Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Yunho feels like he's living in a dream. From the moment he opened his eyes, he's been going through his day with extra caution, careful not to bump into things or hurt himself. He's convinced that if he does, he'll wake up and find himself back in the dull grind of idol life. Even as the stylists fuss over him, prepping him for his first-ever Fashion Week appearance, he asks—no, he begs—for them to treat him gently.

It's not until he accidentally bites his tongue while he's chewing on his drink (yes, he chews on his drink) that it finally sinks in—he's living the dream and not just stuck in it.

"Ready, Prince Charming?" Hongjoong peers from the driver's seat as Yunho finally climbs into the car, dressed head to toe in designer wear gifted by the brand, something he never imagined he'd be able own in his lifetime. "You look absolutely dashing!" the CEO adds with a grin.

Yunho lowers his gaze as he fastens his seatbelt, a small, embarrassed smile tugging at his lips. "It's all thanks to you, hyung," he replies, trying not to sound too flattered, but the blush in his cheeks, now a little redder than when he first came in, gives him away.

Hongjoong smiles fondly at Yunho's reflection in the rearview mirror. The boy he once knew as a child—now an artist under his own company, Aurora Entertainment—still has that dreamy look in his eyes as he looks outside the window.

"I'm sorry I won't be able to join you out there…" Hongjoong says, voice apologetic. He hates to dampen the mood, but he wants to make sure Yunho's ready to face everything on his own.

Unlike other high-profile celebrities who will surely have an entourage, Yunho will have to brave the crowd alone. The organizers had unexpectedly pulled Hongjoong's invitation at the last minute, catching them off guard.

"Don't worry about me, hyung. I'll be fine!" Yunho replies, taking in the buzzing streets filled with well-dressed people likely headed the same place.

"Aww, my baby's all grown up!" Hongjoong coos, pretending to wipe tears from his eyes.

Yunho looks at Hongjoong like he's lost his mind. Even with his back to him, he can tell that the CEO's beaming, clearly pleased with himself. His hyung loves to tease, never misses a chance when he finds one. And it always works. Yunho's ears are already turning a deep shade of red.

"Hyung! Stop teasing!" he whines in protest.

"No one else heard, Yunho!" Hongjoong laughs, his voice full of warmth and affection. "And even if they did, did I lie?  I met you when you were, what, barely teenagers? You, San, and Jongho will always be the same kids to me... my kids. Honestly, where has all that time gone?" He ends with a dramatic sigh.

"If you're our dad, then where's our mom?" Yunho asks, a hint of humor in his voice.

It was merely a passing thought, nothing more than a mindless question to keep the conversation going. Yunho never meant for it to mean anything. He didn't intend to strike a chord.

But the damage has been done, and the silence that follows is palpable.

Hongjoong shifts in his seat, his hand tightening on the steering wheel.

"Hyung! I'm sorry..." Yunho blurts out, mentally kicking himself. Why did he have to accidentally bring up Hongjoong's past heartbreak, today of all days? Why did he have to ruin the mood?!

"Hey, Yunho, listen..."

Yunho raises his head and meets Hongjoong's eyes through the rearview mirror. They're not angry. Instead, they're soft and full of concern.

"You didn't ruin the mood, okay? I don't want you worrying about anything but having fun tonight. Today's your day."

Yunho manages a small smile, reassured by Hongjoong's words. But one glance out the window is all it takes for it to fade. The crowd gathered outside the venue is massive. Can he really face them alone? Without his members? Without Hongjoong?

"This is your dream, Yunho." Hongjoong reaches for his hand and gives it a firm squeeze. "You worked hard to get here. You deserve this. You have nothing to worry about. Just be yourself. They'll love you. Now go out there and make us proud."

"Thank you, hyung!" Yunho leans forward, wrapping an arm around Hongjoong's shoulder in a quick hug. "I won't let you down."

Half nervous, half excited, Yunho takes a deep breath before stepping out of the car and onto the red carpet.

The way the crowd falls silent makes Yunho break out in a cold sweat. Everyone's staring but no one seems to be making a sound. Is there something wrong with his outfit? Did his makeup smear?

Then he hears it—a gasp from the crowd, his name being screamed. A flurry of flashing lights simultaneously turn in his direction.

Relief washes over Yunho like a bucket of cold water. He can finally breathe again.

What started as a single scream swells into a chorus of chanting.

He can't help but break into a smile as he raises his hand and waves at the crowd, moved by their warm welcome.

Hongjoong's right. Maybe there really is nothing to be worried about after all.

"Jeong Yunho from the group Illusion?" A woman steps in front of Yunho, raising her voice above the noise of the crowd. "Welcome to Fashion Week! I will be assisting you today. Follow me."

She turns her back on Yunho before he can even introduce himself properly. It must have something to do with his label being small and relatively unknown, because if she acted like this towards an artist from a powerhouse like Flag Entertainment, she'd surely lose her job in an instant. But Yunho just brushes off her cold demeanor and falls in step behind her without a word. He's used to this kind of treatment by now, having worked with plenty of people like her before. The industry swarms with them. And he's learned that in order to survive, he must adapt. Today is no different. He doesn't have time to take it personally—not if he doesn't want to lose her among the sea of people, anyway.

As they enter the venue, he can't help but notice how she leads him away from the other guests who are busy mingling and posing for photos. Still, he chooses not to question her, simply following her in silence.

The woman finally slows down as they move deeper into a quieter wing, where the noise of the event is reduced to muffled thumping and faint chatters. "You'll need to memorize this for the interviews you'll be doing," she says, handing him a piece of paper.

Yunho stares at it, confused. It's a script already containing answers to the questions he'll be asked.

He didn't realize it would be this complicated… Hongjoong hadn't mentioned anything about having to follow a script either... Wasn't he supposed to just be himself and answer questions honestly?

But in his fear of messing things up, he gets to memorizing, poring over the tiny print on the sheet of paper. He doesn't even catch the part where she starts naming the media brands who will be interviewing him anymore. All he registers is the pressure of her hand on his back, guiding his steps as they continue walking.

He's so distracted that he has no idea where they even are—until he feels a push and he hears her shout, "Watch out!"

Yunho jerks his head up to look for the incoming danger, avoid it if he still can, but of course there's no time. He feels the impact as he stumbles head-on into another person.

And then he's falling.

Down a steep flight of stairs.

Chapter Text

When Yunho comes to, the first person that crosses his mind is Song Mingi. He just woke up from a dream of the famous rapper sleeping.

Strange… it felt so real.

Mingi's face continues to linger in his mind.

So peaceful... So handsome... Were his lips always that plush?

He hastily shakes off the thought, reminded that he doesn't even like Mingi all that much—not when he's an artist under Flag Entertainment, the company hell-bent on taking over his Hongjoong hyung's company.

"Yunho?" It's Hongjoong's voice that pulls him from his thoughts. "Thank god you're awake! How are you feeling?"

Something's wrong...

Yunho's answer to that question is always 'I'm okay.' But right now, he's not. He's in pain, and he doesn't understand why.

"Hyung, what happened? Where am I?" he groans, waiting for his vision to clear, strangely unable to lift his right arm to rub away the haze.

"You're in the hospital, Yunho... You took a bad fall at the venue, and... you broke your arm." Hongjoong tries to ease in the bad news.

"I what?" His memory returns in fragments. The collision. The stairs. He now remembers the pain just before blacking out. Was it really that bad? He tries lifting his injured arm and regrets it immediately.

He forces himself to recall every single detail of the event that led him here, that led him to a cast on his arm—until a new realization hits him.

If I fell down the stairs and am now lying in a hospital, then that can only mean one thing...

"T-The show..." he murmurs, heart sinking to the pit of his stomach. "Did I miss the show?"

Hongjoong's silence and the regret written all over his face are enough to confirm his fears. 

"Yunho, I'm so sorry..."

"No, hyung, this is all my fault. I—"

"...I have to put you on hiatus."

Hiatus. 

Yunho falls silent. He doesn't realize he's gripping the sheets until Hongjoong gently touches his hand with a worried expression on his face.

"Hiatus... Right..." He forces a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "I understand."

"I know how badly you've been looking forward to the comeback, Yunho, but it can wait until you get better."

Badly doesn't even begin to cover it.

Six years into Illusion's career and they've only just started gaining proper recognition. Their dance challenge going viral on social media, performing at an international music festival, winning their first-ever Best Male Group award. All of that in the same year. Even the invitation to appear at Fashion Week was proof of their growing fame.

As the leader, Yunho was hoping his appearance at the highly anticipated event would help keep their momentum going. But because of the accident, not only did he miss the opportunity, he might have also jeopardized the group's future altogether. 

"What if… C-Can't I just sit while San and Jongho do the choreo?" His voice cracks, unable to hide his desperation any longer.

"It's not just that, Yunho... Some of Illusion's schedules have already been cancelled. Producers are pulling out..."

"W-Why?"

Hongjoong pulls up a video on his phone—the footage of Yunho falling down the stairs with another person.

"Do you recognize who that is?"

"That's... that's..." Yunho swallows thickly, his voice faltering. "Song Mingi..."

"Flag Entertainment has released a statement saying you pushed him down the stairs."

"I-I didn't push him, hyung! He... He bumped into me!" Yunho exclaims, appalled that the situation had been blown out of proportion. Though his mind is still a bit hazy, he's certain he didn't do anything they're accusing him of. How could anyone even think he would do such thing when he's the one who ended up with a broken arm?

"I'm on your side, Yunho. We'll find a way to clear your name. But right now, we don't have anything to go on other than your statement and the video they released. Flag got their hands on the CCTV footage first.

"In the meantime, I've released a statement saying it was an accident and that, unless they release the full footage, they shouldn't put the blame on you."

"My words won't be enough, will they?" Yunho asks quietly.

"Chris, that snake. He'll twist your words, just like he did with…" Hongjoong clears his throat. "Like he did with Seonghwa. We need to be careful."

Yunho looks up at Hongjoong, surprised that he would bring up the two people he rarely talks about anymore, but his expression is unreadable.

"I don't want any of you engaging with the malicious posts on social media, understood?" Hongjoong continues without another word on the matter. "We'll be taking legal action this time."

"But that's going to cost you, hyung... The company isn't exactly doing well, is it?"

"Don't worry about that. It's my place to protect you and the boys. I'd give up everything I have if it meant saving you. You know that..."

"Hyung..." Yunho's voice trembles, tears welling up in his eyes, swallowed by the guilt of the mess he's caused. "I'm sorry for letting you down..."

"Nonsense. I let you down, Yunho. I should have been there to protect you." Hongjoong pulls Yunho into an embrace, offering what little comfort he can.

"Get some rest. I have to talk to the press, or those vultures will find their way here and harass you. I heard there are a lot of them around because Mingi's confined here too." He shakes his head, already feeling the onset of a headache.

"By the way, Yunho..." Hongjoong pauses, giving him a knowing look. Oh, the headache’s coming, alright. "Promise me you won't go looking for trouble."

Yunho nods, but his mind is already elsewhere, exactly where Hongjoong fears it would be.

"Say it, Yunho. Promise me."

"I promise," he complies, resisting the urge to roll his eyes at Hongjoong and say 'Please leave now, I have work to do.' Instead, he smiles politely and encourages the CEO, "You should get going, hyung. The press are waiting."

Anyone knows that promises are meant to be broken. Hongjoong himself has broken a few, so what's one more when it means saving the company?

Yunho knows what he has to do—he needs to talk to Song Mingi. It's just a matter of figuring out where in this hospital he's confined in. He doesn't care anymore that Mingi's with Flag Entertainment, the very company trying to ruin him. Mingi would know the truth. And if there's even a sliver of chance that he can help clear his name—by pushing his management to release the full video and setting the record straight—then Yunho will take it. 

He bravely pulls off the IV from his hand (doesn't even flinch as he does), throws on the cap that Hongjoong left behind, and slips out the ward. He would've changed out of the hospital gown, but with a broken arm it was hardly an option. So, he settles on keeping his head down, hoping no one will pay him any attention.

"Hi," Yunho greets the only nurse on duty at the station, doing his best to stay calm so he doesn't blow his cover. "Would you happen to know where Song Mingi is confined?"

