Chapter Text
It’s a front-row fashion show appearance like any other, until it isn’t.
Mingyu’s a seasoned professional; he could do this in his sleep. Compared to the frantic energy of walking in a show, simply attending one is a breeze: wave at fans on the way in, pose in front of the press wall, smile and introduce himself for endless Instagram stories, find his place on the front row, pose alongside whoever he’s been seated with. It’s a whirlwind of attention, but Mingyu has been at the centre of a whirlwind of attention for his entire career. He’s always bloomed with all eyes on him.
Mingyu makes his way through the crowds, a shuffling sea of photographers moving fluidly with him as he goes. So far, so normal.
It’s only the sudden grumbling of photographers cursing at each other that draws Mingyu out of his autopilot of smile, find your angles, showcase the clothes, don’t trip over. He glances beyond the flashes in front of him to see that his own little orbit of photographers has collided with someone else’s, causing a traffic jam. Mingyu can see a flash of candy-pink hair in the middle of the opposing swarm of cameras, but not much else.
“Please, guys,” Mingyu calls out in careful Italian. His sweet accent always draws attention when he’s in Milan, and he takes advantage of that. Several of the photographers stop bickering with their colleagues and look over at him. “Back up a little, there’s enough space for everyone.”
There are a few annoyed mutters, and quite a lot of vicious jostling, but eventually the crowd rearranges itself until there’s some space to move. Mingyu gives them his most charming smile in thanks, finally able to step towards his seat. As he does, the photographers surrounding the other guest shuffle around and suddenly Pink Hair is ejected from amongst them, into the bubble of space Mingyu has won back.
Mingyu stares. Choi Seungcheol — S.Coups — Pink Hair — stares back.
The camera flashes intensify around them, their attendant audience suddenly able to work in harmony as they all realise this shot — Korea’s darling supermodel it-boy and Korea’s most popular and most controversial rapper, together — is the most valuable one they’ll capture all day.
“S.Coups! Mingyu! This way!”
“Closer together, guys, to camera!”
Mingyu finds himself grinning. S.Coups is grinning right back. He raises one eyebrow slightly, challenging. Mingyu has always admired that famously expressive face, and here it is, right in front of him.
They move as if they’d choreographed it earlier, closing the space between them and turning towards the cameras. S.Coups’ arm lands around Mingyu’s waist, utterly confident, and it feels natural to sling his own arm across S.Coups’ shoulders in turn. The photographers are borderline frenzied, their flashes and shouts relentless.
“Straight ahead, straight down the camera! Perfect!”
“Big smiles, boys, you know you look good!”
At that, Mingyu has to glance over at S.Coups, only to find him looking right back. They both laugh immediately, leaning towards each other. S.Coups’ hand squeezes at Mingyu’s waist, and he inclines his head back towards their seats.
They both sit, their sides still pressed together. Ever the professional model, Mingyu automatically fusses at his outfit, making sure the line of his shirt is falling correctly and centreing his necklaces. One side of S.Coups' heavy leather jacket is folded under awkwardly, and it’s simple instinct for Mingyu to reach out and fix it, pressing it smooth. S.Coups leans back on his hands and lets it happen, grinning, watching Mingyu through heavy lids.
The cameras capture every single moment, and Mingyu already knows these photos are going to be everywhere.
Appropriately perfected, they pose for another round of photos, seated this time. When he’s certain he’s hit each and every lens, Mingyu allows himself to lean down and speak into S.Coups’ ear.
“I love your music.”
S.Coups grins wide, pleased and not a little smug. It shouldn’t make Mingyu’s stomach twist the way it does, but, well. He knows his type. It’s S.Coups’ turn to lean in, and Mingyu obligingly tilts his ear towards him, subtly obscuring him from any potential lip-readers behind all those cameras.
“I love your face.”
It shocks another laugh out of Mingyu, and he leans back so he can meet S.Coups’ gaze again.
Mingyu knows he should probably be annoyed. The words should be sleazy — on paper, they are sleazy — but somehow S.Coups sounds so damn genuine, entirely earnest.
S.Coups looks thrilled by his response, and he gestures for Mingyu to lean back in.
“How come you’re not walking in this one?”
He immediately inclines his head after speaking so Mingyu can reply directly into his ear. His cologne is sharp and smoky. Despite their audience, despite the pre-show clamour around them, it feels intimate, private, pressed so close together. S.Coups’ hand is on his knee, and Mingyu has no idea when it landed there.
“Gucci booked me as a Milan exclusive,” Mingyu murmurs into S.Coups’ ear. His voice comes out a little breathless, and Mingyu is glad the dramatic lighting will mask his slight blush. “I’ll walk more in Paris.”
“Exclusive,” S.Coups repeats, low and considering. His eyes drag down Mingyu from head to toe, then back up. He clearly doesn’t give a fuck about the cameras capturing it. It’s only years of professional practice that stops Mingyu from squirming. “Yeah. That sounds right.”
Mingyu can’t find words to respond to that, so he settles for nudging S.Coups’ shoulder with his own and giving him a little pout. S.Coups stares openly at Mingyu’s mouth while a slow smile curls on his own.
“Now I’m excited for Paris, though. I’ll watch you walk. You should look at me just like that when you see me.”
