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When Wonwoo wakes the next morning, Mingyu is already gone.
He lays there alone, in just his boxer briefs, his expensive suit lying in a careless heap somewhere on the floor of the room. He blinks against the soft glow of sunlight filtering in through the hotel curtains as he reaches for his glasses on the nightstand. His vision sharpens when he slips them on, as do the memories of the previous night—some sharp and electric, others remaining blurred at the edges.
A dull ache throbs in his muscles and in between his legs, but it’s the satisfying, lingering soreness of a body pushed to its limits in the pursuit of pleasure. It’s a reminder of how long it’s been since the last time he’s felt this way, how out of practice he is, how intense things had gotten between them. He revels in the feeling. It's one he never thought he’d get to experience again at the hands of Mingyu. A night he knows he’ll never forget.
With a low groan, he rolls over to the other side of the bed. The sheets are cool, but they still hold the scent of Mingyu—sweet but woodsy, that familiar hint of cologne he’s liked since they were in college. It floods Wonwoo's senses, and for a moment, he buries his face in the pillow, inhaling deeply, allowing himself to sink fully into the memory of last night.
But the high of it is fleeting, quickly replaced by something darker that twinges in his chest. His throat feels dry, his tongue pasty, as he recalls the amount of wine he had consumed before stumbling into this suite. It had loosened his inhibitions, pushed him toward a decision he hadn’t even ever allowed himself to privately entertain. Had it been a mistake?
Wonwoo glances at the clock. 9:42 AM. Mingyu is already in the sky, and the muted ache in his chest—the one that’s become a familiar companion over the past year—sharpens into something more acute. It’s impossible to forget the way Mingyu had looked at him last night, the way his voice had trembled, the way tears had clogged his throat and then spilled over his cheeks, but Wonwoo can’t help the fear that creeps in. The doubt.
Had it been a mistake?
He rolls onto his back and stares up at the ceiling as dread and uncertainty gnaw at him. If nothing else, he expects that now that the heat of the moment has passed, so will some of the urgency. The passion that had ignited between them might have been too much, too fast. Superficial. Misguided. And so he tries to prepare himself for the disappointment, the sting of Mingyu’s inevitable distance, if not outright rejection.
After all, he knows he deserves it. Tit for tat. Even though Mingyu has never been the vengeful type, it would only be fair. He had broken Mingyu’s heart, shattered years of trust they had painstakingly built together. Wonwoo knows that some wounds cut too deep to ever fully heal, and Mingyu has always felt things so intensely.
With a heavy sigh, he eventually drags himself out of bed and retrieves his wrinkled clothes. He fishes in the pocket of his blazer for his phone, warning himself not to expect anything—certainly not a message from Mingyu. But the possibility of one being there still makes his stomach flutter, hope sneaking in, impossible to suppress. It makes him feel foolish. Greedy.
But then he sees it.
hey, i was serious about picking you up from the airport if you’ll let me. text me your ETA when you get in the air. my card is still linked to the room until the 3pm check out time. get yourself some breakfast.
don’t just order coffee.
Wonwoo is hungover, both physically and emotionally, and maybe that’s why the screen becomes a watery blur as he scans the text. Mingyu, taking care of him, even when he’s miles away, just as he always did. A mix of longing and fondness slams into him as he sinks down on the edge of the bed, reading the message again, half-expecting it to vanish, to have been a figment of his imagination. But it doesn’t.
Admittedly, after basically skipping dinner last night, he’s now famished, and so he actually does as he's told, choosing something substantial to eat from the menu, along with his usual black coffee. As he scarfs down a decadent room service breakfast of eggs Benedict, fruit, and buttery croissants he starts to feel a lot better. The irony isn’t lost on him. Mingyu always knew exactly what he needed, even when Wonwoo didn’t know himself.
After finishing his meal, Wonwoo drags himself into the bathroom. It’s strange how after last night something as innocent and mundane as using the shower in Mingyu’s hotel room feels intimate. The steam rises around him as he steps under the hot water, letting it scald his pale skin pink. His hands linger over the places where Mingyu had gripped him so desperately, tracing the faint scarlet crescents on his hips left behind by Mingyu’s fingernails. Looking at them makes his stomach flutter. It feels like he’s been branded. Claimed.
Unfortunately, there’s still one more event he’s obligated to attend for the conference, so after his shower, he reluctantly dresses in his clothes from the night before just so he can get back to his own room and change into a fresh suit. But leaving Mingyu’s suite proves more difficult than he expected. Even though Mingyu is long gone, even though he should feel reassured by the text, Wonwoo can’t shake the feeling that once he steps outside, the fragile version of them that reunited here will be left behind, trapped within these four walls. Room 422 will be their only witness, and once they both leave, nothing will truly have changed.
He hesitates, standing at the door, his hand hovering over the handle as he considers his options. What if he just stays here? If he waits long enough, would Mingyu eventually come back to find him? It’s a silly, irrational thought. His salary is quite good, but not ‘live in an upscale Paris hotel indefinitely’ good.
Eventually, he forces himself to leave, knowing all too well that clinging to the past won’t stop life from moving on without him.
─── ✧˖*°࿐
In the conference hall, Joshua is waiting, his wide eyes immediately narrowing in suspicion as Wonwoo approaches.
“What happened to you last night?” Joshua’s tone is casual, but there’s a hint of curiosity, something bordering on concern, that Wonwoo immediately picks up on. His first instinct is to shut down, and the knee-jerk defensiveness must be obvious in his expression because Joshua’s eyebrow lifts in amusement.
“I just mean at the mixer,” Joshua continues, leaning in slightly as Wonwoo sinks down into the seat next to him. “One minute I was talking to you, and the next you were gone. You had a lot of wine. Don’t think I’ve ever seen you drink that much. I was just a little worried. But you seem… fine.” He finishes with a smirk that should irritate Wonwoo, but somehow, it doesn’t. Joshua had been the one to vouch for Mingyu, pulling strings to get him into the conference in the first place, and, for that alone, Wonwoo lets the scrutiny slide.
He forces a tight-lipped smile and mumbles something vague about getting a headache and going back to his room early, brushing off both the concern and the curiosity, hoping it’s a good enough answer. He can feel Joshua’s gaze lingering on him, but he turns away, his mind already drifting elsewhere.
As the presentation begins, Wonwoo doesn’t even try to pay attention. His thoughts are still too tangled up in Mingyu, in the fragments of last night that keep replaying in an endless loop, the slew of questions pinging around his skull about what happens next.
He’s terrified that it’s all too good to be true, haunted by the possibility that he’s somehow misread everything—that this delicate, hopeful thread binding them together again could snap at any moment. But beneath that fear is something else, something deeper, something painfully desperate.
He’s anxious to see Mingyu again. Not just because he’s missed him every single day for the past year, not just because he wants to know where they stand, but because that brief taste of what they once had wasn’t nearly enough. It only served to rekindle a need, a hunger, making it almost unbearable to be apart from him now. It feels just like it did in the very beginning, when they had first broken up, when the hours felt like days and Wonwoo wasn’t sure he’d be able to survive it.
This current intensity of Wonwoo’s feelings is precisely why he’d distanced himself so drastically in the first place, building walls to make himself unreachable. He’d known how easily he could be pulled back into Mingyu’s orbit, how dangerous it would be for his heart if he let himself feel the full weight of his regret and longing. But the floodgates are open now. There’s no going back, no matter what happens from here on out.
The day drags on. Eventually, the Fashion and Luxury Brand Financial Management Conference officially concludes. Wonwoo packs up his things and checks out of the hotel, but there are still a few hours left before his flight, so he decides to take Jihoon’s advice and explore a bit of Paris.
He wanders aimlessly through the winding streets, trying to absorb the sights and sounds of the iconic city. He snaps a few photos, savors a coffee at a quaint café overlooking the Tuileries Garden. Yet, no matter how beautiful his surroundings, they fail to fully hold his attention.
