Archive of Our Own

Honestly, Mingyu is doing fine. He would say that he’s doing great, actually, despite everything. Wonwoo would probably say otherwise, but he’s been very graciously not commenting on the sad breakup music he’s sure bleeds through their shared wall.

He’s been broken up with before, and definitely under worse circumstances. He’s been ghosted, cheated on, stood up, and yet for some reason those hadn’t gutted him as badly as this one had. Maybe it was because Jisoo had never once been cruel to him, even up until the end. Maybe it was because, well, Mingyu had finally thought he’d found…y’know, someone who could be the one.

He hadn’t blocked Jisoo’s number afterwards the same way he did with all his other exes. Jisoo had wanted to stay friends, had even figured they were better off that way, and you don’t block friends. Not that he had tried to contact him afterwards anyways. Not that Mingyu has been waiting for him to, of course, but he wanted to leave that door open just in case.

He only really starts to doubt how well he’s doing when the buzz of an unexpected text notification ruins all of his progress and flips his whole world upside down. Admittedly, he’d left the door open, but he hadn’t quite prepared himself for what to do if Jisoo actually walked right back through it.

shua 🥰

hey, mingyu!

it’s been a while ^^ i was wondering if you wanted to catch up? i have something i wanted to talk to you about

let me know! 😊

Mingyu stares at it. Stares and stares and stares. He ignores how the old messages in their chat stare back at him, ignores the three month old timestamps above their final sweet goodnight messages, and ignores the fact that he hasn’t changed anything about his contact since they’d broken up. Everything is still untouched, kept pristine, everything hinging on the slim chance of just in case. His posts on Instagram are still archived, not deleted, and he still keeps their Polaroids hidden away in his bedside drawers. Maybe it was stupid, still hanging on, but was it really so stupid to have hope that they’d find their way back together? Was it really so stupid if Jisoo had actually reached out first?

The very rational part of him knows that meeting up with him is not a good idea. Accepting a gift from your ex would be an even worse idea. That very rational part of him, however, is so easily drowned out by the idea of reconnection. Sure, what he wanted to talk to him about could be anything. Anything, though, included the chance that Jisoo wanted to talk to him about trying again. Maybe that was why he wanted to meet up with him in person. The emojis seemed to rule in his favor here. His hands can’t help but shake with anticipation as he quickly types a response.

you

hi hyung! sure let’s catch up 🥰

shua 🥰

ok! coffee shop later, at like 3? the one by ur place?

you

sure!!

see you soon!!

3PM is in a whopping thirty minutes, which is barely enough time for him to get ready. He switches his Keshi playlist to something more hopeful, a playlist that’s more light and dancey that he hums to as he pulls something at random from his closet. Normally, he’d be more fussy about his outfit choice, especially when it came to a high-stakes situation like this. He debates asking Minghao or Seungkwan for a second opinion, but that would require having to explain himself, and Mingyu thinks he’d rather save the lectures for later. Besides, maybe it’d be best to look effortless, like he’d woken up like this and not like he’d spent his morning moping around his apartment in a ratty pair of sweats.

He startles when he finally emerges from his room to find Wonwoo sitting at the kitchen table, effectively making sneaking out impossible. It looks like his roommate had only just woken up, but his eyes are as sharp as always. They scan him, taking the lack of wrinkles in his t-shirt and definitely taking note that he’s wearing his nice pair of jeans as opposed to the holey tank tops and basketball shorts he’s been sporting lately.

“Where are you going?” he asks, and while it might sound casual, Mingyu’s lived with him long enough to know that he’s being nosy. With bad intentions. He’s probably going to text Chan right after this.

“Out,” Mingyu says defensively, to which Wonwoo only hums at. His non-answer likely didn’t do him any good, but a quick glance to his watch tells him that he’ll have to deal with that later. He mumbles a quick okaybyehyung and slips out the door before Wonwoo can get a chance to comment on his cologne.

The coffee shop is only a short walk from his apartment, which is both a blessing and a curse. His quick, long paces bring him right up to the store in no time, and his nerves start to kick in. Oh God, what if he’s here first — what if this really was a bad idea —

“Mingyu!” A voice calls, interrupting his thoughts.

When he turns, he sees a hand beckoning him over to a corner on the patio. Jisoo’s familiar fluffy hair soon comes into view — neatly cut shorter from the last time they’d seen each other, the caramel brown color looking to be freshly redone. His face looks brighter, ever youthful, but God, he looks good. He smiles amicably at Mingyu as he carefully takes a seat across from him, sliding one of the two cups toward him. “I got you an Americano. I hope that’s still your order?”

It’s the most generic coffee order in all of Korea, and yet he can’t help the way his heart squeezes hopefully. He just hopes it doesn’t show too much on his face, but he thinks he feels the blush creep up onto his cheeks anyway.

“It is. Thanks, hyung,” he mumbles, gingerly taking it into his hands. Jisoo takes a very elegant sip of his own coffee order, which his mind ever so helpfully supplies — an iced vanilla latte with an extra pump of vanilla, sweet and milky because he still hasn’t gotten used to drinking black coffee even after moving here so long ago, even if he had inherited the Korean lactose intolerance. Mingyu shakes the thought out of his head and clears his throat, forcing a smile. “How have you been?”

“I’ve been good.” Mingyu bites back the instinctive You look good that dances on the tip of his tongue and nods in response. Jisoo nods along with him before redirecting the question back. “How about you? Your birthday’s coming up.”

His birthday was coming up. It’s in a week, but truthfully, Mingyu hadn’t really been paying too much attention. The fact that Jisoo had…he can’t lie and say that it doesn’t make his heart skip a beat. It’s the smallest detail, but it’s a glimmer of hope, one that makes him feel a little breathless. “Ah, yeah. I’m still not sure what I’m going to do yet, but…I’ll be sure to let you know when I figure it out?”

The silence that settles between them is…uncomfortable now. Jisoo looks visibly nervous, which is unusual for him. Not the good kind of nervous, which makes Mingyu think that maybe he overstepped somehow. He’s about to apologize when Jisoo finally speaks again.

“That’s kind of what I wanted to talk to you about. I, um….” He drums his neatly manicured fingers on the table and takes a deep breath before he continues. “I had actually gotten your gift a while ago.” He pauses again, averts his gaze. Mingyu takes a long sip of his coffee in anticipation, holding his breath. “It’s, um…a week trip to Hawaii. It was supposed to be a trip for the both of us.”

Mingyu nearly chokes. He manages to swallow roughly, about eighty percent sure none of it made it down his windpipe, and manages only one distinguished cough. “Oh,” he croaks hesitantly, his mind spinning with the implication. “That’s…too much, hyung. I — even if we went together, I can’t accept that.”

“The thing is,” Jisoo sighs, running a hand through his hair absently and though he looks up now, he still looks a little unsettled. “The trip is nonrefundable. I…I can’t go, and I think it might be best if I don’t, but I still want you to have it.”

Mingyu blinks, his eyelashes fluttering rapidly as he tries to process. A nonrefundable trip to Hawaii…a place he’d always dreamt of going to, a place that they’d always dreamt of going to. Something that Jisoo had bought months in advance, hoping to take Mingyu there for a romantic trip for his birthday, only — only something had changed in the time in between. Something had shifted, and Jisoo had decided that he couldn’t see himself there with him after all.

No, correction. Jisoo still couldn’t see himself with him there after all.

Something must flash across his face during his stunned silence, because Jisoo’s eyebrows knit together with concern. He reaches across the table, probably out of instinct. He must realize halfway through, because he pauses before his hand can come to rest comfortingly on top of Mingyu’s. Instead, he curls it back up and lays it back on the table. That feels like another devastating blow to Mingyu’s heart, but his voice is soft, gentle and well-meaning as always. “I did get it for your birthday, Mingyu. It was always intended for you. Take whoever you want to take, and I’ll give you my card information to cover everything else, but it’ll just go to waste otherwise.”

The terrible thing is, the only person he’d want to take is the very person sitting across from him now, telling him he’s not interested. Mingyu stares down at his coffee, feeling very small all of a sudden. He’s not sure what he’d see in Jisoo’s eyes if he looked up now. “I’ll….I’ll think about it.”

Mingyu had tried not to get his hopes up going into this, but he can’t help but feel like he’s getting broken up with all over again. There’s that same sinking feeling that starts in his chest, dragging through him like lead until it pools at his feet, but something about it feels more final. Probably because it was final. The rest of their conversation feels sluggish, like time has slowed around him, even though nothing about it is truly awkward. They regain some of their footing, enough to push through another half hour without too much straining. It’s small talk, mostly, and he thinks both of them show appropriate levels of interest and earnestness for a friendly catch-up. Jisoo squeezes his shoulder when they leave, wishing him a happy early birthday with a gentle smile, and Mingyu thinks he smiles back. He can’t really remember.

The trudge back to his apartment feels like a worse version of a walk of shame. An email notification pings on his phone almost as soon as he crosses the threshold, like Jisoo had known the very instant he had gotten back safely. Forwarded plane tickets, hotel bookings, dinner reservations, and a detailed itinerary. Jisoo was nothing if not thorough. Always romantic and thoughtful and —

Mingyu closes the tab quickly, but because the universe loves playing these cruel jokes on him, his messages open up with a new unread notification.

shua 🥰

now you have no excuse not to go!! ㅋㅋㅋ

i’ll send you my card info later. just get me a postcard with it!!

happy early birthday, mingyu. enjoy yourself ❤️

The contact name he hadn’t changed. The contact picture he’d taken of Jisoo under the Christmas lights. The stupid heart emoji when Mingyu’s own heart feels small. He hesitates, but despite everything, he can’t bring himself to ignore him.

you

thanks hyung

❤️

He gives himself an hour to mope around before he calls Seungkwan, because he knows Seungkwan would be honest with him. He’ll judge him a bit, sure, but he wouldn’t sugarcoat anything, and most importantly, he would tell him not to go. That it was a bad idea and would be sad of him to even entertain it, and then he would have permission to continue moping around his apartment.

“Okay, let me finish the story before you say anything,” Mingyu says in lieu of a greeting when the FaceTime connects.

“That’s a reassuring way to start the conversation,” his friend sighs dramatically, but he waves Mingyu on. “Okay, tell me.”

To his credit, Seungkwan does let him finish the story without commenting. His changing expressions say enough about what he thinks of Mingyu’s decisions regardless, but the silence that drags on after he finishes detailing everything lasts a little too long. It’s the kind of silence that makes him feel a little defensive and admittedly a little whiny. He pouts. “Seungkwan. Say something.”

Seungkwan slurps his drink noisily, almost pointedly. “Okay, I’ll say something.” He swirls the ice in his cup, the sound clattering through his phone speakers, before sighing again. “I think you should go.”

That was definitely not the answer that Mingyu had been expecting. “Seriously?”

“What? You’ve been stressed at work, you could use the break, and it’s a free trip to Hawaii. You’ve always wanted to go to Hawaii.”

Mingyu has always wanted to go to Hawaii. That was the whole point. That was why he absolutely could not go. Because while Mingyu has always wanted to hike along the beachside cliffs, has always wanted to learn how to surf, has always wanted to watch the sun sink below the horizon on a cool and sandy beach, he always imagined it would always be with someone he loved. For the past year, the person in his head had always been Jisoo.

Seungkwan knows that too, because his eyes look soft with sympathy and his voice is a touch more gentle now. “Hyung, I think this will be good for you. It’s a fresh start. You can finally close this part of your life and remember who you are without him. Delete all your old chats and pictures and throw out the rest of his stuff and go.”

“I guess,” Mingyu mumbles a bit mopily. He feels a little called out, but maybe he’s just that predictable. Of course Seungkwan would know about the little bits of Jisoo still lingering around in his life, and of course he’s right about needing to move on fully, and maybe it really was time. “Just – how am I supposed to forget about him when he’s the whole reason I’d be there? He made all the bookings, and…I just wish I had more time to prepare for everything.”

“You don’t have to do everything he planned out for you. You love spontaneity, you romantic sap, and you’ll probably end up exploring things on your own anyways. It’s supposed to be a magical place. Maybe you’ll even find someone out there that can make you forget about him.” Seungkwan waves off Mingyu’s disbelieving scoff, for once letting his dramatics slide without comment. Probably because he knows that he’s got Mingyu convinced. He just leans closer, filling up the phone screen. “Come on. It’ll be fun. You’ll have a good time. Now, share your screen so I can watch you finally delete everything, and then I’ll help you pack.”

🌴

It’s raining when Mingyu wheels his luggage into the terminal. He slips on the linoleum more than once as he rushes to his gate, because as luck would have it, he’s running late for boarding on top of that.

When it rains, it pours. Go figure. Maybe the universe was telling him that this wasn’t such a good idea after all, but it was too late now. He has a carry-on full of swimwear and flowy shirts, and a whole luggageful more already checked in.

The shiny shell of his carry-on is still slick with rain. Unfortunately, he doesn’t notice until he’s lifting it up into the overhead compartment. As if his morning hadn’t already been going terribly, it slips right out of his clammy hands. Mingyu hurries to catch it, desperate to at least not add injuring an innocent bystander to his list of misfortunes today, but the person in front of him reacts before he can.

