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“Minho, darling, are you even listening?”
Minho turned his head. “Huh?”
He was met with his mother’s expectant eyes, perfectly shaped eyebrows raised as she waited for an answer.
“Sorry, what did you say?” Minho tried his best to fake interest in whatever his mother was saying, but her words were lost on him, his attention always being pulled back to the other end of the room where one of the young waiters had just stumbled over his own feet, frantically bowing and apologizing to the guest he had bumped into.
“I was just saying how excited we are to see you finally take foot in the company,” his mother said, and Minho nodded, his eyes not straying from the waiter.
“Yeah,” he said, watching as the waiter rubbed the back of his neck, a sheer blush painting his cheeks as he laughed sheepishly, before bowing once again. Minho recognized the person he had stumbled into, but he couldn’t put a name to his face. His parent’s business associates all tended to kind of blur together, and despite their continuous bickering, Minho’s interest in the family business had been miniscule to begin with. He watched as the man pulled a face at the waiter, waving him off.
Minho wouldn’t say he made a habit out of staring at his parent’s staff. But that particular waiter caught and held his attention in a way things only rarely could. After watching him bump into people wherever he went, he couldn’t help but wonder. How had he even been hired? Or hadn’t been banished to the kitchen where he couldn’t cause any more problems? But apparently, no one else had really noticed the boy. Even most of the people he stumbled into barely gave him the time of day, except for maybe a quick glare in his general direction.
At first glance, the waiter didn’t look much different than all the other staff members. He was shorter than most people in the room, even half of the female attendees towering over him in their heels. The white dress shirt was a bit too large on his narrow shoulders, but the black vest hugged his small waist tightly. Around his neck was a black bow-tie, and the dress shirt was tucked into black slacks, which fell loosely over thin legs.
The waiter scurried off, not before bowing once again, his black hair falling over his forehead.
For all his clumsiness, the waiter made an effort to brightly smile at guests who barely even acknowledged his existence, and skillfully refilled wine glasses. Which was probably the most confusing thing about him. Who stumbled as much as that boy did, but managed to fill a glass of wine while walking past someone without spilling so much as a drop?
“Minho!”
Minho tore his eyes away from the waiter, looking at his mother. Her expression was schooled, but there was a slight scowl on her lips and a sharp fire in her eyes.
“My apologies,” Minho said, once again, putting on a charming smile, “My head seems to be in the clouds today.”
The woman standing next to his mother chuckled, “The youth these days. You know, young man, I have a daughter just around your age. I imagine you would get along splendidly!”
“I’m sure,” Minho forced out, not daring to drop his smile, his fingers playing with the bracelet hidden beneath the sleeve of his navy suit jacket.
He swirled the wine in his glass, eyeing it with distaste. He had always hated business parties like these. Too many people he didn’t care to get to know, too many eyes on him watching his every move, and not enough liquor to forget about them.
He took a sip, letting the wine rest on his tongue, before swallowing it. Minho had never been much of a wine drinker, but his parents insisted on keeping a civilized atmosphere, steering clear from anything that wasn’t overpriced wine or expensive champagne. The hard liquor was reserved for the few selected guests his father would take to the karaoke bar after the formal event had ended, and neither his mother nor Minho were ever part of that.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the waiter heading towards his direction.
He was young, probably around Minho’s age. Chubby cheeks contrasted a sharp jawline, and big eyes observed his surroundings. Minho couldn’t help but wonder what he sounded like. When he talked, gasped, just breathed next to him. In a split second he had made a decision, finishing the last of his wine in a big gulp, ignoring his mother’s judging glare.
“Sorry,” he said when the waiter was close enough, voice a bit rough, “Could I get a refill?”
The waiter met his eyes for a brief moment, his lips stretching into a bright, heart shaped smile. “Of course, Sir,” he said. His voice was deeper than Minho thought it would be, but there was a gentle softness to it. “What kind would you like?”
“Whatever you have here is fine.”
“Would you like a new glass?” he asked, and Minho guessed it was because the wine was a different one from the one he’d had before. Instead, he shrugged. “This is fine,” he said, smiling at the waiter, who nodded, dark eyes meeting his in a flicker, before settling on the glass instead. Minho watched as he bit his lip, his cheeks rosy, as he opened the bottle he had with him.
