Chapter Text
Ragged breath, a pounding heart, and a subtle sense of exhilaration keeps Mingyu moving forward, his momentum curved forward as he jogs through the cluttered streets of his neighborhood. There’s still people populating the streets, milling about as they walk their own paths around late-night bars and convenience stores. He lives in a college neighborhood, filled to the brim with young folk that cause Mingyu more sleepless nights than he’d ever admit to another living soul.
He slows his pace a little as he approaches the open terrace of a bar. Just a year ago, this place was a cafe. Now, it’s a popular dive for people just slightly out of Mingyu’s age range, just enough for him to feel too shy to go in alone. Mingyu misses that cafe. Misses being able to just go somewhere late at night when he doesn’t want to be cooped up in his apartment anymore.
There’s a couple sitting outside at the bar, clinking glass cups of liquor as they lock eyes. The girl looks younger, likely just barely at drinking age, giggling as the man across from her goads her into taking her shot first, a warmhearted yet teasing smile gracing his lips. Beneath the table, their calves are touching, occasionally grazing together with movement.
Mingyu wonders, vaguely, if that’s what love looks like.
He’s thought about it a thousand times. A million times. He’s never really had a full relationship to call his own, barring the one time he’d dated a girl in high school just because she’d confessed to him. Mingyu backed out a mere month later when he realized he felt close to nothing toward her. He knew it was wrong. She was a nice girl. Deserved something better.
He takes a mental note to people watch a bit more often, maybe to go out to that bar soon.
It might be good research for Woohyun.
Before the couple can realize that there’s a weird sweaty freak watching them from across the street, Mingyu picks back up into pace, deciding on just another lap or two before returning home to a bland protein shake.
In all honesty, Woohyun’s role in the drama is small, especially before he realizes his feelings. Mingyu is only on set for a few hours at a time before he’s allowed to go home. Even so, Mingyu looks forward toward being on set nearly every day, excitedly checking his online schedule to see if there’s any changes. Last night, Mingyu was nearly shaking with excitement when he received the final script for episode four.
Today, he’s still kind of shaking.
For the first time, he’s got more than just a handful of minutes in an hour-long episode. For the next week, he’s pretty much got an entire schedule of scenes all to himself. It’s a goddamn miracle. He’s so happy that he forgot to bring the vinaigrette for his salad from home, and he’s okay with that. He’s in such a good mood that even dry lettuce seems appetizing.
The episode offers a glimpse into Woohyun’s life. He’s crafted off of a plethora of fan-favorite tropes. He works at a pet shop. He’s the childhood friend to Ye-rim. He’s gentle and kind, the rare brand of guy that stops just to walk a grandma across the street. The fictional kind of guy, of course.
But he’s not popular because of that. He’s popular because he’s anxious, unsure if he’s allowed to love the woman he does, and doesn't know how to express himself besides his occasional acts of jealousy. At his core, he’s just an inexperienced kid following in the footsteps of a woman who has already emotionally left him behind long before he’d ever realized it.
Mingyu enjoyed quite a lot of his scenes. Just little clips of him fake-grooming dogs, of his character indulging in his fake little hobbies, smiling and giggling as he’s texting Ye-rim. Mingyu likes these lighthearted scenes just as much as he enjoys the heavier ones, the ones that would really allow himself to shine. Those ones are all set to be later in the season, and filming hasn’t gotten that far.
But there’s still something juicy. He’d been waiting practically all day to get to it.
Waiting on the outdoor set, he watches as the extras talk with one of the camera assistants who directs them on where to meander about in the background, watches as the lighting guys hike up the lights up onto poles, adjusting them all just one final time. He gives an excited little wave to Chae as she finally arrives, as pristine in her makeup as ever. This time, they’d added just a pinch of extra shadow beneath her eyes– her character exhausted after a dramatic afternoon at work. Woohyun would meet up with her at her office to walk her home.
