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“Seongwu-ya,” a voice says from behind Seongwu’s shoulder. “You messed up your collar.” A light touch runs along his neck to find the place where his collar is misaligned. Seongwu’s breath catches mid-way through his throat, and he doesn’t exhale until Minhyun releases him.
“Thanks,” Seongwu says, struggling not to allow his voice to climb higher in pitch due to Minhyun’s closeness. After nearly a year, Seongwu’s gotten used to Minhyun being overly-clingy, but something changed on Seongwu’s side a few months ago.
Most notably, he gets the very intense urge to kiss Minhyun every time their faces get close. It’s becoming a real problem.
“Don’t be sorry to me,” Minhyun laughs, and Seongwu swears he hears angel’s singing. He’s never heard someone with a laugh as beautiful as Minhyun’s. He hopes he never does. “Be sorry to the poor stylist that spent ten minutes getting you into this thing.”
Seongwu shifts to allow Minhyun to stand beside him. Seongwu’s shirt is despairingly tight, a criss-cross of belts over his chest. The whole thing reminds him of the get-up one would find in a spy movie. He’s pretty positive their concept isn’t spies though, so he doesn’t know why he has to wear it, other than to torture his chest and restrict his ability to breathe properly.
“It looks good, at least,” Minhyun continues.
“Really?” Seongwu tugs on one of the belts. His chest isn’t too broad—certainly not as much as Minhyun or Daniel’s—and he’s not even sure he can pull it off well. The strangeness of it only makes it worse.
Minhyun, however, seems to disagree and gives him a once-over from his head to his shoes.
“Mmhm,” Minhyun hums, nodding in reply.
Seongwu licks his lips and does the same for Minhyun. They’re performing first, and so taped to the side of Minhyun’s long neck is his microphone. He gets quickly distracted from his mission of checking the rest of Minhyun’s body by how tight the tape is on his pretty skin, and he finds himself reaching out to re-adjust it without asking for permission first.
“What are you doing?” Minhyun asks, slightly breathless as Seongwu carefully peels the tape off to fix it.
“Your mic wasn’t on properly,” Seongwu replies. He quickly pats it back down before it can lose its stickiness. “There. Just returning the favour, I guess.”
He doesn’t step back in time when Minhyun turns his head. The very tips of their noses brush, and Seongwu jerks back so hard he almost trips over. Well, would trip over, if it wasn’t for Jaehwan passing by and steadying him.
“Hey, watch it,” Jaehwan says, squinting at them in a way that makes Seongwu very uncomfortable. “... What are you two doing?”
“Nothing,” Seongwu says at the same time Minhyun says, “Just talking.”
“... Right. Well. Carry on then?”
“Didn’t need your permission, but thanks.” Jaehwan sticks out his tongue at them.
They don’t actually get to carry on past that, and Seongwu doesn’t know if that’s for better or worse. Adding onto Seongwu’s newfound love (and it is, definitely, love), he can’t tell whether Minhyun has noticed his slight change in behavior.
Minhyun is smart, and that scares him. What he loathes more than just Minhyun knowing is the idea that Minhyun will stop treating him like this, like his close friend, if he knew what Seongwu was thinking every time their noses accidentally touched.
“Come on, you two,” a staff member says, ushering them onto the stage. They aren’t filming for a live audience, albeit with the overwhelming amount of camera and lighting staff they have on hand, they might as well be. Seongwu takes his spot in the line, completely opposite from Minhyun. He mourns the loss of his warmth, no matter how much it set Seongwu’s mind on high-alert.
“All I wanna do! Hello, we are Wanna One!” Seongwu calls out, forcing himself to relax into his idol-mode. Forcing himself to relax isn’t something that makes sense in his head, but it works easily enough in reality. He isn’t that different off-stage, anyhow; the only difference between off-stage Ong Seongwu and on-stage Ong Seongwu is that on-stage Seongwu doesn’t spend half his time staring at Minhyun when the other man isn’t paying attention.
Seongwu is swept up into banter with the host, and Guanlin giggles wildly beside him. He pats Guanlin’s back with a big grin that never leaves his face, even when they move into their spots for their performance.
Performing comes easiest out of all idol activities, and his mind shuts off for the next ten minutes. He tries not to glance at Minhyun out of the corner of his eye during their break, but he does note that Minhyun’s mic worked fine. It’s silly to get prideful over it, since any member would’ve helped Minhyun if they saw it first. But Seongwu still feels unreasonably happy knowing he was the one to fix it and save Minhyun from the embarrassment.
After they film their next—and final—performance, they disperse for another ten minutes so the crew can put up the next set.