Tipping the pale liquid into his glass, the waiter refused to meet Minho’s eyes again. His black hair was parted to the side, falling softly into his face. Minho let his gaze wander over his face. How his lashes framed his doe eyes, making them appear even bigger. How his plump bottom lip slipped from his teeth, red from being bitten on. How his throat moved as he swallowed around nothing.
“Thanks,” Minho said when the waiter closed the bottle and was met with another smile as the boy bowed, before walking away.
Minho watched him go. It was almost as if the boy’s blatant existence demanded his attention, and Minho was giving it willingly.
“Anyways, as I was saying,” a voice cut through the tension, pulling Minho back to reality. One of the ladies his mother had been talking to picked up the conversation, but it was barely rustling background noise to Minho, “have you heard of the new intern at Mr. Jeong’s office? I heard he went to community college. I’m telling you, anything is enough for people these days.”
Minho suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. He had liked it better when he hadn’t been aware of their conversation.
“That’s nothing, dear,” the other woman said, her perfectly manicured hands waving off the other lady, “I heard Mr. Kim’s daughter wants to be a singer and refuses to attend university. That poor family.”
“What a shame,” the first one agreed.
“Well,” Minho’s mother cut in, “Minho’s been at the top of his classes ever since freshman year.”
“Is that right, darling?”
Maybe Minho should’ve paid attention when his mother had introduced him to the two women. They looked at him expectantly, while his mother was raising her eyebrows at him, clearly wanting him to take over the conversation.
“My apologies,” he said instead, placing his untouched wine onto the bar table, “I have to use the restroom, please excuse me.”
Ignoring the glare his mother sent his way, he bowed to their guests, before making his way across the room.
The venue of the event was quite large, the main hall big enough to house a crowd without being stuffed to the brims. Minho passed the large dinner table in the middle of the room. Egg shell cloths covered sturdy wood, extravagant flower arrangements brought color into the room, and enormous chandeliers hung from the high ceiling.
Dinner had been served well over an hour ago, the event being in full swing. His father had already held his presentation, highlighting all the company’s successes within their 20 years of existence, and introducing new goals for the years to come. Minho hadn’t been paying attention, but he figured he had heard whatever was said a hundred times before, so he hadn’t really seen the point to bother.
Minho made his way through the crowd, offering anyone a charming smile who would dare to make eye contact with him. People chattered loudly around the bar tables set up around the room, laughing at bad jokes and drinking their wine, waiting for dessert to be served.
When he finally pushed past the last guests, he found himself on the broad hallway. He could hear the faint chatter from the main hall, but the air was cooler here with no people around, and his head felt lighter, the sting behind his eyes easing up. He didn’t have to walk far to reach the restrooms, but before he could open the door himself, it was pushed open, the young waiter from before stumbling right into him. Minho caught his hands before he could actually crash into him, helping him keep his balance.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” the boy started bowing just like Minho had seen him do all night.
“It’s all right,” he tried to smile reassuringly, “No harm done.”
Minho watched the waiter pull the same exact movements he had seen him do with everyone else, too. It was almost like a pattern. Hand to the neck, sheepish smile, looking to the ground, before bowing again. He could just be shy. And yet, the waiter was still standing close to him, not having even attempted to put any distance between them, one hand still resting in Minho’s.
Minho couldn’t help but find him fascinating. He didn’t say anything, but the staff didn’t usually use the guest restrooms. There was a separate one, farther back in the building, but Minho had the creeping suspicion that the boy knew that, too.
Finally, the waiter pulled his hand back, moving his dark bangs out of his face, biting his lip nervously, as his eyes flickered up to meet Minho’s. “Still, I should really watch where I’m going,” he said.
“Don’t worry about it,” Minho said, “Are you okay?”
“Oh me?” the waiter laughed, eyes finding the pale tiles beneath his feet again, “I’m fine. Just a bit embarrassed.”
He bowed again. “Again, I’m really sorry,” he said, before slipping away, running back towards the main hall.
“Huh,” Minho said as he looked after him, watching as he scurried around the corner and out of sight. He was cute. A bit weird, maybe. Certainly out of place. But cute.
