𝑏𝑒𝑦𝑜𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 ☾𝑙𝑖𝘨𝘩𝘵

𝑯𝑨𝑵 𝑴𝑰𝑵𝑯𝒀𝑼𝑵. 𝟷𝟺𝟷𝟷𝟿𝟽. fashion designer & stylist @ atlas ent.

[hyunhd]

hello, loves! my name is sofi (she/her, 25) and this is han minhyun — fashion designer and stylist at hydra. you can go ahead and call him however you like; he (and i aswell) will love any nickname you give him.

it's been a bit since i've rp'd, and it's my second time doing so in english (native spanish speaker here). apologizing in advance for any grammar errors but promise i'll do my best.

i'll leave some more info on this baby below — feel free to contact me if you want to know more about him, discuss some plots, or just chat!

HAN MINHYUN

nicknames. min, hyun, hyunnie (reserved for close ones), han, minnie if you want him to blush pronouns. he / him birthday. november 14th, 1997 age. 28 years old birthplace. busan, south korea nationality. south korean

languages. korean (native), english (conversational–fluent), spanish (conversational–fluent), japanese (basic) education. bachelor’s degree in fashion design — hongik university; later completed a program in textile innovation in spain occupation. fashion designer & stylist — hydra / styling department

gender identity. cis male orientation. bisexual, biromantic marital status. unmarried, single

face claim. kim mingyu (seventeen) height. 1.87 m (6'2'') blood type. b negative vision. 20/20

psychological profile.

moral alignment. chaotic good mbti. ENFJ-A enneagram. 2w3 temperament. sanguine star sign. scorpio sun dominant virtue. kindness dominant sin. pride

personality.

bright-spirited and people-oriented, minhyun thrives on shared energy. he’s at his best when there’s movement around him — conversations overlapping, music playing somewhere in the background, hands busy with fabric and people coming in and out of his space. he's openly warm, expresses care through small, almost unconscious gestures: straightening a sleeve, fixing a collar, remembering how someone takes their coffee.

he has a grounding presence in high-pressure environments, the kind that lowers the volume of a room without demanding attention. when he's uninspired, his focus drifts easily; when something clicks, he becomes instantly absorbed, losing track of time and everything else around him.

he’s quick to hype others up, and far more patient with other people’s mistakes than his own. pride makes him push himself harder than necessary, kindness makes him stay longer than he should. minhyun wants people to feel comfortable, confident, and seen — and he often forgets to offer himself the same softness he gives so freely to everyone else.

background.

minhyun grows up in busan, surrounded by constant movement — ports, crowds, changing seasons. he learns early how to read a room and adapt without losing himself. fashion becomes his way of doing that — noticing posture, movement, and how fabric actually sits on a person.

since his university years, his work starts circulating online every now and then — streetwear looks, behind-the-scenes clips, quick videos of him adjusting fits between classes or shoots. attention follows, then scouting messages, then a few modeling offers. minhyun turns them all down and continues to deny they ever happened, despite people knowing otherwise.

after refining his approach through textile innovation studies abroad, he joins hydra’s styling department quietly. backstage becomes his space — a place where pressure softens and details matter. minhyun has a talent for finding what makes someone them, then protecting it. he studies how an artist moves, what they reach for instinctively, what they hesitate to try. every comeback, every concept shift, he adjusts — never forcing a look, never letting the concept swallow the person. his goal is always the same: give each artist their own mark, something unmistakable, while keeping the group’s vision intact and adapting to the comeback's current concept.

other physical details.

— hands often stained with fabric chalk, thread, or ink; — small calluses and faint wounds from scissors, tools, and pins; — a light scar runs along his right forearm from an old tailoring accident; — smells faintly of clean cotton, cedarwood, and fabric softener, with traces of cologne lingering on fabric he’s handled; — sharp canines and a small mole on his nose.

vices and likes.

— overworking as a coping mechanism; — smoking, more so when stressed; — gym-obsessed, likes quiet mornings at the gym before anyone else arrives; — spending money on “useful” things he doesn’t actually need; — enjoys nightlife with friends and has a weakness for good drinks, sometimes dabbling in betting or poker purely for fun; — staying out later than planned because he hates being the first to leave; — physical closeness that isn’t necessarily romantic (leaning, shoulder bumps, shared jackets).

aversions and dislikes.

— thalassophobia (deep, open water); — mild aversion to enclosed dressing rooms after an early internship incident; — heightened anxiety around arguments or conflicts. — despises anything matcha flavored.

skills.

— draping and tailoring (for people and pets — his own dog has a fully custom wardrobe); — color theory & textile pairing; — fixing people’s collars and sleeves (not officially a skill, just a habit and his love language); — strength training: can deadlift and bench an alarming amount; — multilingual communication; often bridges gaps during international shoots and schedules.

paraphernalia.

— two different types of measuring tape in his bag, and one in his pocket; — portable sewing kit, compact lint roller, and a small emergency stain-remover pen (his muses are notoriously dangerous with coffee); — sketchbook filled with half-finished outfit ideas, alongside a small fabric-swatch notebook he updates obsessively; — analog camera he insists he knows how to use (usually ends up asking photographer friends for help);

hooks & ideas.

— minhyun often becomes the calming constant during chaotic schedules, be it by being quiet and confident or charming and fun. artists and other staff may find themselves gravitating toward him during stressful fittings, pre-show nerves, or last-minute crisis.

— from experimental concept shifts to artists struggling with their image, minhyun loves one-on-one styling moments even for off-work related stuff. need an outfit for a date? want more ideas to improve your everyday style? — he's your guy.

— despite being repeatedly scouted for modeling, minhyun always chooses to stay behind the scenes. this can spark curiosity, misunderstanding, or tension with muses who don’t understand why someone would turn down visibility so easily.

— his multilingual skills often place him between artists, staff, and foreign crews. miscommunications, quiet negotiations, or late-night debriefs can turn into unexpected bonds.

— minhyun enjoys nightlife and drinks more than he admits. plots could involve blurred boundaries, morning-after regrets, or quiet conversations that only happen after midnight.

— he’s not proud of smoking, but it’s during smoke breaks or drinks after work that minhyun becomes unguarded, maybe a space for confessions and profound talks.

— shared gym routines, accidental rivalries, or late-night workouts after schedules wrap up — a more casual side of him while still being concentrated on something he likes.

— minhyun’s habit of documenting outfits often drags others into impromptu photoshoots. characters might end up as unwilling muses or the muses who teach him how to use his camera settings and angles properly.

— his sensitivity to loud arguments means he sometimes withdraws instead of confronting issues. this can lead to misunderstandings, unspoken tension, or moments where someone has to reach out first.

— he’s had prior friction with the hair styling department due to differing creative visions, particularly when last-minute changes disrupted carefully planned concepts. this has resulted in a professionally polite but noticeably tense working relationship with staff muses from this area, that can extend beyond work.

[hdyeonseok]

the comparison minhyun draws between yeonseok and himself does only minhyun a great disservice. yeonseok wants him to know this. the disclosure of it sits heavy on the bed of his tongue, but his bedroom, cluttered with the contents of his wardrobe, the yellow rays of the neighboring streetlamp— it’s hardly the walls of a taciturn confessional. he swallows down the need to reveal himself. digs the nail of his thumb into the side of his index and smiles. “… don’t usually believe that stuff then, i take it? — i think i might.” because what’s life without something to believe in? “i really think i might, but ‘m not sure if believing would ever stop me. if we were star-crossed or something, i’d find you eventually; ‘ve got a good nose.” he taps one of his fingers to the bridge of it, shamelessly. “could sniff out something i like from, mm… five kilometers away. … no, twenty.”

he stands. tucks the second hot pack into the pocket of his coat, before he continues: “— and hyung? about whether you’re a good influence.” there’s a short pause. in the length of that pause, the answer is indisputably, of course, that minhyun is good. his hands fix collars & sleeves and stitch fabric together like they’re dressing wounds. almost every action soaked through with attention and consideration and care. but the corners of yeonseok’s lips twist into something sardonic and sharp, and he moves to the window and draws his curtains over it, abruptly inundating the room in new darkness. — it’s yeonseok’s half of the equation that’s dissatisfying. because, for all of his good influence, minhyun might never be able to see any of that goodness reflected back at him. even if yeonseok wishes he would. yeonseok wishes he could. but right now, he has nothing to show for it but the violent slit of a torn seam.

his voice dips lower. “… about whether you're a good influence, i’ll be the judge of that. alright? not you.” eyes adjusting slowly now to the dim, he takes a step closer to the only other silhouette in the room. he wraps his own, closed fist around one end of minhyun’s scarf, then tugs him forward. ushers them both out of the room and away from the dark.

[hyunhd]

"twenty kilometers..." minhyun repeats, the words hovering somewhere between disbelief and quiet amusement. a soft, breathy laugh follows. "that—" he exhales through a smile, head tilting as his gaze settles on the younger, steady and warm, "that, i can believe." and he means it. not as a joke, but because he understands what yeonseok means with that—what's being said underneath it.

minhyun barely reacts as the room falls away into shadow, trust settling easily into the space where sight disappears, his body already adjusting before the thought can catch up. when yeonseok tugs at his scarf, he follows without resistance, the motion pulling him forward in a way that feels less like being dragged and more like being led. there's a brief shift in his balance, a soft intake of breath that melts into something lighter, almost a laugh, before it evens out again.

his hand comes up without much thought, reaching for yeonseok's scarf, adjusting it higher over his face with quiet precision, as if already bracing the younger for the cold to come. "we have to protect this then," he murmurs, nodding toward his nose. because how else would yeonseok find him twenty kilometers away, if not?!

"—your honor," minhyun continues as they fall into step beside each other, tone slipping easily into something theatrically earnest, hand lifting as if presenting evidence to an invisible court, "i would like to note that i've been scolded twice today for forgetting to eat." there's a brief pause, just enough to let the statement settle. "and considering we are, at this very moment, on our way to my first actual meal of the day..."

he gestures lightly towards yeonseok, now appointed judge of his influence, palm up, his gaze flickering back to him, warm and expectant. "i believe we're approaching the third." his shoulders ease as he tilts his head, voice lowering just a touch. "so, you have a rather difficult case to defend here. i’d fold—i know a bad poker hand when i see it.” a huff follows. "ran out of law-related analogies." he adds under his breath, almost as an aside, as if not to break the immersion.

[senahd]

sena  truly  was  an  evil  thing  to  demand  such  directed,  undivided  attention  to  his  lips,  especially  when  he  knew  no  effort  was  ever  required  on  his  part  to  beguile  or  enchant  whoever  had  the  pleasure  (or  the  profound  misfortune)  of  catching  his  fancy.  he  readily  accepted  the  second  bite  of  pasta  in  a  similar,  agonisingly  slow  fashion  as  before,  though  his  priority  had  shifted.  he  was  paying  closer  attention  to  the  cadence  of  the  younger  man's  words,  latching  onto  the  quiet  whisper  of  mirth  threaded  through  those  warm,  rueful  syllables.  bad  hands  of  cards  and  margaritas.  a  tragic  combination.  but  adorable  on  minhyun.

his  dark  eyes  briefly  tracked  the  unmistakable  interest  minhyun  took  in  his  mouth  before  the  question  was  turned  back  upon  him.  sena  ought  to  have  anticipated  that  any  inquiry  he  threw  would  boomerang  right  back,  but  he  had  not  bothered  to  script  his  own  response.  he  might  be  a  man  of  meticulous  plans  and  labyrinthine  strategies,  but  he  also  took  a  devious  delight  in  the  impromptu  detours  his  impulses  offered.  and  tonight,  he  was  feeling  particularly  indulgent.

