yeah?”
He leaned down, resting his forehead against Mingi’s sternum so he didn’t have to look at him. “Today was an emotional roller coaster. Can we just… sleep? If you feel the same way about this tomorrow, then I’m all yours.”
Mingi’s voice was tentative. “Promise?”
“Promise.”
The chest beneath his forehead rose sharply as Mingi heaved a dramatic sigh. “I guess that’s fine. Wouldn’t want to keep you up past your bedtime anyway. I know how you old folk get without your 8 hours.”
Yunho smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his chest in thanks, then rolled onto his back. Mingi made a show of kicking his feet, getting comfortable, then flicked off the lamp.
The last thing Yunho heard before sleep took him was Mingi’s muttered, petulant voice: “Wait till morning, Mingi. That won’t make it fucking impossible to sleep or anything.”
Yunho carried his exasperated smile into sleep.
Chapter 13
Notes:
We've gotten into the sexy times, my friends. Just a heads up.
Chapter Text
Yunho woke to the weight of someone climbing on top of him.
His instincts fired before his mind caught up; muscles tensed, breath sharp. But even half-asleep, his body knew the truth before reason returned. The warmth. The faint scent of citrus and smoke.
“Mingi,” he murmured, voice rough with sleep. He blinked his eyes open.
Mingi was straddling his hips, hair a soft halo in the morning light, determination written in every line of his face. Yunho felt his pulse trip over itself.
“It’s morning,” Mingi said, voice low and still heavy with sleep.
“I can see that,” Yunho replied, lips quirking. He already knew where this was going, and it filled him with a quiet, dangerous kind of happiness.
“You said if I still wanted this in the morning, I could have it.” Mingi’s tone was casual, but the glint in his eyes gave him away.
Yunho tilted his head slightly. “Did you get any sleep at all?”
Mingi rolled his shoulders, shifting deliberately. “Maybe two hours. Which is totally your fault. You dangled something I really wanted right in front of me and told me to wait.”
Yunho laughed softly, his hands finding their way to Mingi’s hips before he could think better of it. His thumbs brushed slow, grounding circles there. Having Mingi this close, now that he’d decided to let himself want it, made rational thought impossible.
Mingi leaned down until his lips hovered a breath above Yunho’s. The thought of morning breath crossed Yunho’s mind before it was promptly erased. “I still want this,” Mingi whispered.
Their lips brushed when Yunho spoke. “Then I’m yours.”
Fuck morning breath. Whatever restraint was left between them cracked. Mingi kissed him hard; hungry, decisive, all the impatience of the night before turning molten. Yunho didn’t fight it; he met him halfway, hands steady on the other man’s waist, letting him take what he needed and giving all that he could.
After a moment, Mingi leaned back, eyes fixed on Yunho. His hands still rested against Yunho’s chest, fingers tracing idle patterns. He was looking at him like he wanted to take everything in and couldn’t decide where to start. Yunho just smiled and left him room to decide.
“Can we…” Mingi didn’t finish that thought, nervous in a way that Yunho wasn’t used to seeing from him in venues like this. The easy mask of confidence seemed to crumble between the two of them, revealing the smaller, more tentative Song Mingi that Yunho was starting to believe only a select few got to see.
Yunho smirked up at him, sinking deeper into the mattress. “I told you, I’m yours. You can have whatever you want, champ.”
Mingi barked out an incredulous laugh and arched an eyebrow. “Do you want me to call you daddy?”
Yunho made a thoughtful noise. “To each their own...But I don’t think that’s one of my kinks.”
“Good,” Mingi said, eyes glinting. “Because my daddy issues aren’t the kind that transition well into the bedroom. So maybe we retire the champ talk while we’re at it, hey…slugger?”
The laugh that came out of Yunho then was bright and unguarded, “I’ll stick to ‘Princess’ for now, then, shall I?” Mingi blushed, but didn’t argue. He leaned down again and kissed him, deep and sure. Mingi kissed like he argued: all in, a little chaotic and overwhelming, but easily gentled with the right guidance.
As they kissed, Yunho’s hands roamed, sliding up Mingi’s sides beneath his shirt, feeling the warmth of skin that shivered at his touch. He pushed the fabric higher until Mingi took the hint and stripped it off, tossing it aside.
His body was perfect. Smooth and lean - with broad shoulders and a defined chest tapering into a tiny waist. It had been torture seeing this body every day and not allowing himself to touch. Now though…
Mingi’s voice came out low, rough around the edges. “God, I’ve been thinking about your hands for weeks.”
Yunho’s laugh came out surprised. “My hands?”
“Hands, forearms, the whole thing. They’re criminal,” Mingi said, body squirming on top of him in a way that made Yunho very aware of the other man’s ass on his crotch. “Completely unfair. You should need a license for them.”
Yunho just chuckled and slid his hands down Mingi’s hips to put them to use. He cupped that gorgeous ass where it sat against him, kneading the flesh and encouraging the other to grind against his body. Mingi threw his head back with a moan as he rocked his hips forward, neck arched and enticing. Yunho ached to get his mouth on it. He knew he would get the chance, and soon, but he wanted to give the younger man the opportunity to set the tone today.
When Mingi looked back down at him, Yunho could see the battle going on behind his eyes - the choices he was weighing in his head. Yunho kept his face open, putting everything he felt on display. He wasn’t kidding when he said he was Mingi’s. Whatever the younger man wanted from him, Yunho’d gladly give. But, he’d gotten good at reading the other man in their time together and was pretty sure he knew what was wanted from him; he just needed to wait for him to ask.
Mingi took a deep breath and leaned down to place a quick kiss on Yunho’s lips. “So…you just gonna lay there, Boy Scout?”
There it was. Yunho raised a brow, tone mock-pitying. “What? Tired already, princess?”
Mingi recovered some of that infuriating confidence - good boy - and smirked down at him, shrugging. “I mean, I just thought it was your job to guard my body.”
Yunho’s breath hitched, a smile curling slow and deliberate at the corner of his mouth. In one clean motion, he shifted, catching Mingi off-balance and flipping him onto his back.
Mingi let out a startled sound that turned into a laugh, half protest, half delight as he settled between his spread legs. “Not a job,” Yunho said, voice dropping low as he leaned over him. “This I’ll do for free.”
From there, Yunho took control. He quickly divested himself of his own shirt, noting the admiration in Mingi’s eyes as he did so. He knew he was a bit slighter than Mingi, but he’d never been ashamed of his body - it was lean and strong and did what it needed to do. The fact that Mingi was currently devouring him with his eyes was just an added bonus.
He leaned down and kissed him again, swallowing the small, surprised sound that left Mingi’s throat. The younger man clung to him, rolling his hips up in pure impatience. He was so responsive - every sound, every tremor pulling Yunho in deeper.
Mingi’s breath stuttered when Yunho’s lips found his throat, tracing the pulse there. He bit down gently near his ear, and Mingi gasped, fingers clutching at Yunho’s shoulders. Yunho grinned against his skin, dizzy on the feeling of him alive and shaking beneath him.
It was intoxicating, the sound of Mingi coming apart by degrees. Yunho wanted to take his time, to map every inch of him, to learn every noise he could draw from his body.
But of course, Mingi had other plans.
“Am I going to be able to cum this century,” Mingi groaned, breathless and half-laughing as Yunho’s mouth moved down his body, “or am I resigning myself to blue balls until I die?”
Yunho looked up at him, amused, his lips hovering over an abused nipple. “Have you never heard the adage ‘Good things come to those who wait’?”
“I’ve been waiting to get dicked down by you for weeks now,” Mingi said, words coming out between quick breaths. “Can you please stop being such a goddamn tease?”
“You’re calling me a tease?” Yunho said, voice low, edged with laughter. He reached down and gave the meat of Mingi’s side a playful pinch, “That’s rich coming from you, Min.”
At the nickname, Mingi’s eyes went wide. He reached up, grabbed a handful of Yunho’s hair, and dragged him down until their noses brushed. “Shut up,” he hissed, eyes bright and unguarded, “and fuck me already. We can do the slow, romantic stuff later.”
Yunho laughed soft, but helplessly fond. He brushed a kiss against Mingi’s nose. “Sure thing, princess.”
He made quick work of the rest. Clothes were shed in pieces, kisses dropped along the trail of skin he uncovered. Mingi was already trembling, his cock flushed and aching where it rested against his stomach. Yunho brushed his hand over it, just once, and Mingi’s hips chased the touch, a broken sound escaping him. Yunho pressed a quick kiss to his lips and murmured, “Be right back.”
The dramatic groan that followed made him laugh under his breath.
He ducked into the bathroom, grabbed what he needed - lube, condoms…a couple - and came back only to stop in the doorway.
Mingi was sprawled out on the bed, completely bare, chest rising and falling, eyes on him. The sight hit like a punch to the ribs. Vulnerable. Beautiful. His.
That constant rhythm of protect in his head added a new word, low and possessive: mine.
“You good, Boy Scout?” Mingi asked, half-teasing.
“Yup,” Yunho said honestly, voice a little rough. “Just looking at you.”
Mingi flushed, ducked his head, then groaned. “You could be fucking me if you’d get over here.”
Yunho grinned and threw him a sloppy salute. “Sir, yes, sir.”
He crawled back onto the bed, settling between Mingi’s spread legs, kissing his way up one thigh, slow and reverent. When he looked up again, Mingi was watching him, open and trusting.
“Just…” Mingi’s voice faltered. “…go easy, yeah? It’s been a while.”
Yunho stilled, the weight of that simple request unlocking something deep in his chest - that part of him that burned at seeing Mingi with other people. He knew what the younger man meant. It’s been a while since I trusted anyone with this part.
His hand came up, thumb tracing the inside of Mingi’s knee. His voice, when it came, was quiet. “Yeah,” he said. “I've got you.”
Despite the protests, Yunho took his time opening the other man up. He wasn’t about to rush this. Not after the week they’d had, not after everything Mingi had endured in his lifetime. Whatever else he was, Yunho took care of what was his.
Mingi groaned and arched under his touch, tiny sounds spilling from him, sharp and pleading, as Yunho’s fingers worked him open with patient precision. Sweat gathered at his hairline, the tendons in his neck flexing with every breath. He was coming undone, voice cracking when he gasped, “Please…”
Yunho’s heart kicked hard against his ribs. He leaned in, kissed the words off his mouth, and murmured against his lips, “Just a little longer, baby. Don’t want to hurt you.”
Mingi made a frustrated noise, but didn’t pull away. He let himself be handled, let Yunho guide him through the ache and into the free fall of pleasure. When Yunho was sure he was ready, he pulled his fingers free and reached for the condom, quick and practiced.
“Ready, princess?” he asked, voice rougher than he meant it to be as he rearranged the other’s long limbs. Mingi’s arms came up around his neck, deliberate and steady, drawing him close until they were chest to chest, breath to breath. He nodded once, and that was all Yunho needed.
He pushed in slow, eyes locked on Mingi’s face the entire time, watching every flicker of expression. When the first trace of pain crossed his features, Yunho stopped. Waited. Let him adjust. Mingi exhaled shakily, eyes fluttering closed as he pressed closer, and Yunho felt the tension ease under his palms. Only then did he move again, slow and careful, sinking deeper until the world seemed to narrow to heat and breath and heartbeat.
Mingi’s mouth fell open, a soft sound escaping him as his nails bit into Yunho’s shoulders. Yunho didn’t mind. He’d take the sting - he’d take anything - to keep seeing him like this. Beautiful. Open. Alive. A man who’d spent years behind armor now looking at him like he trusted him with the pieces.
The thought nearly undid him. He cupped Mingi’s face as he bottomed out, thumb tracing his cheek. “God, you’re-”
“Yeah, yeah. You like me, we get it.” Mingi interrupted, voice thin but teasing, eyes half-lidded. “I know your hips aren’t what they used to be, old man, but feel free to move when you’re ready.” He tapped Yunho’s hips twice in encouragement, the little shit.
Yunho barked out a laugh, breathless and unsteady, the tension breaking just enough to make room for heat again. “You’re lucky I like your mouth, princess,” he muttered, and rolled his hips.
The first thrust stole the air from Mingi’s chest. The laughter in his eyes fractured into something raw and ruined and beautiful, as Yunho drew back and sank in again, slow and deliberate.
Yunho had spent years honing his instincts, reading the smallest twitch of muscle, the faintest shift in breath to predict intent. He used all of that now, but for this. For him.
Every sound, every gasp, every tremor of Mingi’s body became a signal to follow. He caught it all: the long, drawn-out moan when he hit just the right angle, the curl of toes when he changed the pace, the stuttered inhale when pressure turned pleasure sharp. He memorized it, mapped it, filed it away like intelligence for a later mission.
This morning, though, he wasn’t teasing. Not anymore. He found the angle that made Mingi’s nails rake down his back, that had his eyes wide and wanting, and he stayed there, hips rolling into him again and again, until the only sounds in the room were breath and skin and Mingi’s voice breaking apart beneath him.
Mingi’s gasps turned shallow, the rhythm of his body faltering as the edge caught him. “There… please… Yunho-” Yunho’s hand wrapped around him then, moving in time with his thrusts. A few more, and Mingi’s whole body went taut, every muscle locking tight as pleasure overtook him. His voice cracked into a cry, rough and wrecked, and he dragged Yunho down into it, mouths colliding, breaths tangling, both of them lost to the same heat.
Yunho smiled against his lips, hips still moving, drawing out every tremor, every shudder, until Mingi’s body gave out beneath him, trembling and spent. He kissed him again, slow this time, delighting in the wreckage he’d made of him. Mingi made a broken sound and clung to him, body twitching with the occasional aftershock.
Only then did Yunho notice his own need clawing for release, more insistent now that he could focus on it. He pulled out carefully, mindful of Mingi’s sensitivity. The small, involuntary sound that escaped the younger man’s chest made Yunho’s lips twitch in quiet satisfaction.
He sat back on his heels, taking himself in hand, eyes never leaving Mingi. The sight of him - flushed, marked, breathing hard, streaks of sweat and cum painting his skin - was breathtaking. When Mingi shifted to sit up, reaching to help, Yunho stilled him with a word, voice low and rough.
“No… just...let me look at you.”
Mingi’s answering smirk was lazy, warm. “Okay, stalker. Whatever gets you there.”
Yunho huffed a laugh, the sound half-broken as his hand moved faster. He couldn’t look away from Mingi sprawled out beneath him, loose-limbed and glowing. Safe. His. That thought was what finally undid him. With a groan, Yunho came across the younger man’s stomach, his body bowing forward, catching himself on shaking arms.
When he finally looked up, Mingi was waiting for him. No teasing this time, just soft eyes and steady hands that pulled him close. Their mouths met again, gentle and unhurried, a quiet tether pulling them both back down from the edge. Mingi’s fingers threaded through Yunho’s hair, soothing, grounding.
And Yunho let himself lean into it.
Chapter Text
Sometime after round two, they lay side by side, shoulders touching, the quiet stretching long between them. Mingi traced lazy circles over Yunho’s palm, fingers sliding between his, mapping the lines there like they were meaningful. Occasionally, Yunho would pull that hand to his mouth to lay a kiss on the palm, the wrist.
“Tell me something about yourself,” Mingi said finally, voice low in the hush.
Yunho turned his head a little, eyes flicking toward him. “What do you want to know?”
“I don’t know.” Mingi shrugged, thumb brushing the heel of Yunho’s hand. “Something you usually don’t tell people.”
“I thought you did a background check on me.”
Mingi looked away, guilt flashing across his face. “I didn’t dig that much. It felt… wrong.”
His heart beat kicked in his chest at that, recalling his earlier anger at the mention of his brother. He curled his fingers around Mingi’s and gave a gentle squeeze. “Thanks, Min.”
The younger man rolled his eyes, then reached over to poke his cheek. “Don’t get all sentimental on me, Boy Scout. Now spill.”
Yunho hummed, thinking. What could he give him…something small, but true. Something Mingi might like.
“I was a cheerleader in high school,” he said at last.
Mingi blinked, then laughed. “Shut up.”
Yunho smiled faintly. “I’m serious.”
“No, you weren’t.”
“Yeah,” Yunho said, nodding. “Regionals twice, nationals once.”
“Huh…” Mingi said, incredulous.
“My parents put me in dance when I was like three - ballet, tap, jazz, all that. I was good at it, and it just sorta stuck. When high school rolled around, cheer felt like an easy jump.”
Mingi tilted his head, eyes wide, half-incredulous. “No shit? Huh. How very Bring It On of you.”
“Mm-hm.” Yunho’s smile turned soft. “It was fun, honestly. We were good. The girls were phenomenal, and so were the other guys, though there were only a few of us.”
“So that’s where you learned to throw people around,” Mingi said, laughter breaking through.
Yunho snorted. “Hey, say what you want, but cheerleaders are cool. And they get laid like you wouldn’t believe.”
That earned him a bark of laughter. Mingi rolled over, resting his chest against Yunho’s so he could look him in the eye. “Oh, I have no doubt. I bet you looked so cute in your uniform.”
Yunho groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Shut up.”
“No, I’m serious,” Mingi said, grinning.
Yunho rolled his eyes, but he was pleased by Mingi’s reaction. “Alright,” he said after a beat, voice low. “Your turn.”
Mingi huffed a laugh and flopped back onto his back, one arm thrown over his head. “Well, I know you already have a full file on me,” he said. “You’ve for sure read it.”
Yunho propped himself up on an elbow and reached over, letting his hand trail down the other man’s chest, slow and lazy. “Not the same,” he murmured. His fingers slid up, tracing the line of Mingi’s throat, the curve of his collarbone. “I want to hear it from you. It’s different when it comes from you.” His eyes flicked to Mingi’s face, soft but knowing. “Besides, I know you’ve got some secrets in there somewhere.” His mind flicked back to Mingi’s hidden compartment, the laptop inside, but he didn’t pry. Not yet.
That earned him a faint smile, but it didn’t reach Mingi’s eyes. Yunho could see the moment his mind turned inward, saw it in the shift of his gaze, the small crease forming between his brows. When Mingi finally spoke, his voice was quieter. “I miss my mom.”
Yunho hadn’t expected that. Everyone knew about Mingi’s mother. She’d died in a car accident, something like eight years back, the kind that made headlines for days. A wealthy family, a twisted guardrail, a driver who’d fallen asleep at the wheel. He remembered the pictures splashed across the news feeds: a crushed luxury sedan, the bright flowers left at the gates of a palatial estate, the solemn faces of the Song family at the funeral.
“Tell me about her,” Yunho said softly.
Mingi’s eyes softened, his voice taking on a wistful lilt. “She loved me most. I know she did. When I was little, she was my whole world. I could be soft with her, you know? I was soft with her. And she was gentle with me in a way my dad never was.” His throat worked around the words, and he exhaled slowly. “I told you my family doesn’t really like me, that’s old news. But she always did. She never saw me as weak. She just… saw me.”
He paused, blinking hard. “I miss her. I think I’d be a different person if she were still here.”
Yunho shifted closer, his hand still resting lightly on Mingi’s chest. “You’d still be you,” he said quietly.
Mingi’s lips curved faintly. “Yeah, maybe. Just… maybe a version of me that’s a little less of a pain in the ass.”
Yunho leaned down and kissed him then, soft and unhurried, just the brush of lips. “I happen to like you just the way you are,” he murmured against his mouth. “Pain in the ass and all.”
Mingi smiled against his lips, a small, real thing that finally reached his eyes as his arms came up to wrap around Yunho’s neck once more. “You might be the only one.”
“Lucky me,” Yunho said as he moved to straddle Mingi fully.
Just then, a loud chirp split the quiet, sharp enough to make Yunho flinch. Mingi groaned and dropped his head back against the pillow with a dull thunk.
Yunho glanced over. “That doesn’t sound like a good noise.”
“No,” Mingi muttered, already reaching for the phone. “It’s not.”
