Chapter Text
“Hey, did you hear the news about that Australian musician?”
Minho looks up from his workbook as some of his classmates gather around their desks, their hushed voices sharp in the early morning.
He’s in his senior year of high school, busy studying for his exams. He likes to think he’s just a normal high school student, just a normal kid trying to live a normal life. He has loving parents who happily sign Minho up for afterschool dance lessons after he shows interest, but even that’s been forced to the side now that Minho has to start studying in earnest in order to get into his dream college. Minho’s peers are all the same, burying their heads in their studies, but even then, many of them can’t resist the temptation of some good celebrity gossip.
Minho has managed to resist partaking in such conversations, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t find them amusing. It’s easy enough to listen in on his classmates’ conversations and glean the news of pop culture from them, so Minho continues on like always, studying for a chance to go to college for dance choreography while his classmates gossip.
He expects today’s news to be one of those boring pieces of gossip just like always.
A celebrity caught in a dating scandal, a pop star getting married, an actor exposed for some bad deed.
His classmates don’t gossip often about foreign celebrities though. Sometimes just enough to gush over a new song release or movie, but never before in such hushed whispers. Minho has to strain his ears to listen in on their conversation, as one of his classmates frowns.
“Which one? The pretty one with the deep voice?”
“No, that’s Felix!” his friend exclaims a little too excitedly before she regains her composure. “I know who you’re talking about though. His name was Chris or something, right? The one with the sexy R&B songs!”
Minho has the vague sense that he knows who his classmates are talking about. His brain tries to fill in the blanks of his knowledge, somehow thinks of the name Chan, before Minho shakes his head, confused where that thought had come from.
No, the Australian musician they’re talking about just goes by the name Christopher Bahng. Minho had watched the music video that his classmates are talking about, had been one of the many who must have drooled over the singer’s abs and well-defined muscles when he tossed aside his suit jacket beneath the red lighting. He must have been just around Minho’s age, maybe a little older, and yet he had already found such success. It left Minho a little jealous, to know someone his age had done so well to chase his dreams, and yet at the same time, Minho feels strangely proud, even if he can’t explain it.
Minho wonders if Christopher has released new music and that’s what has gotten his classmates in such a tizzy. He pulls out his phone secretly, searches up the words “Christopher new song” and finds that a new song had indeed been released just yesterday. He sneakily hides one earphone in the palm of his hand and puts it in his ear, pretending to just be leaning on his propped up hand as he presses play on the new song and hears the haunting melody of a mournful piano begin.
i hate to admit
Minho wonders what the reasoning behind such a song title is as he listens to the soulful voice of the foreign singer play in his ears. He scrolls through his phone aimlessly, accidentally presses the search bar again, and immediately his heart thumps loudly in his chest.
Below Minho’s search is just one suggested search.
Christopher Bahng death
He presses on the search just as his classmates gasp, “I can’t believe he would kill himself.”
The piano in the song grows louder, Christopher’s voice growing in intensity with the airiness of a heavenly angel.
Minho’s chest hurts.
He doesn’t understand it.
He had barely spared the singer a thought before he’d pulled up the song he’s listening to, and yet his heart throbs like it’s been stabbed through a thousand lifetimes.
The tears streaming down his face won’t stop.
Minho sits up with a gasp.
For a second, he thinks he’s still crying, but his face is nice and dry to the touch, cool in the well air-conditioned room. A shiver runs down Minho’s body next, making every hair on his body stand on end.
It takes a moment to readjust, but the moment he does, Minho is suddenly all too aware that he’s naked.
No, not just naked.
That wouldn’t be too weird on its own, given that Minho does enjoy sleeping in the nude, especially on a nice, hot summer day.
He’s naked with a man lying in bed next to him, a man with a head of black curls who looks all too familiar.
“Christopher?”
The name slips out before Minho can stop himself, awakening the man who turns to glance at Minho with a drowsy look.
