Archive of Our Own

Of all the words Mingi could use to describe himself, bold wasn’t typically one of them.

It’s not that he’s shy, hell, he’s more than comfortable in his own skin, his sexuality. He’s confident, knows he’s attractive, and proud of the body he’s worked hard on. He’s never one to pass up a good round of gay chicken and he's certainly never the one to back down. It takes a lot to phase him, honestly.

But he’d hardly call that bold.

He’s not bold when it comes to feelings, to making the first move. He’s never one to ask someone out first, unless he’s absolutely certain the feelings are already reciprocated. If anything, his lack of boldness is the reason this all started anyways.

At that moment, Yunho brushes past him in the dark, cramped hallway in the back of the concert venue. He hardly looks up from his phone to flash Mingi a quick smile before he’s glued again to the screen. They’d just finished their Paris show, breathing heavy and dripping with sweat, eager to wash up and claim the rest of the evening for themselves, the final evening in the city of lights before they hit the road again tomorrow morning.

Mingi’s responding smile comes too late, meeting Yunho’s back just before it rounds the corner to the dressing room.

No, he’d hardly call himself bold.

If he were bold, he would have done everything differently. He wouldn’t have been so greedy in keeping his feelings all to himself. He would have told his best friend how he felt before it was too late.

He can hear San’s laugh erupt from the dressing room, high pitched and full-bellied and squeaking for breath, and he hates the way it makes his lungs hurt to hear it. Hates the rift that never existed between them until he and Yunho had started dating.

It’s been three months, but it still hurts like it’s new. Like a fresh wound, the recollection of their announcement makes him suck in a sharp breath between his teeth, nervous smiles and tightly clasped hands and that terrified look in his best friend's eyes when they met Mingi’s from across the room. The wordless apology.

Because he knew. He knew just how badly Mingi wanted him.

He knew, but even still, Mingi had been so terrified to tell him anyways. He’d been so scared to break what they’d had, to be honest for once and tell him everything - the way that he thought about kissing him every time they hugged, the way he couldn’t imagine the rest of his life without him, the way he’d never known what it felt like to actually truly love someone and be loved by them before… 

Before Yunho.

But like a coward, he’d kept those cards tightly gripped to his chest. Like a fool, he never realized he was playing the wrong game all along.

It wasn’t until one evening, only five months ago, that they’d been drinking together, celebrating the last week of their break before promotions would be starting back up, before the album came out and the tour would start and their schedules wouldn’t afford drunken mistakes like this. He and Yunho had been drinking - Yeosang too, but he’d tapped out far earlier in the evening, leaving the pair to their tipsy conversations and giggling laughter. He’d caught Yunho’s eye at one point, when they’d just finished laughing so hard they couldn’t breathe, ribcages stinging with the beautiful ache of it, and he couldn’t help himself.

He’d been so lovely, red cheeked and glassy eyed, a smile splitting his face in two and it was all Mingi could do to whisper those three little words that ruined everything.

“I love you.”

Yunho’s face at that, had been a quickly flickering dance between confusion, surprise, and something so much worse. Something that had dread creeping up into Mingi’s belly and churning violently enough to make him afraid he’d throw up.

“Mingi, I-” he’d cut off, mouth closing. He laughed then, shaking his head, “I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t feel the same.” There’s a silent plea attached. Please tell me I’m wrong. Please tell me. Please. Please. Please.

Yunho’s eyes met his, and he felt sick.

“Mingi…” 

He’d never hated hearing his name on Yunho’s tongue so much.

A heavy sigh, an apologetic grimace and six little words that ruined every single chance he’d ever had at happiness.

“I’m sorry… I’m…I’m seeing someone else.”

He should have known it would be San. Should have known the looks they’d been exchanging all along had begun drifting past platonic. That their late night conversations on the other side of the wall had become increasingly more common. He should have noticed the way they’d started hanging off each other an amount that wasn’t normal between anyone else in the group.

He should have known, should have seen it coming. He should have been ready for this.

