Ship/Member: Seokmin/Mingyu, Mingyu/Jeonghan Major Tags: N/A Additional Tags: Coworker/family/power dynamics, infidelity, vague successiony corporate world, implied sexual content Permission to remix: Yes
***
“Mingyu-ssi,” Seokmin says softly, toeing the ground, his eyes pleading. “Don’t take this— please don’t take this personal.”
“Oh, okay. Okay, sure. Then how exactly am I supposed to take it? Are you fucking me up the ass right now, Lee Seokmin? On the roof of my father’s company and in front of the eyes of God?”
When it’s Seokmin, Mingyu takes everything personal.
Seokmin coughs, looks around like someone might be eavesdropping on them, an anxious smile biting at the corner of his face. He’s still not very comfortable in his own skin here, fumbly and too vulnerable. He has always been soft. Milk teeth. Nobody kid from Yongin who came begging to Mingyu for a job.
When he was still Mingyu’s personal assistant, he cried once in front of Han Sung Soo and the entire third floor just because Han Sung Soo got all up in his face and said, “You gonna cry, Lee Seokmin?” It was suddenly excruciating, this rote verbal humiliation that Mingyu was so used to, perhaps because it was Seokmin. Mingyu had needed to look away. But after the meeting was over he’d gone to the bathroom and there Seokmin was, head down, still crying, the elbows of his secondhand suit getting damp where they braced against the sink.
It did something to Mingyu’s heart. There. No, it did, it did. It made him want to offer Seokmin something better. Anything better. But he knew what was expected of him. He knew he needed Seokmin right where he was. The only person Mingyu could punch down to. He should've gone to slap Seokmin’s back, make a joke like Hey Seokmin-ssi you been jacking off into the sink or what for the last half an hour? Ought to have sent him on his way, tell him to make himself useful and go get a coffee.
Instead, Mingyu came closer, slowly, like approaching a terrified dog. He splayed his hand against the pale smooth back of Seokmin’s neck, under the edges of his overgrown cheap haircut. Seokmin inhaled sharply with surprise, turned his face up to look up at him.
Touching Seokmin always made Mingyu feel strange, trembly. Split-open. Seokmin was such a little nothing, still. Especially when he cried.
Mingyu said in a low voice, staring into his flushed, shining eyes, “Look. I’ll take care of you, Seokmin-ah. I said I would, didn’t I? I’ll take care of you.”
Seokmin whispered, “Do you really mean that? Is that real?”
And for some reason, Mingyu leaned down and kissed his damp forehead.
Mingyu had been very good at taking care of things back then.
He took care of Jeonghan. He took care of their house and their dog Aji. He let himself get fucked, by Jeonghan and by Jeonghan’s father’s company and his own father’s company. A few months later he even married Jeonghan on a winter morning in Cape Cod. Seokmin was at the wedding. Of course he was. It was the greatest merger this side of the Time Warner deal, and this was the symbolic cherry on top of it, a kiss to seal it. Good optics, rotten inside. Like most things in this world.
Only problem was, Mingyu really thought he loved Jeonghan. He really, really thought he did. And Jeonghan had rewarded it by whispering into his mouth the night before the vows, one hand shoved down his pants, “I just don’t think I’m a good fit for a monogamous marriage, Mingyu-ah.”
It was the only honest thing he’d ever told Mingyu. Honesty was the most efficient way to break a person.
It was especially good timing, too, because that very morning, when Mingyu had been out for a run, Seokmin came sprinting up behind him calling his name, his mouth pursed, his eyes wide, grabbed Mingyu by the shoulder and looked into his eyes and whispered, “I think Jeonghan-ssi is— I think Jeonghan-ssi and your step-brother— um, I think Jeonghan-ssi and Seungcheol-sunbaenim—” and Mingyu had said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” kept repeating it as he shoved Seokmin backward, wrestled him to the snowy ground and straddled his writhing mass, one elbow on his throat, the way he'd wanted to be near him for so long but now it was all wrong and he said it one last time with deadly calm:
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Seokmin-ssi.”
That’s what he says now, on the roof, when Seokmin says, “I’m really not trying to fuck you, I’m not. But you do remember those documents you had me get rid of.”
Mingyu keeps shaking his head stubbornly. The motions grow into desperation.
“You should know,” Seokmin says, sounding more careful than he’s ever been capable of before, “that Seungcheol-sunbaenim asked me about them the other day.”
Mingyu turns to look at him.
“Are you fucking asking me if you can kill me? You’re getting my permission before you carve my heart out? Thank you, Seokmin-ssi, what a truly nice gesture. Your coworkers are right. You’re the second kindest person after God.”
