Chapter Text
Two weeks after the first game
The car quietly stopped on the cracked asphalt road, not far from the wrought-iron fence that blocked the view of the gloomy two-story mansion behind it. Mingi turned the small key to himself, turned off the engine, and got out of the car, looking around.
Everything around him was the same, as if time had simply frozen in one place. The bright green lawn was completely mowed to one level so that not a single blade of grass was sticking out. The flower beds with red roses were weeded and covered with white decorative stones, and the old cobblestones seemed to sparkle in the sun as he looked at them.
With a slight movement of his hand, the man brushed the crumbs and dust off his black, slightly worn T-shirt and put them in the pockets of his dark fleece jacket. He breathed deeply and tried to just walk into the yard without thinking about anything else. On the wide porch near the entrance to the house, where he used to play ball, an old servant was working, transplanting white and pink petunias into ceramic and plastic pots. These could then be hung on metal hooks built into the stone wall.
Hearing quiet, uncertain footsteps, she looked up and smiled faintly when she noticed Mingi slowly walking along the path through the garden of blooming flowers. His gaze seemed wandering, as if he were not really there but lost in thought. The man nodded to her in greeting and sat down next to her on the last step, which was rough to the touch.
“Why are you here?” the woman asked curiously, continuing to pour soil into a white plastic pot, tamping it down with her hands so that the flower would stand nicely.
“I just can't find my place,” he replied quietly, resting his hands on the cold tiles beneath him, leaning back slightly, and staring at the gloomy sky.
“You can't find your place for the first time in seven years?” she asked, snorting slightly.
Mingi ignored her question and shook his head slightly, glancing at the busy old woman.
“Nothing has changed here...since I left,” he said instead, changing the subject like the hands of a clock. “Everything looks the same. You've done a wonderful job,” Mingi praised her, scratching the brown tile with his fingernail, which made a disgusting scraping sound.
“Thank you, Mr. Song,” the gray-haired woman said softly, pushing the pot aside and reaching tremulously for the next one. “You've changed. Freedom has done you good,” she remarks, glancing at him with a tired look worn by the years.
“I haven't changed... or maybe just a little, and for the worse,” he sighs heavily, getting up from the stairs and approaching the woman.
He sat down in front of her and took the white petunia in his hands, carefully straightening its delicate, thin roots.
“I still feel like that same teenager. Terrified of life, making rash decisions and then berating myself for it...”
"I'm sorry... that I couldn't help you then. I'm sorry, I just walked out of the room when he was hitting you," she says desperately, and Mingi can see the woman's small eyes welling up with tears.
“You patched up my wounds every night while I cried into my pillow,” the man said quietly but warmly, looking at the woman. “You have nothing to apologize for, Chusol,” Mingi says, barely lifting the corners of his lips in a half smile. “Because you are a good person in a way... where as I am a copy of my father.”
“You're not a monster, Mingi,” she said warmly, carefully taking his large hand in her smaller one, already covered with wrinkles and age spots.
“Then why do I feel like one?” Mingi asked her quietly.
The woman just shrugged and added quietly, “I don't know, Mingi, but you were the brightest child I ever saw, and you're still like that even as an adult.” She smiled gently at him, touching his cheek and leaving a dark spot from the soil there.
“Would you like to come inside?” she offered warmly, getting up and slowly stomping to the door of the house.
Mingi frowned, pressing his lips into a straight line, and glanced at the lacquered door.
“Everything has changed in there. Nothing will remind you of the past,” she promised softly, and the man nodded.
Inside, everything was indeed different. The walls were lighter, slightly yellowish, almost the color of butter. There was no longer black matte wood and overly white, eye-catching tiles on which Mingi's sick mind always drew drops of blood... even when they weren't there.
The light wooden cabinets were now filled with books, mostly novels, instead of papers with documents. There was no longer the smell of cologne, alcohol, and cigarette smoke. Now it smelled of warmth, baking, and cinnamon. Light poured into the room through large open windows, unlike in childhood when it barely penetrated through the perpetually closed blinds. Instead, pleasant music played from a vinyl record player in the living room, drowning out the silence filled with painful memories.
This place now looked and felt like a home, not a prison.
He walked deeper into the living room and sat down on the familiar light beige leather sofa, slightly worn at the corners, which still felt as hard as it did back then. Mingi looked to the far corner of the room and noticed a wooden chessboard, the same one he had last played on seven years ago, before leaving this hellhole forever.