After a while, he finds himself by the Seine, watching the river flow steadily beneath a moody, gray sky as the sun begins to dip toward the horizon. He practices what he might say when he sees Mingyu again, rehearsing how he’ll apologize, how he’ll explain the choices he made. He goes over his words again and again, hoping to find the perfect way to convey his regret and his wish—however improbable—that he might somehow actually be worthy of Mingyu’s forgiveness. But each attempt falls short, the phrases never quite enough.
How do you apologize for leaving someone who meant everything to you? How do you make them understand it was never about them but about how your own misguided fears and insecurities became too much to bear? How do you reassure them it will never happen again when they have every reason not to trust you?
Eventually, the time comes for Wonwoo to head to the airport. In the back of the car service, he watches out the window as Paris slips by, lights painting the streets in a golden glow, but he barely registers the scenery. The closer he gets to the airport, the more his mind races, grasping at the countless possibilities, worries, hopes that have plagued him since morning.
When he boards the plane, the drone of announcements and the faint scent of recycled air do nothing to help settle his nerves. He sinks into his first-class seat, and as the plane readies for takeoff, he looks for a distraction, finding himself reaching for his phone. His fingers hesitate over the screen, and after a pause, he opens his messages and types out a text to Mingyu.
ETA is 9:15. Terminal 6. Please don’t rearrange your schedule for me. We can just grab a coffee or meet for dinner later this week if that’s easier.
His thumb hovers over the send button, the words frozen on the screen, almost begging him to reconsider. But he knows he has to send it—just as much as he knows he has to keep his expectations in check. Mingyu’s life is packed with people, places, and obligations that no longer include or prioritize him.
He shoots the text off with a tight swallow, and almost immediately, a reply appears. His heart skips a beat.
already planned the menu and grocery shopped. u better skip the in-flight breakfast. i’ll be waiting in the pick-up zone. i drive a silver Mercedes now.
It’s a red-eye flight, but Wonwoo barely sleeps. Each time he closes his eyes, he’s jolted awake by anxious flutters in his chest, tormented by flashes of twisted dreams where Mingyu stands him up or, worse, arrives only to say he never meant any of it, that this was all a cruel form of payback.
When the pilot announces they’re an hour out from Seoul, Wonwoo takes his carry-on and heads to the tiny airplane bathroom, intending to freshen up before they land. Under the flickering fluorescent lights, his reflection in the mirror above the sink looks pale and fraught, the signs of fatigue and worry etched into his face. He fishes the complimentary toiletries he’d swiped from the hotel out of his bag, hoping they’ll help scrub away even a fraction of the exhaustion and anxiety that currently cling to him like a second skin.
He adjusts his glasses, tries to fluff a bit of volume into his hair, but it’s no use. The man staring back at him looks tired, plain, wholly unremarkable. The kind of man who could disappear into any crowd, who wouldn’t stand out even if he tried. With a sigh, he changes into the smart, but casual outfit he’s glad he let Soonyoung insist he pack—a pair of dark jeans and a light blue Henley. It looks okay enough. Mingyu would look better in it.
It’s almost surreal how effortlessly handsome Mingyu has always been by comparison. From the very first moment Wonwoo saw him, Mingyu had been a force of nature—a magnetic presence, radiating a boyish beauty that seemed almost otherworldly. Over the years, that beauty had only deepened; his features became more refined, more striking as he matured.
And yet, despite all that, Mingyu had always made him feel like he was the prize. Kim Mingyu, who could probably land anyone he wanted with a single smile, had chosen him.
From the very start, there was something about the way Mingyu looked at him, the way he touched him, that made Wonwoo feel undeniably wanted, even attractive, in ways that were almost overwhelming. At times, it bordered on too much, like Mingyu was laying it on too thick. But it was never insincere. Mingyu’s affection never wavered, his certainty cutting through Wonwoo’s dubiousness with just a look, an appreciative inhale of breath, an earnest compliment. He laughed off Wonwoo’s self-deprecating remarks and had a way of holding him that made Wonwoo feel like he was enough—just as he was.
But that hadn’t kept the voice that had slowly poisoned Wonwoo’s thoughts and preyed on his insecurities at bay forever, had it? That insidious voice that reminded him constantly that he was just an ordinary man in love with someone extraordinary. Watching Mingyu mingle with other models and celebrities—people who were glamorous, confident, beautiful, interesting—only made that voice grow louder and more convincing each day. It told him he had nothing to offer anymore, that eventually Mingyu would wake up and realize he could do better.
But that should have been Mingyu’s choice to make. Not his.
It hadn’t been Wonwoo’s place to ruin everything, to decide for both of them without even the decency of an honest conversation—letting his fear override the trust they’d carefully built over the years. And fear, he knows now, is a flimsy excuse. Fear might explain the impulse, but it couldn’t justify pushing away the one person who’d only ever shown he wanted to stay by his side.
With a final look at his reflection, Wonwoo steps out of the cramped airplane bathroom and returns to his seat. He tries to focus on steady breaths, in and out, but as the plane begins its descent, anxiety spikes in his chest. His stomach twists, and he grips the armrests, fingers pressing into the plastic until his knuckles turn white. The plane dips slightly, and his pulse races, each small lurch sending cold jolts of terror through him.
Flying has never been easy for him, and this—the descent, the anticipation of the wheels meeting the runway—is always the worst part. He squeezes his eyes shut, forcing himself to count under his breath, feeling each bump and sway as the plane glides lower, the roar of the engines heightening the rush of dread flooding through him.
Finally, the wheels touch down with a shuddering impact, and his breath catches in his throat. A slow exhale escapes him as the plane begins to taxi.
And then he’s back. Home in Seoul, though his life is in quite a different state than what it was when he left.
At baggage claim, his palm is damp with sweat as he wraps his fingers around the handle of his luggage and tugs it off the carousel. His stomach flip-flops as he drags the suitcase behind him, stiff steps carrying him through the bustling airport toward the Terminal 6 exit. The combination of lack of sleep and relentless anxiety over the last twenty-four hours now have him teetering somewhere between giddy anticipation and the edge of a full-blown panic attack.
He tries to brace himself, to temper his expectations. He’s painfully aware that Paris is fifty-five hundred miles from South Korea and Mingyu’s hotel room might as well have been on Mars at this point. He can’t rely on the hope that moving forward will be as easy or simple as it had felt it might be in the post-coital bliss of the other night.
Stepping through the sliding doors and out into the crisp morning light, the sun hits him, blinding in its brightness. He squints, raising a hand to shield his eyes as he scans the line of cars waiting in the pick-up zone. His heart pounds violently, each beat seeming to echo through his entire body, vibrating up his spine, rattling his ribs. The noise of the airport, the hum of idling engines, the excited voices of people reuniting with loved ones—all of it fades into static as his gaze roams anxiously.
And then, he sees him.
Mingyu is four car-lengths down, leaning casually against the side of a sleek silver Mercedes, dressed head to toe in black. A baseball cap is pulled low over his brow, sunglasses obscuring his eyes, a black mask hiding the bottom half of his face. Yet even with his features concealed, Wonwoo would recognize him anywhere. He could pick him out of a crowd in the dead of night, even without his glasses. He’s attuned to every detail, every nuance of Mingyu’s presence—the way he holds himself, the slight puppy-like tilt of his head, the effortless suavity in his posture—it’s all so distinctly, unmistakably Mingyu.
So, it’s completely unnecessary that Mingyu holds up a piece of cardboard, the words “ Pick Up Service for Jeon Wonwoo ” scrawled across it in his bold, messy handwriting. The gesture is so absurdly charming, so quintessentially Mingyu, that it makes Wonwoo’s stomach flip, his nervousness dulling into something softer.
For a moment, Wonwoo simply stands there, taking in the sight of Mingyu waiting for him, and after a beat, Mingyu lowers the sign, offering a sheepish shrug. Even with the disguise, Wonwoo can tell he's grinning. He just knows. It’s in the way Mingyu dips his chin, in the subtle rounding of his cheeks visible in the sliver of space between his mask and his sunglasses.
