Work Text:
Mingi sat with himself, eyes focused on the dark screen of his phone. Impatient, he tapped the screen. Still 5:23. Still 7 minutes before Jongho was supposed to stride through the KBS studio doors and into makeup. This time though, unlike every other time over the last few months since Jongho’s hiring on as the new anchorman, Mingi would stop him. He’d put his hand firmly on Jongho’s shoulder, shoot him his best billion dollar smile, and hit him with a smooth “hey, can we talk?” Then Jongho would follow Mingi to one of the empty offices on the second floor of the studio, and there, alone, in blissful silence, Mingi would spill his guts, absolutely everywhere. On the floor, on Jongho’s suit jacket, down his front. He would embarrass himself terribly, because if spilling his guts didn’t work out—and there was a very real chance it wouldn’t—there was a news station in Incheon offering him more money than he made in Busan. He’d make the move back to Seoul, if only just to cry on his mom’s shoulder that a grown man didn’t like him back.
Mingi had moved to Busan at 23 with shiny eyes and a desire to be the best damn meteorologist the coastal city had ever seen. Maybe the shine had worn down to more of a gloss when he got to actually apply his degree and help the forecast team with their reports instead of standing in front of the camera in inclement weather, but Mingi could confidently say he was charming enough to be at least in the top 5 field reporters in South Korea. The ahjummas at Gukje market certainly thought so. On most of his trips, he came home with an armful of free candies, tangerines, and gimbap just because the women had seen him on TV and delighted in being able to tell him he was handsome in person instead of letting their disgruntled husbands know. Mingi appreciated it, of course, but he was far more concerned with if Choi Jongho found him handsome. Because talking to Jongho was actually the best thing about reporting for KBS Busan these days.
It had been four years since Mingi chased his best friend, Yunho, to Busan, desperate to do something more than run coffee around antsy newsrooms. No longer was he 23. He was still hungry for attention, but in a new, more humiliating manner. At 27, he had regressed to smaller ideals; such as being increasingly desperate for broadcast time that overlapped with Jongho’s segments; more so than any paycheck ever made him.
Mingi watched as Jongho pushed through the studio’s double doors only minutes before he had to scamper off to the weather van with Yeosang and let Yunho drive them down the coast to report on Busan’s surprisingly dry late June weather. He tried to steel himself. The station’s best looking anchor was already in his suit, jacket taught around his shoulders, black hair not a strand out of place. The pleasant smile that accompanied his greetings made Mingi’s heart hammer in full four count measures. It took mere seconds of staring at Jongho for Mingi to develop five new insecurities. Maybe six. Possibly nine… and counting. Suddenly he didn’t smell good, and his hair was a mess, and he had a pimple on his chin, and his glasses were too scratched, and Jongho looked like an angel in comparison. Mingi cupped his hand in front of his face, breathing out only to smell the sharpness of his toothpaste. He fixed his watch. He fixed his shirt collar. He ran his hand through his hair, mussing it up in the way his ex had liked. He wished more than anything he had the screen of a camera to monitor his image in, but there was nothing but the reflective surface of the lighting stand to stare into.
Jongho kept moving, extending smiles and pleasantries, drawing ever closer to the corner of the studio where they’ve put the makeup mirror and chair. Mingi had to get to him before–
“Song Mingi.” Mingi looked up, hands still in his hair, to find Wooyoung standing in front of him, a printed brief in his hand and his studio baseball cap low over his sharp eyes. Mingi leaned around the camera operator, eyes locking back on Jongho, trying to very quickly estimate how much time he had to shoo Wooyoung away before Jongho was sat in makeup and unavailable. He startled when Wooyoung snapped his fingers in his face.
“Yah,” Wooyoung bit out. “We need to talk.”
“Not right now–”
“Not right now?” Wooyoung repeated, pitching up his voice, obviously agitated. “You'll be in Changwon in two hours. Let's talk.” Before Mingi could open his mouth and go, actually I’m extremely busy, can you go away?, Wooyoung kept speaking. “So here’s the thing, right? When you ask someone to go to dinner, you don’t text them an hour before dinner and cancel on them, because that’s a dick move. It’s like text book asshole behavior. Big time.”
Jongho moved ever closer to the makeup chair and Mingi’s watch ticked down another minute closer to when he had to be in the van. “Wooyoung–”
“I just think it’s bullshit that you were all over me last week telling me I never talk to you anymore and that I hate you and that I’m so busy kissing on my boyfriend that I can’t make time for you, and then when I explicitly clear my schedule to let you take me out for a nice meal because you were insistent on it, you tell me, sorry. Can’t do tonight. Too tired, word for word, an hour before we are supposed to be sat down, enjoying each other's company for the first time in, what? A month? Like, c’mon, Mingi. Are you serious?”
Opening his mouth, Mingi was ready to tell Wooyoung off, but the words were hard to find, because unfortunately, Wooyoung was right. Him cancelling was kind of bullshit. He had come home that afternoon, laid down, and it was hard to get up again. His couch and YouTube sounded nicer than the boisterous nature of their agreed upon favorite sashimi place. But it really had been a month. He rubbed his hair off his forehead and let his hand fall, his hopes of talking to Jongho this morning falling with it. It just wasn’t a good time. A little voice at the back of his head that sounded awfully familiar said, it’ll never be a good time, but he ignored it. Even though it was right.
“Look, I’m sorry,” said Mingi and Wooyoung nodded. “And we should reschedule.”
“We should absolutely reschedule.”
“Are you around this weekend?” Mingi asked and Wooyoung let out a little huff from his nose that assured Mingi he'd said the right thing. The man’s composure softened drastically, and he used his hip to make Mingi scoot over on the tiny couch so they could occupy it together. Mingi allowed their thighs to touch and Wooyoung leaned into his shoulder, letting out a big sigh. His eyes closed.
“Mangi, you asshole. You know I can’t stay mad at you,” Wooyoung muttered and despite it being Wooyoung’s fault that Mingi was not going through with his plan to find happiness in the arms of Choi Jongho, comfort was found with Wooyoung as well. Maybe relief. Talking to Jongho on camera was easy, so long as the topic was weather, but it turned out keeping their distance on set was unfortunately easier. Jongho had started an entire four months ago now, and Mingi hadn’t shared a word with him on set.