The hood slips off of the man’s head as he turns to catch it with only the slightest grunt of effort, revealing his face — his quite handsome face, high cheekbones and unblemished skin, paired with a stern knit of his eyebrows and sharp eyes and a strong line to his jaw that makes Mingyu’s breath hitch slightly. The man may be drowning in the sweatsuit he’s in, but he must be fit with the way he easily pushes Mingyu’s carry-on up into the overhead compartment despite the heavy backpack slung across his shoulder. He’s also significantly shorter, but the way he glances back at him, his eyes dark and intense and curious, makes Mingyu feel like the smaller one.

“Thanks,” Mingyu says, now feeling breathless for a different reason entirely.

The man just shrugs coolly. He slips into the row, settling in the seat closest to the window. In Mingyu’s row, in the seat that would be next to his own, but since he has two seats under his name, he decides to settle in the aisle seat and leave the middle empty in case the stranger needed extra room.

He can’t help but sneak glances at him even as he buckles up. The stranger doesn’t seem to notice, fully focused on finding a comfortable position with his bag in his lap, but Mingyu’s practically squirming in his seat. He feels like he has to say something, anything. Maybe it’s the adrenaline from barely making his flight, or maybe the embarrassment from nearly braining someone with his luggage, or Seungkwan’s words of finding someone out there haunting him as they sit on the tarmac. “You pack light for Hawaii,” he bursts, unable to sit in the silence any longer.

The man looks surprised that Mingyu’s addressing him, turning his face towards him with slightly raised eyebrows. He blinks slowly, once, twice, and Mingyu wonders if he’s just going to keep staring and ignoring him. The failed attempt at striking up a conversation is embarrassing, another thing to add to his long list of today’s terrible omens, and God, Mingyu is thinking that he should really learn to read the room, but the stranger only lets out a little puff of a laugh before he finally answers. “I’m not going for long. Work trip.”

His voice is low and rough, like he’d just woken up, and Mingyu hates the fact that it makes something stir in his stomach. He titters nervously, and it’s like he can’t stop the words from continuing to tumble out of his mouth. “At least we’re escaping the rainy Seoul weather, right? Haha.”

Why would he say that? He sounds so stupid, embarrassing, but the stranger seems to be humoring him. His expression doesn’t change, but Mingyu swears he sees the corner of his mouth twitch slightly. “At least,” he agrees, amusement clear in his voice. “Doesn’t matter for what I do anyway.”

Small talk. Mingyu excels at small talk. He jumps on the opportunity, desperate to prove to this stranger that he was capable of normal human conversation. “Oh, what do you do?”

There’s a pause. He seems hesitant to share, and his voice becomes quieter, maybe even shy. “Music. Nothing fancy. But I have all the supplies I need in here, mostly.” He pats the backpack in his lap. It does look heavy, definitely meant for the overhead compartment, but it clearly must be important with the way he’s holding it against his chest. It can’t possibly be the most comfortable way to sit for eight hours, though.

Mingyu clears his throat. “You can put your stuff in the middle if you want. The seat’s not taken.”

The man looks at him curiously now, and it makes the embarrassment creep back up again. He tries to figure out the most concise and least pitable way to explain why he was taking a solo trip to Hawaii with as little squirming as possible. “I was supposed to go on this trip with…a friend. He’s not coming anymore, but his ticket wasn’t refundable, so…” He gestures to the empty seat.

“Ah,” the man says simply. Mingyu’s terrible at keeping a neutral expression, so the stranger must know that there’s clearly more to the story, but he doesn’t pry nor comment on it. He puts his backpack down in the seat with a mumbled thanks, and then another moment of awkward silence settles between them. Then, like an afterthought: “Sorry about your friend.”

This stranger doesn’t know the half of it. Mingyu appreciates it all the same, he thinks — he feels a little warmer, settling more comfortably now in his seat. “Thanks,” he mumbles back quietly.

The plane whirs to life as the safety video flashes onto their screens, ending their conversation there. The man gives Mingyu one more sideways glance, offering a tight-lipped smile before he extracts a pair of headphones from his bag and slips them on. Mingyu figures that it’s probably for the best. He’s embarrassed himself enough by this point. He leans back and closes his eyes, praying that he’d at least be able to sleep through the flight.

God must be tired of punishing him, because miraculously, he’s asleep before the plane is even up in the air. He sleeps too hard, because not even the landing wakes him — Mingyu only stirs because of a hesitant tap to his shoulder. He blinks blearily, his mind struggling to wake up with the rest of him, and he’s close to turning over for five more minutes of sleep before he realizes where he is. That currently, he’s slumped over in a cramped airplane seat and that the unfamiliar hand on his shoulder belongs to a stranger gently urging him to wake up.

That sobers him up quickly, and he practically leaps up out of his seat. “Sorry! Sorry. I didn’t think I’d — yeah,” Mingyu stammers, but the man shakes his head.

“No, don’t apologize. You looked like you needed the rest.” The man’s face changes then, finally breaking his neutral facade, and it looks like he cringes a bit. He brushes away his words with an embarrassed wave of his hands, and Mingyu can’t help but think cute. “Not! Not like that, not like you looked — bad, just tired, but….” He trails off, clearly at a loss, but then just weakly gestures upwards at the compartments and changes the subject. “Do you need any help with your luggage again?”

Mingyu steps into the opening space in the aisle and quickly shakes his head. “I got it this time,” he says, and prays that for once his clumsiness doesn’t threaten his life again as he reaches up for his suitcase. He brings it down without an issue — thank God — and then shuffles up the aisle to make space for the man to follow him out.

The flight attendants adorn them with leis as they leave the plane. Mingyu gets a pretty blue one, and when he turns to look behind him, he sees the attendant drape red flowers around his seatmate’s neck. Though he can hear his low mumble of thanks, cool and neutral, he can also see how the man’s ears nearly turn the same shade of red as his lei. He makes eye contact with Mingyu when he looks up, and he makes a face that makes the both of them giggle a bit.

It feels wrong to leave without at least saying something, even if they hardly know each other. They hadn’t even had much of a conversation, but maybe Mingyu feels a little lost in the rush of having a crush, a silly little thrill of chatting with a handsome stranger. He can’t help but say: “Good luck on your work trip.”

“Thanks,” the stranger says amicably. Unless Mingyu’s still imagining things, there seems to be something different in the way he looks at him now. He seems to size him up one last time, almost like he’s taking in the sight before he leaves. “You…enjoy your vacation.”

Mingyu watches him head towards the baggage claim, giving him a few seconds of space before he follows. It seems awkward to try and catch up and strike up conversation again, especially when it had clearly ended already. It definitely would be weird, he reminds himself as he sneaks glances from where he’s waiting at the conveyor belt. You definitely shouldn’t chase after him. He didn’t even give you his name.

A voice in his head — someone that sounds suspiciously like Seungkwan — urges him on: But you didn’t even ask. Maybe he’d give it to you if you’d asked.

By the time it takes for him to muster up some courage to approach his airport crush, he sees him grab a suitcase off the belt and head out without so much as a glance behind him. Mingyu watches him wheel away hopelessly, so lost in watching him disappear around the corner that he almost misses his own luggage rounding the bend. Feeling a little dejected — maybe more than he should be, honestly — he hurriedly snatches his bag and begins to stalk over to where his itinerary says his hotel shuttle will be.

The hot and humid air engulfs him as soon as he steps out onto the sidewalk, a drastic change of pace from the rainy Seoul weather he’d come from, and it’s almost enough to raise his spirits and get him excited about actually being in Hawaii. Forget the ex and forget the airport crush, he’s ready to lounge by a pool with a cold drink in hand and — his eyes fall on a familiar hooded figure waiting at his stop, and he stops in his tracks.

Okay, so it’s fate. It’s fate that led him here, surely, and it’s that train of thought that drives him to approach him before he can talk himself back out of it.

“I’m not stalking you, I swear.”

The same surprised expression is on Airport Crush’s face when he looks up from his phone, mirroring their first interaction a little too similarly. He relaxes as soon as he sees that it’s Mingyu, though, which he takes to be a good sign. “I didn’t think you were. Waikiki Beach Resort?”

Mingyu hums in assent, trying not to sound too excited. “Pretty fancy place for a work trip.”

Airport Crush’s face pinks. “They have big conference rooms,” he says, almost defensively, like he’s trying to prove that he hadn’t been lying. “And it’s fully comped.”

“Hey, I believe you,” Mingyu says, unable to help the grin that pulls at his lips. “You know, they do look like they have nice amenities. The pool looks nice.”

“I don’t know if I’ll be using those kinds of amenities, honestly. I didn’t even pack swim trunks.” Mingyu can tell he’s joking, even if his tone remains flat, because there’s a little twinkle in his eye and the ever-perpetual slight tilt of his lips. He finds himself a little entranced by it.

The shuttle rattles to a stop in front of them, and Airport Crush is the one who breaks eye contact first to board. Mingyu follows him in, and he figures that since they’ve already been seatmates before, Airport Crush wouldn’t mind if he sat with him again. His instincts seem to be in the right place, because his head is already turned towards Mingyu when he sits down beside him, like he’d been expecting him.

He can’t keep calling him Airport Crush in his head, and because it would be rude to ask for his name without extending his own first, Mingyu puts his hand out with what he hopes is a charming smile. “I’m Mingyu.”

Airport Crush, for some strange reason, pulls his hand up in a scissors motion reflexively. He pulls back when he realizes his mistake, looking like he’s about to apologize, but Mingyu’s hand has already folded into a rock. They mindlessly play a round of Rock, Paper, Scissors like this, and Airport Crush neatly covers Mingyu’s rock with paper with a quiet laugh. “I’m Jihoon. Sorry about…that. I didn’t sleep much on the plane.”

Mingyu waves it off with a smile that he hopes doesn’t reveal too much endearment. “Maybe it’ll help you with jetlag.”

“Maybe. I feel like I won’t be able to sleep anyways. I still have deadlines to meet.”

“Hey, you’re still in Hawaii. Don’t work too hard,” Mingyu insists. “You have to enjoy the moment.”

Jihoon looks like he’s biting back a smile. “You sound like my friends. I think they’re both glad I’m leaving the studio and upset that I’m just going to spend it working,” he says with a shake of his head. He tries to make it sound exasperated, like the nagging is exhausting, but there’s an undeniable fondness in his voice that makes Mingyu smile wider.

“Well, I don’t know them, but your friends sound smart. You should listen to them,” he says, pulling another half-hearted scoff from Jihoon.

The rest of the drive passes by quickly. Mingyu can’t tell if the excitement building in his stomach is from anticipation of his trip or from how Jihoon lets him lean closer to peer out the window at the passing scenery. Or if it’s from the way Jihoon sticks by his side when they reach the hotel, following him to the check-in line. They only really separate when it’s Mingyu’s turn at the desk, and then maybe he pretends to be studying his issued keycard and the supplied hotel information guide for an extra long period of time to buy some time as Jihoon finishes checking in himself. He looks surprised to see him still lingering in the lobby, but he wheels over to him anyway. They stand in silence for a moment, neither of them knowing what to say now.

“Well,” Mingyu says, his voice trailing off. He doesn’t want to be the one to pull away first or seem presumptuous about asking for more.

“Well,” Jihoon echoes. He holds up his hotel keycard. “See you.”

He can’t help the brief feeling of disappointment, but he can’t necessarily keep Jihoon from leaving. Jihoon must be tired from the flight, and Mingyu…Mingyu does seem to have a habit of misreading situations. “See you.” He waves weakly, watching him walk away from him for the second time that day.

It isn’t until he gets to his own hotel room that the exhaustion hits him like a pile of bricks. What makes it worse is the large bed he finds there, clearly meant for two, and the pre-arranged welcome gifts nearly spread across the sheets. It’s nearly addressed to a Mr. Joshua Hong, and it’s a stark reminder of his circumstances. It makes him realize that he hadn’t thought about Jisoo all day, too enthused and distracted by meeting Jihoon, but that giddiness has worn off. Now he’s just left feeling hollow and extra alone, the same way he’d felt back in Seoul. He’s not naive enough to believe that landing in Hawaii would magically change that, but he’d hoped that there would’ve been a spark of some sort. A sign that this trip had been a good idea in the first place, and so far, he’s coming up short.

There’s not much on his itinerary tomorrow — only a dinner reservation at seven. Most of it is left purposefully blank. Jisoo had likely kept it that way, intending for it to be a rest day to settle in Hawaii. One meant for sleeping in and leisurely exploring the hotel if they wanted. Because Jisoo is thoughtful like that.

If Mingyu spends the rest of his first night in Hawaii feeling a little blue, his stomach churning with nausea, no one has to know. He’ll blame it on the jetlag.

🌴

Unfortunately, the jetlag is responsible for other things. It’s a terrible self-fulfilling prophecy that makes him stir awake from a restless sleep at five in the morning, well before hotel breakfast would even be ready. He tosses and turns in the sheets, trying to will himself back to sleep for at least a few more hours, but it’s useless, so he ends up getting up anyways.

According to the hotel’s guide, the only thing that’s open at this hour is the gym. That could work. Mingyu hadn’t gone yesterday, everything considered, and going for a workout could help pass the time until breakfast at seven.

