Work Text:
| Important: New Manager Inbox | ☆ | |
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| JP Agency <\admin@jpagencykr> June 13, 2028, 5:38AM to me, Kenshin ▾ |
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Sungmin wasn’t going to lie and say he was particularly fond of his previous manager.
She wasn’t bad—no, not at all—but there can only be such a connection between a young, growing man and an overly professional woman in her mid-forties. Yes, she got the job done (excellently, if Sungmin were to admit), but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something felt misplaced in his life, perhaps missing the sense of adventure he had given up months ago to pursue his modelling career more seriously.
He knew he had to be grateful. Not everybody could fund their life just with their face and figure alone, and he was absolutely blessed to be able to do so, that he had to admit, but the tightness in his chest, the yearning simmering under his skin whenever he saw people his age free to present themselves however they wished with fewer consequences, was something he struggled to handle.
So, Sungmin experienced an unfamiliar sense of relief when he received the news that his manager was being replaced.
It wasn't as if he was losing anything important (no heartfelt memories, no strong emotional connections), so he accepted the change with open arms and a hope that the new one would fill the emptiness in his heart.
The new manager… was not what he expected. He wasn't sure what to think of him.
Into his routine crashed a boy of shorter stature and a face so childlike that Sungmin couldn't grasp the fact that he was in his early twenties, just two years younger than Sungmin himself, and an immediate mess of grins and clumsiness. He was quickly reminded that his name was Kenshin, though judging by the bright tone the boy used, he wouldn't be surprised if there were a permanent exclamation mark at the end of it.
Kenshin, with his bleached blond hair (“I’ve been through the entire rainbow, I swear!”) and awfully curious eyes, almost followed Sungmin around like a lost puppy for the first few days on the job. Sometimes he would randomly pop up behind Sungmin, ask a suspiciously ordinary question about how Sungmin did things throughout his day, then continue to watch him from a few meters away when possible, expression unreadable.
There were a few times when Sungmin was concerned—not for his manager, but for his own career—after seeing Kenshin stumble over his own feet numerous times, forget staff members’ names, and lose the most insignificant of items. Where did the company even find this guy?
Yet, he soon caught on that Kenshin wasn't as careless as he appeared. He was organised, precise, and made it abundantly clear that Sungmin was his top priority.
And, okay, Sungmin would be lying if he said Kenshin’s energy wasn't infectious.
More times than he could count, Sungmin found himself smiling along to whatever the younger man had to burst out that day, Sungmin’s genuine smile becoming a more common occurrence with each day they spent together. It wasn’t like Sungmin was completely stoic beforehand: he just loved a good conversation and good vibes! Plus, it was great having somebody closer to his age, somebody so extroverted and cheerful, by his side so often, because suddenly, half of his events felt less mundane, less boring, and less draining.
Bonus points for the fact that Kenshin was, undoubtedly, the cutest boy Sungmin had ever met.
Very cute. Especially when focused.
“Sungmin,” the photographer had called out, snapping Sungmin out of his trance. He jerked his head towards the sound of the voice, suddenly standing up straight, as the puzzlement visible in his features melted into something almost astonished, like a deer caught in headlights. Shaking her head, the photographer let out a sigh, adjusting her grip on her camera. “Are you ready to begin?”
Sungmin nodded absentmindedly, brushing down the fresh clothes draped over his figure before glancing off to the side, watching the way Kenshin curled up in his chair, knees tucked under his chin with the ghost of a smile gracing his lips: his eyes were wide with something Sungmin couldn't decipher, perhaps something between curiosity and analysis, something that made him nervous.
Was he judging? Or just thinking? This was their first major schedule together, for goodness sake, how was he supposed to know what Kenshin was thinking after so little time together? He wasn’t exactly an open book.
As if sensing his hesitance, Kenshin's face transformed into a wide grin, teeth and all.
“Sungmin-ssi~” he sang, tilting his head. “Don't look so scared, I'm not here to kill you.”
Kenshin unfolded himself and rose to his feet with a bounce, grabbing Sungmin's already near-empty water bottle from the side table. The older boy watched the way Kenshin’s fingers stumbled around the grey plastic, almost dropping the hollow thing, before his grip tightened and he executed a tiny, reassuring nod to himself.
“I'll refill your water, you can start without me if I make you nervous!”
Before Sungmin could object or thank him, Kenshin slipped away, leaving Sungmin alone with the photographer, who was looking mildly unimpressed. Lips pursed shut and an arched brow, she tapped her foot impatiently, loud enough for the man to hear, and his attention snapped back to her with a muttered apology.
“New manager,” he explained, shaking the tension out of his hands. “We're still getting used to each other.”
The woman's expression shifted into something kinder. “He seems like a nice guy. Anyway, Sungmin-ssi, if you could please just pose like–”
Sungmin fell into his routine, shooting poses for the photographer and following her directions with ease, the flashes of the machine and the disgustingly bright overhead lighting turning familiar after the first few minutes. Earning a few short praises from the photographer and the stylists, his confidence grew, and he didn't register Kenshin's return until it was time to switch outfits.
When he noticed, Kenshin was in the same spot he was previously, bundled up in the yellow plastic chair, though this time his brows were furrowed slightly with a stupidly endearing pout on his lips as he typed something on his phone.
It was the first time Sungmin truly got to inspect—or, well, admire—Kenshin since he got assigned to Sungmin, and Sungmin tried not to be obvious with how hard he was staring directly into his face, trying to decipher just what features of his face made him look so… effortlessly cute. Maybe it was the way his eyes had a natural happy tilt to them, or the way the corners of his mouth remained upturned in even the quietest of moments, or the way his cheeks seemed so perfectly plump and desirable to poke, or–
This whole thing was beginning to piss Sungmin off. Who thought that giving him, Mister National Homotron, a cute manager would be a good idea?
It was only when a stylist cleared their throat that Kenshin was brought back to reality, his shoulders rising as he jumped at the sudden sound, a flicker of fear flashing in his dark eyes before realising where he was. An embarrassing, choked sound echoed in Sungmin’s throat as he tried not to laugh. The younger man sprang up from his sitting position and snatched Sungmin's water bottle from beside him, quickly jogging over to him with a sheepish beam.
“Here, sorry,” he peeped, offering the bottle to Sungmin. As the weight left his fingers, his gaze brightened, and he gently patted Sungmin's shoulder. “You look good! The blue suits you.”
Blinking at the casual touch, Sungmin only had a couple of moments to wonder if they were really close enough to be doing that until his shoulders slumped as he displayed a grateful smile, taking a swig of water as the stylist ushered them back to the fitting room.
“Thank you, Manager-nim.”
Kenshin's mouth formed an ‘o’ shape, as if he were about to protest, before changing his mind and smiling. Sungmin raised his eyebrow in suspicion, but opted not to say anything, letting a new set of clothes be dropped into his arms, and spinning around to disappear and change into them.
Kenshin was kind. Whenever he wasn't jotting down notes or offering to run errands for any of the staff, he was making small talk with whichever workers crossed his path during lulls in the shooting, complimenting their work, or just watching everybody with a smile, that damn smile, which was far too earnest to be judgmental or mean. Sungmin felt content, perhaps, whenever he sensed that warm aura beside him: it was far more welcoming than the cold, calculating one that seemed to follow his precious manager. The man found himself feeling more pleased than exhausted by the end of the shoot.
“Thank you for taking care of him,” Kenshin said with a bow as everybody wrapped up.
He’d already gathered all of their stuff—Sungmin’s jacket, water bottle, phone, and everything else they ended up bringing—before Sungmin could even turn to do it himself.
The photographer waved her hand dismissively, the right side of her mouth upturned into something that resembled a smirk. “The pleasure is all ours. We are so happy to have worked with you.”
← Manager-nim
Manager-nim
Sungmin-ssi, please remember to wake up early tomorrow! The driver will be at your place at 4:30 to pick you up. I'll meet you once you arrive. Goodnight!
19:23
Okay. Thank you, goodnight.
19:24
Sungmin despised airports.
If there was one thing Sungmin hated more than creepy, parasocial fans, it would be airports. Especially when their agency couldn’t spare some extra money and afford them a cheap flight that wasn’t at 7 o’clock in the goddamn morning, when everybody is exhausted and irritated, and nobody has any concept of personal space. Honestly, it was a breeding ground for disaster and incompetence.
The drive to the airport was excruciatingly long, horrendously torturous, but most of all, incredibly empty without Kenshin there to fill the air with his usual chirpy chatter. Heavy—that’s all Sungmin could describe the atmosphere as.
Between himself and the underpaid driver, Sungmin wondered which of them was more eager for the ride to end: the poor man in the driver’s seat who was probably counting down the minutes until he could return home and go to sleep, or the guy in the back who was getting so irritated by the burdensome silence that he couldn’t ignore the tight, prickly feeling beneath his skin that would only alleviate once he remembered he would be seeing a certain blond-headed boy within the next couple of hours.
It was ironic, really, how much Sungmin loathed sitting unnaturally still when his job description was basically, ‘sit still, look pretty.’ And he was getting impatient: the leather seat felt too stiff; the passing of trees and vehicles outside felt too repetitive; the slow rise of the sun over the horizon was not doing much to brighten the busy roads. He hadn't realised the way his fingers were rhythmically drumming against the car seat in that sickeningly condescending way until the man in front let out a small, knowing cough. After muttering a half-hearted apology, he couldn't help but grimace at the weighty silence that enveloped them once again.
This amount of stress couldn't be good for his skin.
The model had never imagined he would ever be so relieved to be pulling up to an airport of all places. The abundance of monotonous cars, the absurd amount of individuals who, respectfully, looked on the verge of death, and the distinct scent of the airport atmosphere—it was all too familiar, but this time, it was disregarded. As long as he was able to get out of that suffocating quietude and–
“Sungmin-ssi!” was the first thing Sungmin heard once he passed the security gates. Undeniably, it was his manager’s voice, though now laced with something the older boy wasn't familiar with: Kenshin's own lassitude. Pausing in his steps, Sungmin’s gaze raked over the general whereabouts of where Kenshin's voice had developed from, only halting, biting down on his bottom lip in stifled laughter, once he caught sight of him approaching.
“You look tired,” Sungmin deadpanned, yet the teasing lilt present was indubitable.
Kenshin frowned (it may have been more of a pout), but the elder wasn't entirely wrong. With a horrid mess of hair atop his head, sleep crust still in the corners of his haggard eyes, and shivers racking his figure despite being bundled in a ridiculous amount of layers, the man did appear, for lack of a better word, absolutely exhausted. His eyes averted somewhere behind Sungmin for a moment before reaching out with his pointer and thumb and gently tugging on his sleeve, signalling for them to step out of the way. Of course, Sungmin obliged, while goggling at the way Kenshin unsubtly tried to rub the slumber out of his eyes.
“Did you sleep alright?” Kenshin mumbled through a yawn, stumbling on his feet.
“Yeah,” Sungmin replied with a hesitant nod. His eyes shifted back to Kenshin's hair, the light strands sticking out in all directions. They looked soft—or, well, as soft as thick Asian hair that had been bleached into oblivion could be—and a distant thought told him to reach out and see for himself, to verify whether his observation was right or not.
What? Scrunching his nose at the thought, he shook his head.
Kenshin seemed to have noticed Sungmin’s staring, blinking up at him, before his expression shifted from that blank exhaustion to something mimicking shame, cheeks quickly flushing a dark pink as he ducked his head. His hands scrambled to flatten his hair, looking far too much like a puppy trying to smooth down its ears, and something in the model's chest tightened at the sight.
“Sorry,” the boy whispered. “I didn't have time to–”
“No, no, it's okay!” Sungmin interjected.
Frankly, Sungmin had no idea when his hand had moved by itself, hovering over Kenshin's hair, but he quickly adjusted it to pat Kenshin's shoulder with as much lightness as he could muster up so as not to startle the shorter boy.
His efforts didn't really do much at all. The small jump that Kenshin did was evidence of that, and Sungmin ignored the pang of guilt that struck him when his manager faced him with those stupid, spooked eyes.
“Ah… What I meant to say is that you look fine,” he continued, voice quieter than earlier. He mentally criticised himself for his decision in language: ‘fine’ was most definitely an understatement.
However, he didn't have too much time to dwell on it, mind freezing when Kenshin's face transformed into a shy smile, eyes disappearing into falcate shapes.
Sungmin was so fucked.
It had been maybe just under an hour since the duo had settled in their seats, and Kenshin was already out like a light.
Needless to say, Sungmin had underestimated just how prepared Kenshin was. Or, well, he seemed to be prepared, though Sungmin couldn't really tell without snooping through the rest of the man's bag since he had fallen asleep mid-unpacking. With his arms wrapped tightly around some stuffed animal he couldn't get a proper glimpse of and his head lulled forward into the soft fabric, yep, Kenshin was gone.
Sungmin exhaled, not at all unkind, and zipped up Kenshin's backpack and manoeuvred it by the younger man’s feet, careful not to disrupt him.
Should he wake him? He would feel guilty disturbing his peace, but seeing the horrific arch of his back and neck, coiled over like a claw, Sungmin couldn't help but wonder just how uncomfortable that position was to sleep in. He'd had his own fair share of bothersome sleeping positions over the months, each resulting in an unwanted tension in his body. Oh, the back pain… He would be doing Kenshin a favour by waking him up or, at the very least, repositioning him.
Determined, Sungmin craned his neck round to try and glimpse at Kenshin's face, reaching out to gently poke his shoulder.
“Manager-nim,” he whispered, grumbling to himself under his breath when he got no response. “Manager-nim,” he repeated, his tone more urgent now as he shook the boy's shoulder. “Get up.”
Silence.
Letting out a deep sigh, Sungmin’s gaze lingered over those stupidly soft-looking cheeks that were now smushed against the toy’s fabric and peeking out from beneath his blond locks. Sungmin wasn't one to invade people's privacy—he understood boundaries and where they came into place. It was just that Kenshin's position looked so uncomfortable, he wasn't responding to any of his previous calls, and Sungmin just wanted to make sure that his beloved manager wasn't in any sort of distress during their long flight. Besides, he couldn't help the fact that his fingers were already reaching out, brushing his hair aside…
“Kenshin,” Sungmin mumbled, his knuckles brushing against the warm skin.
Not only did his manager's name feel foreign on his tongue, but the hesitance that made his heart race was wildly unfamiliar, too. And the smoothness of his cheek, as well as the strands of hair tickling his hand, along with the soft air that escaped Kenshin's nose. The model didn't know what he expected, but getting overwhelmed by initiating a simple touch was not on the potential list. His fingers twitched like they were about to reach out again, his mind racing as he recalled how it felt. One more touch wouldn't hurt, right?