“I’m sorry for pushing our scene back,” Chae winks, quickly stepping over to the blocking tape, “I had to wait for my husband to get home. Our nannies called in sick.”
Mingyu quickly brushes off his first thought–– damn, more than one nanny? ---and gives her a cordial nod.
“It’s alright. I hope your son is doing well.”
Chae smiles, rattling on about her son until the director calls for attention, and Chae leaves to return to the glass doors of the “office”.
Once filming begins, Ye-rim passes through the automatic doors somewhat dejectedly, walking until the streetlight she’s under flickers. Distracted, she turns to her side, and in the distance, Woohyun waves, already smiling bright. They retake that nearly three times before Mingyu is finally allowed to run forward to begin his lines.
“Noona,” Woohyun greets softly, “Are you busy tonight?”
Ye-rim rolls her lips between her teeth, not entirely happy to be bothered. After the day her character had, she wanted nothing more than to go home. That aside, if Woohyun was going to buy her a few drinks, then…
Her delayed response causes Woohyun’s smile to fade, and he reaches over, swiping a stray bit of her bangs away from her eyes. It’s unscripted, but it does well to distract Ye-rim, her eyelashes batting slowly before slowly pushing Woohyun’s wrist away.
“No… I’m down to get meat, though.”
Woohyun’s smile returns, and he swiftly retrieves his phone from his pocket––an incredibly new Samsung that Mingyu could never afford—and waves the already lit screen at her.
“There’s a good place down the street. Let’s go.”
The scene ends as Woohyun reaches down to interlace their pinkies, a habit the two had formed since childhood, and leads Ye-rim down the crowded street of the set.
They reshoot the scene only twice, and the director lets Mingyu keep his little improvisation of swiping her bangs ever so slightly out of her eyes. She liked it.
Mingyu is a shill. He’s such a shill, and he’s fine with it. He’s fine with carrying around a sponsored phone for his scenes as Woohyun, and he likes the fact that they’re sitting in a sponsored set restaurant. The labels on the soju bottles are faced outward toward the cameras, and as he’s divvying out the ‘soju” into shot glasses, he’s hoping that he scores a sick brand deal after this.
Woohyun stares at Ye-rim as she speaks, his expression just as kind as it is vapid, just barely listening to her as she complains on and on about her boss and how terribly rude he is about her designs.
“And here he was, complaining on and on about taffeta,” Ye-rim sighs, pausing only to throw back another shot. Woohyun chuckles a little, watching her down it all. She’s classless when she drinks, but somehow, it’s endearing to him. He giggles.
“...What?” Ye-rim pauses, throwing a glare, “Did I say something funny?”
“No,” Woohyun quickly drops his smile, opting to pick up his chopsticks instead, “Nothing funny at all.”
“You know I hate being laughed at,” Ye-rim simpers, “I get laughed at all day. The last thing I want to hear is more of it.”
Woohyun bites his lip, feeling somewhat guilty. Obviously, he hadn’t meant to hurt her. Lately, it’s all he’s seemed to do, though.
After a moment, he perks back up again, and decides to pick some of the meat off of his plate, setting it atop of her untouched bowl of rice.
“Here,” He smiles, “Eat more. You’ll feel better.”
Somehow, this infuriates her more. As Ye-rim’s expression warps, her eyes nearly gleaming red, Woohyun feels somewhat pinned in his chair.
“Did you forget? I’m the heaviest girl in the office now,” Chae fumes, “I can’t be eating like this. I only came to dinner to drink.”
Woohyun blinks, caught off-guard.
“Noona, I–”
“Forget it,” She sighs, already reaching for her purse, “You don’t listen. I shouldn’t have come here, anyway.”
“Wait, I didn’t—”
Woohyun watches as she stands abruptly, rushing out of the restaurant. Although he wishes to run after her, he just can’t seem to do it. After thinking for a moment, he deflates back into his seat, looking back at the bowl of rice.
