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***
The rented suit fit better than Minho had expected, but still was far less comfortable than he might have liked. The expense had made him wince, as had the cost of the taxi from the furthest place he could safely park his car. But it was an investment, from his own money. His own car was twenty years old, not made of rust but nothing like the fancy cars that were being driven up when he’d been in line with the taxi. At least the taxi gave him the ability to pretend his car had broken down or something. Renting some kind of luxury car had been far outside of his budget. And when there was no guarantee of success, there’d been no point in spending more than was necessary. Getting there, and not looking bad enough to get thrown out had been his goals. He wished he could’ve sprang for some kind of bubble to put over his head as he walked through the lavishly decorated rooms. People sparkled in fine jewels, silks, and feathers. There were waiters with large platters of food, wines, and champagnes. He worried about putting alcohol in his system when he already felt ready to vibrate. The question had been half stuttered, but he’d gotten out a question to a waiter if they had anything non-alcoholic. He was personally ferried a flute of sparkling juice. Between that and the finger foods, he steadied a bit.
He worked for an animal charity, was his cover if anyone had asked him. It was true enough. It was a night of charity, opulence for the wealthy to feel good about themselves as they participated in a silent auction, and tried to outdo their peers. There was nothing there being bid on for Minho’s own cause, despite the what seemed like hundreds of letters he’d written. E-mails, handwritten letters, spread among the money-giving portion of things. Some to the owner of the house he was in as well. The Bang family were spoken about with knowing looks. Old money, an old manor that was that night gleaming. Only the son remained, without a need to work. He appeared on the tabloid pages more than in the financial ones. And yet, he was Minho’s one hope. One of those letters had fallen into a hand it shouldn’t have, he thought. It had put an invitation to the gala in his hot little, but very confused, hands. Minho was not the kind of people who went. He was the kind of people who benefitted. He had called multiple times to try and work up the phone tree to reach the one man in the Bang enterprises he knew. The one Bang he knew. It was by coincidence, more than anything. They’d been separated by a year at school, and Minho’s entrée in those private halls had been yet more charity. His grades had warranted it. But he’d made it, and part of his experience those brief two years had been an acquaintance with Chan. He’d been called Christopher then, by his friends, and teachers. They’d shared one class, worked on one group project together.
Despite everyone wearing the same uniforms, it was like the others could smell the relative poverty of him. The others in their group had tried it, in front of Chan, maybe trying to impress him. Chan had sent them away before Minho had been able to do much more than turn red and ball his fists, and they’d finished their work together. That was when Chan had invited Minho to call him that. Chan. Maybe to take away the sting of humiliation, even when it had been their shame, not his. But he thought in the years since his parents’ deaths, Chan had maybe been too used to being pointed at, whispered about. It lowered his willingness to see someone else suffer it. They hadn’t been best friends, or anything like that. But Chan had never turned away from smiling at him in the hall. Never in a way that called Minho out for even more bullying, but enough it made the lower hanging fruit think twice. And Chan had moved on to a university, and Minho had eventually as well, to a local one, on scholarships. And that animal charity he worked for, he owned. It was an endless pit of money, cases that could not be helped, opportunities to make a difference that were passed by because of lack of funds, and time. He had an envelope with financials tucked into his jacket, on that off chance. Chan would be there that night, he knew that. He’d never gotten through to anyone willing to put him through. An old school friend was probably what most people said, trying to forge a connection. In Minho’s case it was at least mostly true.
Chan rarely stayed long at events, though. Even his own. Minho mingled, made some distracted small talk, sipped his drink, and felt like a hunter stalking prey. He couldn’t be embarrassed by his mission when it might be his only chance ever to speak to Chan in person. It was the laugh that led Minho to him. Even in the school hallways, it had been easy to hear Chan’s genuine amusement. Minho’s mouth nearly went dry, and he set his drink on a passing tray before he spilled the dregs of it on himself. He followed that laugh until he saw the man himself, two guards nearby, a crush of others trying to get his ear. It seemed almost impossible as he wedged himself between people. Some complained, but he didn’t let it stop him. Chan moved, several times, as though trying to mingle. It moved him away a few times. But to Minho’s luck, when Chan moved again, and the crowd parted for the guards, it brought Minho within two people of Chan. And when the person ahead of him shifted, half of his body was opened up as Minho eased into the vacancy. Minho parted his lips, ready to speak, to shout if necessary for Chan’s attention, when Chan turned his head, looked at him. He was like a prince, looking over his subjects. But his eyes caught on Minho’s face, a momentary pause as they stared at each other, and Minho’s voice froze, betraying him. It’d been almost ten years since they’d seen each other in person. Minho had seen Chan’s face on the news, of course, but that had not prepared him for the actual charisma of having Chan in front of him. He could feel his chance slipping, dripping out of his fingers as someone else called for Chan’s attention. Chan glanced away, and then back at Minho.
“Minho?”
His knees trembled slightly in something like relief.
“Yes, I— I hoped to speak to you.“
His voice was stupidly breathy, something that could hardly be heard over the din of conversation. Chan leaned into the guard beside him, who nodded. Minho found himself propelled out of Chan’s orbit by that same guard. For a moment, panic clutched his throat, wondering if he was going to be ejected out into the cold. He’d already lost track of the direction he’d come in from. He knew he didn’t belong, and unless Chan’s memory was faulty, he would have to know that, too. A room was unlocked, and Minho was led into it, given a fancy bottle of water, and a direction to sit. And then he was left alone. Not out into the cold. The room was almost twice as large as his apartment, with various chairs. A piano. A table with chairs around it. The party could only be faintly heard outside, and the waiting made him sweat somehow even more so than he’d been out in the party itself. He’d been anonymous then. He wasn’t any more. He couldn’t bring himself to drink, and when the door opened what felt like two years later, he all but bounded onto his feet, holding the bottle of water in front of him like some sort of best actor award. Only one man had entered. Chan.
“Sit, please,” Chan said, walking to take a bottle from the fridge Minho had paid little mind to before taking a seat across from Minho’s. “It really gave me a surprise to see you. But a good thing! I hope you don’t mind talking in here. It’s hard to hear yourself think out there.”
“It’s a beautiful party,” Minho said.
Chan waved a hand as he took a drink of his own water. “It is what they want it to be,” he said rather bitterly, as though he were disconnected from that world. Surprising.
“I don’t think I was supposed to be invited,” Minho blurted, unable to keep that in. “I think it might’ve been a mistake. I’ve emailed half the people in the city for funding for my organization, and I think I must’ve gotten on a list I wasn’t supposed to be on. I’ve even tried to contact you directly, though they never put me through. Some stranger looking for handouts. That’s why I’m here. Not for a handout. But, to speak to you about funding. I know you’re busy tonight, but—”
Chan had begun to smile through the ramble. “Well, if it was a mistake, I’m glad. It’s been what, ten years or so? I lost track of almost everyone from that school. On purpose, mostly. I went there because it was expected.”
