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The number one rule of being a gay dude is never to fall for a straight guy. Mingi knows this. Everyone knows this! And so far, in his 22 years of life, Mingi has succeeded in abiding by said rule. Sure, he’s had his share of unrequited crushes, because Mingi has eyes and he knows a lot of pretty people, and he’s also terrified of like, every single basic human interaction. But he’s had some hookups and gone on some dates, and even had a couple boyfriends, and none of them had been straight guys, so hey! He’s winning!
But Mingi soon discovers the rule is easier said than followed, especially when the straight guy in question is Jung Wooyoung.
It starts with Daerim Warehouse.
Actually, if Mingi is honest with himself, which he so seldom is, it started long before that, but the cafe is the first place that Wooyoung invites him to go one-on-one, so it’s as good a start as any.
Mingi had been scrambling to finish an essay in the University library, Yunho at his side and Seonghwa-hyung across from them, when his phone had started vibrating, and he’d barely caught it before it hurled itself off the table to the ground. Frowning at the name on the screen, Mingi had swiped the call open and turned on his video automatically. “Wooyoung-ah?”
“Hey, Mangi-yah,” Wooyoung had chirped, smiling broadly at the camera. “You want to go to Daerim Warehouse cafe with me tomorrow?”
“I have class tomorrow,” Mingi had replied, puzzled, glancing at his friends, and Wooyoung had laughed, that bright, too-loud cackle of laughter that made Seonghwa-hyung roll his eyes across the table.
“I do, too,” Wooyoung replied. “I meant after.”
“Then yeah, okay.” Mingi had glanced around at Yunho, who had been smiling knowingly at him, but he glanced away quickly and lifted his textbook to hide his smile behind it. “Are we all going?”
A beat of silence. “No, just us,” Wooyoung had said, and that had been weird, but he’d been looking up at Mingi so earnestly, and his ears had been ever so slightly pink, his face soft and open, and Mingi had said yes, because he really has always been helpless to Wooyoung’s face when he turns on the sincerity.
So he’d met Wooyoung at the cafe the next evening, the sun draped low in the sky and shadows stretching out long to skitter across the toes of Mingi’s shoes. Wooyoung had been there waiting, and when he stepped away from his effortlessly casual perch on a nearby bench, the sweep of dark shadow around his bright eyes was obvious, the sweep of highlighter down the elegantly arched bridge of his nose and over his handsome cheekbones had caught the light. It had been pretty enough and unexpected enough for Mingi to do a double take, blinking owlishly at Wooyoung until Wooyoung had laughed, taking him by the arm and dragging him inside the cafe.
Wooyoung had insisted on buying him his drink, which had puzzled him more than anything, but Mingi had retaliated by buying them a box of Waffle Mate to share, and the way Wooyoung had looked at him had made his dumb gay heart skip a beat, so it had all been more than worth it.
Inside, the cafe was designed in an industrial style that appealed to Mingi and Wooyoung’s aesthetic both, with tall ceilings and exposed beams, Edison bulbs dangling down over the tables. Wooyoung had sat close at Mingi’s side despite the plentitude of space at the table they’d chosen, and Mingi has known him long enough to know that’s just how he operates, has seen him sling an arm around San’s neck or kiss Seonghwa’s cheek often enough to know it’s just how he is—it has nothing at all to do with Mingi himself. Still, he was not immune to the way Wooyoung had leaned in toward him, had looked up at him with those bright eyes, that gleaming smile, his laugh brash and loud in a way that made Mingi want to incite it over and over again. They’d stayed so long they only noticed the time when the baristas had started bustling around them, lifting chairs up off the floor to make way for their sweeping, and then Wooyoung had taken his hand, lacing their fingers together (!!!) and bowed his way out the door, apologizing profusely in such a bright charming way that the girl sweeping the floor had blushed to the roots of her hair.
Mingi had sent her a sympathetic glance and an apologetic wave on his way out the door in Wooyoung’s wake—after all, he’d been subject to Wooyoung’s charm for hours himself, and he thought wistfully that he knew exactly how she felt. Except she might actually have a chance with Wooyoung.
He’d tried hard not to think about how Wooyoung had felt in his arms when he’d coiled around Mingi for a lingering parting hug, stretching up to tuck his face into the curve of Mingi’s neck and shoulder. And then Wooyoung had turned to make his way back up the street to the bus that would take him home, and Mingi had turned to watch him go, drawn like a magnet to his pull and—uh oh.
Oh no.
The revelation had washed over him like plunging into freezing water: icy dread followed by a gasp for air. Because it’s too late… despite everything he knows, Mingi had realized he had already broken the number one rule of being a gay dude. He fell for his straight friend.
Fuck.
*****
“I’m going to Anmok this weekend,” Wooyoung says, hooking an arm around Mingi’s. He’s warm, the curve of his lean bicep discernible through the softness of his sweatshirt. “You wanna come with?”
It’s their first group outing since The Revelation. Their usual table had been taken when they rocked in that evening, and the table the eight of them are sitting at tonight is more suited for six, but they’re making do, even if Hongjoong-hyung has had to park both his elbows out at right angles to maintain his space while he nurses his drink between both his tiny hands. And despite being pressed up so close to Wooyoung that he can feel the heat of him all up and down his side, so far Mingi has managed to avoid doing something stupid like blurting out his feelings for Wooyoung or staring at Wooyoung’s big, strong hands, so he thinks he’s doing pretty great, actually!
