Chapter Text
Minghao doesn’t wait for an answer. He steps closer to Joshua, peering at Jangmi like an archeologist might inspect a puzzling new fossil. His eyes are as wide as the sky. His posture is slightly hunched—poised to run.
Joshua doesn’t even try to lie this time.
“They’re mine,” he says, balancing Jangmi on his shoulder with one palm, halfway shielding them from view.
My joy. My fear. My responsibility.
“It can’t be real,” Minghao says. “That’s… I mean, do you know what that is?”
Joshua bites back a sarcastic quip. No duh. I made them.
“Yeah,” he says, shivering when a strong breeze filters through the trees. Remnants of autumn leaves rustle gently at his back. He’s scared, he realizes, when his heart rate doesn’t slow after the initial shock. This could make or break their burgeoning relationship. He never wanted to present Minghao—or anyone—with this ultimatum, but here they are.
If Minghao reacts badly, Joshua has to walk away.
He really doesn’t want to walk away.
“Where did you get it?” Minghao asks. He takes one more tiny, shuffling step. Joshua can smell his perfume even from this distance. Cool and floral.
“That’s a long story.” Joshua swallows hard. “But I can show you, if you want.”
Minghao gives him a jerky nod. “Yeah. Um. Okay.”
He turns around and walks mechanically back inside. Joshua takes a deep breath for the first time in eons, bundling Jangmi back into the privacy of his hoodie pocket. The cat’s out of the bag now. Whatever has been set in motion, he can’t stop it.
“Thanks a lot,” he mutters to Jangmi, who makes an affronted snuffling noise.
Joshua immediately folds. “I know,” he sighs. “I get it. Still. Why did it have to be him who saw you?”
He stands around in the garden, unsure if he was meant to follow Minghao or not, wondering if he’s been abandoned. Joshua finds himself wishing he could just go back to their first meeting—their real first meeting, on that concrete bench, with nothing between them but a guitar and a language barrier. Things were simpler back then.
Now Joshua knows how Minghao laughs, how he whispers when he’s particularly serious, how he looks when he’s been kissed halfway to ecstasy. He knows the warm silk of Minghao’s hands and the heat of his attention.
It would hurt to lose him.
Minghao returns sans apron. A stylish cross-body bag rests at his hip. His eyes dart over Joshua, settling on the lump of his hoodie pocket with trepidation. He worries his bottom lip between his teeth.
“You’re sure you’re okay to leave the shop?” Joshua asks.
Minghao gives him a blank look. “Yeah. It’s not every day your boyfriend shows up with a dragon in his pocket.” He sighs, the edges of his mouth curling up. “Does this mean I finally get to see your apartment?”
It takes Joshua a minute to respond. He reels from the word boyfriend, which fell from Minghao’s lips so casually, like it was obvious. Boyfriend! God. Sure. Well—hopefully. If things aren’t ruined after today.
“Yeah.” Joshua fishes his keys out of his pocket and starts trekking back to the car. “I mean, I warned you I had a ton of crazy roommates.”
Naturally, the dragons go ballistic with excitement when they see Minghao approach the car. Joshua takes off his coat and bundles each of them inside, speaking softly, asking them to stay quiet and calm in the backseat for just a few minutes, at least until they get home.
“If you scare him I will not grill you bulgogi for a month,” he whispers. Namu and Nancho go limp. Jangmi screeches in irritation.
Minghao watches this from the sidewalk, his hands tight around the clutch of his bag. He looks awfully young like this, wind-tousled and tense.
The drive is quiet. Joshua’s hands are unsteady on the wheel. If this is a mistake, it’s too late to back out—Minghao keeps turning over one shoulder to peer at the tiny faces in the backseat, as if checking they’re still real. Mugunghwa heaves a little puff of smoke at him and he inhales sharply, startled.
“I should’ve asked this before I got into the car.” Minghao turns to face forward, his eyes blank on the road. “But are they—are they dangerous?”
“No! Well, yes.”
Minghao raises his eyebrows.
“Not on purpose,” Joshua clarifies. “They would never hurt you. They’re just still learning what it means to have claws and fangs.”
“And fire?”
Joshua sighs. “And fire.”
“This is starting to explain a lot of things,” Minghao mumbles.
