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Chapter Text

Dating in public used to be an advantage for Mingyu and Wonwoo.

It was effortless—strategic even. No hiding behind dark alleys, no hushed whispers behind the scenes, and no worrying about getting caught by the media (in fact sometimes they intentionally do get caught by the media). They could be themselves together for the most part. Sharing some of their intimate moments with each other was a given, to keep their fans happy and invested in their relationship—as calously as that may sound…that was the truth.

Along the way, their love had also become part of their performance that went beyond taping.

 Madalas pa nga silang pinagtatambal sa endorsements, they were showered with magazine covers and ad campaigns, their chemistry so undeniable that they didn’t need to pull it out of thin air, they just have to market it well.

And boy did they market it well.

Four teleseryes, three movies, yearly fan meetings, and billions of pesos have been achieved all because their relationship was nakakakilig.

It’s funny how neither of them ever thought that this would be the path they’ll be taking when they met at their first TV commercial auditions two decades ago. Mingyu’s mom had seen the star potential in her son and was actually aiming for him to become a pop star of some sorts, while Wonwoo’s mom had figured that her son could make it big as a model.

They ended up becoming a love team and while it wasn’t their plan A, it wasn’t a bad plan to begin with—seeing how popular love teams were in the country. Every generation had couples that they all went crazy for. It was one step beyond parasocial relationships because instead of just having one person you feel close to, there were two people involved together whose partnership you feel entitled to apart of. 

They were celebrated, held up as the gold standard of what love could look like under the spotlight. 

They were in love (though that part came later) and they were profitable.

The MinWon magic, as brands and fans called it because anything with their names and faces slapped on it would be a sure hit.

Every anniversary was a national event, complete with trending hashtags, fan art, and all sorts of tributes. Their airport photos were dissected like scripture. Their smiles, their hand-holding, the way they looked at each other under flashing cameras—it was all part of a picture-perfect narrative the world had already written for them. 

They just had to follow be themselves.

They were beloved, envied, and idolized all at once—they were the nation’s sweethearts.

But no one tells you how hard it is to keep acting like you're still in love when your heart is no longer in the same place as it was when you first started out.

The problem now wasn’t that they were dating in public.

The problem came when only the dating remained public—while the relationship had already died quietly, in private.

Suddenly the conveniences felt like a burden, the show of easy affection felt like a hostage-taking, the loving interactions felt like a farce, and both Mingyu and Wonwoo felt like impostors who could only attribute their success to their relationship and not because of their individual merits.

(There was a reason why the love team route was not their plan A.)

The car door had barely shut behind them when Mingyu’s fingers twitched, aching to pull away from Wonwoo’s grip. But the windows weren’t tinted enough. Outside, a sea of flashes kept erupting in bursts of white. Cameras, phones, videos—all capturing a carefully curated illusion that had long stopped being real.

His hand stayed frozen in Wonwoo’s grasp, clammy and stiff.

He could already imagine the headlines queued up for tomorrow if he were to pull away prematurely.

Prime time couple MinWon, nagkakalamigan na?

Trouble in paradise: Mingyu, Wonwoo ayaw na maghawakan?

The breakup we never saw coming—MinWon nagkalabuan na?

The pressure of it all was suffocating but the truth was somehow worse because having break up rumors was relatively easy to clean up with a PR team as robust and seasoned as theirs if they were simply false but what if it was true? All they can give was a motherhood statement that would probably brew more speculation than provide clarity to the general public.

It took five more minutes before Mingyu hastily slipped his hand out of Wonwoo’s. They have completely left all the flashing lights behind and that was all that mattered. 

There was no fight in the movement, but there was finality. Wonwoo didn’t protest.

“You can drop the act now,” Mingyu muttered, low and bitter. It didn’t matter that Manager Doogi was in the car with them—he’d been there since day one. He was the one who watched their relationship bloom in between takes, and now, he would be here watching it completely wither in the backseat of a black Hyundai H350.

“Is holding my hand so unpleasant?” Wonwoo asked in a flat tone, eyes turned toward the blur of city lights outside the window. He shouldn’t have asked, he already knew the answer, but somehow he couldn’t resist.

Maybe he just wanted to hear Mingyu’s voice—needed to feel him, somehow, even if it came in the form of an argument. Because anything with Mingyu, even the tension, even the hurt, was still better than the silence of having nothing at all.

Wonwoo had spent two decades of his life building something with Mingyu—layer by layer, year after year—and the thought that it could all unravel into nothing, that there might come a day when nothing of them remained, felt impossible to accept.

“Yes,” Mingyu replied without hesitation. His voice was dull but sharp, like glass pressed to skin, ready to dig in to draw blood and hurt. He’s been feeling nothing but the urge to lash out these past few weeks leading up to this event because he’s been holding onto civility for so long that it had started feeling like led in his system. “When are we planning to announce the break up? It’s been six months. Hindi ka ba napapagod magpanggap?”

Kasi si Mingyu pagod na, yung tipo ng pagod na hindi maiibsan ng tulog o pahinga—nasubukan niya na.

The car jerked slightly as they passed a pothole, but Wonwoo barely flinched. His head snapped toward Mingyu instead, face scrunched in disbelief and a pinch of hurt, hidden away to quickly for Mingyu to mull over—they were actors after all. “We just came from the premiere of our third movie together, at ayan na agad ang nasa isip mo?”

“Para makalipat ka na sa Amerika nang walang inaalala,” Mingyu said plainly. He knew that Wonwoo already had his visa and tickets, that he was planning to apply for citizenship, that he already had a fancy place in either New York or California, and that he had started to give away his bulkier stuff discretely.

Wonwoo was ready to leave, and Mingyu had no idea when it would finally happen—and it was eating him alive. For almost half a year now, he’d been living on edge, bracing for the inevitable, waiting for the exact moment the ground would give way beneath him. Because the sooner the blow came, the sooner he could stagger back, lick his wounds, and pretend it didn’t tear him open.

But Wonwoo just wouldn’t leave and Mingyu doesn’t have the guts to be the first one to leave either—only the guts to drive Wonwoo away and he’s doing it now.

The air in the car turned heavy, weighted by six months of unspoken tension finally surfacing.

It only took one messy argument to unravel everything—an explosion followed by a cold war dressed up in rehearsed smiles and contractual politeness. Since then, they’d become veterans at pretending. 

But Mingyu had timed this moment carefully. Their major endorsements had wrapped up, the joint appearances had slowed, and thanks to the combined force of their stubbornness, the company had been left dangling, holding off on any future negotiations neither of them had the heart—or courage—to commit to.