It’s unlike her. All of it is unlike her. She’d never not eat her rice, and yet…
Mingyu continues to sit there staring, letting the cameramen get all the shots they need, until the buzzer finally sounds.
“That was it!” The director waves, “That’s a wrap for the day! Good work!”
There’s a few echoed calls of a good job back at her, and as Mingyu turns to do so, he finds a familiar face behind the playback screens.
Wonwoo is still in costume, his black hair slicked back out of his eyes with a single handsome strand curled just between his brows. His arms are crossed over his expensive navy suit, a tie pinned to his chest with a golden emblematic tie clip. He’s every bit of the intimidating CEO that his character is supposed to be. Perhaps even more so on his own.
Mingyu is quick to stand, bowing his head at the director before continuing onward over to the playback screens, where Wonwoo now gazes at an empty table.
“You watched our scene, sir?” Mingyu asks, already bowing his head at him quickly, as if apologizing ahead of time for disturbing him.
“I have to ask Chae something, so I figured I’d stick around to watch anyway,” Wonwoo replies, casual as ever. Mingyu doesn’t know if he’s imagining it, but Wonwoo’s eyes scan slowly over his face, as if inspecting him.
“Do you…” Mingyu attempts, his courage faltering midway, “...Have any notes for me?”
“No,” Wonwoo shakes his head, arms unraveling to rest at his sides, “You are good at looking clueless.”
Well hot damn he must be, because he’s got no fucking clue how to respond to that.
“Ah…” Mingyu bows his head again, “Thank you.”
It’s better than being told he’s got the smile of an idiot… Kinda.
“Good work today,” Wonwoo nods, but he’s already turning away, heading toward Chae.
Mingyu can do nothing else but bow his head to him as he leaves, echoing the same thing as always.
It isn’t often that Mingyu is called to the director’s office. Actually, it hasn’t happened once yet. Typically, the A.D would hand out scripts to anyone who needed them in the hallways or in everyone’s own dressing rooms, so Mingyu was practically shitting himself the moment the A.D walked up to him without a script in hand.
He isn’t dumb enough to keep the head honcho waiting, so he scurries over to her office as quick as his legs could carry him. Luckily for him, he’s got quite the length, so he’s there within minutes.
It isn’t so much an office as it is an empty room with a desk fitted inside of it, with a few chairs to spare if there's a need for an urgent meeting. Mingyu’s been here before, mostly to receive last minute revisions, so having to be here for any undisclosed meeting… He can feel his own pulse thrumming through his body, his anxiety on an edge.
He sets his vague, muffled anxieties aside as he pushes through the door, a rehearsed smile spread over his lips.
“Oh, wow,” The director laughs, sitting forward in her seat, “You got here fast.”
Mingyu likes Ms. Cho. Thus far, she’s been the nicest director Mingyu’s had the chance to work with. She’s relatively young, considering how directors are, and has a better on-set reputation than her father. Mingyu hasn’t had the chance to work with him, of course, but he’s heard that he’s the sort of director to start screaming at his assistants for no real reason. All things considered, he’s lucky to have her above the handful of prize assholes he’s heard all about.
“I try,” Mingyu smiles, offering a cursory nod toward her, “Is there something you need me for?”
“Mm, not really,” Ms. Cho hums, taking a pause to unstick a sticky note laid off to the side among the clutter of her desk, “I just have something for you.”
Mingyu steps forward, offering out both of his hands to take it from her. It’s somewhat of a habit now, to be overly polite. On the note, he finds a number scribbled upon it.
“What is this?” Mingyu asks, giving it a quick flip, just in case.
“Mr. Jeon’s number.”
Mingyu splutters, his tongue too quick, and too clumsy, to wait for his brain to formulate a sentence.
“A little birdie told me you’re having confidence issues. Thought you could use some pointers, since he seemed like he had things he wanted to say anyway,” Ms. Cho hums, “I told Mr. Jeon to call you first, but in case he doesn’t, this is his number.”