“Huh,” he said again as he went to wash his hands a few minutes later, pulling off his numerous rings and noticing one missing. He hadn’t noticed it missing before, trying to recollect any memory of pulling the slim silver band off his finger and forgetting to put it back on. Frowning, he looked under the sink, thinking he might’ve accidentally dropped it, but all he found was pearly white marble. Weird.
When Minho returned to the main hall he was immediately whisked away by his mother and shoved at the next people he had to meet. He endured it with a smile, hoping nobody would really notice how strained it was.
Now that he knew that his hand was missing a ring, he couldn’t help but be constantly aware of it. The faint feeling of where the silver band usually sat on his finger lingered, as if there was still a weight. It was a strange feeling, and it made Minho touch his hands way more than he usually would, the tips of his fingers grazing down his pointer finger, reminding himself of the missing piece of jewelry.
He tried making some small talk, but he had the feeling that he wasn’t doing too well of a job with the way his mother kept glancing at him. At least Mr. and Mrs. Park, the guests she had just introduced him to, didn’t seem to notice.
Around him he noticed people slowly making their way to their assigned seats, some talking to waiters, pointing at an item on the menu.
“Why don’t we take a seat,” he heard his mother say, forcing his attention back to her, “I think it is almost time for dessert.”
Minho nodded, turning to the couple in front of him, bowing respectfully. “It was a pleasure to meet you.”
Minho made his way to his seat, fighting every urge in him to let himself fall onto the chair and slouch to his heart’s content. Instead, he sat up straight and took a sip from the god awful wine they served. Maybe it wasn’t actually awful. Maybe it was just wine.
“Are you ready to order, Sir?”
Minho almost jumped when he heard the voice, and found himself looking directly at the same waiter he had been watching all evening. The boy met his eyes for a second, before glancing down, evading his gaze. And yet, he was standing close enough he was almost touching Minho. He could feel the faintness of his breath tickle his neck, a shiver running down his back.
“I’m not sure yet,” he said, ignoring the way his skin tingled, smiling at the waiter, “Anything you would recommend?”
“Oh,” he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, seemingly caught off guard, before collecting himself, his lips forming a bright smile, “We have a wide variety to choose from, anything you might be in the mood for. But if you want my personal opinion, I would go for the cheesecake.”
“Hmm,” Minho pretended to consider the suggestion for a moment, “I guess I’ll give that a try then.”
“Certainly,” the waiter bowed, “Anything else I can get you? Maybe a different wine, if this one isn’t to your liking?”
He pointed at Minho’s half empty glass. Minho blinked at him. Had the boy been watching him when he hadn’t been looking? At least he had the decency to look a bit flustered as well, his smile nervous.
“Do you have one that tastes less like wine?” he asked instead, deadpan voice.
The waiter looked a bit taken aback, but within seconds his expression was back to his schooled, forthcoming one. “I’m afraid not.”
Minho sighed. “Then I guess I’ll have to make due.”
The waiter nodded, before moving to grab the menu from the table that Minho hadn’t even bothered to open.
Minho’s eyes widened as he watched delicate fingers grab the item, a familiar silver band reflecting the light from the chandelier. The waiter took the menu at an almost glacial pace, leaning into Minho’s personal space way too much to be unintentional, but Minho couldn’t tear his eyes from his hands, showing off his own ring so blatantly.
The hand disappeared from his sight, as did the warmth of another body close to his, and Minho whipped his head around to see the waiter walk away. He suddenly remembered the waiter’s hands in his in front of the bathroom door, the fidgeting and frantic bowing.
A smile crept up his face. That little bastard. Minho chuckled. Well, he wasn’t about to ruin his fun.
Sitting by himself, he still had his eyes set on where the waiter had disappeared. His mother had been seemingly caught up again, seeing as she was nowhere to be found, and his father was sitting with some of the investors he was trying to impress. Minho didn’t mind it, enjoying the few moments of rest he was granted.
He liked social interactions well enough, just not this kind. Constantly feeling like he had to put up a front to impress people he didn’t really care to impress all that much.
Minho fought the urge to pull out his phone. It was Friday, which meant that his friends would all be at Changbin’s huge apartment, watching trash movies and probably talking shit about him since he wasn’t there. He scowled. He too, would much rather talk shit about him instead of sitting through this business party. His fingers found the bracelet hidden beneath his sleeve again, tracing every shape of the individual stones and gems.
