Chapter Text
Mingi hated airports. He hated the roaring noise of airplanes taking off, the clattering of luggage wheels dragged across the floor, and the incessant chatter of passengers waiting to board their flights. Even the dreary announcements over the speakers made him want to roll his eyes—after all, he was Song Mingi, and Song Mingi knew he could do better.
But if there was one thing that Mingi hated the most above everything else, it was the shrill cry of overstimulated babies that families had in tow.
Mingi was not an overstimulated baby, no matter what his older brother, San, told him thirteen years ago. San was just a sore loser who got hit by a Nerf dart on the forehead because he couldn't move fast enough. Mingi won the game fair and square, but San provoked him, resorting to name-calling, that sent little Mingi running back to their mom, crying. Now in their twenties, that nickname would still get tossed around whenever they pissed each other off.
Mingi lagged—no, he trudged—behind Yunho and Yeosang, trying not to trip over his own two feet from the exhaustion, while San was already way ahead of them, a little bounce in his steps.
There was a reason why San always insisted on being the first to exit into the arrivals hall, and out of any door for that matter: he liked to play pretend.
San stopped right in front of the automatic doors, just before they could detect him. And then, with a flourish of his hands, as if willing them to part, the doors slid open. He gave a dramatic bow before gesturing for his younger brother and his friends to pass through.
The joke and theatrics never got old. Mingi knew San was doing this to cheer him up—ever the mood maker. He smiled weakly and gave his brother a firm pat on the nape before stepping out into the relatively empty hall.
Honestly, thank god for midnight flights—fewer crowds, less noise. Mingi made a mental note to arrange their future flights for off-peak hours.
He adjusted his sunglasses as a few cameras flashed their way. He would question where these people found their flight details, but then he remembered that, to some extent, they were celebrities.
Born to a mother who was a prolific mutant rights lawyer and a father who had just won his second term in the Senate—one of the few mutants to hold such high position in the government—Mingi and his adoptive brother San grew up under the public eye. They were frequent faces at important functions and social gatherings. News channels and publications were invited to their home for interviews, where they learned to behave and try not to pout too much for the cameras.
At a young age, Mingi had charmed his way into the hearts of influential figures and reporters alike. Eventually, he took interest in fashion and learned to dress for the occasion, gaining quite the following on social media for his bold style and handsome looks.
San, on the other hand, had his own interests, like growing his muscles and showing off how he could open a soda can with just a flick of a finger—he would easily get a million likes for each post on Instagram—all while managing to look ubercute. Mingi swore that it wasn't jealousy that prevented him from following his brother's account. Of course, he loved San—so much that he even cried when he found out that his older brother was adopted, terrified that his real parents would come and take him away. It's just that when you live in the same house and see each other—butt-naked and all—on a daily basis for the past twenty-plus years and counting, seeing each others faces on your feed can be quite jarring.
Anyway, Mingi had only ever subscribed to Yunho. Cue: a spring scene with falling cherry blossom petals. If people had their comfort food, Mingi had his comfort person—Jeong Yunho, the son of his father's bodyguard and only his bestest friend in the entire world. Yunho's eye for photography had earned him attention on social media purely for his skill. Mingi was sure he would gain more followers if he revealed his face, but no one could ever convince him to. Yunho was never concerned about numbers anyway, he just simply loved what he was doing.
Then there was Yeosang, the son of his father's chief of staff. He had a face and body sculpted by the gods, a voice that would bring anyone to their knees, and a brain that would rival Einstein’s. Yet, he barely remembered the account they had made for him. To appease his still growing number of followers, San had taken over, uploading photos of Yeosang from Yunho’s gallery and captioning them with random emojis. Meanwhile, Yeosang would be on his computer on hours at end, streaming some game he was playing with his subscribers.
