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Minghao straightens out one of the two dresses laid on her bed. One of them is a plain, navy thing that she knows is tight enough to make even her small boobs look impressive with the right bra. It does great things for her legs, too but on the other hand – it’s also tight enough for her to constantly count her movements and worry if the dress hasn’t ridden up high enough to flash the entire club. And that’s one worry too much.
After all, tonight is all about moving.
They were supposed to go dancing, her and Jungkook and Yugyeom, they promised, but they both bailed on her two hours before they were supposed to meet. Yugyeom is such an asshole, Minghao thinks absently as she hangs the navy dress back in her wardrobe. Ever since she found herself a boyfriend Yugyeom regularly ditches them to hang out with him, determined to not introduce him to anyone. “Too soon,” she always says, even though they’ve dated for more than a month already.
A month – exactly how much time Wonwoo had before her girlfriend made her meet her friends. Minghao laughs to herself as she remembers the terrified expression Wonwoo had when she asked her for moral support. She considers dialing Wonwoo’s number – she would probably agree coming with, even if she’d spend the entire time in the club trying not to look bored out of her mind. The important part is, she’d agree to keep Minghao company, because she’s nice like that.
Minghao’s finger hovers over the call button and she thinks about how nervous Wonwoo was with the prospect of two strangers, nevermind a crowd of strangers she’d end up with when Minghao eventually ditched her for the dance floor. She thinks about the café too, and about a head of unnatural blond hair and – she throws the phone on the bed. She’s a young, independent woman and she can go dancing on her own, goddamn it.
*
Minghao resists the urge to tug at the hem of her dress as she enters the club. She can feel eyes on her everywhere and while she did end up ditching the navy dress, this one is not much better. It won’t bother her when she’s dancing, though, and she feels good, so it’s worth it.
As soon as she leaves her purse at the bar, a man materializes on the stool next to her. He’s not particularly bad looking but Minghao just doesn’t want to bother – and the way he eyes her legs before he even says anything grates on her nerves.
“You look too good to be drinking alone,” he starts, voice dripping something that Minghao definitely doesn’t want anywhere near her. “Want me to buy you a drink, pretty thing?”
Thing. “Thanks,” she says, not even bothering to fake a smile. “But I think I look too good to not be drinking alone.”
The bartender chokes a few feet away from her. Minghao can see his shoulders shaking, but he turns around before she can actually see him laughing. She smiles, but the smile disappears when she turns around and the dude is still there. He appears to still be processing what she told him. She wants to laugh, but more than that she wants him to go away.
He doesn’t seem to think so, however. “That was very rude,” he says, voice lacking the greasy undertone from before, but no less disgusting. “I’m willing to forgive you, though-”
“Hey man,” the bartender interrupts before Minghao can tell the man exactly what she thinks about his forgiveness. “Know when you’re told no, alright?”
The man gears up for a fight, hopefully verbal, but the bartender glances at another man in a suit not very far from them. There’s a badge hanging on his neck. Mr. Flirt follows his eyes and scoffs, muttering something that the general noise swallows, and thankfully heads into the crowd.
“I could’ve dealt with him myself,” is the first thing Minghao says when the stool next to her is empty. “But thanks.”
The bartender grins. His smile is a little blinding. “You’re welcome. And I’m sure you could’ve, but then I would have had to witness his poorly thought out retorts and that’s more secondhand embarrassment than I’m willing to deal with this early in the evening.”
“This early?” Minghao raises an eyebrow, glancing at the dance floor behind her. It’s packed, people squished together so tight you’d probably stay standing even if you fell or, worse, fainted. Not to mention it’s a little past midnight already.
“You should see them after two,” the bartender laughs. “I have so many stories. I’ll tell you some if you stick around.”
Minghao narrows her eyes suspiciously. “You’re not trying to flirt with me too, are you?”
“What?” The bartender’s eyes go wide in turn. “No! Really, did it look like I was flirting? Sorry.” He laughs again, but this time it sounds a little nervous. “You seem really nice, but, uh, how do I put it?” He scratches his head awkwardly. Someone waves for him at the other end of the bar and just like that, cool bartender persona is back in action. “I’m more of a gentlemen’s man,” he grins, already headed for the next customer.
It’s then that Minghao realizes she never ordered anything. She’s about to wave for the bartender again when she notices the margarita in front of her. When she glances at him, he winks.
Minghao might not the biggest fan of tequila but hey, it’s free alcohol from nice gay bartenders. Why not?
