Work Text:
Jung Wooyoung thinks he might be losing his mind. He’s been a Soul Guide for an indeterminable amount of time by now (time is weird in the underworld, but it’s probably been close to a millennium at this point) but never before has he come across such a baffling case as Song Mingi.
The assignment had started out as they all do: one day, there was a ping in his Underworld-assigned email inbox—a technological feat that still baffles Wooyoung and has been informed by his trainee, Jongho, only recently deceased, is incredibly strange to even exist down here. The email is always straight to the point, a copy and pasted template from one of Hongjoong’s many secretaries (it’s a lot of work to be in charge of the entire underworld, okay?) with the mark’s name, age, location, and mission deadline.
Wooyoung is usually given any more details than that (there was one notable time where the secretary had warned that the mark was known for biting people, thank fuck Wooyoung can’t contract diseases anymore after that reaping) though it usually becomes pretty obvious why they’ve been slated for eternal damnation the second Wooyoung sees them.
Song Mingi didn’t come with any warning. If he had, it might’ve made things easier.
All Wooyoung received in eleven-point, bright red Comic Sans font was the following:
Name: Song Mingi
Age: 26
Profession: Artist
Location: Seoul, SK – see attached address
Deadline: 21 Earth Days
The lack of additional warnings should’ve been Wooyoung’s first sign that something was amiss. But sometimes the secretaries decide to feel petty and like to make Wooyoung’s life a bit more difficult, so he brushes it off with an eye roll almost immediately.
The second sign that Wooyoung carelessly brushed past was the deadline.
Usually, Hongjoong wants the souls assigned to Wooyoung’s department delivered as soon as possible. Damned Soul Guides get assigned to the evil and twisted souls, their glow sullied by the cruelties caused and endured in the span of their mortal life—murderers, cryptocurrency obsessed tech bros, CEOs, and the likes. People that make even the king of the underworld curl his lip in disgust.
Before this assignment, Wooyoung’s deadlines usually ranged from two to seven days. After all, manipulating despicable human souls into signing themselves away is pretty easy when it comes down to it. And Wooyoung is the department’s best for a reason, always able to form a carefully crafted, perfectly poisonous lure for any mark.
He offers power or wealth or whatever else they desire in exchange for a small vial of blood and a signature, and then bam—eternally bound to the underworld.
Looking back, Wooyoung probably should have questioned such a long deadline, maybe replied to the email with more than a thumbs up emoji. Instead, he’d cheered, paging Jongho to pack extra in his earth bag because they’re basically going on vacation. Yeosang was gonna be so annoyed when he heard about this.
(“It’s not a vacation,” Jongho reminded him immediately, because Jongho loves to be a pain in Wooyoung’s ass despite still being in the shadowing phase of becoming a Guide. “We still have to watch him, figure out his motives and get him to sign.”
“Well not technically, but it might as well be,” Wooyoung had said, waving his hand. “It’ll be a stroll through the lava pits or whatever. We get this guy’s MO on the first day, fuck off to see all the cool shit in the human realm until the deadline comes up, and then swoop in at the last minute to bind his soul. How hard can it be?”)
The answer is, to present Wooyoung’s distraught and dismay, is incredibly hard. Like, unreasonably, annoyingly, impossibly hard.
It’s been five days and he still can’t get a read on what makes Song Mingi’s soul wretched. Or even like, mildly offensive.
If anything, the man’s biggest red flag is that he literally has none.
Upon first look, Song Mingi looks intimidating, Wooyoung can’t deny that. He’s got the type of resting bitch face that most gangsters Wooyoung has escorted had to spend years to perfect, with heavy eyes and big, pouty lips. He wears dark streetwear and silver rings, listens to loud music with such heavy bass that Wooyoung can feel it reverberate throughout his entire Earthly vessel whenever he’s close enough (he has to admit, modern music is far more aligned with his taste than some of the dreadfully slow hymns he got stuck with back when most marks were corrupt priests).
But then Mingi smiles, and everything about him shifts, becoming sunshine incarnate. If Wooyoung were to speak freely and unprofessionally, he’d even go so far as to say Mingi looks ethereal. Beautiful.
On the first day of observation, Wooyoung spotted not one characteristic of a soul slated for damnation.
He and Jongho found Mingi at a small, cutely decorated cafe (which was honestly already weird enough to be honest, given the usual demographic, but maybe potentially cold-blooded killers also like cartoon cats?). The two Guides watched Mingi sit across from another man—his best friend Yunho, according to Jongho’s research on the Instagram (“It’s just called Instagram, hyung, you don’t need to put the in the front of it!”). The two spent approximately three hours there, laughing and nibbling on small cupcakes before heading home.
Not to do anything nefarious, like cook meth or punch babies, but to open Stardew Valley and immediately get lost in the middle of the town square no less than six times.
It’s safe to say that they learned less than jack shit that day, so Wooyoung and Jongho trailed Mingi again the next day. And then the next. And the next.
In that time, Wooyoung learned the following:
Mingi sleeps on a bed that’s covered 80% in an assortment of plushies, barely leaving room for his not-very-small body (most of which are a variety of jungle animals like cheetahs and tigers, but also with a good number of…chickens? Wooyoung can’t help but be fascinated by the assortment).
Mingi is afraid of spiders (and calls his friend San, who seems to be equally as afraid of spiders, to beg him to come over and take the tiny thing outside. Wooyoung had laughed his ass off from the shadow he’d been hiding in).
