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jeongsoob · 1 day ago

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remember that ᯓ 𝚜𝚖𝚐

SFW version of my fic posted on @heechwe .ᐟ

୨୧ pairing: song mingi x fem!reader ୨୧ word count: 4k ୨୧ genre: angst, slight fluff ୨୧ tags: exes(ish) au, "we're on a break" au, soft pining, miscommunication ୨୧ synopsis: A break is supposed to give you time to understand what you do and don't want. But what if Mingi has to come with everything that frustrates you about him, no exceptions? Can you make it work, or will you both succumb to the pressure of love not being enough? ⟢ AUTHOR'S NOTE: Beta'ed by my babes Booki @kwanisms, Tiya @gyubakeries, and Ally @lovetaroandtaemin, I love you all so much. Also song title inspiration from LANY!

There are many valid pieces of evidence to support the argument that breaks never work. Friends, family, and perfect strangers remind you, solicited or not, why minor blips of time meant to think things through are simply an excuse, leading to the demise of a relationship.

“Don’t be chickenshit,” your best friend Karina remarked when you told her you were officially taking some time apart from Mingi. He would stay back at the dorms while you both took the next two weeks to think about your future. He didn’t want to, but he had to respect your wishes if he wanted any chance to mend the fences that were broken. “You know what you want to do, so do it. Don’t hide behind a ‘break.’”

You weren’t hiding, not in the slightest. If anything, the past few days alone have given you time to breathe. To reflect on the things that have and haven’t been working in your relationship for the last year.

You work in the same industry, and yet you have kept the entirety of your coupled status under wraps from everyone, save for your intimate group of loved ones. It isn’t hard to hide when you work on almost ten guys’ hair and makeup, but it’s all too easy to let feelings impede upon your professionalism.

Mingi’s always been willing to give you everything, but he doesn’t always see the entire picture of your needs. Sometimes, you don't need him to rescue you, and his eagerness borders the line of smothering too much for your comfort.

And yet, running through the pros and cons doesn’t make you miss him any less.

You ache waking up alone, not feeling the rise and fall of his chest under your head or hearing the sounds of his gargantuan feet pattering around your apartment. It became his apartment too by association after the fifth month of dating, his belongings sitting in every nook and cranny of what used to be your solitary space. Now, without him, it feels too hollow, too reminiscent of what it was like before he came into your life.

Even drives without him are terrible, the usual cacophony of traffic more bearable when he’s by your side, singing along off-key to the music on the radio or to his playlists when he uses your car’s bluetooth.

His absence is everywhere, and where there’s freedom sits all the despair attached to his missing presence.

“It hurts!”

“It’s not gonna hurt if you just listen to me.” You try to move closer to Hongjoong’s eye with the pencil in your hand, but he whips his head away again before you can begin on his waterline. “I told you to look up and away from me. You’ll barely feel it!”

“That’s a lie and you know it.” Hongjoong pouts in the makeup chair, and you stifle a giggle that bubbles in your throat. Watching so many impeccable performers be terrified of makeup applicators is probably one highlight of your career so far, especially guys as intimidating to look at as the one in front of you.

Suddenly, you feel him enter the room. The instinctual pull between you and Mingi goes beyond logical bounds, the tether made of only the metaphysical. It reminds you, every time he walks into the same space you’re in, how your body wants to be nowhere but next to his. You hate it more now than you ever have before.

“Am I going next when he’s finished?” Mingi cuts through the sudden silence to ask, his timbre a tad hollow but somehow still hopeful. You haven’t spoken for three days. This past weekend is the longest you’ve ever gone without communicating with each other. You can tell just from the sound of his voice it’s taken a toll on him.

You don’t turn to face him directly, finding some confidence from not having to look at the face you love so much head-on. “Seonghwa is, but he’s off getting his shirt hemmed, I think.”

“Just be patient, man.” Hongjoong winks at his younger friend. You thwack Hongjoong on the cheek with your eyeshadow brush, making the humored expression on his face dissipate.

“Did I say you have to talk when you’re getting your face done?” Hongjoong shakes his head with terrified eyes. “Exactly.”

You go back to your kit, but you feel despondence creep up your neck at the small quantity of black and neutral eyeshadow you have left. “Fuck it, we’ll just have to make do with the eyeliner right now.”

“Can’t you grab some from Mina’s kit? She probably won’t mind.”

You shake your head and go back to the pencil you dropped on the vanity when Mingi walked in. “I’ll just grab some more from the store later.”

“I can pick up some now if you need me to.” Mingi pipes up again, more hope seeping through his words. Sometimes, his overwhelmingly helpful nature makes you think he'd be reincarnated as a big puppy in the next life.

