Archive of Our Own

“Any plans for more US tours after this one?” The interviewer asked.

Yunho was overheating. The tent was too small, it could barely fit the four of them in, and the only seating was sticky leather couches indented with the last guests. Yunho's all black outfit was a bad choice for today, a bad choice for every day after April and before October. But they'd all rather melt than give up the aesthetic.

“We're hoping for a full US and Europe tour next year, after our album comes out.” Jongho replied, not looking down the lense of the hand held video camera.

The interviewer was annoying. This seedy kid who hadn't seen a show in two months - at least Yunho could use the tour bus as his excuse, but what could this guy say? Every question was what they'd already answered earlier today, yesterday, all week. ‘When's the next album?’ and ‘When are you announcing a tour?’ or ‘Where's Hongjoong?’.

Hongjoong was on voice rest, like he always was after a set. He never did interviews, everyone knew that. But everyone always asked. Yunho hated being put on interviewer duty, he hated the tents and the lack of air conditioning because festivals were cheap. Because festival organisers didn't see bands as people. Yunho's arms ached. The familiar ache of playing guitar. Maybe he should start working out more, or maybe just ignore it. The interviewer kept talking, Jongho kept answering, Yeosang occasionally tried to add his own thoughts but would always be cut off. That was another thing these interviewers did - they only cared for the vocals.

When the interview ended, Yunho wasted no time in getting out. Once the video camera was off he'd practically sprinted out, throwing an excuse of getting bottles of water for them all. He'd let Jongho cover the fall out when Yunho doesn't show back up, he'll let Jongho be polite for him.

He found Hongjoong and Seonghwa in the band's tent - a sort of makeshift green room but worse - the pair of them hogging the singular electric fan. The fan was the holy grail. Over the three days of this festival all eight of them had fought tooth and nail to sit the closest to it. Wooyoung had almost lost a finger, but Yunho honestly didn't feel any remorse. Seonghwa held up his hand in a limp greeting, Hongjoong just closed his eyes like he was about to collapse. There were more leather couches. By the end of this, Yunho was determined he'd destroy everything leather ever.

“How was the interview?” Seonghwa asked.

“Hellish. Jongho's gonna need the special bunk as payment.”

The special bunk, like the fan, was another aspect of tour that the band tried killing each other over. With how the tour bus was designed the last bunk had a much higher ceiling, with only a small shelf above it rather than another bed. Every bunk would be assigned at the start of each tour by drawing straws, and occasionally the special bunk was gifted if they all agreed on it. Jongho usually got it. The last two tours Jongho had it. Fair enough, the kid was more than viscous and even Wooyoung wouldn't try to fight him for it. He was just glad the festival had provided a hotel this year, even if it was four to a room.

Yunho thought about the next tour. It was in a month. It always came around quicker than he liked, always shocking him out of his system prematurely. This next one was from June to October, five whole months. He'd get through it, sure, but then they'd go on another tour just a few months after. It was their fourth full US tour, but only their second with venues out of basements. By no means were the venues big, most didn't hold more than two hundred people, but it came with their music that they'd never be selling out arenas. Especially not five years in.

“I was thinking about throwing Jongho off the bus if he took the bunk again.” Seonghwa laughed.

“He'd have your skin before you could even think about doing that-”

“I'm having the bunk.” Jongho, speak of the devil, entered the tent.

Hongjoong had passed out on one of the couches, leaving Jongho to stand up leaning against one of the tent poles. Too bad for him, he was the furthest away from the fan.

“Yeosang's not coming?” Yunho asked, wondering where their drummer had run off to.

“He's gone to find Wooyoung so they can watch the Bowling For Soup set.” Jongho replied. He twisted an empty bottle of water, splitting it in half.

“I can't even stomach standing out there in the sun for another hour.”

“Ah, well, he's like half a ball of fire so he'll be fine.”

Yeosang, being probably the only one of them still retaining brain cells, had dyed his hair green a few weeks before. It came in clutch really. It'd faded enough that Yeosang still felt presentable enough to be seen outside, but not having dark hair like the rest of them meant his scalp wasn't burning like Yunho's was. If only Yunho had the guts to go blond. Yeosang also wasn't afraid to wear white so overall he enjoyed these summer shows more than anyone. Jeez, it was only May. It would just keep getting hotter over the next few months.

Despite all of Yunho's complaints, he did actually like festivals. He did like tours, he loved them really. Staying cooped up at home made him go a little stir crazy after the first few weeks, like his body was physically craving the hells of tour. Who knew he'd prefer leg cramps in a van over an actual king sized bed. But then Yunho had always just blamed it on living in the US full time. Maybe if they'd stayed in Korea he'd like staying home more, though tours were an entirely different world in Korea.

