Dubai at night is majestic and otherworldly, that is an undebatable fact. The lights illuminating every single gleaming building outside makes the whole city looks like it’s some kind of a futuristic movie set. It’s almost unreal how beautiful Dubai is, and, looking right at it from the 39th floor of the tallest building in the world, Taemin feels so, so small.

The room he’s in is filled with enchanting music from an honest-to-God orchestra, belting out beautiful melodies to accompany the people dancing and mingling and socializing. Everyone is dressed to the nines, brand-name tuxedos and dresses with details so articulate Taemin starts to gloss over them after the fifth couture dress he sees. The whole place is gorgeous, too, with Italian black marble details, tall windows gleaming around the dramatic lighting set, and the backlit resin walls. The design is timeless and is just right; nothing too quirky or out of place, but with just enough flair for it to have character.

The whole room, along with its atmosphere, reminds Taemin of Minho.

A hand on the small of his back snaps Taemin from his trance. Turning away from the window, he accepts the flute filled with sparkling champagne from his boyfriend, who smiles at him questioningly. Taemin shakes his head and fires off a quick smile before downing half the content of his glass in one go.

“There’s someone who want to meet you,” Minho tells him in a low voice, using the hand he places on Taemin’s back to gently nudges him forward. They walk together toward a group of about five or six men and women, all in black attire that somehow look significantly different despite harboring the same color. Taemin never realized there were so many shades of black before. As soon as they’re close enough, one of the men lets out a proud-sounding ‘Ah!’ as he thumps Minho on the back. Minho smiles at each and every one of them, and starts talking in what seems like four different languages at once.

“—and please allow me to introduce my date, Taemin Lee,” Minho says, turning to give Taemin an encouraging smile. Taemin bows shallowly to them and shake their hands, smiling at the obligatory compliments thrown his way. Some of them are looking at him with calculating eyes, some with approval, but appraisal seems to be a constant in everyone’s eyes.

“Ah, Taemin-ssi, how pleasant to meet you,” one of the women says, sounding genuine. Taemin turns to look at her properly and realizes that she’s Korean. Minho warned him, though, before they went in, that if there’s any foreigner around, he’s not expected to speak in Korean. Taemin swallows the greeting he was about to spout out and schools his expression. “I attended your latest concert, it was magnificent. I heard you will be holding another soon?”

“Concert?” A man, previously introduced as a Mr. Louis Morel (Marel? Mirel? Taemin really need to stop glossing over these things) asks, turning to look at Taemin and the Korean lady. Natalie, Taemin thinks her name is. Or maybe Natasha.

“Oui, Monsieur, Mister Lee is a very famous professional dancer back in Korea,” she says, obviously well-trained in the art of subtle bragging. Taemin’s lip twitches, thinking of all the time he has teased Minho about his way of speaking around his business patrons. Apparently, that’s just the way it is.

“A celebrity, Choi? What a bold move,” another man adds, his eyes twinkling with mirth even as his tone sounds odd. “Careful there, or you might accidentally pull a Hyunsik and lose more than you gained,” he grins, wide and all teeth, obviously fake if the glint in his eyes is anything to go by.

Minho gives him an amused, tight-lipped smile. “Now, that’s an outcome we’re definitely not hoping for,” he says, tone unreadable. After that, the conversation flows again as if nothing happened. They ask about Minho’s business plans and the rumors of him inheriting more companies, they ask about Taemin’s work and if he knows and/or worked with A or B, and they ask, some more subtly than the others, about their future marital plans.

After professionally dodging the questions about marriage, Minho steers him away from the group and grabs a couple of hors d’oeuvres for the both of them, and squeezes Taemin’s hand reassuringly before heading to meet another group of people.

It’s only because they are all assembled for dinner that Minho decides he’s had enough of the small talks. Taemin, who decided a long time ago that he’s had just about enough, eagerly follows Minho along to settle on their own table with a fellow businessman from China and his wife, and the South Korean Ambassador for UEA and her husband. The talk around the table is lively and a little heavier than Taemin normally likes, but at least they’re respectful of his personal life and doesn’t ask him much outside of his work.

