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Yeosang has always admired alternative culture from the sidelines. His parents disapproved of it growing up, and as a young adult he felt too old, too disconnected to really participate. He watched with bittersweet envy as people expressed themselves
He sees a poster at a local coffee shop for a battle of the bands one day, and on impulse he decides to go. He shows up while it’s still light out, but the floors at the dive bar are already sticky. Descending the steps to the basement bar feels like entering another world.
The smell of vape smoke and alcohol hangs heavy in the air as people crowd into the dive. He presses himself against dingy walls, doing what he always does - watching, soaking in expression and art and raw emotion as a bystander.
Loud music blares across the space, and it grows more and more crowded by the minute. A variety of acts Grace the stage from sludge to metalcore to emo and everything in between. A pit of people thrash in the middle, all dawning more piercings, chains and tattoos than Yeosang would ever dare to.
Yeosang feels practically naked on his plain shirt and jeans. The shitty Long Island he ordered himself isn’t doing enough to curb his anxiety, and he’s starting to feel eyes on him. The dreadful feeling of otherness sinks into his skin like the tobacco seeping into his clothes.
He contemplates leaving. Nobody will miss him save for the bartender with stretched lobes who seems to pity him. He laments his inability to just let loose. Why can’t he just strike up a conversation? Surely he can find common ground - bands, movies, anything - with the people here.
But he can’t. His brain stalls like a busted car engine any time he so much as looks at one of the fierce patrons. After about an hour and a half, shame starts to take over. He’s enjoying the bands, and he likes the atmosphere, but the loneliness has teeth and they’re sinking in.
Just as he casts his gaze toward the door, a new act takes the stage. A few guitar licks echo across the now packed bar, and a triumphant voice booms: “Fix on!”. Yeosang’s head turns his head out of curiosity as he heads toward the door. The frontman of the small act is a tattooed tower of flesh.
His band mates play guitar as he launches into angry-sounding rap. Yeosang’s attention gets immediately snagged. He loves the merging of rap and rock, interest piqued by sounds that remind him of Linkin Park and even twenty one pilots.
The front man marches across stage in jeans that are ripped to shreds and a trench coat with nothing under it. His tattoos are on full display, and every finger wears a ring. He oozes confidence and charisma, effortlessly working the crowd into a hyped frenzy.
He’s halfway through his set when Yeosang realizes he’s been lingering by the entrance for almost twenty minutes. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and shuffles back in, sheepish. Might as well finish this one out, right? Yeosang longs for the freedom to dance or sing or even mosh.
Instead, he stares. He stares with the intensity of an unhinged character in a Kubrick film, unable to tear his gaze away from the rapper. The man finishes his set off with a slow, vulnerable song, lilting about struggles with substance abuse. The notes ring in Yeosang’s ear until the lights change.
That’s when it occurs to him that the set is over. He blinks as if waking up from a trance. What was he doing? Leaving? Suddenly, the biological need to take a leak occurs to him - it’s like his body put even that on hold to watch the last set. He files between hot, sweaty bodies to make his way.
Stickers, ripped posters and sharpie graffiti cover the walls of the bathroom. Even with scribbled dicks dispersed throughout, Yeosang genuinely appreciates it as art. There’s something beautiful about it - the muffled music, the colors and exclamations leaving not an inch of wall untouched.
He counts it as a pretty profound piss overall. He’s washing his hands when a tall Goliath of a man steps out of a stall. Yeosang spots the other out of his peripheral but has to do a double take in the mirror. It’s him.
The man has an aura that’s almost physical, and Yeosang isn’t sure if he wants to shy away or bask in it like rays of Sun. His pupils shake, darting between the sink and the man next to him. For a minute there’s nothing but the sound of running water between them.
Finally, after hours, something pulls Yeosang’s words from his chest. Could be the booze, or impulse, or maybe even artistic inspiration from the bathroom graffiti dicks. Whatever it is, it motivates him.
“I, uh, really liked your set.” He mumbles.
He can’t even manage to make eye contact with the man, but he does see the small grin on his face through the mirror. Beneath the eyeliner and tattoos, he’s got a nice smile. It makes him look almost normal, brings him back to earth a bit.
“Yeah? You liked it? Thanks, man.” The rapper looks surprisingly pleased, like he was actually touched. It surprises Yeosang, surely the guy gets tons of compliments like that.
“Y-You’re welcome,” Yeosang stutters out. He’s proud of himself for speaking, getting out of his shell.
“What was your favorite?” The rapper asks, drying off his hands.
“Oh,” fuck, Yeosang was not prepared for this. He doesn’t know any of the names of the songs, fucks sake. “I liked the last one, where you sang about your struggles with anxiety and substance abuse. I, um, I get anxiety, too.”
“Oh, really?” The rapper responds kindly. “That, uh- that one’s close to my heart. I feel like a lot of people find it depressing, though.“
“I mean, it is depressing, but that’s not a bad thing. Life is depressing. What’s the point of music if you can’t express that stuff?”
“Yeah…”
“Well, um, sorry for keeping you. Bye.” Yeosang dismissed himself with all the grace of a drunk person playing fall guys. He shakes his still-wet hands off and scurries out, face blazing with embarrassment. That’s enough socializing for today. His fight or flight response urges him toward the door.
Unfortunately, there’s too many people. He could squeeze through, but the idea of rubbing up against strangers makes his lungs feel prickly. So, resigned, he takes to the wall again. It’ll clear out eventually. After a while listening to some femme-lead metalcore act, he approaches the bar again.
He asks for water and the nice bartender serves him a heaping cup with ice. He downs it, grateful for the distraction and the hydration. The bartender slides another cup toward him, and he nearly takes a drink until he realizes the liquid is not clear.
“I, um, I didn’t order this.” He says.
“It’s from him,” The bartender nods across the bar to a tall figure slinking over the veneered surface. Yeosang squint, anxiety and confusion swelling in his stomach. It takes him an embarrassing amount of time to recognize the stranger. He looks a lot different now that he’s wearing a shirt.
At that point Yeosang realizes he doesn’t even know the guy’s name. As if sensing Yeosang’s confusion, the man looks up and flashes him a disarming, lopsided smile. It’s a far departure from his almost angry stage persona. Yeo supposes the polite thing to do would be to say thanks.
Except, as he approaches, a small cluster of fans approach him. They bounce around with black lipstick and piercings, donning studs and platforms and looking very much like they belonged in “the scene” more than he ever would. Yeosang cowers into his drink, downing it with a few ill-advised chugs.
The sour drink makes him pucker, but he sucks it up and heads toward the door. The air outside is crisp in comparison even with no less than half a dozen people chain smoking right outside. He stuffs his hands into his pockets and walks in no direction particular.
He doesn’t get far. In hindsight, chugging the mystery drink was probably a bad move. Heaving a sigh, Yeosang leans against the side of the building a few meters away from the chain smokers. He figures he can scroll TikTok to sober up a bit before walking home.
Streetlights paint the sleepy side road in amber and greenish hues. He hunches into himself as he scrolls his socials idly, drunk brain swimming with thoughts.
“Hey,” a husky voice pulls him out of his idling.
Yeosang glances up and his eyes widen at the sight of… That yet unnamed rapper guy.
He looks stunningly normal in his street clothes, though his heavy eyeliner and stacked bracelets show remnants of the stage persona.
“Hey.” Yeosang answers back. His tongue feels heavy. “Thanks for the drink.”
“You’re welcome. Sorry I didn’t know what you like, so I just guessed.”
“It was sour.”
The stranger laughs, thankfully humored and not put off by Yeosang’s frankness.
“Sorry. If you want I can get you something that maybe you would like?”
It does strike Yeosang as strange that this man would take interest in him, but he manages to filter that thought from being verbalized.
“I shouldn’t drink anymore, I don’t think… If anything I should have something to eat.”
“Ah. The bar here doesn’t have a kitchen… there’s a pub down the road that’s solid, though.”
“What’s your name?”
The man blinks at him wide eyed and surprised, but it’s been burning in Yeosang’s tipsy brain.
“Mingi,” The man says with another one of those brilliant smiles. “Now you have to tell me yours.”
“Y-Yeosang.”
“It’s nice to meet you. I know a pub down the street that’s got good food. Come on.” He nods in the general direction.
