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It’s that time of night when only the ghosts of the city and those of disreputable reputation come out to play, and the coffee shop is completely empty except for him.
Changmin stares down at his cup and watches the murky brown liquid reflect his own distorted image back at him. Vaguely, he wonders why this place is still even open, and if it’s because they have some crackpot policy of not closing until the last customer leaves.
The thought doesn’t make him feel as guilty as it should, partly because the waitress disappeared ten minutes ago and partly because it would require more effort than he can currently muster.
Everything is an effort at this time of night. Changmin isn’t even sure why he’s still awake, let alone sitting in some godforsaken café sipping cold coffee. It should be illegal to sell people coffee at this hour because only the truly desperate or criminally deranged would still want to be awake, and being an accessory to their suffering should make one guilty by default.
He wonders distantly which category he falls under.
The inappropriately cheerful sound of the small bell over the door rouses him from his self-induced stupor, and Changmin glances up to see a tall, broad-shouldered man stroll into the café. A flurry of snowflakes follow him in and Changmin’s eyes slide to the window. He hadn’t even noticed when it started snowing. Fat flakes drift down to cover the ground.
He shivers, retreating further into his coat and eyeing the newcomer. It could be the middle of the afternoon from the relaxed set of his shoulders and the hands stuffed into the pockets of his leather jacket. Changmin’s irritated gaze follows him as he makes his way to the counter, disliking this bright intruder in his cold, peaceful nightscape.
“Is there a server or someone here. . .?” the stranger asks, glancing around at Changmin. The weak light throws shadows across his small face and highlights the bright red of his hair.
“I think she’s out the back,” Changmin replies.
“So the only thing that’s going to stop me from just grabbing what I want and walking out is you?” the man grins, turning fully towards Changmin and leaning back against the counter.
Changmin shoots him an annoyed look.
“Do I look like my family owns this place or something? Knock yourself out for all I care. Just leave some of the coffee,” he says.
The stranger laughs, a loud, booming sound that echoes around the small space.
“Actually you look like the kind of guy whose family owns this whole franchise, as well as all their major competitors,” he says.
Despite himself Changmin finds a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“Good guess,” he says. The stranger looks curious now, intrigued by what he’s discovered.
“What’s a good little rich boy like you doing in a place like this at three in the morning?” he asks.
“None of your business,” Changmin replies edgily.
The other man just continues to smile at him expectantly so after a few seconds Changmin slides to his feet with a sigh and gets behind the counter.
“What do you want?” he asks. The coffeemaker purrs to life under his hands.
The stranger takes a seat at the counter and unravels his muffler.
“A mocha with two sugars and extra milk please,” he says cheerfully. Changmin nods and gets to work. He’d taken a barista course two years ago, just in case – a troubled family life left him constantly on the edge of running away, and it had seemed like a good idea to have some sort of life skills.
He places the finished drink in front of the other man, who accepts it with a soft thank you.
“I’m Yunho,” he says after taking a sip. “And you make a really good mocha.”
Changmin eyes him with a mixture of curiosity and slowly melting suspicion. A line of foam beads the top of Yunho’s lip and it’s sort of really cute.
“Changmin,” he says, and pushes a napkin against Yunho’s mouth. Yunho makes a surprised sound, then laughs and dabs at his lip.
“Thanks.”
Outside, snow covers the world in white.
- - -
The waitress eventually turns up and kicks Changmin out from behind the counter, so he and Yunho retire to one of the booths and sip at their coffees in awkward silence.
Yunho puts his cup down with a happy sigh and looks out the window. “Cold night to be out on.”
“So why are you?” Changmin asks.
Yunho fidgets with the handle of his cup and looks down. A sad little smile touches the corner of his mouth. “It’s Christmas Eve,” he says. “I didn’t feel like being alone.”
Me neither, Changmin realises with a jolt. He gazes at Yunho over the rim of his mug, at the soft sweep of his eyelashes and the cute little mole at the corner of his mouth, and Yunho gazes back at him with some indefinable expression on his face.
He hesitates, then asks: “How old are you Changmin? You look very young.”
“I’m twenty three,” Changmin bristles, annoyed that Yunho even had to ask.
His answer seems to please the other man. Yunho smiles, pulls out a couple of bills from his wallet and drops them on the table.
“I live close by – just a five minute walk from here,” he says casually.
Changmin stares. For a second he has no idea what Yunho’s place has to do with anything.
Then it dawns on him: Yunho is coming on to him. He wants to take him home and – what? Definitely not just chat over coffee.
Changmin narrows his eyes. “I’m not a hooker,” he says flatly.
Yunho blinks at him, then gives a startled laugh. “No of course not, I didn’t mean to imply – I mean obviously you’re not – ” He stutters to a stop and shakes his head, suddenly looking a lot less sure of himself. “I’m sorry, that was inappropriate. I’ll go now.”
He starts to rise, but Changmin’s hand shoots out and grabs his wrist before he can leave.