“Big news!” San proudly pushed his way into the tent, arms spread out wide and a grin on his face. “Firstly, I just saw a guy do a backflip off the stage scaffolding, landed fine and everything - it was insane!”

“Is that all? You woke Joong up for that-” Seonghwa started, but was interrupted.

“And! I got our New Jersey show updated to a hotel.” San mocked a bow towards Seonghwa.

Thank all that is holy and good, Yunho was over the moon. Hongjoong waved his arms around in celebration. Nothing was better than getting a hotel, it was more than a welcomed rest, it was more than a godsend, more than getting away from the bus bunks. All of them loved hotels. They must've been Yunho's favourite place by now.

“Rooms?” Jongho asked.

“Four!” San smiled.

Even better. Hotels were a plus, but only having to share a room with one person was so much more rewarding.

“You are fucking beautiful.” Seonghwa excitedly grabbed San's cheek and kissed it. It was normal for them to overreact to news like this.

San, their manager, had a knack for getting into places. Upgrading stops from bus to hotel, upgrading venues from small basements to small theatres (which, in this scene, was big) like it was nothing. San had a gift. A true gift of chatting up the right people. Yunho didn't even know what kind of people were showing up to this festival, but somehow San had found the right ones to get them a fucking hotel. There was hope for this tour after all.

•°•°•°•

Yunho plucked the strings on his guitar, his other hand sending a thumbs up to the sound engineer at the opposite end of the venue. Behind him, Seonghwa played a few notes on his bass guitar. Sound check got quicker over the years as they fell into a rhythm of it all, when they learned their personal methods and organised themselves well enough. It was the first show of the tour - in Las Vegas of all places because San wanted to be different and book the tour backwards to how they usually did it. The venue was only a small theatre, it's what they were most used to, and Yunho wasn't one to leave his comfort zone.

“Ah, shit-” Yunho turned to see Mingi expecting his own guitar, pulling a face at it. “Can you get me the fender? The red one, G-400.” Mingi said to one of the crew.

“Damaged?” Yunho asked.

Sometimes their equipment got damaged. Sometimes their guitars were stored improperly for transit. They all expected to go through at least three guitars per show on a bad night - Yunho really believed tonight was a bad night.

“Completely fucked. It's going to make the whole first half sound off.” Mingi complained.

Yunho would’ve replied, if not for Hongjoong's screaming into the handheld mic. Pitchy screeches rang through the venue, Seonghwa flinched from where he stood too close. Hongjoong went through a few lyrics of their first song, not the harsher guttural screams just to be safe, then nodded to show he was happy with the quality.

Yunho watched as Mingi set up the fender guitar. The red contrasted the shock of white hair, Mingi had bleached it just two nights before - Yeosang, too, had returned to a full neon green - and he'd be easy to spot in the dark. Yunho really liked the white, he really liked how Mingi let it grow out more than usual. As the lead guitarist, Yunho didn't often get the chance to watch Mingi on stage, his focus entirely on playing the right notes in time with Jongho and Hongjoong's vocals. It was a shame, really, because Mingi really liked to fuck around on stage.

“It's always mine.” Mingi mumbled.

“That's just what you get for being a rhythm guitarist, Min. It's bad luck.” Yunho teased.

The lights flashed vibrantly. Strobe effects filling the whole stage and making Yunho's head hurt. He focused his sight on San setting up the merch table, deciding that looking at Mingi would just distract him more.

“Hey, don't show that you're not feeling this one as much. Your groupies won't like you anymore.” Mingi said, poking fun like he always did.

“All my groupies moved onto you ever since you got that stupid fucking tattoo.” Yunho laughed.

Mingi's tattoo wasn't stupid, though Yunho wouldn't admit it right to his face. For the sake of his pride, obviously. The compass and kraken crawled up his forearm that conveniently was on show every time he played a note. Yunho thought it was stupid that people went so crazy over it, but the more he looked the more he understood. It wasn't a stupid tattoo, it was hot, and Yunho would never Mingi know that he thought that.

“It's all good, we're good.” Hongjoong said, signalling that sound check was over.

Yunho must've been too caught up in his head to notice that Yeosang had completed his part already.

“It looks like it'll be a full house.” San said, coming to lean on the stage. “Don't get lost in it, Hwa.”

Hongjoong had already disappeared back into the green room to put his makeup on. San had convinced him to tone it down from the Bowie-esque looks he usually presented so now it was just heavy eyeliner and coloured contacts. ‘To freak people out’ had been his reasoning.

