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It's so sweet, knowing that you love me
Though we don't need to say it to each other, sweet
Knowing that I love you, and running my fingers through your hair
It's so sweet
Mingyu sends him the video while Minghao’s out with friends. It’s short, just a few seconds of him fresh out of the shower, shirtless, as he passes a hand through his dripping hair, a smile on his lips. Minghao loops the video four times before one of his friends calls out to him.
For the rest of his night, he keeps thinking of Mingyu’s wet hair, the beads of water rolling down his pecs, the way the muscles in his shoulders flex. But most of all, the one thing he can’t get out of his mind, no matter how hard he tries, is Mingyu’s smile.
The smile in the video is one of Minghao’s favorite ones, a soft and lovely and private thing. It’s the one Mingyu only uses with him, when he’s about to kiss him good morning, or when they catch each other’s eye across a room full of people.
The first thing he noticed, when he met Mingyu, was his looks. It was hard not to. Wide shoulders, big arms, an unfairly symmetrical face, shiny hair. Minghao’s first thought was, oh, he’s hot. Then Mingyu smiled, and Minghao felt frozen, like his knees were about to give out on him. His second thought was, oh no, he’s cute.
When he gets home that night, Mingyu is on the couch, scrolling through his phone. He looks up with a smile as Minghao comes into view.
“Hey,” he says, sitting up a bit straighter. “Had a good evening?”
Minghao hums as he settles down next to him. He leans against the back of the couch, his head turned to Mingyu. “It was nice catching up. They’re so loud, though. I’m exhausted.”
Mingyu laughs softly, his hand coming up to tuck a strand of hair behind Minghao’s ear. It’s just too short; it comes undone within moments. “My poor baby,” Mingyu coos.
Minghao smiles despite himself. Mingyu smells clean, like the new shampoo he's trying out. His hair is dry now, soft and fluffy. Minghao reaches out and runs his fingers through the strands. “I liked the video.”
At this, Mingyu grins, obviously pleased with himself. “Thought you would. Nothing like a post-workout shower thirst trap.”
Minghao doesn’t tell him that his favorite part of the video was Mingyu’s smile, soft and private and so familiar. He works through a knot in Mingyu’s hair. “The wet hair was a nice touch.”
Mingyu’s grin turns into something softer. His hands come to hold Minghao’s free hand. “Anything for you.”
Later, when Mingyu has ended up with his head in Minghao’s lap, Minghao runs his fingers through his hair. He does it slowly, taking his time, drawing out the moment. He thinks of Mingyu’s smile, and how lucky he is to come home to him every day. How sweet this love is.
Mingyu has to travel to Busan for work. Two days, one night. The apartment shouldn’t feel as empty as it does.
Minghao’s already in bed, half asleep, when Mingyu sends him a video. It’s him on his hotel bed, wearing nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs. It shows his body, his tan skin even more honey-like in the soft lighting. He looks beautiful, Minghao thinks, as the video pans up. He lets his gaze linger on Mingyu’s thick thighs, the dark fabric that fits him snugly, his abs that only look like this when he flexes them on purpose, the necklace that graces his clavicles.
When the camera reaches his face, he pulls it closer, close enough that his face fills the entire screen. He’s looking into the lens with his big, brown eyes, bright and kind. That was the third thing Minghao noticed about Mingyu, after his body and his smile. His eyes, always kind and loving. They turn into little crescents as he smiles. “I miss you,” he whispers, blows a kiss to the camera, and then the video’s over.
Only then does Minghao read Mingyu’s message. I didn’t want to call you, in case you were already sleeping. You have to get up early tomorrow, so be sure to get enough sleep!! I miss you. I wish I were in bed next to you. I’ll see you tomorrow~ Make sure to eat well 🥰
Minghao smiles to himself. He’s having trouble keeping his eyes open, so he just sends back, I miss you, too. He falls asleep looking at a still of Mingyu’s face, all kind smile and loving eyes.
Minghao’s cooking dinner when Mingyu comes home the following evening. He looks a little tired, worn out from the early mornings, late nights and hours of travel, but his face lights up when he sees Minghao. Kind smile, kinder eyes. Minghao wants nothing more than to hold him and not let go.
He leans against the wall, waiting patiently as Mingyu puts down his bag, hangs up his coat and toes off his shoes. When Mingyu closes the distance between them in two long strides and pulls him in, strong arms holding him tight, Minghao lets himself give in. He winds his arm around Mingyu, buries his face in the crook of his neck. Mingyu breaks the silence, eventually. “Hey,” he says softly into Minghao’s hair.