No, not Christopher, Minho knows immediately, knows more clearly than anything else in the world, as the man flashes Minho a wolfish grin, dimples sitting so cutely in his pale cheeks, his eyes creasing with his smile.
“Wow, only my parents call me that, and only when they’re angry,” Chan laughs, brushing his bangs out of his eyes as he twists around to lean on his side, looking up at Minho while his entire bare chest remains exposed for Minho’s eyes to drink in.
Minho has the sense to pull the blankets up around his lower body, blushes deeply when Chan laughs again.
“Oh, you’re the type that feels shy the day after, huh?” Chan teases, reaching up to trace Minho’s jawline with one finger, letting it linger at the cusp of Minho’s adam’s apple as Minho gulps. “You’re pretty cute now that I really get the chance to look at you.”
“What are you?” Minho blurts out, trying to suppress the shiver running down his spine at the gentle touch of Chan’s finger against his neck.
The body he’s in doesn’t remember how he got here in Chan’s bed, probably drunk and wasted out of his mind, and it means the Minho he is now is so much more aware of all the other lives he’s lived, all the other lives he currently lives.
He’s Minho, the crime lord who has been sent on this insane trip through the multiverse by his greatest enemy who turned out to his secret admirer, and yet he’s still every Minho after that.
The Minho’s who loved and hated Chan, the Minho who couldn’t slit Chan’s throat, the Minho who offered up his neck to Chan’s bared fangs during the full moon, the Minho who was just a high school student, crying because he lived in a world where his Chan was dead.
He’s this Minho too. The one who’s woken up in Chan’s bed naked, clearly after a wild night given the growing pain in his backside and the amount of hickeys and bite marks etched in his skin, the one who vaguely remembers that Chan is some celebrity without any idea of what Chan was to him before this.
“Why don’t you take a guess?” the Chan who both is and isn’t a stranger asks with a cheeky grin, like he doesn’t believe that Minho really doesn’t know. He doesn’t seem to be aware of the multiverse just yet. This must have been one of those universes Chan had missed during his initial awakening, a universe so unthinkable that even Chan’s everything hadn’t even dreamed of it.
Minho thinks about the steps he took to find this universe. Minho had danced with Chan to trigger a verse jump, and he had ended up in a world far from what he was used to. Minho had been just a normal high school student studying dance, and Chan had been a singer, albeit a rumored to be dead one.
Dance and music. Two things so far removed from Minho’s daily life that he can see why Chan hadn’t found it. Chan had been a singer in the last one, and Minho had barely been able to breach through the consciousness of his own self in that universe, so absurd had been the idea that Chan could even sing.
Music was too frivolous for a crime boss after all, and the era of ballroom dancing as a formal gathering had been past Minho’s time. Their lives were meant to be around business and crime, and entertainment was for the lowlifes they employed to seduce and charm others to fall into their traps. The thought of even pursuing a career in dance had never even occurred to Minho, and he knows Chan must have thought the same about music in general.
They had been confined by the rules of their upbringing without even knowing it, and Minho knows he’s proven himself right.
There is a whole other set, multiples sets, of universes in the multiverse that Chan hadn’t noticed a connection too. An infinite amount of possibility that Chan had not seen, and in it, there was bound to be the answer Minho was looking for, perhaps in this very one.
Minho stares back at Chan, who is still patiently waiting for Minho’s response with a bemused look on his face.
This was a universe Minho had slipped into after finding one brought upon by dance. Did it have something to do with music? With the Chan he never got to meet in the previous one?
Minho takes an educated guess.
“Are you a singer?”
There’s a flicker of sadness in Chan’s eyes, regret maybe, as Chan shakes his head.
“Wow, you really don’t remember,” Chan says, as he shifts on the bed to give Minho some space. “Fuck, just how drunk were you?”
“I…” Minho doesn’t know, or maybe he does. They’re his memories, this Minho’s memories, and yet they feel so faraway, so foreign, like he can’t even begin to grasp how he felt in this universe when Chan pulled him into his bed.
