A small sting, a sudden warmth crawling down your upper lip, and you would quietly excuse yourself and slip into the bathroom before anyone noticed.
But then it became every other day.
Sometimes twice a day.
Sometimes right in the middle of rehearsal.
And every time, you’d feel it;
that tiny twinge, that sudden shift in pressure behind your eyes, that warning drip—
and you’d run.
“Bathroom,” you’d mumble,
“Give me a second,”
or “I’ll be right back.”
No one questioned it much at first.
Seungkwan just assumed you drank too much water. Mingyu joked you must’ve eaten something bad. Dino teased that your bladder was aging like Jeonghan’s.
But…
Minghao noticed everything.
The way your bright smile faltered ever so slightly before you excused herself.
The way you’d press your fingers under your nose for half a second before turning away.
The way you’d avoid looking at anyone when you walked back to them, slightly pale, slightly quiet.
And the way you stopped sitting next to them during meals, preferring corners instead.
That…he couldn’t ignore.
.
You were practising for an upcoming stage when it happened again.
The room was hot, bodies sweating, music pounding through the speakers. You laughed at something Jun said—
and then your laughter abruptly cut off.
Minghao saw it immediately.
Your smile dropped, eyes widened, then your hand flew up to your face before you could stop yourself.
You turned your back towards them.
“Be right back,” you blurted out— too fast, too shaky.
And then— bolted.
Jun blinked. “Is she okay?”
“Maybe she forgot something?” Dokyeom spared a second glance.
But Minghao’s eyes stayed fixed on the practice room doors.
That wasn’t normal.
Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty.
He gave it thirty seconds—
long enough to not make it obvious,
before slipping out quietly.
.
You stood at the sink, leaning heavily against the counter.
Your head was bowed, one hand braced on the marble, the other throwing another tissue into the pile that was quickly turning the counter bright red and white.
A shaky breath left your lips, clearly trying your best to keep it steady.
“Not now, please not now,” you whispered softly.
You didn’t hear the soft knocking from outside, nor when the door opened.
But Minghao did notice the way you flinched when you heard footsteps.
He paused in the doorway, not moving closer; He knew you well enough to know crowding you would only make you more defensive.
“Are you okay?”
Your shoulders tensed.
You didn’t turn around.
“Mhm,” you hummed, too short, too tight.
“You’re bleeding again,” he said gently.
You froze.
Then you forced a laugh, the kind of laugh that tried too hard.
“Oh— uh, yeah. Just…the air has been too dry, I guess.”
“Mm.” You heard him step closer - slow, deliberate.
“You’ve said that six times this week.”
Your grip on the counter tightened.
“That’s not— you’re exaggerating.”
“I’m not.”
Silence stretched between the both of you.
You stared at the sink, refusing to reveal your pathetic look to him.
But Minghao was already staring at your reflection in the mirror— the pale cheeks, the way your eyes didn’t meet his, the way your hand trembled slightly as you held the tissue.
“You’ve been avoiding us,” you felt the warmth of his palm slide up your cheek, gently pushing for your gaze onto his.
“I haven’t.”
“You have.”
Hao tilted his head slightly.
“You run every time it happens. And you don’t come back for hours.”
Your throat bobbed.
“Minghao, it’s just a nosebleed.”
“It’s not just a nosebleed if you’re hiding it.”
That made your jaw clench.
“I just…” you muttered, voice growing small, “didn’t want anyone to worry.”
Minghao’s eyes softened.
“There’s nothing wrong with us worrying about you.”
Your breath hitched.
You weren’t used to being seen this clearly.
Slowly, gently, he reached into his pocket and held out a small pack of tissues.
You blinked.
“You…carry these?”
He gave the faintest shrug.
“You run a lot,” he said. “I figured it’s better safe than sorry.”
You took them from his hand, throat tightening unexpectedly.
“You don’t have to look after me,” you whispered.
He looked at you directly— steady, calm, firm.
“I’m not looking after you.”
You frowned a little.
“I’m taking care of someone who won’t take care of herself,” he corrected.
Your lips parted in surprise.
Then quietly, timidly. You whispered,
“I’m scared.”
It slipped out before you could swallow it.
Minghao’s expression didn’t shift into panic or shock. Instead, it simply softened into something warm and grounding.
“You should’ve told us,” he said.
Your lips parted, eyes stung.
Still, you chose to turn away quickly, blinking rapidly.
Minghao stood behind you— close enough to be there, far enough to give you space.
“When you feel it coming again,” he spoke gently, as if coaxing an injured animal out of hiding. “come find me.”
You looked up at him through the mirror - there was a faint smile present on his lips, small but sincere.
“Why you?”
“Because I’ll notice before you do.”
Your heart caught in your chest.
“And because,” he added softly, “you shouldn’t have to hide from us. Not with this.”
Not with anything.
You swallowed hard. “…Okay,”
Minghao took the tissue from your hand, replacing it with a fresh one, and his voice lowered to something achingly gentle.
“Let us worry about you,” he said. “Let me worry about you.”
tags: established relationship, both xmh + yn are RICH rich, fluff, kissing, marriage/proposal talks, minghao is literally so in love omfg
warnings: pet names (angel, sweetheart)
notes: literally me rambling about rich + devoted minghao with absolutely no direction planned and i think it's super obvious HELPP but it does not matter !! ur honor i luv these 2 theyre so sassy smitten and it devastates me
“you’re actually the worst person i’ve ever met.”
you glare at your boyfriend as he gets out of the driver’s seat, walks around the front of the parked car and opens your door for you. he’s still smiling that faintly smug smile that’s been on his stupidly handsome face ever since you left the restaurant, and you hate it.
“sweetheart,” minghao says, taking hold of your hand and helping you out of the car, “it’s really no big deal.”
you scoff, rolling your eyes. releasing minghao’s hand, you deposit your purse into his waiting palm and flounce away, across the car park and to the apartment building doors.
minghao struggles to hold back a laugh as he trails after you. “y/n. you’re not truly mad, are you?”
“of course i’m truly mad,” you huff. “you said i could pay for our date this time.”
during the five years you’ve been dating minghao, he’s taken you on a whole variety of incredible dates. from the impromptu long weekend to paris to the days where you just go to the restaurant down the block for dinner, minghao has never failed to take care of you and always pays for your meal.
any other person would be flattered to have such a rich and devoted boyfriend. and really, you adore that about him, too.
but, well. you’re rich also. and sometimes, you want to be the one to dote on your boyfriend.
you punch in the building code unnecessarily hard and stomp through the automatic doors before minghao can catch up with you. from behind, you can hear him laughing, and it makes you whirl back around to look at him, pouting extravagantly.
“i don’t see why that’s so funny. you promised, hao,” you whine, and minghao just laughs again.
that night had been just a normal date night, nothing more than the two of you dressing up to go to that one upscale chinese place that you both love. and so, it seemed like the best day to finally start paying for your dates—if it was any big occasion, minghao would’ve definitely protested against the idea, insistent that he wanted to treat you on such a special day.
and at the time, it seemed like it would work.
minghao had smiled at you, adjusting the pearls around your neck, and agreed.
you’d felt ridiculously satisfied, excited at the fact that finally, you’d have a chance to pay for your boyfriend. but oh, how wrong you were.
“i’m sorry, angel,” minghao says now, brushing a finger over your cheek fondly before pressing the ‘up’ button for the elevator. “it just so happened that i’d already paid for our meal before we’d even got there. i didn’t want to burst your bubble by telling you so, but i guess that made it even worse, hm?”
you whine again in frustration. “hao, that’s not even a thing! you can’t pay for a meal in advance!”
“i can when i know exactly what we’re going to order,” minghao grins.
“what?! i swear, that must go against restaurant etiquette! that's actually crazy behaviour. i can't believe you did that."
the elevator arrives then, and minghao gestures for you to get in first. you do, still arguing with him over restaurant rules and whatnot. even as you do so, supposedly very upset over his behaviour, you still hold onto his arm and lean against him to take off your heels, and then pass them over to him once they’re off your aching feet.
minghao smiles amusedly, terribly smitten.
“—going to get you back for that stunt one day, xu minghao,” you say, stabbing an accusing finger into his shoulder. “gonna book out the entire restaurant. no, wait, the entire street! we’re going to venice one day, and i’m going to close down a whole road for us only. just you wait.”
the elevator doors open with a ding, and he trails behind as you continue talking, dreaming up big plans on how to treat your boyfriend sometime in the future.
it’s devastatingly endearing. he knows it was maybe a tiny, tiny bit mean to advance-pay the bill tonight, but in his defence, he does that most nights anyway. plus, he likes seeing how pouty you get over it, knowing you're not actually upset, but still insisting you are because you can pay for your own meals, without minghao's card, thank you very much.
and you very much can—he hasn’t run the numbers in a while, but he’s pretty sure you’re richer than him right now—but he likes paying for you. likes taking care of you like this.
he inputs the keycode to the apartment, chuckling as you continue to rant.
“okay, alright,” he finally concedes, opening the door and letting you enter first, taking off your wool coat for you and hanging it up by the door. “in which case, how about a compromise? i pay for our ordinary dates like these, and you can pay for special occasions.”
your eyes light up at his words. “wait, really?”
minghao laughs. “yes, really.” he puts your purse on the dresser by the door, your shoes in the shoe cupboard and then takes off his own. “except for valentine’s day, white day, our anniversary, and your birthday. i’ll be paying for those.”
“what?” you complain. “hao, you’re leaving me with nothing!”
“you can pay for my birthday.”
“come on, that’s a given. i would do that anyway.”
you’re giving him those big, sad eyes again, and minghao can’t help but smile even wider. lord, you’re just so pretty and you love him so much and he’s never been more grateful for that because he loves you so much too.
“well,” he says, pretending to think, “we don’t have an engagement or wedding anniversary yet. so if those things ever happen… then maybe…”
your eyes widen, little sparkles appearing in your irises even as your entire face softens, gentle and hopeful. “you’re… you want to marry me?”
minghao can’t take this anymore. he walks over, takes your face in his hands and kisses you, once. and then again, deeper, softer, for good measure. just to get his point across.
“of course,” he murmurs against your lips when he pulls away. “i love you.”
you lean in and peck him on the lips once more. “i love you too,” you say, and then pull away so he can see the mischievous glint in your eyes. “hey. if i propose to you, then i’ll definitely get to pay for every engagement anniversary we have, right?”
minghao laughs, pulling you back into his embrace. “sure, sweetheart. that’s only if you propose to me first, however.”
“are you trying to start a proposal race, minghao?”
“maybe. will you join in, y/n?”
you laugh, looping your arms behind his neck and bringing his face close to yours again. “oh, it’s on.”
★ | member — husband!minghao x wife!reader
★ | genre — romance, smut, fluff, newlyweds au
★ | word count — 3k
★ | synopsis — the only thing on minghao's mind tonight is you.
★ | warnings — descriptions of female anatomy, a lot of making out, wayyy too eager & desperate minghao, hints of a marriage kink, disgusting sappy feelings, emotionally prepare yourself bc they're Making Love™
★ | notes — requested by anon — this ask is from over 2 years ago i am SO sorry anon but if you're still here please lmk if you see this :) if you liked this style of writing, please reblog and tell me your thoughts in the tags!! reblogs are what makes tumblr work, and they show me that this is something you want to read more of <3
minghao isn’t usually the clingy one in your relationship, but he hasn’t been able to keep his hands off of you all day.
he’s never been the type to publicly show off his affection, always preferring whispered words and touches in private. those are the things that mean the most to him, you always thought. but as soon as you heard the words “you may now kiss the bride” at the altar he was suddenly pulling you in and kissing you harder than ever before, the warmth of his lips melting into yours. in that moment everything else melted away, too; the dying sunlight, the rustle of the wind in the palm trees, the clapping and cheering of your friends and family behind you.
even after you’d changed out of your long white gown into a shorter, more comfortable party dress for the reception, his hand had stayed on your thigh the entire time. food was served, guests came to greet you at your table, and all the while there was his warmth on your skin, only letting go so you could make your way to the dance floor. persistent, offering the reassurance you need that he'll always be by your side. although tonight, you're not sure if you're the one who needs it most, or if it's him.
and then your first dance. his hands were just a little too tight on your waist, his lips lingering just a little too long against your cheek as he held you close.
“baby, what’s gotten into you?” you giggle breathlessly as he pushes you against the wall of your honeymoon suite, not-so-quietly slamming the door shut with his foot.
“you,” he breathes, and you’re surprised at the way his voice comes out deep and raspy. “you… are so fucking beautiful. and now you’re my wife.” he gives you a glance up and down, a look you're used to by now, but this time it seems so much more special than usual. maybe it's the way his eyes pause on your hand, the glittering new ring that shines there. maybe it's the reverent way he watches you begin to undress for him, slipping the straps off your shoulders one by one, trying so hard to contain himself and not ruin this moment. it's been an exhausting few months, and it's a relief now that everything is finally over. “ … my wife.”
no. that's not right, it suddenly hits him. everything's not over. it's only just beginning.
with that realization he snaps into action. his hands are everywhere, holding your sides and sliding down to your ass, then sliding back up to your shoulder blades. he holds you tight then loosens his grip, as if his brain is short circuiting at the fact that you're finally completely alone for the rest of the night, a night that's been so eagerly-awaited for song that he's almost hesitant in fear of messing it up. but he can't hesitate, not now. not when he's finally got you.
in all the years you've known him you don't think he's ever kissed you this passionately, this intensely, this hungrily. you've barely walked through the goddamn door and he's acting like it's the last night he'll ever get to see you. but really, it's the first of many.
you wrap your arms around him and try to keep up, hugging him as tight as you can and chasing his lips. you're fighting your hardest to keep your knees from buckling, and even with your back pressed against the wall for support it's not enough to extinguish the fire that's alight inside your chest. minghao kisses you like he's trying to steal the air from your lungs while simultaneously breathing life into you, like he needs to remind every cell and molecule in your body of how much he loves you.
he pulls away only once he feels himself start to go lightheaded from the lack of oxygen, or maybe he's just lightheaded in general because you're finally, officially his. but even that short break doesn't last long, allowing himself only a few precious seconds to breathe before he reattaches his lips on your jaw and starts kissing down your neck.
your eyelashes flutter as he moves down, his breath tickling your throat as he presses his face into your skin while he lets out heavy breaths through his nose. there's that warmth again; the heat of his eagerness, every hot exhale filled with life that he breathes only for you.
he pushes his nose into the corner of your neck and shoulder, inhaling the memories of the day. the fading scent of your perfume fills his nose as he kisses against your collarbone, reminding him of everything that led him to this moment.
he tries to imagine how you looked getting ready in the morning, a past that already seems lifetimes away. he pictures you slipping on your dress while friends and stylists crowd around you, talking and giggling as they fix your hair and your makeup to make you look as perfect as possible — though to him, you already are. he wishes he could’ve seen that moment, had it not been for stupid tradition. he's usually a fan of traditions, but not this one. every second he spends away from you is agony, but it's worth it a million times over for what he gets to experience right now, the excitement, the anticipation, and now, the payoff.
he vaguely remembers the cake, the dancing, the music, the applause, the toasts. all of it is still a blur, a rush of emotions he hasn't quite had time to sit with yet. maybe tomorrow, or in a few days, or even a few years, it'll sink in. maybe he's stuck in the honeymoon phase and this, too, will fade over time. but somehow he knows it won't.
what he remembers as clear as day are the vows he said to you at the altar, and every single word is something he'll never forget as long as he lives. he remembers vividly the way you walked towards him, almost in slow motion, gliding down the aisle straight out of a dream. he didn't think he'd cry; he's never one to get emotional in front of people, and you've rehearsed this day together more than a few times. but then suddenly there you were standing in front of him, holding his hands and looking up into his eyes, and he had to fight to keep himself from getting choked up at the sight of you, the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.
he kisses your neck again and moans, out loud and unabashed, like he's been holding it in all day. in all honesty, he has. he isn't the type to be jealous, either, but he would be lying if he said letting you go to dance with other people after the ceremony wasn't one of the hardest things he's ever had to do. he never wants to leave your side, never again.
minghao knows he isn't normally a desperate man. but tonight it's like he's become a brand new man; a man who needs you so badly, more than he's ever needed anything before in his life. he needs to touch you, kiss you, hold you, please you, do everything that he possibly can with you, for you.
“h-hao?”
you let out a breathy gasp of his name and it finally gets his attention. his eyes find yours in an instant, silently pleading with you to tell him what you want. he needs to give you whatever you want.
“we can— do you… baby, there's a bed,” you finally settle on, trying to straighten out all the words that are jumbled in your head as you motion across the room. he's still got you caged against the wall, barely a step away from the door.
that finally seems to snap him out of his daze, and the familiar understanding you're used to seeing flashes across his eyes. so caught up in his eagerness he almost forgot the most important thing: that you're here too, with your own needs and wants, and you're probably feeling exactly the same things he's feeling. he's got to remind himself that this is as much of a new thing for you as it is for him, too.
so he nods, kissing you again and forcing himself to slow down. there's no rush, no need to do everything all at once immediately. he has all night with you, and several other nights with you after tonight, and then after that, the whole rest of your lives. for a few fleeting days he gets to be here with you: no interruptions, no commitments, and no responsibilities. just you and him. he wants every second of your time, and he wants to give you every second of his.
he sweeps you up into his arms and whisks you around before laying you gently on the bed behind him, his cheeks rosy and his smile soft. and for the second time today, the whole world melts away, leaving just you. just you, and him.
his hands hold your hips tightly as he drags his lips across your stomach, pressing kisses all over your body. he lifts his eyes to meet yours as he kneels between your legs, and his long fingers dig into your sides when you whimpers softly for him. he could truly spend hours here, coaxing moans from your beautiful lips and working you up into a perfect state of bliss.
and that's exactly what he does. he fills you with air and then leaves you breathless, cleansing waves washing over you again and again until you forget what it was ever like to be with him before this. it's different but not noticeably so; it's a familiar feeling lingering in the back of your mind, but the memories are so much brighter now, as if the colors have been restored and remastered like an old, well-loved movie. everything comes easier now, a routine you'll never get bored of, and the feeling of fitting together is more natural than anything you've ever felt in your entire life.
long after your bodies have become a sweaty mess and half the sheets are on the floor, he slips away from the bed to tug on a pair of boxers from his suitcase, bringing your swim cover-up back with him for you to wear like a robe. all you have the energy to do is shrug it onto your shoulders, the fabric twisted and folded and barely covering anything, but you can't find it in you to care.
the night is so warm and you're so comfortable, lying practically naked curled up against minghao's body. you let out a long, deep breath, feeling the air fill your lungs in a calming rhythm. in, out, in, out. he moves to sit up a little, adjusting his position against the mountain of pillows on the bed, but you catch him with a hand on his thigh and he pauses, his attention returning to you in the blink of an eye.
“stay with me, will you?” you hum out softly, letting your thumb rub languidly along the hem of his shorts as he leans down to press a kiss to the top of your head.
“wouldn't wanna be anywhere else, my love.”
you open your eyes a while later, and you're only a little surprised to see that minghao is still awake. as promised he didn't leave your side, still sitting up in bed with your head resting on his lap. his gaze is fixed on the open back door, quietly watching the waves crashing on the shore. you’re not sure how long you’ve been napping, but however long it's been he doesn’t seem to mind.
you pull yourself up onto your elbows and his head instantly swivels to look down at your motion. your muscles ache, but it's a satisfying sort of soreness, one that you don't mind if it lingers for a little while. you manage to sit up all the way, leaning your head against his bicep, and he adjusts ever so slightly to make it more comfortable for you.
“wanna go for a walk?” you finally break the silence, your thumb gently brushing against his arm. if it were any other day than today, he would've teased you and questioned if you even had the ability to walk anymore, but both of you can tell this isn't the moment for that. not after everything you did, everything you said, everything you shared.
he doesn't reply, only nods and carefully slips off the bed, holding out his hand to help you after him. it's impossible to miss the way he squeezes your hand so gently, lacing your fingers together and leading you out the back door.
the ocean comes right up to the backyard of the house, so you decide to forego shoes and walk straight out into the sand. the town is quiet at night, and for a view this beautiful and private you know it must've cost minghao a fortune. but he refused to tell you the price, insisting that since you planned the wedding he was in charge of the honeymoon, his gift to you. to him, you’re worth more than anything money could buy, but that doesn’t mean he won’t spend all of his on you.
there's a log a little ways from the shore, close enough to see the glint of the moonlight on the water but far enough to avoid the waves. it's an old piece of driftwood filed smooth by the wind and weather, soft enough to sit on without splintering, and it crosses your mind to wonder how many couples this log has seen throughout the years, in the same position as you. how many people have come to this beach, sat in this spot under the dim light of the moon, filled with so much love and joy and hope for the future.
you sit down and gently tug on his hand, still entwined with yours, to pull him down beside you. there's no way of telling what time it is, but it's clearly late. you didn't leave the reception until everyone was too tired to party any longer, and then the hour's drive up the coast, plus however long you slept for. it's probably some early hour of the morning, but time is nothing more than a fleeting thought in the back of your mind at this point. time doesn't feel real here; counting the hours would be a waste of precious seconds you could spend on him instead.
“i don't want this night to end,” minghao says softly, as if he's reading your thoughts. he's staring off at the water again, mesmerized by the foamy waves rushing up the sand and the reflection of the moon that makes the surface of it almost seem to glow.
it's odd, to see him so vulnerable like this. it's unlike him, but that's exactly how you know it means so much to him. if he didn't care so much, he wouldn't have held you the way he did, kissing you and worshipping you like you're the only thing he's ever known. he wouldn't be acting so unusual if you didn't turn his world completely upside down every time you kissed him back. if you meant less to him then maybe he'd be able to collect himself the way he always does, a calm demeanor and a knowing smile assuaging your own nerves. but he can't. not today.
you can tell that it's finally starting to sink in for him now. how different things are, and yet they're still exactly the same. the rings and the expensive clothes and the fancy venue are just for show. a distraction, almost, from the real reason why you're here with him right now. at the end of the day he would still be fine without all that, but you? you're the one thing he never wants to be without. and now, he's realizing, he never has to be.
if you didn't know him so well, you'd think he was melancholy or even insecure, but as the silence stretches on you can tell what he really means. you know his words aren't regretful of a night ended, they're in anticipation of the day that's about to begin. many, many more days and nights he'll get to share with you. perhaps not as intense or special as tonight, but still filled with just as much passion and love.
“it will end, eventually. soon.” you say. it's still night but by now the moon is just barely hovering over the horizon, waiting patiently to take its reprieve and let the dawn break forth into morning instead. he knows it's a fact, there's no use trying to pretend otherwise. but that doesn't make it a bad thing. it just makes it a fact. your voice is soft, clear as the night sky. “you and i aren't going to, though.”
he finally looks over to meet your gaze, and even in near-darkness you can read his expression.
he's quiet for a long moment, just sitting and watching. watching the wind blowing through your hair, watching the moonlight illuminating your face, watching the sand sticking to your legs as you pull your knees up to your chest.
“i love you,” he says, so quietly that it almost gets swallowed up by the crashing sounds of the waves.
but you hear him, and you can tell he means it so sincerely. maybe even more sincerely than when he whispered it earlier to you as he was putting the ring on your finger, because this moment is private. in the stillness of the night, in the seclusion of the beach, where it's for you and only you. not to say that all the times he said it in front of your friends and family and guests weren't sincere, but this time is personal; a moment that no one else gets to witness but you. and that's exactly how you want it.
you sigh. it's another soft sound, barely audible over the wind, but you know he hears you, too. he always hears you, and you always hear him.
i hope you enjoyed this!! if you did, please reblog or leave a comment or an ask! it shows me this is something people want to see more of, and knowing people like this makes me want to write more of it! i put a lot of time, love, and effort into my writing, so feedback is really appreciated and motivates me to keep posting :) thanks for reading!!
prompt / request — minghao finds your old fan account, and finds out that it wasn’t for him
pairing — fan!reader + boyfriend!minghao
word count — 923
genre — fluff
when you and minghao first started dating, you’d mentioned that you had a fan account before meeting him. you’d asked him if he wanted to see it but he declined and it never really came up again.
until today.
you’re just on your couch, peacefully reading your book when your usually calm boyfriend barges into the apartment.
“babe, we need to talk,” minghao states and you sit up, thinking it was a serious conversation.
“is everything okay?” you ask, seeing the serious look on his face. “no! nothing is okay! how could you!” minghao exclaims and now you’re really worried, trying to figure out what you’d done.
“what exactly did i do…” you trail off, not able to think of anything you’d done wrong recently. unless he was mad that you didn’t put the laundry away immediately or make the bed as neatly this morning. you knew your boyfriend liked everything to be neat and tidy but surely he couldn’t be this mad about that.
“i was just peacefully scrolling on my instagram explore page today when a certain fan account popped up,” minghao starts to explain, pacing the room a little.
“they posted a nice photo spread of my photo cards with a pretty tea set so i decided to stalk their page–”
“you stalk your fan’s accounts?” you raise an eyebrow, cutting him off. “i like to see my fan’s creativity. that’s not the point! anyways, i realize that this entire account is pretty much 90% dedicated to hoshi,” minghao says.
“and what’s worse is that i continued scrolling through it to find a photo of you! my girlfriend!” he exclaims.
“wait, this is why you’re upset? because you found my old fan account? babe, i told you about this when we started dating and i even asked if you wanted to see it,” you remind him.
“I’m not upset about the account. I’m upset that it’s dedicated to kwon soonyoung!” your boyfriend clarifies and you can’t help but be amused.
“seriously? it’s not that big a deal, babe. i has that account before we started dating– hell, before we even met,” you shrug, picking your book back up.
“okay but why hoshi?” he practically whines. “he was my bias back then–”
“he was your what?!” minghao gasps. “you biased hoshi? kwon soonyoung? hoshi?” he just stares at you.
“jealous?” you tease. “you biased him? your bias is a furry!” minghao gapes at you. “why did you even have so many photo cards of his,” he asks.
“okay it wasn’t my fault i always ended up pulling his photo cards in albums,” you shrug. “you should’ve sold them. and bought mine instead,” minghao states, his expression dead serious.
“aren’t you the one who tells your fans not to buy photo cards?” you give him a look. “this is different! you’re my girlfriend and you’re collecting a furry’s photo cards,” he argues.
“in my defense, i wasn’t your girlfriend when i was collecting him. besides, it’s not like hoshi’s the only one i posted on that account! I posted spreads for pretty much everyone, including you! it was just mostly hoshi and jeonghan because they were my biases,” you point out.
