Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

— 🩶—

Mingi casts his eyes skywards, the clouds thick and gray, the air cool but still. The building before him is old, he’s not sure if it’s post or pre-war, but history has never been his strong suit. Nor has art or architecture, so to him the building before him is just some constructure made up of bricks. 

He exhales slowly and walks up the steps into the hall. No time to dawdle.

His chess matches go smoothly, as expected. His opponents are not putting up much of a fight, and by the end of the evening, he feels like he’s barely used his brain. Sure, maybe he made some stupid moves, but those he played against made even stupider moves. There was a time in his life when he would beat himself up over mistakes like that later, drown his sorrows at some cheap seedy bar where his friend worked, the drinks even cheaper thanks to him.

Coincidentally, that’s where he met Seonghwa, his now business partner. People sometimes ask if they’re related, something about the similarity of the angle of their jaws, but they’re not, just a chance encounter at a bar, talent for business, a way with cards. One thing led to another and now a casino with both of their names on the deed sits in the heart of the city, hidden in plain sight. Neither of them held their breath hoping for success, but it seems they had the winning hand. But then again, the Park family did own almost half of the city.

Since then, he’s had the upper hand often, an ace up his sleeve. He's also realized many things are hidden in plain sight. Some better than others.

As Mingi leaves, he casts a glance over his shoulder, sees the newcomer make a move. Queen takes Knight Pawn. Strange move, can’t always be trusted, leaving the Queen quite vulnerable, and yet …

He turns away before he can see the outcome, whatever it will be, he’ll be able to see later. For now, he has to focus, his final game only a few short minutes away.

Later, as he scans the score board to stake out the competition for the following day, he sees the initials KHJ in the winners position. Mingi hums quietly to himself. Maybe the risky move, placing the Queen in such a vulnerable state, was the winning ticket afterall. 

He only knows one person who would make a move like that. Surely it can't be , Mingi contemplates as he leaves the hall, there are other places that need his attention more than the chess tournament.

Unsurprisingly, he’s distracted when he gets to the casino, the barman handing him a drink he’s not sure he ordered, but he’s been here so many times the barman knows him better than he knows himself. 

The initials KHJ roll around his head like the dice on the roulette table a short distance away, spectators hunched over, focused. The number he secretly bet on gets called just as the realization hits him. KHJ. Kim Hongjoong. A name he’s not heard in a while, he notes as he tips back the remainder of his vodka martini. He hums quietly as he sets the glass down on the counter, a blink later it’s gone, the only evidence of the drink ever being there is the wet circle on the wood. 

“How much have you already won tonight, Mingi?” Yunho asks as he comes up to him on the other side of the bar.

“You know I don’t gamble,” he answers in a whispered monotone.

“And yet I see you here more than anyone else.”

“Only place that serves me free alcohol 24/7,” Mingi shrugs. 

“Yeah but buying a bottle of vodka and drinking it at home is quieter, since you’re so deep in thought,” his friend says.

“But then I wouldn’t get to see you, friend,” Mingi smiles widely.

Yunho rolls his eyes and goes back to the customers without a glass in front of them. 

From his stool he scans the room, wondering if Seonghwa is there too, seeing how business is going. They don’t talk much these days, each busy with their lives outside of the business. Casino comes first, but he considers it might be worth catching up outside of a meeting room.

When Seonghwa and Yunho started living together, dynamics between the three of them changed slightly, but apart from coming and going together, their relationship is never mentioned in the building. A mutual understanding between them that it’s better this way. Mingi’s not entirely convinced, but he knows better than to question it.

“He was there today,” Mingi says as Yunho materializes at his side again.

“I didn’t know he was back,” Yunho hums, setting another martini in front of his friend. He doesn’t have to ask who. Even all these years later, there’s only one person Mingi could mean.

“Neither did I,” he answers quietly, gingerly picking up the drink and taking a sip.

“Tabloids usually make a big deal of what that family does.”

“And that family has the money to keep anything they want quiet,” Seonghwa says, seamlessly joining in on the conversation. 

“How long have you known?” Yunho asks the question on Mingi’s lips, serving the man a measure of whiskey, neat.

“Not long,” Seonghwa shakes his head. “Some distant cousin of his is at the high rollers table. Can’t keep his mouth shut about it. You know how they all can be.”
Mingi nods slowly, lips pursed and deep in thought, barely listening to the conversation. So he’s back. How long has he been out? Mingi rummages through his mind back to the day Hongjoong left but finds he comes up short, no recollection of that day, but very aware that when it was all happening, he felt like it was something he would never forget. The pain he felt then is foreign to him now. Or maybe he’s just gotten used to it.

“Hey,” Yunho snaps his fingers in front of Mingi’s face to bring him back, “Earth to Mingi,”

“What?” he shakes his head as if getting back to reality.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Seonghwa warns. “There’s more at stake now.”

On the other side of the bar, Yunho gives Mingi the ‘I agree with him’ kind of look he seems to have mastered in the time the two have been together. Three years? Four? When did Hongjoong leave … it’s been more than that. How long did it take for him to -

“I won’t,” Mingi answers quickly, reaching for his drink to distract himself with more alcohol. Not the best solution but it’ll have to do for the time being. Maybe he’ll message that man from a few weeks ago. Their date wasn’t great but the sex was good and maybe that’s what he needs. Some different form of release, a different kind of distraction. Or maybe he should just pick someone up from here, but people whose hobby it is to gamble their hard earned money away have never been his type. Odd, considering how ‘damaged’ seems to be a quality at the top of the list of his romantic partners, at least according to Yunho.

“I really hope not,” his partner in business mutters against the rim of his glass. Mingi watches him drink the remainder of the amber liquid, his neck contracting and relaxing, Adam’s apple bobbing as the alcohol makes its way down. Maybe once upon a time Mingi considered pursuing Seonghwa, his sharp model-like features, the ease with which he fit into any crowd, something to envy. 

“I should get going,” he huffs, getting up from his stool as Seonghwa sets the glass down on his coaster, a second later it’s swept away. Yunho was always quick with his hands. A skill that came in handy in his side job all those years ago. Not anymore, not since the casino opened. Not since Seonghwa. They’re good for one another. 

“Mingi,” Yunho says wearily.

“Yunho,” he sighs, giving his friend a look that speaks louder than any words he could say. “I don’t even have his number anymore.” 

“Good,” his friend smiles. “Text me when you get home.” 

Standing at the threshold of his kitchen, Mingi does as promised and texts Yunho that he got home, no indication if it’s been delivered but if he’s still at the casino he won’t read the message until later anyway. 

He’s not alone, but that’s something his friend doesn’t need to know. Even the busiest cities are swarming with lonely people searching for someone, even if just for a couple of hours. 

He hears the toilet flush, then the rushing of the water in his sink, silence, then the door creaking open. “Mingi?” 

“Coming,” he answers, dropping his phone on the counter before popping open the buttons of his shirt as he walks.

Mingi frowns as he sits up, the man next to him still fast asleep. He didn’t think he’d stay, but that’s a small price to pay. There’s a dull ache at his temples, too much alcohol the night before, not enough food or water, nothing on his bedside table either except crumpled tissues and condom wrappers. Three, if his eyes don’t deceive him. He raises his eyebrows in mild surprise. One must have been from when he stretched the man who lay next to him, for he doesn’t recall him fucking the man more than twice. Unless , he ponders, ignoring the pain in his head to focus on other parts of his body, and sure enough, the familiar sting of bottoming makes itself known. Of course , he smiles to himself. He has little recollection of the night’s events but feels he has no regrets. Finds he feels relatively content.

Slowly, he pulls back the duvet, both in an effort to motivate himself to get up but also to see the man's body in the light of day, wanting to properly see what he got in bed with. The man twitches slightly as the cool air hits him, Mingi ignores it and stares at the expanse of smooth skin that was likely unblemished when he stepped into the apartment. There are small hickeys, bite marks and scratches on his body now, it seems he got carried away. Hongjoong has that effect on you , his mind supplies, and Mingi shoves the thought into the depths of his brain. Even soft, the man’s cock offers promise. If he didn’t have an incessant pounding in his head he’d happily go down on the man, they didn’t discuss boundaries but who doesn’t like being woken up with a blow job? He looks up at the mans face and decides against it, huffs and rolls out of bed, the duvet falling over the man, bathing him in warmth again while he stands in the cold, his whole body open to the elements, he sees his boxers on the floor, tangled with his trousers and socks. He ignores them and walks over to the nearby chest of drawers and pulls out a fresh pair before heading to his bathroom for a well deserved shower to wash any lingering stench of sex with a stranger off.

As the hot water beats down on his body he wonders if the man in his bed will wake and join him. He secretly hopes he won’t, despite the good times they shared the night before he really wants this time to himself.

The hot shower helps, but tucked away in clean boxers and wrapped in a robe, he still reaches for a painkiller, swallowing it down dry.

“Morning.”

Startled by the sudden break in silence, Mingi looks up to see the man standing, dressed, outside the living room.“Morning,” he replies.

“I should get going,” the man says.

“Sure,” Mingi nods, not making an effort to move. He’s not usually like this, this cold. Something’s clearly on his mind, as much as he doesn’t want to admit it.

The man says nothing, but nods slightly too.

“I’ll call you,” Mingi says. 

The man gives him a knowing smile that seems to say ‘ thanks, but I know you won’t.’  

“I can get you a car,” Mingi continues. 

“It’s fine,” the man nods. “Already called for one. Thanks for last night.”

“No problem.”

“See you around,” the man throws over his shoulder more as a common courtesy than anything. As the door to Mingi’s apartment shuts, they know they won’t see each other again.

The following week. Mingi goes into the building once again. This time mostly just to pass the time. His opponents he’s scheduled to play will all be easy wins, once again, he won’t have to try. Sure, a part of him is happy about it, but he can’t deny that it’s these plays with least effort required that exhaust him the most. Annoy him too.

He makes it so easy for his opponents to win. Makes rookie errors, leaves his King open and for the taking and yet, aside from one near loss, he wins everytime, the opponent leaving flustered, cheeks red, eyes tear-rimmed once they finally realize their mistake. 

Mingi’s not sure if it’s him that’s the problem, if there's something intimidating that he doesn’t know about, or if this new wave of players is just genuinely bad at chess.

Ding.

Following the sound of the bell, Mingi turns his head to the right, seeing as Hongjoong smugly shakes his defeated opponent's hand. Of course, Hongjoong’s here too. Mingi didn’t see him on the list of players when he came in, but it’s not like he pays much attention to lists other than his. More than anything he’s just curious as to why no one set them to play against each other.

Maybe they know … Mingi, what could they possibly know?

He shakes his head slightly, getting the thought out of his head. Have we ever played against each other?

Quietly, he makes his way to the boards, one of the volunteers marks the final moves of the games that have just come to an end. 

Mingi follows the game play, visualizing the pieces on the board, watching it all move until - 

“You noted the Bishop move wrong,” Mingi points out.

“Pardon?” the volunteer asks, turning to Mingi. 

“The Bishop. Should be C3 not C4. It wouldn’t have been possible for it to be moved there,” he explains. 

The woman takes a step back and squints at the chalkboard. Her eyes move from top to bottom, tracking each move, also appearing to be playing the game in her mind. “You’re right,” she says finally, stepping up to the board and correcting the mistake. “Wonder how many times these are noted down with errors on them,” she adds, waving the small piece of paper that’s in her left hand. 