That’s right. This was Chan’s room. Minho catches onto a glimpse of a memory of Chan fumbling for his keys as they make out against his front door, grabs onto it tight until he’s pulled along for the ride, until the entire night spills out into Minho’s mind like a flood threatening to drown him.
Minho remembers now. Remembers a friend, maybe Hyunjin, or was it Seungmin? Has barely the time to balk at the idea of having friends at all when Hyunjin, or maybe Seungmin, or maybe both of them, were pushing Minho forward to trip into Chan’s arms as Chan danced a silly dance out on the dance floor of the club.
“Whoa there, you all right?” Chan had asked, an arm firmly around Minho’s waist as he helped Minho upright.
Minho had blushed, the tips of his ears burning hot, and one of his friends, the one with short black hair and a bookish look that made him look out of place at the club, comes running up with a shit-eating grin on his face.
“I’m so sorry about my friend here. He just couldn’t help falling for you.”
Minho remembers feeling grateful in that moment, that he’d been so angry at his friend, whose name is Seungmin as he’s since figured out, that he forgot to be embarrassed, as Chan turned to Minho with great bemusement.
“Oh, is that so? I can’t say I’ve ever had someone use a pick up line on me for someone else’s sake. I’m guessing you’re shy?”
Minho opened his mouth to defend himself, but his other friend, the one with longer black hair and tall, lanky build, wrapped his arms around Seungmin with just as cheeky of a grin on his face.
“Minho’s anything but shy. He just sometimes needs a bit of divine intervention, aka us, and I love a chance to embarrass one of my best friends in front of the men he finds hot,” Hyunjin butted in, managing to look smug for a only a moment before he was ducking behind Seungmin, mildly fearful of the murderous look Minho sent him. Seungmin and Hyunjin get shooed away, still giggling amongst themselves as they retreated back to the bar, and Minho feels a strange pang of loneliness in his chest welling up amidst the fondness that the Minho of this universe had felt watching his friends go.
“You’ve got some nice friends,” Chan said, watching Minho watch Seungmin and Hyunjin with a strange look of contentment.
Minho sighed, though he was unable to hide his grin even as he rolled his eyes.
“Ugh, I’m so sorry about them,” Minho said, finally redirecting his attention to Chan. “I was going to come up to talk to you like a normal person, but my friends thought I wouldn’t get what I wanted without being a little memorable.”
“And what exactly are you hoping for?”
The air in the bar had been hot that day, and the humidity clung to the skin until everything was sticky with the heat and the sweat. Minho gulped in that moment, not sure if it was just the air in the room or the proximity of Chan’s body to his.
His friends had already done their worst, or maybe their best. Chan was clearly at least a little interested, if only because of the strange friends he had, and Minho decided there wasn’t much of his dignity to save anyhow, so he might as well shoot his shot.
He righted himself proper and put on the most charming smile he could muster, feeling the tension leave his body when Chan didn’t even blink. His eyes were completely focused on Minho’s face, already so enraptured by Minho’s every move before they’d even talked properly, and Minho felt himself draw closer to Chan, until there was just a hair’s breadth between them, close enough to feel their breaths stick to each other’s lips but not yet touching without Chan’s consent.
“Honestly, getting your number would be nice,” Minho said to start, moving his hand to his back pocket, as if to check that his phone was still there.
Chan gulped visibly, unable to hide how his gaze had briefly traced that moment and had wandered dangerously down before flitting back to Minho’s eyes for safety.
“Sorry, I can’t go around giving my number out to strangers.”
“I know, just thought it’d be worth asking,” Minho replied, casual as he could be. “If I can’t get your number though, I think I could be satisfied with getting a taste of some good, old-fashioned action between our bodies though.”
Chan chuckled at that, though in doing so he inadvertently took a half step away, giving them a little space to breathe as he fixed Minho with a bewildered yet bemused look.
“Your friend was right. You really aren’t shy if that’s how you’re trying to get in my pants.”