Only a few people had the power to bypass Do Not Disturb, and judging by the way Mingi’s shoulders stiffened before he even answered, Yunho could guess which one it was.
“Yeah?” Mingi said into the speaker.
“Why has my access been removed?” The voice on the other end was clipped, sharp.
Mingi’s expression flattened. “Go talk to Yeosang.”
“You know what, I don’t care,” Minhyuk snapped. “Just let me up.”
Mingi’s mouth twitched, something between irritation and resignation. “Not even a please?”
“Mingi.” The voice on the other end went cold. “Now.”
Yunho watched the change happen in real time: the easy warmth that had been on Mingi’s face minutes ago faded, replaced by something colder, practiced. His body went still in that particular way Yunho had learned to recognize. The shift from person to persona, from man to heir.
“Min?” he said quietly.
Mingi didn’t answer. He just stared at the phone, thumb hovering over the screen before his hands came up to shift Yunho off his lap. His jaw flexed once before he spoke, “He can’t know we’re sleeping together.”
Yunho blinked - a little hurt by ‘sleeping together’ but he pushed that to the side for the time being, “I wasn’t exactly planning on telling him anything.”
“I know. He just… can’t.”
The edge in his tone was sharper than the words themselves. Mingi stood, moving to grab his pants and shirt from the floor. Yunho followed, halting him with a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, it's fine, Min."
“I know,” Mingi muttered, still facing away. “I just… I can’t deal with him using you against me. Or taking you away.”
Ah. That something in his chest that shrank at Mingi's careless words moments ago expanded, sending warmth through his body. He reached up and grabbed the younger man by the back of the neck, "Not gonna happen, princess."
Mingi didn't look up at him, but he leaned into the grounding touch. Mingi was nervous, and that was fine. This was all brand new between them. Yunho would just have to keep showing up for him. He could do that. He's always been good at that.
“Hey,” he said, softer now, leaning in a little. “Just relax for a second. He can wait.”
He couldn’t, as it turned out.
The elevator doors slid open with a chime that sounded almost polite compared to the storm that followed. Minhyuk didn’t wait to be invited in. He stalked forward, face pale and drawn tight, and threw a folded newspaper onto the counter hard enough to send it skidding until it hit the fruit bowl with a dull thunk.
“Chaos in the Song Family,” the headline screamed in glossy black ink. Below it, a collage of photographs: the club, the aftermath of the shooting, a grainy image of Mingi being escorted out by Yunho, the penthouse lobby swarming with security.
“Do you know how hard we worked to keep this quiet?” Minhyuk demanded, voice cracking at the edges. “To distance it from our name? Who the hell did you talk to?”
Mingi blinked, taken aback. “What are you talking about?”
“You think I don’t know how these things get out?” Minhyuk’s hand hit the paper, palm flat, sharp. “Someone inside leaked it, and the only one who benefits from more drama around this family is you.”
“I didn’t talk to anyone,” Mingi said quietly. “You really think I want this?”
“Don’t play dumb, Mingi. We both know you’re not an idiot, though some days it’s easy to forget.”
Yunho bristled where he stood behind Mingi, but he kept his temper in check. It wouldn’t do anyone any good if it got away from him now.
Minhyuk rounded the counter to stand face-to-face with his brother. Mingi, to his credit, stood tall in the face of him. “I cannot have the media sniffing around our family right now,” Minhyuk said, low and tense. “Not with what’s happening at Aether. Not when some nobody with a laptop is trying to blow a hole through everything we’ve spent decades building.”
The proximity of the two was making the hair on the back of Yunho’s neck stand up, so he aimed for de-escalation, “With respect, sir, Mr. Song has been sequestered for days following the break-in…”
“I am speaking to my brother.” Minhyuk snapped, cutting him off. “Your input is not required."
Yunho swallowed the retort that rose in his throat. He knew his place, knew the contract that defined their proximity. Still, his fingers curled slightly against his thigh, nails biting into his palm. He could feel the pulse in his jaw, the urge to step in, to put himself between them….
“Don’t talk to him like that.”
It came from Mingi, clear enough to cut through the static. His chin was lifted, though Yunho could see the tremor in his fingers where they gripped the counter’s edge.
Minhyuk turned slowly, incredulous. “I’ll talk to him however I damn well please. He works for Father, and by extension, me.” He jabbed a finger toward the newspaper, dragging the moment back to its source. “Do you have any idea the damage you cause? It’s always something with you. A scandal, a headline, a crisis. And every time you blow up your life, guess who the board calls? Guess who has to fix it? Because it’s not you, Mingi.”
Yunho’s gut twisted when Mingi flinched at his brother's chastisement. Small, almost imperceptible, but Yunho felt it like a physical thing.
“I am trying to protect this family. And half the time I’m protecting it from you. I do not work as hard as I do to have you drag our name through the mud,” Minhyuk continued, voice rising.
Mingi’s answering laugh was sharp and joyless. “Me? Drag it through the mud? Do you even hear yourself?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Our name is trash,” Mingi said, voice breaking on the edge of fury. “It’s fucked! We run a company that treats people's lives like transactions. We withhold treatment and funding from people who need it the most, all because they were born in the wrong tax bracket! Don’t stand there and pretend this family is something noble, Minhyuk. We’re monsters. All of us.”
The hand snapped up almost before he noticed. Yunho's own arm shot out, catching Minhyuk’s wrist before his palm could connect with Mingi’s cheek.
Minhyuk froze, eyes wide with shock and rage.
“How dare you?” he hissed.
“He’s my bodyguard, you absolute ass,” Mingi said, voice trembling but fierce. “He’s doing his job.”
Minhyuk yanked his wrist back, straightening his jacket with jerky precision. Yunho met his gaze evenly, refusing to step back, refusing to apologize for existing between them.
The older brother was the one to break first. He turned back to the younger. “Keep your mouth shut, Mingi,” Minhyuk spat. “And keep your face, and our name, out of the tabloids.”
He turned and strode toward the elevator. The doors closed behind him with a hiss, sealing the silence like a wound.
Yunho exhaled, the adrenaline leaving a persistent ache behind. He muttered, “What a dick,” because it was easier than saying what he really wanted to.
He turned, ready to share the dry humor of it, to coax a flicker of warmth back into the room. But Mingi was already gone, the soft click of his bedroom door echoing down the hall like the last note of a song that ended too soon.
Yunho stood there a moment longer, staring at the crumpled newspaper: Chaos in the Song Family.
“Well,” he said quietly. “Shit.”
The apartment had gone still again. That hollow, brittle kind of stillness that comes after shouting had died down.
Yunho sat on the couch for a long while, elbows on his knees, the newspaper spread open on the coffee table. God, was it just this morning that they’d spent basking in the joy of one another? It felt so far away now.
He couldn’t get the look on Mingi’s face out of his head. That first flash of confusion, then the way his body folded in on itself, practiced, like he’d done it before. Like he’d learned young that bracing was easier than breaking. He thought again about the differences in their families...their relationships with their parents - their brothers - and couldn't help but feel a sense of loss. For Mingi. For the fraternal love he'd never had.
He thought about what Mingi had said earlier, about being soft once, about his mother. About how no one saw him that way anymore. It made him grateful for the life he'd been blessed with.
Yunho glanced down the hall. The door to Mingi’s room was closed, his one fortress of solitude in his otherwise observed existence. That was his space, where Yunho didn’t go unless invited. Call it a professional boundary.
He told himself to leave it alone. Give him space. But the thought didn’t sit right tonight.
They weren’t just bodyguard and client anymore. Yunho knew what Mingi looked like when he was terrified and when he was pretending not to be. He’d touched him, held him, watched him fall asleep next to him.
We’re in this together now.
He stood and moved before he could talk himself out of it. His knuckles brushed the wood of Mingi’s door in a soft knock, but he didn’t wait for an answer. The handle turned easily. An invitation.
Inside, a dim lamp and the glow of a laptop screen were the only light. Mingi was hunched over it, eyes glassy with exhaustion. The second he realized who stood in the doorway, he slammed it shut with a sharp clack, the sound too loud in the quiet room. Yunho caught a flash before it disappeared: a black window, strings of code running like veins. He’s sharper than he wants people to realize. And if there's one thing Yunho was, it was observant.
Mingi didn’t look up, but he didn’t tell him to go either. He just sat there, the lines of his body rigid with some confusing mix of shame and defiance. Yunho crossed the space between them, slow enough to give him the chance to say "don’t". Mingi never did.
When he reached him, Yunho reached out slowly and rested a hand on the back of his head, stroking gently. “Give it a day or two,” he said softly. “Anything you do now is going to look suspicious. Retaliatory.” His fingers combed through Mingi’s hair gently, “A little distance will be good for anonymity.”
Mingi’s eyes flicked up, startled, and Yunho met them, calm and unflinching. He didn’t need to say I know. The understanding was already there.
Something in Mingi’s expression cracked, small and silent. He leaned forward until his forehead pressed against Yunho’s stomach, his breath unsteady against the fabric of Yunho’s shirt.
Yunho let out a slow breath and slid his fingers through Mingi’s hair, smoothing it back gently.
“Just breathe,” he murmured. “I've got you.”
The silence that followed was full of things neither of them could afford to say aloud. And somewhere in that stillness, Yunho realized that whatever his contract said, whatever Minjae or Aether or the rest of the damn world expected, he wasn’t here for them anymore.
He was here for Mingi.
Even if Mingi wanted to burn everything his family had built to the ground, Yunho would stand beside him and revel in the flames.
Chapter Text
They let the days that followed be ordinary on purpose; a quiet act of rebellion against the chaos of the week before. The penthouse air settled into something calm, almost domestic. Mingi, surprisingly, didn’t seem in any hurry to leave, and Yunho didn’t mind being the reason he stayed.
As long as Yunho kept him…distracted, Mingi was content. And Yunho, for all his quiet discipline, found himself almost content too.
They brushed their teeth shoulder to shoulder at the double vanity in Yunho's suite, half-asleep and bleary-eyed. The mint of toothpaste hung in the air. Mingi wore a shirt that clearly wasn’t his, and Yunho pretended not to notice. It was calm in a way that almost made him forget the danger waiting outside these walls… almost.
For a long time, neither of them spoke. The only sounds were the faint hum of the city and the muffled swish of toothbrushes. Then Yunho caught Mingi’s reflection, mouth full of foam, eyes half-lidded with sleep, and the question slipped out before he could overthink it.
“So, why Zero Sum?”
Mingi blinked, toothbrush paused midair. “What?”
“The tag. Or handle or whatever. What’s it mean?”
“Oh.” Mingi spat, rinsed, and leaned his elbows on the counter. “I don’t know, man.” He shrugged, but his eyes lingered on the mirror like he was seeing something far away. “Zero Sum just sounded right, I guess. Win or lose, the total’s the same. Balance, or something like that.”
Yunho hummed low in his throat. “That’s a pretty philosophical answer for someone who just called me 'man'.”
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m a pretty philosophical guy.”
“Uh-huh.” Yunho snorted and playfully shouldered past him for a towel, brushing close enough that their arms touched.
The morning rolled on easy after that.
Yunho made lunch - a quick stir-fry with the last of the vegetables in the fridge. He moved through the kitchen on autopilot, efficient and calm, while Mingi, Mr. I can't boil water without burning the pot, perched on the counter, mug in hand, hair still a wreck well past noon. The sunlight through the windows turned the air gold.
“What made you get into private protection anyway?” Mingi asked suddenly, like it was something he’d been holding onto for a while.
Yunho looked up from the pan. “You mean, why do I let your family pay me to get shot at?”
Mingi’s grin tilted. “Something like that.”
The sizzle of the pan filled the space. Yunho stirred absently. Now that they'd broken the seal between client and something more, it was easy to convince himself to share. “I served briefly with Hongjoong when I joined the military. He’d started Sector One by the time I left, but I didn't think that was where I'd end up. I thought maybe I’d go back to school. Get my teaching license. High school history, maybe.”
Mingi tilted his head, watching him. “I can see that. You’d have been a good teacher. Distractingly hot, but good.”
Yunho shrugged. “It wasn’t in the cards. I was finishing my last tour when Gunho had his accident. After that, everything in my life sort of shifted. My mom takes care of him full-time now since they can't afford a nurse, but his bills… It’s a lot. Insurance doesn’t cover much. And even with my dad working the way he does, my parents are drowning in debt.” He flicked the pan, more to keep his hands busy than anything else. “This was the best way I could help. Called Hongjoong, asked for a favor. He remembered me, trained me himself, made me his first field agent in the private sector. Says I have a way of making men with tiny egos feel comfortable.”
Mingi’s grin spread. “That checks out.”
“It’s really good money,” Yunho went on. “And I’m good at it.”
Mingi’s fingers tapped idly against his mug. “But you don’t like it.” It wasn’t a question.
Yunho gave a small, humorless smile. “I don’t hate it. I like protecting people. It’s… kind of in my DNA.”
Mingi nodded slowly. “But?”
“It’s hard,” Yunho admitted. “Putting your body on the line for people who couldn’t care less if you lived or died.”
“…I care.”
Yunho glanced up at that, startled by the softness in Mingi’s voice. He smiled at him, “Well, obviously you care. But you don’t count.”
“That’s stupid. You’ve been inside me, I should count extra.”
Yunho groaned. “Gross.”
“Accurate,” Mingi said, raising his mug in salute.
Later, at the gym, they fell into silence again, a comfortable, physical one. The rhythmic sound of treadmills filled the air, the bass-heavy beat from Mingi’s playlist pulsing faintly through the floor. They ran side by side, sweat slicking their arms, neither of them willing to be the first to slow down.
After a while, Yunho panted out, “So, back when you were ignoring me like the very mature adult that you are, I was doing a little digging on Aether and Zero Sum. I noticed a lot of data leaks…reputational damage.”
Mingi barked out a laugh, breathless. “Yeah, that’s just pageantry.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s a distraction,” Mingi said, words clipped between strides. “Make a scene, screw their PR, and while everyone’s busy cleaning up the mess, reallocate and redistribute funds. Maybe Globus Corp loses a 100,000 here or there. Maybe a few branches of Planned Parenthood suddenly get a hefty anonymous donation. Who can say?”
“So you’re Robin Hooding?”
“That a verb now?” Mingi’s grin flashed, then faded. “Maybe. But Robin Hood had a plan. He knew who his enemies were. I just… find systems that hurt people and pull at any loose threads until they come apart.”
He glanced sideways at Yunho. “I’m not noble. Just angry.”
Yunho slowed his pace slightly, studying him. There was no pride in Mingi’s voice. No performance. No bravado. Just truth and exhaustion. A boy born into money trying to dismantle the machine that made him.
When they stopped, breath ragged and shirts damp, Yunho handed Mingi a towel. Their fingers brushed, brief but deliberate. Mingi caught his gaze for a heartbeat too long, expression unreadable.
“Hey,” Mingi said, voice light but eyes serious. “Thanks. For… staying.”
Yunho smiled faintly, the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Wasn’t really an option.”
“Sure it was.”
“Not for me.”
Something flickered across Mingi’s face - something uncertain, maybe even hopeful. He stepped closer, towel draped around his neck, grin tilting back into something wicked.
“You gonna join me in the shower or what, Boy Scout?”
Yunho didn’t have to be asked twice.
They’d made a habit of exhausting each other. Yunho couldn’t remember the last time he’d fucked this much or this well. His body ached in ways that felt earned.
Now, the sheets were twisted around their legs, the air heavy with the salt-and-skin warmth of afternoon. Mingi lay sprawled on his back, chest rising slow and even, skin flushed in patches that Yunho had put there. Yunho’s head rested on his stomach, one arm thrown lazily across Mingi’s hip, fingers tracing the faint line of muscle there. He thought fleetingly that he’d be happy to live here in this space forever.
So, of course, that’s when Mingi’s phone buzzed against the nightstand.
Mingi groaned, dragging a hand over his face with a pout. “Nooo.”
“Don’t,” Yunho muttered, eyes still closed. "Remember what happened last time you answered that thing?”
“It’s just a text,” Mingi said.
“That’s worse. Leave it alone,” Yunho said, but Mingi was already reaching for it.
“What if it’s Wooyoung?”
“Just…tell him you’re naked.”
Mingi smacked his shoulder, “He’d love that.” The light from the screen cut across his face, blue-white against the gold of late afternoon. Yunho watched the tension gather in his shoulders even before he said anything. Not Wooyoung, then.
Mingi sighed, dropped his arm back to the pillow, and let the phone rest on his chest.
“What?” Yunho asked, opening one eye. “Told you not to answer it.”
Mingi wordlessly held the phone out.
A message glowed on the screen:
From: CEO Song
Aether Group Gala. Tomorrow night.
Show up on time and dress appropriately. Black tie.
Mingi’s expression was unreadable for a beat, then he exhaled through his nose, low and resigned. “I totally forgot about this.”
Yunho sat up slightly, still half-draped over him, scanning the message again as if it might change. Ah - he’d forgotten about it too. Yeosang had sent him the schedule for the week, and Yunho had ignored it completely in favor of Mingi’s…charms.
This is exactly the reason he wasn’t supposed to get involved with his clients. Too late for that now. Fuck - he had so much to plan for if they were going to be leaving this bed and the safe, easy rhythm they’d built.
Mingi rubbed a hand through his hair and stared at the ceiling. “Guess we can’t stay cooped up in here forever.”
Yunho swallowed the reflexive I wish we could. “You won’t be alone out there.”
Mingi turned his head toward him, a corner of his mouth tilting up. “God, you’re so obsessed with me.”
He didn’t argue it. How could he? He just smiled faintly and pressed a kiss just below the younger man’s ribs, where his heartbeat thudded steady against his lips.
The flash of the first camera hit like a gunshot.
After a week of silence and soft domesticity, the sound of the crowd felt almost violent, the pop of bulbs, the chorus of voices calling Mingi’s name. The air outside the Aether Group Gala shimmered with noise and light and heat, all of it pressing in close.
Yunho’s hand twitched instinctively toward his earpiece. This was work again.
He’d already run through the checklist twice before they left the penthouse: security perimeters confirmed, Kang’s agents at both main exits, backup routes through the service corridor. He’d memorized the blueprints, vetted the guest list, and triple-checked his sidearm. Everything that could be controlled was.
Except for the man beside him.
Mingi looked like trouble wrapped in a tailored suit. The chrome inlay of his jacket caught the lights with every flash, the sleek lines turning him into a walking wet dream. His hair was styled sharp, his mouth soft with that almost-smile that drove Yunho crazy.
He had nearly lost his composure before they’d even left the apartment, Mingi leaning over the counter to fix Yunho's collar, his own shirt open at the throat, eyes glinting with challenge.
Now, standing at his side under the blaze of camera lights, Yunho forced himself to remember why he was here. To protect. To anticipate. To not get distracted by the way Mingi looked when he controlled a crowd.
“Smile,” Wooyoung muttered from behind the other man as they made their way to the photo line. “Pretend you like the attention.”
“Easy for you,” Mingi said, glancing back at him. “You live for this.”
Wooyoung flashed a grin, camera-ready in his velvet jacket, and linked their arms for the benefit of the press. “Someone has to look good beside you. Your dad will be thrilled.”
Mingi snorted, “He doesn’t even know you’re back in town. If he did, he would have told me not to bring you,” Mingi said under his breath. “San, stop glaring at the photographers.”
“I’m not glaring,” San said. He was glaring. Yunho could sympathize.
Mingi stepped forward onto the carpet, easy as if he’d never flinched from the world. The crowd reacted immediately, his name shouted, flashes exploding in rhythm as he posed like he was made for it.
Yunho stayed a half-step behind with San, scanning the edges and counting faces. It wasn’t the kind of chaos that scared him; he’d been in worse, but the noise scraped against the calm he’d built over the last week. The quiet mornings, the coffee, the warmth of Mingi’s body against his own. All of it felt like a different life now, and it set his teeth on edge.
Mingi glanced back at him. “Relax, Boy Scout. I’ve done this a hundred times.”
