Archive of Our Own

It was Monday afternoon at the university clinic, one of the busiest times of the week when students finally started dealing with the injuries and exhaustion they had accumulated over the weekend. The halls outside were crowded with people moving between classes, their conversations blending into a continuous noise that occasionally drifted through the clinic's glass doors. 

Inside, however, the atmosphere remained noticeably calmer. 

Jeong Yunho crouched beside one of the therapy beds with complete focus, his attention fixed on the student sitting in front of him. His movements were careful and practiced, the result of countless hours spent training and assisting patients. Every adjustment he made was deliberate, from the way he positioned the student's foot to the way he wrapped the compression bandage around the injured ankle. 

The sophomore sitting on the edge of the bed watched him attentively. 

"Not too tight?" Yunho asked quietly as he secured the final layer of the bandage. 

The sophomore student looked down and flexed his ankle experimentally before shaking his head.

"No, hyung. It actually feels a lot better now." 

Yunho gave a small nod and gently pressed around the wrapped area, checking both the support and the student's reaction.

"Good. Keep your foot elevated once you get back to your dorm. Try not to put too much weight on it for at least twenty-four hours. If the swelling gets worse tonight, come back tomorrow morning so we can take another look."

The student listened attentively and nodded several times.

"Okay. Thank you, hyung."

Yunho offered him a reassuring smile. "It should heal fine if you rest properly."

His voice was calm and warm, never sounding rushed or impatient no matter how many people he saw in a day. That was one of the reasons students trusted him so easily.

It was not only because he was undeniably handsome. Nor was it because everyone knew he consistently ranked near the top of the department.

It was the way he spoke to people.

Even nervous freshmen who entered the clinic trembling from anxiety somehow left feeling calmer after spending only a few minutes with him. Yunho had a natural patience that made people feel heard. He never made anyone feel embarrassed for asking questions, and he always explained things thoroughly no matter how simple the injury seemed.

Across the room, Park Seonghwa sat behind the front desk with his chin resting lazily against his palm as he watched the interaction unfold with obvious amusement.

“You’re seriously making me look incompetent, Yunho,” he said lazily. “At this point, we should just hand the entire clinic over to you.”

Yunho let out a small breath of laughter while removing his gloves. “That’s funny coming from someone who disappears every time paperwork shows up, hyung.”

“First of all,” Seonghwa replied immediately, sitting up straighter in mock offense, “That is an outrageous accusation.”

Unfortunately for him, nobody in the room looked convinced.

As a fourth year student assistant preparing for internship requirements and graduation paperwork, Seonghwa had already mastered the art of balancing patient care with administrative work. He was undeniably skilled and reliable when necessary. The problem was that he also possessed an incredible talent for avoiding paperwork whenever possible.

Yunho shook his head with a faint smile before walking toward the sink to wash his hands.

The sophomore patient thanked him repeatedly before leaving the clinic carefully with a slight limp. The moment the door closed behind the student, Seonghwa dramatically leaned back in his chair.

"You know," he said again, looking entirely too entertained, “sometimes I genuinely think half the students who come here are pretending to be injured just to see you.”

“Hyung,” Yunho warned immediately, already sounding tired.

“I’m serious,” Seonghwa continued without shame. “Do you know how many freshmen keep asking about your duty schedule? One girl earlier literally asked me what days you usually stay late and the others asked if you already had a girlfriend”

“That’s honestly creepy.”

Before Seonghwa could even respond, the clinic door opened slightly.

A small group of freshmen peeked inside cautiously, the moment they spotted Yunho, several of them immediately started whispering among themselves near the entrance as if debating who would speak first. Their nervous energy immediately filled the room.

One girl pushed another forward.

"You ask."

"No, you ask."

"You were the one who wanted to come."

"I know, but he's actually here." 

Finally, one of the girls finally stepped forward.

“Um… is Yunho-sunbaenim here?” She asked even though they already saw him.

Seonghwa did not even attempt to hide his. He gestured openly toward Yunho like he was introducing a celebrity guest. “Our resident heartthrob is right there.”

"Hyung."

“What?”

The girl immediately turned red.

Yunho closed his eyes briefly in embarrassment before turning toward them anyway.

“What happened?” he asked gently, offering her a small reassuring smile.

The girl visibly flustered under the attention. “I think I pulled something during PE earlier…”

“Alright,” Yunho said calmly. “Sit down first and tell me exactly where it hurts.”

He pulled a stool chair closer while the other freshmen hovered nearby pretending not to stare too much. Unfortunately for them, their whispering was still very obvious. As Yunho examined the girl’s shoulder carefully and asked questions about the pain, the room filled with quiet murmurs.

“He’s taller up close.”

“I told you he was handsome.”

“Oh my god, stop staring.”

“He smells good too.”

“Stacey’s so lucky”

“I’m jealous”

"Do you think he remembers people's names?"

"I heard he's single."

"Really?"

"Shut up."

At the front desk, Seonghwa opened a folder and pretended to work. The key word was pretended. Because he was absolutely listening, and every few seconds his shoulders shook with suppressed laughter.

Meanwhile, across campus, the atmosphere could not have been more different.

The university gym was alive with movement and noise, filled with the kind of chaotic energy that only came from a competitive sports team in the middle of an intense training session. The sharp squeak of sneakers echoed repeatedly across the polished wooden floor while basketballs slammed against the court in a constant rhythm. Voices overlapped from every direction. Some players shouted instructions to teammates. Others called for passes or complained about fouls during practice scrimmages. Above it all, the bright overhead lights illuminated every corner of the gym, making the space feel even larger than it already was.

The air carried a mixture of sweat, rubber, and sports drinks. It was familiar, exhausting, and strangely comforting for the athletes who spent most of their afternoons there.

"Again!"

The coach's voice cut through the noise instantly. Everyone moved without hesitation.

Near the three-point line, Song Mingi dragged the hem of his shirt across his forehead, wiping away sweat before tossing it back down. His chest rose and fell heavily from hours of conditioning drills, shooting exercises, and practice games. The dark fabric of his jersey clung to his broad shoulders and back, damp from exertion.

Practice had been brutal today.

San caught the ball from another player and tossed it toward him. 

Mingi caught it automatically.

San narrowed his eyes. "You're distracted."

"I'm not."

"You missed three shots in a row."

Mingi bounced the ball once. "That doesn't automatically mean I'm distracted."

San let out an incredulous laugh. "It does when you never miss three shots in a row."

Several nearby teammates glanced over.

Because San was right.

Mingi was usually one of the most consistent shooters on the team. Missing once was normal. Twice was unusual. Three times was enough to make everyone suspicious.

Mingi clicked his tongue in annoyance but refused to admit anything. Instead, he dribbled hard against the floor. Then he drove forward aggressively. Jongho moved to block him immediately. The two collided shoulder-to-shoulder before Mingi pivoted sharply, slipped past him, and shot from the edge of the paint.

The ball sailed cleanly through the net.

A few teammates whistled. 

"There." Mingi caught his breath as he backed away. "Happy now?"

Hongjoong stood nearby with his arms folded across his chest. "Better."

Mingi sighed.

"But your timing still looks off."

"I'll fix it." 

San jogged closer beside him once practice paused briefly. Unfortunately, the look on his face meant he was about to start teasing him. "You're going to the clinic again after practice, aren't you?" lowering his voice carefully.

Mingi immediately shot him a warning look. “Shut up.” 

San's grin widened. "Oh, so that's a yes."

"It isn't."

"It definitely is."

"I said it isn't."

San rolled his eyes. “Yesterday you literally walked into the clinic pretending to limp even though you were completely fine.”

“I had a cramp,” he answered.

“Sure you did.”

Their coach blew his whistle loudly before San could continue teasing him further.

"CHOI! SONG!"

Both players immediately straightened. 

“If you two are done flirting with each other, get back into formation!”

The team burst into laughter while Mingi groaned in irritation. “Coach!”

But even after practice resumed, his concentration kept slipping for reasons he refused to acknowledge aloud. Every now and then, his thoughts drifted back toward the medical building on the opposite side of campus. Toward Yunho while calmly wrapping bandages or checking injuries with those steady hands.

Mingi bounced the ball harder than necessary which made several teammates look at him.

By the time practice finally ended, the sun had already started setting beyond the massive gym windows. Warm orange light stretched across the floor and cast long shadows across the court.

The atmosphere gradually shifted as players gathered their belongings and headed toward the locker rooms. Some students were already leaving campus. Others were heading toward dormitories, libraries, or cafes.

The day was slowly coming to an end.

Mingi grabbed a towel and draped it around his neck before picking up his bag from the bench. He had barely taken five steps toward the exit when San's voice stopped him.

"You're really going again?"

Mingi didn't even look back. "My shoulder hurts."

The silence that followed lasted several seconds, then San laughed.

Mingi finally turned around.

"What?"

San stared at him. "You realize nobody believes that anymore, right?" 

Nearby, Jongho immediately nodded. "Not even a little."

Mingi adjusted the strap of his bag defensively. “I don’t care.”

Hongjoong passed by them while drinking water, clearly overhearing the conversation. “At least try making the excuse believable this time, Song.”

Mingi rolled his eyes then walked away before anyone could continue. Mostly because believable or not, his feet were already carrying him toward the clinic anyway.

The evening air felt significantly cooler after leaving the building. Mingi adjusted the strap of his bag as he walked across campus.

Groups of students passed him in both directions.

Some recognized him immediately and whispered to each other.

Others waved.

A few basketball fans greeted him.

He acknowledged them automatically, but his attention remained elsewhere. The medical building eventually came into view at the end of the pathway. 

Back inside the clinic, the afternoon rush had finally begun slowing down. 

The waiting area looked far less crowded than it had earlier. Most of the patients were gone. The atmosphere had settled into a peaceful quiet that only came at the end of long workdays.

Yunho sat behind his desk reviewing patient records. Several stacks of paperwork surrounded him and despite the amount of work left to do, his handwriting remained neat and organized as he carefully updated treatment notes inside a thick logbook. Occasionally, he flipped through additional papers while comparing information and making corrections. Across the room, Seonghwa was organizing medical supplies and returning equipment to the proper cabinets.

The moment the door opened, Seonghwa didn't even bother looking up. Instead, he glanced at the clock.

A knowing smile appeared immediately.

"Right on schedule."

And there he was.

Mingi stood near the entrance looking completely exhausted after practice. His varsity jacket hung loosely over one shoulder. His gym bag rested heavily in one hand. His black training clothes were slightly wrinkled after hours of movement. Dark strands of hair fell messily across his forehead, still damp from sweat.

Even after surviving another brutal basketball practice, he somehow still looked annoyingly attractive.

Yunho blinked once.

"Mingi."

The moment his name left Yunho's mouth, the basketball player immediately placed one hand dramatically against the wall beside the entrance. 

He lowered his head and released the most exaggerated sigh imaginable.

"My shoulder hurts," he announced weakly.

Seonghwa immediately closed his eyes. "Oh my God."

Outside the clinic windows, several students passing through the hallway slowed down after recognizing who had just entered.

Whispers immediately followed.

"Oh my god, that's Song Mingi."

"Again?"

"He's here every day."

"Maybe he's actually injured."

"No way."

"I think he just likes coming here."

The university basketball team had an almost ridiculous reputation around campus. 

Especially the starting lineup. 

There was Kim Hongjoong, the sharp-tongued captain who somehow terrified both opponents and referees during games.

There were the Choi brothers, San and Jongho, whose popularity had somehow reached a level where students had created multiple fan pages dedicated to them. 

And then there was Song Mingi.

The tallest member of the team. The loudest one during games. Easily one of the most recognizable faces on campus.

People talked about him constantly. His performances during tournaments. His game highlights. His interviews after wins. Even the random things he posted online somehow spread across the university within minutes.

Which was exactly why his nearly daily appearances at the clinic had started attracting attention.

At first, students assumed he was genuinely injured from training.

Then he kept showing up.

Again. And again. And again.

Now students openly whispered whenever they saw him heading toward the medical building after basketball practice. 

“Which shoulder is it this time?” Seonghwa asked flatly while closing one of the supply cabinets, sounding far too used to Mingi’s suspiciously frequent injuries.

Mingi paused for a second. “…The left one.”

"The last time it was the right shoulder." Yunho raised an eyebrow.

Mingi immediately answered. "The pain moved."

“The pain what?” Seonghwa repeated slowly, staring at him in disbelief before laughing under his breath.

“Moved” Mingi repeated confidently, as if that explanation somehow made perfect sense.

Yunho quietly closed the patient logbook and set his pen aside. "You really don't need therapy every day, Mingi."

Mingi immediately walked toward the desk carrying the saddest expression imaginable. “But I overworked myself.”

"You played basketball." 

“Yeah, so?”

Seonghwa rolled his eyes so hard it almost looked painful. “Mingi,” he deadpanned, “you came here yesterday because you were limping. We should admit you for being annoying instead.”

Ignoring Seonghwa completely, Mingi leaned both hands against Yunho’s desk before lowering himself slightly until they were almost eye level.

The movement alone caused the students outside the clinic to gasp dramatically before hurrying away down the hallway while whispering loudly to each other.

Neither of them noticed. 

"You practiced too hard again?" Yunho asked. His voice remained calm despite how close they suddenly were. 

Mingi nodded immediately with zero shame. “Yes.”

“How long was practice today?”

“About three hours.”

