Work Text:
When Minho speaks, it reeks of abject wealth – at least, this is the first half of the description Jisung provides when he sends Seungmin down to the lobby to collect their firm’s newest and most lucrative potential client. The second half of the statement revolves around the exact shape and circumference of Minho’s ass, which Seungmin does not think bears repeating; simply levels Jisung a look of disgust before rolling his eyes and jabbing the ‘close’ button on the elevator doors. The junior associate shrugs and wishes him “Good luck!” and his exact meaning becomes clear when it’s followed by the world’s greasiest wink.
(Seungmin tries really hard, after that, not to wonder about Minho’s ass . . . and only proves to be partially successful.
Damn you, Han Jisung.)
Shaking his head, Seungmin stares at himself in the mirrored surface of the car, straightening out his tie and the few strands of hair that his cheap, dollar-store gel can never seem to keep in place. The overhead lighting is simultaneously harsh and unforgiving, emphasizing the bruised rings of his under eye bags. He tries to pinch some color back into his cheeks. For someone running on one broken hour of sleep and having refreshed himself over a bathroom sink not five minutes before, Seungmin looks vaguely presentable, at least.
“Lee Minho,” Seungmin repeats the name, tasting the syllables as they roll off the tongue. His brain flickers through all of the information he crammed inside of it in preparation for today’s meeting and recites the facts he knows about their prospective client aloud.
“Lee Minho. Miroh Tech Founder and CEO. Net worth totaling 25 trillion won. Only child. Cat dad. Dazed Magazine’s Most Eligible Bachelor three years in a row.”
That last fact comes unbidden, another successful plant job by Jisung. Seungmin maintains that he would’ve connected the dots eventually, seeing Minho’s face on the cover of that magazine at his dentist’s office the other day, mixed in amongst shots of models and other celebrity figures, while still managing to stand out because he is equally if not more beautiful than all of them combined – perfectly sculpted, a marble statue come to life.
It is upon meeting him in person that Seungmin realizes how profoundly photos do not do Minho any justice.
“Hello, Lee Minho-ssi?” He poses it in the form of a question, although there is no mistaking the general air of importance that surrounds the figure posed smack dab in the middle of the lobby. Everything from his three-piece suit to the spiced notes of his Tom Ford cologne renders the tech mogul unable to blend into a room, already difficult given his preternaturally beautiful face. That, and the way his thighs–
Stop.
Seungmin shuts down that train of thought. Swiftly silences the gay part of his brain.
He is a professional, goddammit.
Minho turns to regard Seungmin’s approach, gaze burning a trail from Seungmin’s eyes to his hastily re-done tie, all the way down to his flagging, outstretched arm. The businessman blinks once, twice, before accepting the proffered hand and Seungmin can’t help but note how small and warm it is clasped inside of his own, nesting dolls made of sinew and bone. “Kim Seungmin,” he introduces himself at once. “I’m here to escort you up to our offices and, if the meeting goes well, assist you in your lawsuit as well.”
“If the meeting goes well,” Minho emphasizes, lifting the arch of a well-sculpted brow. Word on the street is that he’s met with practically every other major law firm in Seoul; has subsequently turned down each and every one of them like a string of ex-lovers. Anyone else would be chastened by his tone, but Seungmin can sense the amusement hidden in the spaces between the words; cat-like, almost, in the way he enjoys playing with his food.
Tangentially, Seungmin wonders what it would be like to be swallowed whole.
“Here’s hoping,” he says eventually, with a grin.
“Sure,” Minho drawls, eyes flickering downwards once again.
It is only then that Seungmin realizes that he has yet to let go of the other man’s hand and drops it quickly, as if he had been burned. He motions for Minho to follow. “Shall we go?”
The two of them, plus the baby-faced secretary that introduces himself as Jeongin (whom Seungmin had unintentionally ignored, overshadowed by Minho despite being significantly taller than the businessman), pile into the elevator. Seungmin scans his keycard and presses the button for the 11th floor, before having to step back into the awkward silence that is characteristic of sharing tight, enclosed spaces with unrealistically handsome strangers. He systematically avoids making eye contact with either of them in the gold-plated reflection of the doors, clears his throat, and looks for something to do.
Jazzy music filters in from the overhead speakers, half-static, popcorn crackly. Seungmin taps his finger in time with the tune.
There’s an art to small talk, he knows, and wishes bitterly that somewhere in the thousands of won of debt he’d accumulated to put himself through law school, a portion of it had gone towards classes catered around buttering up a client or putting someone at ease, platitudes that only need to sound sincere, or a well-told joke capable of breaking through multiple layers of ice. Really anything to stymie the way Minho looks at him, all too expectant. Of what, Seungmin’s not entirely sure.
