Chapter Text
The next evening arrived faster than either of them expected.
Jisung had been nervous since morning, pacing around his room, fussing with ties, asking three different maids if peach-gold or champagne-white looked better with his complexion. Han Mansion was buzzing with staff preparing for the formal party: lights being adjusted, glassware polished to mirror-like shine, floral arrangements balanced perfectly along the staircase.
Minho arrived exactly at 7:12 PM, not early, not late. Just his usual precision. Instead of wearing his usual dark palette, he came in a muted charcoal suit, hair styled neatly with a small part. He looked older tonight. More powerful, more refined. More like someone who genuinely belonged at such an event.
Jisung, who had just stepped out of his room adjusting his cufflinks, actually froze.
"...Minho?"
Minho turned his head, eyes softening for just a second.
"You look good."
The words surprised both of them. Minho rarely complimented out loud, he usually delivered them in small gestures instead. Jisung blinked quickly and ignored the heat in his cheeks.
"You- you too," he murmured, voice small.
Minho's lips curved slightly. "Ready?"
Jisung nodded, though his fingers were trembling slightly as he locked his phone. Minho noticed, of course, he always did, and gently brushed their fingertips together. Not fully holding hands, just a touch. Enough to steady him.
"Relax. You're fine," Minho murmured.
It helped. A little.
---
THE PARTY BEGINS
By 7:30 PM, the mansion was alive.
The grand hall glowed under warm lights, with guests in formal attire chatting, laughing, clinking glasses of wine. Soft instrumental music filled the air, and trays of hors d'oeuvres floated by every few minutes.
Jisung, surprisingly, adapted quickly, greeting familiar faces, introducing Minho politely, even joking a little. Minho stayed close but let Jisung have his moment. He wasn't the type to cling at crowded gatherings anyway.
Eventually, the room pulled Jisung away, relatives calling him over, family friends wanting updates, someone dragging him toward a small circle near the bar.
Minho didn't follow. He slipped off to the side, hands in his pockets, observing calmly as always.
Jisung laughed at something one of his cousins said, eyes crinkling adorably over his glass of sparkling water. Minho's gaze softened unconsciously.
That was when someone tapped his arm.
Minho turned, expression instantly flattening when he saw the face.
Jiwon.
Perfect hair. Perfect tie. Perfect fake smile.
"Come," Jiwon said quietly.
Minho didn't like that tone. Too smooth. Too familiar. Too practiced.
But Minho was many things, impatient, blunt, cold, yet he was not fearful. And he never backed down from conversations others tried to hide behind politeness.
So he followed.
---
Jiwon led him up a small set of stairs, past hallway portraits of the Han family, into a side room near the balcony. It was dim, quiet, and away from the party noise. The door closed with a soft click.
Minho leaned his back against the wall casually, hands in pockets.
"Well?" he said. "You dragged me in here. Say it."
Jiwon didn't turn around immediately. He went to the window, hands clasped behind him.
Then:
"You know I hate you, right?"
His voice was low. Polite, but poisonous.
Minho didn't respond right away. Then, a small shrug.
"I know."
Jiwon finally turned, eyes sharp.
"You're calm about it??"
"You hating me isn't new," Minho replied. "Or interesting."
Jiwon's jaw flexed, but he pushed on.
"Do you even love Jisung?"
Minho's expression tightened, not in anger, but in annoyance at the implication.
"Yes," he said plainly.
Jiwon scoffed. "You love him? He's a spoiled brat."
Minho's gaze sharpened.
"He's spoiled," Minho agreed. "But he's not a brat."
"Oh?" Jiwon stepped closer, voice bitter. "You don't mind his attitude? Or the way he clings? Or the fact that he gets everything handed to him?"
Minho didn't move.
"I don't mind," he repeated calmly. "I chose him."
Jiwon's eyes narrowed at that answer, the way Minho said it without hesitation, like his choice was firm, permanent, decided.
"Whatever," Jiwon muttered, turning away, then reaching into his inner suit pocket.
He pulled out a thick white envelope.
Minho's eyes followed it slowly.
Jiwon walked toward him and shoved the envelope into Minho's hand.
Minho didn't open it. He just stared.
"...What is this for," he asked, voice flat.
Jiwon's lips curved into a dangerous, mocking smile.
"Break up with Jisung," he said. "And stay away."
Minho's brows lowered, expression going blank in that frighteningly calm way of his.
"...What?" he asked quietly. "Are you bribing me?"
---
EARLIER IN THE NIGHT
While Minho followed Jiwon upstairs, Jisung remained downstairs, unaware.
But something felt... off.
He kept laughing with his relatives, nodding along to conversations, but his eyes kept drifting toward the corner where Minho had been. Empty.
His chest tightened.
Where did he go?
He excused himself quietly and checked the dining area, the balcony, even the small lounge near the staircase.
Nothing.
His phone buzzed, a message from Minho.
Except it wasn't a message.
It was nothing.
No notification.
Jisung bit his lip, anxiety crawling up his throat.
"Min... where are you?" he whispered to himself.
---
Jiwon didn't break eye contact.
He waited for Minho's reaction, enjoying the moment.
But Minho did not yell. Did not laugh. Did not threaten.
He simply stood there, envelope in hand, expression unreadable, like a storm gathering quietly.
The tension in the room thickened, nearly suffocating.
Jiwon smiled wider.
"Go on," he whispered. "Open it."