"you  always  are,"  sena  replied  smoothly,  meeting  minhyun's  gaze  with  an  unblinking,  feline  intensity.  "what  concerns  me  more  is  how  displeased  you  might  be  by  my  answer."

his  eyes  darted  down  to  minhyun's  plate—untouched  and  ignored  in  favour  of  servicing  him—and  his  mind  immediately  began  plotting  how  to  rectify  that  imbalance.  while  that  played  out  in  the  background,  he  let  his  voice  pool  in  the  quiet  space  between  them,  rich  and  staining  like  a  heavy  burgundy.  "my  nights  are  typically  occupied  by  dinners  at  establishments  like  this  one.  both  for  work  and  for  more…  confidential  arrangements,  let's  just  leave  it  at  that.  and  my  glass  of  wine  would  most  likely  be  a  heavy  pour  of  whiskey  instead.  though,  of  course,  i'm  not  prejudiced  towards  anything  that  promises  to  make  the  night  more  interesting.

"but  i'll  be  honest  with  you..."  he  paused,  his  thumb  stroking  lazy,  deliberate  circles  over  the  pulse  point  on  minhyun's  wrist  where  their  hands  were  still  intertwined.  "out  of  everyone  who's  kept  me  company  at  this  hour,  i  enjoy  having  you  with  me  the  most.  by  far."

had  he  said  that  because  he  knew,  for  a  fact,  that  minhyun  shared  the  sentiment?  of  course  not;  even  sena  lacked  the  telepathic  ability  to  read  minds.  but  he  was  a  master  of  reading  bodies,  of  interpreting  the  quiet  surrenders  hidden  in  a  sigh  or  the  tilt  of  a  glass.  he  could  confidently  argue  there  were  few  who  could  rival  him  in  that,  and  he  was  curious  to  see  if  minhyun  would  prove  in  the  future  to  be  a  considerable  opponent.

he  leaned  back  slightly  and  pinched  the  stem  of  his  glass  to  lift  the  rim  to  his  lips.  sena's  eyes  were  half-lidded,  his  voice  dropping  to  a  decadent,  velvet  murmur.  "remember,  you  should  be  feeding  yourself  too.  don't  worry  about  me  too  much.  i'm  hungry  for  something  else  entirely,  anyway."

[hyunhd]

minhyun does not think it strange. it could hardly displease him, either. it would have been far stranger if sena's nights were empty, if his time went uncontested, if people did not orbit him with that particular brand of eager gravity. he was composed in that effortless way minhyun had long since learned was anything but accidental. and sought after—god, obviously. he doesn't make a comment on it, doesn't feel the need to. he merely nods along as he listens, expression soft and receptive.

his lashes lower slightly at sena's honesty, not in embarrassment, but something more thoughtful, quietly unsettled. minhyun isn't oblivious, he knows what people come to him for: the steady warmth, the way comfort seems to come naturally to him like breathing. he is good at being someone people lean on, at quiet patience and making space where others could rest. yet this, right now, sits differently in his chest.

his gaze flickers briefly to sena's glass, then back to his face, searching without quite meaning to. at this hour. the words linger just long enough for something lighter to stir warm and quiet beneath his ribs. not dismissal, but the gentle instict he always has to soften the weight of a moment before it presses too heavily against him.

a quiet chuckle escapes him before he can quite stop it. "oh—only at this hour?" minhyun murmurs, amusement threading softly through his voice. his smile curves slow and a little shy at the edges, the brief catch of his lower lip between his teeth flashing both fangs proudly. "is the competition, like, really good at noon?"

there is no real challenge in it, only fond, easy teasing. "we should grab lunch next time, then." minhyun offers, lifting his glass in a small, easy motion. he takes a measured sip of the pale gold liquid, liquid courage, because he can already sense himself toeing lines he isn't entirely sure he should, and because sena's words had landed just a little too close to the edge of his composure. he has the quiet suspicion he may need the buffer.

the warmth that blooms across his cheeks, victim to sena's velvety tone and undeniable insinuation, soon proves him right. he doesn't hide it, though, doesn't overthink it either. instead, minhyun reaches for his own fork, fingers flicking with familiar precision as he twirls the pasta for himself, at last. "oh, i know," he admits easily, tone light but unmistakably fond. his head tilts just slightly, conceding a point he had never truly intended to argue in the first place.

"i may have been hoping for a scolding first." the fork pauses halfway to his lips, just long enough. "or an order," he adds, quieter now, gaze lifting through his lashes with that same warm, knowing softness. "you give those delightfully, hyung." only then does he finally take a proper bite—perfectly behaved.

[senahd]

sena  would  have  found  a  way  to  be  content  regardless  of  the  choice  minhyun  made,  in  part  because  sena  was  the  sort  of  man  who  ensured  the  house  always  won.  yet  there  was  a  particular  delight  to  this  specific  victory,  which  of  course  was  that  his  hand  could  remain  where  it  was.  being  fed  was  merely  the  garnish;  the  true  feast  was  ascertaining  the  sort  of  man  his  present  companion  was.

minhyun  offered  the  fork  with  the  tenderness  of  a  devotee  at  an  altar,  and  sena  accepted  it  with  the  entitlement  of  a  deity  claiming  a  tithe.  his  gaze  did  not  soften  in  kind.  instead,  it  darkened  as  he  locked  onto  minhyun's  eyes  and  his  pale,  pink  lips  parted  to  accept  the  bite.  he  chewed  slowly,  deliberately,  and  the  dart  of  his  tongue  to  catch  a  stray  slick  of  cream  at  the  corner  of  his  mouth  was  calculated—  a  visual  allusion  to  what  he  would  rather  be  tasting  instead.

in  spite  of  his  general  indifference  towards  food,  most  would  still  consider  sena  an  epicurean  who  could  discern  the  nuances  of  culinary  composition.  yet  the  low  hum  of  appreciation  that  now  vibrated  in  his  throat  had  very  little  to  do  with  the  pasta;  it  was  influenced  entirely  by  the  thumb  caressing  his  knuckles,  further  proving  it  was  less  the  spread  before  them  and  more  so  the  company  he  presently  had  with  him  that  pleased  him  far  beyond  the  capacity  of  any  chef.

after  he  swallowed  the  bite,  he  chased  its  richness  with  a  sip  of  wine  before  setting  the  glass  down  with  a  soft  click.  etiquette  was  abandoned  in  favour  of  intimacy;  sena  propped  his  chin  onto  the  table  with  his  now  free  hand,  leaning  in  just  enough  to  dominate  most  of  minhyun's  senses.

"i  have  a  question,"  sena  began  and  bypassed  the  need  for  permission  entirely.  his  eyes  were  bright  and  searching.  "if  i  hadn't  been  so  lucky  as  to  steal  you  for  the  night...  what  would  you  be  doing  around  this  time?  and  what  would  you  have  done  about  dinner?"

from  what  little  intel  sena  had  managed  to  gather  thus  far,  he  had  his  theories  on  the  similarities  between  their  eating  habits—or  lack  thereof.  but  sena  preferred  confirmation.  he  wanted  to  know  if  the  space  beside  minhyun  was  perpetually  empty,  or  if  he  was  currently  displacing  a  phantom  someone  else.

[hyunhd]

restraint has never quite meant blindness, and so minhyun watches. he notices the way sena's gaze darkens instead of softening; the slow, deliberate movement of his mouth, like he is tasting something far more interesting than pasta; the brief flick of his tongue. dangerous man, his mind supplies, and he has to bite lightly into the inside of his cheek to keep the small, traitorous whine lodged in his throat exactly where it is.

the question lands, deliberate and searching, and for a brief moment minhyun simply looks at him. studies him. weighs the shape of what is being asked versus what is being offered. he abandons the idea of a polite answer. minhyun is perceptive enough to know any lie he offers now would be neatly, mercilessly unstitched anyway.

minhyun's gaze follows a slow path to his glass of wine. he nods towards it before answering, "...that would've been a margarita, maybe," he says, voice low and lightly threaded with amusement. the choice is almost modest compared to the kind of stupidly flashy drinks he tends to favor—bright, overcomplicated things that look better than they behave. the sort that usually leaves him brighter, all easy laughter and loose smiles, instead of the slower, more dangerous softness the wine is currently coaxing out of him.

"and on the table," he continues, and now his eyes drop to the plates in front of them. his portion remains conspicuously untouched, while his free hand has already begun the familiar motion again, twirling another neat ribbon of pasta from sena's plate with practiced ease. the fork lifts just as it did before, patient, offered.

"there would've been a very bad hand of truc," minhyun finishes softly, gaze flicking back up, warm and faintly rueful. on a particularly bad day, like the one he had been having before the older came to his rescue, that would have passed for dinner. "the kind that convinces me to keep playing just long enough to lose money." there's a quiet breath of amusement under the words, but no real regret.

he doesn't say it outright, but the comparison settles there anyway, unspoken in the steady patience of his hands, in the way he keeps feeding sena long after the help is needed, in the quiet abandonment of his own plate. there is a quiet satisfaction curled low in his chest at the arrangement, at being the one to provide, to yield so easily when sena barely has to ask. tonight is, undeniably, an upgrade from his usual night endeavors. he pointedly avoids mentioning that the company might be the most significant improvement of all.

his gaze lingers on sena's mouth for half a beat too long before lifting again, lashes lowering just slightly as they do. "am i allowed to ask the question back?" he asks softly, though the question already carries the shape of surrender. minhyun doesn't truly expect an answer, already familiar with sena's particualr talent for turning conversations just enough to keep people from looking too closely.

[chwedout]

hashtag my babygirl

[hdbohyun]

bohyun was aware that people went digital when it came to showcasing ideas or brainstorming things, but there was something so classic about bombarding minhyun with her ideas on a sketchbook. it makes it look a little more authentic, no? plus, she had so much fun printing out all these photos and glueing them. the whole process was such an experience.

"accessories! i'm literally obsessed with accessories. i think a nice bracelet, necklace, or even a handbag can completely change a look! of course, it's not like i can have a shoulder bag on stage, but if i get the chance, i think a backpack look can work. not for this concept, but in the future!"

at this point, she's rambling, but bohyun really can't help herself. a smile beams onto her face when minhyun mentions stealing some of her ideas, and she immediately goes into brainstorming mode once more when he asks what she wants to wear personally. "i want a super cute and chic hat. something like a beret but not completely. i've heard i look nice in hats! they're like the perfect accessory that can really complete a look, don't you think so?"