“Do you always do what’s expected?” Minho asked.
“Only sometimes. Tell me about your funding, then.”
Minho licked his lips, pulling up a speech he had rehearsed a few dozen times to himself in hopes of just that moment. “I run a cat rescue. It’s part shelter, part rehabilitation, part TNR— Trap, neuter, release. We’ve done good work finding feral cat colonies in the city, rescuing kittens, adopting kittens or tamed feral cats to homes, or moving them to areas they can be adopted. We have a foster network. But reducing the feral population is the goal. Even one cat colony can explode in size if they’re not neutered. Our biggest expense besides the shelter is the neutering itself, though we get that at a reduced cost. But there is cost for traps, for time needed to check the traps, and to care for the cats. And the cats have to be fed as they’re cared for, and there are other veterinary expenses like vaccinations. Reducing the feral cat population helps the ecosystem, reduces injuries, and illnesses, and keeps cats from living lives that often end in misery.”
He took in a long-needed breath, and held still as Chan nodded.
“It sounds like a passion project, then. Do you have cats of your own?”
“Sometimes it feels like all of the ones we have are mine, but yes. I have three. I’ve resisted more, or there’d be no room for me to sleep.”
Chan chuckled. “I’d be interested in seeing the numbers—“
“I have them,” Minho said. He pulled out the envelope, unfolding the papers and smoothing them carefully before handing them to Chan. “It’s year over year reports for funding, how that funding is allocated, what the major expenditures are, and where the greatest need is.”
“Prepared,” Chan said. “I like that.”
“I didn’t know if I’d even see you, or if I’d have five minutes with you, or if we spoke you’d remember we did afterward. I imagine you have a lot of people around with their pockets open and ready. I wish I was just here to say hello to someone from school. But funding is down across the board. There is… there’s desperate need everywhere, for every type of need, I know that. And to some, these are just cats. It would be cheaper to put them down. But they’re not alive of their own fault. People had something to do with it.”
“I appreciate your forthrightness. Some people definitely do try and angle in and then try and bring up the topic of money as though it’s a surprise,” Chan said, after watching Minho speak with almost unnerving concentration. “It’s really never a surprise, and people are rarely as slick as they believe they’re being. You don’t have much staff expenditure.”
“Some of it is volunteer work. We do employ people who work in the shelter portion, one who doubles as a secretary, and then of course paying an accountant. I do the books for the most part, and live in a small apartment over the shelter.”
“You work there seven days a week,” Chan surmised.
“Most weeks,” Minho agreed. “Cats need to be fed, litter cleaned, and all of that. It varies how full the shelter is, but it’s never empty. We’re not a big shelter like the ones run by the city, but we’re no-kill, so there is someone always seeking us out. When we’re in a TNR cycle, there’s room for holding the cats before surgery, and for recovery before they’re released. I try to do as much as is possible.”
“So the TNR program, and the veterinary program, it looks like, are your most needed areas of funding. How much would you save with a dedicated vet?”
That made Minho laugh. “Oh. In my wildest dreams. We’ve spoken to other rescues, dog and cat rescues both. Of pooling money so that the expense wouldn’t be entirely on one side. It wouldn’t completely eliminate vet expenses as there’d be some specialties needed, but… Yeah. It’s been talked about.”
Chan pulled a pen from the inside of his tuxedo jacket, jotting something down onto the paperwork, before pulling out his phone and sending what sounded like a text message and a picture of the paperwork.
“I’ve texted the accounting team this information. I’m thinking two years of salary for a dedicated vet. My accountant will work with you to determine what the market rate is so that it will be fully covered, with the option of an increase for cost of living in the second year. That would give you two years to determine whether that’s sustainable in the long term, if your own savings and whatever you might bring in from contracting to other rescues can keep that going. Even if not, it will give you two years to use those previously allocated funds in other ways, such as for TNR or improving the building. The foundation will make an additional donation for that purpose as well.”
It felt like his stomach and guts both could have dropped to the center of the earth had he not been held up by the chair and various body parts.
“That’s— That’s more than generous. Thank you.”
Chan smiled, shook his head, as he tucked away the pen and phone. “It’s what the foundation exists for. And why not, to help an old friend?”
It was overstating their connection, and they both knew it. Minho didn’t know what else to say, flustered from the generosity, and at Chan having almost shrugged it off.
“Do you have plans for after the gala?” Chan asked, after he had stood, and Minho had sprung to his feet after him. Chan still held the paperwork, and Minho’s hands were clammy as he stood there.
Plans? “Carefully hanging up this rented suit,” Minho said, wryly.
Chan smiled. “Maybe we can catch up, now that we have this out of the way. I need to go put in another appearance or I’ll be scolded in the society pages tomorrow.” Chan sighed about it, as Minho struggled to try and keep up with what Chan was suggesting. Chan wanted to talk to him. “If you wish, of course. You’re welcome to go back out and join the party, or to stay here until I can get back to you.”
“I’ll stay here,” Minho said firmly. The thought of rejoining the party made his skin want to melt off. Chan’s smile wasn’t one of surprise, as he put down his water, and the paperwork on the side table.
“I’ll be back soon, then. Help yourself to anything you want to drink, if you’d rather not have water. The door over there is a bathroom.”
“Great. Of course. Thank you,” Minho said, and made almost no sense to himself.
Chan patted his shoulder as he passed, and Minho was surprised he didn’t just squelch under the touch. Or collapse from it. When he was alone, he unbuttoned the rented suit jacket, and carefully laid it over the back of the chair. In the bathroom, he let himself air out a little, dabbing at his skin with fancy paper towels, and literally blowing himself and the shirt dry as he struggled to understand what had just happened. If Chan had handed him any amount more than the change in his pocket, Minho would have been thrilled. He’d had his big dreams, of course, but Chan had far exceeded those. He refused to pull out his phone and blast his family. The bird hadn’t actually entered his hand. But he felt more human by the time he went back out to sit, actually getting some of the water down as he relaxed. It was a nice room, quiet, and private. That he was in the manor he’d only ever seen from a distance was still bizarre to him. He walked to the windows, leaning against a column to see the stir of chauffeurs as some people left. Carefully navigating their fancy vehicles out of the packed lot to go collect their employers. Even that was a fascinating dance, one he got absorbed in for far longer than he’d meant to. He’d never gotten back into his jacket, in fact, when the door opened, and then closed again. Chan, only Chan, and holding a fancy tray like the waiters had had.
“I didn’t know if you’d eaten much while you were out there,” Chan said, as he set it on the table near Minho’s chair. “I brought a little of everything. There’s always more than there needs to be. Most of it will be donated to a shelter, but no need for you to go hungry in the meantime since you were nice enough to wait for me.”
Minho was…touched. He wasn’t entirely sure why. Though, he felt better about his missing jacket, as Chan immediately stripped out of his, tugging free the bow tie.