“Don’t players usually note down their moves?” Mingi asks, knowing the answer to his own question. He hands in a sheet at the end of each game.

The chalk marker squeaks as she notes down the final move. “You’d assume so,” she hums, capping the pen. “Any other errors sticking out to you?”

“No,”

“Great!” she answers and practically runs off, Mingi can only imagine how exhausting it must be sitting around at events like these. All the waiting around.

“Analyzing my game play? You flatter,” Hongjoong says as he walks up next to Mingi.

“Looks like pure luck to me,” Mingi shrugs, not catching the bait.

“Better than your tossing pieces haphazardly hoping to succeed,” Hongjoong mutters.

Mingi smirks, “but I have yet to lose.” Without another word, he turns away from the playboard, ready to head out.

“Mingi,” Hongjoong calls after him.

Mid-stride, Mingi stalls, against his better judgement. He turns around to face Hongjoong, the man he used to call his love. “What?” 

“It’s good to see you,” he says. “Maybe we could grab a drink. Catch up.”

Exhaling slowly, Mingi lifts his arm, other hand pulling back his sleeve to check the time. Late enough for a drink. “One drink,” he answers, looking up to see that Hongjoong’s significantly closer than he was a few seconds earlier. 

A twinkle runs across Hongjoong’s eyes. “We’ll see.”

As he smiles, revealing perfectly shaped white teeth, Mingi swallows, his throat suddenly dry.

One drink turns to two, turns to three, turns to more. Mingi knows it’s wrong but having Hongjoong so close energizes him in ways he’s not felt in a long time.

People come and go, time passes, but the two remain seated in a dark corner, in plain sight yet also completely hidden. Hongjoong chose the bar, Mingi’s not sure he’s ever been here before. He doesn’t go out much but he has an inkling this place is new, the decor is dated but there’s a lingering scent of fresh paint, the lacquer on the floor a little too shiny in some areas. 

They sip their first drink in silence. The second is not much different. On the third, the barrier is broken and they begin to talk. The conversation is neither here nor there, neither of them knowing what to say, what to ask, how much to reveal. It’s been years, so much has changed, they’re practically new people, filled with new experiences, the memories of their time together just that, memories. 

By the fourth drink, something shifts. 

“How long have you been out?” Mingi asks, staring at the melting ice cubes in his glass.

“‘Bout a year,” Hongjoong answers. 

Mingi looks over at the other man, “and you didn’t think to let me know?”

“Wasn’t sure you wanted to hear from me,” he answers honestly. “Besides, I wasn’t in the country.”

Wordlessly, Mingi nods. 

On the fifth drink, Hongjoong’s hand works its way up along Mingi’s thigh, their proximity minimizing the emptier their glasses are. Mingi feels his heart pounding, blood rushing in his ears the longer they spend together, heat pooling in his core. They should have gotten dinner, not just drinks. It’s too late now. Too late for many things. 

“I should get going,” Hongjoong says, hand moving away from Mingi’s leg to wrap around the tumbler before lifting it to drown the remaining sip of liquor. He tosses it back too hard and a drop slips past his lips. Holding his breath, Mingi watches as it slides down the man’s face before he wipes it away.

He sets the glass back down and stands up, and Mingi lets himself take it all in. Well-fitting trousers, on the tighter side as always, hugging the curves of Hongjoong’s muscles. White shirt tucked in, sleeves rolled up, jacket hanging on the coat rack nearby, he lost it somewhere between drink two and three. His platinum hair shines even in the dull lighting, Mingi wonders if it’s freshly dyed, no sign of the dark roots coming through. 

Hongjoong shrugs on his jacket and watches Mingi watching him.

“Are you coming?” Hongjoong asks, adjusting the collar.

“What?” Mingi answers, his head shooting up to look at Hongjoong’s face.

“Are you coming with me?” Hongjoong repeats, waits for his words to sink in and makes his way to the exit. 

Mingi practically falls out of the chair as he stands, blindly stumbling after Hongjoong like a sheep to slaughter.

Chapter Text

The universal student experience is something that’s possibly the least universal thing there is. Each student has a different perception of it. Take Mingi and Yunho for example. Had it not been for Yunho’s part time gig at some seedy bar and Mingi’s talent to win every amateur chess tournament at dingy locations, they would have barely been able to cover rent.

Hongjoong and Seonghwa on the other hand would say something entirely different. Both from affluent families, guaranteed positions after their studies are complete. This kind of wealth came with its own problems, Mingi used to scoff whenever he heard ‘the upper class’ whine about problems that weren’t real problems. Less so now, but sometimes he likes to reminisce on the days when he didn’t know if he would have a roof over his head in a month's time.

But a lot can change in seven years.

— 🩶—

April that year was colder than ever before. Rain every other day, biting wind, sun only making an appearance at most twice a week, but even then not for the whole day. Hiding from what can be compared to the fifth winter that year, Mingi sat in the deserted library, browsing nearby chess competitions between playing anonymous players online, beating them all, not that that was ever difficult. Papers and textbooks from his mathematics curriculum scatter any remaining free space on the desk but that can wait. He’s smarter than most of the students in his class. The professor wasn’t the brightest either, but Mingi kept that to himself. 

After a few more scrolls and clicks, he finally seems to have found something.

“Huh,” he hums to himself, reaching for the apple he brought, biting into it as he moves a relatively useless pawn up one place, buying himself more time, focusing more on the local chess competition that he stumbles upon than the game he was in the midst of playing. 

The fruit crunches between his teeth loudly as he fills out his information and pays the small entry fee. If all goes according to plan, he’ll be seeing that money and then some by the end of all this.

True to his nature, Mingi barely prepares for the tournament. Sure, he’ll play a game online here and there, but he can see by the unease of some of the competitors around him that he should have maybe done more. 

Too late , he muses as he takes a step up to the registration desk to fill out his details. 

It’s a simple process, very few words exchanged, Mingi finds he appreciates it. 

“Do I get a clock?” he asks.

“No. They’re already on the tables. So are any notepads and pens,” the volunteer in the chair answers with an unamused tone. “Don’t know why you need those but then again, what do I know about chess?”

Mingi frowns, wanting to know the reason behind the man choosing to spend a free Saturday here of all places if he couldn’t care less about the game. Before he can muster up the courage to ask, the volunteer clears his throat and says a loud, “next,” while disingenuously smiling at Mingi, a subtle ‘get the fuck out of the way’ look in his eyes.

“Right,” Mingi mutters, and moves away towards one of the few bare walls in the hall. 

Leaning against the cool bricks, he pulls his phone out, no notifications, not that he really expected any to be there. Yunho knows he’s here, and working a double shift to make up for needing to miss one sometime in the near future. A trip with the rich boy he’s seeing that Mingi’s not supposed to know anything about. He doesn’t bring it up, trusts his friend to tell him everything when he’s ready. 

“I’ve not seen you here before.” 

Mingi turns on his heel to the source of the voice. “Sorry, were you talking to me?” he asks the man that stands a few steps away. In hindsight, it’s a rather dumb question on his part, there’s no one within several meters of him. Whatever .

“Yes,” the man nods.

“Ok,” Mingi says, face twisted in a mildly confused frown, not really sure where to go from there, the stranger not really giving him much to work with.

As he moves towards Mingi, he smiles, revealing perfectly shaped teeth, the canines slightly pointed. Mingi feels his mouth go dry. “I suppose I should introduce myself,” he says and takes one step closer to Mingi. “I’m Kim Hongjoong.”

“Song Mingi.” 

“That’s a rather uncommon name,” Hongjoong remarks. “Not one I’ve heard before anyway.”

“I like to think it stands out,” Mingi shrugs. When he was little, his parents always said he was unique. Mingi held onto that.

Hongjoong hums to himself quietly. “It does. I’ll be sure to remember it.”

Mingi frowns, not really sure how to react to such a statement.

“Anyway, it doesn’t look like we’re playing against one another, but good luck, and maybe see you around,” Hongjoong breaks the brief silence between them. 

Before Mingi can muster up a response, the other man is already gone. 

Mingi shakes his head a little, the interaction strange, distracting almost, and not a welcome one either. He casts his eyes down at his phone, three minutes until the start, and turns it off. It’s not like anyone will need to reach him for the next five or so hours.

As Mingi plays, the short interaction he had with Hongjoong bounces around his mind, clouding his judgement, causing him to make silly mistakes. Lucky for him, his opponents are significantly worse and clearly blind to any errors Mingi makes. 

All in all, he loses one game, not something that he’s too bothered by considering his state of mind is far from clear. From the scoreboard he sees he got second place in his league, only one name above his. 

Kim Hongjoong

Messages from Yunho flood his phone as he steps out of the old building, the cheque with his second place earnings shoved into his pocket. He reads his friends words without taking anything in, only one man on his mind the whole silent journey home. He’d even forgotten to put headphones in, the bustle of the city more welcoming than it usually is.

— 🩶—

Mingi refrains from mentioning his strange encounter with Hongjoong to Yunho, determining that the less his friend knows about this, the better. Besides, there’s really nothing to know, Mingi knows the man's first and last name and that he’s a very talented chess player. Well, that much he assumes. They’ve not played against each other yet.

The little league he had gone to a month prior emails him regularly, advertising socials where players can get to know one another, more chances to play, and other small tournaments in the area. Typically, he doesn’t hesitate to just delete the emails as they come in, but something stops him when he sees the latest one come in. Something about a seasonal get together, promising ‘drinks, treats, and dancing’ in a casual atmosphere (no need for suits!). It sounds like hell but with Yunho out for another weekend in a row and with nothing much else to do, he pulls on a clean pair of loose black jeans and dark button up shirt, throws on his trusty jacket for this strange inbetween weather that’s still around, shoves his feet into some dark sneakers he’s convinced are actually Yunho’s and heads out the door, the email from the league illuminating the otherwise dark apartment. 

“We must stop meeting like this,” Hongjoong’s voice sounds to Mingi’s right as he stands at the bar getting a glass of wine - the email forgot to mention that drinks really meant red, white, or fizzy wine. 

Beggars can’t be choosers, at least it’s free .

“Surely you have better things to do on a Saturday night than be here,” Mingi points out. 

Hongjoong smirks, stepping up to the bar. “Red,” he says to the barman. Mingi waits, eyes locked in on Hongjoong, unable to look anywhere else, analyzing each angle of the man’s face. 

With a gentle hand, Hongjoong reaches for the glass, pinching the stem between small fingers. He watches as Hongjoong takes a sip of the thick burgundy. It’s probably cheap wine but even if it tastes foul he makes no indication of it. 

“Maybe I hoped I’d run into you,” Hongjoong shrugs.

“Did you think I had nothing better to do than come to this social?” Mingi scoffs. 

Hongjoong casts a side-eye glance. “Well you’re here. So evidently you didn’t.” 

“Touchè,” Mingi mutters against the rim of his wine glass before tipping it back, draining the remainder of the white wine, visibly flinching once it’s down his throat. 

“The wine that bad or are you just a bad drinker?” Hongjoong grins.

Mingi frowns. “The former.”

“Wanna get out of here?” Hongjoong asks, setting the drained wine glass on the counter.

“My friends are here,” Mingi answers without a second thought. An obvious lie since Hongjoong is probably the only person he knows in the establishment. Normally, he’d try and strike a conversation up with the bartender but he seems like he’s counting down the seconds he can get out of here himself.  