No one would guess that the same boy held patents in his name. He was actually responsible for some of the comforts that Mingi could enjoy anytime he wished—from the monochromatic sunglasses to the noise-cancelling headphones still snug over his ears. Mingi was appreciative. But still, he wouldn’t put all his trust in his inventor-slash-ex-tutor friend. The boy was quiet and well-mannered, but he was the same person who had disobeyed his mother and crammed an entire chapter’s worth of information on the Song Dynasty into Mingi’s brain just to help him pass their 8th-grade exam. Mingi passed. Mingi was thankful. But Yeosang had forgotten to tell Mingi that all that useless information was going to be stuck in his head forever.
They smiled and waved at the small crowd, offering a couple of polite nods before going on their way.
Mingi picked up the pace and caught up with his friends, not wanting to be left behind. He came up to Yunho and Yeosang who were both chatting excitedly, observing them from the corner of his eye and pretending not to be interested in their conversation. The headphones always made for a good cover.
“I told you, I’m not celebrating my birthday this year,” Mingi said, unable to resist interrupting any longer. There was no point pretending that he couldn’t hear them over his covered ears.
“Tune out, will you? You’re ruining the fun!” Yunho complained, placing an arm around his shoulder. Mingi huffed. Yunho, of all people, should know better. His senses were heightened from the long-haul flight, not because he wanted to eavesdrop. He had half a mind to shrug off his friend's arm, but Yunho pulled him closer and ruffled his hair.
“Just relax, princess. I'm right here. And we’re almost home."
If by almost home, Yunho meant the one-hour drive they still had to take, then it was definitely a huge relief compared to the fourteen-hour flight they had just landed from.
“Our best bet would be a pool party,” Yeosang continued as if Mingi hadn’t disturbed them and he weren’t even there. “Water drowns out sound and if we dunk him in-”
Mingi did what he was told and left his friends to their conversation. He couldn’t stop them anyway. Year after year, he would tell them he didn’t want a birthday celebration, yet, every year, without fail, they somehow found a way to surprise him with one.
Mingi watched as Yunho ran up to his father as they stepped off the elevator and headed into the parking lot. He wrinkled his nose. Cigarettes? He hated the smell of secondhand smoke. He rubbed his nose, hoping the scent would go away.
The boys took turns hugging Yunho's father, but when it was his turn, he couldn't help but sneeze.
"Were you smoking, Mr. Jeong?” Mingi asked, rubbing his nose.
"I'm sorry, Mingi. I must have stood too close to a group of office workers who were smoking earlier."
"Don't worry about it, Pop!” San clapped his brother on the shoulder to keep him in check. “We wouldn't have known if Mingi hadn’t mention it. My baby brother is just a little overstimulated, that’s all."
Mingi swatted San's hand away, sparking a little commotion which inevitably involved the other boys. Yunho's father sighed at their antics before finally telling them off, reminding them they were tired and needed to go home.
“How was your flight?” Yunho's father asked as he helped them haul their luggage into the back of the car.
“Spectacular,” Mingi drawled before he could even catch himself. He wasn’t trying to be mean, he was just really, really exhausted. He hated to admit it, but he was definitely overstimulated—mind and body craving to disconnect so badly.
Mingi quickly apologized and Yunho’s father just smiled at him fondly and embraced him in reply.
These were the moments that made Mingi feel incredibly lucky. He grew up surrounded by people who not only loved and understood him, but also put up with his mood swings, which thankfully, were now fewer and farther in between.
To think that he was supposed to be an only child, but lucikly, fate had a different plan. Fate gave him not just one, but three brothers—three best friends. He vividly remembered the chaos little him, Yunho, Yeosang and San created in each other’s house as they ran in and out of rooms and climbed up and down the stairs. How his dad made the best pasta, and Yeosang’s mom, the best cookies. He suddenly missed the sleepovers in the tents their parents would set up for them on the lawn with a little bonfire for making s'mores.
He just couldn’t imagine a life without them.
He would never choose a lifetime without them in it.
“Okay, hop on and get some rest,” the voice of Yunho's father brought him back to the present. “We’ll be home in no time."