Chapter Text
“Doors!” San yelled, hoping the person in the elevator would hear him in time to stop the ride. As he made even with the closing elevator he saw why the person inside had opted not to keep them open: the rider was none other than Song Mingi.
Who was Song Mingi?
His mortal enemy of three and half years.
And also his firm partner.
Yes. Welcome to his personal hell.
Mingi’s bitter smirk was the last thing he saw as the doors closed on his suited form.
He often gave an annoying, lopsided grin that made San’s nerves blaze. San, in turn, had dimples that often made men and women flustered. Mingi’s rich chocolate locks matched his narrow boba eyes. The cut was a bit longer than San’s jet black hair, framing Mingi’s face. Both men had expressive brows, sometimes sparing with eye (and finger) gestures with no need for words.
Mingi was taller than San by a few inches, but still tended to wear thick souled shoes. Like today, he often opted to wear pinstripe suits to play on the illusion of being even taller. San never minded. His shoulder span was so wide that he had trouble finding suits to fit him. He often paid for custom Dolce & Gabbana outfits that would hug everything, even his trim waist, perfectly.
Part of being a good lawyer was looking the part.
Per their boss, they wore basic colors, never opting to dress too boldly. After all it was supposed to be words that mattered in court, and not the defense’s sex appeal. (But whatever truly worked, right?). San couldn’t recall a day when either man showed up less than perfect.
The only thing not perfect?
Attitude.
Mingi constantly spit vitriol San’s way and San gave as good as he got. He often thought of looking for a new firm, but stayed for two reasons. One, he was paid a decidedly handsome sum for as little experience as he had under his belt. Two, why should be the one to leave when Mingi could just fuck off?
Taking the stairs three at a time, San ensured he would beat Mingi to the office. His thick, black brief case constantly smacked him in the leg, heavy and overly full of documents of their current litigation.
But he would be damned if he was beat.
He arrived at the office doors thirty six seconds before Mingi could step off the elevator. That was all the time San needed to grab a coffee mug and turn on the Nespresso in their break room. He leaned against the counter, waiting for his erratic heart rate to calm.
His honey roasted coffee had just finished steeping when Mingi stepped in the small space, noticing the coffee mug in San’s hand.
“What the fuck have I said about using my mug?” Mingi snapped, eyeing the bright yellow cup covered in small ducks. His face turned an alarming shade of magenta. San took a sip of his coffee, ducking past Mingi to head to his desk.
“Yesterday was your day to do the dishes,” San reminded him, taking a seat at his desk. “It’s hardly my fault you didn’t bother to wash anything but the duck mug, princess.”
Mingi fumed from the doorway, his hands balled into tight fists.
“Give me my damn mug!” he shouted, striding across the room. San pulled the mug safely towards himself. Eyes on Mingi’s narrow slits, he took an obnoxiously loud slurp of the liquid.
“I said, give me the god damned mug!” Mingi reached for a stapler, intent on throwing it at San’s face. It wouldn’t be the first object he had launched in San’s direction during their career.
As Mingi pulled his arm back, their boss’s office door flew open.
“I was on the phone with a client,” he hissed through his teeth, stepping out into the main room. San cocked an eyebrow at the fuming Mingi, who sat the stapler back on San’s desk, making sure it was askew. Using a single finger, San straightened it, taking another noisy slurp of coffee.
His boss, Thomas Coleman, eyed the pair. “What the fuck is wrong with you two? I don’t recall hiring toddlers!”
“Mingi is pissy that he’s on dish duty,” San announced, the mug visible in his tan hand. His boss eyeballed the cup and let out a long, exasperated sigh. He ran a hand over his wrinkle lined face.
“I already have a dog at home that stalemates me into not being able to take a piss. I have to shut the small thing out for a moment’s peace,” Thomas enlightened them, his eyes on the ceiling. “I won’t have you two nagging each other like a divorced couple. Figure it out or I will!”
“Or I will” would be San’s downfall.
Thomas’s necessary involvement came shortly after lunch. The pair had returned from their separate dining experiences to their phones ringing. San raced to answer his phone as Mingi did his. Mingi reached the line first.