“Water?” Minhyun says, sliding into the spot beside him from out of nowhere, as usual. Minhyun can be rather loud, so Seongwu has no idea how he does can sneak up on him so quietly. Consistently, too. Unless it’s Seongwu’s fault for zoning out all the time. That seems more likely.
“Thanks,” Seongwu says, taking the offered bottle. Minhyun unscrews the cap of his own water and tips his head back to pour it into his mouth. It’s almost comical how Seongwu’s entire world seems to slow down, like some kind of TV show; but that really is exactly what it feels like. Sweat drips down Minhyun’s neck, his lips glisten from the liquid, and his lashes flutter as he focuses on finishing the bottle.
Seongwu doesn’t take a single sip of his.
Finishing in one breath, Minhyun crushes the bottle and then dumps it into the recycling next to them. “Seongwu?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you not going to drink any...?” Minhyun gestures to the untouched bottle.
“Oh, uh. No, I am.” Seongwu fumbles to take the cap off his, to which Minhyun laughs at. The water feels nice, sliding down his throat, but he can’t properly enjoy it when Minhyun is staring at him with that teasing smile. “Just got distracted there,” he says honestly, puckering his lips after.
“I know the feeling,” Minhyun says, and leaves it at that.
They sit in a silence which only becomes comfortable for Seongwu after Minhyun shifts his attention to his phone. He does the same, but he can’t find the energy to reply to any messages from his friends when Minhyun’s thigh keeps brushing against his. It’s not even that he’s daydreaming about Minhyun then. It’s just distracting, and Seongwu has to focus to keep his heartbeat in check.
“Again?” Jaehwan says, walking by with an armful of water bottles.
“Again, what?” Minhyun lifts his head, brows furrowing together in confusion. He looks so sincerely confused, Seongwu would groan into his fist if he wasn’t in public. He’s so cute. Everything Minhyun does makes Seongwu want to tear up.
This is probably how their fans feel. Seongwu sighs.
“Whoa, big sigh,” Jaehwan says. “You guys have been spending a lot of time together lately.”
“Well, we’re... groupmates...” Minhyun says slowly. “Are you jealous?”
“What? No!” Jaehwan practically squacks, tightening his arms around the water bottles. “I’m just saying! Geez. Don’t go around accusing people of things that aren’t true!”
“Okay, Jaehwannie.” Minhyun smiles, confusion fading into gentle amusement. Jaehwan glances fervently between them before scurrying off to distribute the water bottles.
“That was weird,” Minhyun comments.
“He’s weird,” Seongwu says, and Minhyun murmurs a quiet agreement.
The next segment of the show is aptly named ‘Game Time’. Seongwu sometimes adores these segments on shows and sometimes hates them. Someone is always the butt of the joke, and while he’s a master of turning awkward situations into humour, that doesn’t mean he likes being made fun of.
“Who are the best actors in the group?” the MC asks.
“Hmmm...” Jisung takes a step forward to survey his own group. These actions are just for show, for the editors to clip and re-clip into something more visually appealing. Usually they like to build suspense with it, as if the answer isn’t painfully obvious. “Seongwu, Jihoon, and Minhyun.”
“You’re a good actor too, hyung,” Minhyun says immediately. Jisung’s ears flush (Minhyun’s compliments do that to people) and he shakes his head.
“You have actual experience.”
“Not really.” Minhyun is too humble.
“Why don’t we have our two older visuals go first, to demonstrate?” Seongwu has heard that line more than enough times to know he’s talking about him and Minhyun. They take their designated places—difficult to miss when there’s approximately ten staff members pointing at the ground where they’re supposed to stand—and face each other.
Minhyun mouths ‘hi’. Seongwu mouths ‘hi’ back, knowing it’ll make Minhyun giggle. He does, and Seongwu stifles a chuckle as well.
“We’ll give the two chosen members a basic scene to act out. They’ll improvise their lines, and the first person to make a mistake or laugh loses. All the members will be cycled through until only two remain, and then they’ll battle for the winner’s crown.”
The MC lifts a plastic crown that probably cost no more than $10 out of a box. Seongwu claps animatedly. Minhyun not so much; he’s lucky his image allows him to get by on variety without having to overreact to everything.
“This kind of makes me nervous,” Daehwi admits with a laugh, hand covering his heart. “Can we get a romantic scene?”
“The scenes will be randomly drawn, but there are a few romantic ones in there. Just for fun, of course,” the MC says, wiggling his eyebrows. Seongwu side-eyes Minhyun to see his reaction, which he has none of. “Shall we jump right into it, then?”
They all agree. Seongwu does it not so loudly, this time.