Not for the first time, Seungmin wishes he spoke as well and as eloquently with people when they’re not seated behind a jury box, standing in that elevator and racking his brain for something clever to say.
“You’re thinking too loud,” Minho interrupts, soft but gruff. Finely-milled gravel being crushed under wheel. He certainly has no qualms about making eye contact with Seungmin through the doors.
“You can hear my thoughts?”
“Yeah I can, so knock it off.”
It could be a lack of manners, Seungmin supposes. Or maybe Minho is just being indirectly kind.
The lawyer ventures, “Do you wanna hear a joke instead?”
He considers it a success when Minho’s lips quiver up into something that’s not quite a straight line.
♡
The meeting itself goes objectively well. Bang Chan spins their case with all of the quiet confidence that is integral to his signature brand. Rather than the bald-faced confidence of his peers, words like an oil spill and no less slick, Chan gives off the impression of calloused hands, arguments like bricks, building one on top of the other.
Seungmin’s not even second chair but interjects every now and again, filling in the hairline gaps and fortifying the case with additional facts; blessedly doesn’t stutter beneath the force of Minho’s gaze, although he does lose his train of thought at one point when the CEO shifts and leans back, bicep flexing on the arm rest to accommodate the additional weight. Seungmin momentarily short-circuits but recovers quickly enough, playing it off as if he paused to take a much-needed breath.
From across the table, Minho smirks at him like he’s reached a different conclusion.
“In short,” Chan claps his hands together, a tick that indicates he’s about to make his closing argument, and has devastated more than a handful of lawyers and prosecutors throughout the years. “I’m certain that we can recoup whatever loss of revenue you’ve suffered, on top of a huge settlement offer to ensure the continued investment and success of your organization. I’m looking forward to your decision and a fruitful relationship moving forward, Lee Minho-ssi.”
His face is impassive when he goes to shake Chan’s hand and lingers, slightly, when it comes to Seungmin’s turn. Eyes like molten lava pour into Seungmin’s own.
“I’ll be in touch.” The words are laden with meaning, a promise unfulfilled.
Unprofessionally, Seungmin’s heart skips a beat.
♡
The decision comes swiftly after that.
Minho ultimately turns down their proposal, choosing to go with a smaller, less prestigious start-up headed by a close, personal friend. The news sends shockwaves throughout the industry as everyone covertly looks up Seo Changbin and reads more into his background, champion for the poor and working class turned exclusive lawyer to one of the richest men in the world. He apparently didn’t even want the job in the first place – Minho just foisted it onto him as a consequence for being friends.
The rejection call comes from Jeongin.
Seungmin doesn’t mope about it at all.
“Funny joke, Seungminnie. You’re practically the poster child for the word.” Jisung pours himself a cup of coffee and reluctantly makes Seungmin his third of the day.
“Excuse me? I closed out two cases on Tuesday!”
“You’re high-functioning about it. So what?”
Personally, Seungmin thinks his disappointment is justified and proportional to the amount of money that the case would have brought in and suppresses the part of himself that knows his dwindling chances for an early promotion isn’t the only reason Seungmin feels stabby chest pains at the thought of never seeing the tech mogul again.
It is an innocuously sunny morning when Fate makes other plans, as the days always seem to be when shit hits the fan.
Seungmin is intercepted by Jisung the moment he steps out of the elevator, tiny hands grabbing the younger by the lapels.
“What?” he barely gets the word out before he’s accosted by another flurry from the same set of hands.
“Stand still,” Jisung instructs as he runs his fingers through Seungmin’s hair, readjusts Seungmin’s tie, and applies a tinted balm to his slightly chapped lips. The taste of artificial cherry bleeds past and bursts inside of his barely puckered mouth.
“What are you doing?” Seungmin squawks, moving to wipe the flavor off on Jisung’s sleeve. The lawyer snatches his hand back with an unusual amount of strength.
“No time. Lee Minho is sitting in your office right now and wants to hire you for his case.”
He feels himself getting pushed from behind, longer legs stumbling to keep pace with Jisung’s quicker strides. “The SM suit?” he cranes his neck to look at the junior associate from over his shoulder, brows furrowing as he processes aloud. “I thought we lost that bid.”
Jisung shakes his head. “Not that case, but a personal one. A civil suit, I think. I don’t know the particulars, but apparently he insists that you be the one to represent him, even though Boss Man Chan offered to do it himself and a couple more senior associates after that.”