“oh great, so you biased the guy who thinks he’s a tiger and the one who has a pet rock,” he says dryly.
“i might’ve biased them but you’re the one I’m in love with now,” you assure him, pulling him in for a soft kiss.
“so… where is your photo card binder?” he questions after pulling away and you raise an eyebrow at him. “you are not burning my collection,” you warn.
“i wasn’t going to burn it. i was going to sell it. and then use that money to buy you photo cards of me,” he corrects.
“it’s okay babe, i don’t need a photo card of you when i have the real thing,” you tell him, kissing him again before you focus back on your book.
you think minghao lets it go after that but you’re proven wrong a few weeks later when they have their comeback.
he comes home with a gift bag for you, making you raise an eyebrow. “shouldn’t i be the one giving you a gift to celebrate your comeback, not the other way around?” you ask but happily accept the gift.
he watches as you pulled out every album version. you don’t realize that the plastic seal had been broken on all of them as you open it.
you open the first album, checking your photo card pulls as your boyfriend watched with a smirk on his face.
“oh my god, all three hao’s? i don’t think I’ve ever pulled only one member before,” you say, setting down the three different photo cards of your boyfriend.
it wasn’t until you opened the carat version that you realized your boyfriend had done something.
“seriously?” you give him a look when you flip the photo cards to reveal, once again, all of his. plus the carat binder was also his.
“i guess you’ve lost your hoshi luck, honey. you got lucky pulling all of mine,” hao says innocently.
he watches as you pick up your phone, expecting you to take a photo of your pulls but instead he sees you tapping on it, most likely texting someone.
“who are you texting?” he asks and you look up at him. “hoshi. to ask for his photo cards,” you say, dead serious.
“hey! i posed cutely for all of my photo cards just for you and you still want his?”
his voice is shy but steady. “i miss you deeply, unfathomably, senselessly, terribly.” ⸻ the lost in translation couple.
📖 pairing. xu minghao x interpreter/translator!reader.
📖 word count. 4k.
📖 genres/includes. romance. established & secret relationship, quotes & excerpts from letters to milena, hints of long distance, google translated mandarin & japanese. this is an offshoot from my longer fic, lost in translation, but it is not necessary to read that before this. title from the song umuwi (eng tr: 'to go home') by never the strangers.
📖 footnotes. turned twenty-something today and figured the best way to celebrate it with a soft hao fic ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ shoutout to viv for planting this idea in my head!!!
Dear Milena, I wish the world were ending tomorrow. Then I could take the next train, arrive at your doorstep in Vienna, and say: “Come with me, Milena. We are going to love each other without scruples or fear or restraint. Because the world is ending tomorrow.”
One night, you slipped a book into Minghao’s bag before he left for tour—a tender gesture that said more than any text could. When he returned it weeks later, you found the pages marked, underlined, little notes scrawled in the margins in his tight handwriting.
Since then, it’s become your ritual: a different book every month, passed back and forth between hotel rooms and airport lounges, sentences stitched with the weight of two voices instead of one.
This month, it’s Kafka’s Letters to Milena. The spine already softened by your hands, now passing through his. Minghao’s highlighter bleeds faint yellow across the thin pages, his neat characters slanting in Mandarin, sometimes Korean, sometimes both. He doesn’t always translate for you. You think he likes watching you puzzle it out.
Tonight, you’re curled against the window of the hotel room, the hum of traffic muffled by glass. Minghao’s in the shower, and you’re leafing through the book when a highlighted line catches your eye:
Perhaps we don’t love unreasonably because we think we have time, or have to reckon with time. But what if we don’t have time? Or what if time, as we know it, is irrelevant? Ah, if only the world were ending tomorrow. We could help each other very much.
You press your thumb against the words, rereading them until they blur. He had drawn a small star beside the passage, his unspoken way of saying look closer. It isn’t lost on you that he chose this line—this question about time, about endings.
When Minghao emerges, hair damp and curling at the ends, he finds you still staring at the page. He tilts his head, towel slung around his shoulders. “Found something?”
You nod, tapping the margin. “This one.”
He sits beside you, close enough that his knee brushes yours. The warmth of him seeps through the fabric of your pants, steady and grounding. His eyes flick down to the passage, then back up to yours, searching. “Too dramatic?”
“Too honest,” you answer softly.
For a moment, neither of you speak. The air is filled only with the distant city and the faint drip of water from his hair onto his collarbone. You wonder if he feels the weight of secrecy more than he lets on—every smile measured, every glance rehearsed. You’ve hidden this part of your life from his group, from the company, from everyone who might turn your closeness into a problem.
Sometimes, you think it’s easier for you. You’re used to working behind the curtain, unseen. But Minghao lives on stage, in cameras and spotlights. You wonder if keeping you a secret leaves him restless at night, if he ever regrets it in the stretches of travel.
He nudges your shoulder gently, pulling you back from thought. “Why that look?” he prompts.
You shake your head, but your voice betrays you. “Do you think it’s taking something from you? Hiding us like this.”
Minghao doesn’t answer immediately. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, fingers brushing yours where the book rests. His silence is not avoidance; it’s the pause he always takes, the one that makes you feel like his words are chosen as carefully as his brushstrokes.
Finally, he says, “I think it gives me something, too. These little spaces no one else sees. Our own book. Our own pages.”
You swallow, the line in Kafka’s letter echoing in your chest. If only the world were ending tomorrow.
Minghao closes the book, but keeps your hand under his. “Time is strange,” he muses. “Sometimes it feels like too much. Sometimes like none at all. But when I’m with you…” He trails off, then smiles faintly. “I don’t want to reckon with it. I just want it.”
The hotel room feels smaller for it, but safer too. You don’t say what’s knotted in your throat—that secrecy may be its own kind of ending. Instead, you tilt your head onto his shoulder, letting silence stand in for the answer you don’t know how to give.
Minghao’s arm comes around you. His hair still smells faintly of shampoo, his skin warm against your temple. In that heartbeat, time doesn’t matter. Not the flights, not the rehearsals, not the lies by omission. There is only the margin notes between you; the book closed but still breathing with your words.
I long for you; I who usually long without longing, as though I am unconscious and absorbed in neutrality and apathy, really, utterly long for every bit of you.
You aren’t there for every stop. It depends on who the company sends, who’s available, who draws the short straw. Sometimes, weeks pass without your name appearing on the list, and you make do with texts and late-night calls, with his annotations waiting like crumbs across pages.
But you’re lucky tonight. Lucky that it’s you, loitering backstage with your headset dangling around your neck, your job for the first half of the concert already done. Safety reminders doled out. Ments transposed to the best of your ability.
The stage lights are a dull roar from where you stand, muffled by the walls, the crowd’s energy bleeding through like static. Technicians pass by in a flurry of headsets and clipboards, and you tuck yourself into a corner with the monitor, half-watching Minghao move like smoke, sharp lines dissolving into fluidity. He is all precision on stage, but you know how easily that polish dissolves once the curtains close.
You’ve opened the book again. Kafka feels almost inappropriate here, his letters trembling in your hands while bass shakes the floor and cheers rise like waves. You trace his words with the tip of your pen, underlining slowly as if you could anchor them: I long for you; I who usually long without longing, as though I am unconscious and absorbed in neutrality and apathy, really, utterly long for every bit of you. The words thrum in your chest, oddly in sync with the rhythm leaking through the walls.
“Working hard?” His voice startles you before his presence does.
Minghao slips in through the curtain, already halfway out of his jacket, a stagehand trailing with another in hand. He smells a bit of sweat and cologne, and there’s a streak of glitter caught on his jawline, catching the dim backstage light.
You snap the book closed too fast, clutching it to your chest. “Shouldn’t you be focusing on your quick change?”
“Multitasking,” he says lightly, eyes flicking to the book still in your grip. His smile is a little breathless, but it’s warm around the edges. “Did you underline me?”
You raise an eyebrow. “Kafka. Not you.”
“Same thing.” He takes the fresh jacket, shrugs it on with practiced efficiency, but his gaze doesn’t leave you. The corners of his mouth tug upward, like he’s savoring the private joke no one else will ever catch. You can feel the tether of it pulling tight between you, even as people dart around, too busy to notice.
You roll your pen between your fingers, willing your pulse to even out. “He says he longs without longing,” you say, reaching for a joke. “Don’t think that’s you.”
Minghao pauses, hands busy with fastening buttons. “No?”
“No. You’re terrible at pretending you don’t care.”
That earns you a quiet laugh, breathy and quick, the kind he only ever gives when he’s off stage. He steps closer, just enough that the book is trapped between you and him. His fingers brush yours as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, careful, fleeting. The gesture is nothing to anyone else, but to you it feels like a line drawn across the page. Another annotation only you will understand.
“Then maybe I’ll underline it too,” he murmurs, his tone more intimate than the rush of seconds should allow. “So you don’t forget.”
You’re caught between answering and not, torn by the proximity of his voice and the sound of the crowd screaming his name. A heartbeat later, the stage manager calls it too, sharp and urgent, breaking the spell.
He pulls back, already turning, the mask of performer sliding neatly back into place. The jacket straightens on his shoulders, his posture resetting into something larger than life. But before he slips away, his hand lingers for a second on the back of yours, grounding and gone all at once, like he’s leaving you with the same highlighted star he leaves in the margins.
You look down at the underlined words again, the pen still resting where his fingers brushed yours. On the monitor, Minghao bursts back onto the stage in his new costume, a perfect illusion of poise and sharp edges. You’re still holding onto the warmth of him, tucked between paper margins and fleeting touches, the memory of his voice humming beneath Kafka’s lines. Even with the crowd’s roar vibrating through the walls, the longing has a certain gravity on its own; something deliberate, something you carry alone in the wings.
I am constantly trying to communicate something incommunicable, to explain something inexplicable, to tell about something I only feel in my bones and which can only be experienced in those bones.
The book arrives by post in a padded envelope, its corners softened by travel, the adhesive tape dulled with fingerprints. His handwriting is scrawled across the return label, small and neat, the way he always writes when he wants to leave no trace.
You sit at your desk with a pair of scissors, cutting carefully along the edge so as not to harm what’s inside. When Letters to Milena slides into your hands, it feels heavier than when you last held it, as if the distance between you has seeped into the paper.
You leaf through the pages with anticipation that edges toward unease. The ink of your own notes greets you first, familiar in your hand. But then you see the fresh streaks of highlighter that aren’t yours, the color bright against the fragile page. Your stomach churns when your eyes catch on the newest passage:
Basically it is nothing other than this fear we have so often talked about, but fear spread to everything, fear of the greatest as of the smallest, fear, paralyzing fear of pronouncing a word, although this fear may not only be fear but also a longing for something greater than all that is fearful.
You press the book shut too quickly, the words still rattling in your head. Fear. The word echoes again and again until it almost loses shape.
Fear of everything, even of speaking. Kafka turns it into poetry, but still it unsettles you. You stare at the closed book for a long while as if its cover might offer clarity. Instead it lingers, a weight at the edge of your desk and your thoughts. You find yourself drifting through the day with half your attention pulled elsewhere, glancing at your phone as if the device could bridge time zones faster than they allow.
By evening, your patience has worn thin. You keep checking the clock, waiting for that overlap when it’s late enough in Europe, early enough in Korea. When the screen finally brightens with his name, you answer too quickly, the book already lying open beside you.
Minghao’s image flickers into view: hotel lamplight soft behind him, his hair pulled back loosely, his face carrying the faint exhaustion of travel. Still, his eyes brighten the moment they meet yours. “You got it?”
“I got it,” you say, lifting the book to the camera. “But I also got this.” You tap the margin of the highlighted section, unable to hide the note of worry in your voice. “You’ve been marking fear. Over and over. What are you trying to tell me, Hao?”
His brows lift, a small crease forming as he leans back in the stiff hotel chair. The wallpaper behind him looks muted and impersonal, a space not meant to hold anyone’s secrets. He runs his hand slowly through his hair, a gesture you recognize as stalling. “You always read too closely.”
“That was the agreement,” you remind him gently. “We promised to read closely. To listen, even in the margins.”
A silence follows, long enough that you think the connection might have faltered. Then he exhales, and his words come thoughtful, unhurried. “I do feel fear. More often than I say. Before I step on stage. After. In the quiet moments when I wonder if we’ll be found out, or if I’ll slip during an interview. Sometimes I fear I’m losing time, or wasting it. Sometimes I wonder if I’m… enough for you.” The last line is hushed, fragile, nearly consumed by static.
Your protest is immediate. “Xīngān, don’t—”
He interrupts, his mouth curving into the faintest smile, one that doesn’t erase his seriousness. “It isn’t only fear. Kafka had it right. Fear and longing are woven together. Fear is what happens when you want something so badly you can’t bear to lose it.” His eyes drop for a moment, then rise again, slower, braver. His voice is shy but steady. “I miss you deeply, unfathomably, senselessly, terribly.”
The words stop you. Not because they belong to Kafka, but because they come from him, spoken into the distance that separates you. They rest in your chest heavier than any annotation.
You bring the phone closer to your face instinctively, as though narrowing the frame might collapse the distance. “Say it again.”
Minghao laughs, embarrassed, but the sound is warm. He dips his head, and when he speaks, the words come softer, like a secret. “I miss you.”
He says it in all the languages he knows. I miss you. Wǒ xiǎng nǐ. Aitai. Na—(he stutters, laughs again)—namimiss kita.
The litany of fear feels smaller now, shadowed by the longing that fills its place.
Written kisses don't reach their destination, rather they are drunk on the way by the ghosts.
You admit, in quieter hours, that you miss him more often than you say. It’s a dull ache threaded into your days, but you don’t want to press it into him when you know how thinly he’s stretched. His work comes first, and you remind yourself of that each time you hesitate before typing something too heavy into your phone. Instead, you cling to the subtler things: the covert book exchanges, the hidden messages between Kafka’s lines, the way a highlighted phrase becomes its own kind of confession.
Tonight, you’re curled on the couch with Letters to Milena open across your knees. The apartment is still, only the trill of the refrigerator in the background. Your highlighter pauses over a line that is simple, almost plain, but it lodges itself in your chest:
I’m tired, can’t think of anything and want only to lay my face in your lap, feel your hand on my head and remain like that through all eternity.
You underline it slowly, the neon ink bleeding slightly into the page, as if to make sure the words will not vanish. Then, you angle the book beneath the lamp and take a photo. Your thumb hovers for a moment, but you send it anyway. A small risk. A small ache disguised as literature.
The reply comes quicker than you expect, your screen lighting up in your hand. His text is short, the sort of promise that steals your breath: I can make that possible.
You frown in confusion, already typing back a question, when the sound of your doorbell cuts through the apartment. The sharp chime echoes once, twice. Your heart stutters. For a split second, you think it’s impossible. You’re still holding your phone when you cross the room.
When you open the door, he’s standing there.
Minghao, hair tucked under a cap, mask pulled down around his chin, suitcase at his side. His eyes crease at the corners when he smiles, soft and sure, like he’s been waiting for this moment as long as you have. Home from their tour two days earlier than expected.
You don’t speak at first. You only reach, pulling him into the doorway, into the apartment, into you. His laugh is muffled against your shoulder as the door clicks shut behind him, and you feel the words you’d just underlined still pressed into your chest—him, his weight, his nearness—an answer in real time.
The door is barely shut before you’re kissing him. It’s clumsy at first, teeth knocking, your breath catching from how quickly you’ve pulled him in. The suitcase tips over in the entryway, forgotten, and all you know is the press of his mouth against yours, warm and insistent. You taste the faint trace of mint on his lips, the kind he always chews when he’s nervous.
Your fingers twist into the fabric of his jacket, tugging him closer, and suddenly you’re aware of how frantic you must seem. The realization makes heat rush up your neck. You break away, just barely, whispering against his mouth, “Sorry, I’m—I’m acting too much like I missed you.”
Minghao’s laugh is low, and he leans in again before you can step back. “Good,” he says simply, the word brushing your lips. His hand comes up to the side of your face, thumb tracing along your cheekbone. “Because I missed you more.”
Your protest dies as he kisses you again, slower now but deeper, his body angled into yours until your back finds the wall. You shiver at the press of his weight, the steadiness of his touch. He murmurs between kisses, “Do you know how many times I thought about this? About you opening the door like that?”
You shake your head, eyes closing as his lips graze your jaw. “Tell me.”
“Every night on tour,” he admits, his voice hushed but steady. “Every city, every hotel, I wanted this more than sleep. More than anything.”
His hands slip beneath your sweater, fingertips brushing your waist. The touch makes you gasp, your own hands curling at his shoulders. You try again to apologize, to laugh it off, but he silences you with another kiss, gentler this time, lingering.
When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours. “Don’t hide how much you want me,” he whispers. “It only makes me want you more.”
The apartment feels smaller now, warmer, as if the book you left open on the couch has come alive in the room. The highlighted words are no longer an ache on paper, but a promise made real in his arms.
Yours, (now I'm even losing my name - it was getting shorter and shorter all the time and is now: Yours)
Your bedroom is quiet except for the slow rhythm of your breathing, bodies still pressed close in the warmth you’ve built together. Minghao’s fingertips trace idle patterns across your arm, absentminded yet full of intent. You’re tucked into him, half-drifting, when his voice breaks the silence.
“I have something for you.”
You tilt your head, eyes narrowing with a sleepy smile. “We had a rule. No gifts.”
His lips twitch, not quite a grin but close. “You’ll like this one,” he insists.
“Minghao,” you warn softly, already knowing you’ll lose. “Rules exist for a reason.”
He pouts, exaggerating it just enough to make you laugh, the sound catching in your throat. “So you’ll break one for me?”
You groan, burying your face against his shoulder before sighing. “Fine. But only because you look ridiculous right now.”
Satisfied, he slips out of the sheets and crouches by his bag. You sit up slowly, pulling the covers around you, still wrapped in the languid ease of afterglow. From where you’re perched, you watch him rummage through his things until he returns with what looks like a mess clutched in his hands.
You raise a brow. “This is your big surprise? Trash?”
He climbs back onto the bed, depositing the stack into your lap. “Look closer.”
The pile is uneven, papers of every kind: receipts with ink smudged from being folded too long, hotel stationery with tidy lines of Mandarin, napkins with hurried scribbles, boarding passes with notes scrawled between the numbers. Each slip carries his handwriting, sometimes neat, sometimes rushed, but always undeniably him.
Your chest tightens as you pick one up, smoothing the creases. The words are simple: a thought he had in between shows, a memory of you sparked by something small, an I miss you crammed into the corner of a page.
“Minghao…” Your voice is brittle now, ringing with disbelief. “You wrote all of these?”
He leans back against the headboard, watching you carefully. “Everywhere I went,” he says slowly. “Whenever I thought of you. I didn’t always have time for long messages, so I wrote them here. Figured they’d get to you eventually.”
You flip through the stack again, the weight of them heavier than any gift he could have bought. Your throat feels tight, but your smile is soft. “You know this breaks the rule worse than anything,” you tease.
He shrugs, a small, boyish smile finally breaking through. “Then I’ll break it again if it means giving you this.”
Minghao falls asleep quickly, his head sinking into the pillow the moment his breathing evens out.
You linger in the dark, sheets tangled around your legs. The small stack of papers rests in your lap, flimsy and uneven, but heavy with meaning. His letters, if you can call them that. It feels like a trail of breadcrumbs, a secret map charting every place he has carried you with him.
Some lines are simple, almost offhand, written in hurried Korean as though he was afraid the thought would slip away before it reached the page: 오늘도 네 생각만 했어.
(Today, I thought of nothing but you.)
Another, scratched on the back of a café receipt, reads: 너 없이 공연 끝나도 완벽하지 않아.
(Without you, even after the performance, it doesn’t feel complete.)
Others are playful, designed to make you roll your eyes and laugh, written in Mandarin with crooked smiley faces or little hearts: 你是我见过最美的麻烦。
(You are the most beautiful trouble I’ve ever met.)
On hotel stationery, his handwriting drifts, tired but warm: 我希望你在这里, 我想靠着你睡觉。
(I wish you were here. I want to fall asleep leaning against you.)
There are the English ones, blunt and almost childlike in their candor. “If you were here I wouldn’t even care about the jetlag.” Or, “Do you know you’re the only reason hotels feel lonely?” Another one trails off into half a sentence, as if he was interrupted: “Sometimes I think I’ll run out of ways to say I miss you, but then—” and it ends abruptly, just ink pressed too hard into the paper.
You turn page after page, each one a different version of him. Restless, playful, poetic, exhausted, ridiculous. There are lines that read like journal entries, lines that sound like prayers. The kind of words that aren’t rehearsed for interviews, aren’t polished for public view. They’re raw, unguarded, as if he trusted the page with the versions of himself he can’t show anyone else.
By the time you reach the end of the pile, your throat feels tight, and your eyes blur with tears you blink away too late. These aren’t Kafka’s words, or Milena’s, or any poet you’ve ever underlined together. They’re his. And somehow, impossibly, they’re yours too.
Behind you, Minghao snores softly, the sound uneven but gentle, already claimed by sleep. You glance back at him, hair falling across his cheek, lips parted in exhaustion, his whole body surrendered to rest. The sight makes you ache with something that feels too big for a single word. You slip out carefully, trying not to disturb him, and settle at your desk. The lamp casts a muted golden glow over the scattered letters, the inked fragments of him spread wide before you like constellations waiting to be named. The pen feels heavy in your hand, the highlighter uncapped and poised beside it.
You take a deep breath, the quiet of the apartment pressing close around you. Then you lean forward, ready to begin, ready to answer him.
To underline what matters most, to annotate where his words meet your heart, to write into the margins everything you couldn’t say over the phone. To respond in full, piece by piece, to the love he has laid out for you.
(where your ex moves into the empty unit in your apartment building and maybe the relationship isn't over after all)
pairing: xu minghao x afab!reader
genre: exes to lovers, neighbors to lovers | fluff, romance, smut
rating: explicit, minors DNI
word count: 12.7k (this was less than 4k yesterday idk)
warnings: mentions of food & drinks, talk of the previous relationship, massages (f. receiving), body worship, light nipple play, fingering (f. receiving), briefest hand job, protected sex, they're just very soft for each other, that's it, reader doesn't use gendered language but has female anatomy
a/n: thank you to the amazing @camandemstudios for hosting The Lonely Hearts Collab ❤️ make sure you check out all the amazing fics! this ended up much softer (and longer) than i thought it would, but i'm not mad at that. we all need soft hao for love day. i hope you enjoy it!
Sometimes you think your life should come with one of those signs like they have in workplaces. You know, the ones that say how many days since the last accident? The ones that people always seem to use as memes? You think that might be appropriate in your case, too. Except, instead of days since the last accident, it would count days since you’d last seen your ex. The man who shattered your heart. The one you can’t seem to get over no matter how hard you try.
Days since I last saw Minghao: 396
You’re not sure why your brain counts the number. Not sure why you can’t just put it out of your mind. Move on, for real this time. Of course, that’s not the same number as the days since he broke your heart. No. Unfortunately, you’ve run into him a couple of times since then, despite him moving away. A consequence of you still having a number of friends in common. And you can’t even blame them for keeping in touch with him. He didn’t really do anything wrong. Not to them and not even really to you. The two of you just…grew apart.
Thinking back on it, even years later, you still can’t really pinpoint where it all went wrong. You remember falling for him, entirely too hard. Back when you didn’t think he took much notice of you. Always too absorbed in his latest project. You were friends, kind of. More on the periphery of each other's circles. Until you went to an art show with some mutual friends. Until you saw yourself in several of his works. None of your friends seemed all that surprised. They just let you have your little moment.
It all happened kind of fast from there. You learned that Minghao wasn’t always one for showing his feelings in words, but he showed them in a million other ways, as long as you knew where to look. He showed them in the little things he did to make your life easier. In the way he incorporated you into his art, sometimes without it even being obvious. In the way he quietly made space for you in his life.
Things were great, until they weren’t. And it still feels sudden all these years later. Even if it maybe, possibly, wasn’t sudden at all.
You remember finding a new job. The kind of job you never thought you would land. The kind that Minghao instantly encouraged you to follow. Except it meant much more normal hours where Minghao kept weird hours. Sometimes he wouldn’t come to bed until the sun rose and other times he had been at work for hours when you woke up. Something about inspiration and lighting and just letting it all come together. Neither of you notice when it starts getting harder to make time for each other. At least, you didn’t notice. Only focusing on making the most of the time you do have.
So, when Minghao tells you that he thinks you need to talk, you’re completely caught off guard. Haven’t seen all the signs that may have been there. He tells you he’s got the opportunity of a lifetime to further his career and it means he’s going to be leaving your city. Leaving the country entirely. Tells you that it’s been great and he still loves you, but he’s got to do this. Tells you that he thinks it’ll be right for both of you because you’ve been growing apart, haven’t you? You’ve both been prioritizing other things like work and friends over each other. He’s going to take this chance and he hopes you’ll understand.
Maybe you do actually remember it falling apart after all.
But, it’s time to cast aside your walk down memory lane. Time to leave everything behind in the old year and get ready to ring in a new one. A feat you tried last year as well and seemingly didn’t succeed at. This is the year, though. New year, new me and all that. You take one last look at your outfit before rushing out the door. Your slightly eccentric (and totally loaded) neighbors are having a party up in the penthouse of your apartment building. And even though you normally hate anyone with that kind of money, they’re actually cool and incredibly kind. They go out of their way to understand their privilege and involve themselves directly in charity. You can’t even hate that they’re barely older than you and have it all. Plus, who are you to turn down a party like this for the new year.
The party is in full swing when you get there. Soyoon always does an excellent job of setting up a party, too. She makes sure there’s an area for people to dance and for people who want things a little quieter. And she always stocks up on top shelf drinks with so many snacks you could make an entire meal out of it. It only takes her a second before she’s waving you over. You weave through the people to get to her, so focused on your friend that you don’t notice anything else. Though you should.
“Hey! You finally made it!” she says and pulls you into a hug.
“Worrying I wouldn’t show?” you joke back.
“No,” she says, smiling her megawatt smile. She indicates to someone. “I wanted you to meet your new neighbor I mentioned, the artist…”
Something drops in your stomach when you register that she says artist and you slowly turn to see the person she’s indicating. Hoping against all hope that you don’t recognize them. Instead, you see the lean figure of someone you know well. Dressed all in black and still looking like one of the most fashionable in the room. The black also works well to offset his blond mullet. It’s not a color you’ve seen on him before, but you’d know him anywhere.
