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Yunho should have stopped drinking four shots ago, maybe five.
Arguably, his alcohol tolerance has gotten better in the time he has spent by Shim Changmin’s side, but Yunho thinks some lines might start to get blurry next and that’s not supposed to happen. Not when his tongue might slip and mess up his cover. But especially not now, when so many things are at stake and he needs to make sure the evening goes by as peacefully as possible. They can’t afford any mishaps that might lead to another confrontation—they made their move and now it’s time to wait.
Changmin pours him another shot of soju and leans back on the couch. He sits diagonal to Yunho, with his back to the living room's floor-to-ceiling windows. The penthouse is dark but the lights from the nearby buildings frame Changmin with a glowing halo.
To Yunho, he looks not quite real, completely out of reach. Yet his presence is imposing—even when his pose is relaxed and unguarded and there’s no one else in the room but the two of them, Changmin still commands the scene.
“Stop worrying,” he says, nodding at Yunho’s glass.
Yunho’s head throbs.
From this angle, there are still too many shadows clinging to Changmin’s figure and Yunho doesn’t know how to dissipate them. He has gotten closer to Changmin than he thought possible, but it’s not enough when he seems to read Yunho so easily despite all the lies. Yet it’s not the fear of being found that urges Yunho, it’s something deeper. He needs to…he wants to…
Yunho downs his glass in one gulp. Then he sighs and bends forward, his elbows digging into his thighs as he supports his head with his hands.
“We’re supposed to stay alert,” Yunho retorts, determined to stop drinking.
“We are only supposed to lay low till morning.” Changmin moves from his spot, but Yunho’s hands are shielding his eyes so he can only hear the footsteps getting closer. “This is a safe place, hyung. You can relax for a bit.”
Hyung.
Yunho’s heart skips a beat, and then it races inside his ribcage, exacerbated by the weight of Changmin’s body dropping on the couch next to him.
It’s the first time Changmin has called him like that, and the closeness—both symbolically and physically—makes Yunho feel restless in a way he’s not sure he finds entirely unwelcoming. He wanted to clear the shadows and this might be a good chance.
Still, Yunho refuses to meet Changmin’s eyes, afraid he’ll find all of his secrets laid bare. Or worse, all of the things Yunho has known for a while but has refused to acknowledge.
“ Sajangnim .” Yunho backtracks, puts up a wall for his own safety.
“It’s Changmin,” he says, sitting to the side, with one knee on the couch almost touching Yunho’s thigh. “There’s no need for formalities like that when my men aren’t around.”
Yunho groans, ruffles his hair with his hands, and lets himself lean back on the couch. He needs to clear his head, so he takes a deep breath and exhales slowly before opening his eyes and looking at Changmin.
His head rests over his arm on the back of the couch, just centimeters away from Yunho.
“No more alcohol, Changmin-ah,” Yunho tries again and hopes that his tone comes out calm and relaxed.
The glint in Changmin’s eyes is pleased and curious, but there’s something else Yunho can’t read. He feels scrutinized—it’s different from when they’d first met but not less intense—and he has to fight the urge to stand up and put some distance between them.
Deep down, he doesn’t want to.
A part of Yunho, the one at war with everything he’s always claimed to be, yearns to close the gap between them if only to feel the warmth of Changmin’s body.
What the fuck am I thinking?
I should have drank less.
Changmin sits up straight and Yunho is relieved he’s not tasked with any decision. Instead, he watches Changmin pick up a cigarette from the box on the table and light it up, taking a slow drag. Then he’s back in Yunho’s personal space, closer than before but considerate enough to turn his head to the side to release the smoke.
“You did well today, hyung.”
The praise has too much weight coming from Changmin but Yunho isn’t given any time to reflect on it. Changmin’s hand, the one that’s free from the cigarette, taps lightly on his shoulder, demanding his attention. And it could be considered playful, a harmless side effect of the alcohol, but Changmin’s fingers move past the edges of Yunho’s shirt collar, brushing teasingly against the nape of his neck.
Yunho freezes in place trying to suppress a full-body shiver. Changmin’s eyes are heavy-lidded and dark, and he’s so close that Yunho is afraid he could hear his irregular heartbeat.
It’s a moment too late, when Changmin’s mouth stretches into a smirk, that Yunho realizes he’s been staring at his lips, at the cigarette trapped between them, transfixed by the shapes of the smoke being pushed out.
“Do you want a smoke?” Changmin asks. And Yunho says yes, perhaps too desperately now that he’s being offered a way out despite what his heart might want.
He half expects Changmin to pass him his own cigarette after taking a long drag. Instead, he leaves it on the ashtray on the table, and before Yunho can even protest, Changmin is straddling him, tightening the grip on his neck to force him to look up, and blowing the smoke right into Yunho’s mouth.
Yunho is so blown away by the action, and there’s so much smoke clogging his senses that he holds it in his mouth for a second out of pure habit.
When he releases it, it’s like all the shadows over Changmin go away with the smoke.
“What are you waiting for, Yunho hyung?” Changmin asks, voice deep and serious, but so terribly honest about his desires.
It’s about time Yunho stops lying to himself as well.
He cups Changmin’s face between his hands and crashes their lips together.
He’ll deal with the ashes in the morning.