Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

When Mingi absentmindedly tapped on the notification from the boys group chat, he wasn’t expecting his heart to shatter. The photo that was sent stared back at him; Yunho, grinning wide, eyes bright with a happiness that should’ve been infectious. Iseul, nestled close, her hand proudly displayed and there on her finger was the engagement ring that made Mingi’s stomach drop. In the background, the bright lights of Tokyo at night shone. Yunho promised so long ago that he and Mingi would take a trip there.

His fingers trembled where they hovered over the screen. The caption beneath the image blurred as he swallowed past the tightness in his throat.

윤호 [21:37]

She said yes!

Mingi forced a smile. Forced himself to breathe. Forced himself to type a response, something lighthearted, something normal, something a best friend should say.

When they were at the bar, weeks later, and it was his turn to unwrap his gift from Yunho, he did so with a nervous smile, fingers fumbling slightly at the ribbon. Around him, the others—San, Wooyoung, and Yeosang—were already admiring their own gifts: sleek bow ties, each accompanied by a small tag with the same heartfelt message. 

"Will you be my groomsman?"

Mingi swallowed, chest tight as he pulled the wrapping away to reveal his own box. He lifted the lid, expecting the exact same gift, but instead, his breath hitched. Nestled inside was a bow tie just like the others—but his tag was different. 

"Will you be my best man?"

For a second, he froze. His grip on the box tightened, the weight of it suddenly unbearable.

Of course, it made sense. He and Yunho had been inseparable for as long as he could remember. Best friends. Brothers in everything but blood. But standing at Yunho’s side as he married Iseul—watching him promise forever to someone else—felt like a cruel joke the universe had decided to play on him.

His lips parted, an excuse almost slipping out, but then Yunho’s voice broke through his hesitation.

“Mingi?” Yunho’s eyes were wide, hopeful. “You’ll do it, right? I can’t imagine anyone else up there with me.”

Mingi forced a smile, pushing everything down—everything he couldn’t say, couldn’t feel. Yunho was happy. That was all that mattered.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Of course.”

When the tailor handed Mingi his suit during the final fittings, Mingi thought he was going to be sick. He’d held his nerve, gave a quiet “thanks” before looking up at Yunho, who accepted his own with a smile so big, Mingi wondered if he’d even seen him that happy before.

The fitting had been nothing out of the ordinary for them—San dramatically complaining about the stiffness of his jacket, Wooyoung insisting on trying on every cufflink option available, and Yeosang meticulously adjusting himself in the mirror. Laughter filled the space, playful teasing bouncing between them, the kind of easy, familiar atmosphere that made everything feel light. It was a good day. A simple, happy day. For the others, anyway.

And then Yunho stepped out in his suit, and Mingi's breath caught.

He looked perfect—the crisp lines, the tailored fit, the way confidence settled so naturally on him. He had always been handsome, but this was different. Seeing him like this, looking every bit the man ready to walk down the aisle, made something deep in Mingi’s chest ache.

It should have been enough to just be here, standing beside Yunho, sharing this moment. But as he watched him laugh, so effortlessly beautiful, Mingi wished—just for a second—that he was the one waiting at the altar for him instead.

Then Yunho turned to him, reaching out like he always did, tugging at Mingi’s lapels, smoothing out the fabric on his shoulders. "Looks good on you," he said with a grin, warm and familiar.

And Mingi almost said it. Almost let the words slip, almost let himself ruin everything.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he forced a smile, swallowed the lump in his throat, and got through the rest of the day like nothing was the matter.

When Yunho’s bachelor party came around, Mingi got so drunk he’s surprised he didn’t embarrass himself any further than he did. He remembered being all over Yunho, his arms draped around his neck, their voices loud and off-key as they sang along to whatever the DJ blasted through the club. 

The drinks kept coming, and Mingi kept taking them, hoping that if he had enough, he’d forget. Forget that his best friend and the man he’d been in love with since he was fifteen was getting married to someone else next week.

But no amount of alcohol could drown out the ache in his chest.

At some point in the night, it all caught up to him. The weight of it. The inevitability. He didn’t even realise he was crying until Yunho found him slumped in a corner, his body wracked with quiet sobs. Inconsolable.

“Mingiya—hey, what’s wrong?” Yunho sounded concerned, his hands firm on Mingi’s shoulders, trying to steady him. But Mingi couldn’t answer, couldn’t form the words without spilling everything he had spent years burying.

That was enough for Yunho to call it a night. With Seonghwa’s help, he got Mingi out of the club, an arm slung over each of their shoulders as they half-carried, half-guided him home.

Mingi let them. Let himself be led away, let himself be cared for. But deep down, he knew—no amount of help, no amount of drinks, no amount of anything would fix what he felt. Because at the end of it all, Yunho was still getting married. And Mingi was still just the best friend.

It was almost four o’clock in the morning when Yunho left Mingi’s apartment, leaving Seonghwa and Mingi to it.

For three hours, Yunho had been patient. He had sat beside Mingi, rubbing soothing circles into his back, his voice gentle as he coaxed, “Mingiya, talk to me. What’s wrong?” But Mingi gave him nothing. No explanation. No excuses. Just silence and the occasional shaky breath and the odd sniffle.

Seonghwa tried too, his hand firm on Mingi’s shoulder, voice just as careful. “You don’t have to hold it in,” he murmured. But Mingi only shook his head, lips pressed together, refusing to meet his eyes. Seonghwa knew everything, every detail about the way he felt about Yunho. 

He was the only one in their friend group who did, which was the unfortunate result of another drunken confession he’s not sure he regrets anymore, because having Seonghwa to talk to about it all—it’s a release. But if Mingi so much as cracked right now, he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from saying the words that would ruin everything.

Yunho only sighed, glancing at the clock again. He tried not to, but Mingi noticed. He always noticed Yunho.

“I have a meeting in a few hours,” Yunho admitted, voice tinged with guilt.

Seonghwa exhaled, glancing between them before gently urging, “Go. I’ll stay with him.”

Still, Yunho hesitated. His hand found Mingi’s again, fingers squeezing before he lifted it, pressing a lingering kiss to his knuckles. “I’ll check in tomorrow,” he promised. Then he was gone.

The moment the door clicked shut, Mingi broke. A sharp, shuddering sob ripped from his throat as he collapsed into Seonghwa’s arms.

Seonghwa held him tightly, no questions, no pushing. Just quiet understanding. “I know,” he whispered, fingers threading through Mingi’s hair. “I know, Mingi. Just let it out.”

And this time, Mingi did.

The night before the wedding, as he lay awake in his hotel room, staring at the ceiling, the thought crept in. What if I just left?

Just for a while. Just long enough to breathe, to get away from the suffocating load pressing down on his chest. He could disappear for a bit, miss the wedding, let it all happen without him. Yunho would be disappointed, maybe even angry, but he had Iseul—he had everyone . His life wouldn’t change just because Mingi wasn’t there.

And maybe, if he left, he could finally start learning how to live without Yunho.

But then Mingi thought about the look Yunho would give when he realised he was gone. Thought about the hurt, the confusion, the questions he wouldn’t be there to answer.

And despite everything, despite the ache hollowing out his chest, Mingi couldn’t do that to him.

So he closed his eyes, clenched his fists, and reminded himself—just one more day .

The day had been exhausting, draining in a way that went beyond the long hours spent at the venue. Iseul, ever the perfectionist, had insisted on a full run-through of the ceremony. Every entrance, every movement, every exchange rehearsed until it was flawless. She wanted everything to be perfect, and Mingi understood—this was the most important day of her life, after all.

But standing behind Yunho at the altar, watching it all unfold as if it were already real, was excruciating.

He could see it so clearly now—the way tomorrow would go. Iseul, radiant in white, walking down the aisle towards Yunho, who’d watch her with that soft, unwavering gaze that had once long ago been meant for Mingi.

Even now, during the rehearsal, the love between them was effortless. The way they held hands, fingers locked together so naturally. The way they whispered to each other when the officiant droned on, laughing at some shared inside joke. The way Yunho leaned in like he always did when he was happy, trying to catch her in a kiss with a sheepish grin before resorting to pressing the softest kiss to her cheek.

“Tomorrow,” Iseul giggled, shaking her head. “Our next kiss is supposed to be as husband and wife, remember?”

Mingi swallowed the lump in his throat and forced himself to look away.

He wanted to hate her. Wanted to resent her for taking the spot he had secretly dreamed of filling. But he couldn’t. Because Iseul was good . She was kind and gentle, soft-spoken yet firm, bright in a way that made people gravitate toward her. She had been nothing but sweet to Mingi throughout the years, and she’d made such an effort to know all the people who were important to Yunho.

She loved him with her whole heart, and Yunho loved her just as much.

And that was the hardest part—understanding exactly why Yunho had fallen for her.

Even after four years, it still hurt.

