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The air is a crispy chill, wind nipping at any exposed skin on Mingi’s face despite the glasses and the mask and the beanie pulled low over his head. The restaurant is only a minute away, he can already see the red lanterns hanging from the awning, glowing invitingly in the growing dusk. There is something about a warmly lit, wooden building shining in the cold and gloom, that always makes him feel a tug behind his navel. Like a nostalgic, melancholic yearning for something he doesn’t fully know. It must be all the Ghibli movies.
He wants to quicken his steps but Yeosang complained a few times that Mingi’s stupid long legs take steps that are too big for Yeosang to keep up with, so instead he makes sure that their paces match and pulls Yeosang closer to him by the elbow just because he can excuse it on trying to share body heat.
Next to him, Yeosang is absolutely bundled up. His scarf is wrapped all around his mouth and nose, his jacket extra fluffy, his soft hat extra furry. Mingi slips his hand into Yeosang’s pocket and smiles behind his mask when Yeosang’s warm fingers immediately intertwine with his cold ones.
“I told you to bring gloves.” Yeosang glances at him. “Your fingers are always freezing.”
“But then I wouldn’t have an excuse to do this.” Mingi squeezes Yeosang’s hand and laughs when Yeosang rolls his eyes and pretends to try and slip Mingi’s grip. He never does it seriously, though, so their hands remain clasped.
He has to pull his hand out of Yeosang’s pocket when they get to the restaurant. The immediate gust of warm air fogging up his glasses. Yeosang laughs at him as they make their way to a table at the back, and Mingi presses a finger into his rib as retaliation, accurately aiming for Yeosang’s most ticklish spot. It’s so easy being with Yeosang, always. He can be himself with all of the members, obviously, they have no expectations of him being anyone other than who he is. But there’s a quietness with Yeosang, a calmness. It helps that Mingi is a little in love with him, probably, but it’s been that way since the start, even before feelings got involved.
They shed their layers by the table. There’s a small coat hanger in the corner and Mingi reaches for Yeosang’s jacket so that he can go hang both of them up. When he’s back, Yeosang has made himself comfortable in his chair, and Mingi can fully take him in. He’s wearing a cream colored sweater that looks really soft and warm and his make up is light enough not to cover his birthmark. Mingi’s heart kicks in his chest. He’s just standing there, staring at Yeosang like an awkward fool as he’s absorbed in the menu on the little ipad screen attached to the table. Yeosang looks up at him, smiling quizzically, doing this little head tilt thing that makes Mingi want to scream.
“This sweater really suits you, Sangie.” Mingi finally sits down, delighting in the soft blush at the tips of Yeosang’s ears.
“Shut up,” Yeosang mumbles without any heat behind it, turning back to the menu. “Should we share some dishes? I really want jjajangmyeon.”
“Whatever you want,” Mingi says, and he swallows around his heart as it tries to spill out of his mouth.
—
Mingi comes back from the bathroom to find Yeosang on his phone. His expression is a little pinched, same when he’s concentrating on a new choreo or on his Japanese homework. His thinking face. His expression smoothes into something more neutral and controlled when he hears Mingi’s footsteps and he looks up from his phone to smile at him, like Mingi didn’t see the shift. He probably doesn’t know Mingi’s always looking at him anyway.
“What’s up?” Mingi prompts, gesturing at Yeosang’s phone where he places it face down on the table. He twists his chopsticks into the jjajangmyeon on his plate. It really is delicious here, savory with bouncy noodles and crispy, tangy onions.
“Wooyoung wants us to bring him back shrimp shumai.” Yeosang says, and Mingi rolls his eyes.
“Of course he does. I told him to just come with us.” Mingi watches as Yeosang delicately dishes out their shumai, picking them out of the steaming basket and placing one on Mingi’s plate.
“He couldn’t,” Yeosang says, and there’s a glint in his eyes. “I told him not to.”
“Oh?” Mingi leans back in his chair, trying to look nonchalant as he chews and not like his stomach is full of somersaulting butterflies. “Trying to get me alone?”
“Trying? Looks like I succeeded.” Yeosang grins at him, eyes crinkling as he immediately flushes and hides his pink face behind his cup of green tea.
Mingi lets out a bark of laughter. “That’s very forward of you, Mr. Kang. If you want to go on a date with me all you have to do is ask.”
Yeosang’s mouth is twitching in the way it does when he’s trying to control his smile. “Maybe I will, Mr. Song. Next time.”
—
They have a little squabble at the register, over who gets to pay. Yeosang tries to pull out his card but Mingi won’t have it, refuses to even split with him. It only ends when he pins Yeosang’s hand, still clutching his wallet, behind his back, and hands his card to the ahjumma at the counter over Yeosang’s head.
