Work Text:
_____________________
Despite this being their fourth consecutive project together, Yoonho had always maintained a polite, invisible wall between them.
While Mingi had spent months trying to chip away at that stubborn professionalism, wanting nothing more than to bridge the gap off-camera. Yet Yoonho remained frustratingly elusive, carefully preserving the distance between them.
Until later that day.
They were wrapping up a long day of filming when one of their senior co-stars ambushed them with a camera for a vlog.
"How does it feel working together for the fourth time?" the senior asked lightly, one arm draped casually over Yoonho's shoulder.
Exhausted and caught off guard, Yoonho answered before his usual caution could catch up with him.
"Ah.. that's right. I guess because this is our fourth project together, it feels familiar now. Filming has been really fun. And Mingi-hyung..." He hesitated. "He's looked after me a lot."
Yoonho blinked.
A subtle blush crept up the back of his neck as realization settled in.
Hyung.
Not Mingi-ssi.
Not the carefully practiced professionalism he'd maintained for months.
It's not like he hate him.
He just.. didn't know what to do whenever Mingi pressed a cold water bottle into his hand during breaks, other than offering a polite thank you and a small nod.
Or when his so-called bully insisted on making conversation while they waited for the next setup.
'It was really cold last night. Did you sleep well?'
'Sorry, I forgot my lines earlier. We had to do that scene again.'
'My dog made a mess yesterday and spilled all his dry food. Do you have a dog too?'
'Yoon-ah, sorry. Did i pushed you too hard? Are you okay?' Even during fight scenes, Mingi would ask if he was okay the moment the director called cut.
'I think I've reached the point where even I want to punch Seongjun,' Mingi sighed. 'Sorry, Gyujin-ie.'
Oh.
That was this afternoon.
Right after they've finished filming the scene where Seongjun and his lackeys dumped a bowl of soup over Gyujin's head.
And even now, somehow, Yoonho could still recall the careful way Mingi had dusted the grains of rice from his uniform jacket, fingertips skimming over his shoulder for only a fleeting second—brief enough to be insignificant, yet lingers too long, leaving behind a warmth Yoonho hadn't known what to do with.
Before Yoonho could correct himself, the senior had already moved on to the next question.
Beside him, the tallest of the three was grinning from ear to ear.
***
"There's a dinner this weekend. The cast and crews are all going. Will you be there?"
Mingi asked casually, though his attention never left the man sitting across from him
Yoonho kept his gaze lowered. His attention remained on the creased pages of his script, carefully smoothing them flat beneath his palm.
"My manager hasn't mentioned it yet," he said. "So.. I'm not sure."
A pause.
"Are you.. coming?"
Mingi's lips curled.
"Who?"
Yoonho finally looked up, blinking.
"You, Mingi-ssi."
The formal honorific cut through the lingering satisfaction of Mingi's day like a dull blade. It was incredibly frustrating.
Mingi hated how much that honorific bothered him.
Four fucking projects. Countless hours of shared sets, intense emotional scenes, their skin probably brushes for hundreds times already—and Yoonho was still pushing him back into a box of strict formality.
Mingi had a profound, borderline obsessive craving for Yoonho to talk to him casually when they were off the clock, and being violently demoted back to a detached co-star made a sudden, dark irritation flare in his chest.
"Have you read tomorrow's script?"
"Huh?" Yoonho blinked, caught off guard by the flatness in his voice. "O-oh. Yeah, I did. We're filming in the karaoke room,"
Mingi held his gaze for a beat too long.
"Good," he said quietly. "Then let's practice."
It wasn't a suggestion.
Before Yoonho could react, Mingi closed the distance between them. A firm grip caught the collar of his shirt and sent him stumbling backward. The shove came with startling force, violent enough to shatter the illusion that this was nothing more than casual acting practice.
dugh!
Yoonho's spine collided hard against the wardrobes room wall behind them, the impact knocking the breath straight out of his lungs. When he looked up, the familiar warmth of his co-actor had vanished without a trace.
There was no trace of Hong Mingi in the sharp set of his jaw or the cold gleam in his eyes.
In his place stood Kang Seongjun.
Cruel. Volatile and terrifyingly real.
"Fuck-gyu." The deep voice cut through the cramped wardrobe room like a blade.
"Do you want to die?"
Seongjun's hand buried itself in the strands of his hair. The touch wasn't careless—it was deliberate, possessive, as though he'd done this a hundred times before. His expression didn't falter. Not even for a second.
At first, his fingers moved through the dark strands with an almost absentminded gentleness, brushing them back from Yoonho's forehead as if the gesture belonged to someone else entirely. Then they tightened without warning, curling into a firm fist at the roots, knuckles tightening around his hair.
"Agh! I.. I'm s-sorry," Yoonho gasped out, his body instinctively collapsing into Gyujin’s submissive, trembling posture as adrenaline spiked through his veins.