Before he had the chance to do anything more, Kenshin made a noise, something akin to a whine, as his face scrunched up and his head fell back against the aeroplane seat. Sungmin froze in his seat, watching the man's expression slowly return to its oblivious serenity with bated breath. He gulped, gradually turning his head away and facing forward: he just had to pretend like he hadn't done anything. Staring forward, he forced himself to filter out any previous thoughts he was having. This was his manager, whom he had no business being that touchy with, and he had already overstepped by selfishly confirming his theories about his skin and hair. Wow, Sungmin was awful.
Many moments passed with no sound, no indication of Kenshin's consciousness, but the older man wouldn't dare turn to check. He wasn't interested. He didn't care. He didn't need to know.
Suddenly, a weight landed on his shoulder, and Sungmin didn't need to look to know that Kenshin’s head had fallen to the side amidst his sleepy haze. He cursed internally, squeezing his eyes shut and biting his bottom lip as he exhaled through his nose. This was fine. Kenshin's head, his cute manager’s head, was resting on his shoulder, but it was fine. He could feel Kenshin's body melting into his side as the seconds passed, but it was fine. He could pick up the faint scent of Kenshin's fruity hair products, but it was fine.
If only Sungmin could ignore the pounding in his chest and the way his ears had become hot out of the blue, then he could indulge in this moment.
He knew that when Kenshin woke up later, he would apologise profusely for being unprofessional, but it was fine.
Sungmin had never experienced jet lag this bad.
It was his first time travelling such a long distance, especially just for work, and he could confirm that it absolutely sucked. The long flight from Seoul to Hamburg was already tiring enough, but for him to land and it only be the early afternoon of the exact same day? Absolutely evil. He had slept maybe a couple of hours at the beginning of the flight, distracted himself with a whole load of movies and aeroplane food, and was feeling completely wrecked when they stepped outside.
To make matters worse, Kenshin was the most energetic Sungmin had ever seen him.
“Sungmin-ssi, isn't this cool?!” he asked as they stood outside the airport, swinging on the balls of his feet happily.
Sungmin tried to be appreciative, he really did: Kenshin was already the one pulling along Sungmin’s and the staff’s suitcases despite the refusal of the bodyguard, his smile really was to die for, and he just seemed so genuinely excited to be there. But the burning in Sungmin’s eyes, the ringing in his ears, and the pounding in his head were far too much for him to handle at that moment. With every movement, every noise, something within him just ached; an overwhelmingly agonising feeling pulsing in his head, and something so simultaneously heavy yet hollow accumulating in the pit of his stomach. God, how badly he needed it all to stop.
He let his eyes rest for a moment too long.
His eyelids fought against him as he tried to reopen them, the blaring sunlight shining directly into his eyes whenever he endeavoured to do so, his surroundings becoming a sudden blur of colour and voice.
The lack of response from Sungmin had Kenshin spinning back around to look at him, and while the model couldn't see it clearly, something in Kenshin's expression softened. He may have been loud and extroverted, but he wasn't stupid.
Shuffling closer to Sungmin, Kenshin raised one hand to shield his eyes from the sun, the other sliding up to delicately secure his fingers in Sungmin's shirt as he rose onto his tiptoes, his breath warm against Sungmin’s cheek as he leaned in close to whisper into his ear.
“Sungmin-ssi, can you stay awake for me? Just hold on a little bit longer.”
Sungmin gulped, more fixated on how sweetly Kenshin's voice articulated his name and the mellow tone of his request than the actual content of his words. But for Kenshin? Anything.
He found himself nodding along nonsensically, shoulders stiffening and cheeks darkening when Kenshin exhaled a small noise of approval against his jaw, the air tickling the skin there. Sungmin’s eyes fluttered open when he felt the grip on his shirt tighten, almost being pulled down as Kenshin leaned right into his personal space. Sungmin’s throat felt swollen. God, he was so close. He was so fucking close. So damn close, Sungmin could just–
“Good!” Kenshin piped, dropping to his feet with a wide grin and readjusting the straps of his backpack before grasping the handle of Sungmin's suitcase. “Our taxi should be here in a moment, so we'll get to the hotel room soon, don't worry.”
Sungmin hit the sack the very second his body collided with the bed, the last thing he registered being Kenshin's snicker. What a good way to go out.
He really had no idea how long he had been asleep, or if he had dreamt of anything at all. All he knew was that he finally, finally, was able to rest, undisturbed and peaceful. One moment, the sun was peeking through the glass, warming his nape as he nuzzled into the white sheets, and the next, Sungmin was in pitch darkness, tuning out everything around him.
He must've been out for many hours, as when he blinked awake, he could faintly make out 00:34 on the digital clock at his bedside. Groaning, Sungmin rolled over to face the window, squinting while forcing his eyes to focus on the view.
There wasn't much to see through the small gap in the curtains (Kenshin probably shut them for him some time ago, bless his heart), just a few clouds and distant stars, along with the tops of some of the tallest buildings, so he slowly pushed himself onto his elbows, allowing him to look at the hotel room in its entirety.
The bed beside his was empty, untouched, other than a bag at the foot of it, which Sungmin recognised to be Kenshin's, if the collection of plush keychains was anything to go by. Sungmin frowned: had Kenshin not slept yet? Hell, where even was he?
Alarmed by Kenshin's absence, Sungmin sat up properly, running a hand through his hair and blinking the sleep away. His fingers reached for his phone (of course, Kenshin had put it on charge for him, dammit), contemplating whether he should message him to ask his whereabouts or not.
Just as Sungmin was about to unlock his device, the hotel door clicked open.
Sungmin’s head shot up, gaze immediately locking onto Kenshin's.
With eyes notably brighter and hair styled more cleanly, he definitely looked more put-together than the last time Sungmin saw him. His manager froze in his step, seemingly just as surprised as Sungmin was, lips parted and eyes wide before shifting his expression into something Sungmin could only describe as pure joy.
“Sungmin-ssi, you're finally awake!” he exclaimed, stumbling into the room and pushing the door shut with the back of his foot.
Sungmin’s grip on his phone loosened as it fell onto the mattress, the man's eyes transfixed on the way Kenshin shook his head like a wet dog, smoothing down the strands with a laugh, and dropped a new bag onto his bed.
“You're back,” Sungmin mumbled, disbelief hanging low in the air.
Kenshin, who was now taking out an assortment of items from his bag, looked up at Sungmin through his bangs, eyes disappearing as he somehow managed to grin even wider: his nose and cheeks were brushed with a rosy pink, likely from the soft night breeze, but it just looked so right on him that Sungmin's breath hitched.
“Huh? Did you miss me?” the younger boy teased, tilting his head in that infuriatingly mischievous way Sungmin had gotten used to. Sungmin ignored the way his heart skipped a beat, the way a now-familiar warmth flushed his ears, the way his lips suddenly felt chapped and dry and far too lonely. So what if Kenshin was right? It's absolutely, one-hundred per cent normal to miss somebody you care about. Okay, maybe he cared about the boy a little bit more than he realistically should, but that's beside the point.
Before Sungmin could even open his mouth to offer a response, Kenshin had moved on, hopping onto his bed and swinging his legs over the other side until they sat face-to-face, Kenshin's feet just a couple of inches away from Sungmin’s bed in the narrow space between them. He extended his arm out towards Sungmin’s, feebly resting his palm on top of Sungmin’s hand and turned it around so that his own was on the bottom and Sungmin’s palm was facing up.
Sungmin stared down at their hands, fingers twitching with the urge to just pivot his hand and interlock their fingers. Surprisingly, Kenshin's hand wasn't much smaller than Sungmin’s own—his fingers were long and slim, fingertips were slightly calloused, and it appeared that he had a slight habit of nibbling on his nails. A new thing for Sungmin to find endearing. Kenshin’s skin was still cold against Sungmin’s, somewhat stiff, and oh, Sungmin shouldn't have given up on filtering his thoughts, because it was humiliating how badly he wanted to just hold Kenshin’s hands between his own and warm them up for him.
“Listen! I didn't want to wake you up, so I went to look around by myself before,” Kenshin began, fetching Sungmin from out of his trance. “I met some cool people, and I went to a gift shop nearby, and– Okay, I know you don't really wear necklaces or whatever, but I saw this and felt bad you weren't enjoying the city, so I bought it for you! I think it would look good on you!”
He used his free hand to dig into his jeans pocket, taking out a small, white piece of card with a silver chain attached to it. He lowered it into Sungmin’s palm with an unchanged smile, feet tapping against the floor in an eager rhythm.
Sungmin stared at Kenshin’s giddy expression before moving his attention down to the necklace in his hand. Attached to the thin chain was a small, shiny charm in the shape of a bundle of flowers, their engraved petals long and thin.
Kenshin’s observations were right—Sungmin wasn't a big fan of wearing necklaces. Yet, something about this gift was so right, so Sungmin, that it just clicked with him: it was simple, but perfect. With the added awareness that this was a hand-picked gift from his stupidly adorable manager of all people, Sungmin couldn't stop the grin that split his face as his fist curled around the metal.
“It's perfect,” he said, opening his hand to take another quick glance at the jewellery.
Kenshin’s knees knocked together as he leaned in.
“Really?! I thought it suited you. You and flowers are both very pretty things that I like.”
Sungmin couldn't restrain the abrupt laugh that barked out of him, leaning back in his place. “I think flowers suit you more than me.”
Once realising the small amount of room left between them, Kenshin also leaned back, and his face fell into one of puzzlement.
“What do you mean?”
Sungmin’s grin eased into a warm smile, watching the way Kenshin tilted his head curiously. He withdrew his hand, savouring the way Kenshin's fingers glided along the back of his hand as he went, and set the necklace to rest on the duvet.
“You're cute. So are they.”
And Kenshin’s face brightened, grinning at Sungmin like he'd been waiting for him to tell him those exact words.
One side effect of his daylight perusal through Hamburg that Kenshin didn't anticipate was that he would be exhausted.
After his and Sungmin’s exchange, Kenshin had scrambled back to reach for the new bag, dumping out a dozen new snacks for them to try (Sungmin didn’t necessarily eat very many, wary of his appearance for his upcoming photoshoot, so had the pleasure of watching Kenshin review each one in detail, many of them resulting in an approving hum).
It was maybe three-quarters of the way through the taste-testing that Kenshin had blinked just a tad too long, sat cross-legged on his designated bed with his chin ducked against his chest. He didn’t know when exactly he had fallen asleep, and neither did Sungmin: he waved his hand in front of Kenshin’s face, calling his name a few times, nudging his shoulder, until the realisation hit him. Chuckling to himself, he had gently pried the empty wrapper out of Kenshin’s hands and pushed him until his back hit the mattress.
Kenshin was like that the entire day: in and out of sleep, nodding off with his head falling to the side, only to jump awake again once remembering he was still on the job. Not once did he complain, listening earnestly every time he was addressed, but the lingering tiredness in his demeanour was surely noticeable. A part of Sungmin pitied him, a sick, gut-wrenching feeling whenever he saw his manager struggling to keep his eyes open, even if he knew there was nothing he really could've done or could do.
The photoshoot came and went within a few hours, a delightful mess of translations and cameras as Kenshin dozed off in the corner, tablet clutched to his chest, with, eventually, a blanket thrown over his shoulders. As fun as the whole experience was—literally Sungmin’s first collaboration outside of Korea and Japan!—there was always that nagging in the back of his head which worried over the dumb boy.
After exchanging wide smiles and a few brief goodbyes, the trio (god, Sungmin kept forgetting about that bodyguard) were off back to the airport that very afternoon. Neither Sungmin nor Kenshin mentioned the way Sungmin trailed behind Kenshin just a bit too close, just in case he stumbled, nor the way he immediately offered his shoulder once settled in their plane seats.
When Sungmin woke up from his own slumber maybe 10 hours into the flight, there was a warm weight wrapped around his arm and something larger pressed against the entirety of his side.
God, Kenshin was surprisingly cuddly in his sleep.
Sungmin shifted in his seat, and Kenshin groaned, brows furrowing as he mumbled something under his breath.
“Stop moving so much.” The words came out broken, breathless, and Sungmin already knew he had been defeated.
“Right. Sorry,” he apologised monotonously. “Just keep using me as your pillow.”
Kenshin’s eyes fluttered open this time, aiming a half-hearted scowl up at him while squeezing his arm. “You already snore enough. Just do this one thing for me.”
Sungmin choked on his saliva, glaring down at the clinging man. Honestly, he couldn't actually be upset at him—not when he was looking up at him with those dazed, sparkly eyes, cheek squashed against his arm like a plush toy. His resolve was already weak, but there was something so disgustingly domestic with how easily Kenshin clung to him that it made his pulse stutter.
“I don't snore,” defended Sungmin. Kenshin just shook his head, gradually pushing away from him, a stubborn pout on his lips.
“You absolutely do,” he retorted. “You were snoring in the hotel room, and you were snoring when I woke up a couple of hours ago. I didn't know how to shut you up!”
Crossing his arms, Sungmin snapped his head away from Kenshin and pursed his lips arrogantly, because what on earth was he meant to say to that? Apologise?
Yeah. That's exactly what he did.
A hushed apology and a bunch of taunting later, the both of them were sitting awake, knees bumping against each other as Kenshin stretched his legs under the seat in front of him.
“Are you excited to be going home?” Kenshin asked, leaning back against his headrest. Humming noncommittally, Sungmin shrugged, turning to look out of the window as it passed over the land below them.
“I guess so,” he murmured in response. “Are you?”
Kenshin went quiet for a moment; the kind of quiet that only appears when you are thinking, truly thinking, of what you want to say next. Sungmin didn't turn his head, didn't move, didn't even give himself a moment to breathe. He waited. And for some reason, he had a feeling he would be doing a lot of that in times to come.
A small puff, an exhale through the nose perhaps, and Kenshin was shifting in his seat again.
“There's no place like Seoul.”
Sungmin’s shoulders tensed as he flinched. Too close—Kenshin was too close. Kenshin's breath, too warm and too gentle, was caressing his jaw in such an unfairly mellow manner, delicate in a way that shouldn’t have made Sungmin’s mind race the way it did. His nose was centimetres away from Sungmin’s ear, brushing the cartilage lightly as he passed, but it was the pressure on his thigh, the definite print of Kenshin's palm against his leg, that really made Sungmin freeze.
The man gulped, heavy and low, hyperaware of how Kenshin's fingers curled around the meat of his thigh, how he seemed to lean into it, hot air fanning against his cheek now, and how he hummed somewhere deep in his throat right when Sungmin felt the heat rising to his face.
“Oh,” the younger man breathed, and Sungmin squeezed his eyes shut for the second time that trip. This was indeed, positively, terrible. Kenshin was next to him, on him, and absolutely had to know what he was doing. He wasn't that clueless.
Sungmin clenched his teeth as Kenshin inhaled by him, and Sungmin’s imagination flashed. Something ugly and utterly unfamiliar twisted in his gut at the thought that lingered, though not entirely unwelcome.
Kenshin leaned forward. “The view is pretty.”
Sungmin’s eyes flew open.
“I– Yeah, yeah. You're right.”
