Chapter Text
The nights are getting longer, but it’s warm enough still that Mingi can keep his bedroom window open. He watches as the soft breeze flows through the curtains, room dimly lit by the waning moon outside and shapes and shadows dancing on his walls, mocking his restlessness. Mingi sighs, throwing the bedsheets off his body, and sits up in bed.
He hasn’t slept in what seems like weeks, and tonight he’s been rewarded with a headache to keep him company. With every blink, he can physically feel the skin under his eyes wrinkling deeper and bruising darker. The air is humid. He's all clammy and gross, hairs seal-sticked to his neck by the sweat sludging under his skin, and he wishes he peel it off like a suit and be bare, so sleep would infuse and entrench in him. But reality has different plans, so he just stands up and walks to the kitchen.
The moonlight isn’t as strong there, so he opens the fridge door and lets its light do the work in muted yellow. Mingi looks through its contents, but reasons some tea would probably be the best option to relax him. The glowing digits of the oven clock mark a few minutes past one. Mingi stares at the kettle for a bit, and then decides to drink plain old water. It’s basically the same, anyways, except no herbs and less effort. He reaches for the mug he has refused to put away for three days, abandoned on the edge of the sink, and fills it with tap water. Good enough. Upon his first sip, he realizes he’s absolutely parched, and downs it in one go. Maybe his headache had something to do with that.
The fridge light turns off, leaving him in almost complete darkness. The fridge has it easy, truly. Mingi is so tired it’s unbelievable, but his eyes twitch around every time he tries to close them, and his body never feels right enough to fall asleep. He’s jealous he can’t shut down too, not bothered by what-ifs and whatnots running laps around his brain. He’s glad his job allows him to make his own schedule, but there are still deadlines to meet and people to please, and there’s also that one middle school incident that left him so embarrassed he wanted to disappear, and that time when someone was mean to him, and that other time when he was mean and-
Mingi is pulled out of his self-made spiral by the rattling of the front door handle. He juggles his thankfully empty mug for a second, and narrowly avoids shattering the ceramic on his bare feet. There’s someone at the door, which leads directly into the joined kitchen and living room of his small apartment - and he’s standing right in front of it. Is someone trying to break in? Did he lock the door? He might have forgotten it, and now he’s sleep-deprived and in his underwear and about to get murdered.
The door creaks open and Mingi is temporarily blinded by the white light of the hallway outside, but once he gets used to the brightness, his neurons fire just the right way for him to produce a coherent thought: he’s a dumbass. And others too must suffer the consequences of such.
Yunho - legally and rightfully - steps into their shared apartment, only to nearly fall back out into the hallway once he notices Mingi just standing there. He lets out a shriek that is definitely too loud for that time of the night.
“Shit- holy mother of God, Mingi!” He leans his weight against the open door, hand to his chest and eyes wide with shock. “What in the actual fuck , dude?”
His hair has been through some hardships – it’s clear Yunho spent all day running his fingers through it. His black suit jacket sits nicely on his shoulders, and he has unlaced his tie, which lays limply on his chest. The top buttons of his shirt are undone, and his glasses hang from the opening, exposing his chest even further. He’s a damn sight to behold, even backlit by halogens and half scared to death.
“Just drinking some water.” Mingi raises his mug and jiggles it a bit in demonstration. Yunho keeps staring.
“In the dark?”
“...yeah?”
Some seconds tick by before the startle wears off and Yunho steps inside the apartment, closing the door behind him. He toes off his shoes and places his briefcase down beside the shoe rack.
“Just ‘yeah’? I nearly shit my pants because of you, dickhead.”
That prompts a startled laugh out of Mingi, as he places his mug back by the sink and leans against the counter. Yunho walks up to him, stopping on his way to close the fridge door while giving him a pointed look, and steals away his mistreated mug, gulping down some tap water himself. Mingi gets stuck watching his throat as he swallows, only tearing his eyes away once Yunho is done and looking back at him. He decides to speak, if only to divert attention in case he was caught red-handed.
