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Summary
"Four." San says sternly, and then he pushes him again. "This isn't Valorant."
"You don't eat in Valorant." Yunho murmurs. It's probably a good thing that San doesn't hear him. He's still pointedly muttering corrections under his breath when he glances up at the barista. He's beautiful, his skin all perfect. There's a heart-shaped birthmark right there on his cheek. Something in Yunho shrivels a little at the sight of it. How unfair fate is. This man must've done something extradorinary in his past life to win such favor. His eyes drift from the pretty one, who San is greeting enthusiastically, to the other employee.
He's got his back turned, but it doesn't matter. Yunho freezes as suddenly as a vehicle hurtling down the highway does when it strikes a brick wall. He'd know it anywhere— that tuft of hair that sticks out from beneath the man's hat, the way his shirt tag sits flipped up. His height, the shape of him, the way the air around him sits. Yunho would know him in blindness, in death— if the whole world was burning, and all that Yunho could see was his shadow through the flames, he'd know. Mingi. His Mingi, only he's no longer his.