the editor captioned him as 상남자 when he oh so nonchalantly pulled the jenga block smoothly with no hesitation. watch flashing under the sleeve. in his vlive, he said he likes mathematics then recently on the studio choom behind... he solved multiplications like it was a piece of cake. he even told woo to redo the take so he can act like a fool. breezing through monthly eval with a freestyle because he forgot the lyrics he wrote the night before. memorising choreo in six hour the day before the stage performance. he works smart. i don’t get how people take mingi for a fool. he’s bloody intelligent and that’s hot. thanks for coming to my tedtalk.
since it’s his birthday, let me ramble about him and profess my affection for my fellow leonine 🦁 happy birthday to the angel who willingly had his wings removed in heaven’s hospital and came down to earth. may happiness finds you everywhere you go
give straight and realistic advices
“you need to accept the reality”
doesn’t coddle atiny - us - as much as the rest
“i’m the type to wholly accept the emotions as they are”
thinks sadness play an important role
watch sadder drama or something, to get to the bottom of said emotion
“gotten better sense of fashion and better at dressing myself and i’ve gotten much less money now”
finds watching other playing video game fun until they start screaming at each other so early in the morning that he ended up rooming alone
good with math and korean school subjects. honest with how he is not as good as he was back then at the subject (math specifically) but still crushes simple multiplication speed quiz
top of the class
on the topic of american rapper machine gun kelly: “he’s a white rapper”
confident about himself
if he decided to really commit on something, he’ll see it to the end
a.n/ something that stems from listening to eden’s discography while on the train, peak nostalgia hour
t.w/ none
In the drowsiness of four in the morning, Mingi sat in his chair, hunched over various papers, textbooks and notes. His hand continuously wrote lines upon lines of numbers and symbols. What started as a liked subject in high school had plunged him into the depths of a sophisticated system. He remembered his teacher saying talent was a pursued interest. Here he was awake at four instead of sleeping, he couldn’t stop until he figured out what was waiting for him at the end of the massive equation. The small desk lamp flickered, he knew soon the batteries needed replacing again. He could have bought a new lamp but there was no other light source he would rather work with this late.
The door of his room crack opened and a mop of messy brown hair peeked inside. Mingi sat up and winced, his back cracked after being in the same position for far too long. “Ya, still up?” His roommate and best friend of many years came in. A steaming mug of a mysterious beverage in his hand. “Milk and honey, it’ll help you sleep,” he placed the mug on the desk’s only clear spot, a coaster blocked off part of the wooden surface. It was purposely reserved for instances like tonight. “Thanks, Yunho.” Mingi smiled and sipped the night treat as he watched his best friend fall into his bed. Yunho pointed at the lamp, voice laced with sleepiness, “You’re still using that wretched thing?” Mingi gasped in mock offence and clutched his heart, “Wretched thing? My precious baby?! You’re the one who gave me this loyal babe. How dare you!” Yunho’s chuckles were muffled by the pillow, his cheeks rose adorably.
He noticed throughout the years, Yunho’s facial structure stayed the same. The squishy cheeks he couldn’t seem to shed became what Mingi called ‘Yunho’s health scale’. No sound came from his long-standing roommate and Mingi turned his attention to the compact yet worn lamp. Scratches and tiny dents littering the metal surface were hidden by stickers of countries he had flown to for his work. The wretched lamp ate its batteries faster than Mingi could fill his thick hardbound notebook with numbers. He picked up his pen, a well-loved Pilot Custom Heritage 92 demonstrator fountain pen from his mother, the only one he used upon receiving it. Mathematical equations and numbers were as concrete as it possibly can but Mingi was anything but.
The grey ink sloshed back and forth in the converter. He was once asked, “Why grey ink?” It reminded him of the wooden pencils he started out with, the shade of childhood on paper and the stains on his fingers and hand from the graphite. Before the ink had a chance to bleed onto the paper, a click of tongue and rustling sheets were enough for Mingi to cap his pen. He drained the rest of the milk while it was still warm and headed to bed. He occupied the empty space beside his friend, mathematics could wait. He won’t be seeing his friend for sometime after tonight. He took one last look at the lamp, reminding himself to remove the batteries and pack the device into his bag. The body heat radiating next to him was the last thing Mingi felt as the grips of dreamless sleep overtook him.
The aircraft intercom crackled to life, Mingi recited the pre-flight announcements from rote memory. He straightened his grey suit jacket and made his final round of safety checks. Once he sat down, he inhaled and exhaled methodically. He hated takeoffs and landings, the years in this field still didn’t completely curb his fear of height. He wished his friend was here to hold his hand. Alas, it was a moot thought. Yunho who pursued a career in the entertainment industry was back in Seoul at the company, recording or dancing or both and he who chased after his dream to be a flight attendant was in a flight bound to Spain. He proudly presented the wings he earned the same time Yunho was set to debut. The eventful night was spent in excited screaming and future prospects before it mellowed out to sombre conversations. Two friends lying on the floor, eyes memorising the ceiling of the house they wished to visit more often. How far they had come in their lives.