A warmth spreads through Wonwoo’s chest, melting away some of the anxiousness that’s been coiled there since he’d woken up alone in Mingyu’s hotel room twenty-four hours ago. His feet finally start to move, the rhythmic sound of his suitcase wheels against the pavement matching the steady thump of his heartbeat.
When he reaches the car, neither of them says anything right away; they just look at each other over the top of it, the space between them feeling like a mile. Feeling like an inch. After a moment, Mingyu makes the first move, popping the trunk and stepping forward to help Wonwoo stow his luggage. The gesture is simple, but there’s something wonderfully domestic about it, something so normal, something that reassures Wonwoo that this is real, that everything might actually be okay.
They both climb into the car, the quiet still lingering between them until Mingyu tugs off his mask, revealing that grin Wonwoo knew was there all along. It’s a smile that’s so familiar and yet still makes his heart stumble over itself. Wonwoo can’t help the way his own lips start to curve upward in response.
“Hi,” Mingyu says softly, almost shy, as he pulls out his keys and slides them into the ignition.
“Hi,” Wonwoo echoes. A faint flutter stirs in his stomach, a feeling of nervous anticipation that brings him back to so many of their firsts. Their first real date, their first kiss, the first time Mingyu had pulled him into the locker room after one of his football games, the first night they’d ever spent together, on a comically creaky box spring in a cheap hotel room that overlooked the ocean during spring break on Jeju Island.
Mingyu glances over at him, eyes sparkling as he asks, “How was your flight?” His tone is casual, but there’s a hint of concern that doesn’t escape Wonwoo’s notice. Mingyu has always known about his fear of flying.
“Long,” Wonwoo replies. Then, after a pause, he adds, “Yours?”
“Same. Couldn’t sleep at all.”
“Turbulence or noisy passengers?” Wonwoo teases lightly.
“Neither.” Mingyu’s cheeks flush, a rosy hue dusting his face. “I was too excited to see you again.”
He says it so plainly, so directly, that Wonwoo’s fingers fumble with his seatbelt, clumsily missing the latch. A spark of surprise makes his chest squeeze.
Mingyu grins wider at him before turning his attention forward and pulling the car smoothly away from the curb. “You didn’t eat, did you?”
“No.” Wonwoo says, stomach grumbling faintly as if responding too.
“Good.”
As they drive, Wonwoo slowly begins to recognize the route Mingyu is taking. Every passing street and landmark brings a prickling sense of nostalgia, but there’s something unsettling about it, something that makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. A question hovers on his tongue, but he hesitates, unsure how to voice it without sounding crazy.
But he doesn’t have to ask. Patience confirms his suspicions when Mingyu pulls into a familiar parking garage, one Wonwoo hasn’t set foot in for months.
“You kept the apartment…” Wonwoo blurts out, the words escaping before he’s even had a chance to process the implication.
Mingyu keeps his gaze straight ahead as he carefully maneuvers into a designated tenant spot and then shuts off the engine with a soft click. “Uh, yeah. My financial advisor suggested it was a smart move to hold on to the property. Said something about balancing out my portfolio with stable assets, and the property value here is trending up.”
Wonwoo raises an eyebrow, not buying it. As an accountant, he knows well enough that a one-bedroom apartment in this neighborhood isn’t making or breaking Mingyu’s financial portfolio. He also knows that holding onto their lease would have required a renewal five months ago—a decision that likely wasn’t driven by market predictions alone. But he lets it slide, opting for a simple, “Oh. Right. Makes sense.”
He doesn’t know how to feel about this new revelation, but his body feels unnaturally light as he climbs out of the car and follows Mingyu into the building. He tries not to read too much into it. Tries not to get his hopes up.
The elevator ride, however, feels surreal, the narrow space thick with the echoes of their past. Wonwoo’s mind fills with flashes of memories: the two of them stumbling in together after late nights out, muffled laughter as they shushed each other to keep the neighbors from waking, the heady warmth of Mingyu pressed up against him in a corner, hands sneaking under his coat. He remembers leaning against these very walls in a haze of half-drunken kisses, Mingyu’s fingers tangled in his hair, his lips tasting of soju.
And then there were the mornings, so many mornings when Mingyu would groan sleepily against his shoulder as he saw him off to work, begging for him to stay just one minute longer, even though he was already late. Mingyu would hand him the lunchbox he’d packed him and whisper promises of what would be waiting for him when he got home against his ear and Wonwoo would be filled with such a deep, quiet happiness, he’d thought his heart might burst.
The memories swell and break Wonwoo’s heart all at once, and he’s thankful when the elevator dings and the doors slide open, pulling him out of his reverie. But then the familiar scent of the hallway hits him as they step out, faint traces of citrus from the supplies the cleaning service always used, and a wave of dizziness rolls over him. He hadn’t realized how hard it would hit him being back here, reliving the life he’d tried to leave behind. A life that he’d once felt so lucky to lead.
He follows Mingyu inside the apartment. The layout is just as he remembers it, but the furnishings are different, and the contrast is jarring. The decor is divorced from Wonwoo’s tastes now. Everything is sleek and modern—new appliances, glass tables, a gigantic flatscreen TV mounted on the wall, and a hideous blue couch that sticks out like a sore thumb. The only evidence that Wonwoo ever lived here is an end table in the living room. Mingyu had found it in a garage sale when they’d first moved in. He claimed it had a nice cabinet space where Wonwoo could keep his books and video games, but Wonwoo knew the real reason he got it was because he was annoyed that Wonwoo kept putting his drinks on the floor and leaving rings on the carpet.
Wonwoo raises his eyebrows, trying for lightness. “I like what you did with the place. It’s very... you.”
Mingyu grimaces, glancing around as if he, too, finds it strange. “I preferred it when it was very ‘us.’”
Wonwoo has to put a hand against the wall to stop from tripping over his own feet.
Mingyu has always been honest, refreshingly unfiltered in a way that’s both endearing and disarming. But there’s something about his openness today that keeps catching Wonwoo off guard, a vulnerability on display that feels unexpected and painfully sincere. Such boldness has never come as easily for him, but he knows he owes it to Mingyu to try.
“Mingyu…”
“Let’s eat,” Mingyu interrupts, giving a small, hurried smile before turning toward the kitchen. “Go sit.”
Wonwoo lifts a hand as if to stop him, but it drops back to his side, a faint frown tugging at his lips as he watches Mingyu’s broad back disappear around the corner. With a quiet sigh, he follows, gaze fixed on Mingyu as he moves around the kitchen. The stove is already crowded with pots, their lids lifting to release wisps of steam, and Wonwoo realizes that he’d probably started cooking before dawn.
“Do you need any help?” he asks, more out of politeness than anything. He already knows the answer, recalling the countless times he’s been banned from the kitchen.
Mingyu glances over his shoulder, giving him a playful snort. “Not with the food, but you could set the table.”
Wonwoo heads to the cabinets. He knows exactly where to find the dishes and utensils, each item still tucked in the same spot as when he lived here. An odd pang of something like homesickness hits him as he gathers the bowls and chopsticks, the simple domesticity of it making his chest ache.
Just as he finishes folding them each a napkin, Mingyu starts bringing over dish after dish, each one more extravagant than the last, though it’s exactly the kind of effort he’d expect from him. Wonwoo takes it all in: the heaping pot of steaming kimchi jjigae, the plate of perfectly rolled kimbap with thin slices of cucumber and vibrant radish peeking out from each piece, the platter of japchae noodles glistening with sesame oil and topped with spicy beef.
As Mingyu sets down the final dish—a side of fluffy steamed egg sprinkled with green onion—Wonwoo can’t help but feel affection and appreciation spreading through his chest. He’d forgotten just how much care Mingyu poured into his cooking.
“It looks amazing,” he says. “You really didn’t have to do all of this.”
“I know. But I wanted to.”
They sit down across from each other, the food between them almost too beautiful to disturb, but Mingyu gives him a small, expectant smile, and he starts digging in. For a moment, the only sounds are the quiet clinking of chopsticks against their bowls.