“Not with a target on your back,” Yunho murmured.
That earned him a sidelong look, fond but exasperated. “Guess that’s why you’re here.”
Inside, the gala was all towering chandeliers, champagne fountains, and people dressed like they’d never known a consequence in their lives. Music drifted through the space, polite and meaningless. Yunho thought he would breathe easier inside. He was wrong.
Mingi blended into it effortlessly. People swarmed him: executives, “friends of your father,” socialites, a few minor celebrities. He gave each of them just enough attention to keep them hungry. He was polite, measured, his smile the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
Wooyoung hung nearby, dazzling and deflecting. He intercepted questions Mingi didn’t want to answer and redirected attention with an easy laugh. Yunho breathed easier with the smaller man around. San, in the meantime, prowled the edges of the room, sharp-eyed and tense until Yunho brushed past him and murmured, “I thought you were off duty tonight.”
“Never ‘off-duty,’” San muttered back.
Mingi’s father and brother came over once, a firm hand on his shoulder, a photo op of the Song men making the rounds, a sharp, dismissive nod in Wooyoung’s direction. Yunho could see the muscle twitch in Mingi’s eye.
Through it all, Yunho kept close, silent, and watchful. Every new approach, every handshake, every glass that passed too near, he tracked. Song Security had rotated new staff for the event, a few faces he didn’t recognize, and some he did. He clocked Lim making rounds, better suited for general coverage than private detail, saw Chen, Minhyuk’s personal security, by the doors, making no move to blend in, and Yeosang across the room, 'pretending' to flirt with an event coordinator. Their eyes met. Yeosang gave a subtle nod. Clear so far.
Still, Yunho’s eyes swept the room again, mapping exits, watching hands, reading posture. The catering team moved in disciplined circuits between tables; silver trays, white gloves, silver-and-blue cufflinks glinting at their wrists. Except... Near the west corridor, a waiter passed with a tray of champagne flutes, his cuffs catching the light - matte black, wrong. Not regulation.
The detail snagged his focus, a quiet alarm bell in the back of his head. He shifted his stance slightly to follow the man’s path-
-and then Mingi brushed against his side, close enough for the heat of it to short-circuit the thought, catching Yunho’s sleeve as he passed. “Now, you’re glaring. People are going to think you hate me.”
“Not hate,” Yunho said automatically, eyes flicking back toward the crowd. The waiter was gone. Just another face swallowed by silk and shadow.
Mingi’s mouth curved. “Then what?”
Yunho focused his attention back on him. “Paranoia.”
“That’s worse,” Mingi smirked, eyes bright with challenge. “You can stand down for one night. This place is swarming with security. Yeosang is right there.” He gestured with his glass toward the far wall, where Yeosang stood watching Wooyoung as he performed an elaborate retelling of a story to a group of investors, all of whom were hanging on every word.
He plucked a glass from a passing tray and tried to press it into Yunho’s hand. Yunho glared at him for real this time.
Mingi arched a brow and leaned in close, teasing. “Is there anything I can do to help you relax, Agent Jeong?”
Yunho leveled him with an unimpressed look. “Never say that again.”
That earned a small laugh, and for a moment, the tension cracked.
Hours passed like that. Light conversation. Careful laughter. Every so often, Mingi found his way back to Yunho’s side, brushing against him in subtle, deliberate ways, tipsy but determined. His hand grazing Yunho’s wrist, a whisper close enough to warm the skin at his neck. It wasn’t fair, the way he did it, like he knew exactly how much Yunho was fighting himself. Wooyoung kept giving them not-so-subtle looks, eyebrows raising and lowering comically.
By the time the crowd began to thin, Yunho’s body ached with restraint. God, this job was easier when he didn't want so much.
Mingi leaned closer, voice low. “We survived. You can unclench now.”
“Not until you’re tucked into bed at home,” Yunho said.
“You gonna tuck yourself in with me?”
Yunho should have said something back, something to remind them both of where the lines were, especially when they were in public. But Mingi was looking at him the way he had that morning, sprawled in tangled sheets, hair messy and smile lazy. The memory hit too hard.
Mingi’s fingers reached out and brushed his collar, slow and deliberate. “Mingi.”
He tilted his head, just a little. “Come on. No one’s watching anymore.”
They were near the edge of the ballroom now, half-hidden in the shadow of a marble pillar. The music had softened to background noise. The room had emptied out, the crowd dissolving into clusters of conversation near the exit.
Wooyoung was across the room, taking a final drink with San and some actor Yunho vaguely knew. He looked over and gave a salacious wink when their eyes met. Yunho hesitated, just long enough for Mingi to pull him further into the shadows. The warmth of him, the scent of champagne and skin, the quiet weight of his eyes - Yunho’s control faltered. He didn’t even realize they’d moved until Mingi’s hand was at the back of his neck, pulling him in.
The kiss was soft, careful, nothing like the hungry chaos of the week before. It was something quieter, more dangerous. Yunho let it happen. Just for a breath.
Then a sound broke the spell, a door closing somewhere behind them. A small sound, but enough to drag Yunho back to reality. He pulled back, eyes scanning the corridor beyond the pillar. Empty. Only a waiter passing with an empty tray.
Mingi smiled faintly. “Paranoid. This is way better than all those clubs I dragged you to.”
Yunho’s pulse hadn’t slowed, but Mingi was right - he was being overly protective. Still… “We should go.”
“Fine, fine.” Mingi turned, brushing his fingers over Yunho’s arm as he moved away. He stepped out of their enclave, swiping one last glass of champagne from a passing waiter, and turned with a flourish, downing it in one go. “Let me grab my coat from check.”
Yunho reached for his earpiece again, already signaling for the car.
He didn’t notice the man who peeled away from the wall near the coat check. Didn’t notice the glint of a familiar matte cufflink. Didn’t see Mingi pause when the man called his name: soft, polite, too familiar to question.
He only realized the space beside him was empty when the line went quiet in his ear.
Chapter Text
Mingi was gone.
Yunho noticed it first as a flicker in the corner of his vision, a space that should have been filled and wasn’t. One heartbeat of denial, he was just there, then his eyes began to move. He scanned the crowd, the champagne tables, the stairs. No sign of him. Yunho was starting to panic. Goddamnit, he’d promised he wouldn’t let this happen again.
He turned toward the coat check. Empty. The woman behind the counter was helping an older couple. No dark hair, no familiar silhouette waiting beside her.
He swung his gaze back across the ballroom. Wooyoung stood near the bar, half listening to some lingering executive’s story, until he caught Yunho’s expression. The smile dropped from his face, and he crossed the room fast, grabbing San’s shoulder to drag him along.
“What’s wrong?” San asked, already scanning.
“Mingi,” Wooyoung said quietly as they got to Yunho’s side.
Yunho tapped his earpiece. “Kang, do you have eyes on the youngest Song?”
Static, then Yeosang’s voice: calm but tense. “Negative. Last visual was near the buffet table. You lost him?”
“Working on it.” Fuck.
He turned to Wooyoung and San, “Check the hallway and the bathroom?” They nodded. Yunho moved toward the coat check, his pace accelerating. The woman behind the counter looked up, startled by the intensity in his face.
“Where’s Song Mingi?” he asked, clipped and low.
She blinked, flustered. “He…someone from Security came for him. He said Mr. Song had too much to drink. He and one of the wait staff helped him to the car.”
“What security?”
“I… I don’t know. One of yours, I think. He had a badge.”
Yunho’s pulse hit his throat. He forced the rush of panic into order. “Describe him.”
“Tall. Suit, tie. Dark hair. He seemed to be close to Mr. Song’s age, maybe a little older? I’m sorry, I wasn’t really looking that close…”
Yunho pressed his comm. “Yeosang, confirmed visual on the east exit. Have someone cover the main and staff access points and get someone to the garage as soon as possible. Mingi’s been pulled.”
“Copy,” Yeosang answered immediately.
Yunho broke into a run toward parking level three. He should have waited for the intercept team. He didn’t.
The garage was emptying at this point in the night, they his footsteps echoing as they pounded against the pavement. A man in a suit and mask was half-carrying Mingi toward a car idling on the ramp.
Mingi looked to be attempting to pull away, but he was staggering, unsteady. He was barely tipsy 15 minutes ago. Shit. Something in the champagne?
Yunho’s blood went cold. He drew in a breath, forcing his voice steady. “Mingi!”
No acknowledgment.
The man opened the rear door, one arm steady on Mingi’s back. Mingi’s head lolled, half-conscious.
Yunho’s gun hand twitched, but he held fire. Too close. Too easy to hit the wrong target.
“Stop right there!” he barked, boots splashing through the shallow puddles.
The man froze for a heartbeat, then shoved Mingi hard into the car and slammed the door, jumping into the driver's seat.
Yunho cursed and lunged forward. The sedan screeched, tires squealing as it tore down the ramp. He sprinted after it, calling into his comm: “Kang! Garage level three heading to ground level, intercept! Repeat, intercept!”
“On our way.” He reached the ramp just as the car hit the turn below. He could taste the metallic tang of adrenaline in his mouth. You should have seen this coming. He shoved the thought aside. Fix it now.
Yunho cut through a side access lane, vaulted the short divider, and hit the lower level just ahead of it. The landing jarred his knee, pain sharp but ignorable. He gauged the speed of the car as they came to a tight switchback - too fast for the ramp, they’d have to brake or they’d roll it.
He was right, the sedan slowed at the turn - that was his opening. Yunho pressed against a concrete pillar for coverage, steadied his breath, and shot out the front tire. The car lurched and braked hard to keep from fishtailing, and Yunho darted for the driver's door. It swung open into him, taking him off guard and knocking the pistol from his hand. The edge of the door slammed against his thigh, the impact sharp and ringing. He reacted on instinct, shoving the door back with his shoulder and catching the man’s wrist before he could reach inside his jacket.
A short, brutal scuffle followed. No choreographed punches, just weight and instinct. Yunho pulled the man from the car and drove his elbow forward, catching the man across the jaw. The other staggered sideways, cursing. Then, to Yunho's surprise, he turned and ran towards the service exit.
Yunho didn’t pursue, just turned and wrenched the rear door open.
Mingi was inside, half collapsed, breathing shallowly. His pupils were blown wide, and he was having trouble focusing. Hands found their way to his face. “Hey…hey, look at me, baby,” Yunho rasped.
A gunshot cracked the air from the passenger side. Yunho felt the punch of heat across his shoulder, the world snapping white for a moment. Way to forget about the second man, Jeong. He dropped low, dragging Mingi down with him, shielding him with his body as glass shattered overhead. He was able to get his hand on his dropped pistol which gave him some feeling of relief, however brief.
Yeosang’s voice cut through the comm as another shot sparked against the concrete pillar behind them: “We’ve got the exits barred. I’m less than two minutes out - hold position!”
Two minutes is forever.
Yunho pulled Mingi as best he could, his voice breaking with strain. “Can you run?”
Mingi tried to catch himself, but stumbled, shaking his head. “No-”
Fuck.
The shooter moved fast, the passenger door slammed open, the man dropping low as he came around the car, gun raised for a cleaner shot. Yunho twisted, using the door frame as cover, dragging Mingi backward along the slick concrete. His shoulder screamed, hot blood slicking the grip of his gun, but he leveled it anyway.
“Put it down!” he shouted.
The man didn’t. He fired again, wild and close. Amateur, but still dangerous. The round hit the door, ricocheted, and tore through the side mirror. Sparks jumped. Mingi flinched, dazed but breathing.
Yunho waited for the half-second lull that always came between shots, the moment the shooter’s hand adjusted, the recoil resettled. Then he moved.
He didn't want to kill the man, he needed him to talk, but he could do his best to incapacitate him. He surged up, slammed the car door into the man’s arm, and drove his weight behind it. The gun went skittering under the sedan. The man grunted, pivoting to throw a punch, but Yunho caught him with his uninjured side, shoulder-first, and pinned him to the car.
The smell of burnt powder and hot metal filled the air. Somewhere above, alarms started wailing; building security must’ve hit the emergency panel.
“Stay down,” Yunho hissed at Mingi, though he wasn’t sure the kid could even hear him.
The man twisted free, slammed a knee into Yunho’s ribs at the same time as he drove the heal of his hand into his wounded shoulder. When Yunho's grip faltered, the other took the moment and bolted toward the service corridor. Fuck incapacitate. Yunho raised his gun, sighted, then lowered it with a curse. The angle was bad, and Mingi needed him. He couldn’t risk it.
Instead, he turned back, half crouched, and grabbed Mingi under the arms. “Come on,” he ground out. “We’re moving.”
Mingi tried to help, legs buckling under him, his voice a slurred whisper. “Yunho-”
“I’ve got you.”
He dragged him toward the light at the top of the ramp, every step echoing, pulse roaring in his ears. Tires squealed somewhere deeper in the garage, another vehicle, maybe, or just the echo of the one that got away.
Then: footsteps. “Jeong!” Yeosang’s voice cut through the reverb.
Yunho turned just as two figures burst into view. He let himself drop to one knee, Mingi still clutched to him, gun hand finally sagging.
“Shooter’s gone - through the service corridor,” Yunho said through his teeth. “Headed for the south exit stairwell. Second man, also armed - maybe a driver, unconfirmed.”
Yeosang nodded, already gesturing to the others. “We’ll sweep. Medic’s on the way.”
Mingi’s head lolled against Yunho’s shoulder. “You’re bleeding,” he murmured, voice small and muzzy.
“It’s just a graze.” Yunho said, though it wasn’t true. The warmth soaking through his sleeve said otherwise. But that wasn't what was important right now. He felt Mingi’s fingers curl weakly against his chest. “Didn’t let them...take me.”
Yunho managed a rough laugh, breathless and devastated, fingers coming up to card through Mingi's hair. “I should never have let them get this far.”
Sirens grew closer. Flashing red and blue carved harsh angles against the concrete.
For a moment, Yunho let himself just breathe, his heart pounding a drumbeat of panic and relief and regret. He looked at Mingi’s pale face, the drugged confusion still clouding his eyes, and something in his chest twisted. You should’ve seen it sooner, he thought. You should’ve-
But then Mingi’s fingers twitched again, grounding him. He shut his eyes, forced the guilt back where it belonged. There would be time for that later.
For now, there was only the ache in his shoulder, the weight in his arms, and the knowledge that, for this one at least, he’d made it in time.
“The Song family is no longer in need of your services.”
Yunho didn’t look up. The antiseptic sting in the air was already enough to make his eyes burn. He focused instead on the thread pulling through his shoulder - the rhythmic, clinical tug of the needle. He didn’t flinch, didn’t move. The nurse muttered something about “clean entry wound” and “lucky,” but it all sounded like static.
Across the room, Yeosang stood by the window, hands clasped behind his back. His suit jacket was gone, his shirt rolled to the elbows, a streak of Yunho’s blood still dark on his sleeve. He hadn’t said anything else yet. Didn’t need to.
Yunho’s jaw flexed. “On whose authority?”
Yeosang’s voice was quiet, almost careful. “The CEO’s. Effective immediately.”
Anger rolled through Yunho, sharp and bitter, curling around the helplessness gnawing at his chest. “He’s lucky I didn’t let his son get dragged into a trunk.”
“That’s not how they see it.” Yeosang finally turned. “They’re calling it a scene. You fired your weapon first in a public space. There’s press footage from the valet lane.”
Yunho’s throat worked, tight. “Because someone was trying to kidnap his son.”
Yeosang’s expression softened, but only slightly. “You don’t have to convince me, Jeong.”
The nurse tied off the last stitch and taped the bandage in place. “You should rest that arm,” she said gently. “It’s a clean wound, but you’ll be sore.”
Yunho didn’t answer. His eyes had drifted past her to the far door. Somewhere in this hospital was Mingi’s room. Private suite. No unauthorized access. He was unauthorized now.
He’d tried to follow the stretcher when they brought him in, tried to argue. The elder Song’s security retinue had stopped him cold in the hall.
You’ve done enough, Agent Jeong.
He could still hear it, the polished finality of dismissal disguised as gratitude. And yet, the words felt like a knife pressed against the ribs: enough… but not enough.
The nurse gathered her tools and slipped out. The door clicked shut behind her, leaving the two men alone in the hum of the fluorescent light.
Yeosang’s sigh cut through the quiet. He lowered his voice, careful not to fill the space with anything too casual. “For what it’s worth, my team is still sweeping. They’ve got the driver. He’s talking some.”
“There were two,” Yunho said, voice flat, almost brittle.
“We’ll get the other,” Yeosang replied.
“What do we know about the driver?” Yunho pressed, leaning forward slightly, fists tightening in his lap, the dull ache in his shoulder a constant reminder of how close he’d come to losing someone he'd grown to care so much about.
“That’s not your concern any longer,” Yeosang said firmly.
“Yeosang…”
“Yunho, I am trying to level with you here. What they see is a bodyguard who lost sight of his client and flashed his gun around an Aether event to take down two amateurs. It’s not a good look. I can’t tell you more than I already have because you’re not on the retinue any longer.”
“Yeosang.” The word was a hiss, sharp and exhausted.
“There’s nothing I can do here. Song has made up his mind.”
“He doesn’t even care about him,” Yunho said, voice low, a bitter, petulant edge that surprised even him.
“They care…in their own way,” Yeosang said, measured.
Sure. Yunho flexed his hand experimentally, feeling the bruised thrum of bone and tissue that would linger. The wound throbbed, a constant reminder of how fragile the victory had been. “Just tell me… how is he?”
“Stable,” Yeosang said. “Sedated. He’ll wake up tomorrow.”
“Did he…” Yunho stopped, words small and naked, swallowed by his throat. It was selfish, childish, but he had to know if Mingi needed him…wanted him.
Yeosang’s eyes softened. “He woke up for a second when they brought him in and asked for you. Tried to fight the nurses when they told him you were in another room. He didn’t want to be without you.”
Yunho looked away, jaw tightening. Relief tangled with anger, guilt, and a stubborn refusal to let himself exhale.
Yeosang hesitated at the door, hands lingering on the frame. “Look, if this were my choice, you wouldn’t be going anywhere. You did your job, Yunho. More than.”
“Didn’t matter,” Yunho said flatly. “They still took him...he still got hurt.”
“Yeah, but he could be dead. Let’s look on the bright side a little, shall we?”
Yunho’s hands unclenched slowly, the tension pooling there refusing to leave. He swallowed hard, the weight of responsibility pressing down like lead.
“I’m sorry, Yunho,” Yeosang said softly.
Yunho didn’t answer. His gaze stayed fixed on the door, on the private corridor beyond, on the quiet space where Mingi rested.
You’ll be fine. You’ll wake up and I’ll be here. And I swear to God I'll make it up to you. The thought repeated in his mind, a mantra against the gnawing panic he couldn’t voice.
Yunho had been discharged. The nurse had told him firmly he couldn’t go near Mingi’s wing, that the private suite was off-limits. He’d tried anyway, arguing, pacing, testing the limits of every polite refusal - they all held firm.
So, here he was, in the sterile hum of the waiting room, still smelling of blood and gunpowder, clothes streaked and damp, body tense from hours of motionlessness. He wasn't about to walk away, not yet. The chairs were uncomfortable, the fluorescent lights too bright, and the air too dry, but there wasn’t a better alternative. All that was left was waiting.
Time stretched, quiet except for the occasional cough, the whisper of cleaning staff down the hallway, the low hum of the vending machines. He hadn’t moved from the corner chair for what felt like hours.
The soft scrape of wheels on tile made him look up. Wooyoung dropped into the chair next to him with a tired flop, shoulders slumping like he’d been carrying the day on them. “Jesus…what a day,” he said, voice hoarse, almost a whisper.
Yunho’s hand tightened around his knee. “Have you seen him?”
Wooyoung shook his head, gaze sliding past the window toward the quiet hallway beyond. “No, they won’t let me in. They say my voice is ‘too abrasive’ when he needs his rest. Which, like…fair, but rude.”
