Ship/Member: Mingyu/Wonwoo Major Tags: N/A Additional Tags: idolverse, kissing, /bare minimum/ repression Permission to remix: Yes
HAPPY BIRTHDAY PB!!!! here's a tiny happy meanie for you, friend. I hope you have a great day <3
***
“Loving someone is not just the feeling of wanting to give them things. It’s the desperate desire to give them things.” – Bo Ra, Reply 1988
Near the end of their schedule, Mingyu senses Wonwoo start shivering.
They’re huddled in a semicircle of wicker chairs at dusk, running late, pushing through a Going Seventeen thigh wrestling tournament despite the 3°C weather. The sky is the color of a fresh bruise. Seungkwan and Seokmin are cheering loudly enough to muffle the click-clack keyboard noise of Wonwoo’s teeth chattering—but Mingyu still hears it.
Instinctually, Mingyu goes to throw an arm over Wonwoo’s shoulders. Hesitates. Approximately six cameras are pointed at their faces right now, sharp as knives and deadlier, too.
Wonwoo doesn’t like to be touched in front of the camera. Not by Mingyu, at least.
So Mingyu pretends he was stretching and folds himself back into his chair. Faking an itchy neck, he smothers the mic on his collar and murmurs, “Hyung, do you want my scarf?”
Steam from his breath ghosts along Wonwoo’s shoulder. Wonwoo turns his face ever so slightly towards Mingyu. Golden light from the Fresnel lens reflects on his glasses like miniature suns. His nose and cheeks are pink from cold.
“I have one,” Wonwoo says, tugging at the flimsy pseudo-bandana around his neck. “But thanks.”
It takes approximately twenty-one minutes for filming to end. Mingyu spends the entire time planning out their escape route. When the director announces they’re done for the night—when the eagle eyes are finally and fully diverted—he grabs Wonwoo by the gloved hand.
“We’re leaving,” Mingyu says shortly, leaving no room for argument. “Ride with me.”
“If you ins-sist.” Wonwoo shrugs. He adjusts his glasses with one finger and pretends he wasn’t stuttering.
Idiot. Mingyu knows, logically, that Wonwoo is just shivering. He doesn’t have lockjaw from the onset of hypothermia or anything. Still, watching your favorite person in discomfort is the absolute worst.
The van is empty. Manager Park is still conferring with Manager Jeon, packing up whatever shit they carry in those fancy briefcases. Mingyu bundles Wonwoo into the backseat and crawls in beside him.
Wonwoo still doesn’t get it. His eyebrows scrunch together. “Do you really want to get back or something?”
“What I really want is to warm you up.”
Mingyu plucks off his own gloves and makes quick work of Wonwoo’s. Their skin is a mingling of ice. He brings the knot of their fingers to his mouth and blows gently, like he would with a full cup of tea.
Wonwoo’s face goes soft. “Oh. That’s why you were fussing earlier.”
“You were obviously freezing! I wanted to—“ Mingyu cuts himself off, presses his mouth briefly against the solid pulse at Wonwoo’s wrist. His lifeline. “I couldn’t do anything about it during the shoot. But I can now.”
Wonwoo shifts his shoulders toward Mingyu. Like this, face-to-face in the backseat, they’re the same height. He smells like his fancy cherry blossom cologne, like their shared bedroom.
“Yah,” Wonwoo says feebly. “You worry too much. I should be the one taking care of you.”
Mingyu shrugs and bites back a smile. He’s good at love and he refuses to be embarrassed about it.
“You’re like, six years too late to pull rank.”
They don’t have a lot of time. Even now, through the tinted windows, Mingyu can see Jeonghan and Joshua start to approach the vans. They’re sidetracked at the last moment by remnants of the snack table.
Wonwoo is watching him with something like understanding. Maybe appreciation, if Mingyu lets himself hope. He doesn’t often let himself hope when it comes to Wonwoo, but right now, in the dim backseat of the van...
“Thank you,” Wonwoo says, and then they’re kissing.
Mingyu’s whole word goes pink. The first kiss is quick, soft. Wonwoo leans closer and the second kiss is warm. His pulse pounds under Mingyu's fingers. They’ve never done this outside of stolen midnight moments, or the dark hollows of their bedroom, and it’s exciting. Thrilling.
Six months ago, Wonwoo had walked in on Mingyu dusting their room while shirtless. He'd leaned over the bedside dresser, apropos of nothing, and planted both hands on Mingyu’s waist to kiss him silly. The words he’d used, afterwards, were finally and couldn't take it. Mingyu could barely believe his luck. The hopeless feelings he’d starved since before debut… weren’t hopeless after all. They were reciprocated.
Now Mingyu lights up from the inside, feels like the sun, feels like love must be shining out of his goddamn pores. From tiny kitten kisses alone! Wonwoo has no idea what a monster he's created.