He let out a sigh of his own and leaned on Wooyoung in turn. “So when are you available?”
“It’s too early to try and imagine my schedule.”
“Clear it again for me?”
“You punk,” Wooyoung sneered, but it was gentle. “You know I’ll try to make anything work.”
Mingi hummed. Jongho was in the makeup chair now, his most visible feature the back of his head and shoulder line. Mingi sagged and it felt like all the adrenaline from hyping himself up had abandoned him, leaving him reminded of the hour and the long day of work ahead.
Ten minutes later, Mingi fought with the buckle strapped into the passenger seat of the KBS Busan van. Yunho, the usual cameraman, was kind enough to be behind the wheel this early. Yeosang, the production assistant, was already asleep in the far backseat. When Mingi got frustrated with the buckle and grunted, Yunho shot him a none too subtle look of concern. Yeosang snored on as they reversed out of the parking lot.
“Everything okay?” Yunho asked.
Many minutes of the car ride to Changwon was spent lamenting about Jongho and Wooyoung's sheer audacity, Mingi bitched so hard he ended up having to slip into a short power nap, waking up at the docks when Yunho hit the curb. Once all their bags were out of the trunk and on the ground, Yunho quickly helped doll Mingi up while Yeosang made their notes for the broadcast and got the teleprompter set up. Nervous, like always, Mingi adjusted his collar, almost white knuckling the mic. He had barely seven minutes to find solid ground before squinting through lenses that needed to be updated to his current prescription at the white words on a black screen. Yunho shot him the sign that the camera was rolling, and then Mingi was live.
“Good morning everyone, I’m Song Mingi, and today we're in Changwon-si, Masanhappo-gu, bayside, and faced with an unusually dry and hot summer.”
Jongho cleared his throat. His voice came through tinny on Mingi's earpiece. “How are the yards today, Mingi-ssi? It looks busy.”
“Let me tell you, Jongho-ssi–”
The winds picked up a week later. A possible typhoon was predicted by the national weather service, and soon the likelihood rose. That week saw Mingi recounting his failed interactions with Jongho to Yunho or Yeosang. Or to Seonghwa, his kind of cool therapist, who had listened to the same story since Jongho’s hiring. On his days off Mingi moped, or called Hongjoong, which he wasn’t really supposed to do anymore. Seonghwa had pointed out that their conversations had become more frequent in the last few months. Ever since Jongho got hired. Correlation. Mingi knew why, but he wasn’t willing to admit it yet.
By Friday morning Mingi had to clutch his mic and move his hair out of his eyes, trying to project his lines through aggressive gusts so he'd be picked up. The wind brought clouds and with them came the smell of rain.
Around 4 that Friday, after the work day had been trudged through, Wooyoung picked Mingi up from his apartment. They drove to a grocery store. Upon exiting, the day’s breeze had stilled, calm in a way that meant the storm would kick up soon. Sunset brought about the first few hours of downpour. As darkness encroached, Mingi ate dinner with Wooyoung in Wooyoung’s kitchen. They devoured bowls of meticulously prepared instant noodles paired with a bottle of wine San, Wooyoung’s boyfriend, had bought—for a date night that Wooyoung had placed Mingi in the middle of. Both Wooyoung and San were easy going though. It didn't feel like third wheeling despite the circumstances. The both of them were attentive while still being enjoyably lost in each other.
Rain beat heavily against the window pains. An occasional siren passed. Mingi wondered about the roads as he had his third glass of wine. San’s cat weaved around his legs, purring loudly, and he failed to think about how he would be walking home until he really needed to be in his own bed.
“I can drive you,” San insisted, but his face was flushed red from several glasses of wine. Wooyoung’s blush glowed under the warmth of the porch light too, his head draped over San’s wide shoulder. Mingi’s cheeks felt red and hot despite the chill of the weather. “Or I’ll call you a taxi.”
“You should not be driving and nobody should be driving in this.” Mingi said over the thunder of rain hitting the pavement. He could barely see down the street. The gurgle of the storm drains made the night feel alive. “I have dry clothes at home. It’s twenty minutes. Barely a walk.”
“Don’t be stubborn,” Wooyoung warned. He turned to his boyfriend and said, “He gets stubborn when he drinks.”
“You drank more than me,” accused Mingi.
“Mingi,” San warned in a voice Mingi had only heard used on Wooyoung. “Wait for a taxi.”
Maybe Wooyoung was right. About a couple things, but mostly Mingi being a stubborn son of a bitch.
“So, San-ah, here’s the thing, It’s a great night for a walk, and I really have to get home,” Mingi said, quickly turning on his heel before San could grab him by the hood and drag him back inside the apartment. “Thanks for the rain jacket, Wooyoung! I’ll bring it to work Sunday! Sleep well!” Mingi turned the corner with a wave.
Mingj regretted his enthusiasm 10 minutes later. His shirt had quickly soaked through under Wooyoung’s coat, which had to be 2 sizes too big even on Mingi, and un-waterproofed since high school. The night was so cold, and blinking through sheets of rain was less than ideal, especially with contacts in. The raincoat’s hood wouldn’t stay on with the wind, so Mingi had given up on it, letting rain run through his hair and down his back. The glow of the streetlights were his only tether to reality despite it barely being 8pm. Mingi inhaled the humidity. He loved a storm; there wasn’t anything quite like it, but he was done with being outside in one. At least he had tomorrow off, but his shift the next day would be spent reporting on fallen tree branches and water damage. He just hoped the flooding would keep to a minimum. It wasn’t predicted, but if the drains clogged with debris now, who knew?
Mingi trudged over drenched sidewalks and around puddles. His sneakers were squishy with groundwater, but he never wore nice ones to work. He’d probably have to wear a pair of boots on Sunday. He wished he were wearing some now. Shit, this kind of sucked. Mingi shivered and tried to ignore the sensation of his soaked socks. Headlights hit the pavement next to him and Mingi looked to the sky to lament his fate. Not paying much attention to the car, Mingi ran his hand back through his hair. The car slowed as it passed him, then pulled to a stop a few feet away. Mingi blinked, coming to a stop himself.
