Madness for Two 🎬 yungi [▶]

25

Yunho stared blankly at the alarm clock in front of him, its numbers blurring into two.

The short hand hovered near seven. Maybe. He blinked again, willing his vision into focus.

07:12.

He could think again.

“You didn’t stock enough groceries, Yunho.”

The voice snapped him back to the present—just as he was about to roll over and squeeze in another 18 minutes of sleep before the alarm buzzed for real. He jerked upright, eyes darting toward the source.

“Song?!”

There he was. That dirty blonde menace. Grinning. And in that same moment, like a floodgate had shattered, memories from yesterday slammed into Yunho’s skull—flashes of too-bright lights, camera clicks, and skin-warmed whispers.

There would be photos. Of course there would be photos.

Him and Mingi outside the café. Him and Mingi leaving the bookstore. Dinner. The kiss—God, the kiss in front of his apartment. Paparazzi everywhere. And Yunho, not pulling away.

He didn’t want to.

Because in Mingi’s arms, he felt… home.

Even if it was a lie.

“You weren’t drunk last night,” Mingi said, stepping into view with a tray of pancakes steaming under warm syrup, strawberries sliced and glistening like rubies. “So don’t yell at me for being here. You let me in, remember?”

Yunho’s stomach growled, betraying him instantly.

But his pride made him scowl at the tray like it was loaded with cyanide.

“I only used basic ingredients, Yunho,” Mingi sighed, catching the suspicion in his eyes. He set up the small breakfast table—the one Yunho usually used for popcorn during his annual rewatch of The Lord of the Rings. “There’s no need to glare at innocent food like that.”

Yunho wanted to argue the pancakes were high in sugar and empty calories. He didn’t need a future with early-onset diabetes. He was supposed to resist sweets—even though he never actually could.

And then Mingi touched him.

Just a hand on the shoulder. But somehow, without effort, he shifted Yunho’s body upright, propped against the headboard like a fragile doll. Then he slid the tray onto Yunho’s lap.

The words died in his throat.

"You’re making me feel like a princess, Prince Song," Yunho muttered, lacing his sarcasm with an eye roll as Mingi sat beside him and started cutting the pancakes.

“No,” Mingi replied coolly. “I’m just trying to get you to eat three proper meals a day. Now shut up and eat.”

Commanding. Firm.

Yunho would never admit it—but it sent a shiver through him.

“Yes, Daddy,” he purred, dragging a finger through the syrup and licking it slowly, deliberately. His eyes locked onto Mingi’s. He knew how to dilate his pupils just enough. Knew Mingi always lingered a second too long on his eyes, even during arguments.

He’d ignored it before.

But why not use the enemy’s weakness to win the war?

In his mind, Yunho did a smug little victory cartwheel.

Mingi flushed. Visibly.

“I have no interest in discussing your kinks at seven in the morning, Yunho.”

He stood up fast and bolted from the room. Yunho just laughed and tucked into his breakfast.

Half the pancake was gone in five minutes.

Mingi, to his surprise, wasn’t terrible in the kitchen. Yunho just hoped the man hadn’t turned his stove into a war zone over one batch of batter.

A small smile tugged at his lips. A little more honest this time.

I won’t be like him.

That’s what Mingi had whispered last night. Yunho had doubted it. Still did. But yesterday—and this morning—were slowly tipping the scale.

Just a little.

Of course, the internet would believe every photo. Every video. Every angle of their “performance.” That was the whole point.

Yunho sighed. The smile was gone.

No matter. He could play this game longer than Mingi could pretend to enjoy it.

And when Mingi gave up—when he realized the truth—Yunho would be ready.

He slid the tray away.

He couldn’t finish the pancakes after all.