“Me?” he breathes, thoroughly flattered yet utterly confused. This revelation comes as a surprise given the amount of lawyers on payroll with near flawless records, years of experience under their belt, and a modest number of judges in their back pockets. Seungmin, in contrast, is only a year removed from school. More than capable, but far and away from an obvious first choice. “Why me?” he asks.
“Why do rich people do anything?” Jisung impatiently returns. They round the corner and stop in front of a door, an adjacent label displaying Kim Seungmin, Attorney at Law. “Either way, I was instructed to tell you that to keep Lee Minho happy and on retainer is to keep your highly replaceable job. No pressure though.”
Seungmin gulps.
Jisung departs with one final clap on the back. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. Just do what you do best.”
“Be gay, argue facts?”
“Be gay, argue facts.”
When Seungmin enters into his small, shoebox office, Minho is draped across his even smaller leather couch, both legs swinging and dangling lazily off the side. From the looks of it, he is idly reading through some emails, the contents of which are probably laden with lucrative business deals and updates on his side projects, the ones he has going on when he’s not developing new state of the art technology, as expected from the pride of South Korea.
“Um, hi.” Seungmin closes the door behind him. The resulting click echoes endlessly throughout his ear drums, suggestive in a way it shouldn’t be considering this is only the second time they’ve met. “Good morning.”
Minho looks up from beneath a pair of unfairly long lashes, before pocketing his phone. He inclines his head in acknowledgement.
“Kim Seungmin."
The lawyer nods. “That is indeed my full government name.”
He thinks he might see the beginning hints of a smile, only it’s just Minho parting his lips to say “You’re here” followed promptly by a cough, and then, gruffer. “It took you long enough. I’ve been waiting for you all day.”
Seungmin glances down at his watch to note that it’s barely nine AM. “My apologies, Mr. Lee.”
Quietly, the tech genius amends. “Well, basically all day.”
Seungmin’s answering smile is more indulgent than it is rightfully annoyed, too thrilled by Minho’s reappearance to allow the more abrasive parts of the older’s personality to dim Seungmin’s thrumming, cicada-winged joy.
“What brings you here?” Into Seungmin’s office or back into Seungmin’s life – a question left up to interpretation.
Minho gets up off of the couch only to drape himself into the chair across from Seungmin’s desk. “A case,” he declares. A case and nothing else.
Seungmin shrugs off his suit jacket and sits down, resting his elbows on a stack of briefs he’s supposed to look through today; steeples his fingers beneath his chin and says, “Okay, let’s hear it then, Minho-ssi.”
♡
Pros and Cons of Becoming Miroh Tech CEO Lee Minho’s New Personal Lawyer: A Definitive List by Kim Seungmin.
Cons (many): The case is unwinnable and the number that Minho is looking for in the settlement offer is a farce. There’s a lack of culpability, pieces of evidence bordering on nonexistent to undefined, and more than likely the case will get tossed from the start. Seungmin’s going to have to spend hours on the brief and get creative with his arguments and even then it’s a long shot across entire leagues. Entire oceans, even.
Pro (a singular entry, but given equal weight): Whatever cologne Minho is wearing today, it smells very, very nice.
♡
When Seungmin loses the first suit a few weeks later, he thinks, ‘Welp, that’s the end of that’, and settles for being disappointed but resigned; actively mopes for less than a day before Minho shows up again at 9 AM sharp, goldfish memory when he presents Seungmin with a second, even harder to prove case. His eyes shine bright when he asks the lawyer, “You game?”
Whether or not Minho is referring to the case still remains to be seen.
♡
Seungmin would like to say that any and all fascination he holds towards Lee Minho is quickly burnt out of his heart upon the realization that the older wants nothing more than to waste Seungmin’s time, waltzing through his door wearing that infuriating grin, making himself comfortable in the cramped space within. He lays across Seungmin’s three-seater again, complaining about the way he is all but sinking in.
“You need better-quality furniture. This couch, if you can even call it that, belongs in the trash.”
“Hmm,” he hums, noncommittal, paying Minho just enough attention to not significantly raise his hackles. Meanwhile, Seungmin is thumbing through some older files, looking for an alternative angle to his approach or some semblance of precedent to lean on in court. “I like the one I have as it is.”
The CEO ignores him and continues to ramble on. “No one’s going to take you seriously, sitting in this thing. A eyesore and a backsore, all in one. How do you expect to get hired?”
“You did, that first time. And then another four.”
His response is a grumble. “It’s called charity, Kim Seungmin.”