He didn't need to turn to know that Kenshin was smiling. The warmth of it radiated through the scant inches between them, gliding over Sungmin’s skin. Sungmin’s eyes remained locked on the outside, land sprawled beneath them, where everybody and everything appeared as small and insignificant as they felt in that moment.
He caught a glimpse of Kenshin's reflection in the glass, lips curved and eyes wide with an innocent glee that did nothing to alleviate his multitude of thoughts.
The silence between them stretched, tight and thin, the only noises being Kenshin's steady breathing and Sungmin’s less composed. He could feel it all: his face burning, his eyes stuck in their alarmed state, the sweat that adorned his forehead and his bangs sticking to it, surely unattractive. Ridiculous. Getting worked over a boy.
“What about Japan?” he choked out. He slumped in his spot when the question had Kenshin retreating, though it now felt empty without the overwhelming warmth. Always too close, or not close enough.
“What about Japan?” Kenshin echoed in a tiny, hushed tone Sungmin wasn't sure that he recognised. He could only dare to twist around, to catch a glimpse of the frown that had unquestionably formed on Kenshin's face, his stupidly pretty lips that would be moulded into just the perfect shape for Sungmin to steal something precious.
Sighing, the shorter of the two reached out, fingers grasping onto Sungmin’s shirt, the tug on it light. When Sungmin finally rounded his head, Kenshin was looking up at him, head tilted as his eyes glazed over Sungmin’s features, almost inspecting in their nature.
“I miss Japan too,” he began, and the knots in Sungmin's stomach seemed to tighten when he noticed Kenshin's face brightening, lighting up as that senseless smile split through the fog of uncertainty that was clouding him. “But I've made myself a home in Korea.”
Kenshin really was beautiful.
He had a sincere heart, clearly full of so much gratitude for the people around him, and it had Sungmin yearning for him to be just that little bit closer to him, just so that he could protect that peace himself with all that he had. He couldn't imagine a world where Kenshin wasn't like this; wrapped in kindness and compassion, a living, breathing, re-enactment of love at its simplest.
Love was a delicate thing. A feeling so deep, so vast and bright, controlling so much of your life that the words used to describe it felt humble and minuscule in comparison to the notion itself. If only Sungmin had the power to savour that within Kenshin, to let him experience the rest of that life in that blissful embrace.
Really, when had he become so fond of the man beside him?
Sungmin’s voice came out soft, laced with an amiability he didn't catch. “I'm glad you feel welcome here.”
“Yes!” Kenshin grinned, fingers tapping against his knees in restrained enthusiasm. “My friends are really, really nice and I enjoy doing what I do!”
Sungmin mirrored the younger man’s expression, a heaviness blooming in his chest—Kenshin enjoyed doing what he did. This, sitting with Sungmin thousands of metres in the air, talking about things that shouldn't really matter. This, following Sungmin around, doting on him in the passing moments, and building his career around him. It satisfied something egotistical and crude inside him.
“It's nice having you around,” Sungmin admitted after a beat of silence. “Way better than my previous manager.”
Kenshin’s eyes widened, exaggeratingly so, as he leaned in a fraction, voice dropping to a scandalous whisper. “Are you allowed to say that? Isn't that mean to say?”
Sungmin’s breathy laugh escaped him before he registered it, leaning into Kenshin’s space with a smug, playful glint in his eyes, their faces inches apart.
“Don't tell anybody I told you this, but it was dreadful. It felt like being managed by a grandma,” he whispered back. Kenshin gasped, eyebrows rising beneath his bangs.
“Grandma? Aren't they usually really sweet though?”
The taller man snorted, shaking his head.
“Like an evil grandma. Or like… a disapproving mother-in-law in one of those dramas.”
Kenshin’s nose scrunched up at the imagery. “Was she rude?”
“Brutally honest, probably,” Sungmin corrected, but his tone was excessively sombre, making Kenshin giggle. “Too cold and strict. It was scary.”
“It couldn't have been that bad!”
Sungmin grinned because Kenshin was right. It wasn't that bad at all. There was just something about how Kenshin made even the boring conversations a pleasure that made Sungmin want to play along.
“You don't know a single thing about my suffering,” Sungmin huffed, and Kenshin beamed.
“Ah, I never knew I'd be so happy to be back at the company,” Kenshin said, arms stretching above his head as he sighed in relief. Sungmin nodded, trailing behind his manager as he approached the front desk with a couple of other staff to confirm their return.
The model settled into one of the seats in the lobby, suitcase at his side, as he fetched his phone out. He blinked at the bulk of messages that flooded his lock screen, not one lasting visible long enough for him to read before the next ones piled on top.
Right. He didn't actually have an eSIM or any connection in Germany.
“We're good to go!” Kenshin’s voice rang out above him. “Want me to book you a taxi home?”
Eyes flicking up to Kenshin, Sungmin smiled sheepishly and slipped his phone back into his pocket.
“That’d be great, thank you.”
Kenshin's response came in the form of a grin and a barrage of tapping on his device.
“Get home safe and try to sleep well, okay?” he bubbled, rocking on his heels.
“Are you not going home?” coaxed Sungmin, watching the way Kenshin kept glancing down at his phone with nervous energy. The younger man jumped like he'd been caught, cheeks pinking bashfully.
“My friend is picking me up,” Kenshin confessed as his shoes tapped against the floor in an impatient rhythm. “He's on his way, so…”
“Ah,” acknowledged Sungmin, standing up and reaching for the handle of his luggage. “Do you want to wait outside together, then?”
Nodding, Kenshin chirped a little ‘okay!’ as he skipped out the entrance, backpack rustling as it threatened to slip off his shoulders. The weight in Sungmin’s chest grew.
The chilly air of Seoul’s early morning prickled Sungmin’s skin as he shuffled outside, settling beside the other man as he peered at the sky. Ordinary, routine—the sky he was used to seeing every day, the sky he lived with, the sky he met Kenshin under.
Only a couple of minutes had passed before Kenshin was moving again, bringing Sungmin down from whatever train of thought he had decided to follow this time.
“Sungmin-ssi, my ride is here, and yours will be here soon,” he announced with a small wave when their eyes met once again. “See you in a couple of days! I'll be in touch if needed.”
Sungmin exhaled through his nose, harsher than intended but careful nonetheless. “Goodbye, Manager-nim. Have a safe trip.”
The soft smile of the man was the last thing he saw before Kenshin was spinning around on his heel, jogging towards the approaching tall figure with a deliberate lightness in his voice as he called out, “Minwook-hyung!”
Ah, ‘hyung’.
The blood rushed to Sungmin’s head.
Of course, he and Kenshin weren't actually close. Not at all. It was just the illusion of proximity, a mirage that had been perfected aeons ago, that Sungmin had let himself get tangled up in, blinded by the idea of actually being free, being special. They were simply manager and talent. No more, no less, yet somehow that fact hurt more than being nothing at all.
The sound of Kenshin’s joy—distant and bright—pierced something tender in Sungmin’s chest. He watched from a distance as Kenshin leaned into the man’s space, whining and flailing his hands when the taller ruffled his hair and rested his head on Kenshin’s shoulder, arms snaking around his figure in a loose hug. Sungmin’s hands tightened into fists at his sides, a sudden ache pulsating at his temples. If only that was him.
That was a thought to be ashamed of. Not that he had any right to think it. Not that Kenshin had ever looked at him like that; like he was something genuinely treasured, something worth touching.
The now physical distance was nothing compared to the long-lasting metaphorical distance between them. Sungmin had to force himself to look away, to distract himself, to do literally anything to take his eyes off the devastating reality displayed in front of him.
His reflection stared back at him from the dark screen of his phone. All he could see was a man, a man so unsensically envious, and all he could wonder was what it would take for Kenshin to address him like that.
Kenshin was slumped in Minwook’s passenger seat, an extended, slow exhale sliding past his lips as his arms secured the backpack on his lap. In typical Minwook fashion, the man hadn’t said much once they got on the road, the both of them sat in comfortable solitude.
The blond had seen these same streets leading up to Minwook’s apartment dozens of times before. Long, straight roads, the blur of the pavement rushing past, and Minwook’s favourite stores that he'd committed to memory forever ago: this routine of reuniting every couple of weeks was one of Kenshin's many pleasures in life, and he didn't doubt that Minwook viewed the arrangement the same way (after all, their conversations seemed to always drift to ‘I missed you’s and ‘when will we do this again’s).
“How was your trip?” Minwook asked as they rounded a corner Kenshin recognised as a sign for ‘almost there’. The latter hummed, the corners of his mouth turning upwards without much thought.
“It was really nice. I didn't have much free time, but Sungmin-ssi is really nice to be around.”
“Really?” the older man retorted, though there was something teasing in his voice. “He was basically giving me the death stare earlier.”
Ejecting a noise of surprise, Kenshin scrambled to sit up straight and gave Minwook a weary look.
“What do you mean? He's not like that at all!”
Minwook’s eyes darted to the side, digesting his naive, bewildered expression, and he shrugged with a smirk as he pulled into the car park. Kenshin’s stomach dropped, along with his gaze: that face never meant anything good.
“I don't know,” Minwook ribbed. His voice softened when noticing the blond’s downcast expression. “I’m just saying that he didn't seem very happy to see me.”
The younger man’s focus remained fixed on the bag in his lap, Minwook's chatter a faraway vibration that didn't necessarily seem to register immediately. Absentmindedly, his fingers coasted along the ridges of the fabric.
“That's not the kind of person he is,” demurred Kenshin, quieter than he expected. “Sungmin-ssi is really nice to everybody. There's no reason for him not to like you.”
“You remind me of myself when I was younger,” Minwook sighed after a long moment, reaching over to unbuckle Kenshin's seatbelt: Kenshin hadn't even realised the vehicle had come to a halt. “Stop thinking about work for a moment. Relax.”
With his own sigh escaping his lips, the blond untangled himself from the rest of the restraint and peeked up at Minwook through his hair. The expression he wore wasn't at all new, just a gleam of reticent understanding in his eyes and that small, affectionate smile that only appeared when he was thinking something painfully paternal. Kenshin's own lips twitched upwards in turn.
“I guess I really am just like you,” he admitted gruffly, swatting Minwook's hand away with a groan when it made its way back to Kenshin's hair.
Spending time with Minwook was cathartic in a way Kenshin didn't know he missed.
He often took Minwook’s patience and care for granted, having been used to it for years. But now—after weeks of running around, surrounded by irritable strangers who, in truth, wanted nothing to do with him—the young man was thankful for the miracle which was Minwook's incessant fondness since their very first meeting, the time Kenshin had accidentally stumbled into him three years ago.
The older man’s apartment hadn't changed since the last time he was there, just as he had anticipated. The walls were still that dirtied off-white colour, the same family pictures hung up around the living room, and the cat print blanket Kenshin had given him was still slung over the arm of the couch, though clearly well-loved. Slipping off his shoes, Kenshin placed them into the slot of the shoe rack that they had unanimously dubbed as his before dropping his backpack to the floor and flopping face-first onto Minwook’s couch.
Minwook scooped up Kenshin's discarded bag, the sound of the zipper being opened echoing in the silence. Kenshin's body tensed, already sensing the incoming scolding.
“Kenshin,” moaned Minwook as he reached into Kenshin's bag. “How many times do I have to tell you to fold your clothes and not just shove them in?”
The whine that crawled out of Kenshin's throat was muffled by the cushions, but evidently childish. He nuzzled deeper into the fabric beneath him, immaturely kicking his legs when he heard Minwook nearing.
“I was tired!” he wailed.
“Folding your clothes takes thirty seconds.”
“I was still tired. The time difference between here and Germany is horrible.”
Kenshin knew that Minwook would drop the subject when he was met with silence. Peeking up from the couch, Kenshin caught sight of the latter slowly taking out his dirty clothes from his backpack, raising an eyebrow when his gaze met Kenshin’s. Quickly, the blond turned away and stared at the back cushions like they were the most fascinating thing in the world, giggling to himself when Minwook shuffled away. This was nice. This was home.
“I'll throw these in the wash so you can take them home tomorrow,” Minwook’s voice called out from somewhere else in the apartment, probably already on his way to do the laundry.
The rhythmic hum of the washing machine vibrated through the place as Minwook reappeared, wiping his hands on his pants before nudging Kenshin’s legs aside to make room to sit. Kenshin groaned dramatically but obliged, curling into a tight ball at the edge of the sofa, leaving just enough room for Minwook to slump down, limbs sprawled out like he always did.
Wiggling his feet, the younger man inched closer until his toes brushed against Minwook’s thigh, gently prodding and poking them every couple of seconds. Kenshin chuckled into his palm whenever the elder tried to push away, moving closer to the other end of the couch just for Kenshin to follow soon after and continue his antics. He was being annoying; sue him. How else was he supposed to show that he liked him?
“Kenshin,” warned Minwook. He was doing that thing again; that thing where he lowered his voice too deep to the point it cracked, trying too hard to sound even the slightest bit intimidating but only succeeded in making Kenshin snicker harder.
“Wha– Ack!” Kenshin yelped. Minwook’s fingers had scratched at the base of his feet in a light tickle, and Kenshin immediately scrambled to sit upright at the other end of the couch in a defensive stance. His brows furrowed when the taller man grinned, mumbling complaints under his breath as he snuck his feet beneath his hands.
“Behave yourself, or you won't be staying the night.”
“Nooo!” Kenshin sobbed, eyes wide and chin ducked, forcing himself further into the corner like a spooked kitten. “I’m staying.”
They always ended up doing a whole lot of nothing by the time evening rolled around, the pink-orange hues of the sky painting the floor in warmth through the window. With both their stomachs full and the sun setting, the two leaned into each other, limbs tangled together on the couch in a way they would never admit to anybody else. Kenshin sighed contentedly, resting his cheek against Minwook’s shoulder, scrolling on his phone, the other with a book in hand. Occasionally, Minwook would hum at the print, Kenshin would hum back and get no response, and that was that. It was peaceful and comfortable in a way Kenshin never got tired of.
“Oh,” Kenshin breathed as his phone dinged. He didn't remember setting a schedule reminder so late into the day, but it was fine: he'd just relay the message to Sungmin now before he slept on it and forgot.
← Kim Sungmin
Sungmin-ssi, please remember that you have a shoot in two days! Take care of yourself in the meantime. See you then.
22:54
Kim Sungmin
OK.
22:57
The sound of Minwook's book being snapped shut made Kenshin jump, fingers tightening around his phone momentarily until Minwook’s arm steadied him by the shoulder. Noticing the man perking over him, Kenshin tilted the screen towards him, blinking between the short exchange of messages and Minwook’s blank expression.
“What's wrong?” he asked, and Kenshin sighed.
“He sounds cold. He's never usually this dry.”
Minwook could see the evident worry on his friend's face—the chewing on his bottom lip, the downturned brows, the subtle redness dotting his cheeks. Well, that last detail was new.