But soon the silence starts to feel heavy, and Wonwoo’s mind scrambles as he tries to come up with a way to fill it. Should he attempt to broach the subject of them again? Try the apology he’d practiced so many times? Stick to small talk about the weather?
He settles on something simple. Easy. Personal, but not too deep. “Your shoot,” Wonwoo begins, recalling the reason Mingyu had been in Paris in the first place. “For Calvin Klein. How did it go?”
Mingyu’s eyes light up, japchae noodles falling from his chopsticks back into his bowl. “It went well,” he says. “The team was great. They had this massive set. Mirrors everywhere, lighting that could change angles and color in seconds.” He trails off, looking at Wonwoo through his lashes. “You would’ve liked it. The attention to detail, I mean.”
Wonwoo nods, a small smile tugging at his lips.
They lapse back into silence as they continue eating, but it isn’t long before Mingyu breaks it again.
“How was your conference?”
“It was fine,” Wonwoo replies. “Some of the presentations were interesting, some new tech stuff in finance, things they claim will revolutionize the industry.” He pauses, poking at the eggs. “But… it was mostly just work. Pretty boring.”
“Until I showed up.”
Wonwoo’s gaze flicks up from the eggs, and he finds Mingyu grinning cheekily at him.
“Until you showed up,” Wonwoo echoes softly. A lump forms in his throat. His fingers tighten around his chopsticks. “Mingyu, I—”
But Mingyu cuts him off again, sliding the plate of kimbap closer, nudging a piece towards him. “Here. I know you like the ends best so I left them for you.”
Wonwoo sighs, his shoulders slumping slightly. “Oh. Thanks.”
They resume eating, the morning unfolding in fits of small talk—brief exchanges about shows they’ve seen, updates on Wonwoo’s work, stories of Mingyu’s recent travels. Each time they edge toward something deeper, Mingyu seems to veer away, changing the subject, and Wonwoo doesn’t know what to make of that. He considers they might not be on the same page after all.
As they finish the last of the meal, Wonwoo sets down his chopsticks, looking over the remnants of food scattered across their plates. He feels a pang of sadness, a sense of finality. He’s not sure what comes next, if anything at all.
“I’ll do the dishes,” he offers, standing before Mingyu can protest. He collects the plates and moves to the sink, running the water, the warmth from the tap soothing against his hands. Behind him, Mingyu begins packing up the leftovers.
Wonwoo works methodically, scrubbing each bowl and stacking them carefully in the drainer. When the last glass is washed and set aside, he turns off the faucet, his chest feeling heavy.
He glances over his shoulder and finds Mingyu watching him, that same earnest openness in his expression that’s been disarming him all morning. He dries his hands on the dish towel and rocks back and forth on his heels, waiting.
Eventually, Mingyu clears his throat, gesturing toward the living room. "Do you want to watch a movie or something? I’m free all day so…"
A movie? Wonwoo’s head spins. He can’t figure out where they stand. What exactly Mingyu wants from him. If this is some kind of test. He presses his fingers to his temples, trying to find a way through the tangle of emotions currently tying him in knots. “Mingyu…”
“Or we could go for a walk?” Mingyu offers, barreling on before he can finish. “You’re probably jet lagged so some fresh air might help. Or maybe some caffeine. A new cafe opened about two blocks from here. It’s small and—”
“Mingyu, stop.” The words come out in a snap, harsher than Wonwoo intended. He watches Mingyu’s face fall, his shoulders sagging as his chin drops to his chest.
“Sorry. Do you… not want to stay?” he asks softly, his voice uncertain. “I mean, I know you’re probably tired from your trip, so if you want, I can drive you home. I just thought…” His lips press into a thin line, brows furrowing as he stares at the floor, his confidence seeming to visibly slip away.
Wonwoo feels a surge of panic, guilt prickling at him. “It’s not that,” he says quickly, gentler now, trying to ease the sting of his earlier words, hating the way they’ve caused Mingyu to wither.
“Then what is it?” Mingyu asks, lifting his head.
Wonwoo hesitates, his hands twisting together as he struggles with his response. It’s a good question. What is his problem? He seems to work it out at the same time that he says it. “It’s just… you want to watch a movie? Mingyu, why are you acting like nothing ever changed between us. Like I don’t have anything to make up for. We really need to talk about what happened. Back then, and… the other night.” He forces himself to hold Mingyu’s gaze even though it feels like it’s burning right through him. “You shouldn’t forgive me this easily.”
Mingyu’s expression darkens, his eyes narrowing as he tilts his head. At his sides, his hands clench into fists. “Are you saying that for my sake or because you’ll feel better if I punish you?”
The question hangs in the air and Wonwoo doesn’t have an answer. He bites the inside of his cheek, that swell of anxiousness rising in his chest again.
Mingyu continues, letting out a sound of exasperation, a harsh puff of air. “Hyung, when will you stop making decisions for me? When will you stop acting like you know what’s best for me? For us? Because honestly? Not sure if you’ve noticed, but you’ve got a pretty shitty track record right now.”
Wonwoo’s eyes widen. The call out feels like being slapped, but Mingyu isn’t wrong. He opens his mouth to say as much, but before he can respond, Mingyu steps closer, closing the space between them until they’re practically standing chest to chest.
“What do I get out of making you suffer, huh? Out of holding things over you? Hurting you because you hurt me? This isn’t a game, Wonwoo-yah. I’m not keeping score.” Emotion flickers across Mingyu’s features, the crease between his brows smoothing out. “I’m not saying I want to jump into anything right away. I’m not suggesting we move back in together tomorrow. I’m not in a rush to give us a label. But I missed you so fucking much.”
His voice cracks, just slightly, enough to reveal the vulnerability lingering beneath his conviction. “Do you know how much it sucked not having you in my life? Not being able to talk to you, see you, just… be with you?” Mingyu pauses, exhaling slowly, looking down as if searching for words that might finally make Wonwoo understand. “Look, I get it. There’s a lot we need to talk about, things we’ll have to work through. But right now, can we just… enjoy the fact that we’re even talking at all? That we’re here together?”
Wonwoo’s breath catches. There’s still a small part of him insisting that he doesn’t deserve this forgiveness, that he hasn’t earned it, that he should reject Mingyu’s absolution—but Mingyu’s words tug at him, unhooking the chains he’s wrapped around his own heart.
“It’s really simple for me.” Mingyu’s voice grows quiet, almost tentative. His eyes scan across Wonwoo’s face. “Did you mean what you said the other night? In my hotel room? About how you feel and what you want from me?”
The room suddenly feels suffocatingly hot. Wonwoo blinks. His answer is stuck behind a lump in his throat so he quickly nods, a sharp and certain dip of his chin. Yes, he meant it. He meant it more than he’d ever allowed himself to admit over the past year.
“Good. Then I don’t want us to spend any more time hurting,” Mingyu says. The warmth of his body radiates toward Wonwoo as he leans closer. “A year was more than enough. I want to figure this out—us, whatever that means. But I’m not giving you a chance to second-guess yourself again. If that makes me an idiot, if it makes me naive… fuck it. So be it.” He lets out a shaky breath, eyes flicking pointedly down to Wonwoo’s mouth. “That’s my choice and I—”
It’s like a bolt of lightning cracks through the kitchen. Something in Wonwoo suddenly snaps, the last thread of his restraint fraying as he reaches out, sliding a hand around the back of Mingyu’s neck, pulling him in. Their lips crash together, the kiss so harsh, so frantic, their teeth clack noisily.
He’s heard enough. He’s struggling to find his words, so he decides he doesn’t need them. He feels like a fool, thoroughly chastised for the rash decisions he’s made, for doubting this—doubting them. If anyone here is stupid and naive, it’s him, but he doesn’t want to rehash regrets or punish himself for the mistakes he’s already made any longer. Right now, all he wants is Mingyu. It’s all he's ever truly wanted.
They stumble out of the kitchen and into the living room, Mingyu’s hands catching on Wonwoo’s waist as they half-fall, half-sink onto the couch with a soft thud. Wonwoo lets out a snort as they pull apart.
