Chapter Text
MARCH 2025:
Jongho was certain all the oxygen had evaporated from the room: stuck in an airtight chamber, sealed shut with the hot and sticky tension blooming between him and Mingi like bacteria on a Petri dish.
Sitting rigid on Mingi’s beige couch, knees pressed flush, the other man’s hand rested firmly on his cheek; the weight of it was both grounding and suffocating. Mingi’s face was inches from his own and he could smell the remnants of the night out in his breath; the faint taste of soju and beer, masked by the artificial mint of chewing gum.
Neither of them moved.
It was a laughably cinematic moment: a moment where everything froze and it felt as if his world was blossoming with colors and lights that were previously muted. He felt filled to the brim with a symphony that he feared would only end in a dissonant chord- a symphony that he wondered was capable of ending on the right notes.
Mingi’s brown eyes were bright and searching for answers, for permission, between Jongho’s own wide eyes and parted lips.
His plush lips were shiny after his tongue had gently painted a coat of saliva on them in anticipation. He wondered if they would feel as soft as they looked- like a pillow or strawberry marshmallows or if they would taste that way too: sweet and sugary.
Jongho had wanted this, maybe since the first time he met Mingi. And maybe a part of him had been hoping that Mingi wanted this too.
Admitting that to himself was more terrifying than any nightmare he had as a child.
The sound seemed to rush into his ears as the gap between their faces closed, Mingi pressing his lips against Jongho’s. The kiss was firm, unmoving, as if Mingi was beckoning Jongho to make the next move- to break the kiss or to deepen it further.
And Choi Jongho swore something was intoxicating about Mingi’s cologne, an element that left him more inebriated than the bottles of soju and beer ever could. He could smell Mingi’s aftershave, the berry scent of his shampoo, the musk of his cologne; the combination inebriated him, making him forget who he was, where he came from, what was expected of him; all he knew was he wanted Mingi.
He wanted Mingi in any way he could have him.
He wanted this, he wanted this, he wanted this.
In seconds, his instincts seemed to overtake his racing mind, a sweaty hand reaching to grip the back of Mingi’s neck, the long blonde tresses of hair were soft to his fingers. Up close, he could see the black makeup lining Mingi’s eyes, the silver eyeshadow dusting his closed eyelids, the way the sparkles caught the dim light from the lamp, and how the two beauty marks stood out tenfold next to the faded acne scars and pores of his skin
He allowed his eyes to flutter shut, not sure he wanted to face the reality of what was happening: up close, Mingi was real, his emotions painted in highlights on his features. Up close, it was much harder to dismiss the messages that Mingi was sending; harder to ignore the flirtatious smiles, harder to ignore the arousal in his eyes. His face, often concealing his complex emotions, was open- telling a story that Jongho feared he wasn’t brave enough to finish.
Mingi deepened the kiss, bringing his other hand to Jongho’s waist, tongue slipping into his mouth languidly. He slung a leg over Jongho’s lap, his thick thighs straddling him. He was cornered on the sofa, almost completely reclined as Mingi, his lips moving faster, kissing becoming frantic and sloppy with arousal.
He felt as if he’d transcended to a new plane of existence, his body weightless; if it hadn’t been for Mingi sitting on his lap, he was at risk of floating away.
Moments ago, the thought of a being with another man was a daydream he had only realized recently he was having. But here he was, lips kissed swollen, reclined under Song Mingi with his dick beginning to throb painfully under the weight of Mingi’s hips against his own.
“Hyung,” he managed to whimper out, his voice breathy. Mingi’s lips were traveling swiftly, pressing kisses along his jawline and down his neck.
The vacuum seal in the room felt as if it had reached a new tightness, his ears ringing, his lungs burning, pressure building in the pit of his stomach as pleasure began to overtake him.
It was just he and Mingi: no thoughts that he couldn’t shut off, no judgment from people or himself , no fear. Just… Mingi
.
He hadn’t realized the older man had unbuttoned his tight leather vest, revealing his perfect pectorals and the soft outline of his stomach. It wasn’t until Mingi had his fingers on Jongho’s button-up, eyes wide and requesting permission to continue, that reality really seemed to hit Jongho.
He supposed it could only last for so long; when the clock struck 12, the ball ended, eventually his feet had to land back on the ground, now heavy as if tied down with lead.
The ice cold water of reality had been dumped on his head as his phone buzzed loudly on the coffee table, revealing a call from his Eomma.
The sound caused Mingi to jump -the big scaredy cat- something that he would have joked about if he didn’t feel as if he were drowning.
“Oh my god,” he murmured. He pushed Mingi off him, probably a bit harder than he needed to. Mingi didn’t say anything, just repositioning himself quietly as the younger man groaned, putting his face in his hands.
Jongho watched with horror as his phone continued to buzz- revealing a picture his brother had taken of him and his eomma that had been taken on her birthday- her eyes pressed into crescents, mouth open in a laugh as he pressed a kiss to her right cheek.
It feels like forever, sitting in silence, before the phone screen goes black.
The call eventually went to voicemail.
Fuck.
He felt Mingi’s hand rest on his back, in a gesture he assumed was supposed to be comforting, but he flinched so violently, he felt his arm seize in protest.
Mingi pulled his hand away as if he’d touched a stove, holding it in his other hand like he was nursing a wound.
“I have to go,” Jongho stood calmly, far more calmly than he felt; he was impressed at how steady he managed to keep his voice. He grabbed his phone and shoved it in his pocket, concealing the way his hands were shaking.
Mingi still said nothing, his mouth hanging open, unsure what was possibly the right thing to say.
“Okay.” He cleared his throat eventually, as Jongho had finished slipping on his shoes, the laces untied. He watched silently as Jongho slung his leather jacket over his shoulders, trying to read his stoic face. To those who didn’t know him, he might appear perfectly calm and put together. Mingi liked to think he knew Jongho better than that- the giveaway that something was amiss was the untied laces on his left shoe.
“Hey,” And Mingi’s voice was so quiet, so unlike himself, that Jongho turned around, instantly regretting it when he saw the other man’s downcast expression; it was hard to place what the expression was- perhaps it wasn’t sadness, but rather resignation, a bitter acceptance.
Jongho wasn’t sure why that seemed to hurt much more.
Mingi was still sitting on the couch, his eyes on the spot where Jongho’s phone had been.
“Text me when you get in, okay?”
Jongho nodded, not caring that Mingi wasn’t looking at him and couldn’t see his response- he knew if he opened his mouth, he might break down, and that was honestly the last thing he needed.
It didn’t matter, though- it wasn't like he intended to oblige Mingi’s request, anyway.
JUNE 2024
Moving to New York to attend college was simultaneously an amazing opportunity and a horrible decision.
Upon first stepping out of LaGuardia Airport, Jongho’s nose was assaulted by the unmistakable smell of piss and shit, which should have been his first red flag. Figuring out the subway had been a nightmare as well; descending the stairs had been akin to entering the bowels of hell: hot, loud, and the stench of sour garbage everywhere.
For the entirety of the train ride, he stood cramped, trying to make his shoulders as small as possible, clutching the metal pole to keep himself from falling as the train lurched and ambled on the tracks- although, with the sheer amount of people there were packed into the train car, moving seemed impossible, no matter how many bumps the train hit.
To say that all of this had been a culture shock would be an understatement. He hadn’t been shocked- he had been completely electrocuted, with the embers quickly fizzling out in the puddles of NYC garbage juice on the sidewalk.
To say that it had been all bad, however, would be an untruth. He thinks he largely owes this sentiment to his roommate, Jeong Yunho.
Yunho was a year older than him, a former dance major- born in Gwangju, South Korea, who had moved to California to attend an arts high school. Jongho knew Yunho must be talented if he was an alum of one of the highest ranking Art Schools globally, but to hear his impressive resume, dating back to when he was a child, lined with off-Broadway shows and several positions as a backup dancer, had been a bit intimidating. However, the second Yunho introduced himself, a smile overtaking his face and Korean rolling off his tongue- Jongho's fears had melted, and he instantly felt more at home.
“Hello,”he had said, bowing deeply.
Jongho had bowed back on instinct, cheerfully returning the greeting. “Ah, your Korean is really good!” he complimented in English.
“I hope so,” Yunho laughed, the apples of his cheeks pushing his eyes into happy curves. “It is my first language,” he stated, continuing their conversation in Korean despite Jongho's reply in English.
So, maybe moving to New York to pursue his vocal talent as a career wasn’t the mistake he had initially seen it as. It had been a puzzle, a wonderfully brilliant puzzle, that required him to figure out where the pieces went.
Within a week of knowing him, Yunho had already taken him under his wing, taking it upon himself to show him around the campus, the city, and to offer him any language help he may need. He was surprised how well they got along, sharing more than a culture and a language. They bonded over their shared love for video games, anime, k-dramas, and action movies.
It was a lazy Saturday, his second full Saturday in New York, and Jongho had spent the day building and organizing the furniture that had arrived in the mail. He was\ lounging on the deep blue sofa in the living room, their common space, perusing through tabs on his laptop to find a gym or something to work at. He chewed on the string of his hoodie, his mind straying to whether he should order delivery or venture outside to get something to eat- maybe Yunho would want to come along if he did.
Yunho, however, seemed to have different plans: he made his presence known by a squeaky noise that only seemed to get louder as he got closer. When he was finally in his view, Jongho realized the squeaking sound was caused by his leather pants rubbing every time he took a step.
It took everything in him to keep his mouth from falling open.
When Yunho saw him, his face brightened.
“Hey! Haven’t seen you around today!” he noted, dropping the thick-soled shoes he was carrying on the floor. “Slept over at Hwas- by the time I got in, you were already out. Busy day?” he asked, conversationally.
Jongho was too busy short-circuiting over Yunho’s attire. It stood in such contrast to what he usually wore: the casual pair of chinos had been traded for the skin-tight leather pants, and a mesh top revealed the pale, lightly toned arms usually hidden by an oversized tee or a polo.
He couldn’t claim to really know the guy, but he hadn’t really pegged his roommate as… well-
How on earth could he possibly finish that sentence without sounding extremely reductive and possibly bigoted?
“Uh, yeah,” he answered absently, with his hoodie string dangling stupidly out of the corner of his mouth. “Busy. Uh. Where-,” he let the question die on his rapidly drying tongue- what was he even going to ask him?
Where are you going?
Why do you look so hot?
Why do you look so hot?!??!?
He paused for a moment, blinking
Why do you look so hot?...
Because I’m an objectively attractive man, with an objectively beautiful face and body, and anyone with a pair of eyes would be able to see that?
But why do you look so hot to me?
His treacherous brain supplied, Why do I see the mountainous slope of his broad shoulders, the tapering waist adorned with the soft skin of his pale tummy, his round and plush pectorals and feel-
Warm, jittery, breathless, parched…
Because…
“-gho? Jongho-yah?” Yunho was teasingly sing-songing, having moved, and was only a few inches away from Jongho.
“Lost you for a sec,” he joked, but there was a genuine concern on his face.
“You…- hot,” was his dumb response.
Yunho barked out a laugh, and the tips of his ears went bright red.
Jongho quickly tried to backtrack, “I- I didn’t mean it like- I wasn’t trying to- I mean- uh-,”
“Relax, I know what you meant!” Yunho tried to reassure him at the same time Jongho blurted, “Isn’t it a bit hot for leather?”
“Sorry,” now he felt his own face begin to heat up
Yunho was still laughing, “Jonho-yah, you’re so cute,” he cooed in Korean, “And yes, absolutely, it’s too hot for leather- but don’t worry, I’m not gonna be wearing it all night- if you know what I mean,” he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.
Despite his internal crisis, Jongho had to laugh. Yunho chuckled to himself as he slotted his phone in his pocket, heading for the door, “I’m gonna crash at Hwa’s place again, so don’t wait up. See you tomorrow!”
“Okay,” he replied, barely loud enough to be heard over the slam of the door and subsequent jingle of house keys.
Burying his face in his hands, he groaned loudly.
After that, he began to pay more attention to the kinds of people he’d notice.
And boy, had this not been on his 2024 bingo card…
~~~~
Since then, Jongho had deduced that this was a thing Yunho would do routinely - the first Saturday of the month, the other man would get dressed up in a bold outfit and makeup and meet up with a group of friends.
After a few weeks of living with Yunho, it was easy to deduce that the man was a complete social butterfly. He rarely spent time in their dorm, often spending weekends at a party, hanging out with friends, or inviting Jongho to explore NYC with him.
Jongho had noticed the rainbow flag on the back of Yunho’s laptop, but didn’t think much of it. But then he’d noticed a tri-color flag sitting in his pencil cup next to the Korean flag. The same three colored flag that was painted on his checks in the largest picture on his desk, the one of him and his friends, adorned in glitter, rainbows, and flags.
Yunho had first mentioned his friends weeks ago, pointing out the framed picture sitting on his desk.
Jongho hadn’t been sure what to say, so he settled on “You look happy.”
When he looked up, Yunho’s eyes were searching his, as if questioning his sincerity, inviting him to say something negative about his friends, daring him to try. But a second later, Yunho seemed to have found what he was looking for, his face brightening in an instant, “I was,” he had replied, “It was my first pride since coming out as bisexual."
And because Jongho valued Yunho as a friend, regardless of who he took as a partner, he had smiled and told him how cool his friends looked.
Jongho looked back at the people in the picture, wondering if he would ever be capable of looking that happy and free
AUGUST 2024
It was clear Yunho loved the people in his life.
For all he’d heard about them, Jongho had painted his own little mental image of Yunho’s friends, and they weren’t very different from his perception of Yunho: a bisexual, gaming dancer with long legs and a penchant for wearing clothes a size too big. Surprise wouldn’t begin to describe what Jongho felt when there was a man with a shock of blonde hair sitting lazily on a barstool, his phone holding his full attention as he glared at it. On the other side of the kitchen island, a woman sat elegantly in a bright sundress, tracing her fingers along the patterns of the marble countertop.
Jongho had just left the shower, a towel lazily hanging at his hips- his clothes were in his room… on the other side of the apartment… across the common area and the kitchen…. where the guests were seated.
Normally, this wouldn’t be an issue because the only other inhabitant of the apartment was Yunho, who was usually out when Jongho decided to shower anyway.
He bit his cheek, not expecting this to be his introduction to Yunho’s friends. Unfortunately, the creakiness of the wooden floorboards gave him away, and he wished the stupid, creaky fucking floor would open up and swallow him whole.
Both parties looked up at the sound.
Heat crawled up his neck and to his ears, spreading across his cheeks in a furious blush.
A smile blossomed on the woman's face as the man's squinted glare shifted from his phone to Jongho. He felt even more frozen, pinned under the weight of the man's intense gaze. His eyes were small and long, black smudged across his eyelids, making them look impossibly intense. His eyes sat above a long, straight nose, and plush pink lips were painted across a pale canvas framed by a strong, square jaw. Jongho willed himself not to look down at the way his thighs spread across the chair he was sitting on- the rips in the denim allowing strips of his skin to peek through.
He sat in all his splendor, in his ripped jeans and mesh and chains and buckles, looking so out of place in their lazily decorated apartment. The man's eyes seemed to flit to his bare chest, and Jongho immediately wrapped his arms around his torso.
“Uh-
“You must be Jongho,” the woman said, her voice a deep, creamy velvet. A bright smile overtook her face, perfect white teeth standing stark against her honey skin. “I’m Hwa,” she said gently, standing and extending her hand in greeting. “This is Mingi,” she gestured to the large man still seated, his lips parted and mouth hanging open dumbly.
When Mingi said nothing, and Jongho made no move to shake her hand, she turned and smacked Mingi on the shoulder, “Close your mouth before a bug flies in,” she admonished.
Doing as he was told, Mingi's mouth clicked shut, his face turning pink. “Hi,” he said, his voice was rumbling and gravely. The sound of it seemed to vibrate down the wooden floorboards right up Jongho’s legs and spine.
“... uh- sorry, give me a minute!” he walked past them as swiftly as possible, leaving Mingi and Hwa to bicker in his absence.
“You scared him off!”
“How did I scare him off?? You-”
The voices became muffled as he shut the bedroom door behind him. His heart was beating quickly, but he’d like to think it was because he all but sprinted to his room- that, along with the fact that he was just half naked in front of his roommate's girlfriend and best friend….
...It wasn’t at all because of the way Mingi's tight shirt clung to his biceps or the rips of his pants revealing a sinful amount of his thighs. It wasn’t the way his tongue had run against his bottom lip as his eyes locked on Jongho’s chest.
Certainly not.
His heart wasn’t beating because an attractive man with a hot voice just possibly checked him out.
Jongho wasn’t usually this jumpy. He was good at meeting people. He liked meeting new people and making new friends- so why was this so difficult?
He shrugged the white tee over his shoulders, stepping into a pair of baggy sweatpants with a hole in the elastic waistband.
Mingi was intimidating, for sure- with his eyeliner and nail polish, and though the man was Korean, he was the stark opposite of anyone Jongho had ever met or talked to. This was the kind of person you’d see on stage, the kind of outfit you’d see on an idol or a celebrity on stage, not on a regular guy on a regular Saturday.
