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*
Yunho brings it up on a Friday night.
He's at the kitchen sink, giving Mangdoongie a bath because she's only been here for approximately two hours and already managed to chew through a bottle of raspberry syrup and it's not Yunho's fault she looks like she just tore an elderly person limb from limb—
"What the fuck are you doing?"
Startled, Yunho looks up.
Changmin's staring at him with what Yunho hopes is only mild irritation.
"Who told you to get a white dog," Yunho mumbles defensively, scrubbing a dish brush through Mangdoongie's fluff.
"But," Changmin says, apparently so helplessly frustrated he can't even form a sentence. "THE SINK?"
Yunho averts his eyes, trying for a diversion. "Your sister dropped her off two hours ago and—"
"THE SINK."
Mangdoongie licks Yunho's wrist with worry.
"Don't yell in front of your dog," Yunho says casually.
Changmin gives a strangled little growl, then rolls up his sleeves and charges for the sink, pushing Yunho out of the way. "Move."
"No," Yunho frowns, trying to scrub the syrup out of Mangdoongie's ears. "I'll do it faster. I gotta meet Donghae in... shit, ten minutes ago."
Changmin pauses.
"No," he says, stepping away from the sink with a glower. "You're going to stay here and fix my dog."
Yunho really needs to go meet Donghae.
He can't spend every fucking Friday night at home. It's getting kinda pathetic. He's tired, completely bone-crushingly exhausted, really, and he doesn't really want to go out or socialize or drink or party, but he. He has to. He really has to.
"What the hell do they make syrups from," he grunts, repeatedly rubbing at a now-pink stain on Mangdoongie's snout, "permanent markers? Glue? Why did you even buy this?"
Changmin throws himself on the couch, cracking open a manhwa with a lazy shrug. "Coffee."
Yunho sighs.
Whatever.
Mangdoongie can be pink for the weekend. He'll just drop her off with Changmin's sister on Sunday and she'll probably... be able to... bleach her, maybe?
"You have to dry her off," Changmin says nonchalantly, flipping a page.
Yunho pauses, glancing at the clock, arms full of wet squirmy dog.
Okay, he can do that.
Something so simple can't possibly take more than a couple of minutes.
Half an hour later, two clogged hair-dryers, and a streaked bathroom wall later, Yunho stumbles into the living room, a hyper Mangdoongie weaving between his legs.
"Your dog's trying to kill me," he says, scanning the room for his jacket.
He should still be able to look presentable. As long as he doesn't take the jacket off. And wears a cap. And doesn't go near mirrors. Or people.
"You have to brush her out," Changmin yawns, shifting on the couch. "Or she'll mat."
Drained, Yunho reaches for his phone.
"Let me just text Hae," he says in defeat. "Tell him I can't make it today."
Changmin stops reading, face expressionless.
Yunho presses send then quickly turns the phone on silent before he can see Donghae's annoyed reply.
In return, Changmin sits up with an oddly satisfied grin. "So, I wanted to watch a—"
"No," Yunho says firmly, bending to pick up his backpack. "If I'm staying in, I'm going to be productive."
Changmin makes a face.
"The auditions are coming up," Yunho says, dropping to the couch. Mangdoongie skips over to bat ineffectively at his ankle. "I might as well go through the dancers' résumés."
Huffy, Changmin picks his dog up and deposits her on Yunho's lap.
Yunho gives him a look, eyebrow raised.
"You said she can't be on the couch," Changmin points out, lips twitching.
Yunho's too tired to argue.
"Are all these dancers preselected?" he asks instead, trying to focus on the files.
"Yup."
"By?"
"Me," Changmin says calmly.
Yunho's skin prickles.
"No offense..." he starts with a sheepish smile, because wow, Changmin picking out a dance crew is like Siwon picking out fetish porn.
Changmin's a wonderful mix of mortified and snooty. "Trust me."
Yunho trusts Changmin with his life, so he flips through the pages, studying each applicant with utmost care.