[hyunhd]

"backpacks are a whole meeting on their own," minhyun says, voice now permanently tinged with excitement as he shares the inside scoop of the process. his body language matches how comfortable he has grown in the conversation with the younger girl. "like canes or any item with some kind of utility, most of the times we have to justify them with choreography, or they get vetoed."

the stylist pauses, considering. "it also depends on who's going to wear it." he muses. "it's easier to convince the execs if the idol is a good dancer or, if the bag is sponsored by a brand, one of the visuals."

he's well aware that they're both actively rambling, but having an avid conversation on fashion is a practical way to brighten his day, possibly even his week. he's particularly impressed at the speed at which bohyun can vocally assemble all her ideas—was she a rapper in the group? a laugh escapes him at the thought.

"oh, i completely agree," he nods at her question. he's also already mentally noting to explicitly request a black beret for her, easily convinced by the vision shared. "and if you ask me, for you it's hats and hairbands." he adds. as much as minhyun has studied and worked for years in fashion, he knows his opinion is merely that: an opinion, subjective. and so, he prefaces it as just his perspective on what would suit her best. "bows too—how do you feel about bows?"

[senahd]

sena  did  not  respond  with  words.  instead,  his  mouth  parted  upon  the  gentle  press  of  a  thumb  against  his  lower  lip  and  his  eyes,  dark  and  heavy  with  a  burgenoning  intoxicated  haze,  met  minhyun's  with  a  languid  heat.  another  may  have  bristled  at  the  sudden  intimacy  and  recoiled  at  such  a  public  claim,  but  as  for  sena...  he  was  a  creature  who  bloomed  under  the  heat  of  a  gaze  like  it  was  his  natural  habitat.  and  to  receive  such  intent  focus  from  minhyun  felt  less  like  being  merely  looked  at  and  more  like  being  consumed.  it  was,  admittedly,  a  sensation  sena  preferred  above  all  others.

the  chuckle  that  bubbled  from  sena's  chest  was  airy,  almost  melodic,  and  he  shook  his  head  with  a  grin  pulling  at  the  corners  of  his  previously  yielded  lips.  the  way  minhyun  navigated  his  own  hand  back  to  sena's,  lacing  their  fingers  together  in  the  hidden  darkness  beneath  the  table,  was  a  pleasant  miscalculation  sena  had  not  accounted  for.  he  was  curious  to  see  what  course  of  action  the  younger  man  would  take  with  his  withdrawal,  yet  he  had  been  the  one  to  bridge  the  gap  by  placing  his  hand  on  minhyun's  chest;  he  could  hardly  fault  minhyun  for  taking  what  was  offered.  besides,  the  audacity  of  the  hand  on  his  jaw  earlier,  the  thumb  grazing  his  lip…  that  was  a  far  more  delicious  answer  to  his  hypothesis  than  a  simple  clasp  of  hands  could  ever  be.  it  was  the  difference  between  a  question  asked  and  a  demand  made.

he  allowed  the  capture  of  his  fingers  to  stand  as  minhyun’s  reward  for  navigating  the  maze  of  sena’s  whims  so  adeptly.

"i  have  that  effect  on  people,"  sena  murmured,  stating  it  not  as  a  boast  but  as  a  fundamental  law  of  physics.  gravity  pulls,  fire  burns…  sena  overwhelms  one's  senses  until  they  could  perceive  nothing  and  no  one  else  but  him.  his  free  hand  mirrored  minhyun’s,  reaching  for  the  stem  of  his  own  glass  and  his  eyes  tracking  the  lazy  swirl  of  the  yellow  liquid.  “i’d  take  responsibility  for  it,  but  really…  responsibility  is  such  a  bore,  isn't  it?”

just  as  sena  tipped  his  head  back  to  drain  the  glass,  the  spell  was  suspended  by  the  arrival  of  their  carbonara,  already  pre-portioned  into  two  separate  plates  for  them.  sena  offered  the  server  a  smile—practiced,  dazzling,  entirely  vacant—and  signalled  for  a  refill  of  his  glass.  he  waited  for  the  intrusion  to  recede  before  turning  back.

"in  all  honesty,  i  wouldn't  have  minded  skipping  straight  to  the  drinking,  but  it’s  unwise  to…  indulge  on  an  empty  stomach.  that  is  about  as  much  responsibility  as  you’ll  get  out  of  me  tonight."

he  would  have  let  the  words  linger,  teasing  the  air  between  them,  but  the  sommelier  from  earlier  returned  with  the  stealth  of  a  shadow  to  refill  their  glasses.  sena’s  attention  then  drifted  to  a  logistical  issue.  his  left  hand  held  his  wine,  and  his  right  was  currently  held  hostage—willingly,  happily—in  minhyun’s  grip  beneath  the  table.  to  eat,  he  would  have  to  sever  their  connection.  to  drink,  he  needed  his  hand.  and  sena,  being  sena,  refused  to  compromise  on  his  desires.

he  tilted  his  head,  eyes  darting  down  to  where  they  were  joined  in  the  dark,  then  dragging  slowly,  deliberately  back  up  to  minhyun’s  face.  there  was  a  challenge  there,  bright  and  sharp,  born  of  a  man  who  found  the  concept  of  'consequences'  amusing  at  best.

"if  you  feed  me,  i’ll  let  you  keep  holding  my  hand."

he  presented  the  offer  like  a  king  granting  a  pardon—magnanimous,  ever  the  gracious  monarch  that  he  was.  and  while  the  world  might  look  at  minhyun  and  see  a  man  lucky  to  serve,  the  terrifying  truth  was  that  sena  found  himself  waiting,  almost  breathless,  to  see  if  the  proposal  would  be  accepted.

[hyunhd]

minhyun watches as the pale gold liquid shimmers in his own glass. he tilts it gently, lets it sift and cling to the crystal walls, staring at it as though it might offer him the answers he's looking for.

he would be lying if he said he could handle the responsibility for the both of them. after all, he was just as guilty as the man seated beside him; sharing one portion of food between the two hardly qualifies as proper fuel. much less when they're on their second glass of wine, and both fully intend to continue drinking once the plate is cleared. responsibility, tonight, feels more like a word they're politely circling rather than honoring.

"do you think anyone would expect either of us to be responsible, hyung?" he asks quietly, lifting the crystal to his lips and indulging in a measured sip of the chilled white. it's deceptively clean, almost as if it hides the temptation it carries. minhyun would say that their sense of obligation disappears when it comes to their own wellbeing. they are reliable at work, but no one would bet a cent on either of them taking proper care of themselves.

his gaze finds sena's again as the offer is made. he can sense the expectancy there, and minhyun knows he could back out now. he could simply let go, resume their contact later or in some other way. he wouldn't mind. and by the way it was worded, he doubts sena would mind either. or would he?

somehow, minhyun has maneuvered the board in his favor. the power sits quietly in his hands, subtle but undeniable. and yet, this isn't checkmate, it's something worse; every possible move costs minhyun something. he doesn't even know what game they are playing—doesn't have the guts to ask—just that he wins only when sena does as well.

the thought dissolves as quickly as it was formed, distracted by something far less noble. he wonders how he's meant to drink if he's busy feeding the both of them, when the wine slips a particularly wicked suggestion into his mind—an image of said liquid grazing his palate in a way that is anything but innocent. no promises had been made, but he did say he would behave, so he lets out a breathy laugh and gently pushes the thought away before it can bloom.

he's also almost certain that doing something entirely more inappropiate over the table would look less intimate, less compromising, than minhyun personally feeding sena. this, somehow, feels more revealing. more dangerous.

and yet, he complies. because who is he, in this moment, if not the court jester devoted to keeping his king content?

he reaches for the fork closer to him with his free hand, briefly thanking the gods for making him left-handed, and twirls the pasta with the effortless precision earned from one too many meals in europe. he lifts it slowly, letting it hover just in front of sena's mouth. "open." the word is firm, but it doesn't land as a command. the softness in minhyun's voice, and the honey that drips from his gaze, make sure of it. at the same time, his fingers trace absent, tender caresses along sena's hand where they remain joined, a right now justly won by the younger man.

[hdyeonseok]

yeonseok yields to the weight of the coat draped around his shoulders. slips his arms into its sleeves without so much as a complaint. he imagines himself a piece of fabric under minhyun’s hands, torn seam of some tattered pair of dark wash denim jeans, and— minhyun is looking at him attentively. pondering over bows or knots or eyelets and string. color, maybe. it’s the only way yeonseok knows how to accept his kindness. to remember the meticulous artistry of minhyun’s fingers and understand it all to be some sort of kindness as well. it’s impossible, after all, for a piece of fabric to return to its artisan so generous a thing, and so, too, is it for yeonseok. he tries to think neither of the breath that had been caught in minhyun’s throat just moments ago, nor of the injuries that were now peppered across his skin. what does he do, with observations like those? what can he?

his eyes flick downward to consider the scarves. this is a question with a much easier answer: so tonight, he wants the one with the gaudier pattern. he reaches for it with little deliberation, then looks back up. eyes crinkled into crescents. smiling. “— am i? your ‘favorite,’ hyung, are you sure?” without waiting for an answer, he throws the other scarf over minhyun’s shoulders. then arranges it loosely around his neck. “promise you won’t take it back, then.”

he crosses the room and crouches down beside his desk. reaches into one of its drawers and begins to rummage through it, all the while continuing, mostly to himself, “but drinks... ? — as for drinks. sikhye would go well with the hotteok, i think.” he finally finds what he’s looking for and presses it into the palm of minhyun’s hand: it’s a hot pack. yeonseok tears a second one open with his teeth. “… or did you want to have some of the stronger stuff?”

[hyunhd]

a quiet smile eases into minhyun's features as he allows himself to simply stand there and be dressed. he is not used to this, someone else deciding how fabric should fall against his skin, arranging him instead of the other way around. once the scarf rests in place, his hand lifts on instict alone, the reflex of a stylist who has spent his life correcting hems and smoothing collars before anyone else can notice they sit wrong. his fingers hover just shy of the weave, but he stops himself before touching it, before refining it into something more deliberate. he lets it remain just as yeonseok left it.

"i'm sure, yeonseok-ah, and i promise i won't take it back." there is a softness in the way he assures him, a steadiness that doesn't waver into teasing. "you remind me of myself a bit." he goes into explaining and it isn't vanity that prompts the comparison. he sees it in the way yeonseok disguises care as casualness, makes giving look instinctive when it is, in truth, deliberate. chosen. in the deflection wrapped in charm, or the worry dressed up as nonchalance, offered quickly before anyone can question it.

"maybe the astrologists are right," he muses, the seriousness easing before it can root too deeply. "same birthday, same zodiac- cosmic, uh- i don't know what i'm talking about." he huffs softly, head shaking as his hand makes a vague, dismissive gesture. the stylist doesn't mock the belief, doesn't undermine it either. he simply admits the gap in his knowledge and leaves it there.

when the hot pack is pressed into his palm, his expression softens again, a flicker of gratitude crossing his face. "i can pretend i'm a good influence," he starts, already tucking the warmth carefully into one of his pockets, "but i have a shoot early tomorrow, so sikhye it is." it's not like he's ever denied himself a drink just because he had work the next day, but he's commited to acting responsible tonight. perhaps he is a good influence.