Maybe Mingi wasn’t a regular guy…
When he emerged from his room, Mingi and Hwa hadn’t moved from their spots at the kitchen island.
The same beautiful smile lit up Hwa's face as she stood up; this time, it was tinged with a bit of apologeticness. “Sorry, we just kind of barged in here. Yunho’s old roommate was rarely here, and I have the key to let myself in sometimes. We’re gonna grab breakfast when Yunho finally graces us with his presence. Anyway! Sorry. I’m Hwa!” She held her hand out, and this time Jongho took it. “Nice to finally meet you,”
“Choi Jongho,” he replied, taking her hand and bowing his head lightly. Her fingers were long and rough, calloused, as if she maybe played an instrument.
Hwa asked conversationally, “Yunho said that you’re a vocalist?”
“He also said you were cute,” Mingi’s voice cut in.
Jongho had made a point not to look at Mingi, but when he did, he saw he was smiling- something that seemed to soften his whole face. He noticed one of his teeth was crooked, slightly longer than the rest of them, and something within Jongho seemed to flutter a bit.
“It feels like you just made that up so you could call him cute, inconspicuously.”
“Why would I lie? I’m literally incapable of lying. I’m an angel.”
“Do not listen to a word he says. He’s a demon sent to corrupt you.” Yunho entered the kitchen, making a beeline for the refrigerator.
“Over ten years of friendship and this is how you treat me?” Mingi had a hand over his chest.
“Princess Demon, apologies your majesty,”
Hwa rolled her eyes, but smiled fondly as the two continued to banter, “You’re welcome to join us for breakfast, Jongho.”
He tipped his head towards her graciously, “Thank you.”
“Have you ever seen Brother Bear?” Mingi asked, suddenly staring intently at him.
Jongho shook his head, raising an eyebrow.
“Aw man, I love that movie,” Mingi said, “You remind me of the bear- what’s his name?”
“Koda?” Yunho supplied.
“Is that the little annoying one?” Hwa asked, a slight wrinkle to her nose.
“He’s not annoying, he’s verbose,” Mingi argued with an indignant sniff, “He reminds me of myself when I was a kid. But no, I mean the big one,”
“Kenai,” Yunho confirmed, taking a swig of orange juice straight out of the carton.
“Yes!” Mingi snapped his fingers, “He’s all big and broody and kinda gruff- ”
Yunho scoffed, capping the orange juice, “Jongho isn’t broody or gruff, he’s just mature.”
“- he’s actually super soft and adorable,” Mingi continued as if Yunho hadn’t interrupted him, “ That's who you remind me of,”
“Thanks?” Jongho thinks that was a compliment- after all, it was the second time Mingi had called him adorable…
“Yunho, you’re going to spoil your appetite,” Hwa warned as Yunho munched on a piece of meat leftover from his dinner.
“Impossible,” Mingi snickered.
Yunho shrugged, shoving the rest of the meat into his mouth, “Let’s get going then- Jongho, are you coming?”
“Don’t talk with food in your mouth,” Hwa stood up, the small heel on her booties making her closer in height to Mingi.
Yunho made a show of smacking a bit louder as he chewed to Mingi’s amusement and Hwa’s chagrin.
Jongho shook his head, “I’m gonna stay in, do some work.”
“Nice meeting you, Jongho!” Hwa said, heading towards the living room, slipping her fingers through Yunho’s.
“Raincheck?” Mingi asked.
“Hm?” Jongho’s face must have been crinkled with confusion because Mingi laughed.<
“Kenai pulls that same face at least a dozen times,” and Mingi giggled- like an actual, adorable, warble of high-pitched laughter, “It means we’ll find another time to get food together,” he explained.
“Oh, okay- raincheck, then,”
Mingi’s grin grew impossibly wide.
He should have known then and there that he was completely and utterly fucked.
~~~~
Two weeks into classes, Jongho was wondering how much more of his current schedule he could take.
He had applied to the gym ten minutes from the apartment, and he worked the early morning shift before his classes. It wasn’t that he minded working at the gym: he had great coworkers, an understanding boss, and employees received a free membership. The hours were grueling, though; his shift began at 5 and ran until 11, giving him just enough time to be at his first class by 12:30.
His school days consisted of extensive vocal training, which meant he spent most of his time outside of classes on vocal rest, earning him the reputation of being rather stoic and quiet. Funnily enough, those words were never ones he would use to describe himself, but between Yunho and his friends and the handful of majors he had become acquainted with, he was always deemed the quiet one.
In a way, it worked out, being able to completely tune out some of the chattier people as they never expected much of a response from him.
Well, except Jennifer.
He’d met Jennifer in his Classical Voice course, a class that was quickly shaping up to be his most time-consuming class, considering the final was to audition and sing in a full-scale opera by the end of the semester.
Jennifer was a Classical Voice major and probably the strongest performer among the students in the class. Jongho found her robust voice to be intimidating, but also captivating, as if there was a siren-like quality to it.
He was packing his new sheet music in his binder when he felt a presence near him, hovering. Upon turning around, he was met with a dazzling smile.
“Hi! I heard you last night in the practice room- your voice is absolutely stunning,” she gushed, “I’m Jennifer, by the way.” he took her extended hand.
“That means a lot coming from such an amazing singer,” he smiled at her easily, taking her hand. If he had looked up at her face, he would have noticed the hue was tinging a light pink.“I’m Jongho,”
“Oh, I know who you are!” he must have pulled a face because she laughed, a sound high and clear, “Everyone knows who you are! The department head, like, loves you.”
This was news to him. He’s felt like a nobody since he set foot on the campus.
“She was gushing to my advisor about you. Said you were amazing- a prodigy or something,”
He snorted at that. He wasn’t a prodigy, but he’d received a few awards for his vocal performance, only at a citywide level, but awards nonetheless. Not to mention, he’d received his undergraduate education on a full-ride scholarship. He was talented, sure, he wouldn’t have made it this far if he wasn’t, but a prodigy?
“Ah- thank you,”
“I mean, you made it sound effortless last night-”
She seemed largely unfazed that he only had one-word answers for her, but she pressed on anyway, talking through their entire commute downtown: about her classes and even bringing up that they should work together for their midterm assignment- a prospect he wasn’t opposed to.
Jongho gestured to the sign flashing above him, indicating the next stop, “This is me.”
“Oh,” she said, almost seeming disappointed. Jongho was horrible at reading people, so it could have been any number of emotions.
“Hey, Jongho?” she called out softly, causing him to turn, “Would you maybe…” she paused, biting her lip, as if she was contemplating her next words carefully, “Would you maybe like to get coffee with me sometime?”
Jongho looked at her face; he really was horrible at reading people. He felt a weird sensation that began in his toes, and traveled its way up his back and to his face… was he blushing?
Jennifer was objectively beautiful, with her long red hair and her wide, hopeful eyes framed by her long lashes. Her lips were a perfect heart, glossed into a perfectly pink pout. He tried to imagine getting coffee with her, holding her hand as he walked her back home, maybe kissing her gently to end the night.
When he gave no response, she continued, “Okay, maybe not coffee because, you know, it’s not the best for your voice- maybe like tea instead? Do you like boba-”
“Coffee sounds good, Jennifer,” he could practically imagine the smile on his mother's face as she cheered at the prospect of him meeting a nice girl, settling down, and having a family. “Here, give me your number, and we can figure something out.”
Jennifer's smile brightened enormously as she took his phone, long nails tapped the screen quickly before she returned it.
“Text soon! I’ll see you in class next week!” she tossed him another perfect grin before he walked out the closing doors. She had saved her name as “Jen” with a kiss emoji behind it.
His brain sat heavy in his head as he walked from the train station back to his apartment.
Jennifer looked like a character out of a movie, a Jessica Rabbit of sorts, with her long red hair flowing behind her. Jongho tried to force himself to feel something, anything, trying to convince himself that this is what men should want- he should want her.
He allowed himself to pretend that this wasn’t a problem as he trudged into the building. Getting asked on a date should make you happy; this was exciting- or it was supposed to be at least. Jennifer was pretty, and she was Korean, a fact he knew would make his mother extremely happy. Somehow, the interaction filled him with more dread and embarrassment than he cared to admit.
It was as if whoever controlled the universe was hellbent on making him as miserable as possible for the remainder of his day, because when he opened the door, Yunho and Mingi were on the couch, controllers in their hands and eyes focused on the game they were playing.
Neither looked up when he closed the door behind him, Yunho calling out a greeting, and Mingi mumbling a hello.
And oh god, his legs were spread sinfully, elbows resting against his knees, and the controller was dwarfed in his large hands.
God, his hands were pale with long, thick fingers, each adorned with a chunky ring.
He didn’t have any makeup on today, Jongho noticed, his face bare, and a pair of wire-rimmed glasses were perched on his nose. Somehow, in his black hoodie and graffiti'd sweatpants, Jongho thought he looked hot… he wondered what those large hands would feel like touching him, touching his-
The thought startled him, causing his phone to slip through his clammy fingers. He jumped at the sound, and so did Mingi.
“FUCK!” Mingi exclaimed, tossing the remote onto the table, bringing his hands to his face. His dark nail polish was beginning to chip off his fingernails. He groaned into his hands.
“Jjongie, you made me lose!” his whining was muffled by his hands.
“Uh.. sorry?” Jongho bent down to pick up his phone, checking the screen for cracks.
“Oh, don’t listen to him, he’s a whiny baby. You were gonna lose anyway,” Yunho shrugged- if it had come from anyone else, it would have come across as shit-talking. “Jjong, wanna play?”
“What? No, I demand a rematch!” Mingi exclaimed dramatically.
“This would be his fifth rematch,” Yunho told Jongho flatly, holding out the remote to him.
“You’re so mean to me- your best friend for all these years- Jjongi,e tell him to stop being mean to me,”
“Uh- top being mean to Mingi,” Jongho obeyed him, without really thinking about the words that he was saying. He thinks he would fling himself out of one of the apartment windows if Mingi asked him to.
“Okay, bye, whatever, Jongho will play with me, and we’ll have lots of fun without you,”
Jongho isn’t sure what possessed him, what kind of spells Mingi was casting on him, but he complied, walking to the spot Mingi was patting enthusiastically.
“I’ve, uh, never played this before,” he admitted, picking up the controller.
Mingi seemed unfazed as he sat up, scooching into Jongho’s space. A clean berry scent underscored his musky cologne, and Jongho did his best to stay sober and stoney-faced.
“Yunho said you were a gamer.”
Jongho shrugged, “Not of this specific game, but yes.”
He was really just trying not to lose his shit.
“Let's try it in practice mode and then once you’ve mastered it, you can play me.”
Jongho was able to forget just how close Mingi was as he focused on the game, following Mingi’s instructions. Mingi was a good teacher, showing him which each button on the controller did, his favorite characters to play as, and special moves and combos for each of them.
“Like this,” Mingi’s large hand covered his own, pressing his fingers down on the buttons on the back of the controller. “Hell yeah, you’ve got it,”
His heart raced at the praise, focusing on the game instead of how Mingi still had his hand wrapped around the controller.
“You can dodge an attack like this,” Mingi said, against the shell of his ear, “It’s all about speed and timing.”
Jongho picked up the game quickly, killing all his opponents in single player mode with his. Mingi whistled in admiration, “Damn, I’m a good teacher.”
“Alright, let's play.”
“Five bucks, he’s about to beat the shit out of you,” Yunho emerged from the kitchen, mouth full, a bag of chips in his hands.
Mingi ignores Yunho, turning to Jongho, “I’m not going easy on you.”
“That’ll make it even sweeter when I win,” Yunho laughed at Mingi’s incredulous face as Jongho pressed start.
“Wait- I wasn’t ready!”
Jongho won the match, a symphony of Yunhos heckling Mingi filling the space, “Pay up!”
Mingi was shaking his head, “He obviously cheated-"
“It’s all about speed and timing, right?” He teased
Mingi looked at him incredulously, but he also looked surprised, as if Jongho’s win had been a result of his teaching.
“Rematch,” he demanded.
Another win for Jongho.
“Yah- you bastard!” Mingi squawked, “Rematch!” he ordered.
It felt like a loop: Jongho absolutely decimating Mingi in the game that he taught him, and Mingi was dramatically jumping up and down, demanding another round.
Mingi was kind of adorable. Jongho learned- for all the black, chains, and eyeliner he had worn when he’d first met him, he was adorable. He knew Mingi was attractive- he’d practically told him as much when they first met- he just hadn’t expected his personality to be so full of…aegyo.
Finding him attractive was normal, a normal thing for a guy to notice- anyone with eyes could see that he was attractive. He tried to convince himself that the fluttering in his chest when Mingi’s face scrunched into a crooked-toothed giggle was a normal thing for a guy to notice, too.
He texted Jennifer that night.
SEPTEMBER 2024
Tuesday mornings were slow at the gym. A few people walked in, over the past few hours, each of whom he had greeted with a friendly customer service smile, wishing desperately he had woken up early enough to make an americano.
The door swept open, and a young man wearing a black windbreaker walked in. His milky skin was bright and clear, and his hair was dyed an extremely pale blue; he had seen many gorgeous people, but this person seemed to be the kind of gorgeous that existed on Venus.
His face was soft, a perfect mixture of male and female- the kind of androgynous face you might see on a runway if he were a bit taller. Jongho felt his mouth run dry, and an unfamiliar feeling began to rise in his chest.
“Hello,” he greeted, as he did with every customer, pushing down whatever the hell it was he was feeling.
“Hi,” the man's voice was soft and surprisingly deep, giving Mingi’s deep bass a run for its money, “I need to renew my membership.” He explained as he ran his hands through his pale blue hair. Hair that was so pale was bound to look broken and damaged up close, but his hair looked glossy and shiny.
He had to pull himself out of whatever trance this man had pulled him into.
“Sure thing,” Jongho shook the mouse of the computer, waking it up from the sleep it had fallen into during the slow hours when customers had been scarce, “Name?”
“Last name Kang, uh, spelled K-A-N-G, first name Yeosang… Y-E–O- and then spelled ‘Sang’, as in ‘he sang a song’…” Yeosang had a slight lisp when he said his name, and he seemed rather fidgety
“Ah,” Jongho said, typing each letter, “You’re Korean,” he noted.
“Yeah,” Yeosang smiled.
“Me too.” Jongho smiled back, and the smile was a bit more genuine than his customer service smile, “I actually just moved here a few weeks ago for my master's. I’m Jongho,”
“Nice to meet you, ” Yeosang smiled, fishing out his wallet. “How much do I owe?”
When the total flashed on the screen, Yeosang inserted the chip of his card. “I’m a regular on Tuesdays and sometimes Fridays- I’ve been using the fact that my membership expired as an excuse to take a few weeks off,” he turned pink at the admission.
Jongho chuckled good-naturedly and printed his receipt. “Well, welcome back.”
Yeosang tsked, “Thanks,” he took the paper, shoving it into his jacket pocket, “Welcome to New York, by the way- I guess I’ll be seeing you around,” he turned around, walking towards the locker.
Jongho watched him go, still rather awestruck that he’d been speaking to such an angelic being. His reaction had been visceral: his heart beating, blood felt like it was rushing through every extremity, making each limb spark alight with…
with desire.
… desire?
Whatever doors his mind was leading him to, he immediately shut them down.
It wasn’t that he wasn’t interested in what was behind them… it’s just-
He absolutely couldn’t afford to face what that might be.
~~~~
Jongho wasn’t one to worry much about his appearance: he was secure in himself, he worked hard enough on his body, and took time on his grooming. But lately, it seemed everything he thought he knew about himself was balancing on the tip of a very tedious iceberg, ready to sink at any moment.
“Does this look okay?” He asked from Yunho’s doorway, smoothing his hands over the front of his dark-wash denim jacket.
Yunho glanced at him, “Yeah, you look great,” he grabbed his own jacket from where it was strewn across his bed, “You ready?”
“Yes. I’ve been waiting on you,” he snarked in Korean.
“You think looking this good is easy work?”
“Yes, considering I wake up every day looking gorgeous and put together,”
Yunho's face filled with amused shock, “You little-”
His curses were drowned out by the sound of Jongho’s laughter.
~~~
Any levity Jongho had felt bantering with Yunho on the train ride from their apartment to the bar was absolutely demolished upon setting foot into the bar after being granted entrance. The lights were dim, washing the room in gentle purple and blue hues, and with each step he took, he felt the low pulsating beat of the bass ricochet in his chest. None of this was particularly unusual, though. He had frequented plenty of bars in Korea, albeit this one seemed a bit seedier than the ones he usually went to. What really stopped him in his tracks was the patrons moving about the bar: freely and colorfully.
It was decently crowded, but not overwhelming, so with individuals who seemed to make the dim light seem brighter, people who were laughing, vibrantly existing, and boldly taking up space with their light and laughter.
Jongho suddenly felt ridiculously underdressed, like a little black spot on a rainbow mosaic.
“Come on, I see them.” Yunho gently grabbed his elbow, leading him through the colorful ocean of people to a little table at the back of the room.