But it’s been three months since they’d announced their relationship to the group officially, and it still felt like his entire world was collapsing around him every time he let himself think about it a little too much. Because at the bottom of it all, he’d never imagined a future that Yunho wasn’t a part of. He’d never planned for the very real possibility that Yunho never felt the same way.

And… now what?

He’s still standing in the grimy venue hallway, eyes still fixed unseeing on the doorway to that dressing room.

It’s time to leave and he feels disgusting and nauseous and bitterly, achingly alone, and the last thing he wants to do is risk the chance of seeing Yunho and San when he’s like this, so hoisting his bag up over his shoulder, he shoves his way out of the crowded building and into the waiting car of his manager. The moment he’s inside, his airpods are in, hat tugged low over his head and eyes boring holes into a parking sign out the window beside him, so he doesn’t have to see the others when they make their way in.

When everyone is finally accounted for, the van packed with warm bodies buzzing with excitement and post-concert adrenaline, they head off, making their way for the hotel. It’s a few minutes into the drive that he feels a gentle hand on his knee, and he jumps, startled at first, before turning to find Seonghwa watching him, careful expression in his questioning eyes.

Everything okay? He mouths.

Mingi nods. He doesn’t want his hyung to worry. And it’s not like he’s lying. He will be fine, at the end of it all. This happens far too often these days and he’s learned that he just needs to let himself be sad about it, maybe smash a few drinks, maybe cry to a sad movie, and move on with his life.

He’s not okay, but he will be. He will be.

Seonghwa’s eyes narrow just a fraction of a hair, before he’s leaning in. He must have showered at the venue, Mingi realizes. He smells like body wash and floral shampoo, hair still damp. As the streetlights flicker past the moving van, Seonghwa’s skin glows soft and clean.

“I was thinking of getting dinner up at the hotel lounge when we get back. Want to join me?”

His voice is quiet, the question just meant for him. When Seonghwa pulls back, the question lingers in his eyes, the hand still soft on his knee. It’s a comfortable weight, and Mingi savours the touch.

“Just us?”

Something changes in Seonghwa’s expression at that, his smile fading for just a moment before reappearing as though nothing had happened.

“Just us.”

Mingi nods slowly. He really doesn’t feel like being around people tonight, but Seonghwa wasn’t people. Seonghwa was comfortable to sit with in silence. He was an unjudgemental sounding board for whatever problems you were working through, and a deep murmuring encouragement when you needed it. He was careful with his words and honest with his emotions, and, yeah, Mingi didn’t feel like being around people tonight but even more than that, he didn’t want to be alone.

“I’ll meet you there.”

Seonghwa’s smile brightens at that, and Mingi watches as he turns away, eyes drifting to his own window, but hand still resting carefully on his knee.

Mingi then glances ahead, to where Wooyoung is whispering something to Hongjoong, leg bouncing with limitless energy and hands playing with Hongjoong’s patient fingers. He watches the way Hongjoong listens, acting like he doesn’t care and breaking into laughter when Wooyoung scolds him for it. Something clicks then, when he looks back over at Seonghwa and finds him transfixed on the blur of the city passing them by.

And he wonders if maybe he isn’t the only one who needs a distraction tonight.

When they arrive back at the hotel, Seonghwa’s hand finally slips away. His leg is still warm with the ghost of his touch. At his room, Mingi heads straight for the shower, scalding hot water and steam melting the tension from his aching bones and making him feel something closer to human again. It’s a quick shower, but thorough, and it’s not long before he’s standing paralyzed in front of his open suitcase, towel slung around his hips and water still dripping from his damp hair.

What the fuck was he going to wear?

It’s just Seonghwa, right? He’s seen him at his absolute grubbiest, five days without a shower, Dorito dust-stained days, so clearly he didn’t need to impress him.

But even still, he found himself throwing on some slacks that he knew hugged his thighs well, and a button-down that he’d bought before he’d begin dedicating another day of the week to working out chest, and now strained juuust a little to fit him. His hair, he styled quickly, a touch of product and a careful comb through of fingers, just messed enough to look casual but not sloppy.