“No, no, I—” Seokmin takes a step closer. “Mingyu-ssi. Please. I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want— I’m no good at this stuff. You know I’m not.” His voice has dropped into that quiet, soft cadence, trying to soothe, the way he’d talked to Aji the first and only time Mingyu had let him into his and Jeonghan’s apartment. “I’m really not smart. Maybe I’m good with people, but I’m not smart. It’s just… those documents. They could really help. They could… They could change things around here. Really.”
“If those papers get out,” Mingyu says quietly, “my father is going to send me to jail, Seokmin-ssi.”
“No, he’s not.”
“I’m the youngest son. I’m expendable.”
“You’re not expendable,” Seokmin says softly, like he really believes it. “You're a good person. You're better than all of them. Come with me. I want you to come with me.”
Abruptly, Mingyu feels his own tiredness.
That old thing sitting on his heart, so heavy. The exhaustion of having lived in this world since early adolescence. Of, for as long as he can remember, being pit like a fucking fighting dog against the people he loved and the people he wanted with all his stupid little heart to love him.
“I'm not very good,” Mingyu whispers. “You’re– you’re better than me. You’re full of hope. I’m full of nothing. I’m not a real person. I’m a straw doll. I got nothing inside me anymore. You know?”
“Well, then I’ll take care of you,” Seokmin says softly, kindly, in his talking-to-dogs voice, “Kim Mingyu.”
Seokmin is not a little nothing from Yongin anymore. He doesn't need Mingyu anymore. But he's still reaching a hand out. Mingyu touches his face because his eyes feel funny. He’s sort of crying. He turns away. Out of the corner of one eye, he sees Seokmin come closer, raise his hands up, careful.
“You,” Mingyu starts, when the large, warm hands are around his jaw, solid and anchoring.
The tenderness is out of place. Suddenly he wants those hands around his throat. He wants them to squeeze the life out of him.
“I. Seokmin. If there was some world. Where we weren’t here like this. If there was some world where we– I'd fucking marry you, you know. I'd lie awake in our bed, waiting for you to kill me. I really think I wouldn't mind being killed, if it was you."
Seokmin’s arms are around him now. Mingyu's shaking. Seokmin turns his face up to kiss his forehead. Mingyu knows Seokmin is smiling. He can tell. The knife is twisting. Mingyu's losing and he likes it. He's leaning into it.
“I’ll take care of you," Seokmin says again. "Mingyu-ah."
[FILL] This is not for tears
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: Coworker/family/power dynamics, infidelity, vague successiony corporate world, implied sexual content
Permission to remix: Yes
***
“Mingyu-ssi,” Seokmin says softly, toeing the ground, his eyes pleading. “Don’t take this— please don’t take this personal.”
“Oh, okay. Okay, sure. Then how exactly am I supposed to take it? Are you fucking me up the ass right now, Lee Seokmin? On the roof of my father’s company and in front of the eyes of God?”
When it’s Seokmin, Mingyu takes everything personal.
Seokmin coughs, looks around like someone might be eavesdropping on them, an anxious smile biting at the corner of his face. He’s still not very comfortable in his own skin here, fumbly and too vulnerable. He has always been soft. Milk teeth. Nobody kid from Yongin who came begging to Mingyu for a job.
When he was still Mingyu’s personal assistant, he cried once in front of Han Sung Soo and the entire third floor just because Han Sung Soo got all up in his face and said, “You gonna cry, Lee Seokmin?” It was suddenly excruciating, this rote verbal humiliation that Mingyu was so used to, perhaps because it was Seokmin. Mingyu had needed to look away. But after the meeting was over he’d gone to the bathroom and there Seokmin was, head down, still crying, the elbows of his secondhand suit getting damp where they braced against the sink.
It did something to Mingyu’s heart. There. No, it did, it did. It made him want to offer Seokmin something better. Anything better. But he knew what was expected of him. He knew he needed Seokmin right where he was. The only person Mingyu could punch down to. He should've gone to slap Seokmin’s back, make a joke like Hey Seokmin-ssi you been jacking off into the sink or what for the last half an hour? Ought to have sent him on his way, tell him to make himself useful and go get a coffee.
Instead, Mingyu came closer, slowly, like approaching a terrified dog. He splayed his hand against the pale smooth back of Seokmin’s neck, under the edges of his overgrown cheap haircut. Seokmin inhaled sharply with surprise, turned his face up to look up at him.
Touching Seokmin always made Mingyu feel strange, trembly. Split-open. Seokmin was such a little nothing, still. Especially when he cried.
Mingyu said in a low voice, staring into his flushed, shining eyes, “Look. I’ll take care of you, Seokmin-ah. I said I would, didn’t I? I’ll take care of you.”
