Archive of Our Own

Rain tapped against the apartment window like a lover’s fingers, gentle, coaxing, and insistent. Mingi stood in the darkness outside, hidden from sight, his eyes fixed on the boy behind the glass.

Jeong Yunho.

The light inside the apartment was soft, as though it had been created just for him. He stood in his bedroom with a towel loosely wrapped around his hips, dark strands of wet hair dripping over the bare curve of his shoulder. He had no idea he was being watched.

Or maybe he did.

Mingi’s breath fogged in the cold air as his pulse thudded heavily in his throat. He shifted slightly, his gaze following the line of Yunho’s collarbone as the other tilted his head back. The way he moved made it seem as though he was aware of everything, dancing in the tension between prey and temptation. 

Mingi’s fingers flexed.

He remembered the first time they had locked eyes.

It was at Yunho’s flower shop.

The air had smelled like earth and spring, a mixture of damp soil and crushed petals. Mingi had walked in drenched from a sudden storm, his hoodie dripping cold water onto the clean wooden floor. The bell above the door had jingled faintly, announcing his arrival. He had not even meant to enter. It had been a simple impulse, a desire to escape the heavy rain. 

And then he saw him. 

Yunho stood behind the counter arranging a bouquet of violets and dahlias, his head tilted slightly to the side as he twisted the stems into place. The faint sound of a violin drifted through the shop, filling the space between them. He did not look up right away, too focused on the delicate work in his hands. 

Then Yunho lifted his gaze.

And Mingi’s world tilted.

His eyes were dark brown, deep and unreadable, and when their gazes met there was no dramatic jolt, no cliché skipped heartbeat. It was quieter than that. Darker. Like a hook slipping beneath the skin.

“Hello, do you need something?” Yunho asked, his voice soft yet distant, polite but detached.

Mingi remembered fumbling through an awkward response, asking about orchids even though he did not even like orchids. Yunho had tilted his head and given him a small amused smile that never quite reached his eyes. 

Then, as Mingi turned to leave, Yunho said something that branded itself into his spine.

“You’re going to come back,” Yunho murmured almost absentmindedly, his fingers still brushing against flower petals. “I know you will.”

And he was right.

Mingi came back the next day. And the day after that. And the day after that. He never bought the same flowers twice. 

Sometimes Yunho was cold and reserved, speaking only when necessary. Other times he seemed completely different, more familiar, more playful, almost teasing as he allowed his fingers to brush against Mingi’s when he handed over a bouquet.

But every time Mingi stepped into that flower shop, he left a little more addicted.

A little more obsessed.

And now, a month later, Mingi stood in the rain like a beast that had tasted something forbidden and could no longer stop chasing it. He had tried. He had told himself it was only curiosity, that the feeling would fade with time.

It never did.

It only grew worse.

He had memorized Yunho’s routine. The café he visited on Wednesdays. The bench where he sat during late-night walks. Even the scent of his shampoo whenever he passed close enough to catch it. Mingi never touched him. He never crossed the line. Yet somehow, he was always there. 

And Yunho seemed different every time they met. 

Some days he was soft and uncertain, blinking up at him with shy eyes, cheeks pink and voice barely above a whisper. Other days he was bold, his eyes half-lidded and his smile knowing, moving with a confidence that made Mingi want to pull him closer. 

Those were the days he said things like:

“You’re not going to stop until you get me, huh?”

And Mingi never did.

But tonight felt different.

He was tired of watching from behind glass. Tired of the barrier that separated them. Tired of the distance Yunho allowed while dangling temptation just beyond reach. 

Tonight, he was done pretending.

He pulled out his phone.

A soft chime echoed from inside the room as Yunho’s phone vibrated on the bedside table.

Unknown Number:

Are you lonely, pretty boy?

A slow breath escaped Mingi’s lips.

Inside the apartment, Yunho turned toward the window. Then a faint smile curled across his mouth, smug, secretive, sinful. The kind of smile that told Mingi everything he needed to know.

He wanted this.

Outside, Mingi felt tension coil through him as the towel around Yunho’s hips shifted slightly, dipping lower as though it was eager to fall. 

Mingi did not wait any longer.

He moved.

The rain followed him as he reached the apartment door. Every footstep echoed heavily through the hallway. His hair was plastered to his forehead and jaw, droplets sliding down the length of his throat. He raised a hand and knocked. 

There was a pause.

Then footsteps.

The door opened.

Framed in the soft light stood Yunho. The towel still clung to his narrow waist, droplets gliding down his chest like wandering stars. His eyes were hooded and unreadable, his lips slightly parted. He leaned against the doorframe with lazy elegance, licking a drop of water from his bottom lip. 

Mingi stood before him completely drenched. His shirt clung to his body. His hair had been pushed back from his face. His chest rose and fell heavily as though he had run the entire way there. 

“You’re not supposed to be here.” 

But Mingi stepped inside without a word. 

The warmth of the apartment immediately clashed with the chill soaked into his skin. 

“But you’re glad I am, aren’t you?”

Yunho did not answer.

Not with words.

He tilted his head, exposing the side of his neck like an offering. His eyes flickered, and for a brief moment he looked shy, soft, hesitant.

But it did not last.

Mingi reached up and grabbed his chin, tilting it upward with quiet authority.  “Say it.”

Yunho’s lashes fluttered. His breath caught. Then the sultrier tone slipped into place, liquid and poisonous and sweet.

“I missed you watching me,” he whispered.

And just like that, Mingi kissed him, because that was all he needed to hear.

Their lips collided with the force of months of starvation. The kiss was not gentle. It was consuming. Teeth brushed. Breath mingled. Mingi’s hand tightened in Yunho’s hair while the other locked around his waist, pulling their bodies flush together. The towel slipped free, finally defeated by gravity and heat, pooling around Yunho’s feet in a careless heap.

Yunho gasped into Mingi’s mouth, a broken sound catching in his throat as their bodies pressed together.

“Mingi...”

Mingi tightened his grip. 

“You knew I was watching, didn’t you, puppy?” 

Yunho whimpered, cheeks flushed, the exposed length of his body trembling as Mingi pinned him to the wall. One knee slipped between Yunho's thighs, pressing up, grinding deliberately into the growing heat there.

“I always know,” Yunho whispered, his voice thick and soft. “I always feel you. Under my skin.” 

A low sound rumbled in Mingi’s chest as he lowered his head against the curve of Yunho’s throat. Yunho arched toward him, his mouth falling open as his breathing turned uneven. 

"Aahhh…"

He looked so good like this. Eyes fluttering, the sounds of desperate moans that filled the room like a drug, broken little cries that only Mingi got to hear.

His fingers curled into the soaked fabric of Mingi’s shirt, trying to pull him closer.

“Please…” he breathed. “Touch me already.” 

Mingi did not make him wait long.

His hand slid between them, fingers dipping between Yunho's thighs. 

Yunho gasped sharply, his body reacting immediately. “Nghh! F-fuck—ah! Please… Mingi”

Mingi wasn't surprised anymore when he quickly inserted his two fingers into his hole. He pushed in, slow but firm, curling, twisting, his finger pressing against the spot that made Yunho's knees buckle. He gasped, head thumping back against the wall, fingers clawing at Mingi's shoulders, hips meeting his fingers, needing more.

“Look at me,” Mingi ordered, his voice low and rough. 

Yunho forced his eyes open. Tears gathered at the corners from the overwhelming intensity of the moment. 

“I want you to remember who makes you feel like this.” 

“Y-yes…” Yunho moaned. “Only you—ahh! Only you, Mingi…nghh…more please…”

And just as his legs started to give out because he was about to cum, Mingi caught him without effort, lifting him by the thighs, bracing his trembling body against the wall. Then in one motion, he pushed his cock deep and hard.

Yunho's scream echoed, high and sweet and shattered. Back arched. He didn't even notice that Mingi had already removed his pants and boxers.

“Ahh! Fuck—yes! So good… deeper…please—don’t… don't hold back…ahhh—!”

Mingi fucked him like an animal and Yunho moaned like he wanted to be devoured.

His face twisted with pleasure, his eyes rolling back, his mouth parted and pink. Drool slipped from the corner of his lips as he begged louder, every cry raw and broken. The shy side of him was gone now, swallowed completely by the heat, the desperate sounds falling from his lips, and the overwhelming sensation running through his body.

“You’re mine,” Mingi hissed into his ear. “Mine. No one else gets to see you like this.”

“I want to be yours,” Yunho sobbed. “Make me… nghh… yours… oh god... yes, yes, yes... ahh!”

Mingi did not stop until Yunho was shaking in his arms, reduced to soft sobs and trembling limbs. He leaned down and licked a tear from Yunho’s cheek.

“Mingi… c-close… please, I’m close...” Yunho cried as he stared into Mingi’s eyes. One hand was tangled tightly in the hair at the back of Mingi’s neck while the other clawed desperately at his back.

“Cum, puppy...fuck, let me see…” Mingi said in a low voice, moving faster now as his breathing grew deeper and heavier.

Then he kissed Yunho again, hard and demanding, biting his lower lip and swallowing every broken sound that escaped from him. Moments later, Yunho reached his peak, his entire body trembling uncontrollably from the intensity of it. Hot white streaks spread across their stomach. Not long after, Mingi followed, holding him tightly as they both struggled to catch their breath. 

For several seconds, silence settled over the apartment.

Only the sound of their breathing filled the space.

“You’re not running from me,” Mingi finally said, breaking the silence.

For a long moment, Yunho said nothing. Then, with a breathless little laugh, he looked at him. His lips were swollen and shining, his body limp but glowing from the inside out.

And he smiled.

A slow, sharp, dangerous smile.

“Who said I wanted to run?”

The apartment was silent, but the walls still seemed to remember. The echoes of their voices lingered in the air, caught between the uneven breaths of two people tangled together. 

Eventually, they made their way to the bedroom.

Yunho lay on the mattress, his legs tangled in the sheets, his thighs still twitching from lingering aftershocks. His skin glistened faintly, his chest rising and falling slowly. His lips were swollen from Mingi’s kisses and bites. Beside him, Mingi lay quietly, watching him.

Then Yunho’s voice softly broke through the haze.

“You’re... not done with me yet, are you...?” His voice sounded different.

Mingi looked at him, and something inside him froze.

The tone was not playful.

It was not sultry like the version of Yunho who had clung to him and whispered shamelessly into his ear earlier. 

This voice was smaller.

Fragile.

The tremor in it was so delicate it felt like it could shatter if touched. His eyes were lowered, blinking slowly, filled with something far more complicated than tears. When they met Mingi’s gaze, that vulnerability stole his breath every single time. 

This was the other side of Yunho. The quiet one. The one that surfaced when everything else faded and all appeared after the noise was gone and only silence remained. The side that didn’t flirt or tease. The one with hands that trembled and a mouth that couldn’t quite lie.

Mingi’s breath caught in his throat.

Yunho shifted slightly beneath the sheets, instinctively pressing his thighs together, but he did not pull away.

He did not hide. 

His lashes fluttered and his lips parted.

“I noticed something…” His voice cracked on the last word, but he didn’t stop. “You… get like this… when I scream. When I cry out for you like I’ll break without you inside me…”

Mingi did not answer.

His cock twitched again at the memory of Yunho screaming, back arched, sobbing out his name in that breathless, cracked voice that made everything else blur into static. Slowly, he pushed himself up from the bed and crawled toward Yunho like a predator approaching its prey. His shadow swallowed Yunho whole.