He gets ready quickly and heads downstairs, navigating to the gym with his trusty guide. He doesn’t think he can see anyone inside through the frosted glass doors, which means all the weights and machines will be blissfully free. It feels like a good omen and perfect start to his first day. He pushes through confidently, ready to have the place to himself.

Okay. Well, scratch that. There is exactly one person in the gym.

Jihoon lowers the weight in his hand. “I take it back. I’m starting to think that you’re stalking me.”

Yesterday’s Mingyu was right. Jihoon is fit. He’s extremely fit, and the baggy sweatsuit he’d worn did him no justice at all. His gym clothes are the same shade of black, but his t-shirt hugs his very sizable biceps tightly and clings to his very sizable chest with sweat. His very short shorts ride up on pale, thick thighs as he shifts on the bench. Jihoon sets the weight on the floor with a loud clang that draws Mingyu back to his senses and makes him realize that he hasn’t replied. He’s just been staring. “I — No, I swear! I just — can’t sleep, and I didn’t go to the gym yesterday, and —“

“Hey, hey, no — Mingyu, I’m kidding.” Jihoon pushes his hair out of his face, and wow, Mingyu really cannot stop staring. His eyes are drawn to every motion, from the way he wipes away the beading sweat on his temple to the way his muscles flex as he reaches back down for the weight. “Let me know if you need a spot or anything.” He turns back to his set, making distracting grunts of effort as he curls the weight, and all Mingyu can do is give him a stiff nod and meander over to an open machine.

It takes a second, but once he settles into routine, he begins to relax. It feels good, working out, and all of the negative emotions that had been hanging over his head since landing in Hawaii begin to ebb away. He almost even forgets that he isn’t alone, but he’s quickly reminded when Jihoon moves to start a set on the machine adjacent. He tries to refocus, but in between his sets, he can’t help but feel like Jihoon is looking at him. The thought makes him fumble, throwing him off balance as he lowers into another squat, and he nearly tips over.

“Hey, don’t —“ Jihoon’s hands fly to steady him, firm on his waist. “Your form is off. You’ll lose your balance.”

Jisoo used to do the same. Guided him at the gym, gently encouraging, never hesitant about contact that Mingyu could so easily lean into. Something about the touch, something that should be familiar but is so different now, makes his stomach flip. He allows himself to breathe again once Jihoon lets him go, but the feeling of strong hands on his waist seems to linger. “Oh. Thanks.”

They seem to reach an unspoken agreement after that. Jihoon starts to work out with him, and they wordlessly begin trailing each other around the gym. Their only conversations are about sets and weights and form as they trade off machines. Mingyu notices that Jihoon uses the same weights as he does, lifting and squatting and pressing them with ease. Sometimes he even adds more to it, which is something that Mingyu definitely notices. Time seems to fly by, and he hardly realizes it until Jihoon stops to check his Apple watch.

“Nice workout,” he says, finally detaching himself from Mingyu’s side to collect his stuff.

Mingyu nods, feeling extra loose-limbed. The burn of his muscles is pleasantly warm. “Yeah, that was fun.” He picks up a neatly rolled towel, sighing against its warmth as he dabs away at the sweat pooling around his neck. “What are you doing after this?”

Jihoon shrugs. “Taking a shower. Going to work. Back to my room. What else?” he asks, acting as if he wasn’t in Hawaii with a pool and a beach only a few minutes walk away. Mingyu makes an indignant noise.

“You were being serious about not going to the pool? It’s going to be gorgeous out.”

“I was being serious when I said I had work.”

“Were you being serious about not packing swim trunks?”

The wry smile on Jihoon’s face has grown a tiny bit wider, but he doesn’t say anything in response. It’s not a no.

“Well,” Mingyu says, feeling extraordinarily bold. It must be the dopamine from working out. “I’ll be there if you change your mind.”

Jihoon still doesn’t say anything, only waving a hand in goodbye as he leaves, but judging by his amused expression, it’s still not a no.

Mingyu feels light, floaty almost, and most importantly — filled with a renewed sense of purpose. He dutifully returns to his room to take a shower and takes extra care in preparing for his day. He makes sure to tame his hair into something more presentable, chooses his most flattering pair of swim trunks, and packs extra sunscreen just in case. There’s a different kind of excitement that seizes him, a feeling he’s almost forgotten, and by the time he’s settled by the pool, he realizes that feeling is very much butterflies in his stomach.

He’s not sure what Jihoon’s work entails, but it seems to be taking up a good amount of the day. It’s fine at first. Mingyu can hardly say that this is a bad way to spend his day. He stretches out on the pool chair, soaking up the gorgeous Hawaii sun, and delicious food and icy drinks are never far from reach. The pool itself is the perfect temperature, refreshingly cool, and with a perfect view of the nearby beach. The sand looks beautiful, piled in wonderfully white hills, and the waves crash against them with a satisfying sound. He can hardly wait to go down there, but he’d told Jihoon he’d be by the pool, so by the pool he stays.

As the hours tick by, though, he starts to feel a little put out. He thinks he would wait longer, just in case, but his dinner reservation is fast approaching. He lingers until the last few possible moments before he drags himself out of the water and trudges back up to the hotel to get ready. It’s hard not to feel stood up, even if he technically wasn’t. You can’t get stood up by someone who had never said they’d be there. Not a no, but not a yes.

He comes across a commotion on the way to the elevators. There’s a steady stream of people letting out from the ballroom, all dressed in fancy suits and carrying briefcases. They look very important and very out of place in a resort in Hawaii, the opposite of leisure. Mingyu awkwardly steps to the side, narrowly avoiding being run into by several frantic looking businessmen. He doesn’t do a good job of dodging, because he nearly falls right into someone, only stopped by firm hands that keep him upright.

It’s a familiar pressure. Too familiar. Mingyu turns slowly, his heart lodged in his throat.

Jihoon stares right back at him. His eyes dip briefly before widening, and then his hands flinch away from Mingyu’s bare waist. He steps back, leaving a polite amount of space between them, and it’s only then that Mingyu notices his change in attire. It’s no wonder that he hadn’t recognized Jihoon — he’s dressed up. His hair is gelled back, exposing his forehead, and he’s wearing a white button-up, sleeves pushed up on his arms, nearly tucked into a neatly pressed pair of slacks. He’s wearing a tie.

“Oh,” Mingyu says dumbly, his mouth suddenly feeling very dry. “Um…hi.”

Jihoon clears his throat. “Work,” he says as sn explanation, gesturing down at his outfit, though he sounds a little choked himself.

“I — I believe you.” Mingyu resists the urge to wrap himself up in his towel. He feels underdressed, even if it’s perfectly normal to have been swimming at a Hawaiian resort. He’s dripping all over Jihoon’s proper clothes. “Are you off now?”

Jihoon can’t quite meet his eyes, but he nods slowly. “More or less. Are you done with swimming?”

Yes, once I figured you weren’t coming, Mingyu thinks. “Yeah. I have a dinner reservation at seven, so I wanted to come up early to get ready.”

“Right. Well,” Jihoon motions toward an open elevator, one that politely announces going up. “After you.”

No one else joins them — maybe they can sense the awkward tension — and the silence is filled by the cheery elevator music. Mingyu can see Jihoon’s hand tapping against his leg, keeping time with the melody, and a tiny insane part of him wants to reach over to take it in his own, to feel his fingertips drum rhythmically against his palm.

The elevator dings open to Jihoon’s floor, one below his own. It’s becoming a familiar sight, watching the back of his head as he starts to leave, and maybe being out in the sun for so long has left Mingyu feeling a little frustrated. Maybe it’s because he’s been waiting all day to run into Jihoon again, but he feels like he can’t let him walk away a fourth time. It’s only by luck that he’s managed to run into him as often as he has, ever since the airport, and he doesn’t know when that luck would run out. Impulsively, he sticks a hand out between the doors, keeping them from closing on another window of opportunity.

“Wait,” he calls out, stopping Jihoon in his tracks. “My reservation is actually for, um, two. It was supposed to be me and my, um, friend, but….” Mingyu pauses, starting to feel hot all over under his careful gaze. He’s studying Mingyu intently, and while his expression is still indecipherable, he patiently waits for him to finish despite the persistent ding of the elevator. The next words come out of his mouth in a hurried torrent. “Do you want to come? If you’re not busy?”

The elevator continues to ding incessantly in the growing silence, getting increasingly louder with every passing second. Ding. Ding. Dingdingdingdingding.

Finally, before Mingyu is about to explode into a million tiny pieces and die of mortification, emphasized by the sound of the protesting elevator and his heart pounding in his chest, Jihoon says: “Okay.”

“Sorry, I know it’s weird, I just wouldn’t mind the company, and —“

“Mingyu. I said okay.”

“Okay. Wait, really?”

“Yes,” he affirms with a low chuckle. “I’ll meet you in the lobby?”

Mingyu can do nothing else but nod wordlessly, finally pulling back into the elevator. This time, Jihoon doesn’t turn away first. The last thing he sees before the doors groan shut is the same small smile that Jihoon always leaves him with, the same one that always leaves him feeling dazed and dizzy.

He had only left himself an hour to get ready, but that was before he had a dinner date. Now that hour doesn’t feel like nearly enough time, but Mingyu is nothing but efficient, and he’s quickly showered and blow-dried and dressed and back in the lobby with time to spare.

Considering that Jihoon had so few details to work with — knowing nothing more than a meeting place and a time — he dressed remarkably well for the occasion. It’s a step down from his stiff work attire, yet not too far from it. He’s probably in the same pair of slacks from before, loose but tailored, but he’s traded in his pressed white button-up for something black and cut too low to be considered professional, though it’s still tucked in. He must’ve also taken a shower, because his hair seems softer, falling over his forehead in gentle waves.

Mingyu is in something similar. Sure, it had taken him picking through the entirety of his luggage and trying on a myriad of different combinations to land on black-on-black, but maybe it had been worth the trouble. They look like a pair, almost, and judging by the way Jihoon gives him a not-so subtle once-over, he’s aware of it too.

“Hi,” Mingyu says shyly.

“Hi,” Jihoon replies coolly. “Where to?”

The restaurant has some ridiculously French name, one too complicated and accented for Mingyu to sound out even slowly. The booking only supplies a time and address, and according to maps, it’s not far. It’s a little further down by the beach than their hotel. “A seafood place down the way. We can walk, or —“

“Let’s take a car.” Jihoon interrupts. He pats his pocket, his faint smile tinged with a hint of mischief. Like an act of rebellion, however tame it was, and devastatingly cute. “Work covers Ubers.”

It turns out what’s not a far walk is an even shorter drive. It’s not long enough for the silence to get awkward. The driver even lets the windows down for them to feel the cool Hawaii air as they pull onto the roads, winding through the palm tree speckled streets, and Mingyu barely has time to close his eyes and feel the breeze on his face before the car pulls to a stop, depositing them in front of the restaurant.

If you could call it that. It feels like it’s a bit of an understatement now that he was there in person.

The restaurant looks like it’s almost nestled in amongst the Hawaiian greenery, with dark wood exterior and lofty high ceilings and glass windows that stretch high up to the sky. It’s shrouded in dim lighting, with only flickering torches leading a pathway up to the entrance, which has a valet and a hostess waiting to usher them inside. Not really your average seafood place down the way.

He had Googled the restaurant beforehand, sure. He knows it has a Michelin star and three dollar signs in the price range, but he hadn’t quite expected this. And he’s sure Jihoon hadn’t either, if his expression was any giveaway. Still, he doesn't say anything about it. Not even when Mingyu has to mention a reservation for Joshua at the hostess stand, not when they’re taken to a secluded table with candles and rose petals, not when the waitress offers them warm smiles and congratulations.

He doesn’t say anything until the first round of food comes out — a small sampling of beautifully browned scallops on a bed of light sauce, adorned with a few sprigs of greens — and even then it’s just a polite thank you to the waiter.

Jihoon chews. Swallows. Doesn’t stop looking at Mingyu as he does so.

“This is fancy,” he finally remarks, slow and even.

Mingyu averts his gaze to poke at the food with a fork. He knows that Jihoon is owed an explanation, especially since he was now stuck in a fixed menu course with a virtual stranger, but he wasn’t expecting to tell him this way.

“I’m sorry for not giving you a heads up. I didn’t even….” He trails off, chewing at his lip. “You don’t have to worry about the, um, bill, obviously. I got it.” Jihoon is staring at him like he doesn’t really believe that but is too polite to say so. Which is fair. Not like he had any way of knowing, but Mingyu’s humble office job salary wouldn’t even begin to cover the tab here. “Well, not me, but…my friend. He was my…boyfriend, actually. Ex. He planned this whole thing months ago as a birthday gift, but that was before we broke up and now it’s nonrefundable and…yeah.”

Jihoon seems like he doesn’t know what to say. He looks at the scattered flowers and dripping candles between them, his eyes softening a bit. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. We broke up a while ago, but this trip isn’t really helping things.” Mingyu stabs at a scallop to keep from cringing. He doesn’t know why he feels a sudden urge to spill his guts, but the words seem to bubble out of him, a torrent of water from a broken dam. Not even Seungkwan could get him to really open up, but maybe this foreign place, in this hidden away restaurant with someone he barely knows — it feels easy. It feels safe. Still, he can’t help but feel like he needs to apologize. “Sorry, I think this is the first time I’ve really talked about it.”