The cameras switch off as the props are rearranged. The MC is given a large, black velvet box. Once they’re back to filming, he turns to the rest of the group.
“Would anyone like to draw for our Seongwu and Minhyun?” No one steps forward. “I’ll have to randomly pick for this too, then. You guys are no fun.”
They all laugh awkwardly. You guys are no fun is not actually as encouraging of a line as it sounds. Seongwu knows the reason why no one is stepping forward is the fact that there are some not-so-desirable scenes in the box; no one wants to be responsible for the next minor scandal.
“Daniel, then. Come and pick for us.” Daniel grins, but his eyes tell Seongwu he’s dying. Poor guy is always the one ‘randomly’ picked.
“Sorry in advance,” Daniel jokes to them. Minhyun shrugs and Seongwu shoots him a thumbs up. Daniel’s hand disappears into the box and after a few moments, pulls back a small, white paper.
“Let’s see here.” The MC takes it from his hands. “You’re in luck, boys!”
Seongwu exhales in relief. Jaehwan appears to pout.
“You’ll be acting out a modern-day romance!”
“What,” Seongwu deadpans.
“Oh,” Minhyun whispers from beside him.
Daniel’s eyes widen to be so large, it would be funny if Seongwu didn’t feel like throwing up right on set. The other members glance in between each other, some excited and some... not as much. Seongwu notes which members are secretly supporting his nervousness for future reference.
“There are props on the table if you need any, else you can start whenever you’re ready.”
Seongwu spins towards Minhyun. He will never, ever be ready for this. “Uh, we don’t have to... I’m sure they’d let us back out. They can’t force us to...” He can’t even finish a coherent sentence.
“No, um, it’s okay. If it’s okay with you,” Minhyun says gently. He fiddles with his shirt. Seongwu is now very aware again of how difficult it is to breathe underneath the strange, belted outfit.
“Oh, well. I—I guess it’s cool? Yeah. It’s fine?”
Minhyun nods wordlessly and places his hand on Seongwu’s shoulder. “No props?”
Seongwu doesn’t want to make this any more drawn-out and dramatic than it has to be. He would really just jump ship now, if he could, but if Minhyun is openly fine with it, it only paints Seongwu in a bad light to reject. They’re professionals. They’re supposed to be the best actors in the group.
Everything will be fine, he reasons with himself. He can’t let his feelings for Minhyun get in the way of his job.
“No props,” Seongwu agrees.
“We’re ready,” Minhyun calls out, not wasting any time. Seongwu rubs his palms together and takes a step back to properly face Minhyun again.
The lighting re-focuses on them. Seongwu’s had much worse pointed into his eyes, but right now it’s making his head hurt.
“Now,” the director says.
Seongwu definitely isn’t going to start this, which is fine with Minhyun, who immediately reaches for his hands.
“Seongwu-ya,” Minhyun says. And oh, okay; they’re using their real names. Seongwu gulps. “I missed you.”
Seongwu wishes they had time to plan out some kind of back-story at least. Why does Minhyun miss him? Why did Seongwu leave him? It’s not realistic. But the words come to him easily enough, and he squeezes Minhyun’s hands. “I missed you too.”
Minhyun smiles softly. It doesn’t reach his eyes; he looks a bit sad. Minhyun is normally very giving with his smiles, so it must be a sad scene. This might be better for Seongwu’s heart in the end.
Seongwu throws himself into whatever angsty role Minhyun has given him. He hopes this ends with them breaking up or something so Seongwu doesn’t end up dwelling on it for any longer than necessary, after filming is over. (He’s going to be recounting every one of Minhyun’s impassioned lines.)
“Please stay here,” Minhyun whispers. “Don’t leave again.”
Seongwu tries to shake his hands out of Minhyun’s grip. Minhyun holds on tightly, however, and moves closer.
“Seongwu,” he pleads. “You can find another job here. A better one. I promise. There’s nothing in that city that this one can’t offer you, and... it has me,” he finishes quietly, but still loud enough for the overhead microphone to pick up.
“You know I can’t.” Seongwu heaves a sigh.
“Why not?”
“How will I get anywhere in life if I tie myself down? This job is a great opportunity. I can’t pass it up.” He said that once to his mother. He never expected to say it again to Minhyun, on some variety show. The other members are all holding their breaths. Their gazes feel significantly heavier than the show staff’s.
“You’re not tying yourself down by staying. You’re staying with me, too. I thought you loved me. That isn’t tying yourself down, that’s sacrificing one job to be with the person you love and... the person who loves you.” His eyes are dark.