“This couch is hideous,” he mutters.
Mingyu pouts. “It was a gift. Very expensive.”
"From someone who hates you?"
Mingyu rolls his eyes. “Who could ever hate me?”
Fair point, Wonwoo thinks. Mingyu, with his irresistible charms, his infectious smile, his open heart—who could truly hate him? Who could ever bear to hurt him?
I did. I hurt him.
Wonwoo knows he just told himself he was going to stop harping on the mistakes of the past, but it’s a process. Easier said than done to turn it off. At least he’s internally calling himself out this time. Thats a step in the right direction.
But the flash of guilt must show on his face because Mingyu tsks and reaches up, fingers catching his chin, gently tilting his head before closing the distance and pressing their lips together again. That certainly helps scatter Wonwoo’s thoughts, as does the way Mingyu’s hands roam down, his fingers grazing over Wonwoo’s stomach before moving lower, palming him through his pants. A groan slips from his lips, swallowed by Mingyu’s mouth as he squeezes him again.
When it came to their sex life, the scales were always tipped. It wasn’t that Wonwoo was a selfish lover—he cared deeply about Mingyu’s pleasure—but Mingyu had always been the one to thrive on giving. He found a particular satisfaction in driving Wonwoo to the edge, in coaxing out every breathless sound. It would be easy enough to fall into those old habits right now, to let Mingyu take the lead like always. But Wonwoo has a different agenda.
He slides off the couch and onto his knees between Mingyu’s legs, his fingers curling around Mingyu’s thighs to steady himself. Mingyu stiffens slightly, his bottom lip caught between his teeth, eyes widening with excitement and a hint of apprehension.
Wonwoo looks up at him as he takes one of Mingyu’s hands in his own and brings it to his mouth. He presses a soft, lingering kiss to each fingertip before taking two of them between his lips, sliding them in up to the second knuckle. His tongue moves in slow, sultry circles around them, tasting the salt of Mingyu’s skin, watching as Mingyu’s eyes darken, his chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths.
“Hyung…” Mingyu rasps, a mix of wonder and want, a plea in the way his fingers flex against Wonwoo’s tongue. But Wonwoo only smirks, letting the fingers fall from his mouth with a soft, wet sound as he moves to undo the button of Mingyu’s jeans.
“You don’t have to— oh… ” Mingyu’s words are cut off by a sharp, indrawn breath as Wonwoo’s hand slips beneath his waistband, fingers wrapping around his length in a firm grip. Mingyu’s head falls back against the couch, his hips arching into the touch, eyes falling shut as a groan rumbles low in his throat.
“Let me,” Wonwoo murmurs. He leans forward, pushing Mingyu’s shirt up and pressing his lips along the trail of skin below Mingyu’s navel. “I want to.”
Wonwoo pulls him free from the confines of the denim, the weight of Mingyu’s cock heavy and warm in his palm. Already hard, already wanting. He traces his thumb over the tip as Mingyu’s thighs part eagerly, a shallow gasp escaping him as Wonwoo’s hand glides down the length.
Wonwoo doesn’t hesitate. He leans in, brushing a soft, open-mouthed kiss against the sensitive head before parting his mouth to take him in, inch by inch, tongue swirling. Mingyu’s hips jerk up, his hands flying to Wonwoo’s hair, fingers weaving in, the gentle tug turning desperate as Wonwoo takes him deeper.
" Ah , Wonwoo-yah..." Mingyu’s voice is pitched higher than normal, his usual cocky confidence quickly crumbling as pleasure unravels him. “God, that feels… f-fuck, that feels so good…”
Wonwoo hums in response, the vibrations running up Mingyu’s spine, making his knees press into Wonwoo’s sides. Wonwoo tightens his grip at the base, stroking in rhythm with the slow, steady drag of his mouth.
Wonwoo isn't usually enthusiastic about blowjobs, but right now, he’s pouring everything he has into it. It’s more than lust—it’s an apology, a promise, a desperate offering without words. Each hollow of his cheeks, each flick of his tongue, every inch he chokes down is his way of saying I’m sorry. I’d do anything for you. I want to make it right. I only ever make you feel good.
He doesn’t have to wonder if he’s doing it right. Mingyu is vocal, as always. Moans spill from him freely, shamelessly, each sound more wrecked than the last. He writhes against the couch, one ankle hooking around Wonwoo’s back as he presses closer.
"Please, hyung, ah, fuck ..." Mingyu’s hips roll forward, chasing the slick heat of Wonwoo’s mouth. “I’m gonna… you’re gonna make me come if you keep doing that… I can’t… please… hng … f-fuck…”
Wonwoo doesn’t know exactly what he’s begging for. He’s not sure Mingyu knows, either. But he only doubles down, quickening his pace, growing sloppier, greedier. He takes Mingyu in even deeper, his nose brushing against the patch of coarse hair at the base, and Mingyu’s whole body jerks at the sensation. His grip tightens in Wonwoo’s hair, almost painful, as he yanks him back, forcing Wonwoo to look up.
Mingyu’s hoodie is rucked halfway up his chest, revealing flushed, tan skin. Higher up, his pupils are blown wide, eyes heavy-lidded and unfocused.
“Tell me how much you missed me,” Mingyu pants. He’d demanded the same thing the other night in the hotel room, but back then, it had dripped with bitterness and pain. Now there’s something playful beneath the need, something indulgent. Wonwoo doesn’t hesitate to give him exactly what he’s asking for.
“So much.” he admits. “ Every day. I thought about you constantly.”
“Constantly?” Mingyu presses, and Wonwoo nods, leaning back down to mouth at the tip of his cock, his eyes remaining locked on Mingyu’s, watching him through his lashes.
“Did you… think about me when you touched yourself?”
A hot blush spreads across Wonwoo’s face, but he doesn’t look away. “Every time.”
“Fuck,” Mingyu groans, his head falling back again, his chest rising and falling as each breath gets noisily punched out of him. “Me too. God, I missed you so—”
The rest of his words dissolve into a string of unintelligible syllables as Wonwoo drags his tongue down, tracing the thick vein running along the underside of Mingyu’s length. Then he sits back on his heels, leaving Mingyu’s cock slick and twitching, curving against his stomach, the swollen tip flushed a deep, needy red.
Mingyu stares down at Wonwoo, brows furrowed, expression caught between disbelief and dazed. His lips part slightly as his gaze drops to Wonwoo’s lap, where the outline of Wonwoo’s own arousal strains visibly against his jeans.
“Tell me you want me,” Mingyu demands as he lifts his hips to shove down his pants and underwear, kicking them off without taking his eyes off Wonwoo.
“I want you.”
“Again.”
“I want you.”
“Again.”
“I wa—”
Before he can finish, Mingyu launches himself off the couch, tackling him back against the carpet. They collapse together, a tangled mess of limbs, and Wonwoo feels a surge of heat and adrenaline as Mingyu settles between his thighs, pinning him down. He barely has a second to react before Mingyu’s hands are on him, slipping under the hem of his shirt and pushing it up in one swift motion. The shirt goes flying, and with it, his glasses—the new, pricey pair he’d bought just a few weeks before his trip to Paris. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he thinks he should set them aside safely, but then Mingyu’s mouth is on him, lips trailing fire from his neck to his shoulder, down to the hollow of his collarbone, and he thought of broken glasses vanishes. Right now, he couldn’t care less. He can easily afford another pair.
His hands find the bottom of Mingyu’s hoodie, returning the favor and yanking it up over his head, desperate to feel his skin against his own. They fumble briefly, hands brushing over abs, grazing sensitive spots, and Wonwoo lets out a low, shaky groan as he shoves his pants and briefs down off his hips, Mingyu eagerly helping him slide them free before they’re tossed aside with the rest of their clothes.