The window of the car rolled down. “Hey!” Mingi’s heart thudded against his rib cage. He recognized that voice, so much fuller and brighter when not projected into his earpiece. He could scarcely breathe when a familiar head popped out of the open window, looking back at him with concerned, narrowed eyes. “Mingi-ssi, do you need a ride?”
Jongho’s hair was the dead giveaway. Round cheeks. An amused but mostly concerned expression Mingi could barely see though the downpour. Mingi was floored, Choi Jongho. In the flesh. Or in the car, Mingi supposed. Jongho shielded his eyes from the rain that began to hit him, mouth positioning itself to let Mingi know he was impatient to get an answer to his question.
“Oh wow,” Mingi said a little lamely. Super lamely. He cleared his throat. “Do you live nearby?”
Jongho stared at him. “C’mon, get in the car,” he said, jerking his thumb to the passenger seat and popping back into his vehicle. Mingi’s reflection slowly expanded itself in his window. He looked dumbstruck. He was dumbstruck. This was ridiculous. Realizing that Jongho definitely could see him gawking through his tints, Mingi closed his mouth tight and shoved every bit of anxiety down because he needed to get in this car right now. He needed to get in Choi Jongho’s car and drip all over the seat and make Jongho go out of his way, and worst of all, he was making him wait. Mingi balled up his fists and went around the back of the car, no fear, no hesitation. The door handle was slick against his palm, and then he was inside.
Jongho’s car was less humid and far dryer than the storm, and blessedly warm. It smelled familiar, until Mingi realized that it just smelled like Jongho when they passed each other on set. Something kind of earthy but industrial. There lingered that new car smell as well, and as Mingi looked around he noticed how clean the interior was. It just made him bemoan his soaked through state of being even more.
“Mingi-ssi, what were you doing out there? Were you walking somewhere?” Jongho said as his fingers messed with the heating buttons on his console. “You’re drenched.” Warm air began to surge out the vents as the windshield wipers waged war against the storm. Jongho must have turned a light on for Mingi, as the car didn’t dim with the shutting of the door. Mingi settled into the seat briefly, before he remembered the jacket. Starting to peel Wooyoung’s raincoat off his shoulders, Mingi found the fit too tight to come off easily. He grimaced at the texture, pausing with the sleeve pulling his arm behind his back when he noticed Jongho eyeing him.
“Oh,” Mingi cleared his throat, “Yeah, I was going home.” Jongho’s gaze lingered. “Sorry I’m getting your car all wet. You really didn’t have to offer me a ride. I’m only ten minutes away.”
“I can get you home faster than that,” Jongho said quickly, looking towards the front. “Don’t worry about getting the seat wet. Just get comfortable. It must’ve been cold out there.”
Mingi felt like he was choking. “Yeah.”
“Which way are you?”
Mingi pointed forwards. “Near the cold noodle restaurant that just opened up.”
“Where Fire Kick Chicken used to be?”
“Mmm.”
“We live really close then,” Jongho said, a small smile spreading on his face. “I’m in a unit above the Seven-Eleven.”
“Wow,” Mingi said, they did live close. “I can’t believe we’ve never bumped into each other. I’m at the convenience store all the time.”
Jongho laughed and turned the light over the console off. “You should take your jacket off,” he instructed and Mingi belatedly realized that he still had the piece pulling his arm at an awkward angle. He quickly shucked it off and held the sopping thing over his lap before awkwardly pulling his dress shirt off his torso a bit, the sensation of the near transparent white fabric heavy and uncomfortable where it clung to his physique. “I can't believe I’ve never seen you around here,” Jongho continued. “It was a miracle I recognized you tonight. If your hood was up, I probably would’ve just kept driving.”
Mingi’s lips pinched involuntarily. It probably would’ve been preferred for Jongho to have driven past. But there wasn’t much Mingi could do about that, especially as Jongho turned his blinker on and pulled away from the curb. Still, the option of jumping out of the moving vehicle seemed somewhat positive.
There had been a plan for his next shift, same as last Friday, where Mingi would get to work twenty minutes early and wait around like a lovesick puppy for Jongho to stride through the studio doors. But his next attempt was supposed to work, unlike any other day, and finally Mingi would be able to give a final answer on whether he needed that job in Incheon or not. Getting in Jongho’s car, talking to Jongho, was some sort of divine torture. It had to be. This was a wicked punishment and Mingi blamed his ex.
It had been Hongjoong who had brought up the whole idea of talking to Jongho in the first place. Mingi had argued that he did talk to Jongho. There was usually a screen between them, but it was legitimate. He had spent the last few months since Jongho’s hiring content with admiring the man from afar; squinting at his polite smile from the portable screen brought out into the field; talking to him through the veil of professionalism.
“What’s the weather out there like, Mingi-ssi?”
“Let me tell you, Jongho-ssi–” Mingi followed the teleprompters. He pretended Jongho was looking at him instead of the camera.
Mingi hadn’t dated in four years. Not since moving to Busan. Not since breaking up with Hongjoong—whose presence still lingered in his peripherals, or sometimes, right in his line of sight. He and Hongjoong didn’t meet up more than once a year, but the phone calls were consistent… despite Hongjoong asking Mingi not to call when their relationship ended. However, it was a rule he never enforced. It was better used as a gotcha moment when Mingi pissed him off too much. Hongjoong knew Mingi better than anyone else, better than anyone in Busan (and maybe that included Yunho), so when Mingi got weird about his time on set and its resulting social scene, Hongjoong’s number had been dialed. And it kept being dialed. Four years later, Hongjoong and Mingi’s relationship had morphed into something Mingi wouldn’t have imagined when Hongjoong left Mingi in ruins.
“We don’t really know each other too well, huh?” Jongho said, the statement breaking through Mingi’s anxiety fueled stupor.
“No. Not really. No,” Mingi replied. He turned to look at Jongho, whose eyes were on the road ahead, but his head slightly tilted, as if he wanted to focus on Mingi instead.
