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us, again (the road to you will never end)

Summary:

“Can I help you?”
They whirl around, mouths hanging open, caught in the middle of an argument. At the bottom of the steps, a boy who is definitely not Seokmin stares up at them, clearly uncomfortable, a box half the size of his body in his arms.
Mingyu gapes. “Wonwoo?”
"Hey, Mingyu," Wonwoo says quietly.
(or: mingyu is in fifth grade when wonwoo moves away. he's in eleventh grade when wonwoo moves back.)

Notes:

A WARNING: this fic is going to be inordinately long. like, 200k+ long. like, i have no idea how it got this long, i started writing it almost half a year ago and here i am, a clown, a fool, a simp
also, don't ask me where this is set because i don't know either. just imagine a canadian high school but with the demographics of south korea. once again: i am a fool
anyway. updates will be once, maybe twice a week? then again, maybe uni will decide to simply Take Away My Rights, so we'll see how that goes.
thanks for reading in advance :)

title is from us, again by seventeen.

Chapter Text

“Hey, did you hear? Seokmin’s moving back.”

“Really,” Mingyu comments. He hasn’t thought about Seokmin in a while - five years, actually. Hearing the name only brings fond memories to the surface, carefree childhood moments soaked in a sunset glow. “How do you know?”

Next to him, Minghao rolls his eyes. “He texted me, dumbass,” he says. “He probably texted you too.”

Mingyu pats around in his pockets and then groans. “I left my phone with my mom.” He shrugs. “He probably doesn’t have my number anyways. It’s not like either of us had a phone in fifth grade.”

“Nah, I gave it to him. He got my number from his mom who got it from my mom. Turns out they’ve been keeping in touch this whole time.” Minghao sighs. “As usual.”

Mingyu elbows him. “You obviously take after your dad,” he teases. “If you were anything like your mom it wouldn’t have taken me, like, two years to befriend you.”

“It would’ve taken less time if you weren’t so annoying,” Minghao refutes, elbowing him back, which hurts, because Minghao is very bony and very strong. “Wanna say hi to Seokmin when he comes back?”

Mingyu shrugs, and sticks his popsicle back into his mouth.

--

Most of the memories Mingyu has of Seokmin are emotional imprints, not defined moments. He just remembers that he was always smiling, warm and generous, and seemed to be best friends with everyone.

His real best friend was Mingyu, though. Mingyu knows this because Seokmin told him on the first day of second grade, coming to sit next to him in the gymnasium. “Because I like you the most,” he said, when Mingyu asked why.

But why? Mingyu wanted to say. But he didn’t, because Seokmin seemed to genuinely like him, and that was good enough.

--

Mingyu checks his phone later that day. Sure enough, there’s an unread message.

from: unknown

hey mingyu!!!! remember me ~~~

im back~~~~~~ 

Mingyu laughs, those five years in between shrinking as he types a reply. Maybe Seokmin’s endless good nature is the one thing that stands the test of time.

--

The Jeon-Lee family moves back exactly a week before school starts. Mingyu bakes a pie, and Minghao’s mom shoves a large container of homemade dumplings into their arms before they set off.

In elementary school, Mingyu walked three blocks, then took a left and walked two more before arriving at Seokmin’s house. Muscle memory propels him in that direction before Minghao stops him and asks if he’s stupid. 

Their new house is four blocks away, facing the field with the bleachers that he and Minghao hung out on the entire summer. Mingyu remembers seeing the SOLD sign in front of that house in the distance, a bold red print.

There’s a moving van parked in the driveway, the back open to form a ramp. The front door is slightly ajar. Mingyu exchanges a glance with Minghao as they climb the stairs leading up to the porch, feeling a sudden onset of awkwardness.

“They seem busy,” Minghao hisses. “Should we just leave these here?”

“What? No!” Mingyu says. “We promised we would say hi!”

You promised you would say hi,” Minghao points out. “And then you just had to drag me into it-”

“Oh shut up, Seokmin was your friend too-”

“Can I help you?”

They whirl around, mouths hanging open, caught in the middle of an argument. At the bottom of the steps, a boy who is definitely not Seokmin stares up at them, clearly uncomfortable, a box half the size of his body in his arms.

Mingyu gapes. “Wonwoo?”

--

Mingyu was always kind of aware of Wonwoo’s presence, in the periphery of his mind, moving silently through his house whenever Mingyu was over. 

“Oh, Wonwoo? He’s my brother,” Seokmin explains the first time Mingyu comes over and a boy other than Seokmin answers the door, letting Mingyu in before running back to his room. “Well, actually we just have the same dad. He feels like a real brother to me, though. He’s really funny once you get past all the shyness.”

“I’m sure he is,” Mingyu says, a little intrigued.

From that point on, he always makes a point of looking for Wonwoo whenever he hangs out with Seokmin, always asking to go to the bathroom in case he runs into him on the way there. He rarely does, but at least Wonwoo opens the door for him sometimes, saying a brief hello before disappearing again. He doesn’t mention it to anyone, but he starts looking forward to just saying hi, starts wondering what they would talk about if Wonwoo ever stops to say anything more.

He finds out in third grade, on his first sleepover of the year at Seokmin’s house. They’re huddled in the living room exploring Seokmin’s shiny new video game console when Wonwoo comes downstairs and sits on the couch on Seokmin’s other side.

“Let me play after this,” he says.

“Aw, you aren’t scared of Mingyu anymore?” Seokmin teases. 

“You were scared of me?” Mingyu asks, frowning down at his controller. He doesn’t know why he’s so hurt, but he is.

Wonwoo elbows Seokmin. “Don’t listen to him,” he tells Mingyu. “I’m just not good around strangers.”

It’s the most Wonwoo’s ever said to him. “Well, I’m glad I’m not a stranger anymore,” he says happily. He searches for something else to say, but then his character dies. Seokmin calls him a loser. Wonwoo laughs at him, nose scrunched, and Mingyu isn’t even that upset.

From that point on, Wonwoo joins them whenever they play video games. He always leaves halfway through to finish his homework, but Mingyu finally finds out how funny he really is - and he is funny, sometimes in an unexpectedly witty way, but usually in a really lame and corny way. Mingyu always laughs a little harder at the jokes that come out of his mouth, mostly because he looks so proud whenever he tells them.

Two years pass like that, Seokmin sandwiched between them as they laugh on the couch. Wonwoo starts making conversation with him when he greets him at the door, and he’s happy.

But then Wonwoo starts middle school, and all of a sudden he’s too busy video calling his friends and playing online games to play Mario Kart with the two of them. “You guys are lame,” he says when Seokmin invites him the first weekend of the school year, barely pausing on his way up the stairs. 

Mingyu leaves a little early that day, and if Seokmin knows why, he’s gracious enough not to say anything. Wonwoo recedes back into the shadows of the house, never looking Mingyu in the eyes.

On the last day of fifth grade, Seokmin drags him to the park to celebrate graduating elementary school. He drags Minghao along, too, because the two of them spent the past two years trying to befriend the Chinese student who had the misfortune of transferring in during fourth grade and they’ve only succeeded now. They buy popsicles from an ice cream truck with their hard-earned pocket money and sit on the grass, enjoying the summer sun and talking about the future.

“I’m so glad we’re all going to the same middle school,” Seokmin says for what must be the tenth time. “Imagine if we spent all those years trying to get you to be friends with us and then never saw you again!”

“Yeah, well, you’ll see me again,” Minghao says drily. “Unfortunately.” Mingyu thinks he can see a small smile on Minghao’s face, though, so he’s not too hurt.

“Aw, come on, you like us! Otherwise you wouldn’t have come.” Seokmin jumps to his feet, brushing the grass off his knees. “Come on, let’s go play!”

“Ugh,” Minghao says, but he lets Mingyu drag him up and to the playground.

They play all the games three ten-year-old boys can play - tag, sandman, hide and seek. It’s during a particularly intense game of tag that Mingyu launches himself onto the slide in an attempt to escape, but his legs are getting longer every day and his brain hasn’t caught up yet, and he’s falling off the slide and making hard contact with the sand below before he can make any attempt to save himself.

He blinks up at the sun, stunned, before the pain in his hand registers. “Ow,” he says aloud, and tries to rub away the tears pooling in his eyes. When he looks down at his right palm, at the bright red gash there, the tears start flowing unabated.

“Mingyu, are you o- oh, man, that looks bad!” Seokmin says as he and Minghao rush over. Minghao leans forward to examine the wound, while Seokmin brushes the sand off his pants. Neither of them say anything about the crying, which Mingyu is grateful for. 

“You gotta go home,” Minghao says. “That looks pretty bad.”

Mingyu shakes his head. “My mom isn’t home yet."

“Then you should come over,” Seokmin insists. “My mom always said you have to rinse and bandage the wound before it gets infected, and you can’t do that by yourself.”

Mingyu nods, sniffling, and Minghao takes it as a cue to help him up, pulling him along by his uninjured hand. He walks the entire way to Seokmin’s house cradling his hand to his chest, his friends on either side of him like bodyguards.

Minghao parts ways with them once he’s near his house. He promises that he’ll come hang out more during the summer, and gives Mingyu one last pat on the shoulder before heading down his street. Seokmin makes up for Minghao’s missing presence by talking loudly the rest of the way to his house.

Seokmin sits him down on the couch before rummaging around in his kitchen cupboards. “Wonwoo!” he calls, his voice ringing through the house. "Can you come help?"

Mingyu tenses at the name - Wonwoo already thinks he’s lame, what will he think when he sees him crying? “It’s okay,” he says quietly, “I can just-”

“What’s going on?” Wonwoo’s already at the bottom of the stairs, looking annoyed. Mingu shrinks even further into himself. “I was doing homework.”

“Mingyu’s hurt,” Seokmin explains, head still stuck in a cupboard. “Do you remember where mom keeps the first aid-”

“You’re hurt?” Wonwoo cuts off the rest of Seokmin’s sentence, his eyes fixed on Mingyu. Mingyu’s well aware of how pathetic he looks, eyes red, nose still runny, cradling his bloody hand. To his surprise, all the annoyance fades from Wonwoo’s eyes as he looks at him, replaced by something Mingyu’s never seen before. “Lemme see.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Mingyu mumbles as Wonwoo kneels in front of him. He flinches as Wonwoo reaches for him, curling further into the couch. “You don’t have to help me.”

Wonwoo scoffs. “It’s not like you can help yourself,” he says. Mingyu feels his face heating up in shame. But Wonwoo’s fingers are gentle when they grasp his wrist, and he winces sympathetically when he sees the blood.

“Seokmin, call Mingyu’s mom,” he calls into the kitchen. “I think he needs stitches.” He looks into Mingyu’s eyes, and even though he scoffed at him and spent a year ignoring him he looks worried. It makes Mingyu’s heart ache, makes him want to ask why? “Go to the bathroom and run it under warm water.”

Mingyu nods. Wonwoo steps away to give him space, and he gingerly climbs to his feet, angling his hand so the blood doesn’t drip onto the floor. 

The water stings, deep in his skin, and Mingyu bites his lip and squeezes his eyes shut against the pain. When he makes his way back into the living room, Wonwoo is sitting on the couch, rummaging through the first aid kit. Seokmin is on the phone in the kitchen, stumbling over his words as he explains what happened to the person on the other end - Mingyu’s mom, presumably. 

Wonwoo looks up at him as he approaches and pats the empty space on the couch next to him. “I don’t really know how to do this,” he confesses, holding up a roll of gauze, “but I remember seeing my mom do this for Seokmin once, so.” He gestures for Mingyu to give him his hand.

Mingyu obliges, and almost chokes when Wonwoo pulls his hand into his lap, still gentle. It’s so different from the cold, indifferent Wonwoo he’d known for the past year, and Mingyu feels nothing but shame, for inconveniencing someone who clearly has no time for him. “Sorry,” he says aloud. 

Wonwoo glances up from where he’s clumsily wrapping the bandage around his hand, and frowns. “What are you saying sorry for? You didn’t get hurt on purpose.” He must make a mistake, because he sighs under his breath and starts again. It only makes Mingyu feel worse.

“Sorry for making you do this,” he says. “I know I’m annoying.”

Wonwoo’s head snaps up, mouth open as if to retort, before he visibly deflates. “You’re not annoying,” he says.

“Don’t say that just to make me feel better,” Mingyu accuses. “You never play video games with us anymore.”

Wonwoo sighs again and scrubs at his eyes. “I know. I’m sorry,” he says openly, taking Mingyu by surprise. For the first time, Mingyu understands that maybe Wonwoo made some choices he didn’t want to make. “My friends told me it’s lame to hang out with elementary school kids, so I didn’t.”

“Well, I’m not an elementary school kid now,” Mingyu says proudly, puffing his chest out. “So you can hang out with me again!”

Wonwoo laughs. “Yeah, I guess I can,” he admits. He stands up, giving Mingyu’s hand a final pat. “You’re all good now,” he says. “Well, as good as you can be.”

Mingyu blinks down at his hand, now wrapped in a crudge bandage. He’d completely forgotten that he was injured. “Thanks!” he says cheerfully, his spirits considerably lifted. “I feel much better already.”

Wonwoo smiles at him, and looks like he’s about to say something else when they’re interrupted by Seokmin in the kitchen. “Your mom’s gonna come pick you up from our house and take you to the hospital in case you need stitches,” he says, making his way to the living room. “Wanna play something until they get there?”

“Sure!” Mingyu says. He looks over at Wonwoo, who’s packing up the first aid kit. “Wanna join us?”

Seokmin starts, “nah, he’s probably busy-”

“No, I’ll join,” Wonwoo says, and Mingyu very nearly jumps with joy. “Just let me put this away first.”

“Oh.” Seokmin says, surprised, before shrugging and turning around to search for the TV remote. Mingyu grins at Wonwoo, who smiles back, and barely feels the sting in his hand for the rest of the day.

Mingyu leaves Seokmin’s house that day looking forward, more than ever, to the rest of the summer. Seokmin moves away a few weeks later. Mingyu doesn’t see Wonwoo again.

--

Mingyu gapes. “Wonwoo?”

“Hey, Mingyu,” Wonwoo says quietly. Mingyu swallows, because apparently puberty dropped Wonwoo’s voice to the bottom of the ocean while he was gone. He’s taller, too, and his arms are steady under the weight of the box. Mingyu swallows again, harder.

Wonwoo holds his gaze for one more drawn-out moment before he shifts his eyes to the right, and clears his throat. “Hi, Minghao.”

Mingyu had completely forgotten that there was someone else there. From the smirk on Minghao’s face, he’s fully aware of what just happened. “Hey,” he greets, lifting the container in his hands. “We brought offerings.”

Wonwoo blinks. “Oh, thanks.” He tilts his chin in the direction of the door. “You guys can just go in. Seokmin should be in there somewhere.”

The words don’t register in Mingyu’s brain. It’s only when Minghao nudges him that he turns around with a start, almost tripping over his feet as he pushes the door open and steps into the house.

“Get it together,” Minghao hisses to him as they toe their shoes off in the entryway, Wonwoo coming up behind them. “If you drop that pie I’ll kill you.”

I baked the pie,” Mingyu says, indignant. Minghao just rolls his eyes and walks away.

There’s cardboard boxes scattered all over the floor, and what looks like the headboard of a bed in the middle of the living room. All the blinds and windows have been opened, filling the house with sunlight and fresh air. It’s eerily silent for a brief moment before someone lets out an inhuman shriek from somewhere on the second floor.

“Mingyu! Minghao!” And Seokmin comes thundering down the stairs, barely giving Mingyu any time to put his pie down before he’s being swept up in a hurricane of affection. Minghao gets dragged in shortly after, and then they’re all standing in Seokmin’s new house in their old neighborhood, hugging and laughing and crying a little.

Crying a lot , Mingyu corrects when Seokmin pulls away, tears freely flowing from his eyes. “I missed you guys so much,” he sniffs, wiping at his face, looking back and forth between them like he’s trying to visually account for five years of change. “Ugh, Mingyu, you’re so tall , what the heck?”

“I know, right?” Minghao agrees, elbowing Mingyu in the side. “Like a beanstalk.”

“Hey, mean!” Mingyu pouts, cradling his ribs. “I baked a pie for you!”

“You baked a pie for Seokmin, I owe you nothing,” Minghao dismisses. Mingyu pouts harder.

“Aw, I missed you guys,” Seokmin says again, and - oh, no, he’s crying even harder. That part of him hasn’t changed either, Mingyu supposes. “And Minghao! What happened to your cheeks?

“No, don’t you dare-” Minghao starts, but he’s cut off when Seokmin starts pinching his face, exclaiming loudly about how “they aren’t as squishy anymore, Minghao, how dare you”. Mingyu steps away so he won’t get caught in the crossfire when Minghao commits murder, and hits someone standing behind him.

“Ah, sorry-” he steps on a foot as he stumbles, and winces. “Sorry , I’m-”

Wonwoo reaches out to steady him, putting a hand on his bicep. “That hasn’t changed, huh?” he says, laughing, and Mingyu is so glad he isn’t holding anything at the moment because he definitely would’ve dropped it. 

The nose scrunch , his brain screams at him. I know , he screams back.

“Hey, what is that supposed to mean?” he asks, indignant, crossing his arms over his chest. Wonwoo’s eyes flicker down as he does it, and Mingyu allows himself a small triumphant smile - he’s finally reaping the benefits of his summer workout regime. All those protein shakes were worth it .

Wonwoo just laughs again and pokes at his shoulder. “It means you’re still a danger to humanity,” he teases. “Remember that time you broke two of our mugs in one night?”

Mingyu groans at the reminder, burying his face in his hands. “Ugh, why’d you have to bring that up? My day was going so well.”

“You’re probably even more of a threat now that you’re taller,” Wonwoo muses. “They should keep you in confinement or something. Like an SCP.”

“Huh?” Mingyu peers at Wonwoo through the gap between his fingers, but the latter is just smiling to himself at his own joke like the nerd he is. “What’s that?”

Wonwoo opens his mouth, but they’re interrupted by Minghao physically barging in between them, holding a knife. (A butter knife, but still. Scary. Minghao could probably kill someone with a pencil, John Wick-style.) “Sorry to disrupt,” he says, “but do you guys want some of Mingyu’s pie?”

Wonwoo shrugs. His demeanor shifts a little with Minghao, just a little more shuttered, which makes Mingyu weirdly happy. “Sure.”

They eat the pie from paper plates Seokmin found, standing around the cardboard box serving as their makeshift dinner table. Seokmin and Wonwoo’s parents come in a few moments later, carrying the last of their belongings, and join them. Mrs. Jeon-Lee coos at Mingyu and Minghao, a mirror image of her son, while her husband stands in the background looking apologetic. The taste of Mingyu’s pie makes Seokmin tear up all over again. Mingyu feels weirdly at home, in this empty house full of childhood memories.

They leave an hour later, the sky turning warm with the sunset. Minghao lures him into a false sense of security by staying silent as they walk away from the house, but a block later he turns to him, eyes sparkling, and says, “so that’s why you were so excited about coming here.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Mingyu says firmly, even as he thinks about the rim of Wonwoo’s glasses glinting in the sunlight. Minghao just cackles.

Chapter Text

“For the last time,” Minghao says, massaging the bridge of his nose, “you look fine .”

Just fine? Really?” Mingyu whines, untucking and re-tucking the front of his shirt for the seventh time. He squints at his reflection in the mirror and untucks it again.

“I need to find new friends,” Minghao mumbles.

Okay, so Mingyu will admit that he is a little nervous for the first day of school. He spent half an hour last night frantically video calling Minghao just to pick a first-day outfit, and then another ten minutes earlier in the morning fixing his hair. He knows it doesn’t make a difference - these people have known him for two years already, and it’s not like he looks that different from sophomore year, barring a minor increase in height - but still. He’s nervous. Junior year is a big deal.

Minghao checks his phone and clamps his hand over Mingyu’s wrist. “We need to go now or we’ll be late,” he says. 

Mingyu opens his mouth to retort, but stops when murder flashes in Minghao’s eyes. “Okay, okay,” he mumbles, and gives himself one last glance in the mirror before Minghao is hauling him out the door.

It’s a five-minute walk to the bus stop, and then a twenty-minute bus ride to school. Mingyu is jittery with nerves the entire trip, drumming his fingers against his thigh restlessly until Minghao grabs his hands and tells him to stop.

When they enter the courtyard, it’s already bustling with students. The wide-eyed freshmen cling to the walls, and everyone else gathers in clusters, locating their friends. The two of them loiter at the entrance for a few moments before someone shouts “yo, Mingyu! Minghao!”

It’s Soonyoung, with a very reluctant-looking Jihoon trailing behind him. “We’re in the same math class again!” Soonyoung greets, beaming. He re-dyed his hair over the summer, going for a platinum blonde instead of his old blue-grey. “You have to save a seat for me, we’re like, math buddies now.”

Mingyu laughs. “Of course,” he agrees. "Your hair looks great, by the way.”

Soonyoung’s smile grows impossibly brighter. “Thanks!” he touches his bangs gingerly. “I thought it was gonna look bad, but Jihoon convinced me to do it, so.” Someone shouts his name from across the courtyard, and he looks at Mingyu apologetically, already reaching for Jihoon’s hand. “I have to go, but I’ll see you in math! Bye Minghao!”

With that, they’re off, Jihoon’s “don’t touch me” echoing in their wake. “What a welcome,” Minghao says, already looking tired. Mingyu just giggles.

They walk around the courtyard for a few more minutes. Minghao disappears to talk to a member of the mysterious culture club he’s an executive of; Mingyu makes up for his absence by making the rounds with his acquaintances, waving and hugging and high-fiving. 

He starts looking for Minghao once everyone is sufficiently greeted, finding him talking to some mutual friends, a group of sophomores who were on the soccer team with Mingyu last year. Chan looks as cute as ever, Seungkwan’s hair is now a warm rusty brown, and Vernon doesn’t even seem awake. 

Seungkwan points an accusing finger at him the second he sees him approaching. “No, shut up ,” he says. “You got taller ?”

“By a few centimeters, yeah,” Mingyu admits, grinning when he’s met by a collective groan. “Hey, I can’t help it!”

“I’m going to steal your bones eventually,” Chan threatens, which is legitimately terrifying. Mingyu takes a few steps back.

“Bones?” Vernon mumbles blearily. There’s a giant cowlick at the back of his head, which Seungkwan is trying valiantly to smooth down. Minghao gives him a comforting pat on the shoulder.

They chat until the warning bell rings, forcing them to disperse. Mingyu and Minghao depart for their shared locker, the same one they’ve had since freshman year. At this point, it’s become muscle memory, tracing the steps from the entrance to the secluded hallway. Mingyu waves at a few more people on the way there, smiling so wide it hurts.

Minghao glances at him out of the corner of his eye. “Feeling better now?” he asks.

Mingyu just grins. Minghao rolls his eyes and turns away.

--

 “Mingyu!” It’s Soonyoung again, dropping himself into the adjacent seat with way too much enthusiasm for early-morning Calculus. He props an elbow on his desk and leans in conspiratorially, eyes crinkled in a gleeful smile. “Thanks for saving a seat for me! I’m so glad you’re in my class again, I totally would’ve died last year without you.”

Mingyu laughs. Being around Soonyoung is like looking directly at the sun, warm but a little blinding. “It’s okay, my face would’ve revived you,” he assures.

“Ugh, and yet you’re the worst,” Soonyoung says, smacking him in the arm with unprecedented force. Mingyu rubs his arm as Soonyoung leans closer and whispers, pointing towards the back of the room, “by the way, get a load of that guy. Subtly!” he hisses when Mingyu twists himself around to look. 

Mingyu tries again, angling his body inconspicuously. Sure enough, in the middle of the otherwise empty back row, an unfamiliar guy is scrolling through his phone, clearly already bored out of his mind. He has a face that would look right at home on the male lead of a historical drama. "Whoa," Mingyu says. “He’s new, right?”

“Duh,” Soonyoung says. “I saw him walk in today with two other crazy attractive guys. Seriously, where did these people come from?”

The words 'two other crazy attractive guys' click into place in Mingyu's brain. “I, uh, might know those two other guys,” he says.

Soonyoung gapes at him. He’s clearly about to ask more, but then the teacher walks in, and he has to settle for grumbling to himself about how the world is unfair or something. Mingyu turns to face forward, grinning.

--

Seokmin and Minghao are both in his Literature class, taking up two-thirds of a three-person desk arrangement. Both their bags are on the empty desk. Mingyu almost tears up as he walks over to them.

“Hey, who said you could sit here?” Minghao glares up at him as he moves to sit down, putting a hand over his bag protectively. “This is our designated bag area.”

“Yeah, find somewhere else,” Seokmin agrees, but he’s significantly worse at keeping a straight face, and is already grinning. “You’re not cool enough for us.”

“Stop it, you guys are my only friends,” Mingyu whines, forcing his way onto the seat as Minghao groans in disappointment. “I don’t wanna be alone.”

Minghao shrugs, passive. “It’s what you deserve,” he says mercilessly.

Seokmin leans closer to him. He would get along great with Soonyoung, Mingyu notes. “Hey, is it true you own 2.3 billion dollars in assets?”

Minghao cackles. Mingyu buries his face in his hands. “Jeonghan is the worst ,” he declares. He peeks at Seokmin through the gaps between his fingers. “It’s not true. A senior last year started the rumor because he’s the worst.”

“He really is,” Minghao agrees. “How’s your morning been so far, Seokmin?”

“Pretty great,” Seokmin says. “The people here are so friendly! Some of them stare, though.” He rubs at his chin. “Do I look weird or something?”

Mingyu straightens, affronted. It’s the first time he’s ever seen Seokmin show an ounce of insecurity - the Seokmin he remembers seemed to be infallibly positive, without a care in the world. Although, he supposes, five years is a lot of time for a person to change. Maybe he doesn’t really know anything about Seokmin, anymore.

Still. Ridiculous. “You’re super good-looking,” he insists, because it’s the truth. It’s an added bonus, though, when Seokmin beams at him. “You’re just new, that’s all.”

“I hope so,” Seokmin says, but he looks considerably happier. Minghao hums in agreement and pulls his bag off Mingyu’s desk.

--

Mingyu offers to show Seokmin around the area during their lunch break, and like everything else they’ve done so far, Minghao gets dragged along against his will. They walk through the wide, grassy field behind their school, pointing out the soccer nets and the bleachers, and then board the bus to a small food court about a five-minute ride away. Overall, it’s not a lot of options, but it’s reliable, for when Mingyu forgets to pack a lunch or just wants to get out of the school for a short while. 

To Seokmin, though, apparently it’s a dream come true. “The school I went to before was in a super rural place, so there was nothing to do except look for a stray cow or something,” he explains as they get off the bus. “Now we can actually do stuff!”

“I think looking for stray cows is pretty cool,” Mingyu points out. “I’ve never actually seen a cow in person.”

“They smell pretty bad,” is all Seokmin says, wrinkling his nose.

Mingyu laughs. “How was that rural place, by the way? You haven’t told us yet.”

Seokmin shrugs. “It isn’t that interesting,” he says. “We just lived in this small village. The heating didn’t even work half the time. The people there were nice, but,” he shrugs, “they just think differently from the people here, you know?”

His smile falters, the sight looking out of place on his face. Mingyu nudges him and teases, “so obviously we’re better, right?”

Seokmin lights up again. A comforting constant - at least it’s still easy to cheer him up, because he gravitates so naturally towards happiness. “Of course,” he says happily, and sounds like he means it.

--

They end up getting coffee from the local chain store. Mingyu is waiting for their drinks when a familiar voice says, "hey."

He turns, smiling when he sees Wonwoo standing in front of him, his hands clasped behind his back. He’s wearing a large hoodie and track pants, his bangs brushing the rims of his glasses, looking absurdly small for someone of his height. 

“Aw, you look like an old man,” Mingyu teases, resisting the urge to pinch Wonwoo’s cheeks. He settles for fixing his hair instead, brushing down an errant strand, and cheers internally when Wonwoo doesn’t lean away. “How’s your first day been so far?”

Wonwoo huffs, which just makes him look even cuter. “It was fine until you called me an old man,” he mutters.

“Not like an actual old man,” Mingyu remedies. “Like a super cute, young old man or something.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.” But Wonwoo’s smiling, and he’s not reacting weirdly to being called cute, so Mingyu counts that as a win.

“Hey, why’d you leave me?” They’re interrupted by the guy Soonyoung pointed out in Calc, who comes up behind Wonwoo and drapes an arm around his shoulders. Wonwoo doesn’t shrug him off. Mingyu suddenly feels very stupid for being so happy about the hair-touching thing. “Oh, it’s you!” the guy says, looking shocked by Mingyu’s presence. “You’re from my math class!”

“I am,” Mingyu confirms, a little happy to be recognized. “You’re new, right?”

“Yeah! I’m Junhui,” and Junhui extends the arm that isn’t around Wonwoo to shake Mingyu’s hand. Mingyu reaches out, inexplicably annoyed at the constant point of contact between the two of them. 

Instead of shaking his hand, though, Junhui just fistbumps his open palm. Mingyu laughs, startled, a little ashamed of feeling annoyed towards someone so friendly and endearingly weird. “I’m Mingyu,” he says.

Junhui nods. “Cool,” he says very solemnly, before turning to Wonwoo, who's watching their interaction with a small smile on his face. “Hey, can you pay for my drink? I left my wallet at home.”

“When is your wallet not at home,” Wonwoo bites, already taking his wallet out. The sleeves of his sweater are pulled over his hands, so that only the tips of his fingers are visible. 

It’s adorable, but Mingyu feels like he’s intruding on something as he watches them, so he makes a point to turn away and rejoin his friends, who’ve already collected their order. Minghao hands him his drink, looking past his shoulder at Junhui and Wonwoo. “So you met Junhui?” he asks. His accent shifts a little when he pronounces Junhui’s name, falling back into its comfort zone. 

“Yeah,” Mingyu says. “And hey, another Chinese person!”

Minghao rolls his eyes. “We’re not going to be best friends just because we come from the same country,” he says. “He seems cool, though," which is basically a glowing recommendation in Minghao’s books, so Mingyu discounts that first statement.

“He is,” Seokmin pipes up. They wave goodbye to the others and start making their way back to school, coffees in hand. “He and his family moved from the village with us. He’s Wonwoo’s best friend.”

“I noticed,” Mingyu mumbles. Minghao glances at him, obviously noticing the tension in his voice, but mercifully doesn’t say anything.

Mingyu stays quiet for the rest of the walk home, only laughing whenever Seokmin makes a joke or says something dumb. He doesn’t want to admit it, but he was jealous of Junhui in the coffee shop - and for what? Stealing Wonwoo? It’s not like Mingyu owns him, and besides, being best friends for five years trumps being his brother’s childhood friend any day. It’s just that a part of Mingyu, a dumb, selfish part, thought he could keep just a little bit of Wonwoo to himself - the fond smile, the quiet gestures of affection, the lame jokes - despite how little actually ties the two of them together.

He turns these thoughts over and over in his head all the way to third period Physics. Minghao, seated next to him, glances over at him, sighs, and says, “it’s not like his attention is limited edition. Just because he likes someone else at the same time doesn’t mean he likes you any less.”

It’s scary, sometimes, how he knows exactly what Mingyu needs to hear. But it’s mostly really touching, so Mingyu just grins and leans over to hug him silently. Minghao says “ugh, gross,” but doesn’t push him away.

--

Seokmin and Wonwoo join them on the way home. Minghao looks at Mingyu very purposefully before jogging forward and pulling Seokmin along with him, leaving Mingyu alone with Wonwoo. Mingyu isn’t sure whether to feel grateful or offended.

They don’t talk the first few minutes into the walk. Wonwoo hums under his breath the whole time, which Mingyu allows himself to enjoy before curiosity overcomes him and he blurts out, “where’s Junhui?”

Wonwoo glances at him. “Why would Junhui be here?”

Mingyu shrugs, feeling nervous in the light of Wonwoo’s full attention. “I heard you came here with him, so I thought…” he says awkwardly, trailing off. Now that he thinks about it, he doesn’t really have a good reason for asking.

Wonwoo, thankfully, brushes the awkwardness aside. “We were running late, so he offered to give us a ride. He doesn’t live near us. Who told you we came together?”

“That’s what she said, first of all,” Mingyu says, which earns him an elbow to the ribs. He takes it easily, because no one’s elbows rival Minghao’s. “And a friend from Calc did.”

Wonwoo hums. “You have a lot of friends,” he points out. Mingyu thinks he can hear something under Wonwoo’s passive surface, like cobwebs behind a carefully placed piece of furniture. Nothing like jealousy, but more like - bitterness?

“It’s mostly just Minghao,” he says, because it’s the truth. “And Seokmin now, obviously. The rest is just because I’m a hot piece of ass, so people naturally gravitate towards me.”

Wonwoo squints up at him, relaxing when he sees the wide grin on his face. “I don’t know how they could possibly like you, with that ego,” he shoots back.

“Hey, you like me!” Mingyu protests. When Wonwoo doesn’t reply immediately, he glances at him out of the corner of his eye, only to be met with a cold stare. His heart drops, suddenly heavy. “Uh, unless you don’t. Sorry. I didn’t mean to assume.”

Wonwoo’s cold stare breaks, turning into a reassuring smile. “If that’s what you want to believe,” he says, which, what is that even supposed to mean?

Mingyu decides to just focus on Wonwoo’s smile instead. “Nah, you definitely like me,” he declares. “Otherwise you would be all-” he does his best impression of Wonwoo’s resting face, which boils down to narrowing his eyes and curving the corners of his mouth down. “-still. You know?”

“First of all, that was a terrible impression,” which, okay, fair, “and second of all, it’s not nice to make fun of the way people look.”

“I don’t think anyone could make fun of the way you look,” Mingyu points out, gesturing at Wonwoo, all six feet of broad shoulders and high cheekbones. 

It doesn’t garner the reaction he expected. Wonwoo’s smile falters, and he looks down, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Yeah,” he says, and then falls silent. Mingyu's heart drops all over again.

Wonwoo doesn’t say anything for the rest of the walk. It’s awful, because Mingyu usually can recognize when he’s made a social misstep a few seconds after it happens, but in this case he genuinely doesn’t know what he did wrong. He replays his own words over and over in his head, trying and failing to find any possible way they could’ve been misconstrued.

But then, he realizes as he unlocks the door to his house, maybe that’s the whole problem. He’s been approaching this as if this is the same Wonwoo from five years ago, who beat him at Mario Kart, who tended to him when he was hurt. But that Wonwoo is different from this Wonwoo, no matter how similar their smiles are or how easily they both can make Mingyu laugh.

And maybe, just like with Seokmin, the whole problem is that he doesn’t actually know anything about this Wonwoo at all.

--

The first week of school speeds by. There’s added pressure now that the classes he’s in are university prep classes, but his path has been made clear to him the second he graduated middle school, so he’s not too worried. People still ask him for math help, still give him high-fives and hugs when they see him in the hallways. On the rare days he forgets to pack himself a lunch, he scores an extra brownie from the lunch ladies in the cafeteria, who all coo at him when he smiles and compliment him about his height.

Seokmin and Wonwoo join their bus rides to and from school, and he actually, legitimately befriends Junhui without any green-eyed monsters in the way. He spends the majority of his time with Minghao and Seokmin, who has found his place within their dynamic with such fluid ease that Mingyu forgets about the five years in between. Even Wonwoo makes a space for himself within Mingyu’s life, as if his strange behavior on the first day of school never happened, smiling at him when they pass each other in the hallways.

Mingyu is good. Mingyu is happy.

And then soccer season starts.

Chapter 3

Notes:

DISCLAIMER: i know nothing about soccer. i cannot play sports to save my life. if you play soccer pls read at ur own discretion

Chapter Text

There’s nothing inherently bad about soccer - Mingyu likes it, it keeps him in shape, and it’s the one extracurricular activity his mom actually approves of. It’s just two hours after school a day, two days a week. There’s tryouts, but he was captain of the junior varsity team last year, so he’s never doubted his chances of making it in.

Sure enough, he does make it in. Soonyoung’s on the team, too, so he has good company during break times. The only time he’s lonely is on the bus ride home, but he can appreciate the aesthetic of it, leaning against the window with his hair damp from the showers and his headphones in. The ache in his legs after a good practice feels good, laughing with Soonyoung feels good, the coach praising him for a particularly good pass feels good.

Two weeks later, when the weather has shifted to a biting, damp cold that makes Mingyu huddle in on himself in his thin uniform, he notices someone on the bleachers.

There’s always a few people on the bleachers during their practices - friends of teammates, the occasional parent. Mingyu is always just a little bit aware of the audience as he plays, but he’s never paid attention to the specific people populating the metal benches. He notices this person, though, because there’s only one six-foot-tall person in the school with the ability to compact himself into such a tiny space.

He makes a beeline for the bleachers as soon as they’re dismissed. “Hey,” he greets. “I didn’t know you had friends on the team.”

Wonwoo looks up at the sound of his voice, taking his headphones out of his ears. He’s in his quintessential hoodie-and-sweatpants combination, his hair mussed by the wind, a textbook open on the semi-flat surface of his knees. He’s clutching a heat pack between sweater-pawed hands. Mingyu almost dies. 

Wonwoo says, very slowly, “I don’t.”

Mingyu blinks at him. Wonwoo blinks back, very clearly overestimating his capacity for reading between the lines.

Then it dawns on Mingyu, and he is actually going to die.

“You’re here for me?” he blurts out, pointing a finger at his own chest as if to remind the both of them that yes, this is he. This is Kim Mingyu. 

Wonwoo laughs at him. He’s not even that offended, considering the way Wonwoo looks right now and also the fact that his heart is going to squeeze its way out of his ribcage. “Aren’t you supposed to be smart or something?”

“Hey, rude!” The squeezing lessens considerably. “Being good at math doesn’t help me understand anything you say.”

“You would understand better if you read once in a while,” Wonwoo says, which is very fair. Literature has consistently been Mingyu’s worst class throughout his entire academic career. “Like that time you didn’t get my joke about the green light-”

“It was a Great Gatsby reference , you nerd,” Mingyu says.

“It’s relevant social commentary,” Wonwoo argues, which just proves Mingyu’s point. He puts his things in his bag and unfurls himself with more grace than he should have, given that he just spent God knows how long essentially folded in on himself. “Are you ready to go?”

Mingyu blinks, and remembers that he is sweaty and gross and covered in mud. “I gotta go shower first,” he says apologetically. “I’ll meet you in the courtyard?”

Wonwoo hums, hopping off the bleachers and landing gracefully on his feet. Mingyu quickly retracts the hand he extended instinctively to help him. “Hurry,” is all he says. “It’s cold out here.”

“I’ll be done before you know it,” Mingyu promises.

He makes good on his promise, because he already feels bad that Wonwoo had to wait for him in the cold, and there’s a voice in back of his head telling him that if he takes a second too long Wonwoo won’t be there anymore. He rushes through his post-practice routine, only pausing to say goodbye to Soonyoung, who eyes him suspiciously for being in such a hurry but doesn't say anything about it.

He bursts out of the front doors and into the courtyard, breathing a sigh of relief when he sees a familiar figure leaning against the front gate, silhouetted by the just-setting sun. Wonwoo looks up when he hears him approaching. “You really did hurry,” he says, a little surprised.

Mingyu puffs his chest proudly. “I’m a man of my word,” he declares. Wonwoo just laughs and gestures for them to start walking.

As they walk, Mingyu shows Wonwoo a song that he ends up liking, bobbing his head subtly to the beat (!!!). He doesn’t complain when the rest of Mingyu’s playlist auto-plays, so they spend the rest of the trip sharing a set of headphones between them. Mingyu makes a point of stepping on particularly crunchy-looking leaves. Wonwoo starts pointing out crunchy ones for him to step on, which is  unbearably sweet. 

It’s only when they’re waiting for the bus that Mingyu remembers that weird interaction they before, Wonwoo's inexplicable reaction. “Sorry,” he says, before he forgets again. “For what I said a few weeks ago. About the way you look.”

Wonwoo blinks at him, confused, before recognition dawns in his eyes. “Oh, that. Don’t apologize. It wasn’t your fault.”

It’s Mingyu’s turn to feel confused. “But I made you sad.”

Wonwoo laughs. “I wasn’t sad , you melodramatic ass,” he clarifies, poking Mingyu in the side. “And either way, it wasn’t because of you. Seriously, Mingyu. You have nothing to apologize for.”

Mingyu huffs, placated. “Okay,” he says, at a loss for words in the face of Wonwoo’s easy dismissal. Fortunately, the bus arrives at that precise moment, providing a physical opportunity for them to switch topics; Mingyu takes it, babbling some convoluted, long-winded spiel about how Chan absolutely destroyed Seungkwan with a one-liner during lunch. His effort is worth it in the end, because he gets to see that coveted nose-scrunch as Wonwoo laughs.

--

The shit-eating grin that breaks across Seokmin’s face when he sees Mingyu the next morning is honestly terrifying. Mingyu is starting to develop irrational fears about which of his darkest secrets have been exposed (most of them revolve around him singing IU loudly in the shower) when Seokmin drags him behind the group, leaving Minghao and Wonwoo to walk ahead.

“So Wonwoo came home an hour after he told us he would yesterday,” he says. “And I have a feeling you know why.”

Mingyu pales. He was so caught up in the glow of Wonwoo's company that the logistics of it, of why and how Wonwoo stayed after school for two full hours, completely slipped his mind. “Uh,” is all he manages to show for it.

“Okay, well, I know why,” Seokmin relents. “You’re a lucky man, Kim Mingyu.”

Mingyu almost says, I know , which is ridiculously cheesy and definitely not befitting a normal relationship with his childhood best friend’s brother. Instead, he says, “why?”

Seokmin shrugs. “Wonwoo hates getting cold. He must really like you if he sat outside for an hour in yesterday’s weather. He wouldn’t even do that for me,” he whines, and in the blink of an eye the extremely perceptive, mischievous Seokmin is gone, replaced by regular childish, outlandish Seokmin. “Ugh, Mingyu, stop stealing my brother.” 

Mingyu laughs brightly, his heart full to bursting. He doesn’t take his eyes off Wonwoo the entire way there.

--

Mingyu learns that Wonwoo has chess club and literature club on the same days he has practice. Wonwoo complains every time about having to wait the full hour between the end of his club meeting and Mingyu’s practice, but he’s always there without fail, occupying the same spot at the edge of the bleachers. 

Their playlists start blending together from how often they recommend songs to each other. Mingyu starts carrying around heat packs in his gym bag in case Wonwoo forgets to bring one. He doesn’t ask how Wonwoo knew he had soccer practice, or why he decided Mingyu’s company was better than being alone. He figures it’s better not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

--

It’s their first game of the season, and of course it has to take place on the coldest, dampest day so far. There’s a constant drizzle that soaks Mingyu to the bone within seconds, a chill that sinks its teeth into his flesh and makes him curl in on himself. 

At least it’s a home game, and he got to skip fourth period. Mingyu repeatedly reminds himself of this every time he slips on the rain-covered grass during warmups, the wetness sucking all the remaining warmth out of his body. When the coach calls the team in for a huddle, everyone crowds in just a little closer, desperate for body heat.

The coach finishes with his part, and then it's the captain's turn. The captain - an intimidatingly buff senior named Baekho - looks around the circle and grins. “I’ll buy dinner for whoever scores today,” he says.

He’s met with a resounding cheer. Mingyu smiles to himself as he jogs onto the field.

--

Mingyu only plays for the last half of the game, but he gets a pretty good assist in, which earns him hair ruffles from Baekho and Soonyoung so aggressive he fears for his scalp. They win, too, which is pretty great.

During the post-game huddle, the coach congratulates them, reminds them of next week’s practice, and then dismisses them, telling them to get their well-deserved rest with an almost fatherly smile on his face. Mingyu feels loose and happy as he makes his way to the bleachers, feet moving through sheer force of habit.

“Good job,” Wonwoo says when Mingyu is within earshot. Mingyu notes the absence of a textbook on his lap with a strange giddiness - was Wonwoo actually paying attention to the game? “I mean, I have no idea how soccer works, but you looked pretty cool out there.”

Mingyu beams. “Thanks! I felt pretty cool, too. Did you see my assist?”

“Oh, no, I got bored halfway through,” Wonwoo jokes. “The cheers were pretty loud, though.”

“Wow, very supportive,” Mingyu huffs, crossing his arms over his chest, but he’s smiling. “I think I have about five minutes before the adrenaline wears off and I start freezing again, so I’ll see you in the courtyard?”

“Don’t be late,” Wonwoo says.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” is Mingyu’s reply.

--

His locker room experience, predictably, consists entirely of teammates slapping each other’s backs and/or asses and taunting Baekho about that free dinner promise. He ducks out before he gets roped in, although Soonyoung lands a good smack on his lower back before he leaves.

It somehow got colder in the fifteen minutes he was in the shower, a fact that announces itself with fanfare the second he steps outside. His body heat hasn’t been given enough time to warm up the inside of the windbreaker he threw on, so all he feels is cold fabric against his damp skin as he makes his way across the courtyard, towards that familiar figure, teeth gritted.

The days have made quick work of shortening. The sky is blue-black, the streetlamps are already lit, and Wonwoo, with his pale skin and dark clothes, stands out like a beacon. He looks up, as he always does, when he hears Mingyu approaching. “Let’s go home,” he says.

Mingyu beams at him. “Yeah.”

--

Mingyu spends the whole walk to the bus stop rambling about the game. They have a little more time than usual before the next bus, and Mingyu fills up that space easily by gushing about particularly good plays, the feeling of the last goal, and you should’ve seen my assist, Wonwoo, I know you have no idea what that means but it was so good!

He’s dimly aware that he is probably talking way too much, giddiness making the words tumble out of his mouth almost as fast as they’re rushing through his brain. But Wonwoo is smiling as he listens, hunched in a little against the wind. His hands, covered by his sleeves as usual, rest in his lap. Mingyu feels the absurd urge to hold them.

A strong gust of wind blows its way through the open end of the bus shelter, knocking the hood of his windbreaker off his head. Silently, almost absentmindedly, Wonwoo pulls a hand out of its sleeve cocoon to pull the hood back up, his thin wrist taking up Mingyu’s entire field of view as he smooths the edge down. 

Mingyu watches as Wonwoo brings his hand back down, expression completely neutral. His hand is shaking, hard, the motion hidden by the force with which he’s gripping the sleeves of his sweater. Worry blooms in Mingyu’s chest.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

Wonwoo looks confused, then surprised, then amused. “Oh, the tremors? I’ve always had them,” he explains, holding a hand up to demonstrate. Without anything to hold onto, his hand is quivering so hard it’s a wonder he managed to get Mingyu’s hood on as fast as he did. “It gets worse when I’m cold, and today’s weather is-” he gestures towards their surroundings, before dropping his hand back in his lap “-so.”

Ah, Mingyu thinks. Hence his aversion. “Do you still have the heat pack I gave you?”

“It got cold,” Wonwoo says, matter-of-fact, even as he curls up tighter. 

Guilt spikes through Mingyu, a ringing why would you do this for me? He blurts out the first thing he can think of to remedy the situation. “My hands are pretty warm,” he distantly hears himself saying, “so I could, uh, hold your… hand?”

The second he processes what he’s just said, he cringes so hard he might actually break a bone. The silence that Wonwoo answers him with makes everything a thousand times worse, oh God, why wasn’t he born with a functional brain-to-mouth filter? Holding hands? What the hell?

His internal freak-out is so deafening he misses Wonwoo’s reply. “Sorry, what was that?” he asks, a little desperately.

“I said sure,” Wonwoo says. He looks annoyed when Mingyu looks at him, brow furrowed, his high cheekbones a slightly darker shade of pink.

“Uh,” is Mingyu’s incoherent reply.

Wonwoo just stares at him, unblinking. “Are you okay,” he says flatly. 

“Yeah, um, yeah,” Mingyu says, and scrambles to get his nerves under control as he reaches out hesitantly, hand hovering awkwardly above Wonwoo’s lap. “Um, here- here you… go?”

“Thanks for the offering,” Wonwoo says in the same flat voice, but he looks paradoxically amused as he pulls his sleeve down and turns his hand palm-up. The pale skin there glows yellow under the streetlamp, and Mingyu panics.

But he offered, and guilt always overpowers his fight or flight instinct, so he slots his fingers into the spaces between Wonwoo’s and tries not to die from heart failure at the ripe old age of sixteen. 

Wonwoo’s hands are, obviously, ice-cold, but his skin is soft, and his fingers are thin where they curl around the back of Mingyu’s hand. Without thinking, Mingyu reaches over and takes his other hand, too, angling his body towards Wonwoo’s so he can reach across his lap. They sit like that until the bus arrives a few minutes later, Mingyu shielding Wonwoo from the cold. 

Wonwoo lets go of Mingyu’s hands as they board the bus and pay their fare. When they say goodbye to each other, his hand, when he waves, is steady.

--

The next morning, nothing about Wonwoo’s behavior has changed. He talks to Seokmin quietly, their conversation punctuated by an occasional burst of laughter, not even sparing a single glance back at Mingyu. Which is infuriating, because Mingyu can’t seem to stop looking at him.

More specifically, at his hands. Now that he’s noticed them, his brain has apparently made it its personal mission to notice everything about them. His thin wrists and thinner fingers, his bony knuckles, the grace with which they move, all sit themselves down in the center of Mingyu’s mind, carelessly pushing everything else out of the way. He occasionally finds himself rubbing the back of his own hand, trying to recreate the feeling of Wonwoo’s fingers between his.

He feels mushy and pathetic. It’s just holding hands, for God’s sake. Mingyu, who has never been shy about skinship, should not be freaking out this much. 

They part ways as usual in the front foyer of the school, Minghao and Mingyu to their locker, Wonwoo and Seokmin to theirs. “See you,” Wonwoo tells him, separate from the others, loud in the sea of students, before walking away. Mingyu is left blinking in the aftermath of his smile, feeling overwhelmed.

--

At the end of Calculus, Soonyoung turns to him and says, “Baekho’s treating all of us to lunch today. Meet me at my locker?”

Mingyu, a self-identified social butterfly (Minghao prefers the term ‘friendship hoe’, but that’s not important), brightens at the invitation. “I’ll be there,” he promises.

Soonyoung beams at him. “Great!”

Not great, Mingyu finds out eventually.

--

After Literature, Mingyu parts ways with Minghao and Seokmin and makes his way to Soonyoung’s locker, which has invariably been located next to the dance studio for the past four years. He brings his lunch, because he made really good kimchi fried rice last night and he’s been looking forward to it all morning.

“I didn’t score, so I can’t ask for a free meal,” Mingyu explains when Soonyoung raises an eyebrow. “Besides, I like my own cooking.”

“Nah, Baekho would buy you lunch regardless,” Soonyoung dismisses. “He's nice that way.”

Mingyu laughs. “Is he our captain or is he our dad?”

Soonyoung shrugs, linking his arm with Mingyu’s as he steers him through the hallways and to the courtyard, where the rest of the team has already gathered. “I just think he watches too much sports anime.”

“I do not ,” Baekho calls out to Soonyoung, directing the group’s attention to their arrival. The customary bro handshakes and slaps on the back are exchanged, and then they set off in the direction of the field, chatting in groups of twos and threes. 

It’s warmer than it was yesterday - the sky is a clear blue, the sun is bright, and the air is still. Mingyu sweats under his tasteful knit V-neck. Still, he’s a little surprised to see two familiar figures eating lunch on the bleachers, one of them chatting away animatedly, the other chewing and nodding in silence.

“Wonwoo! Junhui!” he calls out to them, beaming, waving with maybe a little more enthusiasm than is warranted. It has nothing to do with the fact that Wonwoo’s actually wearing jeans today, a light blue and ripped at the knees. 

They turn towards him in unison. Junhui waves back, returning his enthusiasm, while Wonwoo just pushes his glasses up his nose and smiles. Mingyu smiles so hard his face starts to hurt.

Near him, towards the middle of the group, someone tells a joke he’s too distracted to hear. But it must’ve been a really good one, because everyone around him bursts into laughter, jolting him out of his Wonwoo-focused tunnel vision. He turns in confusion, but he’s already missed the punchline, so he turns back to the bleachers.

He’s missed something else there, too. Because Wonwoo isn’t looking at him anymore, and his expression has hardened to stone, all traces of his previous warmth gone. Junhui’s hand hangs limply in the air, mid-wave, smile faltering. Mingyu makes a confused face at him. He shakes his head and turns to talk to Wonwoo, considerably more subdued than before.

Mingyu’s heart skids through concrete. Unfocused, his feet trip over thin air. He’s saved from face-planting into the grass by a firm hand on his arm, pulling him upright - Soonyoung, joking, “be careful! You could wipe someone out with those long-ass limbs.”

Mingyu doesn’t laugh. Soonyoung frowns at him, ducking to meet his downcast gaze. “Hey, what’s wrong? Are you feeling okay?”

No , Mingyu wants to tell him, because he’s just made Wonwoo sad again, and he’s not anywhere closer to knowing why, and he shouldn’t have expected anything different. But Soonyoung, who invited him on this outing and broke off from a larger conversation to check up on him, shouldn’t have to hear that. So he musters the most genuine smile he can and says, “of course. I’m very graceful and coordinated.”

Soonyoung points at him threateningly. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” he says, but he looks at least half-convinced as he turns back to join his group, leaving Mingyu alone with his thoughts.

His thoughts, which at this point are just self-berating variations of: of course . Of course he still doesn’t know anything about Wonwoo. Of course walking home together and listening to each other’s music and holding hands didn’t mean anything. Of course Wonwoo is still so far away, as far as five years can take you and getting farther with each passing moment.

Of course. Of course. Of course. Mingyu keeps his eyes focused on the grass, alone in the crowd of people.

--

On the walk home that day, Wonwoo purposely avoids him, walking several paces ahead by himself. Minghao and Seokmin exchange confused looks; Mingyu just shrugs, which is the most truthful answer he can give. He wonders if Wonwoo will show up to practice tomorrow.

--

He doesn’t.

Despite the image he’s cultivated, Mingyu isn’t actually completely obtuse - he doesn’t make excuses about Wonwoo being late, being sick, being busy. He just runs through his regular post-practice routine with a numb efficiency and goes home alone. His headphones stay in his pocket, the wind biting at his ears.

--

His morning trip to school usually happens like this - the four of them meet at the major intersection next to their neighborhood, and then they’ll walk to the bus stop and take the bus together. The morning after Mingyu goes home from practice alone, Seokmin and Wonwoo show up at the last possible minute. Mingyu sees Wonwoo round the corner, in a black tracksuit zipped up against the wind, and feels his entire body thrum in time with his heartbeat.

Fortunately, or maybe unfortunately depending on how things turn out, Minghao immediately pulls Seokmin aside to talk about a project in their shared 4th period class, leaving Mingyu behind. With Wonwoo, of course, who is looking steadily ahead.

Mingyu, in spite of all his boundless extroversion, has no idea how to broach the topic - he barely even knows what the topic is. He’s walking through a field of landmines blindfolded, reaching for an unknown destination. So he says the one thing he knows, which is, “I missed you yesterday.”

He throws the line out there with no hope for any particular response. Still, he gets the last thing he wanted: Wonwoo scoffs, says “sure,” and then falls silent.

What does that even mean? Mingyu wants to scream, not at Wonwoo, maybe a little at himself, mostly up into the cosmos. Because two days ago he was holding Wonwoo’s hand in a bus shelter, he was untangling the headphones dangling between them, he was basking in the glow of Wonwoo’s smile. And now everything is wrong, and he has no idea how to make it right.

He’s so, so frustrated, even when there’s nothing to be frustrated at except this cruel twist of fate. “I did ,” he insists, turning to look at Wonwoo. Wonwoo keeps his eyes on the road ahead. “Why don’t you believe me?”

“Was it a dare?” Wonwoo asks quietly, scathingly. “What did you get out of it? A drink? A free meal?”

It’s like trying to understand a foreign language with only half a dictionary. Mingyu frowns, his thoughts running laps in his mind, fast enough to make him dizzy but not fast enough to make him understand. “What are you talking about?”

Any possible answer Wonwoo could’ve given is cut off when they catch up to Seokmin and Minghao at the bus stop, giving him a physical reason to ignore Mingyu. And ignoring Mingyu is exactly what he does, crowding close to the other end of the shelter and putting his headphones in. Mingyu stands there, fingernails digging crescents into his palms, half wishing he never said anything at all. 

Five years is a long, long time.

--

Junhui still talks to him in Calc, but it’s the more subdued version of him that Mingyu saw on the bleachers that day - gone are the cheesy puns, the weird one-liners, the constant dancing. Junhui doesn’t give him high fives or ruffle his hair or punch him in the shoulder anymore. It’s like taking a picture of the night sky and realizing you can’t see any of the stars.

--

About a week passes like this - Mingyu goes home from practice alone, and Wonwoo walks in front of him in the mornings - before Minghao sits down in front of their locker, his lunchbox propped open on his lap, and says, “so are you going to tell us what happened?”

Mingyu blinks at him, slowly sinking onto the floor. “What happened with what?”

Minghao shrugs, taking his chopsticks out of their container and digging into his rice. “You and Wonwoo. I thought you guys were friends.”

At the mention of Wonwoo’s name, Mingyu’s heart drops, and his appetite goes with it. He sets his lunch down. “That’s what I thought too,” he mumbles.

“Awwwww,” Seokmin says, crawling over from Minghao’s other side to give him a hug. Now that Mingyu thinks about it, Seokmin has stayed surprisingly steadfast throughout this whole ordeal, despite being caught between his brother and his best friend. “So you don’t know what’s going on either?”

Something inside Mingyu breaks at Seokmin’s words. “No,” he almost wails, burrowing into Seokmin’s shoulder. The words tumble out of his mouth, impossible to withhold after a week of restraint. “I held his hand and now he hates me and I don’t know what I did wrong, I don’t know anything at all, and I hate taking the bus home alone.”

Distantly, he knows he’s not making any sense. But Seokmin, in his consistent goodness, doesn’t judge him, just rubs his back while he half-cries. There’s another hand patting his head - Minghao, probably. 

“I think Junhui’s mad at me too,” Mingyu sniffles.

The hand on his back pauses. “Wait.” Seokmin pushes him away gently, holding him by the shoulders at arm’s length. His eyes are serious but not unkind as he says, “both of them are mad at you for the same thing?”

Mingyu blinks at him. “I think so?” He recounts everything he remembers - waving, the laughter, turning back and seeing everything change. As he speaks, Seokmin’s eyes slowly light up with understanding.

Seokmin doesn’t share his epiphany with the class, though. He just says, “Mingyu, I mean this in the nicest way possible, but I don’t think this is about you.”

Mingyu blinks again, harder, like if he closes and opens his eyes enough times he’ll suddenly gain the ability to understand. He glances at Minghao, who offers a shrug in response and goes back to eating his lunch, clearly satisfied with the role he played in this intervention. He looks back at Seokmin. “Huh?”

“Just- you should be hearing this from Wonwoo,” Seokmin says, as if Mingyu hasn’t been trying and failing to hear anything from Wonwoo for the past week. “He may be stubborn but he’s not an asshole. Just go talk to him.”

Mingyu rubs his eyes with the sleeve of his blazer. The material scratches at his eyelids, makes his eyes sting when he opens them again. “Right,” he mumbles. “Thanks, Seokmin.”

How the hell is he going to ‘go talk to him’?

Chapter 4

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Mingyu skips practice.

He asks to leave halfway through, telling the coach something about a doctor’s appointment that probably sounds super suspicious but is vague enough that he can’t call him out for it, and then heads straight for the notice board at the front of the school. Luckily for him, it still has last month’s club posters tacked up in the corners. One poster, a deep red background printed with a badly bleeding color printer, advertises chess club meetings once a week on Tuesdays, in - coincidentally, or maybe ironically - Mingyu’s Calc classroom.

He arrives just in time for the end of the meeting, the sound of chatter and chairs scraping muffled behind the closed door. He steps aside, almost plastering himself against an adjacent wall as the door opens and the club members pour out. Some of them give him weird looks as they pass. His heart thuds dully in his chest.

The feeling intensifies when Wonwoo finally emerges from the classroom, talking quietly to a shorter girl with the same round glasses as him. He immediately notices Mingyu’s presence, eyes flickering over to where Mingyu’s standing. His expression hardens before he turns away, walking with the girl to the end of the hall and disappearing into a stairwell.

Mingyu looks down at his feet, ashamed, forced to confront the fact that he planned for absolutely nothing past making it here. Of course there was a good chance that Wonwoo would just ignore him - none of his behavior for the past week suggests the opposite.

But Mingyu wants to talk to him. And he, like the true dumbass he is, will be as annoying as possible until they at least start a conversation. Whatever happens after that is up to fate and also Wonwoo, he supposes. 

“What are you doing here?”

Speak of the devil. Mingyu looks up. Wonwoo looks tired; Seokmin mentioned that he tends to stay up until odd hours doing homework or playing video games. He looks leaner, too, than he did in the summer, and pale now that the sun’s rarely out. Mingyu’s chest twists with worry. 

But the part of his appearance that overtakes all of that is the cold impassiveness on his face that Mingyu has grown to dread. It means that the Wonwoo he knows is locked away for the time being, beneath layers of ice and assumptions about what Mingyu’s said before he even says it. And maybe this should make Mingyu think more about what he says next, but he hasn’t been the subject of Wonwoo’s undivided attention for so long that all he can blurt out is: “I miss you.”

Wonwoo’s eyes widen for a fraction of a second before shuttering again. “Stop,” he says, meeting Mingyu’s gaze head-on, effectively halting any possibility of misinterpretation. “You got what you wanted. Please leave me alone.”

“Wonwoo, please ,” and it really does sound like a plea to Mingyu’s ears, his fumbling desperation, “I thought- I thought we were friends.”

“Just face it, Mingyu,” and then Wonwoo confirms what Mingyu was dreading all along, “you don’t know anything about me. And clearly, I don’t know anything about you either. This was a mistake.”

And then Wonwoo leaves. No goodbye, no room for misunderstandings. Just a scathing confirmation of Mingyu’s greatest fear, that the distance between them created by time and secrecy has become impossible to bridge, that they’ll always be like this. 

This was a mistake. Of course it was. Why was he expecting anything different?

His eyes burn. He’s crying. Mingyu is sixteen, and he’s crying because his childhood best friend’s brother left him alone in a hallway.

Of course all of it was a mistake. Mingyu hides his face in the sleeve of his windbreaker, hoping no one sees him frantically wiping at his eyes.

And then, because this day is just getting worse and worse by the minute, there’s a hand on his shoulder. “Yo Mingyu, have you seen Wonwoo?”

It’s Junhui, or whatever version of Junhui Mingyu’s friends with now, after he ruined everything. Mingyu musters the brightest smile he can afford and looks up into Junhui’s eyes. “Yeah, he went that way,” he says, pointing down the hallway. Hopefully if his answers are curt enough, Junhui will leave soon - he probably doesn’t enjoy Mingyu’s company that much anymore, anyways.

Mingyu’s estimations are wrong yet again. This must be a record, even for someone as notoriously unlucky as him. Junhui frowns and puts a hand on his arm, pointing at his eyes, where tears are collecting again. “Are you crying?”

For some reason, that makes Mingyu’s valiantly held-back tears spill over. “No,” he mumbles, feeling hopelessly pathetic as he rubs at his eyes. “I’m fine. Sorry.”

“Hey, wait, hold on.” Junhui steers him around a corner and into a stairwell, where he sits him down at the base of the stairs. Once seated, Junhui roots through his bag and pulls out a small packet of wet wipes, which he offers to Mingyu. Mingyu wipes his face as Junhui asks, “did Wonwoo say something to you?”

Mingyu freezes in his tracks. “We just talked,” he half-lies, hoping Junhui isn’t as absurdly astute as Minghao. “I’m not, um. Nothing happened.”

Junhui sighs. There’s a long pause, and when he speaks again, it’s with the firm resolve of someone who’s just made a difficult decision. “Would you like to talk about what happened?” he says carefully.

Mingyu looks up at him, surprised. The person he sees almost feels like the Junhui he knew last week, before everything went wrong - kind, a little awkward, achingly genuine. His brows are furrowed and he’s fiddling aggressively, but he’s looking at Mingyu, straightforward. 

Mingyu bursts into tears again.

“Oh no, oh no, don’t do that,” Junhui says, sounding a little panicked. He wraps an arm around Mingyu’s shoulders and shoves more wet wipes into his hands as Mingyu buries his face in his hands for what must be the fourth or fifth time in the past ten minutes. 

“I miss you,” he says for the second time today, because he means it, because he’s been feeling it for a week. “I miss you, and I miss Wonwoo, and you’re acting weird and Wonwoo’s not talking to me and I don’t know why. I’m sorry, I know I did something wrong, I just- I don’t-”

“Hey, hey, wait,” Junhui says soothingly, his voice getting a little louder. “Hey, wait, Mingyu - what are you talking about?”

Mingyu sits upright, looking at him. The confusion on Junhui’s face mirrors what he’s feeling right now, because - he didn’t think he was this bad at reading social cues. Surely Junhui knows something he doesn’t, or else he wouldn’t have started this whole conversation, right? “I- I waved at you that one time, remember?” he says, just to confirm, his crying momentarily forgotten.

“Yeah,” Junhui confirms, frowning. “Yeah. And then your friends laughed.”

Mingyu is for sure going to get wrinkles in his forehead. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“That’s,” Junhui looks a little faint. Mingyu almost wants to offer him a wet wipe. “That’s not related to anything?”

Slowly, Mingyu says, “they were laughing because someone in the group told a joke. I didn’t hear it, because I was waving at you. Why- oof!”

The rest of his sentence is cut off by Junhui, who launches himself at Mingyu and wraps him in a hug so tight that Mingyu can feel his shoulder blades popping. Almost reflexively, he reaches up to pat Junhui’s back, a little hesitant. 

After a few seconds of hugging awkwardly on the stairs, swaying slightly back and forth, Junhui pulls away and holds Mingyu’s face in his hands. Mingyu feels like a kid, his cheeks squished up into his eyes. “Mingyu,” Junhui says very seriously, “ I am so sorry .”

“Huh,” Mingyu says. “Wait, what?”

Junhui lets go of his face in favor of pulling him into another hug. Mingyu blinks, suddenly finding himself at the receiving end of an apology he was fully prepared to give. “I’m so sorry, I’ve been such a dick to you,” Junhui says next to his ear. “I thought- I didn’t think you were that type of person, and I was right, I’m so sorry I ever doubted you.” He pulls away again, and his eyes are wide and bright. “Forgive me?”

Mingyu stares back at Junhui. The tear tracks on his face are completely dried up. In front of him is the Junhui he’s been searching for, and he’s hit with such an overwhelming sense of relief that everything else ceases to matter. “I forgive you,” he says. And he does. He’s only known him for about a month, but he’s sure that Junhui is the farthest away from someone who would give an empty apology. “So are… are we okay?”

Junhui beams at him. Mingyu is seized with joy. “More than okay,” he says. “Now,” he pushes himself to his feet and plants his hands on his hips, “I’m going to go yell at Wonwoo. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Mingyu starts, “wait, why-”

“Don’t worry about it,” Junhui dismisses, waving a hand. He smiles at Mingyu, and pulls him into another hug. “I really am sorry.” He pulls away and pinches Mingyu’s cheek between his thumb and forefinger. “You are the cutest boy ever. Except me, obviously. Wonwoo’s lucky to have us both, isn’t he?”

He walks away without waiting for an answer. Mingyu rubs his stinging cheek. He’s still holding the pack of wet wipes. “Huh?” he mumbles.

--

On the way home, Mingyu reaches the conclusion that Junhui might actually be a cryptid. 

Every time he tries to decipher what he said in the stairwell, he’s left a little more confused. Why did he apologize? Why is he yelling at Wonwoo? Why does Wonwoo “have” Mingyu?

Mingyu decides, unlocking the door to his house, that he’s just not going to think about it. The important thing is that they’re friends again, and that Junhui is no longer a weird, strained version of himself. As for Wonwoo - he figures he’ll have to wait for tomorrow, and see what kind of cryptid magic Junhui worked. There’s no use in thinking about it now, especially when he’s got a mountain of homework to do. 

About half an hour later, he’s making his way downstairs to refill his water when the doorbell rings. Which is weird - his mom doesn’t get home until an hour later, and they don’t usually get deliveries at this time. Mingyu decides against grabbing a kitchen knife to defend himself, but sets his glass down and approaches the door with caution.

He unlocks the door slowly, and opens the door slowly. The lights on his porch are almost blinding compared to the darkness in his house, and he squints in discomfort, shielding his eyes with a hand.

It’s Wonwoo.

Mingyu is so glad he had the foresight to put his glass down, because he definitely would’ve dropped it. Or maybe he shouldn’t be glad, because maybe he accidentally fell asleep while studying and this is just a very realistic, very vivid dream. Is this what cinematic parallels are? Is he living in a movie?

Wonwoo’s wearing a puffy jacket, and his shoulders are hunched against the cold. A gust of wind blows into Mingyu’s house. Mingyu registers, distantly, that he’s barefoot. 

“Wonwoo,” he says faintly. Moving out of reflex and a lifetime of internalized cultural customs, he steps back and opens the door a little wider. “Uh, come in. It’s pretty cold out there.”

Wonwoo looks surprised at the invitation. Under the harsh white light illuminating Mingyu’s porch, he looks even more tired than he did at school, shadows collecting under his eyes. He steps into Mingyu’s house silently, moving out of the way when Mingyu goes to close and lock the door.

Mingyu realizes that this is the first time Wonwoo’s ever been inside his house. He considers it a blessing that the lights in the living room are off, because there’s an embarrassing pile of halfheartedly-bought popular YA romance novels on the coffee table that he’d rather Wonwoo not see. 

Wonwoo still hasn’t said anything. Mingyu’s always been a little uncomfortable with silence, so he says the first thing he can think of in an attempt to fill it: “um, so do you want something to drink? I don’t have much but I think we have, um, tea? Uh, and water, so if you want…”

“Mingyu,” Wonwoo starts, and it’s so different from the cold, nearly spiteful Wonwoo from a couple hours ago that Mingyu feels himself go weak in the knees. Wonwoo isn’t looking him in the eyes. “Tell me what happened when you saw us on the bleachers.”

Mingyu swallows. Wonwoo’s hands are in his pockets. Mingyu wonders if they’re shaking, feels the absurd urge to hold them. 

Slowly, he repeats what he told Junhui, but quieter and more careful. He saw them; he waved; he caught the tail end of a joke someone else told, but missed the punchline. A detail he’s fairly sure is unrelated, but when he finishes with, “I didn’t hear the joke,” Wonwoo’s eyes snap up to meet his.

“You didn’t?” he echoes quietly, half a question, half a - what? Wonwoo has always been extremely good at hiding his emotions, and the darkness and Mingyu’s lingering confusion over the whole thing don’t help. Regardless, Mingyu shakes his head. 

And Wonwoo just - deflates . His shoulders sag, his head drops, his hands come up to rub at his eyes. Cinematic parallels, Mingyu’s awful, awful brain shouts at him. Mingyu tells it to shut up. 

“Fuck,” Wonwoo mumbles, barely audible. Mingyu takes an instinctive step forward, a little worried at how defeated he looks. A little clearer: “Fuck, Mingyu, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Mingyu says, still operating on pure instinct. He means it. Maybe he should be a little upset that Wonwoo basically ignored him for a week with no explanation and brushed off all his attempts to communicate, but all he finds himself focusing on is that Wonwoo is here , in his home. Wonwoo is here, talking to him, and he doesn’t hate him anymore. So he repeats, “It’s okay,” and means it.

Wonwoo looks up at him, scanning his face, searching for something unknown. He evidently doesn’t find what he was expecting, because his eyes widen in surprise. “Are you,” he starts, swallows, starts again, “are you sure?”

“Pretty sure,” Mingyu says, smiling.

Wonwoo looks at him like he’s stupid. “You still want to be friends with me?”

“Ha!” Mingyu shouts, pointing at Wonwoo triumphantly, who startles at the burst of noise. “So you admit that we’re friends!”

That’s your takeaway from this?” Wonwoo asks, incredulous but also, maybe, a little relieved. 

“It’s what I care about,” Mingyu says, bouncing on the balls of his feet, feeling giddy. “I missed you,” he says happily, a phrase he’s repeated too many times to count. But it’s different, this time. 

Wonwoo smiles, warm and real. “I missed you, too,” he says quietly.

If Mingyu were the corny type, he’d liken the feeling in his chest to a burst of sunlight through heavy cloud cover. Well - he is the corny type, but he’s pretty sure Wonwoo wouldn’t appreciate his metaphors. So he just reaches a hand out, pinky extended. “Promise?”

Wonwoo laughs. “What, are we in elementary school?”

Mingyu huffs. “Just do it,” he says. “Or else I’m gonna think you didn’t mean it.”

Wonwoo’s smile falters. Silently, he takes his hand out of his coat pocket and curls his pinky around Mingyu’s, making a small sound of surprise when Mingyu twists their hands around to press their thumbs together. “Hey, that wasn’t a part of the deal,” he protests. He doesn’t pull his hand away. “I could sue you for fraud, you know.”

“Yeah, but you won’t,” Mingyu says triumphantly. “Because I’m your friend, and you can’t sue your friends for fraud. That breaks, like, bro code or something.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not what bro code is,” Wonwoo points out. 

They’ve fallen back into their old rhythm. The feeling floods Mingyu with relief. He realizes that Wonwoo’s hand is trembling slightly and also freezing cold, despite the fact that he’s already been in Mingyu’s well-heated home for a good ten minutes.

“Oh, are you cold? I can make you some tea,” he offers, clasping Wonwoo’s hand between both of his. “What kind do you prefer?”

Wonwoo laughs quietly, pulling his hand out from between Mingyu’s. Mingyu tries not to feel unreasonably hurt over the gesture. “It’s not a big deal,” he says, “I’m always cold. Seriously, Mingyu, don’t worry.”

“Of course I’m going to worry,” Mingyu insists. “You never take care of yourself.” He moves to stand behind Wonwoo and grabs him by the shoulders, steering him into the kitchen and sitting him at one of the stools pulled up to the counter. “Seokmin tells me you stay up every night playing video games,” he adds as he rummages through a cupboard for tea leaves.

“Not every night,” Wonwoo protests. “Only when I’m playing a game with a good story.”

Mingyu puts the kettle on the stove and turns to face Wonwoo, an eyebrow raised. “And how often is that?”

“Uh,” is Wonwoo’s very coherent response. 

Eloquent, thoughtful Wonwoo, reduced to a non-answer? This may be Mingyu’s greatest triumph yet. “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he says victoriously. “Seriously,” he adds, placing a saucer and mug on the counter in front of Wonwoo, “you look tired.” He measures out a spoonful of tea leaves and drops it into the mug. “You should take care of yourself. Sugar?”

“No, thanks,” Wonwoo declines. “And I do take care of myself. Don’t listen to Seokmin, he’s a liar.” He’s taken his jacket off, draping it over his lap, and his fingers are drumming on the countertop. The rest of the house is dark save for the lights directly overhead, bathing his face in a golden glow. 

The kettle whistles. Mingyu tears his eyes away from Wonwoo’s and turns to grab it, just barely avoiding knocking the entire thing over with an elbow and burning his skin off. “Well, at least you’re not as skinny as you were in sixth grade,” he comments, pouring the water into the mug. “Your wrists were, like, half the size of mine.” He drops a spoon into the mug with a flourish. “Enjoy.”

Wonwoo laughs, pulling his sleeves over his hands so he can hold onto the mug. It’s unbelievably soft and domestic, and Mingyu almost misses it when he says, “Believe it or not, five years is a lot of time for someone to change.” He looks pointedly at Mingyu. “I figured you would know that already.”

Mingyu grins and turns around to prepare a mug of tea for himself, but not before winking at Wonwoo over his shoulder. “That’s a weird way to call me hot, but I’ll take the compliment.”

“I was talking about how your personality became ten times shittier, idiot,” Wonwoo rebuts scathingly. His voice is soft, though, and he’s smiling when Mingyu turns around, staring into the contents of his over-stirred tea like he can read the leaves.

“Hey, rude,” Mingyu says, taking a seat at the counter across from him. “You didn’t get any nicer, either.” That’s a lie - Wonwoo is equally as kind as he was back then, maybe even kinder. It’s just that his ways of expressing it have changed, burying that warm goodness under multiple protective layers so that he feels cold to the touch on the outside.

Mingyu feels the warmth, though, when Wonwoo lets out a quiet chuckle and looks up at him, eyes sparkling with mirth and something like nostalgia. The week of coldness leading up to this moment is all but forgotten in Mingyu’s mind; this is all he cares about, smiling at each other across the countertop.

“That’s true,” Wonwoo allows. His smile fades a little, and he looks back down at his mug before asking, quieter, “do you really think we’re that different?”

The question feels loaded, like emotional Russian Roulette. Mingyu’s kind of glad they’re not making eye contact right now.

Of course they're different - he would be blind not to see it, all the ways the past five years have left their mark on the both of them. But it doesn't even matter, because this is Wonwoo he’s talking about. And the Wonwoo who showed up at his door on a cold October evening and the Wonwoo who wrapped his hand while he was crying feel the same, in all the important ways.

“Your heart is the same,” he says. “And I like you the same. Besides, you were kind of a jerk back then, so I’m glad you’re different now.”

There’s a slight pause before Wonwoo looks up at him, mouth twisted into a wry smile. “I thought I ‘didn’t get any nicer’?”

“Never mind, I take all of it back,” Mingyu says promptly. Wonwoo laughs at him, and the tension of the moment fizzles out, the darkness retreating. 

They talk for a few more minutes before Wonwoo glances at the time on the microwave. “I should probably go,” he says. “I have some stuff to do.” He slides off the stool. Mingyu mirrors his movement, and cleans up their mugs while Wonwoo gets ready to leave, absolutely, definitely not moving slower than usual.

He finds Wonwoo waiting for him at his front door, pulling his shoes on, already bundled up in his jacket. “Sorry for keeping you here for so long,” Mingyu says.

“What are you apologizing for?” Wonwoo asks. “If I wanted to leave earlier, I would’ve.” Which, true to Jeon Wonwoo fashion, is incredibly confusing and could probably be said in fewer words. He straightens and looks Mingyu in the eye. “Thank you,” he says openly, sincerely. Mingyu nearly screams. “And sorry, again. Really.”

“And it’s okay, again. Really,” Mingyu echoes, teasing. Wonwoo rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling anyways. “You don’t have to keep apologizing.”

Wonwoo looks surprised for a second. “Okay,” he agrees, bobbing his head. It’s really cute. Mingyu opens the door for him and follows him outside, where it’s even colder than before. Wonwoo takes a step down the stairs, stops, and turns back towards Mingyu. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asks, almost hopeful.

Mingyu has so much homework to do, and he’s about an hour behind on all of it, but he really doesn’t want Wonwoo to leave. “Of course,” he says, beaming. “It’s a promise.”

Wonwoo laughs. “Yeah,” he says. He gives a small wave, and leaves.

Mingyu has so much homework to do, he’s about an hour behind on all of it, and soon his mom’s going to come home and he’s going to have to make dinner. Also, he’s still barefoot, and the concrete under his feet has leached all the warmth from his skin. Still, he feels warm and content as he turns and heads back into his home, looking forward to the next day.

--

The first thing Mingyu says when he sees Wonwoo the next day is, “you stayed up late again, didn’t you?”

Wonwoo’s cheeks, already pink from the cold, immediately go several shades darker. In his peripheral view, Mingyu can spot Minghao and Seokmin whispering furiously to each other before Minghao drags Seokmin away, leaving the two of them alone. 

Seokmin shoots him a thumbs up over his shoulder. Mingyu resists the urge to bury his face in his hands.

“I had homework,” Wonwoo reasons. He motions for them to start walking, so they do, several paces behind Minghao and Seokmin. “You can’t nag at me for having homework.”

Unfortunately, Wonwoo is right. And Mingyu doubly can’t nag at him when he’s pretty sure the reason he got a late start on his homework is because he spent so much time talking to Mingyu. “You still look like a zombie, though,” he says anyways, because he’s worried regardless.

Wonwoo laughs. “An astute observation,” he teases. “There are mirrors in my house, you know.”

Mingyu reaches out and smooths down a strand of hair sticking straight out of the back of Wonwoo’s head. “Do you use them, though?”

Wonwoo pauses. “I’m older than you,” is what he settles on. Mingyu grins.

--

“So,” Minghao starts as they’re making their way towards their locker, “are you done being gross and sad?”

Mingyu has known Minghao for too long, and is too intimately acquainted with the ways he chooses to express affection, to feel offended. He wraps his arms around Minghao’s torso from the side, leaning his head on Minghao’s shoulder as the latter unlocks the locker. “I’ve never been better,” he sing-songs.

“Ugh, I forgot that you’re also gross when you’re happy,” Minghao complains, but he doesn’t make any notable effort to escape Mingyu’s clutches as he shoves his lunchbox into the top shelf. “Seokmin asked me for your address last night. You guys finally talked it out, huh?”

Mingyu nods, feeling loose and happy after a week of tension. “Have I told you,” he mumbles half into Minghao’s shoulder, “how much I appreciate you? Because I appreciate you a lot .”

Ugh ,” Minghao says again, with more feeling.

--

Seokmin, at the start of Literature, slaps Mingyu on the shoulder so hard his eyes actually tear up. “I’m proud of you,” he says brightly, giving him two thumbs up. “Let’s get coffee to celebrate?”

Mingyu narrows his eyes at Seokmin, who just smiles wider in response. “You’re just gonna make me pay for you,” he accuses.

Seokmin places a hand over his heart dramatically. “You wound me,” he sniffs. “If it weren’t for me you would still be moping around like a kicked puppy.”

“I did not look like a kicked puppy,” Mingyu says, offended. “I handle my pain with grace .”

Minghao snorts loudly. The teacher yells at them to be quiet. Mingyu has never felt more insulted in his life.

Notes:

in light of the recent allegations against mingyu, this will be the last chapter i'm releasing until pledis puts out a statement, at which point i'll evaluate whether i want to continue with the story. i also realize that there are a lot of themes in this chapter, and in this fic overall, that could be interpreted as a direct response to what is happening right now. i would like to clarify that it isn't; these chapters were written MONTHS prior to posting, back in december.
stay safe y'all, and remember to take a break from social media if it ever starts being too much.

Chapter 5

Notes:

i'm back y'all! thank you for waiting, and i hope these past few weeks weren't too hard for you, what with everything that went down. now that the bulk of the allegations have been cleared, i feel comfortable posting regularly again, hopefully with the same upload schedule as before - wednesdays and fridays.
happy reading <3

Chapter Text

When they enter the coffee shop, there are three other people there, ordering at the counter. Mingyu recognizes Seungkwan’s rusty brown hair, hears Chan’s signature “HA HA HA” laugh, and immediately breaks into a grin.

He approaches Seungkwan first, flinging his arms around his shoulders and leaning in close to whisper, “guess who?”

Seungkwan yelps, spins around, and winds his fist back like he’s about to invert Mingyu’s nose. Mingyu instinctively raises his hands in surrender. “Don’t do that,” Seungkwan complains when he recognizes who it is, lowering his fist. “Soonyoung scared me this morning and I accidentally kicked him in the leg.” 

Vernon makes a face. “I’m pretty sure it wasn’t an accident-"

“Oh- kay , moving swiftly on,” Seungkwan says quickly, shooting a murderous look in Vernon’s direction - it’s a little disturbing how often Seungkwan tries to kill his friends, Mingyu should probably fear for his own life - before something over Mingyu’s shoulder catches his attention. “Seokmin, you’re here too?”

Mingyu frowns, feeling about as surprised as Seungkwan sounds at the revelation that Seokmin is a mutual friend. But then he remembers that musical rehearsals started last week, and things start making sense. Oh, God - Soonyoung is in the musical too. Mingyu feels a headache coming on just thinking about it.

Seungkwan and Seokmin break off from their respective friend groups to have a loud, dramatic conversation about the musical. Minghao and Chan, who are both part of this mysterious dance club Mingyu knows absolutely nothing about, are talking quietly in the corner. Suddenly left alone, Mingyu and Vernon blink awkwardly at each other for a few seconds before bursting into laughter.

“So, what’s going on with you?” Vernon asks. His headphones are dangling from one ear, playing music so loud Mingyu can hear the bass from a foot away. 

“Just school,” Mingyu says. “How’s soccer without me?”

Vernon scrunches his face up in distaste. “Now that you’re gone Seungkwan and Chan bully me instead,” he complains. “They keep saying I have a ‘white boy ass’. What does that even mean ?”

Mingyu pats his arm in sympathy. “They’re public menaces,” he agrees. “Remember when they called me ‘Germgyu’ for a full month?”

Vernon frowns. “I mean, you sneezed into your hand and then touched Chan’s hair, that is pretty gross-”

“A whole month , Vernon,” Mingyu says. He’s getting worked up just thinking about it. Vernon takes a cautious step back, half-raising his hands in surrender. Mingyu takes several deep breaths and shoots him an apologetic look. “I’m gonna go order. Talk to you later?”

That seems to placate Vernon, who lowers his hands with a laugh. “Yeah. I’ll send you some memes.”

“Please don’t,” Mingyu says automatically. All of Vernon’s so-called ‘memes’ make him feel like he’s having an existential crisis and a really bad acid trip at the same time. Vernon gives him two ambiguous thumbs-up and leaves.

--

Wonwoo walks next to him on the way home. “Hey, your cowlick is still there,” Mingyu says, reaching out to smooth it down the same way he did in the morning. “It’s cute.”

Wonwoo huffs, but doesn’t pull away. Cute. “Junhui tried for twenty minutes during Philosophy, don’t bother. It’s immovable. Interminable.”

“Ugh, of course you’re in that super hard Philosophy class,” Mingyu says, dropping his hand back to his side. Wonwoo looks nice like this anyways - a little funny, sure, but soft and rumpled too. Like sleeping in on a sunny morning. “And you probably enjoy it, you nerd.”

“It’s interesting ,” Wonwoo argues, even as he turns slightly pink. “I don’t see why people hate it so much.”

“Does Junhui find it interesting?” Junhui doesn’t seem like the kind of person to enjoy Philosophy. He’s way too chaotic. One time in Calc Mingyu watched him eat an entire lemon in twenty seconds, just as a fun morning snack.

“He plays Candy Crush under his desk the whole time,” Wonwoo admits. “Also, you have no right to call me a nerd, you’re in twelfth grade math.”

“Yeah, but I hate it like a normal person,” Mingyu says. “Also, I’m too sexy to be a nerd.”

Wonwoo hums. “I don’t know about that,” he says. Which, rude .

--

The next day, after school, Mingyu has one of the best practices he’s had in a while. And if it has anything to do with the familiar figure huddled in on himself at the end of the bleachers, dressed in all-black, he’s not going to admit it out loud.

--

“You’re back,” Mingyu says when he approaches Wonwoo, who looks up from his textbook. 

Wonwoo laughs. “Yeah,” he confirms. “I’m back.”

They fall into a silence that’s - well. It’s not awkward, but it’s not exactly comfortable either, thrumming with a slight undercurrent of tension. Mingyu can’t tear his gaze from Wonwoo's eyes. The cowlick from yesterday is gone. Mingyu mourns the loss.

“Mingyu!”

Mingyu yelps and drops his gym bag directly onto his foot. Wonwoo laughs at him.

Soonyoung jogs over, waving Mingyu’s water bottle in the air. “You left this on the bench,” he says. “You’re lucky I recognized it was yours, or Baekho would’ve taken it to the lost and found.”

“Thanks,” Mingyu says, picking up his bag and reaching out for the bottle, only to find it farther away from him than before. He looks up and sees that Soonyoung has recoiled out of shock, pointing openly at Wonwoo, who looks a little uncomfortable as he stares back.

“Hey, it’s you! Junhui’s hot friend!” Soonyoung exclaims. “You’re Mingyu’s secret admirer?”

Mingyu chokes on nothing. The blush on Wonwoo’s cheeks turns several shades darker as he says, slowly, “that would be me. What’s this about a secret admirer?”

Mingyu recovers enough of his senses to glare at Soonyoung. “Yeah,” he says forcefully, “what’s this about my secret admirer?”

“Oh, nothing,” Soonyoung waves his hand dismissively - Mingyu tries to grab his water bottle again, but fails - “it’s just something we’ve been calling you, because you’re like, always here, and Mingyu always looks super excited when he sees you.”

Mingyu can feel his face racing to match the exact shade of pink Wonwoo’s has achieved. It’s not like Soonyoung’s even wrong - in fact, he’s extremely, humiliatingly right. “Can I please have my water bottle back,” he says feebly.

“Huh? Oh, yeah.” Soonyoung tosses the bottle back to Mingyu, who barely manages to avoid fumbling the catch. “Anyways, I gotta go. See you tomorrow morning, Mingyu! It was nice to meet you, Junhui’s hot friend slash Mingyu’s not-so-secret admirer!”

This last part is called over his shoulder as he jogs away, leaving Mingyu and Wonwoo standing in awkward silence in his wake. Mingyu puts his water bottle back in his bag, frantically searching for something to say and vaguely wanting to kill Soonyoung, good intentions be damned. 

Unexpectedly, it’s Wonwoo who breaks the silence. “If you can believe it, someone called Junhui my hot friend a few days ago.”

Mingyu looks up at him and is met with a wry smile, which effectively dissolves all the tension in his shoulders. “I can believe it,” he says. “You two are a menace.”

Wonwoo laughs. “Thanks, I guess.” He stands up, rolling his shoulders back. It’s weirdly attractive, Mingyu thinks. Then again, Wonwoo could do something as mundane as sharpen a pencil and Mingyu would still find it attractive. (He’ll find a platonic explanation for that later.) “I’ll see you in the courtyard?”

Mingyu beams up at him. “Of course.”

--

Wonwoo shows up to every single practice for the rest of the season. Soonyoung actually learns Wonwoo’s name and starts using it in place of what he’d been calling him before, which is great for Mingyu’s blood pressure and Wonwoo’s too, probably. Sometimes, Wonwoo will have some stuff left over from lunch and, having gotten acquainted with Mingyu’s bottomless stomach, always saves it for him. It’s usually not much, just two chicken nuggets or an apple, but it makes Mingyu weirdly happy regardless.

(Minghao will argue that it’s because of the person who’s giving it to him, but Mingyu is not going to think about that, thank you very much.)

They play well enough to qualify for the tournament, and continue playing well in the tournament. Wonwoo doesn’t come to the games, because half of them are away games and they all last a long-ass time, and his life probably doesn’t revolve around Mingyu’s high school soccer career. Mingyu plays well regardless, and although he’s not on the starting lineup, he starts spending more and more time on the field, leaving each game with an ache in his legs that feels like a reward. 

The rest of the season passes by in a blur until, all of a sudden, they’ve made it to the finals, and Mingyu is standing on the field staring at the bleachers, which are slowly filling up with people. 

It’s not a surprise that they’ve made it this far - their school has a pretty extensive past of doing well in the annual tournament. Mingyu himself led the junior varsity team to the semi-finals last year. But it’s a home game, and he recognizes half of the faces in the crowd, and his mom is here, and the lights overhead are really, really bright, so he stands there and feels the knot in his chest grow tighter. 

“YO! KIM MINGYU!”

Mingyu flinches and looks towards the source of the sound. To his horror, so do half of the team.

It takes him only a few seconds to find them - Minghao, Seokmin, Junhui, and Wonwoo are sitting towards the top left corner of the bleachers, each of them clutching some form of school-mandated paraphernalia. Seokmin has his hands cupped around his mouth, which explains the sheer volume of that yell, because he is a theatre kid who has been belting his entire life. There’s paint on his forehead. Next to him, Junhui and Minghao are cackling maniacally - we aren’t gonna be friends, my ass , Mingyu thinks - and jointly waving a giant foam hand. Situated at the very end of their little four-person row, Wonwoo has one hand propping his chin up, the other holding a pom-pom in their school colors, smiling.

Like they’re in some sort of gross teenage romcom, he catches Mingyu’s eye. Holds his gaze. Mouths, distinctly, you got this . The knot in Mingyu’s chest loosens.

“YOU’RE SUPER SEXY, KIM MINGYU!” Seokmin bellows, which ruins the moment and triggers Mingyu’s fight-or-flight instinct at the same time. Laughter ripples through the bleachers. Mingyu’s teammates snicker, and Soonyoung wanders over to slap his ass. 

Mingyu buries face in his hands, smiling despite the searing humiliation.

--

Halfway through the game, when they’re behind a few points, Mingyu looks up and spots his mom, standing with a few other parents towards the back, still in her work clothes. She’s watching the game intently, not even paying attention to him, but the knowledge that she’s there makes the base of his neck prickle.

He gets subbed on a few moments later. Like his body is a completely separate force from his mind (and maybe it is), he doesn’t play well - but he doesn’t play badly, either. In a few months, he’ll probably stop thinking about his performance in this game altogether. It won’t make any impact on his position in the team.

Still - his mom is watching, and so are his friends, and they lose. He plays like he’s always played, and they lose. 

No one says anything, of course. The team is oppressively silent as they trudge to the showers; only the captain, Baekho, talks for a few moments about the postseason dinner the coach is treating them to. And even that is quiet, ringing dully against the tiled floor, muffled by the ringing slam of locker doors. Mingyu feels the heat of the steam against his skin and struggles to breathe.

Outside, he gulps down the cool night air. His friends come over a few moments later to envelop him in a group hug. Soonyoung and Jihoon are there, too, because Soonyoung knows everyone but he’s also attached to Jihoon by the hip. 

Mingyu doesn’t cry; Seokmin does enough of that for both of them and then some, still managing to tell Mingyu how sexy he looked through his tears. Minghao shoves some food in his face, Junhui ruffles his hair, and Soonyoung slings an arm around his shoulders. Jihoon, for his part, punches him lightly in the arm and tells him to keep his chin up.

(Wonwoo lingers at the edge of the group, silent. Mingyu doesn’t dare to look at him.)

Still, Mingyu doesn’t say anything, except for short answers to whatever his friends ask him. Minghao notices, because he always does, pulling Mingyu away from the rest of their friends and telling him quietly, “you did well, Mingyu. Seriously. There wasn’t anything else you could have done.”

“I know,” Mingyu says, not looking Minghao in the eye. 

Minghao’s frowning, when Mingyu looks up at him, and Mingyu knows his concerns aren’t appeased. He didn’t expect them to be - Minghao is both unwaveringly caring and extremely perceptive. But this is something he just doesn’t talk about, so he gives Minghao a smile, no teeth, a wordless end to their conversation. “I’m fine, Minghao. Thank you.”

Minghao sighs, still unsatisfied, but grabs Mingyu’s hand and leads him back to the rest of the group anyways. Aside from being caring and perceptive, he’s also known Mingyu long enough to be familiar with his boundaries. To know that, beneath the chatty, clumsy exterior, Mingyu is quiet and unyielding and stubborn.

Mingyu makes a mental note to learn another dish to cook for Minghao the next time he comes over, and allows himself to be steered back into the conversation.

--

The first time Mingyu does poorly on a math test is in eighth grade.

The test had completely slipped Mingyu’s mind, having been scheduled right after three other tests in three different classes. By the time that fateful Monday rolls around, Mingyu is unprepared, sleep deprived, and crammed full to bursting with random, unrelated knowledge.

It isn’t because he doesn’t understand the concepts - math has always been his strong suit, after all. He’s just tired, and his brain is scrambled, and the dumb little mistakes like forgetting the negative and adding numbers wrong add up and then he’s going home with a mark twenty percent lower than his average.

His mom doesn’t say anything, because she doesn’t know. In eighth grade, she no longer checks his individual grades, because she trusts him to do well on his own. A trust he clearly doesn’t deserve. Mingyu doesn’t get a lot of sleep that night. 

The next morning, Minghao squints at him and says, “what happened to you?”

He doesn’t know about the math test, of course; Mingyu has never been one to share grades. “Nothing,” he says. “Do you want to come over this weekend and work on our essays together?”

“Sure,” Minghao says, and then, a little gentler, “you look awful. What’s wrong?”

Mingyu forces out a laugh. “You’re so rude, Minghao,” he says loudly. “I never look awful, thank you very much.”

Minghao doesn’t answer, just squints at him. He drops this subject, though, so Mingyu considers his deflection a success.

The rest of the day goes by about the same way - Minghao’s questions about his well-being vary between extremely subtle and extremely straight-foward, and Mingyu dodges them with accompanying levels of ease. Minghao gets increasingly, visibly annoyed with each instance, which Mingyu feels bad about, but not bad enough to talk about it.

Minghao snaps on their walk home. “If you’re going to be such an asshole,” he says, “then I’m not going to bother caring about you anymore.”

And Mingyu really, honestly, truly feels bad. The last person he wants to let down is Minghao, who has become his closest friend since Seokmin’s abrupt departure, and who is steadfast and warm underneath his finely honed insults. But he has to, because what else could he possibly say? How can he be expected to undermine years of firmly maintained silence in one day?

“Suit yourself,” he says, and hates himself. They don’t talk for the rest of the walk home.

Mingyu doesn’t sleep well that night either. But this time, his mind isn’t running through all the things he did wrong on the test, but instead on everything Minghao has come to mean to him in the past two years.

Minghao, who defended him when other kids made fun of his dark complexion. Minghao, who doesn’t need to ask where the plates and bowls are whenever he stays for dinner. Minghao, who has never once laughed at him for crying, and whose eyes light up whenever Mingyu makes him a dish from home. 

Minghao, who is still waiting for him at their usual spot the next morning. He looks like he didn’t get that much sleep, either.

Mingyu says, “it’s a school thing.”

Minghao blinks, quickly wiping the surprise off his face. “What kind of school thing?” he asks.

“My grades.” Mingyu looks down at his feet as they walk. “I care a lot about them.”

Minghao snorts, a break in his indifferent facade, so characteristic of him that it kind of makes Mingyu want to cry with relief. “I figured.”

“But I don’t like talking about them,” Mingyu says. “I never have. I probably won’t like talking about them for a while.”

I’m sorry for being an asshole . Thank you for always caring about me , is what he doesn’t say. He figures Minghao hears it in his voice anyways, because things go back to normal after that.

On the weekend, before Minghao comes over, Mingyu buys a shit ton of Chinese hawthorn and makes bing tang hulu . The ache in his back from standing over boiling syrup for an hour is worth it, when he sees that gleam in Minghao’s eyes again.

--

His mom’s face is as inscrutable as always, even in the harsh lighting over the bleachers, especially so in the subdued darkness of the car ride home. Mingyu stares out the window, at the scenery he’s seen countless times, and replays the game over and over in his head.

Finally, about five minutes in, she asks, “what are you going to do now that soccer’s done?”

Mingyu shifts a little in his seat, sits up a little straighter. His mom’s questions have always felt like interrogations, like tests - because they are. Thankfully, Mingyu has become very good at preparing for tests over the past few years. “There aren’t a lot of clubs that accept new members this late,” he says, “but I was thinking of the culinary club and the business club.”

“What do you do in the business club?” she asks. She doesn’t ask about the culinary club, because it’s always been clear that Mingyu’s cooking is just a hobby.

“It’s like a student-run university prep class,” Mingyu says, fiddling with the drawstrings of his hoodie. “They teach content that’s taught in intro-level university business courses. Like finance management and marketing and stuff.”

She hums. It’s a good hum - a satisfied one. “Anything else?”

“I think I’m also going to start hitting the gym again,” Mingyu says. “I have to stay in shape for next year.”

Another satisfied hum. “You played well today, Mingyu.”

“Yeah.” It feels like the word’s being forced out of his mouth. The silence that follows is deafening, and he slumps back against the car window, the chill of the glass grounding him.

--

He doesn’t get a lot of sleep that night. He’s learned a lot in the three years between eighth grade and now, though, so instead of just staring at the ceiling with all the blinds open he just reads ahead for his classes. Tipping the scales back in favor of his competence, he likes to think.

He’s a little glad that soccer season is over.

Chapter Text

Mingyu wakes up the next morning with a grand total of two hours of sleep, dry-eyed and numb all over. His limbs are heavy as he pushes himself out of bed, heavy as he gets dressed, heavy as he shuffles to the bathroom.

In the bathroom, he stares blearily into the mirror, the weak morning light washing out all the colors. He looks about as tired as he feels - his hair hangs limply against his forehead, there’s dark circles under his eyes, and his skin looks pale and dull. He turns on the tap. The rush of water sounds washed-out, too, like he’s experiencing everything through a thick layer of glass. 

Force of habit propels him through the motions, and he’s ready at the door by the time Minghao arrives, barely feeling the chill in the wind. Minghao takes one glance at him and immediately wraps him in a hug, wordless. He rests his head on Minghao’s shoulder and lets himself breathe for a little bit, counting down the seconds until he has to open his eyes and act like a human being again.

The seconds fly by, as they usually do when he doesn’t want them to. Minghao loops their arms together when they walk, though, and that’s enough to keep him grounded, so that by the time Seokmin and Wonwoo come into view, he’s a little more capable of acting like his usual self. 

He still doesn’t look at Wonwoo. He’s not really sure why - maybe it’s the same part of him that didn’t want to look at Wonwoo after losing last night. Maybe the same, even, as the part of him that didn’t want Wonwoo to see him crying, all those years ago. 

They walk in silence. Seokmin sits next to him on the bus. “Wanna watch a compilation of dogs reacting to their owners coming home?” he asks.

It’s such a Seokmin thing to say that Mingyu can physically feel his heart warming. “Yeah,” he says, and accepts the earbud offered to him. 

Seokmin holds his hand for the rest of the ride. He doesn’t say anything else, probably because he can tell how little Mingyu feels like talking. It’s a small accommodation, but it’s significant, and when Mingyu gets off the bus, he breathes in the air and feels the chill in his lungs for the first time.

--

Mingyu remains quiet throughout the day, but as he talks to more people and gets more hugs from friends (most of them from Soonyoung, if he’s going to be honest), he feels his energy slowly replenishing. The numbness recedes back into the corners of his mind, chased away by the warmth of boundless affection. He is, after all, a textbook extrovert. 

At lunch, Baekho takes the team out for their last lunch of the year. Despite the fact that they lost, and that the seniors will be leaving next year, the team is in relatively high spirits as they cross the field. “Don’t worry, we’re all going to be crying like babies at the dinner this weekend,” Soonyoung assures him. “It happened last year. I have pictures if you want to see them-”

“Don’t you dare ,” Baekho calls from the front of the group, because spending a year in a dad-like role to a bunch of rowdy teenage boys has given him superhuman hearing. 

Soonyoung winks and whispers, “I’ll show you later.” Mingyu laughs.

--

Lunch is fun - they eat at a Chinese place, the entire team crammed into two booths and making so much noise Mingyu starts feeling bad for the other patrons of the restaurant. Mingyu jokes around with the older guys on the team and steals food off Soonyoung’s plate, laughing and scooting away when Soonyoung catches him.

It’s nice. Mingyu feels almost back to normal by the time lunch is over, getting through his afternoon classes with little difficulty. But then the last class of the day ends, and he finds himself standing in the courtyard, face-to-face with the one thing that hasn’t gone back to normal.

Well, more like the one person. At this point, he has no idea why he hasn’t spoken to Wonwoo yet. Maybe he’s afraid Wonwoo will ask too many questions, will figure out what’s wrong with him, will glimpse the dark parts of him and recoil. Maybe it’s just been a full day since they’ve last spoken, and now it’s a little too awkward to just randomly start talking again. 

Maybe - maybe his newfound closeness with Wonwoo was one forged from convenience, a bond between two people merely occupying the same space at the same time. Maybe Wonwoo isn’t talking to him because he no longer has to.

“No, that’s not right,” he says aloud.

Seokmin turns towards him. “Huh? What’s not right?”

“Oh, nothing,” Mingyu says automatically - a shitty cover-up, but Seokmin is kind enough to let it slide without comment. He follows it up with an even shittier subject change. “What are you getting Minghao for his birthday?”

Seokmin freezes. “Oh, no. What am I getting Minghao for his birthday?”

Mingyu pats him on the shoulder. “I’ll send you a list.”

--

Mingyu texts Seokmin the list the second he gets home, and then pockets his phone for the rest of the evening as he works through his after-school routine. He’s preparing the ingredients for the night’s dinner when the doorbell rings. He ignores it, chalking it up to a delivery, until it rings again, longer this time, forcing him to abandon the shrimp in his hands and make his way to the door.

It’s Wonwoo. Mingyu stares like an idiot. 

Wonwoo shuffles his feet in discomfort. “Hey,” he says. “Can I come in?”

Mingyu blinks, comes back to reality, and immediately wants to slap himself. “Uh, yeah, sorry,” he stumbles, stepping back and letting Wonwoo in. 

Why is Wonwoo here ?

The silence that settles is oppressively awkward. Mingyu, without thinking, blurts out, “do you - do you want tea again? I just have the same stuff I got you last time, but we also have water, and I think there’s still a little juice left-”

“Mingyu,” Wonwoo interrupts. Mingyu abruptly shuts his mouth, a little relieved to have been saved from that trainwreck of a sentence. And then, softer, “are you okay?”

Mingyu’s entire body comes to a standstill. He looks at Wonwoo, who is already looking at him. Wonwoo’s brows are furrowed, and there’s a hint of that vulnerability in him again, almost like he’s - concerned?

The air is heavy. Mingyu breathes in, breathes out, looks Wonwoo in the eye, and forces himself to nod. 

“Yeah,” he says. “I’m okay.”

Wonwoo says nothing for a long moment, searching Mingyu’s face with an intensity that makes it hard to breathe. Mingyu’s eyes have always been pretty clear windows to his soul, or however the saying goes, but it’s like Wonwoo shattered the glass and climbed inside. "Why didn’t you talk to me?”

“I don’t,” Mingyu starts reflexively, then stops. The words don’t feel right in his mouth. “I didn’t know what you would think of me,” he settles on, because that’s about as close to the truth as he can get when he isn’t even sure of the truth himself. 

As he watches, several emotions flicker through Wonwoo’s eyes - surprise, then realization, then - guilt? You have nothing to feel guilty for , Mingyu wants to tell him, and almost does, but then he asks, “do you want to know what I think of you?” and that train of thought stutters to a stop.

Mingyu does want to know. As devastated as he’d be if the answer he gets is one he doesn’t like, he’d much rather suffer the immediate devastation than have to spend agonizingly long nights lying in bed, painfully awake, picking apart all of Wonwoo’s words only to arrive at the same conclusion. So he says, “yes,” but he looks down at his feet, so that the image of Wonwoo’s face as he tears him apart won’t be burned into his mind forever.

Wonwoo doesn’t tear him apart, though. Mingyu hears him sigh, sees him step closer, and then hears him say, “you have always done better than you give yourself credit for.”

The words don’t even register in Mingyu’s mind at first. It’s only when he looks up, sees the simple honesty on Wonwoo’s face, that he understands what he’s saying.

And he wants to disagree. He is appropriately humble at his best and jokingly boastful at his worst, but above all, he’s always been an accurate judge of his own abilities. It’s what keeps him working, keeps him up late at night double- and triple-checking his work - the knowledge that, the second he stops working, he’ll fall behind. 

But now here is Wonwoo, closer than he’s ever been before, standing in his house and telling him he’s wrong. The reasonable response would be anger, probably. But it’s Wonwoo . “How do you know?” is all he asks. 

This close, Wonwoo has to tilt his head slightly upwards to look Mingyu in the eye. “You played well,” he says. “I’m proud of you.”

Something in Mingyu breaks.

All of a sudden, there is warmth pooling in his chest and tears pooling in his eyes, and he has to shove his face into his hands so Wonwoo doesn’t see. This is the second time he’s cried in front of Wonwoo - a record, probably, given that he doesn’t even cry in front of Minghao all that much. He wonders if Minghao will be offended, and then wonders, a little belatedly, why the hell am I crying?

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Wonwoo blurts out. He sounds panicked. Mingyu sinks to the floor, attempting to make himself as small as physically possible, more out of habit than anything. There’s a hand carding through his hair, all of a sudden, and another rubbing the space between his shoulders in uneven circles. “I’m sorry, I didn’t- please don’t cry. I’m sorry.”

Mingyu shakes his head. “Don’t,” he mumbles, getting choked up before he can finish the sentence. 

“Sorry,” Wonwoo repeats, pulling both of his hands away. It hits Mingyu that what he meant as “ don’t be sorry” was probably interpreted as “ don’t touch me” . The skin on his back feels warm where Wonwoo’s hand had been, and he feels infinitely more vulnerable without the weight of Wonwoo’s fingers in his hair. 

Mingyu reaches one hand out, keeping the other one firmly over his face, and gropes around wildly before hitting Wonwoo’s unmistakably bony wrist. He grabs onto it like a lifeline, tugs a little. “Don’t,” he repeats, “don’t be sorry.”

Don’t leave , also, maybe, but he’s not ready to say that yet.

“But I made you cry,” Wonwoo says. He sounds confused. Mingyu thinks, a little hysterically, that this is probably the first time Wonwoo’s been confused by something Mingyu said, and not the other way around. 

He shakes his head again. “It’s not you,” he says. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” 

Nothing’s wrong with you ,” Wonwoo insists, so quickly and with such ferocity that it shocks Mingyu into looking up.

He kind of wishes he hadn’t. Partially because he’s only just stopped crying, so his eyes are still red and his entire face is probably gross and damp. But mostly because, in the time that’s passed since Mingyu closed his eyes, Wonwoo has knelt down on the floor in front of him. They’re so close their knees are touching, and Mingyu’s hand is still holding onto Wonwoo’s wrist, and Wonwoo’s eyes are wide and intense and laser-focused. 

If his brain hadn’t stopped functioning at some point, it would be yelling something about cinematic parallels again, probably - something about how, five years later, they wound up in the same place, Mingyu crying and feeling embarrassed about it, Wonwoo looking at him with concern he doesn’t think he deserves. 

“Nothing’s wrong with you,” Wonwoo repeats, a little softer, probably seeing the shock on Mingyu’s face. There’s a pause, and then, “come here.”

Mingyu is about to ask him to repeat that, because there’s no way he just said what Mingyu thinks he said, but then he’s pulling Mingyu towards him, and it turns out he had, in fact, said what Mingyu thinks he said. Mingyu, limp and a little numb, lets himself fall forward, his forehead finding the crook of Wonwoo’s shoulder.

Wonwoo is unexpectedly warm, and Mingyu can feel the ropy muscle in his shoulder, underneath all the layers. Wonwoo shifts to accommodate his weight - and then it hits Mingyu that he is kneeling on the floor of his house with his head on Jeon Wonwoo’s shoulder , and this really isn’t something people usually do with their childhood best friend’s older brother-turned-friend, right?

Mingyu doesn’t know. There’s a lot of things he doesn’t know, actually, like why the hell he started crying in the first place, or what the hell Wonwoo meant about ‘being proud of him’ and ‘giving himself credit’, or exactly why he feels better just sitting there and feeling Wonwoo’s shoulder rise and fall as he breathes.

Wonwoo smells like loose leaf tea, no sugar. It’s a detail that Mingyu latches on to as his breathing evens out, as the burning behind his eyes and his ribcage dissipates, as he blocks out all the questions clamoring for attention in his worn-out brain.

There probably is something wrong with him, he thinks. But he lets himself believe Wonwoo, if only for a few minutes.

--

Eventually, Mingyu recovers enough to regain his hosting sensibilities and extracts himself from Wonwoo’s shoulder with more than a little reluctance. He keeps his hand on Wonwoo’s wrist, though, when he pulls him to the kitchen to make him some tea, and counts it as a personal victory when Wonwoo doesn’t pull away.

Wonwoo takes a seat at the island like last time, and watches in silence as Mingyu putters around the kitchen, the bluish evening light and the clink of metal against porcelain filling the air with a gentle ambiance.

Unfortunately, Mingyu has recovered enough to hate silence again. “I think you’re going to single handedly go through all of my tea reserves,” he comments. 

Thankfully, he’s met with a quiet chuckle behind him. “Someone has to,” Wonwoo points out. It’s horribly rude and offensive, but also kind of true - every time Mingyu drinks tea on his own, which is not very often, he ends up dumping a bunch of sugar in it and then his teeth hurt afterwards. He’s pretty sure they’ve had the same leaves, untouched, for the past two years.

Wonwoo doesn’t need to know that, though. “I drink tea,” Mingyu insists. “I can be cute and cultured at the same time.” He turns to Wonwoo, who is just watching him with his chin propped up on his hand, and makes a broad, sweeping gesture. “ I contain multitu- ah, shit!”

This last part is in response to him accidentally knocking over a mug, which rolls precariously towards the edge of the counter and is only saved from a gruesome death by Mingyu’s student athlete reflexes. Wonwoo just laughs at him, because he is cruel and awful.

“If it makes you feel better,” he offers, “I do appreciate the Whitman quote.”

Mingyu blinks at him, setting the mug down on the counter. “Is that what it was? I just Googled ‘artsy quotes’ and it was the first thing that came up.”

That makes Wonwoo laugh even harder. “Well, I appreciate the gesture,” he corrects. Mingyu turns, hiding his smile in the crook of his arm.

--

Wonwoo leaves twenty minutes and two cups of tea later, waving goodbye under the porch light - a sight Mingyu can get used to, he thinks. Mingyu finishes his homework, makes and eats dinner, and washes up almost on autopilot, mind fixed on the feeling of Wonwoo’s shoulder, on the look in Wonwoo’s eyes. I’m proud of you. 

Mingyu lies in his bed in the dark, turning the words over and over in his head. They still don’t make sense to him. All he figures out, in the hour that he spends just lying there thinking, is that, for some reason, he really wants to hear Wonwoo say them again.

--

Mingyu falls asleep thinking about I’m proud of you , dreams about slender fingers under an oversized sweater, and then wakes up thinking shit, how am I going to hang out with Wonwoo now?

He mulls this over as he gets ready. Does he just bite the bullet and spend an hour after school in the library twice a week, just for the sake of a twenty-minute trip home? No, because then Wonwoo will ask what he was doing after school, and then he will have to tell him, and then Wonwoo will think he is weird and not want to be friends with him anymore. Does he just… ask Wonwoo to hang out? When would he even get the chance? He did get his number from Seokmin, so he could text him, but then Wonwoo will ask him how he got his number, and then Wonwoo will think he is weird and not want to be friends with him anymore-

“You have that look on your face again,” Minghao says. 

“Huh?” he asks, a little faint. He realizes, then, that he’s been silent for the entirety of their walk. A rare feat for someone who, admittedly, has a few problems with volume control. “What look?”

“The ‘I’m thinking about Wonwoo’ look,” Minghao says. Mingyu's brain short-circuits. “Seriously, just ask him if he wants to hang out. It’s not like he’s going to say no.”

“Hold on, back up,” Mingyu says. Minghao looks unbothered, as if he didn’t just ruin Mingyu’s entire life with three sentences. “I have a ‘thinking about Wonwoo’ look?”

“Yeah, it’s like-” and then Minghao, to Mingyu’s horror, screws his face up into an expression straight from a shitty teenage romcom. “It’s the same face you have when he talks to you, or looks at you, or acknowledges that you exist-”

“This is slander ,” Mingyu stresses. “I don’t have a ‘thinking about Wonwoo’ look. Also, I don’t care whether he acknowledges my existence or not.”

This is a lie. Mingyu literally just panicked over the thought of Wonwoo not wanting to hang out with him anymore. But Minghao doesn’t need to know that, even though Mingyu suspects he already does, if the look on his face is anything to go by.

“Really,” Minghao says. He points up ahead. “Then don’t smile when he says hi to you.”

Mingyu knows exactly what Minghao is pointing at before he even turns to look. He doesn’t even know why he bothers anymore - he can’t remember a single argument, in the five years that they’ve been best friends, that he’s won. 

Wonwoo and Seokmin are already at their meet-up point. Seokmin is laughing, the force of his laughter taking over his whole body, at something Wonwoo’s said. Wonwoo has his hands in his pockets and the hood of his sweater up over his head. Mingyu sighs, already able to tell that he won’t be breaking Minghao’s winning streak today.

Sure enough, all it takes is eye contact, a soft smile, and a quiet “hey, Mingyu,” before he can feel himself smiling. He blames it on the fact that Wonwoo’s nose is pink from the cold, and ignores Minghao grinning victoriously beside him.

--

Seokmin, apparently, finally watched Your Name the previous night, and is rambling about the Easter Eggs that he read about on the internet. It actually sounds kind of interesting, and Minghao is so engaged that he’s actually bouncing on the balls of his feet with excitement, so Mingyu finds himself listening out of sheer intrigue before he’s pulled away.

Like, actually physically pulled away. There’s a hand on his elbow tugging him back, and even though it’s by all means a gentle tug, Mingyu has the worst balance in the world and nearly falls on his ass like a loser. His embarrassment only fades when he realizes that it’s Wonwoo’s hand on his elbow, but then it’s quickly replaced by internal screaming. 

“What are you going to do now that soccer’s over?” Wonwoo asks, seemingly not noticing how red Mingyu's face has become. It sounds like a passive question, but he hasn’t let go of Mingyu’s elbow. He sounds almost reluctant to ask.

Like he’s afraid of Mingyu’s answer. Mingyu feels warm all over with the knowledge that he wasn’t the only one looking forward to the journey home, just the two of them, twice a week. “I’m gonna join a culinary club,” he says. “It’s my first meeting today.”

Wonwoo hums. “After school?”

Mingyu laughs, content. Wonwoo really doesn’t have any reason to be so reluctant, he thinks. There’s no way he could knowingly give an answer Wonwoo doesn’t like. “Yeah,” he confirms. “The same time as your nerdy ass literature club, actually, so I’m afraid you’ll be stuck with me for the rest of the year.”

He glances at Wonwoo to gauge his reaction and finds him smiling down at his feet, his breath condensing in the cold air as he exhales. “Unfortunate,” he says, even as his tone of voice suggests the opposite. His eyes are bright when he looks up and meets Mingyu’s gaze, and he’s still smiling as he says, “and here I was, counting down the days until I wouldn’t have to see you again.”

Rude ,” Mingyu complains. “You can go home by yourself.”

Spoiler alert: Wonwoo does not go home by himself.

--

“No way,” Mingyu says.

Jihoon, clad in a purple apron and sitting on the countertop, says, “if you say that one more time, I’m going to shove your dick in the meat grinder.”

That statement is prevented from being the most terrifying thing Mingyu has ever heard by the fact that Jihoon is swinging his legs as he says it, his hands in his lap. “Sorry,” Mingyu says, “but you’re the last person I expected to be here.”

Jihoon shrugs. “Soonyoung says if I keep subsisting on mixed noodles, I’m going to die of scurvy.” Which answers about zero of Mingyu’s questions, but for the sake of his life and also his dick, Mingyu doesn’t ask him to clarify. 

The execs arrive a few minutes later, and the club meeting starts without much fanfare,  the members splitting off into pairs to share one of the ten stations spread out across the Home Ec classroom. Jihoon, who is kind enough to be Mingyu’s station partner because he’s the only one he knows, explains that there have never been strict rules about club membership - people usually just drop in whenever they feel like it.

They’re making bulgogi with rice this week. Mingyu loves bulgogi.

He’s also, as it turns out, really good at making bulgogi. At the end of the meeting, when they’re wandering around sampling the other members’ dishes, one of the execs approaches him, the absurdly pretty Japanese girl who led the class.

“You,” she says, and points directly at him. It’s mildly terrifying, despite the fact that she is almost a foot shorter than him and has a laugh that literally tinkles. “You’ve got talent. You should stick around.”

Mingyu beams at her, heat rising to his cheeks at the compliment. There’s soy sauce on his sleeves, he almost burned himself making the rice earlier, and being near Jihoon wielding a knife should be considered some kind of traumatic experience, but he had fun , laughing and running around in this bustling classroom that smells like sesame oil. 

“Thanks,” he says. “I think I will.”

--

from: wonu~

hey what room is your meeting in

 

to: wonu~

home ec!!!!!!!!!!!! room 116

 

from: wonu~

gross

ok wait for me i’ll be there in 5

--

Mingyu leaves the room with a warm plastic container of bulgogi in his hands, arguing with Jihoon about the new trailer for the upcoming Marvel show. “Where is the shield ?” he says emphatically. “What’s the whole point of passing on the shield if we don't even see it?”

“Obviously the shield’s going to show up, they’re building anticipation ,” Jihoon argues. “Just because you’re incapable of patience-”

“I can be patient,” Mingyu insists.

“You literally just interrupted me,” Jihoon says. Which, fair enough. “Anyways, I’ll see you around, I guess.”

Mingyu smiles at him. For all of his homicidal tendencies and affinity for wearing slippers to school, Jihoon is actually a softie at heart, one who kept him company in a club where he doesn’t know anyone else. “See you next week!”

“Ugh,” Jihoon says as he walks away. He does give Mingyu’s shoulder a farewell punch, though, so at least that counts for something. 

“He’s right, you know.”

Mingyu yelps, and promptly drops his container.

It hits the ground with a dull thud. Mingyu waits with dread for a puddle of sauce to leak out of the bottom of the container, but as he watches, the floor continues to remain sauce-free. He lets out an audible sigh of relief.

“Thank God, my bulgogi,” he babbles, bending over to scoop the seemingly unharmed container off the floor. He strokes it like it’s a spooked animal, cradling it close to his chest, careful not to accidentally open it. “It’s okay,” he whispers softly. “You’re safe now.”

“Should I leave you to it?” Wonwoo says behind him. 

He spins around, pointing at Wonwoo, who looks torn between amusement and genuine guilt. “You made me drop my bulgogi,” he accuses.

Wonwoo laughs, holding his hands up in surrender. “And I apologize for my crimes.”

Mingyu sniffs. “You should.” He glances down at his container, and then back at Wonwoo. He’s always thought Wonwoo should eat more. “Want some?”