The individuals seated around the table all looked up when he and Yunho arrived, and he stood awkwardly to the side as Hwa moved her sweater from the back of a chair- evidently saving the seat for her boyfriend.
“Guys, this is Jongho- my new roommate that I was telling you about. Be -”
“Jongho!” a voice squealed, cutting Yunho off. Before he could process anything, he was being pulled into a hug. “Oh my god, Mingi was right- you are adorable!” The man said, pulling away and examining Jongho’s face. He was a petite man, smaller in stature than Jongho; he stood a few inches taller than him, but Jongho caught a glimpse of the stacked platforms he was wearing and figured he was actually rather short. His skin was a gorgeous gold, cheeks dusted with a bright glitter. “I’m Wooyoung! Come on- you can sit by me,”
It appeared the group had pushed three tables together to accommodate the number of people in their party.
“Nice to see you again, Jongho,” came the sound of Hwa’s silky voice.
“Noona, you look pretty,” he said earnestly, taking the seat next toWooyoung. Hwa’s smile grew, stretching horizontally across her face.
“Doesn’t she?” Yunho scooched his impossibly close to her, pressing his lips to her cheek, in rapid succession.
“YAH-” she complained, as she grabbed his shoulder and pushed him away with no real effort. Her smile appeared pained now, eyebrows creased together as if she were about to cry, but she was laughing.
They were rather adorable, and if Jongho felt a pang of envy at never having felt that kind of connection with anyone.
“So you know Hwa and Mingi- he’s on the way- that’s my Sannie,” Wooyoung pointed to a man with cat-like features, and cropped black hair pushed away from his face. Jongho felt intimidated under his stare until his face broke out into a warm smile, deep dimples carving his sculpted face.
“Hi Jongho!” he waved, rather adorably at him, “I’m San, or Sannie- I’m cool with either,”
“That’s Hongjoong- soon to be famous producer and essentially Hwa platonic soulmate,” next to San sat a small, sprite-like man who had sharp features and large, wide-set eyes. Orange hair and orange eyebrows were the perfect complement to his ostentatious outfit, painted nails, and the piercings adorning his ears.
Hongjoong put his face in his hands. “Youngie, I haven’t even applied for the job yet- please do not jinx this.”
Wooyoung waved him off, “That's Yeosangie! We’ve been friends for-” he paused, eyes fixed to the ceiling as he counted on his fingers.
“Nine years,” Yeosang replied quietly, pressing his lips together in a small smile.
“Nine years!” Wooyoung finished, as if coming upon a revelation.
“I know Yeosang- we met the other day!” Jongho met Yeosang's eyes across the table, with a smile, “He came to the gym during my shift-”
“They.” Wooyoung corrected him.
Jongho stopped, turning to Wooyoung quizzically, unsure how to respond.
“They-... what?”
“Yeosangie uses they/ them pronouns. They came to the gym during your shift.”
“Oh.” Jongho seemed to forget what he was saying.
“It’s fine, really, it doesn’t matter. Jongho finish-”
“It does matter, Sangie. You matter,” Wooyoung said firmly, but calmly. Yeosang nodded, looking down at their hands. Something told Jongho that this situation had happened before and had ended up in situations less than ideal. Wooyoung was firm in his conviction and protective of his friend.
Maybe it was just him, but it felt like everyone was holding their breath. Jongho grew up in a largely conservative household; education about these things was scarce- he had a sex ed course in school, but the crux of it was that sex either resulted in an STI or a pregnancy, so abstinence was the only solution. They didn’t talk about sexuality, or gender identity, or the idea of sex being an intimate, pleasurable experience. Online, it was hard to avoid these topics; he’d seen the words in English comment sections, but he never looked harder to ascribe any meaning to them.
“I–I’m sorry, Yeosang,” He cleared his throat.
“Hey, it’s really no problem, Jongho- you didn’t know,” Yeosang smiled, a wider smile this time.
“But now you do! And you can act accordingly!” Wooyoung said sweetly, a grin plastered to his face in what might appear genial to the naked eye, but Jongho could see the passionate love for his friend burning behind his eyes.
“They came in during my shift at the gym; it was nice to have another friend who spoke Korean,” Jongho said.
“Well, now you have seven friends,” Hwa smiled, breaking any tension that Jongho imagined was in the air. Jongho felt his heart warm at the prospect of this vibrant, stunning group of people, inviting him into their circle.
“Damn, we should’ve toasted to that,” San said.
“Where the hell is Mingi? I want a drink- does anybody want anything?” Hongjoong asked, looking around the table
“Soon-to-be- Rich-Producer-Hyung, are you buying?” Wooyoung asked, voice dripping with honey.
Hongjoong rolled his eyes,
“Mingi’s running late,” Yunho announced, locking his phone and placing it face down on the table, “He’s freaking out over wear.”
“Really? He only does that when he’s trying to impress someone,” Wooyoung said after he gave Hongjoong his drink order.
Hwa looked at him, “Unless he…” the words seemed to fall off her tongue, “Ohhh,” she whispered when it seemingly dawned on her.
“What?” Yeosang asked, eyes wide.
Yunho attempted to tilt his head subtly in Jongho's direction. Wooyoung's mouth formed an ‘o’, and Yeosang’s brows furrowed further.
Jongho turned around, but found no one behind him, completely lost in whatever conversation was happening now.
“What?” Yeosang innocently looked between Yunho, Hwa, Jongho, and Wooyoung, “Jongho?” they questioned.
“Oh, god, shut up, Sangie!” San giggled.<
“I’ll tell you later, baby,” Wooyoung patted their thigh, and Yeosang seemed satisfied with the reassurance.<
Jongho didn’t question it, figuring it was some inside joke between the seven of them, a shared history that he had not been briefed on.
Hongjoong took their drink orders, demanding that Wooyoung go help him carry the drinks back. As they walked off, Jongho noticed the large flare at the bottom of Hongjoong’s jeans, a complete throwback to the ‘70’s.
It wasn’t long before Mingi rushed in, greeting them all with apologies for being late.
“Hongjoongie went to get our drinks because you were taking too long,” San explained.
Mingi pulled out the only empty seat- the one next to Jongho- and sat down. He pulled his phone out, tapping on the screen rapidly before putting it up to his ear, “Hongjoongie-hyung,” he sing-songed, a common theme of the night, it seemed. “Would you order me a virgin Sex on the Bar?”
Across the bar, Hongjoong whipped his head around. Jongho obviously couldn't hear him, but he was frowning daggers across the room as Mingi scoffed into the phone, “No, it’s called Sex on the Bar- it’s on their specials,” he explained defensively.
A wolfish grin overtook his face as Hongjoong responded to him, “It’s because you love me!” He clicked the ‘end call’ button and sighed, facing the table.
“Sorry I’m late, you guys could’ve ordered without me,” Mingi said, not an ounce of guilt in his voice.
Hongjoong and Wooyoung came back with their drinks in hand, and Jongho used the bottle opener that was looped around his keys to open his beer.
The conversation flowed easily, shifting from how the man on the Sans train this morning had been belting The Queen of the Night to how Hwa’s boot heel broke in the middle of the street, and subsequently she spilled her coffee down her blouse and broke two of her nails.
“The worst part is they weren’t acrylics- and I’d been growing them out since the summer,” she lamented, making an exaggerated sad face. Yunho grabbed her hand and placed a loud kiss on the back of it.
“God, you guys are disgusting," Wooyoung grinned at them, the rolling of his eyes unable to hide the fondness in them.
“You’re just jealous that you and Sannie won’t-”
Whatever jab Yunho was about to throw was immediately silenced by Wooyoung launching his napkin across the table straight at Yunho's face.
As a friendly argument broke out at the table, Mingi turned to Jongho, leaning in his space ever so slightly. He smelled spicy and fruity, and something clean was underneath it all, like fabric softener.
“Hey,” he said, his voice low.
“Hi,” Jongho responded stiltedly. He took a long drag of his beer, deciding that if Mingi was going to be sitting in close proximity to him all night, he’d need as much help from any spirit he could get his hands on.
“You look nice,” Mingi observed, “Your hair is cute,”
“Oh,” Instinctively, he reached up, forgetting that Yunho had crimped waves into it, “Thank you,”
“You look like a mohair teddy bear,”
“I- thank you?”
“Mohair is a type of wool from a goat,” Mingi explained, taking a long sip of his beverage, “it’s really soft, so the teddies kind of have longer, super soft curly fur.”
“Ah,”
“They’re like super expensive now, collectibles- especially because 100% mohair is so expensive,”
“A very round-about way to say I look expensive,” Jongho observed, taking a sip of beer.
“You do look expensive,” Mingi confirms, reaching over to smooth a stray curl on Jongho’s head, “but also soft and cute,”
When Mingi pulled his hand away, Jongho chugged the rest of the beer; He was going to need a lot more of those.
“You know a lot about Mohair,” he deflected.
“I’m a designer,” Mingi explained, “Yunho and I always talked about opening a dance studio when we got older, but it didn’t work out.” he shrugged, “I got injured, so I put a lot of my artistic energy into designing clothes.”
Jongho guessed that made sense as he eyed the outfit Mingi was currently wearing: ripped black jeans under a denim half skirt- the belt of the skirt pulled exceptionally tight, showing off his lithe figure, even when sitting. His shirt was mesh, with a black tank top under it, and his neck was adorned with jewelry and chains. His blonde hair was styled perfectly around his face, and he had dark makeup smudged around his eyes.
“That's cool,” Jongho said, ignoring the adorable smile that overtook Mingi’s face.
“So, Choi Jongho from Seoul, South Korea, what do you do?” he asked over the rim of his drink.
He was going to need something music stronger than beer if he was leaving the bar with his sanity.
SEPTEMBER 2024
Much to his horror, Jongho had been cast as Rodolfo in his class's obligatory production of La Boheme.
The Italian libretto had completely seized his heart with fear: the swooping Italian vowels, the melodic tenor notes required of him, and the sheer number of pages he was in.
Jennifer, to no one’s surprise, had been cast as Mimi- the female lead. Something about his character falling in love with Jennifer’s character felt ironic, as she sent the most obviously flirtatious text messages that he had no idea what to do with.
His weekdays were filled with early mornings at the gym, early afternoons filled with his classes, and evenings spent in the University Practice rooms with his vocal coach from back home. Saturdays and Sundays, days that once had been his days off, started with accompanying Yeosang and San to their weekend gym forays, ending with dreaded six-hour evening rehearsals.
He limited his talking most of the time, trying to protect his voice from any extra strain that might be imposed upon it by daily life. If he had a social life, this would absolutely be slaughtering it single-handedly by occupying most of his day. He’d missed the monthly first Saturday hangout with Yunho’s friends, even though he was flattered to be invited again.
“Hey!” He heard from somewhere in the subway car behind him. There was always a commotion or another in the subway, so he often had noise cancellation active on his AirPods. Today though, the voice called him out by name and managed to pierce through his noise cancellation.
Turning around revealed Song Mingi, hanging onto the railing above him, grinning down at him. He stood, all tall and statuesque, jeans ripped in the right places, his shirt French-tucked, a bright pink scarf around his neck complemented his belt and the pattern on his boots. His wire-framed glasses rested on the high bridge of his nose, a pair of sunglasses hanging off the back of his head- a look that Jongho usually would have been judging, but somehow Mingi made him appreciate the style.
“Jongho!” He said, maybe a bit too loudly, “Fancy meeting you here!”
“Heading back from practice,”
“What are you practicing for?” he forgot he hadn't seen Mingi since he’d started working on the opera.
“I got cast as a lead in the opera my class is required to perform in. We have evening rehearsals.”
“No, shit- you’re an opera singer?” he purposefully overlooked how cute Mingi’s surprised face was, “Wait, that’s so hot…”
“I’m technically not an opera singer, but I’m a singer who's studying opera as a requirement to get my master's,” Jongho’s entire face felt like he stuck it into an oven.
“Still, that’s so fucking hot,” Mingi said sincerely.
“You’re making fun of me!” he groaned, bringing his hands to his face.
“I’m not!” Mingi rushed out, sounding slightly panicked, “I swear! It really is one of the hottest things-”
“I thought Yunho said you were an angel? A princess?” his head was still in his hands, playing up his misery. The only way he could survive a hot man calling him hot is with humor; it would send him on a wild snipe hunt within his psyche.
“I am- wait, I’m being so serious! I promise, the fact that you’re in an opera is hot, I mean, you’re hot in general, but… you-” Mingi’s words slowed when Jongho sat up straight, a smile overtaking his face and giggles shaking his shoulder.
“You- you’re fucking with me,” Mingi’s tone was flat, but his eyes were wide, and there was a trace smile on his face, “Oh my god, you’re a little shit!”
At the next stop more people piled onto the train, and Jongho gave up his seat for a little girl and her mother, completely underestimating his ability to stand in proximity to Mingi and maintain any semblance of sanity.
He crowded close to Mingi, under his arm, gripping the overhead bar, as more people flooded into the train at the next stop. Mingi smelled like berries and soap, and Jongho wanted to find a way to preserve the scent forever in his memory.
“Has anyone told you that you laugh like Winnie the Pooh?” Mingi said, voice seemingly quieter as the chatter in the car grew.
“I- what?”
“Your laugh. It sounds like Winnie the Pooh- has anyone ever told you that?”
“You would be the first...” Jongho chuckled this time, “This is like the second fictional bear you’ve compared me to.”
“There's something so bear about you, it’s hard to resist,” Mingi shrugged as the train jostled them around. Jongho’s chest pressed up against Mingi’s created far more tension than it should have.
“Should I take it as a compliment?” Jongho asked once he had gotten his footing.
“Obviously. Have you ever seen a bear that wasn’t cute? Mingi asked. Jongho, and Mingi pushed on, “Exactly. I’ve never been wrong about anything in my life,”
The sign on the train flashed, indicating that Jongho’s stop was the next one, and he’d never been more grateful for anything in his life.
“This is me,” Jongho said, gesturing to the door as the train began decelerating rapidly.
“Here,” Mingi handed Jongho his phone, warm fingertips brushing his hand gently during the exchange, “Add your number- I’ll add you to our group chat so you can start coming to game night on Saturday. And you can text me your performance date so I can swoon in the audience while you serenade me with your opera songs.”
Despite rolling his eyes at Mingi’s theatrics, Jongho punched in his number just before the train came to a halt.
“See you Saturday?” Mingi asked as Jongho
“Uh, I don’t know,” Mingi stuck his lower lip out, “Maybe?” Mingi's eyes got impossibly wide, and part of him wanted to know if this was something intentional that Mingi did or if he involuntarily made puppy eyes whenever he wanted something.
“Yeah, I’ll see you Saturday,” he said, just to see Mingi’s face light up with a smile.
What the fuck was he doing?
OCTOBER 2024:
The 8ie’s chat had once been affectionately called The 7tie’s before Jongho had been added. Yunho had joked that he’d officially been adopted, Hwa and Hongjoong essentially standing in for their parents and voices of wisdom. The name of the chat was apparently a major point that was bickered about between the ‘99’s as they called themselves.
Wooyoung had thrown a Chuseok celebration to which he had been invited via the groupchat that Mingi had added him to. Apparently, by day Wooyoung was a children’s dance instructor at the studio he and Yunho rented for their classes, but by night he was a part-time night-life connoisseur and cook.
Jongho had seen Wooyoung a few more times since his first game night last week: he’d stopped by the gym with Yeosang, and on the way back, they happened to be on the same train as him afterwards, and all they ended up getting coffee together.
Jongho liked Wooyoung, but part of him felt as though Wooyoung begrudged his presence because he was Yunho’s roommate, and didn’t want to ruffle feathers. He felt that Wooyoung was wary of him, for a reason that he couldn't figure out; the other man had such intense eyes. He would sometimes catch Wooyoung staring at him from across the room, his small eyes seemingly melting the lock on Jongho’s psyche, reading every page of his soul- pages that Jongho didn’t have access to.
And as soon as Jongho caught his eye, the look was gone, replaced by a vibrant smile and his signature boyish laugh.
He spent Chuseok alone, spending the morning at the gym and then walking to the vocal practice rooms where he ran some exercises and worked on his part in the duet he was working on with Jennifer for another class. He called his parents, called his grandparents, texted his brother, and responded to Mingi’s text message ‘Missed you tonight :(”; he tried not to allow himself to read too much into what that text meant. He ate the plate of food Yunho had brought back from Wooyoung’s for him. He spent the rest of the night wishing he had gone with him.
Jongho wasn’t used to spending his birthday alone. He had a large group of friends back home; he wasn’t the most extroverted person, but he was well-connected and enjoyed socializing with the people he loved.
He was wholeheartedly prepared to spend it alone this year and wasn’t prepared to be awakened by a loud calamity from the kitchen followed by a string of curses.
During the four months he had been living with Yunho, he learned that the man was inept at doing any tasks involving the kitchen or food. He gingerly flipped his phone over, seeing it was only 9:00.
His alarm wouldn’t go off for another hour, and it was his birthday, dammit!
Just as he started to be pulled back into the warm sleep he was shaken from, there was another crash followed by more curses, but this time from more than one voice.
“Do you want to wake him?”