Minwook paused. That last detail was very new.
Carefully, the man reached around to turn off the device, placing it down on the couch between them and squirming into a more vertical position. “Kenshin-ah.”
Kenshin writhed in his place, practically radiating nervousness when he tilted his head in question.
“What's your relationship with Sungmin like?” he asked.
Kenshin squinted, face contorting from apprehension to scepticism as he replied, “Normal?”
And he was telling the truth. Kenshin treated Sungmin the same way he treated anybody else in his life: with respect and kindness. And he understood the difference between their relationship and others, and he knew to keep his personal life separate from his work life, and most of all, he knew that there was nothing weird going on between them. If he were to be honest, yeah, he liked Sungmin as a person, energy and all, but there were clear lines that were drawn before they even first set eyes on each other, and he was sure that he was following all of the rules. There was no reason for them to be on bad terms since Kenshin was just doing his job.
“Normal how?” Minwook pushed, sounding somewhat like he didn't believe him. Kenshin brought his knees to his chest, resting his chin atop them as his heart sank.
“Just… Normal? We're friendly, nice to each other, and that's it. I haven't done anything, I swear!”
The older man reached out, landing his hand heavily on Kenshin's shoulder, an indecipherable glint in his eyes. A gulp. Kenshin caught his reflection in the man’s eyes and thought about how dumb he probably looked to Minwook: small, stupid, freaking out like a high school girl because somebody he worked with was suddenly being dry.
He couldn't stop the tears welling in his eyes, or the way his nose suddenly felt hot and runny, lips wobbling as he endeavoured to speak again. Opening his mouth, nothing but a choked sound came out, and he gave up.
Kenshin sniffled, and Minwook was quick to move. His free hand wrapped around and settled on the back of his head, threading his fingers through his blond locks while shifting onto his knees and gently pushing his head forward into his chest. This was so, so, so incredibly humiliating. Minwook's hand was in his hair—warm, large, grounding—and Kenshin just despised how much it actually helped, how hastily the buzzing in his head was muted into something placid and manageable.
“I believe you, I promise,” muttered Minwook. “I was just trying to figure something out.”
Kenshin felt Minwook's thumb smooth down his hair against his scalp, the motion almost naturally occurring as the older man exhaled sharply through his nose.
"Do you think," Minwook began, voice low like he was testing how the words felt in his throat, on his tongue, before committing to them, "that there's a possibility that Sungmin might be jealous?”
“Jealous?” Kenshin repeated, his voice cracking between syllables. The idea of it was absurd. Sungmin? Jealous? He tried pulling away from Minwook, but the strength of his hand kept him anchored, resulting in an unhappy sigh. “What is there to even be jealous about?”
Minwook's grip loosened just enough for Kenshin to tilt his head back, peering up at him through damp lashes. The older man's expression was infuriatingly empty now: not mocking, not pitying, nothing in particular.
"Maybe he just wants to get closer to you," he murmured.
Perplexed, Kenshin wiped the remnants of his tears away with the back of his hand, eyebrows furrowed in that oddly youthful way that nearly made Minwook coo.
“You like being around each other, right?” Minwook asked, softly stroking the back of Kenshin's head as he nodded. “He started looking really upset around the time he saw us together. Maybe he's hurt from seeing that you two aren't as close as he wanted.”
A noise vibrated in Kenshin's throat, something quiet and dismissive, and he knocked his forehead against Minwook’s collarbone.
“We aren't supposed to be that close though,” he whispered.
“Hm, yeah, that's hard,” Minwook agreed. The knot in Kenshin's chest loosened, relief weighing his limbs while he nodded again. Empathy was an amazing trait.
“I don't get it,” was Kenshin's confession. “I just– I really don't. I'm already nice to him.”
The older man released an expansive breath, extracting Kenshin from his hold with lightly raised brows. Kenshin felt stripped bare, but not uncomfortably so, as Minwook studied him. Acknowledgement, not pity, lived in his expression. Kenshin had forgotten how nice it felt to just be held and listened to like this, all warm and trustfully pliant.
Distantly, he wondered if this meant that Sungmin would want to do the same.
“Why don't you find out?” suggested Minwook, knuckles brushing over Kenshin's cheek. “Talking makes things a whole lot easier. You learn that when you get older.”
A snicker escaped the shorter man, eyes disappearing as that well-loved smile took over his face, Minwook’s answering smile making his cheeks ache when he grinned wider.
“You're so old,” he teased, giggling when Minwook rolled his eyes.
“Don't take my expertise for granted,” said Minwook, poking Kenshin’s head until it rocked back. He didn't stop himself from toppling over, his back hitting the couch cushions as he blinked at the ceiling.
Minwook was right—he was wasting valuable time by sulking and not taking any initiative.
Kenshin sighed. “Should I just ask him?”
“If you think that's a good idea, then go ahead. You know him better than me.”
In what world would talking not be the easiest way out of it?
It was awkward.
They had met at the agency building, as per usual, though Kenshin could immediately tell something was off about Sungmin.
From the utter, complete silence in the car to the avoidance of eye contact, it was being made abundantly clear that Sungmin was doing everything he could to not be near Kenshin. Every greeting went ignored, every smile was looked through like Kenshin was merely a ghost, and every inch closer turned into two inches further apart. Truly, the manager had expected this, but he didn't anticipate how much it would actually hurt to have all his efforts rejected without a second thought or glance.
It was unfair how gorgeous Sungmin managed to look through it all.
A simple shoot for an advertisement, that's all it was, yet the model had that insanely unfair advantage of having his looks in his favour. He had fallen down this career path for a reason, clearly, but what irked Kenshin was just how unbothered he made himself appear. Despite the tension between them (which Kenshin was sure all of the staff had picked up on), there was not a single atypical wrinkle or crease on his skin. For fuck’s sake, people with perfect faces were so fucking annoying.
Sat in his usual position, slouched on a small chair off to the side, his knees tucked up with his tablet resting against his thighs, Kenshin did do his job. As much as he didn't want to, as weighty as his heart felt in his chest, he still watched, made notes, and guided where needed. They were business partners first, in a petty disagreement second. His patience could hold out.
Kenshin tapped his calloused finger against the tablet screen harder than necessary, watching as Sungmin went through the actions for the camera; each movement fluid, each expression calibrated to perfection. While the photographer kept murmuring praises, Sungmin's responses were clipped, mechanical, completely unlike his usual self. And still, those dark eyes never strayed toward Kenshin’s corner of the room. At least, not that Kenshin saw.
Kenshin tried, he really did, to stay neutral, but nothing could undo the swelling of his cheek from being bitten from the inside, the metallic taste that overwhelmed him as his teeth pressed into his flesh a little too hard.
“Fuck,” he cursed into his hand, stunned at the few droplets of blood that had made their way onto his skin. This hurt like hell.
A couple of members of the team glanced his way when he coughed, and Kenshin offered a stiff chuckle.
“Sorry. I'll excuse myself to the bathroom.”
Rinsing out his mouth was the easy part. It stung and made his eyes water, but that was to be expected—he’d just have to be extra careful with his mouth now. The hard part was facing himself in the mirror.
His reflection glared right back at him with those restless eyes of his, a bone-deep exhaustion fogging them. He rubbed his temples with a groan, watching as the man in the mirror mimicked the motion: Kenshin needed to get it together, he knew that. Getting more and more irritated by the minute wasn't doing him any good and, frankly, created an insistent ache that banged on the walls of his skull for release.
It’s vile, but the mirror doesn't lie.
That reflection staring back at you, jaw tight and eyes drooped low, is the very expression you are wearing, whether you like it or not. The glass can't change anything about you—not your eyes, not your clothes, not your hair—so why would it change that disgusting look on your face? That ugly, selfish thing you're seeing is only an echo of your truest, purest self.
Cold water splashed Kenshin's face as he exhaled. He'd get over it. Lecturing himself for being mad wasn't going to do anything but make the heat worse.
He knew the mirror was judging him on the way out, but he decided that was no longer his problem.
The first thing Kenshin noticed when he arrived back at his seat was everybody packing up equipment. The second was Sungmin’s approaching frame.
“You look mad,” the model said, his tone agonisingly flat. Kenshin felt his eye twitch, because, of course, Sungmin had decided to say that.
“Is that so?” he answered as he spun on his heel, leaning down to pack up his belongings. He took his damn sweet time with it, discreetly observing the positioning of the man’s feet behind him, only turning back and looking up at Sungmin once his backpack was full and slung over his shoulder. Tilting his head, Kenshin provided a close-lipped smile.
“Meet me outside when you're done.”
Kenshin didn't like to take advantage of his power over the model. It just felt cruel and unfair, especially taking into account their age difference. However, for once, standing his ground and seeing that subtle flash of fear in Sungmin’s eyes before the man turned around gave him a guilty sense of satisfaction. He didn't exit without thanking the staff, though; that would be too mean.
Outside, Seoul’s evening air was perfectly chilly.
The man could just about see the sun setting behind the array of tall, towering buildings that looked to stretch for miles on end, and something about being so insignificant in comparison lifted a weight off his shoulders. Sucking in a breath, it was just now that Kenshin registered the rapid beating behind his ribs, the empty pit in his stomach, and the warmth climbing up his neck. The man huffed, kicking a loose pebble and watching it skid down the pavement before hitting the base of a lamp post. He really was an open book, wasn't he?
Gradually, he flexed his fingers, reviewing the way the tips of his fingers were tinted pink from the cold and clenching them again as if he could physically grasp his mess of feelings and organise it himself. Frustration, exasperation, something more—all feelings too large for the moment.
Kenshin recognised the pace of the footsteps as Sungmin’s before the man had even opened his mouth.
Hesitantly, Kenshin turned around, allowing a small smile to grace his lips as he took in Sungmin’s anxious form. He almost looked pathetic like that: hair combed out, brushing his eyes, visibly gulping, arms wrapped tightly around his jacket.
“Sungmin-ssi, hello.”
“Manager-nim,” Sungmin managed to force out.
“Take a walk with me,” Kenshin offered, though it sounded suspiciously more like a demand that Sungmin could not refuse. “We have some things to talk about.”
A heavy silence settled between them as Kenshin took his first steps forward, only glancing over his shoulder once and then continuing his journey forward. The view wasn't particularly outstanding, but it was fine, same old. Muted grey skies, dark clouds seeking purpose, the final dim of sunlight; but Kenshin knew that morning would return, as all things did, so there was no need to dwell.
The path they took was vaguely familiar (or so Kenshin hoped), something shortening the distance between them and their company while being as mundane as imaginable. The manager didn't speak, so neither did the model.
Out of the blue, Kenshin came to a halt. Sungmin stumbled behind him as he stopped himself a couple of feet away, blinking dumbly at the back of his head. The shorter man twisted around.
“Sungmin-ssi,” Kenshin repeated. They had found themselves on a street corner, the cafe nearby already shut for the night; Kenshin wondered what kinds of drinks they sold. “I might not know exactly why you're mad, but you need to stop being immature and avoiding me. I'm just trying to do my job.”
Kenshin watched Sungmin’s breath hitch, his brow creasing when he frowned. As he stepped forward, Kenshin didn't do anything to stop him.
“Is that what this is about?” asked Sungmin, voice coming out raspier than Kenshin had ever heard it, hands shaking by his sides.
Nodding, Kenshin continued, “What else would this be about? Have you done something I should know about?”
“No– No. I haven't.”
The younger man hummed, shoving his hands deep into his trouser pockets. Sungmin was being extremely odd, or at least more odd than usual, and it left a sour taste in his mouth.
“Okay. So are you going to explain why you're avoiding me?” Kenshin probed with an expectant sigh.
Sungmin’s eyes darted from Kenshin's face down to the concrete beneath them and back to Kenshin. The latter simply crooked his neck to the side in a curious slant. He was almost sure that Sungmin could hear his heart trying to escape his chest.
“...You don't understand,” came Sungmin's response, a low, shameful growl that must've been buried deep in his throat. At that, Kenshin just threw his head back with a groan, running a hand down his face.
“I’m trying to fix that!” exclaimed Kenshin. “If you could just tell me what's wrong, this whole problem could be fixed!”
This was so annoying. So, so, so fabulously annoying that Kenshin almost scoffed right in Sungmin’s face. What right does he think he has, getting upset and evading Kenshin like a grumpy kid just for him to speak to Kenshin in this manner? He should've known that pretty faces don't make pretty people.
“I really, really can't tell you,” Sungmin muttered, shaking his head downwards. Kenshin squeezed his eyes shut momentarily, anything to gather his composure, before glaring up at the model with as much visible frustration as he could muster.
“It literally can't be that hard for you to–”
Sungmin had moved.
Before Kenshin knew it, Sungmin’s hand was gripping his jaw, tilting his head up as he leaned down into a rough press of lips.
Immediately, Kenshin made a noise of protest, weakly struggling to pry Sungmin’s hand away with no luck. Sungmin’s lips were brutally firm against Kenshin’s own, as if trying to absorb and memorise the exact shape and flavour of him while he still had the chance, and something heavy settled in Kenshin’s stomach. There was no asking, no warning, nothing—Sungmin had just entered his space and grabbed him like something he’d already claimed, pulling their faces closer, deeper, harder, until the shorter boy was writhing in his hold, eyes shut as tears threatened to fall.
The gasp that escaped Kenshin when he ultimately managed to shove Sungmin away was ragged and feral, chest heaving as he stared up at him, eyes wide and glossy. Kenshin's head throbbed with so much at once, a second pulse thumping behind his eyes as his body just froze in place.
Staggering back, Sungmin emitted a lungful of air, eyes hazy with something Kenshin didn't dare to name.
“Don't you get it?” Sungmin spluttered, sounding all the more agitated. Ironic, considering Kenshin was the one who had just been assaulted.
“I like you, Kenshin. You're so fucking stupid and too caught up in your own world to realise it, to realise how close I really want to be to you, and I'm even worse for still feeling like this despite everything. I hate it.”
Kenshin stared at him, swiping his sleeve across his lips like he could scrub away the memory of Sungmin’s mouth on his. The asshole had the audacity to look wrecked and helpless, and it boiled Kenshin’s blood like nothing else. The young man’s pulse hadn’t slowed: if anything, it was worse now, loud and frantic and overpowering in a way that made it hard to think.
He wanted to ask, to demand more, but that would imply he cared about the answer, and he wanted to believe that he didn't. Though he knew he was only trying to fool himself. He cared more than he should've.
Kenshin coughed into his hand. So much for being careful with his mouth.
“Is that it?” he spat, head hung low, refusing to meet gazes. “Is that all you wanted to do? Wrap me around your finger?”
Sungmin’s feet straggled forward, and Kenshin flinched, taking a large step back.
“Kenshin–”
“Save it, Sungmin-ssi. Did you really think telling me like this would make things go your way?”