Mingi likes to hum to himself while cooking (which he also does while wearing fuzzy pajama pants with capybaras printed on them, and Wooyoung does not find that endearing, thank you very much).
Mingi cares a lot about everything and everyone, even those he doesn’t know, like some perfect leading love interest in a drama (honestly, Wooyoung didn’t even know that real life people help old ladies carry their groceries or fed stray cats or cry over predictable rom-com plotlines).
All in all, Mingi, as far as Wooyoung and Jongho can tell from their very, very extensive stalking, should not be marked as a Damned Soul (and Wooyoung is not just saying that because he may or may not have become very endeared during the aforementioned extensive stalking).
And so, on the fifth day, Wooyoung decides to take their investigation up a notch.
“Um, are you sure that we’re cleared to do this?” Jongho hedges, trailing Wooyoung down the busy streets of Hongdae. His eyes dart around each corner they pass, like Hongjoong himself might pop out at any moment. “I thought we weren’t supposed to approach marks directly until it’s time to contract.”
Wooyoung shrugs. “This one’s a weird case anyway. Don’t worry, Jjongie. I’m just gonna…get close enough to see what this guy’s deal is. Because clearly the normal way isn’t working, and I want to get to the vacation part already.”
He can practically hear the eye roll in Jongho’s dry, “If you say so.”
They march into the crane machine store that Mingi and his friends have ducked into, purpose in their steps and falsified coins jingling in their pockets.
It’s not hard to find Mingi and his friends, thanks to the way they’re practically screaming as one of the men carefully maneuvers the claw towards one of the (frankly, kind of ugly and ratty looking) plushies in the machine.
Mingi, Yunho, and San—the one who doesn’t like spiders, Wooyoung recalls—are gathered around a tastefully dressed man with long, dark hair, who is maneuvering the claw with laser-focus. Wooyoung assumes this is Seonghwa, the final member of Mingi’s friend group according to the Instagram.
Wooyoung and Jongho casually stroll towards a nearby machine—filled with a bunch of ugly looking gremlin baby dolls that would probably look more at home in the underworld than a crane machine that’s blasting cheery girl group hits—only for their plan to approach inconspicuously to be immediately foiled.
Seonghwa and San’s heads immediately shoot up, locking on the pair with frightening speed and synchronicity. Despite the harsh, pale florescent lighting of the place, Seonghwa’s dark brown irises gleam bright gold for a moment when he makes eye contact with Wooyoung (it’s really cool, Wooyoung immediately thinks, he wishes he could do that too. Maybe if he asks Hongjoong nicely, they can work something out?).
Mingi and Yunho are too busy whooping over Seonghwa’s successful retrieval of the prize to notice, but Wooyoung exchanges a panicked glance with Jongho. Of course being assigned an anomalous soul wasn’t enough, the guy just had to be surrounded by not one but two Soul Guardians as well.
Wooyoung hasn’t actually met a Soul Guardian before, operating in very different spheres of the underworld with very different demographics, but he knows that they can be scary as fuck when provoked. And, given the affectionate way they hang around Mingi, Wooyoung and Jongho’s presence might just be taken as a provocation.
Oh fuck, Wooyoung thinks, they might get their asses kicked by literal angels—technical coworkers or not.
Jongho muttering a curse under his breath breaks Wooyoung out of his impeding doom spiral. He looks up to see one of the ugly babydolls slip from the claw’s grasp, falling mere centimeters from the output box. As his superior, Wooyoung should probably scold him for deciding to deal with a run in with Soul Guardians by focusing on beating the stupid crane machine. But, having no other ideas, Wooyoung decides, fuck it, why not?
“You’re doing it wrong,” he says, nudging Jongho aside and taking the place in front of the controls. “You have to aim for one that’ll knock a different one in. Like this.”
Wooyoung feeds the machine a few false coins and furrows his brow, carefully maneuvering the joystick to a different ugly babydoll. His plan fails spectacularly, the claw not even grazing the doll before returning to the box.
Jongho, the disrespectful little shit he is, bursts out laughing. “Right, like that. Got it.”
They’re so busy bickering over proper crane machine technique and wasting half of their forged coins on failed attempts (they’re getting alarmingly close to the machine’s guarantee at this point, much to his humiliation) that when a familiar, low voice speaks from over Wooyoung’s shoulder, he physically jumps.
“Uh, do you guys want some help?”
Wooyoung spins around and nearly bumps directly into Mingi’s broad chest. He’s spent centuries wrestling down and guiding damned souls to the underworld without blinking, hardened criminals and the lowest of low scum, but faced with Song Mingi and his big puppy-like eyes, Wooyoung lets out an undignified yelp.
“Um, hi,” Mingi says, blinking as if he were the one startled. “Sorry for sneaking up on you like that. You guys just looked like you were having a hard time over here, I was just wondering if you wanted some help? Or, uh, I’ll leave you alone if you want.”
The first thing Wooyoung thinks is, wow, he’s even more handsome up close. The second thing he thinks is, wait, what did he just say? The third thing he thinks is, oh shit, this is even better than anything we could’ve orchestrated. I’m a fucking genius.
“No!” Wooyoung blurts frantically before Mingi can step away, far too loud for the small shop. “I mean, not no. That would—uh, yes. Please help. We are really bad at these things, as you can see. And I don’t even want one of these ugly ass babydolls, but we’ve already fed this stupid machine so many coins, so, like, now I feel like we have to. Y’know?”
