Leal [Minwon]

Chapter 4- You Never Do

Mingyu barely registers the soft click of his apartment door as it swings open in the early morning light. The harsh remnants of last night's revelry cling to him like a stubborn fog, his head pounding in time with his pulse. He had downed too many glasses of champagne after that awkward encounter with Wonwoo, and the liquor at the after-party had been a disastrous follow-up. All he had really wanted was to slip away, vanish into the solace of his apartment. Instead, here he is, trapped under a wave of nausea, his muscles heavy with regret, his brain swimming in alcohol-induced lethargy.

He rolls over, buries his face deeper into the pillow, squeezing his eyes shut against the intrusive daylight. The world outside his sheets feels unbearable—bright, loud, and unrelenting.

But Mingyu knows there's no escaping this morning. Not in his studio apartment, where the open floor plan leaves no room to hide, especially not from Minghao.

The rustle of plastic bags and the soft clink of groceries settling on the kitchen counter amplifies the presence of his friend. Minghao isn't just here—he's here. Inescapably, undeniably, fully here. Mingyu can feel him, moving about the space like an uninvited conscience.

"Good morning, asshole," Minghao's voice cuts through the quiet, warm and teasing yet firm. The clatter of more bags being unpacked follows. "I brought you some groceries."

Mingyu grits his teeth, determined not to respond. If he plays dead, maybe—just maybe—Minghao will leave him alone, give him the peace he desperately craves. He loves the guy, of course he does, but Minghao has this uncanny ability to mother him, hover over him, and treat him like he's utterly incapable of managing his own life. Today, with his body throbbing from the after-effects of too much liquor, Mingyu can't bear it.

"Are you going to wake up or not?" Minghao asks, this time with more insistence. "It's past noon, you know."

A muffled groan escapes Mingyu's throat, but he shoves his face deeper into the pillow to stifle it. The soft padding of Minghao's footsteps—light but purposeful—grows louder as they near the bed. There's no use pretending now.

"Mingyu..." Minghao's tone softens, a coaxing edge creeping in. "Hey, you gotta get up."

A gentle shake on his shoulders pulls Mingyu begrudgingly from his cocoon. His body protests, aching with every motion, and his head pounds in vicious rhythm. He squints up, blearily, to find Minghao looming above him like a scolding parent.

"Jesus Christ, Myungho," Mingyu mutters, his voice thick with irritation as he weakly bats Minghao's hand away. In a childish attempt to reclaim the comfort of his bed, he pulls the blankets up over his head, retreating beneath their safety. "Can you just let me sleep? My head is killing me."

"Headache? Why?" Minghao's concern sharpens, and Mingyu knows instantly that he's only fueled the fire. Instead of retreating, Minghao's attention becomes laser-focused, determined to figure out exactly what's wrong. He climbs into bed beside Mingyu, pulling at the covers with gentle persistence.

"Myungho-ya," Mingyu whines, his voice rising in a pathetic plea as he curls tighter under the sheets. "I drank, okay? I had alcohol. I'm hungover. Can you please, please, just leave me alone?"

There's a beat of silence, the weight of his words hanging between them, before Minghao sighs deeply. Mingyu feels the mattress shift as Minghao gets up, finally retreating. The sounds of his friend moving around the apartment are quieter now—no longer the loud rustling of bags, but the soft click of cabinets opening, the quiet hum of the fridge door swinging shut. Despite the quiet, Mingyu feels guilt creeping in, twisting in his chest. Minghao's just trying to help, trying to be there for him, and Mingyu knows he doesn't deserve it. Not after snapping at him.