[selhd]

she takes her time before answering. she's learnt that time's the one thing people never price in properly. the studio's emptying out now, sounds thinning, voices losing their edges as they drift off toward doors and taxis and whatever they're telling themselves tonight will be. the lights stay warm regardless. they always do. names are exchanged. she does not keep them. it is not cruelty. it is efficiency. some people are meant to pass through you the way streets do. she knows this now.

"i'm not local," selene says. "not anywhere." she thinks briefly of new york city, then london, then planes, hotels, borrowed beds. wonders if you can call anywhere home if you refuse to romanticise it. she suspects that's the difference between her and him. isn't he precious, she thinks, not unkindly. the little posse laughs again. something bright and careless breaks loose, the sort of sound that won't last past the first round. they start moving for the exit and selene slots herself in beside minhyun instead. easier than playing along. easier than pretending she needs the social points.

the night's open now and tokyo's already got its mouth around them. still, selene feels like she's on the clock. models always are. the job doesn't end when the camera's off — it just changes format. sell yourself, sell the moment, sell the illusion that you're enjoying it.

she exhales, glances sideways. "so," lightly does it, it's nothing to her, all very above board. "tell me about your work. what houses have you been with, or are you mostly consulting these days?"

[hyunhd]

minhyun's attention remains on the girl, steady and generous, the way it tends to be when he decides someone deserves to feel seen rather than examined. he adjusts the weight of her words before deciding how to hold them. not anywhere. he doesn't frown at it, doesn't soften in pity either. "i think i can understand that, at least when it comes to work," he answers after a small pause, voice low and unhurried, a faint smile touching his mouth.

"i'd say it's intentional for me, but fashion and permanence don't go together at all." he can't think of a life where he just sticks with the styles of one region or one single period of time. his mind flickers to the plane waiting for him tomorrow, back to europe. he wonders, briefly, whether it’s the same for her, whether it is intention or momentum that keeps her unrooted.

"i'm with a few houses in spain at the moment. i'm just here for a consult," he says, a faint smile, not self-conscious but modest, as if the topic is practical rather than personal. "i've worked with this designer a few times before and it's always nice to be invited back." he carries a quiet gratitude for those who've trusted him before, making time even when there isn't any.

his gaze shifts to her again, assessing without pressing, curiosity wrapped in softness. "i think i could guess, but what about you?" he asks easily. "agency, or freelance?" the corner of his mouth lifts slightly, a quiet spark of amusement warming his tone.

[senahd]

sena's  lips  found  the  rim  of  his  glass  and  he  tipped  his  head  back  to  take  a  few  sips,  indifferent  to  the  way  that  exposed  the  sleek  line  of  his  throat  and  how  his  adam's  apple—slender  as  it  was,  carved  from  the  same  marble  as  the  rest  of  him—bobbed  with  the  slide  of  the  amber  liquid  down  his  throat,  as  if  designed  for  that  exact  path.  he  emptied  half  the  glass  in  a  single  draw;  it  really  was  a  fine  vintage,  one  he  might  have  dissected  for  its  crisp  notes,  had  his  senses  not  been  kept  occupied  by  the  man  accompanying  it.

"hmm?"  came  the  acknowledgement  upon  being  called,  though  it  was  only  when  the  distance  between  them  evaporated  yet  again  that  sena's  focus  narrowed  to  a  singular  point  and  the  rest  of  the  room  faded  into  grey  noise.

his  eyes  widened  a  fraction,  but  there  was  certainly  no  surprise  to  be  found  there.  after  all,  he  was  the  one  who  specifically  cast  the  line  to  see  if  the  younger  male  would  reach  for  him  again,  and  sena  was  merely  collecting  the  data  of  a  hypothesis  proven  right.  to  tell  him  not  to  look  entirely  smug  about  the  victory  would  be  like  warning  a  child  not  to  pocket  a  sweet  treat  while  no  one  was  looking—a  futility.

he  did  not  pull  away.  sena  made  it  a  point  to  remain  an  anchor,  assuring  minhyun  through  the  deliberate  stillness  of  his  body  that  the  touch  was  definitely  not  unwanted.  to  truly  drive  the  message  home,  sena's  gaze  bore  straight  into  minhyun's,  unwavering  and  still  glazed  with  that  predator's  mirth  from  earlier.

his  glass  was  coaxed  back  onto  the  table  and  with  his  hand  now  empty,  he  found  the  only  appropriate  replacement  was  to  rest  it  atop  the  fabric  of  minhyun's  shirt.  his  palm  pressed  flat  against  the  sternum,  deceptively  coy  against  the  rhythmic  rise  and  fall  of  the  other  man's  chest.

something  akin  to  adrenaline  thrummed  beneath  his  own  skin.

"it  could  be  both,"  sena  murmured.  "maybe  i'm  teasing  you  because  you  haven't  done  anything  until  now."

it  would  have  been  clear  to  anyone  with  decent  vision  how  they  were  presently  entangled.  it  almost  amused  him  to  imagine  how  he  would  have  navigated  such  a  scandal  in  the  past,  when  even  the  lingering  whisper  of  a  stylist's  touch  would  garner  sizeable  compensation  from  tabloids,  let  alone  a  hint  of  who  was  truly  allowed  in  his  private  space.  in  a  way,  it  was  the  sweetest  privilege  of  stepping  down  from  the  spotlight;  people  still  gossiped  and  speculated,  but  he  no  longer  felt  the  ghost  of  his  career  hanging  over  him  and  forcing  him  to  exercise  restraint.  especially  when  sena  preferred  more  physical  restraints,  rather  than  figurative  ones.

he  leaned  in,  collapsing  the  final  inch  between  them,  until  his  cheek  brushed  against  minhyun's.  his  voice  dropped  to  a  dangerous  caress  against  the  younger  man's  ear.  "our  food  might  come  soon,  minhyun-ah.  we  can  save  this  for  later...  provided  you  plan  on  keeping  me  company  for  the  rest  of  the  night."

[hyunhd]

minhyun feels the touch before he fully thinks about it. the steady warmth of sena's palm over his chest, the quiet, deliberate weight of it. instead of shrinking from it, he lets himself breathe deeper beneath that hand. his chest rises, unhurried, unhidden. he doesn't try to hide the way his heart is racing. if anything, he lets it.

he knows what touch usually means in his world. as a stylist, his hands are always on someone—adjusting a collar, smoothing fabric, guiding a sleeve into place. touches that are technical, fleeting, forgotten the moment they end. he's had a few of those with the older man earlier that day, when he had to think about which color he wanted to see him in. this is not that.

the corner of his mouth lifts just slightly as that low voice brushes his ear. "oh..." he murmurs softly, a trace of amusement touching his expression. his thumb lingers at sena's cheek, and he shifts his touch just enough to bring him back into view, unwilling to speak without seeing his expression. "the rest of the night?" he repeats the other's words; there's curiosity in it, and something gentler beneath. it's not teasing, just a quiet acknowledgment of what's being promised, and what's being postponed... well, the faintest hint of mischief does linger in his voice, as if the idea of keeping sena occupied for hours doesn't trouble him in the slightest.

his thumb drifts from sena's cheek to the line of his lower lip, brushing across it slowly. the touch lingers for a heartbeat longer than necessary, and he has to make a conscious effort to stop there. there, where the sounds of the restaurant slowly began to reach him again—the faint clink of plates somewhere behind them, the murmur of voices, the distant movement of staff weaving between tables. sena's reminder that their food may arrive at any moment lingers as well, along with the quiet awareness that they are not alone here, that eyes exist even when they are not looking. and sena is sena. it isn't fear that makes him wary now, it's care.

he steps back, albeit unhurried. not far, never far enough to feel like retreat. just enough to show that he heard him, that he can and will save it for later. minhyun is patient when it matters, careful with things that feel real.

still, he doesn't sever the moment completely. he guides sena's hand down from his chest, slow and gentle, but instead of letting go, his fingers remain loosely curled around his. the table hides the contact, and the warmth of it settles quietly in his palm. his thumb shifts slightly against sena's knuckles, an absent, soothing motion that is meant for both.

he reaches for his glass with his free hand and lets the cool liquid fill his throat, as if he's hoping the white wine will miraculously steady him, even though it usually does the opposite. he almost says sorry. the word rises out of habit, but he swallows it; he knows sena wouldn't want an apology for something that wasn't a mistake. "forgot where we are for a second," he murmurs instead, voice low and warm rather than ashamed. the faint curve of his mouth makes it clear he doesn't regret it, only the timing.

[senahd]

despite  the  world's  inclination  to  paint  him  as  no  more  than  a  creature  of  pure  vanity,  sena  was,  in  fact,  a  fine  practitioner  of  the  art  of  listening.  it  was  a  package  deal,  really;  one  could  not  possess  an  observational  prowess  sharp  enough  to  cut  glass  without  also  developing  the  ability  to  hear  the  things  people  tried  desperately  not  to  say.  he  heard  the  fracture  in  minhyun's  sentence,  the  deliberate  choice  of  wording  that  no  doubt  was  more  of  a  disservice  to  the  truth  than  any  accurate  representation  of  it,  even  if  sena  had  not  been  there  in  person  to  witness  it  for  himself.  he  even  caught  the  faint,  tell-tale  twitch  of  minhyun's  fingers  from  the  corner  of  his  eyes—perhaps  the  younger  man  was  a  smoker,  sena  knew  there  were  those  who  itched  for  a  stick  when  stress  began  to  bubble  over.

he  deemed  himself  an  excellent  judge  of  character  (perhaps  too  excellent,  sena  could  dismantle  a  person's  psyche  before  they  had  the  chance  to  discover  it  for  themselves),  and  he  knew  minhyun  was  leaving  out  more  than  he  was  letting  on.

on  any  other  day,  he  would  have  pressed  on.  sena  would  have  hooked  a  finger  into  that  gap  in  the  story  and  pulled  until  the  truth  spilled  out,  indulging  the  curiosity  that  always  scratched  at  the  back  of  his  mind.  alas,  he  was  a  strategist  before  he  was  a  sadist,  and  he  sensed  there  were  other,  more  tantalising  battles  to  be  fought  that night.  he  thus chose  to  save  his  ammunition  for  bigger  game.

just  as  he  concluded  that  social  lubricant  was  in  order,  the  sommelier  arrived  with  the  silent  efficiency  of  a  ghost  and  the  presentation  of  a  bottle  of  casale  marchese.  sena  read  the  label  with  a  satisfied  hum  and  his  eyes  flickered  briefly  to  the  server,  offering  a  polite  bow  of  his  head  and  an  almost  dismissive  gesture  towards  the  glasses  on  their  table.  he  trusted  that  the  bottle  would  be  fine;  he  would  much  rather  keep  his  undivided  focus  on  the  far  more  interesting  man  in  front  of  him,  and  steering  sena's  attention  away  from  alcohol  was  a  feat  few  people  could  say  they  managed  to  accomplish.