"My mom's ID.. you're gonna use it to make a loan.. aren't you? I-I can't let you do that."
Seongjun stilled.
His frame casting a massive, suffocating shadow over Gyujin's trembling form, but his grip on the latters hair only tightened.
He tugged him back just enough for the back of Gyujin's head to brush the wall again, exposing the vulnerable line of his throat.
"The thing is.. my mom works very hard,"
"Wether your mother's works hard or not, what does it matter to me?" he sneered, his face inches away.
"She..."
"Do I need to give a fuck about it?"
"...no. sorry." Gyujin whimpered, the script-mandated defeat tasting heavy on his tongue. "I-I'll take better photos instead, I promise!"
Seongjun leaned in closer, his breath hot against Gyujin's cheek, his dark eyes boring holes straight through him.
"How can I trust a useless piece of shit like you? You can't even steal your own mother's wallet."
His voice dropped lower.
"Yah, answer me. Do I have to pay your mother's shop a visit myself?"
"N-no! Please, I beg you, don't.."
"Who are you begging, Fuck-gyu?" Seongjun interrupted coldly. "Besides being useless, have you forgotten your manners too?"
The words cut through the quiet wardrobe room, sharp and entirely foreign.
Yoonho’s mind short-circuited.
This line wasn't in the script. He had read the paper almost a hundred times, but he could only think that the taller man was making an improvisation. Sometimes it was needed to push a scene to its absolute breaking point. Right?...right?
"Seongjun.. p-please." he stammered, his heart hammering against his ribs, but the other stilled, keeping him pinned.
"H-hyung. Seongjun hyung.. please d-dont visit my mother's shop."
The word hit Mingi like a physical blow.
Hyung.
Even though it was wrapped in the practiced fictional terror of Gyujin begging for Seongjun, the syllable sent a dangerous thrill straight down Mingi’s spine.
Instead of breaking character or pulling back, Mingi’s grip on Yoonho’s hair tightened further. He didn't let him go. If anything, he crowded Yoonho even harder against the steady wall, trapping him completely beneath his broaders frame.
"Hyung?" he echoed, "you think calling me that changes anything, Gyujin-ah? You think it saves you?"
Yoonho’s breath hitched, the sheer weight of Mingi’s burning gaze making his head spin.
"I'll do whatever you want," Yoonho whispered, eyes glancing upwards, though they were trembling. "Just, leave my mom out of this, please."
"You said you'd do anything?"
Yoonho’s fingers twitched at his sides.
"If you want to save your mother's shop, begging isn't going to cut it anymore." he paused.
"Maybe, we can use that mouth for something useful."
Yoonho’s mind fractured. The implication hung heavy and suffocating in the narrow space between them. His gaze flicked down instinctively, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs.
Slowly, deliberately, his gaze locked onto Mingi’s lips, he nodded.
And Mingi can barely breathe. For the sake of his sanity, the grip on Yoonho's hair released.
"Great work today."
The absence of the latters hand on his hair leaving a hazy sensation, it aches.
With a tremor running through his fingers, Yoonho’s fingers curled into the stiff fabric of Mingi’s uniform jacket, anchoring him before the taller man could take a single step backward.
Yoonho tilted his chin up just a fraction, his lips parting slightly as he leaned an inch closer into Mingi’s space.
He was asking for it. Even with his cheeks burning red, he was asking.
Mingi noticed. His eyes darkened instantly, tracking the movement from those delicate fingers and the subtle tilt of his head. But instead of leaning in to close the gap, Mingi went completely still. He anchored his weight, deliberately holding his face just out of reach.
A slow, maddening smirk spread across Mingi's lips.
"What is this?" Mingi murmured, his voice laced with a cruel amusement that belonged entirely to himself, not the script.
"What are you doing, Yoonho-ya?"
Yoonho’s face flushed hotter, long lashes fluttering as he tried to maintain eye contact.
"Hyung..."
"Are you offering me something?" Mingi taunted softly. He didn't budge.
"Is this Gyujin trying to buy his way out of trouble? Or, is this you?"
Yoonho swallowed hard.
"Please... just.." His grip tightening on Mingi’s jacket out of sheer embarrassment.
"Just what?"
"Just... don't leave yet."
"Give me a reason," Mingi murmured. His hands slid slowly out of his pockets to rest flat against the wall on either side of Yoonho’s shoulders.
"Tell me what you actually want right now."
Yoonho swallowed, the confined space suddenly feeling entirely devoid of oxygen. His gaze remained stubbornly locked on the sharp edge of of Mingi’s black tie.
Mingi brings his hand came up, his thumb firmly pressing against Yoonho's bottom lip, rubbing over the sensitive flesh but physically holding him back from moving any closer.
