Chapter Text
Mingi has been laying in bed for at least ten minutes now, hovering on that edge between sleep and awareness.
His alarm went off a while ago and he managed to make it stop blaring, but he immediately laid back down. Now he’s just staring up at the ceiling, thoughts pleasantly hazy.
He’s barely awake enough to properly process any of the sounds he’s distantly hearing, and is entirely unprepared for the pillow when it’s chucked at his head.
“ We’ve got to go,” Jongho says from the doorway. “It’s almost 6:20.”
That gets Mingi moving; he sits up and reaches for his glasses. Once those are on, he checks the time, frowning when he realizes Jongho is right.
He gets out of bed, stumbling over the clothes from last night he left on the floor. At least he managed to leave his gun on the nightstand; that wouldn’t be fun to stub a toe on.
Mingi takes one of the world’s fastest showers, taking care to scrub all of the skin that’s going to be visible thoroughly. The dried blood doesn’t want to come off, but he has gotten good at cleaning up after messy jobs.
The job had gone well, despite the bruises crisscrossing Mingi’s chest and arms. It’s a good thing he was planning on wearing a sweatshirt anyway; the entire left side of his ribs are black and blue and tender to the touch.
He gets dressed as quickly as possible, only pausing to check that there are no visible bruises on his face or neck before leaving the bathroom.
Jongho is already sitting at their miniscule dining table, hurriedly eating breakfast. Mingi heads over to pull open the fridge, frowning at the contents.
“Are we out of your mom’s kimchi?” he asks over his shoulder, bending down to search the lower shelves.
“It’s here,” Jongho tells him. “I made enough eggs for you too.”
Mingi sits down at the table, gratefully taking helpings of both scrambled eggs and kimchi. He turns on his phone as he begins to eat, intending to catch up on his messages.
“Oh shit,” he mutters around a mouthful of food. “We’ve got to go.”
Jongho immediately stands up, putting away the container of kimchi and dumping his plate in the sink. As Mingi shovels his breakfast down his throat as fast as physically possible, the younger disappears into his room, hopefully to get his school things together.
The second his plate is cleared, Mingi also puts it in the sink. He shoves his phone into his pocket as he hurries back to his room, still chewing. He grabs the gun he prefers to carry from the drawer of his nightstand, slipping it into his pocket holster. The weight is comfortable, and Mingi does a quick scan of the rest of his room to make sure there isn’t anything else he needs to bring.
Jongho is already by the front door, shoes on. He’s tapping furiously at his phone as Mingi crouches to put his own shoes on.
“Ready?” Jongho asks when he stands up. “The coffee should be done by the time we get down there.”
“Let’s go,” Mingi tells him. “You have your stuff?”
Jongho just taps his messenger bag in response, pulling the door open. Mingi follows him out of the apartment, heading for the elevators.
Mingi actually gets a chance to check his messages in the elevator, smiling to himself when he sees a good morning text from his mom. He sends her one in response, even though he knows she probably won’t see it until late tonight.
The elevator dings when they reach the ground floor, and Jongho leads the way out the door.
“Could you go get the car?” he asks, turning to Mingi. “I can get the coffee and meet you at the curb.”
Mingi pauses, quickly running through the risk in his head.
“Don’t leave the building,” he says after considering. “I’ll come in and get you.”
Jongho rolls his eyes, but doesn’t protest. He heads for the connecting door to the Burger King, accessible from the lobby.
Mingi heads for the parking garage, quickly bringing the car around.
He doesn't like having Jongho out of his sight, even if the younger is perfectly capable of defending himself. And while no one has ever tried to take a shot at him in the building, Mingi is distantly sure it’s only a matter of time.
Thankfully there’s a free parking spot right in front of the Burger King, and Mingi quickly takes it. He is stepping around the car when the door of the Burger King opens. Jongho steps out with two coffees in his hands, meeting Mingi’s frown with a blank stare.
“You were supposed to wait,” Mingi tells him when they’re both in the car. He throws the vehicle in drive with more force than is strictly necessary, maneuvering out of the spot.
“It was fine,” Jongho tells him dismissively. He takes a sip of his Americano. “Nothing happened.”