"Are you family?" the nurse asks, her tone polite but firm. "If not, I'm afraid I can't provide you with that information."

He sighs, already thinking of another way to get Mingi's room number, until he spots a familiar sight hanging from the nurse's lanyard—a purple cat.

"Are you a fan of Sannie?" he asks, pointing at the purple badge on her lanyard.

"Sannie?" The nurse raises an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. "Yes… why?"

Yunho lifts his cap, beaming. "I'm Yunho from Illusion. Nice to meet you!" He even offers his hand for the nurse to shake.

The nurse gasps, clearly ecstatic, as she takes the hand of a member of her favorite group.

"I'm sure you've already heard about what happened," Yunho says gently. "I just… I want to apologize to him personally. I would hate for him to think that I'd hurt him on purpose. May I know what room he's in?"

The nurse hesitates, her eyes darting around the unoccupied station and scanning the empty hallway. "I really shouldn't be giving out that information…"

Yunho lowers his gaze, sighing deeply. "It's okay, I understand. I had to try..." He pauses, then adds with a small smile, "San said he'll visit me in a few hours. I'll make sure to tell him to drop by and say hi. You know... as a little sorry for the trouble."

The nurse's eyes widen. "S-San? The Choi San is coming here?"

Yunho nods with a sheepish smile. 

She hesitates for a second, glances around the station once more, before leaning in. "Room 809," she whispers. "But that didn't come from me, alright?"

Yunho zips his mouth and pretends to lock it before tossing away the imaginary key. "Thank you," he mouths with a warm smile.

The nurse grins back, her cheeks aflame.

"Umm, Yunho..." she speaks up softly, a little hesitant at first. "I just wanted to say that… I support you. I know you would never hurt anyone." She raises her fists to cheer him on.

Yunho's heart swells, her words are exactly what he needs to hear right now.

He straightens his back and gives the nurse a polite bow before heading off to find Room 809.

After carefully navigating the hospital, wary of any journalists who might be loitering the area, Yunho finally reaches the 8th floor. Just as he passes an emergency stairwell, its door left slightly ajar, he overhears what seems to be an important conversation. He slows his pace, just enough to listen in.

"He sustained a concussion and a minor injury to his neck. His face is quite beaten up. They want him to stay the night to observe for any complications. He shouldn't have been there in the first place… Anyway, the job's done, sir. With a broken arm, it'll surely going to delay their comeback and cancel any appearances they have lined up. We can move up Mingi's schedule as you like."

Yunho's blood runs cold. He can't believe what he just heard. For a moment, he considers recording the conversation, only to realize he doesn't have his phone on him. If only he did, he could've cleared his name and taken down Flag Entertainment then and there. But of course, life has to make it difficult for him. 

His pulse quickens, heart thumping in his chest as he heads straight for Mingi's room. He strides past the reception desk without slowing down, not even as the receptionist calls for him to stop. 

"Hey! Jeong Yunho! You think I wouldn't recognize you?" a man yells from behind, the same voice from earlier. "What are you doing here?! You have the guts to show your face after what you did to Mingi? Leave! Or I'll call security."

"Stop making a scene!" a voice booms from inside Room 809. "Let him in."

Yunho takes in the spacious room with a mix of awe and disbelief. He has never seen a hospital room as luxurious as this before. It's as big, probably even bigger than the dormitory he shares with his members.

And that scent that wafts through his nose… Mingi's private suite smells so good. It smells of the flowers decorating the living room (an actual living room inside a hospital room) and of the citrus fruits on the dining table. There's none of that antiseptic scent that hospitals normally have—the only kind he's used to.

Something rises up in Yunho's chest. Jealousy? Resentment? He forces it down, not wanting it to take root before he's done what he came to do.

It's the fresh, minty note in the air that pulls him back in. It must be from the humidifier, obnoxiously hissing and spurting mist from the bedside table, oddly reminiscent of the man behind him, breathing down his neck as they watch Mingi, wearing a neck brace and bandages around his head, struggle to get down from his hospital bed.

"You keep letting those reporters in, but you won't allow me a visitor?" Mingi grumbles at the man. "Leave the two of us alone. I want some privacy with my guest."

The man begrudgingly walks out, leaving the door wide open, but Mingi limps past Yunho and closes it shut.

"Sorry about my manager... Just between the two of us, I've been wanting to get rid of him—for ages." Mingi lets out an exasperated sigh as he gingerly sits back on his bed. "Anyway… What brings you here, Yunho?" He flashes a lopsided smile, as wide as his bruised face would permit.

The way Mingi looks so eager to have someone visiting him catches Yunho off guard. Even the way Mingi addresses him casually, like they've been friends for years, throws him off completely. Yunho wasn't expecting this... what should he call it? Warmth? Hostile, understandable. Civil, maybe, if he were a decent person. But this friendliness? Not at all. Especially not from someone who had every reason to resent him.

But then Mingi's expression shifts as his eyes drift down Yunho's body. His smile falters into a frown, eyebrows furrowing as his eyes widen into soft, doe-like orbs. 

"Yunho... Your arm…" he gasps.

Yunho stares at him incredulously. Is he trying to rub it in?

"I broke my arm from the fall," Yunho replies dryly. 

"But aren't you the main dancer of Illusion? How will you—"

"How will I what?!" Yunho snaps before he can stop himself, tone sharper than he'd intended. He regrets it instantly. The way Mingi flinched... Why did it tug at his chest?

It doesn't mean though that he's already convinced with the way Mingi's acting oblivious. Like he hasn't benefited from every underhanded move his label has ever made—Illusion's performances getting cut on music shows, festival organizers "forgetting" to upload their set, the technical issues during their stages. And now this. Flag Entertainment knew exactly what they were doing. Shouldn't Mingi know it too?

Mingi's management had singled them out—a then-rookie group from an unknown company—as a threat from the very beginning. It's pathetic, really. Almost laughable. Yet completely in character for a company driven by greed.

But going as far as assault? 

They had crossed a line. 

Too bad for them, karma had only been waiting to strike. And when it did, it chose their biggest star. 

"You don't have to worry about it," Yunho says, forcing a kinder tone but making sure Mingi knows he's not backing down. "We're going to have a comeback as planned. I'm not that fragile."

"I-I'm sorry! I didn't mean it that way..." 

Mingi's doing it again. The apologetic look, the frantic hand-waving begging not to be misunderstood. It's doing something inexplicable to Yunho's chest. He wants someone to yell 'Cut!' right this instant so that Mingi can, once and for all, drop the good boy act. 

Where's the rapper who spits bars and writes diss tracks—his hard-hitting verses taking aim at the music industry and boasting about being on top? The same person who shows up in the latest designer streetwear or full black leather fits, draped in iced chains and rings, wearing sunglasses even in the darkest of venues. The Song Mingi who makes his fans bark and scream his name at his command, whose aggressive energy earned him the reputation of someone who literally tears down stages. 

Did he bash his head hard enough that he's changed personalities? Or is this is all just a facade?

Mingi's tough on-stage persona is so different from the boy sitting in front of him right now that it's confusing Yunho. He feel like he's directing his frustration at the wrong person. But at the same time, he could just be reading him wrong. Should he even reveal to Mingi what he knows about the truth? 

"Anyway, I came here to let you know that… that I'm sorry about the accident." Yunho means it, even if Mingi were an enemy (he decides that this is the safest assumption for now). Every time his eyes flit over to Mingi's bruised cheek, a little part of him is consumed by guilt. "I'm sure you know that what your company is saying isn't true, right? That I pushed you? It was my fault for not paying attention, but I didn't— I wouldn't push you on purpose. You know the truth, Mingi. You were there. And I need your help to clear my name."

"I believe you, Yunho... but I don't really remember what happened," Mingi pauses, his expression troubled. "They told me I have short-term amnesia. I honestly didn't even understand what was going on until the reporters came in to interview me. They showed me the statement and the video—"

"That video!" Yunho interrupts. "It's not the whole thing! It's been edited. You need to get your management to release the full footage!"

"Yunho, I—"

"Okay, that's enough!" Mingi's manager barges in, cutting off their conversation. He grabs Yunho by the arm—the injured one—and starts dragging him out of the room, ignoring both Yunho's gasps of pain and Mingi's protests.

"Pick a side, Mingi!" Yunho calls out, looking back at Mingi over his shoulder. "If you believe me, then help me clear my name!"

Chapter Text

The next few weeks out of the hospital are tough for Yunho.

Everything takes more effort now. Eating, brushing his teeth, taking a bath, getting dressed. Even the simplest of tasks feel like a mountain he has to climb.

He remembers the worried glances San or Jongho used to give him whenever he brought out the vacuum cleaner—the one chore he insisted on doing, not wanting to be a burden around their dorm. He would often bang into walls and pieces of furniture by accident, twisting and straining just to reach into the corners. It seemed impossible to get used to doing it with only his left hand, but he kept at it anyway.

Until today.

Someone shrieks. Another hyperventilates. Their prized game console teeters precariously on the edge TV stand but it doesn't fall, much to everyone's relief. Jongho rushes over to confiscate the vacuum from Yunho, while San sits him down on the couch with a look that leaves no room for argument. They each take a spot beside him, controllers in hand, and insists—half-joking, half-serious—that his only job for the remainder of the day is to watch them take down the final boss.

They have no intention of making him feel left out. Yunho understands. He's been friends with them long enough to know that this is just their way of showing that they care. But sitting there, watching them play while his controller collects dust on top of the cabinet, makes his heart sink all the same. 

Why did it have to be his arm? Why did it have to be him?

Before any boss is slain, Yunho excuses himself, pretending he's in pain, and retreats into his room. He'll have to use the same excuse to skip the next few meetings with Hongjoong. He's not in the mood to feel any worse than he already does.

All he's ever gotten out of those daily "not-meetings" is a reminder that everyone else still has a future, even if Illusion's comeback was already officially cancelled. 

Jongho might do an OST. 

San might appear in a variety show. 

Yunho? Might as well head back to the dorm since he's not included in the plans anyway.

And as if his ego weren't bruised enough, on the very day that he happed to zone out during one of the meetings—just that once—suddenly, they're all working shifts at Hongjoong's café. Something about staying active, keeping busy. San and Jongho had already agreed with their CEO that it would be a good distraction for their injured leader.

Well, the injured leader does not, in fact, need distractions.

He needs answers. 

How's he supposed to find any by making coffee and wiping tables?

But being Yunho, he just smiles (through the pain) and nods along, agreeing with whatever the majority thinks is best for him.

He wouldn't dream of saying no anyway—not when it would disappoint them even more than he already has.

He lies down and stares at the ceiling, enveloped in the darkness of his room. 

He'll eventually have to show up—he can't avoid Hongjoong forever. Just not for a while though... He would rather face the few fans who visit the café and leave encouraging words for him. At least they could make him feel better...

When he hears San and Jongho finally retire to their shared room for the night, and he's left alone in the silence, that's when it hits him the hardest.

Everyone else's world is revolving, but his feels like it's at a standstill. And all that he has is time on his hands that he can't do much with.

The first few hours he spends trying to fall asleep. He's tried every method he could find on the internet, but nothing ever seems to work. He wants to disconnect. His body craves sleep, but his mind refuses to let go. Thoughts gradually creep in, like water seeping through the cracks.

How the world has been so unfair to him. 

How stupid he was for falling victim to Flag Entertainment. 

How angry he is at Song Mingi.

Song Mingi.

He should have known better than to trust an artist from that vile company. But he's too kind to a fault—his greatest weakness, Hongjoong once told him. To his defense, the rapper was so convincing, acting all innocent at the hospital, even using amnesia as a front. So, it's only natural for Yunho to put some faith in him.

It's not like he was expecting to be handed everything on a silver platter anyway. He was just hoping Mingi would do… something. Anything.

So he waited—every day—for Mingi to come through.

And every day that he didn't, Yunho continued to silently hope that he would suddenly show up and prove him wrong.

Yunho held on to that sliver of hope, day by day. But like a thread gradually fraying, it finally snapped one day. 