“I didn't throw it away,” the woman said quietly, making Mingi shudder at the realization that he was not alone.
“This room looks different, but it still feels the same to me... I'm sitting here again, and the same old record is playing in my head,” Mingi said hoarsely, coughing quietly and clenching his fingers on his clothes. "We're playing this game... I lose, and he beats me. I see this chessboard, and it makes me sick...The feeling that I couldn't escape, and that I did it too late."
“You were a child,” she says calmly, shuffling her feet into the kitchen.
“A child who thought violence was normal!” he said ironically, running his fingers through his long black hair. “A child who even had to lie at school about where the bruises on his face came from... Making up something like “I fell and hit my nose on the stairs,” so he wouldn’t beat me even more.”
“Mingi…” she said quietly, looking at him with all the tenderness she had. “Why are you really here?”
"I just wanted to understand him...I wanted to understand why he did that to me. Why didn't I have what other children had? Love, for example... Why did I endure violence and cruelty in the guise of love? The best place to understand this, at least a little, was this house. Even though I can't talk to my father and ask him... because he died a few weeks after I first won that stupid game. After what he did to me, he decided to follow my mother, hoping for her affection even in the afterlife! It's unfair... unfair because this stupid upbringing hurt another person who shouldn't have had to put up with me.”
“I don't know what you did and how bad it is, but maybe you just need to talk it out?” she suggested quietly.
“Do you think he'll want to talk to me?” He asked confusedly, raising his eyebrows, because he didn't believe it himself. “I don't think so...”
"Maybe you should just try? I know Dad never spoke to you after that, and we all just moved on, but maybe you need to take a step forward so you don't end up like him?"
“I'll try...”
Three weeks later
Yunho looked out the window of his small, cozy bedroom, which overlooked the courtyard near the entrance. It was dark outside because the sun had long since set, giving way to the moon.
The only thing illuminating the street was a rusty streetlight that flickered every time the voltage fluctuated, like a disco light or a distress signal. The dim, overly yellow light barely scattered around, giving objects and potholes on the asphalt at least some contours. But even in such impenetrable darkness, if he squinted a little, Yunho could definitely make out the familiar dimensions of the car.
He had seen that same Audi in the neighborhood four times a week at the same time, and each time it was parked not far from his shabby apartment building.
The boy certainly hadn't noticed anyone following him or tailing him lately. Or worse, breaking into his apartment. For the last month, after paying off his loan, he had hardly left the house, afraid that he would still be caught somewhere in the middle of the street and asked to pay the debt.
Occasionally, he would visit the grocery store and the local market just to clear his head, not to spend money. The auto repair shop called several times, but the young man did not answer the phone, being too preoccupied and immersed in his own state of self-reflection.
Only later, when he had recovered a little, did Yunho learn that the repair shop had closed. The premises had been bought out, and all the employees had been laid off, so he was now officially unemployed, but at least he had money now. Money earned by his own body in a dirty and disgusting way. He was still shaken by this thought and the annoying memories that refused to leave his head, swirling around in a whirlwind.
He barely remembered how he left the building early in the morning on shaky, jelly-like legs and how he got home under the piercingly sharp and contemptuous glances of people. They silently condemned him, whispering as if they had never been in a similar situation, as if they had never had sex until their skin turned blue.
Yunho didn't know why he had refused Mingi's kind offer to drive him home. Perhaps he felt awkward, scared, and ashamed, and didn't want to show his physical weakness, because he could barely stand on his feet after their stormy night. Although he was actually grateful to Mingi for not touching him anymore, but simply staying close by from time to time to check if everything was okay.
As soon as Yunho found himself back in his dilapidated home, he sniffed and cried quietly for several hours in bed, unable to contain all the emotions that had built up inside him. At that moment, he just wanted to be strong again.
He avoided the cracked mirror in the bathroom so he wouldn't have to look at his swollen, red face. Skin was covered with red bruises all over his body, painting him as if he were a canvas. His lower back and ass hurt terribly, burning and pulling, forcing Yunho to limp and spend two days mostly in the bathroom with warm water and herbs to relieve the discomfort and relax.
Mingi wasn't lying when he said he would take absolutely everything he wanted, even if it meant breaking someone so badly. Although a tiny part of him wanted to be touched again, even if it was rough, painful, and a mistake. Yunho moved away from the window, gently drew the two velvet curtains together, closing the room off from the streetlights, and sat on the bed, pulling his knees to his chest and resting his head on them.