“Say it,” Mingi growled, his voice rough. “Say what you know drives me insane.” 

Yunho’s breath hitched but he didn’t flinch away. His lashes fluttered, his throat bobbed as he swallowed, and despite the tremble, a tiny smile ghosted at the corners of his lips, tentative, but there.

“You like it when I scream your name,” he whispered. “When I beg for you. When I cry so loud the walls remember.”

He gasped when Mingi rolled him onto his stomach and pressed him into the mattress. A hand slid down his spine, tracing the curve of his back before Mingi lowered his head and brushed his teeth against his shoulder blade. 

“A-ahhh...!”

“You’re a drug, Yunho,” Mingi murmured against his skin. “Soft here. Broken here. Always looking at me like you belong to me.”

Yunho turned his face to the side, muffling a whimper against the pillow. His cheeks were pink again. His hips rolled slightly, responding to the heat in Mingi's voice like instinct.

“I... ahh... I am yours...”

Mingi growled low in response, the sound vibrating through his chest as he ground his hips against the curve of Yunho's ass, slow and teasing. His cock, still painfully hard, pressed between those slick thighs. Yunho moaned the moment he felt it again, high-pitched and desperate.

“Nnhh... Mingi, please...” he whimpered, voice already on the edge of breaking again.

“Please what, puppy?” Mingi asked.

“I can’t take it slow,” Yunho admitted between shaky breaths. “Not when I can feel you there...”

Mingi's hand moved possessively and firmly wrapped around his throat while his other hand slipped down and found Yunho's hole fluttering open and wet because of his cum earlier. He pressed two fingers in without resistance, curling them slowly.

“Damn, Yunho. Are you really this desperate for my cock?” he whispered into his ear.

Yunho whimpered. “Y-yes…ahh… I always… nghh… think about your c-cock—how full I feel…ahhh!”

His voice trembled with each word, but the pleasure on his face betrayed how much he meant them. He was grinding back against Mingi’s fingers, moaning louder now, hungrier.

Mingi didn’t blink. He watched every expression Yunho made like a starving man watching a feast. His face was sinful, cheeks red, lips parted in desperate cries, brows drawn in agony and bliss, the way his eyes rolled back when the pressure hit just right. Each moan, each breathless plea, was a holy confession that he worshiped with his hands, his mouth, his entire being.

“More... please... more—Mingi… ahhh… harder... faster… please” Yunho begged, his voice breaking.

“You want my cock again already?” Mingi asked, dark amusement flashing across his face.

“Yes” The answer came immediately. “Fill me again. Ruin me. Make me scream so loud the neighbors know I’m yours.”

Mingi didn’t hesitate, he shoved into him with a single brutal thrust, burying himself deep inside, knocking the breath from Yunho's lungs.

“Ahh! yes... Mingi... yes, yes, yes! So big, fuck… ahhh”

His body bent under the weight, back arching, hair sticking to his damp forehead. The thrusts came fast, rough, pounding into him so hard the bed slammed against the wall. Yunho clutched the sheets, his voice breaking into sweet, helpless sobs.

“You feel that?” Mingi growled as his grip tightened around Yunho’s waist. “You feel… ahh… how deep I am? How much your body responds to me?” 

Yunho sobbed into the sheets, eyes rolling and voice catching on every gasp. “Yes… so deep… ahhh, oh my god—yes, right there… nnghh… please, so good, ahhh—there… please”

Each cry tore from him without a filter. He couldn’t stop it. Didn’t want to. His body was shaking, overwhelmed by sensation, by how raw and intense Mingi’s rhythm was. It felt like being devoured. Mingi leaned over him, wrapping an arm tightly around his waist, pulling him closer, pounding harder.

“You sound so fucking beautiful, puppy” he groaned, voice breaking. “Your voice… fuck—makes me lose control”

“Mingi” Yunho cried, eyes squeezed shut, tears falling on his cheeks. “Use me… break me… please, I want it— I need it— ahhh…”

And when he came again, it was overwhelming. 

The climax slammed into them like a tidal wave.

Yunho screamed. Loud, broken, trembling, his body convulsing as he came hard, spilling across the sheets. His sobs turned into whimpers, but his hips still rolled, desperate for every last thrust. Mingi followed right after, burying himself to the hilt, growling as he spilled inside him. His teeth sank into Yunho's shoulder. His breath stuttered as he collapsed forward, their bodies pressed tight, damp with sweat and slickness.

Again, there was only the sound of breathing.

“You’ll never leave me alone now... will you?” Yunho spoke again, his tone changing once more as that dark glint returned to his eyes.

Mingi’s hand found his cheek, forcing him to look back. His gaze burned with obsession, with a hunger that had not cooled in the slightest.

“Never.”

And Yunho smiled, the predator hidden behind the prey’s eyes.

Morning light bled through the blinds in pale slashes, streaking across bruised skin and twisted sheets. Yunho lay tangled in the warmth of the bed, his breathing slow but uneven. Mingi’s chest was pressed against his back, heat radiating between them. 

But something was different.

Yunho’s eyes were open.

Soft. Wide. Confused. 

He blinked slowly, as though waking up in a body that felt too sore, too hot, too thoroughly used. His fingers curled against the sheets as he swallowed a quiet whimper.

Was it the other me again?

The thought struck him with a quiet sense of dread. 

Slowly, he turned his head, his heart skipping when he saw the blond-haired man still asleep beside him. Mingi’s arm was wrapped tightly around his waist, his fingers spread possessively even in sleep. 

The scent of sex lingered heavily in the air. His thighs felt sticky, and his voice was raw.

His cheeks burned.

“H-holy shit...” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “W-we did that...” 

Yunho did not regret it. No, it was more complicated than that. 

Sometimes, whenever the bolder version of himself surfaced, it felt like he was watching his own reflection through a cracked mirror. The moans. The dirty words. The way he begged to be taken. 

He remembered everything.

Every movement.

Every cry.

And worse than all of it was the fact that he wanted it again.

Even now, his hips subtly pressed back against Mingi, seeking warmth and friction without thinking. 

What the hell is wrong with me? 

Shame twisted in his stomach. 

He bit down on his lower lip, trying to suppress the soft moan threatening to escape. 

Behind him, Mingi stirred. 

His breathing changed, growing deeper before his body pressed closer.

“You’re awake...” Mingi mumbled, his voice gravel-rough and coated with sleep and leftover lust. The sound of it sent a shock straight down Yunho's spine.

Yunho froze.

His lips parted, but no words came out. Only a shaky breath.

Mingi nuzzled closer, his nose brushing lightly against the curve of Yunho's neck, lips ghosting over the sensitive skin there. He inhaled deeply, then murmured with a lazy smirk, “Mmm… already hard again, puppy? That’s cute”

There was amusement in his tone. 

Yunho flinched, shame curling hot in his stomach. 

“W-wait, we shouldn’t—” he tried to say, voice shaky, barely there. He tried to inch away, but Mingi didn’t let him. The warmth of the larger man pressed in closer, caging him in. 

Mingi didn’t wait.

His fingers dipped lower, wrapping around the throbbing cock between Yunho's thighs with ease. Yunho gasped. A sharp, high-pitched sound he couldn’t stop. His hip jerked, seeking more despite himself.

“You say that…” Mingi whispered, his lips ghosting over the shell of Yunho's ear, “but your body doesn’t lie, Yunho.”

His strokes were slow, torturous, designed not to satisfy but to prolong. The kind of touch that made Yunho's body tremble with need and shame in equal measure.

Yunho’s hands clutched the sheets again, his body arching involuntarily.

“Ahhh—nngghhh… Mingi, please…” he whispered, eyes started to roll up. 

“Please what?” Mingi asked, continuing his strokes.

“I-it’s sensitive… my… my body s-still… hurts… ahh… n-not again, I—”

“Yes. Again.” Mingi's voice dropped lower, a growl as he rutted against Yunho's ass with growing urgency. His grip was firmer now, his pace less forgiving. “Until you can’t think anymore. Until you forget your own name.”

Yunho sobbed, his body arching, caught in the firestorm of pain and pleasure all over again. His hands fumbled for something, sheets, arms, anything, before gripping the mattress with white knuckled desperation.

“M-mingi, p-please… don’t tease—just… nghhh!”

The request was shameless, but honest. His body betrayed him with every moan, every shudder, every involuntary roll of his hips.

“So sensitive in the morning, baby,” Mingi muttered. “Does the shy version like to be fucked awake?”

“D-don’t say that—ahhh! Fuck— More…”

Mingi’s eyes darkened with something beyond lust, something closer to obsession. He flipped Yunho onto his back in one fluid motion, hovering above him to see every flicker of emotion on that flushed face.

Yunho’s legs parted instinctively. He couldn’t help it.

And his expression…

Mingi drank in every detail.

His eyes, watery with overwhelmed lust, his lips, bitten and flushed. The sheen of sweat was already beginning to coat his collarbone as he panted.

“Look at you,” Mingi whispered, his fingers tracing along his body. “You act shy, but your body begs for it. You love being watched like this, don’t you?”

Yunho looked away, biting his lip, shame blooming alongside but nodded faintly.

“You like when I stare at you like this?”

“Y-yes…” he admitted, voice barely a whisper. “You look like you’re gonna eat me alive…”

Mingi didn’t smile. He just moved down his body, eyes locked on Yunho's flushed face.

“I am.”

And then his mouth wrapped around the head of Yunho's cock in one slow, hungry motion. The scream that tore from Yunho's throat was loud and raw, echoing against the walls.

His hands flew to Mingi's hair, clutching tight as the sensations overwhelmed him. While the other clawed at the sheets, his hips rising uncontrollably, thighs trembling as Mingi worked him with his mouth. He was loud, a symphony of gasps and helpless whimpers.

Mingi held him steadily, dragging him to the edge and refusing to let him fall. He didn’t stop until Yunho nearly sobbed, choking on pleasure, eyes rolled back and lips trembling with every broken moan.

“M-mingi! Oh god… I-I’m—g-gonna… AHH—gonna… cum!”

He tried to push Mingi's head but the orgasm hit hard. Brutal. White-hot. His body arched, trembling as he came down his throat, his sobs half-moaned, half-broken.

His body arched before collapsing back against the mattress, shaking as he struggled to recover.

But Mingi was still not finished.

He kissed his way up Yunho's heaving body, finally crashing their mouths together. The taste of himself on Mingi’s tongue only made him moan into the kiss, wrecked and delirious.

“Don’t think I’m letting you leave this bed,” Mingi murmured between kisses, his voice thick with possessive heat. “Not when I can still smell myself on you.” 

Yunho reached up and tangled his fingers in Mingi’s hair, pulling him closer. 

“Then don’t,” Yunho whispered, his eyes hazy. “Make sure I can’t walk. Make sure I can’t think. Make sure I’m yours.” 

And Mingi did.

Again and again.

Until Yunho's voice was hoarse, until his body gave out, until the sunlight shifted again and shadows stretched long over the ruined bed.

Hours later, Mingi stayed awake while Yunho slept once more, his expression soft and vulnerable in ways he never showed during the day. He watched the gentle rise and fall of Yunho’s chest, the dark strands of hair stuck to his forehead, the faint bruises and bite marks scattered across his neck and collarbones like proof.

This isn’t just about sex anymore, Mingi thought. 

It’s not just desire. It’s deeper. 

He wanted everything. Every version of Yunho, every gasp and cry and whisper.

He wanted to be the only one who ever touched him like this. The only name that ever passed his lips in ecstasy. And he’d do whatever it took to keep it that way.

