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the notification pops onto mingyu’s phone while he’s in the middle of glazing a fresh, cinnamon bun he’s pulled from the oven. the chime echoes through the empty kitchen and reverberates down his spine. he jumps in surprise at the sound, almost dropping the glaze brush in his hand. he has enough sense not to scream, at least. the last thing he needs while working this shit shift is a policeman knocking on his door because someone filed a noise complaint.
he lets out a long exhale and pinches his brow bone, unknowingly dusting flour against the bridge of his nose. he still has several hours to go before he’s finished, several hours until he can go home and execute his plans for the upcoming three-day weekend. mingyu was ecstatic when the bakery owner told him he could take the holiday off. it was almost too good to be true.
and it was.
mingyu was allowed to take the holiday off on the condition that he stayed overnight to prepare the pastries that could be baked ahead of time and sold during the weekend. having already been scheduled for the late night shift, mingyu resigned himself to his fate.
suffer now, prosper later, he thinks dejectedly as he pouts at his phone screen. the lights in the bakery are always warm and orange. it’s a sharp contrast from the cool, white light feathering his face as the notification he opens tells him wonwoo’s begun streaming on twitch. not good. if wonwoo’s streaming now that means he’s definitely going to be asleep by the time mingyu gets home. and if he’s asleep by the time mingyu gets home—well, there’s still three days to make-up for tonight, mingyu supposes. he supposes, but he hates the supposing.
he sighs. it’s tragic, loud, and dramatic. he turns his phone off and puts it away, washing his hands before handling the buns once more. with an impassioned determination to get home to wonwoo before he finishes whatever hell game he’s playing this time, mingyu works more efficiently than he thinks he’s ever worked before.
he just might make it.
💤
mingyu toes off his shoes at the entranceway and neatly sets them to the side. he snorts at the sight of wonwoo’s own shoes haphazardly tossed about. he’ll fix it later, maybe nag wonwoo about it too. the key word being later.
he locks the door and proceeds to squint his eyes at the sight before him. some lights are still on in random areas of their house, and it doesn’t help mingyu figure out whether or not wonwoo is still awake. “it’s like that stupid cat in a box wonwoo brought up once,” mingyu grumbles. “slow… ninja’s cat…? some guy’s poor cat, i don’t know.”
the light is on in the laundry room, in the hallway heading to the guest room, and from where he stands, mingyu can see also see the sliver of light slipping past the partially open door of their shared bedroom. the silence that surrounds him doesn’t give anything away either. even mingyu forgets that wonwoo’s in the house sometimes with how quiet he can get.
mingyu drags his tired feet over and opens the bedroom door with little tact. after years of being with wonwoo, he’s discovered a plethora of things about him. one of those things being: wonwoo sleeps as if he’s dead. it’s both a blessing and a curse. it’s helpful when mingyu needs to be noisy in the kitchen while wonwoo’s passed out in bed, exhausted from writing all night, but not so helpful when jeonghan ends up staring at mingyu, not wonwoo, the reason for their tardiness in the first place, with eyes that mingyu swears have seen a dead body at some point, for being the last ones to arrive at seokmin’s birthday party. but right now, mingyu’s just glad it’s one less thing he has to be physically conscious of, considering how much energy it’s taking for him to just walk.
the door flies open with a small thud, and despite the glaringly predictable outcome, mingyu frowns at the sight of wonwoo sprawled out on their bed, breathing soft and slow, fast asleep. he’s on his stomach in his home clothes, limbs outstretched. mingyu wonders if its really necessary for him to spread out that much on a king-sized mattress. two men above six feet can utilize the space effectively, but as it is, wonwoo drowns in the sea of their white bedsheets and duvet with mingyu’s throw pillows scattered above him like little islands.
mingyu drops his bag next to his feet and goes to pick up wonwoo’s abandoned laptop from the floor on the side of the bed. he must have been finishing some things up for work after he streamed, mingyu thinks, and with a gentleness he reserves for most of wonwoo’s things, he puts it away on wonwoo’s desk where he, being who he is, can’t accidentally knock it over.