Sprawled out naked on the living room floor, bathed in broad daylight, Wonwoo feels self-consciousness knot in his stomach. In the hotel, the dim lights and the haze of alcohol had softened his awareness, dulling the edges of his insecurities, but he feels them acutely now. Over the past year, he’s let things slip—stopped going to the gym, ate meals mostly from convenience store shelves, lost weight that had once been muscle. He’s always been slim, but now his ribs jut out more sharply, his hip bones protruding like jagged channel markers.
But the hunger in Mingyu’s gaze is unmistakable. It sweeps over him, appreciating every inch, drinking him in as if he’s still the only one Mingyu could ever want, and the tightness in his stomach instantly loosens.
Mingyu wiggles his eyebrows playfully and then shifts, crawling over to the end table by the couch. Propped up on his elbows, Wonwoo watches as Mingyu pops open the cabinet door, rummaging briefly before pulling out a familiar bottle of lube.
Wonwoo’s eyes widen in surprise, a laugh bubbling up as recognition dawns.
“You kept that in there?”
Books and video games weren’t the only things that had ended up in that cabinet. Wonwoo could remember countless times when a movie night would take a sudden, heated turn, Mingyu’s hands wandering from the popcorn bowl to far more enticing places. Impatient. Needy. Whining when Wonwoo would try to get up to retrieve the lube from the bedroom. Eventually, he’d stashed a bottle here, behind his stack of Dickens classics. It was convenient.
Now, Mingyu only grins, uncapping the bottle and squeezing a bit into his palm. He warms it between his fingers as he settles between Wonwoo’s thighs again, and his hand moves gently, spreading the slickness over Wonwoo’s entrance. Wonwoo shivers, anticipation winding tight in his middle as Mingyu’s fingers trace featherlight circles around his rim.
Mingyu’s touch is tender, achingly familiar, as he begins to press in, his eyes flicking up to meet Wonwoo’s, checking in with every movement. He starts with one finger first, easing in patiently, his thumb stroking soothingly against the inside of Wonwoo’s thigh.
“Relax for me,” Mingyu murmurs, and Wonwoo feels himself instinctively obeying, letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. His body goes limp, pliant, and then Mingyu’s finger curls, brushing over that sensitive spot, and Wonwoo’s vision goes hazy.
“Min…right there,” he manages, his toes curling.
Mingyu’s lips curve in a small, satisfied smile as he slides a second finger inside, stretching him in slow, careful movements, each twist and press precise.
“You look so good like this,” Mingyu whispers. He dips down to press a kiss to the inside of Wonwoo’s knee. “So perfect. So fucking pretty.” The words spill out softly, but they send a sharp spark of heat through Wonwoo’s veins, intensifying the warmth pooling in his stomach. His cock twitches helplessly against his stomach.
He’s far from perfect, and he’s never thought of himself as pretty, but with the way Mingyu is looking at him—filled with nothing but awe and desire—it’s hard not to believe it. He’s missed this feeling so much: the feeling of being wanted, of being seen just how he is.
A third finger joins the others, and Wonwoo arches off the floor, the stretch teetering on the edge of discomfort before dissolving into pure, electrifying pleasure as Mingyu’s fingers stroke deep, hitting that magic little spot again. In no time. his body feels loose, boneless, completely relaxed, and each thrust of Mingyu’s fingers has his heart racing faster, his breathing growing shallow.
Mingyu’s gaze is fixed on him, dark and focused.
“You’re ready,” he says as his fingers slow, though he doesn’t pull away just yet. He scissors them one last time, watching every reaction that crosses Wonwoo’s face. His tongue traces along his bottom lip.
Wonwoo swallows, nodding, and it’s all Mingyu needs. He removes his hand and inches forward until Wonwoo feels the warm, firm press of Mingyu’s cockhead against him. His breath catches, body tensing instinctively.
All he wants is to give in, to let this happen, to lose himself in this moment. But his mind snaps clear, overriding the desire coursing through his body. This is Mingyu , he reminds himself, the thought washing over him like cold water. Kim Mingyu, top model, adored by millions, someone who certainly had a line of people more than eager to take his place. Wonwoo is not naïve enough to think Mingyu’s been celibate all this time. A pang of jealousy slices through the want.
Wonwoo’s hand presses lightly against Mingyu’s chest, stopping him before he can move any closer. Mingyu freezes, his body going still in response, and Wonwoo watches the nervous bob of his throat, sensing the shift between them.
“Don’t worry. I’ll pull out if you want me to.”
“It’s not that…” Wonwoo hesitates, his teeth catching his bottom lip as he struggles to broach the awkward conversation standing in the way of the moment.
“Oh. Uh, I-I haven’t been with anyone else,” Mingyu says softly, the words almost shy. “I’ve been really busy, and I just… I couldn’t…I didn’t want to.”
The admission catches Wonwoo off guard and he blinks in surprise. He hadn’t expected that, but maybe he should have. It’s a reminder that even now, he has a lot to learn when it comes to underestimating Mingyu.
“Oh. Me either,” he blurts out, cheeks warming. For him, it feels almost obvious, and saying it aloud sounds silly, but the way Mingyu’s face lights up in such raw, genuine relief makes Wonwoo’s heart twist, his stomach swooping unexpectedly.
It’s only when Mingyu eagerly starts pressing forward again that Wonwoo realizes how quickly he lost the upperhand. Six minutes on his knees, in control, and now he’s already putty beneath Mingyu. That won’t do. Wonwoo reaches out again to stop him.
“ Hyung …” Mingyu whines, his mouth pulling into an exaggerated pout that’s both ridiculous and adorable.
“Let’s switch.”
Mingyu’s eyes almost pop out of his head. “I—what?”
“I mean positions,” Wonwoo clarifies. “Let me get on top.”
Mingyu tilts his head, one eyebrow arching with intrigue. “Sure, okay. But if you don’t let me put it in you in the next thirty seconds, I swear I might die.”
Wonwoo’s dry chuckle gets cut off as Mingyu rolls them over in one fluid motion, his hands steady on Wonwoo as he guides him on top. Wonwoo adjusts, shifting to straddle Mingyu’s hips, their bodies fitting together seamlessly. Mingyu’s “warning” may have been dramatic, but Wonwoo feels the urgency too, the heat between them building as he lifts himself, reaching down to guide Mingyu in. Beneath him, Mingyu’s abs tense in anticipation, the muscles flexing as he waits, hands sliding up and down Wonwoo’s thighs.
Without further delay, Wonwoo lowers himself, the heat and the stretch of it punching the breath from his lungs. Their rhythm begins slow, languid, as he adjusts to the fullness, but it’s not long before Mingyu’s hands tighten on his waist, guiding him faster, urging him on. What starts as low murmurs of praise quickly turns into broken, choked-off sounds.
There’s an intensity between them that’s reminiscent of the other night, but it’s different now. Shifted. The lyrics are the same— I missed you. I need you. I haven’t been okay. Please take me back. —but the melody has changed. It makes Wonwoo’s whole body hum like a finely tuned instrument, vibrating with each roll of his hips.
He can feel himself drawing closer, the pleasure building slowly, like waves cresting before they crash, each one pulling him tighter to Mingyu. He loses himself in the movement, breath coming in shallow bursts, skin flushed as he rides Mingyu, sinking down, deeper each time.
“Do you think you could come from just this? Without me touching your cock?” Mingyu’s voice cuts through the haze, dark and dangerously seductive. There’s a husky edge to it, but underneath, a thread of genuine curiosity.
A strangled sound escapes Wonwoo’s throat, a mix between a laugh and a moan. "I think… I think I could come just from you talking like that right now."
Mingyu’s brow arches, a playful glint in his eyes as his lips curl into a grin. “You missed that too, huh? My voice?”
Wonwoo nods, his eyes fluttering closed as he keeps moving, his hands splayed against Mingyu’s chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath his palm.