A flood of memories from the past few months makes Joshua wince. He's done so many odd or inexplicable things in front of Minghao. Eventually, he knows, he should offer an explanation for each one. The thought is daunting. Not today, at least.
They pull into his reserved parking spot. Joshua carries his jacket, teeming with dragons, upstairs and unlocks the door. Minghao follows mutely. Here goes nothing.
/
Joshua knows himself to be an intensely private person. When he was a teenager, he was forced to spend half of every summer visiting his aunt and grandparents in Banbae-dong, cooped up in that drafty two-storey house with blue stucco and broken basement windows. That’s how he met Jeonghan. They bonded over shared misery of being away from home—L.A. and Hwaseong, respectively—and spent every sticky afternoon lounging on plastic chairs outside the 7-Eleven drinking thick, lukewarm banana milk.
It had taken weeks for Joshua to tell Jeonghan his Korean name. He’d introduced himself as Joshua Hong, a habit more than a rebellion, and Jeonghan had never questioned it. Typically Joshua only heard his birth name from his mother and a few of the aunties at church—so it felt personal. Sacred. He didn’t like it living in some strange kid’s sarcastic mouth, even if that kid made him laugh so hard he choked on chicken feet.
Even now, Joshua has caution and boundaries. He hasn’t really grown out of that. Dragons aside, it’s been a long time since he invited someone new into his apartment. And this is Minghao.
So he’s nervous.
“Sorry about the scratches, I know they’re ugly.” Joshua moves to stand in front of the worst of the claw marks on the wall. He tries to look nonchalant. “It might smell like smoke but I promise there’s no fire. Can I get you anything to drink? Water, wine, tea—Uh. Maybe not tea. All I have is Lipton.”
“Water would be nice, please,” Minghao says, and sits down on the floor.
Joshua darts into the kitchen. He returns just in time to place the cups on the table and watch each of his dragons, one by one, fall head over heels in love with Minghao.
When Minghao settles himself comfortably on the carpet, sitting criss-cross with perfect, astounding posture, Mugunghwa climbs straight into his lap. He freezes. Stares. Rests a gentle hand on their spine. Joshua holds his breath until Minghao’s face softens, and just like that he knows—they’re gonna be okay.
Minghao scoops Mugunghwa up and cradles them like a baby, rocking them back and forth and making soft gibberish noises. Mugunghwa melts. They loll limply into his arms, belly-up, their purple scales catching the light like water.
Jangmi, jealous little beast that they are, takes that opportunity to nose into the available real estate of Minghao’s lap. Their tongue flicks over the loose fabric of his cotton pants.
“You’re a natural.” Joshua curls up beside them, resting his chin on his knees. He can tell his face is warm and irreparably fond.
Minghao looks up with starry eyes. “Tell me about them.”
So Joshua does. From the very beginning. He weaves the story of their creation, and he doesn’t hold back about his own shock or confusion, about the struggles and close calls. Minghao listens attentively.
This feels different from telling Vernon and Seungkwan. This time Joshua is more relaxed, more confident. It isn’t such a shock anymore. When he confesses to the real reason why he left their first date early—the truth behind the apartment fire—his voice breaks. Minghao reaches for his hand and links their fingers together.
“They’re incredible,” Minghao whispers, his voice high with excitement. He tears his gaze away from Mugunghwa’s twitching snout. “You’re incredible.”
Joshua immediately shakes his head. “That’s… I haven’t done much. They’re just themselves.”
“But you created them.”
Joshua winces. “Really, I shouldn’t have,” he says, scathingly honest.
Minghao’s mouth pulls into a tight line. He’s trying not to frown with two dragons curled up and starting to doze on his lap.
“Do you regret it?”
“Not exactly. I don’t think I should have done it, though. It’s not…” he hesitates. It’s not right, he wants to say, but that implies the dragons are inherently wrong, and he doesn’t believe that. “It’s not fair for me to have this power. It’s too much. No one person should be able to do this, and definitely not—not me.”
Joshua unfolds himself, letting their knees press together. The invitation of his position is enough to have Nancho scampering across the floor and crawling onto his thigh. Joshua tickles the underside of their chin. They sneeze out a tiny flicker of flame—luckily not pointed at anyone’s face. Minghao’s eyes stretch wide. He squeezes Joshua’s hand.