Days since I last saw Minghao: 396 0
Fuck.
“Minghao,” you say softly, immediately kicking yourself for the way it comes out.
“Yeah, oh. I thought you hadn’t met yet,” Soyoon says with a slight frown of confusion.
Minghao is quick to answer, casual as can be. “I hadn’t run into her yet but we knew each other once, years ago.”
“Oh, how fun! Shall I leave you two to catch up?” she asks.
You say no just as Minghao says yes. Soyoon looks confused, but ends up leaving the two of you alone anyway. It’s the last thing you want and there’s nowhere to go. At this rate, you’re going to get a much different start to your year.
When you wake up well into the first morning of the New Year, your brain feels a little fuzzy. Not hungover though, so you can thank past you for that. You cannot thank past you for anything else. Not when the night before comes rushing back to you and you remember. Remember kissing Minghao, not just at midnight. Remember admitting that you still think about him. Remember wondering if he was single. Don’t remember asking him why he’s back now and without a word to you. Not that he owes it to you. It’s been years, after all. You just can’t believe that the mysterious new resident two doors down from you is none other than the ex you can’t seem to forget.
Thankfully New Year’s Day is really about recovering from the night before and getting ready to face the rest of the year. It also gives you time to figure out what you’re going to do about Minghao. You’re sure there’s something in there about second chances. About how people change as they grow. It’s not for you, though. The more time you spend thinking about the night before, the more you realize that things are better left alone. This isn’t some great sign to revisit a painful past. It’s a way of telling you that it’s okay to finally figure out a way to move forward in your life.
You’re just going to ignore that the person you’re moving on from lives two doors down from you. Shouldn’t be a problem at all.
As you’re considering what you want to do for food, the doorbell rings. You’re not expecting someone and your heart plunges a little. What if it’s Minghao stopping by to talk about the night before? You can’t exactly remember all of your conversation, so you’re not sure if there’s something else that you need to talk about. You’re not prepared for any of it. When you open the door, it’s not him. It’s just someone delivering from one of your favorite take-out places.
“I didn’t order anything,” you say, confusion clear on your face.
The delivery guy only shrugs and shows you his phone. It’s your name and address. “I just deliver the orders I get. The tip was nice, too.”
“Oh, well, thanks,” you say and accept the bag of food.
You decide to eat it on your couch so that you can settle in and binge something truly awful on TV. As you ponder who could have sent it, you think about Soyoon and how she loves to do this kind of thing. Yes, that seems likely. You’ll have to send her your own little thank you and thank her in person the next time you see her. Sending a text wouldn’t do it because she always says that doesn’t feel as personal. Eccentric, but endlessly kind. She’s definitely the kind of person that would want to make sure her guests are taken care of after such a great party. All feels much more calm as you settle in and your mind stays firmly off Minghao.
The whole idea of keeping your mind off Minghao works for a while. You see him around the building and he’s always perfectly polite, but never forces a conversation. Says hi in passing and smiles. That’s just kind of how he is. It’s not that he doesn’t have plenty to say, he just doesn’t chase after anyone for a chat. Doesn’t see the point in forcing something when both people aren’t interested. Honestly, it’s a bit disarming because as well as you knew him once, it’s not what you’re expecting. There are times when you even consider if you should strike up a conversation with him. At the very least, there are things left unsaid from New Year’s. Things you know that you should get out of the way. Especially when Soyoon asks for details on what’s going on and you’re not really sure how much to share.
But, then life catches up with you, as it seems prone to do. Things pick up at work and you find that you’re back into your routine without a second thought. That’s always the thing about the new year. It starts and it’s kind of slim on holidays while you’re getting into it. It also seems unspoken that people just don’t take time off then. Not when so many take time off around the holidays. (Something you also did, taking off the two days after New Year’s so you wouldn’t have to go back for a short week. Best decision you’ve made in a long time.)
You blink and January fades into February. Your brain is somewhere else entirely when you rush into your favorite coffee shop by your office, running a little bit late because you’re heading in on the weekend. The shop is decorated for Valentine’s Day already, like it seems to be every year once the calendar hits February. Something in you fights rolling your eyes. It’s not that you hate the holiday, it’s just that you’re a little bitter for another one spent without a partner. As much as you may say it doesn’t matter, it feels like it would be nice to have someone. Even if all you did was stay in to have a nice meal or play a game or watch something on TV. Just a moment for the two of you in the midst of all the chaos. When the barista asks for your order, you shake away the thoughts and give it, pulling your phone out to tap and pay.
“Oh, it’s covered,” she says and your brow furrows.
“What?” you ask.
“Someone already covered your order today,” she repeats.
“But how did…” you start to ask under your breath and trail off.
“Did you need anything else?” she asks brightly.
“No, I guess not,” you say and put away your phone.
As you head down to wait for your order, your brain whirs into action. Who is out here just somehow paying for your order? You cast your eyes around the shop and nobody looks familiar. Well, a few people do in that way that regulars stick out when you’re also a regular. Nobody seems to be paying attention to you, though, or giving you any indication that they paid for your order. It shows up on the counter before you can think any further about it.
The rest of the week goes in a similar fashion. Your coffee order is taken care of any time you stop in and the barista only smiles when you ask her who’s doing it. The only answer she gives is that you’ll realize it if you think about it. Not entirely helpful. At work, you get a surprise lunch just as you’re on the verge of a breakdown over a project. Mingyu, one of your closest friends even outside of work, offers lunch as a break and you take it without question. After all, the two of you were friends before becoming coworkers so it’s not unexpected that he would realize you’re feeling burnt out. Another of your friends asks you to go with him to a show you’ve been wanting to see and won’t even let you pay him back for the ticket. There are other little things, too. Things that you wouldn’t normally notice, but it’s like everything is going your way. It makes you a little wary. Mostly, though, it just makes you grateful. It feels like such a good way to start the year.
It isn’t until the weekend that you finally put it all together. Saturday morning comes and you let yourself sleep in after being out a little later the night before to go to the show. There’s an unexpected knock at the door that gives you a little deja vu back to New Year’s Day. You yawn and stretch as you get out of bed and head to the door. This time, there’s no delivery person waiting for you. There’s just a basket, clearly put together very thoughtfully. You bring it inside and start to look through what’s in there. A calming tea. A bath bomb. Some chocolates. A candle. A book that you've never heard of and somehow know you’re going to love. It’s the perfect kit to have the best and most relaxing day.
And that’s when it hits you. The coffee, the lunch, the show, all the little surprises. It’s all coming from one person. The one person who likes to let his actions speak louder than his words. The one person who clearly hasn’t just been letting you be since the party. This is Minghao all over. You’re a little surprised at how easily the realization clicks into place. Also a little surprised that it didn’t click sooner. Maybe you had forgotten more about him than you thought. Maybe he wasn’t the only person taking up residence in your mind anymore.
There’s a lot to think about and you figure that you’ll use the time taking a bath to do just that. Well, you shower first to make sure you’re clean and because you didn’t do it after getting home the night before. But then, you’re ready to relax in the bath and just let your mind wander. Hope you’ll end up coming to a decision about what you want to do. There’s so much history. So many nights spent trying to figure out how things might have gone differently. Until it clicks. Minghao was right back then. You both needed that space. Needed the separation to go off and figure yourselves out. Needed to learn who you were as an adult before you could learn to make space for another person. When he left, it cleared a path for you to take chances you never would have otherwise. Maybe it did the same for him.
That’s how you find yourself outside his door after the bath, the tea in hand because you know that it’s a brand he loves. Or, at least, he did once upon a time. He opens the door too quickly for you to second guess if this is a good idea. Or to wonder if he’s even home. His eyes seem to sparkle at the sight of you and at the tea in your hands.
“You got my care package,” he says, leaning against the doorframe.
“And figured out who was behind all those wonderful things this past week,” you admit, causing his smile to slip into a more genuine one.
“About time,” he says under his breath.
“Can I come in for a cup of tea?” you ask and he regards you for a moment. That’s always been the hardest part about being around Minghao. He has a way of looking at you and peeling back all the layers. It’s like being naked in front of him. And you’re not as comfortable in front of him as you were once upon a time. It makes you shift on your feet and cast your eyes down.
He steps aside and you let out a sigh of relief at the movement. “Come on in.”
Stepping inside his apartment almost feels like stepping back in time. Everything about the decoration feels familiar. There are a few things that you do recognize but mostly it’s just because it’s so inescapably him. Everything has a place and it looks like it could be featured in a magazine. But, it’s better than that. Better because it feels lived in, like a home even though it is straight from some aesthetic moodboard. You turn back to him when you recognize a figure that you gave him years ago. It makes your heart constrict that he kept it all this time.
“Did you want to share that tea with me?” he asks, noting the box in your hands.
“Oh,” you say, a little startled back into the present. You look down at your hands and then back to him. “Yeah. Well, if you still like it, that is.”
“I do, yes,” he says and accepts the box from your hands. “You can go sit down and I’ll bring the tea out in a minute.”
It’s so impossibly normal and also one of the most abnormal things in the world. The contradictions are making your head hurt, so you just do as Minghao suggests. Sit down on the couch in the living room and sigh. This is the most comfortable couch in the world. That’s another thing you remember about him. Everything fits his aesthetic and it’s never at the expense of comfort. None of that unusable furniture for him. Without even thinking about it, you pick an art magazine off the table. It’s the only thing that seems out of place and there’s a sticky note attached to it with an advanced copy for you to look over scrawled on it. That’s when the cover catches your eye, previously covered in part by the note. Minghao looks back at you, surrounded by some of his artwork. It seems like it’s a profile on him. He must be doing even better than you realized.
“I hated posing for that,” he says softly as he appears with two cups of tea.
You start a little in surprise at hearing his voice and drop the magazine back on the table. “I didn’t mean to…”
“There’s no need to be scared,” he says with a low chuckle as you accept the cup. “You can read it if you’d like.”
“It seems like things are going well for you,” you comment, looking back at the magazine.
“Professionally, sure. Although I’m finding creating a little more difficult lately,” he says and you look at him.
“Why’s that?” you ask and then shake your head.
“What?” he asks.
“We’re just…talking like no time has passed,” you say.
“I guess I thought that after that party and sending you the food the next day like we…” he starts.
“That was from you?” you ask, clearly surprised.
“Would…what?” he asks, shifting mid thought. “Yes?”
“Aren’t you sure?” you ask with a laugh.
“No, I’m sure. I just thought…well, we talked about it that night,” he says.
“I’m a little embarrassed to admit that I don’t remember exactly what we said that night,” you say and look down.
“Ah,” he says. “I guess that makes sense.”
“What do you mean?” you ask.
“Well, I figured we’d talk about everything when there weren’t people around and we could have time to ourselves. Then, I sent the food and just never heard from you,” he says.
“You could have said something,” you tell him.
“I’m not always very good at that, the saying something part,” he says.
“You’re great at taking care of things I need, though. Everything the past week or so has been so thoughtful,” you say.
“I know I should have talked to you. I just didn’t know how to start the conversation,” he admits.
“It’s been a long time,” you say.
Just as an awkward silence is about to fall over you, Minghao turns to face you. “Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
“Before we go down a path of talking about everything that happened back then and about how much I miss you now, do you think it’s worth it?”
You consider that for a long moment and miss the way Minghao seems to hold his breath. Miss the way he searches your face for a sign of the answer before you give it. Don’t realize how many ways your face has changed in the years since he really knew you. When you meet his eyes, you finally see that he looks unsure. All you can do at first is nod.
“Is that a yes?”
You take a deep breath. Ready yourself to jump in with both feet. “I think it’s at least worth having a conversation, yeah.”
And so that’s what you do. You sit down and talk about all the things you wish you had said back when he left. All the things you could have done differently. All the ways you’ve changed since then. It feels good to say all the things that you’ve kept to yourself over the years. There’s something very open and honest about the way you talk. Somehow even more honest than back when you were in a relationship. Maybe because there’s no fear about the other person’s reaction or feelings. Or maybe it’s just because you’re much more mature now than you were back then. You’re not really sure. Not really sure it matters either.
This is probably the most you’ve ever heard Minghao say at once. He even admits it’s because he knows that he’s going to have to do things that make him a little uncomfortable if he wants you to consider trying again. He’s also very understanding as he listens to everything. Not defensive when you point out how things could have gone differently. And you know you can’t be defensive when he points out the things you could have done, either. After all this time, you finally realize that it was very much both of you responsible for the way the relationship ended. Yes, Minghao’s the one that accepted a position that would take him far away from you. He’s the one that suggested that maybe the relationship needed to end. But, you also had your role in all of it. You also have to acknowledge that you got distant. Prioritizing other things in your life over him. No longer able to communicate as effectively as you had earlier in the relationship. Both of you had been growing at different rates and in different directions.
Now, years later, you can realize that it’s something both of you needed. You had to separate to grow in ways you couldn’t do together. Had to be alone to learn the hard lessons, the scary things. To understand what you need and what you want and when to compromise. You’re no longer wearing the rose colored glasses of your early 20s.
“So, what now?” he asks.
“What do you want?” you ask and he sighs a little. “I know, I can’t make you be the only one to talk.”
“I want to know if you still have any space for me in your life and…” he says, but trails off.
“In my heart?” you guess.
“Yeah,” he admits softly.
It’s another crossroads. One of those moments you’ll look back on. You know that you need to be a little brave. “I never really got over you. Not fully.”
Minghao’s face brightens at that and he meets your eye with your favorite smile. The soft one that you always felt like belonged only to you. “Me either. I’ve lived all over the world since we broke up and I still get my best inspiration from you.”
That one sentence pushes all the air out of your lungs. Has you entirely speechless. You hold out your hand and he intertwines his fingers through yours without a word. “So we try?”
“We try,” he agrees.
Trying is both intimidating and the most comforting thing in the world at the same time. A weird duality just like the man you fell in love with all those years ago. Going on a date with someone that you dated for years and then broke up with years ago is like starting well into the relationship. There are all sorts of things that you already know about each other. Yet, there are also things you can’t assume. Things you may have known once may not be true anymore. Or it’s possible that you remember something that wasn’t true at all, even then.
So, you start with the most obvious date night activity: dinner. It gives you something to do without being too distracting from a conversation. Minghao surprises you a bit, too. He’s somehow more thoughtful and more open all at once. He still doesn’t always know how to say what he wants to all the time, but he’s trying harder to get his thoughts out. You’re also trying much harder to meet him where he is rather than expecting something that just isn’t who he is. Another byproduct of how much the two of you have grown in your time apart. You can appreciate how well the two of you fit together now. Can appreciate how your individual strengths complement each other.
After dinner, Minghao starts to suggest going back to the apartment building. You have another suggestion, though. There’s this Art After Dark event that the local art museum runs on the second Saturday of every month that you’ve wanted to check out. Life has been too busy until now. And you also can admit that some part of going felt a little difficult. What if you saw something that Minghao created? Or something that reminded you of him? Or what if there was just a piece of art that you couldn’t understand? You’ve always appreciated the beauty in creation, but some things just went over your head.
The suggestion makes Minghao’s face light up. He’s heard of the event and somehow hasn’t been since moving back. Not that he’s been back all that long. Still, it’s nice to know that you’ll be able to experience something that’s meaningful to him for the first time.
The drive over is quiet, mostly only filled with the sounds of the playlist Minghao picked. It’s not uncomfortable, though, far from it. You’re thinking of how easy it is being in his presence again, especially given how long you spent thinking you needed to avoid him. In the passenger seat, Minghao scrolls what looks like the website for the museum. Probably seeing what installations are there currently on display. Or what special events they have for the evening. Either way, you’re happy to let him prepare before getting there. It’ll only help you on top of it because he’ll be able to walk you through everything. (If you think about how pretty his profile looks in the low light, then that’s your business.)
Once you get there, you insist on covering the admission because Minghao paid for dinner without giving you the chance to even offer. It’s nowhere near even, but it’s the least you can do for now. They also check your IDs on the way in because there’s an open bar, apparently. You each grab a drink off of the tray going around and then head into the first room. Live music drifts softly through from somewhere you can’t see. It adds something nice. Something that makes the whole setting somehow more intimate when combined with it being less busy than during normal hours. Minghao doesn’t wait for you to ask him to lead the way, he just knows. You follow close to him, not quite brushing your arm against him.
This has always been one of your favorite things about Minghao. Watching him at a museum or an art gallery is just special. He walks through and talks about the different artists, the influences, and the history. He can tell you about different periods of an artist’s life and why they might have created the way that they did. There is so much living in his brain that it puts the plaques with each piece of art to shame. Occasionally, you notice someone standing in the area stop and listen to the way he speaks about a piece. It’s endearing to watch him when he’s passionate. Somehow softer and less guarded. Some people might find it sexy, and you do as well. It’s just that you find him cute first. There’s nothing about him that sounds like he’s bragging or talking down about his knowledge. Minghao has always believed that art should be accessible to everyone. That it’s a gift for all people to enjoy. When he speaks about it, that comes across. It’s something familiar, something you’re glad is the same.
Minghao always wants to know the pieces you’re most drawn to. He wants to let you walk into some of the rooms first so he can watch you experience the art for the first time. Wants to know if you’re drawn to the pieces that he expects. You are, mostly. Usually, you wouldn’t want this much attention on you, especially in a place that isn’t your normal comfort zone. But, Minghao makes you feel at ease. At least, until he starts talking about which pieces of art remind him of you and why. It makes you turn away a little to hide the way your cheeks flush. It just feels so intimate. Feels like he’s baring his soul. Feels like too much for someone who’s been a stranger to you for years. Although, can you really say he’s a stranger? Yes, things change. People grow. You and him have certainly both grown. Maybe you’ve grown into the people you both imagined you’d be back when you figured you had the rest of forever together.
It’s not until the last room of the museum that you realize Minghao picked the path deliberately. He motions for you to go ahead of him and you assume it’s just so he can see your reactions to the art, like he has in other rooms. And it is, in a way. Just not for the same reason as any other room. Your attention immediately falls on a piece you recognize immediately. Not because you’ve seen it before. It’s because it’s you. Or, you should say that you know it’s meant to be you. It’s that same style of abstract art that you know belongs to Minghao. The same style that feels as familiar as if it was a polaroid of you. That’s not why it takes your breath away. It’s the fact that he must have painted it after you broke up because you haven’t ever seen it before. And here it is, hanging as part of a long term installment in the museum less than 20 minutes from your apartment
“You knew this was here,” you say.
“I had to double check,” he says softly as he follows you. Your feet bring you right to the piece without any other thought.
Minghao uses art as an expression. Says it’s easier for him to convey the hard things that way, like so many artists seem to. Says he’s not good with words, could never be the kind of creative that writes poems or novels with long scenes expressing intense emotions. It’s so clear looking at his art that he doesn’t need to. So clear that his work is the reason people say a picture is worth a thousand words. You think you could have ten thousand words and still need more with this piece. And most of his pieces, honestly. You yearn to reach out and run your fingers along the canvas, to trace the lines that he uses. Instead, you take in each color and each stroke. It causes conversations from when you were both younger to come flooding back. You remember lying in bed and listening to him talk about his process. About when he brought something to the foreground versus leaving it in the back. About the choice to use a vibrant palette or something more muted and neutral. About how he could play with the different colors to express each emotion. In saying all of that, you remember hearing what he couldn’t say. It’s funny, in hindsight, to think about how Minghao always said he struggled with emotions. He just says what he needs to in a different way.
His feelings are crystal clear to you in this piece. The representation of you is front and center. The first thing your eye lands on when you look at it. Everything else is in the background. Like he’s saying that you’re the center of the universe in this piece. The colors tell you just as much. They’re rich with his affection. With tenderness and forgiveness. With yearning. Like a hand reaching out to pull you in. You even think he might have put a version of himself in the background, muted to throw you into sharper relief. It’s beautiful and passionate and incredibly raw. You may need to know him to see the last bit. It’s only then that you see the date on the piece. Just over a year ago, probably after you had seen him the last time before he popped up at the party in your building.
Finally, you turn to him and find his eyes on you. Studying you, looking for answers before you give them again. And you see the nerves there. He’s grown so much, but he knows you have too. Doesn’t presume to know everything about you anymore. Your mouth curves into the most genuine smile. “It’s amazing, Hao. I don’t even know what to say.”
“You like it?” he asks, a little less sure of himself than you’re used to.
“I love it,” you assure him and turn back to it. “It might be one of the most expressive pieces of yours I’ve ever seen.”
“I know I shouldn’t have been drawing inspiration from you, but I couldn’t stop myself after I saw you that time a year ago,” he says, confirming what you thought. “I was halfway through the painting before I realized it.”
“No matter what, I will always be honored to inspire you.”
“That’s a relief.”
“You know, you’re much better at expressing your feelings than you think,” you tell him, looking over to see his reaction. His face is soft.
“Only if you remember how to read it,” he says.
“It’s all coming back to me,” you say and delight in the way he smiles.
Minghao is a study in contrasts. He’s every bit of what you think about when thinking of an artist. Introverted, intelligent in a way not everyone can appreciate, thoughtful, sometimes a little intimidating to approach. If you don’t know him, he could seem cold or detached. When you do know him, though, he’s anything but cold. Certainly not intimidating. Although he can be guarded, he’s an open book to the people closest to him. He’s incredibly soft and caring. Willing to let all his defenses fall away for the right person.
He takes hold of your hand, even though he’s not always one to seek out physical touch in that way. Not in public. “I want to give this another try. We’ve both grown a lot over the past years. You don’t have to make a decision now. All I want to know now is if you’ll be my Valentine.”
The way he says it doesn’t really sound like a question. It’s also infinitely more direct than you’re used to. You can’t help the teasing look. “That’s so corny.”
The smile you get in response is worth it. Minghao only shrugs. “Sometimes, it’s worth it.”
“Yes, Hao, I would love to be your Valentine,” you say, fighting a bit of the urge to say that you’ll just be his again.
Even though you know that rushing back into something is the last thing you need to do, you’re still excited. Feel lighter than you have in ages. It’s kind of like autopilot for the rest of the time you spend at the museum. And if it’s the best date you’ve been on in years, well that’s your business. It’s also your business if you get back to your apartment that night and think about all the things that happened that day.
Sunday dawns and the first thought in your mind is Minghao. Not exactly surprising after spending a whole day with him instead of continuing to avoid him. Yet, it’s not quite what you’re expecting, either. After years of protecting your heart, it shouldn’t be this easy to open up to him again. That thought does make you pause, just for a second. Then, you think about all the things you managed to cover just in one day together. There’s still plenty to talk about, but you can’t deny the obvious. You’re both so willing to be open and vulnerable. Willing to accept your faults to make sure things are different if you give it another shot. There’s definitely something to be said that he’s the first thing on your mind when you wake up. (And the last thing you thought about before falling asleep.)
It’s time to do things differently. Time to not overthink everything. You’re older and wiser now. Feel like you can trust your gut and the vibes now with more life experience. Instead of giving yourself time to second guess, you send a text to Minghao to ask if he wants to come over. It’s one of those catch up days. You need to grocery shop and run some errands, do some laundry, and do a little cleaning. Minghao loves quality time, something still true now. It’s nothing exciting, though, and you give him plenty of space to say no without it being an issue. All he asks is what time he should come over and if he should eat breakfast first.
Which is exactly how he ends up at your apartment barely 20 minutes later.
Plenty changes and just as much stays the same. Minghao can cook, he never starves. It’s just not his favorite thing to do if left to his own devices. You offer to make him breakfast if he’s going to keep you company during a bunch of errands. While you cook, he keeps himself busy making tea for himself and coffee for you. Doesn’t have to ask how you like it since he covered your coffees for the past week at the shop by your work. Since Minghao likes acts of service just as much as quality time, he empties your dishwasher while you’re finishing up breakfast and tidies up around the kitchen behind you. There’s so much comfort in falling into patterns like that, even though it feels entirely different than before.
Breakfast passes quickly and Minghao helps motivate you out the door. Points out the sooner you get things out of the way, the sooner you can come back and relax. You’re not shy in telling him that he makes an excellent point. The praise falls easily from your lips and you delight in the way it causes him to smile shyly. Some things really never change and you’ll never tire of pulling that out of him.
Several hours later, you’re done with all your errands (in record time, no less, even though you took care of getting things for him as well). Back at your apartment, Minghao unloads your groceries for you along with the light lunch he insisted that you pick up. It should be scary to see him making himself at home in your life again. It’s not, though. It just fills you with an endless amount of warmth. You can’t help the way your heart flutters at him setting your food out on the table and calling for you to come join him before it’s back to checking things off your little list for the day. He just seems so comfortable helping you and sharing in your space. Content to let you set the pace and clearly pleased you texted to invite him over.
After lunch, Minghao shoos you off to get your laundry started while he tidies up in the kitchen and living area. He’s not a clean freak by any stretch. Although he does like for everything to be in its place. You know he’s only doing it now to help you because he doesn’t mind. The warmth is going to be too much at this rate. You let yourself have hearts in your eyes over him for a second before disappearing into your bedroom to gather your laundry.
Once you have your clothes in the washing machine, Minghao says he needs to get something from his apartment and returns with his sketch pad. He’s got a few ideas that he wants to plan out and hopes it’s fine to do with in your living room. You agree as long as he doesn’t mind you rotting away with your TV obsession of the moment. It’s in those quiet moments that you get the most answers. The comfort of being in a space with him, not saying much and yet knowing you could. Sometimes you feel like you have to fill a silence to avoid any awkward pauses. There’s this sense of anxiety about what the other person is thinking, even if you know it’s probably not about you. It’s not the case with him. Which tells you all you really need to know, doesn’t it? No matter how hard you’ve tried over the years to find someone else, to date and have it something more, it’s never been like this with anyone but him.
You’re scared of what comes next. Scared of being hurt. Yet, this feels like one of those chances you just have to take.
The next week goes something like the weekend. You spend a lot of your free time with Minghao. Sharing all the things that have happened over the years. It’s easy to talk about shared friends or new ones. Not quite as easy to talk about all the work updates, though it feels just as important. The two of you stay up late having hard conversations in the quiet hours of the night. Talking about everything that’s different. Neither of you even shy away from past relationships. It doesn’t even feel that difficult. You both had lives since you broke up and those lives shaped you into these people now. Twice, he even shows up for lunch to get you out of the building for a break. The looks from your coworkers are both knowing and happy. Everything feels like it’s going toward the obvious conclusion.