“You think our relationship is just loose ends to me? Na makakalimutan ko pagtapak ko sa States?” Wonwoo’s voice cracked as it rose, thin and vulnerable, the cool confidence he was famous for nowhere in sight. “I was willing to make this work with you.”

Mingyu’s jaw tightened because he detested how his heart still squeezed at Wonwoo’s tone. He wished he could wish ill on him. He wished he could tear out the space in his heart that Wonwoo has settled in. He wished he hated him. Such fruitless wishes. 

“You wouldn’t have to try to make this work,” He shot back, “kung nakuntento ka dito. Kung nakuntento ka sakin— satin .” To the public, Mingyu was the dreamer and adventurer, and Wonwoo was realistic and grounded but in private, it was actually the opposite.

Mingyu was ready to stay and settle, but Wonwoo was itching to roam and break free.

Wonwoo laughed, but it was empty. “Para yun sa career ko. Hollywood has always been my dream, you know that. I don’t want to keep on making romcom commercial films. It’s not fulfilling for me.” While Mingyu was happy with their longevity and success, Wonwoo was dissatisfied at their stagnancy.

Nothing bad ever happens, and nothing new ever happens either.

Mingyu turned to him, eyes narrowed. “Even if you’re making those films with me?”

Mingyu doesn’t understand how Wonwoo could decide to throw all of this away—throw them away for something so unsure. In the Philippines, the both of them had already become household names, they earn money while sitting on their ass, and they don’t even get powertripped by other stars anymore. Wonwoo’s leaving stability and security to chase after a dream like he wasn’t already living in one.

Wonwoo just stared at Mingyu with eyes dulled by exhaustion, like they were actors stuck in an endless retake—rehearsing the same scene over and over, the lines worn thin from repetition, the emotion long drained out. It felt like a moment that should’ve wrapped hours ago, but the director kept yelling one more, unwilling to let it end, refusing to accept that this flat, unhappy, and bitter version of what they used to be was all that was left.

Ironic because it was Wonwoo who even opened up this conversation.

“I told you,” Mingyu continued undettered, parroting the spiel the company has told them back to Wonwoo,  “you can start co-producing our next project together. Pick scripts that are actually fulfilling for your creative self .” Even Mingyu wasn’t convinced with what he said, he knew that those were empty words meant to placate them.

That’s when Wonwoo flinched. 

Mingyu’s emphasis and sarcasm on the phrase creative self felt like being dosed with ice cold water. Because how can Mingyu say it like that? Like Wonwoo hasn’t spent hours, days, months, and years telling Mingyu all about what else they can do and show to the public. Like Wonwoo didn’t have yearly self-identity crises about where his career was taking him with Mingyu as his witness. Like Mingyu was just another one of their entertainment executives that belittled his vision and dreams.

His hands clenched into fists on his lap, as if trying to hold back everything else he wasn’t saying. It wasn’t just about creative control or branding. It was about feeling trapped in a version of himself that sold well but felt hollow.

“We’ve been in this industry for almost two decades now, Gyu,” Wonwoo said, voice lower now but edged with bitterness. “Ang tagal ko nang hinihintay yang sinabi mo, pero hanggang ngayon, wala pa rin.” His words weren’t loud, but they landed hard—like the truth finally giving up on being gentle.

Mingyu turned to him. Not just to glance, not just to look—but to really see him. He took in the lines around Wonwoo’s eyes, softened from years of rehearsed smiles in front of cameras. The faint crease on his forehead, a telltale sign of the emotion he always tried to keep at bay. He looked tired. Tired in a way that makeup couldn’t hide and sleep couldn’t fix.

But the worst part—the most painful, gutting part—was that he still looked beautiful.

Still looked like someone Mingyu wanted to fight for, even if every sign pointed to the fact that the fight was already lost.

Still looked like home. 

“And can you stop centering this about you?” Wonwoo snapped, his voice cracking just slightly at the edges. He leaned forward now, close enough for Mingyu to feel the heat of his frustration, eyes blazing with a storm that hadn’t yet broken but was brimming with the weight of too many held-back tears. “Mahal kita at mahal ko rin ang pangarap ko.”

There it was.

Their breaking point.

The crack that had been threatening to split wide open for months has been dealt its final blow.

Wonwoo’s voice shook with the effort of holding it all together—his dignity, his heartbreak, his hope.

“Me choosing to make a career move that’s best for me doesn’t mean na tumigil ako kakapili sayo,” Wonwoo continued, jaw tight, each word wrestled out between clenched teeth. “If I didn’t choose you, I wouldn’t have stayed in this country for so long.” Wonwoo could’ve left earlier, when he had less to lose but everytime he thought about it, he would turn to Mingyu who looked hungry for more—like they were just starting and greater things were going to come.

So Wonwoo stayed because two heads in the entertainment industry was better than one.

And if Mingyu was going to do this whole love team thing with somebody it better be him.

And maybe, in some buried part of Mingyu (the one that never fully trusted happy endings) he had always known this was where things would land. That after the months of sidelong glances, of long silences in rooms once filled with laughter, of pretending that "we're okay" still meant something—this was inevitable. This was the last act.

“Wow,” Mingyu breathed, voice hollowed out by something deeper than anger. He turned fully towards Wonwoo now, knees brushing, the space between them now tensed and stifled. “Kung pinili mo ako, mas lalong lagi’t laging pinili kita. Kahit itong hiwalayan natin, ginawa ko kasi pinili kita—at yang pangarap mo .”

Mingyu had to push Wonwoo to leave and had to give Wonwoo a reason not to come back because if he didn’t he knew that Wonwoo would fold—like he always does—to stay here with him and wallow in his misery.

The words were sharp, but underneath them was grief. Resentment, maybe—but also surrender. The kind of pain that comes not from betrayal, but from loving someone enough to let go. From choosing them at the cost of losing them.

There was a sting—the kind that didn’t just leave bruises, but buried itself deep. The kind that scarred long after the moment had passed and will stay with Mingyu probably longer than Wonwoo.

Wonwoo sank back against the seat like his bones had given out. His spine no longer holding up his pride, his shoulders no longer squared in defense. His entire body just… gave. Folded inward, like the fight had finally worn him out. The fight with Mingyu, with himself, with the world that never let them want the same thing at the same time at the same context.

It felt like the world stilled. The only sound was the steady hum of the road beneath them. 

What else could they say at this point?

Manager Doogi said nothing, eyes fixed straight ahead, driving as though the silence didn’t ache, as though the heartbreak in the backseat hadn’t filled every corner of the car.

Wonwoo let out a breath like he’d been punched in the gut.

“Can we not try?” His voice was quiet now, vulnerable in a way that Mingyu wasn’t used to, especially not now when all they’ve done was just tense up around each other behind the scenes. “Is LDR not an option? Hindi ba pwedeng kahit saan man ako mapunta sa mundo, ay tayo pa rin, love ?”