Mingi looks around at the table, settling on San, Wooyoung’s usual companion for weekend adventures. San’s gaze darts away, down to the tteokbokki in front of him, which he shovels hastily into his mouth, filling his cheeks up like a chipmunk. “Sure, who’s going?”
“Just us,” Wooyoung says. “I need to get some footage for my year-end project, but I thought it might be fun if we went together. Besides, everyone else is busy, right guys?”
General, noncommittal mumbles echo obediently around the table under Wooyoung’s sharp eye, and San remains suspiciously interested in his food. Seonghwa-hyung is watching Mingi closely, and Mingi gets the uncomfortable and somewhat familiar feeling that he’s missed something important. He glances around but Hongjoong-hyung is playing (or more likely working) on his phone, and Yunho shoots Mingi two encouraging and incredibly dorky thumbs up, the traitor. Yeosang just looks bored.
Oh well. He likes the beach, he likes Wooyoung—maybe a little too much, but no one needs to know that! Sounds fun. “Sure,” Mingi agrees. “I haven’t been to the beach in ages. Are we taking the train?”
They do, in fact, take the train. He meets Wooyoung at the station, big slouchy bag slung over his shoulder and a cap on to shield his face from the bright morning sun. Wooyoung has beaten him there—hardly surprising, because Mingi is late AF—and he smiles, shuffling the backpack of what Mingi assumes is video equipment at his feet.
“Hey,” Wooyoung says, pushing off the rail and moving to meet him. He hesitates a moment, his eyes tracing over Mingi’s face, and then his arms come up to circle around Mingi’s shoulders, tugging him in for a hug. Mingi leans into it, surprised, the span of Wooyoung’s disproportionately broad palm and long fingers splaying over his back, warm through his thin sweater.
“Hey,” Mingi says, into the fluffy fall of Wooyoung’s hair where it brushes against his cheek. He’s so warm and small in Mingi’s arms, lithe and strong, and Mingi’s arms fit all the way around him. If it makes Mingi feel a little bit Insane(™), well, there’s no one else inside Mingi’s brain to know it.
When Wooyoung pulls back, he’s smiling ever so sweetly, and Mingi’s heart gives a pathetic kick inside his chest. Wooyoung has forgone a cap himself today, and his hair looks soft and shiny where it falls to frame his pretty face. He looks wider than he is in the oversized sweater he has on over baggy jeans, and Mingi feels a twinge of regret for that slinky body all hidden away beneath the het-est clothes he can imagine.
“Oh, here,” Wooyoung says, reaching behind him for two clear disposable plastic cups Mingi hadn’t noticed balanced precariously on the railing, handing the fuller of the two to Mingi. He takes a sip, the cool Americano going down smooth and refreshing in the morning’s heat, and it’s sweetened just the way Mingi likes it.
“Thanks, Young-ah,” Mingi says, and Wooyoung just grins up at him and reaches for his bag, slinging it heavily over one shoulder.
“You want me to—” Mingi gestures to the bag but Wooyoung grins slyly up at him.
“Maybe later, big boy,” he says, adding, “I’ll let you show me your muscles anytime you want,” just to see Mingi blush, and turns to lead them to the train platform.
Wooyoung buys them both train tickets, ignoring Mingi’s half-hearted protestations, and they board the first train out to Anmok just a few minutes later. Wooyoung picks a spot near the back of the car, and he plonks himself down by a window, shoving the bag of all his gear down between his feet. Mingi sits himself down beside Wooyoung and he jumps when their thighs brush, but Wooyoung doesn’t seem bothered, pressing back into the touch and grabbing Mingi’s arm to loop them together.
Wooyoung is the most sure of his sexuality of any heterosexual man Mingi has ever met, to Mingi’s gay dismay. Or maybe he should be grateful, he wonders bleakly. Either way, he can’t bring himself to wish Wooyoung wasn’t that way, not when it’s exactly what Mingi’s touch-starved gay ass is pining for. He lets Wooyoung manhandle him into his desired position, and he only jumps a little when Wooyoung’s head drops down to rest against his shoulder. Mingi glances down, surprised, and Wooyoung’s soft, dark hair brushes against his cheek and Mingi is so, so utterly fucked with fondness.
Mingi wakes an hour or so later when the train squeals to a stop, lifting his head from where it had been resting against Wooyoung’s, warm against his shoulder. “Youngie,” he says, reaching his free hand, the one not wrapped up in Wooyoung’s and buzzing with pins and needles, to shake Wooyoung’s shoulder gently. “Wooyoung-ah, we’re here.”
Wooyoung makes a soft, sweet sound, looking up at Mingi and blinking blankly. His face is pink with sleep, his cheek lined from the creases of Mingi’s sweater. Mingi feels terribly, impossibly fond, looking down at Wooyoung’s sweet face, and he wishes, not for the first time, that Wooyoung wasn’t straight, that he could tilt his head down and kiss Wooyoung’s soft pink mouth.
Of course, that would require a bravery Mingi does not possess, and Wooyoung is straight, no matter what Mingi might wish. He clears his throat, looking away from the sweet temptation of that soft pout, the freckle just there on the inside of Wooyoung’s lip that Mingi tries in vain not to notice, and clambers to his feet to follow the steady stream of passengers off the train and into the sunshine.
It’s bright and hot already, the sun glinting off the water and painting it a turquoise so bright as to be almost surreal. The white sand beaches are already filling up with people, umbrellas and towels dotted across the long stretch in a haphazard pattern that reminds Mingi of Hongjoong-hyung’s leopard-print coat. Mingi draws in a deep breath, inhaling the salt spray coming off the water, his ears filling with the crash of waves on shore.