After a while, however, his eyes glaze over.
"Is it just me," he starts, sleep-deprived and partly delirious, "or are all of them..." He searches his mental dictionary for a polite adjective, and fails. "Not attractive?"
Changmin looks a little guilty for some reason. "What? No. They're... fine. They're great guys. Probably. Most of them. Yeah."
"Our old dancers—"
"Food's here."
Weird, Yunho didn't hear the intercom.
...or was aware they'd ordered food?
Mangdoongie rolls off the couch.
"I'm just," Yunho says, getting up and trailing mindlessly after Changmin, "not sure they fit the general image we're going for with this comeback—"
Changmin pauses by the front door.
"They're good dancers," Changmin says in a way that makes Yunho feel shallow and terrible. "I weeded out all the crapplicants so you wouldn't have to because you always try to hire everyone and we can't hire everyone—"
"Got it," Yunho says preemptively. "You're on top of it. I'm backing off. Where's the food?"
Changmin averts his eyes. "Oh. Must've heard wrong."
They toddle back to the living room.
Yunho's not sure why the hell he's still up, so he just starts down the hallway to his room, ready to keel over, sans dinner.
Mangdoongie's waiting by his bedroom door, a brush between her teeth.
*
Okay.
Just.
This guy looks like a serial killer.
He's a burly older man with dark stubble and a prison haircut, a bit of a tummy swelling under his sweatshirt.
"Pleasure to be working with you," the man grunts, voice like a deep dark haunted forest.
"Same," Yunho bows politely, putting an extra forty-five degrees into it.
The guy is silent for a moment, chalking up his hands and stretching, then says carefully, "My daughter's in love with you."
Yunho perks up, eyes sparkling. "How old is she?"
"Five."
Seven minutes later, when Yunho's memorized everything about the kid, Changmin strolls by, arms full of audition tapes.
I like this one, Yunho mouths inconspicuously.
Changmin narrows his eyes.
*
This one's short.
And skittish in a way that makes Yunho worry he's auditioning an actual criminal.
"I'm sorry," the man tells him falteringly, adjusting his hoodie with a nervous laugh. "Your face is... just..."
Yunho frowns, confused.
"It's a very good face," the man says.
Yunho brightens.
"Next," Changmin says.
*
"Changminnie... he looks sixty."
Changmin bends closer to whisper. His lips tickle the shell of Yunho's ear. "You said you wanted a more mature concept this time."
Yunho can't even argue because he feels like a total scumbag. He's just the worst, shallowest person in the universe, but he can legit, no fucking joke, hear this man's bones creak from across the room.
"Keep?" Changmin asks expectantly, eyes adorably wide.
*
"Min-ah."
Something kicks at Yunho's ass, booting him off the bed, sheets included.
"It's weird you say his name every time I wake you up," Donghae grumbles.
Rolled up and hovering somewhere between awake and comatose, Yunho peeks out of the sheets, recoiling instantly.
When did he eat a half-decomposed rodent and why is it still lining the roof of his mouth.
"What year is it."
Donghae nudges him with his foot as though Yunho's a diseased thing. "Your ~wife called," he says with a sigh. "And called. And called."
Yunho sits up, groggy. "Three times?"
Donghae makes a face. "Three times," he nods, then grins wickedly. "Do you want me or Teukie to sing at your funeral."
Gripped with mild panic, Yunho looks around the dorm, head throbbing. "What are you doing?"
Smirking, Donghae snaps a picture with his phone. "Gonna send it to him with the caption: U-KNOW who was sleeping in my bed."
Nauseated, Yunho clambers to his feet. "Don't," he says, uneasy. "He hates when I stay out drinking."
"Yeah," Donghae rolls his eyes, "that's what he hates."
*
Changmin doesn't speak to him for five days.
*
It's Yunho's weekend.
So he meets his mom and sister and picks up Taepoong and listens to roughly two hours of how is Changminnie? Is he doing well? You're not being an asshole to him, right? Right? That wasn't a no. Yunho. Yunho. Yunho, Changmin is a good boy.