A quick once over in the mirror boosted his confidence. He looked good. Yunho may be in San’s room right now, but Mingi was hot and young and single, and if he wanted to find a sexy french hookup at the hotel lounge, who was gonna stop him?

The lounge, upon arrival, was a mood of its own.

Located at the very top of the hotel, wide expanses of floor-to-ceiling windows provided an unmatched view of the city. The room was comfortably decorated, a sleek wooden bar on one end decked out with neon signs and expensive-looking bottles, and standing tables scattered around the dimly lit room. Eclectic vintage couches were placed in small clusters along the outskirts of the room, private little bubbles, and a glass door opened to a rooftop patio with a sparkling view of the Eiffel tower, a glowing beacon in the dark night.

It was a weekday, so it wasn’t too busy, the low sounds of a few dozen simultaneous conversations rumbling as a baseline to the live piano music from a gleaming baby grand at the center of the room and tuxedoed pianist.

They’d never mentioned a specific meeting place, but it doesn’t take long for Mingi to find him.

Seated primly at the bar, legs crossed and one elbow poised on the shiny counter like an off-duty model, Seonghwa’s staring off into space, slowly swirling a glass of red. He’s wearing dark slacks, leather mules, and a gauzy white blouse that sits so low at his neckline it’s nearly slipping off his shoulder.

Mingi swallows, throat suddenly dry. But he steels himself, and crosses the glossy wooden floor, slips an arm around his shoulders when he approaches and places an easy kiss on his hyung’s cheek. Seonghwa chirps out a startled little noise and smiles up at him, face immediately brightening at the sight of him.

“Sorry, I would have gotten you something, but I didn’t know what you’d be drinking tonight.”

It’s so like him, to always be thinking of others.

Easily, he brushes away Seonghwa’s worry, slips into comfortable banter, flagging down the bartender, before realizing he doesn’t speak a word of French. Seonghwa must notice the way he shorts out, and with a mixture of English and hand gestures, gets a second glass of wine.

“Cabernet Sauvignon,” he explains with a twinkle in his eye, “I don’t know many words in French, but I know the important things.”

Mingi accepts his own glass, nodding his thanks to the bartender, “I like a man with priorities.”

Seonghwa snorts out a laugh at that, head bobbing as he hides his smile behind a hand. He’s wearing dangly gold earrings and they catch in the light.

For a moment, silence stretches between them, and its the most uncomfortable Mingi has ever felt alone with Seonghwa. He’s not entirely sure what’s changed, but it’s almost like there’s something thrumming beneath the surface, something charged like static electricity making his hair stand on end, making him hyperaware of everything around him.

He sips at his drink for lack of something better to do, and watches the other patrons move about the lounge, older couples lost in conversation, tired-eyed businessmen sitting alone in grey suits, young lovers lost in each other, oblivious to the rest of the world. It’s not long till his attention drifts back to the man beside him, wide dark eyes and smooth skin, soft pink lips parted around a crystal wine glass. His earring sparkles as he tips his head back to drain the last of his drink, before lifting two fingers to the bartender as an obvious request for two more.

“Thanks, hyung,” Mingi mumbles belatedly, blush warm on his cheeks when Seonghwa slides one over to him.

“Of course.” Comes his easy reply. Everything is always so easy with him.

As they sip at their second round, they make casual conversation. Talk about the tour, the shows, the different cities they’ve explored so far and the stories that come so inevitable from sleepless nights and too much caffeine. The topics are lighthearted, and it’s nice to revisit the past few weeks, to process everything and to savour the memories they’ve been far too busy to remember making. It’s easy and it’s light, and the alcohol is fuzzy and warm in their blood and making everything just a little bit funnier. 

Seonghwa’s still laughing when Mingi signals for a third round. He’s still laughing and it’s all Mingi can do to remember the French word for thank you as the drinks are slid over because the moment he catches Seonghwa’s eye, he forgets every word to ever exist other than beautiful.