Mingyu tugs Wonwoo’s hands underneath his own shirt, presses their chilled fingers against the flexed muscles of his abdomen. Partly to show off and partly to warm Wonwoo’s skin faster. Their kisses slide deeper, sloppy when Wonwoo smiles. Noses bump and push his glasses askew.
There’s a scuffle from outside. Mingyu jerks back—lips still parted, heart trembling in his mouth—when the door opens. Wonwoo’s face goes carefully blank.
Junhui takes one look at them and giggles. He and Chan climb into the middle row of seats, their nylon jackets rustling up a symphony. Mingyu’s heart rate slows. He peeks back at Wonwoo, feeling silly and scared suddenly so young —but Wonwoo’s not looking at him. They sit an excruciating finger-length apart for the entire drive back to the dorms.
Maybe Wonwoo’s angry that they almost got caught. It’s not like they’re a secret, not among the members, but. Whatever the antithesis of PDA is, that’s Wonwoo’s game. He covets privacy more than most.
Mingyu keeps sneaking glances. Wonwoo’s face is made of stone. All the way up the elevator, through the door, into the strained light of their shared room…
Until Wonwoo slams the door with one bony elbow. Seconds later he’s on Mingyu, pressing him against the closed closet door, both hands eclipsing his face. He’s gentle, but not graceful. A knee collides with the side of the desk and sends his aloe plant tumbling to the carpet, pot first.
Mingyu is grinning too hard to kiss back properly.
“Shut up,” Wonwoo mumbles, moving to nip at his neck.
Mingyu laughs. It tumbles out of him like music. “I didn’t say anything! I just—I thought you were mad, but maybe you were just horny—”
Wonwoo sighs. “Do you know how impossible it is to stay mad at you? I’ve tried.”
He pushes himself back a little, one hand braced on the wall. Mingyu has to tilt his chin down to make eye contact. The reminder that Wonwoo is physically smaller than him shouldn’t send a thrill up his spine, but—he loves that. Revels in their differences.
Mingyu’s fingers tangle in the bottom hem of Wonwoo’s sweater reflexively. He spreads his knees and tugs Wonwoo back into his space. “Damn. Hyung. Maybe we should film in the cold more often.”
Wonwoo gives him a very flat look. Mingyu doesn’t mind, because Wonwoo kisses him again anyway.
meanie renaissance 2021
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: idolverse, kissing, /bare minimum/ repression
Permission to remix: Yes
HAPPY BIRTHDAY PB!!!! here's a tiny happy meanie for you, friend. I hope you have a great day <3
***
“Loving someone is not just the feeling of wanting to give them things. It’s the desperate desire to give them things.” – Bo Ra, Reply 1988
Near the end of their schedule, Mingyu senses Wonwoo start shivering.
They’re huddled in a semicircle of wicker chairs at dusk, running late, pushing through a Going Seventeen thigh wrestling tournament despite the 3°C weather. The sky is the color of a fresh bruise. Seungkwan and Seokmin are cheering loudly enough to muffle the click-clack keyboard noise of Wonwoo’s teeth chattering—but Mingyu still hears it.
Instinctually, Mingyu goes to throw an arm over Wonwoo’s shoulders. Hesitates. Approximately six cameras are pointed at their faces right now, sharp as knives and deadlier, too.
Wonwoo doesn’t like to be touched in front of the camera. Not by Mingyu, at least.
So Mingyu pretends he was stretching and folds himself back into his chair. Faking an itchy neck, he smothers the mic on his collar and murmurs, “Hyung, do you want my scarf?”
Steam from his breath ghosts along Wonwoo’s shoulder. Wonwoo turns his face ever so slightly towards Mingyu. Golden light from the Fresnel lens reflects on his glasses like miniature suns. His nose and cheeks are pink from cold.
“I have one,” Wonwoo says, tugging at the flimsy pseudo-bandana around his neck. “But thanks.”
It takes approximately twenty-one minutes for filming to end. Mingyu spends the entire time planning out their escape route. When the director announces they’re done for the night—when the eagle eyes are finally and fully diverted—he grabs Wonwoo by the gloved hand.
“We’re leaving,” Mingyu says shortly, leaving no room for argument. “Ride with me.”
“If you ins-sist.” Wonwoo shrugs. He adjusts his glasses with one finger and pretends he wasn’t stuttering.
Idiot. Mingyu knows, logically, that Wonwoo is just shivering. He doesn’t have lockjaw from the onset of hypothermia or anything. Still, watching your favorite person in discomfort is the absolute worst.
The van is empty. Manager Park is still conferring with Manager Jeon, packing up whatever shit they carry in those fancy briefcases. Mingyu bundles Wonwoo into the backseat and crawls in beside him.