There he goes , Mingyu thought. Wonwoo was going to fold, he was going to set his wants aside again and hope that their love could make up for the self-fulfillment he yearned for even when both of them knew that it was not going to be enough.

Wonwoo was pleading. Pleading even when he knew how this would end. Asking questions he already knew the answers to.

But the silence from Mingyu was deafening, it was louder than any rejection could ever be.

That was Mingyu’s answer.

“...We’ll announce the break up a month from now then,” Wonwoo exhaled, slumping into the door. The decision was made—not because he wanted it, but because it was the only one that could be made.

Their stubbornness had become divisive. 

“This time, let’s choose what you want.” He didn’t even look at Mingyu anymore. His gaze was on the city again, his reflection faint on the window beside him. “Copy ba, Manager Doogi?”

“I’ll tell management, Wons,” Doogi finally said from the front seat, quiet and professional. Like someone who just watched a funeral, he practically did. He just witnessed Mingyu and Wonwoo dig a deeper and deeper grave for their relationship.

Mingyu closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the seat, heart heavier than it had ever been in his entire career.

He used to believe that love always won in the end, that the world will make way for a love great enough, that things would fall into place if they toughed it out and walked side-by-side—maybe he had just acted in so much movies that he had convinced himself that it was possible.

But now?

Now, he knew life wasn’t a romcom.

Because in the movies, you don’t ride home with a broken heart with the man you still love sitting quietly beside you, attempting to make peace with the fact that loving each other wasn’t enough. In the movies, you’ll be at their door proposing and offering to run off where nobody could ever come in between the two of you.

However, Mingyu and Wonwoo were just actors and they’ve been called for their final curtain call. 

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

INT. STUDIO - NIGHT

A sleek, modern studio bathed in deep navy and royal purple lights, creating a moody atmosphere. The backdrop is minimalist—floor-to-ceiling LED panels display slow-moving, soft light animations or the iconic "Tonight with Boo Abunda" logo in silver serif type.

At center stage, a low, circular platform is framed by subtle uplights that cast a warm halo around it. Two plush armchairs—one in charcoal gray, the other in teal blue—face each other at a slight angle. Between them sits a small glass-topped table holding a single tumbler of water and tissue box, must haves for the host’s famously emotional interviews.

Overhead, discreet key lights beam down, illuminating the faces of the host and guest with a flattering golden hue.

SEUNGKWAN sits across from MINGYU, the former is in an all white ensemble, a huge contrast to the latter’s all black getup. The mood is intimate and somber. The audience is quiet and the air is heavy with anticipation.

It’s been a week since the announcement of MinWon’s breakup and this would be MINGYU’s first public appearance and interview regarding the matter. 

While the interview is about to commence WONWOO has already made his way to the airport, deliberately choosing a red-eye flight to avoid the crowds and the media.

SEUNGKWAN

(softly)

Kamusta ka ngayon, Mingyu?

SEUNGKWAN and MINGYU (and WONWOO) were friends even after the cameras stopped rolling. SEUNGKWAN has already known of the news months before (as soon as the breakup happened actually) and has also done everything in his power to make sure that it stayed under wraps for the time being. While his job required him to get the juiciest gossip and harshest truths from his peers, he couldn’t help but make an exception for this pair.

SEUNGKWAN had hoped that outside of promotions and good news, he didn’t want to have MINGYU and WONWOO as his guests. He had believed in their relationship as strongly as their fans.

When MINGYU’s camp had reached out to him for this interview he had privately asked MINGYU if he was sure and only when SEUNGKWAN got his confirmation did he inform his own team to prepare for MINGYU’s guesting.

MINGYU

(takes a deep breath, shifts slightly in his seat)

To be honest, Boo, I’m overwhelmed.

It’s been a week since the announcement and while I don’t think I’m fully ready to talk about this so publicly… I also don’t want any more speculation to arise from our breakup.

It’s disheartening to see the harmful rumors a lot of people are spreading—so I guess I want to clear the air na rin.

Now that MINGYU was here, he still had to go through all of the questions that the public had been asking.

SEUNGKWAN

Mahal mo pa ba siya?

MINGYU

(nods slowly but not unsurely)

There’s still love between us. I don’t think 11 years of companionship can be shrugged off in just a few days or months. We’ve shared so much with each other, it’s difficult to imagine navigating life without him.

A pause. The studio is still. SEUNGKWAN leans in, gaze steady.

MINGYU (cont.)

But we both know it’s not the same love that we started with… and what everybody knows of.

I don’t mean that in a negative way at all, it’s just that we’ve grown a lot. It’s so much more different and complicated now..

The audience is still silent. 

SEUNGKWAN

Now, MINGYU for my next question, I hope neither Wonwoo or you take offense, but this has to be asked: May third party ba?

It’s also hard to think up of a reason on why the two of you would separate so suddenly.

MINGYU

(quick to answer)

Walang third party. Kahit kailan, hindi nagkaroon ng third party.

We’ve been loyal to each other all throughout and I wouldn’t even be able to stomach talking about him now if that was the case.

While it’s sudden for the public, it wasn’t a decision that was rashly made.

SEUNGKWAN

Nag-usap ba kayo ni WONWOO bago niyo in-announce ang hiwalayan?

MINGYU

Of course. We’ve talked plenty. 

Our lives are so intertwined, both personally and professionally.

It’s practically impossible not to talk to him.

SEUNGKWAN

(softly, but directly)

That’s something I never doubted from the two of you.

When it came to communication, I know na namaster niyo na yan.

Since you mentioned that it wasn’t a rash decision, who initiated the breakup conversation?

MINGYU

I offered to break up.

I could see that we were both struggling to meet a compromise… that was the only choice left to make.

This was both the healthiest and most difficult option I could think of.

SEUNGKWAN

It sounds like both of you have exhausted the means for compromise.

What was the breaking point?

Bakit kayo naghiwalay?

MINGYU

We wanted different things in life.

When we were younger, it was easier to set aside major goals kasi binubuo pa lang namin sarili namin and kumbaga kinikilala pa namin yung selves namin.

But now… we’re grown and we can’t afford to set those dreams aside anymore.

We couldn’t bear to hold each other back, we cared too much to let that happen.

A solemn beat passes. SEUNGKWAN glances at his cue card, then at MINGYU.

SEUNGKWAN

I’m sure that the whole country—or even beyond—has seen Wonwoo’s Instagram post of you.

Ano naman ang mensahe mo sa kanya ngayon?