Minghao smiles, brushes his lips against Mingyu’s neck. “Hi. How was your trip?”
“Good. Missed you, though.”
Minghao doesn’t call him out on his sappiness. “Dinner’s almost ready. I made bulgogi.”
“Thank you.” Mingyu pulls back a little to press a kiss to Minghao’s temple. He lingers for a moment, and Minghao wishes they could stay like this forever.
Minghao has tried reading the same sentence five times before he gives up. One of his friends had recommended the book—and it’s a good book, actually, Minghao likes it—but reading in Korean is still an effort, even after all these years, and if he closed his eyes for a moment he would probably fall asleep right there on the couch.
He’d be in bed, normally, at this hour, but he’s making an exception today. When he left for work early this morning, Mingyu was still in bed, half asleep, and when he came home Mingyu was out. He had a high school reunion tonight and he had told Minghao that he’d probably be home late, no need to wait up for him. But Minghao has barely seen him all day, and he misses him, and he can sleep in tomorrow, anyway, so he’s on the couch, stubbornly trying to make his way through the Korean characters that are starting to blur together. For a moment, he considers going to bed, but then he reminds himself that it would be ridiculous to give up at this point; he’s already waited so long, after all, and it would have all been for nothing.
He’s on his sixth try of the same sentence when he hears the front door beeping, followed by a soft opening and closing of the door. There’s some rummage in the hall, and then Mingyu appears in the doorway, his cheeks and ears a tell-tale red. “You’re still up?” He manages to sound surprisingly sober, even if he trips on his way to Minghao.
Minghao nods. “I was waiting for you.” Mingyu sits down next to him, their thighs pressed together, and Minghao rests his head on his shoulder, his eyes falling shut.
Mingyu gently leans his head against Minghao’s. He takes one of Minghao’s hands in his, caressing it absentmindedly. “You didn’t have to,” he says quietly.
“I know.” With difficulty, Minghao blinks open his eyes and repositions himself to look at Mingyu. “I wanted to.”
Mingyu smiles tenderly. “Thank you for staying up. I’m glad I get to see you.”
Minghao hums. “Me too.” He stifles a yawn as he leans against Mingyu.
Mingyu wraps an arm around his shoulders, pulling him closer. “Let’s go to bed, hm? I’ll tell you about it tomorrow.”
Minghao nods. Going to bed sounds like heaven right now. And they’ll have tomorrow, and the day after tomorrow, and all the days after to catch up. How sweet, knowing they have all the time in the world.
“I have something for you,” Mingyu announces as they’re putting away the groceries Mingyu picked up on his way home.
“You do?”
Mingyu nods. “Yeah. One second.” He crosses the room to pick up a small bag Minghao hadn’t even noticed. “I saw it in a shop window, and I couldn’t resist.” He hands Minghao the bag. “Here, open it.”
Minghao glances at the bag, then up at Mingyu again. Mingyu’s looking at him expectantly, biting his lip as he smiles. Minghao sets the bag on the table and pulls out—something. It’s a small thing, wrapped in paper. He looks at Mingyu in question, but he just motions for Minghao to unwrap it.
Minghao does, and finds himself gently holding a teacup. It’s beautiful, a dark blue with black accents along the top and bottom. It looks handmade, with its slightly irregular design.
He turns the cup in his hand, this way and that, watches as it catches the light. He lifts his gaze to Mingyu. “It's beautiful. I love it.”
A smile spreads on Mingyu's face as he crowds closer. “It reminded me of you.” He pulls Minghao in by his waist and noses at his temple.
Minghao pulls away a little to deposit the cup safely onto the table, before wrapping his arms around Mingyu's neck, their faces so close he's going a little cross-eyed. “Thank you,” he whispers.
Mingyu kisses him, soft and short. “You're welcome.”
Minghao loses track of how long they stay like this, enlaced in the kitchen, Minghao's face buried in the crook of Mingyu's neck and Mingyu's arms tight around him, as he wonders how he ever got so lucky.
Mingyu is on a video call with Minghao’s mother as she tells him how to fold wontons, demonstrating with a piece of paper. They had gone grocery shopping earlier, taking their time going through all the aisles.
Minghao is watching him. He had offered to help, but Mingyu said he didn't have to—he wanted to do something for Minghao. As if he didn't do enough already.
