Work Text:
It's okay to be here, just as we are
Just like now tonight
_ _
December 2022
Yunho insisted on driving, fitting his long frame behind the wheel of Minhyuk’s car. It’ll keep me awake, he said with one of his soft, sleepy smiles. He’s been gone for so long that it feels strange to suddenly have so much of him. To see him without the barrier of a phone or laptop screen, distorted at the edges by bad hotel wi-fi or failing airport hotspots, voice punctured by static, happiness, and exhaustion. Minhyuk can actually reach out and touch him—slide a hand over his leg and feel real, solid skin beneath his palm.
His hair is still the faded blond and brown combo that he’s been sporting for several months now, though it’s getting longer. He’s got his focusing face on as his drives—brow furrowed, lips slightly pursed—and Minhyuk has missed him much more than he wants to admit.
Outside the car, snowflakes fall in steady flurries, making a valiant attempt to stick to the windshield, and the highway unspools like a dark ribbon through the forests, guiding them towards the coast.
“You’re staring,” Yunho says without taking his eyes off the road. A smirk flickers in the corner of his mouth.
“Just shocked you’re real,” Minhyuk says, relaxing back in his seat. He pulls his hand away, but Yunho catches it before he can go too far and puts it back on his thigh. “I was starting to think you were a figment of my imagination that I conjured up to cope with loneliness in my old age.”
Yunho snorts. “You’re thirty-three, hyung.”
“Yeah, ancient.”
“Well I thought the same thing.” Yunho glances over at him. “That maybe I’d just dreamt up a boyfriend and I was really talking to no one.”
“Long distance is hard sometimes.”
It turns relationships strange and liminal. Suddenly, Yunho only existed at odd hours, always backlit by foreign scenery—fancy hotel rooms, cramped tour buses, crowded airports. It’s different from when their schedules don’t line up in Korea. At least there, he has the reassurance of Yunho’s manga-filled shelves in the background, of the familiar scenery of a park they both frequent or the mirrors of a practice room. They’re in the same world, then, even if their orbits are off. Tour is a different galaxy.
He should be used to it, after ten years as an idol, but he didn’t expect how different it would feel when you’re in love.
Yunho hums in agreement. “I was so glad for your radio show,” he says. “I got to listen to you all the time, even when we couldn’t actually talk.”
Minhyuk imagines Yunho backstage at some big arena, curled up in the green room with earbuds in and Minhyuk’s voice playing, and feels his cheeks heat with a mixture of embarrassment and delight.
“Glad I have one loyal fan,” he teases.
“And I’m back now for at least the next month. And we have two whole days together.” He grins at Minhyuk—a bright contrast to the weather. “So things are looking up.”
Two days, it’s a miracle. One Minhyuk clawed from his company even though he’s in the middle of preparations for a concert and Yunho has a comeback rapidly approaching. They got a pension in Gangwon, only two hours drive from Seoul, so they wouldn’t be too far away, which mollified the company somewhat.
They’ll part ways again once they return: Yunho back to the whirlwind of comeback and final year-end performances, then to Gwangju for Seollal while Minhyuk stays with his family in Seoul after BTOB’s anniversary concert.. Minhyuk’s not thinking about that, though, only the two days stretching ahead of them like a feast.
“Things are looking up,” he agrees, returning Yunho’s grin.
“We are going to have so much sex,” Yunho announces and Minhyuk chokes on a laugh. “I’ve missed sex.”
“I told you that you could….” Minhyuk says.
I won’t hold you back, his exact words were—whispered into Yunho’s hair on their last night together before he left for the U.S.
Don’t be stupid, hyung, Yunho replied, nearly elbowing him in the stomach. Like anyone could compare to you.
“And I called you an idiot,” Yunho says. “If I’m remembering right.”
Minhyuk winces. “You are.”
Yunho pokes him, gaze still fixed on the road but aim scarily accurate. “I missed sex with you, jagi.”
The jagi still makes Minhyuk’s stupid stomach flip, even after nearly a year and a half of this relationship.
“I guess I missed sex with you, too,” he says. “I had to turn down so many people.” He checks Yunho’s expression to make sure that joke isn’t a step too far but Yunho is laughing at him.
“I bet.”
“You sound like you don’t believe me.”
“Oh I do. I’m pretty sure there’s a line, hyung.”
Minhyuk flushes again. “Please there’s not a line.” There has never been a shortage of people eager to fuck him, sure, but Yunho makes it sound like half the industry wants the privilege.
“There’s totally a line. I just got there first.”
“Yah,” Minhyuk smacks his thigh. “You’re making me sound like a piece of meat. Respect your elders.”
“Sorry, hyungmin,” Yunho says with another glance. His eyes are dancing, full of mischief. It’s one of Minhyuk’s favorite looks on him and he’ll endure endless teasing to be able to witness it.
(You are so gone for him, Peniel says with a ridiculous waggle of his eyebrows, it’s really cute.
Minhyuk throws a pillow at him and vows to stop looking at so many pictures of Yunho on his phone.)
“There’s a rest stop coming up,” Minhyuk says, changing the subject and pulling up navigation on his phone. “We should take a break.”
Yunho blinks. “Already?”
“Jagi, you’ve been driving for two hours.”
“Oh.” A faint laugh. “I think America broke me. Everything is so far, I just stopped recognizing distance after the eighth hour on a bus.”
“Well I’m hungry so we’re stopping,” Minhyuk says. “And switching.”
Yunho looks ready to protest and Minhyuk flicks him on the shoulder. “The world won’t end if you nap. I can keep myself entertained.”
“I know,” Yunho grumbles as Minhyuk plugs the address of the rest stop into the car’s navigation system. “But I don’t want to miss anything.”
He’s ridiculous—so lovely that it knocks Minhyuk sideways sometimes, like the ground has suddenly tilted beneath his feet and he's trying to balance on a new axis. His whole life, he worried about loving someone too much, hating the fact that if he opened his heart up, he wouldn’t be able to keep anything casual. He got used to being the one with too many unreciprocated feelings that he crafted a graveyard for, burying them as deep in the earth as he could.
But Jeong Yunho keeps matching him step for step. The love pours out of him like a continuous flood and Minhyuk has never been so grateful to drown.
(You looked so good, Yunho tells him over FaceTime in early July, sweat-drenched and grinning in a practice room, caught up in the unforgiving whirlwind of comeback preparations. You sounded so good, hyung. God.
And Minhyuk realizes in that moment that Yunho is the one he needed to hear this from the most. The last of his nervousness settles in his stomach and suddenly he can breathe again, suddenly the string of music show performances stretching out in front of him doesn’t feel quite as daunting.
I’m glad you’re watching, is all he manages to say.
Always, Yunho replies, so sincere it hurts.)
_ _
The rest stop is busy enough that they decide to don masks and hats before exiting the car. Yunho’s long black coat sweeps dramatically around his equally long legs as they walk through the snowy parking lot with their heads down against the winter chill. Minhyuk stays a step or two behind with the collar of his own coat turned up, letting Yunho shield him from the worst of the wind.
“I know what you’re doing,” Yunho says when they’re almost inside.
“Your giant body has to be good for something,” Minhyuk replies without shame.
Yunho huffs at him but still pauses to hold the door open and usher him through first. “After you, ahjussi.”
“Yah, Ahjussi? Ahjussi? Aish, you brat.”
Though…is that what people might think? He still wonders that, sometimes, on the rare occasions that they go out together and don’t have to worry too much about being recognized. What do people see, when they look at the two of them? Not two men who are dating, definitely, but friends at least? An older and younger brother? Or is their age difference high enough that Yunho is his nephew or, even worse, his son?
Do not get in your head about this again, Lee Minhyuk.
He focuses instead on Yunho bounding in front of him again, full of energy at the prospect of food. “I think we should get squid. And potatoes. Or maybe hotteok?”
“Whatever you want,” Minhyuk says indulgently.
His mission is usually to feed Yunho as much as possible whenever they’re together. Yunho’s never talked about dieting the way Minhyuk has experienced over the course of his career as an idol, but Minhyuk still worries sometimes. This industry is unforgiving and it’s easy to find yourself on a slippery slope, unable to climb back up to solid ground. He doesn’t want Yunho to have to fight the same battles that he continues to wage with himself.
“What do you want?” Yunho asks, peering at him with an inquisitive, perceptive gaze. Right, this is a two-way street now. He has someone who worries about him just as much.
“Hotteok,” he decides. “It’s good weather for it.”
Yunho grins and then insists on paying for the hotteok, ignoring Minhyuk’s protests about being the hyung. “I get boyfriend rights,” he whispers as they wait for the hotteok to be prepared. “They trump hyung rights.”
Minhyuk rolls his eyes, glad that his mask is hiding the heat blooming across his cheeks. He’s normally not this easily flustered but Yunho has a special effect that still hasn’t worn off.
“Just this once,” he says, trying to sound disgruntled and mostly landing on fond.
Yunho’s eyes scrunch up all delighted and it pulls Minhyuk’s chest taut like a piano wire—a little note of love and affection vibrating along his breastbone, down to his lungs. He lets Yunho gather their hotteok and guide them to a table in a corner of the dining area, mostly hidden behind a large ficus tree. Once they’ve sat down, he also lets Yunho hold his hand and feed him pieces of hotteok, fighting through the embarrassment of being cared for. He’s always been one of the main caretakers of his own group and it’s strange to date someone who fits a similar role—they’re always trying to be the first to look after each other.
(Did you clean my apartment? Minhyuk asks, blinking at his spotless living room and the sink magically void of the dishes that have been piling up for over a week.
You weren’t feeling well, Yunho says with a casual shrug. I thought I would help out.
I can take care of myself, Minhyuk argues, spurred on by a spike of defensiveness at the thought of being perceived as weak or helpless.
Of course you can, Yunho says patiently. That doesn’t mean you always have to, hyung.)
“The hotteok’s good,” he says through puffy cheeks. The cinnamon filling isn’t too sweet and the bread is still warm, a balm to the lingering chill that the rest stop’s heating system can’t completely banish.
Yunho nods, mouth also full. He’s consumed most of his hotteok in two bites and once again Minhyuk is awed both by how much he can fit in his mouth and how fast he can eat. Oh to be twenty-four again.
“Want anything else?” Minhyuk asks and Yunho contemplates for a moment.
“Potatoes?”
They get steamed potatoes for the road and Minhyuk bullies Yunho into the passenger seat, cradling the container of them in his large hands. It’s sleeting again, dripping off the brim of Minhyuk’s cap as he slams the driver’s door shut with a shiver. Yunho balances the potatoes on his knees so he can crank up the heat.
“I miss summer,” he mumbles.
“Ah, I’ve never minded the cold,” Minhyuk says.
“That’s because you like staying inside and being a homebody.”
Minhyuk doesn’t bother denying it. “There is nothing greater than my couch and a nice blanket when it’s raining.”
Yunho shakes his head like he hasn’t happily curled up on that couch with his arms wrapped around Minhyuk, the blanket struggling to cover them both and a drama playing on the TV, drowning out the heavy patter of rain against the windows of Minhyuk’s apartment.
Minhyuk gets them on the road again, hunching over the steering wheel to squint through the sleet-blurred windshield. Yunho feeds him a steamed potato at a stoplight and it’s hot and buttery on his tongue.
_ _
July 2022
Yunho doesn’t have time for this. Their comeback is approaching fast and they leave for Japan in less than a week to wrap up their tour, so rehearsals and preparations have reached the frenzied state that barely allows him to breathe. He pours all his energy into a practice room floor and then collapses into bed only to be roused a few short hours later for last minute outfit modifications, schedule reviews, photoshoots, and more practice. He no longer knows what day it is at any given moment and he hasn’t been able to talk to Minhyuk beyond a few short texts and one FaceTime call scattered across the week, since Minhyuk is in the middle of his own promotions.
So he doesn’t have time for this, but if he doesn’t see Minhyuk at least once before flying to Japan, he thinks he’s going to die. He’s been patient. He has endured every single music show stage featuring a horrific amount of skin. He has replayed the shirtless scenes in the MV and practically screamed into his pillow every time (who decided on body chains?). He has pathetically jerked off in the shower to the sound of Minhyuk’s rapping four times in the last two weeks, none of which will ever be mentioned to his boyfriend, even on pain of death.
He can’t take this suffering anymore. He’s supposed to have boyfriend privileges which means that he shouldn’t have to pine in horny agony from afar like the rest of the population. Though Minhyuk didn’t even warn him about the styling or even the full contents of the album, just played him snippets and then told him, eyes teasing, that he could hear the rest when it was released. And Minhyuk, the asshole, responded to Yunho's string of outraged KT messages after the MV drop with a single 😘.
He doesn’t have time for this, but he’s letting himself into Minhyuk’s apartment at one a.m. on a Friday. He has about five hours before a manager is going to start looking for him to lock them all in a studio again and this is stupid, reckless, but the sight of Minhyuk curled up in bed unravels all the anxiety stored up in his stomach and lungs. He forgets entirely about his plan to wake Minhyuk up by kissing him and then maybe segueing into some of the horny fantasies that have been playing constantly in his brain for days.
Now, he wants to just fold around Minhyuk and listen to him breathe like the hopeless sap he is. He thinks of Minhyuk’s voice singing jagiya in his ear and swallows down a sudden, ridiculous surge of tears. He must still sniff too loudly because Minhyuk is jolting awake and swearing at the silhouette looming over him from the side of his bed.
“Oh my god, Yunho-yah?” Minhyuk says, fumbling to turn on the lamp.
“I messaged,” Yunho says pathetically, still blinking with his gaze fixed on the ceiling.
“I fell asleep early,” Minhyuk says. Then, “baby, are you crying?”
“No,” Yunho tries to insist. “A little. I’m stressed. You’re unfair. You can’t dance in crop tops for a week and then also sing about someone being your spring in a cute sweater. Were the body chains your idea? I hate you. Do you have any idea what this has done to me?”