San appeared next, stepping lightly, quiet as a shadow. He dropped into the chair on Yunho’s other side, close enough to touch but not crowding. A gentle hand patted Yunho’s knee. “He’ll be okay, though. Just needs rest and fluids to get everything out of his system.” Yunho nodded in thanks.
"So..." Wooyoung leaned back, studying him with a faint smirk despite the exhaustion. “I hear you got fired.”
Yunho pressed his face into one hand, thumb brushing the bruised edge of his temple. He didn’t answer. Words felt useless here - useless and bitter.
Wooyoung’s hand found his shoulder and patted him with casual comfort. “No worries, babysitter - the Songs kinda suck. You did the best you could. And he’s here instead of locked in some basement somewhere, so win.”
Yunho swallowed, the familiar tightness of guilt knotting in his chest. He wouldn't be here if you had just kept your eyes on him.
Oblivious to his guilt spiral, Wooyoung’s smirk widened, a little wicked in the dim morning light. “Besides…you don’t have to work for him to fuck him.”
Yunho’s head lifted slightly, the ghost of an incredulous grin tugging at the corner of his mouth despite himself. He let his shoulder relax against Wooyoung’s hand, letting the absurdity and the comfort sink in. The room was quiet again, the early morning light casting long, soft shadows across the chairs. His fingers flexed against the leather armrest, bruised and stiff, and he realized he hadn’t even checked his phone in hours.
They’d tried calling him - Hongjoong and Seonghwa, but he hadn’t answered. Couldn’t. Not while Mingi was still behind those locked doors. He would have to get back to Sector One eventually. Have to debrief and get dressed down. Have to start a new assignment. But not yet. Not until he knew Mingi was okay. When he was able to see that smile and hear that voice that he’d come to love, only then could he face the rest of the world.
He flexed his shoulder again, slow, careful, tasting the ache that would linger for days, and exhaled through his nose. Sector One could wait. Right now, there was nothing else that mattered.
Only him.
Chapter 17
Notes:
UGH - Work and the holiday are kicking my ASS, ya'll.
All that to say, updates might be a little fewer and further between.
Thanks for the patience and always appreciate the support <3
Chapter Text
Yunho woke to the sound of someone cursing.
For a second, he couldn't remember where he was. The antiseptic, the light, the dry burn in his throat, all of it crashed back in pieces. His shoulder throbbed like it had been filled with glass, the cheap plastic chair beneath him creaked when he shifted, one hand automatically going to the bandage taped against his skin.
Across the waiting room, Wooyoung was standing at the nurse’s station, voice cutting through the sleepy quiet. His gestures were sharp, slicing the air like he was trying to make himself understood by force.
“I’m on the list,” Wooyoung was saying, too loud for the early hour. “You can check again. I’ve been here since last night.”
The nurse murmured something calm and procedural, and that only seemed to make it worse.
“No, don’t you ‘sir’ me,” Wooyoung snapped, leaning over the counter. “You think you can move my best friend and not tell me? You'd better watch yourself.”
San materialized beside him, looping an arm around Wooyoung’s waist and tugging him back with quiet urgency. “Sorry about him, ma’am,” he said quickly.
“Don’t you apologize for me, Choi San!”
“They’re just doing their jobs, babe. Come on.”
Yunho pushed himself upright, his muscles protesting the motion. The world tilted, his vision narrowing before the fluorescent light steadied again. His throat felt like sandpaper. “What’s going on?” he rasped.
Wooyoung turned. His eyes were bright with anger, jaw locked so tight it looked painful. “They moved him.”
Yunho’s stomach dropped. “What?”
“Discharged him,” Wooyoung said, throwing up his hands. “Middle of the damn night. Didn’t tell me a goddamn thing. Just - poof. Gone.” He raked both hands through his hair and started pacing in short, sharp lines that betrayed how close he was to losing it. “The nurses won’t say anything except ‘the family made arrangements.’ Like that’s supposed to mean anything.”
“And why would they tell you anything? You know Minjae doesn’t hold the same fondness for you that Mingi does,” San said carefully.
“Well, he can fuck right off!” Wooyoung shot back. “Mingi’s an adult. He can make his own choices!”
“Not when his family is worth the amount of money that his is,” San said under his breath.
“God! Rich people are such dicks.”
“Says the rich man.”
“That’s different! I grew up poor. I’m talking about old money here.”
Yunho blinked hard, trying to shake off the fog still clinging to his brain enough to follow the conversation. His knee ached, and his shoulder throbbed in time with his pulse. “They didn’t even let us see him,” he muttered.
“Yeah,” Wooyoung said bitterly. “Guess they thought we’d be too messy for their perfect little recovery narrative.” His voice cracked, barely, before he covered it with a sharp exhale. “If they think they can keep me away from him after what happened-” He stopped himself, biting back the rest. Yunho could see the frustration and worry choking the young man. “They can’t.”
San ran a steadying hand down his back, the touch seemingly grounding him. “Yeosang’s still here,” he said softly to Yunho. “I saw him down the hall with one of the administrators. Looked like he was signing release forms.”
Yunho was already on his feet. “Stay here.”
He found Yeosang near the far doors, coat folded neatly over his arm, badge half-hidden but still clipped to his belt. His posture was the same as ever: straight, deliberate, careful. The kind of careful that said he’d been expecting this conversation and was trying to decide how much trouble it was worth.
“Yeosang.”
Yeosang looked up. “Jeong.” His tone was measured, unreadable.
“Tell me what happened.”
A pause. “You know I can’t-”
“Don’t,” Yunho said, voice low, rough. “Don’t start again with the chain-of-command bullshit. You know what he is to me. Just tell me.”
Yeosang’s jaw flexed once, tension flickering in his shoulders. “He’s fine,” he said at last.
“Where is he?”
Yeosang hesitated. His eyes darted toward the hallway, as though checking who might be listening. “Home,” he said finally. “They’re taking him back to the Song estate.”
“Why not his place?”
“It wasn’t my call.” Yeosang sighed quietly, lowering his voice. “The family’s… tense right now. A lot of internal disagreement about how to handle this. But the CEO wants him under their own supervision. Private medical team, no press leaks, no outside contact.”
“So they’re putting him under house arrest,” Yunho muttered.
“I don’t think it’s that simple,” Yeosang said, though even he didn’t sound convinced. “They’re scared, Yunho. Someone breached their perimeter and almost took one of their pieces off the board in their own territory. This…this is them circling the wagons.”
Fine. Yunho could believe that. He didn’t understand how the Songs worked, but they were still family, and family meant control in their world. He nodded once, the motion small. “Did you catch the second shooter?”
Yeosang hesitated. “Yes. Both of them. Amateurs.” He exhaled through his nose, a faint grimace crossing his face. “They confessed to the stalking. Mentioned ‘scare tactics' and ‘a ransom’…and that’s all I can tell you.”
“So… that’s it?”
“As far as the Songs are concerned,” Yeosang said carefully, “yes. Case closed.”
That felt…wrong. He opened his mouth again, but Yeosang cut him off, eyes softening despite himself. “Look…I shouldn’t even be talking to you right now.”
“But you are.”
Yeosang heaved a sigh, “Yeah, well…I told you your very first day that Mingi is his own man. And based on what I’ve seen,” he leveled Yunho with a judgmental look, “I’ll probably be seeing more of you, bodyguard or not.”
“Damn right.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence pressed in, full of all the things Yunho couldn’t ask and Yeosang couldn’t say.
Finally, Yeosang added, “He’s recovering. And he’s pissed. That’s the best I can give you.”
Yunho nodded once. Yup, that sounded like his brat. “Thanks.”
As Yeosang walked away, Yunho caught the faint flicker of remorse on his face - gone before he could name it. He turned back toward the waiting room. The corridor stretched ahead, sterile and too bright. Each step echoed harder than it should have.
Both of them. Amateurs.
The words kept repeating, looping over themselves until they didn’t make sense anymore.
Amateurs didn’t plan months ahead. Amateurs didn’t hack into security feeds or slip hand-delivered notes past digital locks. Whoever had broken into Mingi’s penthouse had known exactly what they were doing - had known the layout, the cameras, the blind spots. Those weren’t the choices of grunts.
Maybe the guys at the gala and the club were small-time. Hired bodies. That fit. But the rest of it - the stalker, the letters, the apartment breach - it didn’t add up. It wasn’t ransom-driven. It wasn’t opportunistic. It was personal.
His hand curled unconsciously at his side, the ache in his shoulder forgotten. They’re calling it closed, he thought bitterly. It was what every organization liked best, clean conclusions.
He wanted to believe it. God, it would’ve been easier to believe it. To go home, find Mingi, and wrap himself around him. Sleep for a week. Stop thinking. But the logic refused to sit still. Something in his gut, the same part that had dragged him out of bed in a dozen near-death situations, was already screaming.
By the time he made it back to the waiting room, the noise of his own thoughts was loud enough to drown out everything else.
Wooyoung and San looked up as he approached. The two of them were slouched in cheap plastic chairs, but neither looked remotely relaxed. Wooyoung’s knee was bouncing in quick, sharp bursts; San’s hand rested on his shoulder, steadying him like a tether.
“Well?” he demanded.
“They said they caught the guys,” Yunho said, his voice rougher than intended. “They confessed to pretty much everything is what I gather. Threat neutralized. But they took Mingi back to the Song estate.”
San’s eyebrows lifted slightly. Wooyoung’s mouth tightened. “Then we go there.”
Yunho hesitated, the words catching behind his teeth. You don’t even know if they’ll let you past the front gates. They definitely won't be letting me through. But when he looked at Wooyoung’s face, etched with equal parts fury and devotion, he didn’t have the heart to say it. Besides, if anyone could make it past Song defences, it was Jung Wooyoung.
“Yeah,” he said. “But I need to stop by Sector One first. Something isn’t sitting right with me. I need a gut check.”
Wooyoung’s jaw set. “All right. Then we go there first.”
Yunho looked between the two of them, “You don’t need to come in with me.”
“Are you dumb?” Wooyoung squawked at him, grabbing his jacket and bag, “If you're worried about Mingi, then of course we’re coming with you."
San stood, stretching the tension from his shoulders. “If your gut’s saying something’s wrong,” he said simply, “we trust it.”
Yunho blinked, a flicker of warmth cutting through the static in his head. He was always taken aback by how much he liked these men. Wooyoung, with his fierce loyalty and zero impulse control. San, calm and measured, but ready to jump without hesitation. They didn’t owe him anything, but they were still standing here, waiting for direction.
Technically, he was off the clock now. Fired. No orders, no directive. Just Mingi’s… friend, he guessed. So why not bring them along?
A rogue agent, a hothead, and a loyalist. Just a few people who loved Song Mingi, heading straight into whatever came next.
The drive to Sector One was quieter than Yunho expected, given the company. Wooyoung sat in the backseat, arms crossed, muttering every few minutes about “rich bastards and their god complexes.” San stared out the window, quiet but alert, eyes following the streaks of rain as if reading something in them. Both seemed to sense Yunho was deep in his head and left him to it.
He kept his eyes on the road, knuckles tight on the wheel, his mind replaying Yeosang’s words over and over. Both of them. Amateurs.
By the time they reached the Sector One tower, the knot in Yunho’s chest had turned solid.
Hongjoong met them in the atrium before Yunho even had the chance to swipe his badge. “Tell me everything,” he said. No greeting, no preamble, just command.
“I-” Yunho started, the apology already forming, but Hongjoong lifted a hand, cutting off whatever he was about to say.
“Yunho. Just tell me what happened.”
They moved down the glass corridor to one of the debriefing rooms. Seonghwa was already there, files spread across the table in neat, merciless order. When Wooyoung and San stepped in behind Yunho, both men visibly hesitated, but Hongjoong gave a small nod of concession.
“They can stay,” Yunho said quietly.
“They shouldn’t,” Seonghwa replied, but didn’t push it further.
Wooyoung gave a soft snort. “Good thing you don’t sign our checks then.” San elbowed him once, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to shut him up.
Yunho sat. The chair was too straight, the lights too bright, and his shoulder throbbed in rhythm with his knee and his pulse. He started from the gala - the car, the chase, the shot, the hospital - every detail laid out like evidence, stripped of feeling. Hongjoong listened in silence, fingertips pressed together, while Seonghwa’s pen moved with clinical precision.
When Yunho finally ran out of words, the silence that followed was thick enough to drown in.
“I understand why the Songs fired you,” Seonghwa said at last.
Yunho’s head snapped up. “Hyung!”
“I’m not saying I agree with it, Yun,” Seonghwa added smoothly. “But we work with people like this all the time. Old money, fragile egos. They care about optics more than survival. Chaos like this embarrasses them.” He gave a small, humorless shrug. “And when the chaos is caused by a third party? Someone outside their realm of control? We should’ve expected it.”
“That’s not-”
“I’m also saying,” Seonghwa interrupted, eyes flicking up, “you are not as subtle as you think you are.”
Yunho froze.
“If I can see your feelings for him when he’s not even in the room,” Seonghwa continued, voice calm but not unkind, “I can only imagine what it must have looked like in person.”
Heat crawled up Yunho’s neck. Wooyoung made a quiet ha, but before he could say anything else, San kicked him under the table.
“Hey!” Wooyoung hissed, rubbing his shin.
“Read the room,” San murmured.
Hongjoong cleared his throat, redirecting the tension. “Regardless,” he said, “we’ve been running our own analysis. Before they shut down our access, we pulled everything we could. We probably have forty-eight hours before Song security calls to demand destruction. But we have surveillance logs, building schematics, digital correspondence. We’ve been running parallel checks since the first break-in.”
He turned one of the files around so Yunho could see. “Remember that twelve-minute blackout in Mingi’s building? Every camera, every system, dead.”
Yunho nodded slowly.
“Someone accessed through the maintenance stairwell using approved override codes,” Hongjoong continued. “Not brute force. The codes were legitimate, valid for that rotation cycle. Which means whoever did it either had those codes or knew exactly how to get them.”
Yunho’s stomach twisted. “So… internal access?”
“At minimum,” Seonghwa said. “But look at the patterns. They also bypassed Mingi’s personal firewall system. Whoever this was knew the network inside and out. It’s incredibly technical work, not something an average infiltrator could pull off.”
Hongjoong leaned back, watching Yunho carefully. “This isn’t just physical security, it’s a systems breach. For all we know, this is the same person responsible for the Aether Group breach you brought to us a few weeks ago.”
Yunho pressed a hand to his forehead, the weight of it all finally catching up. “I have something to tell you,” he said quietly. “Something I should’ve said before and I didn’t, and I know I should have said something as soon as I knew, but…”
Hongjoong eyed him. “Spit it out, Yun.”
Yunho dragged a hand down his face. “That hacker, Zero Sum…It’s Mingi. He’s been in his company’s data for months, hell, maybe longer. I think he’s been pulling files from other Aether subsidiaries, too. He’s got a bit of a sordid history.”
Hongjoong didn’t blink, but Yunho could feel the quiet admonishment. “That would have been useful to know.”
“I know,” Yunho said. “I know.”
“We should have been searching for digital signatures from the beginning,” Hongjoong muttered, already pacing. “If this is technical, then whoever’s behind it has access to the same digital spaces he does. We’re looking for someone who understands his language, his systems, maybe even his alias.”
“Someone he knows,” Seonghwa added. “Or someone who knows him…or knows of him. The letters read of obsession, so that would track. A fan...of Mingi or Zero Sum.”
“Yeah, but they’d also need proximity,” Hongjoong said. “Those override codes were active, not stolen. Which means they didn’t need to break in to get them. They already had them. Which means physical access to the Penthouse at some point and the security wing.”
A suspicion settled like a stone in Yunho’s chest. Someone inside. Someone close…
“Have we run full background checks on all Song security personnel?” he asked.
Seonghwa frowned. “No, but their team has. Why?”
Yunho’s pulse was suddenly too loud in his ears. A memory flickered, sharp and bright - too put together, a call over the comm line, a voice gone high with panic. I lost him.
The club. The shooting. The break in a day later - he’d still have been cleared for the penthouse roster that day.
His hand tightened on the table. “I don’t know,” he said finally, though the words felt like a lie. “Maybe it’s nothing.”
But the cold creeping up his spine told him otherwise.
He swallowed. “Just… run them again. Every name assigned to the tower rotation. Especially Lim.”
“Agent Lim?” Seonghwa echoed, already typing.
Yunho nodded. “I don’t have proof. Just-” He gestured vaguely toward his chest. “Gut.”
Hongjoong’s gaze sharpened. “I’d trust your gut over their intel any day.”
That single sentence made Yunho’s chest ache - belief, not blind faith, but earned trust. Hongjoong and Seonghwa didn’t take instincts lightly. If Yunho said something felt wrong, they’d tear the system apart until they found why.
“We’ll run it,” Seonghwa said simply. “Give me a few hours.” He was already pulling the nearest terminal toward him, screens flickering to life, fingers flying across the keys.
Yunho nodded, pushing back from the table. The movement was slow, careful, his shoulder still stiff. “Call me as soon as you know anything?”
“Of course,” Seonghwa replied without looking up. “Go get some rest. You just got out of the hospital.”
But Yunho shook his head, dragging a hand through his hair. “No. I need to see him. Just eyes on, that’s all.”
Hongjoong crossed his arms, leaning against the table’s edge. His voice came quieter this time, though no less sharp. “Yunho. If this person is in their inner circle, we know they already see you as a threat.”
“I know.” Yunho met his gaze, jaw tight. “But I need to be there, hyung. He needs me.”
Hongjoong’s sigh was audible - long, frustrated, threaded with worry. “Yun-”
“Let him go, Joong,” Songhwa cut in, eyes still glued to the monitors. “You’re not his father, and he’s clearly got heart eyes for Song. Let the man live his life and make his own foolish decisions.”
For a long moment, Hongjoong said nothing. The hum of Seonghwa’s typing filled the silence. Then finally: “Fine.” He rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “But you keep your comm line open. If you’re right about Lim, or anyone, you’re already in their line of sight.”
Yunho straightened, hand resting briefly against the table for balance. “Understood.”
“He won’t be alone,” San said suddenly, rising from his seat. His tone was even, but his eyes were steady on Yunho’s. “I’ve got your back.”
“And what am I, chopped liver?” Wooyoung asked, pointing between them. “He’s my best friend.”
San snorted and gave him a look. “We’ve got your back,” he corrected, grabbing his jacket from the chair. “But one of us has it from a safe distance.”
“Safe distance, my ass, Choi.” Wooyoung shot back, a scowl curling his mouth. San’s answering grin was small but sharp, the kind that said he’d already accepted whatever trouble was coming. Wooyoung pushed to his feet, stretching his shoulders. “Alright, let’s blow this joint, boys. Time to piss off some Songs.”
They were halfway to the elevators when Wooyoung’s phone buzzed again. He glanced at the screen, smirked, and threw out a quick, “Sannie can drive; he knows the way to the estate. Besides, I need your eyes on something, babysitter.”
Yunho nodded and handed over the keys. Wooyoung hopped into the passenger seat and reached back to shove his phone into Yunho’s hand. “This should make you happy, lover boy.” He looked down to read the exchange of messages.
Woo’s_your_daddy: Um...where the fuck are you?
........HELLO???
Mingi, you better answer your fucking phone!
The nurses told me they discharged you and took you to your DAD'S HOUSE?
ARE YOU ALIVE?????????Bad_Bitch: so my dad is basically locking me in a tower like an evil stepmother. i feel like rapunzel
Woo’s_your_daddy: WTF, MINGI!? I HAVE BEEN TRYING TO REACH YOU ALL DAY!
Bad_Bitch: yeah sorry … i lost my phone in the whole thing i guess and i had to basically break into my messenger account on this old ass pc
Woo’s_your_daddy: That honestly tracks. I’m so glad you’re okay, dick! You should know Yunho’s been doing this whole “strong silent” thing since we got out of the hospital and it’s hella annoying but also kinda sexy.