Silence isn't neutrality. It's complicity. Or so someone says.

At least now, it's clear which side Mingi's on. 

Yunho clenches his jaw, eyes now wide open in the dark. Sleep has completely abandoned him, swallowed up by all his pent-up anger.

There's nothing really left to do now… 

Going against Hongjoong's warning for the umpteenth time, he picks up his phone and logs in to his private account. 

He types his name into the search bar like clockwork. 

Old photos. Random edits. A couple of outdated YunSan and 2Ho fics. It's nothing he hasn't seen before. He scrolls out of habit more than anything—until something catches his eye.

I swear if that Yunho guy suddenly comes up in the list of artists Mingi's collaborating with on his new album I'm buying everyone who interacts with this post an Illusion album LMAO!!! Mingi's the only reason that group's even relevant. I'm still convinced that guy did it on purpose to ride on Mingi's fame. No one knew who they were before the accident. 

He hesitates.

His thumb hovers over the screen.

Don't do it, he tells himself.

"Yunho hyung, I'm done! Your turn!" Jongho calls from outside, hurried footsteps scurrying across the floor.

"Just a minute!" he answers, distracted, fingers moving nimbly across the screen. Light filtering through the heavy curtains of his room catches his eye. Since when did it become morning?

"We don't have a minute, Yunho. We're running late!" San yells back.

He taps Search, completely ignoring San.

Just this once, Mingi. Just this once, prove me wrong.

His feed refreshes.

"Fuck..." he mutters under his breath as he reads the trending post.

He quickly scrolls past it and onto the next.

"Fuck!" He curses aloud this time, hands trembling as he reads through more posts, his mind reeling at the sheer audacity—exactly what they had wanted to happen.

The door to Yunho's room bursts open.

"Yunho! What happened?! Are you okay?!" San panics, eyes frantically scanning his friend.

Yunho sits up in bed, holding out his phone. "Look!"

Song Mingi reportedly gearing up for full album comeback this summer. To feature collaborations with various artists. Flag Entertainment yet to confirm.

"Hyung, it's just a speculation—" Jongho starts.

"No!" He snaps at the youngest. "Flag planned this! It's not a coincidence that they're already creating buzz for Mingi's comeback after Hongjoong hyung cancelled ours!"

"You've gotta stop doing this to yourself, Yunho." San snatches the phone from him, voice stern. "Come on. We have a café to open."

Chapter Text

Mingi groans as he sinks to the floor, exhaustion settling into his bones after having finished eight hours of dance practice.

It probably wouldn't have been half as bad if Wooyoung hadn't started complaining midway through their session, grumbling that they should just call it a day—as if anyone would dare end a schedule even a minute early without Chris's consent.

The choreographer plops down and rests his head on Mingi's thigh, making himself comfortable as he proceeds to rant about labor rights and unions.

Mingi nods and hums every now and then to appease his best friend, not really hearing a word he's saying, already too preoccupied looking for his phone.

Amnesia or not, he's hopeless when it comes to keeping track of his things.

He scans the practice room until his eyes land on a pair of shoes—Yeosang's. He looks up and meets his new manager's gaze.

Yeosang stood before him like a sculpture, arm outstretched, holding exactly what he's been searching for—his misplaced phone, lighting up with a new notification. His manager wore the air of a disapproving Greek god, a deep frown etched across his face.

Mingi smiles as he takes his phone, a gesture to reassure the concerned manager that he's perfectly fine. He knows why Yeosang's looking at him that way. It's not about the phone nor having to constantly look after his things. It's the fact that he has yet again pushed through another grueling schedule without a single complaint.

He knows how much his new manager cares, the complete opposite to the last. He witnessed it himself on Yeosang's first day on the job. The same day he was discharged from the hospital.

He was about to leave the room when he saw them—Yeosang backed into a corner, the CEO towering over him. Yeosang was insisting that Mingi's upcoming schedule was too intense for someone still recovering. Back-to-back dance practices would surely take a toll, he'd said. But Mingi knew exactly what it was like trying to reason with Chris. It was like talking to a brick wall and expecting it to even care.

Mingi appreciates the concern. But it's also a cruel reminder of the only other person who once stood up for him. And how that person is long gone…

It's half a miracle (and a total relief) that Yeosang hadn't been kicked out on his first day.

If only he could tell his new manager that he'd rather deal with the consequences of overworking himself than face the CEO's unpredictable temper. That he'd rather bear the physical pain than watch yet another person on his side disappear…

"I've booked you an appointment with the physical therapist tonight. Don't miss it, okay?" Yeosang reminds hoping it would even reach his artist who's already slouched over his phone, brows furrowed.

"Okay," Mingi murmurs in reply, not entirely sure what he just agreed to, anger already clouding his judgement.

Someone had the gall to tag him in a malicious post aimed at Yunho.

@jeongyuyu you should have fallen down those stairs on your own. How dare you drag @bestsongmingi with you?! You deserve more than just a broken arm! #GetWellSoonMingi #JusticeForSongMingi

He quickly reports the post. He's had enough of these spineless fans. Flag should have never made that statement in the first place.

All sense thrown out the window, he taps furiously at the screen, chewing on his bottom lip as his face hardens.

Keep Yunho's name out of your mouths. He's a victim as much as I am. If there's anyone to blame, it's Flag.

His thumb hovers over Post.

He hesitates.

He can't be rash. Not when the only thing he has to go on is Yunho's word that Flag edited the released footage.

If he wants to defend Yunho, he'll need solid proof.

Something he won't be able to get from Chris.

"I need to see the full CCTV footage," Mingi said one night as Chris loomed over his hospital bed.

The CEO's face turned sour. "You've seen everything there is to see, Mingi. You're the victim. And Yunho—"

"Yunho didn't push me—"

"You hit your head. You're confused," Chris cut him off sharply. "I've fired your manager. Someone more competent will replace him."

"But Yunho—"

"Don't worry that pretty head of yours, Mingi," the CEO continued, not giving him a chance to speak. He was now smiling, demeanor flipping as quick as a light switch. "As long as you remember who you belong to, you'll do more than just thrive in this industry..."

Mingi closes his eyes, trying to sort through the blur of events from that night. He wills the memories, tucked away somewhere deep, deep in the back of his mind, to resurface.

But it's hopeless... 

He anchors his thoughts instead on the one thing he's certain of: Yunho's face, a few seconds before disaster struck—before his memory fades. His eyes, wide, filled with shock and horror.

Whatever happened that day, he knows Yunho wasn't at fault. His gut has always told him so. But his gut feel is useless when everyone else believes the footage. When he can't even trust his own memory.

His chest aches—part pain, part exhaustion, part Jeong Yunho.

Mingi's head starts to spin.

Maybe that's enough thinking for today…

But then something flashes before his eyes. Quick, short bursts of memory.

A woman. Her hand on Yunho's back. Yunho stumbles. Mingi lunges. He grabs Yunho's arm, but it's not enough to stop the fall.

He sees her again, much clearer this time.

The glint of her watch. The sudden shove. Her dull expression turning into a smirk of satisfaction.

He gasps, body jerking, as if he'd just woken from a dream.

He forces his eyes open.

Everything is the same. The practice room, Wooyoung, Yeosang, his aching body.

His phone is still in his hand, the post he'd drafted still waiting to go live.

Until suddenly it's not.

"Hey! Give that back!" Mingi reaches out, only to realize that it's Chris who had taken his phone.

"You've been slacking, Mingi," the CEO says, not even sparing him a glance as he examines the screen, eyebrow raised.

"Slacking?!" Wooyoung blurts, half seated, half standing, only because Mingi is holding him back. "We've been practicing eight hours a day—every single day!"

"Exactly. Do you remember how long you practiced for when you were still trainees? Seems like you're forgetting your intentions of joining this industry."

"They're not trainees anymore," Yeosang speaks up.

Mingi wants to stop him, knows what could happen if Yeosang keeps answering back, but he's out of reach, and Wooyoung is already being a handful.

"Did you say something, Yeosang?" the CEO turns to the manager.

"Mingi needs to rest. His back is aching again," Yeosang replies, his voice steady and unwavering. 

"Are you a doctor, Mr. Kang? Have you finally chosen to honor your parents' wishes? I'm sure they'd be thrilled to hear that their son has come to his senses."

Yeosang falls silent, lips pressed into a thin line.

"Mingi, you're flying to the US tomorrow—" Chris announces without preamble,"—alone."

"What?!" The three boys react in unison, their expressions a mix of disbelief and fury.

"Two weeks," Chris continues unfazed by the uproar. "That should be long enough."

"You won't be needing this." The CEO slips Mingi's phone into his pocket. "Nor the other one you've been keeping under your bed."

Mingi's blood runs cold. How does he even know about his backup phone?

"You'll be issued a new one, with only the necessary apps and contacts to keep in touch."

"I-I didn't post it! I was… I was only t-thinking! I made a mistake. I won't do it again, Chris. I'm sorry!"

"You'll be training with world-renowned dancers. You should be thankful to even have this opportunity."

"But Wooyoung and Yeosang—"

"Wooyoung, will be working with the new trainees. Their basics are a mess. I'm sure someone with his experience can clean it up. I expect results in a week."

"Yeosang, you'll be assisting Manager Park for the time being. Transport, scheduling, errands, whatever she needs. She could use an extra set of hands, and I trust you'll make yourself useful. A bit of time under her should be… an eye-opener."

"Chris, please—" Mingi starts, voice cracking, ready to get to his knees. He can't stomach the punishment being handed down to his friends. "I'll—"

"You'll do exactly what I tell you to," the CEO cuts in smoothly, crouching down to Mingi's level until they're eye to eye. "And you'll be a good boy and behave while you're there. Won't you, Mingi?"

He pats the boy's cheek, the side bruised from the fall, just hard enough to make him flinch.

Chris leans in, voice low and velvety—poison in Mingi's ear. 

"My biggest star. My prized possession." He strokes Mingi's hair.

"Remember the long lines outside this building just for a chance to audition? The disappointed faces of the thousands who were eliminated? No? Of course you don't. Because you were special."

"I took you in when you were nothing. Just a name from someone else's mouth. Someone who eventually betrayed my trust."

He pulls back with a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

"Make me proud, Mingi. Remind me that I made the right choice."

Chris clicks his tongue at the sight of the bruise on Mingi's cheek, then gestures at Yeosang without looking.

"Pack him a makeup kit. I don't want that bruise showing up in any photo. It's hideous."

And with that, he walks out of the room, leaving the weight of obedience hanging in the air like a noose.

Chapter Epilogue

Mingi drags his feet down the hallway toward Chris's office, still second-guessing whether coming here was the right decision. The expensive bottle of whisky weighs heavy in his arms—a peace offering, a desperate attempt. 

Maybe it will be enough to make Chris listen.

All he needs is five minutes anyway. Enough to convince the CEO to allow him to bring Wooyoung and Yeosang with him to the States. Enough to keep them safe.

He raises his hand, ready to knock—but he freezes.

Chris's voice seeps through the door, slurred and careless.

"Hongjoong's still playing hero, huh? Acting like those boys are some found family he has to protect. He's delaying the comeback because Yunho needs time to heal?" He laughs, spiteful. "Bullshit. I made sure of it. That's why."

A clink of ice. A long sip.

"I'll give him a week. No… I'll give him two. Just in time for Mingi to return. I'll show all of them what power really looks like.

"One more headline, and Hongjoong will be begging me to make an offer. He might even hand over the keys to that rundown building himself. All for the sake of his precious family." He ends with a cold chuckle.

Mingi clamps a hand over his mouth, swallowing the bile rising in his throat.

He finally knows the truth—and it weighs far more than the bottle of whiskey in his arms.

Chapter Text

Ten minutes to closing. 

Mingi hasn't looked away, not even once, from the tiny figure of Yunho cleaning tables inside the cafe. He's lost track of how long they've been parked across the street, waiting in nervous anticipation.

There's only one customer left, taking her sweet time chatting with Jongho, nursing a cup of coffee like she had all the time in the world.

Mingi feels like he's seconds away from having a full-on Walter Mitty moment where he storms into the café, grabs her already lukewarm coffee, and downs it in one go.