A different kind of man might scoff at the sheer arrogance. Mingyu, however, only stares, lips parted, utilising all his willpower to avoid getting hard while sat front-row at a fashion show.
The lights suddenly dim and a thumping bassline starts up, the show about to start. It saves Mingyu from replying, which is good, because his brain suddenly feels like it’s made of cotton candy, as pink as S.Coups’ hair. He lets a long, dark look serve as his response, and S.Coups meets it hungrily.
Even with the lights down, the photographers are reluctant to leave the spectacle they’re witnessing. Eventually a steward shuffles them along, clearing the runway, but Mingyu knows more than one camera is going to remain glued to them for the entire show, even from the sidelines.
☆
Mingyu genuinely loves fashion, loves attending shows almost as much as he enjoys walking in them. Far from showing up just to be seen, he pays close attention, considering clothes and concepts and styling choices. He watches closely and absorbs as much as he can.
All of that is suddenly difficult with S.Coups sitting next to him. Mingyu has to fight to concentrate. He can tell they’re hyper-aware of each other, their sides still pressed close together. Mingyu is certainly hyper-aware of S.Coups’ hand, which remains on his knee, fingers occasionally drumming back and forth.
S.Coups breaks first, and leans in as a model passes in front of them, leather trousers clinging to him and lacing up over his tiny waist.
“You should wear those,” he whispers.
Mingyu prays his blush remains hidden by the low lighting. He exhales slowly, and it’s not entirely steady.
"And that jacket for you, I think,” he whispers back, nodding towards a model wearing a black bomber jacket covered in silver hardware, chains and clasps and vicious studs. S.Coups nods, humming in satisfaction.
The next model emerges, wearing a tight sleeveless shirt, the neckline slashed across the collarbones. Mingyu keeps his eyes on the show but can’t resist tilting his head back towards S.Coups.
“Or maybe just that.”
Mingyu has seen S.Coups’ arms, after all. He’s not shy about showing them off, and with good reason.
From the corner of his eye, he can see S.Coups’ teeth bared in a wide, wolfish grin. The hand on Mingyu’s knee squeezes firmly, just once.
They behave after that, keeping quiet, paying attention — or giving a fine camera-ready impression of paying attention, at least. The tension thrumming between them is electric and it’s consuming most of Mingyu’s higher brain function. He’ll have to look online later and see what he missed.
Maybe he’ll get around to it after he looks at every single photo and video he can find of himself and S.Coups.
☆
Shows are always chaos as soon as they’re finished, with guests hurrying off to their next show or schedule, so Mingyu isn’t surprised to lose S.Coups in the rush. By some twist of fate, though — or more likely by the machinations of their respective publicists, who have been watching clips and photos of their meeting take over social media — they find themselves leaving the venue at the same time.
S.Coups grins when he sees Mingyu, and gestures grandly towards the door with a bow and a sweep of his arm, letting him go first. It’s a ridiculous, showy move, and perhaps Mingyu should find it irritating. Instead, he’s unbearably charmed. He’s never felt so immediately attracted to, and beyond that, connected to someone he’s just met. It seems impossible that they’ve only exchanged a few sentences.
An enterprising reporter for W Korea catches up to them as they head across to their waiting cars. She’s half-running to keep up with them, phone held up to film the interaction.
“Mingyu-ssi, the internet is going crazy. No one knew you two were friends!”
Mingyu glances over at S.Coups, who is watching him with a lazy grin.
“We just met,” Mingyu replies. “But S.Coups-ssi is an icon, so of course I already knew who he was.”
S.Coups grabs at his heart dramatically, pouting up at Mingyu and then straight at the camera.
“Aish, he’s so polite, isn’t he?” He’s practically whining, playing it up. Mingyu laughs quietly, a little shy. S.Coups reaches over to tug at his hand and looks him right in the eyes. “You should call me Seungcheol-hyung.”
That’s all the reporter can capture before she’s left on the wrong side of a velvet rope, but it’s enough. It’s more than enough. She posts the video immediately, and the social media storm reaches a fever pitch.
☆
Mingyu sits in the back of the blacked-out Mercedes and finds himself breathless.
His manager and publicist are speaking rapidly, voices excited, but Mingyu can barely pay attention, his mind entirely caught up in the whirlwind of the past thirty minutes. Did that all really just happen?
His phone buzzes in his pocket. Mingyu swallows. He has — a feeling. An instinct.
He’s probably wrong. They’ve barely been in their respective cars for five minutes. There’s no way S.Coups, no way Seungcheol would already have…
Mingyu draws out his phone. He has too many notifications to consider, but two from Instagram sit at the very top.
> @scoups followed you
> @scoups sent you a message request
Mingyu exhales, slow and shaky. His account is set up so only people he follows can message him, and of course, he’s already been following Seungcheol for years. Seungcheol himself follows only eleven people — and now Mingyu.
Fuck.
He taps on the message request.
>> @scoups
> i wanna eat u alive
> let’s get married
> 010-3967-0121
Mingyu has maintained his professional facade all afternoon. It finally collapses, now he’s safe behind tinted windows. He blushes crimson, presses his face into his hands, and whispers oh my god.
He double taps both messages and saves the number as Seungcheol-hyung 🍒.