"An hour ago, you couldn't even look me in the eye. You kept your distance so perfectly, and now you're pulling on my shirt?"
"I didn't mean to—"
"Look at how much you're shaking," Mingi whispered, his thumb dragging slowly down to cup Yoonho's chin, tilting his face up further under the dim light. "Are you really that desperate?"
Yoonho’s chest heaved, a sharp, choked breath leaving his throat. The overwhelming intensity of Mingi's gaze were too much. His defenses completely shattered. A sudden prickle of heat stung the backs of his eyes, and a thick, heavy lump formed in his throat.
He felt entirely exposed. Vulnerable. Pathetic.
"Stop..." Yoonho’s voice cracked, a desperate whisper escaping his lips as his eyes glazed over with a sudden rush of unshed tears.
He tried to turn his head away, trying to hide the fact that he was breaking down, but the older grip on his chin tightened just enough to keep him trapped.
"Look at me," Mingi commanded, tone shifting from playful malice to something fiercely consumed.
He leaned closer, his nose brushing against Yoonho's damp cheek.
"Are you going to cry? Over this?"
"Hnng.. stop teasing me." he sobbed quietly, his voice muffled against the fabric on Mingi's shoulder.
"Is this Gyujin's new bit for the scene tomorrow? A little extra desperation to make the director happy?"
Yoonho stayed silent. He couldn't form the words even if he wanted to. The sheer embarrassment of the situation trapped everything in his throat, and all he could manage was a soft, frustrated whine, his head shaking weakly as his eyelashes fluttered against his flushed cheeks.
Mingi tilted his head, a slow, insufferable smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He leaned in just a fraction closer, his breath warm against Yoonho’s forehead.
"Hm? I can't hear you. Who is holding my uniform right now? Is it Gyujin... or is it you?"
The quiet grew agonizingly thick, punctuated only by the shallow sound of their breathing. Yoonho’s chest heaved. He felt entirely transparent, completely stripped of the script and the character shield he had relied on across four consecutive projects.
Gathering whatever shredded courage he had left, he finally forced his eyes up, his gaze catching on the dark, unwavering eyes of the man holding him there.
"M-me," Yoonho whispered.
The ragged admission was barely more than a breath, but it snapped the final thread of Mingi’s restraint. The teasing smirk on his face dissolved, replaced by a sudden, heavy seriousness.
He didn't rush. He didn't lung forward.
Instead, Mingi lowered his head slowly, letting Yoonho see it coming, letting him feel the excruciating warmth of his approach.
When their lips finally met, it was tentative. A soft, lingering brush of dry skin against wet, trembling flesh. Mingi just pressed his mouth to Yoonho’s, testing the weight of the surrender, capturing the shaky exhale that left Yoonho’s throat.
Yoonho let out a quiet sigh into the touch, his eyes fluttering shut as his grip on Mingi's jacket loosened, his hands smoothing flat against the older man's chest.
Mingi hummed softly against his lips, the sound vibrating between them. One of his hands left the wall, his long fingers sliding down the side of Yoonho’s neck, his thumb tracing the racing pulse point under his jaw.
Then the pace shifted.
The gentle, testing pressure evolved into something deeper. Mingi tilted his head, lips parting just enough to nudge against Yoonho’s, coaxing him open. Yoonho complied with a soft, helpless sound, and that was all the invitation Mingi needed.
The rhythm began to pick up, growing steady and consuming. Mingi’s tongue slid in, tasting him fully, a slow and deliberate stroke that made Yoonho’s knees turn to water.
His other hand left the wall, wrapping firmly around Yoonho’s waist to hoist him higher, pulling him flush against his own solid frame so Yoonho wouldn't sliding down the wall.
Mingi brings his palm slipped under the hem of Yoonho's shirt. His bare hand making direct contact with the warm, sensitive skin of his lower back, making Yoonho gasped into the kiss, his fingers instinctively tangling into the hair at the back of Mingi's head as the rhythm escalated from a gentle simmer to a demanding, breathless heat, completely erasing the boundaries of the room around them.
"Mmnh.."
Yoonho was the first to pull away, leaving a thin strand of saliva stretching between their lips, breathing unevenly as he lowered his gaze to the floor between them.
Mingi didn't wait long to lower his head again, this time targeting the sensitive dip between Yoonho's neck and shoulder. He pressed a trail of heated, biting kisses along his jawline down to the side of his neck, where the pale skin was already flushed a deep crimson.
"Ngh.." a breathless moan escaped Yoonho's lips as Mingi swiped his tongue against his exposed throat—a vulnerability offered up willingly as Yoonho instinctively tilted his head back.
Mingi's hands found something to do before he could think better of it, settling against Yoonho's sides through the rumpled fabric of his shirt, sliding them right up underneath the crumpled button-down. His bare palms felt hot against Yoonho’s sides.