But he keeps the full weight of his answer locked inside. He doesn’t tell Mingyu how much he missed it—how often he’d replayed old voice messages just to hear the familiar cadence of his speech, how it kept him company in the quiet hours when things seemed especially bleak. He certainly doesn’t mention the countless times he’d played that one particular Instagram reel—the Men’s Health gym routine video Mingyu had done six months ago. A minute and sixteen seconds of Mingyu lifting weights, breathing hard through exertion, muscles flexing under the strain. Wonwoo would play it on loop and close his eyes, imagining that Mingyu’s breathy grunts were something else entirely, sounds meant only for him, while he stroked himself under his sheets. Those nights weren’t his finest. Not that there had been many fine moments over the past year.
Now, as he looks down at Mingyu, real and tangible and not just pixels on a screen, he can see something more than lust in his deep brown eyes. There’s warmth. That familiar playfulness. Affection. Love. Whether Wonwoo thinks he deserves it or not, it’s there, and that’s what undoes him most.
“Min…”
Mingyu’s eyes narrow with a knowing smile as his grip tightens on Wonwoo’s waist. He must be able to feel the way Wonwoo’s muscles are beginning to tense, the rhythmic clench and release as he hurls toward release. Mingyu’s own breathing is rough and uneven as his hand slides mercifully down to wrap around Wonwoo’s length.
“Well,” he grits through clenched teeth, “maybe we’ll try that next time.”
Wonwoo nods, a needy whimper escaping as his hips jerk erratically, grinding down against Mingyu, desperate for that final push over the edge. “S-so close…”
It only takes one stroke—just a single, precise flick of Mingyu’s wrist—and Wonwoo is coming undone, spilling over Mingyu’s fist, his stomach, his whole body shuddering as his orgasm rips through him. The roar in his ears drowns out everything else, his pulse thundering so loud he can barely hear his own voice whisper, “Come in me…”
But Mingyu hears it, and he doesn’t need to be told twice. With a deep groan, his hips stutter, pressing in deep as he releases, warmth spreading through Wonwoo’s middle, filling him in a way that makes his head spin. Everything is hot and sticky and right, and as the intensity of his pleasure ebbs, he’s left feeling lightheaded and blissfully spent. He collapses against Mingyu’s chest, not caring about the mess between them, just needing to be close.
“I love you, Mingyu-yah,” he whispers, face buried in the crook of Mingyu’s neck. “I promise I’ll prove it. I’ll make everything up to you…I’ll spend the rest of my life doing it if I have to.”
Mingyu’s breath is warm against his ear, his hand sliding up to tangle gently in Wonwoo’s hair, fingers tracing slow circles down the back of his head.
“Well, you’re definitely off to a good start,” he murmurs with a contented hum, a smile in his voice that makes Wonwoo’s heart ache.
They stay wrapped together, breathing slowly evening out, until their highs soften. Mingyu runs a hot shower, and Wonwoo does little more than lean against the tile wall, focusing on keeping himself upright while Mingyu gently cleans him up. He tires easily on a good day and so the activity of the past few days combined with the lack of sleep has him feeling almost delirious at this point.
He’s so exhausted that his reaction is heavily muted when he follows Mingyu into the bedroom and finds it’s the only room in the apartment that still looks exactly the same as how he’d left it. It's probably for the best. Mingyu seems shy enough about it, cheeks tinged pink as he stammers out an explanation about how it was too much of a hassle to get the bed out, how he hardly spends time in here anyway.
Wonwoo doesn’t say anything, just slips under the covers, and it feels so familiar, so comforting, so much like home that he almost gets emotional. Thankfully, he’s too drained for that.
Mingyu disappears for a moment, and when he returns, he’s carrying two glasses of water, setting one on each nightstand. He slides into bed next to Wonwoo, settling in with a small sigh as he drops Wonwoo’s glasses and phone on the blanket between them.
“I folded your clothes in the living room. Your phone was buzzing nonstop in your pocket.”
Wonwoo groans, rubbing at his eyes as he reaches for his glasses and slips them on. He grabs his phone, blinking as he brings it into focus: two messages from Jihoon and a dozen from Soonyoung. He ignores the ones from Soonyoung, swiping open Jihoon’s.
hey do you still need me to pick you up?
And then a few hours later:
haven’t heard from you. getting a little worried here.
“Shit,” he mutters, guilt pricking at him.
Mingyu glances over. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, it’s just Jihoon. I’d asked him if he could pick me up from the airport, but I never texted him after… well, after everything that happened with us.” He sighs, staring down at the screen. “He knew I was supposed to get in this morning.”
Before he can type out a reply, Mingyu plucks the phone from his hands with a mischievous grin. Wonwoo barely has time to react as Mingyu opens the camera app, pulls him close, and snaps a selfie. They’re both topless, hair still damp from the shower, Wonwoo with his head nestled against Mingyu’s shoulder, looking wide-eyed and caught off guard, while Mingyu sports a cheeky, leering grin.
“Mingyu—!” Wonwoo starts, but Mingyu is already typing in a response to Jihoon.
he already got a ride 😏
Wonwoo watches in amused disbelief as Mingyu hits send, his cheeks heating with both embarrassment and laughter. Mingyu hands the phone back, still grinning as he settles back against the pillow, clearly pleased with himself.
Almost immediately, the phone vibrates with a reply.
gross. but good to know you two finally made up. soonyoung says he's taking credit and you both owe him big time.
Wonwoo sighs, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he slides the phone onto the nightstand and then settles back down, letting his head find its place against Mingyu’s shoulder again. Mingyu wraps his arms around him, his fingers tracing light circles on his back.
Right before sleep finally claims him, he feels Mingyu press a kiss against his forehead.
And, just like that, everything falls back into place. Life is good again.
10 MONTHS LATER
Wonwoo slumps against the elevator wall, barely able to keep his eyes open. It’s early spring—the busiest season in his field—with deadlines looming, audits underway, and tax filings cluttering every spare inch of his desk. His days are long, packed with endless client meetings and countless revisions that leave his eyes aching by nightfall. This time of year always drains him, leaving barely any time or energy for anything outside of work.
The elevator doors slide open, and he drags himself down the hallway. The familiar scent of citrus cleaner greets him, but something richer follows—a savory aroma that makes his stomach growl. Someone on the floor must be preparing a late dinner. Lunch had been hours ago, and though Mingyu had meal-prepped for him, even the thought of microwaving leftovers feels like too much effort right now. Maybe he’ll just order in… or maybe he’ll just head straight to bed and hold off until breakfast.
But as he unlocks the door and steps into the apartment, the fragrance of gochujang and sesame oil intensifies. He notices that the second pair of house slippers that had been beside his own this morning is missing, and his lips quirk into a smile as he toes off his shoes. The faint clink of pots and the soft hum of someone moving around the kitchen confirms his suspicions.
Rounding the corner, Wonwoo’s heart lifts at the sight of Mingyu standing by the stove, dressed comfortably in an oversized hoodie and an apron, carefully stirring a pot.
“You’re home!” Mingyu says, setting down the spoon and moving toward him. His grin is wide and warm, and Wonwoo feels his exhaustion start to melt away, as if Mingyu’s close proximity alone has the power to recharge him.
“So are you,” Wonwoo replies, letting himself be pulled into Mingyu’s arms. “I thought you weren’t supposed to get in until late tomorrow?”
Mingyu had been away since last Friday, attending fashion week in New York and juggling a busy schedule packed with appearances and events that left little opportunity for them to even communicate via text, give the time difference.
“Was able to get a flight a day early.” He presses a quick kiss to Wonwoo’s forehead. “I know how tough this time of year is for you, so I wanted to surprise you with a home-cooked meal and a massage. Maybe even a blowjob if you play your cards right.”
Every part of that sounds like heaven, and Wonwoo can only hope he’ll manage to stay awake for all of it. But if not, that’s okay, too. Just having Mingyu here, home again, is more than enough to give him the restful night’s sleep he’s been craving.
Mingyu winks and gestures to a small, neatly wrapped bundle of tissue paper on the counter before turning back to the stove.
Wonwoo raises an eyebrow as he reaches for the bundle, peeling back the tissue to reveal three magnets, each from a different New York landmark. He chuckles, shaking his head as he examines them.
