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Mingi didn’t know how he got himself into this situation. After denying Yunho multiple times, somehow, he still managed to get dragged out of the dorms and into the new pet café that had just opened down the street.
“You don’t have to look like I kidnapped you, you know,” Yunho’s voice cut through his thoughts.
Mingi glanced over at the grinning man beside him. He figured that if Yunho had a tail, it would be wagging in excitement right now. It was kind of cute. Whatever. He quickly shook the thought from his head.
“You kinda did,” Mingi shot back, willing himself not to blush as warmth crept up the back of his neck. Yunho beamed again, the kind of smile that could rival every single puppy in this godforsaken café… or at least, that’s what Mingi thought.
Yunho didn’t bother replying. Instead, he reached for the menu, flipping through it as if he hadn’t already obsessively scrolled through the café’s Instagram the night before and planned his entire order.
“I want the chocolate chip pancakes,” he announced proudly.
“It's 2pm.” Mingi raised a brow
“It’s never too late for pancakes.”
Before Mingi could argue, the waiter came by and took their orders.
Mingi wasn’t trying to be grumpy on purpose. In fact, he wanted to be here—with Yunho. He just didn’t know how to act around him these days. Lately, everything Yunho did seemed to throw him off balance. If they made eye contact for too long, he’d get flustered. If Yunho laughed or smiled at him, his stomach would twist into knots.
Somewhere along the way, without even realizing it, Mingi had fallen—fully, helplessly, irrevocably —in love with his best friend.
He was losing his mind.
—----------------------------------------------------------
Mingi watched Yunho pour an ungodly amount of syrup on his pancakes like it was the most natural thing in the world. “You’re going to get a sugar crash halfway through dance practice tomorrow.”
Yunho shrugged, unabashed. “Worth it.”
A small white kitten had now migrated to the crook of Yunho’s arm, curled up like it belonged there. Mingi was sure it was some metaphor for how easily everything seemed to fall into place for Yunho. Animals loved him. People loved him. Mingi… well, he tried not to think about that part too much.
He stabbed a piece of toast halfheartedly, his appetite nonexistent despite the cozy warmth of the café and the tantalizing smell of baked goods in the air. Yunho kept glancing at him between bites.
“You really don’t like it here?” Yunho asked, and this time, his voice didn’t carry the same teasing edge as before.
“No,” Mingi said quickly. “It’s not that. I do.” He glanced around at the pastel walls, the sleepy golden retriever dozing on the window ledge, the mismatched chairs and tiny bowls of treats on every table. “It’s cute.”
“You don’t do cute.”
Mingi raised a brow. “I can do cute.”
Yunho looked him over like he was trying to imagine it. “You try to act tough, but you’re secretly the softest guy I know.”
“Don’t project,” Mingi muttered, taking a bite of his eggs.
Yunho’s laughter was warm, easy. Mingi hated how much he liked it.
There was a lull in conversation after that, just the quiet hum of the café around them. Mingi found his gaze drifting to Yunho again—how he cradled his drink with both hands, how his sleeves had slid up just enough to show the veins in his forearms, how his lips still had a trace of syrup.
He was doomed. Fully, completely doomed.
“Mingi,” Yunho said, breaking the silence, “what’s going on with you lately?”
Mingi blinked. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t know,” Yunho said, fiddling with his straw. “You’ve been weird.”
“Thanks,” Mingi deadpanned.
Yunho smirked. “I mean it. Like… tense. Distracted. Even Wooyoung noticed.”
Mingi groaned and dropped his head into his hands. “If Wooyoung noticed, I must be dying.”
Yunho reached across the table and poked at his arm gently. “Talk to me?”
“I’m fine.”
“You suck at lying.”
Mingi sat up straight, his expression shuttering. “Seriously, Yunho. I’m fine. I’m just… tired.”
Yunho’s eyes softened, but he didn’t push further. He just nodded and let the subject drop.
Instead, he stood up and pointed toward the corner of the café. “Come meet the puppies.”
“I’m good here.”
“Nope. You’re getting up.”
Before Mingi could protest, Yunho had grabbed his wrist and gently tugged him to his feet. The contact made his breath catch.
The puppy pen was filled with squirming fluff—tiny, barking bundles of joy tumbling over each other. Yunho crouched down, arms open wide, and was immediately ambushed.
Mingi stayed standing, hands in his pockets, watching as Yunho laughed—a full-bodied, nose-scrunched, eyes-sparkling kind of laugh. He looked completely at peace. And completely out of reach.