Even if it meant breaking him.

The bruises were beginning to fade.

Faint violet fingerprints lingered along Yunho’s waist. Small marks peeked out beneath the high neckline of his turtleneck sweater, and his thighs ached with every step he took across the floor of the flower shop.

Still, he kept moving because there were customers waiting, bouquets to wrap, orders to fulfill.

He barely reacted as he tightened a ribbon around a bundle of pale pink carnations, but the sudden pull across his torso reminded him.

His skin remembered.

Mingi’s hands.

His breath.

His teeth.

The pressure at his throat wasn’t just from the sweater. No, it was tighter today. Or perhaps his skin had simply become too sensitive. Still haunted by last night’s heat. 

He let his fingers drift to his neck for a moment, gently pressing against the fabric as if he could feel the outline of the bruise hidden beneath. The same spot where Mingi had bitten down and whispered in a gravel-rough voice against his pulse:

“Mine. You walk around with this, don’t forget it.”

He hadn’t forgotten. Not even for a second.

Even now, the ghost of the mark pulsed beneath the turtleneck like a secret seal only the two of them could see. Yunho bit down on his lower lip, hard enough to sting.

“Don’t think about it. Not here. Not while you’re working.” 

But then the bell above the front door chimed. 

Yunho froze. 

Standing just inside, framed by the sunlight pouring through the glass door, was a silhouette that sent a chill racing down his spine.

Leaning lazily against the wooden arch beside the hydrangeas, dressed entirely in black, with dark eyes fixed on him, was Mingi.

Yunho’s breath caught in his throat.

His heart did not just flutter. It flipped violently inside his chest, not only from desire, but from the thread of fear curling coldly around his ribs.

“You’ve been ignoring my messages,” Mingi said, his voice low, barely above a whisper, but laced with a sharp warning.

Yunho quickly lowered his gaze, his lips parting in protest, but no sound came out. The words refused to form, caught somewhere in his tightening throat.

“Not here,” he finally managed to say, barely audible.

But Mingi did not listen. He never really did when he looked like this. 

He pushed himself away from the arch, moving slowly with the confidence of someone who knew exactly how much space he occupied. His boots echoed softly across the hardwood floor as he closed the distance between them. As he passed Yunho, there was barely any contact, yet his hand slid just enough to brush against Yunho’s hip. It was possessive, silent, and unmistakably a reminder.

“I saw the way you were walking earlier,” he murmured near Yunho’s ear. “You’re still sore.”

Yunho’s face immediately flushed. 

His breath hitched as he turned sharply away, pretending to adjust the lilies on display. But his fingers trembled when he reached for the vase, and he was certain Mingi noticed. 

He was always watching anyway. 

His body felt like it was on fire. Not with shame or guilt but with the undeniable and dangerous thrill of being seen. 

The rest of the day dragged like molasses.

Even after the store emptied and the sun sank below the horizon, casting long shadows across the flowers and potted plants, Yunho could not shake the feeling of Mingi’s gaze lingering on him. When the last customer finally left and the bell above the door chimed its lonely farewell, Yunho locked the door and let out a breath.

Only to find Mingi still there, his arms folded and his gaze heavy with something unreadable.

“Mingi!” Yunho said, startled. “I thought you left...”

“You tried to walk past me earlier,” Mingi said coldly as he stepped forward. His voice was more intense now, less restrained. “That was a mistake.” 

Before Yunho could step back, Mingi grabbed his wrist with a firm grip and pushed him until his back hit the wall behind the counter. The impact echoed softly through the quiet shop, making the shelves of flowers tremble slightly. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Mingi demanded, searching his eyes. 

Yunho gasped.

“Y-you can’t just show up and—”

“Why do you keep switching?” Mingi interrupted, his voice rough. “One day you’re begging me to break you, and the next day you act like you don’t even fucking know me.” 

“I do know you,” Yunho said quickly, his voice cracking as he tried to push Mingi’s arm away. 

“Then stop hiding him. The version of you who wants me.” 

“They’re all me...” Yunho whispered. “I just... can’t control it sometimes...” 

Mingi stared at him. His jaw tightened and then relaxed.

The silence stretched between them.

Slowly, he leaned closer, his breath brushing against Yunho’s cheek. “I don’t care how many versions of you exist, Yunho. I want them all.” 

“Then what do you want from me?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Mingi reached into his pocket.

“I want you to wear something for me.”

He pulled out a slim black leather choker, the kind that looked less like an accessory and more like a claim.

Yunho’s eyes widened, his legs weakened beneath him. “Mingi...” 

“You’ll wear it,” Mingi said firmly, his fingers brushing Yunho’s as he placed it into his hand. “You’ll wear it when you’re the version that wants to be ruined. When you want to be honest. You want me to understand you? Then give me that. Give me control.” 

Yunho stared at the collar as though it were burning in his palm. 

He didn’t say anything but he didn’t let go of it either.

Later that night, the lights in his apartment were dim, illuminated only by the glow of a corner lamp. Yunho sat on the couch with the collar resting in his hand.

“You don’t have to do this,” he whispered to himself.

But another voice inside him whispered back with equal strength.

“But you want to.”

Slowly, he turned toward the mirror hanging on the wall and stared at his reflection.

Flushed cheeks.

Soft but restless eyes.

Lips slightly parted with anticipation, shame, and something darker caught between the two.

Finally, he slipped the collar around his neck and buckled it into place. The leather brushed against the fading bruises on his throat.

When the knock came at the door, he did not hesitate.

He quickly opened it.

Mingi stood outside, his eyes immediately landed on the collar.

His gaze darkened.

Then he stepped inside.

Pointing toward the floor, he said, “Get on your knees.”

Yunho obeyed. 

The carpet felt soft beneath him, but his heart was pounding so loudly he could barely hear anything else.

“Good boy.”

Mingi moved slowly, dragging every second out as he unbuckled his belt, unzipped his pants, and let himself free.

Yunho looked up, eyes wide, lips parting instinctively. He leaned forward, breath catching.

“What do you want?” Mingi asked. 

Yunho's voice was hoarse. “... To be used.”

“Say it louder.”

“I want you to use me, Mingi,” he said, louder this time, his eyes shining. “I want to be wrecked by you.” 

Mingi nodded once. “Good.”

Yunho took Mingi’s cock into his mouth.

Slow at first, lips stretching, throat swallowing, gagging slightly, eyes welling with tears as the pressure built. He moaned around the weight, taking more, letting himself be used like he was nothing else.

Mingi hissed through his teeth, his hand tangling in Yunho’s hair. 

“Fuck, Yunho... You look perfect like this. On your knees, wearing that collar. Like you were made for it.” 

Yunho moaned in response, loud and eager, hips twitching inside his shorts as his own cock throbbed untouched.

Mingi pulled him off, a wet pop echoing through the room as Yunho gasped for air, lips slick with spit, eyes dazed. Without another word, Mingi grabbed him and carried him toward the bedroom. Once inside, he lowered Yunho carefully onto the floor. 

“Take off all your clothes. Then turn around. Hands on the bed.” 

What followed was intense. 

The bed creaked.

The walls echoed.

The collar jingled softly with every movement.

And Yunho’s voice, once hesitant and fragile, broke apart into cries of surrender.

“Ahh, yes… there—Mingi… so deep… nghh, please—OH MY!”

Each thrust tore another plea from his throat. Each breathless moan only fueled the fire between them. Each scream told Mingi he owned him.

“You love being claimed, huh?” Mingi growled against his back, hands on his throat.

“I do!” Yunho sobbed, eyes rolling up and tears slipping down his cheeks. “Please—fuck—harder… break me… fuck! Again… wanna cum, please…nnngghhh—!”

By the end, his body felt limp, his chest rising and falling heavily, his voice completely raw. He lay against Mingi’s chest with his eyes drifting shut.

Now Mingi held him gently, brushing damp strands of hair away from his temple.

“Next time, don’t run from me and ignore me,” he whispered.

Yunho nodded weakly. “I won’t... not if I get to scream your name again...” 

Mingi had always believed he was the predator in their story. 

The one who watched.

The one who tracked.

The one who controlled the pace, the rhythm, the way Yunho’s body responded beneath him.

But tonight?

Something had changed.

It was subtle at first.

Mingi sat at the edge of the bed, his shirt discarded somewhere on the floor. His chest still rose and fell as he tried to slow his breathing. Sweat clung to the hard lines of his body, and the scratch across his collarbone stung whenever he moved.

Absentmindedly, he rubbed at the mark and glanced to the side, expecting to find Yunho curled up beside him, sleepy and content.

Instead, he saw Yunho sitting upright.

The sheets pooled around his hips. 

His skin was flushed but his posture was completely still.

It was his eyes that made Mingi freeze. 

They seemed to glow faintly in the dim amber light from the bedside lamp.

Sharp.

Intense.

Alive with something else.

Not warmth. Not vulnerability. But control.

Mingi’s breath caught in his throat. 

“Yunho?” he asked uncertainly, his voice hoarse from earlier.

Yunho did not answer immediately. Instead, he lifted a hand and unclasped the collar from around his neck. The soft metallic click echoed through the silence. When he let it fall to the floor with a muted thud, it felt as though something inside Mingi suddenly slipped out of rhythm.

“That’s enough pretending,” Yunho finally said.

His voice was low.

Mingi blinked. 

“What do you mean?” he asked, confused. But deep inside, he was already reacting to the change in Yunho’s tone. To the weight in Yunho’s voice, how it sounded less like a request and more like a command.

But Yunho did not answer with words immediately.

He crawled across the mattress with an elegance that was more animal than human, every movement fluid and precise. When he reached Mingi, he straddled his lap without hesitation. His thighs settled warm and heavy around Mingi’s legs, his bare skin brushing against the boxers Mingi still wore. 

He wrapped his arms around Mingi’s neck, his fingers slipping into the mess of blond hair, and the way he looked down at him made Mingi’s breath catch again. There was no shyness in that gaze. No hesitation. It was as if the roles had reversed, and Yunho was now the one peering into him, dissecting him, observing him, owning him. 

“You think I don’t know what I’m doing?” Yunho murmured against the shell of his ear, his voice carrying a velvet edge. 

Mingi’s breath caught in his throat. “What are you talking about?” 

Yunho’s lips brushed his cheek, not quite a kiss, just a ghost of heat. 

“Every time I bend for you, every time I cry your name, you think you’re the one in control. But Mingi...” He leaned closer, his breath warm against the younger man’s neck. “I let you believe that. I gave you control… but that doesn’t mean it was ever yours.” 

Before Mingi could respond, Yunho bit down on his neck. Hard. His teeth sank into the skin, leaving a mark, and then his tongue followed, soothing the sting with deliberate cruelty. Mingi hissed, his grip tightening around Yunho’s waist instinctively, his heart pounding with confusion and something else. 

Something hotter.

“F-fuck, Yunho...”

Yunho pulled back slightly, a smirk tugging at the corner of his swollen lips. 

“No,” he said darkly. “It’s me tonight.” 

Then, without waiting for permission, he pushed Mingi back with surprising force. His broad back hit the mattress, leaving him wide-eyed and disoriented. 

Before he could sit up, Yunho was already on top of him, grinding against the bulge beneath Mingi’s boxers, his nails dragging lightly across his chest and stomach, his expression feral. There was no trace of the demure version Mingi had grown used to. This was not the soft Yunho. This was not even the needy, moaning one from earlier. 

This version knew what he wanted.

And he intended to take it.

