Chapter Text
There’s something in the Berlin air.
Minghao can say that with certainty.
They’ve only been to Europe a handful of times: but this feels different.
“Different to what? China? Korea?”
It’s unreasonable: It’s completely reasonable, there’s the ache of something in Minghao’s chest. It’s hollow, like if he were to shake, he’d rattle.
He split himself in half, then quarters: Whittling downwards until he was fractured like glass in thirteen unique shapes.
That’s the pain of living somewhere else and loving it entirely. It’s what his mother had told him one night when he called, heartbroken and alone. You’ll never have one home again. You stay split.
Minghao burrows himself in the passenger seat of their tiny, rented Fiat. “I think I’m homesick.”
Mingyu frowns. “We’ll be home soon.”
“Not like that.”
There’s a stable silence, Mingyu glances down at his phone before turning it off. “Then like what? Help me out here.”
Minghao looks out the window of their car, can feel Mingyu’s eyes on the back of his neck. “Can we walk?”
**
It’s like a long game of Follow the Leader. Minghao leads, Mingyu follows, and then they’ve got eleven more shadows dancing after them. But it’s them. It’s always been them.
It’s eyes staring at the back of heads, or hugs on stage that are never long enough.
It’s fingers sliding near fingers, or along necks, or across backs: It’s some nearly there thing that bends and twists them both into some new, abominable, shape. Something kind and honest and raw.
It’s Minghao knowing the way Mingyu’s hands feel even though all he’s ever felt of them has been the brief slide of something that is adamant to drown them both.
There’s this … invisible line they never cross. One that Minghao is extremely cautious about: The one that turns harmless nothings into painful somethings, into the meaningful things, the lovely worth it things. They can balance like this; they’ve been doing it long enough.
Minghao is homesick, but he doesn’t know from where, he doesn’t know why.
All he knows for certain is that he’s desperate to run to a place that he isn’t sure even exists.
**
“When you said walk, I thought you meant we’d walk together.” Mingyu grunts.
“Okay,” Minghao giggles. “Then put me down.”
Mingyu’s grip around Minghao’s thighs tightens. He bucks. “No.”
Minghao laughs, high and unbalanced. “Then stop complaining.”
“I’m not complaining,” Mingyu replies cutely. “I just want to make sure you feel better.”
Minghao coo’s, resting his cheek against the back of Mingyu’s head. He exhales. “I feel better.”
“Good, I’m glad.” Mingyu’s smiling, Minghao can tell.
“We’ll make it for dinner. I promise.”
Lollapalooza always seemed like an impossible dream – something so far from what Seventeen could do. And despite that, they felt the fear and did it anyway: Their performance was legendary, energy powerful and loud – even for Seventeen’s standards.
To say congratulations, their team set up a private dinner at a famous restaurant in the heart of Berlin. Mingyu and Minghao left on their own, wanting to take in the sights and architecture before dinner.
It’s what they had initially been doing before Minghao asked Mingyu to pull over.
“It doesn’t matter.” Mingyu replies. “What matters is that you feel better.”
Minghao breathes quick and tight against the tan skin of Mingyu’s neck, catching the twitch of Mingyu’s hands against his calves. He holds onto him tighter. “Thank you, Mingyu.”
There’s a quiet pause between them, wind brushes past with careful swipes. Mingyu swallows. “Of course.”
**
His eyes are big – telling. Like two fortune telling orbs. Minghao flushes at that.
Two large Magic-8 balls, maybe. He bites his lip. What does your future look like?
It’s from years of something: Minghao supposes Mingyu was never great at hiding his feelings.
They were opposites in that way. Minghao projected disgust, irritation – a general disdain for everyone and everything. He could think, could calculate. He protected himself, had to. Hardly let himself be seen.
Mingyu couldn’t project anything other than what he is . There are no games, no half-truths: Mingyu is exactly who he is on the inside, and out.
And there was that … gentle flow of something honest and warm and perfectly bold that caused Minghao to slip. Not that he ever meant to.
Then again maybe that’s all it is.
Maybe that’s all they are: One big honest mistake.
Mistake.
Like fate and chance and luck all tripped over one another and created some stupid, fucked up, love cocktail. It’s what Mingyu would want – in fact , he would probably hear the word cocktail and down the damn thing before pulling Minghao into him.
He’d down it and laugh and maybe, just maybe, Minghao would fall harder than he already has: After all, Mingyu’s eyes are huge and honest , and Minghao is just human.
He’s human. Human . There are spaces between his ribs. There are quiet breaks between the beats of his heart.
His armor has gaps – weak points. A chance for entry, like metal hooks to soft, fleshy meat.
He thought it’d feel like that: Painful, tugging. It wasn’t.
It wasn’t.
It was a quiet song played in a different body. A melody that was nearly impossible to hear over static, over muscle.
He didn’t even have to move . No one asked him to. He didn’t have to change, didn’t have to learn a new language, no. Everything felt inherent, ingrained: like he lived to make it to that moment.
And then Mingyu was there. And Minghao had no clue how he managed to snake so close. Had no clue how he let Mingyu’s fingers slide between the spaces of his ribs. Pressing, pressing .
A melody plays. Static scratches between their hands: If Minghao stands extremely still and listens: He can hear it.
If Minghao thinks about it, he knows, knows that he’d never need fate or chance or luck to point him in Mingyu’s direction: He’s been running towards Mingyu before he even knew him.
He didn’t need fate or chance or luck to tell him that it’s always been Mingyu.
**
“Do you ever think about your enlistment?” Minghao asks.