the light he had seen from the entryway came from the hanging display lights above a row of photos he and wonwoo had taken. mingyu remembers how long it took them to assemble the fixture. too long. wonwoo insisted on helping, and whether it be now or then, mingyu can’t say no to a pouting wonwoo—especially when wonwoo himself doesn’t even know he’s doing it.
mingyu can feel the fatigue settle in his limbs, and he internally wills it to go away, just for an hour or two. wonwoo was gone for two weeks. two, long, devastating weeks in japan with his agent and editor as they worked with the japanese publisher responsible for his debut there. wonwoo finally came back home two days ago, but he looked so close to his deathbed that mingyu could do nothing but fuss over him like a nurse on-call. that is the reason why tonight was supposed to be the first night (out of three) he would make up for the two wonwoo-less weeks he endured. that was his plan. but then a soft snore escapes wonwoo’s lips and mingyu turns back to look at him, suppressing the urge to whine like a petulant child.
as stubborn as kim mingyu can be, he can be just as understanding. he knows how exhausted wonwoo is. he knows how tired he, himself, is too. after his second sigh of resignation of the night, he quietly changes out of his clothes into something more comfortable. he still doesn’t quite want to go to sleep yet, even if he’s not staying awake for the reason he planned to be awake for.
mingyu crawls onto the bed until he’s next to wonwoo and lays himself down, curled on his side, to face him. he looks better than last night, mingyu thinks. and he does. the dark circles under his eyes are gone and his skin is well-hydrated and plump, even with the breakouts. with one look, mingyu's reminded of how pretty wonwoo is, in whatever state he may be in. it's not like he ever forgot that fact in the first place.
mingyu can’t help but bring a hand up to cup the side of wonwoo’s face. his touch is gentle, almost ghostly, even though he knows he won’t wake wonwoo up anyway. he runs the rough pad of his thumb against wonwoo’s smooth cheekbone and revels in the warmth of his skin, even with only this small point of contact. mingyu’s face is close enough on the mattress to wonwoo’s to feel the warm, contented sigh that slips past his lips. he can see the fraction of movement wonwoo makes to lean into mingyu’s touch.
it makes mingyu smile like an idiot. there are no thoughts, his head is empty, save for jeon wonwoo.
in life, there are several feelings, several emotions, that can create tumultuous waves in the pit of someone’s stomach. some feelings are innocent, some aren’t, some feelings are positive, and again, some aren’t. but what mingyu feels settling in his own is lighter than the burning brand of passion or the heavy embrace of commitment manifested. no, what he feels is like a cool wind kissing the heat off his skin on an extremely sunny day, or the gentle hum of the radiator on a day when the ground is covered in snow.
what he feels is comfort.
it’s all so sappy and gross, and god, his friends would make fun of him to hell and back for how whipped he is, but he really does love the man in front of him. if only he were awake to hear mingyu say it. but of course, mingyu thinks, with a roll of his eyes, wonwoo’s asleep.
wonwoo’s asleep .
mingyu’s eyes widen as a thought comes to him out of nowhere. all of the mini-mingyu’s in his head cheer at the sheer brilliance of it. when it comes to feelings of the romantic kind, it’s never just mingyu’s friends teasing him about how whipped he is, wonwoo joins in too, even though mingyu knows he’s in just as deep. he always says he isn’t, and with his ability to hold a poker face, he would almost be believable, but mingyu knows wonwoo’s tells, especially those that involve him. wonwoo can laugh off the claims as much as he wants, but mingyu is a romanticist at heart. as red-faced and shy as he gets when he gets teased by them, he never denies the things they say. all of it is true anyway, and mingyu is not a liar. if he could, he would climb onto his roof and shout to all the stars in the universe the reasons why he loves a certain idiot. obviously, he can’t do that for a multitude of reasons—he doesn't want to disturb his neighbors and he doesn't want to die in a crime of (literal and figurative) passion.
but wonwoo’s asleep, dead asleep, and mingyu can do the next best thing to indulge in his romantic inclinations without embarrassing himself—the thought of it makes him vibrate with anticipation. if wonwoo were to open his eyes right now, he would have the misfortune of seeing the excited, smug look on mingyu’s face. but he’s not, so he can’t, mingyu thinks to himself, pleased, because he is asleep.
mingyu props himself up on his elbows and clears his throat once again for the drama of it all. but veiled beneath his theatrics, mingyu's a second away from going into cardiac arrest. he knows no one can hear him in the privacy of their home, not even wonwoo, whom all of this concerns, but the pounding of his heart is ruthless against his ribcage. mingyu looks at the ceiling as if a guardian angel would manifest any moment now and wonders how many more years he has to be with wonwoo until his heart learns to calm down around him.
probably never.
