myungbe

[myungbe]

his hands find min’s waist like they've always belonged there. warm, loose, cocky as hell. min turns in his grip, and myungsoo's mouth quirks up the second those arms loop around his neck. the boy is smaller than him, but god, the way he fits, it's stupid, absolutely fucking criminal. myungsoo dips his head so his lips hover just below min's ear, breath hot and deliberate. "you can call me daddy if you want,” he murmurs jokingly, with a wicked little smile that suggests he's only half joking.

then he pulls back just enough to look at min's face more closely now. curious. flushed. hungry in that sweet, inexperienced way. "but if that’s too much too soon…" he chuckles, lazy and low, "quincy works." his hands slide down, slow drag over hips, palms splayed across min's lower back like he's setting boundaries just to break them later. their bodies fall into a rhythm, hips slotting together like puzzle pieces made for sin. "first time drunk, huh?" he mutters, voice thick with amusement, lips grazing the shell of min's ear like he’s whispering secrets that could ruin him. "you’re doing suspiciously well for a virgin."

he pulls back just enough to look at him again, eyes glittering under the strobe. a smirk blooms, self-satisfied. his fingers toy with the hem of min's shirt like a such tease. like a question. and then, because he's not done yet (because teasing is half the fun) he leans in again, lips brushing feather-light across min's cheek, stopping just short of his mouth. "careful," he murmurs, eyes locked on his. "you keep dancing like that and i'm gonna start thinking this night out of yours was meant for me."

Min had never actually been drunk before. Perhaps because he was nervous about adverse affects on his health, or merely because he didn't feel he had any friends who'd want to drink with him. His usual circle were more of the studious type. Tonight, he'd agreed to go out with some new friends he'd made from the dance department, and after the first hour spent awkwardly standing near the bar and watching his friends gyrate like the world depended on the perfect twirling of their hips, they'd somehow managed to drag him out with them, once they'd poured enough liquor down his throat. Turns out fruity cocktails really do go down a treat.

He must be doing something right, he realises once he's on the dance floor, twisting his hips the same way his friends had done, and they all cheer. For the first time in his life he feels wild and free. The youth he'd let almost entirely slip through his fingers was finally enveloping him in a swaddle of glitter and neon lights. He's losing himself to the music, eyes closed and arms raised above the heads of the people surrounding him, a strange temperature difference making goosebumps rise on his forearms.

Then there are hands on his waist, and someone pressed against his back. Someone broad, and solid, and just that little bit taller than him, perhaps only a few centimetres, but it makes all the difference when Min looks over his shoulder at him. He's handsome, in a pretty way, with fluffy hair and muscles that seem to threaten to tear the seams of his shirt apart. Min had never felt this small in his life, and yet instead of making him feel vulnerable, it felt exciting. He twirls in the man's grip, his arms raising to wind around his neck as he sways against him. "I'm Min," he says, leaning close to speak his name right into the man's ear, his lips brushing against the shell of it, "what's your name?"

[myungbe]

myungsoo doesn't flinch, just kind of stands there with this bored look, like he's halfway through deciding whether to light a cigarette in an open space or leave jindallae stranded in the haze of whatever bad trip he's clearly not having. the guy's sharp, he'll give him that. sharp like a knife that thinks it's the whole kitchen. he exhales, slow and a little amused, tongue poking the inside of his cheek as he watches the scowl deepen on jindallae's face. god, he's fucking cute when he's pissed.

"damn," myungsoo drawls, voice low and lazy, "didn't think i'd walk into a full-blown interrogation tonight, detective." myungsoo takes a step forward, not close enough to threaten, but enough to fuck with the guy's space. "relax. you look like you're about to slap the truth outta me, and baby, i like a little pain, but i usually buy a drink first." he lets the teasing hang just long enough to make it awkward, then grins, crooked and unbothered. "you asked how i know your brother. let's just say… he made quite the impression. cute. little more fun than you, if i'm honest. less teeth, more tongue." he clicks his tongue, mock-sympathetic. "don't get jealous now. i promise, you’re both unforgettable in… different ways."