Beautiful. Beautiful. Seonghwa Hyung is beautiful.

In every single way, he’s lovely.

The way he ducks his head when he laughs, all teeth and that subtly agonized expression that’s somehow just so effortlessly endearing. The way he brushes his hair back from his face, tucks it behind one ear, pretty dark hair framing his pretty face. The way he leans on one elbow, the way his blouse shifts with every movement, his pretty white collarbone peeking out every time his shirt dips open, the line of his body, everything about him, pretty.

It’s a moment before Mingi realizes he’s staring. A moment longer before he realizes Seonghwa is staring back.

“-ide?”

“Huh?” he blinks, the picture of intelligence. 

Seonghwa only laughs, nodding towards the large glass door. “Want to go outside?”

It’s a cold, dark February night, but the patio is warm with heaters and bright with twinkling string lights overhead. The terrace is empty, clearly they’re the only ones foolish enough to brave the winter night. The only sound is the bustle of the city below and the faint drifting notes from the piano.

Seonghwa leads the way, over to a ledge overlooking the city, the Eiffel Tower standing tall and brilliant before them. Mingi follows slowly, watching Seonghwa’s excitement light up at the sight of it all, the pure joy in his eyes outshining the entire city of lights beneath them.

Sliding up to lean over the ledge beside him, Mingi pries his attention away and towards the view in front of them. They’re quiet for a moment, as though neither of them wants to break the little bubble they’ve created. 

“Paris is the city of romance, you know.” San had said that afternoon, as they walked the city on foot. He was looking at Yunho when he’d said it.

Numbly, Mingi takes a slow sip of wine and watches the glittering tower in front of them.

Is it really?

“Hyung?” He’s not sure what he’s going to say. Not sure how he’s meant to say it.

But if he’s learned anything by now, it’s that you don’t get the things you want in life by being a coward. And with the alcohol warm and thick in his veins and the darkness around them making it feel like nothing outside of this moment will ever matter, he steels himself, ready for once in his goddamn life to be bold.

When he turns to Seonghwa, however, he finds his eyes already on him, a strangely knowing look meeting his that has every word at the back of his tongue evaporating on sight. He wasn’t sure what he was going to say or how to say it but it seems as though he doesn’t even need to, because it’s hardly a moment more before that dark and intoxicating look shared between them boldens into something darker, deeper, doubling in intensity and urgency as Seonghwa crosses the space between them and kisses him.

Seonghwa kisses him and the world stops.

The background noise of the city filters away into the thrum of blood rushing behind his ears. The dazzling lights vanishing as his eyes drift shut the moment the firm press of plush lips meet his own, all his attention laser-focused on the softest, sweetest brush of tongue, a slow warm lave against his own, and, god, Mingi is intoxicated by it in every way.

His hands naturally find their way to Seonghwa’s tiny waist, tugging him closer and causing him to whine deep in his throat. Seonghwa’s arms wrap around his neck, keeping him pressed tight to the pretty line of his body, as though Mingi were even capable of leaving him.

Nudging him forwards, Mingi presses Seonghwa back into the stone ledge, the kiss growing deeper and more heated with every passing second. Lovely. Lovely. Lovely. Seonghwa gasps when Mingi catches his lower lip, pinches it softly between his teeth, tugs it with intent.

Opening his eyes just a little, he takes in the pretty blush sitting high on his cheekbones, the dark hair mussed by the pass of fingers, the wide dark eyes that blink open the longer Mingi takes to dive back in and kiss him.

Everything about him is lovely.

“What are we doing?” he rasps, tucking a long strand of hair carefully behind Seonghwa’s ear.

“I don’t know,” Seonghwa confesses.

“But,” he adds, leaning back in, pressing the softest kiss to the corner of Mingi’s mouth, “There’s no one I’d rather do it with.”