The lawyer plasters on a smile, if only because Minho is by far the firm’s biggest client, and Seungmin is only marginally better situated than the dirt beneath Hyunjin’s Balenciaga shoes. (And also because, for all the ways Minho is insufferable, Seungmin acknowledges that he is also just as cute, like a little cat meowing for pets.)
“I’m presuming you’re here for an update on the FNC suit?” He closes the binder in favor of pulling up Minho’s files. The folder size alone is probably half of Seungmin’s computer memory, extraneous and loaded as they are with copies of retainers and depositions. FNC is just the most recent in a string of lawsuits Minho brings to darken Seungmin's walls, each one increasingly more ridiculous than the last. He’s clocking 35 billable hours a week on Minho’s personal cases alone and has become a fixed presence in the break room, a capsule coffee fiend.
“Well for starters, I’m pretty sure the judge is going to laugh us out of court,” Seungmin announces, even if it falls on entirely apathetic ears. Minho hemorrhages more money bringing forward these suits than he wins back in settlements, barely breaking even in the few cases that don’t get thrown out altogether. Still, this doesn’t stop him from dredging up frivolous charges on what seems to be a whim.
“Are we still going though?” Minho asks, sitting up. His face is already pulled into a frown.
“I’m sure you have better things to do than sit on a bench with me and wait around for our docket to be called.”
“I’m monitoring an investment.”
Seungmin scoffs and repeats, “We are literally just sitting around.”
“How about you make it worth my while?” His tone is shy of suggestive, a level of control with which Minho exercises like no one else can. His head rests neatly in one hand, face tilting slightly in anticipation of a response. Eyes blinking slowly, in contrast to Seungmin’s jackrabbiting heart.
Seungmin doesn’t gulp at implication. He doesn’t, he swears. “You make a hundred million won an hour doing nothing, so forgive me for not being all too sure that's even possible.”
“Your time is priceless to me, Seungminnie.”
He ducks his head to hide the way his pulse thunders beneath the flushed membrane of his skin; somehow manages to keep the panic out of his voice when he asks, “Is that why you’re determined to waste as much of it as you can?”
♡
A new couch arrives for Seungmin that very same week – brown, sumptuous velvet that feels every bit like sin and long enough to fit Seungmin’s entire body from end to end. It is comfort, luxury, and an experience all in one.
Still, he misses his old couch.
(The new one doesn’t smell close enough to Minho when Seungmin lays down and closes his eyes.)
♡
A variation of one of their almost cyclical conversations goes like this:
Seungmin, groaning upon hearing Minho’s cackle as the latter lounges in the corner watching cat videos on his phone, all while Seungmin is scouring through last week’s deposition with a fine-toothed comb, trying to focus only he’s much too distracted by the third button, undone, resting against Minho’s firm, chiseled chest. It’s practically mocking him so Seungmin huffs, more petulant than usual, “Don’t you have a tech industry to monopolize?”
“Been there, done that.” Minho doesn’t look up from the screen. “Monopolizing you is much more fun.”
“You can’t monopolize me. I’m still my own person.”
“Not when I’m paying you 600,000 won an hour, you’re not.”
Minho’s only joking but Seungmin has nothing to say, all too aware that he spends too much of his energy worrying about Minho’s lawsuits and, by extension, the litigious man himself; enough to bleed into every aspect of Seungmin’s life, the nooks and crannies that Minho’s presence fills in, and the space he creates when even that isn’t enough. Seungmin’s universe is constantly expanding around a fixed, Minho-shaped point and 600,000 won or not, everything about him feels like an inevitability. Everything about Minho feels infinite.
Which is just . . . impossible to profess without being immediately followed by the (correct) conclusion that Seungmin has a big, fat crush on his insufferable client, arguably the biggest blemish in his entire short-lived career. So Seungmin chooses to deflect instead. “Can you at least be helpful and grab a reference book from the shelf? Civil Law, Volume 3. It should be on the second row, near the end.”
“I’m busy,” Minho declares but stands up anyway, stretching to loosen whatever limbs that had gone stiff from the last hour of lazing around. Seungmin has to tear his eyes away from the contours of Minho’s body beneath his white dress shirt and pants, away from that third button, still frustratingly undone.
“Doing what?” he asks.
“Supervising you, obviously. I can’t have you slacking on the job.”
Seungmin scoffs, fingers twitching but refraining from pitching his pen across the room. “If you’re gonna blame my decline in productivity on anything, it should be you.”