"i'm  not  sure  how  you  usually  cope,"  sena  began  with  his  voice  low  and  sliding  across  the  table  like  silk  over  a  blade.  "but  i,  for  one,  find  there's  very  little  a  good  glass  of  wine  and  a...  pleasant  distraction  can't  solve."

the  words  were  delivered  in  his  signature  cadence,  coated  in  honey  and  poison  both,  but  anyone  who  knew  where  to  look  would  have  caught  the  underlying  warmth,  the  terrifyingly  genuine  desire  to  smooth  the  furrow  from  minhyun’s  brow.

it  was  then  that  sena's  hand,  which  had  been  a  heavy,  grounding  weight  on  minhyun’s  knee,  subtly  slid  away.

it  was  by  no  means  a  retreat;  it  was  a  calculated  subtraction,  designed  to  measure  the  vacuum  it  left  behind.  would  you  miss  it,  he  wondered  as  he  watched  minhyun  with  the  focus  of  a  hawk  circling  a  field.  will  you  reach  for  me  again?

sena  did  not  wait  for  an  answer  just  yet.  he  reached  for  his  own  glass  and  lifted  it  by  the  stem  with  a  delicate,  practiced  wrist  movement  that  swirled  the  pale,  straw-yellow  nectar  into  a  miniature  vortex.  the  light  caught  the  wine,  gold  and  dangerous—  much  like  the  man  holding  it.

"cheers  to  us,"  sena  murmured,  his  eyes  locking  with  minhyun  over  the  rim  of  the  glass.  "for  our  patience  in  dealing  with  those  ill-deserving  of  our  time.  and  mostly..."

the  smile  that  curled  at  the  corner  of  sena's  finely  etched  lips  was  both  inviting  yet  ruinous.  "i  hope  i'll  be  able  to  make  you  forget  about  everyone  else  but  me  tonight."

[hyunhd]

i'm  not  sure  how  you  usually  cope. minhyun could laugh. it's safe to say coping is, indeed, not his forte. he manages—usually—by throwing himself into work, staying busy enough that the strain doesn't catch up to him. it gets harder when the source of the stress is tangled up in that same work, when there's nowhere to redirect it. he isn't self-deprecating about it; he knows his habits for what they are. alcohol, admittedly, counts among them.

"i can take you on the wine for that," he nods along his words. "but i don't really think of this as a way to cope." he doesn't. not like that. minhyun would hate to reduce the night to something functional, used just to get through until morning.

he notes the absence on his knee immediately, loud in a way touch never quite is for him. he doesn't bother masking the way his eyes follow the retreating hand, not as though a crime had been commited, but with something unmistakably closer to longing. he lets the moment stretch instead of rushing to fill it.

when sena speaks again, minhyun finds himself breaking the moment down by instinct. low amber light pools lazily across the table, catching on sena’s profile in a way that feels almost intentional, like the room itself has decided to linger. the pale gold of the wine glows in his glass, dangerous but kind, and minhyun is not just looking but taking it in: the slope of sena’s mouth when he smiles like that, the calm confidence threaded with something warmer underneath.

minhyun sees this and can understand why there are so many magazines with sena on the cover, why haute couture yearns for him. performing seems to come to him naturally. tomorrow, he knows, he'll get to the studio too early, sketchbook open before the caffeine kicks in, trying to translate this exact sensation into fabric and line. something that reads soft at first glance but carries intention underneath. warmth with an edge. presence that stays.

"cheers to us, then," he returns the toast with a smile, lifting his glass. he turns his body away from sena when he drinks—polite and practiced, a gesture ingrained into him by upbringing—even though it costs him to look away for those few seconds. the wine is light, crisp, and fruity; he hums, satisfied. "that's nice." it's mumbled almost to himself as he glances at the label, making a half-hearted attempt to commit it to memory, an effort he already suspects won’t stick.

he sets the glass down carefully after a bit. sena's words are still reverberating in his head, their sultry tone, the smile that accompanied, all of it intact. he knows he should ask before the wine takes over fractions of his judgment. minhyun is very much enjoying himself as it is, but he trusts his own ability to read a room. sena, in particular, has proven himself difficult to read on many occasions; for once, though, the picture feels clear.

"hyung," he murmurs as he steps closer, slow and deliberate, until the space between them thins to something charged, the air shifting with it. his hand rises to sena's jaw and settles there, thumb brushing softly along his cheek in small, unhurried caresses, more soothing than possessive.

his other hand lifts next, light at sena's wrist, just enough to pause any motion. he doesn't take the glass from him, only guides it down, careful and unhurried, until it rests back on the table. his attention never wavers, even close enough now that it would be easy—if either of them chose to—to let the distance disappear, but just as easy to step back.

his thumb traces the curve of sena's cheek once more, gentle. "are you waiting for me to do something about this?" his gaze drops, just briefly, to his lips before lifting again. a faint smile touches his mouth, voice low, almost a whisper, "...or are you teasing me?"

[senahd]

sena  knew  the  effect  he  had  on  people  in  the  same  way  a  shark  knew  the  scent  of  blood  in  the  water—instinctual,  immediate,  and  entirely  to  his  benefit.  the  mystery  that  had  fogged  over  the  car  ride  to  the  restaurant  may  have  prickled  at  his  patience,  but  here  in  close  proximity,  where  he  could  attune  himself  to  every  hitch  in  minhyun's  breath  and  even  hear  the  thrum  of  a  heartbeat  if  he  so  chose,  sena  was  in  his  element.

he  was  also  accustomed  to  the  world  bending  towards  him,  to  hands  reaching  out  so  they  could  claim  a  piece  of  the  sun.  such  proprietary  gestures—the  guiding  of  a  hand,  the  claiming  of  skin—were  met  with  a  sharp,  internal  recoil.  who  gave  you  the  right,  the  words  would  flare  unprompted  in  his  head,  the  predisposition  of  a  man  who  knew  his  worth  exceptionally  well.

but  with  the  younger  male,  that  indignation  was  remarkably  absent,  instead  replaced  by  a  curiosity  that  purred  at  the  back  of  his  throat.  minhyun's  boldness  was  steady  as  a  tide,  and  sena  found  that  being  drenched  in  it  would  not  be  the  most  unpleasant  thing.

if  minhyun  were  not  going  to  behave,  then  sena  saw  no  reason  to  deny  himself  liberties  of  his  own.

he  signalled  for  a  waiter  with  a  flick  of  his  free  wrist,  and  as  the  man  approached,  sena's  hand  beneath  the  table  began  a  slow,  deliberate  migration  up  minhyun's  thigh,  along  the  inner  stretch  of  muscle  in  a  languid  ascent  like  a  secret  conversation  of  heat  while  his  face  remained  a  mask  of  bored  elegance.  he  leaned  over,  ostensibly  to  relay  their  order  over  the  hum  of  the  room  around  them,  though  the  further  invasion  of  minhyun’s  personal  space  was  entirely  gratuitous.

"we'll  have  the  carbonara  to  share,"  sena  murmured,  his  thumb  pressing  brazenly  against  the  inseam  of  minhyun's  pants.  "and...  two  glasses  of  your  best  frascati  superiore.  that  isn't  from  castel  de  paolis.  surprise  me."

the  waiter  then  vanished  without  ceremony,  either  oblivious  or  politely  blind  to  the  transgression  occurring  below  eye  level.  sena  let  his  fingers  slide  back  down  to  rest  comfortably  above  minhyun's  knee  and  he  angled  his  body  to  give  minhyun  his  full  attention,  a  flicker  of  childlike  wonder  dancing  in  the  dark  of  his  eyes.

"you  were  the  most  interesting  part  of  my  day,  believe  me."  most  might  suspect  flattery;  it  was  the  kind  of  line  sena  could  spin  from  sugar  and  air,  tossed  out  to  stroke  an  ego.  but  the  unfortunate,  unglamorous  truth  was  that  everyone  else  sena  had  encountered  that  day  had  truly  been  dull.  not  a  single  bone  in  his  body  had  been  invigorated  prior  to  minhyun,  and  certainly  not  in  a  way  that  mattered.

"there's  a  project  they  seem  intent  on  proceeding  with,  even  though  i've  been  firmly  against  it.  who  knows  what  they  see  in  it  that's  of  more  value  than  my  opinion."  a  sigh  escaped  him,  though  that  did  not  seem  to  dull  the  mirth  in  his  gaze,  but  rather  strengthened  it  now  that  the  additional  weight  had  been  lifted  off  him.  "so  i'll  spare  you  the  details  and  the  unworthy  expenditure  of  my  voice."

sena's  thumb  brushed  against  the  fabric  underneath  his  fingertips  and  he  murmured  quietly,  "i'd  rather  know  what  kept  you  occupied  before  me."

did  he  mean  earlier  that  day,  or  did  he  mean  the  years  before  sena  waltzed  into  his  life?  sena  did  not  care  to  clarify.  either  answer  was  a  story  he  wanted  to  hear,  especially  if  it  was  minhyun  spinning  the  tale  for  him.

[hyunhd]

minhyun feels the movement beneath the table immediately, a quiet spark shooting up his spine even though he'd set the stage himself. his breath hitches once, barely there, and he smooths it out just as quickly, posture unbroken. if anything, he leans closer, shoulder brushing sena's as he keeps his gaze lifted, fixed politely on the waiter taking their order. the contrast is dizzying: everything in him hums, heat coiling low and insistent, and yet he makes no move to interfere. he enjoys it more that way, restraining himself from any impulse to guide the other's hand—either closer to danger or farther from it.

when the waiter finally steps away, minhyun lets out a laugh that's almost a scoff, head tipping back just slightly as if conceding defeat before the glass even arrives. the tension doesn't disappear so much as pause, mercifully.

"so, not just wine," he says then, quieter now, "but white wine?" he's not much of a connoisseur when it comes to the more expensive bottles, granted, but he's had his fair share of winery tours during the years he lived in europe—enough to recognize names when they are spoken. enough to know better. "that's foul, sena hyung," he adds, voice lowered, smile still lingering.

white wine is a dangerous weapon; it loosens minhyun in ways red never quite manages, making him warmer, touchier, more inclined to linger where he shouldn't. still, he likes to think he knows his limits well enough to stop before a crisp white slips past his defenses and leaves him flimsy, easier to read, to control. and if not... well, it's not like conscious minhyun would put up much of a fight with tipsy minhyun for getting on his knees for sena. figurative or not.

the attention shifts back to sena's words then—to the project, the resistance, the quiet frustration threaded through his composure. minhyun listens closely, expression softening as the shape of it settles into place.

"they're definitely underestimating you being firmly against something," he says simply. he knows it sounds like flattery, that it might be what the older expects anyone to respond, but minhyun can't deliberately lie, and he wouldn't doubt one of sena's decisions when it was this final. "i doubt you'd be all in on the negative if you saw the slightest bit of potential—but that's just me."

and just because he doesn't give in to sena's casual insistence when it comes to his own career doesn't mean he thinks they're bad takes! he knows the older is right, he's dealt with his fair share of people insisting, too. he just can't see how the same logic applies here, when there's no personal stake muddying the water (or, at least, there shouldn't be), nothing to consider beyond the viability of a project.

he doesn't voice the thought, how strangely immune he seems to any real repercussiones for telling sena no. he also refrains from saying he wouldn't mind hearing the details at all, that sena has a nice voice and an enticing way of walking someone through his words.

when the focus turns back to him, minhyun exhales slowly, grateful for the hand now resting on his knee. as much as it had taken him apart moments before, it steadies him now. the low amber light softens the edges of the room, and with the rest of the world held at a polite distance, it feels easier to speak and let the day be what it was, rather than something he has to smooth over.