“Sit, eat,” Chan said.
He had his own plate, and so Minho did. He sat, and ate, and talked, and laughed. He clearly knew more about Chan’s life because of the news, but Chan seemed interested in learning of Minho’s life also. It was comfortable to the point of Minho forgetting exactly where he was as Chan got them more drinks, shedding his waistcoat, and rolling up his sleeves. He admired Minho’s purpose, he said. It made Minho consider him. Chan was…Chan. He was famous, of course, for so many of the wrong reasons, and reasons from his past beyond his control. He threw lavish parties, made questionable choices according to people. He had the money to see himself through all of those things. Minho’s purpose kept him in food and shelter, and not much more. Some of Chan’s problems, most people wished they had. It turned to relationships, or their lack thereof in their high school years.
“If the people at school had known I was poor and gay, then the world really would’ve stopped turning,” Minho said, and put his plate down before he did something he regretted and ate himself into a stomachache in front of Chan.
“I wasn’t out then, either. I was…wary of anyone letting out anything about me, when I felt like I couldn’t even walk out my front door without someone asking me how I was feeling. That didn’t last long, though.”
No. Chan had been out of university by the time that news had broken. He’d been linked to women in the past, but the racy photos of him with a man definitely spoke of an interest in more than one direction. And it seemed like he’d been equal opportunity ever since.
“Are you dating anyone now?” Chan asked.
Minho snorted. “No. I can’t say there are people lining up to live above a cat shelter.”
“But you would have the chance to meet other people who share your values,” Chan said.
“Yeah, but nothing that’s stuck. From what I’ve seen in the tabloids, you’ve had more luck than me.”
Chan snorted. “They see what they want.”
But he didn’t entirely deny it.
They could still faintly hear the party going beyond the doors when Chan led him up a hidden staircase. Minho left everything behind, his jacket, the paperwork, all of it. He stayed close in the relative darkness of it, as another door slid open. He felt like he was on a space ship, and then even more so when he saw what Chan had led him out into. The skylights nearly dwarfed the ceiling. Away from the smog and light pollution of the city, the stars rolled out above them in an endless map. And the city itself, the wide glass windows faced away from the parking, out over rolling hills as the city laid sprawled beyond it. Almost close enough to touch as he was to the glass he’d walked up to. But not too close, as from the room they were in it was a sheer drop away down to the cliff below. Like it was some sort of tower.
“It’s gorgeous. The sun must wake you, though,” Minho said.
“There are blackout curtains. They’re automated, so when I want them closed, they respond to my voice,” Chan said. “But yeah, I like it. I had this addition built after I graduated. I had kept my childhood room, and then a different one for a while. I just couldn’t imagine moving into the suite my parents shared. That wing has all been converted to guest rooms, or storage.”
Yeah, Minho could imagine. Minho inhaled when Chan came closer. Only, instead of coming to stand beside Minho, he stood behind him, his hands spread on Minho’s waist.
“It isn’t often someone from my past comes around who I’m glad to remember,” Chan said.
Maybe he said that type of thing to all the people he seduced. But though he couldn’t see Chan’s face, he could hear what his brain told him was sincerity. He’d thought that might be where it was going, the way Chan had looked at him when he’d come back from the party. He couldn’t say he minded as he’d been looking back. And he gave a little bit of thanks for the hair dryer’s service to getting his shirt dry.
Chan’s hold was loose enough that it took little effort to turn so that they were face to face. So that, for Minho at least, the city was behind him and all he could see was Chan. Chan wasted no time, kissing Minho even as Minho’s fingers gripped the fabric of Chan’s expensive shirt. He smelled expensive, tasted expensive. And his hands spread over Minho’s back, holding him there for no other reason but that he wanted to, when Minho definitely wasn’t moving away. When they paused, breaths a little short, Minho tugged on Chan’s shirt a little more sharply.
“This isn’t because of the donation,” Minho said. He needed Chan to know that.
“Good,” Chan said, and Minho felt his lips curve. “It’s not for me, either.”
Neither having expectations because of it. Only because they wanted it.
***
Sometime in the night, Chan woke, and rose. Minho was asleep, one leg tangled half in, half out of the sheets. He touched the exposed skin gently, covering him with a thin blanket. Only then did he turn to look outside, to the sky where a light shining from the roof of a building lit against the smog. The shape of a bat.
***
Minho woke in the vast bed alone. He’d vaguely remembered waking to find Chan gone in the middle of the night, but had assumed he’d gotten up to use the toilet. Instead, Minho reached out, unfolding a card that had been left under a single peony.
Sorry I had to leave early this morning. You looked too comfortable to wake. Thanks for a great evening. Hope we might get a chance to meet up again soon.
Minho scoffed a little, twirling the peony between his fingers. Probably stolen from one of the flower arrangements downstairs. It gave him privacy at least to wash up, to find his scattered clothes, and dress. Even his phone was still down in his jacket, so there was no option to call a taxi ahead of time. And then what? Just walk out of the front door like he hadn’t been drilled into the mattress by the owner of the house. It gave him some relief to see all of his belongings were still there in the office, just as he’d left them. The jacket was neater. He’d have sworn it’d been cleaned, when he lifted it, sniffed it. And he nearly jumped out of his skin as the door opened. The man who entered held up his hand, almost as shocked as Minho was.
“Sorry! Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. I wasn’t sure you were up. I was bringing a bag for your things. Mr. Bang had to leave for the foundation early this morning. He said he left you a note but he wanted me to express his apologies as well.”
It was fine, surely. Who didn’t have to leave their one night stands to go into their fancy corporate charity offices now and then. The man talking to him seemed apologetic too. He was tall, his hair just long enough to pull into a little ponytail just at the back of his head.
“Thank you for the bag. And for putting everything together. I’ll call a taxi,” Minho offered, as he all but laser beamed his belongings into the bag he’d been handed. He’d start walking, if nothing else.
“No need. Come this way,” the man said, and waited to be sure Minho was following him. “I’m Hyunjin. I run Mr. Bang’s estate for him.”
Mr. Bang. Of course. They passed through where the party had been held. The worst of it had been contained, but there was still some cleaning going on, and people around that had him speeding up his steps to stay closer to Hyunjin. Hyunjin clearly had no worries as they went, though. He was led through and past what looked like an industrial kitchen, and into a much smaller kitchen with what looked like regular, if high-end, appliances.
“Do you drink coffee? I’m sometimes the only one who drinks it, but the espresso is quite good. There’s drip coffee also if you’d prefer.”
“Uhh. That’s fine. Whichever is easier,” Minho hedged, wondering how he was going to get out of that new and sticky situation.
