Chapter Text
(Moodboard courtesy of TheGreatWicked)
Number 6
Jun
There were certain things one came to expect from an Omega or rather a male Omega. Jun wasn’t sure where those stereotypes and ingrained assumptions had come from, but he knew what they were. Omega men were noticeably effete, they shied away from competition and were easily overwhelmed. He tried not to cringe at the fact that many of the annoying stereotypes that plagued women from the freaking Victorian era surreptitiously applied to male Omegas … They were “ruled by their hormones”, easily swayed, and gullible due to their “delicate” nature.
So, when Jun began to present as an Omega during high school, it was perhaps the worst thing to ever occur in his life. He resisted furiously but there was no way to outrun your own biology. The humiliation he endured in school when he’d begun to show symptoms of his blossoming body adapting to his sub-gender was indelibly burned into his memory. Even in adulthood he sometimes awoke in a sweat in the middle of the night thanks to a nightmare transporting him back to high school, sweating and clutching his stomach in pain as his body began to change and everyone knew why.
All his school friends dumped him after he’d gotten the tell-tale hot flashes and the achy empty pain that signalled he would one day start going into proper heats. He became known as the “weird sissy Omega boy” in class. He’d started studying Korean within a month of presenting as an Omega because he wanted to get as far away from everyone he’d ever known in high school and he didn’t know where they were going after graduation. He hoped the language barrier would prevent them from going to Seoul as he intended to. By the time his high school graduation rolled around, Jun had already prepared his visa, passport, and secured a preliminary place in a college in Korea far away from anyone who knew him from high school. Luckily it paid off and two years after presenting, he'd gotten the grades to escape his shame and found himself clutching his plane ticket close to his chest, ready to get a fresh start where no one would know who or what he was…
His chosen career path? Well, it was the least “Omega” thing he could think of; Jun would become a lawyer. He knew the field was full of Alphas, competitive and cut-throat, it went against all the stereotypes he grew up hearing about Omegas. Omegas were “too sensitive” for law, they naturally hated competition, and their overly-sympathetic brains were ill-equipped to deal with certain harsh realities, like the fact that sometimes the justice system really fucking sucked. Jun liked to believe that Alphas also thought it sucked but maybe it didn’t bother them as much, all that mattered was winning. That was according to the stereotype anyway. Sometimes, the guilty guys won because they had better lawyers. Lawyers weren’t always good people, their goal wasn’t to be a good person, it was to be the better lawyer in court when it came time to fight your case. If Alphas could leave their morals at the door and focus on winning, Jun decided he’d have to do that too and hope he didn’t lose his soul in the process.
His mother had sweetly suggested he consider a role in hospitality or perhaps teaching because he was so good with his little brother that he’d do fantastic in a job caring for lots of cute children. She’d had pure intentions, wanting what was best for her son, and she’d been an absolute champion while he went through his “bonus puberty”, she knew exactly when to appear with a home remedy to ease his misery, and when to take a step back because it was really fucking embarrassing. Regardless of all that, he was convinced she was just plain wrong about this and so, she barely held back her tears and hoped for the best as he waved his old life goodbye and boarded his flight. Jun knew if things went south in Korea, she’d welcome him back with open arms and smothering hugs, but he hoped it wouldn’t come to that. He wasn’t an Alpha, but ‘pride’ didn’t belong exclusively to that sub-gender, even he had some pride and was reluctant to admit defeat and scurry back home.
Going “stealth mode” in college was a challenge. He had to work around his heats of course, his go-to method was simply telling his tutors he had to visit family or celebrate a specific local Chinese holiday from back in his hometown when he knew he couldn’t hold it off any longer and he’d need a couple of days to suffer alone in his shoebox apartment. Calling in sick was also an option but he didn't want to appear weak, it was best if his meticulous planning and heat-cycle-tracking paid off and all his days off were scheduled in advance. It would look good in a reference if his professors noted his good attendance and reliability, minimising sick days and being predictable was important.