“But it could have,” Mingi insists. “It’s dangerous.”
“You sound like Hongjoong hyung,” Jongho says, pulling out his phone. “What do you want to listen to?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Mingi tells him, too busy navigating the mess of rush hour traffic.
Jongho puts on one of his playlists, the bass rumbling through the car. When Mingi gets a second between insane commuters, he reaches for his own coffee.
The caffeine gradually wakes him up, and by the time they get on the expressway, he’s feeling much more present.
He’s about to ask what classes Jongho has today when the younger’s phone rings.
He answers it immediately, putting it on speaker and turning down the music.
“I’m surprised you’re awake, hyung,” Jongho says. “You do know it’s before noon, right?”
“Very funny,” Hongjoong drawls. “I do know what time it is, unfortunately.”
“ Why are you up so early?” Mingi asks, not daring to take his eyes off the road.
“I’m technically up hella late,” is the reply. “I didn’t sleep.”
Jongho snorts audibly at that, and Mingi grins at just the sound. Hongjoong is nothing if not predictable.
“Anyways,” Hongjoong continues. “How did the job go?”
“It was good,” Jongho says. “We took care of everything you asked us to.”
“I figured.” Hongjoong stops talking for a second, some distant sound of whatever street he’s on leaking through the speakers. “The police were called to deal with the bodies around 3 last night.”
“Are you calling because we left evidence?” Jongho asks. “I thought we picked up all the shells.”
“No, you got everything,” Hongjoong assures him. “I’m calling to make sure the two of you are still alive.”
“We’re fine,” Jongho reports.
“ Good ,” Hongjoong says shortly. “I’d rather not get yelled at by Mrs. Choi.”
“As if she would,” Mingi snorts. “She loves you.”
“Aww, Mingi-ya,” Hongjoong says, his grin audible. “Sounds like you-”
He cuts off abruptly, and Mingi can almost make out someone else talking.
When Hongjoong does talk again, he does so in Mandarin, his tone clipped and harsh.
“We’ll call you back, hyung,” Jongho says after a second. “You sound busy.”
“Don’t bother,” Hongjoong replies, back in Korean. “I’ll see both of you tomorrow.”
He hangs up then, leaving the car silent for a moment.
There's no point in speculating if Hongjoong is ok or not. If anything, Mingi is concerned about whoever was stupid enough to mess with him.
Jongho reaches out to fiddle with the stereo, turning the music back on.
It plays for a while as they both sip their coffee and Mingi tries to keep them from dying. His efforts are largely successful, and they’re soon entering the tunnel that will take them under the East River.
“Why did you have to go to school in Manhattan?” Mingi mutters, having to floor it to get around an idiotic commuter. “There are perfectly nice schools so much closer.”
“You sound like my mom,” Jongho says. “She’s still pissed.”
Mingi laughs at the idea of Mrs. Choi being pissed about anything while dodging a semi-truck that seems to have a death wish.
“It’s too late to transfer now,” Jongho continues. “We’ve made friends and everything.”
“Are we having lunch with Yeosang and Yunho?” Mingi asks.
“If they say yes,” Jongho tells him. “I’m waiting for a reply.”
Mingi nods, checking his mirrors.
“You know you can talk in the group chat too, right?”
“Yeah, I know,” Mingi says. “But I haven’t installed an English keyboard yet.”
Jongho makes a vague noise in response, and Mingi focuses on driving.
They reach Manhattan without incident, and are soon heading down the progressively narrower streets around the NYU campus.
“How are we doing on time?” he asks. “Do I need to drop you off?”
“We’re fine,” Jongho tells him. “And you’ll drop me off here, but won’t let me walk five feet to the car?”
“It’s different at the apartment,” Mingi says. “People know you live there.”
“And they know where I go to college,” Jongho points out. “What’s to stop them from trying to take a hit here?”
Mingi doesn’t answer, rolling down the window to deal with the ticket machine outside the parking garage. Once he’s done with that and the window is back up, he answers.
“Because this is Manhattan. None of the gangs that would be out to get you operate here. Plus Hongjoong hyung is in and out of the apartment enough to warrant someone watching it.”