The swinging door settled after their entry, and it pulled Minho’s gaze to the right, to the table. Minho blinked when he realized another man was there as well. A face he knew, though not nearly as well as Chan’s. It took him a second. Felix. Minho hadn’t even thought of him the night before. There’d been speculation when Chan had taken Felix in, mentoring him, letting him live in the huge manor, that he’d taken a younger lover. But Felix, who had to know why Minho was still there dressed as he was, smiled like he was used to greeting strange men in the kitchen before breakfast.
“Ah! I hoped we would get to meet! I’ve never met anyone Chan went to school with. Please, have a seat. There’s plenty of food.”
Chan had clearly talked to them both about Minho. And Minho felt wholly unprepared for the situation, in last night’s clothes still. He did sit, only because he couldn’t run out the door without looking rude. A taxi would take too long for him just standing on the front steps as the cleaners passed by him, and he got the impression that Hyunjin by that time would have followed him with a to-go cup and a bag of food.
“I’m heading into the city to drop something off for Chan, so I’ll drop you off on the way, if that’s all right,” Hyunjin offered.
His instinct was to turn it down. But it was a free ride, for one thing. And they were going in the same direction, even if Hyunjin’s reasoning was made up.
“Yes, thanks,” Minho said, cautiously.
Hyunjin had reverted to calling him Chan as well, in the privacy of the little kitchen. Minho wondered if Chan ate there. If it’d been there before, with his parents. He vaguely was aware of Hyunjin’s existence in relation to Chan as well, when he thought about it. Hyunjin’s uncle had been caretaker for Chan’s parents, and when he’d retired, there’d been an article in the paper. If Chan had a hangnail there was an article in the paper.
There was fruit, and waffles, and a generous plate of bacon. It felt a bit like he was being fattened up, or like he’d stumbled into the witch’s house from Hansel and Gretel. He took what he felt he could eat, and with the coffee, very good actually, chatted with Felix about his memories of Chan.
“That sounds very much like Chan,” Felix said, when Minho had finished the story of Chan defending him against the bullies. He leaned back like he was quite satisfied by that. “He doesn’t have any patience for that kind of thing now, either. It’s too bad you lost touch back then.”
“He wouldn’t have had much reason to remember me or keep in touch,” Minho said. “I got through, and got out, and didn’t stand out nearly as much at the university.”
Felix made a face. “People being cruel for any differences just doesn’t make sense, because we’re all different. When Chan took me in, it was a different kind of attention. People wanting to get to Chan through me, and not really wanting to be my friend. It’s really hard to trust people, sometimes, even when I really want to. Chan helped me through all of that, though.”
Not Chan’s lover. That much was clear. Felix spoke of him more as a revered older brother. A side of Chan he’d only seen a hint of in his own past. But he couldn’t just continue sitting there, talking about Chan for the rest of the day. He neatly stacked his silverware, maybe real silver for all he knew, and looked to Hyunjin.
“I’m ready whenever you are.”
Hyunjin did in fact have a cup to-go for him, and Minho said goodbye to Felix before being led to a nice sedan. Not opulent.
“I don’t drive anything that calls attention when it’s just me,” Hyunjin said, sending him an amused look, like he could read Minho’s mind. “To your home?”
Minho grimaced. “Actually my car’s in a park and ride lot. I’d intended to be back for it last night.”
“Well, we’ll go there, then. As long as it still has the wheels on, and gas in the tank, you should be okay.”
“It wouldn’t have fit in very well with the limos,” Minho said.
Hyunjin snorted. “Well, if Chan invites you back, by all means bring your car. It won’t soil the grounds. If you need a ride, just text me, and I’ll come and get you.”
He couldn’t imagine Chan actually inviting him back, no matter what the note said. A roll in bed for recollection’s sake. A nice time away from a dull party.
“There it is,” Minho pointed out, when Hyunjin had pulled into the lot. Before he got out of the car, Hyunjin handed him a business card, and Minho nodded, hand on the door. “Thank you for breakfast, and the ride. And. The coffee’s great.“
Minho hefted the bag with his stuff, and the coffee.
“It’s nice to have someone who appreciates it. Chan won’t touch it, and unless there’s a party, it’s just me. Have a good day.”
“Thanks, you too,” Minho said, and nudged the door closed.
Hyunjin waited until Minho had gotten in the car and started it up, confirming everything was still as he’d left it. There wasn’t anything in it worth stealing, short of parts, or gas, and there hadn’t been much of that either. His gas cap locked, anyway. Hyunjin waved as he pulled off, and Minho waited a moment and a couple of cars before pulling off after him. He needed that distance, somehow. It had been the strangest evening of his life.
***
Minho got an earful from Chan’s accountant, and what seemed like a whole team of others who wanted to talk to him about business plans, and other expectations. It seemed like research had been done on that side, things Minho hadn’t thought of in the enormity of the moment, like if they had a vet, where would they do surgery, and they would need a vet tech to help. Things like that. There wasn’t any space in the shelter to be converted, but there was a building down the block that Mr. Bang owned that he would rent as a tax write-off. They would convert that into a veterinary office, outfit it with what was needed, and offer additional space for recovery of cats after neutering. He half wished he had Chan’s number, that he could call him up and say it was too much. And was it too much? Those were things that Minho couldn’t have imagined affording in his lifetime. He’d been given resumes of several vets, and staff, some who’d worked in bigger shelters, who’d be willing to sign a contract. The one he’d liked most had wanted to be more involved in the process than she had been at her previous position, where it sounded like they’d chained her in the back spaying and neutering. She wanted to be able to give advice, and make sure the condition of everything and every cat was good for their own wellbeing. And Minho liked that. As much as he liked his relative position of control, he wasn’t the pinnacle of expertise. Of course he’d had advice when things were being set up. She was allowed to pick her own assistant, who would double both as surgery tech, but also be able to do minor first aid, and help out with the regular cats being held for rescue. And Chan’s foundation paid for that as well. The investment in the equipment, Minho would never have to repay that. But it was whether he could pay two not non-zero salaries long term that was the question.
And then the check came for the rescue and TNR programs. Not for the vet. No. For the programs themselves. For the traps, and the handling, and the— Minho counted the zeros quite carefully. Easily five times as much as he’d spent in the previous year on everything, collectively, rent and vet care included. He hadn’t slept with Chan because of the money, he’d said. But had Chan written that check and said pretty please because of it, Minho would have stripped with bells on. Soonie mrrowed at him as he just laid right down on the floor with the check clutched in one hand. He had a heavy cat using him as a heating pad, and likely feeling his spike in emotion. Elation. Weirdly, panic. He wanted to run right down to the bank and deposit it before Chan could change his mind. It had to clear, too, the money. Money didn’t just get transferred in seconds. And Minho certainly didn’t have the funds in the account to secure it. He let out a stupid, giddy laugh when he got back in the car with the deposit slip. He knew to Chan it was nothing he would miss. He had curtains that obeyed his voice. He got a nice tax write off for it. But to Minho, the difference was so immense.