“You can talk about it if you want.” Firm. Steady and unwavering, just like his gaze. His irises are dark, flickering in the low candlelight, and Mingyu is a weak man. So weak. He finds himself nodding, softening, melting.

“It wasn’t a long relationship, but I can’t help but feel like I overthought all of it. I — I think I know deep down that it’s been over, and that I don’t miss him in that way anymore, but I think I have a hard time being alone. And to saying no.” His voice goes quiet, his cheeks warming at the admission. He stares down at his plate, his appetite waning with the familiar swell of emotion at the back of his throat. “He wanted to stay friends afterwards and I couldn’t say no. The same way I couldn’t say no to this trip.”

The scrape of a fork draws his eyes back up. Jihoon’s the one avoiding eye contact now, but he gently nudges a scallop onto Mingyu’s plate.

“You should eat before it gets cold,” he mumbles, and Mingyu’s so taken by this act, his mouth parting slightly with surprise, that he obeys without a second thought. And it helps, the hot food, the way it floods his mouth with comforting warmth, filling him with a tingly heat that only burns hotter when Jihoon’s eyes meet his own again. “Mingyu, you shouldn’t…blame yourself for that. It just means you have a big heart. And besides…you’re not….”

He trails off, clearly embarrassed. Mingyu can tell that he isn’t used to saying things like this. He’s not too sure if he had intended to say that much at all. Jihoon’s face wrinkles almost as soon as the words leave his mouth, even if he tries to hide it by quickly taking a sip of water. Mingyu bites back an endeared smile, knowing not to press further, even if the words make his heart swell, even if Jihoon won’t ever fully understand what it means to him.

“Thank you,” he says instead, almost a whisper. This moment between them feels fragile, heavy and tense, and he’s worried about it shattering in his hands. With some hesitation, he reluctantly changes the subject, attempting to lighten the mood a bit. “So, how was work?”

The rest of the meal passes like this — they talk, casual conversation, offering idle commentary between bites. Course after course of delicious food, plates easily cleared and whisked away, and Mingyu learns things in between. Things like how Jihoon’s work conference had dragged on for too long and had involved too many themed icebreakers when he’d rather have done actual producing work in his hotel room. That Jihoon’s produced for several idol groups that he recognizes, that Jihoon’s an only child. That Jihoon isn’t particularly partial to mussels. That Jihoon has a big appetite, just like him, which meant the plates set in front of them didn’t stand a chance. Dessert was quite literally gone in a spoonful, and an expensive spoonful at that.

“That was so good, but I feel like I’m still hungry.” Mingyu complains under his breath. It makes Jihoon chuckle.

“I wish they had sides of rice,” he says wistfully. He picks up the bill before Mingyu can even reach for it, already having pulled his wallet out.

“Ah, he wanted me to use his card to cover everything,” Mingyu says weakly.

Jihoon shakes his head briskly, slipping his — black — card into the holder without even glancing down at the receipt. Closes it with finality. “No, it’s fine. You invited me. I’ll take care of it.”

God, as much as Mingyu tries not to let that go to his head — shivers dance up his spine anyways. He murmurs a stunned thank you, but the dazed feeling keeps his head spinning even after they settle their tab and head back to the hotel.

It’s almost deja vu, the way they linger in the lobby, dragging their feet as they approach the elevator. Drawing out the small talk as they dance around the idea of a thing, but even that comes to a close when they end up exhausting the light teasing and quiet chuckles.

When it’s really time to go — when they shuffle into the arriving elevator and Mingyu has almost nearly lost hope during the considerable amount of silence between them — Jihoon clears his throat. “What activities do you have planned?” he asks casually.

“Huh?”

“For the rest of your time in Hawaii.” Jihoon’s tone is matter-of-fact, confident, but he’s still not quite meeting Mingyu’s eyes. “You said your ex made plans for two?”

Mingyu frowns. “Yeah, but — wait, are you…?”

“If you feel like having company.” His words stumble out, hushed and tinged with slight dialect, and it leaves Mingyu wondering if that happens every time he’s nervous. If he’s nervous often, or if it’s just this moment in between.

“Okay,” Mingyu replies softly, keeping his giddiness at bay. He feels like anything more might startle him, and he practically holds his breath as he passes his phone into Jihoon’s outstretched hand.

He puts his number in, filling in his contact information before handing it back, keeping his gaze still firmly down. It’s the stiffest looking contact he has in his phone, probably the only one without a contact photo or several emojis in the name. Mingyu has to resist adding one himself. Maybe a flower or a palm tree, given their circumstances. Maybe a cat. Jihoon kind of looks like one. “Your family name is Lee?”

“Yeah. Sorry, I should’ve mentioned it earlier.”

“No, it’s fine. Mine is Kim. Kim Mingyu.” He laughs a little. He’d gladly opened up about his ex, told him all the reasons why he was here in Hawaii, and yet never managed to exchange surnames. “Maybe we should’ve started out with that. Names and birthdays and blood types.”

Jihoon hums. “You said you were here for your birthday? How old are you?”

“Mhm. I’m turning 28 next week. April 6th, 1997.”

“I’m 28, but I’m 1996. November.”

“Can I call you hyung?” Jihoon’s face pinks a bit at the familiarity. Maybe it’s a little forward, but Mingyu thinks it would be weird to be so formal with a guy who had just sat across from him at a candlelit dinner, everything aside.

“If you want,” he mumbles, almost drowned out by the noisy creak of the elevator as the doors groan open onto his floor. Jihoon nods his head as he steps out, playing at coolness as he shoves his hands into his pockets. “And just…let me know about anything else.”

Okay. Okay — “Okay,” Mingyu manages to squeak out just before the doors shut, leaving him alone. A different feeling seizes him now, one that makes him want to kick his feet and scream into a pillow. It’s equal parts panic and equal parts excitement, he decides, power-walking briskly back into the safety of his hotel room where he can do just that.

When he finally surfaces, still clutching his pillow to his chest, the panic has begun to overtake the excitement. He thinks about — all of the plans, and even though Jihoon had openly said that he would want to come along, would he actually? Did he just feel obligated to say that? Oh God, it was too soon for Mingyu to say that he wanted this, right?

He stares at the empty text conversation with wide eyes, fingers hovering over the keyboard as he thinks, but his thoughts are interrupted by the loud buzz of an incoming FaceTime call.

He had told Seungkwan that it might be hard to make FaceTime work with the time difference, but Seungkwan had insisted. He should’ve expected that he would call him the first day. And call him promptly at that, because when he accepts the call, Seungkwan is still in his work clothes. He must’ve called as soon as he’d gotten home.

“How was dinner?” His friend asks immediately, leaning in to get a closer look, like he can deduce how Mingyu’s day went just from the first few seconds of the call connecting. “Did it live up to its Michelin star?”

“Dinner was fine,” Mingyu says vaguely. His mind jumps instantly to Jihoon, and he thinks it shows.

It must show, because Seungkwan’s pixelated eyebrows draw together with concern. “Hey, are you okay? Shua-hyung didn’t back out of taking care of all the tabs still, right?”

“No, no, nothing like that.” Seungkwan is still staring at him expectantly, and all of the nervous energy inside of him suddenly bursts. “I actually didn’t have to worry about the tab. I went with someone, and he paid for us.”

The noise of disbelief that erupts from his phone speaker is so loud that he has to dial it down a few notches. “Yah, Kim Mingyu. Was that not a Michelin star restaurant? I know Shua’s rich, but who?”

Mingyu describes their meeting, their frequent bumping into each other, leaving nothing out — including how much he was lifting at the gym or how trim his waist looked in his tailored pants, because he knows that Seungkwan values those details. Seungkwan’s eyes are practically bugging out of his head by the time he’s finished recounting dinner and their elevator conversation.

“So, let me get this straight. A mysterious, sexy, rich stranger paid for your expensive dinner and volunteered to keep you company for the rest of your time there?”

Pretty much. When Seungkwan puts it like that, it sounds….. “I think he just feels bad for me.”

“Oh my God, you’re crazy. Never say that to me again, seriously.”

Mingyu groans, rubbing a hand over his face. “I don’t know, Seungkwan. Should I actually text him?”

Even thousands of miles away, across time zones and spotty cell service, Seungkwan knows when Mingyu’s voice starts to waver, starts to go a little quiet. He knows when to soften, but he also knows that Mingyu values his honesty. It’s fiercely sincere, the look in his eyes now, and his voice takes on a serious tone. “He was the one who offered, hyung. I say you should give it a chance. You deserve it,” he says firmly, and that does make Mingyu a little misty-eyed anyways.

“Okay. I’ll try.” They exchange small smiles, little nods of determination, and the mood shifts. Mingyu feels newly emboldened. Ready. He’s about to ask for ideas on a starting text when Seungkwan interrupts him again.

“You know, if this goes well, you kind of owe me one. You should get me an expensive souvenir,” Seungkwan muses. “Hey, Hansol asked for one of those dancing bobbleheads if you can find them.”

“Okay, goodnight, Seungkwan.” He says with a dramatic roll of his eyes, though he can’t help but grin back. “Miss you.”

“Love you! Have fun, or else!”

The FaceTime closes, sending the screen back to the text message screen where his typing cursor blinks impatiently back at him. He types the first thing he can think of and hits send before he can start to second-guess himself.

you

hi!! it’s mingyu ☺️

would you be interested in hiking tomorrow?

A reply comes almost instantly, much to his surprise. Jihoon didn’t strike him as the type to sleep this early into the night, but not as the type to answer texts right away either.

lee jihoon

sure. i was gna do cardio tmw anyway

you

do you go to the gym often??

lee jihoon

it keeps me sane

making use of the amenities, right?

you

haha right

still not going to use the pool though??

lee jihoon

is it on your itinerary?

you

if i said yes would you go

lee jihoon

i told you i didn’t pack swim clothes

what time tmw?

you

hmm..

six? i want to see the sunrise 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

lee jihoon liked your message

lee jihoon

see you then

Mingyu lays his phone flat on his chest, letting the darkness swallow him up again as it blinks off. He lies there, letting himself feel the butterflies stirring in the depths of his stomach, letting the feeling spread across his body unfettered. It’s big feelings for something that hadn’t quite been a first date, but it’s been a while since he’s allowed himself to feel this way.

His second night in Hawaii, and already so much has changed. Maybe Seungkwan was right. Maybe it was a magical place, a place for new chances. Maybe he would have to make some space in his luggage for an expensive souvenir, but maybe it’s too soon to tell.

🌴

Six in the morning might’ve been a little presumptuous of him, Mingyu thinks as he sits in the lobby, his leg jittering with anticipation. He checks his watch, which tells him that for one thing, his heart rate is spiked much too high for someone at rest, and for another, that there’s still five minutes before six. He’s not sure why he’s worried that he’d be stood up, especially when Jihoon had explicitly told him otherwise, but maybe part of him still feels like this is all just a dream. An insane and whirlwind dream.

His fingers flex against each other as he fidgets, wringing his hands together nervously. He thinks about the hiking trail. It’s fairly short, enough for them to scale it and reach the peak of the rock formation before the sun rises, but it’s steep, the dirt roads loose and winding. It’s something he knows Jisoo would enjoy — he knows exactly what kind of pictures he would take and can picture the little smile on his face as the early morning breeze tousles his hair, but he doesn’t know Jihoon well enough to know if he would be the same. He doesn’t think he’d be, and that’s enough to make him a little nervous.

A few seconds before he’s debating the idea of texting him and calling the whole thing off, Jihoon turns the corner, his hands shoved in his pockets as he walks over. It’s clear that he’s been awake for a while. His eyes are bright, his hair pushed back, a little shiny with the droplets of sweat that dot his brow.

Mingyu blinks. “Did you work out before this?” he asks a little incredulously. Jihoon shrugs.

“Just a warm up.”

“You’re really dedicated, hyung,” Mingyu laughs, unable to help the relief that floods his body as he rises to his feet.

He’s learning that compliments fluster Jihoon, no matter how much he tries to hide it. It startles a surprised laugh out of him and he ducks his head, gesturing vaguely to nowhere. “I think you’re pretty dedicated too, waking up this early to hike.”

“Hey, I only do it for things that are worth it.” Mingyu realizes the implication behind his words too late, but Jihoon is already smirking at him. “Ah…what I mean is….” He coughs into a fist. “Let’s go?”

The trail is right outside of their hotel. It’s still dark outside, and what the travel websites had sworn was an easy way up looks especially more daunting now. He looks up the road apprehensively, hesitant, but Jihoon is already a step ahead of him. He clicks his phone light on, taking a confident stride until he’s quite literally a step ahead on the slope. “Coming?”

“Right…right behind you,” Mingyu replies, carefully slotting his foot where Jihoon’s was earlier and promptly slipping on the loose rocks. Jihoon’s hand snaps out to grab his wrist to steady him, pulling him forward with a laugh.