Dealing with the flurry of Alpha pheromones during classroom debates when shit got heated was simply a test of his endurance. The first time he’d encountered the overwhelming musk of his Alpha classmates debating case law, he’d gotten up and bolted out of class to escape the overwhelming smell. Fortunately, they’d assumed he was hungover from a night of partying and was vomiting up the consequences of a previous wild night out into a bin so his sudden exit didn’t draw much attention. As embarrassing as his classmates thinking he was that hungover on the first day was, it sure beat admitting he could feel himself growing wet in his seat as well as feeling wholly intimidated by the "angry" smells that felt like they were screaming at him. All at once, he smelt seduction and danger in a way he'd never felt before, there had never been so many full-grown Alphas, hot-blooded and riled up, and all of them so close. The Alphas and Betas were roughly equal in number in class, whereas in high school, most of the kids had been your ordinary everyday Beta... Jun hadn't been wrong when he'd assumed the legal profession attracted a certain type.
Jun was tactical about it over the next couple of weeks, wearing a face mask because he was “coming down with a cold” and putting a lavender scent sachet from inside his closet under the mask. It made his head ache and his stomach churn, but it managed to confuse his olfactory senses enough to cancel out the potency of the “Alpha odours” while he eased into the constant sensory assault he’d have to deal with for the next couple of years.
As for his own scent, he simply avoided anything stimulating his scent gland too heavily. He didn’t have to wear a tie and button-up to class, so a loose comfy shirt sufficed. He was fortunate his scent was lavender and he could quite convincingly argue that any smell was coming from his fabric softener and not him if it ever became an issue. It worked all through college and considering no one undressed him and rubbed his glands, why wouldn’t they believe him?
By the end of the third year, he was so used to the routine that he’d somehow gained masterful control over his olfactory senses and didn’t gag or cower when he found himself in a haze of Alpha chest-puffing and pheromone blasting. He passed for a fairly convicting Beta, fortunately, and he had an excuse for his lack of excessive skirt-chasing during college; law school was pretty damn intense he spent a lot of time studying. No one asked why he hadn’t settled down with a cute girl yet because he was always conveniently racing from one essay or exam deadline to another. Sure, he exaggerated it a little, but for the most part, he really did keep himself busy and it showed when it came to his grades.
The best part about leaving China and attending law school in Korea was the new friend circle. He made friends with the guys in law but avoided getting too close. If they found out his secret, he’d still have to see them in class for the rest of his degree. At least if he had friends from around campus in different clubs and societies, he could just distance himself from them if they ever found out anything about him. High school was a small pond, but college was big enough for you to disappear in and he appreciated that. He found friends in the arcade down the street, in the school film club where they gathered to watch the shittiest movies they could find, and also in the Chinese restaurant he worked in during the weekends.
First, there was Wonwoo, who was studying computer engineering, Jun found him at the arcade, naturally, and he was insanely good at games. Wonwoo then introduced him to Soonyoung whom Jun recognised as a regular at the Chinese restaurant, they’d never really talked much beyond Jun taking his order until they realised they were mutual friends with Wonwoo and naturally they struck up a friendlier rapport. From there, he quickly discovered that Soonyoung was an absolute weirdo but in the best possible way. Soonyoung was majoring in philosophy, though Jun wasn’t sure how or why he wound up there, but that was just Soonyoung for you. They quickly realised they rather enjoyed hanging out and both joined film club together as something to do.
Jihoon completed their group a little while later. He studied music production and appeared in film club one night because he heard the club would be screening Birdemic and he was interested in hearing the, quote; “absolute worst sound-mixing to grace the silver screen”. Soonyoung immediately fell for the guy, it seemed like a disaster if Jun was being honest. Naturally, Jihoon cringed through the whole film but Soonyoung adored it. Several months later Jihoon begrudgingly accepted Soonyoung’s proposal of a date and the rest, as they say, was history. What was not relegated to the annals of history was the debate about the merits of the film Birdemic … Jun was certain they’d still be arguing about it sitting side by side in rocking chairs in a retirement home, holding hands all the while. Aside from disagreeing on virtually everything, they made for a great couple.