Minhyuk laughs softly and clambers out of bed. He looks adorably sleep rumpled in a baggy shirt and shorts that show off a painful amount of muscular thigh. His long hair is sticking up in the back like a bird’s nest and Yunho has missed him too much for living in the same city. Too much for seeing him on screens and stages all the time. Maybe it was simply this version of Minhyuk that he missed: the one that’s bare-faced and rumpled, the one that loves him, the one that always feels the most real.
“It really affected you that much?” Minhyuk asks, rocking up on tiptoes to cup his face.
“Are you serious?” Yunho asks. “I’m going to kill you.”
“Kill me and not fuck me?” Minhyuk asks with an arched eyebrow. “Seems like a waste.”
Yunho hiccups a laugh and unsurprisingly Minhyuk turns serious within the next breath, slipping into caretaker mode.
“But, jagiya, what’s wrong? Is it just comeback? Or something else?”
“Just comeback,” Yunho promises. “And missing you. A bit.”
“A bit?” Minhyuk asks, stroking his thumbs over Yunho’s cheeks in a soothing rhythm.
“Yeah, just a little,” Yunho says. He’s regaining his footing again, the burn of tears at the back of his throat mercifully fading.
“You missed me or you were just horny?” Minhyuk asks, the teasing edge returning.
Yunho sniffs in indignation. “Excuse me, I contain multitudes. I can be horny and miss you.”
Minhyuk laughs again, bright and full-chested, bordering on a cackle. He slides a hand over the back of Yunho’s neck and pulls him down into a kiss and oh that’s good, Yunho has missed kissing him. He’s such a good kisser—always knows exactly what to do with his tongue and the perfect angle of their mouths to get the best sensation. Yunho’s pretty sure that he could spend hours kissing him, but Minhyuk pulls back and asks, “how long do you have?”
Yunho winces. “Only a couple hours. At the most.”
Minhyuk hums, a little sad, and runs his palms down Yunho’s chest to his hips. “So what do you want, jagi?”
Everything you’ll give me, is the usual answer. His fantasies over the last couple weeks have been extensive and lurid: Minhyuk riding him, Minhyuk on his knees, Minhyuk pinning him to the mattress and fucking him open until he’s crying—the list is practically endless. But he’s aware of the ticking clock and how sleepy Minhyuk looks and how tired they both probably are.
He runs a thumb over the swell of Minhyuk’s bottom lip, red and slick from kissing. “Can I have your mouth?”
Minhyuk’s eyes are dark pools of desire. “Yeah,” he says. “I don’t have any schedules tomorrow besides Bikira.” He parts his lips, letting Yunho’s press against his tongue. Yunho shivers, already half-hard because he’s always been so, so easy for Minhyuk.
“Is that an invitation?” he asks.
Minhyuk pulls back and Yunho’s spit-slick thumb falls from his mouth, smearing a glistening line down his chin.
“Go on,” he murmurs, which means that, yes, tonight Yunho is in charge. Tonight, Minhyuk will submit to him. That used to be daunting—what if, in his inexperience, he messed up and hurt Minhyuk?—but they’ve built a foundation now. Yunho knows what the limits are and trusts himself not to cross them, trusts Minhyuk to stop him if he accidentally does.
“Get on your knees,” Yunho rasps. “Keep your clothes on.”
He likes how Minhyuk’s collarbones look within the frame of his wide-necked shirt. Likes the way the fabric of his shorts bunches up against his thighs as he sinks to the rug.
He blinks up at Yunho and he looks so young in this position. Not a sunbae, not the vaunted Legendary Idol, who is so talented that it’s sometimes terrifying to behold, but just a boy with soft, almost delicate features and a vulnerable expression on his face. Yunho doesn’t know if a little bit of it is an act, a play on innocence that Minhyuk shed a long time ago, and he doesn’t really care. It still makes him feel powerful, makes all the blood rush from his head.
He sinks his fingers into Minhyuk’s messy hair and forces his head back, exposing the line of his throat, the prominent veins on his neck.
“So pretty,” he can’t help murmuring.
Yunho is not possessive by nature. He doesn’t like the ugliness that jealousy can cause and he’s never wanted to stake a claim on anyone, wouldn’t want anyone to stake a claim on him. But a thought crackles through his brain— I’m the only one who gets to see him like this— and it sets him on fire. So many people want Minhyuk—admiring him, coveting him for his looks, his skill, his charisma—and it is only Yunho he submits to, only Yunho he gets on his knees for, only Yunho he lets into his bed.
“Put your hands behind your back,” Yunho says and when Minhyuk obeys, the fire licks hotter through his belly.
He lets go of Minhyuk’s hair so that he can push his sweatpants and boxers down, freeing his hard cock to the cool, air-conditioned air of Minhyuk’s bedroom. He peels his tank top off, too, because he knows that Minhyuk likes him shirtless. He was embarrassed at first, about his lack of muscle definition compared to Minhyuk, about the softness that still clings to his stomach, but Minhyuk whispered gorgeous, gorgeous, gorgeous until Yunho started to believe him.
Minhyuk is staring at him now with something close to reverence and it feels impossible that someone like Lee Minhyuk could want him this much. Yunho takes a deep breath, grounds himself as he draws Minhyuk back in.
“Two taps if you need me to stop, remember?”
It was Minhyuk who taught him that. Who showed him how to do it before he pressed his cock down Yunho’s throat until Yunho was choking on it, and it felt so good that he’d never wanted it to end.
“Yeah,” Minhyuk says now. “Don’t hold back, okay? I can take whatever you give me.”
“I won’t,” Yunho promises and grips Minhyuk’s hair again, sliding the slick head of his cock past Minhyuk’s parted lips and into the warm cavern of his mouth.
He doesn’t give Minhyuk much time to adjust, pushing deeper and deeper until he feels the clench of Minhyuk’s throat and Minhyuk makes a warbled noise around him. Minhyuk’s eyes flutter shut, tears gleaming on his lashes in the diffused light, and he keeps his hands obediently crossed behind his back as Yunho starts to thrust, starts to use him. It’s rough enough that the tears quickly slip free and spill down Minhyuk’s cheeks, that he chokes on nearly every push in. Spit drips from the corners of his stretched lips and Yunho admires the strain in his jaw, the mess getting all over his smooth, perfect skin.
He tightens his grip on Minhyuk’s hair and forces Minhyuk to take all of him, only stopping when Minhyuk’s nose is pressed against his pelvis and Minhyuk is whining faintly around the base of his cock. He holds Minhyuk there, silently counting in his head as Minhyuk struggles for air, then lets go once he’s hit ten seconds. Minhyuk coughs when Yunho’s cock slips out of his mouth, hiccuping through half a sob.
“Color?” Yunho asks, another thing that Minhyuk taught him.
“Green,” Minhyuk rasps with the gravelly remnants of his voice. “Don’t stop. ‘S good, don’t stop.”
So Yunho does it again and a third time, letting the pleasure steadily build in his gut. He gives Minhyuk another break after the fourth time, stroking Minhyuk’s wet face while Minhyuk tongues at his leaking slit. He can’t hold on for much longer, though—he’s never had Minhyuk’s ridiculous stamina—so he starts to chase his orgasm, increasing the speed of his thrusts.
Minhyuk takes the face fucking without complaint, squeezing his eyes shut against another wave of tears. Yunho doesn’t give him a warning before he finally comes, holding Minhyuk in place by his hair and spilling down throat. Minhyuk swallows dutifully, licks Yunho’s cock clean once he’s done, then rocks back on his heels with a heaving breath.
Yunho pulls his pants up and drops to his knees on the rug. He feels emptied out, sated, and now his priority is Minhyuk.
“Jagiya,” he says, wiping away the tears with the backs of his hands. “You did so good.”
Minhyuk leans into Yunho’s touch, closing his eyes. “Needed that,” he murmurs, voice a wreck.
He’s still hard in his pants—a dark patch spreading on the front of his sleep shorts—but his expression is peaceful.
(Are you sure you want me to be rough with you? Yunho asked him once and Minhyuk nodded in reassurance.
It gets me out of my head, he said. Sometimes, when I’m stressed, I really need to get out of my head.)
“Comeback’s hard,” Yunho says and Minhyuk nods.
“Haven’t done a solo one in years. Nervous.”
“You killed it.” Yunho draws him closer, cradling him. They should probably move to the bed, but that seems like too much effort. It’s much easier to get a hand in Minhyuk’s shorts right here, touching where Minhyuk is hot and slick.
Minhyuk hitches through a moan when Yunho wraps his fingers around his cock and begins to stroke—a steady rhythm that he’s learned Minhyuk likes. He sweeps over the head to gather precome and ease the slide, rubbing his fingers into Minhyuk’s slit. Minhyuk’s hips arch at the touch and he turns his face into Yunho’s neck, letting out a stream of whimpers.
“Come on,” Yunho encourages him, pressing his bare chest to the soft back of Minhyuk’s shirt. “Come for me.”
A few more strokes of his hand and Minhyuk does, shaking through his orgasm and spilling warm over Yunho’s fingers.
“Fuck,” he gasps, sagging against Yunho’s chest once he’s spent. “Needed that too.”
“So did I,” Yunho says. He kisses the exposed skin of Minhyuk’s shoulder and carefully extracts his messy hand. “Wait here. ‘M gonna get something to clean us up.”
Minhyuk hums, flopping bonelessly onto the rug. Yunho washes his hands in the bathroom and retrieves a warm cloth. Minhyuk hasn’t moved, still star-fished on his back and looking half-asleep.
“Hips up,” Yunho encourages, pulling off Minhyuk’s shorts and underwear. His cock has gone mostly soft, but Yunho can’t resist leaning down and gently licking him clean, wanting to feel him and taste him.
Minhyuk makes a stunned sound at the stimulation, sinking his fingers into Yunho’s hair and shivering beneath the wide press of Yunho’s tongue. Once Yunho’s gotten him mostly clean, he switches to the cloth to wipe away the last traces, pulling down his own pants to take care of himself too.
“Let me get you some new clothes.”
“Good,” Minhyuk mutters. “Don’t think I can move.”
Yunho pats his stomach as he pushes himself to his feet and heads over to dig a fresh set of underwear and a clean t-shirt out of Minhyuk’s dresser. He drops them both on Minhyuk’s face and laughs when Minhyuk kicks him in the leg in retaliation.
“Brat,” Minhyuk grumbles through the fabric before sitting up with a low groan. “Can you stay a bit?”
Yunho retrieves his phone from where he dropped it on the bed and checks the time. “Maybe an hour or so? Not long, sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Minhyuk murmurs, finishing dressing.
“Let me at least make you tea,” Yunho says and means let me take care of you.
Minhyuk used to be more resistant about it, used to insist that he was fine, until in exasperation Yunho gathered a bunch of research on aftercare and gently, lovingly threw it in Minhyuk’s face. Minhyuk caved and now he nods without any protest, gesturing towards the kitchen in a silent you know where the supplies are.
Yunho bends down to kiss him, tasting traces of himself on Minhyuk’s tongue, and goes to switch on the electric kettle. He makes the tea with honey to soothe Minhyuk’s throat and takes it out to where Minhyuk has positioned himself on the couch, still looking rumpled and well-fucked. He smiles sleepily up at Yunho as he accepts the cup.
“Thanks, jagiya.”
Yunho cuddles up next to him, folding his long legs onto the couch and resting his head on Minhyuk’s shoulder. The steam from the tea drifts in hot wisps across his face.
“It means a lot,” Minhyuk says after a few careful sips. “That you liked the album.” Yunho can hear the smirk in his voice when he adds, “that it turned you on.”
“It definitely did both,” Yunho says. “You’re hot, hyung, and talented. And you worked hard.”
Minhyuk hums, drinks more tea. “You’re working hard too.”
“I’m trying,” Yunho says, feeling his exhaustion creeping back slowly and insistently. “We’re all trying.”
Minhyuk’s lips press against his temple. “You’ll do amazing,” he promises. “You’re amazing, Yunho-yah.”
Yunho feels himself flush and his shoulders hunch with the instinctive need to hide that always runs through him when he’s complimented. “Aish, stop it. We’re focusing on you right now.” He puts a hand over Minhyuk’s knee. “You feeling okay?”
“Feeling great,” Minhyuk says with another cheerful sip. “I needed to get wrecked and you delivered.”
Yunho’s cheeks heat even more, which is absurd considering that he had his cock down Minhyuk’s throat less than twenty minutes ago. “Ah, you’re the one who taught me.”
“And you were a great student,” Minhyuk says. His voice still sounds smoky, a little strained, but he doesn’t look like he’s in any pain. “Top marks.”
“And I wasn’t too rough?” Yunho asks because he always has to ask, no matter how confident he gets in this dynamic they occasionally indulge in.
“You were perfect,” Minhyuk assures him. “I’ve told you before, sometimes I need this. And with comeback, all the solo stuff, a new album—I needed this.”
Yunho shifts to kiss his shoulder. “I love you,” he whispers.
“I love you, too,” Minhyuk says, pulling him closer.
_ _
December 2022
The pension is a small house not far from one of the Han River’s tributaries, half-frozen now. It sits on a hill overlooking the water and the forested mountains that rise on the opposite bank and in the spring it probably boasts a robust garden. All of its windows are large and its ceilings vaulted with rustic wooden beams running across them. The kitchen features sleek, modern appliances and granite countertops that Yunho runs his palm over with a quiet whistle. The bed in the single bedroom is a massive king that feels like an ocean when they lie on it and the main reason that Minhyuk picked this listing is the frankly obscene bathtub that takes up nearly a third of the adjoining bathroom—complete with jets and a stunning view of the forest, definitely big enough to fit both of them, even factoring in Yunho’s stupidly long limbs.
“Holy shit,” Yunho says, reverent.
“Uh-huh.” Minhyuk smirks at him.
“I didn’t even look at the pictures,” Yunho says, grinning. “I knew you’d choose well.”