Somewhere in between all the time spent with Minghao, you also carve out time for dinner with your best friend. Need to carve out the time, you think, to get her opinion. She’s been with you since just before the relationship ended. Even though you know that you can make decisions for yourself, it feels important to get an outside perspective. The last thing you want is to rush back into something and end up in the same place as the first time. If nothing else, you know she’ll ask you the difficult questions to make you think. Make you answer if you’ve really thought out what a second chance for the two of you looks like. If you’re doing this because you want this now, in 2025, for if you’re just holding onto a past that felt comfortable. It can be easy to just stay in a bubble without considering what that looks like when the bubble breaks. When you have to go exist together in public or with friends, not just in your own little world.
She does all those things and is adamant: this isn’t like before. Tells you that you don’t need her to tell you what you already know. Instead of justifying everything that happened years ago, you acknowledge. You don’t make excuses because there aren’t any to make. Sometimes things don’t work. You and Minghao are different people now than you were years ago. Somehow, against all odds, you’ve grown into different people that have even better compatibility than you did when you were younger. As cliche as it is, he seems like your right person at the wrong time and the universe is telling you to hit the replay button now. It’s all the confirmation you need. You’re going to dive in and feel confident he’ll be there to catch you.
By the time Valentine’s Day comes around, you’re both completely at peace and nervous for the date itself. It’s been the theme of the last week. Another set of contrasts that somehow work. You trust Minghao, more than you expect. But, you haven’t had a date for Valentine’s since just after you and him broke up. And it was a disaster. So, you’re trying not to set your hopes to an unrealistic level.
But, he quickly proves that you don’t have anything to worry about. Before work, he shows up with flowers, coffee, and a pastry from a shop nearby. It’s really difficult not to just call out from work and spend the day with him. Admitting that makes him laugh and press a gentle kiss to your temple. It’s so sweet that you want to melt. Sadly, you have to go to work and he’s got two different meetings that he can’t miss, one with a museum curator and another with a prospective client. So, he’ll see you after work as planned.
Work seems to drag and more than once, you consider leaving early. Probably would too if Minghao hadn’t been adamant that you couldn’t come by his place until after work. It makes you pout a little, which, in turn, makes Mingyu laugh at you when he stops by your desk. He’s just happy he doesn’t have to avoid bringing up Minghao anymore since they’ve been in touch the whole time. You’re so happy looking forward to the date that you can’t even get mad at your friend. Besides, it can’t have been an easy spot to be in all this time.
Minghao takes your breath away when you actually show up after work.
After quickly changing out of work clothes, you’re on his doorstep, waiting for him to answer. The second you step inside, you see why he had you wait. He’s decorated the entire space in a way he knows you’ll love. All your favorite colors and little things that are cheesy, but also adorable. There are also several paintings, both old and newer, that you know you inspired displayed around the living area. It feels like the perfect space to celebrate with him. All you can do is wrap your arms around him. He’s quick to pull you tight against him. There’s so much emotion.
“The food is already on the way,” he says when you pull away from him. “Thank you for paying, even though you didn’t need to.”
“You’ve been paying for everything. It’s my turn,” you say and smile, looking around his apartment. “And thank you for this. I know it’s not usually your style.”
“You like it. That’s all that matters,” he says as if it’s the simplest thing in the world.
“Can I say something that’s maybe too honest?” you ask.
Minghao’s gaze on you is soft. “To me? Always.”
“I do like it, but I think I would like anything because I just like you. A lot more than I realized,” you say and watch him. Every part of you wants to look away. You already feel naked with his gaze on you when you’re not confessing to your feelings.
Minghao reaches for your hand to pull you into him again. Lets the silence settle around you for a moment. He speaks without releasing you. “That’s good because I’m very much in love with you. So I’m glad you like me so much.”
That makes you pull away, eyes wide. “You’re in love with me? You’re sure?”
“Does that scare you?” he asks, studying your face the same way he studies his favorite artwork.
The answer is on the tip of your tongue before you even realize it. “No.”
“You don’t have to know yet. You don’t have to love me back at all if it’s not right for you. But, I’m sure. It’s always been you for me and it’s always going to be you for me. I’m not going to waste a second chance by not telling you how I feel.”
It’s overwhelming in so many ways. The Minghao you loved years ago couldn’t express himself this easily. It was you that had to be good at using your words and interpreting him through actions. At the time, you thought it was fine. Now, seeing him be strong for both of you, you realize that sometimes it’s nice to hear exactly what he’s thinking. It’s nice to just know without having to read his actions. It’s also his way of showing you that things are different. That he’s going to be the partner you need and he’s going to make sure both of you are the best versions of yourself. Somehow that simple statement, along with everything he’s done the past week, are the final piece. You know this is going to be a partnership and you know you’re in it. Whatever happens, happens.
Dinner passes quickly and the food is great, like you know it will be. It’s also nice not to have to cook or clean anything up. Even nicer to have the space to enjoy each other’s company without going out to dinner like every other couple for the holiday. And Minghao clearly enjoyed setting his table just right for the two of you. After dinner, you suggest watching something. Minghao lets you pick and the two of you settle onto his couch. Without overthinking it, you adjust to put your legs over his lap. He lets you get comfortable before putting his own hands back down and absently tracing patterns into the fabric of your pants. For a fleeting moment, you imagine him using your body as a canvas. Shaking your head to clear the thought, you focus back on the TV.
After a while, you start to feel a little uncomfortable. Not with your legs in Minghao’s laps. That’s providing a lot of comfort. You’re stretching out your neck and rolling your shoulders without realizing it. It’s been a long week at work with too much time hunched over a computer.
“Do you want a massage?” Minghao asks, interrupting the show. You look over at him with raised eyebrows. “You keep rubbing your neck and rolling your shoulders.”
“Of course you noticed,” you say with a chuckle.
“Maybe a massage would help,” he offers again.
You bite your lip in consideration. You haven’t so much as kissed Minghao since you started to spend time together again (since you’re ignoring any drunk kiss that happened at Soyoon’s party for New Year’s Eve). It’s only been a kiss to the cheek here or a temple kiss there. This is definitely more than that. You want to go slow, but you also miss the way he feels. You remember the massages after long nights of studying.
“Yeah, that sounds great,” you say.
The warmth in his eyes when you agree is familiar. Older and wiser, sure, but still familiar. He gets up off the couch and reaches a hand to you. “Come on, let’s go into the bedroom so it’s more comfortable.”
You place your hand into his and follow him. It’s the first time you’ve seen his bedroom and it’s so simple. A few pieces of his art sit in the corner. For the most part, you can tell he only uses the space to sleep.
“I’m going to get some lotion. You can get settled,” he says and places a soft kiss on your temple.
Once he disappears, you make a decision. You remove your shirt and bra so that your back is bare when you lay down on his bed. You settle on the bed with your head up by the pillow so that you can collect part of his sheet around your chest. It’s a little awkward, being half-naked and wondering how to position yourself. It only takes Minghao a few moments before he’s coming back through the bedroom door. His breath catches when he sees you.
“I hope this is okay,” you say, carefully turning to look at him. “My shoulders and neck are so tense that I wanted you to be able to reach them easily.”
He gathers himself quickly and crosses over to his bed. Sits down next to your hip and runs a hand gently across your back. Like he’s testing if you’re actually there. “As long as you’re comfortable, then I’m happy.”
“I am, yeah,” you say softly.
“Okay, then let me take care of you,” he says, just as soft.
Without another word, he moves to straddle your body, using his knees on either side of you to hold the majority of his weight. Gently, he brushes your hair off your neck and over to the side. It’s enough to make you sigh and close your eyes. You hear him open the lotion to put some into his hands. Always so thoughtful, he warms it before putting his hands on your back. He starts just below your shoulders and works his way up, feeling for knots and increasing the pressure as needed. Barely a minute passes and you already feel like you could melt into his mattress. It’s definitely not just the release of tension that has you so comfortable that you could drift into sleep. No, it’s the person with his hands on you. It’s the care he shows with each movement.
Before long, you really are drifting in between the land of being fully awake and asleep. It’s not that you could fall asleep on him. You still feel each movement. You’re just incredibly relaxed. Each of your muscles melt under the gentle touch of his nimble fingers. Even when he digs into a knot, it still feels relaxing. Professionals should be thankful that he took up art instead because he could put them all to shame. Though, admittedly, you’re biased. And you haven’t ever found the thought of a stranger massaging you to be that relaxing. There’s always the initial awkwardness before settling in. None of that happens with the person you know you trust more than yourself.
He bends down to your ear and his breath alerts you before he says anything. “Going to fall asleep on me, sweetheart?”
His tone is light, almost teasing. It’s also confident, but not in the cocky way. He’s proud of the way he can relax you so easily. Your brain is a little foggy and maybe that’s also a good thing. You turn towards his voice and wind your arm up so that you can place a hand on the back of his head. His eyes aren’t just filled with warmth when they meet yours anymore. There’s desire there now, too, the same desire building within you. You pull him towards you and kiss him. Slow, almost lazy, at first. It quickly deepens into something more.
It’s an awkward position, though. Minghao moves off of your back and you take the chance to also reposition, turning over and sitting up. There’s no awkwardness anymore and you don’t bother pulling the sheet with you when you face him. He takes a second to drink you in. Swallows hard as his eyes travel over your chest. In the next moment, he pulls you toward him so that he can kiss you again. You position your legs on either side of his hips to allow you to press tight against him. His kiss is urgent, tongue tangling with your own as the two of you meld into one. You wind one of your hands into his hair, only playing with the ends of it at first, wrapping pieces around your fingers.
Minghao pulls back like it’s the last thing he wants to do. Both of your chests rise and fall quickly to catch your breath. “Are you sure?”
“That I want this?” you clarify.
“That you want this with me,” he says, still a little breathless.
“Yes,” you say.
“Are you really sure?” he asks again. He’s checking for consent and also giving you an out.
“I’ve never been more sure of anything,” you confirm.
You think that he’s leaning back in so that he can kiss you again. Until he uses a hand to tilt your head to one side and kisses along your jaw. He carries his kisses down your neck and across your collarbone. Like he’s mapping every inch of your body. Committing it to memory or maybe making up for the lost years. When you were younger, you found it difficult to accept this kind of attention. Always worrying there was some kind of imbalance. Now, all you can do is moan out your appreciation for the way Minghao worships every inch of your skin. You’re not in a rush and he’s clearly not either. You run your hands through his hair, allowing your nails to scrape lightly against his scalp and shudder at the way he moans into your skin. Do it again just to feel the way his lips vibrate.
His hands find their way to your hips and he grips hard. Anchoring you in place and also checking to make sure it’s all real. That it’s all happening. That none of this is another one of his dreams. Every time you run your nails along his scalp, it’s a reminder that it is happening. That the two of you really have found your way back to something. In that moment, he knows that he’ll risk his heart to not spend the rest of his life wondering what could have happened. Be vulnerable now and hope it’ll work out.
Spurred on by the soft sounds falling from your lips, Minghao moves from your collarbones down to the hollow between your breasts. You arch into his mouth and dig into his scalp, just for a second. It’s the only thing he needs to feel. Quickly, he moves his mouth over to your nipple, taking it into his mouth. Swirling around it and nipping it lightly. He moves one of his hands from your hip to take the other nipple between his fingers. Can’t have either feeling left out. It’s embarrassing how much it turns you on, like you’re some kind of horny teenager. His fingers are so nimble, so intentional in the way they tease you that you can’t help it. He swaps his mouth to your other nipple, replacing his fingers. You’re not sure what you want more.
This time, you pull back. Still kind of breathing shallowly even though you hadn’t been kissing him. His eyes are wide, pupils blown, and a little concerned. You’re quick to reassure him, hands moving to the hem of his shirt. “Can I? I don’t want to be the only half naked one anymore?”
“Of course,” he says with a smile.
You pull the shirt up and over his head, thankful that he’s not overdressed to make it more complicated. For a second, the sight of him renders you speechless. Gently, you run your finger along his chest and down the muscles of his stomach that weren’t there when you dated him last time. The way he shudders under your touch only spurs you on. There’s a scar along his side that you don’t remember. It’s smooth to the touch, just slightly raised.
“Beautiful,” you whisper confidently.
He can’t stand it anymore. He takes your face in his hands and pulls you into him. Kisses you again, slowly but with so much intensity that it makes your heart skip several beats. You still fit in with him like you were made for each other. He uses the kiss to shift both of your bodies and disentangle your legs. Dips you backwards until your head hits the pillow without his lips leaving yours. Once you’re lying back, though, he breaks the kiss again. Resumes kissing down your body. Makes sure to kiss away any insecurities in the process. Whispers praise into your skin that feel like a salve. This is Minghao, your Minghao. You’re safe with him. Loved. Cherished. Supported. It’s overwhelming to feel all of that come rushing back after years spent apart looking for it in someone else. Of course it’s always been him.
Normally you’re somewhat ticklish, and you do have to fight a little nervous laugh as he kisses down your stomach, especially when his face is so close that you can feel his eyelashes against your skin. But, there really isn’t anything funny about this. Not when Minghao looks up at you while kissing your body. Seems to be mapping your reactions just as much as your skin. He pauses with his hands on your pants, silently asking for permission. Checking in to make sure that you’re still okay with this. You nod and he kisses your stomach again before unbuttoning your pants. Pulls your pants and underwear down in one fluid motion. He takes a moment to appreciate you, laid out before him. Any remaining nerves disappear. You’ve never seen someone look at you with that much love in your life. It’s overwhelming in the best way. Until Minghao resumes kissing down your body and it’s a different kind of overwhelming. His breath ghosts across your core as he places slow, open mouthed kisses along your thighs.
Nothing has really happened, but by the time he settles between your legs, you’re already worked up. Wound so tightly that you think he could have you coming with just a touch. You consider if that would be too fast for half a second before catching sight of Minghao. He looks up at you, hair falling into his eyes, and you don’t care what happens. Don’t care how fast anything happens because it’s him. Can hardly believe that this beautiful person wants to put your needs before his own. His eyes narrow like a siren, full of focus and desire, and it takes your breath away.
“I don’t want you to hold back,” he says. “I’ve been waiting years to taste you again.”
“You wha - fuck,” you hiss out.
He effectively short circuits your brain with one move. He doesn’t bother teasing you, just goes straight to licking into your wet cunt. Uses two fingers to spread your lips open so that he has better access. There’s no concern for building up to something. He wants to taste you and that’s exactly what he’s going to do. When his nose hits your clit, it makes you groan out and snap your thighs around his face. His groan in response vibrates through your pussy. Makes him use his thumb to rub circles on your clit without slowing his speed licking into you. It’s entirely too overwhelming in the best way. In just moments, Minghao has you writhing underneath him, gripping onto anything within your reach. His hair. The sheets. The pillow. Anything. The tension builds entirely too fast and you’re not really ready for it to be over. Not ready to have it end.
You’re not sure if he has the same thought or not, but Minghao pulls back to look at you. The moan at the sight of your wetness all over his lips and chin is immediate. Somehow it makes him even sexier and you can’t take your eyes off him. Can’t look away as he wipes the back of his hand over his mouth. With careful movements, he pulls himself up your body and lies next to you on his side to face you. Winds an arm under your neck. Places two of his fingers against your mouth and you suck them in without a thought. Swirl your tongue around his slender fingers with your eyes locked on his. Smile at the way it seems to be affecting him. With what looks like regret on his face, he pulls his fingers from your mouth and moves his hand down between your legs. Runs his middle finger up your still wet folds before inserting it.
“Minghao, fuck, you can’t just…” you start, only to have your words cut off.
You’re kissing again and it’s the most heated yet. The taste of you lingers on his lips. Seems to mark him as yours. You realize that maybe he’s not teasing you because he meant what he said. He’s been waiting too long for this to go slow with you. There’s plenty of time to slow down later. This is what both of you need now. He slides another finger into your pussy and pumps even faster. Doesn’t let you pull away from the kiss, catching every sound you make and adding his own sounds. The tension builds, even faster than before. In no time at all, you’re coming all over his fingers. Gasping for breath as you break the kiss and he gently pumps into you to guide you through the orgasm.
When you can catch your breath, you look over at Minghao. Appreciate the way he just watches you. He gently brushes a piece of hair out of your face and then leans in for a soft kiss. You’re not letting him get away with that, though. Not now. Not when he just had you coming harder than you can remember in a long time. You knock the kiss up in intensity and he lets you lead. Lets you set the pace and meets every kiss with the exact right amount of pressure. Your hands are everywhere on him while you kiss, exploring all the lines and the muscles that feel a little foreign. The only obvious sign of the passage of time.
He pulls back just long enough so that he can pull his pants and briefs off. Doesn’t even look where he tosses them in the room. All he can think of is connecting his lips with yours again. About making up for all the years in between, even if you both know that you needed that time apart to find your way back. You wind your hand down between your bodies and grip his dick in your hand. Slowly run your thumb over the tip and find there’s already precum there. It fills you with so much satisfaction to know that he’s as turned on as you are. It’s a little diary, but you spit quickly in your hand. You run your hand up and down his cock a few times, twisting your fist around him. Checking to see what kind of pressure and speed he likes.
“I just want…fuck, sweetheart,” he groans out as you run your thumb across his tip again.
“What do you want, Hao?” you ask, making your eyes as big and innocent as possible.
“I want to be inside you, want to feel you around me,” he says and your breath catches. “I don’t want to cum from a handjob like some teenager.”
“Fuck,” you say with a nod. “Yes, please, yes.”
He rolls away from you for a second to reach for his nightstand and returns with a condom and some lube. Rips the condom open with his teeth and then rolls it onto his cock. You’re about to ask him how he wants you when he pulls back and spreads your legs open. He looks at you as he lines himself up at your entrance. For a moment, he just looks at you. Then, he pours some of the lube onto the condom. Makes sure this is going to feel good for you.
“I want to watch you fall apart,” he says, voice thick with desire.
“Please,” you say softly. “I need to feel you, Hao.”
Minghao lines himself up and presses his tip against your entrance. You’re a little sensitive from his tongue and his fingers. Still wet from that and from the intensity of the kisses afterwards. You wrap your legs around his waist as he angles into you. He leans forward, arms on either side of you so that you’re caged in. He’s sliding in so slowly, so carefully. It’s the first time he’s even come close to teasing you. Or maybe it’s just so that he can draw it out. Either way, you want him buried inside you. Can’t stop from wrapping your legs tighter around him. It’s hard to have him looking at you with so much intensity. So much eye contact. You catch the chuckle at your impatience with your lips.
It works, though. He bottoms out with one final thrust and you would scream it if not for his lips on yours. You let him set the pace even though it’s just slower than you want. The sensitivity just makes everything feel more intense. Each time either of you breaks the kiss to catch a breath, your eyes are on each other. Uttering praise and promises into the space between the two of you. More Minghao than you, which is incredible. A steady stream of both coherent and incoherent thoughts. Somehow it all makes sense to both of you. All seems like it’s exactly right. And true to his word, when the tension builds in your body again, Minghao breaks the kiss entirely. Watches the way your eyes roll back and your mouth falls open. Appreciates every sound you make. Later he’ll tell you that he’s never seen anything more beautiful than you in that moment. For now, all he can do is watch and pick up his own pace. He wants to follow right behind you.
There’s less build up this time when you fall over the edge, toes curling and back arching. It’s even more intense too, something you didn’t think was possible. Hazily, you feel Minghao’s thrusts falter in their speed as he comes hard just after you. You try to take over the rhythm, but your body feels spent. After his final thrust, he offsets his weight so he’s not lying fully on top of you without pulling out either. Your breathing syncs up with his as you come back to the bedroom and the reality of what just happened.
You can’t help yourself. His hair is a little wet with sweat and you reach out to brush it away. Think about how this may be your favorite hairstyle he’s ever had. He catches your hand before you even realize his eyes are on you and he kisses your palm. It makes you smile at the care in his eyes. When he releases your hand he props himself up to slowly ease out of you. You figure that you should get up as well before he presses your shoulder gently down.
“I’ve got you,” he says.
And he does, doesn’t he? He’s shown you with his actions and even followed it up with his words. He does have you and you think he’ll probably always be there. You hear the water running from the attached bathroom and then watch him return with a wet washcloth. The bright light behind him highlights his silhouette like an angel. That’s not where it stops, though. Instead of letting you clean yourself up, he sits on the bed and runs the cloth carefully over your body. It makes your heart hurt to have him taking care of you like this, so tender and full of such pure affection. Once he finishes, he tosses the washcloth over to the nightstand. You pull him into you so that you can cuddle close.
Even though you could probably stay like that for the rest of the night, you know that you either need to change the sheets or figure something out. You run a hand over his arm thoughtfully. That’s when it hits you and you turn your face to his. “Do you wanna go sleep in my bed with me and we can deal with your bed tomorrow?”
His laugh is light, easy. “Inviting me to bed on the second date, what will the neighbors say?”
You swat at his arm without any real force. “That you’re incredibly lucky, I expect.”
“They’re right about that,” he says, any teasing gone in the completely honest statement. It’s a little too much for you, at least for a minute. Minghao, in his infinite wisdom, lets you have the moment. He moves from the bed and helps you up with him. Even helps you track down your clothing that’s gotten more scattered than you realize.
It’s so easy to fall back into a rhythm with him even though it feels entirely different. Familiar and new. Fitting for the enigma that is the man before you. Which is when it hits you, just as he’s reaching the door to the hallway. Minghao stops to turn around and see why you’re not right behind him.
“Are you coming? I don’t really want to have to break into your place,” he says with another light laugh.
“Been working on your cat burglar skills during the past few years, have you?” you joke back and he just shakes his head. Closes the space between you and collects you into his arms.
“I think that’s your wishful thinking about wanting a cat,” he says and you laugh.
“Could be,” you concede.
“Shall we?” he asks when he releases you.
“Just a second,” you say and he regards you with clear curiosity. “Earlier you told me that you loved me and…”
“It’s okay,” he says quickly. You mistake it for him thinking you don’t feel the same.
“No, I need to say something,” you say and he swallows anything else. “I love you, too.”
“I know,” he says with a smile that has you rolling your eyes. Of course he knows. You’re entirely smitten and once again, the last one to know. “And how lucky am I to have someone who loves me like you do as a Valentine? To be loved by someone that I love as much as I love you?”
“Happy Valentine’s Day, Hao.”
“Happy Valentine’s Day. Here’s to a lifetime more of these.”
synopsis: things take a turn for the better when you finally find a roommate to escape your incredibly overpriced apartment, but you don't expect to ruin the only relationship that matters to you in the process.
genre: forced proximity au. coworkers/friends/roommates idiots to lovers. angst, fluff, suggestive themes.
pairing: bartender!xu minghao x fem!waitress!reader | side pairings: restaurant owners!jeongcheol ; bartender!seungkwan x waiter!hansol ; chef!mingyu x hostess!tzuyu (twice)
word count: 24k
rating: 18+. minors do not interact.
warnings: swearing, alcohol (obviously??) mentions of food/eating. reader has a strained relationship with her parents. jeongcheol/verkwan/tzugyu are all plot devices. unspoken pining, kissing.
what to listen to: am pm - jay b, wheein ; you and me - lifehouse ; runnin' - the pharcyde ; no one noticed - the marías ; have u found what ur looking for? - ashton irwin ; on the line - blood orange
author's note: the loml and the haologram namesake has officially debuted on this blog! while i am not entirely satisfied with this piece, that's okay and i still love the idea i put forth and the way i expressed what i could on the time crunch i gave myself. i will likely work on a spinoff for this, or just something to delve more into their backstory and developing them. special thank you to my lovely beta readers @diamonddaze01 @lovetaroandtaemin @tomodachiii <3 please enjoy!
A YEAR AGO…
"I need a Guinness."
That was the first thing you ever said to Xu Minghao. You'd been hired by Seungcheol, one of the restaurant owners, three weeks prior but hadn't worked a shift with Minghao yet.
Therefore, he didn't know your name or when you even got there. There hadn't been any murmur of a new girl, much less a pretty one – which was odd for the establishment. Full of meddling college students and a married couple who ran the place, there was bound to be some gossip. Something about your looks, your demeanor, anything – but no. Nothing had flown down the grapevine.
You didn't bother to introduce yourself, either. Your eyes were pointed until he quirked a brow, scoffing out a laugh and pouring the drink for you. He'd said nothing as you took it, skirting around several clients and even a busboy and delivered it with a smile on your face to the awaiting patron…
…Who slipped a tip into your apron with a greasy smile, and you kept yours on your lips until you were out of the patron's line of sight. Then, tucked into the serving staff's corner, he saw the way your shoulders sagged, a look of disgust on your face as you shivered. He clicked his tongue to himself, but filed the vision away to the back of his mind.
He spent the rest of the night silently giving you the drinks you asked for, or speaking to his regulars as he made your cocktails. You always waited patiently, your fingers spinning your pen expertly as you watched over the patrons of the restaurant. He watched the way you sped past everyone, wormed your way through gathered crowds, and even ducked under trays being carried by your fellow servers.
You got your job done, and you got it done fast – your patrons visibly happy with your service and your apron slightly overflowing with tips when you slid behind the bar and tucked them into your lockbox without a word to him.
It wasn't until you bid your last patron a good night that he saw your shoulders relax, your fingers yanking the elastic out of your hair and shaking it out. The relief on your forehead was noticeable as you walked back to the bar, opening the fridge behind him and grabbing a can of the orange juice he used for some of the cocktails on the menu.
"D'you mind? I know they're counted."
He shook his head as he skirted past you with his tray full of cups, the glasses clinking against each other while he made his way to the back. Your fellow servers were gathered around the heat of the kitchen, leaning against the wall or stretching their overworked limbs. He kept to himself, hearing them whisper about the new girl.
"She's so pretty."
"Yeah, but she doesn't talk. I tried to talk to her back here a couple times, and she just keeps it short."
"She's here to work."
"So am I, but at least I'm not rude."
He set his dishes into the washer, cursing to himself when he realized he forgot his shakers at the bar. He was about to start the cycle when he heard the soft clanking of metal against metal, seeing your closed can of orange juice tucked into your shirt pocket as you held out his tray of shakers.
"Thought you might need these, wouldn't want you to make unnecessary trips."
He thanked you with a smile, taking the black tray as you cracked open your can, shrugging as you turned on your heel and walked away. The servers looked appalled as you grabbed the sanitizer spray before walking out of the kitchen, a rag already hanging from your belt loop. They looked at Minghao, who quietly loaded the shakers into the machine – wondering how he got you to speak to him.