“We’re gonna save a bunch more cats,” Minho said, kissing Soonie’s nose afterward. Soonie just blinked at him, and looked at the food dish. “Okay, food’s your priority. I have to think for the both of us, then.”
And then he had two more cats chiming in.
***
The next time that he went to Chan, he took his car. An unknown number had called, something he’d gotten a lot of the last couple of weeks. But it had been Chan, breezy like they spoke daily, inviting Minho out to dinner. He’d made no mention of the business during the call, so Minho wasn’t sure if it was meant to be for business, or was a billionaire’s version of a booty call. He did not mind either way. Or rather, instead of out to dinner, up to dinner. At the manor. Not public. Minho still wore his nicest dress pants, a nice shirt. He parked, and before he’d made it halfway up the wide stairs, Hyunjin had the door open for him.
“Come in. Chan’s just come down, so you’re right on time.”
Well, that was a relief. The entry was a lot calmer than it had been, devoid of extra lights and decorations. It almost looked like a home, albeit a large and fancy one. The shelter could’ve been stacked two high and two wide it seemed like. He wasn’t really paying attention to where Hyunjin was leading them until he was led out onto a little veranda that was screened in with a table set for two. Chan was standing, and Hyunjin retreating, while Minho was still trying to rope his brain together.
“Have a seat. How has your week been?” Chan asked, as they took up their seats on either side of the table.
“Pretty good. I’ve had a generous benefactor make a donation so I’m trying not to just go on a shopping spree as we figure out how to allocate the funding.”
Chan’s lips twitched. “That well, then?”
“You’re lucky I didn’t have your number. I don’t know what I would’ve said, except a number of unintelligible sounds. It did let us start trapping a new colony that I’ve been wanting to get to as other plans are made. But you probably don’t want to hear about that.”
“I’m very interested in hearing about it,” Chan replied. “There’s a lot of care that goes into something like that. How is the new vet working out, and all of that. And, you have my number now if you need to make those sounds.”
Chan at least didn’t react negatively to being judged. He didn’t speak of it too much, anyway. There was only so much talk of litter, or kittens, that most people could take. Even when it was with the anticipation of getting laid. And some of it wasn’t really dinner conversation fare. When they’d finished eating, and stood, Chan stood in front of him, touched the paw print necklace around Minho’s neck. A memorial. A promise to a cat he’d once made. A promise to himself.
“That’s something that’s wonderful to me,” Chan said, and raised his hand to touch Minho’s jaw. “You know, I thought you were cute, when we were in school together. I had no idea what you’d become.”
“Me either, Mr. Bang.”
Chan rolled his eyes, but it didn’t keep him from kissing Minho. And in the huge bed, in the dark, Minho watched the stars wheel overhead through the stars in his own eyes. Chan, murmuring his name. Moaning it. It felt like surrender, Chan’s mouth against his neck, his breath hot against Minho’s skin. And not only that night. Others. Weeks of others, with days in between so that sometimes the dinner came afterward, eating half clothed, laughing through stupid stories of cats rolling cutely off of things, and Chan’s adventures in the business land. Minho didn’t think he’d ever get used to sleeping under those enormous skylights. Much less when he sometimes slept under them alone. Insomniac, was how Chan had put it. They had sex, or sometimes definitely made love, and sometimes Chan spent much of the night there, and other times left shortly after, or before dawn. There was only one time he ended up staying the entire night, but he’d been dressed before Minho had been fully conscious. It made his own bed feel almost claustrophobic, though he had at least one cat to cuddle in the absence of a man. Neither of them were substitutes for the other.
Sometimes he made it out the door before Hyunjin could run him down with food or coffee, and sometimes he ate in the little kitchen. Sometimes alone, with Hyunjin bustling off. Sometimes with a sleepy Felix. No one indicated he was unwelcome, or intruding, and the food was good. The coffee was good. And even with all of that, somehow finding himself embroiled in an affair with the richest man in the city, the shelter kept moving. Cats came in, and out. Were treated, adopted, neutered. The new vet being so close saved hours of Minho’s days trying to move cats across the city to vets who’d agreed to reduce their prices. That was a money saver in itself. Chan didn’t ask for updates like he was Minho’s business manager, but sometimes when they were relaxed together, Chan’s fingers gently stroking through Minho’s hair, Minho mused about it. What was going right, the kinks, all of it. Sometimes Chan had good ideas. Sometimes Minho had to stop him from throwing money at it. It felt good to be able to talk those things out, to someone who listened, who cared in a different way from someone who saw it as a mission. It felt like Chan got him. Which was strange in itself, for how different they were on the bottom line. They’d started from different places, and found themselves in the same place somehow.
“Debonair billionaire Christopher Bang was spotted leaving a swanky downtown hotel this morning, with—“
Minho’s hearing shorted out for a moment in the manor kitchen. Or maybe that was the squawk that Hyunjin let out. When Minho looked up at the kitchen’s TV, there was Chan on the screen, a cocky, somewhat drunk-looking grin on his face. His shirt wasn’t buttoned fully. No. It was buttoned wrong, like it’d been done hastily. He had one arm around a man whose shirt was undone entirely, and a woman who had clearly very recently been asleep in her revealing little dress. Both beautiful specimens of humanity. Not even a few hours before Chan had kissed Minho goodbye. Left him in his own bed. And then…what? Left to go fuck a couple of strangers in a ritzy hotel? Hyunjin had all but flung himself in front of the TV, turning it off and turning to Minho with a wild expression on his face.
Minho’s limbs felt made of rattling wood as he stood, as he grabbed his jacket.
Hyunjin clattered after him as Minho made for where he thought the side door was in the haze his mind had begun to be. “Minho! Minho wait, please. That’s not what you think. He’s just showing them what they want to see. He wants to talk to you. He asked me to have you stay for lunch. Minho—”
Minho pushed the button on his fob a dozen times before the car deigned to unlock, so he could open the door.
“Inform Mr. Bang I’m unavailable for lunch,” Minho said.
He’d sounded calm. But his hands shook as he drove away.
***
Minho had not answered any calls from Hyunjin, or Chan, or any number he didn’t recognize over the course of the day. No one had come bursting in the door of the shelter, either, which he was both grim about and appreciated. He was the stupid one. He knew Chan’s past, knew all the things the tabloids had reported on. He’d let himself get swept up in some kind of bizarre fantasy where Chan was merely a man he admired, and was attracted to. That the past was the past, or that it belonged to some other person so unlike the man he’d been sleeping with. He’d let the leaving in the middle of the night slide the few times it’d happened. There hadn’t been any reports since they’d started seeing each other. They hadn’t had any talks about exclusivity either, but Minho had assumed. Oh, he’d assumed that the man - who cuddled him close like Minho was precious, who giggled to him softly, and kissed him like he was everything - thought that it meant something. He still couldn’t get it out of his head. From his own bed where Minho had been gasping his name, to the bed of some hotel. From murmuring Minho’s name, to— Had he even known those people? Had he known their names, or just that they were willing?