Yunho chortles when Wooyoung finally shuts his mouth, covering his grin with a hand. “How does this guy ramble even more than Mingi?” he whispers to Seonghwa.
Jongho snorts from beside Wooyoung, who elbows his trainee unsubtly. Gods above and below, kids are so disrespectful these days.
“Okay, cool!” Mingi focuses that bright, crescent-eyed smile directly at Wooyoung then, grin wide and gummy. It makes something latent and long abandoned flutter in the Guide’s chest, and he tries to tamp it down.
This is work, and he’s still allegedly an evil and damned soul, Wooyoung scolds himself. It’s hard to remember though when Mingi comes up behind him, large hand covering Wooyoung’s own as he guides the motions of the joystick. And explains the game mechanics. Directly into Wooyoung’s ear. Because that’s a normal thing you do with guys you’ve just met when you’re Song Mingi, apparently. Wooyoung feels absolutely nothing about this.
It takes a few attempts for Mingi’s advice (“Aim with the box above the claw, center it above the one you want, yes like that,” he says, also directly into Wooyoung’s ear in his alluring, deep voice) to properly reach Wooyoung’s melty, malfunctioning brain, but eventually, one of the abhorrent dolls lands in the prize box.
Wooyoung yells, probably louder than necessary, in triumph, shoving the ugly thing in Jongho’s face. “I told you I could do it! Sucks to suck, Jjongie.”
“You literally needed a random stranger to guide you through it four times, but let’s go with that,” Jongho says, deadpan. “What even are these things? They’re horrendous. We should give one to Hongjoong.”
Ignoring Jongho’s snark, Wooyoung nods, eyes alight at the prospect of Hongjoong’s disgusted reaction (which is pretty easy, when he scrunches his face up like that more often than not when talking to Wooyoung, for some reason). “You’re so right.” He then turns to Mingi with a grin. “Thank you so, so much! My boss is gonna hate this thing.”
“Um, you’re welcome, I think?” Mingi says, though it comes out more as a question. He looks so confused, lips in a pout, that Wooyoung wants to squish his cheeks and ruffle his hair. How the fuck can a guy on a damned souls list be so…endearing? It'‘s fucking with Wooyoung’s head more than he’d like.
“I like helping people though, it’s really not an issue,” Mingi continues, oblivious to Wooyoung’s inner turmoil (that, according to the Instagram, is kind of like what the kids call a gay panic). “My name is Mingi, by the way.”
Wooyoung may be taken by this man’s undeniable charm, but he’s not a novice, so instead of something stupid like I know, he says, “Well, thank you, Mingi. I’m Wooyoung.” And with a bright grin that borders on flirtatious he asks, “Can I thank you with some dessert or something? I hear there’s some good places around here for ice cream.”
“I’d love that,” Mingi says softly, cheeks tinged pink. That gummy smile makes a return, so wide and blinding that Wooyoung wants to march back to the underworld this very instant and demand Hongjoong tell him what the fuck this man did to get on the damned list. Or, well, after he gets ice cream at the place that he definitely doesn’t know is Mingi’s favorite in Hongdae (everything leads back to the Instagram, he’s found).
“Great! Let’s go, then,” Wooyoung beams. He glances to Jongho, Yunho, and the still-wary Guardians as an afterthought and adds, “Oh right. You guys can come too, if you want.”
As they leave the store, Jongho mutters low enough that only Wooyoung can hear, “This is going to be a long fucking assignment.”
Wooyoung elects to ignore it. There’s a strawberry sundae calling his name.
On the eighth day, Wooyoung learns that Mingi’s front teeth stick out a bit like a bunny—something that he feels self conscious about, looking genuinely surprised when Wooyoung says they’re cute.
On the twelfth day, Wooyoung learns that Mingi’s scared of heights and will hold onto Wooyoung and burrow into his side to hide—and doesn’t feel inclined to let go long after they’re back on the ground.
On the fifteenth day, Wooyoung learns that Mingi’s cooking is just as good as it looked from the window, especially when he lets Wooyoung help out—something that he apparently doesn’t let any of the other do.
On the eighteenth day, Wooyoung learns that he’s definitely feeling more than platonic friendship feelings towards Mingi—but if he’s not mistaken by the shy, too-long glances and casual touches Mingi has been stealing, it might not be unrequited.
The possible consequences feel irrelevant when that brilliant smile is pointed at him, though.
On the nineteenth day, Wooyoung comes to the conclusion that he’s most definitely losing his mind. And it’s all Song Mingi’s fault.
Because today, they’re going out for brunch. Just the two of them. No Jongho or Yunho or Seonghwa or San tagging along.
(Mingi hadn’t said it was a date when he invited Wooyoung, but he knows how to read between the lines.)
It’d been far too easy to slide his way into Mingi’s friend group, even given San and Seonghwa’s initial reluctance (and a really scary shovel talk on the seventh day, after Wooyoung had smacked a half-joking kiss on Mingi’s cheek). In this time, Wooyoung has found not one good reason to doom Mingi to eternal damnation but at least one hundred and seventeen reasons to have a massive crush on him.