Seungkwan . Mingyu would seethe if he could. But the string of digits on the page has somewhat obliterated any of the inner workings of his mind, all emotions barred behind disbelief.
“Is…” Mingyu glances back at her, nothing short of baffled, “...Is he okay with this? He’s letting you give this to me?”
Ms. Cho cracks a smile at his expression, too open, too confused.
“Let’s just say he owes me a favor,” She smiles, “I’ll be expecting you to work hard, alright?”
“Yes, ma’am,” He bows his head to him.
“Alright, now go get to costumes,” She nods back, raising her hand to wave him off, “And if he blows you off, let me know. I’m technically his boss this time around.”
“Thank you again,” Mingyu nods, turning tail to do as he’s told.
The sticky note is burning a hole in his bag. Even on the train home, Mingyu found himself checking his bag multiple times, making sure that little yellow sticky note stayed put. There’s nothing written there besides a stream of digits, so it’s not like there’s immense danger in losing it, but still. How many people end up with a celebrity’s phone number? Mingyu has his own shortlist of contacts, sure, but it’s… Well, it’s a shortlist. And it’s not like he’s ever been given express permission to actually call any of those people. In his limited experiences, once he’s off set, none of these people ever talk to you again.
Stuck within that line of reasoning, Mingyu tries to limit his excitement. The worst thing that could happen is that he’s got this number that he’ll never call that’ll inevitably get disconnected when Wonwoo swaps his number due to it getting leaked, or something. The best thing that could happen is, well. Wonwoo does call him, and they, fuck knows, workshop or something?
Okay, so he’s planned his night out. He’ll make his dinner, absolutely not think about calling Wonwoo, and go to the gym. He’ll take extra long on his bedtime skincare routine, just in case, but if Wonwoo calls in the middle of the night, Mingyu will exercise his boundaries and call him back in the morning. Which would give him an excuse to actually call first, if he needs to, because he’d be calling him second. By the time he’s rehearsed his plan in his mind, he’s started to thaw out his chicken breast for dinner.
And he almost drops the slab of chicken and plastic when his ringtone interrupts his spotify playlist.
He scrambles, slapping the wrapped chicken back into the sink, staring at the name on his phone. Because he made Wonwoo a contact already, just in case he… forgot or something.
Christ, he’s insane. He is insane, and his heart is going to beat out of his chest, because he’s suddenly just remembered that he’s quite possibly the worst person to talk to on the phone. He’s got confidence in person, but on the phone, there’s nothing else to do but space out, and he…
He forces himself to answer the phone before he starts to spiral any further.
“Hello?” Mingyu says. Simple.
“This is Kim Mingyu, right?”
Wow. Wonwoo sounds great. His voice has always had this nice, calming sort of quality to it. A deep, yet somehow gentle kind of baritone that makes Mingyu think of cellos when he watches Wonwoo in dramas. But there’s something about it that sounds so… so indescribably rich when pressed up tight against his ear. The crackle of the microphone on the other end hardly matters.
“Yeah,” Mingyu nods, “You’ve got the right number.”
“Alright,” Wonwoo inhales, “I am only doing this once. How far are you from Gangnam?”
“Uh… By train..? I could get there in an hour.”
“Alright,” Wonwoo says, “Then, get to Gino’s in Apgujeong.”
“Gino’s?” Mingyu blinks, “You eat pizza?”
“What?”
Idiot . Wonwoo lived in fucking America. Of course he eats pizza.
“Nothing,” Mingyu scrambles, “Yes, sir. I will be there in an hour. Uh… I can be there faster, if you want me to Uber?”
“An hour is fine enough,” Wonwoo says, “I will see you then. Later.”
He’s hung up just as quickly as he called, leaving Mingyu feeling three different kinds of dazed. With little option but to get his ass in gear and get to Apgujeong, he rushes to his room to change his shirt and spritz some cologne before rushing out of the door.