“Coleman & Grace, this is Mingi speaking. Oh hello, Mr. Caldwell,” Mingi’s sing-song voice carried across the room. He was smirking directly at San. San made grabby hands at the phone. “No, San isn’t available right now. I am so sor–.”
“Transfer the line!” San hissed, his phone cradle in hand. “Fucking transfer it.”
San realized Mingi had done just that when a cough was heard through his phone speaker. “Mr. Caldwell!”
“Such language, Mr. Choi. I had hoped for better from my counsel,” there was a brief pause and San held his breath. “I was calling to confirm our date in court for my secretary.”
San didn’t need to pull up information on the case on his computer. He had everything memorized. Including the better part of the five hundred page deposition.
“My apologies, Mr. Caldwell. We’re still set for August 16th at 9am, sir,” San confirmed. Mr. Caldwell rattled the information off to his assistant.
“Now be a good lad and transfer me to Director Coleman, would you?”
San transferred him to Thomas’s line without hesitation, though he suspected it would be to his detriment. He could feel his cheeks burning as his blood pressure began to rise. His eyes narrowed onto Mingi’s dark brown head.
“I have been working on this case for seven months,” he barked out, causing Mingi to peer over his monitor. His eyes creased in amusement. “If you cost me so much as a penny of this, I really will kill you.”
Mingi let out a hearty yet sarcastic laugh. The call must have been a short one, as Thomas’s office door flung open once again. He stomped into the main room, the prominent vein in his forehead pounding. Mingi cut off at his boss’s rageful stare.
“Enough,” he snapped, slamming his office door shut. “I just got an earful about unprofessionalism from Mr. Caldwell.”
“I’m so sorry,” San started, feeling the blood drain from his face. Thomas held up a hand to stop him.
“There have been multiple complaints about both of you. I don’t know what has gotten into either of you, but if you don’t do scheduled counseling, I will be forced to fire you.”
Mingi smirked over his monitor at San. Thomas caught him and glared.
“Both of you.”
Mingi paled as well, his eyes back on San. If looks could kill, Mingi would have fallen over on the spot.
Their trivial fighting had finally caused carnage. And now they would have to pay.
*
“COUPLE’S COUNSELING?” Mingi shrieked at his cell phone, having received the calendar invite from his boss. It was scheduled for their upcoming extended holiday weekend. “You have got to be shitting me!”
Mingi shrieked again as he saw San accept the proposed calendar invite.
“That little shit thinks he can beat me!” he huffed, opening his phone apps. He woefully cleared his plans with his mom and accepted the calendar invite from his boss. “Over my cold dead body, Choi San.”
*
San’s eyebrows raised when his phone chimed, alerting him that SONG MINGI had also accepted the counseling proposal. His boss had literally picked a couple’s counseling resort in Maui, some half a world away from him, to fix their problems.
“He actually agreed to play house,” San called out to his roommate, who had been brought up to speed on the day’s events.
“That’s a good thing, right?” Wooyoung asked, dropping onto the couch next to San. He grabbed an Xbox controller to join San’s gaming. “Means the job is important to him. Maybe he will drop the bullshit.”
“Guess we’ll see,” San sighed, letting Wooyoung pick Yoshi for their race.
What rift there was between him and Mingi couldn’t possibly be fixed over three days.
Could it?
*
San arrived at the airport bright and early. Caffeine in one hand, and a duffle bag in another, he headed for his gate. He gave the young woman checking him in a bright smile as she stumbled over his information. He certainly had a way with the ladies. Too bad it was the same sex that peaked his interest and often posed a problem.
Mingi’s duffle back smacked into San’s knees, causing him to stumble into the weighing kiosk. He gave the young woman checking him in a small smile as he kicked the duffle bag behind him. He nearly swore at the weight of it.
Had Mingi packed fucking bricks?
San grabbed his coffee and stepped over to security, as Mingi checked in. The guards quickly scanned him and his bag. Finding no problems, he was buzzed through.