The answer was plain and simple – he was a crucial part of the services you provided as a waitress. You clearly didn't need help with your tables: he watched how easily you maneuvered through picky eaters and entitled elderly women, all in one night. He saw how you smiled and greeted people warmly and enthusiastically, something the other servers weren't very good at but hey — a buck is a buck.
He wormed back out of the kitchen amongst the whispers, rolling his eyes as he stretched his arms over his head. You were wearing headphones, nodding your head along to something as you wiped down every table and chair.
He slid back behind the bar and started his own closing duties, but he took a moment to take you in fully – the soft slope of your nose, the way your brows furrowed as you ran your rag over particularly sticky spots. The purse of your lips as you mouthed along to whatever it was that you were listening to.
"Do you need any help?"
You were in front of the bar now, holding one of your earbuds in your hand as you raised a brow at him. He shook his head before extending his hand out to you.
"I don't believe we've met. I'm Minghao."
You were wary as you shook his hand, but your grip was nice and firm as you did so.
"Y/N. Sorry if I was kind of emotionless during the shift, it helps me focus better if I'm not talking to people while I work."
He shook his head again, as if to say no worries, before reaching under the bar and pulling your lockbox for you. You thanked him softly as you took it in your hands, walking away towards Seungcheol and Jeonghan's office to do your tip-out for the night. He finished his duties quickly, even managing to rearrange the cups and shakers for the morning bartender as the servers came to him one by one and gave him his share of their tips.
Until you came back out with a soft smile on your lips, your hair now loosely tied up and your apron slung over your shoulder as you held a wad of cash out to him, far thicker than any of the other servers. He'd been counting the leftover mixers, crossing out your orange juice as a markout as you slipped the money into his hand.
"For your help. Thanks."
"It's my job, no need to thank me."
"Doesn't hurt. Have a good night, Minghao."
"You too, Y/N." He smiled back as you finished what was left in your can of juice, tossing it as you made your way out of the building. He followed shortly after, walking out a few of the other servers to their cars in the parking lot for good measure. He never really spoke to them either, despite having worked with them for a little over a year – but he was a gentleman if nothing else.
The next few shifts he worked with you were like that, too. You'd smile at him a bit and ask for things with a nicer tone of voice. He still delivered and watched you from afar, slightly amazed at your abilities to satisfy all your patrons – couples, families, even that one elderly woman who always sent her steak back because it was never done well enough…she hadn't sent it back the night you served her.
You always walked out first, handing Minghao thick stacks of cash and stealing cans of orange juice. It got to the point where he would set yours aside from the counted lot, marking it out in the system before they shut down for the night. The other servers watched your interactions – short and sweet, but still far more than you'd ever attempted to interact with them.
He soon learned that you did like to talk, you just had no one that you deemed worthy of your time. So when you arrived early on some shifts, you'd sit at the bar and ask Minghao things about himself. He'd gladly answer, mixing up non-alcoholic versions of his favorite cocktails for you as he talked in a soft voice. You both noticed the wandering eyes of your coworkers, but neither of you mentioned it to the other.
He noticed that you never answered any questions about yourself, opting to spin the question back on him. He let it slide, but he knew you understood that eventually, you'd have to open up, too. When you did decide to do so was completely up to the universe.
It wasn't until the compliments started that the two of you really started talking – it started as something subtle and quiet. Minghao commented on your earrings or choice of lipgloss, and you said you liked his hair and the way he styled his jewelry. You would both laugh over light coworker gossip or comments about how easily Jeonghan got under Seungcheol's skin.
You started greeting him when you'd swing by the bar for any alcoholic beverage, and he'd pause his flirting with his regulars to give you his undivided attention. This is how you learned that he had a way with body language – his eyes were always grazing over someone's face, his shoulders set back in confidence, brushing his fingers lightly over whoever was grabbing their drink.
This included you, but neither of you said anything about it. You'd let his fingers swipe over yours occasionally, choosing to smile and thank him as you went about your shift. The regulars noticed the way his attention was no longer fully on them, and some complained, but some spoke directly to Minghao about it – saying how cute it was for him to be crushing on the new girl.
He wasn't, but he didn't care to clear it up if it meant it got you more tips.
One night, things were as normal – it was a busy Friday evening, and you slid behind the bar to stuff your cash into your lockbox for the third time before closing. His fingers covered the edge of the bar so you wouldn't hit yourself, and you thanked him with a pat to his ribcage before slipping back out onto the restaurant floor with your pen flipping through your fingers like always. He watched you zip around, smiling widely as you took orders, casually flirting with patrons around your age, taking group photos with cell phones and cameras.
You stole your can of orange juice, helped Minghao with his dishes and did your closing duties. You got tipped out by Jeonghan and gave Minghao his share, bidding him a good night before waltzing out of the restaurant. You skipped to your car, expecting a smooth drive home and ending your good night on your comfy couch with a Pilsner and a bag of chips…
When your car simply wouldn't start.
No big deal, you'd told yourself. You tried turning your headlights on, but nothing happened. This could mean one of two things: your battery had crapped out and just needed a jump, or tonight was just the night you'd be walking the twenty blocks home. You clicked your tongue before sighing and resting your forehead on the fuzzy steering wheel cover.
Minghao had watched this entire ordeal from the door of the restaurant, finishing a conversation with Seungcheol before stepping out and calling out your name. Your ears perked up, your eyes tired as you looked up and saw him walking over. He smiled as you pouted, opening your car door and explaining the situation.
"Not a problem, I can give you a lift."
"I couldn't ask you to do that, Minghao."
"You're not. I'm offering."
It went back and forth like that for about ten minutes before Minghao reached out and plucked your keys out of the ignition. You huffed as he jingled them, throwing your apron over your shoulder and manually locking all your doors before slipping out.
“I live a bit out of the way.”
“I do, too. Don’t worry about it.”
Turns out that a bit out of the way for you, meant two blocks from Minghao’s apartment.
It also turns out that the two of you had much more in common than just working at Seungcheol and Jeonghan’s restaurant.
You both loved art, fashion…the idea of flirting and making people think something was going to happen. You were both studying but at two different universities, and worked at the restaurant to save money for graduate school. He finds out that you're almost too big of a Bloody Mary fan, and nothing stops you from yucking a Piña Colada enjoyer's yum. He doesn't drink, and the revelation makes you snort, until you realize he's serious and roll your eyes subtly.
And all of this is something you find out as you sit in his car outside of your apartment complex, the heat cranked up and his radio playing AM PM by Jay B and Wheein on the lowest volume. He speaks softly, just like he does at the restaurant – and you notice his eyes almost glued to your face as you reciprocate. A few shy laughs are shared until he says something about Mingyu and his habit of stealing cheese curds off the customer trays, making you snort and hit your head on his window. He apologizes profusely but the sentiment is waned by his own rickety giggle, making you flush embarrassedly and shove him lightly.
The night ends when he offers to walk you up to your apartment, but you decline, holding your purse tightly. He still gets out of his car, perches on the hood and watches you duck into the heavy greenery that ornaments the entryway, hearing your work shoes click against the cold cement steps. He waits at least ten minutes before leaning back on his car, taking a deep breath in the chilly November air and pushing off. He slides back into the driver's seat, not noticing the way you look down at him from your second floor apartment. You peeked at him through the wooden blinds of your bedroom, the soft thundering in your chest something you couldn't figure out.
All you knew is that he was Xu Minghao, and if he was meant to break your heart – so be it.
EIGHT MONTHS AGO…
"Need a ride?"
You scoffed to yourself, hearing Minghao's voice across the parking lot. Your shoulders were slumped, your head resting defeatedly against the steering wheel of your 2002 Nissan that once more, refused to start. Why? You have no idea.
"No. It'll start. It has to start." You muttered back, seeing him approach the side of your vehicle. He dons a sympathetic smile as he leans in the window, his fingers grazing the fuzzy leopard print wheel cover. You ignored the manicure you'd been admiring your entire shift, the blotted maroon a perfect tone against his skin – and cranked your ignition.
Chchchch.
"Try again."
Chchchch.
He glanced up at you before unlocking your door from the inside and yanking it open. He reached under your dash, popping your hood gingerly and snaking out from under the steering wheel. You only eyed him tiredly as he slid in front of your car, setting your hood up on the prop rod and tinkering around.
You couldn't help but let your eyes close slightly, the soreness in your muscles taking over just as he popped back into your window. You jolted out of the light slumber, the crease between your brows deepening in the stark spring moonlight.
"Two things, gorgeous. Either your alternator is fucked and not charging your battery, or your starter engine has crapped out." He shrugged, and you couldn't bring yourself to react further than a groan. Your hands ran through your hair, and Minghao cooed lightly.
"C'mon, I'll give you a lift home. We'll get Cheol to pay for a tow." He wiggled his brows, making you let out a noise of amusement. You sighed, nodding silently as he once more took your keys out of the ignition. You grabbed your items, swinging your apron over your shoulder and locking your doors manually before slinking out and letting Minghao shut your door.
You shook your head in disbelief, absently resting your forehead against his bicep with a sigh.
"I'm so tired."
Apparently, tired meant that you were almost about to fall asleep standing up. Neither of you worked tomorrow, so Minghao simply wrapped his arm around your shoulders (an act that neither of you would ever speak on, but made the both of you incredibly giddy) and led you to his car. He opened the door and helped you climb in, even going as far as buckling your seatbelt for you despite your whining protests that you could do it yourself.
"I know you can. Just let me help you, yeah?"
You gave in without a second thought, your eyes fluttering shut as he slid into the driver's side and started his car. You had turned your head towards him and muttered some words quietly.
Something that sounded like thank you, followed by a slightly more intelligible string of words.
"If I fall asleep, I give you full permission to leave me on my doorstep like a package."
He only snorted, knowing he would not ever do that to you. Rolling his eyes, he fiddled with the radio, hearing You and Me by Lifehouse playing on his favorite station. He kept it on as he pulled out of the parking lot, seeing Seungcheol staring in his direction with wide eyes as he walked Jeonghan to their shared car. Minghao only shrugged, waving quickly before turning out into the street and driving down the road.
It was peaceful, watching you sleep. The way your lashes kissed the fat of your cheeks, the way your lips were pouty and he resisted the urge to wipe your chin of a bit of drool that had begun to spill out. He bit down on his lip to hold in his laughter as you stirred, your thumb instinctively coming to your face to wipe at it. You peeled your eyes open, the whites slightly bloodshot and your face contorting in the soreness you felt.
"Long day, huh?" He whistled as he flicked on his turn signal, and you only managed to hum in response. You blinked at him, his eyes catching yours as you stared into him. He raised his brows in confusion, and you shrugged your shoulders as much as your fatigue allowed.
"Why are you so nice to me, Hao?"
He only smiled, clicking his tongue as he took the turn down the creepy backroad neither of you liked and often discussed when you had some down time at work.
"I thought we were friends, Y/N?"
He saw the way you leaned your head back on his headrest, nose scrunched as you began to settle deep in thought. Were you friends?
He thinks so. He thinks setting aside your daily orange juice can means that he's your friend. He thinks giving you lifts home, means that you trust him. That's a crucial part of friendship, isn't it? Trust?
Maybe the subtle flirting he'd been dishing out wasn't so friendly, but he certainly desired to be your friend. He liked your eager conversation, a drastic change in comparison to how stoic you had been upon first meeting him – and how uninterested you were in everyone else you worked with. Aside from Mingyu in the kitchen and Tzuyu the hostess, you had absolutely no interest in talking to anyone but Minghao.
You also didn't allow anyone else but Minghao into your life so closely. Only he knew where you lived, what troubled you, how your mother made you feel about yourself. Only he knew about your bad habits – your affinity for gossip, your extensive situationship issues with your ex-boyfriend, Jaehyun, and how you thought your apartment was entirely too expensive for a college student that was buying her dinner with coins.
"I guess you're right. We should hang out one day, instead of just you giving me pitiful looks when my car craps out on me."
Your tone had been light, but he knew you weren't joking. No matter how often this happened, you insisted what Minghao was dishing out was pity. It wasn't – it was a break. A chance to worry about things later, or tomorrow, because he also understood what it was like to be stressed. He also understood what it was like to have a car let him down time after time, but he had had no one to take that mercy upon him. He'd walked home in pouring rain, risked getting sick, slipped one too many times.
A favor, was what he was offering, if anything.
You just didn't know how to accept help. It was one of your flaws that made itself known without a single word from you.
"I'm free tomorrow. I don't work; I took the day off."
"I'm free, too. I'll text you when I wake up. Maybe we can get brunch?"
You would not end up texting Minghao, because you were knocked out – too knocked out to be woken up – by the time that the two of you reached your apartment. He knew your keys were in your purse, but after three attempts at waking you up, he gave up. He drove the two blocks to his complex, snagging the perfect spot in front of his entrance.
He hadn't been too sure of what to do, so he left you in his car with the engine running to duck into his apartment – returning within a few minutes with a pair of blankets for you and him. He opened your door and leaned your seat back slowly, before throwing the blanket over you and moving your belongings to his backseat. He climbed back into the driver's side, scrolling on his phone for a bit before peering over at you.
Still sound asleep, as the clock struck midnight.
He hummed, closing his eyes for a moment.
A moment turned into three hours, when he heard your phone start ringing in the cupholder. It jolted him awake, his eyes narrowed as he read the blurry name out – Jaehyun.
He declined the call. Once. Twice.
Six times, he declined Jaehyun's call. He turned your phone off after that, but you had stirred enough from the sheer sound of him fumbling around. Your eyes were bloodshot as you blinked before realizing you were still in his car.
"Shit, I'm sorry. Have we been here long?"
He only smiled, gesturing at the blanket on your body. Your eyes widened as much as they could in their sleep-swollen state, before he flashed his phone screen at you.
3:13am.
"Hao! Why didn't you wake me up!?"
"I certainly tried. I drove around your complex twice before deciding it was futile. We're outside my apartment, if you want to crash here. I'm in no position to drive now."
You had scoffed tiredly (read: with embarrassment), before the urge to stretch took over – the blanket slipping down your legs as you twisted your torso and popped your back. Minghao only giggled tiredly, letting you pout at him.
"I don't have a toothbrush here."
"I have spares for guests. And I have a guest room, so it's not like you'd be taking over my couch or anything. There is always going to be a special space for you, you're my friend."
And you wanted to be his friend so badly.
"Fine. But I'm buying breakfast."
"Sure, whatever makes you feel better."
You did not end up buying breakfast.
In fact, after you allowed Minghao to help you get situated in his guest room, you didn't even wake up until well in the afternoon. The soft sheets, the absolute dream of a mattress…
The gentle scent of his detergent on the clothes he made you wear to bed while he stayed up an extra two hours – washing and ironing your work uniform. He even took your socks.
Granted, he also did not wake up until late that day. The two of you jerked the doors of the respective rooms open within five minutes of each other, Minghao sluggishly standing in his kitchen with his forehead against the cool steel of his fridge. He held a carton of eggs in his hand, your mouth occupied by the toothbrush he'd given you the night before.
"Eggs?"
"I don't even want to cook, I just want to order in."
"My treat. Consider it a thank you for letting me crash here."
He had looked up then, a quirk in his brow as his lips twitched into a small smirk.
"Don't thank me for being a good friend. That's what you're supposed to do, Y/N."
He didn't allow you to pay for delivery. He didn't even allow you to bicker with him when he shoved you into the bathroom, insisting you shower while waiting for the food to arrive. He was a bit like a parent in that sense – forcing you to take his help and hospitality – and even offering to blow-dry your hair when you exited the bathroom in yet another set of his loungewear, the sweatpants low on your hips as you sat down in front of him and allowed him to do as he pleased.
Something about the domesticity of Minghao brought you comfort. He was gentle and kind, and entirely way too nice for your own good. You had this idea that you had to earn niceties, and Minghao was actively challenging that perspective with the way he wormed himself into your heart. Unlike the parasite, though, you were sure that loving him in whatever matter presented itself would not kill you.
He attempted to drive you home around midnight, the two of you far too excited to let the night end – when your phone began ringing again, this time as he pulled into a gas station. He sighed, "Take care of that. I'll be back."
Your ex-boyfriend told you he was at your apartment and asked why you weren't answering the door. You admitted that you weren't home and insisted that he went home – that you weren't interested in seeing him. He took it pretty hard, trying to convince you that he wanted nothing more than to see you, but Minghao arrived just as you snapped on him and told him that this odd situation was not working in anyone's favor.
Jaehyun insisted that he still loved you – but you said you wouldn't be seeing him again and hung up. You blocked his number before the bombardment of texts could flood in, resting your head against the seat and sighing. You gave Minghao a worried look, earning a soft laugh from him as he reached over and ran his fingers through your hair.
"Everything is going to be okay in due time. We'd be nothing in life if we didn't struggle a bit."
He didn't take you home. Instead, he drove around the city, his hand slotted in yours. It was nothing more than an attempt at a comforting gesture on his behalf, but you couldn't help the way your stomach fluttered slightly. You stared out the window as he spoke softly, telling you stories about his life and listening intently to yours. Eventually, the two of you wound up at a park you frequented as a child, one with a wishing well.
The two of you got down and headed straight for that well, Minghao holding a few coins he was willing to part ways with in his hand. He gave you half of them, telling you to make your wishes as he thought of his. He watched you intently, your eyes closed and thick lashes fluttering against your cheeks, lips pouty as you murmured to yourself. He was barely able to hear you, leaning a bit closer.
"I wish to be happy."
He closed his eyes after hearing that.
He knew in his heart that he couldn't be solely responsible for your happiness, but he could certainly aid in it. He was your friend, and he was determined to see that wish come true, even if it meant sacrificing his own time and energy to see it happen for you. Be it what may, he was hell-bent about it, within seconds of hearing you say it.
So much so, that when he dropped his 500 won coin, he too wished for you to be happy.
It was the least he could do at that moment.
He actually drove you home after that, and you invited him in. He stayed for all of two hours, just talking to you and keeping you company as you settled things around your apartment. Once more, the topic of rent being way too much came up – and he asked if you wanted a roommate.
You had snorted, insisting that you could handle rent on your own.
Minghao went home that night with another plan in mind.
SIX MONTHS AGO…
"Graduation is coming up. I know we've only just started getting close, but I got you a ticket to mine in case you'd like to be there."
The casual comment had made you choke on your strawberry lemonade. He offered a napkin, smiling mischievously at you as you scoffed, wiping your lips carefully. He'd invited you out to lunch on yet another day off, but this time, the two of you were nicely dressed up.
So much so, that your waitress thought you were a couple on a date.
Neither of you made the move to correct her.
"Minghao, you can't just say that so casually." You muttered, but there was a twitch in your lip that gave you away. He caught it almost instantly, reaching into his bag and pulling out your ticket – watching you reach into your purse and pull his ticket out. Both graduations were on the same day, yours in the morning and his in the afternoon – just barely two hours apart.
Enough that you'd be able to have a luncheon with your family and still make it to his right on time.
"You'll be celebrating with your family afterward, right?"
"We're having a small party. A few of my friends will be there, and I'd like you to attend if it's possible. I know you probably have your own things to do."
You didn't, just the lunch. Something about your accomplishments was never enough for your family to celebrate, and they were of the breed that believed graduation was simply a part of life – nothing worth celebrating. Minghao didn't need to know that, though.
"Sure. I'll be there."
And it didn't take long for the day to spin around. You were dressed in your favorite white dress, covered slightly by your forest green graduation gown. Minghao met your family – your mother giving him a quick smile before tugging your father into the stadium. You offered an apology and said that one of your lifelong friends, Junhui, would be arriving soon, and Minghao could sit with him. You stuck around until he did, introducing the two and scurrying away to get set up with your classmates.
Funnily enough, Minghao and Junhui hit it off really well – so much so that when your name was called and you crossed the stage, they cheered so loudly that your parents looked away in embarrassment. You beamed up at your friends, waving excitedly and hopping down to your seat. The ceremony was over quickly, and your parents were nowhere to be found for photos.
It bummed you out, and your friends both noticed. You called their phones relentlessly, to no avail – making Minghao and Junhui take you to lunch on their own. You still enjoyed it, but they could tell that you were not happy. Neither of them made a statement, but Minghao managed to find a last minute ticket for Junhui to attend his graduation with you and invited him to the party as well.
You and Junhui sat in the stands an hour later, holding a huge bouquet you'd ordered a few days in advance – and sat with his parents, who eagerly admitted their glee in Minghao finding friends so easily. You enjoyed the pride his parents had in their son, feeling the same love that Minghao so eagerly poured over you with no remorse. You could tell how loved he had been growing up, how every single part of him was a part of them and then some.
How Minghao was truly someone made of love, by love, for love.
You cheered loudly with his family as he crossed the stage, finding his eyes as he looked up. The maroon of his gown did wonders for his skin, and you hated the way your cheeks warmed as he winked at you. Junhui elbowed you lightly, a knowing look in his eyes that made you scoff and shove him softly.
"We've been friends since we were kids, Y/N. You don't fool me."
However, it didn't stop you from trying. To you, Minghao was just your friend – you had no intent to ever take things further than that. Much like he slowly picked up on your flaws and bad habits, you did his – his subtle flirting with regulars, the way he had no shame in giving free drinks away if he thought someone was cute. It made you overthink everything about his way of acting with you – how easy it was to distinguish that he would never have a romantic feeling towards you if this was how he acted towards patrons.
So you figured your odd little crush was sorely misplaced – and added that you hadn't spoken to Jaehyun since the first time you slept over at Minghao's apartment was cause for the strange feeling of neediness in your stomach. Minghao was worth more than a rebound, and he was far more than you would ever deserve.
You spent the rest of the day enjoying delicious food prepared by his parents and spending hours dancing with Junhui and Minghao in turns. You blushed severely when Minghao's parents asked if you were interested in Minghao, quickly refusing the idea and insisting you were his friend and nothing more. You later saw Minghao blush all the same, his mother looking over his shoulder at you and making him do the same – before you saw his plush lips form around the negative response of No, she's just my friend.
You ignored the sinking feeling and focused on the party – with Mingyu swinging by for an hour before going back out to hang with his girlfriend, Tzuyu, and his best friend, Wonwoo (and they were all coworkers of yours that you allowed yourself to grow closer to after realizing they were no threat.) You took dozens of photos with everyone, had plenty to eat and reluctantly bid goodnight to a tired Junhui that drove back to his girlfriend's apartment after checking that Minghao would take you home.
The two of you stayed for a little longer, watching all the guests leave. You walked around his parents' home and helped them clean up silently, hearing his mother praise you quietly to her son. Your refusal to acknowledge it made everything easier, grabbing an apron from the kitchen and tasking yourself with washing dishes alongside Minghao's father. He made soft conversation, and you understood where Minghao got his doting personality.
It made you think way too hard about the man you called your friend to everyone's face, including his.
At the end of the night, you cried when Minghao presented you with a graduation gift in the privacy of his car – a pair of earrings and a lease.
A lease to a two-bedroom, one-and-a-half bathroom apartment he found all on his own, after more complaints about your rent being too high came about. He admitted that he'd initially started looking for places solely for you, but later came to the idea that maybe you would like some company. He fully admitted that he would have no problem if you denied his request to be your roommate, but seeing as the two of you had also planned on going to graduate school…he thought that maybe splitting costs would be easier.
"You can say no. I know it's a bit presumptuous of me to jump the gun like this. I've already signed it, but the leasing office told me it was okay if I wound up taking the place alone. I just thought I'd run it by you."
You had only blinked up at him through teary eyes, your lips pouty as you whined.
"Why are you always so nice to me, Xu Minghao? I would've never thought to do this."
"You're not me, pretty. And you're my friend, I'd go as far as even saying you're one of my best friends. I love you and I care about what stresses you out, and I'd give my left arm to make life easier for you."
Anyone else would've seen this as an admittance of romantic feelings.
Anyone else.
"Minghao, I can't accept this."
"Yes, you can. You don't have to be strong all the time. I'm here. I care. Just let me help you, okay?"
You don't know how, but just the soft lilt of his voice made you fold. You signed your name in blue ink that very same night and rode with him back to your apartment. You invited him in, the two of you tired from forced socialization and flopping on your couch. Neither of you said much as you scrolled through Hulu, your television lighting up your living room along with the few candles on your coffee table.
"You never tried your earrings on." He muttered next to you, his eyes closed as you settled on Coyote Ugly. Your lips formed an O-shape, and you nodded as you dug them out of your purse. You popped the velvety box open, the diamond studs twinkling back at you.
"Allow me." He leaned forward, plucking the box from your fingers and gingerly removing them from the backing. He watched silently as you took your signature gold hoops out, turning to face him with a tired smile on your lips. "Ready?"
"Be gentle, I'm sensitive."
He scooted slightly closer, nimble fingers softly tilting your jaw toward him. You ignored the way the hair on the back of your neck stood on end as he tucked a stray curl behind your ear, thumbing at your earlobe gently before slipping the earring through.
You heard him mumble to himself but didn't get a chance to ask questions as he carefully slid the backing on and quickly put on the other one for you. He nodded in approval, both hands brushing your face as he pushed your hair back.
"You look pretty in diamonds."
You scoffed, rolling your eyes as his hands left your face. You dug a compact mirror out of your purse, using the low light of the room to see. Long lashes fluttered in the reflection as you shifted the mirror around, your manicured fingers lightly tracing the shell of your ear as you took in the subtle sparkle of the gemstones.
"You didn't have to, you know. I didn't get you anything."
You slumped on the couch, resting the side of your head on one of the thick cushions while looking up at him. He propped his arm up on the back of the couch, shrugging his shoulders as he leaned his head on the palm of his hand.
"Having you is enough. Did I tell you that I like your dress? I don't think I told you."
Your eyes only widened before you felt your cheeks heat and cleared your throat. You glanced down at your dress, the scattered sequins across the white dress glinting in the low light. An odd feeling settled in your stomach as you ran your hands down the fabric before looking back up at him to see his eyes boring into you.
Like he could see what you were thinking.
"You're beautiful, but I don't have to tell you that. You already know." He said pointedly, and you scoffed. You look away, turning your head to face the ceiling. You follow the slow spin of the fan, before you glance back at him through the corner of your eye. He's still looking at you, but with a soft smile and a raise of his brows as if he's waiting for you to tell him what's on your mind.
"You don't, you're right. Sorry." You muttered, crossing your legs at the knee. You could feel the soreness in your calves from being on your feet all day, the straps from your shoes so tight that they'd imprinted on your skin. Minghao shifted next to you, and you could feel the heat of his gaze raking across your face.