Kenshin took a few more steps back, but Sungmin didn't follow this time; he just gaped at him with those large, remorseful eyes, fixed in position. The shorter of the two turned around without waiting for a reply, wiping at the wetness around his eyes once more, grumbling out, “Get your shit together.”
The bedroom ceiling quickly became Kenshin’s most-viewed item.
Wrapped up in his duvet, the polka dots of the cover distorting under his grip, the time Kenshin spent curled up in his bed was by far reaching the double-digit hours.
He’d stare, blink when a thought occurred to him, and grumble as he threw the fabric over his head, willing for everything to just go away. Then he'd pull out his phone, wince as the brightness burned at his eyes, and tap around until he could let out a relieved sigh at the sight of his empty calendar. Satisfied, he'd return to darkness, burrowing his nose into his duvet as sleep won him over once again.
This was normal for Kenshin—the sleeping, at least. It wasn't unusual for him to spend absurdly long hours in bed, missing the breakfast deals he always swore to take advantage of, slipping in and out of rest when his blinds couldn't withstand the sunlight any longer. He'd been scolded for it, sure, but after reaching his 20s and the habit stuck, both he and his friends accepted that he was just somebody who required those extra few hours.
This was his excuse.
Ignoring the blaring new factor, Kim motherfucking Sungmin, who was keeping his mind occupied and draining his energy, this was just about how he spent his ‘days off’.
Except, they were never really his days off. Kenshin still had to organise and update Sungmin’s schedule, sign him up for castings, make sure he had transport to said castings, and lord, how he missed being unemployed. He needed to go outside–desperately. There was nothing but the awkward weight in his heart stopping him.
Minwook had called, if he was remembering correctly. Or it may have been Seungho. It was certainly one of the two; Kenshin remembered it being somewhere around three or four in the afternoon, some time when he was drifting between naps, and the ringing had cut off before he could even pick up. He should call them back, in case they needed something from him.
Sure, it was almost noon of the following day, but they wouldn't mind.
It was in that moment that the man had realised just how heavy and grimy his bedding felt on top of him, trapping him in his own misery. Damn it. Old habits die hard.
He peeled himself out of his bed with a grimace, gaze drifting to avoid looking at the idiot-shaped indent in the mattress. This wasn't his fault, not at all: it was just the change in environment, the change in routine. A shower would do him good, as well as a change of sheets.
Kenshin hated Sungmin.
There wasn't really any other word for the feeling, at least not that Kenshin was aware of. Because he sure had some nerve, fucking up their professional relationship like that, kissing him just because his selfish ass felt like it, acting as if his actions wouldn't have any consequences. All people with any level of fame are the exact same: stuck-up and careless.
It wasn't like Sungmin had even asked! He just approached Kenshin, that stupidly pathetic expression displayed upon his face, and reached for him before he could even do anything to fight it. Who even does that? What made him think that would've been a remotely good idea?
Sungmin was a talent, Kenshin was his manager, and that's all there was to it. Sungmin should’ve known that any feelings outside of work should be handled privately or, even better, discarded entirely. What if somebody had seen them?
The blond didn't know what hurt more—the way Sungmin didn't seem to have a care in the world as to what he was truly doing, or the fact that he was blatantly toying around with Kenshin and his feelings. Being so kind to Kenshin, having fun with him, always making sure that he was okay; was the purpose of all of that solely to weaken the walls around Kenshin and take advantage of him? The young man knew that Sungmin had some odd preferences when it came to entertainment, but using Kenshin himself was a new low, and Kenshin went even lower for thinking he was an exception in a world full of egocentric pricks.
There was a heat in the back of Kenshin's throat, the sort that only arose in the worst times of anger. That restrained urge to just groan, scream, shout: it was overwhelming.
Kenshin's forehead hit the bleak tile of his bathroom wall, the hot water of the shower continuing to cascade down his red, bare back. Squeezing his eyes shut and clenching his fists, he slowly sank to the floor with a whimper escaping his lips once his knees reached the ground.
He should've listened to Minwook. He should've listened to all the times the elder had warned him not to trust people too easily, not to navigate life without scepticism, not to get involved with the wrong people. Maybe he was the foolish one for taking everybody's advice for granted and going off to do his own thing. That's how he got himself in this situation in the first place.
Stupid little boy, can't do anything independently.
Although, part of him understood the appeal. Of being a fan of Sungmin’s, that was.
Now, in the solitude of his bathroom, Kenshin couldn't recall a single moment where Sungmin didn't look good.
Even when he was half asleep with a puffy face, it looked natural on him, just as did the expression he made at Kenshin’s harsh rejection. It was odd to see him so hopeless and wronged, but it didn't look entirely out-of-place, and that was something Kenshin loathed. Perfect people were the worst. Perfect people with their stupid, perfect hair, and stupid, perfect teeth, and stupid, perfect eyes, and stupid, perfect smiles, and stupid, perfect laughs: fuck all of them. Fuck Kim Sungmin.
The ache in the man's chest only deepened the harder he thought about it. It was always ‘Sungmin’ this and ‘Sungmin’ that, god forbid a boy be selfish every once in a while and care about himself, because when was the last time he actually made a choice for himself? One that wasn't manipulated by some self-centred bastard who only acted on what he deemed fit for himself?
Who ever said that Kenshin wanted something with Sungmin?
While scrolling on his phone, Kenshin's stomach decided to speak for him with a loud growl. All the food looked so good.
Kenshin was yet to perfect the art of not triggering the fire alarm whenever he tried to cook, so he was still a guilty participant in the twenty-five per cent of citizens who ordered delivery on the (near) daily, but he would never complain: food looked good, he could just about afford it, and it significantly reduced the risk of an accident occurring within his own apartment. Humming, he didn't necessarily think twice before confirming his order, dropping his phone to his side, sinking into his sofa cushions with a relieved sigh.
Living alone was a bit of a blessing sometimes. Coming home to silence after following and leading some guy around for hours was exactly what he needed, albeit it did get lonely, but that's what friends are for.
Kenshin blinked up at his ceiling: he still hadn't called them back.
A huff of hair blew out of the man's nose as his arm stretched back out to his side, fingers dancing along the fabric of the sofa while trying to locate his device. He felt it vibrate as he picked it up, and his head snapped to the side. Kenshin felt something oppressive deep in his heart.
Sungmin was calling him.
Kenshin's brows furrowed as he glanced at the time, the numbers ‘20:56’ glaring back at him, then back to the caller ID. Instinctively, his thumb hovered over the green accept button before he froze.
Staring at the screen, he allowed the call to ring out. He had no obligation to pick up at that moment.
The solace of silence was short-lived as another call came through.
The same obnoxious, bright display shone in Kenshin's face, Sungmin’s name a jarring sight at the top. Even though his hand tightened around the phone, the man didn't move with the intention of answering it.
He let the call fade to nothing. And then the next one. And then the next.
The ringing stopped altogether after maybe ten minutes, though Kenshin didn't give himself the freedom to breathe yet. Carefully, he set his phone back down, screen pointed downwards, and sighed. He wasn't entirely sure what the sharpness spiking through his chest was, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to know, but it spread further than the man wanted it to. A sudden heat in his nose, pressure in his ears, tingling behind his eyes, and–
Kenshin wiped away the wetness with a quickness he didn't recall possessing. He had nothing to cry for. Sungmin could wait.
He twisted and turned in his bed more than usual that night.
No matter what he did, no matter how many times he silenced and unsilenced his phone, no matter how many times he would get up to get a drink and do a lap around his apartment, there was a lingering sense of unease that refused to go away. Burying his head under the duvet, forcing his eyes shut, blocking his ears: none of it did anything. Hopeless, Kenshin could only stare as the time ticked by, restless hour after restless hour.
He wasn't sure when his heart stopped racing so much, but it was likely pretty early in the morning.
An exhaustion finally settled over him, limbs heavy as he turned and curled into himself. His eyes burned, waiting for the final pull of rest to steal Kenshin away. Distantly, he wondered how many more hours of darkness there were left.
Ring. Ring.
Kenshin flinched, eyes fluttering open despite their resistance. Squinting in the direction of the ringing, his arm crawled out from beneath his covers, weakly grasping his phone and tucking it by his ear without a second thought.
“Hello?” he croaked out after a moment of emptiness.
“Sorry, did I wake you?”
“...Minwook-hyung?”
“Hey, Kenshin.” Kenshin could hear the tired smile in the older man's voice.
As he huffed out something akin to a laugh, the blond pushed himself up with his free arm, slumping over with his legs crossed when he managed to remain seated. With a small groan, Kenshin raked his hand through his hair while each blink of his eyes seemed to get heavier.
“Why are you awake?” came Kenshin’s inquiry. Minwook’s reply was as vague as ever.
“A bit busy.”
“Okay. Why did you call me?”
“I have something I need to show you.”
The whine that escaped Kenshin was nothing short of childish, a long, high-pitched noise that had his phone slipping from his grip.
“You couldn't wait? What could possibly be so important that you have to call me at–” Kenshin scowled at the device’s digital clock, “–almost four in the morning?”
“I’m sorry, I'm sorry,” Minwook replied, slightly muffled by some shuffling on his end. “There's something you need to see immediately, I had to make sure that you're up.”
“Yeah, yeah, I'm up,” grumbled Kenshin, eliciting a chuckle from the other man.
At that moment, Kenshin saw a message from Minwook come through. Instinctively, Kenshin’s hand went through the motions, opening their chat history and barely sparing a glance at the vaguely familiar website link before opening it in his browser.
Neither of them spoke for a passing beat.
“You're fucking kidding me.”
The man was certainly more awake now, sitting upright and blinking at the screen—a news article, published a couple of hours ago, with a grainy image of who was undeniably a specific, bull-headed, egotistical excuse of a model beside some other guy that Kenshin acknowledged. He skimmed through the first sentences of the report scantily, only to throw himself backwards into his pillow with a groan.
“Please tell me this is just some bad dream,” the boy mumbled, uncaring as to whether or not Minwook was still on the line.
“He’s certainly got himself in some trouble, hasn't he?”
“Why do you sound so casual about this?!”
“Sorting this is your job, not mine.”
Kenshin curled around his phone, clenching his eyes shut. “This is so unfair.”
“At least you can sleep on it now,” Minwook hummed. “Instead of finding out in the morning.”
“I don't want to.” The words came out more as a whinge than anything.
“Come on, Kenshin, get to sleep.”
Since Kenshin didn't have the energy to fight Minwook’s authoritative tone, the call didn't last much longer after that. A few complaints and ‘goodnight’s later, Kenshin was left in the company of his own dread once again. He fumbled with his phone for a couple of minutes before releasing it beside him, a deep exhale filtering out.
← Kim Sungmin
Kim Sungmin
please
kenshin
plead pickyp
kneshdin please
kenshin
21:06
https://www.mediafine.co.kr/news/articleView.html?idxno=7467
We need to talk urgently. I'll see you tomorrow.
2:04
“Xiang-hyung,” Sungmin’s voice came out all wrangly and wrong.
Jingxiang was waiting—probably—for Sungmin’s next words, but they never seemed to come. The elder model sat beside Sungmin rather awkwardly, his hands hovering above Sungmin’s shoulders, unsure if settling down was a good idea. Sungmin’s face emerged from where it was hidden in his arms, his eyes red as they flickered from the full glass in front of him to Jingxiang’s apprehensive expression.
“Do you think he still wants me?”
The taller of the two tried not to huff, because, of course, Sungmin was being absurd, and instead patted his back a couple of times. His hands wrapped around his own glass, and he brought it to his lips in a thoughtful sip, releasing a small hum that was barely audible through the chatter of the other people in the club.
“Is that what you're most concerned about?” asked Jingxiang.
Sungmin blinked. His brows furrowed as if Jingxiang was asking the stupidest, most ludicrous question he had ever heard. And to him, it was.
“I just fucked up my chances with the love of my life!” he exclaimed, hiccuping on the second word. His hands slammed down on the countertop, his glass rattling as he shot Jingxiang a glare. “Of course I'm going to be upset!”
Sungmin was drunk: that much was obvious to anybody around them. With teary eyes, flushed cheeks, and delayed speech, that man was maybe the most intoxicated that Jingxiang had ever seen him, albeit that title wasn't very hard to obtain.
Jingxiang was really trying not to groan, to roll his eyes, at his friend's absurdity (because he was certainly not acting straight), though he did pull his drink closer towards himself, just out of Sungmin's reach.
Sungmin's eyes trailed the glass’ path, the frown on his face deepening as his attention switched from the liquid to the older man. He wasn't sure when it started happening, but it wasn't long until the buzzing in the back of his head intensified, the stinging behind his eyes transforming into something more extreme as the beginnings of heavy tears gathered upon his waterline. Something in his chest sank.
“What are you doing–?”
“Have you thought about how Kenshin feels, maybe?
Swiping at his nose with his sleeve, Sungmin sniffled, reaching to retrieve his drink from Jingxiang’s side. Of course he had thought about Kenshin; Kenshin was the only thing he had been thinking about at all! Who was Jingxiang to ask that as if he hadn't? As if Kenshin himself wasn't the reason he was there, sitting sulking in some building he didn't even remember the name of.
Without a word of warning, the harsh frown collapsed into a delicate, trembling lip, and the first heavy tear of what was sure to be many spilt over. He couldn't see Jingxiang anymore, at least not clearly, and his fingers trembled as they rounded his glass, the hammering against his ribcage suddenly too loud and too real. Sungmin dropped his head over his drink and squeezed his eyes shut, sniffling again. And again, and again—until a wrecked choke forced itself out of his throat, his forehead colliding with the acrylic as he heaved, hitching and gasping while streams of tears dampened his cheeks.
“He– He hates me so– so much,” he croaked. “He'll never talk to me again, he– He really, really, really hates me, right?”
“Sungmin–”
A sob broke out of Sungmin before Jingxiang could finish his sentence.
“He hates me,” repeated Sungmin, the words muffled by his own anguish now. “Hyung, I– I fucked up.”
Jingxiang just sighed, a gentle hand settling on his shoulder.
Involuntarily, Sungmin's shoulders rose with a start, and he squirmed away from the weight while moaning an irritated ‘stop’.
“I–” Sungmin's head rose from the bar, snot dripping from his nose pathetically, “I should ask, right? Like– Like, communication… is key, right?”
Sungmin didn't register Jingxiang’s outstretched arm or the tissue in his hand, instead rubbing at his face like a dissatisfied dog, his mucus and tears sliding all across his sleeve and face. Haphazardly, he patted himself down, pouting until he pulled out his phone.
“If… I'll ask… I'll– I need to ask him. To– To ask if he really hates me. Right? Right.”
“Sungmin, no–”
“Please! Please, please, I just need to talk to him. Just– Just this once, please, let me…”
The phone was already on its fourth round of ringing by the time Jingxiang was able to snatch it from the drunken man’s grasp. He held the device aloft while Sungmin made a series of desperate, uncoordinated lunges toward it, the phone finally fading to silence after the short wrestle: Sungmin’s face ended up inches away from Jingxiang’s, eyes clouded with something hazy and absent, his arms sinking down and around the taller man’s shoulders as the energy slowly drained out of him. Jingxiang recoiled at the smell of Sungmin’s breath, and the man’s face crumbled again.