"i'm not usually this tired after work," he says eventually, voice unguarded. "you know that." a small, self-aware huff of breath follows. "most days i come out buzzing, even the long ones." especially the long ones. he gets his energy from doing what he loves, every pr at the gym has followed a day full of wrong seams done right, new scars on his hands, the good kind of stress. he'd gotten his dose of stress today, just not the kind that fuels him.

"there was a... discussion," he says, tone careful. maybe discussion is too kind a word for a man who'd been plainly yelling at him over something the styling team had no call on whatsoever. "not even about something important enough to justify the tone it took."

he doesn't linger on it. it might not even be the other man's fault that raised voices get under his skin, or at least that's what minhyun tells himself. it's easier to shoulder the blame and move on than to sit with anger. he doesn't gain anything from it, really. "i handled it," he adds simply. and he did—had to repeat the same thing to three different people, make the necessary adjustments in rush. of course he handled it. pride flickers there, restrained but undeniable.

as if on cue, his fingers twitch. index and middle brush together faintly, muscle memory reaching for something absent even in sena's hold. he doesn't say it, but the thought of a smoke lingers, and he hopes the wine arrives quickly enough to act as a substitute.

[senahd]

well,  that  was...  something.  sena  quirked  a  delicate  eyebrow,  a  little  confused  by  the  faint,  breathy  sound  that  his  ears  had  managed  to  catch.  he  had  readily  offered  his  wrist  when  minhyun's  hand  came  closer—an  automatic  concession,  really,  because  sena  was  a  creature  conditioned  to  let  the  world  naturally  reach  for  any  taste  of  him  it  could  get—but  the  reaction  that  followed  was  a  variable  he  had  not  expected.

it  was  irksome.  the  sky  outside  had  already  dimmed  from  the  sunset,  and  sena  made  the  tactical  error  of  not  turning  on  the  interior  lights  of  the  phantom.  the  cabin  was  a  hermetically  sealed,  leather-bound  belly  of  darkness,  designed  for  privacy  but  currently  serving  only  to  obscure.  he  was  thus  left  with  physical  limitations  that  kept  him  from  dissecting  the  mystery,  and  sena  disliked  mysteries  he  could  not  unravel  within  the  next  hour.

instead,  he  had  to  focus  on  the  promise  of  drinks.  sena  tilted  his  head  away  to  gaze  out  at  the  blur  of  seoul's  growing  nightlife,  but  he  made  a  point  to  keep  his  hand  exactly  where  it  was—  within  arm’s  reach,  should  minhyun  choose  to  indulge  him  again.

"okay,"  sena  murmured,  the  word  rolling  around  the  cabin  like  a  marble.  "we'll  see  if  i'll  let  you."

of  course,  he  meant  letting  minhyun  pay  for  drinks;  the  idea  of  minhyun—tired,  hardworking  minhyun—opening  his  wallet  for  him,  whose  net  worth  could  likely  purchase  the  very  building  they  were  driving  past,  was  objectively  adorable.  it  was  a  defiance  sena  found  charming,  a  reversal  of  the  natural  order  that  he  was  willing  to  entertain  for  the  novelty  of  it.  however,  petulance  was  an  ill-flattering  colour  on  him  and  he  allowed  a  shade  of  it  to  tint  his  tone,  feigning  a  reluctance  that  did  not  exist.  after  all,  he  was  the  one  who  had  cast  the  lure  to  begin  with;  it  would  be  poor  form  to  complain  when  the  fish  finally  bit.

at  the  restaurant,  they  were  ushered  to  a  round  booth  tucked  away  at  the  very  end  of  the  establishment,  a  secluded  alcove  draped  in  shadow  and  velvet.  sena  flashed  a  smile  that  was  all  practiced  grace  and  thanked  the  host  for  catering  to  them  on  such  short  notice,  even  though  they  both  knew  the  truth  of  it.  there  was  always  an  unspoken  rule  at  establishments  of  this  caliber:  the  best  seats  were  never  truly  'booked',  they  were  simply  waiting  for  the  right  person  to  claim  them.

not  that  the  seclusion  was  strictly  necessary.  the  other  patrons  seemed  absorbed  enough  in  their  own  hushed  discussions  and  romantic  entanglements  to  look  their  way,  and  the  lighting—dim,  amber,  almost  sensuous—granted  them  little  opportunity  to  gawk  even  if  they  wanted  to.  it  was  a  reflection  of  their  earlier  environment  in  the  car,  a  continuation  of  the  darkness,  which  made  sena  feel  a  little  foolish  for  his  ill  choice  of  dining  accommodations.

he  slid  into  the  booth  first  and  once  minhyun  was  seated,  sena  shifted  to  bridge  the  distance  until  the  warmth  radiating  off  minhyun's  arm  was  a  tangible  thing.  a  violation  of  personal  space  that  sena  committed  with  the  ease  of  a  man  who  chose  not  to  believe  in  boundaries,  and  fully  believed  that  the  rich  fragrance  of  vanilla  wafting  from  his  skin  was  made  to  be  discovered  by  the  closest  of  companions.

"is  this  close  enough  for  you?"  sena  murmured,  his  voice  dropping  an  octave  and  slipping  under  the  ambient  noise  of  the  restaurant.  "any  closer  and  we  might  have  to  take  this  somewhere...  more  private."

the  tone  was  suggestive,  leaving  no  room  for  doubt  on  what  the  implication  was,  but  sena  pivoted  before  minhyun  could  flush  again  (though  he  knew  not  what  exactly  had  occurred  in  the  car).  he  picked  up  the  menu,  scanning  the  familiar  script  with  a  bored  sort  of  efficiency  because  he  knew  what  to  expect,  he  knew  the  wine  list  better  than  he  knew  some  of  his  own  relatives.  mostly,  he  was  calculating  what  would  sit  lightest  in  his  stomach,  what  (else)  would  have  the  honour  of  settling  within  him  for  the  night  without  making  him  feel  sluggish.

"their  carbonara  is  good,  though  not  authentic,"  he  noted  and  set  the  menu  down,  waiting  for  minhyun  to  decide  before  he  would  wave  one  of  the  waiters  back  to  their  table.  "let  me  know  if  you  want  less  or  more  portions,  they're  happy  to  accommodate."

[hyunhd]

minhyun feels the shift when sena slides closer, not as surprise but as relief. this was what he'd asked for, after all. the warmth settles along his side and he lets himself lean into it, posture softening without ceremony, shoulders relaxing as if proximity alone steadies him. when he's tired, closeness comes easily; tonight, he doesn't question it.

the insinuation lands all the same. clear, unmistakable. he doesn't need to look at sena to understand it, doesn't need the confirmation. the heat rises again anyway, slow and unavoidable, settling into his cheeks as sena turns his attention to the menu like nothing dangerous has just been said.

the low amber light feels like a quiet kindness, hiding most evidence of it and sparing him from having to manage it as he had a few moments prior in a different setting. the warmth makes him feel drunk, as if the wine—oh, the dreaded effects of wine on minhyun, the wine that hasn't even entered the conversation yet, let alone the shared table—has already found its way into his system.

a quiet laugh escapes him, surprised and breathy, before he can stop it. he keeps his gaze on sena's profile and the way his eyes skim the page, heat still clinging to minhyun's cheeks like it's been there for ages. only now it's acommpanied by a grin, the hint of a fang showing as he bites lightly at his lower lip in containment.

"hyung," he murmurs, fond and a little incredulous, "i was trying to behave, and you start with that?" there's no reproach in it, no edge. only affection, and something amused beneath the lingering fluster. his eyes remain fixed on sena's profile and, at this rate, minhyun is convinced he'll end up leaving the restaurant full without having glanced at the menu even once, not with this view next to him. much less when the view is being so deliberately benevolent, in all the ways he knows will undo him.

when the menu finally lowers and the recommendations are offered, minhyun speaks again, calmer now. "i trust your judgment," he says easily. "a small portion should be fine, though. can't seem to find my appetite tonight." the words are sincere, he's long past the days of choosing the cheapest plate just to spare someone else's wallet, and he doesn't feel the need to make a point of it now. this time, it really is about his lack of appetite. or, perhaps, a trick of the detours of his mind.

he sets one elbow on the table, manners quietly forgotten, turning his body sideways while keeping the closeness intact. only then does his gaze lift to meet sena's properly, steady and open, the earlier heat still faintly present but no longer threatening to unravel him. "after we order, we can pretend to be civilized," a chuckle cuts through his words. "and you can tell me about your day." he adds, meaning the hours before him, before the evening bent itself around them.

as if to underline the request, he reaches for sena's hand with his own free one and guides it to rest against his own thigh. contained. deliberate. his hand settles over it there, keeping it exactly where he needs it. the contact grounds him immediately, breath evening out as his thumb presses once, absent and reassuring.

"only if you'd like to," he adds, the familiar disclaimer softened by intent rather than doubt. he knows the question doesn't need it, sena would do as he pleases either way, but minhyun doesn't demand. he holds sena's gaze, quiet and attentive, ready to listen to whatever he chooses to share. or not.

[hdhanie]

ordinary progress —

written for han minhyun (@hyunhd) ♡

hanbin likes the gym because it doesn't ask questions. here, progress is measurable. weight plates don't lie. muscles either hold or they don't. effort is totally honest. you lift, you fail, you try again.

he's halfway through a set when the space behind him changes. someone steps close enough to matter, but hanbin doesn't turn. he adjusts his grip, breathes in, accepts the arrangement without distraction. the bar lowers and he feels his shoulders engage, a familiar strain blooming through his arms. normally, this is the part where his thoughts narrow to numbers and form. he tightens his jaw, eyes locking onto his own reflection as if focus might be contagious, and that's where the composure breaks seeing minhyun's reflection.

he doesn't make a thing out of it. just a quick look. after another rep, hanbin steps out from under the bar and shakes his arms loose, breath still a little heavy but steadying fast. "hey! thank you so much for the help, i appreciate it," he says simply. full of manners this one especially to staff. he wipes his palms on his shorts, nods toward the rack, "you working out today, too, or you just passing through?"

[hyunhd]

minhyun eases back only after the weight is racked, posture relaxed, practiced. he nods once at the thanks, a small smile flickering across his face. "anytime," he replies easily and then shifts, resting a forearm against the rack now. "working out too. i don't usually do thursdays, but this is one long thursday," he adds, breathing out a laugh that is heavier than most of the equipment around them. weight-training is minhyun's healthiest way of destressing and, for a change, he decided to be kind to his future self instead of just going out for a drink.

minhyun rolls his shoulder once, then the other, like he's checking in with his body before committing to anything heavier. he steps a little to the side of the rack, one hand bracing lightly against it as he starts a slow set of shoulder circles, controlled and unhurried.