“You don’t think you deserve this ability,” Minghao realizes.
“Yeah,” Joshua says, relieved. “That’s it.”
His relief dies abruptly when Minghao laughs. It’s a breathy, incredulous laugh, like his giggles but off-key and serious. He sombers himself and brings their tied-up hands to his lap, nestled between dragons.
“Hyung.” Minghao looks at Joshua—really looks. “There is no one more deserving. There is no one who could’ve done a better job.”
“No,” Joshua brushes him off automatically, casually, instinctually. He begins to untangle their fingers. “I don’t think that’s true.”
Minghao holds fast, doesn’t let him wiggle away. “I do. I believe that. You’re one of the best people I know.”
He’s serious, is the thing. He’s got that tone in his voice that Joshua recognizes from their conversations about the past, about their families. Minghao means it. That conviction settles over him like a blanket, quieting the disquiets and soothing what he didn’t know needed soothing.
Minghao has faith in him.
What a nice feeling.
Clumsily Joshua says, “Um, thanks.”
That seems to be enough for Minghao. He redirects the conversation and asks further questions about the dragons. His line of questioning is, again, different from Vernon and Seungkwan; he wants to know the dragons’ personalities, their quirks, their relationships with Joshua and with each other.
“Mugunghwa’s a baby!” Joshua gasps at one point. “They don’t have a crush on Jangmi!”
“They’re different ages?” Minghao looks down at his lap full of dragons with his mouth in a cute little oh. “Oh my god, is that parent-child bickering? Hyung, that’s so cute. Is Jangmi raising them?”
Joshua grits his teeth through a smile. “Not very well.”
They talk until Joshua’s ass aches from sitting on the ground for so long. There are missteps—moments when he reacts harshly to something Minghao says, or vice versa, in their quest for mutual understanding. It’s still a difficult situation to explain. When Minghao makes an offhand comment about almost wanting a dragon for himself, Joshua flinches.
“I won’t carve you one,” he says immediately.
“Oh.” Minghao’s smile strains, then falls. “I—sorry.”
“It’s not personal. It’s just… irresponsible, to bring another dragon into the world. They’re not safe here.”
Minghao traces a fingertip over Mugungwa’s snout while they doze. Jangmi has grown bored and wandered off to sniff around the kitchen cupboards, but the youngest—the maknae, as Joshua has taken to nicknaming them—is content to stay liquified in Minghao’s lap.
“You really care about them,” Minghao says.
“Yeah.”
“You’re a good dad, you know.”
Joshua laughs, but—for all intents and purposes, he is their dad, isn’t he? He’s thought of himself as a parental unit before, but dad has a different ring to it. A complicated knot of emotions starts to loosen in his chest. The title makes sense. Feels good.
He’s a dad. Huh.
Who knew he’d love the sound of that?
He straightens his spine and offers Minghao a snack. They’ve been sitting, at this point, for the entire afternoon.
Minghao makes a rueful face. “I really should get back to the shop and help Chan close. But, do you think I could come by after?”
“Yeah!” Joshua helps him up with both hands and tries not to sound too eager. “I’ll drive you back. I’m just working on a cutlery set tonight, so you can stop by later. Come for dinner.”
“Okay.” Minghao squeezes his hands once, twice, before dropping them.
Minghao lingers in the open doorway before they can exit. His eyes follow Nancho’s quick path across the couch as they battle a throw pillow. Then he leans forward and presses a kiss to Joshua’s cheek, quick and quiet. He looks like he’s about to say something important. When he opens his mouth to speak Joshua’s breath hitches in anticipation…
A loud mrrreow cuts across the hallway.
“Mrs. Claws?” Joshua’s hand falls from the doorknob in surprise. Vernon’s fat orange tabby stalks toward them, waving the friendly plume of her tail. “How did you get out?”
Instead of answering, she freezes. Her whole body goes stiff. Her eyes dilate into huge round saucers. Joshua hesitates, glancing behind himself, only to see Namu in an identical frozen position on the floor of the living room. The two animals are locked in an intense staredown—the first of its kind in the natural world.
Joshua has just enough time to say, “Uh, no,” before Mrs. Claws darts between Minghao’s legs and enters the apartment with a ferocious yowl.