“Press the button on the back of the Empire State Building. It lights up!” Mingyu says over his shoulder, a grin in his voice.
Wonwoo does as he’s told, and sure enough, the tiny tower glows with a bright LED light.
“You know I love you, and I love that you’re thinking of me when you’re away,” Wonwoo says, heading to the fridge to find space for his new souvenirs. “But I thought we agreed on one magnet per trip? At this rate, we’ll run out of room soon.”
He arranges the magnets carefully, then steps up behind Mingyu at the stove, wrapping an arm around his waist and pressing a kiss against the back of his neck. Mingyu tilts his head to give him more access, but doesn’t miss a beat as he stirs the pot of tteokbokki.
“That’s why we’re getting a kimchi fridge when we move into the new apartment,” Mingyu replies. “We’ll have plenty of room for more magnets then.”
Wonwoo smiles, resting his cheek against Mingyu’s shoulder. “You’re right. Thank you… for the gifts, and for coming home early. I really missed you.”
Mingyu waves him off, though the grin of satisfaction tugging at his lips is undeniable. “Go change into something comfortable. Dinner’s almost ready.”
Wonwoo does as he’s told, swapping his stiff suit for a pair of sweatpants and one of Mingyu’s old college football T-shirts. By the time he returns, Mingyu is setting dishes on the table, the rich, spicy aroma making Wonwoo’s mouth water. He slips into a chair as Mingyu brings over two bowls of rice, and they dig in, chatting between bites about Mingyu’s trip, Wonwoo’s mountain of work, and how the renovations on their new apartment are progressing. When they finish, even though it’s usually Wonwoo’s job to do the dishes, Mingyu insists tonight, shooing him off with a playful flick of the dish towel.
Twenty minutes later, Wonwoo lies face-down on the bed, sighing contentedly as Mingyu straddles his hips, strong hands working out the knots in his shoulders. The warmth and gentle pressure of Mingyu’s fingers feels incredible, and it’s taking every bit of Wonwoo’s self-control not to drift off. He wants to enjoy this, to soak in every bit of Mingyu’s touch, and he won’t if he passes out.
“Hey, so, I was thinking…” Mingyu’s voice drifts down to him, stirring him from the edge of sleep. His eyes flutter open. He never knows what to expect when Mingyu starts “thinking.”
“You know how I have that event for Dior in Paris next month?” Mingyu continues, his thumbs pressing into a particularly tender spot on Wonwoo’s lower back, coaxing out a low hum of relief. “You’ll be out of busy season by then, so I was hoping… maybe you’d want to come with me?”
Wonwoo hums again, considering. A trip at the end of tax season sounds perfect. The idea of returning to Paris with Mingyu, of making new memories and revisiting the sights he’d been too distracted to fully enjoy last year, certainly is appealing. And he definitely has the time. Joshua’s been hounding him to take some vacation days.
“Paris, huh? Sounds like a nice idea. Let me know the dates, and I’ll put in for a few days off,” Wonwoo replies, letting his eyes close again.
But Mingyu’s hands still. “Yeah, Paris,” he says slowly. “But, uh, actually… I meant the event itself. It’s for the grand opening of a flagship store, and there’s a cocktail party afterward. My manager said I could bring a guest. A date, if I wanted to.”
Wonwoo twists around, craning his neck to look at Mingyu, surprised. “You want me to come to an industry event… as your date?”
Mingyu nods, his cheeks tinged with a hint of shyness. “Only if you want to, though. No pressure. You could just come for Paris. I’d be happy just knowing you’re at the hotel waiting for me. It’s only one night and I wouldn’t have to stay long. I know it’s not really your scene, so…”
Before he can finish, Wonwoo manages to roll over, half-dumping Mingyu off him as he sits up, a grin tugging at his lips. There was a time when this idea would have felt ridiculous to him—too risky for Mingyu, too out of place for him. But now, just hearing that Mingyu wants him there makes him feel light, the exhaustion in his bones replaced by something warm and buoyant.
Over the past ten months, Wonwoo has changed. Not in ways that make him unrecognizable, but in subtle shifts that make him a better partner, more open and present. He committed himself to proving to Mingyu that he was worthy of a second chance, to showing how deeply he loves him, how much he’s willing to do to make him happy. He’s made a conscious effort to meet him halfway, to learn about his career and take an interest in the parts of his life beyond the parameters of their relationship, so he no longer feels like an outsider. And somehow, in this moment, it feels like all of that growth and effort has led up to this.
“Yes,” he answers simply.
Mingyu blinks, and then his eyes go wide. “Yes? Really, yes?”
“Yes,” Wonwoo repeats, smiling. “I’d like that. I’d like that a lot.”
In an instant, Mingyu practically barrels into him, laughing with pure joy as he crashes their lips together in a kiss. He’s like the sun, his warmth and excitement radiating so brightly that Wonwoo can feel it soaking into his skin. He loves how that brightness always lights him up, too.
“You just earned that blowjob,” Mingyu teases, his grin so wide it’s almost comical.
Wonwoo snorts as Mingyu nudges him back against the pillow. Exhaustion still lingers, but he doesn’t need sleep just yet. He doesn’t really need the blowjob, either. All he needs is Mingyu, that infectious smile, and the knowledge that he’s the one who caused it. He’s the one who gets all of Mingyu, who’s loved just as deeply as he loves in return. Wonwoo believes—knows—now that they are meant for each other, and nothing could ever make him doubt that again.
Dispatch Korea Exclusive: Top Model Kim Mingyu Steps Out with Boyfriend at Dior’s Paris Opening—Netizens Stunned by the Handsome, Low-Key “Mr. Jeon”
PARIS — Last night, international model and Dior brand ambassador Kim Mingyu made headlines not just for his flawless fashion but for officially debuting his relationship to the world. At Dior’s grand flagship opening in Paris, Kim appeared arm-in-arm with a mystery man who quickly caught the eye of attendees and fans alike. The mystery was short-lived, however, as sources confirmed his identity as Jeon Wonwoo, a Seoul-based accountant. This surprise reveal marks the first time the sought-after model has publicly stepped out with a partner.
Dressed in a sleek, tailored red Dior suit, Kim was a vision of sophistication, but it was his unexpected date who had fans buzzing. Jeon, looking equally refined in a minimalist, classic ensemble, complemented Kim’s bold style with his calm aura and striking, understated looks. Observers noted an intriguing detail on both men’s left hands: matching rings, sparking speculation that the couple’s commitment may go beyond mere dating. Representatives for Mr. Kim offered “no comment” on the matter, though the rings added an undeniable air of intrigue to their public debut.
The two stayed close throughout the event, sharing smiles and subtle touches that didn’t go unnoticed by those present. For the 27-year-old top model, who typically keeps his private life out of the spotlight, this public appearance is significant, and fans across social media were quick to react:
"I thought Mingyu would date another model, but this is even better. Wonwoo seems genuine, and Mingyu looks so at ease with him.”
"Happy for them, but low-key devastated. My delulu dreams of dating Mingyu just got crushed 😭😭😭😭."
“Wait… that guy is an ACCOUNTANT? Wtf. My accountant has a combover and mustard stains on his tie every time I see him. Drop the firm name, I need to make some moves.”
“They look so happy together—he’s glowing 🥺."
"Of course the boyfriend is an accountant… looks like Mingyu wanted someone who could ‘calculate’ his real worth 😍."
"Wait, we’re all here thirsting over Kim Mingyu, and his boyfriend is out here looking like a model himself?? His visuals are no joke.”
According to insiders, Kim Mingyu and Jeon Wonwoo have been seeing each other for some time, though they’ve kept their relationship under wraps. With the pair now public, the fashion world and fans alike are abuzz with curiosity, wondering if this might mark the start of many more high-profile appearances together.
Sources say Mr. Jeon has caught the attention of several brands, with a few even extending early “love calls” to have him feature in upcoming campaigns. Whether the accountant-turned-“mystery man” will embrace the spotlight remains to be seen, but one thing is certain: Kim Mingyu and Jeon Wonwoo are already a duo to watch.