"are you bulking, or just maintaining?" he asks easily. "either way, make sure you're eating well," he hopes he doesn't sound like he's nagging as the concern slips in anyway. "since you've probably been busy these days." a soft smile tugs at his mouth, congratulations implied. he doesn't follow hyde academy news directly, only what brushes up against his work, but staff gossip travels fast enough for him to know when trainees start getting pulled in every direction. if hanbin's lifting like this, minhyun hopes there's enough protein—and sleep—involved.

[senahd]

minhyun  was  truly  a  marvel,  and  that  was  not  an  accolade  sena  bestowed  upon  the  masses  lightly.  one  moment,  the  younger  male  would  second  guess  himself  on  his  choice  of  words,  and  the  next  he  was  brazenly  propositioning—not  inviting—sena  for  drinks.  whether  it  was  birthed  from  genuine  interest  or  simply  an  innocent  quip  mattered  little  to  sena;  it  was  the  fact  that  the  words  left  his  lips  at  all,  the  boldness  of  it,  that  amused  sena  so.

he  chuckled  quietly,  mainly  to  himself  and  no  one  else,  and  what  a  treat  that  was  for  anyone  within  close-enough  vicinity  to  hear  such  a  melody.  mirth  of  this  caliber,  genuine  and  unscripted,  was  a  currency  sena  spent  sparingly.  yet,  he  found  himself  spending  it  on  minhyun  with  alarming  frequency.  "then  the  last  one  is  the  most  important  of  them  all,"  he  murmured,  the  words  carrying  a  heavier  weight  than  perhaps  intended,  but  he  left  it  at  that.

he  hummed  in  thought  at  the  suggestion  minhyun  offered  and  found  little  to  no  fault  with  it.  he  too,  however,  was  not  the  type  to  sing  the  good  praises  of  food  anytime  soon—  which  was  great  when  you  were  restricting  your  diet  to  maintain  your  figure  for  a  role  or  for  the  filming  of  a  music  video,  but  not  much  for  when  socialising  typically  revolved  around  food  and  drink.  thankfully,  sena  was  far  more  receptive  to  the  other  part  of  the  arrangement;  it  was  far  easier  to  down  a  few  glasses  of  french  merlot,  and  let  it  be  known  that  many  would  slide  a  glass  his  way  without  prompt,  for  the  off  chance  that  sena  would  grant  them  his  continued  presence  in  a  more…  private  setting.

at  this  point,  horrifying  as  it  may  be,  the  consequences  of  such  recklessness  were  easier  to  face  than  having  to  stomach  amounts  of  food  that  his  body  was  not  accustomed  to.

"pasta  is  fine,"  sena  agreed  easily,  his  arms  finding  their  way  around  himself  in  a  posture  that  was  less  defensive  and  more  self-contained,  a  casual  embrace  of  his  own  frame.  "i'll  take  you  to  this  one  good  place  i  like."  not  entirely  for  the  food—their  tiramisu  was  also  note-worthy—but  the  people  he  knew  raved  about  the  restaurant  well  enough,  so  he  figured  it  was  an  objectively  decent  haunt.

he  idly  watched  as  the  world  moved  around  them  and  moved  out  of  the  way  whenever  necessary.  it  was  only  when  minhyun  called  out  to  him  that  he  returned  his  full  attention  to  the  younger  male  with  renewed  interest,  and  the  wink  he  received  only  furthered  his  fancy.  sena  easily  followed  along,  pliant  and  even  shifting  as  close  as  he  could  without  breaching  the  invisible  barrier  of  propriety,  though  he  would  not  have  minded  shattering  that,  either.

the  breath  against  his  skin  was  far  from  unfamiliar,  yet  it  still  triggered  a  pleasant  thrum  deep  within  his  stomach.

"i  was  trying  to  be  considerate,  you  know,"  sena  teased,  the  words  vibrating  in  a  quiet  purr  that  was  meant  for  an  audience  of  one.  “it's  a  lot  harder  for  me  to  get  handsy  when  you're  more  than  an  arm's  length  away.”

he  lifted  himself  up  onto  the  very  tips  of  his  toes,  but  only  just  so.  perhaps  it  was  his  intention  to  get  as  close  to  minhyun's  ear  as  he  could  in  return.  but  instead,  he  let  his  lips  hover  but  a  few  centimeters  away  from  the  crook  of  minhyun's  neck,  and  an  exhale  caress  the  younger  male's  skin.  how  could  that  be  a  calculated  move?  “but  if  you  insist,  who  am  i  to  deny  you  of  that  pleasure?”

sena  stepped  away  only  after  the  tension  had  been  pulled  taut  enough  to  sing,  and  he  thanked  the  manager  and  the  phalanx  of  staff  with  the  graciousness  of  a  visiting  dignitary,  informing  them  to  charge  it  all  to  his  usual  card  with  an  amicable  smile.  the  tailor  had  disappeared  almost  as  soon  as  they  could  because  they  insisted  on  getting  to  work  right  away  and  having  the  pieces  ready  at  the  soonest,  even  though  sena  assured  them  that  they  could  take  as  much  time  as  they  needed  to  ensure  complete  perfection—he  had  plenty  of  spares  to  peruse  from  in  his  wardrobe,  if  need  be,  and  his  main  goal  for  that  evening  revolved  around  his  companion  more  so  than  everything  else.

with  a  languid  wave  goodbye,  they  left  the  store  and  descended  back  to  the  parking  lot.  once  they  were  back  on  the  road,  sena  tilted  his  head  back,  exposing  the  pale,  vulnerable  stretch  of  his  throat,  and  threw  a  sidelong  glance  minhyun's  way.  in  the  dim  light  of  the  car,  the  stylist  looked  less  like  a  shadow  and  more  like  a  star  that  had  forgotten  how  to  burn.

it  displeased  sena,  but  that  was  a  battle  he  chose  to  tentatively  set  aside  for  another  time.  maybe  over  a  round  of  drinks.

"okay,  i'll  be  direct  this  once,"  sena  started,  his  voice  stripping  away  the  layers  of  flirtation  to  reveal  the  sharp  inquisitiveness  beneath.  “you're  tired,  right?  should  i  let  you  retire  for  the  night  after  dinner?  or  would  you  be  willing  to  join  me  for  some  drinks?”

previously,  sena  only  offered  the  illusion  of  choice,  a  labyrinth  where  every  path  led  to  him.  this  time  around,  he  meant  it  with  absolute  sincerity—yet  another  luxury  he  accorded  to  minhyun  that  he  rarely  did  to  most.

as  disappointed  as  he  would  be  to  end  the  night  there,  they  would  have  other  opportunities.  sena  would  make  certain  of  it.

[hyunhd]

minhyun does not startle or stiffen when sena steps closer to reciprocate his tease. he knows the older had never been the sort to leave an invitation unanswered. he smiles instead, the kind that bares just a hint of fang when he can't quite help it. "you make it sound like i don't prefer it that way," he says, tone holding no challenge but quiet agreement, smile lingering just long enough to make it clear it isn't a joke.

the breath at his neck draws a shiver he doesn't bother hiding. he lets it roll through him, familiar and welcome, shoulders easing rather than tensing. he has always known proximity as comfort, something his work has only heightened over the years. "oh, i do insist." and if minhyun were someone who begged, he might have said please. he isn't as touchy with sena as he imagines the older would prefer; the respect he has cultivated over time doesn't quite allow it. in turn, he is more than content to let sena take full liberties with his personal space.

when sena steps away, minhyun follows close behind him. not because he doubts his place at his side, but because he likes watching how a room responds to him. it's something minhyun works toward deliberately when he dresses people, shaping presence through line, texture, and balance. sena doesn’t need that kind of construction, even if he benefits from it. he doesn’t command attention so much as shift it, and minhyun knows, even as he watches, that there are things no garment can teach a body to hold.

when the question comes in the car, it lingers longer than it needs to, not because minhyun doubts his answer, but because he wants to give it the weight it deserves. sincerity like that asks to be met properly. his hand moves first, fingers brushing sena's wrist before settling there properly, thumb hooking lightly at the edge of his sleeve. the touch is restrained, though the intent behind it is anything but distant. calming, he hopes. "i know you know," minhyun says softly at last. "you always do. that's why i don't try to hide it from you anymore." he chuckles softly, thumb shifting once as if to steady himself.

"still, it's not often i get a whole night with my favorite hyung," he adds, voice warm, steady. "you really think i'd cut it short?" he withdraws his hand then, lifting it to his hair, fingers combing through his own soft locks.

"also, you let me dress you today, you know how happy that makes me," the words barely leave his mouth before his mind twists them into something else entirely, because undressing him would be quite fine too. the image lands uninvited but not unwelcome, vivid enough to make him pause. he exhales through his nose, something close to a laugh catching in his chest. get a fucking grip, he thinks, almost amused. his hand drifts to his phone without much thought, thumb lighting up the screen as he checks for messages. it doesn't help much. he still feels the heat creep up his face, hopes the darkness of the car is kind enough to hide it.

"so, as repayment, i'm going to invite you to drinks after." he'd like to stare menacingly at him as he emphasizes his intent of paying, but he can't quite bring himself to meet sena's gaze again just yet. even if he could, he doubts his threats would be any more effective—not that they ever were against this particular target.

[senahd]

sena  chose  to  let  the  matter  rest,  though  the  concession  tasted  faintly  of  ash.  minhyun  in  pink  would  have  been  a  vision;  a  soft,  flushed  dawn  breaking  over  the  horizon  of  sena’s  evening,  and  sena  was  a  man  who  felt  entitled  to  every  sunrise,  even  the  ones  he  could  not  yet  touch.  yet,  there  was  a  specific  fragility  to  the  way  minhyun  retreated  into  the  safety  of  his  monochromatic  armour,  a  withdrawal  that  sena  recognized  as  a  boundary  best  left  unbreached  for  the  hour.  to  press  the  advantage  now  would  be  to  bruise  the  fruit  before  it  had  time  to  ripen.  patience,  while  tedious,  was  often  the  architect  of  the  sweetest  victories.

"alright,"  sena  murmured,  the  words  smooth  as  a  river  stone.  "as  an  accent  it  is,  then."

he  accepted  the  compromise  with  the  magnanimity  of  a  king  granting  a  pardon,  though  the  corner  of  his  mouth  quirked  upward  and  dismantled  the  notion  that  he  was  truly  defeated.  he  turned  back  to  the  mirror,  tilting  his  head  to  catch  the  light  along  the  sharp  plane  of  his  jaw.  it  was  instinct,  the  muscle  memory  of  having  a  thousand  camera  flashes  directed  at  him.  "but  never  fear  of  ever  outshining  me,  minhyun-ah.  i’ve  been  told  that  i’m  rather...  difficult  to  look  away  from."

it  was  a  statement  of  fact,  devoid  of  arrogance,  because  truth  required  no  ego  to  sustain  it.  sena  was  the  gravity  in  every  room  he  entered;  others  were  merely  honored  to  orbit.

nevertheless,  sena  was  a  creature  of  appetite,  and  one  vision  was  rarely  enough  to  sate  him.  he  spun  on  his  heel,  the  silk  of  the  blouse  rippling  like  water  against  his  skin,  and  he  ignored  the  anxious  flutter  of  the  tailor  who  reached  out  to  catch  the  hem.  "i  think  another  spare  outfit  wouldn't  be  so  bad,  if  i  can  squeeze  out  one  final  vision  from  you,"  he  mused,  letting  the  request  hang  in  the  air  like  a  haze.  "either  as  a  change  of  clothes  for  the  event  itself,  or  just  to  have  lying  around.  you  never  know  when  you'll  be  expected  to  entertain,  and  i  do  love  to  please."

he  finally  allowed  the  tailor  to  approach  with  a  murmur  of  thanks,  shedding  the  garment  with  a  languid  ease  that  suggested  he  had  time  aplenty.  as  he  slipped  back  into  his  own  clothes—smoothing  down  the  fabric  with  hands  that  were  steady  and  practiced—his  attention  drifted  back  to  the  true  prize  of  the  evening.