“That must be my bad. The last few months since I got hired have been so busy. It can be hard to find time on set to talk with anybody who doesn’t need me immediately,” Jongho said somewhat sheepishly. “It’s always fun to talk to you on air though. You seem like an interesting guy.”
“Interesting guy?” Mingi repeated without meaning to, but the words put him on edge. Interesting could be good or bad. Mingi hoped it wasn’t bad.
“Yeah. I was always curious how you got into news broadcasting,” Jongho rambled. “I think the first time I saw you, I thought you were a model working with the ad agency upstairs. Like, I knew you worked with KBS, because I watched a lot before getting hired and all that, good to be prepared and stuff, but still, I was like, wow. That guy works here?” Jongho’s mouth shut, jaw clenching a bit, and Mingi watched with fascination as all of Jongho’s words entered his brain, were turned into soup, and slowly arranged themselves into sentences.
“Me?” was the most clever thing Mingi could think to say. His lips pulled up into an involuntary smile at the praise. Jongho’s eyes flicked off the road for the briefest second and he shrugged. His fingers drummed against the steering wheel and his jaw remained clenched so tight, Mingi could see it twitch. “I mean, they put me in front of the camera and not in the meteorology department because of my face– probably…” Mingi cut himself off, realizing he was probably bragging or something, and Hongjoong had once made it very clear, bragging was not attractive. “But no, I don’t model. Probably couldn’t.”
“You could,” Jongho interrupted before Mingi could get much further. “Don’t sell yourself short.” Mingi wondered if Jongho had actually ever looked at him as his hair dripped into his eyes. He ran his hand through it, pulling it away from his face, hoping he wasn’t blushing. A dry laugh left his lips, nervous system too overwhelmed to run on anything except for auto.
“Thanks.”
The rain pounded against the windows and streaked across the windshield as the wipers desperately fought to give Jongho some visibility. He drove slowly through the residential area, responsible in the rain, which gave Mingi far less anxiety than when he was in the car with Yunho, who seemed to take storms as a challenge. Mingi relaxed somewhat into the seat, closing his eyes to try and sedate his heart into a normal pace. It hadn’t stopped pounding since Jongho had stuck his head out the window to flag him down.
The silence between the pair wasn’t uncomfortable, per se, but Mingi hadn’t prompted any conversation between them. He still felt tipsy from the wine, unstable in his own body. If he had drank more, he might’ve been more casual, but as it stood now, Jongho’s presence was turning Mingi into a mess.
“So…” Jongho picked up again, tapping the wheel. Mingi wished there was music on. “You wanted to be a meteorologist?”
Mingi swallowed heavily, unsure of how to spin the tale in a way that didn’t make him seem like a loser. “Yeah, uh, that’s what I went to school for. But then after my interview, they offered me the field reporter position instead. It wasn’t planned, but I wanted to be on camera as a kid anyway, so I took it.”
“You wanted to be on camera?” Jongho asked.
Mingi felt the flush start in his toes as he admitted, “I wanted to be an idol.”
Jongho’s brows shot up as his voice pitched excitedly “Oh, no way,” he said. “I actually did too. What position?”
“Dancer, probably. My dad taught me. I did hip-hop but I never got around to going to academies or committing to actual idol stuff before my mom was like, you need to figure out if you’re going to go to college.”
Jongho smiled, tongue in cheek. “I knew you were interesting.”
They talked about BIGBANG and SHINee, Jongho’s love of Drama OSTs, and the one vocal demo he got to do for a real live Kpop group when he was still planning on making it as a singer. The three minutes left on the drive was filled with conversation until the car’s headlights hit the sign of the restaurant next to Mingi’s apartment building. The arrival burst a short-lived bubble of comfort. Jongho’s car’s wheels slid up against the curb and Mingi could not decide if he should unbuckle and run from Jongho immediately or finish the conversation with grace before getting out. It was late and Jongho probably wanted to get home. And he was still dripping on Jongho’s seat. But the car was warm and so was Jongho’s attention.
“You know, I looked at this building when I moved,” said Jongho.
Mingi hummed. “I could see us being neighbors.”
Jongho let out a quick, “Oh!” before shoving his hand in his pocket. “Give me your kakaotalk.” He fumbled for a moment, trying to open the app before presenting it to Mingi. Mingi must have not hid his expression well, the question of why written all over his features, because Jongho quickly followed up with, “So we can carpool. Obviously.”
“Carpool?”
“I live one street down. We’re practically neighbors. We should carpool.”
“I don’t have a car.”
“Then let me give you a ride. It’ll save you some time.”
“Yeah,” Mingi said, nodding enthusiastically. He took Jongho’s phone. “Yeah, that would be great actually.”
Reality hit Mingi 5 minutes later, in front of the mirror propped against his closet. His shirt was plastered on, soaked through in an indecent manner. The top three buttons had been loosened because he got warm when he drank, and his nipples were still visibly hard from the chill of the rain. Jongho had been looking down a lot in the car. Before the light turned off. He had called Mingi hot. He had jumped to get Mingi’s number.
Mingi could be normal about this.
“Hongjoongie. Hyung.”
Rain pounded against the window while the wind howled. Occasionally it would lighten to a slight drizzle, but throughout the morning, Mingi had taken the typhoon warning seriously. It seemed to have gotten quieter since, and by mid afternoon, Mingi lounged on the couch with a video essay on Brazilian rainforest ecology. He had already done everything else he could on a rainy day off; slept in, worked out, and ate, but it still felt so early. So he ended up calling his ex. Again. One of Mingi’s hands fished for crumbs in a bag of chips and while the other was thrown over his head. He sunk his shoulder into the couch as he rolled to the side, moving his face closer to the speaker on his phone.
“What?” Hongjoong bit. He was busy with work and Mingi could hear the frantic typing on his keyboard pause with the question. Then came the rhythmic droning of Hongjoong slamming his finger down on the backspace. Mingi didn’t feel bad about annoying him anymore. There was something that broke in him after their breakup. Nothing to fear about a dog he knew wouldn’t bite.