A glass was put in front of him, his ring staring back at him, daring him to voice the recognition.
Minho blinked, looking up to see the waiter already looking at him.
“You look like you need it,” the boy said, a slight tremble in his voice as if he was nervous. Minho found it hard to believe with him practically waving the stolen goods in front of his face.
He looked back to the glass, a golden brown liquid about an inch high meeting his gaze.
He snorted, “I do?”
The waiter shrugged, “It doesn’t taste like wine.”
And then he was gone again. Minho turned to look after him, but he had already disappeared from his sight.
Turning back to the glass, he picked it up and swirled the liquid around before moving it closer to his face. The strong smell of alcohol hit him. He took a careful sip, letting the smoky aroma rest on his tongue before swallowing, savoring the subtle burn that followed it down his throat. How did the waiter even get his hands on this? The bar was most definitely closed the last time Minho had checked, and he hadn’t seen any other guests nursing anything other than wine and champagne. And yet, he was undoubtedly holding whiskey in his hands.
Quietly laughing to himself he took another sip, deciding to enjoy the drink while his mother was still distracted. Minho looked around the room, any subtlety that may have been present at some point long gone as any person with a black vest and bow-tie caught his eye in search for the small waiter. Unsurprisingly, when he finally found him in the crowd it was because he was stumbling over his own feet, barely catching himself from crashing into a tall man. Minho watched his hands as they touched the man’s tux, fingers slipping into the pocket so fast Minho almost didn’t catch it.
He suppressed a chuckle at the man’s obliviousness to the waiter’s doing, merely lifting one of his strong brows as he side-eyed the boy. The waiter bowed, apologizing, but the man just shook his head before turning back to the person he had been in conversation with.
The waiter looked up from where he was bowing, his eyes meeting Minho’s dead on, holding his gaze. Minho felt another shiver run down his back, mouth going dry. He gulped, taking another sip without taking his eyes off him. The boy watched his throat swallow around the drink, licking his lips. And then he turned around and left.
Minho couldn’t quite put his finger on it. The boy was trying to rile him up, that’s what it had to be, right? Why else would he act so nervous in front of him, but then do something so bold the very next second?
Losing the boy in the crowd, his small frame slipping easily between bodies blocking Minho’s view, he finally turned back. Shaking himself out of it, he quickly gulped down the rest of the whiskey, ignoring the burn and urge to cough from the alcohol that was definitely not made to be chugged like water, and put the glass behind one of the gigantic vases on the middle of the table, hidden away from his mother’s sight.
“Have you ordered yet, dear?” his mother asked when she found him at the table, sitting down next to him.
“Yeah,” he cleared his throat, voice a bit rough from the whiskey. His mother regarded him for a moment, before reaching out to fix his hair. What she had to fix was beyond Minho, he hadn’t touched it the entire evening.
“You’ve been distracted,” she then said, “I need you to take this seriously, Minho. This is important for your future.”
He sighed. “I know,” he said, “I’ll do better.”
She nodded, gently touching his cheek.
He had been distracted, but was it really his fault? He wasn’t used to being subjected to cute waiters at his family’s business parties. And if the fact that the cute waiter was also a sneaky little thief, who had been reveling in the blissful ignorance of the party guests, demanded Minho to throw all his attention at him, then he was a weak man for being unable to resist.
It was a little stupid, Minho had to admit himself. The waiter clearly had no inhibitions of staying clear of him. Who knows, maybe he wasn’t actually eyeing Minho up, but rather waiting for an opportunity to gut him like a pig and bleed him dry.
“He’s marinating you!” he could almost hear a voice that sounded suspiciously like Felix yell in his head, “Marinating!”
Minho looked at his hands. All his other rings were still there, and he doubted the waiter would go for his earrings. The silver rings would be a bit too complicated to get off without anyone noticing. Nevertheless, he moved his hands up, finding the cool silver still attached to his lobes. Minho patted down his jacket. Phone and wallet were still there. But then he noticed it. He checked his pockets again, fingers only coming into touch with the soft fabric of his suit. His pocket watch was missing.
A deep frown set on his face.