“No they’re not,” Hongjoong shakes his head, lips curved up at the corners slightly. “Neither are mine. Obviously. So, do you want to come with me? Or would you rather sit around here bored with all these nerds and oldies?”

Mingi takes a moment to consider what the other said. “Yeah. Fine. Let’s go,” he sighs after a beat.

Hongjoong beams up at him, eyes sparkling, lips curved into a smile. 

“Where are we going?” Mingi asks, making sure to not overtake Hongjoong, adjusting to his slightly slower walking speed. 

“There’s someone I need to meet with,” Hongjoong answers plainly. 

“And you couldn’t have met them at the party?”

“They’re not very into big crowds,” Hongjoong explains. 

Mingi nods, “right. Sure.”

“Look,” Hongjoong pulls them to a stop, “you don’t have to come with me. It’s just, you didn’t seem like you were having a good time and I thought some air would be nice and that you could use some company.”

“And you were under the impression that I couldn’t find company at a party?” Mingi asks.

“You were standing alone,” Hongjoong shrugs.

“And you assumed that was an invitation?”

“Well by all means, go back to the party!” Hongjoong exclaims, flailing his arms. 

“I would if I had any idea where we are and how to get there.”

“Aren’t you from here?” Hongjoong frowns. 

Mingi stops and tosses his hands in the air, exasperated, not finding a way to reason with Hongjoong. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I know every side street!?”

Hongjoong rolls his head, an eye roll not dramatic enough of a reaction. “I just need to pick up one thing. We’re almost there. So you can either stand here and wait, or just come with me. There’s no need to be this dramatic.”

Mingi sighs, only one real choice. “Lead the way,” he says, more apprehensive than before as he steps up to Hongjoong. Even in the dull lighting, Mingi can tell that his answer was satisfactory, Hongjoong’s eyes revealing more than words would. 

Hongjoong bangs on the door with a closed fist, the doorbell silent, broken, not unusual in this area Mingi imagines.

“Hongjoong-ah,” a man smiles widely, mischievously, as he opens the door. 

“Finally,” Hongjoong huffs, pushing past him. “Fix your fucking doorbell, Wooyoung.”

Mingi hovers at the door, the man, Wooyoung, staring at him. “You coming in, or do you need a proper invite, posh boy?”

Mingi frowns, “I’m not posh,” he says, following in Hongjoong’s footsteps, simultaneously wondering why someone decked out in designer clothes was calling him posh. Mingi’s almost the furthest thing from posh. But then again, he’s not about to correct the man.

“Where’s Yeosang?” Hongjoong asks. 

“Not here,” the other man, Jongho, shrugs. 

Hongjoong sucks in his tongue, a faint click escaping past his lips.

“What are you here for?”

“To collect,” Hongjoong answers with a smile on his face.

“And what is he doing here?” Wooyoung asks, tipping his head in Mingi’s direction.

“Keeping me company,” Hongjoong shrugs. “My order?”

“Hold on,” Wooyoung says and makes his way towards some other room.

Mingi takes a moment to take in his surroundings. The apartment is in a sketchy area of town, but the interior is clean, not at all reflecting the world outside the window. Judging by Hongjoong’s economic status and the fact that this Wooyoung guy is dressed head to toe in some designer brand he’ll need to search up later, he’s not exactly poor either. He makes a mental note to ask Hongjoong about it later, if he remembers.

His eyes pass over the man on the couch, Jongho, gaze fixed on the TV, controller in hand, fingers moving expertly over the joysticks and buttons as he plays some game. Probably some FPS game, judging by the sounds. He’s about to ask about it but then Wooyoung comes back in and so Mingi chooses to remain as close to the wall as possible, not feeling too welcome in this apartment he’s found himself in at odd hours of the night.  

“This dealer was super sketch by the way,” Wooyoung says, passing Hongjoong a few small baggies.”I never want to do this again.”

Hongjoong rolls his eyes. “That’s why Yeosang’s the one I usually have deal with these things.”

“Well, next time make sure he’s actually around before you send us. We’re not your errand boys,” Jongho says, eyes locked on the game.

Hongjoong clicks his tongue, “neither of you are my errand boys. How much do I owe you?” he adds, pulling out his phone.

“I’ll text you,” Wooyoung answers, distrusting eyes locked with Mingi’s.

“Alright,” Hongjoong puts his phone back in his pocket. “We should get going, you two look … very busy,” he says, sarcasm dripping from his tongue. “Tell Yeosang to let me know next time he’s away.”

“You have his number,” Jonho chips in from the couch before Wooyoung can offer a snarky remark.

“Don’t let the door hit you on the way out,” Wooyoung says instead, ushering the visitors out.

“Didn’t know someone like you would have friends like that,” Mingi says quietly once out on the street again. 

“Can’t help the company we keep,” he shrugs. “Come on. We can’t do this out in the open like this,” he adds, pulling Mingi down a dark alleyway not far from where the building they just left. 

Mingi swallows, the cool breeze suddenly sending a shiver over his whole body. 

“Do you trust me?” Hongjoong asks, a small yellow smiley-faced pill between his fingers. Deep bass from a nearby apartment trickling down, their windows likely open to let in the warm late spring air.

Mingi looks between Hongjoong and the pill, knowing very well what the other’s asking. This isn’t the first time Mingi’s been in this situation, but the first where he really feels like this is the right thing to do. He’s sure that if he were to say ‘no’, Hongjoong wouldn’t mind. They don’t know each other well, it’s their second meeting so there would be no hard feelings. A chance encounter at a party. It’s not like Hongjoong’s been popping in and out of his thoughts for weeks.

“We don’t have all night, Mingi,” Hongjoong whispers, his breath hot, the space between them smaller than Mingi initially thought.

With a final exhale, Mingi looks at Hongjoong, eyes locking together. Yes, they don’t know each other well but Mingi feels like he would trust Hongjoong with his life. 

“Yes,” he answers, sticking his hand out, assuming the other will just drop the pill in his palm. 

A soft giggle escapes Hongjoong as he steps up to Mingi, so close their bodies almost touch. With his free hand, Hongjoong tugs on Mingi’s chin, a wordless request for him to open his mouth, which Mingi does, dropping his tongue out slightly. Delicately, Hongjoong places the pill, smiley face down on Mingi’s tongue. It barely weighs anything but Mingi still feels the slight imprint it leaves.

“Swallow,” Hongjoong mutters, his breath gently fanning over Mingi. He doesn’t realize how much closer they’ve gotten, or when.

Without breaking eye contact, Mingi shuts his mouth and swallows the pill without a single flinch. Hongjoong stares back in awe, street lights making it appear as if they’re sparkling. “Oh Mingi, we’re about to have so much fun together,” he mutters under his breath before turning on his heel, making his way back to the main street. Mingi stares after him, trying and failing to piece together the events of the night.

“You coming?!” he hears Hongjoong shout. In place of an answer, Mingi jogs to Hongjoong.

“Where to now?” he asks.

Hongjoong shrugs, “anywhere. Tonight, the world is ours.”

Subconsciously, Mingi slips his hand around Hongjoong’s. “Lead the way then,” he says, gazing down at Hongjoong like a man entranced, blaming the small pill he took on all his actions. Delicately, Hongjoong squeezes his hand, the same look in his eyes.

— 🩶—

Despite the series of events following the unexpected reunion at the chess club social event, Mingi still has no way of contacting Hongjoong. Not that he’s really surprised, the two times they’ve seen one another being pure coincidence, nonetheless, he finds it bothers him, gnawing at the back of his mind.

Then again, he didn’t really think someone like Hongjooong, a Kim, would ever be anywhere near where he would be. Not that Mingi ever thought about Hongjoong prior to seeing him at the amateur chess games. He’s not sure if he even knew of him before that day. Maybe he did. But why would someone from such a rich family be on Mingi’s mind, on his radar, in his circles?

But where is the money from? Mingi finds himself wondering regularly since the strange adventure to see Wooyoung or Yeosang who wasn’t there. He fidgets with his pencil, the page of his notebook blank.

Then again, stranger things have happened, Yunho does have some on and off thing with the heir to one of many Park enterprises. Allegedly. 

You’re not really supposed to know that , Mingi tips his head to the side, recollecting a drunken night with his roommate. Yunho always had trouble keeping secrets after a few drinks and things just tend to slip out of his mouth.

Maybe that’s the connection , Mingi contemplates as he blindly stares at some lecture slides that beam at him from the screen. Below, the professor drones on about some theorem that Mingi’s fairly certain he’s invented on the spot, and for the first time in a long time, Mingi can’t seem to suss out the answer to the problem. Then again, his mind’s elsewhere and all he can really hope for is for the professor not to call on him. The chances are slim, he seems to love calling on him. Maybe today will be different , Mingi thinks in the brief moment his thoughts don't drift to Hongjoong. You’ve met this guy twice , he scoffs at himself internally, what reason do you have to constantly have him on your mind ? 

Mingi tried finding him on social media, but being rather inactive on there himself, his search didn’t really yield any results and after some petty disagreement with Yunho almost two weeks ago, he still didn’t really feel too great about asking his friend to find a guy who he got high with in the middle of nowhere.

“Song Mingi!”

Fuck .

“Yes?” he asks, zeroing in on the lecture slide. Shit .

“Now, mister Jongho here believes there is no answer to this problem,” the professor begins,  and as tempted as Mingi is to look away from the slide, he knows that this is the one moment he can’t. “Do you agree with him?” the professor asks. 

Mingi takes a second to mull over the question, breathes in, exhales out, and only then does he look over at his professor, eyes panning over the hall to spot Jongho. His name is familiar but at this moment, he’s having a hard time placing it. 

“I do,” Mingi answers confidently, and when the professor gives no response, he goes on to explain his reasoning, pulling complete and utter nonsense straight out of his ass but it seems to satisfy the professor who cuts him off with a nod. 

“Good, let’s move on.” 

“Hey! Mingi, is it?” a voice calls out from behind him as Mingi distances himself from the lecture hall.

“Who’s asking?” Mingi asks, turning around and having a mild case of deja vu. 

“Jongho,” he gets in response. “You’re that guy that hangs around with Hongjoong, right?” 

“Hang around is perhaps too generous, we've seen each other twice. Don't even have his number or anything,” Mingi says, not really sure why he added all that at the end. What need could Jongho possibly have for that information?

“Interesting,” Jongho mutters, seeming the entirely opposite. “He sure talks about you more than having only met twice,” he adds louder.

Oh .

“Right,” Mingi nods, unsure how to proceed with that information. 

“I didn’t realize you took this class,” Jongho continues. 

“Well, it’s not like we knew of one another until about three weeks ago,” Mingi points out. 

Jongho grins, a hum escaping him. “Good point.”

Mingi waits for a beat to see whether Jongho will add anything, but as the pause between them grows uncomfortable, Mingi excuses himself, muttering something about seeing him in class next week, Jongho nodding and heading in the opposite direction. 

— 🩶—

Having a mutual connection to Hongjoong should have given Mingi the push he needed, but of course it’s easier said than done. 

In the weeks since the brief catch up after class with Jongho, Mingi became restless, pacing around the small apartment he shares with Yunho, debating whether or not it’s weird to ask Jongho for Hongjoong’s number. 