“How was work?”
Yunho shrugs one-sidedly.
“It was fine. We are just getting started on that big project I told you about. I don’t think I’ll be able to do anything else but work for the next month or so.” He runs a hand through his hair. His eyes take Mingi in, and his eyebrows furrow. “Can’t sleep again?”
It’s Mingi’s turn to shrug.
“The usual.”
“You should go to the doctor, Mingi.”
“I’d rather not sleep ever again, thanks,” Mingi declares, raising his eyebrows. The other raises an eyebrow back, and Mingi relents, but not without a tiny roll of his eyes. “I’ll think about it.”
Yunho exhales amusedly before turning to put the mug in the dishwasher. He gets closer and puts a hand on Mingi’s shoulder.
“I’m gonna go shower. Go back to bed, yeah?” He gives him a tiny squeeze. “If you need me, you know where I am.”
Mingi nods.
“Goodnight, Mingi.”
“Goodnight.”
He does as he’s ordered and goes back to bed. Sitting with his back against the cushioned headboard, he listens to the water run and splash as Yunho showers. He’s singing too, hushed and soft, over too fast. Soon enough, he can hear him walk to his own bedroom and settle down for the night.
Mingi manages to fall asleep right as the first rays of sunlight begin signaling a new day.
+++
dawg: I think I’ll be home before dinner today, I’ll get thai omw back
dawg: I was thinking of asking Jjong and Sannie to come with
dawg: Sound good?
Me: superb
Me: love the way you think
Me: love when you let me see other people
dawg: Stfu I’m the best and you know it
Me: i can think of at least 50 people who are objectively better than you
Me: just off the top of my head
dawg: Maybe I’ll let you starve then
Me: you’re the best (pls don’t) <3
A car beeps at him, nearly making him drop his phone. Mingi looks up to see the greenlight for pedestrians is lit. Nodding his thanks, he speedwalks to the other side of the road, even adding that awkward little jog people do when they’re rushing. The light is already back to red before he reaches the sidewalk, but he survives, thus managing another day without getting run over.
Mingi had spent his day outside, opting to change scenery and work at a coworking space a few subway stops away from his lair. His tactic proved successful, and he managed to make quite a lot of progress on the song he’s been producing for Hongjoong, his dear friend and also the guy who gets him paid at the end of the month. Mingi had sent him the rough draft before heading home, and got a thumbs up in response, which made him smile despite possibly coming off a bit dismissive to others. Hongjoong has so much to do at all times but always reacts to his work in some capacity, and maybe Mingi is too mushy, but it makes him feel seen and appreciated and gets him smiling at his phone like a dummy as he walks down the street.
There are some clouds coming in over his head, and a stray raindrop falls on the bridge of his nose. Mingi fastens his pace and wishes he could drive, which he technically can but avoids at all costs. Driving is not fun for him, and it has never been, but it sure would be useful in times like these.
Luckily, he’s home before the rain truly begins. He takes a shower and tidies his room up a bit before there’s a knock at the front door. He opens it to find Jongho and San on the other side, jackets wet on their shoulders, but he chooses to zero in on the takeout bags San is holding, very quickly removing them from his grasp.
“Great to see you too, man.”
“Shut up and come in, I’m starving.”
San smiles and they both step inside. Jongho is carrying some beer that he puts in the fridge before greeting Mingi with a punch to his arm, using just a little too much power. San is already sitting at the center table in front of the couch.
“And where’s my asshole roommate? Finally took my hints to get lost?”
“You wish.” Of course, Yunho comes in right as he’s being mocked, but remains unbothered by the regular occurrence. “Had to find a parking spot.”
In no time, they are all sitting on the living room floor, sipping beer and eating some ridiculously delicious noodles. They talk about their days, and Mingi gets updated on all the office gossip the other three witness daily.