“I have good taste,” Minhyuk agrees and laughs when Yunho sweeps over to kiss him, one big hand curled around the side of his neck.
Oh I’ve missed you, he thinks for about the tenth time since picking Yunho up from his dorm and he feels sappy, ridiculous, but he always knew that he’d be pathetic once he fell in love with someone. Yunho, at least, doesn’t make him feel embarrassed about it.
They unload the groceries they stopped to pick up in the nearby town and Minhyuk was half-expecting sex to unfold after that but when they end up in bed it’s snuggled under the covers fully clothed with Yunho’s arms wrapped around Minhyuk’s waist and Yunho’s mouth warm against Minhyuk’s jaw. It’s snowing again, flakes spattering onto the skylight above them in fractal patterns, and Minhyuk curls one of his hands over Yunho’s, rubbing across the rough skin of Yunho’s knuckles.
“Sorry,” Yunho predictably mutters. “I know I promised lots of sex—”
“We have time, jagi,” Minhyuk reminds him. “I know you’re tired. And cuddling isn’t a hardship.”
“‘M so tired,” Yunho agrees.
2022 has been a whirlwind year for him: two tours, a comeback, a radio show, numerous variety show tapings, and several other performances on important stages, including Gayo Daejeon just yesterday. Minhyuk remembers what it feels like to not be able to breathe, to not remember the last time you slept, to run on the dangerous fumes of passion, adrenaline, and terror that if you slowed down for even a moment, it would all slip through your fingers.
It won’t, he wants to promise Yunho, even though there’s no way either of them can know for certain, especially with the mine that is their relationship sitting in the dirt beneath their feet, waiting to be uncovered, explode, and potentially ruin them both.
Still, Minhyuk is certain that Yunho and his group are going to reach heights BTOB never even dreamed of.
“Sleep, jagiya,” he says, twisting in Yunho’s arms so he can press his forehead to Yunho’s chest and hold him back. “You need it.”
Yunho hums and passes out between one breath and the next. Minhyuk laughs quietly to himself—oh an idol’s cultivated ability to fall asleep literally anywhere. He has a distinct memory of being twenty-three and managing to nap stretched across two uncomfortable plastic chairs in the middle of a busy green room. Now he thinks he’d probably just permanently fuck up his spine.
This bed is insanely comfortable, though. He feels like he’s lying on a cloud and the layers of blankets provide a warm cocoon to burrow into. He wishes, suddenly, that he could spend the rest of the winter like this—that humans could hibernate like bears and him and Yunho could just shut out the rest of the world and sleep in each other’s arms until spring brings blossoms to the cherry trees.
Sappy idiot, he thinks to himself with a soft huff.
Yunho pulls him closer in his sleep and Minhyuk surrenders, deciding that he wouldn’t mind a nap, either. He can’t extract himself now so he closes his eyes, Yunho’s heartbeat steady against his cheek, and lets the world fade.
_ _
He wakes up in the middle of being dropped face-first into the pillows and Yunho’s exclamation of “oh shit,” echoing somewhere above him. He coughs and pushes himself up on one elbow, startled at having his air so suddenly cut off. A familiar hand lands on his shoulder and he imagines that once the sleep fully clears from his vision, he’ll get a great view of Yunho’s guilty face.
“Sorry, hyung,” Yunho says, sounding extremely guilty. “You were on top of me and I really had to pee.”
Minhyuk squints at him. “So you decided to just toss me like a sack of rice?”
“No!” Yunho clears his throat. “I was trying to gently roll you over to the other side of the bed but I pushed a little too hard.”
“Giant,” Minhyuk grumbles. “Don’t know your own strength.”
“I’m pretty sure you’re technically stronger than me.”
Yunho is probably correct, but Minhyuk is still groggy so he just waves a dismissive hand. Yunho’s mouth flicks in a grateful smile and he vanishes into the adjoining bathroom. Minhyuk uses the time to sit up properly and try to tame his bedhead. Somehow, his hair feels more unruly after cutting it short again. Outside, the world has gone blue and murky with twilight—mist rolling in off the river to blanket the yard and curl through the trees. They should start thinking about dinner soon. Minhyuk promised to cook after Yunho mentioned living off takeout for the better part of this year.
But the bed is warm and Yunho is crawling back into it, settling gently over Minhyuk with knees pressed into the mattress on either side of Minhyuk’s hips. He smirks as he rests his arms on Minhyuk’s shoulders and Minhyuk leans in to suck a mark into the side of his neck, thrilled that they don’t have any schedules to force them to be careful at least until the end of this week. He can leave as many bruises as he wants and they’ll have time to fade.
Yunho sighs at the scrape of his teeth, rolling his hips down in a slow, tortuous grind. “Missed you,” he murmurs. “Missed this.”
Minhyuk hums, running his hands down the broad expanse of Yunho’s back. He tugs insistently at the loose hem of Yunho’s sweater. “Take this off. Wanna see you.”
It’s been so long since he’s gotten Yunho unfiltered, free of the barrier of a phone screen, and his chest goes tight when Yunho yanks the sweater over his head and reveals an expanse of smooth skin for Minhyuk to touch. He presses a hot trail of kisses down Yunho’s sternum and fits his mouth over one nipple, swirling his tongue around the hardening nub to get Yunho gasping.
Yunho’s fully hard now, erection rubbing against Minhyuk’s stomach through several layers of dampening fabric, and his fingers dig into Minhyuk’s shoulders hard enough to ache as Minhyuk moves to the other nipple and uses his teeth to add a light edge of pain. Yunho’s never liked too much of it—a contrast to Minhyuk who used to revel in pushing his body to various limits and has mellowed out slightly with age—but this makes him whimper, makes his thighs twitch and his pretty mouth fall open.
“Sensitive boy,” Minhyuk murmurs and rubs his thumbs over Yunho’s hips, dipping beneath the waistband of his pants and underwear. “What do you want?”
“Just touch me,” Yunho says. He pulls at the neck of Minhyuk’s shirt. “Take this off and touch me.”
Minhyuk grins and lets Yunho help him get the shirt off. “Fuck,” Yunho says at the sight of his chest and it’s gratifying: the fact that Yunho looks at him with awe even when his body isn’t at its peak, when he’s gone a little softer at the edges between photoshoots and schedules.
“Let me guess,” Minhyuk teases. “You’ve missed this too?”
“You have no idea,” Yunho grumbles and then his big hands are on Minhyuk’s skin—his nipples, stomach, dipping into the lines of his Adonis belt.
Minhyuk turns molten at the touch, like a missing part of his body has suddenly come alive again and been reduced to shuddering heat at the feel of Yunho. Yunho’s mouth slotting over his, Yunho’s cock sliding against his own as Yunho shifts to line them up. His perfect boy. He regains enough of his senses to dip a hand into Yunho’s underwear, curling his fingers around the slick length of Yunho’s cock. Yunho moans against his lips, rocking into the touch.
It’s not enough, Minhyuk wants to see all of him. So he pauses to push Yunho’s pants and underwear down to a tangle around his thighs, completely baring him. He’s hard and wet, flushed at the tip, and somehow bigger than Minhyuk remembered.
“So pretty,” Minhyuk murmurs as he gets a hand back around Yunho and begins to move in earnest, twisting his hand on the upstroke in the way that he knows Yunho’s likes. “C’mon, jagi, let me see you come.”
“Fuck,” Yunho hiccups again, shuddering over Minhyuk.
It’s been so long that Minhyuk knows this won’t take much for either of them. “Come on,” he urges. “Come on, baby. That’s it.”
Yunho presses his face into the crook of Minhyuk’s neck, hips jerking, and comes after only a few more strokes, painting Minhyuk’s chest and stomach. Minhyuk wraps his free arm around Yunho’s shoulders and holds him close as he shivers through the aftermath, their heavy breaths mingling in the hush of the cabin.
“You too,” Yunho murmurs after a minute, rallying. “Let me take care of you.”
Minhyuk nods and spreads his legs so Yunho can take his pants and underwear off, so Yunho can touch him, and he blinks up at the ceiling as Yunho’s clever fingers take him apart—head empty and chest still pulled taut.
_ _
April 2022
“Jagiya!” Minhyuk exclaims as soon as his face appears on Yunho’s phone. “Where are you?”
It’s early morning in Seoul and the sunrise turns Minhyuk’s hair golden, bathes his sleepy features in soft light. He’s wearing a sweater that Yunho thinks once belonged to him—baggy enough to expose his collarbones—and clutching a cup of coffee in his free hand. Yunho’s caught him in the middle of his morning routine, probably only half an hour or so after he woke up.
“I’m in London,” Yunho says. “We just got to the hotel.” The flight from Madrid was mercifully short, even if traffic was terrible and they were stuck in a car for over an hour trying to get from Heathrow into the city.
Yunho mostly wants to pass out face down on his bed and not move until morning, but he hasn’t talked to Minhyuk at all in nearly a week and somehow he’s become one of those people who can’t go that long without seeing their significant other, even only over FaceTime.
“What time is it there?” Minhyuk asks.
“Around nine-thirty,” Yunho consults his phone. “I think we’re about nine hours ahead of you now.”
“You’re moving in the wrong direction,” Minhyuk jokes wryly and Yunho laughs.
“Sorry. Blame our tour schedule. But we go to Paris after this, so I’m an hour closer again.”
“How are you?” Minhyuk asks and that usually isn’t a complicated question, but tonight?
Yunho is exhausted and he misses Seoul and Minhyuk. He misses the comfort of home, both his own dorm and Minhyuk’s apartment. He misses good Korean food. He misses Minhyuk most of all. But he’s excited for their concert tomorrow and he’s loved almost every minute they’ve spent on tour, getting to see fans in person for the first time in so long, getting to soak up the energy of a stadium and using it to propel themselves into the stratosphere. He wishes he could magic Minhyuk here just to hold him for a night and then maybe this ache would settle.
“I’m okay,” he lands on. He tries not to lie to Minhyuk. “Tired. Homesick. But the tour has been good.”
“I’ve seen clips,” Minhyuk says with a tender smile. “You’re on fire.”
“Yeah,” Yunho grins. “I think I’m permanently about seventy percent adrenaline right now.”
“When’s your last stop?” Minhyuk takes a sip of coffee. He’s using the mug Yunho got him before he left. It’s got a little cartoon golden retriever painted on one side and Minhyuk cackled at the sight of it.
(Are you fully embracing your dog boy status? He asked, eyes glinting. Is this a weird way of telling me you want to try pet play?
Yunho turned scarlet and said that, yes, he’s resigned to the dog boy status, but, no, he very much doesn’t want to try pet play.
Oh thank god, Minhyuk said. Like, I would have tried for you, Yunho-yah, you know that, but I don’t think I would have had a good time.)
“Amsterdam,” Yunho says. “I think?” The dates are all blurred together in his head and he’s relying on the staff to remind him what new city they’re in and where they’re going next.
“I like Amsterdam,” Minhyuk says. “Haven’t been in ages. London, either.”
“Wish you could be here now,” Yunho mumbles. The last time they saw each other in person was close to a month ago and that was only for a few short hours, snatched between tour preparations and other schedules.
Minhyuk’s expression softens—a tenderness that Yunho still doesn’t think he’s fully used to. “Me too,” he says. “I’ve always wanted to go on a date in a foreign city.” One corner of his mouth quirks up in a rueful smile. “Like a movie or something.”
An idea blooms, taking hold. It’s probably a bad one. They have rehearsals tomorrow and then two nights of shows after that. But he thinks he’s going to go crazy if he just sits here in the hotel all night.
“What are you doing today?”
Minhyuk checks his watch. “I have a photoshoot but that’s not until this afternoon, so I’m free for the next couple hours. Why?”
“Let’s take a walk together.”
“Like a date?”
Yunho nods. “Yeah. Or as close to one as we can get right now.”
“Am I staying in my apartment or walking too?”
“Let’s both walk,” Yunho decides. “You through Seoul, me through London. Take me somewhere romantic, hyung.”
Minhyuk’s eyebrows disappear behind his bangs. “Romantic, huh?”
“And I’ll find somewhere romantic here, too.”
The tenderness bleeds into Minhyuk’s smile. “Okay, Yunho-yah. Take me on a date.”
_ _
Yunho’s been to London a few times before, each a whirlwind, but this is his first time venturing into the city by himself. After doing a Naver search for romantic locations and tapping around on his map for several long minutes, he decides that Kensington Gardens would be the easiest one on the list to get to—only about thirty minutes by bus from their hotel. He decides to behave and let their manager know where he’s going, nodding along to the instructions to text when he arrives and when he’s on his way back. He has a reputation for being one of the more responsible members of the group so it’s not a long lecture and he doesn’t get a curfew set for him. Sometimes, he wonders what would change if the company knew about his secret boyfriend. There's never been a dating ban put in place, but there has also never been a discussion around the gender of a potential partner.
It’s not one Yunho’s really keen to have.
So he just smiles and bows to their manager before shrugging on a light jacket and venturing out into the cool spring evening, phone in hand and customary hat and mask in place.
It takes three embarrassing tries to find the right bus stop, even with the app on his phone, and another two to correctly pay with his phone while the elderly bus driver blinks at him impatiently. He curls up in a seat in the back of the bus once he’s succeeded, cheeks flushed, and puts his earphones in so he can call Minhyuk back.
Instantly, he can tell Minhyuk’s in his car—the distant, familiar sound of traffic filtering through the speakers.
“Okay, phase 1 is complete,” he says dramatically so he can hear Minhyuk’s bright peal of laughter.
“Mine almost is.”
“Where are you going?”
“Nope, we agreed we’d keep a secret. No spoilers.”
Well, Yunho didn’t expect that to work. He bites his lip to keep his grin under control. It’s not the same, but if he closed his eyes, he thinks he could pretend that Minhyuk’s in the seat next to him, shoulder touching his, commenting on the landmarks passing by outside with his sharp, goofy humor.
“Okay,” he says softly. “No spoilers.”