Wonwoo looks surprised at the offer. “Sure,” he settles on. “I’m pretty hungry.”

Mingyu grins and, before his brain has time to adequately scream about what he’s doing, grabs Wonwoo’s hand and pulls him to a stairwell. He sits down on the bottom step, tugging Wonwoo down with him. “You should eat it when it’s still warm,” he explains, shoving the container onto Wonwoo’s lap and rummaging around in his bag for utensils. “Or else the meat’s going to taste all weird.”

Wonwoo pops the lid off, the steam billowing upwards, fogging up his glasses. He accepts the chopsticks Mingyu offers him with a small smile. “This smells really good,” he says.

Mingyu nudges him. “Hopefully it tastes just as good.”

Wonwoo laughs. “Jihoon was right,” he says. “You really have no patience.”

How the hell does Wonwoo know Jihoon? Is his entire social circle just one very convoluted network of attractive Asian boys? “Just eat already,” Mingyu says instead of asking, because, well, Jihoon really was right. And although he already got validation for his cooking from that exec - Momo, he thinks her name is - hearing it come from Wonwoo is just a little sweeter.

“Okay, okay,” Wonwoo says, placating. He then proceeds to ruin Mingyu’s life.

It sounds like an exaggeration, but it isn’t really. He takes off his glasses, now completely opaque with steam, and sets them gently on the stairs next to him. He pushes his hair up off his forehead, scoops some meat into his mouth, tips his head back and exhales. Mingyu registers, distantly, that maybe he should’ve warned Wonwoo about the food being too hot, but he’s too busy having a mental breakdown.

“This is really good,” Wonwoo says after a few bites. 

Mingyu barely hears him. “Thanks,” he croaks. His throat is suddenly very dry.

This is the first time he’s seen Wonwoo without glasses on - not counting elementary school. Seeing him without them, Mingyu realizes just how much they worked to soften his features - make him look boyish and gentle. Cute.

Turns out, without the glasses, with his hair pushed back, Wonwoo is- is-

“Mingyu!”

Mingyu snaps out of his trance. In front of him, Wonwoo has reverted back to normal, soft Wonwoo, his glasses and his bangs back in place. The container in his lap is now considerably emptier than before.

Mingyu focuses on Wonwoo’s face. He looks concerned. “Did you hear anything I just said?”

“Uh,” Mingyu says helplessly.

“I said I should probably stop eating, or else I’m going to finish all of it,” Wonwoo repeats, mercifully not saying anything about how Mingyu just ceased to function for a few seconds. Now that Mingyu looks closely, Wonwoo’s jawline is very, very defined. “You’re a good cook, Mingyu.”

Mingyu beams, his crisis momentarily discarded. Just like he predicted, Wonwoo’s compliment sits more solidly in his chest than Momo’s, making the tips of his fingers tingle. 

Maybe it’s because Wonwoo looks him right in the eye when he says it. Maybe it’s the smile on Wonwoo’s face, small and quiet. They’re sitting close enough that their legs are pressed together, two tall boys taking up an impossibly small section of the stairs. 

Mingyu, incomprehensibly, wants to move closer. “I told you I contain multitudes,” he jokes.

Wonwoo rolls his eyes, smile unwavering. “Don’t let it get to your head,” he says. “It’s already big enough as it is.”

“Hey, I’ll have you know my head is very proportionate to the rest of my body,” Mingyu insists. Wonwoo just laughs at him, warm, his hair in his eyes.

--

On the way home, Mingyu makes the boldest move of his life and grabs Wonwoo’s hand. It is, predictably, freezing cold, and the chill in the air probably doesn’t make things any better, so Mingyu tucks both of their hands into his pocket. Wonwoo gets tugged closer in the process, an unforeseen but not at all unwelcome side effect. Their shoulders bump together awkwardly once, twice.

Wonwoo doesn’t say anything about it. Mingyu smiles to himself as their conversation continues on, Wonwoo’s hand securely intertwined with his.

--

His first business club meeting is the day after, at lunch. Seokmin has musical duties to attend to that day, so Mingyu drags Minghao with him as emotional support. 

The classroom is moderately packed when they arrive, students sitting on desks and standing in corners chatting, the execs nowhere to be found. Minghao is steering Mingyu towards the desks in the back corner of the classroom when someone calls their names.

“Mingyu! Minghao!” It’s Chan, waving frantically at them from his spot in the opposite corner, occupying a single desk in a row of three. They cross the classroom and take the empty seats, Mingyu in the middle. “Thank God you guys are here, too,” Chan continues. “I only joined last week, so I don’t have any friends, and also, this club is so boring .”

Minghao takes out his lunch bag and offers a tangerine to Chan, who takes it gratefully. “If it’s so boring, why are you still here?” he asks as he peels a second tangerine. 

Chan shrugs. “I have to learn if I want to improve,” he says solemnly. Mingyu wants to ask what, exactly, he’s trying to improve by taking a mock university-level business class, but Chan looks so serious he decides against it.

He directs his attention to the tangerine, now peeled, in Minghao’s hand. “Minghao,” he starts, “light of my days, the best friend a guy could ask for-”

“Oh my God, if you want my tangerine just ask for it,” Minghao says, rolling his eyes. He drops a slice into Mingyu’s open mouth, anyways, because he really is the best friend a guy could ask for. “I could’ve been hanging out with Junhui today, you know.”

On Mingyu’s other side, Chan wrinkles his nose as he attacks his tangerine peel with vigor. “And third wheel him and Wonwoo? No thanks.”

Okay, how does Chan know Junhui and Wonwoo ? Mingyu’s head is starting to hurt.

“You know, I can’t really argue with that,” Minghao says contemplatively. “You win this one, Chan.”

Chan cackles. “When do I not?”

--

The execs arrive a few minutes later, and after an introduction that’s even shorter than the culinary club’s, the lesson starts. They’re learning something about stock exchange, which is probably very important, but Mingyu finds himself zoning out within two minutes because, as Chan warned, the lesson is extremely boring .

He finishes his lunch in record time, and then settles for playing games on his laptop as the exec giving the lesson drones on at the front of the class. On his right, Chan has given up entirely on taking notes and is just drawing what looks like dance formations in the margins of his notebook. On his left, Minghao is playing a rhythm game on his phone.

Mingyu sighs, and resigns himself to spending the rest of the year in abject boredom.

--

After the meeting ends, Mingyu ends up having to bribe Minghao with the promise of coffee every week, to convince him to come to future club meetings.

Chapter Text

On Tuesday after school, Mingyu finds himself in front of the school’s gym, gym bag in hand.

Over the weekend, he came up with one of his smarter ideas: since he promised his mom he would start going to the gym again, why not go to the school’s gym on the same day that Wonwoo has chess club? He can stay in shape and continue to hang out with Wonwoo twice a week. He’s literally a genius.

He pulls his phone out of his pocket and opens his text messages.

 

to: wonu~

dont leave without me~

 

from: wonu~

what is that supposed to mean?

mingyu?

istg

 

Mingyu laughs, pockets his phone, and pushes open the heavy glass door. He’s already looking forward to the look on Wonwoo’s face when he shows up at the end of his club meeting.

--

The school’s gym, predictably, isn’t as well-stocked as the community gym he went to over the summer, but it’s good enough for the watered-down version of his summer workout routine that he came up with over the weekend. Mingyu is satisfyingly sweaty and gross after the hour’s up, his ears hurting after a full hour of blasting Bazzi’s latest album through his headphones. 

His hair’s still wet from the shower when he reaches his Calc classroom. He’s just in time - the door opens as he rounds the corner, and the members of the chess club spill out, talking quietly amongst themselves. It’s startlingly similar to the first time Mingyu waited for Wonwoo after his chess club meeting - leaning against the wall, hair wet, studiously ignoring the glances he gets from the other members.

Thankfully, though, it’s also markedly different. Wonwoo is still one of the last to leave, and he still looks surprised to see Mingyu there, but instead of resolutely ignoring him like last time, he greets Mingyu with a smile. 

“I’ll see you later,” he tells the girl next to him - the same girl as last time, Mingyu notes with something that definitely isn’t jealousy - before turning to face Mingyu. “Why’s your hair wet?” he asks.

“I was working out,” Mingyu says. He steps back and bends over, shaking his head so he can get all the water out. He straightens again and continues, “took a shower.”

He realizes, belatedly, that maybe he should’ve taken a few more steps back. There are droplets of water on the front of Wonwoo’s shirt, a few more at the bottom of his glasses, more on the wall next to him. 

Wonwoo opens his mouth to say something. Mingyu steels himself. 

“You really are,” Wonwoo starts, “exactly like a giant puppy.”

Mingyu blinks. “Huh?”

Wonwoo’s grinning up at him, completely unaffected by the fact that Mingyu just sprayed him with water. “A giant puppy,” he repeats. “Has no one ever told you that before?”

Mingyu’s brain is taking much longer to catch up than it usually does. “Minghao says I eat like a street dog, does that count?”

Wonwoo tilts his head. “I guess,” he concludes. “But I was mostly talking about the fact that you’re loud, and you have way too much energy, and you’re like, absurdly friendly to everyone-”

“I’m a nice person!” Mingyu protests.

“-and the teeth,” Wonwoo finishes.

“The teeth ?” Mingyu echoes, mildly terrified. He prods his teeth with his tongue. “Are you talking about my canines?”

Wonwoo snaps his fingers and points at Mingyu like he’s just been enlightened. “Canine canines!” he exclaims.

“What-” Because Mingyu’s brain is disgusting and never works the way he wants it to, the first thing he successfully processes is Wonwoo’s truly awful pun. “Oh my God ,” he says, burying his face in his hands. “I’m literally going to pull my teeth out.”

“I thought that was pretty good,” Wonwoo protests.

Ugh ,” Mingyu says.

--

The next morning, Mingyu approaches Minghao and asks, “do I remind you of a puppy?”

Minghao looks up at the sky, contemplative. “You do eat like a street dog,” he says.

“Other than that,” Mingyu prompts.

“You get weirdly excited whenever you meet new people,” Minghao adds.

Mingyu opens his mouth and then closes it again. No noise comes out.

Minghao glances at him out of the corner of his eye. “Are you having an identity crisis?”

“I hate it here,” Mingyu grumbles. 

--

Over the next few weeks, he establishes a new routine - on Tuesdays, when Wonwoo has chess club, Mingyu goes to the gym. On Thursdays, when Wonwoo has literature club, Mingyu goes to culinary club and learns a new dish, dodging attempts at murder from Jihoon and forming a somewhat-friendship with Momo. On Fridays, Mingyu bribes Minghao at lunch to go with him to business club, where they meet up with Chan and consistently fail to pay attention for longer than ten minutes.

Mingyu holds Wonwoo’s hand several times. He masters new dishes on the first try even more times. “You could become a professional chef!” Momo tells him one day, bright-eyed and earnest.

Mingyu smiles down at her. “Thanks,” he says. “It’s just a hobby, though.”

The first snowfall of the year happens over a weekend in late November, at the same time as Minghao’s much-delayed birthday party. Seokmin and Mingyu invade Minghao’s home, which his parents have graciously vacated for the weekend, bearing gifts, video games, and, because they’re semi-responsible eleventh grade students, homework. 

Seokmin gifts Minghao, on Mingyu’s recommendation, a set of fancy paint brushes from the novel art supply store downtown. Mingyu gifts him some oil pastels to replace his old, worn-out ones, and some charcoal pencils. Minghao beams at the both of them and pulls them into a group hug. 

For dinner, Mingyu makes seaweed soup and braised pig’s feet, a recipe he stealthily extracted from Mrs. Xu with his infallible charms. Minghao takes a bite out of one of the feet and immediately breaks into a smile. 

“I swear,” he tells Mingyu, “you get better at this stuff every year.”

Mingyu ducks to hide his blush and takes a bite out of the piece in his hand. It really is very good.

--

The snow continues to pile up outside as they clean up and connect Seokmin’s Switch to Minghao’s TV. The sunlight is a blinding white where it reflects off the snow and into the house, pouring up into the ceilings when they close the blinds. They play various three-player games until Mingyu’s eyes start to hurt and the clock above the TV strays dangerously close to one a.m., at which point they take turns washing up in Minghao’s bathroom.

They find their places on the floor of Minghao’s bedroom. “I miss sleeping on your bed,” Mingyu says, pouting down at his sad, threadbare sleeping bag.

Minghao throws a pillow at him, and because he’s scarily athletic, it nails Mingyu directly in the sternum. “The bed’s not big enough for the three of us,” he says.

“Unless we spoon,” Seokmin corrects.

Mingyu points at Minghao. “Unless we spoon,” he repeats triumphantly.

“I wouldn’t be opposed to it,” Seokmin continues, slowly moving to stand next to Mingyu so he can sling his arms over his shoulders. Mingyu leans into the touch happily, grinning at Minghao, who is watching their exchange with narrowed eyes. “Mingyu is very comfortable.”

“It’s because of my titties,” Mingyu says solemnly. Again, he didn’t drink a protein shake every morning in the summer for nothing. Those things were gross

“We are not spooning on my bed,” Minghao says with finality.

--

“I cannot believe this,” Minghao says.

Mingyu, having already claimed his spot in the middle of the bed, cranes his neck upwards to grin at him. He extends his arm, the one that’s not currently pinned under a very happy Seokmin, and makes grabby motions. “Join us,” he says. “You know you want to.”

“Ugh,” Minghao says, but he climbs into bed and leans into Mingyu’s shoulder anyway. 

Despite how tired he felt during that last round of Mario Kart, Mingyu finds himself wide awake a few minutes later, scrolling aimlessly through his Instagram feed. Minghao and Seokmin are each leaning on one of his shoulders; his arms are going a little numb, but he’s a sucker for physical affection, so he doesn’t make any move to change their position.

A little past one, Seokmin’s phone suddenly goes off, vibrating so hard in his hands that he almost drops it. Mingyu turns just in time to see Seokmin check the caller ID, frown, and move to get out of bed.

“Sorry,” he says, climbing over their legs and hopping off the edge of the bed. “I have to take this, I’ll be right back.”

Mingyu watches him in silence as he steps out of the room, answering the call as he goes, his loud “hey, what’s up man?” turning muffled when he closes the door behind him. “Any idea what that’s about?” he asks Minghao, who also has his eyes trained on the door. 

Outside, Seokmin’s laughter echoes in the empty hallway. Minghao shrugs, redirecting his attention to his book. “If it’s important, he’ll tell us.”

As Minghao predicted, Seokmin walks in a few minutes later, looking sheepish. His eyes are sparkling like they always do when he talks to someone he really likes, his cheeks flushed with laughter. “Sorry,” he explains, climbing back into Minghao’s bed and reclaiming his spot between Mingyu and the wall. “A friend from my old school called.”

Mingyu’s ears perk up at the mention of Seokmin’s old school - and so do Minghao’s, if the way he shifts subtly to face Seokmin is any indication. “Who?” he asks.

“His name’s Samuel,” Seokmin explains, opening Instagram on his phone and pulling up a profile before handing it to Mingyu to inspect. “He’s a year younger than us, but we all went to the same middle and high school anyway, so we were pretty close. Are pretty close,” he corrects.

Mingyu scrolls down Samuel’s feed. He’s a handsome guy, with soft, drooping eyes and an angular jaw. “Samuel’s a cool name,” he comments, handing the phone to Minghao.

“He’s half Mexican,” Seokmin says. “He was born in the States. The kids at school used to give him all sorts of crap for it.”

Minghao hums, giving Seokmin’s phone back to him. “That’s stupid,” he comments. There’s an edge to his voice, put there by the experience of being uprooted, of being made to feel different for the dumbest reasons. Mingyu leans his head on Minghao’s shoulder.

“It is,” Seokmin confirms. “A lot of people did stupid things, for really stupid reasons. Probably because they all had the same mindset.”

“Like what?” Mingyu tilts his head to look at Seokmin, who’s looking up at the ceiling, contemplative. He’s so different from the regular, boisterous Seokmin, and it makes Mingyu realize, once again, that there’s a whole lot he doesn’t know about someone he considers one of his best friends.

Seokmin laughs. “A scary amount of them were anti-vaxxers, for one thing. Also, you know, the classic stuff. Racism, homophobia… I had to pretend a lot of really offensive jokes were funny, because the people making them were older and more respected, and we probably would’ve been driven out of that place if I spoke up. The only people I really liked were Samuel and this other guy, Mingming, from China. The three of us hung out a lot.”

“Sounds lonely,” Mingyu says. The middle-class suburbs aren’t exactly the epitome of progressiveness, but the rules are at least lax enough that he can get into arguments with his misogynistic uncle during family dinners and not suffer any consequences for it. Plus, you know, he can date guys semi-publicly without fearing for his life. He can’t imagine what it must’ve been like for Seokmin, who is endlessly open-minded and loving, to be surrounded by what sounds like an ultra-conservative echo chamber.

“It was,” Seokmin says. It makes sense now, watching him - his worn-down resignation, the way he’s staring at the ceiling like he’s gazing up at a rural sky. Mingyu gets the strange feeling that he’s purposely omitting something.

Minghao asks, “do you miss them? Samuel and Mingming?”

Seokmin laughs, breaking the stifling quiet. “What kind of question is that?” he teases. “Of course I do. Don’t worry though, I like you guys just as much.”

Minghao nudges Mingyu in the side. “So you can stop being insecure about that,” he says pointedly.

Mingyu feels distinctly like he’s being attacked. “I didn’t even say anything!” he protests.

“Aw, Mingyu, you were insecure?” Seokmin coos, leaning over and draping himself over Mingyu. He’s heavy , knocking all the air out of Mingyu’s lungs, and he only gets off when Mingyu wheezes and smacks his back. 

“You guys are the worst,” Mingyu grumbles, crossing his arms. Minghao just laughs and ruffles his hair, the atmosphere restored to its normal, lighthearted state.

--

A little later, when they’ve all put away their phones and the lights are off, Seokmin says, “you guys know you’re my best friends, right?”

Mingyu smiles up at the ceiling, at the shadows gathered there, his eyes still unadjusted to the dark. They’re lying side-by-side on their backs, pressed together shoulder to shoulder on Minghao’s bed. “You guys are my best friends too,” he whispers. He’s far from the type to whisper, but it just feels right. Outside, the snow is still falling, the sky gray; it feels almost like early dawn, rather than the middle of the night.

On his other side, Minghao laughs quietly. “Do I need to say it a third time?”

“Don’t ruin the mood , dude,” Mingyu complains, at the same time that Seokmin says, “ obviously you have to say it.”

“Ugh,” Minghao says, but his voice is fond, like the way he looks at Seokmin when he’s rehearsing loudly for the musical in the middle of the hallway, like the way he’s always grounded Mingyu when he felt like he was going to drift away. “Yeah, you guys are my best friends. But you know that already.”

“It’s still nice to hear it,” Seokmin says. Mingyu can hear the smile in his voice. There’s a shift, the blanket moves, and then Seokmin continues, “sometimes I forget that I was gone for five years.”

“Me too,” Mingyu says. He’s so content he thinks he’s going to burst, thinks that this is one of those memories that he’ll always come back to when he’s older, the three of them whispering in Minghao’s bed at an ungodly hour. “I’m glad you’re back, Seokmin. And I’m glad you did okay in those five years, at least.”

Seokmin laughs. Mingyu thinks his ears are playing tricks on him, his exhaustion distorting the sound, but it almost sounds pained. “Yeah,” he agrees. “I was pretty lucky.”

Mingyu hums, letting the conversation drop. He feels his body growing heavier a few moments later, feels the pull of sleep at the edges of his mind.

Just before he falls asleep, he realizes that although Seokmin mentioned being lucky, he never said anything about Wonwoo.

--

Mingyu wakes up the next morning with Seokmin’s arm slung over his forehead, one of Minghao’s feet digging into his thigh. He sighs and reaches for his phone. If he’s going to be trapped here for a while longer, he might as well take some pictures of the two sleeping for future blackmail.

--

It only snows a few times after that, always during the day, each time thoroughly distracting Mingyu from the class he’s currently in. Mingyu goes to the gym, goes to culinary club, goes to business club, and then goes home and studies, and then it's winter break, the promise of two weeks of relaxation stretching out in front of him.

Well - two weeks of semi-relaxation. Mingyu’s already crammed his days full of studying and reading, so it feels kind of like he’s still going to school, just at home and in his pajamas. His mom is home for the two weeks, too, but she’s just as much of a workaholic as Mingyu is - that’s where he got it from, he supposes - so she spends most of the day in her room, preparing for upcoming cases or reviewing old ones. Each morning, when Mingyu gets home from his run, ears numb from the cold, she has breakfast ready for him, slices of toast or porridge with scrambled eggs. And, of course, the dreaded protein shake.

The first weekend of the break, Seokmin and Minghao invade his house for another sleepover. Despite both of them bringing sleeping bags, they end up crammed together on Mingyu’s bed, which is only slightly bigger than Minghao’s. Mingyu wakes up the next morning plastered to Seokmin’s side like a giant, clumsy octopus.

A few days after that, Minghao leaves for his annual trip back to China, promising to call every night. Mingyu and Seokmin make a habit out of randomly showing up at each other’s houses, schoolwork in tow, and then doing homework for a few hours before giving up and playing video games. Seokmin starts referring to Mingyu’s mom by her first name, which is horrifying. Mingyu is now more familiar with the layout of Seokmin’s kitchen than Seokmin himself.

Whenever Mingyu is at Seokmin’s house, Wonwoo always joins them for a few rounds of Mario Kart before disappearing back upstairs. Sitting next to him with their legs pressed together, hearing his laugh as he hits Seokmin with a red shell, Mingyu almost feels like he’s ten years old again.

--

Christmas comes and goes without much fanfare. Mingyu sets up a tree in the corner of the house and digs last year’s decorations out of the pile of boxes in the basement. Soon enough, the tree is laden with ornaments of various shapes and sizes, red and gold and glittering. He gets a new pair of headphones from his mom and a denim jacket from Seokmin. He texts Minghao, who replies with pictures of a long, wooden table laden with so many dishes, the steam still curling off of them, that Mingyu starts cooking out of sheer jealousy. 

It’s the aforementioned misogynistic uncle’s turn to host the family get-together this year, so Mingyu’s mom buys an overpriced bottle of wine and some chocolates and drives the thirty minutes it takes to get to his house. Mingyu’s cheeks get pinched so much it actually hurts to smile, and he repeats his height so many times that he nearly says it in place of his name.

He does get a lot of money, though, which is a plus. And his cousins, all of whom are younger than him, are as adorable as ever, which is an even bigger plus.

The aunts are still busy in the kitchen after the introductions are over, so he rolls up his sleeves and starts helping, which earns him another round of coos and cheek pinching. At dinner, the aforementioned uncle makes a gross comment about some newly debuted idol who is sixteen years old . Mingyu is about to start arguing with him again, but then his mom gives him a stern look, so he has to settle for shoving food into his mouth angrily and fuming in silence. 

On the drive home, the dark roads packed to the brim with people leaving their own family dinners, his mom sighs, weary, and says, “he may have tolerated you last year, but you can’t insult him in his own home.”

Mingyu sinks lower in his seat, feeling petulant. He knows his mom’s right. “But he’s such a di- uh, a jerk,” he corrects.

His mom sighs again. “He’s my brother, Mingyu. I know how he is. Even if he realizes he’s wrong, his pride won’t let him admit it.”

Mingyu doesn’t reply to that - doesn’t know how. It’s been a long time since his mom told him about her life, about growing up in a small apartment in a stained concrete building and always finding it too small, about leaving by herself to find someplace bigger. 

He’s not an idiot. He knows she stopped telling him because he started asking about his dad. Even now, all he knows are the broad strokes - they were together for a few months, then she got pregnant and he left her, forcing her to abandon her studies to move back in with her parents and raise Mingyu.

She was in law school, when she got pregnant. Mingyu wonders, on the nights he can’t sleep, what her life would have been like if he was never born. 

--

One afternoon, about halfway through the break when Mingyu’s completely lost track of what day it is, his doorbell rings. Seokmin's out of town, so he chalks it up to a delivery and lets his mom get it.

His bedroom door is wide open, as it usually is, so he can hear his mom’s voice from downstairs. “Hello? How can I help you?”

“Good afternoon,” and Mingyu drops his pen in shock because that’s Wonwoo’s voice, what is Wonwoo doing here? “Is Mingyu home? I’m his friend from school.”

“I’m here,” Mingyu calls, running down the stairs so fast he almost slips. He’s slightly out of breath when he makes it to the first floor, skidding over to the front door where his mom is standing, looking slightly confused. “Hey, Wonwoo.”

Standing on his front porch, Wonwoo smiles up at him. “Hey.”

Mingyu promptly loses his mind.

Wonwoo cut his hair. His bangs are shorter, arching over his forehead and swept into a side part. It looks really good, complimenting his bone structure, making him look manlier, more mature. 

Wonwoo simply pushing his hair back that day in the stairwell was too much for Mingyu. He feels like he’s actually going to combust, now. 

His mom’s voice interrupts his internal screaming. “I take it you boys can handle yourselves from here?” she says, looking between the two of them. Then, to Mingyu, “I took the chicken out of the freezer to thaw. Make sure you cook it today, okay?”

Mingyu nods numbly. He hears his mom’s steps retreat back up the stairs, waits for the click of her door closing, and then says, “come in,” taking a step back.

“Sorry I didn’t text you before I came,” Wonwoo says, looking apologetic as he knocks the snow off his boots before stepping into the house. “I called, but you didn’t pick up, and Seokmin mentioned you’re usually home at this time, so.”

The closer he gets, the hotter Mingyu’s face feels, a fact Mingyu prays Wonwoo doesn’t notice. “Ah, sorry about that,” he says, taking the jacket that Wonwoo shrugs off and hanging it up in their closet. It’s a welcome excuse to not look directly at Wonwoo as he continues, “I turn my phone off when I’m studying. You’d have better luck calling the landline.”

“You’re studying over the break?” When Mingyu turns back to face him, Wonwoo is smiling, his hands in his pockets. He’s wearing black sweatpants and a black hoodie. Mingyu fears for his own sanity. “Why am I not surprised?”

Mingyu scoffs, grinning. “Says the one with a reading list.”

“It’s for leisure ,” Wonwoo says defensively, and follows Mingyu to the kitchen. It starts feeling more and more like a routine, with each time they do this - Mingyu doesn’t even have to ask before he starts filling the kettle with water. 

“It’s ten books long,” Mingyu says. “How are you going to read ten books in two weeks?”

“I’ll have you know, I’m already five books in.” Wonwoo walks over to stand next to Mingyu, hands still in his pockets. It’s absurdly attractive. “Let me help?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Mingyu dismisses, but Wonwoo is already opening a cupboard and taking out two mugs, the same ones they used last time. The fact that he remembers where the mugs are, and which ones Mingyu prefers using, makes Mingyu inexplicably happy. “Also, you just proved my point, you nerd.”

Wonwoo elbows him lightly, setting the mugs down on the counter. “Says the one who likes math.”

“Hey, math is sexy,” Mingyu protests, elbowing Wonwoo back. “Also, I’m too handsome to be a nerd, remember?”

“How could I forget,” Wonwoo laughs. “Am I not handsome enough, then?”

Mingyu glances up from where he’s measuring out a spoonful of leaves, surprised. In front of him, Wonwoo is leaning against the counter, smiling like he already knows what the answer is. His hair looks really, really good. 

Mingyu coughs.

Wonwoo’s smile morphs into a smirk. “Right,” he says.

Any gross mushy feelings currently soaking through Mingyu’s bones are immediately replaced by indignance. “You planned this,” he accuses.

Wonwoo laughs. “I just wanted to see how you would react,” he clarifies. All of a sudden, he reaches out and grabs Mingyu’s wrist, pulling him forward. Mingyu stumbles a bit, because of course he does. “You were about to knock the kettle over,” Wonwoo explains, his hand dropping back to his side.

“I’m always about to knock the kettle over,” Mingyu jokes. His skin feels warm where Wonwoo grabbed it, which doesn’t make sense, because Wonwoo’s hands are as cold as always. He wonders, briefly, if it was entirely necessary for Wonwoo to grab his wrist, when he could’ve just told him to move forward a bit.

He doesn’t know anything anymore. He is so confused. He can’t stop looking at Wonwoo’s hair.

He pulls it together enough to finish preparing the tea without any incidents, and the two of them take their places around the island, just like last time, and the time before that. Mingyu thinks he could come to enjoy drinking tea if it involves Wonwoo sitting in front of him, laughing at his jokes, glasses foggy. 

In a lull in the conversation, he remembers to ask, “so why are you here? Not that I don’t want you here,” he clarifies frantically when Wonwoo raises his eyebrows, “I just, uh. I was just wondering.”

Wonwoo shifts, looking uncomfortable. “Seokmin’s meeting up with a few old friends today,” he starts. “And Junhui is visiting relatives in China, so.”

“Ah, I see.” Mingyu leans forward, grinning. “So I’m a backup backup plan.”

It yields exactly the reaction he was hoping for. “That’s not what I meant,” Wonwoo says, the tips of his ears turning pink. “I like hanging out with you. I just wasn’t sure if it would be weird of me to just come over without any reason to.”

Mingyu shrugs. “Well, someone has to drink all this tea.”

That makes Wonwoo laugh, loud and bright, filling up the space between them. Mingyu leans back, pleased.

--

Mingyu invites Wonwoo to stay for dinner. “Are you sure your mom won’t mind?” Wonwoo asks, casting a furtive glance in the direction of the stairs. 

“Nah, Seokmin stays for dinner all the time,” Mingyu says, rolling up his sleeves and pulling his apron on. “You can help me if you want, but if you’re a disaster in the kitchen you can watch a movie in the living room. I have Netflix.”

“I’ll help,” Wonwoo says, following Mingyu’s lead and rolling his sleeves up, too. Mingyu glances down at his forearms, at the lean muscle there, and immediately forces himself to look away. “What are we making?”

“Honey garlic chicken, vegetable stir-fry, and rice,” Mingyu recites. “Here, let me get you an apron.” 

Wonwoo takes the apron Mingyu fished out of a drawer with gratitude, and holds it up in front of him, squinting. He looks so clearly confused that Mingyu takes pity on him and takes the apron out of his hands, arranging the loops so they’ll fit over his head. 

“Are you sure you can help?” Mingyu jokes as he stands behind Wonwoo and pulls the apron over Wonwoo’s head. “Put your arm through the space here.”

Wonwoo huffs but does as he’s told. “It’s not my fault your aprons are weird,” he shoots back.

Mingyu just laughs, pulling the larger loop down Wonwoo’s back. His fingers brush over Wonwoo’s waist as he does so, and even though there’s a thick layer of fabric separating them, he pulls back on instinct, his face heating up. His fingertips tingle as he reaches under Wonwoo’s arms to straighten the apron. 

“Mingyu,” Wonwoo says quietly, almost imperceptibly.

Mingyu pauses, realizing all of a sudden that his chin is hovering over Wonwoo’s shoulder, his hands at Wonwoo’s waist. There’s that smell again, loose leaf tea; Mingyu almost wants to ask if it’s some kind of niche detergent Wonwoo is using, or if Wonwoo really does just drink that much tea. “Yeah?” he asks, close to Wonwoo’s ear, and he swears he can see Wonwoo shiver.

He half-expects Wonwoo to say something like, what are you doing? or don’t stand so close to me . But what he hears instead is: “can I come over again? Sometime this week?”

Mingyu is so relieved it startles a laugh out of him. He takes a step back, and waits for Wonwoo to turn towards him before saying, “you can come over as many times as you want.”

He means it.

--

Wonwoo is actually decent help in the kitchen, as long as the instructions are clear and the task is relatively simple. Mingyu arranges the food on the table in front of the couch in the living room, and tells Wonwoo to pick whatever movie he wants to watch while he brings his mom’s portion up to her.

She’s leaning back in her chair when he knocks and lets himself in, her eyes closed, her multiple monitor screens glowing dully in the dark. Some of her hair has escaped from her ponytail, hanging in wisps around her face. She looks younger, but wearier, all at the same time.

“Mom?” he says quietly. “I brought you dinner.”

She blinks her eyes open, visibly taking a second to process her surroundings before locating him. “Thank you,” she says, accepting the plate and cutlery he gives to her. “Is your friend still here?”

Mingyu leans over to close the blinds. “Yeah. Is that okay?”

“Of course,” she says. Then, “can you turn on the light on your way out?”

Mingyu swallows. “Yeah,” he says. His heart aches. “Already on it.”

--

Mingyu makes his way back to the living room. From his spot on the couch, Wonwoo glances up at him. The neutral look on his face flickers. “Everything okay?” he asks, in the way he does when he already knows the answer.

Mingyu smiles at him. “Yeah,” he says. It’s not entirely a lie - he's never been good at those - but, from the way Wonwoo frowns, it probably doesn’t sound like the truth either. “Did you pick a movie?”

That makes Wonwoo grin. “Yeah.” He points at the TV. “It reminded me of you.”

Mingyu's smile drops when he turns to face the TV, and a jovial animated rat stares back at him. “Ratatouille,” he says flatly. “I remind you of Ratatouille.”

“You cook,” Wonwoo points out. “And you’re very wholesome.”

“I hate you,” Mingyu says, and distinctly doesn’t mention that Ratatouille is one of his favorite movies. 

--

“I don’t have any plans for the rest of the break,” Mingyu tells Wonwoo a few hours later, watching him pull his shoes on. Outside, the sky is an inky, cloudless black. “So you can come over whenever you want. Seriously.”

Wonwoo opens the door, glancing back at him, smiling. He looks as good as always in the soft light coming from the living room, eyes hidden behind the reflection in his glasses. “I’ll see you soon, then,” he says. “Enjoy your studying, you nerd.”

Sexy nerd,” Mingyu corrects. “Enjoy your lame books.”

Sexy books,” Wonwoo says. “Just because you don’t read-”

“I read!” Mingyu insists.

Wonwoo raises an eyebrow. “Willingly?”

Mingyu recognizes a losing battle when he sees one.

--

It’s only a few minutes later, when he’s sitting at his desk listening to the sounds of his mom loading the dishwasher downstairs, that he realizes he never said anything to Wonwoo about his haircut.

Chapter 8

Notes:

shoutout to my friend who keeps bullying me ab how slow this slow burn is going. leave me alone hazel ill buy you bubble tea

Chapter Text

Mingyu cooks a lot over the break, mostly new recipes he didn’t have the time to try out before. All of them, except for his disastrous attempt at baking macarons - his stiff peaks apparently weren’t stiff enough, because when he turned his bowl upside-down all of its contents fell onto the floor - turn out pretty well. 

One day, with a bowl of homemade ice cream chilling in the freezer, he opens his laptop and types in culinary school requirements . Then he types in chef salary , best culinary schools , and then, before he can stop himself, how to become a professional cook .

He clicks on a WikiHow article. It’s only when he starts reading that he realizes what, exactly, he’s doing, and shuts his laptop with a little more force than necessary.

He can’t be a chef. He can’t, no matter how much he loves cooking or how long he’s been doing it, regardless of the fact that it’s the one thing he’s genuinely good at without any strings attached. After all, his path in life has been set out for him since middle school.

He doesn’t sleep well that night.

--

Wonwoo comes over two more times that week, ringing his doorbell at precisely the same time in the early afternoon, waving goodbye on Mingyu’s front porch in the late evening. They do the same thing each time - Mingyu makes tea, they talk for a bit, and then Wonwoo helps him with dinner, which they eat in front of the TV. 

Mingyu finds out Wonwoo has a love for animated movies, particularly Ghibli ones, and that he hates seafood and really likes spicy food. Wonwoo learns which cupboard has the mugs and which one has the bowls, knows which drawer to open for the cutlery, figures out how to operate the remote that even Mingyu has trouble wrestling into submission sometimes.

It’s all horribly domestic. Mingyu stares at Wonwoo for a little longer than he should, sits closer to him than he needs to, and feels disgustingly content.

--

mingyuhao (3)

 

(seok)min: HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

(ming)hao: happy new year guys :)

(min)gyu: HAPPY NEW YEAR :D

(ming)hao: [photo attached] (8)

(min)gyu: im gonna fly to china and steal all ur food >:)

(seok)min: oooo bring me along!!! i can hide in ur luggage

(ming)hao: you could do that

or i could send mingyu the recipes

(seok)min: :0

a wonderful idea

(min)gyu: this is exploitation

(ming)hao: so you don’t want the recipes?

(min)gyu: …i didnt say that

(ming)hao: that’s what i thought

--

Minghao comes back a few days before school starts. He gifts Mingyu this really cool T-shirt, with his Chinese zodiac in large red calligraphy on the back, that Mingyu knows he’s going to wear until everyone around him gets tired of it. And then, because it’s his turn, they invade Seokmin’s house.

Mingyu doesn’t get to cook this time, because Seokmin’s mother is a very good cook and refuses to allow any of them to help him when they’re “supposed to be having fun”. Other than that, though, everything else is pretty much routine - Mingyu gets far less homework done than he intended to, giving up early in favor of crowding in front of Seokmin’s TV and playing several heated games of Mario Kart.

Also, Wonwoo is there. He joins them for dinner and for a few rounds of Mario Kart, but stays in his room for the most part, the door slightly ajar. Mingyu sneaks a peek into his room on his way to the washroom and finds him staring intently at his monitor, headphones on, typing furiously. 

Nerd , he thinks to himself, and has to wipe the smile off his face before someone sees.

This time, they don’t even bother to bring sleeping bags. Seokmin’s bed is the biggest out of all of theirs, anyways, so it isn’t even that tight of a fit.

--

It’s past one in the morning once again. Mingyu is staring up at the ceiling in the dark, relegated to the spot closest to the wall this time, Seokmin on his other side. Minghao has just finished telling them the last story of his time in China, when his great-grandmother mistook him for his father and then tried to feed him expired meat. The silence is comfortable, almost drowsy.

Seokmin starts, “so I met up with Samuel and Mingming a few days ago.”

Mingyu hears someone shift. “How was it?” he asks.

“Pretty good! There was a lot of gossip to catch up on, and then we yelled about stupid people saying stupid things for a few minutes, which was great.” Seokmin pauses, then, and when he starts again, something about his voice is different. “I think they’re mad at me for getting out of there before they did.”

There’s a beat, and then Minghao says, “it’s not like moving was your decision.”

Seokmin sighs. “I know. It’s just that we always agreed that we would get out of there together, the three of us, and then I left. And I-” he stops.

When a few minutes have passed and he doesn’t start again, Mingyu prompts, as gentle as he can muster, “what is it?”

Seokmin sighs again. It’s a little shakier this time. Mingyu reaches out, finds Seokmin’s hand, intertwines their fingers. Seokmin squeezes his hand before continuing, “I had the easiest time out of all of them, you know? I’m full Korean, from the suburbs. Mingming could barely speak Korean when he immigrated. People there still call Samuel a foreigner.”

“But you aren’t one of those people,” Minghao says, firm. Mingyu nods in agreement, even though it’s not like anyone can see him. “And it’s not like your parents were gonna drop their plans to move because you made a pact with your friends.”

Mingyu nods again. “You couldn’t stop them,” he adds.

Seokmin’s hand goes slack in his grip. “Yeah,” he says softly. “I couldn’t stop them.”

--

Mingyu blinks awake at 6AM, a full four hours of sleep in his system. He resigns himself to his fate - he’s gone on a run at this time every day for the entire break. There’s no way his body is going to let him sleep any longer. 

Miraculously, he doesn’t wake either Minghao or Seokmin as he clambers over them on his way out of bed. The house is silent and still as he descends the stairs as quietly as possible, the morning light washing everything in a pale blue-gray. 

It’s peaceful. Mingyu pours himself a glass of water and leans against the counter, enjoying the quiet. He may be unnecessarily loud by default, but he can appreciate times like this, when the entire world is still asleep.

“Mingyu?”

Or not.

Wonwoo pads into the kitchen, barefoot, in a white T-shirt and sweatpants. His hair is mussed, and he doesn’t have his glasses on, so he has to squint when he checks the time on the microwave. “Why are you awake at six fifteen in the morning?” 

His voice is gravelly and even deeper than it usually is. Mingyu takes a long drink of water before answering, “habit. I usually go for a run at six thirty.”

Wonwoo hums, evidently too sleepy to take a jab at Mingyu for being a stereotypical jock or something. The combination of the hair and the lack of glasses is a little overwhelming this early in the morning, when the lighting and the quiet make everything feel so awfully intimate. Wonwoo stretches his arms above his head, his shirt hiking up, and Mingyu has to look away before he does something stupid like stare.

They’re silent as Wonwoo gets his own glass of water. Mingyu looks through the sliding glass door at the back of the kitchen to the yard outside, with its patches of melting snow and its neat rows of well-kept soil. He distantly remembers them keeping a garden in their old house, Seokmin’s mother bringing them cucumbers and strawberries and tomatoes in the summers.

“Nice garden,” he comments, even though all he can see from here is dirt.

It earns a quiet chuckle from Wonwoo, who’s standing in front of him now, looking in the same direction. “We haven’t done anything with it yet. Just wait until the summer, though. My dad’s already planning the layout.”

“In January?” Mingyu asks, incredulous.

Wonwoo shrugs. “Gardening is fun,” is all he says, which Mingyu figures is a good enough explanation as any.

They lapse into another silence, just staring out into the yard, watching the sky change. Both of their glasses are empty. Neither of them make a move to refill or leave. There’s something in the air, something breakable, but Mingyu doesn’t know what it is. 

“Wonwoo,” he says, quiet, because he doesn’t know what else to say, but the silence is getting a little too heavy to bear.

Wonwoo turns to face him, and he’s almost glowing, even though his hair is a mess and there’s an indent from his pillow on his face. “Yeah?”

Shit. Mingyu didn’t plan this far. “Your hair looks really good,” he blurts out, because he hasn’t told Wonwoo yet, and also because he’s dumb and chronically has his foot in his mouth.

There’s a flicker of surprise, and then Wonwoo smiles. “Right now?”

“Well, no,” Mingyu admits. “I meant more in general. But, um,” oh my God, what am I saying , “you don’t look bad right now, either.”

Wonwoo’s smile widens. “I’m flattered. Is this the Kim Mingyu charm I’ve been hearing so much about?”

“It’s early, give me a break,” Mingyu says, but he can’t help but smile back. “Come back in a few hours and I’ll make sure to sweep you off your feet.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” Wonwoo says. He pushes himself off the counter and goes to rinse his glass in the sink. “Are you staying for lunch?”

“Aw, you want me to stay?” Mingu teases, angling his body towards Wonwoo until he’s close enough to catch the way Wonwoo rolls his eyes, fond.

“Don’t be stupid,” Wonwoo says, putting his glass upside down in the dishrack. Hurt flares in Mingyu’s chest, but then Wonwoo turns to face him and continues, “when have I not wanted you to stay?”

Mingyu blinks, stunned. Wonwoo is leaning against the counter, right next to where his hand is, and it would be so easy to put his hand on Wonwoo’s hip, to cut away at the space between them. He doesn’t know what it means, that they can stand this close and he’ll still want to be closer.

He’s prevented from finding out by the sound of a door opening upstairs, just loud enough to break whatever fragile thing is hanging in the air. Wonwoo clears his throat and takes a step back. “I’ll see you later,” he says quietly, and then he’s turning around and leaving the kitchen, heading up the stairs without a glance in Mingyu’s direction. Mingyu stands alone in the kitchen, immobile, for a few minutes longer.

--

The last day of winter break ends with Mingyu lying awake in his bed, thinking about standing in the middle of a bustling, hot kitchen, about cold light on a tiled floor, about broad shoulders under a threadbare white T-shirt. 

He doesn’t make New Year’s Resolutions, not anymore. So he just lies there, soaks in the new year, and thinks.

--

Nothing changes much, when he goes back to school. Soonyoung’s hair is now fire engine red. Mingyu tells him it looks great, because it does, and Soonyoung beams and brings him a carton of banana milk the next morning. He writes the wrong year at the top of all his tests and assignments. He goes to school and goes to club meetings and goes to the gym and then comes home and studies. 

He’s sitting on the floor of his locker, listening to Seokmin and Minghao chat about the musical, when a pair of very well-kept sneakers comes into view.

He looks up. It’s Seungkwan, with his hands on his hips and the look on his face that he has when he’s determined to have his way. “Are you busy right now?” he demands.

Mingyu blinks and looks to Seokmin and Minghao for input. Minghao shrugs, while Seokmin offers a slightly more helpful smile and thumbs up. Mingyu turns back to Seungkwan. “I guess not?” he says.

“Great.” Seungkwan looks pleased. “Get up. We’re gonna go out for coffee, because I haven’t seen you in, like, five thousand years.”

Mingyu laughs and climbs to his feet. “That’s fair,” he acknowledges. “Just let me grab my things first.”

They end up going to the same coffee place everyone always goes to, catching up on the way there. Mingyu trades stories about his various culinary adventures for anecdotes about Seungkwan’s time back in Jeju, and laughs when Seungkwan complains, pouting, about how insufferable Chan is now that he knows he can beat Seungkwan in a thigh wrestle. 

“Seriously,” Seungkwan says, holding the door open for Mingyu, “I ask him to pick up something I dropped, and he’s like, ‘beat me in a thigh wrestle first and I’ll pick it up for you’. And he’s younger than me! Ugh, I have to do so many squats now.”

Mingyu puts his arm around Seungkwan in sympathy as they join the line in front of the counter. “You think he got it from you?”

That earns him a glare and a smack to the arm. “That’s blasphemy,” Seungkwan says. “I’m very polite and respectful to my elders.”

“I’m your elder, and you literally just hit me,” Mingyu points out. “Also, Soonyoung tells me you threaten to kill him on an hourly basis.”

“Yeah, but I do it respectfully,” Seungkwan argues. Mingyu isn’t sure how someone can threaten murder respectfully, but they’re at the counter before he can press any further. Seungkwan orders an Iced Americano for himself, and, to Mingyu’s surprise, rattles off Mingyu’s order perfectly. “What?” he asks when he catches Mingyu staring, open-mouthed. “You order the same thing every time we go out.”

This is embarrassingly true, but it makes the gesture no less touching. It’s the kind of thing that Seungkwan does often - he’s snarky and superficially judgmental, but he’s also selfless in a way that’s hard to come by. Last year, after exam season, he brought an entire basket of oranges to school and gave them out to random passersby. 

That was when his feelings for Seungkwan were still going strong, Mingyu remembers. Right before he found out Seungkwan was head over heels for Vernon and had to give up that particular dream of his. 

Speaking of which. Mingyu clears his throat. “How’s Vernon?” he asks, careful.

Seungkwan doesn’t say anything at first, but Mingyu can feel his shoulders tense under his arm, which is as clear an answer as any. “He’s fine,” Seungkwan says, voice as stiff as his shoulders. “I haven’t told him yet.”

Mingyu hums. “Weren’t you planning to do it, like, two months ago?”

“Ugh,” and there it is, Mingyu thinks triumphantly, as Seungkwan continues, “I don’t even know if he’s into dudes! I don’t know if he’s into anyone , period, because he turns literally everyone down, and then he goes and tells people that he doesn’t like it when people touch his ears, but he lets me do it, and I hate him!”

Mingyu is pretty sure Seungkwan couldn’t hate Vernon even if he stole all of Seungkwan’s money and used it to buy a lifetime’s worth of rainbow tie-dyed shirts, but out of self-preservation, he doesn’t voice the thought out loud. He’s starting to feel very, very bad for Chan, who is almost certainly caught in the middle of this disaster. 

“Also he dresses so badly ,” Seungkwan adds as they get their drinks from the barista, who is looking equal parts amused and concerned at their exchange. “Mingyu. He dresses so badly .”

Mingyu laughs and tilts his head so it rests on top of Seungkwan’s. “I know,” he says. Vernon’s horrible sense of fashion is a common talking point between them. “I know.”

Seungkwan makes various frustrated sounds as he drinks his coffee and lets Mingyu steer him to an empty two-person table, right next to the big window overlooking the street. He opens his mouth, and Mingyu thinks he’s going to complain some more about Vernon’s ambiguous sexuality, but then his eyes focus on something behind Mingyu and he says, “hey, Junhui!”

Mingyu turns around so fast he almost gets whiplash. Sure enough, Junhui is looming over the back of his chair, looking amused. “Hey Seungkwan!” he replies cheerfully. “You look like a super cute plum today!”

Mingyu looks back at Seungkwan just in time to see him roll his eyes, the gesture offset by the blush coloring his cheeks. Mingyu can kind of see the plum comparison. “You don’t look too bad yourself,” Seungkwan says. 

“Wait, how do you two know each other?” Mingyu asks, exasperated.

"I'm in a dance team with Chan,” Junhui explains, walking around to the side of the table, ruffling Mingyu’s hair as he goes. “You also look cute today, Mingyu. Like a sexy tree.”

Mingyu frowns up at him. “Can trees be sexy?”

“A Mingyu tree would be sexy,” Junhui insists. 

Mingyu thinks for a second. “I can’t argue with that logic.”

Somewhere above him, someone laughs, deep and pronounced. Familiar. Mingyu cranes his head up to look, aware that he probably looks really dumb right now, but too focused on other things to care.

Other things being Wonwoo, who’s still laughing as he comes to stand next to Junhui. “Look what you did,” he tells Junhui. “His head’s already big enough as it is.”

“It’s proportional,” Mingyu argues. 

“Metaphorically big,” Wonwoo acquiesces, turning to him. There’s a small smile on his face, a remnant of his laughter, and his cheeks are pink from the cold. 

Mingyu, in comparison, feels warm all over. “This is, like, the third time we’ve run into each other like this,” he tells Wonwoo. “I'm starting to think you’re following me.”

“You would be very easy to follow.” Wonwoo puts a hand on the edge of the table, right next to where Mingyu’s is. “You’re loud and tall. Like Sirenhead.”

“I’m only two inches taller than you,” Mingyu points out, staring at their hands on the table. Even with his tan washed out by the winter, he’s still significantly darker than Wonwoo is. It’s strangely endearing. Everything about the two of them together, even with Junhui and Seungkwan there, is strangely endearing. 

He moves his hand slightly, so that their fingertips are touching, and then looks up at Wonwoo to gauge his reaction. 

Wonwoo looks back. He’s smiling, a quiet smile that feels altogether too intimate for a bustling coffee shop in the middle of their lunch break, with Seungkwan and Junhui right next to them. Something bright blossoms in Mingyu’s chest and spreads all the way down to his toes.

“Wonwoo, let’s go order, I’m gonna die of thirst,” Junhui is saying. Wonwoo takes a second longer than usual to look away. Mingyu feels colder than he should when Wonwoo leaves. 

Seungkwan clears his throat. “Are you gonna tell me what that was all about?” he asks, smiling like he knows something Mingyu doesn’t.

Maybe he does. “What was what about?” Mingyu says. 

Seungkwan rolls his eyes and throws his crumpled-up straw wrapper at him. “And I thought I was hopeless,” he mutters. Mingyu just laughs and picks the wrapper up off the floor.

--

It’s a Tuesday, which means Mingyu shows up at Wonwoo’s chess club meeting with damp hair and waits until he walks out. At this point, he’s shown up enough times that none of the club members pay him any mind, and when Wonwoo emerges, he greets the girl he’s with by name.

“Hi Mingyu!” she responds cheerfully, waving. “I’ll see you tomorrow!” she says to Wonwoo before heading down the hallway, giving one last wave over her shoulder to the two of them.

They wait until she’s disappeared into the stairwell before turning and heading in the opposite direction. “So,” Wonwoo says, “how do you know Seungkwan?”

Mingyu laughs. His social circle really is just one convoluted network of attractive Asian guys who all know each other. “We went to the same middle school, and Ver- his best friend and Minghao are in a club together.”

“Oh, I know Vernon,” Wonwoo says. Of course he does, Mingyu thinks. At this point he isn’t even surprised anymore. “He sends me memes sometimes.”

“Those memes are a public safety hazard,” Mingyu declares. Wonwoo laughs in agreement.

The next few minutes, as they step outside into the snow-covered courtyard, are spent repeating the routine they’ve developed - Mingyu offers Wonwoo an earbud, argues with him over what playlist to listen to, and then takes his hand and tucks it into his pocket. Wonwoo gets pulled closer every time. Neither of them ever say anything about it.

Once the routine is completed, the conversation is free to resume. This time, it’s Wonwoo who does the honors, clearing his throat and saying, voice strained like this is incredibly awkward for him, “you and Seungkwan seem… close.”

Mingyu blinks at him, surprised. Then he considers the possibility that, through the large window separating the coffee place and the street, Wonwoo might have seen part of their interaction while waiting in line. Mingyu’s arm around Seungkwan, their heads tilted together. Close. 

“Yeah,” he confirms. “I mean, we’ve known each other for, like,” he looks up as he does the math in his head, “five years, now? Also,” he laughs, turning to face Wonwoo again, “I did have a huge crush on him for about a year, if that explains things.”

This time it’s Wonwoo’s turn to blink in surprise, although he does it much subtler. (Minghao will argue that ‘subtler than Mingyu’ is a very low bar to clear, and Minghao will be right.) "Why are you telling me this?”

Mingyu shrugs. “It’s in the past. And everyone knows about it, including Seungkwan, so I don’t see why you shouldn’t.”

Wonwoo looks down, frowning. It’s like Mingyu can see the gears turning in his head. “So you’re…”

Mingyu laughs again. “If you’re wondering if I’m gay, I think having a crush on a guy does qualify me.”

The joke does what it’s intended to do, some of the tension visibly seeping out of Wonwoo’s shoulders. He’s rolling his eyes and smiling when he looks back up at Mingyu. “I know how being gay works,” he says. “I’ve just never… no one’s ever come out to me so casually before.”

Mingyu raises an eyebrow. “How many people have come out to you?”

“A statistically reasonable amount,” Wonwoo says. 

“That is the nerdiest thing I have ever heard anyone say,” Mingyu replies almost immediately, like a reflex. “And I regularly participated in math contests as a kid.”

There’s a pause. “Well,” Wonwoo starts, and his smile is wry when Mingyu glances at him, “you are talking to the Elementary-Level Regional Spelling Bee champion.”

Mingyu’s jaw drops. It’s cold as shit outside, though, so he closes it as soon as he gets the message across. Still. “ No ,” he says emphatically.

Wonwoo nods. “In third grade. I placed fourth the year after that.”

There’s another pause. “You know,” Mingyu says, “now that I really think about it, that does line up with the rest of your personality.”

Wonwoo's laugh echoes up into the darkish sky. “Okay, fuck you,” he says, but he’s smiling around the words. “I have cool hobbies too.”

“Gaming isn’t a cool hobby,” Mingyu says automatically.

“That’s blasphemy,” Wonwoo accuses.

They argue about the objective coolness of gaming all the way until the bus stop, where their voices bounce off the walls of the shelter, and only reach an impasse when the bus pulls up to the curb. Wonwoo pulls his hand away from Mingyu’s as they board, as he always does. Mingyu’s heart drops to the soles of his feet, as it always does.

It’s okay, he thinks to himself. On Thursday, he’ll be able to hold Wonwoo’s hand again. It’s a small comfort. 

They pay their fare and find seats at the back of the bus, hidden from the light from the windows. The bus is deserted at this time, well past rush hour - the only other passenger is an older woman occupying one of the accessibility seats at the very front of the bus, one hand steadying a cart full of groceries. 

When Wonwoo speaks, he’s so quiet the rumbling of the bus nearly drowns him out. Mingyu has to lean closer to hear him say, “I had a crush on a boy once.”

Mingyu swallows his reaction. Wonwoo is staring down at his lap, where his hands are fiddling nervously. “Yeah?” Mingyu settles for, hoping it sounds as encouraging as possible.

“Twice, actually.” Wonwoo glances up at him then, a quick moment where their eyes meet, before looking back down. “Once in middle school and once in tenth grade.”

“What happened?” 

Mingyu regrets the question as soon as he asks it. The question sounds invasive even to his own ears, too loud in the quiet darkness of the bus. They’re sitting close enough that he can feel Wonwoo flinch, which makes him regret asking even more.

“Sorry,” he says. “You don’t have to answer that.”

“It’s okay,” Wonwoo says. “Seokmin probably told you a little about where we used to live, right?”

Mingyu feels even worse than before. Of course , his brain screams at him. You idiot . Why would a place as sheltered as Seokmin described, with people who look at someone who speaks their language and shares their blood and calls him a foreigner, ever allow anything romantic between two boys? 

“Sorry,” he says again. An apology for asking, and an apology that Wonwoo ever had to feel out of place to begin with.

“It’s okay,” Wonwoo repeats. “Nothing happened. I hid my feelings, and they went away with time.”

“But you shouldn’t have to-” Mingyu starts, stops. You shouldn’t have to hide , he wants to say, but what good would that do? Wonwoo probably knows, already. He probably knows more than anyone.

Mingyu doesn’t get a reply for a long time. The music, filtering in faintly through their shared headphones, fills the silence. “There are a lot of things that shouldn’t have happened,” Wonwoo says, finally. He sounds distant, like his mind is elsewhere, like the verbal version of a thousand-yard stare. Mingyu recognizes it, because it’s what his mom sounds like when she talks about Mingyu’s childhood.

“Wonwoo,” he says. Wonwoo startles and looks up at him like he’d forgotten he was even there. His eyes are dark and wide; Mingyu looks into them, and aches and aches. “I’m here,” he says, resting his fingers on Wonwoo’s exposed wrist, hoping it’ll ground him.

Wonwoo blinks at him for a few long, suspended moments, and then Mingyu watches him visibly relax, shoulders dropping. “I know you are,” he says, joking. It feels like a breath of fresh air. “You’re a little hard to miss.”

Mingyu leans back. “I know.” He nods sagely. “It’s because I’m so devastatingly handsome.”

Wonwoo half-laughs, half-exhales. The bus’s speaker system announces that their stop is coming up. “Come on,” he says, standing up and pushing the button, a hand already on his bag. When he looks back at Mingyu, his eyes are warm. “Let’s go.”

“Okay,” Mingyu says, smiling. They disembark just as they always have - Wonwoo goes, and he follows.

Chapter Text

Exam season arrives to close out January. In the two weeks before the actual exams have to be taken, Mingyu goes from a well-adjusted, social teenager to a greasy hermit who spends every waking hour studying. Like that whole parable about putting a frog in water, and then increasing the temperature slowly so the frog doesn’t notice it’s being boiled alive.

Except in this case, Mingyu is both the frog and the water. He spends all of his lunch break studying in the library, eats his lunch during third period, and then goes home and gives his phone to his mom and continues studying. Club meetings are suspended, and his mom has taken over dinner making duty, so there isn’t even a break in his routine save for the trips to and from school each day.

The trips aren’t much of a reprieve either. All his friends are in similar zombie-like states, so most of the trips are spent in silence, walking stiffly like they’re marching to their deaths. The only one somewhat unaffected is Seokmin, who’s hoping to pursue the performing arts and is therefore immune to traditional academic pressures, but he’s been spending more and more of his time in musical rehearsals, so he isn’t very engaging company either. 

It sucks, of course it does, but Mingyu’s only choice is to succeed. So he makes himself numb, and reads over his flashcards for the fiftieth time.

It’s Saturday, two days before his first exam. His mom was called into work in the morning, so he’s alone at home, blasting music to drown out the silence. The stripes of sky that he can see through his blinds are grey, and the light that streams in is cold. His back hurts.

The doorbell rings. Mingyu rolls his shoulders back, lets his spine adjust to being straight for the first time in hours, and shuffles downstairs. On his way to the door, he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror - bedhead untamed, an stain of unknown origin on the front of his shirt, the skin under his eyes sallow and bruised. He makes a mental apology to whichever poor delivery person is going to have to lay their eyes on him, and opens the door.

It isn’t a delivery person.

“Hey,” Wonwoo says. 

Mingyu has reached the hallucination part of sleep deprivation. He closes his eyes and opens them again. Wonwoo’s still there. He looks no better than Mingyu does, although, like with most things, he carries his exhaustion with significantly more grace. There’s no light behind his eyes, and he’s so pale he’s almost transparent, but he at least looks like he ate today.

“Hi,” Mingyu says, and then, “What are you doing here?”

Wonwoo looks uncomfortable, shifting his weight back and forth between his feet like he’s considering just running away. Mingyu doesn’t want him to run away, but that much is obvious, he figures. “Um,” he says. 

Mingyu raises his eyebrows. It’s the most movement his face has made in the past few hours. It’s justified - in the entire time he’s known Wonwoo, elementary school included, he’s only heard Wonwoo use a filler word once. “Yeah?” he prompts, hoping he sounds encouraging. 

Wonwoo is looking anywhere except Mingyu. “Minghao told me to check up on you,” he says. His words, which usually take their sweet time, fall out of his mouth in a rush. “He said you were having a hard time.”

Some of the numbness in Mingyu thaws, then - just enough for him to feel warm. “Thank you,” he says, and makes a mental note to cook Minghao another dish when exams are over. “You didn’t have to. You’re probably busy.”

“It’s okay,” Wonwoo placates. “I have time.” Mingyu wants to call him out on his bluff - he looks tired, like he could fall over any minute. It must show on his face, because Wonwoo laughs and knocks the snow off his shoes. “Trust me, Mingyu. It’s okay.”

Mingyu isn’t all that convinced. But he steps back and lets Wonwoo in anyway, because as much as he wants to make Wonwoo go home and rest, there’s a more vocal part of him that, selfishly, wants Wonwoo to stay. 

“Let me get you some tea,” he offers, turning towards the kitchen. “Or coffee, if that helps more.”

Behind him, Wonwoo sighs. “Mingyu.”

“Hm? Do you not want-” Mingyu’s words die on his lips as he turns around. 

Wonwoo is standing closer than he expected, scanning his face with worried eyes. Somewhere in his periphery, Mingyu registers Wonwoo’s hand lifting, and then freezing around chest-level. Like he’s just decided against something he wants, instinctively, to do. “Have you eaten yet?” he asks.

It sounds off, like it’s not what he really intended to say. He seems to be second-guessing everything now; Mingyu kind of hates it.

He musters a smile, hoping it helps put Wonwoo at ease. “I was just going to have some leftovers,” he says, evading the question. “Care to join me?”

Wonwoo sighs. “Of course,” he says. His hand drops back down to his side. Mingyu laments the decision. “Lead the way.”

--

Wonwoo, as Mingyu guessed, has already eaten, so Mingyu fixes him a cup of tea instead. They sit across from each other at the island, Wonwoo with his tea, Mingyu with microwaved kimchi fried rice and shitty instant coffee.

Wonwoo raises his eyebrows at Mingyu's beverage of choice. Mingyu can only shrug. “I need the extra caffeine,” he explains.

Wonwoo’s wry smile is foggy through the steam that curls off the surface of the tea. He’s wearing a forest green turtleneck. Mingyu bites his tongue to stop himself from pointing out how good he looks in it, the color offsetting his skin. “How many hours of sleep have you gotten in the past week?”

Mingyu laughs, not quite genuine. It rings hollow in his chest. “The normal amount for a high school student during exam season,” he says. “Hence the shitty instant coffee.”

Wonwoo sighs. “Okay,” he says, in a way that suggests he isn’t okay with Mingyu’s answer at all, but is storing away his suspicions for later. It’s the kind of thing Minghao used to do, before he figured out how Mingyu’s brain works. “Want to study together?”

“Sure.” Maybe Wonwoo’s presence will make the whole last-minute studying experience more bearable. “Just let me get my stuff.”

He puts his empty bowl in the sink and runs upstairs, nearly slipping on the polished wood floor. It’s the fastest he’s moved all week, probably, although it’s not like he’s been keeping track of his physical state lately. He scoops all of his things into his arms and then goes back down the stairs with a little more care, peering over the tops of his books to see the steps below him.

Wonwoo’s already in the living room, his books spread out over half the table, mug and saucer next to him. He’s sitting cross-legged on the floor. It makes him look smaller than he actually is, and paired with the turtleneck makes Mingyu want to do incredibly stupid things like pinch his cheeks and give him a really long hug. 

Fortunately, his self-control is still somewhat intact, so he just sits across the table from Wonwoo and opens his laptop. “You can play music out loud, if you want,” he offers. “I like your music.”

Wonwoo laughs. “I’m pretty sure half of my music is just songs you recommended to me.”

Mingyu smiles, genuine this time, a testament to how much better Wonwoo’s presence makes him feel. “I’m flattered,” he says.

Wonwoo rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling, and a moment later, Harry Styles’ latest album fills the living room. A few months ago, Mingyu was screaming the high notes until his throat went raw, and he could barely speak for a full day after. Now, he just hums to ‘Falling’ and starts on another set of practice questions for Calculus.

He looks up from his notebook almost an hour later, checking off his last answer. Outside, the sun has broken through the clouds, lighting the sky a pale blue. Across the table, Wonwoo is squinting in concentration at his laptop screen. In the reflection of his glasses, Mingyu can make out a word document - Times New Roman, twelve point font, double-spaced.

His mind is starting to feel a little cloudy, so he gets up with the intention of refilling his mug of coffee. The second he’s on his feet, he almost falls over, his vision going black. There's a feeling like TV static crackling under his skin. He remembers, belatedly, that he forgot to take his supplements this morning. 

He blinks rapidly until his vision clears and his legs no longer threaten to give out underneath him. Someone’s voice, calling his name, registers in his brain. It’s Wonwoo, looking up at him in concern. “Mingyu? Are you okay?”

Mingyu offers a smile, and then drops it when the worry doesn’t ease from Wonwoo’s face. “Yeah,” he mumbles. “Just gotta take my supplements.”

Wonwoo doesn’t say anything else, just keeps frowning at him. He takes it as the end of the conversation and leaves for the kitchen, mug in hand. He empties another instant coffee packet and the last of the water in the kettle into the mug, then fishes the bottle of iron supplements from the cabinet, pops two tablets into his mouth, and washes it down with the coffee. The coffee is lukewarm and objectively awful, but it's not like he drinks it for the taste.

Wonwoo looks up when he pads back into the living room. He still looks worried, the sight feeling like cheap fabric against Mingyu's skin. “You look tired,” Wonwoo points out.

Mingyu snorts. It’s not like I don’t know that, he wants to say, but he doesn’t. “I am a high school student during exam season."

Wonwoo sighs and looks away. Mingyu knows he’s not imagining the tension in Wonwoo’s shoulders, the frustration simmering underneath, just as he knows he’s not giving Wonwoo any of the answers he wants to hear. But this is the one, the only thing he refuses to change for anyone else’s comfort - Minghao learned this, and now Wonwoo has to learn it, too. 

“Back to studying, then,” he says, hoping that Wonwoo can hear the apology underneath. There’s silence, after that.

--

They’re still in the same spot a few hours later, when Mingyu’s mom comes home from work. Mingyu goes to the front door to greet her, and Wonwoo trails behind him, awkwardness radiating off of him in waves. “Hey, mom,” he says, watching her take off her heels and crack her toes against the floor, a habit retained from the ballet she used to do in her childhood. “How was work?”

“It was fine,” she answers, looking as drained as ever. She looks up at him, then, her eyes flickering over to the boy hovering behind him. “Hello, Wonwoo. I got Chinese.” She lifts a cardboard bag of takeout, grease already collecting at the bottom, the smell making Mingyu’s stomach rumble. “There should be enough for the three of us.”

“If you want to stay for dinner, of course,” Mingyu adds, turning slightly so he can look at Wonwoo better. “Sorry, I forgot to ask.”

Wonwoo offers a hesitant smile. “If it’s not too much trouble."

“Oh, it’s no trouble at all.” Mingyu's mom hands Mingyu the bag of takeout so she can hang her coat up, and then picks up her briefcase and her handbag and smiles faintly at the two of them. “Feel free to stay as long as you like. I’ll be upstairs if you need me.”

“Yeah.” Mingyu watches his mom go up the stairs; when she’s disappeared around the corner, he turns towards Wonwoo, who’s watching him with an unreadable expression. “What’s up?”

Wonwoo blinks and wipes the look off his face. “Nothing,” he says. He doesn’t ask anything about whether Mingyu’s okay, or why his mom barely speaks to him when she comes home, even though he probably wants to wants to. Maybe he’s finally figured it out. “Let’s eat dinner.”

They eat dinner at the kitchen island, in their usual seats, a spread of styrofoam boxes between them. “What were you working on?” Mingyu asks, when he’s no longer ravenously shoving chicken and fried rice into his mouth. 

Wonwoo swallows his food before speaking. “I just submitted my essay for Classic Lit,” he says. “I’m going to review my Philosophy notes after we finish eating. You?”

“Physics practice questions,” Mingyu says. “What?” he laughs, when Wonwoo makes a disgusted face. “Physics is fun. It’s just a bunch of wacky math.”

“Yeah, but consider this,” Wonwoo says, his voice grave, “ some people are bad at math .”

Mingyu laughs again and throws a balled-up paper napkin at Wonwoo, who dodges it with ease. “No one’s bad at math. You just have to be taught in a way that you can understand.”

“Strong words for someone in twelfth-grade Calculus,” Wonwoo teases.

"Strong words for someone in twelfth-grade Philosophy," Mingyu shoots back.

It’s a path they’ve tread dozens of times. Wonwoo rolls his eyes, laughs, and throws the napkin back at Mingyu, who also dodges it. “Litterer,” Mingyu accuses, leaning precariously off the stool to pick it up off the floor. 

“You started it,” Wonwoo refutes. Even in his deep-ass voice, it sounds petulant, childish. Like they’re not tired, overworked students with miles and miles of time and secrets between them. 

Mingyu laughs again, because the conversation indicates that he should, but he doesn’t really feel it anymore. The smile fades off Wonwoo's face. “I’m full,” Mingyu says, before Wonwoo can ask him anything. “Let’s go back to studying?”

“Yeah.” Wonwoo leans back, and the warmth from before is gone. Mingyu tries not to mourn the loss too much.

--

They study for another few hours. Mingyu’s mom comes downstairs to get herself a serving of takeout; Mingyu doesn’t miss the approval in her eyes as she looks at their books spread across the table, a compilation of IU’s greatest hits filling up the space. It makes him straighten his back, continue studying with a little more fervor, even as she retreats back upstairs.

It’s half past nine, Mingyu’s fourth cup of coffee cooling on the table, when Wonwoo stands up. “I should probably get home,” he starts.

“Ah, right.” Mingyu wasn’t even keeping track of the time, but as he helps Wonwoo gather his things, he registers the effects of a full day of studying on his body - his shoulders hurt, his eyes are painfully dry, and there’s something dragging him down, like gravity’s pull is somehow stronger on him. “Sorry,” he adds, handing Wonwoo a pen that rolled onto his side of the table. “Your parents are probably worried.”

“No, they’re fine with me being at your place,” Wonwoo says. “I just don’t want to bother you any longer.”

“You never bother me,” Mingyu says, and if his voice comes out softer than he intended to, he can just blame it on exhaustion. He climbs to his feet as Wonwoo zips up his bag, thanking the powers of modern science when he doesn’t black out again. 

Wonwoo chuckles, walking around the table to stand in front of Mingyu, his bag slung over one shoulder. “I know this is a ridiculous request,” he says, “but try to get some sleep, okay? You look like you need it.”

Mingyu scoffs, even as he feels the proof of Wonwoo’s words in his bones. “If you’re implying that I don’t look as amazing as always, I’m very offended."

Wonwoo doesn’t take the bait. “Mingyu,” he says softly, stepping closer. Like he had earlier in the day, he lifts his hand, only to let it hover in the space between them. 

Mingyu closes his eyes. The worry, the hesitation, the second-guessing - he doesn’t want to see any of it, anymore. He doesn’t trust himself to look into Wonwoo’s eyes and not fall apart. 

Gently, the way a leaf flutters to the pavement in autumn - Wonwoo brushes a loose strand of hair out of Mingyu’s face, so faint he doesn’t even register it at first. 

And Mingyu is so, so tired, even if he won’t ever admit it aloud. And maybe it’s out of self-pity, after weeks of being so miserable, or maybe it’s just because he’s wanted this all along, but he leans into the touch.

Wonwoo’s hand freezes. Mingyu’s eyes are squeezed shut, now. He doesn’t want to see the look on Wonwoo’s face when he inevitably pulls away - disgust, maybe. Shock. Disappointment.

But Wonwoo doesn’t pull away. Instead, his hand moves from the side of Mingyu’s face to the back of his neck, and then he’s pulling Mingyu’s head down gently, and Mingyu doesn’t know what he’s trying to do until his head hits the firm muscle of what is unmistakably Wonwoo’s shoulder.

Oh , he thinks, through the static filling his mind.

“I’m not going to force you to say anything,” Wonwoo starts. Mingyu can feel him speak, pressed against the side of his neck. “But you need to take a break, Mingyu. I’m worried about you.”

Just another week and I’ll be okay again , Mingyu wants to say. Don’t be worried about me, I don’t deserve it.

I can’t afford to take a break .

But he doesn’t say these things, because Wonwoo doesn’t expect him to, and that’s the most touching thing about all of this, really. That Wonwoo is just here, that Wonwoo cares enough not to pry. And even though Mingyu definitely doesn’t have time to just stand here and do nothing, Wonwoo still smells like the same tea he always smells like, and that alone is enough to make his self-control crumble.

Mingyu reaches up, grabs the fabric at the sides of Wonwoo’s sweater - forest green. The memory of the color grounds him. He breathes in, wills himself to keep this moment in his mind forever, and then lifts his head up and steps away. 

“This sweater looks good on you,” he tells Wonwoo. Means: thank you .

Wonwoo’s eyes widen. He laughs, loud enough to fill the house. “Thanks,” he says. “It’s my dad’s.”

“You should wear your dad’s clothes more often,” Mingyu says solemnly. He’s pretty sure Wonwoo’s dad works some upper management corporate job, the kind that requires tailored and pressed suits. On second thought, maybe Wonwoo regularly wearing suits would be bad for his blood pressure. “Instead of just the same, like, five tracksuits.”

“I have seven, actually,” Wonwoo corrects. He’s smiling, and the hardened part of his expression is gone, now. Mingyu’s self-control is whimpering on the ground at his feet. “Also, I don’t just wear tracksuits. I wear hoodies sometimes.”

“Uh huh,” Mingyu says, unimpressed. “And how many hoodies do you own? Three?”

“I don’t have to answer that question,” Wonwoo says. He’s blushing.

Mingyu grins, feels it in his skin and in his chest. He barely feels the exhaustion in his bones anymore. He feels like he could run along the rooftops and shout into the sky until daybreak. “So I was right.”

“I will neither confirm nor deny,” Wonwoo replies firmly. 

--

Long after Wonwoo leaves, when he’s done studying for the day, Mingyu pulls up the website of an online shop.

 

to: wonu~

whats ur favorite color

 

from: wonu~

???

why do you ask

 

to: wonu~

no reason~ just tell me

 

from: wonu~

i don't really have one

 

to: wonu~

ugh lame

 

Mingyu turns his phone off before he can read Wonwoo’s response and squints, with a little apprehension, at the color options. He ends up settling for a pale blue one, like the color of the sky on a winter morning.

--

to: hao hao <3

hey thx for getting wonu to check up on me :)

 

from: hao hao <3

?? i didn’t ask him to do that

i just mentioned that you were straight up dying

well

gay up dying

 

to: hao hao <3

nice one

well thx anyway~

 

from: hao hao <3

yeah yeah

don’t mention it

<3

--

The trip to school on Monday is almost silent, save for the occasional bursts of “oh my God, I am going to fail this exam ” from any of the four of them (mostly Seokmin, though). Mingyu, for the first time in three weeks, actually managed to get a decent amount of sleep the previous night. He’s feeling the benefits now, laughing and joking with a significantly more sleep-deprived Minghao.

“Seriously,” Minghao complains as they enter the courtyard, which is teeming with stressed, tired students frantically quizzing each other. “How are you alive right now? Isn’t it contradictory to get your energy back the day exams start?”

Mingyu grins at him. “It’s all part of my charm,” he says, and dodges the smack Minghao aims at his arm.

In truth, Mingyu thinks as Minghao and Seokmin chat about their shared exam, he’s still stressed as hell. But it’s not like he can prepare any more than he already has in the three weeks leading up to this day, so he lets himself soak in the sunlight and the cold air, and hopes that all that effort was worth it.

A few feet away, a group of four seniors are talking loudly. Well, more like one of them is talking loudly, and the other three are at varying points on a spectrum between laughing and craving death. “I’ll be back,” Mingyu tells his friends, and makes his way over.

“Hey, Mingyu!” Soonyoung says the second he sees him approaching, waving frantically. He’s the one talking loudly, because his overflowing energy is immune to the daily stresses of high school students. Even in the face of an impending Calculus final. “Are you ready for the exam?”

“I sure hope so,” Mingyu says. “Are you?”

Soonyoung beams. “Nope!”

And then he starts talking about a really cool cat cafe that just opened up nearby, as if they’re chatting over Saturday morning brunch and not about to be evaluated in a way that will probably affect the rest of their lives. From the eternally weary look on Jihoon’s face, this kind of nonchalance is nothing new. 

Although, considering he looks like he forgot how to be a human being and was dragged back to society against his will, that could just be Jihoon’s permanent emotional state. Mingyu grimaces at him in sympathy and earns a brittle smile for his efforts.

As Soonyoung continues talking, Mingyu waves hello to Junhui, who barely looks awake, and then moves to stand next to Wonwoo, who doesn’t look much better. “Do you have a minute?”

Wonwoo blinks at him, visibly registering the question. “Yeah,” he says, and leans over to whisper something to Junhui before following Mingyu away from the rest of the group.

Once he’s sure they’re safely out of earshot, Mingyu launches straight into it, because Wonwoo’s undivided attention is somehow still nerve wracking after five months of friendship, and if he waits any longer he’ll chicken out. “I got you something,” he blurts out.

Wonwoo shifts. “Oh,” he says. “Thank you…?”

“It’s nothing big,” Mingyu steamrolls through, willing himself not to visibly cringe at how unbelievably awkward he’s being. If Minghao - or, God forbid, Seungkwan - were here, he would never hear the end of it. He pulls out the thing he’s kept in his pocket the entire way to school, praying that it’s not worn out from how much he’s been fiddling with it out of nerves. 

Wonwoo’s face lights up as he reaches out. Mingyu, like the bumbling idiot he is, lets go of the keychain too soon. It hits the ground with a faint smack .

“Oh my God,” Mingyu says, bending over to pick it up, thanking every possible deity there is that the keychain is relatively unharmed. He deposits it into Wonwoo’s still-outstretched hand. “Sorry, I’m such an idiot, what the fuck -”

 “You got this for me?” Wonwoo asks, voice hushed. Normally Mingyu would make fun of him because duh, that’s what I just said , but he’s still flustered from dropping the damn thing , and Wonwoo looks so awed that he can’t find the words. 

“It reminded me of you,” he says instead, because he is a fool. The keychain is in the shape of a cat, curled up with a book propped open on top of its head, snoozing peacefully. It’s made of felt, a bright, pale blue. Like a winter sky. “It’s supposed to be, like, a good luck charm or something? But I don’t know if you believe in that kind of stuff, so- not that there’s anything wrong with believing in that kind of stuff, I mean-”

“Mingyu,” Wonwoo interrupts. Mingyu cuts himself off, sheepish. Wonwoo’s smile is small and blinding as he says, “thank you. I like it a lot.”

I like you a lot , Mingyu almost says, but he doesn’t, because what the hell? “I’m glad you do,” he replies instead. “Also, Junhui’s calling you.”

“Ah.” Wonwoo looks over his shoulder at Junhui, who is waving at him frantically over the top of Jihoon’s head. “I think he’s waving at you, actually. You guys have Calc together, right?” 

“Oh, right.” Mingyu waves back, and sure enough, Junhui makes a beckoning motion at him. He shoots back a thumbs up and turns to face Wonwoo. Now that Wonwoo has, contrary to his anxiety-ridden predictions last night, openly expressed his liking for the gift, he feels a little calmer. “I’ll see you later?”

Wonwoo smiles. “Yeah.”

Mingyu beams. “Good luck!”

Wonwoo laughs and lifts up the keychain. “I already have luck, remember?”

If it’s physically possible to have a heart attack out of pure joy, Mingyu’s pretty sure he’s experiencing one right now. “Yeah,” he repeats like an idiot, and resists the urge to swoon like a damsel in distress as he flees.

--

Walking out of the Calc classroom for the last time, Soonyoung approaches Mingyu and Junhui and says, “So was that weirdly easy, or did I just catastrophically bomb this exam?”

Mingyu almost collapses out of relief, holding onto Junhui’s shoulder for support as he sags against the wall. “Thank God, I thought it was just me,” he says. “Literally half the questions were taken from the practice exams.”

Junhui nods, looking betrayed. “All those all-nighters, for nothing,” he laments.

Soonyoung beams at them, completely unaffected by the otherwise somber atmosphere in the school. If Mingyu wasn’t a witness to his annual dance showcase-related mental breakdown, he would think that Soonyoung is just incapable of negative emotion. “Great! One more semester of math and then I’m out of here!”

Mingyu laughs, letting Soonyoung and Junhui drag him through the halls and out into the courtyard, where other students are already gathering. It’s much louder than it was in the morning, now that the oppressive weight of an oncoming exam has been delayed to the next day. 

“Why did you take two math courses, if you hate it so much?” Mingyu asks, as they look around for their friends.

Out of the corner of Mingyu’s eye, Soonyoung shrugs. “I have to double-major in university,” he explains. “Psychology and Dance. The Psych program at the school I want to go to requires two math credits.”

Mingyu turns to face him. “‘Have to’?” 

Soonyoung’s smile dims, so slightly Mingyu almost misses it. “It’s the only way my parents will let me go to an arts school.”

Mingyu immediately feels like shit. “Sorry,” he says. “That sucks.” I think I know what you mean, he doesn’t say, because thinking about his future in comparison with Soonyoung’s makes him want to shut his whole brain down.

Soonyoung shrugs again, and then his smile is back with full force, like it was never gone. “That’s just the way it is,” he says. “Hey, there’s Jihoon and Wonwoo!”

Mingyu lets Soonyoung change the subject, because he’s not an asshole. “They look dead inside,” he comments.

Junhui cackles. As the two come closer, Mingyu gets a better look at the varying degrees of shell-shocked horror in their eyes, at the grimace on Wonwoo’s face as he listens to Jihoon speak. Jihoon is gesticulating frantically, looking a little rabid. “How was it?” Junhui asks, looking delighted at his friends’ psychotic breaks.

Jihoon makes various gestures implying murder and/or suicide. Wonwoo sighs like he’s lost ten years off his lifespan. Junhui cackles louder. 

Soonyoung throws an arm around Jihoon, who at this point is so dead emotionally that he doesn’t make any efforts to resist. “We should all get together after exams are over! To eat barbecue!”

“Oh, I love barbecue,” Mingyu says absently, mouth watering at the thought. 

“Bold of you to assume I’ll be alive,” Jihoon grumbles.

“Don’t be silly! I’ll keep you alive!” Soonyoung says cheerfully, like referring to his own death is something Jihoon does frequently - which it probably is, given everything Mingyu knows about the guy. “Besides, you love barbecue.”

There’s a pause. “This is true,” Jihoon acquiesces.

“Great!” Soonyoung claps his hands together. Junhui, who has draped his entire body over Wonwoo’s back, imitates the gesture, laughing. “It’s settled, then! Mingyu, you should invite Minghao and Seokmin! Oh, and Seungkwan, and Vernon, and Chan obviously-”

“Jesus, just make a group chat,” Wonwoo says. His voice is muffled by Junhui’s arm, which is covering the lower half of his face. His glasses are askew. 

Mingyu wants to ask about the keychain so badly. He wants to know if it made a difference, if Wonwoo looked at it while he was writing the exam, if Wonwoo secretly hates the color and is just too nice to say it. He doesn’t, because Wonwoo is currently clowning Soonyoung for having the technological proficiency of a boomer, and interrupting the conversation at this point would be incredibly awkward. 

Wonwoo looks over and meets his eyes. Mingyu immediately panics, because he hadn’t meant to stare at Wonwoo the whole time, oh God, how long has he just been gazing at Wonwoo like an idiot? Did anyone notice?

Wonwoo smiles at him. Mingyu, who is now verifiably an idiot, smiles back, helpless.

He is so, so glad Minghao is not here.

--

On the way home, Mingyu notices that Wonwoo’s tied the keychain to the zipper of his backpack. It bounces cheerfully with each step he takes. Mingyu is going to die.

Chapter 10

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

After weeks of forgetting how to be a real person, Mingyu finishes his exams in four days with little fanfare. He does about as well as he usually does, and as well as he expected to do, which is the most he could ask for. He gets home on the day of his last exam and immediately sleeps for twelve hours straight.

When he wakes up, it’s to a notification that he’s been added to a group chat. Horrifically, the group chat already contains over fifty messages. He scrolls to the top of the thread.

 

HORANGHAE (10)

 

1010: GUYS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

seok (my d): SOONYOUNG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

1010: SEOKMIN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

divaboo: can i leave

1010: NO

I HAVE SOMETHING IMPORTANT TO SAY

YOU GUYS ARE ALL INVITED TO ME AND JIHOONS DINNER PARTY

nonu: *jihoon’s and my

moonjun: nerd

let the man speak

1010: THANK YOU JUNHUI YOU ARE THE SEXIEST MAN ALIVE

OTHER THAN ME

moonjun: that is an acceptable title

louie hao: @jihoon did you consent to this

wooji: everything i do with soonyoung is against my will

louie hao: rip

moonjun: rip

nonu: rip

vernonie: rip

1010: HEY

THATS A LIE YOU LOVE ME

>:(

ANYWAYS HERE’S THE INFO

 

Mingyu screenshots the information and then reads the remaining fifty plus messages, half of which consist of increasingly bizarre and chaotic selfies. (There’s one with Junhui lying facedown on the pavement. Mingyu saves that one to use as a reaction meme.) Then he mutes the conversation, turns off his phone, and goes back to sleep.

--

The so-called ‘dinner party’, which is in fact just the ten of them piling into the downtown barbecue place Soonyoung found on Yelp, takes place exactly a week before the second semester starts. Soonyoung designated the dress code as ‘casual but STILL CUTE, yes this is @ you vernon you have to wear actual outside clothes’, which just means Mingyu stares into his closet for several minutes before giving up and calling Minghao.

After about half an hour, he’s managed to scrape together a decent outfit - the shirt Minghao bought him from China, light wash jeans, white sneakers. He perfects his tasteful front tuck just as the bell rings.

His door is closed, but he can still hear his mom go down the stairs and open the front door. “Mingyu!” her voice floats up a few seconds later. “Your ride is here!”

“Just a second!” Mingyu shoves his phone and wallet into his pockets and throws the door open, catching it at the last second before it slams against the wall. He runs down the stairs so fast it’s a miracle he doesn’t slip and die.

Minghao, standing on his porch, squints at him as he pulls his shoes on. “Nice front tuck,” he comments.

Mingyu looks up from tying his shoelaces and grins. “Thanks.”

“Don’t stay out too late,” his mom warns, watching him shrug his jacket over his shoulders.

“I won’t.” He gives her a wave, one foot already out the door, before closing the door and following Minghao to the car idling at the curb. 

Wonwoo, by nature of being the oldest person related to the driver, is in the passenger seat, so Minghao opens the rear door and the two of them pile in. “Hey Mingyu! You’re looking snazzy today!” Seokmin greets from his spot next to the window.

“Thanks,” Mingyu says, dropping into the other window seat. “You look pretty snazzy yourself.” It’s true - Seokmin is wearing a green leather jacket that makes him look like a stud out of an old movie, one of those silent black-and-white ones. Seokmin beams and shoots finger hearts at him.

“I can’t believe I have to sit in the middle,” Minghao sighs as he sits down, looking uncomfortable. Mingyu enjoys the extra leg space too much to feel bad. “This is discrimination.”

“I’m literally six foot two,” Mingyu argues.

Seokmin nods, serious. “I am the same height as Mingyu." Minghao sighs, long-suffering.

--

The drive there is pretty quiet, considering both Mingyu and Seokmin’s proclivity for being as loud as physically possible. Mingyu suspects it has something to do with their driver, Mr. Jeon-Lee, who is possibly the most stoic man alive. His voice is even deeper than Wonwoo’s, which Mingyu didn’t think was possible, and he only speaks to greet Mingyu, ask Wonwoo for directions, and wish them a fun time when they arrive at the restaurant. Mingyu is moderately afraid of him.

The restaurant is warmly lit and fairly packed when they walk in, the air dense with the sound and smell of cooking meat. Soonyoung and Jihoon are already there, waving at them from a booth in the corner farthest away from the door. “So glad you guys could make it!” Soonyoung exclaims, while Jihoon nods and smiles.

Wonwoo claims the seat closest to the wall. Before he can overthink it and make things weird, Mingyu slides in next to him. “How were exams?” he asks, because he hasn’t gotten a chance to ask yet, given that he spent most of the past few days asleep.

Wonwoo shifts to face him. He looks good, but that’s a given - features softened by the warm lighting, shoulders broad under his cream-colored cardigan. “Not bad,” he says. “Philosophy was kind of hard, though.”

Mingyu snorts. “Isn’t that exam supposed to be, like, hell on Earth or something?”

“Okay, it was pretty hard,” Wonwoo admits. “But I still liked the class, so you can’t gloat about being right all along.”

Mingyu crosses his arms, defensive. “I wasn’t going to gloat ,” he argues. “Maybe just, like, laugh at you a little.”

Wonwoo rolls his eyes. “You’re a terrible friend,” he says.

“I am not .” Mingyu feigns offence. “I was just going to compliment you on your clothing choices today. Are you finally going to stop wearing tracksuits for good?”

“How dare you.” Wonwoo clutches at his heart in mock distress. “Tracksuits are a part of my identity, Mingyu. If you can’t handle me at my worst-

“Shut up ,” Mingyu laughs. Wonwoo just keeps smiling, leaning in close. All of it - the smile, the hair, the glasses, the lighting, the clothes - is overwhelming.

Fortunately, before Mingyu slips up and makes a complete fool of himself (well, more than he already has), Junhui arrives, with the other three in tow. Everyone breaks off from their individual conversations to greet the newcomers, and there’s a little bit of turbulence as the group tries to cram ten people into a booth that is definitely not made for ten people. Mingyu gets shoved inconveniently close to Wonwoo, who in turn gets squeezed against the wall. 

“I have to warn you,” Mingyu says to Wonwoo when things have settled down and greetings have been exchanged, “me being near anything breakable or spillable is kind of a public safety hazard.”

“He’s right,” Minghao says from Mingyu’s other side, leaning over Mingyu’s lap so Wonwoo can hear him better. “I also wouldn’t recommend wearing anything white or hard to wash.”

“Okay,” Mingyu starts, “that was one time , and I apologized, like, fifty times-”

“My favorite sweater,” Minghao hisses. “It was cable knit .”

“I literally bought you the exact same one ,” Mingyu argues.

Minghao crosses his arms. “Doesn’t make up for the emotional damage.”

Mingyu buries his face in his hands. Wonwoo just laughs, the traitor. 

--

They work out their order and flag down the waitress, who looks terrified at the prospect of waiting on ten high school boys. Mingyu can’t really blame her, especially when he accidentally knocks over Soonyoung’s drink in the middle of a particularly impassioned speech and she has to bring more napkins over so he can wipe off the table. Fortunately, Minghao and Seungkwan manage to glare everyone else into silence as they rattle off their sizable order to her, and sooner than expected, she’s piling plates of raw meat and side dishes onto their table to loud cheering.

The following half hour goes like this: Seokmin starts grilling, to chants of “SEXY MAN! SEXY MAN! SEXY MAN!”. Soonyoung films videos of said grilling. Vernon almost sets the sleeve of his sweater on fire when he reaches over to grab a piece of meat, and looks disturbingly impassive as Chan and Junhui fan frantically at the smoke. Jihoon eats three bowls of rice in five minutes. Minghao roasts Seungkwan for his unhealthy obsession with navy blue baseball caps.

Meanwhile, Mingyu sits next to Wonwoo, periodically joining Minghao in his Seungkwan fashion roast, and Soonyoung in hyping up Seokmin’s sexy barbecuing skills. But he spends most of the time leaning in to hear Wonwoo over the din, alternately laughing and groaning at Wonwoo’s dad jokes, and passing food from the center of the table to Wonwoo’s plate. 

It’s strange, really. Mingyu has always loved being the moodmaker, the center of the social situation, the one who talks the loudest and laughs the most. But something about Wonwoo being next to him, about their legs pressed together under the table, makes him okay with being away from the spotlight. Makes him want it, even.

It’s strange. Mingyu tries not to think about it too much, and focuses on the way the sleeves of Wonwoo’s cardigan stretch over his palms.

He’s given an excuse to get away from his thoughts when Seokmin shoves the tongs into his hands, complaining about being hungry. Soonyoung starts another round of “SEXY MAN!” chanting. He spends the next chunk of time hunched over the grill, hitting his head on the edge of the overhead fan multiple times and nearly dropping a slice of meat into Seungkwan’s drink once.

He gets booed for that one. He is starting to feel really bad for the other patrons of the restaurant.

He grills, bouncing between conversations, until his neck gets painfully sore and Jihoon offers to take over. He’s in the middle of passing over the tongs when Seungkwan stands and clinks his spoon against his cup, the gravitas of the gesture undermined by the fact that he’s tapping a plastic cup filled with the remnants of an iced Americano. “I have an announcement to make,” he announces.

Chan snorts, focused on finding a cooked piece of meat. “Yeah, no shit.”

Vernon ‘ooh’s and claps his hands approvingly, the sound amplified by Junhui, who has taken to imitating him. Seungkwan attempts to commit a gruesome murder with his eyes alone before continuing, “ anyways , everyone except Chan is invited to my birthday party.”

Chan wraps a leaf of lettuce around a piece of meat, looking unbothered. “I wasn’t planning on coming anyway,” he dismisses.

“Wasn’t your birthday on the 16th?” Mingyu asks, before Seungkwan actually kills Chan over the table and contaminates some perfectly good beef. “I definitely texted you.”

“You are correct, but everyone was half-dead because of exams,” Seungkwan explains. “So I’m rescheduling it to a day where you guys can actually appreciate my birth.”

“I appreciate your birth every day,” Soonyoung tells him seriously, at the same time that Seokmin starts singing some oldies love ballad. Seungkwan joins in for the chorus, briefly turning the booth into a mini karaoke, before continuing. 

“It’s going to be at my house. I’ll send the details on the group chat, just reply to RSVP. If Chan shows up you guys are allowed to use any force necessary to remove him from the premises.” Seungkwan bows dramatically to scattered applause, and sits back down.

“It’s okay,” Seokmin stage-whispers to Chan. “I’ll sneak you a slice of cake.”

“I heard that,” Seungkwan says, in the middle of fixing Vernon’s hair. Seokmin winks and resumes eating.

--

An hour later, they split the bill ten ways and shuffle out of the restaurant. Mingyu and Seungkwan stay behind to apologize profusely to the waitress, who looks somewhat less afraid for her life as she placates them.

“Seriously,” Seungkwan mutters to Mingyu as they rejoin the others outside. “I feel bad for anyone who has to put up with us.”

Mingyu laughs and links his arm with Seungkwan’s. “Does that include you?”

Seungkwan rolls his eyes. “Of course. I suffer every day, Mingyu. You have no idea.”

“Nah, you love us,” Mingyu teases. 

Seungkwan punches him in the arm and leaves to argue with Soonyoung about SHINee. Mingyu scans the group, which has broken off into smaller clusters, for a conversation that looks interesting. He’s about to join in on what looks like Vernon teaching Chan how to curse in English, when something catches his eye. 

It’s a sky blue keychain, clipped onto the side of Wonwoo’s bag. It's definitely not the same bag he uses for school, which means he took the extra step of moving it. Ironically, Mingyu was so caught up in Wonwoo himself that he didn’t notice until now.

“You’re still using that?” he blurts out. It comes out way louder and more aggressive than he intended, but fortunately, the only ones who notice are Junhui and Jihoon, standing nearby. 

And of course Wonwoo as well, who blinks at Mingyu in confusion for a few seconds before realizing what he’s referring to and immediately turning several shades pinker. “Yeah,” he admits. “I mean, I wasn’t lying when I said I liked it.”

“He likes it a little too much,” Junhui interjects, grinning mischievously. “It’s always near him. It’s almost like it’s not the-”

What he means is ,” Wonwoo interrupts forcefully, glaring at Junhui who runs to safety, “it’s cute. I like looking at it.”

Junhui, now a few feet away, shouts, “not as much as you like looking at-”

“Give me a second,” Wonwoo says calmly, and leaves to chase a giggling Junhui around in circles, threatening to “kick your ass, Wen Junhui, I swear to God-”

Mingyu looks at Jihoon, who shrugs. “I don’t know, man,” he says. “I ate too much. My brain is filled with rice.”

“How many bowls did you even eat?” Mingyu asks fearfully.

“I lost count at six,” Jihoon says.

Mingyu stares at him in shock. Where does that rice go, you’re like five feet tall , his self-preservation instincts prevent him from saying. “You terrify me,” he says instead.

Jihoon grins. “Thanks.”

Mingyu chats with Jihoon about culinary club and his latest musical pursuits until Soonyoung’s mom arrives, at which point Jihoon waves goodbye and then leaves to bully Soonyoung into letting him sit shotgun. Junhui’s ride arrives soon after, and then it’s just Minghao, Seokmin, Mingyu, and Wonwoo, shivering slightly in the night air.

“Sorry about Junhui,” Wonwoo says, walking over to stand next to him at the edge of the curb. “Sometimes even I don’t know how his brain works.”

“Your best friend is a cryptid,” Mingyu confirms.

Wonwoo laughs, his breath condensing and curling up into the dark sky. He looks smaller in his puffy jacket, his hands shoved in his pockets and his shoulders hunched against the cold. Mingyu wants to hug him, except Minghao and Seokmin are literally a foot away, and that would raise too many questions that he can’t answer.

So he lets the conversation drop as they wait for Minghao’s mom to arrive, Junhui’s words from earlier replaying over and over in his mind. It’s almost like it’s not the … what? It’s not the keychain that Wonwoo likes? Then what is it? Is Wonwoo, for all his non fiction books and extensive technical vocabulary, a believer in things like luck and fortune?

These are more questions he can’t answer, he realizes as Minghao’s mom pulls up to the curb, apologizing profusely for being late. It’s the same way he can’t answer why, exactly, he feels a little disappointed when Seokmin gets the middle seat by virtue of being the shortest, and Wonwoo turns towards the window, staying silent for the rest of the ride.

Notes:

today's chapter is a little shorter but hopefully ot10 svt dynamics make up for it heh. also friday's chapter is a big boy so consider this a lil break before we get into it

Chapter Text

from: kwannie <3

mangyu

when r u coming over

to make the hamburgers

 

to: kwannie <3

idk like… an hour beforehand???

 

from: kwannie <3

sounds good

i have some TEA

 

to: kwannie <3

ohoho

im intrigued ;)

--

Mingyu shows up at Seungkwan’s house just as the rest of his family is leaving. Seungkwan’s sisters are glamorous, sarcastic, and impossibly friendly, and his mom gives off the warmest motherly vibes he has ever encountered (and that’s including Minghao’s mother, who can befriend literally anyone). The three of them also happen to adore Mingyu.

Suffice to say, Mingyu spends about fifteen minutes being cooed over by three adult women before Seungkwan sighs loudly and shoots his eldest sister a meaningful look.

“Okay, okay,” she laughs, ruffling Seungkwan’s hair affectionately. “We’ll be on our way. Come over more often, alright?” she tells Mingyu, winking.

Mingyu laughs. “Of course,” he agrees. “I’ll cook for you sometime.”

“You better make good on that promise,” she says, giving him a quick hug. “Take care of Seungkwan for me, okay?”

“I can take care of myself,” Seungkwan interjects. He’s thoroughly ignored.

Seungkwan’s mom and sisters leave a few minutes later, the smell of tasteful perfume lingering in their wake. “So,” Mingyu starts, clapping his hands together with glee, “what’s the tea?”

Seungkwan rolls his eyes, but there’s a faint blush coloring his nose. “Start cooking first and I’ll tell you.”

“Mean,” Mingyu pouts, but he obliges anyway. 

Seungkwan’s home is exactly what you’d expect it to be - tastefully cluttered, warm, and almost impeccably cozy. The entire home is cream white and caramel wood, with splashes of green foliage and tiling and an honest-to-God accent wall. There are piles of books on the dinner table, the shoe rack is overflowing with nude pumps and block-heeled boots, and the wall next to the staircase is filled with framed photos of the family at various milestones - graduations, first days, birthdays, anniversaries. Mingyu briefly thinks of his own home, the grey walls and impersonal decor, and immediately shuts down that line of thought.

He sets to work making hamburgers for ten people, Seungkwan helping guide him through the kitchen. “So,” he begins, passing Mingyu a large metal bowl, “I’m going to tell Vernon how I feel today.”

Mingyu drops the bowl.

“Jesus, Mingyu,” Seungkwan scolds, bending over to pick it up. “Are you sure you’re going to be able to do this?”

“I’m fine,” Mingyu says sheepishly, taking the bowl and rinsing it under the tap. “Sorry, I was just surprised. I thought you were just going to be, like, in a permanent state of romance limbo or something.”

Seungkwan elbows him. “Asshole,” he complains.

Mingyu grins. “You love me, though. Can you pass me the seasoning?”

Seungkwan rolls his eyes as he opens a drawer and takes out several containers with handwritten labels. “Anyways,” he continues as he slides them across the countertop, “I decided last night. I’m going to tell him. I’ve had enough of all this pining.”

“Are you sure you want to do it at your birthday party, though?” Mingyu asks, rolling his sleeves up so he can wash his hands. Seungkwan watches him impassively, arms crossed over his chest, leaning against the counter. Strangely enough, it reminds Mingyu of Wonwoo, standing in Mingyu’s kitchen holding a mug of tea. “I mean, all of our friends are going to be there.”

“Which is what makes it the perfect opportunity,” Seungkwan emphasizes. “I can pull him aside when the others are busy. If it goes well, all of our friends will find out we’re dating at the same time; if it goes badly, there’s eight people who can distract me from the pain.”

Mingyu contemplates this as he starts aggressively massaging the seasoning into the beef. Honestly, Seungkwan’s plan makes perfect sense, and he doesn’t even really need a plan. The way Vernon stares at Seungkwan is indication enough that there’s no way his confession could go poorly. “You should go for it,” he says seriously. 

Mingyu’s words seem to bring Seungkwan face-to-face with the reality that, yes, he is finally going to see a resolution to over a years’ worth of pining. He sags against the counter, burying his face in his hands. “Oh God, I should, shouldn’t I,” he mumbles.

Mingyu laughs and walks over to wrap him in a half-hug, careful not to touch him with his raw meat-covered hands. “You should,” he repeats, letting Seungkwan bury his face in his shoulder and wail dramatically. 

“But what if he hates me ,” Seungkwan laments.

Mingyu laughs again, leaning his head against Seungkwan’s. He wants to tell Seungkwan that it is virtually impossible for Vernon to hate anybody , let alone him, but he figures he’s not at liberty to disclose that information yet. “He doesn’t hate you,” he says instead, soothing. “Believe me.”

Seungkwan lets out a final wail and then backs away, fixing his hair. “Well! That’s settled then,” he says cheerfully, like he didn’t just have a mini-breakdown. “You should get back to your hamburgers.”

“This is exploitation,” Mingyu stresses.

--

He gets so engrossed in cooking, shaping the beef into patties and heating up oil in a pan, that the outside world falls away. It’s only when the patties are sizzling comfortably in the pan, and he straightens to look for the rest of the toppings, that he registers Seungkwan’s uncharacteristic silence. “What’s up?” he prompts, opening the fridge and pulling out the stuff he needs. 

Seungkwan waits until he’s closed the fridge before saying, “you really love cooking, huh?”

His voice is soft, like he’s approaching a spooked animal. Which is absurd, because obviously Mingyu loves cooking - it’s like, one of the pillars of his identity. His entire extended family refers to him as ‘housewife Mingyu’. “What kind of question is that?” he teases, grinning. “I mean, I love you and all, but I wouldn’t be doing this for you if I didn’t like cooking.”

The smile Seungkwan offers in reply is sad. “Is it really for me, though?”

Mingyu’s grin fades. “Don’t tell me I did all this for nothing,” he tries to joke.

Seungkwan stares at him. It’s times like these, where Seungkwan gets all quiet and careful, that Mingyu remembers that Seungkwan is actually incredibly smart behind his dramatic, flamboyant front. “I didn’t ask you to, Mingyu. You volunteered to.”

Mingyu puts down the onion he’s peeling and turns to face Seungkwan. “What do you mean?” 

Seungkwan must see the apprehension on his face, because he sighs. “We’ll talk about this later,” he mutters. 

He starts bringing the other vegetables to the sink to wash them, definitively putting the conversation on pause. After a moment, Mingyu resumes peeling the onion. If Seungkwan doesn’t want to talk about it right now, he figures, he won’t think about it either.

--

Soonyoung and Jihoon arrive, together as always, just as he’s finishing the burgers. After the customary greetings are exchanged and the gifts are placed in their designated area next to the TV, Jihoon makes a beeline to the kitchen to look at the burgers Mingyu's just painstakingly arranged on the cutting board.

“I figured you were up to something,” Jihoon says, taking advantage of the fact that Mingyu’s hunched over to ruffle his hair. “It smells amazing in here.”

You really love cooking , Seungkwan’s voice echoes in Mingyu’s head. “Thanks,” he says, shooting Jihoon a smile. It’s a little uncommitted, a little distracted, but Jihoon seems convinced by it, meandering back to where Soonyoung is chatting with Seungkwan in the living room.

The doorbell rings just as Mingyu's finished washing his hands. He heads into the living room, accepting the hug that Soonyoung gives him in greeting, just in time to see Seungkwan fling open the door and Vernon, Chan, and Junhui tumble in. 

Amused, he watches the interaction unfold from afar. Seungkwan hugs each of the newcomers, obviously, but he saves Vernon for last. Vernon whispers something into Seungkwan’s ear before they pull away, and Seungkwan’s expression, when he looks at him, is hopelessly fond. Just like that, it becomes Seungkwan and Vernon - not Seungkwan, Vernon, and the others. Just Seungkwan and Vernon. 

A year ago - hell, a few months ago, if he’s going to be honest with himself - the interaction would have sparked something bitter and ugly in him, jealousy rearing its head over something that he could never have. But now, he just laughs to himself, ignoring the look he gets from Jihoon. It really was foolish of Seungkwan, to see Vernon look at him like that every day and think there’s even a chance he doesn’t feel the same way.

His thoughts are interrupted when Chan calls out to him, dragging him into the larger group. They chat about the upcoming Marvel show, the same one he’s been arguing with Jihoon over for the past month. “You’re right, though,” Chan says thoughtfully, when Mingyu brings up his point about the shield. “I mean, the Falcon and the Winter Soldier are intrinsically tied to the Captain America franchise, so it doesn’t make sense for them not to include the symbol of Captain America in the trailer.”

“Ha!” Mingyu shouts, pointing triumphantly at Jihoon, who looks up from his phone and squints at him in confusion. “Chan agrees with me!”

Jihoon sighs. “About the shield thing?”

Yes ,” Mingyu says.

This is how Jihoon gets dragged into their conversation, which derails from the shield to whether the Winter Soldier should’ve been the next Captain America instead. Chan is in the middle of an impassioned speech about villain redemption arcs when the doorbell rings again. This time, all seven of the people currently in the house all rush to get it, so when the door finally swings open, the three people standing on the porch are met with what can only be described as pure chaos.

Seungkwan immediately starts scolding them for being late, echoed by Chan, who loves nothing more than bullying his elders. Soonyoung screeches, echoed by Junhui, who loves nothing more than imitating people. Jihoon and Vernon stand to the side, the former with his arms crossed, the latter bobbing his head to an unheard song. Mingyu does his part by spreading his arms wide and shouting incoherently.

Seokmin, like the good-natured theater kid he is, joins in immediately. Minghao and Wonwoo just exchange glances and laugh before entering the house.

--

Once the final round of greetings have been exchanged, jackets have been piled onto the couch, and gifts have been added to the growing collection, Seungkwan calls them over to the kitchen for lunch. 

“Mingyu made these,” he announces. Like meerkats, all nine heads whip around to stare at him. Mingyu feels his face turn hot at the ttention and ducks to hide behind Chan. “So give him compliments or whatever, but not too many. It’s my birthday, after all.”

Soonyoung starts, “your birthday was on the sixteenth-”

It’s my birthday ,” Seungkwan says forcefully. “Anyways. Enjoy, guys.”

There’s a collective cheer, and then a burst of activity that can only be achieved by putting food in front of a bunch of teenage boys. Mingyu grabs a can of Coke from the twelve-pack of assorted soft drinks on the counter, a plate, and a burger, and then wanders to the living room with his spoils of war. 

Wonwoo is the only other person there, balancing a paper plate on his lap as he eats, a can of Pepsi open on the coffee table in front of him. “These are really good,” he tells Mingyu, “but you knew that already.”

Mingyu grins and ducks to hide his blush. “It’s still nice to hear,” he says. “I think I have a permanent crick in my neck from hunching over a pan for an hour, though.”

Wonwoo laughs. “You should keep hunching over,” he says. “Then I’ll be taller than you, and you won’t be so insufferable.”

“Rude,” Mingyu complains. He takes a bite out of his burger. It’s not as warm as he would’ve liked, given that it was sitting on the counter at room temperature for several minutes, but other than that - yeah, it’s good. He swallows and continues, “it’s not my fault you’re so short.”

Wonwoo rolls his eyes. “See what I mean,” he says. “Insufferable. Everyone’s short to you because you’re seven feet tall.”

Mingyu grins wider. “Well, I can’t argue with that.” 

Wonwoo rolls his eyes again, smiling, and then they just kind of eat in silence, enjoying each other’s company. The living room is filling up with people - Chan’s pressed in on Mingyu’s other side, and he can see Seokmin cackling over Wonwoo’s shoulder - but he doesn’t really see any of them. Wonwoo’s wearing a black hoodie, which Mingyu unfortunately recognizes as one of the three that he owns, but he’s also wearing jeans, which makes up for it. They’re nice. Wonwoo looks nice, but then again, he always looks nice, even in those awful tracksuits.

Seungkwan clears his throat, startling Mingyu out of his thoughts. He’s standing in front of TV, facing the rest of the group, who are all spread out between the couch and the floor. He brandishes the TV remote like a mic as he says, “we’re going to watch Cloud Atlas.” He’s met by a collective groan. “It’s my birthday," he reminds. 

“I’ve never heard of Cloud Atlas,” Mingyu whispers to Wonwoo, as Seungkwan forces Vernon to help him set up the TV. “Is it that bad?”

“It’s not bad,” Wonwoo whispers back. At the front of the room, Vernon pulls up a pirating website on the TV, to the sound of Soonyoung whooping in excitement. “It’s just really confusing. I made Junhui watch it with me once and he fell asleep halfway through.”

“To be fair,” Junhui interjects, leaning over Chan’s lap, “the movie is three hours long.”

“It’s three hours long?” Chan complains loudly, which starts up another round of collective groaning.

“Is this a birthday party or a hostage situation?” Jihoon demands.

Fine ,” Seungkwan acquiesces. He stands up from where he’s been kneeling in front of the TV, plucking the remote out of Vernon’s hands to use as a mic again. “We can watch The Fifth Wave instead.” 

This time, there’s a faint murmur in response to the unfamiliar name. “He loves American disaster movies,” Chan says with resignation. “It’s too bad most of them suck.”

“I heard that,” Seungkwan calls. Chan laughs and hides behind Mingyu’s shoulder.

Vernon finds the movie, and after some more glaring and shushing on Seungkwan’s part, the ten of them settle in. The house doesn’t stay quiet for long. As Chan predicted, the movie really does suck, and soon the respectful silence has devolved into commentary and dramatic parodies. Soonyoung and Seokmin get up multiple times to re-enact the scenes between the main couple; Chan makes snide comments under his breath, which are just loud enough that everyone in the room can hear them; and even Seungkwan gives up on defending his taste in movies around the half-hour mark.

It’s like the epitome of a teenage coming-of-age movie, Mingyu thinks, sitting in the middle of it all, laughing so hard he almost spills his drink. He wants to take his phone out and immortalize the moment, but then Soonyoung calls on him to join a dramatic death scene he and Seokmin are acting out, and of course he can’t say no.

In typical winter day fashion, the sky outside is already dark by the time the credits roll. They help close all the blinds and turn on the lights, and then Seungkwan reaches under the coffee table and pulls out a truly impressive stack of board games. Soonyoung calls dibs on Twister with alarming ferocity. 

As Soonyoung ropes Chan, Seokmin, and (somehow) Jihoon into playing with him, Wonwoo leans towards Mingyu and says, “do you think Seungkwan will let us play Mario Kart on his Wii?”

“Oh my God, he has Mario Kart, I completely forgot,” Mingyu says, shooting up from his spot on the couch and making a beeline for the TV, which is idling, abandoned, on the pirating website’s landing page. “Seungkwan!” he calls, searching for the remote.

When he doesn’t get a response, he looks up, frowning. There’s no trace of Seungkwan in the room - he looks around again, and can’t find Vernon either. Could it be? Is Seungkwan confessing at this very moment?

“Mingyu?” Wonwoo’s voice startles him out of his thoughts. Wonwoo’s standing in front of him, holding the remote in his hand. “Everything okay?”

Mingyu blinks for a few seconds and then shakes his head, hoping it’ll physically clear his mind. There’s no point in worrying over what’s happening right now - good or not, it's entirely between Seungkwan and Vernon. “Yeah,” he says, mustering a smile for Wonwoo, who is still looking at him. “Yeah. Let’s play Mario Kart.”

By some miracle, Seungkwan’s Wii is still completely set up, even though Mingyu knows for a fact that no one in the house has touched it in at least a year. Wonwoo inserts the disc, connects the controllers, and then they’re good to go, joined by Minghao and Junhui, who have abandoned their Connect 4 game.

Minghao and Wonwoo, as Mingyu already knows, are very good at the game. Junhui, on the other hand, sucks ass, which is somewhat comforting. He makes up for this lack in skill by employing ‘alternative strategies’ for winning - as in, he tickles the person next to him so that they drive off the edge and fall behind. He never actually wins, but he does get a kick out of it, if his raucous giggling is any indication.

Mingyu, safely seated one person away from the force of chaos that is Wen Junhui, gets so engrossed in the game that he completely forgets about the whole Seungkwan confession thing until about two games later, when someone lets out a loud whoop.

It’s Soonyoung, because obviously. But then Junhui imitates him, because Junhui spends about sixty percent of his waking hours clowning other people, and then everyone is whooping without knowing what they’re whooping about.

Mingyu is one of those people, cupping his hands around his mouth and making vague monkey noises. It’s only when a voice that is distinctly Seungkwan’s says “guys, cut it out!” that he freezes in his tracks.

He turns around so fast he almost gets whiplash. Sure enough, Seungkwan has returned, standing in the entrance to the living room. Mingyu doesn’t even need to look for Vernon to know what happened - he sees Seungkwan, sees the flush on his face and the brightness in his eyes, and just knows.

Seungkwan looks over his shoulder, to where Vernon is hiding half in the shadows. He whispers something. Vernon says something back. Seungkwan laughs and turns back to face the rest of the group, who are all frozen in their places and staring up at the two of them. Out of the corner of his eye, Mingyu can see Seokmin still in his Twister position, ass in the air, eyes wide with shock.

“Vernon and I are dating,” Seungkwan announces. Behind him, Vernon nods, emerging from the shadows. Mingyu kind of wants to make a ‘coming out of the closet’ comparison, but he figures it’s not the right time.

The room is eerily silent for about two seconds. Then everyone collectively loses their shit.

Mingyu starts clapping. Chan falls over and lets out a sigh that sounds like it’s been held in for months. Minghao gets up to hug the couple of the hour, mostly quiet save for his happy giggling. Jihoon smacks Vernon on the back in congratulations, groaning about how gross and nasty they’re going to be now that they’ve moved past the mutual pining phase. Wonwoo just laughs, clapping graciously in time with Mingyu. 

Meanwhile, Soonyoung, Seokmin, and Junhuidescend on the newly minted couple with the savagery and passion of a flock of vultures descending on a particularly fresh lion carcass, producing a sound that can only be described as shocked screeching. The rest of the group gets dragged in, too, and soon it’s just Mingyu and Wonwoo, sitting in front of the paused Mario Kart game, watching from the outside. 

Mingyu grins at Wonwoo, who flinches at a particularly loud screech, and then smiles back. “You knew this was going to happen, didn’t you,” Wonwoo says.

Mingyu grins wider, turning back to look at the rest of their friends, who have now formed a circle around Seungkwan and Vernon and are singing ‘Can You Feel the Love Tonight’. “Of course I knew,” he says. “This has been coming for a long, long time.”

“Mingyu! Wonwoo!” Chan calls to them, shouting to be heard over Seokmin’s truly impressive high note. “Hurry up and get in here!”

They exchange another look. Wonwoo’s smile is wry, faintly amused; he stays seated, keeping his eyes locked on Mingyu’s as Mingyu stands and offers a hand. 

“My liege,” Mingyu announces. Wonwoo laughs and lets himself be pulled up, and then they’re joining the fray, voices ringing up into the rest of the house.

--

They scream for a few more minutes until even Soonyoung is worn out, at which point Seungkwan gives them express permission to resume their previous activities, Vernon laughing and covering his face behind him. 

Mingyu’s prevented from resuming the Mario Kart tournament when Seungkwan grabs his elbow and drags him away forcefully. Despite his smaller frame, Seungkwan does Pilates and is much stronger than he looks, so Mingyu gives up on resisting pretty quickly and lets himself be pulled into the shadows.

“Shouldn’t you be hanging out with your boyfriend?” he teases, once Seungkwan is sure they’re out of earshot from everyone else. 

Seungkwan rolls his eyes, but there’s a glow to him, lighting him up even in the darkness of the hallway. It’s very cute. “He’s not that kind of person,” he says. “I literally just saw him steal your controller and start playing Mario Kart.”

Mingyu shrugs. “That’s fair.” He smiles down at Seungkwan. “So, how do you feel?”

Seungkwan’s facade of calm breaks, then, and he lets out a tiny scream, tackling Mingyu in a hug so forceful it nearly sends them careening into the coat rack. “He’s my boyfriend, Mingyu,” he sighs when they finally break apart, beaming. “I still can’t believe it. I told him I liked him, and then he said, and I quote, ‘I like you too. That’s why we’re friends, right?’ and I literally wanted to die , but then I was like, ‘no, you idiot, I meant in the more than friends way’, and then he was like ‘oh’, and then he didn’t say anything else for such a long time- wait.”

Mingyu blinks at Seungkwan, who is now narrowing his eyes in suspicion. “What?” he asks innocently.

“You don’t seem that surprised,” Seungkwan says slowly. Realization dawns in his eyes, and he gasps, looking betrayed. “ You knew the whole time!

Mingyu laughs, ducking when Seungkwan mimes punching him. “Okay, okay,” he admits, holding his hands up in surrender, “maybe I wasn’t that worried about whether or not he would reject you.”

Seungkwan swipes at him again. “Then why didn’t you say anything,” he whines.

“I didn’t want to get your hopes up, just in case,” Mingyu says, shrugging. “Besides, I didn’t think Vernon would’ve been too happy with me interfering.”

Seungkwan takes a second to contemplate this. “That’s fair,” he allows. “I forgive you, but you’re still the worst .”

Mingyu laughs again. “Noted.” He leans against the wall. “What did he say after that?”

Seungkwan sighs, his eyes taking on a dreamy, cloudy quality. “I was like, ‘if you’re going to reject me, you should do it quickly’, and then he said, ‘why would I reject you?’ and then-” Seungkwan pauses for dramatic effect. Mingyu, like the good friend that he is, leans in obligingly. “And then he said, ‘I know you really like romantic stuff, so I was figuring out how to say I like you back romantically’. Isn’t that literally the sweetest, most idiotic thing you’ve ever heard? Like, ugh, this is my boyfriend .” Seungkwan scrunches his nose, like he isn’t sure whether to be disgusted or infatuated.

Mingyu thinks it’s both. “Congrats, Seungkwan,” he says, sincere. “You both deserve to be happy. Really.”

Seungkwan breaks character to smile up at him, achingly genuine. Gone is the moodmaker, the lead actor, the carefully crafted ‘funny guy’ persona; this is just Seungkwan, sweet and good and happy. “I am,” he says, and Mingyu believes him so much it hurts.

They stay silent for a few minutes after that, the sounds of their friends in the other room filtering in through the darkness. Mingyu senses that this is the end of the conversation, but Seungkwan makes no move to leave, so he stays rooted in place, waiting for something to happen.

Eventually, something does happen. “About what I said earlier,” Seungkwan starts. His tone of voice immediately activates Mingyu’s defence mechanisms - that’s his prying tone, the one that says he’s about to ask some questions that hit uncomfortably close to home. “In the kitchen.”

Mingyu crosses his arms over his chest, putting a barrier between himself and Seungkwan, whose expression has become unreadable in the shadows. “What about it?”

“I’m sorry,” Seungkwan says, which surprises Mingyu so much he forgets to be defensive for a second. “I didn’t mean that I don’t appreciate your efforts or your cooking. Seriously, Mingyu, you’re the best cook and the sweetest guy I know. Other than Vernon, of course,” he rolls his eyes, “but only because I’m contractually obligated to find him sweet. Your cooking wasn’t unwelcome at all, but…”

Seungkwan drifts off. Mingyu leans closer. If there’s something that can make someone as bluntly honest as Seungkwan hesitate, it must be important. 