At that, Minho laughs. “Because I’m such a distraction, Seungmin-ah?” He raises an eyebrow and subsequently raises the temperature of the room. Internal body temperature at least several degrees warmer, Seungmin can’t help but to sweat.
“No,” he says and without any real conviction, “because you’re the world’s biggest menace. The worst person I know.”
Minho looks rather pleased as he saunters over towards the bookshelf, fingers skimming along well-worn spines until he locates the book requested. He slowly walks it back over to Seungmin's desk, placing the title neatly at the corner before swinging around to come to a rest by the window. The lawyer watches as Minho leans heavily against the cabinets beneath, body backlit by Seoul and the sun slipping dreamily below the horizon.
“Anyways,” his voice is soft. Softer now, in the dusky twilight that descends. “I can’t leave you alone for too long. You’re the type who needs extra care.”
It feels speaking through molasses when he squeaks forth, “Hardly, hyung.”
The honorific slips out, much easier now than it had been the entire week Seungmin’s been testing it on his tongue, offered and agreed upon during that indeterminate period of time between cases where Seungmin’s sense of professionalism blurs a bit around the edges. Soft and hazy, like the quality of Minho’s eyes in the afternoon light, glancing down at Seungmin as the day slips closer and closer to night.
Minho pinkens upon hearing the name, but that could just as easily be a reflection of the dying sunlight. He moves to brush away those few strands of hair that Seungmin’s cheap, dollar-store gel can never seem to keep in place. His fingers drag and trail around the curve of Seungmin’s face, returning reluctantly to Minho’s side where they flex and curl into a tiny, loosely-held fist. “And yet that seems to be the case.”
It is entirely too gentle, Minho’s gossamer touch; tender in a way his words rarely are, a beacon of honesty amidst hidden meanings buried beneath fifteen layers of misdirection. A subtle caress or a lingering hand, the press of their thighs as they’re taking lunch outside – variations of Minho’s quiet affection.
Seungmin likes the challenge of uncovering every single one.
♡
It’s nearly 11 o’clock at night when he gets Minho’s call and lets it ring five times before he finally picks up the FaceTime request with a grin. He knows Minho hates waiting most of all and the petty provocation is worth it in exchange for the grainy pixelation of Minho’s scowl.
“Yes, hyung?”
“Why are you emailing me so late?” Minho demands in lieu of a greeting, squinting into his phone screen trying to make out the shapes and shadows of Seungmin’s background. Evidently, something seems to click. “Wait, where are you now?”
He chuckles into the receiver, “Hello to you, too.”
“Kim Seungmin,” the older grits out through his teeth.
Seungmin leans back in his chair, switching on his desk lamp so he’s not exclusively bathed in the blue-tinted computer light. Minho regards his now visible features with something like alarm. Seungmin must be looking especially rough. “Well, since you asked you so nicely, I’m still at the firm. We’ve been heavily understaffed ever since Yeji and Lia got poached, so I’m currently triple-checking some briefs before Jihyo-noona has to file them at noon.”
“Because double-checking it wasn’t enough?”
Seungmin smiles, weary. He cards a hand through his hair. “I’m just being careful is all.”
Minho sighs. “Have you eaten, at least?”
Has he? Seungmin tries to recall. “I had a triangle kimbap a couple of hours ago, I think?”
“Just that? Nothing else?”
Seungmin considers copping to crunching on a handful of peppermints he took from reception, but thinks that admitting it will do more harm than help when it comes to assuaging Minho’s ill-hidden concern. “I’ve been really busy today.”
This statement is followed by a brief silence before, “I changed my mind. I’m sending over a car. I want to go through the Gangnam club case one more time.”
“As in, right now?”
“Yes, now. So you better hurry and finish up.”
“Ok, bossy.”
“As if I’m not technically your boss.”
The sleek black sedan pulls up a little less than 20 minutes later and bears Seungmin into a gated community, home to some of Seoul’s most rich and famous. Minho’s lawn glows fluorescent green in the dark and just toeing the grass with dress shoes slightly scuffed at the heel feels like committing a crime, a class three misdemeanor at least.
Minho greets him at the door, wrapped in a threadbare robe and slippers, appearing much cozier in this than the designer suits he usually sports. Prescription glasses rest on the bridge of his nose, and his hair is loose, as if recently dried from a shower. It looks impossibly fluffy and soft.
“Took you long enough.”
Seungmin calmly points out, “It’s Seoul on a Saturday night. If you hadn’t sent a car, I would have been stuck there for an hour trying to flag down a cab.”
“This would be easier if you just learned how to drive.”
“Why?” Seungmin teases. “Thinking about buying me a car?”