Seokmin whispered, “Do you really mean that? Is that real?”
And for some reason, Mingyu leaned down and kissed his damp forehead.
Mingyu had been very good at taking care of things back then.
He took care of Jeonghan. He took care of their house and their dog Aji. He let himself get fucked, by Jeonghan and by Jeonghan’s father’s company and his own father’s company. A few months later he even married Jeonghan on a winter morning in Cape Cod. Seokmin was at the wedding. Of course he was. It was the greatest merger this side of the Time Warner deal, and this was the symbolic cherry on top of it, a kiss to seal it. Good optics, rotten inside. Like most things in this world.
Only problem was, Mingyu really thought he loved Jeonghan. He really, really thought he did. And Jeonghan had rewarded it by whispering into his mouth the night before the vows, one hand shoved down his pants, “I just don’t think I’m a good fit for a monogamous marriage, Mingyu-ah.”
It was the only honest thing he’d ever told Mingyu. Honesty was the most efficient way to break a person.
It was especially good timing, too, because that very morning, when Mingyu had been out for a run, Seokmin came sprinting up behind him calling his name, his mouth pursed, his eyes wide, grabbed Mingyu by the shoulder and looked into his eyes and whispered, “I think Jeonghan-ssi is— I think Jeonghan-ssi and your step-brother— um, I think Jeonghan-ssi and Seungcheol-sunbaenim—” and Mingyu had said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” kept repeating it as he shoved Seokmin backward, wrestled him to the snowy ground and straddled his writhing mass, one elbow on his throat, the way he'd wanted to be near him for so long but now it was all wrong and he said it one last time with deadly calm:
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Seokmin-ssi.”
That’s what he says now, on the roof, when Seokmin says, “I’m really not trying to fuck you, I’m not. But you do remember those documents you had me get rid of.”
Mingyu keeps shaking his head stubbornly. The motions grow into desperation.
“You should know,” Seokmin says, sounding more careful than he’s ever been capable of before, “that Seungcheol-sunbaenim asked me about them the other day.”
Mingyu turns to look at him.
“Are you fucking asking me if you can kill me? You’re getting my permission before you carve my heart out? Thank you, Seokmin-ssi, what a truly nice gesture. Your coworkers are right. You’re the second kindest person after God.”
“No, no, I—” Seokmin takes a step closer. “Mingyu-ssi. Please. I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want— I’m no good at this stuff. You know I’m not.” His voice has dropped into that quiet, soft cadence, trying to soothe, the way he’d talked to Aji the first and only time Mingyu had let him into his and Jeonghan’s apartment. “I’m really not smart. Maybe I’m good with people, but I’m not smart. It’s just… those documents. They could really help. They could… They could change things around here. Really.”
“If those papers get out,” Mingyu says quietly, “my father is going to send me to jail, Seokmin-ssi.”
“No, he’s not.”
“I’m the youngest son. I’m expendable.”
“You’re not expendable,” Seokmin says softly, like he really believes it. “You're a good person. You're better than all of them. Come with me. I want you to come with me.”
Abruptly, Mingyu feels his own tiredness.
That old thing sitting on his heart, so heavy. The exhaustion of having lived in this world since early adolescence. Of, for as long as he can remember, being pit like a fucking fighting dog against the people he loved and the people he wanted with all his stupid little heart to love him.
“I'm not very good,” Mingyu whispers. “You’re– you’re better than me. You’re full of hope. I’m full of nothing. I’m not a real person. I’m a straw doll. I got nothing inside me anymore. You know?”
“Well, then I’ll take care of you,” Seokmin says softly, kindly, in his talking-to-dogs voice, “Kim Mingyu.”
Seokmin is not a little nothing from Yongin anymore. He doesn't need Mingyu anymore. But he's still reaching a hand out. Mingyu touches his face because his eyes feel funny. He’s sort of crying. He turns away. Out of the corner of one eye, he sees Seokmin come closer, raise his hands up, careful.
“You,” Mingyu starts, when the large, warm hands are around his jaw, solid and anchoring.
The tenderness is out of place. Suddenly he wants those hands around his throat. He wants them to squeeze the life out of him.
“I. Seokmin. If there was some world. Where we weren’t here like this. If there was some world where we– I'd fucking marry you, you know. I'd lie awake in our bed, waiting for you to kill me. I really think I wouldn't mind being killed, if it was you."
Seokmin’s arms are around him now. Mingyu's shaking. Seokmin turns his face up to kiss his forehead. Mingyu knows Seokmin is smiling. He can tell. The knife is twisting. Mingyu's losing and he likes it. He's leaning into it.
“I’ll take care of you," Seokmin says again. "Mingyu-ah."