They’re still walking, streets dim and empty, the city lights are orange above them.
Mingyu shrugs. “It’ll be nice to experience something new, but otherwise, I don’t know.”
Minghao nods.
It’s been on all their minds. They’d be saying bye to Jeonghan soon enough, and from there, the two-year wait would begin.
It would only be a matter of time before Mingyu leaves.
“I can’t go with you.”
“I wouldn’t want you to.”
Minghao huffs, tries to bat at Mingyu’s chest from where he’s straddled behind him. “Jerk.”
Mingyu smiles, hitches Minghao up higher. They walked far from the car, soon enough they would have to circle back. “I wish I did it before I met you.”
Minghao pouts. “That would’ve been impossible.”
“I would’ve made it possible.”
The determination in Mingyu’s voice makes Minghao’s chest ache. It’s a stupid thing to say – downright corny, but despite it Minghao believes every word: They sink into him, heavy and constant, before he can deny the sentiment. It’s like shoving his feet under sand.
His heart digs a hole.
**
What does being caught red-handed look like? Minghao can’t tell you.
He can only tell you what it feels like.
It’s funny. Because for a long time Minghao knew he was hiding something. He just didn’t know what.
When people looked at him, it felt like they figured him out before he could figure himself out.
And then he met Mingyu.
For the first little while, he thought nothing of it, of him. Actually, he tried very hard not to think anything about anyone. Especially Kim Mingyu.
But he slipped, and Mingyu caught him, and there was that – warm light Mingyu glowed with. Perpetual daylight from the cathedral of his heart: An honesty that never hid, never changed.
For days and days, they shared a bed, or a room. They found quiet corners in chaos – became chaos. They stayed up for hours talking about their dreams and ideas, found their balance, rocked each other’s worlds, never left the other behind.
They walked together, side by side. Minghao could see the sentiment eclipsing Mingyu’s better judgment. Never let it eclipse his own. They had worked hard. The climb was tough. Why, why, why ruin it?
Minghao picked a couple good excuses: we’re close because we’re in the same group , or we’re good friends, I treat all my friends like this. These were the lies he could live with. For Mingyu, he was willing to sacrifice the truth to save them both.
These were the lies he was okay telling himself. The ones that wouldn't kill him.
Each lie is less painful than the truth: He loved Kim Mingyu. Always has.
Mingyu was too good, too kind, too honest. He’d never protect himself: would let himself crash and burn if it meant having what he wants. He would feed himself to wolves to give Minghao a couple extra minutes.
It was too much, too – too perfect: Overwhelming like a solid weight pressing the center of your chest.
Minghao picked his lies and held on for dear life. All he could do was hope, hope that Mingyu could hear everything he couldn't say.
Hoped that somehow Mingyu understood from that alone: Look at me, this is how I live for you. With glances and smiles and hands and hugs, just for you. Only you. As long as you see me, I’d do anything to make sure you know.
As long as I have you, I can live like this.
**
“We should turn back,” Minghao mumbles. “You can put me down now.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure.” Minghao grins. “I want to walk back with you.”
Mingyu is careful, like he’s setting down a glass sculpture. He nearly buckles, knees to pavement, until Minghao’s feet can touch the ground without him.
He drops his arms from around Minghao’s legs. Minghao keeps his arms wrapped around Mingyu’s neck, pulling him around for a hug. “Thank you.”
“Of course.” Mingyu replies.
He squeezes him tight.
There’s something to be said about Minghao loving the way Mingyu’s eyes feel on him when he’s not looking back. It’s an entirely different thing when they do make eye contact.
It’s like an honest song, like holding your hand over the warm glow of an open flame. There’s something about it that’s heavy. It's like gravity, pulling them closer together. Very little choice in the matter.
Minghao thinks that they can’t be closer than they are but then Mingyu’s looking at him and it’s like cool fishing wire slicing the skin of his soul wide open. It’s like he has to hide. Like there’s no way Mingyu likes him the same way, and one day the façade will stop and Minghao will be all alone again.
It’s too good to be true: Mingyu just carried Minghao on his back for several blocks with no complaints. He does whatever Minghao needs, whatever he wants , and doesn't care about looking like an idiot.
He does it and for Minghao, that invisible tightrope he’s so adamant to walk, shakes. Turbulent. It's like he needs to duck, brace for a fall that never comes.
He hugs Mingyu tighter, clinging to a buoy in open waters.
“Do you feel better?” Mingyu’s voice vibrates through Minghao’s chest.
He nods, exhaling and letting go of Mingyu. “I think so.”
“Okay.” Mingyu holds onto him for a second longer, hands falling to rest at his waist. “Let’s head back.”
He grabs Minghao’s hand and turns them both around.
**
When he first came to Korea; it was the most alone he’d been in a long time. Hai Cheng isn’t the liveliest place – but his parents were there. And up until he met Seventeen, it was his only home.
He always loved. Maybe that was his issue; maybe that’s what he was so desperate to hide.
There’s a wise crack along the back of his soul.
It’s like no matter how much Minghao stuffs and fills himself with love, it bleeds out of him. Leaves a soft trail, like the dust of a shooting star.
When something cracks you don't think of the break. However intense. You think of the pieces. One, two, a thousand. You see halves, quarters ... shards of a whole.
The negative space turns to nothing and so do you.
Nothing whole.
Just shards of something. Just broken.
You become nothing.
Minghao never thought he’d believe differently: breaking himself in, piece by piece, fracturing himself to survive, like a teacup hitting cement. He didn’t think he would survive.
And then he met Kim Mingyu.