Yunho really wasn't feeling the show tonight. His guitar felt too heavy where it slung from his shoulders, his boots tied too constricting. It wasn't going to be a good show, not for him. Hongjoong would be happy with his performance, Jongho would hit his best note and ride that high for the rest of the night. Yunho feared if this first show was bad, the whole tour would follow in the same way.

•°•°•°•

The music was painfully loud, it thrummed through his skin, his bones, his blood. Yunho's concentration was on playing the right parts, on blocking out the rest of the band, blocking out the sound of the crowd. The beat was good. Familiar. One of their older songs, from their first EP. Yunho loved playing. He could only ever describe it as ‘love’ - a deep adoration for being able to create something so personal, so connected to the five other people on stage. Yunho stuck to the left side of the stage, where he always stood, but as the song climaxed he noticed movement to the side of him.

Mingi was right there next to him, not on the other side of Seonghwa like he was meant to be. The pair faced each other, their guitars almost touching. Yunho's hand brushed too close as he moved the pick. Mingi seemed like he was threatening to move even closer. Yunho kept his eyes down at the strings.

Keep playing, keep playing, keep playing, keep playing-

Yunho felt a hand on his face, he heard the abrupt end of Mingi's guitar strumming. He couldn't even begin to think through what was happening before Mingi kissed him. Both hands on Yunho's face, hard, painful almost. Mingi's snake bite piercings digging into Yunho's lips. His guitar was making an ugly sound, like a car crash in audio form as Yunho's hands lost all direction.

And then it was over in seconds. Mingi was back over near Jongho, playing the notes once again. Yunho wasn't. He stood there, dumbfounded, confused. Quickly he brought his hands back to his guitar to fill in the empty space of his absence. Fuck. Keep playing, keep playing.

Hongjoong's shrieking vocals filled his focus. Forget about Mingi. Forget what he just did.

•°•°•°•

Yunho lay awake in his bunk.

He was the only one who'd retired to the back of the bus despite it being too late in the night for any normal person to be awake. Partly it was Wooyoung's fault that he couldn't sleep.

“Yeosang looks fucking angelic in this one.” Wooyoung was speaking way too loudly as he showed off his pictures from tonight's show.

“And here's the one I got of Mingi and Yunho eating face.”

There it was. The real reason Yunho couldn't sleep. He tossed in the bunk, pulling the thin sheet up over his head. The lights were dim but still bright enough to stop him from falling asleep out of sheer necessity. These lights never turned off unless the bus was off, and they were travelling down the interstate. He had to listen to Wooyoung's comments, to Jongho's polite little laugh, to Seonghwa's oddly homoerotic questions - no, Mingi didn't answer those. Yunho really did try to drone it all out.

He really wished Mingi hadn't kissed him. Not because he didn't enjoy it, no, Yunho was fine with it in theory. As a concept, Yunho was down for kissing guys, men? People. He was fine with light pecks on Yeosang's cheeks, he was fine with the ass slaps in band practice. There was not a bone in Yunho's body that was against the idea of kissing Mingi. But ‘idea’ and ‘reality’ were two completely different things, especially when the latter included kissing a guy in front of a crowd of a possibly homophobic audience. He'd seen it before - a band speaking out against slurs being thrown around at their shows, and the crowd booing them right off the stage. Whole bands removed from festival line ups due to outcry from stuck up middle aged metalheads. It was hard enough being a fully Asian band in this music scene, let alone one so open to being gay. Yunho was fine with the idea of kissing guys. He wasn't fine with the reality of backlash.

However, Yunho really wished Mingi would kiss him again. Not on stage next time. Was there a next time? Mingi hadn't done anything that would suggest a next time, but then he hadn't given a heads up for the first time either. It wasn't that Yunho had given much thought to it in the past, he hadn't spent other nights in his bunk thinking over every detail of it. He hadn't written yearning lyrics for Mingi that Hongjoong would later put in a song. Instead Yunho was just oblivious to this deep carnal urge that was now bubbling up from under his skin. The urge to feel Mingi's touch again. Better this time, without a guitar in the way. Without eyes staring up at them. Mingi had awakened something in him. Surely that was bad.

“Don't post that one on the MySpace page.” Mingi said. Yunho figured he was referring to one of Wooyoung’s pictures, but he didn't know which one.

“What? No way! I'm posting the make out pictures. It'll bring traffic to the page.” Wooyoung argued back.

Wooyoung treated the band's MySpace page like a bible. Like a visual display of everything about them. Sometimes he even treated it like his own child, like an online website spouted legs and learnt how to say ‘papa’. Wooyoung had been this gangly awkward kid Yeosang knew once, with a violent passion for art - but he couldn't play any instrument they gave him - so they'd packed him up in the first ever tour van and labelled him the band's photographer. Literally labelled, too, because Hongjoong made stickers.