he shrugs, eyes flicking lazily down jindallae's frame before landing back on his face. "and babe, don’t flatter yourself. dancing with you sounds like work. i'm off the clock." he turns, starting to walk backward, one hand lifted in a lazy wave. "you wanna know more? keep up. or don’t. i've already had prettier things chase me tonight."

dude's response takes jindallae aback. 'don't worry, i'm not here to haunt you. unless you're into that...' what the fuck is that supposed to mean? is he trying to be flirtatious? if so, he could learn a thing or two about how to brush up his game. typical of jindallae, he keeps his guard up; the combination of a mars-ruled scorpio sun and a cancer rising coming in handy during moments like these.

"what?" he asks plainly, his brows furrowing and his mouth angling into a soft scowl. he's not trying to start any fights, he just doesn't want to be fucked around with. besides, now that he's getting a good look at this person under new lighting, it hits him that he's, in fact, not actually mindeulle. thank god. this stranger is nowhere near as attractive as his twin, even in vibe and spirit.

though, more information is unveiled when myungsoo exposes that he knows mindeulle, making this encounter all the more confusing. jindallae regrets saying no to the psychedelics he was offered earlier. maybe they'd help make all of this make sense. "i'm going nowhere with you until you tell me what you're talkin' about, man. you tell me your name, but that doesn't tell me shit about you... like how you seem to know who i'm talking about, for one thing."

he doesn't cross his arms over his torso. he's not feeling insecure, nor does he want to give the impression that he's shrinking. if anything, he's saying all of this with his whole chest; his chin held high to further drive home the point that he's not interested in whatever game the other man is playing. "you know my brother. how? why?" if myungsoo wants to continue pussyfooting around the question, then jindallae will pretend like he doesn't exist and that'll be that, but he hopes that there'll be some authenticity and honesty from him.

"oh, and frankly..." pausing, he gives myungsoo a once-over, then grimaces. "you're not someone i'd want to dance with."

[myungbe]

myungsoo doesn't even flinch when jay flops into the seat like they've still got skin in the game. he just watches, very amused, half-lidded eyes, tongue tucked into the inside of his cheek like he's holding back from saying something asshole-y. maybe he is an asshole. he stretches one leg out under the table, slouches deep into the booth like this whole meet up's a formality someone else made him agree to. "you're the one acting like this is a high school reunion," he says, voice low, lazy, like it's too early for this kind of performance. jaeyoung is all kinds of loud. "what, you want me to kiss your ring too?"

he grins after, that smug, awful thing that always means trouble, slanted and a little mean, like he knows jay's still a softie for myungsoo and his good boy routine. he drums his fingers on the table, glancing once out the window before looking back at him, all mock curiosity.

"and yeah. maybe i'm stiff. maybe it's just the aftertaste of dealing with too many assholes who aren't as charming as you." he leans forward, arms folded, voice dropping a notch just to fuck with him. "but don't get excited. it's not like i've been thinking about you or anything. if i'm polite, it’s only 'cause your mom would kill me if i wasn't."

people come and go. jay had gotten used to that—maybe, he forced himself to be. there isn't a long list of individuals that can handle the storm that jay brings, it's the price he pays for being unapologetically himself, come what may. it doesn't quell the questions that spin around in his own head, whether he'd have to compromise parts of himself to keep someone close to him, no matter the type of relationship. it's not the first time he lost a friend, but he had hoped myungsoo wouldn't be another memory that sits out of reach.

maybe that's just how the world works. he had heard complaints before—how he’s too independent, too in his own world, too much to handle, too hard to pin down. he wonders whether myungsoo felt the same, having lost contact with the other boy far too long ago.

jay doesn’t think too much when he enters the café, spotting myungsoo not too far off from the window. he walks over, casually, like not a lot of time has passed. in jay’s perspective, time moves as a blur—what feels like months ago, can still feel like yesterday. either way, when myungsoo bows and fixes him with a practiced smile, jay rolls his eyes. a habit of his, another thing that hasn’t changed.