Minho sputters, embarrassed. “As a business expense!”
“Whatever, hyung. Are you going to invite me in?”
Minho looks like he’s contemplating making Seungmin leave altogether, but deflates upon seeing the grin that stretches across the lawyer’s face, and eventually steps aside. The dark polycarbonate tips of his glasses stand out against the bubblegum pink tips of his ears.
Seungmin slips past him in the doorway to admire the view. Typical rich people things: high ceilings from which hangs an assortment of crystal chandeliers, wide windows above spotless marbled floors. The size of his home is ridiculous for someone residing there alone and yet, unsurprisingly, every corner feels distinctly lived-in. Unsurprising, because Minho is the type who expands to fit his surroundings, his innate warmth well-diffused.
He feels a gentle brush against his ankles and looks down to see a cat winding its way through. “Oh, hello there.” Seungmin bends to pat the kitten on its head and receives a sandpaper-feeling kiss against his fingers in return. “You must be little Dori.”
“Soonie and Doongie are around here somewhere.”
He hums. “There are three cats? I thought you only had one.”
“Kim Seungmin, I will disarticulate your limbs.”
“And how much worker's comp would that entail?”
Minho settles for glaring instead, daggers in the side of Seungmin’s head as he gets his fill of butt scratches in. Once satisfied, he turns back to the matter at hand. “So you wanted to go over the case?”
“But first, follow me.”
Together, they shuffle into Minho’s kitchen, all marble countertops and appliances of matching stainless steel. The spice rack in the corner, stacked three stories high, looks well-stocked and well-used. The slight clutter throughout is indicative of regular cooking being done.
Minho pulls out a chair beneath the lip of his island, on top of which sits a still-warm plate of food, tonkatsu and rice, plus rolled omelettes drizzled with ketchup.
“Eat,” the older man commands. “I only heated up some leftovers, but it’ll have to do.”
Seungmin clicks together the pair of chopsticks Minho places in his hands. “For me?”
“I highly doubt you’re gonna be all that useful to me on an empty stomach. And it’s really nothing special.”
He takes one look at the delivery receipt laid forgotten on the counter, timestamped two minutes after Minho had hung up on him to demand he come over, and knows immediately that the whole ‘conveniently just had some leftovers’ excuse is a lie. The gyeran mari isn't listed on the order, yet is presented without the telltale plastic sheen of cooked eggs redone.
Minho’s ears, barely pink before, are a bright, crimson red when he realizes his mistake, how thoughtlessly he leaves behind incriminating evidence before a seasoned lawyer. Minho knows he’s been caught but will not acknowledge it until Seungmin does.
(But Seungmin won’t since it’s more embarrassing to draw out and play into the lie, because Minho is the cutest when he’s flushed, pink and pretty, all the way down to his toes.)
“Thank you, hyung. I’ll eat it well.”
Absolutely no work gets done that night, just a whole lot of bickering back and forth, which Seungmin suspected would be the case when he ended the call. To compensate, he managed to squeeze in the last of his edits and clear out the rest of his inbox before meeting Minho’s driver downstairs, although there’s still some shuffling that needs to happen with his workload for Seungmin to feel some semblance of control heading into the new week. Minho’s current case is, surprisingly, the least of his worries, a simple enough open and shut in comparison to the headscratchers he used to present to Seungmin in the past.
Although, he muses, it could just be that Seungmin is a better lawyer now than he was six months ago, forged in the fire of Minho’s chaos and well-conditioned given the mental gymnastics he’s had to perform to get their cases to court or, even better, settled quietly outside of it. For all the headaches and sleepless nights Seungmin’s suffered through, he’s grown tremendously as well. JYP himself reached out to send Seungmin an email telling him to “Keep up the good work!”
“Anyways hyung, you’ve got it all wrong. Vanilla is not boring. It’s fundamental! The basis for almost every other ice cream flavor. People who don’t like vanilla are incapable of finding happiness in the simple things.”
“So you admit it,” the older raises an eyebrow. “You think vanilla ice cream is a primitive ice cream.”
“Objection, argumentative.”
Minho smirks from where he is perched on the kitchen counter. “Overruled.”
Seungmin is standing to put his finished dish away when he feels Minho’s hand wrapping loosely around his wrist.
“Come here, you dummy.”
Seungmin dazedly follows directions, pressed between Minho’s thighs as the older man pulls him closer by the tie, before lifting the silk material to dab at the stain underneath. He wonders if Minho can feel the snare drum pounding of Seungmin’s heartbeat as well.