“I didn’t even have to do anything. He was flirting with me. He literally rushed to get my number. And he almost dropped his phone, it was so cute. Damn. He’s so cute, hyung.”
“Mingi-yah, I really don’t have time for this.”
Mingi tried to curb his enthusiasm. It was difficult to restrain, but he pinched his lips together and swallowed it down. “What are you doing?” he whined.
“Pitch deck and site update.”
“Okay.”
“You know I can’t listen and work. But I’m happy you’re happy, alright? Call Yunho or something. Tell him all about this.”
“Sure,” Mingi huffed, although Yunho was at work. He let Hongjoong hang up and stared at the ceiling for about five minutes before putting his recent favorite album on shuffle and busting out the vacuum. Then he fell asleep for another hour.
Wooyoung called Mingi around 7. The phone’s vibrations woke him up mid-snore as he drooled onto his pillow and rabbit shaped cushion. Putting his glasses on, he sluggishly answered.
“Mingi-yah, what are you doing?” Wooyoung said, voice sharp.
“Mingi-yah,” San whined in the background.
“Yunho wants to play League.”
“Play with us.”
“C’mon, Mingi, please?”
“Pleeeease?”
About a half an hour later, after getting his shit rocked as the group’s healer, Mingi had taken a brief moment of silence to blurt out his update of where he stood with Jongho in the last 24 hours. San had ooohed and aaahed as Yunho pulled one of his “I predicted this,” anime guy moments. Yeosang let him know he was rooting for them to work out.
“A little carpool thing will be cute, but I just think if he was that blatant about looking at your tits, calling you model handsome, and practically begging to give you a ride to the studio he might want to give you another type of ride,” blurted Wooyoung when all was said and done.
A bark of laughter came out of Mingi before he could stop himself. “God– don’t say shit like that. It's gross.” Despite his protests, he was grinning ear to ear.
Wooyoung sounded smug as he said, “It was funny. You laughed.”
Mingi stayed up laughing until his eyes hurt from the glow of the screen.
FROM: +82 (XXX)-XXX-XXXX
Hey, it’s Choi Jongho. Sorry I’m texting so late haha. I’m supposed to be at the studio at 5:30 tomorrow and could drive if that lines up with your schedule. Let me know?
10:14pm (READ)
TO: Choi Jongho
You caught me right before bed
Nice timing
I have the same start time. A ride would be great 👍 Thank you
10:37pm (SENT)
FROM: Choi Jongho
Sure! I’ll see you at 5:10.
10:40pm (READ)
Carpooling with Jongho was a lot easier than expected. The night before his Sunday shift, Mingi hadn’t been able to sleep, too full of concerns surrounding what to talk about as they drove, but conversation flowed easily. It kept flowing easily. Their broadcast later that day had seen Mingi fighting the wind as rain slapped against his cheeks, the KBS branded raincoat doing little to keep Mingi’s glasses from being rendered useless.
“Can you even see, Mingi-ssi?” Jongho teased, his voice ringing true through Mingi’s earpiece. Mingi cracked a wide smile. He slid his glasses off, the world blurring itself close to his face. Yunho and Yeosang were just far enough away that their amused expressions were clear as day.
“People say I look better without my glasses,” Mingi said as he folded up the dark frames and pocketed them. He brushed a few strands of hair that had plastered to his cheek from the downpour. “Maybe I just won’t wear them today.”
“Hmmm,” went Jongho, and although he couldn’t see Jongho’s face, Mingi had an idea of what the anchor looked like; mouth flattened, brows raised, considering how good Mingi looked. It made Mingi’s blood run hot even in the chill of the storm. “I think I like them better on.” Mingi accepted on the spot that he just wouldn’t be able to read the prompter through the streaks on his lenses in such conditions.
By the end of Sunday, Mingi felt good declining Incheon’s KBS News 9 team offer. He responded to the email with his back straight and chest puffed out knowing that he had finally managed to forge some kind of relationship with Choi Jongho. Over the next few weeks, Mingi spent less time on the line 2 train, and more in Jongho’s presence. Monsoon season turned hot and humid. The pair were quick to discover they had a surprising amount in common while driving to and from the studio, and soon were spending more time together. They got coffee after work. They waited around on set to tease each other. It was playful and quick and Jongho seemed to understand that Mingi was sensitive. He never hit too hard with his words. He was surprisingly physical though. He liked to pick mock fights with Mingi. It was incredible how bad Mingi wanted more of that.
After about two weeks of carpooling, Mingi invited Jongho to an outing with him, Yunho, Yeosang, Wooyoung, and San, and spent most of his time glued to Jongho’s side as they ordered a slew of dishes and drinks at an izakaya. Like expected, Jongho got along with the others incredibly well, and Mingi was only a little regretful as he found himself expressing to his friends that he knew Jongho first several times throughout dinner. They finished the night in a nearby park, elbows speckled with the pattern of concrete as Jongho arm wrestled every single one of them. Defeat was taken graciously, except for San who whined and whined and made Wooyoung arm wrestle him to get his spirits back up. Mingi also might have needed to beat Wooyoung too, but less out of frustration, and more to overwrite the feeling of Jongho’s strong hands clutched to his own.
July turned to August, and Mingi invited Jongho to his birthday party, which Wooyoung had apparently organized. Yunho led Mingi out of his house blindfolded that night, untying the bandanna once they arrived at a norebang and everyone shouted in Mingi’s face. Too much was drunk and songs were sung until throats went scratchy. Mingi serenaded Jongho with a particularly soulful rendition of One More Step by Yoon Sang and delighted when Jongho belted out T-MAX’s Paradise and a few other drama OSTs. San had to be carried out of the room at the end of the night, but it was a delightful birthday and Mingi stumbled home with a smile. The next time he crossed paths with Wooyoung, Mingi learned Jongho had been the one to suggest the norebang and it made him somehow harbor more fondness for the anchor.
Life was looking up.
During their sessions, Seonghwa was happy to know that Mingi was calling Hongjoong less. Mingi called his ex a lot when he was stressed, he knew as much, but hearing that the calls correlated with him feeling better than usual made Mingi a little proud of himself. Hongjoong however, did call every once and awhile.