Mingi and his bag, however, continually set off alarms. San doubled back to security to assess the problem. His coworker wore numerous metal chains around his neck, a thick metal studded belt, and metal crusted shoes. Had he never flown before?
His bag was flagged and meticulously dissected. San watched with passing interest. Mingi hadn’t packed bricks, just his entire apartment.
“Is there anything you left at home?” San snapped and took a drink of his coffee. Mingi rolled his eyes, grabbing his neck pillow from the conveyor belt.
“Maybe one of my sinks,” he answered, as though actually thinking about it. “Though I have so many it’s hard to tell.”
San rolled his eyes. Of course Mingi would try to make himself sound rich just because San dressed for comfort. There was nothing wrong with grey joggers, a form fitting black shirt, slip on tennis shoes, a watch and a single ring. If anything it made the airport’s job more efficient.
Wearily, San walked away, leaving Mingi to be thoroughly searched. Apparently his glib attitude had him ordered a mandatory full body search. And there were metal pieces he wouldn’t account for near his groin. Or at least that’s what San assumed he said when he whispered to the TSA agent.
Mingi arrived at their flight gate, some thirty minutes later, disheveled and obviously pissed. “Couldn’t have taken longer if they tried.”
“Don’t worry,” San countered, a new coffee cup in hand. He had picked up some food for the flight, just in case the on board food was shit. “I would have let them leave without you.”
Mingi glared, taking a seat across from him. “Then we both would be fired, dumbass.”
“Not if I’m the one on the plane, dumbass,” San emphasized. He scanned over his ticket as the flavor of hot, milky hazelnut graced his throat. At least his boss had been generous enough to buy them first class seating, considering their flight would be roughly ten hours in duration.
Travel partner aside, San was a little bit excited. He had never been to Hawaii before. If nothing else, he could ignore Mingi and explore the islands for three solid days. Now that sounded like a good way to spend a holiday weekend.
San let out a happy sigh and checked their tracking board. Their plane was on time and should arrive in twenty minutes.
He glanced over at the tall oaf across from him. Mingi wore glasses, something he never wore in the office. They didn’t have false lenses, either. His travel pillow was already secure around his neck, like they didn’t have actual lounge seats to sit in. He popped a handful of pills and his eyes met San’s.
“What, ya fuck?”
San raised an eyebrow at him. “Tell me you aren’t dropping ‘shrooms before a ten hour flight.”
“Anxiety and sleeping meds,” he answered, shaking his head. “So I can sleep and not vomit at the sight of your face for half a day.”
San rolled his eyes again, and took another swig of coffee. So Mingi was afraid of flying. He stowed that information away, in case he needed inflight entertainment for free.
*
Boarding took nearly an hour as the flight to Maui was completely booked. Both men took their time spreading their things out as other passengers eased past their cubicles.
“Seriously, how much shit did you bring?” San asked, eyeing Mingi’s completely outfitted area.
“Fuck you. I believe in being comfortable," Mingi retorted, noting the sparse side that was San’s.
“Well it does look like you did forget the kitchen sink,” San bitterly countered, before putting on his noise cancelling headphones. The responding hand gesture from his co-worker didn’t have a volume requirement.
As he got comfortable, he suddenly felt a tap to his shoulder.
“What?” he snapped.
“Do me a favor,” Mingi asked before yawning. “Wake me up when they come around to order, so I don’t get the fish.”
Yeah. Like that was going to happen.
*
Mingi fell asleep before take off, while San dozed off during a movie. The heat of the sun on his window and the cushy seat itself, made him feel like pudding left in a window sill. He sighed contentedly, the movie’s credit’s rousing him. A stewardess stopped by, noticing he was awake.
“Will you be having the chicken or the fish?” she asked, holding onto an ordering pad.
“Chicken.”
The attendant tried to rouse Mingi, but he wouldn’t budge. San saw the opportunity and took it.
“Oh, he loves the fish,” he said, making sure the lunch option for Mingi was notated. He let out a small cackle as the stewardess continued with her orders.