“You like control?” Yunho breathed against his lips, their mouths barely a breath apart. “You get hard watching me fall apart beneath you? Hearing me cry and beg for more?” 

Mingi’s breathing turned ragged.

“Yes... fuck, yes...”

Without any hesitation, Yunho pulled down Mingi’s boxer, freeing his aching cock. The cool air hit him like a shock, but that shock was nothing compared to what came next.

Yunho leaned down and devoured him.

There was no teasing, no slow buildup. He took Mingi deep into his mouth with practiced ease, lips wrapping around the thick shaft, tongue swirling in obscene, dizzying circles. The wet heat of his throat surrounded him, tight and relentless.

Mingi choked on his own moan, his hands flying to Yunho's head before stopping himself. He wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch.

“Y-yunho, what the hell… this isn’t—”

“Shh,” Yunho ordered. “Don’t talk.” 

“But... Yunho, what’s gotten into—” 

“If you don’t shut up, I’ll leave you just like this. Hard. Helpless. Thinking about me while I finish myself off.” Yunho now looked at him.

Mingi's throat dried instantly. That threat shouldn’t have aroused him. It shouldn’t have. And yet…

Yunho licked a slow, firm stripe up the underside of his cock, never breaking eye contact and took him again into his mouth with a sinful groan. His throat relaxed, taking him deeper than ever before, swallowing around him until Mingi's eyes rolled back.

His fists clenched the sheets. 

“A-ahh—yunho… nghh! Fuck!”

Yunho moaned around him, the vibrations sending jolts through Mingi's spine. His bobbing was controlled, methodical, every movement sending waves of fire through Mingi’s nerves. The room was filled with slick, obscene sounds, wet mouth, breathy moans, and the desperate gasps spilling from the younger man’s lips.

He was not used to this.

To being the one losing control.

But he liked it, far too much.

Yunho pulled off with a wet pop, spit glistening on his lips, chin shiny. “You’re already twitching,” he said smugly, spit glistening on his lips. He climbed back up, straddling Mingi's hips with languid elegance, and leaned close enough for their foreheads to touch.

“You said I sound pretty when I moan, right?” he whispered.

Mingi nodded, too dazed to do anything else. 

“Then make me moan.”

Without breaking eye contact, Yunho reached down and guided Mingi’s cock back inside him, sinking down slowly, the stretch exquisite, deliberate, tight. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment, lips parting as a deep, throaty moan escaped his throat.

Mingi shuddered.

Before he could even lift a hand, Yunho grabbed both of his wrists and pinned them above his head with surprising strength. 

“No touching,” he said between breaths. 

And then he began to ride him.

It wasn’t fast. It wasn’t frantic. It was controlled.

Yunho rolled his hips in sinuous, hypnotic waves, squeezing around him with every motion, milking every inch as he bounced and rocked in a rhythm that had Mingi biting his lip to keep from screaming. His moans were relentless music made of lust, threaded with filth, growing louder and wetter with every movement.

“Yes… ahhh—nnnghh—yes… oh fuck, you stretch me so fucking good… Mingi… Mingi—yes!... yes … oh my god—Ahhh… It’s so good… so deep!”

His hair stuck on his forehead, his face glistening with sweat, his eyes half-lidded and heavy with lust. He leaned back, both hands in his thigh, riding Mingi harder, his moans grew louder, wetter, more desperate but never breaking that rhythm.

Mingi struggled beneath him, sweat coating his chest. “Yunho… please… let me touch you—fuck, I need—”

“No,” Yunho panted, breath stuttering. “You’ll come too fast. Just lay there. Feel me.”

Mingi's brain was short-circuiting. Everything was too much. Yunho’s voice, the way he moved, the sinful expressions he made, it was too fucking much.

“But—nnghh, your moans… your face… shit—”

“You like this, don’t you? Watching me fuck myself on your cock like this? So needy. You’re not the only one addicted to this, Mingi.” 

Yunho smirked through the heat.

“We all are”

He rode him harder then, faster, the slaps of skin and his filthy, vocal cries filling the air.

“Ahhh—yes! Mingi… yes—oh god, right there—ahhh… I fucking… nghh… love your cock—don’t stop… don’t stop!”

And that was it. 

Mingi ripped his wrists free and grabbed Yunho's hips, thrusting up with all the power he had. Yunho screamed, body jolting, but instead of resisting, he met it. Matched it. Fucked back harder, faster, wilder, their bodies colliding in primal rhythm.

“Fuck! So good, Mingi— just… like that…yes— harder…fuck, ahhhh…”

The rhythm shattered into something primal. Yunho's head fell back, eyes rolling, mouth wide open, body trembling as he took it all, thrust after thrust, riding him with reckless abandon, sobbing out moans like music.

“So deep—nnghh… don’t stop—ahh—yes!... yesyes—I-I’m close! Gonna… cum!”

“Me too—Yun… shit I’m cumming…!”

They came together, loud, desperate, breaking apart and clinging tighter at the same time.

Yunho collapsed against Mingi's chest, his breathing ragged, every part of him twitching from overstimulation. Yunho wrapped his arms around him, holding him close, though his hands trembled, not from exertion, but from something deeper.

Then a realization.

An ache he couldn’t name.

Because as Yunho curled into him, quiet now, almost back to the version he recognized, Mingi said nothing.

He didn’t know what scared him more.

The fact that Yunho could take control like that.

Or how badly…

How desperately…

He wanted it to happen again.

The next day arrived in silence. 

It settled on Mingi’s shoulders like an invisible weight, heavy and relentless. The air felt too thick. Every breath scraped at his chest, and every exhale tasted like longing and regret.

And above all else, that silence had a name.

Yunho.

There were no messages. No calls. Not even a damn emoji. Not even a blue "seen" tick. 

Just complete, unbearable absence. 

Mingi sat hunched over on Hongjoong’s couch, his elbows resting on his knees, his broad shoulders tense. His phone felt cursed in his hand, the blank notification screen staring back at him.

The lack of any response hurt far more than he wanted to admit.

Especially after the night they’d had. After everything that was said and done. Yunho had clung to him like he was the last thing tethering him to reality. He had cried out Mingi’s name like it was the only word he remembered. He’d trembled under his touch, bled pleasure from every moan, from every bite, from every thrust that carved him open and left him breathless.

It should’ve been enough to satisfy Mingi. Should’ve quieted the hunger gnawing at him.

But instead, it only deepened the need.

“I don’t get it,” Mingi muttered, his voice low and rough with exhaustion. Sleep had refused to come. Instead, he had spent the entire night replaying every detail, every sound, every gasp, every moment. “Why the hell hasn’t he answered?” 

Across from him, Hongjoong lounged with one ankle crossed over his knee, an espresso in hand, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp. 

“Because you’re being intense as fuck,” Hongjoong said with a sigh, the silver spoon tapping against the rim of his mug. His voice was calm, but there was a note of caution underneath it. “It’s been ten hours. Chill out before you start chewing your own arm off.” 

Mingi did not even look up. His thumb hovered over Yunho’s contact, ready to send another message. 

“Ten hours,” he echoed quietly. “Ten hours of nothing. Not even a fucking ‘lol.’” 

Hongjoong raised an eyebrow. 

“Maybe he’s sleeping. Maybe he’s busy. Or maybe he’s taking a breather from the guy who’s been acting like a bloodhound on crack.” 

Mingi finally looked up, and the wild look in his eyes made Hongjoong pause. His gaze was not just desperate. It was haunted. 

“I need to see him,” Mingi said. “I need to know which version of him I was with.” 

Hongjoong’s expression shifted slightly. Concern. Annoyance. Maybe even pity.

He leaned forward and set his mug down on the glass table with a soft clink.

“I’ve seen people obsessed before, Mingi. Hell, I’ve been obsessed before,” Hongjoong said, his voice softer now. “But what you’re describing? This isn’t obsession anymore. This is compulsion. Addiction.” 

Mingi let out a breath that trembled at the edges. 

“I thought I was in control,” he confessed, each word dragged through clenched teeth. “I thought I understood him. I studied his moods. Learned when he would shift, when his voice changed, when he moved differently, when he looked at me differently. I thought it meant I understood him.” 

Hongjoong watched him silently for a moment. “But now?”

Mingi’s grip tightened around his phone.

His jaw clenched.

“Now I wake up aching just from dreaming about his voice. I hear him when I close my eyes. I crave every side of him. The soft one, the teasing one, the demanding one. I want every gasp, every scream, every whisper of my name like it’s something holy.”

Hongjoong let out a long breath and shook his head. “That’s not love, man. That’s an overdose.”

Mingi stood abruptly.

He could not sit still. Not like this. Not when his skin buzzed and his pulse roared in his ears.

“You don’t understand what it’s like,” he muttered. “To touch someone and not know who you’re really holding. But still need all of them. Love all of them.”

“Again, that’s not love,” Hongjoong repeated. 

But Mingi was already grabbing his coat.

The night air hit Mingi like a slap.

It was sharp and cold, the kind that usually cleared the fog from a person’s mind if there was any fog left to clear. For him, it did nothing. It barely cut through the chaos surging inside his chest.

The sidewalk glistened beneath the streetlights, slick with rain and reflecting neon signs and shadows. 

He walked quickly.

He did not care that he looked unhinged.

Because he was.

Outside Yunho’s apartment, he did not even try to hide anymore.

No shadows.

No waiting.

He wanted Yunho to know.

He stood in front of the door with his fists buried in his coat pockets. Then the apartment door creaked open.

Mingi’s breath caught.

His heart jumped straight into his throat.

There he was.

Yunho stood in the doorway, a dark blue robe tied loosely around his slim frame. His expression was unreadable, his eyes half-lidded, his lips curled into the faintest smile.

As if this had been planned.

As if he had been waiting for Mingi too.

“You’re late,” Yunho said. 

Mingi blinked in surprise. “You... wanted me to come?” 

Yunho tilted his head slightly, that faint smile never fading.

“I always do.”

As soon as Mingi stepped inside, he noticed that the apartment smelled faintly of roses and something richer lingering somewhere deeper within the space.

Yunho walked toward the center of the room. Then he reached for the belt of his robe and pulled. The fabric slipped from his shoulders with agonizing grace. The robe fell to the floor with a dull thud.

Underneath, there was nothing.

Only bare, pale skin and the body Mingi had memorized in the dark, now laid out before him like a challenge. 

The younger man froze. His throat tightened. Blood rushed through him.

“Yunho...” he breathed, his voice low and hoarse, as though he had been starved of air. 

But Yunho did not move closer. 

He simply stood there, breathing slowly, his chest rising and falling as if he were preparing for war.

Or seduction.

“You want me so badly, don’t you?” he asked, his voice sweet and dangerous at the same time. 

Mingi stepped forward, his control had already snapped. “You have no fucking idea.”

But Yunho raised a hand, stopping him.

“Not until you say it,” he whispered.

“Say what?” 

“Say that I drive you insane,” Yunho whispered. “Say that you wake up aching for me. Say that you’re addicted to the sound of me screaming your name.” 

Mingi’s jaw tightened, his fists clenched at his sides.

“Say it, Mingi,” he said, his eyes darkening. “Say it, or I’ll disappear again.” 

“I wake up aching for your voice,” Mingi growled. “I dream of it. I hear it every time I close my eyes. I’m going fucking crazy without it. You ruin me, Yunho.”

Something flickered in Yunho’s gaze, as if one of his alters was surfacing. That delicate mix of vulnerability and raw dominance. His lip trembled, then he exhaled and stepped forward, pressing a palm against Mingi’s chest.