Yunho stared at him. “I think that’s normal for your team.”

"It was emotionally exhausting too." 

Seonghwa walked past them carrying a tray of supplies toward the storage area. “You know, Mingi,” he said casually, “there are actual injured athletes in this university.”

Mingi looked genuinely offended. “I am injured, hyung.”

Yunho tried very hard not to smile. “Okay,” he said calmly instead. “Sit on the therapy bed first so I can check your shoulder properly.”

The second Yunho said that Mingi obeyed immediately without arguing once. He walked over and sat down on the therapy bed with surprising ease.

Because Song Mingi was known across campus for being difficult.

He was loud, stubborn, competitive, and impossible during basketball games according to nearly everyone who knew him. Professors complained about him sleeping during early morning lectures because of training schedules. Some of his teammates complained about his ego during practice. Freshmen admired him but some were often too intimidated to approach him properly.

Yet somehow, every single time he entered this clinic, he became strangely obedient around Yunho.

Yunho washed his hands carefully at the sink before approaching him again with complete professionalism.

“So where exactly is the pain?” Yunho asked while standing in front of him.

Mingi vaguely pointed around his shoulder area. “Somewhere here.”

“That’s not helpful.” Yunho sighed softly then he stepped closer. “Move your arm.”

Mingi obeyed again while Yunho gently rotated his shoulder with careful hands.

“Does this hurt?” Yunho asked quietly.

“A little.”

“You’re lying.”

Mingi blinked once before correcting himself. “…A lot?”

Yunho gave him a look.

Up close, Mingi smelled faintly like detergent, sweat, and the familiar sharp scent of indoor basketball courts. His skin still carried warmth from practice, and his muscles remained tense beneath Yunho’s touch.

“You don’t have inflammation,” Yunho murmured as he carefully pressed around Mingi's shoulder joint, his fingers moving with practiced precision while checking for any signs of swelling or serious strain. His expression remained focused, completely professional despite how often this exact patient seemed to appear in the clinic lately. “Your muscles are just overworked from repetitive movement. There’s some tightness here and here, but nothing that would concern me.”

Mingi immediately frowned as though Yunho had just delivered terrible news.

“That sounds serious.”

Yunho looked up at him. “It really doesn't.”

“It does to me.”

“It means you need rest.” Yunho corrected.

Mingi looked personally attacked by the suggestion. “That’s impossible.”

“Then at least stretch properly.”

“Still impossible.”

Yunho sighed. “You're literally an athlete.” 

“Exactly,” Mingi replied. “Do you know how much effort being an athlete requires? I'm already tired before we even get to stretching.”

Yunho shook his head. “That doesn't even make sense.”

“Or maybe,” Mingi continued, scratching the back of his neck while offering a crooked smile, “I'm just naturally prone to injury.”

“Or maybe,” Yunho countered without missing a beat, “you just like bothering me.”

The answer caught Mingi completely off guard. For a moment, he simply stared. Then his lips slowly curved upward. “Maybe I do.”

The words were light and teasing, but something about the way he said them made the air between them feel strangely different.

Yunho's fingers paused for the slightest second before continuing to examine the shoulder as if he heard nothing. “You still need to take care of yourself,” he said quietly while examining the shoulder one last time.

Mingi’s gaze lingered on him for a second longer than necessary. Something unreadable flickered briefly across his expression before he looked away first.

Then Yunho stepped back and reached for kinesiology tape inside the nearby cabinet.

“Roll your sleeves up,” Yunho instructed gently.

Without complaint, Mingi rolled his sleeve, exposing more of his shoulder.

The moment Yunho’s fingers brushed against his skin while applying the tape carefully across his shoulder muscle, Mingi visibly stiffened beneath his touch.

Yunho paused. “Did that hurt?”

“…No.”

His voice sounded quieter than usual this time.

Yunho continued securing the tape carefully, completely focused on making sure the placement supported the strained muscles correctly.

The silence stretched comfortably between them for several moments.

Then Yunho spoke first. “I heard your team won against Utopia University last weekend.”

Mingi brightened immediately. “Yeah.”

“Seventy-six to fifty-five, right?”

“Something like that.”

Yunho nodded while smoothing another strip of tape into place. “You guys have been winning a lot lately.”

Mingi couldn't help smiling. “We've been training harder than usual.”

“I noticed.”

“My entire body noticed.”

That earned a small laugh from Yunho and Mingi considered it a victory.

“What was the game like?” Yunho curiously asked.

Mingi shifted slightly on the therapy bed. “We started slow during the first quarter. Hongjoong hyung spent most of it yelling at us because nobody was communicating properly.”

“That sounds stressful.”

“It was.”

“What happened after that?”

“We adjusted our defense.” Mingi leaned back slightly. “Jongho blocked two shots in a row during the second quarter. That completely changed the momentum.”

Yunho listened quietly. “And San?”

“San scored three straight baskets after halftime.”

“Impressive.” Yunho nodded once. 

“Then the other team started double-teaming me.”

Yunho smiled. “I assume you enjoyed that.”

“A little.”

Yunho laughed softly.

The sound made something warm settle inside Mingi's chest. “Jongho found me open near the corner late in the third quarter,” he continued. “I hit a three-pointer and after that everything kind of snowballed.”

“See? That sounds like a real conversation.”

Mingi blinked. “What?”

“You usually walk in here and just complain.”

Mingi didn't answer immediately. “Maybe I want you to know now that I’m not faking everything,” he said, half-teasing, half-serious.

Yunho leaned back slightly after finishing the final strip of tape then he removed his gloves. “Your muscles are real.”

Mingi smiled.

“But the pain, not so much.” Yunho continued.

Mingi chuckled, watching him toss the gloves in the bin. “Okay, maybe I like the attention.”

“At least you admit it.”

Their eyes met again.

This time neither of them looked away immediately. The moment stretched longer than either expected. There was something soft in Mingi's gaze that Yunho noticed.

Something warm.

Something that had slowly been growing with every visit to the clinic.

Yunho was the first to break eye contact. “You're lucky Doc Jisoo isn't here right now. She'd probably ban you for excessive visits.”

Mingi grinned. “She likes me.”

“She tolerates you,” Yunho corrected, standing up. “But I don’t mind.”

The words slipped out before he could stop them. 

Mingi blinked. “You don’t?”

Yunho immediately regretted saying it. 

“Not if it keeps you from actually getting hurt.” The answer came a little too quickly.

Still, it made Mingi smile. 

“You should avoid excessive strain tonight,” Yunho continued, pretending not to notice. “Ice it for fifteen minutes before bed. Stretch before practice tomorrow.” Then he stepped back toward his desk.

Mingi grinned wide. “So, you do care.”

“Mingi.” Yunho said seriously.

“Right, right. Sorry” Mingi immediately stood up and followed him anyway. Like an oversized puppy trailing behind its owner.

Then he glanced down at the tape on his shoulder before flexing experimentally. “Hm.”

Yunho looked up from the paperwork he was organizing. “What?”

“You’re really good at this.”

“Well,” Yunho replied dryly while smiling faintly, “I would hope so considering this is literally my field.”

Unfortunately for Mingi’s already unstable peace of mind, Yunho’s smile was unfairly pretty under the clinic lights.

Then clinic doors suddenly opened once more.

Two girls stepped inside before immediately freezing in place the second they noticed Yunho and Mingi standing together.

Their eyes bounced rapidly between the two.

“Oh my god,” one of them whispered under her breath.

The other girl grabbed her arm aggressively. “I know.”

“Oh my god.”

“I KNOW.”

“Uh... sorry,” the first girl blurted out quickly. “We just needed bandages.”

Seonghwa immediately walked toward them before they could completely lose composure.

“I’ll help you over here,” he said while trying not to laugh.

Meanwhile, Mingi grabbed his bag still looking at Yunho, who was already busy writing in the logbook again.

“See you tomorrow?” His voice was quieter this time. Soft enough so that the girls couldn't hear.

Yunho didn't look up. “Mhm.”

That was all. Yet somehow it felt like enough.

As Mingi and the two girls left the clinic, Seonghwa slowly stood up from the front desk, stretching slightly before walking over to Yunho’s desk with an easy, knowing confidence. He leaned against the edge of the table and crossed his arms, watching Yunho work with that familiar teasing expression 

“You like him.”

“I tolerate him,” Yunho muttered without even looking up from the papers in front of him, his pen still moving as if the conversation had no effect on him at all.

Seonghwa grinned wider, clearly not satisfied with that answer. “Same way Doc Jisoo ‘tolerates’ him?”

A faint blush crept up Yunho’s cheeks almost immediately, subtle but noticeable enough, yet he simply turned a page with deliberate calm, pretending nothing had happened while his ears betrayed him.

“You’re so obvious, Yunho,” Seonghwa sang lightly, dragging out the words as if he was enjoying every second of it. “But don’t worry. Everyone is rooting for you two.”

“Everyone?” Yunho finally asked, pausing for a second as if that part had caught him off guard more than he wanted to admit.

“You have no idea how popular you both are right now in the university,” Seonghwa said, leaning in slightly as if sharing a secret, though his voice was anything but quiet in tone or intention.

Yunho rolled his eyes and went back to his paperwork. “I’m not interested in drama.”

Seonghwa tilted his head, studying him carefully. “Then why haven’t you told him to stop coming?”

Silence filled the space between them for a moment that felt longer than it should have.

Then Yunho, very quietly, without looking up from the page he was writing on, finally admitted, “Because maybe I don’t mind either.”

And somewhere down the hallway, completely unaware of what had just been said inside the clinic, Mingi was already smiling to himself as he walked, like he somehow already knew the answer without hearing it.

The campus cafeteria was loud in the way it always was during midday, filled with overlapping conversations, the scraping of chairs against tile floors, trays clattering, and the occasional shout when someone realized their order was wrong or missing something. The smell of cheap cafeteria food mixed with coffee and fried snacks filled the air, while students packed every available table, leaving only a few quieter corners near the windows untouched.

At one of those tables near the glass windows, Yunho sat across from Jung Wooyoung and Kang Yeosang, his tray barely touched as he absentmindedly picked at his food while listening to them instead of eating.

“So,” Wooyoung began casually, spooning yogurt into his mouth without even looking up, speaking like he was continuing a conversation that had already been going on in his head for a while, “are we going to talk about it, or are you going to pretend you didn’t just give Mingi a massage again yesterday?” 

Yunho didn’t even react, not even a blink. “It’s called therapy. It’s my job.” 

“I’ve been to the clinic three times this semester,” Yeosang said calmly, “and not once have I seen Mingi leave without smiling like he just got awarded a championship ring or something.” 

Yunho finally turned to him, narrowing his eyes slightly. “You were there last week?” 

“Thursday,” Yeosang confirmed without hesitation. “You were adjusting his posture. He moaned.” 

Wooyoung almost choked on his yogurt right there. “What the fuck?”

“He had muscle tension!” Yunho insisted, his ears turning slightly red despite his attempt to stay composed. 

“I’ll bet,” Wooyoung said with a teasing grin, leaning back in his chair. “Listen, Yuyu, it’s basically all over campus now. Everyone’s talking about it.” 

Yunho leaned back slowly, folding his arms. “Talking about what?” He still asked even though he already had an idea.

“Mingi’s daily visits,” Yeosang said without hesitation, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Some girls in my psychology class even made a betting pool about whether he’s faking injuries just to flirt with you.” 

Wooyoung’s eyes widened like he had just heard the most entertaining gossip of the year. “Wait, they actually did that?” 

“Twenty dollars per bet,” Yeosang added, completely unfazed. “Last I heard, the total pot was already around one hundred fifty.” 

Yunho’s expression barely changed, but there was a slight tightening in his jaw that gave him away. “That’s ridiculous.” 

“Oh and not to mention,” Wooyoung continued, leaning forward now with obvious interest, “you’ve never actually told him to stop coming. Be honest, you’re a little flattered, aren’t you?” 

“I’m used to attention,” Yunho said, brushing a strand of hair behind his ear like he was trying to stay composed. “It doesn’t mean I like it.” 

“But it’s different with Mingi,” Yeosang added, watching him carefully. “You don’t act the same way you do with other patients.” 

Yunho looked down at his food, poking at it slightly. “...Because no one else fakes injuries just to see me. 

“Exactly! Well, maybe there are some according to Seonghwa hyung. But still!” Wooyoung said immediately, pointing at him like that proved something important. “So what are you going to do when he shows up again today pretending something hurts?” 

“I’ll tell him to stop,” Yunho answered without hesitation. 

Wooyoung smirked under his breath. “Liar.” 

By the afternoon, the basketball team had just finished practice, and the atmosphere inside the gym felt heavy with exhaustion. Their coach had pushed them through another nearly three straight hours of scrimmages, defensive drills, conditioning work, and repeated sprint sets, all because the university tournament was approaching quickly after their recent win against Utopia University the week before, and they only had about three weeks left to prepare properly. 

Even Jongho, who usually had endless stamina, looked completely drained afterward, which alone said enough about how intense the training had been. 

The team slowly scattered around the locker room, some collapsing onto benches like they had just survived something life-threatening, others lying on the floor still catching their breath while wiping sweat from their faces. The sound of water bottles opening and towels being thrown around filled the room. 

San threw a towel over his shoulder before glancing at Mingi, who was already changing his shirt quickly like he was rushing somewhere important.

“You heading back to the dorm?” San asked.

