The Good Loser

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The crowd cheers with a newfound spirit as ABBA’s song blares through the ballroom. Taemin makes a face at the choice of music and decides to leave his impromptu dance partner in search for more alcohol. He’s getting more than a little tipsy. It’d probably end in disaster and Gwiboon chewing his ears off, but right now, he could not care less.

Making a beeline for the balcony, Taemin grabs two flutes of champagne from a passing waiter. He empties one and holds another high above people’s heads. Stumbling out of the sparkly ballroom, he lets out a long, relieved sigh when his feet finally find their way to the open and deserted balcony. Taemin puts his empty glass next to the potted plant before loosening his tie, downing the content of the second glass with zero regret.

It’s been a long day. Week. Month. At least for Taemin (and probably for Jinki, too, but at least he’s getting married) because his fiancé of two years left him for his super hot partner (Taemin will never, ever date cops again. Ever. Protect and serve, his . The only thing that should serve is his own head, on a silver platter), his boss announced that she has to let go of several employees because of the budget (and guess what, he’s the first on her list, what a charmer), his best friend takes off to America to go spend the holiday with his girlfriend and her family, and Taemin is stuck to pretending everything is right with his world while helping his brother with his wedding preparation.

At the end of the day, all he wants to do is just fall onto his bed and sleep till next year. Or jump down a nearby cliff; that sounds good, too.

“Do you mind?” a voice jolt him out of his reverie. Taemin squints at the newcomer. He’s just about to snap a quick, careless off, but stops because recognition sparks in him.

“You,” he squints harder, wondering if his eyesight is getting tier or if he’s actually a bit drunker than he thinks he is. The man stares at him, amusement evident on the edge of his twitching lips. “You’re noona’s friend, aren’t you?”

The newcomer grins, sleazy and easy. “Yeah,” he takes a seat on the edge of the balcony, staring at Taemin, who stares right back shamelessly. “You’re Jinki hyung’s brother, right?”

“Adopted brother,” Taemin holds up a hand and hiccups. Scrunching his nose, he brings the glass up to his lips again, only to find it empty. He sighs, and another hiccup comes through. “I’m his adopted brother.”

“What difference does that make?” the man asks, tone blatantly amused. He’s probably laughing at Taemin’s ty luck, or maybe he’s laughing at the way Taemin is looking around frantically, desperately trying to find any kind of alcohol.

“It’s a lot of difference,” Taemin nods solemnly, just to make sure he gets his point across. He gives up trying to find more alcohol and settles on looking at the spot right above the man’s pocket. “He’s their son by blood. I’m their son by—” another hiccup stops him, but Taemin doesn’t really give a , he has a story to tell. “—by paperwork. And stuff. Jinki hyung would say fate but I’m not a sentimental , so, there, paperwork.”

He’s probably not making any sense, but the man before him is laughing, and Taemin is glad. It’s a good sound, and besides, it’s nice to have someone actually laughing at Taemin’s jokes rather than simply laughing at Taemin.

“I see,” he says pleasantly. Taemin hums. He sees. That means Taemin isn’t that drunk yet.

“It explains lots, y’know,” he continues, head lolling back a little whilst he tries to look at the man’s face. Taemin’s danced with him before, he thinks, but he isn’t a hundred percent sure. He danced with a lot of people, no wonder Jonghyun calls him a . But Jonghyun’s slept with 5 out of 6 of Gwiboon’s bridesmaids, so there.

The man looks interested, and Taemin smiles. It’s been a while since someone is genuinely interested in what Taemin has to say. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Taemin nods, his head is heavy so he keeps nodding for longer than necessary. When he finally stops, the man is still staring at him with that faint amused smile. “It explains why he’s the youngest neurosurgeon in South Korea and marrying one of the most successful fashion designers in the country. While I’m—” another hiccup hits him, but that’s not exactly why Taemin stops talking.

The silence stretches a bit too long, and the man looks a little shifty because Taemin keeps staring right into his eyes without saying anything. “You’re…?” he prompts. Taemin blinks.

“I’m…” tilting his head to the side, Taemin sniffs. “I’m a loser. Wait no,” he makes a face. “Loser is an understatement.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” the man frowns. Taemin doesn’t like it when he frowns. Why is he frowning? Does he think Taemin is lying or something?

“Oh no, it is,” Taemin assures him. Or at least he tries to, because the man is still frowning. “It really is. I got fired two weeks ago. My fiancé left me with some he’s apparently been seeing for like, seven months. My best friend broke his promise of being there for me because he—” Taemin hiccups once more, but this time, a waiter is approaching, and so he beams, taking another glass and draining the content in one shot. “He has a girlfriend and they’re getting married or some . I don’t know. I don’t care. But…”

The thought of Jinki’s big, goofy grin and Gwiboon’s endless coddling stop him. Taemin smiles at the thought. It’s a nice thought. They love him. Well, they probably love each other more, but Taemin is sure they love him also, and that’s why he doesn’t want to disappoint them. He doesn’t want to ruin their day.