She leaves. 

He talks to Yunho.

The End.

He shakes the thought before his mind tricks his body into acting on it.

He's already crazy enough for showing up unannounced after everything that's happened. He doesn't need Yunho thinking he's completely lost it too.

She'll have to leave eventually.

They always do...

Five minutes 'til closing time.

They shouldn't even be here.

Chris had reunited him with Wooyoung and Yeosang after two hellish weeks of what the CEO had called an "immersion", a sugarcoated term for what really was a punishment and isolation.

And the first thing they agree on doing together? 

Break the rules.

Because if America taught Mingi anything, it's that Chris can go to hell.

He'd first heard about the news of his comeback from some random trainee at the dance studio. A guy had approached him out of nowhere wearing a wide grin and a thick American accent. Mingi wasn't sure what the enthusiasm was all about (and half of what was being said) until the guy showed him Flag's official response to a circulating article. 

Mingi's heroic comeback after the tragic incident. 

His stomach lurched. 

This wasn't in the plans. Not for a comeback in the summer like the article read. Why had it been moved up all of a sudden?! 

He didn't want it. Not like this. Not right now. 

He stood there, stunned, not even bothering to hide the disgust on his face. Maybe it came off as rude, but there was no way he could fake a reaction for something that felt so wrong. 

Not when just days ago he had overheard rumors that Illusion's comeback had been cancelled—officially.

Yunho's group, swept under the rug, just like that.

And there he was, being congratulated.

For what? For surviving the narrative Chris had rewritten?

It made him sick.

He couldn't stop thinking about Yunho's face—broken, pleading for the truth.

How would Yunho react to the news this time?

That same night he'd dreamt of Yunho. A dream that turned into a nightmare. 

Mingi hadn't slept a wink since. 

Mingi leans back against the passenger's seat and exhales, slow and steady, the only semblance of control he has over his own body. 

He's running on pure adrenaline and jet lag now. Body still confused between night and day that it's decided he can do a couple more hours before crashing out.

The pounding headache came as part of the package—too many hours in the air, too little sleep in the last three days. The leg cramps are a different story. A result of the deliberate choice of their CEO who only books business class when there's enough press watching. And this time there were none.

But Mingi keeps it all to himself and endures it like he always does.

Even his hunger. 

On cue, Mingi's stomach growls, loud and embarrassing. The price of skipping the stale airplane food.

Ironic, considering the lie Yeosang fed Chris was that they were stopping for dinner. 

It's supposed to buy them a little time. A small window for Mingi to do what he had to do before facing whatever hell was waiting for him back at Flag Entertainment.

But none of it matters. 

Not the throbbing temples, the sore limbs, nor the gnawing emptiness in his gut. 

Not even Chris.

None of it matters to Mingi when Yunho's right there within reach.

In the backseat, Wooyoung stretches despite the tight space and lets out a long yawn. 

"Okay, seriously. Can we go in already? I need coffee or my soul's going to evacuate my body. I still need to be alive for Chris's downfall."

"Maybe don't stay up until 4 A.M. watching San's fancams, then?" Yeosang flinches as Wooyoung's foot hits the back of where he's seated in the driver's seat. 

"It's called reconnaissance."

"Big word. Spell?"

"You know what, Yeosang? I did not miss you at all."

"Your obsession will get us killed. I just know it."

"My obsession?! Say that again like you're not here because of Jongho."

"I don't know Jongho."

"You want to know Jongho."

Their voices fade in and out. Mingi isn't really listening, his gaze fixed on Yunho, like looking away might make him vanish. Until Yeosang's voice, low and serious, calls his attention.

"We have a little time. But not much. Twenty minutes tops. Are you sure about this, Mingi? Do you think it's worth it?"

Mingi nods without looking away. "I just need to talk to him. You don't have to come with me. I won't take long."

Wooyoung reacts, his reflection on the rear view mirror looking mildly offended, dramatic. "Leave you, alone?! With the cute guys, no chance— Hey! Wait up!" 

Mingi's already out of the car and crossing the street as soon as the last customer exits the cafe. 

The bell above the door chimes softly as Mingi enters, warm light spilling over him. San and Jongho both look up—but it's Yunho who speaks first. 

"Sorry, we're just about to close!" Yunho says in a rush, unable to spare a glance at his new customer, too pre-occupied scrubbing a table with a small pout on his face.

Mingi's throat tightens at the sight of the idol. From afar he could already see Yunho was still in a cast and sling, but up close his movements were awkward, uncoordinated.

But then Yunho smiles—

Mingi's heart leaps.

—He smiles down at the table as he finally removes whatever stain there was on it.

"Yunho…" Mingi breathes, hope blooming in his chest. 

The injured idol pauses. The smile on his face disappears in an instant. His hand stills, clenching the damp rag, too tight his knuckles turn white. He doesn't look up. Instead, he bows his head even lower, and starts moving his hand mechanically over the already spotless table.

"What the hell do you think you're doing here?!" San moves instinctively in front of Yunho.

Jongho doesn't say a word, already moving in the background, keys jangling in his hand. A series of clicks and clacks signify that the door has been locked and the sign from the outside now reads CLOSED, warding off passers by from the secret meeting inside.

Whatever warmth that was in the room when Mingi first entered has since dissipated, replaced by a tension so thick the air is too heavy to breathe.

Wooyoung and Yeosang stay close behind him, watchful shadows unwilling to abandon their friend to the wolves.

"We're sorry for coming unannounced," Mingi finds his voice. "I just—"

"You think you can just waltz in now that your company's parading your comeback all over social media?" San spits. 

"I didn't know—"

"Let me guess, you didn't know your fans were threatening Yunho either, right? You couldn't say a single word because you're too scared to lose them."

"I tried—"

"You should've tried harder! You should have told your fans to back off!"

Wooyoung steps in before Mingi can speak, his voice cracking in frustration. "You have no idea what he's been through!"

San's glare shifts over to Wooyoung.

"Wooyoung, don't." Mingi warns. Sharp. Too sharp, Wooyoung flinches and reluctantly backs off. 

"They don't need to know," Mingi adds quietly, but San overhears.

"We don't give a shit what any of you have been through."

Wooyoung takes offense, ready to go after San, but Mingi puts out an arm to prevent him from getting any closer.

"Just one minute," Mingi pleads, trying to gain control over the situation. "Please."

Then, silence.

Thick, uncomfortable silence.

For the first time, Yunho makes his presence known, finally moving from behind San.

He stands tall, head raised high despite his broken arm and the heavy circles underneath his eyes.

And for the first time since they last saw each other back at the hospital, Yunho and Mingi's eyes meet. 

"A minute?" Yunho scoffs. Laughter follows, spilling from his lips, cold and bitter. "After I spent an entire month waiting for you to say something, you're asking me for a minute? If you're so desperate for it, go ahead. Take your minute."

"I remember her..." Mingi starts, voice raw and thin, barely above a whisper at first. "The woman you were with during Fashion Week. I remember the glint of her watch catching my eye before she... before she shoves you. That smirk on her face... I remember seeing you about to fall. I remember trying to catch you."

San stiffens. Jongho stops pretending to dry a plate. Even Wooyoung and Yeosang who are hearing Mingi's account of the accident for the first time are holding their breaths.

"I tried asking for the full CCTV footage, but Flag won't—"

"You think this is still about the footage?!" Yunho cuts Mingi off. "It's not. Not anymore. It's the fact that you knew, you remembered, and yet you did nothing to defend me. Not a single word. You allowed everyone to believe that it was all my fault. You let me carry the burden. Alone. You left me to rot while Flag rebranded you into some tragic amnesiac—"

"That's enough." Wooyoung moves protectively in front of Mingi and so does Yeosang. "He's not here for you to insult!"

"It's fine," Mingi says softly.

Yeosang tries to reason with him, to leave some pride for himself, but Mingi shakes his head. "I deserve it."

"No." Yunho snaps. "What you deserve is me never speaking to you. Ever again."

Mingi nods despite himself, accepting the anger he knows he has rightfully earned.

"I'm going to fix this," Mingi says. "However I can. You don't have to trust me. Just... Just let me try."

Yeosang's phone vibrates. His face pales as he checks it.

"Chris is on the way to the dorm," he turns to Wooyoung and Mingi, speaking in a hushed voice.

They stiffen, exchanging panicked looks.

"We have ten minutes. Maybe less."

Wooyoung's voice drops. "If he finds out where we are—"

"He won't," Yeosang hisses.

Yunho watched the scene unfold with confusion flickering in his eyes. Isn't Chris Flag Entertainment's CEO? Then why are they acting as if Chris had them on a leash? As if he owns their time—their freedom? It doesn't make sense.

Yunho couldn't read past Mingi's guarded expression.

But he's sure that the rapper is hiding something. 

Something that might be even bigger than his revelation today.

"Why did you really come here?" Yunho asks, voice low.

Mingi breathes in. "Because I owed you the truth. And because I remember what you looked like that day, falling down. I remember grabbing you. I remember thinking... Please not him."

"You shouldn't have caught me," Yunho replies, voice razor-thin. "Not if you wouldn't be able to take responsibility for anything that would come after."

Yunho walks away, off to the nearest table and continues working, wiping it down with the same rag, with the same uncoordinated hand, as if nothing had happened. 

"We need to go," Yeosang says firmly, hand on Mingi's arm. "Now."

Mingi lingers for a second longer, hoping against hope that Yunho would look back at him.

But of course he doesn't. 

Yeosang pulls him by the hand.

And then he turns to leave.

Chapter Text

"We had dinner. Got stuck in traffic. That's why we're late. We had dinner. Got stuck in traffic. That's why we're late..."

Mingi hears Wooyoung murmuring from the back seat as Yeosang parks outside his dorm. For once, no one tells Wooyoung to stop. Not a hush nor playful banter. Each of them too tense, plagued by the narrative they've all agreed on.

Dinner and traffic.

Short and simple. Impossible to mess up, really.

Dinner wasn't difficult to fake. Yeosang had stopped by a nearby restaurant, paid for one of the tables, and asked for the receipt. He even tipped the owner handsomely, just in case Flag decided to investigate.

Traffic, on the other hand, was as real as it could get. An angry sea of red taillights glared at them as soon as they merged onto the highway. Friday night. Payday. Only an apocalypse would've made it worse. All that rushing to make it back to the dorm on time, down the drain in a blink of an eye.

Yeosang wasted no time, snapping a photo of the congested road and sending it to Chris. And for the rest of the drive, he juggled the wheel and his phone, updating the CEO with their location every chance he could get.

But every message, every photo—every single attempt to let him know that they were on the way—was ignored.

That didn't mean Chris had run out of patience and left, though.

No.

He would wait.

Chris would wait so he could chew them up and spit them out.

Only then would he leave.

Mingi draws in a nervous breath as his eyes scale the apartment building looming over them—cold and uninviting. It never really felt like home. Just a nightly reprieve. A gilded cage designed to keep him in.

He starts chanting, just like Wooyoung, as if the words were a spell that would protect them from the evil that awaits.

Apology. Dinner. Traffic. Whiskey.

He runs through the scenario again inside his head, reminding himself not to forget the final touch—the bottle of whiskey. The very bottle he was supposed to give Chris that night, two weeks ago. The one he's been hiding like it were a witness to a crime.

At this point, Mingi just wants to get rid of it. It doesn't matter anymore whether it appeases the CEO or not. Even as a distraction, it feels meaningless now.

Chris will do what Chris wants.

All that matters now is sticking to the story.

They have to make him believe.

No matter what.

Maybe then, he'll let them keep their necks for another day.

Light floods into the entryway even before the sensor by the door can pick up their presence.

Chris is waiting.

They know he's here even if his shoes aren't filed neatly alongside theirs. Even though they're not there at all.

He's been here a while.

The apartment smells faintly of alcohol.

Something expensive.

Like whiskey.

One Mingi would have hidden deep inside his closet...

He swallows thickly.

Mingi turns around one last time to look behind him, at his friends, before finally stepping out into the living room.