Being in Gangnam is always somewhat of a rush. Mingyu’s been at Apgujeong before to shop with friends, friends that had way better paychecks than he ever did. Mingyu couldn’t really buy anything, but the experience was nice. It’s a sleek commercial district, with the streets populated with well-dressed socialites that Mingyu can tell he can’t afford to talk to with just a single glance.
He hustles to Gino’s, which is pretty damn hard to miss with its fake industrial-rustic aesthetic, a large golden Gino’s sign stretched over the sleek double-doored entryway. Yet, when he gets there, he doesn’t find a host waiting to seat him. Instead, he finds a casual open-seating plan, somewhere Mingyu would actually eat.
He scans the restaurant, only moderately populated on a Tuesday evening, and finds a broad frame clad in black sitting in the far end by the tinted windows. The man looks up, peering up from his black bucket hat and his round specks, and raises his hand as if confirming Mingyu’s suspicions.
It’s Wonwoo.
His legs suddenly feel like rubber, stretchy and weird when he tries to push himself forward, but he somehow manages to make it to the table.
Everything about him, somehow, is surprising. Wonwoo’s just… there. In a long sleeve black shirt, a bucket hat, glasses, and a pair of jeans. Suspiciously normal. Nothing like his reputation would have it. In his photos, he’s always slick in a suit, or at the very least a well-fitting button-up. He’s got this sort of rich man, mature sort of aura to him. Seeing him stripped back, natural… It's weird.
He also doesn’t quite dress his age, Mingyu thinks, or maybe he’s just got the wrong idea about people in their mid-thirties.
“I’m sorry if you were waiting,” Mingyu says, “Thank you for inviting me out.”
Wonwoo only nods, so Mingyu decides to take the initiative to slide into the seat opposite to him. Before him, there’s already a glass of water for him. He doesn’t quite have the heart to reach out for it, though.
“Jisoo asked me to meet with you,” Wonwoo says, “Something about needing guidance?”
Wonwoo teeters in his seat, rising off of his hip in order to get his phone out of his pocket.
“I looked you up on Naver. You really don’t have much to work with,” Wonwoo says, tapping through his phone, “But I enjoyed that movie you were in. Spring Blooms in Winter , right?”
Mingyu can’t help but gawp a little, swallowing down a bit of the dryness in his throat.
Spring Blooms in Winter had gone very much under the radar, having been released at a film festival, played for a few nights, and never seen again. It’s somewhere buried in a streaming site now, but nothing Mingyu got paid much for. It was a shame it never got the attention it deserved, all things considered. Mingyu was very attached to that role, sunk into it in the closest way he could get. It was a role close to his heart— he’d also been young and closeted, once, just like his character had been.
“You… watched it?”
“It was decent. I can see why it never hit theaters, but it was good for just being part of a film festival.”
“Um, yes, that was my only other role of note. I was only really the main character's brother, though, nothing close to the scale of the character I’ve been chosen for this time around. I’m usually in the extra pile in the background...”
Nervously, he adjusts the fluff of his honey-brown hair behind his ear.
“It was an unassuming piece of condensed heartbreak and homesickness for a person spanning an entire full-length movie. I still adored your character regardless of the lack of any significant screen time. Furthermore, portraying a queer character so early on in one’s career is an impressive move. I would not have agreed to this if there was no merit in such an act.”
Mingyu feels like he’s going to start shaking. Nobody saw that movie. Mingyu’s parents watched it to support him, but Mingyu had never really come up in conversation before. And yet, here he is, across the table from a class act, talking about his low-budget foray into film.
“If I were to give you a specific example, you have no chemistry with Chae. You move like you’re afraid of women, or like you aren’t attracted to her at all. But in Spring Blooms , each time your Taeyeon looked at Hwandong, it seemed as if you were burning with affection. Where did that go?”
Mingyu chokes, left without air. With so little information, Wonwoo had sussed him out completely. It’s… Well, it’s significantly easier to act like you’re in love with someone you’re actually attracted to. Chae is gorgeous—that much is obvious—but she’s a woman .