“you're being so polite,” jay points out, elongating the vowels as he does, just to sound even more annoying than he already does. “it’s been a while since someone greeted me so… properly.” he can’t help the laugh, genuinely finding the reaction funny—besides, he's not the type of person to have formal talkswith, oftern turning conversations around and around just for fun.

“if i changed too much, then i wouldn’t be the same person!” he replies, pulling out one of the chairs and dumping his entire body onto it. “it’s fine,” he lies, busying himself with the menu. “there are a million other things more important than me,” he adds on, not as a jab—because it is true, at the end of the day. he's nosy, sure, but he doesn't pry anymore—it doesn't feel like his right, when it comes to myungsoo these days. “is the usual circus why you’re acting so stiff?” he questions, eyes flickering to the other boy’s, the usual teasing grin on his face.

[myungbe]

myungsoo doesn't flinch. doesn't blink. just watches jian's performance unfold like a scene he's already memorized, already bored of. he's seen all of it before. maybe not exactly like this, but close enough to kill the thrill. he doesn't move from the pillar, doesn't even unfold his arms. he exhales slow, smoke curling lazy from his lips. doesn’t care that the cigarette is mostly ash now, just lets it dangle, burned down like the end of how bad of an idea was coming here.

“you always did like to make the weather about you," he says, voice flat, maybe a little amused. "heat can't be undignified, jian. it's honest. shows you what people are really like when they sweat." his eyes drag over jian, the silk clinging, the fan fluttering, like a judgment he's not in the mood to deliver. not yet. maybe not ever.

he doesn't rise to the bait. doesn't give him the satisfaction of flinching. instead he smiles, sharp, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "yeah. but some things aren't worth finishing."

the words hang so heavy, like the humidity, like regret with nowhere to go. he drops the spent cigarette and crushes it under his boot, deliberate, final. then jian says it; i was right, wasn't i? — and for a split second, something flickers in myungsoo's face. but he catches it, locks it down, swallows whatever tried to claw up his throat. "you were," he says, gaze not leaving him. "but being right doesn't mean anything if you also keep circling back. or, your family, should i say." jian steps too close, brushes too soft, smells like citrus and something expensive. but myungsoo doesn't move away. he doesn't need to. just looks at him like he's already left. "come on, i'm doing this for your mother. hosting her charity gala at my studio is more than appropriate. it's for a good cause, so if we could move things along?"

he appears like a mirage — click, jimmy choo on white stone, something silk and slightly sheer fluttering as he moves. his lips catch the sunset like it has secrets to tell. he's got one earring in (a little pearl dagger) and sunglasses he doesn't need, perched low like he's inspecting the damage.

"kid," he repeats, half a scoff, half a smile that could curdle milk. "i should've charged interest."

he doesn't get too close — not yet. just leans against one of the stone pillars, arms crossed, collarbone sharp enough to write sonnets on. there's a curve to his mouth that says: you're thinking about me again. there's a glint in his eye that says: i want you to say it.

a cicada screeches. jian fans himself with one manicured hand. "god, this heat is so undignified. do you have water, or do i have to steal from your fancy little pitcher again?"

he finally glances at the spent cigarette. "still smoking things you don't finish?" his voice is light, teasing — but he means something else. he always does.

a beat. then quieter, smoother: "i was right, wasn't i?" he looks at myungsoo, no longer amused. "we are orbiting different things now. just... you still end up here anyway."

his lashes flutter once. "why?" but while he waits for the answer, he steps past him, brushing too close, like fruit that should be off‑limits. like mangoes in july.

[myungbe]

the air between them is too clean, too quiet, and the question, 'why are you here?' rings out like a dull knife dragging across skin.

myungsoo doesn't answer right away. doesn't even flinch. just sits there like the question didn't slice him open, like it didn't send every carefully stacked defense inside him toppling. he's got his left hand gripping the wheel, right one resting useless in his lap, thumb twitching like it's reaching for a cigarette that isn't there (he picked up the bad habit again after leaving shouta alone. karma? poetic justice? he doesn't know). his jaw clenches, unclenches, clenches again. headlights from a passing car flash across his face and catch the flicker in his eyes, like he's bracing for a blow he knows is coming. now thing is, he could lie. it would be easier. could say something flippant, something cool and detached, pretend he was just in the neighborhood or needed closure or that he's just fucking bored and self-destructive. but none of that holds water, not with shouta. never with shouta.