“Good grief you’re getting suspicious,” Jongho mutters as Mingi eases into a parking spot. “Or old.”
Mingi rolls his eyes good-naturedly, knowing now isn’t the time to explain just how seriously he takes his job. His worst nightmare is Jongho getting injured or killed, for multiple reasons.
They get out of the car, and Mingi makes sure it’s locked before walking away.
“Want me to hold the keys?”
He shakes his head at Jongho’s offer, slipping the keys into the pocket that doesn’t have his gun in it. He knows Jongho has the extra key anyway; they’ve had to use it multiple times.
The law building is just a block down the street, giving Mingi plenty of time to finish his coffee. Jongho leads the way, with Mingi falling in at his usual half-step behind him.
The walk is uneventful, but Mingi still keeps his eyes open and right hand free. What he said in the car was true, but he’s still not willing to risk it. All it takes is one person getting lucky, and Mingi isn’t giving anyone the chance.
He relaxes slightly when they get inside the law building, and even more so when they get to Jongho’s lecture hall. Mingi watches with minimal interest as Jongho takes out his laptop and gets ready for class, already halfway checked out.
He’s fully absent mentally the second the professor starts speaking. He pulls out his phone and begins swiping through it.
Maybe he’ll install an English keyboard today. That might take him thirty minutes to do, and he certainly has the time to kill. He starts hunting through his phone’s settings, letting the lecture wash over him in a blur of technical legal jargon that is absolutely meaningless.
-
Seonghwa bites back a curse when he gets the wrong key, tugging his tote bag back up to his shoulder.
“It’s too early for this,” he mutters, finally getting the door unlocked.
He has to remind himself that it’s not actually early to anyone except for him. It’s almost eleven, and most of the world has been up for hours. Seonghwa definitely hasn’t been; it’s almost impossible to wake up at seven when you only got to bed at five.
The building’s interior is completely dark, but he doesn’t need to see where he’s going at this point. He heads straight for the bar, dumping his bag and keys there before reaching for the lights.
He only turns on a few lights, sitting down on one of the barstools to finish what’s left of his coffee. It’s barely lukewarm at this point, but it doesn’t matter. The caffeine will work either way, and he takes the chance to enjoy not having to do anything. There will be plenty of time to be on the other side of the bar later on; most of the day, in fact.
When he’s done having a moment, he gets up to throw away the cup. He takes the chance to check the trash cans, making sure they’re empty. When he’s satisfied in that area, Seonghwa heads upstairs to begin his rounds of preliminary cleaning.
He pauses in the doorway of the storage room, quickly tying back as much of his hair as he can. It’s now long enough to legitimately get in his eyes, and he would prefer to see for the next couple of hours.
He gets out the mop, broom, and dustpan from the storage room, leaving them propped against the wall. He checks each one of the bathrooms, making sure they’re fully stocked for the evening.
Seonghwa gives both of the bathrooms a good sweeping, mopping a few spots as well. He cleaned the previous night, but the job is never as thorough as he remembers. There’s always something that needs a touchup, which is why he shows up so early.
When the upstairs is cleaned to his standards, he hauls the broom and dustpan downstairs. He makes a second trip for the mop and bucket of water; he only had to spill an entire bucket’s worth of water down the stairs once to learn that lesson.
He’s halfway through mopping the floor when the unmistakable sound of the door opening reaches him.
“Watch your step, ” he calls out. “I’m mopping.”
The sound of footsteps predictably slows, and San sticks his head around the corner a second later.
“I thought you did that last night, hyung,” he points out, raising an eyebrow.
“It isn’t clean enough,” Seonghwa tells him. “Did you sleep well?”
San nods, stepping carefully over to one of the booths. He sinks down, propping his elbows on the table as he watches Seonghwa work.
“Did you eat?” he asks after a moment.
“I’ll get something for lunch,” Seonghwa says. “I wasn’t hungry.”
San hums vaguely, probably not believing him at all. Seonghwa doesn't bother to correct him, too busy making sure he has the cleanest floor in all of New York.