“What can I say? My body has needs, and currently that’s you. Who am I to deny myself what I want?” Minho said, though he figured he’d use the space Chan had put between them to good use. He offered his hand out, an invitation for Chan to say no, as he continued, “I do like to get to know people before I try to sleep with them though, so maybe you’ll indulge me in a little dance first?”
Minho’s heart was pounding in his chest now, worried that he’d misread the situation, but all Chan had for a response was a wry grin, tilting his head playfully to one side as he considered Minho carefully.
“Just checking, but you do know who I am, right?”
“Of course I do,” the Minho in his memories had laughed, which didn’t help the Minho right now at all because it told him nothing of Chan’s profession. “You’re the most famous person in this city right now, but maybe tonight you’ll be fine with being known as just mine?”
Chan smiled, had looked so charmed as he took Minho’s hand that Minho thinks a part of himself must have fallen in love with Chan there, because how could he possibly not react like that, when Chan looked so in love with him already?
The rest of the memory is a blur after that. They dance for a bit. They flirt. They get closer and closer together until they’re practically grinding against each other in the middle of the dance floor, increasingly desperate to get their hands all over each other.
There had been a whisper, Chan mentioning having a room nearby, a hasty text to Minho’s friends just in case Chan was secretly a serial killer taking Minho back to his lair, before the night melted into the shape of Chan’s embrace. His hands pulled Minho away to the hotel room he was staying at, his lips claimed Minho’s the moment they stumble out of the elevator on his private floor, and his left arm snaked around Minho’s body to get a firm grip on his ass as his right searched desperately for his hotel key card. The hallway had filled with the sounds of their moans, long before Chan could push open the door to his room and wrestle them inside, still pressed flush against Minho’s chest, still kissing him like he didn’t know how to breathe otherwise.
Minho’s clothes had been pulled off before the door had even shut behind them, and Minho can see his clothes now, tossed haphazardly across the floor and mixed with Chan’s, which had been thrown off in just as much of a hurry. The naked touch of each other’s skin had been all they could think about in that moment, so it was ironic almost that Minho could feel so awkward about that same nakedness now, when Minho has already experienced the pleasure of Chan’s body in his, not just in this universe, but in so many other beyond it.
Reminiscing on the great sex Minho must have had last night with Chan tells Minho nothing about what Chan really is beyond some sort of celebrity. He might not be a singer in this universe, though there’s clearly some sort of regrets about that. Minho wonders if Chan had wanted to make a career out of it, balks at the idea of Chan ever wanting a career out of singing, then remembers the haunting tune of his voice just one universe prior and feels a shiver run down his spine.
“I’m sorry,” Minho says, finally shaking his head. “I remember last night well, so I don’t think I was that drunk, but somehow I can’t remember who you really are.”
It does nothing to ease the worry on Chan’s face. It twists something deep in Minho’s chest, so Minho adds immediately, “Well, I wouldn’t worry about it that much. Just means the sex I had with you was so mind-blowing it’s dislodged a few of my memories, that’s all.”
That gets the effect Minho’s looking for, as the Chan before him finally blushes at the remark, still so shy about discussing sex even though he was so good and confident about being sexy and partaking in sex itself. Minho feels like he can finally take a deep breath, as Chan manages a small sigh of relief as well.
“I’m a little worried that you suddenly don’t remember who I am, but I guess I’ll have to take your word for it. I would have been really scared if you said you regretted last night.”
“Come on, have you seen yourself?” Minho jests. “I wouldn’t regret sleeping with you. Never.”
“You’d regret falling in love with me though.”
Chan’s words are so heavy behind his smile that Minho wonders how Chan hasn’t buckled beneath its weight. He can’t tell if it’s the Chan of this universe who is speaking, or if somehow, Chan, Minho’s Chan, and all the Chan’s that have ever existed, are looking through Chan’s eyes now, convinced they’ve been pulled into just another universe where their love is doomed to fail.