“What do you want to shoot first?” he asks, turning to Wooyoung, and starts when he finds himself face to face with Wooyoung’s handheld camera, the small dark recorder blocking all but a fraction of Wooyoung’s bright, toothy smile.
“Hey,” Mingi protests half-heartedly, but he’s grinning, smiling sheepishly at the tiny reflection of himself in the dark eye of the camera. He swipes out at Wooyoung and Wooyoung darts backwards, a shriek of aborted laughter breaking from his lips, and then he’s running, the camera pointed over his shoulder, and Mingi has no choice but to chase after him, laughing, down the boardwalk.
People stare as they crash past, but Mingi pays them no heed, drawn inexplicably after the laughing minx ahead of him. He knows there’s no way he could catch Wooyoung on a normal day—despite his longer legs, Wooyoung has an unrivaled RPM, a former track star’s speed and a dancer’s stamina—but the camera slows him up, and Mingi catches him, spinning him around with his arms around Wooyoung’s waist, devouring the bright peals of Wooyoung’s laughter like water, like oxygen. He loves that sound, can’t help but laugh too, and he wants to kiss that sweet sound from Wooyoung’s mouth. Their eyes catch, bright with laughter, and then Wooyoung isn’t laughing anymore, his eyes going still and dark and Mingi feels his mouth go dry.
That’s not for him, he reminds himself sharply, pulling away from Wooyoung, releasing his hold around that taut waist and looking away. He coughs, clearing his throat abruptly.
“So uh—” he gestures vaguely up the boardwalk, out towards the crashing waves “—should we…” His voice is low and cracked and he winces, scratching awkwardly at the back of his head.
Wooyoung is silent for a moment and then he laughs, but it doesn’t have the same unfettered joy of before. His smile is genuine, though, and he waves Mingi after him. “Come on,” he says, “I think we can get some great shots down by those rocks.” And he leads Mingi down the boardwalk.
It seems Wooyoung spends less time filming than he does chattering and showing Mingi around, but Mingi can’t find it in himself to complain. They find Gangneung Coffee Street, ducking in and out of cafe after cafe, tasting the wares at shop after shop. Wooyoung consumes a truly astonishing number of Americanos while somehow managing not to dissolve into his corresponding atoms with the caffeine overdose. He shoots photos and videos up and down the street, catching the meandering path of an adorable orange tabby cat with a kink in their tail, and making Mingi walk along the raised wall of stones at the edge of the walk while he records him. At the other end of Gangneung Coffee Street, Mingi buys them both ice cream and tries not to stare when Wooyoung licks the drips from his own thick finger with his clever pink tongue.
They find a bench near where Gangneung meets the beach, where the waves crash on rocks rather than white sand, where the sound of the water drowns out the chatter of the crowds. They sit there for a while, the wind dragging soft fingers through Wooyoung’s hair, raising goosebumps on the softly toned lengths of his arms, bared when he shed his hoodie to tie the arms across his chest hours earlier. Wooyoung watches the water and Mingi watches Wooyoung, thinking helplessly on how he is so entiirely fucked, this crush of his on his straightest friend too obvious to deny, and Mingi himself too pathetic to stay away.
Finally Wooyoung shoves the last of his ice cream into his pretty mouth (Mingi looks away hastily because he cannot watch that and live), when the sun has started to dip down in its path, and pronounces himself done with his shots for the day. They meander slowly up the beach this time, back to the train station, the back of Wooyoung’s hand brushing Mingi’s and sending sparks up Mingi’s spine that he tries desperately to ignore.
*****
After Anmok Beach there is another cafe, then a day at Lotte World. They take goofy pictures on the carousel, yell at the top of their lungs as the roller coaster loops around and around over the heads of the crowd, and eat cotton candy until their tongues turn blue.
Then there is the day Wooyoung rents him a bicycle (Wooyoung, an avid cyclist, already has a bike all his own) and takes him on a bike ride around the city. Mingi is nowhere near as fit as Wooyoung, but he holds his own, though he suspects Wooyoung might be slowing down for him, anyway.
There are museums, and coffee shops, and art galleries, and more delicious food than Mingi has ever tasted, and Mingi can’t bring himself to say no whenever Wooyoung asks, even as he feels himself falling harder for Wooyoung with each passing day. He must be some kind of emotional masochist or something—not the physical kind; he’s too much of wimp for that—because he’s always eager to come running when Wooyoung calls, to spend time just him and Wooyoung, even though it hurts, even though he knows Wooyoung is straight, and he doesn’t have a chance with him no matter how often they hang out.
He doesn’t know why Wooyoung suddenly wants to spend all this time with him, but he’s not gonna complain; he’ll take whatever small piece of Wooyoung he can get.
*****
Classes pick up to a frenetic pace as they near midterms, and Mingi finds himself knee-deep in studying for exams and completing final projects. His friends, too, go AWOL, their group chat devolving to increasingly frantic memes as they all slog through the exam period.
Wooyoung shows up at Mingi and Yunho’s apartment with snacks during one of their frantic late-night cram sessions, the convenience store kimbap and energy drinks bringing them the burst of energy they need to make it through the final hours. After, Wooyoung and Mingi park themselves at either end of Mingi’s bed, books spread in front of them, and when Mingi wakes in the morning with the lines of his textbook imprinted on his face, he looks up with impossible fondness to find Wooyoung curled up at the foot of the bed, small and soft, and Mingi wants to wrap himself around him and go straight back to sleep.