so he just breathes. exhales slow, like dragging smoke from lungs that've gone hollow without him. "i don’t know..." he starts, voice quiet but scraping. "i mean, fuck—i do know, but i don't know how to say it without sounding pathetic."

he finally looks at shouta. just barely. just long enough to see the way his shoulders are drawn so tight, how he won't lift his gaze, like he's afraid of breaking in half the moment their eyes meet. and myungsoo hates that he did that to him. hates it more than anything. hates himself. "i've been losing it," he says, words heavier now, thicker. "since that night. since i walked away. or ran. whatever the hell you want to call it. it felt like survival at the time. i told myself that you were too much, that we were too much. that it was better to let you go than to ruin you... like i always do. like everything i touch." he presses his thumb into his palm like he's trying to feel something. anything. "but the thing is… you haunt me. shouta, you fucking haunt me. every quiet moment, it's ike a punishment, every goddamn time i hear a song you used to hum in the kitchen while making tea. you're there. still. always there." he's unraveling now, breath catching, eyes glassy but defiant. "and i thought maybe time would fix it. maybe i'd move on. find someone else. forget the way you looked at me when you believed in me more than i ever have. but i didn't. i haven't. i can't. and maybe that makes me selfish, showing up here like this, saying all this shit when you're probably just trying to survive the nothing i left behind. but i couldn't pretend anymore. not when every version of the future that doesn't include you feels like a slow death.”

he leans back, eyes flicking up to the roof of the car like it might give him some kind of grace. but it doesn't. it shouldn't. "you asked why i’m here," he murmurs, softer now. "and the truth is… i'm here because i never stopped loving you. not for a second. not even when i tried to hate you to make it easier. i'm here because i think i was born with my heart wired for disaster, and the only time it's ever beat steady was when i was next to you. i know i don't deserve another chance. i know that. but if there's even the smallest part of you that still wants to know what it could feel like to be loved by someone who's finally ready to stay i'm here."

his deep voice drops to a whisper. "i'm right here."

the last several months have felt like a whirlwind. this seems to be how his life operates though, and honestly speaking, shouta isn't sure if he likes it or not. he'll have long periods of time where there's nothing going on in his personal life, so he buckles down and focuses solely on his studies, the sports he plays, and connecting with his family. then, all at once, a new rush of people come into his life and sweep him off of his feet; derailing him from his usual routine and taking up his time, not to mention all of the space in his head and heart, as well. a lover of romance and a believer in true love, shouta puts a lot of stock into giving himself to the men who pursue him, centering them in his world when he maybe shouldn't do that.

time and time again, the sheer weight of his emotions and the seriousness of his feelings for people screws him over. he'll choose to trust the free-fall, only to not be caught as promised. instead, he falls flat on his face and lives with the consequences of his actions from that point on. despite the revolving door of failures, his belief in love never falters. maybe it's naïve of him, but he refuses to give up on something that he yearns to possess, and thankfully, his family encourages him to keep his head up through all of the turmoil.

what he wasn't expecting was to reconnect with someone who chose to reject the love he offered them, even after it seemed like everything was going so well, and when he leaves his dorm to meet him in the car, shouta tries his hardest to make himself strong. a part of him feels moronic for even agreeing to see myungsoo, but the heart wants what it wants, and all he can hope is that the past doesn't repeat itself, like it knows how to. before he knows it, he's tucked into the passenger seat and finding it hard to make eye contact with his former flame, and finding it all too easy to remember the pain that he caused during the frigid chill of wintertime.

after a moment of silence, he decides to speak, but his eyes still stay angled downward toward his lap. "why?" he asks simply, taking a deep breath to regulate himself.

"why... are you here?"