He drives home with the windows rolled down, Taepoong's tongue wagging in the wind.
"You're gonna be a good boy this time?" Yunho asks hopefully.
Taepoong ignores him.
*
"All the new dancers have been approved," Changmin greets, taking off his shoes.
Like a rocket, Taepoong flies off in his direction, enthusiastically tackling him into the door.
Yunho feels only a little jealous.
"Your dog's trying to kill me," Changmin grumbles but he's scratching Taepoong's ears with a stupid lopsided beautiful smile.
Yunho looks away.
*
"Can't," Yunho whispers into the phone, curling around his hand. "We're walking the dog."
Donghae snorts on the other side. "And when you're done playing house, come over. Both of you."
Changmin makes an impatient wrap it the fuck up gesture so Yunho hangs up, irritated.
"I don't feel like drinking," Changmin says before Yunho can even open his mouth.
Yunho doesn't feel like getting wasted either. He feels like going home and eating with Changmin and feeding Taepoong table scraps then lying to his sister about it on Sunday. He feels like a million stupid things, like looking up good prices on new linens, like making grocery lists, like paying bills, like down-sizing to one bedroom.
Which is the most terrifying thing he's ever thought, including that one time he was convinced he was gonna die.
So he bails on Changmin with some weak excuse and goes out with the guys.
Much healthier.
*
"You were right."
Changmin puffs up. "I'm always right."
Yunho wipes the sweat off his forehead, heart racing. "They're good dancers."
The studio's finally empty save for that last strange dude creeping out of the emergency exit with two cigarettes pressed between his lips and a half-opened bag dragging on the floor.
When the door clicks shut behind him, Changmin sags. "Better than me, at any rate."
"You're fine," Yunho says, clasping Changmin's shoulder. His palm slips over the sweat. "It's just a tricky move."
Changmin glances at him, oddly tense. "Help me practice."
Yunho pauses.
He's helped Changmin practice a million times.
It's not a big deal.
But it's just... it's been a while since their last comeback. A while since their last concert. A while since Yunho's had to touch and be touched intimately.
"That move," Changmin says quietly, pointing at the old TV mounted above the mirrors. It's replaying a pixelated recording of the fake drop-and-catch designed for their new title track.
Yunho's lips part in surprise.
"We can't," he says, anxiety and something awfully appealing warring for dominance. "It requires at least two other people to hold me." After a beat, he adds, "Or I'll fall on you."
Changmin shrugs. "It'll be fine."
Within a minute of practice, Yunho falls, more from shock than gravity.
Changmin's body cushions his fall. His arms wrap around Yunho, his nose buries in Yunho's neck.
"I liked our last comeback better," he tells Yunho quietly.
Yunho's body heats up. He tries to shift awkwardly before he burns up, but Changmin tightens his grip.
"When it was just you against me," Changmin says. "Just you with me."
Yunho jerks away, putting himself back together. "We should call manager-hyung. We have to prep for the first round of interviews—"
"I liked," Changmin says from the floor, scrubbing at his face, "I liked it better."
Yunho's entire world tilts.
"MBC's emailing a list of pre-approved questions," he manages professionally, grabbing a towel and burying his face into it, "so we should discuss what you'll say."
Changmin stares at him for a while, eyes dark. Then, with a sigh, he sits up and smirks obnoxiously.
"I'm just gonna let you talk," he shrugs. "And nod a lot."
*
Changmin ignores him for a week.
*
Five of the dancers are gone for the night.
It's just Yunho and Goo Bae, packing up the equipment, and Goo Bae says, "Yunho-ssi, I'm gonna need next Wednesday off."
Yunho rolls up a long cord, smiling pleasantly. "No problem." He kicks up one end into a traveling bag, and asks, "What for?"
Goo Bae flushes. "Uh. You know. Matseon. My mom's making me."