Mingi never thought this day would come so soon. He thought he had time. A few more years before Yunho would even think about settling down. A few more years for Mingi to build up the courage to tell Yunho the truth. To lay it all out and face whatever came after.

But tomorrow, Yunho was getting married.

And Mingi was out of time.

He’d had his chance once. A long time ago, back when they were young and everything was confusing.

Back when he was still figuring himself out, stumbling through the tangled mess of self-doubt and uncertainty, Yunho had been there. Always there—steady and unwavering, just as much a source of confusion as he was a source of comfort.

Mingi had struggled. He had spent years questioning, wondering why his heart beat just a little faster when Yunho pulled him close, why he sometimes looked at other boys the same way the other boys looked at girls. It wasn’t something he had been ready to admit, not even to himself.

But Yunho had been different.

Yunho had never once seemed burdened by his own self-discovery. When Mingi finally gathered the courage to say it—I think I might like guys—he had expected hesitation, uncertainty, maybe even a nervous laugh.

Instead, Yunho had just shrugged, like it was the simplest thing in the world.

“Okay.”

Mingi had blinked. “Okay?”

“Yeah.” Yunho had smiled, so effortlessly unbothered. “I mean…I do too. It’s not that deep, Mingiya.”

That was Yunho, effortlessly sure of himself. Comfortable in ways Mingi wished he could be. He had accepted that he was bi with the same ease as someone accepting a compliment. No fear, no hesitation—just fact.

Then somehow, somewhere along the way, they had started exploring together.

It started off harmless. A brush of fingers that lingered a little too long. A joke about kissing that neither of them took seriously—until they did. Late-night conversations where words came a little softer, voices dipped a little lower.

Until it became more.

Wandering hands and whispered “Is this okay? ”s. Kisses that weren’t quite practiced, but weren’t uncertain either. Mingi never knew how to define what they were, but for the longest time, it felt like they were building toward something. Like they were on the edge of something real.

And he fell. God, did he fall.

It wasn’t just about attraction—it was Yunho. It was the way he smiled, the way he made Mingi feel like he could be anyone and still be enough. It was the way Yunho made everything so easy when it had always felt so complicated before.

For a time, he thought maybe Yunho felt it too. They were right there—right on the cusp of something more.

And then Yunho started pulling away.

It wasn’t all at once. It was subtle, at first. Kisses became shorter. Hands hesitated before they touched. Eventually, they stopped touching altogether.

Mingi never asked why.

Maybe he should have. Maybe if he had, he would’ve gotten the answer he was too afraid to face. That maybe, for Yunho, it had just been a phase. A thing they had gone through together, a thing he had outgrown.

They never spoke about it again. Yunho moved on, and Mingi pretended he did too.

But he never did. If anything, his feelings only grew.

What once had been a flicker of uncertainty became an undeniable ache—one that only worsened when Yunho met Iseul. When Mingi watched, helpless, as Yunho actually fell in love with someone. Someone else.

And now, standing on the sidelines of Yunho’s real love story, watching him prepare to marry the person he had chosen, Mingi couldn’t stop himself from wondering what if he had said something back then?

Would it have changed anything? Would Yunho have stayed? Would they have been something? Or was Mingi always meant to be nothing more than Yunho’s best friend?

Mingi had never really been able to move on.

For years, he had carried the weight of what they had been—what they almost were—like a ghost that never left his side. It lingered in the spaces between his ribs, pressing against his lungs whenever he tried to breathe too deep. It followed him through every failed attempt at moving on, through every fleeting night with strangers who could never quite measure up to what he had.

Yunho had only asked about it a handful of times over the years.

"Don’t you want to settle down someday?" he’d ask casually, usually after a few drinks or when one of their friends got into a new relationship.

Mingi always shrugged it off. "Not really my thing," he’d say, tossing back another shot, letting the burn of alcohol dull the ache in his chest. "I like keeping things casual."

Yunho would hum in response, never pushing too hard, never prying too deep. And Mingi would pretend the conversation didn’t leave him feeling raw for days after.

No one had ever pointed it out (not directly, at least) but it was obvious. All the guys Mingi took home, all the fleeting distractions, bore a striking resemblance to Yunho. They were never exact, but the similarities were there. The tall frames, the broad shoulders, the soft brown eyes. A poor imitation, a substitute that never quite filled the void.

But none of them were him.

And now, sitting alone in his hotel room the night before the wedding, Mingi felt the weight of all those years crashing down on him at once.

A half-empty bottle of wine was balanced between his legs, forgotten as he hunched over a notebook, pen gripped so tightly his knuckles ached. The words spilled from him like a confession, like an exorcism—pain bleeding onto the page in messy scrawls.

I loved you before I even knew what it meant to love someone. I still love you, Yunho.

His hand trembled as he wrote, as he laid himself bare in ink.

I think I always will.

Tears blurred the words, smudging them as they dripped onto the page. But he kept writing. He wrote about all the years he had spent loving Yunho in silence, about the ache of watching him fall in love with someone else. He wrote about their past, about the way they had been so close to something real before Yunho had pulled away. About how Mingi had spent years trying to forget, only to realise that forgetting was impossible.

By the time he stopped, his chest felt hollow. His hands were shaking.

He stared down at the confession—his love, his pain, his heartbreak, all condensed into a few pages. Then he let out a breath, closed the notebook, and pressed it against his forehead, eyes squeezed shut.

Tomorrow, Yunho is getting married.

It took Mingi hours to fall asleep. His mind wouldn’t stop spinning, caught in the web of everything he had written the night before, of everything he felt but could never say.

When he finally did drift off, it felt like barely a second before he was startled awake by loud, insistent banging on his hotel room door.

“Mingi, wake the hell up! We’re on a schedule!”

Bleary-eyed, he cracked one eye open to see the time flashing on his phone. 8:00 am.

And from there, everything moved at 100 miles per hour.

Someone—San, most likely—pounded on his door again, and Mingi groaned as he forced himself out of bed, head still heavy from the wine he had drowned himself in the night before. His body moved on autopilot, rushing through a cold shower, attempting to make himself look alive, let alone presentable.

Somehow, in the middle of the frantic rush, he ended up being entrusted with the rings—tiny, delicate things that felt unbearably heavy in his pocket. A silent reminder of everything this day meant, of the finality of it all.

Then he was off to Yunho’s suite, where the other guys were already in various stages of getting dressed. The room was a chaotic mess—San dramatically arguing with the hairstylist, Wooyoung struggling to properly button his cuffs, Yeosang quietly fixing his bow tie with the patience of someone who had done this a thousand times before.

Mingi barely had time to breathe before a glass of champagne was shoved into his hand. He downed it in one go, letting the bubbles burn against his throat, hoping it might calm the nerves rattling inside him.

At some point the news that Iseul’s veil was misplaced made its way to the groom’s room, sending the entire bridal party into a temporary frenzy. Yunho had left immediately to try and resolve the situation. The drama of it all was in the air for all of ten minutes until it was miraculously found in the wrong garment bag, prompting a collective sigh of relief.

It was all moving too fast. The entire morning felt like a blur of rushed movements, lighthearted banter, and endless requests from the photographer.

“Just one more shot!” the man kept saying, positioning them in a dozen different poses.

Mingi forced himself to smile, to stand next to the other boys and pretend his chest didn’t feel like it was caving in. With every camera flash, he felt his patience wear thinner, and by the time they were dragged into another candid moment, he was half a second away from shoving the lens straight down the guy’s throat.

And then—

Then, he saw him.

Yunho, standing by the mirror, adjusting his bow tie, looking effortlessly breathtaking in his suit.

Mingi felt his breath hitch.

The deep charcoal fabric fit him perfectly, tailored to every broad line of his frame. His hair was neatly styled, soft black strands brushing against his forehead in just the right way. The crisp white of his shirt made his skin glow, and the way the black bow tie sat perfectly against his chest made him look straight out of some high-end magazine spread.

Handsome wasn’t even the right word. He looked unreal.

Mingi couldn’t look away.

It was unfair. Unfair how good Yunho looked, how easily he carried himself, how he stood there laughing with the others, so completely oblivious to the fact that Mingi was standing a few feet away, drowning in his own feelings.

The man he loved was getting married today.

And by God, he had never looked more beautiful.

Mingi let the morning pass in a daze, his body present in the room, but his mind far away. From where he sat slouched on the loveseat, he half-watched the flurry of activity around him. It should have been overwhelming, but it all felt distant, like he was seeing it through frosted glass.

Yunho moved between them all effortlessly, the way he always did, adjusting San’s shirt, clapping Wooyoung on the shoulder when he got too fussy about his hair, speaking lowly as Yeosang needed reminding over the schedule of the day. Yunho had always been the steady one, the glue holding them together, and even now, an hour before his wedding, he was making sure everyone else was okay.

But there was something else in the way he moved, something Mingi couldn’t quite place.