“It was an accident!”
“Shhhh, it’s okay- nothing's broken. Just clean it up- let me help. Quietly, please,”
He groaned.
He knew it was unlikely that anyone had broken in, but there was still a small fear pulsating in the back of his mind. It wasn’t like he was going to be able to sleep with the possibility that there could be an intruder- it was probably smartest to investigate.
Tossing on a hoodie, he walked to the kitchen, eyes squinting as he adjusted to the overhead lights that streamed into the hallway to his room.
He crossed into the living room, mouth falling open when he recognized Wooyoung, Mingi, and Hwa clambering around the kitchen. They didn’t notice him standing there, just continued with their tasks, working in sync despite the size of their cramped kitchen.
Jongho knew Wooyoung was a good cook- he knew Hwa liked to cook. But Mingi? He had no intention of stereotyping anyone… but he hadn’t taken Mingi for someone who cooked. It was odd seeing Mingi in their kitchen, a pink apron tied around his waist, blonde hair swept away from his face with a thin headband. He didn’t have any makeup on, his skin bright and clear without it,and his eyes slightly tired and smaller without the liner.
“What are you guys doing?” He cleared his throat.
Hwa put a hand to her chest, Wooyoung's hand clutched his chest, and Mingi…
Mingi jumped, let out a quick, high-pitched shriek, and dropped the chopsticks he had been stirring with.
The metal fell to the floor with a resonating crash, whatever liquid Mingi had been stirring, spraying droplets on the floor.
“Jesus Mangi-ah!” Wooyoung sighed, exasperatedly, “ I’m not cleaning it up this time,” he shoved a dish rack at the taller man's chest.
Mingi’s expression fell blank, as if to compensate for the rose that was creeping up his neck and spilling onto his cheeks.
Jongho couldn’t help the giggle that escaped him. Mingi, despite himself, looked up laughing a bit with him.
Their eyes met for a split second, and Jongho couldn’t have looked away any faster than he did.
Now he was certain the blood was rushing to his cheeks.
“Cute, you guys match!” Wooyoung said, pointing between Jongho and Mingi, “You’re both wearing the same color.” he gestured to their cheeks.
“Shut the fuck up!” Mingi whipped the dishrag at Wooyoung's ankles, causing the other man to maneuver around the tiny kitchen as far away from Mingi and the dishrag as he could get.
Hwa rolled her eyes fondly, “I’m sorry about them. Did we wake you up?”
“No, I was just getting up to make some coffee,” he lied, not wanting her to feel bad.
Her smile grew as she wiped her hands on a clean dishrag on the counter, “Happy birthday!” She crossed over to where he was standing, arms outstretched for a hug.
Jongho usually wasn't one for hugs, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten a hug from anyone.
“Thank you,” he said earnestly, hugging her gently, “What are you guys doing?” he asked again.
“It’s a surprise,” Hwa responded conspiratorily. “Mingi, go wash your hands,” she commanded as soon as Mingi stood up from cleaning the spill on the floor.
“You said you were up for coffee?” Mingi asked, pumping soap into his hands and rubbing them together under the water.
“Uh, yeah,” He was hoping the white lie wasn’t about to dig him into a hole he couldn’t climb out of.
“Go sit at the table, I made something for you!” Mingi ordered, drying his hands on the bottom of his pink apron.
Jongho did as he was told, walking to the small table in their makeshift dining room connected to the kitchen.
Less than a minute later, Mingi was setting a tall glass of a dark liquid in front of him.
Coffee.
“It’s an Americano. Black. You always come back from your classes with them, so I assumed this was your coffee order. Taste it- let me know if it’s good… I was never a barista or anything, but I looked up a recipe, and it seems like a pretty hard thing to fuck up. Then again, my ability to fuck shit up is kinda out of this world, so maybe-”
Jongho stared at the glass, hoping his face didn’t look too stupid from the shock. He’d tuned Mingi’s rant out halfway through it, stuck on the fact that he’d made him coffee.
“You made me coffee?”
Mingi laughed nervously, “I mean, when you say it like that, it makes it seem like I did something other than putting a pod in a coffee machine and pressing the button… but, I guess?” he rubbed the back of his neck.
He was shocked Mingi had paid enough attention to the fact that he was constantly drinking coffee- even though it was horrible for his voice- and even more shocked that he knew what kind of coffee he was drinking… granted when he went to coffee shops his americano was usually in a clear cup, making it rather easy for an outsider to figure what it was… but still, Jongho found himself impressed.
“Taste it,” Mingi urged.
Jongho put his lips around the metal straw, sucking the cool liquid into his mouth.
It tasted like any other americano he had made himself mornings before his shifts at the gym or any other americano he’d ordered at a coffee shop.
And yet, somehow, it was the best americano Jongho had ever had; somehow it was sweeter, the notes of the espresso were smoother, bitter in the most satisfying way, as if Mingi making it made all the difference in the world.
“It’s good,” he replied, doing everything he could to stop his heartbeat from speeding up- why the fuck was it doing that?
“Happy birthday, Jongho,” Mingi said, his deep voice soft and earnest, a smile overtaking his face.
“Thanks, Mingi…” his eyes locked on Mingi’s neck, the way his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed his saliva, the curve of his jaw shifting as if he was clenching his teeth…
When he met Mingi’s eyes, the taller man looked away, leaving Jongho wondering if they had even made eye contact at all.
He took a long sip from his americano as Mingi cleared his throat, “I’m gonna go see if Woo and Hwa need help. Stay here!”
An hour later, there was a gorgeous spread of food on the table, and Hwa, Mingi, and Wooyoung had seated themselves around the table. Yunho had woken up when Wooyoung started singing his rendition of ‘Happy Birthday, joining them at the table with hair sticking up completely on one side. He’d ruffled Jongho’s hair affectionately, giving him his birthday wishes before sitting down at the table between Hwa and Wooyoung.
Apparently, the idea had been a mixture of Mingi’s and Wooyoung's: on their friends’ birthdays, they’d hijack the kitchen of whoever’s birthday it was, and would cook them breakfast: seaweed soup, omelets, rice, and other side dishes.
He didn’t remember mentioning his birthday to anyone, but apparently, he had, because Mingi remembered and had insisted they come over today to cook for him. Wooyoung had shoved a steaming bowl of the soup in front of him as Mingi lifted his phone to take a selfie of them.
Jongho was a mixture of touched and horrified because warmth was blooming in his chest, spreading through his veins and down to his feet?? He chose instead to focus on the story Yunho was telling and Wooyoung's hyena laughter that filled the apartment.
Jongho couldn’t recall a time he’d felt so loved on his birthday.
After they finished their meal, Jongho managed to catch Wooyoung alone in the kitchen while the others piled into the living room with snacks that had been Hongjoong hyung’s apology for the fact that he couldn’t make it.
“Thank you, Wooyoung,” he’d said, “I wasn’t expecting that,”
In response, Wooyoung beamed, pulling a water glass from the cabinet.
“Can I…” he bit his lip, wondering if asking what was on his mind was worth it, “Can I ask you something?”
Wooyoung sucked his teeth upon noticing the water pitcher was empty, “ ‘course. What’s on your mind?” he turned the water on, beginning to refill the pitcher.
“This was really nice of you,” he folded his arms, leaning against the counter slightly, “I always thought you didn’t like me very much.”
The startled look on Wooyoung’s face made him want to retract everything he’d just said.
“Are you kidding? I love finally not being the youngest,” there was a wicked twinkle in his eye as he turned the water off and placed the lid back on the pitcher, “It just took me a while to figure you out,”
It was Jongho’s turn to startle, “... figure me out?”
“Yeah, read your energy, that shit,” Wooyoung took a swig of water, “Had to make sure you were good people,”
Jongho swallowed, “And?” he asked curiously.
“Oh, yeah, you passed. Not a single bone in your body is straight; not even the femurs.”
“Youngie, leave him alone!” Yunho said as he padded into the kitchen.
“What does that mean?” Jongho asked confusedly.
“Mama will tell you when you’re older,” Wooyoung had planted a loud kiss on his cheek before sashaying to the living room.
“We’re practically the same age!”
~~~
The coffee shop Jennifer picked was quaint; warm lights gently illuminated the room, trying to compensate for the lack of sun streaming through the large windows.
Jongho had rushed in, his hair sopping wet because his umbrella broke on his commute over. He had the presence of mind to wear his waterproof shoes, so at least his socks weren’t soaked through, but the bottoms of his dark skinny jeans were stained with the water that had accumulated in puddles.
All in all, he wasn’t in the best of moods or in a good headspace to hang out with anyone- especially under the pretense that this may have been a date.
Jennifer had arrived first, sitting in a cozy-looking corner next to one of the windows. She looked nice- her dark red hair standing out against the white sweater she was wearing. She wasn’t wearing glasses like she usually did during class, leaving the features of her face unobstructed.
They’d been texting since they exchanged numbers, Jennifer almost always initiating the conversation. Jongho liked texting her; she was bubbly and warm, but also witty with a good sense of humor.
Jongho wanted to like her- he really wanted to like her.
She looked at him with a bright smile when he approached the table, “Hey, you,” she stood up, pulling at the hem of her short corduroy skirt. She went in for a hug, the scent of overly sweet magnolia permeated his nostrils, “Glad you could make it, god, you’re soaked!” She glanced at the window where the rain steadily bounced off the windowpane.
They sat at the table, Jongho running his hands through his hair, hoping the excessive rain hadn’t washed the gel he’d used to push it off his forehead.
“My umbrella broke,” he explained with an embarrassed laugh, holding the broken arm up.
“Geez,” she sucked her teeth, “It takes insane Rom-Com Protagonist Energy to show up drenched in rain and still manage to look hot,”
“Well, I hope I’m not nearly as cliche as a rom-com,” he laughed nervously. “You look pretty,” he added
Her smile seemed to brighten, and her entire face seemed to glow. Jongho willed his heart to speed up, for a spark to ignite in his chest or for his stomach to bubble with excitement. All he could muster was a comfortable warmth, the same feeling he gets when he hugs a friend. Why can’t he feel more for this beautiful, talented, intelligent woman in front of him?
“Uhm, you didn’t order, right? What do you want?”
“Hmm, what do you think I’d like? Pick something for me!” she requested jovially.
Which stars aligned for him to get her coffee order right, he wasn’t sure, but her face lit up the second she took a sip of the latte in front of her. He wasn’t really a sweets person, but Jennifer seemed happy enough that he’d purchased a few mixed pastries.
“You are literally the irl version of the self-insert fanfic I wrote on Wattpad when I was 12,”
“I have… no idea what that means, but I’m going to take it as a compliment,”
“It means you’re perfect,” she said, “Do you know how long I’ve been looking for a guy who drinks Iced coffee in the fall and winter?” she laughed, picking up one of the kouignettes and biting into it, “I have no idea what this is, but it might be one of the best things I’ve ever tasted,”
“I’m not even going to try to pronounce the name,” he rubbed the back of his neck with a gentle chuckle.
“Try it!” She held her hand under the pastry and brought it close to his mouth.
Out of fear that refusing would be rude, he leaned in, the tips of her fingers brushing gently against his lips, and the sugar-sweet flavor of the flaky pastry hit his tongue.
Somehow, this felt more intimate than any kiss he could have given her, and he immediately pulled away, wanting to crawl out of his skin.
“It’s good,” he smiled, although the sweetness of the thing damn near gave him a head rush.
From there, their conversation flowed easily; he felt less and less like he was forcing something and more like things were falling into place naturally.
A few minutes turned into thirty, and thirty turned into an hour. The pastries on the plate dwindled, and the liquid in their glasses sank lower and lower. Smiling was easier, laughter was less nervous, the room felt less vast, as if the large audience in his mind had decided to take an intermission. Jennifer’s flirtiness mellowed out evenly, shifting into a more laidback, less theatrical version of the person Jongho had come to know.
Jennifer liked him- that much was clear- and he liked her enough. This could work if he tried hard enough.
He was starting to believe that until Jennifer leaned in closer, resting her elbows on the table.
“I feel like there's something you’re not telling me,” she said, eyes narrowed.
He had no idea where she was going with this, but it immediately destroyed any sense of relaxation he might have been feeling.
“I’m an open book,” he said, even if he didn’t quite believe the words he was saying, “ Unless it’s that I secretly hated the sugar bomb you fed me earlier, ” he joked, grimacing as bits of the paper straw sloughed onto his tongue as he sipped on his half-empty americano.
“Really? You hated that??”
“I don’t really have much of a sweet tooth,” he shrugged.
“Damn. Well, this date was nice while it lasted,” She shook her head in false disappointment before laughing and continuing with her train of thought. “Well, I guess that means you have two secrets then,”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. I have two theories: either you are 100 percent my chivalrous Wattpad Prince come to life, or you’re just not feeling this as much as I am.”
“I- what?” he almost choked on his drink.
“I don’t know, I know sometimes a girl so forward is rather off-putting to guys- but you don’t seem to mind it- you keep up with me, not letting me dominate the conversation, or corner you,”
“I’m so lost right now, Jennifer. I’m sorry,”
“I’m fucking this up. Hold on.” She bit her lip, looking up at the ceiling as if the words she was looking for were up there, “Okay. You do this thing. Every time I ask you a question about yourself, you tense up and go quiet. It’s like we’re both in the same room, but reading it entirely differently. I don’t know if you even know you’re doing it,”
“I’m having a great time,” he frowned.
He was… but…
“But?” Jennifer prompted.
He sighed at her ability to seemingly read his mind. Or she was just inexplicably good at reading the room, as she put it.
“Honestly, Jennifer… I’m not exactly sure what I’m looking for. I liked this - I like you.”
“Not in the way I like you, though?”
He bit the inside of his cheek, “I’m not quite sure exactly what I’m feeling right now, actually,”
She studied his face, not pressing for an explanation, but watching him with interest, “That sounds a bit like a confession …”
Jongho hesitated, “I don’t really know what I’m confessing, then,”
“Thats okay,” she shrugged, her voice intoning upwards, “We can be friends who sing romance duets together for class and argue about the value of sugared pastries in their free time,”
A laugh bubbled up his throat, “I’d like that,”
She smiled, as if that conversation answered all the questions she had, before declaring she was going to order more kouignettes to take home with her.
It felt final, like a bit of the pressure had dissipated.
But now the question remained: What was he confessing?
Maybe it was that this Americano didn’t taste nearly as good as the one Mingi made him…
NOVEMBER 2024
His phone was on silent this particular Sunday morning: no alarm clock to wake him up, no reminder for assignments due, no coworkers asking him to cover their shift. He wasn’t called to rehearsal today, and he wasn’t needed at the gym- this was a day he was saving for himself.
He was making himself a cup of tea, blasphemously heating the water up in the microwave, when his phone automatically came out of ‘do not disturb’ at 12:00 pm.
There was a text from Yunho saying he’d used the last of the bathroom handsoap and had run to the store to replenish it, a text from his mother asking about his courses, a handful from Mingi that he knew were going to be stupid pictures (memes that only made him smile because he could imagine the sound of Mingi's laughter as he scrolled through his phone) and a myriad of calls along with a singular text from Hongjoong asking him to call when he woke up.
His fingers clicked the message from Hongjoong, clicking his initials that led to his contact. He hit call and pressed the speaker symbol, setting his phone down on the counter as he opened the box of green tea.
“Jongie!” There was rustling in the background.
“Hi hyung, what’s up?”
“I need your help,” Hongjoong, ever to the point, replied. “I know this is super last minute, and I’m so sorry,” more rustling, “My lead vocalist for this track just texted me that he has strep throat and Jesus Christ, the deadline is tonight and literally none of the other vocalist I reached out to have responded to me- fuck, hang on-” there was more rustling followed by a thud and voices in the background.
Jongho grabbed his tea, blowing the steam from the top before taking a sip.
“Jjong? Sorry. Anyway, I know this is super last-minute, but I was wondering if you could come over and record?’ Hongjong's voice was measured, but Jongho could imagine the tight lines of their face pulled in complete focus and determination, “I’ll pay you, of course.”
“Hm-” Jongho responded around a swallow of tea.
“And I’ll buy you dinner for the rest of the week,”
“Done,” he answered quickly. Sunday was the beginning of the week, and he’d be a fool to turn down free food.
“Oh my god, I could kiss you,”
“Please don’t- I don’t think either one of us would enjoy that,” he snarked.
Hongjoong barked out a laugh, “Hm, true. A very cordial, loving, dude-bro handshake then,” rustling followed by swift typing sounds.
“Sure,” he watched the steam swirl out of the cup, “What time should I come over?”
“At your earliest convenience. Literally whenever you can.”
“I’ll be there…give me an address. Text me the address.”
“Sending it right now- you don’t know how much of a lifesaver you are-”
“Okay, hyung- I want beer and chicken for dinner, okay?” he hung up before Hongjoong could reply, snickering when he imagined the aghast look that no doubt crossed the others' faces.
____
Hongjoong and Hwa lived in Brooklyn, a thirty-minute train ride downtown from his Manhattan apartment with Yunho. In the few short weeks that he has known Hongjoong and Hwa, he'd gotten to know their larger-than-life personalities, each distinct and bright, making him feel mundane in comparison.