He needed to get it out of his head somehow.
He tossed and turned on the bed, washed his face at least three times with cold water, walked around the house looking for something to do, and prepared oatmeal and an omelet for tomorrow. The boy tidied up the scattered clothes, scrubbed the rust off the bathtub, and returned to the bedroom, rummaging through the cabinets.
Yunho accidentally found a small tube of lubricant in the bedside table, which he hid among useless things and papers out of shame so he wouldn't have to see it anymore. He was embarrassed when he bought it at the pharmacy, even though the salesperson's expression was completely neutral. He felt ashamed when he looked at it, and even now his face burned from holding it in his hands.
Yunho just wanted to feel it again. To feel how Mingi touches him down there, and through the pain leads you to a light, barely perceptible pleasure. The boy twirled it in his hands, read the small print on the instructions, threw the tube of clear liquid on the bed, and took a deep breath, exhaling nervously.
Yunho slowly walked to the bathroom to wash his hands again, checking at the same time that the front door was locked with two not-sturdy locks. It was. The yellow tiles in the bathroom reflected the bright light of the lamp as soon as it turned on and flickered. The boy squinted, covering his eyes with his hand, and walked over to the sink. The faucet creaked quietly, and water hissed through the pipes, flowing into the sink's drain, rusty from age.
It seemed that Yunho listened to the sound of the water and rubbed his fingers with white creamy soap foam for too long, or was simply trying to distract himself from the thought that they would be in him. He could easily say “no” to himself and not force himself, but he didn't.
Yunho sat back down on the bed, which creaked under his weight, crossed his legs, and looked at the tube of lubricant again, weighing the pros and cons in his head. He had mixed feelings. A hint of curiosity mixed with fear and an unsuccessful first sexual experience, which repelled him but at the same time attracted him to try it again.
Having made up his mind, he nodded to himself, reached for the tube, and stared at it for several long minutes, tossing it from one hand to the other. Then he decisively reached for the waistband of his loose sweatpants and underwear, pulling them down to his ankles and tossing them aside, leaving only a black, loose-fitting T-shirt on so he wouldn't feel vulnerable to being completely naked.
The mattress sagged beneath him as he settled completely onto the sheet, remaining on his back with his legs slightly apart. He looked closely at his body from a new angle, the one Mingi had seen it from. Open, pliable, beautiful, and toned despite his thinness.
He touched his thigh with his hand and gently ran it from the outside to the inside, barely scratching his light skin with his fingernails. The lightness and deliberateness of his movements felt different. With the tips of the long fingers of his other hand, he barely touched the smooth line of his pubis and ran them down to his bare, tense stomach, leaving them there, simply breathing and taking his time.
The boy covered his eyes, biting his lower lip lightly, and slowly, almost too slowly, lowered his hands to his semi-erect penis, which was already slightly moist with a clear sticky liquid. Yunho carefully, as if checking, ran his hand along it from the head to the base, touching the frenulum with his finger several times, but at first, there was no pleasant sensation.
Only after a few minutes of similar light, persistent movements did the familiar tickling sensation appear, which he now eagerly pursued. The movements became stronger and faster, with noticeable pressure on the penis.
Yunho's breathing became slightly ragged and slightly faster, and from his lips, clenched with persistence to reach climax faster, something like a moan tried to escape, which he let out and was surprised... as if he were doing it for the first time. Another similar one follows, but a little louder, and he doesn't even care that someone might hear it, because there is no one in the neighboring apartments. The boy stimulates his wet, heavy penis more strongly, which sloshes indecently in his hand from the moisture, and feels a tingling sensation in it that spreads burningly along its entire length.
He feels his body convulse with a pleasant spasm and throws his head back, pressing it into the pillow, letting out a few more long moans and sighs, feeling the orgasm cover him with a white, blinding light. His body jerks as if from an electric shock as soon as he finishes with a viscous white liquid right into his hand, which also drips onto his stomach, which quickly rises and falls. The boy strokes his cock a few more times until the erection disappears and takes his hand away, which falls limply to the side.
Yunho breathes heavily, lowering his trembling legs and wiping his hand of the creamy liquid somewhere on the sheet, trying to come down from the clouds of once forbidden pleasure that was lovingly opened to him by Mingi.
As soon as the dazzling veil of pleasure dissipates a little, he rolls onto his side and bends his legs, pulling one knee as close to his chest as possible. He reaches with one hand for the forgotten lubricant nearby and with the other to his lower back. He gently runs his hand up and down as if giving himself a massage to relax his back.