“I don’t know how you can focus without anything playing,” San finally groans. “I’m going to go insane if I don't have something to listen to.”
He gets up from his seat, crossing the room on tiptoe to the bar area. He digs around underneath the bar for a second, finally coming up with the old phone Seonghwa uses to play music for the building.
San puts on one of Seonghwa’s ‘No Customers’ playlists, sitting down on a barstool once he’s done. He pulls out his phone, smiling at something on the screen.
“Is Wooyoung up?” Seonghwa asks, dunking the mop back in the bucket.
“Yeah,” San reports. “He just woke up.”
That explains the smiling, Seonghwa thinks. He gives the floor a close look before nodding once to himself.
“Would you mind dumping this out in the back?” he asks, pointing to the bucket.
San gets up immediately, even as he rolls his eyes. He hauls it out the front door, taking care to keep it from sloshing onto the freshly cleaned floor.
“Around the back,” Seonghwa calls out after him. “Not the front.”
There is no response from San, and Seonghwa can only hope he heard the instructions.
He heads over to the bar, grabbing a rag and bottle of disinfectant. He sprays and wipes down the bar top, moving on to the room’s various tables once he’s done.
Seonghwa is finishing the last table when San comes back in, the bucket swinging at his side. He takes it directly upstairs after grabbing the broom, dustpan, and mop from where Seonghwa left them.
When the tables are done, Seonghwa returns to the bar. He squints at it for a moment, quickly deciding it needs to be wiped down again.
That finished, he takes a second to check the time. He does some quick mental math; it’s now 12:30, and they’ll be opening at 3. That leaves him two and a half hours to finish prep, get some kind of lunch, and meet with Hongjoong.
He grimaces at the thought. It’s not that he doesn’t enjoy seeing the gangster, despite what he tells Wooyoung and San. Hongjoong’s visits can last anywhere from fifteen minutes to multiple hours, and Seonghwa doesn’t like being unsure of exactly how long something will take.
“Hyung what do you want?” San skips the last few steps, landing heavily without looking up from his phone. “I’m ordering from that Sichuan place.”
“It doesn’t matter to me,” Seonghwa tells him. “Surprise me or something.”
San gives him a grin at that, dimples flashing.
“I’ll go pick it up,” he says. “Don’t inhale too much bleach when I’m gone.”
“Get out of here,” Seonghwa tells him with an eye roll. “I’ll do what I want.”
The front door swings shut behind him, leaving Seonghwa alone for the moment.
Resisting the urge to wipe the bar down again, he begins to clean everything he’ll use for the evening. Almost nothing needs it at this point, but it never hurts to be thorough.
He’s just beginning to check the glassware when the sound of the door dragging across the floor as it opens reaches him over the music.
Seonghwa doesn’t turn around, only listening with half an ear as San comes up to the bar.
“That was fast,” he says, reaching for another glass. “Did they already have it ready?”
“Um, no,” is the response, from someone who is definitely not San.
Seonghwa manages not to jump or drop the glass he’s holding, only pausing for a second.
“Whatcha ordering? Anything good?”
Seonghwa turns around then, giving his best unimpressed face to the man lounging against his bar.
Hongjoong just grins at him, resting his chin in one hand.
“None of your business,” Seonghwa tells him. “And your hair isn’t parted evenly.”
The gangster reaches up to run a hand through his hair, messing up the divide between black and white even more. Seonghwa resists the urge to shove his hand away and fix it on his own, telling himself Hongjoong’s hair is in no way his problem.
“It was a rough night,” Hongjoong says easily. “Didn’t exactly have time to do my hair before coming here.”
“There are bathrooms upstairs,” Seonghwa replies.
“Does it bother you that much?” Hongjoong asks, grin widening.
Seonghwa chooses to ignore him, turning back to the glassware. He reaches for another glass, wiping it down carefully.
“Do you actually have something to talk to me about, or are you just here to be annoying?” he asks when at least a minute goes by with no sound from Hongjoong.
“Hmmm, that’s a tough one,” he hums. “Maybe I just wanted to see your oh so lovely face.”
Seonghwa doesn’t bother to hold back a snort, returning the now even cleaner glass to the rack.