MINGYU

(voice a little lower, almost wistful, and a little broken but amused)

Wonwoo…

Thank you for the reminders. Hanggang sa huli, hindi mo talaga kinalimutan magbilin.

Finally the audience also let out a watery laugh, even SEUNGKWAN cracked a small smile.

MINGYU (cont.)

Thank you most especially for being my partner in all the ways I could ever imagine.

I like to believe that I’ve already said everything that I needed to say to you privately.

Basta… mag-ingat ka palagi, madami ka pang pangarap na kakamitin.

I’ll still be rooting for you, this time from the other end of the screen na lang.

A gentle applause broke out from the audience in response to MINGYU’s answer.

SEUNGKWAN

(soft smile)

Ano naman ang mensahe mo sa mga MinWon fans?

MINGYU

Minwonists, thank you for growing with us, supporting us, and loving us.

It was one hell of a journey and it was great while it lasted.

I hope MinWon becomes something you can fondly look back on many years from now.

One thing that will never change is the love we shared with you guys, we will always be grateful for everything that you’ve given us and everything that became possible because of you guys.

Salamat.

SEUNGKWAN

I know I’ll be speaking on behalf of every person na sumubaybay sa tambalan niyo when I say that your tandem has already gone beyond than being a simple love team.

Thank you for sharing your love with us, while this wasn’t the ending any of us had hoped for, ito yung reyalidad na inabot sa atin, we can’t do anything but to accept it and move forward.

Thank you for speaking on this with so much grace and class MINGYU.

The camera slowly zooms out. SEUNGKWAN reaches over and squeezes MINGYU’s hand briefly in support. A soft instrumental version of one of their movie OSTs plays as the scene is cut for a commercial.

Chapter Text

2 WEEKS BEFORE

It was unbelievable how normal everything looked from the outside.

Nagpost pa sila pareho sa social media para sa premiere ng latest na pelikula nila, complete with selfies, red carpet pictures, and a lengthy caption thanking everybody who worked on the film and inviting their fans to come and watch.

To their fans, they were simply resting after shooting and promotions like they usually do, so nobody’s really concerned about the radio silence from both of them. It had been a routine for them and in a month or so if everything was in order, they’ll be back on radar.

The seriousness of the situation had always felt real and heavy for both of them, but now they had an actual timeline of how things are going to go down.

It felt a bit dystopian—is that the term?---to Mingyu to sit through a meeting that discussed their communication plan for their break up. They had articles planned out, hundreds of planted netizens to steer public opinion, and of course a guide on how Mingyu and Wonwoo should react.

Spoiler: They were strongly advised to keep their mouths shut unless it was a company approved media outlet.

It was one thing for their team, friends, and family to know—they’d understand but it was a whole other debacle to let their fans and the general public know.

It would be like reliving that heartbreak all over again.

Mingyu felt like an impostor, seeing the daily flood of tens and thousands of likes, posts, and comments about them, knowing full well that they’ve been over for quite some time now.

The announcement was scheduled for exactly two weeks from today—crafted in simple and concise language, adorned with gratitude and maturity, the way all professionally packaged heartbreaks are. It was written in a way that would lead to no drama or scandal, just two people who “decided to part ways amicably.” 

The press would praise their class. The fans would cry and of course kick up a fuss but mostly thank them for the memories. Management would sigh in relief that the public separation would happen after the current endorsement cycle so that they won’t have to pay for any fines or get sued for breach of contract.

But behind the flashing lights and the noise of the audience, the air between Mingyu and Wonwoo had become still and hollow—not cold, not even angry, just empty.

They were walking ghosts inside a story that was no longer theirs.

Mingyu had learned to welcome the stillness. 

So did Wonwoo, at least according to the grapevine. 

Someone had whispered to Doogi, who then, maybe without meaning to, let it slip: Wonwoo had already booked a one-way ticket to Los Angeles as early as last week. 

That had stung a little more than Mingyu had expected. 

Not the ticket, but the reality that Wonwoo was really leaving everything behind.

(Wonwoo was leaving him behind—to what Mingyu hoped was not greener pastures.

Because maybe then-

No.

That’s selfish.)

These days, Mingyu spent most of his time on the rooftop of a house he had bought on impulse a month after the actual breakup. He’s been becoming more somber and pensive, like he had aged a decade in his mind in these two weeks after their final argument in the car.

Most nights he just sat there until the stars dulled and the sky threatened dawn. Time passed by slowly and every second seemed to drag on endlessly. Mingyu didn’t say much, didn’t move much, he just thought about what was, and what wouldn’t be again.

Obviously, the condo they bought together (all glass windows and open floor plans) had already become inhabitable because of the sheer amount of history contained by every nook and crany of that place. Every room, every piece of furniture, even the shadows on the walls—everything screamed of what they used to be. 

Metaphorically speaking, every corner had a landmine.

Mingyu didn’t dare step foot in it again. He didn’t need to. There was nothing he wanted badly enough from that place that he couldn’t ask Doogi to retrieve for him. He knew his limits and that condo was one of them.

(Their fridge was covered with ref magnets and magnetic photobooth strips from the countless events over the years.

They had separate file cabinets filled with scripts and fan letters.

Their joint office had a case for all the awards they’ve won.

And don’t get Mingyu started on their damn bedroom…)

Wonwoo, on the other hand, had to go back; to pack, to sort through the remains of their shared domesticity and decide what parts of it were salvageable. 

Mingyu didn’t envy him. 

If anything, he pitied the version of Wonwoo who had to walk through that war zone of memories alone.

(Mingyu wondered if Wonwoo took his sweet time or bolted out of their place as fast as he could.)

He was currently somewhere in Antipolo, in a place where not even his family knew of, where the stars twinkled brighter and the city lights were nothing but a distant blur. The air here was quieter but the silence it brought wasn’t comforting, not really, but it was enough. 

This was his new safe haven—the former title holder had become hell about six months ago—and he planned to keep this a secret from everybody.

Only Manager Doogi had the address, and that was because someone had to know in case Mingyu ever disappeared too far into himself.

Mingyu lit a cigarette: a bad habit they he had quit ages ago had come back in full force. He used to smoke because it was a cool and taboo thing to do. Then he grew up, his reasons changed and smoking became an escape from the rapidly growing pressure on his shoulders. After that, he became used to the fame, pressure, and surveillance too so smoking became a reward of sorts after accomplishing another busy week.

And then he quit because somebody said they wanted to live past seventy years old together.

Now, Mingyu has picked it up again, not because it was cool, not because of the temporary high nicotine offered, and not because he needed to feel rewarded. He started smoking again for the routine because everything around him was changing, none of which Mingyu could control.

Mingyu wanted to feel in control and this was the smallest way he could do so.