*
The bartender’s name is Seokmin and he’s her age and those are both things Minghao learns in between songs. Or more accurately, in the breaks between her personal dance showcase, as Seokmin calls it. He’s helped her ward off one more unwanted Mr. Flirt already (for the third one he mostly laughed at the dude’s hurt expression when she turned him down). Seokmin also compliments her dancing, which also feels good, even though Minghao already knows she’s good. Her purse is somewhere behind the bar for safekeeping, too and Minghao wonders why in the world has she never been here before.
She’s on a break again, gulping down the water Seokmin had conveniently provided. He’s currently mixing someone’s drink, too far away from her to hold a conversation.
Someone slides onto the stool next to Minghao. She’s determined to not ruin her night further, though, and ignores the person, squinting at the labels of the bottles of alcohol lined behind the bar instead.
Or she’s trying to, until, “Hey, Minghao, right?”
It’s not realistic to remember the voices of people you’ve met once, she tells herself. She keeps repeating it even when she turns around and sure, there’s the guy whose name she does not remember. She mutters a, “Hi.”
“I thought it was you!” he says excitedly, like they’re friends who haven’t seen each other in a while, instead of almost-strangers. “You dance really good, by the way, it’s a shame it gets swallowed by all the awkward, drunk swaying that happens on that dance floor.”
Minghao narrows her eyes. “How long have you been watching me?”
It’s this exact moment that Seokmin chooses to materialize again. “Wen Junhui, do I have to chase you away from my new friend, too?”
“Excuse you,” Junhui and Minghao say at the same time. Seokmin looks between them with a puzzled expression.
Minghao scoffs. “You didn’t chase anyone off, thank you very much.”
“And I wasn’t doing anything,” Junhui adds indignantly.
“Alright, alright, I got it.” Seokmin laughs. “But seriously,” he says, waving a finger in Junhui’s face. “If you scare off another potential friend of mine with your obnoxious flirting I’m revoking all your roommate privileges.”
Just her luck, Minghao thinks, that the chance of flirting with the one person she actually feels like flirting with is ruined. Once again.
Seokmin leaves to serve someone else before Junhui can reply, so he just rolls his eyes and turns back to Minghao. She raises an eyebrow. “You live together?”
“Yup,” Junhui grins. “I’ve been living with him since Jihoon moved out, which was, what, two years ago? Hey,” he adds a second later. “You’ve been sitting here for a while now, it’s really a shame. Wanna dance?”
Minghao is suddenly aware of all the ways her hair is sticking to her forehead, the ends damp with sweat. It’s not uncomfortably warm because she has been sitting for some time but – her hot, unreachable façade is probably ruined. Well, it’s not like Junhui’s planning on actually making a move on her anyway.
She brushes her hair back, probably ruining it further, and takes his hand.
*
Junhui is surprisingly good. At least, as good as someone can be in a throng of drunk, sweaty bodies. He dances because he wants to, not because he tries to impress anyone – and manages just that. Minghao might be a little smitten. It feels surprisingly a lot like the times she dances with Jungkook or Yugyeom, except Jungkook’s and Yugyeom’s casual, accidental touches never set her skin on fire. Maybe it’s the alcohol.
*
When they get back someone has already taken the stool Junhui had occupied. He’s not phased, however. Instead, he casually slings an arm around Minghao’s shoulders and squeezes between Minghao’s stool and the stranger’s to lean on the bar. She doesn’t bother to remove his hand.
Seokmin narrows his eyes at them from a few feet away.
“I’m not used to competition,” Junhui says somewhere very, very close. Minghao fights to keep her breathing even. “Usually I dance with Seokmin and, frankly, he’s not the best.”
“It’s not nice to thrash talk your friends behind their backs,” Minghao chastises.
Junhui shrugs. “It’s all out of love.” He blows a kiss in Seokmin’s direction and gets flipped off in return.
“I see,” Minghao laughs. Junhui takes a second too long to stare at her face. Her smile disappears. “What?”
“Nothing,” Junhui snaps out of it, shaking his head. “You’re just really pretty when you laugh. I hadn’t noticed that.”
Minghao flushes. Or she would have, if she wasn’t flushed from dancing already. “No flirting, remember?”
Junhui shrugs. “Not flirting. Just stating a fact.”
A few awkward minutes of silence follow. Then Minghao speaks, quieter than she intends it to, “I should head home.” Before I do something stupid, she doesn’t say.