Seungkwan starts, slow and halting, like he’s reviewing and re-writing his words as he says them, “I’ve noticed that, every time some kind of event comes up, no matter how minor it is, you always offer to cook.”

“Well, yeah,” Mingyu says, a little confused. This is obvious - so why is Seungkwan talking like he’s stepping around quicksand? “I like cooking for people. So?”

“No, you love cooking for people,” Seungkwan corrects. “You willingly spend more time practicing your cooking than you do for literally anything else. My point is, Mingyu - why haven’t you ever considered going to culinary school?”

Seungkwan stops after that, letting the words fall into the space between them. Mingyu’s glad he did, because the words are heavy - they propel him into a night in the middle of winter break, muscles score from whipping cream, typing ‘how to become a professional cook’ into the search bar. 

And the truth is - the reason why he closed his laptop so quickly, why he lost so much sleep after, is because he felt hope . Hope that he could have this absurd, Disney-channel life, where he can do whatever he wants without disappointing anyone. And now here’s Seungkwan, asking him about considering that kind of life, as if hope is something that’s so easy to obtain, something you can choose without risk. 

There’s something Mingyu has learned, in his years-long uphill battle earning achievement after hollow achievement. Hope yields disappointment. What goes up must come down.

Something flares - anger, he realizes with horror. He’s angry at Seungkwan. But of course he can’t express it, not to Seungkwan, who once surprised him with his favorite candy from the convenience store because he thought it might make him happy. So he grits his teeth, shutters his expression, and jokes, “why would I take so many math courses just to go to culinary school? I’m going to sell my soul to capitalism, Seungkwan. My 401k is waiting for me.”

Seungkwan doesn’t laugh. Maybe Mingyu’s gotten worse at faking the whole happy-go-lucky thing, or maybe this is just the influence of Wonwoo’s horrible dad jokes. In the living room, Minghao shouts at Junhui in Mandarin. 

Then Seungkwan says, in that same slow, careful way, “my mom owns a business, my sisters are an accountant and a teacher, and I’m a theater kid trying to get a career in the performing arts. Do you think I don’t know what it’s like, to have everyone in your life try to stop you from doing what you want?”

The words stamp out the anger burning in Mingyu's chest, leaving him cold with shock. For as long as they’ve been friends, Seungkwan’s identity has been rooted in his love for theater. He has one of the most beautiful voices Mingyu’s ever heard, and with his sheer volume of pop culture and musical knowledge, Mingyu’s always assumed it was the kind of love that’s always been nurtured. Especially considering Seungkwan’s family, who Mingyu can only picture as endlessly accepting.

But then again, Mingyu realizes, he doesn’t really know the full picture, does he? After all, they’re Seungkwan’s family, not his.

Seungkwan must take his silence as an invitation to continue, because he adds, “obviously my mom and sisters are accepting now, but it took a long time for them to get there. There are some people in my extended family who still want me to go for a ‘real career’. But, you know,” and his smile is wry, a flash of humor in an otherwise stifling conversation, “you have to take risks sometimes, to go after what you want.”

“Okay, that’s unfair,” Mingyu points out. “That was barely risky. Literally anyone who’s seen the two of you together knows that Vernon likes you just as much as you like him.”

Seungkwan scoffs. “First of all, I still feel betrayed that you knew all along ,” and then his voice switches, stifling the brief breath of fresh air as he continues, “and second of all, everyone who’s ever known you thinks that you would make an amazing chef.”

Mingyu’s smile falters, his hackles raising all over again. He wishes he could joke away the heaviness of their conversation, push away the sudden intimacy with which Seungkwan is looking at him, and fall back into the surface-level banter that he’s comfortable with. But this is Seungkwan, after all, and Seungkwan would pick up on his intentions in a second.

Mingyu knows - he knows he would make a great chef. He’s been cooking for as long as he can remember, has the technical skill to show for it, and he masters unfamiliar dishes within one or two tries. But that doesn’t matter, does it? He can’t pursue cooking as a career. So he tries to worm his way out of the conversation regardless, because having Seungkwan glare at him for trying to change the topic is better than thinking about the actual topic at hand. 

He forces himself into an imitation of ease, smiles, and says, “and I would make an amazing evil corporate overlord, too.” He bares his teeth. “I already have the persuasive charm part of it down.”

Seungkwan sighs. “Okay,” he acquiesces. “Okay.” He takes Mingyu’s hand and leads him down the hallway, back to the living room. It’s Mingyu’s victory, but the triumph doesn’t ring true. Just as they’re about to round the corner, Seungkwan turns to him and says, “I know you don’t want to talk about it, so I won’t push you any more. Just. Think about it, okay? You deserve to be happy, too.”

I am happy , Mingyu wants to insist. I am happy, and I will be happy, even without going to culinary school

But he doesn’t. And Seungkwan must see it in his face, because he just sighs again and pulls him back into the living room.

The second the overhead light hits them, eight pairs of eyes swivel to look their way. It’s a terrifying feeling. 

“What,” Jihoon deadpans, “are you dating Mingyu now, too?”

It breaks the weird silence in the room with the force of a sledgehammer. Seungkwan complains that ‘you’re the worst, Jihoon, seriously, read the room’. Vernon shrugs and turns back to his Mario Kart game, looking completely indifferent to the idea of co-opting Mingyu into his relationship. Soonyoung, like the terrible person he is, calls dibs on being the next person who gets to date Seungkwan, earning a flying kick for his efforts.

Mingyu watches it all unfold, rooted to his spot at the entrance. He’s exhausted, all of a sudden. He doesn’t feel present , doesn’t feel attached to these experiences, doesn’t feel capable of generating the correct emotional responses. Seungkwan’s words - everything about pursuing what he wants, pursuing the life he wants - run through his mind in tired circles, dragging him down. 

“Mingyu.” It’s Minghao, because it’s always Minghao, picking up all the things he’s left behind. Minghao’s hands on his shoulders ground him, help him focus on the worry in his best friend's eyes. “Do you want to go home?”

He doesn’t ask, are you okay? He doesn’t ask, what did Seungkwan say to you? He doesn’t ask, what’s going on in that mind of yours? Because he knows that these are questions Mingyu can’t answer. It reminds Mingyu that Minghao is yet another person he’s terrified of letting down. 

He squares his shoulders and looks Minghao in the eye. “No,” he says, as firm as he can manage. “No, it’s okay. I’ll stay.”

Minghao stares at him for a few moments longer before wrapping him into a hug. Mingyu lets himself reset, his face buried in Minghao’s shoulder, breathing in the smell of the same citrusy shampoo Minghao’s been using since middle school. It’s comforting, familiar in a sea of uncertainty. 

He pulls away a few moments later, cutting off the hug before people can take notice and start asking questions. “I would tell you to go back to playing Mario Kart,” he looks over Minghao’s shoulder at Jihoon, who is staring at the TV with murder in his eyes, “but I think you’ve been replaced.”

Minghao glances over and laughs. “That’s okay,” he allows. “I was getting tired of it anyway.”

“Blasphemy,” Mingyu accuses, letting Minghao lead him to the couch. “There’s no such thing as getting tired of Mario Kart.”

“I think video games have eroded your brain,” Minghao shoots back. 

Mingyu’s answering chuckle is weak, but at least it’s genuine. They sit on the couch, away from the rest of their friends, and talk about nothing for the remainder of the party.

Chapter Text

Second semester begins a few days after Seungkwan’s fake birthday party. Mingyu accidentally sleeps in, because apparently it only takes a week and a half for his body to abandon all sense of discipline, and stumbles out of the house looking less than put together.

Minghao, the asshole, is as stylish and punctual as ever. It’s probably all that meditation, Mingyu grumbles internally as they make their way to the meeting point. His circadian rhythm must be perfectly aligned or something. 

Outside, the sun is almost blindingly bright, reflecting off the snow on the ground and straight into Mingyu's eyes. Minghao offers him some tea from the thermos he always brings to school, which Mingyu accepts with gratitude, ignoring the way the freshly-brewed tea burns his throat as he drinks.

The combination of the tea and the sunlight force him into fully operating consciousness by the time Seokmin and Wonwoo come into view. Or maybe not, as it turns out, because Mingyu has started hallucinating. 

Jeon Wonwoo is wearing a leather jacket . If that wasn’t enough, he’s also wearing techwear pants, a beanie, a turtleneck, and boots that are actually fashionable and not hideously ugly . The entire ensemble is black. Is this the price Mingyu has to pay for bullying Wonwoo about his fashion so often? Is he going to slowly descend into insanity?

Next to him, Minghao laughs in delight and runs up to examine Wonwoo’s outfit closer. “You look so good!” he exclaims, beaming like a proud father. “I told you it was a good idea.”

Minghao was in on it? Minghao is responsible for this outfit? Mingyu needs new friends. 

Wonwoo smiles as Minghao smooths down the shoulders of his jacket. “You were right,” he admits. “I like it a lot. Thanks for your help.”

“Hey, I helped too,” Seokmin interjects. “Where’s my thanks?”

Wonwoo narrows his eyes at his brother, who shoots him finger hearts in an attempt to win him over. “You don’t get thanks, because you ate the last bag of honey chips.”

“I already apologized for that!” Seokmin complains.

“The last bag ,” Wonwoo stresses, a glint in his eye like he considered murdering Seokmin yesterday and never let the idea go. Seokmin probably knows it, too, given the traumatized look on his face. “Of honey chips . Do you know how long I waited -”

“Okay, okay,” Mingyu interrupts, his heart attack momentarily forgotten as he puts himself between the two of them, preventing Wonwoo from actually killing Seokmn over a bag of chips. (Although Mingyu kind of understands the sentiment. Honey chips are very good.) “Let’s not fight, guys. How would your parents feel?”

Surprisingly, that seems to calm Wonwoo, who steps back, looking thoughtful. “So I’m Cain…” he mutters to himself.

Mingyu squints in confusion. “What are you even- you know what, it’s fine,” he dismisses, shepherding them forward before they have to start off their second semester by missing the bus. “Let’s just go.”

The pairings they make on the trips to school are usually random - it’s just whoever happens to be standing next to each other, or are already engrossed in a conversation, or have a shared class to talk about. Mingyu normally doesn’t have a problem with this. But on this particular day, as Seokmin and Minghao start talking about some TV show he’s never heard of, leaving him alone with Wonwoo, he suddenly hates it. 

Because now he has to, like, look at Wonwoo again. And looking at Wonwoo means looking at Wonwoo’s clothes, which means losing his grip on whatever piece of sanity he managed to recover. 

When he turns, Wonwoo is grinning at him like he’s just thought of the funniest joke in the world but doesn’t feel particularly inclined to share it. Mingyu narrows his eyes in suspicion, even as the sight of Wonwoo in a beanie makes him want to scream. “What?”

“Nothing,” Wonwoo says happily. His smile changes his entire face, makes it light up, and the combination with the outfit is just - it’s a lot. Mingyu practices deep breathing. “It’s just - well. You have a cowlick on the back of your head.”

All of Mingyu’s gross mushy feelings are instantly incinerated by his humiliation. “Oh my God, where,” he says frantically, pulling his phone out and opening the camera. He swivels his head around, trying to see as much of the back of his head as he can; Wonwoo just kind of stands there, hands in his pockets, laughing. It would be incredibly attractive if Mingyu weren’t feeling so utterly betrayed.

After about twenty more seconds of failing to locate the alleged cowlick, Mingyu gives up on his phone and tries to appeal to Wonwoo instead. “You have to help me,” he pleads. “I can’t show up to school like this.”

“It’s just a cowlick, you’ll survive,” Wonwoo says, but he steps closer and motions for Minyu to lower his head anyway. It’s a little awkward, walking with his shoulders hunched over and his head bowed, but Wonwoo’s fingers are gentle in his hair. “You’re good now,” Wonwoo says, just as they arrive at the bus stop.

Mingyu straightens and focuses on a spot just above Wonwoo’s ear. “Thanks!” he says, trying really hard not to miss the feeling of Wonwoo’s hand against the back of his head. He thinks he might actually be losing his mind.

--

“By the way,” Mingyu says as they enter the courtyard, which is buzzing with the half-excitement, half-trepidation that usually accompanies the start of the semester, “I really like the outfit, too.”

“Oh.” Wonwoo looks down at himself like he forgot what he was wearing, and then looks back up at Mingyu, smiling. “Really?”

“Really,” Mingyu confirms. Even if he loses several years off his lifespan as a result, Wonwoo looks so uncharacteristically unsure that Mingyu wants, almost reflexively, to ease his worries. “You look good.”

Wonwoo looks surprised for a few seconds before laughing. He tucks his hands into his pockets as he says, “thanks. I’ll take your word for it, then.”

Mingyu nods. They pause right in front of the doors to the school, moving aside so they don’t get crushed by the rush of incoming students. “You should,” he says earnestly. “I’m a very trustworthy source.”

Wonwoo’s smile is easy. “Well, I wouldn’t go that far.” He makes a ‘wait a second’ gesture towards Minghao, who Mingyu realizes is waiting inside the school’s lobby for him, beckoning impatiently. “You did give me a ‘good luck charm’ right before the worst exam of my life.”

Mingyu grins. “Well, from what Junhui’s told me, you seem to like it a lot regardless-”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Wonwoo interrupts briskly. “Don’t listen to Junhui, everything he says is a lie.”

Mingyu’s grin widens, catching the way the shell of Wonwoo’s ear gets redder. He isn’t actually an asshole, though, despite what all of his exchanges with Wonwoo may suggest, so he lets the subject drop and follows Wonwoo into the school.

--

He has Economics first thing in the morning, because for some reason he can’t escape the curse of brain-melting eight a.m. classes. Even worse, he isn’t really close with anyone in the class, a recurring feature of having a large circle of acquaintances but a single-digit number of friends.

This issue is made worse by the fact that the desks are arranged in pairs. By the time Mingyu arrives at the classroom, dangerously close to the late bell, there aren’t any empty two-seat arrangements left. He’s about to resort to forming an awkward surface-level friendship with whatever acquaintance is kind enough to let him sit next to them, which will last a little bit past exams before they mutually agree to never speak again, when someone calls his name.

Mingyu, with relief, recognizes the voice. He would call the guy who calls out to him a savior, except he quickly realizes that the guy in question is Bambam , who is way too depraved to be able to save anyone. Still, Bambam is the only person in the class whom Mingyu would genuinely consider a friend, and he’s nice enough to offer Mingyu the empty seat next to him, located in a good spot towards the back of the class. Mingyu all but launches himself into the chair just as the teacher walks in, and whispers a quick “thanks” as she launches into the lesson.

Bambam grins at him, twirling a pen between his fingers. There isn’t even a notebook on his desk, just his laptop and a water bottle. “Don’t worry about it,” he dismisses. “You gotta play two player games with me when the class gets boring, though.”

Mingyu laughs, muffling the sound with his hand so that the teacher doesn’t hear. “Of course,” he accepts. 

They spend the entire class running over the syllabus. Bambam’s threshold for boredom is, not-so-surprisingly, extremely low, so halfway through he taps Mingyu on the shoulder and whispers, “wanna watch anime with me?”

“Pay attention,” Mingyu hisses, eyes fixed on the presentation at the front of the classroom, even as he fails to absorb any of the information. “I don’t want to get in trouble on the first day of class.”

Bambam scoffs. “Lame,” he says, and loads up the anime anyway. Mingyu pretends he isn’t secretly watching. He gets the feeling that Bambam knows he is.

--

Business class is after Econ. He walks into the classroom with firm determination to do well in this course, if only to prove that he won’t fail at his chosen career path.

Surprisingly, Chan of all people is there. “How did you even get into this class?” Mingyu asks. The desks are all separated, so he takes the one closest to Chan’s, smack dab in the middle of the classroom. It’s not the ideal placement, but at least the visibility will force him to pay attention. 

Chan shrugs and pauses the choreography video he’s watching. “There aren’t any prerequisites for this class, so it’s not like they can actually say no to me. They were just like, ‘are you sure you want to do this to yourself?’”

“They might have a point,” Mingyu says. Then again, Chan skipped an entire grade and is still at the top of his class, so maybe not. “You hate being in business club. Why are you making yourself do more business ?”

Chan shrugs again. “This stuff is important to know.” 

Mingyu opens his mouth, about to say something else, but then the bell rings. He drops the subject and turns towards the front of the class. It’s not like he has any grounds to argue, after all.

--

Business class doesn’t go nearly as poorly as the club with the same name. The teacher is a pretty young guy who uses terms like ‘on fleek’ unironically, and has enough energy to make even a review of the syllabus engaging. Mingyu leaves the room with a decent amount of optimism, chatting to Chan, who for once doesn’t look half-dead with boredom.

They walk all the way to the lobby together before parting ways. “Well,” Chan says, grimacing. “Back to my friends.”

Ah, right. His friends, Seungkwan and Vernon, who are now dating. Mingyu gives Chan a sympathetic hug. “How’s that going?” he asks.

“Ugh, don’t even get me started ,” Chan complains. “Like, on the outside they don’t act that differently, which I appreciate, but the vibes .” He makes a vague gesture, his eyes wild. “The vibes , Mingyu. They’re disgusting .”

Mingyu nods sympathetically. “I’m sure the other guys wouldn’t mind if you joined us once in a while,” he says. “I promise none of us are dating.”

That seems to placate Chan a little bit, who nods and gives him a salute. “I’ll take you up on that offer someday,” he promises.

They part ways after that, Chan to his perpetual third-wheeling, Mingyu to his decidedly not romantically involved friends. The aforementioned friends are already at his locker when he arrives, watching a video together. 

“Are you showing Minghao cat videos again?” Mingyu asks as a greeting, leaning over a cooing Minghao to access his locker. “He looks like he’s going to have a heart attack.”

“I am ,” Minghao confirms, clutching his chest dramatically. “Their little paws, Mingyu.”

Lunch break passes that way, and then the second half of the day begins. Data Management is mind-numbingly boring, but he’s with Soonyoung and Junhui again, which makes it considerably more bearable. Closing out the day is Contemporary Issues, which Minghao convinced him to take with him last year because ‘you can’t just take exclusively STEM courses, Mingyu, you’re going to forget how to be a person’. Once again, Minghao is right about everything, because the syllabus does seem genuinely interesting, and the teacher has a habit of putting memes on the slides. 

The day wraps up quickly, depositing Mingyu into his home at four in the afternoon with little memory of how he got there. He finishes his thankfully minimal amount of homework, cooks dinner, eats it by himself, and then collapses into bed at an embarrassingly early time, worn out by the new semester after a week and a half-long break.

At least he gets to go home with Wonwoo tomorrow, he thinks to himself, just before he falls asleep.

--

He forgot to bring shampoo.

This is the realization that hits him as he’s standing in the locker rooms, drenched in sweat, rifling frantically through his gym bag. His body still hasn’t fully adjusted to being at school, so he woke up a little late again, giving him too little time to double-check that he had everything. And now here he is, without shampoo. 

He considers his options. He could just rinse the sweat off without using shampoo, but there’s a small chance he might just start smelling bad once he’s dried off. He briefly thinks about just using the bulk-order 3-in-1 soap that they have in the dispensers in the stalls, but then he remembers that there is literal bleach in his hair and shudders. 

Maybe he just - doesn’t shower. Wait, no. What the hell? Why would he even consider that?

As he’s standing there having a breakdown, someone passes him, stops, and then backtracks. “Dude, are you okay?” they ask. “You look like you’re having a breakdown.”

Mingyu looks up. It’s Yugyeom, Bambam’s best friend, which he knows because the two of them are attached at the hip 75% of the time. He considers whether or not to bring up the fact that Bambam spent a solid twenty minutes in Econ showing him embarrassing pictures of Yugyeom, a solid third of which involved him missing one or more articles of clothing, and then decides against it. Yugyeom is shorter and leaner than him, but he’s a dancer. He could probably punt Mingyu into the sun, if he wanted to.

“I kind of am,” he admits. “I forgot to bring shampoo, and I am,” he makes a gesture down at his body, “really gross.”

Yugyeom laughs, bobbing his head rhythmically as he says, “it’s your lucky day, then, because I have shampoo. And I’m willing to lend it to you.”

Mingyu’s eyes widen. Forget his irrational fear of Yugyeom’s thigh muscles, he is going to marry this man on the spot. “Really? You’re literally the love of my life, Kim Yugyeom, do you like coffee? I’ll buy you so much coffee-”

“Relax,” Yugyeom says with a magnanimous wave of his hand. It’s undermined slightly by the fact that he’s still rocking side to side, grooving to a nonexistent beat. “It's just shampoo. Maybe, like, buy me a Coke or something.” He unzips the bag slung over his shoulder and procures the aforementioned product. It’s miraculously the same brand that Mingyu uses - but then again, considering that Yugyeom’s hair was straight-up silver last year, maybe that shouldn’t be so surprising. “I’ll be outside when you’re done,” he says.

“Still the love of my life,” Mingyu says, and then makes a break for the showers.

--

He showers the fastest he’s ever showered. He’s pretty sure there are still suds in his hair when he dashes out of the locker room, clutching the shampoo bottle, the steam clinging to his skin.  

As promised, Yugyeom is right outside the doors, scrolling aimlessly through his phone. He looks up at the sound of the doors bursting open, and grins. “That was fast.”

Mingyu pauses to catch his breath, holding up the bottle like an offering. “Didn’t want to make you wait,” he manages, bending over and bracing his other hand against his knee.

 Yugyeom takes the bottle with two hands and pretends to knight Mingyu with it. “It’s cool, dude,” he says. There’s the sound of a bag unzipping, the unmistakable clunk of a mostly-full shampoo bottle being dropped into a pile of stuff, and then a final zip. “I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah.” Mingyu straightens and bumps the fist Yugyeom has extended to him. “I’ll buy you a Coke next week, promise.”

Yugyeom salutes him and leaves, calling, “I’ll hold you to that!” over his shoulder. 

Mingyu watches him amble down the hallway, whistling cheerfully, and then takes off in the opposite direction. He checks his phone as he runs, wincing when he sees the time. He is so late. Wonwoo is going to kill him, or even worse, give up on him and leave by himself.

He rounds the corner and almost collapses out of relief when he sees Wonwoo still there, leaning against the wall opposite the classroom, checking his phone. “I AM SO SORRY,” he shouts, just barely managing to skid to a halt before they collide.

“...Did you run here?” Wonwoo asks as Mingyu, for the second time in about five minutes, bends over to catch his breath.

Mingyu nods, gasping for air. “Almost fell down the stairs,” he says in a rush. 

“You didn’t have to,” Wonwoo says, sounding stunned, patting his shoulder. “I’m flattered you risked your life for me, though.”

Mingyu shakes his head and manages to stand upright, bracing a hand against the wall. Seriously, he is a student athlete. He plays soccer . Sprinting across the school should not be this taxing for him. “It was scary ,” he emphasizes. “Also, I was scared you were gonna leave without me.”

“Why would I do that?” Wonwoo asks, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Mingyu’s heart, the traitor that it is, actually stutters . He blames the smile on Wonwoo’s face. “Besides, I have something for you.”

With that, he unzips a small side pocket on his bag and pulls out a flat box, wrapped in cat-patterned wrapping paper. Mingyu’s brain fails to comprehend what’s happening all the way up until Wonwoo holds the box out to him, at which point his brain just shuts down completely.

“This is for me?” he asks, hushed, reaching out hesitantly. 

Wonwoo huffs and puts the box into his hands. “Obviously,” he teases. “That’s why I held it out to you.”

“Rude,” Mingyu mutters out of habit, but there’s no heat behind it. Up close, he can really appreciate how sharp the creases are, all neat and perfect. He pictures Wonwoo hunched over his desk at home, brows furrowed in concentration as he runs his fingernail along the wrapping paper, and asks, “I just - why?”

Even with all his attention focused on the cute cartoon cats covering the box, Mingyu doesn’t miss the way Wonwoo shifts, a clear sign of discomfort. “Think of it as a thank you,” he says. “For the good luck charm you gave me.”

“You didn’t have to wrap it,” Mingyu says with shame, thinking about how he just pulled his gift to Wonwoo out of his pocket without decorum. He picks at the wrapping paper as delicately as possible; unfortunately, delicate for someone as catastrophically clumsy as him is not that delicate, so there are a few rips in the paper when he finally exposes the box. 

It’s made of regular, plain cardboard, but even that is unbelievably cute. With the amount of care roughly equivalent to that of holding a newborn, he takes the top off.

And promptly dies.

Nestled in some tissue paper is a pastel pink, felt keychain of a dog, wearing an apron, a saucepan upside down on its head. It’s made in the exact same style as the blue cat keychain currently attached to Wonwoo’s bag. A matching set. A matching set .

“I figured you needed a good luck charm more than I do,” Wonwoo explains, still looking unsure of himself, apparently oblivious to Mingyu’s ongoing emotional breakdown. “Considering how often you find yourself in unfortunate situations.”

Mingyu doesn’t even register the jab, because honestly, it’s true. Also, he doesn’t think he can register anything except the overwhelming, soul-consuming affection that’s currently eating its way through his chest, straight to his heart. 

Wonwoo got him a matching keychain , and then put it in a box and wrapped it . They’re going to be matching .

Mingyu opens his mouth, closes it, and then opens it again. The felt dog stares back, judging him through the saucepan covering its eyes. 

Wonwoo must take his silence for disapproval, because he starts, “sorry if you don’t like it. I know your favorite color is red, but-”

“I love it,” Mingyu interrupts. To prove it, he takes the keychain out of the box and clips it onto his backpack zipper. He looks back up at Wonwoo, who looks a little relieved. “I love it,” he repeats. “Thank you.” And then, “you know what my favorite color is?”

Wonwoo stares at him like he’s lost several brain cells, which is pretty accurate. Mingyu’s brain is still processing the full emotional weight of the gift. It might never stop processing, honestly. “You mentioned it to me before,” he says. “Remember? You said red reminds you of a medium rare steak, and then I accused you of being a psychopath?”

Not a psychopath,” Mingyu corrects automatically. Now that he thinks about it, he does remember telling Wonwoo about this before. Then he thinks about it a little further, and realizes that Wonwoo remembered what Mingyu told him in an offhand, short conversation, one out of hundreds, and short circuits a little more. “I just have an appreciation for good cuisine.”

“Sounds like something a psychopath would say,” Wonwoo points out, but he’s smiling, the discomfort gone from his posture. “By the way, we should probably leave before we miss the bus.”

“Ah! Right.” Mingyu makes sure the keychain is secure before following Wonwoo down the hallway. He keeps the box and the wrapping paper, stowed away in his jacket pocket, because why not?

Chapter Text

Their walk is relatively peaceful up until Wonwoo asks Mingyu why he was late in the first place, which forces Mingyu to admit that he’s an idiot and forgot to pack shampoo. Wonwoo, predictably, makes fun of him for a few minutes before Mingyu swats at him and says, “ moving on , how were classes?”

While Wonwoo is predictably rude to Mingyu at all given opportunities, he is also predictably a nerd, and talking about classes successfully distracts him. The Women's Studies class he's in is taught by the same teacher as Mingyu’s Contemporary Issues class, so they gush about her and the content she’s teaching all the way until the bus stop.

He’s not sure how it comes up, but their topic of conversation switches from classes to Wonwoo’s university applications, which are due in two weeks. "At least now I know I applied to the right programs," Wonwoo says, pulling his hand away and paying the fare. 

“Oh, yeah!” Mingyu snaps his fingers, feeling a little ashamed at the realization that he doesn’t know anything about Wonwoo’s post-secondary aspirations. “What programs are you applying to?”

Wonwoo rattles off some of the best universities in the region with an alarming casualness - which, considering his grades and the fact that his brain was built for a life in academia, kind of makes sense - and then says, “mostly programs revolving around literature and stuff.”

“Oh.” Mingyu almost says but how are you going to find jobs with a Literature degree? He doesn’t, because he’s not some asshole older relative who thinks the only valid degrees are the ones in STEM, but the fact that the impulse even arose in him to begin with is a little troubling. “What do you want to do? Like, after you graduate university?”

They’re sitting towards the middle of the bus this time, and Wonwoo has taken the seat closer to the window, so the afternoon sunlight gleams against his skin when he smiles. It’s a small smile, private, like he’s reliving a fond memory. “Maybe postgraduate studies? I know I want to go into academia, and I’ve always wanted to teach people, so maybe I’ll become a professor. I guess it depends on how much I like the program when I get there.”

Mingyu can’t remember the last time he ever thought about his university education with a smile on his face, or the last time he thought about his future and still had choices to make. Maybe it’s a byproduct of growing up with his life set in stone before him, but something dark and foreign tugs at his chest, makes his voice sound weird when he says, “what do your parents think?”

Wonwoo shrugs and looks at him out of the corner of his eye. “Why does that matter? It’s my life, and they respect my decisions.”

Mingyu doesn’t know what to say. For some reason, the way Wonwoo is looking at him - like he’s foolish, for asking about his parents’ opinion - makes the dark, foreign thing in his chest turn ugly. Like tar, filling up his lungs. 

It feels selfish, what Wonwoo is doing, even though Mingyu knows it isn’t. Choosing whatever he wants without any care for other people, even the people who gave him the ability to choose in the first place. It feels too unyielding - too selfish - to just go down that path blindly, without making any compromises.

Maybe it’s because Mingyu has made so many compromises. His lungs are black and his heart is heavy, so he mutters a noncommittal “yeah, of course,” and turns to face forward, suddenly not in the mood for talking.

“What?” Wonwoo’s voice is amused. The sound grating to Mingyu’s ears. “Are you going to call me a nerd again? Because I’ll admit you’re justified, this time.”

Mingyu forces a laugh. “No, I’m not,” he says. “It sounds pretty cool, actually. You’d make a good teacher.”

“Thanks.” Wonwoo’s tone is off, now, all traces of mirth gone - he picked up on the fake laughter, then. It doesn’t really matter, though, because he doesn’t bring it up, and they spend the rest of the trip home in silence.

Mingyu is glad Wonwoo doesn’t bring it up, because he wouldn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know how to explain why he feels like this, all ugly and polluted, like an oil slick smeared on cracked pavement. Like he resents Wonwoo for saying what he said. 

Wonwoo turns to him once they’ve reached the crossroads where they part ways. He looks worried. Mingyu braces himself for questions, but Wonwoo just searches his face, frowns, and then says, “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

His voice is soft. Of course it is - Wonwoo knows him well enough, probably, to figure out when he doesn’t want to talk, and is kind enough not to push for answers when that happens. A no-strings-attached, casual generosity. Mingyu is a horrible person.

“Yeah,” he says. “See you.”

Wonwoo looks at him for a few seconds longer and then turns and leaves, waving over his shoulder. Mingyu stays, rooted to the pavement, waving back half-heartedly.

He really is a horrible person, he thinks as he turns and heads toward his house. Still, the tar in his lungs spreads and spreads.

--

Mingyu wakes up the next morning prickling at the edges with regret. He’s on edge all throughout his morning routine, through his short conversation with Minghao, all the way up until Wonwoo and Seokmin come into view, in the same place they always are. 

It comes to a head when he locks eyes with Wonwoo. In that singular, awful moment before Wonwoo’s face yields any expression, the hair at the back of his neck stands on end, his muscles taut. Please , he thinks, not sure what he’s pleading for.

Wonwoo’s smile is slow and cautious, like he’s not sure where they stand - but it’s there , and that alone is enough to yank Mingyu back from the edge of the precipice he was standing on. “Hey,” he says.

“Hi,” Mingyu says. In front of them, Minghao and Seokmin have already walked off, several paces ahead. He’s glad for the half-privacy as he starts, “I’m really sorry about yesterday.”

“It’s okay,” Wonwoo answers, fast enough that Mingyu thinks he was expecting the apology.

Maybe he was thinking about yesterday, too; maybe he was as on edge as Mingyu was. Mingyu breathes in the cold air, lets it fill his lungs and clear his mind. “I was in a bad mood,” he explains, which is about the most accurate explanation he can offer. “I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Wonwoo repeats. “You’re allowed to be in a bad mood sometimes, Mingyu. And you didn’t take it out on me. You don’t have to apologize.”

Yes I do , Mingyu thinks, because the dark thing that made a home in his heart and reared its head yesterday should be kept far, far away from the rest of the world, stowed away to be dealt with alone in his room at night. And yet Wonwoo saw it. Even if it was just a small glimpse, even if Mingyu kept it back in time - he saw something he wasn’t supposed to, doesn’t deserve to see.

He almost says sorry again. But when he turns towards Wonwoo, sees how sincere he looks, he decides to drop it, for fear of seeing that sincerity turn sour. “Okay,” he allows. He takes in what Wonwoo’s wearing, then, and clears his throat. “You look nice, by the way.”

Wonwoo does that thing again where he looks down at himself, like he completely forgot what clothes he has on. It’s cute. Mingyu’s never met a guy as handsome as Wonwoo who pays so little attention to his own looks - except maybe Vernon, who doesn’t seem bound by the laws of society. “Thanks. My dad got a little too excited when I told him I wanted to dress better and dumped half his closet into my room. Minghao’s been helping me sort through the piles.”

Mingyu can’t imagine Wonwoo’s dad getting excited about anything. He also can’t imagine that Wonwoo consulted Minghao about fashion and not him. Sure, Minghao dresses inarguably better, but Mingyu’s closer to Wonwoo. Right?

“Before you say anything,” Wonwoo says when Mingyu has evidently stayed silent for too long, “I wanted to ask for your help, too. But Minghao said you would just convince me to give you the nice clothes.”

Well. “Well,” Mingyu admits, selfishly happy at Wonwoo’s reassurance, “he’s not wrong.” Back in middle school, before his growth spurt propelled him heads and clothing sizes above everyone else in his life, he would steal little accessories from his mom - vintage leather belts, tastefully patterned socks, some of her simpler necklaces. He wouldn’t wear them to school, because his classmates were still at the age where they thought guys weren't allowed to put even an ounce of effort into their appearances, but he would try them on in front of the full-length mirror in his mom’s closet and smile at his reflection. 

Even now, he’s pretty sure a sizable amount of the clothes in his closet is just stuff he stole from Minghao, or from friends in higher grades who graduated and forgot to ask for their clothes back. Which is why he has a letterman jacket with the name Choi Seungcheol emblazoned on the pocket. 

He tells Wonwoo all of this, soaking in the laughter he gets in response. “Do you wear the jacket? To school?” Wonwoo asks.

“Sometimes,” Mingyu says. “Seungcheol only graduated last year, and he was super popular, so a lot of people recognize the name and tease me about it. I think it’s pretty funny, and it’s a nice jacket, so.” He shrugs. “Why not?”

“Yeah.” Wonwoo laughs. “Why not, indeed.”

They lapse into a comfortable silence. Mingyu glances over at Wonwoo and finds him deep in thought, brow furrowed like he’s not enjoying the particular thing that’s on his mind. “What are you thinking about?” he asks as they catch up to Minghao and Seokmin at the bus stop, crowding in close to avoid taking up too much space. 

Wonwoo looks up at him, the surprise clear on his face. Mingyu realizes, belatedly, that asking this kind of thing exposes him for looking at Wonwoo in the first place. Before he can figure out how embarrassed to feel about it, Wonwoo says, “just life, in general.”

Mingyu recognizes the heaviness in his voice. It means he’s thinking about a specific part of his life, spent in an isolated village far away, both physically and in the sense that Mingyu knows so little about what happened there. 

Mingyu doesn’t want to push the topic, afraid that he’ll push Wonwoo back into that distant look he saw on the bus that one day, stowed away where the sunlight can’t reach. “Is that just code for ‘I’m thinking about how sexy Kim Mingyu is but I can’t admit it’?” he asks instead, because he is nothing if not an expert in diverting conversations away from heavy subject matter.

And his expertise works to his advantage, because Wonwoo laughs, sounding almost relieved. There’s a playful, almost teasing lilt to his syllables as he tilts his head and says, “I was thinking about you, actually.”

Mingyu sputters and startles, banging his elbow against the wall of the shelter. Minghao breaks away from his ongoing conversation with Seokmin to make a half-disappointed, half-concerned sound. Mingyu waves him away and manages, weakly, “really? What, uh. What were you thinking about?”

Wonwoo grins and leans closer. “How sad it is that you’re illiterate.”

Mingyu has never felt more betrayed in his life.

--

The next day, after the culinary club meeting has ended and they’re packing up their dishes to take home, Momo approaches him again. 

Since that first meeting, she hasn’t approached him any more than she has the other members of the club; an impartiality that he appreciates, even if he does miss her enthusiastic and slightly threatening compliments. “Do you have time to talk?” she asks.

Mingyu looks down at the Tupperware in his hands, filled with macarons - which, to his relief, turned out way better than his attempt at home a month ago - and then to his work station, which is sparkling clean. “I think so,” he says, and smiles at her.

She returns the smile, sweet and immediately disarming. “Let’s go into the hallway,” she suggests, and makes little flapping gestures at him. “Out, out.”

Mingyu laughs and complies, walking out of the classroom and around the corner so they’re at least somewhat secluded from the rest of the club. “What’s up?” he asks. 

Momo takes a deep breath. Mingyu’s brain seizes the gesture and takes off with it, generating an infinite number of scenarios that could branch off from this single moment. Is she going to ask why Jihoon keeps threatening to murder him with various kitchen tools? Is she going to tell him his cooking’s gotten worse? Is she going to, for some unknown reason, ban him from the club?

“We were talking,” she says, which makes him panic even more, “and we wanted to know if you were interested in leading a meeting sometime.”

His mind blanks so quickly he almost goes lightheaded. For all the possibilities he considered, he never would’ve thought of this . Leading a meeting? Standing behind the station at the very front of the class, helping a room full of like-minded people feel the kind of pure, unfiltered joy that he feels every time he cooks? 

Momo must take his silence as uncertainty, because she continues, “there’s no rush or anything! We already have the next few meetings planned out, so you'll be leading later in the year. And one of the execs will be there to help you, seriously, no pressure.”

Mingyu doesn’t know how to communicate to her that there is, in fact, quite a lot of pressure. Specifically coming from that part of his brain responsible for negotiating all the compromises he’s ever made in his life, which is currently telling him that this is a bad idea, that it’ll get his hopes up all over again, that there’s no point in investing in a club that will only remind him of what he can’t have.

But - he wants to. He really, really wants to, not out of fear of letting Momo down (although that is a fear that he experiences at every club meeting, to be honest), but because he just - he wants to. It’s as simple as that. He smiles and says, “I’ll do it.”

She beams, and his chest fills with sunshine in response. “Great! I’ll text you the details tonight.” She gives him a wise nod, half-serious, like she’s teasing him but she also kind of knows what’s going on in his head. “I’m glad you said yes.”

“Me too,” Mingyu says, and for a few moments, he means it.

--

Taking an extra five minutes to talk to Momo means he shows up late to Wonwoo’s club meeting for the second time in a row. “Maybe I should come to you instead of the other way around,” Wonwoo says, amused, when Mingyu finally turns the corner. “I’m a very busy man, you know.”

Mingyu scoffs. “I’ve seen your Animal Crossing island, you have way too much free time on your hands,” he says. “Also, I was talking to Mo- one of the execs.”

“Oh, I know Momo,” Wonwoo says. “She’s in my Women’s Studies class. What were you guys talking about?”

Mingyu makes sure to appear as nonchalant as possible as he says, “She wants me to lead a meeting sometime.”

Wonwoo stops. Mingyu walks a few steps ahead by accident and has to turn around to face him. His eyes are bright, much brighter than they should be under the shitty fluorescent lights overhead. “You’ll get to teach a class?” he asks. Mingyu nods, feeling a little dumbfounded at his excitement, a feeling that only grows when he grins. “That’s really cool, Mingyu. You really are good at cooking, huh?”

Mingyu laughs, but it feels strange. Everything feels strange, knowing that Wonwoo is so bright-eyed and excited for him - over culinary club, of all things. Mingyu wants to tell him this, that it's just cooking, nothing big, but he looks at Wonwoo’s smile and can’t. “Of course,” he says instead. “Don’t tell me you’ve been eating my cooking this whole time and only realized now, I’ll be super offended.”

“Oh, we can’t have that,” Wonwoo laughs. He walks up to Mingyu, who’s still turned to face him, so that they’re just looking at each other. Now that he’s closer, Mingyu can see that his glasses are a little crooked, and that there’s a faint indent on the side of his face, like he spent an hour or so with his face buried in the crook of his arm. Mingyu pictures Wonwoo slumped against a desk, reading a book propped open with one hand, and smiles to himself. “I always knew you were talented,” Wonwoo says, soft. “I’m just glad other people are seeing it too.”

Mingyu smiles. Wonwoo’s compliment, as it always does, fills his entire body. He wants to cook him a five-course meal of all his favorite foods. “ Always ? Even during elementary school? I used to make my own ham-and-jelly sandwiches, you know.”

“Of course you did, that makes so much se- wait,” Wonwoo narrows his eyes, “did you just say ham and jelly ? Never mind, I take it all back.” 

“No take-backsies!” Mingyu says cheerfully, shaking the Tupperware temptingly. “Or else you won’t get to eat these raspberry vanilla macarons.”

“This is bribery,” Wonwoo complains.

--

Mingyu’s tardiness has put them in danger of missing the bus, so they have to run all the way to the bus stop, the macarons clattering in the Tupperware in time with their steps. Mingyu pops open the lid once they’re safely on the bus, stowed away in one of the seats in the back.

“Can I take some home?” Wonwoo asks, holding a macaron delicately between his fingers. “For my family? My mom loves macarons.”

“Of course,” Mingyu says, pleased. It’s a little concerning how happy even a half-compliment like this one makes him, as long as Wonwoo’s the one saying it. “Don’t give any to Seokmin though, he’ll get his share tomorrow.”

“I wasn’t planning on it anyways,” Wonwoo dismisses. He leans back against the seat, tipping his head against the metal lining the back of the bus, and sighs. “Maybe I should join your club. I need to learn how to cook eventually.”

“What, and abandon your nerdy book circle?” Mingyu teases. There’s no way. Wonwoo is always carrying a book that someone from the literature club recommended to him, either stuffed into his backpack or tucked carefully under his arm, is always bringing up something that a club member said in their weekly discussions. Mingyu never really understands what he’s saying, but Wonwoo looks so impassioned that he figures it must be something really insightful.

Sure enough, Wonwoo sighs again, sitting up properly so he can look at Mingyu without having to twist his neck. “No, you’re right,” he says. “I’m too attached to those people. I mean, they’re the whole reason my university application essays aren’t incoherent.”

At the mention of Wonwoo’s university applications, the same unknown, dark thing crawls all the way up Mingyu’s spine again, settling in an oily pool at the base of his throat. He hates that this is happening again, hates himself for letting it happen - he’s bitter towards Wonwoo, and for what? What’s wrong with him?

At least it doesn’t take him by surprise, this time, so he can actually muster up the energy to joke, “I can’t imagine you ever being incoherent in your life.”

Wonwoo shrugs, grinning at him. The sunlight from the windows highlights the tip of his nose and the wire rim of his glasses. “I contain multitudes,” he quotes.

Mingyu laughs because he has to, and it doesn’t feel real, even though it should. After all, this is an inside joke between them. He should be recalling Wonwoo in his kitchen, the sound of the kettle filling up the background, nearly breaking a mug. But he doesn’t, because that thing is still there, its grip vice-like around his vocal cords. 

What’s wrong with him? Why is he so upset over this? 

At least he handles it better, this time, and Wonwoo doesn’t look at him with suspicion once. It bothers him, though, long after they've parted ways.

Chapter 14

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Friday means business club. At this point, Minghao doesn’t even bother asking for a free coffee anymore; he just looks at Mingyu’s pleading eyes, sighs, and grabs his bag. Mingyu is very, very grateful for it. 

Chan is already there when they arrive, as usual. The two of them take their usual seats next to him at the back corner of the room. Chan gives them each a granola bar, Minghao takes no less than six tangerines out of his lunch bag and splits it between the three of them, and Mingyu unwraps three servings of small gourmet sandwiches he woke up early to make. It’s nice, this unified effort to make the most boring club on Earth a little more bearable. It almost makes Mingyu look forward to Friday lunches.

The most boring club on Earth is still a formidable and well-earned title, though, because despite the snacks in front of him, Mingyu still finds himself completely zoning out about fifteen minutes into the lesson. It’s only when the lights snap on, piercing his half-lidded eyes, that he looks up.

“What’s going on?” he mumbles, rubbing his eyes. Around them, there’s the distinctly unpleasant sound of an entire classroom’s worth of chairs being scraped away from desks, followed by a wave of noise as the other club members start talking amongst themselves. He sits up and looks toward the front of the classroom, which just has a slide with the words HAVE FUN! in bold, sans serif letters projected onto the wall. “Did I miss something?”

“We have to come up with a sales pitch,” Chan explains, because of course he paid attention. “About anything we find in our bags. We have, uh,” he checks the time on his phone, “about fifteen minutes to come up with something.”

Mingyu swears, scrambling to find a pencil and paper. Chan, noticing his plight, slides his notebook and pen across the desk. “Right, uh,” Mingyu says, shooting him a grateful smile, “any ideas for what thing we should pick?”

Chan takes his bag off the floor and pulls it onto his lap, peering into its depths with a frown. “Just books in here, sorry,” he says, sounding genuinely remorseful. Mingyu pats him on the back.

On Mingyu’s other side, browsing what looks like a website for free slideshow templates, Minghao speaks up. “We could do Mingyu’s sandwiches.”

Chan snaps his fingers. “Ooh, we could do that! I bet no one’s going to have homemade gourmet sandwiches as their thing!” He points at Mingyu. “Write that down.”

Mingyu, dutifully, writes Mingyu’s sandwich extravaganza at the top of the page, and then underlines the words twice to drive the point home. “What features are there?”

They rattle off some generic ideas - authenticity, uniqueness, ingredient quality, all the usual stuff. (Mingyu points out that all the ingredients are just from his local grocery store, and half of them were on sale, but Chan just shushes him and says “no one needs to know that.”) By the time the fifteen minutes are up, they have about two minutes’ worth of content and a decently aesthetic slideshow to show for it. They also have one sandwich that hasn’t been touched yet, thanks to Minghao’s slow eating habit.

The execs call for order in the classroom, which is restored after another collective scrape of chairs. “Okay, we’re going to pick a few group representatives, and then we’re going to review them so you guys can get a sense of what bosses look for in a good sales pitch,” the exec standing at the front of the room - Mingyu thinks he’s one of the co-presidents, but he doesn’t pay attention enough to be sure - announces. “Do we have any volunteers?”

There’s a surprising amount of volunteers. For some reason, unbeknownst to Mingyu, there are people here who are actually engaged in these meetings. The exec scans the room, squints, and then says: “you three at the back! Pick one person to come up and present.”

Mingyu blinks, and then registers the fact that the exec is staring straight at the three of them . But his hand isn’t up.

Wait. He turns towards Chan, who is sitting up straight, his hand outstretched. Because of course he is.

Oh well. Chan will go and power through this sales pitch, and he will get feedback about how passionate he is, probably, and then he will sit back down and Mingyu will tell him he did a good job and then cease to pay attention. It’s all good. He has no reason to fear.

“Mingyu, you should go,” Chan says.

He has one reason to fear. “Wait, why me? You should go, you’re the one who volunteered us.” Mingyu turns to Minghao for support.

Minghao, unfortunately, is a traitor and the worst friend ever. “I agree with Chan,” he says, shrugging, already loading a rhythm game under his desk. “You should go.”

“Two against one, majority rules,” Chan says simply, and then tells the exec, “Mingyu’s going to present for us.”

No , I am not ,” Mingyu hisses, but it’s too late. There’s a murmur rippling through the class, the execs are exchanging eye contact and grinning amongst themselves, and if he backs out now he’s going to feel embarrassed about it forever. With a final glance at Chan, who is smiling innocently, and then at Minghao, whose thumbs are now flying across his phone screen, he resigns himself to his fate and climbs to his feet.

He really needs to get better friends, he thinks as he grabs the pathetic lone sandwich and trudges to the front of the classroom. “Uh, we prepared a slideshow,” he tells the maybe possibly co-president, who’s smiling at him like he knows he’s being made to do this against his will. “Can I login to my account on the computer?”

“Of course! And I’m assuming this is the thing you’re pitching?” The maybe co-president directs his mildly pitying smile to the sandwich still in Mingyu’s hands, wrapped carelessly in its original foil wrapping. 

“Yeah. I, uh, made it myself.” Mingyu types in the login information for Minghao's school account, committed to memory after seven years of being default project partners. Seeing Minghao’s files load up onto the monitor feels vaguely like a death sentence.

“Great!” The maybe co-president says, shushing the rest of the club members as Mingyu opens the slideshow and turns on the projector. The light from the bulb burns his eyes. “Whenever you’re ready, Mingyu.”

Great, now the maybe co-president knows his name. He’s cemented himself as a member of this club. He hates his friends. 

“Uh, right,” he starts, wincing when his voice projects out to the rest of the classroom. He holds his sandwich up, trying to ignore the multiple sets of eyes that blink at him owlishly. “This is,” he reads the title slide and briefly considers murdering Minghao, “‘Mingyu’s Sexiest Sandwich’.”

Faint laughter ripples through the classroom; even some of the execs snicker. Mingyu relaxes a little; he is, after all, an extrovert who thrives off social approval. From across the room, Chan gives him two thumbs-up, smiling encouragingly. He is so lucky he’s cute.

Mingyu sighs and squares his shoulders. If he’s going to be a real, tangible member of this club, he might as well make the most of it.

He doesn’t really hear himself speak. There are points on the slideshow, of course, which he uses as a general guideline for what he says, but for the most part he relies on social skills honed over years of charming family members at holiday dinner gatherings. He reads the room, he makes eye contact, he cracks the right jokes, and then the allotted two minutes have passed and the last slide, the one with the corny THANKS FOR LISTENING on it, comes up. Mingyu looks out at the rest of the club, who look smaller-than-life from where he’s standing. He wonders if this is what it’s really like, to stand in a boardroom in a skyrise and present his ideas to a bunch of middle-aged corporate employees in suits.

Probably not. “If you don’t try out Mingyu’s Sexiest Sandwich,” he concludes, brandishing the sandwich with a final flourish of his hand, “it’ll be a missed-steak.”

The classroom erupts in groaned laughter and applause. Mingyu plasters a smile onto his face even as he kind of wants to die on the inside. Seriously? Missed-steak? He’s spending way too much time with Wonwoo.

“Alright, that was a pretty good one to start off,” a different exec than last time - maybe the other co-president? - says, clapping as she joins Mingyu at the front of the classroom. “Does anyone have any comments? Constructive criticism? Compliments?”

A few hands shoot up eagerly. Mingyu stands there, legs and smile stiff, as other club members and then eventually the execs praise him for his charisma, his clear enthusiasm, his ability to spin mundane characteristics into key selling points. It’s nice, and all, and praise is always a welcome sound to his ears, but- but-

But, he realizes, feeling as if he’s melting under the fluorescent lights and all the attention, he just doesn’t care . There’s no sunshine-y feeling like the one he got when Momo approached him yesterday, there isn’t even any particular sense of accomplishment. It’s strange, because he should care about this way more than he cares about culinary club. After all, isn’t this an indication of how well he’ll do in his future? Isn’t this proof that business is right for him?

He doesn’t know. He just feels hollow, in his ribcage, in the marrow of his bones, in the smile that’s still glued to his mouth as he accepts the high-five the maybe other co-president offers him and makes his way back to his seat. 

“You did great up there!” Chan exclaims, basically bouncing in his seat. In the background, the rest of the club has already moved on. “I mean, that’s why we picked you, of course - we knew you’d do great.”

“It makes sense considering you’re going into business,” Minghao adds dryly. He’s smiling, when Mingyu turns to look at him, a smile that just makes him feel emptier and emptier. “But Chan’s right. You did great.”

“Thanks,” Mingyu mumbles, passing the sandwich back to Minghao and staring resolutely at his laptop, feeling like he could drift off into space and never come back. “I still hate you guys for making me do that, by the way. Don’t think you can just compliment me until I forget.”

“Aw, I was banking on that,” Chan whines, like the little shit he is. Mingyu momentarily breaks out of the weird fog around his head to toss a tangerine peel at him.

--

The empty feeling chases him all the way to the end of the day, when he’s walking to the bus stop with Minghao, Seokmin and Wonwoo several paces behind them. Minghao hasn’t said anything to him about his mood up until now, so he almost thinks he’s in the clear until Minghao starts, “do you wanna talk about it?”

Of course. Mingyu is like glass to Minghao, after all, see-through and as clear as day. “No,” Mingyu admits, fiddling with the sleeve of his jacket. “Just gotta figure some stuff out. Don’t worry about it.”

Minghao sighs and pushes his thermos into Mingyu’s hand. “You know I’m going to worry about it no matter what,” he says as Mingyu unscrews the cap and takes a sip. It’s hot chocolate, creamy and well-made, warming up his insides. “But I know that you’re stubborn as hell, so I won’t ask for now.”

Mingyu smiles at him and loops their arms together, using the movement to lean his head against Minghao’s shoulder. It’s kind of awkward, walking like this, but they make it work, passing the thermos back and forth between them. By the time he gets home, he feels just a little bit better, chasing the shadows away for the time being.

--

As the days pass by, Mingyu becomes painfully aware that the deadline for university applications is approaching. This is partially because Soonyoung and Junhui start discreetly working on their essays in Data Management, partially because Jihoon looks increasingly dead to the world each time Mingyu sees him, and mostly because Wonwoo won’t stop talking about it.

Okay - that’s unfair. It’s not like it’s the only thing Wonwoo talks about. It’s not even a thing that he talks about a lot. He just brings it up occasionally, whenever one of them asks him how he’s doing, and is sometimes talking about it with Junhui in the mornings. It’s just that each time he talks about it, always with a smile on his face - a weary one, sometimes, but a smile nonetheless - Mingyu feels sandpaper against his skin and has to drown out the sound of his voice. 

He hates it. He hates himself, hates the thing in his throat that rears its head every time Wonwoo mentions anything about being stressed over applications, hates the part of his mind that chants selfish selfish selfish even though the rest of him knows better. 

The worst part is - sometimes, when Wonwoo’s smile is particularly hopeful - sometimes, he thinks he hates Wonwoo, too.

--

The tar in his lungs and the hollow of his chest spreads and spreads and spreads, and then it’s Thursday, after their respective club meetings, standing at the intersection where they’ll split off to go to their respective homes. Wonwoo to his home where he can choose anything he wants with unquestioning support, Mingyu to his home where he is alone and powerless. 

Wonwoo turns to him, jokes, “well, I guess it’s time to go home and submit my applications. If I don’t reply to your texts just assume I made a fatal mistake and decided to pass away.”

Through the tar, thick and heavy and bitter, everything is muted, like looking through fog at night. "What are you so stressed for?” Mingyu snaps.

Wonwoo’s expression changes instantly. Through the fog, through the darkness, the look on his face is hard to read, but it makes guilt twist in Mingyu’s gut. “What are you talking about?”

“Just-” Mingyu swallows the words down before they can do their damage. They taste like bile and burn his tongue. “Never mind,” he grits out, digging his nails into his palm. “It’s nothing.”

Wonwoo steps closer to him, but it’s not comforting or exhilarating or warm. It’s almost - threatening, the way his eyes search Mingyu’s face, brows furrowed and mouth set in stone. “It’s not nothing,” he says slowly. “You’ve been acting weird all week. What’s wrong?”

“I told you,” Mingyu repeats, “it’s nothing.” He wishes Wonwoo would back away. The proximity, the darkness in his eyes, the unidentifiable undertone to his voice all push Mingyu towards the edge of a precipice, a churning void underneath waiting to devour him alive.

“Every time I mention university,” Wonwoo continues, and Mingyu wants to tell him to stop but it’s getting hard to breathe all over again, “you get like this.” Something sparks in his eyes. “What, are you… are you angry about it?”

He sounds incredulous. It’s the same tone he used when Mingyu asked him how his parents felt about his post-secondary plans, like he can’t fathom why Mingyu is so worried. It pisses Mingyu off, because these are feelings he’s had to live with since middle school and Wonwoo, for all his books and knowledge and good grades, has no idea what it’s like. 

“You know what,” Mingyu says, his voice trembling, “maybe I am.”

Everything is so, so cold. The air is cold, his fingertips are cold, and Wonwoo’s expression and voice and eyes are cold as he starts, “what is wrong with-”

Anger flares, deep in the pit of his belly. “I don’t fucking know!” he shouts. “And you won’t ever know, because you’ll never understand how I feel!”

Wonwoo physically recoils. His eyes are wide, and there’s a look in his eye like he’s looking straight at Mingyu but can’t recognize him. Mingyu wants to laugh, even though there’s nothing funny about any of this. That makes two of us , he wants to say.

He waits for a response, but it never comes; they just stand there, Wonwoo staring at him with that awful unfocused look. Slowly, the anger drains out from his body and into the sidewalk, leaving him exhausted.

He’s exhausted, and he’s not sure he can stand to look at Wonwoo’s face any longer. “Okay,” he mutters. Wonwoo still doesn’t say anything. Mingyu isn’t sure if he wants him to. “Okay. I’m leaving.”

He doesn’t wait for a reply, this time. He doesn’t think he’ll get one. He just turns and leaves, feeling so, so tired.

--

He unlocks the front door to his house with shaking hands and stumbles inside. All the blinds have been closed since the morning, so the house feels almost murky, shadows stiflingly dark. Mingyu doesn’t turn on the light, just puts his bag down and sinks to his knees on the tiled floor.

He’s so tired. The dark, ugly thing in his chest is gone now, the absence leaving him hollow. He can’t stop thinking about the way Wonwoo looked at him, about the unflinching way he said what, are you angry at me? Part of him wants to take everything back, so he won’t ever have to see Wonwoo look at him like that, but part of him knows - he meant what he said. 

Wonwoo - thoughtful, kind Wonwoo - will never understand how he feels, because Wonwoo doesn’t know anything about him. To him, Wonwoo was gone for five years, but separation is a two-way road. To Wonwoo, he was gone for five years, too. 

He doesn’t know how long he sits there. By the time he lifts his head from his hands, the shadows in his house have gotten longer. There’s a faint vibration at his thigh - his phone is buzzing. He ignores it at first, but then it keeps going, forcing him to fish it out of his pocket and squint down at his too-bright screen.

It’s Seokmin. Mingyu’s heart falls out of his chest and onto the cold tiled floor. Did Wonwoo tell him? If Wonwoo told him, what does he think of Mingyu now? Will he still recognize him, or will he look straight at him and think of him as a stranger?

Mingyu’s hands are still shaking when he accepts the call and brings the phone up to his ear. “Hey,” he says, and it’s a testament to how tired he is, that he can’t muster enough energy to mask his exhaustion. “Is everything okay?”

“I should be asking you that question.” Seokmin’s voice is kind, kinder than Mingyu probably deserves, and it almost makes Mingyu burst into tears. “Did you and Wonwoo fight or something?”

Mingyu climbs to his feet slowly, grabbing the shoe rack for support. He can’t just kneel on the floor forever - he has things to do, chores to finish, homework to complete. The day drips through his fingers, whether he wants it to or not. “Did he tell you?”

Seokmin snorts. “Of course not. I could tell something was up, though. What happened?”

“You’re not mad at me?” It’s a childish thing to ask, but Mingyu needs the reassurance now more than ever. He takes his lunch bag out of his backpack and brings it to the kitchen, tucking his phone between his ear and his shoulder as he empties his lunch dishes into the sink. It’s a little hard to see with the lights off, but he makes no move to turn any of them on.

“He’s my brother, Mingyu. You think we haven’t gotten into fights before? I’m telling you, he has that whole brooding, quiet thing going for him, but he’s actually the worst. One time he gave me a haircut when I was asleep, and I had to wear a hat to school for, like, two months.”

Mingyu laughs. It’s weak, a pale imitation of his usual ones, but at least it’s real. He picks up his bag and heads upstairs, the polished wood creaking under his feet. “When was this?”

“You don’t remember? I think it was second or third grade.” There’s a pause. Mingyu takes the opportunity to pull his laptop and books out of his bag. He decides, at the last moment, to leave his desk lamp off. “Now that I think about it,” Seokmin resumes, “you never brought it up. I always thought it was because you were being nice, but maybe you just didn’t notice.”

Mingyu smiles in the darkness of his room, hugging one knee to his chest. He feels more solid, now, like a real person again. “Honestly, knowing me, I probably thought you were making a fashion statement or something. Everything you did back then was cool to me.”

“Aww, I’m flattered,” Seokmin says. “Well, flattered for second-grade me.” There’s another pause, heavier this time, like Seokmin is trying to figure out how to word what he wants to say next. “Do you… want to talk about it? The fight, I mean.”

Mingyu tilts his head up to stare at the ugly popcorn ceiling, a relic of suburban life. With a clarity that only hindsight can provide, he realizes that it really was a fight. He shouted at Wonwoo, and although Wonwoo didn’t raise his voice back, the hardness in his tone and the line of his mouth communicated the same message. 

A fight. With Wonwoo, of all people - the one who held him when he was crying, the one who bought him a good luck charm, the one who complimented his cooking and his music taste and his ability to do better than he gives himself credit for. Mingyu really is a horrible person. 

His fingers drum against his knee. “It’s not a big deal,” he lies. He’s a terrible liar. Seokmin can probably hear it in his voice, but he’s kind enough not to call him out on it. “I’ll, uh… we’ll work things out.”

“Okay.” Seokmin talks like he’s perpetually smiling, Mingyu realizes. It’s very endearing. He wishes he could have even an ounce of Seokmin’s faith, of his belief that things will turn out okay in the end. “I hope you do. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Yeah. Thanks, Seokmin.” Take care of Wonwoo, he almost says, but doesn’t. “Talk to you later.”

Seokmin hangs up. Mingyu tosses his phone onto his bed and tilts his head back again, closing his eyes. I hope you figure things out

--

When Mingyu is in sixth grade, his mom gets a promotion.

“I’ll just be a little busier, is all,” she tells him on her first day at her new position, already halfway out the door. “Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I know,” he says. He woke up early to see her off today. “See you in a bit.”

She smiles at him, and heads out the door.

It takes him a while to adjust to being alone. The hardest part isn’t even learning to do the chores by himself, or becoming comfortable with being the only person in a big house, or having to explain to his friends why his mom can't drive them places anymore. The hardest part is doing his homework alone at the kitchen island, wondering when his mom’s going to come home, missing the days where she would sit next to him and help him through the tougher questions.

He never fully adjusts to that, as it turns out, because by the seventh grade he’s moved to doing homework in his room. It’s for the better, he tells himself. The lighting in the kitchen was always too dim.

He starts looking forward to the weekends. The weekends are when his mom will spend all three meals with him; she might be on her phone, or looking through papers, or watching TV, but at least she’s there, in an old T-shirt and leggings, sitting across from him. And sometimes she even talks to him, when they’re eating together. She’ll talk about how much nicer her new position is, how good the pay and benefits are, how many gifts she’ll be able to buy him for his birthday and for Christmas. 

Then she’ll always end her brief speeches with the same line: “you have to choose a good career, Mingyu.”

He’s still in middle school. He’s only started to hit puberty, he has no idea what university credits or good extracurriculars or high GPAs are, but he nods and smiles anyway. If ‘a good career’, this undefined, nebulous thing, can make his mom talk to him, it must be important.

In eighth grade, his school hosts a career fair, where a bunch of volunteers set up booths in the gymnasium for them to look at for about an hour. When he enters the gymnasium, one booth immediately catches his eye - a sleek, grey one, with all its signage in tasteful fonts. The guy running it is wearing a three-piece suit, which Mingyu has never seen in person before, and smiles at him when he approaches. It’s probably something he does countless times a day, but it makes Mingyu feel special enough that he ends up taking a brochure home.

He’s washing the dishes when his mom gets home. He waits for her to head upstairs, as she always does, but instead she walks into the kitchen and asks, “what’s this?”

He turns off the tap and looks in her direction. She’s holding the brochure, her painted nails stark against its muted, glossy colors. “A brochure from the career fair,” he says.

She hums and takes another look at the front. “Is consulting something you’re interested in, Mingyu?”

“I guess,” Mingyu shrugs. He doesn’t want to tell her that he doesn’t even know what consulting is, just that he thought the presenter was cool. “It seemed interesting,” he says instead.

She smiles at the brochure. It’s the first time she’s smiled in a long, long time. “It’s a good choice. A good career.”

She leaves soon after that, heading upstairs like she does every day. Mingyu finishes washing the dishes, turning her words over and over in his head. Now, the ever-mysterious, nebulous ‘good career’ has been defined. Now he knows it’s the one thing he can do to make his mom smile. He holds onto that, and keeps the brochure in his bag for the rest of the year. 

One day, in the middle of the summer before ninth grade and the start of high school, his mom sits down with him at the kitchen island and presents him with a printed spreadsheet. “These are all the good business programs in the country,” she says. 

Mingyu looks at the spreadsheet. It’s color-coded, and the columns are all labeled with things like ‘employment rate’ and ‘average income’ and ‘minimum GPA requirement’, words he barely understands. Even though he still isn’t sure if he even wants to go into business, even though they’re just sitting in silence with this spreadsheet between them, it’s the closest they’ve gotten to that time before the promotion. It reminds him of second grade, his mom helping him memorize the multiplication table, clapping and smiling when he gets a row right. 

Even now, two years since everything changed, he still wants to go back to that time. He’ll do anything, even, to bring them closer to that time. So he tells himself that he wants to go into business, he has to go into business, and eventually, he repeats it enough that it almost sounds like it could be true.

High school starts, and he throws himself into it with vigor and determination. He remembers his mom telling him that he needs good extracurriculars if he wants to have a competitive application, so he tries out for and gets into the school’s junior varsity soccer team. In tenth grade, he gets named junior varsity captain and leads the team to semi-finals. His mom treats him to dinner at his favorite restaurant after the season ends. Even though conversation is awkward, even though she checks her phone frequently, even though they only end up staying there for twenty minutes, Mingyu tells himself that it’s reward enough.

He doesn’t know when he gives up on ever going back to that time, before the promotion, when they could be considered a real family and not just two people living in the same house. He thinks it’s sometime in ninth grade, when he told his mom he aced his science exam and all she said was “that’s great, Mingyu,” before heading upstairs. He keeps chasing, though, hanging onto the barest thread of a smile, holding on with bruised fingers to make sure she doesn’t slip even further away. The spreadsheet she made for him that one summer stays pinned up to the corkboard in his room, a reminder of all he has to lose.

--

I hope you figure things out .

He’s jealous of Wonwoo.

He’s not angry, he’s not bitter - he’s jealous of Wonwoo, not just because of the freedom he has, but also because of the fact that he’ll be happy in the future, because he has the option to be. 

But that’s not fair, Mingyu tells himself. By now, it’s almost completely dark in the house, everything dyed the same shade of somber blue. He reaches a hand out in front of him and can barely make out his fingers. That’s not fair. He’ll be happy, too, because his mom will be proud of him and everything she did will be worth it. He’ll be happy, too, because he will be successful and financially stable and-

And his mom is successful and financially stable, too, but he can’t remember the last time she had friends over for a dinner party, or went out for brunch, or did so much as leave the house for anything that isn’t work or groceries. He doesn’t even know if she has friends, or anything beyond a job that works her to the bone and a family she barely interacts with.

He thinks about her sitting in her study in the half-dark, skin sickly pale in the glow of her monitors, all her youth and life drained for the sake of good benefits and decent pay. It feels so terribly, awfully lonely. 

Mingyu stands up, his chair creaking under the movement, and shuffles through the dark hallway into the bathroom. The light, when he turns it on, makes his eyes burn. He braces his hands against the edge of the countertop and stares at his reflection in the mirror.

He looks tired. His eyes look sallow, and his clothes don’t fit properly, too shiny and pretty and proper. He stares at himself, all alone in this big, empty house, and feels small for the first time in years.

He felt so hollow, standing at the front of the classroom in the business club meeting, smiling until his mouth felt plastic. He can’t stand the thought of feeling like that for the rest of his life. Why did he ever think he would be happy, following this path that pushes and pulls at him until he gives up every part of himself?

Maybe this is a curse, he thinks. Maybe he’s destined to end up like his mom, fading and grey, trapped between the sterile white walls of a tastefully decorated skyrise office. She had to give everything up, so he has to do it, too. It would be selfish of him not to, selfish of him to give up on something that could make his mom happy.

Maybe that’s why he hates talking about it so much. He knows, he’s always known that he was miserable - he just didn’t want to solidify it into words. That’s the problem, when everything you’ve done for the past five years has worked towards a singular thing - there’s no way out.

Notes:

;)

Chapter 15

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Miraculously, he eventually falls asleep later that night, his exhaustion smothering the thoughts that run loops in his head. He wakes up feeling numb, like you could carve him open and find nothing but static. 

He steps out of the house a few minutes later than he usually does. Minghao, poised to yell at him for being late, sees the look on his face and immediately softens. “Jesus, Mingyu,” he says, pulling him into a hug. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” Mingyu mumbles into his shoulder, and then quickly backtracks. “I yelled at Wonwoo yesterday and I think he might be angry at me.” Also, I think the life I’ve been living for the past five years is wearing me down, and soon there isn’t going to be any of me left . But he doesn’t say that, of course, because he doesn’t think he can. 

“Jesus,” Minghao repeats, and then pulls away to hold him at arm’s length, searching his face. He frowns. “What did he do?”

Mingyu shakes his head and shrugs Minghao’s hands off his shoulders, setting off towards the meet-up point. He can’t be late for school, and maybe more importantly, he can’t look Minghao in the eye for much longer without crumbling. “Nothing,” he repeats. “I got mad at him for something stupid and we argued. It was my fault.”

Minghao sighs and takes his hand. His palm is warm despite the cold, and his grip is firm. “Mingyu, I haven’t seen you get seriously mad at someone in years . He must have done something .”

“It’s fine.”  After all, it’s not Wonwoo’s fault that Mingyu got jealous of him for - what? Being happy? He is so stupid, and so selfish, and all he does is let people down. “Seriously, Minghao. It’s okay.”

“Okay.” Minghao stops. Mingyu keeps his eyes on the sidewalk underneath his feet. “I think Seokmin wants to talk to you. Are you going to be okay?”

Mingyu looks up and offers Minghao a smile. It’s not a real one, and he knows Minghao can tell, but he does it anyway, if only to maintain the pretense. “With Seokmin?” he says. “Of course. He’s, like, the least threatening person alive.”

Minghao pats him on the shoulder and lets go of his hand. Without Minghao to guide him, he’s forced to look up - and sure enough, Seokmin is there, waving at him. He looks more subdued than usual. Mingyu wonders if it has anything to do with Wonwoo.

Wonwoo, who’s standing next to him, his back turned. Mingyu stares at the slope of his shoulders and feels the guilt eat at him.

“Hey, Mingyu.” Mingyu tears his eyes away from Wonwoo to look at Seokmin, who has replaced Minghao at his side. His smile is warm and disarming. “You didn’t get much sleep last night, huh?”

Mingyu nods and lets Seokmin loop their arms together. Minghao and Wonwoo are walking ahead of them; just looking at the two of them, wondering what they’re talking about, wondering if they’re talking about him, is a little too much. He looks back down at the sidewalk. “Is, um.” He clears his throat. “Is Wonwoo okay?”

“He’s fine. He feels awful about what happened, though.” That doesn’t make any sense. Why would Wonwoo feel bad about something that only happened because Mingyu messed up, because Mingyu is messed up?

He can’t keep letting these people down. “I’ll apologize,” he says. “I’ll- I’ll figure it out. You don’t have to worry.”

Seokmin pauses. Then, “hey, if you want, we could skip out on school today and get coffee or something. It’ll be cute, we can rub it in Minghao’s face and everything.”

Mingyu shakes his head. “Sorry,” he says. He thinks he’s apologizing for a lot of things - apologizing because Seokmin has to see him like this, apologizing because he got this way in the first place. “I can’t. Thank you, though.”

“Don’t mention it.” Seokmin nudges him with an elbow. “But I will consider it your fault if I fall asleep in the middle of Music History.”

Mingyu offers a smile. It feels just as wrong as the one he gave Minghao, but Seokmin is more forgiving about it, offering a smile back. They spend the rest of the trip to school in silence.

--

“Dude,” Bambam says, squinting at him in concern, “are you okay? You look like shit.”

The fluorescent lights in the classroom are hurting his eyes, and the sight of his Econ notes is genuinely making him sick. “Yeah,” he says, focusing on a spot just over Bambam’s ear. “And don’t lie, I never look like shit.”

Bambam laughs. “Damn, I can’t even argue with that,” he says. “Wanna watch One Punch Man?”

“Sorry. I have to pay attention.” His smile is starting to wear thin, as thin as his clothes and his hair and the personality he’s borrowing so people won’t talk. Did you see Mingyu today? What’s wrong with him? “Maybe later.”

“Ugh, suit yourself, lameass.” Bambam tilts his laptop so that Mingyu can see, anyways, because he always does. Mingyu turns to face straight ahead, not really seeing anything.

--

In Business, Chan drops a box of Pocky onto his desk. “Seungkwan told me to give you this,” he says, shrugging, when Mingyu looks up at him questioningly. “Don’t ask why, he didn’t say.”

Mingyu picks up the box and inspects it. It’s green tea flavor, his favorite. "Tell him I said thanks. Want some?”

Chan perks up. “Really? Thanks, dude!” He attacks the box with vigor, peeling open the tab at the top and then ripping open the bag inside. He pauses with a stick already in his hand and looks up at Mingyu. “Don’t tell Seungkwan.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Mingyu says. 

Class starts, then. Chan slides the box of Pocky back onto Mingyu’s desk, where it sits untouched, all the way to the end of class.

--

“Seokmin,” Mingyu asks, “do you know where Wonwoo usually spends lunch break?”

“Huh?” Seokmin looks up from his spot on the floor, his lunch bag propped open on his knees. “Oh, yeah. He’s usually in the stairwell next to the library with Junhui. Are you gonna go work things out?”

Mingyu nods and fishes the box of Pocky out of his pocket. “Do you want the rest?”

Seokmin looks up. “Really? Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I already ate some.” He gives Seokmin the box and shoves his hand back into his pocket. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

“Hold on,” Minghao says, poking his head out of their shared locker. Mingyu can see him run through all the questions he wants to ask, vetoing them one by one before settling on, “you’re skipping business club?”

Mingyu completely forgot about business club. He doesn’t think he can step foot in that classroom without drowning, without the thin, shaky walls he’s built around himself falling away and bringing him down with them. “Yeah,” he says. “Sorry. Can you tell Chan for me?”

“Yeah.” Minghao looks worried, but he mercifully doesn’t voice it, stepping up to give Mingyu a quick hug. “Come back as quickly as you can, okay?” he murmurs against Mingyu’s shoulder.

Mingyu presses his hand flat against the space between Minghao’s shoulder blades, feels his back rise and fall as he breathes. Don’t let go of me , he thinks, and pulls away. “Okay. See you.”

Seokmin gives him a wave as he leaves, a half-eaten Pocky stick hanging out of his mouth. Mingyu waves back and turns away.

--

He finds Wonwoo and Junhui in the stairwell, in a little alcove tucked underneath the staircase. Junhui sees him walk through the entrance and immediately climbs to his feet. “I’m going to the bathroom,” he announces. “I’m gonna be there for a while. Call me if you need me.”

He packs up his lunch and leaves, patting Mingyu’s head as he brushes past him. Left alone, Wonwoo draws his knees up to his chest and stares at Mingyu, the look on his face unreadable. Mingyu hates it - he wishes Wonwoo were easier to figure out, sometimes. He can handle anger, hatred, disgust, but he has no idea how to start with this.

Luckily, Wonwoo starts for him. “You look tired,” he says softly.

It stuns Mingyu, and for a second, he almost responds honestly. He catches himself before he does and says, “I’m fine. This is just the,” he gestures at his own face, “the aesthetic I’m going for today.”

“Okay.” Wonwoo climbs to his feet, pocketing his phone. “Let’s go for a walk.”

Why isn’t Wonwoo yelling at him? Why isn’t he demanding answers? What’s wrong with you , he asked. Doesn’t he want to know?

“Aren’t your things going to get stolen?” Mingyu asks.

“It’s not like there’s anything valuable to steal.” Wonwoo pulls his phone out, unlocks it, and taps at the screen a few times before turning it off and putting it back into his pocket. “And Junhui should be back in a few minutes. Let’s go.”

“Okay,” Mingyu says. Standing in Wonwoo’s presence is making it a little hard to breathe. Sunlight spills in from the windows on the second floor, tumbling down the steps and pooling on the floor beneath his feet. Wonwoo follows the path of the sunlight up the stairs, and Mingyu follows.

--

Neither of them speak for a few minutes. Mingyu waits until the silence starts pressing in on him before starting, “I’m sorry. For yelling at you yesterday. I didn’t,” he takes a deep breath, “I didn’t mean what I said.”

Very simply, Wonwoo says, “I think you did mean it.”

Mingyu looks at him. His expression is as ambiguous as ever, eyes fixed straight ahead, at the windows at the end of the hallway. Mingyu doesn’t know what to say. “I don’t…”

“I don’t blame you,” Wonwoo says, when Mingyu’s voice trails off pathetically. “I was being inconsiderate. I’m sorry.”

Mingyu frowns at the floor, an ugly scuffed beige. Wonwoo's apology feels wrong, ringing off-key in the heavy air. “Don’t-” he catches himself and frowns harder. The words aren’t coming out right - they feel too vulnerable, too real. “Don’t be. It wasn’t - this doesn’t have anything to do with you.”

Wonwoo doesn't say anything for a moment. Mingyu glances at him - he’s still looking straight ahead, but he’s frowning, eyes bright under the sunlight stretching in from the end of the hallway. Mingyu watches as he takes a deep breath, squares his shoulders, and starts: “Mingyu, I didn’t-”

“Mingyu!”

Wonwoo cuts himself off. Mingyu turns towards the voice - it’s a girl from Data, leaning around the doorframe of a classroom nearby. “Hey,” he greets, stretching his mouth into an approximation of a smile. He should probably know her name, they’ve been in the same class for two weeks now, but it doesn’t come to mind. “How’s it going?” he adds.

She takes his reply as an invitation to approach him, tugging at the sleeve of his hoodie. “You’re just the person I was looking for,” she says, looking up at him desperately. “I’m stuck on this homework question, and my friends are all useless, can you please help me?” She glances to the side, noticing Wonwoo's presence, and widens her eyes. “Uh, unless you’re busy?”

Mingyu doesn't look at Wonwoo. A part of him thinks that he should stay, see this through to the end, but a bigger part of him knows that he has never refused to help someone with homework in his entire high school career, and that this girl knows it, and that if he says no people will start asking questions. “I have time,” he says instead, and forces his smile wider. “What’s the question?”

“Thank you, you’re a lifesaver,” the girl says in a rush, dragging him by the sleeve into the classroom she emerged from. Mingyu lets himself get dragged along. He still doesn’t look at Wonwoo.

The classroom is otherwise empty save for the girl and a few of her friends, all of whom know Mingyu by name, so he lets himself get tossed around for greetings and hugs before settling down to help. It’s tiring, maintaining the facade - joking around, giving high fives, smiling just wide enough to show his canines. The sound of his own laughter grates against his bones, like nails on a chalkboard.

Eventually, he stumbles out of the classroom to loud farewells, laughing and waving goodbye. He’s so tired. He doesn’t think he’s ever been this tired before, to the point where everything feels draining. Wonwoo is still there, checking his phone; he looks up as Mingyu approaches, his expression as shuttered as ever. 

“You’re good at that,” he says, before Mingyu can get a word out.

Mingyu’s heart drops. “What?”

“Pretending to be someone else.” Wonwoo’s looking him in the eye, but he feels so far away, and everything has somehow gone so wrong. “Isn’t it tiring?”

It’s getting hard to breathe again. There are too many people around, their voices cluttering up the empty spaces in Mingyu’s head. If Wonwoo wasn’t angry at him before, he definitely is now, and it really, truly is all his fault this time. What’s wrong with you? “I’m sorry,” he says, because it’s the only thing he can say that he actually means.

“Stop apologizing.” Wonwoo’s voice is sharp. It digs into Mingyu’s arteries and bleeds him dry. What’s wrong with you?

“I don’t-” What can he possibly say that won’t mess things up even more? Wonwoo was here, Wonwoo wasn’t angry at him, they were almost okay again, and then he had to go and mess it up and it’s all his fault, it’s all his fault-

What’s wrong with you?

“I don’t,” he starts, but he can barely hear himself speak. “I can’t-”

He can’t. He can’t. He can’t. He turns and leaves, leaves Wonwoo and that hallway and the school altogether, walking out into the bracing cold. The field is empty in this weather. He ducks behind the bleachers, the same ones Wonwoo waited for him on all those months ago, and sinks to the ground and cries.

--

“What the fuck, Mingyu?” Minghao’s the angriest Mingyu’s seen him in awhile, leaving their locker open and rushing over. He grabs Mingyu’s hands and curses. “Seokmin, pass me my thermos,” he says over his shoulder, and then, “what the fuck, how long have you been outside for? What happened ? I swear, if Wonwoo-”

“He didn’t do anything,” Mingyu says, hoping his voice doesn’t waver, because Minghao looks murderous. “Seriously, Minghao. I just - I just needed to clear my head.”

Minghao opens his mouth to say something and then cuts himself off, his eyes softening. Seokmin comes up, then, shoving Minghao’s thermos into Mingyu’s hands. It’s warm; slowly, feeling starts bleeding back into his body. “You can tell us if he did something,” Seokmin says, putting a hand on the small of his back. Under Minghao’s watchful eye, Mingyu takes a sip of the tea in the thermos. He hopes neither of them can see his hands shake. “I’ll beat him up for you. Or like, put superglue in his shampoo or something.”

“It’s okay,” Mingyu says. He returns the thermos to Minghao and brushes past him to their locker, which is still open. “We should head to class, we’re going to be late.”

“You haven’t eaten yet,” Minghao points out. Mingyu pauses, in the middle of shoving his textbook into his bag. The pastel pink of the keychain on the zipper glares at him.

He shrugs his bag onto his shoulders and turns to face his friends. Minghao has his arms crossed over his chest, like he’s about to physically block Mingyu from leaving. Seokmin is hovering a little closer, frowning in concern. Something pangs dully in Mingyu’s chest, buried too deep to be felt properly. He doesn’t know how to explain that he hasn’t felt like eating all day. “I’ll eat in Data,” he says. “That class is boring anyways.”

Minghao and Seokmin exchange a look. Mingyu is so tired. He just wants to get to class and then go home, where he can fall into the shadows collecting in the corners of his house and shut everything else out.

The warning bell rings. Mingyu moves to leave, but Minghao steps in his way, arms still crossed. “I know you were lying about eating,” he says, soft. Mingyu focuses on a spot just past his shoulder. “Just, eat a little? Please?”

He sounds like he’s afraid Mingyu’s going to break any second. Mingyu wishes he could tell him that there’s nothing to worry about; he cried all his feelings out a few minutes ago, and now he barely even feels like a real person. “I’ll try,” he says, because that’s the most he can offer.

He doesn’t look at his friends when he leaves. He can’t bear to. 

--

In Data Management, Soonyoung and Junhui talk about the university applications deadline, which is at midnight. “I don’t know how Wonwoo submitted his yesterday ,” Soonyoung complains, resting his chin on his desk and stretching his arms out in front of him. “Who does he think he is? Ugh.”

Mingyu keeps his eyes on his notebook, but he doesn’t miss the way Junhui glances at him at the mention of Wonwoo’s name. In the end, he eats the pear slices he packed for himself, and gives the rest of his lunch to the other two. 

--

Half a week passes in one vague grey blur. Mingyu still goes to the gym on Tuesday, still pays attention in class, still does all his homework. He can’t lose his future, he rations - even if it will make him miserable, this is all he has. This is all he will have to show for himself, at the end of it all.

The exhaustion doesn’t go away. Each time, it takes a little more of him to fake the smiles, the laughter, the over-confident quips. Still, he pretends and pretends and pretends and hopes he doesn’t get caught.

Wonwoo doesn’t so much as look at him, after that day in the hallway. Mingyu can’t blame him. He goes straight home after the gym on Tuesday, pressing the side of his head against the cold glass of the bus window until it hurts.

Notes:

;))))))

Chapter 16

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Chan’s birthday falls on Thursday. Mingyu wakes up early to bake him a pie, then checks his wallet for the fifteen dollars he needs to pay back Seungkwan before heading out the door.

He locates Seungkwan alone in front of his locker, about ten minutes before classes start. Seungkwan takes the money and then shows him the gift - a sleek black pair of wireless headphones, nestled in a bed of decorative tissue paper. “I hope he likes it,” Seungkwan frets.

“He will,” Mingyu assures. “I’ll see you after school?” 

Seungkwan nods, and then sighs. “Mingyu,” he says, “are you okay? You haven’t been yourself lately.”

Mingyu hates that question, because he has to lie every time, and it’ll be obvious that he’s lying, and then he has to see his friends get worried over him for nothing. “Yeah,” he says. Seungkwan’s eyes narrow. It’s all the same. “See you soon.”

--

Mingyu wishes Chan a happy birthday in Business, before the class starts. “Thanks!” Chan exclaims, beaming. “Are you sure you won’t be able to come earlier?”

Chan’s birthday party is happening after school, at the restaurant across the field from the school building. Mingyu has culinary club, meaning he’ll only be able to come for the last half hour. As much as he loves Chan, he’s grateful for the excuse - he doesn’t think he would be able to handle the party in its full extent, the worried glances and whispered conversations behind his back. He feels frayed, like it would only take one tug for him to unravel completely. “Sorry,” he says. Wonwoo’s voice flashes in his mind. Stop apologizing . “But I’ll be there at the end, I promise.”

Chan nods and turns to face forward, looking mollified. “You better be,” he says, and that’s the end of the conversation.

--

Jihoon, surprisingly, didn’t skip culinary club either, waiting for him at their usual station with his usual purple apron on. From the way his eyes track Mingyu’s movement across the room, it’s clear he heard something from their friends. Thankfully, it’s also clear that he understands something about not wanting to talk about feelings, because he just nods and says, “you still going to Chan’s party after?”

“Yeah.” Mingyu lets his smile drop, secure in the knowledge that Jihoon won’t call him out on it. “You?”

Jihoon grins. “Is that even a question? Soonyoung loves the kid, I wouldn’t hear the end of it if I skipped.”

He’s saved from having to continue the conversation when the execs walk in, starting the meeting. They’re making oxtail soup today. As he works, Mingyu feels himself relax for the first time in a week; in this bustling classroom, slowly filling up with the smell of habanero pepper and the sound of cans opening, no one asks why he doesn’t smile or laugh or talk. No one even spares him a glance. He lets himself go numb, lets everything fall away as he cooks, and feels just a little bit okay again.

--

Thirty-two minutes before Chan’s birthday is set to end, Mingyu finds himself traipsing across the field with Jihoon, the two of them each clutching a container full of oxtail soup with wind-bitten hands. Jihoon doesn’t attempt to make conversation, just shoves as much of his face as he can fit into the collar of his jacket and curses occasionally. Mingyu’s grateful for that, too. 

The party seems to be winding down when they enter the restaurant. Their friends have broken off into smaller conversations, and even Vernon has finished eating whatever leftovers there were. Chan spots them first, jumping to his feet and rushing over to give them each a hug.

Mingyu pats Chan’s back a few times before pulling away. “Happy birthday,” he repeats. 

Chan beams as wide as ever. “Thanks!” He sees the container in Mingyu’s hands, and his eyes widen. “Is that for me?”

“No, but this is.” Mingyu sets his bag on the floor, gives Chan the container of soup, and pulls out a separate container with the pie. Chan’s eyes widen even more when they swap containers. “I hope you like it.”

“Dude, you baked me a pie? That is so cool .” Chan gives him another hug, and then turns around to put the container safely on the table. “I’m going to bring this home and not let my brother have any of it,” he declares.

His statement is met with a wave of laughter. Mingyu, feeling eyes on him, smiles. This is what he was afraid of - all his friends watching him, waiting for him to crumble. The air in the restaurant is too-warm and stifling.

“You’re too mean to Gun,” Seungkwan accuses, diverting all the attention to him. Mingyu takes the opportunity to slide quietly into one of the empty seats, between Vernon and Minghao. “That’s why he likes Vernon more than you.”

“He likes you the least , so I don’t know why you’re acting so high and mighty,” Chan shoots back. There’s a collective oooh . Mingyu stares at his lap and fiddles with his fingers.

Minghao pushes a plate in front of him. It’s laden with beef noodles, a few dumplings arranged at the edges. “Eat,” Minghao instructs. “I won’t let you leave until you do.”

The sight of the noodles makes him sick to the stomach, but Minghao is watching him, so he picks up an unused pair of chopsticks and digs in. Around him, conversation moves on; he thinks he can hear Chan and Seungkwan arguing again, but he can’t be sure. Normally, he would be eager to join in on the fun, acting as mediator in the argument and stealing food from everyone’s plates. He thinks he could probably pretend, play the part of popular, happy-go-lucky Kim Mingyu for another few minutes. 

He almost does, putting down his chopsticks and opening his mouth to say something. But then he realizes - next to Junhui, who is next to Minghao, who is next to him, Wonwoo is there. Wonwoo is there, and probably isn’t even paying attention to him, but the thought of his presence alone reminds Mingyu that all he does is pretend. 

Isn’t it tiring? Wonwoo asked. It is tiring, a kind of exhaustion that settles deep in his bones and creeps up on him when he isn’t expecting it. He picks up the chopsticks and goes back to eating, alone in the crowded room.

--

The rest of the party passes in a blur, the haze occasionally broken by small, bright moments - Chan nearly crying when Seungkwan gives him the headphones, Chan blowing out the candles on his birthday cake, Chan with icing smeared on his nose, giggling loud enough to ring through the restaurant. Mingyu manages to finish his plate of food by the time they’re packing up to leave; Minghao gives him a brief hug, and holds his hand on the way out of the restaurant. 

Outside of the restaurant, the sun has just set, a burst of red smeared along the horizon. The air is cold. Mingyu breathes in, breathes out, and wills himself to feel like a real person.

“Hey, Mingyu!” Chan’s voice cuts through the air. He’s beaming, when Mingyu turns to him, a smudge of icing on the left side of his nose. Minghao is a few feet away, talking to Soonyoung. “I tried a bit of your pie! It was really good.”

Mingyu looks at Chan, clutching the container of pie in his hands, outlined in the orange sunlight. He thinks about waking up early in the morning, feeling the dough under his hands, watching it brown in the oven. 

He smiles at Chan, and it’s a real one, warm under the darkening sky. “I’m glad,” he says, and means it. 

--

Valentine’s Day falls on a Sunday. Mingyu arrives in the courtyard the next day and is immediately greeted with, “hey Mingyu, can I talk to you for a minute?”

He turns. It’s a girl he vaguely remembers from Literature last semester, holding something behind her back, unable to look him in the eye. He already knows where this is going. “Sure,” he says. “Let’s go somewhere quieter.”

He waves goodbye to Minghao, who just raises an eyebrow, and follows the girl behind some trees lining the edge of the pavement. She pulls out a box of chocolates. His heart drops. The box is clearly hand decorated, which means the chocolates inside are probably handmade, too. All this for a rejection , he thinks.

She takes a deep breath, head bowed, and starts talking. He listens, because it’s the least he can do, after all the effort she put in. “I’m sorry,” he says, once she’s done. “I don’t feel the same way. But thank you.”

She nods. Mingyu wants to tell her to keep her chin up, to commit herself to someone who actually deserves it, but then she shoves the chocolates into his hands and leaves, muttering a hurried goodbye as she goes. 

He turns and watches her run back to her friends, who are waiting for her at the other end of the courtyard. She's covering her eyes with her arm. Mingyu looks down at the chocolates, guilt eating at his insides. 

“Already?” Minghao jokes when he makes his way back.

Mingyu looks up at him, gripping the edges of the box. Minghao’s expression morphs from amusement to concern. “Yeah,” Mingyu says quietly. “Do… do you want them?”

Minghao sighs. “You know you would feel bad if you let me have them,” he says. 

He’s right. Mingyu knows he’s right. Keeping the chocolates is the least he can do after everything that girl did to get here, to confess to some asshole who doesn’t even remember her name. “Okay,” he says, and looks away.

“Wait, what do you mean ‘already’?” It’s Seokmin, peering over his shoulder curiously. “How many confessions do you get on Valentine’s Day?”

Mingyu shakes his head. “More than I should.” If any of those people, with their homemade chocolates and handwritten cards and hopeful eyes, if any of them could see what Mingyu’s really like - all the broken, jagged bits of him, the times like these where he drifts through each day without feeling anything at all - they would realize that he isn’t worth it.

Seokmin must hear something in his response, because he hooks his chin over Mingyu’s shoulder and starts, “is everything-”

“We should go.” Wonwoo’s voice is harsh, cutting through the morning. Mingyu flinches. It’s the first time Wonwoo’s talked to him, even indirectly, since that day in the hallway. “We’re going to be late.”

“Ugh, lame,” Seokmin says, but leans away from Mingyu anyway. Mingyu keeps his eyes on the ground as they cross the courtyard, the memory of Wonwoo’s voice digging into his skin.

--

There’s a cream-white letter waiting for him when he enters the Econ classroom, held hostage by a snickering Bambam. He trades the gummy bears he packed for lunch for the letter, angling his body away from Bambam as he unfolds the paper with careful fingers. The writing is a careful, deliberate cursive, like the person forced themselves to write well just for this confession. 

The letter is pretty short - he doesn’t know the person exists, but one time he did something nice for them when they were having a bad day and they never forgot about it. There aren’t any identifying details, and no signature at the bottom. Mingyu wishes there were - he wants to know the person exists. He wants to talk to them and get to know them better and be friends, maybe. But he can’t, so he slips the letter in between the pages of his notebook for safekeeping. 

He gets a box of chocolates and another letter, separately, in Business. He arrives before Chan does, so at least he can read the letter and stash both gifts in his bag before Chan sees them and starts questioning him. 

Business class drags by, the content barely registering in Mingyu’s brain. He walks with Chan to the lobby, as he usually does, before they split off. The hallways are a little more full with people than they usually are. Mingyu takes the long way to his locker. 

He’s halfway around a corner when he hears: “I like you.”

Reflexively, he takes a few steps back and peers around the corner into the hallway he was about to turn into. Hidden in a little alcove, next to a pair of water fountains, two people are standing. One of them is a girl he recognizes from the varsity cheer team, and the other- the other-

His blood freezes in his veins. The other person is tall, wearing a grey hoodie and black track pants, the hair at the back of his head cut short. “I don’t feel the same way,” he says flatly, voice ringing through the otherwise empty hall.

Mingyu flinches and stumbles back. The sound of that voice brings back all the words that have been haunting him - what’s wrong with you? Don’t apologize. We should go.

Wonwoo, back when they had that first fight a week ago, looked at him and couldn’t recognize him. He understands how that feels, now. This isn’t the Wonwoo he knows, not even close - this Wonwoo feels miles away from the Wonwoo who showed up at his house days before exams were set to start. This Wonwoo is cold and uncaring, would walk away from him without a second glance. 

And that’s what Wonwoo has been doing, this entire week, hasn’t he? Refusing to look at him and talking to anyone but him and staying so, so far away. Maybe it’s too late, and this Wonwoo is the only one he’s going to know for the rest of his life. Maybe he’s lost the right to know the real Wonwoo.

He turns around, and takes the long way back. 

--

At the end of the day, Mingyu leaves the school with three letters and four boxes of chocolate in his bag. “I knew you were popular, but I didn’t know you were that popular,” Seokmin jokes when they meet up at the gates separating the courtyard from the street. “How many confessions did you even get?”

Mingyu stiffens. “Seokmin,” Minghao warns.

“It’s okay.” Mingyu forces himself to relax. It’s the same every year, letting people down as gently as possible, hoping they’ll find someone better. “A few. They were mostly anonymous. I just don’t really like joking about it. Sorry.”

Seokmin smiles at him, one of those big ones that make his eyes crinkle, that make Mingyu feel warm even in the chilly February afternoon. “You’re so cute, Mingyu.”

Mingyu ducks his head and lets Seokmin ruffle his hair. He’s aware of Wonwoo’s presence, somewhere behind Seokmin, but he doesn’t dare to look in his direction. He doesn’t think he can, without thinking about what he overheard in that hallway. 

They reach the bus stop with a few minutes to spare. They’re crowded closer in the shelter, so Mingyu hears Seokmin ask Wonwoo, clear as day, “how many confessions did you get?”

Immediately, Mingyu’s ears shut everything else out, honing in on Wonwoo’s response. Minghao must realize this, because he stops talking. The bus stop is silent when Wonwoo replies, “I don’t know.”

How do you not know? “How do you not know?” Seokmin says, joking, as if this is a frequent occurrence. The thought of Wonwoo rejecting people the same way every time, cold and callous, makes something prickle at the base of Mingyu’s neck, almost like a warning.

Wonwoo says, “I don’t bother counting.”

The prickling grows stronger until it’s almost painful. Mingyu digs his nails into his palm, willing himself to calm down, this isn’t a big deal, not everyone thinks the same way he does-

“It’s not like it matters,” Wonwoo continues.

He snaps. "How can you say that?” he demands, turning to face Wonwoo.

The space within the bus shelter goes silent and still, like all its occupants are holding their breaths. Wonwoo looks surprised, and then hurt, and then something awful happens - he shuts down completely, retreating until he’s no longer recognizable. 

“What do you want me to say?” he asks, deceptively simple.

It feels like ice water, trickling down Mingyu’s spine and spreading through his nerves until he can’t feel anything else. “I don’t know, maybe something nicer ,” he says. He’s aware that his voice is rising again, but he doesn’t care. He wants to scream and scream until something familiar registers behind Wonwoo’s eyes again. “Those people opened up to you, they put in effort to tell you how they feel, and you’re just going to say none of it matters?”

Something flickers over Wonwoo’s face. “They chose to tell me.” Mingyu hates the way he talks sometimes, the quiet monotone that feels so condescending. “I don’t owe them anything.”

Mingyu scoffs. Of course. Wonwoo doesn’t owe anyone anything, after all; he can just walk through life taking whatever he wants, without sparing a glance at the damage he leaves behind. “Of course you would say that,” he says. “You’re so inconsiderate.”

He knows, the second the words worm their way past his gritted teeth, that he doesn’t mean them. After all, Wonwoo was the one who told him there’s nothing wrong with you. You have always done better than you give yourself credit for

But, he reminds himself, that’s not the Wonwoo he knows anymore. The Wonwoo he knows now has an unreadable look in his eyes, a dark twist to his mouth when he says, “no, I’m just not a fucking pushover.”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Minghao snaps, grabbing Mingyu by the wrist and yanking him back. “You guys take this bus. Mingyu and I are gonna wait for the next one.”

Mingyu barely hears him. All he can see is Wonwoo, the look in his eyes, the twist of his mouth as Seokmin ushers him onto the bus that just pulled up to the curb. Wonwoo turns and leaves without so much as a glance back. Mingyu remains rooted in place until the bus pulls away and merges into the flow of traffic, eyes fixed on the same spot.

 He registers, faintly, that Minghao is tugging on his wrist again, pulling him down to sit on the bench. It’s cold. The prickling at the back of his neck is still there, simmering underneath his skin. “Mingyu,” Minghao starts, his voice carefully level, “what happened?”

Faintly, Mingyu asks, “do you think I’m a pushover?”

Minghao sighs and pulls Mingyu's head down to rest on his shoulder. It’s something he’s done for years, but for some reason all Mingyu can think about is Wonwoo, that Saturday afternoon before exams. The memory makes everything feel infinitely worse. “I think you’re too complacent for your own good, sometimes,” Minghao says, “but what Wonwoo said was out of line.”

To be fair, I started it, Mingyu wants to say, but he figures Minghao wouldn’t appreciate the thought. “When I went to work things out,” he starts, “last week. I don’t- I thought we were okay, and then I messed things up.” 

And now I’ve messed things up even more, because apparently I don’t know how to do anything except let people down.

Minghao hums. “It was completely your fault? Are you sure?”

“I think so,” Mingyu mumbles, turning his face further into Minghao’s shoulder. Minghao’s grip is firm on his wrist, preventing him from falling back into the past as he finally recounts everything that happened that day - the conversation in the hallway, helping the girl, returning to see everything all wrong.

After a moment of silence, the wind howling around the walls of the shelter, Minghao sighs and says, “this is what I meant. You’re too nice for your own good.”

“What are you talking about?” Mingyu asks. “If I were nicer, Wonwoo wouldn’t have gotten mad at me, and we wouldn’t be here.”

“I mean, I think helping that girl was a bad idea,” Minghao clarifies, “but I also think... I mean, if it were me, and you did that, I would be upset that you left in the middle of our conversation. But Wonwoo was upset because you were - what? Not being visibly upset in front of an acquaintance?”

Mingyu knows that’s understating things. But the more he thinks about it, the more Minghao’s words make sense. Why was Wonwoo so angry about that?

“I don’t know,” Minghao continues. “Wonwoo confuses me, sometimes. But it’s unfair to yourself to think that you’re the only one at fault for all of this. Okay?”

“Yeah.” Mingyu tilts his head back onto Minghao’s shoulder. He’ll think about this later, when he has the time and the privacy to really mull things over. Right now, all he wants to do is sit with Minghao and wait for the next bus to come. “Thanks for stepping in, by the way.”

Minghao pats his head. “You don’t have to thank me, idiot,” he scolds. “I’m always looking out for you, you know that.”

“Yeah,” Mingyu says again. He feels warm, despite the cold, warm enough to forget about everything for a little bit. They sit in silence until the next bus comes, and spend the rest of the way home talking aimlessly.

--

The thoughts swarming in his head intensify as he gets home, all the way through chores, homework, and cooking and eating dinner. In response, he pushes them down further and further until it’s nearly midnight, and he’s sitting at his desk with nothing to do except address them

It’s not the first time he’s felt this way before - some terrible combination of anger and anxiety, seething under the surface of his skin. Fucking pushover , Wonwoo said, everything about him so painfully unfamiliar. Is that what Wonwoo thinks this is? All the work he’s put into making sure he’s the perfect son, a person his mom won’t regret raising and his friends won’t regret befriending, can be boiled down to him being a pushover?

Maybe he meant it, he thinks, all that stuff about Wonwoo being inconsiderate. To Wonwoo, all those Valentine’s Day confessions are just minor inconveniences, along with the people giving them. To Mingyu, they give attention he doesn’t deserve, admiration he hasn’t worked hard enough to earn. Even beyond that - Mingyu works and works and works and ends up miserable in the end. Wonwoo can do whatever he wants and still be happy with himself.

What happened ? A week ago, before their stupid argument that started all of this, Wonwoo was giving him a matching good luck charm, and they were eating Mingyu’s macarons on the bus home. It’s hard to fathom that that Wonwoo is the same as this one.

But no, that’s not right, he thinks. Maybe these two people are one and the same. Inconsiderate, thoughtful, cold, warm. Maybe this side of Wonwoo has been hiding up until now, and Mingyu made it rear its head. After all, didn’t Wonwoo stop talking to him for a week for no reason, just as cold back then as he is now?

Wonwoo confuses even Minghao, who reads people as easily as he breathes. Mingyu doesn’t stand a chance. 

He looks down at his hands. He’s fiddling, he realizes abruptly, with the box Wonwoo gave him the keychain in - smooth, simple white, filled with decorative tissue paper. All the reasons he had for keeping it are gone, now. He holds the box upside-down over his trash can, the tissue paper dropping in with finality.

A separate piece of paper, tucked underneath the tissue, falls out of the box.

He stares at it, frowning. Wonwoo didn’t say anything about any kind of note. He almost chalks it up to a manufacturing thing, but the material doesn’t look right for that - the paper is thicker, more textured, a darker color than the rest of the box. It looks like expensive notebook paper.

He reaches into his trash can and fishes it out gingerly. The side he’s staring at is blank, so he flips it over.

His heart falls through the floor.

In neat, slanted writing, Wonwoo wrote: I don’t believe in luck, but I hope this grants you something. Happiness, at the very least.

His hands shake. At the bottom corner of the note, Wonwoo drew a small cat, a book propped open on top of its head. 

He’s still holding the box. He throws it into the trash. He almost throws the note out, too, but he thinks about Wonwoo, one knee tucked against his chest as he thinks about what to write, as careful and deliberate as ever, and he can’t. So he tosses it into one of his desk drawers instead, so he won’t have to look at it, and goes to bed.

He falls asleep an hour later, and dreams about chasing something he’s never able to catch.

Notes:

updates have been kind of short lately because exams are Beating My Ass. however i will be free of academic commitments starting tomorrow, so they'll go back to the length they were before/even longer starting friday :)

Chapter 17

Notes:

DOBBY IS A FREE ELF

Chapter Text

For the next four days, Minghao stays firmly by Mingyu’s side in the trips to and from school, Seokmin doing the same for Wonwoo. Other than that, though, the effect of their fight on their social circle is surprisingly minimal. Junhui still talks to him the same way he always does, leaning over onto his desk and stealing his snacks during Data, and Chan occasionally mentions Wonwoo in Business, although he moves on quickly after.

Mingyu and Wonwoo don't talk. He can’t stop thinking about the note.

Four days pass, and then it’s Seokmin and Vernon’s joint birthday party. Mingyu finds himself squeezed into the corner of a karaoke room just barely big enough for ten people, clutching a slowly flattening can of Coke. At the front of the room, on top of a mini-stage, Soonyoung, Seokmin, and Seungkwan are performing a scarily accurate rendition of Catallena by Orange Caramel.

Jihoon, sitting next to him with a bowl of rice in hand, mutters: “why do they know the entire choreography?”

“They planned it,” Vernon sighs from Jihoon’s other side. A cheap paper crown is perched, crooked, on his head, the words BIRTHDAY BOY written across it in rainbow bubble letters. “Seungkwan was rehearsing it for a week. I heard the song in my dreams.”

Mingyu thinks about Vernon waking up in a cold sweat, Catallena’s instrumental track fading away in the background. It cheers him up enough to get him to crack a smile, however small, down at his can of Coke.

He remains in the background for a while, comfortable with just watching his friends take turns singing, dancing along occasionally when Seokmin accuses him of “not having fun at my birthday party”. Their food arrives half an hour later, and the ten of them all crowd onto the bench at the back of the room, eating under the spinning light reflecting off the disco ball on the ceiling. 

They finish eating, a server arrives to clear their plates, and then the singing resumes with renewed vigor. Mingyu is settling into a kind of tired contentment when, from the front of the room, someone calls his name.

Mingyu looks up. On the screen, Taeyang from Big Bang stares at him moodily, shirtless. Soonyoung grins, holding the mic out like he’s a gameshow host. “Come on, dude, you gotta sing one!”

Mingyu gets the distinct and unmistakable feeling of nine pairs of eyes turning to face him. Soonyoung waves the mic encouragingly. He’s trapped.

“Okay,” he allows, almost flinching when he’s met with a resounding cheer. “Only one.”

His friends continue cheering as he climbs to his feet, clutching his now empty can of Coke like a lifeline, and makes his way to the front of the stage. He accepts the mic offered to him, and then watches as Soonyoung steals his spot on the bench next to Jihoon.

Seokmin, who has seized exclusive control of the remote, hits play. Mingyu turns to face the screen, trying to suppress the headache brewing in his temples as the sound of delicate piano fills the room, almost drowning out the snickering behind his back. He wishes he never agreed.

Mingyu is not a good singer - at least not compared to his music producer, musical lead friends. But he can hold a tune, and Minghao once told him he has a nice voice, so he makes it through. Fortunately, Seungkwan has the other mic, so he fills in when Mingyu briefly forgets how the song goes, and then the lyrics are fading from the screen and being replaced by his score: a solid 90.

He flees the stage, handing the mic off to Seokmin and finding a new spot between Junhui and Minghao. “Nice singing,” Junhui tells him, poking him in the side.

Mingyu scrounges up a smile. “You too,” he says. Junhui grins and leans into his side, humming to the Twice song Seungkwan and Chan are currently covering.

He gets about two more songs’ worth of relaxation before Soonyoung is taking the stage again. “Wonwoo!” he shouts, already bouncing up and down to the song playing over the loading screen. “Come on, you gotta do the rap parts!”

Mingyu stiffens, praying Junhui, still slumped against him, doesn’t feel it. He keeps his eyes firmly on his lap as Wonwoo takes the stage. Seokmin, Seungkwan, and Soonyoung take over the first bit of the song, long enough for Mingyu to relax a little, until Seungkwan tosses Wonwoo the mic.

Wonwoo, surprisingly, knows the entire rap. Even more surprising is the fact that Wonwoo’s voice can go even lower , so low it’s almost drowned out by the instrumental track, his delivery slow and deliberate. It’s the kind of voice that rumbles in Mingyu’s chest, runs liquid through his veins.

Mingyu closes his eyes. It’s nice, listening to Wonwoo’s voice, if he forgets about everything that happened. It reminds him of that morning in his kitchen, when the rest of the world was still asleep. 

Is he really prepared to give that up? All that time spent together, bantering and laughing and holding hands, those quiet moments in between? Is he really going to accept that this is his reality now, without even trying to change it?

He hasn’t taken the keychain off his bag, yet. And, he realizes abruptly, Wonwoo hasn’t either.

He stands up, ignoring the look he gets from Minghao. “I’m going to the washroom,” he announces to no one in particular, and leaves before the song is even over.

The washrooms are to the left. He turns to the right and heads out the front door, nodding to the receptionist, who gives him a confused smile in return. It’s smack dab in the middle of February, the air clogged with a damp chill that clings to his skin and makes his palms feel clammy. He didn’t bring a jacket.

He walks a few steps away from the entrance to the karaoke place and then sits down on the curb, tucking his hands into the sleeves of his sweater and resting his chin on his knees. He’s aware that he probably looks strange as hell, this large teenage boy loitering at the edge of the parking lot, but it’s a far better alternative to staying inside, where it’s too hot and crowded and all he can hear is Wonwoo’s voice. 

He closes his eyes, letting the cold air cure his growing headache. He’s almost calmed down when something drops over his shoulders, and someone drops onto the curb next to him. 

He keeps his eyes closed. “I’m fine, Minghao,” he mumbles. “Go back inside.”

“Wow, racist,” someone who is definitely not Minghao snickers. “Just because we’re both Chinese?”

He sits upright. The thing on his shoulders falls to the ground - his jacket, he realizes as he picks it up. He shrugs it on before turning to Junhui. “Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t think- it’s usually Minghao, who comes after me when I leave.”

Junhui hums. He’s wearing his own jacket, shoulders hunched against the cold, his feet tapping an irregular rhythm against the pavement. “He was going to, but I stopped him.” He leans against Mingyu. “It’s my turn to bond with you.”

Mingyu huffs out a laugh, closing his eyes again. They sit in silence for a second, just soaking in the cold air, Junhui’s shoulders rising and falling against his side.

Then, “so, about Wonwoo.”

Mingyu freezes instinctively before forcing himself to relax. Junhui is Wonwoo’s best friend, after all - of course he would want to talk about him. “What about him?” he asks, trying to sound nonchalant.

Junhui laughs and pats his head. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to yell at you or anything,” he assures. “I know how Wonwoo can be, sometimes.”

It’s eerily similar to what Seokmin said on the phone, that night after their first fight. Maybe Mingyu was overestimating his own importance - maybe this is a part of Wonwoo that everyone close to him has to come to terms with. He’s not sure whether the thought is comforting or not. “It’s not his fault,” he says.

“I know that, too,” Junhui says. “Look, I don’t know everything that’s going on, but I know how much you guys mean to each other. Wonwoo just…” he pauses, his voice drifting somewhere sad and quiet, before switching directions and resuming. “He’s just bad at communicating.”

Mingyu nods. He’s pretty bad at communicating, too, he thinks, especially when it comes to things like hope and obligation and the future. Two terrible communicators dancing around each other. It’s honestly a wonder that their friendship didn’t implode sooner.

He doesn’t want things to implode, though. He wants to pick up the rubble and use it to rebuild something newer, stronger, sturdier. I know how much you mean to each other, Junhui said.

“I know,” he says. “Let’s go back inside.” Means: I’ll try .

Junhui must hear it in his voice, because he leaps to his feet, and then grabs Mingyu’s hand and hauls him upright too. Mingyu stumbles a little, almost falling off the edge of the curb, his knees protesting at the sudden shift in weight. 

Junhui catches him, his eyes bright with laughter. “Okay,” he agrees. “Bonding time over. It’s time to eat some cake and make Seokmin cry.”

“Right- wait, what?” 

--

Seokmin does actually end up crying, which isn’t a surprise, given that he once cried at a video of turtles flipping over. He stands next to Vernon, tears dripping dangerously close to the giant shared cake the server dropped off a few minutes ago, and sniffles and says: “you guys are the best.”

“Aw, we know, we know,” Minghao comforts, patting his hair soothingly. “Now blow out the candles already, I want some cake.”

“Ugh, rude,” Seokmin sniffs, but he and Vernon blow out the candles in unison to loud cheering, and Minghao gets his slice of cake soon after.

Mingyu approaches Vernon, who is looking at his phone while Seungkwan fixes the crown perched atop his head. “Happy birthday, again,” he says.

Vernon looks up and grins. “Thanks, man.” He shifts closer to Seungkwan, freeing up a space on the bench for Mingyu to sit. Mingyu takes it gratefully, balancing his plate on his knees. “I wasn’t sure about karaoke at first, but I’m glad Seokmin convinced me. This is fun.”

Mingyu almost points out that Vernon only got up to sing one time, but then he remembers that Vernon was mouthing along to every other song. “You should’ve sung more,” he teases instead.

Vernon laughs. “I’m chill with just watching. Besides, they don’t have any of the songs I like.” He eats a spoonful of cake, and then frowns down at the now-empty spoon like it offended him. “Man, this cake kinda sucks. I wish you baked one instead.”

“Yeah!” Chan leans in from Mingyu’s other side. “You totally would’ve made a better one.”

There’s a vague noise of agreement from everyone else in the room. Mingyu can see Seungkwan looking at him pointedly, like he’s trying to argue with him with his eyes alone, but he doesn’t know what he’s trying to say. He doesn’t even want to think about it that much, because he knows it’ll bring his mood down. So he just smiles, a wide, real one, and ruffles Chan’s hair.

--

The cake - which, if he’s going to be honest, is a little dry - is finished, gifts are bestowed, and then the ten of them are piling onto the sidewalk outside the karaoke place, chatting in groups as they wait for their rides. Seokmin and Wonwoo’s parents are picking them up separately to go for a family dinner at some fancy restaurant, so Mingyu goes home with Minghao and his mom.

The ride is comfortable, as a car ride with your best friend of seven years and his supernaturally friendly mom is wont to be. Mrs. Xu asks about the party with genuine interest, laughing at the right places and cooing when Minghao tells her about how hard Seokmin cried when they gave him their joint gift, a bluetooth speaker that’s been on his Amazon wish list for months. 

The car falls silent as Mrs. Xu turns into their neighborhood. Minghao takes the opportunity to lean in close to Mingyu and ask, quiet enough that his mom won’t hear, “what did Junhui say to you?”

Mingyu isn’t surprised at the question. Minghao is the type of friend that wants to keep tabs on everyone, not for his own benefit, but to make sure he’s there for them when they need him. “Just some stuff about Wonwoo,” he says. “About how I can fix things. I want- I want to fix things.”

“Okay,” Minghao says, patting the top of Mingyu’s head. He sounds proud. “Talk to me if he says anything stupid, okay? I still have my nunchucks somewhere.”

The thought of Minghao threatening Wonwoo with nunchucks startles a laugh out of him. He tilts his head so it rests atop Minghao’s, listening to Mrs. Xu humming in the driver’s seat. “I don’t think you’ll have to go that far,” he replies, smiling, “but I’ll keep it in mind.”

--

HORANGHAE (10)

 

seok (my d): [attachment] (27)

thanks for coming guys!!!! i love you all so much :’)

diva boo: yeah, we know

1010: love you too seokmin!!!!! :DDDDD

moonjun: :DDDDDDD

louie hao: why are there 5 separate videos of you crying

seok (my d): I HAVE A LOT OF FEELINGS LEAVE ME ALONE

--

Later that evening, with the dishwasher rumbling downstairs and all his homework for the day completed, Mingyu lies in bed and watches all twenty seven videos Seokmin sent to the group chat. Most of them are just his friends singing, the relatively steady camerawork broken up occasionally by someone stealing the phone and running off with it (usually Soonyoung or Junhui). There are also, as Minghao pointed out, five separate videos of Seokmin crying while cradling a large pile of wrapping paper, and two videos that are just closeups of Vernon’s face as he eats cake serenely. 

He’s just finished watching Soonyoung’s passionate cover of SHINee’s Sherlock when the next video loads, and he’s staring at himself, shot from the side with his face illuminated by the light from the screen. He nearly exits out of the video in embarrassment, but then someone else takes the phone and brings it to the front of the room, and the angle of the shot changes.

The bench at the back of the room swings into view. And there in the far corner, next to a giggling Chan, Wonwoo is staring straight at him - well, the version of him that’s failing to hit the high notes in Eyes, Nose, Lips. 

The look on his face isn’t readable, half because of the dark and half because it’s a look Mingyu’s never seen before. But it’s not angry, or hateful, or bitter. It’s - soft, far too gentle for a karaoke room filled with people. It makes him think of a kitchen that isn’t his own, the colors washed out in early morning light.

It makes him think that maybe - maybe, Wonwoo wants to try, too. After all, he can’t rebuild their friendship alone. 

He hits ‘call’ before he can overthink it, and waits with apprehension as his phone buzzes. He counts three rings before a familiar voice answers, “hey, what’s up?”

He exhales. “Seokmin,” he greets. “Sorry, are you- are you busy? It’s your birthday…”

“Nope! I’m just chilling right now.” There’s shuffling and then a squeak. Mingyu can picture Seokmin throwing himself onto the couch in his living room. “Besides, I always have time for you.”

Mingyu laughs. “You’re so romantic,” he teases.

“Always,” Seokmin confirms. “So what’s up?”

Mingyu's smile fades. He looks up at his bedroom ceiling and starts with the first thing that comes to mind: “does Wonwoo hate me?”

There’s a brief period of silence, and then Seokmin sighs and says, “no, he doesn’t.”

Something in his chest turns airy. “Are you sure?” he whispers, hating how small his voice sounds. “I mean, I was-” you’re so inconsiderate rises to the front of his mind, and he winces, turning over onto his side. “I was kind of an asshole.”

“Are you even capable of being an asshole?” Seokmin jokes. Which is ironic, because Seokmin’s the one who doesn’t have a mean bone in his body, while Mingyu is sharp in unexpected places and brittle in others. His voice softens as he asks, “did you mean what you said?”

Mingyu wants, instinctively, to deny it. But Seokmin is more perceptive than he looks, and he’s so tired of skirting around the truth. “I mean, I could’ve said it better, but yeah.”

Seokmin hums. Then, “that’s okay,” he says. “I’m pretty sure Wonwoo meant what he said, too.”

There it is. Mingyu exhales, his breath coming out shaky, and curls tighter in on himself. He thinks Wonwoo is inconsiderate and Wonwoo thinks he’s a pushover, probably for the same reasons. The more he thinks about it, the more he realizes their fight was inevitable. 

But - I’ll try, he promised Junhui, and himself, too. He has to try. 

Seokmin must take his prolonged silence as some kind of panic, because there’s an urgency to his voice when he says, “oh no, Mingyu, I didn’t mean it like that. I mean - he meant it, but probably not the way he said it, just- Mingyu?”

Mingyu opens his eyes. His overhead light is too bright and too cold - he sits up and leans over to turn it off, plunging the room into darkness. “Yeah?”

“Just making sure you’re still there,” Seokmin says. “Listen, Mingyu, about Wonwoo - I think he’s just trying to cut his losses, you know? Like, obviously he cares about you, but he’s scared that he ruined things forever, or something, so he’s just trying to distance himself before he gets too hurt.”

Mingyu can hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears. Obviously he cares about you. What did Junhui say, earlier? You guys mean a lot to each other . He thinks about Wonwoo staring at him in the karaoke room, thinks about Wonwoo in his kitchen, thinks about Wonwoo lying in his bed at night wondering the same things that have plagued Mingyu for the past week.

“What if I’m too late?” he asks, thinks, please tell me I’m not .

When Seokmin speaks, Mingyu can hear the smile in his voice, like he knows exactly what Mingyu was thinking. “You aren’t,” he says. “Honestly? I think he would wait for you forever.”

--

That night, Mingyu dreams of catching a shooting star.

--

The next morning, Mingyu is tapping his pencil absentmindedly against his math notebook, thinking about the best way to get Wonwoo somewhere alone so they can talk things out, when his mom knocks on his door.

“Seokmin’s calling,” she says, placing his phone on his desk. “It might be urgent.”

“Thanks,” he says as she slips out of his room, and accepts the call as soon as she closes the door behind her. “Hey, is everything okay?”

“Check your messages,” Seokmin hisses into the phone before hanging up.

Mingyu blinks down at his lockscreen - a photo of him, Seokmin, and Minghao, taken at Minghao’s birthday sleepover. Sure enough, blocking Minghao’s face is a notification of a text from Seokmin. He taps on it.

 

from: seokseok <3

ME N MY PARENTS ARE GOING GROCERY SHOPPING

WE WILL BE GONE FOR SEVERAL HOUS

HOURS

DO YOU KNOW WHAT THIS MEANS

WONWOO ALONE AT HOME FOR SEVERAL HOURS

GO GET EM

 

Mingyu stares at the messages, at the opportunity Seokmin just dropped onto his lap. Then he looks at his math homework, only halfway finished. Then he looks at his bag in the corner of his room, the smudge of pastel pink at the zipper. He looks back at his phone.