Even the cats waiting for adoption knew something was up, kneading on his lap when he had a few out for play and evaluation. His own cats all but smothered him trying to velcro to him somehow. It wasn’t that he minded. He hated that he was putting out those vibes at all. One cat did go home with a nice couple, who had their own place, and no other pets. The cat they took was a bit of a grumpy fellow when around the others, but one on one he was an affectionate cuddler. He was fixed, and chipped, and all of that, so all they really had to do was pay the fee, go home and update his information, and have a happy life.
That was what he was there for. Contracts were signed, so if Chan got pissed to be losing his easy access bed warmer, he couldn’t just take back the money. Not easily. And they’d gotten by before without him.
He almost started playing back a voicemail, Chan’s voice saying his name nearly stopping his heart cold. He deleted it before he could do anything else stupid, like call Chan back, or send a text. With someone like Chan, he thought anyway, silence was crueler than the attack. It wouldn’t let him feel righteous about it. He already knew Minho was upset. Let him live with wondering just how much. Though as days passed, Minho could acknowledge that how much was far and away too much.
***
Minho was used to movement in his space at any random moment, a cat tail acting like a flag, or a toy rolling. He wasn’t used to looking up at movement to see Felix standing in his tiny studio in a sleek black outfit.
“What the fuck?” Minho asked, pushing to his feet. The shelter might not have been locked, but his own door was.
“I need you to come with me,” Felix said. And his voice was firm, authoritative in a way that Minho had never heard it. “Come with me now. We need to go. You’re in danger here.”
Danger from what? That would’ve alarmed him enough, like Felix was going to kidnap him to face Chan or else. Or, less likely, to get him away from Chan. Felix who’d seemed so sweet, who had never looked at or spoken to him like that before. But Felix was putting on a mask, a serious one like he’d seen in the movies for some kind of chemical attack. He half wondered if Felix was going to drug him, but Felix was striding to him, holding out another mask.
“Put this on please. Quickly. There’s shit going down I can’t explain yet, and we need to go.”
“The cats,” Minho got out, frozen in indecision. He had the carriers. But there were more cats downstairs.
“They’ll be fine. It doesn’t hurt animals.”
He had to take Felix’s word on that, and he half thought of arguing before grabbing his phone, and the mask, and following. The staff downstairs were wide-eyed, with their own masks on, when Minho passed with Felix. But Felix was insistent, pulling Minho to a sleek sports car, and before Minho could even buckle in, he had accelerated into the street. Minho’s own inhale was loud into the mask as he got his belt buckled. After a few seconds, Felix took off his mask beside him.
“There’s filtration built into the car. You can take that off now. It’s reading clear.”
There was some kind of green, hazy fog gathering at the street level, coming up through the holes in the drains and sewers. Minho watched as they passed people staring at it, pointing at it to their companions.
“Those people! Are they going to be okay?” Minho asked.
“It doesn’t kill, not right away. There’s an antidote being flushed right after it. Fucking— Hold on.”
Felix gunned the accelerator, the car almost leaping forward as they passed two cars lagging in front of them. Felix turned onto a side street as Minho hung on as though his life depended on it. It took them onto a street Minho had never driven on, one that rose steeply. Toward the manor. Toward Chan. That had to be what that was about. Chan, somehow. Chan trying to protect him?
“Is Chan safe?” Minho asked.
Felix hesitated for a beat too long. “Mostly,” he said.
Mostly didn’t sound like anything Minho wanted to hear. His eyes widened as they approached the manor, the wild cliffs that he could see out of Chan’s bedroom windows. Felix wasn’t slowing, and Minho had only the time to make the tiniest squeak and duck his head as they seemed to go right past the curve and into the stone. Except, instead of crashing into the rock, the road continued, but in darkness, the headlights of the sports car bright as they wound upward on the clearly-marked road. There was emptiness beyond the lights, nothing but shadows, and emptiness. He thought he saw water at one point, gripping the handle of the car door like it might keep him from falling out, falling down into it.
Felix could clearly hear through some earpiece Minho couldn’t see, because they screamed to a stop on top of a platform, and Felix was cursing as he jammed the car into park. “Chan’s not doing well. Come on.”
Minho’s last thought was their surroundings as he ran after Felix. And almost had to shield his face as they pushed into what looked almost like a surgical bay, enormously bright after the dim of the cavern. Chan was there. Hyunjin. But Chan was on the table, his arms spread, and strapped, his skin pale, his body bruised. Hyunjin was barking orders at Felix, who’d grabbed a syringe from Hyunjin’s hand and moved around to an IV pole.
“Minho’s here,” Felix said to Chan, but ignored Minho otherwise. “Minho’s safe. I brought him like you said. Minho’s safe.”
“Minho,” Chan choked out.
He didn’t want to be in the way. He didn’t know what to do. But he walked closer, touched the cold, bare shoulder.
“I’m here, it’s Minho.”
Chan’s eyes were wide, as though he wasn’t seeing anything at all, his jaw clenched. He was shaking, hard, pulling against the binding on his arms. An alarm began to scream, an urgent beeping sound like the chirp of a dozen deranged birds.
“Get back, and look away,” Hyunjin barked, making Minho stumble back. “Felix, now.”
Look away? Felix pushed the plunger on the syringe, as Hyunjin pressed—
Minho turned his head just before he heard the sound of the defibrillator. The sound of it, and Chan’s body moving with it. He was shaking as he reached for the wall, in some horrible nightmare he wanted to wake up from. And he was staring at armor, abandoned against the wall just below where he’d braced himself. Amor? Black armor. The symbol of a bat stark against it.
The beeping had settled when Minho looked back. Chan’s heartbeat, he realized. Still quick, but steady. They’d had to shock his heart back into rhythm. They were both standing over Chan, monitoring him, as Chan slowly came back around. Blinking again. Taking several deep inhales, before settling on a slight pant. He answered several questions, apparently to Hyunjin’s satisfaction, because he stepped away, and made the smallest gesture that Minho could step forward again. He wasn’t sure he wanted to. Or could, even, as Hyunjin undid the straps holding down one of Chan’s arms. It felt like there was too much welling in him as much as unshed tears had welled in his eyes. He had a hundred questions. He wanted to scream. He wanted to shake Chan. He wanted to shake himself. But Chan’s head turned, blinking trying to focus as Felix pointed at Minho. And Minho, under some power that wasn’t his own, stepped forward.
“Minho,” Chan said. His voice didn’t sound normal. He looked and sounded weak. “You’re safe.”
“I’m here,” Minho said, moving until he couldn’t move any longer, flush up against the table. Chan touched his side, arm partly curving around him. But his next words were to Felix, who was still watching Chan critically. “Is this the poison? I thought you said it wouldn’t kill.”