Mingi grabbed his varsity jacket from the bench without looking at him. “Clinic first.” 

San immediately burst into laughter. “Your dedication is actually terrifying.” 

“Shut up.” 

“You know,” San continued shamelessly, grinning as he leaned against the lockers, “normal people usually ask someone out before visiting them every single day.” 

Mingi immediately threw a rolled towel straight at his face without even looking. “My body hurts today,” he muttered, clearly lying, but refusing to admit it.

Even so, as he left the gym and started walking toward the clinic, that familiar nervous flutter returned in his stomach again, the same feeling that always showed up right before he saw Yunho. He didn’t even fully understand when it had started, maybe the first time he saw Yunho focused in his white coat, or maybe the first time Yunho actually looked at him like he was just another patient and not some basketball star everyone talked about, but whatever it was, it had become something he could not stop himself from repeating. 

Back at the clinic, Doctor Kim Jisoo stood beside the front desk with a clipboard in her hand, scanning through the day’s notes while the faint sound of students moving around the waiting area filled the background. 

“Yunho,” she called.

Yunho looked up immediately. “Yes, Doc?”

“You’ve seen Mingi four times this week already.” 

There were faint whispers around the clinic after she said it, students who were waiting quietly exchanging looks and trying not to listen too openly, but clearly very interested anyway.

“I’m aware,” Yunho replied calmly.

Doc Jisoo raised an eyebrow. “And how many of those times did he actually need treatment?”

Yunho pressed his lips together for a moment, thinking carefully. “One… maybe two.”

Doc Jisoo sighed, though there was no real anger in it. “I trust your judgment, Yunho, but this is still a clinic, not a dating corner.” 

Yunho immediately straightened. “It’s not like that.” 

She gave a small knowing smile. “Relax. I’m not stopping you. Just make sure he schedules properly starting next week. No more walk-ins unless it’s actually an emergency.” 

“Understood,” Yunho replied quickly. 

Doc Jisoo nodded once before heading into her office, and just as she disappeared behind the door, the clinic entrance creaked open again.

“Sorry, I’m back again,” Mingi said casually, far too cheerful for someone who supposedly had ‘pain’.

The small group of waiting students immediately reacted, their whispers growing louder as they recognized him again, some sitting up straighter while others tried and failed to act normal while watching him walk in. 

Seonghwa peeked from behind the supply cabinet and muttered under his breath, “Of course.” 

Yunho crossed his arms and walked toward him. “Let me guess. Your shoulder again?” 

Mingi grinned. “Nope. Back today.” 

Yunho gave him a long, tired look. “You know you’re becoming a walking rumor at this point, right?” he lowered his voice slightly so the students around them wouldn’t hear clearly. 

Mingi blinked. “What?” 

“There’s literally a betting pool about you,” Yunho said, stepping aside slightly. “Even my friends are talking about it.” 

Mingi paused for a second, like that information didn’t fully register. 

“I don’t mind,” Yunho added after a beat, voice softer this time. “But if you’re going to keep coming here, you should at least have a real reason.” 

Mingi met his gaze directly. “I do.”

“And what is it?”

“You.”

The word came out low, almost a whisper, but it landed heavier than expected. 

A few nearby students definitely heard it, because a sudden wave of whispers spread through the room immediately afterward. 

Yunho blinked, momentarily stunned, just long enough for Mingi to casually brush past him and sit on the therapy bed like nothing unusual had happened.

“I said my back hurts,” Mingi added quickly, smiling again as if nothing serious had been said a second ago. “You gonna check it or what?”

Yunho stood there for a second longer than necessary before finally shaking himself back into professionalism.

“…Fine. But next time, you need to schedule properly. No more walk-ins unless it’s an emergency. Doc Jisoo’s orders.”

Mingi chuckled softly. “Got it.” 

The next afternoon brought an unusual dry heat that clung to the university hallways, making even the air feel heavy and slow, and even the usually loud courtyard had quieted down as students either stayed under shaded areas or rushed indoors where the fans and air conditioning could actually be felt.

Inside the clinic, a small electric fan spun unevenly on Yunho’s desk, its motion slightly off rhythm as it tried to cool the room while he checked the schedule pinned to the corkboard near the door.

16:30 – Song Mingi – back evaluation.

Earlier in the day, they had handled a large group of students from a scheduled department-wide evaluation session, which had filled the clinic beyond capacity at first. It had been slightly chaotic in the beginning since only Yunho and Seonghwa were managing everything, while more than thirty freshmen came in one wave, each needing assessments and basic checks. It was overwhelming at first, but after some firm instructions mostly led by Yunho, the process eventually stabilized, and now only about ten students remained, most of them waiting for final clearance from Doc Jisoo.

Now, the clinic had finally quieted down enough for Yunho to breathe, and for Seonghwa to lean back in his chair like he had survived a long battle.

“You actually let him book an appointment?” Seonghwa asked while scrolling through his phone.

“I didn’t,” Yunho muttered. “Doc Jisoo did.”

“She’s literally playing matchmaker,” Seonghwa said with a teasing tone, not even bothering to hide his grin. “You can’t even pretend this is professional anymore.”

Yunho exhaled through his nose and went back to preparing the treatment bed, smoothing the sheets and organizing equipment again even though everything was already in place.

“You already cleaned that twice,” Seonghwa pointed out.

“I’m making sure.”

“You’re panicking.”

“I’m preparing.”

Seonghwa smirked and leaned forward slightly on his desk. “He confessed yesterday, didn’t he?” 

Yunho stopped for a second, his fingers tightening slightly at the memory. “You.”

Mingi’s voice echoed faintly in his mind, too honest, too direct, without any of the usual teasing he expected.

“I heard the freshmen talking about it outside the clinic yesterday,” Seonghwa continued casually. 

“He was just flirting,” Yunho corrected, though his voice was slightly tighter than usual. “There’s a difference.”

“Right,” Seonghwa said exaggeratedly. “A very hot, very obvious difference.” 

Before Yunho could respond, the clinic door creaked open again.

Just like clockwork.

Mingi stepped into the clinic wearing a loose black shirt and relaxed joggers that hung comfortably on his tall frame, his bag slung low over one shoulder while the ends of his damp hair clung slightly to his neck suggesting he had just come from a quick shower after practice. Even though the heat outside was unbearable and most students looked exhausted just from walking across campus, he somehow still carried himself with that same calm, unbothered energy that made people stare without realizing they were staring. 

The students who had been waiting inside the clinic earlier, already restless and bored from sitting for too long, visibly perked up the moment he appeared in the doorway, their expressions shifting from fatigue to sudden interest as if someone had just turned on a switch. 

“Afternoon,” Mingi said casually, a small easy smile already forming on his face like he belonged there. 

Yunho swallowed the sigh he almost let out and turned toward him properly, already sensing exactly what this visit was going to be like.

“Right on time.”

“I have a schedule now,” Mingi replied, casually as if he truly believed he had become a responsible patient. “I’m following protocol.” 

“Barely,” Yunho said without hesitation.

“Still counts,” Mingi answered, completely unfazed.

Yunho tilted his head slightly toward the therapy bed, already slipping back into professional mode even if his mind was slightly more tired than before. “Take your shirt off.” 

Mingi blinked, clearly caught off guard for half a second. “…What?” 

“For your back,” Yunho said flatly, not even bothering to look amused. “Unless you want me to treat it through your shirt.” 

Mingi’s lips curved slightly at one corner as if he was trying very hard not to smile too openly. “You’re serious?” 

“I’m always serious.” 

The moment Yunho said it, Mingi let out a small laugh under his breath and moved toward the therapy bed without further argument, while Yunho followed him closely with steady steps, already preparing the necessary equipment. The students waiting nearby immediately reacted the moment they realized what was about to happen, their heads turning almost in unison as whispers started spreading through the room.

Some of them even stood up slightly from their seats just to get a better view, their curiosity clearly overpowering whatever patience they had left.

Seonghwa noticed immediately from the front desk and let out a quiet laugh at the collective reaction of the freshmen. He stood up from his chair and walked over, casually pulling the curtain across the open section of the clinic to block their view of the bed where Yunho and Mingi were standing. 

“Sorry kids,” Seonghwa said with a grin, completely unbothered by their disappointed groans. “Our basketball prince needs privacy.” 

The students immediately slumped back into their seats, clearly unsatisfied but unable to argue.

Mingi tugged his shirt upward and pulled it over his head in one smooth motion, revealing lean shoulders and a well-defined upper body shaped by constant training and practice. He sat down on the therapy bed while Yunho approached him, now wearing gloves and holding a bottle of muscle relaxant, his expression carefully controlled and professional. 

He really did look unfairly built, like someone sculpted too carefully without considering how distracting it might be. 

“Relax your posture,” Yunho instructed, his tone clipped as he focused on his work. “You’re too tense.” 

Mingi exhaled slowly and shifted slightly. “Hard not to be.” 

Yunho hesitated for a second. “Because of the game?” 

Mingi tilted his head slightly, glancing over his shoulder. “Because you’re touching me.” 

The room went quiet instantly. 

Yunho’s hands froze mid-motion as he slowly exhaled through his nose, clearly trying to keep his composure intact. “You’re impossible.”

“Yeah,” Mingi replied casually, eyes half-lidded as if nothing he said was unusual. “But I’m honest.” 

Yunho didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he pressed his thumbs carefully into the tight muscle along Mingi’s back, applying just enough pressure to release tension, and Mingi’s breath hitched slightly, not from pain, but from sudden awareness of the contact. 

“…That hurt?” Yunho asked, noticing the change in his breathing. 

Mingi shook his head slowly. “No. I just didn’t expect you to be that good at it.” 

“I’m top of my class,” Yunho replied, tone sharper now as he focused on the work. “This isn’t flirting. This is therapy.” 

“I know,” Mingi said quietly, closing his eyes for a moment as he tried to relax under the steady pressure of Yunho’s hands. “But I’m still here because of you.” 

Yunho paused again, his fingers pressing slightly deeper without meaning to. 

“You don’t have to like me back,” Mingi added after a moment, voice softer now, stripped of all his usual teasing. “I know you have your own life, your own things going on. I just… wanted to be around you a little.” 

Yunho didn’t answer right away. The lotion felt warm under his fingertips as he continued working carefully, trying to maintain his professional composure. 

“You think I’m wasting my time?” Mingi asked after a moment, turning his head slightly as if trying to catch Yunho’s expression. 

“…No,” Yunho finally said, his voice softer now, more careful than usual. “But you’re risking injury.” 

“I can live with that,” Mingi answered immediately. “I’d rather deal with this than ignore what I want.” 

Their eyes met for a brief moment. 

And in that short silence, Yunho saw it again, that same sincerity beneath all the teasing, all the jokes, all the excuses. Mingi wasn’t asking for much. He was just there, consistently, stubbornly present. 

Yunho stepped back slightly, breaking the moment first. “We’re done.” he said as he removed his gloves.

Mingi immediately pulled his shirt back on without complaining. “Thanks.” 

“I meant what I said before,” Yunho added as Mingi adjusted his bag and walked toward the curtain. “No more fake injuries.” 

Mingi paused for a moment, glancing back over his shoulder. “Then what should I come here for?” 

“…You’ll figure it out,” Yunho muttered quietly. 

As Mingi stepped out, Seonghwa immediately slipped inside and closed the curtain behind him before bursting into laughter, unable to contain himself any longer. 

“Oh my God,” he said, gripping his stomach slightly, “he looked like you punched him and kissed him at the same time!” 

“Shut up, hyung,” Yunho replied immediately. 

“You like him,” Seonghwa said again, practically glowing with amusement. “And he’s so respectful about it too. Yunho, you’re going to fall whether you want to or not.” 

Yunho slowly sat down at the edge of the bed and buried his face in his hands for a moment, exhaling deeply.

He didn’t want to fall, but even he could feel it now.

He already was.

The next day, the sun hung heavily over the university gym, turning the air inside into something thick and dry after another exhausting three hour practice. 

Mingi sat under the bench with a towel draped around his neck, breathing steadily as he stared at the floor while letting his body recover. His muscles ached, but it was the familiar kind of soreness that came from real training, not the exaggerated complaints he sometimes used as an excuse. 

For the first time ever since he started visiting the clinic, he planned not to go today. 

“You skipping the clinic today?” Jongho asked, sitting beside him while scrolling through his phone. 

Mingi grunted slightly. “Just taking a break.” 

“You’ve been going every day for almost a month,” San added from behind them, lying dramatically across the bench like he had no energy left in his body. “Your withdrawal symptoms are going to kill you.” 

“I’m not addicted,” Mingi muttered.

Hongjoong walked past them with a tired expression. “Song, your behavior is getting embarrassing.”

“Jealous, hyung?” San said immediately, laughing. “Mingi’s got the clinic guy completely wrapped around his finger.” 

Mingi didn’t respond. He only looked down at his water bottle, slowly turning it in his hands as if thinking too much about something he didn’t want to admit.

Wrapped around his finger?

He wasn’t so sure about that, because if anything, it felt like the opposite. 

Meanwhile, the university clinic had turned into an unexpected chaos of energy the moment Wooyoung walked in followed by Yeosang and Seonghwa immediately straightening up at the front desk, the atmosphere shifted instantly. 

“Oh no,” Yunho muttered under his breath from his desk the moment he saw them. 

Wooyoung smiled brightly. “Yuyu~”

“No.”

“You didn’t even hear what I was going to say.”