“Yeah but it'll ruin the surprise. I want people not to expect something like this when they come to a show.” Mingi defended himself.

The implications had Yunho's head spinning. To him, that sounded like Mingi planned to kiss Yunho again. Still on the stage, much to Yunho's disappointment. Mingi spoke about kissing Yunho like it was some timed and practised act. Something that was just part of the performance, like how Hongjoong would climb up into the rafters of certain venues. Yeosang practised spinning his drumsticks, he liked to make a show of it. Mingi sounded like he wanted to make a show of kissing Yunho. Surely, this was worse.

“You've got a point,” Wooyoung replied after a moment of deliberation. “But ‘something like this’ is entirely expected when you've got Hongjoong as a flaming homo.”

Hongjoong laughed at the comment, thankfully. Yunho didn't feel like explaining to Wooyoung why that could've come across as homophobic. But nonetheless it wasn't intended that way. After all, Yunho thought all of them were a little gay in some aspects.

“I don't want them fucking posted.” Mingi sounded tougher now. More deadset.

Maybe Mingi actually didn't want to kiss Yunho again. Maybe he was telling Wooyoung not to let word get out that Mingi openly kissed other men. Yunho hated how the thought turned in his head, hated the taste it left behind in his mouth, and how his stomach acid leapt up into his throat to wash away the mere idea of it. It sounded plausible. More realistic. Mingi didn't want to kiss Yunho again.

And that was fine! He could live with that! It's not like he'd already planned out how to corner Mingi alone one night and kiss the other guitarist himself. Nope. Living the rest of his life Mingi kiss free would be absolutely doable. Yunho was fine with the thought of never kissing Mingi ever again.

•°•°•°•

Mingi did in fact kiss him again.

The same way. On the stage again, this time in Washington. They'd done a few more shows in LA and northern California, but then drove over a day to get to Washington. Hongjoong initially thought it was Washington DC, but he could be excused when considering that he was drunk for half the ride. They'd be flying to the Midwest in the next few days - the band had never really gained traction in the Southern States.

Mingi didn't kiss Yunho in the LA shows. But as soon as the Seattle show hit it was like Yunho had been sent back in time to the first day. Mingi kissed the exact same, during the same song too. Yunho felt his hands drop the same way they'd done before, he felt the clash of their guitars colliding into each other. The clash of teeth. Of metal pressed up against his lips. And most of all Yunho felt the empty space after in the exact same way.

There was this overwhelming sense of want. Yunho didn't allow himself to recognise it at first, not during first contact of Mingi's hands on his face. But it exploded out of him once Mingi started kissing him. It was short, over too quick. Unlike Las Vegas, Yunho felt himself reaching out to pull Mingi back in. He missed by a hair's width, Mingi already bouncing across the stage far from Yunho's touch.

Wooyoung had taken more pictures. It wasn't like he was purposely aiming to capture Yunho's gay panic, the two of them simply just got in the shot by coincidence. Wooyoung couldn't pick and choose what to photograph, so he just captured everything. Yunho made a mental note to steal Wooyoung's camera at some point and print off the pictures. For no reason at all. Absolutely no reason.

The set was over so fast. Almost as fast as Mingi had-

Stop thinking about it. Yunho needed to stop thinking about it, it would just keep him in this cycle of a mindset that wasn't helpful to anyone. Yunho had to snap out of this trance. The speakers buzzed as the last song ended. Jongho's breathing harsh on the mic, clearly out of breath but not yet torn to shreds like Hongjoong. Having two vocalists was helpful, at least, because it meant they didn't have to carry a full two hours by themselves. Hongjoong had tried it once, though only in makeshift rehearsals, and almost clawed out his voice box by the end of it. Seonghwa offered to cover Jongho if he was ever sick, and it worked out well enough.

A camera was shoved into Yunho's face when he climbed down the stage steps.

“What the fuck-”

“Say hi to the vlog!” Wooyoung smiled, moving the camera to pan over to Seonghwa.

“Wooyoung, I'll neuter you like a cat if you don't get that out of my face.” Yunho threatened. He was too tired after the set.

“Aw, c’mon. It's for MySpace, all the bands are doing backstage vlogs. For recognition, popularity, getting your name out there!” Wooyoung theatrically spread his arm out.

Yunho picked up a towel from the couch, he honestly didn't care if it was clean or not. Wooyoung was talking to Mingi, panning the camera up and down to show his full outfit. It was just black jeans and a graphic tee. Some bands had these overly dramatic stage outfits that correlated to their albums, but Yunho had always favoured casual clothing. Mingi's hair was still white, he had touched up the roots and Yunho noticed it like he'd caught some sort of plague. Noticing Mingi was detrimental to his health, it was going to get him left behind at a gas station or kidnapped by a crazy fan.