Unfortunately he’s forced to shake Wooyoung awake instead, and they race to get ready and make it for their respective morning exams, barely clinging to the last threads of their sanity, but the finish line finally in sight.
Needless to say, by the time exams come to an end and Mingi and all his friends emerge from their recovery hibernation, they agree that they’re due something special to celebrate and/or recuperate from their trials.
Jongho suggests a football day, to which Wooyoung at first enthusiastically agrees. The two of them play football regularly with a group of other (straight, Mingi assumes) guys on the weekends, but their regular games have been few and far between with the impending threat of exams, and Wooyoung and Jongho are obviously chomping at the bit to get back out on the field.
Mingi isn’t totally opposed to the idea; he’s been known to kick around a ball or two in his younger years, but it’s been a long time since he’s done so and he doesn’t want to make an embarrassment of himself in front of Wooyoung, who he knows is fast and skilled and kind of awesome at everything. Plus, a sweaty Wooyoung, running around with his boys, showing off those slim, toned legs in shorts that ride up as he runs—yeah. Sounds like a recipe for Mingi to make a big gay fool of himself, but hell if he’s going to pass up the opprtunity if the invitation comes his way.
“I wouldn’t mind watching you play sometime,” Mingi confides hesitantly, “but what about a jjimjilbang?”
A chorus of groans echoes around the group—Mingi’s never ending love of Korean saunas is well known. He shrugs, grinning at his friends—he’s not embarrassed of his love for them; he only wonders why everyone else doesn’t like them as much as he does. Saunas, hot baths, healing massages and scrubs—what’s not to love?
Wooyoung glances at him, fox-like gaze flickering over Mingi’s face. Then he grins. “I vote for jjimjilbang!” Jongho groans, but Wooyoung ignores him, bouncing up on his toes to cling to Mingi’s shoulder. “You can come watch me play another time.“
“Alright, Rock Paper Scissors,” Seonghwa-hyung says, ever the peacekeeper. “Winner gets to pick what we do.”
They play, and Mingi’s heart sinks when he’s the first one out. One by one they get knocked out, until it’s down to Hongjoong-hyung and Wooyoung.
“Come on, Hyung.” Wooyoung rests one fist on his own palm, brandishing it like a weapon at the ready. “Ready for me to kick your ass?”
“I will eat your soul,” Hongjoong returns, and then they’re playing and—
Wooyoung’s exultant cry makes Hongjoong wince, his hands flying up to cover his ears. “Jjimjilbang,” Wooyoung says immediately, flicking a sly glance up at Mingi, followed by a wink that makes Mingi flush all the way up his neck.
“Wooyoung,” Yeosang warns, danger in his voice, but Wooyoung just turns to bat his eyelashes at him.
“Sangie,” Wooyoung chirps, grinning sweetly back at Yeosang. “What? I want to go to a jjimjilbang.”
“So this has nothing to do with your boyfriend wanting to go there?” San pipes up, his grin so broad both his dimples are out in force.
Wooyoung makes a snort of derision, rolling his eyes, but his ears are ever so slightly pink. Oh shit—as much as Mingi might dream about them being together (shut up, he has a very active and traitorous imagination, okay?), he doesn’t want to make his friend uncomfortable. Mingi opens his mouth to protest, but Wooyoung is already darting over to sling an arm around San’s neck, dragging him down to ruffle his hair and then racing away to hide behind Mingi. San chases him around and around and Wooyoung squeaks his laughter, the others laughing indulgently at their antics, but in the end it’s decided.
That weekend, they meet outside the jjimjilbang nearest to the University. Mingi is predictably one of the last, but not the last to arrive, thanks to Hongjoong’s complete inability to wake up early—or more truthfully, his inability to go to sleep on time. The file in one after the other and despite his earlier protestations, Hongjoong darts to the front of the group to pay for all of them.
“Go,” he says, feigning irritation as he shoves away San and Wooyoung’s combined efforts to enclose him in a hug. “Go, get sauna-ed, or whatever.”
They hit the saunas first, taking in the salt room and the crystal room one after the other, then they shower off and make their way to the baths. Mingi sinks down into the hot water with a sigh, feeling as though his bones are melting into jelly, but like, in a good way.
He piles a towel on top of his head, parks himself along one of the walls, and closes his eyes, letting himself sink down as low in the water as he can go. A peal of familiar laughter shakes him out of his almost-doze, and he slits an eye open to see Wooyoung swishing his way over, the rest of their friends making their way across the baths behind him.
“Cute,” Wooyoung says, grabbing onto either side of his towel and tugging, waggling Mingi’s head back and forth beneath it. Mingi opens his other eye, unsure if the heat in his cheeks is from the steam wafting up from the hot water or Wooyoung’s attention.
“Are you enjoying the sauna, Mangi-yah?” Wooyoung hasn’t let go of the towel and Mingi isn’t sure what he’s doing up there; it almost feels like he’s piling it or weaving it into some kind of shape.
“Mmhmm,” Mingi hums, leaning into the touch, despite his best efforts not to. “Are you?”
Wooyoung is concentrating hard on whatever it is he’s doing to Mingi’s head, his pink tongue poking out between his plush lips. “Hm?” he asks absently. Mingi laughs.
“I said, are you having fun?”
“Yeah, it’s great. Good choice, babe.”