“to start off,” mingyu croaks the words out awkwardly in an attempt to test the way they linger in the air. it’s stupid, but the weight they carry is weirdly heavy against the tension he’s built up on his own. he lets out a fake sob, reaping what he’s sowed, and tries again, “to start off, your glasses and horrible fucking eyesight. i don’t love those things, obviously, but it’s a part of you and—the first time after we made out, you just said i fogged up your glasses. like, point blank, nothing else. man, the panic i felt, like, fuck, i suck so bad that his glasses just fogged up so he doesn’t have to look at me, and then you had the nerve to laugh at me for freaking out.” mingyu scrunches his nose and holds back the urge to pinch wonwoo’s invitingly-pinchable cheek, “but whatever. i have the last laugh in the end because your knees go out sometimes when we kiss.”
the memory is a fond one, even if it’s at the sake of eighteen year-old mingyu’s pride. he actually does laugh at the memory, remembering how hard wonwoo tried to make it up to him after that. mingyu props himself on one elbow and leans the side of his face against his palm. his eyes scan wonwoo’s figure as he sorts through his collection of wonwoo-related thoughts. mingyu snorts out another laugh when his eyes land on wonwoo’s waist.
“i love that you call yourself a dorito. and i’m pretty sure soda came out of my nose the first time you said it,” mingyu cringes at the memory. he follows up with a whisper, hushed and scandalized, “it was funny, but at what cost…?”
he prods a finger at wonwoo’s hip, “i love that about you though, y’know, how narrow your waist is. i like how i can grip it with both hands and—”
mingyu cuts himself off. his face is extremely hot and he doesn’t want to acknowledge that other place might be feeling hot as well. he waves his hand in front of himself as if it’ll wave the thoughts away and lets out an awkward laugh. that was a dangerous direction to go in, he thinks. he takes a deep breath and thinks of different pastries and baking methods.
but then wonwoo pulls his legs back and mingyu’s entire body tenses up. out of all the things he’s said so far, this is the one wonwoo will wake up to. great. mingyu scrunches his face and braces himself for an affronted yell or a half-hearted smack or something, but five seconds pass, and nothing comes for him. a few more seconds pass. some more. with hesitation, he peeks open one eye only to see a still happily unaware and blissfully asleep wonwoo. his legs are just settled in a different position and he’s buried his face further into the mattress. mingyu lets out a sigh of relief and reaches over to move wonwoo’s hair out of his face.
now with the threat over his life gone, mingyu regains the will to continue his mission. he chews on his bottom lip in thought as he takes in how wonwoo’s eyelashes fan across his skin. the lashes are thin compared to mingyu’s own, but mingyu even finds that cute. as he debates on whether or not that’s one of the reasons he should voice out, his eye drift to the bookshelf near wonwoo’s desk. there are some classics on the shelf, some foreign, some not. the top shelf is reserved for all of the books wonwoo’s written, at mingyu’s insistence. wonwoo was fine keeping them in a box, or on the lowest shelf if he had to, but mingyu wouldn’t let him. he reads over the titles, studies how wonwoo’s name comes after each one and says, “i love how you always mention me in the dedication of your books. you’re so set on keeping your personal life a secret from your readers, but every time, every single time, you mention me. you’re not vague about what i am to you either. not in your books, not when we first started going out... not when your family found out we’re together.”