“I thought you were a busy man,” he says over his shoulder. “Surely you don’t have time for that.”
“Yet here I am,” the gangster replies. “Mostly to see your face, but also to request the private room for tomorrow night.”
“Having a party?” Seonghwa asks, already dreading having to disinfect the whole room.
“Hah, I wish,” Hongjoong tells him. “A few friends and I just need to talk where people won’t hear.”
Seonghwa gives him a brief nod, picking up another glass and turning to lean against the back counter. He can watch Hongjoong this way, making sure he doesn't steal the napkins or something.
“I’ll have the payment by the end of the month,” he finds himself saying.
“I know,” Hongjoong grins. “I wish all of the other people we work with were as punctual as you.”
Neither of them say anything for a moment. Seonghwa looks down at the glass in his hands, focusing on a spot that barely exists. He can feel Hongjoong watching him, still smiling slightly.
“Was there something else you needed?”
“Oh not really,” Hongjoong says casually. “Unless you wanted to judge my new shirt.”
Seonghwa raises an eyebrow, which Hongjoong clearly takes as an invitation. He steps back from the bar, spreading his arms to give Seonghwa the full picture.
The shirt is short sleeved, with a collar. It’s a nice brown and has stripes in a lighter beige. It is entirely standard, but shows off Hongjoong’s arms and sleeves of tattoos nicely. Seonghwa realizes he’s staring, quickly looking back up at the man’s face.
“I think my dad has the same shirt,” Seonghwa says after a second. “That exact one.”
Hongjoong scowls at that, dropping his arms.
“Not the reaction I expected, but I’m not surprised,” he declares, stepping back up to the bar. “You’re good at brutal honesty.”
“I’m taking that as a compliment,” Seonghwa informs him.
“As you should,” Hongjoong says. “Everything I say about you is.”
Seonghwa gives him a sarcastic smile at that, swapping out glasses.
“So what’s the meeting about?” he asks. “Or can you not tell me?”
“It’s nothing exciting,” Hongjoong tells him. “Jongho and I just need to catch up on some things somewhere safe, and you have the best ambiance on this side of the river.”
Seonghwa chooses to ignore the other compliment, latching on to the earlier part of the sentence.
“Jongho and Mingi will be coming?” he asks, tilting his head.
Hongjoong nods.
“You should have led with that,” Seonghwa tells him. “I thought this was with some of those men you bring in here sometimes.”
“Definitely not,” Hongjoong snorts. “I try to speak with those fucking assholes as little as possible.”
Seonghwa definitely doesn’t blame him for that. Hongjoong rarely brings anyone other than Jongho and Mingi here, but when he does they are rather unsavory. He knows it’s a lot to expect gang members to look and act like upstanding citizens, but those men give him a legitimately bad feeling every time they come in.
“I don’t blame you,” he tells Hongjoong. “It’s been a while since Jongho and Mingi came by.”
“ Yeah, you know how it is,” the gangster says, waving a hand. “Classes and stuff.”
Seonghwa doesn’t, but he’s not about to say anything. He distantly knows Jongho attends college, but he doesn’t know anything past that.
“It’ll be good to see them again,” he says instead. “San and Wooyoung were talking about them the other day.”
Right on cue, the front door scrapes open.
“I was talking about who?” San calls out, coming around the corner a second later. He is carrying two bags of takeout, and barely blinks at the sight of Hongjoong.
“Jongho and Mingi,” Seonghwa tells him. “They’ll be here tomorrow night.”
“Cool,” San replies. “I got you the spicy rib noodles. There’s some fried rice in here too if you want it.”
“Thank you,” Seonghwa says. “You can set mine over there.”
He gestures to the back counter, earning a frown from San.
“You should eat now, hyung,” he says, setting the bags on the bar top. “If you don’t do it now you won’t at all.”
“I will eat,” Seonghwa promises. “We just have a guest now.”
“What, him?” San asks, glancing over at Hongjoong. “He doesn’t care.”
“I don’t,” Hongjoong adds with a cheerful grin. “Eat your lunch.”