“Then show me how I ruined you.” 

Mingi surged forward.

He kissed Yunho as if he were trying to steal the air from his lungs. 

He grabbed him with both hands, lifting him easily and pinning him against the nearest wall, the cool surface behind Yunho contrasting sharply with the heat between them. 

Their mouths collided.

Tongues.

Teeth.

Breathless sounds.

Yunho’s legs wrapped around his waist, his body already arching, already trembling. 

“You’re going to scream so loud the neighbors will call the cops,” Mingi hissed against Yunho’s jaw, one hand gripping the curve of his ass. 

“Then fuck me hard enough to make it worth the arrest,” Yunho moaned, eyes fluttering as he arched into him.

That was all the permission Mingi needed. 

With his hands under those thighs, he kept Yunho pinned against the wall, balancing him easily with his weight. He reached between them, unzipping his jeans with one hand, freeing his hard cock that’s now flushed and already leaking. Yunho shivered as the thick head brushed against his entrance, slick and hot and demanding.

Yunho’s head fell back, mouth open in a broken sob. “Nngghhh—fuck—you’re so big… Mingi… ahhh—yes, fuck me… just like that—!

Mingi bit his own lip hard, jaw clenched as he pushed in deeper, inch by thick inch until he was fully buried inside. Yunho's walls were tight around him, hot and pulsing, clenching hard like they were trying to pull him in deeper than his body allowed.

“You feel… fucking perfect,” Mingi groaned against his ear, his hips beginning to move, slow and relentless, grinding into Yunho until the he gasped and whined with each thrust.

Yunho’s legs tightened around his waist, nails clawing into his back as he cried out. “Mingi—ahhh… right there, fuck—yes, more, more…”

The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mingled with their panting, with Yunho's choked moans and Mingi's growled curses. Every thrust drove Yunho up the wall, his back hitting it with rhythmic thuds, his eyes rolling back with every sharp slam of his hips.

“Can’t… think straight, Mingi… so good… so deep—yes, right there—fuck… fill me—don’t stop—right there… oh god!”

Yunho’s cock bounced between their stomachs, slick and flushed, leaving smears of precome across Mingi's abs. His moans weren’t just noise, they were broken sobs of need, of worship, of surrender.

Mingi leaned in, licking the shell of his ear, then growling against it. “Say it again.”

“I love being fucked by you,” Yunho cried, his voice breaking. “You make me scream like no one else—Mingi… ahhh… yes… YES— don’t stop… don’t you fucking dare stop” Tears spilled from his eyes, he was trembling now, thighs shaking, legs locked tight around mingi’s hips.

“I’m gonna come— right there! Please, please, please… Oh god—ahhh!” he gasped. “Please… please—don’t stop… ahhh… so good—I can’t… don’t stop—!" Yunho's eyes rolled back.

“You’re not allowed to come until I tell you,” Mingi snarled, one hand curling around Yunho's throat, his other hand gripping Yunho's ass, spreading him open even wider as he drove in deeper.

“I-I can’t—I’m gonna… nnghh… please… please—Mingi!”

Mingi locked eyes with him. His voice dropped to a near growl. “You’re mine. Say it.”

“Yes! All yours… Mingi… ahhh… take me, own me… fuck me—do whatever you want to me”

That broke something inside Mingi. 

He fucked him harder. Faster. With a brutality fueled by love and addiction and desperation. Yunho screamed for him, sobbing as his back arched and legs shook violently. His cock throbbed between them, untouched, leaking against his stomach.

“Can’t… c-cumming… cumming… ahh… gonna cum!" Yunho's eyes closed and tightened his hold to Mingi's wrist holding his throat.

“Come for me, Yunho,” Mingi finally whispered into his neck. 

And Yunho shattered. 

His orgasm ripped through him like lightning, every muscle locking, his cock twitching hard between them as he painted their stomachs with hot white streaks of cum. His scream echoed through the apartment, high, desperate, raw.

His body convulsed with aftershocks, gasping and sobbing into Mingi's shoulder. Moments later, Mingi came too, grinding deep, groaning long and low as he emptied inside him, body jerking with the force of it.

For several long seconds, the world was silent except for the sound of their breathing, heavy and uneven as they tried to come back down from everything that had just happened. 

Then Mingi walked toward the couch while still carrying Yunho in his arms. With every movement Mingi made, a faint sound escaped from Yunho, soft and tired. Mingi sank down onto the couch, keeping Yunho in his lap as he trembled from exhaustion. 

Yunho clung loosely to his wrist, his fingers curled around it as though it were an anchor. His eyes were wet, his lashes fluttering shut every few seconds. His head rested against Mingi's collarbone, warm and vulnerable in a way he rarely allowed himself to be. 

Neither of them spoke at first.

The atmosphere had softened. The intensity that had consumed them earlier had faded into something quieter as their sweat slowly cooled in the warmth of the apartment. Mingi reached up and carefully brushed the damp strands of hair away from Yunho's face, holding him with a tenderness that felt completely at odds with the roughness of only moments ago.

Then, in a voice barely louder than a whisper, Yunho finally spoke.

“Sometimes... I don't know which one of me you like.”

Mingi looked down at him, at those beautiful, tired eyes that were still glassy with a mixture of pleasure and fear. He took a slow breath, his fingers still moving through Yunho’s dark hair.

“That’s the problem,” he murmured quietly, his voice rough with honesty. “I like all of them. Every version.”

Yunho let out a small breath.

His eyes finally closed, and for the first time in days, his body seemed to relax completely, settling into something dangerously close to peace. 

And Mingi did not let go. 

The only sound inside the room was the rain, gentle but steady as it tapped against the fogged window. Outside, a lone streetlamp stood beneath the downpour, its amber glow filtering faintly through the blinds and casting long, flickering shadows across the floor. 

Mingi stood in the middle of the room, his spine straight and tense, like a soldier waiting for orders. His bare chest rose and fell in slow, controlled breaths, as though he were forcing himself to stay grounded, forcing himself to stay calm. His hands were clenched tightly into fists at his sides, his knuckles pale from the pressure. 

The air carried the unmistakable scent of what had happened between them, rich, heavy, impossible to ignore. It clung to the room, to their skin, and to the very walls around them.

The bathroom door, however, remained closed.

Yunho had gone inside nearly twenty minutes earlier and had not said a single word since.

No explanation.

Nothing.

He had simply crossed the room in silence, his expression unreadable, before the door clicked shut behind him. The only sounds that had broken through were faint, the faucet turning on and off sporadically, the occasional metallic clink that hinted at something brushing against the sink or counter, perhaps a toothbrush being moved, a bottle knocked gently, or porcelain meeting porcelain. There had been a couple of soft thuds, drawers being opened and closed again, followed by another round of silence. Then, the faucet again. Water splashing, rinsing, repeating. As if he were scrubbing something that wouldn’t come off.

And Mingi felt it in his bones, this wasn’t right.

This wasn’t like Yunho.

Or rather… it wasn’t like the version of Yunho he had spent the night with. Not the one who had pulled him in with burning eyes and a commanding tone, who had kissed him like he was starving, clung to him with fingers like claws, marked his back with scratches, and had ridden him like a man possessed. That Yunho had been fierce. Reckless. Hungry for everything Mingi could give and then some. He had taken control, then relinquished it, then snatched it back again, playing with the lines between dominance and surrender.

But now?

Now the silence was deafening.

Unsettling.

Because when Jeong Yunho became truly silent, not annoyed, not indifferent, but silent in a way that reached all the way into his soul, it usually meant something inside him was hurting. 

Mingi shifted slightly.

His fingers twitched with the urge to move, to knock on the door, to call out.

But he did not.

He did not want to intrude.

He did not want to make things worse.

Still, the heaviness in his chest told him that something fragile was cracking apart on the other side of that door. 

Then, finally, the doorknob turned.

A soft creak echoed through the room.

Mingi looked over immediately.

The door opened slowly, steam drifting out behind Yunho like a ghost, wrapping around his silhouette. His dark hair was wet and clung to his forehead, framing his sharp cheekbones and pale neck. Droplets of water slid down his collarbones and disappeared into the towel hanging low around his hips.

His body was elegant and lean, the dim light highlighting every curve and shadow.

But none of that mattered.

Because his face was blank.

His expression wasn’t just tired or absent, it was detached, like he wasn’t really there. His eyes, usually bright or defiant or warmth, were glassy, distant, as though they had spent the last twenty minutes staring at something only he could see, and hadn’t fully come back from it yet.

Mingi approached slowly.

“You okay?” he asked gently, his voice rough with restraint.

Yunho didn’t reply at first. He simply stared at him, as if trying to place him in a memory that didn’t quite fit.

And then, with a voice low and unnervingly calm, he asked, “Who did you just fuck?”

Mingi's brows immediately drew together. “... What?” he breathed, completely caught off guard, unable to mask the confusion.

Yunho brushed past him without another word and crossed the room barefoot. Returning to the bedroom, he lowered himself slowly onto the edge of the bed and reached toward the floor.

There, half hidden beneath the tangled sheets, was the black leather collar from the night before.

“You said you like all of us,” Yunho said softly, his voice steady but fragile.

Mingi nodded carefully. “Yeah. I do.” His voice was sincere.

Confused, but sincere.

“But what if I don’t?” Yunho asked quietly, almost as though he were speaking to himself. 

Mingi frowned. “Don't what?”

Yunho looked down at the collar again, his fingers curling slightly. “Don’t like them back.”

A silence fell between them. Not just awkward, but heavy. Like something unspeakable had just been pulled from the shadows and dropped between them, shattering on impact.

Mingi's heart pounded hard against his ribs. 

He took a slow step forward.

“Yunho... you are them,” he said carefully, trying to keep his voice calm.

But Yunho shook his head.

Droplets of water slipped from his hair and ran down his shoulders.

“No. I'm not,” he said quietly. “I feel them. I hear them. I watch them take over. They say things I wouldn't say. They do things I don't always remember. I wake up and my body hurts. I'm sore. I'm aching. I’m full. And sometimes I don't even know if I agreed to any of it. I don't know if I wanted it.”

His breath caught then his voice cracked.

“Sometimes I don't even know if it was me.”

Mingi felt his throat tighten, his entire body suddenly felt heavy. Slowly, he lowered himself until he was kneeling in front of Yunho, bringing them to eye level. 

Grounding both of them. 

“Ashamed?” he asked quietly.

Carefully.

Gently.

Yunho did not answer.

But the way his shoulders folded inward, the way his lips pressed together, and the way he refused to meet Mingi's eyes told him everything he needed to know.

He sat there with his back slightly hunched, his head lowered.

The towel around his hips had loosened, exposing more of his torso, but he seemed completely unaware of it.

In that moment, he looked less like the man who could command an entire room with a single glare and more like a lost boy trapped inside his own body. 

“Tell me the truth, Mingi,” Yunho whispered.

His voice was soft and raw, like a confession.

“Would you still want me if I never moaned again? If I never fought back? If I never commanded, begged, cried, or even smiled? If I was just... me. Quiet. Broken. Nothing special.” 

Mingi inhaled slowly and let the breath leave through his nose.

Then, without hesitation, he placed one strong hand gently on Yunho’s knee.

There was nothing possessive about it.

“Yunho,” he said quietly but firmly, “I'll admit it. At first, I was only looking for sex. But now? It's not about that anymore. It's not the sounds you make. It's not what happens between us. It's not the way you look when you say my name.”