He knocked on their white door, his knuckles rapping against the peeling paint.
From behind the door, he heard footsteps followed by a thud and two voices squabbling in English, “Joong, I told you to put your shoes on the rack instead of leaving them in the middle of the floor.”
“Hwa, I’m not in the mood- and I do not ‘leave them in the middle of the floor,”
‘I suppose they just walked there on their own then?”
“Yes, they-oh shut up, I’ll clean them up!”
“I literally put the shoe rack right by the door so you wouldn’t do this-”
“Okay, yeah, yeah. I know I’m sorry-” Hongjong's voice was right behind the door, swinging it open, “Jongho!” His smile was bright and crazed around the edges; the smile of a madman who had little time to complete a huge project that was probably sucking his soul dry, “Come in, come in- don’t mind the mess- Hwa was just cleaning up!” he turned around, tossing a smirk at his friend.
Jongho stepped into the ‘messy’ apartment, Hwa standing towards the back of the living room with a meditative smile on her face, making a show of taking exaggerated calming breaths.
“The Mess” consisted of a few pairs of shoes scattered across the living room, piles of paper strewn near the coffee table, and coffee cups littering the table. Jongho doesn't think he would go as far as to call it a mess, seeing that it could be cleaned within five minutes.
“Hi, Jongho,” Hwa moved forward, arms outstretched for a hug, which Jongho obliged, “Nice to see you again,”
“See there- all clean,” Hongjoong said, as he tossed his shoes across the rack, “I’ll wash my mugs later,” He scooped up the papers strewn about the table, “C’mon Jjong, You’ve got a song,”
He grabbed Jongho’s wrist, as Hwa tossed him an encouraging smile, mouthing the words, “Good luck,” to which Jongho pulled a face of mock fright.
Hongjoong had turned the spare bedroom into his studio, expensive equipment providing a stark contrast to the cheap soundproofing clinging to the walls. The big black door had likely been installed by Hongjoong himself, seeing as it went with absolutely none of the decor in the house, sticking out in a way that no architect would purposefully do. Hongjong's desk sat right outside the door, allowing him to see inside the shoddy recording studio through the large window in the door.
The second the door closed behind them, it was like Hongjoong put his producer hat on, immediately going from the eccentric, awkward, smiley artist to a no-nonsense, focused music executive.
Jongho had never been more grateful for his degree in music, because his ability to sight-sing automatically earned him points in Hongjoong’s book as a capable artist.
He really liked Hongjoong, admired him- not just as an artist, but as a person. He envied his confidence, his ambition, and how he always seemed to know what he was doing. He was honored that Hongjoong had thought of him when faced with choosing an artist, and he wanted to impress him.
It was hard to tell how Hongjoong felt where he was positioned from outside the door, his narrowed eyes pinning him down through the large glass window. Only when Hongjoong would pop his head through the door to give him notes, and to encourage his adlibs or his vocal abilities. They worked well together, according to Hwa, who had told him so when they had taken a quick bathroom break.
“Usually, he’d look a lot more worked up- especially with a deadline at the end of the day. He knows you’ve got it,” She’d smiled, handing him a bottle of water out from the fridge, which he downed gratefully.
Three hours later, Hongjoong sat in his chair on the other side of the door, his laptop on his desk, his earbuds plugged into his laptop, nodding his head along to the track Jongho had just recorded. Jongho had braced himself for the critique he was sure was going to follow; Hongjoong was a perfectionist afterall. Instead, his face split into a smile, and he stood up with a start, pulling open the door, clapping Jongho on the back, “Jongho-yah, you’re amazing!”
“Really? It’s okay?” he replied, pulling his headphones off.
“Okay? It’s perfect- better than I could’ve imagined. Guess it’s a good thing my vocalist was sick, huh?”
Jongho felt his cheeks redden at the praise, awkwardly rubbing his neck, “Glad I could help, hyung.”
“I seriously owe you- I’ll Zelle you for your time,” he pulled his phone out of his back pocket.
Jongho waved Hongjoong off- he was happy to do his friend a favor.
“You’re a professional artist, you deserve to be paid for your artistry.” Hongjoong looked at him so earnestly that it made him squirm a bit. Jongho felt his phone buzz, knowing that Hongjoong had sent the money over.
“I was promised dinner,” Jongho deflected teasingly.
“Aish, yes. Hwa called in a favor from Yeosang; they were already in K-town with Woosan, so they picked up dinner. They should be over within the next thirty minutes, actually. I’m gonna submit this, you can go wait in the living room if you want,”
True to what Hongjoong had said, Hwa was buzzing Yeosang up half an hour later, their hands filled with plastic take-out bags.
“Sorry,” Yeosang said breathlessly, their blonde hair stuck to their forehead, wet with rain, “They gave me the food in paper bags, but there wasn’t enough room to fit it in my tote, so I stopped at the corner bodega to see if they had an extra bag, and they did! I hope nothing got wet…” They finished their ramble.
“You’re good, baby, ” Hwa reassured, rushing to grab the bags from their hands and setting them on the counter. “I appreciate you, Jongho. Go wash your hands. Sangie, go see if Joong-ah is planning to join us for dinner. I’ll set the food and plates out,” Hwa ordered gently, sounding very much like she was speaking to her young children instead of adults in their mid-twenties.
Hongjoong did end up joining them, albeit once all their plates had been scraped clean and their conversation had lulled into a comfortable silence.
Jongho found himself looking around the living room, which was clean in a minimalist way, modern end tables coupled with the bright colored art splashed around the space. It seemed like it was a perfect combination of the two friends: Hwa’s clean, sophisticated aesthetic coupled with Hongjong's bright, unconventional style.
What intrigued Jongho most was the pictures littering the place; There were photographs in frames on the walls between paintings, framed pictures propped up on the end table, pictures of each of their respective families, pictures of them together. It was clear that the two had known each other for most of their lives; photos of graduations and dances and summers spent together. There was a small square photo framed on the end table behind Hongjoong that caught his eye- there were two small children, maybe 7, arms around each other's shoulders, gigantic smiles on their faces. One was a little boy dressed as Han Solo, who stood a head taller than the girl, who was dressed as a pirate, her long black hair in two braids under her brown tricorn hat.
Jongho instantly recognized the sloping nose the boy had, how his lips were pulled back in what many would confuse as a pained smile, but his eyes betrayed the mirth in his face. He knew this boy…
Only…
And the girl, with her sharp sprite-like features, large eyes, and pointed nose, was just as familiar to him-
His eyes flicked up to his friends- Hwa’s pained smile as Hongjoongs mouth at something Yeosang had said- and then he looked back at the picture, the same smile, the same open-mouth laugh captured in the photograph.
“I wanted to wear pants in that picture so badly,” Hongjoong groaned, following Jongho’s line of vision over his shoulder, “But my mom insisted girl pirates didn’t wear pants - don’t get me wrong, I love a skirt, but that one was so ugly.” he winced casually.
“We actually recreated that photo during our senior year,” Hwa said whistfully, pulling out her phone and scrolling for a second before handing Jongho the device.
Something clicked inside his brain when he saw the picture, Hwa and Hongjoong in the exact same poses, their smiles somehow even more vibrant than when they were kids. Honjoong's pirate costume had absolutely been leveled up with a black skirt layered on top of red pants tucked into brown boots. The gap in his teeth was closed, but the sharp nose and pointy features remained. Hwa was glowing next to him in a long white gown, two large buns on either side of her head. Princess Lea. The smile on her face was the same one, pulled at the edges with joy.
When he looked up, he noticed the two pairs of eyes were set on him, as if trying to gauge where his mind was or what he might say next.
Yeosang noisily slurped their noodles through the silence.
“Cute,” he said, handing Hwa back her phone, “You guys were adorable.”
“Right?” Hwa took the phone back.
He felt a bit out of his element right now… he didn’t live under a rock- he knew what Hwa and Hongjoong were trying to tell him, without outright telling him. Jongho found himself not caring much- these two individuals are some of the closest friends he’s made in the few short months he’s been in New York, and this extra piece of information didn’t change anything. It only added another piece of tile that made up the schematic mosaic of his new friends he had stored in his brain. He wanted them to know this didn’t change anything between them.
“Keep in mind, I said you were- as in past tense- not now,” he smirked.
“You’re a little shit,” Hongjoong tossed his balled-up napkin at him, “You see how our dongsaeng treats us after we invite him into our home and feed him, Yeosang?”
“Hmm?” Yeosang said absently, noodles hanging halfway from their mouth
Hwa barked out a laugh, “Nothing, baby, keep eating- and Joong, pick up your trash!” She reached for the napkin that landed a few inches in front of Jongho’s feet, pitifully, and threw it back at Hongjoong, hitting him square in the face.
And just like that, they shifted back into comfortable conversation, sharing stories from their childhood or adolescence.
The room felt lighter in a way that Jongho wasn’t sure how to describe: it felt warm, and it felt safe, inviting him to share his secrets even though he wasn’t aware of them yet.
~~~
Jongho must have seriously fucked up in his past lives for him to be having the kind of day he’s having.
It was unseasonably cold for late November, and the temperature had dropped drastically from when he’d left this morning. His light parka was losing the battle against the knives, the cold was jabbing at him, and he didn't bring a hat or scarf.
Or his keys.
He was standing outside his little apartment with Yunho, with no keys, in the freezing cold. He’d hit the buzzer, but no one had been inside to buzz him up.
His teeth were making a rhythmic clacking as he tried to type another message through his gloves. If Yunho was on his way home, there was no point in walking back to the train to see if he could
The phone rang once… twice… thrice… before it went to Yunho’s jovial voice message. After his third attempt, he gave up and moved on to plan B: wait for someone to exit the apartment and cross his fingers that they did so before he froze to death.
On the fifth minute of waiting, he moved onto Plan C: text the group chat and see whose place he could hang out at. If no one answered, he’d stop at the nearest cafe and wait for Yunho to get back.
“Hey!” came a deep voice behind him. Without turning around, he could easily recognize who it was.
Upon turning around, he was met with the bundled-up form of Mingi, whose blonde hair was covered with a hot pink beanie dotted with silver spikes. He looked warm with his black down coat, and the pink scarf wrapped around his neck also obscured the lower part of his face.
“Hey,” he repeated once he was standing next to Jongho. The platform of his winter boots made him hyper-aware of just how much taller Mingi was.
“What are you doing out here?”
“Fucking left my keys,” he replied, bitterly.
“Dude, it’s freezing out here!” He exclaimed, an exaggerated shiver coursing through his shoulders.
“You know, if the whole entrepreneur thing doesn’t work out for you, you should consider finding a job, stating the obvious- you’ve got a gift,” his chattering teeth broke up his words.
Mingi seemed unfazed by his grouchy response, “Where’s Yunho? And why are you dressed like it’s still September?”
“It was warm this morning!”
“It was 30 degrees! Didn’t you check the weather beforehand?”
Jongho eyed Mingi, “Do you check the weather?”
“No!”
“Then why the hell would I check the weather?”
“I don’t know, you look like someone who checks the weather and sets their clothes out the night before!” Mingi held up his gloved hands in surrender.
“What does that even mean?”
“It means you look cute like Paddington bear in the oversized sweaters you wear every day- especially the blue one.” Mingi grinned, reaching out to pinch his cheek.
“Fuck you,” Jongho batted his hand away, no real malice in his voice.
A silence passed between them, the wind biting the shell of Jongho’s ear painfully. He grimaced.
“Here,” Mingi said, unwrapping the large scarf around his neck.
Before he could protest, the taller man was stepping close to him and wrapping the scarf around his neck, pulling the edge of it above his mouth. Instantly, it seemed to banish a bit of the cold from his body- especially in his face, which was rapidly warming as an embarrassed flush was no doubt spreading on his cheeks.
“There,” Mingi said, standing back with a grin, his crooked tooth on full, endearing display.
“Thanks,” his words were muffled behind the scarf. It was terribly soft, and still charged with the heat from Mingi’s body. Even with the dullness in his nostrils from the cold, he could smell Mingi on the fabric: bright berries, musk, and the gentle powder scent of soap.
“So, no sign of Yunho?” Mingi questioned.
Jongho shook his head, “Called him three times.”
“We could try to pick the lock,” Mingi said, entirely serious, staring at the locked door as if his eyes would melt the lock on it.
Jongho glared at him, not even bothering to entertain the thought. Mingi laughed, his eyes scrunching up and his cheeks flushing pink from the cold. He didn’t have his glasses on today, and Jongho saw the gradient of gray and black lining his eyes, making his dark brown eyes look bigger.
When he was like this, eyes scrunched up, mouth open wide, his laugh coming out in high-pitched spurts, Jongho understood Mingi’s urge to reach out and pinch his cheeks. If he were braver (and wasn’t so cold), he’d reach over and pinch the older man's cheek out of sheer cuteness aggression.
“You’re so cute,” Mingi said, “Now you look like a Boobah!” He pulled the scarf higher up around Jongho’s face, laughing.
“No idea what that is,”
“They’re cute, don’t worry,” Mingi reassured.
Another silence fell between them, Jongho not sure how to respond, pulled his phone out of his pocket to check if anyone in the group chat had responded.
Nothing.
“Hey, do you like ramen?” Mingi asked suddenly.
Jongho looked up from his phone, narrowing his eyes. “Yeah. Why?”
The flush that overtook Mingi’s face was 100% caused by the cold- there really couldn’t be any other explanation, right?
“There's a ramen place down the block that I’ve been wanting to try. Do you want to go?” he looked down at Jongho, sincerity… and something he couldn’t quite place, painting his features.
The question kind of caught him off guard, and his lack of response seemed to have Mingi barreling on, “It’s freezing out here, who knows when Yunho will get back, and the ramen place is closer than walking back to the train station… You don’t have to if you don’t want to. It’s no big deal, I just thought I’d ask because-”
“Sure,” he cut Mingi’s rambling off, not sure how much more of the cold eroding his fingertips and ears he could take.
“Cool,” Mingi grinned, grabbing his elbow and tugging him down the sidewalk.
Less than a minute later would prove that Mingi was correct in stating the ramen place was closer than the subway; it was just so cold that Jongho was perfectly content to complain about the numbness in his extremities.
Once inside and seated, Jongho peeled Mingi’s pink scarf from around his neck, lamenting the warmth that it took with it.
“Keep it for later,” Mingi insisted, shrugging his own jacket off his shoulders, “You’re gonna need it for when we go back,” he pulled the gray mittens off his hands- yes, mittens- and Jongho added that to the list of endearing things his hyung did.
Jongho rubbed his hands together as the waiter brought water and menus to their table. He still hadn’t regained the feeling in his fingers and longed to wrap them around a mug of something hot.
“Here, give me your hand,” Mingi held his hand out across the table.
A question formed in his head, but it seemed to have gotten lost somewhere on the journey to his mouth, because he put his hand in Mingi's open palm.
Mingi smiled, resting his other hand on top of Jongho's. “My gloves are really warm,” he shrugged, as if this provided a reasonable explanation for essentially holding Jongho’s hand.
“Better?” he asked softly.
Jongho’s throat ran dry at the gentle tone of his voice. He could only nod his head before looking down at his menu, pretending to be lost, “What looks good?” he deflected.
If Mingi responded, he was completely unaware, his mind focused on the electricity that seemed to be shooting through every nerve in his palm.
Mingi's hands were large, but surprisingly, Jongho found that his hands were the same size. His fingers were thick and long, the silver of his rings warm from being worn all day. He’d never taken the time to look at the intricate designs on his nails, all sharp white and gray lines and angles decorating the black base color.
Mingi moved his top hand to flip his menu, leaving their hands connected on the table. His deft pale fingers wrapped around the palm of his hand, his thumb rubbing rhythmic circles on the back of it.
Mingi was holding his hand…
If someone were to walk by right now and see their hands resting on the table, what would they think? Would they assume that Mingi was a very generous friend, helping his bro warm up? Or would they see it as a gesture of affection between friends? Or an intimate sign of connection between two men who were romantically interested in each other and on a date?
“Give me your other hand,” the gravel
“What?”
“You’re other hand,” Mingi put his right hand palm up on the table, beckoning with his fingers by wiggling them.
Jongho placed his left hand in Mingi’s open palm, shuddering when Mingi brought his other hand to cover it completely.
“Your hands are cold as fuck,” he winced at the touch of Jongho’s cold fingertips, his thumb gently rubbing circles on the golden expanse of his hand.
“Yeah, standing out in the cold for half an hour will do that,” he deadpanned, hoping to mask the burning sensation he felt in his chest, the fluttering in his stomach.
“They’re also really soft,” he whispered, and it was hard for him to tell if this was a thought spoken out loud or if this was a compliment intended for Jongho to hear. Either way, his heartbeat sped up, and Jesus Christ, he was going to need to lay off the caffeine.
Because that's what this must be- jitters from the extra cup of coffee that he shouldn’t have had!
He’d held hands with his friends before, although he wasn’t the biggest on skinship; they’d grab casually in a way that meant absolutely nothing but platonic friendship. So why now, did the gesture feel so much… closer, with its meaning so much less defined?