The bus deposits him in front of the gates to Kensington Gardens, wrought-iron and almost unassuming. He crosses through them into the park itself, glancing around at the wide paths, stately trees, and grassy fields still in the process of resurrection—spring green pushing back the brown of winter. On the other end of his phone, he hears Minhyuk get out of his car.
“Phase 2 commencing,” he says in a deep and dramatic voice, like he’s reporting on a secret mission.
Yunho laughs. “Me too.”
They agreed to switch to video when they’ve found the perfect spot. Yunho consults the map on his phone. The gardens are big, running into Hyde Park across a small river, but he’s close to Kensington Palace and he decides to show that off to Minhyuk. Fancy old buildings are romantic, right? Wooyoung always insists they are and occasionally Yunho trusts his opinion.
He walks at a leisurely pace, taking in the trees and the lights. “You sound like you’re walking uphill.”
“Maybe I am,” Minhyuk says, teasing. “Does that narrow it down?”
“Not really,” Yunho admits. There are lots of hilly places in Seoul that Minhyuk could be going to.
“Well, I’m almost there.”
Yunho sees the palace up ahead, illuminated by spotlights that gleam bright through the trees. It looks like something out of a storybook with its brick face and large windows and the white statue of a queen sitting regal in the middle of a small, artificial pond. Yunho stops in front of her, squinting at the plaque in an attempt to make out the English letters in the darkness. He thinks it says Victoria, but he isn’t sure and supposes that it doesn't really matter. With her white stone cape, long scepter, and jeweled crown, she looks like something out of a storybook, too.
“I’m here,” he tells Minhyuk.
“Okay, give me five minutes,” Minhyuk says and the rhythm of his footsteps picks up speed.
“Yah, are you running?” Yunho asks, amused.
“I’m jogging,” Minhyuk fires back. “I don’t want to keep you waiting too long. And it’s good exercise.”
Yunho shakes his head. He went to the gym with Minhyuk once and promptly realized that if he went a second time he might not survive the experience, for multiple reasons.
“Waiting means staying on the phone with you longer, so I don’t mind it.”
Minhyuk makes a disgusted sound. “Aigoo. Sap.”
“You say that like it’s an insult, but I know you’re smiling.”
“I’m not smiling. I’m trying not to throw up.”
“You’re smiling. I can hear it in your voice.”
“You’re delusional.” Minhyuk stops. “And I’m here. So who’s going first?”
“I will,” Yunho says, since this was his idea. He taps his video on and raises his phone so that his shadowed face is in view. “Ready?”
“Ready,” Minhyuk says.
Yunho flips the camera around to show Minhyuk the palace. “Ta-da!”
“Wah,” Minhyuk exclaims. “It looks so pretty.”
“Romantic?” Yunho asks.
“Yes,” Minhyuk. “Very. Lots of trees to make out under, too.”
Yunho huffs a startled laugh. “You’re awful.”
“You love it,” Minhyuk says cheerfully, then his voice mellows into warm affection. “It’s beautiful, Yunho-yah, thanks for bringing me here.”
Yunho swallows past the sudden tightness in his throat. “It’s your turn.”
“Right,” Minhyuk says and his face appears on the screen, eyes scrunched up above the line of his mask. “Ready?”
“Ready,” Yunho says.
The camera flips and Yunho’s breath catches at the sprawl of Seoul suddenly laid out in front of him. Even within the confines of a phone screen, the view goes on forever, past the city to the distant mountains and the smudged blue horizon line. The skyscrapers glow in the golden light of early morning and the sky is remarkably clear today, so vivid it looks almost like a painting.
“Whoa,” Yunho whispers. “Hyung, you went all the way up to Seoul Tower?”
“Well,” Minhyuk says and there’s more love in his voice than Yunho knows what to do with, “I figured, since we were talking about movies earlier, this seemed fitting. Even though in a movie, I’d be here at sunrise and I’d probably be wearing a suit instead of track pants. So sorry, I couldn’t deliver on that front.”
“It’s perfect,” Yunho insists. His eyes burn but he tells himself it's the wind because he refuses to cry in a public park. “It’s perfect, jagi.”
The camera flips back around to Minhyuk’s face. “I don’t know if I should say this—if it will just make it worse—but I miss you, Yunho-yah.”
It does hurt, a little jab to the chest, but…. “I want to hear it, though. It’s good, knowing that you miss me.”
Minhyuk used to be more reticent about verbally expressing sentiment like this, but after nearly a year, Yunho’s worn him down, carefully and persistently gotten him to open up.
“Silly,” Minhyuk says, falling back into more comfortable teasing. “Of course I miss you.”
“Three more weeks,” Yunho says. “Then maybe we can have some time.”
With their schedules, it’s always maybe, maybe, maybe but Yunho is learning to take whatever he can get, even when it doesn’t feel like enough.
“Three more weeks,” Minhyuk agrees. “Bring me back souvenirs.”
“I will, I promise.”
“Tacky ones.”
“The tackiest I can find.”
Minhyuk’s eyes shrink to slits from the force of his grin, the fabric of his mask puffing up as his cheeks do. “Good. Now, you should go rest, baby.”
Minhyuk doesn’t call him that very often and it sends a warm shiver trilling down Yunho’s spine. “I will,” he promises. “Just stay with me? Until I get back to the hotel?”
“Of course,” Minhyuk says. “I’m here.”
_ _
December 2022
They figure out the fancy appliances in the kitchen together to make a big dinner considering they slept straight through lunch. After they’ve stuffed themselves full, Minhyuk insists on doing the dishes because Yunho looks tired again, worn at his edges. He still tries to protest, only stopping when Minhyuk threatens to smack him with a dish towel.
“Okay, okay,” he says in surrender, kissing Minhyuk on the cheek. “I’m gonna call my family.”
Minhyuk nods and puts his own mother on speaker phone as he starts washing their myriad of plates, bowls, and pots. He texted her to let her know that he arrived safely, but if he doesn’t make at least one call, he’ll get an earful when he gets back.
She picks up on the second ring with a bright, “Minhyuk-ah!”
“Hi, eomma,” Minhyuk says. “Sorry for the noise, I’m washing dishes.”
Yunho has retreated outside, huddled on the deck in his coat and hat with his phone clutched in a gloved hand. It’s still snowing and Minhyuk can hear the faint crunch of Yunho’s boots as he shifts his weight back and forth.
“You’re washing dishes?” he mother asks, drawing his attention away from Yunho. “Willingly?”
“Eomma,” he protests. “I always clean up at home. That’s slander.”
His mother laughs. “Are you and your friend having a good time?”
He’s my boyfriend, Minhyuk thinks, aching. I’ve been dating him for over a year. The confession has perched on the tip of his tongue constantly, but he’s still not brave enough to make it. He knows that in spite of her overall acceptance of his sexuality, she still mostly expects him to marry a woman and settle down. Start a family. Like a good son is eventually supposed to do. His relationships with men are flings that he’s meant to leave in the past.
How does he crush that dream of hers? How does he tell her that when he pictures marriage, it’s an impossibility because these days it’s Yunho standing on the other side of the altar? He’s always been good with words and yet he can’t shape this into something she’ll understand, especially considering the age difference between him and Yunho on top of everything else.
It hurts. And the longer he keeps the secret, the more it will hurt when it’s inevitably revealed. She’ll be betrayed, as well as heartbroken, and he can’t face that. So he keeps lying, keeps his head buried in the sand, and promises himself that he’ll deal with the fallout when it comes. Don’t think about it too much before then.
“We are,” he says, covering the phone speaker so he can clear his throat and keep any traces of tears out of his voice. “The pension is so pretty. It’s nice to get away.”
“I’m glad,” his mother says warmly.
They chat for a few more minutes—his mom catches him up on the latest gossip in her and dad’s social circles, and mentions that she loved the latest radio show; he mostly hums along, letting her talk and the sound of her voice wash over him in a soothing wave.
“I have to go, eomma,” he says when he’s on his last dish. “But I’ll call again soon. Before the concert.”
“You’d better,” she says and hangs up. Minhyuk carefully sets the last dish onto the rack, balancing it precariously on top of several others. It wobbles, but holds because he’s always been a master at dish tetris.
Yunho is still out on the porch, pacing back and forth in a tight line. He looks more agitated than he would on a call with his family so, fighting a sudden stab of worry, Minhyuk dries his hands, puts on his coat and boots, and slips outside.
“I’m fine,” Yunho is saying, voice stiff and formal. “I’ll be back on the 27th, just like I promised, hyungnim. Have I ever disregarded my professional responsibilities before?”
Ah. This sounds very close to the argument Minhyuk had with his own company. Minhyuk normally doesn’t like to cause a fuss or throw his weight around, but considering the fact that he hasn’t seen his boyfriend in person in nearly four months, in this one instance he happily threw as much weight as possible. It still required a lot of soothing of management’s nerves over several phone calls and in-person meetings before they agreed to let him book the trip. Even though Yunho hasn’t really talked about it, he’s sure it was a much harder fight for him.
“Yes, hyungnim,” Yunho says. “I’ll call when we’re on our way back. As soon as we leave.” A pause. Yunho rubs his temple. “Yes, I’ll be back in time for rehearsals.” A longer pause. “Yes, I know we need to talk. Can it wait until after comeback?”
Well, that sounds ominous.
“Okay,” Yunho says. “Thank you. Bye, hyungnim.” Yunho hangs up and pockets his phone with a misty sigh.
“Talk?” Minhyuk asks, raising both eyebrows.
“I had to tell them this trip wasn’t just with a friend,” Yunho murmurs. “They wouldn’t let me come otherwise, considering how close to comeback we are. So I … I told them that I have a girlfriend and I hadn’t seen her in months and could I just get two days?”
Ah. Minhyuk isn’t surprised by the lie, it’s one he’s told many times over the years. Yunho looks guilty, though, and that won’t do. “Well, I make an excellent girlfriend, too,” he says and that at least gets him a wan smile.
“Our company has never imposed a dating ban,” Yunho says. “But we’re supposed to let them know if we start a relationship. NDAs, stuff like that.”
Minhyuk hums. It’s why he mostly just stuck to flings that he didn’t tell the company about.
“So they were mad that I’d kept a girlfriend from them,” Yunho continues. “And they want to know who she is and make sure she’s signed all the required paperwork if I’m going to keep dating her.” An agitated breath. “And I don’t know how to tell them that I lied. And that it’s not a girl. And that it’s another idol. And that it’s a sunbae.”
Oh. Oh.
“Hey,” Minhyuk rubs soothing hands down Yunho’s sides. “Hey, we’ll figure it out, yeah? I’m part of this relationship, too, and I’ll help however you need me to.”
Another wobbly smile. “Thank you. I just … I’m scared. I don’t regret any of this, I won’t break up with you even if they try to force me—they don’t own me and my contract says they can’t stop me from dating. But I’m still scared. Coming out to my members was easy but—”
“This is harder,” Minhyuk agrees. “It’s always so much harder.”
“Does anyone at your company know?”
“One or two managers,” Minhyuk says. “The ones that have been with us awhile, that I know I can trust. Not about you. After over ten years with them, I have a little more sway. I didn’t have to explain myself as much.”
Yunho nods. Minhyuk squeezes his sides through the fabric of his coat. “But I will tell them about you if that’s what I need to do. Like I said, I’m in this with you, Yunho-yah.”
This is something he’s willing to fight for, even if that battle is with two separate companies. And he doesn’t like thinking about the potential power imbalance between them, but in this instance he’s not afraid to lean into his senior position in the industry if it means sparing Yunho pain. He’ll happily try to take the brunt of any public fallout, too, if it comes to that. Let them think that this was his fault, that he is the one who seduced a younger man, that he was the one who pressured Yunho into a relationship and forced him to stay. He trusts his own group’s ability to survive and though losing this career would hurt, it won’t kill him like it might have a few years ago, when he was younger and hungrier and being an idol meant everything.
Yunho hugs him, practically folding around him, and presses his chin into Minhyuk’s hair that’s growing damp with snow. “Thank you,” he murmurs, still sounding close to tears. “That means a lot. That helps.”
“Good,” Minhyuk says.
You’re mine to protect, he thinks, but keeps to himself. Yunho is strong on his own, too. Stronger than Minhyuk felt at twenty-four.
He trusts that they’ll be okay.
“Let’s go inside,” he suggests, the cold registering now that his emotions have settled a little. “And put our phones somewhere they won’t bother us for a while.”
“Good idea,” Yunho says.
He takes Minhyuk’s hand and leads him back over the threshold, into the warmth of the pension.
_ _
August 2022
Minhyuk’s couch shouldn’t be as comfortable as it is, considering that it’s too short for Yunho to stretch out completely, but it’s surprisingly soft and Minhyuk always has extra blankets in his closet that Yunho can wrap himself up in like a burrito. The plants scattered around the living room add to an atmosphere of tranquility and when Yunho’s feeling sad or overwhelmed, he’s taken to coming here to escape, even when Minhyuk himself isn’t present.
There are still traces of him everywhere: the half-full mug he forgot to put away lingering on the coffee table; the sweater thrown over the back of the armchair; the handful of dishes in the sink, soaking away remnants of dinner; the purple post-it on the fridge, instructing Yunho to help himself to leftovers; the haphazard grocery list right next to it and a picture of the two of them right below that, which Minhyuk is always careful to remove before filming anything. In it, Yunho has his arms wrapped around Minhyuk from behind, his chin on Minhyuk’s head, and both of them are grinning, faces flushed with early-spring cold. They took it on a rare day trip to Incheon, where they spent a few hours on the beach and huddled in the back of a restaurant to eat Jjamppong, letting the spice sear their tongues.
Yunho texted Minhyuk that he would be coming over before he punched in the door code, stripped down to his underwear, and burrowed onto the sofa like a sad caterpillar, uncaring of the summer heat. They finally finished their last music show stage for Guerilla and he’s thrilled at how well they did, how many records they broke (six wins! a million copies sold!), but he’s also exhausted. This summer has been a chaotic blur of variety show tapings and comeback preparations and now that he finally has a moment to breathe, his body is reminding himself that he’s human and he needs rest.