Babe. Mingi’s face definitely feels hotter than it did two minutes ago. “Uh. What are you doing?” He tilts his head back, a pointless attempt to see what Wooyoung is doing above him, but Wooyoung squawks and baps him on the forehead with one finger and Mingi stils automatically—obediently, fuck him, if only he weren’t such a needy fucking sub, but some people are just born that way, okay! Wooyoung folds pieces of the towel around and around, his big, clever hands twisting deftly, and the world goes muted and soft around him as Wooyoung pulls the sides of the towel down to cover his ears.
“Ha-hah!” Wooyoung crows, and then “Cuuuuute!” again, stepping back to admire his creation. His eyes are bright and his smile is fond as he looks down at Mingi, and Mingi reaches one hand up to feel what Wooyoung has done, feeling the plush folds of fabric gathered over the sides of his head.
Behind Wooyoung, their friends are laughing, some fondly like Seonghwa and others (Yunho) with derision—all but Jongho, who looks positively murderous.
“I’m going to kill them,” Jongho mutters to Seonghwa at his side. “I’m actually going to murder them both with my bare hands.”
“Not in the baths, please, Jongho-yah,” Seonghwa says placidly.
Satisfied that Seonghwa-hyung will keep him safe from Jongho’s wrath, Mingi looks over at Wooyoung, who is sinking in to sit down next to him, a satisfied smile still playing on his lips. This close, and with his mouth pursed in a smirk, the mole there is impossible to ignore. Mingi wants to lick it.
“What did you do to my head?” Mingi asks, but he makes no move to pull the towel from his head. Anything that makes Wooyoung call him cute can stay right where it is, thank you very much!
“You’ll see,” Wooyoung says, and it isn’t until they wrap themselves back in their robes and file back into the dressing room that Mingi catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Wooyoung has wrapped the towel into the lamb-eared shape Mingi has seen other bath patrons wear, and it does look pretty cute on him, actually. Wooyoung makes him wait while he digs his phone out of his locker, and makes Mingi make a flower pose while he snaps a photo, giggling and charming, and afterward he squishes their cheeks together to take a berobed selfie of them both.
Mingi’s phone vibrates on the bus on the way home, and he already knows before he opens the message that it will be the photos Wooyoung has taken, and he already knows that pair selfie will become his background photo before he even opens it.
*****
As promised, Wooyoung invites Mingi to watch him and his boys play football the following weekend, and it is every bit as torturous as Mingi had anticipated. Mingi arrives at the field after Wooyoung and all of his friends, but Wooyoung spots him as soon as he arrives, waving broadly and calling out Mingi’s name before racing across the field to greet him.
“Hi,” Wooyoung says, skidding to a stop in the damp grass. He has a baseball cap on backwards, his hair pushed back from his forehead, smiling brightly beneath it. He’s wearing a sleeveless t-shirt with deep, deep armholes—so deep that Mingi gets a flash of rib and Wooyoung’s tattoo and—is that a nipple? No, no, nonononono. Mingi cannot entertain that thought or he will combust right here on this field in front of God and Wooyoung and all his straight-ass guy friends. “I’d hug you but I’m all sweaty.”
That’s fine with me, Mingi thinks, feeling Insane once again. You can rub your sweaty body all over me! Haha, just kidding, unless…? “Oh yeah, it’s cool,” he manages, his voice only slightly fucked. Score!
“C’mon, I’ll introduce you to everyone.”
He meets all of Wooyoung’s friends they don’t already share, and he’s surprised when they all seem to recognize his name, casting knowing glances Mingi can’t decipher in Wooyoung’s direction. (Jongho rolls his eyes and begs them to please get back to the game.) Mingi watches them play and tries not to have too obvious a gay meltdown on the sidelines, watching the flicker of muscle in Wooyoung’s lean calves as he races up and down the field, trying not to notice too hard the curve of his ass and thighs under those criminally baggy shorts. Aren’t those called basketball shorts? Wrong sport, Wooyoung! Then again, if he were in shorter shorts Mingi would be a goner, so he supposes he’s grateful(???).
He cheers when Wooyoung scores, and when Jongho does too, because he’s a Good Bro, okay? He even takes a couple shots with them at the end, and doesn’t even make a fool of himself! Winning.
Afterwards, Wooyoung asks him if he wants to get bingsu, and Mingi readily agrees. He’d barely done a tenth of the activity Wooyoung had done today but he’s sweating in the afternoon heat, and bingsu sounds perfect.
“Guys?” Mingi asks, feeling bold after having been accepted into their little straight boys club, “bingsu?”
“Uh, thanks Mingi-ssi,” Changbin replies, flicking a glance at Wooyoung. “I think I have plans.”
“I definitely have plans,” Jongho mutters, and he’s followed by a chorus of mumbled agreements.
“You should come back next week,” Yeonjun adds as he scoops up his bag from the sidelines. “We could use another player.”
“Sure,” Mingi says, “if that’s alright with Wooyoung.”
Jongho snorts some water out his nose.
“It’s more than alright with me, Mangi-yah,” Wooyoung says, ignoring whatever the hell is happening with Jongho, and he loops his arm through Mingi’s. “Now come on, I worked hard today and I want bingsu.”
And who is Mingi to resist that pout?
So they get bingsu, the shaved ice dessert a perfect antidote to the day’s heat. They sit at a table outside on the street, Wooyoung’s bag containing his water bottle and his cleats nestled between their feet under the table. Wooyoung steals bites of Mingi’s matcha bingsu, and feeds Mingi bites of his own gamyul flavor from his own spoon. Mingi feels like a teenager getting excited about how he’s indirectly kissing his crush, and is once again glad that no one can hear his internal monologue, because otherwise he’d have to move away and become a hermit to avoid the embarrassment.