You finally face him with a soft smile, and you see the corners of his eyes crinkle up at your expression. “It’s okay, Min, really. Nothing I can’t handle.”

This is exactly why you needed space from Mingi. Staring into his big, brown eyes that make your body even a fraction weaker than before is why you can’t think through things properly around him. He takes all the logic and reason out of you, leaving you only to listen to the workings of your heart. And such an effect makes it simple to forget the myriad of minor problems that became so big you could not suppress them any more.

As he smiles at you, you repeat the words in your head like a mantra: he doesn’t listen, he’s too reckless, he acts on impulse half the time…

Seonghwa walks in and exclaims, “Okay, I think the shirt fits finally!” He looks between you and Mingi and then stares at Hongjoong with a curious fluff of his eyebrows. “What’s up with them?” He mouths to his friend.

Hongjoong can only shrug, the expression basically stating “Who knows anymore man?” without verbal support.

The longer you lock eyes with Mingi, the other men in the room long forgotten, you wonder if all you’re doing during this break is delaying the inevitable.

You took copious snapshots of the boys’ last looks before they had to practice on the stage. The sweat would ruin what you worked on for hours, so it was crucial to catalog it for your portfolio before that could happen.

Now, you watch them work through the three songs’ choreography with ease. Mingi takes center stage multiple times, and you smile to yourself at how ridiculous he acted an hour prior when he was in your chair, so busy complimenting you that you could barely get through doing his makeup.

“You look really pretty today,” he says as you dab the bridge of his nose with liquid highlighter. “I mean, you always do, but I haven’t seen you in a few days, so…”

You smirk and put the tub back in your makeup kit. “Making up for lost time, Min?”

Mingi blushes, a shade so pink you think you can skip putting that component of his makeup on altogether. “Just stating the obvious.”

“You don’t know,” you say, “I may have looked like shit in my sweatpants and ratty t-shirts all weekend.”

“Wanna know a secret?” You humor him, moving closer until his lips brush the shell of your ear, making you shudder. “That’s when you look the most beautiful to me.”

You retreat with trembling hands and a breathless laugh. “Are you gonna keep spitting game or can I finish your eyes now?”

Mingi smirks and snaps his eyes shut, pressing his face as close as he can to yours once again. He whispers with such a quiet but sultry tone, you think you may risk it all and kiss him once to get it out of your system. “Do whatever you want with me.”

And here you are, back in his orbit like he’s the sun and you’re a planet, willing to spin around him forever. A few weeks ago, you didn’t mind doing so until it made you dizzy, but you don’t know now if you miss depending so much on him. His “I got this, babe” one minute and “I can handle it” the next slowly made you realize he either didn’t trust you to work through anything without his help or he was so willing he couldn’t see how it came across.

Bringing it to his attention didn’t make him any wiser to the problem, his response defensive rather than introspective. He argued it was in any boyfriend’s nature to want to do everything for their girlfriend. “Don’t you do the same for me? What’s the difference?” He asked in the fight's haste that led to your desire to take a breather from each other.

Flitting the memories away, you focus on Mingi’s undeniably enchanting dancing and rapping. It’s what reminds you why you fell for him in the first place, both his talent and work ethic, which gave way to everything else that turned you into putty for him.

Before the group can finish the last song, a courier taps on your shoulder. “For you, miss.” He holds out a bag from the makeup store downtown, the contents inside being all that is low in your kit.

“I didn’t order anything,” you respond, fighting the only logical answer and culprit of the situation. The kid shrugs and makes his way out of the building, and you turn back to Mingi, the giant lost in his choreography. You feel your eyes light with fire rather than fuzziness, your desires and impulses from before long gone.

When he drops from the stage and makes it to the back, you slam the bag into his chest before walking away. “Wait! You said you needed this stuff!” Mingi trails behind quickly, his long legs catching up to you in seconds.

You turn when you’re alone in the hallway, your fury unleashed. “I said I could do it after work, and you went over my head again to do something I deliberately said you didn’t have to do!” Your bottom lip trembles. “Do you not care about listening to me at all?”

“What? No!” He shakes his head, his own face becoming a mask of confused anger. “I just wanted to help. And it’s just twenty bucks of makeup. Why is this such an issue right now?”

“Because I didn’t ask for your help!” You throw your hands in the air, and the gesture only makes you feel smaller.

Mingi chuckles, no humor in the sound. “You always take things on by yourself, even before we started dating. Is it so terrible of me for wanting to help, just a little?” He practically pinches his index and thumb together to emphasize his point.

“They’re my burdens to bear,” you scream. “Is it so hard to get in your head? I’m not some princess in a tower you need to save.”