“Maybe you should have your light on too,” he says, and thank God it’s still dark out, because Mingyu thinks he’s a terrific shade of red. He lets go, but he can still feel the ghost of his fingers wrapped tightly around him, right above his rapid pulse. Mingyu waits a second for his face to cool down before he switches his own flashlight on, and then they slowly make their way forward.

It’s meant to be a short hike, but with all the stumbling, it’s definitely taking longer than he’d like. He gives up on the idea of a light halfway through in favor of another free hand that he can use to balance better, but Jihoon keeps a watchful enough eye on him. He points out every loose step and every branch that’s sturdy enough to hold his weight, constantly glancing backwards with his light, until finally — finally, they break through the foliage onto an open and flat area that overlooks a cliff.

The sun hasn’t yet risen, but the sky is pale enough for him to make out just how high they are. Mingyu hasn’t realized just how far upwards they’ve managed to hike, but seeing it now is dizzying. Dizzying, but he can’t help but inch forward, just as far as the glare of the artificial light goes. Jihoon clicks it off once they’re far enough, and the view is enough to take his breath away.

The landscape below them is still mostly shrouded in shadow, not yet touched by the lightening sky. There are steep slopes and ridges of rock, shadows of endless foliage that stretch beneath them, and the lights of the city rooftops twinkle as they peek through. The surrounding ocean, though, catches the light of the rising sun, ripples that reflect the blossoming yellows and pinks. The clouds are puffy, idyllic shades of blues and pinks, and he can see the bright orange of the sun slowly breaking through the horizon. It’s a picture right out of a postcard.

“Wow,” he breathes, taking in the sight. He’s seen so many sunrises, done several hikes in Korea to catch a glimpse of this moment, but something about this one was different. Something about this one awakens a feeling in the pit of his stomach, makes his heart swell with warmth.

He hears Jihoon’s sharp intake of breath next to him. When he turns his head, Mingyu catches a glimpse of how his face catches the light, his features softened by the rays. He can see the open wonder in his eyes, his mouth slightly parted in awe as his head tips up towards the rising sun. His fingers fumble as he pulls his phone out of his pocket, and Mingyu can’t help but smile watching him focus on taking a picture of the horizon. “I’ve never seen a sunrise like this before,” Jihoon whispers when he lowers his phone. Gentle and quiet, like he might scare away the sun if he speaks too loud. “It’s…different.”

“It is,” he agrees quietly, still not quite watching the sunrise, only averting his gaze when Jihoon turns. Mingyu lies down on the rocky road, settling for watching the sky slowly turn blue instead, folding his hands over his stomach. The breeze is salty, rustling the leaves of the trees towering over them. They look greener than normal. “‘s pretty. I wish I could live here forever.”

He closes his eyes then, taking in a deep lungful of the crisp Hawaii air as he lets his muscles relax. He hears a scrape of dirt and rocks as Jihoon sits beside him, though he’s careful not to touch Mingyu. Just sits close enough for him to feel that he’s there, a hair’s length away, a tease of body heat. “I don’t know about forever, but it really is nice.”

“Worth waking up for?”

A quiet chuckle. “Yeah. Worth waking up for.”

He lies there for what feels like forever, listening to the sound of chirping birds and rustle of leaves and rumble of crashing waves around them. Jihoon sits next to him all the while, quiet and content as the morning envelopes them in warmth.

The rest of the world eventually starts to wake up along with them. The sounds of nature are soon drowned out by the rumble of cars on the streets and the idle chatter of tourists that wander the trail nearby. The trail was likely to get busier, and this moment wasn’t likely going to be just theirs for long. Mingyu raises his head and opens his mouth to say something, but his stomach speaks before he can. Jihoon laughs out loud.

“Sorry,” Mingyu mumbles bashfully, “Yesterday’s dinner really wasn’t much.”

Jihoon is still laughing, but he nods down the dirt path. “Do you want to go look for something to eat?” he asks, dusting his shorts off as he rises to his feet.

“Please.”

He sticks a hand out. Mingyu hesitates, but he takes it, letting Jihoon pull him up easily, and they retrace their steps down the winding dirt trail.

They end up at a little breakfast cafe in the nearby town. It’s cute and quaint, and Jihoon even good-naturedly waits for Mingyu to snap a picture of their food before he starts digging in.

“What else is on your list for today?” he asks between bites, forking down the last of his eggs.

Mingyu checks his phone, scrolling through until he finds the confirmation emails. “Well,” he says, dragging out the word hesitantly. It’s another activity that he’s not sure Jihoon would be too inclined to join in on, especially with his reluctance to join him at the pool. “I have surfing lessons at the beach soon.”

Jihoon, much to his surprise, perks up a bit. “Surfing?” he murmurs, almost a little wistful.

Curious, Mingyu leans forward a bit. “Yeah. I’ve always wanted to learn how. You can swim, right?”

“I’m from Busan. Of course I can.” He thinks Jihoon puffs his chest out just a bit at that, proud.

“Really? But you never learned how to surf in Busan?”

Jihoon waves his hand absently. “I always thought about it, but I never have the time to. I don’t think I’d be good at stuff like that anyway.” Said like it’s a fact, something he already knows. And yet the longing is clear even to his untrained eye.

If he wants an excuse, though, Mingyu is more than willing to play along. More than willing. “Well…do you want to try?” he offers.

It teases another soft smile from Jihoon, and God, if every limb he goes out on and every chance and risk he takes earns him just that, Mingyu thinks he would be a lot braver.

“I guess I’m starting to regret not packing swim clothes.”

Mingyu laughs. “There are shops all along the beach, hyung. I think I have to buy a rashguard anyway.”

Jihoon nods decisively at that and promptly folds his napkin up, setting aside his silverware. He sticks a wad of cash under the rim of his plate despite his weak protests and stands, though he waits for him before they head down the path together. Mingyu has to hold himself back from reaching over to tangle their fingers together, ignoring the enticing pull of his open palm as their hands sway by their sides. He has to remind himself that two paid meals and a hike doesn’t mean anything, in the grand scheme of things. Right?

When they get to the beachfront shop, Jihoon immediately gravitates towards a black set, which Mingyu is beginning to learn is his uniform. If he had actually taken him up on his offer to see his luggage, he thinks that it’ll probably be a pile of black on black, all very loose and comfortable and cut short. It’s not so much different than what Jihoon’s wearing now, honestly, but at least this set of clothes would be water-repellent.

They part ways to change, and as Mingyu rifles through his backpack for his own swimwear, he finds that he’s glad that he’s overpacked for once. The extra sunscreen and the towels he’d stuffed in would be perfect for the both of them, especially since Jihoon hadn’t packed with the intention of swimming. He emerges, ready to offer his supplies, but whatever quip he had been planning to say dies in his throat when he sees him already waiting for him by the stand.

He’s seen Jihoon in various states of dress already, and it’s not like he’s in anything too drastically exposing. It’s just — the rashguard is very form-fitting, almost like it’s a size too small, and Christ, it’s a sight to behold. There’s a tease of muscle that shifts underneath, and even though he’s seen much more of his bare arms and skin at the gym already, it has him swallowing roughly. Maybe it’s something about the high collar of it, how it hugs at the ridges of his neck. Maybe it’s something about how even covered up, Jihoon makes Mingyu’s knees feel like jelly. How even the arrival of the impressively tall and muscular instructor can’t even make him tear his eyes away, and how Jihoon steadily meets his gaze the entire time, regarding him with a similar kind of intensity.

“Ready to surf?” the instructor chirps, oblivious to the tension that he shatters with a sharp and enthusiastic clap of his hands. Mingyu shakes the thoughts out of his head to give him an eager thumbs up in response, and soon his attention is focused on absorbing each of his instructions, translating each English word carefully in his head.

They start on land, practicing the surfing motions while standing rooted in the sand. The instructor shows them how to position themselves, chest to their boards, and the paddling motion is easy enough. It’s learning how to stand on the board that gets Mingyu’s heart start racing with nerves, a mix of excitement and apprehension. Balance doesn’t come easy for someone as clumsy as he is, and he thinks his height is a disservice here. He teeters as he practices sliding up on the board, sticking his hands out prematurely as he stumbles off into the sand. Jihoon perfects it in a matter of minutes, pulling his body upwards and straight with ease, and now two sets of eyes are watching him try again. Mingyu pushes himself up, sliding his feet forward hesitantly, and despite the slower motion, he still manages to sway. Two sets of hands instinctively stick out to catch him, but Mingyu catches himself before he can lose his balance again.

The instructor seems to deem this passable improvement. “Remember to stay low, hands out. Ready to try in the water?”

Falling in cool water would at least be a better alternative to the warming sand. Mingyu starts after the instructor, but a light hand pulls gently at him, dragging him slightly backwards. “It helps if you keep your eyes forward. You’ll lose your balance if your form is off,” Jihoon offers quietly. It reminds him of their morning at the gym, reminds him of the ghost of a firm hand gently moving him into position, straightening his back and keeping him upright.

Mingyu nods, finding himself unable to say anything else.

The instructor starts by having them try to catch the smaller whitewater waves. The water barely laps at their ankles, so they couldn't fall if they tried. And he does try, because he quickly learns that his passable improvement doesn’t translate well in the water. Jihoon, even with all of his quick learning, has trouble too. They spend their practice slipping and sliding and laughing at each other in the damp sand, and he finds that stumbling together makes the sting of the fall more manageable.

Once they’ve learned the motions, they start to paddle out to the deeper parts of the water. They roll through the passing waves, gasping for air as they crash above them and then, finally, when Mingyu thinks he’s starting to get a little too dizzy, the instructor finds a growing crest that he deems doable. He signals at them quickly, but Jihoon nods at him. “All yours.”

It gives him the boost of confidence he needs to shift, turning his surfboard to catch the wave. He feels the rise of it, the surge of the wave sending the thrill of adrenaline rising in his throat, but just as suddenly, it grows too large for him to handle. He falls backward, the board slipping from under his feet, and he plunges into the water. The water feels good, refreshing, the gentle gurgle of bubbles and muffled crash of waves a relaxing reprieve. He surfaces with a gasp before letting the waves tug him back to shore, where he settles to watch Jihoon have a go.

It turns out Jihoon is no better than he is, because he’s sent tumbling in as soon as he stands on the board. But it turns out he wasn’t lying about knowing how to swim, either — strong, confident strokes take him right in to meet Mingyu at the shore. It’s nice to know that this wasn’t just a Mingyu problem, but the way their instructor comes in so easily and elegantly after them does sting a little. It looks like it bothers Jihoon a little too, because he rises to his feet almost instantly.

“Again?” Jihoon asks, breathless but clearly determined.

Mingyu nods firmly. “Again.”

He loses count of how many times they return to the ocean, of how many paddles and missed waves they endure. He can recall the number of successful rides with full confidence, though: zero.

He watches Jihoon coming in on his latest attempt, panting from the exertion as he feels the sun start to grow more intense above them. He watches him slip back into the waves, and when Jihoon paddles his way back in now, he seems a little weary despite the satisfied smile on his face. He drags himself up the shore, stretching as he comes back up, and Mingyu is tired enough that he indulges his terrible brain, letting his lazy eyes rove over him without shame.

Is there shame in noticing things that everyone else could see? He can’t be the only one who notices how the black material of Jihoon’s swimwear clings onto his skin, molding to his body, tracing every curve and ridge of muscle underneath. Notices his pecs, the trim of his waist. How his thighs, his gorgeous muscular thighs, are shiny and slick with saltwater.

Jihoon shakes his hair, throws it back, water dripping down his face as he does so. Mingyu watches it run down the ridge of his nose with rapt attention, watches it run over the plush curves of his lips.

“I’m no good at this,” he laughs. His pale skin is spotted with splashes of pink — on his knees, on his cheeks, his nose — maybe from the sun, the impact of waves as he’d tumbled into, or from embarrassment. Whatever it is, Mingyu has to resist the urge to touch. To see if it’s tender, soft. Jihoon collapses onto the sand, sinking into its warmth with a contented sigh. “You go again. I’m taking a break.”

Mingyu paddles out to where their instructor is still waiting, feeling the motion rock the board under his stomach as they wait for a suitable wave. He does manage to stand up, catching the swell of the wave as it grows. He straightens, shifting his weight to keep his balance, and miraculously, he does. Pride blossoms in his chest, excitement and joy that he manages to tamp down enough to remain steady. He rides it almost all the way to the shore, until he can see Jihoon’s grin. That’s what truly unmoors him, sending his heart soaring and him tumbling into the water, and when he surfaces all he can hear is the ocean crashing onto the sand and the ringing sound of Jihoon’s laughter above it all.

“One more go?” The instructor teases once he arrives back to the shore, holding up a finger. “You were close.”

Mingyu looks at him, then back at Jihoon, who’s staring at him intently, before he shakes his head. “No, thank you. My friend is waiting.”

They head back into the town to search for food after they towel off, unable to ignore the growing protests of their stomachs yet again. It’s well into the afternoon by now, but they’d been too lost in surfing to have stopped for lunch, and the hot sun has only made them hungrier. Jihoon is intrigued by poke, and Mingyu laughs at the way his eyebrows shoot upwards when he’s handed the heaping bowl of protein and rice. It’s no Michelin star meal, but the food and the company fills him up with warm contentment that satisfies him more than a fancy dinner reservation ever could.