Or maybe this is just one Chan, the Chan before him, whose life experiences before him have led him down a different path, where somehow he’s concluded he doesn’t deserve Minho’s love, or anyone else’s for that matter, before they could even meet.
That seems to be the funny thing about the multiverse though.
What’s true in one universe doesn’t have to be the same in another, and the Chan before him doesn’t know the weight of what had seemed like a predetermined fate. He still has the freedom to look slightly embarrassed that he’d blurted out his thoughts like that, starts to say, “Sorry, that came out of nowhere. I had a really good time with you last night, but I shouldn’t be implying that you love me or—”
“Well, we haven’t gotten a chance to know each other yet, so you’re right, I don’t love you just yet, but that doesn’t mean I’d ever regret it,” Minho cuts in, and Chan shuts his mouth, his brows knitting together at the suddenly seriousness in Minho’s words.
Minho doesn’t know who he’s trying to convince. He found this universe in an attempt to prove that there was a world where he and Chan might be able to make their relationship work, and yet here he was, falling into the same pitfalls as before, trying to draw a line in the sand between his and Chan’s lives. There must be a reason why this is the world he’s tumbled into, why it’s this moment here that he awakens, aware of the multiverse, not before him and Chan meet but after they’re already made contact.
Minho takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself. He can’t falter here and make the same mistakes Chan did. He has the power to make a difference in this universe, unlike the others where Chan held the power to keep everything unchanged, and he’s not going to sit back and let that opportunity pass him by.
He’s here to prove he can maintain a successful relationship with Chan, and that desire grips Minho in this moment, as he continues, “What I’m trying to say is that I know you’re famous in this world, so maybe I just love the concept of you for now, but that doesn’t mean I won’t ever come to love you for yourself if you’ll let me. If you’re trying to say you’re the one who’s not lovable though, I think that’s for me to decide. I’ve regretted a lot of things in life, and I’ll continue to because that’s just what it means to be alive, but no matter how many lives we’ve lived, I can never fully regret the idea of having you in my life.”
Chan shifts on the bed, the sheets still draped almost artfully over his lower body as the sunlight filters in, highlighting the smooth muscles of his body. His eyes crinkle up into a smile, and he finally just laughs.
“You talk like you’ve known me my entire life. Is this another part of you trying to flirt with me?”
“Let’s just say it is,” Minho smiles, smoothing it all over by leaning in to steal another kiss from Chan’s lips.
Chan smiles into the kiss, chasing after Minho’s lips when he tries to pull away. Minho relents, sinks into the feeling as Chan’s hands slide up the sides of his arms until one rests on the back of his neck and the other snakes back down the dip in Minho’s waist. Heat rushes through Minho’s body, which shudders beneath the movement of Chan’s hand against his skin, but before Chan begin to push Minho back down onto the bed, the ringing of a phone cuts through the intimate moment like a knife.
They pull apart immediately like they’ve both been shocked. Chan twists around towards his bedside table, fumbling for his phone, a flicker of irritation in his face, but the moment he sees who’s calling him, he sobers up.
“Sorry, it’s a work call,” Chan says, already pulling himself out of bed, still naked and yet leaving nothing left to fantasize about with the cold shift in the atmosphere. “I would’ve liked to treat you to breakfast at least, but I have a work schedule in a bit, so you might need to start gathering up your things while I take this call.”
Chan slips away into a separate room in his hotel suite, leaving Minho alone on the bed and colder than he’d felt when he first woke up.
Minho takes his time picking his clothes up off the floor and limps over to the shower. He hisses when the cold water hits skin, a chill that drives away the dread filling his chest. Chan had been so business like when he addressed Minho just now, as if he’d suddenly sobered up and was concluding nothing more than a simple transaction.
Perhaps that’s all they would be in this universe.
Just a lucky fan who gets a once in a lifetime opportunity to sleep with his celebrity crush.