**
They walk back slowly, hands interlocked by a few fingers swinging back and forth between them.
“Everything feels like it’s going to be different.” Minghao pouts.
Mingyu purses his lips. “Things are changing.”
Jeonghan leaving, Junhui leaving, another tour, more traveling, more time spread abroad. Less time together.
Less time together.
It wasn’t entirely wrong – it wasn’t entirely right either. Technically, for what it's worth, Minghao and Mingyu will be on tour together. They’ll be spending the rest of the year in cramped quarters – why did it feel like they were running out an inevitable clock?
It’s like Minghao is staring down a dark alley, like he’s one turn away from being drowned out. Like no matter how he’s got Mingyu it’s almost over – like it’s too good to be true and one day he’ll wake up and start giving Seungkwan piggy-back rides in Berlin.
He squeezes Mingyu’s hand, interlocking fingers, their small green Fiat coming back into view.
When Minghao breathes, he swallows and tastes salt, something stale. He stares at the back of Mingyu’s head as he takes the lead, walking towards their car. He doesn’t want to go. Doesn’t want this – them to stop.
It’s like taking in the end; like the concert high of performing at Lollapalooza is finally wearing off and now all that’s left is this horrible blue feeling, tinting everything gray. It’s a cold come down. A reality check. The last good wave. The end. The end. The end.
“Wait – wait.”
Minghao stops walking, yanking Mingyu to a halt by their locked-up hands.
“What is it?”
“I don’t want to leave.”
Mingyu’s expression goes soft, like the warm run of an egg yolk. “Okay, we don’t have to leave yet.”
“No. I don’t want to leave Berlin.”
“Like, right now?”
He lets go of Mingyu’s hand, exhaling. “Or ever – I don’t know.”
Minghao looks down and Mingyu ducks his head to get their eyes to meet. They’re close like this – unmistakably close. As long as you see me close.
Mingyu brings a hand to the side of his face, pulling Minghao’s eyes level to his own. “Do you not feel well? Are you sick?”
Minghao doesn’t really get sick in the cold and flu sense – not typically.
He was more of a fractured collarbone, broken arm, sort of sick. A broken kind of sickness. Delicate bones or overworked ligaments: he tore himself into pieces.
These days, it always felt like there was something wrong with him: something torn from far within.
“Minghao.” Mingyu’s hand drops down his neck. “Help me out here.”
He is a lost dog, barking at a storm, feeling something dangerous on the horizon with no threat, nothing tangible to bite.
“I feel like I don’t belong anywhere.”
“You belong.” It doesn’t take Mingyu more than a second to answer, voice veering incredulously.
Maybe Minghao was split. A shattered teacup, sure. He gave up comfort for the art of something great: the art of something more. Maybe, maybe . He doesn’t know. He will never know.
He shatters, heart in halves of halves of halves. Mingyu picks up his shards by the blade, squeezing so hard he draws blood and what’s worse: He doesn’t care. Never has.
“You belong to me.”
He’s got him there: the palms of his hands cupped, Minghao drinks.
Maybe Minghao has always been crying. Like the slow fullness of the ocean; waves ringing higher and further out. You only notice when the tide begins to recede around you. And eventually, once you’ve sunk far enough, the ocean starts pulling you down.
He shakes his head and wraps his arms around Mingyu. He hugs him tightly. A couple steps back would take them to the side of their car. They stay planted in plain sight.
It’s easier like this: the tight band of worry and grief and longing squeezing Minghao’s chest loosens in Mingyu’s arms. He can hear Mingyu’s heartbeat in his throat, can feel the way he gently rubs circles against his back.
Minghao swallows. Keeping his eyes screwed shut. It’s like everything is falling apart. His heart cracks even more: All Mingyu wants is for Minghao to be happy, and he can’t even give him that.
He exhales. “I’m sorry.”
“Minghao,” Mingyu muses, pulls his name across his tongue like taffy being stretched thin and sweet in the air. He runs a hand over the back of Minghao’s head. “It’s okay.”
It’s enough: Minghao lets out a small sob. The world is crystalline, covered in tiny orbs of light. He’s crying and hardly knows what to do to make it stop.
How do you conjure closeness when you’re staring at yourself a thousand feet out?
Minghao thinks he might be reaching out, hands encircling black dust until he’s smothered in it. When he breathes, he coughs; like he’s outrun a forest fire, destined to choke on ash for the rest of his life.
“I feel so homesick.” He sniffles, hugs him tighter, fears that he might drift further away.
He can feel Mingyu nod more than he can see it. “I know. It’s okay.” He’s got his hands on him, around him: touching his hair or dragging down his sides or now, wiping away tears.
“I miss you.”
“You’ve got me,” Mingyu reassures him, his voice is so soft, so honest. “I’m yours. I’m right here.”
That careful line gives, Minghao’s grip shakes, but he can’t, he can’t step off. He’s walking in a circle, wishing he could stop. He can’t jump to conclusions now – too fearful he might land on his neck.
“Let’s go somewhere. Just us.”
Minghao pulls away from Mingyu just slightly, looking him in the eyes. “Where?”
“Home.”
“Korea?” He’s frowning.
Mingyu shakes his head. “No. Hai Cheng.”
Minghao gasps, his pronunciation is too bouncy, accented, but his heart – “Mingyu, please.” It all catches him off guard.
“I want to go.”
There’s a pause, Minghao’s quiet, trying to figure out what Mingyu could be desperate for.
“Why?”
Mingyu looks away, just left of Minghao, he’s blushing – whatever he wants to say is embarrassing. “I want to see your home. I want to see all the beautiful things about the places you love.”