Yeosang is slack and pliant in his hold, even though he tries to poke Mingi’s stomach a few times. Mingi’s pulse quickens when he loops his fingers around Yeosang’s wrist, feeling the delicate bones there shift. Had he wanted to, Yeosang could have released himself in seconds and this knowledge settles warmly in Mingi’s stomach. The ahjumma smiles at them fondly, almost knowingly, as she hands Mingi his card and tells them to come again soon.
Outside, it’s colder now as night is settling in. They get two steps away from the well lit entrance of the restaurant, and Mingi reaches over, fixing Yeosang’s collar for him. He smooths his hands down Yeosang’s shoulders for no other reason than to touch him for a moment longer. Yeosang looks up at him, his eyes dancing around Mingi’s face. It’s moments like this when Mingi thinks, no, maybe foolishly hopes that there’s something deeper than camaraderie between them.
“I don’t want to call the manager yet,” Yeosang says, ducking his head a little bit. “Should we get a coffee?”
Mingi nods, a little wordless from their proximity and in this sentimental, intimate mood he falls into every time he spends an extended one on one time alone with Yeosang. Yeosang smiles at him, brightly. Mingi is helpless, he always smiles back.
They take off down the street, Mingi is absorbed in the map app on his phone, trying to find a cafe that opens late and looks nice and quiet in their area. It’s hard, with so many cafes not staying open after seven or eight, other than the big chain stores. Mingi doesn’t want to go to a Mega Coffee, with its bright yellow interiors and get recognized. He’d rather stay in the comforting gloom with Yeosang. When he looks up, Yeosang is staring at his phone, that same pinched expression on his face.
“Find anything nice?” Mingi asks, bumping his shoulder against Yeosang’s.
“What?” Yeosang startles. “Oh, umm… No, I wasn’t looking, actually. I was reading some messages. On Fromm.”
“Oh,” Mingi says. That doesn’t explain Yeosang’s expression, unless he saw something he doesn’t like, which kind of pisses Mingi off, honestly. Who pays money just to be mean, to Yeosang of all people. He doesn’t want to get into it, though. They had such a nice time so far, so he goes for a joke. “Thanks for the help, so much for trying to take me on a date.”
Yeosang laughs, so that’s a success.
—
They end up in a small cafe around the corner that’s completely empty aside from a bored looking barista performing closing tasks. He barely even looks at them as they peruse the menu, mostly looking bummed out that two more customers walked in before he closes for the night.
“Should we get our coffee to go?” Yeosang asks, glancing at the barista and back at Mingi, no doubtedly picking up on the same vibes. “We can take a walk in the park we saw on the way.”
“Are you sure?” Mingi asks, “It’s really cold.”
Yeosang just nods and orders their coffees without having to wait for Mingi to tell him what he wants. A hot caramel macchiato for him, an ice vanilla latte for Mingi. This time he pays so fast Mingi doesn’t even have the time to protest.
The barista’s mumbled goodbye is drowned by the ringing of the bell above the door, and Yeosang leans closer to Mingi as he holds the door open just to say “If your hand gets cold you can put it in my pocket again.”
—
Despite how close they were walking and standing all night, there’s a bit of a distance between them now that they’re alone in the dark, empty park. It’s moderately sized, with some exercise equipment towards the entrance, and a winding trail through some trees. It’s not big enough that you can’t see the warmly lit street on the other side, but it gives a private, secluded feeling nonetheless. Despite that, now that they’re alone, there’s this awkward feeling washing over them, or maybe it’s just Mingi. Yeosang seems pretty blissfully unbothered, holding his warm drink closer to his face with both hands, looking pretty in the dim light, like a love interest from the dramas Seonghwa and Wooyoung love watching.
Mingi’s feeling shy, suddenly. It happens sometimes, around Yeosang, ever since his affection bloomed into something bigger, warmer. Despite knowing Yeosang for years, working with him, living with him, sometimes Mingi feels like a teen with a crush for the first time. It’s not like Mingi has never liked anyone before, never been in a relationship. He’s had crushes and infatuations before, but it never felt like this, so delicate.
“I think the first snow will come soon.” Yeosang says, turning to catch Mingi’s gaze. There’s a small, shy smile blooming on his face, having caught Mingi staring again, and Mingi’s grateful for the darkness hiding his blush. “What?”
Mingi shakes his head, a little embarrassed, heart pounding. “No, nothing… Yes, it’ll probably snow.”
Yeosang laughs and shakes his head, like he finds Mingi endearing. He walks over to one of the benches lining the trail and sits down, patting the spot next to him. Mingi is helpless, pulled by an invisible thread to sit next to him. The wood is cold, Yeosang’s body is emitting heat next to him. Mingi’s coffee is mostly watered down milk at this point, he places it down on the ground. Next to him, Yeosang lets out a full body shiver.