“Still no.”

Yeosang gave a small wave. “We brought snacks.”

Yunho paused. “…What kind?”

Wooyoung proudly lifted a small paper bag. “Your favorites. Chips and a chocolate drink.”

Yunho stared at the bag for a moment before looking back at them. “You’re bribing me.”

Wooyoung dropped into the stool chair beside the therapy bed like he owned it. “Desperate times require desperate gossip. I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s going on with you and Mingi.”

“There’s nothing going on.”

“Liar,” Yeosang said calmly as he sat beside Wooyoung.

Yunho turned to him with a small scowl. “Even you, Yeosang?” 

“He said you’re the reason he keeps coming,” Yeosang continued without changing tone. “And still you didn’t tell him to stop.” 

Yunho pressed his tongue against his cheek. “I was being professional. That’s different—wait, how do you even know that?”  He slowly turned his head toward Seonghwa, who was suddenly very interested in sorting papers at his desk. 

“You three are unbelievable,” he muttered, shaking his head. 

None of them cared. 

Wooyoung leaned forward. “Listen, Yuyu, if you’re going to fall in love, I just want you to know that I want front row seats.”

“I’m not—”

A phone suddenly buzzed loudly inside the clinic. Yeosang looked down at his screen, blinking slowly as his expression shifted from confusion to something more alert, his lips parting slightly as if he wasn’t fully sure what he was seeing at first. 

“…Oh.” 

Wooyoung immediately turned toward him, eyes narrowing with interest. “What is it?” 

“I think this is going viral,” Yeosang said slowly, like he was still trying to process it himself.

He turned his phone around and showed the others.

On it was a shaky vertical video, clearly recorded from a distance outside the clinic. The camera zoomed in awkwardly, almost unsteady, capturing Mingi stepping out of the clinic doors while, in the background, Yunho could be seen standing near the entrance, still in his white coat. The angle made everything look slightly more dramatic than it probably was in real life, like something taken out of context and turned into something bigger than it should have been. 

The caption above the video read:

“IS THIS REAL?! THE BASKETBALL PRINCE AND THE HANDSOME CLINIC ANGEL😭😭😭”

> he goes there every day?? I’d fake a dislocation too wtf

> the way he looks at him HELLO??

> Please Song Mingi is MINE

> handsome boy therapist x basketball prince is NOT a trope I expected IRL

> someone write a fic rn

> Yunho sunbaenim is HANDSOME this is unfair 

“Oh my god,” Yunho said flatly, his voice completely drained of emotion as he stared at the phone for a moment before looking away as if that alone could undo what he just saw. 

Wooyoung, on the other hand, was already laughing loudly, practically doubling over as he held his stomach. 

“Who even recorded this?” Yeosang asked, scrolling further with a mixture of disbelief and amusement trying to find the source. “It’s from some freshman account.” 

Yunho slowly brought both hands up to his face and covered it completely, his voice muffled but full of defeat. “I’m going to have to transfer schools.” 

“You’re trending,” Seonghwa announced from the front desk, far too cheerful for the situation. “This is the best day of my life.” 

At that exact moment, Doc Jisoo stepped out of her office holding a tablet, her expression already carrying the tired weight of someone who had dealt with far too many unexpected problems for one day. 

“Why is the clinic’s social media getting tagged in so many weird posts?” she asked, glancing between them. 

“Don’t check it,” Yunho muttered immediately. 

“Yunho is trending with Mingi,” Seonghwa answered anyway, far too pleased with himself. 

“What?” Jisoo blinked slowly, clearly not prepared for that kind of information. 

“Hey, Doc Jisoo, we brought snacks!” Wooyoung said brightly, lifting the bag again as if that somehow fixed the situation. “And yeah, our Yuyu is basically a celebrity now.” 

Doc Jisoo slowly shifted her gaze from Wooyoung to Yunho, who was still refusing to make eye contact with anyone in the room. She let out a long, tired sigh, the kind that came from experience dealing with students like this for years.

“Freshmen are a menace,” she said flatly.

Back at the gym, Mingi’s phone buzzed while still sitting on the bench. He frowned slightly and picked it up, expecting maybe a message from his groupmates or maybe something completely unrelated. 

Or maybe Yunho.

Even though he quickly reminded himself there was no real reason Yunho would message him, especially since they had only exchanged numbers once and hadn’t really texted each other properly after that.

Instead, what he saw was a link sent by Changbin, one of his classmates. 

Changbin: u went viral lol 

Confused, Mingi opened the link without hesitation.

The moment it loaded, he froze.

He stared at it for a moment, not fully processing what he was looking at. Then another moment passed, and everything started to settle in slowly, piece by piece, until the meaning of it became impossible to ignore.

Everyone knew now. 

He didn’t feel panic. Not exactly. It wasn’t embarrassment either. It was something deeper. A sharp frustration settled in his chest, not because people were talking about him, but because Yunho might see this and misunderstand something. That thought alone made something tighten in his throat in a way he didn’t like.

He stood up immediately.

“What now?” San asked lazily, spinning his water bottle without much concern.

“I need to talk to Yunho,” Mingi said firmly, already grabbing his bag.

Hongjoong rolled his eyes from nearby. “Finally.”

Yunho was sitting slumped in the corner chair, staring blankly at the wall like his soul had temporarily left his body. Around him, his friends were eating the snacks they were originally supposed to bring for him, as if the entire situation had turned into some kind of unofficial celebration.

The clinic itself, surprisingly, had gone quiet again, with no new students entering after the viral situation started spreading. 

Yunho sighed deeply. 

“If I fake my death,” Yunho said flatly without moving his gaze from the wall, “do you think they’ll stop tagging me?” 

“No,” Seonghwa said immediately, chewing casually. “But I would go to your funeral.” 

Yunho groaned and leaned his head back.

Then the clinic door creaked open again, everyone turned almost instantly.

Mingi stepped inside slowly this time, not with his usual confidence, but with something more careful, like he was trying to figure out the mood before speaking. His eyes scanned the room briefly, taking in Seonghwa, Yeosang, Wooyoung, and Doc Jisoo, before finally landing on Yunho.

“I saw the post,” Mingi said.

Yunho immediately stood up, startled but trying to stay composed. “Believe me, I don’t know about that video,” he said quickly, almost defensively, as if trying to erase any misunderstanding before it could even form.

“I know,” Mingi said, shaking his head once. “But I don’t care if people know.” 

Yunho’s breath caught slightly. “I do.” A pause followed, heavy and uncertain. “Because… it’s not like that. Not really.” 

Pause stretched between them. 

Then Mingi stepped forward slightly, his voice lower now, more careful. “Do you want it to be?”

Yunho hesitated. For a moment, his mind flickered through everything, the posts, the rumors, the way people looked at them now, and then it settled on Mingi’s eyes instead.

“…I don’t know yet,” Yunho admitted quietly. “But I don’t want it to be a joke.”

“It’s not,” Mingi said immediately, just as quiet. “It never was.”

They stayed like that for a moment, neither of them moving closer, neither of them stepping away, as if both were afraid that even a small movement might change everything.

Wooyoung leaned slightly toward Seonghwa and whispered, “If this were a drama, that would’ve been the kiss scene.” 

“Shut up,” Yunho hissed immediately, his ears turning red as he turned away slightly. 

Mingi let out a quiet chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ll wait… until you know…”

“You better,” Yunho muttered, though his voice was noticeably softer now. 

Two days passed. 

Yunho hadn’t seen Mingi in two full days, and it annoyed him more than he wanted to admit.

The clinic felt different in a way that was hard to ignore. Even with other students coming in for treatment, even with Seonghwa’s usual teasing and Wooyoung and Yeosang occasionally barging in with new gossip about the campus, something still felt noticeably absent.

Worse was the fact that Yunho was starting to notice it.

And worse than that, he was starting to miss it.

He told himself it was better this way. Less attention. Less chaos. Less risk of everything becoming even more complicated than it already was. But then, the clinic door suddenly slammed open so hard it made both Yunho and Seonghwa look up immediately.

Mingi stumbled inside.

His shirt was damp and clinging slightly to his body, his face had a visible scrape along one side, and there was a deep cut on his right forearm that was still bleeding slowly, staining the fabric near it. His breathing was uneven, not panicked, but clearly shaken from whatever had happened.

“Yunho,” he said breathlessly.

Yunho stood up instantly, his heart dropping. “What the hell happened?!” 

Seonghwa rushed to grab the first aid kit while Yunho quickly moved to help Mingi toward the treatment bed, supporting him as they walked. The injury didn’t look life-threatening, but it was enough to make Yunho’s expression tighten with concern.

“Was it practice?” Yunho asked, already inspecting the wound with steady hands even though his voice carried tension he was trying to hide. 

Mingi winced slightly. “Yeah. We were practicing in the open gym because our usual court wasn’t available. One of my teammates bumped me while I was off balance, and I fell hard on the concrete floor. Not like the usual gym flooring.” 

“You idiot,” Yunho snapped immediately, his voice rising before he could stop himself. “Why didn’t you go to the sports medicine room?” 

“I did,” Mingi muttered. “But it was full. The volleyball team was there too. And I—” He paused for a second, then looked at Yunho more directly. “I wanted to see you.” 

Yunho froze completely.

Seonghwa, as if perfectly timed, immediately turned around after putting the first aid kit on the bed. “I’ll give you two a moment,” he said casually before disappearing behind them.

Yunho inhaled sharply, forcing himself to focus as he put on gloves and began disinfecting the wound, even though his thoughts were far less organized than his movements. 

“Don’t say things like that,” he said after a moment, voice quieter now but still firm. “You can’t just walk in here bleeding and say you wanted to see me,” he continued, pressing the gauze more firmly than necessary. “That’s reckless.” 

“I am bleeding,” Mingi said calmly. “I wouldn’t fake this one.” 

“Which somehow makes this worse,” Yunho replied sharply as he wrapped gauze around the wound a little tighter than necessary, making Mingi flinch slightly. “You push your body too far. You act like your limits don’t exist.” 

“Are you mad?” Mingi asked quietly.

Yunho finally looked up.

Their faces were closer than they had been in a while, close enough that the earlier tension from days ago came rushing back without warning.

“I’m not mad,” Yunho said softly. “I’m scared. You don’t care what happens to you as long as it means you can prove something… or see me.”

Mingi’s expression softened immediately. “That’s not true.” 

“You’re here injured now,” Yunho continued, voice shaking slightly despite his efforts to keep it steady. “So what am I supposed to think?” 

Mingi slowly reached up and gently moved Yunho’s gloved hand away from the wound so he could sit up a little more properly. 

“I’m not pretending anymore,” he said quietly. “And I don’t want you to either.”

Yunho’s breath caught.

“I like you, Yunho,” Mingi continued. “It’s not just flirting. It’s not excuses. I like how you stay calm when everything else is loud. I like how focused you are. I like that you’re too smart to fall for people easily, but still kind to everyone who comes in here. And I like you enough to wait, if that’s what it takes.” 

Silence filled the room completely.

Then Yunho finally spoke, almost absentmindedly.

“Mingi,” he whispered. “Your blood is getting on the bed.” 

Mingi blinked. “Oh. Right. Sorry.” 

Yunho let out a breath that sounded halfway between a laugh and a sigh, shaking his head slightly as he adjusted the bandage again, this time more carefully. “Hold still. You’ll need to keep this clean for at least three days. No intense training.” 

“Yes, Doc.”

“I will ban you from this clinic if you keep joking.”

“Then I won’t joke,” Mingi said softly. “But I’m still serious.” 

Yunho hesitated again, then finally looked him in the eyes.

“I don’t know what this is yet,” he admitted. “But you’re not just a rumor to me. You never were.”

Mingi gave a small nod, like that was enough for now.

Yunho reached for a cold pack and handed it to him. “Apply this to your shoulder, not your ego.”

“Ouch.” Mingi chuckled.

That night, the group chat between Wooyoung, Yeosang, and Seonghwa exploded.

Wooyoung: OMG MINGI GOT HURT AND YUNHO PATCHED HIM UP?!

Seonghwa: It was basically a confession scene while he was bleeding. Very romantic.

Yeosang: They are completely doomed.

Wooyoung: God I love slow burn.

By Monday morning, the university had finally calmed down. 

The trending post about "Basketball Prince Song Mingi and Handsome Clinic Angel Jeong Yunho" had slowly disappeared beneath class announcements, club advertisements, exam reminders, and countless posts about the upcoming university basketball tournament. New gossip had already started replacing old gossip, just as it always did on campus. 

But inside the clinic, things were not nearly as peaceful.

The tension had not disappeared, if anything, it had gotten worse.

Yunho was painfully aware of Mingi's presence. The problem was that Mingi was not even injured anymore. His arm had healed well. The cut had closed properly. There was no reason for continued treatment.

And yet somehow, Mingi was still here.

"Let me get this straight," Yunho said one afternoon, crossing his arms as he leaned against the counter near the front desk. His expression was calm, but there was clear disbelief in his voice. "You're not allowed to train. You don’t need therapy anymore. Your arm is healing perfectly. Your shoulder is fine. And yet you're still here?"

Mingi sat comfortably on one of the treatment beds with a water bottle in hand. His bandaged forearm rested casually across his lap as he looked up at Yunho.

Then he nodded. "Yup."

Yunho blinked at him. “Why?”

Mingi shrugged with his good shoulder. “Moral support.”