It felt pretty pathetic to be somebody like him and not be immune to heartbreak.

Soon enough Mingyu would have to get used to having nobody else at his right hand side in shows, press conferences, and guestings. He would have double the space and be alone in the backstage rooms. He would no longer have anybody he could deflect questions to when he doesn’t want to answer. 

Mingyu had six months to adjust his personal life without Wonwoo.

It hadn’t been easy. Every day was a new trial in absence, a new lesson in pretending he was fine. He told himself he was getting the hang of it.

(He wasn’t.)

Now he has to get used to not having Wonwoo in his professional life too.

Mingyu already thinks that this would be harder.

It was one thing to grieve in private, where he could recoil at the sight of a shirt that Wonwoo bought with him in mind, or turn a framed photo face down on a whim (because even if it was only Mingyu in the photo, he could recall the man behind the camera vividly). 

But pretending he wasn’t heartbroken in front of an audience or that the two of them didn’t exist at all—that was a different beast entirely.

In the very near future, he would have to stand on that same stage without the one person who made everything feel less like a performance.

There are plenty of quiet moments, when he came across Wonwoo’s things—an old notebook with amateur storyboards, a cardigan, an acting book with scribbled notes in the margins and many more—but Mingyu still isn’t strong enough to linger. He shoved it all to the bottom of drawers or deeper into boxes, pretending they had no weight.

But they did.

And Mingyu’s afraid that they always would.

He had been on his third cigarette of the evening when he heard the rooftop door creak open.

He didn’t need to look.

Only one person had the key, and only one person knew where he was.

Manager Doogi stepped into view, framed against the dim light spilling from the stairwell, a silhouette Mingyu had grown used to over the years—steady, reliable, quiet in all the right moments, and annoyingly persistent in the ones he wished were left alone.

“Kala ko ba tumigil ka na?” Doogi asked instead of saying hello, arms crossed, and eyes narrowed as he spotted the glowing ember in Mingyu’s hand.

Mingyu wasn’t 16 anymore so there was no need to panic and hide, instead he exhaled slowly, a thin ribbon of smoke leaving his lips and dissipating into the night. “No one has to know.”

“We’re in talks with Century Tuna for a brand ambassadorship.” Doogi walked closer, letting the rooftop door click shut behind him. “You might want to hold off any vices soon.”

“Did you really come here to talk about work with me?” Mingyu cocked a knowing eyebrow at the older man, there were no secrets between them, hasn’t been for a long time now.

“That was just my opener.” Doogi cracked a small smile.

A silence settled between them for a beat too long. Mingyu’s cigarette burned down a little further and it made him feel antsy to be stuck in this borderline awkward silence with one of the people closest to them.

It simply didn’t feel right.

“So?” Mingyu asked lowly..

“Wonwoo’s leaving tomorrow.” The words sank deep—fast and heavy like stones dropped in still water. Mingyu didn’t flinch, but something in his eyes shifted. He looked away, out at the sleepy sprawl of lights blinking in the distance.

“What time?” 

What airline? He most likely got the nonstop flight and booked business class because first class was just ‘too much’. He probably didn’t even care to tour the lounge that’ll come with his ticket.

“At midnight.” Mingyu wanted to scoff, that man and his odd hours .

“At least he doesn’t have to worry about crowds.” Mingyu murmured. There was no sarcasm in his voice, just tired resignation—the kind that came from knowing that the world was still turning without you and deciding you were fine with that…even if you weren’t.

“Do you want to see him off?” Doogi asked a moment later, his voice careful like the question was going to send Mingyu off into orbit.

“I shouldn’t.” Mingyu said too quickly.

“Hindi naman yun tinatanong ko.” Tinaasan ng kilay ni Doogi ang talent niya.

“Ayoko.” Mingyu said as firmly as he possibly could. He flicked the ash from his cigarette, a bit more forcefully than necessary. ”Did he ask you to ask?”

Knowing Wonwoo-

“No.” Doogi shook his head and Mingyu almost blanched, “I mean, not explicitly, but I could see it on his face.”

Mingyu hated that he believed Doogi, he believed Wonwoo wanted to ask for Mingyu to send him off but just like Mingyu, Wonwoo knew that he shouldn’t. 

They were in sync in those kinds of ways.

His laugh this time was short and bitter. “Are all managers mind readers now or is that just your edge?”

“Just me and 11 years of being stuck with you guys.” There was warmth in the response, even if the smile didn’t quite reach Doogi’s eyes. 

Mingyu knew that Doogi was probably the most torn and most affected outside of Wonwoo and himself. He’s been with them, maybe as much as they’ve been with each other.

“Was it like torture for you?” Mingyu asked only half-jokingly.

“It was a privilege,” Doogi said without missing a beat. “Still is.”

Mingyu went quiet, his fingers twitching slightly as he stared at the burning tip of his cigarette. The wind tugged at his hair, and blew ash onto the concrete. 

This rooftop had become a confessional of sorts—an altar where he laid his regrets bare with no one to bear witness except the stars, and sometimes, Doogi.

But at the back of his mind, it was odd to have all this space and not have Wonwoo to occupy it with. Then again, that was just one of the countless things he had to get used to.

Mingyu will live.

“Did he ask you if you wanted to come with him?” Mingyu didn’t look up this time. He kept his gaze locked on the cigarette pinched between his fingers—the stick was burning faster now, like it was desperate to vanish before he could finish it.

“No,” Doogi replied. “He never brought it up.”

“Because he knew I wanted you here with me.” Mingyu threw it on the ground, and finally lifted his gaze to meet Manager Doogi’s empathetic eyes. 

Mingyu’s own eyes were not unbelieving nor angry. All he had was the look of a person carrying the weight of all the versions of himself—child star, actor, partner, and ex—which had collapsed into one man who couldn’t quite figure out who he was without the other.

“He does.” Doogi answered, his voice low. There are many more unspoken words between Wonwoo and Doogi unlike Mingyu and himself, but he still understood them equally.

Finally, Mingyu crushed the cigarette butt with the heel of his slipper.

“Am I allowed to hate him?” Mingyu asked, voice catching at the end like he wasn’t sure if he was asking Doogi or the universe. Only one of the two could answer him honestly.

Doogi didn’t answer immediately. He studied Mingyu like he had since the beginning, with a calm that had always helped anchor him. He could have given him something professional, something measured, but that’s never what Mingyu needed from him.

Tonight Mingyu did not need his manager or a definitive answer. He just needed a response to ground him, to not be patronized or sugar coated.

So Doogi simply said: “...Only if you can.”

“I can’t.” Mingyu said, almost in defeat. Not because he hadn't tried—but because he'd failed every time.