“So, Jiwoo’s getting married?”
“She is, yeah.” Jongho takes a gulp of his beer. “The problem is Ji-yoo is getting a divorce, and some critical phonetical information might have been lost on its way to San.”
Yunho is already laughing way before Jongho finishes his sentence.
“He told Jiwoo he was sorry it was happening to her-”
Jongho picks it up again as Yunho struggles to contain his laughter long enough to continue.
“And then San said, and I quote: ‘I'm sure you can find someone better'."
San is trying to hide under the table at this point, face a dark shade of red, and Mingi throws his head back on a cackle before his usual hiccupping laughter takes place and makes his belly hurt. Jongho continues to expose San’s bad choices and even worse luck, and soon the man in question stops hiding and starts protesting, screeches getting louder with every remark and rebuttal. They eventually get so loud that Yunho steps in and separates them - physically, since San is already all up in Jongho’s space, the latter still teasing him into oblivion through his giggles.
Mingi would say he’s pretty good at handling his booze. According to his ranking (no one can be aware of it – arguments would ensue, consequences would be dire), he’s in second place right after Jongho and right before Yunho.
But Yunho carries it better. He glows and blushes high on his cheeks, lips darkening in their pink. It also makes him more charismatic, if that’s even possible for someone who already embodies the very concept of charisma.
Mingi would follow him anywhere. He’d like to simply attribute that to these charms, but he knows that it runs deeper. He follows every one of Yunho's movements unabashedly, and it could be because of the alcohol, since his second place in his totally accurate ranking doesn’t mean he’s unaffected, but he would stare openly even if completely sober - does so, in fact.
Mingi has lost some seconds of conversation, but he can’t find it in himself to mind. He follows the cue to get up, standing with the others.
“I should call it a night,” San says, shrugging on his jacket. “Gotta be up in-” He glances down at his phone and winces. “Six hours.”
“Yikes.” Mingi pats his shoulder, sympathetic and endlessly thankful he can get up whenever he damn pleases. He calls San a cab, because no matter the selected drunk ranking, he’ll inevitably be at the bottom, and San is out the door soon after, but not before distributing lengthy goodnight hugs. It’s clear why Wooyoung and him click so well.
Yunho starts gathering beer bottles in his hands. He had discarded his blazer and tie before they sat down to eat and rolled up the sleeves of his white button-up to his elbows, baring his forearms. Mingi blinks away the start of a new haze.
“Hey, I got this,” he says, taking the bottles from Yunho’s grasp. “You need to be up early too.”
“It’s fine-”
“I’ll stay and help, don’t worry,” Jongho interjects, already discarding some containers. “Get some sleep, businessman.”
He watches Yunho have a millisecond-long inner battle before he surrenders, nodding his head. Before he leaves, he pats Jongho’s back in thanks and goodbye all in one. The younger has already turned his back to them when Yunho knocks his shoulder against Mingi’s, and then goes to his bedroom without another word.
Jongho and Mingi work side by side, quickly going through the small mess they had created. Once they’re done, he offers Jongho one last beer for the road. The other huffs out a laugh but accepts.
“Got tomorrow off?”
“Yeah,” Jongho swirls his beer around in the bottle. “Yeosang found some really cool second-hand furniture, so we’re driving down to get it.”
“I take it the move is going well, then?”
The corners of Jongho’s mouth lift almost imperceptibly, but it’s the way his eyes shine so bright with joy, right there, staring at the kitchen backsplash, that gives away the true magnitude of his feelings.
“Yeah, it is.”
His relationship with Yeosang had been a long time coming. When they finally got together about a year and a half before, it wasn’t really a surprise to anyone in their friend group - only in the sense that everyone bet they would take even longer to confess, but they were all happy to be wrong this time. It made Mingi very giddy to be able to witness his friends’ relationships and be part of the family their group had found in one another. He just loves love, what can he say?