“Great show, guys, really good. Really proud of us tonight. Bring it in.” San stumbled and tugged both Mingi and Yunho into a tight hug.

Yunho had, first, made the mistake of standing next to Mingi. And secondly, he'd made the mistake of looking at Mingi while San tried to hug them even tighter. He made eye contact. They always say not to do that, don't they? Or was that for bears? Mingi looked so happy, so ecstatic about having finished another show. And really, Yunho couldn't help the spike of joy that shot through him when Mingi's arm half embraced him in an attempt to hug San back. Wooyoung filmed it all.

“I'm going for a smoke break.” Yunho announced.

The venue was emptying out now, it was easy for him to just slip out of the crowd. Well, maybe not easy, but not noticeable. He'd tripped over a wire and almost broken his ankle. Hongjoong would have his head if he hadn't landed last minute. Begrudgingly, Yunho had to borrow a cigarette off some guy out the front - he'd left his own pack on the bus.

“I thought you quit?” Mingi asked.

Yunho practically jumped out of his skin. Mingi scared him shitless, like some ghost haunting him. Since when had he followed? Only Hongjoong ever came with him to smoke.

“We're on tour. It doesn't count.” Lame excuse, but Yunho could live with it.

“Ah, sure, I wasn't aware that's how lungs work now.”

“Oh, y'know, it's just the latest update. Lads on tour, no carbs before Marbs. All the typical bodily exceptions.” Yunho spoke nonchalantly, passing off his jokes as serious. Mingi gave a small laugh.

“Are we a bodily exception? Or is it the stage?” Yunho knew exactly what Mingi was referring to.

“The stage. It'd only happened on the stage. I wouldn't fuck with the bodily exceptions. Might lose a tailbone or something.”

Yunho took a long drag of the cigarette. He hated this brand, he would've never chosen it voluntarily. But like the bodily exceptions, Yunho had to work with what the universe gave him. And when Yunho was given tools, he shaped them into a shovel and dug his own grave.

“I wouldn't stress about the exceptions. I'm not the one coughing up a lung and calling it a song. I'm just here to provide a backing track to it.”

“Just? You do more than ‘just’, Yun. For one, I wouldn't even be in the band without you.”

Yunho knew that. It was painful to think about. Mingi hadn't joined the band in any way that caused Yunho bad memories, but simply thinking about how he was responsible for Mingi's entire life was a weight that Yunho couldn't carry. He'd rather leave that suitcase of luggage under a bed in Colorado two years ago. He'd rather climb into that grave he digs.

“You'll quit again after tour, right?” Mingi asked.

“Sure. Yeah. Three or four months is good enough to heal up my lungs.”

“You're just taking the piss now.” Mingi laughed. He kicked the toe of his boot into the pavement.

People kept passing them. At first it was those who'd watched them play, a few had asked for their merch to be signed but no one held them up for too long. Then it morphed into everyday Seattle citizens out too late. Yunho must've looked really weird from an outside perspective. No jacket, just his thin t-shirt against the night chill. A cigarette clutched in shaking hands. A man standing next to him who'd only kiss him under the false pretences of a concert venue.

“Take up smoking, Min. Allow me to be an enabler, allow me to corrupt you.” Yunho grinned, almost threatening. “If you smoke with me, then I'm not going against quitting. It's not smoking if there's two of us.”

“Bullshit.”

“Enable the enabler, Mingi. You're already one of them.”

Yunho was letting the smoke get to him. He was tired, really fucking tired. He wanted to sleep, in a real bed, not a bunk opposite the special bunk where Jongho taunted him.

“What am I enabling?”

“Kissing me on stage. That's enabling me to smoke.” Yunho dropped the cigarette and used his boot to rub it into the floor.

•°•°•°•

They'd flown into Chicago too early. It was much too early for Yunho to be walking around the streets of some city. Their next show wasn't until late tonight, so Yunho had to find some sort of entertainment.

Mingi loved Chicago. All eight of them knew this, it was hard not to know it. Chicago was home to Fall Out Boy, and Mingi loved them. Every time they were in the city, he'd walk around saying ‘what if we ran into them right now’. They never did. Nonetheless, Mingi still loved the city for what it had to offer.

Yunho didn't. Yunho used to love Chicago, he used to travel from café to café exploring every coffee bean like a new country. But now Chicago looks like Mingi. Now it sounded like Mingi's name. Now the buildings shaped themselves into Mingi's face. And of course Yunho didn't hate Mingi. But Yunho hated how the city taunted him about the guitarists. So Yunho needed to find something so incredibly un-Mingi in Chicago.