Seonghwa hesitates for a moment, gaze darting between San and Hongjoong. He doesn’t like the situation, and similarly dislikes how there’s no obvious way to get out of this situation.
“Fine,” he finally huffs. “But San, I’ll need your help with the ice later.”
“That’s fair,” San says immediately. “Here’s your food.”
He passes over the container, and Seonghwa busies himself with opening it, then the chopsticks. He does his best to ignore Hongjoong’s presence at the bar, taking a bite of his noodles.
Seonghwa is quickly reminded of the fact that he didn’t have any breakfast, stomach growling the second there’s food.
“Do you want some?” San asks Hongjoong after a second of just eating.
“Nah, I’m good,” he says. “I should probably be going anyway.”
He gets up from his seat, flashing a cocky grin.
“I’ll see you tomorrow night,” he tells Seonghwa. “I’ll be counting the minutes until then.”
“I thought you had things to do,” Seonghwa retorts. “They clearly aren’t enough if you have that much free time.”
Hongjoong just shrugs theatrically, already heading for the door.
Seonghwa watches him go, noodles momentarily forgotten.
The shirt does look nice, he admits to himself. But Hongjoong’s pants are definitely the highlight of the show, at least for him.
Hongjoong steps around the corner, and the door swings shut behind him a second later. Seonghwa slowly begins to eat again, the only sounds being San chewing and the music distantly playing.
“Nice to see him, I guess,” San says after a minute. “Did he say anything else important?”
“Not really,” Seonghwa replies. “Just the usual.”
He only lets himself think about the gangster for a few more minutes. By the time he’s finishing his food, his thoughts are entirely filled with the list of things he has to do before they open.
-
“Alright folks,” the professor says. “That's all I have for today. The homework is up online; be sure to check the calendar for the test dates.”
Yunho is already standing, shoving his notebook into his bag. He steps around the girl who sits beside him, giving her a quick smile.
The second he's out of the classroom, he pulls out his phone. He only has four unread messages, all from Yeosang and Jongho. They're discussing meeting up for lunch, checking to make sure everyone is available.
“I'll…be…there,” he mutters as he types, trying to hurry down the hall at the same time.
He manages to get out of the building without killing himself or anyone else, and he squints at the bright sunlight of the outdoors. At least the weather is still nice; summer had been miserable.
His phone buzzes in his hand, and he quickly opens the text. It's from Jongho, and says that he's already at the ramen place they meet at for lunch.
He smiles slightly at the text, knowing it likely means Mingi is there too. He and Jongho are practically attached at the hip; he rarely ever sees them apart.
Yunho just thinks it's strange Mingi never says anything on the group chat. They've had it for ages now, and he has said something maybe once. Yunho is pretty sure it was just an emoji; not even words. It certainly fits his vibe of a man of few words, but it’s still weird.
That's definitely not the weirdest thing about Mingi, Yunho tells himself ruefully. The guy is strange, and Yunho is convinced something is going on there. Jongho is involved, and Yunho is going to find out what it is one of these days.
Yeosang calls him crazy every time he brings it up, telling him to save the conspiracy theories for the pyramids or something like that. Yunho will convince him one day; he's sure of it.
In the time it took him to think all of that, he has gotten all the way to the restaurant he was heading for. He pulls the door towards himself, holding it open for a man coming out.
He steps inside, doing a quick survey of the tables to find everyone else. His gaze snags on a head of short pink hair, and he grins when he realizes it's Mingi.
Jongho is sitting beside him, saying something with his back to the door. Mingi is turned slightly in his chair, and his gaze lands on Yunho only seconds after he begins heading towards them. He gives Yunho a smile that seems distinctly shy, making Yunho smile even wider.
“Hey guys,” he says with a grin, walking up to their table. “What's up?”
Jongho looks up and gives him a smile at that, the expression making him look a whole lot younger.
“Nothing much,” he returns casually. “How was your class?”
“Ahh, it was fine,” Yunho tells him, waving a hand as he sits down across from them. “How was class for you guys?”
“It was good,” Jongho shrugs. “Standard.”
“And what about yours?” Yunho asks, pivoting to look at Mingi.
The man always gives an exceptional deer in the headlights impression when asked a question, and now is no exception.