[myungbe]

𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒃𝒖𝒓𝒏 —

written for 𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐣𝐢𝐚𝐧 ( @jianbe ) ♡

myungsoo lights a cigarette he won't finish, the smoke curling up into the thick june air like a thought he's too tired to keep. seoul hums in the background, cicadas, soft traffic, heat shimmering off the villa's white stone. the pines don't sway anymore he notices, just stand there, dazed. hm. everything feels a little overexposed in the han household, like an old photograph left in the sun far too long. he's standing where the garden used to end and the wild grass started, where jian once said, "you're super yummy! but i feel like our paths are going in different places right now."

he'd laughed then. kind of. more like a choke. what does that mean? he had asked. "i don't know. venus is in cancer [or something like that, he can't remember] and i just… i think we're meant to orbit different things. different people." then jian smiled, like it hurt. myungsoo thinks about that.

now there's ol' sweet shouta. there's mindeulle and his calm waters. he doesn't want to hurt them or have them get bored of him like jian might have... sometimes he lies at night and wonders, 'is it me? am i hard to love?'

he never says it out loud, but it sits in his throat like fruit gone too ripe... he thinks, 'they would like jian.' he's sweeter, like mangoes in july. his cigarette burns down to nothing. the air sticks to his skin and jian finally shows up, "hey, kid. you're late."

[myungbe]

myungsoo's already halfway to the dancefloor when he sees him. tall, tense, like he doesn't belong but forgot how to leave. the lights catch on jindallae's skin, make the sharp lines of his arms look like sculpture, like fucking trouble. he's standing like someone dared him to show up and then ghosted, and myungsoo's into that. he's into the kind of guy who looks like he could break your heart and throw you over his shoulder, depending on the hour. and he sorta' looks like him and— wait?!

he’s close enough to speak, chest warm with gin and the way the bass is crawling up his spine, when the guy turns and says it, mindeulle’s name, all wrong. it stalls him, just for a second.

"fuck," myungsoo says, smile curling lazy at the corners like he knows a secret. he tips his head, lets the sweat at his temple glint under the light. leans in, "don't worry, i'm not here to haunt you. unless you're into that."

he doesn't touch him yet, just lets the space between them thrum. god, he's cute. like mindeulle, but rougher around the edges.

"name's myungsoo. he didn't tell me he had a twin? rude.” his tongue clicks against his teeth, "and here i am starting a family drama." he lets the silence stretch for a beat, eyes dragging slowly down jindallae's frame, then back up again. "so." he breathes, shifting forward just enough to make it a challenge, "you gonna keep looking at me like that, or are we dancing?”

it's been awhile since jindallae treated himself to a night out. usually he's stuck in the kitchen until well past midnight, and when he's not, he's carving out any extra time he has to spend with his boyfriend. their schedules don't exactly align all of the time, so soaking up stevie's energy is always his top priority, but tonight, he's on his own, and being that he had no plans, he thought getting in touch with who he was in the past sounded like a damn good time.

when he was single, parties like this were a weekly occurrence. he loved the almost uncomfortably warm atmosphere, the smoke that's painted by neon, and the uninhibited partygoers seeking pleasure after a week of selling their souls to 'the man'; unwinding with the help of substances, or sex, or whatever they're yearning for.

however, he's been here for quite sometime now, and he's finding that, unlike before, he's not enjoying it as much as he once did. instead, he's being kind of a wallflower. though, he's not exactly unnoticeable. his height alone has always made him stand out, and now that he's gained a lot more muscle, his presence is even more obvious than before. pair his visual with his mysterious aura, one that he's learned to weaponize if need be, and it creates a magnetic pull, so when a man approaches him, he's not exactly shocked.

what does shock him though is the fact that this man looks almost identical to his twin brother, so much so that jindallae physically takes a step back and narrows his sights on him. "mindeulle?" he asks, dumbfounded. "wait, is that you? what the fuck is going on..." he could've sworn that he didn't take any drugs, but at parties like these, one can never be sure if something was slipped into their drink without their knowledge. it's disgusting, but a very sad reality.

"are you mindeulle, or am i just... fuckin' crazy?" he asks again, his tone mildly aggressive, but more out of confusion than anger. hopefully that comes across.