Did Mingi feel it too?
“Are we ready to order?” The voice of their waiter broke Jongho out of the trance the simple connection had been holding him in, snatching his hand away and folding it in his lap hastily.
The swift motion made Mingi look up in surprise- he eyed Jongho for a moment, smiling up at the waiter and proceeding to place the order. Jongho hastily ordered whatever Mingi was having.
“Thank you, by the way,” he said once they were alone again, “Your methods are unconventional, but my hands are warm now, so I guess it worked.”
Mingi shrugged, “My motives weren't completely selfless.”
Jongho refused to let himself ask what that may have meant.
The rest of their dinner went without incident; their usual banter, Mingi saying the most ridiculous shit to see if it could pry a smile out of Jongho, Jongho rolling his eyes and pretending he isn’t deeply endeared by his adorable hyung.
Mingi insisted on paying for his meal because “he asked Jongho to dinner,” which made it sound like a date, but he also was never one to turn down a free meal, and this was a common occurrence among his new friends in America and the ones back in South Korea.
It was dark outside by the time Jongho’s phone blew up with dozens of texts and a missed call from Yunho. Every other word was an apology, but he confirmed that he was, in fact, home, and he found Jongho’s keys on the living room table.
They slipped their coats back on, and Jongho wrapped the pink scarf around his neck, lamenting the warmth it lacked when Mingi had first given it to him.
“You want to wear my gloves?” Mingi asked, slipping the black mittens over his hands.
Jongho shook his head, balling his hands into fists and shoving them into his pocket.
“Wanna hold my hand?” Mingi held his ungloved hand out between them. Jongho wrinkled his nose, causing the other to laugh a deep, throaty chuckle.
“What? It’ll keep your hands warm!” he exclaimed.
“I’m sure,” Jongho couldn’t help the small giggle that escaped him.
“Hey! The offer still stands,” Mingi shrugged, putting his other glove on.
Jongho didn’t stop his mind from wandering about what would happen if he took Mingi up on his offer.
Just two dudes, holding hands in the cold.
Platonically, because Jongho couldn’t say the same for Mingi, but he was extremely straight, so anything other than platonic affection was impossible towards the taller man.
Yunho buzzed them up immediately as soon as Jongho hit the intercom, as if he was waiting for Jongho’s arrival.
“You gonna come up?” He stood in the open doorway, waiting for Mingi to come in.
“Nah,” Mingi stuffed his hands into his pockets, his breath curling his mouth like a puff of smoke in the cold, “I should get home and do some work.”
Jongho smiled, “Thanks for the ramen- it kind of saved my day.”
He pretended the pink on Mingi’s cheeks was from the cold, “I’m nothing if not magnanimous and valiant, like a knight in shining armor,”
“I don’t say all that,” Jongho rolled his eyes, to which Mingi smiled softly.
“Well, I’ll get going,” he said, rocking on his heels.
“See you - oh! I forgot,” he started unwrapping the scarf from his neck.
Mingi put a hand up, “No, no, no, it’s fine- keep it! I have so many scarves, I don’t know what to do with them.”
“Really?”
“Besides, you look cuter in it than I do- like a little pink Boobah,”
“Oh fuck you!”
“You love me,”
“In your dreams!”
“Yeah.”Mingi laughed, low and not entirely sincere, “Bye Jjongie.”
Jongho didn’t have time to break down the shift in mood.
“Bye, hyung,” he whispered.
DECEMBER 2024
The house of the small theatre had been filled for the opening Night of La Boheme.
The first two acts had gone so well, he wondered why he didn’t act on stage more often: the reaction from the audience, either feedback in the form of applause or muted laughter in reaction to an acting choice or to a subtitle sliding across the overhead screen.
He’d invited everyone in the 8ties group chat, but only knew for certain that Yunho and Hwa were coming.
As the curtain fell and the lights dimmed at the end of the 1st act, he spotted his entire group of friends: Hongjoong, Hwa, and Yunho, Woosan, Yeosang, and Mingi seated about five rows from the stage. He felt his heart leap into his throat at the thought of his friends coming to see his performance, and the sight of them seemed to push away any opening night jitters
The others return, with a gift of a muff to warm Mimì's hands and a cordial to soothe her cough. Mimì gently thanks Rodolfo for the muff, which she believes is a present from him, reassures him that she is better, and falls asleep. Musetta prays. Schaunard discovers that Mimì has died. Rodolfo rushes to the bed, calling Mimì's name in anguish. He sobs helplessly as the curtain falls.
Jongho hadn’t acted in anything since he had been in high school, and even then, he’d found the hardest feeling to convey was love. Not loving- he could recall being a loving son, being a loving friend, portraying full joy and contentment. He was an expert at recalling sadness, or disgust, or anger- but standing face to face with Jennifer, hands interlocked between their chests as they declare their love for each other, he finds his acting just as stilted- if not more- than he felt during their date.
He couldn’t recall emotions regarding falling in love because there weren’t any emotions to recall. He’d never been in love, so how was he supposed to act like it beyond a wooden imitation?
Despite this, he and Jennifer had been praised for their chemistry by both their peers and their teacher. Their voices blended perfectly, and the friendship they’d cultivated off-stage shone through in their performance.
As he sang his last note, he was overcome with emotion, the lights dimming with tears streaming down his face as he lay across Jennifer’s limp body. He wasn’t sure what came over him, but even as they got into places for bows, the tears wouldn’t stop.
The loud applause of the audience pierced his eardrums, and his cheeks pulled into a smile as the curtain closed.
He spent little time in the dressing room, feeling far too emotionally drained to engage in any of the usual banter he exchanged with his castmates.
Jennifer seemed to notice his mood, whipping at his face gently after their costumes were hung up.
“You killed it,” She linked their arms, as he slung his backpack around his shoulder.
“We killed it,” He corrected with a watery chuckle.
His friends were circled up in the lobby waiting for him.
“My mom's here,” Jennifer pointed to a small woman across the room, “I’ll see you Monday?”
He nodded, accepting her outstretched arms into a hug.
“JONGHO-YAH!” called a voice which could only be that of Wooyoung. He didn’t have much time to register the transition between Jennifer blowing him one last kiss and Wooyoung throwing his arms around his neck.
“HOLY SHIT YOU WERE AMAZING!” he all but screamed.
“Youngie,” Hwa grimaced, her fingers in her ears.
“Sorry,” Wooyoung apologized without an ounce of guilt in his features, “Holy shit, you were amazing!” he all but whispered with a dramatic glance thrown at Hwa.
“You’re good at everything,” Yeosang lamented as they planted themselves next to him, “How are you good at everything?”
“The best part about having Jongie as a roommate is whenever he sings in the shower, I feel like I’m getting a personal concert,” Yunho dramatically put a hand over his chest.
“Is this why you won’t go to karaoke with us? Because you know you’ll embarrass the hell out of the rest of us?” San said, giving Jongho a hug of his own.
“Sannie, you’re a great singer!”
“Okay, sure, but not an opera singer-”
As Woosan argued, Hwa rested her hands on his shoulders, a warm smile on her face.
“You’re so talented, Jongho!”
“Thanks, noona,”
“Don’t forget us when you book something on 42nd street,” Honjoong joked.
“How do you feel?” Hwa asked.
“Good. Energized.. But also exhausted, if that makes sense,” He had electric energy, but he felt drained, and his body was tired.
“That makes sense- it’s like an adrenaline rush,” Hongjoong said, “I feel the same way after a performance. Are you too tired for food? My treat,”
“Yeah, that sounds nice,” he smiled softly, “Thank you guys for coming.”
His heart was impossibly full right now. He might not have been able to use his own amorous experiences to breathe life into a romantic performance, but he knew what loving people felt like- and few moments could hold up against the love he felt for the friends he’s made in the past 6 months, “Really. I don’t even think I could express how much it means to me,”
“I’m glad we could be here,” Yeosang smiled crookedly at him. Their amber eyes flicked up over his shoulder, causing him to turn and follow their line of vision.
Behind him stood a very flushed Mingi.
As always, he looked beautiful in his fitted white button-up, tucked into fitted black flares that accentuated the curves of his hips and thighs. He had his glasses on tonight, delicate gold wire-rims that matured his face.
The outfit was far more muted than the edgy outfits with leather and chains. Slung over his arm was a long dark wool coat- the thought of someone putting on a coat had never appealed to him the way this was appealing to him now.
The most baffling thing, though, was the bouquet of red roses in the death grip in his hand.
“Hey,” Mingi said lowly, a nervous smile on his face, “You were amazing- wait, hold up,” he bent down, looking dramatically at Jongho’s legs, rubbing his free hand on his shin, “Huh, that's weird,”
Jongho didn’t flinch when Mingi's large, warm hand made contact with his leg through his pants, but he was absolutely aware of the sparks that seemed to run through his shin, up his knees, electrifying his entire frame.
“What?” he didn’t have the wherewithal to be concerned while Mingi’s hand was on his leg.
“It’s weird, because you clearly broke a leg on stage, but it looks fine now,” he said, a goofy grin that looked less nervous and more like him blossomed on his face, “Actually, you just totally proved my theory about opera singers- you look really hot with your makeup all smudged from crying and shit,”
Jongho shoved his shoulder, “Go away, you don't have to pretend that you stayed awake for the whole thing,” he said with laughter in his voice, hoping the rouge from his stage makeup masked the way the blood rushed to his face.
"I didn't!" Yunho swore at the same time Yeosang said, "I only dozed at act three!"
“Seriously, though, you did amazing… just… wow, you’re amazing.” He held out the flowers,
“For… me?” his voice must have risen about two octaves because he felt his face flush red- at least that’s what he told himself.
“For you,” Mingi confirmed.
“I- Mingi…,” he was speechless.
“If it’s weird, you don’t have to take them… I just thought that maybe you might-”
“I love them,” Jongho grabbed the bouquet, the paper wrapping crinkling under his hands, “Nobody's ever gotten me flowers before,”
He’d given his mother flowers, given a date a rose on Valentine's Day, he’s given flowers to cousins at certain family functions- but no one has ever given them to him. It was such a subtle gesture, but they were beautiful, delicate, and so symbolic of something that Jongho couldn't wrap his head around. The idea that anyone thought he was deserving of something so beautiful made his heart beat faster, and his mouth run dry- he couldn’t remember a time anyone outside of his family had done something that made him feel so valued. And to his horror, he felt a burning behind his eyes.
He pulled Mingi into a hug, “Thank you, hyung,” he whispered, resting his forehead on his shoulder.
Mingi returned the long arms wrapping around Jongho’s waist, the laughter in his chest reverberating through him.
Standing there, in the theatre lobby, wrapped in Mingi’s embrace with his group of friends laughing and chittering in the background, he almost felt confused that he wasn’t able to recall the warm feeling blooming in his chest. He felt loved and so much affection for the man, he wondered if this was the feeling he was supposed to recreate, when he pulled away and saw the soft gaze in Mingi’s eyes
JANUARY 2025
The holiday season had come and gone with very little fanfare, Jongho spending his mornings at the gym and his afternoons in an eerily quiet apartment.
Yunho had gone back home to visit his parents in Gwangju, taking Hwa with him to meet them.
Hongjoong and Wooyoung, both hailing from California- San Francisco and Los Angeles respectively- had gone back home as well. Jongho felt the stab of jealousy when Wooyoung had sent a shirtless “Merry Christmas” message, surrounded by palm trees and a crystal blue sky.
Jongho was rather shocked to learn Mingi and Yeosang were the only members of the 8ties chat that actually hailed from New York, Sannie growing up in Namhae and moving with his family to Texas when he was in middle school. Yeosang had gone back to his home in the suburbs and San left for Texas the day before Christmas Eve.
Mingi was from Brooklyn, spending Christmas with his family and heading off to his own apartment, not far from where his family was.
Jongho had the entire apartment to himself for a large part of December, Yunho leaving him a wrapped gift on the coffee table and instructed him not to open it until Christmas; it turns out he had Hwa had gotten him a leather binder, for his sheet music, his name embossed in gold in the corner. He hadn’t been expecting anything from his friends.
Wooyoung had sent a text suggesting they all get together when they all arrived back in the states to have a Christmas celebration of their own.
Jongho was completely on board with this idea, and decided he was going to do everything in his power to avoid Mingi until then.
Because of the exorbitant amount of time he’d spent alone this month he’s come to a few realizations that quite frankly scared the shit out of him:
1) He wasn’t as straight as he initially believed he was.
2) He came to this realization due to the fact that he may or may not have the smallest crush on Mingi.
He wasn’t sure what to do with this information and the best course of action seemed to be to ignore Mingi’s phone calls, respond to his texts with one word answers and absolutely under no circumstances see him face to face.
Realizing that he liked Mingi in a I-wanna-hold-your-hand or a kiss-you-until-you-were-covered-in- my- affection kind of way provided a lot of answers he’d been searching within himself since he’d begun puberty.
He thought back to his first kiss at 13 years old, how it tasted of artificial cherry gloss, and felt as if he was kissing a piece of wet, lacquered cardboard. How at sixteen his girlfriend broke up with him claiming that he was “ bored of her” and because “ he had refused to touch her”; his refusal to even look at her boobs brought on insecurities in his ex-girlfriend that made a pit of regret deep enough to swallow him whole. She was a really pretty girl, extremely intelligent and it was fun singing duets with her at karaoke. So why couldn’t he love her? Every sexual advance ending in “it’s not you, it’s me…” which would only make her scoff through her tears.
There were the many times he'd gotten a love note in his locker- how his heart would leap when he read the sweet words, and how the name- the very feminine name- always seemed to bring him back to reality and the note no longer seemed as appealing. He had always chalked it up to needing to find that one particular person.
In high school he had a lot of friends: he had many buddies on his soccer team, and he also had many friends from participating in the school musical and chorus- something his jock friends were jealous of or would use to their advantage. Jongho never really thought of them as much more than coworkers in the play. He hadn’t considered the possibility of dating again until he had invited Ryujin, the dance captain of the musical, over to study. His parents wore secret smiles at the thought that their Jongho had brought a girl home. Over dinner, after Ryujin left, his mother had wasted no time before asking who she was- a girlfriend perhaps?
The thought disgusted him, in the most respectful way towards Ryujin. She was a beautiful girl, any man would be lucky to have her as a girlfriend, but something about him having her as a girlfriend had caused a thought so dissonant that he gave himself a headache from how wrong it sounded. He couldn’t stop the way it caused his nose to scrunch, eliciting a laugh from his parents; they had insisted that he was just a late bloomer; he was only seventeen and there was no rush in bringing a pretty girl home. His studies and vocal courses were his main focus right now, of course dating wouldn’t be one of his priorities.
He grew a reputation for rejecting girls, for being romantic only in the roles he’d play on stage and the fantasy never materializing in his life. His soccer teammates would make playful jabs at him, the only boy who could have so many girl friends surrounding him without the urge to date any.
Jongho couldn’t bring himself to care about the rumor- Hyunjin was nice enough and was a talented dancer in their ensemble- often aiding creating the choreography that he and Ryujin would teach to the group. He didn't look gay- but then again, Jongho didn’t know what a gay man looked like.
Until he had met Mingi. Mingi didn’t look gay either: he was tall and built with a strong jawline. His voice was deeper than anyone he’d met, the epitome of masculine beauty, if you asked Jongho.
But Mingi also wore pounds of jewelry, silver rings donning every finger and silver necklaces hanging from his neck, his nails always polished a dark color and his face brushed with makeup. He was interested in clothes and design and despite his intimidating exterior he was empathetic and understanding.
His entire friend group seemed to have lifted the veil on a world that he didn’t even know existed: San, Mingi and Hongjoong being gay, Wooyoung and Yunho with their bisexuality and Yeosang and Hwa and their trans identities.
Jongho felt so close to them and yet so far away, like coming any closer would set him ablaze, leaving him in a pile of ash.
The bouquet of roses Mingi had given him after his performance sat on the mahogany table in his bedroom, petals fallen and blossoms wilted in their beautiful death. He didn’t know why he didn’t have the heart to throw them away- the thought of what they meant both filled him with hope and horrified him.
He’d been lounging in the living room, eating the leftovers from the takeout he ordered when an incoming call interrupted the soft jazz christmas music that was playing. His heart froze out of fear it was Mingi calling again to ask to hang out, but it was only Yunho.
“Hey!” Yunho’s voice was tinny over the call, “How are you? How are things?”
“Good- actually quiet for once,” he teased, “And I haven’t walked into my living room to find anyone making out with his girlfriend,”
Yunho sputtered, “That was one time! And by quiet I’m sure you mean boring,”
They talked about their respective holidays, Hwa yelling a greeting from where she was helping Yunho’s mother cook dinner, which caused Yunho to wax a bit about how much he loved her.
“Thank you for the book, by the way,” Jongho said.
“You like it?” His voice was giddy.
“I love it,” he affirmed.
“Good,” he said. He cleared his throat suddenly sobering, “Hey, can you do me a favor?”
“If it involves leaving the house, then no,” he joked. When he was met with silence on Yunho’s end, he figured it must have been rather serious, “Yeah, of course.”