It was easier to hate himself, than to hate the person he had spent his whole youth knowing, understanding, and loving.

“Then you have your answer.” Doogi replied.

Mingyu looked down at his hands—calloused from the gym, fingers yellowing again from the smoking, veins prominent from lack of sleep—the same hands that used to hold Wonwoo’s without hesitation.

“Am I good at what I do?” Mingyu inhaled deeply, and pressed the heel of his palm into his eyes, as if trying to push back the stinging burn behind his lids. “Am I anybody outside of us? Without him?” 

It had always been a recurring question he had for himself.

He just never thought he had to answer it.

“Mingyu,” Doogi called out, voice laced with quiet conviction, “you were blinding together—but only because both of you were already bright to begin with. You are beyond good, you always have been. Wonwoo wouldn’t have left if that wasn’t the case. He believed you could handle this .”

Mingyu’s lips parted like he might argue, but nothing came right away.

What if Wonwoo was wrong?

What if he couldn’t handle this?

“...But what if I didn’t want to?” He whispered finally. It was the kind of honesty that came only when pride had worn itself down to nothing.

“Then he believed you could grow to want it.” Doogi replied calmly. “And if you can’t yet then that’s okay too.”

Grow? All Mingyu wanted to do was curl up and be undisturbed for the next decade or so.

Mingyu didn’t respond for a while but Doogi wasn’t in a rush. He blinked up at the sky, as if trying to find the answer in the sea of stars above him. They stared back at him, silent.

The weight he had been shouldering for the last few months was still there, tucked into the corners of his mouth, pulling them down.

“I hate him,” Mingyu finally said, but it didn’t land like a declaration—it came out small, like a child’s protest. 

A lie trying to protect something much more vulnerable.

(I love him.)

“Just for tonight?” Doogi asked, a tinge of hopefulness coloring his voice.

Mingyu nodded once, then hesitated. 

“And for tomorrow,” he added, his voice cracking like it couldn’t bear the thought either.

“Okay,” Doogi squeezed Mingyu’s shoulder in support. “Then hate him for tomorrow, but only until then.”

That was fine.

Mingyu wouldn’t be able to manage longer than that anyway.

Chapter Text

TWO YEARS LATER

Cannes

Believe it or not, Wonwoo actually did not have anything figured out when he went to the States.

Hard to imagine, considering he was the same man who personally pored over every single clause in his contracts—kahit meron naman siyang buong legal team for that. The same man who insisted on auditioning for roles even when scripts were written with him in mind. The same man who dragged his ex through dozens of high-rise condos in multiple cities just to find the right lighting in the living room.

That man.

That same meticulous, obsessive, and hyper-rational man?

He booked a one-way ticket to California with no real plan. No film waiting. No agents. No offers. Just a gut feeling and an impossible dream.

The irony of it all.

His management called it impulsive. His family had peppered him with hesitant, borderline pleading “Sigurado ka ba?” every time he brought it up over dinner. And Mingyu—God, Mingyu had just stared at him like he was looking at a stranger.

Still, none of that stopped him.

He knew that at least a few people in his life had wished for him to fail—all in good faith, and maybe the tiniest part of Wonwoo hoped he would fail too, so he could have a reason to come back, to rebuild burnt bridges, and to patch things up.

Spoiler, Wonwoo did not fail, he did not have a reason to go back home, in fact he only had a growing list of reasons to stay and of course an ever-expanding distance from the life he once shared with Mingyu, complete with a silence between them that had turned from sharp aching to a dull one that buzzed through his body behind every personal milestone reached.

(Somehow, that was worse.)

It wasn’t all smooth-sailing for Wonwoo—he never expected it to be—he’d gone through the wringer: racism, loneliness, brutal auditions that left him hollow for days. He battled with his own worth every time someone mispronounced his name or reduced him to a typecast. He called his mother in the middle of the night just to hear somebody else speak Filipino because he has been speaking it less and less and nobody prepared him for how hard it was to not be able to code switch for when he can’t express his thoughts in English. He stared at his ceiling wondering if he was delusional for thinking he could make it out here.

But he stayed because he had already lost everything anyways, there’s not much more to lose.

Deep down, he believed his life was following a three-act structure. He’d survived act one. He was nearing the climax of act two, and even if no one else believed in that arc, he did.

Now, he was pretty damn sure he was standing at the climax.

He was about to walk the red carpet at the Cannes Film Festival.

Cannes. Fucking Cannes.

A feat he didn’t even think he’d ever get a chance to attend as an actor in his lifetime. He may not be nominated for best actor this time around, but having a film he had personally worked on be nominated for the Palme d'Or was already enough to have him all giggly and elated—even while in a stuffy suit.

“These shoulders are still insane to me.” Taeyong said, his agent slash manager slash glorified babysitter, as he fussed over the jacket’s fit.

Taeyong Lee (soon to be Jeong) was one of the very first friends he made when he landed in California and that was far from being a mere coincidence. He was everything Wonwoo was not, not in a self-incriminating way, expressive, established, and unapologetic. He basically served as the lighthouse in the beginning of Wonwoo’s tumultuous journey.

“The fact that you’re my agent is still insane to me too.” Wonwoo let Taeyong straighten whatever crinkle and wrinkle he saw that was not visible to the average person’s naked eye.

“You were just in time for an opening.” Taeyong responded while stepping back to scrutinize Wonwoo’s outfit once again.

Another essential friendship that Wonwoo was guided into was one with Jaehyun Jeong, model-turned-actor and Taeyong’s former client and soon-to-be-husband—not that the press knew that latter part. Jaehyun was notoriously private about his personal affairs, an approach Wonwoo found himself appreciating more and more these days.

“I should thank Jaehyun for falling in love with you then.” Wonwoo teased.

“And you should thank your ex for calling in a favor.” Taeyong shot back.

Wonwoo’s smile almost faltered and his agent didn’t seem to notice—or if he did, he moved past it quickly. Quick on his feet as always.

The details didn’t matter. Only Mingyu’s intentions did. And the truth was: for someone who had worked so hard to pretend he was done with Wonwoo—who had gone radio silent, who never liked another post or answered another message—he’d still made sure that when Wonwoo landed in California, he wasn’t completely alone.

There was a number Doogi sent to him before he left.

There was an apartment tour set up before he even asked.

There was a crying session in Taeyong’s guest bathroom that first night, his suitcase unopened and his Notes app left open on the counter containing half-drafted texts he never sent.

“Stop calling him that.” Wonwoo grumbled half-heartedly.

“It’s a free country.” Taeyong shrugged, wide eyes gleaming with mock innocence.

“Actually, it’s pretty expensive here.” He replied childishly.