“But you can’t tell Jinki hyung, or—or Gwiboon noona. Or Jonghyun hyung. Or anyone,” he makes a shushing motion, pressing his index finger to his lips, just in case his words are not convincing enough.

“Why can’t I tell him? He’s your brother. I’m sure he would want to know about this.” There’s the frown again. Taemin hates that frown. This man looks way, way better with his small smile. This frown is ruining Taemin’s sight and he wants it gone. But he doesn’t know how. Pity parties don’t serve good entertainment. Taemin would know.

“Well,” Taemin his lips, savoring the taste of champagne. “It’s his wedding. I wouldn’t want to ruin his wedding. I might be a loser, but I’m a—I’m a good loser.” Because if he fails in everything else in life, he could at least keep his reputation as a good brother.

The man sighs, but it’s not the kind of sigh Taemin likes. His sigh sounds heavy and bad, like he’s feeling upset. Taemin doesn’t want him to feel upset, so he pats the man’s thigh. He gets stopped, though, but he doesn’t mind, the hand curled around his wrist is big and warm and nice. “Don’t—”

Taemin waits for him to finish his sentence, but he doesn’t. The man only looks at him with a weird expression. Taemin smiles lopsidedly at him, but he only wipes Taemin’s cheek with his thumb, his eyes losing the previous sparkle. Taemin frowns, then. Maybe he’s angry at Taemin for not telling Jinki? That must be it. He has to think of a good enough reason to back this up.

“And um,” he begins, trying to find the words to explain to this frowny man that what Taemin does is a totally reasonable thing. “If Jinki hyung knows, he would be disappointed, and Gwiboon noona would be disappointed.” Taemin mentally claps himself on the back at this statement. This person is Gwiboon’s best friend, surely he wouldn’t want her to be disappointed?

“And then he’d tell my parents. And they would be disappointed. They would regret adopting me, then, we can’t have that,” Taemin sniffs, blinking up at the man’s now blurry face. His wrist is still clasped by a strong hand, and the man is still wiping Taemin’s face with his other hand. Taemin probably has something on his face. It’s probably the sauce from earlier. He doesn’t care. He’s not the groom, he’s allowed to look ugly. Besides, he’s a loser. Losers are supposed to be ugly. “I mean, they keep saying that they’re proud of me no matter what, but I think that’s a big fat lie. I never tell them that, though. It’s not nice to call out on your parents’ lies. Except when they included unicorns in it. That’s jus’ downright idiotic. But, um, anyway, they’ll regret it.”

“They won’t regret adopting you, please stop saying that,” the man sounds sad, and Taemin frowns even deeper.

“Don’t be sad,” he reaches up to pat the man’s cheek, feeling bad because he might be the cause of this stranger’s sadness. See, Taemin is a walking disaster. Ten minutes with him and this man is already on the verge of crying. Maybe he should just go lock himself up in a closet. Preferably Gwiboon’s closet, because there’s a lot of nice things. But then Taemin realizes that he has a secret to keep from her. So, not Gwiboon’s closet, then. “You’re not pretty when you’re sad.”

The man laughs at this, “Am I pretty when I’m happy?”

“Very,” Taemin nods. “Very pretty.”

“Okay,” he huffs a small laugh, and Taemin beams because there’s the amusement again. He likes the amusement. “Okay. You’re very pretty, too.”

Taemin his lips again, and the man’s eyes fall to the swift movement of his tongue. Taemin pulls him closer; he might want to taste the champagne, too. The champagne tastes good, and Taemin’s used to sharing. He loves sharing. The man’s face gets closer, and Taemin closes his eyes because he doesn’t want to be dizzy. Besides, it feels better when he closes his eyes.

It feels a whole lot better.

*

The morning comes with a bang. Literally. Taemin groans as he rolls to his belly, pulling a nearby pillow to shield his head with. The noises around him are getting even louder, and Taemin is tempted to scream at them, except that would probably end in his own headache getting worse. Times like these, he can’t help but wish for a superpower—the power to avoid hangover at all costs—or wish that Kim Jong Un wasn’t totally bluffing when he said his scientists had invented hangover-free alcohol. Sadly, those are no more than just wistful thinking, and Taemin is left with both disappointment and slowly dawning realization.

“Good morning, sunshine,” a vaguely familiar voice tears the short silence. Taemin grapples blindly for another pillow to fling to the general direction of the voice owner. There’s a faint thud and a breathy chuckle before Taemin’s pillow is being yanked away. He whines, but unable to do much to resist. Rolling onto his back, Taemin swats at whoever it is that intrudes his once peaceful slumber.

“Shut up, whoever you are,” he mumbles, his own voice too loud for him to handle. Taemin mutters a string of colorful profanities under his breath, and yelps when it is cut short by a pair of vaguely familiar lips pressing gently against his own.

“You got a point, there,” the breathy voice says again. Taemin, still very much reluctant to open his eyes, feels the bed dip next to him. Sighing, he cracks an eye open. “We haven’t properly introduced ourselves.”