It wasn’t until he noticed Yunho whispering to each of them—leaning in, voice hushed, exchanging quiet nods—that Mingi realised what was happening.

And by the time the door clicked shut, leaving only silence in its wake, it was too late to brace himself.

Mingi blinked slowly, sluggishly, as the absence of noise settled like a weight in the room. Everyone was gone. The only person left was Yunho.

His stomach twisted.

For a moment, he thought he had missed something—some cue, some important part of the schedule that had somehow escaped him in the blur of the morning. His body tensed as he straightened up, running a clammy palm over the fabric of his slacks.

“Should…should I be somewhere?” he asked, voice hoarse, thick with the lingering fog in his head.

Yunho, ever calm, ever steady, just laughed softly, shaking his head. “No. I asked everyone to leave.”

That didn’t help Mingi’s nerves. If anything, it made them worse.

His throat went dry as he watched Yunho move, dragging the ottoman across the room and positioning it directly in front of him before sitting down.

The distance between them now was too small.

And Yunho was looking at him—really looking at him.

Mingi’s breath caught.

It was rare for them to be alone like this anymore. Time had chipped away at the effortless intimacy they once had, replaced now with careful space, with an unspoken understanding that neither of them dared to confront. But now, with the room empty and Yunho watching him with something unreadable in his eyes, Mingi felt trapped.

He forced himself to hold Yunho’s gaze, though it felt like a mistake.

Seconds stretched between them, the silence pressing, expectant.

Then, Yunho reached deep into his pocket. Mingi tracked the movement, his heart hammering in his chest as Yunho pulled out a small, unmarked envelope.

For a moment, Yunho simply turned it between his fingers, as if contemplating something. Then, finally, he extended it toward Mingi.

“This is for you.”

Mingi hesitated. His fingers twitched at his sides, unwilling to reach for it, unwilling to bridge the gap.

But Yunho kept watching. Kept waiting.

And when Mingi finally took the envelope from his hand, their fingers brushed—barely, fleetingly, but enough to send a jolt through Mingi’s entire body.

The paper was smooth beneath his fingertips, deceptively light for how heavy it felt in his hands. He swallowed thickly, heart pounding. “What’s this?” he asked, voice quieter than he intended.

Yunho didn’t answer right away. He just held his gaze, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.

And Mingi had no idea what he was about to open. He stares at Yunho, still clutching the envelope, his heartbeat rattling against his ribs.

"Just open it," Yunho says, smiling.

Mingi swallows, his hands trembling slightly as he tears through the paper. His mind races through possibilities—what could Yunho possibly be giving him on his wedding day? A letter? Some last-minute wedding detail? A sentimental keepsake?

But when he finally pulls out the contents, his eyebrows knit together in confusion.

It’s an itinerary.

His eyes flick across the details—flights, hotels, reservations—all for a trip to Japan. A trip for two.

He blinks, then looks up at Yunho, holding the papers between them like a silent question. What is this?

Yunho chuckles. “It was about time I made good on that promise.”

The words hit Mingi like a freight train.

His breath catches as the memory surfaces—late nights as teenagers, talking about the places they wanted to visit, dreams they swore they’d chase together. One day, we’ll go to Japan, Yunho had said, easy and confident. Just the two of us. It had been a promise that time slowly eroded, swallowed by life, by new relationships, by the growing distance between them.

But Yunho hadn’t forgotten.

Mingi looks down at the itinerary, his vision blurring. He doesn’t know what to say.

Yunho’s voice is soft when he continues. “It’s a thank you. For everything. For being my best man. For always being there.”

Mingi nods stiffly, forcing a swallow past the lump in his throat. He doesn’t trust himself to speak.

Yunho remembered. Of course, he did.

A shaky breath escapes Mingi, and despite his best efforts, his eyes burn with unshed tears. He tilts his head down, blinking rapidly, hoping Yunho won’t notice.

But Yunho does notice. The lightness on his face fades as concern creeps in. His gaze softens, brows drawing together as he watches Mingi crumble in real-time.

Gently, Yunho reaches out, pressing a warm hand to Mingi’s knee. “Hey…” His voice is barely above a whisper. “Are you okay?”

Mingi stiffens. The touch too, too much.

“You haven’t been yourself for a while.”

And just like that, Mingi’s resolve breaks. He grips the itinerary tighter, knuckles whitening, his pulse roaring in his ears.

He knew this moment was coming. He knew Yunho would eventually see through the cracks in his armour. But he isn’t ready.

Not today. Not when in a few hours, Yunho will be standing at the altar, saying I do to someone else.

Yunho’s hand is still warm on Mingi’s knee, his gaze heavy with concern.

Mingi forces himself to breathe, to push down everything clawing its way up his throat. He swallows past the dryness in his mouth, wills his hands to steady where they grip the itinerary.

“I’m fine,” he says, voice rough, clipped.

Yunho tilts his head, unconvinced. He doesn’t even have to say it—it’s written all over his face.

Mingi clenches his jaw. “It’s just my own shit to deal with. Nothing you need to be concerned about.”

The words taste bitter, a weak attempt at barricading himself before he fully unravels. His heart is hammering, his leg bouncing restlessly. He can’t look at Yunho anymore, can’t handle the power of his gaze, the way he always sees too much.

Yunho shifts, like he wants to push, wants to tell Mingi not to do this—because it’s him, because they don’t do this, because Yunho doesn’t just let things go when it comes to him.

But the clock is ticking. And they both know it.

Mingi watches as Yunho hesitates, fingers curling slightly against the fabric of his slacks. But then, finally, he exhales and lets it drop, because if he doesn’t, they’ll be sitting here all day—and that isn’t an option. Not today.

Yunho stands, and for a second, Mingi thinks the moment is over. Thinks he’s safe.

Then, Yunho does something he hasn’t done in years.

He reaches out and cradles Mingi’s cheek in his palm, just for a second—just a fleeting moment of comfort, a quiet reassurance. It’s nothing. It’s everything.

And Mingi shatters.

Yunho doesn’t notice.

He turns away, already moving, already shifting the atmosphere, filling the space with easy chatter like nothing just happened.

“I can’t wait for dinner tonight,” he muses, rolling his shoulders. “I’ve been craving that food ever since the first taste test. Iseul and I practically argued over the dessert options—she won, obviously, but I have to admit, her choice was actually—”

Mingi grips his knees. He squeezes his eyes shut.

Just do it.

His breath is coming too fast, his chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven movements. Yunho keeps talking, keeps fucking talking, so blissfully unaware of how close Mingi is to bursting at the seams.

Shut up, Mingi pleads in his head. Just shut up, shut up, shut up.

Then, Yunho laughs, light and full of something like excitement, and he says, “God, I can’t believe it’s actually happening.”

And that’s when Mingi breaks.

"Don't do this," he says.

His voice is raw, torn from somewhere deep inside him.

Yunho stops in his tracks. He turns slowly, his expression a mess of confusion and disbelief as he stares at Mingi.

Mingi sits there, still gripping the papers in his shaking hands, his knuckles white, his breath unsteady. His chest heaves, his vision blurs with unshed tears, and his throat feels like it's closing in on itself. 

He knows he looks a mess—cheeks damp, eyes swollen, snot running down his nose—but he doesn't care. He can't care. Not now. Not when this is the last chance he has to stop this from happening.

"Don't," he rasps, his voice so small, so broken. "Don't do this."

Yunho's brows furrow, his lips parting slightly, but he doesn't say anything at first. Just watches. Just waits.

Mingi swallows hard and repeats himself, firmer this time, though his voice still wobbles. "Please. Don't."

Yunho finally blinks, his throat working as he tries to find his voice. "Don’t—Don’t do what?"

But there’s something off in his tone, something that tells Mingi he isn’t actually confused. It’s the way Yunho shifts on his feet, the way his fingers twitch at his sides, the way his jaw tenses like he’s bracing for impact.

Mingi watches his best friend carefully, watches the way his shoulders start to creep up, stiff with tension.

And then, as if to confirm what Yunho already suspects—Mingi shatters.

"Don't marry her."

It slips out so quietly, but it may as well have been a scream.

The words hang between them, an invisible wrecking ball crashing into the foundation of everything they’ve built.

Yunho's face changes. His confusion sharpens into disbelief, then twists into something else entirely. Anger. A scoff leaves his lips, quick and humourless. It sounds cruel. "Why?"

Mingi's fingers tighten around the papers in his lap, crumpling them even further. He forces himself to look at Yunho, to meet his eyes even as his vision swims.

"You know why," he chokes out.

Yunho flinches. It’s barely noticeable, just the slightest hitch in his breath, the smallest flicker in his expression. But it’s there. And that's all Mingi needs to confirm it—Yunho knows. He’s probably been waiting for this day.

But Yunho doesn’t say anything. He just shakes his head, scoffing again as he turns away. "I can’t listen to this."