Yunho stared at him. "Moral what?"

"I'm being responsible," Mingi continued confidently, "I'm following medical instructions. I'm not training. I'm staying hydrated. I'm letting my wound heal properly. Honestly, I think I'm being an excellent patient."

Yunho pinched the bridge of his nose.“Mingi, this isn’t a hangout spot.”

Mingi leaned farther back against the bed, the movement was so casual that it almost looked innocent. "So I can't sit here quietly and keep you company?" 

"You can't sit here quietly and make it harder for me to focus."

That immediately caught Mingi's attention. “Oh?” he asked, gaze sharpening slightly. “Am I distracting you?”

Yunho's expression remained perfectly neutral. Unfortunately, the tiny twitch near his jaw gave him away. "You're a very large human being sitting in a room that's usually occupied by actual patients," he answered. "Of course you're distracting."

Mingi gave a small laugh. “Didn’t know my presence affected you that much.”

Yunho’s cheeks tinged just faintly pink. “Don’t twist my words.”

Mingi smiled then uncapped his bottle, took a slow drink, and said nothing more.

Seonghwa passed behind Yunho with a smug whisper. “Yunho. He brought his own water bottle. He’s prepared for this.”

“I know,” Yunho hissed.

Later that day, during a slow hour when the clinic was empty of patients, Seonghwa left for a while to meet Wooyoung and Yeosang in a café near their university.

“Still no kiss, hyung?” Wooyoung asked, sipping his iced latte.

“Nope,” Seonghwa replied. “But they’re in the post-confession proximity limbo. You know that stage.”

“Oh, that one,” Wooyoung said, twirling his straw “Where they hover near each other, talk with intense eye contact, but still somehow don’t kiss?”

Yeosang frowned. “Well at least they’re not avoiding each other. They’re just... being careful.”

Wooyoung snorted, shaking his head. “They’re not being careful. They’re being dense. Big difference.”

“But Mingi’s making progress, though,” Seonghwa added. “He shows up, listens, helps if asked... and then lingers.”

“Doc Jisoo knows he’s there?” Yeosang asked, lifting a brow.

Seonghwa nodded. “Yeah. She caught him folding towels and organizing supplies. She just raised an eyebrow and said, ‘Well, at least he’s being useful.’ So I think she’s given up.”

Wooyoung blinked. “Oh god. He’s really serious.”

Back at the clinic, Yunho sat at his desk reviewing patient notes, or at least, he was supposed to be. Instead, his attention kept drifting.

Across the room, Mingi sat quietly folding gauze packets properly. And Yunho's realization somehow made everything worse. Because he had expected him to get bored, expected Mingi to leave, expected him to lose interest.

Instead, Mingi simply stayed like he genuinely enjoyed being there.

"You really don't have anything better to do?" Yunho finally asked.

Mingi looked up. "I do."

"Then why are you here?"

Mingi considered the question for several seconds. Then he answered honestly. "Because I'd rather be here."

Yunho held his gaze, exhaling slowly. “You’re going to make this very hard for me.”

“I’m trying not to,” Mingi replied sincerely. “If it helps—I’m not here to pressure you.”

“Then why are you here?” he asked again.

Mingi hesitated, then said softly, “Because I meant what I said. I like you. And if this is the only place I get to know you without pretending to be someone else, then I’ll take it. I won’t cross any lines, Yunho. But I’m not going away.”

Yunho looked down at his notes, his voice lower than before. “I’m not used to this.”

“To what?”

“Being seen.”

Mingi frowned.

“You know how people talk about me,” Yunho continued. “I’m the handsome one. The smart one. The untouchable clinic assistant. But no one ever talks to me like I’m just… a person.”

“I do.”

“I know,” Yunho said, finally lifting his eyes. “And that’s what makes it terrifying.”

Mingi opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something more. 

For a brief moment, Yunho thought he might say something dramatic. Something reckless. Something that would make everything more complicated than it already was.

But Mingi didn't.

He didn't say, I'll protect you.

He didn't say, I'll make this easier.

He didn't try to convince Yunho of anything.

Instead, he simply nodded once, slowly and sincerely, as if he understood that Yunho needed something more peaceful than that.

"...Okay," he said. His voice was low, calm, and unusually gentle. "Then I'll go slow." which he really meant.

And somehow, that simple answer affected Yunho more than any grand declaration could have.  

Mingi packed his things without lingering. He began to gather his things, stood from the chair, adjusted the strap of his bag over his shoulder, and gave Yunho a small bow that was almost awkward in its sincerity.

Then he left the clinic in silence.

Yunho’s eyes stayed fixed on the door long after Mingi had disappeared from sight. For reasons he couldn't quite explain, the clinic suddenly felt larger and much quieter.

That evening, after returning to his dorm and spending several hours buried beneath textbooks and lecture notes, Yunho was startled by a soft knock at his door.

He frowned.

Most people texted first.

Slowly, he stood and walked toward the door. When he opened it, nobody was there. The hallway was empty and only the distant sound of students talking somewhere down the corridor reached him.

Confused, Yunho looked down, a paper bag hung from the doorknob.

His eyebrows lifted.

Carefully, he took it inside and placed it on his desk. Inside was an energy drink, several packs of chocolate, a few snack bars and a folded note.

Yunho already knew who it was from before opening it. Still, he unfolded the paper.

The message was short.

For your study breaks.

From your number one fake patient.

- Mingi

For several seconds, Yunho simply stared at the note, then he shook his head. A small laugh escaped him despite himself.

"Unbelievable."

Yet he carefully folded the note again and placed it inside one of his textbooks instead of throwing it away.

The university gym echoed with noise as it filled with the usual heavy rhythm of practice, the sharp squeak of sneakers scraping across polished hardwood blending with the constant dribbling of basketballs, the short bursts of whistles from assistant coaches, and the occasional shouted correction from players running through drills. Tournament season was coming fast, and everybody in the building could feel it. Over the past week, the atmosphere inside the gym had grown sharper, louder, and far less forgiving. Practices ran longer than before, the coach’s temper had grown shorter, and every mistake was corrected immediately before anyone had the chance to breathe.

Nobody was allowed to relax.

Especially not the starting lineup.

It had been four days since Mingi left that paper bag outside Yunho’s dorm. Four full days since he had said he would go slow. Four full days since he had stopped showing up at the clinic. Four full days without seeing Yunho.

And Yunho noticed every single one of them.

Meanwhile, on the court, Mingi seemed determined to channel all of his energy somewhere else. If anyone thought his recovery period had made him soft, they were being proven wrong every single day. His movements were sharp. His passes were precise. His defense was aggressive. Every drill seemed to bring out a version of Mingi that looked more focused than ever. 

"Yo." Hongjoong caught a rebound and glanced toward him. "You done visiting him?"

Mingi ignored him completely and kept moving. 

Hongjoong let out a tired sigh. “That’s a no, then.” 

Not far away, Chan jogged beside him with a grin that made it obvious he had no intention of dropping the subject. Unlike Hongjoong, he looked almost excited to stir things up.

“You’ve been weird lately,” Chan said.

Mingi kept running, his jaw already tightening.

Chan smirked and glanced at him sideways. “Did the clinic boy finally reject you?”

Across the court, Jongho was sitting on a bench and drinking water, looking half-dead from practice already. He lowered the bottle for a second and exhaled.

“Chan.”

“What? I’m curious,” Chan said, shrugging as if he had no idea he was pushing too far. “He was practically living in that clinic for almost a month.”

Mingi still said nothing.

Unfortunately, that silence only encouraged Chan more. The grin on his face widened as he kept talking, clearly not understanding that he was stepping onto dangerous ground.

“Maybe that clinic boy was finally smart enough not to date a guy who fakes shoulder injuries for attention.” 

That made Mingi stop immediately.

The shift was instant, and everyone nearby felt it.

His shoulders went stiff. His jaw tightened. The calm expression on his face vanished so quickly it was almost shocking to see. The air around him seemed to change with it.

San swore under his breath. “Chan, you need to stop.”

But Chan only kept going, either too reckless or too stupid to notice the warning.

“Can’t really blame him, honestly.” 

Mingi stayed silent. 

“Guy’s handsome, smart, and famous. What a waste if he’s into that desperate soft-boy energy you’ve got going on these days—” 

The punch happened so fast that several players did not even understand what had happened until after it already landed.

One second Chan was talking.

The next second Mingi’s fist slammed directly into his jaw.

The crack echoed through the gym.

Chan stumbled backward several steps, nearly losing his balance completely as a shocked sound escaped from the nearest players. For half a second, the only noise in the gym was the basketball rolling loosely across the floor.

Then chaos erupted.

Whistles exploded from multiple directions. The assistant coaches shouted. Players rushed in from both sides. San grabbed Mingi from behind before he could move again, wrapping an arm around him and forcing him back.

“Hey! Mingi, stop!”

Hongjoong immediately stepped between them. "What the hell are you two doing?!"

On the other side, several teammates had already pulled Chan back, where a thin streak of blood had appeared near the corner of his mouth. Jongho, still sitting on the bench, let out a long tired sigh like he had seen the entire thing coming several minutes in advance and just could not be bothered to pretend otherwise. 

Their coach looked furious. "SONG! CHAN!"

The entire gym fell silent.

"Why the hell are you two fighting?!"

Mingi’s chest rose and fell hard, his fists still clenched at his sides. His eyes were locked on Chan with a burning anger that had not faded yet, and for several seconds he said nothing at all.

That only made the coach look angrier.

“Locker room. Now.”

Nobody argued.

News traveled across campus much faster than it should have. By the time afternoon arrived, rumors had already reached half the university.

Yunho had just finished logging a patient chart and setting his pen back into place when Wooyoung burst through the clinic door, breathing hard as if he had sprinted all the way across campus, looking far too excited for someone who was supposed to be sitting through an economics lecture at that exact hour.

“Your boy punched Chan on the court,” he gasped, still wide-eyed from the shock of whatever he had heard. “In the face.”

Both Yunho and Seonghwa turned at the same time, and even a few students waiting inside the clinic lifted their heads with immediate interest, their attention snapping toward Wooyoung the moment they heard what he said. A low wave of whispering spread through the room almost instantly, soft but unmistakable, as if everyone had suddenly become more awake.

“What?” Yunho asked, his voice sharp with disbelief.

Hiori came in behind Wooyoung a moment later, much calmer and more collected. “According to the gossip from the people who actually saw it at the gym, Chan said something about you to Mingi,” he explained. “Nobody heard the full thing clearly, but it was enough to make Mingi throw a punch without even hesitating.” 

Wooyoung immediately jumped in to add the rest, still struggling not to smile because of how absurdly dramatic the whole thing sounded. “And now Chan’s been taken out of the starting lineup, while Mingi’s being benched from scrimmage for two days. Internal team discipline.” 

Yunho felt his stomach sink. 

Seonghwa, who had been mid-inventory behind the front desk, let out a low whistle and shook his head. “Knew it would boil over eventually. Honestly, it’s lucky Mingi was only benched, especially with the tournament coming up. If they had pulled him from the lineup completely, that would have been worse.” 

Yeosang nodded in agreement. “It's a good thing their teammates spoke up for Mingi and explained that Chan started the trouble. Otherwise it could have gone way worse, especially since Mingi was the one who threw the first punch.” 

Yunho stared down at the desk, his throat tightening as he listened to his friends talk around him. Their voices blurred together after a point, and the whispering from the students in the clinic grew a little louder, like they were all feeding off each other’s curiosity now that the story had spread. 

This was not what he wanted. Not attention like this. Not rumors. Not drama.

Without saying another word, Yunho left the clinic. 

Mingi was sitting alone on the empty table outside the gym when Yunho found him, a cold pack pressed against his knuckles while the late sun dipped low over the campus and painted everything in long, exhausted shadows. 

He did not hear Yunho approach until the footsteps stopped right beside him.

“...Mingi.”

He looked up immediately, clearly surprised to see him there. 

Yunho did not look angry the way Mingi might have expected. He looked conflicted instead, guarded in the way he always became when something felt too close to his chest. His posture was tight, his arms crossed over his chest, but his eyes were the part that gave him away, heavy with something he had not yet said out loud. 

“Did you really hit Chan because of me?” Yunho asked quietly. 

Mingi did not answer immediately. He let out a slow breath first, like he was deciding how honest he wanted to be, then gave a small nod. 

“I don’t like people talking about you like that,” he said. 

Yunho’s jaw tightened.

“You made it worse,” he replied, voice taut with frustration. “Now nobody will shut up about it.”

“I’m sorry,” Mingi said immediately, There was no defensiveness in his tone, no excuse, no joke. “I wasn’t thinking about them.” 

Yunho’s mouth parted slightly. “Then what were you thinking?” 

Mingi looked down for a second, then answered in a voice that was lower and more serious than Yunho had heard from him in a while.

“That you don’t deserve to be turned into some punchline.”

Yunho’s expression hardened again, but not because he disagreed. “And you think punching someone fixes that?” 

“No,” Mingi admitted, “But I couldn’t just stand there and do nothing.” 

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence stretched between them until Yunho finally sat down beside him, his shoulders still tense but his anger now mixed with something far more tired.

“Do you know what it’s like,” Yunho murmured after a long moment, “to spend your whole life being looked at like you’re just something pretty to admire? And then, finally, someone sees you for real, and you like it, but then it becomes terrifying because everybody else notices too and ruins it?” 