He knew, for a fact, that Mingi despised in-flight salmon. Or any kind of salmon.
Satisfied, he folded his arms across his chest, and let the next movie in cue begin.
*
San roused again around lunch to Mingi arguing with the stewardess.
“I didn’t order the fish!” he was trying to calmly explain, but was clearly overly animated about the subject. San smiled to himself, his unopened packet of chicken steaming before him.
“Your partner swore you would want the fish,” she contested, pushing the fish platter toward Mingi. He shoved it back.
“I don’t have a partner!” Mingi’s voice rose, his face reddening.
“Look,” she snapped. “Do I come to your job and give you grief?”
“No,” Mingi replied, sheepishly. “But that fucker does.”
San side eyed him and found Mingi pointing at him. Het out a loud chuckle.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Did I misorder for you, jagiya?” he asked, playfully batting his eyelashes. The stewardess let out an irritated sigh.
“I’ll see about getting you crackers,” she said, before continuing on with her food trays.
San pilfered through his carry on and pulled out a small container of kimchi. Mingi was still bitching under his breath when the container landed in his lap. San had tossed it over before giving himself much time to reconsider.
“A peace offering,” San shrugged, pulling another kimchi from his bag. He handed Mingi a set of chopsticks. “I know how irritable you get when your blood sugar drops.”
Mingi flushed and accepted the chop sticks.
“Thanks.”
San watched as Mingi set the food aside and drew up the right amount of insulin into a syringe. Holding the hem of his shirt in his mouth, he found a small patch of fat and injected himself. He grimaced as the insulin burned into his muscle.
“You need to teach me about that, one day,” San said around a mouthful of kimchi. “So I know what to do, if there’s ever an emergency at the office.”
“Like you would save my life,” Mingi snorted, capping the insulin needle. He dropped it into his bag, along with his other diabetic supplies.
“ ‘m serious,” San retorted, taking another bite. “I want to be the one that kills you. Not your stupid pancreas.”
Mingi let out a genuine laugh. “Then I will train you when we land.”
“Just a thought,” San shrugged again while opening his chicken. Using the now empty kimchi bowl, he halved the chicken breast. He stood and leaned over, handing it to Mingi. “For you, princess.”
“Fuck you,” Mingi bit, but took the meat. He happily tore into it. The stewardess returned a few minutes later.
“We had an extra chicken,” she huffed, handing the platter to Mingi. He took it and apologized for his behavior. San offered an apology as well.
“Whatever. Just stay out of my hair, alright?” She disappeared before either man could answer.
*
After the fifth movie, San got up to take a piss. Returning from the bathroom, he noticed Mingi lying at an awkward angle, his neck pillow having slipped. San muttered to himself and leaned down. He carefully adjusted the pillow back under Mingi’s neck, ensuring he wouldn’t get a crick. He didn’t need him being bitchier than he already was on the daily. Mingi mumbled in his sleep, burrowing into the cushion. San fought not to smile to himself.
“How sweet!” the woman across from him cooed. San coughed and took his seat. He had been staring at Mingi for far too long. Long enough to memorize moles and freckles in places he had never noticed before.
How little did he know about the man he had worked with for four years?
He had just gotten comfortable when the airplane jarred. Mingi’s things scattered as his bag fell over. The overhead “Seatbelt On” sign flashed. San noticed that Mingi didn’t stir. With a swear, he stood, and buckled Mingi into place.
The stewardess yelled at him from down the cabin way when she caught what he was doing. The plane bumped again, hitting more turbulence. She caught up to San right as he took his seat.
“Buckle in, everyone,” she announced to the first class cabin. “We’re hitting a few storms and will be experiencing some turbulence!”
Mingi stirred as he plane took a particularly harsh hit. On the fourth violent bounce, his eyes met San’s. He was terrified.
“It’s just storms,” San called over, trying to calm him. The idea of toying with his fear left an oddly sour taste in San’s mouth. Mingi nodded, trying to act as if he wasn’t freaking out. He saw his bag strewn across the cabin floor.