"Chris, we're sorry we're late. We didn't realize traffic was going to be that bad. I shouldn't have insisted on grabbing—"

"Mingi, you're home. What did you have for dinner?" Chris cuts the spiel short. His voice is so calm, Mingi's blood runs cold.

The CEO's back is turned to them, observing the cityscape in the distance.

Or is he?

On the glass window, Mingi can see their reflection—not a single soul daring to move. Except for Chris, who sips from the glass of whiskey in his hand.

Mingi's palms start to sweat, mentally cursing himself for not having the mind to ask Yeosang what he'd paid for when he came back from the restaurant.

How could he be so careless and miss such an important detail?

"Pasta," Yeosang answers.

"Ramen," Wooyoung attempts—just a beat too late.

Chris's hand drops to his side.

Wooyoung winces.

Yeosang's face hardens, eyes never leaving the CEO as he turns around and saunters over, his grip on the whiskey glass so tight it's a miracle it hasn't shattered yet.

"Do you think I'm an idiot, Mr. Kang?" Chris asks, prodding Yeosang on the shoulder with every word he says, the drink in his hand sloshing dangerously close to the rim.

"No," Yeosang answers, quietly accepting the jabs.

"Do you think I don't know when I'm being lied to?"

"No," Yeosang repeats, stumbling back a little, but he doesn't cower.

"I reunite you with your friends. I leave you in charge of Mingi again. And this is how you thank me?"

"Chris, this is all my fault," Wooyoung tries.

"I wasn't talking to you!"

"I went to see Yunho." Mingi cuts in, his voice louder than Chris's. "I went to see him," he repeats firmly, as if the first time weren't loud enough to get the CEO's attention.

"I see…" Chris finally turns to look at him. Really looks. But there's no anger in his eyes, just quiet amusement and pure curiosity.

Mingi stays still as Chris walks past him, to the dining table where he'd left the bottle of whiskey open. The CEO pours himself a drink, then grabs a mug off the countertop—Mingi's favorite one, the one that reads Best Song, a gift from someone important back when he debuted.

"And how is Aurora's little saint?" Chris asks as he pours Mingi a generous amount. "Still pretending he's broken? Like he's the victim? He's working at Hongjoong's café, isn't he?

"Do tell me all about it, Mingi. I'm dying to know..."

Chris holds out the mug, waiting for Mingi to come and take it from him. To take a sip and entertain him.

"He smiled at me," Mingi says, voice flat, as he takes the mug.

Chris raises an eyebrow, leaning against the table, already invested in the story about to be told.

"He's still smiling," Mingi repeats, tone bitter this time. "His group's comeback's shelved. He's serving the last of his fans in a dingy café. And yet he's still standing. Still dragging my name through the dirt alongside his."

The CEO's mouth twitches. "So you wanted to make amends?"

"Amends?" Mingi scoffs. "I wanted to see his face before I crushed whatever hope he still has left in him." He downs the drink like it's water, his expression unchanged as the alcohol burned its way down his throat.

Chris watched with a glint in his eyes, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips—subtle, but unmistakably pleased.

"The article says I get to collaborate with various artists—"

Mingi sets the mug down.

Chris's smirk falters.

"—then I want to collaborate with him."

"Repeat that for me one more time..." The CEO sounds ominous, but Mingi doesn't let it intimidate him.

"Idols live off the chance to perform, for their voice to be heard. That's what Yunho doesn't have right now. No one wants him, Chris. Not a single producer wants anything to do with him.

"Except us.

"We give him a taste, just one song, enough to let that hope fester—and then we rip it all away. Not a single trace of his name will be on it—on my song.

"All you have to do is release the tracklist.

"All you have to do is give me your approval."

The CEO steps into Mingi's bubble, a little too close for comfort, inspecting him like a trophy, expecting to find flaws—even a single crack.

But Mingi doesn't break character. Doesn't even flinch when Chris reaches up to adjust his collar.

"If I had known that sending you to America would do wonders for you, I would've sent you there years ago." He brushes something imaginary off Mingi's shoulder.

Chris studies him for a second longer.

Then he smiles.

Mingi's blood curdles.

"I give you more than my approval... I give you my blessing." He pats Mingi on the cheek and turns on his heel.

"Make me proud!" he calls over his shoulder, and the front door closes with one last click.

For a moment, no one moves. As if Chris were still in the room with them. As if a single breath, a single step out of line would result in a punishment.

Then Mingi exhales shakily, like he'd been holding his breath the entire time. His shoulders droop, his features softens. The cold and arrogant Song Mingi gone with the mask that had slipped away.

But it's clear that he's bothered, that his mind is still ticking like clockwork. His fingers dig into the fabric of his jeans, restless.

In the end, he lets the intrusive thoughts win.

With a sudden step forwards, Mingi makes for the door.

"Where are you going?" Wooyoung reaches out and catches him by the wrist.

"I have to—" Mingi chokes, attempting to pry himself free from his friend's grasp. "I need to go after him. I need to take it back!"

"No." Yeosang steps into the hallway, blocking his path.

"Get out of my way!" Mingi pushes forward but he can't get past Yeosang, not with Wooyoung now pulling him back by the waist. "Let go of me!"

"I said no."

"I didn't mean any of it!" Mingi raises his voice, frantic. "I don't want to hurt him. I don't want—" He swallows, eyes wild. "Please! I have to take it back!"

"Listen to yourself," Yeosang steadies his voice, trying to keep it together—for Mingi's sake. "This is Chris we're talking about. Going after him now will only make it worse—"

"I don't care!" Mingi yells, voice breaking. "I don't care what he'll do to me! I-I looked him in the eye and I... I made him believe that... that I wanted to— Yunho..." He gasps. "Yeosang, please!"

"Then why did you do it?" Yeosang asks, voice low, a quiet plea for Mingi to understand himself.

"He... He was going after the both of you—again. And I-I was afraid of what he might do this time. I thought if I... if I gave him something else then—"

Mingi's legs give out, but Wooyoung is right there to catch him, easing him gently to the floor, sitting beside him as his frame shakes with every ragged breath.

"I just wanted him to stop. I didn't want him to hurt either of you..." He looks up at Yeosang, tears running down his flushed cheeks, and then to Wooyoung, clutching at the sleeve of his friend's hoodie with trembling hands.

"He didn't hurt us. And that's thanks to you." Wooyoung gently wipes Mingi's cheek with his sleeve.

"I lied," Mingi says in the smallest voice. "Yunho never smiled at me... But I saw him. At the café. He smiled—for the briefest moment—and it meant everything to me. Because he looked like... like he was okay. Like he was healing, despite everything.

"And I-I... I used that against him."

His head drops into his hands. "All I wanted was to protect the people I care about… yet here I am, hurting the one person I was trying to make things right with.

"What the hell is wrong with me?

"I'm... I'm becoming just like him..."

"No, you're not! You're nothing like him! You only did it to protect us. Chris would never do that for anyone but himself." Wooyoung wraps Mingi in a tight embrace, and Mingi doesn't resist. He leans into his best friend—exhausted, from carrying the weight of everything he's done and everything he couldn't.

Yeosang kneels in front of them and takes Mingi's hand in his.

"We'll help you make things right," he says, fire kindling in his eyes. "Work on that song with Yunho. Sing. Write. Dance. Don't let Flag destroy the dreams you've sacrificed so much for. Do what you do best, while we uncover the truth."

Mingi looks up, there's a flicker of hope beneath his tears.

"We'll find the woman who pushed Yunho down the stairs. We'll find that footage. Whatever it takes before Chris announces the tracklist and erases Yunho's name."

"But what if he—" Mingi worries.

"He won't," it's Wooyoung who cuts in gently. "We'll be careful. I promise."

Mingi nods. Unsure of how he'll pull himself and everyone he cares about, out of this mess.

But for now, having his friends by his side is enough. Enough to hold him together, even if just for tonight.

Chapter Text

Yunho didn't intend on staying long. He only returned to Aurora HQ to grab the hoodie he'd left behind in the practice room.

Then it started raining.

Hard.

Don't ask him why he didn't bring an umbrella, or rather, why he didn't heed Jongho's warning. Heavy rain. Eight PM. Because since when did the maknae become a weatherman, right?

Wrong.

He should have listened.

Now he's stuck, forced to linger by the vending machine in a quiet corner of the lobby, a lemon soda freshly acquired in his left hand while the right, still broken but well on its way to healing, was moving steadily over his phone.

Yunho: Rain's not letting up. Might be here awhile.

Jongho: You should talk to Hongjoong hyung while you're there. The old man misses you already. (puppy eyes emoji) (broken heart emoji)

Yunho has removed Jongho from the chatroom.

It would've been entertaining to see their reactions firsthand, but Yunho completely misses even San's confused reply as his attention shifts to a hooded figure stepping out of the elevator.

Tall. Shoulders hunched. Head low.

That gait... He could be mistaken, but—

The figure stops just short of the glass doors, lingering for a brief moment before lifting their head to watch the rain beating down on the empty streets.

—then the hood slips.

Yunho's heart stutters in his chest.

The figure yanks it back into place quickly, like it were a mistake. Like he doesn't want to be seen.

But Yunho recognizes him anyway.

Song Mingi.

He doesn't know why his heart reacted the way it did. Maybe it was because of what happened yesterday. At the café.

The look in his eyes. The way he'd spoken. Like Mingi was really trying to reach out, to help him out of wreckage—finally—after all those weeks of radio silence.

Yunho remains frozen in place, the lemon soda long forgotten in his hand. He watches Mingi draw his hoodie tighter, bracing himself before stepping out into the storm.

No umbrella. No car. No manager.

Just Mingi.

Now drenched in the rain.

Yunho finally takes a step and then another, eyes still fixed on the boy caught in the downpour. Searching for him even after Mingi disappears around the corner.

The elevator doors slide open, and he steps inside, pressing a finger impatiently on the button that'll bring him to the CEO's office.

"Hyung…?"

Yunho's voice falters as he steps into the dimly lit office.

The CEO isn't at his desk where he usually finds him. Instead, Hongjoong's standing by the window, gazing down at the street below. Rain pounds against the glass, but he remains still—even as lightning splits the night sky, he doesn't flinch.

Hongjoong turns slowly, weariness etched into his face. "Yunho, what are you doing here?"

"You were watching him..." Yunho says quietly, more to himself than to anyone.

Hongjoong hears it, maybe he doesn't, but he stays silent, his gaze briefly flickering back to the window.

"Did you see Mingi just now?" Yunho presses, stepping further into the room.

The CEO lets out a breath and walks back to his desk. "It's nothing you need to worry about."

"Hyung—!"

"He told me he went to see you," Hongjoong cuts him off, voice harsher than he'd intended, patience wearing thin. "At the cafe. Yesterday...

"When were you planning to tell me?" He continues, composed, changing his tone to a gentler one. Not accusing in any way, just disappointed that he had to find out from Mingi himself.

"Nothing happened," Yunho mutters.

Hongjoong nods, unconvinced, but too tired to argue. "Nothing happened here either. You should go. Take the umbrella. If you have anything to say, it can wait until tomorrow. Come by and we'll talk."

Yunho looks toward the stand by the door. A single umbrella. Dry, unused.

Mingi should've used it... He's going to get sick...

Yunho swallows down the thought and shrugs it off. Mingi's a grown man. If he didn't take it, that's on him.

Still... What kind of person walks out into the rain like that?

That would've been the end of it.

Yunho was going to take the umbrella, apologize to his hyung, and then leave. But then he notices Hongjoong subtly nudging the trash bin under his desk with a foot. There's a crumpled piece of paper sticking out from the rim, the word CONTRACT—bold, in all caps—screaming for his attention.

Yunho and Hongjoong lock eyes.

They both move at the same time but Yunho's faster.

He snatches the paper out of the bin and unfolds it, hands trembling with adrenaline.

He finds his name first. And then Mingi's. Flag Entertainment's seal is stamped at the bottom.

Yunho's breath catches in his throat.

It is a contract.

For a collaboration.

He smooths down the page across the CEO's desk.

"I want to do it," Yunho says under his breath, eyes scanning the words again like they'll disappear if he looks away.

"No." Hongjoong replies—firm and final—crushing any trace of hope before it can even take root.