And okay, maybe Wooyoung’s been a bit less focused on coming up with a solid damnation contract for Mingi and more focused on wooing him (pun fully intended, Mingi likes puns). But really, can you blame Wooyoung when Mingi’s like that? How someone could be around such a kind, caring, and incredible person as Mingi and not develop at least a bit of a crush on him is beyond Wooyoung.
Not Jongho, though, who, after watching Wooyoung shuffle through six different outfits (and asked frantically, each time, if it was too much), says, “Alright, that’s it, I’m calling Yeosang.”
Wooyoung looks up from the full length mirror, brows furrowed. “Not that I don’t love Sangie, but why? I’ve been handling this just fine without him!”
Jongho shoots him a flat look. “You’ve basically given up on even figuring out why Mingi’s been marked. You’re too busy making heart eyes and taking him on not-dates and turning everyone around you into a third wheel. And we both know that if anyone could get to the bottom of this, it’d be Yeosang. So I’m calling him. Simps don’t get opinions on this.”
There’s plenty Wooyoung could say about that, especially when it comes to Jongho and Yeosang, but he doesn’t have time to come up with a good quip before Jongho pulls out his underworld-issued phone (something Wooyoung still struggles to work beyond getting absorbed watching videos on the Instagram, if he’s being honest) and walks away.
Not an hour later, Yeosang strolls into the room, Jongho at his heels. They’re wearing matching expressions, because they’re freaky and in sync like that (which San and Seonghwa, beyond all their oddly silly antics, have been an eery mirror to).
Their coworkers are always surprised to learn that Wooyoung and Yeosang are self appointed best friends, with Yeosang’s professional, no nonsense demeanor and Wooyoung’s penchant for bending the rules until they snap. Wooyoung likes to chalk it up to the corporate trauma bonding, but they both know it goes beyond that. They have a soft spot for each other.
As expected, Yeosang’s stern, graceful mask cracks a bit when he catches sight of Wooyoung. “Oh, Woo,” he sighs, exasperated but fond. “Of course you’d get yourself into a mess like this.”
“Love you too, Sangie,” Wooyoung says with an over exaggerated pout. “So, are you gonna bail me out, or what?”
Yeosang sighs, exasperated but fond. “Just so we have all our bases covered, tell me your perspective. Start from the beginning.”
And so Wooyoung does, probably gushing a bit more than is necessary as he tells Yeosang about Mingi.
“He just seems too fucking nice!” he finishes off. “I’m not sure I’ve ever seen anyone less deserving of being marked for damnation than him, I don’t get it. It has to be a mistake, or something.”
“And this isn’t just the very obvious crush you have talking?” Yeosang checks, though not unkindly.
“Even I could see it,” Jongho pipes up. “Like, not to undermine Hongjoong or anything, but there surely has to have been a mistake here. I know I don’t have that much field experience yet, but something tells me that this guy…he doesn’t deserve eternal torment. We just have to figure out how to get Hongjoong to see that before the deadline comes.”
Yeosang is quiet for a few long moments, clearly thinking. Eventually he says, “You said there were Guardians with him, right?”
Wooyoung nods. “Two of them. Haven’t talked directly with them, except for a weirdly sweet threat about Mingi’s happiness? But they definitely knew what we were, Seonghwa did the freaky eye flash at me.”
“I think if you don’t want to involve Hongjoong right away, and maybe get some character references for when you have to, you should talk to them,” Yeosang says. “They’ve been around him longer, they might be able to give you information on what might’ve gotten his soul marked. Our powers aren’t too different.”
“You mean they’ve probably stalked him before, too,” Wooyoung corrects, snorting.
“That’s a good idea, actually,” Jongho says. “If we tell them why we’re here, surely they’d want to help out. From everything we’ve seen, they care about Mingi a lot, even if they’re not there for him specifically.”
Yeosang hums. “Why are there two Guardians hanging out with him, then? I’ve never heard of a Guardian, let alone two, spending so much time integrated in the mortal world.”
Thankfully, this is a question Wooyoung knows the answer to (because he’s nothing if not a nosy bitch, and asked Yunho almost immediately). Momentarily forgetting that Yeosang barely has context on Mingi, let alone his friends, Wooyoung simply says, “Because Yunho is Yunho. Now, since you’re here, which outfit should I wear for brunch?”
Yeosang gives him a flat look. “Do I really have to do everything around here myself? Okay then, I guess.”
Before Wooyoung can come up with a snarky retort, Yeosang morphs back into the shadows without another word. At the very least, Wooyoung receives a text from him a few moments later: wear the leather jacket and grey jeans. Wooyoung knew he could count on his best friend.
He pulls the outfit on, ignoring Jongho (“That’s literally the same thing I told you earlier, but whatever.”) in favor of examining himself in the mirror one last time. “I look hot,” he says, partially as a statement and partially to convince himself of the fact.
“And you’re going to be late if you don’t stop staring at the mirror,” Jongho adds, snorting. He’s absorbed with something on his phone, which is probably against work protocols, but so is going on a maybe-date with your mark, so Wooyoung is willing to let it slide.
Besides, Jongho is right. He and Mingi agreed to meet at 11:30 at the same cutesy cafe Wooyoung first saw him in (except this time, Wooyoung can actually try to delicious looking pastries) and the clock on his phone reads 11:28.
Hongjoong may not have invested in eye color changing magic, but at least Guides can teleport. Wooyoung scampers for the same shadow Yeosang left through, calling out a quick goodbye to Jongho as he goes.