He moves toward the mirror, steps rigid, movements sharp. His fingers reach up to adjust his bow tie, though it’s already perfectly straight. He keeps his eyes locked on his reflection, fixing what doesn’t need fixing, pretending like his world isn’t unraveling behind him.

Mingi watches him, his heart sinking lower and lower with every passing second.

Yunho is shutting down.

Mingi has seen this before, this exact reaction—Yunho pretending like something isn’t happening, like if he ignores it, it won’t exist. He’s seen it in the way Yunho has dodged every conversation about things he doesn’t want to talk about, the way he’s brushed off questions he doesn’t want to answer, the way he’s carefully not acknowledged the years of tension between them.

But Yunho can’t ignore this. Not now.

Mingi exhales shakily, trying to hold himself together, but he’s already crumbling.

Yunho’s voice cuts through the silence, low and controlled but barely. "Why are you doing this?"

Mingi flinches at the strain in his voice, at the way he’s gripping the dresser so tightly his knuckles have gone white.

"Why now, Mingi?" His voice wavers, quieter now, like he’s trying to keep himself steady, trying to stop himself from breaking apart completely. 

It takes a mountain of courage for Mingi to admit it, his chest so tight it feels like he’s suffocating. His mouth opens and closes, words caught in his throat. He hesitates so long that Yunho grows visibly tired of the silence, frustration written all over his face.

When Yunho spins around to face him again, his expression is exasperated, his brows furrowed, his arms crossed over his chest in that defensive posture that Mingi knows so well. And that’s when Mingi knows: it’s now or never.

His throat feels dry as dust, and he gulps, his hands still trembling around the crumpled papers. “Because I love you.”

The words fall like a punch, heavy and suffocating.

Yunho’s eyes immediately clench shut, as if the confession physically hurts. His hands go to cradle his head, the heels of his palms pressing into his eyes, fingers digging in as if he can bury himself in the gesture and make this go away. He’s trying to hold himself together, but Mingi can see the cracks forming.

The exhale that leaves Yunho’s lips is barely audible—more like a strangled gasp—and Mingi watches helplessly as his best friend crumbles.

“Fuck,” Yunho spits out, voice full of a mix of disbelief and anger. Then, without thinking, he grabs the nearest object, a picture frame that sits on the side table, and hurls it across the room. It shatters on the wall, glass scattering across the floor, and the sound makes Mingi flinch, his whole body stiffening.

Yunho stands there for a moment, breathing heavily, his back turned to Mingi, not saying a word.

Mingi’s heart beats so hard it feels like it might rip through his ribcage, and he watches as Yunho’s body trembles, like he’s on the edge of something he can’t control.

He stands up, taking a hesitant step toward Yunho. His hand reaches out, as if instinctively, but the moment he does, Yunho turns around abruptly, his eyes wide and wild with panic.

“Don’t !”

Yunho’s voice is sharp, a command, and his hand is raised, his index finger pointing directly at Mingi. His face is flushed, eyes full of an anger that Mingi’s never seen directed at him before. "Don’t come near me."

Mingi freezes. He wants to shout, wants to scream an explanation, but his words are stuck in his throat. His chest aches. He doesn’t move, can’t move, as Yunho stares at him with a look of utter disbelief.

Yunho stands there, his body shaking with the intensity of whatever storm is raging inside of him, his fists balled tightly at his sides. He looks so lost, so fragile in that moment, and it tears Mingi apart.

“Of all the times,” Yunho says, voice strained, his words barely coming out. “Why now , Mingi?” His shoulders slump slightly, but there’s still a fierce energy to him. “Why would you do this an hour before my wedding?”

Mingi swallows hard. His heart is breaking with every word that leaves Yunho’s mouth, but he can’t take them back now. He can’t undo what’s been said. He’s already gone too far, and a part of him wants to go further.

“Because I can’t keep lying to you,” Mingi says, his voice shaking but strong, every word raw and real. “I can’t keep pretending that this doesn’t matter to me, Yunho. It always has.”

Yunho looks away, his jaw tightening. “I don’t know what you want me to say. I don’t know what you expect me to do with this.”

Mingi’s breath hitches. “I want you to choose me.”

The silence that follows is thick, unbearable. Yunho just stares at him, his face unreadable, and for a moment, Mingi isn’t sure if he’s made the biggest mistake of his life or if this is just the beginning of something even worse.

Yunho runs a hand through his hair, eyes wide with panic. “I can’t. I can’t do this now. Not now, Mingi.” His voice cracks, and the sound of it tears through Mingi like a knife. “I can’t think about this right now. I’m getting married in less than an hour.”

Mingi feels his heart shatter into pieces.

Yunho’s eyes flicker toward the door, and Mingi sees him shift, as if he’s ready to leave, to escape this conversation. But he can’t. He can’t run from this, not anymore.

Mingi reaches out again, his hands trembling, but Yunho takes a step back, his eyes wide with panic. “No! ”

“Please…” Mingi’s voice is small now, fragile. “Please don’t walk away from me.”

Yunho looks like he’s about to say something, but the words never come. Instead, he steps around Mingi, moving toward the door, his back turned.

“Yunho…” Mingi says again, but Yunho doesn’t respond.

He’s already walking away.

Mingi collapses, the floodgates finally opening. He begins to cry again, the tears falling so fast it feels like they're never going to stop. He’s sobbing uncontrollably, his body shaking as the weight of everything spills out of him.

"I’m sorry," he chokes out between gasps for air, his voice hoarse, desperate. "I’m so sorry...for not telling you earlier. For everything. But I’ve always loved you. Always. And it breaks me to see you with her." His words tumble out in a rush, each one more painful than the last. 

Yunho stops in his tracks.

"I can’t watch you get married to someone else, Yunho. I can’t stand it. I can’t be happy for you when all I’ve ever wanted was to be the one to hold your hand. To be the one you love."

Yunho slowly turns around.

Mingi is on his knees in the middle of the room, looking like a wreck. His hair is disheveled, his cheeks streaked with tears, his hands trembling where they clutch at his slacks. He looks utterly broken.

Something twinges in Yunho’s heart, an ache buried beneath the weight of his anger, but he can’t break. He won’t. He can’t fucking believe this is happening.

Then Mingi sobs, voice wrecked and pleading.

"Please just choose me."

It’s insane—the words coming out of his mouth. The desperation in his voice. The sheer audacity of it.

Yunho loses it.

He storms toward Mingi, each step heavy with frustration, his jaw tight, his fists clenched. There’s fire in his eyes as he snaps, "Choose you?"

Mingi breaks again. A fresh sob wracks through him, his body trembling, but Yunho doesn’t stop. He can’t stop.

"None of this matters," Yunho spits, voice sharp and shaking. "Do you think saying this now changes anything? You think it erases the years you spent not saying it?"

Mingi flinches, shoulders curling inward, but Yunho doesn’t let up.

"You lost the opportunity to be a choice years ago."

And then—

Silence.

Mingi stops breathing. Stops moving . His whole body locks up, his hands curling into the fabric of his pants as his lips part—like he wants to argue, wants to fight, wants to fix this—

But nothing comes out.

The silence is deafening.

Mingi stares up at Yunho, his breath caught in his throat, his chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven movements. His hands shake where they rest on his thighs, knuckles white from how tightly he grips the fabric of his slacks.

He doesn't know what to say.

Because Yunho’s right.

Mingi lost his chance years ago.

And Yunho—he’s angry, so angry, his entire body trembling with it. His fists are clenched at his sides, his breathing sharp, his eyes burning with something wild and unbearable. He’s always been good at keeping his emotions in check, at swallowing down the things that hurt him. But now—now it’s spilling out, cracking through the walls he’s spent years building.

"You don’t get to do this now," Yunho spits, voice raw. "You don’t get to say this now, not when I’m about to—" His voice catches, his throat working as he drags a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. "Not when it’s too late."

Mingi’s stomach twists.

"But it’s not," he whispers, his voice barely there. His fingers dig into his knees as he fights to keep himself together. "It’s not too late, Yunho. You know it’s not."

Yunho lets out a harsh, humourless laugh, shaking his head. "Fuck, Mingi." His voice is bitter, exhausted. "You really think you can just say this now and expect me to what? Throw everything away? Walk out of here like none of this ever happened? Call off the wedding and break Iseul’s heart? Will we walk hand in hand into the sunset together?"

"I—" Mingi swallows hard, looking up at him, eyes red-rimmed and desperate. "I just—I couldn’t keep it in anymore."

"You should have," Yunho snaps, and it’s the first thing he’s said that actually hurts —cuts Mingi straight to the bone. "You should’ve just kept it to yourself!"

Mingi feels like he’s been punched in the chest.

Yunho’s jaw tightens. His breath is shaky, uneven, his entire body screaming with tension. He looks at Mingi—really looks at him—and something in his expression flickers, wavers, like he wants to take the words back.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he exhales, his shoulders sagging ever so slightly. His anger is still there, burning beneath his skin, but now there’s something else, too. Something heavier.