Everything seemed perfect until a particularly nasty first-year essay caught Jun off guard and he found himself struggling to hit the mark. He got so stressed and flustered that his heat caught him off guard and he found himself too heat-stricken to leave his apartment and get groceries. In desperation, he bit the bullet and confided in Wonwoo; Jun thought he was probably the most discrete of his three closest friends and perhaps he’d prove the least judgemental. Jun knew that telling Jihoon or Soonyoung would mean inadvertently telling both of them because they had no secrets from each other. So, Wonwoo was his best option.
Wonwoo came through for him in the end and not only did he show up with a week's worth of groceries and supplies (which he refused to take any payment for), but he also stayed for several hours, filling a hot water bottle for Jun’s aching body and prepping food for him so he didn’t have to do anything but wallow in bed. Wonwoo was quietly considerate like that and he’d even been discrete in his text the following morning, sending a “How are you feeling? You looked a little sick when I ran into you in the arcade. Are you coming down with something?”. Jun cried a little, but that was mostly due to the hormones and totally not because he was totally soft, and he’d replied “I’m okay. Just have a flu but I’m over the worst of it now.”
Wonwoo never brought up the whole “sub-gender thing”, they never discussed it or addressed it beyond Wonwoo asking him about “the flu” that one time. It kind of meant the world to Jun. He knew if he ever had a crisis of the sub-gender variety, he could call on Wonwoo. He knew that no one else would ever have to know.
Two more years after that debacle, Jun’s parents and brother came over to Seoul to attend his graduation. This time, Jun was relieved to see his mother crying happy tears, a far cry from her sadness when he’d left three years earlier when he'd been a couple of inches shorter and a whole lot more uncertain. He took them out to dinner in the restaurant he’d worked in every weekend and during summer through college and was pleased to announce he’d been accepted to intern in one of the top firms in Seoul; the illustrious Choi, Yoon, and Hong. More happy tears, even his step-father had a sparkle in his eye when Jun announced that he’d secured such a rosy future for himself, even if it wasn't back in Shenzhen with them.
Then the hard work started… The firm was a mix of old blood and new blood. Set up by Choi Sr. and Hong Sr., the firm had since passed to their sons and acquired a new impressive partner in one Yoon Jeonghan. They were a formidable trio and Jun was more than a little intimidated by them at first, but after five years, he was well-established in the office. Jun was well-liked because he took on all the “boring” cases. He liked those ones because the boring cases usually settled out of court. Although Jun knew how to debate and put on a show in the courtroom, he much preferred to settle things without a big audience. Make a good deal, tidy things up nice and neat without the song and dance performance of a trial.
A lot of the time, he wound up prepping materials for Seungcheol, Jeonghan, and Joshua, he kept to his quiet, discrete office, avoiding clients and courtrooms entirely where he could. It worked nicely for him.
Everything was going perfectly well for him until Monday happened.
Joshua burst into his office just before lunch with a phone in one hand and a coffee cup in the other. He was shaking from the caffeine overload, though it wasn’t as if Jun hadn’t seen that before. But it was the wild, frantic look in his eyes that raised alarm bells... It flashed "danger".
“Jun, I know it’s not your usual thing, but it’s an emergency, I need you to take this case. Check your inbox, I forwarded the details to you and told the client's representative you're one of the best in our office. She asked for me personally, but I'm up to my eyes with other cases and can't take it.”
And that was how Jun first heard of Xu Minghao.
Minghao
It started nine months ago. The opening night of Minghao’s most recent collection at the Luo Zhongli Art Museum. The collection, and the dazzling opening night, had been several months in the making and marked his most ambitious project to date. To say he was in a vulnerable place when he created the collection was an understatement. Since he had presented as an Omega in high school, he stubbornly refused to hide himself away or feel shame about who and what he was. A lot of his work had been based on deconstructing stereotypes or iconography surrounding “what it means to be a male Omega in a world where there aren’t many." He'd always enjoyed creating art but never knew what to say until one day this ache in his core opened up inside him and meaning blossomed like a flower in his head... He wanted to paint how he felt and how he saw the world shift around him and the colours change when he realised he wasn't like his classmates anymore, when they realised he wasn't like them either.
