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They're practicing for their upcoming tour, three hours in, and Minghao is sitting on the floor, making the most of the short break. He's trying to catch his breath, tuning out the noise around him, when he hears Chan say, loud enough to cut through everything, "Ugh, it's not fair! I want to be in love, too!"
Minghao doesn't know what prompted this—he wasn't paying attention—and he's not paying attention now, either, as Seungkwan answers just as loudly. He's too tired for this, and he really can't be bothered. Instead he slowly looks around the room, left to right, gaze traveling over the members and the staff. He makes it halfway through when his eyes land on Mingyu. Mingyu's already looking at him, and Minghao looks back for a moment, expression carefully neutral. Then Mingyu tilts his head a little, as if asking a question, and Minghao looks away to take a swig of water.
By the time they call the next break, Minghao's exhausted. He plops down on the hard ground, back against the wall, water bottle in his lap. He closes his eyes for a moment, and thinks that he's getting too old for this.
He only notices Mingyu when he's sitting down next to him, so close they're pressed together from shoulder to thigh. He doesn't even have to open his eyes; he's all too familiar with Mingyu's go-to cologne.
When Mingyu nudges him, Minghao opens his eyes and turns his head to look at him. The nearness almost makes him go cross-eyed, but he doesn't lean away.
Mingyu looks at him, not saying anything, and Minghao is about to prompt him when he whispers, "Would it really be so bad?" He doesn't have to elaborate; Minghao knows what he's talking about; Mingyu knows that he knows. He can't quite believe Mingyu decided to bring it up now, for the first time in a decade, in the middle of practice. Chan's wish must have really hit home.
"Yes."
"I don't think it would be."
Minghao can't tell if Mingyu is just optimistic or straight up delusional. Mingyu holds his gaze, as if looking at Minghao intently enough would make him change his mind. But it can't be okay, Minghao thinks, because that would mean he'd have deprived himself of something good the past ten years, for nothing.
"What are you so afraid of?" Mingyu asks.
Minghao looks at him as if he's stupid. "Have you not considered everything that could go wrong?" He makes an effort to keep his voice low. Mingyu's treating him like he's being ridiculous, when Mingyu is the one not thinking of the inevitable repercussions.
"Of course I have. Don't you think it's worth it, though?"
It's not worth losing his career, his team. That is something Minghao knows, deep in his bones.
"It's been ten years," Mingyu says quietly. "Don't you think we've deserved it?"
Minghao stays quiet for a long time. He caps and uncaps his water bottle, focuses on his hands. "We're in the middle of practice. Now's not really a good time."
"It's not," Mingyu agrees. "But after?"
Minghao looks up at him. Mingyu looks back, steady, kind, and Minghao can't help it when he says, "Okay." He's never been able to refuse Mingyu much.
He finds it difficult to stay focused, after. He keeps looking at Mingyu in the mirror, and always finds him already looking back. It's a little maddening, how fast his carefully built facade has crumbled. Ten years he hasn't let this bother him, interfere with his work, and now—all it took was half a conversation, apparently, and the promise of an after.
Mingyu comes home with him after practice. In the car, they chat a little with their manager, but Minghao's mind is going a mile a minute, and right now keeping up this conversation is at the bottom of his priority list. He looks out the window, at the streetlights that pass by in a blur, and remembers the only other time they talked about it—if it could even count as such. He doesn't think about it often, nowadays, the memory made hazy by both the years since then and the copious amounts of alcohol he'd consumed at the time.
They had been nineteen, sitting on the couch in their living room, drunk off cheap wine. They'd been drinking with the other members, but by then they'd all gone off to bed. Minghao knew he should have gone to sleep, too, get as many hours as he could, hope the hangover would be kind tomorrow. Instead he'd stayed on the couch, pressed to Mingyu, as the others left one by one, until only Mingyu and him were left.
They'd first ended up squished together while trying to fit too many members on the same small couch. Now the others were gone and there was no reason to stay this close, but neither of them had moved, and Minghao was content to stay like this. If he closed his eyes, he thought, he could fall asleep right then and there.
He never got the chance, because Mingyu spoke up, then, said, "You're not about to fall asleep on me, are you?" He was slurring a little, his lisp more pronounced. Minghao hated how endearing he found it.
He turned to look at Mingyu. His face was so close, Minghao suddenly realized. The alcohol made his thoughts all fuzzy, until only a single, terribly incriminating thought remained: pretty.
"Myungho?"
Minghao's gaze dropped to his lips as they moved, lingered a moment too long before he managed to look away, back up to his eyes. "Yes?" He was dimly aware Mingyu had asked him a question, before, but he couldn't remember what it was. It seemed unimportant now, when he had the chance to look at Mingyu from up close.
And Mingyu—Mingyu wore his heart on his sleeve, was an open book when it came to everything. Minghao could read him well, could always tell what he was thinking or feeling. He knew how Mingyu was looking at him now, could name the feeling, it was all so obvious.
They'd gotten even closer, Minghao noticed, when he could feel Mingyu's breath against his lips as he whispered Minghao's name. Mingyu was looking at him so earnestly, and Minghao realized with startling clarity that if he let this happen, his life would come crashing down.
So Minghao pulled away, and he watched as Mingyu turned bright red, and it hurt, he felt terrible, but he also knew that the alternative would have been worse. This was what was best, for both of them, for the team, for their careers.