His thumb brushed lightly against Yunho's knee.

“It's you. All of you. Every piece.”

Yunho’s lips trembled slightly.

Mingi’s other hand rose to his thigh, moving slowly and carefully, not with hunger but with reverence.

With devotion.

“I like the version of you who cries and trembles when someone touches his face. I like the one who flinches. The one who is shy. The one who orders everyone around like he owns the room. I like the one who disappears when he’s scared, and the one who fights his way back. You’re all you. Every version. Every voice. Every expression.” 

Yunho’s breath hitched, and his shoulders curled slightly inward, as if trying to keep something broken from falling apart.

“Sometimes I don’t know who I’ll be when I wake up,” he admitted quietly. “Sometimes... I don’t want to know.”

“Then don’t,” Mingi said, his voice firm but gentle at the same time. He leaned forward until his forehead rested lightly against Yunho’s. “Let me be the one who holds the pieces until you’re ready.” 

There was a pause after that. A silence so full and heavy that it felt sacred. 

Then, in a breath as soft as silk, Yunho whispered, “Kiss me.” 

Mingi hesitated for only a moment. “Which version am I kissing?”

Yunho closed his eyes. “Does it matter?”

Mingi kissed him slowly and deeply, with the kind of longing that did not come from lust but from something older, something rooted, something real. There was no urgency between them. No struggle for dominance. Just warmth. Just presence. A slow-burning feeling that spread through every part of them. 

He gently laid Yunho back against the bed, the towel slipping away between them. Their bodies pressed together, warm, breathing, alive. Mingi hovered above him, his lips brushing along Yunho’s collarbone while his eyes remained fixed on Yunho’s flushed and vulnerable face.

“I’ll go slow tonight,” Mingi murmured.

“You don’t have to,” Yunho whispered back, though his voice trembled.

“I want to.”

And when he entered him, it wasn’t with force. It wasn’t with heat or punishment or power. It was slow. Patient. Worshipful.

Yunho gasped softly, his legs wrapping around Mingi's waist, arms curling over broad shoulders, fingers threading through blond hair.

The stretch made him arch, moaning lowly.

“Ahhh… Nnnngghhh… Mingi…”

Their foreheads touched again. They breathed the same air.

“This isn’t about control tonight,” Mingi whispered, thrusting deep and deliberate.

“Then what is it?” Yunho asked, voice trembling through soft moans.

“Trust,” Mingi answered.

Yunho’s next moan was breathier, softer. “Fuck… it’s still so deep… still so good…”

Mingi moved slowly and steadily. Deep thrusts. Grinding. Making Yunho feel every inch and he didn’t hold back the sounds anymore.

He gave Mingi everything. The gasps. The needy whines. The desperate clinging. But none of it was a performance.

There was no game here.

Just Yunho.

Raw. Real. Trembling under the weight of being truly seen. Cheeks flushed. Lips parted. Brows knit in pleasure.

“Yes… nngghhh, Mingi, don’t stop, please… ahhh”

Mingi kissed his temple.

“You’re safe,” he whispered with each stroke.

“I… I know,"Yunho gasped. “I trust you… ahhh… so much”

And when he came, it wasn’t with a scream, but a sob.

Soft. Trembling. Honest.

Mingi came right after him, burying his face into Yunho's neck, breath catching, and to his surprise… tears spilled from his eyes too.

Later, as the storm outside softened into a gentle drizzle, they remained tangled together beneath the sheets, holding on to one another as if neither of them wanted to let go.

Yunho traced slow, lazy shapes across Mingi’s chest with a single fingertip.

“I think I’m falling in love,” he whispered so quietly that it almost sounded like a dream. Then Mingi looked down at him and brushed a few strands of hair away from his eyes.

“With which version of me?” Yunho asked.

A faint smile touched Mingi’s lips before he pressed a kiss against Yunho’s temple.

“With the one who makes me lose control.”

Yunho’s sleepy, genuine smile spread against his shoulder.

“Then you’re just as dangerous as I am.”

Mingi let out a soft chuckle.

“No,” he whispered as he held him a little tighter. “You’re the danger. I’m just the one who chose to stay anyway.”

Outside, the rain continued to fall.

It started small. So small that Mingi barely noticed it at first.

The first time it registered was during one of their usual dinner dates, though even then he did not think much of it. They had chosen a high-rise restaurant near the edge of the city, a place known for its rooftop view and the way the golden lights bathed every table in a warm sense of intimacy.

Their table sat near the railing, far enough from the others to feel private but close enough to hear the gentle hum of the world around them. Soft laughter drifted through the air. Glasses clinked faintly. Jazz music played quietly through the speakers.

Yunho sat across from him, his eyes sharp despite the warmth in his smile.

Something about him felt different.

Not completely unfamiliar, but firmer. More direct.

The usual gentle tone he used when asking about Mingi’s preferences was gone.

After a few moments of scanning the menu in silence, Yunho closed it with a decisive click and signaled the waiter.

“He’ll have the filet mignon,” Yunho said calmly without even looking up. “Medium rare.”

The waiter nodded and took their menus before disappearing.

Mingi blinked in mild surprise and raised an eyebrow.

Yunho simply smiled back at him as if nothing unusual had happened and effortlessly shifted the conversation toward their week and their schedules.

Everything felt normal.

Everything except the lingering tension sitting in Mingi’s chest.

He hadn’t protested. He wasn’t even upset. If anything, he found himself intrigued. This assertive side of Yunho was... different. Exciting. There was something about that confidence, about the complete lack of hesitation, that stirred something inside him he could not quite name.  inside Mingi that he wasn’t sure how to name.

As the night deepened and their wine glasses slowly emptied, the atmosphere around them changed.

The rooftop became quieter and only soft laughter and distant music remained.

That was when Mingi felt it.

Yunho’s hand slipped beneath the white tablecloth.

At first it seemed innocent enough. Just fingertips brushing lightly against the fabric of his slacks. But those fingers continued upward with steady confidence and a possessive certainty that made Mingi freeze for half a second.

He looked up.

Their eyes met across the table.

Yunho’s expression was unreadable, his lips curled into a slow and almost lazy smile. He leaned forward slightly until their knees touched beneath the table.

His breath drifted across the rim of his wine glass before he whispered in a low, velvety voice,

“Keep your legs still. You’ll make me jealous of the chair.”

Mingi let out a soft, incredulous chuckle. A flush crept up his neck and painted his ears red. He didn’t look away, couldn’t. There was a fire behind Yunho's eyes, something daring and sharp, and it held him completely captive.

He didn’t question it.

Not then.

Because some part of him welcomed it. This boldness. This claim. The way Yunho would reach out to brush his fingers across Mingi’s jaw in front of strangers, the way he pressed kisses to his lips or temple without hesitation or leaned close and whispered things only meant for him. There was a thrill to it. A new layer of intimacy, wild and unfiltered.

But then things started to change.

What once felt like confidence soon began to take on a different shape. The energy shifted, subtle at first, but steadily growing. There was a new edge to Yunho's presence, a weight behind his words. He became more controlling in small, seemingly innocent ways. He always had a plan. Always knew where they were going, what they were doing, who they were seeing. It was never a question anymore. It was always a decision already made.

Three nights later, things escalated. 

Mingi had just finished a late-night workout. His muscles ached pleasantly, clothes clinging to his frame with sweat. The gym had been nearly empty, filled only with the low hum of fluorescent lights as he packed up his belongings. He slung his gym bag over his shoulder and stepped outside into the cool evening air, appreciating the quiet.

But when he arrived home, something felt wrong.

Not in an obvious way, nothing was out of place. But there was a weight in the room that hadn't been there before, like the air had thickened while he was gone.

He dropped his bag onto the couch, pulled off his damp shirt, and headed toward the kitchen for water. 

Then something made him stop. 

A feeling. 

His eyebrows drew together when he noticed a piece of paper sitting on his table. 

Frowning, he stared at it. He knew it had not been there before he left. Slowly, he approached and picked it up then turned it over.

It was a photograph.

The image showed him sitting alone in a small café earlier that week, looking down at his phone, completely unaware. The picture had clearly been taken from a distance. Maybe from across the street, partially hidden behind a lamppost or a bush.

There was no note. No name. Just the photo.

Mingi stared at it, a knot forming in his stomach. He didn’t remember anyone watching him. It had been a quick stop, a simple moment between training and errands. He had spoken only to the barista. There had been no one suspicious. No odd glances. And yet someone had been close enough to capture him, to document a private, unguarded moment.

He kept the photo.

That same night, Mingi went to Yunho’s apartment. 

The older man was already waiting, wearing loose silk pajamas and barefoot. The second Mingi shut the door behind him, Yunho was already on him, mouth hot and demanding, hands tugging at his clothes as if he had been waiting the entire time. 

Mingi barely had time to breathe out a greeting before he was shoved back against the wall, his shirt half undone, lips swallowed by Yunho’s in a kiss that left him breathless and disoriented. 

“I missed you,” Yunho murmured, his voice rough and husky, lips brushing the shell of Mingi’s ear as he guided him toward the couch. 

Mingi, still dazed, let out a rough breath. “You okay?” he asked, slightly breathless, still trying to catch up. 

Yunho only chuckled softly in response. “Better when you’re inside me,” he whispered, before pushing Mingi down onto the cushions and climbing into his lap. 

Everything after that blurred together, clothes thrown aside in fevered urgency, mouths colliding, skin pressing against skin. Yunho moved like a man possessed, riding Mingi hard and fast, his nails dragging red lines down his back as his body took control. 

“Mingi, Mingi… yes… right there… yes— more, don’t you dare… fucking.. Ahhh—stop, Mingi!” Yunho cried out sharply, voice breaking with ecstasy as his hips slammed down with every thrust. His fingers now dug into Mingi’s shoulders, his thighs trembling, his body completely taking over the moment. 

Mingi could barely form words, dazed by how intense it all felt. “Yunho… nnghh… slow down—” 

“No,” Yunho snapped, eyes dark and flushed. 

“Let me touch—”

“No,” Yunho hissed, his eyes burning. “Hands off. This is mine.”

He grabbed Mingi’s wrists and pinned them down for a brief moment before leaning in close, his breath hot against his lover’s ear. 

“You really think I don’t notice when people look at you?” he whispered, voice low and dangerous. “You think I don’t see everything?” 

Mingi blinked, confused and breathless. “What are you—”

“That girl at the café. The one who touched your hand.”

Realization hit Mingi instantly. His heart skipped. “Yunho, that was the barista—” 

“She smiled too much. And you smiled back.”

“Wait—” Mingi froze, stunned. “You were watching me?” 

“Of course I was,” Yunho said sweetly, riding him harder now, sweat trailing down his chest. “I always am.” 

That sentence echoed inside Mingi’s mind as he came, hard and fast, his body trembling under the overwhelming sensation and the sharp sting of possessiveness woven into every word. But even then, Yunho did not stop. He kept moving, faster now, chasing his own release with a desperation that felt almost primal. His voice cracked with every broken sound.

“N-not done—ahh… again, Mingi, give me all of it—” His face twisted in ecstasy, lips parted, moans growing louder, wetter, more broken with each breath.  “Fucking fill me… nnnghh… yesyesyes—just like that!”

When it was finally over, they collapsed together, tangled and soaked in sweat, both of them breathing heavily as their bodies slowly came down from the intensity. Yunho curled into Mingi’s chest like a satisfied cat, whispering soft praises and pressing sleepy kisses along his jawline.

But Mingi did not sleep.