Mingi closed his eyes and flooded his mind with numbers from his hardbound notebook, fingers writing the continued equations on his thigh. He would transcribe them later. The equation he bred was lauded as innovative by the professors of the university. They did express their concern over the complexity and the possibility of it not being solvable. He knew. He thought of it prior to presenting his rough draft but he wouldn’t settle for second best. Solvable or not, it was his and his alone. Having no closure was closure itself and he needed to know what lay beyond it, disappointing or not. The image of the compact lamp flickering and the mug of milk and honey flashed to the forefront of his mind. Yes, he would be fine.
His fellow flight attendant squeezed his shoulder with a slightly worried smile. The plane had reached a stable altitude. He smiled and told her softly he was fine and thanked her for being concerned. He unbuckled the seatbelt and helped with drinks distribution. Somewhere way at the end of the aircraft, he heard a baby wailing. As usual, he would go up to the parents and ask if it was acceptable for him to help their soothe the baby. Most would be relieved to place their babies in his arms, Mingi understood, there was nothing wrong in wanting a little respite, there was nothing to feel guilty. He gently took the infant into his hold and walked up and down the aisle rocking the babe, mumbling sweet nothings. He didn’t come back to their seat until the baby was fast asleep.
The Spanish sun blazed in winter. Mingi shed his outer coat, leaving him in a simple long sleeve shirt. The green pastures of the highland stretch for miles all around him, flocks of sheep grazed and bleated without a care in the world. He trudged up the dirt path toward the quaint cottage. He couldn’t travel with his friend last time but it didn’t stop Yunho to list all the places he had been all over Spain, Mingi was equipped with chicken scrawl writing and badly drawn structures and maps on the postcards. They made sure none of them was neglected in any way. Two differing personalities yet they knew how to take care of each other without saying a word. Time truly flew without waiting.
Red brick walls greeted him at the end of the path, the metal gates creaked open with a push of his hand. The reclusiveness of the location swept Mingi into a whirlpool of nostalgia. Passing by the abode and around to the spacious back garden, the blue expanse of the Mediterranean Sea in the distance embraced him. The groundskeeper found him drifting off in the hammock, the sun blanketing him in warm rays and the wind brushing through his hair in loving strokes. He deciphered what the keeper told him in accented English, if he had come here years before, he would have blurted out his iconic line from the Australia trip, “I cannot English.” He thanked the keeper and pretended he didn’t almost trip from getting out of the hammock. The sheepish smile on his face and the mirth dancing in the keeper’s eyes were enough for Mingi to know he wasn’t slick. He stayed outside until the sun set below the horizon. The golden hues gilded the area and Mingi imagined if this was the shade that was perpetual for the gods at Mount Olympus, if this was the same sight Yunho witnessed. The Mediterranean Sea shifted into a pool of liquid gold then to abysmal black when the sun spun to the east.
A pack of AA batteries sat ready to use on the wooden desk beside the four-poster king-sized bed. Of course, Yunho knew Mingi would forget the batteries for the lamp, half the world apart and he was still being taken care. The baggage check security confiscated the batteries because he didn’t remove them beforehand. He had been doing this a lot recently, losing himself in reminiscence. The keeper called him down for dinner, classic Spanish dishes graced the table and Mingi was fed until he couldn’t. An amicable conversation of the cottage’s history, the highlands and each other’s lives lingered in his ears. He couldn’t help but to close his eyes from time to time, savouring the Spanish accented English. He was sleepy by the time he returned to his room with a pot of Lady Grey. He drew open the off white curtains and left the windows ajar. The moon was full and bright, it seemed closer than when he was in Seoul.
He should get some sleep before jet lag settled in but he gravitated to the posh wooden desk. If he was his younger self, he would pick the bed, no hesitation. The Mingi now was even surer of himself, the passion simmering under his skin and lighting his eyes were no longer hidden under a pretence of foolishness. He was still the “work smart and my way” Mingi everyone knew yet the refined confidence oozing from his presence turned more heads and the sharp intelligence landed him in the opportunities of his dreams. He placed the batteries into empty slots and flipped the switch. The room was dimly lit by warm white light. The nib of his fountain pen glided across the white pages, spilling grey inks in numbers and symbols from memory. The wind came through the open windows and ruffled the papers. Mingi didn’t sleep until the blue hour descended and the birds said good morning.