 

to: seokseok <3

im on my way

thank you <3

 

from: seokseok <3

NO PROB BRO IM ROOTING FOR YOU 

KEEP ME UPDATED

--

It takes roughly ten minutes for Mingyu to throw on some socially acceptable clothes, tell his mom where he’s going, and head out the door. It takes another ten minutes to get to Seokmin’s house - half that time if he runs, which he knows from spending half his winter break in Seokmin’s living room.

Fifteen minutes since Mingyu sent that text to Seokmin, he’s standing on the porch of the Jeon-Lee residence, leaning a little heavier than necessary on the doorbell. The electronic chime rings, muffled, through the house as he braces his hands on his knees to catch his breath.

It takes about thirty seconds for Wonwoo to answer the door, which Mingyu knows because his brain takes advantage of each and every second to second-guess what he’s doing. What if, improbably, both Seokmin and Junhui were wrong? What if he’s too late, what if Wonwoo hates him, oh God, he didn’t shave this morning, when was the last time he showered-

The sound of the lock turning brings every train of thought in his head to a screeching halt. Wonwoo’s hair is a little messy, like he just woke up. All of the - admittedly minimal - planning Mingyu did for this meeting evades him.

“Mingyu.” Wonwoo sounds and looks surprised. Mingyu realizes that this is the first time he’s visited Wonwoo’s house for Wonwoo, even though Wonwoo’s been at his house so often he knows which cupboard the mugs are in. “What are you doing here?”

Mingyu spent so long staring at the back of Wonwoo’s head that the sight of him is a little overwhelming. “Can we talk?” he says, wincing when the words come out more desperate than he intended.

Wonwoo tilts his head, looking more sleepy and confused than anything else. The collar of his shirt slips down his shoulder. “Yeah,” he says, stepping back to let Mingyu in. “Come in.”

Someone opened all the blinds, so the house is warm and full of sunlight when Mingyu enters, slipping off his shoes and leaving them in the corner of the welcome mat. Wonwoo is gone, when he looks up; it’s only when he hears the sound of a kettle being filled that he realizes where he’s gone, and makes his way over to the kitchen.

When he enters, Wonwoo is rummaging around in a cupboard. He’s still wearing his pajamas. “Do you have a preference?” he asks, emerging from the cupboard with a box of assorted loose-leaf tea in hand. 

Mingyu shifts. “Uh, whatever’s closest to the one I have?”

Wonwoo laughs. It's the first time he's heard that sound in a while. The tension that’s been building up in Mingyu for the past week and a half eases a little, lets him smile hesitantly. “Right,” Wonwoo says. “I forgot you’re a filthy coffee drinker.”

“Hey, I’m trendy and hip,” Mingyu argues. “Only old men drink tea.”

Wonwoo shrugs, carefully scooping leaves into each mug. “Tea has various health benefits. Coffee just makes you want to die.”

Mingyu thinks about the amount of coffee he drinks during exam season and realizes he has no grounds to disagree. He also realizes, simultaneously, that they’re drifting back to their old patterns - a little stiff, a little too awkward to be completely normal, but enough to let him hope. Obviously he cares about you .

“Leave me and my bean juice alone,” he says. Wonwoo smiles at him, sending a swarm of butterflies bursting against his ribcage, as the kettle boils in the background.

They stay silent as they drink their tea, leaning on opposite counters, facing each other. Mingyu sets his mug down, thinks about the curve of Wonwoo’s smile, and says: “I’m sorry.”

Wonwoo looks up at him, startled. Maybe it’s because they’re in his house, maybe it’s because he just woke up, but his face is more open now. Mingyu can clearly name each expression that passes - surprise, confusion, resolve.

“You aren’t inconsiderate,” Mingyu continues, his words tripping over each other, before he gets too scared. “I never thought you were. I was just-” his voice catches in his throat, forcing him to stop and start over. “I just have some things I need to work out, and I took it out on you. That was unfair of me. I’m sorry.”

Wonwoo turns his head to the side, away from Mingyu and towards the sliding door separating the kitchen from the backyard. Mingyu panics - did he misread everything? Did he say the wrong thing? Is he going to have to stand here and watch everything slip through his fingers?

He barrels on, praying that it’s enough. “You were right, about me being angry at you for the university thing. But that’s not - that was never your fault. I’m happy for you, and I know you’re going to do great at whatever it is that you end up choosing in the future, because you’re great. I just- it was just me being stupid. I’m sorry I was so shitty about it.”

The words fall, heavy, into the silence between them. Wonwoo still isn’t looking at him. He feels exposed, all the pretense stripped off him.

Wonwoo swallows. Mingyu braces himself. Quietly, Wonwoo says, “I’m sorry, too.”

“I-” Mingyu starts, then stops, stunned.

“I didn’t mean what I said, either.” Wonwoo turns to look at him, then, over a weeks’ worth of regret visible on his face, rendering him so vulnerable Mingyu wants, instinctively, to pull him closer. “I don’t think you’re a pushover, and I never have. I was angry, and I let my anger get the better of me. I just-” he rubs his hand over his face and looks down at the floor. “I just hate that you care so little about yourself.”

“What are you talking about?” Mingyu tries and fails at a grin, even though Wonwoo isn’t even looking at him. “I call myself sexy all the time.”

Wonwoo chuckles, humorless. “That’s not what I meant,” he says. “I meant you never put your own interests first.”

Mingyu wants to argue. There’s nothing wrong with putting other people first, he wants to say, especially when those people have done so much for him. But for some reason, the words stick to his throat. 

So he says the easier thing, which is: “what do you want me to do?”

Wonwoo looks up. His eyes are sad, almost unbearably so. The urge to hug him grows stronger. “Do what you want to do, once in a while, without thinking about how other people will feel. You deserve at least that much.”

He doesn’t know if he can. He doesn’t know if he’s allowed to. But the look in Wonwoo’s eyes makes him want to try, the same kind of feeling that pushed him to Wonwoo’s house in the first place. “Okay,” he says. “I’ll try. I promise.”

Wonwoo’s eyes search his face for a few moments before he visibly relaxes, leaning back against the counter with a smile. “Thank you,” he says softly, earnest.

It makes Mingyu’s heart ache. “Are we okay now?” he asks.

Wonwoo’s smile widens. “I don’t know, are we?”

Mingyu laughs. “You’re the worst,” he informs Wonwoo. “Can I hug you?”

Wonwoo looks startled, and then surprised, and then delighted. It’s a wonderful sight, Mingyu thinks, the tension in his chest dissipating, making him feel loose-limbed and happy. He doesn’t know how he survived, that week and a half of staring at Wonwoo’s back as he walked away. “Sure,” Wonwoo allows.

Mingyu doesn’t hesitate, crossing the space between the counters with one conveniently large stride and scooping Wonwoo up, arms fitting around his waist. Wonwoo wheezes and smacks lightly at his back. “You’re going to crush my ribcage,” he complains.

“Sorry!” Mingyu loosens his hold but doesn’t let go completely, his skin humming in content when he feels Wonwoo’s arms settle over his shoulders. “I’m just really happy,” he confesses.

“I can tell,” Wonwoo laughs, leaning back so they’re face-to-face, arms looped loosely around each other. His cheeks are flushed and his hair is even messier than before as he says, eyes full of sunshine, “so we’re okay?”

“Yeah,” Mingyu nods. The tips of Wonwoo’s ears are pink, he realizes. “We’re okay.”

Wonwoo smiles at him. He smiles back, helpless. They stay like that for a moment, neither of them saying anything, before Wonwoo steps back and drops his arms to his sides, which forces Mingyu to do the same. 

Mingyu blurts out, unthinking, “can- do you want to come over? To study?”

Wonwoo blinks at him. Slowly, he says, “are you sure?”

“Yeah.” He asked on a whim, but now that he thinks about it, actually really wants Wonwoo to come over. “My mom will be okay with it, and you can help me make lunch.”

Wonwoo pauses. Then, just as Mingyu is starting to wonder if he’s made a grave mistake, “okay. Let me just get my stuff and I’ll meet you down here in a bit.”

Mingyu beams. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Wonwoo says absentmindedly, and then snorts. “What is this, The Fault in Our Stars?”

Mingyu grins and mimes putting a cigarette in his mouth. “It’s a metaphor, see-”

“I’m leaving,” Wonwoo says, and promptly flees the kitchen. “See you in ten minutes!” he shouts from somewhere up the stairs.

“You put the killing thing right between your teeth, but you don’t give it the power to do its killing!” Mingyu shouts back. He gets a distant groan and the slam of a bedroom door in reply.

--

About half an hour later, Wonwoo’s books are occupying half the coffee table, Wonwoo himself standing in the kitchen, squinting down at the onion Mingyu just handed him. He changed into one of his more well-worn tracksuits before they left, the jacket zipped up all the way so that the collar hides the lower half of his face. It’s strangely cute. 

“Have you never cut an onion before?” Mingyu asks, amused.

Wonwoo’s cheekbones, just barely visible over the collar of his jacket, color. “I can try,” he offers.

Mingyu laughs and gently pries the onion from his hands. “Maybe next time,” he suggests. “I don’t want you to cut all your fingers off or something, you won’t be able to play your PC games.”

“There are significantly more important things that I wouldn’t be able to do without fingers,” Wonwoo points out, but he looks grateful. “Besides, they could just reattach them. That’s what they did to my cousin once.”

“Ugh, I don’t even want to think about that,” Mingyu complains, setting the onion down on the cutting board. “Wanna mix the sauce?”

Wonwoo, as it turns out, is much more adept at stirring things in a pot than slicing onions. Soon enough, they’re settling for lunch at the kitchen counter, two bowls of stir fry between them, the air thick with the smell of fried garlic and oyster sauce. 

Mingyu watches Wonwoo take his first bite of the food, feeling unexpectedly nervous. His fears are abated when Wonwoo’s eyes widen, and he immediately shovels some more into his mouth. “Good?” he asks.

Wonwoo chews and swallows before answering. “You already know the answer.”

“It’s still nice to hear you say it,” Mingyu says softly. 

Wonwoo looks at him, a slice of bell pepper dangling between his chopsticks. “You’re a really good cook, Mingyu,” he says.

Mingyu grins. “Thanks.”

Wonwoo rolls his eyes before nodding at Mingyu’s untouched bowl. “Eat your food before it goes cold.”

“Okay, mom ,” Mingyu says, but he complies. It really is very good.

--

Wonwoo leaves later that afternoon, after another bowl of stir fry, several cups of tea, and an argument about the merits of The Fault in Our Stars as a work of literature. (“How do you know so many quotes?” Wonwoo demanded. “‘My thoughts are stars I cannot fathom into constellations’,” Mingyu replied. Wonwoo planted his forehead onto the coffee table.) 

“By the way,” Wonwoo says, pausing with his hand halfway to the doorknob. Mingyu can hear the hesitation in his voice as he starts, “I just wanted to say…”

He trails off, looking uncomfortable. The sight makes anxiety spike in Mingyu’s chest. “Is something wrong?”

“What? No, it’s not like that.” Wonwoo shifts his weight between his feet and ducks his head. “I'm glad we're okay again."

Mingyu’s brain takes a second to process Wonwoo’s words, but once it does, he can feel himself grinning so wide it hurts. “Me too," he says.

Wonwoo looks up at him, smiling. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Mingyu.”

“Is that a promise?” Mingyu teases.

Wonwoo laughs. “Of course.”

--

from: seokseok <3

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! YOU GUYS ARE GOOD NOW???

 

to: seokseok <3

:DDDDDDDDDDDDDD

 

from: seokseok <3

NICE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

--

Things go back to normal, the next day. Minghao takes one look at him in the morning and immediately breaks into a smile; he walks with Wonwoo on the way to school; and Junhui ruffles his hair in Data, looking half proud, half relieved. He texts Wonwoo between classes and fiddles absentmindedly with his keychain and looks forward to Tuesdays and Thursdays again.

But some things are different from before. Wonwoo’s words run in circles in his mind, but not anything like fucking pushover or what’s wrong with you? Instead, Mingyu thinks about sacrifices, and the compromises he has to make, and whether they’re worth it. 

The thing is - he’s somewhat come to terms with being miserable for the rest of his life, stuck in a career he doesn’t want. He knows it’s what he has to do, to make sure his mom doesn’t slip away, to make sure everything was worth it in the end. 

But that’s just the thing - will it be worth it? Does he want to trade his own happiness for his mom’s?

Months or even weeks ago, he would’ve said yes with no hesitation. Now, he thinks about the value of sacrifices, and wonders if, five or ten or twenty years down the line, he’ll feel the same way.

Chapter 18

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

A week and a half passes, and then it’s Thursday after school, and he’s standing at the door to the Home Ec classroom fiddling nervously with the drawstring of his sweatpants. He’s spent the past week coordinating with the exec team, poring through his bookmarked recipes to find a suitable one, and then practising the selected recipe until his entire house is clogged with the smell of oil. He knows, objectively, that he can’t possibly be more prepared for this, but right as he’s about to step into the classroom, he feels more unsure than ever.

“Mingyu!” Mingyu jumps and whirls around, feeling strangely like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. It’s Momo, beaming at him, a look in her eye like she knows exactly what’s going through his head. “You got this,” she says.

Looking into the eyes of someone who’s been encouraging him since the beginning, Mingyu forces himself to relax a little. He has to do well - at the very least, so that he can repay Momo for everything she’s done for him. “Yeah,” he says. “I got this.”

“That’s the spirit.” She ushers him into the classroom. 

The second he steps in, every person in the room turns to look at him. It’s a lot of people. There are a lot of people in the culinary club. 

“Maybe I don’t got this,” he whispers to Momo.

She rolls her eyes and smacks his arm. “That’s not the spirit,” she scolds, pointing at the station at the front of the room. “Go set up.”

Momo, despite being half a foot shorter than him, is terrifying when she wants to be. Mingyu ducks his head and complies, nerves be damned.

He’s not entirely sure what happens after that. He vaguely remembers setting up, remembers the rest of the execs arriving and pulling up the recipe on the projector. Once he starts teaching, though, Momo taking his place next to Jihoon at his usual station, everything kind of fades into a blur as muscle memory takes over.

He does register two things, though. The first is the bright, airy feeling deep in his chest that gets stronger and stronger as the meeting goes on, like bubbles in champagne. It feels faintly familiar, but the name for the emotion is buried deep in his memory, and he’s too preoccupied with teaching to dig it out and hold it under the light. It’s a nice feeling, though, makes him feel light on his feet, makes time pass faster than he wants it to.

The second is a single, clear moment, burning in his mind. The squid is deep frying, filling the room with the sound and smell of hot oil. He straightens to give his back some relief, and looks up. 

From his vantage point at the front of the room, he can see everyone - there’s Jihoon, looking as nonchalant as ever, and Momo, her experience shining clear through her movements even as she chats away. And there’s everyone else, too, all focused on their cooking, all of them here because they want to be here, because they value that feeling of taking something raw and turning it into something incredible.

And it’s in that moment that he realizes, surrounded by people who love cooking just as much as he does, that this is what he wants. That night spent exploring the first inklings of hope, his conversations with Seungkwan and Wonwoo, and all those days cooking just for the sake of cooking, have all led up to this - standing there, stains on his apron, looking out at a room that is too hot and realizing that this is what he wants to do for the rest of his life. He doesn’t want to go into business and be miserable. He wants to cook, with other people who love cooking, and he wants to be happy.

That’s the feeling, the bubbles in champagne - joy, contentment, belonging. This is what he was meant for.

Even with the elation that fills him, he knows his mom might not approve. He knows there’s a risk that his worst fear will come true, that she’ll only be pushed further away, that she’ll look at him and see him as a failure. He thinks about that, about the expression on her face as she tells him all her hard work was for nothing, and immediately recoils.

But there’s also a chance that she’ll see the hope on his face and let herself hope, too, that he’ll be successful in his own way. There’s a chance he’ll be able to convince her not to leave, to convince her that he can do what he wants and still be worth it. And just like with going to Wonwoo’s house that Sunday morning - that’s enough to make him want to try.

So he approaches Momo at the end of class as she’s wiping down her station, and asks, “do you know anything about applying to culinary school?”

She looks up at him. “Why do you ask?”

Mingyu shifts his feet, takes a deep breath, and says it for the first time: “I think I want to go into the culinary arts. I want to become a professional cook.”

There’s a single, terrifying pause where Momo’s face is completely unreadable. And then she smiles wider than she’s ever smiled at him, her eyes bright and genuine. “I’m really happy to hear it,” she tells him. “I’ve always thought you were meant for professional cooking.” She climbs to her feet and dusts off her pants before continuing, “an exec who graduated last year went to culinary school. If you want, I can get you his number.”

“Really?” I’ve always thought you were meant for professional cooking . “That would be amazing.” Mingyu smiles at her, this girl who approached him on his first day in the club and already knew he had it in him. “Thank you,” he says, referring to much more than their current conversation.

Momo’s smile softens, in a way that tells him she understands. “You can pay me back by cooking for me sometime.”

Mingyu laughs. “Honestly? I’ll cook you anything you want.”

--

He packs up, thanking the people who come up to him to congratulate him on a job well done, and then catches up to Jihoon as he’s leaving the classroom. “So?” he prompts. “Did you enjoy the meeting today?”

“Almost burned my hand off frying the squid,” Jihoon comments. They pause in the hallway outside the room, moving to the side so they don’t block the steady stream of students leaving the meeting. “And Momo is a lot harder to bully than you are.”

Mingyu pouts. “You're so mean."

Jihoon laughs and punches him lightly in the shoulder. “Other than that,” he remedies, “you were pretty cool up there. You looked really happy.”

Mingyu relaxes and leans into him; he grumbles but puts up with it, because he’s gooey as a marshmallow underneath all those threats of violence. “Of course I was happy,” Mingyu says. “Every time I looked up I could see you swearing under your breath. It was amazing.”

“Fuck you, I hope you’re miserable,” Jihoon says, pushing him away. He doesn’t object when Mingyu goes right back to leaning against him, though, which speaks way louder than his words. “Seriously, though. You were moping around for, like, two weeks. I’m glad you’re actually smiling again.”

Mingyu learns, then, that just because Jihoon chooses not to talk about things, doesn’t mean he’s not fully aware that they’re happening. He ducks his head to hide the way his face colors in embarrassment and mumbles, “you noticed?”

Jihoon rolls his eyes. “Dude, it was like someone kicked a golden retriever. I’m the most oblivious person in the world and I noticed. Were you figuring out the meaning of life or something?”

“Something like that,” Mingyu admits. “I figured out-” deep breath, for the second time “-that I want to go to culinary school.”

Jihoon laughs, delighted. “Really? To become a chef? That’s cool as hell, Mingyu. You’d be great at it.”

Mingyu blinks down at him, a little taken aback. After all, in addition to his supernatural musical abilities, Jihoon is traditionally smart - his timetable is usually an ungodly combination of music theory and advanced physics classes. He figured that, out of everyone he knows, Jihoon would be the most familiar with making compromises. “You don’t think it’s, I don’t know, risky? I mean, it’s not really a traditional career path-”

“Fuck traditional career paths,” Jihoon says automatically, taking Mingyu back for the second time in twenty seconds. “I'm tired of people acting like they're superior. I could go into engineering or whatever, but I’m going into music production instead. If you don’t like what you do, what’s the point?”

Mingyu stills, Jihoon’s words ringing in his head. You have to take risks sometimes, to go after what you want , Seungkwan said. Do what you want to do, Wonwoo said. I’ve always thought you were meant for professional cooking , Momo said.

“Yeah,” he says, his resolve solidifying in his bones. “You’re right.”

--

They chat for a few more minutes before Jihoon takes his leave. Mingyu watches him go, and then suddenly realizes that he is so late.

“Shit,” he says aloud, pulling his phone out. There’s a notification from Wonwoo. Dread creeps up his throat. He squints at the preview of the text.

“I knew you’d still be here.”

Mingyu yelps and drops his phone. By some divine miracle, it lands case-first, relatively unharmed. He bends over to pick it up, but then his head knocks into someone else’s, causing him to stumble backwards and, because he has the internal balance of a toddler wearing high heels, land on his ass.

He looks up and is met with the sight of Wonwoo, holding his phone, looking completely unfazed. Meanwhile, Mingyu is on the floor, rubbing his sore head. The world truly is unfair. “You dropped this,” Wonwoo says, holding the phone out. His voice is flat but his mouth is wobbling, betraying his amusement.

“Yeah, because you scared me,” Mingyu complains, taking his phone back and checking for damage. Once he confirms that it truly, miraculously did come out unscathed, he looks back up at Wonwoo. “What do you mean, you knew I’d still be here?”

Wonwoo shrugs. His hand is still extended; Mingyu blinks at it for a few seconds before taking it. “You were teaching today, right? I figured you would have to stay behind after,” Wonwoo explains as he pulls Mingyu to his feet.

Wonwoo is unexpectedly strong, so Mingyu finds himself stumbling forward with the force of his pull. Wonwoo catches him with a hand on his shoulder. “You remembered,” Mingyu says, surprised. He remembers briefly mentioning it, back when Momo first approached him with the offer, but their first fight was pretty soon after that, so he wouldn’t have faulted Wonwoo for forgetting.

But - here Wonwoo is, his hand still on Mingyu’s shoulder, shrugging like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Of course I did.”

Mingyu stares down at Wonwoo, who looks back at him, a faint, absentminded smile on his lips. The light overhead sharpens and then turns warm. Mingyu can feel the skin of his palms, his ears, his cheekbones heating up. They’re still holding hands.

Wonwoo clears his throat and steps back, dropping his hands back to his sides. Mingyu feels strangely empty as he says, “we should go. It’s getting late.”

“Right! Right, yeah, we should do that,” Mingyu agrees, flustered. Wonwoo’s smile widens just a little.

Mingyu pulls his bag higher up his shoulder, and then they’re off. “How was the meeting?” Wonwoo asks.

That bubbly feeling rises to the surface again, and it’s all he can do to not literally skip with joy. “Really good!” he says. “I had a lot of fun, and the burgers turned out really well.”

“You made burgers?” Wonwoo peers through the blue plastic cover of the Tupperware in Mingyu’s hands. “Can I have one?”

“Sure,” Mingyu says automatically, and then immediately curses at himself. “Ah, but it’s squid, so you might not like it.”

Wonwoo doesn’t say anything for a second. Mingyu’s about to wonder whether he said something wrong when Wonwoo says, sounding a little stunned, “you remember that?”

“Uh, yeah?” Wonwoo told him in one of their conversations over text; he doesn’t remember the context, but he does remember being a little disappointed that he couldn’t give him some of the sushi he was trying to master. “I cook for you sometimes, I should remember.” 

“Right,” Wonwoo says. His voice sounds strange. “That makes sense.”

“Everything I say makes sense,” Mingyu jokes.

Wonwoo scoffs. “Need I remind you of that time you said ‘mark my worms’ instead of ‘mark my words’?”

“Okay, that was one time -” Mingyu argues.

“‘Two bees or not two bees’,” Wonwoo continues. “Seriously? How did you think it was ‘two bees’?”

Mingyu covers his face with his hands. “Minghao kept saying it! I thought he was being serious, he’s the artsy one!” 

“You studied Hamlet last semester,” Wonwoo stresses. “Did you even open the book?”

“Uh, no ,” Mingyu says, indignant. “Why would I do that to myself when SparkNotes exists?”

Wonwoo sighs. “Don’t forget ‘nip it in the butt’,” he adds.

“Okay, that one was on purpose and you know it,” Mingyu accuses.

“Fine,” Wonwoo allows. “My point still stands.”

“You’re so mean to me,” Mingyu complains, pouting. “I cook for you.”

Wonwoo laughs. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry. You’re a very smart person, and I’m sure the squid burgers are great.”

“Damn right they are,” Mingyu says, proud. He’s made them way too many times over the past week for them to be anything short of amazing.

Wonwoo stays silent. When Mingyu glances over, he finds Wonwoo looking back at him, smiling. “You really love cooking, huh?” he says softly.

It reminds Mingyu of Seungkwan, in the hallway, the lights of the party behind him. He reacted with apprehension back then. Now, he drums his fingers against the surface of the Tupperware in his hands, inexplicably nervous as he admits, “I do. And- I think I want to do it professionally. As a career.”

He’s still looking over at Wonwoo, so he can see him frown in thought for a moment before something like recognition flickers across his face, gone as quick as it came. A smile takes its place, even warmer than before. “That’s amazing, Mingyu,” he says. “You’re going to be great at it.”

They’re outside, now; the sun is setting over the tops of the trees lining the sidewalk, burning the sky red. A gust of wind combs through his hair and digs underneath the collar of his jacket. Reflexively, he reaches out for Wonwoo’s hand. Wonwoo takes it, and he slips both of their hands into his pocket. 

Let’s hope my mom feels the same way, he thinks but doesn’t say. “I hope so.”

--

mingyuhao (3)

 

(min)gyu: r u guys busy rn?

(seok)min: ???? what’s up gyu?????

(min)gyu: i have something i wanna talk to u guys abt

but if ur busy its all good, it can wait

(ming)hao: idiot

we’re never too busy to talk

especially if it’s important

(seok)min: ^^^ but without the name-calling

(min)gyu: thank u seokmin

i appreciate u

(ming)hao: rude

(seok)min: !!!! i appreciate u too!!! :DDDDD

(ming)hao: where should we meet up?

(min)gyu: yknow the bleachers across from seokmins house?

(ming)hao: give me 10

(seok)min: see u soon!!!!!!!!!

(min)gyu: <3

--

Seokmin arrives first, complaining about the cold and hiding snacks in the pocket of his hoodie. They split a bag of chips (honey chips, Mingyu notices; he wonders how Wonwoo feels about that) and shout about various things until Minghao arrives, half his face hidden by a giant scarf. 

“What did you want to talk about?” Minghao asks, sitting down on Mingyu’s other side and accepting the chip Seokmin offers him. 

Mingyu stares down at his hands, marked with the scars of years of clumsiness and cooking. The largest one, at the center of his right palm, is the one he got in fifth grade, playing tag with the same two people who are next to him now. He thinks that, despite the five years in between, even though they’re taller and their faces are thinner and their voices are deeper, a lot has stayed the same. The kindness, the generosity, the warmth. He felt safe then, and he feels safe now.

So he tells them, staring out across the field, Seokmin’s house just barely visible. He tells them about his mom, and about his fear - because it is fear, he knows that now - of being a disappointment, a failure, a burden. A sacrifice that won’t be worth it. He tells them about sixth grade. He tells them about his realization that the path he’s been barrelling down for years is trapping him, forcing him to suffocate. He tells them about standing in the Home Ec classroom and feeling the tips of his fingers tingle with the feeling of belonging, about Seungkwan and Wonwoo and Jihoon and Momo.

“I don’t want to go into business,” he says at the end of it all, the sky significantly darker, Seokmin’s stash of snacks fully depleted. “I want to go to culinary school. But I don’t want - what if my mom is disappointed in me?”

His words ring out into the empty field. The streetlights are starting to switch on; their warm light, combined with the dusk, paints everything in shades of yellow and blue-grey. Seokmin is lying down, his head in Mingyu’s lap; Minghao is leaning against Mingyu’s shoulder, their fingers loosely intertwined. Mingyu feels exposed and vulnerable and raw but, even more than that, he feels relieved. A burden, he realizes, is a lot easier to carry when there are people who can help you carry it.

It’s Minghao who speaks first. “I felt the same way,” he says softly, “when I first moved here.” The air turns heavy; Minghao rarely talks about himself, preferring to listen instead. This is the first time Mingyu’s heard any of this in depth, seven years into their friendship. “My parents were completely alone, they barely spoke the language, and my mom’s degree wasn’t even recognized by the government at the time. I watched them struggle, and I thought, ‘when I’m older I’ll make a bunch of money and make sure they’ll never have to work this hard again’.”

Seokmin makes a vague sound of agreement, which Mingyu echoes, tightening his grip on Minghao’s hand. Minghao squeezes back, reassuring.

“But things got better,” he continues, “and I realized that it was only because they both loved their jobs. That’s why they could work so hard and climb their way back up the ladder without complaining, because at the end of the day they were happy with what they did. In the end, struggle, success, whatever - none of that really matters if you’re happy with yourself.”

“‘Do what you love, and you’ll never work a day in your life’?” Seokmin quotes, joking.

“Ugh, I hate that, but yeah, I guess,” Minghao acknowledges. “Of course, when my parents retire I’m still going to take care of them, but I’m not just an extension of my parents’ struggle. I mean, we’re halfway through our junior year. In a year and a half we won’t even be living at home anymore, and four years after that we’ll be basically on our own.”

“We’ll be our own person!” Seokmin pipes up. “Well, our own people. The three of us aren’t one person.”

“If we were, though,” Mingyu says, “we would be unstoppable. We’d be, like, the perfect person.”

Seokmin laughs, delighted. “Like Voltron!”

Minghao sounds amused when he suggests, “I’m the head, Seokmin’s the heart, and Mingyu’s the body?”

“Hey! I’m more than just a hot piece of ass, you know,” Mingyu argues. “I contain multitudes.”

Seokmin snickers. “Wow, you’ve been spending way too much time with Wonwoo.”

Anyways ,” Minghao stresses, “you can’t live for the sole purpose of making your mom happy, Mingyu. You are your own person, and you have to live for yourself.” His voice softens. “You deserve that much.”

Do what you want, Wonwoo said. You deserve that much . Still, it feels selfish somehow. “But my mom sacrificed so much for me,” he says. “I mean, she dropped out of law school to raise me. I have to pay her back somehow.”

“Yeah, but she didn’t do all that so you’d end up miserable,” Seokmin says. “I mean, like, a big part of being a parent is making sure your kid lives a better life than yours, right? I’m sure she wouldn’t want you to live the exact same life as her. She’d want you to be happier.”

Mingyu thinks about how tired his mom looks all the time, the days when she barely even feels like a person at all. He thinks about when she would tell him about her childhood, growing up in a concrete box at the border of the city, staring out at the skyline and promising herself that she’ll get there someday. He thinks about how she’ll feel when she finds out, after years spent breaking out of her family’s rigid traditions, that all Mingyu has done is start a new cycle of misery and exhaustion. 

“You’re right,” he says, and the admission feels like a breath of fresh air. He feels like he could reach out to the dark sky and hold it between his hands. “She would. I’m going to talk to her about it, tomorrow.”

“There you go,” Minghao says, reaching up with his free hand to ruffle Mingyu’s hair, sounding proud. 

“Yeah!” Seokmin’s smile is bright even in the darkness, the sun having fully set as they talked. “I’m sure everything will turn out great! I mean, you’re the best cook I know.”

Mingyu laughs. “I’m the only cook you know,” he reminds Seokmin. “Other than, like, yourself.”

“Still,” Seokmin says. “You’re great at it! And you’re gonna be great at it for the rest of your life.”

For the rest of his life. It sounded like a death sentence, before; now, it sounds more like a promise. “I hope so,” Mingyu says, and means it.

They talk aimlessly for a while after that, soaking in the night and each other’s company, keeping warm by sitting close. Eventually, Minghao lets go of Mingyu’s hand and climbs to his feet, stretching his shoulders. “We should probably go,” he says. “It’s late.”

“Oh, shit, yeah,” Mingyu agrees, leaning back so Seokmin can get up. He checks his phone and winces. He has so much homework to do.

And Minghao and Seokmin probably have homework, too, but they still came out here and listened to him talk and gave him advice for over an hour. Seokmin complains about losing feeling in his legs, and Minghao shivers and pulls his sleeves over his hands, but neither of them say anything about the fact that they took time out of their day to freeze their asses off on these bleachers that hardly anyone ever uses. It fills Mingyu with gratitude, but it makes him feel guilty, too.

He stands up, jogs a little on the spot, and then starts, “thank you for-”

“Don’t you dare thank us,” Minghao interrupts. “I swear to God, Mingyu. We’re happy to help, because you’re our best friend, idiot.”

Mingyu blinks, unsure whether to feel offended or touched. Seokmin laughs at the look on his face and puts an arm around his shoulders. “Yeah, we’ll always have time for you! Don’t feel bad!”

Mingyu feels bad regardless, but he lets the subject drop. “Okay, okay,” he allows. “Let’s just go home.”

Minghao jumps from the edge of the bleachers to the ground below, nearly scaring Mingyu shitless. Seokmin sings loudly as they walk. Mingyu is happy, going home with his two best friends, his heart light as a feather.

Notes:

this is for all of y'all who simp for the 97 line like i do. you know who you are ;))

Chapter 19

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Mingyu still attends the business club meeting the next day, if only because he doesn’t want to leave Chan alone again. He’s bored the second he steps into the classroom, a boredom that grows as the lesson starts, something about balance sheets and income statements that hurts to look at. He ends up passing the time by checking on the various food blogs he follows, and splitting cafeteria fries with Chan and Minghao.

It’s a relief when the end of the meeting comes, the notebook on his desk glaringly empty. “Man,” Chan says, clearing his desk. Mingyu glances over at him. He catches a glimpse of margins filled with Pokemon doodles before Chan shuts his notebook with finality. “Maybe I don’t want to be in this club anymore.”

Minghao sighs in relief. “So I don’t have to come here anymore? Thank God .”

Chan frowns at him. “Wait, you were coming here for me? I was only coming here for you.”

“Wait, what?” Mingyu blurts out, louder than he intended. A few heads turn to look at them. 

Minghao shushes him. “Let’s wait until we’re outside,” he says.

“Okay,” Mingyu agrees, a little embarrassed. They get their things together and leave as quickly as they can. Mingyu waits until they’re safely out of earshot of the classroom before continuing, “you were only coming here for us? What about all that stuff about wanting to improve?”

Chan gestures nonchalantly. “I can just do that in Business class. And I can do it without feeling like my brain is leaking out of my ears, which is a cool bonus.”

“So you mean,” Minghao says slowly, looking a little murderous, “that I could’ve quit weeks ago? I could’ve been hanging out with Junhui right now?

Mingyu backs away. Chan, a quick learner, mirrors the movement. “Ha ha, but it was worth it?” Mingyu tries weakly. Chan gives a thumbs up. “People who suffer together stay together?”

Minghao glares at them for a few more seconds, just to get his point across, before sighing and relaxing. “You two owe me so much coffee,” he says. He ruffles Chan’s hair and lets Mingyu put an arm around his shoulders anyway, so Mingyu figures he’s not too upset about it.

--

Soon after he enters his Data classroom, he has the unmistakable feeling of anxiety pooling in the soles of his feet. It rises and rises as the rest of the day drips by, agonizingly slow. He’s knee-deep when he leaves Data, listening to Soonyoung stress about preparing for the showcase that’s still months away, and submerged up to his waist by the time the bell marking the end of the day rings. He gets his locker combination wrong five times and drops his textbooks twice before finally, finally making it out of the front doors, gulping down the cold air and hoping it can do something to calm his nerves.

He’s going to tell his mom tonight. His relationship with the only family member he really has and his future are going to be put on the line in a few hours. 

His lungs are starting to fill up by the time they board the bus, making it hard to talk, so he settles for listening to Seokmin talk about musical rehearsals, nodding and laughing along. Seokmin is nearly jumping out of his seat with excitement; seeing him so happy makes Mingyu relax a little.

Seokmin devolves into an anecdote about how Jihoon nearly strangled Soonyoung with a prop, talking all the way up to the intersection where they split off. “And Seungkwan was just standing to the side singing ‘Mmm Whatcha Say’ the whole time, which was hilarious but not helpful,” he concludes. “Anyways, I’ll see you on Monday!”

Mingyu, in the face of Seokmin’s blinding smile, can’t help but offer a weak smile of his own. “Of course,” he says. “Talk to you later.” He turns to say goodbye to Wonwoo, only to find the latter frowning back at him. “What’s up?”

Wonwoo shakes his head. “Nothing,” he says. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

It’s an innocuous statement, but something about the way Wonwoo said it makes Mingyu's chest tighten. “Yeah,” he says, swallowing. “You too.”

Wonwoo doesn’t look convinced, but he relents, leaving with a final wave. Mingyu watches the two of them go. His lungs are half-full, now, and it’s getting harder and harder to breathe. 

Someone tugs at his hand - it’s Minghao, looking at him knowingly. “Are you thinking about talking to your mom?” When Mingyu nods, he sighs and says, “you know you don’t have to do it tonight if you don’t want to, right? Don’t push yourself to do things you aren’t comfortable with.”

Mingyu shakes his head. The past few weeks - hell, the past few months even - have all been building up to this. This is the last piece of the puzzle, the last wall he has to knock down before he can get to what he wants. “No, I’m okay,” he manages. “I’m ready. I have to.”

Minghao still looks uneasy, but the concern on his face eases a little. “You know Seokmin and I are always here for you, right? Whenever you need us.”

Mingyu smiles at him. The anxiety recedes slightly, letting him breathe easier. “Yeah, I know. Thanks.”

Minghao rolls his eyes. “What did I say about thanking me, dumbass?” he scolds. “Now come on. You gotta go home and emotionally prepare yourself.”

“Ugh, you don’t have to say it like that,” Mingyu complains. Minghao laughs and drags him home. 

--

He manages to keep the anxiety chest-level all the way through homework and dinner preparations, using the tasks at hand to distract himself. It’s only when he’s sitting at the kitchen island, dinner already on the counter, with nothing to do, that he blinks and finds himself completely submerged. 

HA few more minutes. A few more minutes. A few more minutes. 

The last time he felt this way was in sixth grade, right after the news about his mom’s promotion, when he lay awake at night, terrified of being left alone. Back then, he dealt with it by crying himself to sleep, hours past his bedtime. Now, he just drums the fingers of his left hand against the countertop, his right hand gripping the edge of his seat, hard enough to hurt.

He’s not sure how much time passes, but eventually he hears the door unlocking, amplified in the silent house. He leaps from his seat and heads towards the sound. His mom is already there, purse under his arm and shoes stowed in the shoe rack, cracking her toes against the floor. 

She looks up when he approaches. “I made dinner,” he blurts out, before she can say anything that’ll make him change his mind. “Do you want to eat together?”

She looks surprised, a testament to how long it’s been. Please don’t say no , he pleads. “Okay,” she allows. “Let me clean up first.”

Mingyu tries not to audibly sigh in relief. “Okay,” he says. They part ways - his mom up the stairs, him back to the kitchen and the rapidly cooling dinner. He takes a seat again and tries, desperately, to relax a little.

He’s not even remotely relaxed when his mom comes back downstairs, out of her work clothes and in a hoodie and yoga pants. She takes the seat across from him, and they start eating. 

She doesn’t say anything about his cooking. A thick, suffocating silence settles over them, filling up the too-big house. 

Mingyu focuses on eating, until his hands start shaking so hard he can barely hold his chopsticks and he can’t put it off anymore. He puts his chopsticks down, swallows, and says, “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

His mom pauses, glancing up at him, before mirroring his movements and putting her chopsticks down as well. In the overhead lights, the bags under her eyes are more pronounced than ever. “What’s going on, Mingyu?”

Just like that, he’s staring over the edge of the precipice, at the churning water below. He digs his nails into his palms and says, as carefully as he can, “I’ve been thinking about it, and I don’t want to go into business anymore. I want-” he throat clogs up. He takes a deep breath and starts again. “I want to go to culinary school and cook professionally.”

His words ring through the house. He watches his mom’s face, waiting - for joy, for anger, for disappointment, for pride. But what crosses her face instead is none of those things - it’s confusion. 

Somehow, that’s even worse. Mingyu’s hands start shaking again as his mom says, slowly, “I don’t understand. You always wanted to go into business. Now you’re changing your mind because of a hobby?”

Of course . He should’ve expected this - she’s always thought of his cooking as a hobby, even as she’s watched him spend hours and hours hunched over the stove, hands covered in scars and burns. “No,” he manages, panic clawing up his throat, and he’s drowning, unable to breathe under the weight of his mom’s gaze. “I’ve never wanted to go into business. And cooking- cooking isn’t just a hobby. It makes me happy, and I want to do it for the rest of my life.”

She digs her fingertips into her temple, a telltale sign of an oncoming headache. “Mingyu, please,” she says, sounding tired. Tired of him . He feels sick to his stomach. “Put some more thought into this. Your future is at stake here. Cooking is a volatile career at best. What if you fail? What will people think of you?”

“But I’m good at it,” he says, his voice rising. “And it makes me happy.” She’d want you to be happier . “Isn’t that what matters? That I’ll be happy?”

His mom climbs to her feet. She looks cold, and so far away, the countertop separating them infinitely wide. “You’re being unreasonable.” She takes a step back. “We can talk about this again when you think it over.”

Something in Mingyu snaps. In a single instant, all the anxiety and anticipation drains out of him. In its place is - anger. He’s angry

She’s leaving? Now ? Now, when her only son is opening up to her for the first time in five years, when all he’s asking for is her permission to be happy? She looked at him, heard what he said, and all she could say was you’re being unreasonable?

No - that’s not right. She didn’t hear what he said. She’s never heard what he said, never looked at him and really seen him. While he was clinging to her back, doing all he could to get her to stay, to make himself worth it - she’s never done so much as spend more than an hour in the same room as him.

She knows nothing about him. How could she? She only sees him as an extension of her struggle, a place to deposit all her unmet expectations. It’s ironic - he’s spent so much time idolizing her as a perfect, hard-working mother, someone he owes an eternal, unpayable debt to, when she’s barely a mother at all. 

And now she’s leaving, in the middle of the most important - hell, maybe the only - conversation they’ve had in years . He’s so angry. 

This is the problem,” he almost shouts, climbing to his feet, too. Already halfway out the kitchen, his mom pauses but doesn’t turn around. “You’re always leaving. If you bothered to stay once in a while, you would know this isn’t just a hobby for me, but,” he laughs, ragged and foreign to his own ears, “of course you never stay.”

His mom turns around, a mix of shock and anger on her face. Before, he would’ve immediately recoiled at the sight, terrified and guilty that he was the cause of it. Now, all he feels is his blood roaring in his ears.

“You’re too old to be acting this immature,” she snaps, her eyes wide and cold. “You’re graduating in a year and a half. Get your act together.”

It stings like a slap to the face. Mingyu remains rooted to the spot, immobile, as his mom turns and retreats up the stairs. He’s alone, in this empty house that isn’t a home, everything he’s worked so hard for over the past few years slipping out of his hands and shattering.

She didn’t even get halfway through dinner. All the anger that’s been propping him up fades, then, and he slumps onto the kitchen floor, feeling cold all over. The darkness presses in on him on all sides.

He can’t stay here anymore. He climbs to his feet, grabs his phone off the counter, and makes his way out of the kitchen and towards the front door. He slips on his coat and his shoes and steps out into the night.

--

He ends up in the playground near his house, sitting on a swing he’s way too tall for, dragging his feet against the sand. It’s a little warmer than it was yesterday, and the night is perfectly clear, the moon hanging round and bright overhead. He doesn’t know what to do.

He doesn’t know what to do. Not only did his mom not approve of going to culinary school, she couldn’t even take him seriously when he told her. And then their first conversation in years spiraled into an argument, and now they’re farther apart than they’ve ever been.

It’s his worst nightmare come to life, but he doesn’t scream or cry or try to take it all back. He doesn’t immediately abandon all hope of getting the future he wants. In the absence of the anger that seized him back in the kitchen, he feels strangely, terrifyingly calm. 

He’s going to go to culinary school, and he’s going to spend the rest of his life cooking for others, because that’s what makes him happy. All that’s left to do is wait, and see whether or not his mom realizes the same thing.

“Mingyu?”

For a single, suspended moment, Mingyu thinks it’s his mom, come to tell him she understands now, she’s proud of him, she approves. But of course it isn’t. He swallows his disappointment and looks up.

His heartbeat falters. “Wonwoo?”

“What are you doing here?” The sand shifts under Wonwoo’s shoes as he approaches the swing set. The tip of his nose is pink, like he’s been outside for a while.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Mingyu points out. Wonwoo comes to a stop right in front of him; from his spot on the swing, he has to crane his neck upwards to look him in the eye.

“I was on a walk,” Wonwoo says. It’s clearly bullshit; Wonwoo hates the cold, and even though the nights have been getting warmer, it’s still the tail end of February. Mingyu is about to call him out on it, but then Wonwoo crouches down, placing himself directly in Mingyu’s line of sight. “Hey, are you okay?” he asks softly.

Mingyu swallows. The swing is low enough to the ground that their knees are almost touching. “Just tired,” he says. 

And Wonwoo- Wonwoo places his hands over Mingyu’s, which are curled against the fabric of his pants, and asks, gentle and careful and deliberate, “what happened, Mingyu?”

Mingyu can feel himself softening at the touch, his hands opening up and curling around Wonwoo’s. He holds on a little tighter than he probably needs to, but Wonwoo mercifully doesn’t say anything about it. “I talked to my mom tonight,” he admits. “About going to culinary school.”

Wonwoo doesn’t ask anything more, just searches his face and immediately understands. “Oh,” he murmurs, rubbing the pads of his thumbs against the backs of Mingyu’s hands. “I’m so sorry.”

Mingyu shakes his head and looks down at their hands, at the stark contrast of Wonwoo’s skin against his own. “She said I was unreasonable for wanting to pursue a ‘hobby’,” he manages, swallowing the laugh that bubbles up, ugly and corrosive.

“What the hell?” Wonwoo demands, his voice sharp. Mingyu looks up, startled, and finds Wonwoo frowning back at him, eyes dark with- is that anger? “A ‘hobby’? How could she say that to you?”

Mingyu has seen Wonwoo go cold before, distant and unaffected, but he’s never seen him get angry. It’s a little terrifying, even if it is on his behalf. “Don’t,” he says, because he’s not sure he can handle it, the way Wonwoo’s shoulders are tensing. “Please. I don’t- I don’t really want to think about it right now.”

Wonwoo softens almost instantly, the tension sliding off his shoulders. He squeezes Mingyu’s hands. “Okay,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

Mingyu musters a smile. “It’s okay.” There’s still a trace of anger in Wonwoo’s eyes, so he raises an eyebrow and jokes, “you know, the swing next to me’s empty, if you want it.”

Wonwoo lets him lighten the mood, rolling his eyes and smiling back. “Good, my legs were starting to cramp,” he says. He lets go of Mingyu’s hands and climbs to his feet, making a show of stretching and shaking out his legs.

“You can’t fool me,” Mingyu accuses, his heart feeling a little lighter. “I know you have the joint mobility of a cat.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Wonwoo replies, deadpan. “‘I was born with glass bones and paper skin. Every morning-’”

“Okay, okay,” Mingyu laughs. “Is this your revenge for all those Fault in Our Stars quotes?”

“Obviously,” Wonwoo says, smiling. 

Wonwoo takes a seat on the unoccupied swing, and they lapse into silence for a few minutes. Mingyu stares out at the street, a lone car rushing past, its headlights bright white against the yellow glow of the streetlights. His hands feel strangely cold. 

Eventually, Wonwoo sighs and says, quieter, “I remember this place. We passed by it every day on the way to school. I never played here, though.”

Mingyu looks over at him. His head is tilted upwards, towards the night sky. Mingyu wonders what he sees there, in that wide emptiness, the light pollution obliterating any chance of seeing a star. “Why not?”

Wonwoo turns and looks him in the eye. “I never really liked going outside as a kid, I guess. And none of my friends wanted to either, so I never got the chance to try.”

Something about that is unbearably sad to Mingyu, whose defining childhood moments all happened under a blue summer sky. Wonwoo doesn’t seem put off by it, though, so he just hums. “This is where I hurt my hand in fifth grade,” he says. “Remember?”

Wonwoo smiles, wry. “Of course I remember. You came to my house with your hand bleeding everywhere and scared the shit out of me.”

Mingyu laughs. “You were scared? I just thought you were annoyed or something.”

Wonwoo shakes his head. “I was never annoyed with you,” he says, his voice softer. “And I never wanted to stop hanging out with you and Seokmin, either. Honestly, I was pretty happy when you said we could hang out again.”

Mingyu’s heart soars at the confession, but his happiness is short-lived; he thinks about what happened next, what prevented them from being able to hang out, and comes crashing back down to Earth. “And then you moved two weeks later,” he says quietly.

“Yeah.” From the look on Wonwoo’s face, Mingyu can tell he’s thinking about the same thing. He still remembers the day Seokmin told him - going over to his house with Minghao for a routine playdate, and being met with his best friend, crying and apologizing because his parents just told him they were moving in a week.

We’ll still be best friends , Minghao said firmly, with a faith that surprised him. They knew, all three of them, that it was highly likely they would never see each other again.

And now here they are, five years later, like nothing and everything has changed. That’s how life goes, Mingyu supposes - it takes and gives, gives and takes. 

“You can’t even see the stars here.” Wonwoo’s voice, wistful, jolts him out of his thoughts. He looks over. Wonwoo’s gone back to staring at the sky. “The village we lived in barely had any light pollution, so on a good clear night like this one, you could look up and make out some constellations.”

It strikes Mingyu, then, that it’s the first time Wonwoo’s mentioned anything positive about the place he lived in for five years. Even now, there’s a lingering thread of sadness in his voice, an unfocused look to his gaze. It reminds Mingyu of that time on the bus, Wonwoo drifting away, untethered.

Mingyu knows the feeling. Before Wonwoo can get further away, too far for him to reach, he clears his throat and says, “I still have the scar, you know.”

Wonwoo turns to look at him, the cloudiness in his eyes clearing up a little. “What?”

“From fifth grade.” Mingyu reaches his arm out into the space between their swings, palm exposed. The scar is faint, but it’s unmistakably there, standing out against the creases in his skin. “See?”

“Really?” Wonwoo laughs, delighted, and reaches out to take Mingyu’s hand in his. “Wow,” he murmurs, tracing the scar with a finger. When he looks back up, his eyes are bright, warm with an emotion Mingyu can’t name. “I can’t believe you still have it.”

“I guess some things don’t change,” Mingyu says. Wonwoo's smile shifts a little, smaller and quieter and more intimate. 

“I guess so,” he says softly. 

Silence settles, peaceful, around them. Mingyu gets the feeling that they’re talking about more than just the scar on his hand. He thinks he could just stay here forever, his hand in Wonwoo’s, rocking back and forth on a swing that’s way too low to the ground for him.

Like some kind of celestial practical joke, Wonwoo’s phone chooses that moment to buzz with a notification. Wonwoo lets go of Mingyu’s hand, fishes his phone out of his pocket, and turns it on. The screen is blindingly bright, reflecting off of Wonwoo’s glasses as he reads the text and winces.

“Sorry,” he says, pocketing his phone again. “My parents are asking me to come home.”

Mingyu blinks. “Oh,” he says. “Right.” He doesn’t know how to tell Wonwoo that he feels like no time has passed at all. He stands up and stretches out his legs, sees Wonwoo do the same in his peripheral vision. More out of habit than anything, he checks his own phone.

Something curdles in the pit of his stomach. No new notifications. It’s late, far later than he’s ever stayed out before, and his mom didn’t even text him to make sure he was still alive.

He doesn’t want to go back home. He doesn’t want to be trapped there with his mom, his anger filling up the house and making it feel suffocatingly small, doesn’t want to be reminded of you’re being unreasonable every time the floorboards outside his bedroom creak. He doesn’t want to sit there and be surrounded by proof that everything he’s worked so hard for was a lie.

“Mingyu?” Wonwoo is standing in front of him, frowning. The distress must be evident on his face, because Wonwoo takes one glance at him and says, “oh.”

“I don’t want to go back there,” Mingyu whispers.

“Okay,” Wonwoo says, stepping closer. “Okay,” he repeats, and then he’s wrapping his arms around Mingyu’s shoulders and pulling him into a hug. 

He’s warm, as usual, and smells like loose leaf tea, as usual. He rubs circles into Mingyu’s back; Mingyu buries his face into his shoulder and breathes.

“You can stay at my house,” Wonwoo says. “If you want.”

Mingyu shakes his head. As distant and cold as his mom feels, as empty and hollow as his house is, he knows not returning will only make things worse. “Can’t,” he mumbles. “I have to- I have to go.”

“Okay.” They stay there for a few more minutes, and then Wonwoo pulls away slowly, his hands coming to rest on Mingyu’s wrists. “Want me to walk you back?”

Mingyu shakes his head again. “It’s okay,” he says. “It’s late. You should go home.”

“My parents will understand,” Wonwoo says firmly, his eyes searching Mingyu’s face. “Are you sure?”

Mingyu swallows. “Yeah. I’ll see you on Monday.”

Wonwoo searches his face for a second longer before nodding, taking another step back and letting his hands fall to his sides. Mingyu feels like he could drift away, without the weight of Wonwoo’s hands to tether him down. “Text me when you get home, okay? And you can always call me, if you need to talk.”

The look on Wonwoo’s face is so sincere that Mingyu almost tears up. “Okay,” he says, unsure how to put his gratitude into words. “I- okay. Thank you.”

Wonwoo shakes his head. “You don’t need to thank me. I’ll talk to you later?”

“Yeah.” Mingyu watches Wonwoo take another step away from him and thinks, irrationally, don’t go . “Talk to you later.”

With a smile and a quiet “good night, Mingyu,” Wonwoo’s gone. Mingyu stands there for a few moments longer, soaking in the tranquility of the night, waiting until Wonwoo’s back retreats into the darkness. Then he turns and heads home.

--

The door is unlocked, the same way he left it. He opens it to a dark, silent house, the echoes of his movements gathering in the corners. 

He takes off his shoes and hangs up his coat and, despite how little he wants to go back there, heads to the kitchen. The light, when he turns it on, stings his eyes. The island is empty, and the sink is clear of dishes. 

He opens the fridge. Sure enough, the leftovers are there, tucked neatly into a glass container. The sight of it makes him sick. He grabs a container of yogurt instead and closes the fridge.

He eats the yogurt, alone in his kitchen at night, quickly enough that he doesn’t have time to process how awfully lonely it feels. His phone buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out.

 

from: wonu~

did you get home okay?

 

to: wonu~

yeah

thanks :)

 

He turns off his phone before Wonwoo can reply, a wave of exhaustion passing over him, settling deep into his bones. He just wants to go to bed and turn his brain off and stop feeling anything at all for a while. 

So he does, throwing out the empty yogurt container and rinsing his spoon in the sink before making his way upstairs, pointedly not looking in the direction of his mom’s room when he makes it to the landing. The lights are all off here, too. He’s so tired.

Muscle memory propels him through the rest of the night, gets him to wash up and change his clothes and make sure his laptop is turned off. It feels like simultaneously a second and an eternity before he’s able to lie down in his bed, staring up at his ceiling in the dark, a faint headache pulsing at his temples.

Before, even the smallest sign of unhappiness with his mom would’ve been enough to keep him up all night. It’s a testament, then, to how much has changed, when he falls asleep almost instantly.

Notes:

>:)

Chapter Text

He wakes up to the sound of his phone vibrating itself off his nightstand. He picks it up and squints at the screen, his eyes dry and foggy with sleep. It’s Minghao.

He accepts the call, putting it on speaker so he can lie back down and mumble, “what’s up?”

"Do you want to come over today?” Minghao asks, a careful edge to his voice. 

The way Minghao says it gives Mingyu pause. As his head clears, he remembers exactly what happened last night - the dinner, the fight, Wonwoo. The sudden invitation feels a lot like an opportunity for him to get out of the house. He clears his throat. “Do- do you know? Did…”

Minghao sighs. “You didn’t text us at all last night, so I figured something went wrong. Why, did something else happen?”

Mingyu shakes his head, even though he knows Minghao can’t see him. For some reason, he wants to keep that moment at the playground with Wonwoo to himself, tucked away safely in the space next to his heart. “No, she- you’re right,” he manages. “Something went wrong. She didn’t… she didn’t approve.”

He doesn’t elaborate further, but he knows Minghao understands. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Mingyu shifts to sit at the edge of his bed, resting the soles of his feet against the cool floor. He figures he’ll have to talk about it eventually - Minghao and Seokmin, the two people who have stuck by his side through all of this, deserve at least that much. But right now he’s just tired, in a way that has nothing to do with how much sleep he got last night. “Not really,” he admits. “I- Can I come over?”

“Obviously, that’s why I asked,” Minghao snorts, but there’s no heat to his words. “Come over whenever you want, my parents already said it was okay.”

“Right.” Mingyu swallows the lump in his throat. He never asked his mom beforehand whether he could go somewhere; he just made plans and texted her to let her know. He used to chalk it up to a sign of her trust in him. Now, he wonders if it’s because she couldn’t be bothered to care. “See you in a bit.”

They say their goodbyes and hang up. It takes less than fifteen minutes for Mingyu to wash up, get dressed, and get his things, and only ten minutes for him to inhale an apple and a bowl of cereal. It’s a meagre breakfast, but Mrs. Xu will probably want to feed him later, anyway.

Each time he thinks about Minghao’s parents, he can’t help but compare them to his own, seeing with new eyes just how his mom falls short. He’s not sure how much of that is his own fault. He doesn’t think he wants to know.

Less than half an hour later, he’s at his front door, pulling his shoes on. At the last second, he pulls his phone out and texts his mom to let him know where he’s going. It’s mid-morning, already - she’s probably already up, already eaten breakfast, already set up in her office. Without saying a single word to him. 

A cold kind of anger burns, simmering, under his skin. He leaves, for the second time in two days.

--

He spends the entire day in Minghao’s bedroom, alternating between studying on the floor and sitting on the bed talking. He knows Minghao wants to ask what’s going on, can feel it in the way his eyes linger on his face during pauses in the conversation. But Minghao is a good friend and an even better person, so he doesn’t bring it up, filling up the silence instead with talk about a new trick Soonyoung’s forcing him to master for the showcase.

“I can’t imagine Soonyoung forcing anyone to do anything,” Mingyu says. He’s on the floor in front of Minghao’s bed, leaning back against the wooden frame; Minghao is sprawled on the bed, one hand absently carding through Mingyu’s hair. Mingyu’s Econ textbook lies open, abandoned, to the side. 

Minghao snorts. “That’s because you only see the fun side of him. That boy can be scary when he wants to be.”

Mingyu kind of wants to point out that the same can be said of Minghao. “Now that I think about it, he does get really intense over these things,” he says. “Apparently he once told Chan he was doing a dance wrong because his arms were at forty-seven degrees instead of forty-five.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” Minghao says. “I can’t really blame him, though. I mean, to me it’s just a hobby that I kind of care about, but to him it’s his entire livelihood.”

Mingyu hears the word ‘hobby’ and winces despite himself. “Yeah,” he manages. He remembers the way Soonyoung’s smile dimmed, that day after their Calc final, the way he said it’s the only way my parents will let me go to an arts school. “I get that.”

Minghao hums, and spares him by changing the subject to what they’re going to do over the spring break. Despite his best attempts at relaxing, Mingyu’s shoulders remain tense for a long time after that.

--

He eats dinner with Minghao and his parents, making easy conversation with Mrs. Xu until the sky outside is dark. She makes him promise to visit again sometime, and then sends him home with a container full of leftovers.

Minghao offers to walk home with him, an offer he declines. He doesn’t want Minghao to see the growing apprehension on his face as they approach his house, to glimpse just how cold it is in his home. Especially not now, after having spent so much time in the Xu household, warm and peaceful and loving. So he walks home alone, clutching a large Tupperware full of home-cooked food between cold fingers. 

He unlocks the door and steps into a patch of light. The blinds are closed, but the light over the entrance is turned on. 

His chest is tight. He doesn’t know why. He puts the leftovers in the fridge, and sees that his mom’s finished the japchae from last night. The sink is clear, too. Standing in the kitchen still hurts, raw and fresh; he goes upstairs as quickly as he can, and heads straight to his room.

He’s at his desk, halfway through a problem set for Data, when his phone buzzes with a text.

 

from: seokseok <3

mingyu!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

are u ok?????????????? DDDD:

 

to: seokseok <3

im ok, thanks for checking in :)

did minghao say smth to u?

 

from: seokseok <3

who do u think i am >:(

ofc i figured it out on my own

...after minghao mentioned it to me

 

to: seokseok <3

lol

dwbi

 

from: seokseok <3

ok i will Respect Your Boundaries but also i am here to talk if u need

 

to: seokseok <3

i know

thanks :)

 

from: seokseok <3

if u thank me again im gonna tell minghao and hes gonna beat u up

 

to: seokseok <3

D:

 

from: seokseok <3

no!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! im joking

wanna get coffee on monday?

 

to: seokseok <3

:D

 

He’s thinking about what to say next, wondering if he should ask whether Wonwoo said anything about what happened last night, when he gets another text, from Seungkwan this time.

 

from: kwannie <3

mangyu

we’re hanging out tomorrow

at my house

u don’t get in a say in this

 

to: kwannie <3

damn ok

when

 

from: kwannie <3

like 11?

 

to: kwannie <3

thats chill

see u then :)

 

He turns off his phone, his heart feeling a little lighter, his house a little less suffocating. He’ll survive this. He’ll be happy with his friends and spend as little time at home as physically possible and then he’ll graduate and go to culinary school, regardless of whether his mom ever comes out of her room to talk to him. He’ll be okay. He’ll be okay. He’ll be okay.

He repeats this to himself until it sounds like it could be true, and goes back to his problem set.

--

The next day, Mingyu wakes up to an empty house again, and takes the bus to Seungkwan’s place. Seungkwan’s mom is out on an appointment but his sisters are home, cooing over Mingyu the second he steps in the door, only retreating when Seungkwan accuses them of “stealing my friend, come on guys, really?”. Mingyu keeps the promise he made during Seungkwan’s birthday party and cooks lunch for the four of them, rolls of kimbap and a giant pot of kimchi stew. 

Seungkwan’s kitchen is warmer, cozier than his own. Mingyu pretends it’s because of all the natural light filtering in and not because Seungkwan and his family are nearby, chatting loudly while they keep him company. 

They eat lunch in front of the TV, where they’re playing Goblin reruns. Mingyu winds up squeezed between Seungkwan’s sisters, Seungkwan’s feet in his lap; it’s a miracle nothing spills. They laugh, and talk over the episode, and tease Seungkwan when he tears up at a particularly dramatic scene. The house is full of sunlight, and just for a while, Mingyu lets himself think that he could have a home like this, surrounded by people who love him.

--

He doesn’t see his mom at all for the rest of the week, only catching glimpses of her existence in the sound of water running, the read receipts on his texts, the shoes on the shoe rack. He makes and eats dinner early so he’s already in his room by the time she comes home, and waits until he’s sure she’s done washing up before entering the bathroom. He spends the rest of his time doing homework, texting his friends when the silence in the house gets oppressively lonely. 

His mom makes no move to reconcile, to the point where he thinks she’s actively started avoiding him as well. Maybe she’s grateful that she no longer has to acknowledge his existence. Maybe this is all convenient to her.

He realizes, sometime on Wednesday afternoon, that aside from the slight shift in his daily routine, not much else about his home life has changed. The thought is unbelievably depressing. How long has he been alone here?

He pushes down the hurt that rises, and tells himself he’s angry instead. Lets himself soak in the anger, all while the empty space in the house grows and grows. 

--

On Friday, Chan drops by his and Minghao’s locker to tell them he won’t be going to business club meetings anymore. “It was nice suffering with you,” he says solemnly, “but I’m going to go hang out with Vernon now. I’ll see you in class, Mingyu.”

Mingyu laughs and swallows Chan in a hug. Despite his terrifying amounts of lower body strength, Chan is significantly shorter, so it’s easy to squeeze him tight until he starts complaining about Mingyu crushing his skull.

Mingyu lets go and smiles at him brightly. “I’ll see you in class, Chan.”

“Ugh, yeah,” Chan says, rubbing the back of his head. “See you, Minghao.”

Minghao waves at him as he walks away, and then turns to address Mingyu. “I’m going to go hang out with Junhui,” he announces. “After all,” and his eyes narrow into a glare that has Mingyu backing away out of self defense, “I need to make up for all the time I wasted in business club.”

“Yeah, but you love me, right?” Mingyu tries.

“I won’t soon,” Minghao says, which is the most terrifying thing anyone has ever said to him. “See you later, Seokmin.”

“Yup! See you!” Seokmin says cheerfully. With another glare in Mingyu’s direction, Minghao takes his leave, too. 

“This is unfair treatment,” Mingyu complains. “Why do I get all of the death threats?”

Seokmin laughs, reaching up to pat the top of Mingyu’s head affectionately. “I’m sure he didn’t mean it,” he says. “At least, I think he didn’t mean it. Er. I hope he didn’t mean it?”

Mingyu shakes his head forlornly. “If I disappear under mysterious circumstances, you know who to suspect.”

“I’ll avenge your death,” Seokmin promises. “Anyways, I have to go. I have musical rehearsals.”

Mingyu’s eyes widen. He latches onto Seokmin’s arm. “No, wait, you can’t leave me too! What am I going to do, sit here alone?”

“I mean, you could come to rehearsal with me,” Seokmin offers. “The director doesn’t mind. A lot of people just sit around and do homework.”

So it’s either sit here and do homework alone, or sit in the auditorium and do homework while fellow students run around onstage. There’s no contest, really.

--

When he walks into the auditorium, he’s hit by a wave of noise and activity. He realizes that he’s never seen any kind of large-scale rehearsal before; it’s something like organized chaos, people running back and forth, voices ringing through the speakers mounted on the walls. There are dancers doing warmups in a circle in the corner of the auditorium, sound and lights people testing out different kinds of stage lighting, set artists painting what looks like a forest backdrop on stage.

It’s all a little overwhelming, but Seokmin seems completely at ease, greeting someone who rushes past them. “I have to go warm up,” he says, sounding genuinely apologetic. He points at the rows of seats at the back of the auditorium, sparsely populated by students. “You can find a spot over there. I’ll come over whenever I can.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Mingyu says. “Go have fun.”

Seokmin grins and gives him a quick hug before running off, waving at people as he passes by. It’s heartwarming, seeing him so at home in a school he’s only been attending for a few months. Mingyu smiles to himself and goes to find a seat.

--

They haven’t started rehearsing with mics yet, so it’s fairly quiet as Mingyu works on an assignment for Women’s Studies, his laptop balanced on his lap. Seungkwan, Soonyoung, and Jihoon are here, too; he waves at each of them when he gets the chance, but is alone for the most part.

He’s plugging his headphones into his laptop when a shadow falls over him, and a familiar voice says, “I didn’t expect you to be here.”

Mingyu looks up as Wonwoo drops into the seat next to him. “All my other friends are busy, so Seokmin took pity on me and brought me here,” he explains. “What are you doing here?”

Wonwoo shrugs, pulling his books out of his bag. “Junhui ditched me for Minghao, so Soonyoung took pity on me and brought me here. Also, the library’s busy today.”

Mingyu grins. “Of course your backup plan is the library, you nerd."

Wonwoo huffs out a laugh and nudges his shoulder. “Shut up. Don’t you usually have business club on Fridays?”

“I quit,” Mingyu says. Onstage, Soonyoung yells something about being a tiger, and Seungkwan delivers a flying kick to his side. He thinks he can hear Jihoon cackling in the distance. “It was boring as hell, and I didn’t really care about what they were teaching, so.”

Wonwoo hums. Mingyu turns to face him. He’s smiling, quiet and genuine. “I’m proud of you.”

Mingyu blinks, confused. “For what? Quitting?”

Wonwoo shakes his head, maintaining eye contact. “For doing something that you wanted to do.”

Mingyu gets the distinct feeling Wonwoo’s talking about much more than just the business club. “Yeah,” he manages, looking down at the stage, where the actors are taking their positions. “I guess.”

Wonwoo doesn’t push the subject further. As they watch, the rehearsal starts, the instrumental track ringing across the auditorium. Mingyu’s heard Seokmin rehearse his part countless times before, during lunch and on the trips to and from school, but it’s different, here. Here, it’s like watching a well-oiled machine at work, consisting entirely of people who love and are good at what they’re doing.

It’s incredible, obviously. Seokmin, Seungkwan, and Jihoon belt their hearts out, and Soonyoung leads a dance break. It’s clear, just by watching them, that this is what they want to commit to for the rest of their lives. Mingyu thinks about last Thursday, that single moment of clarity in the Home Ec classroom, and thinks he knows how it feels.

--

Spring break rolls around, bringing moderately warmer weather in tow. Mingyu fills the days with plans to hang out with Minghao and Seokmin, plans to read ahead for school, and plans to finally master that croissant recipe even if it means eating butter pastry for a week straight. He packs his schedule full enough that he won’t have time to really sit still; if he’s always moving around, he reasons, the stifling loneliness can’t get to him. 

And it’s working so far, on the first Saturday of the break. Mingyu goes for a run early in the morning, eats breakfast, does homework, Facetimes Chan, makes and eats lunch, starts his first batch of croissants, and makes dinner all with no problems.

It’s only when he’s sitting down to eat dinner alone, eyes on his phone, that his plans start crumbling.

The stairs creak. Mingyu’s head snaps up. An unidentifiable feeling festers in the hollow of his ribcage as he watches his mom come downstairs, enter the kitchen, and grab a bowl for herself. 

He tries to ignore her, redirecting his gaze to his phone, but he finds himself glancing at her from time to time anyway. He hasn’t seen her in weeks. She looks exactly the same as she did the last time he saw her. 

She sits across from him, as she usually does, and they eat together in silence. It’s oppressively tense. Mingyu’s glad he has his phone, because he can occupy himself with pretending to scroll through his Instagram feed, eyes barely glancing over selfies and travel pics and food blog updates.

He’s just finished eating when his mom clears her throat. His shoulders tense so suddenly that it almost hurts, the tension travelling down his spine and digging itself into his skin as she says, perfectly cool and calm, “the food is good, Mingyu. Thank you.”

His first instinct is to laugh incredulously. Is she really going to pay attention to his cooking now ? After years of eating whatever he made and not saying anything about it? More than that, is she really going to act like they’re some kind of normal, happy family?

He blinks, hard. In the backs of his eyelids, he sees Seungkwan’s kitchen, Seungkwan and his sisters keeping him company while he cooks, sneakily eating handfuls of dried seaweed and imitation crab behind his back. He felt warmth in that kitchen. In this kitchen, in what’s supposed to be his home, he just feels cold.

“I know,” he snaps. He was doing so well today, too - he was laughing with Chan and getting really far in his self-assigned reading and he saw ducklings, on his run in the morning, trailing happily behind their mom. And now he feels like this. He stands up and puts his bowl in the sink and leaves, up the stairs and to his room. His mom doesn’t call after him. The backs of his eyes burn.

He makes it to his room and immediately collapses onto the floor in front of his bed, feeling all the strength in his legs give out as he buries his face in his hands. His first instinct is to leave, like he did on the night of the argument. But his mom is still downstairs, so he won’t be able to reach the front door without seeing her, which he really doesn’t want to do right now. 

He wants to get out, though. He wants to go somewhere far away and forget about the house he’s in. He drops his hands away from his face and reaches into his pocket for his phone, wondering if there’s anyone he can call, just to get his mind off things.

As he does, something across from him, propped up against his desk, catches his eye. Pastel pink. What did Wonwoo say that night? You can always call me, if you need to talk. Did he mean it, or was that just him being nice?

Mingyu’s willing to take the risk. He opens up his contacts list, scrolls down to ‘W’, and taps the call option before he can second-guess himself. He lifts his phone up to his ear and listens to it ring, leaning back against his bed.

“Hello?”

Mingyu closes his eyes. He forgot how soothing Wonwoo’s voice can be, smoothing out his frayed nerves. “Hey,” he says. “Are you busy right now?”

“Not really.” There’s a rustling sound in the background, and then Wonwoo asks, “is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Mingyu says. What is he supposed to say? My relationship with my mom is crumbling, can you distract me? “Just wanted to talk,” he says instead. “But if you’re busy, it’s okay.”

Wonwoo laughs quietly. “I already told you I’m not busy,” he says. “And I said you could call me whenever you want.”

“Yeah.” Mingyu thinks about the way Wonwoo looked at him, that night in the playground, the press of Wonwoo’s thumbs against the backs of his hands. “I just-” I’m just so lonely here , he wants to say, but he doesn’t. If he puts it into words, it becomes real. “Never mind. It’s nothing.”

Wonwoo hums. Mingyu thinks he knows what’s going on but is choosing not to say it. “You know,” he says, “I was lying, that night at the playground. I wasn’t going on a walk.”

Mingyu opens his eyes at the revelation. The festering in his ribcage recedes just a little bit, cockroaches recoiling from the sudden light. He smiles as he says, “I knew it.”

There’s a pause. “You did?”

“Yeah.” The frame of his bed is starting to dig into his back, so he climbs into bed, burying his face in his pillow. “I mean, you hate the cold. Why would you willingly go outside on a February night?”

Wonwoo laughs. “You make me seem like a hermit,” he accuses. “I go outside sometimes. I went outside to get the mail earlier today.”

“Wow,” Mingyu says. “How was that experience for you?”

“Terrible,” Wonwoo admits. “Almost stepped in a puddle. And it’s still cold as shit outside.”

Mingyu smiles to himself, fiddling with a frayed thread on his pillowcase. “It’s getting warmer, though. I’m excited for spring to come.”

There’s a shift, and then a squeak of bedsprings. Mingyu can picture Wonwoo sitting cross-legged on his bed, his back hunched over as he presses his phone to his ear. Now that he thinks about it, he’s never actually been in Wonwoo’s room. “You like spring? I always thought you were a summer person.”

Mingyu’s smile widens. “Aw, is it because I’m hot? I’m flattered.”

Wonwoo scoffs. “No, because you’re uncomfortably loud and humid.”

“Ugh, rude,” Mingyu pouts. “I’m gonna pretend you didn’t say that. Anyway, spring’s my favorite season. I like seeing the flowers, and it’s always a nice temperature outside. Now let me guess yours.” He doesn’t even need to think about it. “Autumn.”

There’s a pause. “Lucky guess,” Wonwoo says. 

Mingyu laughs. “No, it’s just really easy to tell. You have that kind of vibe.” Wonwoo reminds him of spiced lattes, reading books on a bench underneath a tree with red leaves. He can almost see it, too, if he closes his eyes - the smell of the leaves on the ground, thin fingers on the cracked leather spine of a well-worn classic. Something about the whole image is unbearably romantic.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Wonwoo says. 

It takes Mingyu a second to make sure he didn’t accidentally say all of that stuff out loud. “You should. Anyway, if you weren’t on a walk, what were you doing?”

“Ah.” If Mingyu didn’t know better, he would think Wonwoo sounds embarrassed as he says, “I went to your house and you weren’t home, so I walked around for a bit. Honestly,” he laughs, “I was about to give up when I found you.”

Mingyu swallows. Romantic , his brain shouts at him. That explains why Wonwoo looked like he’d been out in the cold for a while - he was looking for Mingyu. He was looking for Mingyu . The tips of Mingyu’s ears burn. “Why did you come to my house?”

If Wonwoo didn’t sound embarrassed before, he definitely does now. “You seemed kind of… off, earlier,” he says awkwardly. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Something warm bursts in Mingyu's chest, running all the way down to his fingertips, washing out all the loneliness and anger and fear from before. He feels like he could melt into the ground and be swept away into the ocean. 

Wonwoo went to his house to check up on him. Wonwoo, who hates the cold, looked for him on a February evening. And Wonwoo found him.

“Mingyu?” Wonwoo sounds uncertain. Mingyu wishes he could run all the way to his house and hug him and never let go. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Mingyu says, exhaling. He’s grinning like an idiot, but he can’t help it. “You’re really sweet, you know that?”

Wonwoo makes a sound like he’s choking on air. “What?”

“You’re sweet,” Mingyu repeats. “Like, on the outside you look super scary and brooding and like you hate everyone or whatever, but you’re actually really soft. It’s cute.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Wonwoo says, sounding strangled. 

“See!” he says. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about.” He gasps. “You’re like a perfect chocolate chip cookie! Crunchy on the outside and soft on the inside!”

“I don’t know if I like being described as ‘crunchy’,” Wonwoo says. Someone’s voice, in the distance, drifts through the phone. “Sorry, I have to go. It’s dinner time.”

Mingyu laughs. “Are you just using that as an excuse to escape?”

“I will neither confirm nor deny," Wonwoo says firmly. "I’ll call you back later?”

All of a sudden, Mingyu realizes that he hasn’t thought about his mom since Wonwoo picked up the phone. Which makes sense, if he thinks about it - talking to Wonwoo like this, as easy as breathing, has never failed to put him in a good mood. He smiles, even though Wonwoo can’t see him. “Is that a promise?”

Wonwoo laughs, sounding startled. “Yeah,” he says, his voice warm. “It is.”

--

Wonwoo calls back sooner than anticipated. Mingyu's in the middle of watching a cute dog video when his phone buzzes, startling him so hard he drops his phone onto the floor, so he has to frantically reach over the edge of his bed and pick it up before the call is directed to voicemail. 

“Hey,” he greets in a rush. “That was fast.”

There’s the sound of bowls being put away in the background, the running of a tap. “Sorry, did I catch you at a bad time?”

“No, you just surprised me.” Mingyu rolls over onto his back, his phone loosely tucked between his shoulder and his ear. The lamp on his nightstand floods his ceiling with warm light. “How was dinner?”

“Good. My mom made tofu stew.” Someone who sounds a lot like Seokmin shouts in the distance. Wonwoo shouts something back, muffled. “Seokmin says hi, by the way.”

Mingyu laughs. “Tell him I said hi back.” He waits for Wonwoo to relay the message, and then says, “I miss your mom’s tofu stew. I haven’t had it in forever.” 

“You’re always welcome to come over for dinner," Wonwoo says. “My mom loves you, I’m pretty sure she’d cook you anything you want.”

Wonwoo and Seokmin’s mom isn’t as friendly as Minghao’s, or as aggressively motherly as Seungkwan’s, but she has an easy kindness to her. It’s very easy to see where Seokmin got a lot of his personality from. “No, I’d feel bad,” Mingyu says. “I haven’t even cooked anything for her.”

Wonwoo laughs. “What is this, some kind of cooking bartering system?”

Mingyu gasps dramatically. “Oh no, you figured it out. If only you hadn’t said that - I have to kill you now.”

“Is this the bad ending?” Wonwoo jokes. “Can I start from the beginning and choose a different option?”

“Ugh, of course you would bring video games into this, you nerd,” Mingyu says. “Have you played any good games lately?”

“I have,” Wonwoo says, the excitement palpable in his voice. Without warning, he launches into a detailed, gushing review about the last game he played, something about a guy in a forest and wildfires. It involves jargon about gameplay mechanics and graphics and storytelling that Mingyu doesn’t quite understand, but it’s the most animated he’s heard Wonwoo speak in a while, which is enough to keep him interested. He closes his eyes and lets Wonwoo’s voice wash over him, picturing Wonwoo hunched in front of his computer at night, eyes wide with wonder as he takes in the screen in front of him

After a solid ten minutes, Wonwoo abruptly cuts himself off in the middle of a deep dive into the psychological implications of the main character’s actions. “Sorry,” he says, sounding embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to bore you.”

Mingyu shakes his head reflexively. “You didn’t bore me,” he says. “I like hearing you talk about stuff you’re interested in.”

There’s a brief moment of silence, and then Wonwoo asks, hesitant, “you do?”

“Of course. I mean,” he laughs, “I understood about half of what you were saying, but the stuff you say is interesting. Your thoughts are interesting.”

“I thought I was a nerd,” Wonwoo points out. There’s a strange tension to his voice, like he wanted to say something else entirely, but caught it just as it was leaving his mouth. 

“No, you’re still a nerd,” Mingyu says. “But you’re, like, a cool nerd.”

“That’s contradictory,” Wonwoo says.

Mingyu grins. “Your face is contradictory.”

“How dare you,” Wonwoo says in mock offense. “I’m very handsome.”

Mingyu giggles, shifting his phone to his other ear. “Hey, you’re not allowed to be vain, that’s my thing. Find your own thing.”

Wonwoo asks, passive, “are you saying I’m not handsome?”

Mingyu opens his mouth to retort and then closes it again, feeling distinctly like he’s been backed into a corner. Wonwoo must be able to tell, judging from the muffled laughter on the other end of the line. “Ugh, shut up,” Mingyu groans, covering his face with his hand. His face is burning. Wonwoo continues to laugh. “No, shut up, I hate you. You’re the worst.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Wonwoo says, amused.

“I could hear you think it,” Mingyu accuses. “Like, ‘ohoho, I’m Jeon Wonwoo, I’m so smart, I quote Edgar Allan Poe in my spare time’,” he imitates, lowering his voice as much as he can. Somehow, he doesn’t even come close to Wonwoo’s normal speaking voice. He doesn’t know how to feel about that.

“I quoted him one time ,” Wonwoo argues, “and you called me an emo kid for the next hour .”

Mingyu smiles to himself at the memory, well aware that he probably looks like an idiot, grinning up at his ceiling at night. “You were an emo kid, though,” he says. “Remember the hairstyle you had in sixth grade? I couldn’t see your left eye for a whole year.”

Wonwoo groans. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget,” he laments. “You know there’s a framed photo of me with that hair on the mantelpiece? I’ve been trying for three years to get rid of it.”

Mingyu gasps. “Seriously? That’s amazing. Can I see it?”

Absolutely not ,” Wonwoo says firmly. “I’m going to destroy it someday. I’m thinking I’ll set it on fire in my backyard.”

“That’s very dramatic,” Mingyu points out. 

“It’s necessary,” Wonwoo insists.

From there, their conversation meanders between topics. Wonwoo talks about his video game some more, Mingyu complains about the intricacies of baking croissants, and they argue about whether a hot dog is a sandwich for a solid five minutes. (Mingyu admits defeat once Wonwoo starts talking about the etymology of the word ‘sandwich’.) At some point, they lapse into silence; Mingyu scrolls aimlessly on his phone, and Wonwoo types away at his keyboard in the background. 

Mingyu leaves half an hour later, to wash up and get ready for bed. After he comes back, the conversation begins anew. Wonwoo’s voice is soothing, the way it rises and falls, the careful and deliberate way he speaks. Mingyu turns off his lamp, closes his eyes, and feels sleep pull at him. It’s nearly midnight.

He waits until Wonwoo’s finished speaking before mumbling, half his face buried in his pillow, “can I ask you something?”

He can hear Wonwoo’s hesitation in the silence. “Yeah, of course.”

His brain feels fuzzy at the edges, all his thoughts melting into one incoherent puddle. “Will you get mad at me if I fall asleep?”

Wonwoo chuckles, fond. The sound fills Mingyu’s ears like honey. “We can hang up now, if you want.”

“No,” Mingyu says immediately. “I like the sound of your voice. ‘S nice. Makes me feel… warm.”

Wonwoo chuckles again. It makes Mingyu smile absently, curling his fingers underneath his pillow. His phone is now propped against the side of his head, haphazard; he finds his arms are too heavy to move, so he leaves it be. “Do you want me to keep talking?”

Mingyu turns his head to the other side, facing his phone. “Can you?”

“Of course. Just give me a second.” There’s some shifting from the other end of the call, a crackle of plastic. “Have you ever read The Little Prince?”

“I can’t read, remember?” Mingyu jokes. And then, softer, “will I like it?”

Wonwoo’s voice is gentle as he says, “I think you will. It’s one of my favorites.”

There’s a pleasant buzzing underneath the surface of Mingyu’s skin. “Okay,” he says, half-conscious. “Tell me about this prince.”

Wonwoo laughs. There’s a sound of paper against paper, and then, like a gentle tide against warm sand, he reads: “Once when I was six years old I saw a magnificent picture…”

--

Mingyu wakes up the next morning with his phone lodged uncomfortably underneath his shoulder. He digs it out to check the time and is greeted by a text from Wonwoo, the timestamp sometime between midnight and one in the morning. 

 

from: wonu~

sleep well, mingyu.

 

He smiles at his phone like an idiot, types out a reply, and climbs out of bed.

Chapter 21

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

The day passes much like the one before it - he runs, he studies, he cooks, he talks to his friends. In the evening, he makes dinner, sits alone at the kitchen island with his phone in hand, and waits, ignoring the dread creeping steadily up his spine. 

Fifteen minutes later, and his mom still hasn’t come downstairs. Yesterday was a one-time thing, then.

He loses his appetite so quickly it makes him nauseous. So this is how it ends; this is what their relationship sums up to. They’ll spend the next year and a half as strangers living in the same house, and then Mingyu will move out, and then his mom will cut him off entirely because he’s pursuing a fruitless hobby. All those years of trying and holding on and hoping, all for this.

He eats as quickly as he can, avoiding the empty space around him by keeping his eyes on his phone, and then he goes out for his second run of the day. He doesn’t stop this time, just runs and runs and runs until all he feels is the burning in his lungs.

--

Later that night, freshly out of the shower and in his bed, Mingyu pulls up a pdf copy of The Little Prince. He tries his best, but there’s a reason he doesn’t read - two pages in, his brain is already getting tired and fidgety, his eyes skimming over the words. He puts his phone down and gets ready to go to sleep, resolving to just ask Wonwoo to read him the rest later.

--

“Yeah, of course I can,” Wonwoo says. “So you liked it, then?”

They’re sitting side-by-side on the couch in Wonwoo’s house; next to them, Minghao pummels Seokmin in Super Smash Bros, to Seokmin’s very vocal protests. “I did,” he confirms. “I even tried to read it last night.” He pouts. “I only got, like, two pages in though.”

Wonwoo laughs. “Well, your effort is duly noted,” he says. “I’ll read it to you whenever you want.”

“Great! I’m looking forward to it.” Mingyu shifts, distinctly aware of how warm his face is becoming. “And, uh, thanks. For picking up my call. I know it was out of the blue, and we talked for a really long time, and you had to like, read me to sleep-”

“Mingyu,” Wonwoo interrupts, an amused smile playing on the corners of his mouth. Mingyu snaps his mouth shut. “I meant it, when I said you could talk to me whenever. And I had fun.”

Mingyu sighs in relief. “Okay,” he says. “I had fun, too. Hey,” he realizes, sitting upright and looking around the room, “speaking of which, where’s that framed photo-”

“I hid it in my room,” Wonwoo says firmly, pushing Mingyu back down. “You’re never going to see it.”

“I’ll find it eventually,” Mingyu threatens. “Watch out, I’ll woo you with my irresistible charm and sexy face so you let me into your room, and then I will find it and take so many pictures of it -”

“And then I will kill you,” Wonwoo intones. “Also, I don’t know about ‘irresistible charm’. Remember ‘two bees’?”

“Will you ever let me live that down?” Mingyu despairs.

Wonwoo smiles, patting his shoulder. “Never.”

Mingyu opens his mouth to say something, but he’s interrupted when a controller lands on his lap. He looks over to see Seokmin collapse against the back of the couch, a look of utter defeat on his face. On his other side, Minghao cracks his knuckles nonchalantly. “How are you so good at this,” Seokmin complains. “ How . You don’t even play video games.”

“I did martial arts for ten years,” Minghao reminds him. 

“You are so scary,” Seokmin whispers. Minghao just laughs and pats his head.

They play for a few more rounds, and then Mrs. Jeon-Lee comes home, followed a few minutes later by her husband. Dinner prep starts soon after that - Mingyu immediately volunteers to help, is flat-out rejected, and then weasels his way into helping anyway by picking up a knife and a bell pepper and looking at Mrs. Jeon-Lee with the best puppy eyes he can muster. 

He’s met with a sigh and an affectionate smile. He actively does not think about his own mom. “Okay, you’ve won me over,” she says. “Get to work before I regret letting you into my kitchen.”

“Yes, ma’am!” he says, which earns him a laugh. His friends gather around the kitchen table to keep him company, on their phones or doing their homework, occasionally looking up to tell him he looks sexy (Seokmin) or warn him not to drop anything (Minghao) or smile at him (Wonwoo). 

At the end of it, with three steaming dishes of food on the table, Mrs. Jeon-Lee pats his shoulder and says, “you’re a natural at this, Mingyu. I should get you to help me every day.”

Seokmin looks up from where he’s setting the table to pout at his mom. “Hey, am I not good enough?”

Mrs. Jeon-Lee laughs and ruffles his hair. “Don’t worry,” she says. “You’re still the best cook in my heart.”

“You have to say that, you’re my mom,” Seokmin complains, but he’s smiling anyway, the big one that turns his eyes crescent-shaped. He opens his mouth to say something else, but he’s cut off by the sound of the doorbell, ringing through the house. 

“I’ll get it,” Wonwoo says, pushing himself to his feet and making his way to the door. The conversation resumes, Seokmin pretending to pout while his mom compliments his cooking skills, but it only lasts for a brief moment before it’s interrupted again, this time by Wonwoo calling “Seokmin! Someone’s here to see you!”

Seokmin looks towards the door, unease flickering across his face. “Ooh, a visitor for me?” he says, crossing the kitchen.

Mingyu looks over at Minghao, wondering if Minghao also caught how forced Seokmin’s cheerfulness sounded, the brief darkness in his expression. Minghao looks back and shakes his head. 

Seokmin’s voice drifts over to them from the front door. Mingyu hears snippets - something about not expecting a visit this early, something about being busy - and then gets distracted by Wonwoo, making his way back into the kitchen. He looks - well, he definitely doesn’t look happy , his mouth set in a hard line. “Are you okay?” Mingyu asks him quietly.

Wonwoo sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “Yeah,” he says. “There’s just… it’s complicated.”

Before Mingyu can ask more, he hears Seokmin calling his name. “Mingyu! Minghao! Come over here!”

Mingyu exchanges another glance with Minghao, who shrugs, before making his way over to the front door. As soon as Seokmin comes into view, beckoning them over with a wide smile, Mingyu freezes.

Standing in front of Seokmin, looking distinctly like they just got off a long bus ride, two boys around his age are staring back at him. One of them is tall, almost as tall as Mingyu, with dark almond-shaped eyes and black side-parted hair. The other one is shorter and looks distinctly foreign, with big eyes and a strong jaw. Mingyu looks between the two of them, then at the way Seokmin is smiling, and immediately knows.

“Oh, I know you guys!” he says, stepping up to greet them. “Samuel and Mingming, right?”

Samuel turns to Seokmin. “So you do talk about us,” he says. “That’s sweet, Seokmin.”

Seokmin laughs. “Of course I do! This is Mingyu, and that’s Minghao.” Seokmin gestures over to Minghao, who’s standing next to Mingyu, silent. “This is Mingming and Samuel, but you guys already knew that.”

“We did,” Mingyu confirms. He smiles at the two boys, who answer him with smiles of their own. “Are you guys here on a visit?”

Samuel nods. “Yeah, we had plans with Seokmin tomorrow, but we wanted to arrive early and surprise him. Booked a hotel and everything,” his smile turns sharp, “but I guess he’s busy tonight.”

Mingyu feels the air go cold. Minghao clears his throat and says, “I’m sure he would’ve made time for you if he knew. Right, Seokmin?”

“Huh? Oh, right!” Seokmin laughs and punches Samuel in the arm playfully, the action just a little stilted. “You should’ve told me sooner, I could’ve figured something out!”

“Yeah, well,” Samuel shrugs, “I guess you’ll just have to make it up to us tomorrow. Right, Mingming?”

Heat flares in the base of Mingyu’s neck, Minghao tensing next to him. It could be a coincidence, a shared pattern of speech, but the way Samuel said it, the way he looked, almost made it sound mocking. Mingyu suddenly wants to get out of there as fast as possible.

“-Mingyu?”

“Huh?” Mingyu snaps back to the present. “Sorry, what was that?”

Mingming smiles at him patiently. “Do you play any sports, Mingyu?”

Mingyu smiles back, relieved. Mingming is actually trying to start a conversation with him, and here he is, questioning his intentions. “Yeah, I play varsity soccer.”

Samuel covers his mouth with his hand, but not before Mingyu hears him make a sound strangely close to a snicker. “Sorry,” he says, waving his free hand, “sorry. Ignore me.”

“Well!” Seokmin claps his hands, startling Mingyu. Now that he thinks about it, Seokmin has been uncharacteristically quiet throughout this entire conversation. It’s strange. Mingyu would’ve thought he’d be ecstatic to introduce his closest friends to each other. “Sorry, guys, but we have to eat dinner,” he says. His smile is stiff when Mingyu turns to face him. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow, okay? Text me when you get to your hotel.”

“Of course,” Mingming says. “Have fun.”

“See you tomorrow, Seokmin,” Samuel says as he lets Seokmin give him a hug. “It was nice meeting you, Mingyu, Minghao. We’ve heard a lot about you.”

“You’ve definitely lived up to our expectations,” Mingming says. If Mingyu looks closely, he can see plastic around the edges of his smile. “See you, Seokmin.”

Mingyu plasters a grin on his face and waves, all the way until Samuel closes the door behind him. As soon as the door clicks shut, it’s like the entire house collectively sighs in relief. 

“Sorry, Seokmin,” Mingyu says, turning. “I don’t think your friends liked me very much.”

He means it as a joke, but the humor disappears when he sees the look on Seokmin’s face, pale and taut. It takes a second longer than usual for Seokmin to smile at him. “Oh, no, they’re just shy around strangers!” he laughs. “Don’t worry about it. They’ll come around.”

“I’m sure they will,” Minghao says, in the way he does when he’s connecting several pieces of a puzzle together. “Come on, dinner’s getting cold.”

“Right!” Seokmin says, like a poor imitation of himself. “I’m so hungry I could eat Mingyu. Let’s go!”

“Uh, what?” Mingyu says, mildly afraid for his life, but he lets himself be pushed back into the kitchen anyways, storing the encounter with Samuel and Mingming away to be explored later. 

--

The encounter stays in the back of his mind as he eats dinner, busying himself with complimenting Mrs. Jeon-Lee’s cooking until she tells him to stop talking and piles more food onto his plate.  It stays there as the three of them head upstairs once dinner is over, Wonwoo waving them off with gloved hands as he starts washing the dishes, stays late into the night as they sit around Seokmin’s room, studying or watching YouTube videos. It stays until Minghao says, hurriedly, “Seokmin, are you okay? What’s wrong?”

Mingyu looks up, and his heart immediately drops. Seated on the floor, clutching his phone, there’s an unmistakable dampness to Seokmin’s face, glittering in the light from the phone screen. “Nothing,” he says, sniffling. “It’s okay.”

Mingyu moves his laptop off his lap and climbs over, pulling Seokmin into a hug. “It’s clearly nothing,” he points out.

Seokmin shakes his head, tears dripping onto the sleeve of Mingyu’s sweater. Mingyu makes eye contact with Minghao, who’s gently stroking Seokmin’s hair as he says, “Mingming and Samuel just said some stuff that made me mad, so we kind of got into a fight.”

“Oh,” Mingyu says softly. Looking into Minghao’s eyes, he knows that Minghao is thinking the same thing - that whatever ‘stuff’ they said had something to do with what happened earlier. He wants to tell Seokmin that it’s okay, he gets it, there’s no hard feelings, but he’s not sure if it’ll just make things worse. 

He must have stayed silent for too long, because Minghao takes over, turning off Seokmin’s phone and putting it aside. “Okay, let’s put this away,” he instructs. “You can talk to them tomorrow morning, when you’ve all had a chance to clear your heads. Let’s go to bed.”

Seokmin nods and slowly extracts himself from Mingyu’s arms, climbing to his feet. “I’m gonna go to the bathroom to clean up first,” he announces. “I’ll be right back.”

“Think of me,” Mingyu jokes, which earns him a small smile. He waits until the door clicks shut behind Seokmin before turning to face Minghao. “Is it just me, or did Seokmin’s friends give you bad vibes?”

Minghao sighs and shakes his head. “Not just you,” he says. “Seokmin clearly felt it too. But it’s only going to upset him more if you bring it up now. Just wait until he feels comfortable enough to tell us.”

“Okay,” is all Mingyu can really say. Still, he can’t help the worry that brews in his chest at the memory of Seokmin crying, of Mingming’s plastic smile and Samuel’s sharp one. 

The feeling lingers all the way until they go to bed, Seokmin sandwiched between the two of them, the only light coming from the red numbers on his digital alarm clock. Mingyu stares at it until his eyes burn, and then rolls over, blinking away the imprint the numbers leave on the backs of his eyelids. 

He’s met with a wide-awake Seokmin, staring up at the ceiling. Mingyu recognizes the look in his eyes - it’s the same emotion he’s felt countless nights, like his whole body is so heavy it’s a wonder he doesn’t crash through the floor into the ground below. 

Guilt pierces his chest, at the thought that he might have had a role in making Seokmin feel this way. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, quiet enough that Minghao, curled up facing the wall on Seokmin’s other side, can’t hear. 

Seokmin turns his head to face him. “For what?” he whispers back.

Mingyu shrugs as best as he can. “That you fought with your friends.” That you fought with your friends because of me , he doesn’t say. 

“Why would you be sorry about that?” Seokmin reaches over and ruffles his hair. “Don’t be. We’ll work things out in the morning. You should go to sleep.”

In the face of Seokmin's conviction, Mingyu has no choice but to relent. “You too,” he says. “Good night, Seokmin.”

Seokmin’s smile is bright even in the dark. “Good night, Mingyu.”

Mingyu smiles back and rolls back onto his other side. He closes his eyes, feels Seokmin shift next to him, and drifts off to sleep soon after.

--

Like the last time he stayed over, Mingyu wakes up at six in the morning, his body already preparing itself for his usual run. This time, it’s easier to roll off the edge of the bed and leave the room without waking anyone. 

Wonwoo is already in the kitchen when he arrives, leaning against the counter, an untouched glass of water on the countertop across from him. He looks up as Mingyu approaches and smiles. “I thought you’d come down here.”

“That’s a little creepy,” Mingyu jokes, taking his place across from Wonwoo. “Do you have my schedule memorized or something?”

Wonwoo rolls his eyes. “No, I know you wake up at six every morning to go on a run, because you text me at six every morning complaining about having to go on a run.” He nods towards the glass of water next to Mingyu’s hip. “That’s for you, by the way.”

Mingyu smiles far too wide for such an early morning, his dry lips cracking. “You’re sweet,” he says, picking up the glass and taking a giant gulp of water.

Wonwoo looks amused. “Are you going to keep saying that?”

“Of course,” Mingyu says, licking the last drops off his lips. Wonwoo’s eyes flicker, so quickly it seems almost like a trick of the light, down and then back up. “I’m going to expose you for the fraud that you are.”

“I’m not a fraud ,” Wonwoo says, exasperated. “My awkwardness just gets in the way of my real personality.” He grins. “ I contain multitudes .”

Mingyu points at him accusingly. “You can’t use my words against me, that’s illegal,” he complains. “And you’re lucky. Your awkward comes off cool and brooding. My awkward just comes off awkward.”

“Also,” Wonwoo points out, “your awkward results in a lot more broken property than mine does.”

“Really?” Mingyu complains. “Did you have to bring that up? Minghao bullies me about it enough.”

Wonwoo laughs, raising his hands in surrender. “Okay, that was a low blow, I apologize,” he admits. “And you don’t come off awkward. You mostly just come off cute.”

“I-” Mingyu’s brain short circuits. It’s way too early in the morning for this. His face feels like it’s on fire. “What? You think I’m cute?”

“I’ll talk to you later,” Wonwoo says easily, turning around and leaving the kitchen before Mingyu can get another word in edgewise. Mingyu stays rooted to the spot, trying and failing to form coherent thoughts.

--

Mingyu’s already dressed and sitting on the floor, showing Minghao his Pinterest moodboards, when Seokmin wakes up. “You guys are both insane,” he complains. “How are you awake already?”

Mingyu looks over and is instantly relieved to see that Seokmin looks relatively back to normal, his default smile already present and bright on his face. “Are you feeling better?”

Seokmin’s smile softens but doesn’t get any dimmer. “Yeah,” he says. “I’ll work things out. Don’t worry.”

Minghao makes his way over to the bed to curl an arm around Seokmin’s shoulders. “Let us know if you need to talk,” he says, leaning his head against Seokmin’s.

“Aw, you guys are the best,” Seokmin says, patting Minghao’s head. “Wanna go eat breakfast?”

Mingyu clears his throat. “Actually,” he starts, fidgeting with his fingers, “I wanted to talk to you guys about something first.”

Seokmin blinks at him, confused, while Minghao just pats the space on the bed in front of him and says, “Come here.”

Mingyu complies, climbing into the bed and positioning himself so that his head is pillowed against Seokmin’s (very comfortable) thigh. He stares at the junction between the wall and ceiling and tries to work out how to begin. 

He tells them about the argument with his mom. It's a lot easier than he thought it would be, and he finishes it up with, “and now we aren’t talking. Not that we were talking much in the first place,” he jokes humorlessly, “but now it’s on purpose, I guess. It’s fine. I’m moving out in a year and a half, anyway.”

He’s met with silence. Seokmin plays with his hair. He traces the line between the wall and the ceiling over and over again until Minghao says, slowly, “it’s okay to feel hurt about it, you know.”

Mingyu blinks, failing to understand what Minghao is trying to say. “I know,” he says. “I’m not hurt about it, though. I’m just angry.”

There’s another pause. This time, it’s Seokmin who breaks it, clapping loudly enough to startle Mingyu. “Okay!” he says. “It’s time for breakfast! Let’s all cheer up!”

“That was so loud ,” Mingyu complains, his mood lightening. Other than Minghao’s cryptic reply, he’s happy he told his friends, even if they already figured it out themselves. It’s a weight off his chest that he didn’t know was there. “My poor ears.”

“You can heal them by eating breakfast! Let’s go!” Seokmin moves to sit up, forcing Mingyu to sit up, too. They all clamber off the bed together, thundering down the stairs to the kitchen, where Seokmin forces them to make pancakes. In the well-lit kitchen filled with the smell of vanilla extract, his pajamas covered in flour, Mingyu forgets about everything for a second and just lets himself enjoy the moment. 

--

The next day, his mom joins him for dinner again. It’s as oppressively silent and awkward as the last time. Thankfully, though, she doesn’t try to compliment his cooking again or start a conversation; he doesn’t know what he would say, if she did. He’s not sure which is better - the cold that comes with the idea that his mom gave up on him, or the burning that comes with the idea that this is her attempt at repairing their relationship. That he’s going to have to eat in silence with her, at the kitchen island where they used to do homework together an eternity ago, for the next year and a half.

He doesn’t want to think about it. So he eats as quickly as possible before escaping up the stairs and into his room, trying to shake the weight off his shoulders as he goes. 

His first instinct, inexplicably, is to call Wonwoo. He almost does it, too, hovering his thumb over the contact. 

But then he remembers that Wonwoo’s probably eating dinner right now, in his warm house with his happy family that talk to him and support his decisions. Wonwoo would probably be upset, not relieved, to be pulled away from dinner. A familiar green-eyed monster claws its way up his throat. He swallows it down and tosses his phone aside. 

He can’t call Wonwoo now, not when he’s all bitter and corrosive. Instead, he goes to sit in his chair, opening up his laptop and pulling up the Econ project he’s working on with Bambam. If he’s going to distract himself from his own thoughts, he rations, he might as well be productive while doing it.

He works well into the evening. It’s past midnight by the time he turns off his laptop for the night and goes to the bathroom to wash up, his brain fried enough from Econ that he doesn’t have much room to think about his own feelings. He washes up as quickly and quietly as he can, aware of the late hour, and then heads back to his room, planning on scrolling through Pinterest for a few minutes before going to bed.

His plans are interrupted when his phone buzzes, shortly after he’s climbed under the covers. He glimpses the Caller ID as he leans over to grab his phone off his nightstand, and promptly loses his grip.

He just barely manages to catch his phone, accepting the call right before it goes to voicemail. “Hello?” he fumbles.

“Hey.” Wonwoo’s voice is scratchy, like he was trying to fall asleep for a while before he called. At the sound of it, the green-eyed monster in Mingyu’s throat dies a prompt death. “Sorry, are you busy right now?”

“No, I can talk,” Mingyu says, leaning over to turn the light off, flooding the room with darkness. “What’s up? You sound tired.”

Wonwoo laughs, dry. “I am,” he admits. “I just- can’t fall asleep.”

Mingyu makes a noise of understanding and shifts into a more comfortable position. “Any specific reason why?”

There’s a rustling sound, and then a sigh. “Just doubts about the future, I guess. Now that we’re halfway through March, university just feels more real. Oh, shit.” This is louder, sharper, like he just realized something. “I’m sorry. We don’t have to talk about it if it makes you uncomfortable.”

Mingyu blinks, wondering why the hell he would be uncomfortable, before remembering all their fights back in February, the dark ugly thing that was alive and well only a minute ago. “No,” he blurts out, wincing when his voice rings out in the quiet night. “I mean,” he amends, dropping his voice to a murmur, “it’s fine. It doesn’t make me uncomfortable.”

“Okay, if you’re sure,” Wonwoo says, sounding uncertain. Mingyu feels like an awful person. “If you get uncomfortable, you can just tell me to stop.”

“I will, I will,” Mingyu assures. “Now hurry up and tell me about your feelings.”

Wonwoo laughs. “You’d make a terrible therapist,” he teases. “Anyway, it’s nothing big. I guess… I guess it all just seems so unclear, and I don’t like it when things are unclear. I don’t like not knowing what’s going to happen.” He laughs again, but there’s no humor behind it, just a gentle ruefulness. Like walking into a patch of heavy fog and realizing, halfway through, that you can’t see the place you left behind. “And I’m lucky to have parents who’ll support me no matter what, but I’m still terrified of letting them down.”

Wonwoo’s words burn into his skin. He swallows around the lump that’s just formed in his throat. I’m still terrified of letting them down

Is that what it is? Is he still, even after all his growth as a person, the same person he was in sixth grade, terrified of his mom slipping away from him forever? Is he still searching for approval even now, when he knows he’s not going to get it?

It’s okay to feel hurt .

He physically shakes his head, dislodging the thoughts that have started collecting in his mind like pennies at the bottom of a fountain. This isn’t about him - this is about Wonwoo. “I mean,” he starts, “isn’t there something kind of nice about the future being unclear, though? That means it can be whatever you want it to be. What do you see yourself doing?”

Wonwoo replies almost immediately. “I want to learn as much as I can, for as long as I can. And I want to help others learn, too.”

Mingyu smiles to himself. “There you go. So it is clear.”

“I- yeah,” Wonwoo says, sounding startled. “I guess it is. Unless-”

“No,” Mingyu warns. “Don’t you dare say anything about not being able to achieve what you want to do. You’re an incredible person destined for incredible things, Wonwoo. You’re not allowed to think otherwise.”

Wonwoo laughs, bright and warm, lighting up the dark room. Mingyu wishes he could pull the sound out of his phone and hold it close to his chest, feel it dance along his fingertips like a candle flame. “If you put it like that,” Wonwoo says, "I guess I have no choice but to agree with you.”

“That’s the spirit,” Mingyu says happily. “Do you want to come over on Friday? Just to, like, hang out and stuff?”

“Sure,” Wonwoo says, soft. “I’d like that.”

“Great.” Mingyu rolls onto his back, stretching out his legs so he’s taking up the entire mattress, and grins up at the ceiling. “Hey, you can teach me how to play video games and stuff! It’s no fun getting destroyed in Mario Kart all the time.”

“You only get destroyed because you think everything is a shortcut and end up falling off the road,” Wonwoo points out.

“Ugh,” Mingyu says. “What happened to helping others learn? This isn’t very helpful to my learning experience.”

Wonwoo chuckles. “I’m providing constructive criticism.”

“Constructive my ass ,” Mingyu says, which launches them into a half-argument that lasts for about ten minutes, until Mingyu hears Wonwoo stifle a yawn mid-sentence.

“Sorry,” Wonwoo says. “I’m getting tired.”

Mingyu scoffs in mock offense. “Are you saying I’m boring?”

There’s a pause, stretching out long enough that dread starts to creep in. Maybe Wonwoo does think Mingyu is boring. Maybe this whole thing was a chore to him. Maybe-

“You have never been boring, Mingyu,” Wonwoo says. 

All of a sudden, all Mingyu can hear is his heartbeat pounding in his ears, drowning out his thoughts. He clears his throat. “What am I, then?”

Wonwoo hums. Sleepiness drags at his voice, slurring his consonants and rounding out his vowels, as he says, “you’re funny. And kind. And you always know what to say.”

“Are you sure you aren’t thinking about yourself?” Mingyu jokes, heartbeat stuttering.

Wonwoo makes a vague sound of disgust at the insinuation. Mingyu would find it adorable if he weren’t in the middle of a breakdown. “Absolutely not. I may be eloquent, but I always manage to say the wrong thing. You just… you’re just so good , even if you don’t think so. I hope you think so, eventually. You-” he yawns again. “You should think so.”

Mingyu swallows. He feels like he’s taking advantage of Wonwoo’s sleepiness, being made privy to what regular, fully-conscious Wonwoo definitely would not want him to hear. Still, because he’s awful, he lets Wonwoo’s words wash over him. You’re just so good

“I think-” he stops, takes a deep breath, and starts again. “You don’t say the wrong thing. You say the thing you mean, even if others won’t like it. I’ve always- I’ve always admired that about you.”

“I don’t know if you should admire it,” Wonwoo grumbles. “It fucking sucks, sometimes.” 

Mingyu laughs. Apparently being half-asleep subtracts ten years off Wonwoo’s mental age. “And I fucking suck sometimes, too. We’re all a little shitty on the inside, but it’s okay. We’re trying not to be.”

Wonwoo sighs. “See, this is what I mean,” he says. “Good. You’re just very good, Mingyu. I’ve always thought that.” He draws in a breath. “Did you know, back in elementary school, I used to look forward to opening the door for you whenever you came over? Even though I never said anything to you. That’s pretty stupid, right?”

Mingyu feels like the sun at dawn, like he could break over the horizon and light the whole world golden. “It’s not stupid,” he assures. “I felt the same way. I always hoped you’d be the one to open the door for me.”

There’s a pause. Wonwoo sounds suspicious when he asks, “are you sure you aren’t lying to me to make me feel better about being a loser?”

“I promise you I’m not lying,” Mingyu says. “But also, you should probably go to sleep before you say anything you’ll regret tomorrow.”

Wonwoo’s noise of protest is cut off by a yawn. “You’re probably right,” he admits. “Good night, Mingyu. See you on Friday.”

Mingyu smiles to himself. “See you.”

He waits for Wonwoo to hang up before tossing his phone aside and rolling over. Wonwoo’s words swirl with blizzard-like intensity in his head, a barrage of compliments and confessions. He thinks about the two of them, years ago, waiting in anticipation on opposite sides of the same door and never doing anything about it, and resists the urge to scream into his pillow like a cliche. 

Instead, he gropes around on his nightstand for his phone again, and squints at the too-bright screen as he types out a message. 

 

to: wonu~

have a good sleep!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

Then he puts his phone back and tries to go to sleep. All the way up until he drifts off, the memory of their conversation plays over and over in his head, drowning out all his other thoughts.

Notes:

psa im sure samuel and mingming r cool irl but i had to do it to em for the plot

Chapter Text

On Friday, Wonwoo shows up at his house and immediately says, “if you mention anything about that phone call, I’m leaving.”

Mingyu grins. “Don’t worry, apparently I ‘always know what to say’- no, stop, don’t leave,” he laughs, reaching out to grab Wonwoo’s elbow as the latter turns around. “I’m kidding. My lips are sealed, I promise.”

Wonwoo doesn’t look convinced at all. “You’re on thin ice,” he grumbles, but he steps past Mingyu and into the house anyway.

Mingyu waits until Wonwoo’s coat and shoes are off before leading him to the kitchen. The sight of the kitchen island reminds him of dinner the previous night - his mom didn’t show up. He wonders if there’s a pattern to this, or if he’s going to have to be on edge all the time. 

There’s the press of fingertips against his wrist, firm enough to bring him to a halt. “Are you okay?” Wonwoo asks, frowning.

He really needs to get better at hiding his emotions. “I’m fine,” he says, pressing onward. “I baked some croissants yesterday, want one?”

Wonwoo says, simply, “Mingyu.”

Mingyu sighs and stops for the second time, turning his entire body to face Wonwoo, who’s still frowning. “I don’t want to talk about it right now,” he pleads. “Let’s just eat some shitty croissants? Please?”

His desperation must be evident, because Wonwoo relents almost immediately. “Okay,” he says, intertwining their fingers and giving Mingyu’s hand a comforting squeeze. Mingyu squeezes back, the tension in his body melting away. “And I’m sure they aren’t shitty."

Mingyu takes a deep breath and musters a smile. “As much as I enjoy that glowing review of my cooking skills,” he starts, tugging Wonwoo into the kitchen, “they are pretty shitty. They’re barely croissants.” To demonstrate, he opens the oven with his free hand and takes out the tray, setting it on the stovetop. They look even more deflated than they did yesterday, resembling weirdly textured cookies. He sighs miserably. “The butter always gets too warm.”

Wonwoo selects one and bites into it, letting go of Mingyu’s hand so he can catch the flakes of pastry that fall away. He chews for a bit, swallows, and then says, “it’s a little tough, but it’s still edible.”

Just edible? Ugh, I knew they sucked." Mingyu glares down at his croissants in betrayal. “Don’t eat any more. It’s too embarrassing for me. My reputation is ruined.”

Wonwoo laughs, patting his shoulder sympathetically. “What, are you the chef from Ratatouille? Are you going to die of heartbreak because I gave you a bad review?”

Yes ,” Mingyu says emphatically. “My life is flashing before my eyes at this very moment.” He sniffs. “After I’m gone, can you return the clothes I stole from Minghao? He can’t kill me when I’m already dead.”

“I’m pretty sure he would just revive you and kill you again,” Wonwoo points out, which is extremely accurate. “But that isn’t necessary, because they don’t suck. I mean, they aren’t very croissant-like, but they taste pretty good.”

Mingyu sighs again. “I guess I can accept that."

Wonwoo laughs again. “Let’s make some tea and go upstairs?” he suggests.

The suggestion manages to cheer Mingyu up. “Sure! Can you get the mugs out?”

Wonwoo complies. Mingyu had the extraordinary foresight to fill the kettle a few minutes before Wonwoo was set to arrive, so it only takes a minute or so for them to make the tea, load up a plate with non-croissant croissants, and head upstairs. 

Mingyu nudges his bedroom door open, stepping into the room he spent a solid hour frantically cleaning up earlier. He looks around the space, trying to see it through Wonwoo’s eyes. Is there anything weird or embarrassing on display that he somehow missed? Does it smell bad? Is there enough sunlight?

“Your room is nice,” Wonwoo comments, setting the mugs down on his desk. He straightens and glances around before looking back at Mingyu, eyes warm. “It suits you.”

Mingyu blinks in surprise. His room is fairly non-descriptive - the only things that really stand out are the corkboard pinned to the wall, the row of succulents on the windowsill, and the rack of clothes that he wants to wear but hasn’t gotten the chance to yet. “It does?”

“Yeah.” Wonwoo walks over to the windowsill and peers down at the succulents. “Especially these.” He points at the pots, which are all covered in swirls of paint. “Did you paint them?”

“Minghao helped a little,” Mingyu says. “It took, like, a whole afternoon. I almost spilled paint all over my floor.”

Wonwoo grins. “I can imagine.”

“Ugh, shut up,” Mingyu says, grabbing his laptop and sitting down on his bed, which is fortunately covered in recently washed sheets. He can’t remember the last time he felt so self-conscious about his room. “The point is that I didn’t , so you can’t make fun of me.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Wonwoo picks up the mugs and joins him on the edge of the bed, setting the mugs down on the nightstand. Their combined weight makes the mattress squeak in protest. “I’ve never made fun of you.”

“Right,” Mingyu says, sensing an opportunity. “I forgot that you ‘always manage to say the wrong thing’-”

“I’m leaving,” Wonwoo interrupts.

“No, come back,” Mingyu laughs, holding onto the sleeve of Wonwoo’s sweater as he attempts to stand up. “You have to teach me how to be a gamer first.”

Wonwoo sits back down, relenting. “Why are we doing this on your bed, anyway?”

“That’s what she said,” Mingyu says automatically, which earns him an eye-roll. “Also, I only have one chair.”

“We could go downstairs,” Wonwoo points out. “It’ll be easier to play on a solid surface.”

Mingyu’s grip tightens on his laptop. “Excuse you, my thighs are very solid,” he jokes, feeling relieved when his voice doesn’t waver. “And, um, I’d rather not be downstairs.”

Wonwoo frowns. “Wh-” his eyes scan over Mingyu’s face, and his expression immediately softens. “Oh. Okay, then. On the bed it is.”

That’s what she said,” Mingyu repeats. Wonwoo sighs in despair. 

As Wonwoo walks him through the steps of downloading the game onto his laptop (“Are you sure this isn’t, like, a porn virus or something?” “I guess you’ll just have to trust me.” “Okay, I do not trust you.”), Mingyu thinks about how easily Wonwoo accepted his wish. No questions, no weird looks, no stilted jokes - just a simple ‘okay’, and a swift change of subject.

And his expression got so soft , too. But then again, that’s how Wonwoo always looks at him, isn’t it?

“And then to attack you use- Mingyu? Are you there?” 

Mingyu snaps back into focus, eyes fixing on Wonwoo’s hand, which is waving back and forth in the air in front of his face. “Yeah- um, yeah,” he stumbles. “Sorry, how do I attack?”

Wonwoo, thankfully, doesn’t look offended by his lack of focus, just amused. “If I’m boring you, you can say so,” he says. “We can find something else to do.”

Wonwoo moves his hand back down to rest on the keyboard of Mingyu’s laptop. Mingyu tracks the movement. Wonwoo’s hands are so pale, and so thin compared to his own. He could probably cover them entirely if he just put his hand-

He abruptly remembers that Wonwoo just asked him a question. “No!” he blurts out, like an idiot. “You aren’t boring me.” He forcefully redirects his gaze back up to Wonwoo’s face, which is currently impossible to read, even at this proximity. Wow , they are sitting so close - “I want to be, um, a gamer.” He forces a grin onto his face. “Teach me your ways.”

“Okay, first of all, never say that again,” Wonwoo starts, thankfully unaware of Mingyu’s mental breakdown. “Anyways, so a heavy attack is the ‘X’ key, and a light attack is the ‘C’ key. Got it?” He moves the laptop back onto Mingyu’s lap. “Now you try.”

Mingyu squints apprehensively at the little avatar bobbing back and forth on his screen. “Uh, okay,” he says, pressing the keys. Onscreen, the avatar moves. “Am I doing this wrong?” he asks desperately. “I feel like I’m doing this wrong.”

“You aren’t doing it wrong,” Wonwoo assures. “Now try a combination with the arrow keys.”

Mingyu obliges, except all he ends up doing is running his avatar off the platform. “I don’t think my fingers are wiggly enough for this,” he complains.

Wonwoo huffs a laugh. “I’ve seen you julienne an entire carrot in thirty seconds, I think your fingers are plenty wiggly. Here.” Without warning, he leans over and places his hands over Mingyu’s, pushing both their fingers down onto the keys.

Onscreen, his avatar performs a series of increasingly complex combination attacks. Offscreen, Mingyu thinks he is about to have a heart attack.

Wonwoo’s hands are pleasantly cool against his skin, one arm pressed against his chest. Mingyu prays that Wonwoo can’t tell how hard his heart is currently beating. “Um,” he manages weakly.

Too weak to hear, apparently, because Wonwoo continues onwards, showing him a few more combinations. “And this is how you get back onto the platform when you get knocked off,” he concludes. “Does that make sense?”

Mingyu doesn’t think anything makes sense right now. “Yeah,” he says anyway. “I think I can manage.”

“Great.” Wonwoo still hasn’t moved away. Mingyu turns his head to face him. 

Which is a mistake, because Wonwoo is, as it turns out, looking back at him. Also, their faces are much closer than he anticipated. Mingyu feels like he’s about to spontaneously combust. 

“Mingyu?” Wonwoo asks hesitantly. There’s an eyelash trapped on his cheek, just underneath his glasses. Without thinking, Mingyu reaches one hand out and swipes his thumb at the skin there, careful not to let the eyelash fall to the floor.

Wonwoo’s eyes flutter. Mingyu’s hand freezes.

“Mingyu,” Wonwoo repeats, quieter.

Mingyu’s laptop beeps loudly, alerting them that connection to the game server has been lost due to inactivity. It cuts through the air like a butcher knife through butter; the two of them recoil at the same time, jumping back and placing a combined foot of distance between them. Mingyu just barely saves his laptop from crashing to the floor.

Across from him, Wonwoo clears his throat and pushes his glasses up his nose. Mingyu watches him, feeling strangely disappointed, heat crawling up the back of his neck.

What the hell just happened?

“Anyways,” Wonwoo starts, pushing a hand through his hair. “I’m going to grab my laptop, and we can play together.”

He moves to get off the bed. “Wait,” Mingyu blurts out.

Wonwoo freezes and turns to face him slowly, trepidation clear on his face. “Yeah?”

Mingyu holds the eyelash up, pinched between his thumb and index finger. “Make a wish?”

Wonwoo laughs, short and startled, and leans forward and blows the eyelash into the air. Mingyu watches him, wondering why he looks so relieved all of a sudden.

“What did you wish for?” he asks as Wonwoo turns away again to grab his bag, idly pressing random keys on his keyboard so his laptop doesn’t turn off.

“Aren’t I not supposed to tell you?” is Wonwoo’s amused answer. He sits back down on the edge of Mingyu’s bed, just a little further away than before.

Mingyu can’t really blame him. Still, he feels inexplicably disappointed, a feeling he forces down before saying, “aw, I was hoping you forgot about that part.”

“How dare you,” Wonwoo says in mock offense, booting up his laptop and loading the game. “I take these things very seriously.”

“Really?” Mingyu watches as Wonwoo creates a custom room and selects his character. “I thought you didn’t believe in luck.”

