#mingi edits | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kpop-locks · 18 days

Text

꒰ ˀˀ ↷ mingi ; simple ”♡ᵎ ꒱

like/reblog | @exolyxions

don’t repost our work or claim it as yours

172 notes · View notes

imaginidol · 1 year

Text

Mingi: “Don’t read that, the lyrics aren’t ready yet.”

You were waiting for Mingi to wrap up the last of his solo-recording session before you both drove home together as usual. He was done, and was only now awaiting a schedule confirmation from one of his producers. While you both waited for the producer to return, you were carefully walking around the studio, marveling at all the different artistic contents surrounding you.

“This piano, why is it so small?” You ask, pointing to a Nord keyboard.

“Synthesizer,” Mingi replied, giving you a small smile.

You nodded, assuming you knew what it meant. But your confused expression only made it more obvious that you didn’t know what that meant either, and it made him laugh lightly.

“What’s this for?” You asked, picking up a strange object from a desk. “It looks like a ping pong paddle!”

Mingi smirked. “That’s a microphone pop-filter. We use it to filter out external noises when recording.”

You smiled. “I think I know what it is! Can I put it on your microphone?”

He nods, and motions a hand towards the small recording booth. “You can try,” he laughs.

You walked in with the filter, only to find that the microphone inside already had a pop filter of its own latched on. You sighed, but didn’t mind after carefully observing it and realizing you probably wouldn’t know how to attach it anyway.

Below the microphone, a set of papers caught your eye. This must be one of Mingi’s songs, you think.

You quietly read the lyrics on the pages, only to realize that some of these lines were phrases that you and Mingi often shared together. Your heart skips a beat when you realize, this song is about… us?

This is a love song. Why is Mingi writing a love song?

“Don’t read that,” Mingi’s voice projects into the room from a microphone. You look up to see him with the producer, who has come back with Mingi’s schedule. “The lyrics aren’t ready yet. Anyway, we’re free to go now.”

You nod, putting the mic pop filter down on the stand, and carefully walking over the cords on the floor until you reached the exit.

I do like Mingi. But I never thought he’d like me back. Maybe it’s coincidental. Maybe he uses the little catch phrases we share with everyone. Maybe he’s—

“Are you okay?” Mingi asks, his tone catching you by surprise. “You haven’t answered me at all.”

“I’m sorry, what was that?” You look up at him, your puzzled expression fading from your face.

“I just asked if you were… nevermind.”

You both walk out in silence and out to the parking garage, until you finally reach his car.

The drive home started generally quiet, until he finally spoke up.

“Did you, uh, did you… read anything back in the studio? On those papers?” He mutters out.

“What? Oh, yeah, those papers? I just skimmed them, really,” you blurt out. “I bet it’s a nice song. Is it the producer’s song?”

“No, the producer helps me with other things. The lyrics.. those are mine.”

“Oh,” you don’t have anything else to say.

“Did you… what do you think?” He asks.

“You… you write very pretty,” you whisper.

‘You write very pretty?’ Really? You think to yourself, wanting to say more, but nothing comes out.

“Is that all?” He asks, the sounds of the night highway filling the voided air. “Did you think of anyone when you read them?”

You fall silent. But the pained expression on your face is an emotion you can’t hold in anymore. Suddenly, you hear both him and yourself blurt out—

“Did you think of me?”

Mingi brakes abruptly. “Sorry, sorry!” he waves at the car behind him, who honked loudly and swerved past angrily.

“I’m sorry, Mingi! Focus on your driving! We’ll talk later,” you say.

“No, no, I’m okay!” He blurts out, but he was blushing now, though you couldn’t tell in the dark.

A few seconds pass, the highway sounds drowning out the otherwise quiet air again.

You are the first to speak up. “I did think of you, Mingi.”

He’s driving steady now, but still looks over at you.

“I thought of you, too.” He whispers.

The exit to your neighborhood is nearly approaching. Cars around become less and less. The city lights are becoming brighter, the night sky descending is darker.

“You mentioned the lyrics aren’t finished yet… what is it supposed to be?”

He sighs deeply, contemplating your question before finally answering.

“Perhaps it’s meant to stay unfinished. The emotion of confessing my love to someone… but I don’t know if they feel the same way back. I don’t know if they do.”

“Have you ever tried to confess, Mingi?”

“No, and I don’t know if I want to.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” he whispers. “I don’t know if… it could ruin the good friendship we already have. What if they don’t feel the same way?”

You smile. “You’ll never know until you ask. And if it’s not the answer you want, at least you were bold enough to try. That in itself is admirable.”

He smiled. “You have a point.”

A red light approaches, and the car comes to a stop. There are no other cars in sight, but for a while, you both sit in quietness, waiting for the moment the light turns green.

In that moment, Mingi’s right hand comes off the steering wheel. He places it, palm-up, on top of the center compartment. His palm opens, turning towards you.

You look down, a grin slowly spreading across your blushing face. You lift your left hand, wrap it under his arm, and place your hand gently on top of his.

Your fingers interlock naturally, both hands molding perfectly in place into one another. He caresses his thumb against the side of yours. In this very moment, you can feel the shifting of emotions in the air.

“I know how to end my lyrics now,” Mingi whispers.

And suddenly, the light turns green.