Moments later, Wooyoung steps out of the shady alleyway beside the cafe, striding up to the doors with a confidence he doesn’t quite feel. Through the window, he can see Mingi seated at the same table as before, giving Wooyoung an odd sense of deja vu alongside his nerves.
It’s so strange, how human he feels when faced with Song Mingi. Wooyoung had never lost touch with his humanity, but eternity weighs on someone, pushes out more fleeting emotions like yearning and excitement for things so small as a strawberry parfait (which Mingi has sung the praises for thrice now, so obviously Wooyoung will be getting him one) and a latte that’s mostly sugar and milk.
“Hi,” he says when he reaches Mingi’s table, unsure what else to say, and fuck, why are his hands sweating right now?
Wooyoung can’t remember the last time he’d gone on a date, but surely he had more game than this (Yeosang would disagree, but his opinion is irrelevant) back when it was a common thing—because it was, thank you very much, Jongho.
Mingi smiles at him, a shy but bright thing that sends bats and butterflies and whatever the fuck else fluttering about in Wooyoung’s chest. “Hey,” he says. “I grabbed you one of the almond pastries I mentioned to you before, I thought you’d like it. If you want something else, though, just let me know. Or, like, if you’re allergic to almonds.”
Wooyoung’s cheeks ache with how wide his grin is. It shouldn’t be possible to like someone so fucking much. He thinks that even if Mingi were to prove himself worthy of being marked for eternal damnation and suffering right now and poisoned Wooyoung with a cat shaped almond pastry, he’d let him do it if it meant Mingi kept smiling like that.
“Thank you,” Wooyoung says before Mingi can start to backpedal, which Wooyoung can sense he’s getting ready to (since when can Wooyoung read him so fucking well?). “I’m sure I’ll love it.”
He’s right, of course (though even if he hated it, Wooyoung would eat the entire thing just to keep Mingi beaming like that). The almond pastry is fucking incredible, as is the strawberry parfait they share with a singular spoon like they’re in one of the cheesy western romcoms that Wooyoung pretends he doesn’t know Mingi watches as to not be accused of being a stalker. Though if he thinks about it too hard, that kind of is his job, isn’t it?
As if the universe wants to play a cosmic joke on Wooyoung, Mingi suddenly says, “Wait a minute, I don’t think I even know what you do for work.”
“Huh,” Wooyoung says, as though his heart isn’t falling out of his ass and back into the underworld right now, “I guess I haven’t. I’m uh, a contractor, I guess. Or like, a salesman?”
Nailed it, he thinks.
Mingi giggles. “Why do you sound so unsure about that? What do you contract for?”
Nevermind.
Wooyoung waves vaguely, shoving another piece of pastry into his mouth to buy time to bullshit. “It’s hard to explain,” he says, shoveling another piece into his mouth (he can’t help it, he really does love this almond pastry, okay?). “I, like, get people to sign contracts with my boss.”
“Hongjoong, right?” Mingi says. “Jongho mentioned him, once.”
Wooyoung nods. “Yeah, Hongjoong. He’s a weird guy, honestly. Looks like a little art student, some people don’t even believe that he’s the ruler of the under—the company. Yeah.”
Thankfully, Mingi seems not to read into the slip up, nodding along enthusiastically instead. “Seonghwa is kind of like that, yeah. He’s never told us what he and San do other than being nepo babies or something for some fancy company, but I guess they’re important enough to just be hanging out with me and Yunho all the time without getting fired.”
Because that’s their actual job, Wooyoung thinks to himself.
Guardians really do have it easier than the Guide department, he laments. They don’t have to figure out soul binding contracts, instead they just hang out with their assignment and make sure they don’t die because they got stuck in a compactor because they thought it’d be funny to take photos for the Instagram in there (which Mingi has informed Wooyoung that Yunho has done not once but twice). There’s probably more to it than that, sure, but it still sounds far more appealing than being a Guide. Maybe he should apply for a transfer (and then can make his eyes glow, too).
Thankfully, the conversation moves away from the topic of Wooyoung’s work after that. Wooyoung asks about the strange clients Mingi gets commissions from and Mingi asks about the odd coworker dynamic between Wooyoung and Jongho. Wooyoung tells Mingi about the way Jongho and Yeosang never fail to embarrass themselves in front of each other and in return Mingi recounts the way Seonghwa’s composed, graceful manner always crumbles in the face of San’s big, pleading eyes.
All in all, Wooyoung enjoys himself. It’s a good first date, not that he has any recollection of any previous ones. He’s almost able to forget about the looming deadline over his head, the way that somehow, someway he’s supposed to doom this beautiful, silly boy to eternal damnation in the next three days.
Almost.
As he’s walking Mingi back home from the cafe, they encounter a young girl crying on the sidewalk. Wooyoung hangs back as Mingi comes up and comforts her, trails behind them as he holds her small hand and helps her look for her parents, who she’d lost in the outdoor shopping center they’re still in, and feels his heart ache as Mingi bashfully waves off the girl’s relieved parents.
Mingi is just so, so good. And the more time they spend together, the more inadequate Wooyoung feels to be basking in that light. He’s a bit more subdued after that—though not before teasing Mingi about being too perfect, if only for the way it makes the man blush and duck his head.
When the door to Mingi’s apartment complex comes into view, Wooyoung suddenly stops and blurts out, “What would you do if I was, like, I dunno, doing something for work that was…not very orthodox and kind of controversial? Would you look at me differently?”