He hasn’t had a chance to see Minhyuk since their appearance on Bikira last week and that was in a professional setting, so he decided to take advantage of their day off to sneak away.
(Say hi to sunbae for me, San said with a suggestive waggle of his eyebrows and Yunho pretended that he wasn’t blushing furiously in response.
We’ll cover for you, Seonghwa said much more helpfully, but always with an added be careful threaded underneath.)
Minhyuk texted back to say that he’d home sometime early evening so Yunho was planning on cooking dinner for them, just to show off how much he’s improved in the year they’ve been dating. But he ends up passing out nearly as soon as his head hits the couch cushion and wakes to a hand on his shoulder, gently shaking him. Blinking the sleepy haze from his eyes brings Minhyuk into focus, crouched next to the sofa and backlit by the warm sun of golden hour. He looks incredible in a loose tank top that shows off his arms and the sculpted muscle of his pectorals, and the sheen of sweat clinging to his skin suggests that he just came from a workout. His gaze and the smile in the corner of his mouth drip with affection.
“Hey, sleepyhead,” he says, warm as the rays of light pushing through the windowpanes.
“Shit,” Yunho mumbles, “what time ‘s it?”
“Like six?” Minhyuk says, not bothering to check his watch.
Whoops.
“Was gonna make dinner….”
“Aigoo,” Minhyuk huffs at him. “Why? You need sleep, Jeong Yunho. I know you’ve barely gotten any recently.”
Yunho sits up with a sigh, blanket pooling to his waist. Minhyuk’s gaze obviously roams over his bare chest, heavy with appreciation. “I wanted to do something nice.”
“You’re the one who just had a comeback, which means it’s my turn to do something nice for you,” Minhyuk says.
Yunho arches an eyebrow. “Are those the rules?”
“Those are the rules,” Minhyuk agrees.
He leans in and presses a hot kiss to Yunho’s mouth, easily sliding his tongue past Yunho’s lips to take him apart—fingers on Yunho’s chin to hold his head in place. When he pulls back, Yunho knows a flush is creeping down his neck and his pulse has picked up an embarrassing amount. Minhyuk just grins at him, loving and a little predatory.
“So I already ordered pizza.”
Yunho accepts defeat. “Thanks, hyung.”
Another kiss, this time a brief peck to Yunho’s cheek. “I’m gonna shower before it arrives. Be right back.”
Yunho resumes his position on the couch as Minhyuk stands, closing his eyes to track Minhyuk through the apartment: into his closet to remove his dirty clothes, down the little hall to the bathroom—the shower turning on with a faint creak of pipes. Minhyuk hums to himself as he washes up, loud enough to be heard over the spray. It sounds like an IVE track, though Yunho forgets the actual title.
When Minhyuk returns, he’s shirtless and rubbing his hair dry with the towel draped over his neck. “Are you spending the night?” he asks. “I have to leave for Bikira in…” a glance at the clock on the wall, “about two-and-a-half hours but I’ll be back around twelve-thirty.”
“I shouldn’t,” Yunho mumbles. He can’t remember what they are right now, but he’s pretty sure there are schedules tomorrow. A photoshoot maybe? Or a recording session? Or is he getting mixed up and they have tomorrow off, too?
“I know,” Minhyuk says, “but are you?”
Yunho smiles against the fabric of the couch. “I am.”
He can always sneak back in early tomorrow morning, he’s become extremely adept at that, even with their manager currently living in the dorm as they wrap up comeback. He just has to ignore the twinge of guilt he feels every time he lies about his whereabouts or one of the others covers for him.
“Good,” Minhyuk says. “I might have missed you.”
“It’s only been a week,” Yunho points out.
“That’s why I said ‘might have’,” Minhyuk replies, poking him. “Also it’s our anniversary soon and this might be the only chance we get to acknowledge it.”
Oh. Their anniversary. In the haze of constant schedules, Yunho had completely forgotten. Now, he sits up and stares at Minhyuk in horror. “Hyung, I didn’t get you anything.”
Minhyuk flaps a hand at him. “It’s fine, jagi. I didn’t get anything, either. Wasn’t even sure if I was gonna get to see you. But here you are! My present!”
He seems so genuinely enthusiastic about it that Yunho’s nerves and guilt ease.
“Ta-da,” he says, throwing out his arms. “I’ll still send you flowers sometime.”
“Aish, I don’t need flowers,” Minhyuk insists. “Don’t make me be even sappier, but you’re enough. Okay? Making it to a year is enough.” He winks, flirtatious. “And we can have fun later, that’ll be a present too.”
“It’s a date,” Yunho says quietly as the room grows heavy with promise.
Minhyuk changes into a t-shirt to answer the door for pizza and Yunho extracts himself from the blankets to re-dress and set the coffee table with two plates. By unspoken agreement, he queues up the next episode of Big Mouth, which they’ve been trying to watch together when they can. Minhyuk gives him an appreciative smile when he sets the pizza down. It’s quiet and domestic—the soft noise of the TV, the slowly darkening living room, the hot press of Minhyuk’s leg to his own, the sauce sticking to his fingers from the pizza—and this might be his favorite way to spend time with Minhyuk. The sex is always fantastic, but their relationship feels the most real in easy moments like this, when the world has shrunk down to just the two of them in the cocoon of Minhyuk’s living room and they can be two men who are dating and nothing else.
Too quickly, the hours bleed away and Minhyuk is changing to head to KBS for Bikira’s nightly taping. Yunho’s phone buzzes on the couch and his stomach sinks when he checks the message.
Hongjoong hyung
where are u?
manager is asking
u need to come back soon
Shit.
“What’s wrong?” Minhyuk asks, reading the distress that must be showing on his face.
“I can’t stay any longer,” Yunho says, bitterness creeping into his voice.
He wants to pretend that he didn’t see the message and spend the night with Minhyuk in blissful ignorance. But right now, his group has to come first. It’s a promise he made to Hongjoong at the start of all of this.
“Ah,” Minhyuk says in resigned understanding.
“I’m sorry.”
“Oh, Yunho-yah.” Minhyuk rubs his knuckles over Yunho’s cheek. “You never have to apologize to me for this. I get it.”
Yunho nods. His throat feels tight. “It still sucks.”
“The sacrifices we make,” Minhyuk says with gentle weariness.
Months ago, Minhyuk told him about participating in ISAC on a busted knee, fighting through the pain because his group needed the recognition. He’s shared stories about living in a cramped apartment, about the first time he kissed another boy and threw up in the bathroom from the terror of it, about countless sleepless nights and doomed relationships and pushing his health to dangerous limits all for the chance to keep performing, to keep being loved.
Sometimes, those stories make Yunho’s own sacrifices feel small in comparison. But tonight the sadness on Minhyuk’s face echoes the sadness lodged in his own chest like a piece of shrapnel—all the time they never have coalesced into a fierce, radiant ache.
“I just don’t like that you’re one,” he murmurs.
“I know,” Minhyuk says. “But, Yunho-yah, I always knew that I’d be one. So don’t feel bad, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”
Yunho tries to keep believing that. “Okay. I’ll call you?”
Minhyuk nods and kisses Yunho on the mouth before he pulls his face mask up. In the elevator to the parking garage, he turns to Yunho and says, “oh, I wanted to tell you in person, as your boyfriend: you were amazing this comeback. That’s why I have to be a sacrifice. You’re too good to give this up. You’re gonna reach the stars, take the world by storm—insert all the cliche but true phrases here.”
Tears well in Yunho’s eyes. Minhyuk sounds earnest, so sincere, just like he did during ATEEZ’s appearance on Bikira only a month or so into dating Yunho, when he said that he watched all of their comeback stages, that they were family.
“Thank you,” he hiccups and Minhyuk wipes his face as a few tears escape.
“Aigoo, jagiya. I mean it. So go home. Don’t worry about me. We’ll talk soon.”
“Okay,” Yunho whispers. “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” Minhyuk replies.
They part ways outside the elevators—Minhyuk to his car and Yunho to the street to hail a taxi to drive him back across the city to Mapo. When he slips into the dorm half an hour later, Hongjoong is waiting for him in the living room with a questioning expression that borders on accusatory.
“Sorry,” Yunho says.
“I told hyungnim you were out with friends,” Hongjoong says, flat. “Make sure you stick to that story.”
“I will,” Yunho promises. “Thank you, hyung.”
Hongjoong blows out a frustrated breath. “Just be careful, Yunho-yah. We’re not always going to be able to cover for you.”
Yunho thinks of Minhyuk, calling himself a sacrifice. “I know. I’m sorry,” he repeats. “I’ll be more cautious.”
Hongjoong pokes him in the arm, some of his seriousness falling away. “Yah, drop the professional idol tone. It’s annoying. And go tell hyungnim you’re back.”
“Okay,” Yunho says, squeezing Hongjoong’s shoulder. “Thank you.”
Hongjoong huffs and waves a dismissive hand, heading for the front door and probably the studio where he’ll stay until dawn. Yunho, as promised, pokes his head into their manager’s room and apologizes for getting carried away with his friends and not watching the time, considering they have schedules tomorrow. The lie falls so easily off his tongue now, he should probably be ashamed of himself.
“It’s fine, Yunho-yah,” their manager says with a sigh. “You’re not a kid, just be more mindful.”
“I will,” Yunho says with a professional, mollifying bow. “I promise. Thank you.”
By the time he’s also assured San that he’s fine, changed into pajamas, and crawled into bed it’s after eleven p.m. and Minhyuk’s show is half over. Still, Yunho fits his headphones into his ears and pulls up the KBS Cool FM station on his phone, tuning into Bikira just in time to hear Minhyuk’s familiar, soothing voice.
“KBS Cool FM’s ‘BTOB Kiss the Radio’ Part 2 has begun. I’m BTOB’s Lee Minhyuk. Please say hello once again!”
_ _
December 2022
The winter sun radiates through the skylight and windows of the pension, coating the world in a dream-like haze. Minhyuk’s teeth scrape against the soft fabric of the pillow as Yunho moves inside of him, slow and deep enough to make his head spin. His own heavy, panting breath echoes loud in his ears, mingling with Yunho’s. Yunho, who took his time opening Minhyuk up while Minhyuk was still pliant with sleep, long fingers rubbing over his prostate again and again and again, unraveling him until he actually hiccuped out a desperate “please”— the first time he’s ever begged.
Now Yunho fucks him in a lazy rhythm, peppering his trembling shoulders with hot kisses. Every thrust grinds Minhyuk’s own cock against the mattress, steadily driving him insane.
“You feel so good,” Yunho slurs, nuzzling Minhyuk’s neck. “‘S been so long.”
Months. It’s been months and oh, Minhyuk missed this. He’s had a fair share of partners over the years but he doesn’t think anyone has taken him apart quite like Yunho does, like he’s splitting at his seams, reduced to static and thread, and he’s grateful for it.
“‘M close,” he whines. “I’m—”
Yunho pulls out and Minhyuk lets out a dismayed, frustrated noise.
“Sorry,” Yunho says, hands at Minhyuk’s waist. “I want to see your face.”
He rolls Minhyuk onto his back, easily holding Minhyuk’s legs up and sliding back inside in a smooth, practiced motion—so far from the uncertain, blushing boy he was at the start of their relationship.
“Fuck,” Minhyuk gasps at the new angle, thumping his head against the pillows. “Oh fuck.”
“Good?” Yunho asks.
Minhyuk nods helplessly. “Yeah … shut up, you know it is.”
Yunho laughs, bright, face scrunching, and settles over him, rolling his hips again, and Minhyuk feels so open that he’s shaking.
“Forgot how big you are,” he says, trailing off into another embarrassing whine at Yunho’s next slow, tortuous thrust.
Yunho’s brow wrinkles in concern. “You’re okay, though? It doesn’t hurt?”
It does a bit, because taking Yunho always comes with an edge, but one that Minhyuk enjoys. “‘M fine,” Minhyuk promises. “Told you … it’s good. You’re good.” He reaches up to cup Yunho’s face, slick with a fine sheen of sweat. “My good boy.”
Now it’s Yunho who whines, so easy for praise, and bends down to seal his mouth over Minhyuk’s as he loses some of his careful coordination, approaching his orgasm. Minhyuk clenches around him, drawing another whimper from his mouth that vibrates into Minhyuk’s.
“Come on, baby,” Minhyuk murmurs against Yunho’s wet lips. “Come inside, let me feel it.”
Yunho presses into him even deeper, so deep Minhyuk swears he can feel it all the way up to the backs of his teeth, and comes with a gasping moan. Minhyuk shudders, hips twitching, at the warm sensation of being filled—come mixing with lube to make a perfect mess between his thighs. His own cock is still hard and aching, but he doesn’t want to let go of Yunho yet.
So he clamps his knees to Yunho’s sides and manages to flip them over, pinning Yunho to the mattress.
“Shit,” Yunho mumbles in amazement.
Minhyuk shoots him a proud grin. Looks like he’s still got it. Yunho is softening inside of him, but it still feels good when Minhyuk rocks down. He braces a hand on Yunho’s chest and chases his own orgasm, bouncing hard enough that the wooden frame of the bed actually creaks and Yunho half-sobs at the overstimulation, staring up at Minhyuk with awed, glassy eyes.
Minhyuk used to be able to come untouched, but that was a long time ago. When he gets a hand around himself now, though, it’s too dry, and he doesn’t want to try to track down the bottle of lube long lost amongst the pillows. Hardly able to believe how filthy he’s about to be, he reaches between his legs to gather some of the come that’s leaked out around Yunho’s cock.
“Hyung,” Yunho breathes in shock when Minhyuk coats his shaft with it. “Oh my god.”