[myungbe]

𝒕𝒂𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒅 —

written for 𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐚 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐚 & 𝐜𝐡𝐨 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐞 ( @shoutabe & @mindeullebe ) ♡

myungsoo's shirtless, got a half-dead cigarette behind his ear and a baby strapped to his chest like an ironic accessory. the hills of seoul rise like lazy giants around them, dusty green and moody under a sky that can't decide if it wants to rain or just sulk.

he looks back once at his boyfriends, over one shoulder, mouth curled in that semi-smirk he wears when he's thinking about something he won't say. myungsoo thinks maybe this was a mistake, hiking with a (toy) baby, louis iv, and two boys he's not quite dating but can't quite quit yet is very dangerous.

they pass a rusted-out vending machine swallowed by weeds. he tries to shake it for a can of pocari. nothing. myungsoo laughs, low and cracked, the kind that tastes like last night's hangover and this morning’s regret. to shouta, adjusting the baby sling and rocking gently while walking: "don’t worry, kid. you'll grow up and make better choices than your three dads."

[myungbe]

𝒊'𝒎 𝒃𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒉𝒐𝒕 —

written for 𝐜𝐡𝐨 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐞 ( @mindeullebe ) ♡

myungsoo clocks him the second he walks in. same face. same mouth. same sharp collarbones glinting under the strobe. but this one moves different. this is softer in all the right ways.

not the the other twin brother who he saw wear turtlenecks in july and left poetry books in the kitchen a few months back. no—this one's soaked in sweat and glitter, hips rolling like the bass is wired straight into his spine. mindeulle, someone shouts near the bar. that name hits like a shot of mezcal, warm and dirty, and suddenly myungsoo's already moving, drink forgotten, pulse syncing to the beat.

he's not thinking about what his brother would say anymore. just about that mouth, parted and glistening, and the way mindeulle’s ass would feel pressed up against his thigh. he slides into the rhythm, brushes skin to skin. he grinds against him. myungsoo grins, teeth bared like a dare. this is going to be a problem. he hopes it lasts all night.

fuck.

[myungbe]

𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒊𝒇 𝒊𝒕 𝒅𝒐𝒆𝒔𝒏'𝒕 𝒆𝒏𝒅 𝒘𝒆𝒍𝒍 —

written for 𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐣𝐚𝐞𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠 ( @bejaeyoung ) ♡

the café myungsoo picks is tucked away on some quiet side street, all floor-to-ceiling windows and washed-out minimalist decor. it's the kind of place he always ends up at. low-key but curated, like a soft filter over something too sharp. he shrugs off the cold, and adjusts the sleeves of his varsity jacket, fixes his scarf like it matters, and sinks into the seat by the window. time's made him sleeker, maybe smoother, but not immune. there's still that twitch in his stomach when certain names resurface.

he checks his phone even though jaeyoung already texted 'on my way' minutes ago. classic. still, myungsoo can't stop the reel that starts playing: those long, sticky summers at borrowed manors or villas, whispering dumb secrets over stolen snacks, mapping out futures they barely believed in.

the door jingles. he looks up.

jaeyoung walks in like he never left. still got that same casual chaos to him, like the world's background noise. myungsoo stands, a smile catching at his mouth, half muscle memory, half defense.

"jaeyoung," he says, bowing just enough. "been forever." then, like it's nothing: "not to sound like a movie script, but you haven't changed. i meant to reach out when i got back to seoul, but you know how it is, family, work, deadlines, the usual three-ring disaster."

[myungbe]

[myungbe]

𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒚 𝒉𝒊𝒍𝒍 —

written for 𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐚 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐚 ( @shoutabe ) ♡

myungsoo waits at the curb with the engine running, headlights off. campus is quiet in that way it only gets right before sunrise. everything washed in blue, the air heavy with silence and old dreams. streetlights flicker like they're tired. somewhere, music drips faint through a cracked window. seoul hums around him, familiar and sharp, like biting your lip too hard. he left europe behind for this. for him. canceled shows, packed up canvases, made promises in a language he barely believed in anymore. told the gallery in seoul he was staying. that his next exhibition would be in seoul.