Mingi blinks, long and slow. “Um, are you coming out to me as a mafia?”
Wooyoung shakes his head, though technically the parallel does work (and with the way Hongjoong dresses sometimes, he could absolutely play a mafia leader in a crime drama). “No, definitely not! It’s just, hypothetically would it change the way you looked at me?”
Mingi hums, silently considering the question, because of course he does. Thoughtful, inquisitive Mingi who Wooyoung knows deep in his soul does not deserve the path of damnation and always takes everything seriously, like it’s worthy of thinking about.
“Well, a change of circumstances and context always changes the way you view something,” Mingi says after a long moment. “There’s no way not to. But I think part of that is also just trying to understand and adjust to the new context, so it’s not necessarily a bad thing in general, is it?”
“Okay, but what if it could be seen as kind of…bad. And not always deserved. What then?”
Mingi snorts. “Now I’m really starting to think you’re in the mafia or something. But I think I would mostly just try to understand. I wouldn’t immediately write you off even if you were hypothetically in the mafia, because everything someone does has a reason, even becoming a killer or whatever.”
“And if it was a bit more…outlandish than that?” Wooyoung hedges. Hope and anxiety swirl in the pit of his stomach, and he pushes them down along with the voice whispering to come clean. “Something people might not even believe in.”
“Same thing applies,” Mingi says, shrugging. “You know, you don’t have to try to scare me off, or whatever this is by being cryptic and existential about being not-in-the-mafia, allegedly. If it wasn’t clear, I like you, Wooyoung, even if you’re kind of weird and mysterious. I want to spend my time with you, and I really hope you want to spend time with me, too.”
And oh shit, when the fuck did he get so close? Wooyoung’s heartbeat kicks back up enough to be worried about his mortal form if he weren’t distracted by Mingi’s hand suddenly on his cheek. Mingi’s hands are soft despite the hours he spends holding a paintbrush, absolutely dwarfing Wooyoung’s face (yaoi hands, his mind helpfully recalls from the Instagram. Wooyoung has no clue what a yaoi is, he’ll have to ask).
“Oh,” Wooyoung says, at a loss for words for perhaps the second time in his entire afterlife. “Um, yeah. Yes. Yes to all of that, I do. I absolutely do.”
Mingi smiles, eyes creasing at the edges as he leans in even closer. “Good,” he says. “Can I kiss you now?”
Wooyoung simply nods this time, and not a moment later, Mingi’s soft, plush lips are on his own. An entity working for the underworld has no reason to speculate or consider the ideas of heaven and hell often spoken about in the mortal realm (if they are real, it’s in a parallel existence to the afterlife he serves) but Wooyoung figures this must be what it feels like as he melts into Mingi’s warm embrace.
The street around them is still sparsely populated by dog walkers and office workers, but the two of them pay it no mind, caught in their own bubble. Wooyoung has never felt so fond, so content in his entire memory. It’s almost overwhelming, like his emotion will seep out of him like mortal blood, flooding the streets with proof of how much Mingi is making him feel in this moment.
Minutes or moments later, they pull away from each other just a breath. Nosing at Wooyoung’s cheek, Mingi asks shyly, “Would you like to come upstairs?”
Wooyoung nods without hesitation, because really, who is he to say no to such an offer? He lets Mingi intertwine their hands and properly enter the building, not letting go even as they step into the elevator. Wooyoung lets himself admire Mingi’s side profile, his sharp cheekbones and kiss-swollen lips. He’s beautiful, he always is, but never more than right now.
“What?” Mingi asks when he catches Wooyoung staring (not that he was trying to hide it in the slightest).
“You’re just so…radiant,” Wooyoung answers honestly. “And I really like you.”
I wish I had more time with you.
The faint blush on Mingi’s cheeks grow stronger, and he buries his face in the sleeves of his hoodie. It’s such a contrast to the somewhat sharp and intimidating figure he’d cut when Wooyoung first saw him, but that only makes him feel even fonder. How lucky he is to have been able to know Mingi.
“Oh my god, you can’t just say that!” Mingi wails, peeking out from between his fingers at Wooyoung.
“Too bad, I just did,” Wooyoung sing-songs. “Now c’mon, I’m pretty sure you have to actually push a button to make the elevator move.”
“Oh right,” Mingi says, face flushing now with embarassment as well. “Oops.”
He’s so fucking endearing that Wooyoung wants to gnaw on his squishy cheek. Or kiss him silly again. Maybe both. For now, he compromises by planting a loud, wet kiss on Mingi’s cheek, right over one of his moles (and relishes the way it seems to make Mingi’s brain buffer, biting back a smirk when he pulls back).
When they reach Mingi’s apartment door, hands still intertwined, Mingi regains his confidence and pulls Wooyoung into a proper kiss, pressing their bodies together against the door. The mirth flees Wooyoung, replaced by a jittery, persistent wanting as Mingi crowds him against the metal door and licks into his mouth with intention.
Wooyoung gasps against him, one of his hands falling to Mingi’s narrow waist as the other cards through his dark hair. He bites at Mingi’s lip again, swallowing the keening whine that the action elicits. Mingi’s crotch presses against his own, hot and hard through his jeans, and this time it’s Wooyoung’s turn to whine as he chases after the brief friction.
Every nerve ending feels like it’s electrified, a circuit lighting up underneath Mingi’s touch, and Wooyoung needs more.