“I said that you were the type who needs extra care.” Seungmin notes the diligent cleaning vs. the reprimand of his words.
Minho’s eyelashes look like dandelion seeds up close.
“Hyung,” he starts and abruptly stops when Minho glances up. His eyes are the color of maple syrup beneath the yellow-hued lights, and strangely just as sticky, pinning Seungmin firmly in place.
Their close proximity is messing with Seungmin’s head; flowery language and legal acumen abandoning him, until he’s only left with the truest of words. The questions he's been asking in silence, over and over again.
“Why all of these lawsuits?” The question burst out of Seungmin like a dam. “It’s not like you need the money.”
To this point, Minho willingly concedes, both arms snaking over Seungmin’s shoulders without any efforts to tug him in close; only rests there, gently, as he traces shapes into the raised gooseflesh of Seungmin’s back. “I’ve never needed the money,” he agrees, and there is something heady in the way Minho’s feline eyes lock onto its prey; a lure into the lion’s den when he reveals, “It’s all about the process.”
Seungmin blinks. “What process?”
“Being with you."
♡
Seungmin doesn’t kiss him, but it is a very close thing.
♡
“Jisung, I’m going to be disbarred.”
“You’re not going to be disbarred.”
“I’m going to lose my job.”
“You are not going to lose your job.”
“I’m going to end up on the streets!”
“I wouldn’t classify Minho’s bedside as the streets, Seungmin-ah.”
He levels his fellow associate a glare, except Seungmin is also halfway drunk, so cannot speak to whether the sentiment translates all too well. “I’m not joking, Jisung. I don’t want to lose my career over this.”
“‘This’ being what? Because I doubt it’s just a crush. You wouldn’t be this conflicted if it was only a crush.”
Seungmin flinches, as if he’s been shot. The plastic stool he’s sitting on feels unbearable beneath his butt.
“You’re supposed to be commiserating with me over drinks, not cross-examining me while I’m weak!” His little half-yell grabs the attention of everyone else inside of the tent, some of the regulars recognizing Seungmin’s familiar face. The pojangmacha around the corner is one of his and Jisung’s more frequent haunts and the roles of the yeller vs. the one being yelled at is normally switched the other way around. Somehow, Seungmin has ended up on his feet.
Burning from crown to toes, he lowers himself back down.
Jisung cackles.
“Good to see you’re having fun at my expense.”
Seungmin wasn’t holding out for any solid advice from his friend, but expected a little bit of sympathy and a pat on the back or two at least. Instead, Jisung is less than helpful, being a major proponent of the 2Min Agenda, and on the cusp of forming an affinity group with their fellow coworkers also eagerly watching the progression of his and Minho’s relationship from afar.
“Expense is right.”
The implication triggers a sour taste in his mouth.
It’s unsettling to know that Seungmin’s less than professional crush on the tech mogul is both common knowledge and a public spectacle, akin to watching reality television on the job only with more personal stakes since allegedly, there’s an unofficial pool going around on how long it’ll take for Seungmin to break.
“It’s not alleged,” Jisung corrects. “Because I’m running it.”
“What the hell?” Seungmin shouts. The drink in his hand sloshes around but thankfully doesn’t spill, having forgotten he was holding it when he points an accusatory finger at his (read: former) best friend.
“Don’t be embarrassed. It’s been a bonding experience for us all! Even Finance and IT people are playing along. The pot’s over 3,00,000 won!”
“With the general consensus being?” He already regrets asking, as soon as that word leaves his mouth.
Jisung is quick to recall. “Most have you down for another month. Hyunjinnie is less optimistic about your patience and thinks you’re liable to snap next week.”
With a groan, Seungmin flags down the owner for another round. “And you? What do you think?”
“I’m banned from participating because everyone’s worried about my supposed insider knowledge, not that you ever confide in me ever, but I personally agree with Hyunjinnie. I think you’re barely hanging on by a thread.”
Terribly frayed and thinning quicker by the second.
It seems like everyone knows it’s only a matter of time.
♡
Things between him and Minho are awkward for a while.
Gone is the easy camaraderie, if one could call it that. Minho doesn’t even snark, as is his default method of communicating with Seungmin. In its place sprouts an unsteady reluctance, hemming and hawing and tiptoeing around the edges of each other’s periphery, too afraid to hold the other’s eye contact for too long. Minho doesn’t stop by his office as frequently anymore before even those irregular visits transition into him not coming by at all.
Seungmin misses him terribly.