“I’m sorry,” is Junhui’s immediate response. He sounds so sincere, too. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
Minghao smiles. “You didn’t. My stamina is just not what it used to be, and I was dancing long before you showed up.”
Junhui holds her gaze for a long time, before he finally shrugs. “Whatever you say. Just gimme a sec, I’ll go ask Seokmin to call a taxi for you.”
“My purse is with him too,” Minghao says before Junhui disappears. Before she thinks it through, too.
He just winks. “Don’t worry.”
*
When he shows up with her purse a few minutes later, Minghao is already bundled up and ready to go. “Thanks,” she says, offering her hand to take the purse.
Junhui keeps it out of her reach. “You know what, I’ll walk you outside. I need some air.”
“Um. Okay?”
The cold air dissipates the remnants of alcohol in her blood that the hours of dancing couldn’t. Outside, Minghao is hyperaware of her sweaty, messy hair, of the dress that is crumpled in places, of the wrinkles in her coat from where she was mostly sitting on it on the tiny barstool. She doesn’t feel bad exactly, but she doesn’t feel good either. Junhui is silent next to her.
“Tonight was fun,” she says, just to break the silence. And also because it’s true.
Junhui turns to her. “Definitely. You’re a lot of fun to be around.”
“Likewise,” Minghao echoes.
Junhui laughs. “We should do this again sometime, if only so Seokmin won’t throw me out for chasing his ‘new friend’ away.”
“You didn’t chase me away.” Minghao says, with a lot less humour than she means to.
Junhui smiles again, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Didn’t I?”
“No.” She replies, this time completely serious. Then, “If anything… I chased myself away? If that makes sense.”
“It does.” Junhui states. Then he leans in.
The next few seconds pass by in slow motion. She could count his eyelashes, if she really wanted to, because he wasn’t that far away to begin with – and now he’s moving closer, closer, closer.
She has all the time in the world to pull away – and she does.
Junhui opens his eyes when he’s close enough that they would’ve kissed already, if she hadn’t moved. He goes completely still. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” she says when he straightens up (and takes a step away). “It’s just -” she can see the taxi in the distance. In a second it’ll be close enough for the headlights to blind her. “If you kiss me now, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop.”
He tilts his head. “And that’s a bad thing?”
“I don’t know,” she says honestly. Maybe the alcohol in her blood is still there after all, because her next words aren’t anything she’d ever admit to saying in her right mind. “It’ll be too easy if we do that now. Forgettable. I don’t want you to forget me.”
Junhui blinks at her. The taxi pulls up next to them. Quietly, he says, “Okay.”
Minghao climbs into the car and resists the urge to stare at him through the window. She allows herself a glance when they’re already moving – he still stands there, hands in his pockets, staring right back at her. She turns around before their eyes can meet.
*
hey, Wonwoo texts her sometime in the afternoon the next day. remember jihoon’s friend jun? he’s asking for your number, should i give it?
Minghao stares at her phone for a few seconds. She types NO!!!!!!!!!!!, then deletes it. She ends up sending sure, why not.
Fifteen minutes later her phone rings.
“So I have this theory,” Junhui says by way of greeting. Minghao raises her eyebrows, then remembers he can’t really see her.
“You do?”
“Yes.” His voice is cheerful, too cheerful for someone who possibly went home this morning. “My theory is that I can change your opinion on how forgettable you are to me. I mean, you’re not, in any shape or form, at all, but this wouldn’t be a theory if it didn’t need to be proved. So I devised a plan.”
“A plan,” Minghao repeats, stunned.
“Yup.” Junhui replies, ever so cheerful. “It includes you, me and a lot of dates disguised as platonic hanging out. I mean, it could be just platonic hanging out if you want but that’ll require a few days for me to get my ego back from the curb. You can stop me anytime now,” he finishes, an hint of nervousness bleeding through.
Minghao is quiet for a few seconds that feel more like a few hours. “It’s a good plan,” she says in the end.
There’s a long, relieved sigh from the other end. “Good. Have you had breakfast yet?”
She looks at her phone. “Wen Junhui, it’s three in the afternoon.”
“Your point?” Then, quieter, “I like how my name sounds when you say it.”
If there has ever been a moment where Minghao’s thankful for phone communication, it’s now. She’s sure she’s blushing bright red. “I haven’t had breakfast yet,” she says.
She can hear Junhui smiling. “Good.”