"Y/N?"
You turned to face him, "Hm?"
He smiled, shaking his head. "Nothing."
You scowled, sitting up quickly and tucking your legs under you. "I hate when people do that, Hao. Tell me what you were going to say."
He only chuckled, shrugging his shoulders as he leaned back on your couch, tucking his hands under his head. "I wasn't going to say anything, sweetheart. Just…yeah."
"Xu Minghao."
"Ooh, full name. Don't hurt me, I might like it."
You gaped, smacking his arm lightly. He grabbed your wrist loosely, making you fail at biting back your laughter when his other hand tickled your ribs. "M-Minghao! I don't need to know that!"
"Don't you, though? I know that you like your hair pulled, you told me like three days ago when we were tipsy during movie night. Call it an even exchange of information." He nodded, and you only attempted to swat his hands away from digging into your ribcage as a scream of laughter escaped your throat. He grinned, pinning you against the cushion as you squirmed under him.
"N-Not fair! You're s-stronger than m–AH!" You choked on your own laughter, thrashing as he stopped, squeezing your sides gently with a mischievous smile painted on his face. The glint in his eyes made your stomach swirl slightly as he looked down at you, and it took a few moments for you to realize just how close his face was to yours. You didn't dare look at his lips, forcing your eyes to be glued to his as you swallowed quietly. He shifted back to sit down, allowing you to sit up slightly and clear your throat – when your eyes flickered to his lips.
Soft and slightly glossy from his strawberry lip balm. Lush. So pink and pretty and perfect.
"Y/N?"
"Uh huh?"
Your eyes darted back up to his, noting the soft blush on his cheeks in the low light of the television. He looked away, squeezing his eyes shut – when your body took over your mind, your hand softly tilting his jaw back to look at you. Your thumb ran across his lower lip, pulling it down slightly to watch it spring back, your eyes meeting his once more as you pressed the pad of your thumb onto his lips.
Something about his gaze made you feel insane.
And feeling him kiss your thumb while looking into your eyes made you break.
You leaned forward, holding his jaw gently as you pressed your lips against his chastely. He melted in slightly, his hand ghosting over your hip for balance when realization sank into your skin and you pulled away.
"Shit. I'm…Minghao, I'm so–"
He didn't let you finish, rolling his eyes as he pulled you towards him by your wrist, kissing you with purpose. You only let out a noise of surprise as he practically manhandled you onto his lap, his hands moving to cradle your cheeks. Your eyes fluttered shut as he kissed you, his lips soft against yours and making you feel like your very being was about to combust into flames. You couldn't help but tighten your legs around his, feeling him smile against your lips with a soft laugh.
Your hands fisted his shirt as he pulled away from your lips, his hand moving to the nape of your neck and tilting your head back while the other splayed across your thigh. His lips trailed down your jaw, a soft mewl escaping your throat as he nipped at your earlobe.
"Sound so pretty for me, sweetheart."
The light scrape of his teeth against your neck doesn't allow for many words to slip from your lips, only a choked whimper as you carded your fingers through his hair, pulling slightly as he littered gentle nips across the expanse of your neck and chest. His hand in your hand moved to your back, resting just above the zipper of your dress when he looked up at you through his lashes.
"Can I–"
"Yes."
His fingers carefully pulled the zipper down, the tight flutter sleeves of your dress loosening around your shoulders and falling slightly. Your hand tugged at the knot of his tie as he reconnected your lips, his hands sliding around your waist as you pulled it off and tossed it to the side. Your fingers fumble with the buttons of his shirt as his tongue slips into your mouth, his hands moving down slightly and palming your thighs before moving back from your face.
“We should stop, shouldn’t we?” He mumbled against your lips, making you shake your head as your hands fisted his shirt, your thumbs tracing the pearly buttons. Your fingers pulled at the rest of the buttons, tugging the hem of the shirt out from under his slacks as he grabbed your wrists gently.
“Want you to touch me, Hao. Please?” Your voice had a hint of something a little desperate, that same hint shown as a glint in Minghao's eyes as he breathed heavily against your lips. You kissed him chastely, feeling him groan beneath you and let go of your wrists to run his hands up your thighs, his fingertips barely breaching the hem of your dress.
“Wanna feel you. Wanna taste you…fill you up…can I, pretty girl? Will you let me?”
You weren’t sure how you found your voice, but you squeaked out an excited yes anyway. The rest is a blur – him pulling your dress over your head and tossing it to the side, running his hands up and down your body as he meshed your lips with his with a hunger that you couldn't describe. His fingers were cool against your back as he undid the clasp of your bra, his teeth nipping at your lower lip as you whined against him.
"Are you sure you want to do this? We can stop right now." He mumbled, holding your bra together as he looked up at you. Uncertainty flashed in your eyes, and he gave you a soft smile. "Y/N, it's okay. Are you okay?"
He clasps your bra back, his hands moving to tug his shirt off his shoulders and drape it over you. You're silent as you shove your arms through it, and Minghao quietly buttons it for you, before tucking your hair behind your ear gently.
"Hey. Talk to me, I'm here." He murmured, and you just tongued your cheek, running a hand through your hair.
"I'm sorry. I thought I'd be ready–"
"Don't. Do not apologize for not being ready, or changing your mind, or anything like that. Not now, not ever, and especially not to me. Okay?"
Your face burned in embarrassment, but it quickly slipped away as Minghao enveloped you in a warm embrace, your own arms wrapping around his neck as he held you close.
"You deserve to be more than some rebound, Hao. I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry when there is nothing to be sorry for. We can forget all about this, you know? Just a little kiss. I'm sure lots of friends have kissed and moved on."
You weren’t sure you could move on, not when Minghao held you until early morning, his breathing soft against your neck. Not when the two of you inevitably moved into your bedroom and slid under your bed sheets together, Minghao's arms wrapped around your shoulders and suffocating you with his soft cologne that you can't get enough of.
You spent hours awake while he ran his fingers through your hair, just thinking about the way his lips felt against yours. You found yourself glancing up at him often, his face illuminated by the soft moonlight peeking through your blinds – only to see him staring at the ceiling, his thumb rubbing soothing circles into your shoulder and you can feel the way his mind just empties as he glances down at you with the softest smile known to man.
"Sleepy?"
Your nod was false, but you didn't care – not when he sighed softly and pulled you into his chest with a mumbled good night.
"Goodnight, Hao."
As for moving on, Minghao wasn't sure he could, either. Not when he woke up in your bed the next morning, surrounded by your scent and your limbs and your skin stuck to his in a way that made him ache confusedly. Not when he was wearing a pair of flannel pajamas he never got back after that first time you stayed over at his apartment. Not when you were already awake, your eyes glued to the soft scar on his eyebrow before you noticed he was awake.
"Hey."
"Hey, sweetheart."
Not when he watched you cook something light for lunch for the both of you, in his shirt that you have not returned since that night at his place. Not when you smiled at him with a glint of embarrassment in your eyes, but just barely hidden by comfort, trust, love.
Not when he felt his heart start racing in his chest as he said he'd see you later before he left, swinging his keys in his hand as you leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.
"See you, Hao."
Yeah. Minghao doesn't think he can move on.
FOUR MONTHS AGO…
You and Minghao moved in as the summer grew hotter, the July air sticky as you bickered over whose couch was going to be shoved into the living room. Minghao lost the game of rock-paper-scissors, and his lip curled into a frown as Mingyu came with Tzuyu to haul his couch back to their apartment.
"And you haven't fucked on this, right?" Mingyu asked as he and Minghao took the cushions and tied them together, you and Tzuyu snorting over the jar of lemonade you were preparing.
You and Tzuyu had become quick friends after you graduated. She helped Mingyu and Wonwoo plan the grand idea of throwing both you and Minghao a small celebration at Seungcheol and Jeonghan's house, inviting the entire staff and other straggling friends. The couple hadn't been too happy about how trashed everyone got and how you accidentally broke one of their lamps, but they congratulated you and Minghao on your graduations and gifted you both an expensive bottle of wine.
Wine that you both shared when you got the keys to your shared apartment, tucked away in a cooler full of ice while you both tackled the deep cleaning of the new space. He took the front, and you took the bedrooms and bathrooms. You both emerged sweaty and sticky, grimacing at each other as you settled into Minghao's car on the way to buy paint for the bedrooms and wallpaper.
Neither of you have spoken about that night on your couch.
Not that you had to – nothing more came of it. The two of you continued to work together in harmony, you hung out regularly, you flirted with customers – and you ignored the churn of subtle jealousy in your stomach when a customer got any sort of extra attention from him.
You ignored the skip in your heartbeat when his fingers grazed yours in handing you a drink, you ignored the way your stomach flipped during the many times he offered to tie your hair up when it got in the way. You especially ignored the whispers of your coworkers, ones that had only heightened since the party at your Seungcheol and Jeonghan's house – where Minghao was constantly checking in on you, bringing you drinks and adjusting your dress or hair.
So much so that when the party was over and it was just Seungcheol, Jeonghan, you and Minghao – Jeonghan asked. He asked if the two of you were a thing, and Minghao promptly peered over his highball at you. You just shrugged, the words stuck in your throat as Seungcheol shared a glance with Jeonghan.
They then did the diabolical, classic meddling-manager thing: they scheduled ALL of your shifts together.
It then seemed like the entire universe was forcing the proximity – because your car finally kicked the bucket. It would not turn on, not even after you begged Chan at the mechanic shop to give it a good knock on the hood. Because of this, you were now rendered carless – not that it mattered, because your new roommate had a car. Your new roommate, that was also your friend, coworker, and suspected partner by the married couple that owned the restaurant the two of you worked at.
Minghao drove the two of you to work every day, his car once parked in front of your old apartment now sitting pretty in front of your shared one. It was domestic, how he slid in front of your apartment and still got out and knocked on your door to let you know he'd arrived – instead of just the regular I'm here text or, your least favorite, the honk. He opened your door, he let you choose the music, he rolled the windows down because you loved the free feeling of the breeze in your hair before you were ultimately forced to go into work-mode in order to withstand the berating of customers and the soreness in your feet.
Upon moving into the apartment, the two of you furnished it by splitting your belongings. Your walnut bookcases, his mahogany dining table. His Persian rugs, his television, his plants, his plates and cups. Your wall decorations, your handmade vases, your choice of wallpaper in the bathroom, your silverware.
His pots. Your pans. His blankets on the couch. Your couch.
"No, Mingyu. I have not had sex on this couch." Minghao scoffed, before peering over his shoulder at you and Tzuyu with a look on his face that reads: Can you believe this guy?
You only shrug, biting back a smile as you slip ice cubes into the pitcher, facing Tzuyu. She's already looking at you, and she waits until you tilt your head in curiosity before she whispers.
"How long have you two been a thing?"
You almost choked on your spit. Her eyes were wide as she patted your back, giving a thumbs up to the worried men looking over their shoulders, pausing their unscrewing of the legs off the couch.
"What? Minghao and I are not a thing, Tzu."
"Could've fooled me. I've known Minghao for years, and he's never even introduced us to a girlfriend of his. He's so private that way." She murmured, adding a few sprigs of mint into the glass pitcher.
You glanced over at Minghao, who was listening to Mingyu talk about how Wonwoo got into a scuffle with Seungcheol over the missed truck order at work – when he shivered, his gaze flicking up to you. He gave you a quizzical look, before turning back to Mingyu and acting as if he was paying attention.
"I don't think Hao and I will ever be anything more than good friends. And, well, roommates now. This is genuinely one of the more refreshing friendships I've ever been in. There's zero expectations to be perfect or act like I care about the smalltalk that usually precedes friendships." You shrugged, taking a wooden spoon and stirring the lemonade.
You weren't lying, per say. You definitely did not think things would advance between you and Minghao – he was far too…well he was…you know. Ugh!
Minghao was literally fucking perfect. That was the issue. He was perfect, from the careful styling of his hair to the way you'd walk into his bedroom to see him slathering lotion on his arms after a warm shower. And he wasn't just perfect physically, he would not have that mercy upon you – he was perfect on the INSIDE, too.
You'd only been living together for a few weeks at this point – but he'd kept the space clean, far cleaner than you had gotten yourself used to. Your bedroom was already a mess, clothes strewn everywhere, and you'd tripped over an unpacked box several times before kicking it to the side.
But Minghao's? Pristine. Everything in its designated spot, his vanity clear of debris and a special spot for his skincare items. He kept a pitcher of water on his nightstand at most, the cup always half filled. His bed was always made neatly, his clothes tucked into his dresser and closet with the utmost care. At most, he'd have his closet door open or have a random jacket thrown over his desk chair – but he was your stark opposite.
"I don't know about that one, Y/N. I think this could be something good, but what do I know?" Tzuyu shrugged, grabbing the tray of glasses and tilting her head for you to grab the pitcher. You wanted to ask her what she meant, what she knew, but you didn't get a chance as Mingyu and Minghao carried the corpse of his stripped couch outside. You held the doorway open more, giving Minghao a quick nod as he wormed past you.
You tried not to look at the flexing of his shoulders beneath the black tank top he donned, squeezing your eyes shut and looking away when you heard Tzuyu snort. You peeled an eye open to see her smirking at you, shaking her head as she set the glasses down on your coffee table. You scowled, setting the pitcher down on the doily and laying on the floor next to the table, grabbing the remote for the television.
The coffee table was the only thing you and Minghao couldn't agree on, and decided to buy it at a thrift store. The one hint of togetherness thus far – as if the mixed aesthetics and belongings weren't enough. It made you laugh a bit, because you knew if and when you moved out, what would be taken with you.
It's like the coffee table is the dog that a couple gets before they split up. Who gets it?
"Y/N, can I see you in the kitchen?"
Minghao's voice snapped you out of your thoughts, and you gave Tzuyu a pained look as you slipped the remote in her hand. Minghao had slipped into the kitchen already as you stood, quickly trekking the living room and sliding in on your socks. He grabbed his keys off the counter, having left them there earlier when he arrived with groceries, before Tzuyu and Mingyu came over for his couch.
"I'm going to help Mingyu get the couch set up at his place, we should be back before dinner. Do you want to order something in and we can pick it up on the way back? My treat." Minghao spoke with his back turned to you as he rummaged through the fruit bowl, before you heard the unmistakable crunch of an apple being bitten into. He looked over his shoulder, and you saw him holding said apple between his teeth, a jump of his brows prompting you to speak.
"You'll be a while though, won't you?"
"I'd never make you wait, Y/N. So? Think about what you want, and text me."
He shrugged, ruffling your hair as you swatted his hand away, grabbing his wrist.
"Aren't they staying for dinner? Shouldn't this be a group decision?"
He only used your leverage on his wrist to pull you closer, leaning against the counter and wrapping his arm around your waist. Your eyes widened at the sudden proximity, and you felt your cheeks heat as he peered down at you through his lashes. He smiled at you, eyes searching your face before he clicked his tongue.
"Just tell me what you want, honey. I'll get it done."
He pressed a kiss to your hairline, smoothing your hair down before slipping out of the kitchen. You heard his gentle goodbye to Tzuyu, who hummed in response before the click of the door made his departure evident. Peeking out of the kitchen, you saw Tzuyu smirking to herself, shaking her head as she took a sip of her lemonade.
"C'mon, Y/N. You know you wanna tell me."
Her voice was sing-song, and you groaned inwardly as you walked out of the kitchen and flopped over the back of the couch. You flipped onto the cushions, landing on your back with a grunt from your lips as you draped your arm over your eyes.
"Tzu, nothing is happening between him and I. He is genuinely just my friend. Roommate. Coworker."
She didn't buy it. You could tell by the quirk in her brows and the pointed look in her eyes. She tapped the coffee table with the edge of her glass, swirling the ice before speaking.
"And soon he'll be your boyfriend, fiancé, husband. I have a hunch about these things, Y/N. I know love when I see it."
You only rolled your eyes, snatching the remote back off the coffee table. "Yeah, sure. What do you want to watch? And what do you want for dinner? Hao said they'd bring something back."
Tzuyu didn’t push it as the two of you ended up settling on a random episode of Gilmore Girls. You mumbled at each other as you began to pass your phone between the two of you, looking at local restaurants when you heard a ding – a ding specifically applied to Minghao's contact.
"Nothing happening, huh?" Tzuyu wiggled your phone between her fingers, a notification from Minghao up top.
Msg From: Xu Minghao
[5:43PM] sweetheart, did you figure out what you want for dinner?
[5:43PM] we're almost done over here
You scowled, snatching your phone back as she giggled.
"Sweetheart? I don't call my friends that." She teased, and you sighed.
"Tzu, can we please drop it?" Your voice is unrecognizable to yourself, ridden with an oddly placed insecurity and Tzuyu's eyes widen slightly before she clears her throat. She nods, tapping the edge of her glass against the table again and looking down at your phone.
Msg From: Xu Minghao
[5:45PM] quickly, please.
[5:45PM] y/n i can see you reading these!
"I'll drop it for now, but please think about my words. I know it may be hard to believe, but I do think there is more to this than meets the eye. And…I support you, on whatever route you end up taking, in whatever way you end or begin this relationship."
You couldn't lie to yourself, her words stuck with you for the rest of the evening. They rang in your head when the pair of men arrived with stacked plates of takeout, and they rang in your head as Minghao served your plate and forbade you from getting up for anything. They rang in your head as you and Mingyu washed the dishes, noting how Mingyu only referred to you by your name in your hushed conversation about you inviting them to stay for a movie.
Not like Minghao, who had even greeted you with a pet name.
They rang in your head as Tzuyu and Mingyu cuddled in the corner seat of your couch during the movie, your chest slightly pained as you noticed the cushion-sized distance between your thigh and Minghao's. They rang in your head every time you noticed Mingyu's lips on his girlfriend's hairline, on her cheek, on her lips…
They rang in your head as you thought back to the night of your graduation, how Minghao's lips kissed you just as gently, but in a way that made you think about it every waking moment of every day. In a way that made you glance at him from across the restaurant when Jeonghan was trying to get your attention to finish your tip-out; in a way that made you remain silent during the rides to and from work by his side.
In a way that made you touch yourself at night, thinking about him, about his hands on your body. So warm, so confident, so caring.
So loving.
"Good night, you two. Drive safe." You stood with your hands in your pockets, your shorts allowing the cool evening breeze to graze your legs. Tzuyu gave you a warm hug as Mingyu opened the door of his old pickup, her lips barely touching the shell of your ear as she whispered.
"Think about it."
They drove off within the next five minutes, with you and Minghao standing next to each other in front of your apartment door, waving them off. You glanced up at him, a faint heat coating your cheeks as his hand ghosted over the small of your back, hearing the jingle of his keys being hooked onto your belt loop. You jolted at the weight, swatting him away as he snickered.
"Want to take a walk? The weather feels great."
You hated the way you agreed so quickly, tugging slightly at the neck of your t-shirt, too tight around your throat as your arms brushed. He stood on the side closest to the street, his hands tucked into the pockets of his sweatpants as he hummed.
"I got a letter back from the graduate program I applied to. I was waitlisted, so I think I'm going to withdraw and reapply next year. Gives me a chance to save some money, take out less loans." He grimaced, looking up at the darkened sky. You frowned, crossing your arms across your chest.
"I didn't get into mine, if it makes you feel better. I think I'm going to be taking a gap year, so much for being a therapist and letting my parents down yet again. Did I tell you that they told me I wouldn't even be a real doctor? Unbelievable." You sneered, and he shook his head.
"No, that doesn't make me feel better. You deserved to get in. I read your application essay, remember? You're brilliant. I could never imagine being on a board of admissions and not allowing someone with such a passion into my program." He scoffed, and you only snorted.
"Passion, huh? Shit load of good it does me." You shook your head, kicking a bit of gravel as you made it to the corner of your block. You sucked your teeth as Minghao's arm wrapped around your shoulders, pulling you into his side slightly.
"You'll have to admit that you're a good person with goals and dreams like everyone else at some point, you know? You've got a big heart, and you want to help the world. It takes a passionate person, a dedicated person, to work in therapy. Do you know how hard it is to sit and listen to people's problems all day and not bring them home with you?"
"Bartenders are the therapists of the food and beverage industry, aren't they?" You teased, snickering as he lightly smacked his fingers against your shoulder. "Sorry, sorry."
"But you're right, in a way. I do commend you, though, an incredible amount. And your parents…they don't realize what kind of person their daughter is. You're bright. You're kind. You're beautiful in ways I can't even begin to describe, and that doesn't even begin to cover your looks. So let's just…not think about their opinions. You're independent and strong, and I'm always rooting for you."
His voice was soothing as he traced circles into your skin, the moonlight illuminating your path as you walked in lockstep with him. You sighed, "So what happens now? We just work our butts off at the restaurant and save our pennies?"
"What better to do? We can even set up a little fund to take the odd weekend trip, if you'd like. Roommates do that, right?" He sounded quizzical, and you glanced up to see him already looking at you. Those eyes…
"Well, friends do that, don't they? We're friends before we're roommates." You tried, and he let out a scuff of a laugh, nodding.
"Yeah, sweetheart. Friends."
You didn't understand why it pained you to hear him confirm what you already knew, but the stupid pet name sprinkled in definitely made the pang in your chest deeper than you'd expected. His hand was on your shoulder, ringed fingers now dangling over the edge and your eyes glued to the ground. You kicked gravel and dirt as the two of you walked, your tennis shoes scuffed from weeks of moving and roughhousing with furniture.
You were almost in front of your apartment when Minghao made a noise of eureka, his fingers squeezing your shoulder lightly as he spoke.
"Oh, I forgot to mention this earlier, but Jeonghan is asking me to take a few doubles these coming weeks because Seungkwan is going on vacation. They know that we carpool, so I should be able to swing by and bring you to work anyway, but I figured I'd let you know I'll be out of the house for most of the morning."
You groaned, running your hand through your hair as you nodded.
"Yeah, Cheol talked to me about taking a bunch of morning shifts because Hansol is also going on vacation. I'm not bothered but…" You gave Minghao a wiggle of your brows, making him snort.
"You think they're going together? Romantic getaway…" He swayed you gently, and you snickered to yourself.
"Kiss, kiss, fall in love…sharing appetizers…" You chided as the two of you reached your door. Minghao unhooked his keys from your belt loop, unlocking the door as he shook his head.
"They do that eye-flirting thing, you know? Lots of shared looks, soft whispers and stuff. It's cute, they're a cute pair." He nodded, pushing the door open and allowing you in before he stepped in behind you. You hummed in response, beelining for the empty bags of movie snacks on the coffee table, crumpling them in your hands as you moved around. Minghao joined you, folding the blankets that had been thrown over Mingyu and Tzuyu's laps as well as your shoulders.
Neither of you spoke as you cleaned up the living room, the ending credits of the movie still playing as you stretched your arms over your head, holding the trash in your fists as you walked to the kitchen. You could hear Minghao continue to rustle around, the television turning off and the soft creak of the floorboards grabbing your attention as he skirted into the kitchen.
"I'm going to be up early tomorrow, so I'm going to shower first. Is that okay with you?" He moved you away from the trash can, letting you lean on the counter as he took the lid off and grabbed the drawstrings of the bag. You nodded before realizing he couldn't see you and cleared your throat.
"Yeah, sure. That's fine; I have to fix up my bed and stuff in my bedroom. Take your time." You shrugged, watching the muscles in his arms flex as he pulled the trash bag out, tying the plastic drawstrings into a knot before fishing another one out of the box on top of the fridge.
"Are you settling in well? I haven't checked in about it. I know it's quite the drastic change to go from living alone to someone in your space all the time." He sounded sympathetic, but you only shrugged again.
"It's like freshman year of college again. Except this time, I actually like my roommate because you're not kicking me out at odd hours of the night to bang your boyfriend." You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms. He nodded, biting back a smile when you elbowed him lightly, making him snort.
"I'd never do that. No need to worry about it, pretty." He placed the lid back on the trash can, lifting up the bag and skirting around you. "I'll be back in a second."
Said second turned into ten minutes. Ten full minutes where you rubbed your face in an attempt to bring back a touch of reality, something that would take the attention your mind loved to devote to pet names and affections from your roommate, your friend, your coworker, away.
They say your living space is a reflection of your state of mind. As you wormed your way through stacks of unpacked boxes, clothes strewn on the floor, old textbooks gathering dust in the corners of your room – you kind of agreed.. You grimaced, opting to kick everything out of the way and grabbing a box cutter off your desk and slicing through one of the boxes stacked by your closet. You reached to your desk, flicking the lamp on to see the contents of the heavily packed box.
It opened to photo albums and framed pictures, and you closed your eyes as your hands touched the familiar red leather of your family album. Photos gathered in the tens of you and your parents – at your favorite park in your hometown, at dozens of restaurants where you celebrated birthdays, your parents' anniversary…
A celebration of a perfect report card, time and time again before the 180 spin came, and your parents realized you were leaving your hometown for something bigger. A huge, fancy school in the middle of a metropolitan city, studying Psychology when your mother had pushed for Law or Accounting. Acting like you'd betrayed her trust – and as Mother says, Father does. He too, pushed you aside and acted like you'd scorned him.
Neither of your parents were lawyers or accountants. They were both high school mathematics teachers, your father in statistics and your mother in economics. Neither of them had a passion for law or accounting – and they both knew of your interest in the medical field, in psychology and the brain.
You found it odd that the success that follows the title of 'Doctor' was not enough for them. That, paired with the rejection letter from your Masters' program, you felt like there wasn't any lower you could get.
"Penny for your thoughts?"
Minghao's voice was soft, but it still made you jolt and drop the album. You held a hand to your chest, before shaking your head.
"Nah. I'm good. Sorry, uh, about the mess." You gestured to the room, and he only shook his head, his fingers brushing his hair out of his eyes as he looked around a bit. He leaned on your doorway, the hallway light only making your eyes trial his gentle frame.
"Your space, sweetheart. You do what you want with it. I'm going to shower now. Anything you need before I start turning in?"
You shook your head, tapping the leatherbound photo album before smiling pitifully.
"I'm good. Good night, Hao."
You expected him to slink away, focusing your thoughts back on the album. You flipped through it, thumbing at photos of you in frilly dresses and Halloween costumes your mother would stitch by hand.
"You can talk to me. You know that, right?"
Minghao's voice was right next to your ear, his breath tickling the back of your neck. His hand was wrapped around the edge of your desk to keep himself steady, and your face was a bit too close to his as you turned to face him. He was illuminated slightly by the yellow light of your desk lamp, his eyes scanning your features.