“It’s not like you need it,” Mingi mutters to himself as he blindly makes his way from his bedroom to the kitchen, oblivious to Yunho’s questioning glance. 

“It’s not like you don’t need what?” he asks, startling Mingi, causing him to stumble, hitting his toe against the leg of a stool.

“ Ouch, fuck !” he hisses, face twisted in discomfort as Yunho comes up next to him. 

“That didn’t really answer my question.”

“Lost my train - ow - of thought,” Mingi answers through gritted teeth, the dull ache still vibrating from the point of impact. 

Yunho frowns, sensing the lie that slipped between Mingi’s teeth, but lets it slide. “Fine, if you say so,” he shrugs. “We have some frozen peas in the freezer if you need that for your foot.”

“I’ll live,” Mingi frowns, wiggling his toes, the pain gone. 

“Plans for this weekend?” Yunho asks, plopping on the couch. 

“Nothing concrete,” Mingi hums. “Probably getting obliterated after the exam on Thursday.”

“Oh yeah!” Yunho sits up in attention. “Want company?”

Mingi smiles. “Sure, it’ll be good.”

Thursday rolls around quicker than Mingi imagined it would but with the sky clear and the air fresh, and something told him that the last exam of the year will be a piece of cake.

The following day, Mingi jogs up the steps to the building, heading to a chess tournament he signed up for at the last minute. With exams out of the way and with nothing else to do on a Friday, this seemed like the perfect thing. That and there is the slight chance of bumping into Hongjoong. 

Sure enough, as Mingi shakes hands with another opponent, scoring himself another win, he sees Hongjoong at the other end of the room. The man he’s just won against is trying to ask Mingi something, wants additional explanation on a move or a sequence of moves, Mingi doesn’t know, isn’t listening, too busy analyzing Hongjoong’s game play. 

“He’s losing,” he says, louder than he intended. 

“What?” his opponent asks. 

Mingi shoots him a glance. “Doesn’t matter. And I don’t reveal my strategies to anyone,” he adds before stepping away, moving as close to Hongjoong’s table as he can without getting noticed. 

“Come to gloat?” Hongjoong asks as Mingi steps up to him.

“No,” Mingi shakes his head, simultaneously scanning the board, checking where Hongjoong’s name sits. 

Oh .

“Heard from Jongho you’ve been talking about me,” Mingi says with a cheeky grin, hoping to lighten the mood, diffuse the slightly tense atmosphere between them before the scoreboard. 

Hongjoong smiles disingenuously, a scoff escaping before he answers. “Don’t let it go to your head.” 

“I won’t, don’t worry,” Mingi nods, the corner of his lips twitching upwards slightly. In his peripheral vision, he can see Hongjoong scanning him head to toe, but his attention is on the scoreboard, fists clenched, forcing himself to keep his eyes locked on the board of names. This time, it’s his name on top.

“Doing anything this weekend?” Hongjoong asks, wanting to sound as casual as possible but Mingi picks up on a slight hint of curiosity, almost want. 

“Want to see me again so soon?” he chuckles, playing along.

Hongjoong scoffs. “One of my friends’ birthdays is this week, he’s throwing a party at the weekend. Tomorrow, to be specific. Thought you’d like to come.”

“What, as a plus one?”

“Sure,” Hongjoong shrugs and starts moving away, a wordless way of saying ‘goodbye’.

“Where and when?” Mingi asks after him.

“I’ll text you,” Hongjoong shouts over his shoulder. 

“You don’t have my number!”

Hongjoong stops in his tracks, pauses for a moment and turns back. 

“Give me your phone,” Hongjoong sighs, hand stretched out.

Trying to hide his amusement, Mingi unlocks his phone and hands it, keypad out, to Hongjoong. In a few quick movements, Hongjoong enters his number, calls himself, hangs up, and hands Mingi the phone back. “Now I have your number,” he says, a note of pride in his voice.

“And I have yours,” Mingi grins. Finally .

“Use it wisely,” Hongjoong says, almost like a warning. 

Mingi watches as Hongjoong walks out of the building, his own body vibrating with a new kind of excitement.

— 🩶—

Despite living with Yunho, he and Mingi really don’t see one another all that often, so the few beers shared between them under the guise of a celebration of the end of term really is just an excuse to spend some needed time together catching up. 

Both talk about what they’ve been up to, Yunho expressing in relief that he has this weekend off from bartending. 

“I love it, I really do, but having a weekend without drunk people is honestly great,” he says with a sigh so deep he practically sinks into the sofa. 

“And how’s the guy you’re seeing?” Mingi asks, feeling brave, feeling hopeful that maybe the question will open something up, that maybe Yunho will say more than he usually does. 

“It’s just a casual thing. Nothing serious,” Yunho says. It’s the standard response he’s been giving Mingi for almost a year now. Maybe even longer. 

“Right,” Mingi mutters quietly, nodding slightly. 

“What about you then?” Yunho smiles, wiggling his brows a little. 

Just as he’s about to reply, Mingi feels his phone vibrate next to him, a message from Hongjoong popping up on the screen.

from: hongjoong

so like, are you coming?

“Shit,” Mingi mutters, reading the message.

“What?” Yunho asks from the other end of the couch.

“I - um - I have to go,” Mingi says, his voice mototone, robotic almost as he stands up, still staring at his screen, not sure how to reply, not knowing if he even should. 

“Go where?”

“I … I have a thing,” Mingi answers vaguely, not really sure how to explain everything to Yunho anyway. In some way, there’s simultaneously too much and not enough to say about this whole twisted situation. 

Maybe things will figure themselves out now , Mingi lets himself dwell on the notion of a possibility of something happening between him and Hongjoong as he makes his way as fast as he can to the address he had sent him earlier that day. 

“Hi,” Mingi says as the door opens, a stranger on the other side.

“Hi,” he answers. “Who are you?”

Mingi freezes, the breath that he’s trying to steady, stopping in his throat. “Uh- Mingi. Hongjoong told m-”

“Oh you’re Hongjoong’s guy!” The other man smiles and moves to the side, letting Mingi in. “Come in, come in. I’m Yeosang, by the way. He did tell me you were coming. I just… well it doesn’t really matter.”

“Is it your birthday?” Mingi asks, definitely not the question to pose a complete stranger but the interaction was already odd to begin with. 

“Not today,” Yeosang shakes his head as he closes the door. “But it was a few days ago.”

Mingi hesitates, “uh, happy … belated birthday?” 

“Thanks,” Yeosang says with a big smile and pushes past him into the heart of his apartment, Mingi left alone in the dim hallway, shoes scattered at his feet. 

He barely makes it two steps before Hongjoong materializes in front of him. 

“Almost thought you weren’t gonna make it,” Hongjoong mutters, their breaths mixing, chests almost pressed together in the host's narrow hallway. Mingi feels his mouth go dry.

“Had a prior commitment I couldn’t really get out of,” Mingi answers, intentionally vague, Hongjoong doesn’t need to know he had a quick drink with Yunho before coming here to celebrate finishing his exams. “Are you gonna let me come in or did you invite me here as an excuse to leave?”

“Maybe I wanted to see you. But you’re free to do as you like,” Hongjoong shrugs, feigning indifference, taking a step back. 

“I’ll stay,” Mingi smiles.

At that, a flash of something akin to happiness flashes over Hongjoong’s face. If Mingi wasn’t staring directly at him, he probably wouldn’t have noticed. From his front pocket, Hongjoong pulls out a small baggie and lifts it to be eye-level with Mingi. Two smiley faces smile at him as he nods, the answer equally as wordless as the question. 

He doesn’t bother sticking out a hand this time, knowing Hongjoong likely has other plans for him and remains still as Hongjoong takes out one of the pills and swallows it, tipping his head back a little so it slides down better. Then, Hongjoong takes a small step closer. Wordlessly, he takes the second pill out and places it on his tongue, eyes focused on Mingi, whose own eyes are glued on Hongjoong’s mouth, locked in on the precision and softness of Hongjoong’s movements.

His brows twist in slight confusion, “surely you're not planning on doing two,” he mutters, stupidly.

Unable to utter a witty response back, Hongjoong settles on rolling his eyes as he shuts his mouth, one of his hands snakes around Mingi’s neck, pulling him in close until their lips touch.

While Hongjoong’s eyes are shut, Mingi’s are wide open, shocked, a move that he hadn’t foreseen, then again, he never considered Hongjoong as an opponent. He feels Hongjoong’s grip on his neck tighten, a hum coming from the other man ringing in Mingi’s ears, a wordless request for Mingi to reciprocate. And so Mingi does, finding nothing wrong with sharing a drunken kiss with the man who is less and less a stranger as time goes by.

As their mouth part, Mingi feels Hongjoong’s tongue slide between his lips, depositing the pill as his tongue brushes along Mingi’s teeth before moving away. 

“ Oh ,” Mingi exclaims softly in the brief moment they part for air as Mingi swallows the drug down. 

“Yeah, oh,” Hongjoong answers with a toothy grin as he leans back against the wall, a high pitched giggle escaping him. 

And maybe it’s the alcohol clouding their judgment, or the late night fatigue, or a whole miasma of other factors that cause Mingi to lean in again, trapping Hongjoong against the wall, chasing the feeling of his lips on his. 

It’s hot, wet, sour, a mix of the beer they both drank, a hint of salt sneaking its way in, sweat from both of their faces mixing into the concoction that Mingi finds more intoxicating than whatever pill Hongjoong dropped on his tongue. Tongue which is now exploring the depths of Hongjoong’s mouth, running over his teeth, feeling every ridge of those perfect premolars, the delicate sharpness of the canines, especially that. It makes him smile, there mid-kiss, his lips curve up against Hongjoong’s.

The deeper the kiss gets the closer their bodies press together, Hongjoong’s small frame practically sandwiched between wall and Mingi, whose frame practically covers the other. Hongjoong doesn’t seem to mind, threading his fingers into the hair on Mingi’s nape, nails digging into the back of his neck, one leg slotted between Mingi’s, he may be smaller but that won’t stop him from riling the other up. 

Between bites on lips, they gasp into each other's mouths, Mingi’s hands digging into Hongjoong’s hips, keeping him in place as he writhes, an unfair fight for dominance. 

One of Hongjoong’s hands makes its way between their bodies, fingers wrapping into the material of Mingi’s shirt, pulling him closer before his fingers spread and he pushes Mingi back, lips unlatching with a frustrated groan.

“I should go,” Hongjoong mutters, breathing heavily, wild eyes looking up at Mingi, a firm hand on his chest, fingers wrapped in his shirt again, creasing the material, he could pull Mingi back in at any moment. 

“What?” Mingi exhales, confused, not quite grasping what Hongjoong just said. 

“I should go,” Hongjoong repeats, eyes now focused.

“I’ll go with you,” Mingi says quickly, unthinking, leaning in, not wanting the bubble between them to burst. 

Hongjoong shakes his head, “no, stay. Or go and I’ll stay.”

“What are you talking about?” Mingi asks, confused, leaning back with a frown, finding it impossible to figure out what Hongjoong’s train of thought even is. 

A frustrated sigh escapes Hongjoong. “Doesn’t matter,” he says as he pushes past Mingi, pausing only to shove his shoes on. 

Mingi watches him, confused, still processing the events of the last handful of minutes, only coming to when the door slams behind Hongjoong. 

“He wanted you here so bad only to leave before you could even get your shoes off,” Wooyoung says, leaning against the wall nearby. 