One of the puppies broke away from the pile and padded over to Mingi, pawing at his leg. Hesitantly, he crouched and picked it up. It licked his chin before curling up in his arms like it had found home.
“That one likes you,” Yunho said, looking up at him with a strange look in his eyes.
Mingi smiled, soft and small. “Guess I’m not totally hopeless.”
Yunho’s expression shifted—something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. But before Mingi could make sense of it, the staff came by to announce that their time in the puppy zone was up.
They returned to their table, cheeks pink from the warmth and play. The plates were cleared, the drinks refilled.
Mingi let out a sigh as he sat back down. “You planned this, didn’t you?”
Yunho looked too pleased with himself to deny it. “Maybe.”
“You ambushed me with pancakes and puppies.”
“Because I missed you.”
Mingi’s heart tripped.
He looked away quickly, pretending to be fascinated by the napkin holder. “You see me every day.”
“Not like this.”
That silence settled again between them, heavy and full of unsaid things. The kind that made Mingi’s skin itch, made him want to run or confess or both.
And Yunho—Yunho just sat there like he wasn’t unraveling Mingi with every glance.
—---------------------------------------------------------
By the time Mingi stepped into the dorm, the warmth and noise hit him like a wave.
Someone had music playing in the kitchen—probably Jongho, based on the soft acoustic guitar and the smell of something too healthy to be Wooyoung’s doing. Seonghwa’s voice drifted down the hall, followed by San’s laughter.
Mingi kicked off his shoes and made a beeline for his room, head still foggy from the day.
He didn’t even get two steps in before San pounced.
“There he is!” San sang, sprawled across his and Mingi’s shared bed like a gremlin prince. “Where’d you two lovebirds run off to?”
Mingi threw a pillow directly at his face. “Die.”
Seonghwa, seated cross-legged on his own bed with a skincare mask halfway applied, raised a brow. “So it was a date?”
Mingi collapsed onto his mattress with a groan, burying his face in the blanket. “Why do I live with you.”
“Because you love us,” Seonghwa said serenely.
Mingi grunted into the covers. Because I couldn’t trust myself to live with Yunho, more like.
San peeled the pillow off his head and tossed it back. “Okay, but for real, you’re blushing. So either it went well or you got food poisoning.”
“We went to a puppy café. That’s it.”
“Cute,” Seonghwa said, in a tone that managed to be both knowing and affectionate. “Very couples-on-soft-dates of you.”
“I will throw myself out this window.”
“You’re on the second floor.”
“Still counts.”
He rolled onto his side and tried to tune them out, but it was no use. His brain wouldn’t stop replaying every tiny detail—the feel of Yunho’s fingers wrapped around his wrist, the way his laugh cracked wide open when the puppies tackled him, the look on his face when he’d said not like this.
San shifted and flopped down beside him, head resting near Mingi’s shoulder. “So... did you kiss?”
Mingi choked on air. “San.”
“Had to ask.”
“No, we didn’t kiss. God.”
“Tragic.”
Mingi groaned and flopped onto his back again, eyes fixed on the ceiling. “It’s not like that.”
“It so is,” Seonghwa said, rubbing moisturizer into his skin without missing a beat. “And if it’s not, someone should tell Yunho. He looked ready to kiss you the moment you walked through the door.”
Mingi sat up fast. “He what?”
San snorted. “You didn’t see him? Man was hovering like a lovesick ghost. Went straight to the kitchen, didn’t even greet us.”
Mingi ran a hand through his hair, heart pounding. He hadn’t even looked at Yunho when he got home—too afraid he’d give himself away just by breathing too hard.
He stood abruptly. “I’m getting water.”
Seonghwa and San exchanged a look but wisely said nothing.
Mingi stepped out into the hall and padded toward the kitchen. The music had stopped, and the light was dim, just the under-cabinet glow casting long shadows across the counter.
Yunho stood by the sink, filling a glass. He looked up when Mingi walked in, blinking like he hadn’t expected to see him so soon.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” Mingi said, voice low.
Yunho slid the water across the counter toward him without a word. Their fingers brushed.
Silence fell again, not awkward—but not easy, either. Just... charged.
Mingi took a sip. “You good?”
Yunho leaned against the counter, watching him. “Yeah. Just thinking.”
“About?”
Yunho shrugged one shoulder. “Today.”
“Oh.”
Another beat. Yunho’s gaze dropped to the floor. “You seemed off again when we got back.”
“I wasn’t,” Mingi lied automatically.
Yunho gave him a look. “You really do suck at lying.”
Mingi swallowed, throat tight. “It’s just been a long day.”
Yunho nodded, but the air was still thick with whatever they weren’t saying.