“Are you cold? Should we go back?” Mingi asks, hoping Yeosang will say no.
“Just a little but,” Yeosang scoots closer, so they’re flush against each other, shoulder against shoulder and thigh against thigh. His coffee is forgotten on the bench next to him. He wiggles a little and Mingi gets the hint. He wraps his arm around Yeosang and pulls him against him, into him. Yeosang goes easily, folding himself to fit against Mingi, and Mingi’s worried he’ll hear the frantic hammering of his heart.
“Better?” He manages to croak out, and Yeosang nods, where his head is nestled between Mingi’s chin and chest. His hand is hanging awkwardly between them for a second, until Yeosang wraps it around Mingi’s stomach, comfortably snuggled.
They sit like this for a moment, and heat is flooding Mingi’s body. It’s moments like this where he thinks… He thinks. Yunho would call him an idiot, tell him it’s so obvious, he has in the past, when he first found out. But it’s not so simple. Despite how sure he sometimes feels, Mingi is still so scared of rejection. Scared of tipping the scales whichever way and sending their careful balance of coworkers-friends-maybe more crashing down. It’s not just about him, not just about him and Yeosang. But they’re all touchy with each other. They all hug, and snuggle, and hold each other when they’re hungry for human touch, and it is really cold.
“Do you…” Yeosang starts, voice low and quiet, pulling Mingi out of his thoughts, “do you believe in fortune tellers?”
“What, like the one we went to for the Chuseok video?” Mingi asks, a little confused. Yeosang hums.
Mingi takes a minute to think about it, and Yeosang waits patiently, letting him gather his thoughts. This is something Mingi really appreciates about him. How he’s giving Mingi time and space to just be. “I guess… Maybe? I don’t think these things are like… The be all, end all.”
Yeosang makes another noise of assent, but doesn’t elaborate. Mingi might not be the smartest person, but he can put two and two together easily. “Is this about those Fromm messages?”
Yeosang whines a little, like he’s embarrassed he’s been caught. Mingi looks down but he can’t see Yeosang’s face, only the top of his head. He kind of wishes he could see his expression, but he also doesn’t want to move from their hug. Yeosang also seems to prefer the comfort of darkness.
“Am I being stupid about it?” He asks quietly.
“About what?” Mingi asks, a little confused. “What are people saying?”
“It’s not… I mean…” Yeosang’s hand that’s resting across Mingi’s stomach starts absentmindedly fiddling with the hem of Mingi’s shirt, and he shivers when Yeosang’s cold fingers brush against his skin. Yeosang lets out a big sigh. “Nevermind, it’s so stupid.”
“Yeosang,” Mingi starts, and he begins to pull away a little so he can look at Yeosang’s face. Yeosang makes a small noise of protest and burrows deeper into the crook of Mingi’s neck, so Mingi relents. He moves his hand, resting on Yeosang’s shoulder, to tickle behind his ear, just to prompt him into talking.
“Fine, fine,” Yeosang laughs and takes a deep breath. “I was thinking about the fortune teller talking about our compatibility.”
“What, you disagree?” Mingi asks, hoping his tone is light enough, not giving anything away. Yeosang laughs again and slaps his stomach lightly. Mingi grabs his offending hand, and Yeosang doesn’t pull away from his hold.
“Of course not, don’t be stupid. Some fans have been commenting on it. They’re saying we appear closer lately, I guess it’s got me thinking.”
“Huh.” Mingi looks down, he can still only see Yeosang’s hat and below it, their joined hands. Yeosang’s hand isn’t that much smaller than his. His knuckles are wide and his hand is veiny, Mingi knows how strong Yeosang’s hands are. Still, it’s resting gently in Mingi’s, calloused fingers against the wide palm of Mingi’s hand. They fit perfectly. “I don’t know if I agree. We’ve always been close.”
“I thought so too,” Yeosang says, his fingers drawing vague shapes on Mingi’s palm and sending shivers up his spine. “But fans have been speculating we’re getting closer because a fortune teller told us we should.”
“That’s silly,” Mingi scoffs. He doesn’t say the words on the tip of his tongue. That he has been seeking Yeosang out more. Looking for excuses to be near him, touch him, make him laugh. It has nothing to do with that fortune teller. Started long before him, actually. “I think they’re just noticing it more, that’s all.”
Yeosang hums a little. His fingers pause against Mingi’s palm. “I think I’m probably noticing it more, too.”
Mingi feels his face flush so hot he’s getting a little lightheaded. He’s feeling caught out, irrationally convinced that Yeosang is about to call him out on his crush, accuse him of being too close, too clingy. “What, um,” he coughs, “what do you mean?”