Today, he wants to go as far as possible and come at least twice. Yunho takes a deep breath and calmly runs his hands over his buttocks and between them, trying not to rush. He gently presses one finger against the opening, exhales loudly, but does not press, simply giving himself time to slowly get used to the touch there again and explore the body's reactions. Instead of immediately resorting to rough actions, especially after he has been treating himself for irritation for a long time and with care.
He unscrews the cap and squeezes a little of the clear, thick, odorless liquid onto his fingers, spreading it well between them and warming it so that it is not too cold.
Yunho takes a few deep breaths in and out, trying not to tense up and relax his legs and body as soon as the first slippery finger slowly sinks from the first phalanx to the second after several attempts. He assures himself that it's just him and it's safe. He controls the angle, pace, and depth himself; no one else.
The feeling of penetration is still quite strange and a little unpleasant, but not very painful when he does it himself. He relaxes, goes a little deeper to the end, and gives himself time to get used to the foreign familiar presence of something inside, feeling the heat of the walls pressing against him.
The boy takes another deep breath through his nose and exhales slowly through his mouth for a few seconds, trying to release and reduce the anxiety that is squeezing him and relax even more.
The unpleasant sensations began to fade a little, and Yunho moved slowly, at his own comfortable pace, trying to find that same bundle of nerves that had made him almost fly somewhere on the edge of reality. Mingi had been desperately and excessively pounding him there with his cock.
He whimpered, remembering the sharp, deep thrusts inside him, and barely tensed up from it. The guy pulled his finger out with a quiet sigh and added a little more lube, which he didn't need to spare in his situation, and repeated the same thing again until it started to feel natural.
He inserted the second one too slowly and with some effort and a quiet hiss from the greater and stronger pressure from the stretching. Yunho closed his eyes and moved them deeper, trying to rotate his fingers in a circle like Mingi did, but nothing worked except to simply slide them back and forth, feeling everything getting warmer inside from the rush of blood.
The boy seemed to be doing it too methodically, trying to get used to the grip of two fingers, until it started to feel good and his cock twitched with interest again. A new knot of pleasure began to form in his lower abdomen. Yunho let out a quiet “ah” as soon as he felt a slight rhythmic pulsation inside, and it seemed like the right angle to him. A hot warmth began to spread through his body again, rolling over him like a tsunami.
It didn't feel the same as before. It was much less intense, not as dirty, rough, and painful, and it brought him a drop of pleasure compared to when he was barely holding on. He held back so as not to cry, instead of shedding small drops of tears from excessive, rough, uncontrolled stimulation. He held back so as not to ask to stop, but the problem was that back then it was a game, and now he couldn't get Mingi out of his head.
His head was haunted by those brown fox eyes, that hoarse voice, those thick thighs and broad shoulders, the way he controlled him and pressed him into the sheet, touching him after everything, trying to hide his careless roughness.
Yunho saw it later, all too well, because even though Mingi was an evil gray wolf, he also had a good heart. He moved his fingers faster and more intensely, trying to remember their entire night in detail, letting out muffled moans or whimpers of pleasure and hiding them in the pillow.
The pressure in his lower abdomen grows, and the heat in his body burns more intensely, like fire. His body tenses involuntarily, and Yunho dreams of reaching climax once again. Stunning sensations roll through his entire body along with tremors, and Yunho can no longer hold them back. He taps his fingers against the bundle of nerve endings inside once or twice more and cries out loudly from the sensation of the spasm that pierces him.
He took a deep, convulsive breath, not realizing that he had held his breath when the hardened, barely red tip of his penis twitched again from the need to release. This released a stream of semen, splashing drops on his thighs and stomach.
The sensation was better than watching fireworks. Because his own was exploding in his head right now. He slowly and carefully pulls out his fingers, feeling the sensitivity of the wet walls from the stimulation. Yunho breathes deeply and slowly, trying to catch up with his brain, which is now floating somewhere in a parallel universe. He opened his foggy eyes, licked his suddenly dry lips, and looked at the mess he had created.
A slight feeling of shame and that it was wrong washed over him, trying to take over, but he didn't care; at least it was pleasant, damn pleasant. He feels relaxed and almost weightless from the slight fatigue that envelops his body and seems to lull him to sleep. However, he needs to clean up first so he doesn't wake up later with a feeling of overwhelming disgust. Yunho gets up slowly, trying to find that lever of control over his body, and feels his limbs still pleasantly trembling from the experience.