"we’re  having  dinner  after  this,"  sena  remarked.  it  was  not  a  question,  though  the  softness  of  his  tone  offered  an  illusion  of  choice.  "what  are  you  craving?  i’m  open  to  anything,  provided  you’re  in  the  chair  opposite  me."

anyone  else  might  have  mistaken  it  for  casual  banter,  or  perhaps  a  suggestive  invitation.  the  terrifying  thing  was  how  the  words  flowed  out  of  him  with  the  effortless  inevitability  of  a  tide  coming  in.  sena  may  not  have  been  a  couturier  like  minhyun,  he  may  not  be  one  to  stitch  fabrics  into  shape,  but  he  was  a  weaver  of  a  different  sort.  words  were  his  thread,  and  he  subconsciously spun  them  to  bind,  to  entice,  and  to  pull  the  things  he  wanted  closer,  until  escape  was  no  longer  an  option  anyone  wished  to  take.

[hyunhd]

minhyun merely blinks at the response given. he accepts it, but not without going over the patience behind it. what surprises him is not the compromise itself, but that they have reached one at all, on a matter they've circled so many times before. he can sense the unease lingering on both sides, shared and unspoken, but doesn't dwell on it. instead, focuses on the task he is given. as tired as he is, he can't say he's glad his stylist duties are nearing their end, not with a dream muse still in front of him. it does comfort him that it's not an event that can't be repeated.

"mhm..." he hums, already flipping through the pages he's torn free, eyes scanning rough sketches and their corresponding notes, "with what i made you get fitted and a few arrangements..." he pauses, eyes quickly connecting the pieces with each other, then nods to himself. "one for the event. one for the afterparty. and one more for drinks with the stylist." he taps the page lightly with his index finger, then points at himself without looking up. "that would be me, i'm the stylist," the delivery is flat, almost deadpan, the humor entirely intentional.

dinner is possibly the first thing his hyung has said today that hasn't surprised him in the slightest, he's used to being treated by him. still, minhyun isn't much of a foodie, and when it comes to himself he rarely treats meals as anything more than maintenance. after a day like this, his instincts lean domestic, simple, something that won't imply an effort greater than boiling water. his mind betrays him with the image of instant noodles at home, but he suppresses it just as quickly. sena, of all people, can't get that answer. "...pasta?" he offers instead, glancing up with a small, uncertain smile that he hopes is honest enough to pass.

before the moment can stretch further, minhyun catches movement at the edge of his vision. the manager approaches, careful not to interrupt outright, and minhyun takes the cue without missing a beat. "thank you for your work today," he starts, bowing politely as he offers the praise. he knows how far it goes in rooms like this, how much it matters after hours spent moving carefully, measuring every word. sena's presence has a way of sharpening a space that minhyun finds both intimidating and absorbing.

he shifts the loose pages into a neat stack and hands them over, voice steady as he walks through the details. "these are alterations on the pieces that are here," he explains, fingers tracking the notes as he speaks. "and these—" he shifts the page, indicating another section, "—are pieces we'd appreciate having as well. collection, year. it should be clear enough, but—" a beat. he adds his number to the margin with a practiced flick of his pen. "in case anything needs clarifying," a practiced smile settles easily on his face.

"ah, hyung," he calls lightly, acting as if he had forgotten to clarify something with the older. he turns enough to make sure his back is to anyone but him and delivers a quick, knowing wink. his lips shape the word without sound. network.

he steps in closer under the pretense of speaking quietly, his hand settling briefly at the small of sena's back to guide him a few steps aside from the staff body. his voice follows, low and warm against his ear. "i'm sitting next to you at dinner. opposite feels too far," he murmurs. "hope that's still fine."

[senahd]

sena’s  aptitude  for  observance  would  surely  serve  humanity  far  better  if  it  had  been  gifted  to  a  more  benevolent  soul,  because  it  was  unfortunate  how  sena  used  such  prowess  only  for  self-gain.  it  might  not  have  been  clear  as  day  to  others,  but  for  sena,  there  was  no  shadow  of  a  doubt  in  his  mind  that  minhyun  needed  the  seat  far  more  than  he  did.  the  exhaustion  clinging  to  the  younger  man’s  frame  was  palpable,  a  heavy  cloak  he  refused  to  shed,  and  if  sena  were  a  better  man,  he  might  have  felt  even  the  least  bit  of  guilt  for  dragging  minhyun  along  with  him.  as  it  happened,  such  self-reproach  was  easily  brushed  aside  when  sena  reassured  himself  that  he  would  make  it  worth  minhyun’s  while.  he  was  always  worth  everyone’s  while.

he  opened  his  mouth  to  speak,  but  the  moment  was  interrupted  by  the  return  of  the  manager,  flanked  by  a  small  entourage  of  staff  including  the  tailor  sena  had  requested.  he  tried  not  to  let  the  sour  taste  of  interruption  defile  his  porcelain  countenance,  and  it  helped  that  he  was  easily  placated  by  the  gentle  pressure  of  minhyun’s  hand  guiding  him  to  the  full-length  mirror.

as  disturbing  as  it  may  seem,  sena  was  used  to  being  prodded  and  twirled  around  for  the  benefit  of  others—there  was  no  doubt  he  too  benefited  whenever  he  was  made  to  look  pretty  and  dangerous,  but  there  were  always  others  who  profited  off  the  spectacle  that  was  him,  and  not  all  the  gold  went  into  sena’s  pockets.  but  of  course,  minhyun  was  an  exception  to  such  transactional  tedium.  sena  could  even  argue  that  minhyun  touched  him  far  too  seldom  for  his  liking,  treating  him  with  a  reverence  reserved  for  fragile  art  rather  than  flesh  and  blood,  but  sena  could  be  surprisingly  patient  when  he  deemed  something  worth  the  wait.  and  he  weighed  that  whatever  concessions  minhyun  could  offer  him  were  worth  their  weight  in  silk.

so  lost  in  his  own  thoughts  and  the  practiced  motions  of  the  fitting  was  sena  that  he  almost  had  not  caught  what  minhyun  had  asked.  or  more  accurately,  he  simply  assumed  he  had  heard  wrong.  but  the  shift  in  minhyun—subtle  as  the  catch  of  a  breath,  the  pause  of  a  pen—was  confirmation  enough  for  sena  that  he  had  indeed  heard  correctly.

a  hint  of  the  endearment  sena  tried  to  mask  unintentionally  spilled  into  his  voice,  soft  and  unguarded.  "will  you  let  me  see  you  in  pale  yellow?"

‘will  you  let  me,’  sena  asked,  as  if  many  would  not  lay  themselves  down  on  gravelly  roads  just  so  sena  need  not  ruin  a  good  pair  of  jimmy  choos.  a  classic  maneuver  pulled  from  sena’s  playbook,  one  designed  to  beguile  and  ,  and  sena  drew  it  out  with  effortless  grace.  what  came  harder  for  him  was  trying  to  ignore  how,  in  this  specific  instance,  it  did  not  seem  as  much  of  a  calculated  move  on  his  part  as  it  did  a  genuine  request.

a  hand  reached  up  to  delicately  brush  aside  pesky  strands  of  hair  that  had  fallen  in  front  of  minhyun’s  eyes—don't  look  away,  always  look  at  me.  his  fingers  had  itched  to  be  where  minhyun’s  fingers  were  earlier,  so  sena  let  his  touch  linger  against  the  warmth  of  minhyun’s  temple  before  reluctantly  setting  his  hand  down  beside  him.

"i  like  you  in  bright  colours.  dark  shades  don't  suit  you,"  sena  declared  in  a  low  voice,  as  if  it  was  a  universal  truth,  a  law  of  physics  for  which  there  was  no  room  for  argument.  he  did  not  look  away,  and  his  eyes  bore  straight  into  minhyun’s  with  an  intensity  that  commanded  to  be  met.  "you  should  always  be  bright  and  radiant,  minhyun-ah.  you  were  never  made  to  be  a  shadow."

[hyunhd]

he had braced himself for embarrassment the moment the question left his mouth, yet sena's answer lands heavier than expected. he recognizes in himself surprise first, the faintest edge of confusion, and then something warm, almost like endearment. well, shit. was the wording deliberate? his fingers still altogether this time, graphite hovering uselessly above the page, and he has to remind himself to breathe before the moment tilts too far out of his control.

he notices the fingers reaching for his hair before they get there, and the instant his eyes lift to sena's, he regrets it. the attention is sudden, overwhelming, even when the older is the one getting a luxury piece of clothing tailored. there are eyes, hands and pale yellow all about him and minhyun wishes, briefly, that he could melt away.

he almost hates how easily sena clocks him, how effortlessly he names the very seam in minhyun's persona that governs so many of his choices. minhyun doesn't look down at his outfit, he already knows it by heart. not fully black, but close enough. it's no accident that it's muted, controlled, it's what he chooses for work—fittings like this one, events like the one in play—as if it were an uniform. he understands light, how eyes are drawn to contrast, shine, color. he knows how to make someone stand out, it's his work, his craft, the thing he loves most. and so, he becomes the shadow completely on purpose, a backdrop carefully constructed so that whoever stands beside him can shine brighter for it.

usually, he would entertain the discussion. minhyun would say that he does suit dark shades too, with a pout, and that he likes being the shadow, that it's a choice. sena would retaliate with something about lost potential. it wouldn't be a fight, just two truths sharing the same space.

but today he's tired. tired, and sena has pretty eyes that are very good at asking, and even better at obtaining. minhyun could just say no. instead, he exhales softly. pale tones do suit him, he has the complexion for it; he knows that too. "i can let you see any color, hyung," he says, then winces inwardly at the phrasing, the echo of sena's earlier words sitting wrong on his tongue. he softens it immediately, tilting the moment away from discomfort into something lighter. "you should see me in pink too, it's life-changing." the words come easier than the thought that follows, it's alright if it's just them.

"just— for an event... i don't think i can give up the dark shades," he starts, gaze drifting briefly to where the tailor secures the last pin, smooths the fabric once more, and steps back from the garment with a quiet nod. minhyun exhales and lowers his eyes to the sketchbook. his tumb slips beneath the edge of the first page, then the next. the paper tears free in clean motions, the repetitive sound grounding. he gathers the pages neatly in his hand, aligning the edges before looking up again. "pale yellow as an accent," he adds, calmer now. "that, i could do."