“Chan got too much,” Felix said, his eyes on Chan. “He got it out of the city system and destroyed it, before it could get deeper, and got the antidote in its place. This is what could’ve happened to everyone we saw today if he hadn’t.”
“Just a day at the office,” Chan said, on a hitched inhale that Minho thought was supposed to have been a laugh. Chan was looking at him so carefully through his own misery, searching his face like Minho might explode somehow. He didn’t know what kind of a mess he looked like. Better than Chan, who looked like he’d been in a dozen fights. And maybe he had. That armor against the wall wasn’t some rich boy cosplaying a vigilante. Suddenly the leaving in the middle of the night made sense. The tabloids saw what Chan wanted them to see, Hyunjin said. The playboy. Not the man trying to save the city from itself in more ways than with his own pocketbook. Smoke and mirrors. Expect one thing, and not the other.
“You’ll be okay, then?” Minho asked, carefully touching Chan’s shoulder again.
“Got the best care in the world,” Chan said, nodding. “Seeing you helps, too.”
Minho scoffed at him, but was glad to see Chan’s lips twist more toward a smile.
“Rest and let them help then,” Minho said. It felt like life was coming back into Chan’s skin, and he saw the numbers on the screen improve to what even Minho knew to be more compatible with life. Blood pressure, pulse, oxygen. Chan’s eyes closed, and his body visibly relaxed. It first jolted anxiety through him, and then relief as he realized that Chan was taking his advice. He was breathing. Relaxing. Letting whatever medicine they’d given him help. He edged a little further up the table when he realized that Chan was trying to snug Minho a little closer with his arm. He put his hand on Chan’s, holding it against his waist. It took another half an hour, as they patched up a nasty scrape down Chan’s side. The armor had failed in a way that it hadn’t before, leading to the scrape and bruising as Chan had fought off the men guarding the poison. Minho nodded like that made sense, like he heard about things like that all day. And Chan moved for them, then, as Hyunjin looked for any other open wounds on his back. Even when Minho had to move away, he tried to stay in Chan’s line of vision as it seemed like Chan would continually look for him otherwise.
“The poison’s clearing in the city,” Felix said, his voice low and soothing as he looked at his phone. “A few people are at the hospital, and there was some panic, but it looks like you got it in time. It’s being monitored. The shelter’s doing great, too. All the cats are fine.”
That last part was to Minho. That relaxed part of him, too. And though Hyunjin argued, Chan insisted on sitting up, wincing, holding his ribs and side as he was helped to sit on the side of the table.
“I want the bed,” Chan said. “Keep your bells and whistles if you want. This feels like a rock.”
Hyunjin was muttering threats under his breath, as he left the room, but Felix was smiling. Apparently that was a good sign, then. The bed, it turned out, was right next door. It wasn’t much wider than the table had been, but it was an actual bed. There were the same types of monitors and IV stands in there as well, as though it had been used for that purpose before. And likely had, as Minho stood by as Chan gamely let Felix and Hyunjin help him until was seated on the far side of the bed, with an IV bag hanging over him, and whatever they wanted reattached. Chan sighed, and then groaned in relief, as he leaned back against the pillows. He looked to Minho, and held out a hand.
“I won’t bite,” Chan said. “Probably can’t right now.”
“Giving you some more pain meds,” Hyunjin announced.
“Just don’t knock me out,” Chan said.
“As though I would,” Hyunjin argued back.
Chan glared up at him. “You have!”
At that, Hyunjin sniffed. “Only because you needed it. But I’m not right now, okay? Relax.”
An argument they’d clearly had before. When Hyunjin was satisfied, he patted Chan’s leg. “Buzz if you need anything, then.”
Water was left on the side table, but little else. And Minho, left there with Chan alone, sat on the edge of the bed before he fell down. Chan’s hand felt hot compared to his own, and Chan made a low sound.
“I’m not really in the shape to do much, but there’s room here. Lie down here with me. Please.”
Chan smelled of antiseptic, had to be in pain. He’d just been cardioverted, had been exposed to who knew what poison, and its aftereffects, had been beaten. He wanted to ask how Chan felt, what had happened. Why— So many things.
But he got his legs onto the bed, and turned, wiggling carefully until he rested at Chan’s side. Against Chan’s side, eventually, when that wasn’t good enough for Chan, when nothing apparently would do but Minho under the sheet and blanket with him. Chan breathed in against Minho’s hair and exhaled like he’d smelled heaven.
“You’re safe,” Chan murmured to him.
“Yeah.”
So was Chan. He hoped. Chan turned the light down a little with the remote, letting it sit almost between them so that Minho could call for help as easily as Chan. The sound on the monitors was off but when Minho opened his eyes, he could see the steady blip of Chan’s heartbeat, and the steadiness of his oxygen. And whatever was in the IV was still working its magic, too, as Chan continued to relax, jolting a bit as he almost fell asleep, but curling Minho a little closer, a little tighter.
It was only just before he fell into a doze that he truly let the realization cross him, fully. Chan was Batman.
***
What had happened, that Batman had saved several neighborhoods of great pain if not death, was all over the news. Minho had hated to leave, but he went back to the shelter the morning after, to confirm with his own eyes that everything was okay. It looked much as it had before, though his staff were a little freaked out by a stranger coming in and handing them a gas mask. Thankful for it, but freaked out still. It was early afternoon by the time he made it back to the manor, jogging up the side steps, and punching in a code Hyunjin had sent him to let himself in. Chan wasn’t in whatever cavern he’d been in when Minho had been driven back into town that morning. He was up on the same veranda they’d eaten their first dinner together on. He looked like a little sunflower, lounging in a reclining chair that Minho didn’t remember seeing before. Maybe it’d been moved there, so Chan could relax in it.
And though he was quiet, Chan’s eyes opened, and he smiled, still looking tired.
“You came back,” Chan said.
“Said I would. Figured we had some things to talk about.”
Chan exhaled, nodded. “Yeah.”
There was a chair beside Chan’s, and he took it, looked out over the same sight that Chan had been looking over.
“When—“ Minho started, and Chan interrupted him.
“Sorry, before— Before we talk. Since the gala, there hasn’t been anyone else but you. I haven’t wanted there to be. Everything in the reports was staged.”
“Yeah, I figured that out,” Minho said, as Chan winced apologetically. He appreciated it, the straight explanation. Any other man, and maybe he wouldn’t believe it. Maybe if he hadn’t been in Chan’s bed right before, he’d have wondered with all the hours in between. But he had been. It made him want to recover the voicemails he’d gotten. See what Chan had actually said. Though, he wouldn’t have revealed anything. Just entreating Minho to talk, most likely. It had derailed his other questions, as he stared at Chan’s face. He looked better, but he was still a little pale, his eyes nearly bruised underneath. It would take time to recover, time maybe the city didn’t have. There was Felix, still, of course, who’d escaped the worst of it. Enough even to make it to bring Minho to Chan.
