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Mingi is a stupid drunk.
He always has been—figures he always will be—considering something always seems to go wrong the second alcohol enters his system. Ordinarily, he tries his best to avoid drinking in general. Even opts to be designated driver most nights.
But tonight… Mingi couldn’t seem to resist. It’s been a shit week, quite frankly, and he really needed something to knock the edge off.
And there’s Yunho.
Yunho, who had told him he needed to relax and poured him a decent glass of wine. Yunho, who had stood behind Mingi as he sat at one of their bar stools and massaged his shoulders.
It makes Mingi nearly melt into a puddle, the week’s stress finally falling from his shoulders. Yunho has a drink too, afterward. It doesn’t take too long for them both to be a little more than tipsy. Something flutters in Mingi’s chest when Yunho giggles a little too loud for their apartment’s thin walls. He looks good like this, cheeks flushed and eyelids droopy.
Mingi doesn’t normally let himself think like that, but he can’t stop the onslaught of thoughts when booze is coursing through his bloodstream and Yunho is looking like that. A little messy. Really cute.
Yunho pours them each another glass. “Shit, I don’t think I’ve gotten drunk since college,” he says.
It coaxes an easy smile from Mingi. He remembers those days. He used to be designated driver a lot. “I don’t even remember the last time,” Mingi responds, taking a sip. “Feels good, though.”
Yunho tilts his head, not unlike a dog—makes a questioning noise in the back of his throat.
“To not think,” Mingi explains. “Or to not… care what I think.”
“What do you think?” Yunho asks him. There’s an innocent glint in his eyes that makes the last remnants of sober-Mingi feel a little guilty.
“Hm. Not important,” he says.
Yunho pouts. Before he can respond, however, Mingi slings the rest of his drink back and asks for Yunho to refill his glass. Yunho complies but tells him that’s the last one for the night—although, he does take a few swigs straight from the bottle before putting it away in its designated cupboard.
It’s silent as Mingi finishes up his drink. The longer it takes him, the more the effects are getting the better of him. It seems that way for Yunho as well, who nearly walks into the kitchen door frame when he announces he needs to pee. They both laugh, and Mingi wants to kiss him. Probably a good thing, then, that Yunho takes a while to use the bathroom. The five or-so minutes give him enough time to stumble over to the couch once he’s done with his wine and fall face-first into it.
His bedroom is a little too far away right now.
And he’s hoping Yunho will join him again.
Which, he does. Mingi distantly hears the flush of a toilet and their bathroom sink running, and not long after, Yunho comes back giggling about how he didn’t know Mingi had left the kitchen. It’s not that funny but Yunho’s laugh makes Mingi laugh.
“Scoot over,” he tells him, flopping his hand in Mingi’s general direction.
Mingi wedges himself further into the couch cushions and Yunho collapses into him not a moment after. He situates his head under Mingi’s chin and sighs contentedly. The smell of alcohol oozing off of the pair of them is quite intense, but Mingi really doesn’t mind. Yunho’s head fits perfectly on his chest and that’s all that matters.
He’s almost so comfortable that he could fall asleep. Almost. Yunho lifts his head several minutes later and props himself up on his elbow. Mingi pouts, though the position has him a little flushed.
“What?” he asks him, dragging his hand up to brush a few messy strands of hair away from Yunho’s eyes.
Yunho eyes him cautiously. “You know you can tell me anything, right?” he says, voice nearly a whisper, words a little slurred. “I don’t know what’s… on your mind. But I won’t judge you for it. Whatever it is.”
And Mingi hopes to God he stops talking, because if he says something like that again in that tone, he’ll crack easier than a goddamn egg. Mingi laughs it off, hoping it reaches his eyes. “Ah, it’s nothing, Yunnie.”
Really, Mingi is surprised that Yunho has never noticed his feelings. It’s not like he’s ever been necessarily… subtle. Sometimes he stares a little too long, or he’ll wipe his mouth off for him while eating, or he’ll hold his hand when they’re out in public. Everyone he’s ever met can pick up on it in an instant, so why Yunho hasn’t, Mingi can’t seem to figure it out. Maybe Yunho has picked up on it, and he just doesn’t want Mingi to know he has. Because he doesn’t reciprocate.
His train of thought must show in his eyes because Yunho pinches his side. “Stop it,” he whines. “You’re keeping things from me. I don’t like it.” To seemingly make up for the mean pinch to his waist, Yunho reaches gently for Mingi’s hand, idly twisting the ring he always wears on his pointer finger. “You… you can trust me, Min,” Yunho says, the quietest he’s been all evening. His eyes don’t reach Mingi’s when he speaks, and it breaks his heart.
Mingi props himself up abruptly, leveling with Yunho’s sad gaze. He never wanted to make Yunho sad—no, that was never part of the plan. “Hey, hey, that’s not—of course, I trust you, Yunho…”
Yunho scoffs a little. Not in hostility, but disbelief.
“I’m serious,” Mingi whispers.