“Something like that,” Mingyu mumbles, eyes focusing on the condensation around his glass of water, “I worked hard.”
Wonwoo scoffs, “Sometimes hard work alone isn’t enough. There has to be at least a little talent to go with it.”
Mingyu blanches.
Well there’s no misconstruing that , is there?
Wonwoo clears his throat, inhaling deeply.
“I apologize. That was out of line.” Wonwoo says, his deep voice almost inaudible beneath the sounds of the restaurant, “You wanted help. I can give you that, at least.”
Mingyu bites his lip and nods, forcing himself to meet Wonwoo’s gaze. This time, though, it is Wonwoo’s eyes that are downcast, staring straight at the salt and pepper shakers set off to the side of the table.
“I know I… don’t have much experience to back me up,” Mingyu starts hesitantly, voice soft as if he could inhale back his words and take them away, “But I would appreciate not being insulted, sir.”
“It’s a reflex of sorts,” Wonwoo says, “But inexcusable all the same. I… would advise just getting more comfortable with Chae.”
“Right,” Mingyu nods, withdrawn.
Silence settles between the two of them. Mingyu knows he’s got a once of a lifetime chance that he’s just letting slip through his fingers, but… But he didn’t come to be insulted. He didn’t think Wonwoo’d be such a fucking prick.
“Are you two ready to order?” The waitress stops by, iPad in hand.
‘You can choose,” Wonwoo says, “Don’t worry about it.”
Mingyu just nods, and on the placemat menu, he simply decides to just pick the first thing he sees. The waitress nods, takes their plastic menus, and leaves. It’s unreasonable, but Mingyu kind of wishes she would just stand there as a barrier or something.
“Good choice,” Wonwoo grins, like he’s trying to comfort him in the least effective way possible, “The Margherita here is great.”
Mingyu feels like he’s on autopilot. He wishes he didn’t shut down so quickly, but he can’t help it. It doesn’t take much, but lately, just one thing makes him feel like he’s going to collapse. He has to go numb, or he’ll just break. And he really, really doesn't want to do that. Not in front of anyone. Not in front of the biggest actor across the Pacific fucking Ocean.
“Alright,” Wonwoo inhales, “Well… Alright. Let’s think about it. Are you dating someone?”
“No,” Mingyu replies, “I’ve never dated.”
“Never?” Wonwoo tilts his head, “Really? You’re handsome. I assumed a kid like you would be popular. How old are you?”
“Twenty three,” Mingyu says, “I did date someone in high school, once, but it wasn’t a real relationship. And I’ve been too busy with my career to think about dating.”
Wonwoo’s lips draw into a line, and after a moment, he starts to hum flatly. It takes Mingyu a moment too long to realize that Wonwoo is thinking. That Wonwoo’s actually trying to do something for him.
“That isn’t bad,” Wonwoo shrugs, “You could play into that more. That is a cornerstone of Woohyun, right? Woohyun is in love with a preconception he harbors of Ye-rim. You can envision that to be whatever you want, if it helps you.”
“I’m not a methodist,” Mingyu says, “I’ve tried, but it isn’t natural for me.”
“You don’t have to be a methodist. You can just see yourself in the characters you are meant to embody. What is your ideal partner like?”
Mingyu, for the first time, looks up from his glass of water and into Wonwoo’s eyes. They’re focused on him, deep, dark and endless. Mingyu feels like he’s going to get sucked into them if he stares too long.
“Kind and funny, I guess. Someone who dresses nicely and takes care of themselves. Um, someone who would like my parents. Someone who's…”
Someone who is strong, that’s willing to bear the world on his shoulders if that’s what Mingyu needed. He wants someone that’d drop everything at a moment’s notice just to come see him if Mingyu asked. He wants someone that would make him feel safe when he’s held, that would make him laugh, that would watch those weird arthouse films with Mingyu even if neither of them comprehend it fully. He would adore if his dream partner were sensitive enough to go to art museums with him, and would be impulsive enough to go shopping with him. There’s a million things Mingyu wants. He’s a romantic like that… And that’s why he doesn’t dare try. It’s impossible to check all of those boxes. It would be unfair to anyone to have to live up to that, when Mingyu has so little to offer in return.