Mingyu squeezes his shoulders, eyes drop down to his lips. “I want to go with you. Only you.”
“Only us?”
“Yeah.”
Minghao is still crying, cheeks red, voice a weak-watery thing. He smiles, incredulous and hopeful and pointless and stupid . His heart is singing. “Are you asking me to run away with you, Kim Mingyu?”
Mingyu exhales like he’s been waiting for a moment like this all night. “Yeah I am.”
He bumps his forehead into Minghao’s cheek and that invisible line Minghao is determined to tightrope across, thins out, like Mingyu is pulling it apart with his bare hands.
Regardless, going home with Mingyu was a poorly concealed pipe dream: a wish wrapped up in draconian red tape. It tastes like stale contracts and days wasted away preparing for another overly saturated comeback schedule.
“We would never get the time off.”
Mingyu’s wiping his face, his index finger crooked, swiping up his cheeks like he can return each tear. “I’ll make it happen. Seungcheol owes me, same with our manager.”
It makes Minghao cry all over again. He hugs Mingyu tightly, their balance wavering foot to foot. The determination in Mingyu’s voice is a sure thing. Minghao pulls Mingyu as close as he can, takes his heart and buries it deep under sand.
Mingyu holds Minghao as he cries, kisses his knuckles and wipes his tears. He smiles, bothers Minghao how he always does, inevitably humming the chorus of don’t wanna cry against the side of his head.
Minghao laughs, surprised, cheeks and eyes wet.
His sobs finally calm to light sniffles and Mingyu exhales. “That’s better.”
Minghao huffs, smiling now: something bright, like it’s beaming out from inside himself. He squeezes Mingyu’s hand; quickly kisses Mingyu on the cheek before he has a chance to process it. “Thank you, Mingyu.”
Mingyu nods, eyes a little glazed, the thin cartilage of his ear already turning red. “It’s not a problem.”
Minghao links their hands together, pulling Mingyu back to their car. “Who knew you were such a romantic?”
“Only for you.” Mingyu pouts.
Minghao leans against the side of their car, pulling Mingyu closer to him by the loops of his pants. He laughs, voice still a little raw and pinched from crying. “Really? I’m flattered.”
His arms rest on either side of Minghao, their legs slot closer together. He’s looking at Minghao’s lips, hands flexing to maybe move closer. Mingyu swallows and Minghao follows the roll of his neck with his eyes.
“What do you want, Mingyu?” The question was meant to be flirty – it falls short and Minghao can’t help it: There’s so much riding on the answer.
“What do you want?”
“I asked you first.” Minghao giggles, pulling his hands away and crossing his arms.
Mingyu exhales, looks to his right before looking back. He’s pouting, short and small and cute. He steps closer to Minghao like a dog carefully begging for leftovers until Minghao has to move his arms, holding Mingyu by the waist. “Minghao,” He whines.
Minghao hums in reply, smiling as Mingyu rests his head against his shoulder. “Yes?”
“Minghao ,” his voice is so round , so desperate with something, something . Minghao thinks that he’s begging for something he doesn’t even know how to ask for. It makes his heart lurch, like the weightless silence before the drop of a rollercoaster.
He’s pressing his forehead to the skin of Minghao’s neck, has his hands pulling Minghao’s arms around him.
One of Mingyu’s hands squeezes the flesh at Minghao’s waist, his eyes roll closed – feeling everything. And, given the circumstances, if there was someone Minghao wanted to take home: if there were ever someone that earned that; it would be Mingyu.
Always. For as long as Minghao has known him. It’s been him. It’s always been him.
“For what it’s worth,” Minghao replies, his voice small and sharp; desperate to maintain some semblance of control. “I think we want the same thing.”
Mingyu pulls away, leaving nearly no space between him and Minghao. His eyes are big, blinking, cheeks flushed, his lips are slightly parted, hands pulling and pushing all at once.
It might be the bravest Minghao has ever been: Don’t get him wrong, he always got what he wanted from Mingyu – he could probably ask him for the moon and the man would deliver. But right now, he was asking Mingyu what he wanted.
“So tell me.” The words come out truthfully. “What do you want, Mingyu?”
If Mingyu is embarrassed or annoyed; there’s no way to tell. “You.”
“How?”
He doesn’t answer, instead opening the backseat door of their tiny fiat and shoving Minghao into the backseat with himself.
**
The door closes in on them – there's the distinct clatter of metal and plastic as various items fall or roll away from the sudden commotion. There’s not nearly enough space for two six-foot tall men with long-ass legs, but as far as Minghao can tell, Mingyu doesn’t seem to care.
His legs are spread open from how Mingyu shoved him down. Minghao shuffles back to the far corner of the car, Mingyu’s looming over him, moving closer.
Minghao’s cheeks are peach-pink from crying, but Mingyu’s staring down at him, a knee between his legs, and he can feel the way his face and ears and chest burn red.
Mingyu’s lips have always looked so kissable – this is something Minghao has always thought, though naturally, he’s never let himself dwell on the idea too much. Now, however, he lets himself wonder. Stares at the plush expanse as much as he wants.
Mingyu’s necklaces dangle in the space between them and Minghao drags a finger up Mingyu’s chest. Hooks a finger around the heavy chain, pulls Mingyu down towards him.
It should stop, Minghao should wake up – reality should set in: we’re still walking, talking about enlistment, wake up . But he doesn’t, Mingyu is right there, closer, closer . One of his hands comes up to rest next to Minghao’s head.
What does being caught red handed feel like?