Bad_Bitch: you’re with him?
Woo’s_your_daddy: Yeah. You want me to tell him I’m talking to you or no?
Bad_Bitch: has he said anything about me?
Woo’s_your_daddy: FUCK YOU, SONG MINGI. You’re literally the only thing he talks about.
Bad_Bitch: cool
Woo’s_your_daddy: I hate you
Bad_Bitch: send me his number
Woo’s_your_daddy: What, so you can sext while I’m in the room? I knew you were an exhibitionist, but does it have to be in front of ME?
Bad_Bitch: send me his number asshole!
Yunho tried to control his face; he really did. Wooyoung groaned in front of him. “God, you two are disgusting! I thought it was bad before you started fucking. Send him your number and save me from playing telephone for you two lovesick idiots.”
Yunho sent his number from Wooyoung’s phone. His own phone buzzed almost immediately.
Mingi: hey
Yunho: Hey.
Are you alright?Mingi: yeah just bored out of my fucking mind
are you okay?
like really okay?Yunho: I’m fine, Min. I told you, just a graze.
Mingi: okay
are you busy?Yunho: Not even a little. I will be there as soon as I can get there. Though, jury is still out on whether or not we’ll be able to get in.
Mingi: okay
cool
yeah you’re not really my familys favorite person right now and they’re being real dicks about it especially minhyuk but that’s parr for the courseYunho: I figured that.
The typing bubbles appeared and disappeared a few times before:
Mingi: i miss you
Yunho: I miss you too, princess. Are you safe there?
Mingi: yeah and they told me they caught the guys who have been trying to kill me so loving that
security is still crazy here though
they assigned me a new shadow jic
its that guy who covered for you that one time
i can’t remember his name…would be weird to ask at this point tbh
but that is good news for me cause he’s way easier to slip than you are
“Shit.”
San’s posture behind the wheel straightened instantly, every muscle going alert. “What?”
Yunho’s stomach dropped. He could feel the blood drain from his face as the words on the screen blurred. “They assigned Lim.”
Wooyoung twisted around from the passenger seat, eyes wide. “The guy you think is trying to kill him?”
Yunho dragged a hand over his mouth, staring hard out the windshield like the motion alone could ground him. “I don’t know anything for a fact.”
“But you have a feeling?” Wooyoung pressed, voice sharp now.
Yunho didn’t answer. His jaw flexed, knuckles whitening where his hands fisted on his knees. The silence stretched too long, too heavy.
“Yunho!” Wooyoung’s voice cracked with frustration.
Yunho’s breath came short, shaky. His gaze snapped to San. “We just need to get to him. San - get to him.”
San’s hand tightened on the steering wheel, a flicker of steel crossing his expression. “We’ll get there,” he said, tone steady, controlled, but his foot was already pressing harder on the gas. The car surged forward, the city blurring past in streaks of light and rain.
The phone buzzed again in Yunho’s hand.
Mingi: you fall asleep old man?
Yunho: Can you stay in your room until I get there, baby? Just you, okay?
Mingi: …why
Yunho: Please, Min.
Yunho stared at the screen, waiting for those typing bubbles to reappear, feeling his pulse climb with every second of silence.
Mingi: fine
you own me some explanations when you get here boy scout…so get hereYunho: I'm on my way.
Chapter Text
The highway blurred into a smear of color and motion, headlights streaking across wet asphalt. Yunho could tell San was pushing the car well past legal limits; the engine’s low growl sat just shy of a snarl, but it still wasn’t fast enough. Not for what his gut was telling him.
The clock on the dash said they’d been driving for twenty minutes, but it could have been twenty hours for how it stretched. Every passing light stabbed like a pulse behind his eyes.
Wooyoung kept checking his phone, glancing between Yunho and the GPS as if the numbers could move faster if he glared hard enough. “Traffic’s thinning out,” he muttered. “We’re making time.”
“It's not good enough,” Yunho said, voice tight.
He flexed his fingers against his thigh. He’d been clenching his hands so long they were starting to ache. A muscle jumped in his jaw. He could feel it. Not only fear, certainty. The kind that burned under the skin, that told him something was already wrong, that he was already too late.
San shot him a look through the rearview. “We’ll get there,” he said evenly, eyes flicking back to the road. “You’ll get to him.”
Yunho didn’t answer. He just stared out at the lights whipping past, every mile a countdown. God, how could he have let this happen?
His phone buzzed in his palm, sharp and insistent: SEONGHWA.
He answered before the first ring finished, “Tell me you’ve got something.”
A breath. Then Seonghwa’s voice, clipped and low. “I’ve been digging through Lim’s file since you left. You were right to trust your gut.”
Yunho sat forward. “How bad?”
“Not outright red, really, but enough that I’m wondering how he cleared all of Song’s background checks,” Seonghwa said. “He made a bit of a name for himself in high school as a junior hacker, but that seemingly fell off with his military service."
Yunho exhaled through his nose. That tracked, mediocrity was the best way to blend in.
“His military file looks clean as far as I can tell; Marine cyber operations right out of high school, a brief stint in the EOD, which is odd for cyber.” Seonghwa's voice faded in and out of the receiver like he was moving between stations. “But it’s tucked away in a supplemental file, not the main service record.”
San's eyes flicked to him in the rearview as Yunho’s head snapped up at that. “Explosives?” His mind flicked back to the first incident...the one that brought him to Mingi in the first place.
“Honorable discharge, clean certs, the works,” Seonghwa continued, disrupting Yunho's own thoughts. “He does have notes in his evals about ‘anti-social behaviors,’ but nothing overtly troubling. That said, there are... gaps. Periods where he drops off the grid completely. Gaps that should’ve been flagged in a normal screen. So someone at Aether either rushed the clearance or didn’t really know what to look for.”
Yunho’s chest constricted. “What did you find in those gaps?”
“Aliases,” Seonghwa said. “At least two confirmed. The most recent one was used on darknet boards - goes by ‘Erebus.’ I cross-checked some of his activity. He was active in a handful of less-than-savory social platforms and niche pornography rings, as well as some pretty substantial coding and exploit circles. A lot of his posts there reference Zero Sum.”
Wooyoung turned in his seat, wide-eyed. “So, what? This freak’s a fanboy?”
“It seems that way,” Seonghwa said grimly. “Early on, it looks like admiration. Technical breakdowns, detailed analysis, stuff that reads like study notes. He even replicated some of the encryption patterns just to test them. After a while, it all turns very worshipful, kind of like a student praising a master. But it gets harder to follow the longer it goes on. There’s this shift in tone, something like eight or nine months ago. He starts talking about ‘fractures,’ about code that’s been ‘tainted.’”
Hongjoong’s voice piped up from a distance, “We think that’s when he put together Zero Sum’s identity.”
Yunho hummed absently, his mind running through the timeline of events he'd memorized, “That would have been about the time that Mingi started targeting Aether.”
Seonghwa exhaled. “That’s our working theory. The tone changes around that time. His language gets more personal, less technical. Like it’s not just about code anymore.”
Yunho’s knuckles whitened around the phone, a stone sitting in his stomach. “What kind of personal?”
A pause. Paper rustled on the other end of the line. “He stopped referencing Zero Sum. Started saying you. Then, him.”
Fuck. Yunho took a breath. That’s directionality - pointed, focused obsession. Wooyoung muttered something under his breath. San didn’t speak at all.
Seonghwa went on, quieter. "That's about when Lim started interviewing with the Aether Security team, which basically confirms our theory about that. From there, there’s more activity, but it’s fragmented - bits of deleted threads, archived message dumps. Nothing directly threatening, exactly, just not very PC or what I'd call wholesome. And the tone… It’s possessive. Like he’s talking about something that belongs to him.”
Hongjoong's voice pipes back up, "It starts to mirror the language in the letters, Yun."
Fuck. Yunho’s pulse hammered at his temples. “You’re saying this guy-”
“We're saying,” Seonghwa interrupted, “he’s not what he seems to be. He’s not a bumbling idiot or some newbie who doesn't have a handle on the asset. He’s incredibly intelligent, dedicated, and disciplined. And whatever this fixation is, it didn’t start yesterday. He’s been circling for a while, and he's already done a lot to get here.”
Yunho stared out the window, the lights blurring past like fire trails. Mingi’s face kept flashing behind his eyes - laughing and unaware. "Why do I feel like we’re already too late?” he said more to himself than anyone else. Louder, “Call Kang, tell him we’re on our way to them.”
“We’ve been trying,” Seonghwa said. “He’s not answering. The security team lead claims he’s escorting the CEO at some function. I don’t know how much faith to place in that based on what we’ve learned so far, and I don't really trust anyone else with this.”
Hongjoong’s voice cut in again, “Yunho, I know you know this, but you need to be so careful here. Guys like this operate like they have nothing to lose and everything to gain. He’s trained, and he's dangerous.”
“I got it, Cap.”
More shuffling before, “We’re sending Jongho to you for backup. He’s getting briefed now - shouldn’t be far behind you.”
Guilt and something warmer started to rise inside Yunho's chest. If he hadn't let Mingi get taken in the first place, they wouldn't be in this mess. He would have already been there. “We’re not getting paid for this, Cap. I can't let you spend more resources on...”
“We know that, idiot. But he’s important to you, which means he’s important to us.” A ball of emotion caught in Yunho’s throat at that. God, he loved them. His team. His family. “Thanks, hyung.”
By the time the call ended, the iron gates of the Song estate loomed ahead, floodlit and towering. The tall wrought-iron doors were closed and locked tight, to keep people out, yes, but more so to make them think twice about trying to enter in the first place.
Yunho would have rolled his eyes at the extravagance, but the stabbing ache in his left shoulder flared as the vehicle slowed, reminding him that he’d been shot less than seventy-two hours ago. He’d barely slept since then, barely eaten. Every muscle felt wired and brittle. And still, he was about to sneak into his boyfriend's house like he was back in high school...but with much higher stakes. Boyfriend. God, what a week this was turning into.
San eased the SUV to a crawl before they reached the perimeter motion sensors. “You know we’re not going to be cleared to enter,” he muttered, hands steady on the wheel even as Yunho could feel the tension radiating off him.
“Let me handle it,” Wooyoung said, "Yunho, get down." Yunho did as he was told, ducking down and watching as mischief and irritation lit Wooyoung's eyes in equal measure. He gestured San forward as he straightened in his seat. “I told you, I came here to piss off some Songs, and that's exactly what I plan on doing.”
San shook his head, but did as he was bidden. As they pulled up to the gate, Wooyoung directed San to press the button for the intercom. A sharp electronic buzz answered.
Wooyoung didn’t hesitate. He practically dove over San’s lap to get his mouth in front of the speaker, voice booming like the public menace he was. “HELLO! This is Jung Wooyoung! I’m here for Song Mingi! Tell your boss Mr. Jung wants to see his best friend right now-”
Static crackled before a guard’s curt voice came through, “Sir, you are not on the approved list.”
“Oh, I’m sure I’m not!” Wooyoung shouted back brightly, as though delighted by the confirmation. “But you might want to call upstairs before I start live-streaming this little reunion, yeah? Let’s see what my five point three million followers think about the fact that Song Minjae is basically locking away his son with zero explanation-”
“Sir-” the guard tried again.
“Do you want your face pixelated or clear when this goes viral?” Wooyoung demanded. “And should I publicize your full name or just call you Agent Assface?”
The intercom went dead. A second later, the heavy locks clanked, the security doors sliding open.
Yunho knew an opening when he saw one. I guess this is the distraction. Thank heavens for Jung Wooyoung and his big mouth.
He was already moving before the SUV rolled fully forward. He slid out the rear door in one fluid motion, boots landing softly on pavement. The guards were too busy scrambling to handle Wooyoung’s escalating theatrics to notice the rear passenger door gap open and shut again like a ghost. San, though, caught his eye through the windshield. He gave an almost imperceptible nod - We’ve got this. Go.
Yunho was incredibly grateful for these men. He slipped into the shadows along the decorative iron fence. It wasn’t meant to be functional security this close to the homestead, just ornamental wealth. Scaling it took seconds. He dropped quietly on the other side, landing on his good leg in a crouch behind a cluster of manicured hedges.
The gravel drive stretched wide and pristine toward the main house. Every inch of it was exposed, brightly lit. No cover. Okay...plan B.
He veered right, ducking into the narrow strip of woodland that bordered the estate. The tree line was thin, but enough to give him a path with broken sight lines. He moved quickly and quietly, breath measured and precise. Old habits came back like muscle memory: stay low, check your corners, track exits, count your steps.
He reached the edge of the grounds and froze, every instinct going hot and sharp. Something felt… off. A static hum prickling under his skin. It was the kind of wrongness that he’d learned to trust early on in his career, that he trusted more than once in the past weeks with Mingi. Intuition. He waited. For just a moment. Heart hammering. Shoulder throbbing. Ears straining for-
There.
A sound rolled across the estate, low and muffled. One heavy thump before a faint ripple of light flickered against the low clouds above the east wing. Fire. Then the alarms started.
An explosion. Only a small one, out by the east wing. Someone had set that off, knowing it would drag every perimeter guard in the wrong direction. Knowing that an active threat on Song property would come with certain protocols. Next step, get the asset to safety. Seonghwa was right, this guy was smart.
Breath coming sharper now, Yunho turned and headed the opposite direction, toward the west wing, legs eating up distance as he tore through the last row of hedges along the courtyard. He was already late. Someone wanted the guards gone. Someone wanted the space. Someone wanted Mingi.
He rounded the corner of the maintenance wing and skidded to a stop in the shadow of the exterior wall.
Two silhouettes stood near the garage entrance, illuminated by the low glow of the overhead fixtures.
Mingi. Tall and lean in sweats and a hoodie, hair mussed like he’d rolled straight out of bed because he probably had. His arms were crossed defensively, his beautiful face pinched, jaw set in that stubborn line Yunho knew too well.
And beside him was Lim.
Damn it, Min. I told you to stay in your room. He couldn’t be mad. What other option did the man have? An active explosion on Song property was a very clear security breach. Lim knew that, of course he did. He’d rigged the damn thing.
Lim seemed calm, unbothered. He had one hand on Mingi’s shoulder, steering him toward the black SUV idling in the drive. Yunho’s stomach lurched as he contemplated the idea of Lim taking Mingi to a secondary location - that took the situation from bad to unrecoverable. Not happening.
His gaze zeroed in on Mingi as he spoke over his shoulder. He couldn’t hear the words, but he could feel the tone. Mingi was arguing - his body angled away, one hand gesturing sharp and fast. Yunho pushed down the wave of affection he felt at that in favor of focus. Lim didn’t argue back. He leaned in, murmured something just under Mingi’s hearing, and the kid froze. Not fear. Shock, maybe? Confusion? Like Lim had said something he shouldn’t know. In any case, whatever he'd said made Mingi move with him, closer to the SUV, closer to gone.
Yunho’s hand slid to his holster. He had no time, no backup, and no clean shot without risking Mingi.
But he did have a voice, and he couldn't let them go.
He leveled his gun and took one step forward, gravel crunching faintly under his boot. “Step away from him.”
Both men turned.
Mingi startled at the sound of Yunho’s voice, half pivoting toward him, relief and something soft and warm flooding his face for just a moment.
And that split-second was all Lim needed. His hand clamped into the front of Mingi’s hoodie, yanking him back with practiced precision. His other hand came up, catching the driveway lights. Metal.
Dammit.
“Agent Jeong. You’re early.”
Yunho’s pulse slammed against his ribs as the world narrowed to the glittering edge of the knife pressing into Mingi’s throat.
Chapter Text
“Whoa…what the fuck-” Mingi’s breath hitched, hands flying up to protect his throat even though it was already too late.
Yunho kept his stance steady, but the sightline was wrecked; Mingi’s body blocked everything. Okay, calm down. His only recourse now was to find an opening. Keep Lim here. Keep him talking. Pray for backup.
“Lim,” he said, voice steady even though his pulse was pounding through his ribs. He had to force himself not to look at the man he…Nope. Time for that later. Hopefully. “Let him go. This doesn’t end the way you think it does.”
Lim huffed a soft laugh, head tipping just slightly against Mingi’s hair. “I’m not handing him to you, Jeong. You haven’t been taking care of him. Not like I can.”
Mingi snorted, clawed fingers gripping Lim’s restraining arm. “Dude, you literally have a knife to my throat.”
Yunho cursed under his breath as Lim jerked him hard, the blade dragging just enough to slice skin. Mingi gasped, a thin bead of blood welling along his throat. Yunho’s heart stuttered. “Hey, Lim. Ease up, alright? You’re hurting him.”
“Drop the gun!”
Yunho froze for half a second, then slowly lowered the weapon. “Okay.” He set the pistol on the ground at his feet, straightened, and raised his hands.
“Kick it toward me.” He did. Unarmed. Well, shit.
With the weapon no longer a distraction, Lim refocused entirely on Mingi. “I would never hurt him!” he snapped, a delusion spoken like fact.
He loosened his grip just enough to slide the flat edge of the blade along Mingi’s jaw, almost stroking him with it, fingers trembling as they brushed Mingi’s cheek. Care. Obsession. Good, Yunho thought. He could use that.
He took another half-step closer. His raised hands felt too empty, his heart too loud.
“Lim. He’s not what you think he is,” Yunho said. It came out quieter than he meant. “He’s not some criminal mastermind or revolutionary. He’s a kid. Talented and angry, yeah, but just a kid.”
“You think I don’t know that?” Lim snapped, sudden and sharp, fingers tightening in Mingi’s hoodie. “I KNOW what he is.”
The knife shifted; Mingi winced. His eyes met Yunho’s, wide and pleading. Help me. Something in Yunho’s chest locked into place at that look, cold and precise. God help him, Yunho would burn down the whole city before he let that look go unanswered. He lifted his chin.
“You know I can’t let you leave with him, right?” His voice was low and calm, his hostage negotiation training kicking in hard.
Lim’s eyes flicked to him, sharp. “And why not? I deserve him!”
Yunho didn’t flinch, but it was a near thing. Lim drew in a breath too close to reverence. “You don’t understand,” Lim whispered. “None of you do. I’ve been following him longer than you’ve even known his name.”
Okay, good. He’s winding up - he wants to talk. “Zero Sum, you mean?”
Lim’s gaze sharpened, like he'd been waiting to be asked. Bingo. “You know, I was cyber-ops in the military,” Lim said. “Best in my intake. People like me don’t get outsmarted. Not by anyone.” His voice softened into something disturbingly close to wonder. “But then I found him.”
Mingi sucked in a breath; Lim’s arm tightened in response. Not enough to choke, but enough to remind him he couldn’t move.
“You mean you found his work?” Yunho asked, keeping his posture carefully relaxed, cataloging Lim’s stance, his grip, his balance. Weak points. There had to be weak points.
Lim blinked, surprised by the invitation. Of course, he was. Men like him rarely got asked about their ‘brilliance’. “He broke into a system I had been circling for months,” Lim said. “Months. I had mapped the entire perimeter, every potential exploit. Nothing. Whoever built that wall knew what they were doing.”
A trembling breath. “And then one night… it fell. Clean. Elegant. One thread pulled, and the whole thing unspooled.”
Beside Lim’s arm, Mingi muttered, “It was a weekend project. Calm down.”
“Min,” Yunho warned under his breath.
Lim didn’t snap. Didn’t yell. He just gazed at Mingi with that awful, aching devotion. “That’s exactly what I mean,” Lim breathed. “He pretends he’s small. He pretends he’s… this.” His free hand dragged down Mingi’s front, making the younger man shiver. “He hides. He dims himself for people who don’t deserve him.”
“I’m not dimming-” Mingi began.
Yunho stepped in verbally, cutting Mingi off before the situation could turn into something sharp. “Alright. You were impressed. You followed him. How’d you go from that to this?” A small gesture at the knife. “This is a hell of a leap, isn't it?”