“Someone who’d never exist, I guess,” Mingyu laughs, somewhat at himself, “I’ve resigned myself to it.”
“And if they did exist?” Wonwoo continues, “What would they be?”
It’s as simple as not assuming a certain pronoun, not calling that ideal partner a she, that makes Mingyu feel a little more comfortable. He straightens out in his seat a little, breathing in as he contemplates a careful response.
“Just… someone that makes me feel less like the world is going to cave in on me,” Mingyu says, vulnerable, “Someone that I’d call home.”
“You’re right,” Wonwoo chuckles, ‘People like that don’t exist. But Woohyun would be someone that would dare to dream of it. It’s fine to be that whimsical. You don’t have to be unfailingly handsome, especially in a role as shallow as Woohyun. He’d get jealous, and maybe upset, when he realizes Ye-rim isn’t the person that he really wants.”
Mingyu knew in some capacity that Woohyun was shallow, that he was jealous, that he was entirely immature. He hadn’t quite thought so deeply about his flaws, though, about the parts of him that could be considered ugly.
“Can I write that down?” Mingyu says, already pulling out his phone, “I think I need a minute.”
Wonwoo nods silently, sitting back in his seat as Mingyu’s mind starts working, thumbs tapping away at his phone. He writes for a good while, sorting out some ideas to work with later, as well as Wonwoo’s general pointers for Woohyun’s general direction.
Somewhere in the evening, Mingyu starts to enjoy this. Wonwoo has good insight, and his way of wording concepts makes it easy for Mingyu to digest. Despite his imposing looks, Wonwoo is a decent tutor, and is quite good at making Mingyu actually think. During dinner, they don’t talk much, but Mingyu is kind of just… happy to have company. It’s been a while since he’s gotten dinner with someone.
Mingyu can tell it’s time to wrap it up when Wonwoo starts checking his phone. It’s not an explicit request to leave, but Mingyu knows how to read between the lines. And he doesn’t want to mess things up when conversation with Wonwoo seems to be so fragile, anyway.
“I should head back,” Mingyu bows his head, “I am grateful for your time, Mr. Jeon. You didn’t have to do this for me, but I appreciate it all the same.”
“I didn’t mind it,” Wonwoo says, “You have an intriguing perspective. I am not above learning from my juniors, either.”
“With all due respect,” Mingyu attempts, his lips creeping upward, “You don’t seem like the type.”
Wonwoo’s brows fly upward on his forehead, disappearing past the rim of his bucket hat, “Well if you think I’m an ass, you can just say that.”
“I didn’t say anything like that, sir,” Mingyu smiles a little wider, “You like putting words in people’s mouths.”
“You're an open book, kid.”
“I’m not a kid,” Mingyu rolls his eyes, “But still. Thank you. I hope I can speak with you again in the future.”
“I won’t pay for dinner again,” Wonwoo nods, “But alright. Get home safe. I’m going to stay and have a beer.”
Mingyu feels like a bobblehead with how much he’s nodding and bowing these days, but he gives Wonwoo one last bow before leaving Gino’s.
Wonwoo was right, though. Gino’s does have a great Margherita. If, by chance, he does never get to do that with Wonwoo again, he can at least relive the memory of it with a good meal.
Before the morning sun has begun to caress the quaint reaches of Mingyu’s apartment, Mingyu blearily awakens to a message from Seungkwan. It’s a brief message with an attachment to the link, and Mingyu misclicks on his screen a few times before he’s able to successfully get it open.