Yeosang stumbles as he follows the others' long stride.
“Wait- what about your, um, your bad? And the fans?”
Mingi shrugs dismissively, “They’re fine.”
Yeosang feels like he’s inhabiting a strangers body - because who the fuck is this guy getting food with a stranger? Time warps and suddenly he’s talking to a col rapper from a band. Is this real?
Yeosang wonders if this is what being normal is like. People just… do this? Just find interesting people and talk to them? Without crippling self-doubt? Maybe he should drink more often.
The two ramble over fries and greasy tteokboki. They bond over bands and albums they like, inspiration and games.
Yeosang starts reading Mingi's tattoos, and Mingi rattles off the meaning. Some are related to life events, others symbolize things that mean a lot to him, even loved ones.
"This? I just thought it was pretty," Mingi laughs.
"What about... This one?" Yeosang hovers his finger over the text.
"No risk, no fun?" Yeosang reads out. Mingi's grin widens, and he laughs.
"Yeah. Pretty straightforward."
Yeosang, still tipsy even after lining his stomach, laughs, "Damn. Can't relate."
"What do you mean?"
"I dunno. Never take risks, I guess. Too scared," He admits with a chuckle.
"Aw, come on. I'm sure you're selling yourself short," Mingi replies.
"Do I look like someone who takes risks?" Yeosang gestures to himself - t-shirt, jeans, glasses and all. "Yeah. No fun, I guess."
"I mean, you're here with me. That's kind of a risk, isn't it? I mean, how'd you even end up here?
"This is literally the first time I've ever actually done something like that... Ever."
"Even more risky then," Mingi says with a smile. Yeo can't tell if the other is being nice or patronizing - his face flushes either way.
"Yeah, for sure. I'm the picture of a daredevil in my plain t-shirt."
Mingi laughs,"What? You think it's about looks? Hey- don't let the tats fool you. I'm a total weenie. Risk-taking, being bold, all of that is on the inside."
"I guess..." Yeosang concedes mostly because he doesn't want to belabor the point. He doesn't even dare to wear non-neutral colors most days.
And it's not out of consideration of personal style. It's driven by pure fear - fear of being perceived, of being criticized, of disappointing his parents and not meeting expectations. It's so much easier to fade into the background and keep his head down.
He can't imagine even getting a little tat.
"You don't sound like you believe it," Mingi responds. He looks soft and unassuming in the dim light of the pub. It's so dark, the imposing man almost looks normal.
Yeosang's gaze flees to the cup of water on the table. He tracks a drop of condensation rolling down the glass, uncertain.
Tingling remnants of alcohol persist in his system, making him more bold than normal.
"I dunno. I see guys like you and I just... It sounds lame, but I guess I wish I was that... Cool isn't the word. Brave. I think that's the word."
"Oh..." Mingi replies, sounding awed.
"You get up on stage and put your thoughts into lyrics for everyone to hear. That's- I don't know if I could ever do that."
"You ever try?"
Yeosang's eyes widen, "Fuck no!"
"Why not?"
"Are you kidding me? I- I'd die." He's barely managing this conversation as is.
Mingi laughs, taking a swig of his beer, "Well, nobody just jumps on stage. And I'm not saying you want that, but whatever you do want to do... You gotta take baby steps first. I mean- This- this is a babystep here. So I think you're doing great. You're selling yourself short."
That makes Yeosang blush harder, and he's not sure he can continue looking Mingi directly in the face.
"I guess..." He responds. Spineless.
"Look, why don't you... Me and the boys have a gig next weekend. Another dive, nothing crazy. Why don't you come out?"
"Oh, I don't know..."
"Yes, you do. I know your type. You'll say 'I'll see what I have going on', but we both know your plans are laying in bed or playing video games. Then, last second, you say that something came up and you can't make it."
Read for filth. Yeosang takes a swig of water to distract himself.
"Hey, it's alright. The reason I know so well is because I'm the same way," Mingi admits. "I love my bed so, so much."
That pulls a laugh out of Yeosang. He ventures another glance at the musician - another spurt of booze-empowered bravery.
"I was scared for a second. Thought you were psychic."
"Come to the gig next week," Mingi says again. "Wear something risky."
Yeosang snorts, "Risky for me is, like, a red t-shirt instead of a black one."
"Okay, well- baby steps. Y'know they say that red shirts are the gateway to leather harnesses." The two of them laugh at that.
Sad part is, Yeosang's parents would probably believe that. Hell, they'd be mortified if they knew what he'd chosen to do that night: patronize a seedy dive bar, listen to rough music, share space with people showing cleavage, tattoos, and piercings galore.
It would scandalize them.
Most people have that rebellious phase as a teenager, but a combination of anxiety and fear of disappointing his parents snuffed out any such inclination in teen Yeosang. Now, as an adult, for the first time in his life, he feels the twitching nerve to do... well, to do something. Something more.
The two rambled on for a while longer, until the loud buzz in Yeosang's blood quiets to a dull hum. Much to his shock, he leaves that night with a phone number and a... Friend? Friend might be a bit much, but at least he has an ally. An ally in alternative.
Sounds nice and definitely not dumb, yup.
A week or so later, Yeosang is in crisis mode.
He doesn't own a red shirt.
Not one. How does he not have a single shirt with... Anything? In the sea of navy, beige, white and black, some have colorful logos or prints, but none of them are actually red. The fuck? Is he really this boring?
The impulse to go out and buy one strikes him. His body chemistry convinces him that this is basically life or death, that he can't show up without a red shirt, and if he can't show up, he'd disappoint Mingi. Or worse, Mingi would forget he exists, a devastating prospect.
Fueled by panic, Yeosang rushes to the nearest big box store and buys some basic red pocket-tee. It isn't even bright or bold, it's a nice, deep almost maroon tone - but it's the best he can do. His anxiety, unfortunately, persists. Still, after putting money down, he's determined to see it through.
He throws the shirt on top of the black one he'd worn. It unintentionally makes a layered effect, black peeking out beneath the red. Maybe it'll look like he did it on purpose. He continues burning through the anxious fuel propelling him and rushes to the venue.
He's too early, and there's a line out the door. The thought of buying a ticket, being ID'd - really, no thoughts at all, crossed his mind until then. He determinedly looks at his phone and pretends he isn't embarrassed to be alone in line. He pays the cover, gets stamped and heads in.
The words "this is dumb" play through his head on a loop, but at this point backing out would be stupider. Plus, what would Mingi say? He promised via text that he wouldn't back out.
The first band on is a pop-punk act with a femme lead. Honestly, they're incredible, and the good music soothes Yeo.
It reminds him how he really got there in the first place: music. Expressive, heart-wrenching, pouring-my-soul-out-over-electric-guitar music. The stuff he listened to in secret, the lyrics that resonated with him down to the bone even while being written by total strangers.
He can't really relate to people normally, but connecting with lyrics felt kind of like something. Like he can't make friends easily. He's bad at helping people out in need, and every attempt he makes to comfort people just comes out callous and wrong. But he can understand lyrics.
Lyrics come from within, and if he can understand and relate to those, then at least it's kind of like connecting with the real person writing them. Sort of. Also the guitar tracks are fun.
All that philosophical shit goes out the window when it's Mingi's turn. Yeosang sheepishly shuffles forward.
Apparently (though unsurprisingly) Mingi's group has dedicated fans. They happily hog the front row, but Yeosang manages to snag a spot on the very far end of stage left. He basically is watching Mingi's profile the entire time.
He nods along, pleased with how the sound system rattles his insides.
Mingi works the crowd. Up close it's easier to observe him and the way he thrives under the stage lights. He's wearing a shirt tonight, but the sides are cut to reveal the majority of his muscled torso.
They make eye contact - at least, Yeo thinks they do. He doesn't dare do more than smile back.
Their set ends with a different song this time, and Yeosang feels electric, anticipation putting him on pins and needles. He finds a spot further away from the stage and checks his phone, not quite sure what to expect.
He mills around trying to look busy, goes to the restroom and comes back out.
Finally after what feels like forever (but is more like 20 minutes, if that), Yeosang notices a group of people by the bar. Similar to the scene from before, Mingi and his bandmates stand there surrounded by a small cluster of fans.