“Not really.” Lim adjusted his hold with unsettling gentleness. “I tracked his patterns. His rhythm. The way he crossed systems. The way he never took credit.”
Yunho nodded slowly. Encouraging. “You wanted to find him. Meet him.”
“Of course,” Lim whispered. “Someone like that can’t hide forever. There are fingerprints. Footprints.” His eyes shone. “Breadcrumbs he left just for me.”
Mingi groaned. “They weren’t breadcrumbs, you psycho-”
Min, I swear to God. Yunho swallowed a groan. He knew his lover was a brat, and he loved that about the younger man, but now was not the time for snark.
Lim jerked him closer. “Everything you made led me to you. You wanted to be found.”
“Literally not how that works,” Mingi shot back, but the knife moved to press harder...and Yunho saw the exact moment reality hit the younger man: Lim wasn’t bluffing. Or incompetent. Or just a creep. He was dangerous.
Lim’s arm tightened, drawing Mingi flush against his chest. The blade angled higher, another thin red line forming on Mingi’s skin. Mingi’s hands hovered uselessly, trembling.
“You know I’ve been preparing him for months,” Lim said, directing that bit back to Yunho like they were having a genial conversation. Yunho nearly staggered under the realization that he had once looked at this man and thought young, fresh, naïve. Christ. He had never been more wrong.
Yunho forced his voice steady, forcing his eyes away from the lines of red staining Mingi's front and back to Lim. “The letters. Yeah?”
Mingi went completely still, the snark draining out of him like a wire had been cut. Recognition hit him like a punch. The choking, invasive intimacy of those notes…and the man holding him. His body sagged, trying to make itself smaller. It cut Yunho deeper than he’d ever admit.
Lim noticed. Of course he did. His expression softened with sick pride. “He needed to know how I felt,” Lim murmured into Mingi’s hair. “How we fit. I warned him about the world so he’d understand I was the only safe place for him.”
“Those weren’t warnings, asshole,” Mingi snapped, quieter than usual, small. “They were harassment.”
“And when he didn’t listen,” Lim continued as though he hadn’t spoken, shifting even closer, “when he wouldn’t slow down long enough for me to reach him properly… I escalated. Gently.”
“The bomb,” Yunho said.
Mingi froze. “What the fuck?”
“It was never meant to kill you,” Lim said, almost offended. “I knew you wouldn’t be driving. Controlled blast. Just enough to force your family to rethink your security.”
Yunho already knew the end of that thought. “So they’d bring in additional protection.”
Lim’s jaw ticked. “So they’d bring in me. I should have been the first choice. I was there! I was ready!” Mingi’s breath hitched.
“But instead,” Lim continued, venomous now, “they brought you.” His glare seared into Yunho, the knife pressing harder, a new trail of red sliding down Mingi’s throat. “Some pretty toy soldier with a record and a good smile who stole my place. So I adjusted. I had to show them you were unworthy. A risk.”
“The club,” Yunho said.
Lim nodded, pleased that Yunho was catching on. “I let him go that day.”
Mingi jerked in his hold, face affronted. “You almost got me shot!” Yunho blew out a breath and, once again, mourned Mingi's survival instincts.
“He was never supposed to hit you,” Lim snapped, as though offended Mingi didn’t already know. “He was instructed to miss. Just enough to terrify you. Just enough to make you question his ability to protect you.”
Okay, too much focus on Mingi; he had to draw Lim back to him. “But that didn’t happen.”
It worked - Lim’s gaze snapped to him. A small, cruel smile followed. “No. You played hero and ruined it.”
“That day in the penthouse,” Yunho said, keeping him talking, keeping him focused. “You were still cleared under my watch.”
“Of course I was,” Lim scoffed. “I’m not just a body in a uniform. I can shut down a system with four keystrokes. I only needed three minutes in the security hub to walk right in.” His grip on Mingi softened almost lovingly. “He had to know you weren’t worthy of him. That you couldn’t protect him.” They all knew the end to that story, remembered the destruction. “But of course, Agent Jeong had once again whisked him away.”
“And the gala?” Yunho asked. “What was that? Another ‘gentle escalation’?”
Lim shook his head dismissively. “That had nothing to do with me. That was just you and your inability to protect him. And they finally saw sense. They finally sent you away and gave him to me. Where he should have been from the start.” Yunho's brow raised at that, but he couldn't dwell right now, so he filed it away and focused on where Lim was taking them.
His voice dropped, chilling and tender. “But he sees now. Don’t you, Mingi?”
Mingi set his jaw. Defiant even in terror. “I see that you’re insane.”
Lim’s face twisted, glare shooting back to Yunho. “You see what you’ve done!” Lim spat, the word cracked and wet.
“I’m the only one who really knows him! I know what he wants, what he needs. I'm the one who knows how to love him!” His eyes flicked to Yunho with pure venom. “You don’t deserve him, but you got to be near him. Live with him. Touch him. That should have been me!” He shook, the delusion splintering. “You poisoned him against me.”
Yunho’s stomach churned. Mingi’s entire body was trembling in Lim’s grip now, both from fear and fury as blood tracked slowly down his collarbone.
Fuck. This was spiraling beyond his ability to de-escalate. Lim was focused on him, which was good, but it came with a cost. Yunho was wracking his brain for how best to proceed when he caught a flicker of movement behind the SUV.
Jongho.
Yunho didn’t turn. He didn’t break eye contact. He simply gave the faintest, smallest shake of his head. Not yet. Jongho held for half a second, then signaled subtly to the left. San. The other man was crouched down on the far side of the vehicle, coiled like a shadow with teeth.
Relief hit Yunho so hard he almost swayed.
Backup.
Three on one were way better odds. Now that San and Jongho had the SUV covered, all he had to do was get some distance between Lim and Mingi, get Mingi out of arm’s reach, and trust his team to take it from there. Okay - obsession, possession, and desire to be wanted. I can work with that. Time to switch tactics. He’d ask Mingi’s forgiveness later.
Yunho took a slow, measured half-step forward.
“Lim,” he called softly, lifting his chin. “You keep saying you know him. That you understand him.” His voice dropped, steady and slightly mocking. “But you don’t. Not really.”
Lim stiffened; Yunho had his attention.
Good.
Now break him.
“He’s still looking at me,” Yunho said, nodding toward Mingi’s wide, terrified eyes. “Even right now. Even with your hands on his body and your knife at his throat.”
Mingi’s breath hitched as Lim’s grip spasmed, knife digging just a hair deeper. Yunho knew he was poking a bear, but it was the best path forward. Something in him knew that Lim wouldn't kill Mingi. Not here, not now. Not when the terms weren't his own.
So he pushed.
“Every time,” Yunho continued, keeping his voice low, measured, needle-sharp, “every single time you tried to scare him, to separate us and herd him toward you. Every time he chose me.”
Lim’s breathing hitched, fast and thin.
“He didn't know what he was doing,” Lim said, but it came out like a child’s denial. Unsure and weak.
“Oh no?” Yunho tilted his head. “Who did he run to when you stalked him? Who did he hide behind? Whose bed did he crawl into?”
Mingi made a strangled sound, embarrassment maybe, mortification, but he didn’t deny it.
Lim’s eyes flashed, something rabid sparking to life behind them. “Shut up.”
“You think you’re protecting him?” Yunho pressed, stepping forward another inch. “You think he belongs to you? Look at him, Lim.”
Lim’s gaze flicked to Mingi automatically, and Yunho saw Mingi’s chest stutter with a breath, saw the pure horror in his eyes at being read so easily. Saw Lim see it.
“He’s trembling because of you,” Yunho said softly, advancing slowly, almost imperceptibly, towards the two. “He’s terrified of you.”
“No,” Lim whispered.
“He’s scared you’re going to hurt him.”
“I would never. Not really. Not in any way that matters. He’s mine. I love him.” Mingi cried out as the knife pressed unconsciously deeper. Yunho shut that out; he had to.
“And he still doesn’t want you,” Yunho said, voice soft as a scalpel. He was so close now, only a few feet separating them. “He only wants me.”
That did it.
Lim snapped. A choked, wounded sound ripped out of him as his fantasy imploded. He launched Mingi’s body sideways, flinging him toward the concrete with all the force of a man discarding a toy that betrayed him. Mingi hit the ground hard, skidding across gravel with a brutal scrape of palms and knees.
Yunho braced as best he could, but he was unarmed. His mind flickered to San and Jongho as Lim lurched towards him, pain exploding through his ribs as the other man’s body slammed into him, hard, the knife driving deep into his side.
White-hot fire shot across his midsection, but he didn’t fall. He’d been stabbed before. Sucked worse than the gunshot wound, but not incapacitating. He twisted his body, taking the blade deeper but angling it away from his lung, grabbing Lim’s wrist and using the momentum to shove him back...right into Jongho’s waiting arms.
The younger man had burst from behind the SUV like a bullet, low and controlled as soon as he saw the opening. He seized Lim’s wrist with two hands and twisted, pulling his dominant arm behind his back. Lim screamed, a raw, animalistic sound, and attempted to twist away, but Jongho drove an elbow into his sternum, folding him in half. San converged on the opposite side and swept his legs. Together they pinned him, one at each limb, effortless in tandem.
Lim bucked and writhed, face streaked with rage, spittle flying. “You took him from me! You took EVERYTHING-”
Jongho slammed him back down against the gravel. “God, shut up,” he snarled. “You’ve been monologuing for hours already.”
San’s expression remained cold and precise as he cinched restraints around Lim’s wrists with zip ties he’d pulled from his belt. “He’s secure.”
But Yunho didn’t hear any of that. Because the moment Lim was ripped off him, Mingi was running. He stumbled, almost falling, then sprinted harder, blood trailing sluggishly from the wounds on his neck, breath ragged. God, he was beautiful.
“YUNHO-!”
He caught Yunho just as he started to wobble and helped lower him to the ground. Yunho gritted his teeth and grasped his side as pain flared with every breath. His hand came away slick with blood. “Ah, shit.” He looked up into Mingi’s terrified eyes. “You okay, princess?”
“Am I okay-?!” Mingi’s voice broke, loud and cracking as he grabbed at Yunho’s shirt, trying to hold him upright. “Someone shot you like two days ago, and you just got stabbed, you absolute asshole!”
Yunho huffed something like a laugh, or the ghost of one. “‘M' fine. Non-fatal. But I am probably going to pass out on you at some point in the near future. Fair warning.”
“Don’t close your eyes, then,” Mingi whispered, breath hot and desperate against Yunho’s cheek. “Just keep looking at me, okay?”
Yunho did.
Mingi’s hands were all over him now - trembling, frantic - cupping his face, pressing against his wound, pulling him closer like if he let go for even a second, his world would end.
Behind them, Lim howled from the ground, thrashing under San and Jongho’s weight, but it didn’t reach them. Not when Mingi’s face was blotchy with terror, tears streaking down his cheeks. Yunho reached up weakly to wipe those tracks away. “M’here,” Yunho murmured. “I’m right here. I've got you.”
Mingi pressed their foreheads together like he needed to feel him breathe. “You scared the shit out of me, boy scout.” And Yunho, bleeding and dizzy and exhausted, brushed his thumb against Mingi’s collarbone where his blood had dried. “Pot. Kettle.”
Mingi broke at that. A small, cracking sound that shattered right against Yunho’s chest as the day caught up with him.
“Mingi,” Yunho whispered. “Baby… I need you to breathe.”
That got him a wet huff, "Fuck off." But he clung harder as Jongho jogged over. “Song security is here. The ambulance is on the way. Let’s get some pressure on that wound, hyung.”
He knelt on the other side of Yunho’s body, letting Mingi continue to cling...and Yunho didn’t look away. Not once. Not as the courtyard filled with voices and sirens. Not even as his vision started to blur.
He kept his eyes on the one person he’d do anything for. And Mingi held him like an anchor in a storm.
Chapter Text
Yunho really hated hospitals. He always had. He hated the smell of antibacterial soap and cleaner, hated the overhead fluorescent lights that buzzed quietly enough to set his teeth on edge, hated the too-clean sheets, the machines that either beeped too loudly or too softly. He hated the way nurses, lovely as they were, fluttered around him like he was made of glass instead of muscle, bone, and his own poor decision-making.
They were keeping him this time. At least overnight for observation, fluids, and painkillers. Apparently, he was “worryingly dehydrated,” and his body was “running on fumes,” as one nurse put it. He had been pushing himself well beyond physical limits for days at this point, so Yunho was smart enough not to fight back. Not that he could when he was being harangued so thoroughly.
But he was just so tired of being here. Between the gunshot wound and the stab wound, he was starting to feel like he should be earning reward points. Buy two, get your third visit free or something like that. God, how much morphine had they given him?
Well, at least this time, he thought, exhaling slowly as he relaxed back against the stiff pillow, I’ve got something to distract me. Yunho cracked one eye open to take in his jailer.
Mingi was slouched in the visitor chair with his feet kicked up on the side of the bed like he owned the place, a lollipop that he’d swiped from reception in his mouth and a bandage around his neck. He looked relatively carefree for someone who was held at knifepoint not six hours ago.
San and Wooyoung had gone home to get some rest at Mingi’s behest, with promises they’d be back the next day. Jongho was outside the door. He’d taken it upon himself to act as Mingi’s interim protection and Yunho’s guard. Nobody other than the medical staff got past Jongho without their say-so. It made Yunho unclench in a way he hadn’t in what felt like months, having his brother stand guard and Mingi at his side.
Now that they were here, together, Yunho couldn’t stop staring at the other man. The past 72 hours had given him a sense of clarity when it came to his feelings. He knew it could lead to a broken heart if he wasn’t careful, but fuck it if that ship hadn’t well and truly sailed.
So, for now, he let himself look.
“Hey,” he said, maybe too loud in the quiet of the room, but he was having a little trouble modulating the volume of his voice.
Mingi looked over lazily. “Hey, what?”
“You’re crazy beautiful.”
Mingi’s cheeks went pink immediately. “Oh my God, shut up. You’re high.”
“I am incredibly high,” Yunho agreed. “But that doesn’t change the fact.”
Mingi tried and failed to hide his grin around the lollipop. He pulled his legs off the bed and leaned forward, resting his chin on his forearms on the mattress like a schoolboy tormenting his favorite teacher. It made Yunho melt a bit.
“So you’re pretty much obsessed with me, huh?”
“I’m almost positive we’d established that already.”
“Yeah…” Mingi swirled the lollipop with unnecessary flourish and set it aside, pretending he wasn’t glowing. God, he was cute. “But it’s always good to hear it.”
Yunho snorted softly. “So the gunshot wound ...oh, and the knife in my side ...weren’t enough to sell it, huh? Damn.”
Mingi licked his lips. “Can I be real with you for a second?”
“Always.”
Mingi’s voice dropped; conspiratorial, wicked. “Now that I know you’re gonna be okay and don’t have any permanent damage… it’s kinda, like… really hot that you got stabbed for me.”
Yunho stared at him. “You are unbelievable.”
Mingi’s eyes sparkled with a mischievous glint, the little shit. “Do you think we’d get in trouble if I blew you in that bed?”
Yunho laughed, an actual laugh, despite the pain that shot up his side. “Honestly, yeah.”
Mingi raised his brows. “Like… criminal trouble or nurse trouble?”
“Both. And I may trust Jongho with my life, but not my sex life.”
“That’s fair,” Mingi said thoughtfully, scooting closer anyway, like proximity alone was a challenge to authority.
He reached up and started to run his fingers gently through Yunho’s hair, the other hand coming to hold his against the sheets; the shift in tone so soft it almost hurt.
“You really scared me, you know,” Mingi whispered, his thumb stroking Yunho’s temple, smoothing hair back from his face. “These past few days have really sucked.”
“You can absolutely say that again,” Yunho murmured, eyes fluttering shut under the gentle touch.
Quiet settled between them as Mingi kept stroking, a grounding rhythm that Yunho leaned into like a cat. Yunho felt his breath hitch, not from pain this time but from how careful Mingi was being with him. He hadn’t let anyone other than his mom be this soft with him and not since he was a child. For some reason, it didn’t chafe when it was Mingi. So, for once, he let himself fall into that care.
“Just in case you needed to hear it,” Mingi’s voice cut through the quiet, “I’m pretty obsessed with you, too.”
Yunho’s smile was slow and sleepy, stretching across his face. He didn’t respond, mostly because the morphine was starting to win the battle against consciousness. The exhaustion of the last seventy-two hours wrapped around him like a heavy blanket. His breathing slowed. His grip on Mingi’s fingers loosened as sleep started to pull him under.
“Get some sleep, boy scout,” Mingi whispered, brushing his thumb gently along Yunho’s cheekbone. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”
Yunho was nearly gone when he heard his own voice slip out, soft and unguarded, but truer than anything he’d ever said out loud.
“Love you…”
His eyes had already closed by the time the words finished leaving his mouth.
Mingi was angry.
That was the first thing Yunho registered when he clawed back toward consciousness. His hearing came online before his eyes did, and Mingi’s voice bled through first, raised and sharp, cutting across the room in frantic arcs.
“…you knew it was me?” Mingi’s voice was shocked and incredulous.
“Of course, I knew it was you,” the other voice shot back. Ah, even in his sleep-fogged mind, Yunho recognized that infuriatingly superior tone.
He blinked his eyes open. Mingi and Minhyuk stood near the corner of the room, squared off. Yunho’s eyes flicked toward the doorway, instinctively checking for the guard he expected and trusted.
Jongho was there in the threshold, back straight, arms folded across his chest, watching the exchange like a hawk, which meant Mingi must have allowed his brother’s entry. Jongho caught Yunho’s eyes with an exaggerated grimace, and he slowly shook his head. Stay out of it. This fight isn’t for us.
Ah. Fair play. He turned his attention back to the brothers. This may not be his fight, but he still needed to be in Mingi’s corner. The kid looked strung tight enough to shatter.
“How did you figure it out?” Mingi demanded.
“Other than the fact you just confirmed it?” Minhyuk pulled his phone out to read a note he seemed to have saved there. “'No one company should get to play god with people’s lives, no matter how many zeroes are in their bank account. Corporations shouldn’t have the power to determine who lives and who dies.’”
Yunho watched as Mingi froze.
Minhyuk clicked his tongue. “A banal statement, really. Anyone could have written it. But we had the exact same fucking conversation - verbatim - two days before you sent this.”
Mingi blinked, caught. “…I honestly didn’t think you listened to me.”
“Oh, don’t give me that.” Minhyuk’s expression sharpened. “Do you think I’m an idiot? We have the same IQ, dipshit.”
“Yeah,” Mingi muttered petulantly, “but you use yours for evil.”
Yunho actually felt his chest warm with affection watching him pout. He was so stupidly in love with this man.
Minhyuk scoffed, rolling his eyes. “God, you are such a child.”
And there it was, that little flinch in Mingi’s expression he only ever got when his family hit where it hurt.
“Does Dad know? About me?” Mingi asked, voice smaller now.
Minhyuk barked a humorless laugh. “Oh, so now you care about Dad? You’ve been blackmailing us for months, Mingi. Do you have any idea what could happen to him if some of the shit you’ve been saying got out?”
Mingi swallowed hard. Yunho could see him trying not to crumble under the accusation.
“I wasn’t really going to release anything. I just wanted to make him try to be better. I wanted all of us to just…do better.”
“Oh, fuck off.” Minhyuk waved a hand. “For all that intelligence, you’re still so goddamn naive.”
Yunho’s jaw tightened. Yes, Mingi was impulsive, yes, he was stubborn and temperamental, but he meant well. Maybe Yunho was biased. Sue him.
Mingi was quiet for a moment, arms crossed, his own jaw tight. “So you knew all this time, and you didn’t tell anyone?”
“Of course, I didn’t tell anyone. You think I want to see you thrown in a federal prison?”
Yunho saw Mingi soften a little at that, his shoulders losing some of their tension, relief flickering through his expression.
Then Minhyuk added, “God, can you imagine the optics of that?”