Seongwu nearly chokes hearing those words said in this context. He finally manages to get his hands away from Minhyun’s, and he shoves them into his shallow pockets instead. “I do love you,” he whispers, looking away.
He waits for Minhyun to say something back. And waits. And waits. The longest five seconds of Seongwu’s life pass before he finally looks back at Minhyun to see what’s wrong, just in time to see him keel over.
“Minhyun?!” Seongwu tries to catch him, but Minhyun is on his knees by the time Seongwu’s brain registers what’s going on.
And then Minhyun promptly vomits rainbows all over his shoes.
“Oh my god,” someone says in the background.
It doesn’t stop coming, which would be beautiful if it wasn’t so gross. Seongwu’s seen this happen a few times, on the streets or in restaurants, once on a reality show—not involving him, of course—but never like this. With all the lights shined on them, the rainbow sparkles and glistens. It’s almost blinding, but Seongwu can’t look away.
“I knew it,” Jaehwan shrieks, his voice unmistakable. Someone tells him to shut up.
“Minhyun—” Seongwu whispers. He crouches down beside him, but Minhyun won’t look at him, even after the rainbow stops coming. It pools around their feet, not necessarily liquid or solid. Seongwu would reach out and feel it if it wasn’t so bright; it almost looks like it would burn.
“Don’t,” Minhyun snaps, throat hoarse from throwing up.
A whole bunch of things happen at once, not a second after Minhyun stops: a YMC staffer rushes over and yells at the director to delete the footage. A bunch of the other staff members rush over with cleaning supplies. Jisung helps Minhyun up, and someone else forcibly lifts Seongwu off the ground, his legs shaking violently.
The show’s lights turn off quickly, but the rainbow still emits more than enough. Once it’s been mopped up, Minhyun huddles himself in a blanket, staring at the place where the mess was. Aside from a few sparkles, it’s like it didn’t even happen.
Seongwu feels queasy himself, and he doesn’t know if he’s about to throw up real vomit or a rainbow.
“Minhyun,” Seongwu calls.
The members part like the sea for Seongwu to walk over to Minhyun. Minhyun shies away from his touch, but Seongwu holds him by his hand too tightly for him to move away so easily. Using Minhyun’s own favourite tactic against him.
“Not now,” Minhyun says. He glances over Seongwu to where the other members are trying, and failing, to look like they aren’t listening. “Please.”
Seongwu can’t imagine how Minhyun feels. It’s ironic, how long Seongwu worried about this exact situation happening to him, with his face being the one wrecked with worry. Seongwu can’t even begin to be happy about the fact that Minhyun vomited rainbows when Seongwu said he loved him, because he looks so scared it’s causing Seongwu physical pain.
“Minhyun,” Seongwu says again, with even more resolve. He refuses to let Minhyun stand there and stress himself out.
Minhyun’s fingers scratch across Seongwu’s palm, no doubt trying to make a break for it. Seongwu tugs him closer, so he can make his voice quieter.
“You confessed to me,” Seongwu starts. Minhyun looks absolutely horrified at those words. “You... confessed to me, and I said it back, and you threw up because of me.”
“You know what happened,” Minhyun hisses. “We don’t need to talk about this, okay? We can all forget it. The staff will delete the footage, everyone will sign NDAs or something, and we can all just—”
“No, listen to me. It only happened because I said I love you,” Seongwu says, emphasizing every word. Minhyun instantly goes slack, watching him, his chest barely moving to breathe. “Say it back to me.”
“What?”
“Say it back to me,” Seongwu urges.
“You already know now that—”
“Minhyunnie,” Seongwu groans.
“Okay! Fine. Fine. I love you,” he mumbles.
Seongwu knows it’s coming, so he shoves Minhyun back as to not get his shoes dirty like Minhyun did to him. Maybe because he knew it was going to happen, not as much comes out as Minhyun’s.
It’s still an absolutely horrible feeling, though. Far worse than Seongwu has felt when throwing up normally. He wonders how something that’s supposed to be happy can feel so bone-chillingly awful. He was right before; it does burn, and he has tears in his eyes by the time it’s done.
More people jump into action when he’s finished, and a staff member tugs Seongwu aside before he can take a look at Minhyun’s expression. She cleans Seongwu’s face for him and checks to make sure his clothes aren’t dirty.
“That was stupid,” she says, but she’s smiling, so it couldn’t have been that bad.
Seongwu feels winded when he’s shoved back towards Minhyun, but the smile on his face is so wide that Seongwu forgets how tired he feels.
“I hate you,” Minhyun says, throwing himself at Seongwu. Seongwu tucks his face against Minhyun’s shoulder to avoid looking at anyone else as they hug.