“Shut up,” Minhyuk huffs, knowing the redness heating his cheeks is from more than arousal now. He stops the restless motion of his hips, huddled on top of Yunho and stroking himself almost frantically, so close to the edge that his stomach is one big knot and his thighs are quivering. All he can hear is the deep rasp of his breath, all he can see is the wonder on Yunho’s face as Yunho watches him.
In the end, it’s Yunho’s hand closing over the head of his cock, fingers trailing along his leaking slit, down to the sensitive underside, that finally tips him over. He comes with a hoarse cry all over Yunho’s chest and stomach and his own already filthy hand. Exhausted and uncaring of the mess, he collapses forward—Yunho’s cock slipping free from his hole with a faint wet noise. He’s loose enough that he can feel the come leaking out, trailing down the inside of his thigh, and he’ll be disgusted about it in a moment.
Just a moment.
“I think I’m dead,” Yunho murmurs, running the fingers of his clean hand through the tangle of Minhyuk’s hair. “I think you killed me. That was so hot.”
“That was gross,” Minhyuk mumbles in protest, like his early-twenties self didn’t do objectively gross stuff on a regular basis.
“No,” Yunho objects. “It—”
“If you say it was like something out of porn, I’ll kill you.”
Yunho suspiciously doesn’t argue. “You’re really ruining the afterglow here, hyung.”
“Sorry,” Minhyuk fumbles around until he finds Yunho’s head and gives him a pat. “Love you. That was perfect.”
“And hot. It was really hot. I died. No arguing.”
Minhyuk laughs and shifts to kiss Yunho’s chest. “Can’t believe I’ve developed the ability to speak to ghosts.”
Yunho smacks him gently on the arm but he’s giggling, too—the high-pitched, creaky one that always comes out when he’s especially happy—and Minhyuk loves him too much, the inside of his chest transformed into a floodplain. He thinks of the present hidden in his bag and traces his lips up Yunho’s neck, over the curve of his jaw, until he can slot their mouths together again.
“It was hot,” he accepts when he pulls back. “You’re hot, too, Yunho-yah.”
Predictably, Yunho blushes, even though his come is literally still inside Minhyuk and slowly drying on Minhyuk’s skin. “Ah.”
Minhyuk smirks at him. “You fucked me well, jagi. I think you’re gorgeous and I’ll keep saying it. Stop being so surprised when I compliment you.”
“Habit,” Yunho mumbles defensively. “And you’re no better.”
Minhyuk doesn’t have a counter to that, knows that he’s often self-deprecating to a fault, so he merely pecks Yunho affectionately on the cheek. “Fine, we have great sex together because we’re both hot and in love and all that. But now I’m gross, so I’m going to shower.”
If he can walk there, which is debatable right now.
“Wait,” Yunho says, sliding a hand down Minhyuk’s back. “Just….”
Minhyuk’s breath hitches when Yunho’s fingers trace his puffy rim before dipping inside. “Fuck, Yunho—”
“You’re so wet,” Yunho murmurs, fascinated. He presses against Minhyuk’s tender walls, sending a fresh wave of sparks through Minhyuk’s nerves, and Minhyuk lets out a high-pitched sound that he’s going to be mortified about later, along with the way that his hips unconsciously rock into the touch, trying to get Yunho deeper. “And open.”
“That’s your fault,” Minhyuk says, shuddering. Yunho brushes his swollen prostate and he barely swallows back a moan. “And stop it, you’re making it even more gross.”
“I still think it’s hot,” Yunho says, but he pulls away, mercifully ending the torment. He is still a little shit, though, because he wipes his dirty hand on Minhyuk’s back and laughs when Minhyuk smacks him in retaliation.
“Aish, brat,” Minhyuk mutters, pushing himself up on one arm. “I’m really going to shower now.”
“Okay, okay,” Yunho agrees. His eyes get big and hopeful. “Can I carry you there?”
“No,” Minhyuk says immediately. He’s dealt with enough humiliation this morning. But Yunho’s face falls—expression horrifyingly akin to a kicked puppy—and that’s even worse. “Ugh. Fine.”
He’s become such a pushover. Can’t even be mad because Yunho’s excited smile and the teasing glint that appears in his eyes is worth the embarrassment of being carried, and isn’t that awful?
Yunho slides out of bed and picks him up too easily, hands braced under Minhyuk’s thighs as Minhyuk wraps his legs around Yunho’s waist. He’s too exposed like this—the sunlight highlighting all the blooming marks on his skin from Yunho’s hands and mouth, all the drying come in intimate places that makes him feel used in a way he wishes he minded.
But Yunho is gentle with him. Yunho touches him with reverence as they huddle beneath the rainwater cascade of the shower, shampooing his hair, cleaning his skin, stitching him back together thread by precious thread.
_ _
March 2022
Yunho was expecting a birthday text from Minhyuk, but not one asking him to come downstairs. His celebratory live is finished, birthday meal consumed, and he’s already changed into comfortable clothes, planning on spending the rest of the evening as a vegetable on the couch of their dorm.
But Minhyuk wants him to come downstairs.
Frowning, Yunho gets up to check the current occupation status of their dorm and runs right into Wooyoung coming down the hall.
“Go,” Wooyoung says, shooing him towards the front door. “I’ve got this.”
Yunho blinks at him in surprise and when he doesn’t start moving, Wooyoung gives him a light shove. “Go, Yunho-yah.”
“Wait … are you in on this?”
“Maybe. Now hurry!”
Wooyoung herds him into the entryway and rushes him through putting on boots and his jacket, then practically throws a beanie and facemask at him before pushing him out the front door. Yunho stands flabbergasted in the hallway, listening to the door click shut behind him, and realizes that Wooyoung also somehow made sure his phone and wallet were in his pocket.
Terrifying.
Outside, it’s freezing and the sky is spitting sleet that’s more snow than rain, landing in wet droplets on his hat and the shoulders of his coat. He spots Minhyuk’s card idling on the curb in front of the apartment complex and Minhyuk himself leaning against the driver’s door, grinning beneath the shadow of his baseball cap.
“Hyung,” Yunho says, hurrying over. “What are you doing here?”
“Kidnapping you,” Minhyuk replies cheerfully. “I have about….” He checks the Apple watch on his wrist that looks identical to the one Yunho just received from Wooyoung. “Three hours before I have to leave for KBS so that should be enough time. Get in.”
Yunho dutifully climbs into the passenger seat, then becomes aware of the fact that he’s wearing sweatpants unceremoniously shoved into the tops of his boots. “Where are we going? I’m not dressed.”
Minhyuk gives him an assessing glance. “You look fine and don’t worry, we aren’t going anywhere fancy.”
“Oh good,” Yunho says. He couldn’t handle an upscale restaurant right now, not like the one he tried to impress Minhyuk with on their first date.
Minhyuk merges back into traffic with one hand on the wheel and passes over an envelope with another. “Happy birthday, Yunho-yah.”
“Oh,” Yunho says in surprise. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”
“Shut up,” Minhyuk scoffs. “I’m your boyfriend, of course I did.”
It’s been seven months since they started dating, three since Minhyuk said I love you, but hearing Minhyuk call himself your boyfriend so casually still sends a delighted trill down Yunho’s spine. They hit a red light and Minhyuk shifts to face Yunho, reaching out to touch cold fingers to Yunho’s cheek. The gesture is so tender that Yunho doesn’t even mind the chill blooming across his skin from the point of contact.
“You should open it now,” Minhyuk says. “In case we don’t have time after.”
Yunho carefully tears open the envelope and extracts a card, letting out a delighted cackle at the sight of his own face. “Oh my god, how did you get this picture?”
It’s from the same set included with his birthday merch—pink sweater, blue hat, pretending to eat the little cardboard cake they gave him to hold. He’s pretty sure he remembers Wooyoung taking pictures of his antics so he’s probably the culprit.
“Inside help,” Minhyuk says with a wink.
One side of the card is filled with Minhyuk’s neat, blocky handwriting. On the other, a little pouch sits taped in place. Yunho focuses on the message first.
Jagiya, happy birthday!
I’m going to be a little sappy, but only because it’s a special occasion so please don’t love it too much.
Yunho-yah, you’re a bright star in my life and I am thankful every day that I met you and you asked me out in a Mnet bathroom. I hope you know how lovely you are. I once told you that you’re not normally my type, but I’m so glad you came along and crushed the mold. You’ve ruined me for anyone else, jagi, I hope you’re proud of yourself.
Let’s be happy for a long time, I always want to see your smiling face.
Love you, love you, love you,
Minhyuk xoxoxo
Yunho sniffs, reading the message a second, then a third time.
“Oh, baby, please don’t cry on me,” Minhyuk pleads, glancing at him in worry.
“They’re good tears,” Yunho insists, warbled. “‘M happy. I love you, too.”
If I’m a star, you’re the sun, Yunho thinks and decides to save that for Minhyuk’s birthday card in November. He’ll get to watch Minhyuk roll his eyes and try not to blush.
He wipes at his eyes and opens the pouch, extracting a necklace from inside. A little blue cube sits attached to a long silver chain, wrapped in more silver threads. “Holy shit, is this a tesseract?”
“Yeah,” Minhyuk laughs. “And it’s aquamarine.”
Yunho’s birthstone, to match the topaz earrings he got Minhyuk for Christmas.
“I know you’re not really into jewelry,” Minhyuk continues, “but I couldn’t resist.”
“I love it,” Yunho promises. “It’s perfect.”
He sets the card in his lap so he can fasten the necklace around his neck. It almost seems to glow in the dim interior of Minhyuk’s car, a bright spot against the black fabric of his sweater, just like the one from the movies. He already knows that he’ll probably be wearing it under his clothes until it breaks.
“Happy birthday,” Minhyuk repeats, squeezing Yunho’s leg. Yunho puts his hand over Minhyuk’s, rubbing his thumb along the backs of Minhyuk’s knuckles, a little scabbed from the boxing he’s been trying lately.
Minhyuk turns into a parking garage after only about fifteen minutes of driving and Yunho recognizes the neighborhood. They’re not far from company headquarters, actually, and he’s been shopping here many times.
“Changcheon? Why are we in Changcheon?”
“You’ll see,” Minhyuk says as he parks the car and ushers Yunho out. “It’s just a short walk up the street.”
It’s still sleeting so they move at a brisk pace, weaving through other clusters of pedestrians with their heads bent against the winter wind. When they turn onto the wide sidewalk of Myeongmul-gil, a suspicion rises in Yunho’s brain. Sure enough, Minhyuk stops in front of a familiar gold-and-glass building and Yunho laughs in amazement.
“G-Plex? You’re taking me to G-Plex?”
He hasn’t been here since he was a trainee, venting stress onto arcade games. It looks like it hasn’t changed at all in the past five years.
“I am taking you to G-Plex,” Minhyuk says, holding the door open for him.
Inside, it’s warm and the light from the various machines reflects off the black-painted walls, giving the atmosphere a neon hue like a scene out of a cyberpunk anime. The air is full of the chatter of other patrons and the dings, beeps, and buzzes of the games, occasionally punctuated by a shout of victory or a frustrated exclamation of loss.
Minhyuk nudges him to get his attention. “Now, you should know, I’m not going to go easy on you just because it’s your birthday.” His gaze crackles with challenge and Yunho draws himself up to his full height in response, enjoying the way Minhyuk has to tilt his head back to meet his eyes.
“What about the standing truce?”
“Called off for tonight. Beat me if you can, Yunho-yah.”
Yunho grins, fierce and sharp. “Oh, I can.”
Minhyuk heads to the counter to get them tokens. “I’ll wait for you to prove it.”
In the end, Yunho does win, but only by one game of air hockey where he manages to break a tie with a single, lucky shot. Minhyuk groans and holds up the winning puck threateningly. “Next time, I’ll get revenge.”
“Sure, hyung,” Yunho says indulgently.
He’s sweaty from the warmth of the building and exertion, his lungs and jaw aches from laughing so hard for so long, and he’s drunk on a heady cocktail of adrenaline, happiness, and victory. He blames that on his recklessness as he herds Minhyuk into a bathroom stall to kiss him, deep and thorough.
Minhyuk opens his mouth for Yunho’s tongue and rocks up on his tiptoes to cup the back of Yunho’s head, but he pulls away too soon.
“Easy,” he murmurs against Yunho’s lips. “We can’t get too carried away.”
Right. Public bathroom in an arcade. Yunho takes a steadying breath to get his head straight and steps back. “Sorry. Your backseat is pretty roomy, right?”
“Yah,” Minhyuk says. “We are not having sex in my car.”
“We could be quick?” Yunho tries.
“Absolutely not.” Minhyuk shakes his head. “I have to drop you off in like twenty minutes and if my career ends because there are photos of me having sex in my fucking car, I will never personally recover.”
Okay, Yunho can concede that point. “Fine,” he relents with a sigh. “Rain check on birthday sex.”
“You can cash it in whenever we have enough time to do it in a bed.” Minhyuk pats him on the shoulder in consolation.
They go back downstairs to turn in their remaining tokens. Yunho also can’t resist buying a squirrel plushie he sees on display and depositing it in Minhyuk’s arms as they step back out onto the street.
“It’s your birthday,” Minhyuk says.
“Oh I know,” Yunho replies, taking out his camera. “It’s for me. I just want a picture.”
“Aish,” Minhyuk predictably huffs but still dutifully holds the squirrel up and pulls down his mask to make a cute face.
“There,” Yunho says after he’s taken too many pictures. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Minhyuk says, passing the squirrel over to him. “I know it wasn't much, but was it a good birthday, Yunho-yah?”
“It was perfect, jagi,” Yunho says. “It was the best birthday I’ve ever had.”
Minhyuk’s gaze is soft and loving. Yunho wishes that he could hold his hand, walk through the city like a proper couple.
“Good, my love,” Minhyuk says, words dripping with tenderness, warm like honey. “I’m glad.”
_ _
December 2022
It continues to snow, validating their plans to spend a lazy day enjoying the atmosphere of the pension. They eat tteokbokki for lunch curled up on the couch together, watching episodes of Little Women on the big TV. They make out in the kitchen with dish suds still evaporating on their hands, getting little bubbles everywhere, water seeping into Minhyuk’s shirt, trailing down his neck. They venture out into the cold to explore the riverbank, testing the ice in order to sate their mutual reckless streaks.