Yunho watched the softness fall away. Well…that didn’t last long.
“You are such a fucking asshole! So, instead of confronting me yourself, you hired people to kidnap me?” Mingi was pissed now, righteously indignant. Yunho blinked at that, both the revelation and Mingi's reaction to it. I guess I missed way more context than I thought...a simmering rage began to burn in his gut as he remembered Mingi, pale and drugged, lying in his arms on the floor of the parking garage. But Jongho was right, this wasn't his fight. He'd have to douse that fire for now.
“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” Minhyuk snapped back. “They weren’t supposed to hurt you. They were supposed to take you somewhere safe, tell you they knew what you were doing, scare some sense into you, and then ransom you back to me.”
“Oh, yeah,” Mingi said, voice going high and agitated. “So, orchestrate a fake kidnapping is the next best thing. Of course. That’s totally normal big-brother shit! Super fucking rational!
“Oh, come off it. You and I both know you don't listen to a goddamn word I say. We’ve never had anything resembling a normal fraternal relationship.”
“I know that’s fucking right!” Mingi exploded. “Normal brothers don’t pay strangers to drug and kidnap each other! They could have killed Yunho!”
Yunho blinked. He hadn’t expected to be dragged into the argument; he honestly assumed the brothers had forgotten there was anyone else in the room, but Mingi’s voice cracked over his name like it physically hurt him.
“How was I supposed to know he was going to chase down a moving vehicle? Bodyguards aren’t SWAT. That’s fucking crazy. At that point, it’s just collateral damage.”
Mingi punched him. A clean, perfect right hook, excellent follow-through. Yunho was genuinely impressed; he’d have to remember to compliment the form later.
Minhyuk stumbled back into the wall, hand flying to his face. Yunho caught Jongho’s quiet, muttered, “Finally,” from where he stood in the doorway, though Yunho could see him start to move towards the brothers, ready to step in to protect Mingi if it was called for.
Yunho put his trust in the younger man and let himself sink back into the pillows, exhaling slowly. God, this family was a mess. And yet, somehow, Mingi had grown into someone good anyway. Fierce, stubborn, hopeful. Hurt, but not cruel. It made him want to pull Mingi into the bed and wrap him up in both arms, but he doubted the doctor would approve.
In moments, Minhyuk shook off the punch, rage sparking, as he stepped forward again, grabbing Mingi by the front of his shirt just as the door slammed open.
All four men turned.
Black tactical gear flooded the room. Federal Investigation, Homeland Security - a joint op from the look of the badges.
Yunho pushed himself upright on instinct; Jongho moved in front of Mingi in a heartbeat. But the agents weren't looking at them.
They went straight for Minhyuk.
And walking calmly between them, parting them like the Red Sea, was Kang Yeosang. He stopped beside the agents, clicked his penlight off his vest, and addressed Minhyuk like they were discussing quarterly performance numbers.
“Song Minhyuk,” Yeosang said evenly, “you are under arrest for financial fraud, wire fraud, insurance fraud, conspiracy to commit corporate misconduct, obstruction of justice, and, what the heck, let’s throw in the ordering of an unlawful kidnapping.”
Mingi made a sound of half horror, half vindication.
Minhyuk sputtered, “You-? YOU?! You’ve been...You work for me!”
Yeosang’s expression remained serene, almost pitying. “I worked at Song Corp,” he corrected gently. “At the behest of the Federal Government.”
Yunho rubbed his eyes. “Unbelievable,” he muttered. His brain started to run back through every interaction he’d ever had with the man, matching patterns and connecting dots. Hindsight is 20/20 and all that. He bit back a sigh. Of all the jobs he'd run over the years, this one was by far the most interesting...
Two agents stepped up, prying Minhyuk’s hands off Mingi’s shirt. For all his shouting, the elder Song didn’t resist much. Pride wouldn’t let him. He stood stiff and shaking with fury as they cuffed him and read him his rights, refusing to look at his brother. He focused all of that fury instead on Yeosang.
Mingi didn’t move. He stood stock-still, staring at nothing, shaking quietly like the ground had slid out from under him and he was waiting to see where he landed.
Minhyuk was marched toward the hall. At the doorway, he snarled, “This isn’t over. My father will hear about this. We have very good lawyers.”
“Your father is already in custody,” Yeosang said blandly, " and I have no doubt." Minhyuk shot him a murderous look as agents pushed him out.
Yeosang turned to leave with the team when Yunho called, voice rough: “Kang.”
Yeosang paused in the doorway and turned to meet his eyes. Yunho’s eyes shifted to Mingi and back, chastisement and accusation in their depths. “We’ll be speaking later.”
That got him a single nod of acknowledgment before Kang turned and followed his men out. Jongho gave Yunho a loaded look before making the same exit, closing the door quietly behind him.
Then they were left in silence.
Mingi hadn’t moved. He was still staring at the floor, frozen stiff. His knuckles were red and bruised, his breathing shallow. Yunho watched him for a beat, then called softly, “Hey, beautiful.”
Mingi jerked like someone had broken a spell. He turned, eyes blown wide and searching, shock and betrayal and guilt and heartbreak all colliding behind them.
Yunho gestured toward Mingi's hand. “Good punch, baby,” he murmured. “Really good follow-through.”
Mingi looked down at his fists, staring at the bruising like it belonged to someone else. “Yeah,” he said, voice thin. “I told you. Survival skills...”
Something in Yunho’s chest cracked at that. He didn't know what to say, what words could help the younger man in this moment, so he did the only thing he could think to do. He opened his arms, careful of the IV lines, careful of his stitches, but open all the same.
And Mingi didn’t hesitate. He crossed the room in two steps and collapsed into him, folding down against the bed and curling his body around Yunho’s like a child seeking comfort. Yunho wrapped his arms as best he could around him, one hand curling into Mingi’s hair, the other across his back. “I’ve got you, baby.”
Mingi shook against him, murmuring quiet, “I’m sorrys” wetly against his neck. Yunho didn’t speak, didn’t try to have the man dissect what he was feeling. Not now. Time would come for that later. Now, he just hummed a calming tune under his breath and held on tight.
Chapter Text
Yunho had never really been good at sitting still, but the week after the elder Song’s arrest pushed even his limits. Between stabilizing his own injuries and keeping Mingi from spiraling into one of three rotating emotional disasters - rage, guilt, or existential dread - he’d barely had time to breathe.
And on top of that, he still had a very overdue conversation with Kang Yeosang.
He arranged the meeting in one of the Sector One conference rooms. Seonghwa stood beside him, arms crossed, the picture of diplomatic patience. Yunho had asked him to be there specifically because he needed moderation. He was too close to all of this, too close to Mingi, to trust himself not to snap, but he needed a few answers.
He arranged the meeting in one of the Sector One conference rooms when he was cleared for light activity. Seonghwa stood beside him, arms crossed, the picture of diplomatic patience. Yunho had asked him to be there specifically because he needed moderation. He was too close to all of this, too close to Mingi, to trust himself not to snap. But he needed some answers.
He trusted Seonghwa. And Seonghwa trusted Yeosang, or at least understood him better than Yunho ever had.
Jongho stayed back at the penthouse with Mingi, per Yunho’s request, not that Jongho needed prompting. The kid had basically deputized himself as Mingi’s personal guard dog while Yunho recovered.
“Just until we’re sure everything is finished with,” Jongho had said earlier, shrugging like he wasn’t taking on a full-time detail basically for free. “He can have the friends and family discount.”
“You really don’t have to do that,” Yunho had protested.
“And you don’t have to tell me how to live my life!” Jongho shot back and walked away, leaving no room for argument.
Mingi loved Jongho. Yunho loved that Mingi loved Jongho. Something about watching the two of them interact with each other like childhood friends healed a part of Yunho he didn’t realize had been raw.
Now, though, Yunho focused on the man seated across the table.
Yeosang looked infuriatingly calm in his perfectly pressed shirt with his neatly aligned folders and his stupid vanity muscles. His eyes were soft and placid, like being revealed as a federal infiltrator in front of a former employee…or employee-adjacent…was an everyday occurrence.
He spent the next few hours telling them everything he could legally share; how he’d been brought in three years ago to infiltrate Song Corp, build an internal profile, document criminal operations, and flag any threats. He’d been watching the family for months, tracking the C-Suite’s ins and outs. And, apparently, tracking Mingi too.
“He was never the target,” Yeosang insisted. “He wanted nothing to do with the family business. He kept himself clean.” He gave Yunho a loaded look at that, something knowing and judgmental. Cool, so the federal agent knows about my boyfriend's super illegal side hustle, but was keeping it a secret...for now.
Yunho nodded, understood, and blew out a sharp exhale. Relief hit like a weight lifting off his chest that he hadn’t realized he was carrying. “So… this whole time.”
Yeosang nodded once. “Yup.”
“Cool,” Yunho muttered. “Cool. So you weren’t just really, really bad at your job then?”
Seonghwa choked on air. Yeosang, to his credit, didn’t flinch.
“There was some truth in that,” Yeosang admitted with infuriating grace. “I’m sorry he was put in the position he was, but I had bigger fish to fry, and you had him handled.”
Yunho blinked. “Did I?”
A flicker of sympathy crossed Yeosang’s face, and Yunho felt Seonghwa's hand settle on his uninjured shoulder, “You did more than anyone expected. Especially given what you were working with.”
“Thanks,” Yunho muttered. “I guess.”
The Songs were in custody now, awaiting arraignment and the inevitable media storm. Mingi had been questioned, of course. As Yeosang said, he was interviewed twice by separate teams, but nothing stuck. He truly had cut himself out of the family business as soon as he’d become an adult.
Yunho, realist that he was, knew how this would play out. These were white-collar crimes. Even the worst of them rarely saw prison time. Maybe a cushy minimum-security facility at best.
But as Minhyuk always said: the optics.
That was what would ruin them. For now, at least.
Mingi didn’t seem surprised by any of it. Just tired. Quiet. Resigned in the kind of way that came from growing up under people who only valued you as long as you stayed in line. Yunho knew he had made his peace with his brother's fate, but his father was a touchier subject. Mingi struggled to nail down exactly how he felt about the man. “He does love me, I think…in his own way. He brought you here, didn’t he?” Yunho offered a listening ear, but didn’t comment. He wasn’t sure he had enough grace for that conversation.
When it came down to it, though, Mingi made his decision rather quickly.
He disowned himself.
Or, separated himself from the family. Sold any remaining stock he had in the company, closed his family accounts.
Turns out he’d been squirreling away funds for nearly five years now; money he’d taken from his own allowances, from investments he’d made independent of the family, from freelance coding jobs he’d taken under an alias. Completely untraceable to Song Corp and his father.
Enough to live on for a time. Not enough for penthouse living, but something.
The movers were scheduled to come and clear out the apartment two days from now.
Yunho stayed close but gave Mingi space where he needed it. The penthouse echoed with the sound of boxes being shifted, tape being pulled, labels being scribbled. The movers handled everything except Mingi’s bedroom.
Mingi had insisted: “Strangers don’t touch my room.”
So they handled it themselves.
It meant more to Yunho than he could articulate that Mingi trusted him with both his safety and the physical remnants of his life. His childhood photos. His paintings. His ridiculous collection of hoodies. The plushie he claimed he didn’t sleep with but absolutely still did. They worked quietly, shoulders bumping occasionally, the kind of domestic rhythm Yunho wanted to memorize even when that domesticity was overshadowed by the temperamental storm cloud that was Song Mingi these past few weeks.
Mingi had been strung so tight that Yunho could practically hear the tension crackling off him. The stress of coping with a near death experience coupled with the investigation, the family implosion, the move, Yunho’s injuries…it all sat on him like a weight he didn’t know how to remove. It took shape in biting words and snippy comments, moments of oppressive quiet, and constant fidgeting.
So, when Mingi planted himself in front of him the night before the move, hands on his hips, surrounded by half-packed boxes, and declared, “Wooyoung and I are going out tonight," Yunho wasn’t surprised. He didn’t even look up from the files he was reviewing for Hongjoong. He just nodded. “Okay. Where are you going and who is going to be there?”
Mingi stared at him. “That’s it?”
“Yup.”
“I thought you would be adamantly opposed.”
“I’m not. You’ve been a real pill the last few days. You need to let loose a little. I can understand that.”
“You’re a pill…” Mingi muttered on instinct…then hesitated. “So it’s really okay?”
“You’re a big boy, Min,” Yunho said with a shrug. “I’m not going to tell you what you can and can’t do… but be prepared for the paps. Oh, and please do take Jongho with you just to be safe.”
A slow, wicked smirk curled across Mingi’s face. “I’m taking him to a gay club!”
Yunho barked out a laugh, then set his tablet to the side and met Mingi's eyes, “You okay with some company?”
Mingi raised a brow at him.
Yunho had been to many clubs with Mingi over their time together, but never like this. Never as the guy holding Mingi’s waist or kissing his neck or glaring away his admirers. Never as his partner. This was a first for them. But this was a part of Mingi's life, and Yunho wanted to be a part of it if he could.
He met them at the penthouse, freshly showered, freshly dressed, mentally preparing to just be chill for the night. He was off the clock. Not 'bodyguard'. Boyfriend.
They were meeting San and Wooyoung at the club.
Jongho was the first to see him as he walked out the the elevator. The younger man froze mid-sip of his energy drink and let out a sharp whistle. “Damn, hyung.”
Before Yunho could answer, Mingi came sauntering out from the bedroom hallway, dressed in silk and leather, like a sin on two legs, calling: “It’s nine o’clock exactly! God, Boy Scout, could you be any more on time-”
He stopped.
His mouth parted. His eyes dragged down Yunho’s frame so slowly it felt like being touched.
Yunho blinked. “…What?”
Mingi blinked right back. “What what?”
Yunho let the smallest smirk curve his mouth and began walking toward him - slow, deliberate, enjoying the way Mingi’s breath visibly caught.
Yunho almost laughed out loud. He had never seen Mingi rendered speechless by anything before other than good food and great orgasms. He watched as the younger man swallowed hard and deliberately. “I’ve never seen you outside of your funeral suits and sweats,” Mingi murmured, voice low, eyes hungry.
"You've seen me naked."
"S'not the same."
Yunho stepped close enough that their chests almost touched. “Do you like what you see, princess?”
Mingi licked his lips. His hand twitched as if he were about to reach out and touch him, but before he could: “Oh my GOD,” Jongho groaned from the doorway. “Can you both stop eye-fucking so we can go?”
Mingi didn’t even look away from Yunho when he called back, “No.”
Yunho grinned. “Come on, Princess. Let’s boogie.”
A dramatic groan tore from Mingi's lips, “UGH, I can't believe I forgot how old you are!”
The club was already pulsing by the time they arrived, bass vibrating through the walls, neon lights slicing through the dark in saturated pinks and electric blues. There were half-naked men in cages around the room, and the scent of sweat and too-sweet cocktails pervaded the air. Mingi fit into it instantly, like the lights had been invented to catch just right on his cheekbones.
Jongho…did not.
Yunho caught it the second they stepped through the doors, Jongho’s shoulders tensing, eyes widening slightly as he took in the room full of writhing bodies, bare skin, leather harnesses, mesh shirts, glitter, limbs everywhere. Sensory overload.
The young man stood stiffly near the wall, arms crossed tight across his chest like a kid holding onto a life preserver. To his credit, he didn’t complain. Just… looked like he wanted to evaporate through the floor. Yunho remembered those days all too well. He tried not to laugh at the kid.
Mingi clapped him on the back affectionately. “Relax, baby guard. No one’s going to bite you.”
A man in a leather vest winked as he passed. Jongho jolted. “They’d better not.” Yunho didn’t bite back the laugh this time.
“MY BOYS!” Wooyoung shouted over the music when he spotted them. He was already a few rounds deep and draped over San like a particularly affectionate cat. He stumbled forward and threw his arms first around Mingi, planting a loud smack of a kiss on his cheek, then around Yunho, then toward Jongho, who sidestepped so fast it was almost supernatural.
“Everyone is alive and well!” Wooyoung declared, eyes suspiciously wet. “I love this for us.”
San caught up behind him, smiling in that calm, fond way he saved only for the people he cared for. He clapped a hand on Yunho’s shoulder. “You look like you’re holding up.”
“Thanks,” Yunho drawled.
“That shirt makes you look scrawny.”
“Why are you like this?”
San grinned wide and handed him a drink.
Yunho made a note to never, ever let San hand him a drink without asking what was in it again.
They had kept it surprisingly tame tonight - just the five of them though both Mingi and Wooyoung were recognized once or twice. Overall though they kept to themselves which Yunho appreciated. They clustered near a railing for a while, Wooyoung talking a mile a minute, describing every catastrophe he and San had narrowly avoided on the way there, San occasionally cutting in to correct him, Jongho standing like a man enduring divine punishment, and Mingi…
Mingi was touching him. Nothing overt or risqué, but enough. Fingers brushing along his wrist. Hip bumping into hip. Body leaning in close to say something in his ear, even when the volume didn’t require it.
It was casual and intimate and claiming. And it made Yunho warm under the collar.
Mingi and Wooyoung were drinking like it was their job. Shots were traded back and forth, drinking games were played that only they seemed to know the rules of, laughter bounced back and forth between them. San and Yunho followed a much more subdued pace, forcing water into their hands between rounds, and smiling conspiringly at one another as their lovers de-stressed from the past few weeks. Somewhere between the laughter and drinks and Wooyoung loudly ranking everyone’s jawline, Mingi turned toward Yunho with a gleam in his eye.
A dangerous one.
“So, how about it, Bring it On?” he asked, voice pitched low so it curled warm in Yunho’s stomach. “You wanna show me your moves?”
Yunho arched an eyebrow. “You sure you can handle that, princess?”
Mingi held out his hand.
The dance floor swallowed them instantly in a swirl of heat and sound. Bodies moved around them like one living organism. The beat was low and heavy, vibrating through Yunho’s ribs, through the scar and stitches he was pretending weren’t there.
The second they found a pocket in the crowd, Mingi stepped in close. He slid his hands along Yunho’s waist, confident and firm, pulling Yunho flush against him, shoulder to hip. “Oh,” Yunho murmured. A laugh, embarrassingly breathless, escaped him.
Mingi smirked, eyes hooded. “Oh,” he mimicked softly.
Yunho scoffed at him, but he looped his arms around Mingi’s shoulders, letting the other man guide him, letting the rhythm carry the both of them.
Mingi’s hands were firm on Yunho’s waist, guiding him through the changing rhythms like he’d been waiting years for permission. Yunho let himself follow, let himself be led, something he didn’t do. Ever. But when it came to Mingi, it wasn’t losing control.
It was choosing where to place it.
Mingi fit against him like he’d been designed to fill that spot, chest to chest, thigh sliding between Yunho’s, breath hot on Yunho’s neck. And as the night progressed, Yunho could feel him loosening; could feel his shoulders softening, movements getting freer, the tight anxious hum around his edges finally easing under the lights and music.
And Yunho…loosened with him.
Not all the way. He still had half an eye on every exit, every shift in the crowd, every strange face too close, but his body wasn’t coiled like it usually was. Not when he had Mingi’s hands gripping his hips like he owned them. Not when Mingi was moving against him with slow, deliberate dominance that made Yunho’s head go a little fuzzy. Interesting.
Another song rolled in, heavier, filthier. Mingi didn’t miss a beat.
He slid a hand from Yunho’s waist to his hip, fingers fully migrating beneath the hem of Yunho’s shirt, dragging upward to feel skin. Yunho hissed in a breath as Mingi leaned in, lips brushing the shell of his ear. Then lower.
Mingi’s mouth found the hinge of his jaw, then his throat, lips dragging along sensitive skin. Yunho’s eyes fluttered shut as he tilted his head without meaning to - an instinctive surrender he wouldn’t have offered anyone else on earth.
Teeth grazed his pulse making Yunho curse under his breath. “Min…” he warned, but it came out more like a plea.