Feeling a bit reckless (and a lot bit horny) Wooyoung snakes a hand behind him and reaches for the door, calling upon familiar magic. His eyes may not glow different colors on command, but Guides have one thing that Guardians do not—the gift of magical breaking and entering.
Mingi doesn’t question it when they stumble through the newly unlocked door, focused on latching onto Wooyoung’s neck teeth first. The sensation is unfamiliar as it is addicting, and Wooyoung resumes his groping in encouragement. Mingi’s ass is one of the best Wooyoung has ever seen, he’s known that for the past nineteen days, but it’s even better to touch.
Somehow, they get past the doorway and against the corridor leading into Mingi’s apartment, their breathing grows ragged and hands more insistent. They’re both too caught in the moment to realize that the light in the sitting area is already on, eyes focused only on each other, so Wooyoung nearly dies (for the second time? He’s still not sure, honestly) when a voice that’s not one of their own speaks.
“Is this how you usually go about negotiations? I have to say, it’s a bit unusual, even by my standards.”
Wooyoung jumps back so quickly his thumb gets stuck inside the back pocket of Mingi’s jeans for a moment. “Fuck!” he exclaims, spinning to see his boss lounging on Mingi’s couch like he owns the place.
A moment later he registers that Hongjoong isn’t alone. Yeosang and Jongho are sat on the other side of the couch, with San and Seonghwa sharing the loveseat next to it. Yunho is also there, though that’s less surprising seeing as he practically lives here (mostly thanks to Mingi’s large flat screen TV and PlayStation). All six of them are staring at Wooyoung and Mingi, with expressions ranging from vague curiosity to overly dramatic disgust.
Slowly, reluctantly, Wooyoung removes his hand from Mingi’s ass entirely. It seems that when Yeosang lamented about doing everything himself, he actually meant it this time—in the form of going and snitching to Hongjoong himself.
Traitor, Wooyoung mouths to Yeosang and Jongho, who merely shrug. Turning to Hongjoong he says, “Uh, hi there, boss. Not that it’s not great to see you, but what are you doing here, exactly? All of you, actually.”
“Wooyoung,” Hongjoong says, now that he has Wooyoung’s full attention. “I was wondering why it’d been so long since you last darkened my doorstep, but it seems that there was a clerical error that set your timeline to twenty one days instead of twelve.”
“If you didn’t write the details of everything on a sticky note, that could have been avoided,” Seonghwa demurely cuts in, raising a manicured brow at Hongjoong. Huh, Wooyoung didn’t realize they knew each other that well.
Instead of getting his head chopped off or his metaphorical wings torn as Wooyoung might’ve suspected (sometimes, Hongjoong can be a bit of a diva), Hongjoong simply rolls his eyes.
“Not the point,” he says. “Anyway, I was half convinced that you and Jongho were out playing, what is it they say, hockey?”
“I believe it’s hokey,” San pipes up.
“I thought it was hackey,” Yeosang says, tilting his head in confusion.
“Hooky,” Seonghwa and Jongho say at the same time. Yunho snorts, trying to play it off as a cough, but Wooyoung can feel Mingi laughing as well, despite his probable confusion. Goddamn, there’s going to be a lot of explaining to do, he is not getting his mortal dick wet anytime soon.
“Yes, that,” Hongjoong says. “Anyway, you didn’t report back last week but I was willing to give you the leave, assuming you were just being dramatic again about vacation hours and staging a protest. So imagine my surprise when Yeosang shows up in my office telling me I’ve mistakenly marked someone and that he doubts you can complete the mission before your set deadline, if at all because you are, as the kids say, whipped for the supposed mark.”
Wooyoung flips Yeosang off at this, the two exchanging faces at each other until Mingi finally says, dorkily with wide, shining eyes, “Aw, really?”
“Well, I mean yeah,” Wooyoung says, embarrassed. “I thought it was obvious.”
“It was,” Jongho interrupts. The others nod along in agreement, and if it didn’t mean moving away from Mingi, he’d kick every single one of their asses, coworkers (and boss, and one random human) or not.
“Anyways,” Hongjoong says pointedly. “I had one of my secretaries look into it and it seems that it was, according to San and Seonghwa, a misunderstanding on my part.” He turns to Mingi, dipping his head in a slight bad. “So, sorry for briefly marking your soul for eternal damnation. My bad.”
Mingi blinks.
“Um. Thanks, I think,” is all he says, and Wooyoung doesn’t blame him. He turns to Wooyoung then, an adorable furrow between his brows. “So, I’m kinda confused. Are you, like, actually mafia, or..?”
San chortles. “Is that what you told him? That we’re all mafia?”
“What? No! I didn’t tell him anything, it was—hold on, I don’t need to explain anything to you. I don’t even know you,” Wooyoung says, flipping off San this time with a huff. San gives him a bright, cherubic grin.
“Um,” Mingi says again. “Does this mean you were all in on this, or…”
Yunho shakes his head. “Not me. I just wanted to play Amazing Spider Man and Seonghwa and San’s boss showed up and said they were waiting for you. I wanted to be included.”
“We work with the fates of afterlife,” Yeosang supplies at Mingi’s blank stare. “San and Seonghwa are Soul Guardians, so they ensure people who might need it stick to the right path—usually, as in Yunho’s case, just not dying—and Wooyoung and Jongho are Soul Guides, so they solidify where people go. Mostly shitty people, hence the eternal damnation.”