Unbuckling, he reached for his supplies and began shoving them into his bag. He had just zipped it shut when turbulence sent him flying upward. His head hit the plane’s ceiling with a sickening thud.
The stewardess and San both swore and unbuckled. San reached Mingi first. Blood began pouring from a cut above his left eyebrow. San pulled his shirt off and rolled it into a ball. He carefully applied pressure, holding the back of Mingi’s head. Mingi took hold of the shirt.
“Thanks,” he muttered, his eyes on San’s fit chest. “But you will be next if you don’t buckle back up.”
The stewardess rounded the corner with a pack of ice. She noticed the shirt Mingi held, as well as San’s nudity. She gasped and San blushed. He reached into his carry on, and grabbed a white shirt. He quickly shrugged it on. It fit as the black shirt had, leaving little to the imagination.
San rolled his eyes as she walked away, muttering something about a Greek God statue. Yes, he loved to work out. But it was more for health and stress relief than a desire to be, well, desirable. His key reason for stress relief sat across from him, using his shirt as a bandage.
“I bet people just throw themselves at you,” Mingi’s laugh was harsh as he pulled the shirt from his head to wrap it around the ice pack.
San raised his wide shoulders minutely. “Keep pressure on that, moron.”
“So you can be the one to kill me, I know.” Mingi’s toothy smile seeemed genuine for a change. San averted his gaze and returned to his movie, trying to ignore the frequently shaking plane. He would never let Mingi know how much it affected him as well.
Both the bumpy ride and Mingi’s bleeding ceased roughly fifteen minutes later. Mingi shoved the soiled shirt down into his carry on as he packed the rest of things, with landing imminent. San watched as he managed to stuff the last item into the bag, his tongue poking out from between his teeth.
He eyed the damage to Mingi’s eyebrow.
“Doesn’t look like it will leave a scar,” he said, as the stewardess made her way over with a first aid kit. She applied a thin strip of iodine to sterilize the cut before placing three sterile strips over the site. Mingi flinched but thanked her.
“No, it shouldn’t scar, but still keep it clean,” she ordered, handing Mingi a piece of paper. “Fill out this incident report when we land, would you? You will need to submit it to your employer in case you have to visit the hospital.”
Mingi nodded, looking for somewhere he could safely stow the information. San reached a hand out for it.
“I’ve got space,” he said, like it was a simple matter. Mingi reluctantly handed the paper over.
Being in first class, the pair were some of the first people to depart the plane. A cool ocean breeze swept their faces in the small gap between the airplane and the exit walkway. San inhaled deeply. The ocean smelled different here. He could already feel his excitement building.
As they made their way down the walkway, Mingi stumbled a bit. San instinctively grabbed his arm.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, it’s just my head,” he replied. A sudden alarm on his hip alerted them both as to otherwise. “Shit, my blood sugar.”
San ushered them both quickly down the walkway, skirting around the few people who had exited before them. He eased Mingi into a seat right outside of the gate and opened his carry on. Mingi eyed him, his eyes a bit glassy.
“Hold on, Song. I have lemonade and a protein bar in here somewhere.”
San rifled through his bag as quickly as possible. Finally finding the food, he uncapped the drink. Mingi was already fading fast. With a curse, he tilted the man’s head back. “Drink, god damn it.”
With what little energy he had, Mingi complied. Once the lemonade was gone, he shoved the protein bar into Mingi’s hands, having already torn the top off.
“Eat,” he commanded and zipped up his bag. Mingi took baby chews, clearly not liking it.
“Tastes like cardboard and raisins.”
“I would ask how you know what that tastes like, but you don’t have time to be picky. Eat!”
San felt true fear. He had only witnessed Mingi’s sugar crash once before, and he had had glucose tabs on board. Speaking of–
“Where are your sugar tablets, Mingi?”
Mingi shrugged. San swore. An elderly woman from the plane tapped his shoulder, holding out a small plastic pill colander.
“Take mine,” she offered. San thanked her and forced two of the tablets into Mingi’s mouth.