Yeosang gives himself an internal pep-talk, hyping himself up.
Stuffing his fidgety hands in his pockets, he hesitantly approaches the little crowd. He's not exactly tall, and the people in platforms easily eclipse him, but Mingi - also tall - manages to spot him. A smile cross his features, and his eyes glimmer (or maybe that's the lighting).
"Hey, Yeosang! You made it," He says. The little crowd of people parts slightly to accommodate his acknowledgement.
Yeosang's thankful the lights block his blush. He parts his lips, but the words die on his tongue. Glancing around him, he sees longtime fans of the band.
The dedication is palpable, from their DIY wardrobe stabbed with safety pins, to the developing sleeves of tattoos, the short skirts and fishnets. They all watch him with eyes heavily made up with dark liner, and elementary as it is, he feels out of place.
Clearly, he interrupted something.
He's an outsider, an interloper, even. They've been loyal fans for presumably a long time based on the casualness of their conversation. Hell they could just be friends - actual friends - of his. Not strays like him. Surely they're wondering: what is this guy wearing two shirts doing here?
"Told you I wasn't going to stay in bed," Yeosang replies. He stuffs his sweaty hands into his pockets. "I, um, really enjoyed today's set."
"Yeah? Even without Tunnel?"
"Well, I did kinda miss it, but I liked the last one, too."
"You should play Tunnel next time, though!" Someone interjects.
Like a dog tugging a leash, the conversation (though calling their exchange a conversation is, admittedly, generous) gets away quickly. Minutes later Yeosang is blocked by tattoos, platforms, flowing hair and winged eyeliner.
His diminutive form fades into the background.
He tries to catch Mingi's gaze for a while, and when he does, he sort of nods in hopes that it's sufficient to communicate his intent to leave.
Once again he steps out of the bar. This time, he's sober enough to see himself home safely. He doesn't look back. His chest aches.
Disappointment hollows a void into his chest. He takes a long, hot shower and jumps into bed, hoping to forget the entire thing. Never again, he swears. Never again. Mingi probably felt bad for him before. What was he thinking? That an artist like that would want to be friends with him? Ridiculous.
The noise inside his brain echoes loudly, but it gets drowned out in an instant when his phone dings with a notification:
Mingi: Sorry we couldn't talk more...
Mingi: Red's a nice color on you ;)
In the past, Yeosang never understood addiction.
He could understand it, logically, but it wasn't a concept he related to. Maybe it's because he grew up so terrified of stepping out of line that he didn't so much as look at any substances.
Maybe it's because his tiny, wishy-washy brain can't commit to anything - even a vice. He often forgot things and lost interest in stuff easily.
But that message?
That hit his bloodstream as if applied intravenously. It's not overwhelming euphoria but something like a scratch being itched.
It's like putting on new glasses for the first time and realizing how shitty everything looked before. Yeosang sees - or, more rightly, he's been seen by Mingi.
And being perceived is terrifying, but when Mingi's doing it, suddenly it's almost... Validating? He can't properly describes it.
He needs more.
Yeosang doesn't dare voice his regard for the artist. They lapse into casual texting here and there. Yeosang asks about his music - he always loves seeing Mingi's drafts. Mingi never asks anything of Yeosang. He's always nice and responsive.
Yet Yeosang can't help but feel like he has to have something to show. This man with art covering his body and music in his soul has deemed Yeosang of all people worthy of his time. Yeosang wants to live up to that, even if it's one-sided and semi-parasocial.
But how?
Mingi: we play at PPC tomorrow, you should pull up
Yeosang: On a week night?
Mingi: oh sorry i forgot you have normal people hours, huh?
Yeosang: What time are you on?
He shows up to PPC, another small club, this time wearing the red shirt with nothing under it.
Mingi doesn't comment on it that time, but he does thank Yeosang for coming. He's surrounded again. Yeosang can't even get near the rapper, but he finds one of his bandmates nearby. He figures it's kind of rude to disregard the other members, so, in his mission to look "casual" he chats the guy up.
The other one is named Hongjoong - he's every bit as artistic and impressive as Yeosang imagines one of Mingi's confidants would be.
Yeosang manages a wave at Mingi and earns a nod of acknowledgement. He then witnesses the rapper glancing over to body-check one of the fans in their clique.
Yeosang's social life becomes more active than it's ever been.
That's a low bar, but it's something, for better or for worse. Mingi invites him to shows in the area, and like a puppy called by its master, Yeosang follows him. He justifies it by calling each show a "babystep". That's what it is.
It sort of works. In attempts to indulge in crumbs of Mingi's attention, he gets closer with Hongjoong who is genuinely nice and meets the drummer Sumin who's even more quiet than Yeosang himself.
He gets little nods and smiles from Mingi's. A wink from stage, once, that was something.
Mingi: saw you talking to hong
Mingi: im proud of you fr youre putting yourself out there
Yeosang: He's nice
Yeosang: At least he pays attention to me :p
Mingi: heyy i pay attention to you
Yeosang: I know, I'm kidding (He's not.)
Yeosang: Better watch yourself though, he might become my favorite
Mingi: hey thats not funny :(
Yeosang: I'm kidding haha
Yeosang: Does it matter though? Idk if I meet the height requirement for your fan club
Mingi: lmao
Mingi: just get bigger shoes
Yeosang: Not happening. I like my comfy sneakers.
Mingi: then how will i see you
Yeosang: Wear your glasses?
"I love the glasses!" One of Mingi's fans says, extending a poster toward him to sign. Mingi beams at the compliment, adjusting his rimless rectangular specs on his nose. Yeosang pretends not to overhear the remark. He presses his lips together to curb the smirk from forming on his face.
Mingi's so kind in messages, but whenever they encounter one another in person, things feel flat. He's distracted, eyes and attention drawn by people much more striking and savvy than Yeosang.
The scene consumes Yeosang's life outside of work and school. Yet he feels like a drop of oil in a lake.
Mingi: gonna pull up tonight??
Yeosang: Tonight?
Mingi: yeah at 23rd street?
Yeosang: That's tonight? I forgot! I work early...
Mingi: awww that's ok i'll miss u tho :((
Yeosang's self doubt creeps in. As if Mingi would notice he's gone. He eyes the message, eager to deliver denial.
Not out of spite, but out of genuine self-preservation. It'd be nice to at least try to get a good night's sleep. Mingi will just wave at him, thank him for coming, maybe wave while surrounded by a flock of hot goth shawties or whatever.
Yeosang: I can probably make it.
Spineless.
Mingi questions his dedication, even insisting he doesn't have to which sends Yeosang into a tailspin. Didn't he just ask if he was coming? Didn't he do so because he wanted Yeosang to be there? Or expected it? Why is he rebutting on that? Shouldn't he be glad? Yeosang frowns at his phone.
Social norms and unspoken expectations baffle him sometimes, and the idea of going back and forth like this fill him with dread.
Yeosang: I probably wouldn't be asleep, anyway. See you tongith.
Mingi: YAY!!!
Yeosang chuckles at the mental image of big, scary Mingi squealing "Yay!".
Yeosang shows up at the seedy pub shortly after doors open. He's practiced at having his ID ready and paying the cover charge at this point.
Mingi takes the stage, and he's no less stunning than the first time he set eyes on him. He delivers grit, smugness and anger.
He showcases grief and rage - all of those ugly emotions a person's supposed to hide, he displays under hot stage lights until it melts away to adoration. It gets Yeosang every time.
They play Tunnel that night, and Yeosang's chest throbs.
He feels both light and heavy after the set.
It's a quieter night, so Yeosang feels good about his chances to talk to Mingi. He waits casually by the edge of the bar. Repetition has made it slightly less excruciating to do so. It's practically routine at this point. He even knows the name of drinks and what to order at a bar now.
Mingi, Hongjoong, and Sumin slink in from the alley out back. Mingi's thrown a zip-up hoodie over his revealing getup. Yeosang decides to actually approach the other for once, but he loses his nerve when others cut in front of him. There are a combination of new faces and regulars.
"You didn't even know it'd be on the setlist."
"Had to find out for myself."
Mingi's grin widens. Just as he's about to say something in response, someone interjects. His attention gets snatched, and Yeosang gets to watch the man body check someone again before reaching out to sign something.