He lay there awake long after Yunho’s breathing slowed, staring at the ceiling. The warmth of Yunho’s body against him should have felt comforting. Instead, it felt heavy.

Carefully, quietly, Mingi slipped out from under him and pulled on his clothes again. Yunho shifted slightly but did not wake. Mingi left the apartment and stepped into the cool night air, needing space, needing air, needing distance to think.

Later, when he returned to his own apartment, something in his gut tightened immediately.  

He walked straight to the kitchen to retrieve the photograph again, but his eyes caught something else on the floor. A second photo as if it had somehow slipped out of nowhere and fallen where it could be found. 

His fingers trembled slightly as he picked it up.

This time, it was Yunho.

But it was not the image itself that made his stomach twist.

It was the message written on the back in messy, jagged handwriting.

“You think you’re the only one who watches him? We’re not done.”

Mingi’s heart pounded violently as he flipped the photo over again, scanning every edge, every corner, searching for anything he might have missed. But there was nothing else. Just the image and that message.

Until a thought slowly formed in his mind, and suddenly he was no longer sure who had been watching who all along. 

The photos sat on the table like a ticking time bomb, quiet, harmless in appearance, yet heavy enough to drag him into spiraling thoughts he could not escape. 

He stood there for what felt like hours, fingers trembling each time he picked them up again. Two photos. One of him. One of Yunho. And that same message on the back of Yunho’s image. 

“You think you’re the only one who watches him? We’re not done.” 

He had memorized it by now. Repeated it so many times in his head that it no longer sounded like text, but like a voice echoing inside his dreams. 

He tried everything to trace it back. Compared handwriting. Studied every version of Yunho he knew. The soft, neat cursive. The elegant loops. Even the sharper handwriting of the alter that surfaced during sex, the one that whispered filthy, possessive things into his ear. That one wrote with precision, control, almost like calligraphy.

But this handwriting was different.

Jagged. Broken. Almost violent, like the pen had been dragged across the paper in anger and urgency.

It did not match anyone he knew.

There was someone else.

Someone hidden deeper inside Yunho than he had ever reached before.

An alter that had never revealed itself.

Mingi’s breathing turned shallow at the thought. Even with everything he already knew about Yunho, even with how deeply he had become entangled in him, there was still something unknown. Something watching. Something waiting. 

The following night, Mingi returned to Yunho’s apartment despite the warning carved into that message. He could not stay away. He needed answers. He needed to know who else existed inside Yunho. Who else had been watching him from behind those same eyes.

The moment he stepped inside, unease prickled at the nape of his neck.

It was too quiet. 

The lights were dim, casting a soft glow across the room. The windows were slightly open, letting in a cold breeze. Everything felt charged, like the space itself was holding its breath.

The bedroom door stood slightly open, shadows spilling into the hallway like ink.

Mingi swallowed and moved closer. 

His heartbeat grew louder with every step until he reached the bedroom doorway.

And there, standing in the center of the room under pale moonlight, was Yunho. He was facing the mirror, completely naked, his skin glowing faintly in the dim light.

Mingi froze instantly.

But it was not just the sight that held him still. It was the reflection. Because Yunho’s back was turned to him, but his reflection was staring directly at him.

And he was smiling.

But it was not Yunho’s smile.

Not soft. Not warm. Not familiar.

It was sharp. Controlled. Predatory.

A smile that made something cold crawl up Mingi’s spine.

“You came back,” Yunho said calmly, his voice low, but completely different now. It had dropped an octave, smoother, more deliberate, almost like it had been carefully shaped before being spoken. 

Mingi stepped forward cautiously, heart pounding. “…Yunho?” 

The reflection blinked slowly, smile never fading. “Yunho is not here right now.” 

Mingi’s hands clenched at his sides. “Then where is he?” 

“Somewhere… far away,” he answered simply. 

“Then who the fuck are you?” 

The figure did not react. He turned slowly, deliberately, finally revealing himself fully.

It was Yunho’s body, but the presence was wrong. Different. The posture was relaxed yet dangerous, confident in a way Yunho never carried before.

“I am the one who watches when he cannot face what he feels,” the voice said. “The one who cleans up what he cannot handle.” 

His gaze locked onto Mingi’s, and there was nothing familiar in it. Nothing safe. It was like looking at a stranger wearing Yunho’s face. 

“You thought you were the only one obsessed?” he murmured, stepping closer with a faint smirk. “You thought Yunho was the only one who begged for you? Who screamed your name into a pillow?” 

He was inches away now, heat radiating from his body like fire, and Mingi couldn’t stop looking at his mouth, lips parted, breath warm.

The alter leaned in slightly. 

“We all want you, Mingi,” he whispered. “Every one of us. But some of us…” His hand pressed against Mingi’s chest, nails dragging lightly through fabric. “Some of us want to own you.” 

Mingi’s breath shook as he instinctively reached up, as if searching for Yunho behind that face, hoping there was still something left of him underneath. But before he could touch him, Yunho’s hand shot up and grabbed his wrist midair. 

This was not softness.

This was steel.

“You are not the predator here,” the alter whispered.

Then he shoved Mingi back hard enough to slam him against the wall.

A low groan escaped Mingi’s throat, stunned, breath knocked out of him. Before he could recover, Yunho’s body was already pressing into him, too close, too familiar, yet completely wrong. 

Lips brushed his jaw slowly, teasing.

“We’ve been watching you,” the voice said.

Mingi’s fingers tightened around his shoulder. “Since when?” 

“Since the first time you touched him like he belonged to you.” 

“He does belong to me,” Mingi growled, possessive anger rising sharply. 

The alter let out a soft laugh, low and mocking, as he leaned in and dragged his tongue lightly along Mingi’s neck.

“No, Mingi,” he whispered. “Yunho belongs to us.”

The kiss that followed wasn’t really a kiss at all, it was a war, teeth and tongue clashing, control being fought for through each breath and movement.Mingi didn’t even remember moving, but suddenly they were on the bed, his shirt torn open, buttons flying off like shrapnel scattering across the floor. 

“You want to fuck me, don’t you?”

“Always.”

“Then do it knowing I’m not Yunho. You’ll be screaming my name tonight.”

“Then tell me what to call you.”

“You’ll learn it when you’ve earned it.”

The alter took what he wanted without patience, without teasing or hesitation. He rode Mingi like he had something to prove, like this was a ritual, like this was punishment and worship at the same time. 

Mingi’s fingers dug bruises into his hips as he tried to stay grounded in reality while the alter bounced on his cock, head thrown back, eyes rolling, mouth open as shameless moans spilled out without restraint. 

“Fuck… fuck… just like that… don’t stop… yes… deeper—harder!” 

He had never heard Yunho sound like this before. These weren’t soft sighs or pretty whimpers or even his loud screams. These were feral, guttural cries, like something inside him was being ripped out through pleasure alone. 

Mingi flipped them over, growling as he gripped his waist and thrust hard enough to shake the headboard violently against the wall.

But when he looked at his face, something in him tightened with fear, because his eyes did not look like Yunho’s anymore.

They looked hungry.

Obsessed.

Possessive.

“Fuck me like you want to disappear inside me,” he growled.

“You’re driving me insane,” Mingi panted, voice rough.

“Good,” the alter moaned, clawing down his back. “Because now we’re even.”

Mingi lost himself after that, thrusting harder, deeper, until it felt like there was nothing else left in the world. But the alter loved it, met every movement, matched every desperate rhythm. 

Their bodies moved like fire and gasoline, wild, consuming, dangerous. 

Mingi bit his shoulder, then his collarbone, enough to leave marks, enough to taste skin. He slapped his thigh just to feel him flinch, rewarded instantly with a broken, loud moan that filled the room. 

“You’re all the same,” Mingi grunted, fucking him deeper, harder. “Every version of you… sick little masochists who want to be broken.” 

But the alter looked at him through glazed, wild eyes and whispered back, voice trembling with something close to madness.

“No… we don’t want to be broken. We want to break you.”

They both came with loud, raw, animalistic screams. Their bodies trembled, soaked in sweat and obsession. When Mingi collapsed on top of him, gasping for air, the alter wrapped his arms around him like a noose that refused to let go. 

“You’re ours now, Mingi” he murmured softly, voice suddenly calm again, almost final. “You always were.” 

But then, without warning, something shifted. The tension drained out of the body beneath him like it had been pulled away all at once.

Breathing slowed. Muscles relaxed.

Mingi lifted his head, panting, and what he saw made his stomach drop. Because now he found himself staring into Yunho’s wide, teary eyes. Eyes that were no longer burning with obsession, but filled with fear.

His lips trembled. “M-Mingi…?” he whispered, voice fragile.

Yunho was back. 

He did not remember the moment he came. 

What he remembered instead was heat coiling around him like a second skin, a thick haze that blurred the line between pleasure and losing himself completely. He remembered moaning, loud and uncontrollable, like something had been pulled out of him against his will. Sweat clung to his skin, the sheets beneath him damp and tangled, the scent of sex hanging in the air like smoke after a fire.

And then, nothing.

A void.

Now he lay beneath Mingi, naked, trembling, cold despite the heat lingering between their bodies. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, loud and violent, like a warning he could not understand. His thighs were sticky, marked by evidence he could not fully process. His lips were parted, breath uneven, chest rising and falling too fast, like he had been running from something unseen.

But it was his eyes that betrayed everything, wide, glassy, and filled with a fear that went beyond the body, something deeper, something that felt like it came from the soul itself. 

Mingi had not moved. 

For several long minutes he stayed above him, frozen, breathing shallow, muscles locked tight, sweat clinging to his skin. He was flushed, overwhelmed, but his gaze was distant, like he was staring at someone he did not recognize anymore. 

“What…” Yunho’s voice cracked, dry and small, barely holding itself together. He swallowed hard and tried again. “What did I say…?” 

Mingi blinked slowly. His jaw tightened, but words did not come immediately. When they finally did, they came out low, rough, broken at the edges.

“It wasn’t you,” he said quietly. “Not fully.”

Silence followed after that. 

They stayed wrapped in a blanket that did nothing to soften the weight between them. The room felt cold despite their shared heat. Yunho sat on the bed, fingers gripping the fabric tightly like it was the only thing keeping him secured. His legs still trembled slightly, and he refused to look at Mingi. 

“You said someone else was here…” he whispered after a while, voice thin and uncertain. “That it wasn’t just the usual me.” 

Mingi nodded slowly.

“He was different,” he said carefully. “He looked at me like he already knew everything. Like he had been watching for a long time. He said he sees everything when you don’t want to. He smiled like he had always been there.”

Yunho inhaled sharply, his breath shaking.

“I know who that is,” he said quietly, staring down at his hands. “The Mirror.”

Mingi frowned slightly. “What?” 

“That’s what I used to call him when I was a kid,” Yunho said softly. “When I’d black out and wake up crying in bed, soaked in sweat. I’d see him in my dreams. Always in the mirror. Watching me. Smiling like he knew something I didn’t.”

Mingi stared at him, goosebumps rising along his arms.

“He’s… part of you,” he said carefully.

Yunho nodded.

“The part I tried to bury,” he whispered. “The part I pretended wasn’t real. But he didn’t disappear, Mingi. He stayed. He waited. And now he is back.” 

The following days were a blur, like living in a film reel that skipped and crackled.

Yunho changed constantly. 

One moment he was soft, quiet, fragile, curling into Mingi like he was the only safe place left in the world. He would speak gently, move carefully, and look at Mingi like he might disappear if held too tightly. He kissed like he was searching for comfort. He clung like he was afraid of falling apart.

