Chapter Text
The night had been over long before Mingi realized it. The music had dulled to a whisper beneath the shouting, the neon lights bleeding red and gold across the bar's cracked tile. Somewhere between the third drink and the fourth, something in him had snapped.
He didn't even remember what the man had said. Something small, something meant to sting. All he knew was the sound of a glass shattering against the floor and the weight of his own breath as he grabbed the guy by the collar.
"Say it again," Mingi heard himself snarl.
The man, taller, older, already too drunk to think, smirked instead. That was all it took. The shove came fast, the crash of a stool louder than the music. Shouts followed. A hand on his shoulder. Another fist. The bar dissolved into motion, heat, and noise.
And then sirens.
Now, sitting in the back of a police car, everything felt too quiet. The adrenaline had burned off, leaving behind the dull ache of bruised knuckles and the sour taste of regret.
The officer in the front seat didn't speak, didn't need to. Mingi knew the routine. It wasn't his first time in cuffs, though he'd promised himself it would be his last.
He leaned his head back against the cold metal divider, eyes closed. The flashing lights painted the inside of his eyelids red and blue, red and blue, over and over until it made him dizzy.
It hadn't been about the stranger, not really. It was never about the stranger.
It was the long week. The job that barely paid. The calls he didn't answer. The silence he couldn't sit through. All of it pressing at once until the only thing left to do was swing.
When the car stopped, the door opened with a heavy click.
"Let's go," the officer said.
Mingi stepped out, wrists still bound, shoes scraping against the pavement. The cold air hit him like water, sobering and cruel.
Inside the precinct, the world smelled of coffee and disinfectant. A pen scratched somewhere, a phone rang.
"Name?"
He hesitated for half a second before answering, voice rough from the shouting. "Song Mingi."
The officer raised an eyebrow at the split lip and tired eyes. "Rough night?"
"You could say that," Mingi muttered.
As they led him to the holding cell, the fluorescent lights hummed overhead. He sat on the bench, jaw clenched, watching the faint reflection of himself in the glass.
The cell door slammed shut, echoing down the hallway.
Mingi lowered his head into his hands. It was going to be a long night.
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Jeong Yunho had exactly two priorities on a Friday night: not moving from his chair and not losing to Wooyoung.
"Left—left—no, your left, Yunho!" Wooyoung's voice crackled through his headset, the sound of frantic button-mashing echoing through the group call.
"I am going left!" Yunho argued, leaning forward in his gaming chair, thinking that it might somehow improve his aim. His puppy, Tofu, perked up from her spot at his feet, tail thumping lazily against the rug.
On the other end of the call, Jongho's laughter rang out. "You two are hopeless. I told you to cover the back line, not argue about directions."
"Maybe if someone didn't steal all the health packs—" Wooyoung started.
"Oh my gosh," Yunho groaned, laughing despite himself.
"We've been playing for two hours, and we've died eight times to the same boss," Wooyoung groaned.
"Nine," Jongho corrected.
"Eight," Wooyoung snapped. "The first time didn't count!"
Tofu gave a small bark, and Yunho glanced down, grinning. "Even she knows you're wrong, Woo."
He bent to scratch behind her ears, his tone softening. "You're on my side, right, baby?"
Tofu licked his hand in response, then promptly flopped onto his socked foot like the world's smallest weighted blanket.
The room glowed in the faint blue light from his monitor, a mug of cold coffee abandoned next to the keyboard. Yunho stretched back in his chair, shoulders popping, the faint hum of the city outside his apartment blending with Wooyoung's ongoing dramatic complaints.
This was peace, in its own chaotic way. His friends bickering, his dog snoring, no emergencies, no deadlines, just noise and comfort.
"Alright," Yunho said, cracking his knuckles. "One more round, then we call it a night."
"One more round," Jongho agreed. "And if we die again, we're blaming Wooyoung."
"Hey!"
Yunho chuckled, headset slipping slightly as he settled back into the rhythm of the game. It was the kind of night that felt simple.
He didn't know it yet, but before the next hour was over, that calm would shatter.