CHAEBEOL | minsung

forty-one

･ﾟﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*ﾟ♡

Jisung wouldn't readily admit it, but he did it because he wanted to see Minho squirm. 

Who could blame him? He'd spent the last two days after the party chewing himself up, fingernails bitten to the quick and his ego just the same. It made him feel better to think about his shattered ego, because at least that felt easier to cope with than the casualty Minho had dealt to his heart. 

So, really, how could he be blamed for it? When Minho had shown up on his doorstep, dressed in knock-off sweatpants and a hoodie that was threadbare at the sleeves?

"You're overdressed, if you ask me," Jisung crooned, even as Minho swore under his breath when he realised where Jisung was taking him. 

"You are the most irritating, soul-destroying twat I've ever had the displeasure of meeting," Minho muttered under his breath. Even still, he had straightened as the host had walked towards them, painting on a suave smile and pressing a hand against the small of Jisung's back. "Table for two?"

The host had pulled a face that made Jisung's hair stand on edge. Exactly what Jisung was expecting, honestly, when he had called up his driver. They'd stopped off at Minho's house first, made the driver swear to secrecy. 

Jisung had watched Minho's face melt, watched the harsh edge of his nose almost soften with each inhale, each exhale. Minho had said no to smoking at first, which Jisung had tried not to be endeared by. 

"Do it," Jisung had ordered. "Please? You said you'd do anything I want."

Minho had obliged, and soon they were both giggling, falling over each other in Minho's living room as a cat wound its way around Jisung's legs. 

But then the car outside was beeping, and Jisung had Minho's wrist in a loose grasp. He was dragging him out down the stairs and Minho was compliant, easily drawn, thrown into the backseat and barely glanced at by the driver.

Minho had balked when he realised Jisung had made him drop them off a couple of streets away from one of the poshest restaurants in the city. 

A brief glance around was enough to prove it. Designer brands clung like limpets to every square of flesh, and even the chairs boasted the familiar letters of Louis Vuitton. Diamonds dripped from every surface, crystal waterfalls and gemstone lakes. If Jisung were to put a price on the room, it would be affordable, but high-end. Minho wasn't sure he could even count high enough to guess. 

"I'm sorry, but we follow a very strict dress code here, so there is simply no way-" 

From the pocket of the coat Jisung had grabbed before he left, he pulled out a wallet. It was simple, brandless, black leather unfolding to reveal two cards tucked into either side. Jisung slid out one, flashed it briefly to the host. 

"Well," the man had said, swallowing so visibly that his Adam's apple bobbed. "I suppose we can make an exception."

"We'll take the table in the middle," Jisung answered. 

They were both giggling as they were led to the table in the centre of the room. Amongst thick, cotton napkins, folded into intricate origami and shapes, and chandeliers dripping from the focal point of the ceiling above them, Minho and Jisung were needles in a haystack. Needles dressed in loungewear, a billion-dollar haystack.

A cloud of smoke seemed to cling to them, and Jisung felt his head rush as he sat across the table from Minho. 

"This might be the fanciest place I've ever been." Minho's voice was a hushed whisper.