Looking around the room, he caught a glance at the waiter as he disappeared through the kitchen door.
“Excuse me,” he said to his mother, “I have to check something real quick.”
Pushing himself up from his seat he took quick steps towards the kitchen. No matter how cute that waiter was, that was one thing he wouldn’t let him take.
“You,” Minho pointed at the young waiter the second he laid his eyes on him inside the kitchen. Other staff members looked up from what they were doing, confusion evident on their faces.
The boy had the audacity to look surprised, eyes wide and mouth agape.
“Me?”
Minho could almost hear a little stammer. The boy was good.
“Yeah, you. A word, please?”
The waiter looked a bit unsure, turning back to look at who must’ve been the head of staff, who merely shrugged. Minho raised his eyebrows at him, giving him a pointed look. The boy fidgeted with his hands, playing with his fingers, arms held close to his body, as if he was trying to make himself look as small as possible. He gave a small nod, finally making a move to follow him.
Minho led him away from the main hall towards the entrance, before making a right and walking into the coatroom. The room was empty save for the racks of fur coats and blazers. Minho moved to back, far enough that nobody walking past the room would notice people occupying it.
“Is everything alright?”
Minho almost laughed right then and there. The boy was nothing if not persistent in keeping up his act.
He turned to look at him, arms crossed in front of his chest, watching as the waiter chewed on his lips.
“I’m gonna need my pocket watch back.”
The boy frowned, cocking his head to the side. The perfect picture of innocence. “Excuse me?”
It was almost funny how clueless the waiter was acting. As if he hadn’t practically shoved Minho’s own ring into his face. If Minho wasn’t as amused with the entire situation, he might’ve gotten frustrated by now. Still, he rolled his eyes. “Look, I was just gonna let you take the ring, but that watch is really important to me. I want it back.”
“I’m sorry you can’t find your watch, but I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Big eyes looked at him from beneath their lashes.
Minho snorted. “You’re good, I’ll give you that,” he said, “But I really need it back. I don’t care about the rest.”
The boy huffed, his expression turning sour. “Maybe you just lost it?”
Minho’s eyes found the silver band on his finger. “You’re not as sneaky as you think you are.”
“Now I know that is a lie,” the boy stepped closer to him, grinning brightly, but all innocence was washed away from his face, “I’m hella sneaky.”
The big eyes and puffy cheeks really were just a ploy to get people to buy into his cute, harmless exterior, weren’t they? The grin wasn’t sheepish, like all the other’s he had given people over the course of the night, but rather cocky. Minho wanted to wipe it off his face.
Instead, Minho gave him his best unimpressed glare.
“Fine,” the waiter sighed exaggeratedly, stuffing his hands into his pockets and starting to empty them. Bracelets, rings, wallets, and even one or two wrist watches appeared before him. Minho’s eyes widened. He had been aware that the boy had been stealing from people, but he hadn’t quite realized how much. How had he not gotten caught yet?
“How did you even get away with all that?” he voiced the question.
“I’m good,” the boy shrugged, “And nobody gives two shits about a waiter. Rich people are easy.”
He wiggled his eyebrows at him, a shit eating grin on his face.
“This the thing you want back?” he finally pulled out the pocket watch, dangling it in front of Minho, “I didn’t even know people still owned these things. From what time period are you? The 19th century?”
Minho rolled his eyes, snatching it from his hands.
Checking over the watch he found it in one piece, no apparent scratches or dents. The watch itself was fairly simple, but in good condition. Shiny gold on the outside with carved petals and wavy patterns covering it, Roman numerals on the inside, with the middle part being made of glass, showing all the tiny cogs and gear wheels that made the clock work.
“I didn’t break it in the twenty minutes I had it,” the waiter scoffed when Minho turned it over to check its backside, before opening it up and closing it again.
The boy moved to return all his other stolen goods back into his pockets. Minho couldn’t help but notice that even though he had stolen quite a few rings, his was the only one he was actually wearing. He was about to voice his thoughts out loud, when something else caught his eye.
“Is that my father’s watch?” he asked, looking at the familiar golden wrist watch currently in the waiter’s hands, waiting to be hid away once more.
The boy grinned. “So? You want that back, too?”