His lips feel like any other touch – soft, warm, pulling – Minghao tilts his head a little, soft and slow. Mingyu grabs the fabric of his shirt and holds on carefully. They kiss how they are: side by side. Walking together.
Minghao parts his lips a little, padding Mingyu’s bottom lip with his tongue. Mingyu breaks apart with a slight gasp. He’s looking at Minghao like he might disappear if he blinks.
There have been so many questions asked tonight, it’s time for some answers.
Minghao sits up a little, gives him a soft smile. “It’s okay.” His eyes are still closed, he takes his other hand and gently places it against Mingyu’s jaw, tilting his head slightly before kissing him again.
Minghao can only tell you what it feels like.
Kissing Mingyu is like holding his hand, dialed to a hundred, like Minghao’s soul is getting hit over and over and over. Mingyu’s mouth parts open and Minghao bites, winning another soft gasp from Mingyu. He smiles as he licks his way into Mingyu’s mouth.
It’s like a part of Mingyu he’s always known – even like this, all hands and lips, it feels just like them: like there would never be anything else between them.
Mingyu breaks apart to exhale, breaths coming out short and hot against Minghao’s cheek. “Minghao –”
“Do you like this?” Minghao asks, his lips busy working on Mingyu’s neck. His skin is salty, smells like oak and whiskey, he runs his tongue over the sharp hilt of Mingyu’s jaw.
When Mingyu nods his eyes are scrunched tightly closed, his ears are red and Minghao kisses up to them, running his soft lips over the outer shell. Mingyu gasps are broken, he’s entirely overcome with the feeling of Minghao on him, around him.
He moans. Needs more immediately. His hands are weakly clutching Minghao’s clothes, he lets go, shaking hands screwing up under his shirt.
His hands are cold, and Minghao’s entire body reacts to his touch against the sensitive skin of his stomach and chest, giggling – something that Mingyu desperately chases with his own mouth: Kissing Minghao so fast he kisses his teeth and tongue and chin – no precision, just desperation. It makes Minghao really laugh, lovesick.
“Mingyu–” he’s pulling away despite his arms wrapping around Mingyu’s neck.
Mingyu only leans over further, trying to get closer and closer until Minghao is hanging off him – he’s still kissing him as they go, racking them up in tallies of five, ten, fifteen –
“Wait, ah – wait, wait, ” Minghao can’t stop giggling, his rapid kisses tickle.
Mingyu swallows, finally slowing when Minghao covers his mouth with a hand. “Sorry.” He muffles, pulling them back up to how they were initially sitting with near to no effort (this is something Minghao stores safely in his head).
“No, don’t be sorry,” Minghao exclaims. His hand drops to Mingyu’s chest, thumb stroking absently over the tight muscle. “I like it a lot.”
“But?”
Minghao smiles. “But I want to make this good for you.”
Mingyu twitches. “Really?”
“Really,” Minghao replies.
It’s kind of a lot, trying to maneuver Mingyu like this. But Minghao is nothing if not determined.
There’s enough space in the footwell of the car for one of them, Minghao notes that there’s plenty of space on the seat for the other.
He came to Korea without any real clue if he’d make it, after all. And now, he’s made it this far with Mingyu.
He certainly didn’t come this far to only come this far, and it shows, because he’s pushing Mingyu to sit properly with a hand square on his chest. He’s got this – it’s easy – he could make this good for Mingyu because making it good for him meant making it good for himself.
He hitches a leg over Mingyu’s lap, his jeans are tight – stretched over the firm muscle of his ass. He’s stradling Mingyu, just a little taller now, looking down at Mingyu as he leans up for another kiss.
Like this, Minghao can feel the hot imprints of Mingyu’s hands against his ass. The only give exists between the space of their bodies – fuck invisible lines , it’s all Minghao can think when Mingyu gives his ass a squeeze.
Don’t get him wrong, Minghao has always known that Mingyu’s hands are big and strong. However, it’s moments like this that make Minghao realize knowing something and experiencing something are entirely different.
Minghao wins, gets so much more purchase of Mingyu’s shoulders and chest and now, his dick. He wins . Gets to set the pace of their kisses, gets to let Mingyu want just a little longer before he leans in.
This is good – great, even: there’s not much left to do other than feel, and God Minghao wants to, so bad: every version of himself has wanted this.
The scrawny kid who showed up in Korea years ago, the trainee, the fresh debutante, Xu Minghao of the Performance Unit, Seventeen's The8. Every version of himself has wanted Mingyu.
Each one has been desperate to know what he tastes like. Each one has been desperate to know what Mingyu sees. Now, he gets to find out.
When he leans in to kiss Mingyu again, Minghao again can only hope that Mingyu can feel how much he’s wanted this.
It’s like they’re caught in the heart of a storm. Desire leaves them rain-soaked, needy.
Mingyu clings to Minghao, hands squeezing everything he can touch. He rolls and bunches the muscles of Minghao’s lower back like he's wanted to touch his ass for years.
In Mingyu’s defense: he has always been excessively cuddly.
But for Minghao, it’s like Mingyu forgets that he’s made entirely of muscle – like he forgets that he has the gravitational pull of a collapsing star.
Even now, with Minghao holding onto Mingyu by the shoulders, kissing him slow and steady, Mingyu’s nearly lifting them both into the air to try and close off the space between them. Needy .
Minghao has no choice but to fall into his orbit. Has no choice but to hold on as Mingyu leads him by the waist until he’s flush against him.
It’s less like invisible lines; more like invisible strings. Minghao thinks the more they move together, the more tangled they become. It was inevitable, at this rate, they’ve been threaded together: tangling and twisting closer and closer their entire lives.