Regret.

Mingi’s lips part, but no words come out.

Yunho is pacing the room now, his face twisted with frustration, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. He’s trying so hard to block it all out, but Mingi’s words repeating in his mind are getting louder, and the truth in them feels like it’s suffocating the air.

Mingi’s voice cracks as he pathetically gets up from the floor, his hands trembling as they reach out toward Yunho. "Please," he pleads, his voice breaking with every word. "Don’t shut me out. Don’t pretend it doesn’t matter. I can’t keep pretending, Yunho. I love you!"

Yunho stops, his hands coming up to cover his ears, as if he can block Mingi out completely. He shakes his head furiously, his whole body tense with anger and something deeper, something that Mingi can’t quite name. He’s trying so hard to ignore him, trying to drown it out.

But Mingi won’t let him.

He’s done keeping quiet, done pretending like nothing has been eating at him for years. Mingi steps forward, his movements sharp, determined. He grabs Yunho’s hands from his ears, forcing them down, making him look at him.

“Listen to me, Yunho!” Mingi shouts, his voice raw with emotion, a final outpouring of everything he’s kept inside for so long. He presses Yunho up against the wall, his hands trembling as they hold onto him, forcing him to hear it, forcing him to understand.

“I love you,” Mingi repeats, this time with more force, with more conviction. "I love you, and I can’t be silent anymore. I can’t just watch you throw everything away."

Yunho’s anger falters, replaced by something else entirely. His eyes squeeze shut, his face crumpling as the significance of Mingi’s words crashes over him. The devastation on his face is almost too much for Mingi to bear, and for a moment, everything stops.

Yunho’s shoulders shake, his whole body trembling as he lets out a broken sob. He leans back against the wall, his chest heaving with emotion, hands gripping the wall like he’s holding himself together. But he’s not—he’s falling apart.

It’s painful for Mingi to watch. It’s so raw, so real. He feels every ache of it, but it’s also a relief. This is what needed to happen. They needed to face it, needed to stop pretending like everything was fine.

Mingi reaches out, gently pressing his forehead to Yunho’s. He doesn’t know what to say now, doesn’t know how to fix this. But he’s here. And for the first time in a long time, Yunho isn’t pulling away.

For a few minutes, they stay like that—Yunho’s head against the wall, his body shaking, and Mingi, standing so close, his forehead pressed softly to Yunho’s, trying to feel whatever it is Yunho is feeling. Trying to gauge what’s going on inside his head, what he’s thinking.

"Why now?" Yunho’s voice is strained, raw, as if every word is an effort. He looks at Mingi like he's trying to find some semblance of the boy he once knew, but the hurt in his eyes is palpable. "Why didn’t you tell me before? Why now?"

Mingi stands there, unable to find the right words at first. His hands tremble, and his mind races with everything that’s been bottled up for so long. "I…I’m sorry," he murmurs, voice cracking. "I never meant for this to happen. I just—"

Yunho scoffs bitterly, his gaze turning sharp as if the hurt in his own heart has turned into anger. "You had plenty of chances, Mingi," he says, his words laced with frustration. "Before Iseul and I even got together. Before we got engaged. Fuck, even last night would’ve been better than this."

The frustration surges in Mingi, and he can’t hold it back anymore. His chest tightens with the weight of everything he’s been holding in for years. He lets go of Yunho, steps back. "How could I?" he yells back, his voice rising in anger, sadness, and pain all at once. "How could I come clean knowing what would happen? Knowing what you'd do? You made your feelings clear, Yunho. You pulled away. You stopped loving me."

Yunho stares at him, confusion crossing his face for a split second before it shifts into something else, something more confrontational. His own emotions are fraying at the edges, like they’re about to snap. "What do you mean, I pulled away?" he demands, voice shaking with frustration. "You were the one who stopped everything, Mingi! You were the one who pulled back. You were still figuring yourself out, and I thought…I thought you were done needing me. I thought you didn’t want me anymore."

He’s quiet for a long moment as he tries to calm himself down, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath. When he finally speaks, it’s in a low, guttural voice, the pain in it almost too much to bear. "You don’t get it, Mingi," he says, his voice thick with emotion. 

“I loved you back then, Mingi,” he continues, quiet, almost apologetic. “But we were kids, you know? It was teenage love...and I’ve grown up. I’ve moved on. I love Iseul now. I’m going to marry her.”

Mingi’s chest tightens. The world around him spins, and the truth hits him like a wave—crushing and cold. He doesn’t love me anymore.

Yunho runs a hand over his face, his expression haunted, as if he’s holding on by the thinnest of threads. "I waited for you," he continues, his voice breaking. "I waited for so long. I tried, Mingi, I really did. I thought that someday you’d come to me, that someday you’d figure it out. But after a while, I realised it wasn’t going to happen. And I couldn't keep waiting."

The weight of his confession leaves Mingi breathless. His heart races as he processes it, the understanding finally sinking in. All these years, Yunho had been waiting, too, holding onto the hope that maybe, just maybe, Mingi would find a way to come to him, that they would find their way back to each other. 

But somewhere along the way, Yunho had given up. He had found someone else, built a life with her—because he had no other choice.

For the first time, Mingi lets himself see the truth, and the realisation cracks his heart open even more. He stumbles back another step, shaken. "So…all this time," he whispers, his voice barely a breath, "we…we both thought the other one didn’t want this anymore?"

Yunho doesn’t answer right away. He’s frozen, his hands clenched at his sides, his chest rising and falling with every harsh breath. But his eyes soften, the rage and confusion giving way to something gentler, something regretful. He looks at Mingi like he’s seeing him for the first time in years, really seeing him.

Mingi feels like he’s drowning in everything they’ve lost, in everything they never had the chance to say. He thought he was the only one broken by this, the only one left in the wreckage of their situation, but now he realises—Yunho’s been carrying the same weight all along.

Their relationship ended not because they didn’t love each other, but because they never communicated, never understood where the other was. They were both trapped in their own misunderstandings, too afraid to face the truth. And now, with only moments left before Yunho’s wedding, it feels like the cruelest irony.

"I didn’t know," Mingi finally says, his voice trembling with the enormity of everything. "I didn’t know you still wanted me."

Yunho doesn’t respond right away. He runs a hand through his hair, exhausted, broken, and the weight of everything hangs between them. It’s too much, too complicated, too late.

But Mingi doesn’t know what to do with the truth now. How do you fix years of silence, of missed chances, of mistakes? How do you change everything that’s already been set in motion, knowing that nothing will ever be the same again?

His hands tremble as he steps forward again, gripping Yunho’s cheeks once more, pulling his face close. 

He can’t help it, his desperation too strong to ignore, his pain so raw and exposed. His voice shakes as he pleads. “I love you, Yunho,” he says, over and over, like a mantra, like it’s the only thing that can save him from the devastation that’s overtaking him. “I love you. I’ve always loved you.”

Yunho’s eyes are clenched shut, a tear slipping down his cheek as his body stiffens under Mingi’s touch. Mingi’s hands stay on Yunho’s face, begging, pleading—his heart shattering with every word that escapes his lips.

He presses his forehead against Yunho’s, holding him closer, their breaths mingling as Mingi fights to keep it together. His voice cracks with the weight of his feelings. He’s desperate.

“Kiss me,” he whispers, so anguished it hurts, his body trembling. “Just once, Yunho. Kiss me. And if you feel nothing, I’ll let you go. I swear.”

Yunho’s face twists, and Mingi watches the pain flicker across his features. The hesitation is there—so visible in the way Yunho’s jaw tightens, the way he fights it. He wants to, Mingi can see that. He wants to kiss him, but he doesn’t want to give him the false hope that maybe, just maybe, they could be something again. But Mingi needs it, needs to know for sure.

He doesn’t care anymore. He’s already lost everything.

“Just once, Yunho,” he begs again, his voice barely above a whisper, a tear of his own slipping down his cheek. “Please.”

The seconds stretch on, heavy and agonising. Yunho stands frozen, caught between the past and the present. His eyes flicker open, and Mingi is still staring at him, eyes wide and hopeful, even though every part of him is already bracing for the rejection.

Yunho’s torn, his entire body fighting the pull toward Mingi, toward the desire he still has buried deep within. He’s grown so much since their youth, and yet the feelings he’s always had for Mingi—those raw, desperate feelings—are just as alive now as they were all those years ago. 

His heart aches as he stares at Mingi, the weight of his own internal conflict weighing him down, but the truth lingers in his chest. His love for Iseul is real, undeniable, but Mingi has always had a piece of him.

And Yunho knows that he’s never truly let go of that piece.