“Chew, you fucker,” his voice rasped. He watched as Mingi slowly chewed the chalky tablets, wearing a grimace. Color was slowly starting to return to his pale face. His eyes opened and landed on San, who sat on his knees on the concrete airport floor, right in between Mingi’s thighs.
Flushing at the sight of a man on his knees before him, Mingi nudged him with a knee. “Get up, you’re embarrassing me.”
“Embarassing you–” San started, but then took a deep breath. If Mingi could joke, he was going to be okay. San sludged him in the arm. “Don’t fucking do that to me again.”
‘Sorry,” Mingi’s voice came out small and dry. “I guess I overshot it with my insulin since I ate more than I expected.”
San felt his face pale. He was part of the reason Mingi was in this shape.
“As soon as we get to the hotel, you will explain all of this to me,” he quietly snapped, standing. He brushed his knees off.
Mingi sluggishly nodded and grabbed for his bag. San cut him off, picking up the satchel.
“Let’s go get our suitcases.” He eyed Mingi for a moment, before dropping both bags. “Actually, you stay here. I will go get the suitcases.”
After a brief word to the departure desk employee, San disappeared to the arriving flight’s baggage claim. It took nearly a half an hour to locate both of their bags. In that time, Mingi sauntered down, both carry-ons in tow.
“I thought I told you to stay put,” San barked, grabbing for his bag. Mingi exchanged it for his suitcase.
“I’m doing better. Thank you,” his voice was steadier, his gaze clearier. San gave a small nod.
“Let’s go get a taxi.”
“Already called for one,” Mingi smiled to himself as they headed for the doors. Clear ocean air greeted the pair as they stepped out into Hawaii.
If the flight here had been this exciting, how much more trouble was San in for this weekend?
*
The taxi ride to the hotel was a quiet one, taking only twenty minutes. San silently took in the views, not noticing as Mingi watched him the majority of the drive there. He stared as though he could read his true intentions if he looked hard enough.
As they pulled up to the resort, San reddened, reading “Sensei Lana’I: A Four Season’s Couple’s Resort.” Mingi tensed next to him.
“You have got to be shitting me,” his voice was gruff as they passed the sign. “He sent us to a literal couple’s resort?”
“It looks that way,” San sighed. He sighed again as he paid the cab driver and got out of the car. Moving faster than Mingi, he made it to the front desk.
“Checking in under Choi,” he said. The front desk attendant frowned at him.
“I’m sorry, sir. We don’t have anything under that name.”
“How about Song?” he asked, pulling his wallet out. The attendant shook his head again. Closing his eyes as Mingi settled behind him, he asked.
“Coleman?”
“Ah yes, there you are. The honeymoon suite.”
San’s eyes shot open, his eyebrows disappearing into his longish hair.
“The what?”
His boss had a sick sense of humor, he would give him that.
He handed over his ID and the company credit card. Reaching behind him, he took Mingi’s ID.
“The room is non-smoking. Breakfast starts at eight. And check out is at eleven. Your itineraries are in your room. Enjoy boys!”
San groaned as he picked up his carry on, making sure Mingi got his ID back.
He was sharing a honeymoon suite.
With Song Mingi.
What could possibly go wrong?
*
Wrong came quickly in the form of a single, California king sized bed being the only sleeping area in the honeymoon suite. Both men swore under their breaths. Dropping his carry on, Mingi turned to San.
“Rock, paper, scissors for who gets the bed.”
San glared up at him and walked into the room, picking a bed side. “Just sleep in the damn bed like an adult.”
Pouting, Mingi grabbed his things and set them on the side not chosen by San. San stepped out onto the open balcony, taking in a deep breath of fresh air. The air here smelled floral with a hint of fruit. Nothing like the city he was used to.
Mingi joined him, itinerary in hand.
“Couple’s dinner tonight at seven, a buffet breakfast at eight with an introduction speech, yoga at ten. We have a counseling session after lunch. And then we have the rest of the day free.”
San nodded, staring out into the ocean.
He didn’t care if he had to walk on hot coals to experience the island. He would do it.