Wonwoo’s fingers go still on his keyboard. “You read the note,” he says, a statement and not a question. He sounds - nervous, almost.

Mingyu’s eyes latch onto the topmost drawer of his desk; the one he opened, all those weeks ago. “Yeah, it was really cute," he says, choosing not to mention that he almost threw it out when he found it. "I liked the drawing.”

Wonwoo clears his throat and gives Mingyu a fleeting, surface-level smile. “I’m glad you did,” is all he says. He still sounds nervous.

Mingyu has no idea why, but right now, he doesn’t really want to distract himself by trying to figure it out. After all, Wonwoo is in his room, on his bed, sharing one of his hobbies with him. Why would he want to be anywhere else? So he grins, makes a show of cracking his knuckles, and says, “what are you waiting for? I’m ready to beat your ass.”

Wonwoo just laughs. “Do you want me to go easy on you for now?”

“What? No.” Mingyu puffs his chest out. “I got this. Hit me with your best shot.”

--

Seven landslide defeats in a row later, Mingyu flops onto his back and groans, pathetically, “is it too late to ask you to go easy on me?”

Wonwoo laughs sympathetically and exits the game. “Let’s take a break,” he suggests.

“Ugh, yes please,” Mingyu says. He extends his arms and stares at his hands, wiggling his fingers. “How are my fingers tired ? I didn’t even think that was possible.”

“You have to get used to it, I guess.” Wonwoo takes their laptops and puts them on Mingyu’s desk, his return announced by the now-familiar dip in the edge of the bed as he sits. “You should also probably rest your eyes. You were leaning pretty close to the screen.”

“It’s not my fault they make the people so small,” Mingyu complains. “I couldn’t even see what I was doing half the time.”

“I think you need to get your eyes checked,” Wonwoo says, amused. "That’s not a universal experience with this game.”

“Discrimination, then,” Mingyu mumbles. “I’ll sue them.”

Wonwoo laughs. “Good luck with that.”

Mingyu cranes his neck to look at Wonwoo. “Hey, don’t say that. Obviously you’re helping me. You can be my lawyer and stuff.” 

“I would be a terrible lawyer,” Wonwoo says. “I’m too non-confrontational.”

Mingyu snorts. “You never have a problem confronting me.”

“You’re different,” Wonwoo dismisses. 

Mingyu’s neck is starting to hurt, so he pats the space next to him. “Just lie down,” he explains when Wonwoo raises his eyebrows. “It’s awkward if you’re just, like, sitting there.”

“If you insist,” Wonwoo shrugs, shifting backwards a bit before lying down on his back, interlocking his hands over his chest. Mingyu leans back to look at him. He looks younger like this, his hair falling away from his face.

Mingyu turns his head to face the ceiling. The sunlight pours into his room in stripes, blocked out partially by his half-open blinds. “How am I different?”

There’s a pause. “You’re easy to talk to,” Wonwoo says. “I’m not as reserved around you.”

“Really? You still seem really reserved to me.” Mingyu reaches his hand out, catching a stray stripe of light. He rotates his hand, watching the way the shadows change, scattering and gathering in different places. “I can’t tell what you’re thinking half the time.”

Wonwoo chuckles. “That’s fair. Old habits die hard, I guess.”

The conversation drops, blanketing the room in silence save for the occasional rush of a car passing by, the sound of their breathing, the ticking of the clock on the desk. "I wish you would tell me," Mingyu blurts out, shattering the moment.

There’s a shifting sound next to him; he turns his head, only to find that Wonwoo’s turned his head, too. Wonwoo’s eyes are soft but unreadable as he asks, “tell you what?”

“What you’re thinking.” Mingyu drops his hand back to his side. “I like the way you think, and I like hearing your thoughts.”

Wonwoo laughs, quiet. “Are you sure about that? What if I told you I have a fetish for the smell of books?”

“You mean you don’t have a fetish for the smell of books?” Mingyu asks, feigning shock. “Color me surprised.”

Wonwoo rolls his eyes, smiling. “Shut up,” he says. “So you like that thought, too?”

Mingyu shrugs. “It’s you,” he says. “I like everything about you.” He grins. “Book smell fetish and all.”

Wonwoo pushes lightly at his shoulder. “ Please don’t make that a thing.”

“That is absolutely going to become a thing,” Mingyu promises. He gasps theatrically. “Is that why you carry books around all the time? For the smell? I bet you don’t even read them.”

“Ah, of course,” Wonwoo says dryly. “And these are fake glasses. I can actually see perfectly.”

“You would wear fake glasses, you nerd,” Mingyu giggles. “For the, like, aesthetic or something.”

“Are you accusing me of being a hipster? I take serious offense to that." There’s a pause, during which the look on Wonwoo's face visibly shifts, before he says, “I like everything about you too, by the way.”

Mingyu smiles. Wonwoo smiles back. For a moment, they just lie there, under the golden sunlight, faces turned towards each other. The glare off Wonwoo’s glasses is a little blinding. Mingyu doesn’t mind.

“What are you thinking about?” Mingyu asks.

Wonwoo shrugs. “Just life, I guess.”

Mingyu hums. “What about life?”

Wonwoo shifts so he’s lying on his side, curled towards Mingyu, his head pillowed on his arm. Mingyu turns to lie the same way. “Would you make fun of me if I said the meaning of it?”

Mingyu contemplates this. “Only a little,” he concludes.

Wonwoo laughs. “Then I won’t tell you.”

“If I promise not to make fun of you, will you tell me?” Mingyu bargains.

Wonwoo looks thoughtful, and then reaches his hand out into the space between them and extends his pinky. “Promise?”

Mingyu beams, looping his pinky around Wonwoo’s. “There,” he says, pressing their thumbs together. “Promise.”

Wonwoo smiles back. He moves his hand back slightly, so that his fingers are resting over Mingyu’s. “When I moved, five years ago,” he starts, “I thought I would never see you again.”

Mingyu is instantly reminded of that night at the playground, staring up at a starless sky, thinking about losing and finding, finding and losing. “Me too,” he says. “But here we are.”

Wonwoo’s smile is sad around the edges. “Here we are,” he confirms. “And it’s incredible that we’re here. I mean, so many things had to happen at the exact time they did for us to be back here. What if you moved away, too? What if I never moved back, or what if I moved back too late, and I was already in university? What if you never came to our house that day in the summer? What if I never chose to wait for you after soccer practice?

“Life is really fragile that way, I think,” he continues, staring down at their hands. “It’s volatile and unpredictable. We all live our own lives and the people around us live their own lives but somehow, all of our actions are interconnected. That’s why I don’t believe in things like luck and fate. Everything happens because other things happened in the right place, at the right time.”

Wonwoo’s voice feels like a weighted blanket, heavy but warm. Comforting. “Maybe fate exists because life is so volatile,” Mingyu says. “Like, the things that happened for us to get here happened because they were always meant to happen. You know? Maybe we were destined to end up here.”

Wonwoo looks surprised, then thoughtful, then unbearably fond. “Yeah,” he says, and Mingyu looks into his eyes and sees constellations. “Maybe.”

Mingyu moves his hand so it’s resting directly on top of Wonwoo’s. He watches as Wonwoo’s eyes flicker downwards to track the motion, and then back upwards, uncertain. “In that case,” he says, “maybe you’re destined to help me make dinner.”

Wonwoo laughs, pulling his hand away and sitting up. “Just for that, I’m not going to help.”

Mingyu sits up, too, then slides off the bed and makes his way to the door. In the time they spent just lying there, the sun has slipped lower in the sky, making the shadows stretch long across his bedroom floor. It casts Wonwoo’s face in stark contrast as he sits there, looking up at Mingyu.

“Too bad,” Mingyu says, grinning back at him. “You don’t have a choice.”

“This is forced labor,” Wonwoo complains, but he stands up anyway, and joins Mingyu as he heads out the door and down the stairs.

--

Wonwoo leaves shortly after dinner, promising to play some more games at a later date. “And Mingyu,” he says on the porch, silhouetted by the setting sun, “call me whenever you want.”

Mingyu looks at Wonwoo’s smile and feels something stir, deep in his chest. “Yeah,” he says. “I will.”

--

The weekend passes in the blink of an eye, and then spring break is over, opening up into the latter half of March.

The weather grows warmer, the grass greener, but other than that, nothing changes much. On Wednesday, Wonwoo tells him that he got onto the track and field team, which explains a lot about his joint mobility and tendency to jump from high ledges. Practice takes place on Tuesdays and Thursdays - Wonwoo sighs dramatically about missing both his club meetings, and Mingyu laughs and pats his back sympathetically.

On Friday, instead of going to business club, he decides to follow Seokmin to musical rehearsals again. Vernon is there, too, scribbling what appears to be song lyrics in a notebook, looking up occasionally to gaze fondly at Seungkwan onstage. “What are you writing?” Mingyu asks him.

Vernon shrugs, tapping his pen idly against the page. “I haven’t figured it out yet,” he says, which is as valid an answer as any.

His mom starts coming home at regular hours, and starts eating dinner with him every single evening. She doesn’t say anything, and she stays on her phone the whole time, but she’s there , across the kitchen counter, something she hasn’t done in years. Mingyu isn’t sure if this change is because of him - he doesn’t dare to hope.

Neither of them say a word until Saturday, when Mingyu puts his chopsticks down louder than he intended to and says, “are you going to stop working overtime permanently?”

If his mom is surprised, it doesn’t show on her face. “That’s what I’m aiming for, yes,” she says. She looks less tired already, the shadows under her eyes noticeably lighter. “My position with the company is stable enough for me to decline overtime. And I want to spend more time with you.”

She says it like it’s the most normal thing in the world, as mundane and trivial as picking up groceries. An unidentifiable emotion twists itself through Mingyu’s gut, hope and anger and something else entirely. “Well, here I am,” he says flatly. “Was I worth the sacrifice?”

She doesn’t say anything to that, just looks at him. For the first time in a while, Mingyu looks into her eyes and sees genuine sadness there, looks at her face and sees the young woman that had to give up everything twice over. The twist in his gut gets impossibly tighter, making it hard for him to breathe. 

He thinks he knows what that ‘something else’ is - it’s forgiveness. Despite everything, he still wants to forgive his mom. He isn’t sure why - he thought he gave up on the idea of a healthy relationship between them a long time ago - but he looks at her and sees the sadness in her eyes and thinks, at the very least, she’s trying. She has never shown affection towards him, and maybe she never will - maybe she can’t - but at least she’s trying. 

So he sighs and says, hesitant, “how is the food?”

And his mom smiles, small and heartbreaking. “It’s good, Mingyu. Thank you.”

And he’s still angry, and he’s still indignant, and he still thinks about you’re being unreasonable sometimes, but right now, exchanging small, tired smiles over their dinner, he thinks things might turn out okay.

--

The next Tuesday, Mingyu goes to the gym, and then heads to the field to wait for Wonwoo. He gets there just in time for cool down stretches, finding a spot on the bleachers and looking around. 

He locates Wonwoo within seconds. He’s sitting alone in a corner of the field, a decent distance away from the rest of the team, which doesn’t surprise Mingyu in the least. Mingyu watches as he stretches out his legs, his face set in its default blank stare, unchanging even as the coach calls the end of practice and he gets up to retrieve his things. 

Even from this distance, Mingyu can tell that the other guys on the team are sort of avoiding him, probably put off by the look on his face. If only they knew, Mingyu thinks - if only they saw Wonwoo the way he does, not brooding or intimidating but thoughtful, dorky, kind. They’d be clamoring to be his friend.

As if he can hear Mingyu’s thoughts, Wonwoo chooses that time to look towards the bleachers, his bag already slung over his shoulder. Mingyu straightens and waves his arms in the air, garnering a few looks from the people around him.

Wonwoo’s eyes latch onto his, and he breaks into a smile, like a flower blooming in the first days of spring. Just like that, the facade melts away. All that’s underneath is the Wonwoo Mingyu knows - Mingyu’s Wonwoo.

Wonwoo jogs up to the bleachers, pushing his hair out of his face. He’s soaked in sweat, despite it being pleasantly cool outside, his white T-shirt clinging to his skin. Mingyu very deliberately keeps his eyes on Wonwoo’s face as he greets, “hey! How was practice?”

“Exhausting,” Wonwoo says, pulling his bag higher up his shoulder. “I don’t think I’ll be able to walk tomorrow.”

Mingyu laughs. “Will I have to carry you to the bus stop?”

“Maybe,” Wonwoo says. “Although I don’t trust you not to drop me.”

Mingyu gasps. “How dare you! I’m very strong.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Wonwoo mutters, which, what? “I meant you would drop me just for fun.”

Mingyu thinks about this. “You know,” he acknowledges, “I can’t say you’re wrong.”

Wonwoo smiles. “I guess you could say it would happen at the drop of a hat.”

“Ugh,” Mingyu groans, pushing Wonwoo’s arm lightly. “That was terrible. Go away.” He makes a shooing motion with his hands. “Go shower. I’ll meet you in the courtyard.”

Wonwoo laughs. “Okay, okay,” he says, hopping off the bleachers. “See you soon.”

“Don’t be late!” Mingyu calls at his retreating back.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” is the reply.

--

A few minutes later, Mingyu’s standing in the courtyard texting Minghao when a shadow falls over him. “Hey man, what are you doing here?”

Mingyu looks up and immediately breaks into a smile. “Jungkook,” he greets, accepting the proffered fist bump. “How’s it going? I never see you around anymore.”

Jungkook laughs, tucking his hand back into his pocket. His hair has gotten a lot longer since the last time Mingyu saw him, secured behind his head in a bun. “I’ve been busy,” he says, which would sound like a lame excuse coming from anyone else, but is genuinely believable given the five thousand things Jungkook is doing at all times. “What about you?” he punches Mingyu’s shoulder lightly. “Get any taller?”

Mingyu grins. “A few centimetres, yeah,” he acknowledges, and dodges the second punch Jungkook aims his way. 

“Dude, that isn’t fair,” Jungkook complains. “You’re stealing all the height from the rest of us. It’s your fault I’m not six feet tall.”

“I don’t think that’s how height works,” Mingyu points out.

“No, I learned it in Econ last semester,” Jungkook says. “You’re, like, depleting the resources. Or creating a monopoly. I don’t know, I don’t remember anything from that class.”

“Econ is the worst,” Mingyu agrees. He’s about to say something else, but then a figure walking down the courtyard catches his eye. “Wonwoo!” he calls, waving his arm. 

Jungkook turns, and his eyes visibly widen. “Oh, shit,” he says. “You’re friends with him?”

Mingyu frowns. “Yeah? What’s wrong with that?”

“Oh, nothing,” Jungkook amends quickly. “Like, he seems cool, he’s just scary as shit. I feel like he could beat me up.”

“Wonwoo?” Mingyu laughs at the thought. Jungkook is a solid ten pounds heavier, and Wonwoo would probably be too worried about breaking his glasses to fight properly. “He looks that way, but he’s pretty chill. It’s just his resting face.”

“What’s this about my resting face?” Wonwoo says, coming to a stop in front of the two of them. His eyes flicker back and forth between them, visibly uneasy, which is a first - Jungkook’s presence is usually an icebreaker by itself. 

Mingyu opens his mouth to say something, maybe ease the tension in Wonwoo’s shoulders, but Jungkook beats him to it. “Jeon Jungkook,” he says, stepping forward and reaching a hand out. “And no offense, dude, but your resting face is scary as shit.”

Wonwoo shakes his hand, looking no less tense. “Jeon Wonwoo,” he says, his smile paper thin. “I get that a lot.”

Jungkook laughs. “Damn, same last name? And you’re super good looking? Talk about a coincidence. Are you sure we aren’t related?”

“I’m sure I would’ve heard about you, if we were,” Wonwoo says.

What is that supposed to mean? Mingyu wonders. He steps forward, positioning himself between the two of them. “We should probably go home,” he tells Wonwoo. To Jungkook, “it was nice catching up. I’ll see you around?”

Jungkook's good-natured smile doesn't waver. “For sure,” he confirms. “You better not be any taller the next time I see you.”

Mingyu grins. “No promises.”

“Ugh, fuck off,” Jungkook laughs. “It was nice meeting you, Wonwoo. See you on Thursday?”

“Of course,” Wonwoo says. “Have a good night.”

“You too!” Jungkook waves them off as they leave, the wind ruffling his hair.

Mingyu waves back, and waits until Jungkook is out of sight before turning to Wonwoo and demanding, “what was that?”

Wonwoo looks calm, like he expected the question. “What was what?”

“You know what,” Mingyu says. “Why were you being so weird?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Wonwoo says.

Mingyu sighs, frustrated, and stops in the middle of the sidewalk. “Wonwoo, come on.”

Wonwoo stops a few steps ahead of him, but doesn’t turn around. “I didn’t expect you to be friends with him,” he says eventually.

“Who, Jungkook? He’s a nice guy.” He recalls Jungkook’s surprise, the way his eyes widened when he saw Wonwoo approaching, and narrows his eyes in suspicion. “Why, did something happen between you two?”

There’s a brief, tense moment of silence, before Wonwoo’s shoulders drop and he turns to face Mingyu. “No, nothing happened,” he says, like an admission of guilt. Not for the first time, Mingyu wishes he could see what’s going on inside of Wonwoo’s head. “I was just surprised, that’s all. I’ve never seen him around before.”

Mingyu is almost certain that that’s not the real reason, but he lets it go, filing the conversation away for later. “He’s just always doing stuff, so it’s hard to get ahold of him,” he says. “He’ll be everywhere during the school festival, probably. You’ll get sick of seeing his face.”

Wonwoo’s smile is wry. “I’m sure I will.” He tilts his head. “Let’s go, we’re going to miss the bus.”

Mingyu sighs. “Okay,” he says, jogging up to Wonwoo and taking his hand. “Let’s go.”

Chapter Text

Jungkook finds Mingyu in the courtyard the next Thursday, and then the Tuesday after that. It becomes routine - Mingyu leaves the gym or the Home Ec classroom, goes to the field just in time for stretches, and then heads to the courtyard and has a quick conversation with Jungkook while waiting. 

Wonwoo is still on edge around Jungkook, barbed wire blunt but ever-present. To his credit, Jungkook seems to take it in stride, joking around and generously ignoring the subtle jabs he gets in return. Mingyu brings it up with Wonwoo twice, gets an evasive half-truth each time, and drops it soon after. The topic retreats to the back of his mind after his third time trying, put off to the distant future.

The two of them continue their late-night calls around once a week, whenever Wonwoo can’t sleep or Mingyu is just feeling particularly bored. Sometimes Wonwoo will read to Mingyu, his voice rising and falling over the words, soothing him to sleep. Sometimes they’ll just talk - Mingyu about the latest recipe he’s been trying out, or a K-Drama Seungkwan keeps pushing him to watch, or an ad he saw for an online clothing store that he really wants to look into; Wonwoo about the game he’s currently playing, or an interesting book he just finished reading, or an invariably insane story about Junhui’s antics.

Regardless of what they do, Mingyu will always hang up the call feeling unbearably warm inside, and then he’ll fall asleep and wake up the next morning incredibly well-rested, and exchange smiles with Wonwoo on the way to school. And then he’ll wonder how he never thought to do this earlier, and think about how he’ll probably never get tired of talking to Wonwoo, ever.

--

The warmth grows and grows, until it’s the second day of April, a Friday. It’s almost ten in the evening, and Mingyu’s sitting at his desk with his chin propped up in his hand, listening to Wonwoo read The Little Prince. 

It was fine when they first started, picking up where they left off. And then Wonwoo says, “One could not die for you. To be sure, an ordinary passerby would think that my rose looked just like you-the rose that belongs to me,” and then Mingyu blinks and feels that stirring again, the one he felt looking at Wonwoo’s smile at the end of spring break. All of a sudden, the warmth gets a little too much to bear.

Wonwoo continues, unknowing, “But in herself alone she is more important than all the hundreds of you other roses: because it is she that I have watered; because it is she that I have put under the glass globe; because it is she that I have sheltered behind the screen-”

Mingyu looks out his window, at the little bit of the outside world that shows through the gaps in the blinds. It was decently warm during the day; it should be warm enough now. 

“Because it is for her that I have killed the caterpillars (except the two or three that we saved to become butterflies); because it is she that I have listened to, when she grumbled, or boasted, or even sometimes when she said nothing-”

Mingyu feels his entire body tensing. Should he? Would it be weird? Would Wonwoo’s parents mind? Would Wonwoo mind?

“Because she is my rose,” Wonwoo finishes. 

It doesn’t matter, Mingyu decides. He wants to. He thinks he might have to.

“Wonwoo,” he says. “Can you meet me outside your house in a few minutes?”

--

Wonwoo is standing under the streetlight outside his house, in a thick sweater and house slippers, checking his phone. Mingyu sees him and immediately runs faster.

Wonwoo hears his approach and looks up. “Mingyu?” he asks, visibly worried. “What’s wrong? Why did you want to-”

Mingyu cuts him off by pulling him into a hug. Wonwoo tenses for a fraction of a second before relaxing, bringing his arms around Mingyu’s shoulders, his hair brushing against the shell of Mingyu’s ear. Mingyu closes his eyes and just breathes.

He pulls away after a moment, feeling a little sheepish in the wake of his fading adrenaline rush. “Sorry,” he says. “Sorry. I just really wanted to do that.”

Wonwoo’s glasses are a little crooked, his hair is a mess, and his face is flushed. The warmth building up in Mingyu’s body spills over, flooding the sidewalk. “Don’t be sorry,” Wonwoo says. He’s smiling a little, soft and warm under the streetlight, his hands resting on Mingyu’s shoulders. The sweater he’s wearing is a little too big on him, the sleeves covering his fingertips.

“The rose reminded me of you,” Mingyu says.

Wonwoo’s eyes widen. “What?”

“I mean,” Mingyu gestures, “like, the grumbling and boasting part. I’ve never watered you or put you under a glass globe, obviously.”

Wonwoo’s eyes return to their normal size, and he laughs, shoving lightly at Mingyu’s shoulder. “I’m pretty sure those are meant to be metaphors,” he points out.

“Ugh, of course they are,” Mingyu says. “My brain isn’t big enough for that.”

“I disagree,” Wonwoo says, like he means it. Mingyu doesn’t doubt that he does. Wonwoo has always looked at him and seen a better version of himself than he thinks he could ever see. He gets the urge to hug Wonwoo again.

Instead, he says, “and you’re more important to me than all the other roses, too.”

Wonwoo freezes. A flurry of emotion passes across his face, too quickly for Mingyu to catch. His laugh is short and a little scared. “Even the ones that look just like me?”

Mingyu nods. He isn’t sure why Wonwoo looks so cautious; after all, it’s just him. It’s just them, Mingyu and Wonwoo, grumbling and boasting and saying nothing at all. “Because she is my rose,” he quotes.

Wonwoo’s smile fractures, then shatters, exposing something vulnerable and raw. Everything around them - the night, the streetlights, the houses and cars and trees - drops away.

Wonwoo looks Mingyu in the eye and says, softly, “if you love a flower that lives on a star, it is sweet to look at the sky at night. All the stars are a-bloom with flowers.”

Wonwoo’s hands, still on his shoulders, burn through his skin. There is so much that he doesn’t know, so many parts of Wonwoo’s mind that he hasn’t mapped out yet; and right now, he’s glimpsing uncharted territory. “What?”

Wonwoo shakes his head, looking unbearably sad. “We’ll get to that part soon,” he says, and steps away, letting his hands drop to his sides. All of a sudden, the night rushes back in, filling up the space between them. “You should go home. It’s getting late.”

Mingyu nods and stumbles backwards, unable to look away. “Yeah, um.” He clears his throat. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m, uh, sorry if this was weird.”

Wonwoo shakes his head again. “Don’t be sorry, remember? If I didn’t want to be here, I wouldn’t be.”

“Okay.” Mingyu curls his hands into fists and forces himself to take another step backwards. “Okay. I’ll talk to you later?”

“Of course.” Wonwoo’s smile is still so, so sad. Mingyu wishes he could do something to make the sadness disappear, but he knows Wonwoo well enough to know that it’s pointless to try - he's already so far away, standing at the edge of the curb, shadows long under his eyes. “Good night, Mingyu.”

“Yeah.” Mingyu manages a shaky smile, and then turns around and leaves. He doesn’t look back once - he’s afraid that if he does, he might stay forever. Wonwoo’s eyes remain stuck in his mind for hours.

--

The next morning, Wonwoo sends him a wholesome article about a dog saving its owner, and nothing else. Mingyu sends a heart emoji in response, and wonders whether he should feel relieved or disappointed.

--

A day later, he’s eating breakfast when his mom comes downstairs, dressed in jeans and a nice blouse. “Where are you going?” Mingyu asks without thinking.

She looks up at him, and if Mingyu didn’t know any better, he’d say that she looks almost excited. “I’m going to go meet some old friends.”

Mingyu blinks, stunned. Ever since she got that promotion, almost five years ago, the only social outings his mom ever went to were work parties. At some point, he wasn’t even sure she had any friends outside of her coworkers. 

But now here she is on a Sunday morning, in jeans . Something warm blooms in his chest. “Have fun,” he says, and means it.

His mom raises her eyebrows in surprise for a second, and then she smiles, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “We’ll see,” she replies. Mingyu smiles back, and doesn’t stop smiling even after his mom has left, the door clicking shut behind her.

--

Slowly, as the days go by, his mom starts changing. On Wednesday, she leaves the house after dinner with a duffel bag over her shoulder - an adult ballet class, she tells him, cracking her toes against the floor out of habit. On Sunday, she meets up with her friends again. Every single day of the week, she’s there for dinner, sitting across from him at the kitchen island. She doesn’t come home late once.

And Mingyu can see it, the way the changes have affected her. The bruises under her eyes, the exhaustion settled into the lines of her face, the washed-out tinge of her skin are all gone. On Saturday morning, he wakes up to the sound of her humming in the kitchen as she prepares breakfast. He can’t remember the last time he heard her do that.

Mingyu changes, too. He starts spending more time downstairs, starts asking about his mom’s opinion on dinner, starts actually telling her before he leaves the house rather than texting her after he’s already out the door. And slowly but surely, the shadows in the house and the anger simmering under his skin get pushed further and further away. 

They’re eating dinner together, in this house that could become a home. Mingyu sits down and says, “you seem a lot happier now.”

His mom looks up. Her expressions are easier to read now, too, now that the exhaustion isn’t there to subdue them. Mingyu watches the look on her face flicker from confused to stunned to thoughtful before settling on content, a small smile blooming on her face. “I suppose I am,” she says. “Dropping the overtime hours was a good choice.” 

Mingyu hums. “I’m glad.”

They lapse into a silence that’s almost comfortable. Mingyu doesn’t have his phone with him; neither does his mom. He wonders when they started doing that.

His mom clears his throat, making him look up. “The food is good, Mingyu.”

It’s almost word for word what she said the first time she joined him for dinner, in the beginning of spring break. It feels like an eternity has passed in the weeks in between, because Mingyu doesn’t react with anger like he did before. Instead, he offers a smile and says, “I know.”

She smiles back, and then clears her throat again, shifting her position like she’s steeling herself for something. Something sparks in Mingyu - is this what all that changing and warming was leading up to? Is she finally going to address their argument? Is she going to tell him she understands? 

Is she going to tell him that she supports him?

She takes a deep breath. Mingyu finds himself leaning forward subconsciously, anticipating. Against the more reasonable part of his mind, the spark flares up into hope, fragile and dangerous.

His mom stirs the contents of her bowl and asks, “how are you doing in school?”

It’s like pouring liquid nitrogen down his throat. Of course . Mingyu sits there and feels like an idiot for hoping, for thinking things were different, for thinking things could be different. Of course his mom only cares about school. The fragile warmth that spread through their house was conditional - contingent on Mingyu’s ability to remain the same Mingyu he’s always been, business school Mingyu, perfect GPA Mingyu, junior varsity captain Mingyu.

“I’m doing fine,” he snaps. His chair scrapes against the ground as he stands. “No thanks to you.”

His mom sighs, looking weary. Mingyu flinches at the sound, and then hates himself for it. Why is he so afraid? “That’s not what I meant,” she says.

“I know what you meant.” His voice is shaking, with anger or with something else, he doesn’t know. “I haven’t changed my mind, in case that was what you were hoping for.” He laughs, ugly and twisted. “And here I thought we could finally be a normal family for once.”

His mom looks at him like he just slapped her across the face. The sight makes something shatter inside Mingyu, a shaky support beam crumbling to the ground, bringing the rest of him with it. Before she can say anything, he turns and leaves the kitchen, the darkness in the house pressing in on him.

He enters his room, closes the door behind him, and then sinks to the floor, his face in his hands. He takes in one deep, shuddering breath after another, trying and failing to calm down, his shoulders bowing under the weight of everything falling down on top of him.

He’s so stupid. How could he ever act like things were okay, when they clearly weren’t? Sure, they’re eating dinner together and making awkward conversation now, but they never say anything of substance. And he was fine with it, he accepted it, he grew complacent because- because-

It’s okay to feel hurt about it, you know.

And he does know, now, feeling dampness gather in the spaces between his fingers. He grew complacent because, underneath all the anger, it was what he wanted - smiling at his mom over dinner, in a house full of warmth and light. He wanted it so badly he was willing to lie to himself for it.

“Damn it,” he mutters, wiping at his eyes with the sleeve of his sweater. The fabric comes away damp. He blinks, and another tear rolls down his cheek. “Damn it.”

He was hurt, and he’s still hurt now. Facing the reality of his mother’s disapproval isn’t soul-shattering, isn’t game-changing like it used to be, but it still hurts , carving a hollow space between his ribs. It hurts to know that his happiness doesn’t overlap with his mom’s, never has, never will. It hurts to know that, for the rest of his life, it’ll always have to be one or the other.

He doesn’t know how long he just sits there, tears dripping off his chin and onto the floor, air rattling through his lungs. But at some point, he manages to climb to his feet and get ready for bed, heavy and numb with exhaustion. He’s so tired, but sleep is merciless and doesn’t come easy, leaving him staring at his ceiling deep into the night.

--

The next week passes, hollow. Mingyu goes to school and laughs and jokes and smiles, and then he comes home and finds himself unable to feel anything at all, drifting through his routine with numb efficiency. They still have dinner together every evening, but they’re back to being oppressively silent, Mingyu’s eyes fixed to his phone so he won’t have to look anywhere else. 

He hates this feeling, of being in limbo, of waiting for his mom to say something. But it’s the only thing he can do, so he eats as quickly as he can and goes straight to his room, all the change in the past few weeks folding in on itself and leaving him back where he started.

--

Mingyu’s birthday falls, conveniently, on a Saturday. As is custom, Minghao and Seokmin invade his home bearing gifts and bags full of textbooks. The three of them make lunch together - Seokmin is a good cook, and Minghao is competent enough to manage the easier tasks without endangering anyone’s life - and then they pile around the TV to watch a shitty romcom, feet on the coffee table, bowls balanced precariously on laps.

Mingyu’s mom doesn’t come downstairs once, not to eat lunch, not to tell them to be a little quieter, not even to wish Mingyu a happy birthday. A pocket of hollowness sits in his chest as he laughs, solid as a stone, tainting the sunshine that fills the room.

--

The movie is followed by a few hours of studying, and then dinner, and then gift opening. Seokmin and Minghao’s joint gift is an obscenely expensive pair of running shoes, the box touting so many features and new technologies that Mingyu gets a little dizzy looking at all of them.

He tries them on, and can feel every single dollar spent as he jogs experimentally in place. “You guys,” he says, feeling so touched he could cry. “You shouldn’t have.”

Minghao rolls his eyes, smiling. “Trust me, we had to. Your old ones are nasty .”

Seokmin laughs at Mingyu’s offended look. “Sorry, but he’s right. They’re, like, falling apart.”

Mingyu sniffs. “Excuse you,” he says. “They have emotional significance.” He throws his arms around his best friends, pulling them into a group hug. “Seriously, though,” he adds, “thank you.”

“You deserve this,” Minghao says. Mingyu isn’t sure he believes him, but the sentiment is nice, so he takes it anyway.

Mingyu finds a spot on the shoe rack for his gift, and then they all head back upstairs, crashing onto Mingyu’s bed with such force that Mingyu legitimately fears for his bedsprings. Minghao pulls up another shitty romcom on his laptop. The sky darkens as they watch, limbs jumbled into an awkward pile, faces glowing with the light from the screen.

About three-quarters into the movie, Seokmin’s phone buzzes. All three of them glance down at the screen, now lit up with a call request. 

It’s from Samuel. Mingyu doesn’t even have time to wonder what he could be calling about before Seokmin declines the call, locking his phone. “Why did you hang up?” Mingyu asks. “It could be important.”

Seokmin’s smile looks slightly off, washed out under the pale lighting. “Your birthday’s even more important,” he insists, and presses play on the movie before either of them can say anything.

They only get about thirty seconds in before Samuel’s calling again. This time, Minghao pauses the movie and says, “you should probably pick up.”

Seokmin replies after a few seconds. “I’ll just tell him to call me back later,” he decides, swiping his screen to accept the call and bringing his phone to his ear. Mingyu watches him, feeling Minghao do the same, as he greets, cheerful, “hey, Samuel! I’m kind of busy right now, it’s Mingyu’s-”

Through the phone, Samuel’s voice is too muffled to comprehend what he’s saying. Still, his words are clear in the way Seokmin’s smile fades as he listens. Mingyu gets up, alarmed, but he can’t do much beyond stare at Seokmin in concern, prevented from participating in the conversation.

Seokmin is silent for a long, long time. When he finally speaks up, his voice is trembling. “And… and what about Mingming?”

Samuel’s response is short, and sharp enough that Mingyu can hear it through the phone. Seokmin flinches. It’s heartbreaking. 

“I-” Seokmin starts, then shakes his head like he’s trying to physically take the words back. “But, you guys- I don’t-”

His face glistens in the dim light. He’s crying. Mingyu reaches out instinctively at the sight, but Minghao beats him to it, snatching the phone from Seokmin’s hand and ending the call. “Okay, that’s enough."

Seokmin doesn’t even react, wiping furiously at his face. The smile he gives is paper thin and achingly sad. “Ah, Minghao, why’d you do that?” he jokes shakily. “Now I have to call back-”

“Like hell you’re calling back,” Mingyu says, reaching out and pulling Seokmin into a hug. In his arms, Seokmin’s pretenses collapse - he buries his face in Mingyu’s shoulder, grips the back of Mingyu’s shirt, and openly cries, shaking with the force of it. He feels so small . It’s awful. Mingyu wants to take the next train to wherever Samuel and Mingming are and burn the whole place to the ground.

A few minutes later, Seokmin gingerly extracts himself from the hug, wiping at his eyes one final time. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “I shouldn’t be crying on your birthday.”

“I don’t care about my birthday,” Mingyu says. “What happened? What did Samuel say to you?”

Seokmin shakes his head. “I don’t- it’s your birthday,” he repeats.

“Seokmin.” Mingyu grabs him by the shoulders and stares into his eyes. “If you don’t want to talk about it, I understand,” he says slowly. “But forget about my birthday.”

Seokmin looks back at him, his eyes shocked behind the sheen of tears. He looks like he’s about to dodge the subject, but then something in his expression shifts and he slumps over. Minghao reaches for his hand, which he accepts with a watery sound of gratitude, holding on tight as Minghao rubs his thumb over his knuckles.

It’s silent for a while, Seokmin’s sniffles ringing loudly in the quiet room. Haltingly, like the words are being forced out of him, Seokmin says, “they said… they said they don’t want to be friends with me anymore. That I’ve changed too much, and that I’m becoming like- like-”

His voice breaks, then, and he cuts himself off to rub at his eyes a little more. It doesn’t matter, because Mingyu has heard enough to feel furious , his anger swelling and growing too big for his skin. “They don’t want to be friends with you? Who the hell says something like that? They don’t deserve-”

“Mingyu,” Minghao interrupts. Mingyu meets his eyes, craning to see over Seokmin. Minghao shakes his head, mouths don’t , and then ducks his head to speak to Seokmin, his voice gentle and quiet. “What did they say you were becoming?”

“Like the people who bullied them.” The words come out weak, hesitant; Seokmin glances up at Mingyu, and his eyes immediately cloud with something like - guilt? Why does Seokmin look guilty? “I keep telling them not everyone is like that, but they’re just so angry all the time, and they always say I have no idea what it’s like so what do I know, and it’s-” Seokmin wipes at his eyes again, a little harsher this time. “It’s just stupid.”

Minghao’s looking at Mingyu again. “It is stupid,” he says very carefully, like he knows something Mingyu doesn’t, and is trying to help him catch up. Mingyu thinks about the guilt in Seokmin’s eyes, and realizes, with clarity, oh .

“Because of me,” he says softly.

Of course. It all makes sense now - their behavior towards him, Mingming’s strange questions and Samuel’s smothered laughter. Of course Mingyu would come off that way to them. 

And now they aren’t willing to be friends with Seokmin anymore.

Mingyu feels sick to his stomach. “I’m so sorry,” he stammers. “I should’ve known, I should’ve- let me call him back and tell him-”

“No.” Seokmin’s voice is clear, and his eyes, when they meet Mingyu’s, are clearer. “Mingyu, stop. It’s not your fault. They’ve- they’ve always been like this.”

Mingyu shrinks back. Minghao leans forward, the look on his face unreadable. “What do you mean?”

Seokmin shakes his head and looks back down at his lap. “I didn’t want to admit it, but… it’s always kind of been me against them, you know? At first I thought it was just because they were friends before I came around, but years passed, and it never got better. And they always joked about me being popular - and the way they say it, it’s like being popular is some kind of disease . But,” he shrugs, “I know I had it easier than them, so I don’t blame them.”

“That’s not an excuse,” Minghao says gently. “Getting hurt is not an excuse to hurt other people. And if they were really your friends, they wouldn’t have made those jokes.”

Seokmin sniffles. Mingyu grabs the tissue box from the nightstand and deposits it in Seokmin’s lap, waving off the grateful smile Seokmin gives him in return. “It wasn’t that bad, for the most part,” Seokmin says. “But then I moved, and things just got worse and worse. I was afraid of them meeting you, Mingyu. Because I knew how they would react. Which is so stupid, because,” he laughs, “look at you. You’re the nicest person ever. It was always their problem, not yours.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m, like, the least nice person out of everyone here,” Mingyu jokes in an attempt to lighten the mood. It works a little, making Seokmin smile shakily. “So what are you going to do now?”

Seokmin’s smile falters. “I don’t know,” he says, wiping his nose with a tissue. His voice comes out muffled as he continues, “we were friends for so long, it doesn’t feel right to just leave them. I mean, I don’t think they’re bad people. They’re pretty fun, most of the time.”

“They don’t have to be bad people to do bad things,” Minghao says. “Be honest, Seokmin. Did they do bad things?”

Seokmin deflates even further at the question. His reply is barely audible but almost immediate. “Yeah,” he admits. “They did. They - they could be so mean , sometimes. To everyone. Because they were angry at everyone.” He sniffles, and wipes at his nose with a clean tissue. “They always said they were joking, but I never really believed them."

They sit in that for a while. When it becomes clear that Seokmin won’t be saying anything else anytime soon, Mingyu takes a deep breath and starts, “honestly, a few years ago, I was one of the popular kids.”

He can feel Seokmin tense and then relax again. “As if you aren’t popular now,” Seokmin grumbles into his shoulder. 

Mingyu laughs. “I meant more in the asshole, clique-y sense. You know those people who are always sitting in the middle of the cafeteria?”

“Oh, God.” Seokmin sounds understandably horrified. “You were one of them?”

“Yeah.” It feels like a distant dream, his time sitting at those tables. “It was at the beginning of ninth grade. They were all older than me, and they seemed so cool, so it was really easy for them to lure me into their group.”

Seokmin makes a sound of understanding. “What about Minghao?”

Ah. Mingyu looks at Minghao, who looks back at him, a small smile on his face. They resolved it a long time ago, and there’s no trace of bitterness or resentment in Minghao’s eyes; still, Mingyu looks at him and thinks about that time and feels guilt stir in his gut. 

“He wasn’t invited,” Mingyu says quickly, like ripping off a band-aid. Minghao’s smile is unwavering. “And it sucked. I sucked. I was in so deep we almost stopped being friends. 

“But then one day at lunch, I was sitting with them, and they were laughing at this joke, and I just remember sitting there and thinking, ‘what the fuck, this isn’t funny at all’. And then I realized that none of the jokes they said were funny, they were just being assholes, and that if I didn’t get away I would turn out like them. So I got out of there, and I basically begged Minghao for forgiveness, and here we are.”

“Here we are,” Minghao confirms wryly. “You took your time, too. I was actually starting to get worried.”

“Wow, rude,” Mingyu scoffs. It took a lot less time for Minghao to forgive him than he anticipated; when he asked why, Minghao just laughed and said, ‘I always knew you’d ditch them in the end’. For the millionth time, he looks at his best friend and wonders how he ever even considered leaving him.

Minghao must be able to tell what’s on his mind, because his eyes get warm. “The point, Mingyu,” he reminds gently.

Mingyu blinks. “Right! The point is, I get that it’s hard to take a step back and realize when someone is bad for you, especially if you’ve known them for so long. But you have to put yourself first, you know? Their trauma and anger and whatever, that’s not your responsibility.”

Seokmin stays silent for a long time. Mingyu feels his back rise, steady, under his palm. Finally, he takes in a deep, shuddering breath, and says, “yeah. You’re right.”

Minghao looks relieved. “There you go.”

Seokmin pulls away; his face is still blotchy, and he’s still sniffling a little, but his eyes are dry. He smiles, small and shaky and genuine. “Thanks, guys. I’m- I guess I’ll just have to let them go, if they don’t want to be friends with me anymore.” He wipes at his nose, and frowns. “Ugh, man, I am so gross. I probably ruined your shirt.” He looks at Mingyu apologetically. “ And your birthday. I’m really sorry.”

Mingyu laughs and punches his shoulder lightly. “It’s fine ,” he says. “Seriously? You’re way more important to me than a dumb birthday.”

“I mean,” Minghao points out, “I don’t know if you’re allowed to say that, you reminded us about your birthday for an entire week -”

“The moment , Minghao,” Mingyu complains. “Let me be the wise one for once.”

Minghao looks unimpressed. “You believed me when I said it was ‘two bees or not two bees’.”

Mingyu groans. Seokmin cackles, dissolving the last of the shadows clinging to the corners of the room. Minghao and Mingyu exchange a smile, and then they resume the movie, legs pressed close together on Mingyu’s bed.

--

His friends leave around noon the next day. Seokmin is still a little downtrodden, his smile occasionally slipping to reveal something sad and tired underneath. But he tells Mingyu he’ll work things out, and Mingyu believes him, and that’s that. 

The house seems quieter the second they leave, silence descending with the click of the door. Mingyu takes his time cleaning up the remnants of lunch, and then heads upstairs to get some homework done. 

There’s something outside his bedroom door.

It’s a box, a large one, wrapped in nondescript, white wrapping paper. But Minghao and Seokmin already gave him their gifts yesterday. And there’s no way they would’ve been able to do this without him noticing. So who-

The silence closes in on him, threatening to swallow him up. Could it be-

He physically shakes his head and picks up the box. It’s heavier than it looks, and he nearly drops it, just barely catching it with his other hand as it slips out of his fingers. There’s no point in asking these things, no point in hoping - after all, didn’t he learn his lesson last week? 

Still, his hands shake when he enters his room, closing the door behind him and sitting on the edge of his bed. They shake as he rips away the wrapping paper, shake as he pulls the box out, shake as he discards the paper to the side.

He stares down at the box in his lap, disbelieving.

It’s a set of knives.

Specifically, it’s one of the best sets of knives on the market, and one of the most expensive ones, too. The logo is a mainstay on his Instagram feed. The writing in the center of the box confirms it - an 18-piece block set.

Something lodges itself firmly in Mingyu’s throat, and there’s a prickling behind his eyes. There’s no doubt, now - there’s only one person in his life who can afford something like this. 

Gently, reverently, he sets the box on his bed, and then stands up and leaves his room. Then he does something he hasn’t done in months.

He goes to his mom’s room, stands outside the closed door, and knocks. 

The seconds that it takes for her to open the door pass by agonizingly slow. Mingyu watches the door swing backwards, revealing his mom in her pajamas, her hair in a bun. 

He looks down at the floor so that she can’t see whatever emotion is on his face right now. “I,” he clears his throat. “I got your gift.”

There’s a pause, and then, “did you like it?”

Yes , Mingyu wants to say, but it feels too much like he’s forgiving her, and he’s not sure he’s ready to do that yet. “Why did you buy it? I mean- it’s so expensive.”

His mom sighs. “Please look at me, Mingyu.”

Mingyu digs his nails into his palm. “Why should I?”

It’s stupid. He’s being stupid, he knows, but a small, cruel part of him wants to be as difficult as possible. Another part of him, a part that sounds an awful lot like Minghao, knows that he’s only lashing out because he’s hurt, using anger to mask that he’s close to tears. He ignores that part.

She sighs again. Mingyu squeezes his eyes shut, braces himself for it - the rejection, the disapproval, the slam of the bedroom door - but it doesn’t come. Instead, she says, “I still don’t understand.”

Mingyu flinches and immediately hates himself. “I don’t need you to understand,” he snaps.

“Please just listen.” She sounds so tired , but not at him, Mingyu realizes. He wonders, with a lurching feeling in his heart, exactly why she sounds like that. 

But he doesn’t let himself think that way, because hope lies that way, and he can’t afford that right now. So he settles, instead, for shuffling his feet and saying, "okay."

There’s a short pause, like his mom is surprised he agreed. Before he can figure out how to feel about that, she continues, “I don’t understand. I still think it’s a risky choice, and that you would do better in business. But it’s your decision to make. And I, of all people, should not be trying to stop you from making that decision.”

It takes Mingyu a second to understand, but once he does, his knees almost give out from underneath him. She’s referring to her own life, and her own family. She’s allowing him to break the cycle, just as she did before, because she knows what it’s like to want something and have your family resent you for it.

It’s getting a little hard to breathe. He opens his eyes, and a stray tear drips from his eyes and onto the hardwood between his feet. He wishes he could look up. He wants to look up.

“I know-” There’s an actual, audible tremor to her voice, like she finally feels something, she actually cares - “I know I haven’t been the best mother to you in the past. I would like to change that.”

Mingyu’s voice comes out shaky. It’s getting a little hard to suppress the hope that surges in him, spreading like wildfire through dry bush. “You can’t just say that and expect things to magically fix themselves. I was-” he inhales, willing himself not to cry, “you left me alone for so long.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I’ll do everything I can to make up for it.” It sounds like a promise, and Mingyu latches onto it and holds on for dear life. He feels like he’s in sixth grade again, watching his mom leave for her new job, except this time she turns around and walks back through the door and doesn’t go to work ever again. 

Even in his tearful, shaky state, he knows that’s far-fetched. His mom is lukewarm on her best days, and their relationship still feels more like one forged from obligation rather than love. But he can tell she means it, and he’s tired of feeling hurt and angry and bitter. He doesn’t want to choose between her happiness and his own anymore.

So he looks up. And the look on his mom’s face is as subdued as ever, but he thinks he can see a glimmer in her eyes, the shine of unshed tears. For a moment, they’re just mother and son, looking at each other from opposite sides of a doorway, both of them refusing to cry. 

“Okay,” he says, and it feels like a weight’s been lifted from his shoulders. “Okay.”

A small, quiet smile breaks across his mom’s features. She reaches out and brushes her thumb underneath his eye, collecting the dampness there. “Thank you,” she says.

It’s a miracle Mingyu doesn’t break down right then and there. “You know,” he says, “I would’ve done it regardless. Gone to culinary school, I mean.”

She chuckles, and drops her hand back to her side. “I know. I don’t blame you.”

He nods and steps away. “Just so we’re clear.”

“Just so we’re clear,” she agrees softly.

Mingyu moves to walk away, looking forward to collapsing in the privacy of his room and crying his heart out. The creaking of the floorboards under his feet is magnified tenfold in the quiet of the house, under the warmth of the midday sun. 

He has a hand on the doorknob when his mom calls out, “Mingyu.”

He turns. She’s still standing in the doorway to her room, turned to face him. A strand of hair has escaped her bun. It strikes him again just how young she looks, when exhaustion isn’t etched into every line of her face. “Yeah?”

She smiles again. “I’m proud of you.”

There it is. After all those years of striving for this exact moment, his reaction is pretty anticlimactic - he just laughs, a laugh that dislodges all the ugly, dark things in his chest and sends them scattering. “I’m proud of myself too,” he says.

His mom’s eyes widen a fraction before she laughs, shaking her head. Mingyu waits until she's stepped back into her room and closed the door, leaving him alone in the hallway, and then heads to his own room. 

Back in his room, he sits down on his bed again and rests his hand on the knife set, confirming to himself that this is indeed real, that none of this was a dream. He feels light, and carefree, and more comfortable in this house than he’s been for a long, long time.

His mom didn’t hug him, or stroke his hair, or tell him she loves him. He’s not sure she’ll ever do any of those things. But for the first time, he isn’t bitter - he’s accepting. For the first time, he’s okay.

For the first time, he lets himself hope.

Chapter 24

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

His mom is gone by the time he wakes up the next morning, as she usually is. But there’s a box of donuts on the counter, still warm to the touch, all six of them in flavors he likes. He eats one for breakfast and packs another one away for lunch, feeling warm under the sunlight, warm in this house that could become a home.

Minghao takes one look at him and immediately knows what’s going on, which isn’t surprising in the least. “Wow, so this weekend was a real emotional rollercoaster for you, huh?” he says, pride shining in his eyes.

“Ugh, yeah,” Mingyu says, pulling Minghao into a side hug.

They wait at the intersection for a minute or two before Seokmin and Wonwoo arrive. Seokmin’s smile is still a little duller than normal, which makes worry twist in Mingyu’s gut, but he doesn’t mention anything about Samuel or Mingming, so Mingyu doesn’t bring it up either. 

They start walking, Wonwoo joining Mingyu at the front of the group. “You seem different,” he comments.

“Wow, good morning to you, too,” Mingyu says, snickering when Wonwoo rolls his eyes and shoves at his shoulder. “What do you mean?”

Wonwoo shrugs. “I don’t know how to explain it. It’s like you just got rid of something that was holding you back.”

Mingyu hums. He does feel different, to be honest; unrestrained, like Wonwoo described. Happy. “I made up with my mom yesterday.”

“You did?” Wonwoo’s eyes are bright, when Mingyu glances over at him. “That’s amazing, Mingyu. How do you feel?”

“You pretty much said it,” Mingyu says. “Are you sure you aren’t a mind reader or something?”

“No, you’re just easy to read,” Wonwoo teases. Mingyu blushes and swats at him, making him laugh and dart out of the way. “By the way, are you doing anything at lunch today?”

Mingyu’s heart jolts. “No, why?”

“Come to the stairwell near the library,” Wonwoo says. “I have to give you something.”

Mingyu eyes him suspiciously. “Are you sure you aren’t just going to murder me?”

Wonwoo scoffs. “At school? Absolutely not. There are much better places to do it.”

“Okay, that does not make me feel better,” Mingyu says, but he’s smiling despite himself, soaking in the sound of Wonwoo’s laughter.

--

The stairwell near the library is nearly empty. The sound of the door opening rings up into the high ceiling, mixes with the bright sunlight that reflects, blindingly, off the metal railing.

Wonwoo’s seated in his usual spot in the alcove, his knees tucked up against his chest. He looks up as Mingyu approaches, smiles as Mingyu comes to a stop in front of him. “You came,” he says.

“That’s what she said,” Mingyu replies, and dodges the kick Wonwoo aims at his shin. 

Wonwoo pats the empty space next to him. Mingyu sits, dumping his bag onto the floor and rolling out his shoulders. "Where’s Junhui?”

“He has a club meeting.” Wonwoo frowns. “Culture club or something? I don’t remember. I have no idea what he does there.”

“Oh, that’s Minghao’s club! Yeah, I have no idea what they do either.” He remembers going to a meeting once, in the art room on the lower level of the school. The curtains were drawn, and there were enough candles around the room to qualify as a fire hazard, filling the space with smoke and a vaguely flowery smell. They drank tea and talked about some old movie Mingyu’s never heard of. “I went to a meeting once, and I never went back.”

Wonwoo laughs. There’s a brief lull of silence as Mingyu unpacks his lunch - japchae, sliced pear, the donut he grabbed in the morning. It’s squashed and the icing is half-melted, but the sight of it still makes him unreasonably happy. 

Wonwoo waits until he’s settled, his lunch on his lap and food in his mouth, before turning around and digging through his own bag. “I have something for you.”

Mingyu pauses, a noodle dangling between his chopsticks. “You aren’t actually going to kill me, are you? Because, honestly, that wouldn’t be very cool of you.”

Wonwoo rolls his eyes. “I’m not going to kill you,” he says, as he pulls something out of his bag and turns back around. It’s a box, small and flat, wrapped neatly in the same wrapping paper he used for the keychain. Cartoon cats. Mingyu sees it, and the sunshine filling the stairwell seeps into his skin and soaks his pores. “Happy birthday, Mingyu,” Wonwoo says softly.

Mingyu takes the box, unsure of what to say. He’s not sure any expression of gratitude could adequately express what he’s feeling right now. He settles for picking at the wrapping paper instead, wincing when it tears slightly.

Underneath the wrapping paper is a box, smooth flat cardboard with a logo he doesn’t recognize stamped on top. He takes the lid off. 

It’s a phone case, white with red cartoon strawberries, made of a thick rubber-like material. There’s a strap attached to the bottom corner - a pastel pink. Mingyu looks up at Wonwoo, at a genuine loss for words.

Wonwoo must take his silence as tacit displeasure, because his face falls, forehead wrinkling in worry. “You always drop your phone,” he says, words rushed, “and your case is really thin, so I thought a more protective case would be better. And your favorite color is red, and you have a weird obsession with cute things, so…”

He trails off, voice fading feebly. Silently, Mingyu puts down the box, case and all. Then he moves his lunch from his lap onto the floor. Wonwoo’s eyes track the movements closely, hesitant and unsure.

Without saying anything, feeling so full of sunshine he could burst, Mingyu leans over and pulls Wonwoo into a hug. 

Wonwoo makes a small sound of surprise and wraps his arms around Mingyu’s waist. It’s an awkward position, Mingyu’s waist twisted uncomfortably, Wonwoo’s knee digging into his ribs, but he doesn’t really care.

“I love it,” he says, half into Wonwoo’s shoulder. “Thank you.” He pulls away, bracing one hand on the floor next to Wonwoo’s hip, leaning in close enough that their shoulders touch. “Although I don’t appreciate you calling my love for cute things a ‘weird obsession’.”

“Maybe it isn’t weird,” Wonwoo allows, smiling, “but it is an obsession. Your toothbrush is literally pastel green and frog themed.”

Mingyu throws his hands up in exasperation. “Seungkwan got it on a 2-for-1 sale! It’s not like I went out of my way to buy it!”

“You still paid fifteen dollars for it,” Wonwoo points out, which is unfortunately true. The toothbrushes were from an artsy Japanese store, and they were so expensive . “But,” he adds, “I’m glad you like the gift.”

Mingyu quiets a little, his rebuttal forgotten. Wonwoo’s face is a little flushed, and the edge of his sweater is caught under the sunlight, burning a bright gold. “I do,” he says. “I really like it. A lot.”

Wonwoo smiles. “Good.”

--

Weeks pass. His mom keeps her promise and starts trying, leaving him notes and reminders in the morning before she leaves for work, laughing lightly at his jokes over dinner. The frost lining the house thaws, replaced with a real, tangible happiness.

He tells her about his friends - not just Minghao and Seokmin and Seungkwan, who she knows already, but everyone else too, Soonyoung and Junhui and Jihoon and Chan and Vernon. Wonwoo. He tells her about the time Bambam got caught eating Flamin’ Hot Cheetos in Econ, the time Momo nearly stabbed him with a carving knife, the time he accidentally saw Yugyeom naked in the showers and couldn’t look him in the eye for an entire week after.

And she listens. She remembers his class schedule and the last recipe he tried out and the clothing brand that just dropped its spring collection. In exchange, she tells him her own stories - of her childhood, hiding candy in her desk at school and sweating through her leotard at the ballet studio, and of her life now, her insufferable junior and the old friends she’s started reconnecting with. Mingyu listens and laughs and forgets to eat until the food has almost gone cold.

The weather shifts too, accommodating the changes in his life. He can smell spring in the air each morning when he leaves for school, the heaviness of the previous afternoon’s rain, the promise of flowers. “Petrichor,” Wonwoo says when Mingyu describes the smell to him, standing in front of the bleachers, his hair damp with sweat. “The smell of the air after the rain.”

“What about the flowers?” Mingyu asks.

Wonwoo grins, sly. “I’m pretty sure those are just flowers.”

Mingyu shoves him lightly, laughing, and then leaves for the courtyard to wait for him there.

He’s halfway to the school when he hears a voice call, “Wonwoo!”

He stops and turns. He’s not sure why he does - why he immediately responds to Wonwoo’s name. He thinks maybe he’s just been spending too much time with the boy.

He doesn’t have much time to consider it, because his eyes land on Wonwoo, then. Wonwoo’s bag is slung over his shoulder, and his eyes are fixed to the grass under his feet. Someone approaches him, a senior Mingyu recognizes from the soccer team. His eyes shine with a jovial brightness, even from this far away. Mingyu watches as he says something, pauses for Wonwoo’s answer, and then lets out a laugh and jogs away, waving goodbye.

His body language is nonchalant, a carefully curated friendliness that leaves no room for awkwardness. But for some reason, Mingyu stares at his retreating back and feels uneasy.

--

He broaches the topic at the end of their walk, standing at the intersection where they usually part ways. He turns to Wonwoo, careful not to pull at the headphones that dangle between them, and asks, “who was the guy that talked to you? After practice?”

Wonwoo’s shoulders stiffen just slightly. “No one."

“It didn’t seem like he was no one,” Mingyu prods. “It seemed like you knew him.”

Wonwoo shrugs, averting his gaze so that Mingyu can’t identify the emotion on his face. “He was just asking me if I wanted to hang out over the weekend. I told him I was busy.” 

Mingyu searches his memory for any mention of weekend plans, and comes up blank. “You’re busy?”

Wonwoo laughs. “Not really.”

Mingyu frowns. Wonwoo phrased it like a joke, but he can’t find the humor in the words. “Then why…”

He trails off, unsure of how he should ask his question; luckily, Wonwoo is much more capable of reading between the lines than he is. “I just don’t like people like him,” he admits. “They kind of bother me.”

And Mingyu would usually brush it off, laugh before switching topics. Sweep it under the rug just like he did with the whole Jungkook fiasco, just like he did with every time Wonwoo has said something that didn’t sit right with him. But he knows the guy Wonwoo is talking about - he’s joked with him in the locker room, borrowed his spare towel once when he forgot his own. They aren’t friends, per se, but they say hi to each other in the hallways. Mingyu likes the guy. 

People like him , Wonwoo said. The realization strikes him slowly, like venom spreading through his veins, straight to the heart. “People like me,” Mingyu says.

“What?” The humor drops from Wonwoo’s voice as he grasps the gravity of Mingyu’s words, the heaviness of the thought. He looks up then, meets Mingyu head-on. “No,” he says, with misplaced conviction. “Not like you, Mingyu. You’re different.”

Mingyu wants to be comforted by Wonwoo’s words, as he has always been. But as he stands there, staring at the resolve in Wonwoo’s eyes, his mind drifts to that week in October, waving to Wonwoo, hearing his teammates laugh, seeing everything fall apart. He thinks about the barbed wire that goes up every time Jungkook comes around. He thinks about all the times he said something he thought was harmless, only to watch Wonwoo’s smile dim.

“Am I?” He kind of hates how weak his voice sounds, betraying all his thoughts. “It doesn’t feel that way, sometimes.”

Wonwoo lifts his hand, then pauses with it mid-air, the hesitation clear on his face. “What are you talking about?” he asks, scanning Mingyu’s face. 

The question makes Mingyu angrier than it should. “Oh, I don’t know,” he snaps. “In October, when you ignored me for a whole week without telling me why? Or all those times you got mad at me for no reason? And all your weird shit with Jungkook?” 

There’s a brief moment of silence, filled only by Mingyu’s breathing. Wonwoo looks stunned and hurt, his eyes wide and his shoulders slumped. If Mingyu weren’t so angry, he’d find the sight heartbreaking. “Mingyu,” he starts.

“I just want to know why ,” Mingyu says. “You never tell me why.”

It's the wrong thing to say. “You’re one to talk,” Wonwoo snaps, sharp and quick.

Mingyu recoils, hurt blooming along the ridges of his spine. Wonwoo blinks, as if only just registering his own words, and immediately opens his mouth to say something else.

Mingyu doesn’t want to hear it. He thought they were past this, fighting to cover up the secrets they’re keeping, two terrible communicators dancing around each other. He didn’t think this would ever happen again.

But, he thinks as he stumbles backwards, what has changed? There is still so much he doesn’t know about Wonwoo, and so much Wonwoo doesn’t know about him. He hasn’t even told Wonwoo everything that happened with his mom.

Wonwoo says something that gets lost in the roar of blood in his ears. He turns around and leaves, feeling the same way he did that day in February, recoiling from the look in Wonwoo’s eyes as he said what’s wrong with you?

Nothing has changed. Mingyu wipes at the dampness that gathers in the corners of his eyes. He’s been crying a lot lately - he’s getting kind of sick of it.

“Mingyu!”

Mingyu startles, and as he does, his feet trip over each other in shock. His hands bear the brunt of the force, loose pebbles digging into the skin of his palms, a shock of pain slicing through his wrists. Next are his knees, the unmistakable sting of scraped skin. At least, he thinks to himself wryly as he regains his bearings, his face comes out unscathed.

He climbs gingerly to his feet. He’s endured a lot of falls, byproducts of playing soccer and being preternaturally clumsy, but none of them hurt like this one does, adding injury to insult. He looks down and immediately winces. The knees of his jeans are torn wide open, the fabric stained with blood - unsalvageable. The exposed skin is a mess of blood and gravel. The dampness in his eyes threatens to spill over.

“Mingyu, shit,” it’s Wonwoo, rushing up to him, placing a hand against the curve of his cheekbone. Mingyu leans into the touch instinctively, all his hurt and anger momentarily discarded. Wonwoo looks scared and worried and guilty. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Mingyu allows himself another second of comfort before pulling away, stepping back so that Wonwoo can’t reach him. He focuses on a spot just above Wonwoo’s ear, so he won’t have to look at the hurt in his eyes. “I just need to get home and clean up.”

He moves to walk around Wonwoo. “Mingyu, wait,” Wonwoo says, reaching out and snagging his wrist between his fingers. “I’ll come with you.”

Mingyu yanks his wrist free, but can’t bring himself to walk away. “Fine,” he allows, refusing to look at Wonwoo’s face.

Wonwoo doesn’t say anything to that. Mingyu isn’t sure if he wants him to. They spend the rest of the walk to Mingyu’s house in silence, the air fraught with tension.

--

At his house, Wonwoo waits in the kitchen as Mingyu changes into shorts, apologizing silently to his jeans as he drops them into the basket they keep for spare fabric. When he goes back downstairs, Wonwoo has already found the first aid kit and is rummaging through it.

“How did you know where it was?” Mingyu asks, surprise momentarily smothering his hurt.

Wonwoo glances up at the sound of his voice, then quickly looks back down, discomfort clear in the line of his shoulders. “You told me once,” is all he says. 

Mingyu doesn’t know how to reply to that, so they fall back into silence. Mingyu takes a seat on one of the stools as Wonwoo places a bottle of unidentifiable liquid, a box of cotton pads, and a few bandages on the counter next to him.

He pats the empty stool. “Put your foot here,” he says. Mingyu briefly considers ignoring him, out of sheer childish pettiness, but decides against it.

The movement makes the scrapes on his knee sting. He winces without thinking, looking at the small bits of gravel embedded in his skin. 

Wonwoo works quickly, dabbing the liquid into the wound with the cotton pad, smoothing the band-aid down with care. They don’t speak, save for Wonwoo telling him to switch legs. Mingyu sits there and stares, his head a mess of contradicting thoughts and emotions, frustration warring against his almost instinctive affection. 

Mingyu swallows and opens his mouth, struggling for something to say, anything to break the thing that’s settled into the air between them. Wonwoo beats him to it. “I’m sorry.”

Mingyu blinks. “What?”

“I’m sorry.” Louder, this time. Wonwoo smooths down the final bandage and looks up, his hair falling into his eyes. The twist of his mouth is remorseful, apologetic. “For what I said.”

Mingyu closes his eyes. He’s so tired of fighting. “It’s okay,” he says.

“No, it isn’t.” There’s a press of fingers against his wrist again. Mingyu doesn’t pull away this time, lets Wonwoo pull his hand into the space between them and turn it palm up - checking for injuries, or something else. “I could tell something was going on,” Wonwoo says carefully. “At that last soccer game, and during finals. But you wouldn’t tell me, and I didn’t want to make it worse by pushing you. But that isn’t an excuse for what I said.”

Mingyu opens his eyes, surprised by the rare show of vulnerability. Wonwoo is still examining his hand, thumbs pressing experimentally at the creases in his palm. Mingyu softens. “You wouldn’t have made it worse,” he says. “If you asked. I wouldn’t have told you, but I wouldn’t have gotten mad at you either.”

Wonwoo looks up, and his face is soft and stunned. “Will you tell me now?”

Mingyu does. It’s easier, this time around, with the memory of Seokmin and Minghao and the bleachers at the forefront of his mind. He starts in sixth grade, and makes sure not to leave anything out; Wonwoo deserves at least this much, all the detail Mingyu’s recollection can afford.

He’s not sure how much time passes - he thinks it might be a lot, with how much there is to say, and how the light in the room changes. But Wonwoo never gives a sign that he’s disinterested, or that he’s no longer listening. His eyes stay on Mingyu’s face, attentive, clear as day.

Mingyu finishes talking, his voice slightly hoarse. Wonwoo doesn’t say anything for a long time, long enough for Mingyu to get nervous, the fingers of his free hand fidgeting against the edge of his stool.

Finally, Wonwoo stands up, letting go of Mingyu’s hand. The gesture feels like a slap to the face, a withdrawal of support - for the first time in a long time, Mingyu thinks about what’s wrong with you ?

He takes a deep breath. It rattles against his lungs like pebbles at the bottom of a shoe. “I’m-”

He doesn’t get to say anything else, because it’s in that moment that Wonwoo steps closer and pulls him into a hug.

For a second, all he registers is darkness, and his body immediately stiffens. But then other things start registering - the smell of loose leaf tea. The faint thrum of Wonwoo’s heartbeat, right under his ear. The fabric of Wonwoo’s sweater. And most importantly, Wonwoo’s arms around his shoulders, hands cradling the back of his head, pulling him close. 

He closes his eyes and breathes a sigh of relief. It’s okay , he chants to himself. It’s okay.

“I’m sorry,” Wonwoo mumbles, somewhere above his ear. There’s a faint pressure at the top of his head, like Wonwoo is resting his chin there. Mingyu likes to think that that’s the case. “I’m sorry you had to go through that. And I’m sorry you thought you had to go through it alone.”

Mingyu feels warm all over, in his blood and his bones and his chest. “It’s okay,” he says, and means it. “I’m not alone anymore.”

“No, you aren’t,” Wonwoo agrees. He pulls away slightly; Mingyu tilts his head up to look at him. Even through the strands of hair blocking their way, Wonwoo’s eyes are glowing. “I’m proud of you, Mingyu.”

This isn’t the first time Wonwoo’s said it - the first time was, what, in November? God, that was so long ago - but it feels like it is, sunlight pouring through his veins anew. Absent-mindedly, Mingyu reaches up and brushes the hair out of Wonwoo’s eyes, smiling when Wonwoo blinks at the movement. 

“Thank you,” he says. Then, “wow, is this the first time you’ve ever been taller than me?”

Wonwoo’s face falters, and then breaks into an exasperated grin. “Shut up,” he says, shoving lightly at Mingyu’s shoulder. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Mingyu laughs. “What were you saying about being proud of me?”

“I take it all back,” Wonwoo says. “I’m leaving.”

“No, don’t!” Mingyu is still laughing. It’s a little incredible, he thinks, how easily Wonwoo can make him feel better; how quickly they can make things right again. “Anyways, it’s your turn now,” he reminds, nudging Wonwoo. “You can’t just make me spill about my life and then leave.” 

Wonwoo’s smile dims a little. Mingyu’s heart sinks in tandem. “I don’t know if I can,” he admits, guilt darkening his features. “I just-” he closes his eyes. “I’m not ready yet. I’m sorry.”

Mingyu looks at Wonwoo and aches. Wonwoo reminds him of how he was before - afraid of his own thoughts, hiding from a past that was haunting him. “It’s okay,” he says. He moves his hand so it’s resting against the side of Wonwoo’s face, gentle. He doesn’t miss the way Wonwoo’s eyelashes flutter at the touch, the way his eyebrows furrow in frustration or shame or something else. “I get it. I mean,” he laughs quietly, “I’d be a pretty big hypocrite if I got mad at you for not wanting to talk about something.”

Wonwoo opens his eyes. “I want to, though,” he says. “I want to tell you.”

He looks so apologetic. Mingyu brushes his thumb over the shadows under his eyes. “I know. I don’t mind waiting.”

Wonwoo swallows. “Okay,” he says. “Okay.”

Mingyu grins. “Do you want me to start quoting The Fault in Our Stars again?”

“Please don’t,” Wonwoo says automatically, but he’s smiling, so Mingyu counts it as a success.

A few moments pass in silence; Mingyu’s arm gets a little tired, so he drops his hand back into his lap, watching as Wonwoo’s expression flickers. “Can you promise me something, though?”

“I will not watch the movie with you,” Wonwoo says.

Mingyu laughs. “It’s not about The Fault in Our Stars.” He drops his smile as he tries to figure out what to say next, weighing each word on his tongue. “If I say something that makes you angry, tell me. Don’t just- I don’t want us to start ignoring each other again because of some misunderstanding.”

Mingyu catches the way Wonwoo winces at the word ‘again’. “I promise,” he says, open and honest and true. He moves one hand into the space between them, pinky extended in offering. 

Mingyu laughs again and reaches up to curl his pinky around Wonwoo’s, pressing the pads of their thumbs together. “You’re sweet,” he says, because he hasn’t said it in a while, and because it isn’t any less true.

Wonwoo rolls his eyes. “And here I was, hoping you’d forgotten about it.”

“How dare you,” Mingyu gasps theatrically. “I would never .” 

Wonwoo chuckles and takes another step backwards, out of Mingyu’s personal space, letting their hands slip apart. The hand that was on Mingyu’s shoulder comes to rest just above Mingyu’s knee. “And I’ll tell you eventually,” he adds. “I promise.”

Mingyu blinks in surprise. “You don’t have to-”

“I want to,” Wonwoo insists. “Let me do this.”

How can he say no to that? “Okay,” Mingyu says. “If you’re sure.”

“I am. And-” Wonwoo’s fingers curl against the fabric of Mingyu’s shorts; Mingyu’s mind hyperfixates on the feeling for a brief second before snapping back to the moment at hand. “I’m sorry, again.”

“It’s okay, again.” Mingyu moves his foot off the stool and back down to the ground. Wonwoo’s hand doesn’t move from its place on his thigh. Mingyu grins despite himself. “Seriously, don't apologize. We're still here, aren't we?"

Wonwoo's smile is warm and a little blinding. "I guess we are."

--

Wonwoo is still there when his mom gets home, squinting apprehensively at a pot of soup while Mingyu cuts vegetables. “Oh, hello Wonwoo,” she greets, walking into the kitchen and setting her bag on the counter. “Will you be staying for dinner?”

If Wonwoo’s opinion of his mom has changed with his newly acquired knowledge, it doesn’t show. He offers her the squeaky-clean version of his smile that only comes out when he talks to teachers or parents, bows slightly, and says, “I don’t want to intrude.”

Mingyu’s mom waves him off. “Of course you won’t.” She moves to stand next to Mingyu at the sink, rinsing her dishes from lunch under the tap. “How was your day?”

Mingyu feels Wonwoo shift next to him, evidently surprised at the exchange, and smiles to himself. “It was good,” he answers. “I kind of ruined a pair of jeans, though.” He lifts his knee up to show her the band-aid. “I tripped and fell on the sidewalk.”

“Hm.” She prods the skin around the wound carefully, laughing when he whines at the stinging pain. “I’m assuming Wonwoo helped clean you up?”

“Hey, I can take care of myself!” Mingyu complains. When his mom doesn’t reply, just raises her eyebrows at him, he sighs. “Yes,” he admits grudgingly.

“Thank you for your help, Wonwoo,” his mom says to Wonwoo, the lilt of her voice light with amusement. To Mingyu: “I’ll be in my room if you need me.”

Mingyu nods and waves as she leaves the kitchen. The two of them are silent as she ascends the stairs; Wonwoo waits for the sound of her door closing before turning to him and asking, “you guys are doing really well, huh?”

Mingyu looks into Wonwoo’s eyes and is barely able to control the grin that threatens to split his face. “Yeah,” he confirms. “We are.” 

Wonwoo hums, tilting his head slightly. “I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks.” Mingyu’s eyes slide to the pot behind Wonwoo’s elbow. “How’s the soup going?”

Wonwoo curses and turns back to the soup, which is boiling with such fervor that it’s making the lid rattle. Mingyu giggles and goes back to chopping vegetables.

--

The next Thursday, Wonwoo approaches Jungkook in the courtyard and says, bluntly, “I would like to apologize.”

Mingyu’s heart does a weird swooping thing in his chest. Jungkook frowns in confusion. “For what?”

Wonwoo raises an eyebrow, startled. “What do you mean?”

Jungkook shrugs. Mingyu is stuck looking back and forth between them, unsure whether to laugh or cry. “What do you mean?”

“I-” Wonwoo’s expression is starting to mirror Jungkook’s. “I was an asshole towards you. That was unfair of me, and I’d like to apologize.”

Jungkook frowns harder. Mingyu is getting a little concerned. “Wait, what? Since when were you an asshole towards me?”

“You didn’t-?” Wonwoo’s mouth hangs open for a fraction of a second before he snaps it shut. “Never mind. I’m sorry, again.”

I’m sorry, again . Mingyu smiles to himself at the callback. Wonwoo’s eyes shift over to him, lighting up with silent amusement. “Well, there isn’t anything to say sorry for,” Jungkook says. “But apology accepted, I guess.”

Wonwoo’s eyes shift back to meet Jungkook’s, scanning his face for a moment before his entire body visibly relaxes. “Thanks,” he says, offering a smile and a handshake.

Jungkook laughs, takes Wonwoo’s hand, and pulls Wonwoo into a half-hug, giving him a solid slap on the back before stepping away. “Why are you being so formal? It’s chill, dude.”

Wonwoo’s face is a little flushed. “If you’re sure,” he says.

Jungkook laughs again. “I am.” His phone buzzes loudly in his pocket, the sound making him wince. “I gotta go. I’ll see you guys later?”

“Of course.” Mingyu grins and moves to stand next to Wonwoo, bumping their shoulders together. Jungkook’s eyebrows raise slightly at the gesture, but he doesn’t say anything, just high-fives Mingyu and leaves, waving over his shoulder as he goes. 

Mingyu can’t stop smiling. Wonwoo turns to him, his face still flushed. “What?”

“Nothing,” Mingyu says, and then, “you’re sweet.”

Wonwoo rolls his eyes. “Come on, let’s go.”

“You are!” Mingyu protests, but he lets himself be dragged away anyways, laughing as Wonwoo grumbles.

--

At their intersection, Mingyu turns to Wonwoo and asks, “do you want to hang out over the weekend?”

Wonwoo shifts. “I can’t,” he says apologetically. “I’m hanging out with some guys from the track and field team on the weekend.”

“Oh,” Mingyu says, disappointed. Then he fully registers the rest of Wonwoo’s sentence. “Wait, you are?”

“Yeah.” Wonwoo’s smile is hesitant, like he wants to be excited about it but is unsure whether he should be. “They’re going to an escape room, and I thought it sounded pretty cool, so I agreed.”

Mingyu throws his arms around Wonwoo with zero warning. Wonwoo makes a faint wheezing sound as the air is knocked out of him, but Mingyu can’t bring himself to worry about that - he feels so happy he could burst. “It’s very cool,” he confirms, squeezing Wonwoo tight. “I’m really happy for you.”

Wonwoo huffs, patting the space between Mingyu’s shoulders lightly. “It’s just an escape room,” he mutters. Mingyu thinks he can hear the smile in his voice. “You don’t need to get so excited over it.”

Mingyu steps away and mimes wiping away a tear, sniffling dramatically. “You’re finally coming out of your shell. How could I not get excited?”

“Hey, I take serious offense to whatever you’re implying,” Wonwoo jokes. “I’m not that socially inept.” 

There’s a strand of his hair that’s sticking straight up; Mingyu reaches out without thinking and flattens it down, grinning when Wonwoo startles at the gesture. “I don’t know about that,” he says.

“Fuck off,” Wonwoo laughs, shoving him away. “Do you want to hang out next weekend? If you’re free?”

Mingyu doesn’t actually know if he’s free or not. But he says yes anyways, says “I’m looking forward to it,” because how could he say no?

Notes:

currently inconsolable over the mingyu x wonwoo single preview. no one talk to me i'm in tears

Chapter Text

Sunday afternoon, Mingyu is lying in bed watching Netflix on his laptop when his phone buzzes with a notification.

 

mingyuhao (3)

 

(seok)min: i agreed w samuel n mingming

we r gonna meet up one more time to talk n then we r done

(ming)hao: i think that’s a good idea

are you doing okay?

(seok)min: i mean im crying but other than that

(min)gyu: holy shit

do u want me to come over?

(seok)min: its ok!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

im not that sad ab it 

im mostly relieved

thats a good thing right????

(ming)hao: that’s a very good thing

(min)gyu: :DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD

(seok)min: :’DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD

 

Mingyu is in the middle of typing out a series of increasingly elaborate emojis when a call request fills up the screen. He has to check the caller ID twice - it’s Wonwoo, which is strange, because he’s supposed to be at the escape room right now. Worry brews in Mingyu’s chest as he accepts the call and brings his phone up to his ear. “Wonwoo? Is everything okay?”

“I got in.” Wonwoo sounds breathless, like he just ran a mile. “My first pick. I got in.” 

It takes a second for Mingyu to realize what he’s talking about, but the second he does, he sits up straight and clutches the phone closer to his ear. “You did? Seriously?”

“Yeah,” Wonwoo confirms. “I just got the email a few minutes ago.”

“Holy shit,” Mingyu says, grinning so wide his face hurts. “That’s amazing. Holy shit. Congratulations, Wonwoo.”

“Thank you.” Wonwoo is audibly giddy, his voice higher pitched than usual. “I- can I see you?”

Mingyu’s breath catches in his throat. “What?”

“Can I see you?” Wonwoo repeats. “Right now? Is that okay?”

“Um, yeah.” Mingyu throws the blanket off his legs and scrambles out of bed, tucking his phone between his ear and his shoulder. “Yeah, that’s okay. Where do you want to meet?”

There’s a pause, long enough that Mingyu starts wondering if Wonwoo hung up or something, before Wonwoo speaks again. “The swings.” There’s something unidentifiable in his voice. “At the playground-”

“I remember,” Mingyu rushes out. “I’ll see you there.”

There’s another pause, during which Mingyu attempts to change his pants one-handed, nearly tripping and falling flat on his face in the process. “See you,” Wonwoo says eventually, before hanging up. Mingyu tosses his phone onto his bed and attempts to beat the world record for the fastest time taken to get ready.

--

The playground is strangely empty when Mingyu arrives, all the neighborhood families enjoying dinner in their homes. The weather is beautiful, the kind of picturesque you see in coming-of-age anime; a blue sky, a bright sun, a gentle breeze stirring the trees. They’re well into spring, now, and the fields around them are green, clusters of wildflowers sprouting along fences and underneath trees.

And Wonwoo is standing in the middle of it all, in a black zip-up sweatshirt and black sweatpants, his hair tucked underneath a navy blue beanie. Mingyu sees him and his heart just swells

Wonwoo hasn’t seen him yet. It doesn’t matter. He takes off running anyway. 

Wonwoo notices him a second before they collide, his eyes widening almost in slow motion before Mingyu tackles him with all his weight, bringing the two of them crashing to the sand below.

His wrists kind of hurt from absorbing most of the impact from the fall, and his knees definitely haven’t healed enough for him to be doing this, but he doesn’t care. He props himself up on his hands and stares down at Wonwoo, unable to stop the laughter that bubbles up from his chest.

It takes a second, but soon Wonwoo is laughing, too, his glasses askew and his beanie knocked halfway off his head. “Was that really necessary?” he asks, smiling. 

Mingyu grins. “You got in,” he says in place of a proper response. “I knew you would.”

Wonwoo laughs, reaching up and brushing Mingyu’s bangs out of his eyes. “Thank you,” he says softly.

Mingyu frowns. “For what? I didn’t do anything.”

Wonwoo shakes his head. “For everything.” 

Time stops for a single, clear second. The thing residing deep in Mingyu’s chest screams at him, but he doesn’t know what it’s trying to say; all he can see is Wonwoo, the warmth in his eyes, the reflection of the sky in his glasses. Wonwoo swallows, and Mingyu’s eyes track the movement almost involuntarily.

He clears his throat and sits back on his heels. Wonwoo pushes up onto one elbow, eyeing him with an unreadable look on his face. “Well,” Mingyu jokes, “I can’t really argue with that. I am the sexiest person alive, after all.”

Wonwoo rolls his eyes and climbs to his feet. He reaches a hand out to help Mingyu up; Mingyu takes it and lets himself be hauled upright, wincing at the stinging in his knees. Wonwoo frowns. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Mingyu says, shaking the tension out of his legs. “Do you want to, like, sit on the swings or something?”

“Actually,” Wonwoo says, eyes drifting away from Mingyu towards something behind him, “I kind of wanted to do something else.”

Mingyu turns around and laughs. Behind him is the section of the play structure with the monkey bars, and a giant tower that he remembers Minghao climbing all the time back in elementary school. He never tried, of course - he was more content worrying over Minghao’s safety on the stable sand below. “Right,” he says. “I forgot you’ve never actually played here. Well,” he turns back to Wonwoo, grinning, “what are you waiting for?”

Wonwoo shrugs, looking unsure. “Aren’t we too old for this?”

“Oh, come on,” Mingyu complains, grabbing his wrist. “I can tell you want to, and no one’s here.” He gives Wonwoo’s wrist an experimental tug. “Come on.”

When Wonwoo doesn’t resist, just looks at him with uncertainty, Mingyu sighs and starts walking. He pulls Wonwoo all the way up to the structure, up the steps and across the landing until they’re standing directly underneath the tower, in the shadow it casts against the wooden floor. 

“Okay,” he says, letting go of Wonwoo’s wrist so he can plant his hands on his hips. “Go have fun.”

“You sound like my mom,” Wonwoo points out.

“Your mom is a very nice and reasonable person,” Mingyu says.

“I can’t argue with that,” Wonwoo agrees. He eyes the tower warily. “What am I supposed to do here?”

Mingyu shrugs. “Most of the kids climb it. I would show you how, but I’ve never done it before, so.” He leans against the railing, wondering if he should call Minghao or something. He always made scaling a solid four meters of plastic and metal look easy. 

Wonwoo looks surprised. “You haven’t?”

Mingyu huffs. “I’m scared of heights, Wonwoo.”

Wonwoo’s eyebrows meet his hairline. “That is,” he says slowly, “ extremely ironic.”

“Yes, yes, I know,” Mingyu grumbles. “I’m six foot two and I’m scared of heights even though I am the heights, yes, Minghao has been making fun of me about this for the past five years, can you please just climb the thing now?”

“I wasn’t going to make fun of you,” Wonwoo says. His eyes are shining. “I think it’s cute.”

“Yeah, well- wait, what?” Mingyu splutters as his brain catches up to Wonwoo’s words. But Wonwoo has already approached the tower and hooked his hands into the grooves along the sides, tugging experimentally. “Wait, hold on,” Mingyu says.

Wonwoo pauses, one foot already lifted, and glances at him over his shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

Mingyu’s mouth tries, desperately, to form words that aren’t there. “Just be careful,” he settles on weakly.

Wonwoo smiles. “I will.”

--

Mingyu squints, shielding his eyes from the sun with his hand. “You’ve been up there for, like, five whole minutes,” he shouts. “Can you get down now?”

Wonwoo laughs from his perch at the top of the tower, swinging his feet with a little too much vigor for Mingyu’s tastes. “Just a few more seconds,” he says. “The view is really nice up here.”

Mingyu winks. “Because you’re looking at me?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Wonwoo shoots back. “If anything, I’m looking at everything except you.”

“Wow, rude,” Mingyu complains. Wonwoo smiles, and then tips his face up towards the sky. The wind pushes his hair out of his face, the sunlight makes his pale skin look golden, and there’s the faint smell of flowers in the air like always.

It’s a nice sight. But Mingyu’s mind is cruel when he least expects it, and it chooses this moment to whisper, you should enjoy this while you still can.

It feels like a torrent of rain has just descended upon his shoulders, soaking him down to the bone. Of course - the university Wonwoo’s going to be attending is two hours away, which means he’ll have to move out, which means no more of this. No more seeing him on a whim, no more running to his house in the middle of the night, no more walks around their neighborhood. 

Even worse - Wonwoo will leave, and then he will be in university where everyone is older and smarter and cooler, and then he will forget all about Mingyu. Why wouldn’t he?

The edge of the railing digs into his palm. They’re in the tail end of April already. Mingyu is so stupid. They only have two months left before Wonwoo graduates, before he leaves and doesn’t look back. Two months feels laughably short compared to the amount of time Mingyu wants to spend with Wonwoo, framed among his childhood memories, holding hands and sharing headphones on the walks home.

“Mingyu?” Wonwoo is standing right in front of him, his hands tucked in his pockets. Mingyu didn’t even see him descend the tower. “Are you okay?”

They only have two months left. So Mingyu forces a smile onto his face and some semblance of casualness into his voice and says, “good, you’re back. I was getting lonely, you know.”

“I was talking to you the entire time,” Wonwoo points out, amused. “I think you might have separation issues.”

Wonwoo’s joking, he knows Wonwoo’s joking, but Mingyu hears separation issues and his smile falters. “Maybe,” he says, a beat too late, turning away. “You wanna go on the monkey bars or something?”

“Hey, wait.” Wonwoo grabs his wrist, stopping him in place. Mingyu has half a mind to tell him to stop doing that - what is this, some cliche teen drama? - but he finds that he can’t. “Seriously, what’s wrong?”

Wonwoo is half-caging him against the railing, preventing his escape. Mingyu sighs, frowns down at the wooden planks beneath his feet, and mumbles, “we don’t have time for this.”

Wonwoo’s fingers tighten around his wrist. “What?”

“I- you’re leaving for university in, like, two months," Mingyu says, louder. "I don’t want to waste that time being, being sad or whatever-”

“What are you talking about?” Wonwoo interrupts, the harshness in his voice making Mingyu flinch. Wonwoo must notice, because his voice is significantly softer when he says, “do you think we’re just going to… stop talking once I’m in university?”

“No,” Mingyu lies, loud enough to cover up the way his voice is shaking. He hates feeling like this, trapped under Wonwoo’s gaze, unable to move as he forces out the things he wishes he didn’t have to say. “It’s fine. Wonwoo, it’s nothing.”

“You do,” Wonwoo realizes. “Jesus, Mingyu, what kind of person do you think I am?”

Mingyu looks up, his frustration faltering when he sees the look in Wonwoo’s eyes - Wonwoo looks angry, but even more than that, he looks hurt. It's like jumping through a window and landing on shattered glass. “What kind of person do you think I am?” he retorts. “I’m not- I mean, it’s university . You’re gonna meet so many cool people, I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t want to hang out with some lame high school kid anymore.”

Several emotions pass through Wonwoo’s face, too quick to identify. He reaches out and takes Mingyu’s other hand. “You aren’t some lame high school kid,” he says softly. “You- you’re you , Mingyu. How could I ever leave you?”

It’s tender, gentle, and much more than Mingyu deserves. Warmth blooms in his chest, spreading all the way to his fingertips, chasing away the fear. Mingyu stores the words close to his heart and smiles. “And I thought I was cheesy,” he teases.

Wonwoo huffs out a laugh, tugging lightly on Mingyu’s hands. The motion pulls Mingyu away from the railing and closer to him, up into his personal space. “Fuck off,” he says. “I meant it, though.”

“Yeah,” Mingyu says, because how can he look at the quiet conviction in Wonwoo’s eyes and not believe him? “I know. Sorry for bringing it up, I was being stupid.”

Wonwoo shakes his head. “You weren’t being stupid,” he corrects. “And we have to talk to each other about things that upset us, right?”

Mingyu laughs. “Are you really using my own words against me right now?”

Wonwoo grins and steps away, tugging on Mingyu's hands again. “Of course I am. Come on, let’s go climb the monkey bars.”

“Whatever you want- did you just say climb ?”

--

The next few days are filled with news of university acceptances and other post-secondary plans. Jihoon and Soonyoung get accepted into the same performing arts school, the best one in the country at the heart of the capital city. Jihoon complains a lot about “being stuck with Soonyoung for another four years, seriously, when will this end,” but his eyes are glowing, and he even lets Mingyu hug him. Momo gets accepted into a prestigious university’s food science program, and Junhui, in a twist Mingyu didn’t see coming, announces that he’s going back to China to join an acting agency. 

“That’s the coolest thing ever,” Mingyu says. Soonyoung, seated next to him, nods so frantically Mingyu fears for his neck. “I mean, I knew you did a bunch of acting stuff before you came here, but that’s still so cool .”

Junhui cackles, reaching over their desks to ruffle his hair. “I know, right? Don’t worry, soon you’ll see my face everywhere.”

Soonyoung gasps. “If you get, like, brand deals and stuff, will you send me freebies?”

“Of course,” Junhui says, winking. He’s met with a resounding cheer, loud enough to draw the eyes of everyone else in the class. 

--

A week passes by in the blink of an eye, the seniors’ graduation looming ever closer. On Saturday, Mingyu shows up to Wonwoo’s house in a T-shirt, the sun burning the back of his neck as he waits on the porch.

It isn’t Wonwoo who opens the door, but instead his father, who nods at him and steps back so he can enter the house. “Wonwoo and Seokmin are helping their mother with something,” he explains as Mingyu takes his shoes off, careful to arrange them neatly to the side so they won’t block the entryway. “They’ll be done in a few minutes. In the meantime, can I get you anything to drink?”

After so much time spent in this house, even though he’s close to both of his sons, Mingyu still can’t help but be terrified of Mr. Jeon-Lee. “I’m okay, thanks,” he says, wincing internally when his voice comes out a higher-pitched than normal.

Mr. Jeon-Lee regards him for a moment; Mingyu thinks he can see amusement in the man’s eyes, but he isn’t sure if he’s just being delusional. “Make yourself at home,” he says. “I’ll go tell them you’ve arrived.”

Mingyu nods, and Mr. Jeon-Lee leaves, allowing him to breathe properly again. He hoists his bag higher up on his shoulder and pads into the living room. 

He takes a seat on the couch, in his usual spot near the end. The coffee table in front of him is stacked with a few books - something about the history of Greece, something else about the philosophies of Kant - and strewn with papers. Mingyu smiles to himself when he recognizes the handwriting on some of them, slanted and looping.

He’s wondering if it would be weird to read whatever Wonwoo’s written down when something else catches his eye. It’s a thin stack of papers, pinned together neatly with a paperclip, next to a pile of notebooks. Mingyu’s eyes scan the words almost automatically - Official Complaint Form , and underneath it, Jeon Wonwoo , and underneath that, the name of a school he doesn’t recognize. 

His mind makes the connection almost instantly. The thing that happened in the village, that Wonwoo isn’t ready to talk about - it’s there, in that thin, inconspicuous pile of paper, a red official-looking logo stamped in the corner. Everything Mingyu wants to know but can’t, not yet.

He reaches out without thinking, letting his fingertips rest against the page at the top of the pile. Of course he isn’t going to read what’s inside, but he can’t help but trace Wonwoo’s name with his finger, wishing he knew. Wishing Wonwoo never had to go through whatever he went through in the first place.

“What the hell?”

Mingyu snaps upright, his hand recoiling from the page like he’s been burned. Wonwoo is standing at the bottom of the staircase, eyes fixed on Mingyu’s, and he looks- he looks-

He looks angry, and betrayed, and hurt . It’s even worse than before, when he used to look at Mingyu with nothing but coldness. Now, it’s like he’s so upset he can’t even begin to try and hide it.

Mingyu’s heart sinks to the floor as he realizes what it looked like. Wonwoo thinks he was going to read it. Wonwoo thinks he may have read it already. “Wonwoo,” he starts, climbing to his feet. “It’s not- I didn’t-”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Wonwoo’s in front of him in the blink of an eye. Mingyu looks at him up close and feels like he’s breaking, oh God, Wonwoo looks so upset, he looks like he’s about to cry- “You knew I wasn’t ready to tell you! And you- you fucking invade my privacy anyways?”

Mingyu’s throat is so clogged he can barely get the words out. There’s something twisted tight in his chest, a single point of pain that burns in the center of his mind. “I-”

“You know what,” Wonwoo snaps, “it’s fine. I don’t care anymore.”

Mingyu wants to say something, needs to say something. But he can’t speak past the lump in his throat and the knot in his chest, so all he can do is stand there and watch Wonwoo leave, everything crumbling around him.

The sound of Wonwoo slamming his door rips through him. He knows he should go after him, explain everything, make that look in his eyes go away, but he can’t move his feet. He sinks down onto the couch, burying his face in his hands. How did this happen? How did he fuck everything up so badly?

He feels a dip in the couch next to him, and a second later, a hand on his back. “What were you thinking?” Seokmin asks.

His voice is so gentle, so devoid of the anger Mingyu was expecting, that it makes Mingyu cry even harder. “I wasn’t going to read it,” he says into his hands. “I wasn’t- you have to believe me, Seokmin, I would never do that. I just- I don’t know. I just saw it and I- I wasn’t thinking.”

Seokmin sighs, rubbing his back. “I believe you,” he says. Mingyu nearly collapses out of relief, moving his hands away from his face so he can pull Seokmin into a hug, burying his face into Seokmin’s shoulder. Seokmin laughs quietly and holds him tight, one hand stroking the hair at the back of his head. “I knew you wouldn’t do anything like that. I’m going to go talk to Wonwoo, okay? Wait here.”

Mingyu nods and lets go, albeit a little reluctantly. He realizes something when Seokmin stands to leave. “Wait,” he starts, “your parents-”

“They’re both in the attic right now,” Seokmin says, reading his mind. “Don’t worry.” He smiles, warm and comforting, and pats Mingyu’s head. “I’ll be right back.”

Don’t leave me , Mingyu wants to say, but he doesn’t, because that would be ridiculous. So he just nods and watches Seokmin ascend the stairs, loud in the quiet house.

Seokmin is gone for what feels like an eternity. Mingyu stares at his hands, at the wall, at the ceiling, anywhere but at the coffee table and the pile of papers that’s still there, the stark red stamp accusing. Finally, he hears the creak of the floorboards and looks up, hope flaring in his chest. 

It’s Wonwoo, his eyes fixed on the ground beneath his feet. The flare of hope turns painful. Mingyu looks back down at his hands as Wonwoo approaches him, startling slightly when he feels a dip in the couch next to him.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles down at his hands, unable to look Wonwoo in the eye.

Wonwoo sighs. “I’m sorry too,” he says quietly. “I knew you weren’t that kind of person, but my anger got the better of me and I overreacted. I shouldn’t have.”

Mingyu shakes his head. “It’s okay,” he manages. “As long as- as long as we’re okay.”

Wonwoo doesn’t answer that. Mingyu’s heart is teetering at the edge of a precipice, staring at the rocks waiting below. Then, all of a sudden, Wonwoo’s placing something into his hands - a thin stack of papers, held together by a paperclip.

Mingyu stares at the red stamp, confused. “I want you to read it,” Wonwoo explains, barely above a whisper. 

Mingyu looks up in alarm, meeting Wonwoo’s eyes for the first time. He looks like he’s been crying. Mingyu’s heart falls off the precipice and shatters on the rocks below. “What?”

Wonwoo clears his throat. Mingyu can tell he’s uncomfortable by the way he shifts, itchy in his own skin, but his eyes never waver. “I want you to read it,” he repeats.

Mingyu shakes his head. “If, if you aren’t ready-”

“I’m ready,” Wonwoo interrupts. They wince in unison at the sound of his voice, too loud in the still air. “I want you to know,” he continues, quieter. “And if I don’t tell you now, I’m afraid I’ll just put it off forever.”

“Are you sure?” Mingyu asks.

Wonwoo huffs, mustering a smile. “Yes, I’m sure,” he says. He nudges Mingyu’s hand gently with his own. “Read it.”

Mingyu swallows, feeling his heartbeat in his throat and his ears and all over his body as he flips open the top page. Wonwoo is silent next to him as he reads, their knees pressed together, a single point of comfort.

The first page is the basic information - Wonwoo’s name, class, birthday. But the rest of the pages are paragraphs upon paragraphs of documentation, detailing everything that happened to Wonwoo with a sterile, cold precision. Big, formal words for terrible things - social isolation. Ostracization. Verbal assault. Emotional abuse.

What’s worse are the specific events, labelled as ‘evidence’. A paragraph for the times other kids asked Wonwoo out on dates or pretended to befriend him as a joke. A paragraph for the times people placed bets where the punishment for the loser was to sit next to Wonwoo for a semester. A paragraph for when Wonwoo’s belongings were stolen, when his desk was moved out of the classroom so he had to go out and bring it back, when he was locked in the bathroom.

And, finally, the time everyone in the school found out about Wonwoo’s mother, and taunted him about it until he cried.

The pages are blurry by the time he reads the last sentence; when he blinks, tears drip onto the paper. “Shit, I’m so sorry,” he mutters, moving the file onto the coffee table. He thinks his hands might be shaking, but he can’t tell. All he can really feel is heavy, with the knowledge that Wonwoo has given him, with the thought that anyone could treat Wonwoo that way. Smart, warm, funny Wonwoo, with his lame jokes and his deliberate way of speaking and his round glasses. Not for the first time, Mingyu wants to burn that entire village to the ground.

God, everything makes so much sense now - why Wonwoo rejected all those Valentine’s confessions, why he acted that way around Jungkook, why he initially declined the invitations to hang out with the rest of the track and field team. And of course Mingyu as a person would upset him - privileged, popular Mingyu, who called him inconsiderate, who tries to please everyone without even thinking about it. 

“Don’t cry.” Wonwoo’s voice breaks him out of his thoughts. There’s a hand pressing a tissue to his face, another hand gently stroking his hair. “And don’t be sorry, Mingyu. There’s nothing for you to be sorry for.”

Mingyu shakes his head and reaches out silently. Wonwoo understands after a second, shuffling closer and letting Mingyu bury his face in his shoulder. “I’m gonna burn that whole school to the ground,” Mingyu mutters, wrapping his arms around Wonwoo's waist. “You could come with me, we could make a road trip out of it or something.”

Wonwoo laughs. “Unfortunately, I can’t drive, and I don’t think my parents would endorse arson.”

“My mom might,” Mingyu says. “If I try really hard to convince her.”

Wonwoo laughs again. “It’s okay, Mingyu. It’s all in the past.”

“What happened after?” Mingyu asks. “After you filed the complaint, I mean.”

Wonwoo stiffens slightly underneath him, and when he shrugs, the movement is a little stilted. "Nothing. They said something about taking too long to file the report, and basically threw it in the trash.”

“That’s bullshit,” Mingyu says. He curls his hands into the sides of Wonwoo’s shirt, tightening around the fabric. “What the hell? How could they do that?”

“Honestly, I was kind of expecting it,” Wonwoo says, which is heartbreaking in and of itself. “A lot of those kids had powerful parents, so they couldn’t punish them without facing retaliation.”

Mingyu lifts his head up to look Wonwoo in the eye. “I’m gonna get my license, and then we can drive down there and burn the school down,” he swears.

He’s half-serious. Wonwoo smiles and says, “it wasn’t that bad. I had Junhui, and most of it stopped after ninth grade. I guess maybe they felt bad, or they just didn’t care that much anymore.”

Mingyu thinks about what Wonwoo looked like back in elementary school, and then about what he looks like now, and snorts. “Yeah, and you got hot.”

He realizes his mistake the second Wonwoo raises his eyebrows. “You think I’m hot?” he asks, like he already knows the answer.

“Ugh, you’re the worst,” Mingyu says, shoving lightly at Wonwoo’s shoulder and hoping the redness in his face gets attributed to the crying. “ Moving on ,” he continues when Wonwoo just laughs, his eyes sparkling with mirth. “Is that why… like…?”

Wonwoo’s smile falters, but he doesn’t give Mingyu a chance to berate himself for asking. “It was strange, seeing the people who used to ignore and insult me suddenly want to be my friend. I got used to distrusting people who were overly friendly towards me. If that explains things.”

“It does,” Mingyu says. Everything is sliding into place, Wonwoo’s words filling up the blanks in the narrative. “So that time at the bleachers, you…?”

He trails off again, but Wonwoo doesn’t seem to mind. “There was this recurring joke, where they would pretend to be friendly with me, and then tell their friends everything I said so they could all laugh about it. I-” He drops his hands back into his lap. They’re shaking slightly. Mingyu aches all over. “I thought that’s what you were doing. I’m sorry.”

“No,” Mingyu says. “I’m sorry that I did things that reminded you of that stuff. But I know now, so I can- I’ll try my best not to-”

Wonwoo’s eyes widen, and he starts shaking his head vehemently, reaching out and grabbing Mingyu’s hands with his own. “None of that was your fault,” he says. “Please don’t change yourself because of what happened to me. You’re nothing like them, Mingyu. I-”

Wonwoo cuts himself off, dropping his head to stare at his lap, avoiding Mingyu’s gaze. “What?” Mingyu prods.

He squeezes Wonwoo's hands, and Wonwoo visibly relaxes, his hands stilling. He shakes his head again, but at least he looks back up, his eyes soft and dark and so, so sad. “Nothing,” he mutters. “Let’s… let’s just go upstairs. Seokmin’s waiting for us.”

Abruptly, Mingyu realizes that the house has been strangely quiet throughout their entire conversation. Seokmin’s doing, probably. Mingyu makes a mental note to thank him when he gets the chance. “Sure,” he says, offering a small smile. “Do you think he was eavesdropping this whole time?”

Wonwoo snorts. “Probably.” He lets go of Mingyu’s hands briefly, getting up before offering his hand again. 

Mingyu takes it and lets Wonwoo pull him up, stumbling a little once he’s on his feet. Wonwoo steadies him gently, and then looks up at him, something like fondness curling at the edges of his mouth. The air has shifted between them, a little - warmer, a little more trusting, hopeful. Closer.

“Can I hug you?” Mingyu asks.

Wonwoo laughs, and answers by wrapping his arms around Mingyu’s shoulders. Mingyu hugs him back, leaning into it, burying his face in Wonwoo’s shoulders and breathing. Inhale, exhale. He’s aware that he might be squeezing Wonwoo a little too tight, but it’s okay, he thinks - after all, Wonwoo is holding him just as closely, the space between them finally reduced to nothing. Five years, closing in between them in the blink of an eye.

--

Mingyu stays for dinner, and then Seokmin offers to walk him home. “Don’t come with us,” he warns Wonwoo as they get ready to leave. “It’s my turn to bond emotionally with Mingyu.”

Wonwoo raises an eyebrow but doesn’t object. “You guys are best friends, I’d assume you’ve already done an ample amount of bonding.”

Seokmin waves him off. “There’s no such thing as enough bonding. It’s a doggy-dog world, you know?” 

Mingyu nods sagely. Wonwoo frowns. “That’s not-”

“Okay, we’re leaving now!” Seokmin says cheerfully, ushering Mingyu out the door. “See you soon!”

Mingyu manages to wave goodbye to Wonwoo before Seokmin closes the door. The first half of their walk is spent joking around and making easy conversation - Seokmin complains about musical rehearsals, and Mingyu laughs and makes sympathetic sounds. The sunset turns the sky orange and red and purple. 

They’re on the steps leading up to Mingyu’s porch when Seokmin asks, lightly, “so Wonwoo told you everything?”

Mingyu immediately stops in his tracks. He’s been waiting for the question ever since he walked into Seokmin’s room with Wonwoo, but hearing Seokmin actually verbalize it still makes him nervous. “Yeah,” he says. “He did.”

Seokmin nods. “That’s good!” he says, and even though his tone of voice is light, his usual smile is absent. Mingyu remembers, then, that Seokmin went to school with Wonwoo - he was there, when all of it happened.

“How did you handle it?” Mingyu asks. “I mean, it must’ve been hard for you too, right?”

Seokmin’s face falls completely at that. He sits down on the steps, facing the setting sun, and pats the space next to him. Mingyu complies, unsure if he should apologize.

They sit in silence until the sky is more purple than red. When Seokmin speaks, his voice is quiet and sad, a mirror image of Wonwoo that afternoon. “I didn’t know about it until high school.”

Mingyu turns towards Seokmin in shock. Seokmin’s expression is guilt-ridden, the outline of his face blurred against the dark blue of the almost-night; he stares at something Mingyu can’t see as he continues, “I didn’t see Wonwoo at school very often, because he told me it was embarrassing for him to be seen with me. I was really hurt, and we fought about it a lot, but now I realize he was trying to protect me. From seeing.

“I only-” Seokmin shakes his head. “I was so focused on myself, and trying to fit in at a new school, that I didn’t even notice when he started acting weird. Like, he was so much quieter, and he got angry more often, and sometimes he just looked so sad , when he thought no one was watching. But I didn’t notice because I was dumb and selfish.

“I only found out because he made a joke about it in, like, the tenth grade. I don’t even remember what the joke was, just that it was really messed up. And the more he told me, the more I realized how much I could've helped, you know? Like, I could’ve done so much more for him back then, but I didn’t.”

“You didn’t know,” Mingyu says softly.

Seokmin shakes his head again. His hands are curled up into fists in his lap, his knuckles white. Mingyu wants to reach out and uncurl his hands, rub his palm soothingly, but something tells him not yet , so he doesn’t. Seokmin looks half in another world, lost in the space between memories. “I could’ve found out,” he replies. “If I tried hard enough.”

“Maybe,” Mingyu allows, because he knows a thing or two about regret, and he’s tired of denying that things could have turned out better. “But you’re here now, right? You’re doing what you can with what you have. That’s something, at least.”

Seokmin turns to face him, then, and there’s a small smile on his face. This is the difference, Mingyu realizes, that five years creates - underneath bright-eyed, happy-go-lucky, cheerful Seokmin is a quieter version of him, weighed down by the past. “Wonwoo says that too. I’m trying to believe him.”

I’m learning to forgive myself , is what Mingyu hears. I am here now, and I am trying, and that’s what matters. Finally, he reaches out and takes Seokmin’s hand. They sit like that for a second, just two teenage boys with the weight of the world on their shoulders, staring out into the almost-night sky. 

Finally, Seokmin climbs to his feet, dusting his pants off. “You should go inside,” he advises. “Your mom’s gonna get worried.”

This is also a miracle of time, of growth and change, Mingyu thinks. He hears Seokmin’s words, and knows he means them, because they’re true. Your mom’s gonna get worried . “Yeah,” he says. “Good night, Seokmin.”

Seokmin grins up at him, some of the cloudiness in his eyes dissipating, and gives him a quick hug before heading home. Mingyu watches his back retreat steadily until he turns a corner, then heads into his own home, tired and aching and content.

Chapter 26

Notes:

happy 6th anniversary @ seventeen!!! also OTL i've been kinda bad w replying to comments lately, but i promise that they are all read and deeply appreciated. i will reply to them as soon as i can :)
enjoy!

Chapter Text

May opens up sweetly, the sun warming the pavement in the mornings, the air full to bursting with the smell of fully bloomed flowers and freshly cut grass. Mingyu understands Wonwoo’s actions better, and tries really hard not to overthink his own. (Wonwoo still ends up occasionally having to scold him for being, quote, “overly considerate”, but Mingyu still thinks better safe than sorry. They’ve both been sorry far too often.)

Mingyu’s in the library, studying for his Econ test with Bambam, when Wonwoo finds him. “Hey, man,” Bambam greets, his grin wolfishly good-natured. “Are you gonna steal Mingyu away from me?”

For a second, the alarms in Mingyu’s head go off - will Wonwoo feel weird around Bambam, will Bambam be offended if Wonwoo acts weird around him - but they’re abruptly shut down when Wonwoo offers a smile in return and says, “only for a few seconds, if that’s okay with you.”

Mingyu blinks in surprise for a few seconds before breaking into a grin. Wonwoo glances at him out of the corner of his eye as Bambam says, “it’s chill. Bring him back soon though, I need him so I don’t bomb this test.”

“Hey, I can speak for myself,” Mingyu protests. He's thoroughly ignored.

“Enjoy~!” Bambam sing-songs, already opening up Snapchat. Mingyu sighs and turns to follow Wonwoo.

“Where are we going?” Mingyu asks as Wonwoo leads him to a quieter corner of the library, between the non-fiction shelves. He gasps in horror. “Are you going to force me to read biographies or something? That’s cruel, Wonwoo.”

Wonwoo laughs. “Biographies are interesting, you know. They’re basically realistic novels.”

“That sounds super boring,” Mingyu comments. They come to a stop at the junction between two shelves, devoid of students. “Anyways, what’s up?”

Wonwoo clears his throat, suddenly visibly nervous. It’s kind of cute. Mingyu is about to tease him for it when he says, shifting his feet, “Seokmin and I are planning on visiting the village on the long weekend. He’s going to go talk to his old friends, and I’d like some closure. Would you like to come with me?”

Mingyu’s heart does a strange thing in his chest. Would you like to come with me, Wonwoo said. Not us - me . “Are you sure?” he asks. “I mean, it’s an important day for you.”

“Which is why I want you to be there,” Wonwoo says. His eyes widen, and he amends quickly, “not that you’re obligated to be there, of course. It’s entirely your choice.”

“But you want me to be there,” Mingyu says. He feels giddy, feels that strange stirring deep in his chest again. “Right?”

Wonwoo flushes slightly. “I’m beginning to regret extending this invitation."

“Too late,” Mingyu grins. “The invitation has been extended and accepted. I’ll have to ask my mom, but I’m pretty sure I can make it.”

Wonwoo’s face brightens. Mingyu gets the urge to hug him. “Are you sure?” he says.

Mingyu nudges him. “I know it’s super tempting, but you don’t need to copy me,” he says, which earns him an eye-roll. “And yeah, I’m sure. I want to come.” He wrinkles his nose. “That’s what she said.”

Wonwoo huffs, smiling. “I’ll text you the details, then. We’ll have to get there by train, since it’s faster.”

“Ooh, a train,” Mingyu says. “I haven’t been on one in so long. They’re so romantic.”

Wonwoo squints at him. “I think you’re picturing the wrong kind of train.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mingyu says dreamily. “All trains are super romantic. It’s a fact.”

“I’ll take your word for it, I guess,” Wonwoo laughs. “We should probably head back, Bambam’s Econ grade depends on it.”

Mingyu frowns, trailing slightly behind Wonwoo as they weave their way out of the rows of shelves. “You know him?” This is the first time the two have met, as far as Mingyu knows - unless he’s somehow developed extremely inaccurate ideas of their respective social circles. It wouldn't be the first time that's happened.

“You’ve told me a lot about him,” Wonwoo says. “So I kind of put two and two together. Also, he’s your only friend in Econ.”

“That was unnecessary,” Mingyu complains, trying to hide his delight at the fact that Wonwoo remembered. “I mean, accurate, but unnecessary.”

“‘Accurate but unnecessary’ does encompass most of my knowledge, yes,” Wonwoo jokes just as they arrive at Mingyu’s table. 

Bambam is balancing on the back legs of his chair, watching something with his headphones in. He looks up when they approach and pauses the video on his phone. “You guys done flirting or whatever?”

Wonwoo’s face instantly turns several shades pinker. Mingyu splutters, his heart racing, “uh, what? We- weren’t flirting.”

Bambam looks between the two of them, eyebrows raised. “Right,” he says. “I see how it is.” He sits forward again, taking his headphones out of his ears and pulling his textbook closer to him. “Anyways, you gotta explain this chart to me, man.”

“Sure,” Mingyu says, still reeling a little. He turns to Wonwoo, who looks as flustered as he feels. “I’ll see you after school?”

“Of course.” Wonwoo scratches the back of his neck. “Good luck with the test, guys.”

Bambam gives him a thumbs up. Mingyu copies the gesture, smiling when Wonwoo laughs. Bambam’s words echo in the back of his mind as he watches Wonwoo leave - flirting .

--

At dinner that evening, Mingyu clears his throat and says, “is it okay if I go with Seokmin and Wonwoo to visit the place they used to live? Next weekend?”

His mom looks up from her bowl. “That’s quite far,” she says. “Make sure you take the train there.”

Mingyu grins at her. “So that’s a yes?”

She sighs, but the look on her face is fond as she replies, “yes, of course you can go. As long as you think you have the time for it.” She stirs the contents of her bowl for a moment before continuing, “Seokmin and Wonwoo, hm?”

“Um,” Mingyu says, not understanding what she’s trying to get at, “yeah? And Minghao’s coming too. Wonwoo was the one who invited me, though.”

She hums, looking inexplicably pleased. “He seems like a nice boy,” she says. “Wonwoo, I mean.”

Mingyu groans inwardly. That’s the second time someone has been cryptic about his relationship with Wonwoo today. “He is,” he says anyway.

She nods like she knows something he doesn’t. “Let me know if you need any money for the trip,” she says, and resumes eating.

--

“I think,” Minghao says, “you’re putting a little too much effort into this.”

“It’s not my fault I can’t be like you,” Mingyu complains. A breeze floats into the room and raises goosebumps on his bare shoulders. “How do you always decide what to wear so quickly?”

Minghao crosses the room and closes the window. “I don’t know,” he says casually, “maybe it’s because I’m not trying to impress anyone?”

Mingyu splutters, feeling exposed in a way that is completely unrelated to the fact that he is currently shirtless. “I’m not trying to impress anyone either,” he protests.

Minghao scoffs like the overly observant asshole he is, turning away from the window and towards the truly impressive pile of clothes on Mingyu’s bed. “I already told you, this one’s nice,” he says, picking out a cardigan and tossing it at Mingyu. “Just put it on, we’re going to be late.”

Mingyu holds it up to his body apprehensively. “Shirt or no shirt under?”

“You want me to say no shirt, don’t you,” Minghao deadpans.

Mingyu grins and imitates the sound of a game show bell, pulling the cardigan on and fumbling with the buttons until Minghao sighs and buttons it up for him. He takes the time to tuck his cardigan into his pants, and then they rush out of his room and down the stairs so fast it’s a miracle he doesn’t slip and crack his skull open.

They’ve just finished pulling their shoes on when the doorbell rings. Mingyu’s mom walks over from where she was reading in the living room, straightening Mingyu’s sleeve as he shoulders his bag. “Do you have everything?” she asks.

Mingyu grins at her, one hand already on the doorknob. “Even if I don’t, I’ll just steal it from Minghao,” he says. Minghao elbows him, opening his mouth to complain, but Mingyu just swings the door open, says “see you tonight!” to his mom, and pushes Minghao out the door. 

“Stay safe!” she calls after him, waving goodbye until the door shuts.

Seokmin is waiting on the porch for them, showing no sign of any anxiety or dread on his face. Admirable, given what this trip is meant for. “Come on, let’s go,” he says, smiling widely.

Mingyu gives Seokmin a quick side hug, while Minghao straightens the collar of his flannel. They head down the steps and to the car waiting at the curb.

--

Mr. Jeon-Lee drops them off at the train station with ten minutes to spare. They spend the time buying food for the train ride and taking artsy pictures - or rather, Mingyu and Minghao take the pictures, while Seokmin and Wonwoo do the poses they’re told to do and dutifully ignore the looks from the other people in the station. 

The train arrives; Seokmin leads them to their seats with ease, obviously familiar with this route. They stow their bags in the overhead compartments and settle down for the hour-long ride, their food spread out on the table between them.

Mingyu’s seated next to the window, Minghao on his other side, listening to one of those old French ballads Minghao has been obsessed with recently through their shared headphones. A screech of metal against metal, and then the train starts moving. Mingyu hasn’t been on a train in a long time, so he finds himself practically plastered to the window, staring as the landscape rushes past. 

It’s nice, nice enough to forget about the destination for a little while and just enjoy the moment. Seokmin is watching a movie on his laptop; judging from his periodic sniffling, Mingyu guesses it’s either a romcom or one of those movies about dogs who get lost but eventually find their way home. Next to him, Wonwoo is reading a book with yellowed pages and an author whose last name Mingyu can’t even begin to pronounce. Minghao’s drawing, his fingertips smudged with charcoal, the gentle scratching of his pencil against the paper filling up the silence.

It’s another one of those moments that Mingyu thinks he should preserve somehow, bottle it up and keep it in a cool and dry place to come back to later. It feels like cherry blossoms in the spring, like peaches and cream in the summer, like the crisp brown edges of leaves in the fall and the frost on the grass on a winter morning. Mingyu picks up his phone and takes a picture, leaning back against the window so he can fit both Minghao and Wonwoo into the shot.

Wonwoo looks up from his book, raising an eyebrow as Mingyu sets the photo as his lock screen. “What are you doing?”

Mingyu smiles at him, a little helpless. “It’s a nice moment. Like we’re in a teenage coming of age movie or something.”

Wonwoo regards him for a moment, the look in his eyes warm but impossible to read. “I guess it is,” he acknowledges quietly.

They smile at each other for a moment. Mingyu nods at Wonwoo’s book, which he’s placed face-down on the table. “What are you reading?”

Thus Spoke Zarathustra ,” Wonwoo says. “By Nietzsche. We covered a bit of it in Philosophy last semester, but I wanted to read the rest.” He sighs, running his index finger idly along the spine of the book. “Though it’s a pain in the ass to figure out what he’s saying, sometimes.”

Mingyu laughs. “Read some to me,” he suggests.

Wonwoo’s smile turns wry. He picks up the book, flips to a part that’s already earmarked, and says, slowly and carefully, “I love him whose soul is lavish, who wants no thanks and does not give back: for he always bestows, and desires not to keep for himself.”

Mingyu swallows. Wonwoo watches him over the top of his book. Not for the first time, Mingyu gets the distinct feeling that he’s missing something, something that would be very obvious if he could just read between the lines.

But as much as he tries to, he can’t. So he just smiles, makes some dumb joke about not understanding, and tries not to feel too disappointed when the look in Wonwoo’s eyes falters.

--

The sun is high in the sky by the time the train screeches to a halt at their destination. Mingyu shields his eyes as they disembark, his bag hanging loosely from his other hand, shaking the stiffness out of his legs.

The station is almost worlds away from the one they boarded the train from. The awning over their heads is cracked and greyish with water damage, there are wildflowers sprouting up from the gravel between the train tracks, and the garbage cans lining the station in regular intervals are filled to the brim, as if they haven’t been emptied in a while. Past the chain link fence separating the station from the rest of the surroundings, Mingyu can see wide expanses of flat land, green fields split into squares by roads of cracked pavement.

Someone slaps him on the back, jolting him away from the scenery. “Come on,” Seokmin says, an amused look on his face. “We gotta catch the bus.”

“Right,” Mingyu says, shooting Seokmin an apologetic smile. He probably comes off super insensitive, now that he really thinks about it - like a kid on a field trip, ogling everything around him. 

Seokmin waves him off, grabbing his hand and pulling him through the station. Wonwoo and Minghao trail behind them, talking quietly. “I probably acted the same way when we first moved here,” Seokmin says. “Just remember not to do it once we get to the actual neighborhoods, the people there don’t like that kind of stuff.”

Ah, right. They’re going to be visiting the neighborhood, with the people that Seokmin and Wonwoo spent five years surrounded by. The ones who shun any kind of deviation, the ones at the center of all those big, terrible words Mingyu read in the complaint. His heart suddenly feels as heavy as a stone in his chest, weighing him down.

Don’t be stupid , he tells himself. He’s not the one with the deeply personal connections to this place. He glances at Seokmin, who isn’t smiling like he usually is, but isn’t displaying any negative emotion, either. “Are you okay?” he asks. “I mean, we’re going to be there soon.”

Seokmin’s answering smile looks a little sad, subdued under murky water. “The place doesn’t really affect me anymore. I just have to see what Samuel and Mingming say, I guess.”

“Right.” They’re at the bus stop now, a circle of flattened grass marked by a rust-covered pole. Mingyu squeezes Seokmin’s hand, his worries soothed slightly when Seokmin squeezes back immediately. “I know Minghao is more than capable of beating them up, but if you need me to like, sit on them or something, you can call me.”

Seokmin laughs. “Hopefully it doesn’t get that bad, but I’ll keep it in mind.”

Mingyu hums. The bus arrives then; Seokmin lets go of his hand as they board, sliding two quarters into the slot as he greets the bus driver. Mingyu is reminded of Wonwoo doing the same thing on their trips home, and feels horribly selfish for getting hurt over it. Of course - holding hands in a place like this would only give rise to rumors, made worse by the fact that they’re both boys. How could he get hurt over a gesture Wonwoo probably developed out of self-preservation?

Seokmin gives him the window seat, and a full view of the village starts taking shape as they get closer to its center. Hills roll past, clusters of low, square houses nestled between them. Mingyu gasps and presses his nose to the glass when the first of many cow farms appears, brown and black cows grazing peacefully within view of an enormous red farmhouse. 