Mingi’s breath hitches, his hands trembling as he cups Yunho’s face, silently pleading for what he’s wanted for so long. The hesitation hangs in the air for what feels like forever, and Yunho can feel the pull of it. The ache, the longing, the desperate desire to say yes , to let himself feel everything he’s been pushing down for so long.

A slow, almost subtle nod from Yunho is all Mingi needs. It’s permission. And that’s enough for him to lean in.

Mingi’s lips are shaky as they approach Yunho’s, their faces close, and then, their lips meet. The kiss is hesitant at first, both of them unsure, still fighting the weight of their past, the years that have passed, the love that has grown for others. It’s a kiss that carries all the words they’ve never spoken, all the feelings that have been buried deep inside.

For a fleeting moment, Yunho lets himself fall.

The world outside this room, the wedding, the years of heartache—it all fades into nothing as he melts into the kiss. His hands, which had been frozen at his sides, slowly find their way to Mingi’s waist, gripping him like he’s something Yunho is terrified to lose. Because he is.

And God, it feels like home.

It’s slow at first, fragile—like a wound being reopened, like a final plea whispered in the space between them. But then Mingi presses in harder, a quiet whimper escaping against Yunho’s lips, and something inside Yunho breaks.

The kiss turns desperate, raw, edged with grief and longing. Their mouths move like they’re trying to rewrite time, to steal a version of this that should have existed years ago. Yunho can taste the salt of Mingi’s tears, can feel the way his fingers tremble against his skin, like he’s afraid Yunho will pull away.

And Yunho should.

He should stop this.

But instead, he lets himself drown. Just for a moment. Just long enough to pretend.

Mingi gasps softly as Yunho kisses him back—really kisses him back, his lips parting, his hands tightening their hold. It’s a surrender. A silent confession. A cruel, beautiful lie.

But then, as quickly as it began, Yunho pulls away, his face tight, his breathing ragged. The reality of it all crashes in, and the overwhelming feelings, the rawness of what they’re doing, is too much for him to handle. He presses his hands against Mingi’s chest, pushing him away gently, but firmly.

Mingi stumbles back, the tears coming in a wave. His entire body trembles as he crumbles, unable to hold it in any longer. It’s a mess of frustration, love, and heartache. His sobs fill the room, and he can’t stop them, can’t stop the flood of emotion that has consumed him for so long.

Yunho watches, his own eyes burning with tears that he refuses to let fall. His hands are clenched at his sides, his chest tight with the conflict that has been plaguing him. He wanted this. He wanted to give in. He wanted to hold Mingi, to tell him everything, to admit that he could love him again. That he still does, in some way.

But the reality of what that means hits him. He can’t do this. Not now, not like this. He’s made his choice, and Iseul is the one he’s promised himself to.

Yunho swallows hard, trying to regain control of himself, adjusting his suit as he wipes his puffy eyes. He takes a deep breath, his composure faltering for only a moment before he forces himself to stand tall again.

“Mingi…” He starts, his voice cracked, but he doesn’t know what to say. The words seem too heavy, too inadequate for the situation. He wants to say that he’s sorry, that he understands, that he feels the same, but he can’t. His heart feels torn between two worlds, and neither seems right anymore.

He looks at Mingi one last time, his gaze full of regret and longing. But he knows what he has to do. He’s made his choice.

“I’m sorry,” Yunho whispers, his voice breaking as he finally looks away. He turns, his steps slow, hesitant as he heads for the door, his body weighed down by the heaviness of the moment. “I…I have to go.”

The door closes behind him with a quiet click, and Mingi is left standing there, his body still trembling with the aftermath of everything that just happened. The silence feels deafening. The tears keep coming, but they feel different now—emptier, like something inside him has broken that can never be fixed.

✦✦✦

The strength it takes him to leave the hotel room would be impressive if his brain wasn’t so clouded with turmoil.

Mingi stumbles through the corridors, his body on automatic, each step harder than the last. His hand braces against the wall, afraid he’ll collapse if he lets go. His legs shake, threatening to give out as the weight of everything crashes over him. The pain, the confusion, the kiss—all of it churning inside him, making it harder to breathe with every step.

Downstairs, the noise of the guests grows louder, voices growing and mingling as Mingi nears the reception area. He can feel their eyes on him even before he rounds the corner and spots Seonghwa, Hongjoong, and Jongho talking to each other. The sight of them makes the ground feel unsteady beneath him.

Hongjoong is the first to notice him, his eyes narrowing with concern. Before Mingi can process anything, he stumbles forward, his body seeking support. He collapses into Hongjoong’s arms, the sudden weight of everything pulling him under.

“Mingi,” Hongjoong’s voice is full of worry. “What’s wrong? Did you take something?”

Mingi’s only response is a weak shake of his head. He doesn’t have the energy to explain—he doesn’t know how to. The only thing he can do is try to keep himself from breaking down completely.

Seonghwa and Jongho are right beside them now, both of them helping Mingi stand, steadying him against the wall as he fights to breathe through the panic. The murmuring of guests in the background is like a fog in his mind, thickening everything, making it all feel even more overwhelming.

“I think…I think I’m having a panic attack,” Mingi says, his voice shaky, breath ragged. It’s the only way he can explain what’s happening. His body betraying him, all the emotions spilling over and leaving him unable to function.

Hongjoong immediately takes charge, grabbing a bottle of water and gently guiding Mingi to a nearby chair. The others stand back, giving him space to try and recover. Mingi gulps down the water, hands trembling as he tries to steady himself.

Seonghwa watches him closely, eyebrow raised, waiting.

Mingi shakes his head slowly, tears already welling up in his eyes. He doesn’t have words, not yet. He can’t explain it all in this moment. The frustration, the pain, the years of longing for someone who couldn’t love him the way he wanted. It all threatens to choke him, his chest tight and aching.

“I…” Mingi starts, his voice breaking as he speaks. “I’m so sorry.”

Seonghwa doesn’t say anything at first. He simply rubs Mingi’s knee with a comforting hand, his presence a steadying force in the midst of the storm. Mingi’s sobs come in waves, his body shaking as he finally allows himself to cry. The tears fall freely now, each one a release, but they do little to ease the hurt.

Seonghwa’s expression softens, understanding without needing to ask. He doesn’t push Mingi to explain any further, not when he’s so raw, so exposed. Instead, he stays with him, silent but present, letting him feel whatever he needs to feel in that moment.

Mingi leans into Seonghwa, his heart still heavy with everything that has happened. The panic subsides a little, but the emptiness remains, gnawing at him. 

He has no idea what’s next, no idea how to move forward, but for now, he has Seonghwa. And that’s all he can hold onto in this moment.

Mingi’s head feels lighter now, the worst of the panic attack behind him, but the weight of everything else still presses on his chest. As the employee announces that guests can now make their way into the hall, Mingi draws in a shaky breath, the knot in his stomach still tight but not as suffocating. He’s going to make it through the day. Somehow.

Seonghwa watches him, concern still etched on his face, and tries to argue, his voice low but insistent. “Mingi, I’m staying with you. You don’t have to do this alone.”

But Mingi knows better. He knows what he needs, and what he needs right now is distance, space to focus. “No,” he says softly, trying to find the strength to push past the emotions. “I’ve got to go. I’m meant to be with the others.”

There’s a long silence between them before Seonghwa nods reluctantly, his eyes lingering on Mingi’s face for a moment longer than necessary. Without saying another word, he turns and heads into the reception hall with Hongjoong and Jongho, their curiosity and questions hanging in the air, but no one dares to ask.

Mingi doesn’t watch them leave, his gaze drifting elsewhere as he steels himself for what’s to come. The empty hallway is oddly calming as he takes a few more moments, his breathing even, trying to clear his mind. When he feels somewhat composed, he stands, legs a little unsteady, and walks down the corridor.

He meets the other groomsmen and bridesmaids in the next section, their chatter filling the space. He offers them a small, strained smile, just enough to convince them that he’s holding it together. His mind is elsewhere, though, flickering back to the conversation he had with Yunho, and the pain that’s been ripping him apart for years.

The employee returns shortly after, and it’s time. “All guests are seated,” they announce. “Please make your way inside.”

Mingi’s legs move on autopilot, his mind numb to everything around him. The familiar faces of the guests, the soft murmurs as he walks past them, the eyes that catch his for a second—it’s all a blur. He’s just walking. One step after another, his body moves as though it knows exactly where it’s supposed to go, even if his mind doesn’t.

When he reaches his spot at the altar, his heart is pounding in his chest, his hands trembling. He’s forced to swallow down the tears that threaten to break free. He doesn’t want to fall apart in front of everyone. Not now. Not here. 

Mingi stands stiffly, awkwardly. He can feel the weight of the moment pressing down on him, making his legs feel like lead, as though they might give out any second. 

His attention drifts to Wooyoung beside him, who tries to make small talk, but Mingi can barely focus on the words, the sounds around him muffled as his mind races. His heart beats erratically in his chest, the pangs of his earlier breakdown still raw.