Minho doesn’t know what it’s like to fawn over someone as a fan, but he experiences it all the same, this nervous excitement his body feels around Chan even if Minho can’t remember what there was to fanboy over Chan for. It’s a feeling that persists even with the dread of realizing his celebrity crush isn’t quite who he imagined him to be, and for this universe’s Minho, maybe that was more than enough.
Minho didn’t come to this universe to be satisfied with just a taste though.
Chan had been happy enough to just observe and live through the other universes as they happened, but Minho realizes now what his purpose here was.
He’s here to make a difference. He’s here to do what this universe’s Minho might not have the courage himself to pull off.
Minho steps out of the shower with cold hard determination in his gut. He begins the slow process of putting his clothes back on, but as he starts to pull on his sweater, a thought stops himgvf before he can pull it over his head.
It’s not cold enough outside that he needs the extra layer, but it’s not warm enough either to be comfortably without it. It’s an article of clothing that Minho could do temporarily without, but also a possession of his that Chan would absolutely want to get back to him if perhaps there was a chance it was left behind.
Minho pulls his sweater back into his hands and bundles it up into a ball. He leaves the bathroom, tosses the sweater aside into an inconspicuous corner of the room, and grabs his bag to double check that he has everything else he needs just as Chan re-enters the room.
“Do you have your things? I’ll walk you down,” Chan says. He’s dressed already, in a simple outfit of a flannel, white shirt and black plants, and he’s pulled a dark cap over his messy black hair as well.
He looks fashionable but certainly not famous in this outfit, though Minho asks nonetheless, “Are you sure? Won’t it be an issue if you’re seen with me?”
“Don’t worry, I’m pretty good about not letting my face be seen,” Chan says, sounding almost smug about it. “Besides, I’ve got the money to pay off the tabloids if they try to start any funny business with my private life.”
“Must be nice,” Minho huffs, but he accepts Chan’s offer anyways, as they make their way down to the hotel lobby and out onto the street.
It’s busy outside like always, and no one pays them any attention just as Chan said. Chan walks with Minho to the nearest subway station down the block. The sunlight feels harsher now that they’re outside, blinding as it reflects off every metallic surface, so it takes Minho a moment to notice his surroundings when they finally stop at an interaction in front of the subway entrance.
Minho hesitates, wondering if there was anything left he could say that would keep this from being just a one night stand to remember.
He glances upwards as he thinks, perhaps just for something to look at that wasn’t Chan’s expression of regret, and his jaw immediately drops open.
There’s a billboard printed on the side of the building, a promotional image for a currently broadcasting TV show called ‘Freeze’. Something to do with a mafia boss taking an innocent girl under his wing to pay her father’s debts, full of action and romance as the female lead falls in love with the mafia boss and has to deal with a series of crazy suitors, all while searching for the culprit who scammed her father and left him destitute.
Minho has a vague sense that he’s probably watched a couple of episodes with his friends. It’s another foreign concept, wasting time watching shows and of course the idea of even having friends to waste that time with.
None of that matters though, because it’s the image of Chan’s face up there, dressed as the mafia boss in the show. He’s got slicked up blond hair, a mean scar down his forehead as he adjusts the black gloves on his hand, his eyes narrowed on the actress posing beside him. He’s a meaner, cooler image of the Chan Minho already knows so well, and it takes a moment for Minho to process it all, before he rounds on Chan in shock.
“Wait, you’re an actor?”
Chan’s eyes flit upwards before searching for Minho’s again, equally bemused as he is somber.
“I am. You finally remembered?”
“Well not remembered, but I think I remember seeing you in that show,” Minho says, as it finally sinks in that the Chan beside him really is a complete stranger. He knows nothing of this Chan’s upbringing, of how he might have begun pursuing a career completely in the spotlight, and in this moment, Minho can’t help but be curious as he asks, “So what made you want to be an actor?”
Chan frowns.
“That’s kind of a rude question.”
“Is it? I thought all actors had the same answer about how they watched a movie and wanted to be in the spotlight.”
Chan manages a meek smile. “That’s also kind of rude to assume, but you know what, I think I appreciate it more than the reactions that normally just fawn over me.”