"I know. I just…I know." You pursed your lips, casting your eyes back to the album in your hands. "I'll let you know if I ever need to…I don't know. Let off steam, I guess."
Your laugh was soft and pathetic, and he hummed, before you felt his hand tuck a stray curl behind your ear. You glanced up at him, only to see him looking at you fondly.
"Let off steam, huh?"
"Shut up."
"As you wish. Good night." He grinned, pushing off your desk and making his way out of your bedroom.
You spent the next few hours listening to Minghao tinker around in the bathroom before the sounds move to his bedroom, your focus on unpacking the albums onto the bookcase tucked into the corner of your room. You picked clothing up off the floor, tossing the articles into the hamper and you forced yourself to organize your every thought when you heard it. You heard the soft sigh through the wall, and the groan from his throat as his back hit the mattress.
You screwed your eyes shut and grabbed your headphones from the nightstand, plugging them into your phone as quickly as you could before you could hear anything else. You took a deep breath, out through your mouth as the beginning notes of Runnin' by The Pharcyde filled your ears.
So much for good night.
TWO MONTHS AGO…
"I'm so fucking tired, I could keel over right now."
Your forehead rested on the back of your hand, which held the ratty broom you used to beat Seungcheol out of a chair only moments earlier. Said man was now sulking behind the bar with Minghao, being comforted by the bartender with a fruity cocktail.
"Don't sulk, she's just doing her job." Minghao patted him on the back as the older man frowned, wrapping his pouty lips around the swirly straw stuck in the mango daiquiri. You glanced over your shoulder at Jeonghan, who was only shaking his head as he clicked away on the calculator with your tips surrounding him in neat piles.
"Honey, unless you want to sweep for Y/N–" Jeonghan started, flipping a pen through his fingers as Seungcheol shook his head, taking his drink off the bar and making his way across the restaurant.
"Nope! I'll be in the office."
You snickered to yourself as you saw Jeonghan watch him walk away, eyes low and full of nothing but love. He rolled his eyes, drawing his attention back to the money on the table as Tzuyu slid into a barstool with her cheek in her hand. Minghao leaned over, waving his fingers in her face.
"Why so glum, Tzu?"
He stopped wiping the counter down to listen to her as you skirted your way over to Jeonghan, pulling the chair beside him out and slumping down into it. Jeonghan doesn't look up from the calculator, his fingers gingerly thumbing through the dollar bills when you make a noise of curiosity.
"Yes, Y/N? How can I help you?"
"How long have you and Mr. Choi been together?" You asked gently, watching Jeonghan bite back a smirk. He shakes his head, tilting it to the side before meeting your eyes.
"You don't have to call him Mr. Choi, Y/N. You can just call him Cheol."
"Fine. How long have you been with Cheol, Mr. Yoon?" You smiled cheekily, earning a scoff as Jeonghan flicked your forehead softly. "Jeonghan, answer the question!"
"We dated for three years before we got engaged. Then we were engaged for two years before we got married, and we got married two years ago. Seven years together and counting, unless you also involve how long he made me court him." Jeonghan's blush doesn't go unnoticed as he runs a hand through his hair, and you cooed.
"How did you guys meet?"
Jeonghan snorts, tonguing his cheek before sighing and thumbing through another stack of bills.
"Any particular reason as to why you've got so many queries tonight, Y/N? You've been working here for almost a year and you've never cared before." His brow is quirked as you hear the heavy office door open across the restaurant, a flushed Seungcheol ducking into the kitchen with his empty cup. Jeonghan sends him a wink, making the older man shake his head in disbelief.
"I just think you guys are cute. You don't see many couples around here, the dating pool has gotten so icky." You scoffed, twirling the broom handle in your hand as Jeonghan hums in agreement.
"I've known Seungcheol since we were kids. We drifted after middle school because I wound up moving across the city, and we lost contact. We met up again here, in this restaurant, right before we were set to graduate college. Funny, really." Jeonghan smiled inwardly, watching as you leaned in slightly.
"You guys worked here together?"
"Yup. He was a bartender, I was a waiter." Jeonghan gave you a pointed look, before his eyes flickered to Minghao. The man was talking to frowning Tzuyu, his brows furrowed as he whispered what you assume to be his opinion on her dilemmas. "Cheol was actually really shy, believe it or not. He's not the big Rottweiler type, despite his physique. More like…a feisty barn cat."
"So…you chased him? For how long?" You watched as Mingyu and Seungcheol walked out of the kitchen with their arms crossed, seemingly discussing something serious. Seungcheol's jaw was tight, and Mingyu's shoulders were full of stress as he draped his apron over one of them. Seungcheol glanced over at Jeonghan, a sympathetic look in his eye as he tilted his head in the direction of the office.
"For all three years that we worked here. And I continue to do it, he likes it." Jeonghan nodded, gathering your tips for you and snapping them together in a blue rubber band. He held them out to you, gathering his belongings in his other hand as you took it. "Of course, not every couple that gets together here, stays together. These walls have seen many of my fights with Cheol, and vice versa. There's no limit. Exhibit A."
Jeonghan gestured to Tzuyu, who was angrily typing on her phone while Mingyu held back tears as he muttered back and forth with Seungcheol. Sighing, Jeonghan ruffled your hair before skirting away and meeting Seungcheol and Mingyu in the office. You stood, leaning your weight on the broom before feeling eyes on you.
Minghao was staring right at you, before his eyes flickered to Tzuyu. You grimaced, stuffing your tips in your back pocket before sliding up to the bar.
"So…what's got you so upset?"
"Mingyu."
As it turns out, maybe the restaurant owner knew far more than he let on.
Mingyu and Tzuyu had gotten into an argument while she helped him with dishes – about work. The two of them were stressed, knowing that they usually made rent with their hefty amount of hours at the restaurant – however, it left little time in the week for each other. Mingyu being the best cook of the three that worked at the restaurant made things even harder, seeing as he was constantly being called in if Seungcheol or Jeonghan weren't able to fill in.
It left Tzuyu feeling pushed aside, but Mingyu could argue the same. The last three hostesses that had been hired had to be let go due to their attendance inconsistencies, leaving Tzuyu to rush to work at the last minute. It created a small rift in their relationship, and Tzuyu finally gave the ultimatum: work or her. Mingyu hadn't replied.
No choice is a choice, a silent one.
And usually, the wrong one.
"I'm sorry." You murmured, smoothing her long hair with your hand as she slumped against the bar.
"Why? If anything, I feel like we should be able to work through this. We should be able to find time for each other even with our busy schedules. You and Minghao can do it, why can't we?" She groaned, resting her forehead against the cold bar. You sighed, running your fingers through her hair when the office door opened again – Mingyu was sitting at the desk and frustratedly wiping his face as Jeonghan called for Tzuyu softly.
"Go. We'll wait here." Minghao assured her, crossing his arms on the bar as you nodded in agreement. She took a deep breath, trekking the restaurant quickly and ducking into the office as Jeonghan shut the door.
"What does she mean, you and I can do it?" You questioned, reaching into your back pocket and separating the bundle of bills that would go into Minghao's wallet. He shrugged and smiled softly, wiggling his fingers as you held the wad of cash out to him.
"It means we work well together. Don't you think we make a good pair?" Minghao raised his eyebrows at you, making you roll your eyes as you continued to sweep aimlessly around the bar.
"I guess so. Hey, your birthday is coming up soon, right?" You crouched to get the swept trash onto the handheld dustpan, watching as Minghao shrugged again and turned to the cooler. He opened it, taking out your can of orange juice before speaking again.
"Hardly. It's barely September, my birthday isn't for another two months." He shook his head, and you scoffed as you made your way to the trash can. You dump the contents of the dustpan before glancing up at him with a suspicious look in your eye.
"Don't tell me you're one of those people that works on their birthdays, are you?"
The way he tongues his cheek is enough of an answer for you, making you shake your head as you replace the broom and dustpan behind the bar. You skirt around him to the sink, washing your hands as you click your tongue. "That's not happening this year. We have to celebrate."
"Like hell it's not. I make the most tips on my birthday, Y/N." He grabbed his jacket from the hook behind him, shrugging it over his shoulders as you dried your hands. "Plus, Jeonghan knows I won't take no for an answer when it comes to working on my birthday. I'll be here from five to closing."
You rolled your eyes again, before feeling his arm snake around your waist. It'd been almost a year of this – soft, casual touching, hushed praises, kisses to the forehead…
It was all so intimate. Nothing he did felt like friendship anymore, but you weren't complaining.
"Why do you care so much, anyway? You want to celebrate with me?"
"Obviously, jackass. You're my best friend." You swatted him away, only to be pulled closer into his chest. You groaned, your hands splayed across his chest as he smiled down at you.
"What an upgrade, should I be honored?"
You scoffed, pushing him a bit but he didn't budge.
For a second, you think he glances at your lips.
"Tell you what, pretty. I'll work my shift, and we can celebrate after. Just you and me." His hand squeezed your side gently, his eyes expectant of something – but you know you could say nothing and he'd still understand. He once told you that he thinks humans misunderstand almost everything…
And sometimes it is better to observe, and listen – than speak.
"Get away from me before I twist your nipple off." You spoke through gritted teeth, only making him get slightly closer to your face. His lips nearly brushed your nose, and you narrowed your eyes as you pushed his jacket out of the way. He jerked away, crossing his arms over his chest and feigning a shocked look as you grinned.
"I cannot believe you'd hurt me! Wow, some best friend you are!"
"Are you always this dramatic?" You teased, sticking your tongue out at him as you skirted back out from behind the bar. He turned his nose up at you, waving you off with his hand. Your eyes darted to the maroon gel manicure you'd given him earlier that day, and you bite back your grin before taking your can of orange juice off the bar.
"Let's go, yeah? I'm tired." You pouted, shaking the can gently before tilting your head towards the front door. He huffed, tightening his jacket around his body as he sauntered out from behind the bar – nearly tripping when the sound of the office door being slammed against the brick of the walls startled you.
Tzuyu stormed out, her red coat held in her hand as she ducked her head down. Presumably to hide a face full of tears, covered by the swing of her caramel hair.
You looked back at Minghao, his eyes worried as he watched her slip out the front door. Mingyu appeared as the door nearly shut, with Jeonghan and Seungcheol holding guilt in their eyes.
"I'm sorry, Mingyu. If we had known–"
"You couldn't have. It's fine. I'll figure it out."
Mingyu looked defeated, and you elbowed Minghao lightly as he sidled up next to you.
"Drive Tzuyu home." You muttered, tucking your orange juice in your shirt pocket as Minghao swung his keys.
"Divide and conquer, huh? I'll see you at home, pretty." Minghao ruffled your hair, before quickly pressing a light kiss to your hairline. "Be safe, okay?"
He was gone before you could say anything.
You sighed to yourself, seeing the three men in the office watching Minghao slink out without you. Jeonghan looked around Mingyu's frame, his brow raised as you winked, cracking open your orange juice and walking towards them.
"Gentlemen. It appears my chauffeur has taken his leave without letting me know." You shrugged, and Mingyu sighed as you held your hand out. The friendship between the two of you had grown exponentially during the last few months, and you found yourself gossiping with him in the kitchen if Minghao was busy or Tzuyu wasn't at her podium.
He handed his keys over without a word, Seungcheol's eyes full of guilt as he patted the younger man's shoulder. "We'll see you next week, Gyu."
You didn't bother with goodbyes, the married couple giving you curt nods as they followed behind you. Minghao's car was no longer in the parking lot, and you beelined for Mingyu's without a second thought. Seungcheol locked the front door of the restaurant, and you felt Jeonghan's eyes on your back as you climbed into the lifted pickup truck.
Mingyu was silent as you fiddled with his radio, cranking the ignition before sucking in a breath.
"You wanna–"
"How do you and Minghao do it?"
You blinked, absently turning out of the parking lot and pulling off into the main road.
"How do we…do what?"
Mingyu was frustrated, tossing his baseball cap onto the dash with a huff. He slumped in the passenger seat, crossing his arms over his chest before peering up at you through teary eyes.
"Work together and go home together without bringing any of the work problems with you. It's like we're constantly being pushed and pulled. If I'm not being called in, she is. I'm not saying it's a bad business decision by Jeonghan or Seungcheol, but she gets tired, too. I know she's great at her job, but she won't be here forever. Her potential is far greater than just greeting people who don't even deserve to be graced with her presence."
You hummed, fiddling with the turn signal.
"I wish I could help, Mingyu! However, Minghao and I–"
"Oh, come on. You're going to tell me you're just friends? That you haven't, even for a moment in time, though what it would be like to be together? You're saying that neither of you have ever gotten just entirely too close and almost kissed?"
You felt your face grow hot as Mingyu sat up in his seat, leaning slightly over the center console as you slowed to a halt at a red light. You made the mistake of glancing over, seeing an expectant gaze on your friend's face. He watched intently as you rubbed your face in frustration, running your hands through your hair as you scoffed.
"Okay, fine. Minghao and I…there is truly nothing there, I can promise you that." You began, clearing your throat as you stared out the windshield to the fiery red light. Mingyu tilted his head, sort of like a puppy, as you squeezed your eyes shut momentarily. "Sometimes, I think we could be more. I don't like him, and he doesn't like me…but he certainly goes above and beyond for our friendship. I can say that for all of his friendships, though, because Minghao is just that kind of guy, you know? Kind, observant, sweet."
"It confuses you."
"This is supposed to be a therapy session for you, not me."
Mingyu snorted, shaking his head. "Okay, fine. How do you and Minghao not fight?"
"Because we're not together. We're friends, and we're roommates. We don't have that expectation of having to spend time together, because sometimes just brushing past one another when we're at work is enough. Sometimes waking up in the middle of the night to pee but having to wait because he's in the restroom is enough. Sometimes walking to the laundromat together is enough." You shrugged, before sighing.
"When Hansol and Seungkwan were on vacation and we were pulling all those double shifts, he showed me that I could depend on him. He'd make breakfast before he left for work, and then come to pick me up for my shift. We did that for two weeks, and by the end of it, we were both exhausted. He never made me feel like I owed him anything, much less my time."
You turned to face him, "You and Tzuyu have been together for three years. If you keep having the same fight, over the same thing. If the issue is that you don't spend enough time together, I think you should tackle that. Take a vacation, the restaurant won't burn down without you. Save your relationship."
Mingyu sighed, running a hand through his hair before slumping once more. "I miss spending time with her. You know the last time we actually spent time together as a couple was when we went to pick up Minghao's couch? I don't think we've been able to even have a date night since."
You gaped, reaching over to smack his arm lightly. "Mingyu!"
"I know, I know. God, and we were supposed to have a date night tomorrow, too, but Wonwoo is sick and Jihoon already asked for the night off." He rubbed his face in frustration, and the words slipped from your lips as you pulled into your apartment complex.
"Call out. Minghao and I have the day off tomorrow, we can fill in." You blurted, and Mingyu scoffed.
"Y/N, I couldn't ask you to do that."
"You're not, I'm offering."
You didn't let him continue to speak, instead turning his engine off and sliding out of his truck. Minghao and Tzuyu were sitting on your front steps, his jacket draped over her shoulders as she wiped her eyes. You felt the heat of Mingyu's body behind you, and Tzuyu didn't look up as you cleared your throat. Minghao glanced at you, his eyes heavy with expectation as you twitched your head in the direction of the apartment.
"I lost my key."
You snorted, digging yours out of your pocket and shoving them into his hand. "Come in, we'll have a nightcap. Then you guys can go home and have a good night together, yeah?"
Minghao seemed to understand as he opened the door and let the couple in. Tzuyu sat on the far end of your couch, and Mingyu didn't even bother sitting down – he beelined straight for your kitchen. You grabbed Minghao's arm lightly, pulling at his sleeve carefully and tilting your head towards his room. He nods, following behind you as you skirt into the pristine bedroom.
"I may have…fucked up." You start, making Minghao shake his head with a gentle smile.
"Nah. I'm sure you said the same things I did. Spend time together, stop working so much, you and I are not together." He rolled his eyes as he tugged his jacket off, draping it over the back of his desk chair. His eyes scan your face, before his smile drops and his brows furrowed in concern. "What's wrong, honey?"
"I did…say all of that…" You grimaced, rubbing your neck sheepishly. "But I also…may have volunteered you and I to take their shifts tomorrow."
"Y/N." He groaned, and you winced slightly, your hands coming to hold his. He allowed it, his eyes boring into yours as you tried to apologize.
"I know it was our only day off this week, Hao. I'm sorry, but I–"
"You could've asked me first."
He didn't sound mad, but disappointed. You felt like you were going to get scolded by your father. You shrank back a bit, and you could feel guilt spreading in your body as he sighed. You grimaced at the sting of tears filling your eyes, but bit them back.
"Are we doing rock-paper-scissors to see who takes what? Did you even call Jeonghan?" He moved his hands from yours, running one through his hair before crossing his arms. You shook your head in silence, and he squeezed his eyes shut for a brief moment before nodding. He held his hand out, yet another despondent sigh slipping from his lips. "Loser takes Mingyu's shift. Best out of three."
"Minghao, I can just find someone else to do it. I'm sorry."
"Best. Out. Of. Three."
You tongued your cheek, losing quickly to the tall man in front of you. Scissors, scissors, paper to his rock, rock, scissors.
"You're driving tomorrow." He muttered, rubbing his face with his hands before you nodded, looking anywhere but him and moving to slip out of his bedroom. He shook his head, standing in front of the door. "I'm not upset."
"Okay."
"Y/N."
"What?"
His hands reach for your shoulders, and you kept your eyes casted elsewhere. His fingers are warm as they tilt your chin to look up at him, forcing you to try and blink back the tears when he rubs the pad of his thumb on your cheek.
"I'm sorry for snapping. It wasn't my intention but I can tell I've hurt your feelings, and I never want to hurt your feelings." His voice was soft, and you felt your throat tighten slightly. You weren't too sure why you were even crying, maybe it was reminiscent of being scolded for trying to do the right thing.
"I'm sorry, honey." He murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead before pulling you into his chest. He smells like pink pepper and the essence of pomegranates, mixed with a hint of the maple butter rum one of the regulars likes to knock back. It's oddly comforting. "Forgive me."
"It's fine. I should've asked."
"Yes, you should have. However, that's not the point here."
Minghao pulled back slightly, pointing his finger in your face. You huffed, but he raised his brows at you – as if to say, listen. Be quiet.
"You need to call Jeonghan and let him know. If we're going to work tomorrow, I need to spend time with you tonight."
You must've looked taken aback, because he only smiled. He pinched your cheek lightly, before humming and opening his door. "Go on, call him. We'll be in the living room."
Either you'd been too out of it to fully process, or Jeonghan had truly had you on the phone explaining all your qualifications to run a kitchen as a head chef. You didn't have many, just the few nights you flipped burgers at a diner back in high school – but it seemed enough to settle Jeonghan. He let you know there was going to be a trainee chef with you named Joshua, as well as the kitchen manager named Seokmin.
Jeonghan also let you know that Tzuyu's shift started earlier than Mingyu's, so someone would have to go get you. He volunteered Seungcheol, and you could hear the man begin to protest in the background but he hung up before anything could be truly said.
You ducked out of Minghao's room to see him folding blankets in the living room, soft music playing on the television as he glanced up. He smiled, and you noticed the two cups on the coffee table. One tainted with lipstick from Tzuyu, and what seemed to be one filled with water? Soju? Rum? Something.
"Tzuyu is driving. She had some of your juice, I hope that's alright." He nodded, and you waved it off. You turned to the television, No One Noticed by The Marías playing softly as he hummed along. "Did Jeonghan say it was okay? I was trained to be a host and a waiter before I was a bartender, but you just jumped into waitressing, right?"
"I had a part-time gig in high school at a diner. I have some, but not a lot." You shrugged, and he made an o-shape with his lips as he smoothed the folded blanket over the back of the couch. You nodded, before checking your watch. "It's only fifteen to eleven, do you wanna sit with me? Decompress a bit before we go to bed?"
"Your version of decompressing is watching Bob's Burgers and sipping a beer."
"We can sip something else, if that's the case."
He rolled his eyes, biting back a smile as he nodded. "I have to change."
You both ended up returning to your respective rooms, and you hastily wiped your makeup off. Pajama shorts, your favorite baggy t-shirt that boasted of Bigfoot's existence…not the first thing you would wear to hang out but it's Minghao. You stared at yourself in the vanity mirror on your dresser, but heard your roommate knock on your door before your mind could wander too far about where all he could kiss you, in said stupid Bigfoot shirt.
"Are you taking a shower first tonight? Or are we going to fight for it again?" Minghao asked gently, and you shrugged.
"Go for it. I go in later than you do tomorrow, Tzuyu's shift starts at four." You wiggled your brows, and he scoffed, turning on his heel and beelining for the living room. You snickered to yourself, scampering after him as he flopped onto the couch. He draped an arm over his eyes, letting out a groan as you leaned over the back of it. "Want a beer, Mr. I don't drink?"
He lifted his arm slightly, his eyes peering out at you from beneath it. "You drink like a fish, you know that?"
"Is that a no?"
"...Fine, I'll have a beer. Just one!"
You cheered sarcastically, scurrying into the kitchen and grabbing two from the fridge. You peered at the bottle of Soju, mocking you from the shelf.
"Did you get lost in the fridge?" You heard Minghao call from the living room, making you scoff as you grabbed the bottle of Soju and tucked it under your arm. The piercing cold of the glass bottle made you shiver as you walked back into the living room. He was now skipping through movie recommendations on Netflix, his eyes darting back and forth across the screen.
"I said we could sip something else, I never said we'd be changing our entertainment of the night." You scoffed, sliding the drinks onto the coffee table as he smirked lazily.
"You're right, honey." He flipped the remote in his hand, holding it out to you as you shook your head. You cracked open the beers, handing him one before perching on the edge of the couch in front of him. His stomach is warm against your lower back, and you try to ignore the way the blue light of the television makes his arms glow.
Your eyes trailed up to his face, watching the way his tongue darted out to wet his lips before bringing the beer bottle to them. He continued to flip through suggestions, before you snapped out of your daze to hear him reading the summary to Ali Wong's Always Be My Maybe.
"...Feel the old sparks of attraction but struggle to adapt to each other's worlds. Interesting." He set his beer back on the coffee table. You snorted, "This is two hours long, Hao."
"You have somewhere to be?" He scoffed, pressing Play. You shook your head, feeling his hand tug at the back of your shirt, signaling for you to lean back. You did, resting your elbow on the back of the couch before reaching for the bottle of soju. "Can I have a sip?"
You nodded silently, watching the two children on the television grow up to the sound of Young Americans by David Bowie. You held the uncapped bottle over to him, feeling his hand take it as Marcus' father let the now-teenagers know that tragedy had struck the Kim family.
You felt your heart sink as the scene changed to something more somber, hearing Minghao hum to himself and mumble slightly. "This is sad as hell, it just started."
You couldn't help but snort, taking the bottle back from him and taking a sip. You glanced over to see his ears slightly perked at the sound of D'Angelo's How Does It Feel, before his eyes met yours. "I'll bet you ten bucks they're going to kiss."
"It's not a bet when you already know what the outcome is going to be." You scoffed, making him laugh softly. "See? They're already struggling to get in the backseat, I would've been out ten bucks if I took you up on that."
"Call it gas money." He lightly pinched your side, making you jerk away from him. You swatted his hand away, sliding the bottle onto the coffee table with a scowl.
"First of all, I tried to give you gas money a few weeks ago and you cussed me out."
"I did not cuss you out! I merely asked what in the most significant fuck you thought you were doing."
"Oh, what a colorful way–"
"Shut up before I tickle you."
You huffed, feeling his fingertips dig into your side. He smiled up at you, gently squeezing the softness of your skin before patting it. "The point is, I'd never ask you for gas money. Let's be realistic."
You nodded, struggling not to roll your eyes as he fully stopped paying attention to the movie, his head rested on his palm as Sasha cried in the walk-in fridge. "What happened with Mingyu? Tzuyu was a mess."
"It's just odd to me that everyone thinks we're a thing? Mingyu asked me how you and I didn't bring home our work problems–"
"And you told him that we don't have that expectation of having to spend time together because we're not together. We're just friends." Minghao interrupted, his eyes serious as he spoke. You cleared your throat, nodding. "I don't agree with that."
"Oh? You don't?" You felt your brows high on your forehead as you looked down at him, feeling his hand pat your back before he used it to run his fingers through his hair. "And why not?"
"Because I like spending time with you. Why do you think I was upset earlier when you told me you volunteered us for the shifts?"
"You said you weren't upset."
"Sometimes people lie."
"Oh, so you're a liar?" You leaned slightly closer, and he smirks.
"While normally I'd apologize, I think I was right to do that. I was upset because now I don't get to spend the day with you tomorrow, and I lied because I didn't want you to cry. I don't like seeing you sad, it makes me sad." He shrugged, and you tongued your cheek.
"Romantic, aren't you?" You rolled your eyes, "My feelings are your feelings and your feelings are mine. All that jazz."
"You don't have to brush off my affections as something romantic, you know. I can care about you openly and not have feelings for you in that way."
"So you're saying you don't have romantic feelings for me?"
"Never said that. I said I can." He lilted, reaching for his beer. You felt your cheeks grow hot as he sipped it, his eyes wide as he looked back over at you. "Woah, you would've thought I said I eat babies for a living. Are you okay?"
"W-What did you and Tzuyu talk about?" You stuttered, making his brow quirk in confusion as he set his beer back down.
"She asked me if you and I ever fight about work. I said no, because the beginning of our…friendship has always been this way. Too close for other people's comfort, very…advanced, in a way. We don't have spats over things that don't really matter, because work…it doesn't affect our dynamic."
"Why did you hesitate before 'friendship?'"
"What?"
"Before you said friendship. You paused. Why?"
Minghao's eyes narrowed slightly, before he shrugged. "I paused when I said it with Tzuyu, as well. I guess…I don't know. I think back to what happened in your apartment, I take into consideration the way we speak to each other and kind of dance around the flame that could be something. I'm not saying it ever has to become a fire, the flame. But, it's definitely there."
You felt your stomach flip slightly as you cleared your throat, reaching for your beer. You brought it to your lips, but didn't manage to take a sip before you sighed, putting it back down and tilting to face him. "We never talk about that night. Did you tell Tzuyu about it?"
