Ship/Member: Mingyu/Minghao Major Tags: N/A Additional Tags: au: non-famous, established relationship, the inherent intimacy of hair washing Permission to remix: Yes
orwyn, sorry to stray from your suggested prompt! i did start this gdoc with idolverse yjh but somehow came out with this instead
***
Mingyu wasn’t hungry.
By the time he clocked out of his restaurant shift and started walking home, it was well past dinnertime — and yet. The smell of smoke and kitchen grease lingered on his body. He couldn’t stomach the thought.
Cooking a meal to share with Minghao used to be a ritual of comfort, a balm to the wear and tear of a long day. In turn, Minghao would brew a tea to complement Mingyu’s dish: earthy pu’er, fragrant jasmine, nutty shui xian.
Those occasions had tapered. Their work schedules clashed. Temporary, Minghao said, after taking on overnight shifts at their local GS25. Just to help us scrape by, until I can get my art career off the ground.
The weeks passed them by. That was nine months ago. Minghao’s gaiwan and tea leaves sat in their cupboard, untouched for eight months. Seven months ago, Mingyu’s hunger had left him.
When Mingyu went home for Seollal, his eomma pinched his cheeks. You’re looking thinner, she clucked. Have you been eating?
Yes, eomma, Mingyu replied dutifully, letting himself be fussed over.
It wasn’t false.
Mingyu ate all day. A spoonful here to taste for seasoning. A bite there to test for doneness. The sights and smells filled his senses with the illusion of satiety. After evening service, Mingyu went home and stared blankly into their refrigerator, standing barefoot in the kitchen.
Lobster and truffle and foie gras, he’d said to his eomma in reassurance, puffing out his chest with airy bravado. They’re spoiling us! I have an expensive palate now.
(What he really longed for was the taste of his eomma’s bulgogi. Homemade kimchi. Hachiya persimmons from his halmeoni’s tree.)
Mingyu dragged himself into their apartment and-
Minghao’s hair was a hack job. Mingyu tried not to openly gape, but as he approached, he realized it was wasted effort. Minghao didn’t even glance up, focused on snipping another lock of hair.
Mingyu surveyed the room, avoiding eye contact with Minghao's canvases. It was difficult not to look, considering they were encroaching upon every spare inch of their 9 pyeong studio apartment. His most recent piece took inspiration from Victorian hair art; Mingyu had contributed several locks of his own hair for it.
Mingyu touched the small of Minghao’s back. “Hey,” he said gently. “What are you doing?”
“I…” Minghao trailed off. His eyes were wide, gaze distant. “I needed more hair.”
“Okay.”
“I’m almost done with this piece. I just ran out of hair.”
Mingyu tamped down the prickling unease.
“It’s late,” Mingyu said finally. “Come get ready for bed?”
Mingyu pried the scissors from Minghao’s grip. Minghao’s hand shook.
The bathtub was a touch too small. After Minghao folded his lanky limbs into the tub, his knees jutted out over the surface.
“Lean back,” instructed Mingyu.
Eyes closed, Minghao obediently tipped his head into the cradle of Mingyu’s hand.
The sound of the trickling water filled the bathroom. Mingyu dipped the cup into the water again and again, pouring it carefully over Minghao’s hair to rinse away the suds.
When Mingyu massaged the base of Minghao’s neck, where he tended to carry tension, the furrow of Minghao’s brow smoothed out. I love you, thought Mingyu helplessly. It pulsated through him like a throb, down to his fingertips. I love you. He pressed it into Minghao’s skin. I love you.
His knees ached against the hard tile. He shifted his weight.
“I’m sorry,” mumbled Minghao.
“What for?”
Minghao shook his head.
“There’s nothing you have to be sorry for,” Mingyu said softly.
Minghao was quiet for a long moment. He tipped his head to the side and pressed a kiss to the inside of Mingyu’s forearm.
The gentle touch cracked open in Mingyu’s chest, unbearable.
“Do you still think about it?” Minghao’s voice came out a whisper. “When we used to talk about all the things we’d do. All the places we’d see.”
“Of course,” murmured Mingyu. “Of course I do.”
Thumbing at Minghao’s cheek, Mingyu wicked away a stray water droplet.
“I’ll take you somewhere beautiful,” Mingyu said, voice shaky. He swallowed hard until he trusted himself to sound steady. “And I’ll build us that house on the beach. It has a bathtub. One big enough for your long legs.”
Minghao laughed, watery.
Mingyu leaned down to give Minghao an open-mouthed kiss.
When Minghao pulled back, he kept his arms looped around Mingyu’s neck, then said, “I bought you a persimmon.”
Mingyu felt the smile split his mouth. “Really?”
“A hachiya. It’s ripe, so you should eat it soon.”
“Tomorrow,” promised Mingyu. “I’ll cook something and we’ll share it after.”