Wooyoung leans close to him over the table and laughs that gorgeous laugh at Mingi’s (dumb, awful, terrible) jokes, and under the table the toe of his shoe settles over Mingi’s like a secret. Mingi freezes beneath him, too worried that if he moves, Wooyoung will retreat and Mingi will lose this tiny, casual, comfortable touch he’s gained.
*****
Youngie:
hey u back?
Mangi:
Yep got back yesterday
Youngie:
how was it?
Mangi:
Good
I think I gained 5 kgs. Mom’s food is too good.
I missed homecooked food tho
Youngie:
i missed U
Mangi:
…
Askdjf
missed you too
Youngie:
（*＾ワ＾)
so u wanna do something friday
Mangi:
Sure, what’re you thinking?
Youngie:
surprise (•̀ω•́ )
Mangi:
:C
Youngie:
ull like it i promise
when have i ever let u down
Mangi:
C:
Youngie:
ill pick you up at 8
dress warm ( ˘ ³˘)♥
*****
Wooyoung pulls up outside in an Uber at 8 pm on the dot and comes sprinting out of the car to meet Mingi at his door. “Hi,” he says, breathless, his eyes practically sparkling in the porchlight, and Mingi suddenly feels as though he’s the one who’s out of air.
“Hi,” he manages. “An Uber, Wooyoungie, really? Did you come into a bunch of money and forget to tell me or something?”
Wooyoung cackles, seizing Mingi by the baggy elbows of his sweatshirt and dragging him out the door. “Pretty sure you’d be the first one I’d tell.”
“Not Sannie?” Mingi asks, amused, as he fumbles the door closed behind himself and lets himself be towed down the walkway to the waiting car and driver.
Wooyoung pauses for a moment, thinking, then tilts his head in concession. “Okay, yeah, San, but you’d definitely be second. And you’d definitely be the first one I took out on the town with my newfound millions.” He opens the Uber door and shoves impatiently at Mingi until Mingi shuffles, laughing, inside, and piles himself in afterward, barely waiting for Mingi to slide over before doing so.
The driver pulls away from the curb with no further direction from Wooyoung, so Mingi assumes he must have programmed their next destination already. “Seriously, what’s with all the secrecy?”
“I told you; it’s a surprise,” Wooyoung says, his white teeth flashing in the streetlights fluttering past the window. He mimes zipping his mouth closed, and no amount of Mingi’s best pouting makes him fess up.
Finally the car pulls over on a street Mingi doesn’t recognize, lit by lamplight and empty but for a few scattered passersby. Wooyoung thanks the driver and gets out, Mingi stumbling out after him.
“Where are we?” Mingi asks, as the car pulls away.
“Hangang river,” Wooyoung says, satisfied, pulling a backpack he’d dragged with him out of the Uber over his shoulders. He points toward a concrete bridge looming out of the surrounding trees. “That’s Banpo bridge. C’mon. This way.”
Mingi follows Wooyoung away from the street and down to the edge of the river, his eyes on Wooyoung’s footsteps as he makes his way over the uneven rocks down towards the water. He’s so focused on where he’s going, on where he’s putting his uselessly oversized feet so as not to trip, that he bumps headfirst into Wooyoung’s warm back.
Wooyoung laughs, turning to steady him, his hands trailing over Mingi’s shoulder, fingers a blaze of heat even through Mingi’s hoodie. “You okay, there?” he teases, giving Mingi’s shoulder a lingering squeeze before he lets go. Mingi misses his hand when it trails off of him like the caress of warm water, feels cold in the path left behind. “How’s this?”
Mingi looks around, blinking. “How’s what?”
Wooyoung shoves at him playfully, reaching up one of those big hands again to squeeze at the back of Mingi’s neck. Mingi fights the urge to open his mouth on a gasp, settles for leaning into it just a little. “How’s this for a place to sit?”
Honestly, Mingi probably wouldn’t have chosen a spot so close to the bridge–here the view of the river is largely limited by it, the darkened brick face blocking out the winking lights from the city on the other side. But Wooyoung looks so hopeful and open, and Mingi is weak and gay and in love, so he nods.
“This is good,” Mingi says, and he feels himself fold–easy, so easy–when Wooyoung applies a gentle pressure to the back of his neck. Wooyoung releases him to pull a blanket from his backpack, unfolding it to spread over the rocks. He doesn’t unfold it all the way, leaving it looped over itself to make a cushion between them and the lumpy beach, and giving them only the barest amount of space between their folded knees when they settle down side by side on it.
“Here, I made—” Wooyoung digs around again in his backpack and comes up with two containers, steamed up with the warm food inside. He hands one to Mingi, and Mingi pries it open, a pleased sound breaking past his lips when he smells the freshly made kimchi jjigae, and the crisp white rice layered inside. He takes the chopsticks Wooyoung hands him automatically, scooping up a mouthful and slurping it into his mouth.
A laugh, the cheerful burbling sound Mingi loves so much, and he looks up, wide-eyed to find Wooyoung watching him, his own food still sealed in its container, resting on the blanket at the crux of his crossed legs. “Sorry,” Mingi mumbles around his mouthful, swallowing with difficulty.
Wooyoung leans an elbow on his own knee, cupping his chin in his hand as he watches, a sweet smile playing over his full mouth. Terrible, awful, devastating. “What are you sorry for?” He chirps sweetly. “Is it good?”
“So good,” Mingi confirms, shoveling another mouthful in. Then it registers, a beat too slow. “You—did you say you made this?”