The Seoul winter welcomed him home and the summer of Yunho’s affection wrapped him tightly in its embrace. His friend had come to pick him up from the airport, Yunho in his street clothes and Mingi still in his grey uniform. The metro ride to their shared apartment was spent by telling each other the adventures they were up to while apart. His heart warmed at the mention of their shared place being too empty without him. The feeling was mutual when Yunho was on world tours. Occasionally, they would be lucky enough to be on the same flight. Mingi dragged his suitcase into his room and collapsed onto the bed. He felt blanket being draped over his shoulders and a hand patted his head, “Goodnight and sweet dreams.” There was much to do after this. Yunho started to unpack his suitcase, the crunching of plastic bags didn’t bother him. His eyelids grew heavier and heavier and he didn’t know when he gave into the clutches of a well-rested sleep.
February, the coldest month of the year, the last Friday of his time at Seoul National University. He came to the contentment of the unsolvable as the tassels were moved from right to left. The finale of the current chapter had arrived. Mingi ran toward his friends, the seven who he held dearly to his heart, the seven who accepted him for who he was. The winter wind bit his skin and the sun was hidden behind the clouds. The blue-and-black robe swung from his movements and the cap fell off his head. The equations were not meant to be solved. There was no right answer for it. Only the progress mattered. Show the work. He was thrown into the air amidst cheering. At that moment, Mingi knew he had reached his closure. The sunlight broke through the coverings. The equations mutated itself, as cold as these numbers could be they were novel. Life was never meant to be solved.
a.n/ his red hair will remain iconic along with all the wonderland promotion fits
t.w/ none
Vibrant cherry red. The first strikingly saturated colour you see this morning in the metro. The man in front of you snoozes peacefully in the early haze. Maybe not as peacefully as you thought when he shifts uncomfortably, the angelic features of his face scrunch as if he’s in pain. The train screeches to a stop and you almost tumble into the cherry-haired man.
The intercom buzzes, “Due to technical difficulties this train will be delayed momentarily. We are sorry for the inconveniences.” Phones start to ring and apologies of being late are sent. The passengers ease deeper into their seats, those standing shift from foot to foot. Five minutes easily blends into what feels like half an hour.
You flinch forward arms ready to catch the cherry-haired man when his body surges forward. He jolts awake, hands lunging swiftly to take hold of your offered ones. Your hands disappear in his. Sharp slanted eyes snap up to meet yours, the edge softens and he gives you an embarrassed smile.
“Sorry,” he says sheepishly and grimaces when he moves in his seat. His thumbs caress the back of your hands before releasing it, “Back pains.” You immediately miss the warmth of his hold. “Hey, will you wake me up at the next stop?” You nod and he flashes you a wide grin, the pearly uneven teeth visible. How endearing. You feel yourself smiling after he slips into another nap.
True to your words, you pat his knee to rouse him almost half an hour later. He yawns and grabs hold of your arms, lifting himself up. His towering height in all black stumbles into you with a pained groan. His coat blinds your vision for a brief second, darker than the shadows of night, softer than silk. He apologises again, the tips of his ears turning as red as his hair.
“It’s fine,” you shake your head. There’s the heart-fluttering smile again. “Thank you!” He exits the train with the crowd, standing taller than everybody around him and his hair a splash of colour amongst the monotonous palette. “The name’s Song Mingi! Say my name if you need any help!” He yells before the doors slide shut. He waves goodbye enthusiastically as the train departs from the platform.
It is not until weeks later that you are reminded of the cherry-haired Song Mingi. Night has fallen along with its temperature. Your train home is delayed due to another technical difficulty. You clench your teeth to fight the chattering cold. No jacket and no wallet. You cross your arms to preserve what little body heat you have as you wait for the train arrival.
Say my name if you need any help! What is he an angel? But you find yourself looking up at the night sky. The inky darkness resembles his coat. “Mingi,” his name leaves your lips in blind hope. The lights flicker above you. You catch a flash of cherry red from your peripheral sight. No way.
Mingi appears several paces away from you, in all black and hair still as striking as before. He’s about to wave at you until he takes in your shiver wracked frame. His smile turns into a grim line, eyes steel sharp as he marches toward you. The black leather jacket he dons slip off his broad shoulders like a waterfall.
He drapes the jacket around your shoulders, still warm from his body and as soft as feathers. You wonder if leather could be as supple as this. Mingi tugs you into him, arms coiling around you and the winds still. It is as if his wings cocoon you in its protective embrace. “What were you thinking of going out without a jacket?”
You dodge his question, “How’s your back?” He snorts at the poor attempt but answers regardless, “It’s alright. I’m flattered you remember.” He rubs your back, trying to assure you or to put some heat back into you. He doesn’t look affected by the low temperature. He is doesn’t seem to be fazed by his action either, holding a stranger in his arms.