Seokmin points out various landmarks - an abandoned train station, a convenience store that sells ice cream flavors that can’t be found anywhere else, and of course, every single farm that they pass. It’s easier to picture Seokmin here, with the stories he tells about each place. He isn’t a tourist from the suburbs like Mingyu is - he’s a returning local. The five years of separation have never felt more real.

Finally, the neighborhood Seokmin grew up in comes into view. It’s fairly similar to the other clusters of houses they passed by on the way, just larger and with slightly better infrastructure. The utility poles tower over the short houses, thick wires striking through the clear blue sky. The bus rattles to a halt in front of a small group of people, mostly older people carrying bags of groceries, students on their way to a meetup with friends.

They disembark through the door at the back of the bus. Mingyu ignores the stares he’s getting from passersby, a clear intruder in a place where everyone knows each other. Seokmin claps his hands and says, brightly, “okay! You guys wanna see our old house?”

Minghao laughs and pats Seokmin’s head affectionately. “What are you, some kind of tour guide?”

“Of course,” Seokmin says. “I’m the cutest tour guide ever. Right, Mingyu?”

Mingyu winks. “I’d give you a five-star review on Yelp.”

Seokmin gasps and pretends to swoon. “That’s so romantic.”

“As much as I’m enjoying this conversation,” Wonwoo interrupts, looking amused, "we should probably start moving, we’re blocking the sidewalk.”

“Party pooper,” Seokmin pouts, but he starts walking anyway. Wonwoo pretends to kick him, and he dodges, laughing, bright and loud under the dappled shade of the trees overhead. 

Minghao falls into step next to Mingyu. “This feels like the calm before the storm,” he murmurs, watching the two brothers joke around ahead of them.

Mingyu hums in agreement. “Seokmin’s strong, though. I mean, he was the one who arranged this whole meeting, right? He’ll be okay.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he catches Minghao glancing at him, a wry twist to his lips. “What about Wonwoo?”

Ah, right. Seokmin isn't the one he's accompanying, after all. He looks at the slope of Wonwoo’s shoulders, the curl of his hair underneath his beanie. 

“Why isn’t Junhui coming?” he asked, when Wonwoo told him that Seokmin had invited Minghao, too. 

Wonwoo’s smile was sad, a little bitter. “He settled things with the village a long time ago. I… haven’t been able to do the same until now.”

“He’ll be okay, too,” Mingyu says. “He’s made it so far already.”

Minghao hums, smiling in the way he does whenever he knows something Mingyu doesn’t. “I think you’re right,” he says, looping their arms together. 

--

There’s a giant tree in the front yard of what used to be Seokmin and Wonwoo’s house, a swing made of wood and rope tied to one of its lower branches. The house itself is virtually identical to all the other ones in the neighborhood, a single-storied brick unit with a flat roof, various household appliances scattered in the corners, a clothesline just barely visible in the yard beyond. 

“Our dad made this swing for us,” Seokmin says, pointing. “I never used it though, it was like, super scary. I actually fell once.”

“That’s an overstatement,” Wonwoo points out, looking amused. “The swing wasn’t even moving, you leaned too far back and fell onto your ass.”

“It was still scary ,” Seokmin protests, looking betrayed as Wonwoo laughs. Mingyu, who’s still unable to jump from swings because he’s terrified he’ll somehow get stuck and dislocate his shoulders on the way down, completely understands. “I was scared for my life.”

They stand there for another few minutes, Seokmin and Wonwoo alternating with stories of their time here, as the sun shines brighter and hotter. Wonwoo then points out that they, four teenage boys loitering in the front yard, probably look extremely strange to the current residents of the house.

“Let’s split up now,” he suggests. “It’s almost time for you, anyways.”

This last part is addressed to Seokmin, who checks the time on his phone and nods, the carefree humor slipping from his smile and leaving something grim and determined behind. Mingyu moves to give him a hug, but Minghao beats him to it, groaning when Seokmin brightens up immediately and tries to kiss his cheek. 

“Well!” he says, once Minghao lets go of him. “Wish me luck, guys.”

“You got this,” Mingyu says, giving him a brief hug. Wonwoo mirrors the action, whispering something into Seokmin’s ear before pulling away, something that makes Seokmin smile and tear up a little. And then Minghao and Seokmin are off, up the hill and towards Samuel’s house.

Mingyu watches them for a few beats before turning to Wonwoo, who’s looking straight ahead. “Are you ready?”

Wonwoo looks at him. “As ready as I’ll ever be,” he says, his smile sad. Mingyu swallows, nods, and follows Wonwoo in the opposite direction.

The short walk to the school is spent entirely in silence, filled only with the crunch of dirt under their shoes, the occasional bus passing by. The wind picks up a bit, making Mingyu shiver, but Wonwoo strangely doesn’t seem to notice, his expression clouded and unwavering. The sight makes Mingyu feel colder than the wind ever could, but he’s unable to do anything about it - whatever’s going on in Wonwoo’s head right now is something he can’t access, something that’s meant for Wonwoo only.

The school looms into view faster than Mingyu expected. It looks like all the other buildings in the village - short, wide, peeling paint and rusted metal. The words mounted over the entrance, identifying the building as a high school, have faded nearly beyond recognition. Heating units hum underneath the windows. The field, covered in dry grass and overrun with weeds, contains only a section of gravel and a few goalposts, enclosed within a chain link fence. Now Seokmin’s excitement on the first day of school makes a lot more sense.

Wonwoo is silent as he makes his way over to the gate and pulls it open. It drags against the ground with a painful screech, making Mingyu wince and cover his ears. “Sorry,” Wonwoo says apologetically.

“Isn’t this, like, trespassing?” Mingyu wonders as he follows Wonwoo into the courtyard, heading straight for the patch of gravel.

Wonwoo shakes his head, pacing around the gravel like he’s looking for something. “No one monitors this place outside of school hours,” he explains. “We’re fine as long as we clean up after ourselves.”

“Well, there go my plans to egg the place,” Mingyu jokes. 

Wonwoo laughs, glancing up at him briefly, his eyes sparkling. A strand of hair has slipped out from underneath his beanie, curling over his forehead. “Maybe next time,” he allows. His foot catches on something then, and he looks back down. “There it is.”

Mingyu follows Wonwoo’s gaze, to what looks like a small white gym mat buried underneath the gravel, grey and brown with years of use. “Uh, what is that?”

Wonwoo digs through his bag, pulls out a blanket, and spreads it out over the mat. “A base,” he explains. “For baseball. There were never enough players at school to make an actual team, though, so people mostly used it as a place to eat lunch.”

To demonstrate, he toes his shoes off and sits down on the blanket cross-legged, patting the space next to him. Mingyu complies, sitting down with considerably less grace, sprawling his legs out in front of him and leaning back on his hands. 

“This is pretty romantic,” he jokes, leaning a little closer to Wonwoo so that their shoulders are pressed together, rejoicing when Wonwoo makes no move to pull away. “Do you want, like, snacks or something? I still have some in my bag.”

Wonwoo bobs his head mildly. “The view detracts from the overall experience, though.”

Mingyu stops in the middle of digging through his bag and presses a hand to his heart, leaning back dramatically. “Excuse you, that’s my beautiful face you’re talking about.”

Wonwoo nudges him. “I meant the school.”

“Oh, right.” Mingyu looks up at the school that looms over them, blocking the sun. Just the sight of it makes anger stir in him, makes him briefly consider actually egging the place. It would be the least it deserved. “Wow, it really is right in front of us, huh?” He glances at Wonwoo, who’s staring at the school, his expression unreadable again. His heart drops. “Are you okay?”

There’s a pause before Wonwoo replies, blinking like he’s trying to physically clear away the memories forming in his mind. “I’m okay,” he confirms. Before Mingyu can prod further, he adds, “it’s just weird to be here. I mean, I hated this place for so long, because of what it represented to me. Even after I left.”

Mingyu’s aware that he’s staring a little too intensely at Wonwoo, but he can’t look away. Wonwoo looks so wistful as he stares up at the front of the school, the strands of hair that have escaped from underneath his beanie blown back by the wind. But the set of his shoulders is strong and sure, and his voice is unwavering as he continues, “but hatred isn’t going to rewind time and stop all those things from happening. And as much as it helped me, it’s also been holding me back.

“I’ve been carrying all this weight with me like a punishment, as if I was the one at fault. My therapist said that to me a long time ago, but I never really realized what she meant until recently.”

Mingyu blinks at him. “You had a therapist?”

“Only for a short while,” Wonwoo answers. “My parents signed me up last year, after they found out. I only went for a few months before we moved, and then I convinced my parents I was okay enough to not need any more.”

His sentence trails off like a question. Mingyu thinks he can see the answer in his eyes, in the memories of his impassivity, shielding his hurt like barbed wire. “You weren’t okay,” Mingyu says.

Wonwoo shakes his head. “I wasn’t. I was scared, and angry, and full of hatred all the time. I always assumed the worst about everyone around me. It took meeting all of our friends - you know, Soonyoung, and Jihoon, and the rest - to realize that I was only pretending to have moved on. In reality, I was clinging to the past because it was all I ever knew, and I thought it would keep me safe.

“Which sounds ridiculous now, saying it aloud,” he laughs. The sound rings up into the blue sky, carried away by the wind and the smell of asphalt and dry grass. “But that’s a testament to how much I’ve changed, I guess. Of course I still get upset at times, and there are still parts of the way I think that are unhealthy, but I’m working on getting better. I am getting better.

“I’m sorry,” he says, turning to face Mingyu. “I’ve hurt you. More than once.”

Mingyu shakes his head. “I’m sorry, too,” he says. “I mean, I hurt you too, right? We both have stuff we need to work through, but at least we’re talking to each other instead of, like,” he laughs at the memory, “whatever we were doing before. Seriously, what was that?”

Wonwoo heaves a sigh, smiling. “Honestly, I don’t know. Sometimes I wish I could go back in time and shake some sense into myself. I’m sorry for that, too.”

“Stop saying sorry,” Mingyu teases, nudging him lightly. “Or else I’m going to start saying sorry, too, and then we’ll be stuck here forever.”

Wonwoo huffs. “You’re really stunting my emotional growth here, Mingyu.”

The statement would be mildly hurtful, except for the fact that all of their circumstances contradict it so much it’s kind of funny. After all, they’re having a heart to heart in front of Wonwoo’s old high school, on a trip Wonwoo invited him on. Mingyu grins. “Am I really?”

Wonwoo glares, frighteningly convincing, before dropping the act and smiling instead. “Of course not,” he says. “If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have been able to do this until much later. I have to thank you for that.”

It’s hard to imagine how Mingyu could have ever helped Wonwoo, who is strong and brave and eternally introspective. “I didn’t do anything,” he says. “It was all you.”

“‘You have always done better than you give yourself credit for’,” Wonwoo replies. “Remember when I said that to you?”

“Of course I do,” Mingyu says, a little taken aback. It feels like an eternity ago, the day after the soccer team lost in the finals. Back when Wonwoo was still unfamiliar with Mingyu’s kitchen, back when Wonwoo still seemed like an enigma to Mingyu, back when Mingyu was still plagued with self-doubt. They’ve built something new, the two of them, in the time that’s passed since - something stable and free of rot, with all the important parts still intact. “I’m surprised you remember.”

Wonwoo laughs quietly. The sunlight seems to settle around him, resting golden on his shoulders and the tip of his nose and his fingers, as if it recognizes how significant this moment is. A single point of clarity, embodying all the growing pains that come with shedding the person you once were.

“How could I forget?” Wonwoo asks, holding his gaze.

Mingyu looks back, and finally, finally, like a dam crumbling, the stirring feeling deep within his chest bursts. He looks at Wonwoo, at who he was five years ago and five months ago and who he is now, and thinks, oh

When he fell for Seungkwan, it was light and pleasant, butterflies swarming delicately in the pit of his stomach. What he feels now is nothing like that. Mingyu feels like something has reached into his chest and turned everything inside out, rummaged through his mind and shoved all his dark, slumbering thoughts out into the light. 

He thinks he’s going to explode. He wants to scream, run away, bury his head in the gravel, but above all he really wants to kiss Wonwoo

Holy shit. He really wants to kiss Wonwoo. So this is what he was feeling, during all those quiet moments of intimacy, all those late night conversations over the phone. He’s literally the biggest idiot in the world.

Also, what the fuck is he going to do now?

“Mingyu?” Wonwoo looks concerned. Mingyu realizes that he’s been staring for a little too long, and also that his face is very, very warm. He turns away quickly, pressing the backs of his hands to his cheeks. “What’s wrong?”

Mingyu shakes his head, panicking slightly. Wonwoo can’t know. Especially not now, on a day that’s supposed to be about him, not Mingyu’s long-repressed feelings. “Nothing,” he lies.

There’s a pause, during which Mingyu looks at everything except Wonwoo. “You’re a terrible liar, you know,” Wonwoo says finally.

That shocks Mingyu enough to look at him. His eyes are warm, and his smile is teasing, but there’s a thread of hurt underneath all of it, like he knows Mingyu’s keeping something from him. If only you knew , Mingyu thinks, bitter and aching and wanting, wanting, wanting. “I know,” he huffs. “Doesn’t stop me from trying, though.”

“Yeah, I know,” Wonwoo agrees. He leans ever-so-slightly closer, shifting his position so that their fingers are overlapping slightly on the mat between them. Mingyu feels like his whole body is on fire. They’re so close, and if he leans forward a little he could- they would- “You don’t have to tell me,” Wonwoo continues. “But if there’s anything I can do to help…”

Mingyu shakes his head again, shame and guilt and oh my God I like Jeon Wonwoo burning in the back of his throat. His timing really is awful; all that about communicating properly and opening up about baggage, and yet here he is, hiding something again. “It’s okay,” he says. “I’ll- it’s just something I have to work out on my own. Thanks, though.”

Wonwoo looks unconvinced, but he’s generous enough to nod and drop the subject. Then something past Mingyu’s shoulder catches his eye, and he recoils like he’s been stung, ripping apart the space between them. “Holy shit,” he mutters under his breath.

“What? What is it?” Mingyu turns around, scanning the space behind him. He’s never seen Wonwoo react so viscerally to something before. Alarm courses through his veins, making him tense up in anticipation of - something .

A something that turns out to be a boy, around their age or maybe a little older, pushing open the gate. The warmth at Mingyu’s side vanishes. Mingyu turns back just in time to see Wonwoo climb to his feet, dusting his pants off with a care that seems almost self conscious.

Mingyu doesn’t have enough time to panic over what this means - who is this boy, was he one of the bullies, is Wonwoo’s life ruined now because they were sitting too close for comfort - because Wonwoo says, his voice as soft as a half-formed thought, “Joshua.”

Wonwoo isn’t looking at him. Wonwoo’s looking at the boy, who is standing only a foot or so away from them now. Mingyu scrambles to his feet, shielding his eyes from the sun so he can get a better look.

The first thing he thinks when he sees Joshua is: pretty . Because he is pretty - big eyes and high cheekbones and gently curving lips that seem to be always in the middle of becoming a smile. His shoulders are broad underneath his tasteful striped sweater, and his voice is disarmingly sweet when he greets, “hey, Wonwoo! I didn’t expect to see you back here.”

The friendliness in his voice surprises Mingyu, but it doesn’t seem to surprise Wonwoo, who bobs his head in agreement. “I could say the same for you,” he says, smiling.

So not a bully, then. Mingyu looks back and forth between the two of them, trying and failing to get a grasp on their relationship, before Joshua notices his presence and extends his hand. “Nice to meet you,” he says as Mingyu shakes his hand. He looks straight into Mingyu’s eyes like he’s taking the time to really see him, not just acknowledge him as a formality. “I’m Joshua.”

Mingyu feels himself smiling, his nerves soothed by Joshua’s presence. Which is insane, because he doesn’t even know the guy. “I’m Mingyu,” he says. “I’m Wonwoo’s friend.”

Right. Just friends. Even though Mingyu has wanted something more for so, so long, longer than he can currently wrap his head around. “Nice,” Joshua says. “I’m Wonwoo’s friend, too. Or at least I thought I was,” he grins at Wonwoo, teasing, “since this guy never bothers texting me anymore.”

“I text you,” Wonwoo protests. “It’s not my fault you take such a long time to reply.”

Joshua raises his hands in surrender. “That’s fair,” he laughs. “In my defense, I’ve been busy with university.” 

University . So Joshua’s older, at least a year older than Wonwoo, and two years older than Mingyu. For some reason, that fact makes Mingyu feel very, very small. 

The feeling only grows as Wonwoo asks Joshua about university, which launches them into a conversation about courses and extracurriculars and living on campus that makes Mingyu shift his feet and fall silent. It reminds him, strangely, of the spreadsheet his mom gave him the summer before he started high school, full of words he didn’t fully understand. All of a sudden, he feels incredibly alone, caught in the middle of a conversation he has no part in.

But just as he’s made his decision to leave and is about to tell Wonwoo, something dumb and pathetic like I’ll wait outside until you’re done that will make Joshua look at him with pity, probably, he catches the look on Wonwoo’s face. The dusting of pink across his cheekbones that has nothing to do with the wind, the brightness in his eyes that has nothing to do with the sunlight.

What had Wonwoo said on the bus that one time, months ago? I had a crush on a boy once

The chill that envelops Mingyu’s body has nothing to do with the weather, either. It has, instead, everything to do with the realization that Wonwoo liked Joshua. Probably still likes him, if the look on his face is anything to go by. 

And the worst part of it is, why wouldn’t he? Joshua is mature and thoughtful and funny in a subtle way. He talks about playing the guitar and going to university to become a doctor and visiting family abroad. Of course, of course Wonwoo would like him. 

And of course, of course Mingyu never stood a chance. Because he is nothing like Joshua, and he is nothing like the type of person that would be worthy of Wonwoo’s feelings.

The world around him falls silent. It takes him a moment to realize that it isn’t just because his mind is dissociating again, but in fact because Joshua and Wonwoo have stopped talking and are just staring at him in concern and confusion. Mingyu’s flight instinct kicks up under the attention, his mind racing to come up with something, anything to say so he can get out of there.

“Mingyu?” Wonwoo is a lot closer than Mingyu remembers him being. Wonwoo’s hand is on his wrist, a gentle pressure that feels overwhelming in the light of all his revelations, a weight that threatens to drag him down. “What’s wrong?”

“I just-” Mingyu shakes his head, taking a step backwards, ignoring the flash of hurt that flickers through Wonwoo’s eyes. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I like you so much , he chants in his head. “It’s nothing. I think- I’ll let you guys talk, okay? I’ll just be- I’ll be right over there.” He points towards the first thing he sees, a tree just outside the gate. “It was nice meeting you, Joshua. I’ll see you.”

Wonwoo opens his mouth, about to say something. Mingyu doesn’t want to know what it is. He turns and leaves, careful not to walk too fast, careful not to slam the gate too loudly as he goes.

The shade underneath the tree is a welcome reprieve from the blinding sunlight, cooling down the back of his neck as he crouches in front of it, pulling his knees close to his chest. For a brief, irrational second, he hopes Wonwoo will run after him, leave Joshua and that school behind and put him first.

But of course Wonwoo won’t. And Wonwoo doesn’t, because why would he? Mingyu is not the kind of person he runs after. 

The rattle of the gate announces Wonwoo’s arrival before Wonwoo himself can. Mingyu looks up. Joshua is nowhere to be seen; it’s just Wonwoo, walking towards him, pulling his beanie off.

The wind pushes back his hair, the leaves overhead casting dappled shade over his face. Mingyu closes his eyes, so overwhelmed by his feelings for this boy, the way his entire body wants to be closer. He wishes he were anywhere but here, but he can’t move.

“Mingyu,” Wonwoo says softly. “Talk to me.”

I like you so much but you’ll never like me back because I’m not good enough and I’m a terrible, awful person for realizing this today of all days, I’m so sorry, please don’t leave me- “You used to like him,” Mingyu mumbles, keeping his eyes shut. “Joshua. You used to like him.”

Wonwoo huffs out a laugh. Please don’t say yes, please don’t say yes, please don’t say yes, Mingyu chants. “Was it that obvious?”

There it is. Mingyu can feel all the brittle parts of him splintering, the foundation they’ve built around them cracking and crumbling. It’s all his fault, for falling for Wonwoo in the first place, for ever thinking Wonwoo would- that they could- “is he your type, then?”

There’s a pause, just long enough for Mingyu to run through every single response Wonwoo can give. Wonwoo takes him by surprise, just as he always does, and asks, “what, are you jealous?”

Mingyu opens his eyes and nearly loses his balance. Wonwoo is crouching in front of him so they’re eye-level, beanie in one hand, his hair falling into his eyes. 

Maybe it’s because Wonwoo’s so close, maybe it’s because he’s frayed at the edges and fraught with nerves, but he looks Wonwoo straight in the eye and says, simply, “what if I am?”

He regrets the words as soon as they come out of his mouth. He regrets them even more when Wonwoo’s eyes widen, glazing over with what is unmistakably fear. “Mingyu,” he says, and Mingyu hears stop and what are you doing and why would I ever feel the same way?

“Never mind,” Mingyu blurts out, standing up and taking a few solid steps backwards. “Never mind. It’s fine. Forget I said anything.”

He can’t lose Wonwoo, not when Wonwoo’s become one of his closest friends, not when Wonwoo’s the first person he turns to when he can’t sleep. Even if he has to feel like this forever, wanting what he can’t have, he refuses to lose Wonwoo to something like this. So he sweeps it under the rug, avoids Wonwoo’s gaze, and says, “Seokmin and Minghao should be done by now.”

“Okay,” Wonwoo says, his voice neutral. Mingyu hates himself. “Let’s go.”

Chapter 27

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

The walk back to the bus stop is painfully cold in the midst of the warm spring weather. Their conversation alternates between small talk and silence. Neither of them mention Joshua. 

Minghao and Seokmin are already there when they arrive, talking quietly around the rusted pole that marks the stop. There’s a telltale redness around Seokmin’s eyes, but his smile is one of relief, the set of his shoulders more confident without the weight that was there before. 

Mingyu hugs him, soaking in the sound of his laughter when he picks him up and swings him around a little. “How’d it go?” Mingyu asks once he sets him down. 

“Pretty great,” Seokmin says, a little breathless. Wonwoo steps forward to give him a hug, too; Mingyu stumbles backwards in tandem. Wonwoo squeezes Seokmin until the latter starts wheezing dramatically, at which point he lets go, laughing when Seokmin accuses him of attempted murder. 

“Anyways,” Seokmin continues, glaring at Wonwoo, “it was pretty good. I didn’t even cry in front of them!”

Minghao snorts. “Yeah, then you walked out and immediately burst into tears.”

Seokmin pouts. “You didn’t have to mention that part,” he says. “But yeah, they basically repeated what they said to me over the phone on Mingyu’s birthday, and then I told them that the way they think isn’t healthy and I hope they figure out how to move on, and then they told me to screw off so I did.”

Wonwoo raises an eyebrow. “They told you to fuck off? That’s pretty shitty of them.” Next to him, Minghao nods firmly.

Seokmin looks at Minghao and laughs, hearty and warm. “Minghao almost went inside to beat them up when I told him,” he says. “It’s fine, though. I’m not even that hurt anymore. I mean, sure, I miss them and stuff, but that’s just because we were friends for so long. I know it was for the best.”

Wonwoo’s eyes shine with pride. It’s a beautiful sight, knocking Mingyu breathless, and holy shit, Mingyu likes him so much . “It was,” he says. “I’m proud of you.”

Seokmin beams. “Aw, don’t say that,” he says. “I’m gonna cry again. How’d it go for you?”

Mingyu’s mood sours immediately, and he looks away, unwilling to see the expression on Wonwoo’s face. “It went well,” Wonwoo answers, an undercurrent of something underneath his words, something that Mingyu knows is because of him. “We ran into Joshua.”

Mingyu stiffens at the mention of the name. Minghao catches his eye and raises his eyebrows, a silent are you okay? Mingyu shakes his head as Seokmin laughs, delighted, and says, “wait, really? You should’ve told me, I miss him.”

Mingyu’s heart drops. Joshua was - is - close with Seokmin, too. The more he learns about the guy, the worse he feels about himself, because he’s selfish and dumb and overwhelmed. “He couldn’t talk for long,” he barely hears Wonwoo say. “But he said he misses you, too. You should message him sometime.”

“I will,” Seokmin agrees. The bus arrives, then, and they board and pay their fare, finding two pairs of seats across the aisle from each other. Minghao pulls Mingyu into the seat next to him, while Wonwoo sits down between Seokmin and the window. 

Minghao waits until the bus starts moving again, the carriage filling with the sound of wheels against asphalt, before he sighs and says, “what did this Joshua guy do to you?”

Mingyu buries his burning face in his hands. “Nothing,” he says. “He seemed nice. I was the one being weird, or whatever.”

Minghao snorts. “I can imagine.” Mingyu elbows him lightly, indignant. “You know I’m right. You’re acting like you got into a fight with Wonwoo again.” There’s a pause. “I swear to God, Mingyu, if you guys fought again I’m going to kill the both of you-”

“We didn’t fight,” Mingyu says quickly, if only out of self-preservation. “I just, um. I’ll tell you later.”

“You better,” Minghao mutters. But he stays mercifully silent for the rest of the bus ride, leaving Mingyu to sit in his feelings, comforted slightly by the rhythmic sway of the bus.

--

The bus arrives at the station five minutes before their train is set to depart. They end up making a mad dash towards the train, managing to slide between the doors just before they close. Mingyu takes everyone’s bags and stows them all in the overhead compartments before collapsing onto the nearest empty seat. 

Which happens to be, he realizes belatedly, the one next to Wonwoo. Thankfully, Wonwoo is already back to reading his fancy philosophy book, so he doesn’t catch the way Mingyu’s entire body freezes for a moment at the proximity. Mingyu unlocks his phone, willing his face to stop burning, trying desperately to distract himself from Wonwoo’s presence. 

It works, albeit only somewhat. Mingyu watches a few episodes of the K-Drama Seungkwan recommended to him, getting engrossed enough that the flush on his face dies down; but Wonwoo is hard to escape, lurking constantly in the back of his mind, leaping into the forefront at unexpected times. One of the K-Drama OSTs sounds like a song Wonwoo would like. Mingyu remembers Wonwoo reading one of the prop books in the background. Hell, even the case currently protecting the phone he’s watching the K-Drama on is from Wonwoo, reminding him of a staircase filled with sunlight. 

Eventually, his eyes and ears start hurting, so he turns off his phone, pulls out his headphones, and leans back against the back of his seat. He closes his eyes, very deliberately not looking in Wonwoo’s direction. 

He’s so tired. He wishes he could just shut off the endless buzzing of his thoughts, the clamoring of feelings in his too-full chest. He wishes he could go back to before he had his whole realization about liking Wonwoo, before he met Joshua, before he realized he was nowhere near the type of person Wonwoo would like. 

He’s more tired than he thought, evidently, because his consciousness starts fading at the edges, his body going slack. He lets himself drift into that space between awake and asleep, barely registering the world around him, his mind pleasantly numb.

Just before he falls asleep, he feels himself slip to the side, his neck tilting painfully. And then, gently, a hand around the side of his head, pulling him in the opposite direction. He goes without resistance, hitting something warm and firm just before everything goes dark.

--

“Mingyu. Wake up.”

“Urfgh,” he groans, turning his face into the warm, firm thing underneath his head. It’s very comfortable. “Don’t wanna,” he grumbles.

A quiet chuckle sounds from somewhere above him, ringing through his body like a thousand wingbeats just underneath the surface of his skin. “Unfortunately, you gotta.”

Mingyu makes another unintelligible sound, burrowing further into what he realizes is someone’s shoulder. Slowly, the world around him seeps in - the sound of passengers disembarking, the sunlight warming his skin, and most importantly, the smell of loose leaf tea, no sugar. 

His internal voice goes, very loudly and deliberately, oh shit . And then his body reacts, jerking himself backwards so fast he goes lightheaded and nearly falls off the seat. “Shit,” he fumbles, scrambling onto his feet, putting as much distance as possible between himself and Wonwoo, who is looking up at him with equal parts amusement and confusion. “Shit, sorry- did I sleep on you for the entire ride?”

“You did,” Wonwoo confirms. Mingyu wants to die. “It’s fine, Mingyu. It’s not a big deal.”

“You did drool.” This is Seokmin, who Mingyu completely forgot existed, holding his bag out to him. Mingyu takes it numbly. “Minghao took, like, fifty pictures.”

Mingyu turns to face Minghao, who is smiling serenely like the cold-blooded traitor he is. He holds up his phone, turning it on to display his lockscreen - which is now a picture of Mingyu sprawled against Wonwoo’s shoulder, an unmistakable damp patch underneath his open mouth.

“I hate you,” Mingyu says. He turns to Wonwoo and says, unable to look him in the eye, “Sorry for, um. Being gross. I’ll pay for dry cleaning?”

“I already told you, it’s not a big deal,” Wonwoo says, the emotion in his voice unrecognizable. Mingyu’s stomach twists itself into knots. “Seokmin drools on me every time we go somewhere together.”

“Hey!” Seokmin complains. Mingyu laughs, not really feeling it, and lets Minghao usher him off the train and into the station. 

--

Mingyu spends the entirety of the car ride home torn between ignoring Wonwoo, treating Wonwoo like he usually does, and staring at Wonwoo’s face because wow . He has always found Wonwoo handsome, but now it’s like if he squints hard enough he can see the halo reflecting off Wonwoo’s hair. 

That’s it. He’s officially losing his mind. 

He feels like he could cry with relief when the car finally pulls up to his house, getting out so fast he nearly trips over the curb. Wonwoo, in the passenger seat as usual, rolls down the window so Mr. Jeon-Lee can tell him to stay safe and have a good rest of his weekend. 

“Thank you for the ride,” Mingyu says, half-bowing, because he is a good kid, mild emotional crisis be damned. He waves, and is about to turn around to head up to his house when his sleeve snags on something.

Or rather, some one . Mingyu turns around to see Wonwoo’s fingers curled firmly around his sleeve, and Wonwoo himself, looking a little surprised at his own gesture. It’s really cute. Mingyu likes him so much he thinks he’s going to die.

“Mingyu,” Wonwoo says, searching his face. He sounds - desperate, almost, his voice hoarse. “Are we okay?”

Mingyu swallows down the guilt that rises like bile in his throat, the confession trying to claw its way out of his mouth. I like you I like you I like you . “Yeah,” he says. “Sorry. I just- I was just tired.”

Wonwoo frowns, looking unconvinced. “If I said anything wrong-”

“No!” Mingyu blurts out, wincing when his voice rings a little too loud. “Um, I mean, it’s fine. You didn’t do anything, I promise. I’ll see you on Monday?”

Wonwoo holds his gaze for one last prolonged moment, then lets go of his sleeve. “Of course. Have a good evening.”

Mingyu swallows. “Right,” he manages. He stays rooted to the spot as Wonwoo rolls up the window and the car pulls away from the curb, only moving to go inside once the car has disappeared around the corner.

--

Mingyu suffers in silence all throughout the next day and a half, doing his work in a daze and overthinking every text he sends Wonwoo. Sunday evening sees him sitting in bed, phone pressed to his ear, dialing Minghao first, then Seokmin. 

A few minutes later, because his friends are amazing and also live very conveniently close, Minghao and Seokmin are piling on top of him, trapping him under their collective weight until he wheezes and feigns death. 

Seokmin, mercifully, rolls off him, allowing Minghao to follow suit. Mingyu shifts into a seated position on his bed as Seokmin asks, “So what did you call us over for?”

“Ah, right.” Mingyu can feel his face heat up at the thought of voicing the thing that’s been plaguing his mind all weekend. “I, uh. Wanted to get your opinion on something.”

Minghao snorts. “Well, obviously,” he says, because he is a terrible person and an even worse friend. “Stop stalling and tell us already.”

“You are so mean,” Mingyu complains. “Maybe I’ll only tell Seokmin. At least Seokmin won’t laugh at me, or accuse me of stalling, or elbow me in the ribs-”

“You’re stalling again,” Minghao says.

“Okay, fine ,” Mingyu acquiesces. “I-” His resolve crumples like a tin can. He stares down at his hands, his face hotter than ever (and not in the way it usually is - no, shut up, Minghao). “Um.”

“Yes?” Minghao sighs, at the same time that Seokmin leans forward encouragingly and says, “you can do it!”

Mingyu clears his throat. “I think… I might be into Wonwoo?” he says, his voice getting quieter and higher-pitched by the second.

It’s dead silent. Mingyu thinks he can hear his own heartbeat. There’s a bit of sauce on his thumb from when he was making dinner. He wonders if he should be preparing for his own death.

Instead, Minghao says, his voice frighteningly even, “you think?

Mingyu winces. “I… know?” An image pops up in his head, Wonwoo tipping his head back as he laughs, the line of his throat stark against the dark sky. He jolts. “No, I uh, I’m definitely into Wonwoo. Like, really really into him.”

“Right,” Minghao says slowly. “And this is news to you?”

“Listen,” Mingyu starts automatically, “I know it’s weird, but- wait, what?” 

He snaps his head up. Minghao has one eyebrow raised, looking supremely unimpressed, while Seokmin is smiling at him out of pity. He spent the entire weekend running through every single reaction his confession could yield - surprise, confusion, disgust - but he never could’ve predicted that they would be - unsurprised. Expectant. 

He opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. He clears his throat and tries again. “You- you knew? Both of you? But- I- since when?”

“The day he moved back,” Minghao says simply, at the same time that Seokmin asks, “am I allowed to say elementary school?”

Mingyu takes back every positive thing he's ever said about his friends. He has the worst friends in the world. “But that’s so long ago.”

Minghao nods like it checks out. Seokmin shrugs, patting him on the shoulder.

“I don’t understand,” Mingyu says desperately, mind racing as he backtracks through the last few months. Staring at his bedroom ceiling late at night, letting Wonwoo’s voice wash over him through the phone. Running to Wonwoo’s house on a whim. Buying Wonwoo a good luck charm before exams. Losing his mind over Wonwoo’s haircut. Getting excited over being able to hold Wonwoo’s hand.

And, at the end of summer, approaching the house with the moving van parked in the driveway, a pie clutched between his hands. His throat going dry when he hears Wonwoo’s voice for the first time in years. Forgetting about the world around him, for a brief moment.

“Oh my God,” Mingyu says. “Oh my God. I’ve liked him for so long .”

Seokmin nods. Minghao shrugs. “Then tell him.”

Just like that, reality settles back into the pit of his stomach, heavy. “I can’t,” he says, dropping his gaze back down to his hands, which are curled in on themselves. “I- he doesn’t like me back.”

There’s another moment of deafening silence. When Minghao speaks, his voice is much gentler than before. “How are you so sure?”

Minghao’s question opens the floodgates, sending everything tumbling out. “Because I met Joshua and I know Wonwoo used to like him and I’m nothing like Joshua,” Mingyu says, “so why would Wonwoo ever like me back? Why would I confess just to get rejected?”

Some more silence. Finally, something soft but very solid smacks into his side. Mingyu looks up in indignation.

He’s met with the sight of Seokmin brandishing his pillow like a weapon. “Mingyu,” he says, “I love you, but you're also an idiot.”

Minghao nods. Mingyu feels attacked. “What?”

“Wonwoo, like, made me pinky-promise not to tell anyone,” Seokmin continues, “but it doesn’t matter anymore. I’m doing, what’s it called? Charity?”

“A public service,” Minghao supplies.

“That,” Seokmin agrees. “Dude, Wonwoo likes you at least as much as you like him.”

That’s a lot of like , his brain says automatically. And then, wait, what did he just say?

“What did you just say?” Mingyu repeats desperately.

“I mean, it was obvious even to me, and I’m like, the densest person alive,” Seokmin says. And then, like he’s reading off a grocery list and not systematically making Mingyu’s brain implode, “Like, he willingly gets cold for you, he smiles when he texts you, he went to soccer games for you, he-”

“Okay, okay,” Mingyu interrupts, feeling a little lightheaded. “Sure, maybe that’s… more than what most friends do, but he’s a good person, so-”

He’s interrupted when Seokmin hits him with the pillow again. “Those aren’t good person things,” he says. “Giving you food or whatever is a good person thing. Going out at ten p.m. to find you because he thought you might be sad is an in love with you thing .”

Minghao’s eyes widen at Seokmin’s words before immediately narrowing at Mingyu. “He what ,” he says flatly.

“Haha,” Mingyu starts nervously, “okay, yeah, I see how you could see it that way, but again, he liked Joshua and I am nothing like-”

Minghao throws his hands up in exasperation. “Simple. He liked Joshua in the past. He likes you now. People can have more than one type, you know.”

“I-” Mingyu’s brain, at this point, is just a puddle of vaguely viscous goo. “I’m Wonwoo’s type?

Minghao heaves a sigh. Seokmin hits him with the pillow again. 

“Okay, still, even if-” Mingyu falters briefly, because even saying it aloud feels strange and a little volatile, like if the concept rolls around in his brain too much it’ll explode, “-even if Wonwoo feels the same way, it could still go badly. Like, he might not be interested in- in dating me or whatever-” he thinks about dating Wonwoo, putting an arm around his waist and holding his hand on the bus and kissing him , and his head spins, “-and then I’ll just make things weird and then we’ll stop being friends and-”

“Mingyu, listen to me,” Minghao interrupts, cupping his face in his hands and momentarily pausing his downward spiral. “ You won’t know until you tell him . Right?”

In the face of Minghao’s logic, Mingyu wavers, as he always does. This is so unfair. Why does everything Minghao say have to make so much sense ? “Right,” he acquiesces. “So I… should tell him?”

Minghao leans away, clapping him on the shoulder as he goes. “There you go.”

Mingyu turns to Seokmin, who grins and gives him a thumbs up. “You got this,” he says encouragingly. And if the younger brother of the guy he’s going to confess to is supporting him, he can’t not do it, can he?

“Right,” he repeats. “I’m going to tell him. Tomorrow.”

--

“I’ll tell him eventually,” Mingyu says.

Seokmin leans over and steals a bite of his sandwich. Minghao sips on his iced tea, unimpressed. “It’s been a week,” he points out.

“I know ,” Mingyu huffs, glaring at Minghao, who just shrugs and smiles around his straw beatifically. “I’m trying my best, but the opportunity never comes up. It’s not like I can just say, ‘haha cool story man, by the way I like you’, right?”

“I mean, you could,” Seokmin points out, at the same time that Minghao says, “I wouldn’t put it past you.”

“You guys are the worst ,” Mingyu informs them. He looks out the window of the coffee shop to the street outside, the gaggles of students passing through on their way back to school. It takes a few moments for him to realize that he’s searching for a familiar mop of black hair, the glint of silver-rimmed glasses, and snap his eyes away. “And you give terrible advice,” he tacks on.

Minghao shrugs again. “What did you think you were going to get? Neither of us have had this problem before.”

Mingyu mulls this over. This is, unfortunately, true. Minghao has never shown a romantic inclination towards anyone; Seokmin has dated before, but they were all initiated by the girl, who invariably noticed that he liked her because he can’t hide his feelings for shit. If he wants some good advice, he needs to talk to someone who has actually confessed successfully to a close friend before. He needs to talk to- to-

“Seungkwan,” he realizes, straightening at the idea. Minghao raises his eyebrows, less in judgment and more in pleasant surprise, which basically means he’s right. He’s literally a genius. “I need to talk to Seungkwan.”

--

He approaches Seungkwan the next day at lunch. It’s one of the rare days where he doesn’t have musical rehearsals, so he finds him in the same part of the hallway he always occupies, sitting on the floor with Vernon and Chan. 

“I need to talk to you,” he rushes out, his nerves making the words tumble haphazardly from his mouth. “Um. In private?”

Seungkwan sighs. “Hello, Mingyu, yes, I’m doing very well, thanks for asking-”

“Yeah, yeah,” Mingyu interrupts, waving his hands around frantically. Chan frowns up at him in concern. “Hello Seungkwan, how are you, great. Are you busy right now?”

Seungkwan sighs again. “I guess I’m not,” he says. He climbs to his feet, kissing the top of Vernon’s head before turning to Mingyu and saying, magnanimously, “lead the way.”

Mingyu blinks, reeling at the display of affection. (Chan makes a face but doesn’t say anything, like this is something he’s used to. It probably is, the poor kid.) To think Seungkwan was in the same position he’s in, and now he’s here, kissing his boyfriend like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Hope flares up in Mingyu’s chest uninhibited at the thought that he could have this with Wonwoo, something so easy and sweet.

Seungkwan clears his throat. Mingyu blinks again. “Right,” he says apologetically. “Um. See you later, Vernon, Chan.”

Vernon makes an ‘ok’ gesture. Chan grins and waves enthusiastically. Mingyu smiles at the both of them before grabbing Seungkwan’s wrist and half-pulling him down the hallway, all the way to the exit at the end, and then through the exit out of the school. 

The stretch of pavement behind the school is cluttered with students playing a variety of sports, taking advantage of the pleasant spring weather. Thankfully, the area under the shade of the school building is relatively deserted, and Mingyu finds a secluded enough space with ease. 

They lean against the side of the building, next to each other. Mingyu squints up at the sky, the brick wall digging into his back. “How did you…” he clears his throat, suddenly feeling incredibly awkward in front of a boy he’s known for years. “Uh, how did you confess to Vernon?”

He isn’t looking at Seungkwan, but he can see Seungkwan’s eyebrows shoot upwards regardless. “You were literally there,” he says slowly, like Mingyu is an idiot. “Remember?”

“Yeah, but,” Mingyu makes a vague gesture, “I wasn’t, like, there there.”

“I’m pretty sure I told you,” Seungkwan says, like he’s figuring something out. “I said ‘I like you’, and he said ‘I like you too’ because he’s an idiot, and then I said, ‘I meant in the more than friends way’, and then he was like-”

“Okay, yeah, I remember,” Mingyu says. “I- that’s it?”

There’s a pause before Seungkwan says, slowly, “I mean, yeah. If you take away the nerves or the fear or whatever, it’s really just that. ‘I like you’.”

“Is it really that easy, though?” Mingyu asks. “You did put it off for, like, months.”

Seungkwan huffs. “You didn’t need to remind me,” he mutters. “Like, yeah, I was scared of ruining everything or whatever, but in the end it’s really just up to what you value more. Would you rather stay in a friendship that’ll be weighed down forever by your feelings, or would you rather take a risk, start dating, and potentially break up?” 

Mingyu doesn’t know what to say to that. He should’ve thought about this; after all, Wonwoo is a senior. It’s already May. He’ll be moving to a city two hours away soon, to attend a university full of people who are cooler and older and smarter than Mingyu. Mingyu thinks about breaking up slowly, falling apart over miles and miles of distance, and swallows around the lump in his throat.

Seungkwan must be able to feel the shift in his mood, because his voice is softer when he asks, “what is this about, Mingyu?”

Mingyu sighs. “I like Wonwoo,” he admits, letting the words get swept up by the faint breeze. “I’m trying to figure out how to tell him.”

Is it even worth telling him?

There’s another, longer pause. “Wait a minute,” Seungkwan says. “You guys aren’t together?”

Mingyu chokes on air, turning to face Seungkwan who, to his horror, looks completely serious. “What?”

Seungkwan squints at him incredulously. “I thought you guys were a thing since, like, January.”

Mingyu chokes harder, bending over with the force of his wheezing. Seungkwan smacks his back unhelpfully. “We- what ?”

“I didn’t think you guys were dating, more like pre-dating,” Seungkwan clarifies, which doesn’t really make things better. “But come on, you guys flirt literally every single time you talk. Remember when we went out for coffee, and we ran into him and Junhui? After winter break? You guys were like, holding hands and smiling at each other and it was super gross?”

“We-” Mingyu wonders, horrified, just how many of his friends knew he liked Wonwoo before he did. “I- since January?

“Oh, man,” Seungkwan says, a thread of pity in his voice. “You two really are idiots.”

--

It takes about a week for Mingyu to process the information Seungkwan dumped onto him, which means another week of avoiding the impending confession and trying desperately to act normal around Wonwoo. Thankfully, Wonwoo at the very least doesn’t seem to think there’s anything wrong, calling him at ten in the evening on Saturday just to talk, going home with him Tuesday afternoon. 

Also thankfully, preparations for the school festival are picking up, which means that his friends are too busy to bully him about the delayed confession, and Mingyu himself is too busy to have a proper mental breakdown over his relationship with Wonwoo. The culinary club, as it does every year, is hosting another restaurant-type booth, which apparently rakes in enough money to fund all of next year’s meetings. On Thursday, the club forgoes an actual lesson in favor of announcing this year’s theme.

It’s a maid cafe. Mingyu is extremely excited. Jihoon looks like he’s about to commit mass murder.

Momo approaches him after the meeting concludes, the classroom buzzing with chatter. “I have a favor to ask you,” she says very seriously.

Mingyu takes one look at the glint in her eye and knows. “You want me to be one of the maids, don’t you?"

Momo grins. “Exactly. So? Are you gonna do it?”

Mingyu tilts his head, considering. “Do I get cat ears?”

“Dog ears,” Momo bargains. Mingyu is reminded, vividly, of Wonwoo calling him a giant puppy.

“Deal,” he says. Momo slaps him on the back in gratitude, and leaves to harass Jihoon.

--

The maid outfits arrive the next Tuesday, forcing Mingyu to skip the gym and head to the Home Ec classroom instead. He texts Wonwoo on his way there, pocketing his phone right before swinging the door open.

He freezes halfway into the room. “Well,” he manages. “This is… something.”

“Shut up,” Jihoon says flatly. He’s sitting on one of the counters again, shielding his face with his hands. Mingyu doesn’t need to ask why - Momo is crowded close to him, wielding her phone like a weapon, the sound of the camera shutter going off filling the room.

Also, Jihoon is wearing a maid outfit.

It’s… frilly is the only word that comes to mind. Lacy frills line the hem of the skirt, puff up underneath the sleeves, and fold neatly over the collar. There’s a small, golden bell hanging off the sleek bow tie at Jihoon’s neck, and ribbon cinching his waist and arms. He’s also wearing knee-length socks and his regular white sneakers, which look comically out of place in the ensemble.

“I mean,” he tries, “at least you don’t have to wear one of those bonnet thingies.”

“Shut up ,” Jihoon repeats, sounding murderous. It isn’t nearly as scary as it could’ve been, because he looks very cute . Mingyu wonders how Momo ever managed to convince him to do this. He suspects Soonyoung played a part. “And it’s we , asshole.”

Ah, right. Momo has given up on taking pictures of Jihoon and is now approaching him, a lump of black and white fabric tucked underneath her arm. Her smile is terrifying. “Your turn,” she says sweetly.

Mingyu raises his hands in surrender. “You don’t have to look at me like that,” he says. “Unlike Jihoon, I’m actually excited to wear one of these.”

“Ha!” Momo shoves the outfit into his hands and turns to point at Jihoon triumphantly. “See, that’s the spirit. No one’s gonna want to come to our cafe if they think you’re going to kill them.”

“Maybe I won’t kill them,” Jihoon says vaguely, eyes dark. “Maybe I’ll just kill you instead.”

Momo just makes a heart with her hands. Mingyu looks back and forth between the two of them, backing away slowly at the same time. “Okay I’m gonna go change bye ,” he says, ducking out of the room before he has to witness a gory murder.

The nearest washroom is tucked into the most secluded corner of the school, next to the staff lounge and a few classrooms that are only really used for club meetings. Mingyu ducks into it, finding it empty, and enters a stall with a relatively not-gross toilet. 

The outfit, for all its frills and ribbons, is surprisingly easy to put on. It’s a little tight under the arms and Mingyu has to suck in his stomach to tie the waist ribbon properly, but only five minutes after he entered the stall, he comes out of it fully decked out as a maid. 

He checks himself out in the smudged mirror hanging over the sinks, turning around so he can see the back. As he predicted, it’s kind of cute. He looks kind of cute. He takes a few pictures to send to Minghao and Seokmin, then gathers his clothes up in a bundle and heads back to the Home Ec classroom to show Momo and Jihoon.

The bell jingles as he walks, the soft sound filling up the empty hallway. His phone buzzes in his hand; he looks down to check the notification, but before he can turn on his phone, movement in the corner of his eye draws his attention elsewhere.

It’s coming from the classroom next to him, the door slightly ajar. Curious, he moves closer, peering through the window in the door.

The two large windows on the far wall of the classroom are open to let the outside air in, the long curtains billowing in the wind. The sunset shines through, lighting the whole classroom in hues of orange and pink and red, like something out of a romance manga. 

All the desks and chairs are pushed to the sides. It’s easy to see why. Someone is mopping the floor, the nape of their neck shiny with sweat, their hair blown back by the wind. Mingyu blinks against the familiar glare of sunlight off wire rimmed glasses and feels his heart lurch half out of his chest.

He opens the door and steps inside without thinking. “What are you doing here?”

Wonwoo straightens at the sound of his voice, pulling an earbud out of his ear. “Mingyu,” he says, surprised. His eyes flicker down, then up, before his ears turn redder than the sky outside. “You look… huh.”

Mingyu looks at Wonwoo’s ears and thinks about Minghao and Seokmin and Seungkwan, all telling him the same thing in their own way - Wonwoo likes you too . “For the maid cafe,” he explains. “Remember?”

“Of course,” Wonwoo says, sounding a little faint. He wipes the sweat from his brow with his forearm. “You look good.”

Mingyu grins. It’s incredible how at ease Wonwoo’s presence makes him, in spite of all the recent revelations. He shimmies a little, making the bell at his neck jingle. “ Just good?”

Wonwoo huffs, smiling. “You look cute,” he admits. “It suits you. Is that what you want to hear?”

Mingyu’s grin widens. Wonwoo rolls his eyes, his smile unwavering. “Of course.” 

The wind kicks up then, blowing a strand of Wonwoo’s hair so it’s sticking straight up. Mingyu laughs at the sight, stepping closer and smoothing it down. This close, he can see the way Wonwoo’s ears turn even redder, the flush spreading to his temples and the highest points of his cheekbones. 

“What are you doing here?” Mingyu asks, his hand coming to rest on Wonwoo’s shoulder. “I thought you had track.”

Wonwoo shakes his head, clearing his throat before he speaks. “I’m helping clean this room out for the literature club,” he says. “For our festival booth. I texted you.”

Mingyu frowns. “They’re making you do this alone? That’s pretty shitty of them.”

“No, the rest of them are doing other things,” Wonwoo says. “Our booth is pretty complicated.”

Mingyu nods. “Makes sense, since you guys are all nerds,” he says solemnly.

Wonwoo laughs. “Fuck off,” he says, reaching up to move Mingyu’s hand off his shoulder. Hurt flares in Mingyu’s chest, but Wonwoo doesn’t let go, just intertwines their fingers and lets their hands drop into the space between them.

It’s been two weeks since Mingyu first told Seokmin and Minghao he would confess. Now, he looks at Wonwoo and feels his emotions threatening to spill over. Now or never , his brain screams at him, as if he doesn’t already know. It’s now or never

What did Seungkwan say? Would you rather stay in a friendship that’ll be weighed down forever by your feelings, or would you rather take a risk, start dating, and potentially break up?  

He didn’t know the answer then. He knows the answer now. It doesn’t matter that it’s May already, it doesn’t matter that Wonwoo is going to a school two hours away; Mingyu looks at the boy in front of him and thinks he might hate himself if he never tells him how he feels. 

“Mingyu?” Wonwoo looks worried. It’s incredibly cheesy, but it sounds like home, the way Wonwoo says his name. Mingyu, Mingyu, Mingyu . “Is everything okay?”

“I like you,” Mingyu says, soft, so quiet it’s almost carried away by the wind. “So much. In a more than friends way.”

Distantly, the mop clatters to the floor. Mingyu closes his eyes, bracing himself for the fall. 

It doesn’t come. What comes instead is a hand at the back of his neck, tugging downwards. Mingyu follows the motion, unsure if he’s started dreaming, unsure of anything at all except the roar of blood in his ears. 

His forehead makes contact with something solid, hard enough to startle his eyes open. The first thought he thinks is: close. 

They’re so close, their foreheads pressed together, noses nearly brushing. Wonwoo’s eyes are closed, and his face is blurry because of the proximity, but Mingyu thinks he can see relief in the furrow of his brow.

“I wanted,” Wonwoo says, Mingyu’s brain scrambling to fill in the rest of the sentence in the short pause before he continues, “to say it first.”

Mingyu blinks, uncomprehending. Then it clicks, and it’s like all the sunlight around them is flooding into his veins. “Want me to take it back?” he asks, half-teasing, so happy he thinks he could jump out the window and never make contact with the ground. 

“It’s okay,” Wonwoo says, leaning back a little so Mingyu can see him smile, lips curving sweetly. He opens his eyes. “It’s my fault for not telling you sooner, anyways. I like you too, Mingyu.”

Mingyu laughs, slumping forward with the force of it until his head lands on Wonwoo’s shoulder. Wonwoo squeezes his hand in comfort; Mingyu squeezes back, grinning into the fabric of Wonwoo’s T-shirt. “Yeah, I figured as much,” he says, voice slightly muffled.

“Shut up,” Wonwoo says, but there’s no heat behind the words, just an unending, familiar fondness. “Technically, though, I did say it first.”

Mingyu lifts his head up to look Wonwoo in the eye. Wow, Wonwoo is so handsome . Mingyu fights the urge to pinch himself. “When?”

Wonwoo flushes again, but he doesn’t avert his gaze. “Remember when you came to my house in the middle of the night, and I said that one quote? ‘If you love a flower that lives on a star, it is sweet to look at the sky at night. All the stars are a-bloom with flowers.’”

It takes Mingyu a moment to understand what Wonwoo’s referring to, but once he does, the giddiness that surges in him feels too big for his skin. “Am I your flower, then?”

“Of course,” Wonwoo says, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “You’re like a sunflower or something. Large and sunny.”

Mingyu giggles. “If I’m a sunflower,” he says, lifting their intertwined hands and pressing them to his chest, “then you’re the sun.”

Wonwoo’s eyes widen. Mingyu wiggles his eyebrows. The look on Wonwoo’s face collapses instantly, replaced by something between unimpressed and offended. “That was,” he says flatly, “ disgusting.”

“You liked it though,” Mingyu accuses. Wonwoo shakes his head in denial, contradicted by the redness in his face. “Also, you can’t judge me for being cheesy, you confessed to me through a Little Prince quote. Wait!” he gasps, as another memory clicks into place. “The other quote, on the train! Was that-”

Wonwoo nods, looking increasingly embarrassed by the second. It’s adorable. Mingyu really really wants to kiss him, but he figures there’s enough time for that later. “You looked really nice,” he admits. “I couldn’t help myself.”

“Aw,” Mingyu coos. “You’re sweet. You’re a huge nerd, but you’re sweet.”

Wonwoo smiles bashfully, ducking his head to look at the floor before laughing, sharp and loud, the sound startling Mingyu slightly. “Sorry,” he says, shaking his head. “I forgot what you were wearing.”

“Oh, right!” Mingyu exclaims, looking down at himself and the maid outfit in all its frilly glory. “I think it’s cute. Wait,” he repeats, squinting in suspicion, “is all of this just because you saw me in a maid outfit? I’m not gonna judge, but-”

Wonwoo looks up. “It wasn’t because of the maid outfit,” he says, a little too quickly and insistently to be convincing. “I mean- Mingyu, I’ve liked you since elementary school.”

“Huh,” Mingyu says absently. Then- “wait, what? You- but- that’s so long !”

Wonwoo raises an eyebrow. It’s very overwhelming. Everything going on right now is very overwhelming. “Is this the part where I say ‘that’s what she said’?”

“First of all, yes and I’m very proud of you,” Mingyu says, a little dazed. “Second of all, elementary school?

“I didn’t know what it was back then,” Wonwoo clarifies, straightening out Mingyu’s bow tie. The bell jingles lightly. This whole situation is so absurd . “But I looked forward to you coming over every week, and I was really upset over having to move away before we got a chance to become friends again. And then I figured out I was into boys a few years later, and my feelings made a lot more sense.

“I didn’t think much of it then,” he admits, “because I thought I would never see you again. But then we moved back, and you were still here, and you were as bright and funny and kind as I remembered. So it wasn’t…” he trails off, his face flushing all over again, red spreading down to the nape of his neck. 

Mingyu doesn’t know whether he wants to hug him, or kiss him, or tease him about being a loser. It might be all three. “It wasn’t what?” he prompts. 

Wonwoo shifts, clearly uncomfortable. Mingyu is about to tell him it’s fine, he doesn’t have to say it, but then he clears his throat and recites, “you showed up at my door with a homemade pie, you let Seokmin cry into your shoulder, and then you stepped on my foot.” He laughs, tipping his chin up to smile at Mingyu, eyes honest and open and shining. “It wasn’t hard to fall for you all over again.”

Mingyu looks at Wonwoo, at this boy who liked him for so long and suffered in silence, who bought him a matching keychain and read to him until he fell asleep and knows which mugs he prefers to use for tea, and feels a tidal wave of affection and fondness and awe surge in him. He lets himself get swept up by the force of it, kept afloat by the knowledge that this boy is here for him , that this boy is his if he wants him to be.

He doesn’t know how to put these feelings into adequate enough words - after all, Wonwoo has always been the eloquent one. “I like you so much ,” he says, because at least that’s a start. And then, “and you made fun of me for being disgusting.”

“You’re still more disgusting,” Wonwoo argues. “You don’t get uncomfortable when you say things like this. I, at the very least, want to die.”

Mingyu laughs. Wonwoo’s hands haven’t moved from where they were adjusting his bow tie, curled loosely around his collar. “Don’t die,” he says. “You have to finish that game you’re playing first. I wanna find out whether the evil witch lady is a red heron.”

“Red herring,” Wonwoo corrects. “And you make a good point, unfortunately. Besides,” and his smile takes on a wicked gleam as he tilts his head, considering, “I haven’t even kissed you yet.”

Mingyu turns red so fast he thinks the veins in his face might explode. Wonwoo smiles at him serenely. “I- you are so mean ,” Mingyu whines. “At least warn me before you say things like that, my poor heart can’t take it.”

“Okay, I’m sorry,” Wonwoo laughs, moving one hand from his collar to hook around the back of Mingyu’s neck, his palm cool against Mingyu’s burning skin. “Was it okay though?” he asks. “That I said that?”

Mingyu beams. “More than okay,” he says. “It’s just a lot to handle right now.”

 “That’s fair.” Wonwoo gets a considering look on his face again, serious this time, with no hint of the edge from before. Mingyu takes advantage of the lull in conversation to put his hands on Wonwoo’s waist, smile widening when Wonwoo doesn’t shy away from the gesture. He could definitely get used to this.

Wonwoo starts talking a few moments later. “You don’t have to answer this, but when did you know? That you… you know.”

“What, that I liked you?” Mingyu teases. It’s cute, how Wonwoo can swing wildly from incredibly romantic one-liners to severe emotional constipation. It’s especially cute now, with the way the tips of Wonwoo’s ears turn pink. “That I like you? That I am head-over-heels, all-consumingly, undeniably-”

“Okay, okay,” Wonwoo grumbles. “I regret asking.”

Mingyu laughs. “It’s true, though.”

The corners of Wonwoo’s mouth twitch. “You made that abundantly clear, yes.”

“Rude,” Mingyu says. “Anyways, this is gonna be really embarrassing, but I only realized I liked you, like, two weeks ago? When we went to the village. I just, um.” He swallows at the memory, Wonwoo haloed by the golden sun. “You know, you were just so- so mature, I guess? Like, everything you said. And I just kind of looked at you and- and knew. Like, oh, so that’s what it is .”

Wonwoo looks startled. “Is that why you acted so strangely around me afterwards? I was afraid I accidentally overshared or something. I mean, if I did, I’m sorry and I-”

“No!” Mingyu interrupts, his outburst startling the both of them. “Um, I mean.” He takes a second to collect himself before starting again. “You didn’t overshare. I’m glad you told me all those things, and I like hearing your thoughts, Wonwoo. You know that. I just… well, this is even more embarrassing.”

“You don’t have to tell me,” Wonwoo assures, comforting.

Mingyu shakes his head. “It’s fine. I just, you know, Joshua was there and it was so obvious you liked him and I thought that, since you liked Joshua, and he was your type or whatever, there was no way you would like me since I’m so different from him, so I got kinda sad? But it wasn’t your fault or anything, it was just me being dumb.”

“You weren’t being dumb,” Wonwoo says. He’s frowning again, that soft concerned look that makes Mingyu’s heart feel like putty. “I should’ve said something back then, I’m sorry. But- I only liked Joshua for a few months, and even then it was more admiration than infatuation. He isn’t my type or anything.”

It might be immature or dumb or whatever, but Wonwoo’s words manage to quell the jealousy brewing in him, enough to make him smile again. “Am I your type, then?” he teases.

Wonwoo laughs, a quiet huff of amusement. Behind him, the sun has finally dipped below the horizon, shades of blue and gray creeping in from the edges of the sky. “I guess you are,” he admits, laughing again when Mingyu pumps his fist in victory.

“You’re my type, too,” Mingyu says brightly. “I mean, I’ve never liked anyone as much as I like you. You know, head-over-heels, all-”

“Yes, yes, I know,” Wonwoo interrupts hastily. “You don’t need to say it again.”

“Aw, but I wanted to,” Mingyu teases. Wonwoo rolls his eyes, smiling.

They lapse into a comfortable silence, standing close with the wind from the open window curling around them. It feels natural, feels easy, to be like this - but then again, why wouldn’t it feel that way? They’ve been doing this for so long, occupying each other’s personal space, fingers overlapping and brushing through hair and tugging at fabric.

Wonwoo, unthinking, licks his lips. It’s a habit - Mingyu knows this from all the time they’ve spent together, all the energy he’s spent yelling at Wonwoo to drink water, damn it, don’t you know licking your lips just makes them drier ? - but it’s different, now, somehow. The air feels charged, all of a sudden. Mingyu swallows. Wonwoo’s lips are very nice. 

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, his voice coming out rougher than he expected.

Wonwoo blinks, stunned. He nods slowly. 

So Mingyu does. And it’s easy, with the position they’re already in, with the familiarity they’ve built up after all this time. Mingyu’s hands are already on Wonwoo’s waist, so he just has to tug a little to get Wonwoo close enough. And then it’s just a matter of ducking his head so he can press his lips to Wonwoo’s, sweet and slow, his breath trapped somewhere between his throat and his chest.

It’s nice. It feels right. Wonwoo’s lips are somehow even softer than they look, and his fingertips are brushing the hair at the nape of Mingyu’s neck, gentle and intimate; familiar. It’s- yeah. It’s really, really nice.

Wonwoo’s face is pink when they pull away, his throat bobbing as he swallows. Mingyu grins, his heart swelling with affection. “Jeon Wonwoo,” he says, trying to sound as formal as possible, “will you go out with me?”

It startles a laugh out of Wonwoo, who looks at him like he really is the flower that he looks for in the stars at night. Mingyu wonders, probably not for the last time, how he ever got this lucky. “Kim Mingyu,” Wonwoo replies, imitating his tone, “I would like nothing more.”

Notes:

we made it y'all!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

also: sobbing over bittersweet. wtf. vocal kings

Chapter 28

Notes:

good news (or maybe bad news): it's looking like less than 10 chapters until the end of the fic!!!
bad news (or maybe good news): the fic, in total, surpassed 200k!!!!!!! what,, what am i doing here

Chapter Text

In the end, Wonwoo has to kick him out of the classroom, because “Momo and Jihoon probably think you’re dead,” and also, “you’re distracting me, I won’t be done until midnight at this rate.”

“You’re a terrible boyfriend,” Mingyu complains. Wonwoo just laughs, his ears turning pink, and closes the door.

Momo and Jihoon are still in the classroom when he returns, along with most of the club members. Momo forces him into posing for promo pictures as punishment for being so late, while Jihoon squints at the flush in his cheeks suspiciously. 

“What happened to you?” he asks, once Mingyu frees himself from Momo’s hold and comes to sit next to him on the counter. “You look like you just won the lottery or something.”

“Something like that,” Mingyu says, smiling to himself. Jihoon makes a retching sound and leaves him alone after that.

--

“So,” Mingyu says, “do you want to like… tell people? I mean, like, our friends and stuff? Because, I gotta be honest, I feel like half of them already know.”

Wonwoo tilts his head, thoughtful. Mingyu fights back the urge to kiss him smack dab in the middle of the sidewalk. “Minghao and Seungkwan definitely know,” he says. Mingyu thinks about the unimpressed look on Minghao’s face, Seungkwan saying wait, you guys aren’t together? and winces in agreement. “And… Junhui and Seokmin know.”

Mingyu squints. “How do you-?” Wonwoo clears his throat, turning away, and a lightbulb turns on in his head. “Oh my God,” he says, delighted. “Were you- did you talk about me?”

“I don’t know why you’re surprised,” Wonwoo says, but his voice sounds off, like he’s embarrassed or something. Holy shit, he’s embarrassed . This is the best day of Mingyu’s life. “You know how long I’ve liked you.”

“Yeah, but I thought you just like, kept it to yourself or something,” Mingyu says. “This is amazing. Did you talk about me a lot?” He gasps. “Were you annoying? Please tell me you were annoying.”

There’s a pause. “I plead the fifth,” Wonwoo says.

“You were ,” Mingyu crows. “You’re so cute, Wonwoo.”

“I’m older than you,” Wonwoo points out.

“Still cute.” Mingyu tugs Wonwoo closer so their shoulders bump together. “ Super cute. Unbelievably, incredibly, extraordinarily-”

“Okay, okay, I get it,” Wonwoo laughs. “Please don’t tell me you’re going to make this a recurring thing.”

“I am absolutely going to make it a recurring thing,” Mingyu promises. He hesitates. “Unless you don’t want me to? Because I don’t want to make you, like, uncomfortable or anything.”

Wonwoo sighs. Mingyu waits. “I suppose it’s not the worst thing in the world,” he says after a moment.

Mingyu grins. “You’re cute.”

“Ugh,” Wonwoo says, but he’s smiling a little, looking pleased. “ Anyways , I’m fine if people know.”

It takes Mingyu a second to remember what they were talking about. “Me too,” he says. “Wait, people as in like, everyone ? Like, the whole school?”

Wonwoo shrugs. “I don’t see why not,” he says easily, miles away from the boy in the village who hid his feelings away until they died, alone and out of sight. Miles away, even, from who he was when he first came out to Mingyu, half his mind still in the past. Here, now, his palm is warm against Mingyu’s as he says, “I’d like it if they knew, actually. If that’s okay with you.”

Affection fills Mingyu’s chest, rises up into his throat and threatens to spill over. He’s just so happy for Wonwoo, so proud of all he’s done to get here. “That’s more than okay with me,” he says.

Wonwoo smiles up at him. He looks softer around the edges, under the warm glow of the streetlights, the dark blue dusk seeping into his skin. Mingyu wants to hug him so badly. This is starting to become a problem. 

He clears his throat before the impulse can take over. “So,” he starts, “how do you feel about couple outfits?”

No ,” Wonwoo says vehemently.

--

“I’m just saying,” Mingyu argues as they enter the shelter, vacant at this hour, “we’re close enough in size. We could make it work.”

“For the last time,” Wonwoo says, massaging his temple with his free hand, “we are not each wearing one half of one of my track suits.”

“I think it would be cute!” Mingyu protests. The schedule says there’s only a few minutes before the next bus comes, so they don’t bother sitting down, just crowd in close in the corner. It’s the perfect position for Mingyu to peer down at Wonwoo innocently, one hand pressed to his chest, feigning heartbreak. “Unless… you don’t want me to wear your clothes?”

Wonwoo sees through his act easily, rolling his eyes and nudging him slightly in the shoulder. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

Mingyu sniffs. “I’m hurt.”

Wonwoo sighs, weary but audibly fond, and reaches up to brush a strand of hair out of Mingyu’s face. “You’re ridiculous,” he says softly. “Of course you can wear my clothes. But I refuse to coordinate with you.”

Mingyu smiles, letting the charade drop. “I can accept that,” he says happily. He gasps. “Wait! What if we wear each other’s clothes?”

There’s a pause. “Okay, I can get behind that one,” Wonwoo admits.

“Aw, do you want to wear my clothes?” Mingyu teases. “You’d drown in them, though. I’m a big boy.”

There’s another pause. “Well,” and there’s a sharp glint to Wonwoo’s smile, “that’s kind of the point.”

Mingyu blinks. And then, like the uninhibited traitor it is, his brain starts supplying images - Wonwoo in one of his sweaters, the sleeves falling past his fingertips, collar stretched wide over his shoulders. “That’s- I-” his mouth moves soundlessly. Wonwoo just stands there and smiles, devastatingly handsome and also very, very mean. “Um. That’s- huh.”

Wonwoo laughs, squeezing his hand lightly. “Come on, the bus is here.”

Mingyu looks up. He hadn’t even noticed. “Right,” he says faintly, trying and failing to recover.

Wonwoo gives him another smile, all fond, and pulls him out of the shelter and onto the waiting bus. Mingyu pays the fare and lets Wonwoo lead him to a pair of seats in the back in a daze. 

It isn’t until they’ve sat down and the bus has started moving that he realizes they’re still holding hands. The realization jolts through him, electric. “You’re still holding my hand,” he says, stunned.

In the shifting light of the moving bus, Wonwoo looks surprised, and then understanding. “There were a lot of things that I thought I wasn’t allowed to do, or didn’t deserve to do,” he explains. “But I know better now. And I…” he squeezes Mingyu’s hand again, smiling a little when Mingyu squeezes back. His eyes are painfully earnest as he says, “this is something I don’t want to hide.”

It’s like the rest of the world drops away. Mingyu wants to preserve this moment forever, whispering on the bus at night, heads bowed towards each other. He thinks he could give his living, beating heart to this boy in front of him without a second thought. 

He searches for the words that will properly convey what he’s feeling, but he comes up short. Maybe there aren’t any. What he says instead is, “do you want to come over tomorrow?” and hopes that Wonwoo, smart and kind and so, so thoughtful, will understand.

And Wonwoo smiles, because he is, because he does. “Of course,” he says. 

--

“So,” Bambam starts the next morning, “how big is his dick?”

Mingyu chokes so hard that he doubles over, wheezing for air as Bambam smacks his back unhelpfully. “You’re disgusting,” he emphasizes once he’s started properly breathing again, his face burning despite how uncomfortably cold the classroom is. “I am not answering that.”

Bambam shrugs. “Worth a shot.”

--

After Econ, Mingyu leaves his classroom and comes face-to-face with Wonwoo, leaning against the wall opposite the door. “Hey,” he says, surprised. 

Wonwoo looks up, and the smile that spreads across his face courses through Mingyu’s veins. “Hey yourself,” he greets, before his eyes drift over to something behind Mingyu and he says, a little louder, “hi, Bambam.”

Mingyu whirls around. Bambam snickers, eyes darting back and forth between the two of them. “Hi Wonwoo,” he says. “So I was right about the flirting.”

Mingyu groans and buries his face in his hands. Wonwoo, like the traitor he is, just laughs. “I guess you were,” he acknowledges. “And you figured it out before Mingyu did, too.”

Mingyu snaps his head up, indignant. “ Wonwoo ,” he gasps. “How could you betray me like this?”

Bambam cackles so loudly a few people look their way. Mingyu has to very forcefully remind himself that Bambam is actually a pretty good friend, despite everything he’s done to purposefully make Mingyu’s life harder. “You are so much cooler than your boyfriend,” Bambam tells Wonwoo appreciatively.

Mingyu doesn’t know whether to feel pleased at how easily Bambam refers to them as boyfriends, or offended at the rest of his statement. Wonwoo laughs again. “I’ll cherish that compliment,” he says. “We should probably go, though. Class is starting soon.”

Bambam shrugs. “Time is fake,” he says, making peace signs with both his hands as he walks backwards down the hallway. “See you guys later.”

Mingyu waits until Bambam has turned around and started walking normally before turning to Wonwoo and saying, “I can’t believe you betrayed me for Bambam.”

Wonwoo shrugs and takes Mingyu’s hand, right in the middle of the hallway like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Mingyu melts a little. “He seems like a cool guy."

“He isn’t.” They take off in the opposite direction, pressed close to each other in the crowd of students maneuvering their way between classes. “He’s the worst person I’ve ever met. This morning, he asked me how big your dick is.”

Wonwoo makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat. Mingyu grins, vindicated. “He what?

“I know, right?” Mingyu starts gesturing with his free hand as he continues, “and he slaps my ass on, like, a daily basis. I know I’m like, hot and sexy and irresistible, but come on.”

“I don’t know about sexy ,” Wonwoo says, steering him out of the way of a janitor pushing a cart. “I’ve seen you trip over flat land.”

“Yeah, but I tripped sexily ,” Mingyu argues. “I was like, smooth and stuff.”

“Right,” Wonwoo says, sounding amused, as they come up to Mingyu’s Business classroom. Mingyu can see Chan at his usual desk, squinting at something on his laptop. “The way you screamed was pretty smooth, too.”

“Rude,” Mingyu complains. “First you betray me for Bambam, and now this?”

Wonwoo laughs, turning to face him. “Okay, I’m sorry,” he relents. “You’re actually very sexy and irresistible.”

Mingyu grins. “I know,” he says. “Thanks, though.”

Wonwoo rolls his eyes. “Go to class, Mingyu.”

“I’m going, I’m going,” Mingyu placates. “I’ll see you after school?”

Wonwoo reaches up to fix his hair. He’s starting to think that there isn’t actually anything wrong with his hair, and that Wonwoo just enjoys the gesture. He doesn’t blame him - he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy it too. “Of course,” Wonwoo says.

Mingyu’s grin turns dopey; he can hear Jihoon yelling at him for being whipped, but he doesn’t care. He likes Wonwoo so much . “I’m looking forward to it. You should probably go, you’re gonna be late.”

“I know, I know,” Wonwoo says. He gives Mingyu’s hand one last squeeze before slipping away, disappearing around the corner with a wave and a smile. Mingyu stares after him for much longer than is reasonable, feeling unbearably warm. 

--

to: wonu~

thx for walking me to class btw~~~~

ur sweet ;)

 

from: wonu~

pay attention, mingyu

 

to: wonu~

ur so mean :(

thx redacted

 

from: wonu~

*retracted

 

to: wonu~

ok nerd

 

from: wonu~

and you say i’m mean

 

to: wonu~

hehe

oh btw im gonna change ur name in my phone

do u have any ideas

 

from: wonu~

what’s wrong with how it is now?

 

to: wonu~

r u kidding

ur my BOYFRIEND

all my friends have <3 next to their names

its weird if my BOYFRIEND doesnt have one

hmmm

how do u feel ab ‘bf <3 <3 <3’

 

from: wonu~

do you accept constructive criticism?

 

to: bf <3 <3 <3

no <3

 

from: bf <3 <3 <3

sigh

 

to: bf <3 <3 <3

hehe

...do i wanna know what my name in ur phone is

 

from: bf <3 <3 <3

it’s just mingyu, why?

 

to: bf <3 <3 <3

r u KIDDING

im ur BOYFRIEND

put a heart at the end at least >:(

 

from: bf <3 <3 <3

okay fine i did it

now pay attention to class

 

to: bf <3 <3 <3

fine :(

 

Mingyu pockets his phone and redirects his attention to the front of the class, hiding his grin behind his hand. All for nothing, it turns out, because the teacher concludes the lesson about two minutes later, leaving them to do independent work for the rest of the class.

Chan scooches his chair up to the side of Mingyu’s desk, things in tow. “Who were you texting?” he asks, opening his laptop. 

Mingyu fights down the smile that threatens to take over his face. “Wonwoo,” he answers, drumming his fingers against the pages of his textbook.

Chan makes a noncommittal sound. “You guys are dating now, right?”

Mingyu chokes on air for the second time in the same morning. Chan offers him his water bottle, which he takes gratefully, keeping his thumb between his mouth and the opening of the bottle as he drinks. “Yeah- um, yeah, we are,” he manages, wiping his mouth and returning the bottle.

Chan nods. “Thought so. I saw you guys standing outside before class. You’re even worse than Seungkwan and Vernon.”

Mingyu winces. “Uh, sorry?”

Chan sighs, long-suffering. “It’s fine. I’ve accepted my fate. Just don’t, like, get pregnant or whatever.”

Mingyu squints at him. “I don’t think that’s physically possible.” Chan just waves him off, clicking open his pen.

--

In Data, Soonyoung slaps him on the back so hard he nearly faceplants into his desk from the force. Junhui cackles and offers him a stick of Pocky. “Took you long enough.”

“I know, I know,” Mingyu grumbles, sticking the Pocky into his mouth with one hand and rubbing his back with another. “Seriously, how come all of you knew and no one told me? You guys are terrible friends.”

“Sorry,” Junhui chirps, not looking very sorry at all. “I was sworn to secrecy. Bros before hos, you know?”

“Oooh, burn !” Soonyoung crows.

“I’m going to drop this class,” Mingyu mutters.

--

Data lets out early, so Mingyu makes it to Wonwoo’s Anthropology classroom before the bell even rings. Which turns out to be a blessing in disguise, because it lets him observe Wonwoo through the open door in the few moments before Wonwoo sees him, chatting with one of his classmates as he packs up his bag.

His classmate laughs at something he says; he smiles, small and satisfied, pushing his glasses up his nose. It’s just so dorky and cute and undeniably Wonwoo that Mingyu wants to scream, or march into the classroom and kiss Wonwoo full on the mouth, or something else equally inappropriate. 

He’s jittery as Wonwoo heads out of the classroom, waving goodbye to his classmate as he heads the opposite way. As much as he wants to wait and see the look on Wonwoo’s face when he notices he’s there, he isn’t nearly patient enough for that. So instead he bounds up to Wonwoo and says, “hey!”

Wonwoo startles a little. Mingyu can track the changes in his expression as he realizes who it is - surprise, then recognition, then fondness. “Mingyu,” he says. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m walking you to your fourth period, obviously,” Mingyu says, offering his elbow and taking on an overly formal, grandiose tone. “Shall I escort you to your next engagement?”

Wonwoo laughs and tucks his hand in the crook of Mingyu’s elbow. “I suppose you shall,” he answers. 

Excellent ,” Mingyu says as they start walking. He drops the act soon enough, because he’s a teenage boy who can’t maintain good posture for longer than ten seconds, maneuvering his arm so they’re holding hands instead. “Anyways, how was class?”

Wonwoo hums. “Pretty good. We watched a documentary about the evolution of man.”

“Sounds cool.” An acquaintance passes by, visibly doing a double-take at their hands. Mingyu waves at her, his shoulders relaxing when she blinks and waves back, smiling. “Did they have people dress up as Neanderthals and stuff?”

“Yeah, actually,” Wonwoo says. “It was a little uncanny valley, but it wasn’t too bad. Speaking of Neanderthals, did you know they’re actually a completely different species from modern humans?”

“Really,” Mingyu says, which is all the invitation Wonwoo needs to launch into a detailed listing of all the subspecies of archaic humans. It’s a little confusing, but Wonwoo sounds so excited about it that Mingyu can’t help but get excited, too. 

“And they lived in bamboo forests,” Wonwoo concludes as they come to a stop in front of his World History classroom. “So they evolved completely different survival mechanisms from their contemporaries.”

“That’s actually really cool,” Mingyu says. “It’s weird that we only learn about, like, Neanderthals. Give the Asian primitive humans some love too, you know?”

Wonwoo laughs, turning to face him, his eyes sparkling with mirth. “Absolutely,” he agrees. “I’m surprised. You usually start calling me a nerd around this point.”

“Oh, thanks for reminding me,” Mingyu says. “You’re a huge nerd. I can’t believe you just used the word ‘contemporaries’ in casual conversation.”

“It was relevant to the subject matter,” Wonwoo argues.

Mingyu leans closer, grinning. “You’re getting nerdier by the second.”

Wonwoo rolls his eyes again, shoving lightly at Mingyu’s shoulder. “Go to class, Mingyu,” he says, but there’s no heat behind the words.

Mingyu salutes, except he forgot he was holding Wonwoo’s hand, so he ends up hitting himself in the forehead with both of their hands. “Ow, fuck,” he whines, letting go of Wonwoo’s hand so he can cradle his head gently, his humiliation burning hotter when he sees Wonwoo pressing his lips together to smother his laughter. “Stop, don’t laugh at me, you’re so mean. It’s your fault I was distracted.”

“Well, I’m sorry for being so distracting,” Wonwoo says, smiling as he brushes his fingertips against Mingyu’s forehead. “Are you okay?”

Mingyu melts under the attention. Wonwoo’s hand drifts downwards to cup the side of his face, the skin of his palm cool as usual. “I’m much better now,” he says, leaning slightly into the touch.

Wonwoo makes a face. “You’re gross,” he says, making no move to pull away.

“No, I’m Mingyu,” Mingyu jokes, which immediately makes his insides shrivel up and die. “Ugh, I can’t believe I said that. You’re rubbing off on me.”

“That’s what she said,” Wonwoo says automatically, before looking as if he’s been betrayed by his own mind. "I guess it's mutual."

“We’re becoming each other,” Mingyu says, horrified. “Are we just dating ourselves? Does that count as incest?”

Wonwoo makes a sound in the back of his throat. “ Mingyu .”

“No, this is serious! What if I start reading for fun , and then my eyesight goes to shit, and I have to wear glasses?” Mingyu starts gesturing frantically. “I look so bad in glasses-”

“Mingyu,” Wonwoo repeats, grabbing his wrists. “We are not becoming each other. We spend a lot of time together, so it’s natural that we’ve adopted some of the other’s speech patterns. I talk like Junhui sometimes.”

The thought of Wonwoo doing Junhui’s iconic cackle is enough to calm Mingyu down a little. Still, he squints at Wonwoo just to be sure. “What’s the quadratic formula?”

Wonwoo squints back. He’s still holding Mingyu’s wrists, which makes Mingyu much happier than it probably should. “Is that the one with the hypotenuse?”

“Oh, thank God,” Mingyu sighs, relieved. “And I still have no idea what The Catcher in the Rye is about, so we’re good.”

“We’re good,” Wonwoo agrees. “And now you really need to go to class. You have two minutes until the bell.”

“Shit,” Mingyu hisses, reluctantly freeing his wrists from Wonwoo’s grip in preparation to run all the way up to his classroom on the second floor. “I’ll see you after school?”

“Of course,” Wonwoo says, patting his shoulder. Mingyu flashes a grin at him, which he returns, before booking it to the nearest stairwell.

He ends up being late regardless, earning himself a joking glare from the teacher. It’s worth it, because his phone buzzes with a notification a few minutes later:

 

from: bf <3 <3 <3

i think you would look nice in glasses, by the way

 

making him grin so widely at his phone under his desk, Minghao has to smack him before he gets in trouble a second time.

--

After school, at the intersection where the four of them usually part ways, Wonwoo moves to stand next to Mingyu. “I’ll see you later,” he tells Seokmin, and then, “don’t even think about touching that last bag of honey chips while I’m gone.”

“That was one time ,” Seokmin complains. “Also, I’m going to Minghao’s house anyway. He lets me eat all the chips I want.” He turns to Minghao, his eyes wide and pleading. “Right?”

Minghao sighs. “Yeah, of course,” he relents, feigning disgust when Seokmin cheers and tries to kiss him on the cheek. “I swear to God, Lee Seokmin, I am this close to uninviting you.”

“Aw, Seokmin, you can kiss me ,” Mingyu offers. Wonwoo laughs at his side, their hands finding each other with ease. 

“That’s fake,” Seokmin sniffs from where he’s glued himself to Minghao’s side, glaring down at their hands in mock disdain. “You kiss Wonwoo. If I kiss you I’m, like, indirectly kissing Wonwoo. Which is gross .” 

Seokmin kind of has a point. Mingyu contemplates this as Wonwoo says, “we share cups all the time. Is that not also indirect kissing?”

Seokmin gasps theatrically. “Did you seriously just compare Mingyu to a cup? Wow, Mingyu, I’m offended for you.”

Mingyu shakes his head solemnly at Wonwoo. “Yeah, Wonwoo, I’m hurt.”

Wonwoo and Minghao roll their eyes in terrifying unison. “Let’s go,” Minghao tells Seokmin. “That boxed cake mix isn’t going to bake itself.” He makes a peace sign at Mingyu and Wonwoo. “See you guys tomorrow.”

“Hey, are you just using me for my baking skills?” Seokmin complains. Mingyu waves with his free hand as Minghao starts half-dragging Seokmin in the direction of his house, their conversation derailing into a loud (well, on Seokmin’s part at least) argument about some anime they’re both watching as they go.

Mingyu turns to Wonwoo, who’s already looking back at him, smiling softly. The sight makes Mingyu’s heart throw itself violently against the walls of his ribcage. “Let’s go,” Wonwoo says, tugging his hand lightly.

Mingyu nods. “We should hurry,” he suggests. “It looks like it’s gonna rain soon.”

And because Mingyu’s life is constantly plagued by bad luck, the dark, heavy clouds clogging up the sky choose that exact moment to dump an hour’s worth of rain on them in the span of a second. “Holy shit,” Mingyu shouts over the downpour, already drenched.

“Come on, let’s run,” Wonwoo shouts back.

Mingyu makes a vague sound of agreement, and then they’re off, running down the streets through the rain like a scene straight out of a coming of age movie. The scene doesn’t last long, though, because Mingyu plays soccer and Wonwoo does track and field, and they make record time getting to Mingyu’s house. They collapse into the house as soon as Mingyu manages to turn the key in the lock, gasping for air. Mingyu slams the door shut, turning to find Wonwoo hunched over laughing, his hands braced on his knees. 

“Talk about irony,” Wonwoo says, running a hand through his hair. “How is that even possible?”

“I swear, I’m like cursed or something,” Mingyu complains, leaving his bag to form a puddle on the floor as he takes his shoes off. “Wait here, I’ll get a towel.”

Wonwoo nods. “Be careful,” he says. “Don’t slip.”

“You know I can’t promise that,” Mingyu half-jokes.

He actually, miraculously doesn’t slip, making his way back downstairs a few minutes later bearing two towels and a miscellaneous pile of clothes. He finds Wonwoo in the kitchen, measuring out tea leaves into the mugs they always use, the kettle already on the stove. Mingyu has to take a second to have a mini heart attack over how domestic and sweet the whole scene is.

“I brought a change of clothes,” he says once he’s recovered. “You can dry off and change in the bathroom.”

Wonwoo looks up at him, surprise flickering across his face. “Thanks," he says, stepping closer and taking the bundle Mingyu offers to him. His smile is wry, but he doesn’t say anything else, just pads dutifully out of the kitchen and down the hall to the bathroom.

Mingyu towels off in the living room, careful not to drip too much water onto the floor, and changes as fast as physically possible so Wonwoo doesn’t walk in on him while he’s in his underwear. He’s relishing in the feeling of warm, dry fabric against his skin when he hears the bathroom door open.

Mingyu turns his head, one hand already reaching out to get Wonwoo’s clothes, when his brain crashes and burns at the bottom of a cliff.

How could he have forgotten? Giving Wonwoo his clothes to wear means that Wonwoo will be wearing his clothes. Wonwoo is wearing his clothes . He is losing his mind.

“Mingyu? Are you okay?” Wonwoo asks, not sounding very concerned at all. Now the look on his face from earlier makes sense. He looks soft and small despite being a six foot tall athlete, and the knowledge that wearing Mingyu’s clothes can make him look like that is a little overwhelming.

Mingyu's hand is still outstretched. Instead of giving him his clothes, Wonwoo takes his hand in his own instead, laughing when he jolts at the touch. “Are you okay?” Wonwoo repeats.

“No,” Mingyu grumbles, using his grip on Wonwoo’s hand to tug Wonwoo closer, close enough to bury his face in his shoulder. The combination of Wonwoo’s familiar smell with his detergent makes a whole host of emotions bubble up in his chest, none of which he’s prepared to handle. “You knew this would happen. I hate you so much. I’m going to have an aneurysm.”

“Oh, we can’t have that,” Wonwoo laughs, running his fingers through the short hair at the back of Mingyu’s head, laughing harder when Mingyu burrows further into his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think you would get so flustered.”

“You’re the worst boyfriend in the world,” Mingyu says. “Also, you should keep the sweater.”

Wonwoo hums. “Maybe I’ll wear it to school.”

“Do you actually want me to die? Because I will,” Mingyu says flatly, lifting his head off Wonwoo’s shoulder. Wonwoo looks amused, his eyes sparkling with barely contained laughter. “Seriously. I’ll die. I mean it.”

“Should I take that as a compliment?” Wonwoo asks. 

“I hate you,” Mingyu repeats.

Wonwoo just smiles at him. He smiles back despite himself, because he is weak. 

Something passes over Wonwoo’s face, then, his eyes flickering downwards briefly. The hand curled around the back of Mingyu’s neck tightens. “I really want to kiss you,” he says quietly. 

Mingyu raises his eyebrows, ignoring how fast his heart has started beating. “It’s a good thing we’re dating, then,” he teases.

Wonwoo rolls his eyes, but he’s pulling Mingyu closer by the back of his neck, so Mingyu figures he doesn’t really mean it. 

This kiss is more insistent than the first one, drawn out longer by the privacy that Mingyu’s empty house affords them. Mingyu puts his hands on Wonwoo’s waist, feels the warmth of Wonwoo’s skin through the fabric. Wonwoo makes a soft sound in the back of his throat when Mingyu pulls him closer, and Mingyu goes lightheaded so quickly it’s dizzying.

The kettle’s whistle breaks them apart. They take a moment to catch their breath.

“That was,” Wonwoo manages, swallowing around the rest of his sentence. His chest is heaving a little, and his ears are fire-engine red under his hair. “Huh.”

Mingyu grins, high on the knowledge that he’s capable of making someone with a personal lexicon equal to several university libraries speechless. “We should do that more often,” he suggests.

That startles a laugh out of Wonwoo. He tips his head forward so their foreheads are touching, his smile blurry from the proximity as he says, “I couldn’t agree more.”

Mingyu’s grin widens. “That’s awfully cheesy of you to say.”

Wonwoo laughs again. “It’s your influence,” he says, and steps away. Mingyu lets him go with great reluctance. “I’ll go get the tea ready.”

Mingyu nods. Wonwoo offers him a small smile before turning around and padding into the kitchen.

As he watches him go, Mingyu is blown away a little by how natural everything feels. Wonwoo looks like he belongs here, in Mingyu’s house, wearing Mingyu’s clothes, his hair a little mussed. Mingyu wishes he could stay in this moment forever.

But there’s a pile of wet clothes on the coffee table, and he has to wipe down the floor before his mom comes home. So he forces himself out of the moment and gets to work.

--

Later, the dryer rumbling pleasantly in the background and the floor freshly wiped, Mingyu makes his way back to the kitchen. Wonwoo is waiting for him, leaning against the counter and looking so ridiculously attractive Mingyu has to take a second to calm down. 

“Sorry,” he says when Wonwoo raises an eyebrow at his obvious distress. “You’re really cute.”

Wonwoo rolls his eyes, a small, pleased smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Sit down, Mingyu.”

“Mean,” Mingyu pouts, but he complies anyway, sliding onto the stool nearest to him. “I’m just trying to be romantic here.”

Wonwoo reaches around him to put a coaster and mug down on the counter. “You can be romantic once you’re not at risk of catching a cold,” he says, punctuating his statement by pressing a kiss to the top of Mingyu’s head. 

Warmth pours from the top of Mingyu's head all the way down to his toes. He tips his head back to look at Wonwoo, who’s looking back down at him, one hand braced against the edge of the counter. “I take it back,” he says. “About you being the worst boyfriend in the world.”

Wonwoo laughs. “What made you change your mind?” he teases.

"Who wouldn't change their minds?" Mingyu says. "When you're so sweet, and amazing, and incredible -”

Please don’t,” Wonwoo says, looking pained. “I’m starting to regret asking.”

Mingyu laughs. “It’s true, though.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Wonwoo says dismissively, lifting his mug to his face to hide his smile.

Chapter Text

It’s still raining when their conversation ends and they head up to Mingyu's room to start working, sitting side by side on the floor with their books spread in a semi-circle around them, Harry Styles belting through Wonwoo’s laptop speaker. Mingyu works on his powerpoint for Business, the press of Wonwoo’s shoulder against his own a constant source of comfort as he squints at the slides. His brain is starting to melt by the time the powerpoint is aesthetically pleasing enough for his standards; he opens the tab with his unfinished Contemporary Issues essay and stares at the document in apprehension. 

A glance to his side tells him that Wonwoo is as focused as ever, his fingers flying across his keyboard. He knows how strong Wonwoo’s work ethic is, finds it admirable - attractive, even - most of the time. But right now is not one of those times. 

He leans to the side and drapes himself over Wonwoo’s shoulders, clinging onto him like an oversized koala. “I’m bored,” he whines. “Pay attention to me.”

Wonwoo doesn’t look away from his screen, but he moves one hand off his keyboard to rub circles into Mingyu’s lower back. “Focus on your work, Mingyu.”

“Ugh,” Mingyu says, tucking his head underneath Wonwoo’s chin. “I don’t wanna.”

Wonwoo chuckles and kisses the top of his head. “Unfortunately, you gotta. Finals are coming up in a month.”

Mingyu groans. “Don’t remind me. I don’t want to think about that yet.”

“Okay, okay, I won’t mention it again,” Wonwoo promises. “You should still focus on your work, though.”

“Boring,” Mingyu grumbles, pulling away slowly and with great reluctance. “You’re so lame and responsible.”

Wonwoo sighs and turns to face Mingyu fully, the exasperation on his face softened by the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “What are you working on right now?”

“An essay,” Mingyu says, making a face. “I have the outline down, I just need to write it.”

“Write two paragraphs, and then we can do something else,” Wonwoo barters. “Okay?”

Mingyu wiggles his eyebrows. “Depends on what that ‘something else’ is.”

“Are you suggesting,” Wonwoo deadpans, “that I seduce you into doing your homework?”

Mingyu grins. “I don’t know, is that what I’m suggesting?”

“You’re ridiculous,” Wonwoo informs him.

Mingyu grins wider. “Is that a yes?”

“Write your essay, Mingyu,” Wonwoo says before turning back to his laptop. 

Well. That’s not a no .

--

Mingyu scrounges up enough brain power to churn out two somewhat decent body paragraphs in the span of forty-five minutes. “Okay, I’m done,” he announces, closing his laptop with finality and moving it to the side. “Now can we- mrf!”

Wonwoo chooses that moment to kiss him, nearly knocking him backwards. He grabs onto the front of Wonwoo’s sweater - his sweater, his brain dutifully reminds him - to steady himself, which only pulls Wonwoo closer, responding eagerly to his insistence.

It’s clumsy and a little uncomfortable, but Wonwoo doesn’t pull away, and neither does Mingyu. He wonders if he’s ever going to get used to this feeling, or if he’s going to feel like he’s plummeting down a rollercoaster at a ninety degree angle every single time. He wouldn’t mind if it were the latter.

Wonwoo breaks away a few moments later. Mingyu takes stock of their position as he catches his breath - Wonwoo is kneeling, one hand braced on the floor next to his hip, the other curled around the back of his neck. His laptop is placed carefully on the floor a safe distance away, which means he definitely planned this.

Mingyu raises his eyebrows. “And you called me ridiculous.”

Wonwoo laughs and sits back on his heels, moving his hands into his lap. Mingyu lets go of the front of his sweater in favor of taking his hands. “I still think it’s ridiculous,” he clarifies. “But it’s effective, I’ll give you that.”

Very effective,” Mingyu says sincerely, giggling when Wonwoo rolls his eyes. “You wanna, like, play a video game or something?”

“Later,” Wonwoo says. “My eyes are hurting a little.”

“Okay.” Mingyu tightens his hold on Wonwoo’s hands and pulls Wonwoo closer, close enough that he can lean forward and give him a quick peck on the mouth. “I’ll make you some more tea,” he offers. 

“Sure,” Wonwoo says. His glasses are a little crooked. Mingyu really wants to kiss him again, except then they’d never get anything accomplished. “That sounds nice.”

You sound nice,” Mingyu says, climbing to his feet as Wonwoo laughs. “Come on, babe, let’s go.”

Mingyu doesn’t even register what he said until Wonwoo freezes, looking up at him with wide eyes. “Babe?”

“Shit, sorry,” Mingyu says, scrambling to figure out why the hell he just called Wonwoo babe like it was the most natural thing in the world, and coming up terrifyingly empty. “It just, um, slipped out? That’s what she said. Sorry. If you don’t like it I won’t say it again.”

Wonwoo blinks for a few more seconds, processing, before shrugging and standing up. “‘Babe’ is okay,” he says, dusting off his pants. “Although if you call me anything like ‘cutiepie’ or ‘darling’ I will kill you.”

“That’s a shame,” Mingyu jokes, relieved. Now that he really thinks about it, it’s kind of nice, calling Wonwoo babe. Light and affectionate, like their relationship. “Not even ‘sweetheart’?”

Wonwoo snorts, taking his hand as they head out of his bedroom and down the stairs. “That’s what my grandmother calls me. I don’t think I want to equate my boyfriend with my grandmother.”

“Okay, valid,” Mingyu concedes. He thinks for a second. “Muffin?”

“No,” Wonwoo says immediately.

“Baby cakes.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Snugglebug.”

“No. Where the hell did you even get that one from? Who says that?”

“I read it on the Internet somewhere. Cutie patootie.”

“Keep going and soon ‘babe’ will be off limits, too.”

“Okay, okay,” Mingyu laughs. They’re in the kitchen at this point; he lets go of Wonwoo’s hand to rinse out the mugs in the sink, smiling to himself when Wonwoo leans against him slightly. “Sorry, babe .”

“You’re on thin ice, Kim Mingyu,” Wonwoo warns, his voice warm. 

Mingyu turns to face Wonwoo as he wipes down the insides of the mugs with a dishrag. “Wow, my full name?” he teases. “That’s an awfully romantic term of endearment, Jeon Wonwoo.”

“I am the epitome of modern romance, yes,” Wonwoo says. “What would you prefer I call you?”

“Whatever you want,” Mingyu says magnanimously, gesturing for Wonwoo to pass him the box of tea leaves from the cupboard, which Wonwoo does. He grabs a spoon and continues, “I know you’re, like, emotionally constipated or whatever.”

“I am perfectly in tune with my emotions,” Wonwoo argues, opening the box before Mingyu even has to ask. “I just don’t enjoy expressing them verbally.”

“Right,” Mingyu says, scooping the leaves into each mug. “And that’s different from emotional constipation?”

“Clearly,” Wonwoo says. Mingyu laughs at the audible pout in his voice.

There’s a lull of silence as they each drink their tea, still warm, standing next to each other at the counter. The cloudiness outside washes the entire house in shades of grey, makes time drag slowly and sweetly as they enjoy each other’s company, the sound of the rain filling the air between them.

Wonwoo puts his mug down and says, all in a rush like he rehearsed it beforehand, “I’m not… very comfortable with being affectionate in public. I don’t mind holding hands, but everything else is just…”

“Hey,” Mingyu says, surprised at how nervous Wonwoo sounds. He turns, but the Wonwoo isn’t even looking at him, his eyes fixed on the floor beneath his feet. “Where is this coming from?”

Wonwoo shrugs. Mingyu hates how unsure he looks all of a sudden, shoulders hunched inwards to make himself look as small as possible. “I know you’re a pretty touchy person. I mean, you greet people by hugging them, and you let Seokmin kiss you on the cheek all the time. I can’t- I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to do that. At least not in front of people I don’t know. I just thought you should know in case that’s, in case you feel unfulfilled-”

“Hey, no,” Mingyu says urgently, grabbing Wonwoo’s hands where they’re hanging limply at his sides. “Wonwoo, look at me.”

Wonwoo sighs. Slowly, almost reluctantly, he tips his chin up. The look on his face is so vulnerable, so hesitant and scared that it breaks Mingyu’s heart a little, the thought that Wonwoo could ever feel that way. 

“I don’t care about hugging, or kissing in public, or whatever,” Mingyu says, as firmly and steadily as he can manage. “I’d be fine even if you didn’t want to touch, like, at all . That’s not why I like you. I like you because you’re you , Wonwoo. Remember? ‘I like everything about you’.” He smiles. “Even your hidden fetish for the smell of books.”

Wonwoo laughs, his shoulders relaxing a little, drawing away from his ears. “I was hoping you’d forgotten about that.”

“I will never forget,” Mingyu insists. “Seriously, though. I could never feel unfulfilled with you.” He grins and leans close. “How could I? You’re smart, thoughtful, funny, kind-”

“Okay, okay,” Wonwoo interrupts, his smile small and pleased, a light flush along the apples of his cheeks and the shell of his ear. “I get it, you can stop now.”

Mingyu continues, unperturbed, “- very handsome, you have a nice voice, you have great taste in music-”

Mingyu ,” Wonwoo says, exasperated.

“-and I really like the way you say my name,” Mingyu finishes. “If you give me a few minutes I can come up with more.”

“I’m okay, thank you,” Wonwoo says, lifting one hand to straighten Mingyu’s collar. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?” he mutters, but there’s gratitude and relief shining in his eyes, louder than his words. 

“I know,” Mingyu accepts. “It’s too bad you aren’t getting rid of me anytime soon.” Wonwoo laughs at that, moving his hand to the back of Mingyu’s neck to pull him closer.

--

They’re making dinner together when Mingyu’s mom comes home, a pot of stew bubbling slowly on the stove. “Good evening,” she says when she enters the kitchen, setting her lunch bag on the counter. “Sorry I’m late,” she tells Mingyu. “The traffic was awful.”

Mingyu bobs his head, moving out of the way when she heads to the sink to wash her lunch dishes. “Because of the rain?”

She hums. “I could barely see the car in front of me. Will you be joining us for dinner, Wonwoo?”

Wonwoo startles a little at the sound of his name, which is adorable. “I don’t want to intrude,” he starts.

Mingyu’s mom waves her hand. “Of course you won’t.” She puts the last of the dishes on the dishrack and steps away, surveying the both of them with a knowing look in her eye. “I look forward to having dinner with you,” she says before turning and heading upstairs.

Wonwoo waits until her bedroom door clicks shut before turning to Mingyu and asking, "does she know about us?"

“I haven’t had the chance to tell her,” Mingyu says. He spent all of last night screaming about the confession to Minghao and Seokmin over video call, which left him no time to debate over whether to tell his mom. “Are you okay if she knows?”

“I’m okay if you are,” Wonwoo says, fiddling aimlessly with the hem of Mingyu’s sweater. “She’s your mom, after all.”

Mingyu thinks about the time he asked her for permission to go to the village with Seokmin and Wonwoo, her mysterious smile as she told him what a nice boy Wonwoo was. The puzzle pieces slide into place, and he colors immediately, pressing his hand to his forehead. “I think she already knows.”

Wonwoo raises an eyebrow. “How many people in your life knew before you did?”

“Ugh, please don’t bring that up, I’m so embarrassed,” Mingyu groans. “That was a low point in my life, okay?”

Wonwoo laughs. "My lips are sealed," he promises before pausing. "Although I should tell you that my parents also know."

Mingyu thinks about imposing, stoic Mr. Jeon-Lee being fully aware of his huge gay crush on Wonwoo and blanches. "I am never stepping foot into your house again," he tells Wonwoo solemnly.

"That's a shame," Wonwoo teases. "They like you a lot."

Mingyu perks up at that. He loves it when parents love him. "They do?"

"Of course. Remember that time you came over and helped my mom with dinner? After that, she kept bringing up how good of a husband you would be." Wonwoo makes a face at the memory. 

Mingyu contemplates this. "I mean," he starts, "she's not wrong."

"Shut up," Wonwoo laughs. "I never should've told you, your head's only going to get bigger." He pauses, shifting his weight back and forth a few times before saying, "do you want to come over for dinner sometime, though? My mom will make you tofu stew."

“Oh, I love your mom's tofu stew," Mingyu says dreamily. "I'd love to." He grins. "I can't believe we're meeting the parents already. Aren't we going a little too fast?"

"We've known each other's parents for ten years," Wonwoo points out, deadpan. "Seokmin calls your mom by her first name."

Mingyu sighs. “Do you have to ruin everything?”

--

Mingyu’s mom enters the kitchen just as Wonwoo places the last bowl on the counter. They take their seats on the island - Mingyu and Wonwoo on one side, Mingyu’s mom across from them. 

They start eating, the silence broken occasionally by requests to pass something over. Mingyu’s mom pays no attention to them, eating her stew peacefully, but Mingyu can tell Wonwoo is nervous by the way he’s gripping his chopsticks tight and frantically bouncing his knee underneath the counter. 

He nudges Wonwoo’s shin with his foot, raising his eyebrows when Wonwoo turns to look at him. You okay? he mouths.

Wonwoo breaks into a small smile. Fine , he mouths back, hooking his ankle around Mingyu’s. 

Mingyu’s mom clears her throat. Wonwoo jumps so hard he sprays a few droplets of stew onto his face, staining his glasses. Mingyu is torn between laughing and being concerned. Judging from the look on her face, his mom feels roughly the same. “Are you alright, Wonwoo?”

“I’m okay, thank you,” Wonwoo fumbles, taking off his glasses and swiping at them with the hem of his sweater. “I was just a little startled.”

She smiles. “There’s no need to be nervous,” she says. “You’ve known Mingyu for more than ten years now, yes?” Her smile takes on a knowing edge. “I trust you to take care of him.”

“Hey, I can take care of myself!” Mingyu complains.

He’s thoroughly ignored. “I’ll do my best,” Wonwoo promises. His posture is the straightest (ha, straight) Mingyu’s ever seen it. It’s kind of cute, how much he wants Mingyu’s mom to like him, even though this is nowhere near the first time they’ve met. 

Mingyu’s mom nods, her eyes twinkling with approval, and resumes eating. Wonwoo follows her lead a few seconds later, like he’s making sure he doesn’t get startled again. It feels, somehow, like they’ve just passed a test.

--

Mingyu sees Wonwoo off after dinner, Wonwoo’s freshly dried clothes tucked safely into his bag. “Keep the clothes,” he says, a little more insistently than he intended, when Wonwoo offers to change back.

It earns him an amused smile and an accompanying tilt of the head. “Do you want me to wear them to school?”

“You know I do, you asshole,” Mingyu says. “Stop exploiting my feelings for you. This is unfair.”

“Would you believe me if I said I wasn’t doing it on purpose?” Wonwoo asks. 

“Absolutely not,” Mingyu says.

Wonwoo laughs. “That’s fair.”

He opens the door, and the two of them step out onto the porch. The night is vibrant with the lingering smell of rain, the buzzing of the cicadas hinting at the oncoming summer. Mingyu leans a little closer to see Wonwoo clearly. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Of course,” Wonwoo says. “Have a good night, Mingyu.”

“You too,” Mingyu says. 

They stand there for a few seconds, staring at each other in silence. Mingyu raises his eyebrows, waiting. 

Wonwoo sighs and stands on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, quick and chaste and mindful of the fact that they’re outside. “You’re ridiculous,” he informs as he pulls away.

Mingyu beams. “I know. Is this the part where I call you babe again?”

“No, this is the part where I leave and go home,” Wonwoo corrects, turning away.

“Rude,” Mingyu says, but he lets Wonwoo go, watching as he descends the porch steps and heads off into the night. “Stay safe!” he calls down the street at Wonwoo’s retreating back. 

Wonwoo turns and waves at him, walking backwards. Mingyu waves back, heart almost unbearably warm.

--

It takes about a week for them to fall into their new rhythm - and it’s surprising but also very telling, how little changes between them once the week is over. Wonwoo walks him to Business in the morning, and he walks Wonwoo to World History in the afternoon. They head home alone together on Tuesday and Thursday, and have a study date on the weekend, the two of them sitting side by side on the floor of Mingyu’s bedroom. They even manage to hang out during lunch break once, when the rest of their friends are all busy. 

Also, Wonwoo wears Mingyu’s sweater to school once. Mingyu loses his mind and is subsequently bullied by all his friends about it. 

The most important changes are the small ones, the slight shift in the way they act around each other. From the outside looking in, it would be hard to spot - much of it is the same, leaning close and brushing hands and bumping shoulders. But Wonwoo starts fixing his hair and clothes more often, and starts leaning against him whenever they stand next to each other. Mingyu, for his part, makes a habit out of resting his head on Wonwoo’s shoulder, and attempts to compensate for all the PDA they aren’t doing by being as verbally cheesy as possible.

It’s good. It’s nice. Mingyu is so ridiculously happy that he thinks he’s dreaming sometimes, when he wakes up to a good morning text from Wonwoo, when he’s about to fall asleep to the sound of Wonwoo’s voice through the phone. And sometimes, in a few clear, bright moments scattered throughout their new routine, when he catches Wonwoo looking at him with a stunned look on his face, he gets the feeling that Wonwoo feels the same way.

--

The aforementioned dinner with the parents happens a week after that, on Saturday. Mingyu puts on a button down and his nicest pair of jeans, spends an hour in the bathroom making his hair look effortlessly styled, and then grabs the pie he baked in the morning and heads out the door, yelling goodbye to his mom before he leaves.

He knows he’s being unreasonably jittery as he walks to Wonwoo’s house. It’s like Wonwoo said - he’s known the Jeon-Lees for over ten years now. But this is the first time he’s meeting them as Wonwoo’s boyfriend, not just the kid Seokmin befriended when he was six years old. And although the reasonable part of him doubts it, the vocal minority spends the entire walk coming up with worst-case scenarios he should be preparing for - what if Wonwoo’s parents decide to hate him? What if the pie is shit? What if Wonwoo is forced to break up with him, or they really do enter some kind of Romeo and Juliet situation?

He’s at the door already. There’s a warm light glowing from within, shining through the frosted glass panels. Mingyu swallows his nerves and rings the doorbell.

There’s a shout, then the sound of steps crossing the house, before Wonwoo opens the door. He’s dressed in a tasteful beige V-neck that Mingyu strongly suspects is Seokmin’s, and dark jeans that make him look like he’s 80% legs. Mingyu stands speechless on the porch as Wonwoo very noticeably looks him over. 

“You look nice,” Wonwoo says quietly after a moment, his eyes shining.

Mingyu smiles, his nerves soothed slightly. “I’m, like, shitting my pants right now,” he confesses.

Wonwoo laughs and steps back to let him into the house, taking the pie out of his hands so he can take his shoes off. “Don’t be nervous,” Wonwoo says once he’s straightened again, setting the pie down on the small side table next to the entrance. “My parents already love you. And they know how much I like you, so it’s not like they’re going to disapprove of you or anything.”

“Aw, you talk about me to your parents? That’s so cute,” Mingyu teases. Initiating any kind of physical contact with Wonwoo within view of the rest of his family is terrifying for a number of reasons, so he settles for stepping closer instead, leaning in close.

His hesitation is for nothing, it turns out, because Wonwoo initiates the contact first, reaching out and straightening the collar of his shirt. “I don’t know why you’re so surprised that I talk about you to other people,” Wonwoo huffs, his fingertips brushing over the skin at Mingyu’s collarbones. “You are my boyfriend, Mingyu.”

“It’s just nice to think about,” Mingyu says. “What do you say to them? Do you recite soliloquies about how handsome I am?”

Wonwoo raises an eyebrow. “The last thing I told them was about that time you were waving at someone and accidentally hit yourself in the face,” which is horribly rude and disrespectful, that was a humiliating moment, “and also, I can’t believe you call me a nerd when you just used the word ‘soliloquy’ unprovoked.”

Mingyu makes a face. “That’s literally because I hang out with you too much. I absorbed your nerd through osmosis. Remember that time you talked about that super depressing one from Macbeth for, like, ten minutes? I mean, it was super interesting, but c’mon babe, who thinks about Shakespeare that much?”

“Shakespeare is interesting ,” Wonwoo insists. It’s a path that they’ve tread dozens of times before, but it’s still as engaging as ever. Mingyu leans a little closer, about to argue, when someone shouts, “hey, lovebirds!”

Mingyu snaps his mouth shut, feeling his face heat up as he registers exactly where he is. Oh, God - how long has he been standing here, flirting with Wonwoo in his own home? Did his parents see? The thought alone is mortifying.

Thankfully, it’s just Seokmin, calling over to them from the kitchen. Even more thankfully, both Mr. and Mrs. Jeon-Lee seem to be too busy preparing dinner to pay them any mind, the hum of the hood fan filling the house. Which makes sense - Mingyu has been over so often that they’ve pretty much discarded any formality, including greeting him at the door when he arrives. “Are you guys gonna come help, or are you gonna keep being gross?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Wonwoo says, gesturing for Mingyu to head towards the kitchen. “We’re coming, relax.”

Mingyu walks into the kitchen, Wonwoo following closely behind him, feeling nervous all over again when he sees just how much Wonwoo’s family has prepared for dinner, pots of still-bubbling tofu stew lining the center of the table. There’s even one of those fancy chopsticks holders at each seat. 

Wonwoo must notice his shift in mood, because he nudges him slightly with his arm. “Sorry, my mom gets really excited over dinner parties,” he explains under his breath, looking sheepish. “Also, I wasn’t lying when I said they really like you.”

“They even brought out the good china,” Mingyu whispers back, mildly terrified. “This is so much pressure.”

“You’ll be fine,” Wonwoo assures, offering a small smile before heading past him to put the pie on the kitchen counter. 

“Why do you look so nervous?” This is Seokmin, replacing his brother at Mingyu’s side, pulling Mingyu into a side hug. “It’s just us, man. You’ve been over for dinner so many times.”

Mingyu is about to reply, but then Mrs. Jeon-Lee turns around and notices his presence. “Mingyu!” she greets, rushing over to sweep him up in a hug. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t even hear you come in!” She pulls away slightly, fixing his collar in a way that is incredibly reminiscent of her son as she says, “you look so handsome, too.” She winks. “Wonwoo is a lucky boy, huh?”

“I heard that,” Wonwoo says, reaching around her to place bowls of rice in front of each seat at the table. The tips of his ears are distinctly redder than the rest of him.

Mrs. Jeon-Lee scoffs, clearly noticing the same thing. “Don’t act like you don’t agree with me. It’s always ‘Mingyu this, Mingyu that’ with you.”

Mingyu raises his eyebrows, delighted. “Really,” he comments mildly.

Wonwoo’s ears flush deeper. Seokmin, who has also noticed what’s going on, cackles loudly. “We really don’t need to talk about this, mom,” Wonwoo grumbles.

“No, we really do,” Mingyu says. Wonwoo still has his back turned to him and is pretending to be busy with setting the table. “Wonwoo told me he never talks about me,” he tells Mrs. Jeon-Lee soberly.

“Wonwoo, how could you?” she scolds. To Mingyu, she continues, “well, first of all, he’s always talking about how good of a cook you are. And he says you dress very well, too. Did you know he actually started dressing well because of-”

“The tissue box is empty,” Wonwoo announces very loudly to no one in particular. “I’m going to go get a new one from the closet upstairs.”

There’s a moment where Mingyu, Seokmin, and Mrs. Jeon-Lee all exchange knowing smiles. It’s really nice. Mingyu is slightly less terrified of disappointing his boyfriend’s parents now. “Okay, Wonwoo,” Mrs. Jeon-Lee says placidly. “You do that.”

“Okay,” Wonwoo says, and walks a little faster than usual as he leaves the kitchen.

They’re silent for a second before Mr. Jeon-Lee joins them in front of the table, glasses and a pitcher of water in hand. “Leave the poor boy alone, Hwayoung,” he scolds. Mingyu is terrified for a second that he’s actually angry, but both Seokmin and Mrs. Jeon-Lee are still smiling, so he figures this is just how he sounds all the time. “You’ll have plenty of time to embarrass him later.”

“Oh, I know,” Mrs. Jeon-Lee says, moving aside so her husband can place the glasses and pitcher around the table. “But it’s fun to tease him, isn’t it?” she asks Mingyu, nudging him lightly.

“Oh, absolutely,” Mingyu says, thinking about the way Wonwoo rolls his eyes and fails to hold back a smile, his familiar look of fond exasperation. 

Mrs. Jeon-Lee looks like she’s about to say something else, but then Wonwoo comes back downstairs, a tissue box clutched in his hands. “Can we please eat now,” he pleads, putting the box on the table.

His mom laughs. “Of course. Let’s all have a seat, everyone.”

So they do. Mingyu gets nudged gently by various members of Wonwoo’s family into taking the seat next to Wonwoo on one side of the table, Wonwoo’s parents on the opposite side, Seokmin at the head. Seokmin pours all of them water, they give thanks for the meal, and then they dig in.

The tofu stew is somehow even better than Mingyu remembered it being. He spends the first twenty minutes or so alternately scarfing down the food so fast he burns his tongue and praising Mrs. Jeon-Lee’s cooking. He chokes at one point, because of course he does, leading to the humiliating experience of having Wonwoo smack his back in front of the whole table. 

Mrs. Jeon-Lee waits until he can breathe properly again before saying, “so, Mingyu, how is school?”

Mingyu is abruptly reminded that this is still technically a ‘meeting the parents’ dinner, despite how long he’s known the parents in question. It must show on his face, because Wonwoo shifts a little, pressing their knees together under the table. Mingyu takes a deep breath and says, “it’s going well! Some of my classes are hard, but I like what I’m learning, so it’s not too bad.”

Mrs. Jeon-Lee nods. Her husband glances up at him briefly before returning his attention to his food. Mingyu has no idea what that’s supposed to indicate - did he give a good answer? Did he fail miserably? Are they going to realize he actually doesn’t deserve their son and force them to-

Wonwoo clears his throat. “Didn’t you say you really like your Contemporary Issues class?” he asks, tilting his head towards Mingyu encouragingly.

Never mind, Mingyu actually does not deserve Wonwoo. “I do! The teacher’s really great, she makes us think about things that we usually take for granted as, like, normal or default,” he says, jumping on the opportunity that’s been so generously given to him. “Like our last class was about how the language we use influences the way we think about things, because of like, the associations of some words with others, and the phonetics and stuff.”

He finishes in a rush, catching his breath. There’s a terrifying moment of silence where no one else says anything.

And then Mr. Jeon-Lee sits up and starts, “that’s quite interesting, Mingyu. Did you know that the word ‘to exist’ actually derives from-”

Seokmin groans. “Not this again, dad, please ,” he whines. “I’m going to fall asleep at the table.”

Mr. Jeon-Lee closes his mouth. Mingyu might just be hallucinating, but he thinks he can see the corners of the man’s mouth twitch upwards. Acting on impulse, he jokes, “wait, this is the first time I’ve heard this. What does the word ‘to exist’ derive from?”

Betrayal ,” Seokmin gasps, pressing a hand to his chest. Mr. Jeon-Lee looks vaguely smug. “Mingyu, how could you?”

“It sounds interesting!” Mingyu protests. Seomin makes a face of disgust. Wonwoo’s shoulders shake with silent laughter.

Mr. Jeon-Lee leans forward. “Well, since you asked,” he says, “it actually originates from the word…”

--

“...and that’s how we’ve lost the original complexity of the word, and reduced it to what it means now,” Mr. Jeon-Lee finishes, an admittedly long amount of time later. 

A look around the table confirms that this is, indeed, a common topic within the Jeon-Lee household. Seokmin looks half-asleep. Mrs. Jeon-Lee doesn’t look much better. Wonwoo is humming under his breath, seemingly completely detached from reality, moving around the contents at the bottom of his bowl. 

Mingyu, on the other hand, is actually pretty engaged. “That’s super cool,” he says. A thought occurs to him, and he laughs a little, making Seokmin look up as he says, “now I know where Wonwoo got so much of his personality from.”

“So I’ve been told,” Mr. Jeon-Lee says somberly, while Wonwoo looks at him and says, “I’m not sure whether that’s a compliment or an insult.”

“Oh, it’s absolutely a compliment,” he tells Wonwoo, grinning.

Wonwoo looks over his face once and softens, hooking their ankles together. “Yeah, yeah."

They just kind of smile at each other for a few seconds before they’re interrupted by Seokmin, who makes a retching sound. “You guys are gross,” he complains. “I’m losing my appetite.”

“Don’t be rude, Seokmin,” Mrs. Jeon-Lee says, a twinkle in her eye. “I think you guys are cute together.”

Mingyu beams. “Thank you,” he says very seriously. Wonwoo and Seokmin groan in unison. 

Mrs. Jeon-Lee laughs. “Did you know, Mingyu, that Wonwoo cried when we moved away? And when I asked him if he was okay he said-”

“I don’t think Mingyu needs to know that,” Wonwoo says, sounding panicked.

He’s firmly ignored. “-he said, ‘I didn’t even say goodbye to Mingyu’. Isn’t that so cute?”

Mingyu’s smile falters as he blinks, stunned. Seokmin cackles, but the sound is muffled as Mingyu’s mind reels, sifting frantically through his memories.

The thing is, Wonwoo had said goodbye to Mingyu that day. Mingyu still remembers entering the house he spent so much of his childhood in, stripped empty of all the things that made it a home, and finding Wonwoo standing in the middle of the living room with the corners of his mouth pulled downward. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, when Mingyu approached him. 

Mingyu tilted his head, confused. “What are you sorry for?”

Wonwoo smiled, then, but it was a rueful one, out of place on his young face. “We never got to hang out like we said we would.”

“That’s okay,” Mingyu said, without really thinking about it. “We’ll hang out again someday. I just know it.”

And then they shook hands, pretending to be more grown up than they really were, and then Mingyu tried and failed not to cry as he watched the Jeon-Lees pack up the last of their things and take off. But they definitely said goodbye - it would’ve bothered Mingyu for weeks, maybe even months, if they hadn’t.