“What,” Taemin says, voice hoarse. “What the .”

“I’m Choi Minho, best friend of the bride,” the voice sounds way too cheerful, and Taemin has a strong suspicion that this Choi Minho is internally laughing at him. “It’s very nice to meet you.” The sultry tone gets both of Taemin’s eyes to snap open, staring right onto Minho’s dark orbs.

“You—who the —why the am I here,” he pushes Minho away and sits up, grimacing at the massive headache that seemingly only expand with every movement of his. Taemin looks around, not quite sure where here is, but he’s pretty sure it’s a place he doesn’t want to be at. “Did you take advantage of me? You did, didn’t you.”

“Well,” Minho begins, looking faux-thoughtful. Taemin thinks he looks pretty, but he’s also infinitely pissed off by way this guy acts all buddy-buddy with him. “Considering that you were the one who pounced on me and cooed that I was very pretty and said that you want to ride my—”

Pressing his hand against Minho’s mouth, Taemin can feel the wolfish grin spreading across Minho’s face, and he makes a face. Why do the hot ones always have to be s? Why can’t he have the full package of good looks, better personalities, and best ?

Although, judging from the way his hips throb and his thigh muscles twinge in protest every time he tries to move, this Minho guy probably has 2 out of 3. That’s good enough.

“I repeat my earlier question; why the am I here?” he tries again, letting his hand drop back to his side. Minho’s still grinning, but he reaches out to the nightstand and hands Taemin a small bottle of water and two aspirins. Taemin resists the urge to propose marriage to him and takes the offered goods wordlessly instead.

“Well, you were drunk, and then you were telling me about how you’re a loser—wait,” Minho makes that faux-thoughtful face again. Taemin has a feeling he’s going to say something slap-worthy. But even if he does, Taemin is too busy downing his aspirins to react, anyway. “No, you said you were a good loser.”

“Oh God.”

“And then you were crying, and then we were kissing, and then you said that I was very pretty and you wanted to—”

“Please stop talking,” Taemin snaps as he slaps his hand against Minho’s lips once more. Minho huffs a laugh and pulls his hand away, but he doesn’t let it go. For a long, awkward minute, Minho keeps holding his hand, caressing the skin with his thumb. Well, it’s awkward for Taemin only, apparently, because Minho seems content on staring at him and his hand.

Another minute passes and Taemin can’t take it anymore. “So,” he clears his throat, pulling his hand out of Minho’s grasp. “I, uh. I’m sorry for um, crying on you, and um, you know, pouncing on you. But, uh,” he slides off the bed, cursing silently when Minho doesn’t get up—he’s sitting on the sheets, and Taemin is , dammit, he needs those sheets—but he decides to ignore it and simply tries to find his clothes.

“Yeah?”

“I really need to—Minho, where’s my shirt?” he frowns at the general direction of the floor, because he cannot see his shirt anywhere. Minho gets up and starts looking.

They end up finding Taemin’s shirt next to the sofa, torn into two sad pieces. Minho winces and apologizes, before offering his own shirt. Taemin sighs and shakes his head, settling on wearing his suit with no shirt on.

Minho straightens himself, standing just a few feet away from where Taemin is shifting his weight from one foot to another. He feels a strange sense of loss and regret. It’s not the regret of having slept with Minho, though, it’s a regret that surfaces along with the realization that this might be the last time they’ll ever cross paths.

Because while they’re linked by mutual friends, they obviously belong to two entirely different worlds (and this is purely Taemin’s subjective judgment, seeing from how Minho dresses and from his languid body language. Taemin knows pricey stuff when he sees one).

“So.”

“Yeah, thanks for… everything, really,” Taemin shrugs. Shrugging is casual. Which is what he needs to be right now. Casual and light. He regrets nothing. He loses nothing. Nothing at all. “The , too, um. You’re good at that. Congrats.”

“I know,” Minho says, his eyes not smiling as much as his lips. Taemin snorts in disbelief, but he lets it slide. “See you soon?”

“Maybe,” he shrugs again. “Maybe not.”

Minho looks disappointed, but Taemin sends him a quick smile before turning around and makes his way out. His movement feels heavier the closer he gets to the door, and when he has his hand on the doorknob, Taemin turns back, just to see Minho one last time.

The man—the frowny man, his head supplies unhelpfully—smiles at him, looking like he has something to say. Taemin blinks and waits. Minho hesitates for a split second before blurting “Breakfast?”

Taemin opens his mouth to say no. He needs to refuse the offer and reject him altogether. It’s only right. He just broke up with his sorry excuse of a fiancé. The thought of the almost makes Taemin’s breath hitches because of the sheer pain it brings him, but for some reason, the hope in Minho’s eyes stops that from happening, and before he can think better of it, Taemin breathes out a yes.

He’s probably going to regret it later, but now, Taemin’s just gonna savor the moment.

At least, he tries to assure himself, this one isn’t a goddamn cop.

A/N:

1. I'm bad at titles.

2. This is un-betaed.

3. I love ABBA.

4. I apologize for all of the above.