Instantly, it’s war. Namu makes an awful screeching noise and bolts under the couch. Mrs. Claws follows, her yellow eyes crazed with newly-awakened predatory instincts. Jangmi dive-bombs her from the armrest. Joshua arrives just in time to catch the dragon in his arms before they land claws-first on the cat.
“Come on,” he wheezes through Jangmi’s irritated wiggling and the stream of angry smoke pouring from their nostrils. “Don’t do this—how hard is it to be friendly—”
Minghao rushes over to stop the cat from batting her paw underneath the couch and terrorizing poor Namu. He scoops her up like a kitten, one hand under the rump, like he’s spent his whole life caring for cats. Her legs dangle, limp and annoyed, beneath his arms.
He’s laughing helplessly. “That could’ve been so messy. Hi, Mrs. Claws. Nice to meet you. Sorry about this.”
“Go, go, take her outside!” Joshua gently tosses Jangmi onto the farthest couch cushion—and he should probably interrogate how fun it is to toss a dragon later because it’s become sort of a habit—and then he runs.
They careen into the hallway and slam the door shut behind them. Immediately there’s a thump as Jangmi slams into the wood, hot in pursuit. Their frustrated huff is audible from the hallway.
Minghao sets the cat down and she bolts. He’s still laughing, and he pauses like that, hands posted on his knees, face turned toward the carpet, wiry shoulders shaking.
Joshua can’t help it—he laughs, too. “Yeah, um. That’s the problem with indoor dragons, I guess.”
Minghao stands up and kisses Joshua.
His noise of surprise gets swallowed. Minghao kisses with a certain liquid-like softness today; he presses their bodies so close together their knees tangle and doesn’t wait for Joshua to catch up. He boldly coaxes Joshua’s mouth open and slips his tongue between them, wet and skillful and so, so hot. Joshua trembles. His jaw goes slack. His knees wobble.
When his body catches up to the situation he wraps both arms around Minghao, fisting a hand in his sweater to keep them steady. Their fervor slows. The river of their kisses trickles into a stream, a slow and simmering back-and-forth until Joshua plants a chaste kiss on Minghao’s lower lip and pulls back.
“Are we dating?” Minghao blurts out, then looks vaguely embarrassed. His ears are as pink as rose quartz. “I mean, officially. I called you my boyfriend but we haven’t really said…”
“Yes.” Joshua feels the whole summer sky in his chest. His smile is so big it hurts. “Yeah, we’re dating. Just, don’t tell anyone about the dragons, please?”
Minghao kisses him on the nose. “I won’t. I’ll be too busy telling them about you.”
“Nevermind. That’s worse.”
Joshua hides his face in Minghao’s neck. When Minghao giggles, he feels it echo in his own chest.
/
Later, Joshua calls Jeonghan to give him the gossip. (The boyfriend-gossip, not the dragon-gossip.) Jeonghan screeches like a banshee. He gets in a few genuine words of congratulations before he’s off to claim his debt from Mingyu, apparently.
“You’ve done me a great service,” he says solemnly. “But also, you’re fucking welcome.”
Joshua purses his lips, even though Jeonghan can’t see him. “Okay. Sure.”
He does not want to know how that debt will play out. He does have Jeonghan and Mingyu to thank for reintroducing him to Minghao, though. Maybe Joshua will send them a nice customized mug.
Later, after that, when the sun has set and a chilly evening fog has descended around the city, Minghao comes back. Joshua plays guitar for him and then Minghao plays Joshua, like an instrument—lays him out flat on the bed, tunes him, plucks noises from his throat that Joshua was unaware he could make.
It’s the slowest, messiest sex he’s ever had in his life. It’s better than he ever imagined.
Better than he ever dreamed.
Afterwards they split a box of peaches in bed and listen to the bumps, thumps, knocks, and bangs echoing ominously from the living room.
“Are the dragons always so loud?” Minghao whispers. They’re sitting shoulder-to-shoulder against the pillows, juice dribbling down their wrists. “What are they doing?”
“Probably just playing. I bet they’re upset we locked them out of the bedroom. They might be throwing a fit.”