This is real. This is actually happening. Not every person can throw up rainbows, literally; and despite the legal headache they’re going to get for this, he’s never been more relieved in his life to be cursed with it.
“No you don’t,” Seongwu says, laughing. Minhyun laughs as well, shaking his head, his hair brushing against Seongwu’s cheek. “God, we’re so—”
“Stupid?”
“Yeah,” Seongwu agrees.
Seongwu wipes at his wet eyes when they pull apart. Jinyoung isn’t even bothering to hide how openly he’s staring at them, and a staff member is taking notes, but Seongwu doesn’t care. He can’t care when Minhyun is so happy as well.
“Management is going to murder us,” Minhyun says.
“Probably.”
“Honestly? I don’t really care.” Minhyun giggles, covering his hand with his mouth.
The idea of kissing Minhyun to celebrate this doesn’t come to his mind until later. He contents himself with holding onto Minhyun’s arm and letting Minhyun do most of the embarrassed talking when the other members decide, finally, that it’s appropriate to approach them again. (Jaehwan is more excited than both of them combined. Likely because he didn’t literally throw up to get to this point, but Seongwu appreciates the sentiment.)
Once they return to the dorms and management tells them that absolutely none of them are allowed to leave the building for now, Seongwu tugs Minhyun aside to his room. No one seems to mind.
“So, you like me,” Seongwu says.
“Love,” Minhyun corrects.
“Oh? You’re confident.” Minhyun rolls his eyes and lets Seongwu guide him onto his bed. Seongwu sits down next to him, and even though he knows with certainty now that Minhyun does, in fact, like him, he still feels strangely nervous all of the sudden.
“Not really,” Minhyun says, looking down at his lap. “It hasn’t really sunk in yet.”
“Me too,” Seongwu murmurs.
The others are being unusually quiet in the living room; they either all packed themselves into the other apartment, or are listening in on their conversation from the other side of the door.
“Um,” Seongwu tries to continue, but he doesn’t even know where to start. Now that he can actually talk without any staff members taking down his every word for a future legal battle. “What now?”
“I don’t know. Can we say it again without throwing up? My throat still hurts.” Minhyun massages his throat and Seongwu chuckles, knocking his hand away to press his thumb against where Minhyun was rubbing. Minhyun whines and squirms away. “Stop it, I’m ticklish.”
“Sorry,” Seongwu says, not really sorry at all. “But I—I think it should be fine. I mean, we just said it. I love you.”
Minhyun hides his face in his arms, only his eyes and the top of his head poking out. “I love you too,” he says, muffled.
“And now we... can kiss?”
“I guess.” The part of Minhyun’s face Seongwu can see is so red he’s afraid he’s going to burst, but Seongwu knows his face is just as flushed.
“Cool.”
“Yeah.”
“I’m going to kiss you now.”
“Don’t throw up into my mouth,” Minhyun says with a small smile.
“I’ll try,” Seongwu gulps, sincerely, and leans forward. Minhyun moves his arms away without Seongwu having to coax them, and Seongwu’s brain is suddenly reminded of every time he’s imagined this. He pinches the inside of his palm as a last-ditch attempt to wake himself up from this dream, but it doesn’t work.
“This is really happening,” Seongwu whispers.
“We don’t—have to kiss now,” Minhyun says hastily.
“But we’re in love.” Seongwu frowns. “You do want to kiss me, right?”
“I’m just scared about you throwing up again.”
“Be quiet,” Seongwu hushes, and grabs the back of Minhyun’s head to pull him in for a kiss before either of them can worry any more.
He does not, in fact, throw up again; which makes sense, else the streets would be covered in bright rainbow vomit non-stop. Minhyun laughs against his mouth and lets Seongwu push him back onto the bed. Seongwu gives him enough kisses to make up for how many combined months of pining they’ve done (and Minhyun reciprocates enough to make up for throwing up on Seongwu’s favourite pair of shoes.)
(The legal meetings which follow are not nearly as fun as making out proves to be. They have to be present to meet with every single staff member who was at the filming, and neither of them enjoy the accusations they receive about this having been planned.
As if Seongwu would want to have his confession broadcasted. He likes being in the public eye, but not to that extent.
“Eleven more,” Minhyun sighs after yet another non-YMC staffer exits the room. Their lawyer flips through more papers on the other side of the table while their manager goes to get the next person.
“Yeah.”
“I’m going to need a nice, long shower when we get back.”
“Can I join you?” Seongwu grins.
“You’ll slip and die,” Minhyun says.
“At least the last thing I see will be you.”
“Please stop,” their lawyer groans, and they both dissolve into a fit of giggles.)