“Am I that bad?” he whispered, watching intently as Jingxiang’s expression shifted through three different types of sympathy before deciding on something awkward and pitiful.
“No, you're just not in the right mindset right now,” replied Jingxiang.
Brows furrowing, Sungmin adamantly shook his head, leaning in closer. His eyelids fluttered with tearful residue as he stared up into the model’s gawk, fingers tightening around his shirt.
“I’m completely fine.”
Jingxiang exhaled, a sound that came out as something half-fed-up and half-affectionate, as he lowered his arm and shifted his weight to support the clinging man better. “You're drunk.”
“I’m not!” Sungmin insisted. He rubbed his nose with his sleeve again. “Please, I just want to–”
Sungmin pounced forward, this time successfully stealing his device from Jingxiang’s hand, but the movement was less of a grab and more of a clumsy slide. He didn't even spare the man a look before he frantically began to try and unlock his phone, his thumbs prodding at the glass with a pitiable lack of precision.
Jingxiang had always been weak when it came to his friends, the man realised as he watched Sungmin struggle to type out a text to who he assumed was his manager. He slumped on his stool in defeat, frowning when the phone began to ring again.
Sungmin cradled his phone with both hands to his chest, hunched over while staring at the cartoonish icon below the ‘Manager’ title with wide, hopeful eyes; just waiting for the click of silence, the paused vibration, the sound of Kenshin’s voice filtering through his speakers like the sun through clouds. When the ineluctable lack of manager made itself clear, Sungmin couldn't hide the way his heart dropped. Shakily, his thumb moved back up to the ‘call’ icon, the same ringtone echoing through his ears for the nth time, though this round, he didn't have the confidence to look at the screen.
Upon the fifth cycle ending in more stillness, the younger model let the mobile clatter onto the countertop, fresh wetness rushing from his eyes.
“... He's not– He's not picking up. He hates me.”
Jingxiang stared for a moment, unsure what to do. The drunkard answered for him.
Sungmin finally reached for his drink, sliding it towards himself and taking an ambitious gulp, but not without a distinct look of pure disgust spreading across his flushed features. Sputtering, he slammed the glass down, wiping his mouth as a sorrowful sound escaped his lips.
“Straight Hite is disgusting! Why did we even come here?!” he whined.
“That's Chum-Churum.”
Eyes welled with tears, Sungmin's gaze shot up to Jingxiang, who was rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish grin. A surge of genuine betrayal struck through Sungmin—Jingxiang must've conspired with Kenshin to make him drink this utter shit as payback. That was the only possibility.
Collapsing forward, the frustration and torment transmuted into a weak wail, Sungmin's breath coming in short, rapid bursts.
His voice emerged from him sounding stuffy and congested: “I fucking hate you.”
The chuckle that escaped from Jingxiang was purely accidental. It was a low, delighted sound that had his eyes widening and his palm flying to cover his mouth, accompanied by a flash of guilt charging through him. Sungmin didn't move, an abandoned sniffle the only sign of life, remaining draped over the bar, motionless.
He could feel it clearly now: the burning behind his eyes. It stung, yet it felt so unbearably heavy; just an obnoxious heat that melted into the rest of his head. Biting his bottom lip, Sungmin felt another tear trickle down his face, and he distantly wondered how lame he looked. He truly was in a lamentable state. Thank god Kenshin wasn't there to judge him.
The reminder of Kenshin squeezed at his heart, and another small, wrecked sound came out of him. Kenshin—sweet, thoughtful Kenshin—was all that Sungmin wanted.
He wanted him so, so badly. It didn't matter how it happened, or how long it took, as long as he had the boy to himself eventually.
“Are you ready to leave?” Jingxiang’s voice cut through his reflection. After a quiet moment in which Sungmin registered the question, he shook his head.
“One more drink,” he grumbled. “Please.”
Both of them knew that the quantity was neither a suggestion nor a guideline, but Jingxiang didn't bother to argue. Sungmin would get his way in the end anyway.
When the time for them to leave arrived, it wasn't because Sungmin had finally reached some sort of equilibrium, but rather the fact that he physically could not hold himself upright any longer.
Jingxiang’s palm was large and steady against Sungmin’s back, steady enough for him to trust, as they staggered to their feet. Sungmin wasn't really thinking at that point, not anymore, just allowing himself to be guided out of the building, although he was sure that he had to grasp the older man’s hand at some point for stability.
The cool night air was sharp against Sungmin’s skin in comparison to the heat running through his veins, almost painfully so. There was no distinction between the dim sky and the barren concrete, the edges of his vision a murky blur, so he wasn't even sure whether he was going up or down whenever he stumbled over himself.
“How did you even get like this?” Jingxiang muttered under his breath, moving to hook his arm around the shorter man’s shoulders to keep him from becoming one with the pavement. He led Sungmin a short distance down the street, away from the entrance of the club they were just in, patting down Sungmin's hair when his head knocked against his collarbone. “Be careful.”
Sungmin huffed, his breath warm against the man's skin, then twisted to squint up at his face. A deep frown spread across his lips, and he reached up, wrapping his arms around Jingxiang’s neck, head lolling to the side as he faced him directly.
“I can't see you,” he announced loudly, leaning further into Jingxiang’s personal space. “You've got no face.”
“That's not a very good sign, I think,” replied Jingxiang.
Nervously, his hands fluttered around Sungmin's shoulders before holding onto his waist, pushing him a respectable distance away. He ignored the man's flimsy protests while extracting his arms from around his upper body.
Sungmin’s head throbbed at the movement.
“What are you doing?! I just said I can't see you!”
Gently, Sungmin felt himself getting pushed against a wall by the shoulder, the roughness of the concrete against his back a harsh, jarring sensation that had him wincing. His skull hit the building second: the relief of not having to carry it alone anymore was oddly comforting.
“I'm going to help you get home,” came the man’s voice again, and Sungmin whined.
“I said, I can't see youuu!”
“I know, Sungmin, that's why you're going home.”
“How am I supposed to get home if I can't see you?”
The man paused at that, but Sungmin wasn't sure what it was for—all he could really focus on was on the fact that his body was giving up on him. Was the world always this far away, and he was just now realising it? Is this what death felt like?
Sungmin hiccuped and wiped a bead from his eye. He didn't want to die yet.
“If you trust me to take you home, you'll be able to see me and Kenshin properly,” the man ultimately reasoned.
Sungmin's head snapped to the direction of the voice, his heart racing.
“Kenshin! I can't die without seeing Kenshin!” were the words that fell out of his mouth, disoriented and messy. “I need– Take me home, please. I want to see Kenshin. As soon as possible. Let's go home, okay? Are we going home?”
The answer he got was an amused hum and a presence leaning against the wall beside him. “Sure, we're going home. You'll see him tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? Are you sure?”
“After today, yeah, probably,” the man sighed.
Sungmin wasn't too sure what that meant, and he didn't have the mental capacity to dwell on it any further. He just turned his head back forward, grinning to himself, cheeks flushing with something other than residual alcohol.
Tomorrow! He just wanted tomorrow to come quicker.
“Fu– Sungmin, watch your step!”
“I can't see. I can't watch anything.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I don't.”
“You do.”
“I really don't!”
The pounding in Sungmin's skull was what hit him first, followed by the crunchy tightness around his eyes.
Laying perfectly still in his bed, his bare feet sticking out from under the duvet, Sungmin wondered how he got there. His mouth felt chalky and dry, and there was a lingering bitterness in the back of his throat; something that made the simple act of swallowing his own saliva feel like an excruciating chore instead of a natural bodily reaction. Each beat in his chest seemed to just resonate through his head, a pained groan slipping from him as he turned his neck.
Even though he couldn't remember the details of his transition from the club to his bedroom, he could remember Jingxiang's presence, which was enough to ease him when he saw the glass of water and painkillers at his bedside. That man was always taking care of others. Sungmin cringed: he must've been a real pain to take home.
It took all of Sungmin's strength and willpower to have him sitting up in bed, another harsh twinge surging through his cranium.
For fuck’s sake, he must've drank so many calories' worth of alcohol last night.
As he reached for the water, his hands trembled slightly, and Sungmin couldn't help but sigh at his own idiocy.
Water. Pills. Water.
The painkillers felt foreign travelling down his throat, the force of their slide creating a distinct ache, the only distraction in the suffocating silence of his apartment. Leaning back against the headboard, he shut his eyes and wondered if he had thrown up the night earlier while waiting for the medication to do something to mitigate his suffering. Or maybe he just deserved it.
Sungmin's eyes flickered open and winced at the sunlight. Again, he groaned, shielding his face with his hands, slumping forward until his forehead hit the mattress: getting up now was too hard, was too much effort, but he knew that the longer he procrastinated it, the harder it would be to get his life together again, and a cycle of misery didn't sound something he could get behind, despite his recent actions.
After allowing himself to mope for a couple of minutes, the man pushed himself out of bed, standing up and dragging his feet to the bathroom with the aid of the wall.
He didn't want to look in the mirror. Gaze kept low, he reached for his toothbrush and toothpaste, looking at anything but his own reflection as he brushed. However, in the corner of his vision, he could see it—the absolute mess he had become overnight.
The thing that mocked him through the glass was nothing short of a caricature of himself.
Pale and frail-looking, the thing’s dull, sunken eyes taunted him, darting from the mess atop his head to the hunch in his shoulders, to the shaky grip on his toothbrush, to, at last, the skittish, hunted look on his face. Sungmin stared at the stranger as if he could will it away. It was just something so wretchedly fragile, so unlike his usual self, that his pulse quickened when it mimicked his every movement.
He gulped. That was him.
“Get your shit together,” Sungmin whispered to his reflection, turning around before it could try and form a rebuttal.
He tried to erase that version of himself as best he could, the cheap sponge scratching against his skin until it turned a salmon colour. The shower was a cramped, little thing, a transparent box of isolation which didn't stay cool for very long, the steam becoming a thick, asphyxiating quilt wrapping around Sungmin and pulling him towards the walls. There was no battle as Sungmin rested his head against the glass, praying that the punishing spray emerging from the shower head would somehow wash away the remorseful residue of his drinking.
Going through the motions after that was simple: wash his face, get dressed, dry his hair, put some food inside of him, make sure not to lose himself somewhere along the way. The leftover salad he pulled out of the fridge was probably three or four days old at that point, somehow managing to be soggy yet dry simultaneously, but he probably wouldn't have been able to stomach anything else, so eating like a raccoon would have to suffice.
Abruptly, the intercom buzzed, the screech slicing through the stillness of the apartment and right through Sungmin’s temples. He didn't think or bother to even check who it was hovering by the lobby, simply scrambling to his feet and running to the door, pressing the ‘listen’ button just to make the jarring sound stop.
“Sungmin-ssi?” the grainy voice called from the other end of the line, and the man's blood ran cold. “Hello. It's… Kenshin. I'm here to talk to you.”
Sungmin paused, his hand hanging in the air by the intercom.
Kenshin. Kenshin was here, at his apartment, at his home. By himself. Without anybody else. Kenshin was here for Sungmin, to talk to him, to see him, to–
Sungmin’s head banged against the wall as he cursed under his breath.
He had called Kenshin yesterday a few too many times, and he was there to tell him to leave him alone. It all came to him at once—the shame, the embarrassment, the desperation—and he scoffed. Everything was coming back to bite him in the ass.
“Um,” Sungmin mumbled as he hit ‘talk’. “Sure. Come on up.”
Sungmin barely had time to hide his sad meal before there was a short, hesitant knock at his door (and it took a lot of work not to smile at the mental image of Kenshin standing outside like a lost puppy). And seeing Kenshin standing there, blond hair flat and almost reaching his eyes, when the model opened the door had him remembering just why he was so intrigued with him in the first place.
“Hi,” Sungmin breathed, blinking at the man. Kenshin’s hands fidgeted in the pockets of his jacket as he tilted his head, an empty, expectant look in his eyes.
“Hello. You look like a mess.”
The taller man didn't know he could feel as relieved as he did when Kenshin's voice fluttered through the air and hit his ears, a warmth spreading in his chest that he hadn't felt in days.
“Really?” he replied with a light sigh. “I would have never known.”
The tight-lipped smile Kenshin returned was enough to make Sungmin immediately regret ever opening his mouth.
“Don't get snarky with me, Sungmin-ssi. We have a lot to discuss,” he said, looking over Sungmin’s shoulder and into the front room of his residence.
“Right, right. Make yourself at home.”
Nodding frantically, Sungmin stepped aside to make room for the other man to come inside. His heart jumped around in his ribs traitorously as he watched Kenshin excuse himself, shuffling off his shoes and wordlessly allowing himself to the pair of stupid-looking bunny slippers Sungmin had accidentally left by the shoe rack. Once it had slipped off his shoulders, Sungmin was quick to take Kenshin's jacket and hang it up beside his own, kicking the door shut behind him.
“Thank you,” the younger man whispered with a polite bow, trailing after Sungmin as he manoeuvred into the living room.
“So… why are you here?” Sungmin asked, turning to look at Kenshin directly. He wondered if the man had intended to look so cute, or if it was just the pink, striped jumper and baggy jeans making him look smaller.
Kenshin hummed, gaze drifting to the side.
“You would think that somebody with so many guys to talk to would check his phone more often.”
The bitter tone of the words made the man in question blink, brows furrowing with confusion.
“Excuse me?”
“Have you not checked your phone this morning, Sungmin-ssi?”
After patting himself down for a few seconds, feeling around for that familiar rectangular shape, and realising that no, he hadn't seen his phone all morning, he offered a nervous laugh. Kenshin looked disdainfully unimpressed.
“I guess not,” answered Sungmin, rubbing the back of his ear.
“Really?” retorted Kenshin, shifting his weight to one leg and crossing his arms. “I assumed you would at least see my message, since I thought it was good etiquette to contact your date the morning after. Perhaps I'm mistaken. I apologise.”
“What on earth are you talking about?!” Sungmin sputtered, suddenly very interested in trying to find his phone. His head turned from Kenshin to the kitchen counter, to the coffee table, frowning when he noticed it wasn't in sight.
“You went on a date last night, didn't you?” prodded Kenshin, tilting his head an inch.
Sungmin’s head shot back to Kenshin. “No–?!”
Smiling sympathetically, the shorter boy raised both his arms in surrender with a careless shrug accompanying them.
“It's alright if you did. I just wish you would have been more subtle about it, because now I have a big mess to clean up,” Kenshin sighed, dropping his arms. His eyes, glazed with something the older man couldn't exactly describe, met Sungmin's for a brief moment.
“I didn't go on any dates, though,” the model insisted while taking a step forward. “I swear.”