At some point, Mingyu got stronger, too, and probably started yanking their strings, dragging Minghao to him from continents away. Pulling, pulling .
So much for fate or luck or chance: Kim Mingyu probably rolled the dice on all three to get Minghao here with him. Probably got rope burn on his hands and heart to get Minghao sitting in his lap like this.
What’s worse is that he’d probably do it all over again, just to get back to this moment.
“Minghao,” Mingyu moans then. Moans . Like Minghao could be anywhere else – like Mingyu is in a dark room and can’t see him.
Minghao groans, Mingyu’s hands are hot, pressurized, they collapse around Minghao: Pressing into his skin, under his clothes, over his ass, up his sides. “What?”
Mingyu’s gone, kissing down Minghao’s neck. His hands dig into Minghao’s thighs, pulling him closer. “I want you.”
Minghao nods, “you have me.” He’s got an arm wrapped around Mingyu’s neck, holding on for dear life as they find each other’s mouths again. Mingyu licks into his mouth and Minghao moans, his hand screwing into Mingyu’s hair. It’s like all his senses are dialed to a hundred, like there’s raw happiness expanding, lodged in his throat.
His free hand trails down Mingyu’s front, lower and lower, feeling the way his abdomen twitches. He drags his nails over the sensitive skin sitting at the waist of Mingyu’s pants, until – oh, hello , Mingyu moans, voice breaking, loud. He’s a lot harder than Minghao would’ve given him credit for after a little making out.
He bucks into Minghao’s palm, Mingyu’s own hands grappling for something, anything until he’s got Minghao by the waist, yanking him forwards and pressing his entire weight down on his dick.
It’s ungraceful, but Minghao thinks he probably couldn’t stop Mingyu if he wanted. That makes him smile, he musters a tiny, “ easy, boy. ” That Mingyu weakly mhm’s at.
He’s rubbing upwards into Minghao’s palm. Desperate for something to grind on – desperate to somehow get closer, further, faster.
He bites Minghao’s neck, hands pulling all of Minghao down onto him, over and over, harder , more . Minghao’s nails dig into the flesh of his shoulders as Mingyu finds his mouth again.
The tilt of their bodies isn't entirely perfect, until it is. A few of Mingyu’s needy thrusts push Minghao’s hips so they roll just so . A moan rips out of him, needy and hot and desperate, his dick making contact with Mingyu’s.
It’s like Minghao moaning hooks something in Mingyu. He takes the smallest minute to process, eyes blown dark.
It’s like he didn’t even know Minghao could moan like that – or look like that, or something-like-that because soon enough he’s throwing Minghao off him with nearly no care, switching them longways, laying over Minghao, shaking fingers making dirty work of the button and zipper of his jeans.
Minghao’s got a hand to the side of Mingyu’s face, another against his shoulder, “Mingyu– I – I wanted to – ah – ”
Mingyu’s got a hand down his pants, and despite the absolutely shameful moan that Minghao let’s out at the contact, the first thing he thinks is that Mingyu fucks exactly the way he acts.
It’s kind, needy, soft at the edges but hot and strong at the center. When he wants, he wants with his whole body. He kisses like he raps; mellow and sexy and powerful. It’s funny, actually, how Minghao thought he could live without this. Mingyu’s got him, exposed, panting, desperate, and he’d do it all again.
Minghao’s back arches towards him, one hand pressing the wall of the car behind them to get closer, he’s kissing Mingyu – begging for it.
“Don’t stop.” Minghao pleads. Beyond the swell of need growing thicker and heavier in his chest, he can’t believe how good Mingyu is at this. It’s like he’s –
Wait.
Wait –
“Have you ever thought about this?” Minghao asks, breathless, Mingyu dips his head away to kiss down his neck.
There’s the slightest give in his pace, his eyes and lips carefully trained on leaving marks across Minghao’s collarbones.
He twists his hand just slightly, and Minghao moans. “Mingyu, please .”
He says “ of course ” so quietly, so honestly – like there are a thousand more sentences in that little phrase alone. His cheeks are red, the words pink and vulnerable off his tongue. He looks at Minghao like he’s in love with him and suddenly Minghao’s mind whirs.
“What did you imagine? Did you imagine us like this?” To the sound of his own words, he wraps a leg around Mingyu. Brings a hand to his chin, tapping his bottom lip with his thumb. “Did you think about this when I asked you to pull over? Having sex in this car?”
“I’ve – always,” he trails off breathing heavy, brows knit with want. His eyes don’t lie, never have. Minghao has never imagined himself to talk so dirty. With Mingyu he’s often embarrassed by less, but his tiny confessions spark lucid visions.
“Did – ah – were you always jacking me off? Like this?” Minghao swallows and Mingyu follows the bob of his throat with his mouth before Minghao is dragging his eyes back to his own. He looks so embarrassed, so horny . The images Minghao was conjuring in his own head, of Mingyu getting himself off, thinking of him required proof, answers, something . “What did you imagine?”
“Not my hands,” Mingyu starts, he’s tucked his head away against Minghao’s neck to save himself the shame of looking at him. “My mouth.” He adds.
“Mingyu,” Minghao gasps. The thought is blasphemous, the image rips through his entire body rapidly, it’s enough – the sensation of Mingyu’s hands, his lips, all the friction between them was veering on too much. Minghao’s heart might burst through his chest with the pace Mingyu is setting; fast and desperate.