He utters a quick bye which he isn't sure Mingi even heard before seeing himself out. His vision glows a deeper red than the shirt he impulsively bought for the first show.
Just another turn of the cycle.
Another night where Mingi sees him but doesn't really look at him.
Yeosang hates that it bothers him so much. Friendship with the musician is enough. It should be enough. Yet his chest burns with jealousy and ire. Is Mingi just using him? Does he tug the other around to keep crowds at his little shows looking lively?
No. That's not it. And that's ungracious.
Yeosang heaves a sigh. When he lays down in bed later that night, exhausted and dreading his morning shift, he wonders why he does this to himself. Why can't he just be content with what they have? Why does he need anything more from Song Mingi?
Why won't he look at me?
The thought cuts through all the rest, his innermost desire laid out by his impulsive, impatient brain. Not like Yeosang blames Mingi, though.
Yeosang sees himself as plain, uninteresting. At best a pretty wallflower. He doesn't have the charisma or easy charm others do.
Why would Mingi look at him when there's nothing to see? The boldest thing he's done in recent memory is go to that battle of the bands, talk to strangers, and wear a red t-shirt. No doubt Mingi finds him boring compared to all of the other interesting, artsy types surrounding him.
It's not like Yeosang can go back in time, though, and tell his past self to secretly pursue arts or something like that. What does Mingi even like? Yeosang's never breached the subject - it's not something they bond over.
If the way Mingi body-checks is any indicator, it's definitely not Yeosang.
The man seems drawn to things much shinier than the plain student. People with piercings and personalities.
Piercings...
And personalities.
A lightning bulb lights up in Yeosang's head.
He can't buy a personality, can't go back in time to forge one or alter his own. But piercings...?
Yeosang: When do you guys play next?
Mingi: actually we have a couple weeks off. we'll be at a small fest after tho. i can send u the link if u want??
Yeosang: Please do!
Mingi: haha right on. i love ur enthusiasm its so wholesome
Yeosang: Are you making fun of me?
Mingi: no no im being fr
Mingi: i rly do like how dedicated u are
Mingi: not even bc im an attention whore and u like my music
Mingi: i just like how u like the music... its hard to understand
Mingi: i just feel like u genuinely enjoy it, no bs
Yeosang: I'd hope anyone going to your shows enjoys your music, haha.
Yeosang: Why would someone go see someone if they don't even resonate with their music?
Mingi: never change yeosang
Mingi: im being so serious
Yeosang: ??
Yeosang: Am I missing some social cue again?
Yeosang researches piercing places heavily. The idea of dying from sepsis or infection leads him in the direction of some accredited place that also does tattoos. He grips the chair he sits in with white knuckles as the bored-looking piercer stabs him. It's over before he realizes it's happened.
He picks up his next acquisition while grocery shopping, stalling in front of a makeup aisle. Makeup... That's a thing people do, right? He's always secretly loved the raccoon eye makeup donned by musicians for generations. On impulse, he throws some dark stuff in there - pencil eyeliner, a palette.
Time passes in a slow crawl. Yeosang and Mingi game and chat as per usual, but for once Yeosang's general anxiety is overtaken by eagerness. His heart beats fast on the day of the festival.
His piercings - simple silver studs - glimmer in his ears. He looks up a few tutorials and attempts makeup.
It's not great. He tried to kind of go for an MCR Helena vibe with red under his eyes and dark liner. He looks more like a sickly character from a movie, but he decides to swallow down his disappointment in himself and cope with the thought that looking sickly is also alt.
He even finds a dark leather belt in his closet that he got from his dad. He never wore it, always preferring comfort over constriction, but the black leather fits the vibe well, he thinks. Yeosang steps back to observe himself in the mirror, scanning himself up and down - the body check.
Black pants, black boots that he got for cold weather but can pass for docs, dark belt, black shirt, makeup. It's-
Who is he kidding?
It's still just him.
Him with makeup that gives off the impression that he's suffering from the flu. He frowns at his reflection, feeling silly for trying.
He contemplates wiping everything off, taking the belt away and changing into something comfy because fuck it, but a word plays in his head:
Babysteps.
Nothing is good the first time, right?
It'll be fine. But, still, Yeosang feels like he's missing something. Well more than one thing, really.
He doesn't own any cool accessories and lacks skills to do fun makeup or reform clothes like Hongjoong does. However, thinking about Hongjoong makes Yeosang realize: he may not have skills but he does have scissors.
Yeosang is running late at this point (not that it matters to anyone but him).
He rips his shirt off and grabs his scissors from the kitchen. They're typically used for opening up his amazon packages, but they'll have to do. He grabs one of his plain black tshirts and hacks at the hem. He then cuts the sleeves off, too. Everything looks messy, so he tries cleaning it up.
Glancing down at his sloppy work, it still didn't look quite right, so he snipped away until it looked decent to his untrained eye. Satisfied, he throws it on and glances in the mirror and-
Why is it so short?!
Yeosang doesn't have time to panic about his midriff. His phone pings with a reminder.
He throws on a buttondown to hide his indecent top and runs out the door, praying nobody looks at him too much. Nerves flurry inside his gut as he boards the bus, head down. He practically jumps out of the door once they hit his stop and finishes the walk to the fairgrounds where the fest is.
Music echoes from the main stage at the fair grounds, and people troll around, chatting and nodding their heads to the music. It occurs to Yeosang that maybe he should get friends to come to this thing. Most of them are far away - met through gaming or discord. But still, maybe it’d help.
He timidly unbuttons his overshirt, feeling slightly more comfortable among people dressed way more boldly than him. He scans his mobile ticket at the threshold of the entrance and steps in.
Yeosang's never been to a music festival before, and despite his anxiety, he enjoys the vibe of it.
Music echoes across the grounds, and people mill about. There are tents set up with merch, sponsors, food and even a bar. The crowd looks pretty substantial, and though Mingi isn't a headliner, Yeosang feels proud of him. It's a far cry from the dingy spots the band frequents.
Mingi: are u coming to qfest??
Yeosang: I'm already here lol. I told you I'd come.
Mingi: really??? :D
Yeosang: Why do you act so surprised every time I show up somewhere? Lol.
Mingi: bc i know you. i know its not ur scene.
Yeosang: Yeah but I'm not gonna back down on my promises.
That's kind of a lie. Yeosang absolutely has and would flake on commitments. Just... Not ones he makes to Mingi. He can't stand the thought of the rapper's pouty face directing sadness at him. He'd rather jump off a cliff. All in the name of babysteps toward progress, of course.
Mingi: where are u i can get u a backstage pass and say ur with us
Yeosang: Nah, you should focus on performing. You're up soon, right?
Mingi: eh couple of hours. u sure u dont wanna hang out? id love to seeee u
Yeosang considers the offer. It's very, very tempting. It'd probably be easier on him
Would he be more likely to get proper attention that way? Still, it seems like more trouble than it's worse. Mingi should focus on practicing - Yeosang knows how seriously the man takes his craft. He'd be nothing but a distraction to the artist.
Yeosang: After?
Mingi: kk!!
Mingi goes quiet after.
Yeosang decides to get himself a drink to iron out some of the wrinkles in his mood. He burns time perusing some of the merch booths before finding a spot off the side of the stage. He's far, but it gives him a good view, and he enjoys bopping to the music.
A radical feminist girl band comes on, and their cutting lyrics put a grin on his face. The alcohol starts to hit as the next band - a much more typical emo band - takes the stage. It's not groundbreaking, but he still has a soft spot for the stuff. At one point, someone even approaches him.
They ask if he knew the band on stage which, no, he doesn't.
"Oh, you looked really into it," The person said.
"Uh, I just like music, I guess," Yeosang shrugs, blushing at the attention. How does he manage to stick out in a place like this?! Still, the person is nice and he rolls with it.
The emo guys get off of stage, and a generic alt playlist blares from the speakers while production sets up for Mingi's act. Yeosang takes the time that normal folks use to piss to get as far forward as possible. He settles by the barricade and finally sheds his buttondown, tying it around his waist.
A few people he recognizes from the shows join him, and a couple even acknowledge him. He's equal parts relieved and terrified that these people perceive him enough to recognize him at this point. What do they think of him? Is he just that quiet weirdo that tails Mingi to them? Or a casual fan?