“Well, you looked quite comfortable with that man last night,” the younger man’s voice wavered, a beat of reluctance passing before he could redirect his eyes back to Sungmin. “Ma Jingxiang, I think was his name.”
Sungmin stared, but he couldn't tell if it was from complete disbelief or the fact that there, warmed by the sunlight filtering through the windows, he could see the slightest tint of rosiness blooming on Kenshin's cheeks. Opening his mouth to speak, nothing came out, and that was enough confirmation to contort Kenshin's face from one of mere awkwardness to tragic vindication.
Panic arose in the older man’s throat at the sight, and he feverishly shook his head in disagreement.
“Xiang-hyung?!” he screeched. The passing thought of dating Jingxiang made him grimace. “That wasn't a date– How do you even know about that?”
The inner corners of Kenshin's eyebrows tilted up, his bottom lip jutting out somewhat as he reached into his jeans and pulled out his phone. Despite the screen staying shut off, the way the man waved it around dismissively with that sombre, disappointed expression was all Sungmin needed to get the hint.
Sungmin's heart sank, leaving something sharply hollow in his chest: he had been so caught up in himself, his personal life and feelings, that he had failed to remember that, not only did he have a public reputation to uphold, but he was now dragging other people into his own battle of distress.
Chin falling to the floor, the model bit his lip and squeezed his eyes shut, readying himself to apologise.
“Listen. Going out with another model, one more popular than yourself, mind you, and draping yourself all over him for everybody to see is a stupid move, Sungmin-ssi,” scolded Kenshin, his voice transforming into something cold and sharp.
Sungmin’s head rocketed up so quickly, eyes wide with something pained and desperate, the throbbing in his brain unbearable.
“Kenshin, I'm telling you, it's not what it looks like–”
“I don't care what it actually was!” Kenshin sneered. “That's none of my damn business! I just care about how to fix it!”
“But–”
“I don't want to hear it! Just tell me what you need me to say.”
“But it is your business, Kenshin!”
Sungmin took another step forward, but this time, his arm shot out, hand circling Kenshin's wrist firmly.
The way he clutched him was too sudden, too tight, too frantic, and the shorter man looked too alarmed, too tense, too spooked. Something watery had begun to line Kenshin’s eyes, and Sungmin’s lips parted to say something more, to explain, but not a single syllable made it out before a loud, rhythmic ringing interrupted them.
Without a second thought, Kenshin glanced down at his phone, and Sungmin’s curiosity followed. The unfamiliar name on the screen was gone as quickly as it came. Kenshin declined the call and silenced the device.
“Why didn't you pick up?” whispered Sungmin, looking back up at the man before him. He didn't return his gaze.
“It's not business-related, Sungmin-ssi. I'm here purely for business reasons.”
Sungmin hated this.
He hated it so much.
Here he was, trying to make amends, make things clear for him, and Kenshin had the nerve to just ignore him. To purposely act stubborn. Like Sungmin's feelings weren't even there.
“I–” Sungmin coughed out, and his grip on Kenshin's arm tightened, stepping deeper into the other man's personal space while pulling him closer. Kenshin stumbled back, a clumsy scramble to get away, though Sungmin just pushed further until the backs of Kenshin's legs hit the edge of the couch.
It was more of a scuffle than a fight, Kenshin gasping as his feet met the air and he fell backwards, his back hitting the cushions before Sungmin’s frame towered over him, both hands now pinning him down by the wrists.
Sungmin knitted his brows, watching the abrupt rise and fall of Kenshin's chest.
“I don't want this to be actual business! Kenshin, please–” Sungmin's right hand loosened its hold on Kenshin's wrist, “I just–” it travelled down, hot and heavy, from Kenshin’s neck, “Call me hyung. Or just Sungmin–” down his chest, “Anything, please…” to the waistband of his jeans.
A small whimper crawled out of Kenshin's lips as Sungmin’s hand breached the barrier of his jumper, his hand sprawling out against the man's stomach. Kenshin's head fell to the side.
“You know I can't do that, Sungmin-ssi.”
“Please, Kenshin,” he begged, hand gliding beneath the fabric, up his bare torso, then back down to seize his waist. “I don't want you to see me as just your coworker.”
“Sungmin-ssi–”
“No!”
Sungmin's fingers were digging into Kenshin's skin now. He hoped it was hard enough to leave marks.
Hovering in the air, Kenshin's free hand remained frozen before softly bunching at the front of Sungmin's shirt. He pivoted his head: Sungmin could now see the tears that had fallen. His heart raced.
“It hurts, Kenshin. All I want is you, all I'm doing is for you, and still you–”
One moment, Sungmin was staring down at Kenshin's trembling figure, and the next, their faces were just inches apart, Kenshin's breathing shallow against his lips.
“How am I meant to believe that?!” Kenshin snapped, a sob rising in his throat. “You just ignore me, kiss me, act like you want me, just to go out of your way to– to get all flirty and handsy with some other guy! Like it means nothing at all! Do you have any clue what you're doing to me?!”
Sungmin stiffened, eyes darting from the man’s eyes, to his lips, then back up. “Kenshin, I–”
“You're so fucking stupid, and so fucking selfish, Sungmin-ssi,” Kenshin panted.
“Please–”
“Just shut up for once!”
Sungmin didn't have the chance to formulate another response or plea—the air was knocked out of his lungs almost immediately.
Kenshin's lips collided with his in a rough, hungry attempt at a kiss, his arm wrapping around Sungmin's neck and pulling him down until there was no space between them. It was a weak attempt to silence the argument between them, surely, but it was more so a fraction of the vulnerability the man had refused to share, and Sungmin devoured it with a groan.
Greed was a sin that Sungmin succumbed to easily; he was never the strongest of men. But what was he to do?
He had Kenshin now.
His lips were slightly dry against his, and Sungmin could feel the tears smearing across his cheekbones, but that didn't matter anymore: not when their mouths were tangled together, both of the younger man's arms having drifted to anchor around his neck, and Sungmin’s hands were free to explore the warm expanse of his upper body, swallowing each little sound he made like it was his first meal in days. And there were a lot of them, because, of course, Kenshin was a squirmy, sensitive little thing. Every brush of fingertips against his collarbone, every touch by his ribs, every scratch on his hips had Kenshin whining against Sungmin's lips, back arching off the sofa just for him to be pushed further into the cushions.
It was intoxicating how easy Kenshin was.
A faint moan vibrated in Sungmin's throat, something that was a surprise even to himself. One of Kenshin's hands had slid up the older man's neck to grip his hair, a harsh tug forcing their faces apart, and Sungmin could look at him more clearly now.
Kenshin blinked up at him, and Sungmin could just feel his restraint deteriorating with every passing second. The shy glint in his eyes, paired with the leakage of tears and obnoxious flush of cheeks, felt like a kick right in Sungmin's gut—he was far too pretty like this.
They didn't exchange any words as Sungmin shifted. Knee slotting between his legs and fingers curling around his waist, Kenshin suppressed another noise, sniffling when Sungmin grazed his nose with his own.
Their next kiss was tamer, smoother, as Sungmin lowered his lips onto Kenshin's. It was a soft reunion, the man below melting into Sungmin’s touch, sighing whenever his mouth trailed off course and down the line of his throat before making its way back up to his face.
Subtlety was the least of Sungmin’s concerns when his tongue began to wander as well, tracing the seam of Kenshin's lips until he surrendered with another whimper.
Sungmin pulled Kenshin flush against him with a needy sort of urgency, slotting himself between him comfortably, then let his hands migrate up to his jaw, tilting it firmly to get a better angle.
Kenshin's mouth was warm and inviting in a way that Sungmin hadn't imagined. He didn't taste sweet, nor was he exactly salty, but something about it made Sungmin just want more, and more, and more, until he stole the man's breath entirely. He didn't know how, or when, to stop.
“Sungmin-ssi,” Kenshin gasped when they separated for a quick breather. Slowly, his arms dropped to his sides. “This isn't right.”
Frowning, Sungmin’s thumb dragged over Kenshin's slick lips, and he huffed out his nose when the man freely let him part them with his finger. He was enjoying this as much as he was.
“Why do you care so much?” he asked. “Stop trying to be the bigger person.”
“Somebody has to be,” replied Kenshin, voice cracking.
Sungmin's hand moved to caress Kenshin's cheek, and he nuzzled into the warmth instinctively, eyes squeezed shut. Leaning back down, Sungmin pressed a kiss onto his other cheek. When Kenshin winced, the elder sighed, digging his face into the space between his neck and collarbone.
“You're thinking about it too much,” Sungmin muttered, nudging his lips against the skin there. His tongue darted out, leaving a tiny wet patch behind.
“We shouldn't be doing thi–”
Kenshin yelped as Sungmin's teeth caught his skin, flapping at his shoulder powerlessly and writhing in place. Sungmin's lips curved into a triumphant smile. Kenshin was all talk and no bite, and while it would usually be infuriating, Sungmin had him exactly where he wanted him.
With a slow, deliberate suction in the exact same spot, Sungmin refused to pull back until the skin was plump, bruised, and painted a gorgeous reddish colour against the pale canvas of Kenshin's neck. The blond was shuddering beneath him, breath hitching and hands feebly tugging at his shirt, though no real effort to extract him was being made.
“What are you doing?”
Sungmin hummed into his skin before finally raising his head to look Kenshin in the eye.
“Giving you a gift.”
“That's not what it felt like to me.”
The older man glared half-heartedly.
“Do you not consider such acts of love to be special, Kenshin?” was all that he said. He watched Kenshin's cheeks flare up.
“I would just prefer to receive that… elsewhere,” he muttered, fingers inching up towards the collar of Sungmin's shirt.
Grinning, Sungmin tilted his head with faux cluelessness; there was no fun in being straightforward and simple. If Kenshin wanted anything more, he would have to be more frank about it.
“Like where?”
Kenshin's focus shifted to Sungmin's lips, then hit him with the most desperate, pleading look Sungmin had ever seen materialise on his face.
Sungmin gulped but stood firm.
“Please,” whined Kenshin.
“Please what? You have to tell me properly.”
Frustrated, the younger man pouted, bringing his index finger to his lips, grunting when Sungmin had the nerve to laugh at him.
“...Kiss me on the lips. Please.”
“You’re too cute,” Sungmin answered. “I can do that for you.”
Sungmin didn't waste any more time, shoving his lips against Kenshin's again, giving him no time to adjust before his rapacious hands were roaming, memorising each dip and curve of the man's body.
Eventually, they did end up discussing the problem at hand—somewhat. Just enough for Kenshin to be able to form a coherent statement, at least, because that man was out of the apartment the very second he deemed he was able to, leaving Sungmin with nothing but the lingering pressure of his lips against his.
Part of Sungmin was glad that he wasn't some kind of big-shot. He made too many mistakes and far too recklessly, and knowing the kind of fans that other people had, what he had been doing would absolutely not go down right with them. The rise to stardom was a double-edged sword, and Sungmin wasn't confident enough to wield it alone.
The model never bothered to read the entire statement that they had given out, trusting Kenshin’s judgement and decisions enough to stay at ease for a little while, but he hadn't heard from him since then other than being instructed to stay on the low until everything blew over.
That was the thing that Sungmin hated the most: the waiting game. Waiting for time to pass, waiting for his heart to settle down, waiting to see Kenshin again, waiting for his next schedule, waiting to find out what the two of them actually were… His biggest flaw may have been his impatience. It was moments like those that made him realise he didn't actually have much of a life outside of his work.
Maybe one day he would find out the sorts of things Kenshin did for pleasure and they could do them together.
Sungmin had apologised to Jingxiang some time ago, and he recalled that the man mentioned that he, his manager, and Kenshin met up in person to discuss things. He wondered what they talked about; he wondered why he wasn't invited. It likely wasn't that important, but it still got his mind ticking.
Days passed exactly like that: Sungmin would sit on his phone, or by his phone, perking up at any and every notification, just to deflate when he saw it wasn't from his favourite blond-headed boy. More times than he would like to admit, he just stared at the wall, trying to imagine the trajectory of Kenshin's life with Sungmin's absence. The anonymity Kenshin lived behind was probably so freeing. To have the ability to traverse freely and separate himself from the professional persona he pursued was a concept that stirred something cruel and envious deep in Sungmin's gut.
Sungmin wanted to do that.
It was almost humiliating how bored and desperate Sungmin became when faced with himself.
Staring at the ceiling, he became restless, fingers inching for his phone despite there being no real reason for him to, constantly flinching back until he gave in, grabbing the device and rolling over onto his stomach, feet kicked into the air.
He unlocked his phone.
“This isn't an invasion of privacy, right?” he murmured under his breath to nobody in particular, though he didn't sound like he was very convinced himself.
God forbid he was a little bit curious, a little bit nosy, as to what the man he liked was doing outside of work hours. If the information was already public, then surely there was nothing wrong with doing a little bit of digging, right? Honestly, it was just a background check. Just making sure that the guy was as good as he seemed.
He had his browser open, keyboard up, but paused in his tracks.
Theoretically speaking—purely hypothetical, of course—would Kenshin’s name be written in Hangul or Kanji on his profiles? Or both, or something else entirely?
The blank search bar was taunting him, and he'd had enough. Swallowing his pride (or whatever was left of it), Sungmin's fingers began to dart around the screen. Humans were never perfect: there must have been something out there, tucked away like a forgotten biography, whether truly abandoned or not, that was linked to his name. Perhaps he was one to post scenic landscapes, or cute selfies, or memories of group hangouts; Sungmin was dying to know.
Kenshin had definitely done a good job sweeping away the tracks of his digital footprint before making the choice to manage Sungmin’s disastrous career, since the basic searches weren't providing him with any substantial information. He almost wanted to give up, convinced that Kenshin was a concept that only existed in the physical realm, but his stubbornness wouldn't allow him to do so until he found at least something.
Sungmin’s perseverance paid off in the end. Sort of.
At first, he wasn't sure what he was looking at other than an empty Instagram profile that miraculously seemed to have Kenshin's name as the display name, probably just a fan of the manga Sungmin had accidentally come across. Few following, fewer followers, and no posts—it looked like another dead end. Still, even with the seemingly gibberish spam of a username, the man swiped past the inconspicuous repost panel to the tagged posts. His body came to a halt.
A small, pixelised version of Kenshin's familiar face stared back at him from the most recent post, and his heart threatened to leap out of his body as he tapped to view it in full.
Truthfully, he didn't care about the person who posted the pictures, or any of the other people in the array of photos, since it was obviously some sort of celebration. He could feel the corners of his lips turning upwards against his will as he caught sight of Kenshin's dead-asleep, sprawled-out frame in the background of one of the other images. Kenshin looked cute, even when he wasn't trying to be. Looking down at the post date, Sungmin noted that the post was from back in September, which was a couple of months ago.
Sungmin huffed, accepting that there likely wasn't much recent content to see and scrolled down to the next post.