"But hyung—"

"There's a reason you found that where it was."

"You're being unreasonable! You're being unfair!" Yunho's voice cracks—angry, desperate, heartbroken—every emotion he's ever kept from Hongjoong finally spilling out all at once. "Everyone else has projects. While I—"

"Is that why you've been avoiding me?" Hongjoong cuts him off, voice measured. "You've given me every reason there is to skip our daily meetings... Yet you've never missed a shift at the café. You really think I wouldn't notice?

"Yunho, I'm not just your boss, I'm your hyung too..."

Yunho's jaw tightens. "Then allow me this chance. I can still sing, hyung. I've been taking lessons. I'm ready! Even my arm's healing well!"

"You know that's not the point."

"Then what is?" Yunho's voice cracks with frustration. "Because from where I'm standing, this is the only opportunity I've had in months. It's the first time someone's even said my name without mentioning the accident. Hyung, even though this is Mingi's comeback... it could be... it could be my comeback too... You really want me to just walk away from that?"

"I want you to ask why this is happening," Hongjoong says firmly. "Why him? Why Flag?"

Yunho's chest tightens. "I don't care. I want this. I want to help Aurora. You keep saying we're struggling. Then let me do something!"

"The company is my responsibility," the CEO bites out. "And so are you!"

He looks away as if to calm himself down before speaking again.

"You don't know what you're getting yourself into," Hongjoong says quietly, staring at the contract. But he doesn't make a move to take it back nor crumple it again. "Flag doesn't hand out favors. And Mingi…" He trails off.

"You know something..." Yunho tries to meet Hongjoong's eyes but the older is avoiding him.

"I just don't want you to get hurt."

"I'm not a kid anymore, hyung."

"That doesn't make you less fragile," Hongjoong says, eyes flicking to the cast.

"Hyung…" Yunho's voice softens. "I need to sing again... just this once...

"I know you don't trust Flag. I don't trust them too. But— right now they're the only ones who are willing to give me this chance.

"I'll be careful. I promise. I won't keep my guard down. I'll report to you everyday.

"Hyung, I want this so badly... but I don't want to do it without your permission..."

Hongjoong gazes at Yunho for a long, quiet moment, as if searching for the boy he practically raised, mourning how fast he had to grow up.

And in that silence, Mingi's words echoed at the back of his mind—about the lie, about the plan, about keeping Yunho in the dark for his own good.

Because if he knew the truth, he might give himself away and Flag would be onto them like sharks smelling blood in the water. And they'd risk losing the only chance they have of clearing Yunho's name.

He thought of how he'd said no—told Mingi it was reckless. That getting Yunho involved would make things worse if their plan failed.

But now, looking at Yunho's face…

That stubborn flicker of hope in his eyes. The same look Mingi had when he asked for a chance.

Maybe it really isn't his place to get in the way.

So Hongjoong makes his choice.

To stay quiet.

To hold the secret.

To put his faith in Mingi and his friends and hope against hope that they'd pull it off before it becomes too late.

For now, he'll protect Yunho the only way he can. By letting him believe that this is just a song. And pray that it's enough.

"One song. No expectations." Hongjoong hands Yunho a pen.

"One song. No expectations," Yunho repeats, eyes lighting up, grabbing the pen—but Hongjoong doesn't let go.

"And a curfew by midnight," the CEO adds.

Yunho stares at him. "But what if we need more time to work?"

"Then finish faster. Eleven PM?"

"Fine. Midnight," Yunho grits out.

"And you'll check in every day like you promised."

"I will," Yunho drawls, already sounding exasperated.

"No nonsense. No drama. And absolutely—no falling in love."

"Hyung?!" Yunho recoils like he's been shot. "Do you even know me?!"

"Don't I? Hmm... Maybe we should spend more time together," Hongjoong replies, trying to keep a straight face—and failing, a small smile tugging at his lips. Yunho realizes it's been a while since he's seen that smile. Since he's really talked to his hyung at all. And somehow, that makes him smile too.

"I promise, okay? Cross my heart and whatever it is they say. Happy now?"

"Ecstatic. Now sign that contract before I change mind."

Chapter Text

Yunho's fucked.

Completely, utterly, catastrophically—fucked.

First day of their recording session, and it's just the two of them—alone. No sound engineers, no producers. Not a single Flag employee to oversee things. Just Song Mingi and Jeong Yunho. Two artists from rival companies, holed up in a space far too small for Yunho's liking.

It's Mingi's idea of a chill environment. To help Yunho relax and get back into the rhythm. A warm-up session, he'd said.

Ha.

Hilarious.

The air conditioning unit right outside the booth reads 21°C, but his body's acting like he just downed eight bottles of soju. It's a sauna underneath his hoodie, and the heat has crept all the way up to his face, clinging to the tips of his ears.

He's probably as red as the fruit plucked straight from the forbidden tree.

No, even worse, he feels like he's been caught mid-bite into something he never should have even touched.

But he denies it.

Endures it like the man that he is.

He even stretches his sleeves over his hands to make it look like he's not hot...and bothered.

Nope.

Not at all.

Like he isn't seconds away from combusting.

Right here.

Inside this soundproof box.

While Song Mingi's watching.

I need eight bottles of soju. Stat!

He's in desperate need of an alcohol-induced memory loss. Needs to forget about the butterflies in his stomach. About the sweaty palms. His racing pulse. If he could go back as far back as forgetting about signing that contract, he probably would.

At this point, he's willing to do anything to save face in front of the enemy.

Yes, that's right.

The enemy.

Because even if Mingi was the one who brought the contract to Hongjoong, even if he had practically handed Yunho this opportunity on a silver platter, it doesn't change the fact that he was the same person who left him in the dark for an entire month.

One collaboration doesn't warrant him forgiveness.

Yunho's only here to take what he can from Flag and then walk away—for good.

He reminds himself that.

He's been reminding himself of that since the moment he entered the studio and Mingi greeted him with a smile. No bruises, no sneaking out, no hoods...

Just Song Mingi.

Bare-faced, messy hair... soft, plump lips—

Irrelevant!

Fine...

Mingi's handsome.

But so is San. And so is Jongho.

The point is, it comes with the job description. It's nothing to be flustered about.

It's not about his lips or any of his handsome features.

Mingi's just... different.

The few times he'd met Mingi, he always seemed so... soft? The doe eyes. The gentleness in his voice. It must've been his conscience speaking. But this time, there was a fire in his eyes. A commanding tone as he sat in front of the mixing console. Like he was done being sorry. As if lives were on the line with this song.

And Yunho—God help him—found it hot and intimidating, in no particular order.

He reaches for his tumbler to clear the desert forming in his throat. But the moment the water hits his tongue, he nearly chokes.

Lukewarm, on the hot side.

Fantastic.

He'd forgotten all about that awkward encounter by the water dispenser earlier, when Mingi caught him refilling his tumbler with cold water and made a comment that it might be too harsh on his throat. And Yunho, being the idiot that he was, suddenly laughed and explained that it was a mistake, a confusion—

That he's colorblind(?!)

Can't distinguish between the colors on the tap.

Between red and blue.

Between hot and cold.

That his favorite color's... uh, well, black... and white.

And that he likes—

Mingi had taken his hand mid-sentence, guided it over to the hot water tap, and waited in silence until the bottle filled halfway, before walking away like nothing had happened.

Yunho still can't put a finger on what perfume Mingi's wearing. All he knows is that it has conveniently clung to his hoodie and is now slowly driving him insane.

Mingi smells so warm and expensive.

Like something you'd wear out on a date—

Oh, god.

Oh, god.

He's so screwed.

Hongjoong's so going to kill him if he finds out what's going on inside his head.

No.

He's never going to find out because Yunho's going to make sure he puts an end to this nonsense this instant.

"Ready for another take?" Mingi's voice cuts through the speakers, enough to drag him out of the rabbit hole he was falling into.

Yunho straightens his back and, with his best attempt at a smile (if you could still call it that), he glances sideways and gives a thumbs-up. Not at Mingi though. Instead, he's smiling awkwardly at the patch of soundproof wall just above Mingi's head. Just enough to fake eye contact and pretend he isn't avoiding him for reasons he obviously cannot reveal.

He looks away as fast as he'd glanced, thinking he could avoid Mingi altogether—until the realization hits him like a truck.

The headphones.

They're waiting for him on the stand.

No, no, no. Not again!

If Mingi so much as breathes into his ear through those headphones again, it'll be the end of him, and the end of the collaboration too, because there's no way he'd get past the chorus without Mingi's voice haunting him.

He's butchered it twice. One-take-Yunho has butchered the chorus—twice. And if his voice cracks again on the third attempt, the floor better open up and swallow him whole.

He's not wearing those headphones again.

Nope.

Final answer.

He can and will do without it.

He had performed without in-ears once before. Surely this time he can—

"Headphones on. Let's take it from the top," Mingi instructs through the speakers.

Yunho's hands move like they have a mind of their own, obeying Mingi's command like little soldiers, and before he knows it, the world has gone silent and all he can hear is the rush of blood to his head.

He braces for the impact—but it doesn't land the way he expects it to.

"Yunho..." Mingi says his name gently—too gently—it makes him shudder.

Mingi's deep voice doesn't just tickle, it warms, and it settles, slow and uninvited, somewhere in his chest. Somewhere it doesn't deserve to be.

Not ever.

Not yet.

"Why did you sign the contract?" he continues to ask.

The question hits harder than it's supposed to.

It makes Yunho remember how he'd fought with his Hongjoong hyung for a chance to stand in a studio like this again. To sing again.

"If it helps," Mingi adds, voice soft through the talkback mic, "try pretending I'm not here."

His voice cuts from the headphones and then the track begins to play.

Yunho takes the words to heart. For once—for the first time since their session began—he doesn't think about Mingi. Doesn't second-guess himself. He just lets go. Lets the music guide him. Lets his voice fall into place.

And it feels good.

So good that by the end of the track, he's on cloud nine.

He did it.

He actually did it.

He's grinning without even knowing it, so caught up in the feeling that Mingi had faded entirely from his mind.

Until—

"Mmm... Good boy."

Right in his ears.

Warm and dangerous.

He yanks the headphones off like they burned him and whips his head to look beyond the glass where Mingi sat, only to find him impassive. Utterly neutral. Focused on the monitor before he turns to look at Yunho.

"Let's do one more take," Mingi says casually, as if he hadn't opened the Pandora's box and unleash chaos in Yunho's chest. "That was perfect but can you do it for me one more time?"

For you? One more time?

"Please?" Mingi adds, doe eyes and all.

Yunho shakes his head—but answers yes.

Because apparently, he's not just a good boy.

He's a stupid one too.

Yeah, no.

He's fucked alright.

Completely, utterly, biblically fucked.

Chapter Epilogue

Hongjoong: Report

Another notification pops up on Yunho's phone.

Hongjoong:  Breaking your promise on the first day? Don't think I forgot, Yunho. You didn't drop by my office today, but I'll let you off the hook if you give me updates.

Yunho starts typing.

It was fine, hyung. I'm fine. Mingi's fine.

Hard backspace. Re-type. Send.

Yunho: It went well, all things considered.

And he leaves it at that.

He couldn't say he was fine. Or that Mingi was. Because after that session, he could tell that something was wrong.

Like the way Mingi wasn't satisfied with the song. Using the words flat and empty to describe it. Saying that the only thing breathing life into it was Yunho's voice. And Yunho understood exactly what Mingi meant. The song felt too manufactured. Too soulless.

Apparently, it was one of the few demos Flag had pre-approved for the project. And after spending nearly an hour listening to the songs all over again, Yunho understood why Mingi had chosen it over the rest.

But the song's not gonna cut it, that much was clear. It's like the company was setting them up for failure. 

Mingi didn't say much as they dug through the demos folder. He just frowned and shook his head at the end of every song, asking Yunho for his opinion every now and then. But when Yunho nudged him about using one of his own songs instead, he'd paused.

"I don't have anything right now that Flag would approve of," Mingi said quietly. "Besides getting Chris's approval for anything would take ages. Even my— Even my lyrics... We need to stick to their timeline."