His sub-gender had been the basis for much of his works but this collection was different and special. It was a series of expressive self-portraits. He’d painted “Omega” themes countless times before, but he himself had never been the focus. For this collection, he felt as if he’d laid himself bare on the canvas each time.
Eight times, actually.
Eight was his “signature number” so most of his collections consisted of eight pieces, one for each phase of the lunar cycle. On occasion, his more ambitious projects stretched as far as sixteen pieces; two-times-eight. It felt nice and whole when things came in sets of eight.
The gallery was empty the evening before the big opening. The curator had left him alone with his work for a few moments and so, Minghao browsed his collection in solitude. This collection and the exhibition itself were both titled “The 8 Dimensions of the Artist.” Unlike other displays where he attached a card with a descriptive commentary about his inspirations, meanings, and the purpose of the piece, the pieces within this collection were only granted title cards and the viewer would have to wonder for themself ‘what does this artwork truly mean?’.
Minghao liked to believe that this choice allowed him to remain a little aloof, to have private meanings only he would understand. Despite his vocal advocacy for Omega awareness and acceptance, he liked to have some degree of privacy, it was important.
He looked at the first piece he’d painted for the collection, “A sense of self”. A depiction of himself captured from his waist up to the top of his throat, the space in the canvas where the centre of his chest ought to be had been cut out and a mirror had been inserted. His eyes swept over the piece, flitting from the delicate brushstrokes that formed his collarbones to his reflection staring back at him in the mirror situated in the middle of painted-Minghao’s chest.
The other pieces all had their own unique compositions, techniques, and stories, it was by far his most diverse collection in terms of materials, styles, and themes, and yet, the subject contained on each canvas was the same. It was him. Eight canvases, one subject, infinite interpretations, that was how he summed up the collection in an interview, but within his heart, no amount of words could capture what it meant. He couldn’t describe it, he could just feel it. He walked slowly past each piece;
"A sense of self", “Euphoria”, “The Fragile Piece”, “The Gift”, “a mouth that changes shape to form the words”, “Number 6”, “Precious Things”, and finally, “Hole”.
They’d all been tucked away in his studio, hidden under canvas covers. Only his two closest friends had been lucky enough to catch a glimpse of them, and now the gallery staff who had hung them. But tomorrow? Tomorrow the world would see them, would see him. Minghao didn’t quite know how he felt about it, this was the pinnacle of his career, but it was also a collection more personal than anything he’d ever produced before.
“Too late to go back now,” he muttered in the empty room to an audience of his own brushstrokes.
The exhibition opened the following night to an exclusive private audience ahead of the general public which would follow first thing the morning after. Minghao saved two VIP tickets for his best friends and, of course, they showed up, albeit a little later than expected. Minghao was chatting with a group of art collectors when he spotted Seokmin and Mingyu awkwardly trying to navigate the entrance with their rather flimsy grasp of Mandarin as the security guard quizzed them while Mingyu patted down his jacket in search of the tickets he may or may not have misplaced…
“Please excuse me a moment,” Minghao politely extricated himself from a riveting discussion with a pair of art collectors regarding their thoughts on the impressionist movement so he could swoop in and rescue his friends.
Mingyu apologised profusely for causing them both to be late. They’d mixed up the characters on the train station sign and boarded the wrong train then had to get a taxi across town to find the gallery again. Minghao okayed them with the security guard and they slipped inside with or without their tickets in hand (Minghao would later discover, much to Mingyu’s chagrin, that the tickets had spent the night sitting pretty on the dressing table in the hotel room). Minghao carefully tamed Mingyu’s wild hairdo, no doubt all the fuss was to blame for causing him to ruin his carefully styled hair from earlier in the day, it was fortunate he was handsome enough to pull off the “messy-chic” look and it appeared almost intentional. Seokmin hugged Minghao, kissed his cheeks and congratulated him with a smile his cheeks strained to contain.
“We’ve been waiting to see the whole collection hung up. It’s different when they’re sitting on the floor in your studio,” Seokmin beamed, “Each piece gets to shine once they’re in a gallery. You deserve this, you’ve more than earned this!”