Taeyong chuckled, “Touché. Go home then, sweetheart. Plenty of people are still waiting for you.” He ignored the obvious jab at him.

“And let you retire early? No way.” Wonwoo shot back, glancing at the mirror, adjusting a cuff mostly because of nerves and not because it actually needed to be adjusted.

“It’s not like I need the money.” Taeyong shrugged.

“Yabang.” Wonwoo whistled.

Taeyong grinned in response, then clapped him on the back. “Now go out and be the next Manny Pacquiao of the film industry or something.”

“Or something,” Wonwoo rolled his eyes, but his smile was soft. “I don’t think Manny ever cried in a French press junket.”

“Then you’d be the first Filipino to ever do it.” Taeyong rubbed his arms together, his eyes gleaming mischievously.

Wonwoo took one last look at his reflection. Staring back at him was a boy chasing dreams, a lover who left instead of compromising, and a man who gambled. It was no use trying to be just one of those things, when he has always been all of that combined.

Even if his heart still remembered the face of home, even if his notes app still held unsent words of gratitude and apologies, even if he still mourned what he had lost—he stepped onto the carpet anyway and let the blinding lights guide him to where he should be.

A YEAR EARLIER

California

Taeyong popped his head inside of Wonwoo’s room like a bubble head figurine. He treated Wonwoo’s apartment like an extra house and does as he pleases. Wonwoo didn’t mind, the muted sounds of activity around his place reminded him of what he used to have.

Taeyong’s neck craned far past the frame, oversized shirt hanging lopsided on one shoulder, hair still damp from the shower. His eyes scanned the room like a hawk, unblinking and too perceptive for anyone’s comfort—least of all Wonwoo’s.

“Why are you packing your stuff?” The question came casually, but Wonwoo knew better. Nothing Taeyong said was ever just casual, especially not when paired with those suspiciously round eyes that always made him feel like he was already caught before he even did anything wrong.

“I’m … going to an audition.” Wonwoo answered briefly, not daring to look back at his friend. He swears those boba eyes have some built in feature for sniffing out lies or something.

“You have nothing booked for a week.” Taeyong enunciated slowly like he was talking to a child, the only problem was, Wonwoo was far from being one.

“I’m doing a friend a favor.” Wonwoo stated as his fingers tightened slightly around the zipper.

He didn’t exactly prepare a script for this kind of questioning, he figured that he’d be as vague and general as possible with his answers.

“Which friend?” He could hear the soft creak of the door widening, the faint whoosh of Taeyong stepping in, uninvited—of course—leaving the door open like it was his name on the lease. Which, technically, it was, but still.

“You don’t know him.” Wonwoo said, eyes trained on the shirts he was pretending to fold neatly, though most of them were just being shuffled around for performance.

“Impossible.” Taeyong deadpanned, like he’d just been accused of not knowing the name of his own child. “You don’t have any friends I don’t know about.”

That was true. Unfortunately, Wonwoo had never been the type of person who went out and made friends, he gets friends by standing awkwardly at the side while looking lost until a good samaritan swoops in to extend an olive branch to him. If not that, he made friends through his line of work, proximity does wonders for his social life.

“What don’t you know about?” Wonwoo closed his eyes for a beat at the sound of Jaehyun’s voice entering the fray—of course. Because the laws of his apartment dictated that privacy was optional and gossip was communal property for this couple.

“Apparently, Wonwoo’s going to an audition when he specifically asked me to clear this week as a favor for a friend that I of all people don’t know about.” Taeyong summarized for his boyfriend.

Maybe I should’ve said that I was going to go camping? Wonwoo sulked privately.

“You're a bad liar, Wonwoo.” Jaehyun said flat out, Wonwoo doesn’t have to look back to know that he was already leaning casually against the doorframe with a pretentious bottle of sparkling water he got for PR. Evidently, this was a usual occurrence. This couple had a knack for ganging up on him unexpectedly.

“You’re a bad liar detector, Jaehyun.” Wonwoo muttered, redirecting his focus back to his carry-on, the same three sweaters cycling through his hands. Maybe if he kept folding and unfolding them, no one would notice the way his ears had gone red.

“It’s Mingyu’s birthday week, you’re flying out right?” Jaehyun asked casually.

Wonwoo froze. Just a second too long.

“Is it? Time flies by fa-” he tried, voice climbing into a higher octave he didn’t usually reach, and then promptly gave up because the damage had been done.

“You’d think the better the actor, the better a liar he’d be but this is just embarrassing,” Taeyong said with a dramatic sigh, shoulders trembling with barely contained laughter.

Jaehyun didn’t even attempt to conceal his chuckle, “You guys have plans to meet up?”

Wonwoo exhaled, finally letting his hands fall into his lap. “No.”

“Want some company?” Jaehyun offered sympathetically.

Wonwoo’s head tilted up, hope flickering before he could shut it down, “I wouldn’t want to impose-”

“Oh you wouldn’t be, we need a tour guide.” Jaehyun cut him off smoothly.

“I’m not exactly a nobody back home, Jaehyun.” Wonwoo replied, trying for dry humor, but it came out more weary than anything. Because it was true. Going back meant being seen; being seen meant being asked; and being asked… meant answering things he hadn’t even told himself yet.

“Pack some hoodies and glasses.” Taeyong advised like it was the solution to all of his problems, he was probably already pulling out a checklist in his mind.

“You guys are really coming with me?” Wonwoo asked, voice dipping, like he was afraid of sounding too relieved. “Aren’t you booked and busy, Jae?”

“It’s nothing too important. I’m also due for a vacation, it’s been hard to find a time where all three of us are free.” Jaehyun said dismissively.

“Besides, we wouldn’t want you to spend Mingyu’s birthday alone.” Taeyong said, this time softer, “Does your family know you’ll be going?”

Wonwoo shook his head, “No, it’s going to be blown out of proportion if they did. My old manager told me where Mingyu’s party is being held and I just … wanted to be in the premises. He won’t even know I’m there. Wait- that sounds creepy- I just… we’ve never spent our birthdays away from each other ever since we met. I know I shouldn’t-”

“Hey,” Jaehyun’s voice sliced through his rambling. “You spent more than half of your lifetime together, it’s okay if you’re still struggling to completely cut ties. Moving to a new continent doesn’t come with a reset button.” The words landed hard and uncomfortably honest, and Wonwoo nodded slowly.

He wanted to laugh—maybe cry a little—because that’s exactly what it felt like, everyone most likely assumed that moving to California was some kind of clean break, that new neighbors and new streets would mean new habits and a new heart.

However, he still very much carried the same one.