that he had something to come back to. someone worth it.

shouta's voice still lives in the walls of every half-finished painting. he still dreams in the exact shape of his lips, his waist. shouta lingers, like cigarette smoke in his coat, like a melody he can't stop humming.

he doesn't get out of the car. doesn't have to. shouta knows. he always knows.

his fingers tap the steering wheel, slow, like he's keeping time with his own heartbeat. he stares at the dorm entrance like it might break him open. he still sees it, last winter, shouta standing barefoot in the doorway, hoodie too big, eyes shining with something he didn't say. lips parted just enough to mouth don't go.

and myungsoo went anyway. like an idiot. like a coward. like a man who thought he had time. but he's here now. and he's not making that mistake again.

[myungbe]

DATE — 2025년 05월 26일 EVENT — COMMUNITY TALENT SHOW WORD COUNT — 310

Myungsoo steps out onto the stage, and his expression is calm. Almost serene. In the crowd below, there's the familiar buzz of quiet conversation, phones being tucked away, a few whispers.

The opening notes of "It Was a Very Good Year" drift from the speakers like a memory returning. Myungsoo lets it settle in his chest before he begins, his voice low and steady, the lyrics unfolding like pages in a journal. He doesn't need to belt. He doesn't need to dance. He just stands there. His husky baritone wraps around the lyrics like smoke, it's not smooth in the way most vocals are. Slightly frayed at the edges, he sings the verses like he's tasting them, one word at a time.

To him, the song is a classic, it's simple, it's a map. He just thinks about walking home alone from practice when he was seventeen instead of being at a talent show, earbuds in, the city feeling too big for his dreams. He thinks about the first time someone said he had a voice worth listening to. He thinks about his grandfather's record player, the scratchy warmth of old vinyls spinning on a Saturday morning.

He doesn't pretend to have lived a life as full as the man in the song. But he understands what it means to measure time in people, in places, in fleeting moments that don't come back. And maybe that's enough.

By the time he reaches the final verse, "And now the days are short…" his baritone voice softens, and he has this old school, lovesick grin on like it's the end of a thought. The room is quiet. For a moment, the café doesn't feel like a stage at all. It feels like a letter, sealed and sent.

The music fades and Myungsoo offers a small nod.

Tonight was a very good night.

[myungbe]

hi, i’m bo ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ and introduce to you lee myung-soo! myungsoo has a profile to check out, more scribbles about him below, pin board, bts content on x @/edhwakeoleun, and i do have a discord i'll share via DMs.

myung-soo is quite charming first impressions, rude by the second, and otherwise aloof once you get to know him.

his favorite movie is 'tokyo vampire motel' (2017).

he was sent to boarding schools in the states as soon as he was old enough for first grade. throughout his school years, everyone seemed to know and like him. yet, he liked keeping a low profile despite his popularity.

his favorite artists are dpr ian, kendrick lamar, billie eilish.

he has a (black) german dobermann named 'louis iv.'

he's very into cars! he has 3 in his penthouse suite, his black porsche being his favorite.

he sleeps like a vampire; face up, barely moves.

he’s a chaebol and a socialite, often spotted at exclusive country clubs, high-end malls, and upscale restaurants.

he likes to live like a king and swears he's a demigod.

uses his good looks and money to get what he wants.

when it comes to the idol world, he hopes his name and striking looks will secure him a spot in a company and eventually lead to debut. although, his voice is warm, with a smooth tenor that carries a soft, growling edge.

he likes to run or ride his bicycle in his spare time.

✆ wishlist!

a richie rich gang that's well, really rich and flaunt it!

this would be a rare chance, but perhaps they were models in the same circuit, walked the same shows or were photographed together that one time.

his parents would love to meet a "nice, (christian) girl" on his arms, it's good conversation for dinners, and myungsoo is surely to spoil his date with gifts. care to take him up on the offer?

come visit a vintage record shop with him, his treat.

a little brother type, someone he can help bring up in his image. the world deserves a mini-myungsoo out there!

[myungbe]

[myungbe]

warning: don't let puppies in the pool