Kenshin's hair was slightly longer there and a washed-out violet colour that worked surprisingly well, giving him a younger, boyish look that Sungmin found himself oddly infatuated with. It had been posted prior to their first meeting, back in April, a fact that made Sungmin's gut clench and made the man realise just how sparsely Kenshin (or, well, his friends and family) posted.
Nevertheless, this rare glance at a relaxed, more vulnerable version of Kenshin felt like a victory; a glimpse of a real life outside of professionalism.
Sungmin continued like that for the next half-hour, shamelessly scrolling through the same couple dozen posts, zooming in and out of Kenshin's face like some crazed, obsessive fool. But he wasn't, because he was just doing a thorough background check. A background check which definitely needed to be done and was definitely not already done before Kenshin's employment, and definitely wasn't hiding any ulterior motives that Sungmin might've had. That would be absolutely ridiculous.
“Damn it,” he groaned, holding down the power button on his phone until the glass went black, Sungmin's smudged reflection peering at him. “I miss him.”
“Good job today, Sungmin-ssi.”
Kenshin's hand landed on Sungmin's back, right between his shoulder blades, and the older man jumped. Peering down, he saw Kenshin glancing up at him, the ghost of a smile haunting his lips. Sungmin swallowed down something in his throat, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks.
How long had it been since they'd acted like this with each other?
Far too long for Sungmin's liking; he knew that for sure.
It was a genuine relief to have Kenshin back at his side.
“Actually,” Sungmin began, and Kenshin tilted his head with a blink. Suddenly, the words felt lodged in his throat. “Can we… talk?”
“Huh?”
Kenshin looked puzzled for a moment, then his expression shifted into something innocent and welcoming. Fucking hell, Sungmin was a weak man.
“I mean, yeah, sure! Let me just pack up first.”
“Oh, let me help–”
“No, no, it's okay, I got it!” The shorter boy waved his hand dismissively before grasping Sungmin's, pulling him behind him. “All we really needed to bring was you.”
Sungmin stared down at their conjoined hands, simply allowing Kenshin to drag him around like a lost puppy as long as it meant that they could stay like that, Kenshin's fingers gently brushing over his knuckles. He didn't seem to be in much of a rush, making lazy conversation with anybody they crossed paths with—not that Sungmin minded with Kenshin squeezing his fingers whenever they had to turn around—and the model was in a blissed-enough state to ignore the prying eyes that followed them out the doors.
The loss of warmth when Kenshin let go was more hallowing than it should have been, especially when all he was doing was adjusting the bag on his back and spinning on his heel to face the older man directly.
“Did you have a problem, Sungmin-ssi?” he asked.
“Kenshin…” began Sungmin. Kenshin's back snapped straight, the smile on his lips faltering, gaze flitting to the ground for a split-second. The air grew heavy with apprehension around them. “What exactly am I to you?”
Kenshin's hands journeyed to the hem of his sleeve, anxiously tracing it. “I'm your manager, you know this.”
Sungmin shook his head.
“That's not what I mean.”
Tipping his head to the side, a frown grew on Kenshin's face while his eyes seemed to search Sungmin’s for any hint of deceit. He zipped his jacket to the very top, covering his chin, and shoved his hands into his pockets. Sungmin wanted to pull him in just like that and rest his warm palms on Kenshin's freezing face, shielding him from the winter frost.
“You're going to get sick,” Kenshin whispered, a feeble attempt at changing the subject.
“A few days ago…”
“Nothing happened a few days ago.”
Kenshin's voice came out icy and stern, brows furrowed as he reached out to also zip Sungmin's jacket up for him.
“What?” Sungmin caught his hand before it could reach the top of the zipper. Kenshin brushed him off before his hold could get any more secure, zipping the outerwear the rest of the way up and landing a solid, heavy hand on Sungmin's shoulder.
“What we did was wrong, and we shouldn't talk about it anymore. Just forget it.”
Something in Kenshin's eyes was tender, compassionate, and for a moment, Sungmin didn't know what to believe: the callous words leaving Kenshin's mouth, or the familiarly fragile way he was looking up at him, cheeks rosy from the chill rather than the thrill.
“I can't just forget about that,” he confessed, extracting Kenshin's hand from his shoulder and gathering it in both of his, a small bundle of warmth between them. How Kenshin sighed appeared to have the man deflating entirely. He didn't pull away, but rather leaned forward until his forehead hit Sungmin's collarbone, inhaling deeply as if he were savouring the model's scent.
“Please, Sungmin-ssi,” came Kenshin's voice, hoarse and delicate. “It's for the better.”
Sungmin's fingers curled around Kenshin's hand, encasing it as tightly as he could without it causing physical harm.
“Why are you so scared of having something between us?”
“Because it's not right!”
Shoulders trembling, the younger man refused to budge, anchoring himself to the space up against Sungmin's taller frame. His breath was coming in frantic gasps, hitting the fabric of Sungmin's coat in rhythmic puffs of white mist. As he inched down closer to Kenshin’s head, the taller man refused to loosen his grip.
“Why?” he murmured. “Please, Kenshin, just tell me why.”
“It just… isn't. Why can't you just accept that?”
A sharp pain shot through Sungmin's chest, and he took a step back, creating a sudden, frigid gap of air between them, the space just large enough for Sungmin to reach out and cup Kenshin's jaw and tilt it upwards with utmost care. The safety of Sungmin's collarbone had been stripped away now, leaving the younger man bare and vulnerable, a broken glisten in his eyes.
Sungmin's motions froze, trying to read the expression laid before him.
“It's because I really, really like you, Kenshin,” he replied, breath fanning against the blond’s chapped lips. “You already know that. You feel the same, right?”
In a sense, the model's words were more of a plea than a question—he just wanted confirmation, a nod, anything, that what he was experiencing was reciprocated. That he wasn't alone in this.
Kenshin's lips parted, a soft noise escaping, but then he shut them again. His face, which was far too stupidly breathtaking even when he looked as if he wanted the ground to swallow him whole, shattered into a display of pure culpability. Sungmin felt like crying.
“Kenshin?”
With all the devotion one could muster, the younger man's hand carefully wrapped around Sungmin's wrist, an ice dagger resting against his pulse. For a beat, neither of them moved. Then, Kenshin began to lower Sungmin's arm.
“I can't be allowing my feelings to get in the way of work. And you shouldn't either.”
That wasn't what Sungmin wanted to hear at all.
They had spent months together, day in and day out, and the older man was so, so, so sure in his conclusion that his adoration wasn't one-sided: Kenshin had let him kiss the life out of him, for the love of god. Kenshin had bought him gifts, took care of him, slept beside him, did everything a good, loving partner would. He didn't understand! Everything was there, so why was he so afraid? It wasn't that hard to just say yes; it wasn't that hard to be together, it wasn't that hard for them to hide it. There was no reason to be dancing around it so much.
“Nobody has to know.”
“You're right. But people always find out anyway.”
“We can do it. Please, just let me try.”
“Sungmin-ssi–”
Sungmin shook his head, gripping Kenshin's shoulders.
In the back of his mind, he wondered how he looked. Did he look cool and handsome, or as pathetic and desperate as he felt? Was his makeup holding up in the cold? Had his hair fallen flat and stuck to his face?
Does it matter?
“Please. Give me one chance,” the older man choked out one final, desperate plea. “If it doesn't work out, we can forget any of this ever happened… Please?”
He was sure he had let at least one tear slip out during this conversation. Or two. Or maybe even three.
That was beside the point, though, because Kenshin was staring at him, eyes wide, his hand trembling in the air. For a long moment, the only thing Sungmin could hear was the hysterical thumping of his own heart against his ribcage and the exasperated exhale of Kenshin.
“...Okay.”
Sungmin blinked.
Okay?
“Really?”
Kenshin nodded. That soft smile that Sungmin had missed was back, blooming onto his face while he took a small, shaky step away from him. He tucked his hands around his mouth and blew warm air into them, then rubbed them together with a naive giggle.
“Sure. I just… have one more thing I want to do for you first,” he sang, tucking his hands back into his pockets and rocking on both feet. “So stop crying. You look dumb.”
Surprised, Sungmin couldn't stop the bewildered chuckle he made. He wiped his eyes.
This was it. Kenshin had finally said yes. After months of yearning, praying–
“Do what exactly?”
Kenshin grinned. “Telling you would ruin the surprise, wouldn't it? I'll just text you later.”
For what may have been the first time since June, it wasn't Kenshin that was driving Sungmin to his schedule for that day.
When Sungmin arrived at the company building early, he expected Kenshin to be there too, taking advantage of the lunch meal specials as he usually did. That was one of the few things he knew about Kenshin—that he typically forgot to eat himself, and instead lived on whatever was thrown at him by their coworkers. It had gotten to a point where, after weeks of watching the man constantly snack on packs of seaweed and meat trimmings, Sungmin had dragged him to the company's cafeteria one afternoon and managed to see his entire face light up when he explained the stuff they offered for employees.
However, this time around, there was no Kenshin in sight. Not in the lobby, not in the cafeteria, not anywhere he would think to find him. He didn't anticipate how awkward it would be to just stand around waiting when there was no Kenshin there to accompany him and listen to him talk.
Lacking a companion left him feeling unusually exposed, so he quickly opted to reach for his phone. It acted more as a social shield than anything else, his time of arrival and estimated pickup time already engraved in his head. He considered messaging Kenshin briefly to ask where he was, but the idea left him as soon as it came, not wanting to seem too desperate.
Time ticked far too slowly.
Sungmin wasn't one to get nervous or agitated easily, but the rhythmic tapping of his foot against the concrete floor would make that hard to believe for anybody who passed. He probably looked like a creep.
Too caught up in his own head, the model didn't even register the new set of footsteps approaching him until he felt a light tap on his shoulder. Flinching, Sungmin’s phone danced around in his hand carelessly, almost fluttering to the floor before that same hand caught it and handed it to him with a chuckle.
“Sungmin, right? I'm your ride today.”
Sungmin finally looked up, making eye contact with a vaguely recognisable older man who seemed to be in his forties, and offered him a tense smile.
“Ah– Thank you! Sorry… Where's Manager-nim?” asked Sungmin, fitting the device into his pocket before he could drop it again.
The man began to walk towards the main entrance, and Sungmin took that as his sign to follow soon after with a small jog to catch up.
“Kenshin-ssi?” the man replied, looking back briefly, shrugging, then opening the passenger-side door for Sungmin. “He said he's really busy today and asked for somebody to step in for him. That's me.”
Sungmin made a sound of acknowledgement as he settled himself into the passenger seat, dipping his head in thanks when the man shut the door on his side. Clenching his fists in front of him, Sungmin realised how out of sorts it felt to be sat beside somebody other than Kenshin and how much his presence actually grounded him on the daily.
The older man sighed as he started the car. “Don't worry, he said he'll be back soon.” He raised an eyebrow in the model's direction. “He did say he was preparing something important for you, apparently.”
Those words had Sungmin sitting up straight in his seat, eyes wide like an awestruck puppy.
Kenshin…
He had mentioned wanting to do something for Sungmin not too long ago, but the man hadn't realised it would eat into his time with Sungmin. His shoulders rose to his ears, and his bottom lip jutted out as his eyes wandered around the vehicle, trying not to let his disappointment show. Sungmin just wanted to see Kenshin again.
“Do you know what it is?” he mumbled, only for the man behind the wheel to bark out a laugh and shrug.
“Sorry, I don't have a clue. Plus, I don't think I would be allowed to tell you anyway.”
Sinking further into his seat, Sungmin grumbled something under his breath. “That's a shame.”
“It is, isn't it?” the man said, leaning back into the headrest, his eyes remaining on the road now. “Kenshin-ssi is a really nice boy and you're always together. It must be odd not having him around, right?”
“Yeah,” Sungmin replied, voice barely above a whisper as he rested his head against the window, watching the city pass by in a blur of greys. The man was right about everything: Kenshin was the sweetest, Sungmin always wanted to be with him, and it was really weird to not be with him for work. But, more importantly, it made Sungmin realise just how much he had started missing him every single day. Whether it be during work hours or not, the blond always seemed to find a way into Sungmin’s brain, building himself a comfortable, permanent home in it that had somehow gone undetected until now.
The silence that hung between Sungmin and the driver suddenly dawned on the model, and he coughed into his palm.
“I mean– I'm sure you're great! It's just that, y’know, I'm so used to being with him all the time–”
Sungmin watched the man's mouth curl into a smile, perhaps something more paternal than friendly, and his heart felt like it was about to jump out of his chest entirely.
“It's okay, I get it,” the man reassured him. “That boy goes through hell and back for you.”
Sungmin blinked.
“He does?”
“Yeah. You're lucky to have him.”
Again, Sungmin found himself agreeing. He couldn't imagine his life without Kenshin.
“...I really am.”
In all fairness, Sungmin didn't pay much attention to his surroundings for the rest of the day. It was essentially like every other day—show up, listen to people's instructions, make some small talk until it was time to leave, and maybe get something to eat on the way back to his apartment.
The flashing lights and constant shutters of the cameras repeated in his head even hours after he had left. It was something he had long gotten used to, but when he noticed it, it became all the more irritating.
Obviously, the modelling part of his job wasn't difficult in itself, but the maintenance of the clean, innocent persona he had was. He should be grateful; he was grateful, but often, he found himself wondering back to when he first got into the industry, wondering how different his life would have been if he continued down the path of education instead of letting all the comments about his appearance get to him.
Times like these, he wished he believed in alternative universes.
Maybe there was a universe out there where he and Kenshin were free to be together.
He spent the evening staring at the blank screen of his phone every few minutes, a sharp, uneasy prickling sensation under his skin. No messages or phone calls came through, not from his friends or from his manager. His lock screen remained stubbornly vacant, the itching of Kenshin's absence growing more unbearable by the minute, and he threw his head back with a groan. Was Kenshin actually still making him work for it?
Shifting on his sofa, Sungmin decided that he couldn't handle the silence anymore. His finger hovered over the KakaoTalk app, forcing out one more encouraging breath before opening it and then his chat with Kenshin.
Sungmin frowned.
His messages weren't being delivered. Maybe the app was down or something, surely something like that could happen, right? He tried a couple of times, each message saying something different, but no matter how hard he tried, none of them wanted to reach Kenshin's phone.
Gosh, what was the world punishing him for now? Being worried?
With a huff of frustration, he swiped away from their message history and tapped the envelope icon of his email.
He didn't really expect anything. Usually, his inbox was a graveyard of newsletter subscriptions and scheduling updates that Kenshin would message him about, but the instinct to search for something, anything, from Kenshin was almost primal.
As he expected, there wasn't anything that caught his attention, other than one new, unread email from earlier in the day that he must’ve missed. He sat up cross-legged when he began to read it.
| Important: SAKURADA KENSHIN Contract Termination Inbox | ☆ | |
|---|---|---|
| JP Agency <\admin@jpagencykr> December 2, 2028, 6:30PM to me ▾ |
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