There’s several musicians in the town center that they pass by on their walk back, right by the fountain with a tall bronze statue. A hodgepodge of instruments, what Mingyu recognizes as a ukulele, and a chorus of singers. Jihoon is drawn to it, clearly, as much as he tries to hide his sneaking glimpses. His voice drifts off during their conversation, half-formed thoughts dying on his tongue as he’s distracted, but Mingyu just finds it all so devastatingly cute.

He slows his pace down, matching his dragging gait as Jihoon not-so-subtly cranes his neck back for a better look. “Want to go watch?” he asks lightly, teasing. “Finish the day with some music if you’re not sick of it yet?”

Jihoon looks surprised that he’s been caught, but he nods.

Jihoon watches the singers, but Mingyu watches Jihoon. Watches him applaud once the songs end, a few seconds delayed but his eyes twinkling all the same. He looks lighter after a day out, sunkissed and relaxed and happy, a softer curve to his broad shoulders. Their bodies are so close that it’s tempting to connect — it would be too easy for Mingyu to wrap an arm around him and pull him close, for his fingers to reach out and pull his hand into his own, but he swallows it down and settles for standing side-by-side as the buskers finish their set.

The melody stays with Jihoon. It follows them back to the hotel, living in the melodic tapping of his fingers, the low humming when he thinks Mingyu isn’t paying attention. The music seems to come alive in him, taking new form, as pliable as clay under his fingers.

He still seems a little distracted by it when they’re about to part ways. “How early are you waking up tomorrow?” Jihoon asks, his words punctuated by fingers drumming against his leg.

It’s only maybe around seven, but Mingyu already feels the sleepiness tug at him. The kind of sleepiness that comes from a long and hot day out, especially one that had started so early. “Honestly? Let’s sleep in. I’m beat.”

“Okay. Just text me. If I don’t answer, you can wake me up. Room 504.”

“Okay,” Mingyu says, the butterflies stirring awake again at the idea of tomorrow. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Mingyu. Thank you for today.” Jihoon says back, a quiet smile on his face. Really, Mingyu should be the one thanking him for tagging along, but it’s so genuine and open, and he can tell that he means every word. It’s what draws him closer, leaning in slightly to test the waters, and though he towers over Jihoon, the way he looks up at him now has his heart crawling up his throat.

The tension is palpable, but then Jihoon steps back, breaking the spell. Still, there’s something warm and teasing in his eyes, enough that Mingyu isn’t left feeling unsatisfied. The idea of tomorrow lingers enticingly, hinged on the edge of his upturned lips, and though his third night in Hawaii ends without a kiss, Mingyu falls asleep warm and content and hopeful.

🌴

The sunlight that streams into his room wakes him, and a cursory check of his phone lets him know that it’s well past noon. He really had slept in, despite how early he’d fallen asleep, and he’s sure he’s not only missed the hotel breakfast spread but likely also a plethora of itinerary items. Mingyu supposes that it’s fine, though, considering how his body aches when he finally gets up.

There’s a smattering of notifications that he’s missed. A couple of texts from Seungkwan, a few Instagram reels from Hansol, but nothing from Jihoon. He’s probably still asleep, but Mingyu’s already getting hungry. It feels wrong to head downstairs without letting Jihoon know, so he sends him a text to see.

you

good morning 😅

make use of any amenities yet?

In the time it takes for him to wake himself up and get ready, there still isn’t a reply. He’s probably still asleep. He had told him that it was fine for him to come to his door if he doesn’t get an answer, but Mingyu still waits an extra five minutes anyways before he heads out.

He doesn’t hear a thing behind the door, but before he can chicken out, he raps on the wood, a hesitant rhythm of knocks.

He can hear slight movement now, much to his relief. A rustle of fabrics, shuffling, and then the door swings open, revealing a very rumpled and very disheveled Jihoon. His eyes squint against the bright sunlight, almost closed as if he’s still asleep. The sight is so — so cute that the apology on the tip of his tongue dries up, and Mingyu’s left gaping at him like an idiot.

“Mm, Mingoo-yah,” Jihoon mumbles, stifling a yawn. “Sorry, I just woke up, but I,” he really yawns now, stretching as he does so, “I can catch up to you soon.”

He’s sure it’s just the slurring of vowels, an unintentional sleepy mumble, but the nickname makes Mingyu feel warm all the same, a rush of affection spreading through his limbs. He runs a hand through his hair, a little embarrassed. “No, I — I just wanted to see if you wanted breakfast. Or — or lunch, at this point.”

Jihoon nods, his fluffy hair falling over his forehead with the motion, and he makes a sleepy gesture, inviting him inside. “I can get ready fast, if you want to wait.”

Mingyu hesitantly steps over the threshold, following him in. It’s a similar arrangement to his own room, if only a little smaller in its amenities. The small coffee table is drowned in work supplies, a smattering of papers and charging cables and a whirring laptop. He can’t help rearranging the half-full can of Coke Zero to sit on a coaster instead of a bed of important-looking papers.

It looks very freshly used. The computer is still warm to the touch, a program still open. There’s a lot of buttons, a lot of what looks like spliced audio recordings. The skeleton of a song. Mingyu gently pokes at the mouse, watching the cursor wiggle a bit. “I thought you said you didn’t have to work anymore.”

Jihoon emerges from the bathroom in a new set of black clothes, only less wrinkled. “Hm? Oh. I don’t. I just,” he makes a vague gesture. “Got inspired last night and couldn’t wait, so I just threw something together.”

Mingyu hums. “Can I hear?”

The sleepiness seems to clear instantly from his eyes, but Jihoon’s still not awake enough to control the surprise that washes over his features. He blinks. “You want to hear?”

“If you’ll let me, yeah,” Mingyu says quickly, hoping that his request wasn’t too prying. He wants him to know that it’s okay if he says no, that it’s okay to tell him honestly that he’s being nosy, but Jihoon just bites at his lip and reaches over to mess with the program anyways.

“It’s far from done, just so you know,” Jihoon fusses, clicking nervously around the screen. “It’s really just the beat, and I don’t have any lyric ideas yet, so. It’s really nothing.”

He hits play, and from the start, it’s already far from really nothing to Mingyu’s ears. Maybe it’s nothing presentable to a company executive, but the melody is upbeat, fun, laced with the plucky sound of a ukulele and the rise and fall of Jihoon’s hums in place of words. It very obviously reminds him of the musicians they saw yesterday, yes, but it also reminds him of seeing the sunrise, of sitting contently listening to the sounds of early morning, of the crashing of crystal-clear waves, of laughing in the sand. It’s a melody he knows will stay with him long after he leaves Hawaii, and one that leaves him stunned speechless long after it ends.

“I like it,” is all he says instead. For lack of better words. It feels silly to try and muster up any sort of elaborately worded review in front of someone who does this for a living, but Jihoon reacts as if he had. His smile is tinged with barely-hidden relief, like Mingyu’s opinion about it was the only one that mattered.

“You do?”

“Yeah. Who’s it going to be for? Twice? Red Velvet? I hope it’s for Red Velvet, actually—“

“For now, it’s just for me,” Jihoon cuts him off, amused. His voice goes a little softer. “And for you now, too.”

The idea of Jihoon taking inspiration from something they saw and experienced together, molding it into a song and letting him be the first to hear — he can’t lie and say that doesn’t make his heart flutter. Mingyu knows he’s blushing, but Jihoon is too, all red and hot around the ears when he turns away.

“I was going to work on it a little more before we go. If that’s okay.”

Mingyu looks at the itinerary on his phone. At the neatly printed times and schedules, and then back at Jihoon, comfortable and casual on the chair. Part of him still feels bad for dragging him around the island despite his easy agreement, especially after their busy day yesterday. He makes a decision then, clicking his phone off with a shake of his head. “There’s nothing until five o’clock later, actually,” he lies, hoping that it’s not too obvious.

“Oh, really?” Jihoon glances at his computer screen, looking unsure. “Still, I think I’ll probably make you late for lunch service.” He’s hesitant, but Mingyu can tell it isn’t because he’s trying to chase him away. It’s more of an offering, an excuse for him to take if he needed to, but he’s already made up his mind.

Mingyu holds up the laminated sheets next to the hotel telephone. “How do you feel about room service?”

Jihoon studies him again, the same kind of heavy look, like he’s trying to figure out if he’s still serious or not. It looks like he’s wondering why he hadn’t jumped at the chance to leave, but he eventually relaxes. “Sounds great.”

Between the food — they order more than they probably should’ve, courtesy of Jihoon’s business card — and the low hum of music, Mingyu dozes off here and there. It gets to the point where Jihoon physically makes him get into his bed, pulling the covers up for him and reassuring him that yes, it was fine, and yes, he’ll wake him up before five. He drifts off into a dreamless sleep, cozy in sheets that smell faintly like Jihoon.

It’s his hand on his shoulder that wakes him up a few hours later, lightly jostling him.

“Mmrg,” Mingyu says elegantly, turning over, only startling wide awake when he almost slips off the edge. Jihoon very politely does not laugh too loud, but still he can’t bite back his amused grin.

“Almost five, Mingyu.” Jihoon looks refreshed, fully awake and ready to go. The coffee table has been straightened up somewhat, all of their trash neatly set away, and he already has his sunglasses perched on top of his forehead. Mingyu wonders how long he’s been done. “Do you want to get ready?”

“Huh? Oh. Oh, yeah, yeah.”

Thankfully, it’s not an activity that requires a lot of getting ready. He doesn’t need to go back to his room to change or anything, so Mingyu settles for just splashing some water on his face to wake himself up.

They head downstairs promptly after, because their five o’clock reservation is at the hotel’s spa. A massage, which Jihoon sounds pleased about. He’s just as sore as Mingyu is from yesterday’s activities, but Mingyu can also tell that work catches up to him from the way he carries himself. Not that he’s judging by any means. Even despite the ergonomic chair work has supplied him with, he still winces if he straightens up too fast. He’s just as pleased about a massage, only —

Only he just hadn’t realized it was a couple’s massage.

Jihoon is getting good at keeping a poker face in these situations. He keeps it all throughout the check-in process, signing all the papers wordlessly. He looks around the darkened room passively, like the scattered rose petals and the pair of parallel massage beds don’t affect him at all. Really, maybe Mingyu shouldn’t be as flustered as he is, because there’s nothing inherently weird about getting a massage together, but the thought of having to strip down in the same room makes his whole body feel hot. In more ways than one.

“How long has it been? You two?” The masseuse asks, smiling amicably at them.

“Um,” Mingyu starts, chuckling nervously, but Jihoon cuts him off before he can stammer out an explanation.

“Three days?” he says dryly, honestly, sparking a bright laugh from the masseuse. She clearly thinks it’s a joke. Mingyu absently wonders how she would react if she knew how truthful it was.

“Well, you guys are very cute together.” She nods, moving to leave. “I’ll leave you both to change.”

“Wait,” Mingyu calls out. He gestures vaguely at his clothes, his voice suddenly pitching higher. “Um — everything?”

Her eyes twinkle now with a bit of mischief. She smiles knowingly at him. “If you want,” she almost sings, “A lot of people do. No funny business, though. You can save that for your room.”

With that, she ducks away, leaving the both of them alone and sputtering. Jihoon seems to have lost his sense of confidence, because his voice wavers unsteadily now and he very pointedly avoids eye contact.

“Well,” he forces out, “I guess we better get to it before she comes back.”

Taking their shirts off isn’t so bad. That much Jihoon has already seen of him, but he takes his time slowly peeling it off of himself to give him a few extra seconds of privacy. He then busies himself with grabbing a robe, rubbing at the thin silky material in faux-pensiveness to keep from glancing too obviously to his right. He fails superbly, because once he catches even the smallest glimpse of pale skin, his lizard brain can’t keep him from tearing his eyes away.

It’s not anything he hasn’t seen before, even if it had been covered up. It’s just different, seeing the exposed expanse of unmarked skin, not even a blemish or a bruise. Jihoon crosses his arms over his very nice chest, which makes the whole thing so much worse for him. It really accentuates his pecs, gives him a nice flex to his arms, and Mingyu’s mouth feels dry. His eyes flit upwards, catching Mingyu’s intent gaze, and he frowns slightly. “Are you gonna watch me take off my pants, or….”

“Oh, um. Uh—“

“I’m going to, um. Keep my underwear on,” Jihoon says stiltedly, as if that makes it any better.

“Good, yes. Yes, me too,” Mingyu agrees, physically turning his body away to keep from embarrassing himself further. “I’ll just. Yeah.”

Maybe Jihoon laughs a little at him. Mingyu can’t really tell. He’s too busy shucking off his shorts, wrapping himself up in the robe and face-planting onto the massage bed as fast as he can to keep from having to look at him any longer. There’s some rustling, first of fabric sliding off and pooling on the floor and then of towels as Jihoon presumably settles on the bed next to him. Then it’s quiet — if he focuses, he could maybe hear the slight sigh of relief as calm settles over them, almost muffled under the light music playing over the room speakers. It’s enough for him to close his eyes, slowly relaxing his shoulders as he loses himself to the atmosphere, enough that he almost misses Jihoon speaking again.