Mingi finishes his beer and discards the bottle, gesturing for Jongho to hand him his empty one too.
“Well, when you actually start moving stuff into the house, let me know. I’d be happy to help.”
Jongho nods. “I’ll definitely take you up on that.”
Mingi walks him to the door, leaning against the wall as the other ties his shoes. As he switches sides, Jongho speaks up again, suspiciously light-toned.
“How about you? How’s that love life?”
“I don’t even know what that is,” Mingi says. “And you know I’d tell you if there was something going on.”
Jongho straightens up and studies him with a look Mingi can’t decode.
“I don’t think you’d know if there was something going on.”
“Rude.” Mingi crosses his arms, mouth slightly agape. “I’m not that oblivious.”
“Yes, you are.” Jongho smirks. Bastard. “You wouldn’t know love if it was staring you in the face.”
“I know you love me, though.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Okay, get out of my house.”
Jongho laughs as he throws on his coat, moving towards the front door. He opens it and steps out, turning back to face Mingi.
“Don’t stay up too late watching porn.”
“I hate you, actually.”
With a grin, Jongho waves goodbye, and Mingi returns it with a grin of his own. He watches the other get into the elevator, only closing the door once he does, proceeding to lock it and turn to face his home. With no bickering idiots invading it, it feels too big, even if it’s anything but. His friends always leave a gloomy little void when they leave, and it takes him a while to get used to the silence again.
Mingi had a long day, though. He got a lot of work done, answered the emails he had been avoiding and all. The hangout fed his body and soul, and the beer got him floaty enough to feel confident of his victory against insomnia. Mingi turns off the lights and goes to the bathroom to do his skincare routine, strongly recommended and endorsed by Seonghwa, and then makes his way to his bedroom. The nights remain warm, and he leaves the window open a crack so the breeze will cool the room and he can wrap himself up in his covers.
His bones feel dense and his muscles mushy. Mingi lies down and listens as a few cars drive by on the street, his eyes shut and waiting for sleep to take over.
He waits. And he waits. Then he waits some more.
Sleep doesn’t come.
He changes position an excessive number of times and still can’t manage to get comfortable, and the peaceful quiet of his home turns into an eerie silence he can’t bear. It’s like he can hear the air molecules bumping into each other, and it’s driving him mad. The situation upsets him way too deeply in his exhaustion, enough that he finds himself tearing up. He had barely slept the week before and had been hopeful he’d get some rest, since he’d been feeling drowsy that evening, but apparently his body enjoys fucking with him. Maybe he should watch porn like Jongho had suggested and take the edge off. But it wouldn’t work - he knows it from experience. He could publish a whole essay about what doesn’t work at this point.
So, Mingi gets up and walks back to the kitchen. He opens the fridge for light, gets a glass out of the cupboard, sips on some tap water. The fridge light turns off, he closes the door. He was getting chilled anyways. Placing the glass in the sink, he leans over it, hands gripping the edge. He stares unfocusedly at the moon’s reflection on the shiny surface of the tap, and tears once again wet his lash line, both from the strong glare assaulting his retina and his immeasurable frustration. He stands upright, trying to blink the moisture away, but finds it more difficult than he thought.
There are meds for this, he’s aware, but he’s never been a fan of the idea. The thought of drugging himself to sleep makes him uncomfortable, anxiety settling heavy in his chest just from imagining it. But he does feel so desperate at this point that he’s contemplating hitting himself over the head with a pan just to see if he’d lose consciousness once and for all.
His gaze is unfocused, but in the darkness that surrounds him it doesn’t really make a difference, so he lets it be as he drags his feet away from the kitchen and back towards his room. It’s been so many nights, what’s one more? Sleep will come eventually, it always does - he’ll just have to wait, patient and calm. The hallway is dark, but Mingi knows his way around; besides, there’s some light coming from his room and from Yunho’s, as well.