[FILL] somewhere beautiful
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: au: non-famous, established relationship, the inherent intimacy of hair washing
Permission to remix: Yes
orwyn, sorry to stray from your suggested prompt! i did start this gdoc with idolverse yjh but somehow came out with this instead
***
Mingyu wasn’t hungry.
By the time he clocked out of his restaurant shift and started walking home, it was well past dinnertime — and yet. The smell of smoke and kitchen grease lingered on his body. He couldn’t stomach the thought.
Cooking a meal to share with Minghao used to be a ritual of comfort, a balm to the wear and tear of a long day. In turn, Minghao would brew a tea to complement Mingyu’s dish: earthy pu’er, fragrant jasmine, nutty shui xian.
Those occasions had tapered. Their work schedules clashed. Temporary, Minghao said, after taking on overnight shifts at their local GS25. Just to help us scrape by, until I can get my art career off the ground.
The weeks passed them by. That was nine months ago. Minghao’s gaiwan and tea leaves sat in their cupboard, untouched for eight months. Seven months ago, Mingyu’s hunger had left him.
When Mingyu went home for Seollal, his eomma pinched his cheeks. You’re looking thinner, she clucked. Have you been eating?
Yes, eomma, Mingyu replied dutifully, letting himself be fussed over.
It wasn’t false.
Mingyu ate all day. A spoonful here to taste for seasoning. A bite there to test for doneness. The sights and smells filled his senses with the illusion of satiety. After evening service, Mingyu went home and stared blankly into their refrigerator, standing barefoot in the kitchen.
Lobster and truffle and foie gras, he’d said to his eomma in reassurance, puffing out his chest with airy bravado. They’re spoiling us! I have an expensive palate now.
(What he really longed for was the taste of his eomma’s bulgogi. Homemade kimchi. Hachiya persimmons from his halmeoni’s tree.)
Mingyu dragged himself into their apartment and-
Minghao’s hair was a hack job. Mingyu tried not to openly gape, but as he approached, he realized it was wasted effort. Minghao didn’t even glance up, focused on snipping another lock of hair.
Mingyu surveyed the room, avoiding eye contact with Minghao's canvases. It was difficult not to look, considering they were encroaching upon every spare inch of their 9 pyeong studio apartment. His most recent piece took inspiration from Victorian hair art; Mingyu had contributed several locks of his own hair for it.
Mingyu touched the small of Minghao’s back. “Hey,” he said gently. “What are you doing?”
“I…” Minghao trailed off. His eyes were wide, gaze distant. “I needed more hair.”
“Okay.”
“I’m almost done with this piece. I just ran out of hair.”
Mingyu tamped down the prickling unease.
“It’s late,” Mingyu said finally. “Come get ready for bed?”
Mingyu pried the scissors from Minghao’s grip. Minghao’s hand shook.
The bathtub was a touch too small. After Minghao folded his lanky limbs into the tub, his knees jutted out over the surface.
“Lean back,” instructed Mingyu.
Eyes closed, Minghao obediently tipped his head into the cradle of Mingyu’s hand.
The sound of the trickling water filled the bathroom. Mingyu dipped the cup into the water again and again, pouring it carefully over Minghao’s hair to rinse away the suds.
When Mingyu massaged the base of Minghao’s neck, where he tended to carry tension, the furrow of Minghao’s brow smoothed out. I love you, thought Mingyu helplessly. It pulsated through him like a throb, down to his fingertips. I love you. He pressed it into Minghao’s skin. I love you.
His knees ached against the hard tile. He shifted his weight.
“I’m sorry,” mumbled Minghao.
“What for?”
Minghao shook his head.
“There’s nothing you have to be sorry for,” Mingyu said softly.
Minghao was quiet for a long moment. He tipped his head to the side and pressed a kiss to the inside of Mingyu’s forearm.
The gentle touch cracked open in Mingyu’s chest, unbearable.
“Do you still think about it?” Minghao’s voice came out a whisper. “When we used to talk about all the things we’d do. All the places we’d see.”
“Of course,” murmured Mingyu. “Of course I do.”
Thumbing at Minghao’s cheek, Mingyu wicked away a stray water droplet.
“I’ll take you somewhere beautiful,” Mingyu said, voice shaky. He swallowed hard until he trusted himself to sound steady. “And I’ll build us that house on the beach. It has a bathtub. One big enough for your long legs.”
Minghao laughed, watery.
Mingyu leaned down to give Minghao an open-mouthed kiss.
When Minghao pulled back, he kept his arms looped around Mingyu’s neck, then said, “I bought you a persimmon.”
Mingyu felt the smile split his mouth. “Really?”
“A hachiya. It’s ripe, so you should eat it soon.”
“Tomorrow,” promised Mingyu. “I’ll cook something and we’ll share it after.”