“Mingyu.” A whisper of his name, so quiet he’s not sure if he heard it or not.

“Hyung?” he asks back uncertainly.

“I know you had more on the itinerary today, but you stayed anyway.” A pause. “You’re kind of a bad liar.”

Mingyu squirms a bit, feeling a little nervous about getting caught. Still, Jihoon is right. He is a bad liar, so it’s almost easy to be honest now. “You offered me your company. I thought the least I could do was offer you mine,” he murmurs. And maybe it’s a bit forward of him, but — “And I like spending time with you.”

Quiet again, nothing more than the low chimes of the spa music and more rustling of the towel covers as Jihoon shifts on the table. When he finally says something again, it’s even more hushed now.

“I…liked it too. Like. And for the record, I’m not doing this to get anything back, but—“

There’s a gentle knock on the door before it opens again, and Mingyu lifts his head slightly to see that their masseuse has returned with a friend. She gestures at him kindly to put his face back down into the pillow, and Mingyu has no choice but to obey so that they can start.

It’s on his mind for the rest of their booked hour and a half, haunting him still. There’s too many possibilities with everything that could come after the but, and he’s sure he could still ask Jihoon about it during their session. Unless their masseuses knew Korean, it would still hold some semblance of privacy, but it feels wrong to break the atmosphere.

He thinks he’ll try when they’re alone again, when the masseuses finish and leave them to shake out their loose limbs. But then Jihoon stretches with a high groan of satisfaction, and Mingyu can so clearly see how his skin gleams with the massage oil that his words end up failing him again, so he doesn’t.

Jihoon himself doesn’t bring it up for the rest of the night, instead filling their following dinner conversation with stories about his friends back home. There’s no real opening for Mingyu to ask, why are you doing this?

Their third night ends with a promise to set alarms and make the most out of tomorrow now that they’re well-rested. A literal pinky promise, because Mingyu sticks his pinky out and keeps it out until Jihoon stops staring at it and interlocks his finger. It’s not a kiss or an answer. Not anything at all, really, but somehow, Mingyu still feels like he’s won.

🌴

lee jihoon

morning

i’m at the gym if ur awake

you

hyunggggg >__<

why didn’t u call me to wake me up

lee jihoon

i figured i’d just let you sleep

but i’m up

what do u have planned today

you

well i really don’t have anything booked this morning

not lying this time

lee jihoon

right

you

i’m serious!!

what do you want to do

[Incoming call - lee jihoon]

Mingyu pulls the toothbrush out of his mouth, nearly choking on his surprise, but he manages not to drop his vibrating phone into the sink. He rinses quickly, coughing and clearing his throat, before he answers it with the calmest and casual “Hello?” he could muster.

“Hello,” Jihoon echoes, amusement clear in his voice. “Skipping out on the gym?”

“You didn’t tell me,” Mingyu whines, but Jihoon just laughs at him. “I can still come down.”

“I’m kidding. I’m almost done, but it’s hard to text between sets.” He lets out a little grunt, a puff of exertion, probably lifting something that’s more than half of Mingyu’s body weight with ease. Mingyu’s grip tightens a bit on his phone. “Seriously, what do you have planned so I can get ready?”

“Well, we have a table at a luau for dinner, but seriously. Nothing scheduled. Yesterday was supposed to be fully booked, so today was supposed to be a rest day.”

Quiet on the other line. Nothing more than the faint buzz of gym activity, maybe a light cough in the background.

“I’m sorry,” Jihoon mumbles.

“Don’t say sorry. Sell the song to Red Velvet and we can call it even.”

There’s rustling on the other line, his quiet chuckle muffled by the clang of a weight being replaced. “Do you want to meet me for breakfast and decide what we do then?”

“You keep insisting on my plans, but I’m out of them,” Mingyu laughs. “You decide or I’m taking us to the pool.”

“Well, if you put it that way.” His voice trails off, getting more hushed and slow. He hesitates for a second, but Mingyu waits patiently. “I think…I’d like to try surfing again. It’ll get us hungry enough to eat later tonight, and there’s a lot of other things we can do there if we need to,” he says quickly, like he’s trying to build a convincing case. It’s sweet, endearing, and he can almost see the embarrassed look on Jihoon’s face.

He bites back a smile, hoping it doesn’t show too much through his voice. “I want to try it again too. I think I’ll do better without a teacher watching me the whole time. Let’s not leave until we can do a run without falling.”

The relief is clear in Jihoon’s responding chuckle. “I think so too. I’ll save you a spot at the breakfast buffet, yeah?”

Mingyu hums in agreement, keeping his excitement at bay, but once they hang up, he doesn’t think he’s ever moved faster. That makes up for missing his morning workout itself, the way he scrambles to throw on an outfit and tumble down to the hotel breakfast, and he can’t tell if he’s just eager to catch the waves or to not leave Jihoon waiting too long.

Jihoon seems like he’s just as excited to head down to the beach, because despite his workout, they don’t linger too long at breakfast. That ends up working in their favor, because it also turns out that the waves would be just as unforgiving to Mingyu today as they were before.

For Jihoon, at least, it looks like he was right — he does do better without the instructor. His paddling is confident, quick, his muscles loosened and warmed up from the gym earlier, and it almost looks instinctive when he pulls himself up to stand on the board. He successfully catches the first wave out, teetering slightly but managing to keep his balance all the way to shore. His pleased smile turns a little shy when Mingyu cheers on his arrival with a loud whoop.

“I just got lucky,” Jihoon insists, but from there on, it’s like he keeps on getting lucky every single time. His form only improves, his posture straightening as he navigates larger and larger crests. He’s a natural. Busan would be proud.

It’s encouraging at first. Mingyu excitedly paddles out, eager to ride the waves himself, but he can’t seem to stop slipping. The slightest rock of a wave sends him tumbling into the water, no matter how he changes his positioning or his techniques. Jihoon tries to help, tries to describe how his feet should be, how fast he should be getting into position, but every guiding touch and gentle hand on his body seems to shake Mingyu’s nerves even more. It doesn’t help that every time he tries to pull himself up on the board, he can still catch a glimpse of Jihoon’s watchful gaze from the shore, the expectant shine of his eyes, and he ends up stuttering or slipping or hesitating.

Jihoon seems to notice his stubborn pout when Mingyu trudges back after his latest failed attempt, battered and beaten by the waves.

“You got it. Next wave,” He says, giving him a comforting pat on the shoulder. Mingyu just groans, sinking to his knees before him in the sand.

“I’m never going to get this, and it’s almost time to go back,” he whines, hanging his head exaggeratedly. “I can’t tell if my neck is burning because of the sun or because of how hard I keep falling.”

Jihoon hums, very obviously hiding his amusement, but there’s the ghost of a smile that plays at his lips as he shakes open a bottle of sunscreen. He squirts out a glob, dabbing it on his own face before he hands it over. “You’ll get it. Put some more on and go back out.”

“Maybe I can do it if you stop staring at me,” Mingyu teases, generously applying it around the exposed part of his neck. Jihoon seems to pink at that, flustered through the slight white cast of the sunscreen.

“I’m watching your form,” he mutters, albeit weakly. He makes to wave Mingyu away, but there’s a dash of unblended sunscreen on his cheek that Mingyu zeroes in on. Before he can think, his hand goes up to swipe at it, light and gentle as he dabs it away. Jihoon wrinkles his nose, instinctive, but he lets him. The playful atmosphere changes, becomes something more tense, and he holds his breath as he watches Jihoon hesitate, hoping — but all he does is reach over to do the same. A delicate finger that catches the edge of his jaw, smoothing out his sunscreen and giving him one last tap before he gently urges him back out into the ocean.

He’s not sure if that does anything for his confidence, really. It’s hard to resist the urge to turn back with every step, curious to see if Jihoon actually is still watching him, but he shakes the thoughts out of his head and paddles out into the deep, ignoring the butterflies in his stomach.

He lets a few waves go by, diving through them as he waits. Waits for something that feels fortuitous, the promised next wave that he can catch and prove Jihoon right.

He almost thinks that the feeling won’t come, almost deflates, but the next growing wave rises a little slower than the rest, allowing him a few extra precious seconds to prepare. Mingyu seizes it, taking a deep breath before he starts to shift his board. He feels the motion start to grow underneath him, rising, and he manages to pull himself up in one sweeping motion. Miraculously, he doesn’t manage to fall instantly, but he keeps himself low to the board to keep his balance. He’s almost too afraid to straighten, knowing how every last attempt has gone, but his eyes flit upwards and he finds Jihoon watching him as intently as always. His gaze is reassuring, and as if he can tell Mingyu’s looking right at him, his head tips forward minutely to give him a nod. He looks confident that he can do this, and it gives him the bravery to slowly rise to a standing position.

The water feels unsteady under his feet, causing him to wobble a bit, but Mingyu grits his teeth and manages to stick out the turbulence. He manages to keep his balance, riding out the rest of the wave, and it’s a miracle his excitement doesn’t cause him to fall again. He’s smiling so hard that he feels his face start to hurt, and he can’t help but shout gleefully as he comes into shore.

Mingyu can hardly wait for his surfboard to slow down before he’s peeling off its leash and running up the sand. “I did it!” he crows, joy bubbling out of him, sweeping Jihoon up into a tight hug. “I learned how to surf! In Hawaii!”

Jihoon makes a little sound of surprise as he squeezes him, but it turns into laughter, bright and twinkling. He feels a little stiff in his arms, but Mingyu sees that his eyes are pulled into happy crescents when he lets him go. “I told you.”

“I was worried I’d have to drag you down here another day until I did get it,” he says, laughing, but Jihoon just offers him a smile that feels a little tight. He turns his head before Mingyu can dissect it further, nodding back in the direction of the hotel.

“You got it at a good time. Reservation is coming up.” He almost sounds a little choked, but he clears his throat, and his voice goes back to normal. “Let’s head back?”

Mingyu nods slowly, frowning a bit, but Jihoon still isn’t quite looking at him. “Okay.”

The mood improves a bit once they rinse the sand off their bodies and free themselves from their tight wetsuits. Jihoon seems to brighten a bit again, especially when he catches sight of the brightly-patterned shirt that Mingyu slips into, and it’s almost easy to forget how stiff he’d been at the beach. Maybe he had just been tired, or maybe it had just been his imagination. Either way, his smile seems to come more easily now, especially as the enticing smells grow stronger, promising a delicious dinner to come.

A hostess smiles at them warmly as they approach. She drapes a sweet-smelling lei over each of their heads, a full bundle of flowers that tickles his nose. Mingyu is reminded of their first meeting and of the leis that they had received when they’d first landed in Hawaii, and Jihoon seems to be thinking the same thing. He makes the same disgruntled expression, making them both giggle as they follow her to their assigned table.

Mingyu orders a piña colada. Jihoon doesn’t drink, so he orders a fruit smoothie that arrives inexplicably in a coconut. They burst out into laughter, so loud that it gets them a few sideways glances from the nearby tables.

“Wait, wait, let me take a picture,” Mingyu giggles, pausing to rearrange their drinks on the table. A tall frosty glass of piña colada and a stout coconut topped with an umbrella. The glimpse of a hand in the corner, delicately settled against the wood grain of the table. A good Instagram shot, revealing nothing at all, so only he would know why it’s particularly amusing.

That’s all he planned on taking a picture of, really, but when Jihoon lifts the coconut back to take a hesitant sip, he can’t help but bring his phone back up. He pulls a face as soon as he notices, like he’s embarrassed to be caught on camera, but Mingyu’s faster. He stares at the picture: Jihoon, a flutter of flowers around his neck and his hair mussed by the light Hawaii wind, backlit by the oranges and pinks of the island sunset, a touch of embarrassment on the apples of his cheeks and in the upturn of his lips as he pulls the straw into his mouth, the coconut held gingerly between his long fingers. It’s a picture of Jihoon with his walls down, almost too intimate and too personal for him to keep in his photo gallery. Mingyu feels — he feels caught, ashamed of how it makes his heart twist in his chest.

“How do I look?” Jihoon asks, teasing, but he somehow can’t find the words to banter back. He hesitates before wordlessly passes him the phone, too afraid that his heart is spilled all over the pictures, turning his eyes away as Jihoon stares at it silently. He doesn’t say anything, just blinks at it a few times, and when he speaks again, his voice is soft.

“The background is nice. Do you,” he hesitates, biting at the inside of his cheek, “Do you want some of you?”

Mingyu just nods, still feeling like his heart is caught in his throat. He tries his best to settle on a casual pose, hoping that he doesn’t look too distracted.

Jihoon is very straightforward with picture-taking. His finger taps the screen rapidly, the shutter going off so fast that it leaves Mingyu sputtering, startled out of his position. He makes a face, reaching for his phone back with a pouty whine, pulling a laugh out of him as he dodges. Jihoon’s eyes seem to linger on the screen when he lowers the camera, and his face settles into an unreadable expression.

“How do I look?” Mingyu asks back softly, watching Jihoon avert his gaze.