Sometime in the late afternoon, Minhyuk spreads Yunho out on the bed and kisses down the knobs of his spine until he’s dipping his tongue past the tight furl of Yunho’s rim and Yunho is gasping into the mattress like he can’t get enough air in his lungs. Minhyuk opens him up like that: slow, firm licks paired with one finger, then two, then finally three, and it’s Yunho’s turn to beg, moaning please, please, hyung.
He’s beautiful and pliant as Minhyuk fucks him, arching into every touch as though Minhyuk has turned him into a live wire. When he comes, it’s with Minhyuk’s name on his lips like a prayer, a litany—the sweetest way Minhyuk has ever heard it uttered.
“You’re mine,” Minhyuk murmurs in his ear, pinning his hands to the bed with their fingers interlaced, scraping teeth against the fragile skin of his neck to make him moan.
“Yours,” Yunho gasps in response. “Yours, yours, always yours.”
Even later, they clean themselves up for the second time, and eat leftovers for dinner—Minhyuk’s socked feet in Yunho’s lap, watching the snow fall relentlessly over the forest outside, creating a pristine, untouched world. It feels a little like time travel, watching their footprints vanish from the deck, or maybe an apocalypse. Suddenly, they’re the only two people on earth.
“I don’t want this to end,” Yunho sighs. “There’s never enough time.”
“For now there isn’t,” Minhyuk says. “Someday, we’ll have plenty of it.”
Yunho turns to look at him. The rays from the outside lights illuminate one side of his face, making him look like the idol he always is on stage instead of the rumpled, soft-edged boy Minhyuk took apart a few hours ago.
“You’ll really keep me in your life that long, hyung?”
It’s a promise he probably shouldn’t make. Their careers are unpredictable. Yunho is still so very young, in spite of all the ways that he isn’t. The fear still sits in the back of Minhyuk’s mind, gnawing at his thoughts, whispering that one day Yunho will inevitably grow tired of him. One day, Yunho will want someone younger, someone who can burn as brightly as he does. Minhyuk might be his first, but he doesn't hold any illusions that he’ll be the last.
His heart doesn’t want to listen to logic, though. It keeps hoping in spite of the fear, clinging to an improbable forever, to an impossible future where Yunho still loves him even when his hair is turning gray, even after his star has burned out, even as Yunho has grown older, too.
“Wait here,” he murmurs and rises from the couch, setting his empty bowl on the coffee table.
He moves into the bedroom and opens up his bag, digging past sweaters and underwear until he finds the little wrapped box he tucked away for safekeeping. He returns to the living room clutching it tightly. Yunho frowns up at him in confusion, eyes going wide when he sees the box, when Minhyuk sets it in his lap.
“Merry Christmas, Yunho-yah,” Minhyuk says, voice suddenly wet.
Yunho tears off the wrapping paper with none of his usual care, almost frantic as he opens the lid of the box and lets out a strangled noise at the sight of the silver rings nestled inside.
“I can’t promise anything,” Minhyuk says. “But I want it to be for a long time. I want it to be for as long as you’ll have me. As long as we can get away with. I won’t move before you do.”
“Minhyuk,” Yunho hiccups—no honorifics, no darling, just the two aching syllables of Minhyuk’s name.
Minhyuk bought the rings not long after their first year anniversary and then shoved them in a desk drawer, embarrassed at himself for engaging in a practice normally reserved for young couples in high school or university, wanting to show off their relationship. He felt silly, nearly returned the simple silver bands half a dozen times, but in the end desire won out. He wants to be able to look at Yunho’s hand and see a symbol of himself, a reminder that their relationship is real because it’s the only way they’ll ever be able to publicly acknowledge it.
“I love them,” Yunho says, still half-crying. “Put it on me?”
Minhyuk takes the bigger ring and gently slides it onto Yunho’s ring finger. “There,” he whispers. “You might have to switch it to your index later—”
“No,” Yunho cuts him off. “Let everyone think I have a girlfriend, I don’t care.” He holds his hand up to the light, letting the silver gleam. “I’m never taking this off.”
Someday, Minhyuk will get used to this pang in his breastbone, this tightness in his stomach and lungs. “Do me,” he says, holding out his hand.
Yunho nestles the ring home, twisting it to make sure it’s in a good position before he lets go. He’s still crying, a steady stream of tears trickling down his cheeks.
“Aigoo,” Minhyuk says, wiping them away with his other hand. “My sensitive boy.”
“Shut up,” Yunho sniffs. “You can’t tease me after doing something this romantic.”
Minhyuk glances at their matching rings. “It’s not too much, is it?”
“No,” Yunho says. “It’s perfect. I’m so happy.” He laughs and then sobs and then rubs at his cheeks with the back of his sleeve. “I love you. I love you so much. I need to take a picture.”
Minhyuk laughs and tucks himself into Yunho’s side, holding out his hand. Yunho’s much bigger one brushes his, their rings incandescent against their skin. Yunho snaps a photo and then practically tosses his phone into the couch cushions, twisting to kiss Minhyuk breathless.
“Thank you,” he says when they separate. But the contentment vanishes from his face in the next blink, replaced by horror. “But I didn’t get you anything. Oh.”
“Please don’t cry again,” Minhyuk begs him. “Jagi, it’s okay.”
Yunho isn’t listening to him, tipping into panic instead. “I just … with comeback and tour and the year-end shows, I ran out of time, and I wasn’t even sure I could make it here—”
“Hey, hey, that’s why you don’t need to get me anything.” Minhyuk throws a leg over Yunho’s, bracing on his knees above Yunho’s lap so he can cup Yunho’s damp face. “I’ve told you before, you’re always the gift.”
“But I didn’t get you anything for your birthday, either,” Yunho protests. “Or our anniversary, I’m the worst boyfriend….”
“You’re not,” Minhyuk says. “You’re a great boyfriend. I have no complaints and I know how busy you’ve been. But if you want to get something, send me flowers at my concert.”
“I will,” Yunho promises, too solemn, like he’s making a sacred vow. Lovely, ridiculous boy.
“And wear the ring,” Minhyuk continues, reaching down to trace a finger over the cool metal. “That’ll be my other present.”
“I will,” Yunho swears again. “Every day.”
“Then I’m happy,” Minhyuk says. “Got it? I’m happy with you.”
Yunho wraps long arms around him, pulling him in until their chests are pressed together and Yunho can hook his chin over Minhyuk’s shoulder. “Okay,” he says in surrender. “I believe you. And I’ll send you flowers.”
“A giant bouquet.”
“The biggest I can find.”
Minhyuk rubs the soft hair at the nape of Yunho’s neck. “Good.”
Yunho nuzzles into his neck, holds him close, like he wants their hearts to beat together—a single, vibrant rhythm.
_ _
November 2022
Yunho paces back and forth in an urgent line across the carpet of his hotel room, phone pressed to his ear, listening to it ring. He still hasn’t showered or washed the stage makeup off his face. It’s smeared beneath his eyes and the dried sweat at his temples is an unpleasant sensation that he’s trying to ignore. His head remains full of the screams of the crowd and the adrenaline leaches out of his body too slowly, making him jittery like he’s had far too much caffeine.
The call connects.
“Jagiya,” Minhyuk says. It’s one p.m. in Seoul and Minhyuk sounds like he’s outside, maybe seeing friends or running an errand.
It’s also his birthday and by the time Yunho remembered, he was about to go on stage and hadn’t even sent a text. So now he feels horrible and small, like a failure of a partner. He’s always been responsible, dependable, he doesn’t just forget things like this. But this year he forgot their anniversary, too, and how does he make up for that?
He also can’t seem to stop moving, fingers twitching, heart pounding so hard he thinks Minhyuk must be able to hear it.
“Happy birthday,” he manages to get out. “I’m so sorry.”
“For what?” Minhyuk sounds genuinely baffled.
“Not texting earlier,” Yunho says, rubbing at his temple with a shaky hand.
The adrenaline is starting to morph into a strange, uncharacteristic panic. Normally, when he gets offstage the crash is a gradual slide into exhaustion. He comes back to his room, eats, plays a game, maybe visits with some of the others if he’s having trouble settling, and then he collapses into bed and sleeps like the dead. He doesn’t feel like this: like he can’t breathe, like he’s going to rattle right out of his skin, like if he opens his mouth again, he’ll start crying and not be able to stop.
“Not getting you anything,” he continues, trying to keep those impending tears out of his voice. “I was going to send something but with preparations and the tour—”
“Yunho-yah, it’s fine,” Minhyuk assures him. “It’s just another day. I really don’t care.”
“But I care,” Yunho snaps, surprising himself. “I wanted to do something nice for you and I didn’t and—”
Oh, here he goes. The first awful sob punches out of his mouth and suddenly, he’s caught in a deluge so strong that he sinks into a crouch in the middle of the room with a hand pressed against his lips. Great, the still rational part of his brain thinks with internal disgust. He calls his boyfriend to wish him a happy birthday and ends up burdening him with a breakdown instead. He should just walk into the river as soon as he hangs up.
“Yunho,” Minhyuk says with sharp concern. “Yunho-yah, what’s wrong? Talk to me, are you hurt?”
Is he? Not physically, though his body is sore and aching like it always is after pushing it to the limit for three hours straight. It’s his head that feels like a fucking mess. He just performed in an arena for thousands of wonderful fans. He’s tired and homesick and misses Minhyuk so much that it feels like a physical pain in his stomach. He loves touring, but he thinks that it used to be easier when he was younger, when he didn’t have something so important back home.
He hiccups loudly and hopes that no one comes to check on him.
“Yunho.” Minhyuk sounds like he wants to reach through the phone and shake Yunho by the shoulders. Yunho desperately wishes he could.
“Sorry,” he croaks. “I don’t even know—I’m sorry, I’ll hang up—”
“Don’t you dare,” Minhyuk says. “Do not hang up on me.”
“Sorry,” Yunho says again pitifully.
It’s inexplicably getting even harder to breathe, like an invisible band is constricting his lungs.
“Baby,” Minhyuk says, calmer now but still firm. “I think you’re having a panic attack.”
Oh. Is that what this is? But why would he….? He shouldn’t be panicking about anything, he just can’t breathe. There’s something wrong with his chest and he can’t fucking breathe.
“So I want you to listen to me, okay?”
“I can’t—”
“Breathe, I know. So listen. Try to inhale. I know it’s hard, but inhale for me.”
It takes two tries, but Yunho manages a raspy, wheezing inhale.
“That’s good, that’s good, jagi,” Minhyuk soothes. “Now hold it for me and I’m going to count. One … two … three….” He keeps going at a steady pace until he gets to five, then says. “Now, exhale. Slowly.”
Yunho obeys and feels his constricted chest loosen a fraction.
“Doing amazing, baby,” Minhyuk says. “Inhale again now.”
They repeat the process four more times before Yunho is able to breathe on his own and his frantic sobs have abated. He curls up on the carpet in a sad ball, completely drained—like he was a meteor plummeting towards earth and now he’s made impact and there’s nothing left of him but dust.
“Thank you. How did you know to do that?” He murmurs to Minhyuk.
Minhyuk is quiet for a long moment. “I used to get them sometimes,” he admits. “Not often, but every now and then I would get overwhelmed and suddenly I couldn’t breathe and I felt like I was dying. I learned how to coax myself out of them.”
“Hyung….” Yunho says with aching sympathy.
“Ah, don’t feel bad for me,” Minhyuk says. “I’m okay. You’re okay now?”
“‘M better.” He’s still not sure he can get up, but his head is clear. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” Minhyuk insists.
“But it’s your birthday and I just had a meltdown and I didn’t get you anything—”
“Yah, don’t work yourself up again, either. Panic attacks can be unpredictable things. Coming down from a show is hard. And I told you I don’t give a lot of thought to my birthday, anyway. I’m happy to just hear your voice.”
Yunho closes his eyes. “You’re too good to me.”
“Aish, nonsense.”
“You should be upset.”
“Well, I’m not. And I don’t want to be. Would you be upset if I was on tour for over a month and didn’t manage to send you anything?”
“No,” Yunho says instantly. He would understand because idol life is demanding and unforgiving. He would know that Minhyuk would make it up to him later in some way and he would be fine waiting— “Oh.”
“Oh, oh, you see your hypocrisy now?”
“Yes,” Yunho grumbles in defeat. “Can we pretend the last ten minutes didn’t happen?”
“No. How are you feeling?”
“Like I just went through a clothes wringer.”
“Sounds about right,” Minhyuk says with a soft, sad-edged laugh. “But how was the concert?”
“Good,” Yunho says, thinking of the deafening pitch of the cheers, the sea of lightsticks, the hot beam of the lights and the rush of performing, soaking it all in until he felt invincible, superhuman. “So good. But it’s your birthday, we should talk about you. Are you having a good day?”
“My day has been boring,” Minhyuk says with a laugh. “But the members wished me happy birthday and I received a lot of love from Melody so I’m happy. The Bikira team is planning something tonight, too.” He laughs again. “This much love from so many people … maybe I should start caring about my birthday more.”
“You should,” Yunho says. “It’s special.”
“When you’re turning thirty-three it isn’t.”
“That’s young. You’re young.”
“I’m not, but thank you.”
Yunho shakes his head. Their age difference is an ongoing battle that Yunho doesn’t know how to achieve a final victory over.
“I miss you,” he murmurs instead.
They last saw each other in early October and it’ll be another whole month before they’ll see each other again. Yunho didn’t expect it to hurt quite this much. He wouldn’t trade his career for anything, but right now, for a moment, he wishes that he wasn’t an idol. Just an ordinary boy, maybe attending university in Seoul. He could take his boyfriend out for dinner and not worry about career-ending exposure. They could hold hands in the park. They could spend the evening tangled up on Minhyuk’s couch because Yunho’s one-room is too cramped. It would be easier in so many ways, even if the hungry, ambitious part of him would never be satisfied with something so ordinary.