Within a moment, his conviction changes, and his eyes divert to peek into Yunho’s bedroom instead. The door was left open a crack, moonlight coming through and projecting a shiny strip from Mingi’s head to his toes, bleeding onto the floor. Peering through the opening, he can see Yunho lying on his back with an arm thrown over his head. His chest rises and falls, slow and steady, and each soft breath draws in and out through his parted lips.
He looks comfortable. That’s one way to translate the sudden bout of warm longing that washes over Mingi. The other would be to admit that Yunho looks like comfort itself, and he normally would, but tonight it feels off. With no strength left to fight any impulsive thoughts, unfiltered and irrational, he pushes the door and enters the room. Taking a few steps forward, he halts just shy of touching his knees to the mattress.
“Yunho?”
The sleeping man twitches but goes otherwise unbothered. There are tears in Mingi’s eyes again. His arms get goosebumps, and he feels five years old, awake at the foot of a bed he ran to for comfort. He calls again.
“Yunho.”
The other startles awake, gasping like death itself is calling his name. Mingi would laugh if he had it in him. Probably will once he gets some fucking sleep.
“...Mingi?”
His project at work must be affecting him more than he lets on. Yunho is a heavy enough sleeper, but even so he usually wakes up much less jumpy and alert, even if it’s three in the morning and there’s a tall child at the foot of his bed. He only gets like this when something is bothering him, and Mingi wonders how he can gently pry the reason out of him the next morning.
He thinks all these things, but forgets he is standing, silent and still, eyes watery and red. He’s quiet for too long, and Yunho sits up in bed, rubbing his eyes. Once he stops the motion and watches Mingi closely, his eyebrows furrow.
“Y’kay?”
His voice is gravely with sleep and Mingi realizes that of course Yunho is tired and needs rest and now Mingi just woke him up because he doesn’t know how to deal with his own problems. He should have just bought some meds.
“Sorry.”
He means to say something more, but his brain is telling him to flee. He almost does, but Yunho interrupts.
“Can’t sleep?”
Mingi freezes and his eyes widen, probably comically so, as he fights a valiant and very dramatic fight against the urge to start bawling on the spot. It’s ridiculous, but Yunho looks at him like he wants to fix it.
“I’m so fucking tired.”
Embarrassingly, Mingi’s voice breaks as he speaks, so frail that he has to look down at his sock-clad feet instead. From the periphery of his vision, though, he can tell Yunho stays very still for a beat, and then there’s movement and the sheets on Mingi’s side of the bed are lifted up and thrown back. Surprised, Mingi looks up in time to see the other wrestling one of his many pillows from around him to place it beside his on the mattress. Yunho meets his eyes and pats the sheets next to him.
“C’mere.”
Mingi nearly trips over his feet in his rush to comply, almost fearful that the offer is timed and he might just miss the opportunity window. He’s climbing onto the bed in no time, haphazardly removing his socks, and all the air in his lungs leaves him in a heavy exhale as his head hits the pillow. It smells like Yunho’s shampoo. The other, still holding onto the edge of the covers, tugs them up and covers Mingi up to his shoulders. God, he feels so weak and childish, but so soft and settled at the same time, though guilt does yank at his newborn peace.
"Sorry.” He whispers it this time, turning his head towards Yunho. The other smiles, in a way that doesn’t seem to be meant for anyone – not even Mingi. He has never caught it before. He’d remember.
“Just get some rest, yeah?”
They blink at each other for a few moments until Yunho breaks the streak, wiggling around until he’s comfortable again and letting his eyes shut. Mingi studies the bridge of his nose for as long as it takes for him to realize he’s doing it. But something about the delicate lines and planes of Yunho makes his mind reset, and he finds his eyelids drooping more and more with every blink he still sends the other’s way. He fully turns to his side, enraptured. Yunho’s chest is already back to its old rhythm, rising and falling, so easy, so serene.
And Mingi sleeps.