“Ah,” Minghao’s nose scrunches up in a fond smile. “Cute.” He neatly arranges the pit of his second peach back into the box and gets up to wash his hands. From the bathroom, his voice floats out: “What did you mean earlier, about indoor dragons?”
“Oh, just.” Joshua pauses to suck a drop of sweet juice from his thumb. “I feel bad for them sometimes. I can tell they’d be happier living outside.”
He takes another bite of luxurious, golden peach flesh. He hurries through his second fruit, rubbing sticky fingers together, to join Minghao in the bathroom and kiss him against the sink while they both taste fresh and sweet and springlike. Minghao melts like candy in his mouth.
Joshua nearly forgets the thread of conversation entirely until they move back to the bedroom, all signs pointing to an indulgent round two, when Minghao sits on the side of the bed and says, “Are you looking to move them outside?”
“Um.” Joshua reboots his brain. Minghao looks divine like this, open-hearted and stripped to his boxers, his lips kiss-puffy. “If it were possible, I’d do it. But there’s no place safe enough.”
“What about with me?”
“What?”
A smile crawls across Minghao’s face. “Infinitea. We have plenty of space in the back. It’s tucked between a delivery ramp and a little parking lot for the retail stores. They’d be safe there.”
That’s unexpected. Totally and completely. Joshua moves to sit on the bed and nearly misses, his knee slamming into the bed frame. “I—are you serious?”
“Yes. If that’s alright with you, anyway. I’d give you a key. We could renovate the back however you’d like. Make it dragon-proof.”
The gravity of this offer hits Joshua like a freight train. He collapses back onto the sheets, a marionette with its strings violently cut. It would solve nearly all of his problems. It would be… so easy. He could go back to focusing on his art—could, maybe, claw his way back to comfortable earnings. The dragons would be safe and free. The ceiling fan spins gently, aimlessly above him. He stares blankly at its familiar shape.
Joshua feels Minghao lay beside him and looks over at his calm expression. “You’d really do that,” he says, and it’s not a question. He believes Minghao.
Something like awe spreads throughout his body, bright and infectious.
Minghao thumbs at the corner of Joshua’s mouth. “I would.”
“Then—yes.” Joshua grabs his hand, presses it firmly into his own face, so he can feel how warm it is. “Yes, oh my god, absolutely. Thank you. Thank you, thank you—”
He climbs on top of Minghao and says the rest with his hands.
/
The move-in process is slow.
Infinitea’s back garden isn’t quite suited for dragons. There’s a lot of work to be done: sweeping, weeding, checking for poisonous plants or insects, raising the fence another meter, building shelters. They spend the whole morning clearing the underbrush of twigs, dried leaves, and anything else deemed particularly flammable. It’s hard work. The air is sharp with late autumn.
Minghao calls for a break around noon, his hands posted on his hips, making an exaggerated face of weariness. He’s as bad as Jeonghan, Joshua thinks, and teases Minghao as they plod into the warmth of the kitchen.
“Tired?” Joshua lightly pinches the tuck of Minghao’s waist.
Minghao startles back, a laugh caught in his throat. He slides a pretty, mischievous smile in Joshua’s direction. “Are you worried about my stamina?”
“I don’t know, should I be?”
“Mmm, no.” Minghao twines his arms around Joshua’s neck, walks them backwards until the small of his back is pressed against the lip of the counter. He smells like wet soil, like green and growing things, tinged with the sweetness that Joshua is beginning to recognize as hibiscus tea leaves. “I can give you a demonstration if you need convincing.”
Joshua is struck by the reminder that Minghao is not insignificantly taller than him. He tilts his head back, eyes catching on Minghao’s full mouth, slightly chapped from the cold. He shivers.
“If we take too long,” Joshua says, his voice dropping. “We’ll run out of daylight for sweeping.”
“True.” Minghao sighs—audible, weary, long-suffering, as if he would like nothing more than to take too long. He drops a fleeting kiss on Joshua’s forehead and shuffles away.
This, Joshua thinks, is what happens in a relationship between two wildly pragmatic people: responsible decisions.
They set about on a wonderfully domestic series of tasks. Minghao puts the kettle on and digs fresh ingredients out of the fridge: gochujang, diced carrots, a handful of plump mushrooms. He directs Joshua towards the rice cooker.