“What do you mean?” Mingi asks, fingers carding through his hair, wondering if Wooyoung saw everything that unfolded between him and Hongjoong or if it was the door slamming that pulled him to the hallway.

“He just keeps talking about you. How did you two even meet?” Wooyoung frowns. “I don’t get it,” he adds in a whisper, head shaking. 

A loud exhale escapes Mingi. “Well, I don’t have those answers either.”
“You should probably go after him.”

“I don’t really think he wants that,” Mingi hums. “Besides, he’s probably long gone.”

Wooyoung purses his lips as if in thought. “Probably.”

Mingi nods. “Right, well, great party. I’ll see you. I guess.”

“Bye,” Wooyoung practically sings as Mingi steps out. 

Days later, Mingi lays in bed, the feeling of Hongjoong’s lips still hot beneath the touch of his fingertips as he runs them over, reliving the memory, not letting it fade.

Mingi had pictured how a kiss between the two of them may be a couple times but nothing came close to the reality of it. Even now, so long after the event itself, his thoughts keep drifting to it, to that singular moment in the hallway of Hongjoong’s friend’s apartment. 

He sighs quietly to himself as he moves his hand away, trailing it down his body, moonlight covering any exposed skin like a blanket, bathing him in a pale glow, shimmering slightly, a delicate sheen of sweat covering his bare abdomen due to the sudden mid-June heatwave. 

Mingi stretches his arm out to grab his phone, angling it so the camera captures the moon-covered skin and snaps a photo. Without a second thought, he opens up his message thread with Hongjoong, the only prior message the location and time of the party, and sends the photo.

from: hongjoong

didnt know this counts as wise use of my number

from: mingi

¯\_(ツ)_/¯ 

from: hongjoong

where are u rn?

from: mingi

home, where else could i possibly be

from: hongjoong 

which is where?

Mingi reads over the message once, twice, thrice before choosing to reply.

from: mingi

[dropped pin]

from: hongjoong

wow … middle of fuckass nowhere 

With a roll of his eyes, Mingi types a ‘thanks’ in response and sends it.

from: hongjoong

i’ll be there in 20

At that, Mingi shoots up right in bed. Fuck. Where’s Yunho?!

As quietly as possible, he gets up to do a quick sweep of their apartment, checking if he’s alone or not. 

He sees his housemate's door closed, no light seeping beneath the door. Ok, good .

Exactly 20 minutes later, he receives a message from Hongjoong telling him he’s there. 

“Fuck,” Mingi mutters to himself, thumbs fumbling over the keyboard to give Hongjoong the building number and code, and apartment number.

from: hongjoong 

gonna give me your apt code too?

from: mingi

don't be ridiculous 

Silence. Then, a knock. Then, the creak of the door opening. 

“Hey,” Mingi says as Hongjoong steps inside. 

“You should walk around half naked more often,” Hongjoong hums, scanning Mingi top to bottom, and only then does Mingi realize he made no effort to put anything on in the twenty minutes he’s been tiptoeing around the apartment.  

“Shit,” he mutters under his breath, moving his hands up to cover himself.

“Mm no, don’t do that,” Hongjoong mutters, wrapping his hands around Mingi’s wrists and pinning his arms to his sides as he shifts onto his toes, head tilted up, lips meeting Mingi’s unexpecting ones. 

Only when Mingi finally reciprocates does Hongjoong pull back slightly, “take me to your bedroom.”

“You’re not very subtle,” Mingi says, lips grazing Hongjoong’s ear, hand, free of Hongjoong’s hold, wrapping around the other’s wrist, pulling him towards his room, the darkness of the apartment hiding how small it really is.

It doesn’t take long to get to Mingi’s room, the size of the apartment.

“Do you live alone?” Hongjoong asks in a moment when his lips aren’t connected to Mingi’s.

“No, but my housemate’s out,” he replies quickly, closing the door to his room behind him. “Problem?”

Hongjoong shakes his head left to right, eyes wide, bottom lip slightly tucked between his teeth. 

“Good,” Mingi nods, crossing the room in two strides, wrapping his arms around Hongjoong’s small waist before landing on the bed, Hongjoong on top of him, hips grinding down within seconds. 

And as Hongjoong spills onto Mingi’s abdomen with a loud cry, Mingi sincerely hopes that Yunho’s not home and it is just the two of them. 

“You kinda live in a shithole,” Hongjoong says, leaning against the hallway wall. His words are harsh, but Mingi can tell he doesn’t mean them that way, something about the way Hongjoong speaks to Mingi, it doesn’t really carry a negative tone.

“We’re not all children of millionaires,” Mingi points out.

“I never said I was,” Hongjoong hums. “Besides, you've seen where I spend some of my time, I’m not one to judge.” 

Mingi nods.

“I should get going.”

“It’s late. Or early, depending how you look at it,” Mingi nods. 

“Time doesn’t really matter all that much,” Hongjoong says as he takes a step towards Mingi. “All kind of an illusion, don’t you think?”

“I can’t say I’ve really put much thought into it,” Mingi shakes his head. 

Hongjoong hums quietly, slightly sucking on his bottom lip. “You’re cute when you try to ponder the philosophies of time, you know that? You have this dazed look on you, makes you look like innocence personified.”

Mingi rolls his eyes, “leave before you say any more stupid shit.”

Hongjoong shrugs slightly, a teasing grin on his lips. “Mingi?”

“Yeah?” Mingi bends down slightly. He watches as Hongjoong swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he does so. He moves his eyes up but they don’t make eye contact, Hongjoong’s eyes glued lower, Mingi only assumes it’s to his lips. 

Then, Hongjoong’s eyes shoot up and they lock together, Mingi blinks, then he feels Hongjoong’s breath over his lips. A beat later, Hongjoong’s lips are on Mingi’s, soft but simultaneously powerful.

It’s quick, a few seconds at most. 

“Bye,” Hongjoong mumbles and hurries out of the apartment.

As soon as Mingi locks the door behind Hongjoong, the door to Yunho’s room flies open.

“Yunho!”

“What the fuck kind of business do you have with Kim Hongjoong?!”

“Have you been home this whole time!?” Mingi exclaims.

“Yeah!”

“Shit.”

“Why was he here? Aside from the obvious,” Yunho asks.

Mingi stares back at his friend, lips pressed together forming a tight line. 

“I see,” Yunho nods. “How do you know him?”

“A chess thing,” Mingi shakes his head dismissively. 

Yunho frowns, trying to string together some kind of timeline based on the few bits of information Mingi shared with him. “A guy our age playing chess? Isn’t that … weird?”

“I think you’re asking the wrong person that,” Mingi dead-pans. 

“I don't think he’s good news, Mingi,” Yunho sighs, diverting the conversation.

“And how would you know? You don't even know him,” Mingi scoffs.

“Just a hunch,” Yunho mutters, stepping back into his room and closing the door behind him.

When Mingi goes back to his room, in the delicate warm glow of his bedside lamp, next to the empty condom wrapper, he sees a little baggy, a smiley face staring back at him.

Chapter Text

Mingi wakes with a start, the room he’s in is significantly brighter than his bedroom. 

He groans as he rolls onto his back, the light not helping the dull ache that’s also making itself known. How much did he drink last night? 

Clearly enough to land yourself in your ex’s bed, he thinks. The bed and room are vaguely familiar in taste to that of Hongjoong’s bedroom years earlier.

Sunlight beats down on him, forcing him to squint. He always wondered why Hongjoong preferred a more eastward facing direction. He’s always been more of a westward kind of guy, preferring sunset to sunrise.  

Or maybe he’s just not a morning person, the sunshine practically violating his eyes even when they’re shut. 

“Good morning, princess,” Hongjoong says as Mingi makes his way into the living room. 

“Did we have sex?” Mingi asks in response, fingers of his left hand rubbing against his temple, headache evident.

“Wow, straight to the point,” Hongjoong practically laughs. 

“Just …”

“We didn’t,” Hongjoong interrupts. “Not for lack of trying on your part. Maybe don’t have so much alcohol on an empty stomach,” he adds, harshly punctuating his final syllables as he stands up and moves towards the kitchen. 

Mingi nods, too tired and achy to fully process Hongjoong’s words apart from knowing he’s most definitely right. “I should go.”

“Probably,” Hongjoong answers with a shrug. “Or you could stay and have breakfast with me. Still like your eggs scrambled?”

Mingi’s eyes shoot up. The question shouldn’t sound suggestive and yet … Wait.

“Since when do you cook?” Mingi asks, following Hongjoong who’s already halfway to the kitchen.

“I don’t,” Hongjoong says, and only then Mingi’s nose picks up the scent of cooked food lingering in the air. The strong smell of coffee also wafts through. “But you remember Wooyoung, right?” 

Mingi freezes as he locks eyes with another person he hadn’t seen in years. He can’t keep doing this. “What are you doing here?”

“I live here,” Wooyoung smiles as he tosses two slices of bread onto a piping hot skillet, the butter sizzling. “Occasionally,” he adds, seeing Mingi’s confused face. 

“He’s a chef in Tokyo, Mingi,” Hongjoong says. “Sometimes he needs a place to crash when he visits.”

“Right,” Mingi nods, too hungover for this information. 

“Hongjoong exaggerates,” Wooyoung rolls his eyes as he slides a plate over to Hongjoong then Mingi. “Eat.”

It takes Mingi a moment to catch up to the situation at hand. The last time Mingi and Wooyoung spoke is foggy in his memory, but it was likely not a pleasant conversation. He doesn’t remember when it was, and looking at him now, it doesn’t look like Wooyoung does either. Maybe all these years apart did more good to everyone.

“Want to eat now or do you want to shower or …” 

“I don’t have a change of clothes and don’t expect either of you to have anything that fits me so I’ll eat and head out,” Mingi says, sitting down in front of one of the plates.

Breakfast is eaten in tense silence, Mingi not knowing how to process whatever situation he’s found himself in even with his hangover seeping away with every bite of eggs. He had no idea Wooyoung could cook, or if he could, that it would be as good as this. 

“I live here? Really Wooyoung?” Mingi hears Hongjoong hiss at Wooyoung when the two think he’s out of ear shot. Curious, Mingi stalls. 

“What the hell else was I supposed to say? That you called me at the ass crack of dawn to be some buffer between you two?” Wooyoung asks. “And where the fuck did Tokyo come from? I don’t even know Japanese!”

“Shhh! What if he hears you!?” Hongjoong hushes his friend. Mingi pictures Hongjoong flailing his arms, or hitting Wooyoung across his arm. A likely thing for him to do.

“You really think he didn’t pick up on the lie? Surely he knows I don’t actually live here.”

“He was black out drunk last night, barely knew his name,” Hongjoong snaps. Mingi frowns. That’s fucking embarassing, he thinks, and as quietly as he can, he makes it back to the bedroom to pick up anything he might have left there.

— 🩶—

Days later, Mingi sits swamped by work in his office. Being underground, he has no perception of time, doesn’t know if it’s still day, or if it’s night. The highs and lows of working in a casino.

His office is silent, lighting dim, his monitor brighter than any lamp which is probably not great for his eyes but he chooses not to worry about that. No commotion from the outside gets in thanks to how the building is designed, so when a call comes through, Mingi practically jumps in his chair. 

Without checking the time or who’s calling, he picks up the phone. “Hello?”