“You haven’t asked him out?”
“Hyung…”
“It’s been months and he clearly likes you.”
“I mean, but what if it’s just like dude stuff.”
“Okay, but even if it’s dude stuff, wasn’t he like looking through your shirt that one time? That’s gay, Mingi-yah.”
“You’re gay.”
“Shut up and listen to me–”
Mingi sighed and rubbed at his forehead. He should’ve never brought Jongho up. “You called me to learn how to clean a charred pan. I think you need to listen to me.”
“No. Ask Jongho out,” Hongjoong ordered and Mingi let out a groan that echoed throughout his entire apartment. He had become accustomed to the friend-zone and if a label change and some kissing would ruin his entire thing with Jongho, Mingi didn’t want to risk it. But it was impossible to see Jongho as just a friend. The toughest thing Mingi had ever had to do. And Hongjoong was right in saying there was absolutely no other reason Jongho would’ve been staring down Mingi’s shirt that night in the rain. He hung up on Hongjoong and spent the next hour or so rolling around in bed with frustration as he tried to figure out what to do.
“Mingi-yah.”
“Mmmm.”
“Yunho-hyung–”
Mingi’s head snapped up, the storm of thoughts brewing being interrupted by Jongho’s audacity. “Yah!” he scolded Jongho around a mouthful of sandwich. “I’m your hyung too. It’s Mingi-hyung.”
The set was quieter than usual, many crew members having departed for lunch. Mingi wasn’t working in the field today, instead having been given the opportunity to do weather from the studio. Despite all the time spent with Jongho throughout the day, Mingi had still failed to be able to ask the man out. It seemed like a completely impossible task. Hongjoong’s orders felt more like a burden than motivation, but they rang in Mingi’s ears nonetheless.
Subbing for a forecaster was a step up from his usual job, so Mingi had come dressed in a full suit instead of just a button up with a KBS branded windbreaker over it. Jongho had given him a once over when he got into the car, followed up with a compliment before they entered the studio. It made Mingi sick. The simple, “you look nice,” sent him nervously into the bathroom to wash his face for five minutes. His stomach absolutely rolled when Jongho later revealed he bought lunch for the both of them after work yesterday, just because he thought it was a nice thing to do, nothing big. Between the soft bread of the sandwich were all the things Mingi liked. It felt like a cruel trick that Jongho liked him enough to remember. And of course, Jongho’s fond smile in his direction as he stumbled through forecasting hadn’t helped alleviate the nausea much at all.
Jongho’s smile wasn’t the same now, instead something more pointed and teasing. “Mingi-hyung,” he clarified, smug about it. Despite very clearly poking fun at Mingi, it made Mingi’s gut warm in an odd way. He looked down at his sandwich, tearing a bite from it, as Jongho continued. “What’s your opinion on in-game items?”
Mingi chewed and swallowed. “Don’t bother. Waste of money.” When he got nothing more than a smile in response, Mingi doubled down. “Don’t gamble. I’m serious,” he insisted.
“But I want to look cool,” whined Jongho. “I think Yunho-hyung’s an Overwatch pro.”
“He is. He’ll destroy you no matter how much you spend on a character.”
“Who does he play?”
“Widowmaker.”
Jongho clicked his teeth together before taking a bite of his sandwich. Jongho’s eyes flicked up to Mingi as he swallowed and Mingi involuntarily traced the line of his Adam’s apple before remembering it was rude to stare.
“Who do you play?”
Mingi shrugged. He didn’t game unless Yunho asked, but some hours had piled up in Overwatch nonetheless. “Mei,” he told Jongho. Jongho shrugged, as if to say I guess that’s okay. The dismissal had Mingi rearing for an argument. “Okay, well who do you main?”
“Reinhardt,” Jongho said proudly.
Migi scoffed. “Mid.”
“You’re one to talk,” Jongho shot back.
“See! I told you they were having a lunch date,” Wooyoung’s boisterous voice came from over Mingi’s shoulder, and Mingi whipped around to see the camera operator followed closely by Yeosang.
The word “date” seemed to reactivate Mingi’s stomach ache like a sleeper agent. He immediately cursed Wooyoung out in his head, lips parting in a simple and flat, “Hi.”
Yeosang waved to both of them, but Wooyoung ignored the greeting. In a few long strides he stalked forward to join the pair in the corner with the unused lighting rigs. He fell down beside Jongho on the small couch, obnoxiously right between him and where Mingi sat in an old office chair.
“So what’s for lunch?” Wooyoung asked and Mingi held up his sandwich without a word. Wooyoung bared his teeth in one of his can you believe this guy smiles as Mingi took a heavy bite. “It’s almost like I interrupted something,” Wooyoung said, looking around as if to garner approval before his eyes landed back on Mingi. “Not happy to see me, Mangi-yah?” Mingi flushed. Wooyoung was too perceptive for his own good and he loved to make it Mingi’s problem. Before he could figure out what to bite at Wooyoung to defend himself, Jongho stepped in, cool, calm, and collected like always.
“He’s been picking fights with me all day. I think he’s still embarrassed about messing up the temperature on broadcast,” he stated, and despite it being an insult, Mingi’s cortisol lowered instantly.
“Yah,” Mingi warned, but there was no heat behind it. Jongho must’ve been able to tell because he shot Mingi a smile.
Wooyoung was quick to change his behavior once Jongho stepped in and Yeosang began complimenting Mingi’s time on camera. The conversation quickly moved towards hyping Mingi up around his talking skills, which made Mingi’s core all warm in the center. The studio’s environment had been a different kind of stressor than standing out on the street. Both broadcasts had their own possibilities of disaster and active audience, but having so many cameras pointed in his direction instead of just the one on Yunho’s shoulder had made Mingi’s hands sweaty and tongue tied.
As the banter grew in volume, playful shots fired at each other's feet, the group was approached by a PA. She bowed quickly and met eyes with Mingi. She let him know the studio director had called to meet with him. Mingi felt stiff the whole way up to the man’s office, but all that melted away when he was told it would be nice to have him forecasting in the studio more often. A new job opportunity. He excitedly took it, if only because being in the studio for the workday meant more time spent with Jongho.