“You like it when you’re treated just like a normal person,” Minho supplies, and Chan lets out a snort of laughter.
“I know what you’re trying to say. If I didn’t want to be treated like I’m famous, then I should’ve just found a normal job,” Chan says, hanging back in the shadows to avoid the eyes of people passing by. “Don’t get me wrong though. I love my job, but I didn’t start out wanting to be an actor. I actually tried to be a k-pop star first, but I wasn’t lucky. I trained for a long time and never ended up debuting in a group, so I decided to switch careers while I was still young and found my luck there after starring in some popular shows. ‘Freeze’ is probably my most popular gig yet, though I must say I’m worried about being shoehorned into the evil villain role.”
“Why? Because you don’t like playing evil characters?”
“Because I don’t like it when people misjudge my personality,” Chan corrects, though he follows it with a big sigh. “Again though, I know it comes with being an actor, but it’s hard enough playing a sympathetic villain role, much less a character who’s intended to be forgiven even though I find his actions unforgivable.”
“I think you’re being a little too harsh on yourself,” Minho replies. “You might not be playing the nicest person at first in this TV show, but that doesn’t change that you yourself are a very sweet person. In fact, you want to know something funny? Even if you really were a criminal overlord in another life, you’d still have a heart of gold.”
“How can you possibly know that?”
“Trust me, I just do,” Minho smiles, as he digs into his bag and fishes out a notepad and a pen. He knows what he has to do now, what he’s been brought into this universe to do, and he doesn’t hesitate any longer as he scribbles a string of numbers that he somehow knows is correct and pushes the slip of paper into Chan’s hand.
“Here. This is my number. I know you’re famous, and there’s no reason you’d give me another chance, but this is me giving myself another chance to get to know you, and if you decide this is it between us, then at least I tried my best.”
Chan weighs the slip of paper in his hand before he tucks it into the front pocket of his jacket.
“Right, well, I can’t promise I’ll reach out,” Chan says, stuffing his hands back into his pockets. “I’ll probably regret not getting another chance to sleep with you, but I have to head out to a film shoot for today, and I’ll be honest with you, I’m not going to have the time to see if this can be anything beyond the night we’ve spent together.”
“I get it, you don’t have to explain,” Minho says with a shrug. “I know I’m pretty much still just a nobody to you, so no hard feelings if you decides that this is all we were meant to be. I promise I won’t tell anyone how good you are at sex, unless of course that’s what you want.”
Minho gets the satisfaction on making Chan blush one last time before they finally say goodbye. Chan turns to head back to the hotel, and Minho watches him disappear into the crowd without ever turning back.
Minho sighs into the wind. He looks around at the endless tall buildings lining the streets, his hands tucked comfortably in his pocket, and before he goes to the nearest cafe and simply waits.
As he’s drinking his second iced americano of the day, Minho’s phone chimes.
An unknown number has just texted him with a photo of Minho’s sweater folded carefully on top of a since cleanly made bed.
Hey, this is Chan. I think you left behind your sweater. Is there some way I can get it back to you?
Minho grins at the text. He tries to stand up, already typing out a response, when all of a sudden, the world shakes with a deafening tremor.
Minho stumbles, but no one else seems to notice. Already, the walls start to crumble around him, reality pulling him away from meddling any further, but Minho knows not to give up.
He sits back down in his seat and hastily taps the keys on his phone’s keyboard as fast as he can, determined not to be wrenched from this universe until he’s made a difference.
I’m at the Stray Kids Cafe down the street. Want to meet there?
Only when he hits the send button, sees the text go off into the world until a little read receipt pops up beneath it, does Minho let out a sigh of relief. He sees Chan start to type in a response, knows he doesn’t have enough time left to see the answer, but he holds on for just a moment longer, searching, reaching for the depths of his own mind, hoping that at least this one thought will reach him, will reach every version of him.
“I set up this chance for us to be together, and I won’t waste it.”