The weight of someone’s hand over his brings him back to the present, to the same people in a different house. He realizes, abruptly, that everyone’s staring at him. “We did say goodbye, though,” he jokes weakly, trying to cover up how he just zoned out fully in the middle of the conversation. “Did I hallucinate that or something?”

Wonwoo shakes his head, curling his hand tighter around Mingyu’s, the look on his face gentle. “I didn’t… get to say the things I wanted to say,” he admits quietly. “I was scared, I think.”

I’ve liked you since elementary school , Wonwoo said to him, that pivotal day in the classroom. Mingyu grins, the static at the edges of his mind fading away. “You’re so sweet."

Wonwoo huffs, the tips of his ears turning red. Seokmin snorts and says, “that’s literally a lie. I remember many conversations in my bedroom where he-”

“Seokmin, I will kill you,” Wonwoo threatens.

Seokmin grins and makes a heart with his hands. “I’m just saying,” he says innocently. “The phrase ‘he’s so cute I’m going to punch him’ came up a lot .”

“Oh, yes, I remember Wonwoo saying something like that to me as well,” Mrs. Jeon-Lee adds. “‘Every time he smiles at me I want to die’, I think it was.”

“Don’t forget ‘that boy is going to be the death of me’,” Mr. Jeon-Lee adds casually.

Mingyu’s face is starting to hurt with how much he’s smiling. Wonwoo looks like he’s seriously considering stabbing himself with his own chopsticks just to get out of the conversation. “That’s very interesting,” he says solemnly. “Do you guys have any other examples? Because I’d love to hear them.”

Mingyu ,” Wonwoo protests, sounding strained. Mingyu laughs, flipping the hand that’s under Wonwoo’s so they can hold hands properly, feeling Wonwoo relax at the gesture. 

Mrs. Jeon-Lee checks her watch and moves to get up. "It's getting late. We can continue this conversation later, okay?”

Mingyu checks the time on the microwave display and realizes, with a start, that he’s been here for three hours already. His nerves are pretty much gone. He stands up, too, feeling a strange wave of affection for this family that isn’t even his. Inevitable embarrassing moments notwithstanding, he actually had fun tonight. “I’ll help clean up,” he offers, picking up his empty glass.

“Oh, nonsense,” Mrs. Jeon-Lee scolds, the rest of the family starting to busy themselves with bringing the dishes to the sink and packing away the leftovers. “You’re a guest here. Will you hand me that glass?”

Mingyu extends the glass to her, opening his mouth to protest at the same time. A fatal mistake, because glass slips from his hands before she can get a hold on it, falling to the ground and shattering.

“Oh my God, I am so sorry ,” he says, feeling all the good energy he’s worked up from before withering into dust as he grabs a paper towel and starts sweeping the broken glass into a pile. “I’m so sorry, I’m so clumsy, I’ll pay you back-”

“It’s okay, Mingyu,” Mrs. Jeon-Lee says, placing a hand on his shoulder. “It was my fault as well. Wonwoo, bring the broom and dustpan over. I’ll go get you some newspaper to wrap it in, okay?”

Mingyu nods. “I’m sorry,” he repeats, shame burning in the back of his throat.

“Don’t be.” This is Wonwoo, replacing his mom by Mingyu’s side, the aforementioned broom and dustpan in hand. “Here, let me.”

“No, I dropped it, I’ll do it,” Mingyu insists, grabbing the broom before Wonwoo can argue. “Seriously, there must be something wrong with me,” he jokes as he sweeps. “I’ve gotta be, like, cursed or something, there’s no way someone can naturally be this clumsy.”

Wonwoo doesn’t say anything for a moment. Mingyu is about to ask whether he fell asleep or something when he says, quietly, “why do you always say that?”

Mingyu squints at him. “What? That I’m cursed?”

Wonwoo shakes his head and turns to meet Mingyu’s eyes. “That there’s something wrong with you.”

Mingyu shrugs, unsure of what Wonwoo’s getting at, unsure of why he looks so serious all of a sudden. “Because it’s probably true?” he tries. “I mean, you said it yourself, remember?”

Wonwoo’s expression shifts at that. He looks - stricken, and confused, like Mingyu just slapped him across the face with no warning. “When did I ever say that?”

Now it’s Mingyu’s turn to be confused. “When we were fighting,” he says. “Over your university applications. I got jealous and you said ‘what is wrong with you’. Seriously, did I hallucinate half of this stuff? This is the second time this has happened in one night.”

Realization dawns on Wonwoo’s face after a second. “You thought I said ‘what is wrong with you’?” he asks softly.

Mingyu’s heartbeat falters. “That’s not what you said?”

Wonwoo opens his mouth, looking urgent, but then a shadow falls over them. Mingyu looks up. It’s Mrs. Jeon-Lee, holding a bundle of newspapers, completely unaware of the conversation she’s just interrupted. Mingyu doesn’t get a chance to look at Wonwoo before she’s crouching down between them, spreading the newspapers out on the floor.

Wonwoo shakes the contents of the dustpan out onto the newspaper, remaining silent as his mom folds the edges of the paper carefully around the shards. “Can you throw this out outside?” she asks Wonwoo, handing the parcel to him. To Mingyu, “do you want to bring some leftovers home? For you and your mother?”

Mingyu nods, his enthusiasm dampened by the fact that Wonwoo is no longer looking at him. “If that’s okay,” he says. “Thank you.”

She smiles. “There’s no need to thank me. Just give me a few moments, okay?”

Mingyu nods again, and then she leaves, leaving the two of them alone. Wonwoo looks up at him then. “Do you want to come with me?” he offers.

Mingyu swallows. “Yeah, sure."

He lets Wonwoo help him up. They’re silent as they cross the house to the front door, pulling their shoes on before they step outside. Mingyu’s just closed the door behind him when Wonwoo asks, “is that why you reacted like that? Back then? You thought I said ‘what’s wrong with you’?”

Mingyu thinks back to the fight they had, the way he shouted loud enough to echo through the neighborhood. And the way Wonwoo recoiled at the sound of his voice, eyes wide, like he couldn’t recognize the person he was seeing in front of him. 

“Yeah,” he says. Wonwoo’s face crumples with guilt, making panic flare up in his chest. “It wasn’t your fault,” he says quickly, reaching out to grab Wonwoo’s wrist. “I was just going through a lot of stuff, and I projected it onto you. That’s why I thought you said- I mean, Wonwoo, seriously. It wasn’t your fault.”

Wonwoo shakes his head. “It was,” he insists. “I made you think I was saying that because of the way I reacted.” He lifts his free hand to fix Mingyu’s collar, his fingers gentle, like an apology. “I wanted to say ‘what’s wrong with applying to university’, because I thought maybe university was a sore subject for you. But I let my anger get the best of me. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Mingyu says, his heart aching a little. “Seriously,” he adds, when Wonwoo looks like he’s about to protest, “it’s okay. I mean it.”

Wonwoo looks startled, and then overwhelmed, like he’s just realized something very, very important. Mingyu is about to ask what it is, but then Wonwoo is pulling at his collar, and then Wonwoo is kissing him, as if they aren’t on the porch of his house where anyone could see them, his family included. 

Mingyu’s head is spinning when Wonwoo pulls away, the vertigo made worse by the way Wonwoo looks at him, like he’s trying to commit every line of his face to memory. “There is nothing wrong with you,” Wonwoo says, voice running low underneath the chirping of the cicadas. “There has never been anything wrong with you, Mingyu. Please don’t forget that.”

Mingyu smiles, the expression probably coming off a lot more smitten than he intends to with how struck dumb he is by this boy, by the way he can say these things like they’re nothing at all. “Are you saying I’m perfect?” he jokes, means thank you .

Wonwoo smiles back, tilting his head in consideration. “You know what,” he says softly, “I guess I am.”

“I-” Mingyu closes his mouth, then opens it again, looking and feeling like a fish out of water. Wonwoo’s smile turns smug. “I hate you so much.”

“Of course you do,” Wonwoo says lightly, turning away so he can throw out the glass - right, the glass, Mingyu forgot about that - into the trash bin in the corner of the porch. “We should probably go back inside,” he says when he comes back, “we’ve been out here for a long time.”

Mingyu has a horrible realization. “Oh, God,” he says, mortified. “Are your parents gonna think we were making out or something?”

Wonwoo’s eyes widen before he covers his face with a hand. “I wasn’t worried about that before, but I am now.”

“It’s fine,” Mingyu assures frantically. “We don’t, uh, look like we’ve been making out? I think?”

Wonwoo moves his hand away from his face to squint up at Mingyu. “Your face is kind of red,” he points out.

Which, of course, only makes Mingyu’s face get redder. “I can’t help it,” he complains. “You were being all sweet and stuff.” He points at Wonwoo. “This is your fault.”

Wonwoo laughs. “Okay, that’s fair." He places a hand against the small of Mingyu’s back and steers him towards the door. “I’ll tell them you needed some air, they’ll buy that.” 

“Seokmin definitely won’t,” Mingyu says, his hand on the doorknob.

“I hate to say this, but Seokmin already thinks we make out all the time,” Wonwoo says. 

“Wait, what? He does?” Mingyu asks, but his question is forgotten as Wonwoo reaches around him to open the door, ushering him inside. 

Thankfully, their return goes unnoticed by everyone except, of course, Seokmin, who stops on his way to the kitchen and squints suspiciously at the two of them. Mingyu pastes on his best innocent smile as Seokmin says, “that took a long time. What were you doing out there?”

“Just talking,” Wonwoo says lightly.

Seokmin’s eyes narrow even further as they take in the flush on Mingyu’s face, their wind-mussed hair. Mingyu realizes belatedly that he probably should’ve fixed Wonwoo’s hair before they came in. “ Just talking?”

Wonwoo scoffs. “What, did you think we were making out in front of the whole neighborhood?”

Seokmin points accusingly. “You said it, not me.”

Wonwoo rolls his eyes and nudges Seokmin lightly in the shoulder. “Come on, we gotta go help clean up.”

I was helping,” Seokmin says, turning and following Wonwoo into the kitchen, leaving Mingyu to stand awkwardly in front of the door. “ You were the one canoodling with your boyfriend outside for, like, ten minutes-”

“I swear to God, Lee Seokmin, they will never find your body,” Wonwoo intones. Mingyu stands there for a few more seconds before coming to his senses and heading to the kitchen, too, wondering if Mrs. Jeon-Lee has changed her mind about letting him help.

--

Turns out, she hadn’t, because Mingyu ends up being banned from the kitchen after his third attempt at discreetly helping Seokmin load the dishwasher. He’s standing in the living room, weighing the pros and cons of going on his phone in his head, when someone clears their throat behind him.

It’s Mr. Jeon-Lee, his hands clasped behind his back in the quintessential fatherly pose. “My wife and I would like to thank you for accepting our invitation tonight,” he says. Despite their earlier conversation, Mingyu is still intimidated. “And thank you for the pie, as well.”

“Oh, it’s no problem,” Mingyu says, waving his hands in front of him. “Thank you for inviting me here and giving me food.”

Mr. Jeon-Lee inclines his head before continuing, “I would also like to thank you for taking such good care of Wonwoo.”

Mingyu turns towards the kitchen to hide the fact that his face is becoming very, very red. Wonwoo and Seokmin are standing in front of the dishwasher, arguing over the placement of a specific plate. “There’s no need to thank me for that one, either,” he says, mentally congratulating himself when he gets through the sentence with minimal stammering. “Wonwoo takes care of me too.”

Mr. Jeon-Lee honest-to-God chuckles at that, a low sound in the back of his throat. This may be the greatest accomplishment in Mingyu’s life. “I hope he does,” he says. There’s a pause - Mrs. Jeon-Lee goes over to inspect the dishwasher, pointing at a spot on the upper rack; Seokmin shouts “HA” in victory - and then he says, “forgive me if I’m overstepping, but you two seem good for each other.”

Mingyu blinks, stunned. He knows, despite all of his nerves and the amount of time he spent doing his hair earlier in the evening, that Wonwoo’s parents approve of him. But he didn’t think they would ever thank him, or ever think he was good for their son - not in the way their son has been good for him. “I don’t know what to say,” he admits.

He can’t see Mr. Jeon-Lee’s face, but he thinks he can hear a smile in the man’s voice when he says, “it’s alright. Wonwoo is perfectly capable of making his own choices, but I would just like you to know that you have my and my wife’s support.”

Mingyu turns to face him. He isn’t smiling, but there are creases in the corners of his eyes, wrinkles formed by years of use. “I- thank you,” Mingyu says, at a loss for words. 

Mr. Jeon-Lee inclines his head again. Mingyu gets the distinct feeling that this conversation is over. Before he can figure out what to say next, they’re interrupted by Wonwoo, who walks over from the kitchen and says, “Mingyu, the leftovers are ready if you want to take them. You two look extremely suspicious, by the way.”

“I have no idea why we would come off that way,” Mr. Jeon-Lee deadpans. Wonwoo huffs out a laugh and reaches out.

It takes a second for Mingyu to realize that Wonwoo is reaching out for his hand, and another second for the butterflies to swarm into his ribcage. He takes Wonwoo’s hand and lets himself be tugged into the kitchen.

They come to a stop in front of the dinner table, Mr. Jeon-Lee trailing a few steps behind them. Seokmin is cutting the pie Mingyu brought, talking to his mom about something. “What were you guys talking about?” Wonwoo asks quietly, pulling him a little closer so that they’re standing shoulder to shoulder.

“I think your parents like me,” Mingyu says, a little dazed. 

Wonwoo laughs. “I told you there was nothing to worry about.”

“He also said we were good for each other,” Mingyu adds. “So basically, I’m the best boyfriend ever.”

Wonwoo laughs again, squeezing his hand lightly as Seokmin brings the pie to the table with the flourish of a cake at a birthday party. “Well, you knew that already."

Mingyu tilts his head to grin down at Wonwoo, who’s looking up at him, eyes shining. “Maybe I’m second place,” he amends.

Wonwoo rolls his eyes, his smile pleased. Mingyu thinks, in that moment, that it doesn’t really matter whether his parents approve - he thinks he would find a way to stay with Wonwoo regardless.

--

The evening ends soon after they eat the pie, which thankfully turns out to be pretty good. Mrs. Jeon-Lee voluntells Wonwoo to walk him home, and then shoves a bag filled with three whole containers of leftovers into his arms, waving off his protests. The customary expressions of gratitude are exchanged, and then Mingyu is on his way home, his free hand wrapped around Wonwoo’s.

“That went well, I think,” Mingyu says. “I mean, except for the part where I choked, and also dropped the glass, and the time we-”

“Mingyu,” Wonwoo interrupts. Mingyu glances down at him. The curve of his mouth is amused, a little fond, as he says, “it went well. As soon as I get back, my mom is probably going to start giving me meaningful looks and commenting about how nice of a boy you are.”

Mingyu laughs. “She can’t help it,” he says. “Parents love me. It’s part of my charm.”

“How much of your charm involves bribing them with your cooking?” Wonwoo asks dryly.

Mingyu feels called out. “You have to admit it’s effective, though,” he argues. “I mean, it worked on you, didn’t it?”

“You joining the culinary club was instrumental to us getting together, yes,” Wonwoo says. When Mingyu glances down at him, offended, he laughs and assures, “I’m joking. I would like you even if you were bad at cooking.”

“Aw, babe,” Mingyu coos. Wonwoo rolls his eyes. “I like you even though you’re bad at cooking.”

“Hey, I’m not that bad at cooking,” Wonwoo argues. “I can make pretty good ramen.”

“And that’s the greatest skill of all,” Mingyu teases.

“Don’t be pretentious,” Wonwoo huffs, elbowing him lightly. “Not everyone can just bake croissants whenever they want to. Besides, I’m preparing myself for my college student diet.”

“That is the worst excuse for eating ramen I’ve ever heard,” Mingyu says. “You’re going to get scurvy or something. Eat your fruits and vegetables.”

“I do eat my fruits and vegetables!” Wonwoo protests. “My diet is extremely balanced.”

Mingyu snorts. “No offense, babe, but that is not convincing.”

“Rude,” Wonwoo says. They’re in front of Mingyu’s house now, the porch steps looming in front of them. Mingyu doesn’t want to go just yet. 

He turns to face Wonwoo, who mirrors the movement. “I could teach you how to cook something other than ramen, if you want,” he offers. “We could make it a date and everything.” He gasps. “Our first date! That would be so cute.”

“Sure,” Wonwoo says, smiling up at him. Mingyu gets the now-familiar urge to kiss him. “That sounds nice. What did you want to make?”

“I don’t know, something easy,” Mingyu says. “Japchae?”

“Japchae sounds good,” Wonwoo confirms. “It’s a date, then.”

Mingyu grins. “Can’t wait.”

Wonwoo huffs, brushing a strand of hair out of Mingyu’s face. “It’s getting late, you should go inside.”

Mingyu nods, despite the irrational (and very vocal) part of his brain telling him to stay here forever, staring at the way the streetlights overhead make Wonwoo’s skin glow. “Stay safe, okay?”

“Of course.” Mingyu doesn’t even have to ask, this time; Wonwoo rocks up onto his tiptoes and kisses him quickly on the cheek, next to the corner of his mouth. “Good night, Mingyu,” he says when he pulls away.

Mingyu’s insides feel like marshmallow, gooey and warm. “Text me when you get home?”

Wonwoo bobs his head, walking backwards down the road. “Enjoy the food,” he adds.

Mingyu snorts. “It’s your mom’s tofu stew,” he points out. “Obviously I’m going to enjoy it.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Wonwoo smiles. “Just making sure.”

“You have so little faith in me,” Mingyu calls out, a little louder now that Wonwoo’s almost across the road. Wonwoo laughs and gives one last wave before turning around and heading down the street. 

Mingyu watches him go, his figure blurry in the darkness. He pulls out his phone to check the time - it’s nearly ten, now. And even though he knows Wonwoo is fully capable of taking care of himself, he can’t help but think about how the streets are pretty much deserted at this time of night, how all the windows in all the houses are closed, blinds drawn. 

He unlocks his phone and enters a familiar number. Wonwoo is still close enough for it to be visible, the way he stops mid-step and takes out his phone, the way he pauses in disbelief at his screen before answering the call. 

“Are you kidding me,” he says, turning to face Mingyu. From this distance, Mingyu can’t make out the look on his face, but he thinks it’s probably somewhere between unimpressed and exasperated. 

“I missed you,” Mingyu says, waving lightly. Wonwoo turns around and starts walking in the opposite direction. “Hey, rude!”

“I literally left thirty seconds ago,” Wonwoo says. “And go inside already, your mom’s going to think I kidnapped you or something.”

“I wouldn’t mind it if you kidnapped me,” Mingyu says, but he complies, turning around and heading up the steps to the porch. “As long as you did it in, like, a sexy way.”

There’s a pause. Mingyu can hear Wonwoo’s disappointment in the low crackle of the line. “I’m pretty sure that’s called Stockholm Syndrome.”

“Not actual kidnapping,” Mingyu clarifies as he unlocks the doo. He drops his voice to a whisper when he enters the house, dark save for a single light on in the entryway. “I was thinking more like sweeping me off on a romantic getaway to Europe or something.”

“I don’t have nearly enough money for that.” His mom is nowhere to be found, but he can hear the tap running in the bathroom upstairs. He toes his shoes off and heads to the kitchen, turning the lights on as he goes, the tiled floor cold underneath his feet. “I can offer you a romantic getaway to the nearest McDonald’s at most.”

“As devastating as that is,” Mingyu says, putting the leftovers in the fridge, “I guess I’ll have to accept it.” He smiles to himself. “Being with you is all the romance I need, anyway.”

Wonwoo makes a gagging sound. “That was your worst one yet, I think.”

“Really?” Mingyu closes the door and heads upstairs, making it to the landing just as his mom comes out of the bathroom. He waves to her, and she waves back, raising her eyebrows when she sees that he’s on the phone. Wonwoo , he mouths. She nods in acknowledgment and turns to head to her bedroom, pausing to mouth good night to him before closing the door behind her.

“Mingyu?” Mingyu blinks as he registers the sound of Wonwoo’s voice, accompanied by the faint sound of a key turning in a lock in the background. “Are you still there?”

“Yeah, sorry,” Mingyu says, opening the door to his own room and flopping onto his bed unceremoniously. “I was just saying hi to my mom. Anyways, was that really the worst one? I feel like I’ve said worse. Remember ‘it is the east, and your ass is the sun’?”

“How could I forget,” Wonwoo says dryly. “Junhui says it to me all the time now.”

Mingyu cackles. “He does ? That’s amazing. My influence is spreading.”

“Like a disease, yes,” Wonwoo confirms.

“Aw, babe,” Mingyu coos, “are you saying you’re lovesick because of me? That’s so sweet.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Wonwoo says, but there’s fondness in his voice, as there always is. It feels like a pet name, almost, the way he says it - you’re ridiculous , the same way he says good night, Mingyu , the same way he says of course

That’s the way Wonwoo shows affection, Mingyu thinks. Not in the way he does, overt and comfortable and a little clumsy at times, but subtle. Hidden behind surface-level jabs and small, familiar gestures, like one of those geodes Minghao was obsessed with in middle school. All crystal on the inside. 

Wonwoo’s voice yanks him out of his thoughts. “Mingyu? Did you fall asleep?”

“I’m awake, I’m awake,” Mingyu says quickly. “Sorry, I was just thinking about my wonderful, incredible, amazing boyfrie-”

“Never mind, I’m going to sleep,” Wonwoo announces.

“Hey!” Mingyu protests. Wonwoo laughs, the sound soaking through his bones. They talk for another few hours, until Mingyu really does fall asleep.

Chapter Text

At the beginning of June, Mingyu attends Wonwoo's track meet with all their friends. He experiences extreme gay panic over Wonwoo in his track uniform, gets teased about it by his friends, and then nearly loses his voice cheering for Jungkook and Wonwoo in their respective events, in that order. After, the ten of them head to the movies to watch Minari, where Mingyu has the extreme privilege of watching Wonwoo struggle not to tear up at the ending. 

The event marks the beginning of the end of the year, bringing an onslaught of final papers and the threat of exams in its wake. The school festival preparations are in full swing now, showcase and musical rehearsals kicking up in tandem; it’s rare to have a lunch break where Mingyu, Minghao, and Seokmin are all free. 

Mingyu would lament this sudden lack of social interaction, if he weren’t also extremely busy. Culinary club meetings have increased to twice a week now, Mondays as well as Thursdays, as they work to transform the Home Ec room and the adjacent classroom into a full-on cafe, making decorations and preparing the menu and rehearsing. Mingyu stays until eight in the evening one day so Momo, who works part-time at an actual restaurant, can whip him and the rest of the maids into shape. It’s by far the most harrowing experience of his life. 

The end of the track and field season doesn’t make Wonwoo any less busy, as he helps out the literature club with its Edgar Allan Poe-themed escape room. They try their best to keep up the Tuesday-Thursday after-school arrangement, but there are some days where Mingyu has to go home alone. Their promised dinner date gets postponed indefinitely. 

“It sucks,” he complains to Minghao at lunch, rummaging through his lunch bag. Seokmin is, as usual, at musical rehearsals. “At this point we won’t get to go on a proper date until summer . That’s, like, an eternity away.”

“It’s literally in one month, you dramatic ass,” Minghao says, exchanging the brownie square Mingyu gives him for half a kiwi. “Besides, it’s not like you don’t get to see him. You spend more time with him than you do with anyone else.”

Mingyu glances at Minghao, worry twisting in his gut. A memory flashes briefly in the back of his mind - ninth grade, looking at Minghao from across the cafeteria before turning away. “That’s not- I didn’t do it on purpose,” he says. “You’re still my best friend, Minghao, you know that. If you want me to-”

“That’s not what I meant, you big baby,” Minghao interrupts, elbowing him gently. “You aren’t accidentally ditching me for your boyfriend or anything. I’m way too busy to hang out, anyways.”

Mingyu winces in sympathy, his fears placated. “Dance?”

“What else?” Minghao sighs. “Soonyoung’s gone insane again. And this tea ceremony thing is a huge pain in the ass.”

Mingyu laughs, scooping out the flesh of the kiwi with the little plastic spoon Minghao gives him. “And you still do it every year,” he reminds, putting the spoon into his mouth. 

Minghao shakes his head. “You’d think I would know better by now.”

Mingyu laughs again and leans over to rest his head on Minghao’s shoulder. Pressed this close, it’s unmistakable the way Minghao flinches as they make contact, a dead giveaway of bruises hiding underneath the surface. Minghao has always been responsible for the more impressive tricks and stunts in the dance team’s performances, always ending up with minor injuries afterwards. This is nothing new.

This is nothing new, but Mingyu gets worried regardless. “Are you okay? Do I need to go beat up Soonyoung or something?”

Minghao snorts. “As if you could beat someone up. The only time you ever punched someone, you cried immediately afterwards.”

“Hey!” Mingyu feels his face flush. It was in middle school; some dumb asshole a grade above them was picking on Minghao for his accent. Mingyu had cried immediately afterwards, but at least the guy left them alone after that. “I was literally defending you, you jerk, don’t make fun of me.”

“Yeah, I know,” Minghao laughs. “Thanks for that. Anyways, I’m fine. I just wasn’t being careful.”

That’s extremely unconvincing; Mingyu has never met someone more careful than Minghao, who takes the time to consider every single option and outcome before making his move. Minghao knows this, probably just as much as he knows that Mingyu won’t pry, at least for now. 

Sometimes Mingyu hates just how well Minghao knows him. “Are you going to eat all of that?” he asks, pointing to the tonkatsu in Minghao’s lunchbox.

Turns out, Minghao brought extra just for him. Mingyu grins and wraps Minghao in a hug, squeezing so tight Minghao wheezes and has to smack his back to make him let go.

--

The topic of the showcase remains stored away until the next Monday. Mingyu opens the door in the morning and immediately knows that something’s wrong. 

“You look like shit,” he tells Minghao. It’s not entirely true - on the surface, Minghao is as put-together as always, in a monochrome windbreaker and sweatpants combination. But he isn’t wearing any of his usual accessories, and his hair is just a little too messy for it to be purposeful. 

Mingyu’s concern spikes higher when Minghao doesn’t so much as glare jokingly at him, instead rubbing at his eyes and saying, “yeah, I know. Come on, we’re going to be late.”

Mingyu checks the time on his phone. They’re five minutes early. There’s a tightness in his chest, a feeling of something being wrong , but Minghao’s grabbing his hand and pulling him out of the house before he can say anything. They walk to the meet-up point in silence; Mingyu glances at Minghao to find the latter staring at the ground.

As much as he wants to say something, now probably isn’t the right time, what with Seokmin and Wonwoo approaching them, arguing animatedly about something. “Tired?” he asks instead.

In the corner of his eye, he can see Minghao shift his weight and run a hand through his hair. “Very,” he admits. “But it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

Just because you can handle something doesn’t mean you should, Mingyu wants to argue. But it’s then that Seokmin notices the two of them standing there, breaking away from his conversation with Wonwoo to give them a hug. “Why are you guys standing around like it’s someone’s funeral?” he jokes.

Mingyu glances at Minghao, who shrugs. “I’m just a little tired,” he tells Seokmin.

“Aw,” Seokmin coos, pulling Minghao into another hug and planting a kiss on his cheek. “Want me to kiss it better?”

“You couldn’t have asked me before you did it?” Minghao grumbles, wrestling out of Seokmin’s hold. Despite his pretenses, he looks a little more awake than before, offering his first smile of the morning. Mingyu is abruptly, gratefully reminded that Seokmin can be observant when he wants to be.

Seokmin drags Minghao ahead of them, talking about some anime the two of them are watching. Mingyu reaches for Wonwoo’s hand, smiling to himself when their fingers lace together, as easily as breathing. “Is Minghao doing okay?” Wonwoo asks.

“He says he’s just tired,” Mingyu says. “Because of the showcase, I think. Soonyoung always gets really intense about it around this time of year.”

“I can imagine,” Wonwoo says. “It’s admirable, I suppose. Although Junhui makes rehearsals sound like hell on Earth.”

Mingyu thinks about how Chan has been showing up to Business looking half-dead for the past week, and winces in agreement. “I don’t know how they do it. Soonyoung would yell at me for, like, two seconds and I would probably start crying.”

“I can imagine that, too,” Wonwoo jokes, laughing and ducking out of the way when Mingyu whines and feigns punching him in the shoulder. 

--

Mingyu finally gets the opportunity to talk to Minghao about it at lunch, catching him at their locker right after classes have let out. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks, leaning closer so they won’t be overheard by the people around them. “This seems way more intense than it was last year.”

Minghao stares resolutely into the locker for a few seconds before giving in, his shoulders slumping as he turns to face Mingyu. “It is,” he admits. Now that he’s gone through two classes, he looks exhausted again, rubbing absently at his arm. “I think it’s because it’s Soonyoung’s last year, so he wants to go out with a bang or something. The dance is cool, it’s just tiring as shit, you know?” He offers a small, tired smile. “But I’ll be fine.”

Mingyu shakes his head. He loves Soonyoung, he really does, but right now he kind of wants to punch him in the face, regardless of whether he cries afterwards. “If it’s that tiring, you should ask for a break or something. I don’t want you to get hurt. Well,” he amends, looking pointedly at Minghao’s arm, “even more than you already have.”

Minghao’s smile turns grateful. He fixes the collar of Mingyu’s shirt and says, “don’t worry. If Soonyoung gets too unreasonable I’ll yell some sense into him.”

Mingyu snorts. “You better, or I’ll do it for you.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Minghao says, grabbing his lunch bag. “I have to go rehearse again. I’ll see you in fourth period, okay?”

Mingyu nods, stepping back so Minghao can leave. “Stay safe,” he calls out to Minghao’s retreating back. He gets a thumbs-up in response.

--

Dance practice means Junhui is also busy, and Seokmin is off at musical rehearsals again, which means Mingyu gets to hang out with Wonwoo for lunch. He takes his lunch and heads to the stairwell next to the library, to the little alcove filled with sunshine.

Wonwoo is already there, sitting cross-legged while eating, a book propped open on his knee. Mingyu, because he is a weak fool, is overwhelmed just at the sight of him.

Wonwoo looks up at the sound of the door opening. “Hey.”

“Hi,” Mingyu says, making his way to Wonwoo’s side and taking a seat, extending his legs in front of him and leaning into Wonwoo a little as he takes out his lunch. “New book?”

“Yeah.” Wonwoo dog-ears the page and sets the book aside. Mingyu catches a glance at the cover, but doesn’t get to read the title before Wonwoo continues, “since literature club isn’t doing much reading anymore, I thought I would just read on my own instead.”

Mingyu grins. “Nerd.”

Wonwoo rolls his eyes. “I knew you were going to say that.” He reaches into his bag and procures a box of Pocky, offering it to Mingyu. “Want some?”

Mingyu gasps, accepting the box reverently. “Oh, I love green tea Pocky.”

Wonwoo shifts, suddenly unable to look Mingyu in the eye. “Yeah, I know,” he admits after a second. “I asked Seungkwan.”

Mingyu blinks. The realization trickles in, slow and sweet like molasses. He kind of wants to tackle Wonwoo to the floor and kiss him for an hour. “You,” he starts, feeling a smile threaten to split his face, “are so-”

Don’t say it,” Wonwoo warns.

“-cute,” Mingyu finishes. “Incredibly cute. Like, sometimes I look at you and think ‘wow, how on earth did I land someone so adorable’-”

“I’m going to strangle you,” Wonwoo says.

Mingyu raises his eyebrows. “In like, a sexy way?”

Wonwoo heaves a sigh. Mingyu grins and leans closer, until Wonwoo gives in, the glare on his face replaced by a soft, slightly stunned look. It makes Mingyu’s heart launch itself off a cliff. “You’re ridiculous,” he says. 

Mingyu leans back, but only a little. “I know.”

--

They talk for the bulk of the break, sharing their lunches and showing each other memes on their phones. (Mingyu tries to get Wonwoo to feed him, to no avail.) The glare off Wonwoo’s glasses is blinding, but Mingyu pays it no mind, keeping his eyes on Wonwoo’s face as much as he can. 

It’s worth it, anyways, because there’s a moment where Wonwoo trails off in the middle of a thought, in the way he does when he’s just come up with an entirely new idea. Something about the way he looks - the thoughtfulness in his eyes, the line of his nose, how broad his shoulders are underneath his T-shirt - makes Mingyu act without thinking, picking his phone up and taking a picture of him before either of them can react. 

Wonwoo blinks as the camera shutter goes off. “What was that?”

Mingyu lowers his phone, smiling his most innocent smile. “Nothing.” He glances down at the picture - it’s a little blurry, but it’s nice, a heartbeat of a moment preserved forever. “Maybe my new lockscreen,” he amends.

Wonwoo leans closer, his chin hovering over Mingyu’s shoulder. “I look terrible,” he says flatly.

“Well, I think you look amazing,” Mingyu says, giggling when Wonwoo groans. “Hey, it’s the truth! Anyways, it’s too bad, because I’m not deleting it.”

“I swear to God, Mingyu,” Wonwoo says, reaching over to try and delete the picture himself. Mingyu stretches his arm up into the air, holding the phone just out of Wonwoo’s reach - another advantage of being two inches taller.

“You’re gonna have to try harder,” he teases. “You are pretty short, after all.” He grins when Wonwoo rolls his eyes and returns to his previous seated position. “Another win for me.”

Wonwoo scoffs. “I let you win,” he corrects.

Mingyu’s grin widens. “Sure, if that makes you feel better.”

Wonwoo rolls his eyes again and opens his mouth, about to say something else, before they’re interrupted by the sound of the door opening. Mingyu looks over just in time to see Junhui and Minghao enter the stairwell. 

Correction - Junhui is half-carrying Minghao, supporting the weight that his left leg seems to be unable to carry. Worry sinks like an anchor in Mingyu’s gut, cold and heavy and tasting like rust in his mouth. He climbs to his feet as fast as his body will let him and rushes to Minghao’s other side. “What happened?” he demands.

Minghao shakes his head, his brow furrowed. “Messed up a stunt,” he explains, wincing as they reach the alcove and he moves to sit down. “I landed weirdly. Don’t worry, it’s not that big of a deal.”

“Is this because Soonyoung wouldn’t let you take a break?” Minghao shakes his head again but doesn’t say anything; Junhui clears his throat, looking a little awkward. Anger bubbles up in Mingyu’s throat. “It is, isn’t it? I’m going to fucking kill him.”

He barely registers the hand on his elbow until it’s pulling him back. “No, you aren’t,” Wonwoo says. “Stay here with Minghao, Junhui and I will go talk to him.”

Mingyu opens his mouth, an argument already half-formed on the tip of his tongue, but stops when he sees the look on Wonwoo’s face. He glances over at Minghao, who’s talking quietly to Junhui. His hair is matted with sweat. Mingyu deflates. “Okay,” he says. “Just- okay.”

Wonwoo moves his hand down to lace their fingers together, giving Mingyu’s hand a reassuring squeeze before turning to Junhui. “Let’s go.”

Junhui looks the most serious Mingyu’s ever seen him, his mouth downturned as he nods and follows Wonwoo out of the stairwell. It’s silent for a few moments as the door clicks shut slowly, and then Minghao sighs and says, “are you going to say ‘I told you so’?”

Mingyu glances down at Minghao in surprise, and finds him smiling - a wry one, but still there. “No, that’s your job,” he shoots back, feeling the pressure in his chest lighten a little as he sits down. “But I did tell you so.”

Minghao huffs out a laugh and leans back against the wall. “Yeah, I know.”

There’s another lull of silence. Mingyu shuffles a little closer to Minghao, who sighs and leans over to rest his head on Mingyu’s shoulder. His left leg is outstretched, while his right leg is tucked close to his body; Mingyu focuses on this so much that he doesn’t even remember to complain about how sweaty Minghao is. “Do you wanna go home or something? I’m not really in the mood to go to Data, anyway.”

There’s a pause as Minghao remembers that Soonyoung is in Mingyu’s Data class. “It’s fine,” he says. “Really, Mingyu, this is like the least serious injury I’ve ever had.” Mingyu, unfortunately, knows that this is true, having been friends with Minghao when he was still actively practising martial arts. “I just need to stay away from dancing for a few days.”

Mingyu snorts. “Yeah, you’d better,” he says. “Won’t Soonyoung give you a hard time for it, though? I can’t even believe that he let you leave practice today.”

“Yeah, well,” Minghao says dryly, “he didn’t exactly let me leave. It’s more like I stormed out.” He pauses. “With Junhui’s help, of course.”

Mingyu feels his eyebrows about to meet his hairline. Minghao’s preferred method of conflict resolution is calm, measured conversation; for him to storm out, Soonyoung must have done something really bad. “What happened ?”

Minghao does something that Mingyu assumes is supposed to be a shrug. “I messed up my landing, and then I told him I had to take a break for it to heal properly, and then he yelled at me a little about not working hard enough or whatever.” Mingyu opens his mouth, about to say something, because holy shit what the fuck? But then Minghao continues, “and then I told him that he was insane, and that if he wants to ruin his own body he can, but I won’t be around for him to drag me down with him. And then I left.”

Mingyu whistles low. “Jesus.”

“Maybe I was too harsh,” Minghao adds, uncertain. “He looked kind of upset when I left.”

Mingyu shakes his head. “I think it was probably what he needed to hear.”

Minghao hums. They sit there until Junhui and Wonwoo come back, the lines of their mouths grim, and force them to head to class before the bell rings. 

“Are you guys okay?” Wonwoo asks him quietly, as Junhui goes to talk to Minghao. 

Mingyu offers a small smile. “Yeah. You?”

“Yeah,” Wonwoo echoes. “Soonyoung was pretty upset, but I think it’s mostly directed at himself. He’s going to skip third period and hang out with Jihoon.”

Turns out Mingyu wasn’t the only one who found the concept of going to Data Management unappealing. “He convinced Jihoon to skip class?”

“He has a spare this period.” Which makes a lot of sense, actually. “Now go to class, you’re going to be late.”

“So are you ,” Mingyu points out. “And you’re still here.”

“I have a conflict of interest,” Wonwoo says, making a face like this is some terrible burden to bear.

Mingyu laughs. “Aw babe, you’re interested in me? That’s so sweet.”

Wonwoo rolls his eyes, about to say something else, but then movement to the side catches his eye. Mingyu follows his line of sight to find Junhui helping Minghao up, and immediately rushes over.

Minghao huffs. “My knee hurts, it’s not like I’m dying or anything,” he says. “You can calm down now.”

“I’ll calm down once your knee gets better,” Mingyu refutes, which earns him another huff. “I’ll walk you to your class?”

“I’m fine , I can walk,” Minghao insists. He demonstrates by taking a few steps around the alcove. Unsurprisingly, he’s right - Mingyu keeps forgetting that not everyone is as keen to downplay their injuries as he is. “Thank you guys, seriously, but if you don’t leave right now you’re going to be late to class, and then I’ll have to yell at all of you.”

“Hey, respect your elders,” Junhui says, cackling when Minghao glares at him. “Kidding! Let’s go, Mingyu.”

“Right.” Wonwoo’s classroom is in the same direction as Minghao’s, so they head up the stairs together. Mingyu gives them both a wave before they disappear around the corner, and then lets Junhui drag him to Data.

--

Mingyu doesn't see Soonyoung for the rest of the day. Even though he’s still a little angry, he can’t help but get worried - Soonyoung is his friend too, after all. He spends the rest of the day debating on sending him a text to make sure he’s okay, but ends up not sending anything at all and just going to sleep.

The next morning passes still without any sign of Soonyoung. Mingyu sees Jihoon once in the hallways, though, exchanging a quick greeting, so he figures things can’t be too bad. He almost forgets about the whole thing until lunch break, when he rounds the corner and finds a very familiar head of dyed hair blocking his locker.

He looks around. Minghao is nowhere to be found. Feeling strangely awkward, he approaches his locker slowly, clearing his throat once he’s a few steps away. 

Soonyoung’s head snaps up. Any possible residual anger Mingyu could’ve been feeling withers away. He looks tired, like he didn't get any sleep last night; if Mingyu looks close enough, he thinks he can see red around his eyes. He’s wearing a plain grey shirt and black sweatpants, miles away from his usual stylish, brightly-colored apparel. “Hi,” he says, careful.

He thinks Mingyu’s mad at him, then. Considering the way Mingyu was ready to kill him yesterday, he doesn’t really blame him. 

That was yesterday, though. This is today, and Soonyoung is his friend, and he figures there’s nothing he can do or say that Minghao, Wonwoo, and Junhui haven’t already done or said. So he steps forward and pulls Soonyoung into a hug. 

Soonyoung stiffens for a second in his arms, before relaxing and hugging him back. Mingyu feels him burrow a little into his shoulder and chooses not to say anything. 

They step back after a few moments, both of them probably hyper-aware that Minghao could round the corner any minute. Mingyu clears his throat. “This doesn’t mean you’re forgiven,” he warns, softening his words by offering a smile.

Soonyoung returns it, rubbing at his eyes with a hand. “I know.” His eyes catch on something over Mingyu’s shoulder and he freezes, his hand still lifted up to his face. 

Mingyu doesn’t need to turn around to know what - or rather, who - it is. “I’ll leave you guys to it,” he says, stepping away. 

Sure enough, it’s Minghao, the look in his eyes unreadable. He’s walking a little better today - it really had been a minor injury, then. Seokmin waves from his spot behind Minghao and asks, “you wanna come to rehearsals with me?”

Mingyu glances over at Minghao, who gives him a curt nod. “Yeah, sure,” he tells Seokmin. “Let me just grab my lunch.”

The few minutes it takes for Mingyu to unlock his locker and take out his lunch bag are agonizingly awkward. Mingyu is so hyper-aware of the tension between Minghao and Soonyoung that he can almost feel it burning into the back of his neck, making him sweat. 

He breathes a sigh of relief when he finally has his lunch in hand. He turns back to Seokmin, who’s leaning against the adjacent locker. “Let’s go.”

Seokmin nods and takes his hand. “See you guys later!” he says, his usually cheerful voice slightly subdued. Mingyu waves as they leave. Minghao smiles at him; Soonyoung waves back, his expression dampened. 

They stay silent until the lockers are safely behind them, swept up in the rush of students occupying the main hallway. Seokmin breaks the silence with a laugh, loud enough to startle Mingyu and turn a couple heads their way. “You’re gonna get wrinkles if you keep frowning like that,” he says. “They’ll be fine. And think of it this way - Soonyoung’s skipping musical rehearsals to talk to Minghao. He wouldn’t do that unless he really wanted to make things right. Right?”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Mingyu says after a moment, massaging the skin between his eyebrows with his free hand. He pauses. “And I’ll never get wrinkles, I’m too young and sexy.”

Seokmin snorts. “Keep telling yourself that,” he says. Mingyu makes various sounds of offense all the way to the auditorium.

--

Mingyu sits, jittery, in the auditorium, trying and failing to get some work done. Half of it is because the musical looks really good, far more polished than when he used to regularly sit in on rehearsals a few months ago, and half of it is because he can’t stop thinking about how Minghao and Soonyoung are doing - what are they talking about? Have they worked things out? Will Mingyu actually have to kill Soonyoung?

It turns out he won’t, because Minghao and Soonyoung enter the auditorium discreetly about half an hour later. They exchange a few words before heading in separate directions - Soonyoung to the stage to join in on rehearsals, which have carried on without him, and Minghao up to the seats to join Mingyu. 

Mingyu squints down at Minghao until he can make out his expression in the dark, breathing a sigh of relief when Minghao smiles up at him, looking significantly less exhausted than before. “So everything’s okay now?”

“Yeah.” Minghao sits down next to him, rummaging through his bag and procuring a container of sliced mango. He takes the lid off and offers it to Mingyu as he elaborates, “he said he was sorry, he didn’t realize he was being so shitty, the usual stuff. I just made him promise to never risk someone’s health again - I can handle stuff like this, but Junhui’s more prone to serious injury than I am. He agreed, so we’re fine now.”

Mingyu hums. “I’m glad,” he says, even though Minghao knows already. He pops a piece of mango into his mouth and asks, “what’s up with Junhui though? He told me he never gets sick.”

Minghao snorts. “He also says he can handle super spicy food, but we all know how much of a lie that is,” which is very true, now that Mingyu thinks about it. “Yeah, he hurt his back when he was younger. It’s not that big of a deal, I don’t think, but he can’t really afford to get another injury like that.”

“Huh.” Mingyu always knew, in the back of his mind, that Minghao and Junhui are pretty close, but it’s still strange to see concrete proof of it right in front of him. It’s kind of nice, especially because Mingyu predicted they would become friends right from the start, and therefore gets to say ‘I told you so’ again. “So you’re going to stop looking half-dead now?”

Minghao elbows him. “I never looked half-dead, you asshole. You’re the one who always looks like shit whenever something happens.”

Mingyu snorts. “Yeah, right. I’m hot all the time, thank you very much.” He dodges Minghao’s answering smack, laughing over the sound of the rehearsal filling the space.

Chapter Text

Somehow, through a stroke of luck or a miracle of scheduling or just Seungkwan’s very strong persuasion skills, all ten of them manage to get together for a sleepover in the second week of June for Junhui and Soonyoung’s joint birthday party. Which is how Mingyu finds himself sprawled across the floor of Soonyoung’s living room, with Soonyoung’s head in his lap and Junhui leaning against his back, studying for the last Data test of the semester. 

He nudges Soonyoung, who has started producing noises that sound suspiciously similar to snores. “Don’t fall asleep,” he chides. “The test is literally tomorrow.”

Soonyoung makes a vague noise of protest and rolls over, his face pressed against Mingyu’s knee. It can’t be comfortable, but he makes it look like it is as he says, “I’m going to fail either way, so what does it matter?”

Junhui leans over and smacks him upside the head with his study sheet. “That’s an ugly thought,” he says. “You should only think sexy thoughts. For example, ‘if I finish this practice sheet, venerable saint Wen Junhui will make instant ramen with me’.”

That gets Soonyoung to sit up, peering at Junhui hopefully. There’s a crease in his cheek from Mingyu’s jeans. “Is that a promise?”

“Do your practice sheet,” Junhui says in response. Soonyoung grumbles a little, but pats around on the floor for his pencil obediently. 

Mingyu turns around and shoots a thumbs up to Junhui, who winks in return. “Do I get instant ramen too?”

“Of course,” Junhui says generously. “We can raid Soonyoung’s kitchen together. Like a ramen threesome.”

“I don’t think that’s what threesome means,” Mingyu says. 

Junhui rolls his eyes. “Who are you, Wonwoo?”

“Hey, I heard that,” Wonwoo says from across the room, where he’s looking over Seungkwan’s essay and sharing headphones with Vernon. Mingyu knows that Wonwoo would never admit it in a thousand years, but he’s taken to the three youngest members of their group, doting on them like an adoptive older brother. It’s really cute.

“I heard your face ,” Junhui rebuts. Soonyoung makes airhorn noises. Wonwoo sighs, long-suffering.

They study for the forty-five minutes it takes for Soonyoung to finish and mark his practice sheet, and then all of them run into the kitchen to raid Soonyoung’s cabinets for instant ramen. Soonyoung keeps a surprisingly varied stash, from those fire-hot chicken-flavored ones (Junhui takes one of those, because of course he does) to milder seafood and beef flavors (Soonyoung and Mingyu both take a beef one, high-fiving in solidarity as they do). They stand in front of Soonyoung’s microwave and peer into its depths while it dutifully warms up each one. 

A few minutes later, Mingyu is leaning against the counter, happily slurping down beef-flavored instant ramen. “Was it worth it?” he asks Soonyoung, who looks equally as pleased at this turn of events. 

“Instant ramen is worth everything ,” Soonyoung replies with conviction. “I get why Jihoon wants to live off of this stuff.”

“You’re all going to die of scurvy,” Mingyu says. Soonyoung just winks and gives him a thumbs up.

Wonwoo pads into the kitchen a few minutes later, his hands in his pockets. He stops in front of Junhui and leans forward a little, his mouth open expectantly.

“Why are you stealing my food,” Junhui complains, scooping up a generous heap of noodles with his chopsticks and shoving it into Wonwoo’s mouth. “Go steal from Mingyu.”

Wonwoo chews for a bit, cupping a hand under his chin to catch any stray drops of soup, and swallows before saying, “as if you don’t steal my food all the time.”

Junhui gasps in mock offense. “I would never ,” he insists. “How could you slander me like this?”

“My mom buys extra food whenever we go grocery shopping just for you,” Wonwoo points out. “Even though we literally shop at the same stores.”

Junhui shrugs. “The food in your house tastes better."

Wonwoo sighs, clearly giving up on the argument, and turns to Mingyu. Mingyu watches, his heart full, as his expression goes soft. “Hey.”

“Hey yourself,” Mingyu says, unable to suppress a smile. He holds his cup out. “Want some?”

“This is why I like you more than Junhui,” Wonwoo says in gratitude, taking the chopsticks. His other hand comes up to support the bottom of the cup, underneath Mingyu’s, the press of his palm cool and familiar. 

“Wow,” Junhui says, sounding betrayed. “Five years of friendship and this is what I get. I’m replacing you with Soonyoung.”

Wonwoo makes a dismissive sound. “I’m happy to be your best friend, Junhui,” Soonyoung chirps. “You’d probably be a better one than Jihoon.”

“Maybe we could swap,” Junhui suggests. “Those two deserve each other.”

Soonyoung and Junhui start negotiating the deal with alarming detail. Wonwoo finishes eating in the meantime, handing the chopsticks back to Mingyu. There’s a little bit of soup on the side of his mouth. “Did you finish editing Seungkwan’s essay?” Mingyu asks, reaching out and swiping at it with his thumb. 

Wonwoo blinks, visibly taking a few moments to process Mingyu’s question. “Yeah,” he answers. “It’s really good. But I still can’t believe he banked twenty percent of his mark on an essay on Mean Girls.”

Mingyu snorts. “Dude, it’s Seungkwan, what did you expect?” He’s pretty sure Seungkwan has been looking for ways to incorporate pop culture into his academics since the sixth grade. “Don’t forget Vernon wrote his on Shrek 2.”

Wonwoo shakes his head. “His was also really good. I have no idea how that kid’s brain works.”

“Who are you calling a kid?” Mingyu teases. “You’re only two years older than him.”

Wonwoo’s response is cut off by Soonyoung calling their names. “We’re gonna head back,” he says once they’ve both turned in his direction. “You guys can stay here if you want. The trash can is under the sink.” He narrows his eyes and points at them in warning. “No making out on my kitchen counters.”

Mingyu buries his face in his hands. “Jesus Christ, Soonyoung,” Wonwoo mutters, sounding as embarrassed as Mingyu feels. “We aren’t going to do that, who do you think we are?”

“I don’t trust you,” Soonyoung says. “You guys are nasty. You’re all like,” he presses the back of his hand to his forehead and honest-to-God swoons, clutching at Junhui’s arm for support, “ oh Mingyu, you are so handsome, I would like to climb you like a tree -”

“- oh Wonwoo, let me smile down at you, I love the sound of your voice ,” Junhui continues smoothly, standing on his toes to imitate Mingyu’s height and gazing soulfully into Soonyoung’s eyes. 

“I hate both of you,” Mingyu says, his face burning. Next to him, Wonwoo looks like he’s thinking the same thing.

Soonyoung and Junhui break out of the charade, giggling to themselves like the horrible gremlins they are. “We’re right, though,” Soonyoung says. Before either Mingyu or Wonwoo can say anything, he grabs Junhui’s hand and runs out of the kitchen, calling “see you guys later!” right before the two of them disappear around the corner.

Mingyu turns back to Wonwoo. “This is starting to become a pattern,” he points out. “Our friends thinking we’re making out, I mean.”

“I think you’re right, unfortunately,” Wonwoo sighs. “This is discrimination, no one says anything about Seungkwan and Vernon.”

“Seungkwan and Vernon are definitely worse than we are,” Mingyu agrees. “They’re like an old married couple. Seungkwan literally keeps vitamin capsules in his bag for Vernon.”

Wonwoo laughs. “Finish your ramen,” he tells Mingyu. “The noodles are going to get soggy.”

Mingyu dutifully lifts the cup back up to his face. “I like soggy noodles, though,” he says, shoving some into his mouth just to prove his point.

Wonwoo wrinkles his nose. “You’re disgusting.”

“Hey,” Mingyu says, struggling to convey how offended he is through his mouthful of ramen. “You can’t say that to me, I’m your boyfriend. Aren’t you supposed to find everything I do sexy?”

Wonwoo squints at him skeptically. “Do you find everything I do sexy?”

Mingyu grins and wiggles his eyebrows. “Obviously.”

Wonwoo sighs in exasperation. “You’re ridiculous.”

Mingyu’s grin widens. “Ridiculous and disgusting, apparently. I contain multitudes?”

Wonwoo huffs. “Clearly.” He waits as Mingyu throws out the now-empty cup of ramen in the trash can under the sink before extending his hand in offering. “Let’s go back before they think we’re actually making out.”

Mingyu takes it. “That’s easy for you to say,” he argues as Wonwoo pulls him out of the kitchen. “They’re probably gonna blame me for, like, corrupting you or something. Even though you’re clearly the one corrupting me.”

Wonwoo laughs. “You say that as if you don’t make ‘that’s what she said’ jokes on a daily basis.”

Mingyu takes a second to consider this. “Maybe we’re equally corrupt,” he acknowledges. Wonwoo hums in agreement as they round the corner and enter the living room, where their friends are busy clearing out the floor and bringing over the gifts. “Hey, where’s my stuff?”

“I put it away while you guys were contaminating Soonyoung’s counters,” Junhui says as he passes them. Mingyu lets go of Wonwoo’s hand to hug him in gratitude, lifting him in the air as he laughs and ruffles Mingyu’s hair. “Put me down, I wanna eat some cake.”

Mingyu obliges. A few moments later, Seungkwan shuts off all the lights, and then Jihoon’s bringing out the cake, an enormous square one that’s half-covered in tiger stripes, as they all sing happy birthday so loudly Mingyu feels bad for the neighbors. They cheer as Junhui and Soonyoung blow out the candles. Seokmin cries, because of course he does. Minghao keeps an arm around him as he helps Junhui hand out slices of cake on paper plates.

It’s a pretty good cake, if a little heavy-handed with the frosting. Mingyu chats with Seungkwan as he eats, sitting on the couch with his knee pressed against Wonwoo’s. It takes about twenty minutes for everyone to finish eating, and then they’re all gathering in a circle around the pile of gifts on the floor. 

Junhui goes first, by virtue of being older by a few days. There’s a bit of frosting smeared under his eye and in his hair. His gifts are mostly food-related, jars of chilli oil that are only sold in China, packets of fire hot ramen, a polaroid camera from Wonwoo. Soonyoung’s gifts are overwhelmingly tiger-themed. He laughs in delight at the tiger-print beret Mingyu and Minghao bought him, putting it crooked on his head and declaring that he’s going to go to sleep with it on. 

By the time hugs are exchanged and the gifts are all put away, the sky outside is already the deep grey of dusk. Soonyoung suggests a round of mafia, to which they all nominate Vernon as the narrator. “I’m terrible at mafia,” Mingyu complains, slinging his leg over Minghao’s lap. 

“It’s just because you can’t lie for shit,” Minghao says, which is very offensive but also, unfortunately, very true. It’s proven once again when Mingyu gets voted out in the third round, despite literally being a citizen. Minghao laughs at him as he sulks and goes to join Chan, who was the first to be killed off, outside of the circle. 

The rest of the game is pretty entertaining. Seungkwan gets overly worked up when Soonyoung accuses him of being a mafia, prevented from drop-kicking him to his death by Mingyu, who re-enters the game just to restrain him. Junhui cackles at everything that happens and shrugs every time someone asks him a question, and somehow still avoids suspicion until the very end. Minghao and Wonwoo, who Mingyu discovers are the mafia with a deep sense of betrayal, communicate across the room through their eyes alone. 

It’s pitch-black outside by the time Vernon declares Minghao and Wonwoo the victors, the rest of them either dead or bickering too much to reach a proper consensus. Mingyu helps Soonyoung, who’s still talking loudly about how he was a good doctor, regardless of what Wonwoo and Jihoon say, take out a few inflatable mattresses and set them up on the living room floor.

Once everything is set up and sleeping arrangements have been negotiated (Mingyu is unanimously booed when he asks Wonwoo if he wants to share a mattress, despite the fact that Vernon and Seungkwan are also sharing, which is unbelievably unfair), they take turns using the washroom in pairs. Mingyu has taken over half of the sofa, Jihoon’s feet in his lap, and is scrolling through his Instagram feed when Seokmin makes a loud sound of dismay from the washroom. 

He looks up. “Is Seungkwan killing him or something?”

Jihoon grunts noncommittally. “I’m pretty sure Seungkwan’s going to kill all of us sooner or later.”

“Not if Chan gets to him first,” Mingyu points out, which earns him a snicker. “What’s up?” he calls down the hall, cupping his free hand around his mouth.

Seokmin pokes his head out from the washroom. “I forgot my toothbrush,” he says sadly, looking like a kicked puppy. 

“Just use mine,” Mingyu jokes, going back to his phone. Seokmin says something that he doesn’t catch, but when he looks up and shouts “what?” he doesn’t get an answer, so he figures it isn’t that important.

--

It was very important.

“Why,” he says, staring in horror at his hand, “is my toothbrush wet ?”

Vernon glances at him as he’s methodically rubbing moisturizer into his skin (Seungkwan’s influence, probably). “Didn’t you tell Seokmin he could use yours?”

No ,” Mingyu says, dread creeping up his spine. “I was joking. He knew I was joking. Right?”

Vernon turns and leans out of the washroom. “Seokmin!” he calls. “Did you use Mingyu’s toothbrush?”

Seokmin’s reply is faint but deafening. “Uh, yeah, he said I could.”

Mingyu feels lightheaded. Alarmed, Vernon puts a hand on his back. “I’m going to kill him and then myself.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t do that,” Vernon advises. “It’s not a big deal, dude, just rinse it under the tap.” He pauses. “Does this count as an indirect kiss or something?”

“I don’t want to think about that,” Mingyu declares, turning the tap on all the way and rubbing his toothbrush furiously under the stream of water. “I do not want to think about that.” He turns off the tap and shouts, loud enough that he can be heard outside the washroom, “Lee Seokmin, you’re a disgusting human being!”

“You know it!” Seokmin calls back. Mingyu braces his hands against the edge of the sink for support as he re-evaluates all of his life decisions, particularly the ones involving his choice of friends. Vernon pats his back in pity.

--

Wonwoo is already sitting on their shared mattress by the time Mingyu is finished whining at Seokmin about his extremely questionable hygiene. He’s in a loose T-shirt and grey sweatpants, a familiar combination. Mingyu looks at him and is seized by so much affection that he almost keels over. 

Wonwoo looks up when Mingyu sits down next to him. “Are you okay?” he asks, half-teasing.

“No,” Mingyu grumbles, leaning over to rest his head on Wonwoo’s shoulder. “I don’t know how I can ever recover from this.”

Wonwoo laughs, transferring the book he’s reading to his other hand so he can put an arm around Mingyu’s waist. “Don’t worry, Seokmin does it to me, too,” he says. “I bet he’s wearing my underwear right now.”

Mingyu looks up in horror at Seokmin, who’s lying on the couch with his head in Soonyoung’s lap. “Is this true?”

Seokmin peeks under the waistband of his shorts and looks slightly ashamed. “Maybe.”

Wonwoo sighs, a look on his face like he resigned himself to his fate a long time ago. “I can’t believe I’m biologically related to a human safety hazard.”

Seokmin grins and winks. “You know it.”

Wonwoo sighs again. “I hate you,” Mingyu says.

--

Everyone sits around and talks until the last pair have finished using the washroom, at which point they start getting ready to sleep - as in, more sitting around and talking, except this time with the lights turned off. Mingyu is sitting on the edge of the mattress, waiting for Wonwoo to finish putting away his glasses, when he looks around the room and it all kind of hits him at once.

Seungkwan is nagging Chan to eat his vitamins, shaking the pill bottle threateningly. Vernon is watching Minghao play a rhythm game on his phone, making impressed noises and remaining thoroughly unaware of the death threats his boyfriend and best friend are issuing each other a few feet away. Jihoon is giggling at a cute dog video Seokmin is showing him, occasionally grabbing a handful of dry instant ramen from the packet Soonyoung is holding as Junhui teaches him how to swear in Chinese.

Not for the first time, Mingyu wishes he could just preserve this moment, keep it in a jar on his shelf so he can come back to it whenever he wants to. He thinks about how lucky he is, to be surrounded by such lovely people, to have found such lovely people in a mid-size high school in the middle of the suburbs. He thinks about how far they’re going to be scattered in such a short amount of time - Soonyoung and Jihoon across the country, Junhui in an entirely different one. 

It’s a familiar feeling, wanting to hold onto the past even as he’s staring the future right in the eyes. He climbs to his feet and shakes out the stiffness in his legs. “I’m just gonna go get some air,” he tells Wonwoo when the latter looks up at him questioningly.

He crosses the room and heads out the front door, making sure to close it quietly behind him. It’s already reached the dead silent part of night, when the sky is pitch black and the air is still; he sits on the edge of the porch and breathes.

He’s not sure how much time passes before he hears the door open behind him. “Are you being emo by yourself again?” Seokmin asks, taking a seat beside him.

Mingyu leans into him a little. “I wasn’t being emo, that’s your brother’s job.”

Seokmin snorts. “That’s true. Don’t let him influence you too much, I can’t have two people in my life being emo all the time.” He nudges Mingyu slightly. “What’s up?”

Mingyu looks down at his hands. “I guess I’m just sad that things are ending so soon,” he admits. “The seniors are going to graduate in, like, three weeks, and then we’ll never be able to hang out like this again.”

Seokmin makes a noise of understanding. “You grew up with most of them, right?”

“Yeah.” Elementary, middle, and high school were all one path for Mingyu, and for most of his classmates, too; he recognizes some of the people in the halls from kindergarten, even. “Like, I’ve known Seungkwan and Vernon and Chan since seventh grade, and I’ve known Soonyoung and Jihoon for all of high school.” 

Saying it out loud makes it feel all the more real. Mingyu swallows back a very familiar lump in his throat as Seokmin says, “I get it. I mean, the village sucked, but I was still sad when we moved. And I used to think I was going to be friends with Samuel and Mingming for the rest of my life, you know? And less than a year later, here we are. Sorry,” he laughs, “that isn’t comforting at all, is it?”

Mingyu shakes his head. “It’s fine. Do you… miss them?”

There’s a long pause before Seokmin speaks again. “Honestly? Yeah, I do. Even though I know they weren’t the greatest friends, sometimes I’ll see something and go ‘huh, Samuel would like that’ or ‘Mingming would laugh at this meme’ without even thinking about it. And then I’ll remember that we aren’t friends anymore, and I’ll get kind of sad.

“That’s kind of how it goes, right? Like, life changes whether or not you want it to, and then you just kind of have to live with it. I’m not saying that, like, you don’t have any power over your life or whatever, but stuff like graduating and losing people and moving away is pretty much inevitable, you know? Sometimes the most you can do is look back at the people and the things that aren’t with you anymore and wonder what would happen if things were different.”

Mingyu looks up at the sky, searching for the stars. As Seokmin said, the words themselves aren’t very comforting, but they make him feel strangely at peace. “When did you get so wise?” he teases, elbowing Seokmin lightly. 

“I just pretend I’m Minghao,” Seokmin tells him solemnly. “Is it working?”

“Definitely,” Mingyu agrees. He shifts a little, tucking his hands under his thighs, feeling the hardwood scrape against his knuckles. “Sometimes I wish I could keep everything the same forever. Like, the same friends, the same lifestyle, and just not have time pass at all. But then I wouldn’t really grow as a person, right? I’d just be stuck in the same mindset, always terrified of change.”

They sit in silence for a bit as Mingyu’s words soak into the space between them, the light from the house pooling, golden, across the front lawn. “That’s a pretty good Minghao impression,” Seokmin jokes eventually, elbowing him back. “We’re both getting the hang of this ‘being wise’ thing, huh?”

Mingyu laughs. “Definitely,” he agrees. “Soon we won’t even need him anymore.”

“Need who?”

Seokmin and Mingyu let out identical shrieks of terror. “Relax, it’s just me,” Minghao says. There’s a general sense of commotion as he finds a spot next to Seokmin, crossing his legs and sitting down in one smooth motion. “Is Mingyu being sentimental again?”

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?” Mingyu demands, at the same time Seokmin says, “duh.”

Minghao hums and leans over Seokmin’s lap to peer at Mingyu over the rim of his glasses. Mingyu can barely make out his face in the semi-darkness, but Minghao must have super vision or something, because he leans back and says, “let me guess, you realized that our friend group is going to change irrevocably in three weeks?”

“How the fuck ,” Mingyu says, even though he really shouldn’t be surprised. Despite all their jokes, Minghao’s wisdom is inimitable. “You are so scary .”

“So I’ve been told,” Minghao says dismissively. “Did you guys talk about coming to terms with the inevitability of change?”

“Yes,” Seokmin confirms, sounding alarmed. “What’s going on? Can you read our minds? What am I thinking about right now?”

Mingyu puts a hand on his shoulder. “Maybe that isn’t a good example,” he points out. “You’re always thinking about pepperoni pizza.”

“This is true,” Seokmin says after a moment’s consideration. “I love pizza.”

“We know,” Mingyu and Minghao chorus, before dissolving into laughter. Seokmin pretends to sulk for all of five seconds before joining in. 

Minghao waits until the laughter has died down a little before saying, “give the seniors some credit, Mingyu. I think they all want to maintain this friendship as much as we do. I mean,” his voice takes on a careful edge then, “did Wonwoo say anything to you about what you guys are going to do after he leaves for university?”

“I mean, kinda,” Mingyu says, the memory of a sunny day at the playground flashing behind his eyelids. “He said he didn’t want anything to change between us, but that was before we got together.” The realization strikes him, and he heaves a sigh of resignation. “I have to talk to him about it, don’t I?”

Seokmin pats him on the back sympathetically. “Communication is key.”

“I know,” Mingyu says. It would be remiss of him not to know, given all the communication problems they’ve had in the past. “I guess I’ll bring it up to him after we get back.”

“That’s a good idea,” Seokmin says encouragingly. Mingyu smiles at him, grateful. 

There’s a long stretch of silence where they all just sit there, enjoying each other’s company. Mingyu weighs the words on his tongue before saying, “I love you guys a lot.”

“That’s gross,” Minghao says automatically.

“Don’t listen to Minghao, he’s the worst,” Seokmin dismisses, pulling Mingyu into a side-hug. “I love you too.”

Mingyu wraps his arms around Seokmin’s waist happily. “Let’s kick Minghao out of our trio,” he suggests. “It can just be the two of us.”

“We can finally achieve our dreams without someone telling us no,” Seokmin agrees. 

Minghao snorts. “I think that’s called ‘having common sense’.” He rolls his eyes when Mingyu and Seokmin boo him in unison. “You guys are both ridiculous. Speaking of common sense, we should head back inside, it’s getting late.”

Mingyu pouts. “I’m not going anywhere until you say ‘I love you’ back.”

Minghao climbs to his feet, crossing his arms as he stares down at the two of them. “I love you guys too,” he says very deliberately. “Happy?”

“I’ve never been happier,” Seokmin tells him, which generates another eye-roll. Minghao helps Mingyu up, who helps Seokmin, and then the three of them head back into the light of the house, to the rest of their friends. 

Seungkwan is the first to notice their return. “Took you guys long enough,” he complains. He’s already taken his face mask off, and is leaning against Vernon’s shoulder as he watches something on his phone. “We were waiting for you so we could turn the lights off.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Mingyu placates, crossing the room to ruffle Seungkwan’s hair, to the latter’s vocal protests. He gives an amused Vernon a high-five before making his way over to where his mattress is, as Jihoon announces that he’s going to turn off the lights. 

“No one scream,” he warns. Mingyu is barely able to sit down next to Wonwoo before the room is plunged into darkness. Junhui screams just for fun, because of course he does, cackling when Jihoon swears at him. The lights from everyone’s phones fill up the room, lighting up their faces like some sort of technicolor horror movie. 

He turns to Wonwoo, who’s sitting cross-legged on the mattress, playing a mobile game. His face is awash in a blue glow, and he isn’t wearing his glasses. Mingyu kind of really wants to kiss him. “Hey,” he says. “Did you miss me?”

Wonwoo pauses his game so he can look up at Mingyu through the semi-darkness, a small smile curving at his lips. “What were you guys talking about out there?”

Mingyu's mood turns somber at the reminder of the conversation they're supposed to have. He motions for Wonwoo to lie down and then does the same, shuffling underneath the thin blanket Soonyoung pulled out of the linen closet. 

Wonwoo lies down a few seconds later, facing him. Mingyu smiles. “This reminds me of that one time you came over,” he says. Predictably, the rest of their friends are making no move to actually go to sleep, filling the living room with quiet and not-so-quiet chatter. He doesn’t even have to lower his voice that much for a bit of privacy. “We were lying down on my bed, kinda like this, and talking. Remember?”

“Of course I remember,” Wonwoo says, reaching his hand out into the space between them. Mingyu takes it without having to be asked, lacing their fingers together.

There’s a moment where Wonwoo looks at Mingyu meaningfully, and Mingyu realizes that oh, yeah, they’re supposed to have a semi-serious talk about the future of their relationship right now. He clears his throat, more as a stalling technique than anything. “Um, the reason I left was because it kind of hit me that this was ending so soon? Like, you and the other seniors are graduating in three weeks, and then we won’t be able to hang out anymore.”

Silence falls between them as Mingyu lets Wonwoo process his words. He can tell how hard Wonwoo’s thinking by the crease between his eyebrows, the way he’s worrying his lip between his teeth. It’s kind of cute. Mingyu reaches out with his free hand and smooths out the creased skin, laughing a little when Wonwoo startles. 

“You’re going to get wrinkles,” he explains, pulling his hand away after he’s satisfied. 

Wonwoo huffs. “I wear sunscreen almost every day, I’ll be fine.”

Mingyu gasps theatrically. “You? With a decent skincare routine? Color me surprised.”

“Fuck off,” Wonwoo says, looking more fond than annoyed. “I can take care of myself, you know.”

Mingyu snorts. “Babe, you can’t even cut an onion. Forgive me if I’m not convinced.”

“Onions are hard to cut,” Wonwoo argues. “They literally make you cry. Anyways ,” he adds forcefully when Mingyu grins and opens his mouth, about to make a Shrek reference, “just because we won’t physically be in the same place doesn’t mean we can’t still be friends. I’m still going to yell at Junhui when he’s being a little shit, regardless of how many time zones apart we are. And I know both Junhui and I are going to try our best to keep in touch with the rest of you.” 

He pauses. Mingyu waits, sensing that he’s about to say something really important. When he speaks again, his voice is barely audible over the other conversations happening around them. “Before we moved, I always looked forward to graduating; I didn’t have many people I was reluctant to leave, after all. But now…”

He trails off. “Now that’s changed?” Mingyu guesses.

Wonwoo’s answering smile is a little helpless. “Of course it has. I don’t want to leave anyone in this room.” He shuffles forward and kisses Mingyu, hidden underneath their blanket. It’s so crushingly intimate that Mingyu struggles to breathe. “Especially not you.” 

Mingyu is smiling so wide it hurts. He shuffles forward, too, until their knees knock together. He hooks an ankle around Wonwoo’s. “You’re so sweet.”

Wonwoo rolls his eyes again. “Not this again.”

“It’s true,” Mingyu protests. “But I did want to talk to you about what would happen to,” he gestures vaguely with his free hand, feeling a sudden onset of awkwardness, “you know, us. After you leave, that is.” Wonwoo’s expression becomes unreadable all of a sudden, sending him into a mild panic as he continues, rushed, “I know you said you wanted to still be friends, but you didn’t say anything about our relationship, so I didn’t want to, um, assume-”

“Mingyu,” Wonwoo interrupts, saving him from verbally spiralling. His eyes are very dark and very, very intense. Mingyu swallows as Wonwoo continues, “I have no intention of ending this relationship anytime soon.” His voice drops in both volume and pitch. “I know it won’t be easy, and we’ll have a lot of things to figure out, but I-” He closes his eyes. “I’ll stay for as long as you’ll have me.”

Wonwoo’s words sink into the marrow of Mingyu’s bones. He feels weak in the knees; his heart swells until it’s straining against his ribcage, threatening to burst. “That’s good,” he manages, his voice wavering a little, “because I don’t want you to leave anytime soon. I’m not scared of putting in the work. The reward is worth the risk, you know?”

Wonwoo’s eyes fly open. He searches Mingyu’s face, his own expression softening until it’s vulnerable and so tender Mingyu thinks he might actually cry. “Am I the reward?”

“Of course you are,” Mingyu teases. “You’re the finest reward I could ask for.”

Wonwoo rolls his eyes. “That one was especially disgusting.”

“Rude.” Now that the crux of their conversation has been resolved, Mingyu’s tunnel vision starts clearing up, his surroundings slowly filtering back into his awareness. The room has quietened considerably, the rest of their friends either already asleep or close to it. “We should probably go to sleep,” he whispers.

Wonwoo nods, blinking slowly like a cat in the sun. It’s ridiculously cute. Mingyu leans closer and kisses the tip of Wonwoo’s nose on a whim. “Do you want to…”

Mingyu raises his eyebrows when Wonwoo trails off. “Want to?”

“You know.” Wonwoo makes a vague gesture with his free hand. “Cuddle,” he finishes lamely.

Mingyu’s eyebrows lift even higher. “You want to cuddle?” he repeats. 

It’s kind of hard to tell in the dark, but Mingyu swears Wonwoo’s ears turn pink. “If you make fun of me, Mingyu, I swear to God I’m leaving to sleep with Junhui.”

“No one’s making fun of anyone here,” Mingyu says, feigning innocence. He laughs when Wonwoo grumbles, and continues, “so how do you want to, you know, cuddle?”

Wonwoo shrugs the shoulder that isn’t pressed against the mattress. “I don’t really have a preference.”

Mingyu considers this for a second. “I can be the big spoon,” he offers. “I’m usually the big spoon.” He nods solemnly. “I’m a very good big spoon.”

“I can believe that,” Wonwoo agrees, laughing quietly. “But do you want to be the big spoon?”

Mingyu takes another second to consider this. He is, of course, the taller one between the two of them, but contrary to the jokes he makes, the difference isn’t even that big. Besides, it’s kind of nice when Wonwoo puts an arm around him. “Can I try being the small spoon?”

Wonwoo’s smile goes soft. “I figured you would say that,” he says, disentangling their hands and ankles so he can roll onto his back. He reaches an arm out. “Come here.”

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?” Mingyu complains, even as he shuffles over. It takes a bit of awkward maneuvering - Mingyu has to shift a little so he’s further down the mattress, his feet nearly poking out from underneath the blanket - but he’s able to tuck his head against Wonwoo’s chest at the end of it, sighing happily when Wonwoo curls his arm around his shoulders to pull him closer.

Mingyu slings his arm over Wonwoo’s waist and is about to say something cheesy about how comfortable this is when Soonyoung says, from all the way across the room, “you guys aren’t doing anything gross over there, are you?”

Mingyu can feel Wonwoo’s entire body tense. “Kwon Soonyoung, I am going to kill you.”

There’s a pause. “So that’s a yes?” Chan asks.

“No!” Mingyu protests. “We’re literally just cuddling!”

“That’s still pretty gross,” Seungkwan says. 

“Seungkwan, you’re like the last person who can say that,” Mingyu points out. There’s a general sound of agreement from everyone else in the room. 

“This is discrimination,” Seungkwan argues.

“Can we please just go to sleep,” Minghao says, sounding tired. 

Soonyoung snickers. “Sorry,” he sings. “Let’s go to sleep, everyone.”

The volume in the room rises as ‘good night’s are exchanged before dying down to silence, save for the occasional rustle of bedsheets and whispered exchange. “Are you comfortable?” Wonwoo murmurs.

In this position, Mingyu can feel the low rumble of his voice against the side of his head. It’s kind of nice. Actually, everything about this is kind of nice. Mingyu wonders why he never thought to do this before. “Very,” he whispers back. “You?”

Wonwoo hums an affirmative. “Good night, Mingyu.”

Mingyu presses a smile into Wonwoo’s shoulder. “Dream of me.”

“I have no control over the content of my dreams,” Wonwoo points out. 

“Maybe you just aren’t trying hard enough,” Mingyu says. “I was going to dream of you, but now I’m reconsidering.”

“Oh no, I can’t have that,” Wonwoo deadpans, fondness undercutting his dry delivery. He presses a kiss to the top of Mingyu’s head. “Will that convince you otherwise?”

“I’m not sure,” Mingyu says. “You should try again.”

Wonwoo huffs. “Ridiculous,” he mutters, but he obliges. “Now go to sleep.”

As if on cue, Mingyu yawns. “Yeah, yeah,” he mumbles, blinking away the tears that collect in the corners of his eyes. “Night, babe.”

“Good night, Mingyu,” Wonwoo says again. Mingyu has just enough time to appreciate the affection in his voice before he slips out of consciousness.

--

Mingyu’s alarm is the first to go off the next morning, at six a.m. sharp. He gets several groans of protest and a threat of homicide from Jihoon before he’s awake enough to wiggle out of Wonwoo’s grasp and turn it off. 

Right. Wonwoo. Warmth floods Mingyu’s chest as he looks down at the boy in question, who’s currently stirring awake, his eyes blinking open slowly. Mingyu sees the familiar panic of waking up in an unfamiliar situation flit across Wonwoo’s face, which is quickly replaced by relief as he remembers where he is, and then confusion as he searches for something.

Or rather, someone, as evidenced by the way Wonwoo visibly relaxes when his eyes land on Mingyu. “Good morning,” he says, stretching his arms over his head. It’s a little overwhelming, especially in combination with his morning voice. “Time for your morning run?”

Mingyu huffs. “I'd rather die. I’m just gonna lie here and go on my phone until Soonyoung wakes up.”

“Good idea,” Wonwoo agrees. He sits up, rubbing at his eyes. Mingyu stifles a laugh at the state of his hair. “Do you want to watch something?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” Mingyu says, smoothing down a strand of Wonwoo’s hair and grinning when it springs right back up, undeterred. “You look super cute, by the way.”

“Fuck off,” Wonwoo grumbles, the tips of his ears turning pink. “You’re one to talk.”

Mingyu doesn’t even need to check to know that this is true. The amount of time he spends fixing his hair each morning is proof enough. “Are you saying I’m super cute? Because that’s very sweet of you, babe.”

“Fuck off ,” Wonwoo repeats. Mingyu laughs and leans forward to give him a quick peck on the cheek, conscious of the fact that their breaths probably stink. It’s incredible how quickly Wonwoo softens at the gesture, his glare losing all of its heat. “Let me get my headphones.”

Mingyu nods and pulls up Netflix on his phone while Wonwoo roots around in his bag for his headphones. They argue over which show to watch for about five minutes before settling on an episode of a sitcom they’ve both seen before, settling side-by-side on their stomachs with Mingyu’s phone propped up on the pillows, Wonwoo’s headphones dangling between them. 

They get through three episodes before someone else wakes up. It’s Minghao, because of course it is, who says good morning to both of them before heading out to the porch to meditate. The rest of their friends wake up one by one after that, stirring awake to various pre-set alarms and accidentally waking the people nearby in the process. 

It’s nearly ten by the time all of them are awake and have finished their respective morning routines. Mingyu makes everyone pancakes to the sound of raucous cheering, roping in Seokmin and Jihoon to help him. Soonyoung procures an alarmingly wide selection of fruit juices from the fridge, and Chan and Seungkwan figure out how to work the fancy coffee machine that also dispenses tea. 

They all crowd around Soonyoung’s kitchen table, Minghao whipping up plates of cut fresh fruit because ‘you guys need to get all your nutrients or you’re going to die of scurvy’. Mingyu sneaks a kiss to Wonwoo’s temple as he serves the pancakes, to vocal protests from the rest of their friends. It’s worth it, because Wonwoo’s smile turns shy as he looks at Mingyu, thanking him quietly for the food before resuming his conversation with Vernon.

It’s past noon when Mrs. Xu arrives to pick them up. Mingyu feels more energized than he’s been all week, full of good food, his heart warm.

Chapter 32

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

After months of preparation, the school festival finally takes place in the middle of June, just before exam season starts. Mingyu arrives at school in the morning to find the entire place converted into a veritable student-budget fair, complete with a banner stretched over the front gates. He confirms rendezvous plans with Minghao and Seokmin, promises to embarrass Wonwoo at the literature club’s booth as much as possible, and then departs to get ready for the cafe. 

The Home Ec classroom is already bustling when he enters. “Mingyu!” Momo says, rushing up to him. “Can you help with the crepes? One of the cooks is running late.”

“Yeah, sure,” Mingyu says. Momo spews endless, slightly frantic gratitude as she ushers him over to one of the stations, where a fellow club member is already at work. She deposits him there with a “good luck!” before running off. 

Thankfully, Mingyu recognizes the person he’s been left in the hands of - he’s one of Jihoon’s producer friends, Chan-something. Bang Chan? It doesn’t really matter, because they spend about half a second greeting each other before he’s shoving a knife and cutting board into Mingyu’s hands and departing to start frying the crepes. Mingyu spends half an hour helping out before the girl he’s filling in for arrives, arms laden with trays of iced coffee to make up for being late. He snags a cup, tells the apologetic-looking girl not to worry about it, and then leaves to get changed.

The change rooms are open in a rare moment of foresight for the school administration. Mingyu ducks into one - it’s, predictably, extremely crowded - and changes as fast as possible. He gets a few looks his way, most of them amused, a few acquaintances coming over to tease him about how he looks. He shoots a few light-hearted jabs back, accepts all the compliments he gets with gratitude, and then rushes out of the change room as fast as he entered it.

Jihoon is in the classroom-turned-cafe when he enters, already dressed. He looks Mingyu up and down, then snickers. “The ears suit you.”

He is, of course, referring to the dog ears one of the execs bought off Amazon for the event. They’re floppy, the synthetic wavy fur a shade of brown alarmingly close to Mingyu’s current hair color. “Thanks,” Mingyu says. “You look very cute.”

“Fuck off,” Jihoon says, but there isn’t as much heat in it as there used to be, like he’s already accepted his fate. He’s also wearing ears, black cat ones that are just a little too big for his head. The overall effect is devastatingly adorable. “I’ve had five people today try to take pictures of me. What the fuck do they think this is, some kind of meet and greet?”

Mingyu laughs. “It’s going to get way worse once the actual restaurant opens, you know that, right?”

“I’m going to throw myself off a cliff,” Jihoon mutters darkly, and leaves to help with the decorations. 

--

The classroom actually looks really nice by the time they’re announcing the start of the festival over the PA system. The desks have been spruced up a little with fake potted plants and little menus, the chairs have been decorated with lengths of pastel pink ribbon, and a truly impressive number of fairy lights have been strung across the walls. There’s ambient music playing in the background, and a video of the view outside a Parisian cafe projected onto the wall. Someone even brought a chalkboard to prop up outside the room, advertising various drink specials. 

It doesn’t take long for the first few customers to arrive, groups of friends who giggle amongst themselves at the absurdity of a cafe run by boys in maid costumes as they’re seated and their order is taken. Jihoon is, predictably, the most popular maid, receiving by far the most photo requests. He takes the attention with surprising restraint, smiling with gritted teeth and taking on a pleasant affect even as his eyes spell murder. 

It’s actually really fun, all the bustle and coordination of a regular cafe without any of the pressure of a paying job. Mingyu delights in charming the customers, posing for pictures and winking before he leaves. The headband is a little tight, so he has to take a small break every few minutes to rub at the skin behind his ears, but other than that the first hour of his shift passes smoothly. 

He’s in the middle of taking an order when he hears a very familiar voice shout gleefully, “this is the best thing I’ve ever seen in my life .” 

He doesn’t have to turn around to see the look on Jihoon’s face when he says, “if you don’t behave yourself I’m going to kick you out.”

“That’s not a very good customer service policy.” Mingyu’s ears (no, not the dog ones) perk up in excitement at the sound of Wonwoo’s voice, but he forces himself not to get distracted as he wraps up with his table and crosses the room to pass the order on to the cooks. 

Wonwoo, Soonyoung, and Junhui are already seated by the time he turns back around. Jihoon is also there, looking about as dead inside as Mingyu expected him to be - that is to say, extremely. “Pictures aren’t allowed,” he says flatly.

“That’s not what the sign says,” Junhui says, holding his phone in front of his face. “Can you say ‘nya’?”

“I’m going to poison your drinks,” Jihoon answers. 

“No you aren’t,” Mingyu says, striding over. Soonyoung shrieks in delight at the sight of him; Junhui whips his phone over and immediately starts taking pictures. Mingyu grins and strikes a couple of poses before turning to Wonwoo.

Wonwoo, whose face is currently very red as he looks up at Mingyu, holding onto the menu like it’s a lifeline. “You look,” he starts, and promptly stops. 

Mingyu raises his eyebrows. The rest of their friends immediately take on expressions ranging from manic glee (Junhui) to vaguely amused judgment (Jihoon). “Yes?” he prompts, struggling to contain his laughter. 

Wonwoo clears his throat. “The dog ears,” he says.

You really are like a giant puppy. “They only arrived, like, two days ago,” Mingyu explains. He grins wide enough to show his canines. Wonwoo’s eyes flicker to his mouth. “Do you like them?”

Wonwoo visibly swallows. “They’re… nice,” he says with great difficulty. Soonyoung smothers a snicker behind his hand. “They suit you.”

Mingyu feels his smile widen. “I’m happy to hear that.” He tilts his head so the ears droop to the side. “Are you guys ready to order?”

Junhui turns to Wonwoo, whose knuckles are now white as he grips onto the menu, and then turns back to Mingyu. “Give us a few minutes.”

“Of course.” Mingyu winks, lingering long enough to see Wonwoo’s face flush even darker before turning away. “See you guys soon!” he sings, letting the bell at his collar jingle lightly as he walks away. Behind him, Soonyoung accuses Wonwoo of being a furry.

--

Jihoon ends up taking the table’s orders, because “Wonwoo’s going to have an aneurysm if he looks at you any longer.” Mingyu pouts in protest, but relents when Jihoon threatens him with the powdered sugar dispenser. 

Still, he can’t help but sneak looks in the table’s direction whenever he gets the opportunity. Most of the time, Wonwoo is eating his strawberry crepe quietly while Junhui and Soonyoung talk over him, his left hand tucked underneath his thighs, looking way cuter than he should. Sometimes, though, Mingyu catches Wonwoo staring at him, the tips of his ears pink, his eyes slightly glazed over in an expression Mingyu doesn’t recognize but always delights in seeing. Mingyu always winks on these occasions, laughing to himself when Wonwoo rolls his eyes and looks away.

Jungkook drops by at some point to check up on them, checking things off on a clipboard as he talks to the exec manning the front door. He breaks out into a grin when Mingyu goes over to say hi. “This is the best thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“That’s what most people say when they see me,” Mingyu agrees, dodging the answering punch Jungkook aims to his shoulder. “Do you want something to drink?”

“Thanks, but I’m good. Yugyeom’s buying me bubble tea later,” Jungkook says with a glint in his eye. Mingyu doesn’t even want to think about how that deal came to be. “I’ll catch you at the showcase?”

“Obviously,” Mingyu says. Jungkook claps him on the back before leaving to attend to his other duties. 

Soonyoung, Junhui, and Wonwoo leave soon after that. Junhui takes a group selfie of all of them before they go, Soonyoung managing to wrestle Jihoon into submission long enough for the photo to be taken. Jihoon nearly drop-kicks Soonyoung into the astral plane for that one, only stopping when Momo materializes out of nowhere to glare at him. Junhui stands to the side and films the entire thing. 

Mingyu turns away from the chaos unfolding to look at Wonwoo, who jolts and looks away like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t be. “Maybe I should wear these dog ears more often,” Mingyu suggests.

Wonwoo whips his head back around to stare, wide-eyed, at Mingyu, only relaxing when he realizes that Mingyu’s joking. “You are terrible for my blood pressure,” he says. 

Mingyu’s grin widens. “I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

“It’s absolutely not a compliment,” Wonwoo rebuts. He pauses, shifting his feet and clearing his throat before adding, quieter, “you look nice, though.” He reaches up and brushes a strand of Mingyu’s hair out of his face. “Ridiculous, but nice.”

Mingyu preens under the physical and verbal affection. “Will you leave us a five-star rating on Yelp?”

Wonwoo laughs. “I’ll consider it. One of your coworkers did threaten to kill me on multiple occasions.”

“It’s part of his charm,” Mingyu argues. “He’s a- what’s it called? Tsu-something. Tsunami? Wait, no-”

“Tsundere,” Wonwoo supplies helpfully. There’s a brief spike in volume in the cafe as a large group of students enters. “You should get back to work,” Wonwoo says.

Mingyu makes a face, rubbing at the skin behind his ears absently. “Ugh, probably. I’ll see you soon?”

Wonwoo’s expression goes soft. “Of course.” He gives Mingyu’s hand a quick, reassuring squeeze before going to join Soonyoung and Junhui, who are waiting for him by the door. Mingyu waves goodbye to the three of them, soaking in the smile Wonwoo gives him in return, before going to take the new table’s orders.

--

“When I said ‘soon’,” Mingyu jokes, “I didn’t mean this soon. Did you miss me that much?”

Wonwoo rolls his eyes, waving hello to Momo, who’s returned to terrorize Jihoon again. (Mingyu finds their friendship heartwarming in a weird way, although he would never admit that aloud out of self-preservation.) “I brought something for you.”

Mingyu gasps. “A gift? Babe, you shouldn’t have, your presence is all the gift I need-”

“I regret coming back already,” Wonwoo deadpans. He pulls something out of his pocket and motions for Mingyu to come closer. “Bend down a little.”

Mingyu raises his eyebrows but obliges, bending forward so his forehead is closer to Wonwoo’s. “In public?” he teases. “I didn’t know you were into that kind of thing. I mean, I’m not against it-”

“Shut up ,” Wonwoo huffs, reaching up and turning Mingyu’s head so his ear is directly in his line of sight. Before Mingyu can even begin to make sense of the situation, Wonwoo’s lifting up the end of his headband and tucking something underneath. 

The effect is instant, relief spreading through the aching skin. There’s some kind of buffer underneath the plastic teeth of the headband, preventing it from digging in as tight as it was before. Mingyu turns his head and realizes that the thing Wonwoo’s holding is a generic-brand pack of cotton pads.

He feels like someone has dumped caffeine straight into his bloodstream. He kind of wants to sweep Wonwoo off his feet and carry him off, bridal-style, into the sunset. He opens his mouth, but Wonwoo beats him to it. “Before you say anything disgusting, let me do the other side.”

Mingyu snaps his mouth shut and turns his head obediently. He waits until Wonwoo’s done before turning back and saying, “I think we need to rethink our menu.”

Wonwoo frowns. “Why?”

Mingyu grins. “Because you’re clearly the sweetest thing here.”

The sight of Wonwoo’s face as he processes Mingyu’s one-liner is a glorious sight to behold. “I’m giving you guys a one-star rating,” he says flatly.

Mingyu presses a hand to his heart dramatically. “ Babe , how could you? You’re going to put us out of business.”

Wonwoo raises an eyebrow, unimpressed, as he surveys the room behind Mingyu. Mingyu doesn’t need to turn around to get Wonwoo’s point - the cafe has been consistently busy ever since it opened. The execs really weren’t kidding when they said this event singlehandedly provides the budget for the upcoming year. “I think you’re overestimating my influence.”

Mingyu grins again, dropping his wounded act. “ I think you’re underestimating your influence… on my heart .”

Wonwoo groans. “I’m leaving. Take these.” He shoves the pack of cotton pads into Mingyu’s hands and pauses before adding, softer, “I’ll see you after your shift, okay?”

“I’ll be counting down the minutes,” Mingyu promises, tucking the pack into the pocket of his dress carefully. Wonwoo laughs, the sound lingering after he leaves.

--

The rest of his shift passes in a blur, aided in its passage by the arrival of Minghao and Seokmin, and then Bambam and Yugyeom. Minghao and Seokmin take an inordinate number of pictures but are mostly well-behaved; Bambam attempts to smack Mingyu’s ass multiple times while Yugyeom cackles in the background. 

Mingyu is exhausted by the time noon rolls around and the next round of volunteers show up for their shift. Jihoon looks no better; Mingyu basically has to drag him to the nearest change room, ignoring the looks he gets from passersby. They change in silence before parting ways. 

As arranged, he finds Seokmin and Wonwoo waiting for him in the lobby, armed with bubble tea and various snacks. He accepts the cup Seokmin offers him gratefully with one hand, takes Wonwoo’s hand with the other, and then they’re setting off for the culture club’s annual tea ceremony. 

“Will Minghao kill us if we bring the wrong kind of tea?” Seokmin says, staring at the tapioca in his cup with apprehension. 

“Nah, it would ruin the vibes,” Mingyu says. “Blood is pretty hard to wash out.”

“That does not make me feel better,” Seokmin complains. Mingyu just laughs and slings an arm around his shoulders.

--

Contrary to Mingyu’s jokes, Minghao does not actually kick them out, just makes them leave their drinks in the designated area before entering. This year’s ceremony is even nicer than last year’s; Mingyu, despite being a proclaimed tea hater, genuinely enjoys himself. They even get little gift bags this year. 

The three of them mill around for about an hour after that, meeting up with Vernon, Chan, and Seungkwan briefly to hang out. The school is the most alive Mingyu’s ever seen it; each hallway is cluttered with decorations and students, the walls papered with posters advertising booths or shows. Most clubs are playing something out of their room’s speakers, all the individual songs mixing to create an effect not unlike walking through a large, bustling mall. Mingyu eats a bunch of food and folds origami cranes and gets his tarot cards read. 

They say goodbye to Vernon, Chan, and Seungkwan as all three of them leave to prepare for their own events; Wonwoo departs soon after for his shift at the literature club’s escape room. “Will you give us extra hints? Out of love?” Seokmin asks before he goes. 

Wonwoo looks unimpressed. “Absolutely not.”

Seokmin sniffs. “You’re so mean.”

“What if we bribe you?” Mingyu asks. 

“Bribery won’t work,” Wonwoo says, and when Mingyu opens his mouth again, “and neither will extortion.”

Mingyu snaps his mouth shut. “You’re so mean,” he echoes.

Wonwoo rolls his eyes. “I know, I know. Say hi to Minghao for me, will you?”

“Of course.” Mingyu squeezes Wonwoo’s hand before letting go, waving as Wonwoo disappears around the corner. He turns to Seokmin. “It’s just the two of us now.”

Seokmin clutches at his chest and pretends to swoon. “This is so romantic.”

Mingyu laughs and loops his arm around Seokmin’s, stealing a bite from the cotton candy in his hand. “It is,” he agrees. “Hey look, a haunted house!”

--

Minghao is waiting outside the classroom for them when they exit. He squints at the two of them as they trudge out into the hallway. “Why did you think going to a haunted house was a good idea again?”

“I hate you,” Mingyu grumbles. 

Next to him, Seokmin looks like he’s about to fall over at any moment. “I can still feel their hands,” he whispers, his eyes wide. “They’re coming for me, Minghao.”

Minghao heaves a sigh and walks over to support Seokmin on his other side. “I can’t believe I’m best friends with a pair of idiots.”

“Birds of a feather flock together,” Mingyu says. Minghao heaves another sigh before dragging the three of them off to make Japanese DIY candy sushi. 

--

After the DIY candy sushi, which does an admittedly good job of cheering them up after the trauma of the haunted house, the three of them head to the Literature classroom. The room is pitch black when they enter, a faintly eerie flute song playing over the room’s speakers. Seokmin screams when the lights flick on, clutching onto Mingyu’s arm for dear life. Mingyu is about to make fun of him, but then his eyes adjust to the lighting, and he forgets how to do anything at all.

“Good evening, travellers,” Wonwoo says, standing at the front of the room, holding a dollar-store lamp in one hand. He’s wearing a black dress shirt tucked into black slacks, a silver watch glinting at his wrist, and- holy shit, is he wearing eyeliner ? Mingyu is about to lose his mind. 

Wonwoo is a good actor, though, because his eyes flick over Mingyu with disinterest, even as his ears turn a telltale red. He explains the premise of the room and their time limit in a voice that’s deeper than his usual one; the actual content of his words are, of course, lost to Mingyu’s ears. Seokmin, the asshole, seems to have gone from cowering in fear to barely holding back his laughter at Mingyu’s plight. 

“You have three hints, but each will add five minutes onto your final time,” Wonwoo concludes. “I wish you the best of luck. You are going to need it.” With that, he steps past them and out of the room. His shoulder brushes Mingyu’s as he passes by. Mingyu feels like his entire body’s been set on fire.

There’s a brief moment of silence after Wonwoo shuts the door behind him. “You didn’t hear anything he said, did you,” Minghao says flatly.

Mingyu throws up his hands in a combination of exasperation and despair. “You can’t blame me! I was suffering !”

Seokmin snorts. “That’s not the word I would use, but sure.”

Mingyu crosses his arms petulantly, about to complain about how his friends are terrible and only serve to make fun of him, but he’s interrupted by Minghao, who clears his throat pointedly. “As much as I would love to make fun of Mingyu some more, we’re literally on a timer here. Anyways, the premise is this…”

--

The premise is actually really interesting, once Mingyu stops being distracted by his extremely handsome actor boyfriend. The room’s theming is top-notch, too - it’s clear the literature club put an astounding amount of effort into this, bringing in props that directly reference some of Poe’s poems and even draping heavy black curtains over the walls. The three of them settle into a nice rhythm pretty quickly: Mingyu and Minghao carefully work through each puzzle together, while Seokmin messes around with the props and occasionally provides random insight that’s crucial to progressing to the next stage. 

They have a decent amount of time left when Minghao throws his hands up in the air, glaring down at the deck of cards that are the only thing left between them and the exit. “I give up,” he declares. “Seokmin? Mingyu? Anything?”

“We should get Mingyu to ask for a hint,” Seokmin suggests from where he’s stuffed himself into one of the cabinets. 

Minghao nods in agreement. “Wait, why me?” Mingyu asks. 

At that, his best friends take on identical expressions of mischief. “You’re his boyfriend," Minghao says. "Just, I don’t know, wink at him or something. Make him give us more information than he’s supposed to so we can get a better time.”

Mingyu squints. “Are you saying I should seduce Wonwoo for information?”

Minghao nods again. “Duh,” Seokmin says, now looking suspiciously like he’s stuck in the cabinet. “Go work your charm on him.”

“If only you were still wearing the maid outfit,” Minghao muses. 

“You guys are terrible friends,” Mingyu declares. “ Fine , I’ll try. But I can’t guarantee anything.”

Seokmin gives him a thumbs-up. Minghao claps him on the shoulder. Mingyu makes a show of heaving a sigh, then turns and heads towards the door. “Seokmin, are you stuck?” he hears Minghao ask right before he lifts his hand and knocks. 

Wonwoo opens the door after a few seconds, an eyebrow raised - and yeah, he’s definitely wearing eyeliner. It’s ridiculously attractive. Mingyu is basically set up for failure. “Is a hint required?”

Mingyu nods, finding himself unable to speak. Wonwoo looks faintly amused as he motions for Mingyu to let him into the room, stepping past him with a nod of thanks when he obeys. “What do you require help with?” he asks, his voice authoritative. 

Minghao, who’s just freed Seokmin from the cabinet, goes over to show Wonwoo the deck of cards. “We have the order of the cards down, but we can’t crack the code,” he explains.

Wonwoo shakes his head. “Your prejudice blinds you. It is not a code.” He bows a little. “That is all I am allowed to tell you. Good luck.”

With that, he turns and moves to leave the room. Behind his back, Minghao and Seokmin make various gestures at Mingyu, all presumably reminding him of what he agreed to do. Mingyu resigns himself to his fate and goes to chase after Wonwoo, ignoring the faint cheering behind him. 

He manages to catch the door just before it swings shut, wedging half his body into the gap. “Hey, wait,” he says, slightly out of breath. On the other side of the door, Wonwoo looks extremely unimpressed. “I- um.”

Wonwoo scans his face for a second before sighing and saying, “if you want further elaboration, you will have to ask for another hint.”

“I know, I know, but-” Wonwoo’s stopped pushing at the door, so Mingyu takes it as an invitation to step out of the room and into the hallway. “Minghao really wants to win this, so can’t you make an exception for us?” He makes the best puppy eyes he can muster. “Please?” Something wavers in Wonwoo’s expression; he latches onto this and adds, sincerely, “you look really good, by the way.”

Wonwoo rolls his eyes, and just like that, the mask is back on. “Must I map it out for you?” he says as he steps past Mingyu to open the door again. “The rules must be followed. Please return to the room.”

Mingyu makes a show of slumping over in shame. “Okay,” he mumbles, walking back through the door. Before he can get a good look at Wonwoo’s answering facial expression, the door shuts behind him, leaving him at the mercy of Minghao and Seokmin’s expectant stares.

“So?” Minghao prompts.

“I told you it wouldn’t work,” Mingyu says. 

Seokmin groans. Minghao sighs. “Fine. I guess we actually have to follow the rules.” He points at Mingyu. “It’s your fault if we don’t get the best time.”

How is it my fault? Seokmin literally got stuck in a cabinet,” Mingyu argues. 

Seokmin shrugs. “Yeah, but I found the first key, so.” Minghao nods in agreement. Mingyu really needs to find new friends.

At least he can whine to Wonwoo about this later, he consoles himself as he crosses the room to join his friends. Something about how he was too emotionally devastated by his rejection to properly finish the puzzle, or whatever. And then Wonwoo will roll his eyes, fond, and spell everything out for him-

Wait. It’s spell it out. What did Wonwoo say? ‘Map’ it out? That doesn’t make sense; Wonwoo would never get such a common phrase wrong. Unless-

Mingyu gasps so loudly both Minghao and Seokmin turn to him, alarmed. “Guys! The cards are parts of a map!”

Minghao squints at him for a few seconds before a lightbulb visibly turns on in his head. “Holy shit,” he says, crouching down and starting to spread the cards out on the floor. Mingyu rushes over to help; soon, they’re staring down at a crude map of the classroom drawn on the backs of the cards, red marker outlining a path towards the final item. 

Seokmin is already there when Mingyu looks up, lifting up the globe on the counter and taking something out from underneath it. “We did it,” he says, awed, holding the key in the air. 

“What are you waiting for?” Minghao demands. Seokmin leaps into action and rushes over to unlock the door. They cheer as the key turns in the knob, and then all three of them are tumbling out into the hallway, where a mildly amused Wonwoo shows them their final time. 

“Congratulations,” he says. “You are now the record-holders.”

“Mingyu, you’re the sexiest person alive,” Seokmin says sincerely, pulling Mingyu into a hug. “And you,” he continues, pointing at something - or someone - behind Mingyu’s back, “are whipped .”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Wonwoo says calmly. He’s smiling, though, when Mingyu turns to look at him. 

--

They hang out for a few minutes after that, and then Minghao and Seokmin both leave at the same time to prepare for the showcase and the musical, respectively. Mingyu wishes them both luck, and heads back to the literature club room.

Wonwoo is already there by the time he rounds the corner, changed back into his normal clothes, leaning against the wall as he checks his phone. Mingyu is knocked a little breathless at the sight of him, barely able to regain his bearings by the time Wonwoo notices he’s there.

“Hey,” Wonwoo says, pushing himself off the wall and pocketing his phone. There are still faint traces of eyeliner around his eyes. “So you got the hint?”

Mingyu grins, closing the remaining space between them with one long stride. He relishes in the feeling of Wonwoo’s fingers curling around his wrist as he says, “I can’t believe you broke the rules for me, babe. That’s so romantic.”

Wonwoo rolls his eyes. “I can’t believe I let you convince me,” he says. “That was a lapse in judgment on my part.”

“Because I was so sexy?” Mingyu asks, undeterred.

“I don’t know if that’s the word I would use,” Wonwoo says.

Mingyu pouts. “Rude.” He takes a moment to move his hand so he can intertwine his fingers with Wonwoo’s before continuing, “you did look really good, though. I didn’t just say that to seduce you, or whatever.” He leans a little closer, delighting in the way Wonwoo’s ears turn red in response. “Although you always look good.”

Wonwoo huffs, reaching up with his free hand to fix Mingyu’s hair. “Who was seducing whom?” he asks, the curve of his smile teasing. “If I remember, you were the one who was-”

“We don’t need to talk about that,” Mingyu says quickly, feeling his face burn when Wonwoo laughs at him. “This is so unfair. You were literally wearing eyeliner , how was I supposed to react?”

“Well,” Wonwoo says, “I’m flattered.”

“I hate you,” Mingyu grumbles. 

--

They buy some flowers from the botany club's booth, and then spend the rest of the time before the showcase hanging out in the little alcove next to the library, splitting snacks and stealing sips of each other’s drinks. The bleachers are already filled with students by the time they reach the field, and their friends are nowhere to be found. Mingyu locates a free spot towards the topmost row and nearly trips up the steps in his rush to get there before someone steals it. They’ve just settled when the Music teacher walks onto the platform that’s been raised in the middle of the field.

His opening speech is pretty run of the mill - it starts with a crackle of feedback that makes everyone wince, and then he goes on to talk about how proud he is of everyone involved. “I can tell you guys are getting bored of me already,” he laughs at the end of it, “so without further ado, let’s begin.”

The crowd roars as he hands off the mic to the student hosts and leaves the stage. The hosts introduce themselves before announcing the first act, some kind of skit by four freshmen. 

The skit is actually pretty funny, if a little awkward. Mingyu isn’t even surprised anymore; everyone in this school is ridiculously talented. Wonwoo leans against him when he laughs, their hands intertwined on his lap, which is really, really nice.

There’s two more acts before Vernon is taking the stage. Mingyu cups his free hand around his mouth to whoop loudly, Wonwoo doing the same next to him. The crowd cheers as the beat starts, something bass-heavy and minimal that Mingyu remembers Jihoon working on. 

It falls deathly silent, though, when Vernon starts rapping. He talks about not really belonging anywhere, not knowing what defines him, feeling like an outsider in his own life. Mingyu is almost in tears by the time he’s done; Wonwoo’s grip on his hand is vice-like. 

There’s a pause as Vernon finishes his last line, and then the crowd roars . Vernon looks up, wide-eyed, like he forgot he even had an audience, bowing awkwardly before fleeing the stage. Mingyu hollers so loudly his throat starts to hurt. 

Wonwoo whistles, low. Mingyu glances over to find him shaking his head, a small, proud smile curling at his mouth. “I knew he was interested in writing lyrics, but I didn’t know…”

He trails off. “That he’d be so good at it?” Mingyu supplies. Wonwoo nods. “I’m not even surprised anymore, all our friends are super talented. It’s unfair.”

Wonwoo laughs. “Speaking of being unfairly talented, your friends are performing.”

Mingyu snaps his attention back to the field to find Yugyeom and Jungkook taking the stage. “Man, I’m gonna lose my voice,” he mutters. Whatever response Wonwoo could’ve given is drowned out by the cheer he lets out. 

Yugyeom and Jungkook do a really cool dance duet involving really complicated-looking footwork and a few gratuitous ab flashes. The crowd, as usual, roars, Mingyu contributing his share once again and getting a wave from Jungkook for his efforts.

He gets to take a break for the next three acts. As he catches his breath, Wonwoo takes a plastic water bottle, the seal still intact, out of his bag and offers it to him. “Don't actually lose your voice,” he says by way of an explanation. 

Mingyu blinks, a little stunned by the gesture. I want to take care of you , Wonwoo said. Mingyu didn’t doubt him - how could he? - but it’s a different thing altogether to see proof of it in Wonwoo’s actions, in the pack of cotton pads stored safely in Mingyu’s locker. 

He cracks open the seal and takes a long drink of water, wiping his mouth with his forearm before saying, “I’m really lucky, huh?”

Wonwoo squints at him. “What do you mean?”

“To have you as my boyfriend,” Mingyu says. In response, Wonwoo screws up his face into the usual ‘you’re being horribly cheesy and I’m pretending not to like it’ look. Mingyu barrels on before he can protest, adding, “I mean, you’re just- I know you don’t think that you’re good, or whatever, but you are, you know?”

As he speaks, he watches the look on Wonwoo’s face transform into something soft and vulnerable. “Mingyu, I- this is the least you deserve.”

Butterflies erupt against the walls of Mingyu’s ribcage. Wonwoo’s wrong; Mingyu looks at him, at his subtle acts of devotion and affection and thoughtfulness, and can only think lucky, lucky, lucky . He gets a feeling Wonwoo would strongly disagree with that sentiment, though, so he keeps it tucked underneath his tongue for the time being and elbows Wonwoo lightly instead. “You’re just proving my point.”

Wonwoo huffs. “I feel like I’m playing a losing game.”

“You are,” Mingyu confirms, laughing when Wonwoo huffs again. “Seriously, though. I- thank you. Not just for this, but for, like, everything.”

Wonwoo shakes his head, his features softening all over again as he drops his exasperated facade. “I could say the same to you.”

Mingyu grins. “Now we’re both playing a losing game.”

“It seems like there’s a fundamental flaw to this game,” Wonwoo comments dryly.

“Wow, babe,” Mingyu says, impressed, “that is the nerdiest thing you could’ve possibly said.”

Wonwoo rolls his eyes. “Fuck off.” He jerks his chin in the direction of the field. “Pay attention to the performances.”

Mingyu grins wider. “Yeah, yeah.” 

--

There’s only one act left before Jihoon’s performance. Jihoon sings his self-produced song, something heart-wrenching and soulful about yearning for a lost love. Mingyu is nearly in tears as he cheers for that one, Wonwoo looking as shaken as he feels beside him. 

Jihoon leaves to another deafening round of cheers, and then it’s time for the finale. Mingyu’s throat, despite the temporary reprieve of water, is starting to actually hurt. That doesn’t deter him from screaming his loudest yet as Soonyoung, Junhui, Minghao, and Chan take the stage in matching black-and-red outfits. 

They start. Mingyu’s jaw drops within the first five seconds and stays down all throughout the three-minute act. The choreography has always been impressive, but it’s clear that special effort and care was put into this year’s. Mingyu hollers along with the rest of the crowd when Minghao lands a perfect backflip on the middle of the stage. 

The act ends way too soon. From the applause they get, it’s clear this is a shared sentiment. Mingyu, for his part, lets go of Wonwoo’s hand so he can stand up, clapping so hard his palms sting. 

“Holy shit,” Wonwoo murmurs at his side as the four of them leave the stage and are replaced by the student hosts, who have to wait a good five minutes for the commotion to die down before they can begin wrapping up. “Did you know they could do that?”

“I did, but not like that,” Mingyu says hoarsely, a little dazed. He is going to hug Minghao so hard when he finds him. 

--

“Mingyu, you are literally going to break my ribs,” Minghao wheezes about fifteen minutes later. “Also, I am so sweaty.”

“You were so cool ,” Mingyu repeats for what must be the tenth time, dutifully relaxing his hold. “Minghao. You were so cool .”

“So I’ve heard,” Minghao says dryly, but he’s smiling when Mingyu finally lets go of him, his cheeks flushed with exertion and pride. Mingyu swallows the urge to call him cool again and turns to rummage through their locker, pulling out the small bouquet he stored in there before the showcase and sighing in relief when it still looks mildly presentable. 

He holds it out to Minghao, whose eyes light up as he takes it, almost reverently careful. “I thought you would like it,” Mingyu explains.

“I do,” Minghao says, leaning forward to give Mingyu another hug, careful to hold the flowers out of harm’s way. “These are my favorite flowers. Thanks, Mingyu.”

“Don’t mention it,” Mingyu says, draping his arm over Minghao’s shoulders and steering them over to the rest of their friends. “And come on, what kind of friend do you think I am? Obviously that’s why I picked them.”

Minghao laughs and ruffles his hair. “I know,” he assures. “I was just saying.”

Mingyu smiles at him for a bit before leaving to give everyone else a hug, complaining a little when he gets a handful of the sweat in Chan’s hair. He doesn’t really mean it, though; he’s more proud than anything else right now, and if the smile on his face is anything to go by, Chan can tell. Junhui ruffles his hair and thanks him for coming, Soonyoung bodily launches himself into his arms, and then Minghao sighs and shepherds the three of them towards the locker rooms to shower. 

“We’ll see you guys at the musical,” he says. “Save us some good seats.”

Mingyu nods. “Good luck,” he tells Soonyoung, who grins and makes a heart with his hands. Another round of hugs are exchanged before they’re parting ways once again, Mingyu’s hand finding Wonwoo’s as they make their way to the auditorium. 

They’re silent as they enter the auditorium - or rather, Wonwoo’s silent, only speaking up once to say ‘okay’ when Mingyu points to a row of empty seats and suggests they go there. Mingyu is about to say something to fill the silence, but then he sees the look on Wonwoo’s face and promptly drops that option.

Wonwoo doesn’t look tired, per se, but his expressions are even mellower than usual. It’s enough of a change from his usual state to make worry stir in Mingyu’s gut, so he nudges him gently after they’ve settled in their seats, leaning close when Wonwoo turns to look at him. “You okay?” he asks, as quiet as he can manage above the dull roar of the crowd that’s already gathered. 

Wonwoo blinks slowly once, twice, and then nods his head. “Just tired,” he answers softly. “It’s been a long day.” 

Mingyu thinks back to everything that’s happened and wants to smack himself for not realizing sooner. Of course the back-to-back festival, showcase, and musical would be taxing on someone like Wonwoo, a textbook introvert whose self-proclaimed nemeses are prolonged social interaction and big, loud crowds. “Do you need me to do anything? To, like, help?”

Wonwoo shifts a little. “Is it okay if we just sit here without talking for a while?” he asks, looking hesitant.

“Yeah, of course,” Mingyu says. “I won’t talk to you unless you talk to me first, okay?”

Wonwoo nods his head after a moment, the small, grateful smile he offers soothing Mingyu’s worries a little. “That works. Thank you.”

Mingyu shakes his head. “You don’t have to thank me for anything.” He grins. “Talk to you soon.”

Wonwoo huffs out a short, startled laugh. “Yeah,” he says, and that’s that. Mingyu goes on his phone, keeping his right hand clasped firmly around Wonwoo’s, and plays an idle game as the auditorium fills. He glances at Wonwoo only once, to make sure the crowd isn’t getting too overwhelming for him, to find him watching a cat video, eyes crinkled in amusement. It’s so ridiculously cute Mingyu kind of wants to scream, but then that would probably make Wonwoo feel worse, so he keeps his mouth shut as promised and goes back to the mini hotel he’s running on his phone. 

Junhui and Minghao arrive a few minutes later, Chan having left to go sit with Vernon. Mingyu is immediately on edge, tightening his grip on Wonwoo’s hand almost reflexively. Thankfully though, his apprehension turns out to be for nothing, because Junhui exchanges one glance with Wonwoo and immediately steers himself and Minghao out of his way, settling on Mingyu’s other side so Wonwoo is slightly barricaded from the conversation. Mingyu shoots Junhui a smile, feeling a little guilty for failing to remember that he’s been Wonwoo’s best friend for five years.

His guilt is assuaged when Junhui shoots him a thumbs-up without a trace of offense or suspicion, and then proceeds to rope him into a conversation about whether or not pickles belong on burgers. The conversation gets weirdly really engaging, Mingyu’s mini hotel all but forgotten as he argues for pickles’ unique flavor profile. 

It gets so engaging, in fact, that he doesn’t even notice Wonwoo putting his phone down and leaning into his side a little. So of course he yelps unattractively when Wonwoo says, “Junhui, are you harassing my boyfriend with culinary discourse?”

Junhui snickers at Mingyu’s reaction before saying, “this is an innocent debate about pickles, Wonwoo. You’re just a hater.”

“Literally nothing about you is innocent,” Wonwoo shoots back. He seems mostly recovered, his expressions and movements returning to their usual level of animation. His smile softens, the shift familiar, when he catches Mingyu looking at him. “Sorry, did I startle you?”

Mingyu shakes his head. “It’s fine. How are you feeling?”

“Better,” Wonwoo says. “What did I miss?”

“Besides our pickle debate? Nothing much.” Mingyu glances down at his phone, lying abandoned on his knee. “Oh, I unlocked a new type of customer in my hotel game, wanna see?”

“Of course,” Wonwoo says easily, at the same time that Junhui leans in and says, “wait, I also wanna see.” So Mingyu spends five minutes showing Junhui and Wonwoo the customer, another five minutes explaining the gameplay mechanics to an interested Junhui, and then another five minutes helping Junhui set up his own hotel when he decides to download the game for himself. 

“What have you done,” Wonwoo says, shaking his head as Junhui starts building rooms with vigor. “He’s going to be glued to this game for the next week.”

“Pot calling the kettle black, Wonwoo,” Junhui replies, not looking up from his phone.

“You know,” Mingyu says, “he kind of has a point.”

Junhui, eyes still glued to his phone, extends his hand. They high-five; Wonwoo sighs, weary. “I’ve been betrayed,” he laments. Mingyu laughs sympathetically and fixes his hair.

--

Mingyu helps Junhui with his hotel, losing track of time, until the lights in the auditorium dim, sending a hush descending upon the crowd. He and Junhui look up at the same time as a spotlight flickers on, focusing on the center of the stage as the curtains open slowly to loud applause. Mingyu claps as loudly as he can as they launch into the first number of the musical, a bright, complex one involving the entire cast, all swirling skirts and the rhythmic tapping of dozens of pairs of shoes. 

He cheers as Seokmin and Seungkwan take the stage to do a duet about pursuing your dreams, joined soon after by Soonyoung and Jihoon and a few others as they get ready for a party. He’s seen all of this countless times, at various levels of completion, but it feels different, seeing it all come to fruition in front of him. It’s incredible and kind of moving, too, knowing all the work that went into this. He’s just so proud of his friends. 

He reacts like this is his first time seeing it, too - he cheers for impressive stunts and claps after every number and nearly cries at the emotional climax of the story. By the time the curtain closes on the final act, the two main characters staring at each other from across a crowded room, his throat is so sore that drinking water no longer helps, and his palms are red from clapping. Still, he joins the rest of the audience for the standing ovation when the curtains open again for the curtain call. 

After the curtain call, the Drama teacher takes the stage to thank everyone for coming and give directions on leaving the auditorium. The four of them stay seated as people start slowly filing towards the exits, watching the crew take down the equipment. 

“That was so cool,” Junhui says. “I can’t believe our friends are all so sexy.”

“I don’t know if ‘sexy’ is the word I would use,” Minghao says, his deadpan undermined by the proud smile that’s been on his face since the opening act. 

“No, they were definitely sexy,” Mingyu insists. Junhui gives him another high-five.

Wonwoo squints at them. “I don’t like this alliance that’s developed between you two.”

Junhui cackles and slings an arm around Mingyu’s shoulder. Mingyu leans into it, grinning back at Wonwoo, who rolls his eyes. “You’re just jealous,” Junhui says. “Mingyu, we should run off into the sunset together.”

Mingyu pretends to swoon, pressing the back of his hand to his forehead. “That would be a dream come true,” he confesses. Wonwoo and Minghao sigh in tandem.

Mingyu is about to say something else, probably some disgusting joke about Junhui being a knight in shining armor that would make Wonwoo roll his eyes even harder, but he’s interrupted by a burst of noise at the auditorium doors. The four of them turn towards the source of the sound to find that the cast has returned, out of their stage costumes, and are currently being surrounded by friends offering congratulations and gifts and slaps on the back. 

No one needs to say anything. Mingyu launches himself out of his seat, seeing the other three do the same in the corner of his eye, and dashes down the stairs.

It’s Jihoon who sees them first, laughing and waving them over with the hand that isn’t clutching an impressively large bouquet. The paper around the bouquet crinkles as Mingyu bodily throws himself at Jihoon, picking him up with his excitement. He’s joined soon after by the other three, enveloping Jihoon in a group hug that has him complaining about how his flowers are being crushed. 

“You were so good,” Mingyu tells him once they’ve all stepped back a little. “I think you’re literally, like, the coolest person alive.”

Jihoon grins. Like this, it’s impossible to believe that he’s normally an intimidating person - he nearly glows with happiness, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Thanks,” he says. “I’m gonna hold that over Soonyoung’s head for at least the next month.”

“What’s being held over my head?” Soonyoung quips, emerging from behind Jihoon to give Mingyu a hug. 

Before Mingyu can backtrack, Jihoon answers smugly, “Mingyu thinks I’m cooler than you.”

Soonyoung gasps dramatically. “That’s not what I said!” Mingyu protests, pulling out of the hug to look at Soonyoung pleadingly. “You guys are both the coolest person alive.”

Soonyoung beams and punches his shoulder playfully. Mingyu tries very hard not to show how much it hurts as Soonyoung says, “thanks! Even though I’m obviously a thousand times cooler than Jihoon.”

Jihoon looks unimpressed. “That takoyaki guy you were trying to hit on last week clearly didn’t think so.”

Jihoon! ” Soonyoung cries. Mingyu starts slowly backing out of the conversation, sensing that this is going to build up to a conflict he does not want to get caught up in. “Why would you bring that up? I’m still mourning the death of our relationship!”

Jihoon’s deadpan “you didn’t even know his name ” fades into the background as Mingyu starts moving through the crowd, trying to locate Seokmin and Seungkwan. He struggles to even see past the people in front of him - which is to be expected, given that the two of them are the leads - until someone calls his name loudly.

He turns to see the crowd parting slightly around Seokmin, who is barreling towards him with a smile so wide it’s kind of blinding. Mingyu takes a second to process what’s happening before launching himself at Seokmin with equal force. The two of them collide in the middle in a flurry of laughter, Mingyu wrapping his arms around Seokmin and squeezing tight. Seokmin’s chin digs into his shoulder, but the pain barely registers; he is just so, so proud. 