Everything looks clean except for the crumpled sheet and his body. Yunho pulls the tattered sheet off, grabs the towel hanging on the chair next to him, and heads back to the bathroom, standing under the cold stream of water to refresh his head a little. He quickly washes himself and washes away all traces of his sins with soap.
He turns off the water and leaves the bathroom after almost half an hour, wearing only a T-shirt and underwear. He spreads a clean sheet and blanket, but before getting into bed, the guy looks out the window, slightly pulling back the curtains. The Audi was no longer there, and the flashlight had stopped flashing. Yunho breathes a sigh of relief and sinks into the cold blankets, enveloping himself in long-awaited peace.
Mingi stood by the window, leaning his shoulder against the brick wall in his spacious office on the top floor of a high-rise building. Buying an entire building had been a crazy decision at the time, but now it was the best he could have in the whole city. He looked out the window at the panoramic view.
The city below was tiny, as if he were looking at it from heaven. The man smiled slightly, took a drag from his half-smoked cigarette, and slowly exhaled a cloud of smoke, as if deliberately prolonging the moment of poisonous pleasure. The tobacco smoke curled around him in rings, and the white paper cigarette continued to smolder in his hand until it burned out.
He shook off the gray ash, took another drag, and stubbed out the remaining cigarette in the ashtray, leaving it next to the other cigarette butts. Over the past year, he had smoked more cigarettes than he had drunk expensive alcohol.
“I need to stop poisoning myself to hell,” he thought and looked out the window again.
Morning fog hung over the houses below, columns of smoke rose from nearby factories, and the orange sun slowly rose, beginning its twelve-hour shift on the horizon. The massive, dark oak door to the office opened, and Mingi turned his head, catching the light, almost dancing steps of the man walking toward him with a metal tray in his hands. Two porcelain cups on black round saucers clinked softly as they hit the flat surface. The man in an elegant suit with a cropped jacket and white shirt carefully placed the tray on the table without spilling a single drop of the black, steaming liquid.
“Double espresso. As ordered,” said the black-haired young man quietly, bowing his head slightly.
Mingi laughed and pushed himself away from the cold stone wall, approaching the wide lacquered table in the middle of the room and pulling back a brown leather chair to take his usual seat.
“Enough, San," Mingi barely managed to say through the laughter that was bursting out of him. "I'm your friend. Don't treat me like you're serving me."
The black-haired man smiled slightly and sat down opposite him, adjusting his jacket sleeves and crossing one leg over the other. Mingi reached for his morning coffee cup, and San did the same. They had shared this office and this little tradition for years. A barely white cloud of steam, almost imperceptible to the eye, curled above the dark, aromatic liquid. Mingi relaxed his shoulders and leaned back completely in his chair, inhaling the slightly sweet smell of the drink. He took a sip of espresso, and the hot liquid settled on his tongue with bitterness and a pleasant tartness. The man closed his eyes, trying to feel the warmth that should cheer him up from insomnia spreading through his blood like a charge in a discharged battery.
“So how are you doing?” San asked, breaking their pleasant, relaxed silence.
Mingi opened his eyes and glanced uncertainly at his old friend. San looked at him with simple, friendly curiosity, twirling a tiny, almost empty cup in his hands. Mingi's lips pressed into a line as if he were thinking about what to say. The man slowly placed the cup on the table with a dull thud and said confidently,
“Not bad... want to hear something else?”
San glanced at him, his eyes narrowing slightly in disbelief, his lips tightening. Mingi seemed to sense what he was getting at and leaned closer to the table, resting his sharp elbow on it.
“So, will you share what happened with that guy?” he asked, almost innocently and pleadingly.
Mingi had already regretted mentioning that game in front of him a hundred times. He had never had any problems sharing his gaming stories with his friend before, even when San told him about his. Some of those stories were funny, some were even crazy enough to call the police, but he had no intention of sharing this one, at least not yet. This story was too personal for him. Because he couldn't get the kid out of his head. He couldn't get rid of that sweet voice, that slender body under his hands, the tightness around his cock, and how pleasantly he writhed and moaned his name.
“No,” he muttered, looking away at a black and white painting hanging on the opposite gray wall.
“Why?” San asked, still not backing down from his goal.
“Because,” Mingi said quietly and discontentedly.