“No,” Minho shrugged, “It would probably look better on you anyways.”
“That’s another lie,” the boy laughed, catching Minho’s gaze as he shrugged again, “An ugly thing like that doesn’t look good on anybody.”
The watch was large and chunky, and Minho had to agree, quite ugly. The gold was loud and the band thick, even the clock face made of solid gold, not contrasting it from the rest of the design in the slightest. As if it’s entire purpose was merely to show off.
“Why’d you steal it then? You don’t think it’s fancy or whatever?”
“Not really,” there was a glint in the waiter’s eyes, as if he was enjoying this way more than he was supposed to, “But it’s pretentious and hella expensive, and your dad is really fucking obnoxious.”
Minho wanted to grab him and shove him against the wall.
A flicker of realization crossed the boy’s expression and a mean smirk settled on his lips. One that Minho really had no business in finding so hot.
“You gonna rat me out or something?” the waiter asked, stepping closer. Minho could feel his breath on his face, eyes flickering down to his lips.
“You’ve been staring at me quite a lot, haven’t you?” he was so close to him, reveling in the warmth radiating from another body beating next to him, but Minho didn’t have it in him to push him away. “I’ve noticed your eyes following me wherever I go,” the boy continued, eyes focusing on Minho’s lips, “What caught your attention?”
“Your feet.” Minho blurted it out, surprised by his own answer and the waiter pulled back a bit, laughing.
“My feet,” he repeated, raising his eyebrows at him, “I mean, whatever you’re into, I guess.”
“No!” Minho felt his cheeks flush, tearing his eyes away from the boy, “That’s not what I meant.”
“I’m not judging,” the boy grinned, clearly enjoying this way too much.
Minho let out a frustrated huff, “You’re so annoying.”
“Yeah? I think you like that.”
“You’re quite cocky for someone who doesn’t even know my name.”
“What makes you think I don’t know your name?”
Minho pushed him against the wall. He was so close, barely a few inches between them. He could easily lean in and kiss that stupid smirk off the waiter’s lips. His staring must’ve been quite obvious, judging by the way the waiter let his tongue drag slowly over his bottom lip, before biting down on it.
Minho wasn’t sure who leant in first. One second he was glaring at the boy’s lips as if they had personally offended him, and the next he was pressing him further into the wall, crashing his lips onto the waiter’s. His hands found the lapels of his shirt, gripping it tightly, holding the boy close. Their lips moved messily together, frantically searching for a rhythm.
“Okay,” the boy breathed heavily when he pulled back, chuckling, “You might want my name for this, though.”
“Yeah?”
“Jisung.”
“Minho.”
“Cool.”
And then he pulled Minho back against him.
Minho pressed Jisung against the wall between the hangers and coats, hidden from anyone who might walk past. There was nothing gentle about the way they kissed, Minho’s mind being occupied only with the need to be even closer to the other boy. His eyes fell shut and his hands moved down to grip Jisung’s hips, holding him into place as he wedged his thigh between the waiter’s legs.
He felt Jisung groan against his lips, using the opportunity to slip his tongue into his mouth. Fingers were running through his hair, gripping the strands and pulling sharply, forcing a whine out of Minho. He pushed harder as an answer, deepening the kiss.
It had been ages since Minho had been kissed at all, but it had been even longer since he had been kissed like this. Pure want and desire. Kissing a stranger shouldn’t feel like this, he thought as he pulled the shirt out of Jisung’s pants to feel his warm skin against his fingers. Jisung chuckled against him, before teasingly biting his lower lip. He pulled back a bit, his eyes searching for Minho’s.
“Is this okay?” he breathed, removing one hand from Minho’s hair to pull at his tie.
“Yeah,” Minho’s voice was barely above a whisper, eyes finding Jisung’s lips again. They were already a bit bruised and swollen, and Minho was longing to feel them back on his. They spread into a grin, but there was nothing malicious about the smile, it was almost soft as Jisung undid his tie and carelessly dropped it onto the floor. He seemed to give into Minho’s staring, pressing another kiss to his lips, but pulled away again soon after. Instead, he started to move his lips over his cheek, under his jaw, and down his neck, leaving teasing kisses along the way. Nimble fingers opened the top buttons of the white dress shirt to reveal Minho’s collarbones.