The guests in front of them are talking, laughing softly, oblivious to the inner turmoil that Mingi’s trying to suppress. He barely listens, nodding when necessary, but the world feels distant, out of reach, like he's watching everything unfold from behind glass. He forces a few words out, pretending to engage, but his body is only there in appearance.

Then, suddenly, the energy in the room shifts.

A loud cheer erupts from the guests gathered, and Mingi’s breath catches in his throat. His heart falters, the noise around him almost unbearable as Yunho walks down the aisle.

Mingi’s body tenses, eyes locked on Yunho as he strides toward the altar. His face looks drained, red-rimmed eyes suggesting he’s been crying, his jaw tight and set. Yunho moves with purpose, his steps sharp and deliberate, as though the ground beneath him might be a little too unstable for comfort.

Mingi’s heart stops in his chest.

It feels like a dagger piercing through him, sharp and cruel. Yunho doesn’t even glance his way, not even for a second. He walks past Mingi to stand at the centre of the altar, his face as impassive as ever, and yet there’s something in his eyes—a flicker of pain or maybe just exhaustion—that stabs into Mingi deeper than any words could.

He wants to reach out. He wants to beg Yunho to look at him, to acknowledge him, to say something—anything—but Yunho's gaze is locked ahead, focused entirely on the officiant. He’s ignoring Mingi, ignoring everything, as if the world is just him and the ceremony in front of them.

It’s worse than Mingi imagined.

Mingi feels small, invisible, his heart aching. He wants to scream, to pull Yunho back, to stop this, but he’s rooted to the spot. His body feels heavy, every muscle screaming at him to do something, anything—but it’s like he’s stuck in time, unable to move.

Then, as if on cue, the doors at the bottom of the aisle creak open. The room falls into a hushed stillness.

Mingi doesn’t need to see it to know what’s coming. He feels it in his bones—the dread, the panic, the devastation that is sure to follow. He braces himself, trying to steady his breath, but the reality of it all hits him harder than he expects.

The sight of Iseul, radiant in her dress, her smile bright as she walks down the aisle with a grace that Mingi can barely comprehend, feels like the final nail in the coffin. She’s beautiful, perfect, and every step she takes toward Yunho is another reminder of what he’s losing.

Mingi’s chest tightens, the tears he’s been holding threatening to spill over. But he doesn’t dare to make a sound. He can’t. He just stands there, numb, fighting to keep his composure as the woman he’s never been able to compete with moves toward the man he’s always loved.

It’s happening. He’s losing Yunho, and there’s nothing he can do about it.

Iseul walks with grace, her smile bright as she makes her way toward Yunho, and Mingi notices immediately—she committed to the dress she had excitedly sent him photos of months ago. She had asked for his opinion, laughing through the phone as she debated between details, trusting him like a close friend. Like a brother.

Now, under the warm glow of the venue lights, he can see the final touches she added. The delicate lace tracing up the bodice, the slightly longer train flowing behind her. She looks beautiful—undeniably so—and Mingi resents how much it makes sense. How much she looks like she belongs here, like this was always the inevitable ending.

Then she giggles, soft and nervous, when she catches Yunho’s eye.

Mingi’s stomach twists when he sees Yunho shudder a breath, the tension in his shoulders finally easing as he steps down from the altar. He holds out his hand for her without hesitation, steady and sure, helping her up onto the platform beside him.

It’s so small, so simple, and yet Mingi feels something inside of him crack.

This is it.

The ceremony unfolds before him in excruciating detail. Every moment, every glance, every touch between Yunho and Iseul burns itself into Mingi’s mind like a scar that will never fade.

Their hands remain clasped the entire time. Mingi can’t stop staring at them, watching as Yunho’s thumb brushes gentle, comforting circles against Iseul’s skin. It’s effortless, second nature, and it feels like a punch to the gut.

Mingi wants to look away. He wants to close his eyes and pretend he isn’t standing here, and isn't being forced to watch the love of his life slip further and further away. But he can’t.

And then, the moment nears.

The officiant turns to him, calls his name, and it takes Mingi a second too long to react.

“The rings, please.”

Mingi inhales sharply, his fingers tightening around the small velvet box in his palm. He had been holding it the entire time, barely even registering its presence, but now it feels unbearably heavy.

Yunho finally, finally looks at him.

It’s the first time their eyes have met since Yunho left the hotel room, and the glance is fleeting—nothing more than half a second, just a flicker of acknowledgment. But it’s enough.

It’s enough to make Mingi want to run.

Instead, he swallows down the lump in his throat and takes the step forward, extending the rings with shaking hands.

Mingi watches as Yunho takes the ring from his trembling hands. Their fingers don’t brush. Yunho is careful—too careful—not to touch him, not to give him anything more than what is required.

It’s suffocating.

Mingi forces himself to step back as Yunho turns to Iseul. She’s radiant, eyes shining with adoration, a soft smile playing on her lips as she watches Yunho slide the ring onto her finger.

His hands don’t shake the way Mingi’s did.

Iseul’s vows are bright and enthusiastic, spilling from her lips with ease as she professes her love for Yunho. Her voice is steady, sure. She speaks of their first meeting, their shared laughter, the moments that built the foundation of their relationship. The guests smile, some even chuckle at her little anecdotes. She beams at Yunho the entire time.

Yunho, in contrast, gets through his vows with a tremble in his hands. He grips the paper, his voice barely above a whisper at first. He clears his throat, trying to regain some control, but his words don’t come with the ease he’s hoped for. His voice wavers, and for a brief moment, it feels as though he might not be able to continue at all.

His eyes flicker to Iseul, but the look isn’t the same. It’s not the confident, loving gaze he’s intended. His jaw tightens, and he swallows hard, as though the words are caught somewhere deep inside him, fighting to escape. As he speaks, his voice cracks once, then again. 

Each time, he pauses, trying to steady himself, his breath becoming shallow. The words are coming out slower now, as if they’re being forced through a tight throat, the weight of them pressing down harder than he expects.

The room falls silent, the guests waiting for him to get through it. His hand, which was supposed to hold steady, trembles slightly as it clutches the vows. He glances at Iseul, but this time, it’s not the carefree smile he once had.

It’s almost apologetic, the expression filled with a quiet sadness he can’t hide.

When he speaks, it’s softer now, his voice barely audible. He mentions their love, their promises, but there’s a tremor to it, something unspoken that lingers beneath every vow he makes. 

Each word is imbued with a heaviness that wasn’t there before, a subtle pain seeping through the cracks of his carefully constructed exterior. His eyes begin to shine with emotion, his throat tightening with the effort of holding back tears.

Despite his best efforts, the final words come out broken, his voice trembling with emotion as he finishes his vows. It’s a struggle, a raw, exposed side of Yunho that no one has seen before. The smile he offers at the end is fragile, strained—just a flicker of what should have been happiness, but there’s an unmistakable sadness in the way his lips curl. 

His gaze lingers on Iseul, but it’s distant now, like he’s somewhere far away, lost in a sea of emotions he doesn’t know how to navigate.

Mingi watches, his heart breaking with every tremor in Yunho’s voice, with every shaky breath. He sees Yunho’s effort to hold it together, the conflict behind his eyes that he hasn’t allowed anyone else to see, but Mingi sees it now. There’s no hiding it, not from him.

Then, devastatingly, it happens.

The officiant smiles warmly, announces them husband and wife, and the crowd erupts into applause.

Mingi can’t look.

He keeps his head down, clapping mechanically alongside the rest of the guests, willing himself not to shatter completely as Yunho and Iseul share their first kiss as husband and wife.

It feels surreal, like he’s watching a movie in slow motion. Yunho and Iseul pull apart with grins, Yunho’s not quite matching Iseul’s. Their fingers lace together as they turn to face the guests, and they start their walk back down the aisle, hand in hand. The cheers around them swell, people reaching out to congratulate them as they pass.

Mingi moves like a ghost as they’re all ushered outside for the photographs, caught in the whirlwind of the celebration. The sun is bright, the sky is clear—too beautiful for a day like this.

The photographer snaps countless pictures. The newlyweds pose together, their smiles radiant. Then come the family photos, the wedding party filtering in and out of the frame. The bridesmaids laugh as they fix Iseul’s veil, Yunho and his groomsmen exchange lighthearted words between shots.

Mingi waits on the sidelines, holding himself together by sheer force of will.

Then, inevitably, the photographer turns toward him.

“Alright, let’s get a shot of the groom and his best man.”

Mingi’s stomach twists violently. Yunho hesitates. It’s barely noticeable, just a fraction of a second—but it’s there.

Then, he steps forward, turning to Mingi. Their eyes meet, and for the first time since the ceremony, Yunho really looks at him.

Mingi doesn’t know if he can do this.

He forces himself forward, though his legs feel like lead beneath him. He stands beside Yunho, rigid, leaving space between them like a physical barrier for all the words unsaid. His hands ball into fists at his sides.