It’s unreasonably nice. Joshua’s last sort-of relationship disintegrated in part because Wonho was a chronic going-out type of guy; he liked to dance and drink and spend hours sweating at the gym. Fun—but not a lifestyle that Joshua could keep up with. They never spent any quiet time together. Not like this.
It only takes a few minutes for Minghao and Joshua to whip up two ramshackle bibimbap dishes and huddle together in the closest booth. There’s a weird sort of excitement to having the entire shop to themselves, with all the doors locked and only half of the lights flicked on. It’s like they’re trespassing. Gangly shadows intercept their hands when they exchange napkins and cutlery.
Before they start eating, Minghao insists on pouring their tea the correct way.
Joshua sits up straight and folds his hands, uncertain but interested. He’s never seen a tea ceremony—even an abridged version—outside of dramas. Minghao emerges from the back room with a thin tray. A gorgeous black teapot rests in the middle, two tiny accompanying cups balancing near the edge.
A gorgeous black teapot that Joshua has seen before.
One that he, actually, knows very well.
He covers his mouth with one hand, shocked and delighted. Minghao pauses at the head of the table and gives him a concerned look. His brows shoot up his forehead. “What is it?”
“You bought that tea set from a little boutique in Insa-dong.”
Minghao blinks. “How did you know?”
“It was 85,000₩.”
“Yes…?”
Joshua looks him dead in the face. “It took me four hours to carve.”
Minghao sets the tray down too hard on the table. The teapot shudders. He looks at it like he’s never seen it before. “You made this!”
“I made that!” Joshua laughs, skimming his fingers over the smooth side. Running into one of his creations in the wild, so to speak, feels like an unexpected reunion with an old friend. How funny, to see this here! “I’ve only done one tea set, I can’t believe you ended up finding it. What a coincidence.”
Minghao slides into the other side of the booth and sits heavily. There’s something fragile in his expression. “Coincidence,” he repeats dully. “Can I ask you a strange question?”
“Of course.”
“Do you believe in fate?”
Six months ago, Joshua would have said no. Now he’s not so sure. He looks between Minghao and the teapot. “Do you?”
“I’ve been thinking about this poem I read recently.” Minghao lifts the lid of the teapot and lets steam crowd his face. “One of the lines says, Be the path. Open the way for another.”
“That’s beautiful.”
Minghao’s mouth twists into a smile. “It is!” He pours their tea, Joshua’s first, then passes over the cup with both hands. “I think the only thing people are meant to do is spend time together. To open pathways for each other. Fate isn’t supposed to be singular.”
Joshua considers this. He sips his tea—something clear and bright that sings all the way down his throat without a hint of bitterness. “So you’re saying you were meant to buy this teapot because it connects us?”
“Simpler than that.”
“Do you think it was our fate to meet each other?”
He’s expecting Minghao to back down, to reframe his words in a way that isn’t so intense. But Minghao sets his cup down and says, “Yeah. Exactly.”
“Oh.”
“I’m glad that we found each other again. Now I get to help you like you helped me.”
To his surprise, Joshua feels a lump grow in his throat. Tears prick the corners of his eyes. He has to blink them away as Minghao’s smile goes impossibly soft.
“When you put it that way,” Joshua says, laughing a little, helplessly and hopelessly in love. “I guess I have to agree. It’s fate.”
/
Two weeks later, Joshua pulls up to Infinitea with a sleepy passenger.
“I’m not much of a—” Jeonghan cuts himself off with a yawn hidden behind the back of his hand. His face scrunches up, and for a split second Joshua can see how he’ll look in fifty years—wrinkled, drowsy, smiling, persnickety. “I’m not much of a tea person.”
“We’re not here for the tea. The front of the shop isn’t even open today.” Joshua turns off the engine and climbs out. His coat flaps around his knees. “You know how Mingyu’s been building birdhouses for Myungho?”
“Mmm-hmm. He keeps complaining about splinters.”
“I wanted you to see the final product.”
Jeonghan cuts him an amused glance. “You did? Mingyu couldn’t show me himself?”
Joshua bites back the confession he knows will invoke loud complaints. The truth is—Mingyu’s already here. This is an intervention. Jeonghan is the last in Joshua’s immediate circle to know the truth about Infinitea. The truth about Joshua himself.