Once the meeting was over, Mingi exited the office and rode the elevator down to the main studio floor, only to bump into Jongho, who seemed to be loitering near the doors. It was a pleasant surprise, and Mingi felt his entire face burst with a huge grin once the other man was identified. They fell into step together down the studio’s hallway.
“So?” Jongho asked. Mingi, who skipped backwards with pep, face to face with Jongho, began to excitedly repeat what the director had told him.
“They apparently can shift my schedule so I can regularly do the forecast on Sunday for an initial evaluation, and then if they hire me to fill Seungkwan-ssi’s shoes, I’ll have more time during shifts since I’m not traveling, so I could spend more time in the meteorology department. Isn’t that great?” Mingi rattled off. He instinctually grabbed for Jongho’s hands, their fingers winding together as Mingi shook them both from the excitement flooding his body. Their movement stopped.
Jongho’s eyes were a little far away when Mingi stopped shaking his arms. His voice was dry when he said, “Yeah.”
Mingi looked down, truly registering that Jongho’s hands were in his. How intimate the whole interaction felt. His entire body tensed, nerves surrounding his system like the snapping jaws of dogs. Within a second, he was trying to drop the connection, but shockingly, Jongho held on.
With his lower lip caught between his teeth and eyes cast downward, Jongho looked smaller than he usually did. Mingi could not tear his eyes away when the other took a deep breath. Absent-mindedly, Jongho began to swing their arms back and forth. His palms were warm but sweaty against Mingi’s.
“Do you… want to come upstairs with me?” Jongho asked slowly, as if each syllable needed time to be coaxed out. “Just for, like, five minutes.”
It blew Mingi’s mind to hear. His brain fired off memories of plans and behavior, and very quickly every little puzzle piece came together. Their joining conjured the same amount of force used in the big bang, and Mingi could not believe for the life of him that this was happening between his own ears.
There was no way Mingi could have possibly stopped himself from blurting out, “Are you going to ask me out?” Jongho’s eyes jumped upwards, open wide. He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out and Jongho was just as shocked as Mingi was with his own lack of filter.
“Mingi–” Jongho started, and Mingi nodded, but that only seemed to make Jongho reevaluate his entire plan. It took a few seconds, but the man ended up squeezing Mingi’s hands, then keeping hold of only one of them. “I’ll tell you upstairs,” he said firmly, but the grin he gave Mingi betrayed him.
The answer most definitely wasn’t a no, and the blank static of anxiety ripping Mingi to bits and pieces was quickly outdone by what felt like an adoring crowd, full of cheers. Like Mingi had just been up to bat and slammed a home run right into the stands. Like he was a fucking winner.
The evening's forecast called for slightly cloudy weather with a chance of rain, but Mingi’s apartment was still warm in late August’s heat. Mingi kept the fans going in his flat so as to not let it get too humid. He didn’t want his guest to be uncomfortable.
“Mingi-yah, why’d it take so long for you to pick up? I really need help deciding if I’m going to start using a compost bin,” Hongjoong scolded over the phone as Mingi strolled past the wall into his apartment’s cramped kitchen. He scratched at his stomach under his t-shirt—the tightest black cotton one he could find.
“I’m on a date, hyung,” Mingi sighed quietly, pretending he was annoyed, but once he had seen Hongjoong’s voicemail about said compost, he itched to give him a short call. He had been patient enough to wait until Jongho slipped into the bathroom to do it, but now, he leaned against the stove and got ready to gloat.
“Your location says you're at your apartment…” Hongjoong said as if he was suspicious and Mingi relished in what he got to say next.
“Yeah. Choi Jongho’s at my house.”
The line was silent for a second. “For real?”
“He let me make him carbonara and we’re going to watch the first episode of Taxi Driver. It’s a date.”
“You actually worked up the nerve to ask him out,” said Hongjoong, impressed. Mingi didn’t need to make him think anything otherwise.
“Of course I did, Hyung. I was smooth about it–”
“You asked me out?” Jongho said suddenly, head appearing in the doorway. He startled Mingi into jumping and clutching his phone to his chest. His heart thudded heavily as Hongjoong tried to ask what happened, but was smothered. “Who are you talking to, hyung?” Jongho asked. Mingi stared at him, mortified and unprepared. “Is it your ex? Yunho-hyung said you still talk to him a lot.”
“No, it's my doctor. Hongjoongie-hyung… nim, I have to go. Bye.” Mingi hung up on Hongjoong and prayed that Jongho wouldn’t ask further questions. He cleared his throat as Jongho eyed him. It wasn’t a particularly unkind look, more judgmental and amused. “Your carbonara’s going to get cold,” Mingi blurted and Jongho revealed his teeth with a smile.
“Yeah, okay,” he laughed.
Mingi walked Jongho back to the couch with a hand on his upper back. “I talk to my ex a lot. But we’re not… doing things,” he revealed, because it was better to be honest than let Jongho come to his own conclusions about a botched cover-up. “Sorry.”
“If you guys are friends, it’s not a problem,” Jongho said coolly as he navigated through the living room to sit down on the couch. Mingi went to turn down the lights, watching Jongho out of the corner of his eye with his skin still feeling tight. Jongho picked up his dish of pasta and put his feet up on the coffee table. He put a bite in his mouth before reaching out to pat the seat next to him. Mingi hesitated to move. “Oh come on. I’m not mad at you,” Jongho assured. “Sit down with me.”
And so Mingi did. He sat and let out a big, long, sigh as he collapsed against Jongho’s side, drinking up his warmth. Jongho shouldered him a little bit, but held his weight, and Mingi’s head stopped buzzing with nasty possibilities. The pasta tasted fantastic and Jongho’s company was just as satisfying.
“I am mad about one thing, though,” Jongho said a few minutes later over the drama’s opening credits. Mingi sat straight up like a scolded dog. He probably looked pathetic like one too, eyes big as he tried to figure out what Jongho was mad about before he could utter anything. Then Jongho very pointedly said, “You can’t go around telling people you asked me out, because I asked you out. I want that to be clear.”