Mingi chuckles when you lean against his chest, his arms winding tighter. “Warm, huh?” He teases you. You pinch his side and he jerks with a sharp exclamation. “Ah! How dare you! To an angel like me?” He whines yet he keeps holding you as if you’ve known him for years.
The announcement of the arriving train draws a sigh from you. You peel yourself away from Mingi with a touch of reluctance, he feels safe. “Mingi, you’re an angel.” He presents you with a heart-fluttering smile. The cold exterior evaporates in less than a second.
He pulls the jacket closer, making sure it’s snug around you before brushing away invisible specks of dust from your shoulders. “Take care!” He nudges you to the train and the crowd overwhelm your figure in its mass. By the time you’re inside the train, Mingi is already gone.
Out the window, not a single soul is on the platform as the train moves. A black feather clings innocently on the jacket. A token of his existence. Say my name.
a.n/ who’s waiting for the detective? what’s going on? we got unhinged characters everywhere and i don’t write this series in order
t.w/ unwanted advances and implied blood
recommended playlist:
by shoji meguro -
backside of the tv
You’ll be responsible for the bloodshed in the end, including the one looking for you.
Jongho’s words swirl in your mind days after the encounter. You settle farther into your chair as you watch your partner fill a case report. The Junior Detective shoot you a playful glare at your crossed feet on the desk. How unfortunate, the promotion ceremony won’t be held. There’s nothing good from being promoted in the Anomaly Department anyway, only increased cases and suicide missions. The supernatural world has never been kind.
Something on your mind, Detective? You smile at the soft prodding, too kind to be in this department. What were they thinking partnering you together? Putting your feet down, you stand up and walk around the connected desks. You place a swift kiss on the crown of the Junior Detective’s head before heading down to the bullpen. “I’ll get us dinner.” You could see the buffering as the cogs creak, a couple of moments later you hear a flustered yell. You just don’t want to do paperwork!
“My, my. You really betray your loyal mutt like that?” A body drape over you from the back as you wait in line outside at the bustling fast-food chain. Pinpricks of electric discharge climb your skin. “Has anyone ever told you not to make physical contact with a law enforcer, Song Mingi? Especially my kind.” His chest rumble against your back with a mumble of ‘feisty’ and he pulls you to sit on the bench by the road. The muscle under his grasp jolt when a stray zap of electricity passes through the layers of your clothes. If it’s hard to breathe around Jongho, it is physically uncomfortable to be touched by Mingi. Even the gloves he wears couldn’t mitigate the sudden bolts.
“My partner is not a mutt,” you bite back, jerking your arm away from his hold. Sure the Junior Detective is not going to be around much longer but there’s no need for such disrespect. The same old principle you carry over the years for the dead and the dying.
“Still trying to be honourable even in the midst of treachery. It’ll change soon. Something on your mind, Detective? Are you alright, Detective? I think you should go see the physician, I’ll drive you there. More coffee? Your partner is a loyal mutt alright.”
“Then you’re not much different, Mingi, or should I say Hongjoong’s loyal mutt?” He sneers at the returned jibe but it warps into a smirk. He’s always quick to bounce back like the lightning that he is. Perhaps it comes from the inbred fraudulence, critics and hate comments thrown at him never has its effect. He always secures his deals, believably lying through his teeth, and sweet-talking his way out of unwarranted situations. You would know, he carves a few pieces of your soul. Black veins begin to root around his eyes. “Last supper before the downfall?”
“Since when buying dinner equates to thirty pieces of silver?” You snide. Mingi barks a laugh, the air crackling around both of you, “Since you oh so lovingly gave your partner the kiss of Judas.” The red leaks into his eyes and he leaned forward, his nose a hairbreadth away from yours, “You’re cold, Detective. Do it properly next time.” His lips brush against yours and you shove him away not a second later. Your hand almost going numb at the sharp shocks from the contact, the skin around your nails split. The small zap from the kiss crack your bottom lip, coppery flavour greets your tastebuds.
Mingi howls in derision, static electricity building up on your trench coat. “See you soon, Detective.” The shadow of the night swallow him but his last remark cuts through you, “He’s waiting for you to come home to him.”
Twenty minutes and you’ve gotten into trouble already. Your partner chides before devouring the bowl of spicy noodles. Right after your run-in with Mingi, you cross the street and duck into a Sichuan restaurant. You need something spicy to combat the brewing anger. He’s always slippery in everything he does. You chew on the fried dumpling while lathering the antiseptic ointment on the cuts. “You carry this around with you?” Your partner shrug. Seems like a good choice.
You sit back, languidly munching your dinner while observing the person across from you. Something on your mind, Detective? You place your chopsticks down. “You know there’s no happy ending in this case?” Your partner nod solemnly, grim determination shows on the white knuckles around the wooden cutlery. The rooster crows twice and the chasm rifts deeper.