The ache of missing his parents had never disappeared, even after all these years in Seoul, but it had dulled. The homesickness didn’t make him feel utterly miserable anymore, and it happened not nearly as often as in the very beginning, but sometimes the intensity still caught him by surprise. It had been his father's birthday last week, and he had been unable to attend in person. He had seen the pictures of his family at his parent's house, the dinner his mother had prepared, the way they all seemed so happy. It had formed a heavy weight in his chest, a deep longing for a home that was no longer his home, not really.
Unsurprisingly, Mingyu had picked up on it annoyingly fast. Minghao’s homesickness often got worse in moments like these—birthdays, holidays, weddings. Everything that made him even more keenly aware of the fact that life went on in Anshan and he wasn't there for it.
Some days, he entertains the idea of moving back to Anshan, even though deep down he knows he wouldn’t be able to bring himself to leave this life behind. He’d feel off-kilter, and perhaps that’s what he fears the most: that he’d go home to China, only to experience just how much more he belonged in Seoul.
Mingyu’s humming snaps him out of his spiral. He’s holding up something to his phone, asking is this okay? in his clumsy Mandarin. His mother laughs and tells him he did well. Despite himself, Minghao smiles.
Mingyu turns around, holding the wonton up with a proud grin. “I got your mom’s seal of approval!” He looks so happy because of something so simple, creased eyes and wide smile. A wave of fondness comes over Minghao.
“You did well,” he says, standing up and joining Mingyu at the counter. “Thank you for doing all this.”
Mingyu plants a loud kiss on his forehead. “Anything for you,” he smiles, and turns back to the video call and asks Minghao’s mom what the next step is.
Minghao leans against the counter and watches him quietly as Mingyu goes through the steps. Every so often he has to translate something, but his mom and Mingyu make it work surprisingly well.
The smile never leaves his face. How sweet, this life.
Minghao loves his friends, really, he does. And he loves spending time with them, getting dinner with the whole group like they did tonight. The thing about his friends, though, is that they are loud—so incredibly loud, especially when they’ve had a few drinks. So, he loves his friends, but they’re also some of the most exhausting people he’s ever met.
Now’s better, though. They’re walking down the near-empty street, just him and Mingyu, finally on their way home. He kind of wishes he were in bed right now, but still, this is nice. Mingyu’s bare arm brushes against his every few steps—he’s wearing this t-shirt that’s a bit too tight to be decent, but Minghao’s not complaining.
“We should do that more often,” Mingyu suddenly speaks up, “getting the whole group together.”
Minghao smiles. “You say that every time.”
“And I’m right every time!”
“I’m not saying you’re wrong, it’s just that—well, it’s not easy to take into account thirteen busy schedules.”
Mingyu huffs. “They should just cancel their other plans. Get their priorities straight.”
A laugh escapes Minghao. There’s a small pout on Mingyu’s lips now, and it’s terribly endearing. “I think I’ll need at least a few weeks to recover from that, anyway. How do they get louder every time?”
This time, it’s Mingyu laughing. “I think it was that new soju flavor they kept ordering.”
Minghao hums quietly. His battery is well and truly drained, and he feels as if there are cinder blocks tied around his ankles. “Maybe next time we could do brunch,” he suggests. “I’m getting too old for this.”
“You’re twenty-eight.”
“Twenty-eight and tired.”
Mingyu stops walking. “I’ll carry you.”
“What?”
He bends his knees, looking expectantly at Minghao. “Come on. I’ll carry you the rest of the way.”
Minghao hesitates for a moment. He wouldn’t do this, normally, but he really is so tired, and suddenly even taking one more step feels like an impossible task. “Okay.”
He winds his arms around Mingyu’s neck and plasters himself to Mingyu’s back, and before he has time to think Mingyu has wrapped his hands around Minghao’s legs and hoisted him up. He stands straight and turns his head to try and look at Minghao. “You okay?”
Minghao nods, then realizes Mingyu can’t really see, and says, “All good.”
Mingyu starts walking, and Minghao lets himself close his eyes, chin on Mingyu’s shoulder, and thinks of nothing but how warm Mingyu is, and the lulling rhythm of his steps, and how lucky he is to have Mingyu.
The first thing Minghao feels when he awakes is warmth. The second is Mingyu’s arm curled tightly around him, heavy. The third is Mingyu’s breath against his nape.
He doesn’t move, lets himself soak in the moment as he slowly wakes up. It’s light out, a slim ray shining through the curtains and on the floor, the bed, the wall. It’s Sunday, and they have all the time in the world. Minghao closes his eyes again.