Yeosang fiddles with the sleeves of his shirt and the hot metal barricade. His anxiety kicks up, but he swallows it down insistently. Fuck that, he is not letting his brain ruin this for him. He'll shut it off if he has to. If not for his prime real estate at barricade, he'd get another drink.
Mingi, Hongjoong and Sumin step out to test and adjust their instruments. Yeosang cheers - not out loud, but on the inside he's cheering for them. His eyes track Mingi like a missile locking onto a target. He follows the other as he strides to the front, plugs in his guitar and strikes a few chords.
They continue for a few minutes before stepping backstage again. Someone bumps into Yeosang, and he turns around to grunt on reflex.
"Sorry," He says, even though he literally didn't even move.
The person says the same thing, muttering an apology, and that's when Yeosang notices the crowd.
It's not like it's significantly larger than it had been for the past two acts, but there are definitely more people. Some are probably just posturing for the headliners as their time approaches. Still, from barricade, it strikes Yeosang how big of a deal (and a crowd) the festival really is.
His heart pitter-patters with nerves, and he hastily turns around. It's not like anyone there has been bothersome. It's just that this is the biggest show like this that Yeosang has been to. (He doesn't count Disney on Ice in the same category even if attendance was probably higher than the fest.)
He turns back around and fixes his gaze on the stage, determined not to let anything get in the way of him and the show. Minutes later, the lights go down (not that it does much - it's still pretty light out) and Mingi, Hongjoong, and Sumin step onto the stage. Yeosang's jaw unintentionally drops.
Mingi had been in a big hoodie for soundcheck, but now he's clad in an insane leather number - shiny pants, vest with nothing underneath, and a long jacket. Stacked chains wrap around his neck, and wrists, accenting the tattoos covering his arms and sprawling his pecs.
The worst part is the length of the man's vest. It's kinda short. Like, just short enough to show a teensy weensy sliver of skin above his pelvis, and Yeosang is close enough at barricade to see the shaved down stubble of his happy trail.
What day is it again? Where is he? What color is his shirt?
Before Yeosang can collect himself, Hongjoong opens their set by shredding on his guitar. The display of skill elicits much-deserved cheers from the crowd, and then they're off to the races.
Yeosang grips the barricade in a vice, moving and nodding with the music while others headbang beside him.
He can tell they definitely catered their set to comprise their harder tracks for the festival which makes sense. It's definitely garnering the right reaction. By the third song, Yeosang's nodding has turned into headbanging without him realizing it. His neck aches, yet it makes him... Happy.
The bands' set passes in a blur, and while they do kinda-sorta slow it down, nothing so downbeat or serious as Tunnel gets played, which is fine. They take a brief moment to introduce themselves, and while Hongjoong's talking, Mingi scans the barricade. He waves to a few people before his eyes land.
Yeosang gets abruptly assaulted by the realization that he's being perceived. He gives the other a smile resembling the polite cat meme and a wave. Mingi's grin widens into something like- is that a smirk?
And he winks.
His eyes glimmer with mischief, and he holds that contact for a second longer.
When his gaze leaves Yeosang, the student's left trembling at the barricade, confused. Was something funny? Did Mingi see his shirt and think it's funny? Or did that mean something else? What social norm category does that fall under?
Thankfully, once Sumin's done with his shy intro, they move on.
Yeosang can feel the end of their festival set coming on, and it hits his heart with a bittersweet ache. People genuinely love it, and he's so proud of them - of Mingi, especially. To see someone's hard work pay off, to watch him blossom on stage, it's truly something else.
It makes him feel lucky just to be in Mingi's orbit. Whether he's a friend, acquaintance, or warm body filling out a venue, Yeosang feels privileged to be a part of it in some way.
Pain thrums from his shoulder and neck, but he doesn't give a damn anymore.
Their last song comes on, and it's definitely an apt finale in Yeosang's opinion. Guerilla is hard. He can feel the crowd's energy grow as Hongjoong plays the opening. People go insane when he screams, and limbs start flailing in Yeosang's peripheral. He's so absorbed in their festival arrangement.
It's even grittier than the way they typically play it, Yeosang can detect more backing guitars in the mix, and Sumin's drumming like he's got four arms. Yeosang sinks his teeth into the music, giddy with analyzing the song - its differences, its similarities, how it sounds so close to the speakers.
Then someone punches him in the back of the head.
Yeosang gasps, and - due to being completely unprepared - his body lurches forward, into the barricade. The grated metal digs into his ribcage, making him wheeze with discomfort. He turns to say something to the person and just barely dodges another.
Suddenly, a realization strikes him:
He's at the front of a show, the band is playing their hardest song, there's screaming, intense, powerful guitar and manic drumming.
What do people do at shows like this?
They mosh. And where is the pit located? Usually, front and center. And where is he?
Another person rams into Yeosang - it's clearly not intentional, just the result of physics transferring kinetic energy from one body colliding into the next. He ends up accidentally shoulder checking the woman beside him who pushes him away with shocking force and- oh.
He hates this.
He's read about moshing and thrashing and all of that shit on forum boards online. It's freeing, it's expression, it's living out the music - and that's great. He loves that for those people.
In that moment, he learns that he is not one of those. As a matter of fact, in that moment he realizes:
He hates moshing.
At least for him, anyway. He always envied people and how free it seemed, but the experience being touched and knocked around by strangers without warning makes him want to crawl out of his skin. His blood burns with liquid "do not want", causing his chest to tighten.
He curls in on himself, completely taken out of the music, and searches for a way out. His heartbeat hastens at the sight of bodies on bodies, throwing themselves around. There's no clear escape route. He considers just squatting down and curling up like a turtle, but that seems like a trample risk.
To his shock, a person next to him notices his state of distress. The woman looks like a dragon with eyeliner sharper than a dagger and tattoos covering the ample skin exposed. She mouths something that Yeosang can't hear over the music and holds an arm out, acting as a human barricade.
With her other arm, gestures to lead him through the little gap she'd created. Yeosang nods, dazed, and follows the little path. As absorbed as people are in the music, they part without fuss as he makes his way away from the stage. He wishes he could thank the mysterious dragon lady.
Overall, the entire ordeal of accidentally being subjected to moshing only lasted a minute, if that. Everyone was actually polite once they realized he didn't want to participate.
Unfortunately, those logical realizations do little to calm the anxiety raging in his body.
A stabbing sensation sears into his chest, and his body shakes with overwhelm. His head whips around in an attempt to find somewhere safe, somewhere isolated, but even where it's more sparse there are people. Too many people.
He walks off in some random direction and goes through his steps.
Deep breaths are the first start. He doesn't dare close his eyes for visualization, so he opts to try the grounding thing. Five... Five... Five trees? The diminishing daylight and hazy edges of his vision make it difficult to pick out trees from lamp posts. He ambles toward a fence on the far side.
His body quakes as he lowers himself alongside the metal. Five people? One, two, three, four, five. Touch something. What can he he touch. The idea of unwrapping his arms from around himself makes him want to die for some reason. He doesn't want to. That feels unsafe and uncomfortable. He's so cold.
He buries his head in his knees and shivers. He needs to calm down. What was he doing again? What's going on? The music has faded at this point, but his ears still ring. He wishes he could just teleport to his bedroom where it's safe and quiet and there are blankets.
"Hey, are you okay?" A stranger asks.
Yeosang curses internally. Why do people keep noticing him today? The last thing he wants is to pour his heart out to some random in Tripp pants (though he's always wanted a pair secretly). He stares at them, brain blank. Does he really have to answer?
"Hey," The stranger kneels down to get closer which is kind of patronizing. Yeosang shrinks away, very much disinterested in engaging.
"Are you with anyone?" The person asks. Really, they're being far too kind, but in his prickly panic, Yeosang can't appreciate it. Especially given his answer.
No.
Not really. He isn't "with" anyone. He came to see Mingi and the guys, sure, but it's not like he's really "with" them. He's just... There. Hovering. Like some weird outsider or a kid tapping the glass on a fish tank.
"Did you come here alone?" The stranger asks.
Yeosang shakes his head "no".
He does so in hopes of avoiding the stranger's discernment.
"Who are you here with? Are they somewhere nearby?"