Wonwoo still doesn’t get it. His eyebrows scrunch together. “Do you really want to get back or something?”
“What I really want is to warm you up.”
Mingyu plucks off his own gloves and makes quick work of Wonwoo’s. Their skin is a mingling of ice. He brings the knot of their fingers to his mouth and blows gently, like he would with a full cup of tea.
Wonwoo’s face goes soft. “Oh. That’s why you were fussing earlier.”
“You were obviously freezing! I wanted to—“ Mingyu cuts himself off, presses his mouth briefly against the solid pulse at Wonwoo’s wrist. His lifeline. “I couldn’t do anything about it during the shoot. But I can now.”
Wonwoo shifts his shoulders toward Mingyu. Like this, face-to-face in the backseat, they’re the same height. He smells like his fancy cherry blossom cologne, like their shared bedroom.
“Yah,” Wonwoo says feebly. “You worry too much. I should be the one taking care of you.”
Mingyu shrugs and bites back a smile. He’s good at love and he refuses to be embarrassed about it.
“You’re like, six years too late to pull rank.”
They don’t have a lot of time. Even now, through the tinted windows, Mingyu can see Jeonghan and Joshua start to approach the vans. They’re sidetracked at the last moment by remnants of the snack table.
Wonwoo is watching him with something like understanding. Maybe appreciation, if Mingyu lets himself hope. He doesn’t often let himself hope when it comes to Wonwoo, but right now, in the dim backseat of the van...
“Thank you,” Wonwoo says, and then they’re kissing.
Mingyu’s whole word goes pink. The first kiss is quick, soft. Wonwoo leans closer and the second kiss is warm. His pulse pounds under Mingyu's fingers. They’ve never done this outside of stolen midnight moments, or the dark hollows of their bedroom, and it’s exciting. Thrilling.
Six months ago, Wonwoo had walked in on Mingyu dusting their room while shirtless. He'd leaned over the bedside dresser, apropos of nothing, and planted both hands on Mingyu’s waist to kiss him silly. The words he’d used, afterwards, were finally and couldn't take it. Mingyu could barely believe his luck. The hopeless feelings he’d starved since before debut… weren’t hopeless after all. They were reciprocated.
Now Mingyu lights up from the inside, feels like the sun, feels like love must be shining out of his goddamn pores. From tiny kitten kisses alone! Wonwoo has no idea what a monster he's created.
Mingyu tugs Wonwoo’s hands underneath his own shirt, presses their chilled fingers against the flexed muscles of his abdomen. Partly to show off and partly to warm Wonwoo’s skin faster. Their kisses slide deeper, sloppy when Wonwoo smiles. Noses bump and push his glasses askew.
There’s a scuffle from outside. Mingyu jerks back—lips still parted, heart trembling in his mouth—when the door opens. Wonwoo’s face goes carefully blank.
Junhui takes one look at them and giggles. He and Chan climb into the middle row of seats, their nylon jackets rustling up a symphony. Mingyu’s heart rate slows. He peeks back at Wonwoo, feeling silly and scared suddenly so young —but Wonwoo’s not looking at him. They sit an excruciating finger-length apart for the entire drive back to the dorms.
Maybe Wonwoo’s angry that they almost got caught. It’s not like they’re a secret, not among the members, but. Whatever the antithesis of PDA is, that’s Wonwoo’s game. He covets privacy more than most.
Mingyu keeps sneaking glances. Wonwoo’s face is made of stone. All the way up the elevator, through the door, into the strained light of their shared room…
Until Wonwoo slams the door with one bony elbow. Seconds later he’s on Mingyu, pressing him against the closed closet door, both hands eclipsing his face. He’s gentle, but not graceful. A knee collides with the side of the desk and sends his aloe plant tumbling to the carpet, pot first.
Mingyu is grinning too hard to kiss back properly.
“Shut up,” Wonwoo mumbles, moving to nip at his neck.
Mingyu laughs. It tumbles out of him like music. “I didn’t say anything! I just—I thought you were mad, but maybe you were just horny—”
Wonwoo sighs. “Do you know how impossible it is to stay mad at you? I’ve tried.”
He pushes himself back a little, one hand braced on the wall. Mingyu has to tilt his chin down to make eye contact. The reminder that Wonwoo is physically smaller than him shouldn’t send a thrill up his spine, but—he loves that. Revels in their differences.
Mingyu’s fingers tangle in the bottom hem of Wonwoo’s sweater reflexively. He spreads his knees and tugs Wonwoo back into his space. “Damn. Hyung. Maybe we should film in the cold more often.”
Wonwoo gives him a very flat look. Mingyu doesn’t mind, because Wonwoo kisses him again anyway.