Mingi turned toward him, his expression softening immediately. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I know what that feels like.” 

Yunho looked at him then, and for the first time it really felt like they were seeing each other without the usual labels attached. Not the clinic assistant. Not the basketball player. Not the rumor. But just two people caught in the middle of something real and messy and frighteningly honest. 

“I’m not mad that you punched him,” Yunho said after another pause. “I’m mad that it mattered that much.” 

Mingi nodded once. “Then I’ll do better.”

Yunho blinked.

“I’ll protect you,” he added, his voice softer now, “but not like that.”

A faint, reluctant softness returned to Yunho’s face. “...Good,” he said, quieter than before. Then, after a pause, he glanced at Mingi’s hand and added, “You should ice it again.”

Mingi raised an eyebrow, the old teasing tone returning just enough to keep the moment from becoming too heavy. “Will you do it for me?” 

Yunho gave him a flat look that should have been completely unimpressed, but Mingi caught the corner of his mouth twitching anyway. 

“Mingi.” 

Mingi grinned. “Had to try.”

Yunho rolled his eyes, but the smile tugging at the edge of his lips betrayed him just enough for Mingi to notice.

The first cold snap of the season came through the city without warning.

One day the air was only mildly cool, and the next it was sharp enough to make students pull their jackets tighter and hurry between buildings with their hands buried in their pockets. Leaves had gone brittle underfoot, the old campus paths crackling with every step, and the university itself had started making its usual winter complaints through drafty hallways and unreliable heating.

It was late by the time Yunho finished his paperwork at the clinic.

The building had already closed an hour earlier, and most of the lights in the hall outside had gone dark. The windows were blurred with condensation, and the quiet inside the clinic felt deeper than usual,

He had not expected anyone else to show up, that was why the knock on the clinic door startled him.

He looked up in surprise just as Mingi opened it without waiting for an answer.

“Hey,” Mingi said, already shivering a little beneath a zipped hoodie. “Seonghwa hyung said you were still here.”

“You came all the way to the clinic just to check?” Yunho asked, pushing back from his desk and standing up slowly.

“Yeah,” Mingi replied with a sheepish shrug. Then he held up the smallest, least convincing excuse he had probably ever tried. “Also, I left my compression sleeve here last time. Thought I’d swing by.”

Yunho folded his arms. “Right. Because the sleeve could not possibly wait until morning.”

Mingi rubbed the back of his neck, looking more embarrassed now than he had in the hallway. “Okay, maybe I just wanted to see you.”

Yunho sighed, though he did not argue. He walked to the back cabinet, found the sleeve, and tossed it toward him. Mingi caught it easily and held it up with a little nod, like he had been hoping for a much longer reason to stay but was content to take whatever he could get. 

“You staying late again?” Mingi asked, glancing at the stack of files on Yunho’s desk.

“Midterms,” Yunho replied, dropping back into his chair with a tired breath. “And this place does not run itself.”

“Need help?”

“Not unless you have secretly been studying physical therapy behind my back.”

Mingi grinned and walked over before pulling a stool chair from beside the therapy bed and placing it near Yunho’s desk. “Nope. But I’m great at moral support, remember?” 

Yunho gave him a tired, almost fond smile before turning back to his notes. For a while they worked in silence, Yunho reading and scribbling, Mingi scrolling on his phone and occasionally nudging a mint packet toward him without saying anything. The silence felt surprisingly comfortable until the clinic heater made a strange sputtering sound that snapped both of them out of their focus. 

Yunho paused. “That did not sound good.”

Before Mingi could answer, the overhead lights flickered once, twice, and then went dead.

The clinic fell into darkness.

“Okay,” Mingi said after a beat, his voice carrying the same strange calm as before. “That is new.”

No emergency lights came on. The hallway outside was just as black.

Yunho stood and started toward the breaker closet. “Maybe it’s just the clinic. I’ll check the panel.”

Mingi followed close behind him. “I’m pretty sure the whole building is out.”

He was right.

The only light came from Yunho’s phone when he pulled it out of his pocket, and the signal icon at the top of the screen showed nothing but a weak no connection warning.

“Perfect,” Yunho muttered.

Mingi stood behind him with his arms crossed. “So... are we locked in?”

Yunho turned to him. “We could leave. The doors are not electronic.”

“But the rest of the building is pitch black,” Mingi said.

Yunho hesitated for a moment, then sighed. “…Fine. We’ll wait it out.”

They went back toward the desk, Mingi trailing after him. Yunho opened a drawer and took out a compact emergency flashlight, clicking it on so that a soft beam cut through the darkness and washed over the room in a warm cone of light. 

“Why do you have that?” Mingi asked.

“For nights like this,” Yunho said. “This clinic’s heating fails every winter.”

“Smart.”

They settled on the floor near the treatment bed, the flashlight propped on a box of gloves so the light fell between them, soft and steady. Outside, the cold pressed in harder against the building, but inside the clinic it was just warm enough to feel safe.

After a moment, Mingi glanced at him and asked, low and careful, “So how mad were you when I hit Chan?”

“I said I was mad that it mattered,” Yunho replied, looking down. “Not that I was mad at the punch itself.” 

Mingi watched him quietly.

“You really hate it,” Yunho added after a beat, “when people talk about me like I’m an object.”

Mingi’s expression softened even more. “I hate it when anybody talks about you like that. Like they see your face, and that is all they think there is to you. But I’ve seen the rest of it too. I’ve seen you work. I’ve seen how calm you stay when someone is panicking. I’ve seen the way you talk people down and make them feel less stupid for being scared. You are not just handsome, Yunho. You are strong, and capable, and you care in a way that most people do not.” 

Yunho’s breath caught for a second, the words sinking deeper than he wanted to admit. “You really mean that?” 

Mingi leaned in a little, his voice steady. “Every word.”

A long silence stretched between them, full of weight and warmth, while the flashlight flickered once before settling again. Yunho looked down again, then back up, his expression suddenly much more open than before.

“People will talk,” he said.

“Let them.”

“It is not that easy.”

“I know,” Mingi said. “But I am not going to pretend I do not care about you just to make them more comfortable.”

Yunho stared at him for a moment. This time, he did not look as guarded. He looked like someone standing at the edge of saying something he had been holding in for too long.

“...You know what else I hate?” he murmured.

Mingi leaned in a little more. “What?” 

“That I want you to kiss me,” Yunho admitted, his voice barely above a whisper, “and I am still scared of what happens after.”

Mingi froze.

Then, slowly, he reached up and brushed his fingers against Yunho’s cheek with such care that it made Yunho’s throat tighten. The gesture was gentle enough to feel almost unreal in the dim light.

“You do not have to be scared,” Mingi said. “I’ll still be here after.”

And when Yunho leaned forward just slightly, Mingi met him halfway.

The kiss was slow, just enough to confirm what both of them had already started to understand. That this was not only in their heads. That it was not a rumor or campus fantasy or something the freshmen had made into a joke for entertainment. It was real, and it had been real for longer than either of them had wanted to admit.

When they pulled apart, Yunho’s lashes fluttered as he took in a deep breath, his face still close enough to feel the warmth from Mingi’s skin.

“That was very something,” he said after a second, sounding almost like he was trying to recover his composure.

“Something?”

Yunho leaned back against the bed with a small, tired smile that looked far less exhausted than the one he had worn earlier. “Now I am definitely not sleeping tonight.”

Mingi let out a low chuckle, the sound quiet and warm in the dark clinic. “Then I guess we’ll just have to keep each other warm.”

Yunho lightly smacked his arm, though he did not move away from him at all.

There was a new kind of silence in the air when morning finally broke through the clinic windows. The emergency flashlight had long since gone useless, and the last traces of the blackout had faded into a pale gray dawn that slipped through the blinds in thin strips, laying a cold, silver wash across the room. The clinic was still silent, almost uncomfortably so, except for the soft sounds of breathing and the occasional rustle of fabric as someone shifted in their sleep. 

Yunho woke up first.

He blinked slowly, still stiff from sleeping on the therapy bed, and for a few seconds he had no idea where he was. Then his head shifted against something warm and steady, something solid and breathing, and the sleepy fog in his mind slowly lifted. One strong arm was wrapped securely around his waist, holding him in place in a way that was unmistakably careful, while the quiet rhythm of someone else’s breathing brushed gently through his hair.

Mingi.

The memories came back in fragments. The blackout. The flashlight casting a small circle of light in the dark. The way they had talked. And then the kiss.

The kiss.

Heat rushed to Yunho’s face so quickly he had to turn slightly, trying not to move too much and wake Mingi, but it was already too late. The shift made Mingi stir, letting out a low groan as he blinked slowly, still half asleep.

“...What time is it?” he mumbled, his voice rough with sleep.

“Too early,” Yunho replied hoarsely. He swallowed, then added with quiet embarrassment, “And I think I drooled on your shirt.”

Mingi gave a sleepy laugh without opening his eyes fully. “Don't mind it.”

Yunho rolled his eyes, but there was no real irritation in it, only the faintest trace of amusement tugging at his mouth. 

For a little while, neither of them said anything. It was not awkward exactly, but it was different from before, like both of them were standing in unfamiliar territory and trying not to scare it away. The silence felt too intimate to be called ordinary, yet too comfortable to reject.

Then Mingi spoke again, his voice low and still hazy with sleep.

“Did you sleep okay?”

Yunho hesitated for a moment before answering honestly. “Better than I thought I would.”

Mingi’s lips curved slightly, still half-buried in sleepiness. “Because of me?”

“Don’t push it,” Yunho warned, already pushing himself up from the bed while reaching for his bag. “We should leave before the building starts waking up, and before somebody sees us like this. We need to get back to our dorms and change.”

Mingi stretched both arms over his head and let out a long breath as his back cracked lightly. “Damn. My legs are dead.”

“You should have stretched,” Yunho said pointedly, looking at him with the kind of expression that made it clear this was not the first time he said that. “Again, not your strongest skill.” 

Mingi grinned lazily. “You say that like you are not going to help me stretch later.”

Yunho froze for half a second, then shot him a sharp glare, though the faint pink on his ears gave him away completely.

Later that day, the change in Mingi was obvious to anyone paying attention, even if they did not know why. 

At morning practice, Mingi arrived humming under his breath, moving lighter than usual, his steps almost annoyingly relaxed for someone who had been benched just days ago. He even offered Jongho a protein bar without hesitation. 

Jongho narrowed his eyes at it like it was suspicious. “You are acting weird, hyung.” 

“I’m just in a good mood,” Mingi said, too quickly to sound convincing, but not quickly enough to hide the truth. 

Hongjoong walked past them, dragging his bag and taking one look before snorting. “Oh no. He is happy. Somebody fix him.”

“Shut up,” Mingi said, but there was no real bite in his voice.

Even San noticed it.

“You are smiling,” San said during stretches, squinting at him. “Did something happen?”

“Nothing happened,” Mingi replied then shrugged, looking offensively calm. “I am just happy.”

Meanwhile, across campus in the library lounge, Yunho sat with Wooyoung and Yeosang, a book open in front of him that he had not actually turned a page of in the last ten minutes. His eyes kept drifting away from the text, his thoughts clearly somewhere else entirely, while Wooyoung watched him with the sort of satisfaction that only came from discovering something juicy.

“You’re smiling,” Wooyoung said with a slow, knowing grin.

“No, I’m not,” Yunho muttered immediately, not even bothering to look up.

Yeosang tilted his head slightly, observing him carefully. “You have smiled five times in the last ten minutes.” 

“Coincidence,” Yunho muttered, flipping a page he hadn’t read.

Wooyoung smirked. “Is it? Or is this what we call a Mingi effect?” 

Yunho let out a long-suffering sigh. “Please do not say it like that as if you are making a scientific discovery.” He's already regretting his decision to sit with them. Every time.

Before Yunho could stop him, Wooyoung snatched Yunho’s phone off the table and held it up. “Let’s test a theory.”

“Wooyoung—!”

Too late. Wooyoung had already unlocked the screen and, after one dramatic pause, gasped so loudly that a few people beside their table turned to stare.

“You saved his contact with a heart emoji?!”

Yunho lunged for the phone. “Give it back.”

Yeosang was laughing so hard he had to cover his mouth. “He did not even deny it.”

Wooyoung gave the phone back at last, still cackling under his breath. “You are in deep.”

“I am not,” Yunho hissed, shoving the phone into his pocket so quickly it nearly slipped through his fingers. After a beat, he added in a quieter voice, “It is just... new.”

Wooyoung leaned in, still smiling. “But you like it?”

Yunho did not answer right away. The softness in his expression said everything for him.

Later that day, things at the clinic returned to their usual rhythm. The waiting room had only a few students in it, and Seonghwa was behind the front desk with his usual blank expression that only looked indifferent if you did not know him well enough to see the amusement hiding underneath it.

So when Mingi walked in carrying canned coffee and a warm sandwich, Seonghwa did not even bother pretending to be surprised.

“Do I even ask anymore?” he said flatly.

“It is not for you, hyung,” Mingi replied easily, already walking toward Yunho’s desk.

“I know it is not for me,” Seonghwa said, watching him with the expression of a man who had accepted his place as an unwilling witness to this entire situation.

Yunho looked up from a stack of paperwork, blinking. “You brought food?”

“You said you skipped lunch,” Mingi replied, setting the sandwich down carefully in front of him. “And I figured I owe you for sharing the bed last night.” 