He drifts off and wakes again when Mingyu moves behind him. Minghao can tell he’s awake and trying to stay still so as to not disturb Minghao—it’s a common enough occurrence. He lets himself indulge in the moment for a little longer before turning around in Mingyu’s hold. Like this, they’re almost nose to nose. “Good morning,” he whispers.
Mingyu smiles. “Good morning.” He’s speaking just as quietly. There’s no need to speak up, anyway. “Did you sleep well?”
Minghao hums. “I did.” He brings his hand up and traces the length of Mingyu’s nose with his finger. He isn’t entirely sure why he’s doing it. “And you?”
“Slept great. Could sleep for another twelve hours right now.” He lifts his chin and tries to catch Minghao’s finger between his teeth. Minghao pulls back just in time and tugs on a strand of hair across his forehead before dropping his hand.
“We can’t spend the whole day in bed.”
“We can,” Mingyu counters. “We just shouldn’t.”
Minghao groans and resists shoving his hand in Mingyu’s face. “It’s too early for this.”
Mingyu laughs quietly and leans forward to give Minghao a quick peck. “I’ll make breakfast as an apology.”
“You’re forgiven, then.”
Mingyu pulls him in closer and buries his face in the crook of Minghao’s neck. “Are you sure we can’t stay like this for the rest of the day?”
“I’m sure.”
“Just a few hours?”
And, well, Minghao has always been weak for Mingyu, especially when he trails kisses from Minghao’s jaw to his collarbone. “Okay,” he concedes, tangling his fingers in Mingyu’s hair. “Just this once, then.”
“What are you reading?”
Minghao looks up as Mingyu enters the bedroom, dressed in sweats and a t-shirt at least two sizes too big, the shoulders wet from his dripping hair. He’s holding a towel in his hands as he settles onto the bed, right up in Minghao’s space, where he had been reading.
Minghao shows him the cover. “Still the same book.” Mingyu hums and leans his head against Minghao’s shoulder, which would be lovely any other time, but now causes a shiver. “Your hair’s wet.”
“I know,” Mingyu says, but doesn’t move. If anything, he leans in closer, pressing the wet strands in the crook of Minghao’s neck.
Minghao closes his book and sets it aside. “Let me do it.” He gently takes the towel from Mingyu and shrugs his shoulder, urging him to sit up. “Come on.”
Mingyu complies, positioning himself cross-legged in front of Minghao. Minghao mirrors his position, close enough for their knees to touch, and begins drying Mingyu’s hair. Mingyu has his head bent for easier access, his eyes closed. He looks at peace, like this, and the repetitive motions are instilling a calm in Minghao too.
Once dry, Minghao runs his fingers through Mingyu’s hair and, ever so carefully, disentangles it. It’s meditative, almost. Minghao thinks he could keep doing this for hours. He gently cards his fingers through the soft hair. “All done,” he says quietly.
Mingyu looks up. “Thank you,” he whispers, and kisses Minghao sweetly.
“Anytime,” Minghao mutters against his lips.
Mingyu's preparing dinner, his back to Minghao, wearing the apron Minghao bought him last year. He's humming under his breath as he moves to the beat of the music, chopping vegetables, and Minghao is overcome by a rush of fondness. It happens, sometimes—out of nowhere, his heart will clench in his chest, and he'll feel like he can't breathe, that moving would break the spell and make him wake up from this dream.
I love you, Minghao thinks, a thought so strong it almost bowls him over, its strength still surprising him after all these years. He speaks up without thinking, his heart for once getting the better of his mind, as he blurts out, "I love you."
Mingyu turns around, grins, "I know." Then, sweeter, "I love you, too." He's wearing Minghao's favorite smile, soft and lovely. Minghao could stare at him forever. Mingyu cocks his head, then, and asks, "What prompted this?"
Minghao knows he doesn't say it often, that Mingyu doesn't, either, but it's never bothered him, and he knows it doesn't bother Mingyu, either. They both know, anyway.
Minghao shrugs, smiles, says, "Just felt like telling you."
Mingyu hums, amused. "Flattery won't get you anywhere."
"I'm already right where I want to be." Minghao can't quite believe he's voluntarily saying something so corny. The things love make you do, he supposes.
"Sap," Mingyu grins, but Minghao can tell he's pleased, as he turns around and continues preparing dinner.
Minghao can't help but smile as he watches Mingyu, now singing along, trying and failing to hit the high notes. How sweet, he thinks, to love and to be loved.