“Can you maybe check on Mingi for me?”
Jongho stilled, Mingi had sent him a text a few days ago, Jongho hadn’t responded, but he was fairly certain he was alive and well- had something happened. Contacting Mingi would absolutely be going against his plan to get over his crush.
“Uh. What's wrong with Mingi?”
Yunho released a weighted sigh, “I don’t know. I could be nothing- it’s just- we were supposed to facetime yesterday- I called him, and he didn’t pick up. Then I sent him texts and he just… never responded,”
“Maybe he’s busy?”
He could practically hear Yunho shaking his head over the phoneline. “I mean, maybe… but he knew I was going to be calling and sometimes he gets… I don’t know. I just wanted to check on him and you’re the one closest to him right now- Sangie is still in Long Island with their family,”
“You want me to, what, go over there?” He winced at the displeasure in his voice. It’s not like he didn’t want to see Mingi- in fact, he’d really like to see him- probably a bit too much. Along with the fact that he might be sick, Jongho would be a rather shitty friend if he couldn’t put his own feelings aside to help someone who was his friend before anything else.
“It’s not too much trouble,”
“It’s not,” Jongho reassured, already standing up from where he’d been perched on the sofa.
“I love you- I have his spare key in the junk drawer in my room- the one in my nightstand- his is a one with the princess key cover call me when you can!”
He riffled through the drawer, finding the key- Yunho had all their friends keys, which he had insisted were for emergencies. Each had its own unique key cover like a cat for Woosan or Angel wings for Yeosang. Mingi’s was bright pink and easiest to spot amongst the bills and other things Yunho kept in the drawer.
He typed the address Yunho had texted him into his gps, the next train left in 20 minutes.
In less than five minutes, he had pulled his long down coat over his body and a hat over his head, ready to face the cold New York wind and whatever else the evening threw his way.
—----
Upon receiving no answer after knocking on Mingi’s door, Jongho had stuck the key in, only to find that it was unlocked.
He gently opened the door, never having been inside Mingi’s apartment, he wasn’t sure what to expect. The house was shockingly neat, and minimal- it was hard to see anything else because of how dim the lighting was.
“Mingi?” he called out, slipping his shoes off his feet before stepping on the carpet of the living room. “Mingi hyung…” he said, a little louder.
The place was very small: a kitchen, a bathroom, and a living room all led to a door that was still closed. He couldn’t tell if the light was on, or if Mingi was still in the room, maybe sleeping.
He knocked on the door again, opening it gently when he received no answer.
The lights were off in Mingi’s bedroom, his bed unmade and clothes strewn about on the floor. His bedroom looked far more lived in, and Mingi-like than the rest of his apartment. There were sketches and textile samples strewn about the desk, pictures and posters littered the wall, like a collage of everything Mingi loved. He saw who he assumed were Mingi’s parents, framed on his nightstand, his degree in business framed behind it. He noted the little orange bottles littering the dresser, old cups of water half drank stood next to the various bottles of pills. Jongho forced himself not to think deeper about them.
By his mirror there were various skin care products, bottles of nail polish neatly arranged on a shelf and a well used eyeshadow palette left open, exposing how well used it was. There was a collage of their friends literally one wall: Mingi and Wooyoung, Mingi and Yunho, and a picture of the three of them on stage dancing together, a candid shot of Hongjoong with his headphones on with a frown on his face as he worked on a track, another candid shot of Yeosang with what appeared to be frosting and cake crumbs smeared on the corner of his lips while Hwa sat next to him her face resting in her palm.
Jongho chuckled a little when he spotted the selfie they had taken on his birthday- he, Wooyoung, Hwa, Yunho and Mingi- a shy smile on his face as he held up the bowl of seaweed soup they had prepared for him. His cheeks flushed at the idea that Mingi had liked the photo enough for him to put it on his collage surrounded by his friends of many years and family.
The next picture made his heart spring to his throat, pulsating so forcefully he worried he might get a headache.
It was a picture of him and Mingi after his performance, a broad smile on Mingi’s face as his head rested on top of Jongho’s. The roses he had given him were clutched so tightly in his right hand, Jongho could see the veins. Jongho’s face was buried in Mingi’s chest, so he couldn’t see his expression, something he was grateful for- he didn’t want to see his face the moment he realized he was harbouring romantic feelings for his friend.
A quiet cough broke the trance the picture seemingly had him under. The lights were off, but Jongho knew the sound came from the ensuite bathroom.
“Hyung?” he called, pushing the door open slightly and flicking on the lights.
Much to his horror, there Mingi was, fully clothed and curled up in the bathtub. He had a hoodie pulled over his head, partially obscuring his face, the long sleeves pulled down over his hands. For as big and tall as his hyung was, for the larger than life personality he showcased so often, he looked so small like this.
“Mingi?” he bent down, shaking his shoulder gently. He pulled his hood back, revealing his puffy eyes and red nose. A touch to the forehead revealed he had no fever, but that did nothing to assuage Jongho’s fear.
“Hey, hey, hyung you gotta wake up,” he whispered, kneeling to be at Mingi’s level.
After a second more of shoulder shaking, the older man seemed to stir, eyes blinking slowly awake.
“Jjong?” he rasped, as if he hadn’t used his voice for days.
“Hey. Yeah, it’s me,” he had so many questions but absolutely no idea which to ask first.
“Mm. Hi. What time is it?”
“It’s almost 1 pm,” He looked at him brokenly, “Hyung.. what?” He let the question die on his tongue.
Mingi opened his eyes, revealing how swollen his lids were, “Mm’okay. Especially now that you’re here,” he attempted a weak grin, “Don’t worry ‘bout me,”
“I- how can I not? You-” What could he even say? You look exhausted- you were crying, why? You were asleep in a fucking bathtub! You’re scaring the shit out of me…
He rubbed his eyes, “I’m really okay. I just,” he waved his hand around, “I don’t know. I’m just broken…”
A piece of his heart cracked as Mingi’s face crumbled, tears spilling out of his eyes. He watched pathetically as Mingi buried his face in his knees, his shaking hands gripping each other.
“What? No you’re not,” Mingi was shaking his head and Jongho did everything to stop himself from despairing too, “How can I help you?”
He felt completely out of his element- he wasn’t used to comforting people, and had always felt awkward when confronted with any other emotion other than anger and joy; with anger you try to diffuse it, with joy you try to keep the flames of happiness kindled. What were you supposed to do with sadness? Or fear? Or anxiety?
Should he call Yunho? Or Wooyoung? Or Hwa? Or literally anyone else who was better and dealing with human emotion than him…
At the sound of Mingi’s increasingly jagged breathing, he was snapped out of his own spiral. He didn’t know how to handle this, but he’d figure it out…
For Mingi.
He starts urginging the crying man to breathe with him… steady breaths… in and out… It takes a minute, but eventually Mingi’s breath matches his, inhaling and exhaling shakily.
“Good! good job- focus on my breath, …in… and out,” he encourages. Mingi looks up, eyes tired and intense, but obliging Jongho anyway, “Can- can I touch you?... Your hand?”
Mingi nods blankly as Jongho takes his hand, noting briefly the stark contrast between the last time he had held his hand: where it had been soft before, the skin was cracked and dry. The skin around his chipped fingernails was bitten with hangnails and skin- as if he had been anxiously chewing on them. Before, his hands had been warm, bringing warmth to Jongho’s icy fingers- now they were frozen and their grip was weak around Jongho’s hands.
“I’ve got you hyung,” He whispered,
Once Mingi’s breath evened out he squeezed Jongho's hand, looking everywhere but his eyes, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to do that… I didn’t want- I just keep fucking up, I’m sorry,” he covered his eyes with his free hand, sniffing loudly.
“Shhhh, don’t apologize- you never need to apologize for your feelings,” Jongho rubbed a circle on the back of Mingi’s hand. “Can I take you to your room?”
Mingi sighed shakily, nodding, “Yeah,” he said roughly, beginning to push himself from his seated position at the back of the tub.
Jongho stooped over, wrapping his arm around Mingi’s back and the other under his knees.
“You can’t pick me up,” Mingi rasped once he realized what Jongho was doing.
“Watch me,” Jongho smirked half heartedly, standing up with what appeared to be little effort with the six foot man in his arms, bridal style. He kicked open the bathroom door, entering the bedroom and gently deposited him on the bed.
“I could’ve walked,” Mingi whispered.
“Yeah but you’re a princess, so you shouldn’t have to,” Jongho watched as Mingi picked a loose thread on his sweatpants, “Did you know Yunho’s key cover for the key to your place was a crown? He was worried about you, by the way,”
“Yeah. I’ll call him later,” The guilt in Mingi’s voice was apparent, “It’s just been a rough few days,”
“Do you… want to talk about it?”
Mingi shook his head, “There’s nothing to talk about… nothing really happened. My brain just fucking sucks sometimes,” Jongho saw the pill bottles on the desk, and the mental schema he had of Mingi seemed to broaden. “Everything feels like it’s too much and I.. I’m just-”
“Don’t say you’re broken again, because Mingi hyung, I promise you’re the farthest thing from broken. You’re so smart and one of the most thoughtful people I think I’ve ever met- and everybody you meet loves you. Your art… your fashion… the things your brain comes up with- the random facts you seem to be able to conjure up about the most random things. How you’re so bold and confident in yourself… You’re one of the strongest people I know, you’re so cool, hyung. I wish I could be more like you… ,” his cheeks were red by the end of his word vomit, “So stop talking about my friend like that… it makes me feel silly for admiring someone you think is so broken,”
Mingi’s face softened a bit, his mouth pressed lightly into a small smile. Jongho would count that as a win.
“Hold on, I’m going to get you some water… When was the last time you ate?”
He shrugged half heartedly in response, “I’m not sure. Sometime yesterday. I’m not really hungry though,”
Jongho grabbed an empty glass from his nightstand, filling it up in the bathroom quickly, and handing it to Mingi.
The room was washed in silence as Mingi drained the glass of its content, Jongho standing awkwardly next to his bed.
“Can I get you anything else?” he reached his hand out to grab his glass, but Mingi grabbed his wrist.
“Stay?” Mingi pleaded, looking up at him.
Because he was a weak, weak man, he’d spent the entirety of New Year's Eve on Mingi’s bed, eating take out, watching a plethora of nature documentaries that Mingi had been meaning to watch, and doing everything he could to distract Mingi from the storm going on inside his mind.
The start of the new year was signaled by the loud fireworks, shooting off in thunderous claps outside the window. Mingi, whose anxiety had been heightened the whole day, had preemptively put his earplugs in, curling up further into Jongho’s side.
He knew he was fucked, but he wasn’t aware of the extent of it until Mingi had kissed his cheek and whispered a soft, ‘Happy New Year, Jjongie,”
By the time he had untangled his brain enough to form a coherent sentence, Mingi was already asleep.
FEBRUARY 2025/p>
After The Incident on New Years Eve, avoiding Mingi practically became impossible.
The rest of their friend group had gradually arrived, bringing along with them their monthly outing for drinks and their weekly game night- completely cutting them all off would make it too obvious. Plus, there was the issue that Mingi was Yunho’s best friend and he would stop at their apartment even when Jongho wasn’t there. So Jongho was handling it as best as he could, smiling awkwardly and doing his best to pretend that nothing at all had changed between them.
Except that it had, and Jongho new Mingi It seemed that he had gotten innumerably more clingy: sitting flush against Jongho when the entirety of the couch was empty, resting his head against Jongho’s knee during game nights, using laughter as an excuse to lean into his space. He’d become more bold with his flirting, going beyond complimenting his appearance and commenting on things he liked about Jongho personally, sending him texts of things that reminded him of him.
It was clear to everyone that Mingi had tossed the ball into Jongho’s court- his feelings were on his sleeve, bared for everyone to see. And Jongho simply wasn’t brave enough to do anything about it.
On February 14th, he had trudged into his apartment, footsteps a bit heavy due to a mixture of inadequate sleep, lack of caffeine and the fact that he had watched at least 10 couples being gross on his commute home.
Yunho was out with Hwa and Jongho knew he would likely have the entire place to himself. He placed an order from the chicken chop around the corner, going to his room to wait until he got the notification that this food was ready for pick up.
When he first walked into his bedroom, he didn’t see anything out of place or different- that was until he’d turned to his desk.
Sitting on his desk was a folded piece of cardstock sitting under a little brown bear plush keychain with a di-colored leaf attached to his head.
He fondly rolled his eyes, knowing exactly who sent it before he opened the card to read the message.
Jjongie,
He reminded me of you, so I had to get him- isn’t he cute? I named him Jjongbear because he looks just like you- no you’re not allowed to rename him!
xx,
Mingi
Despite any grouchy front Jongho may put on about yet another bear comparison from Mingi, he knew he was going to cherish the stupidly cute thing for the rest of his stupid life.
MARCH 2025:
Jongho couldn’t get out of Mingi’s apartment fast enough; he sprinted down the eerily desolate New York sidewalk. His legs were carrying him as fast as they could, his feet slapping the pavement.
His legs carry him faster, perhaps faster than they ever had- his brain falling behind as his body protested the speed. Before he could help it, the toe of his leather boots caught a groove in the concrete, catapulting him forward.
He barely had any time to brace himself for the fall; he’d left his mind on the floor of Mingis apartment. He fell silently, his knees scraping gracelessly against the concrete, his jeans no doubt ripping from the friction. He hung his head, bits of stone and concrete digging in his palms painfully. Against his will, tears sprang to his eyes, the salt of them burning profusely.
His lungs begged him to take a deep breath, something he hadn’t fully done since Mingi placed his large hand on his thigh.
Since before Mingi had kissed him.
Every breath was shallow, staccato, and seemingly cut off before it reached his lungs-
Mingi had kissed him,m and Jongho had kissed him back.
They had kissed.
Arriving back at the apartment had only been the cherry on top of his shitty-night-sunday. Opening the door to find Yunho and Hwa cuddling on the sofa, so in love with each other, so comfortable with themselves, caused a twinge of /i>something to pool in his gut. Hwa’s head resting on Yunho's shoulder, and Yunho playing with her long hair draped over her shoulder. It would have been an adorable picture if Jongho hadn’t been feeling so fucking tired.
The door must have slammed a little too loudly behind him because both had looked up at him, Yunho calling out a greeting. He made brief eye contact with Hwa, and her soft smile faded into a look of concern- a look that only made him feel more sick. He had done his best at tucking any evidence of earlier tonight behind a mask of what he hoped looked like light intoxication and fatigue.
Apparently, he wasn’t convincing enough.
“Are you okay?” Her voice was no louder than a whisper, as if anything louder would have scared him like a skittish deer. For all he might have tried, his vocal cords seemed to be tied together, incapable of forming a sentence. Instead, he nodded curtly in response, making a bee-line to his room. He could hear Hwa call his name one last time; at some point down the line, he would feel incredibly guilty for ignoring his favorite hyung and noona.
He just needed to take a shower.
He needed to take a shower and scrub his skin raw, until he felt something- anything- other than the conflict that had become his reality for the past six months. All he wanted was a shower, and then he’d put in his AirPods and bury his nose in the stupid pink scarf that he kept on his bedpost in a completely platonic way-
Platonic, in the way Mingi would hold his gaze, cradle it, as if he was trying to tell him a secret. Platonic, in the way that Mingi’s touch seemed to linger a bit too long on his arm or on his leg. Platonic, in the way their fingers brushing sent a jolt of electricity down his spine. That kind of platonic.
Over the last few months, he had grown to love Yunho’s friends- his friends. His friends, who seemed to accept him wholeheartedly, for all his little shyness and quiet affection, he loved them dearly. Their queerness, something that had once shocked him to see so openly, now seemed only a minor part of the people he had come to know and love. They were some of the coolest people he knew, but he couldn’t be one of them. He had a crush on him, but that didn’t make him…
The knock on his door jostled him out of his thoughts. As
“Jongho-yah?” Hwa called, “ Can I come in?”
“Uh,” his voice was tight, and cracked pathetically, “ Yeah,” he cleared his throat.
The door gently creaked open, and Hwa stepped inside wearing a grey sweatshirt that must have been Yunho’s.
“I just wanted to check on you.”
From the corner of his bed, Jongho lifted his shoulder in response.
She padded across the room in her socks- Jongho had been in such a hurry that he hadn't even taken off his shoes. Hwa gasped, audibly.
“Your knees!”
Jongho had forgotten that he’d fallen on the concrete; his black jeans were already ripped at the knees, so it made it easy to see the scraped skin peeling with dried blood clinging to his skin and soaked into his pants.
“There's a first aid kit in the bathroom-”
“I’m okay, you don’t-”
“Hush. Roll your pants up, and I’ll be right back,” She cut him off, breezing past quickly, giving him no room for objection.
By the time he had painfully shimmied his pants off, leaving him only in his boxers, Hwa had returned. Jongho slid the purple blanket over his lap for discretion, playing with the tassels at the corner anxiously.