Minghao fetched them each a flute of champagne, he’d only had one glass to calm his nerves when people first arrived for the opening and since then, he’d been kept so busy talking that he didn’t have an opportunity to get utterly inebriated. That was his usual MO at these things anyway, a little sip of something fizzy to take the edge off when the doors opened; somehow Minghao always expected no one would show up and it made him anxious. When he was inevitably proven wrong in that assumption, it was all smooth sailing from there and he enjoyed the moment entirely.
Finally, the night wrapped up at eleven and the gallery closed. Minghao was still brimming with energy and so, he and Mingyu and Seokmin ended up looking for a place to eat, drink, and celebrate the rest of the night away. They settled for a little Korean place, so the other two could get a little taste of home. Minghao knew their time in China was going to wrap up soon, but Seokmin was getting a little bit homesick after several jam-packed days of cultural sightseeing and quirky tours. He wanted something just a little bit familiar, so here they were, a quiet little bar that played K-pop through crackly speakers and had tiny bowls on the tables with slightly stale cosmos brand crisps inside.
They were drinking in that quiet little Korean bar when Minghao met him.
Maybe it was the half-flute of champagne mixed with the overpriced imported Korean beer he’d been drinking but … He could have sworn the guy was looking at him from the bar and he wasn’t bad to look at either. After such a successful opening night and perhaps a little bit due to the alcohol, though Minghao hadn't had that much, he was feeling brazen. He asked for the guy's number and they got talking (while Mingyu and Seokmin giggled from their table, considerably more juiced up than Minghao was because they'd sucked up more than one glass of champagne before they all left the gallery, still buzzing with excitement).
His name was Baekho, he was charming, and Minghao was getting tipsy … He couldn’t remember what they talked about the next morning once the high wore off after the exhausting whirlwind of a night, but the phone number he'd been given was legit. Baekho texted him from the art gallery, taking a selfie with Minghao’s portraits along the wall behind him.
“These are fucking insane” were his exact words.
Followed up by.
“I think The Gift is my favourite.”
Ah, The Gift. Perhaps the most risqué piece in the bunch. Minghao had painted himself perched on a stool against a white backdrop, one leg draped cavalierly off the edge of the stool, the other curled up toward his chest, and he was nude except for a gossamer blue ribbon wrapping around his bare form. The contortion of his limbs concealed any private parts, but the painting was without a doubt sensual and vulnerable in equal measure. Perhaps that should have been the first red flag Minghao picked up on. Maybe Baekho genuinely saw something in the piece, something of artistic or ideological merit, or (and this option was probably the most likely with the benefit of hindsight) maybe he was just flirting and picked the artistic nude self-portrait as the subject of his pick-up line. Unfortunately for Minghao it worked and when they both returned to Seoul (albeit on separate dates) he made the mistake of meeting up with the guy. Then it happened again … and again … and again.
They wound up dating pretty quickly and word got around that the esteemed artist had finally settled down with someone. Minghao begged Baekho to keep a low profile and fortunately, he was happy to oblige and Minghao had a relatively private private life with his partner. All was well.
In public, Minghao argued furiously against the stigmas and stereotypes Omegas faced. He pushed back against the scorn and disgust men like him sometimes faced for being what they were. Being in a relationship was strangely advantageous in a way he didn’t expect. He’d feared that “settling down” would tarnish his independent image, that people would start to see him as domesticated and docile now that he was dating. But it turned out quite the contrary, now, Minghao was able to argue that in a relationship he was an equal partner, not the lesser sub-gender or the lesser half. Before Baekho, he hadn’t been publicly serious or committed to anyone so he could hardly discuss relationship matters as an Omega if he was always single. It opened up a whole new series of themes to explore and he had been spending the past few months trying to develop a new collection of art exploring not just his relationship with his own Omega identity, but the role his sub-gender played in a romantic relationship with a partner.