What is he, a child? Yeosang grimaces. The interaction is doing nothing for his burgeoning attack.
"Mingi," He chokes out in hopes of getting the person off of his back.
"Mingi...?"
"Yeah."
"Okay... Where's Mingi at?"
Yeosang takes a deep breath to steel himself. The air passing through his lungs feels like it's got thorns, stinging him from the inside out.
"Backstage probably. I dunno- It's fine, though. I'm fine." He shivers.
"Alright, man, got it. Hey- have a good night."
Yeosang grunts, relieved when the bothersome Samaritan leaves his vicinity. Where was he? The breathing. He tries to steady his breath while pins and needles stab his feet and fingers - they always get weird at times like this.
Fuck.
Why can't he be normal? Why can't he just be normal?
Tears prick Yeosang's eyes as he takes quaky breaths to help his heart settle. He should go. He needs to go. He can text Mingi that he did great and leave.
He stands up, ready to make his departure when the person approaches him again.
Yeosang, at wit's end, snarls, "I said I'm- M-Mingi?"
Mingi stands before him, leather jacket replaced with a zip-up hoodie (though the rest of the fit is in tact). Yeosang watches him with wide, frenzied eyes, shaking like a damn chihuahua. Very dignified and not shameful at all.
"Hey. I- I saw you in the crowd."
Yeosang hunches a bit, hugging himself in hopes of hiding how pathetic he looks right now. He can barely choke out his words, "Yeah. I saw you, too. I mean- Obviously. You were on stage. It was really good. Really, really good." He can't even make eye contact.
"I saw you leave the pit, too..."
"You- you did? I'm sorry, I... I guess I'm not cut out for the mosh thing. Hope it didn't, um, distract or anything."
"What? Why are you apologizing I- it's- it's fine, Yeosang. I'm just glad to see you. Are... Are you alright?"
"I'm alright. Why wouldn't I be?"
"Oh, um, someone dropped by merch and said you seemed... Distressed."
Yeosang frowns.
"You should be signing stuff right now, right? Or promoting?" His chest burns like he'd been stabbed. He needs to go. He craves Mingi's presence on one hand, but he needs to go.
"I- I just wanna know that you're okay."
"I am calm."
"Oh- That- that's not something a calm person would say."
"Sorry. I have to go now." Ever the picture of grace and tact, Yeosang starts walking off, his vision still slightly bleary in his peripherals. Mingi follows after him.
His stupid long, muscular legs make it way too easy for him to keep pace with Yeosang.
"Hey- Wait! Why don't you hang out?"
"N-No thank you, that's fine. You should go back." The silver lining is that Mingi is a distraction from his body's fight or flight, but it's at the cost of Yeo's dignity.
"Hey! You-" Mingi crosses in front of Yeosang to block him. He glances around quickly to make sure nobody's around before continuing. "Why do you... Nevermind- Look, I just- Yeosang, I- I wanna hang out with you."
"What? Wait- What were you gonna ask?"
"That's not important right now. I just..."
Mingi sighs, his expression falling into that dreaded pout that Yeosang has had nightmares about. It's even cuter in reality, his eyes shining like boba balls while his plush lower lip juts out the tiniest bit.
"Let's get out of here."
"What?" Yeosang's eyes widen, and shyness sucker punches him.
Yeosang stutters, practically out of breath from nearly hyperventilating, "What- But you- you're in a band. You have to do merch- and isn't your shit backstage? You- You have to- we can't-"
"Okay, you're right- fuck, why do you have to be right?"
"Yeah. I know."
"Come with me."
Mingi grabs Yeosang by the wrist and drags him toward the backstage area for the bands. Yeosang's emotions wage war inside of him - embarrassment, panic, timidity and joy. Is this the first time Mingi's touched him? They're almost holding hands.
The thrill of it pumps even more adrenaline into his system which is, honestly, the last thing he needs. He might have a cardiac episode at this rate.
Mingi drags him backstage, asserting that Yeosang is with him when security asks. A few eyes follow them, but Mingi doesn't stop for anyone.
He takes Yeosang to a large, quiet tent with a sign reading "Green Room - Artists" and huddles him into a quiet corner onto a lawn chair.
"Tell me five things you can see," He demands while whipping his phone out.
That obvious, huh?
Yeosang sighs shakily and obliges, "Um... This chair. You. Rug."
Mingi's fingers move in a blur while Yeosang rattles off a few more things. Mingi asks for stuff he can touch - Yeosang feels the arms of the chair, the coarse weave of his denim, his greasy hair, his smooth leather belt.
Yeosang mumbles, "You don't have to-"
"I know what anxiety looks like."
Yeosang goes quiet. Mingi does know what anxiety looks like. It's written into a substantial amount of his music. That's part of what drew him to the man and his music in the first place - he felt so seen in those lyrics. He's always been able to understand Mingi's anxiety that way.
It never occurred to him that the script could be flipped like this.
Yeosang frowns, "I'm sorry for-"
"Don't apologize," Mingi replies. "It's fine. I... Actually, wanna talk a walk? I was serious before. Let's get out of here."
"What about your stuff?"
"I texted the guys, they've got it."
Yeosang's chest still throbs with pain, but the thorny venom coursing through his veins has petered out to something dull like a muscle ache. The two walk in surprisingly comfortable silence for a while, distancing themselves from the chaos of the festival.
Though he's much calmer, Yeo's heart still beats fast. Mingi stops under one of the street lamps and leans against it. He glances at Yeosang, opening his mouth to say something, but then he does something.
Yeosang freezes as if moving will kill the moment. He suppresses a gasp as Mingi's eyes move.
Mingi's gaze starts at his face, presumably to talk, but then it walks down, down, down - all the way to his feet, then it slowly sweeps back up.
The body check.
A swell of thrill flurries in Yeosang's chest and that's it, anxiety cured, actually he's fine now. His panic buried that desire.
But now it's back, baby. Yeosang tries not to preen as his chest throbs from emotional whiplash.
"A-Are you okay?" Mingi asks, visibly swallowing.
"Y-yeah," Yeosang responds. "Feeling better, thanks. You're right. I was, um, on the brink of an attack back there."
"On the brink?"
"Okay, well..."
The two laugh together, and it's such a relief to Yeosang.
"It's understandable. I can't believe you went right to the barricade. You're insane, you know that? Even dedicated fans don't go there unless they want to get hurt. You're hardcore."
"Right, well, I think my moshing days are behind me."
"Yeah? What about your crop top days?"
"My- Oh-!" Yeosang instinctively moves to cover his midriff. He'd been so occupied that he forgot his belly's been out the entire time. Embarrassment makes his cheeks sting with heat.
"What? No- Don't cover up. Why didn't you tell me have a six-pack?!"
"Oh, um, well I- I like to work out. Doesn't seem like an interesting topic of conversation."
"Seriously?! You know, I was joking about red shirts being a gateway, but this... Did you do it yourself?"
"Um, yeah. I mean- I definitely didn't own a crop top, so... I made one."
Mingi beams at him.
"That's literally, like, old school punk rock right there. Just hacking up your shit- I'm so- look at you!"
Yeosang's pretty sure he's the same color as a tomato at this point. He just sputters and shrugs. He always craved positive attention from Mingi, yet he never prepared for it.
"Ah- Thanks," Yeosang tucks some loose hair behind his ear. (At least, he tries to, but he somehow manages to miss his own hair so he tucks literally nothing behind his ear. Nice.)
"I'm serious, Yeosang. You're fucking hot!"
Yeosang laughs. He can't take it anymore. No more eye contact for him.
"There's that smile..." Mingi says. "Wait a minute." He pushes off of the street lamp and approaches Yeosang, leaning in until he's close. Very, very close. Mingi squints as if dissecting a work of art for critique. Yeosang braces himself for something else out of pocket.
"Your ears are pierced?!"
"Oh, that's, um, recent."
"Holy shit. Yeosang I'm so-"
Without warning, long, toned arms wrap around Yeosang and pull him close. Yeosang wishes he could say he hesitated to return the gesture - maybe that'd be more cool or aloof, but truth is, he reciprocates the second he gets what's going on.