“The moon looks pretty tonight,” he hears Hongjoong mutter on the other end. “Have you seen it?” 

“No,” Mingi answers, turning in his chair. “I’m still at work.”

“Don’t you have windows?”

“The casino’s underground,” Mingi says as if it’s obvious.

“How can you pick up the phone then?” Hongjoong scoffs.

“I’m not in a bunker, Hongjoong,” Mingi retaliates, feeling his patience being tested. “Why are you calling me about the moon anyway? What’s it got to do with me?”

Hongjoong is silent for just a beat longer. Mingi can hear him breathe. It sounds soft, almost like he’s relaxed. There’s a slight quiver to it. Nerves? Mingi considers without interrupting Hongjoong’s thoughts.

“Just made me think of y-,” Hongjoong pauses. “I just thought you’d appreciate it. It looks nice.” He waits. Mingi doesn’t understand, doesn’t know how to respond to that. It’s weird. Hongjoong doesn’t talk like this. He’s cocky, arrogant, brash. He doesn’t wax poetic about the moon.  “Forget it. I won’t bother you again,” Hongjoong says and abruptly cuts the call.

Bewildered, Mingi stares at the phone in his hand, the line with Hongjoong disconnected. “What?” he mutters to himself just as the door to his office swings open. 

“Mingi, just because you own this place doesn’t mean you need to be here 24/7,” Yunho says, walking into the room. “Why do you look so confused?” he asks, seeing Mingi standing frozen in the middle of his office, phone in hand. 

Mingi shakes his head slightly. “Nothing. Doesn’t matter,” he mutters, turning his phone on and off to check the time. 2:24 in the morning. Yeah, he really did not need to be at the casino at this hour. 

Wordlessly he picks up his things, ready to go home. From the doorway, Yunho watches his every move. 

“It was Hongjoong, wasn’t it?” he eventually asks, cutting through the silence. Mingi stills, takes a deep breath and looks up at his friend and nods. 

“How many times have you seen him since he got back?” 

“Once,” Mingi answers honestly. There's little point lying to Yunho. “We got drinks. I woke up at his place.”

He sees Yunho open his mouth, and knowing what’s about to come out of them, Mingi is quick to add, “we didn’t sleep together.”

“Couldn’t get it up?” Yunho winks.

“Fuck you,” Mingi deadpans before both burst into laughter. 

“What are your plans for the weekend?” Yunho asks as they come to, smiles still on their faces. 

Mingi shakes his head. “No plans as of yet. Why? You two going out of town again?” 

“No … but now that you mention it,” Yunho contemplates, then shakes his head, as if ridding himself of the thought. “Seonghwa mentioned there’s a club that just opened a few blocks down. We were thinking of checking it out.”

“And you want me to be a third wheel?” 

Yunho shrugs. “Perfect place to find someone even if only for a one-night stand.”

Mingi opens his mouth to object but closes it promptly, thinking back to a few weeks earlier where he did in fact have a one-night stand. He tries to remember the man's name. Did he ever tell me? Why do you care?

“So? What’s it gonna be?” Yunho asks, pulling Mingi from his thoughts. 

Mingi lets himself think for a second then nods. “Sure.” 

He needs a distraction. Plus, a club is the last place Hongjoong will be, and maybe Yunho’s right. Maybe he needs a one-night stand. Again. 

—

Bodies slip over each other as if they were liquid, moving in time with the bass that booms from the speakers. Strobe lights move in waves over the sea of people, illuminating strangers' faces one by one. Quite frankly, a club is the last place Mingi wants to be, closer to 30 than 20 and definitely increasing the average age of those in the room. As predicted, Seonghwa and Yunho disappeared somewhere three songs into their time there, so Mingi’s left to his own devices. He doesn’t usually mind being the third wheel. Has never once complained to either of his friends' faces, but it’s times like these that ache the most.

Lost in thought he barely registers a man sitting to his side. Sure, Yunho told him to find someone to go home with. Yes, Mingi could do with a distraction, but he’s not really in the mood.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here of all places,” the man beside him says. “You were never much for clubs.”

Hongjoong. How?

“I like to change things up once in a while,” Mingi shrugs, keeping his answer as casual as possible. As he brings the beer bottle up to his lips and tips it back, he feels Hongjoong’s eyes on him, but he continues gulping down the lukewarm liquid to avoid continuing the conversation with the man beside him for as long as he can. The beads of water gathered along the dark green neck of the bottle slip down once Mingi sets it down on the bar.

“Are you going to stare at me all night?” He relents, finally turning to Hongjoong, regretting it instantly. Even in the dull club lights, he sees how Hongjoong shines, his hair styled out of his eyes that are lined with dark shadow. 

“Dance with me,” says Hongjoong with an easy smile, reaching a hand out.

Mingi scoffs, ignoring the gesture. “I don’t dance. You know I don’t,” a knowing look in his eyes. Last ditch effort to avoid being close to the man who can ruin him all over again.

“For old times sake,” Hongjoong answers, tipping his head towards the dance floor, a high pitched giggle escaping him as he does so. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

Mingi does a poor job of disguising the chuckle that slips out, beer bottle at his lips again. What’s the worst that could happen? He can’t even begin to answer that question. Hongjoong stares at him, head tilted slightly. Patient and observant. Maybe a little curious. Mingi has to school his expression, he can’t give himself away. Mingi clears his throat. “I’m not here alone,” he says eventually.

“I don’t see anyone around you,” Hongjoong points out. “Besides me, that is.” 

Always cocky, always ready with a quip, Mingi thinks.

“Your company is not always welcome, Hongjoong,” he says, turning away from the man.

Hongjoong glares at Mingi. For the second time that night, he can feel Hongjoong’s eyes drilling into the side of his head. But Mingi makes no effort to look in his direction. He knows Hongjoong is waiting for him to turn and  face him, so he can call him out on his bullshit.  

Hongjoong remains silent at first. He would never forfeit, has done it maybe twice, Mingi knows this. But this isn’t chess, in the real world, whatever their relationship has become over the years, has more nuances, far fewer players, and too many consequences.

“Fine,” Hongjoong finally breaks the silence between them, and walks away, not looking back. Soon enough, he’s lost within the sea of people, strobe lights moving over him as he makes his way into the crowd. He stands still and angles his head up, letting the light wash over him like rays of sun do when floating in the ocean. 

Mingi watches Hongjoong from the bar, can feel the tether pull him towards the dance floor, an invisible string that’s rematerialized between them. He watches as Hongjoong closes his eyes and raises his arms up high, feeling the rhythm of the music. People push around him but he remains in place, always visible. He moves his hips, elongates his neck and lets his hands move down his body, fingers caressing his own torso in the most sultry way. It’s like he knows Mingi is watching and he puts on a show - seductive, salacious. Mingi’s feet move even before he can form another thought. 

“Knew you couldn’t resist,” Hongjoong mutters, as Mingi’s arms wrap around him, the heat of his body against his back.

“Shut up,” Mingi sighs into Hongjoong’s ear.

“That’s my line,” he hums, tossing his head back against Mingi’s shoulder.

“Not tonight it’s not,” Mingi replies, pushing himself closer to Hongjoong. 

Hongjoong giggles, and even in the tight hold of Mingi’s arms, manages to turn around and face him. Even in the dim lighting of the club Mingi can see how blown out Hongjoong’s eyes are, a pang of disappointment hits him. How had he not noticed earlier?

Not again, Mingi thinks.“Hongjoong,” he starts, the hold on the other man’s smaller body loosening. 

Hongjoong shakes his head, “don’t” he mutters as he leans up, lips brushing against Mingi’s, and even that delicate touch is enough for Mingi to chase after him, to give in, consequences be damned.

They gasp into each other's mouths, fighting for air as each fights for control, neither of them yielding, and as Hongjoong pushes Mingi against the wall of the bathroom stall, he knows he’s in a losing position.

Lips move over one another without decorum. It’s messy, it’s always messy between them. Teeth click together as they kiss each other as if starved, hoping to devour as if this is their last meal. Hongjoong’s tongue stretches into Mingi’s mouth, tasting him, feeling each ridge of his teeth, delighting in it. Mingi lets him, he lets Hongjoong do anything, the only time that he’s at his mercy is in private.

“Take me home with you,” Hongjoong practically whines in a moment where they part for air, noses pressed against each other, chests rising and falling heavily, lips yearning for more.

Mingi whines in response, leaning in to crash their mouths together.

“Mingi, please,” Hongjoong whimpers, sounding more vulnerable than he ever has. It’s confusing.

Mingi groans, reluctantly moving his hands from Hongjoong’s body and leaning back, hoping distance between them helps him fight the urge. He looks over at Hongjoong, the man’s pupils blown out, the whites around the iris tinted pink. But the way Hongjoong looks at him, brows furrowed and a little pout on his lips, makes him look irresistible. Has Hongjoong always looked at him like this? But then he wonders how much of this is Hongjoong and how much is the poison coursing through his veins. Again.

“No,” he answers quietly.

“What?” Hongjoong scoffs in disbelief, lips curled up into a disbelieving smirk.

“Unlike you, I can say no to things,” Mingi answers through gritted teeth, fists clenched at his sides. It’s mostly true. But when it comes to Hongjoong, a lie.

Startled, Hongjoong takes a half-step back, a look of rage and disbelief painted on his face. 

“I can’t do this again, Hongjoong,” Mingi shakes his head, hoping the other can see the pain in his eyes, hoping he understands. Knows he probably doesn’t. Doesn’t care.

Hongjoong steps up to him and wraps a hand around Mingi’s jaw pulling him down, his hold tight, painful almost. “You’re just as bad as I am. We’re both addicted. The only difference is to what,” Hongjoong says, letting go of Mingi’s face with a slight shove. 

Mingi narrows his eyes, a dull ache in his jaw and back of his head.. “What? You’re gonna lie to me and tell me you couldn’t care less about me? I know you, Mingi. The day I stepped up to you, it was over for you.”

“Then why did you come up to me all those years ago, Hongjoong?” Mingi interrupts. “I’ve been wracking my brain over it for years.”

Hongjoong smirks, satisfaction all over his face. “And here I was thinking you were able to just shove me to the back of your mind for all this time. Apparently not.”

“Answer my question,” Mingi seethes. 

Filled with confidence, Hongjoong looks up at Mingi, making sure their eyes lock together. “You intrigued me. A good looking guy my age at a chess tournament that’s otherwise filled with nerds? I was bored. You looked hot and available. 

From where he stands, Mingi glares at Hongjoong. 

“Admit it, Mingi. You’re incapable of avoiding me. I’m back and you can’t just run away and hide.”

Mingi frowns. “You sought me out, Hongjoong.”

Realization washes over Hongjoong, the strong facade cracking. Mingi watches as he tries to piece together something to say. 

“Funny how addiction works. You could have said no. Could have walked away. But, turns out you’re just a pathetic man vying for love and attention.” His words cut like knives. Mingi knows they’re meant to. He knows Hongjoong. Knows that all he’s said is also in some way a reflection of his feelings.

“And if I am, I know better than to vy for your love,” Mingi answers, his words cutting deeper, causing Hongjoong to take a step back in sheer surprise. This time, a wave of satisfaction washes over Mingi.  Without another word, he unlocks the door to the stall and makes his way out, music from the dancefloor already louder. He needs to find Yunho. Needs to leave. 