He’d become well known as a rather subversive figure for Omegas, showing that an Omega could be fulfilled, independent, and command an entire room if he desired, he didn’t need to answer to an Alpha. Even in his own relationship, Minghao had a far louder public voice, Baekho didn’t attempt to speak over Minghao at all. But in private? Well … that was another story. The public knew little about Baekho other than the fact he was a handsome guy who was Minghao’s partner. There was speculation on his sub-gender, he kept everything so under wraps that no one knew whether he was an Alpha or a Beta, there was ample speculation but no one knew the guy well enough to confirm their suspicions. Minghao couldn’t have asked for better.
Discrete was how he described Baekho.
Discrete really was the perfect descriptor. Minghao didn’t realise until it was too late that Baekho wasn’t physically commanding and domineering as Alphas typically were, he was subtle and psychological about it. It took time for Minghao to realise the giddy simmering heat of a new romance could turn to a dangerous boil. He grew to hate how Baekho had twisted him around his little finger, Minghao was losing parts of himself and realised he needed a way out before he couldn’t find his way back to himself. He poured it into paintings, some of which would never see the light of day, others that maybe would, but he reached a tipping point where expressing his feelings in art wasn’t enough to save him. Minghao wasn’t happy changing himself to fit Baekho’s desires.
So… they broke up …
Minghao decided it would be better for them to see other people, after he realised Baekho wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows. After he realised Baekho was someone who could absolutely crush him if he wanted to …
Now, Baekho would do just that.
Mingyu and Seokmin were brilliant friends. Minghao never took their companionship for granted, especially not now. Mingyu was in his protective Alpha mode, and Seokmin was a Beta who honestly understood Minghao’s “Omega-isms” in a way no one else did. Truly, he was blessed to have them both, they were the best of both worlds and of course, if he’d only listened to them, he wouldn’t be in the current mess he was in. Mingyu’s “Alpha Intuition” had proven right and Baekho was an absolute piece of shit. Minghao wished he’d figured out about that side of him sooner; before his ex threatened to leak the intimate details of their relationship to the press.
Baekho hadn’t given him any warning about the impending shitstorm coming his way, frankly, Minghao had thought the breakup went smoothly for the first day or so. Baekho agreed and left without a fuss and that should have been the end of it. Then Mingyu texted Minghao to ask if he was okay since “the news had broken.” He’d been in his studio working on new paintings and obviously hadn’t been looking at his phone. After he realised something was up, he really wished he hadn’t looked at his phone.
Seokmin and Mingyu arrived unannounced and uninvited, but of course, they somehow knew he needed them here, in his studio, at his side. They hadn't texted to ask whether he was in his apartment or his studio, they just knew each other that well; instinct, intuition or whatever you wanted to call it, and that was how they ended up in his studio drinking mimosas and eating a frankly worrying volume of pepperoni pizza at 3 pm on a Monday in his art studio.
The first round of pizza and far-too-boozy-mimosas marked Mingyu's time to vent and express in elaborate detail all the creative ways he wanted to rearrange Baekho’s face. By the second round of hot cheesy goodness, Seokmin piped up. Not so physically inclined, Seokmin instead listed every single fault and shortcoming he could think of when it came to Minghao's ex. “I bet he doesn’t trim his toenails often enough so they grow out too long and scratch up your legs in bed.” “He totally drinks milk straight from the carton.” “He seems like the kind of guy who doesn’t warm his hands up first before taking care of you. There’s no bigger mood killer than cold hands in bed.” “He sweats profusely during sex. Tell me that one’s true, Hao, I just know I’m right.” And that was just the beginning.
By the third mimosa, Minghao was ready to tell his friends just how accurate Seokmin's many, many assumptions were. It was terrifying how accurate a read Seokmin had on the guy, and frustrating that Minghao hadn’t heeded either of his friends who clearly knew better than him. At the very least, Seokmin seemed to draw immense satisfaction from the fact his guess that Baekho got “grossly sweaty in bed” was in fact true, according to Minghao.
“It’s hot when a guy works up a sweat,” Seokmin conceded, “But when the bed turns into a slip-and-slide and it’s not because of your slick, something’s not right.”