“Good,” he says after a second.
He doesn't elaborate, fiddling with the sleeve of his hoodie and Yunho decides to leave it at that.
He doesn't know for sure, but he's pretty sure Mingi doesn't speak the best English. He seems to understand just fine, but tends to keep his sentences short.
“Hi,” a familiar deep voice says from right behind Yunho. “Sorry I'm late.”
Yeosang slides into the seat beside Yunho, reaching up to drag his bangs out of his face. He's slightly out of breath, likely from running all the way here.
“You're not late,” Jongho immediately tells him. “We just got here.”
Yunho glances over at Mingi, the two of them sharing a meaningful look that transcends all potential language barriers. It seems like Jongho and Yeosang are the only two people who don't realize that they each have a crush on the other. This provides entertainment and torture, in equal measures, for everyone around them.
“Have you guys ordered yet?” Yeosang asks, glancing around the table.
They all shake their heads, and Jongho reaches for the menus set out.
Yunho’s gaze snags almost immediately on his watch. He’s not a watch person, but he knows enough to be able to recognize a nice one when he sees it.
He doesn’t point it out. Jongho is clearly in a different tax bracket than the rest of them; Yunho could have guessed that just from the quality of the clothes he wears.
“Should we share something?” Yeosang asks, picking up one of the menus. “The bibimbap could probably feed all of us.”
“We don’t need to share,” Jongho says easily. “I’ve got it.”
“Are you sure?” Yunho asks, glancing quickly at Yeosang before looking back at the younger man. “I don’t want to-”
“Yes, I’m sure,” Jongho says with a wave of his hand. “Besides, sharing never really works.”
Yunho definitely isn’t going to protest too hard; he’s a college student after all. They place their various orders with a frazzled looking waiter, and are again left alone.
“So did the pictures you took yesterday turn out?” Jongho asks, leaning on the table as he addresses Yeosang.
The blond frowns at that, brows pushing together.
“I haven’t gotten them back yet,” he says. “I’ll let you know if they’re any good.”
“I know they will be,” Jongho reassures him. “Your pictures always are.”
Yunho would make exaggerated gagging noises if Yeosang was anything but an incredibly talented photographer. He is, however, and so Yunho keeps the disgust and exasperation inside for now.
“Pictures from the weekend?” Mingi asks, talking mostly to Jongho.
“Yeah,” Yeosang answers, with Jongho nodding to back him up.
“Why don’t you have them now?” Mingi asks, looking distinctly confused.
“I shot on film,” Yeosang explains. “And the developer I use takes ages.”
Mingi makes a vaguely affirmative sound, and Yunho takes this to mean he understands none of what Yeosang is talking about.
In his defense, Yunho only barely does himself. It’s only years of living with the photographer that have given him the barest minimum of facts and knowledge.
“I don’t understand any of the shit either,” he says. “It’s all weird and I think Yeo is making up half of it.”
“Rude,” Yeosang tells him evenly. “I take great offense to that.”
Yunho just grins, leaning back in his chair. He is thinking of another topic of conversation to bring up when the poor waiter reappears with their food in hand.
“This looks great,” Yunho says as they set the dishes down. “Thanks Jongho.”
“You make it sound like I made it,” the youngest says. “But you’re welcome I guess.”
He takes a bite of his ramen, nodding happily to himself while he chews. Taking this to be a good sign, Yunho digs into his own food.
There is no conversation for multiple minutes as they all focus on eating, various slurping and chewing sounds the only noise.
The rest of the restaurant is pleasantly noisy though, and Yunho doesn't find the silence awkward. They have been friends for multiple years now, and they don't have to talk all the time anymore.
“Does anyone want my egg?” Mingi asks, looking around the table.
“I'll take it,” Yunho offers when no one else says anything.
Mingi puts the egg in his ramen easily, handling his chopsticks deftly. Yunho thanks him, earning another soft smile from Mingi.
“You and eggs,” Jongho says, reaching out to elbow Mingi lightly in the ribs.
Yunho would have missed it if he wasn't watching Mingi already. The pink-haired man grimaces at the touch, looking almost like he's in pain for a split second. Then his expression is right back to normal, and he is turning to pout at Jongho.