“Stop being an ass.” Jongho said. He took the book out of Yunho's hands.

They were in a bookstore. A chain, not a small business or anything of the like. It was busy already, despite it being early in the day, with people at every shelf skimming through the different genres and authors. It was just the two of them, the other six splitting up between themselves. Yunho had picked up some celebrity autobiography, he didn't plan on buying it, nor reading the blurb.

“I'm only full of love, Jongho. I don't know what you're talking about.”

“We've been on the road for less than a week. We didn't even have to drive the whole way to Chicago. And you're walking around like someone shoved a knife in your knees.”

Jongho put back the book, but picked up another. No more interesting, if anything the grey cover was just bland.

“It's not like we don't understand that tour is tiring and all, but you really don't look like you're enjoying it.” Jongho said.

“I like playing.” A meek reply.

“You like playing. You don't like tour. Those are two different things.” Jongho kept the book, deciding to buy it after all. “If you need time away from the band, it's fine. You can go home early, we'll call in someone to cover you. Yunho, don't force yourself to be here.”

Leave the tour? Yunho felt like he'd been struck with the highest criminal charge in a court. Jongho was so matter of fact about it. Sure, he sounded supportive. But it felt like a confrontation. Did Jongho think Yunho wasn't good enough for the band anymore?

“I don't need to leave the tour. I'm just not easing into it well.”

“Is that not going to cause problems later on?” Jongho probed.

Yes, it would. It definitely would.

“No.”

All Yunho knew was tour. He knew how to record an album, and he knew how to perform it city to city, state to state. That's what he did, that's who he was. Yunho wasn't meant to leave it prematurely and rot away in some empty apartment. He lived with Yeosang, after all, so he'd be completely alone if he went home.

“It's an option. If you can't continue, you can leave.”

Jongho said it like a death sentence. Yunho was on death row. Jongho wasn't just offering the possibility, he was expecting it.

“Buy your goddamn book. I'm not leaving the tour.”

•°•°•°•

Mingi was kissing him again.

Yunho wanted it to be different this time. Instead of letting his hands go still when Mingi migrated over the stage to him, Yunho used the red fender guitar as leverage. He used it to anchor Mingi in. He gained a few extra seconds, a longer moment than what he'd got in Las Vegas or Seattle. Mingi let it happen, and when he pulled away he didn't walk off. Instead Mingi let his forehead rest against Yunho's, he looked down at their almost touching hands as they both played.

Yunho would honestly risk ruining the whole set if it meant he could hold Mingi's hand.

Mingi stayed there for the rest of the show. Every song, Mingi stayed right there. He'd stepped back a bit, one of their songs needed more arm room (Yunho still blamed Hongjoong for writing it) so he wasn't too bothered about the loss of, what? Intimacy? Was there even such a thing when a crowd of people watched them, when a crowd paid to hear their music. Yunho was starting to think he was a lousy guitarist. He'd apply for the merch stand next time.

“Close, much?” Mingi said.

It caught Yunho off guard. Mingi never spoke to him during this act. Kissing was much more personal, sure, but actually saying words was entirely different. It was accepting the reality of it all, it was speaking it into existence.

“Hm. Bodily exceptions.”

“Chain smoking asshole.” Mingi laughed. “Don't let Joong here you say that, he'll be naming the next album after it.”

Hongjoong had actually thrown in a new song for tonight's set. Their album was coming out just before New Year's, San was pushing for them to start giving out snippets of it. Marketing. Fuckass business major. Yunho wasn't struggling with the song. Really, it was one of the easier ones he'd had to learn. It was depressingly melancholy, though, but Jongho was somehow an expert in conveying that with his voice. Yunho was sure Hongjoong hadn't gone through any divorces yet, but the man sure wrote like he had.

“Thank you Chicago!” Mingi called out at the end of the last song.

“Someone get him Pete Wentz’ number before he swings from the roof.” Seonghwa joked.

Yunho, like an open ‘fuck you’ to Jongho's earlier suggestion, stayed on the stage. He didn't hide out in the green room. No, he sat on the edge of the stage and signed albums for this group of teenage girls. He spoke about his favourite Metallica songs with this guy who'd gotten into the band for Yunho's ability to play guitar. It was something Hongjoong and Jongho did a lot, as faces of the band they were popular. People wanted to see them more after shows. Yunho was making a point - he loved playing shows, he loved tour. He deserved to be here.

“They liked the song, Joong.” Yunho said. The venue had cleared out by now.

“Thanks. I didn't think they'd feel it, with how slow it is.”