Minghao turns his head to kiss Mingyu as he comes, but his body goes tight with a harsh gasp that Mingyu leans into. It feels like an eternity, his mind racing between the words Mingyu, fuck, always, Mingyu, fuck, always …
When Minghao comes down, he’s exhaling in short little moans, his entire body still tensed around Mingyu, his nails clawing clear marks in his back. He swallows, catching his breath until he can focus on unwrapping himself, soothing where Mingyu will inevitably have scratches.
Mingyu waits, gently tucking Minghao back, adjusting his hair, fixing his clothes. It’s like he’s taking care of a doll – making sure it looks perfect and pretty again. It makes Minghao laugh, breathless and lovestruck, he’s dazed out of his mind: it’s going to be a long time before he thinks about anything else.
“So, this whole time, this is what we could’ve been doing?” Minghao grins, he playfully pulls on a strand of Mingyu’s hair, watching the length grow and fall.
Mingyu huffs, his eyes are big, sweet, honest. Minghao looks and sees a thousand different emotions flit across the black expanse of his irises. He brings a hand to the side of his face, gentle this time.
Sometimes, home is a person.
Maybe that’s what Minghao’s soul was telling him – that crack, the part of him that always seemed to bleed: He never felt that way around Mingyu. Never felt like he was losing when he loved him.
“Can we do this again?”
Minghao nods with a cute, “ mhm ,” in response. And then: “You’re not allowed to do this with anyone else.”
“Okay.” Is all Mingyu says before he’s hugging him tight, squeezing the air out of his lungs.
“Ah – Mingyu, please.”
“You’re mine.”
“I’m yours.”
When they kiss this time, it’s slower, less desperate. Mingyu exhales through his nose and Minghao revels in the tender, ticklish feeling of sharing the same air. Yeah, living like this makes Minghao think that maybe he was never broken to start, not to Mingyu.
“Tell me what you want.”
Mingyu swallows, resting his head in Minghao’s hands, his eyes are lidded, glassy, like he’s already blissed out. “I don’t need anything else.”
Minghao hums with upturned brows, casual and unconvinced. “Really?”
“Really,” Mingyu leans in again. It’s like he’s a Disney Princess, like he thinks the greatest thing you can do is kiss. Like he’ll never feel better than he does right now. And Minghao would truly, really believe him if he didn’t feel Mingyu’s big hard dick pressed between their stomachs.
“Okay.” Minghao muses between kisses. His hands trail down Mingyu’s arms, squeezing his biceps as he goes.
His entire body is hot and firm and Minghao loves that about Mingyu. Loves how good it feels when they hug, or when Mingyu’s got his hands on him. He loves the fact that Mingyu is alive , red blooded and strong and his for the taking.
It’s no different with the way he cups Mingyu’s dick through his pants, it’s light, respectful. He slides up the entire length and Mingyu shudders, body pushing closer.
“Ah – Minghao.”
It makes him giggle. He strokes the back of Mingyu’s head. “Let me make this good for you.”
Mingyu’s breathing gets faster, he’s staring at Minghao from his chest. He’s got that look on his face, that if-I-blink-or-breathe-wrong-everything-will-vanish look he gets when he’s unsure of himself.
“I’m not going anywhere. I promise.” He runs a hand through Mingyu’s hair.
Mingyu nods. “Okay.”
“Okay.” Minghao kisses him again.
He’s ready to return the favor. Extremely ready to kiss something .
Being a dancer has its benefits: high stamina, flexibility , Minghao pushes Mingyu to sit, the leather seats squeaking as they go. He’s on his knees between Mingyu’s legs, body crammed in the footwell, hands on Mingyu’s thighs, pushing his legs apart when suddenly from somewhere lodged in the car, Mingyu’s phone goes off loudly.
The chorus of AEAO by Dynamicduo clobbers the pair, because of course that’s Mingyu’s ringtone (naturally paired with violent, repetitive, vibrating). Mingyu nearly concusses himself on the roof of the car, throwing himself in the air.
Minghao yelps, falling to the side when Mingyu freaks – suddenly acutely aware of the fact that he was about to give Mingyu head in public.
They both share a brief look, their shared brain cell working overtime, key words transferring between them: Dinner. Seventeen. Reservation.
“Oh shit.” Mingyu’s padding around in the dark. Fingers pulling the seat cushions apart. He looks behind him, into the trunk, the cup-holders – the world’s gotten so dark over the last few hours.
Minghao peeks under the seats, and sure, say what you will about the situation, but already being on his knees proved helpful. His fingers skirt the cottony ground before his fingers slide over the square metal of Mingyu’s phone. “ Found it! ”
The chorus is repeating, Mingyu swallows, reading the display name, he takes his phone from Minghao’s hands as he gets up, sitting next to him. “It’s Jeonghan.”
Minghao nods, trying desperately to catch his breath. Mingyu has his finger hovering over the green answer button.
He takes one last deep breath. Hitting answer and then the speaker button. “Hello?” He attempts to try and sound less breathless, voice shaking.
“Yah, where are you guys? ” Jeonghan asks, there’s the distinct sound of chatter, waiters bustling around, and the clink of dishware from just behind Jeonghan.
“We’re almost there,” Mingyu replies, voice too calm.
“Sorry, we got distracted,” Minghao adds, his voice unnaturally high, like overly artificial syrup.
“Distracted? Okay, how – ah – wait.” There’s shuffling on the other end, there’s the noise of a phone being shoved into fabric, muffling sound.
“Let me talk to Mingyu.” Someone else asks, their voice sounds distant and small.
“They said they’re almost here – can you wait.”
“No,” the person yowls, there’s another explosive sound, Minghao makes out the clear Ha. Ha. Ha. Of Dino’s laugh.