It’s his fault, he knows. If he had just communicated his thought process better in the moment, was quick to reassure Minho that he isn’t alone in wanting something more, only the timing for that has long since passed, and the weight of it feels too heavy to lift off his chest. Until the silence between them grows louder than anything Seungmin could ever say.
The first time they see each other in weeks is to close out the Gangnam nightclub case and despite feeling like he was going to crawl out of his skin every time Minho’s gaze found his own, Seungmin does a decent enough job at laying out his evidence to the court. Flagrant misconduct, irreparable emotional harm, etc. etc. etc.
After the gavel bangs and the judge promises a ruling within the next 30 days, they file out and linger by the courthouse stairs, both reluctant to go back to the stilted distance of before. Seungmin runs a nervous hand through his hair, dislodging those same pesky strands, and observes the way Minho’s fingers twitch out of habit but ultimately remain, clenched into a fist, by his side.
He swallows his disappointment the same way he knocks back alcoholic drinks – quickly, while ignoring the burn of every inch going down.
Minho speaks first. “Good work today, Seungmin.”
He strangely longs for the sound of his surname. “Thank you, hyung.”
Minho looks like he is going to say something else, only he’s interrupted by a tiny, wrinkled figure appearing seemingly out of nowhere. Seungmin watches as a woman, old enough to be his grandmother’s grandmother, takes Minho into her hands, sun spots on the surface of them shaking as she struggles to keep still. Clasped palms rise up towards her lips, shrunken head bowing to place a reverant kiss. Finally, she tugs them closer to feel the swelling sincerity in her chest.
“CEO Lee,” she cries.
“Halmeoni,” Minho greets her respectfully, leaving Seungmin to wonder at the connection.
“I can’t tell you how much it means to me and to Jiyeonnie for you to take on our case.”
“Not at all, Halmeonie. I just write the checks. It’s really Lawyer Kim you should be thanking. He did all of the actual work.”
Seungmin finds himself on the receiving end of another one her kisses, dry and gentle across his knuckles and skin. “Don’t thank me yet. The decision won’t be out for another few weeks.”
Tears spring from the corner of her eyes, disappearing into the folds of her wizened cheeks. “Just the fact that you were willing to take this on is enough. We had been turned down by so many firms, rejection after rejection. Jiyeonie had lost all hope for justice until CEO Lee appeared.”
“Again, I just write the checks.”
She pats his cheek, gentle but in reproach. “Don’t sell your generosity so short.”
It is after she leaves in a flurry of additional bowing and tears that Seungmin discovers all the cases he’s been taking on are overflow from Changbin’s firm, notorious for taking on clients no matter how big or small; easy slam dunks along with the frequent lost causes.
“This whole time?” Seungmin asks, but Minho is looking somewhere - everywhere - else. "Why didn't you tell me?"
He is angry, but recognizes that it is entirely misplaced. Seungmin is deeply ashamed for being so confident in his abilities to read Minho well, while still operating under the uncharitable assumption that Minho chooses these cases on a whim, depending on the direction of the wind or plucked from one of the many inconveniences he experiences on his way to Seungmin’s firm.
Minho who, beneath it all, has always been kind.
Kind enough to let Seungmin leave that night without another word, choking back his own heartbreak and things left unsaid. Someone whose affection lies in the silence he allows, waiting for Seungmin to make the decision and to make the first move. Minho, who has never been a patient man.
He swallows down the lump that forms. Lifts his chin with newfound determination.
"This is the last time," Seungmin says.
"The last time, what?" Minho asks.
"After the ruling comes in, I refuse to be your legal counsel ever again. Ethically speaking, I don't know if I can."
"Ethically speaking?"
“I don't know if I can keep representing you when I want to kiss you so bad.”
♡
The last case Seungmin takes on involving Minho is this:
Summary of Complaint:
Party A (Kim Seungmin) is filing charges against Party B (Lee Minho) for emotional duress. Cost of damages totaling up to 600,000 won times the amount of hours Party B spent beating around the bush. Party A seeking restitution in the form of a date.
"Case dismissed. I don’t even like you like that.”
Seungmin pulls Minho into his lap. "As if you didn’t just spend the last several months suing people to spend some time with your crush?”
“Crush? What crush?” The lines of his back mold like putty into Seungmin’s chest.
“Hyung.”
“You have no proof.”
Seungmin rolls a flushed lobe between the press of his lips. Minho writhes at the touch of Seungmin’s hands, so warm around his waist. "Exhibit A.”
Followed by a high-pitched whine when Seungmin detaches himself abruptly. “Exhibit B.”
"Kim Seungmin!”
“That is indeed my full government name.”