*
San and Mingi both agreed to freshen up and change prior to dinner. San utilized the open shower, aware that any passer-by in the room could see him. He didn’t care. Nor did he acknowledge feeling Mingi’s eyes on his naked, wet form as he used the deep tub across the room.
He stepped out of the steaming shower to change into light linen pants and a cream, short sleeve button up. Surprisingly, Mingi stepped out into something similar. Except Mingi’s pale blue shirt had a slight floral design to it. Both found hotel slippers to cover their feet.
Dinner arrived exactly at seven. A wide range of fresh sushi, cooked vegetables, fresh dragon fruit, and mango graced their plates. San inhaled his food, while Mingi took his time. Colleagues often joked at the snail’s pace at which he ate.
A waiter arrived with dessert as San finished his main dishes. It was a white sponge cake laced with strawberries. Strawberry compote surrounded the cake in the shape of a heart. Both men visibly gagged over the sentiment.
That didn’t stop them from tearing into the dish with fervor. The cake melted on San’s tongue, dissolving into a delicious fruity flavor. Mingi moaned over his bite, causing San to flush. He had never heard the man make such a sound before.
“This is so fucking good, I could eat it for the rest of my life,” Mingi managed around a mouthful. San lightly chuckled.
“Me, too.”
“Think they will have it for breakfast?”
San laughed again, this time laced with sarcasm. “Yes, Mingi. I think if you ask nicely, they will bring us cake for breakfast.”
It was Mingi’s turn to flush. He continued shoveling bits of cake into his mouth with tiny whimpers. San tried not to look affected by the noise.
“Can you ever eat quietly?” he asked, finished with his portion and plated his spoon. Mingi shrugged, and moaned obnoxiously loud. San kicked him under the table.
Noting the sweetness of the cake, San opted to speak up. “After dinner, please teach me about your diabetes stuff.”
“That was an accident,” Mingi glared over the plate. “I don’t need your help.”
San let out an irritated sigh.
“Quit being obtuse and just teach me, you obnoxious fuck.”
Mingi gave a long pause while chewing, before nodding.
“Fine.”
*
After dinner, jet lag caught up to the pair. But Mingi kept his word. San did his best to take notes on Four Season’s stationary about how to calculate Insulin dosages, where Mingi kept everything, and how to read his monitor. Mingi even showed him how he did finger sticks to check his post dinner glucose.
“My sugar is at 255,” he rambled off. “Since I gave myself two units prior to eating, I should be fine.”
“And if you’re not I draw up another milliliter for every–”
“You have it written down. I will be fine,” Mingi cut him off and stood. “Happy now?”
“Ecstatic,” San retorted, pocketing the notes. San set out for the patio, intent on watching the sunset.
San lounged out in a cushy chair, watching the sun give way to stars, until he heard Mingi crawl into bed.
“Are you seriously going to miss this view for some beauty sleep?” he called. Mingi gruffed from his spot.
“I’m exhausted from the flight.” San rolled his eyes.
“Wait,” San called, pushing himself up from his lounge. “Let me check your glucometer.”
“Not necessary,” Mingi answered, pulling the blankets up higher. San smacked him on the arm and threw the blankets back. He blinked.
Mingi was naked.
“Oh, hell no,” he shrilled, as Mingi pulled the covers over himself, blushing fiercely. “You are not sleeping next to me naked.”
“It’s how I sleep. If you don’t like it, take the couch.”
“No, put some fucking underwear on!”
“Fuck off, asshole!” Mingi yelled, burrowing himself into the blankets.
Two could play at this game.
San rounded the bed and shucked his clothes off. He draped them over a nearby armchair. Fingering the band of his boxer briefs, he shrugged and pushed them down. He lay them atop his clean shirt. He looked Mingi in the eye and watched as he turned an alarming shade of red.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he squeaked as San slipped between the sheets. With a yawn, San enlightened him.
‘You aren’t the only one who sleeps naked.”
Mingi moved as close to the edge of the bed as possible while still remaining covered. With an annoyed huff, he reached over to turn off his side table light.
San followed suit with a small laugh.