As he steps out of the bathroom, he doesn’t look back. 

Finding Yunho and Seonghwa in the sea of bodies is no easy feat. He stands on the edge of the dancefloor, eyes scanning over the crowd but nothing. Then -

Mingi blinks a few times, surely Hongjoong left, couldn’t have made it back into the crowd this quickly. But there he is, staring at Mingi. The two stand there, almost frozen in time. Bodies move between them in a blur, indistinguishable music flows from the speakers, pale blue strobe lights flutter over their faces. It’s all so familiar yet so new. A particularly strong blow from the AC sends a shiver down his spine. Or maybe it was someone walking past. Or maybe it’s the ghost of a memory, a narrow street, puddles filling the cracks in the pavement. A yellow smiley face standing out in the weak lighting. Mingi doesn’t know when or how he got close to Hongjoong. Like magnets, swooping towards each other, pulled together by invisible forces.

The club lights cause Hongjoong’s eyes to sparkle, the stray tear that slips down his cheek is jarring, like a crack in porcelain. The path it draws down the contours of Hongjoong’s face is too much for Mingi. 

It happens fast, like it always does between them. 

Hongjoong inhales sharply at the sudden contact, Mingi’s thumb swiping away the tear. Hongjoong’s hand slides on top of Mingi’s hand. Small. Warm. So familiar but simultaneously so foreign. How did this happen?

“We can’t go on,” Mingi shakes his head, pulling his hand away, the contact between them too much, suddenly too intimate. His voice is soft but even with the music screaming in their ears, Hongjoong hears him clearly. “Not like this.”

Hongjoong’s eyes narrow, rage in their depths. Mingi knows that all Hongjoong wants to do now is retaliate, hurt him. Physically, emotionally, both. But Mingi’s been hurt too many times before. Another notch doesn’t really make much of a difference at this point.

“Mingi!” he hears Yunho call from somewhere to his left just as someone knocks into him causing him to tumble slightly. When he looks back to where Hongjoong stood seconds earlier, he’s met with strangers' bodies. “We’re going. We don’t know why we even -”

“Yeah, let's go,” Mingi interrupts him, already pushing through the crowd. He has no idea why he agreed to this. 

— 🩶—

Days, maybe even weeks go by, way too slowly for Mingi’s liking, his routine getting too repetitive. 

Home, work, gym, home again. 

Even Yunho’s starting to pick up on something being off but knows better than to ask. Mingi suspects he knows it’s something to do with Hongjoong, and that’s always been a sore subject between them.

Eat, sleep, work, repeat. 

He picks up his phone, scrolls through messages, his contact list, always hovering over one name. Opening a chat only to close it again. He considers sending something, anything. But what? What even is the point? 

Rinse and repeat.

His thoughts drift to his chance meeting with Hongjoong at the nightclub. The way they fit together on the dancefloor, the heat of Hongjoong’s body against his. Their kiss; Mingi can still hear the sighs that escaped Hongjoong. Fantasy fuel. He frowns at the admission of truth his brain supplies. Maybe if things were different … I know better than to vy for your love.

“What if they are different?” Mingi mutters to himself, as he steps out of the metro station. People hurry past him on their way home, the city getting darker by the minute, the time of year when night starts to overpower day.

Even though it’s been days, weeks even, the harsh words they exchanged still ring in his ears in a moment of inattention. The way Hongjoong looked at him, so broken, fragile, tears in his eyes. Then the cold stare. Mingi pulls the collar of his jacket tighter, the wind strong between the tall buildings that are practically wind tunnels at times like these.

It takes him a moment before he realizes where his feet led him. He scoffs, shaking his head, lips turned up into a disbelieving kind of smile. He feels pathetic. Disappointed. Not entirely shocked.

He’s an addict. Looking for his next fix when withdrawal gets to be too much. 

He stands beneath the building that towers over those next to it. He looks up, wondering if at this exact moment Hongjoong is looking down. Looking at him, feeling his presence, knowing he’s here.

Even after all these years where Hongjoong didn’t occupy most of his mind, he’s back at the forefront once again. Mingi doesn’t entirely mind it, but he can’t deny it’s distracting. Or maybe what Hongjoong said at the club, about both of them being addicted. Mingi’s drug of choice? 

Evidently Hongjoong.

Old habits die hard, Mingi thinks to himself as he steps up to the gate. Though he’s come into money being in business with Seonghwa, the disparity is still evident. Sure, he’s allowed himself to get a spacious apartment, but for the most part, he still lives below his means. He prefers it this way. 

With a heavy sigh, realizing what he’s about to do, Mingi presses the button by Hongjoong’s name on the intercom and waits, leaning against the cool brick wall, his breath fogging up in front of him as he breathes out. The night’s colder than it usually is at this time of year.

“Who is it?” Hongjoong’s weary voice crackles through into the cold night. 

Mingi takes a step to the side so that the camera can see him. “It’s me,” he answers, almost sheepishly.

Before the buzz of the gate unlocking sounds, he hears a surprised hum from Hongjoong. 

Yeah, I’m just as surprised as you are, Mingi thinks as he makes his way past the doorman and into the elevator, a long ride up awaiting him. Good time to think about the consequences of coming here. Or the reasons. Maybe both. 

Mingi stares at the floor numbers zooming past, mirrored in the mirror that he stares into, letting his thoughts drift before the ding announcing his arrival to Hongjoong’s floor pulls him back to reality.

“Didn’t think I’d see you again after … ,” Hongjoong hums as he sees Mingi walk up to his door, leaning against the frame, already waiting. He stands there, staring at Mingi almost like he’s committing him to memory. When their eyes meet, Mingi feels it again. The vulnerability. But it’s gone in a flash. “Come in, I guess,” Hongjoong says all too casual and walks away, trusting Mingi to lock the door after him. 

“Hello to you too,” Mingi mutters, quietly enough that Hongjoong doesn’t hear. 

“Want anything to drink?” Hongjoong calls out as Mingi flicks the lock shut.

“I’ll have whatever you’re having,” Mingi answers, louder this time, leaving his shoes in the hall and hanging his coat up.

Hongjoong’s apartment is bathed in a delicate warm glow from small lamps that appear to be placed at random to an untrained eye but are in deliberate locations. Hongjoong’s always been deliberate with everything he puts his mind to. Mingi learnt that over time.

It’s homey. Lived in. It strikes him that his place, though having a relatively homey feel to it, does not look lived in. It’s almost clinical. A staged apartment. Showroom. He’s out most of the time anyway, the office in the casino more of a home than his actual home. 

In the distance, the ice machine rattles to life, ice cubes drop into a glass. Mingi takes a step further into the apartment, stopping by the piano. He smiles to himself, recalling the memory of the first time he heard Hongjoong play on one. Seems like a lifetime ago.

“Do you still play?” Mingi asks, running his fingers over the dust-covered Steinway that stands in the center of Hongjoong’s living room that doubles up as an at-home bar, a tall cupboard with glasses and liquor stands against a nearby wall. Despite being here, in this apartment, within the month, he doesn’t recall seeing the piano. Where it stands, he would have passed by it several times. Then again, he was barely coherent or conscious that night and morning, so he lets himself off the hook. Plus, he’s never had the best attention to detail. At least not compared to Hongjoong. No one compares to him, his mind fires off the unwelcome truth that he squashes as Hongjoong walks up to him.

“If I’m ever in a mood,” Hongjoong shrugs, passing Mingi a glass with a measure of whiskey. No ice. Hongjoong remembered. “I liked hearing you play,” Mingi says, shoving the thought to the back of his mind

“Yeah, you mentioned. Several times if I remember correctly,” Hongjoong hums, appearing nonchalant, sounding too pleased to be so. 

“Not only me,” Mingi remarks. 

A smile teases against the corners of Hongjoong’s lips as the cool glass meets them, doing a poor job of hiding how smug he’s feeling. “So, why are you here?”

With a slight shrug, Mingi answers, “old habits.” It’s a lie, Hongjoong can probably tell. But Mingi has no other answer. He has no idea why he’s here.

“Could have called. You have my number,” Hongjoong remarks. 

“I didn’t exactly plan on coming here,” Mingi frowns, opening the door to his thoughts, Hongjoong both a permanent resident as well as a welcome guest.

“Funny how the subconscious works,” Hongjoong blinks up at him.

“I can leave,” Mingi says without hesitation, looking Hongjoong in the eye as if to prove a point, knowing Hongjoong can see through him. See the lie clear as day. They stay still, air between them growing tense, whiskey breaths filling the space.

“Don’t,” Hongjoong mutters after a blink, his voice barely a whisper.

Mingi wavers, the answer is an unexpected one. What if things are different?

They’re both silent. The only sound in the room is the ice clicking and cracking in Hongjoong’s whiskey glass, melting slowly. Mingi waits, not knowing what to say, where to go from here. He’s seen Hongjoong at his best and he’s definitely seen Hongjoong at his worst but this, this, feels different. It’s not the first time Hongjoong has asked him to stay. But then he sees the way the other is looking at him, it feels heavy and he doesn’t know what to say.

“Another?” Hongjoong asks, pointing to Mingi’s now empty glass. Mingi nods.

As he busies himself pouring more whiskey, Mingi decides to speak up. “Why did you call me?”

“Huh?” Hongjoong asks, jumping slightly as if startled.

“You called me to tell me the moon looked pretty,” Mingi says slowly, hoping this makes him sound less eager than he feels.

“Yeah and it did. What of it?” He deflects, casually walking back to the piano with their drinks and sitting close to Mingi. Too close.

“Hongjoong,” Mingi says, his tone almost threatening yet still soft, “why did you call me that night?”

With how close they are to one another, he can feel Hongjoong inhale deeply, almost like he’s readying himself to fight. But the mean words or the casual deflection never comes. Instead he sees him ducking his head just a little, a slight blush on his face as he quietly brings the whiskey to his lips.

“It’s nothing,” he says, shaking his head.

Mingi rolls his eyes. “It’s not nothing if you can’t even look at me as you say that.”

A sigh escapes his lips as he looks up at Mingi and blinks, the pause between them heavy. “It reminded me of you.”

Mingi is a little taken aback. Hongjoong looks away, a wistful look on his face as he continues, “... reminded me… just reminded me of you. Of a distant memory.” His breath turns a little heavy and he gulps. Mingi follows the movement of his Adam's apple, then looks at his fingers now gliding delicately along the rim of the glass. 

“Do you think of me every time you see the moon?” Mingi asks stupidly, eyes trained on the tumbler.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Hongjoong scoffs before taking a final sip, draining his glass. Out of the corner of his eye he can see how flushed Hongjoong’s cheeks are. 

“I’m not, I’m just -,” Mingi starts to say, looking up again, but Hongjoong cuts him off, kissing him. 

With a delicate tongue, Hongjoong coaxes Mingi’s mouth open, the taste of whiskey on his tongue sweet despite its bitterness. More intoxicating and Mingi already feels himself drowning. But just as quick as it began, it ends. Hongjoong pulls back, “Mingi I-” he begins but this time it’s he who’s cut off. 

This time it’s deeper, hungrier. Mingi feels Hongjoong trying to break it apart, trying to talk, but Mingi is too far gone, fingers threaded into the hair along Hongjoong’s nape, keeping him in place as he gives and takes. He’s tasted ecstasy and he wants more. Needs more.