Mingi’s breath was hot and wrecking against Yunho’s neck. He kissed up the column, slow and possessive, then nipped at Yunho’s earlobe.
And then, voice low and sinful: “Can I blow you in the bathroom?”
Yunho threw his head back and laughed, loud and delighted. “God,” he groaned, dragging a hand down his face, “your exhibition kink is gonna be the death of me.”
Mingi pulled back enough to smirk at him, eyes dark and glittering under the colored lights. They swayed in place, bodies still touching everywhere they could without actually fusing together. “That’s not a no,” Mingi murmured, his voice pure mischief.
Yunho tipped his head back, fingers sliding up and into Mingi’s hair, slow and deliberate. He gave a firm tug, making Mingi’s breath stutter before he leaned in close, lips brushing Mingi’s ear, his voice pitched low enough to feel. “How about this…”
Yunho could feel Mingi swallow hard. “If you’re sober enough by the time we get back to the penthouse tonight,” another firm tug to his hair. “…I’ll let you fuck me against those big windows you like so much.”
Mingi’s hands tightened on Yunho’s waist, fingers leaving indents in the flesh. Yunho leaned back to study his face, his grin wicked and sure. “Sound good?”
Mingi didn’t speak; he just nodded his head rapidly, eyes cloudy with want. Like a puppy, Yunho mused as he leaned in and brushed their lips together. The softest press. Barely a kiss. Barely anything. But Mingi gave a full-body shiver.
Yunho pulled back to whisper against his mouth: “I’m all yours, baby.”
Chapter 22
Notes:
This is just a pwp chapter my friends...with a dash of emotional intimacy.
Chapter Text
They didn’t even make it five steps into the penthouse before Yunho found himself shoved hard against the wall next to the elevator, shoulder blades slamming against the wood, breath punched right out of him.
Mingi’s mouth was on him instantly.
Hot. Hungry. Grateful and devouring in a way that bordered on feral.
Yunho barely managed to set the keys on the counter and activate the alarm before Mingi dragged him closer by the waistband, kissing him like he’d been deprived of oxygen for weeks, and Yunho was the only source left. Their teeth clicked. Someone groaned. Someone swore. Hands were everywhere, grabbing, pulling, tugging belt loops with no regard for the integrity of the fabric.
They stumbled, half-tripped, and slammed into the kitchen counter as they passed. Yunho’s laugh broke low and breathless against Mingi’s mouth. “Jesus-” he gasped, fingers sliding beneath the hem of Mingi’s shirt, “-you’re impatient.”
“You told me,” Mingi growled, biting down along Yunho’s jaw, “that I could fuck you tonight. In front of the windows. For the whole world to see.” His hands dragged beneath Yunho’s shirt, warm and possessive. “You don’t get to tease me with that and expect me to behave.”
“Baby,” Yunho panted, “you never behave.”
Mingi’s answering sound was not human. It was a low, needy thing that sent a shiver of want down Yunho’s spine.
Shirts were the first casualties, pulled halfway off, stuck on elbows, ripped free with zero dignity. Mingi’s fingers never stilled long enough to manage buttons, so he just shoved Yunho’s shirt up, over, gone. Yunho got Mingi’s shirt halfway off before Mingi kissed him so hard he forgot what hands were even for.
And then, as quickly as it had overwhelmed him, it all stopped. Mingi froze.
Not totally. His hands were still fluttering over Yunho’s ribs, his breathing still shallow and desperate, but he went still enough that Yunho felt adrift. Mingi’s eyes had dropped lower, to the still-healing knife wound in his side, still pink along the edge. Then, to the barely-closed gunshot scar on his shoulder and the mottled bruising fading across his body.
The younger man’s pupils were blown wide with arousal, but something soft and tentative was peaking out through that passion.
He lifted a hand and hesitantly traced the edge of the freshest scar with the lightest touch Yunho had ever felt from him. “Fuck,” Mingi whispered. “I-.”
Yunho blinked. “Min-”
“Hey, it was all...” Mingi swallowed hard, trying to get himself under control, “...everything you said and did at the club? The window thing? The hair-pulling? It was…god, it was so fucking hot, you don’t even know.”
His voice cracked on the last word.
“But we don’t… we don’t have to do this. If it hurts even a little or if you’re just saying things because you think I… fuck, we can just lie down. Or cuddle. Or talk about the day. Or…shit, we can watch that stupid housewives show you pretend you don’t like, but then shit talk the husbands on-”
“Min,” Yunho tried again.
“-and I swear I don’t mind, I just don’t want to break you-”
“Mingi.”
He still didn’t stop, his voice just kept getting higher, ramblier, spiraling into a panic of his own making. “-you’re literally still healing, and if something goes wrong because you let me…because I-”
“Song Mingi!”
The full government name finally shut up.
Yunho cupped the back of his neck and tugged until their foreheads touched. Mingi’s breath hitched audibly.
“Take a breath,” Yunho murmured. “The doctors cleared me for more robust physical activity today.”
Mingi’s eyes flicked up, wide and hopeful. “Yeah?”
Yunho huffed a small laugh. “I mean, maybe we save the more acrobatic stuff for a few months down the road, but - yeah. I’m good.”
“Are you sure?” Mingi whispered, and Yunho felt the question land somewhere deep. Are you sure you trust me with you? His mind was thrown back into their first morning together, to the trust Mingi had shown him that day. He looked deep into Mingi’s eyes as he asked for the same trust in return. He’d never really stood a chance against this man, did he?
Yunho answered by grabbing Mingi’s cheeks and bringing him close enough that their mouths almost met. “Min. Baby. I could not be more sure about this.” This, you, us. His voice dropped to something dark and certain. “Now, stop talking and fuck me.”
For one heartbeat, Mingi didn’t move.
Then he pounced.
He half–dragged, half–carried Yunho across the room, kissing him like he was trying to memorize the shape of his mouth between every step. Yunho didn’t mind the stumbling; he kind of liked being manhandled by someone who clearly wanted him, but he did mind when Mingi nearly tripped over his own feet trying to walk backward and kiss him at the same time.
“Jesus, Min - watch where you’re going! I didn't work so hard protecting you for you to be taken out by a side table.”
“I am watching,” Mingi argued breathlessly, then promptly walked his shin into the corner of the coffee table that had shifted in preparation for the move. “Ow - fuck. Okay, I’m watching now.”
Yunho laughed into his shoulder, clutching Mingi’s elbow to steady him. “You’re a menace.”
“I’m excited,” Mingi said defensively. “And you’re distracting.”
“Oh, so you’re blaming me, now?”
But Mingi didn’t let him finish but instead pushed Yunho down onto the couch. Yunho’s back hit the cushions, and Mingi followed immediately, crawling over him with all the grace of a large, horny housecat. Hands landing wherever they could, knees slipping on upholstery, mouth finding Yunho’s jaw, his throat, his collarbone-
And then, his knee skidded off the edge of the couch, his whole weight pitching sideways.
“Fuck!” Mingi yelped as he landed on the floor, one leg still tangled in the cushions. “God, this is why I'm not taking this fucking couch!"
Yunho peaked over at him, laughing. “You good down there, tiger?”
Mingi popped his head up from between the cushions, hair wild, the frustration radiating off him almost visible. “I am trying to be sexy. And this stupid couch is sabotaging me.”
Yunho reached down, grabbed two fists of Mingi’s shirt, and dragged him back up over top of him. “Baby,” he said between chuckles, “you could fall off every piece of furniture left in this place, and I’d still want you.”
Mingi growled at that and surged up to kiss him again, messy, grateful, and just a little desperate… maybe a lot desperate. Then he was sliding down Yunho’s torso, kissing every inch he could reach on the way.
He tugged at Yunho’s pants with impatient fingers, practically vibrating with the need to get them off now, and managed to peel everything down in one determined motion - pants, socks, shoes - before getting stuck at the ankle.
“You need some-” Yunho started.
“Don’t,” Mingi hissed, wrestling fabric like it was a hostile opponent. He yanked hard, stumbled back with a squeak, and finally tore the last shoe free. “HA!” he crowed triumphantly, flinging it across the room like he’d just won a battle.
Yunho dropped his head back against the cushion and laughed, warm and fond. “You know, I used to think you were suave. But turns out you’re just a big dork.”
Mingi looked up at him with blown pupils, cheeks flushed, hair falling into his eyes, and said, breathlessly sincere, “Yeah. And you’re gorgeous.” The younger man slid his hands up the inside of his thighs, and Yunho’s breath hitched. Mingi’s palms pushed his knees wider as he settled himself between them. He kissed one tense thigh, then the other. “Been thinking about this for weeks.”
That was all the warning he got before Mingi took him deep to the back of his throat. The moan it tore out of him was, honestly, embarrassing, but the heat and the friction were so good that Yunho couldn’t find it in himself to care. His hand found its way to Mingi’s hair, not guiding or leading, just holding on. “God, Min.” Mingi hummed around him, sending shivers of pleasure shooting up his spine.
It didn’t take long before Yunho was teetering on the edge, his body overwhelmed after so long without. “Min, baby, I’m close.” Mingi kept going, seemingly determined to get him off, until Yunho gripped the hair at the back of his head and pulled him away.
Mingi choked on a moan and looked up at him, wounded, like he’d been denied his favorite treat. Yunho’s heart rate was out of control, his breathing ragged. He pulled Mingi up his body so he could capture his lips in thanks and apology. “Sorry. I just don’t think I have two in me tonight, and I want to come with you inside me.”
Mingi's lashes fluttered. Hook, line, and sinker. He settled more confidently over Yunho now, rolling his hips with a slow, deliberate grind that wrung a hiss out of Yunho’s throat, his body still primed for release. He reached up and grabbed those hips, holding them still and bruising. Mingi’s breath stuttered, and he stilled for the moment, pupils blown wide as he met Yunho’s gaze.
“So…” Mingi whispered, voice gone rough. “Were you serious?”
Yunho grabbed Mingi’s jaw in a firm hand and kissed him hard enough to steal the breath from both of them this time. Then he slid a hand down Mingi’s chest, over the dip of his stomach, and between their bodies to palm the hard, urgent line pressing against his jeans.
Mingi whimpered.
“It’s our last night in the penthouse,” Yunho murmured. “Would be a shame to waste it.”
Mingi closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he wasn’t a puppy anymore.
He was a problem.
“Get up,” he breathed, voice lower than anything he’d used all night.
Yunho swallowed, heat coursing through him, but he did as he was bid and rose to his feet.
Mingi immediately grabbed his waist, backing him up step by step toward the floor-to-ceiling windows. The city glittered below them, a thousand lights blinking like an audience settling in.
The cold glass kissed Yunho’s shoulders, shocking a hiss out of him.
“You good?” Mingi asked, eyes scanning him.
“Yeah. S’just cold.”
“Let me warm you up, then.”
He pressed their bodies together, kissing Yunho with everything he had. Yunho smiled into it. God, he loved that he could make Mingi like this. He loved that Mingi wanted him like this.
Between one kiss and the next, Mingi pulled back enough to search his face once more. “You’re sure?”
For a second, exasperation bled through the arousal, but then it occurred to him that Mingi knew him. He knew Yunho struggled with giving up control, with letting others see him vulnerable. What he didn't seem to understand was that he now occupied a space in Yunho's head called "full access", population one Song Mingi. Guess we'll have to be a little more explicit here then. He slid a hand into Mingi's hair, stroking gently for a moment before giving it a firm tug, just on the side of too hard. “Min,” he whispered, “I’m gonna need you to stop asking for permission, and to just take what you want, okay? I’m trusting you here.”
Mingi’s inhale was shaky as his eyes searched Yunho's own. After finding whatever he was looking for, he blew out that breath and smirked in the slow, wicked way Yunho had seen 100 times before. Suddenly, Yunho was being spun around.
He braced instinctively, palms splaying against the cold glass. Mingi’s hands closed around his wrists like cuffs as he pressed them deliberately to the window above his head. His voice brushed hot and slick against Yunho’s ear: “Hands stay here, Boy Scout.”
A violent shiver ripped down Yunho’s spine. Oh.
Then Mingi sank to his knees behind him.
The first swipe of his tongue made Yunho’s head drop forward against the cool glass, breath fogging a circle onto it. “Fuck…Min-”
Mingi wrapped his arms around Yunho’s thighs, holding him up, holding him open, holding him still, and ate him out like he’d been starving for it.
Minutes started to blur together. Yunho was just barely aware enough to notice Mingi producing lube and a condom from absolutely nowhere, like some kind of x-rated street magician. Yunho would’ve made fun of him for it 'whose the boy scout now' if he could find the air. But Mingi slid slick fingers into him, and Yunho’s breath caught on a broken gasp. Thinking became optional. Speaking? Impossible.
He could feel the excitement rolling off the younger man, feel the way Mingi shook with it. Having Yunho here like this - against the window, on display, offering himself - it was turning Mingi inside out with want. And maybe this wasn’t something Yunho had imagined himself doing. Exhibition wasn’t exactly on his personal brand of kink, but god, if it made Mingi fuck him like this, he could very much get behind it…pun intended.
At some point, Mingi stood, rising up in a slow, predatory sweep. His body blanketed Yunho’s back; still mostly dressed, his shirt hanging open where Yunho had pulled the buttons off earlier. The fabric brushed Yunho’s bare skin in a way that felt strangely intimate and wholly vulnerable. But it was Mingi. So it was fine. More than fine.
Mingi’s voice was a low rumble against Yunho’s shoulder. “Still doing good? No pain?”
Yunho shook his head, his chest tight with anticipation.
“Good.” And the younger man kicked Yunho’s legs farther apart with his own foot, guiding, positioning…commanding. Heat shot straight up Yunho’s spine as he adjusted his stance. Huh. Discovering some new kinks of his own to explore. Noted.
Mingi’s hands settled on his hips, thumbs pressing into bone, and he pulled Yunho's hips back toward him. Yunho could feel the tremble of restraint in the younger man’s arms. He forced himself to relax as Mingi rolled the condom on with practiced hands and began to ease into him, slow and steady.
Yunho’s back arched at the stretch, his hands slipping down the window, muscles trembling. Fuck, he was out of practice. The moan that tore out of him was long and unguarded. “Min-gi…”
God, Yunho wanted to touch, himself or Mingi he couldn’t be sure, but he kept his palms right where Mingi told him. The denial only made the heat coil tighter with every thrust inside him.
“You’re so fucking beautiful like this,” Mingi panted behind him, each sentence punctuated with another show roll of the hips. “You don’t even know.” His hand slid up Yunho’s spine, then gripped the back of his neck. “Fuck, I wish everyone could see you.”
Oh.
Okay, this was…
Yeah.
Hotter than he expected.
Yunho shuddered so hard his forehead bumped the glass. His breath fogged another spreading circle on the window, his pulse ricocheting beneath his skin. “Min…” he managed on a moan.
Behind him, Mingi let out a laugh, breathless but thrilled as he picked up the pace, punching another moan out of Yunho's chest. “God, listen to you,” he murmured, dragging his hands up Yunho’s ribs before gripping his hips again. “You sound so fucking good.”
He thrust again, deeper this time, and Yunho’s knees almost buckled. Mingi caught him immediately, hauling him back upright with a firm hand around his waist.
“Thought I told you,” Mingi said, voice hot silk against his neck, “hands stay on the window.”
Yunho whined before he could help himself and planted his palms back where they belonged. The glass was cold and smooth. Mingi was molten, the fabric of his clothing course against his back. The contrast shot right through him.
Mingi’s movements grew a little less restrained, the rhythm picking up in smooth, hungry pulses that made Yunho gasp and rock up onto his toes, stomach tightening with every drag and push.
“Min…fuck-”
“Yeah?” Mingi breathed, sounding indecently pleased. “Tell me.”
“I-” Yunho panted. He couldn’t form anything coherent, which only seemed to encourage the bastard. God, he’d be insufferable after today.
Mingi’s hips snapped forward faster, with more force, making Yunho gasp loud enough that his breath smeared the glass. “You’re doing so good for me,” Mingi praised, voice rough with awe and strain. “Letting me have you like this… fuck, baby, you’re killing me.”
Yunho’s fingers curled uselessly against the window. He usually had more control than this. “Min, I…god, I need-”
“What do you need?” Mingi goaded. “You want my hand?” One hand slid slowly down Yunho’s stomach, hovering dangerously low but not touching. What a goddamn tease. “Want me to stroke your cock while I fuck you like this?”
“Yes. Fuck…yes, Min, please-”
Mingi groaned, deep and raw. He pulled Yunho’s body away from the glass with an arm around his torso while the other hand snaked down and wrapped around Yunho’s cock, stroking him in time with each thrust. Yunho choked on a moan, hips jerking helplessly, hands coming up to grip Mingi’s restraining arm.
“Look at you,” Mingi said meeting Yunho's eyes in the reflection of the window, voice shaking with how turned on he was. “Wrecked on the glass for me. Anyone down there could look up right now and see how good I’m fucking you.”
His thrusts grew harder, less measured. Yunho cried out, his knees bracing as Mingi hauled him closer, chest plastered to his back.
“Min, I’m gonna-”
“Good,” Mingi whispered, stroking him faster, hips rolling with delicious precision, making Yunho see stars. “Come for me. I wanna feel you fall apart.”
Yunho gasped out a broken, desperate sound and let go, his release painting the fogged glass, his body tensing and shuddering as Mingi stroked him through it. He barely had time to catch his breath before Mingi thrust in deep, a groan ripping out of him as he pressed Yunho hard against the window and followed him over the edge.
For a moment, the only sound was the ragged breathing of two men trying very hard not to collapse.
Mingi was the first to move, shifting until his forehead pressed between Yunho’s shoulder blades. “Holy shit,” he whispered, dazed and reverent. “That was the hottest thing that’s ever happened to me.”
Yunho laughed weakly from where he was resting against the glass. “You fell off the couch like 30 minutes ago.”
“Yeah,” Mingi said, still breathless, “worth it.”
He kissed the back of Yunho’s neck, soft and grateful, then carefully eased out, tying off the condom quickly, and wrapping his arms around Yunho's waist, pulling him gently away from the window.
“You okay?” he murmured, voice gentled now. “Anything hurt?”
Yunho leaned back against him, eyelids heavy. “Just my dignity and my innate need for control.”
Mingi kissed his shoulder. “Well, that's gonna be my most revisited masturbation memory for the next like ten years, so I think your dignity’s fine.”
Yunho snorted. “I’m glad it was everything you dreamed of.”
“And more.”
They were quiet for a moment, just looking out over the city below; resting, breathing. "But you liked it, right?"
"Yes, Min. 10 out of 10 would come again."
"Cool." Yunho could feel that smile against his shoulder.
When they finally peeled themselves away from the window, Yunho's legs felt… questionable. He took one step, and his knees almost gave out from under him, a sharp stitch in his side shooting pain down his leg. “Ah, shit,” he muttered with a wince. “Okay. Maybe… maybe I pushed a little-”
He didn’t get to finish.
Because Mingi saw the wobble and his eyes went wide in delighted horror. Yunho didn’t like the look in those eyes. “Mingi, don’t you-”
Mingi swept him off his feet.
Actually lifted him. Full princess carry. One arm under his knees, the other behind his back, Yunho’s body hauled effortlessly against his chest.
Yunho made a noise that was decidedly not dignified. Mingi’s grin, on the other hand, was blinding. “I had to get you back for the fireman’s carry. Now we’re even.”
“That was a situational necessity,” Yunho protested, hands gripping Mingi’s shoulders purely out of self-preservation. “Put me down.”
“No.”
“Mingi-”
“Nope.”
Yunho glared. Mingi beamed.
With a huff, Yunho allowed his body to relax in Mingi's grip, his arms wrapping around the younger man's neck in a loose hold as he was hauled off towards the guest bathroom. “You will not be getting used to this,” he grumbled, trying not to cling harder. Mingi threw his head back and laughed.
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Last Edited Thu 30 Oct 2025 07:25PM UTC
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