Mingi kept to himself after that.

Yunho tosses his phone onto the couch, covering his face with both hands.

The problem was never Mingi.

It had always been Flag.

And his own anger had clouded his judgement.

How's he even going to tell Hongjoong that Chris had paid them a visit and that Mingi had stepped in front of him... like he'd meant to protect him.

He has to make this collaboration work.

He's going to show Flag they're not pushovers.

And next time Hongjoong asks for a report he'll be able to walk into his office and tell him, "We're not just fine, hyung. We're killing it."

Chapter Text

The words don't register until they've already slipped out of his mouth.

Mmm… Good boy.

Mingi's body locks up. His ears start to ring. For a split second, his vision turns white and he thinks he might actually faint.

Did he really do what he thinks he did? Did he really just say those words out loud and call Yunho a good boy while—

He glances down, just a fraction. Just enough to see it—the tally light on the talkback mic glowing red.

His heart drops to the pit of his stomach. Maybe it has even left his body entirely.

He screams but only inwardly. He can't let Yunho see him spiraling. He needs to keep his cool, the way Flag had trained him to. The way Chris had drilled it into his head. To be professional. To stay composed. Grace under pressure or whatever it was one of the coaches said.

He turns back to the monitor without making any sudden movements.

Yunho might've not even heard that at all.

Right?

Right.

That's right Mingi, calm down. Deep breaths, in and out.

He's attempting to comp Yunho's vocals when his phone lights up.

Wooyoung: Hey Min! You've got to see this. The similarities are uncanny.

Mingi nearly throws his phone in the trash bin.

He doesn't need to check what Wooyoung sent to know that it's probably some Golden Retriever content again and how they're supposed to resemble Yunho.

Come to think of it—this is all Wooyoung's fault.

First of all, it's not his fault he'd watched every single video his best friend sent him in the past 24 hours. It was either that or deal with the other sulking. And oh boy, a sulky Woo? He'd take the puppy videos any day.

Second, it's not the Golden Retrievers fault that they're all so cute and adorable and... erm... well, fine! Yunho-coded.

And it's definitely not his fault his brain had been looping that last clip from Wooyoung, of a family rubbing their puppy's belly while cooing "good boy." (It was the puppy's first trick, okay? The little guy very much deserved the praise.) All this while Mingi was watching Yunho finally nail the chorus and smile for the first time since their session started. Just like the Golden Retriever—

Oh, Jung Wooyoung! Just you wait til I get my hands on you!

"Let's do one more take," Mingi says, trying to sound as casual as he can, steeling his expression with a single thought: that Chris is standing right behind him, watching his every move.

"That was perfect," he continues with a steady voice, "but can you do it for me one more time?"

Mingi winces. Yunho was definitely looking at him weird now.

D-Did I offend him? Did I— Oh god... What if he pulls out of this project?!

"Please?" he begs in panic that his voice might've jumped up a few octaves, expression slipping.

Grace under pressure has left the chat.

Yunho shakes his head—

Mingi's soul has now also left the chat. He's going to need to see his therapist after this.

—but then Yunho is suddenly saying yes.

"Fantastic!"

Mingi practically slams the spacebar in relief, cueing the track before Yunho can even think about changing his mind.

"Want to hear it?" Mingi asks Yunho as he steps out of the booth. "I've put together a rough cut so we could get a feel for it."

The track plays, but Mingi wishes it didn't. Each second that passes makes it harder and harder to listen. Even harder to keep his expression in check. By the end of the song, he catches a glimpse of his reflection on the monitor and quickly schools his face before turning back to Yunho.

"Be honest..." Mingi falters mid sentence.

Yunho's face is anything but impressed—eyebrows furrowed, lips pursed. His face spoke without filter and that amused Mingi.

"You look disappointed," he says with a chuckle.

"M-Me?!" Yunho starts flustered. "Sorry, I—"

"No, you're right. The song's shit," Mingi declares, leaning back in his seat, giving up all hope on the track. "It's flat and empty. And your voice is the only thing breathing life into it. You deserve better than this."

Mingi sighs.

"You wouldn't believe me, but this is actually the best one out of all of them."

He spends the next hour letting Yunho hear what the other pre-approved demos sound like. How much worse it could've been. How each track sounds like it had been churned out of a machine—too polished, too predictable. Painfully safe. It'll chart—if Chris decides it should, it might depend on how Mingi behaves. They might give it a few weeks at the top, pull strings to make his album a hit, and once they've milked the fans dry and raked in the numbers they'll drop it like it's dead weight. And the song—their song—would be buried just as quick.

"Don't you have something of your own that we could use?" Yunho asks out of the blue.

The question stumps Mingi.

Of course he does. Dozens of drafts, lyric scraps, a couple of songs he'd completed in the dead of the night just after everyone left the building.

But what was the point if Flag would never approve of them? Not unless Chris gutted them first. Not until they were completely unrecognizable, stripped of everything that made the song his. And the only telltale sign left was his name at the end of the credits that no one would bother to read.

"I don't have anything right now that Flag would approve of," he said, quietly. Avoiding Yunho's eyes. "Besides, getting Chris's approval for anything would take ages. Even my— Even my lyrics..." He catches himself before he can say anymore. "We need to stick to their timeline."

And the topic dies just like that.

Mingi was smothered with guilt. He had brought Yunho into this mess and yet he couldn't even protect himself from—

A knock on the door snaps him out of his thoughts. And just like the devil, Chris appears. A sinister presence, no one invited.

Mingi gets up, too abruptly that his chair scuttles backwards, but he doesn't care.

"Chris," he acknowledges the CEO stiffly, stepping in between him and Yunho.

"Just checking on my dear artist. And our guest, of course." Chris extends his hand for Yunho to shake.

"I'm Jeong Yunho, sir. It's nice to—"

"Silly boy, no need for the formalities. We're all family here. Right Mingi?"

Those words send a chill down Mingi's spine. The smile on Chris's face is anything but sincere. But of course, Mingi cracks a smile and nods along.

"If Mingi's giving you a hard time, you let me know. Okay? I'll leave you two to it then.

"Oh! By the way, Mingi you'll have a packed schedule tomorrow. Don't stay up too late. We have producers to do all that work for you."

Mingi doesn't flinch, doesn't move from his spot in front of Yunho as Chris turns to leave. He had permitted the handshake, but would've stepped in if Chris had attempted anything more. Only when the door closes shut does Mingi return to his seat, collapsing into the chair like the visit had drained the life out of him.

It was a wake up call of what's at stake.

He had slipped today. And he acknowledges that he can't afford to make the same mistake. Not if he wants to make this collaboration work.

He needs to put everything aside.

Especially his feelings...

...for Yunho.

Especially that.

He has to see this collaboration through.

Buy Yeosang and Wooyoung enough time to find evidence to bring down Flag.

Give Yunho back his career.

Chris can try, but he won't win.

Not this time.

And the song would be the witness to their story.

And perhaps, when all of this is over, maybe, just maybe, he'll have time for his feelings.

That can wait.

Just not today...

Chapter Epilogue

Mingi remembers the first time he saw Yunho. Lanky kid. Permed hair. Sunday's best. He was singing a ballad through the small screen of his Seonghwa hyung's phone.

He was simply sneaking a glance while listening in when Seonghwa mused out loud that the kid would make it big someday. Mingi had made a disgruntled sound at that, startling his hyung, who immediately began explaining the whole situation: that the kid was Jeong Yunho, a new trainee from Aurora; that he and Aurora's CEO were just bragging to each other; that he'd shown Hongjoong a clip of Mingi's monthly evaluation too; and that, of course, he was proud of Mingi very much.

But Mingi wasn't jealous. Not even the slightest. He was merely troubled, wondering how he'd ever convince someone like Yunho to feature on one of his songs if the kid got too famous.

And the only solution he came up with?

To become just as famous.

Safe to say, that video changed the course of his life forever.

Mingi: Seonghwa hyung, remember Yunho? That kid from Aurora you said was going to make it big? Well, guess what? He was just in the studio with me! We're working on music together for my new album. I'm finally going to have him in my song! I hate to tell you this but... I told you so! I told you I'd get him to sing with me one day.

Mingi's hand begin to tremble, but he doesn't stop typing.

Mingi: I messed up hyung. I messed up big time. I told Hongjoong the whole truth because I didn't know who else to talk to... And yet he still allowed Yunho to do this with me. I don't deserve his trust. But I won't break it. I will protect Yunho, hyung. Like how you used to protect me. I'll make this collaboration work. I'll make you proud.

He keys in the numbers like it's a muscle memory and hits Send.

To a number that never replies.

Never has, not once in the past six years.

He's sent messages about meeting Wooyoung.

About the day his first world tour was announced.

About his first Best Male Artist award. And how Chris had tripped on the red carpet that same night.

Small wins.

Memories. Good ones.

His last message had been about Yeosang and how his new manager seemed nice... and feisty. (Just like you.)

At some point he learned to accept that he would never hear again from his Seonghwa hyung. And that the messages he'd been sending were mere diary entries than actual conversations with a friend who would listen.

But that too had been taken away from him when Chris confiscated his old phone.

He deletes the message on his phone for good measure, but not before making a silent prayer that his Seonghwa hyung would be able to read it somehow.

He lies down in bed, ready to sleep, but just one more time...

He slips in his earphones, scrolls to a file, and presses play.

Yunho's voice fills his ears.

Rich and warm.

A comforting embrace.

It'll suffice for the night.

At least until he falls asleep.

Chapter Text

Yunho hates Mingi.

He hates the way Mingi smiles, how his eyes disappear beneath crescents, how his lips frame a perfect set of teeth. Mingi doesn't need to know, but Yunho thinks the uneven tooth is perfect—cute, even (not that he'd ever admit it). That tiny flaw is just enough to make him look a little less like a deity and a little more within his reach. Or so his delusions keep trying to convince him.

He hates the way Mingi pouts—lips impossibly fuller, sharp gaze melting into soft, pleading eyes. It makes him look like a child who knows he's about to get what he wants, while Yunho is that one gullible adult who would cave in every time.

He hates that Mingi has let his hair grow long enough to tie into a bun—long enough for Yunho to catch himself daydreaming, one too many times, how pretty it would look with tiny braids in it. How his locks would feel between his fingers. (How do I stop my delusions? Yunho asked on a self-help forum soon after.)

He also hates the mole along Mingi's jawline—the one he mistook for a seaweed flake once. He can still hear the amusement in Mingi's voice when he corrected him, the soft chuckle that followed at the sight of Yunho's reddening ears.

He hates the sound of Mingi's laugh, or on other occasions, the absence of it, his entire body vibrating with soundless mirth. Happiness looks good on him—too good it's contagious; it might as well be a disease.

He hates the rasp of Mingi's voice—that low, exhausted tone that somehow still sounds gentle, from voice messages he'd sent in the dead of night, apologizing for not being able to work on the track because he just got back from an out-of-town shoot. Only to be followed by an audio file a few seconds later—proof that Mingi still found time between breaks to tweak something, to keep working, even with a whole team of producers behind him.

He hates how talented Mingi is—that even his Hongjoong hyung seems impressed with their progress despite the song being far from completion. He hates that Mingi reminds him of Hongjoong himself: passionate, meticulous, a visionary in his own right. And yet, Mingi still cares so much about what he thinks. He hates that he makes him feel important, like his opinions actually matter, when at the end of the day Flag will always have the final word.

He hates that Mingi is taking their collaboration way too seriously—and that giving up on it isn't an option he can afford. He hates that he's desperate, clinging to a featuring like a lifeline.

He knows he should be afraid of how much hope this project is giving him—of how much Mingi is giving him—but the truth is, he isn't. Not anymore. He doesn't remember when or how exactly, but somewhere along the way, between late nights and quiet moments in the studio, he'd seen Mingi's sincerity for himself. And that alone was enough to make him lower his guard and finally put his trust in him.

The truth is, none of these are real reasons to hate Mingi. They're merely fragments—pieces of Mingi that Yunho has memorized without meaning to.

Memories of him that, if he hates hard enough, might make it hurt less when he finally wakes up from this dream.

