Madness for Two 🎬 yungi [▶]

27

When he stepped back into the room, Yunho was no longer in bed.

His presence had been replaced by the sound of running water from the bathroom.

Mingi’s eyes drifted to Yunho’s half-eaten plate. And then, to a note.

You should eat too. It's good. – HJ

He wasn’t sure when it started, but he smiled—genuinely, easily—whenever it came to anything Yunho did. Anything Yunho said, felt, or was. And that, Mingi hated. Hated the madness he had to endure just to convince Yunho.

Worse, he hated himself—for not having the guts to act.

He could just pick up the phone, call the agency, and say it plainly, I’m in love. I’m done pretending. I want this relationship public.
It would take a few motor movements. A few words.
But really? Love? That sounded absurd.

A stupid joke.

Because Mingi didn’t fall in love. Song Mingi had never fallen in love. He flirted, sampled the feeling, and left.
There had never been a desire to give up everything. Not like this. Not for anyone.

And yet … he had.

For Yunho.

Not for an English heiress. Not for a Victoria’s Secret Angel. Not for a Grammy-winning singer or an Oscar-winning actress. Not even for the girls who still worshipped him despite how cruelly he treated them.

Magnus Song—the charming bastard.
He was used to the name.

But Song Mingi, making pancakes for someone he might be falling for? That was psychiatric material.

“I hope you didn’t blow up my kitchen, Song,” came a warning voice from behind.

Mingi turned. Yunho stood there, towel-drying his wet black hair without much care.

Mingi didn’t answer. He stepped forward, took Yunho’s wrist, and pulled him toward the bed. Mingi sat at the edge. Yunho sat on the floor, his back turned.

Quietly, Mingi took over drying Yunho’s hair.

No complaints. No words.

The room filled with silence.

Both lost in thought, neither willing to disturb the fragile calm.

Peace in its purest form.

“You serious?” Yunho broke first. And immediately regretted it as Mingi’s hands paused. Yunho cursed himself for always needing to know. Curiosity killed the cat, Yunho.

“If you say yes,” Mingi said, “we can try.”

“They’ll never allow it,” Yunho replied, certainty laced in his voice.

Mingi hated how true it was.
He let the towel slip off Yunho’s shoulders.
The next second, Yunho felt Mingi’s breath on his neck—then the soft brush of lips at the base.

Eyes shut, Yunho surrendered to the warmth of the blond man’s arms. Letting every dark thought about the future melt away.

“You know,” Yunho whispered, “darkness doesn’t feel so dark once you get used to living inside it.”

Mingi frowned behind him.

“Are you trying to be poetic?”

Yunho chuckled. “Maybe you could turn it into a song.”

“I can’t write a song with just one lyric, Yunho.”
Mingi spotted a strand of white near Yunho’s scalp. Stress-induced? he wondered.

“No, I mean it. That was a serious question.”

Mingi straightened, resisting the urge to guess at Yunho’s expression. His eyes found a blank corner of the room.

Yunho’s bedroom was ... sterile.

White walls, untouched furniture, a few essentials—but no photos, no posters. Even his cosmetics were stored out of sight. Remove the hanging clothes and the film script, and it looked like a hotel room. The kind that hosts a hundred faces without ever needing to know who they were.

Mingi wanted to ask why. Why did Yunho strip the one place meant to reflect personality of all identity?
But he didn’t.

“It’s all about adaptation,” Yunho said. “In Jerusalem, kids learn to walk to school with gunfire in the background. Eventually, they stop crying over the friend who doesn’t show up the next day. Life’s about adapting.”

“Sounds like we’re quoting Darwin,” Mingi muttered. A tired laugh. A heavy sigh.

“If you leave—” Yunho stopped abruptly. The sentence cracked like broken logic.

Mingi wanted to ask him to turn around, to say it while looking him in the eye.

He wanted to know what emotion Yunho's deep brown eyes were holding.
But Yunho was stubborn.
Too stubborn to have this talk while facing him.

Or kissing him.

Both of them had been dodging this conversation since yesterday.

“I’ve lived with loneliness so long, it stopped scaring me,” Yunho said. “But you …”

He finally turned.

And there it was. The moment Mingi’s brain screamed as their eyes locked.

“Are you trying to drown me?” Yunho asked softly. “Or are you offering me a boat off the island … only to leave me lost in a crowded port city?”

Mingi wanted to shut him up. Or at least shut off the poetic part of his brain.

But instead, Mingi's brain turned Yunho's words into melody. Damn it.

“I don’t know,” he confessed.

He hated how dull that sounded. How unworthy it was compared to Yunho’s metaphors.

“You need to go,” Yunho said.

The weight of those words wasn’t a suggestion. It was a verdict. A truth.

So Mingi leaned in.

Just an inch more and their noses would touch.

“Yes,” he breathed, shaken by the sadness in Yunho’s gaze.

Yunho gave a small smile. One that stole the breath from Mingi’s lungs.

“Yes,” Yunho repeated. “I know.”

And then he rose to gather his things.

Mingi didn’t say another word. He didn’t know what came next.

But before he left that morning, he turned and said,

“I’ll still try.”

Because Yunho was stubborn.

And so was Mingi.

Especially when it came to a man with a wounded smile and eyes full of storms.