“Mmhmm.”
“Wow, Young-ah,” Mingi says. “It’s so good.” He takes another scoop on the tines of his chopsticks, but pauses, self-conscious under that fond gaze. “You should eat too.”
They eat together, quiet at first, something still and growing between them. It feels—it feels quiet and still in a way that Wooyoung so rarely is, contemplative, like a question, and Mingi doesn’t know what to do with it, so he eats, and he only lets himself look at Wooyoung when Wooyoung looks away.
They finish their meals and Wooyoung packs away the empty containers, even though Mingi offers half-heartedly to take them home and wash them, feeling strangely wrong-footed in the wake of Wooyoung’s care. He doesn’t know how to separate the warmth of being looked after, of being thought of, from his feelings for Wooyoung, from the way he wants to stare at the strong movements of his big hands, or admire the elegant, sharp line of his jaw, the way his hair flutters in the breeze coming off the water.
Then the quality of the light reflecting off the water changes suddenly, flashing bright like the flare of a firework, and Mingi looks up, startled, at Wooyoung’s excited yelp. “Look, look, it’s starting!” Wooyoung’s hand is there then, curling around his arm, tugging him in close so he can tip their heads together, pointing Mingi’s gaze towards the bridge.
Mingi’s mouth falls open around a delighted sound. A cascade of water pours from the bridge, crashing down to meet the river below, lit up with brilliant flashes of multicolored lights. Mingi sees now why Wooyoung picked this spot: here, so close to the bridge, it’s almost as though they’re tucked beneath the arc of the water that pours from above, mystical ribbons of color coiling around them like a living bower. Rainbow lights dance, flickering over the tumultuous surface, and it’s beautiful, a curtain of water cascading around, curling over them like a shroud.
Mist trails down from the thundering water, lighting gentle and cool as a butterfly’s kiss on Mingi’s cheeks, and he laughs, turning his face up into it. Beside him Wooyoung is a sinuous, solid curve, pressing closer into his side, and Mingi finds his thigh with his free hand, automatic and natural as if it belongs there, squeezing the firm muscle he finds under his palm. He feels as though the world has skidded to a stop around them, that there is only he and Wooyoung here, in this moment, while the rest of the world waits with bated breath.
The show is over too soon, and when the water trickles away to a stop, Mingi finds that the roar in his ears isn’t from the water at all.
He turns to look at Wooyoung and finds him already staring at him, his eyes wide and earnest and dark and his soft mouth slightly parted. Mingi swallows down the surge of heat that boils up his throat, the sudden desperate pull in his upper belly. His hand on Wooyoung’s thigh feels too hot, and he can’t stop the slide of his traitorous eyes to the part of Wooyoung’s sinful lips.
He feels himself staring, but for a long moment, he can’t look away. It’s quiet now around them, only the trickling of the river along its bed, soft and sensual, and the sound of Wooyoung’s breathing, the pounding of Mingi’s heart in his own ears, to break the silence. It is so tempting, he thinks wildly, desperately, this close to Wooyoung, touching him in so many places, to lean in, to chase his mouth, to feel just once what it would feel like against his own.
But—no, that’s not for him; it’s not right, not what Wooyoung wants. He wrenches his eyes away with a gasp hidden on a laugh—haha funny joke, Mingi the desperate homosexual, lusting after his hot, sweet, sexy, straight friend, hilarious!—and moves to put space between them.
There’s a beat of silence, and then Wooyoung makes a frustrated noise, and shoves himself to his feet. Mingi looks up, surprised, to find Wooyoung dragging both his hands through his hair, turning away from him, his back hunched ever so slightly, curled in on himself. His head tilts back between his shoulder blades, and even Mingi can read the frustration there.
“Wooyoung-ah?” he asks, feeling stupid, feeling useless. This must be—it has to be his fault right? He’s made Wooyoung uncomfortable, just because he can’t keep his feelings under wraps. “I’m sorry, I—”
“Sorry?” Wooyoung laughs humorlessly, his hands dropping to swing impotently at his sides for a moment before he turns. Gravel crunches under the heel of his shoe, grating, making Mingi wince. “No, I’m the one who’s sorry.”
“What do you have to be sorry for?”
Wooyoung shrugs, and his hands fly up, open in demonstration. “For—this, I guess? For making you do something you didn’t want to?”
“What makes you think I didn’t want to do this?”
Another frustrated sound. “Well, I mean—like. We’ve been hanging out together for a while now, and you don’t want to—do you not like me that way or something? Do you want to break up?”
Huh? What? “Break up?” Mingi blinks, feeling like the live personification of the confused math meme, but he just cannot be hearing correctly. Did Wooyoung say ‘break up’? But that can’t be right, can it? You have to be dating in order to break up.
“Yeah, like. I mean, if you just don’t want to kiss me or do stuff like that with me that’s fine. Being ace is fine! But I’ve seen you with your exes, and I know you like kissing and—other stuff… or was all of that bullshit?” Wooyoung whirls again, pacing a few steps away before he comes back. “Listen, if you don’t want to date me, then you don’t have to, okay, I won’t make you. Just say it to my face!”
Mingi feels like his face is stuck in a permanent expression of bewilderment. If he keeps his mouth open any longer, flies are gonna take up residence in there (is that a thing that happens? Will they lay eggs in there? Is he gonna become a fly incubator??), but he just can’t seem to shut it. What is Wooyoung saying?
Abruptly, Wooyoung stops his pacing to glare down at Mingi, still folded pathetically on the ground at Wooyoung’s feet. “Say something, would you?”