Seonghwa made a sound somewhere between a cough and a scream, then turned and disappeared into the storage room so fast it was almost suspicious. A moment later, the sound of a phone call being frantically dialed echoed from the room.

Mingi lowered himself a little and spoke quietly, only for Yunho to hear. “Are you okay with this?”

Yunho blinked. “With you being here?”

Mingi nodded once, his expression unexpectedly serious. “With me being yours. Even if people start noticing.”

Yunho’s breath caught in his throat. Then he reached for the coffee can, his fingers brushing Mingi’s for the briefest second.

“I think I have stopped caring what people say,” he murmured, his voice low enough that it almost disappeared into the quiet room. “As long as they know it is real.”

Mingi smiled slowly, warmly, with a kind of pride that made Yunho’s chest feel strangely tight.

He leaned in, not for a kiss, but enough to rest his forehead lightly against Yunho’s shoulder for a moment. Yunho’s hand lifted almost on instinct and settled over Mingi’s head, his fingers brushing through his hair and a small smile forming before he could stop it. 

Then the clinic door chimed.

A freshman stepped inside, clearly here for a sprain consultation, and immediately froze when she saw how close the two of them were. Her eyes widened in obvious shock before darting between them in rapid confusion.

Yunho did not flinch. He looked up with an easy, professional smile.

“Take a seat,” he said politely. “I will be right with you.”

Only then did Mingi finally pull back, a faint smile still lingering on his face as he moved away from Yunho’s desk.

Game day arrived.

Even from blocks away, the air around the arena felt different, charged and restless, buzzing with the sound of thousands of students, fans, alumni, and passersby all gathering for the event that had been building hype for a month. The university arena, usually reserved for final matches or high-stakes interregional games, was packed before noon. Banners were waving. Horns were blaring. People were shouting over one another in the stands, their excitement so loud it felt like the whole campus had been pulled toward a single point.

The Blue Lions, Mingi’s team, were undefeated this season.

Their reputation was not just regional anymore. It had gone far beyond that. The team had become something people expected greatness from, especially with players like Hongjoong, San, and Jongho all sharing the court, each of them sharp in completely different ways. Winning was no longer just a hope. It was almost an assumption.

And Mingi?

Mingi was the one who kept the offense from falling apart, the one who never seemed to crack under pressure, the one people called the basketball prince because he always looked like he belonged under the lights.

Until now, maybe.

“You okay?” Hongjoong asked as he adjusted his shoelaces in the locker room, glancing over at him with a sharp, assessing look.

Mingi exhaled slowly. “Fine.”

Hongjoong stared at him. “You are not convincing anyone.”

San looked up from across the room with a grin already forming on his face. “He is thinking about his handsome therapist.”

“Do not start,” Mingi muttered immediately, though the pink tint rising over his ears betrayed him.

Jongho, seated beside him and half-hidden under a hoodie, lifted his head just enough to look at him. “Hyung, you are going to miss your shot if you keep thinking too much.”

Mingi did not answer.

He leaned forward and planted both hands on his knees, staring at the floor for a second like he was trying to force himself back into the game mentally.

Get your head in the game.

He had trained for this.

He had fought for this.

But because for the first time, someone was watching him not just as a classmate, not just as a friend, but as something more complicated than that.

And that someone mattered more than anything else in the world right now.

In the bleachers, Yunho sat surrounded by the noise and motion of the crowd, the entire arena vibrating with anticipation around him. Yeosang beside him with a ridiculous horn that he kept testing every few seconds, Seonghwa with food like he had only come here for the snacks and not the actual game, and Wooyoung waving a flag that did not even belong to their school, looking far too proud of it for someone who had no loyalty to it.

“You nervous?” Seonghwa asked, grinning as he leaned back in his seat.

Yunho scoffed without even looking at him. “Why would I be nervous?”

“You have never come to a match before. Not once, Yunho. This is historical.”

“I am just here to observe the human condition under high adrenaline,” Yunho said flatly, keeping his expression as neutral as possible.

Wooyoung laughed under his breath and tilted his head toward the court. “Sure. And Mingi’s biceps and thighs have nothing to do with it.”

Yunho did not even bother responding to that. His gaze drifted anyway, betraying him, sliding toward the court where players were warming up. 

Mingi was on the floor during warm-ups, tall and sharp against the blur of movement around him. The lights caught the line of his shoulders and the way he moved with easy confidence, stretching and passing with the rest of the team. Then, as if he had felt Yunho watching, he looked over his shoulder and found him in the crowd.

Their eyes met.

Even from that distance, Mingi smiled. Not the polite one he gave cameras or fans or anyone watching. This one was different. Softer. Private. Like it belonged to only one person in the entire arena.

Yunho’s chest tightened in a way that felt unfamiliar and overwhelming all at once.

He lowered his head quickly and pretended to be focused on his phone, though he was not reading anything at all.

The opening whistle barely seemed to finish ringing before both teams were already moving with fierce speed, sneakers squeaking across the polished floor, players calling for passes, and the crowd rising almost immediately as the first possession turned into a fast, aggressive drive down the court. Hongjoong stole the ball early after a sharp defensive read, and the Blue Lions immediately converted it into a clean transition basket that made the section around them erupt. San followed with a quick outside shot after a screen, then Jongho fought for a rebound that should have belonged to the other team but somehow ended up in their possession anyway. Every possession felt sharp and urgent, each one carrying the weight of the tournament pressure hanging over the game.

Mingi moved like he had been built for this kind of spotlight. He cut through defenders with clean footwork, pushed through contact, and kept finding the exact angles that made him impossible to ignore. He dove for loose balls, pivoted out of pressure, and sent the ball out before the defense could collapse on him. Every time he touched the ball, the crowd got louder, and every time he gave it up, he was already moving into the next space.

But Yunho, who had started watching him too carefully for his own peace of mind, noticed the little things.

Tiny shifts in Mingi’s movement that were easy to miss unless someone was watching too closely. The way he landed a little harder than usual after one jump. The way his breathing tightened just slightly after a hard drive. The way his jaw set more firmly after every collision, like he was pushing his body just a little past where it wanted to stop. 

“He is pushing too hard,” Yunho muttered before he could stop himself.

Yeosang glanced sideways at him. “Mingi?”

Yunho’s fingers tightened around his phone. “He’s overthinking.”

By the second half, the score was still close.

The two teams kept trading baskets, neither side willing to give even an inch. The Blue Lions were leading by only a few points, but every possession felt heavier now, more physical, more desperate. The crowd had grown louder with each play, and the entire arena buzzed with that special kind of tension that only comes when everyone knows one moment could decide everything.

At the minute mark, it happened.

A sudden counterattack broke through the defense and the ball flew up the court in a blur of motion. Mingi saw the opening and launched himself into the play, going up midair at the same time as an opposing player. Their bodies collided hard before either of them could fully control the landing.

Mingi hit the court with a brutal impact.

The arena went silent.

Yunho was already standing before he even realized it. His breath caught sharply when Mingi did not rise immediately, and for one terrifying second, he could not tell if Mingi was moving or not. Medics rushed onto the court at once, and his teammates closed in around him, forming a tight huddle that blocked most of the view from the bleachers.

From the bleachers, Yunho could only see the huddle of bodies. Then Mingi sat up just enough for Yunho to see his hand clutching his side. His head turned slowly, and for one brief moment, their eyes met again across the distance. 

Yunho knew Mingi was hurt and he was going to try to finish the game anyway. 

The rest of the game blurred into noise, movement, and fear. 

Mingi stayed on the court. He kept pushing, kept defending, kept passing, kept moving, even as the pain clearly worsened every time he landed or twisted. Somehow he still found the strength to stay in the game long enough to make the final scoring play, slipping past the last defender and sending the ball through the hoop at the exact moment the offense needed it most.

The winning basket landed.

The whistle blew.

The arena exploded.

The Blue Lions had won.

Mingi collapsed straight into San’s arms the moment the game was over, the entire team surging together in celebration as the crowd roared so loudly it almost drowned out every other sound in the arena. People were shouting, cheering, waving banners, and standing on their seats, but Yunho was already moving, pushing through the noise as fast as he could.

Wooyoung shouted something behind him, but Yunho barely heard it.

He was already forcing his way toward the tunnel.

He found Mingi just outside it, where the medics had already surrounded him and were checking his ribs. Mingi looked up the second Yunho appeared, blinking like he had not expected him to get there so fast.

“Yunho.”

Yunho shoved past one of the staff members and dropped to a knee beside him, his face tight with fury and fear so intense it was almost hard to separate the two. “Are you out of your goddamn mind, Song Mingi?!”

Mingi flinched at the tone. “It is not that bad.”

“Do not lie to me,” Yunho snapped, glaring at him hard enough that Mingi could feel it. He could tell immediately that Yunho was furious, not just annoyed, and not just because he had gotten hurt.

“I could not sit out,” Mingi said, his voice strained but steady. “They needed me.” 

“And I need you whole.” Yunho’s answer came fast, too fast, because the emotion behind it had been building since the moment he saw Mingi hit the floor. 

That stopped Mingi completely.

The noise around them dimmed into background static as their eyes locked and held. Yunho reached for Mingi’s wrist without thinking and pressed his fingers gently to the pulse point, his brows drawing together almost immediately. “You are burning up.” 

“Adrenaline,” Mingi muttered. 

Yunho looked at him like he wanted to strangle him and kiss him at the exact same time. 

“I swear to God, Mingi, I am really going to kill you,” he whispered through his teeth, though the anger in his voice was tangled with something far more vulnerable. “But first, I am taking you back to the clinic.” 

“But Yunho—” 

“No arguments,” Yunho cut in, throwing him another warning look that left very little room for discussion. “You are mine to fix now.” 

Mingi let out a slow breath that sounded half exhausted and half amused, even through the pain. “You are mine too, you know.” 

By the time they made their way through the arena corridors and toward the clinic, a few people had already stopped to stare at them. Mingi had one arm slung carefully over Yunho’s shoulder, and Yunho was supporting most of his weight while keeping a hand at his side where the impact had landed. Neither of them paid attention to the whispers that followed behind them. 

By the time they reached the clinic, Yunho had practically dragged Mingi through the door and straight into the treatment room, the one with an actual door and enough privacy to keep the entire campus from staring at them unlike before. 

The moment the door shut behind them, the atmosphere shifted. 

“Sit and remove your jersey,” Yunho ordered without even looking at him.

The polished professionalism Yunho usually wore like armor was gone. In its place was someone visibly unraveling at the edges. His voice was tight. His movements were sharper. His hands were a little less steady than usual as he snapped on gloves and started assessing Mingi’s side. Then he grabbed a cold compress from the mini freezer.

Mingi had already pulled his shirt off and was sitting on the bed, breathing a little heavier now that the adrenaline was starting to fade. The bruise on his ribs was darkening quickly, deep purple spreading beneath angry red skin, and every small shift of his body made him flinch.

“You’ve done a lot of stupid things, Mingi,” Yunho said, finally approaching him, tone clipped and sharp, “but this one easily makes the top three.”

Mingi huffed a breathy laugh, trying to ease the tension clawing through the room. “Top three, huh?” he asked, raising a brow in mock offense. “What were the other two?”

“You coming to the clinic every day with a ‘different type of body ache,’” Yunho snapped, pressing the cold compress more firmly than necessary, like he needed the pressure to keep his emotions in place. “and letting Chan get into your head like you’re a rookie fresh out of middle school.”

Mingi flinched, a hiss slipping past his clenched teeth. “Okay, okay, fair enough. You didn’t have to go that hard.”

Yunho didn’t apologize. He didn’t even look up at him. Then after a minute, he adjusted the ice pack slightly afterward, this time gentler, but he still did not say anything else right away. 

Mingi watched him in silence. The way his brows were drawn together. The slight tremble in his hands. The fact that his breathing was not as steady as it should have been.

Then he spoke, softer now. “I am sorry if I scared you.” Then he looked down.

Yunho gave a small, humorless laugh. “No, Mingi, I was terrified.”

That made Mingi look up at him immediately. His expression shifted at once, the anger in Yunho’s eyes dimming into something much more vulnerable, much more exposed in a way Mingi had never seen before. 

“I saw you hit the ground,” Yunho said, voice tightening again. “And I could not breathe. I thought I was going to have to treat you while everybody in the bleachers kept cheering, not even knowing whether you could stand up or not.” 

Mingi did not move. 

Yunho looked away for half a second, then swallowed hard, shaking his head slightly, almost like he was trying to chase away the memory.

“I’m supposed to be professional,” he said, quieter still. “Objective. I’m trained for this, to remain calm and clinical. Emotionally removed. But I can’t be that when it’s you. I’ve never been able to be that when it’s you.”

The weight of his words filled the room like fog, thick and impossible to ignore.

Mingi reached out first, gently tugging Yunho forward by the hem of his shirt, his touch careful despite the dull ache still lingering in his ribs.

“Then don’t be,” he said quietly. “Don’t pretend you don’t care. Don’t pretend we’re something we’re not.”

Yunho shook his head slowly, his gaze dropping for a second before lifting again. “We’re barely anything.”

Mingi gave him a small, knowing smile. “We are already something. That is why this scares you.” 

Yunho did not answer, he just stayed there, standing too close and breathing a little too carefully, as if any sudden movement might break whatever fragile thing had formed between them. 