Then, like it was the most casual thing in the world, Yunho said, “You wanna hang out in my room for a bit? Yeosang’s out.”
And Mingi—idiot, heart-aching Mingi—nodded.
“Yeah. Okay.”
—----------------------------------------------------------
Yunho’s room was calm in a way Mingi hadn’t realized he needed until he was in it—quiet, warm, just the low murmur of music and the familiar creak of the bed frame as he sat back down, this time without the weight of words trying to claw their way out of his throat.
Yunho didn’t press. He just handed Mingi a throw blanket from the edge of the bed like it was the most normal thing in the world. Like this was routine. Like his chest wasn’t still full of whatever that almost-moment had been.
Mingi took it and pulled it over his lap, fidgeting with the edge. “Is this Yeosang’s?”
“Yeah, but he won’t notice. He only uses it when he’s mad at me and wants to passive-aggressively hog the blanket during movie nights.”
“Which is… often, I’m guessing?”
Yunho grinned. “He says I talk too much during movies.”
“Shocking.”
“You wound me.”
They lapsed into an easier silence this time. Yunho reached over to the nightstand and grabbed a bag of snacks, offering it to Mingi without a word. They crunched quietly for a minute, both of them watching something meaningless on Yunho’s laptop—a documentary, maybe, neither of them really paying attention.
At some point, Mingi leaned back against the headboard. Yunho mirrored him, their shoulders barely brushing.
Mingi let out a soft exhale. “It’s weird in here without Yeosang.”
“Peaceful, you mean.”
Mingi cracked a smile. “No judgment.”
“He’ll probably crash on Wooyoung’s bed again. He did that last week.”
“He and Wooyoung deserve each other, honestly.”
Yunho laughed, head tipping back slightly. “Yeah. Chaos twins.”
Their knees knocked together under the blanket. Mingi didn’t move.
“I missed this,” Yunho said suddenly, voice low. “Just hanging out.”
Mingi swallowed. “You say that like I’ve been avoiding you.”
There was a beat.
Yunho didn’t answer.
And Mingi couldn’t argue with the silence.
They kept watching whatever was playing, the light from the screen flickering softly across Yunho’s face. At one point, he laughed—quiet, unexpected—and Mingi glanced over just to see the way his eyes crinkled.
A mistake. It made his stomach twist in that too-familiar way.
But he didn’t look away.
He didn’t want to.
Yunho turned to meet his gaze. “What?”
“Nothing.”
A lie.
Yunho didn’t push, just nudged their shoulders together slightly. Mingi nudged back. It wasn’t much, but it said I’m still here in a language only they spoke.
Eventually, Yunho yawned and flopped sideways with a groan, head landing against Mingi’s leg like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“You good?” Mingi asked, staring down at him like he wasn’t about to short-circuit.
“Too comfy to move.”
“You’re heavy.”
“You’re dramatic.”
But he didn’t make him move.
He didn’t even try.
Yunho cracked one eye open, a lazy grin tugging at his lips. “You’re warm,” he mumbled, like it was some kind of accusation.
Mingi huffed, flicking lightly at Yunho’s forehead. “You’re annoying.”
Still, his fingers lingered, brushing hair from Yunho’s eyes a little too gently, a little too long.
The silence that followed wasn’t the usual comfortable kind. Not anymore.
It thickened around them, slow and buzzing—like the room had shifted, like the air had changed and neither of them wanted to name it.
Yunho didn’t move. He just laid there, head still resting on Mingi’s leg, eyes half-lidded, lips parted like he was about to say something, then didn’t.
And Mingi—Mingi couldn’t stop staring.
At the curve of Yunho’s jaw, the slope of his nose, the way his lashes fluttered just slightly, like he knew. Like he was waiting.
He didn’t mean to lean in. He didn’t plan it. But suddenly the distance felt unbearable, and Yunho looked so close and so inviting and—
Their mouths collided before Mingi even realized what he was doing.
It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t slow. It was desperate—messy and a little clumsy from the angle, but real. All tension and heat and finally.
Yunho froze for half a second.
Then he kissed him back.
Harder.
His hand fisted in Mingi’s hoodie, pulling him closer like he’d been waiting for this—for exactly this—just as long.
When they broke apart, breathless and flushed, Mingi stayed close, forehead resting against Yunho’s temple.
“I like you,” he said, voice low and rough like it scraped its way out of his chest.
Yunho didn’t pull away. Didn’t tease.
He just exhaled, shaky and wrecked and maybe a little relieved.
“Yeah,” he whispered. “I know.”
And he leaned in again.