“Wait,” he hears himself say. It’s a cold, lonely night after all, and Yunho is warm and sweet. “I’m sorry. You just surprised me. I – ” he swallows and looks down, suddenly shy. He’s never done something like this before. He’s known Yunho for barely an hour.
A thrill of anticipation slides down his spine.
“I don’t feel like being alone tonight either,” Changmin says softly.
Yunho smiles and takes his hand.
- - -
Outside, the cold bites cruelly into Changmin’s skin and he shivers and wraps his coat closer around himself.
Yunho looks perfectly comfortable by contrast in his leather jacket and his hair like a beacon. It’s as though the pains Changmin has taken to appear as unobtrusive as possible have manifested in reverse in Yunho, making him stand out whether he tries to or not. Changmin shakes his head as they walk away from the café, his eyes on the footpath so he isn’t tempted to stare at the vision walking beside him.
“So what were you doing in that café at this time of night?” Yunho says finally, breaking the crisp silence of the night.
I was waiting, Changmin thinks. For a miracle, for a reason, for a stranger to walk in and sweep me off my feet.
“I was planning my suicide,” he mutters, just to be difficult.
Yunho grabs him by the shoulders and turns him around so they’re face to face.
“That’s not funny,” he says, suddenly serious.
“It wasn’t meant to be,” Changmin glares, annoyed by the concerned expression on Yunho’s face, as if he has some right to care, as if they’re more than mere strangers on the way to his place for a casual fuck.
Yunho’s eyes search his face. “Are you always this contrary or is tonight just special?” He asks, raising an eyebrow.
Changmin sighs and lets his shoulders droop, the tension eventually leaving his body until Yunho might as well be holding up a sack for all the resistance left in him.
“It might just be tonight,” he says.
Yunho draws closer, until he’s so near Changmin can feel the heat of his body starting to seep into his own cold skin.
“Special night?” he asks softly, and Changmin raises his head to meet his gaze.
“Something like that,” he says, mesmerised by those warm kitten eyes.
Yunho places gentle fingers under his chin and tilts his face, thumb tracing his bottom lip.
“Changmin. . .” he murmurs, and Changmin shivers at the way he says his name.
When Yunho’s lips press against the corner of his mouth it’s impossible to tell him to stop.
Changmin doesn’t really want him to.
- - -
They barely make it through the door before they’re kissing again, hot and sweet and desperate. Changmin has the brief impression of a small, cluttered space before Yunho is pulling him into the bedroom and down on the bed, hands everywhere and lips meeting for feverish kisses again and again.
He fumbles with the zip of Yunho’s jacket, peeling off layers of clothing as they gasp and grind against each other. Changmin slides a hand up the back of Yunho’s shirt and feels strong muscles jump under his fingers and smiles against his mouth, his other hand cupping the back of Yunho’s neck.
They shift. Changmin pushes Yunho onto his back and straddles him, bright eyed and flushed as he gazes down at him.
“I don’t like to bottom,” he warns, fingers working at the button of Yunho’s jeans.
Yunho smiles up at him and lifts his hips. “Good. Because I don’t like to top,” he says, and Changmin groans. Fuck, he’s perfect.
He leans down and kisses Yunho as they undress and rut together, skin against skin. Changmin burrows into Yunho’s neck and Yunho gasps and throws his head back, arching into the scrape of teeth across his collarbones and lower. Changmin puts his hands everywhere, on Yunho’s shoulders and thickly muscled arms and soft, broad chest and feels his arousal press hard and insistent against his thigh.
“Fuck,” he whispers.
“Yes please,” Yunho says, and Changmin gives a breathless laugh. Yunho rolls out from under him briefly to grab lube and condoms before turning back to him with a brilliant smile, and the sight of him sends arousal pooling in Changmin’s gut.
He pushes Yunho onto his back and gets between his legs and Yunho opens for him, so pliant and trusting Changmin can hardly believe it. He ghosts a hand over Yunho’s straining arousal, a teasing, feather-light touch, and Yunho bites his lip and bucks up.
Changmin smirks.
“Down boy,” he murmurs. He coats his fingers with lube and presses into him and Yunho gasps, soft and sweet. He’s unbelievably hot and tight and squirming in the most distracting way as Changmin works him open.
“Ready?” he asks.
Strawberry hair falls into Yunho’s eyes as he nods, and Changmin finds himself smiling softly. He hitches Yunho’s leg onto his shoulder and wraps the other around his waist, then leans down to kiss him as he starts to push in.
Yunho gasps into his mouth as Changmin sinks in to the hilt. They still for a second, breathe into each other and adjust, then Yunho chokes out a helpless “Move,” and Changmin thrusts into him hard.
The odd evanescence of the night falls away and leaves only the two of them, melting into each other so strange and perfect. Changmin can only hear his own labored breathing, in sync with Yunho’s as they move together. He opens his eyes and meets Yunho’s gaze, and there’s some soft and wondering look on his face that makes him catch his breath.
“You’re so cute,” Changmin hears himself say.