God, he’s been looking forward to this. It’s been too long since he got to one-up Yoon Jeonghan.
“Just follow me,” he says, keeping his voice light and unconcerned.
They wind around the side of the tea shop, approaching the wooden fence which has become so familiar to Joshua over the past few weeks. It’s cold today, properly cold, and heavy dark clouds are threatening snow. It would be the first snowfall of the season, though, so Joshua won’t mind if it does come today. He’d like to watch it with Minghao.
The gate creaks closed behind them. Tables once scattered the back garden, but they’ve been cleared away. Three enormous square birdhouses are nailed into the trees, painted with vibrant splatters of color—undeniably Minghao’s labor of love. Joshua’s heart swells every time he looks at them.
“Hey!” Mingyu sticks his head out the back window. His hair is tousled, his grin boyish. “You made it.”
Mingyu comes around the back door of Infinitea and sweeps each of them into a quick hug. His hand lingers on the small of Jeonghan’s back, but he looks at Joshua when he says, “Did you guys see the—?”
“Not yet!” Joshua rocks back on his heels. “Where’s Myungho?”
Jeonghan makes a confused noise. “Hi! No, no, I see the birdhouses. They’re great. Good job, Minggoo-yah.”
Mingyu blushes and looks at Jeonghan with the gooiest, most lovelorn expression known to mankind. “Thank you.”
Joshua hides his laugh in a cough. Jeonghan glares at him anyway. He’d tease them, as is his God-given right as Jeonghan’s best friend, but then Minghao emerges from between two trees, picking his way through the undergrowth. He’s in his apron and another overly-fluffy sweater.
Minghao abruptly stops a few paces away. A smile toys with his mouth. “Are we ready? Should I…?”
Joshua nods. Jeonghan stuffs his hands into his jacket pockets, probably growing more annoyed by the minute, though he doesn’t show it. Confusion is his least favorite emotion.
Carefully Minghao lifts two fingers to his mouth and whistles.
It happens in a flash. The birdhouses spit out dragons, bright flashes of red and blue and green and purple, who descend on Minghao like a flock of birds. Jangmi curls around Minghao’s neck. Namu latches onto his leg. Nancho and Mugunghwa flap around his arms until they can find comfortable perches in the tuck of his elbow. Joshua knows they’re nosing at him mostly hoping that he brought treats, dried persimmons or candied walnuts, but to an outsider it probably looks like they’re snuggling him just for kicks.
Minghao giggles the whole way through. His face scrunches up with pleasure as he whispers sweet things to the dragons invading his personal space. He’s like a reverse scarecrow.
He looks perfect. Joshua wants to kiss him. Well, he always wants to kiss him, but right now the urge is especially strong.
“What…” Jeonghan begins to say, expressionless, tense in the shoulders.
Joshua doesn’t even have to whistle. He lifts a hand and the dragons flock to him, their excitement doubled. Jangmi purrs into his ear. Mugunghwa gnaws on the laces of his boots. Namu and Nancho start racing up and down his legs, frisky like kittens.
Ah, how he missed them. It’s only been a day.
Turning to Jeonghan and lacing his fingers together solemnly, Joshua says, “I’m a father now.”
Jeonghan looks between Joshua and the dragons. Then looks between Mingyu—who is beaming and wiggling his eyebrows—and the dragons. His eyebrows are deeply concerned, but he pastes a smile onto his face.
“Hong Jisoo,” Jeonghan says. “What in the actual f—”
/
INFINITEA
REVIEWS ON MANGOPLATE
Chaeyoung
Local Guide - 93 reviews - 110 photos
☆☆☆☆☆
Excellent service and a huge variety of tea to choose from. The inside of the shop is gorgeous and perfect for sitting around to chat. I’ve had three first dates here and they all led to second dates ;) Only wish the backyard seating was open. Such a shame they closed it permanently.
Junmyeon
3 reviews
☆☆☆☆
I came here from the article “15 Most Instagrammable Spots in Seoul” and it did not disappoint! Four stars only because my boyfriend hated his tea and spat it all over my cashmere sweater. Great ambience, would come back!
Hyunjin
43 reviews - 18 photos
☆
swear to god i saw the biggest fucking lizard looking at me through the window today. so weird and gross. never again