Minghao didn't apologize. Instead, he said, "We can't," and Mingyu had looked down to where their knees touched, said, "I know," and that was that.
Later, as he lay in bed staring at the ceiling, replaying the moment, Minghao had wished with all his heart that the wine would do its job and that neither of them would remember in the morning.
They both remembered, Minghao knew, but things had gone back to normal, as if nothing had happened. It had been an unspoken rule between them, to never mention it, and they had both adhered to it.
Minghao knows that Mingyu loves him still, as he has for the past ten years. He knows Mingyu too well not to, and anyway, Mingyu doesn't really try to hide it. Minghao does try to hide it, and he knows he hides it well, but he also knows that he has never fooled Mingyu.
Maybe they could be together, once everything is done and dusted; when Seventeen is over; when they've retired. That is the only way Minghao could see it happen.
The crucial point, though, is that he doesn't want Seventeen to end. He doesn't want to lose everything he spent so many years building, doesn't want to fade back into anonymity. And so the conclusion is very simple: if he must choose between his career and Mingyu, he will always choose his career. Seventeen is his life; the members are some of the most important people in his life. He can't risk losing that.
They've never talked about it, but he thinks Mingyu feels the same. He's ambitious, too; he wants to see this through to the end, keep going as long as he can. And he might not believe them being together could ruin everything so catastrophically as Minghao does, but he's not stupid; Minghao knows that he's aware of the risks, and that they are too great, and ultimately not worth it.
Now he catches himself wondering—would it really be so bad? Yes, he tells himself. But what if it wasn't? What if it was worth it?
Minghao has loved him for a decade, now, long enough for it to become part of him. It had consumed him, in the very beginning, but the novelty had long since worn off. Being in love with Mingyu is almost boring to him, at this point, just another fact about himself; his name is Xu Minghao, he's a member of Seventeen, he's in love with Mingyu—it's been ten years and counting, it won't ever lead anywhere, he's made his peace with it. Most days he doesn't even think about it.
At first, he'd pulled away as much as he could, so afraid someone would be able to tell. Mingyu had noticed, and asked him what he'd done wrong. Minghao hadn't told him, then, but he knows Mingyu must have guessed anyway, in the end. Nowadays, though, his heart doesn't skip a beat when Mingyu catches his gaze in the mirror during dance practice, and he doesn't blush when Mingyu leans close and whispers something in his ear. Nowadays, he treats Mingyu like he would anyone else.
Minghao can feel his heartbeat in his throat by the time he lets Mingyu in his apartment. He's usually better about keeping his cool, but he doesn't know what to expect from this. Mingyu hasn't made him this nervous since they were teens.
They're standing in the hallway, alone for the first time today. Mingyu's just looking at him, unmoving, coat still on, and Minghao can't bear the tension any longer. "What did you want to talk about?" he asks, because this was Mingyu's idea; he can do the talking.
Mingyu huffs out a laugh."You know what." Minghao does; there's no use pretending he doesn't.
"What brought this on?"
"I mean, you heard Chan—it just, I don't know, it made me think. Why should we deprive ourselves of it? We've already waited so long. Don't you think we deserve it?"
"So we're having this conversation because of Chan?" Minghao can't keep the amusement out of his voice.
Mingyu groans. "No! I mean, yeah, okay, sorta, I guess. But also—I've been thinking about it a lot lately."
Minghao crosses his arms, makes a last-ditch effort to be the voice of reason. "It's a bad idea."
Mingyu frowns. "How can you be so sure?"
"How can you not?"
"Myungho, I know what could go wrong, but—it's us. Don't you think we could make it work?"
Minghao shakes his head. There's so much that could go wrong. Worst of all—"What if one day you decide you don't want it anymore?"
Mingyu takes a step closer. "Myungho," he says quietly, "it's been a decade. I'm in this for the rest of my life."
"You can't know that."
"I can make a pretty good guess." Minghao wants to believe him so badly. He does believe him, is the thing. He knows that Mingyu believes what he's saying, that he's confident his feelings won't change, but Minghao has never been as willing to believe as him.
Mingyu brings up his hand, gently brushes Minghao's hair to the side. On instinct, Minghao closes his eyes, lets himself feel the brush of Mingyu's fingertips against his temple, leans into his touch. He wants it—god, he wants it so much, more than anything he's ever wanted. He's given years of his life, his body, his youth to his career. Maybe, for once, he can choose something for himself.
His hand finds Mingyu's, where it's now cupped around his cheek. When he opens his eyes, he's faced with Mingyu, serious and beautiful. And steady, always steady—someone to rely on, to stay by his side through it all. He trusts Mingyu, more than anyone else, with his life, with his heart. He knows Mingyu will treat it gently. And it's terrifying, it scares him out of his mind, but he thinks he could do it, with Mingyu.
Mingyu's still looking at him, patient, his thumb gently stroking his cheekbone, when Minghao whispers, "Okay."
A smile unfurls on Mingyu's lips, and it's the most beautiful thing Minghao has ever seen. "Yeah?" He sounds positively giddy. Minghao can't help but smile back.
"Yeah. Let's do this."
And Minghao knows they'll have to talk about it, properly talk about it, but for now, this is enough: Mingyu in his arms, and the promise of a future he had never let himself dream of.