The photographer chuckles, shaking his head. "Come on, you two, you look like strangers. Get closer."

Yunho clenches his jaw. Mingi watches as his throat bobs, his eyes flicking somewhere past the photographer before, reluctantly, he steps closer. An arm wraps around Mingi's back—barely. It doesn’t touch, just hovers in the air, a ghost of what it should be.

Mingi mirrors him.

The camera flashes, and miraculously, they both manage to smile. A well-practiced, hollow kind of smile. One for the guests, for the family watching, for the photo that will inevitably be included somewhere in Yunho’s wedding album.

As soon as the photographer lowers the camera and announces, "Got it! Perfect," Yunho is gone.

Like a shot, he steps away, back to Iseul, back to safety, back to the life he's chosen.

Mingi doesn't move.

He watches Yunho go, his own body unwilling to follow.

By the end of the night, Mingi loses track of how many drinks he’s had, each sip dulling the ache in his chest by just a fraction. He watches the wedding unfold through the bottom of his glass, the music pulsing in the background, the chatter of guests fading into white noise.

At dinner, it had been unbearable—sitting right next to Yunho, feeling the heat of him, the weight of his presence, while being completely ignored. Yunho never once looked at him, never spoke to him. Not even when their elbows accidentally brushed.

Wooyoung had noticed the tension immediately. "Okay, what is going on?" he’d asked, voice hushed but insistent.

Mingi had only shaken his head, stabbing at his plate. "Nothing."

Wooyoung didn’t buy it, but Mingi refused to give him anything.

When Yunho finally stood up to speak, Mingi could feel it in his bones. His body went cold, and his hands shook involuntarily. He already knew this wasn’t going to be easy.

Yunho took a deep breath and began, his voice soft but carrying, reverberating in the quiet room. "I never thought I’d be standing here, looking at the woman I’m going to spend the rest of my life with," Yunho said, his eyes locking with Iseul’s, a softness to them that made Mingi’s chest tighten. "Iseul, you’ve given me a kind of peace I never thought I could have."

Mingi’s hands clenched into fists in his lap, his heart thumping painfully in his chest. The words hit him like a blow, sharp and unrelenting.

Yunho went on, voice growing more confident, almost a little distant. "Before I met you, I didn’t know what it felt like to truly be myself. I spent so much time searching for something I couldn’t even name. But then you came into my life, and suddenly, I knew."

The room was quiet, hanging on his every word, but all Mingi could hear was the thundering in his ears. The words that Yunho was saying to Iseul weren’t just about love—they were about certainty. About things Mingi would never be.

"And now, as I stand here," Yunho continued, and Mingi could hear the faintest tremor in his voice, "I know that you’re the one. You’re my partner. My best friend. My wife."

The final word rang through the air like a thunderclap, and Mingi froze. 

Wife.

Yunho’s eyes briefly flickered over to Mingi—just a glance, but it felt like the whole room had shifted. The distance between them was more than physical; it was everything that had been unsaid for so long, everything that had been left unaddressed, unchosen.

There was nothing in Yunho’s eyes that Mingi could hold onto. No warmth. No understanding. Just a cold acknowledgment, the kind one gives to someone they know will never fit into the world they’ve built.

Yunho cleared his throat, and the words came easier now, flowing with the rhythm of something he had practiced over and over. "I choose you, Iseul. And I thank you for choosing me."

Mingi swallowed hard, the lump in his throat growing at Yunho’s choice of words. He couldn’t stay here. He couldn’t watch this. He wanted to run, to disappear, but instead, he stayed rooted to his seat, feeling the weight of the rejection settle deeper into his chest.

Yunho finished with a smile, a smile that was all for Iseul. "I’m the luckiest man in the world to call you my wife."

Mingi’s vision blurred as he blinked rapidly, trying to push back the tears that were threatening to spill. His fingers tightened around the edge of his glass, and he exhaled sharply, trying to steady his breath.

But it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Yunho had just given Iseul everything. The love. The devotion. The future. Mingi had never even been close to it.

So, the first second he could slip away from the table, he did.

Now, planted at the bar, he watches as Yunho moves through the crowd, arm draped around Iseul’s waist, smiling, laughing. He looks happy. He looks in love.

But then there are the moments in between.

The seconds when Yunho is on his own, when Iseul is pulled away by family or friends, when he thinks no one is looking. That’s when the weight on his shoulders shows. The tightness in his jaw. The tension in his shoulders. The way he exhales deeply before forcing another smile.

Mingi swirls the liquid in his glass, guilt settling deep in his stomach.

He had been the biggest cause of stress on what was supposed to be the happiest day of Yunho’s life.

And yet, he still couldn't bring himself to regret telling him the truth. Not one bit.

The hours slip through his fingers like sand, blurred by the steady flow of alcohol. Each drink dulls the sharp edges of his heartbreak, the alcohol is doing its job—loosening the tight grip of misery in his chest, numbing the raw, aching wound that Yunho left behind.

It makes everything seem easier—easier to smile, easier to laugh, easier to forget. 

At some point, his feet find their way to the dance floor. It’s packed, bodies pressed together, the music pulsing in his veins. Mingi’s lost in it, in the bass rattling through his chest, in the warmth of Wooyoung beside him, equally wasted and just as reckless.

Wooyoung slings an arm around Mingi’s shoulder, practically hanging off him as they move, sweat-dampened and grinning. Someone catcalls from the side, and Wooyoung, ever the performer, takes it as encouragement, rolling his hips with exaggerated flair.

Mingi laughs for the first time in what feels like forever, drunk and stupid, and joins in, faux grinding against Wooyoung, who cackles so loudly it nearly bursts Mingi’s eardrum.

"You're so gone," Wooyoung howls, clutching his stomach.

Mingi barely hears him over the music, but he doesn’t care. Doesn’t care that they’re being ridiculous, that people are watching, that this is Yunho’s wedding and he’s making a spectacle of himself.

Because for the first time all night, he’s not thinking about Yunho at all.

Eventually, nature calls. He stumbles toward the bathroom, clumsy and uncoordinated, nearly tripping over his own feet. The door swings open too fast, and he catches himself on the sink, blinking at his own reflection, the redness in his eyes betraying him.

He barely registers Yunho at first, the figure leaning against the stall, scrolling through his phone, shoulders slumped in exhaustion. At first, he mistakes him for someone else, a stranger taking a moment of reprieve from the wedding.

But then their eyes meet through the mirror.

And it’s like Mingi sobers up instantly.

His heart pounds, a fresh wave of nausea rolling through him—not from the alcohol, but from the sheer weight of Yunho’s presence.

His hair’s messy now, suit jacket long discarded, and a few buttons of his shirt are undone. His bow tie is gone, and his posture slouches with exhaustion, a tiredness that makes him seem distant. There’s an almost fragility to him now, as though the weight of everything has finally started to catch up to him.

Yunho looks up, his face unreadable. His jaw clenches, fingers tightening around his phone.

Then he moves.

Wordlessly, he locks his screen and pushes himself off the stall, heading straight for the door. He’s leaving.

He doesn’t want to be around Mingi.

Panic spikes through Mingi’s chest, instinct taking over before he can think. His hand shoots out, grabbing Yunho’s arm.

“Wait,” he slurs, gripping tight.

Yunho freezes, looking down at where Mingi is touching him before slowly, deliberately, lifting his gaze.

Mingi stumbles over his words, throat dry, lips numb. And then, in the smallest, most broken voice, he says, “I hope you’ll be happy with her. I really do.”

It’s the truth. The worst kind of truth—the kind that shreds him from the inside out.

Yunho doesn’t say anything back. He just yanks his arm free and walks out. No hesitation. No second glance.

Just gone.

Mingi sways on his feet, the loss hitting him harder than the liquor burning in his veins. His hands shake as he grips the stall door for support, his breath coming out in shallow gasps.

And then it crashes over him like a tidal wave.

He’s just lost Yunho.

For good.

There’s no coming back from this, no fixing what’s already shattered beyond repair. The words hang heavy in the air, the last thing he’ll ever say to Yunho in any meaningful way. And Yunho didn’t even respond.

Didn’t offer a single word, not even a half-hearted attempt at closure.

Just left.

And maybe that’s the worst part—that in the end, Yunho didn’t fight, didn’t hesitate. He just walked away, like it was easy. Like it was nothing.

Like Mingi was nothing.

A sob forces its way out, raw and painful, his body folding in on itself as he slides down against the stall door. His forehead presses against his knees, fingers twisting into his own hair, desperate to ground himself, desperate to stop the ache from spreading.

But it’s too late.

Outside, the music plays on, the sounds of laughter and celebration muffled through the walls. The world keeps moving, and Yunho keeps moving.

And Mingi is left behind, drowning in the wreckage of something that was never his to begin with.