Chuckling, Yunho shakes his head. "Oh. Sorry." He kinda feels like a bastard for laughing so he hastily adds, "I know how that goes."
Goo Bae perks up. "I guess you would, yeah. You probably go on arranged dates all the time. Or... um, I guess just normal dates."
Yunho pauses.
"Uh. Nope."
Uncomfortable, Goo Bae busies himself with polishing the stereo. "So you're in a relationship?"
Yunho hesitates.
Changmin's stupid face flashes before his eyes so Yunho inhales deeply and prays verbal diarrhea doesn't happen.
"No, just," he rambles, caught off guard, "I'm just very specific about what I want and my expectations are—"
Yep.
Verbal diarrhea is happening.
"I'm—" he says loudly, over-correcting himself, "we're not. I have." He plasters a disarming smile and apologizes automatically, "I just haven't been looking lately."
Goo Bae thinks for a moment, then grows serious. "There are only two reasons people stop looking," he smiles kindly. "They've given up," he says, stuffing a piece of equipment into one of the bags, "or they've found what they've been looking for."
He bends to tie his shoelaces and looks Yunho straight in the eye.
"Have you given up, Yunho-ssi?"
*
Mangdoongie's in the sink.
"...should I ask?" Yunho grins from the door.
Changmin gives an annoyed huff, running his fingers through Mangdoongie's blackened fur. "Shut up."
Yunho takes off his shoes and tosses his keys and phone and wallet to the counter.
"How was your solo practice," Changmin asks but he sounds bored and uninterested, so Yunho rolls up his sleeves and goes to stand beside him.
Slowly, he dips his hands in the soapy water and says, "I love you."
Mangdoongie yelps as Changmin's fingers dig into her.
Yunho's face is hot but his mouth doesn't care. "In a really bad way, apparently."
Changmin is so still Yunho's not sure he's breathing.
So Yunho digs around the bottom of the sink and drains the water. Mangdoongie claws to get out. Quietly, Yunho scoops her out and wraps her in a kitchen towel and takes her to the bathroom.
He's plugging in the hair-dryer when Changmin barrels in, looking flushed and distressed and angry.
"What bad way," he demands, voice shaky. His hands are still wet. "What kind of bad way. Yunho, you can't just—"
"You were made for me," Yunho says.
He says it because it's true and because he can't explain it any other way and because it's been obvious to everyone but him for years.
He says it because Changmin just fits into his life.
Is his life.
Changmin's face is doing weird things. Yunho's been staring at it for the past ten years so he can easily recognize incredulity and embarrassment and annoyance, but there's something so surprisingly new his stomach twists, sending his pulse into overdrive.
"Put my dog down," Changmin says, voice dark.
Yunho's heart sinks.
Mangdoongie glances from one to the other, sprawled in Yunho's arms like a rag, tongue wagging excitedly.
"Put my fucking dog down," Changmin repeats, advancing, "so I can fucking kiss you."
*
"I'm gonna go out with Donghae for a bit," Yunho says, poking his head into the bathroom.
"I don't care," Changmin mutters, checking himself out in the mirror. "Minho and me are going to the arcade."
"Don't break anything."
"Don't get wasted."
"Don't get caught by the paps."
"Don't crash the car."
"Don't be a dick."
"Go choke on a bag of c—"
Amused, Yunho starts down the hallway, then changes his mind, spins on his heel, and walks back in.
"What—" Changmin groans.
Yunho kisses him roughly.
Changmin makes a tiny hungry noise, dropping his bottle of hair product to the bath mat. He digs his fingers into Yunho's arms with terrifying intensity and grinds into Yunho like the world is ending.
Yunho pulls away, lungs starved for air.
Instinctively, Changmin leans forward, searching the empty space for Yunho's lips.
With a satisfied smile, Yunho tries to slip away, adding piously, "Don't stay out too late."
Changmin grabs the back of his jacket, pulling him back. "How about I just stay in."
Yeah, Yunho thinks as he locks the bathroom door, how about that.