mingyu pauses. it’s a burn wound that’s no longer fresh, but it’s one he shares with wonwoo. sometimes it flares up, and sometimes it itches. he sits up, careful not to jostle the bed too much. mingyu takes a deep breath and clenches a fist against his knee. what wonwoo means to him is really beyond words, beyond everyone reason he’s given so far. he lets that sink in and gives a small laugh, as if he’s been impressed one way or another. mingyu never thought he would be able to feel this kind of comfort with his heart vulnerable and pulsing in someone else’s hands. he hoped, as most hopeless romantics do, that he would, but trial-and-error can be a fickle mistress. even with the love of his life, and possibly every life before, after, within, and without, peacefully in dreamland as he offers himself without asking for anything in return, he’s content, satiated, with the knowledge and understanding that wonwoo would do the same.
he can’t help but wish wonwoo was awake, at this point. mingyu will deal with the embarrassment, if he has to. he just wants to hear wonwoo say his name, slow and sweet like honey, wants wonwoo to run his fingers through his hair. but as he’s repeated to himself several time’s before, wonwoo’s asleep .
he brings his hand back down to wonwoo’s face to caress his cheek. this time there’s no reaction at all and mingyu doesn’t like that. he tries once more, in a different way, and gives the pliant skin there a small tug, but still nothing. he even pokes wonwoo’s forehead, at some point.
“you really don’t wake up,” mingyu mutters, and the fact that he’s sulking is evident in his voice. “who are you, sleeping beauty?”
with a drawn out and exaggerated groan, mingyu allows himself to collapse (gently and slowly) on top of wonwoo, draping the upper half of his body over wonwoo’s own. he perches his chin on wonwoo’s shoulder for a few seconds as he waits to see if his weight will wake wonwoo up. one, two, three, with an impatient grunt, mingyu pulls his head back slightly and noses at the crook of wonwoo’s neck.
“waaaaaaaaake uuuuuuup,” mingyu whines, but he’s so tired that his naturally husky voice has gone raw and given up along the way. his plea comes out broken like the voice of a teenager going through puberty. mingyu’s about to try again, but he suddenly stops with his mouth partially open. his eyes are just below the back of wonwoo’s neck, perfectly center between the blades of his shoulders. it was hidden before by the neckline of wonwoo’s shirt, but now, exposed, the black mark stands out against the tan expanse of skin. the mole on wonwoo’s neck isn’t something new. mingyu would never forgive himself if he just discovered this now. he’s mapped wonwoo’s body more times than he can count, there’s not an inch oh him unexplored.
it’s when he pokes at it mindlessly with his finger that the idea comes to him. it comes in fast, and all the mini-mingyu’s in his head start cheering again. before mingyu can really think it through he ends up doing it, as stupid as it is.
as if slotting a key into a lock, mingyu nudges his nose right where the mole rests on wonwoo’s skin. he stays still for a moment, another, then feels the heat rise in his face. this one takes the cake for most embarrassing idea kim mingyu has ever had. but luckily for him, can’t think about it too much. the overnight shift it taking a toll on him by now. his eyelids weigh themselves down, and the warmth of wonwoo’s back is too inviting. he curses under his breath. he must have pushed himself too hard to stay awake because the exhaustion has become bad enough to make the room feel like it’s shaking.
only, mingyu doesn’t remember exhaustion ever making him feel that way. mingyu’s been this tired before, maybe even more, on several occasions, but the room never shakes. he also doesn’t remember exhaustion sounding like someone trying to hold in a laugh that rattles around in their chest.
mingyu snaps his head up, fast enough to make his head spin, and he stares down at wonwoo with his eyes narrowed. whatever energy he has left, he’s exerting all of it through the pressure of his glare. sure enough, wonwoo’s face is doing that thing. his lips are sucked into his mouth, clenched between his teeth, and his nose is all scrunched up towards his closed, and equally scrunched up, eyes. from where mingyu now sits, he can also see the way wonwoo’s body shakes as he tries to stop the laughter from escaping.
“what the fuck!” mingyu squeaks in distraught. he follows it up with a dying groan and plants his face into his hands. he’s never felt so homicidal before in his life. he doesn’t actually feel homicidal, but if he could platonically and non-fatally choke wonwoo out right now, he would. he really would. at this point, all is lost, anyways. what is pride? what is shame? mingyu doesn’t know the meaning of any of those words. he tosses it all to the wind. but still, when he looks back up and meets wonwoo’s now open eyes, his mouth still set in the same way, his face is flushed hot red and he’s sweaty and his head is actually spinning now.