He doesn't hug Mingi with any heavy intentions, but as happy chemicals flood his system, helping flush out the residual sting of anxiety, he finds himself burrowing more and more into Mingi's embrace. Thankfully, Mingi doesn't seem to mind one bit. On the contrary, he lets it happen.
Hell, he even encourages it, rubbing soothing circles along Yeosang's lower back. His hand is warm where it meets the slice of exposed skin, and it leaves an impression even when it moves elsewhere.
Yeosang can hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears, steady and loud like a bass drum.
"Um... Sorry..." Yeosang mumbles against Mingi's vest.
"You need to stop apologizing," Mingi answers, his voice soft. "It's okay to feel things, Yeosang. You don't have to always be calm or level-headed or strong. It's okay to want this."
"What?" Yeosang's eyes widen, and he backs off.
"It's okay to want, like, reassurance and connection, you know?"
"R-Right. Yeah. Yeah. I'm-" Yeosang almost apologizes but stops himself. He slowly unravels himself from Mingi's arms (feeling way colder in the absence of the other's hug). "Thanks. Seriously, I... I can't thank you enough."
"Aw, come on, you don't need to."
"You- you, like, ditched your band to grab my sorry ass. I think I do."
"Honestly I'm glad I'm here. I like the calm after the storm, and I'm glad I can actually hang out with you for once. You're hard to pin, you know that?" Mingi starts walking, and Yeo follows.
"Me? Says the guy always surrounded by adoring fans," Yeosang retorts.
"Okay, well- you always just wave at me, so I figured you didn't want to stick around."
"You always wave at me! Or wink, if I'm lucky."
"Lucky? Oh- You like it when I wink?"
"Shut up," Yeosang laughs, shouldering the other.
"Look- it doesn't even matter. We're hanging out now and that- that was some real shit."
"Yeah. Yeah, I guess it is."
"Hey, you don't need to be embarrassed. Shit happens, man. Anxiety, panic attacks- that stuff'll sneak up on you from time to time. It's okay."
"Yeah. Yeah, you're right. I just- just wish it didn't. I wish I could just be normal."
"Eh, but then you wouldn't be you. And, I mean, if you were normal: would we even be friends? Like- how would we relate with music without that connection? Maybe there'd be something but-" Mingi shrugs.
Yeosang struggles to stomach the thought of food, but he concedes that it's been hours and he should eat. He and Mingi walk the fairgrounds a bit longer and then find a nearby diner to grab food at. They share a kimchi pancake - Mingi wolfing it down while Yeosang picks at it like a bird.
Mingi radiates sunlight and warmth, and it helps immensely to thaw the frost clinging to Yeosang's mood. By the time Mingi invites Yeosang to his place to play Xbox, the anxiety in his ear is a mere whisper, and he accepts the invitation.
They play some FIFA and take turns on Elden Ring.
Alas, the toll of anxiety starts dragging on Yeosang. By the end of the night, the screen is a smear and his words are slurring. Mingi offers him the untouched half of his full-size bed, and Yeosang is so exhausted he doesn't think even once about it. Much less twice.
"Goo-nigh-" He mumbles out, cuddling into Mingi's blankets without any regard for what lucid morning Yeosang would have to deal with.
And, damnit, why couldn't anxiety-addled, more-than-half-asleep Yeosang of the past use his brain?!
Yeosang wakes to the trill of an alarm. As awareness dawns on him, pain knocks at his head, throbbing across his temples. Ow.
He calls this The Hangover.
It's not the kind brought on by excessive alcohol, but every time he has an anxiety attack, he feels like he got run over the next day.
His chest feels sore, his muscles ache, and he always gets a headache to top off the misery sundae. The alarm definitely isn't helping. He hesitantly blinks his eyes open, and the blur in front of him paws around, eventually silencing the ringer. It takes Yeosang's brain a moment to catch up.
That blur is Mingi. Mingi invited him over, they hung out all night, walked together, hugged, Mingi body-checked him.
Mingi body-checked him.
And now they're lying in bed, toes brushing beneath the blankets, facing one another.
Well shit.
Mingi yawns and wipes his eyes before acknowledging the man in his bed. He regards Yeosang with a sleepy, lopsided grins.
"Sleep okay?" He asks, voice extra husky due to just waking up. Yeosang's heart squeezes, and he curses internally. It's way too early for this pining shit.
"Like a rock," Yeosang answers, his own voice hoarse but moreso due to all the heaving he'd done. "Thanks for letting me crash."
"Any time. Sorry if my alarm woke you up."
"It's okay. I should get out of here... I- Shit, I'm in the clothes I worse yesterday. Aren't I?"
"Yup."
Yeosang groans.
His head throbs at that precise moment, eliciting another, more pained groan.
"I feel kinda like shit," He adds.
"Anxiety hangover?" Mingi asks, reading Yeosang as per usual.
"Yeah." He wipes a hand over his eyes and glares at the dark smudges on his skin. "My makeup... Didn't take that off, huh?”
Mingi laughs, "Waking up in a strange bed, hungover with last night's clothes and messy makeup? You're a real rockstar now, Yeosang."
Yeosang laughs, "Shut up. I didn't even drink!"
"Feels the same, though."
"Worse, actually."
"I don't know about that."
"Mmm. Oh god I don't want to move, but I have to..." Yeosang groans.
"You don't have to."
"What about your alarm?"
"Oh, yeah I just have that. I don't have anywhere to be, really."
"What about the festival?"
"We only played Saturday."
"Hm." Yeosang nods, pretending he knows how festivals work.
"Go back to sleep if you want," Mingi quietly urges the other. The offering is tempting, but something bothers Yeosang.
Actually, a lot of things bother Yeosang. He feels slightly greasy, disoriented, and sore all over. But more than that - he's bothered by how sweet Mingi is.
He's bothered by Mingi's puffy, sleepy face. He's bothered by the musician's easygoing smile and by the way his eyes twinkle in the morning sunlight that filters in through his window. He's bothered by his beautiful voice and how his tattoos contrast with his sensitive insides.
And most of all, he's bothered that Mingi gives a shit. It drives Yeosang insane how Mingi cares, how he's so sweet, and how he took care of Yeosang all of the night before, how he set aside everything, ditched his band and his fans, to make sure Yeosang was alright.
It all bothers the everloving shit out of him - and it has for a while now. It's slowly driven Yeo insane. That insanity is what got him to this point - all the shows, the red shirt, the drinks, meeting strangers, all of that fucking bettering himself, overcoming all of his anxieties.
He's dragged himself through proverbial hell in pursuit of inspiration, of bliss and attention. And, in the process, he's actually become a better, more resilient person. Mingi has, sometimes intentionally, sometimes not so much, pushed Yeosang to be better.
The bastard.
"What?" Mingi asks, breaking the silence.
"Hm?" Yeosang grunts.
"You're doing that intense stare thing you do right now. What are you thinking about?"
"What- What thing?"
"That thing. It's a thing- don't think I don't notice. You like-" Mingi imitates it, tilting his head and squinting a bit.
"Wh- I don't squint-"
"You do. It's really intense."
"I- I'm sorry. I don't mean to-"
"No, it's not bad! I like it, it's, like, you're really deep in thought. I just wonder what you're thinking about when you do."
"Oh, I..."
And Mingi's observant, too. Another thing to bother Yeosang.
"I like you," Yeosang says, blunt.
Mingi's smile widens, and he replies sweetly, "Aw, I like you, too."
Yeosang props himself up on an elbow. He glances toward the door, mentally mapping an escape before emphasizing.
"I don't mean that I casually like you as a friend, Mingi. I like you."
Mingi sits up and responds, "You mean like...?"
"Like romantically. I'm interested in you romantically. Hand holding. Kisses. That stuff."
"Oh." Mingi's eyes widen to an almost comical size.
And man what a relief that is to get off his chest! Yeosang springs out of the bed and makes for the door.
"Yeosang, wait!" He calls after the other.
"You don't have to respond or anything," Yeosang spits out, nearly at the door. Much to his chagrin, Mingi's stupid, sexy, long legs give him an advantage. He blocks Yeosang and pins him with a dire expression.
"I- I'm sorry for just- just putting that on you," Yeosang mutters, heat rising to his face.
"No- No don't apologize and don't you dare backpedal. Yeosang, I need to know: are you being serious?" Mingi asks, serious.