“What was the bet?”
“If I tell you, will you leave me alone?” The man said, crossing his arms over his chest and looking at San with a piercing, sharp gaze.
“A pinky promise?” San jokingly offered, holding out his finger.
Mingi looked at him, raising his eyebrow slightly, and snorted, pushing his hand away.
“You know I'm a tomb,” the man opposite him promised imploringly.
“I know...” Mingi muttered dryly, running his fingers through his dark hair, thinking hard about which side of the bridge over the abyss to step onto.
Tell everything and partially clear his conscience?
Or continue to torment himself?
The man cleared his throat and stared at the door through which he already wanted to escape from his own office, but San looked at him with patient anticipation.
“The bet was his body... and my name,” Mingi said quietly, biting his lower lip, trying not to remember that night.
San's eyes widened in surprise for a moment, and his mouth fell open.
“Why are you looking at me like you're surprised?” Mingi said nervously, twisting in his chair.
“So... who won?” San asked after a few minutes, propping his head up with his hand.
“Me,” Mingi said quietly, “but actually, both of us... because I told him my name anyway.”
San tried to keep all his strange questions locked away in his head, but something still impatiently slipped out of his mouth.
“So did you...?”
“Do you want to hear the answer to the question, 'Did I fuck him?'” Mingi asked confusedly, nervously scratching the back of his head. “Then yes, I did. But why do I feel like I lost?”
“Was it bad?”
"I lost my mind. During the game, I felt like that same insecure boy when we were rearranging the pieces,“ Mingi said quietly, playing with his fingers. ”The same one who makes a terrible bet just to get out of the mud. Back then, I wanted to run away from my father... I wanted to stop feeling physical pain for losing and for not being perfect, and he wanted to pay off the loan to start living freely."
“And then?”
"And then it was rough and dirty, but hot at the same time. I lost my mind and could barely control what I was doing. Only later, sitting on the edge of the bed and thinking about my actions, did I realize that I had gone too far."
“You just released your emotions through rudeness and anger, just like he did to you.”
“Then, everything inside me just mixed with the alcohol... and I couldn't see the past or the present before my eyes,” Mingi continued, trying to justify himself somehow. “Damn, San, I really regret it... I shouldn't have turned his first time into a nightmare.”
“Calm down... It was just a game, and he knew exactly what he was getting into when he came here. Don't beat yourself up too much about it...” his friend said firmly, shrugging his shoulders.
“I'm just afraid I ruined his life,” Mingi said quietly, taking another sip of coffee, placing the empty cup on the table, and crossing his arms over his chest.
“How? By saving him?” San asked mockingly, tilting his head to one side. “You gave him a hell of a lot of money, Mingi... and you know very well that no matter how big the amount is, everyone takes the bait again... and again... and again... until it becomes an addiction.”
Mingi talked to San about club business for at least another hour, maybe even more. They agreed on the paperwork for alcohol deliveries to the bar and contacted the accounting department to order a new batch of fancy chess glasses because a player broke them while losing one of the games. They also sorted through the documents with salary payments and the total revenue they were making from this club business. The phone suddenly vibrated again in the pocket of his classic black suit pants, and Mingi took it out, immediately unlocking it and opening the message. Because the purchase confirmation should have arrived, but instead, he snorted loudly with laughter, attracting the attention of San, who was looking at boring paperwork.
Yunho: “I'd like to play. Can we?”
The man chuckled to himself after reading the message and forced himself to lock the device, but kept the phone in his hand. It seemed to him that Yunho was also going around in circles, scolding himself and trying to convince himself that everything they had done was a mistake. It was their big fatal mistake, caused by the boy himself.
“Was I right as usual?” San asks slyly, flashing an interested look at Mingi.
Mingi just sighed heavily in defeat, shook his head, and unlocked his phone again, typing a message loudly with his fingers on the screen. It was hard to restrain himself when the boy was reaching out to him like a flower to the sun.
“You know my bet, baby... and you have no chance of escaping if you agree.”
After a few too long and boring minutes, the reply comes, and Mingi looks down at the cracked screen of his iPhone again.
Yunho: “Okay, because I have a bet for you too...”
And that was kind of fascinating, and something even trembled inside.
“Today, as usual, at ten o'clock in the evening. Don't be late.”
Mingi wrote the last message and put the phone face down on the table, then glanced at the silent San, who was grimacing triumphantly, and at the dark door.
He had a lot of things planned for today.