Once they start talking about business, Taemin slinks back into his shell, taking his time to enjoy each and every single part of the 12-course meal. It’s not until the second dessert is served that Mrs. Gong leans closer to him and asks about his plans for the Choi family Foundation. Taemin pauses for a second before answering, as diplomatically as he could.

“I suppose it is still quite early to be discussing that,” he smiles, noticing the way Mrs. Gong looks a little surprised. She doesn’t pry, though, just smiles knowingly and nods.

“I see.”

He has a feeling that he’s somehow missing something.

*

“What’s with that Hyunsik remark?” Taemin asks as they step out of the elevator and onto the hallway of the 9th floor. Minho looks up from where he’s staring at his work phone and frowns at Taemin for a split second before understanding dawns on him.

“Oh, that,” he says, typing in his reply with impressive speed before tucking the phone back inside his tux jacket. He loops an arm around Taemin’s waist as they walk toward their room, right at the end of the hallway. “When Uncle Hyunsik married Aunt Ana, she was a high-profile celebrity in her home country. My family’s notorious for not letting celebrities into the family because it may cause unnecessary trouble with the press, but Uncle Hyun’s persistent. My grandparents are mostly fine with it now, but a lot of people still use him as a bad example.”

“Well, that marriage’s better than their loveless ones,” Taemin shrugs, fishing the card out of his pocket and waves it in front of the door. The light on the door turns white and a faint click can be heard before Minho pushes the door open gently.

“It’s not always loveless,” Minho objects, his tone serious and unreadable. Taemin is just about to question him on it when Minho cuts him off. “Sorry we couldn’t get the suite upstairs. The reservation’s kind of rushed.” Taemin waves a dismissive hand and toes off his shoes before heading into the living area of the room and sinking his bare feet into the plush carpet.

Honestly, Taemin thinks as he sheds off his suit jacket and throws it at the general direction of the sofa, he’s selfishly glad they couldn’t get the suite. If he has to spend the rest of the evening facing unnecessarily luxurious things, he’d lose his mind. After the extra pretentious party where everyone’s biggest problem was the liquor being not old enough or the brie not grassy enough, he just wants to spend an hour or two in the shower and washes of the rich people grime from his skin. Maybe Minho would want to join him.

“I’m going to shower,” he announces, already loosening his tie and taking off his cufflinks. “For like, 2 hours. Wanna join me?”

“Taemin,” Minho calls out, instead of answering. Taemin turns to face him, raising an eyebrow as Minho pauses, seemingly unsure whether he should go on and say what he obviously needs to say or not. “Are you okay?”

“Uh,” Taemin frowns, confused. “Yeah?”

“This is—this evening… it’s always going to be this way, Tae,” Minho begins, looking way too dejected for someone standing in an impeccable hotel room, wearing a perfectly fitting tuxedo. Something about his body language is off, but Taemin can’t pinpoint what, or why. Minho looks a little lost. “This is my life. It’s set in stone. There is no version of this where my life isn’t filled with glitz and glams and socializing with fake people. There is no scenario where my life would be easy and simple, not surrounded by people who valued money above God. This is what my life has been like in the past, and it’s going to be this way forever.”

“Minho, what are you—”

“I know it makes you uncomfortable, sometimes, but I don’t shower you with gifts just to be tacky, and I don’t introduce you to people just to show you off as an arm candy. I really, really do love you, and I’m always so proud of you, and I just—” he swallows thickly, taking three giant steps toward Taemin. “I just need you to know that.”

Taemin looks at him for a long moment, considering. He watches the light falls onto the side of Minho’s face, accentuating his profile, and reflecting on his big eyes, illuminating his softening stare. “I know that.”