Yeosang spreads his fingers out. Mingi realizes they’re both watching their hands as Yeosang lays his hand perfectly against Mingi’s, fingers against fingers, palm against palm. His hand is smaller, but not by much. Perfect fit.
“You know, lately, in every fansign or airport line, every time I look you’re right next to me.” Yeosang starts. He sounds cautious, but not put off. His voice is so low and quiet, timid. “And every time I look at you, you’re already looking at me.”
Mingi shivers again, reluctantly taking his hand back and moving away from Yeosang slightly. He feels caught out, fully transparent, and he'd rather see Yeosang’s face so he can get a read on his emotions. Yeosang pulls back as well, and it’s dark but his face… His face is determined, eyes wide, lips pursed. He looks so serious. He’s so lovely. Mingi doesn’t know what to say, and he’s suddenly too shy to match Yeosang’s gaze.
“I guess… I like being near you.” He mumbles lamely. He doesn’t know what Yeosang is thinking now that he’s not looking at his face anymore. He laughs, self-deprecatingly, “and I guess I like looking at you.”
“Mingi,” Yeosang says, and that invisible string pulls him again to look back at Yeosang. “Do you like me?”
“I just said,” Mingi mumbles, but Yeosang huffs. They’re still so close but Yeosang scoots even closer, putting his face closer to Mingi’s.
“You said you like being near me. I’m asking if you like me.” He says.
“Of course I do!” He balks, confused and still a little defensive. Yeosang reaches out and takes his hand again. Mingi notices his hand is shaking a little, suddenly noticing how nervous Yeosang looks, how determined.
“You know what I’m asking,” he says imploringly, and Mingi does. He knows. He nods his head, unable to take his hands away from how Yeosang intertwines their fingers. He gives Mingi’s hand a gentle squeeze, his voice no louder than a whisper. “Can you say it?”
Helpless. Mingi is so helpless. He will give Yeosang anything. “I like you.”
Yeosang squeezes his hand again, and Mingi meets his eyes. They’re crinkled at the corners, and his lips are upturned in a careful smile. “Do you like me?”
Mingi squeezes his hand back. “I like you.”
Yeosang lets out a huge sigh and sort of throws himself against Mingi again. He wraps his hands around Mingi, face in the crook of his neck again, lips against his throat. Mingi hugs him right back, buries one hand in Yeosang’s hair, upsetting his hat.
“I like you,” Yeosang murmurs against his neck. “I like you too. I’m always looking at you too.”
There are bubbles rising up from Mingi’s stomach, and they burst through his throat in a bark of relieved laughter. “Thank god, this could’ve been a very awkward hug.”
They stay like that for a moment more, until Yeosang’s phone starts buzzing and they detangle reluctantly. Yeosang answers, and after a short conversation of ‘Yes, hyung’ and ‘Sure, just a second, hyung,’ he hangs up and starts fiddling with his phone. “Hyung is coming to pick us up, he said he’ll be here in ten minutes.”
Mingi checks his phone and startles at the time. He didn’t notice how late it was. “We really pushed it far tonight, huh.”
Yeosang leans his head against Mingi’s shoulder. “Before hyung gets here, do you… Do you want…”
Mingi does. He wants. He wants so badly. He turns and Yeosang pulls back, and for a second they just look at each other. Mingi can’t help it. He cups Yeosang’s face in his palm and Yeosang closes his eyes, face turning towards Mingi like a sunflower. Mingi leans in and kisses his flushed cheek. His skin is cold. Yeosang giggles, eyes still closed. Mingi kisses his birthmark next, then the corner of his mouth, and then Yeosang makes a whiny noise of protest so Mingi relents, kissing his lips sweetly.
There are no fireworks, no trumpets and angels singing about love’s first kiss. It’s just Yeosang, just him and Yeosang. Yeosang smells like his perfume and a little like the chinese restaurant, he tastes like coffee, his nose is cold against Mingi’s. It’s familiar, like it’s their millionth kiss, not their first. Yeosang meets him for another kiss, and another. They’re soft and chaste, testing. Mingi starts giggling against Yeosang’s lips.
“What?” Yeosang asks, still just a breath away. He leans to kiss Mingi’s lower lip, his fingertips chilly against Mingi’s neck.
“We forgot Wooyoung’s shumai.” Mingi says, and he pulls back. He picks up his deserted coffee cup and reaches a hand back to Yeosang, who takes it and stands up as well, taking his own cup.
“Whatever, he’ll get over it,” Yeosang says. “We’ll get him some on our next date.”
“Oh, was this a date, then?” Mingi asks, nudging Yeosang’s shoulder with his. “That fortune teller was right, you like me so much.”
“Oh my god, shut up.” Yeosang laughs, but he pulls Mingi in by their clasped hands and shoves them together into his pocket as they walk out of the park.