“Why do you always treat someone else’s help like it’s a grandiose gesture you should feel guilty for?” He steps closer, your chests barely a breath apart. “I help you because I want to, because you deserve it and because I love you. Why can’t you stop pushing me and others away who want to make things easier on you?”

The words get stuck in your mouth, no sounds coming out in a response that makes sense or can answer his questions properly. A tear escapes your eye, falling hot on your cheek. Mingi tries to wipe it away, but you whip your head out of his direction and rub your face with your palm.

San comes from the exit you both walked out of and looks on with concern. “You guys alright?”

You shake your head and walk past them both, your heart in knots too tough to untangle today.

You clip the buckle on your heels as you continue to hold your phone’s receiver to your ear, the sun setting as you make haste to end the call and head out the door. “Woo, for the last time, you should know where I’m going by now. I thought we were friends before I started dating one of your best friends.”

“You are, but you could be playing coy, I don’t know!” Wooyoung remarks, making you laugh. You haven’t seen the kid since Monday when you walked away from the show, not having time to say goodbye to him before you made your way home.

You always spend Thursday nights with your parents for dinner. Your immediate family decided long ago to make time out of all of your busy schedules for weekly briefings and small talk over home-cooked food. It was one of the few times you found peace in the hectic nature of everyday life.

“Trust me—and you can let our mutual friend know—just the same usual Thursday plans.” You hear a knock at the door and rush to get off the phone even faster, wondering who could be outside your home so close to the evening. “I gotta go, talk to you soon.”

You iron out the wrinkles of your dress before heading to your apartment door. The man on the other side steals your breath in his white button down and denim jeans combo. He completes the ensemble with his thick-framed glasses and his hair, tousled just a touch, exactly how you like it. His fashion choices on nights like this still stun you to no end, even if you’re surprised he’s here tonight at all.

“M-Mingi,” you say. “What are—“

“I wouldn’t miss family dinner, together or not.” He clears his throat and puts his hand out, clearly eager for you to take it. “If you’ll still have me there, I mean.”

You fight the smile tugging at your cheeks and instead take a deep breath and his palm in yours. Your fingers interlace, and it reminds you more of home than the entire 900-square foot apartment behind you. “Just because you made such an effort to look so nice. It’d be a waste, you know?”

Mingi smiles and pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose with his other hand. He smiles to himself the entire time you lock your door and head down the stairwell, not letting go of your hand once.

You don’t say no when he offers to drive, or stop him from holding your door open until you get in, and he thinks that maybe you’re turning a corner after he slipped up. And you think you might just give into him for the sheer fact being in a car again with him, listening to his off-key riffs, reminds you of everything you’ve been missing, for better or worse.

“Honey! Mingi! Come in,” your mother beckons you at the front door. She welcomes you inside wearing her signature floral apron, though your father and brother do most of the cooking.

Neither you nor your mother expected Mingi to bring flowers to tonight’s dinner. You didn’t expect him to invite himself at all, but thinking about it, it would be weird for him not to attend when your family did not know you were on a relationship hiatus.

This Thursday holds no more significance than all the others, but it warms your heart to see your mother grab a vase from the living room to hold the batch of tulips Mingi brought.

“Sometimes I think my own husband forgets my favorite flowers. But not you, my sweet boy.” Your mother pinches Mingi’s cheek, and Mingi blushes a shade of plum at the physical touch.

“Speaking of him, does he need help in the back? I know the grill can be a pain for him and Eric to get going,” Mingi offers.

“That would be wonderful, Mingi, thank you.” You smile at Mingi as he leaves you two to walk towards the back porch. He greets your father with a handshake and your little brother with a manly hug, and any residual anger you felt over the past few days instantly dissipates.

He’s always been a caring person. You knew this the second he brought a spare pack of bandaids on your second date when you slipped and fell on your knee during your first. Sometimes, as you’ve grown to learn, he seems to have a hard time hearing when his help isn’t necessary. Or the exact help he envisions isn’t the help you desire.

“That boy is one in a million, baby.” Your mother says as you walk to the kitchen together. “I can’t picture someone better to take care of you.”

You sigh. “Who says I need to be taken care of, Mom?”

She shakes her head with a grin as she keeps stirring the soup on the stove. “Everyone needs someone, my love. Even when a person is adamant about fighting their own battles like you.”

“That’s not what I mean,” you huff, exasperated. “All I’m saying is that I can have someone by my side and not be wrong for wanting to do things on my own in my way, right?”

Her head continues to move back and forth, her ladle going in the same fashion. “And all I’ll say, baby, is that it’s important to let someone know those things. If you don’t tell someone what you’re looking for, they’ll make assumptions. And you know how we all feel about those.”