He almost growls at that, catching Seonghwa’s lips and kissing him senseless. Warm and wet and so unbelievably fucking soft, Mingi savours him, lapping into his mouth like a man dying of thirst, like Seonghwa’s an oasis in the middle of the unforgiving desert. He wants him. He can’t help how badly he wants him.

How had it taken him this long to realize how pretty he is?

A pair of hands on his chest sober him, they break apart, but Seonghwa’s smiling. Seonghwa’s smiling and Mingi’s convinced that absolutely nothing on earth matters as long as that’s the truth. The hands don’t push him away; rather, Seonghwa guides his hands to his waist and starts to sway.

“Dance with me.”

The distant sound of the piano guides them on the small terrace, rocking and swaying and spinning slowly to the music. Seonghwa tucks his head into Mingi’s neck, resting on his shoulder. Like this, he feels so delicate, in Mingi’s arms. It’s almost overwhelming, the sudden urge to protect him that takes him over at the feeling. The urge to hold him like this and never let go.

It’s a little while before Seonghwa speaks, a deep rumble against Mingi’s chest.

“I loved him.”

He didn’t need to ask to know who he was talking about.

“I know.”

A deep, shuddery sigh. His shoulders move with the force of it. A huffed-out laugh, always trying to save face, to keep anyone else from worrying about him.

“I always thought that one day he’d come around.. That he’d come to see me that way too..” It’s quiet, hushed. Pressed to the fabric of Mingi’s shirt. “I guess I forgot to account for the fact that he also might.. not.”

“I’m sorry.” 

Because what else was there to say? He knew that pain all too well. That aching loneliness beneath the ribcage that grows ten times in intensity every time you find yourself alone. The bitter taste that every sweet memory takes on once you find yourself no longer able to look at them quite the same way.

“I’m sorry too.” He’s tugged closer by the arms around his waist. “We don’t have to talk about it, but I see the way you look at him. I know it hasn’t been as easy for you as you’ve been letting on.”

Mingi laughs and it feels a bit like he’s choking, throat tight. “I can’t hide anything from you can I?”

The pianist begins a new song, and it’s one Mingi recognizes. Humming along, he sways, rocking Seonghwa’s body in rhythm with his own.

Someday my prince will come. 

Someday I’ll find my love

And how thrilling that moment will be

When the prince of my dreams comes to me

“You don’t need to.” Seonghwa murmurs after a moment, face still tucked into his shoulder.

“Hmm?”

“Hide anything.” Comes the response, gentle, careful, but sincere. So blatantly sincere. “Not from me.”

He’ll whisper, ‘I love you’

And steal a kiss or two

Though he’s far away, I’ll find my love some day

Someday when my dreams come true

When he turns his head, Seonghwa’s already looking up at him, eyes wide and twinking with the thousands of lights from the city beneath them. In his entire life, Mingi had only ever been in love once, with a boy who he’d come to call his best friend, a boy who rivaled the sun in all it’s radiance, and who’d taught him what being loved is meant to feel like.

In his entire life, Mingi had only ever been in love once, and even still, even now, with Seonghwa in his arms looking up at him like this, dark intoxicating eyes and lips pink and swollen from kissing him, so trusting in the way he clings to him for warmth, even now Mingi isn't sure that the flutter in his chest is the same thing as being in love.

But maybe love like that isn’t meant to be felt more than once.

Maybe soulmates aren’t always destined to be anything more than friends. 

Maybe the way he loved Yunho, deeply, intensely, unconditionally, wholly, and completely, was a love specially crafted just for him. Maybe it was never intended to be anything more than platonic, and maybe nothing about it had ever been wrong.

Maybe he could learn to love again, in a way that’s entirely new.

He can’t help himself when he leans down to catch Seonghwa’s lips with his own, kissing him slowly, gently, reverently. The weight of his body in his arms is lovely. The slide of his lips against his own is lovely. The smile that greets him when they break apart is lovely.

And he thinks that maybe San was right, and that Paris is the most romantic city of all.

Someday, yes, my prince, he’s gonna come

Someday