“How are you feeling?”
“Better. I feel like I want to jump up and get back to things.” And he held up his hand when Minho clearly made an alarmed face. “Yeah, no. I took an oath I was taking a day or two.”
“Oh, that many,” Minho said, and wrinkled his nose when Chan did. “You go out hurt.”
“Sometimes. Sometimes— No, there’s a choice to it. I know there is. I can’t say I don’t have one. But when it’s life or death, yeah, I don’t feel like I have much of one. I can’t…save everyone. I can’t.”
Half assuring himself it was the case.
“But you can do what you can. Batchan,” Minho mused aloud. He still wasn’t able to get the actual name out of his mouth. He could barely get it out of his brain. And Chan almost choked trying to get the laugh out. “Probably not the first one who’s tried that.”
“No. Though I think Felix has nightmares about screwing up and calling me that in front of someone. He hasn’t yet.”
“How do you hide it?” Minho asked. “The injuries. What if your face gets bruised?”
“Pain medicine. Willpower. Hyunjin is incredible at makeup,” Chan said. “He can’t hide swelling, though. So I sometimes fake trips skiing, or to the beach. Makes me look like even more of a dick when the city’s in unrest and I’m supposedly off jetting to distant vacations.”
“But in reality you’re here, trying to help.”
“Trying,” Chan agreed. “We’ve funneled so much money into things. Shelters, rehabs, training programs. Interventional help as well, that doesn’t let the worst part of the police force cause more problems than they solve. And rooting out the corruption there, trying to create breaks in the funneling of people to gangs. Housing is a big thing, too, and the charity and company both are involved in that. Galas like the one we met at, well. It takes money out of the hands of the wealthy, so we can take all of that and drive it back into solving the same problems those wealthy people created. They’ll tie their funds up overseas to keep from paying taxes, but they want to look good for the people around them. So I can publicly shame them into donating. I can’t sell the house, specifically for the reasons I need to look like one of them, but also for the caves underneath. It’s part of me.”
“Means you’re not fighting stuff alone. And you need a home,” Minho said. “You have to take care of yourself, or you wouldn’t be able to help anyone.”
Chan laughed, a full laugh that had him wincing at holding at his side.
“You’re not the first one to tell me that, either. I know that. I know this is a legacy left to me by my parents. I know we’re stuffing money in every direction we can while trying to figure out ways to better help. I would love to just sit back and watch things be perfect.” Chan made a frustrated sound. “But for some things, there isn’t anyone else.”
“How many people know about you?” Minho asked.
“Not many,” Chan said. “I don’t want to put them in danger. Hyunjin of course. He couldn’t not know.”
“And Felix fights along with you,” Minho said.
“Yeah. And I have a connection with the police. And you.”
“They took the choice to tell me out of your hands a little,” Minho said, wry.
Chan offered his hand, and curled their fingers between each other’s when Minho took it. “I was already— Before that news story broke, I was already wondering if I should tell you. At least to give you an idea of it. And apparently I was frantic for you, when the poison hit me. I don’t blame them. It maybe sped things up a little, but they wouldn’t have done it if they hadn’t trusted you. They’d have just knocked me out.”
That was something, then, he guessed.
“Goes without saying I won’t tell anyone, but I won’t,” Minho said. “Some people think you’re a jackass in a weird costume getting involved in something he shouldn’t. From what I’ve seen, though, you only get involved when there’s no one else, no way else, to fix things.”
Chan’s face was both serious and soft as he watched Minho talk. “That’s the goal, really. There’s only one of me, and one of Felix, and the city is huge. There’s not enough time, or healing time, to do everything. I monitor things on my own, with their help, and my contact calls me into things. We have to be strategic about it. I don’t need praise for it, but I am glad to see when something makes a difference.”
“The ones who yell don’t realize you could just be sitting back smoking fancy cigars and letting the city rot,” Minho said.
They bumped shoulders a little bit. Gently.
“Knowing about me, keeping in contact with me— Either me, really. It could bring some danger. There are people out here who wouldn’t think twice about exploiting the connection. For a while, I thought maybe it would be something brief. Casual.”
“But you really liked hearing about brands of cat litter?” Minho surmised.
Chan giggled, a happier sound to the seriousness of before. “Yeah. Something like that. If you still want to, maybe we go at our own pace. See where this takes us. I know it’s a lot. I know. It’s why I haven’t really dared to try with anyone.”
Chan was giving him an out, if he wanted it. Not that he hadn’t had an out since the beginning.
“Are you going to lurk at me from the shadows when I go to set up traps at night?” Minho asked.
Chan leaned into him, cautious of his side, and their lips brushed, lingering for a moment. “Only if you want me to.”
There was the option of answering, or the option of kissing. And that time, Minho chose the latter.
***
The next time that Minho was in Chan’s bed for anything more than sleep, and Chan got up in the middle of the night, Minho knew why. Minho stood well inside of the edge of the cavern platform in Chan’s pajamas as Felix read out information while Chan got ready. He felt underdressed and somehow small, for the way the cape swept, the change in Chan’s whole demeanor as the cowl and mask obscured his identity.. To most, anyway. It was easy to see Chan through it, once he knew. He knew that mouth. And those eyes, direct behind the mask. He didn’t say anything trite like be safe, or whatever else. Chan knew that. Lived it. They’d fixed whatever had gone wrong the night he’d gotten so hurt, whatever design that would keep him safer.
“Come back to bed when you can,” Minho said instead, and felt inordinately pleased as Chan smiled at him.
It turned out, it was still possible to be kissed like that, up against a man dressed all in black. Minho waved to Felix, too, after Felix had swung onto his motorcycle. And Minho made his way back up after they’d left, patting Hyunjin on the shoulder and knowing he’d only be in the way. He paused at the broad windows to see the bright light reflected on the clouds. Everyone, of course, had wondered who the vigilante was. It was impossible not to. Impossible after not to worry, as he rested his cheek against the pillow that smelled most of Chan, and tried to force himself to relax. He’d go back to the shelter in the morning, make sure the cats were doing well. He wondered what would happen, if Chan wanted him to stay more often. If Chan would mind having four houseguests instead of one. The studio above the shelter could be let to an employee. And he was getting far ahead of himself, when Chan hadn’t yet extended any sort of invitation. But Minho wasn’t going to faint in shock when it happened, either.
The light had gone off, by the time Minho had truly relaxed. Chan was doing what he needed to. When Minho woke next, it was to a warm man cuddling up to his back.
“Sorry,” Chan whispered. “I’m good. Let’s sleep.”
Minho sighed, leaning back against Chan and letting himself sink again. He would worry, and wonder, and at least as he thought right then, stay while he was wanted. It was never meant to be easy. But easy or not, he was there. Worry or not, Chan hadn’t chased him off yet. He’d stay. Because he knew the Chan behind the bat.
***