"Ah! W-wait..." Yoonho's head hit the wall behind him with a soft thud. Spine arching sharply as the searing warmth of Mingi’s thumb rubbed firmly against the sensitive bud of his chest.
"Hyung... please, nhh, I can't—"
Mingi let out a low amused huff against Yoonho’s skin, a smirk tugging at his lips as he pulled back.
"Shh, loudmouth. Are you trying to get us caught on purpose?"
He gathered a handful of the half-unbuttoned shirt, pressing the soft fabric against Yoonho's lips.
"Be good and bite down on this instead."
Yoonho whined into the cloth, trembling all over when Mingi’s hot tongue swirled around his completely hardened nipple.
With their current positions, there was no space left between them, leaving Yoonho completely aware of the hard bulge that was pressing against his hip.
His thighs instinctively clamped shut in a desperate reflex.
Mingi grunts, turning Yoonho around to face the wall, pinning him there with the weight of his own body. He buried his face into the curve of Yoonho’s shoulder, inhaling the heady scent of sweat and expensive cologne that smells like powders and green apples.
Yoonho’s hands gripped the cool surface of the wall for balance, his fingers clawing at the surface as Mingi’s hands drifted lower, fumbling with the metal buckle of Yoonho's belt.
The sharp click of the buckle unlatching echoed in the cramped space, sending a jolt of pure adrenaline straight down Yoonho's spine. Mingi’s knuckles brushed against the fabric of his trousers, ready to tug them down, when suddenly—
Tok, tok, tok.
Reality had a cruel way of coming down without warning.
It was Yoonho's manager.
"Yoonho-yah, are you done? The car is here."
Yoonho's heart leaped into his throat.
He froze, his entire body going rigid under Mingi's, who had also stopped dead in his tracks, his hand still resting heavily on Yoonho’s waistband. Mingi’s eyes darkened with a mix of frustration and dangerous amusement as he stared at the back of Yoonho's burning neck.
Another knock.
"Yoonho?"
"I-I'm coming!" he answered a little too quickly.
Well. He was about to, come—to the warm of his co-star palms that now tightening around his waist, keeping him close.
There's an agonizing pause from the other side of the door. The rustle of the manager shifting his weight could be heard clear as day.
"You sure are okay?" his manager asked. "You sounds out of breath,"
Yoonho squeezed his eyes shut, shooting a desperate, wide-eyed look over his shoulder at Mingi.
Mingi, however, only flashed a wicked, silent smirk. He deliberately leaned forward, pressing his hips firmly against Yoonho's backside one last time, making Yoonho had to bite his own lip hard to suppress a gasp.
***
The moment the sound of his manager's footsteps disappeared down the final flight of stairs, distance finally returned between them.
Yoonho stumbled back first.
The sudden absence of warmth sent a strange wave of dizziness through him.
His cheeks burned.
"I..." his voice caught in his throat. "I have to go."
For once, Mingi didn't stop him.
He simply stood there, tie crooked and shirt wrinkled, watching Yoonho avoid his gaze with an intensity that bordered on desperation.
"Okay."
Yoonho nodded too quickly.
Then he turned and fled.
***
The car door shut with a little more force than necessary.
"Yah." His manager sighed from the driver's seat.
"You know this car still has loans left to pay, right?"
"S-Sorry."
He shook his head but reached over to adjust the air conditioner before starting the engine.
They drove in silence.
After a while, his manager glanced into the rearview mirror.
"Why are you blushing like that?"
Yoonho froze.
"I'm not."
"Mm." The older man hummed skeptically. "Then maybe the tomato sitting in my back seat can explain why Yoonho disappeared."
Yoonho nearly inhaled his own tongue.
"It was hot!"
"Hot?"
"The wardrobe room. The air conditioner was broken."
His manager clicked his tongue.
"They still haven't fixed that thing?" he muttered. "I'll complain tomorrow."
"Mn. Thank you hyung-nim."
Yoonho shifts on his seat, turning toward the window, pressing the backs of his fingers against his warm cheeks.
The reflection staring back at him looked just as mortified as he felt.
He squeezed his eyes shut.
Then seconds later, a soft chime echoed through the car.
Ding.
His phone screen lit up.
Unknown Number.
Yoonho stared at it.
Then, cautiously, he tapped the notification open.
Unknown Number.
Did you get in the car safely?
A second message appeared before he could process the first.
Unknown Number.
Tell hyung when you get home, yeah?
Yoonho froze.
His heartbeat lurched.
Outside, the city continued to pass by in streaks of light.
Inside the car, his manager hummed absentmindedly to the radio, blissfully unaware of the crisis unfolding in the backseat.
Yoonho looked down at the screen again.
His face burned hotter.
He stared at the message for a long moment before locking his phone and shoving it into his pocket, burying his face in his hands.
Tomorrow.
He still had to see Mingi again tomorrow.
***