“They make an ass out of you and me,” Eric pipes up from behind you, making you flinch. You thwack him on the arm, and he rubs the spot with a pout. Your father and Mingi gather in the kitchen behind your brother, the simmering steaks on a large plate smelling delectable.

“Time to eat, everyone!”

Before you all can head to the table, Mingi pulls you in and whispers, “The right one is yours. Medium rare, how you like it.”

He leaves you standing alone as he sits next to your brother. Your heart resides in your throat the rest of the night, sitting beside Mingi and your mother and wondering if maybe a part of you hasn’t given credit to Mingi in the way he deserves. Maybe you both have been wrong in your own ways, and it’s still fixable.

Maybe this break is serving a purpose in a way you didn’t expect.

The drive back to your apartment is quiet, but it’s charged with tension from the way Mingi rubs patterns into the back of your hand with his thumb. Both of your palms rest over your thigh, the muscle on fire from how his large fingers encompass yours and hover over the fabric of your dress.

Now is not the time for sexual frustration. It’s time to talk and see if the break can be amended into some form of peace treaty.

He parks his car in the lot and looks over at you with a small grin, close-mouthed but earnest all the same. “Tonight was fun. Glad to hear Eric’s doing good in school.”

You smile back. “My parents were happy to see you. They thought with the comeback coming up you wouldn’t be able to make it tonight.”

“I wouldn’t miss it. I told you that.”

Your throat is in a mess of knots once again as you nod. You turn in your seat to face him head on, and Mingi mirrors your body posture. Removing his palm from your thigh, you hold it in both of your hands, finding some strength to let the words come out. “We need to talk.”

Mingi’s eyes go wide immediately, inching as close as he can to you despite the ridiculously large glove box in his way. “If this is the start of that conversation, please—“

“No, no! I’m sorry,” you say immediately. “I shouldn’t have started with that.”

His free hand goes over his chest, and the relief floods over his entire expression. “You really can scare the shit out of a guy, you know that right?”

“I said I’m sorry,” you respond with a teasing pout. “But, I think I’ve been terrible at communicating what I need from you and from this relationship.”

Mingi thinks the words over before he nods slowly. “Okay.”

You inhale again, taking in a deeper breath. “First, I apologize for not being transparent. I should’ve said that I’m not exactly the greatest at getting help, not just from you. And my expectations couldn’t have been met if I didn’t tell you what they were, and I’m sorry for that.”

Mingi nods with ease, almost like he’s shrugging it off entirely, like there was nothing to apologize for.

You continue, your confidence in your speech building. “I love the big and little things you do for me, and I’ve always appreciated your willingness to be there no matter the time of day for those you care about. For my family, for the guys—even for a random person on the goddamn sidewalk.”

You feel tears pooling in your eyes. “But, I need you to listen when I tell you there are some things that you can’t help me with, or that I don’t need your help for. And taking my opinion and listening doesn’t mean you’re not doing your best as a boyfriend. The opposite, actually.”

You see words on Mingi’s tongue threatening to spill out, and you give him the clear to say them. “I guess I just don’t know how to show you I’m here for you otherwise.”

“You’ve always shown me that, Min,” you respond instantly, not wanting him to doubt himself or his capabilities as a partner. “All I want is for you to be by my side, even if I’m struggling with things, and if you can understand that I’ll ask for your help when I need it moving forward, I think we’ll be okay. Okay?” You kiss his palm in between your own hands, and you tuck it under your chin.

Mingi smiles and puts his other hand on your thigh, rubbing the skin through the material of your dress. “Does this mean that I have to go back to that store and get a refund for the makeup I bought?”

You laugh, the sound coated with happiness, and shake your head again. “No. Why let all that good eyeshadow go to waste, right?”

Mingi chuckles, full of vigor. “Right.” He leans across the box between you, your lips an inch away from his. “And does this mean I can kiss you now?”

You quirk an eyebrow and smirk. “If you know what’s good for you, Song Mingi.”

His lips press to yours, quick and hard, and you swear you hear the clack of your teeth against his the second they collide. You don’t care, though. The feelings that accompany the kiss are all-encompassing; the pain from being apart for days, the tension from the entire night between you like a knife ready to strike down, the love that’s always been there even when you both were apart.

“Fuck, I missed you so much,” Mingi confesses. His yearning pours out via his kisses, all the things he hasn’t been able to say in the past week leaving his body with each caress. They go everywhere along your face, until he plants another on your lips, his smile breaking through it. It’s softer than all the other ones you’ve received from him in the past few minutes. “I love you.”

You know he means it every time he says it. Yet, somehow, with a newfound understanding of your shared wants and needs, and a promise for the future to be better than the past, this time he says it feels sweeter than it ever has. And when you say you love him back, you mean it even more.

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