Because eventually, when all of this is over—when Yunho gets to stand on stage again, and the accident is nothing more than a headline buried in the past—Mingi will still be Flag Entertainment's Song Mingi.

While Yunho...

Yunho will have to return to his rightful place, back to being just another idol who only wants to be seen.

So maybe, just maybe, if he keeps telling himself he truly hates Mingi, then it won't sting as much that Mingi isn't even looking at him anymore...

Grrrrrr.

The sound of his stomach grumbling snaps Yunho out of his thoughts. Embarrassed, he sneaks a glance around the room to check if anyone heard it—only to find four pairs of eyes staring right at him.

"Sorry..." Yunho mumbles sheepishly, scratching the back of his head.

"It’s way past lunchtime, no wonder," Yeosang says absently, looking up at the clock on the wall. Beside him, Jongho yawns and stretches. They had finally put down their phones after being hunched over for hours playing mobile games, sharing an armchair almost too small for them both.

"It always does that. I'm not even hungry—"

"Lies!" Wooyoung cuts in, tugging Yunho up to his feet, "Everyone heard that. Our Yunho's starving. We must feed him before he turns into a hungry ghost who'll haunt the halls of Flag Entertainment for all eternity."

He lunges dramatically at San, narrowly dodging the pillow hurled at him.

"Our Yunho? He's not one of you, Jung Wooyoung. Yunho's with us." San scowls. "And would it kill you not to hold hands for like five seconds—?"

"Aww! He's the jealous type. Jealous and possessive. We would be so compatible, Sannie."

"Don't call me that!" San groans, reaching out for Yeosang like he's looking for backup.

"Don't— touch me." Yeosang sidesteps smoothly. "I did not sign up for whatever's going on between the two of you, so leave me out of it. Come on, Jongho."

Jongho giggles as he trails after him, earning a glare from San.

"Yah, yah, yah! Choi Jongho! Don't forget which side you're on," San finally gets to his feet, following the maknae towards the door. "Ugh, I hate this place. I can't stand any of you! I'm never coming back."

"Whatever makes you sleep at night, love," Wooyoung croons.

San groans louder this time, and the room bursts into laughter.

It's funny, Yunho thinks—how easily Wooyoung and Yeosang slipped into their circle, like they'd been there all along. Jongho had taken a liking to Yeosang who was just as reserved as he was, claiming that the manager was the only sensible person in the room. While San—his dear friend Sannie, who reads like an open book—is warming up to Wooyoung way faster than he'll ever dare to admit. The stolen glances, the teasing, the laughter at every ridiculous thing Wooyoung says. Wooyoung's right. They are compatible—too compatible, it's quite scary.

One by one, Yunho watches the bickering boys file out of the studio. Wooyoung, Yeosang, Jongho, San, and—

Mingi?

"Hey, Song," San calls from the doorway, knocking lightly. "You coming for lunch?"

"Oh, right... lunch. I'll just— uh, you guys go ahead. I'll grab something later. Got a few things to finish," Mingi replies, eyes fixed on the screen, not even sparing them a glance.

Liar.

Yunho can see through the body language—the flinch, the stutter, the way his hand moves the mouse without actually clicking anything.

Mingi’s pretending he doesn’t want to go.

But why?

Yunho can't help but linger for a while longer.

He wants to understand the machinery inside Mingi's head. It was Mingi who told him to invite San and Jongho in the first place, to introduce them to Wooyoung and Yeosang. It was meant to make their shared space in the studio a little less awkward and a lot more comfortable for Yunho. And yet, the closer they all grew, the further Mingi drifted away.

Now he won't even come to lunch.

Would he really starve himself over that damned song?!

"Yunho!" Wooyoung calls from the hallway. "Come on!"

"Coming!" Yunho calls back, pulling the door shut behind him.

He tries not to look back. Because if he does, he'll remember—no matter how much he tells himself otherwise—just how hard it is to hate Mingi.

Chapter Text

Mingi wandered without purpose, a bag of snacks in one hand, an iced americano in the other.

A second longer in the studio and he was positive that he would lose his mind.

The food he's now carrying is merely for show, meant for Wooyoung or Yeosang to see. It's proof that he means to eat (he doesn't) and that he isn't starving himself over work again.

He swears!

It's just that he doesn't have the appetite right now.

But Yunho clearly did...

Mingi just didn't want to be the one to ruin it.

The trip to the convenience store had been a quick one. Mingi moved efficiently between aisles, picking up things off the rack with quiet precision—Yeosang's favorite banana milk, coffee peanuts that Wooyoung likes, shrimp crackers for Mingi—

He paused.

Why was his hand hovering over a bag of potato chips?

Because it's Yunho's favorite.

No. He lifted his chin with pride. I do, in fact, like potato chips myself. I just don't go around telling people that.

He sighed, shoulders slumping back to their sullen state as he swiped up the chips and paid for the snacks at the counter before he could change his mind.

The only reason he'd left the studio was because of that song.

Not the demo he and Yunho were working on—another one. The one he'd stayed up all night last night working on.

Call it procrastination. Call it insanity. But a spark is a spark. It doesn't choose a place or time. It doesn't wait for anyone. Sometimes, it doesn't even come at all.

So when the first few lines of a melody flitted through his mind, wrapping themselves around the questions that plagued him, Mingi grabbed a pen and began to write.

By the time light crept in through the blinds of the studio, the song had taken shape. It had a melody and a few rough verses. Mingi knew exactly where Yunho's voice would fit perfectly so he'd recorded a couple of lines, imagining how painfully beautiful Yunho would sound in it.

Yunho...

Mingi rubbed his forehead.

He'd made the mistake of playing the song again, soon after everyone had left for lunch and he was left all alone in the silence of the studio.

It was supposed to be only for a minute but when he closed his eyes, Yunho was  everywhere.

In the recording booth, singing his heart out, breathless and proud.

Beside him by the console, knees brushing against each other as they decided which takes to keep.

Mingi could hear the sound of Yunho's laugh.

He could feel the warmth of Yunho's smile.

Yunho— no!

Mingi woke with a start, heart racing. He had dreamt of Yunho falling down the stairs. Again.

He had sworn he would get Yunho out of his system. Sworn that he wouldn't let his feelings get in the way.

And yet, he had written a song overnight just thinking about him...

Mingi raises his head to bask in the afternoon sun beating down on the city, hoping it might somehow miraculously provide clarity to his thoughts, only to realize, he's standing right across his favorite fried chicken spot.

I guess I'm hungry after all, he muses.

A step forward.

A second too late.

His eyes meet Yunho's from inside the restaurant.

Inexplicable panic consumes him.

His legs are heavy as lead, rooting him to the ground. Before he can even turn away, a loud bark rips the air. In the corner of his eye, a blur of golden fur barrels toward him.

Mingi falls to the pavement with a painful thud, his shirt immediately soaking through with his drink. The snacks he'd bought scatter across the sidewalk, but he can't even see that, not with the heavy weight pressing against his chest, wet tongue lapping at his face.

He burst into helpless laughter. He's quite ticklish, you see.

"I'm so sorry!" a woman cries, hurrying over with an empty leash in hand.

"It's okay!" Mingi manages between giggles, wrestling with the enormous Golden Retriever. His left wrist is beginning to throb, but he ignores it, grinning as the dog wags its long fluffy tail like it knows him.

"Aren't you an excitable one?" Mingi manages to ruffle the dog's fur with his good hand while the owner clips the leash back on.

Another lick to the cheek.

Another laugh.

"Oh my god, you're Song Mingi!" the woman blurts as her eyes widen in recognition.

"You'll keep this a secret between us, won't you?" Mingi smiles politely.

The woman nods quickly, almost giddy.

"And you," Mingi says, turning to the dog with his best attempt at a strict face only to falter at the sight of the eager ball of fur. "Don't go running off like that again, okay?"

The dog barks cheerfully in reply, tail wagging like it's proud of itself.

Mingi laughs under his breath.

"Well, that was fun," he mumbles to himself as they leave, feeling oddly warm and fuzzy from the encounter.

In that short amount of time it felt like he had forgotten all about his problems.

Forgotten all about—

"Mingi!"

Mingi's heart lurches at the sound of the voice—of the very person he's been trying to avoid.

Suddenly, the sun feels too hot, the air too humid, and all he wants is to get up and leave.

Mingi tries to push himself off the ground, but a sharp pain blooms at his wrist, and his face crumples in pain.

"Shit," he hisses, clutching his wrist to his chest.

Yunho is already crossing the street toward him, a takeout bag swinging in his hand.

"Y-Yunho…" Mingi stammers as Yunho stops in front of him, catching his breath, eyes full of concern.

Without a word, Yunho extends a hand.

"N-No! It's okay. I'm—"

"You're hurt."

The word hangs heavy between them.

It's tempting, painfully so. Mingi wants nothing more than to reach out and grab Yunho's hand.

But he remembers his sins—his silence, his lies.

He remembers Chris.

He doesn't deserve Yunho's help.

He never will.

But Yunho moves, forward, reaching for Mingi without hesitation, pulling him firmly to his feet before he can even think to resist.

For a second, Mingi forgets to breathe, drowning in his own little world, aching to forget everything but the feeling of Yunho's hands holding him steady.

Back in the studio, the coffee table is piled with food—boxes of fried chicken, cups of ramen, half empty soda, and Mingi's unopened snacks. The boys had planned to bring takeout all along, to keep him company while he worked.

Wooyoung, however, hadn't been pleased in the slightest when he saw the state Mingi was in.

"It's a good thing Yunho was there," he scolds, "or you would've come back here and not told us a single thing about your wrist."

"I would have!" 

"Yeah? Like that time you left without an umbrella and came back with a fever?! I wouldn't have known if the receptionist hadn't told me," Wooyoung ends with a glare.

Mingi glares back, shooting Wooyoung daggers. 

"Children, children, tone it down," Jongho cuts in, raising his voice over their bickering.

"Hyung, can you please stay still?" he grumbles at Mingi, tightening the bandage around his swollen wrist.

"How do you even know how to do this?" Mingi winces.

"Don't be fooled by his tough exterior," San says between slurps of ramen. "Jongho's actually very caring."

"They keep dancing too hard and spraining themselves," Jongho mutters. "Imagine how many trips to a clinic we'd have to make if I didn't learn."

"Oh, that's so nice of you Jongho." Mingi catches Yeosang whispering to the younger with a light nudge, the praise tinting Jongho's cheeks red.

"Jongho helped me a lot too," Yunho says joining in on the conversation from Mingi's chair in front of the mixing console. 

Mingi considers thanking Jongho but swallows the thought, letting the room finally fall silent, save the sound of soft munching and the crinkle of wrappers.

Then, a faint click.

The monitor flickers to life.

Music fills the room, warm and wistful.

Mingi freezes.

Yunho's hand is resting on the mouse, the screen glowing with an audio file entitled Youth (Demo).

Mingi's eyes widen. "Wait— No! Don't—!" He starts to get up, but Jongho presses a gentle hand to his shoulder.

"Careful, hyung, you'll make it worse."

Mingi's protests die in his throat as his own voice pours through the speakers—low, unguarded, fragile in the most human way.

Why is it so tough?

What did I do so wrong?

With a drink, yeah

Can it all be shaken off?

"You wrote this?" Yunho's eyes search Mingi for answers, a certain glint in them that Mingi fears to address.

"I-I... I was just— messing around!"

"It sounds great, hyung," Jongho says, staring at Mingi in awe.

San hums in agreement. "Never knew you could sing," he adds.

"I—"

"Can we use this?" Yunho cuts in, almost too eagerly. "For our collab, I mean?"

"It's not—"

"I'll help finish the lyrics. We can even add choreography if you'd like. I'll make it myself."

"I'll help," Wooyoung chimes in.

"But—"

"This is it, Mingi." Yunho's looking at him with so much hope, it grips at his chest. "This could be our song."

"Chris wouldn't— He'd never approve of it."

"Then we give him no choice," Yeosang speaks up, quiet but resolute. "Leave it to me."

A heavy pause. 

Mingi already knows he's going to regret his decision.

But maybe it'll all be worth it in the end...

"Okay then, let's give it a shot."