“Okay,” Yunho replies, with a closed-mouth smile—a fake one, if Mingi’s ever seen it. He must just be trying to get out of the conversation, maybe, because before Mingi knows it, Yunho is sitting up and leaving his side.
“Yunho, come on—”
“I’m going to bed,” he interrupts. “I think I had too much to drink. Don’t know why I’m getting upset.”
When he goes to leave, Mingi thinks of possibly the stupidest thing that he can do. He stands up alongside Yunho and, as the other turns to leave, Mingi reaches for his hand. Turns it palm-side up and traces his thumb down the lines there when it works in stopping him. A distraction—from what he’s maybe about to do.
“If you knew what I was thinking, I don’t think you would like me very much,” Mingi tells him, and he clears his throat to get rid of that stubborn lump that’s forming in the back of his throat.
But Yunho looks at him with such soft eyes, round with sympathy and understanding, and grabs Mingi’s hand a little tighter, and tangles their fingers together. “I can promise you that whatever you think is going to happen, it won’t. I love you, you know that. Nothing could ever change that.”
Mingi is a stupid drunk. But those words are about to make him cry and they give him the smallest string of hope. He gnaws on his bottom lip before taking a shaky breath. “I love you, too,” he says.
Yunho caresses the jut of his knuckle with his thumb. “I know.”
Mingi sniffles. “No, no, not like…” he interrupts himself with a frustrated sigh. “I don’t know how to say it.”
Yunho looks at him in confusion. Sober-Mingi is gonna kill drunk-Mingi. He feels like every thought in his head is being tangled into knots, and nothing really makes sense. But Yunho is there like he always is. Holding his hand.
“I love you in the stupid way,” Mingi continues. “Like—like the I wanna kiss you way.”
Yunho gives him nothing more than a hitched breath. It triggers his fight or flight response and suddenly he wants to leave this room as soon as possible and get another glass of wine or something. He looks away—away from Yunho’s eyes that are boring holes into his face—and focuses on some of the streaky paint on the living room walls. Because Yunho‘s probably staring at him in disgust and Mingi doesn’t think he can handle that.
When the silence stretches for too long, Mingi attempts to blink a few tears away. “I’m sorry,” he chokes out. “I’m sorry for feeling this way, Yunho-ah—I tried to stop it, but I—”
Mingi doesn’t get to finish his sentence before Yunho pulls him in by the chin and kisses him.
It takes a few seconds for Mingi to realize.
Yunho is kissing him. Yunho is kissing him.
He tries not to cry too much into it, because nobody likes kissing someone with a snotty nose and tears running into their mouth. He does let himself whimper though. Because of course, Yunho is a good kisser, and of course, he knows exactly what to do to make Mingi melt.
When he eventually pulls away, Mingi doesn’t know if it’s easier to breathe or worse. A big thumb wipes over the wetness on his cheeks, and he figures it’s easier. Because Yunho is looking at him like that and a weight he’s been carrying since high school is finally lifted off his shoulders.
“I love you in the stupid way, too,” Yunho says. “Have for a long time.”
Mingi’s head spins at the implication. “You’re not just… this isn’t just ‘cause you’re drunk is it?” he asks. “Because I want to kiss you when I’m sober.”
Yunho laughs. “No,” he replies, moving the hand on Mingi’s cheek to the back of his neck. “No, it’s not.”
Mingi nods. He doesn’t waste any time before reconnecting their lips again. “I love you,” he whispers into Yunho’s mouth.
“I love you, too.”
Mingi pulls away. “Say it again.”
“I love you, too,” he complies, kissing him on the tear tracks below his eyes.
“Thank you,” Mingi answers.
“You don’t have to thank me for loving you, Mingi.”
Mingi sniffles. “Yes, I do. I didn’t think I would ever be… lucky enough.”
Yunho pulls him into a hug at that, placing a soft kiss on his neck. And, God, Mingi loves Yunho-hugs. The fact that he’s going to be getting them a lot more frequently almost makes him cry again.
“Do you think we’re going to remember this tomorrow?” Mingi asks, with genuine fear.
Yunho hums. He seems to ponder the question for several seconds before an idea hits him. His whole body perks up in that way that Mingi’s always found cute, and soon enough he’s pulling away to grab something from his room. Mingi sinks onto the couch and sifts his fingers through his hair. This is about the part where he would wake up and realize it was all a dream and then have to face Yunho in their kitchen and eat breakfast together.
But Yunho soon comes back with a pep in his step and sits closer than he ever has next to Mingi on the couch. He has a notebook in his hand and a red pen. Mingi puts his head on Yunho’s shoulder as he watches him begin to write a letter to their future selves. His handwriting is cute and messy, and it makes Mingi turn his face into Yunho’s shoulder and press a kiss onto the cloth of his t-shirt. Yunho kisses the crown of his head in response, and Mingi wishes he told Yunho his feelings years ago.
“There,” Yunho says once a few sentences have been scrawled onto the page. He tosses the notebook onto the coffee table and giggles when Mingi giggles.
“I love you,” Mingi says, because he can do that now.
“I love you, too.”
He’s never going to get tired of that.