“What about me and eggs?” he asks.
“You're weird about them,” Jongho explains with a shrug. “You're very specific.”
Mingi seems to accept that as an answer, turning back to his bowl.
Yunho is still hung up on what just happened. He knows Yeosang didn't see it, which means he only has himself to speculate with.
He wonders if Mingi is hurt somehow. It wouldn't be the first time; Yunho has noticed multiple cuts, bruises, and scrapes despite Mingi’s various attempts to hide them.
“Did you two do anything fun last night?” he asks, keeping the question light while carefully watching for their reactions.
Sure enough, Mingi glances over at Jongho quickly, keeping his mouth firmly shut.
“Not really,” Jongho shrugs. “Mostly just chilling at home.”
Yunho doesn’t believe that for a second, but he can’t exactly flip the table and yell “YOU’RE LYING!” He resists the urge with everything he can muster, just nodding instead.
“Are you free tomorrow?” Yeosang asks, probably talking more to Jongho than both of them. “I have a project I need to take photos for.”
“Sure,” Jongho starts to say. “When do you want to-”
He is cut off suddenly, and Yunho is very certain Mingi just kicked him under the table.
“What?” Jongho asks, looking mildly annoyed as he glances over at Mingi.
Mingi blinks at him meaningfully, eyebrows raised. Jongho just looks more puzzled the longer this goes on.
Yunho watches with bated breath, gaze flicking between the two of them rapidly.
Mingi finally seems to give up, rolling his eyes. He opens his mouth and Yunho unconsciously leans forward because he has a feeling this is going to be good.
The sentence of rapid-fire Korean hits Yunho like a bucket of water.
Biting back a curse, he reminds himself for the millionth time that he really should call his grandmother and start catching up on years of Korean lessons he’s been missing. This is really no one’s fault but his own. Well, his parents are partly to blame as well, but only a little.
Whatever Mingi said barely even gets a flicker of a reaction from Jongho, who is almost immediately turning back to Yeosang.
“Ahh, I’m sorry,” he says. “But Mingi and I have something we need to do tomorrow.”
“What is it?” Yunho blurts before he can stop himself.
Jongho gives him a mildly strange look at that. Mingi just blinks at him, eyes wide.
“It sounded so important,” Yunho lamely explains. “Got me curious now.”
“It’s nothing exciting,” Jongho tells him, dragging his chopsticks through his noodles. “Just a visit to my mom.”
“Doesn’t she live in Forest Hills or something?” Yeosang asks around a mouthful of food.
“Yeah,” Jongho says, looking surprised. “I can’t believe you remember that.”
Yunho isn’t.
“You’re both going to visit your mom?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at that.
Mingi and Jongho both nod.
“My mom loves Mingi,” Jongho explains. “She’d probably disown me if I didn’t bring him along.”
Yunho smiles at that, reminded of when his parents came down to visit him and immediately fell in love with Yeosang. He’s glad Toronto is just far away enough to prevent regular visits; they would probably adopt Yeosang on the spot.
He is about to say something relating to how nice of a neighborhood Forest Hills is when his phone buzzes in his pocket.
“Oh shit,” Yunho hisses, fishing it out quickly. “I’m so sorry guys, but I have to go.”
“Is that so you don’t miss your class?” Mingi asks, glancing down at the flashing alarm on his phone screen.
“Yeah,” Yunho tells him, already standing up. “The professor is a stickler for punctuality, and I don’t want to risk it.”
“Good luck,” Jongho says with a smile.
“I’ll need it,” Yunho replies grimly. “Thanks for lunch, and I hope your visit goes well tomorrow.”
“We appreciate it,” Jongho says. “See you around.”
“I’ll be home late tonight,” Yeosang reminds him. “Text if you want something for dinner.”
Yunho flashes him a brief thumbs up, taking a backwards step away from the table.
“Bye,” Mingi says with a small smile, waving slightly.
Yunho smiles at that, returning the wave in a way that is definitely dorky.
He’s out the door not even a minute later, hurrying off to his next class as quickly as he can.