Minho barely had time to register what was happening, but within the next second he found himself with his back to the wall, their positions switched and Jisung grinning up at him.
“Jisung,” Minho got out as Jisung pressed his lips to his collarbone, biting his skin, before soothingly licking over it. Minho’s hands found his dark locks, pulling sharply when Jisung found a particular sensitive spot, sucking on his skin. His head fell back against the wall and he let out a breathy whine.
He felt Jisung pull back, admiring his handiwork, before looking up at Minho.
“Damn, you’re so pretty it’s infuriating.”
“Yeah?” Minho hissed when Jisung bit down on his shoulder before moving back up his neck, “Have you seen yourself?”
Jisung pulled back again, a lopsided grin on his lips. “Oh, I already know I’m gorgeous,” he laughed.
Minho scowled at him, but he couldn’t really argue with that. Jisung’s hair was a mess, sticking up where Minho had been gripping it. But even with his flushed cheeks and red bitten lips that were pulled into a perpetual smirk, he looked stunning.
Taking in the rumpled shirt, Minho’s hands wandered to his bowtie, which had long abandoned its tight knot and was only barely holding the collar of his shirt together. His fingers loosened it until it finally gave up, falling from Jisung’s neck.
Minho’s gaze came to rest on his lips once again, watching as a tongue came out to wet them. Between his pounding heart and their heavy breathing, Minho probably wouldn’t even notice if someone were to walk into the room. And if Minho were someone with more dignity, or maybe just an ounce of shame, he would care. Instead, he let Jisung pull his wrists from where they were resting on his neck as he came up again to kiss Minho on the lips. Minho eagerly responded, letting the waiter take control, taking anything the boy would give him.
The moment Jisung pulled back again, he already missed the warmth of his lips on his, the closeness of their hearts beating together, drowning out the blood rushing through his ears.
“That’s a cute bracelet,” Jisung said, bringing Minho back to reality as he eyed the piece of jewelry that had become visible under Minho’s sleeve where he was still holding onto his wrists.
“Don’t you dare,” Minho laughed, pulling his wrist from the boy’s hand, “A friend made that for me.”
The bracelet wasn’t much. A bit clumsily assembled, really, but there was a lot of heart in it and Minho liked that.
“I would never,” Jisung said with a treacherous smirk.
Minho glared at him. “I’m watching you.”
“Oh, I know,” Jisung grinned, and then his lips were back on Minho’s, as he was pulled closer by the collar of his shirt.
Minho wasn’t sure how much time had passed when his brain cell started working again, reminding him that they were still at a formal event and his parents were bound to notice him missing at some point. Just the thought of going back to the hall full of people made him grimace.
“Shit, I gotta go back,” he groaned and Jisung had the audacity to whine into his ear.
He placed his hands on the boy’s shoulders, gently pushing him away. Everything in him screamed to pull him close again, and from the way Jisung was staring at him, he felt the same way.
“They won’t miss you for a few more minutes, won’t they?” Jisung said with a hopeful tone, fingers running over his shoulders, softly touching his collarbones which were now covered in bruises that formed a trail up to his neck.
“I wish,” Minho sighed, and Jisung let his hands fall, “How bad do I look?”
Jisung made a point of dragging his eyes down his body and up to his face, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “I think you look great.”
Minho huffed, “You’re not helping.”
The other boy laughed, before moving to pick up the discarded tie from the floor, pushing it into Minho’s hand.
“Guess you gotta fix it yourself then,” he pressed one last short kiss to Minho’s lips, before straightening his own clothes and slipping out of the coatroom.
Minho tried to fix his hair as best as he could, running his hands through it in a pitiful attempt to flatten it. He was still breathing heavily, and his lips were probably swollen and bright red, but there was only so much he could do about that. Maybe no one would notice.
He closed the buttons on his shirt, straightening his tie, before running his hands down the blazer. This was probably as good as it was gonna get. He could only hope Jisung had been considerate enough to not place hickeys high on his neck where the collar of his shirt didn’t cover his skin anymore.
Stepping back into the main hall, he went mainly unnoticed by the guests as he slipped through the crowd towards his seat. He could really use a glass of water right now.