A deep crimson blush spreads up Yunho’s body as Changmin pushes deep into him, and deeper until Yunho cries out and arches up against him. His nails dig into Changmin’s back, leaving red, crescent-shaped marks on smooth skin. He’s close, and Changmin feels orgasm coil tight in the pit of his stomach.
“Say my name,” he whispers in Yunho’s ear, partly because he loves the way the other man says it and partly because he refuses to just be a nameless fuck. He thrusts harder into him to punctuate his demand and Yunho moans, a desperate, raw sound that Changmin instantly aches to hear again.
“Chang. . .min,” Yunho groans, and Changmin bites down on his shoulder as he comes, mind blanking and body shuddering in pure ecstasy. Faintly, he registers Yunho’s cry of pain and then the tightening of his body as he spills between them.
When he pulls out of him Yunho’s face is flushed and he’s panting, dewy sweat gathering at the base of his neck. Changmin licks it away, breath still uneven from his orgasm.
Yunho sighs and winds his arms around his neck lazily and pulls him up for a kiss. There’s a considering look on his face when he draws back, almost as though he’s trying to decide what his next move should be. Changmin closes his eyes, not wanting to think about it yet, and feels a finger trace the line of his cheekbone.
“That was. . .” Yunho trails off, but Changmin understands.
After a while Yunho sits up and rummages around for a cigarette, lighting up and exhaling smoke with a satisfied sigh. Changmin curls up on his side and watches him, shaking his head when Yunho offers him a drag.
“So what were you really doing in that coffee shop tonight?” Yunho asks eventually, voice low.
Changmin examines his face for a quiet moment.
“Why are you so determined to know?” he says.
“Because you’re so determined not to tell me,” Yunho says.
Changmin sighs and looks down, fidgeting with a corner of the sheet.
“I was waiting,” he says finally.
“For?” A soft murmur.
Changmin rolls onto his back and stares up at the ceiling.
“Last week some guy stopped me from jumping in front of the 3:07 express to Akihabara,” he says.
Silence. He can’t look at Yunho.
“Maybe he thought I tripped or something, but he yanked me back just as the train passed an inch from my face. By the time I turned around he was gone, but he dropped something,” Changmin continues, voice distant, as though he’s talking about someone else entirely.
When he glances to the side Yunho’s eyes are guarded for the first time since their encounter tonight.
“What was it?” he asks.
Changmin slides out of bed and retrieves his bag from the floor, rummaging around inside it for a moment before extracting a card and handing it to Yunho.
Yunho stares at the nondescript loyalty card of the coffee shop they’d both been at tonight, that unremarkable little café where this whole strange night had begun.
“I’ve been hanging around there whenever I can for days now, hoping to run across the guy. A fool’s errand, but I just. . .needed to know. I’m not sure if I wanted to thank him or yell at him,” Changmin murmurs.
Yunho hands the card back to him and he tosses it in his bag with a shrug. He watches Yunho stub out his cigarette, then he holds out a hand and Changmin takes it, climbing back into bed and lying on his side facing him. Yunho rolls over so he’s curled around Changmin, breath hot in his ear.
“Let me tell you a story,” Yunho says. Changmin blinks. “Last week, a man buries his beloved grandfather and goes to catch the train home, heart heavy and head full of tears he can’t shed in public. He’s waiting for the 3:07 express to Akihabara, and the train is just around the corner when he sees this tall, skinny figure standing really fucking close to the edge of the platform. This guy’s no hero – any other day he would have just looked away like everyone else on that station is and tried to pretend he couldn’t see what was going to be a very obvious suicide attempt. But there’s only so much death a person can handle in one day, so he grabs this figure and yanks him back just as the train pulls in. Then he turns around and walks away. Suddenly, he doesn’t want to take the train. Maybe another day, but right then the mere thought of it sickens him,” Yunho finishes.
Changmin is staring at him, eyes wide, and Yunho stares back at him until both their visions blur and their heads are spinning, and still the intensity of the gaze keeps them in its grasp.
Eventually Changmin blinks and looks away, his eyes watering from having stared for too long.
“Awful lot of train suicides lately,” he says weakly.
“Do you believe in coincidences?” Yunho breathes in his ear. Changmin shivers and rolls away, clutching the duvet closer around himself.
“Sometimes. None as big as the one you’re suggesting,” he says. Yunho smiles.
“What about miracles? Fate?” he asks.
“That’s bullshit.”
And Yunho chuckles, wrapping himself close around Changmin’s body until it’s hard to tell where one of them begins and the other ends and Changmin can feel Yunho’s heartbeat at his back, separated only by skin, muscle and bone.
They watch the sky start to lighten through the window of Yunho’s bedroom, the first tinges of pink and purple seeping into the clouds. Slowly, Changmin’s hand creeps down to wrap around Yunho’s, their fingers threading together and palms pressed so tight against each other Changmin wonders, if I pull away now would his skin peel off with mine?
But he doesn’t – instead, he turns his face into Yunho’s neck and breathes him in, his cologne and the musky scent of sex and sweat lingering on his skin, and they fall asleep like that, hands still clutched together like an unexpected lifeline.