"No. That's not her business." He answered quickly, his eyes glancing at the television. Sasha and Marcus were now laying in bed together, staring at the ceiling. "I didn't think you'd be very fond of me telling her, either. I figured that if you didn't mention it while I helped Mingyu take the couch, it wasn't something you'd want shared."
You shifted slightly, tucking your foot under your leg as you looked at him. “Do you think that is something we should share?”
“It’s not about my reputation though, is it? I don’t care what people think of me.” He shrugged, running his fingers through his hair once more. “But I care about what people say when it comes to you. I don’t like hearing others speak ill of you.”
“Would people knowing we almost slept together cause them to speak about me in a negative light?” You questioned, your hands fumbling for the bottle of soju. You offered it to him, and he took a small sip as he hummed.
“Maybe. Considering the fact that we are now roommates, and you constantly deny that there is anything between us.”
“As if you don't do the same.”
“I don’t.”
“What?” Your eyes went wide as he held the bottle back out to you. You took it, bringing it to your lips as he shrugged.
“The customers like you, they think you’re sweet. The customers like me, and a few of them have asked if we’re a thing. I usually deflect…but I don’t think it’d be the worst thing in the world.”
“What? Us?”
“Is there an us?”
You glanced at the television, the actors staring fondly at each other. They inch in for a kiss...two…
“Y/N.”
“Sorry.”
Minghao was looking at you intently, his eyes searching your face as he moved your hair off your shoulder. “We don’t have to keep talking about this. It’s getting late.”
“Did you like it? The…uh, in my apartment?” You blurted, but Minghao showed no sign of surprise. In fact, he seemed to welcome the question, his eyes soft as he nodded.
"The kiss? Of course I did. I'm just not…used to it, I guess. I'm not a casual kind of guy. I was nervous, actually." He nodded, his thumb toying with the ring on his forefinger. You nodded carefully, fiddling with the spout of the soju bottle as you cleared your throat.
"Nervous?"
"Obviously. At that point, we were just starting to solidify our friendship. You had just gotten done with Jaehyun only a few months prior, and you literally signed the lease for this place that day. I was scared if we kept going, things would change. I enjoy your company, I enjoy your friendship…" He trailed off, clearing his throat as he seemingly shook off a feeling of something. "I didn't want things to go further if nothing was going to come from it, but more importantly, if it made you uncomfortable."
"I wasn't uncomfortable. I just wasn't ready. I didn't want you to be a rebound. You deserved more."
"You don't think I know what I deserve?"
"I would hope that you do, and that you know it's not me. At least, not at that point in time." You muttered, hearing him scoff as he took the bottle of soju from your hand. "Hey!"
"Is for horses. Are you hearing yourself right now?" He straightened up, carefully sitting up and adjusting himself to sit next to you. He folded his legs, and you did the same to face him fully. Your knees brushed his sweatpants, and you leaned back on your hands, toying with the seam of your couch cushion. "Are you?"
"Minghao–"
"You're amazing, Y/N. Stop trying to put yourself down, or act like you're not someone who deserves everything. You're soft and sweet and one of the kindest people I've ever come across. You offered to work someone's shift on your day off, not because you want the money, no; because you want them to spend time together and help their relationship continue to flourish. You think anyone just does that?" He scoffed, and you cleared your throat, shrugging.
"It's not that serious."
"Stop that! It is that serious, Y/N! You're so gentle and loving, and you are such a warm person to have around. The room practically lights up when you walk in, haven't you seen how excited the regulars at work get when they find out you're serving them? Haven't you seen how easily you make Seungcheol and Jeonghan laugh? Don't you understand how appreciated you are, even just within our friends and our coworkers? Are you that blind?"
He leaned forward, his hands settled on either side of your thighs as he spoke. "You have got to start recognizing that you're more than what you see. Other people don't matter, for the love of God, I promise they don't. You are so, so beautiful. I don't know how else to make you understand that."
"You don't need to make me understand anything. You're my friend."
"What if I want more?" He murmured, and you felt your cheeks grow hot as you cleared your throat, your eyes darting around his face. His own were full of sincerity, dark with determination to understand you.
You couldn't help the way you leaned closer, your heart thundering in your ears as he tilted his head. "Do you?"
He inched closer, so close you could feel his breath on your lips. "Are you drunk?"
"No."
"Tipsy?"
"No."
He hummed, "We work tomorrow."
"Minghao."
"That's my name, pretty."
You scoffed, jutting your lip in a pout as he smiled. His hand was gentle as he brushed the hair away from your face, tucking a stray curl behind your ear. His thumb stopped at the lobe, tugging lightly at the diamond earrings he got you for graduation. "Nice earrings."
"You would know, you got them for me." You mumbled, making him stifle a laugh as he nodded.
"I know. You always look so pretty when you wear them." He murmured back, and you scrunched your nose. "So you don't think I look pretty all the time?"
He smiled, his thumb lightly stroking your jaw as he moved away from you. "You said you'd shower first, I'll clean up here."
For whatever reason, you listened. You nodded in silence, your hand fumbling for the remote and turning the television off as he slid off the couch. He took the half-empty beer cans in his hands, offering holding the now-empty bottle of soju under his arm.
"Goodnight, Y/N. Rest well."
PRESENT – 3:15AM…
Minghao can't sleep.
His room is a mess, the door locked behind him as he shuffles through the piles of clothes on the floor. They say your room is a reflection of your state of mind, and it's true – he can't think, he can't sleep, hell…
He can't breathe without thinking of you.
The two of you worked that shift for Mingyu and Tzuyu two months ago, and it was the worst shift of his life. He spent the entire time thinking about you, about the conversation you'd had the night before. Hoping you'd give him that longing glance you'd nailed perfectly in the time he'd known you, hoping he'd get to kiss you breathless and hoping you'd yearn for him the way he did you.
Instead, he shook it off. He stood at the host stand, greeting customers softly and seating them. He did his closing duties without even seeing a glimpse of you, until you walked out of the kitchen with a grin on your lips as you bid the trainee chef, Joshua, a goodnight.
He remembers the way your smile became something softer as he opened the passenger side door, how you let him buckle your seatbelt in for you and thanked him gently. He remembers how you offered to let him shower first as he peeled out of the parking lot, and how he scoffed and said you should go first.
He remembers how you asked, again, what you would do for his birthday. He replied the same thing he had before – just you, and him. After his shift.
A shift he did not end up working, because you put in for him to have the day off and argued with Jeonghan until you were blue in the face. Minghao didn't know until the schedule was stapled onto the bulletin board the following week, his eyes almost instantly finding you across the kitchen. You had been eagerly talking to Seungcheol, making him laugh as you overanimated whatever story you'd told him.
He didn't say anything as the days went on, only quietly waited in his bedroom until you came in the morning of his birthday with breakfast on a TV tray. The two of you spent the entire day together and you initiated all contact – your arms wrapped around his waist from behind as he made lunch, resting your cheek on his bare back. You squeezed his sides, you cuddled him into the couch cushions as you watched Josee, the Tiger and the Fish. You made him dinner, you presented him with a few gifts and a new tea set he'd been eyeing for ages.
You kissed his hairline, wishing him a happy birthday over a bottle of soju that he took two sips of. Two sips too much, as his lips ghosted over yours as you spoke to each other about nothing – too close, but he saw the way you held yourself back. He saw the way you wanted to kiss him, the way your hands clenched at your sides as you forced yourself to move away.
He wishes you would've kissed him.
His birthday had passed, you were nearing the end of November. This time last year, you'd asked him for a Guinness, with the most solemn look on your face.
This time last year, he drove you home for the first time and understood you'd be in his life, hopefully forever.
He hadn't worked today, but dropped you off and picked you up – and you had a rough day. You talked about it – one of your regulars had a bad day and took it out on you, sending her food back three times and your tips had been nothing like what you usually made. You'd been snippy, and he prepped your shower for you, tossing a lavender steamer into it. You thanked him, and holed yourself away in your bedroom ten minutes to midnight.
He laid awake, thinking about you.
You'd long gone to bed, your soft breathing the only sound when he slid past your slightly opened door. You looked serene – your cheek squished against your pillow, soft lips gently puckered as you snuggled deeper into your sage green blanket. Your hair splayed all around, the moonlight seeping in through the drawn blinds and casting lines across your face.
He misses you, and you're no more than a ten-foot walk away. He wants to talk about his feelings, he wants to hold you close and he wants to stop losing his mind over how badly he wants you.
How badly he needs you.
He sighed as he looked around his room, the mess only digging into his very bones. He should've just spoken to you about his feelings all those weeks ago. He should've said yes, he did want more. He thinks about you romantically. He thinks about that night on your couch more times than he could count, tugging at his hair in frustration as he tries to bury the memories deep in the past.
He can't. He can't think about anything but you in that pretty white dress at his graduation party, talking to his parents with such ease. The relaxed state of your shoulders as you spoke to everyone with a gentle smile on your lips, the warmth in your laughter never leaving as you danced with him and Junhui.
The way your eyes filled with something else as his parents asked you if there was something more between you and him, and his chest feeling tight when you insisted it wasn't the case. The way he could see the subtle disappointment in your face when he did the same…
He wants to understand you. He wants you to understand him, to observe him, to see him.
See him as more than just a friend, and he knows you do.
Whether it was a crush, or limerence…he doesn't care. He wants one chance at living life with you – coming home from work to sleep in the same bed and hold you close all night. To come home from a grueling shift and stand under the burning hot shower with you, feeling his muscles lose their tension with the heat and your gentle touch. To come home and make you a nice cocktail and a filling dinner. To come home and study with you, eventually. To come home and see you asleep on the couch, and getting to carry you to bed.
To come home, to you. Over and over again.
"Fuck." He groans, slumping against his headboard and jolting at the cold of the wood against his shoulders. A sigh left his lips as he slid down slightly, tugging the duvet higher over his hips as he reached for his phone. He unlocked it, opening his gallery with a pout on his lips.
You, in your white dress at his graduation party. His mother took this photo – your hand had been on his chest, his high on your waist as you both smiled into the camera. Your lips had been reglossed, so pretty and glittery…
And your smile had been so bright, like the events earlier that day hadn't transpired. Like you hadn't pursed your lips together when calling your parents and getting sent straight to voicemail. Like you hadn't blinked back tears three times during lunch with him and Junhui, like he hadn't seen Junhui angrily calling your parents while you ducked into the ladies room after Minghao offered to foot the bill.
You had been truly at ease during that photo, much different than you had felt that entire day.
And he wants every single day to be like that for you – easy. Easy, with your independence but still letting him gently aid when he could see you needed it. Needed him. He wants to take you home and introduce you as his life partner, he wants to see you succeed in your dreams and have you by his side as he did the same.
He wants you to be happy.
"Minghao? Are you awake?"
Your voice was heard before the soft raps of your fist against the door. He jumped, knocking his head on the wooden bedframe. His hand covers his mouth as he rubs the crown of his head, a hiss falling from his lips as he hears you mumble from the other side of the door. He locks his phone, tossing it onto the dresser as he slid out from under his duvet. He grabs a pair of sweatpants off the floor, grimacing to himself as he tugs them on before opening his door.
You look half awake, your hands clutching at the hem of your shirt. Your face is imprinted with the wrinkles from your pillowcase, often the way it looked when he would wake you up before work. The drawstring of your shorts was undone, but it had been tied when you went to bed. Maybe it got uncomfortable.
"Sorry, did I wake you?" You asked softly, and he shook his head.
"Can't sleep. You okay? It's a mess in here, I'm sorry." He says sheepishly, rubbing his neck as you closed your eyes, shaking your head as you slipped past him. You settled on the edge of his bed, your eyelids heavy with sleep as you hummed.
"You didn't make me feel bad about my mess. Something about it being my space, I remember. You said something about that when I said mine was messy. Don't worry about it." You sigh, peeling your eyes open to peer up at him. "I can't sleep."
Minghao looked at the clock on his wall. 3:29AM.
"Would you like something warm? Or would you–"
"Can you hold me?"
You whispered it, almost too low for him to hear you.
Over the course of your friendship, skinskip had been nothing new to either of you. He often pressed chaste kisses to your hairline, his thumbs stroking your cheeks, his arms wrapped around your shoulders when you'd slump against him after the end of a shift in the parking lot.
You were looking at him patiently, and he cleared his throat, nodding as he motioned for you to move back. You did so, scooting under his duvet with a frown on your face. He closed his door, perching on the side of his bed as you rested your head on one of his pillows.
He glances over his shoulder, seeing you peering up at him quietly before you speak. "Hit your head when I knocked, didn't you? I heard the bump."
"Yeah. Your fault if I get amnesia, you know." He snorts, lying down next to you. His heart is racing a mile a minute as you held the duvet up for him to slide under, but he did so anyway. He turned on his side, propping himself up on his elbow as you turned to face him.
"Don't forget me." You murmur, your lip jutted out in a pout as he feels his cheeks grow warm. As if he could ever.
"Hold me, Hao. I'm cold."
"Should've worn pants, pretty." He teases, making you scoff. You are so close to him, he can feel your breath on his chest as he scoots slightly closer. His fingers rake through your hair, your cheek warm to the touch as he pinches it. You scowl, shooing his hand away as you press your face into his neck. Your lips are feathering over his skin, and he squeezes his eyes shut as he feels your arm settle around his waist.
You tilted your head back, his eyes peeling open to look down at you.
"Something wrong, honey?" He spoke under his breath, and you blink up at him. Your eyes flitted around his face, and he felt a bit of worry settle in his stomach. He cradles your jaw in his hand gently, "Talk to me."
"If I wanted there to be an 'us'...would you be okay with that?"
Minghao feels the world stop.
Your eyes are glued to his face with the softest glint of apprehension, your body still under the duvet as his thumb traced circles into your cheek.
"You're tired. We can talk in the morning." He assures you, for whatever reason hoping that you'd let it go. Hoping that you were just speaking through your teeth, not truly enticing him to a conversation about his feelings.
Feelings that could ruin everything, even when he's sure you feel the same.
You have to, right? Eyes don't lie.
Your eyes stayed on his face, unmoving as he peered down into them. Your lip is stuck in a pout, your own hand moving to push his hair out of his face. He fought the urge to sink into your touch, your voice giving him something to focus on.
"Not tired, Hao." You murmur, and he feels a bubble of laughter get caught in his throat as you hold back a yawn. He pressed his lips to your hairline, hearing you hum inwardly. Your brow furrows as you seemingly glare up at him, looking nothing short of an angry kitten.
"You confuse me, you know that?"
"Mmh, do I? I'm sorry, honey." He smiles, watching you tuck your arms into your chest and snuggling into his. He wraps his arm around your shoulders, letting your head rest on his bicep as you frown.
"You kiss me like it means nothing, and I want it to mean something." Your mumble was clear, and he glanced down at you to see you already staring up at him. "You call me pet names, and you get me earrings. You tell me I'm beautiful in ways you can't describe. You cared enough to find this place we call home. You say you want to make my life easier, you said you'd give your left arm for it."
Your fingers pat the arm under your head, and he felt his lip twitch as he bit back a nervous smile. "I did say that."
"So answer my question. Make things easier for me, Minghao."
He sighs, twirling a piece of your hair in his fingers. "Ask me again."
"If I wanted there to be an 'us'...would you be okay with that?" Your voice is far softer, and he breathes in steadily as he nods.
"I would be more than okay with that. I think you know that already, though, don't you?" He spoke gently, feeling you nod gently against his arm. "Everything I do for you means something to me. The earrings, the kisses, finding this place we call home. I appreciate that, the fact that it's we and not just me, not just you. When you think about it, there has always been an us."
"I want to stop lying in my bed and thinking about how empty it is. I haven't been able to sleep through the night since we shared mine the night of our graduations." You utter, your breathing shaky as you look up at him. Your eyes are glazed with unshed tears as he coos, thumbing at your cheek. "I think about you every single night, Minghao. I think about you when I think about my parents, and how they don't speak to me unless I reach out first. I think about you when I get ready for work, I think about you while I'm waiting for you to give me those god awful Budweiser Select 55s that Mrs. Choi loves."
He felt a tear slide onto his skin, hearing you sniffle slightly before you kept talking.
"I think about you when I have a bad day. I think about you when I'm off work and you're not, and how I wish you were with me. I think about you when I feel alone, because you're the only person aside from Junhui that has ever made me feel seen and understood. I think about you when the essence of Jaehyun crosses my mind, because I know that you'd never make me overthink my place in your life, but now you've got me wondering where we stand. I think about you, Minghao, every single second of my day. It's all so vague, in my mind. Knowing that you're only a few feet away, but you feel so far. Like someone I could never deserve, but I know that you are also just a man. There's no way I couldn't."
He hums, his thumb wiping softly under your eye as you let them flutter shut.
"I think you're magnificent." He breathes, closing his eyes as he presses his forehead to yours. "I think you are the most thought-provoking person I've ever met. I know that…I know that you've only slowly allowed me into your life, quietly revealing parts of yourself and showing me that you trust me. From allowing me to meet Junhui, to letting me give you rides home, to living with me. You let me take care of you even though you are more stubborn than any mule in the countryside."
He pulls back slightly, seeing your eyes closed and letting tears trickle out as you listen in silence. He feels his heart in his throat, "You've got the softest lips I've ever had the pleasure of kissing. You…the way you exist, knowing that there are certain odds against you and yet, you do it anyway. Your passion precedes any negativity anyone could ever cast upon you and I've never admired someone more to know that you are just a living, breathing, embodiment of passion and truth and hope."
Your eyes open slightly, bloodshot as his nose brushes yours lightly, his lips ghosting over yours as he speaks.
"You are a tumultuous flame and if I get burned, so be it. If I let the heat of your fire singe me to death, it wouldn't be a death in pain. I'd let it happen, over and over."
You nod, your sniffles are the only sound in the room for a moment.
"I will always be okay with there being an us. Even if you muddle my heart into the bottom of a glass and drink it."
You snort at this, an airy laugh escaping your lips as you reach to wipe your eyes. "Quite the image."
"Ah, nah. Just a fool, a court jester for the lady." He rolls his eyes, making you scoff as you brush your lips to his.
"I thought you were going to kiss me that night. When I told you I picked up Mingyu and Tzuyu's shifts." You whisper, and he hums in response, feeling his heart thundering in his ears as your lips touch his briefly. "Would you have? Kissed me, I mean?"
"If I had moved any closer to you, I probably would have. You have no idea how often I think about it." He confesses, before feeling you nod, your leg draping over his hip as you pull him closer. His hand instinctively finds home high on your thigh, before sliding up to rest on the small of your back. "Did you want to kiss me the night of my birthday?"
"God, so badly." You squeeze your eyes shut, pressing your forehead to his as you let out a sigh. "I felt like Mr. Darcy in Pride and Prejudice after he helped Elizabeth into that carriage."
"Quite the image." He mocks you, feeling his cheeks warm as your eyes meet his. "Would you let me kiss you now?"
You don't respond, opting to press your lips to his gently. Your fingers gingerly cradled his cheek as he kissed you back, his eyes fluttering shut. His hand on your back clutches the fabric of your shirt, his chest warm at the shyness of your lips moving against his. He pulls back slightly, his eyes trailing across your face. "Are you sure you want to do this?"
"More than I've ever been of anything in my entire life." You nodded against his arm, and he silently pushed you onto your back, his fingers barely breaching the hem of your shirt. Your skin is hot against his fingertips as he settles between your legs, his thumb rubbing circles into your hip as you blink up at him. "Are you?"
"I don't want this to be the first time I say it, so can we sidebar this? Off the record?" He murmurs, and you raise a brow as you open your mouth to speak but he interrupts you "I love you, Y/N."
Your lips twitch slightly, your hands floating to cover your cheeks. You separate your fingers slightly, peeking up at him with a mumbled whisper.
"You promise?"
"Oh, darling." He pulls your hands off your face, your eyes slightly glazed as he interlaces your fingers together and pins them to either side of your head. His lips pepper kisses across your face, paying special attention to the scrunch in your nose before he stops over your lips. Your eyes blink owlishly up at him as he speaks. "I promise."
Your smile spreads against his lips as he kisses you gently, before you kiss him back. You let him lead, one of his hands moving to hold your jaw as yours slides to his hip, squeezing gently.
"Sidebar?"
"Yes?"
"I love you, too."
TWO WEEKS LATER…
"Babe, I need a Guinness."
You slid around the bar with a grin on your face, Minghao's cheek ruddy as he tongued his cheek. Kwon Soonyoung – a regular, one that often downed six or seven whiskey sours before calling his situationship for a late night hookup – eyed you as you crouched to slip a wad of bills into your lockbox. He watched the way Minghao's hand instinctively covered the edge of the bar as he poured with one hand, the way your hand lingered on Minghao's hip as Jeonghan made his way over with his clipboard in his hand.
"Minghao."
"Mr. Yoon." You smirked, squeezing Minghao's hip gently before leaning over the bar as Jeonghan rolled his eyes. Minghao clicked his tongue, sliding the Guinness over to you before shooing you away. You stuck your tongue out at him, before zipping away.
"Do you think you could cover Seungkwan's prep shift tomorrow? I'll pay you for time and a half, and it's only three hours before closing." Jeonghan's eyes were pleading, and Minghao opened his mouth to speak before he caught you talking to a customer with a soft smile on your face.
He thinks about how you laid in his bedroom two weeks ago, snuggling with him and letting your lips take over your mind as you kissed him over and over. He thinks about how you admitted to reapplying to another graduate program across town, one that would severely impact your hours at work. He remembers saying he hopes you get in, to not worry about work. He remembers how he said he's got it, he can take care of everything, of you.
He remembers how you straddled him then, his hands sliding on your hips as you kissed him eagerly.
He remembers how you paced back and forth like a caged animal when you found out acceptance letters would be mailed soon. He remembers how you laid on the couch with your head hanging over the edge of the cushions, groaning in anticipation as he made lunch.
He remembers how you bolted for the mailbox after lunch, returning with a stack of mail but holding your letter between your teeth. He remembers how you anxiously ripped the envelope open, your hand fumbling for his when he pulled you into his chest and held the letter away. He remembers telling you to take a deep breath, kissing your forehead gently and sitting you down on the couch.
He remembers how you threw your arms around him as you read your acceptance out loud.
"Minghao. Are you listening?"
"Huh? Sorry." He winces, clearing his throat before shaking his head. "I can't, actually. I'm…"
He trails off as you tap the tip of your pen to your notepad, before he makes out your lips telling the customers you'd be back for their food orders. Your eyes met his as you scampered back over, your hip nudging Jeonghan's as you slid in next to him.
"Minghao, I need you to focus." Jeonghan waved his hand in Minghao's face, "Can you work it or not? It's fine if you can't."
"Work what?" You ask with a wiggle of your brows, reaching over the bar and stealing a maraschino cherry from the open jar. Minghao frowns, waving your hand away as you pull the fruit off the stem, winking his way.
"I'm asking him if he can work the prep shift tomorrow, but he's not answering." Jeonghan rolled his eyes, flipping the blue pen between his fingers as you hum, nodding your head.
"He can't." You shrug, and Minghao opens his mouth but you beat him to it. "We have a date tomorrow night. Good luck finding a cover, though."
You tilt your head as you shrug again, this time, unapologetically. Facing Minghao again, you smile softly. "I need a cosmopolitan. Susie is back and she's getting divorced!"
Minghao can't hear anything but you, and Jeonghan simply shakes his head and slips away. Soonyoung watches as you slide away again, hearing you tell Minghao you'll be back after getting the fountain drinks for Susie's table.
"I thought you didn't have a crush on the new girl, Xu." Soonyoung wiggles his brows, making Minghao scoff as he grabs a shaker off the drying rack. He flips it, scooping ice into it as he sighs.
"I don't have a crush on her. I'm in love with her."
He can't focus on anything but the way you zip around the restaurant, his eyes trained on the smiles you give out, the way you hand out crayons and kids menus. He watches the way you gleefully serve people, how you gladly grab phones and cameras for photos.
How you peer at him over your shoulder when you walk by.
How you smile shyly when his fingers brush yours when he hands you a drink.
How you sneakily kiss his shoulder when the restaurant is closed, your hands wrapped around his waist as he holds your can of orange juice in his hand. How you ignore Jeonghan's incessant teasing, how Tzuyu recites long-winded rants of how she told you so.
"Friend, roommate, coworker?" Minghao repeats as you tuck his portion of your tips into his back pocket, and Tzuyu grins as Minghao slides her to-go strawberry lemonade across the bar.
"Boyfriend, fiancé, husband." She says cheekily, and Minghao looks over his shoulder to see you biting back a smile as you brush trash onto the dustpan. "I told her so. I told her you guys would be something more."
"So did I." Jeonghan calls from across the restaurant, slotted behind the cashier's station as he thumbs through the register. Mingyu pokes his head out of the kitchen as he fumbles with the lights, a mumble of so did I from his lips as he finally turns them off.
"So much for muddling your heart at the bottom of a glass, huh?" You murmur, as the two of you leave the restaurant hand-in-hand. The two of you ignore the hooting and hollering of your coworkers as Minghao opens your door, leaning over your frame to buckle in your seatbelt. He glances at your lips, before pressing a chaste kiss to them with a smile.
"All I know is that if you're meant to break my heart – so be it."
"I love you."
"I love you, too."
The apartment was more quite than usual. The only sound could be heard was the faux waterfall in the corner of the living room. Minghao titled his head in confusion. Maybe you went out he thought, however your shoes were still on the rack.
"Baobei, I'm home" , he greeted. He dropped off his bag on the couch before walking into the bedroom. "y/n, are you asleep?", he questioned opening the door to your shared bedroom.
There you were fast asleep on the bed with your headphones still in. Your tablet was evidently beside you, which was showing the last thing you were working on. Minghao chuckled before approaching you.
Gently, he removed the headphones from your head, setting it aside. His hands gently rubbed your slightly reddened ears before combing through your hair. Your body automatically shifted closer to him, knowing his familiar scent. "Hao?...", you drowsily spoke. He grinned, restraining himself from giving you kisses all over your face. He instead settle for just a kiss on your forehead.
"You work too hard sometimes", he whispered. You grunt. "No I don't....", barely having the energy to fight back with him. He tucked a pillow under your head, making you more comfortable. "I'm going to...sleep", your words slurring as your eyelids grew heavier.
"Mmh alright baobao". The gentle rub against your back instantly lull you back to sleep.
_
≡;- ꒰ rei's note ꒱ : It's kinda sad that I don't post regularly anymore unlike 3 years ago. It's really hard with everything going on. I hope you'll get plenty of rest and eat well <3 from much love, rei. Till we meet again ^^