“Ah, seriously.” It’s like they’ve re-entered the restaurant before Jeonghan is speaking again. “Okay, go ahead.”
Minghao and Mingyu share a look.
“Mingyuyah, ” It’s Hoshi: voice slurred, warm and drunk through the line. “Mingyuyah we ordered your favorite appetizer, but Seungkwan is eating it all. He eats so much.”
There’s a distant jeer, “I’m not! You are! ”
“Whatever. Please hurry. ”
Mingyu giggles. “We’re rushing right now, don’t worry.”
Minghao leans closer to the phone. “Hoshi don’t get too drunk yet — ”
“Yah – Minghao, you’re with him? ” Hoshi’s giggling now. “Oh, Jeonghan said, okay. Minghao, I need to tell you – Mingyu – ” he hiccups, “ Mingyu likes you, Minghao. He likes you so much.” His voice is getting watery.
“All of a sudden? Wait –” Mingyu starts.
Minghao laughs, sharp and happy. “Really?”
“Don’t break his heart.” He’s sniffling into the line. “He might leave Seventeen.”
“Ah, seriously,” Jeonghan’s exhaling somewhere near the phone – Hoshi is probably sitting near him. “Give this to me – okay, get here soon, okay? ”
“We will,” Minghao replies, he’s still laughing. “Tell Hoshi to drink some water.”
“Okay, see you soon,” Jeonghan replies cutely.
“See you,” Mingyu replies, defeated.
They exhale, slouched on the back seat, they share a look, Mingyu looks so hopeless, it’s cute – it’s endearing . It makes Minghao laugh, round and happy.
“You like me, ah.” He laughs again. “I had no clue.” He tacks on sarcastically.
Mingyu pouts, staring at Minghao. “Yeah okay.”
“It’s okay, I like you too.” Minghao coos, laughter dying down to a sweet smile.
Mingyu exhales, like that was a real worry he was holding onto. “I’m glad.”
Something like lightning cracks down Minghao’s chest: hot and bright and tingly at the edges. He squeezes Mingyu’s hand between them, turning to look at him, Mingyu turns too.
They share a still silence before Minghao noses closer, kissing Mingyu once, twice, thinks about how he could never leave him, another kiss, never hurt him, needs him, a fourth kiss, thinks about just how much he likes him.
Mingyu pulls away, eyes still closed. “We should go.”
Minghao swallows, nodding. “Yeah.”
They take another moment with just each other before exhaling and getting up. Mingyu finds the car keys he had distantly thrown into a cupholder earlier, fishing them out and unlocking the doors.
Minghao stretches, combs his hair with his fingers before stepping out the right side of the car, making his way back to the passenger seat.
Mingyu takes a moment, staring at his reflection on the outside of the tinted windows of their car, fixing his hair and outfit before opening the door and sitting back in the driver’s seat.
“For what it’s worth,” Minghao says. “I think I've wanted to do that for a long time.”
Mingyu gives him a sideways, shocked, smirk before turning on the car's ignition. “Really?”
Minghao nods, their car rumbles to life.
“How long?”
Minghao laughs, resting his head on the seat of the car. “Does it matter?” He asks, admiring Mingyu as he signals to re-enter the empty road. He's only half focused on Minghao, but Minghao still sighs. Has he always been this handsome? Minghao thinks. Jesus.
So much for post-orgasm clarity. Minghao is practically purring: seriously considering the possibility of crawling into Mingyu's lap as he drives.
“It matters a little.”
“Why?” Minghao’s smile wavers at the edges.
Mingyu shrugs, looking at Minghao briefly before his eyes settle back on the road. “I don't like to think that I ever kept you waiting for me.”
The sentiment runs through Minghao. Runs through time: arrows through every version of himself until he's strung together. Love so raw it's like a splint that Mingyu ties to Minghao’s heart with his own hands.
When Mingyu looks at Minghao this time, he looks back. “You could never keep me waiting.”
Together. Side by side. That's who they are. Mingyu smiles all warm, exhaling sharply, he takes the wheel in one hand and rests the other on Minghao’s thigh, squeezing.
“Also,” Minghao starts, taking Mingyu's free hand with his own. “When we're not traveling for work, we won’t have to stop for anyone.”
That makes Mingyu laugh. “Next time, no one is stopping us, Xu Minghao. Doesn’t matter where we are.”
Minghao giggles; thinking about how grateful he is that the Earth is made up of thousands upon thousands of surfaces just begging to be used. Isn’t that beautiful?
He turns on the dashboard of the car, his phone automatically connecting to Bluetooth. Naturally, he queues up AEAO , turns up the volume. Mingyu rolls down the car windows, signaling to the left and hitting the accelerator.
Soon, they’ll be eating dinner with Seventeen; they’ll probably be helping Hoshi to bed. A little later they’ll be back in Korea, a bit after that, if Minghao lets himself hope: They’ll be in Hai Cheng, just the two of them.
The pain of living somewhere else and loving it entirely. Minghao weighs the thought in his head, resting his head against the side of his window.
His halves: Mingyu, his home. Work, passion. Soon, if he allows himself to dream, he’ll be whole again.
Minghao and Mingyu and no one else. Not even the reasonable space between the words of a sentence: there’ll be nothing to keep them separate; there will be no reason.
Minghao and Mingyu and the infinite tangle of their invisible strings, running towards each other, pulling each other desperately, until the end of time.
Yin and Yang, the ebb and flow of perfect balance, a dynamic duo of epic proportions, Minghao’s other half: the perfect peace of mind.