“Wait, what do you do, then?” Yunho wonders aloud.
Yeosang grins, bright and slightly insidious (at least to Wooyoung). “Stuff and things.”
“Right. Okay,” Mingi says slowly, clearly trying to process. From what Wooyoung can tell, it’s probably going well, seeing as he’s not screaming or running away. “And I’m on that eternal damnation list because…”
“Because Hongjoong’s basically the king of hell and you pissed him off personally,” Jongho says, far too casually.
This gets Mingi to yelp, leaping back from Hongjoong. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Er, I mean the underworld, or whatever,” Jongho corrects. “Sorry, I’m still in training.”
“Trust me, I’m freaked out by that too,” Mingi says, bewildered, “but I meant the other thing. What did I do to piss him off?”
Wooyoung turns to Hongjoong as well, not having been privy to this information himself. Hongjoong can be a dramatic diva, but he’s not usually one for long-standing personal grudges that end in something so dire as marking a soul.
For the first time, Hongjoong actually looks a bit sheepish. He meets Wooyoung’s eye. “So, remember that thing you told me about a few months ago from the Tweeter?”
“Fucking hell, not you too,” Jongho mutters under his breath.
Wooyoung, ignoring his trainee, nods. “The apparently evil dolls everyone had, yes. What about it? Did you figure it out?”
Hongjoong nods. “I had Minjae from the secretarial team scope it out for me, you know I’m horrible at those internet things. And he found the name of them and said that everyone was claiming that there’s one special one that everyone was talking about. The only one of its kind, one that has mortals in a rapture.
“He said he’d fetch it for me,” Hongjoong says, leaning back against the couch cushion (it makes him look like a cozy little cat, Wooyoung resists saying). “So he went to an arcade with those reaping machines with the metal claws, apparently the website said they just got these, ah, la-bew-boo creatures? To go fetch it for me.”
“Wait a fucking minute,” Yunho says, disbelief and suspicion in his voice, but Seonghwa shushes him. Wooyoung’s not sure if Yunho’s about to laugh or cry, but he’s far too invested to figure it out quite yet.
Hongjoong’s eyes turn stormy then, glancing sidelong at Mingi before returning to Wooyoung. “Minjae says the moment he arrived at the machine, there was already someone there. One Song Mingi and a friend. To the entire store, including my secretary, he proclaimed, I have the one and only twenty four karat gold la-bew-boo.”
Beside Wooyoung, Mingi makes a choking sound, one mirrored by Yunho. Oblivious, Hongjoong continues, “Of course, we were both miffed by this, assuming it was directed at Minjae as a personal insult to me. So, I decided to mark him for eternal damnation without second thought.”
There’s a long, heavy silence, and then Yunho bursts out laughing. He keels over into Seonghwa’s side, his entire body shaking with the force of it. “Um, Hongjoong-ssi, was it? That’s um…that’s a meme. There’s no such thing as a twenty four karat Labubu. We were just messing around.”
“Which is what San informed me of when Yeosang brought this to my attention,” Hongjoong says, nodding. “So I will admit it was an error on my part. I’m still not quite sure what a meme is, but I apologize for marking you because of your, ah, meme-ing about your la-bew-boo in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
He turns his focus back to Wooyoung once Mingi chokes out a small thanks. “Wooyoung, you may consider the assignment nullified. I’d apologize for wasting your time, but it seems you benefited from it, regardless.”
“Aside from the corporate cockblock,” Wooyoung counters, rolling his eyes. He sticks his tongue out for good measure, scrunching his nose.
Mingi looks between the two of them (and misses the way Hongjoong sticks his own tongue out in return). “Uh,” he whispers to Wooyoung, “not that I don’t agree, but isn’t that your boss?”
“None of these fools have any regard for formality or respect,” Hongjoong dismisses. “There’s far too much to deal with in the underworld to terminate them, though.”
Wooyoung glances at Jongho and is suddenly struck by an idea. He grins, reaching into his discarded jacket. “Aw, c’mon, you wouldn’t want to do that to me, anyway.”
“And why, exactly, is that?” Hongjoong asks, arching an eyebrow.
“Because,” Wooyoung says, grabbing the figurine still in his pocket and brandishing it like a prize. “Me and Jjongie got you your very own twenty four karat la-bew-boo!”
He tosses it to Hongjoong, who catches the doll with ease. Pressing his lips together, Hongjoong turns it this way and that, as if he’s an art appraiser at auction.
“We didn’t even cheat to get it,” Jongho pipes up, proud. “We worked hard to get it, literally just for you.”
“It’s true, I watched them struggle for it several times,” Mingi says. “I gave them a hand, though.”
Hongjoong nods slowly. “I see. I guess I’ll keep you around, then. Any other requests, since it seems you have so many?”
“Two, actually,” Wooyoung says. “One: can Guides get the glowing eyes thing too? It seems kinda unfair that Guardians can do it but not us,” he counts off on his hand. With the other, he pulls Mingi in by the waist again, grinning like the cat that got the cream. “And two: all of you, get the fuck out. I’ve got a date to finish.”
He turns to Mingi as the others grumble their ascent and quickly flee (some quicker than others, as Yunho doesn’t have any gift for teleportation) and grins.
“Now,” he says, sliding one hand down to palm at Mingi’s ass. “Where were we?”