“There's a place for it. We can't be fast and loose all the time.” Yunho was carrying his guitar back to the storage boxes, Hongjoong just pushed himself to sit atop one.

“You should really be thanking Mingi, y'know.” Yunho gave Hongjoong a confused look. “He helped write it. The chorus was all his.”

Shit.

The song. How did it go? What was the chorus? It was sad, that's all Yunho remembered. Call it a habit, but Yunho didn't often listen to lyrics. He was a music guy, he listened out for bass lines and guitar solos. He knew the song had this depressing aura to it, but he couldn't place the specific words.

“I'll uh- I'll bring it up. Next time I see him.”

•°•°•°•

The band had four shows in Chicago.

By the end of it, Yunho was happy. Truly, he wasn't making it up. He'd gotten into the right swing of things. The right mindset. This was tour, this was Yunho. Tour Yunho. A completely new and different person.

Maybe it had something to do with Mingi not kissing him anymore.

If it was that, then Yunho wasn't happy. He just wasn't distracted anymore. Those were two similar feelings, it was reasonable to get them mixed up. Yunho wasn't happy with tour, he was just clear headed. He wasn't happy with Mingi's sudden celibacy.

“No more bodily exceptions?” Yunho asked.

Everyone in the tour bus was asleep, apart from him and Mingi. Yunho's bunk was above Mingi's, he could hear the guitarist flipping pages of a book. Mingi only read on tour, when there was no Internet connection for his laptop.

“Do you still smoke?” Mingi shot back a question instead of an answer.

“Yeah.”

“Then there's still bodily exceptions.” Yunho couldn't help but laugh airily.

They were at the back of the bus. It was harder to hear them, if anyone actually was awake, over the sound of the engine running. The sound often kept Yunho awake until the sun came up.

“Doesn't feel like it. You stopped your act on stage.” Yunho didn't have to explicitly say it. Mingi already knew.

“You were uncomfortable. I stopped. I'm not someone who'd overstep.”

“Uncomfortable?” Yunho asked. He didn't remember ever telling Mingi he was uncomfortable with them kissing.

“I get it, Yun. It was weird, I shouldn't have done it in the first place. We're a band, not some softcore website.”

Yunho climbed out of the bunk, landing ever so disastrously right in front of Mingi's. He pulled back the curtain to look at his band mate. Mingi looked soft. No make up, no dark lines under his eyes. Just Mingi. No façade of music hiding him away. Somehow, Yunho had forgotten that Mingi could be like this. Forgotten that he'd be able to see Mingi outside of lyrics and guitar strings.

“You don't want to kiss me?” Yunho asked.

“Don't say it like that.”

“Like what? What do you even think up there?” Yunho poked Mingi's forehead. He remembered how Mingi had pressed their heads together, how intimate it felt. How personal.

“Like some Disney channel special. You're not a girl.” Mingi tried to close the fabric curtain, Yunho held it in place.

“You like that I'm not a girl.”

“Shut the fuck up, Yun. You'll wake someone up.”

Bodily exceptions was a stupid fucking phrase Yunho had made up on the fly. And now it dictated his every move. He smoked because it was a bodily exception on tour. He swore in every other sentence because it was a bodily exception from God. He'd only ever kissed Mingi on stage, because bodily exceptions ruled out any other place on the planet. Bodily exceptions. Exceptions of his body, of his flesh, his skin, his bones, his blood. It boiled away at him. This invisible line Yunho wasn't allowed to cross. A carnal urge restricting him in place.

“There's no bodily exceptions.” Yunho said. He was staring straight into Mingi's eyes.

And, really, Mingi looked scared.

“Let me kiss you. Not on stage, not hiding behind a smoker's excuse.”

When Mingi nodded, slowly, like a deer caught in the headlights, Yunho wasted no time. He let his hands hold Mingi's face gently, the tips of his fingers reaching soft strands of blond-white hair. It mimicked what Mingi did on stage. But now there were no eyes. No bodily exceptions. Yunho kissed Mingi like both their lives depended on it. Like the sun was exploding right outside the dark walls of the bus. The stage kisses had always been messy, disgusting almost, with clashing teeth and tongues exploring once forbidden places. Stage kisses had always been just that - a stage, an act, a play. Characters they embodied when an instrument was placed in their hands. Now the kiss wasn't violent, wasn't a battle for attention. Mingi was still, he kissed back, but he was still. Then he melted into it, and Yunho felt like he'd never hear ‘bodily exceptions’ ever again.