Mingi snaps his jaw shut, a herculean effort. “I mean—we’re not dating, though?”
It’s Wooyoung’s turn to look bewildered. “Yes we–Mingi, what do you think I was doing taking you to all these places?”
Okay, yeah that is a little sus, now that Mingi thinks about it that way. They did seem like date places, and none of the other guys ever came with them. But—”But, you’re straight?”
Wooyoung makes an outraged sound. “Excuse you? Bite your tongue, Song Mingi! I’ve never been so insulted in my life.”
What? Mingi scrambles up to his feet. “You mean—you’re not straight?”
The next sound is one of derision. “Mingi, I suck dick like it’s my job. That’s really fucking gay, if you need me to spell it out for you. I thought you knew! Everyone knows!”
“Oh my god,” Mingi says dumbly. What the fuck. “You’re gay?”
“Uh huh!” Wooyoung voice has reached a pitch nearing the range that only dogs can hear. “And really fucking gay for you, if that wasn’t clear!”
“Me too,” Mingi says, dumbly, without thinking. “For you, I mean.”
Wooyoung laughs wetly, the sound a little like a sob. “So you don’t—I thought you just didn’t like me that way.”
“I like you!” Mingi yelps hurriedly. Curse his dumb brain! Everything is starting to make sense now: the sudden wash of invitations to hang out one on one, the home-cooked food, the cute cafes. “I like you so much, Wooyoung.”
“Well thank god for that,” Wooyoung says, flicking him a begrudging smile. “I can’t believe we’ve been doing this for months and you never knew we were dating! I gave you some of my best moves!”
“In my defense,” Mingi retorts sheepishly, “you didn’t actually ask me.”
“I thought it was obvious!”
They stare at each other for a moment, and then the tension snaps. Wooyoung’s mouth crumples into a wide-mouthed laugh, so contagious that Mingi can’t help but laugh too, his own voice coming out in wheezing huffs. Wooyoung laughs so hard he has to lean forward, bracing himself with one hand on Mingi’s shoulder as he dissolves into gasping wheezes, and Mingi feels hopelessly, desperately in love. He pulls Wooyoung into a hug, pressing him in close so that he can feel his laugh against his own chest, breathe his own laughter into the soft fall of Wooyoung’s hair.
When Wooyoung can breathe again, his voice trickling off into small giggles that feel like bubbles in Mingi’s chest, he looks up at Mingi, and the expression in his eyes makes MIngi’s throat go dry.
“I can’t believe you thought we were just friends!” Wooyoung pinches teasingly at Mingi’s sides.
“Listen,” Mingi protests, snatching Wooyoung’s dangerously wandering hands from his sensitive sides.
“And you thought I was straight,” Wooyoung grumbles, like it’s a curse word, his full lower lip curling into a pout. He stills for a moment, asks, carefully, “And you’re not like. Ace, right? Because if you are, we can like. Make that work. Nothing wrong with it.”
Mingi’s face feels so, so hot. He thinks of all the ways he’s thought of Wooyoung, even when he knew he shouldn’t. “Um. No? Definitely not ace.”
Wooyoung nods, then his gaze turns calculating, foxlike, and Mingi feels his heart lurch up into his throat. That pretty mouth twists up into a smile, and Wooyoung takes a step closer, close enough that Mingi can feel the heat of him through their clothes. “Let me ask you a question then,” he says sweetly, slowly. “Do friends fuck each other’s brains out?”
Mingi short-circuits. “Uh,” he says, very eloquently, he thinks, given the situation. “I mean. Sometimes? I mean friends with benefits is a thing some people do, I think, so—”
Wooyoung rolls his eyes and reaches out for Mingi’s hands, pulling them around until his palms settle on the arch of Wooyoung’s hip bones. “Hey, Mangi-yah?”
Mingi’s fingers twitch on Wooyoung’s hips. He swallows. “Yes?”
“Be my boyfriend and fuck my brains out?”
Okay! Yes, okay, this is fine, everything is fine. “O-okay.” Wooyoung laughs, such a pretty sound, and Mingi feels the heat glowing across his cheeks, in his ears. “I mean—yes, please?”
Wooyoung grins, and then he’s rising up on his tiptoes, tilting forward towards Mingi, and then that’s Wooyoung’s mouth on his, warm and pillowy soft. Mingi makes some kind of truly embarrassing sound but manages, somehow, to kiss back, opening for Wooyoung’s eager tongue. Wooyoung’s hands find the back of his neck, thumbs pressing into the curve of his jaw, and Mingi feels every place they touch like a spark, like a firework going off under his skin. He feels like he’s flying, letting Wooyoung tongue-fuck him until Mingi’s head is spinning. Mingi’s fingers are tight, digging into the slight softness of Wooyoung’s hips through his jeans, and their hips are pressed together, heat against heat. Mingi is light-headed, swelling full of helium, so happy he could float away.
He whines when Wooyoung pulls back, but Wooyoung just laughs again, reaching up to scratch his chin teasingly with two fingers. “Wanna go back to my place?” he purrs. “I got a really nice bed there.”
Mingi nods, too fast, too eager, but Wooyoung knows him and likes him—likes him(!!), goofy, clingy, overeager and all–so he remembers not to be embarrassed about it. They pack up the remnants of their picnic, fingers brushing, shy in a way Mingi hadn’t known before, the shyness of excitement, of anticipation. He lets Wooyoung kiss him again, lets Wooyoung take his hand and follows him off the beach, away from the river that flows away, joyous, behind them.