Yeosang's hands fidget with discomfort as he forces out his answer, "Yes."
"Of course I'm serious. Why would I lie about that?"
"You- you really mean it? You like me?"
"Yes. I... I don't want this to affect our friendship, though."
"Yeah, well, it's too late for that."
Yeosang sighs, defeat deflating the faux confidence he put on to deliver his confession.
"I understand," He answers, downtrodden. "I hope at least you don't think less of me. I want you to know I do genuinely connect with your music, and I think you're an amazing artist. I meant all of that. I- I don't want you to think I just said it to get your favor."
"What- Yeosang, I- No-!"
"What?" Yeosang's eyes widen. What is he doing wrong? He's being honest and courteous, isn't he? What else is he supposed to say in this situation? Why won't Mingi let him leave already?
"God, you are one dense motherfucker," Mingi sighs. He rolls his eyes and grabs Yeosang's face.
Yeosang freezes when Mingi smashes their mouths together. Is this real life? He wonders.
When their teeth clack together, sending a shock of pain up his jaw to his throbbing temples, he's assured that, yes, this is real life. It hurts too much not to be. He groans in pain as Mingi backs off.
"Fuck- Sorry. That was, like, way more romantic in my head," Mingi mutters, voice shaky. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I just- Yeosang, I really like you, too."
"Wha-?" Yeosang mumbles, dazed.
"I. Like. You. Too." Mingi says, nice and slow and clear so there's no mistaking.
Yeosang genuinely worries for his body. The frequent, sudden rushes of conflicting chemicals can't be good for it. Fireworks ignite in his chest when the words sink in.
Mingi.
Likes him?
Seriously?
"Yes, seriously," Mingi answers, his lips quirking up at the edges.
"Wha- but- you- you're- you're you. You're, like, you have a following."
"And?"
"Me, I'm- I'm me. I thought- I never noticed you looking at me."
"Probably because you're staring into space most of the time. Or, y'know, lost in the music. I see how you get into it when you like a song."
"Well, I... But..."
"Hey, dummy. I like you, okay? I'm serious. Ever since- well, ever since we met, actually," Mingi admits, pink rising on his neck. "I was touched by how you related to Tunnel, and then you- you're so. Well, whatever."
"No, keep going."
"Stop! I- I can't-"
"Sure you can. You write songs about your feelings all the time," Yeosang teases.
"Wow. We're dating for two minutes and you're already demanding I write a song about you?"
"Hold on- since when are we 'dating'? I think that requires a few steps be taken first. Not that I'd really know..."
"Okay, okay. You're right. Sorry, got a bit ahead of myself. Look, um, why don't we... Can we start with a proper kiss?"
"Fine," Yeosang answers, butterflies flitting around in his stomach.
"Okay. Fine." Mingi smiles.
He leans forward, much more slowly this time, and presses his lips against Yeosang's delicately. Yeosang doesn't have much experience, but he does his best to return the gesture, leaning in and standing on his tippy toes to better meet the other.
They melt into one another, finding a happy groove. They part a couple of times, but they keep chasing one another, not able to stand stopping. When they do finally part, Mingi nuzzles Yeosang affectionately.
"God- Feels good to do that after so long," Mingi whispers.
"Yeah. Yeah, it does," Yeosang agrees. His heart hammers against his chest, and his head swims with bliss. He's so happy. So, so happy.
But also so tired. His body completely aches with whiplash from all of the ups and downs.
"We should... Grab breakfast," Mingi remarks.
"I- I should go. I- I'd genuinely love to spend more time, but, um, I really need a shower. And more sleep, I think."
"Ah- Yeah, I get that," Mingi says. Though it's clear he's trying to hide it, some of his disappointment shines through. Yeosang nearly succumbs to the other's whim, but he resists.
"Breakfast and then I go home?" Yeosang proposes a compromise. Mingi brightens at that and nods. He lends Yeosang a hoodie to throw over his disheveled DIY crop top, and the two head out. Yeosang giddily snuggles into the oversized garment and determines that it's his now.
They grab a quick bite at a nearby convenience store and find a bench to enjoy their food in. Though the two of them eat in comfy silence, Mingi covertly holds Yeosang's hand inside his hoodie pocket.
The rapper - hardened as he seems on stage - is surprisingly clingy. Yeosang pretends not to love it.
They walk back to Mingi's apartment to exchange a few more languid kisses before Yeosang has to wrench himself away with a metaphorical crowbar. Mingi pouts as he sees the other off, insisting that he text later. Yeosang promises he will. He commits the sensation of Mingi's plush lips to memory.
He practically floats home. Any fucks he would normally give about looking insane from old eyeliner or greasy with his frizzy hair are completely gone, drowned out by pure, unadulterated joy.
As soon as he gets home, he jumps into the shower and promptly passes the hell out. Sleep is nice.
When he wakes up, hours later, he feels genuinely refreshed and lighter than he has in a long, long time. He boots up his PC and opens up his browser, looking at a few things before opening the messenger he uses.
Mingi: did u get home ok??
Mingi: are u asleep?
Mingi: hey just lmk how u feel ok?
Mingi: if u want to talk more abt this morning thats ok...
Mingi: but i dont regret anything
Mingi: hope ur getting good rest tho fr, promise ima stop messaging now loll
Yeosang smiles, heart swelling with fondness at the other's messages. He knows he'd be just as frantic if they were reversed.
Yeosang: I feel so much better now ^_^
Yeosang: Got a shower, more food, and SLEEEP.
Mingi: oh hell ya
Mingi: ok and this morning...?
Yeosang: Was wonderful.
Yeosang: Well except for the anxiety hangover and sleeping in jeans.
Mingi: so... are u cool with giving this thing a go?
Mingi: fr?
Mingi: realistically, it means that sometimes ill be travelling and busy
Mingi: other ppl are gonna thirst for me and shit
Mingi: someone might ask me to sign their titties.
Yeosang: And you'd say yes?
Yeosang: That sounds like sexual harassment.
Mingi: ok fair but do u get what i mean??
Yeosang: I do.
Yeosang: I'm not going to pretend that it's going to be easy or natural for me. Honestly, this is kinda new for me.
Yeosang: I don't really date or do relationships much...
Yeosang: But I want to try.
Mingi: i want to try too
Mingi: i just dont want to hurt u. thats my biggest fear..
Yeosang: We can start and see how it goes.
Yeosang: At the end of the day, all I want is to feel seen by you.
Mingi: trust me i always see you yeosang
Mingi: maybe u didnt realize it or think it
Mingi: maybe its my fault for not showing it well
Mingi: it probably is tbh
Mingi: but i always see you
Yeosang: Okay <3
Mingi: im sorry if theres anything ive done up to this point to make u think otherwise
Yeosang: Honestly, it's on me, too.
Yeosang: I don't communicate very well. That's something I have to work on, I guess.
Yeosang: Ugh booo emotional maturity.
Mingi: i know right
Mingi: gross maturity lets just make out
Yeosang: Soon, hopefully.
Mingi: yea?
Yeosang: Yeah.
Mingi: we're playing next sunday if u wanna come!!
Mingi: tho ofc we can like. see each other otuside of that lol
Yeosang: Yes to both.
Yeosang: I definitely want to support you, too.
Mingi: !!! ok lets think of something
Mingi: so excited whenever i hear ur coming to a gig tbh
Mingi: ill try better to talk to you ik im not great with split attention
Yeosang: I'm not worried
Mingi: ohhh love the in me confidence haha
Mingi: i am sorry abt that tho, genuinely
Yeosang: Don't be!
Yeosang: Fan interactions are part of what you do. It's not fair to hog you. I promise I'm not THAT jealous.
Mingi: not even a little? cause itd be lowkey hot if u were
Yeosang: I'm not gonna answer that
Yeosang: You'll see me Sunday
Mingi: !! k babe
Mingi: can i call you babe?
Mingi: also dont u mean "ill see you sunday" haha
Yeosang: Babe is fine.
Yeosang: Also, no, I meant what I said.
Mingi: ????
Yeosang chuckles, minimizing his messenger to go back to the browser on his screen. The online listing reads:
"Leather Men's Silver Ring Chest Harness - Add to Cart?"
Yeosang grins ear to ear and clicks:
"YES"