Mingi nodded quickly. “Yeah. No problem.” Jongho reached up, his hand firmly patting Mingi’s cheek a few times, his face the closest it had ever been to Mingi’s own and Mingi held his breath.
“Good. So what are you going to tell the crew? Word for word?”
“Uhhh… I don’t know. Something like, I was planning to ask Jongho out and then he asked me out?”
Jongho hummed thoughtfully, hand wrapping around Mingi’s jaw, exploring the razor bumps and acne scars there. “Might need some more details. Wooyoung knows this already, but you could tell them that I thought you were probably the most attractive man I’ve ever seen in my entire life and for the last four months I was too scared to even properly introduce myself, so I just didn’t.”
“Reall? You– you’re just always busy on set,” Mingi mumbled through pursed lips as Jongho squeezed his cheeks together.
“I am, but I would’ve made time for you.”
“I mean, you did.”
“Mhmm.” Jongho shifted on the couch, closer to Mingi and Mingi wished he was straddling his lap. “Driving past you in the rain was some crazy chance. I was totally thinking about you when it happened. I haven’t been that nervous in years, but pulling over might have been the best decision I ever made. It’s been nice to get to know you.” Jongho’s lips were left slightly parted. They shifted when he gnawed slightly on the bottom one.
Mingi didn’t have a reasonable way to tell Jongho he needed to spend every waking moment by his side for an eternity from here on out. Or that his entire chest dropped with a want so strong it nearly brought him down over Jongho to eat him alive. He just cleared his throat. “I think– I mean, I don’t know. You’re going to think I’m crazy,” Mingi said, nuzzling his cheek into Jongho’s palm before looking up at him.
“Oh yeah?”
“I’ve liked you since day one. You got on air and Yunho, Yeosang, and I were all crowded around Yeosang’s ipad watching the broadcast and literally the minute you opened your mouth, I got butterflies. I thought I was going to throw up before our segment that day because I was so nervous to talk to you, and then it wasn’t hard, and you were so nice. And then like two weeks later I was basically obsessed with you and I made the mistake of telling Hongjoong– my ex, and he was like, shoot your shot. So before we started hanging out, there was a whole month and a half where I got to the studio early. And I was convinced that even though we hadn’t talked, I could catch you before you sat behind the desk and ask you out. Cause seriously every time we talked on air you were so handsome and charming and funny and I want– I… yeah. I was pretty sure you weren’t gay but I thought maybe I could take you out to a really nice dinner and you’d like me.”
Jongho snickered, dropping his hand. His legs curled up onto the couch, almost kneeling. “That’s funny.”
“I’m serious,” Mingi whined.
“You could’ve asked me out at any time,” Jongho pointed out.
Mingi huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. “Yeah, probably. But you could’ve asked me out too. You had more information.”
“So, here’s the thing, I did ask you out and we’re on a date right now. So, obviously, ten points for Jongho.”
Jongho held eye contact with Mingi as he sat up, straightening out so Mingi, slouching, had to gaze upwards slightly. With the movement, his irises caught the light, sweet like brown sugar and toffee. Mingi froze in a slight moment of awe as Jongho leaned an elbow on the back of the couch. “You should definitely take me out to a nice dinner, hyung.”
Mingi’s throat was bone dry as he said, “Of course.” One impulsive hand came to rest on Jongho’s hip over the open short sleeve button up he wore. Jongho reached out and slowly ran a hand up Mingi’s arm, all the way over his elbow, until his fingers were half caught under the sleeve of Mingi’s t-shirt. He squeezed Mingi’s bicep and Mingi squeezed his side. “Hyung will treat you right,” left Mingi’s lips absentmindedly.
Jongho leaned down. “Thanks.” He ghosted over Mingi’s lips before leaning down. It was a chaste kiss but he hovered close afterwards. “I’m going home at ten.”
“What time is it now?”
“Eight-fifty-ish.”
“Do you still want to watch Taxi Driver?”
Jongho leaned down, pressing a kiss next to Mingi’s ear, and Mingi squeezed his eyes shut, grip tightening as arousal flooded through his veins. “I’m more interested in you, but I don’t mind something in the background,” Jongho said, patting Mingi’s arm.
“I’ll put music on.” Mingi stood, feeling clumsy on his feet. He grabbed their empty plates of carbonara. “It’s too good a show to not actually watch,” he told Jongho over his shoulder, carrying the plates into the kitchen and dropping them in the sink. He grabbed his speaker on the way out, fiddling with it and his phone. “Are you an RNB guy? I have a playlist but I want to make sure it’s something you’d actually like…” Mingi pittered out as he looked up, seeing Jongho looking at him with soft eyes. He might’ve wanted to say something else, but the words died in his throat. He took another step and stopped. They stayed like that for a moment, just looking at each other. Mingi let out a nervous huff of air. “What?”
Jongho shrugged and smiled, looking down shyly.
“What?” Mingi asked again.
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
"Nothing."
"What?"
“I already said it’s nothing!” Jongho huffed, voice pitching dramatically as if Mingi was prying into some deep dark secret that was poorly sealed away. A brief playful smile crossed his face, but toned it down into a straight face. Mingi watched curiously as Jongho began to study his nails. “I could tell you,” he said, fingers flexing. He looked up at Mingi. “For a price.”
Mingi enthusiastically paid the "price" of one kiss and settled in on Jongho's lap to hear a secret.
Slowly but surely, rain began to patter against the apartment’s glass panes, the scent of dampening pavement wafting in through cracked windows. Mingi breathed in deep, soaking in the salty mix of dampened dirt and Jongho’s cologne, basking in how warm Jongho felt under his hands and lips. The morning’s forecast may not have called for this, but the setting of the sun brought new weather. The hovering clouds weren’t unwelcome. Mingi always loved the moment before being caught in a storm, loved the deep rumble of distant thunder and mounting pressure. He loved the release that followed, the slow approach, the speed at which the droplets fell, but somehow, his and Jongho’s falling managed to be a far more wonderful cloudburst.