And then, without warning, he would shift.

Not always instantly, sometimes slowly, like darkness creeping across a lit room. His gaze would change first, then his tone, then the way he held himself.

From gentle kisses to sharp, predatory stares. From soft moans in Mingi’s lap to whispers that made his blood run cold. Fingers tightening around his jaw, voice low and controlled.

“She’s still watching you,” The Mirror would say through Yunho’s mouth, eyes gleaming. “That barista with the stupid smile. Do you want me to hurt her?”

Other nights were worse. 

“You taste better when you are afraid,” he would purr, dragging sharp nails down Mingi’s chest. 

“If you ever leave,” he would murmur against his neck, “I will either bleed for you… or make you bleed for me.”

Mingi never knew which version would greet him when he walked through Yunho’s door. 

But he never left. Not once. Even when The Mirror’s words cut into him like glass. Even when fear sat heavy in his chest. Because somewhere underneath it all, he still saw Yunho. The real one. The boy who cried in his arms after every blackout. The one who never knew how to ask for help but always did anyway. 

Then came the night everything shifted again.

Yunho stood again in front of the mirror.

Light from the room stretched across his skin, turning him into something half-real, half-reflection. His breathing was steady, too steady, like he was no longer inside his body but watching it from somewhere else. Mingi sat on the edge of the bed, heart hammering. He already knew something was coming.

“Which one are you?” Mingi asked quietly.

No answer.

Only a blink.

And then, in the mirror, Yunho moved a fraction before his body did.

“You should know who I am now, Mingi,” came the reply, low and hungry. “The one who wants everything,”

Then he turned.

He moved toward Mingi with slow, predatory grace and climbed into his lap like he had done it a hundred times before, like ownership was already decided. His hands pinned Mingi down effortlessly, his eyes burning with something unfamiliar.

“You want Yunho?” he murmured against Mingi’s cheek. “The broken little flower who cries when you touch him gently? Who trembles when you hold him too tightly?” 

Mingi's throat bobbed, but he managed to breathe out, “Yes.”

The Mirror smiled wider. 

“And the one who rides you like he can make you forget your name?”

“Yes,” Mingi answered without hesitation. 

The Mirror leaned closer, breath warm against his skin. “What about me?” he asked softly, amusement curling in his tone.

Mingi’s throat tightened. Nothing came out at first. 

“If I say yes…” he said finally, voice rough, “…will Yunho ever come back?” 

The Mirror’s smile faded slowly, turning cold.  “No,” he said simply. “He is tired. He gave me control.” 

“Give him back!” Mingi snapped, struggling slightly against his hold. 

But The Mirror only laughed, low and unbothered. 

“Oh, Mingi,” he whispered, dragging his tongue slowly along his neck. “You are adorable when you think you have any control at all.” 

What followed was not intimacy, but performance, a performance of control where The Mirror asserted dominance, treating Mingi like something that belonged to him, something to be used. He pushed Mingi down, riding him with a rhythm that felt more like punishment than pleasure, every movement calculated, every shift of his body meant to dominate rather than connect. 

He slapped Mingi’s thigh, pulled his hair, and choked him just enough to blur the line between fear and pleasure until both became indistinguishable. 

Not because he was powerless, but because something in him, twisted and quiet and shameful, needed to understand it. He needed to know what The Mirror felt like, what he tasted like in this state, what it meant to exist on the other side of Yunho’s fractured self. He wanted to understand the man he loved, even the parts that scared him. 

“Fuck, you feel so good inside me…” The Mirror moaned, fingers tightening around Mingi’s throat.

When it finally ended, Mingi lay there gasping, marked and trembling, his throat burning, his body still reacting in delayed shock. But he wasn’t afraid.

Not exactly.

Yunho curled up beside him a few minutes later.

Breathing fast. Hands unsteady. 

And then his voice came, soft, familiar. “Mingi…?”

Mingi’s breath caught. He turned his head slowly and saw Yunho staring at him with wide, frightened eyes.

“Yunho,” he whispered. “You’re back.”

He nodded slowly, but tears had already gathered in his eyes. 

“What… what did I do?” he asked. 

Mingi reached out immediately, cupping his cheek, thumb brushing away the first tear that fell.

“You let someone else in,” he said gently.

“Did he hurt you?”

Mingi hesitated for a moment, then shook his head. “No,” he answered.

But Yunho still saw through it. faint redness and marks on Mingi’s neck, the tension in his body, the aftermath written clearly in the silence between them. And that was enough. 

Yunho broke.

He sobbed, raw and unrestrained, grief and fear pouring out of him like something he could no longer contain.

“I don’t want to disappear,” he whispered.

Mingi pulled him closer immediately, firmer this time, pressing gentle kisses to his temple as if trying to hold him together through touch alone.

“Then fight,” he whispered fiercely. “You are still here. I can feel you. You’re still mine.”

“But what if you fall in love with him instead?” Yunho asked, voice shaking. 

Mingi’s jaw tightened. “I won’t.”

“How do you know?”

“Because even when he is inside you,” Mingi said, pressing his forehead gently against Yunho’s, “there are moments when your eyes still look at me like you.” 

After that night, the collar, the one The Mirror favored, remained. But it was no longer a symbol of control. It became something Yunho kept on his nightstand, something he only wore when he chose to.

“When I wear this,” he whispered one night, climbing into Mingi’s lap and curling his fingers around the fabric, “I want you to make me scream.”

And when he did not wear it, Mingi would hold him instead. He would wrap him in his arms, whisper soft reassurances against his skin, pressed slow kisses to his eyelids, and said things that were no longer about control but about presence. 

“You are still here. I still see you. And I will never stop choosing you.”

They were not healed. They were not whole. They were jagged things that had learned how to exist inside each other’s damage, addicted not just to pleasure but to recognition, to being seen fully even in their fractures. 

But in that madness, in the chaos of nights, whispered names, and bruised lips, they found something only broken things can sometimes understand.

Love. Twisted, unstable, obsessive.

But love nonetheless. 

It was a quiet night, the first they had had in what felt like weeks, maybe longer.

There were no whispers, no distorted voices slipping through the cracks of Yunho’s mind. No invisible hands leaving marks on skin or dragging him somewhere else inside himself. The sheets were clean, unwrinkled by panic, untouched by struggle. No gasping returns from dissociation, no fractured moments of someone else taking over. 

Tonight, everything was calm.

In the kitchen, Mingi stood by the stove, sleeves rolled up, stirring something slowly in a pan. The air was warm and thick with the scent of honey glazed garlic chicken, the soft bubbling of sauce filling the quiet space between them. 

Behind him, Yunho sat on the edge of the kitchen counter, watching him with half-lidded eyes, soft with exhaustion and affection. He wore one of Mingi’s oversized shirts, the hem falling mid-thigh, bare legs swinging slightly as he observed him. 

His eyes traced the lines of Mingi’s back, the subtle movement of his muscles under fabric, the concentration in his posture. 

“You always make too much,” Yunho murmured, voice still slightly hoarse from earlier hours of kissing, the kind that had turned into laughter and then settled into something calm and grounding. 

Mingi let out a soft chuckle without turning around, reaching for a plate. 

“I like feeding you,” he said, casual in tone but carrying something deeper underneath it. 

Yunho’s lips curved faintly into a knowing smile. He tilted his head.

“No,” he said softly. “You like stuffing me.”

Mingi paused mid-motion, shoulders tightening slightly as he let out a controlled breath. Then he glanced back at him over his shoulder, a crooked smile forming.

“Food first,” he said firmly, though his eyes were already darker with implication. “Filth after.”

Without breaking eye contact, Yunho dipped a finger into the honey Mingi had prepared earlier, slowly bringing it to his lips and licking it clean. His movements were deliberate, unhurried, as if he was testing the air between them. 

“Then I hope you saved your strength,” he whispered. 

Dinner was forgotten almost immediately.

The plates were still warm, untouched on the counter, when Mingi crossed the space between them in three long strides. Yunho barely had time to react before he was lifted and placed onto the bed, the shirt riding up his thighs, leaving him exposed in a way that made the air feel sharper.

But this time, it was different. 

Mingi didn’t push him down like something to be claimed or consumed.

Instead, his arms wrapped around Yunho’s waist carefully, almost cautiously, like he was afraid letting go would mean losing him. One hand rose to cup his cheek, thumb brushing his lower lip gently, reverently, like he was touching something sacred. 

“Can I?” Mingi asked softly, voice breaking slightly, not from hunger but from restraint, from emotion he could not fully hold back. 

Yunho nodded slowly, vulnerable, grounding himself by holding onto Mingi’s wrist.

“Please,” he whispered, barely more than a breath.

There was no urgency. No violence. No hunger disguised as control.

Just intention.

Mingi lowered himself carefully, spreading Yunho’s thighs with a gentleness that made Yunho’s eyes sting. He pressed a kiss to his knee, then his ankle, then lingered like he was memorizing him through touch. 

“You are beautiful,” he murmured, voice low and steady. “And you are safe.” 

Yunho exhaled shakily, not from fear, but from something deeper, something emotional and overwhelming in its honesty.

Mingi guided himself inside slowly, painfully slowly, like he was afraid of hurting him in any way, like even pleasure needed permission to exist. 

He leaned in, lips brushing Yunho’s ear. “Let me worship you,” he whispered.

And he did. 

Soft sounds filled the room, quiet moans, shaky breaths, broken whispers pressed into skin. 

“Ahh… mmnhh…mingi… so warm… so deep—nnghh…”

With every roll of his hips, with every touch of his hand, Mingi poured himself into the act, not to take, not to dominate but to honor. Yunho clung to him, arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders, legs locking around Mingi's waist. Not because he was being overpowered, but because he wanted to be held. 

Mingi’s thrusts were deep and unhurried, every one dragging a soft, shaky moan from Yunho's lips. The kind of moans that sounded like relief. 

“You make me feel real,” Yunho choked out, his face buried in Mingi’s neck, his breath warm and broken.

“You are real,” Mingi said against his skin. “Every piece of you. I see all of you.”

Yunho tried to muffle his cries, biting down on his lip but Mingi caught him in another kiss, one that melted their bodies together. Their tongues met gently, hungrily, sharing breath, sharing weight, sharing the pain they didn’t talk about in daylight.

“You feel so good,” Yunho sobbed between kisses. “So full… Mingi, don’t stop—don’t let me go—”

“I’m not letting go,” Mingi whispered, burying himself deeper. “I’m right here. I’ll always be right here.”

Yunho’s voice broke, raw and high and real. “I don’t want to go away again.”

Mingi’s hands cupped his face, thumbs brushing his cheeks.

“Stay,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Stay like this. Stay with me.”

When they came, it wasn’t loud. It wasn’t messy or wild.

It was quiet.

Intimate.

Tears mixed with kisses. Trembling limbs held one another. They didn’t fall apart, they held each other together.

There was no screaming that night. No animalistic sounds tearing through the dark. Only sobs that softened into breathing. 

Yunho clung to Mingi tightly, burying his face into his neck like he was afraid of fading again.

“You make me want to live,” he whispered.

Mingi kissed his temple, then his eyelids, then the corner of his mouth.

“You already are,” he said softly. “You have been fighting to stay alive this whole time.”

And that night, they didn’t fuck.

They made love.

Truly. Finally.

And for the first time since The Mirror had appeared, it stayed silent. Still watching… always watching, but for once, it did not interrupt.