“I can’t remember the last time I scraped my knees- I used to do it all the time when I was a kid, though. I think I was thirteen and my oppa was trying to teach me how to roller skate. I sucked. ” She chuckled to herself at the memory and grabbed the cotton round, dousing it with the rubbing alcohol. “Once you wipe the blood off, it’ll look a lot less gnarly… this might sting a bit…” She warned as she gently pressed the damp wipe to his knee.
He inhaled sharply, less from the sting and more from the cold.
“Sorry,” She apologized, “What about you? Did you fall tragically and skin your knees learning to roller skate?” She asked. Jongho could tell she was itching to ask why his knees were skinned now, but he appreciated her ability to read the room in any situation. Her efforts to distract him did not go unnoticed.
“I was born good at everything,” he responded, though the response lacked the usual cheekiness it would have contained.
She snorted, tossing the cotton round and grabbing another one, “But of course! I’d expect nothing less from our golden maknae,”
Jongho might have cracked a smile if his heart didn’t feel like crumbling.
He tilted his head back, feeling the unwelcome burn behind his eyes that he had spent the entire night trying to stave off.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Hwa asked, dabbing at his other knee.
He thought about it for a minute- did he want to talk about it? What was there to talk about? How was he harbouring feelings towards her boyfriend's best friend? How, he's not sure what to do with these feelings because he’d never allowed himself to think they were a possibility? How, even if he managed to straighten (oh the irony,) himself out, he’d all but rejected Mingi, who probably hated him now…. What was he supposed to say?
He found himself shaking his head in response, even though he was positive Hwa couldn’t see it as she dabbed ointment on his knees.
“Yunho let me use his Spiderman band-aids,” she giggled under her breath, peeling back the paper and sticking the adhesive to his knee. “He’s worried about you, you know… I suppose we’re all a bit worried- you haven’t been around much…” He looked down at her, at the way her long hair fell around her face and how her bare lashes seemed to fan across her high cheekbones, “I don’t know. I just want to let you know we’re here for you,” she looked up at him briefly, the corner of her mouth quirked up, before she went back to bandanging his knee.
The top of her head became blurry, as the wretched tears began to fall down his cheeks.
“There, good as new…oh,” her voice trailed off when she looked up, and her eyes met his. Alarm immediately seemed to cross her face as she stood up, “Oh, Jjongie…” She stood up and positioned herself next to him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and pulling his head against her chest.
She didn’t say anything, just let him rest in her embrace for a minute. Usually not one for skinship, Jongho felt a bit like a child again, with his mother hugging him.
“I think I’m gay,” he whispered, so softly that he wasn’t sure if Hwa had heard him. His only indication that she had was her embrace getting just a bit tighter, as if to reassure him that she was still there. He wasn’t sure who he was talking to. It felt more like he was admitting it to himself- for himself- than it did to anybody else.
He supposed that was a start.
~~~~
Since his confession to Hwa, he’d avoided everyone more than usual- Yunho and Hwa especially.
Hwa had sent a few texts checking in on him, seeing if he wanted any company or needed anything. A paranoid part of himself was worried that she’d told Yunho, but she’d been more than understanding, making it clear that his sexuality was absolutely nobody's business but his own.
Part of him had been embarrassed, replaying how’d he’d broken down and Yunho and Hwa had been there to witness it, unsure how to approach it, he threw himself into work, picking up extra shifts at the gym and staying far later than he needed to in the practice room.
His chat with Mingi, once littered with emojis, memes, random facts, and gifs, had gone silent, and Jongho was completely fine with that, or at least that’s what he’d been telling himself.
He knew Mingi liked him. He knew he liked Mingi. In theory, this was good, in theory, everything should work out- but Jongho wasn’t from a world where loving the way he did was celebrated.
It was hard enough reconciling with his newfound identity without worrying about all the enemies he would make for simply existing as himself.
At 3:00 am, through the haze of his insomnia, he’d heard Yunho come home from his night out. Assuming the other many would be in his room for most of the day, Jongho felt safe enough to lounge in the living room, muting cartoons streaming on the television in the background as he flipped the pages of The Great Gatsby. He was barely reading it, the English words failing to penetrate the heavy fog surrounding his brain.
His phone pinged from its position on the table- he almost wished he hadn’t opened his messages.
Mingi Hyung
Hey
Are you coming tonight?
Game night at my place…
You didn’t answer in the group text
Even through text, his tone felt stilted- devoid of its usual emojis or gifs.
His luck would have it that their fuckass game night would be at Mingi’s apartment this time, and that Mingi would personally reach out to ask him if he was coming- probably because he was pissed that Jongho never texted him that he got home, or that he kissed him and cut off contact with him for a week.
Actually, this entire meeting was probably going to be Yunho's friends gently telling him that they didn’t want him in their lives because he absolutely wasn’t worth the heartache he was putting their friend through… because that's what they were, right?
These are Yunho’s friends. Hwa was Yunho’s girlfriend before she became Jongho’s friend. Wooyoung, Yeosang, Hongjoong, and San were all Yunho’s friends before they were his own.
And Mingi…. Mingi had been best friends with Yunho since they were younger- there was absolutely no way Yunho would allow someone whose feelings had been unleashed like a renegade near his best friend.
It wasn’t fair to leave things the way he had a week ago, as much as he felt tempted. Mingi deserved closure at the very least.
He tried to keep his tone as casual as possible.
Jongho
Hi Mingi
I’ll be there.
Mingi
Yay! ٩(ˊᗜˋ )و
See you soon~
He ignored the way Mingi’s endearing use of the emoticons made his heart leap to his throat.
The sound of Yunho’s bedroom door swinging open broke his focus on his text conversation with Mingi.
Yunho walked out, black sweatpants low on his hips and a blue towel over his damp hair.
“Hey,” he said, his words obscured by the toothbrush hanging out of his mouth.
Jongho sank into the sofa, tossing his phone to the side and giving him a nod in response.
“Watcha up to?” He asked, eyeing the television that had old cartoons playing on mute in the background, “Gonna go out on a limb and assume you weren’t watching tv…”
When Jongho shook his head, Yunho flicked the tv off and went to the kitchen to spit out his toothpaste. Jongho grimaced when he heard him gag as he brushed his tongue.
“Did you eat?” He asked, rubbing the towel across his head.
“Not yet,”
“Perfect. WooSan will be here in about 15 minutes- they’re bringing takeout. Sit tight.,” He padded off back to his room.
Jongho really didn’t want to see anyone that could have been in close proximity to Mingi, but Yunho seemed to be acting normal enough for him to figure nothing too momentous would happen during a quick dinner.
Apparently, Yunho had completely pulled the wool over his eyes because as soon as Wooyoung walked through the door, his eyes zoned in on Jongho, “This is an intervention,” and despite being shorter than him and his hands full with bags of Thai food, Jongho felt it would be less scary to be cornered at knifepoint.
San walked in behind him, his usual genial smile on his face, shaking his head and mouthing,“You’re fine, don’t worry,”
~~~~
Dinner wasn’t awkward in the slightest- actually it went by as usual: Wooyoung had attached his phone to the living room speaker, plates were filled with steaming noodles and meat and banter replaced the sterile silence that he’d been sitting in hours before.
“So Jongho,” Wooyoung asked, a wide grin on his face, “What are your intentions with Mingi?”
He’d choked on his water, breaking out into an incredulous coughing fit.
“Jesus, Youngie,” San said, reaching over, patting his back a few times.
“What?” Wooyoung’s once threatening smile turned positively angelic, his eyes widening to resemble a doe.
Jongho cleared his throat, “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” he traced circles into the sauce left over on his plate with a chop stick, “What are your intentions with Mingi? I mean, you like him, right?”
“I-” He stopped himself short because what was he supposed to say? What good was lying to the people closest to Mingi, the people who likely already knew what happened.
“Look, you don’t have to tell us,” Yunho said, balling his napkin up and tossing it on his empty plates, “If you do, you should tell him tonight. He’s not mad at you,”
Almost as if he could emphatically feel Jonghso’s anxiety spike, San jumped in, “He didn’t tell us what happened, if that’s something you’re worried about,”
“Whatever happened is none of our business… but we care about you,” Wooyoung softened, “Whatever you’re going through, you have seven people who love you…,”
“You don’t have to walk on eggshells with us, you’ve been kind of quiet in the groupchat-”
“More quiet than usual-”
“And I didn’t want you to feel worried that there were sides, or that anyone was mad at you,” Wooyoung continued as if San hadn’t just interrupted him, “You’re our friend too. We’re here for whatever you want to share, whenever you want to share it,”
“If there's even anything to share at all!” Yunho cut in.
“Of course!” San amended, “There might not be anything at all that you want to share with us, and that’s okay too!”
Wooyoung put his hand patronizingly on San's shoulders while Yunho hid a giggle behind his hand. Despite himself, Jongho laughs nervously, staring down at his hands in his lap.
“Thank you,”
“Just… the people that are interested in knowing you- the real you- will stick around, and embrace you for who you are. The people that don’t aren’t worth keeping around anyway- life is too short to live you life a certain way for people that don’t give a fuck about you,” Wooyoung shrugged.
“To thine own self be true!” Yunho said in a theatrical gallant voice.
“Plato?” Wooyoung asked, unimpressed.
“Shakespere actually,” Jongho corrected, before plowing on “I'm serious guy’s- I may not be the best at reaching out, or showing how much I care- but I’m so grateful for you. You just” he waved his hand in the air, trying to find the right words, “Inspire me.” He finished, “It’s a work in progress,”
“Progress is a journey, man!” San said loudly, “I’ll be there on the journey with you, hyping you up!”
“Me too,” Yunho and Wooyoung chimed in at the same time, earning a chuckle from San.
Jongho sighed, breathing out of his nose, “I’ll talk to Mingi tonight,” he promised, despite the way a dreaded cold ran through his veins.
“To progress!” Wooyoung lifted his glass, clinking it loudly against Jongho’s.
“To progress,” Jongho muttered, wishing his glass was filled with something much stronger.
He’d need it.
~~~
Because last time had been at WooSanSang’s place and Yunho had picked the game, this time it was at Mingi’s with Hwa picking the ‘game’. She’d brought a lego set of the Mona Lisa that Yunho’s parents had gifted her for Christmas; she’d been waiting for her week to choose the game so that they could build it all together.
The story was nice, but Jongho had felt as though it was a little too convenient that a game where it wouldn’t matter if two people could slip away to have a conversation- the rest of the group could continue without them.
It was too serendipitous that this was the ase when he and Mingi were in desperate need of having a conversation.
Still, the other part of him knew that Hwa just wanted to share her special gift with the rest of them.
He wasn’t sure what number shot of soju he was on- he thought he’d at least finished one of the bottles on its own. Sitting around the coffee table, eating the snacks Yeosang had brought, casually sharing how their weeks had gone- everything was normal. Except for the subtle things, that only someone looking would find: like the way Mingi’s leg was bouncing or how Jongho was throwing back shots of soju as if they were water.
The Mona Lisa was half finished when Mingi stood up abruptly, empty bottle of beer in his hand.
Mingi once told him that he didn’t like to drink because of how it interacted with his medicine.
Nobody seemed to notice that the tall man had stood up and had walked to the other side of the table.
His warm breath tickled Jongho’s ears when he bent down and asked him if he could talk.
Jongho might have been a bit more drunk than he was aware because he pointed at his chest, “Me?” he stage whispered.
It seemed to break the tension that seemed to be growing between the two of them because Mingi giggled, his smile wide and boxy, gums and crooked tooth on display.
“Yes, you! C’mon,” he beckoned, the bracelets on his wrist jingling with the gesture.
The short walk to Mingi’s room honest-to-god felt like a funeral march: it felt like once they entered this room, nothing would ever be the same again. It felt like something might die- whether that be the self Jongho had thought he’d known for the past 24 years, or the chance that he had to fix things with Mingi, something was going to be forever lost inside the walls of Mingi’s room.
“So,” Mingi started after the door clicked, “How are you?”
“Nervous,” Jongho answered truthfully, wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans.
“Why?” The way Mingi was looking up at him, where he was sitting on the edge of his bed made Jongho want to stick his head into an oven. His wide eyes and the slight wrinkle between his eyebrows seemed to goad Jongho into answering honesty.
“You make me nervous,” he admitted.
“I do?” Mingi asked, the frown between his brows deepening, “In a bad way, or in a good way?”
Jongho thought about all the times his heart hadn’t raced when he kissed a girl, all the times it felt like there was a pit in his stomach because he couldn't give his ex-girlfriends the love they deserved. He thought about the dread that would consume him at every date, how he’d wait to feel anything beyond abject failure and misery.
Then he thought about how his heart would beat faster at the smallest of contact with Mingi, how their bodies pressed together in a crowded subway made a fire start in the depth of his belly, spreading throughout all his extremities. How just a smile from Mingi from across the table during game night was enough to make his breath catch in his throat.
The sensations in his body were the same, but none of them hurt with Mingi.
“In a good way,” he decided softly.
“Good,” Mingi’s gentle smile didn’t last long. “You left,” he said, his deep voice barely audible.
And how could Jongho respond to that?
“I did,” Jongho said, “I’m sorry,”
Mingi sighed, “I won’t sit here and pretend it didn’t hurt, but it would be dumb to assume you weren’t hurting either,” he was still looking up at Jongho, eyes impossibly wide and vulnerable.
Jongho turned his gaze towards Mingi's opened curtains, the pressure of Mingi’s gaze suffocating him. It made it ten times worse that Mingi was being so empathetic right now, trying to understand him rather than to hold a grudge or judgment.
“You should be angry with me,” he folded his arms, “Because I think if I was in your position, I would be. I- god, I’m a mess, hyung. I’m trying to figure everything out because you make me feel things I didn't think I was capable of feeling! And then you kiss me, and it’s the most alive I’ve felt in my entire life and my mother calls me, reminding me who I’m supposed to be,” once he started talking, it seemed like the words tumbled out of his mouth in torrents.
“Can I ask who you’re supposed to be?”
“I don't know! Thats the fucking problem. I have no idea who the person they want me to be is- I don’t think he’s ever existed- and if he did, he hasn’t been around in years! I'm just dragging you along while I try to untangle this massive knot in the middle of my life while I try to figure it out. All I know is I’m fucking terrified, hyung. I like you so much, and I’m fucking terrified because I don’t know what that means,”
Mingi stood up, walking over to where Jongho was standing by his window.
“I think that might mean that we have something special,” he reached up to gently cup Jongho’s cheek. Jongho released a shuddering breath, “We have something special and I think it’s okay to be scared,” he paused, “Actually, I think someone told me that once when he killed a spider in my kitchen, but I don’t remember,” Jongho let out a watery laugh, subconsciously leaning into Mingi’s hand, “You’re not alone in feeling scared- I’ve felt it to- when I realized I loved a bit differently than the rest of my friends did. It’s okay, though- we can figure things out together- if you let me, that is,”
Jongho’s voice was resting in the center of his throat, making speech difficult, “I don’t want to keep hurting you,”
“Thats a risk you have to be willing to take when you like someone. And I really like you Jjongie,” he rubbed one of his thumbs under Jongho’s eyes, catching the wetness that had begun to drop softly, “I think we both come with a fair amount of baggage… but, I want you in whatever way I could have you: your friend, your boyfriend, someone you kiss to relive stress- You can set the pace- I’ll follow your lead.”
“I can’t keep pretending I don’t like you, hyung.”
“Then let's stop pretending, yeah?”
Jongho looks up, looks at the earnest glint in Mingi’s eyes behind his glasses. How his eyes look tired, but filled with hope and affection that Jongho never thought would be directed at him.
He puts his hand on Mingi’s waist, pushing himself onto the balls of his feet and presses his lips against Mingi’s.
This kiss is different, but no less electric. It’s warmer, more sure, and it tastes salty with Jongho’s tears. Jongho wanted Mingi to feel how much he wanted him, how he had so much to say to him but absolutely no way to get it out. He kissed him like he had absolutely nothing to prove to anyone except for himself and for Mingi- nobody else mattered.
Mingi cradled his face, as if he was holding onto something special- something he didn’t want to let go. Jongho’s heart swelled, deepening the kiss between Mingi’s parted lips, his tongue tracing the seam that once held them shut.
Much to his surprise, Mingi let Jongho take the lead, allowing himself to gently be pushed towards his bed. The kiss transformed from sweet and longing to passionate and hungry- lips connecting in rapid fire, forgetting their friends were on the other side of the door and pouring every ounce of want from the past year into the kiss.
Jongho pulled back, panting slightly, to look up at Mingi, whose lips were kissed into a beautiful cherry red.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered.
“Jeez, take me on a date first,” he ribbed, lightly
“Go out with me then,” Jongho replied quickly without missing a beat, “Let me take you on a date,”
Mingi was silent for a beat, “I’d love that,” he grinned, leaning down to capture Jongho's lips in another kiss.
“Me too,” Jongho whispered, allowing himself to be completely embraced by Mingi, reassured that whatever happened, he had seven people that would always support him.
For now, though, he let the thought of the rest of the world fall away, focused only on Mingi’s warmth, Mingi’s touch, the sound of Mingi’s heart beating against his ear.
He was lost in an enchanted forest, devoid of judgment and fear- just bold colors and vibrant people and love… so much love.