Minghao groaned, Seokmin had the opposite problem of most Betas Minghao had encountered in his life. Most were kind of grossed out or hesitant to so much as mention slick, but Seokmin seemed almost proud of his expansive knowledge of Omegas. When Minghao presented, Seokmin and Mingyu had been fully on board for whatever changes lay ahead. Seokmin read every “So you’re presenting as an Omega” advice pamphlet the nurse had given Minghao (who didn’t care much for the vapid fact sheets and was simply adopting a ‘wait and see what happens’ approach to the changes in his body). It reached a point where Seokmin was explaining Minghao’s symptoms to him for a short period. When they graduated high school and explored physical relationships during their college years, Seokmin was morbidly curious about what sex was like for an Omega. Minghao felt absolutely no shame answering the questions that Seokmin felt no shame asking, and BOY did he have a lot of questions about Slick.
The mimosas went to Minghao's head too quickly, he hadn't realised he'd skipped lunch and he'd only had a coffee for breakfast. Despite the pizza lining his stomach, he was far easier to overwhelm with alcohol than his friends who were sensible and ate breakfast like normal people do. Fortunately, he was in safe hands. Seokmin folded out the sofa bed in the studio and fetched blankets while Mingyu scooped Minghao up and deposited him in said sofa bed.
"Can one of you guys stay, please?" Minghao whined, he'd had an exceptionally bad day, he would never have allowed himself to be so pathetic and vulnerable were it not for those two.
Mingyu had an early start for work in the morning and thought it would be better for Minghao not to wake up in a lonely empty studio. Minghao tried not to cry, Mingyu was so considerate to think of that, it was a shame they were strictly friends because he was honestly the perfect guy and perfect Alpha, he just wasn't Minghao's type, nor was Minghao the type Mingyu preferred. It was for the best, even though dating Mingyu would probably be the least problematic romantic venture in human history. Sometimes, life was unfair and inexplicable like that. Besides, it would ruin the triple-threat friendship they shared if Mingyu and Minghao started dating, Seokmin would make for a horrendous third wheel in that arrangement. They were destined to be besties and nothing more than that, and Minghao was mostly content with that arrangement. Seokmin however, didn't have to get up too too early for his own work appointments and so he volunteered to stay for as long as he could be useful and Minghao tried not to cry about that too.
The next morning, he groaned, head banging with a raging hangover. Seokmin was fashioning a breakfast for them in the paltry “kitchen” in his art studio. If you could call the creaky table in the corner where he kept a kettle for boiling water for tea, a single hotplate, and a microwave that looked like it had seen better days a kitchen. Mingyu must have stopped by with groceries on his way to work while Minghao was still asleep. He was sweet like that, and Seokmin wouldn’t risk leaving the studio just in case Minghao had woken up and found himself alone during that brief absence. Their kindness truly knew no depth, Minghao had to try not to cry (again), he knew if he started, he’d be a mess all day because he had a lot to cry about.
His publicist was giving him a migraine on top of his hangover as she rattled on about “damage control” and “public statements” over the phone. He held his phone at a distance and winced at her voice which was especially shrill today. It was no surprise she was stressed, it looked pretty bad and Minghao was deliberately ignoring all the coverage for his own sanity. Whatever the mess was, his publicist was the one who was supposed to guide him through it. Seokmin smiled as he set down a steaming bowl of haejangguk in front of him next to a glass of water and an alka-seltzer. He hadn’t missed a single thing. Minghao mouthed a ‘thank you’ at him from across the table.
Despite having a headache on top of his other headache … Minghao’s publicist was kind of spectacular, he had to give her credit for that much. She’d already outlined a public statement for him that was leagues better than anything he could come up with. With his stamp of approval, she sent along the statement to the trashy tabloid that “broke” the original story and all that was left was the second phase of her plan.
Minghao almost choked on his breakfast when she said it.
“... A lawsuit. I already have a lawyer lined up to take the case, granted, he wasn’t my first choice from this firm, I’m not totally familiar with him, but his colleagues vouched for the guy and this firm hasn’t let me down yet. You’re meeting him tomorrow morning.”
“Okay- wait,” Minghao set down his spoon and rubbed his temple, “Run that by me again, who am I meeting tomorrow?”
“Attorney Wen Junhui.”