The same goddamn heart that had once memorized every twitch of Mingyu’s smile, the twinkle in his eye, the joints of his fingers, the wisps of his hair…

Professionally speaking, he was getting somewhere, no matter how slow and tedious his start was. Romantically speaking, he was still in the Philippines.

“If I was Mingyu, and I found out that you’re not struggling with your feelings for me after just one year of being away, I’d be very offended.” Taeyong added his two cents.

Wonwoo cracked a smile, the first real one since the conversation started. “You don’t think it’s weird that I’m going uninvited?”

“If you were any other person, yes,” Taeyong answered honestly, “But you’re not just any other person, you’re Wonwoo Jeon, and at one point, his Wonwoo Jeon. It’ll be weirder if you didn’t want to come.”

“As for being uninvited, you know where it’s getting held, that in itself is an invite.” Jaehyun pointed out. “If they didn’t want you to know, you simply wouldn’t.” Wonwoo wanted to believe him, as selfish as that sounds. He wanted to assume that the piece of information Doogi told him was a go signal for him to come visit.

“Have either of you considered being couple therapists?” Wonwoo joked, trying to lighten his own heart.

“Oh sweetheart, this is the result of couple’s therapy.” Taeyong said with a wink, and Jaehyun reached over to squeeze his hand in silent agreement.

“We’re flying first class so no need to worry about falling asleep with your mask down on the plane.” Jaehyun announced and Taeyong cheered, already planning to coerce Wonwoo into drinking copious amounts of champagne on board.

“I can’t wait to watch Crazy Rich Asians on board, best in-flight movie ever.” Taeyong clapped his hands excitedly.

Wonwoo watched them, this strange and tender little domesticity they’d built—so simple, yet so perfect. For a moment, he let himself feel grateful, for this apartment, this ridiculous conversation, and for these people who saw through him, called him out, but never left him alone with the wreckage.

Camiguin

Wonwoo has spent the last three days in Camiguin third wheeling Taeyong and Jaehyun. There was a time he would’ve bristled at that, bitterness simmering low in his gut like a stubborn fever. Being around their affection used to feel like walking barefoot over sharp shards of memories, every sweet smile or casual brush of fingers reminding him of what he used to have.

Jaehyun’s hand on Taeyong’s lower back, the shared water bottles, and laughter so intimate it felt like a language only they spoke. Once there was a time when Wonwoo wasn’t a mere bystander at somebody else’s great love story … that time has passed.

These days, though, that dull ache was still there, it felt more like the faded sting of a long-healed wound present, but no longer overwhelming. More than anything else, it was the sense of being taken in and coddled that overpowered most of his pessimistic feelings. He didn't think they noticed it, but they treated him like their unofficial firstborn son, as amusing as that sounded—the way parents gently nag and smother, equal parts annoyed and concerned.

“Sunblock first, the both of you!” Taeyong had snapped, hand already outstretched with the bottle like a weaponized skincare product.

“Wonwoo, what’s the point of being at the beach if you’re not going to get wet?” Jaehyun asked the previous afternoon, gesturing wildly at the shoreline like a disappointed father.

“Why are you ordering steak? Order something local for a change.” Taeyong nagged at dinner.

“Wake up, the sun’s rising soon. Taeyong’s going to kill both of us if I don’t get you on our balcony in a minute.” Jaehyun muttered this morning, shaking him awake while half-asleep himself.

Wonwoo’s not complaining, it was a very good distraction—a buffer between him and the real reason he flew back to the Philippines in the first place, the real reason he folded up his battered heart and stuffed it into a carry-on.

Now, as the three of them sat in the car on the way to the airport to head to the Metro, reality was catching up to him like a slow and steady wave. The closer they got, the more his chest clenched. He could already imagine everything going wrong, the headlines, the cameras, the murmurs, and Mingyu.

“You should personally say hi to Mingyu since we came all the way here. It would be a waste if he doesn’t see at least one of you.” Taeyong advised his boyfriend, though if you’ve known him long enough it was a thinly-veiled order really.

“Wouldn’t that catch everyone’s attention?” Jaehyun replied, shifting slightly in his seat as he glanced down at his phone. “I mean it’s a private party but you know how these things go. Somebody’s still going to say something to the press.”

“I said say hi, not personally wheel Mingyu’s birthday cake in.” Taeyong rolled his eyes. “You don’t have to go to the party, you could text him now, say you’re in the area, and grab a quick dinner.”

Wonwoo kept his gaze out the window, watching the greenery with an absent-minded gaze. Camiguin was almost too picturesque and too calm—like a backdrop for something momentous.

“What do you think Wons?” Jaehyun turned to Wonwoo.

“Taeyong’s right, I’m sure he’d be happy to see you.” His voice came out softer than intended, but the smile was real—even if it was tight around the edges.

“Should I tell him you’re here?” Jaehyun teased, and Wonwoo visibly tensed, skin going two shades paler at the mere thought.

“Stop messing with him, he’s already antsy.” Taeyong slapped his boyfriend on the shoulder, “I had to shove him into the car earlier just so he’d come with us.”

“Kidding.” Jaehyun held up his hands, “We’re being low-profile. Got that. I’ll text Mingyu when we get settled down, we are a day early.”

Wonwoo let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. His fingers twisted into the hem of his shirt, anxiety crawling up his spine. “...Maybe I shouldn’t have come.”

“Not this again.” Taeyong sighed, already familiar with Wonwoo’s train of thought.

“What am I even going to do while he’s having his birthday party?” Wonwoo asked quietly, a pout slipping in before he could stop it. He already felt pathetic as is. The idea of Mingyu surrounded by people, beaming, and basking in that spotlight? It gnawed at something inside him, not jealousy, more like… longing, bruised and still very sore at the thought of not being amongst the people celebrating his special day.

“We would be having our own party.” Taeyong said brightly. “Mingyu’s team booked the club out but I got us a private room on a different floor … after I assured them that I don’t even know the guy since I’m a foreigner.”

“On Jaehyun’s card?” Wonwoo asked.

“Of course. He’s the one with the Prada contract.” Taeyong confirmed cheekily.

“This polycule is getting expensive to keep up.” Jaehyun muttered.

“Hush. I’m the one doing the dirty work here.” Taeyong sniffed. “You barely lifted a finger.”

Jaehyun pretended to scowl, “And what does Wonwoo bring to the table?”

“His yearning.” Taeyong said dryly.

Wonwoo, still staring out the window, chose to ignore them—but he was smiling now. A small, worn-out thing that barely curled the corners of his lips. Even if everything were to go horribly wrong, even if he saw Mingyu, or didn’t, and regretted it, even if he ended up standing in the dark, a floor below the person he once loved more than anyone else in the world… at least, he wouldn’t be doing it alone.