“Good,” Minho breathes, inching closer to Taemin. He’s still in his shoes, the one that makes him two inches taller, and Taemin smiles at the thought, even as he has to tilt his head up to meet Minho’s lips in a slow kiss that carries a hell of a lot more weight that it has the right to.

They kiss for a long time, each of their movement a compliment to the other’s. Taemin loops both his arms around Minho’s neck, the short hair just above his nape, while Minho’s hand sneaks around Taemin’s waist, settling on his favorite spot just above Taemin’s hip. Minho’s fumbling with one thing or another, but never lets go of the kiss, even once they’re both out of breath and flushed to the roots of their hair.

“Tonight wasn’t so bad,” Taemin whispers against Minho’s lips, his breath warm and smelling faintly of the mint mousse cake they served as dessert, and the wine he consumed in almost inappropriate amount.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he nods, pressing another light kiss on Minho’s slightly parted lips. “As long as you were there, I don’t have much to complain about.”

Minho smiles into the kiss, pulling Taemin even closer until their chests are flush against each other’s. Minho is warm under his touch, and he smells so great, so familiar, that Taemin just wants to get under his skin and hide there, or take all of Minho’s clothes off and press himself as close to the other man as possible. Whichever’s easier. “You make it better, too. These kind of events used to be dreadful.”

“Really? I can’t tell,” Taemin says, mock-seriously. Minho slaps his hip gently, his eyes dancing. It’s unfair how attractive Minho is, really. It’s not even his features, or his style. It’s just him. Every single inch of Minho is beautiful in ways that Taemin has never seen in other people, and he wonders if Minho is really just that gorgeous, or if he’s just that stupidly in love with the dork.

“Marry me?” Minho asks, tone even and gentle, his soft stare growing more intense by the second. Taemin stops breathing; his whole senses going overdrive. He’s suddenly so overly conscious of the way his own jaw unhinges, of the weight of Minho’s hand on his hip, of Minho’s warmth against the length of his body, and the soft spikes of Minho’s hair on his fingertips. Minho’s eyes are unwavering, not a single trace of the uncertainty he had before left. It’s not until he gets dizzy that Taemin realizes he should probably breathe, and answer Minho’s question.

“I—are you sure?” he asks, voice coming out raspier than he intended. He doesn’t know why he asks that.

But Minho smiles, so certain and yet so nervous, but above it all, so painfully genuine. He lifts the hand that hasn’t been holding onto Taemin’s hip and shows what he’s been fumbling around for. It’s a small, black velvet box, and he holds it up for Taemin to see.

“I’ve never been surer of anything,” Minho answers, so sincere it hurts. Taemin chokes off on his tears before he even realizes he’s crying, and nods as hard as he can, as many times as humanly possible. “Yes?”

“Yes! Yes, you idiot!” he laughs, pulling away from Minho to wipe his involuntary tears with a sleeve. Minho laughs, full of delight and disbelief, as he opens the box and offers the ring to Taemin. It’s a gorgeous two-tone ring with a decent-sized round cut diamond in the middle, and Taemin has half a mind to think about how much Minho has to hold back from buying him an obnoxiously big diamond ring. He can’t control how much he’s crying as Minho slips the ring onto his finger and beams down at him, looking almost childish in his joy.

Taemin goes in for a hug, and Minho hugs him back, almost taking Taemin’s feet off the ground as he holds on to him as tightly as he can, peppering light kisses all over Taemin’s face and neck. Taemin laughs, despite his tears, and basks in the glow of happiness that seems to root from the big, shimmering ball of emotions building inside his chest, making it hard to breathe. It’s almost obscene how happy he is, and he, for once, doesn’t try to contain his emotions.

He doesn’t have to, anyway, because there is no doubt in his mind that from now on, Minho will truly be a constant in his life, and he has no reason to be uncertain, no reason to withhold any kind of joy he feels.

Minho will never let him down.

*

Taemin goes back to work after his business trip slash weekend geta