“I miss you, too,” Minhyuk says with terrible sorrow. “A lot.”
“I wish I could teleport.”
“Don’t we all?”
“I’ll be back in December.”
And they’ll have a tiny window to align their orbits again.
“We’ll go somewhere nice,” Minhyuk says. “We can celebrate everything then.”
“I’m thankful,” Yunho says, because even in private he doesn’t want to disparage everything they’ve accomplished this year. “I’m so grateful that we’re loved and we’ve come so far. I can’t believe it sometimes, it doesn’t feel real. But….”
“But it’s hard, too,” Minhyuk says with his usual understanding. “It’s wonderful and overwhelming and more than you could have ever dreamed, and it’s so, so hard.”
“Exactly,” Yunho whispers. His eyelids feel heavy now, the exhaustion hitting. “It’s hard and I miss you. I hope your birthday is good.”
“It has been,” Minhyuk says. “It will be.” He laughs suddenly. “I feel like an army wife.” He pitches his voice a little higher, adopting a playful note. “Finish your tour strong, jagiya, then come back to me.”
Yunho giggles, glad for the injection of levity. “I will.”
“And remember to take care of yourself.”
“I will.”
No more panic attacks if he can help it, and he makes a mental note to seek out the other members after their next show just to be on the safe side. It’s probably better that he’s not alone, considering how emotional he’s been for the past few days.
“Good,” Minhyuk says, warm.
“I’m so—”
“Don’t. I’m glad you called. I’m glad you’re okay.”
Minhyuk really is too good to him, even if Minhyuk won’t admit it.
“I’m going to get ready for bed,” Yunho says. “And I should probably eat something. But can you stay a bit?”
“Yeah,” Minhyuk says. “I’m just heading home. The company gave us a break from concert rehearsals today so I have a little time.”
“Okay,” Yunho says, finally pushing himself off the floor. “Then tell me some nice stuff that happened this week.”
He wants to listen to Minhyuk talk and let all of the turbulent thoughts fall out of his head. He wants to listen to Minhyuk and just be.
Minhyuk hums. “Well, Eunkwang was the first one to wish me happy birthday and he was very smug about it….”
_ _
December 2022
It’s over too soon, just like it always is—time a train barreling past a platform, leaving a rush of wind and emptiness in its wake. They have to be back in Seoul for their separate rehearsals by mid-afternoon, which means they lay in bed together for as long as they’re able to, pressing snooze on more and more insistent alarms.
“I wish we could pause the whole world,” Yunho murmurs against Minhyuk’s skin. “For as long as we wanted.”
“Me too,” Minhyuk says, drawing Yunho closer, soaking in the warmth of him. He never really minded the frenetic pace of idoldom until he went and fell in love like a fool. Now, he feels like he’s trying to hold onto water that keeps slipping through his fingers, forever running back to the sea.
One of their alarms trills from the bedside table, beseeching them to get a move on or face the wrath of their respective companies. Minhyuk sighs and untangles himself from Yunho, sitting up with a protesting groan.
“I guess we should get dressed.”
Yunho puts his pillow over his head. “No,” he says, muffled. “What if we ran away?”
The idea is tempting right now, but. “We’d never forgive ourselves. And I’m excited for my concert. And your comeback.”
“I am, too,” Yunho grumbles petulantly.
Minhyuk leans down to kiss the center of his bare back. “Come on. We’ll have a little time in January before you jet off again. It’s not the end of the world.”
Yunho finally extracts himself. His hair is sticking straight up in the back and he looks rumpled and adorable. Minhyuk has to fight the urge to pin him to the mattress for one last round of sex that they definitely don’t have time for.
“I know,” he says, mouth quirking. “I just wanted to be dramatic.” Minhyuk laughs and messes up his hair even more. Yunho catches his hand, rubbing a thumb over his ring. “And we have these now.”
Minhyuk glances at Yunho’s ring, iridescent in the morning light. “We do.”
“So you’re right,” Yunho smiles at him, all crooked tenderness. “It’s not the end of the world.”
And Minhyuk has to kiss him for that.
Once he’s done ravishing Yunho’s mouth, they dress together in a sleepy daze and eat a handful of the snacks they brought for breakfast. Yunho insists they make the bed because he wants to be a good host and he clearly feels embarrassed about the soiled sheets they left in the wash. Minhyuk fluffs the pillows on the couch, Yunho takes care of the last of the dishes, and they pack the car with their hats pulled low over their ears to combat the cold.
“So long, pension,” Yunho says when Minhyuk locks the door behind them for the final time. “You were good to us.”
Minhyuk salutes. “Thank you for the very spacious bed.”
“We never had sex in the bathtub,” Yunho sighs.
They ended up falling asleep in it instead, cuddling up against each other and lulled into a dreamy haze by the warm water—the metal of Yunho’s ring leaving an indent on Minhyuk’s pruned skin.
“Next time,” Minhyuk says, reaching up to pat Yunho’s cheek. “Though, honestly, sex in any body of water is highly overrated.”
“I’m not sure I want to ask how you know that.”
“It involved a pool in Europe,” Minhyuk says. “And, uh, a little public indecency.”
Yunho arches an eyebrow at him. “A little?”
“It was empty! And we were careful. But, um, yes. We’re lucky we didn’t get caught.” He shakes his head ruefully. “It wasn’t even that good, water’s terrible lube, but we were in it for the thrill more than anything else.”
They head for the car, footsteps crunching loudly in the snow.
“And who was the other person in this equation?” Yunho asks.
Minhyuk coughs, a little embarrassed. “A very adventurous woman I might have met at a bar earlier that night?”
“Wow, hyung.” Yunho lets out an impressed whistle that also manages to sound judgmental. “Your wild youth.”
“Shut up,” Minhyuk grumbles, climbing behind the driver’s seat. “I told you I got around.”
“Are you calling yourself a whore?”
“Pretty much.” He doesn’t regret any of it, but wow has he mellowed out. Twenty-five-year-old him would be flabbergasted.
“Well, I don’t think I’m adventurous enough to have sex in a public pool,” Yunho says as he settles on the passenger side, folding his long legs up. “Sorry.”
“God, neither am I. Who was that Minhyuk? I don’t know him anymore. He was crazy.”
Yunho giggles. Then coaxes his face into a solemn expression. “I’m very glad we’re on the same page about sex, hyung.”
“Yah.” Minhyuk smacks him on the thigh and his face scrunches again, so cute that it should be illegal.
Yunho bats his eyelashes. “Be honest, hyung, am I the best you’ve ever had?”
He clearly means it as a joke, a jab at his own inexperience when they first started dating. But Minhyuk thinks of his stunned, beautiful expression the first time they fucked, his enthusiasm the first time he got on his knees to take Minhyuk into his mouth, his constant determination to treat Minhyuk with incredible care, when he’s the one who should be young and selfish.
“You are,” Minhyuk says with open sincerity, though he focuses on starting the car instead of looking at Yunho’s face. “The best I’ve ever had.”
“Oh,” Yunho whispers, stunned. Then he leans across the center console and presses a hot, lingering kiss over the bone of Minhyuk’s cheek. “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” Minhyuk huffs and throws the car in reverse, leaving the pension and the snow-draped forest behind.
_ _
They trade places at the same rest stop. This time, Yunho orders squid along with the steamed potatoes and Minhyuk feeds him pieces as they drive, laughing when he gets sauce smeared down his chin. Seoul looms closer and closer, time unspooling faster and faster, and too soon they’re engulfed in the city rush of traffic—the heavy, gray sky on all sides obscured by skyscrapers. It’s snowing again, thick flakes that cling stubbornly to the windshield wipers, smearing water across the glass when they’re forced away. Minhyuk cranks up the heat and watches the streets turn familiar.
When Yunho pulls up in front of the ATEEZ apartment complex, he lets the car idle, staring up at the building with trepidation. Minhyuk remembers the conversation that Yunho says is waiting in his future and reaches over to take his hand.
“I’m glad you came with me,” he says.
Yunho smiles at him, wistful. “Me too. I won’t regret it.”
“And whatever happens, I’m here. Whenever you need to, tap me in.” He’s stubborn and company executives stopped intimidating him years ago. He’ll go up against any suit that he has to and he’s sure he’ll win.
Yunho lifts his hand to kiss the back of it, gaze warm with gratitude and misty with a sheen of tears. “Thank you.”
“We’re a team now, Yunho-yah.” Minhyuk taps Yunho’s ring. “This sealed it.”
Yunho nods. Wipes at his eyes so nothing escapes. Together, they exit the car to retrieve Yunho’s bag from the trunk and swap places.
Yunho lingers on the sidewalk with the bag slung haphazardly over his shoulder. Snowflakes coat his shoulders, land on the bridge of his nose. “I had a good time,” he says. “And I love you. Good luck with your concert.”
Minhyuk steps closer. “I love you, too. Good luck with your comeback.”
And this is so risky, too risky, but the street is nearly empty and they both have caps on to obscure their faces, so Minhyuk rocks up on his toes and plants a quick goodbye kiss on Yunho’s mouth. Yunho makes a surprised sound but chases Minhyuk’s lips, returning the kiss with one of his own.
“Call me soon,” Minhyuk says, securing his mask over his face. “Don’t forget to send me flowers.”
“The biggest bouquet I can find,” Yunho promises, also pulling up his own mask.
“I’ll see you next year,” Minhyuk jokes and Yunho laughs.
“Next year, hyung.”
And now it’s time to really part. Reluctantly, Minhyuk forces himself back in the car as Yunho heads for the building. But he stays on the curb to trace Yunho’s path through the front doors. In the lobby, Yunho turns back and waves one last time, like a soldier going off to war.
It’s dramatic and ridiculous—even from here, Minhyuk can see his eyes scrunched up in a grin and it tempers the searing ache in his chest.
Allows him to breathe.
_ _
December 2022
Yunho barely has time to deposit his bag in his bedroom before he’s ushered into another car by a manager insisting that they’re going to be late for practice.
“Sorry,” he says. “There was traffic.”
The manager frowns at him in the rearview mirror and he huddles into his seat, already tired and missing Minhyuk. Beneath that, though, is an excited buzz that’s steadily growing stronger and stronger the closer they get to their final year-end stage and a new comeback. Soon, it will overtake the heartache and the nerves about revealing his relationship to the company. Soon, it will make him invincible once more and it’s part of why he keeps doing this, keeps pushing himself, keeps making sacrifices.
This is his other great love, his first love in many ways, and he can’t abandon it.
The other members are already waiting in the practice room when Yunho arrives, and it’s predictably Wooyoung who clocks the new ring on his finger first. He mercifully doesn’t make a big deal out of it and alert any of the staff, just smacks Hongjoong, the closet member, on the shoulder and points. Hongjoong’s eyebrows go up, an expression of unexpected surprise crossing his face before he schools his features.
Yunho doesn’t have time to ask about it until their first break nearly two hours later, though really it’s Hongjoong who corners him in the hallway outside the bathrooms and grabs his hand.
“Did you buy these or did he?” he asks.
Yunho blinks, unprepared for this interrogation. “He did.”
That surprise again. “He did?”
“I told you he loves me,” Yunho says, sliding towards defensiveness.
“I know,” Hongjoong mutters, dropping his hand. “I just….”
“You didn’t think he meant it?” Yunho accuses.
“Not as much as you do.”
“Well, he does,” Yunho huffs and Hongjoong softens.
“I see that now,” he says. “I … I still want you to put the group first, like you promised, but I’ll back you up, when you have to talk to the managers. You know that, right? I’m on your side. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”
On their wonderful, prickly captain.
“I know that,” Yunho says, also softening. “It means a lot to me, hyung. I won’t get hurt. He’s not going to hurt me.”
Other things might, starting with the company, but not Minhyuk. Yunho’s always been certain of that, especially now, with the silver band as a constant reminder of Minhyuk’s commitment.
“I’m starting to believe that,” Hongjoong says grudgingly.
Then, he stalks off to the bathroom, show of support over, and Yunho laughs affectionately in his wake. One by one, the others congratulate him throughout the break. San hugs him tight and says I knew you’d be good for each other, in his ear. Wooyoung kicks him and calls him cheesy but his expression is too loving for his words to have any sting. Mingi wants to see the ring so he can determine if it’s expensive enough and pouts when he’s denied. Yeosang also calls him cheesy, though with much less disgust than Wooyoung and more like he’s stating an objective fact—somehow, that’s what makes Yunho blush. Seonghwa says I’m so happy for you with bright, sincere eyes and a squeeze of his hand. Jongho merely claps him on the shoulder, nods, and walks away.
Yunho basks in all of it because just like he wanted, the ring has made his relationship even more real than before. He never doubted that he and Minhyuk would make it, even during the hard times this year when he felt like he was doubting everything, but here is actual proof.
This is going to be for a long time, no matter how hard they have to fight for it.
When practice breaks again for dinner, Yunho sees that he has a message on his phone: a voice memo from Minhyuk.
He ducks away from the others to listen to it, cradling his phone tight against his ear.
“Oh, jagi, I forgot to mention that I like sunflowers,” Minhyuk’s voice says, teasing. “Get me something warm. Like summer. Or vibrant. Like spring. Okay?”
He pauses like they’re having a real conversation and Yunho whispers “okay” into the silence, cheeks stretched into a helpless, affectionate smile.
“Good, ” Minhyuk continues as though he heard. “I’ll be sure to flaunt them in front of everyone. They already can’t believe the ring so I really need to break their brains. Make sure you deliver on that front.”
“I will,” Yunho promises during the next pause, ideas already forming for where he can find the most over-the-top assortment possible.
“Love you,” Minhyuk finishes. “And we’re gonna have another good year, Yunho-yah, I believe it.”
The certainty in his voice tempers the searing ache in Yunho’s chest.
Allows him to breathe.