“Good,” he replies simply, sliding his phone back. Mingyu scrolls through the rapid-fire pictures he’d taken. It captures all of his movements, every candid moment in between. There’s a couple of blurry ones, him off-guard and caught in awkward poses, but in every one, his emotions are written all over his face. His face is flushed, too much to explain away with the sun, and he looks — he’s smiling back at the camera like he’s —

He clicks his phone off hurriedly, his heart caught in his throat. “Thanks.”

The food comes out shortly after, saving them both from having to say anything more. He quickly drowns out his gallery with pictures of steaming meat, fills his mouth with sweet fruit, and the tension eases up again, dissolving into their usual easy conversation. Dancing around the idea of flirting but not quite getting to the edge, entertaining the idea of a spark but not quite letting it catch. And it’s normally fun, thrilling to engage in, but a part of him can’t help but hope for more.

It’s almost bittersweet, then, when Jihoon asks if he can walk Mingyu up to his door at the end of the night. Mingyu hopes for a sign that might hint at something more, maybe another reason why he could’ve offered, but something about the atmosphere feels very final, the way they end up stalling outside of his room.

The very final feeling settles uncomfortably in his chest once the conversation has run its course. Jihoon keeps staring at the ground, but he still doesn’t say anything, doesn’t offer up any promises of tomorrow’s plans but doesn’t say goodbye either.

Mingyu decides to break the silence.

“I had fun tonight,” he says hopefully. “I had fun every — every night. And I wouldn’t have changed anything about it, you know. You’re not…a replacement. A rebound. I know you probably just felt bad for me, but I. I had fun,” he finishes lamely.

He watches Jihoon’s face as he processes his words. There’s a brief flash of what looks like hope, a quick flutter of his eyelashes as he blinks, before his eyebrows knit together, intense and serious. Mingyu has seen him flustered and nervous for the past few days, but this is different. He’s choosing his words carefully, weighing them in his mind, making sure they’re intentional even if they come out a little hesitant. “I never felt bad for you, Mingyu,” he says, his sincerity making heat rise to Mingyu’s cheeks, “I did it because…because I had a good time too. With you.”

The air feels heavier than usual, more than just humidity. The tension between them, even the silence — it changes, becoming intentional and charged, the same way it had felt at dinner. It’s almost like — he doesn’t want to jinx it, holds his breath, lets hope bubble up inside of him again —

His fingers twitch slightly, brushing against Jihoon’s hand, just light enough to pass as accidental, but he notices how his eyes immediately dart downwards. They flit just as quickly back up, only there’s a different look in them now, something that freezes Mingyu in place. He doesn’t move, doesn’t even dare to breathe, and all he can do is watch as Jihoon takes a step closer. There’s a flash of pink as his tongue peeks out to swipe at his lip, wetting it, and Mingyu’s heartbeat has grown so loud it feels deafening in his ears.

“Can I….?” Jihoon breathes, his voice so low and husky that Mingyu suppresses a whimper in response. He just nods his head, hopefully not too earnestly, and Jihoon smiles back at him. A hand reaches up, warm and steady on his neck, and it gently urges him downwards – and Mingyu is nothing but dutiful, nothing but good, so he makes himself wholly pliant. It’s too easy, so easy, like second nature to bend under his hands, to finally be pulled down into a kiss, to let his lips obediently part under Jihoon’s as they meet in the middle.

Jihoon tastes like the sips of piña colada he’d stolen from Mingyu’s glass, syrupy sweet and sticky on his lips, and he can’t get enough. Jihoon kisses him slow and gentle and intentionally in a way that makes his heart squeeze with want. It’s a first kiss that’s worth the wait, that spells out something more, a first kiss that sends sparks flying. One that’s dizzying, something that he can truly get drunk on, and Jihoon delivers all that and more. When he finally does pull away, it’s hard for Mingyu not to delusionally picture the rest of their lives together, because that’s what Jihoon’s kisses taste like.

“Wow,” is all he can manage to say, leaning against the wall as he tries to catch his breath. Jihoon scrunches his nose with embarrassment, his face turning just a shade more pink. His lips look plumper, a little kiss-swollen, and Mingyu wants to lean back in and bite. From the way Jihoon’s eyes keep dropping to his mouth, Mingyu’s sure he doesn’t look much better.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while.”

“Since when?” He can’t help teasing.

Jihoon huffs out a laugh, almost one of disbelief, but the twitch of his lips betray him, a quick flash of a dimple. He hesitates, like he’s considering whether or not he should tell the truth, but he answers with a shrug, clearly feigning indifference. “First time I saw you. You didn’t make it easy for me.”

He tears his eyes from his face then, turning his head away to scratch nervously at the back of his warming neck. Maybe he was expecting Mingyu to laugh. To think that it was corny, laughable, but all Mingyu wants is his eyes back on him. More than just his eyes, really. He’s already spent so much of this trip staring and wanting and hoping that everything else just seems like wasted time. He reaches out to grab his hand, giving into the instinct that had been tugging at him for the past few days and pulling Jihoon’s unsure gaze back to him. “You could have. I would’ve let you.”

A pregnant pause. Mingyu stares at the bob of his throat, enraptured by it as Jihoon swallows thickly. His voice comes out raspy, hesitant, but the way he looks at him is steadier now. Determined. It makes something stir in his stomach, especially when he feels Jihoon’s thumb gently graze over his knuckles. “What else would you… let me do?”

Wordlessly, almost too quickly, Mingyu turns to slide his keycard into the lock. The door clicks, unlocking, and he swings it open before turning to look back. “Do you want to come in?”

The hand in his own tightens, squeezing for a second, and then Jihoon pulls him back down instead of answering.

It turns out he’s good at more than just saccharine-sweet kisses, because they come together now with such force that it sends his head spinning in a different way. Jihoon kisses in a way that steals the breath from his lungs, that forces his mouth open with the intensity, barely allowing him to gasp for air in between as they stumble through the threshold. His hand drifts to the small of Mingyu’s back, holding him in place before he can trip, and he easily bumps the door closed with a shoulder without even letting up.

Mingyu’s hands reach to cradle his face, grounding himself as they stumble backwards onto the bed. He falls flat onto his back, not even given a second to breathe before Jihoon’s fingers are making quick work of the buttons of his shirt. He pulls it over his shoulders, tossing it to the side before he focuses his attention to the exposed skin.

“Do you have any,” Mingyu pants, biting back a moan as his tongue laves over his chest, dragging heavily over a nipple, “any condoms?”

“Back pocket,” Jihoon murmurs against his skin.

He takes his time extracting it from his pocket, letting his hands roam over his ass appreciatively. Jihoon yields easily, letting Mingyu pull him gently downwards until he’s flush against his body. He’s warm and solid, practically rutting against him as soon as they're pressed together.

“You brought condoms to Hawaii?” he teases, leaning back on his elbows to watch when Jihoon pulls back to hastily undress. “Thought you were here for work.”

“They were already in my bag,” Jihoon protests, fumbling with the wrapper. “I didn’t mean to pack them.”

“And they ended up in your pocket tonight?”

“Are you complaining about it?”

Now that he’s been given permission to look, Mingyu looks, stares at the rise and fall of Jihoon’s chest as he breathes, the light hair that trails downward, the powerful thighs that he leans back on. He wets his lips, his hand wavering as he reaches out to touch, to stroke and feel the warmth of him. “A little?”

Jihoon literally pauses in the middle of reaching for the lube to stare at him, almost incredulous. He must realize that Mingyu’s not really joking, because something in his eyes darkens. “Fuck, you’re crazy,” he breathes, shaking his head, before he leans in to kiss him senseless again.

It seems like he never stops kissing Mingyu, like he’ll never get a chance to again, like he’ll disappear if his lips aren’t on his own. His mouth soothes him with honey-sweet reminders, even as he lets his hands roam and winds him up, gentle and sweet even as he moves rough and fast. Kissing him again as he takes him apart, piece by piece, swallowing down his sounds as he does, and lets Mingyu feel him groan and gasp as he finishes not long after.

They lay tangled in the sheets afterwards, chests heaving. Jihoon’s hand ghosts over the knuckles of his own, keeping them connected, like he’s a tether. Like it’s the only thing keeping them together. Mingyu keeps his hand still to not disturb it, even as he turns over on his side to face him.

They should talk, probably. They have a lot to talk about — what now, what comes next, but he lets himself stare for a moment. He studies the curves of his silhouette in the darkness, the bump and ridges of his nose and his lips. Lips that he wants to kiss again, and since Mingyu’s feeling bold, he leans over and he does. He feels his lips twitch against his own, a tease of a smile, and Jihoon’s eyes flutter open once they pull apart.

It gives him the courage to speak again, though he tries to keep his voice low and light with casualness despite how fast his heart is racing. “So, um — where are you from? I mean, I know you’re from Busan, but — where do you stay?”

Jihoon shifts a bit, and maybe Mingyu is making him uncomfortable or scaring him off, but his hand is still on top of his, and his words are steady when he replies. “I live in Seoul.”

His heart swoops. “I’m in Seoul too.” He tries not to get his hopes up, but it’s hard to keep the excitement out of his voice. “When do you…when do you go back?”

He hears him suck in a sharp breath, like he’s hesitant to say, but Mingyu hardly has time to let himself feel nervous before Jihoon speaks again.

“Tomorrow.” Jihoon’s voice is nothing more than a whisper now, heavy with — with something that sounds like guilt. The confession that he’s been biting back all night, the reason why everything had felt so final. Mingyu freezes up.

“Oh,” he replies, trying not to wilt. He must do a poor job of hiding his disappointment, though, because Jihoon frowns a bit.

“What about you?”

“I have a few more days. Friday.”

“Your birthday.”

“Yeah.”

It’s silent then, like the world is holding its breath along with them. Mingyu’s not sure how to read this, what this means for them, if this is it. He wonders if he should say something, if he can even bring himself to, but Jihoon beats him to it.

“I’ll still be in Seoul when you get back,” he says quietly. He leaves it at that, but Mingyu can see how his ears are flushed pink. It’s everything he doesn’t say, all the unspoken words in between, that makes warmth start to bloom in his chest again. Jihoon’s answer to the silent question hanging over their heads is a leap of faith, and he can see the uncertainty in his eyes when he looks at Mingyu now. The worry that Mingyu might not feel the same, but taking the chance anyways.

It gives him the courage to take an even bigger leap of faith, to entertain a thought and a desire that he’s sure is insane, but —

“What if you stayed?”

He feels Jihoon’s body go still next to him, his fingers frozen on top of his own. “What?”

“There’s enough room in here for the both of us. I have an extra plane ticket. You can stay for a few more days.” Mingyu swallows thickly. “I want you to.”

It’s silent again, a brief second of just the background hum of the air conditioner, but then Jihoon’s fingers close around his hand, squeezing it gently, a quiet yes, and Mingyu thinks he’s about to burst.

“This is the most spontaneous thing I’ve ever done,” he says with a light giggle as he tucks his head into Mingyu’s shoulder — he giggles, warm and light against his skin, and it makes him feel tingly all over.

Mingyu feels so light, so overwhelmed with it, and it’s so easy to pull him closer. So easy for Jihoon to fit next to him like a puzzle piece. “Do you think this is something that happens to me normally? I don’t ask everyone to do this, you know.”

“I dunno. What if you’re just doing this to get a birthday gift out of me?” Jihoon teases, flicking half-heartedly at his chest.

“Aren’t you my birthday gift?” he asks with an exaggerated bat of his eyes, letting a flustered Jihoon push at his head with a laugh.

“You’re annoying,” he groans, but Mingyu can feel him grinning when he reaches over to kiss him again.

🌴

Jihoon has to make some calls the next morning, so Mingyu takes it upon himself to do the job of transferring all of his things to his room. Jihoon’s laptop and work supplies live on their coffee table next to his spread of brochures, and his slippers sit neatly next to his own by the door. Even though he takes his time, Jihoon’s still stuck on the phone when he’s done.

He makes a sad face, his lips pursed into an exaggerated pout. Jihoon just pats his shoulder apologetically. He beckons towards the door, encouraging him to go on first, squeezes his hand to tell him that he’ll come soon after.

“We’re going to the pool today,” Mingyu mouths. Jihoon rolls his eyes, but he can’t hide his smile when Mingyu leans over to place a gentle kiss to the top of his head before he leaves.

He heads down to the gift shop to pass the time. He knows he owes Seungkwan a phone call at the very least, but he also knows that he owes him an expensive souvenir, because as usual, he was right, and Mingyu’s not above following through.

Mingyu chooses a dancing dolphin bobblehead for Hansol. It’s dressed in a grass skirt and carries a ukulele in its fins. It joins the Kona coffee in his basket that he’s picked for Seungkwan, which he figures should count as an expensive souvenir. That’s even before he considers how much it’ll weigh down his luggage.

There’s a rack of postcards that catches his eye as he waits in line. There’s one of the rocky mountains, greenery that lines the gorgeous coast of Hawaii, a Hallmark version of the trail they’d hiked the other day. He picks it up, turning it over in his hands, and for the first time in a few days, he lets his mind drift to Jisoo. For the first time in a few days, the thought doesn’t make his chest feel tight. He searches his heart, but there’s no bitterness or sorrow, no regrets.

He slips the card into his basket.

After all — friends send each other postcards, don’t they?