Minho noticed empty plates being carried off by waiters, but as he approached his seat he found the space empty, no cake anywhere in sight. Frowning, he sat down and took one of the water jugs to fill a fresh glass, gulping down the liquid like he was parched.
“You seem to be quite thirsty.”
He coughed around the water, hearing a chuckle next to him. Jisung stood there, looking perfectly fine, as if he hadn’t just spent the last half an hour making out in the coatroom.
Minho put his glass down, glaring at the waiter.
“You okay?” Jisung asked, and if Minho wasn’t mistaken there was actually something like concern in his voice. A hand came to rest on his arm, thumb rubbing circles over his suit jacket. Minho gulped.
“I’m fine,” he pressed out.
Jisung nodded. “Alright, I just wanted to check on you.”
He was about to walk off when Minho reached out, taking a hold of his arm.
“You know,” he said, “I never got my cake.”
“Oh, yeah,” Jisung laughed, the sheepish smile back on his face as he shrugged, “We don’t actually serve cheesecake.”
Minho gaped as Jisung sauntered off, the low chuckle getting quieter as he disappeared in the crowd once again.
His mother shot him a warning glare when she saw him, eyes moving over his appearance. She didn’t say anything, but the look on her face was enough. This would be something they would have to talk about later. Maybe Minho should’ve bothered with a trip to the bathroom before coming back. He blamed Jisung. Damn him for messing up his brain enough he forgot the basic know-how of making himself presentable for the public.
He ran his hands through his hair again, but he knew it was useless. Anything that wasn’t fixed by now would not be fixed by touching it more.
The rest of the night dragged on painfully slow. He had to endure a few more conversations about business and his university classes, pretending that he cared, which was getting harder to do by the second. He was distracted, even more so than before, his eyes constantly searching the room, but Jisung didn’t appear anywhere in his sight.
As people started to leave and the main hall gradually emptied, Minho could finally catch a break. He had gone back to his wine, though the taste was even blander now. But even as the room emptied out, he couldn’t seem to catch Jisung anywhere. Was the boy hiding?
Finally, being fed up, he pushed himself up to make his way towards the kitchen for the second time that night. When he pushed the door open, he looked around for the familiar face, but there was no Jisung either.
“Excuse me,” he stopped one of the waiters who was about to pass by him, “I need to talk to one of the waiters. His name is Jisung.”
The waiter frowned, “I’m sorry, but there is no one working tonight with that name.”
Minho blinked.
“Oh,” he said, dumbfounded, “Maybe I misheard, sorry.”
The waiter shot him another confused look before bowing and moving along.
What the hell?
***
Minho was playing with his empty glass, sitting alone at the table with most of the guests having either left or making conversation elsewhere. His mother had finally given up on getting him to have a somewhat coherent conversation, so he was left to his own devices, staring into his glass as if it would magically refill itself.
Like an instinct, his other hand found its way to his wrist to touch his bracelet, but all he was met with was skin.
He frowned, finally putting the glass down, pushing his sleeve back.
His bracelet was missing.
That bastard.
He groaned in frustration, hands rubbing over his eyes. He was tired and there was an uncomfortable sting behind his eyes. If he weren’t at a formal event, he would curse out loud. Instead, he pushed the words back into his throat, gritting his teeth together.
He should’ve seen it coming, really.
Sighing, he pulled his phone from his suit pocket. It was late enough, most people were gone anyways, and the last time he had seen his parents they had been on the other end of the room. When he unlocked the screen he was met with notifications of his friends’ group chat, a good fifty messages, apparently live-messaging whatever trash movie they’d been watching so he could be part of the whole experience.
But what caught his eye instead was another message, from a contact he couldn’t remember ever putting in himself. Jisung’s name was staring back at him, a bunch of hearts added after the name.
Jisung <3<3<3
sorry I couldn’t stay longer, hope u don’t miss me too much <3
Minho stared at the message.
Minho (=^・・^=)
how did u get my number?
He didn’t have to wait long for a reply, Jisung texting back almost immediately.
Jisung <3<3<3
u r really not as attentive as u think u r ;)
Minho huffed, a smile tugging on his lips.
Minho (=^・・^=)
I really need that bracelet back
Jisung <3<3<3
huh
Jisung <3<3<3
guess u have to come and get it then