Blindly, he discards the glass on the side and in a single swoop, he pulls Hongjoong onto his lap. This close, Mingi can feel Hongjoong’s heartbeat pounding in his chest, can hear his quickened breath as their mouths skip over each other, and feel just how flustered he is. 

“M-Mingi…” Hongjoong stutters, pushing himself off the man’s lap. He stands before Mingi, catching his breath. Mingi remains, sensing a shift, looking up at Hongjoong, waiting. The last time they had gotten this close, Mingi had rejected him. But the look in Hongjoong’s eyes tonight is cracking the facade Mingi has been hiding behind. Mingi knows if this goes ahead, pain is the only thing he has to look forward to. The shattered parts of himself that took years to put back together in a haphazard mess will break again and this time … he might not be able to recover. He should step away. Instead, his eyes voice a silent plea.

“Mingi,” Hongjoong repeats his name, voice shaking slightly as if there is more he wants to say but doesn’t. He bends down and captures Mingi’s lips. It’s soft and gentle and feels like a promise. Mingi feels Hongjoong’s hands slip around the back of his neck, pulling him closer, pushing him lower, the floor panels hard against his knees at the sudden drop but Hongjoong doesn’t stop to soothe, his kiss deeper, air around them heavy.

They devour each other, desperate to touch, kiss, lick and bite. Mingi’s hands momentarily settle around Hongjoong’s waist, slipping lower, squeezing and pulling him impossibly closer. If he could split his chest to fit Hongjoong within, he would. 

Hongjoong pulls harder on Mingi’s hair, sucking in his tongue, obscene noises vibrating across the room. He bites down on Mingi’s lip, almost drawing blood, only then breaking apart.

They look at each other, wild eyes lost in a silent conversation. It happens quickly, as soon as Hongjoong is soon on his feet, he holds out a hand for Mingi to take, leading him to the bedroom, Hongjoong’s eyes stuck on Mingi, their fingers intertwined. He looks away for just a moment to turn off the lights. In the darkness, a smile graces Mingi’s lips as he sees the bedroom now bathed in moonlight.

Hongjoong doesn’t say a word, just leads Mingi to the bed. Silently, and not wasting any time, he gently unbuttons Mingi’s shirt, then moves to his pants. Once Mingi is in his underwear, he sits back on the bed, Hongjoong stepping back to admire the man in front of him. Mingi looks back at Hongjoong, leaning back a little, letting the man take in the sight in front of him. Mingi knows he looks good, knows the effect he can have on Hongjoong with even the slightest of teasing movements. He watches as Hongjoong’s eyes slip from his to his hand that’s travelling down from his chest, arching his back just enough to make him look enticing. He caresses the area around his navel looking up at Hongjoong like he’s prey challenging the predator to have a taste. His tongue slowly rolls across his lips and he hears an amused scoff. Hongjoong stands there, smirking, drinking him all in.

He climbs onto the bed over Mingi’s thighs, an attempt at caging him in. His hands lightly scratch the outside of his abdomen as they move north. Everything with Hongjoong has always been fast and aggressive, almost like the fire would die if they didn’t go at that pace. So, it startles Mingi when Hongjoong takes his sweet time touching and kissing every inch of him. He kisses the corners of his lips, nose, jaw, then licks and sucks at his neck, the little juncture behind his ears. Syrupy sighs slip through Mingi’s parted lips as Hongjoong pushes him down, back hitting soft sheets before sucking a path down to his chest, lingering on one of his nipples and playing with the other. Hands and lips working in perfect tandem. 

Mingi should be feeling a little awkward being in his boxers while Hongjoong is still fully clothed. But every thought in his brain is turned to mush as Hongjoong licks along his abdomen making him shiver and gasp. He suddenly feels teeth below his belly button and his breath quickens. Hongjoong bites the hip bone that protrudes just above the elastic of Mingi’s boxers then tugs them down, using his hands to pull them off completely. He shifts further down the bed, parts Mingi’s legs enough to tuck his head between them. Mingi feels the light bites on his inner thigh, moaning at the sensation, mouth agape, eyes closed and hands gripping the sheets tight, knuckles white. Hongjoong hasn’t even touched his cock yet he’s already falling apart. 

“Aren’t you a little overdressed?” Mingi manages to get out, his voice low, close to a whisper.

Hongjoong pauses in his movements, lips curving into a smirk. In no time, he’s off the bed and stripped out of his clothes, the fastest he’s done anything since Mingi showed up. Hongjoong stands at the foot of the bed, soft light dancing over his body as he scans Mingi from his toes up to his head. Mingi feels a wave of heat cross his body, cheeks red in embarrassment, body sinking into the mattress. Beneath the gaze of Hongjoong’s sharp eyes, he feels even more naked.

As Hongjoong wraps his lips around Mingi’s tip, Mingi’s head falls back against the pillows, delighting in the ecstasy of it. 

He feels his core tighten, a familiar warmth meaning only one thing, and he’s so close he can almost taste it, but just as the wave of his release is about to hit, Hongjoong pulls away entirely. Mingi’s whine echoes between the walls, face twisted in pain, need, desperation. He can sense Hongjoong grinning. “Turn over,” Hongjoong exhales, his breath hot, wet, over Mingi’s body. 

Swallowing down the lump that’s formed in his throat, Mingi rolls over, grinding over the covers, aching for release. 

“Up,” Hongjoong slaps the back of Mingi’s thighs. A surprised gasp escapes Mingi, but he does as he’s told.

The lube’s still cold as Hongjoong massages Mingi’s hole with the pad of his middle finger. “Didn’t stretch before you came over, making me wait, making you wait,” Hongjoong shakes his head as he moves the finger in. 

“Didn’t - ah - didn’t think this is where the night would lead,” Mingi admits, fisting the sheets, Hongjoong working quicker than he anticipated. 

“You don’t know how long I’ve waited for this,” Hongjoong mutters.

“What?” Mingi turns his head, Hongjoong’s last statement ringing clearer than anything else he’s said since they came into the bedroom. 

“Nothing,” Hongjoong answers, sucking on the delicate skin beneath Mingi’s ass, slipping another finger in. 

“Mingi,” Hongjoong exhales as he fully sheathes himself into Mingi’s heat.

“Hongjoong,” Mingi sighs, reaching for the other man, craving his lips on his after so long. As their tongues break through the seam of their lips, Mingi can still vaguely taste himself on Hongjoong’s tongue, the cocktail of his precum and Hongjoong’s saliva intoxicating. 

Mingi can barely pay attention to what’s going on, overwhelmed and overstimulated, the way Hongjoong feels as he fills him up is so familiar and so new after all these years.

“Forgot how good you always were for me,” Hongjoong mutters, his voice tight, equally as close to release as Mingi. Mingi can only muster a whimper in response. He feels as Hongjoong slips his hand around his cock, stroking it in time with his erratic thrusts.

Overstimulation, as his release cools across his abdomen, clouds his vision as Hongjoong cums in him, a surge of heat painting him white. Hongjoong staking a claim on what is already his. 

Between tired blinks, he sees Hongjoong clean them up, the sensation of a warm towel on his body pleasant. He hums, lips slipping into a smile. 

“Princess treatment,” he hears Hongjoong sigh under his breath.

“I’ll do you next time. Balance the scales,” Mingi mutters senselessly as he slips into a deep slumber, Hongjoong’s light chuckle lulling him to sleep.

Mingi wakes hours later to an empty bed. He runs his hand over the other side where Hongjoong was, a hint of warmth remaining. Slowly, quietly, almost as if to not interrupt the person who is no longer there, he rolls out of bed, squinting at the floor in an effort to find his underwear.

The sky outside the window is ink black. Through a thin fog, city lights pepper the streets below, the few cars that pass by glitter, splashing water on the sidewalk. It must have rained when they were sleeping. As he observes the world below, a faint string of piano notes makes his way to his ear. Sure enough, when he turns his head to the door, he sees the glow of a far away light on, sneaking it’s way along with the music through the crack of the door.

In the dim light, he scans the room for something to throw off his body, heat already radiating off, the seasonal chill seeping in. Mingi sighs quietly, all these years apart really made their difference in size apparent. Even something oversized on Hongjoong is form fitting on Mingi’s frame. Mingi’s sure he left clothes at Hongjoong’s place, but what reason would he have to haul them to his apartment? To keep anything of his for all these years? As Mingi contemplates Hongjoong’s choices, he pulls on the jumper he came in. 

With a faint light hitting his lithe naked frame, Hongjoong sits at the piano, blanket tossed over his lap, fingers slowly dancing across the black and white keys. He plays a quiet melody, familiar. Mingi almost can’t bring himself to interrupt. 

Then, the music stops, Hongjoong’s hands freezing above the keys before flopping at his sides. “I can feel your eyes on me,” Hongjoong says, looking over towards where Mingi stands, leaning against the wall, a poor attempt at remaining out of sight.

“Don’t stop on my account. You’ve played for an audience before,” Mingi shrugs, moving closer. 

Hongjoong hums, carefully shutting the fallboard. Mingi can see a disruption in the layer of dust, silhouettes of Hongjoong’s fingers revealing his movements.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Mingi asks, sitting down on the bench next to Hongjoong. It’s a tight squeeze, he’s not sure how they fit on here earlier, how it held both of their weight. 

“Yeah,” Hongjoong shrugs. Mingi frowns, Hongjoong’s not usually one for short answers. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks, hoping for something more than one word. He watches as Hongjoong sucks in his bottom lip, mouth moving as if he’s chewing, clearly contemplating his words.

“Did you mean when you said you can’t do this again?” Hongjoong rebuttals. The last thing Mingi expected was to one, get a question in response, and two, for Hongjoong to remember their argument. To even bring it up. Bring them up.

Mingi shakes his head, startled but trying to keep his cool. “It’s not that simple. There’s so much that has changed in my life since …” he trails away, not wanting to bring up the day he and Hongjoong parted ways. So abrupt. Mingi still remembers it as if it were yesterday. The shock of it all, the dismissal, the silence. The text he got from Wooyoung, or maybe it was Yeosang. The news article Yunho showed him. 

“I’ve changed too,” Hongjoong sighs, tossing his head back in mild frustration. “Surely you don’t think I’m the same person I was all those years ago.”

Mingi allows himself to pause for a moment. “I don’t,” he answers. “You could say I don’t really know who you are anymore after so long, so you can’t fault me for being so weary.”

“I suppose not,” Hongjoong shrugs, interrupting a full body shake.

“Hongjoong, you're shaking, come on, we can do this tomorrow.”

Hongjoong shakes his head. “I’m fine,” he lets out a huff, tugging the blanket over his whole body, not just his legs. 

“Hongjoong -”

“What do you want to know?” Hongjoong asks, looking Mingi dead in the eyes. “My favorite color? My favorite food? Favorite book? You already know all these things about me.”

“What do you do for work? I don’t know that.” Mingi surprises Hongjoong with this question. 

“I -,” Hongjoong hesitates. “I do a lot of things.”

“Right,” Mingi nods, not entirely believing him.

“Look, it's not that easy to -,”

“So why are you out here really?” Mingi interrupts.

Hongjoong breathes in and out softly, tired eyes lost in thought. The silence between them deafening. Mingi sits still despite every nerve in his body fighting to move. 

On a soft exhale, Hongjoong looks up, eyes focused, clean.

“I love you.”

Mingi’s world as he knows it, crumbles.