“you were asleep,” mingyu complains with feeling, gesturing with his hands the gravity of the situation. “i could let elephants loose in the house and you wouldn’t wake up. hell, i could put you on the god-damn elephant and you wouldn’t wake up. so how the fuck?”
at this point, wonwoo doesn’t even bother reigning things in, the sound of his ‘ ha ha ha’s filling the room. his body shakes with the sheer force of laughter escaping him. he holds his sides as if it’s the only thing keeping his ribcage together against the pressure. he even starts slapping mingyu’s leg, who in response, tries to brush the attack off with an indignant frown. a minute passes like that until wonwoo finally starts to settle down. mingyu wants to be upset, but he hasn’t heard wonwoo laugh like that in while. he’s conflicted. he’s definitely conflicted and absolutely whipped.
“how much did you hear,” mingyu asks wonwoo with a rough whine as he tries to catch his breath. he’s sitting up now, bracing himself against mingyu’s side for support. mingyu refuses to wrap his arms around wonwoo, even if his fingers twitch with the need to do so, he refuses.
“do, do you want the,” wonwoo forces the words out once his breathing becomes more stable, “the truth, or?”
“hyung!”
“okay! fine, fine.” wonwoo relents with a wide grin on his face. he huffs out a laugh at the look mingyu’s throws his way. it’s unfortunate for mingyu, but at least wonwoo is happy with how the night has turned out. “i wasn’t asleep in the first place.”
the metaphorical mic drops, the pin, the drop of water, whatever. and mingyu just stares at wonwoo. he’s staring at wonwoo, but he’s also not. his gaze is far away, fixed onto the horizon of some distant land where he has no name, just a horse and the firey sunset. but even with cowboy boots on and a tumbleweed rolling in the foreground, mingyu can see the shittiest shit-eating grin emerge on wonwoo’s lips.
“i wanted to wait for you so i was doing some work,” wonwoo crosses his arms and nods his head sternly, as if that fact alone should be enough to placate mingyu. “then i heard you at the door, and i thought, ‘oh, won’t it be funny if mingyu’s excited to come home to me, but i’m actually asleep,’ but then, y’know,” he makes a rolling motion in front of him with his hands.
mingyu deadpans at wonwoo, the original king of deadpanning. but mingyu can’t stay expressionless any longer than he has to and groans loudly and dramatically in loss. he practically tackles wonwoo back onto the bed with his arms around his shoulders. the two of them land with a puff on top of their covers. wonwoo starts laughing again, this time it’s subdued and fond, and it’s enough to get mingyu smiling and relaxed again. with things calming down, mingyu allows the weight of sleep to encompass his body. his eyes flutter shut, unable to keep them open any longer.
wonwoo wiggles himself into a comfortable position against mingyu’s side after leaning over to turn off the display light with the remote. mingyu’s arm pillows his head and in return, wonwoo drapes himself over mingyu, appreciating the transfer of warmth between them. mingyu takes a deep breath and wonwoo smiles to himself, taking into consideration everything he’s heard tonight. gently, he nudges a cold foot against mingyu’s ankle.
“y’know, the prince is supposed to kiss sleeping beauty on the lips,” wonwoo snickers under his breath, “i don’t remember anything about them aligning moles like some tragic reincarnated lovers.”
mingyu retorts by pinching at wonwoo’s ankle with his toes. wonwoo cries out when he succeeds, and mingyu still has enough energy to bark out a laugh. he says, mostly through a slurred mumble, “you woke up anyway though.”
“yeah, yeah,” wonwoo huffs. he tilts his head up slightly and inspects mingyu’s face. after a few minutes, wonwoo presses his nose back against mingyu’s chest, satisfied with the sleepy lull mingyu’s breath has evened out into .“i did,” wonwoo whispers through a smile and shuts his own eyes, “sleep. it’ll be my turn tomorrow.”