It was an awkward angle. Yunho was sitting on the floor of a tour bus, after all, and he didn't want to think about the different kinds of disgrace that was etched into the old carpet. He had to lean in to reach Mingi, a knee balancing on the edge of the bunk where it met the thin blanket. His neck ached from being craned in, his elbows locked at the joint causing a pain to shoot up into his shoulders. Physically, it was more than hellish. Yunho would much prefer literally any other way of kissing. But mentally, emotionally, Yunho was on another planet.

“You taste like shit, Yun.” Mingi laughed as the kiss broke naturally.

“I'll quit right after tour. I won't smoke again.” Yunho said. He wasn't entirely sure that he'd stick to it.

“No more bodily exceptions means no more smoking, dickhead. I'm not going to kiss someone who tastes like a cement mixer.”

Yunho laughed quietly. He let his head come down to rest on Mingi's forehead. Like the last stage kiss. But now it's different.

“Go back up to your bunk.” Yunho whined in protest. “I'm kicking you out. I won't be to blame when Seonghwa comes for you in the morning.” Mingi playfully, gently, pushed Yunho off.

“Seonghwa's an enabler, y'know.”

“Yunho- Everyone's an enabler to you. Just accept that it's you enabling yourself.”

Yunho, though he'd already stood up to climb back to his bed, leant down to catch Mingi's eyesight one last time. Mingi was smiling wide, almost comical.

“Oh, how I love being an enabler. Isn't it just so fun?” Mingi kicked him in the shins.

•°•°•°•

Yunho really had given up smoking. For real this time. Cold turkey. He'd even call his mother about it, which was like setting it all in stone so he couldn't go back on it. She'd always known he smoked. Since he was fourteen, which was significantly better than his father who'd been smoking since ten.

Instead, Yunho turned to kissing Mingi. His drug of choice, really. And so far, no scientist had declared rhythm guitarists as carcinogenic so hopefully Yunho was safe.

The stage kisses continued. But Yunho didn't regard them in the same way, these new ones felt less of a Shakespearean tragedy and more of, well, the real thing. And really, if Yunho couldn't smoke anymore, then New Jersey was the best place to be. The city reeked of cigarettes, death, sometimes crushed spirits (Jongho was particularly good at sniffing that one out) and Yunho felt a weird comfort in it.

“This isn't what I thought San meant when he said hotel.” Yunho had said when the pair of them made their way to the dingy motel pool.

A motel. Not a hotel. Someone needed to brush San up on an English lesson, and it wouldn't be Yunho. There were still four rooms, so at least Yunho could find some peace in only having to share with one person. Hongjoong. He was rooming with Hongjoong. Yeosang had begged to be with Jongho, and Seonghwa had plans to stay up all night speaking logistics with San. Wooyoung had literally, physically, grabbed onto Mingi like a koala in order to keep him as his room mate.

Which is why Yunho had dragged Mingi down to the pool. They only let their legs dangle in the water. Something about actually swimming in it made Yunho's skin crawl with fear. It was New Jersey at the end of the day.

“Hongjoong told me about the song you wanted to add to the album.” Mingi said. Their hands were intertwined.

“I don't know if he'll actually put it on the track list. It's late in the game-”

“You called it ‘bodily exceptions’?”

Yunho's cheeks turned red slightly, out of embarrassment. He'd never written lyrics for the band before. But after that night on the bus in Chicago, Yunho had just snapped. He'd stayed up all night writing all these words, all these phrases, all these rhythmic patterns for his guitar. Each and every one of them leading back to Mingi. Out of a lack of shame and self respect, Yunho took those lyrics to Hongjoong the next day. They'd worked on it together, made it better, more cohesive (and actually playable for Yeosang). Yunho had no intention of putting it on the album, and if he did they wouldn't have time to record it in a studio - it would only ever exist as a bonus track recording of their next gig. A live only version of a song that embodied stage kisses. Hongjoong had insisted that they put the song on the album.

“I called it-” Yunho paused dramatically. “Bodily exceptions. It's a bonus track, so really, there's no bodily exceptions.”

“You're annoying when you say shit like that-” Mingi grinned.

“I'm Edgar Allen fucking Poe.” Yunho smiled back, but yelped when Mingi poked him in the ribs.

The pool water reflected the street lights from outside the motel gates. It wasn't completely dark already, but the sky in New Jersey always seemed to be constantly etched in a shade of pink. And really, carnally, Mingi's laugh was the best part of it all.

“I can't believe I'm immortalised in music with you.” Mingi rested his head on Yunho's shoulder.

Immortalised. That's what they were. Audible legacy. Members of a band scratched into a CD that would be found in twenty, thirty, forty years. And the two of them were immortalised in it.

There were no more stage kisses for the rest of the tour. Only real ones. Only immortalised guitarists in some shitty post-hardcore band.