It’s a simply written-up post on a community buzz site filled with celebrity gossip and tabloid-esque nonsense. Usually, it’s a sort of guilty pleasure of Mingyu’s to scroll through, to see what everyone’s talking about. He likes to consider it good training on how not to piss people on the internet off. Even if they get mad at just about anything. Now, Mingyu feels a shockwave of anxiety rippling up and down his spine, seeing his name right in the title.
[Actor Jeon Wonwoo spotted with Kim Mingyu at an Apgujeong Restaurant last night.]
There’s a few blurry photos attached of Mingyu hunched over his phone as Wonwoo talks to him, which is pretty much the extent of all of their interactions from the night. The final photo is nicer, though. It’s one of the rare moments that Mingyu decided to look up from his phone and listen well when Wonwoo was speaking to him. Mingyu isn’t surprised to find that he was smiling, excited as he was. But how did he not realize that Wonwoo was smiling back?
Mingyu presses down on the photo, saving it. Documentation of a memory. Right.
He aimlessly scrolls down toward the comments as his phone vibrates again. Mingyu ignores his manager for just a moment longer.
[-2, +34] Is Wonwoo cleaning up his act? Tutoring rookies is an ok look I guess.
[-4, +27] Maybe that kid will be good if he’s taking tips from someone like Wonwoo.
[-5, +12] Ah… Wonwoo looks good here…
[-22, +2] That fg needs to stay out of this country.
[-42, +0] This comment has been deleted.
Nothing really pertains to Mingyu anymore, so he clicks off of the page, back to Seungkwan’s texts.
[From: Kwannie Manager-nim]
>Nice one. Being seen with Wonwoo is good press. CEO will be happy.
>>You were trending for a little on Twitter overnight too!
>>>Ok, I’m going to bed. Work hard today, ggyu ggyu!
[To: Kwannie Manager-nim]
>Sleep well.
>>And stop staying up so late!!
With a sticker of an angry dog sent Seungkwan’s way, Mingyu decides to make the most of his extra time and go for a run today.
Maybe it’s the added boost of seeing his name a bit more often, but Mingyu feels like he’s been performing better lately. In fact, there’s been a few more scenes written into the script just for him. Someone, either the director, the producers, or the writers, must like him a lot, and it’s a blessing from above for him.
As the mid-season filming hits, there’s a few more people walking around on set with big Panasonic cameras, taking “behind the scenes” shots. Mingyu’s seen this sort of promotional material for other dramas before, but something about it being on his set makes the production feel a little bit bigger, as well as a little more real. People are going to see this someday. People are going to see him on a primetime drama slot some day. An unfathomable, innumerable amount of people. The thought is just as terrifying as it is exciting. And Mingyu kind of feels like he’s walking on the moon.
Dressed in Woohyun’s typical casual attire, Mingyu waits patiently by the craft services table for his name to be called to set. He flicks around idly on his phone until a heavy weight settles upon his shoulder, followed by the heavy, enticing scent of Tom Ford Bitter Peach.
“Stay still for me,” Wonwoo mumbles, just slightly too close to his ear, and Mingyu’s heart does a triple-flip in his chest.
For me. Maybe it’s perverted, but the hint of it being an order makes Mingyu’s brain go haywire. Everything feels hot and hazy and his brain feels like it’s covered in fog and blankets, and he has to make an active attempt to breathe like a regular human. Stiffly, Mingyu tries to ignore the way he can somewhat feel Wonwoo’s breath on the side of his face as he cranes to gaze at Mingyu’s Instagram home page.
A flash goes off, and one of those photographers mumbles a thank you before shuffling off to the next interesting thing. Mingyu looks up dazedly, just in time to watch him leave.
“Uh?” Mingyu asks, his brain still attempting to clear the fog.
“Sorry about that,” Wonwoo pulls away, patting Mingyu’s shoulder, “See you later.”
As the scent of sandalwood and peach grows faint, Mingyu is once more allowed the privilege of breathing. And thinking.
Wonwoo isn’t supposed to be on set today.