Mingi adjusted his posture a little despite the dull ache in his side, then rested his forehead against Yunho’s. One of his hands came up to cup the back of Yunho’s neck, warm and steady, and that simple contact alone made Yunho’s shoulders loosen by the smallest amount.

“I don’t want to be something secret,” Mingi murmured. His voice had gone lower now, rougher at the edges, the kind of voice he only used when he meant every word. “I don’t care what other people think. I don’t care if people talk. I care about you.”

Yunho’s eyes slowly closed. Then, in a voice so quiet it was almost swallowed by the room, he said, “…Say it again.” 

Mingi leaned closer, not even hesitating. “I care about you.”

“Again.”

Mingi smiled, a real one this time, warm enough to make Yunho’s chest tighten. “I love you.”

Something in Yunho’s chest finally gave way.

He kissed him.

It was not careful this time. It was hotter than that, fuller, like something that had been building for weeks and finally found a way out. It carried all the tension from the last few days, all the worry from the injury, all the frustration from the rumors, and all the relief of seeing Mingi alive and standing in front of him with his stupid stubborn face and that same impossible honesty. Yunho’s hands came up to Mingi’s jaw, while Mingi pulled him closer by the waist, guiding him between his thigs until there was almost no space left between them at all.

The cold compress slipped from somewhere and clattered to the floor.

A soft sound slipped out of Yunho’s lips, barely more than a breath, and that was enough to make Mingi tighten his hold around his waist even more before his hand slid up carefully into the inside of Yunho’s shirt, fingertips brushing his skin. Yunho shivered at the touch and leaned into the kiss without thinking anymore about anything except the warmth of Mingi’s mouth and the way his hands were holding him like he mattered.

Yunho pulled back first, though only just. He was panting, eyes wide and flushed, his mouth parted as if he had forgotten how to breathe properly. 

“Wait, we shouldn’t,” he said, though the words came out weak and unsteady. 

“I know,” Mingi answered, his voice rough now, the edges of it rasped from the kiss. He looked down at Yunho’s mouth as if he was trying to decide whether to chase it or not. “Tell me to stop.” 

But Yunho did not. He slid his fingers into Mingi’s hair and pulled him back in, pressing their lips together again.

This time, Mingi’s hands moved more boldly, his hands slipped further beneath Yunho’s shirt while Yunho’s grip in his hair tightened in response, his other hand pressing against Mingi’s back, and the silence between them disappeared beneath the sound of their breathing and the soft, unsteady noises they made into each other’s mouths.

The sound Mingi made was low and helpless, a groan he clearly had no intention of hiding, and Yunho answered with a soft breath against his mouth that made the tension between them feel even more unbearable. Then one of Mingi’s hands drifted downward and settled at Yunho’s thigh, and the moment Yunho felt it, he shifted them both carefully, pushing Mingi back until he was lying down on the bed.

Mingi let out another groan, this time because the movement pulled at his ribs in a way that made him wince, but Yunho moved quickly and climbed over him anyway, positioning himself carefully so he would not press too hard against the bruise.

“Yunho…” Mingi murmured softly, his hands returning to Yunho’s waist as though they had nowhere else they wanted to be.

“Shh,” Yunho murmured against his mouth, his voice low and breathless. “Be quiet, Mingi.”

That only made Mingi smile against him.

The kiss deepened again after that, more desperate now, Mingi tilted his head and opened his mouth just enough to let Yunho in properly. They stayed like that for a while, kissing until the air turned thin between them, until the tension in Yunho’s shoulders finally started to melt, until the world outside the clinic seemed far away and unimportant and unreal.

Then came the knock.

The sound hit the door sharply, making both of them freeze in place as if they had been caught doing something illegal, which, in this exact moment, it certainly felt like they had been.

Another knock, louder this time, sharper and far more impatient.

“Yunho?” came a firm voice from the other side. “It is Doc Jisoo. I know you are in there. The building manager said the lights were acting up, and I came to check the inventory.”

Yunho’s eyes went wide. “Shit—shitshitshit— ” 

He scrambled off Mingi so fast that he nearly tripped over the stool chair beside the bed, and if Mingi had not caught his arm even from where he was half-reclined, he probably would have gone down completely.

“Easy,” Mingi muttered, a laugh threatening to escape despite the situation. “You’re going to bruise yourself next.”

“This is not funny,” Yunho hissed, pulling his shirt into place with shaking hands while his eyes darted around the room in sheer panic, also trying to gather himself at the same time. “Where is the compress?! You need to sit up again. Do not look like you were just—God, where is your shirt?!” 

Mingi, still trying very hard not to laugh, slowly sat up properly and reached for his jersey from the side of the bed. “Relax. I’ve got it.”

But Yunho was nowhere near relaxed.

The door creaked open slowly, and Jisoo stepped inside with a clipboard in one hand, her coat still buttoned, her expression already suspicious before she even looked at them properly. She stopped the moment she took in the scene.

Yunho looked like he had been caught in the middle of something he could not explain, his face flushed all the way to his ears, his breathing uneven, and his shirt wrinkled. Mingi, meanwhile, was sitting on the therapy bed with a grin that looked far too pleased for someone who was supposedly injured, his hair slightly disheveled in a way that absolutely did not help his case and his body still angled in that lazy, satisfied way that made everything about him seem worse.

Doc Jisoo stared at them for one long beat.

Then she slowly lifted one eyebrow. “Well,” she said, her tone dry and almost amused, “it is about damn time.”

Yunho’s face turned an even deeper red. “Doc, wait, it is not, I mean, this is not what it looks like, I can explain—”

She raised one hand and cut him off before he could spiral any further. “Please do not. I have been watching Mingi limp in here with suspiciously vague complaints for a month like he was auditioning for a teen drama. I was starting to think you would never grow a spine, Yunho.”

“I, what, no, that is not—” Yunho sputtered, completely unable to recover in a dignified way.

Mingi coughed into his fist to hide the grin that was trying to spread across his face.

She looked between them once more and let out a tired sigh that made it seem like she had already accepted the entire situation. “Listen carefully. I do not care what you two do after clinic hours. You are both adults. Just do not make it interfere with the schedule, and if this turns messy, I expect full cooperation. Clear?”

Yunho was still bright red, but he managed a stiff nod. “Yes, doc.”

Then Doc Jisoo gave Mingi a pointed look next. “And you. Keep your muscles and your hands in check. No more fake injuries unless they are creative.”

Mingi straightened a little, almost too pleased with himself to look properly apologetic. “Got it, Doc.”

She turned to leave, then paused at the door and looked back at them with a strange little smile, one that carried something unreadable and a little amused.

“Congratulations on the win,” she said to Mingi.

There was something strange in her tone, and neither of them were entirely sure if she meant the basketball game or the fact that Mingi had apparently won Yunho over too.

Mingi let out a short laugh. “Thanks, Doc.”

Doc Jisoo nodded once and gave them both one last look and walked out as calmly as she had come in. The second the door shut, Yunho sank into the stool chair and covered his face with both hands.

Mingi leaned back against the bed with a lazy smile tugging at his mouth. “So,” he said, voice warm with amusement, “want to make out after inventory?”

Yunho groaned into his hands. “I hate you.”

Mingi grinned wider. “No, you do not.”

And despite everything, despite the panic and the embarrassment and the complete violation of whatever dignity Yunho had left, he laughed.

News really did travel fast on campus.

It moved especially fast when it involved one of the university’s star athletes and one of the most admired upperclassmen in the health sciences department, which meant that by Monday morning the whispers had already spread far beyond the people who had actually seen anything. Some students claimed they saw Mingi walking Yunho to class. Others insisted they had caught them holding hands in the library. Someone even swore they saw a kiss in the clinic, though that version was definitely too dramatic to be true.

Or maybe not…

Still, the energy around them had changed.

People noticed it.

And neither of them were doing a particularly good job pretending otherwise.

Yunho sat in the back of class with Wooyoung, who was not even enrolled in the same class but had somehow inserted himself into the seat beside him. Yunho tried his best to focus on a case study about muscle fatigue, but his phone kept buzzing on his table, and every single time he checked it, it was another message from Seonghwa.

Seonghwa hyung: DO YOU GUYS THINK YOU’RE SLICK?

Seonghwa hyung: I WORK IN THE SAME CLINIC, YUNHO.

Seonghwa hyung: THE. SAME. CLINIC.

Seonghwa hyung: I KNOW WHAT YOU TWO DID.

Wooyoung leaned over to read the screen and immediately burst into laughter. “You are doomed.”

Yunho groaned and locked the phone again. “I already know.”

Wooyoung smirked, biting back more laughter. “I always imagined your love life would be a lot less dramatic. More coldly efficient. Very controlled. Very organized.”

“I did too,” Yunho muttered. “Then Mingi decided to make himself a regular patient just to flirt with me.”

“And now you are glowing.”

“I am not.”

Wooyoung tilted his head, studying him with obnoxious seriousness. “You kind of are.”

Yeosang, seated in front of them and not even enrolled in Yunho’s class either, turned around slightly and gave him a small, knowing smile. “You do seem happier. It is nice.”

Yunho stared at both of them, clearly unimpressed and clearly cornered.

“Traitors,” he muttered.

Wooyoung looked delighted. Yeosang only smiled a little more.

Meanwhile, on the court, the team was finishing practice and stretching out while the usual post-training exhaustion hung over everyone. Hongjoong had crossed his arms and was staring at Mingi with the kind of expression that meant he had already decided something was off.

“Alright,” Hongjoong said flatly. “What the hell is going on with you?”

Mingi looked up with mild confusion. “What?”

“You jogged over to fill everybody’s Gatorade,” Hongjoong said. “You never do that.”

San leaned back where he was sitting, looking smug enough to be insufferable. “Someone’s in love.”

Jongho glanced at him with immediate disgust. “Hyung, he has been in love for a month.”

Hongjoong looked back at Mingi again, this time with full suspicion. “So it is true.”

Mingi hesitated just long enough to make the whole thing worse. “Maybe,” he said.

At the side of the court, Chan, who had been listening quietly, could not resist jumping in. “Wait. The clinic boy?”

Mingi gave him a look. Not angry exactly, but sharp enough to make the warning unmistakable. Their whole fight had already been dealt with, and Chan had already apologized properly before the game, but Chan still could not seem to keep his mouth shut when something interesting came up.

“Yeah.”

Chan blinked, then laughed in disbelief. “Holy shit, I thought he hated you.”

“He maybe did,” Mingi replied, looking far too pleased with himself, “but I grew on him.”

“Wow,” Jongho said. “Took long enough, hyung.” 

San laughed so hard he nearly dropped his towel.

Later that afternoon, Yunho opened the fridge in the clinic and found a small container waiting for him inside.

He frowned.

Then he noticed the note taped to the top.

Drink this before you forget lunch again – M

Inside was a strawberry smoothie, cold enough to bead with condensation, exactly the kind Yunho liked but rarely remembered to buy for himself. He stared at it for a second, the corner of his mouth twitching despite his attempts to stay annoyed.

Then he took the smoothie and drank it anyway.

Their first real public moment happened by accident.

The campus had been lit with afternoon sun, the walkways full of students heading between buildings and the trees throwing patchy shade across the brick paths. Yunho had just finished a lab meeting and was walking back with his notes tucked under one arm when he spotted Mingi sitting on a low brick wall beneath a row of sycamore trees.

Mingi looked up from his phone the moment he noticed Yunho and smiled before standing. His hands slid casually into the pocket of his hoodie as he walked over. Yunho stopped a short distance away, close enough to talk but not close enough to ignore the fact that several people were now watching them.

Mingi tilted his head. “You okay?”

Yunho dropped his voice. “I feel like everybody is staring.”

Mingi gave a soft chuckle and stepped just a little closer. “Then give them something worth looking at.”

Before Yunho could answer, Mingi reached up and slowly fixed a piece of hair that the wind had blown loose across Yunho’s forehead. The motion was so gentle, so careful, that it nearly stole the air from Yunho’s lungs.

Yunho’s ears turned bright red immediately.

And yes, people definitely saw and talked about them again.

By the end of the week, nobody even pretended not to know anymore.

It had become official without either of them ever having to say it out loud. The curious glances slowly turned into knowing nods. Students who had once whispered now just accepted it as part of campus life. Some of them were openly supportive, and others looked vaguely disappointed in the way people do when they realize two people they had been fantasizing about separately were now very obviously together.

Surprisingly, their friends adjusted faster than expected.

Even Doc Jisoo adapted, though in her own extremely practical way. She began scheduling Mingi’s post-practice therapy slots with Seonghwa whenever possible, allegedly so Yunho would not get distracted or “tempted.” It did not stop Mingi from lingering around the clinic anyway, but at least now it was a little more organized.

That Friday night, Yunho and Mingi walked side by side through an empty hallway, hands intertwined together. The building was quiet, the lights overhead soft and warm, and the sound of their footsteps echoed faintly down the corridor.

“I like this,” Mingi said after a while.

Yunho glanced at him. “Walking?”

Mingi shook his head slightly, smiling. “Us. Like this. Out in the open.”

Yunho’s expression softened in a way that would have embarrassed him if anyone else had seen it. “Yeah. Me too.”

There was a small pause between them.

Then Mingi asked, quieter this time, “You are not scared anymore?”

Yunho breathed in the night air, held it for a second, then let it out slowly. “No,” he said, and this time there was no hesitation at all. “I am not.”

Mingi smiled.