Seokmin shifts a little, half pulling away. Mingyu figures out why a few seconds later, when Minghao is joining their hug with significantly less force but the same level of enthusiasm. They hug and laugh and - on Seokmin’s part - cry, until Mingyu’s chest feels so full it’s going to burst, warmth straining against his ribcage and pressing down on his diaphragm. 

“You were so good up there,” he tells Seokmin. “Like, so good.”

“He’s right,” Minghao says, his smile shining clear through his voice. “You were incredible, Seokmin.”

Seokmin sniffles and pulls away. “Thanks, you guys,” he says, watery, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. “Thanks for coming, too. Man, I can’t believe it’s over. I’ll have so much free time from now on.”

Mingyu laughs. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It’s not a bad thing,” Seokmin says, “but it feels weird, you know? I’ll have to, like, see your face at lunch every day.”

“And that’s the greatest blessing of them all,” Mingyu says seriously. Minghao and Seokmin smack him at the same time.

“Oh, yeah!” Seokmin turns to Minghao, leaving Mingyu to rub his arms alone. “I saw you guys perform, too! It was so cool . How are you so cool? Does gravity not exist for you or something?”

Minghao smiles and ruffles Seokmin’s hair, grimacing when he gets a handful of sweat. “Gravity is a social construct,” he says. 

“That is not true,” Mingyu says. Before Minghao can call him a nerd or whatever, he tells Seokmin, “I have something for you,” only to look down at his hands and realize they’re glaringly empty of any charming student-made bouquets. “Uh, I had something for you.”

“I have it,” Wonwoo says, entering their group with the aforementioned bouquet in hand. He gives it to Seokmin, who starts visibly tearing up again. “You did amazing,” he says quietly, dabbing at the skin underneath Seokmin’s eyes with his sleeve. “I’m proud of you.”

“Aw, do you want me to cry?” Seokmin complains, holding the bouquet out of the way as he pulls Wonwoo into a hug. They exchange a few words of whispered conversation before breaking apart; Seokmin turns to the three of them, now actively crying again, and says, “thanks, you guys. I- this means a lot to me.”

“You deserve it,” Minghao says. Mingyu nods in agreement right before he’s getting pulled into another hug, this time with all four of them, Seokmin right in the middle. A bright, golden feeling fills him, making him tear up a little, unbroken even when he accidentally steps on Wonwoo’s foot and gets thoroughly roasted by everyone else.

He finds Seungkwan after that, holding hands with Vernon as he talks to the Drama teacher. He breaks away from the conversation to give Mingyu a hug, his smile turning bashful when Mingyu compliments his performance. They talk for a while; it’s almost night by the time Mingyu leaves the school, the sky purplish with dusk. 

Mingyu ends up walking next to Seokmin. They chat about the musical all the way to the bus stop, at which point Mingyu glances over at Seokmin to find him frowning at the ground, sending a spike of worry through his chest. “Is everything okay?”

Seokmin startles. The smile he offers is weak, wavering a little as he says, “I’m fine! Today was a really good day, you know? I had a lot of fun.”

Mingyu smiles back, the wide one that shows his canines, in an attempt to cheer Seokmin up. It works a little, the knit of Seokmin’s brow loosening a little as Mingyu says, “me too! And it’s cool to see the result of so many weeks of work.”

Seokmin’s eyes soften. “Really cool,” he agrees. “But I’m also weirdly kind of sad? It feels like an end to me, I guess.”

Mingyu thinks back to their conversation on Soonyoung’s porch. He felt this way too, back then; like he was nostalgic for the moments that had just passed him by. “I get that,” he says. “A lot of things are ending.”

Seokmin nods. “Yeah.” 

They kind of sit in that until they’ve boarded the bus. The angst and growing pains, such a drastic change from the vibrancy of the rest of the day, are starting to get a little too stifling for Mingyu, so he nudges Seokmin and says, “it’s also kind of a beginning, right?”

“If you mean the summer, then yes ,” Seokmin says, visibly brightening a little. “I can’t wait to be done with school and spend all day hanging out, playing Mario Kart and eating watermelon.”

Mingyu laughs. Even though spring is his favorite season, he’s pretty excited for summer too, the warm evenings and blissfully clear schedules. “We have to survive exam season first, though,” he reminds jokingly.

Seokmin groans like he’s been shot. “Why would you bring that up,” he complains. “My day is ruined.”

Notes:

game game game game game game game game game game game game game boooooooy

Chapter Text

They don’t get much of a reprieve before exam season begins in full swing, bringing with it a torrent of essays, final projects, and review sessions. Much of it is the same - Mingyu watches his friends gradually get dead-eyed with exhaustion, feeling the same toll on his own body as his schedule fills up. The endless flashcards are the same, and the exam notes that he trades with classmates are the same.

A lot of it is different, too, though. The seniors, all with varying levels of senioritis, put in notably less effort than last semester. Mingyu does too, although it feels foreign and irrationally shameful at first. He fills the rest of his time with cooking, trying out increasingly challenging recipes and having to eat some culinary abominations for dinner as a result. It’s satisfying, he finds, being able to work towards a goal he so fundamentally desires.

A few days before exams start, Mingyu’s doorbell rings at ten in the morning. “Is that Wonwoo?” Mingyu’s mom calls from somewhere upstairs.

“Yeah!” Mingyu shouts, opening the door to reveal a tired, rumpled looking Wonwoo, his frame swallowed up by one of Mingyu's shirts. “Hey,” Mingyu says brightly, unable to contain his excitement. Wonwoo just looks so cute . “You look great, by the way.”

Wonwoo squints at him. “I’m way too sleep deprived to tell whether you’re being sarcastic.”

Mingyu laughs and reaches out, snagging Wonwoo by the elbow so he can pull him into the house. “Babe, you say the sweetest things,” he says, closing the door behind him. “I wasn’t being sarcastic, though. You look cute.”

Wonwoo shakes his head as he takes off his shoes. “I definitely don’t feel cute,” he grumbles. 

Mingyu hums sympathetically. “Do you want some tea?”

“Do you even need to ask?” Wonwoo says. Mingyu laughs again, taking his hand and tugging him into the kitchen. 

--

After the tea is steeped, they carry their mugs upstairs, pausing briefly so Wonwoo can greet Mingyu’s mom. “It's so cute that you’re still scared of my mom,” Mingyu says, nudging the door shut behind him with his foot. “I mean, you’ve known her for ten years.”

“She’s an intimidating woman,” Wonwoo huffs. Which is difficult to believe, considering that Wonwoo’s dad is possibly the most intimidating person Mingyu’s ever met. “And besides, I recall you being scared of my parents at a certain dinner.”

Mingyu throws his free hand up in exasperation as Wonwoo laughs at him. “It was a meet the parents thing! What was I supposed to do, not be scared?”

“I would say yes, but that would be hypocritical of me,” Wonwoo says. He's already seated on the floor in front of Mingyu’s bed, his mug resting out of harm’s way on the nightstand. 

Mingyu crosses the room to join him. This has started becoming familiar, too - Wonwoo’s weight and warmth as he leans into him, the sound of his typing. “How’s your essay coming along?”

Wonwoo grimaces. “Terribly,” he says. “I have a first draft down, but the bulk of it is probably incomprehensible.”

“I’m sure it isn’t,” Mingyu says sincerely.

“You overestimate my abilities,” Wonwoo shoots back.

“Rude,” Mingyu says. “I’m trying to be sweet here.”

Wonwoo rolls his eyes, returning his attention to his essay. Mingyu takes it as the end of the conversation, and almost misses it when Wonwoo mutters, “it’s not like you need to try to be cute.”

A firework goes off in Mingyu’s chest. He leans closer, unable to control the smile that spreads across his face, one that widens when he sees how red Wonwoo’s ears are. “Sorry, what was that?”

“Nothing,” Wonwoo says flatly, not meeting Mingyu’s eyes. “Do your work, Mingyu.”

“No, you definitely said something,” Mingyu says. “Something about me being cute without trying? Is that right?”

“Absolutely not,” Wonwoo denies. 

Mingyu giggles. “If you say so.” He leans forward to kiss Wonwoo’s temple, delighting in the way Wonwoo softens at the gesture. “But fine, I’ll do my work.”

Thank you,” Wonwoo says, exasperated. Mingyu catches the smile on his face, though, right before he turns away.

--

Mingyu’s mom has already left for brunch with her friends by the time Mingyu drags Wonwoo downstairs, leaving a sticky note on the fridge with a reminder to finish the leftovers. Mingyu takes a container of kimchi fried rice out of the fridge while Wonwoo leans against the counter and watches him. 

“Admiring the view?” Mingyu jokes, putting the container into the microwave and setting the timer to two minutes. “You can admit it, babe. I know I have a nice ass.”

Wonwoo rolls his eyes. “It’s definitely an asset of yours, yes,” he says dryly.

“Was that a pun ? You nerd." Mingyu turns around to find that Wonwoo isn’t actually leaning against the kitchen island, but is sitting on it, swinging his feet a little. “That’s super unhygienic, by the way.”

“You aren’t telling me to get off, though,” Wonwoo points out, an eyebrow raised.

“That’s what she said,” Mingyu says. “Seriously, you’re wiping it down after. My mom would kill me if she found out.”

Wonwoo’s eyebrow lifts higher. “After what?”

Now it’s Mingyu’s turn to raise his eyebrows. “After whatever it is you’re trying to get me to do,” he says, stepping closer. Wonwoo’s eyes track the motion. “Come on, babe, give me a little credit.”

Wonwoo laughs quietly, face slightly flushed. “Was I being that obvious?”

“Maybe I just know you well,” Mingyu retorts, taking another step closer so Wonwoo’s knees are on either side of his hips. He grins. “I can’t believe I used to think you were mysterious and reserved and stuff.”

Wonwoo snorts at the thought. “That’s a wildly inaccurate judge of my character.” He nudges Mingyu’s hip with his leg. “I’m glad you find me easy to read now.”

“Me too,” Mingyu says. He’s not sure how it happened, but the mildly suggestive air between them has shifted to something tender, gentle. “You’ve changed a lot, you know. In a good way, obviously. Like, before I always had to guess what you were thinking, and now I either know right away, or you just tell me directly. It’s really nice.”

Wonwoo smiles, a small, soft one as he reaches out to brush Mingyu’s hair out of his face. “It is,” he agrees. 

They’re broken out of their moment by the beeping of the microwave, which cuts through the air like a guillotine. Mingyu clears his throat and steps away, catching the way Wonwoo’s face flushes right before he turns around. 

He sets the container carefully on the counter, closes the microwave door, then says, “anyways, we should get back on track. I think you were about to convince me to make out with you on my kitchen island?”

Wonwoo’s still smiling when Mingyu turns back around. “Well, if you put it like that ,” he says, waiting until Mingyu’s close enough to hook his fingers in Mingyu’s belt loops.

In the end, they have to microwave the food all over again.

--

After lunch, they move their studying down to the living room. Mingyu swaps out the tea from the morning for coffee; Wonwoo frowns up at him when he returns from the kitchen, mug in hand. “How many cups have you had today?”

Mingyu huffs, taking a seat across from Wonwoo on the floor in front of the table. “This is my first one. And I took my iron supplements too,” he adds when Wonwoo opens his mouth. “Come on, babe, you don’t have to ask this every time you come over.”

Wonwoo looks like he’s about to argue for a second before relenting, taking Mingyu’s hand over the table like they’re some old married couple. “I know,” he admits. “Sorry. I’m just worried about you.”

Mingyu doesn’t need to ask. He knows it stems from the previous semester, when he was nearly dead on his feet, blacking out whenever he stood up too fast. Which is why he offers a small, comforting smile and says, “I know. You’re sweet. But I’m okay now, seriously. I’m not… my mom stopped caring about my grades a long time ago, so why should I still care, you know?” 

Wonwoo’s expression crumbles, his shoulders slumping. Mingyu remembers this from the previous semester, too - back when he was in denial and unable to communicate, turning his back on the people who bothered to care. He plays his sentence back in his head and winces at his own wording. “Mingyu,” Wonwoo starts.

Mingyu shakes his head, frantic. “That’s not what I meant! I’m glad it happened. It’s kind of freeing, you know? To be able to do things without the crippling fear of disappointing someone.” He grins. “I took your advice, in the end. ‘Do the things you want to do’, right?”

Wonwoo lets out a surprised laugh, tightening his grip on Mingyu’s hand. “Right,” he says softly. They kind of just smile at each other for a few seconds before he clears his throat and adds, “we should probably get back to work.”

Mingyu groans. “The moment , babe.”

Wonwoo rolls his eyes, pulling his hand away so he can turn on his laptop. “We can have another moment after I submit this essay.”

“Is that a promise?” Mingyu teases.

Wonwoo rolls his eyes again. “Do your work,” he repeats. 

-- 

The rest of the week flies by in a blur of studying and submitting final projects. Exams rear their head, then are gone as quickly as they came. Mingyu can feel the effects of his new studying schedule - he guesses more often, and makes more mistakes. It’s a testament to how much has changed; and so is, of course, the fact that he doesn’t panic every time he reads a question he doesn’t know the answer to.

The school system affords him a few grace days to breathe before the graduation ceremony. He spends them all hanging out with the seniors as much as possible, going out for bubble tea and shopping and hotpot. The ten of them have another sleepover at Minghao’s house. The air tastes bittersweet, heavy with the knowledge that their time together is coming to an end much faster than anyone would like. 

No one cries, somehow. But they do a lot of laughing, over games of Mario Kart and Monopoly and mafia, over Soonyoung’s eerily spot-on impression of Seungkwan and the flying kick Seungkwan delivers in response. Mingyu puts an arm around Jihoon, who leans into him with the force of his laughter, and blinks away the dampness in his eyes. 

The day after that, they get their report cards back, along with their exam grades. Mingyu does worse than he usually does, but that’s no surprise. He smiles to himself and, when he gets home, tucks the papers into the bottom drawer of his desk. His mom, when she gets home, doesn't ask to see them, just asks him what time she should drop him off at the school for the graduation ceremony. That isn’t a surprise, either, anymore.

His calls with Wonwoo happen much more frequently. Wonwoo talks about how excited he is to start university, to try his hand at independence in a brand new city, but also how scared he is - of losing touch, of failing. Mingyu gets it, the strange combination of excitement and fear. 

Time passes, unstoppable against the feelings of those who get swept up in its tides. Mingyu wakes up early to stare at the ceiling for a few hours, puts on a button down and his nicest pair of jeans, then goes downstairs and barely tastes his breakfast. His mom must be able to tell how he’s feeling, because she doesn’t say anything beyond telling him to get ready to leave soon. 

Minghao is quiet, too, when they pick him up from his house. They sit in silence in the backseat of Mingyu’s mom’s car, the low hum of the radio filling the air. Mingyu doesn’t need to ask to know what he’s thinking about.

“How do you feel?” he asked back when they still had exams to worry about, sprawled across Minghao’s bedroom floor. “About Junhui moving back to China?”

Minghao picked at the carpet under his legs, a slight crease between his eyebrows. “I’ll miss him, obviously,” he said after a moment. “But I’m not worried about his career or our friendship. I trust him.” He cracked a smile. “I especially trust him to know that I’ll fly to China to kick his ass in person if he starts ignoring my texts.”

“Obviously,” Mingyu said. “But it won’t be the same, will it?”

Minghao’s hand paused its rhythmic picking, his eyes becoming very, very sad. “No,” he agreed quietly. “No, it won’t.”

--

The graduation ceremony is arduously long and unbearably short at the same time. Mingyu sweats in the stifling heat, the sun-warmed metal bleachers burning through his jeans. He locates Seokmin sitting with his parents, as well as Chan and Vernon and Seungkwan sitting together. He locates all the seniors he knows, too, but obviously none of them notice him, too far away and too distracted by other, more pressing things. 

There’s a long string of speeches, some funny, most painfully boring. Mingyu’s palms sweat. He spends some of the time playing two-player mobile games with Minghao, squinting to see his screen through the glare of the sun. 

Finally, they start calling students up to receive their diploma. He recognizes the names of a few people, mostly members of the soccer team, but Hirai Momo is the first name he actually gets emotional over hearing. She waves excitedly as she crosses the stage, the sparkly pink top of her graduation cap nearly blinding, her smile even brighter. 

They get through the rest of the Hs, the Is, and a few Js before Mingyu hears ‘Jeon Wonwoo’ crackle through the shitty speakers. He grabs Minghao’s hand, who generously doesn’t complain about how clammy his palm must be, as Wonwoo walks onto the stage. He can hear Wonwoo's family cheering nearby, but it’s barely audible over the thudding of his own heart, the swell of pride and loss in his chest. 

Wonwoo’s graduation cap is plain, save for a single cat sticker in one of the corners. For some reason, this makes Mingyu tear up a little. 

“Do you wanna take a picture of him?” Minghao asks. “You can use my camera.”

Mingyu shakes his head, unable to look away from the stage, where Wonwoo is descending the steps. “Seokmin definitely took, like, fifty,” he says. “I’ll just ask him to send them to me after.”

Minghao makes a noise of assent. They fall back into silence as they watch more people take the stage - soon after Wonwoo is Soonyoung, who makes his so-called tiger gesture as he poses with his diploma, to Minghao’s loud sigh of disapproval. A few people after him is Jihoon, who crosses the stage like he wants to get out of there as soon as possible, but cracks a smile when he receives his diploma. 

Which only leaves Junhui, whose name is all the way at the bottom of the list. “Are you okay?” Mingyu asks Minghao, nudging him gently with his leg. 

Minghao looks at him like he was expecting the question. “Are you ? Your boyfriend just officially graduated.”

Yes, and no, Mingyu wants to say. He’s happy for Wonwoo, of course he is. But souring that happiness is unmistakable self-pity, anxiety at being the one left behind, even as he’s secure in the knowledge that Wonwoo is just as committed to continuing their relationship as he is. It’s the feeling of missing someone who’s right in front of you. 

Minghao must see it all on his face, because he sighs and says, “yeah. Me too,” and that’s that.

They fall back into silence as the announcers work their way down the list. Mingyu can sense Minghao tensing beside him as they announce the first of the W names, and then Junhui is standing at the front of the stage, diploma in hand, smiling shyly. 

Mingyu claps, then turns to look at Minghao. He’s also clapping, the line of his mouth wavering. He doesn’t say anything when Mingyu wraps an arm around his shoulders and squeezes him tight, but there’s gratitude in his eyes when they pull away. 

It’s not long after that that the ceremony concludes, and the graduates throw their caps into the air to loud applause. Minghao takes pictures as it happens. Mingyu doesn’t blame him - it’s a little cheesy and definitely cliche, but watching the caps rise and fall against the bright blue sky makes him tear up. It really, truly feels like the end of an era, and he isn’t even the one graduating.

There’s a general sense of commotion as everyone on the bleachers start to make their way down to the field. Mingyu stands up and stretches his legs a little, watching the people at the end of the row stand up and join the steady procession down the steps.

He almost reaches for Minghao’s hand again, but his palms have gotten even sweatier since Wonwoo was called up, so he decides against it. Instead, he digs his fingernails into his palms as he makes his way down the aisle and down the steps, keeping his eyes fixed on Minghao in front of him so he doesn’t get distracted and do something horribly embarrassing like trip. 

It’s surprisingly easy to locate his friends through the general clamor - the four seniors have already grouped together along with their respective families, forming a sizable crowd that’s easy to spot from afar. Mingyu sees a very familiar cat sticker and just like that, his vision narrows until it’s nearly impossible for him to see anything else.

He’s a few feet away when Wonwoo sees him. It’s like a scene from a K-Drama or something, making eye contact in the middle of a crowd, one of those moments where everything slows down. Wonwoo says something over his shoulder to his parents, and then he’s breaking off from the group to walk towards Mingyu, and then he’s pulling Mingyu into a hug in front of the entire graduating class and their friends and family. 

Mingyu wraps his arms around Wonwoo’s waist and draws in a shaky breath, burying his face in the crook of Wonwoo’s neck. The fabric of the gown is scratchy and smells like a warehouse, but underneath that is only loose leaf tea, no sugar, like an early morning spent in the quiet comfort of each other’s company.

In the end, Mingyu makes the decision to pull away first, because it’s Wonwoo’s graduation and there are so many things to be said. “You’re finally free,” he jokes, their hands finding each other. “How do you feel?”

“Pretty great,” Wonwoo admits, his nose scrunching up with the force of his smile. “I can barely believe it’s all over.”

Mingyu laughs and squeezes Wonwoo’s hands. “Congratulations, babe,” he says. “Seriously. I’m so proud of you.”

Wonwoo’s smile softens. “Thank you. Don’t forget, you’ll be in the same place next year.” 

“Ugh, don’t even mention that,” Mingyu says. “That’s a long way off. Besides, this is supposed to be your day, why are you talking about my graduation?”

Wonwoo raises an eyebrow, teasing. “Kim Mingyu, reluctant to talk about himself? Did I somehow end up in an alternate dimension?”

Mingyu grins. “What can I say? I’m feeling generous today.”

Wonwoo grins back. “Well, I thank you for your generosity.”

Mingyu opens his mouth to say something else, maybe comment on how absurdly cute the little cat sticker on Wonwoo’s cap is, but he’s interrupted by Soonyoung, who barges physically and metaphorically in between them. “Mingyu!” he exclaims, throwing his arms around Mingyu’s shoulders. “You made it!”

“I did!” Mingyu says, picking Soonyoung up and spinning him around once, soaking in his delighted laughter. “Congrats, Soonyoung,” he says after putting him down.

Soonyoung beams up at him, his eyes curving into crescents. “Thanks!” He holds up his diploma proudly. “I’m finally done! Ugh, I am so glad I’m leaving high school.” He pouts and pulls Mingyu into another hug; the hard plastic of the diploma digs into Mingyu’s sternum, but he laughs it off, patting Soonyoung’s back comfortingly. “I’m sad I’m leaving you guys, though,” Soonyoung says when they pull away. “You should move across the country with me, and like, live in my dorm and cook me food.”

“Are you asking me to be your personal chef? That costs a lot of money,” Mingu tells him. 

Soonyoung waves his hand dismissively. “Jihoon will pay for it! He’s gonna be making millions soon, you know.”

“Are you making me pay for your shit again?” Jihoon sighs, emerging from behind Soonyoung. He nods to Mingyu. “Hey, thanks for coming.”

“I wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” Mingyu says, which is the truth. “Congratulations on graduating, by the way.”

Jihoon reaches up. Mingyu bends down obediently so Jihoon can ruffle his hair; when he straightens again, he’s greeted by the sight of Jihoon’s warm smile, shining under the summer sun. “Thanks. I’ll miss threatening to kill you in culinary club.”

“And I’ll miss you threatening to kill me in culinary club,” Mingyu replies, which earns him a bright laugh. “I’ll miss the rest of you too, you know.”

Jihoon wrinkles his nose. “Gross.”

“Hey, rude!” Mingyu says. “You’re supposed to say ‘I miss you too, Mingyu. I can’t believe I’ll never be able to see your sexy face again’-”

“In your dreams, asshole,” Jihoon says, punching Mingyu in the shoulder. “You make it sound like I’m leaving tomorrow. I’ll be here until August. And so will that guy,” he adds, jerking his thumb at Soonyoung, who appears to be forcing Wonwoo to take pictures in front of a very amused Minghao.

Mingyu smiles at the sight. “In that case, I’m going to bother you every day until you leave,” he promises. “Every morning at seven a.m., at your door, with my boombox. I’ll blast, like, Gangnam Style or something.”

Jihoon makes a face of disgust, but before he can threaten Mingyu with graphic violence, Junhui suddenly throws his arms around both of them, making him curse loudly. “Sorry!” Junhui says, not sounding very sorry at all. “I heard Mingyu say something about Gangnam Style. Wow, Mingyu, is it just because Jihoon’s Korean? That’s pretty insensitive of you.”

Jihoon cackles. Mingyu throws his hands in the air in exasperation. “I’m literally also Korean! Just because I called you Minghao by accident one time-”

“‘By accident’,” Junhui parrots, making air quotes with his fingers. “Anyways, thanks for coming here. Did you see me go up? Did I look sexy?”

“Very sexy,” Mingyu confirms. Junhui grins and ruffles his hair. “You’re the sexiest graduate here.” He pauses. “Other than Wonwoo.”

Jihoon and Junhui groan in unison. “That was gross, you two are gross, I’m leaving to go bother Minghao,” Junhui declares. 

--

After being abandoned by both Junhui and Jihoon, Mingyu spends a bit of time talking to their parents. Mr. and Mrs. Wen are both basically carbon copies of Junhui, and spend most of the conversation telling Mingyu about all the pranks they pulled on each other back when they were in high school. Mr. Lee is terrifying enough to give Mr. Jeon-Lee a run for his money, despite the fact that he’s barely taller than Jihoon. He also meets Mr. and Mrs. Kwon, whose eyes are stern but smiles are friendly. 

Seungkwan, Chan, and Vernon are there too, although Seungkwan leaves frequently to greet a passerby. So are Mr. and Mrs. Jeon-Lee, who greet Mingyu like a son, and Seokmin, who’s looking dangerously close to crying as he gives Mingyu a firm hug and thanks him for coming. 

At some point, Mingyu finds Wonwoo at his side again, looking significantly more frazzled after having been harassed by Soonyoung for at least ten minutes. Their hands remain firmly clasped together as they talk to some of Wonwoo’s teammates from track and field. At some other point, Mingyu sees Momo making her way through the crowd and calls out to her; she gives him a hug and a bright smile, winking when she sees Wonwoo hovering behind him. 

It’s kind of overwhelming, to think about everything that wouldn’t have happened had it not been for her. “Thank you,” Mingyu says, as sincerely as he can. “For everything.”

Momo laughs and flicks his forehead gently. “Don’t even mention it,” she says. “Apply for the exec team next year, you hear me? Or I’ll come back here and do it for you.”

“I will,” Mingyu promises. “Although it won’t be the same without you.”

Momo huffs. “Okay, sweet-talker,” she says. “Don’t miss me too much.”

“I can’t promise that,” Mingyu says. She rolls her eyes, but there’s dampness in them as she says goodbye.

Mingyu drags Wonwoo back to their regular group just in time to hear someone call for pictures. It’s like flipping a switch - all of a sudden, the parents swarm the graduates like a mob, half of them arranging the four into a line while the other half take out their phones. “Help me,” Wonwoo hisses to Mingyu as his mom drags him over to join the others.

Mingyu shakes his head, grinning slightly. “Duty calls, babe.”

“I hate you,” Wonwoo manages to say before Mrs. Wen yells at him to say cheese.

The four of them are manhandled into various combinations of people and poses (Jihoon and Wonwoo vehemently oppose a ‘goofy’ photo, but they’re overruled by everyone else present) before splitting off to take pictures with their families. Mingyu gets appointed as one of the photographers, kneeling in the grass while he tries very, very hard not to drop Mrs. Jeon-Lee’s expensive-looking phone.

“Oh, they look so good!” Mrs. Jeon-Lee exclaims as Mingyu shows her the photos. She takes her phone back before commanding, “now go stand over there, I want some pictures of you and Wonwoo.”

Mom ,” Wonwoo protests as Mingyu is not-so-gently nudged towards him. “This really isn’t necessary.”

“It’s absolutely necessary,” Mrs. Jeon-Lee insists. “I need to update all my group chats. Now stand closer, you two - look cute so my friends can be jealous of me.”

Wonwoo heaves a sigh, looking defeated. Mingyu laughs in sympathy as he dutifully puts an arm around Wonwoo’s waist, pulling him closer. “You look like you’re being marched to your death,” he says. “Try to relax, babe, it’s just me.”

Wonwoo shakes his head as he leans into Mingyu’s side for support, the gesture eliciting a sound of approval from Mrs. Jeon-Lee. “You aren’t the problem,” he says. “I can’t believe my mom is using our relationship as a social token on my graduation day.”

“What else would she do?” Mingyu jokes. “I’m pretty sure my mom’s gonna do the exact same thing when it's my turn.”

Wonwoo falls silent, his eyebrows drawing together. Mingyu curses himself when he realizes the gravity of what he’s just said, of what he’s just implied - that they would still be together on Mingyu’s graduation day, a full year away. After all, realistically speaking, they’ve only been together for about a month and a half, and Wonwoo is moving to a city two hours away. Mingyu has no way of knowing whether they’re going to last that long, and he shouldn’t have presumed, regardless of how much he likes Wonwoo or how much he wants this to last-

Wonwoo’s voice interrupts his downward spiral. “When that day comes,” he says, turning to face Mingyu fully, “I’ll look as smitten with you as possible. Makes for better pictures, I think.”

Mingyu’s eyes widen as he processes what Wonwoo’s just promised to him. When that day comes , he said. Not if . Mingyu suddenly hates that they’re surrounded by people, including their friends and Wonwoo’s parents - right now, he just kind of wants to kiss Wonwoo silly and maybe cook him all his favorite meals.

Wonwoo’s smile is nothing but fond. “Okay?” he prompts, when Mingyu evidently stays silent for too long.

Mingyu nods so hard he thinks he can hear his brain moving around in his skull. His arm is still around Wonwoo’s waist, his hand splayed against the small of Wonwoo’s back. “Yeah,” he says. “Okay.” And then, “you mean you don’t always look smitten with me?”

Wonwoo rolls his eyes, reaching up to fix Mingyu’s collar. “That’s up to personal interpretation. And personally, I think,” he taps his index finger against Mingyu’s cheek, “you’re way worse than I am in that regard.”

Mingyu would be incredibly offended if it wasn’t true. “I can’t help myself,” he shrugs. “My boyfriend’s too handsome, what am I supposed to do?”

The redness of Wonwoo’s ears betrays the unimpressed look on his face. “What a terrible burden to bear,” he says flatly.

Mingyu grins. “I couldn’t agree more.” 

Wonwoo rolls his eyes again. Whatever he was about to say next is cut off by the sound of Junhui calling Mingyu’s name; the two of them turn in unison to find Junhui, Minghao, and Junhui’s parents clustered together, all staring at them expectantly. Mrs. Jeon-Lee is nowhere to be found.

“Mingyu!” Junhui’s saying, waving him over. “Come take pictures for us before Minghao murders me!”

“Good,” Mr. Wen jokes. “Then we won’t have to pay your training fees.”

Mingyu laughs before turning to Wonwoo. “Duty calls?” Wonwoo guesses, eyes bright.

“You know it, babe,” Mingyu says. Wonwoo laughs and shoos him away.

--

“If you drop that camera-” Minghao starts.

“-you’ll kill me, I know, I know,” Mingyu placates, fiddling with the buttons. He has one of the iPhones with a ridiculously advanced camera function, so he actually recognizes some of the settings - aperture, shutter speed, ISO. “Now say cheese.”

Minghao grits his teeth and does his Instagram-ready smile, the mysterious one that suggests he’s amused but not committed enough to the moment to smile fully (Mingyu knows this because he does it, too, even though he’ll never admit it). It’s a stark contrast to Junhui, who smiles brightly, making bunny ears behind Minghao’s head with his fingers. 

Mingyu takes a few pictures from various angles before standing up. Minghao and Junhui make appreciative noises as he shows them the final results, before Junhui’s being dragged off to take a picture with a senior Mingyu doesn’t recognize, shouting at Mingyu to send him all the pictures before disappearing into the crowd.

Mingyu’s about to take the camera strap off his neck when Minghao says, “you can use that for a while, if you want. Those pictures were actually pretty good.” 

Mingyu would hug Minghao if there weren’t a couple hundred dollars dangling in front of his chest. “You’re the sexiest person alive,” he tells Minghao sincerely.

He spends the rest of the afternoon taking pictures, both spontaneously and by request. He’s put effort into taking pictures before - his carefully curated Instagram feed attests to that - but this feels different, the weight of the camera solid in his hands. Most of the pictures are clearly amateurish, but there’s one that makes Mingyu pause as he clicks through. 

It’s of Jihoon, kneeling in the grass. The look on his face is contemplative, a little tired; it’s a stark contrast to the celebrations happening in the background. Mingyu thinks back on all the moments he wished he could’ve preserved, all the bright snapshots of youth lost to everything except memory. It would take a lot of learning and practicing, definitely, but if he could capture even a second of that brightness, he’s more than willing to try. 

Besides, he thinks as he approaches Minghao to return the camera, it’s summer break now. For the next two months, he has all the time in the world.

--

After the graduation ceremony ends, all ten of them stand in the courtyard, the parents having gone off to retrieve their respective cars from the parking lot. The graduates are going to a fancy restaurant to celebrate, leaving the rest of them to head home for the day. “Well, this is it,” Jihoon says, staring up at the front of the school. “My last day here.” 

They’re silent for a moment before Soonyoung bursts into tears and wails, “ why would you say that?”

Soonyoung’s words obliterate the dam that’s been keeping everyone’s emotions at bay. Seokmin is the first to go, followed by Seungkwan soon after. Mingyu feels his eyes start to well up as he watches Junhui sniffle, which makes Minghao start crying, which sets off Chan - and of course, once Chan starts crying, everyone else is pretty much a goner. Sure enough, it isn’t long before the ten of them dissolve into a pile of crying and hugging, each person saying something with varying degrees of coherency and emotion about how much they’re going to miss this, miss the others, miss home once they’re gone. Only Vernon serves as the single point of emotional stability among all of them, smiling serenely as he lets Seungkwan cry into his shoulder.

“Every weekend,” Seungkwan declares at some point. “We’re going to hang out every weekend until you guys leave. If you try to bail I’ll personally come to your house and drag you out - looking at you, Jihoon.”

“As if I would bail,” Jihoon says, his grouchiness undermined by his sniffling, as well as the fact that he’s currently leaning all his weight onto Junhui for support. 

Seungkwan sniffs and dabs at his eyes with a tissue. “Good. You too, Wonwoo, don’t think you can just ghost us so we forget about you.”

“I would never,” Wonwoo promises. He isn’t full-on crying like the rest of them, but his voice is slightly shaky. Seokmin must hear it, too, because he starts crying even harder, rushing over to Wonwoo to wrap him in a hug. 

“Don’t move out,” he wails into Wonwoo’s shoulder. “Whose chips am I going to steal when you’re gone? Who’s going to beat me in Mario Kart?”

Wonwoo chuckles, the sound watery, as he rubs Seokmin’s back. “Think of it this way,” he says. “You’ll have all the chips to yourself. And we can play Mario Kart online.”

“Stop being reasonable, you’re the worst brother in the world,” Seokmin complains. “I love you, don’t leave me.”

Wonwoo chuckles again, but the look in his eyes is sad. “Yeah,” he says softly. “I’ll miss you, too.”

--

Eventually, all of the parents come back to pick up their respective graduate; the rest of them linger for a bit longer, the universal unwillingness to leave thick in the air. Mingyu’s mom picks them up soon after, remaining mercifully silent when she sees how blotchy and gross Mingyu’s face has gotten from crying.

No one says anything the entire ride home, the sound of faint sniffling and the low hum of the radio filling up the car instead. Mingyu stares, unseeing, out the window, only breaking out of his trance when the car stops to drop Minghao off, and again when they arrive home.

Everything feels faint, far away; the heat of the sun, the sound of the keys turning in the lock, the lemon-scented cleaning spray lingering in the corners of the house. Mingyu just kind of wants to go upstairs and lie in bed as a puddle of feelings for an indeterminate amount of time.

He’s prevented from achieving that goal when his mom clears her throat, cutting through the thick silence. He looks up to find her sitting at the kitchen island, beckoning him over. 

For a single second, he’s in sixth grade again, homework in hand, excited for what is one of his favorite times of the day. Then he blinks, and he’s back to seventeen-year-old Mingyu, carrying the weight of all the years that have passed on his shoulders. There’s a strange tightness in his chest as he makes his way over to the kitchen and takes a seat at the island across from his mom, accepting the glass of water she slides over to him with gratitude.

His mom waits for him to finish taking a drink before asking, gently, “how are you feeling?” 

He blinks back at her, a little stunned. “What… what do you mean?”

It’s a stupid question - what else could she possibly be referring to? - but there’s no judgment on his mom’s face. She looks almost understanding. “Some of your close friends just graduated. Including, of course,” she gives a wry smile, “a very special friend.”

Mingyu groans. “ Please just say ‘boyfriend’, mom.”

“Alright, alright,” his mom placates, looking amused. “Boyfriend, then. Regardless, it’s an emotionally tumultuous time for you. I just wanted you to know…” she pauses, something like discomfort flashing across her face before she schools her expression. “I know I haven’t been the most receptive to you in the past, and I understand if you don’t want to talk to me. But I’ll be here to listen if you ever want another perspective.”

The tightness in Mingyu’s chest increases, turning vice-like as he tries to process his mom’s words. It’s joy, he realizes - a joy so acute it’s painful, that can only come with receiving something you thought you gave up on long ago. Mingyu knows he’s blessed with an incredible support system of friends, one that’s more than enough for him even without his mom’s presence, but it’s something else, hearing her say those words. It’s something else, having her extend her hand to him with nothing but understanding on her face. He almost wants to pinch himself to check if he’s dreaming.

But then again - why would he be dreaming? All of his mom’s behavior in the past few months, ever since their reconciliation on Mingyu’s birthday, has built up to this. She’s taken the time to talk to him and get to know him and be a real mother to him, rebuilding the bridge between them plank by plank. 

He’s standing at the edge of a precipice just like before, but now he looks down and doesn’t see churning, miles-deep water. He sees something solid to walk on, the ability to move on to something new.

He draws in a deep breath and takes that first step forward. “I’m just kind of sad that things are ending, I guess. Like, it won’t be the same now that the seniors are gone. And I know that’s just a part of life, and that sometimes I can’t really do anything about it, but it still sucks to have to live through it.”

It takes his mom a moment to respond. He traces the marbling in the counter as he waits. Finally, she starts, “you’re right in that these things are inevitable. Life is all about change, and the nature of change demands that you lose something in the process.

“But don’t forget that this is your life, Mingyu. Yes, there are some things out of your control, but you still have agency. If you truly care for these people as much as you say, then I believe you have the ability to maintain these relationships, no matter what life tries to dictate.

“I’m sure you noticed it, but I didn’t have many friends until a few months ago,” she says. Mingyu snaps his head up to find her smiling wryly, the look in her eyes distant. “I lost touch with all of my friends after I graduated college, and I was never really close with my coworkers. But I reached out to my college friends and we managed to reconnect, and now it’s as if we were never apart.” She inclines her head knowingly. “I’m sure you know how that feels, right?”

Mingyu does. He thought it was a miracle before, that Seokmin could be so far away for so long, and then come back and fit right into Mingyu’s life as if he never left. Now, listening to his mom’s words, seeing her dress up every Sunday with a smile on her face, he wonders if maybe it wasn’t such a miracle after all. Maybe these things could truly happen all the time if he wanted them to, if he tries hard enough.

He realizes, with a jolt, that he hasn’t answered his mom’s question. “Right,” he says quickly. “I… yeah, you’re right. I guess I’m just scared of things changing too much.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being scared,” his mom says. “I’m sure I was terrified of everything I had to face when I was your age. But give yourself and the people around you some credit. Despite how much external circumstances may change, at their core, people don’t change that easily. And it seems, to me at least, that the people around you are good people who care about you as much as you care about them.”

“They are,” Mingyu says, thinking of too many things to count - Minghao and Seokmin on the bleachers at night, Seungkwan giving him his favorite flavor of Pocky, Junhui bringing him his jacket outside of the karaoke place. “I… you’re right. Thanks, mom.”

His mom shakes her head. “I’m your mother, aren’t I? This is part of the job description.” Her smile turns mischievous. “I may be overstepping here, but that Wonwoo boy especially seems to care for you a lot-”

“Okay, let’s end the conversation here,” Mingyu says quickly. Partially out of habit, but mostly to escape the mortifying ordeal of talking about his relationship with his mom, he turns to check the time on the oven display. “I’ll start making dinner.”

“Don’t bother,” his mom says. “It’s been a long day, I’m sure you’re tired. I’ll order takeout. What do you want to eat?”

Mingyu smiles so wide his face hurts a little. “Fried chicken?”

His mom laughs. “I was hoping you would say that.”

Chapter Text

Graduation blues aside, Mingyu welcomes summer break and all the freedoms it affords him with open arms. He spends most of his days working out, cooking, lying on the floor of either Minghao’s or Seokmin’s bedroom, and sitting on the bleachers eating convenience store popsicles. His mom takes a weekend to drive the two of them out to her hometown to visit relatives; Mingyu smiles and recites his height more times than he can count, and nearly cries when he realizes how old his grandparents have gotten.

And, true to the promise he made himself, he starts learning about photography. Minghao smiles brightly when he tells him about his interest, and drags him and Seokmin to various scenic spots around town to take pictures. His Pinterest feed slowly fills up with photography inspiration. The only equipment he has access to are the camera on his phone and the bootlegged copy of Adobe Lightroom he found on a Reddit forum, but the feeling is the same as the one he gets when he cooks, of discovering and getting better at something he loves.

The seniors keep their promises of staying in touch, filling the groupchat with memes and video calls and, in Junhui’s case, an inordinate number of selfies. They take a weekend to go to an amusement park together, all ten of them, sweating under the sun as they wait in lines and buy overpriced hot dogs. Mingyu, given his fear of heights, nearly dies on the majority of the rides, but Wonwoo lets him hold his hand during the drops, so it isn’t as bad as it could’ve been. 

And, of course, there’s Wonwoo. On the second Monday since the beginning of the summer, Mingyu opens his door to find Wonwoo standing on his porch, in a short-sleeved button down and ripped jeans, looking so ridiculously attractive it’s a miracle Mingyu doesn’t jump his bones right then and there. 

He does, however, make a point to kiss him as soon as he’s closed the door, relishing in the privacy of the empty house. “You look good,” he says sincerely when they pull away.

Wonwoo smiles, the tips of his ears pink. “Well, this is our first official date,” he says. His eyes visibly flick down, then back up before he adds, “and you’re one to talk.”

Mingyu spent about an hour prior to Wonwoo’s arrival frantically video-calling Minghao about what to wear, and there’s a giant pile of clothing on his bed to show for it, but he chooses not to mention this. “Like what you see?” he jokes, striking a pose.

Wonwoo rolls his eyes. “Don’t you already know the answer?”

Mingyu grins. “I do,” he admits. He waits until Wonwoo’s finished taking his shoes off before taking his hand and adding, “but it’s still nice to hear you say it.”

Wonwoo’s face softens. “You look nice,” he says. “As you always do.”

Mingyu smiles back at him. “Thanks.” He pulls Wonwoo into the kitchen, where he’s already set everything up. “Do you know how to put these on now,” he asks, picking up one of the aprons and raising an eyebrow at Wonwoo, “or do you still need my help?”

Wonwoo huffs, snatching the apron out of Mingyu’s hand and stepping away, much to Mingyu’s amusement. “How many times have I cooked dinner with you? Of course I know how to put this on.”

--

“I don’t know how to put this on,” Wonwoo admits, his voice muffled through the fabric currently covering his face. 

Mingyu laughs at the sight of him, his shoulders slumped in defeat. “Lift your arms,” he says, pulling the apron off Wonwoo’s head when the latter complies. He presses a kiss to Wonwoo’s uncovered mouth, then adds, “you can just admit it, you know. I’ve had to help you with this every single time you come over.”

“I don’t think your aprons obey the laws of reality,” Wonwoo argues as Mingyu straightens the apron, arranging the loops.

“Maybe, but they were on sale,” Mingyu says, pulling the apron back over Wonwoo’s head with ease. “Put your arms through here.”

Wonwoo does, then looks adorably frustrated when he finds himself wearing the apron successfully. “Maybe these aprons just hate me.”

“No one could hate you,” Mingyu says without thinking, reaching out to fix Wonwoo’s collar.

Wonwoo huffs out a laugh. “I know a few classmates in middle school who would disagree.”

Mingyu freezes, his heart dropping like a stone into the pit of his stomach. “Shit,” he stammers out, jerking away, “I didn’t- I’m sorry, I didn’t think-”

Wonwoo’s eyes widen as he takes in Mingyu’s reaction, grabbing Mingyu’s hands as they recoil from his shoulders. “No, no, don’t be sorry,” he says, pulling him closer. “You didn’t say anything wrong, Mingyu.”

Mingyu shakes his head. “I did,” he says. “I never think about these things because I’ve never had to, and then I forget about how lucky I am that I don’t have to. That’s shitty of me.”

“No, it isn’t,” Wonwoo insists. “It isn’t my fault it happened to me, and it isn’t your fault it didn’t happen to you. Okay? Besides,” he smiles, and it’s so fond and affectionate that it kind of makes Mingyu want to cry, “I like that you can say these things so easily. I like it much more than if you were to tiptoe around me out of fear of saying something wrong.”

Mingyu laughs shakily. A part of him feels guilty for seeking comfort even though he’s the one at fault here, but a bigger part of him just really wants to be held, so he leans forward and rests his forehead against Wonwoo’s shoulder. “Good,” he mumbles. “Because I suck ass at tiptoeing. The only time I ever tried to sneak out of the house, I ended up knocking over a vase.”

Wonwoo chuckles. “When was this?”

“In, like, third grade,” Mingyu says. “I wanted to look at the moon, but for some reason I thought my mom would get mad at me if I did. Believe it or not, she was more mad about the vase.”

“I can’t imagine why,” Wonwoo agrees. Then, softer, “you’re cute.”

Mingyu smiles. “See? It’s nicer when you say it.”

--

The cooking goes fairly smoothly. Wonwoo successfully slices an onion for the first time, frowning when the slices come out chunkier and more uneven than Mingyu’s example. “You’re doing great,” Mingyu assures. At Wonwoo’s skeptical glare, he laughs and adds, “I’ve been cooking since I was, like, ten. It doesn’t make sense to compare yourself to me.”

Wonwoo huffs as he transfers the onions to a small bowl to be set aside for later. “I know, I know,” he says. “I just didn’t anticipate this being so difficult.”

“Well,” Mingyu says, grinning, “lucky for you, you have a teacher at your disposal. A very handsome teacher, might I add.”

Wonwoo rolls his eyes. “I don’t think teachers are supposed to flirt with their students."

“Who said I was flirting?” Mingyu asks, feigning offense. “I’m being very professional. Now peel this carrot, babe.”

“This is the least professional conduct I have ever seen,” Wonwoo says, but he dutifully takes the carrot and peeler Mingyu holds out and moves to stand over the sink. His movements are a little steadier here, which is to be expected; Mingyu always makes him do the peeling when he helps with dinner. “You know, my mom nearly cried the first time I offered to help her make dinner,” he adds. “Although she kicked me out after she realized I still couldn’t cut an onion.”

Mingyu laughs, leaning into Wonwoo’s side. “Well, now you know,” he says. “Maybe now you can make it all the way until the end of dinner prep before getting kicked out.”

Wonwoo wrinkles his nose. “I doubt it,” he says. “I did almost cut my finger off slicing that onion.”

Mingyu remembers, with a pang of residual panic, the way Wonwoo yelped a few minutes ago as the knife slid down the side of the onion instead of cutting down. “Yeah, and you almost gave me a heart attack in the process."

“And I regret it deeply,” Wonwoo says, the lilt of his voice teasing as he angles himself towards Mingyu a little, just enough so that Mingyu can see the brightness in his eyes. “What’s next?”

Mingyu has to blink a few times before he can focus on the task at hand. “Right!” He picks up the knife and cuts the carrot into three sections, removing and throwing out the ends. “Okay, here’s how you julienne a carrot,” he explains, taking one of the thirds. “You slice a bit off the bottom to make a flat surface so you can avoid, you know, cutting your finger off.” He picks up the sliced-off portion and holds it up to Wonwoo’s mouth, smiling when Wonwoo leans forward and eats it. “You’re cute.”

Wonwoo rolls his eyes as he chews. “The carrot, Mingyu,” he reminds him.

“Oh, so you can say it but I can’t?” Mingyu says in mock offense.

Wonwoo rolls his eyes again. “Of course you can say it," he says. "But the noodles are literally boiling as we speak.

“Ugh, stop being reasonable, I’m trying to be romantic here,” Mingyu complains, but he complies, because there is in fact a pot of noodles boiling behind him. He flips the carrot so the flat end is facing down and slices it smoothly. “So after you slice it, you stack the slices and then slice them again. Like this, see?” He presents the newly-julienned carrot with a flourish of his free hand. “And there you go.” He hands the knife to Wonwoo. "Now make this carrot your bitch."

“I'll try my best,” Wonwoo says. His movements are as clumsy as the average amateur’s, but he’s a fast learner, needing no reminders as he works through the other two sections of the carrot. “What made you start cooking?” he asks, dumping the julienned carrots into another small bowl. 

Mingyu considers this as he checks up on the noodles. “I wanted to help my mom,” he says, putting the lid back on the pot. “Wash this bell pepper, and then we’re going to julienne it, too. Anyways, my mom started working overtime a lot after she got her promotion, and she always looked super tired whenever she came home, so I figured I should take some of the weight off her back, you know? Turns out cooking was a lot more fun than I thought it would be, so it worked out.”

“I guess it did,” Wonwoo agrees. He glances at Mingyu, then, and the look on his face is so full of affection that Mingyu is kind of finding it hard to breathe. “You’re really incredible, you know that?”

Okay, now Mingyu is really finding it hard to breathe. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that when I was in sixth grade, I was playing video games with my friends and complaining about having to take the trash out once a week,” Wonwoo says. He steps closer and brushes a hand through Mingyu’s hair, achingly gentle. “And you were cooking every meal because you wanted to help.” He rocks up onto his tiptoes to press a light kiss to Mingyu’s lips. “You’re one of the most amazing people I’ve ever met. I’m lucky to call you mine.”

Mingyu is stunned speechless, his heart feeling so full he thinks it’s going to burst. All he can think about is how wrong Wonwoo is - how, between the two of them, there's really no contest as to who’s the lucky one. “First you admit that you like it when I call you cute, and now this? I don’t think my heart can handle it, babe.”

“I guess I should stop, then,” Wonwoo teases. “I wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to you.” His eyes slide to a spot past Mingyu’s shoulder. “Are the noodles supposed to do that?”

Mingyu turns around to find the noodles doing something they absolutely shouldn’t be doing. “Shit!” he yelps, the moment forgotten as he rushes to prevent a fire hazard. Wonwoo just laughs, because he’s terrible.

--

They manage to get through the rest of the cooking without any other fire hazards or emotionally devastating conversations, and then a half hour later, Mingyu is sitting next to Wonwoo on the couch with a bowl of japchae in his lap, Netflix already loaded up onto the TV. “What do you wanna watch?” he asks, picking up the remote with his free hand.

Wonwoo hums, leaning into his side a little. It’s nice to see him so at home on Mingyu’s couch, a pleasant contrast to how he used to sit before, all straight posture and knees pressed firmly together. Now, he lets Mingyu sling his leg over his thigh and says, “oh, they have Me Before You! I really liked the book, I’ve always wanted to watch the movie.”

Mingyu grins down at him. “Really? I always thought you were a ‘the book was better’ kind of person.”

Wonwoo snorts. “Rude. I’m not that pretentious.” At Mingyu’s disbelieving stare, he huffs and amends, “okay, maybe I’m a little pretentious. But I like a few movie adaptations. I liked Little Women.”

“Everyone liked Little Women,” Mingyu argues.

“Okay, fine,” Wonwoo relents. “I liked One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.”

Mingyu hums. “I have no idea what that is, but it sounds pretentious.”

“It’s not!” Wonwoo protests. “It’s about a man who gets falsely diagnosed with a mental illness, and- I’m not helping my case, am I?”

Mingyu smothers the last of his laughter, kissing Wonwoo’s temple to smoothen out the glare Wonwoo gives him in response. It works; he watches Wonwoo’s expression soften as he says, “I’m kidding. I think it’s cool that you like stuff like that.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “And a little sexy.”

Wonwoo makes a face of disgust. “I distinctly remember you saying otherwise."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Mingyu says, which makes Wonwoo laugh. He presses a button on the remote, which loads the movie onto the screen. “Me Before You it is, then.”

“Really?” Wonwoo looks a little surprised. “Are you sure? We don’t have to watch it if you aren’t interested in it.”

“What are you talking about? I love romantic movies,” Mingyu says, which is true. He’s pretty sure his Netflix list is fifty percent K-Drama and fifty percent American romcom. “Besides, you want to watch it, don’t you?”

Wonwoo blinks. “Well, yeah.”

“Then that’s all that matters,” Mingyu says.

Wonwoo doesn’t say anything after that, so Mingyu takes it as the end of the conversation. He sets down the remote and is about to dig into the japchae when the remote is picked up again, the movie paused right in the middle of the opening credits.

He turns to find Wonwoo moving his bowl onto the table, looking resolute. Worry spikes in his chest. “Babe? What’s going on?”

His reply comes in the form of Wonwoo pushing his leg off his thigh, with silent determination. He’s just started to wonder whether he said something wrong when, all of a sudden, he’s being pushed backwards against the couch cushions, hard enough to knock some air out of his lungs. Wonwoo is hovering over him in the blink of an eye, hands bracketing his face. Mingyu realizes, with a feeling like running through a field of flowers, exactly what Wonwoo was looking so resolved about.

Sure enough: “I like you so much,” Wonwoo says quietly.

Mingyu laughs, although it comes out a lot breathier than intended. “Really? I couldn’t tell,” he teases.

Wonwoo rolls his eyes, which is made significantly more attractive by the position they’re currently in - although Mingyu would be lying if he said he didn’t occasionally make Wonwoo roll his eyes on purpose, just to see him do it - and leans down to kiss Mingyu. Mingyu tilts his head up slightly to meet him halfway, making a pleased hum in the back of his throat.

“I like you too, by the way,” he says when they pull away.

Wonwoo grins, wolfish. “Really? I couldn’t tell.” He brushes a strand of hair out of Mingyu’s face and adds, softer, “my dad and I have started working on our garden. Do you want to come by sometime? To see it?”

“I’d love to,” Mingyu says, leaning into the touch a little. “I could help out too, if you want.”

Wonwoo frowns. “Are you sure? It’s hard work.”

“Hey, what are you trying to imply?” Mingyu says in mock offense. “I’m a strong boy, you know. Besides, it’ll be like a fun workout!”

Wonwoo squints. “I don’t know about ‘fun’.”

“Anything’s fun if it’s with you,” Mingyu says sincerely.

Wonwoo groans and sits back. “You’re disgusting.”

“Yeah, but you like me, remember?” Mingyu sits up and nudges Wonwoo with his knee. “So is it okay? If I help out?”

“Of course it is,” Wonwoo says. “I would never object to spending more time with you, Mingyu, you know that. And I’m sure my dad would love the extra help.”

Mingyu grins. “So it’s settled, then. Now,” he leans forward to peck Wonwoo’s lips quickly before continuing, “as much as I like just sitting here talking, the japchae’s gonna go bad if we don’t start eating soon.”

Wonwoo blinks. “Right.” Mingyu watches as he picks up his bowl and takes a bite, carefully, like he’s afraid he somehow poisoned the food during the cooking process. He chews slowly at first, then picks up the pace as his eyes light up. “This is…”

Mingyu’s grin widens. “Good?”

Wonwoo shakes his head. “Amazing. I didn’t think I was capable of making something like this.”

"Now you can make ramen and this when you go to college," Mingyu says. "I won’t have to call you every night to make sure you don’t die of scurvy.”

Wonwoo huffs, covering his mouth as he swallows. “I wasn’t going to die of scurvy regardless,” he protests after. “I would’ve eaten an apple a day or something.”

“That does not make me feel better,” Mingyu says.

“Rude,” Wonwoo says. He nudges Mingyu’s shoulder gently and adds, “you should still call me every night, though.”

Mingyu leans closer. “Aw, babe, do you like talking to me that much?”

“Unfortunately, I do,” Wonwoo says. “Despite how often you call me a nerd or try to blatantly flirt with me.”

Mingyu grins. “You mean the highlights of our conversation?” 

“That’s definitely not what I meant,” Wonwoo says. “Anyways, we should start the movie now if we want to finish it before your mom gets home.”

Mingyu jolts and checks the time. Wonwoo’s right - they’ve been talking for way longer than he thought. “What’s this movie about, by the way?” he asks, picking up the remote and pressing play.

Wonwoo swallows another mouthful of japchae and says, “a woman gets a job as a caretaker for a wealthy businessman who was rendered quadriplegic by an accident. They end up inspiring the will to live in each other. It’s a little cheesy at times, but I really liked some of the overarching themes and messages.”

Mingyu hums thoughtfully as he picks up his bowl and starts eating. Wonwoo was right - it’s really good, especially for a first attempt. “So on a scale of one to ten, how likely are you to cry at the end of this movie?”

“In the interest of preserving my own dignity, I’m not going to answer that,” Wonwoo says.

--

Wonwoo cries. Mingyu, ever the gracious boyfriend, only laughs at him a little.

Chapter 35

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

As promised, Mingyu starts helping out in Wonwoo’s garden. It’s hard work, as Wonwoo warned - long hours spent crouched under the unrelenting heat of the July sun, sweat dripping onto soil. Seokmin helps out, too, although he looks much more reluctant, grumbling about his back hurting. Minghao also drops by occasionally, does the most work, and then looks the least tired at the end. Mrs. Jeon-Lee brings them slices of watermelon and cups of homemade lemonade that they enjoy in the garden, occasionally poking her head out from the sliding glass door to tell them to be careful. 

Mr. Jeon-Lee gets marginally less intimidating. The more time Mingyu spends with him, the more similarities he sees between the man and his eldest son - the lame jokes, the careful and deliberate way of speaking, the laugh. Mingyu actually gets in a few solid conversations with him without making any major blunders, to his own delight. 

After the sun has set, Mr. Jeon-Lee lets them go back into the air-conditioned reprieve of the house, where they take turns showering and then collapse onto the couch to play video games or watch anime. It’s the epitome of a teenage summer movie. Mingyu feels light as air during these evenings, laughing with some of the most important people in the world to him, so comfortable he could melt into the couch and never get back up.

Mingyu calls Wonwoo at exactly midnight on his birthday, and they stay up until three in the morning talking. Wonwoo spends half the day with his family and half the day with Junhui, and then the day after that, he shows up on Mingyu’s porch with his hands in his pockets, the wind sifting through his hair.

He chokes on air the second Mingyu swings the door open, a flush spreading from the tips of his ears to the planes of his cheekbones. “Happy birthday, babe,” Mingyu says, grinning.

Wonwoo huffs out a laugh, sounding a little short of breath as he asks, “is this my present?”

He is, of course, referring to the maid outfit Mingyu is currently wearing, complete with the dog ears. “It’s a part of it,” Mingyu says. “Obviously there’s more. Come on, the food’s getting cold.”

“You made food ?” Wonwoo says, incredulous, as he follows Mingyu into the house.

Mingyu snorts. “Of course I made food, it's like, my primary love language," he says as he leads Wonwoo into the kitchen. It's set up to look as similar to his ‘first date’ Pinterest moodboard as possible, adorned with tea lights and matching china and fresh flowers from Wonwoo's front yard. “I forgot it would still be light out,” he says, feeling a little nervous as Wonwoo surveys the set-up silently, “so the candles look kind of dumb, but hopefully you, uh, like it?”

“I do,” Wonwoo answers after a nerve-wracking moment. His eyes, when he turns to Mingyu, are warm. “I like it a lot. Thank you, Mingyu.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Mingyu says, taking Wonwoo’s hand and leading him to his seat. He drops a kiss onto the top of Wonwoo’s head before walking around to the other side of the island and sitting down as well, careful not to get anything on his clothes as he leans over and takes the lid off the pan in front of him. 

Wonwoo’s eyes widen through the steam that curls up into the air between them. “You made me spicy pork bulgogi?”

“Well, I know you like spicy meat dishes,” Mingyu recites, “but I don’t know which one you like the most, so I just made the one I’m most familiar with. Is that… okay?”

“It’s more than okay.” The look in Wonwoo’s eyes has gotten impossibly warmer, a bottomless well of affection that Mingyu’s pretty sure he doesn’t deserve. “I love spicy pork bulgogi. Is this where I thank you?”

Mingyu shakes his head. “You can thank me after we finish eating,” he says, placing a bowl of rice next to Wonwoo’s plate.

Wonwoo raises his eyebrows. “Is there more after this?”

Mingyu smiles mysteriously - well, as mysteriously as he can, given his personality - and says, “eat your food, babe.”

“Okay, okay,” Wonwoo says, picking up his chopsticks obligingly. His smile, after he tastes the food, is brighter than the candles and the sunlight combined.

--

After dinner, Mingyu drags Wonwoo up to his bedroom, the bell at his neck jingling lightly with each step up the stairs. “Close your eyes,” he tells Wonwoo before turning and rummaging around in his desk drawer. 

When he turns back around, Wonwoo’s covering his eyes with a hand, looking unfairly attractive even in the dim lighting of the room. “Can I open them now?”

“Not yet.” Mingyu takes Wonwoo’s free hand and presses the gift into his palm, curling his fingers around its edges. “Okay, now open them.”

Wonwoo complies, blinking as he processes what he’s holding. Mingyu can pinpoint the exact moment it registers - Wonwoo’s mouth opens a little in surprise before curving into a smile, sweet and slow. “Is this my Animal Crossing island?”

“It is,” Mingyu confirms as Wonwoo shakes out the cloth to its full size. “I found a place online that does custom prints, and I figured since you’re always cleaning your glasses with your shirt, you could use one.”

“I do need one,” Wonwoo says. “I lost mine a while ago, and I’ve been too lazy to replace it. I-” he stumbles over his words, looking a little overwhelmed. Mingyu reaches out to steady him on instinct, splaying a hand against the small of his back. “This is more than I could ever ask for, Mingyu. Thank you.”

“I know, right? I’m the best boyfriend in the world,” Mingyu jokes. Wonwoo huffs but doesn’t make any attempt to refute his claim; he leans forward and adds, softer, “this is the least you deserve, you know.”

Wonwoo ducks his head, his ears turning red. “I don’t know if I agree with that, but I’ll take your word for it.”

Mingyu takes Wonwoo’s hand, breaking out into a smile when Wonwoo lifts his head to meet his eyes. “Happy birthday, babe.”

Wonwoo’s shoulders rise and fall once, twice as he stares up at Mingyu, haloed by the sunlight streaming in through the window. If Mingyu were the poetic type, he’d probably write a sonnet or two about how Wonwoo looks in this moment; but he isn’t, unfortunately, so he settles for committing the sight to memory instead. 

Suddenly, he realizes that Wonwoo hasn’t said anything for longer than usual. His shoulders are still rising and falling, his eyes fixed on Mingyu’s face, his expression unreadable. The look on his face is what Mingyu imagines skydiving feels like for someone who isn’t deathly afraid of heights, equal parts terror and exhilaration. But why is he looking at him like that?

“Babe?” he prompts, squeezing Wonwoo’s hand lightly. “Is everything okay?”

Wonwoo visibly startles, as if remembering that he has a conversation to maintain. “Sorry,” he says, sheepish, squeezing Mingyu’s hand back. “Everything’s fine.”

Mingyu raises his eyebrows, slightly unconvinced. “Are you sure? You looked like you were pretty deep in thought back there.”

Uncertainty flickers through Wonwoo’s eyes, almost too fast to catch, making anxiety stir in Mingyu’s chest. Wonwoo must see it on his face, because he offers a comforting smile, lifting his free hand to fix Mingyu’s collar. “I was,” he admits. “I’ll tell you about it later, okay? It isn’t anything bad,” he tacks on.

Mingyu is unconvinced, the uncertainty in Wonwoo’s eyes stuck in his mind, but he trusts Wonwoo enough to let it go. “Okay,” he says.

Wonwoo’s smile warms. “Okay.”

Mingyu grins. “Maybe ‘okay’ can be our ‘always’?”

“Absolutely not,” Wonwoo says immediately. He shifts a little. “By the way, how much time do we have until your mom gets home?”

Mingyu fishes his phone out of the pocket of his skirt. “About an hour and a half?”

“Perfect,” Wonwoo says, and pulls him in by the collar.

--

Junhui leaves for China on the first day of August. It’s a testament to how much he’s loved that all nine of them show up at the airport to see him off, clogging up the waiting zone and earning more than a few disgruntled glares from the other passengers. Mingyu buys him a cute sweater as a going-away gift, which earns him a very forceful tackle-hug and a much gentler thanks afterwards. Wonwoo tells him to stop playing so many mobile games at least five times, and to text him as soon as his flight lands at least ten times. Seungkwan obsessively asks him if he’s packed everything he needs. Minghao talks to him in rapid-fire Mandarin, saying something that makes him give one of his rare genuine smiles and pat Minghao on the back.

They hang out for another half hour before Junhui’s parents usher him to the boarding gate. The other nine of them wave and call out to the family as they join the line, waving all the way until they disappear past the security check. 

Silence falls over them like a weighted blanket. “I’m gonna miss him,” Mingyu says quietly.

“Me too,” Minghao says. He’s standing all by himself, not leaning into Mingyu’s side or holding Seokmin’s hand like he usually would. It’s what he does when he wants to separate himself from everything, to create a small corner for himself where he can sit and think. The look in his eyes is sad, reminding Mingyu of the conversation they had on his bedroom floor, in the midst of exam season. At the end of everything. 

At the end of everything, but also the beginning of something else, Mingyu reminds himself. “You wanna come over and watch Howl’s Moving Castle with me?” he says, wrapping an arm around Minghao’s shoulders.

Minghao smiles up at him, small and tired. “Do I want to watch you obsess over Howl, you mean.”

“Hey, that’s unfair,” Mingyu protests. “Literally everyone obsesses over Howl.” He steers Minghao around and towards the airport’s exit, where the rest of their friends are already waiting, dodging the pair of little kids who barrel past them. “I have some ice cream in the freezer. We can have a sleepover and everything.”

“Sure,” Minghao says. “I’ll let my parents know.” He pauses. “Will Wonwoo be okay?”

Of course Minghao would think about Wonwoo, even in the midst of his own emotional turmoil. Despite everything he might say otherwise, Mingyu is incredibly lucky to call this person his best friend. “Yeah, Seokmin’s going to play first-person shooters with him until he cheers up, apparently.” He pulls out his phone and pulls up his text messages with Seokmin from the morning. “See?”

Minghao squints down at Mingyu’s phone for a few seconds before laughing quietly, looking a little relieved. “Seokmin sure has a way of comforting people.”

Mingyu hums in agreement. “And somehow it always works.”

That makes Minghao laugh again and lean into his side a little, which is nice. The nine of them exit the airport together, gathering in the hectic pick-up zone and chatting quietly as they wait for their respective chaperones to arrive.

Vernon’s dad arrives first; the round of goodbyes has barely ended before Mingyu spots Mr Jeon-Lee's car pulling up to the curb. “Are you guys gonna be okay here?” he asks Soonyoung and Jihoon.

“We’re good,” Jihoon answers. “My dad’s just running a few minutes late. Besides, if Soonyoung gets too annoying I’ll just push him into oncoming traffic.”

Soonyoung gasps theatrically. “You wouldn’t .”

“You have no idea how easily I would,” Jihoon replies. Minghao’s dragging Mingyu towards the car before he can catch Soonyoung’s response.

They pile onto the car, Wonwoo in the passenger seat as usual, Minghao once again relegated to the middle seat. Seokmin and Mingyu talk about the girl group comeback that’s currently dominating the charts; Minghao stays silent the entire time, save for a few quiet giggles whenever either of them say something particularly funny or dumb. Wonwoo only speaks up once throughout the entire car ride, as his dad takes a right turn into their neighborhood. “Minghao, are you going to stop by your house, or are you going straight to Mingyu’s?”

“Straight to Mingyu’s,” Minghao says, at the same time that Mingyu leans forward and asks, “wait, how did you know he was coming to my house?”

He’s sitting diagonally from the passenger seat, so Wonwoo only has to turn a little to look him in the eye. Wonwoo’s smile is teasing but gentle as he says, “you aren’t exactly the quietest person.”

“Rude,” Mingyu says. Wonwoo laughs before turning back around to give his dad directions.

--

Mr. Jeon-Lee drops the two of them off at Mingyu’s house a few moments later. They disembark, say goodbye to Wonwoo and Seokmin, thank Mr. Jeon-Lee for the ride, and then head up the steps to the porch. 

Mingyu’s mom is in the kitchen when they enter, scrolling through her phone. She looks up when she hears the door open. “Hello, boys. How was the airport?”

“Good,” Mingyu says, taking his shoes off, Minghao bowing politely next to him. “Can Minghao stay over tonight?”

“Of course,” she says easily. “You are always welcome here, Minghao.”

Minghao smiles and half-bows again. “Thank you.”

“There’s no need to thank me.” She stands up, placing her mug in the sink as she adds, “I’ll be upstairs if you need me. Feel free to order something for dinner - Mingyu, you have my credit card.”

“I do,” Mingyu confirms. He exchanges a smile with his mom before she heads up the stairs, and then drags Minghao to the living room. “Wait here, I’ll get the ice cream.”

“Did you buy the good pistachio one?” Minghao asks as Mingyu opens the freezer door and sticks his head inside. “From the convenience store?”

Mingyu snorts. “Obviously. Who do you think I am?” He emerges with the pistachio and another tub of chocolate, holding the stack in place with his chin as he closes the door. Minghao has already turned on the TV and pulled up Howl’s Moving Castle on Netflix by the time he makes his way back to the couch, spoons in hand. 

Mingyu flops down onto the couch, passing the pistachio tub and a spoon to Minghao. They usually fight over this tub - a fight that Mingyu usually loses, which doesn’t even matter because Minghao gives him the tub two minutes later anyway - but Mingyu figures Minghao needs it more today. Minghao gives him a small, grateful smile as he digs in, the Studio Ghibli logo on the TV washing the room in blue.

They’ve both seen the movie too many times to count, often with each other and usually during sleepovers just like this one, so it doesn’t take long before they stop paying attention altogether. Mingyu breaks the silence first by asking, “are you doing okay?”

Minghao keeps his eyes on the screen as he puts the ice cream down. “When am I not doing okay?” he says. It’s a joke, but not really - Minghao is steady and tranquil and wise beyond his years, yes, but he’s still a kid at the end of it all. A seventeen-year-old boy who just watched one of his closest friends board a plane to a whole other country. 

Mingyu knows this, just as much as he knows that Minghao never lets himself act like the kid he is. It’s, paradoxically, one of his most childish traits. So he nudges Minghao and says, as quietly as he can muster, “come on, Hao.”

Minghao sighs and - there it is - tilts his head to rest against Mingyu’s shoulder, drawing his knees up to his chest. “I’m sad that he’s gone. I’m sad that we only got to meet in September. Part of me wants to ask him to stay, but part of me feels guilty for feeling any of this at all when this is clearly a dream come true to him. I don’t know which part is bigger.”

Mingyu puts an arm around Minghao’s shoulders and pulls him a little closer. He feels small like this, without all the poise and maturity that makes him look so much taller. “Has anyone ever told you that you don’t need to know everything?”

Minghao doesn’t answer for a moment. “I know how I’m supposed to be feeling, at least,” he says finally.

“Which is what? Happy for Junhui, because his well-being comes before yours?” Minghao doesn’t answer. Mingyu takes this as an affirmative, his heart growing heavy at the thought of all the weight Minghao forces himself to carry. “You’re allowed to be selfish sometimes, you know. I think it’ll be good for you, even.” He adds, teasing, “besides, if you’re selfless all the time, you’re basically forcing the rest of us to be selfish all the time, which is pretty selfish of you, don’t you think?”

Minghao laughs, sounding surprised. “Are you seriously using my own moral code against me right now?”

“It’s a taste of your own medicine,” Mingyu confirms. Minghao laughs again. “Seriously, though. You’re a teenager whose close friend just moved away, dude, no one's going to blame you if you act like it. You haven’t talked to Junhui about this, have you?”

“No,” Minghao admits. Onscreen, Sophie races to enter the castle. “I didn’t want to distract him from his preparations.”

“Have you considered that not talking to him would be more distracting?” Mingyu glances at Minghao to find him frowning, looking confused. He smiles. “Like, he probably knows that you’re feeling this way, and he’s waiting for you to talk to him about it. Junhui seems like that kind of person.”

There's another pause. “He is,” Minghao says. His voice sounds lighter, like he’s had a weight lifted off of him. “I’ll talk to him about it once he’s settled in.”

“There you go.” Mingyu turns back to the movie; Howl’s making breakfast, tossing eggshells into the flame. “I’m proud of you,” he adds, because he is, and he always has been.

Minghao huffs, but he sounds pleased, leaning further into Mingyu’s side. “Thanks. It’s weird being on the receiving end.”

“I know, right? I feel like I should say something dumb to restore the balance or something. Two bees or not two bees, I guess,” Mingyu jokes, which makes Minghao laugh again, brighter this time, cutting through the darkening room. “Oh, that reminds me! I should check up on Wonwoo.”

“You two are disgusting,” Minghao says, peering over Mingyu’s shoulder as he takes his phone out and opens up his text messages. “Tell him I said hi.”

“We aren’t even that disgusting, you guys are just mean,” Mingyu complains. “Seungkwan and Vernon are worse.”

“Right,” Minghao says, unimpressed. “Says the one who has his boyfriend’s contact saved as ‘bf’ with three hearts.”

“Hey, it’s cute!” Mingyu protests. Minghao doesn’t say anything to that, but his silence looms, disapproving, as Mingyu types away.

 

to: bf <3 <3 <3

babe!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

how r u feeling???

 

Minghao makes a noise of disgust. “Rude,” Mingyu says.

It takes a minute for Wonwoo to reply.

 

from: bf <3 <3 <3

i’m okay

currently beating seokmin’s ass at call of duty, which is nice

seokmin says hi, by the way

 

to: bf <3 <3 <3

tell him i say hi back!!!

minghao also says hi

 

from: bf <3 <3 <3

hey minghao

is he doing okay?

 

Mingyu glances at Minghao for an answer, who gives him a thumbs up. He turns back to his phone.

 

to: bf <3 <3 <3

hes good!

were watching howls moving castle :))

 

from: bf <3 <3 <3

oh i love that movie

seokmin wants you to know that howl is the sexiest man alive

 

to: bf <3 <3 <3

seokmin is right

except for u!!!!!!!!! no one is as sexy as u ;)

and also me obv

 

from: bf <3 <3 <3

you’re ridiculous

i have to go, seokmin is making me play mario kart with him instead

 

to: bf <3 <3 <3

rude

ok have fun!!!!!! <3

 

from: bf <3 <3 <3

you too

<3

 

Mingyu smiles to himself as he turns off his phone, only to be met with the look of utter disgust on Minghao’s face. “What?” he asks, defensive.

“You’re way worse than Seungkwan and Vernon,” Minghao says definitively, turning back to the movie as Mingyu squawks in offense.

--

Junhui makes up for his physical absence by doubling his presence in the groupchat, sending pictures of everything he does with the fervor of an Asian mom on a weekend trip with her family. A week or so after Mingyu saw him off at the airport, he texts Mingyu privately.

 

from: moonjun <3

mingyu!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

a little birdy told me u were the one who told hao 2 talk 2 me ;)

merci beaucoup ;) ;) ;)

 

to: moonjun <3

omg u dont need to thank me

i am happy to help anyway i can :)

 

from: moonjun <3

ugh ur so cute i wanna pinch ur cheeks >:)

tell ur bf to watch out >:)

 

to: moonjun <3

u can pinch my cheeks anytime junhui

just fly back here first thx

 

from: moonjun <3

omw~~

 

Mingyu heart-reacts to Junhui’s message, and is about to put his phone aside so he can focus on the French onion soup that’s currently bubbling in front of him when it buzzes with an incoming call. He checks the Caller ID, smiles to himself almost instinctively, and presses Accept. 

“Hey babe!” he greets, sandwiching his phone between his shoulder and his ear so he can stir the contents of the pot. “What’s up?”

“Hey.” Wonwoo sounds uncharacteristically nervous, which is adorable. “Oh shit, wait, are you making dinner right now?”

“I am, but it’s fine, I can talk,” Mingyu assures. “What’s going on? You sound nervous.”

Wonwoo huffs, sending a burst of static across the line. “I’m a little nervous,” he admits. “I wanted to ask you something.”

“Aw babe, it’s so cute that I make you nervous,” Mingyu teases, laughing to himself when Wonwoo huffs again. He puts the lid back on the pot and reduces the heat. “Ask away!”

Wonwoo takes a moment to reply. Mingyu can picture him shifting his weight back and forth like he does when he’s uncomfortable, his brow furrowed as he figures out how to word what he wants to say. “My biological mom’s birthday is in a few weeks. I usually visit her grave then - bring her flowers, tell her about how my life’s going, you know. I was wondering if you… wanted to come with me?”

Mingyu’s breath catches in his throat. He knows the broad strokes of Wonwoo’s family history, of course - that Seokmin and Wonwoo are half-brothers, that Mrs. Jeon-Lee isn’t Wonwoo’s biological mother. And as curious as he got sometimes, especially when he was younger, he was always okay with never knowing the details. But now, here, Wonwoo is opening up a whole new part of himself to Mingyu, one of the deepest and most vulnerable parts. The gravity, the significance of his offer is heavy enough to knock Mingyu backwards. “Wonwoo, I- I mean, are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure.” Wonwoo’s voice is gentle, which is absurd - Mingyu should be the one comforting him, not the other way around. “I want you to meet her.”

Mingyu swallows hard, feeling his eyes prickle. “Okay,” he says. “I’d love to.”

Wonwoo laughs under his breath. “I’m glad. I’ll text you the details, okay? Sorry for calling you in the middle of dinner.”

“What are you saying sorry for? You can call me whenever you want.” Mingyu smiles to himself like an idiot, standing alone in his kitchen. “I like hearing your voice.”

Wonwoo laughs. "I'll keep that in mind. Should I prepare my vocal cords next time?"

“Babe, would be so romantic,” Mingyu gushes. The oven beeps, making him startle slightly. “Okay, I gotta go! Think about me!”

“Always,” Wonwoo says easily before ending the call.

Notes:

we're almost at the end!! the last chapter is more of a short epilogue of sorts, so it'll be posted on saturday, a day after the second-last chapter. get ready for friday update and the long-ass author's note that i'm inevitably going to write on saturday!!!

Chapter 36

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

It’s raining on the morning Wonwoo picks Mingyu up, his umbrella a stark black against the white, washed-out sky. “Pathetic fallacy at its finest,” he jokes, his smile just a little sad, his voice subdued by the rain and the occasion.

Mingyu smiles back and reaches out for Wonwoo’s hand on impulse, but hesitates at the last moment, unsure of how to conduct himself. Wonwoo quells his uncertainty by finishing what he started, reaching out and lacing their fingers together. “Sorry,” Mingyu says, feeling awkward in his own skin. “I don’t want to be disrespectful.”

Wonwoo shakes his head. “You won’t be. Just think of it as meeting my parents again.”

“I don’t know if you remember, but I didn’t do that well with meeting your parents the first time,” Mingyu jokes weakly, fumbling with his key as he locks the front door behind him. 

Wonwoo huffs. “You did well,” he insists as he tugs Mingyu down the steps. Mingyu takes the umbrella - he’s taller, after all. “I think your self-imposed standards are the real problem here.”

“Aren’t they always?” Mingyu says.

Wonwoo laughs under his breath and presses a kiss to Mingyu’s cheek, just above his jaw. “You have always done better than you give yourself credit for,” he reminds gently.

How can Mingyu not smile at that? “So I’ve heard,” he says, which earns him another laugh. It’s starting to become a pattern, Wonwoo comforting Mingyu when it should be the other way around.

They set off. The sidewalks are basically deserted, save for a person or two scrambling for shelter in the distance. Despite the rain, it’s still fairly warm, the sun shining dully behind the thick cloud cover, the air heavy with humidity. The collar of Mingyu’s shirt turns damp with sweat.

They arrive at the bus stop, the same one they use on the trips to and from school, with two minutes to spare. “It’ll be strange,” Wonwoo says, running a hand through his hair, “not seeing this stop every morning.”

Mingyu’s heart sinks slightly at the reminder. Of course - for Wonwoo, all of this exists in the past tense. The stop he used to use, to go to the school he used to attend. “It’ll be weird not seeing you here every morning,” he says, collapsing the umbrella. He shakes it a little to knock the raindrops off and adds, half-joking, “what am I going to look forward to now?”

“You could text me when you wake up,” Wonwoo suggests. “I can’t guarantee I’ll be awake, though. All my classes are in the afternoon.”

Mingyu laughs. “I’ll be waiting by my phone all morning,” he says, leaning a little closer. 

The white sky reflects off the planes of Wonwoo’s face, clear and gentle, as he huffs. “Or maybe you should focus on class instead.”

“Lame.” The bus arrives then; Mingyu feels a rush of happiness when Wonwoo keeps their hands firmly intertwined as he pays the fare, like always. They find seats towards the back, sitting down just before the bus starts pulling away from the curb. 

It’s quiet, the carriage empty save for a trio of younger girls sitting towards the front, all on their phones. Rain drums against the windows and drips from the umbrella in Mingyu’s hand. Wonwoo pulls his headphones out of his pocket, gives Mingyu an earbud, and then doesn’t say anything for the rest of the ride. 

Mingyu glances at him. He’s staring at the scenery rushing past like he isn’t really seeing it, his eyes glazed over. Mingyu can’t even begin to imagine what’s running through his mind at the moment, on the bus in the rain, on his way to his mother’s grave.

The stop for the high school slides past. So does the high school itself, along with the rest of the landmarks that Mingyu recognizes. The suburbs dissipate, giving way to wide, empty fields broken periodically by a gas station, a small strip mall, an office building. 

Mingyu’s reading the deals plastered on the front of a convenience store when he feels Wonwoo squeeze his hand. “We’re almost there,” he says, his voice slightly rough from an entire bus ride spent in silence. The look on his face, when Mingyu turns to look at him, is unreadable.

“Are you okay?” Mingyu asks.

Wonwoo nods, reaching his arm across Mingyu’s body to press the button for the next stop. “I’m okay,” he assures. “I’ve been looking forward to talking to her again.”

Mingyu smiles and squeezes Wonwoo’s hand. Wonwoo returns a smaller, more tired smile of his own as the bus screeches to a stop. They stay silent as they disembark, as they wait in the shelter as Mingyu opens the umbrella again, as they head down the sidewalk.

The cars rush past. The rain lets up just a little. Mingyu zones out so much he doesn’t even realize they’ve reached their destination until he feels Wonwoo stop beside him, their joined hands tugging him backwards in tandem.

Mingyu peeks out from underneath the bottom of the umbrella. It’s a small, nondescript flower shop, the wooden sign drenched with rain. A chime goes off overhead as they push open the door, painted green and slightly rusted. 

Wonwoo makes a beeline towards a corner of the store with a familiarity that suggests years of patronage. Mingyu greets the middle-aged man behind the counter, who nods at him gruffly before disappearing into a back room.

Mingyu’s about to go looking for Wonwoo when the boy in question appears at his side again, clutching a small bouquet in his hand, white and purple and smelling faintly of oranges. “I get one each year,” he explains.

Mingyu nods. “It’s pretty.”

Wonwoo chuckles quietly, taking Mingyu’s hand with the one that isn’t holding the flowers. “Thanks. Let’s go, the next bus is arriving soon.”

Mingyu nods again and lets himself be dragged up to the counter, where the man re-emerges from the back room, taking off dirt-covered gloves before ringing up Wonwoo’s purchase. Soon enough, they’re stepping back outside, the bell ringing pleasantly behind them. 

It’s stopped raining in the short time they spent in the shop, the cloud cover breaking up to reveal crystalline blue sky. “Are those her favorite flowers?” Mingyu asks as they head around a corner to another bus stop, squinting slightly against the sun. 

“I think so,” Wonwoo answers, holding the bouquet close to his chest as they enter the shelter, which is already half-full with other passengers. Mingyu shifts so he’s standing closer as Wonwoo continues, “I was only three when she died, so I don’t really remember much about her. The only things I know are what my dad told me.” His eyes get sad, then, foggy with the memories of a time long past. “But I remember that she always smelled like oranges. It’s not a lot, but it’s all I have to go off of.”

Mingyu hums as a bus pulls up to the curb. Wonwoo doesn’t move, so neither does he, the two of them watching the shelter empty. “What ha- I mean, how did she die? You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, though,” he adds quickly.

“It’s okay,” Wonwoo says. “It was a car accident. She was walking home from work.” He shakes his head, looking up at the bits of sky visible through the roof. “She wasn’t in contact with any of her family, so they found my dad and reached out to him. He didn’t even know I existed, and by then he had already met my mom and had Seokmin, but he still took me in. I love my family, and I’ll always be grateful for them, but…”

Wonwoo’s voice tapers off into nothing. Mingyu thinks he knows how Wonwoo feels - he felt the exact same thing back when he first found out about his own dad, wondering about what would have happened if things were different. Not out of any particular longing or remorse, but as a byproduct of a wandering mind. “But sometimes you wonder, right?” he guesses. “What it would’ve been like if she was still with you?”

Wonwoo sighs heavily, turning to look at Mingyu, his smile sad. “Yeah,” he confirms. “I always wonder. From what my dad told me, and what little I remember, we weren’t very financially secure, but I was well taken care of. She was a good mother to me. I’m only sorry I don’t remember her as much as I should.”

“You were only three,” Mingyu says softly, his heart aching at how sad Wonwoo looks, how he chooses to carry a burden that isn’t his to bear. “And you do remember her, Wonwoo. You remember being loved, and you remember to bring her flowers every year. That’s what matters.”

Wonwoo’s smile turns warmer, his eyes curving into crescents as he stares up at Mingyu. “I guess you’re right,” he says. 

Mingyu grins. “I’m always right.” Movement out of the corner of his eye makes him turn his head, just in time to see another bus pull up to the curb. “Is that one ours?”

“Yeah, let’s go.” Wonwoo doesn’t go, though. Instead, he pauses for a second, tugging Mingyu back a little. The look on his face, when Mingyu glances back at him, knocks all the air out of Mingyu’s lungs. “Thank you, Mingyu.”

Mingyu shakes his head. “You don’t have to thank me for anything. Come on, the bus is going to leave without us.”

“Okay, okay,” Wonwoo placates, laughing under his breath as Mingyu drags him onboard the bus. It’s a wonderful sound, ringing like bells up into the fading clouds.

--

Twenty minutes later, they’re standing in front of the wrought iron gates of the municipal cemetery, a wide expanse of green stretching out before them. Wonwoo’s grip tightens on Mingyu’s hand. “Are you okay?” he asks.

Mingyu huffs out a laugh. “Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that?”

“Well, right now I’m the one asking,” Wonwoo rebuffs. “Seriously, Mingyu. Are you okay?”

Mingyu softens at the obvious concern in Wonwoo’s eyes. “I’m a little nervous,” he admits, “but I’m excited to meet her.”

The corners of Wonwoo’s mouth curl upwards. “Don’t be nervous,” he says as they start walking, the cobblestones underneath their feet slick with rain. “She’ll like you. I don’t know how anyone can dislike you.”

Mingyu feels warm and golden in a way that has nothing to do with the sunlight streaming through the canopy overhead. “You’re sweet.”

“I know, I know,” Wonwoo says, fond and exasperated.

The cemetery is empty, save for a few guards milling about and what looks like a family clustered in a far corner. They walk in silence past rows of gravestones, which shine a stark, well-kept white against the green of the gress. Mingyu reads the names that he can make out and wonders about the lives they left behind.

After another few moments of walking, Wonwoo steers them towards the right, off the main path. Mingyu’s shoes have gotten damp by the time they finally come to a stop, in front of a simple, rectangular-shaped gravestone dedicated to a Park Solbi.

Mingyu’s heart grows heavy as he reads her year of birth and realizes just how young she was - about as young as his own mom was when he was born. Wonwoo’s grip on his hand tightens until it’s almost painful, before letting go completely.

“Hey, Mom,” he says quietly, stepping forward. He pulls a small blanket out of his bag, spreading it out on the ground before taking a seat, setting the bouquet down in front of him. “I brought someone to meet you.”

Mingyu clears his throat, moving forward and kneeling on the blanket next to Wonwoo. He bows once before saying, “it’s nice to meet you, Ms. Park. I’m Mingyu, Wonwoo’s boyfriend.”

Wonwoo’s hand finds his again. “He’s the one I told you about last time,” he says. 

Mingyu raises his eyebrows and turns to face Wonwoo, his heartbeat stuttering. “You talked about me?”

“I think we’ve already established that I talk about you more than you think I do,” Wonwoo replies easily, his eyes shining with amusement. “The last time I came here was last summer, just before we moved. I wondered if you were still here, and if you were the same as I remembered.”

Mingyu smiles, too, because how could he not? “Well? Did I live up to your memories of fifth-grade Mingyu?”

Wonwoo laughs. “You changed a lot, obviously,” he says. “You grew two feet taller, for instance. But all the important parts stayed the same.”

Mingyu remembers a classroom flooded with the reds and oranges and purples of the sunset, wind pushing through his hair, a mop lying abandoned on the floor. You were as kind and funny and bright as I remembered , Wonwoo said back then, the look in his eyes more striking than the scenery behind him. “So I’ve heard,” he teases.

Wonwoo huffs and rolls his eyes, turning to face the gravestone again. “He’s also more immature than I painted him out to be.” Before Mingyu can voice his offense, Wonwoo softens and adds, “but he makes me really happy. If it weren’t for him, I don’t think I would’ve met half of the people I’m friends with now.”

He goes on to talk about all of his friends in detail - all of their mutual friends, of course, as well as some names Mingyu only recognizes on a surface level, like the girl from literature club. True, genuine love warms his voice as he describes how he met each of them, their personalities, their likes and dislikes. Mingyu knows how loving Wonwoo is, despite his surface-level barbs and aversion to blatant displays of affection, but it’s another thing entirely to see that love manifest in front of him. He thinks Wonwoo deserves to receive the love he gives out tenfold.

“A lot happened this year, too,” Wonwoo continues. “I think I attended more birthday parties this year than I did all of middle school.”

Mingyu laughs, breaking out of his reverie. “That’s the price you have to pay when you’re in a ten-person friend group, babe.”

“Truly unfortunate,” Wonwoo says, sounding like he doesn’t mean it at all. “I also participated in a school festival for the first time. I really enjoyed it. I’m glad I got to have that experience before I graduated. Mingyu here,” he elbows Mingyu slightly, his voice taking on a teasing lilt, “wore a maid outfit for his club’s booth.”

“And I looked amazing in it, too,” Mingyu says. “You should’ve seen Wonwoo while he was helping the literature club with their escape room, Ms. Park. He wore eyeliner and everything, he looked so cool.”

“I thought you said the escape room was nerdy,” Wonwoo points out, the tips of his ears flushing red.

“Hey, who said you can’t be nerdy and cool?” Mingyu asks. “Just look at me. I’m good at math, but I’m also the sexiest person alive.”

Wonwoo huffs. “Of course,” he says dryly. “How could I forget?”

“I know, right?” Mingyu agrees, laughing when Wonwoo huffs again.

Anyways ,” Wonwoo continues forcefully, glaring heatlessly at Mingyu before turning back to the topic at hand, “I went back to my old school a few months ago. It went better than I thought it would. I’m glad I went - I think it was something I needed to do so I could move on. 

“I’m doing really well now, Mom,” he says softly. “Better than I ever thought I could. I got into the program I’ve always wanted to get into, and I’m moving into student residence at the end of the month. Dad and I have started a garden in our new backyard. I went to an amusement park with all of my friends a few weeks ago.

“And I- I finally graduated.” He lowers his head again, but not before Mingyu catches the telltale dampness in his eyes. “I wish you were there when I got my diploma. I miss you. I hope you’re doing well, wherever you are. Thank you for watching over me all this time. I hope I can make you proud.”

Mingyu lets go of Wonwoo’s hand so he can pull him close, feeling his heart break a little as Wonwoo sniffles into the crook of his shoulder. “Wonwoo is annoyingly humble, so he won’t tell you this,” he says lightly, smiling when Wonwoo lets out a watery laugh, “but he’s done a lot for others, too. One time, when I was really sad and I felt like I was all alone, he found me and made me feel better.” He takes his phone out of his pocket and holds it out in front of him. “He bought me this case for my birthday. I like it a lot. He’s really thoughtful and kind that way. And he’s really, really strong. Physically and emotionally,” he adds, which earns him another laugh.

“Whenever I’m sad, he always makes me feel better,” he continues, his voice growing thick with the countless memories that clog his throat. “He helps me without accepting or expecting anything in return, and he always stops me from thinking badly of myself. It’s not just me, either - he does this for everyone around him. And he’s so smart, Ms. Park - I call him a nerd a lot, but it’s true.

“I think you’d be proud of the person your son’s become,” he finishes, willing his voice not to shake. “I know I am. We all are.”

Wonwoo lets out a sob against Mingyu’s shoulder, his entire body going limp as he wraps his arms around Mingyu’s waist. Mingyu turns his face so he can press a kiss to the top of Wonwoo’s head. “Thank you,” he barely hears Wonwoo say, voice muffled by tears and the fabric of Mingyu’s shirt.

Mingyu shakes his head. “Don’t thank me,” he says. “It’s the truth, Wonwoo. All of it.”

Wonwoo laughs, pulling away slightly. Mingyu only gets a glance at his face - red eyes, blotchy skin, handsome as ever - before he’s turning to root through his bag with one hand. “You’ve called me by my actual name twice today,” he points out, procuring a little packet of wet wipes. He retracts his other arm so he can open the packet as he asks, “what happened?”

Mingyu grins, instinctively lifting his free hand up to Wonwoo’s face so he can wipe away at a stray tear. Wonwoo smiles up at him, warm and grateful, leaning into the touch a little. Mingyu takes the time to soak in the sight before teasing, “why, do you like it better when I call you ‘babe’?”

Wonwoo huffs, his attempt at a glare foiled by the dampness in his eyes, the way he somehow looks tiny in Mingyu’s arms. “I’m not going to answer that.”

Mingyu giggles. “You’re so cute. Babe .”

Wonwoo wrinkles his nose. “You’re disgusting,” he says, pushing himself into an upright position and leaving a sudden chill at Mingyu’s side in his wake. He unfolds a wet wipe and dabs at the skin under his eyes, his sniffling subsiding as he does. “Sorry, I don’t know why I reacted so intensely. I think this has been weighing me down for a long time.”

“What are you saying sorry for?” Mingyu says. “I’m, like, the last person who’s going to judge you for wanting to make your mom proud.”

Wonwoo laughs. “That’s fair,” he admits. His eyes soften as he turns back to the gravestone. “I will make you proud, though,” he says, bowing his head. “I promise.”

Mingyu bows too, rubbing the small of Wonwoo’s back as he does. “Don’t worry, Ms. Park. I’ll make sure to nag him lots for you.”

Wonwoo laughs again, pushing his hair out of his face as he sits back up. “You already nag me enough as it is,” he says. “I’m not going to contract scurvy the moment I enter college, Mingyu.”

“Babe, you can cook two dishes ,” Mingyu says. “And I taught you one of them. I think my fear is pretty reasonable.”

“This is blasphemous,” Wonwoo argues, but doesn’t actually refute anything. Mingyu giggles and leans into him a little.

Silence settles over them, broken only by the faint chirping of birds overhead. The sun emerges from behind the clouds and warms Mingyu’s shoulders. Wonwoo is still as stone beside him, his expression unreadable.

Finally, Wonwoo shifts a little and says, “is it okay if I talk to my mom alone for a few minutes? It’s not that I don’t want you to be here, it’s just…”

Mingyu shakes his head. “You don’t need to explain. I’ll be waiting outside the gates when you’re done, okay?” He bows one last time. “It was nice meeting you, Ms. Park. I’ll be going now.” 

Wonwoo doesn’t say anything as Mingyu climbs to his feet, dusting off his pants and shaking out the tension that’s built up in his legs. Mingyu isn’t offended or anything - he’ll never understand what’s going through Wonwoo’s head at this exact moment, and he’s okay with that. Some things aren’t meant to be shared.

He picks up the umbrella that’s been discarded on the grass nearby, and is about to leave when fingers curl around his wrist. He looks down, surprised, to see Wonwoo staring at him, the line of his mouth resolute. “Babe?” Mingyu asks hesitantly.

Wonwoo jolts and shakes his head, like he’s trying to physically clear the fog from his mind. “Nothing,” he says a little too quickly, letting go of Mingyu’s wrist. “I’ll see you soon.”

Mingyu offers the most comforting smile he can muster. “See you,” he says, watching Wonwoo’s expression visibly soften.

Wonwoo waves as he leaves. The family that was here when they arrived is gone now, making the cemetery feel even emptier than it was before. Mingyu takes his time walking back to the front gates, the umbrella swinging from his hand, his mind peacefully blank.

At the front gates, he loses track of time watching the cars rush past on the road nearby. Wonwoo finds him sooner than he expected, coming to stand next to him with his hands in his pockets, nudging their shoulders together in greeting. 

Mingyu turns to him, smiling instinctively. “Ready to go?”

Wonwoo looks tired in a content way, like going to sleep after a long day spent with the people you love. “Yeah,” he says, his hand finding Mingyu’s. “Thanks for waiting.”

“I’ll always wait for you, babe,” Mingyu says sincerely, pressing their joined hands to his chest. Wonwoo snorts and pulls him in the direction of the bus stop.

--

Wonwoo is much more talkative on the way back than he was in the morning, telling Mingyu about how Junhui’s been doing in China, listening to Mingyu describe his progress with photography. After they transfer busses, he falls asleep against Mingyu’s shoulder, eyelids fluttering every time they drive over a bump in the road. Mingyu’s heart settles into an emotion he doesn’t recognize as he stares down at Wonwoo, something solid and bright like catching a shooting star.

--

The nine of them have one last sleepover at Vernon’s house. They spend half of it video-calling Junhui, who takes the time to update all of them in detail about how his life has been going from his grandparents’ house in Shenzhen. The bags under his eyes are deeper than they were before, a fact that they all pretend not to notice, but there’s an unmistakable glow of pride in his voice as he talks about how much he’s learned.

A week later, Soonyoung and Jihoon move into student residence. A week after that, Mingyu is standing in front of what will be Wonwoo’s home for the next year, shielding his eyes from the sun as he looks up at the front of the building.

He hears a car door slam shut, and then Seokmin is standing next to him, mirroring his pose. “Man, this place is nice,” he says. “I’m kinda jealous.”

Mingyu laughs and puts an arm around Seokmin’s shoulders. “You could always, like, live with him secretly,” he suggests.

Seokmin wrinkles his nose. “Ew, no. Then I’d have to cook for him all the time.”

Mingyu considers this for a moment. “Yeah, fair enough.”

Seokmin grins at him, and is about to say something else when Mrs. Jeon-Lee calls their names. They turn to see the rest of Seokmin’s family already unloading the trunk of the car and hurry over to help, their feelings over the occasion set aside as they negotiate who carries what.

“How do you have so many clothes?” Seokmin complains as he lugs a large suitcase onto the sidewalk. “I swear last year you had, like, ten in total.”

“They’re mostly Dad’s old stuff,” Wonwoo says, setting down the two cardboard boxes in his arms so he can take out his newly-acquired student ID. He uses it to unlock the front door to the building, picks up the boxes again, and adds, “also, blame Mingyu. He’s the one who made me start dressing better.”

“Ugh, Mingyu, why ?” Seokmin says. “Do you know how hard it was to shove all his stuff into one suitcase? My arms still hurt.”

“Hey, why am I the one being blamed here?” Mingyu protests from where he’s holding the door open for Mr. and Mrs. Jeon-Lee. “It’s not like I forced him into it!”

“If I throw my back out or something, I’m suing you,” Seokmin says, because he truly is the worst friend in the world. Wonwoo laughs, because he’s the worst boyfriend in the world.

The refreshingly air-conditioned lobby is packed with students and their families, the crowd concentrated in front of the three elevators towards the back of the building. They have to wait ten minutes before they’re able to find spots in an elevator, crowded close to two other families, the silence oppressively awkward the entire five-storey ride up.

Wonwoo’s room is situated conveniently close to the elevators, with no sign of his school-assigned roommate. The moment they enter the room, Mrs. Jeon-Lee puts down the box in her arms and immediately whips out her phone to take pictures for her group chat, to Wonwoo’s vocal protests.

The room is about par for the course for a college dorm, small but with high ceilings and a nice view of the campus. There’s a bit of water damage on the bathroom ceiling and scuffs on the walls from years of students rearranging the furniture, but Wonwoo looks at all of it like it’s a penthouse in New York City, his eyes bright. 

Despite Seokmin’s complaints, Wonwoo is actually a pretty light packer, and between the five of them, it only takes about half an hour to get the room ready. At Mrs. Jeon-Lee’s insistence, the five of them crowd together in front of the window to take a commemorative selfie. 

Standing there, smiling into the camera with Seokmin’s arm around his shoulders, it hits Mingyu that this is really it. The end of the summer, the end of all that waiting and dreading and planning, the end of being able to see Wonwoo whenever he wants. His smile wavers as his heart plummets through all five storeys of the building to the ground below.

“Mingyu?” It’s Wonwoo, frowning at him in concern, the rest of his family having already moved on. “Are you okay?”

Mingyu looks at the worry in Wonwoo’s eyes and has no choice but to nod. Today is meant to be an exciting day for Wonwoo, the start of something new; Mingyu can’t, won’t ruin the occasion by being selfish. “I just need to use the washroom,” he says, brushing past Wonwoo as quickly as he can.

In the bathroom, he rests his forehead against the door, the cool of the wood soothing his nerves a little. He can hear Mrs. Jeon-Lee outside nagging at Wonwoo to cook properly, to take care of himself, to stay away from drugs. Wonwoo protests - “I’m eighteen, Mom, I can take care of myself” - but promises to call home every night anyway. 

The exchange makes Mingyu smile to himself. Wonwoo is going away, but he isn’t gone. He’s starting something new, but he’s the same old Wonwoo at the core. He’ll make things work. They’ll make things work. 

He flushes the toilet and rinses his hands under the sink before stepping out, just to make it look as convincing as possible. Wonwoo turns to him the second he opens the door. Are you okay? he mouths, as if he didn’t ask the exact same question five minutes ago.

Mingyu grins back and gives Wonwoo a thumbs-up, which makes the latter laugh. “What did I miss?”

“Nothing much,” Wonwoo answers, taking Mingyu’s hand. “We were going to walk around campus for a little while, so I have a general sense of where things are, and then get takeout for dinner before you guys drive home.”

Mingyu nods. In the corner of the room, Mrs. Jeon-Lee harasses Seokmin into applying more sunscreen. “Sounds good. Oh wait, before we go, I um… I have something for you. A gift,” he clarifies when Wonwoo raises his eyebrows.

Wonwoo blinks, processing, for a few seconds, before a smile spreads across his face. “I have something for you, too,” he confesses.

Mingyu’s heart does a strange swooping thing in his chest. “Come on, babe, do you have to steal my thunder all the time?” he complains jokingly, resisting the urge to kiss Wonwoo right in front of his entire family. “I’m not even the one moving out, why’d you get me something?”

“Does it have to be an occasion?” Wonwoo says, his smile turning amused. “Maybe I just wanted to buy something for you.”

Mingyu grins. “You’re sweet. Also, you’d make a great sugar daddy.”

Wonwoo rolls his eyes. “I’m neither old enough nor rich enough to qualify as a sugar daddy. If you really want one, you should consider someone other than a college freshman.”

“But babe, I don’t want anyone but you,” Mingyu says sincerely. Wonwoo rolls his eyes again.

“Hey, lovebirds!” This is Seokmin, who crashes into their conversation, slinging a noticeably sunscreen-slathered arm around Wonwoo’s shoulder. “Are you guys done flirting? Mom and Dad want to go take a walk around campus now.”

Mingyu opens his mouth to say yes instinctively, then closes it. For some reason, he doesn’t want to leave just yet. Wonwoo must see it on his face, because he tells Seokmin, “you guys can go ahead, we’ll catch up later. I have something to give to Mingyu first.”

“Ugh, you guys are gross,” Seokmin says, and leaves to relay the message to his parents. 

Mingyu turns to Wonwoo to find the older boy staring out the window, a pensive look on his face. “Thanks. I didn’t know how to tell Seokmin without having him make fun of me.”

Wonwoo visibly forces himself out of his thoughts, shooting Mingyu a brief, distracted smile. “He did call us gross.”

“He calls us gross all the time, it doesn’t count,” Mingyu dismisses. “Are you okay? You seem distracted.”

Wonwoo flushes slightly, looking caught. “I’m okay. Sorry. I was just thinking about something.”

Aren’t you always thinking about something? Mingyu wants to joke. Before he can, though, Mrs. Jeon-Lee calls out to the two of them from the front door. “We’ll wait for you in the lobby, okay? Don’t take too long!”

“We won’t,” Wonwoo assures, waving with his free hand as his family puts on their shoes and gets ready to head out. “See you guys soon.”

Mingyu waves, too. Mr. Jeon-Lee waves back as his wife ushers him into the hallway, Seokmin calling out “don’t be gross!” behind him right before the door shuts.

It’s a little startling, how quiet it is in their absence. Mingyu turns to Wonwoo and asks, “do you wanna go first, or should I?”

“You first, I guess,” Wonwoo says, looking strangely nervous. Mingyu chooses not to comment on it as he pulls Wonwoo across the room to where he’s left his bag, letting go of his hand so he can crouch down and dig through its contents. 

The box is relatively unharmed from the two-hour ride, a feat Mingyu celebrates silently as he pulls it out. “Here,” he says, pushing the box into Wonwoo’s arms. “Happy moving out day, babe.”

Wonwoo laughs as he picks carefully at the tape. “Thanks,” he says, sliding the box out of the wrapping paper. Mingyu watches him as he opens the box and peers down at its contents, feeling strangely nervous as his expression turns clouded. “This is…”

“A matching mug set,” Mingyu finishes hurriedly as Wonwoo pulls one of the mugs out, holding it up to the light from the window. “The cat’s yours, and the dog’s mine. I know we already have the keychains and stuff, but I saw them while I was looking for clothes and they looked perfect, so I couldn’t help myself. I thought we could maybe drink tea in them, so it’s kinda like we’re in my kitchen, and you’d have a reminder of me? Unless you don’t want a reminder of me, in which case-”

“Mingyu,” Wonwoo interrupts, setting the mug down gently. His eyes, when he looks back up at Mingyu, are glowing. “Thank you,” he says softly. “I love them.”

Relief rushes through Mingyu’s veins. “I’m glad,” he says, barely able to contain the sheer force of his smile. “Does this mean you do want a reminder of me?”

Wonwoo huffs, taking the other mug out of the box for good measure. They really do look nice, sitting on Wonwoo’s desk - a cat and a dog, blue and pink, with matching heart-shaped noses. “Do you want a reminder of me ?” he shoots back, amused.

“I mean, it’s not like I need one,” Mingyu says. His tone is joking, as it usually is, but there’s an undercurrent of truth to it, as there always is. “I already think about you all the time.”

To Mingyu’s surprise, Wonwoo doesn’t roll his eyes or huff or call him ridiculous like he usually does. Instead, his smile fades slowly as his eyebrows draw together, an exact replica of the look he gave Mingyu on his birthday - terror and exhilaration, like free-falling through the sky. Mingyu goes cold.

“Babe?” he tries, searching Wonwoo’s face for something, anything that’ll give away what he’s thinking. Worry twists in his gut when he comes up short. “Is everything okay?”

“I love you,” Wonwoo blurts out.

Mingyu freezes. Wonwoo freezes. Everything seems to freeze, the air around them going still, the birds outside falling silent. In the sudden silence, Mingyu’s heartbeat roars.

Wonwoo must take his silence as tacit rejection, because the shock on his face gives way to fear, like he’s just about to lose something very, very precious to him. “I didn’t mean to say that,” he says shakily.

Mingyu’s heart crumples like wastepaper. There are so many things he wants to ask - are you sure, how do you know, can you say it again - but all that comes out of his mouth is, “but did you mean it?”

Wonwoo lowers his head. A moment passes before he admits, his voice barely louder than a whisper, “I did.”

Mingyu can’t breathe. He thinks of how he felt on the bus home from the graveyard, Wonwoo asleep against his shoulder. Catching a shooting star. It wasn’t a feeling he could name or recognize, but it didn’t scare him. It felt natural, simple, easy, the endpoint of a path he could walk with his eyes closed. 

He thinks he knows what it is, now. He thinks maybe Wonwoo is brighter than any star in the sky.

He takes a deep breath, but Wonwoo beats him to it, looking back up at him with wide eyes. “I don’t expect you to say it back so soon,” he says quickly. “Please don’t feel pressured. I just- I’ve been meaning to say it for a while, but I wasn’t planning on saying it today-”

“Babe,” Mingyu interrupts, laughing under his breath at how ridiculous Wonwoo sounds. Does he really think Mingyu will reject him? Does he really believe there’ll ever be a time or a place where Mingyu doesn’t love him back? “Wonwoo. Jeon Wonwoo. You idiot.”

Wonwoo frowns, confused. He looks so cute Mingyu kind of wants to cry. Actually, Mingyu just kind of wants to cry in general. “That’s… not what I expected you to say.”

“Clearly,” Mingyu says, beaming as joy overwhelms him. “You know I love you too, right?”

Wonwoo’s eyes widen further, and then he smiles like the petals of a flower unfurling, his nose scrunching up. “Obviously I didn’t know that,” he shoots back. “Or else I wouldn’t have immediately tried to do damage control.”

Mingyu laughs. “Speaking of which, I’m super offended, by the way. Did you really think I was going to reject you?”

“What else was I supposed to think?” Wonwoo protests, blushing a little. “We’ve only been dating for four months, statistically it was unlikely you would feel the same. That’s why I was planning on waiting a little longer.”

“Oh my God, you nerd,” Mingyu says, delighted. “You statistically analyzed the probability of me loving you back?”

Wonwoo blushes harder. “I may have read some studies,” he admits.

Mingyu grins. “You’re so cute.”

Wonwoo huffs and rolls his eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

Mingyu’s grin widens. “Yeah, but you love me.”

Wonwoo’s expression softens, then, turns into something gentle and affectionate and achingly genuine. Loving. “I do,” he confirms. 

And it feels natural, using love to define their relationship. Like reading a life-changing book for the first time, or discovering a song that grows to become a favorite - all of a sudden, you can’t remember what your life was like before. So of course, when Mingyu asks “can you say it again?” Wonwoo obliges, over and over and over.

--

After a few more minutes of talking, Wonwoo presents Mingyu with his gift. It’s a Polaroid camera - “like the ones on your Pinterest moodboard,” Wonwoo explains, bashful. Mingyu smiles so wide his face hurts, and hugs Wonwoo until the latter wheezes and starts smacking his back in protest.

“I love you,” he says, and, “and you say you wouldn’t make a good sugar daddy.”

“I think we have different ideas of what a sugar daddy is,” Wonwoo rebuts before adding, softer, “I love you, too.”

They make their way out of the room and down to the lobby a few minutes after that. Mrs. Jeon-Lee takes one look at the two of them and immediately breaks out into a knowing smile, winking at them multiple times to Wonwoo’s embarrassment and Seokmin’s confusion. 

The walk around campus is nice. It’s a gorgeous campus, befitting one of the top universities in the nation, all lush green fields and well-kept historical buildings. Wonwoo and Seokmin bicker over a map while Mingyu helps Mrs. Jeon-Lee take an innumerable amount of pictures, Mr. Jeon-Lee making admiring sounds at the university’s various landscaping choices in the background.

They return to Wonwoo’s room, which is now occupied by Wonwoo’s roommate, a shorter boy with bleach blonde hair and friendly eyes who’s already covered his half of the room with anime posters. Wonwoo strikes up a conversation with him about one of the posters while Seokmin and Mingyu order pizza.

After dinner, they say their goodbyes in the parking lot, the sky darkening with dusk. Seokmin and Mrs. Jeon-Lee cry and smother Wonwoo with their combined affection; Mingyu stands further away with Mr. Jeon-Lee, the two of them mutually pretending they can’t see the other person tearing up. 

“You guys should head home now, it’s getting dark,” Wonwoo says when the sky is significantly darker.

Seokmin sniffles. “You’re just saying that because you want to get rid of us.”

“I’m saying it because I want you to have a safe drive home, dumbass,” Wonwoo shoots back, ruffling Seokmin’s hair fondly. “I’ll call tonight, okay?”

“You better,” Mrs. Jeon-Lee threatens as she pulls Wonwoo into a hug, cradling the back of his head with one hand. “Or I’ll drive back down here and pick you up myself.”

“Okay, okay,” Wonwoo laughs as they pull away. “Point taken.” He hugs Seokmin next, rubbing his back as he cries into his shoulder. “Text me whenever you want, okay? And don’t beat Special Cup without me.”

“As if I could beat it without you,” Seokmin complains. “Ugh, do you have to leave? Can’t you just, like, drive two hours to class every day?”

Wonwoo laughs again. “As tempting as that is, unfortunately we already paid for this place.” He pulls away from Seokmin and turns to his dad, who claps him on the shoulder. “Send me pictures of the garden?”

“I will update you on a daily basis,” Mr. Jeon-Lee promises. “I’ll give you some of them to keep in your dorm as well.”

“I’d like that,” Wonwoo says. For a moment, father and son smile at each other, mirror images of pride and familial love. Mrs. Jeon-Lee blows her nose in the background.

Mingyu is so caught up in appreciating the moment that he doesn’t notice Wonwoo walking in his direction until the boy is right in front of him, his eyes warm as the streetlights behind him flicker on. “Hi,” Mingyu says.

“Hey,” Wonwoo replies, his smile so full of adoration that it knocks all the air out of Mingyu’s lungs. “Is it okay if I call you tonight?”

“You should call me every night,” Mingyu says. “And send me selfies in the morning.”

Wonwoo makes a face. “I’m not very good at taking selfies.”

Mingyu raises his eyebrows. “You’re best friends with Wen Junhui and you don’t know how to take selfies?”

“Believe me, he’s tried to teach me before,” Wonwoo says, grimacing at the memory. “He was really intense about it, too.”

“I can imagine,” Mingyu says, thinking about all those times Junhui spent over thirty minutes getting the perfect angle for his Snapchat story. “Well, you should send them anyway. It’ll be nice to see your face every day.”

The truth is, hidden behind Mingyu’s thin veneer of good humor, he’ll miss much more than just Wonwoo’s face. He’s done a pretty good job of suppressing his angst about the whole thing, but just the thought of what it’ll be like without Wonwoo - walking between classes and home from soccer practice alone, playing Mario Kart at Seokmin’s house and not having a third person join them - is making his eyes prickle with tears. 

A look of sad, quiet understanding dawns on Wonwoo’s face. “I’ll only be one call away,” he says softly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Mingyu nods, rubbing his eyes. “Sorry. I’m happy for you, babe, I really am. I’m just…”

“I get it,” Wonwoo says, because he always does. “It’s always worse for the person who gets left behind, isn’t it?”

Mingyu laughs, the sound coming out a little watery. “You’re so wise, babe.”

Wonwoo huffs. “I know, I know.” He wraps his arms around Mingyu’s shoulders and pulls him into a hug. Mingyu closes his eyes, breathes in - loose leaf tea, no sugar - and out, wishing time would slow down for this moment alone.

They pull away after a few too-short seconds. When Mingyu regains his bearings, he finds that the rest of Wonwoo’s family have already boarded the car, presumably to give them a little privacy. “I’ll see you soon,” he tells Wonwoo.

Wonwoo smiles at him. “Yeah.”

The campus is crowded despite the late hour, so Mingyu doesn’t expect anything beyond the hug. Still, he wishes there was something more momentous to mark the occasion, the end of so many things. Should he say ‘I love you’ again? Would it make Wonwoo uncomfortable, saying it in public? Should he wait until later and tell him over the phone?

“Mingyu,” Wonwoo says, his voice cutting through Mingyu’s thoughts.

Mingyu blinks, clearing up the fog in his head. “Yeah?”

Wonwoo shakes his head, looking amused. “I love you.”

Mingyu blinks a few more times before grinning wide, flooded with a feeling so bright it could light up the night sky. He thinks that Wonwoo, this boy he grew up with, this boy he loves as easy as breathing, holds his entire world in the palm of his hand. “Love you, too.”

Notes:

last chapter tomorrow!!

Chapter 37: epilogue

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

“Mingyu, I hate to say this,” Minghao sounds, sounding extremely unimpressed through the shitty audio of the Facetime call, “but you literally saw him two weeks ago. This is overkill.”

“I can’t believe you’re insulting me while I’m in the middle of an emotional crisis,” Mingyu complains, scrutinizing himself in the mirror. He pauses. “So no dress shirt?”

Minghao heaves a sigh. “ No . No dress shirt.”

“Ugh, you’re right,” Mingyu says, rapidly unbuttoning his shirt as he glances at the time on his clock. “Shit, I have like, two minutes.” He turns wide, pleading eyes to his laptop, where a pixelated Minghao is massaging his temple. “Minghao, my best friend in the whole wide world, benevolent god of fashion-”

“I hate you,” Minghao says, and then, “wear the graphic tee with the black jeans.”

“I love you, you’re my savior,” Mingyu rushes out, taking off his pants as fast as possible as Minghao makes various sounds of disgust in the background. “By the way, did you check the group chat? Soonyoung and Jihoon are coming back next month for reading week.”

“I saw,” Minghao says, the sound briefly muffled as Mingyu pulls his shirt over his head. “Soonyoung’s already planning a sleepover for when they get back. Junhui might be coming back, too, if his agency lets him.”

“Really? That would be amazing.” Junhui hasn’t done much beyond training so far, but he’s mentioned that his agency has started looking for minor roles for him. It’s a little surreal, hearing him talk about acting in actual dramas - not as Wen Junhui the friend from high school, but as Wen Junhui the actor. “It would be nice if he could make it back before he gets busier.”

Minghao hums in agreement. “He mentioned something about bringing an entire suitcase of Chinese snacks with him.”

Mingyu laughs. How could he forget? Wen Junhui the actor is also Wen Junhui the friend from high school. Seventeen-year-old Mingyu is also sixteen-year-old Mingyu is also eleven-year-old Mingyu, the same as it is for everyone else around him. New things happen every day, but that doesn’t mean the old things are gone for good. People have changed and will continue to change, but the important parts are still there.

“I’m glad,” he says, not really talking about the snacks anymore. Before he can elaborate, his phone rings; he glances at the Caller ID and jolts. “Listen, Minghao, you’re the best friend in the world, but-”

“Yeah, yeah, you need to go, got it,” Minghao says in mock exasperation. “Tell him I said hi.”

Mingyu grins. “I will,” he promises, hanging up the call with one hand and picking up his phone with the other. “Hey,” he says, shoving his phone between his ear and his shoulder as he pulls his socks on. “Are you here already?”

Wonwoo’s laugh, even with static blurring the sound, fills Mingyu’s veins like sunshine. “What do you mean, ‘already’? I’m two minutes late.”

“Yeah, which is early , you asshole,” Mingyu grumbles, swinging his bedroom door open and launching himself down the stairs. “I didn’t even have time to tuck in my shirt.”

Wonwoo laughs again. “You can tuck in your shirt later, if you want. I’ll pretend I never noticed anything.”

“Babe, that’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me,” Mingyu says sincerely as he pulls his shoes on. Wonwoo doesn’t reply to that, but he doesn’t really need to - Mingyu can picture him rolling his eyes just the same. “Okay, I’m ready to go. See you soon, love you, bye!”

“Love you too,” Wonwoo says right before Mingyu hangs up.

Mingyu shouts a goodbye in the general vicinity of his mom’s bedroom before opening the door and stepping out onto the porch. It’s only the second week of September, so it’s still nice and warm, a gentle breeze rustling through the still-green leaves. Last night’s rain lingers in the air, the sun shining bright in the middle of the clear, blue sky. 

At the bottom of the porch steps, a boy stares up at him, his hands in his pockets. His hair has gotten longer, falling into his eyes a little. Mingyu feels something in his chest click back into place. 

“Wonwoo,” he greets, a little out of breath. I love you, I missed you, how have you been?

Wonwoo smiles. I love you too. I missed you too. I’ve been well, but I’m better now that you’re here. “Hey, Mingyu,” he replies, and the space between them closes in the blink of an eye.

Notes:

and that's it! time to *cracks knuckles* get emOTIONAL
first: thank u so, so much to every single one of u who gave kudos, who bookmarked, and ESPECIALLY who commented. i know i dropped off on the replying a few chapters back ;-; but i promise i read and appreciated every single one of them, and they all helped in pushing me to finish this 200k+ word behemoth of a fic. thank u to the people who have been here from the first chapter, from the fifteenth chapter, from the 37th chapter. thank u to r, who provided encouragement and more than a few story ideas in the months i took to write this, and to hazel, who bullied me into making them get together sooner (yes, the slow burn was originally going to be even slower)
believe it or not, the inspiration for this entire fic came from a dream where jeon wonwoo went to my high school, combined with me listening to the folklore album for the first time (taylor i love u). but somehow along the way it grew into a cathartic retelling of my experiences with high school, growing up, and friendship. because of this, i am beyond happy that mingyu's journey resonated with and provided comfort to some of you. u are not alone, hitori janai indeed
second: i'm not done with this fic yet, oh no ma'am. because it took me so long to write, there are a lot of parts that i'm not as happy with in retrospect, so i'll be going back at some point and doing some heavy editing. however! any scenes i'll be taking out will be put in a separate fic in the same series, so you'll still be able to go back and read it if u want. furthermore! there will most likely be a timeskip/sequel, however it'll be a long time coming because i have to let my writing juices replenish lmao. but the story is far from over!
until we meet again :)