Little China on 7th || Xu Minghao x Reader
When Minghao stumbles into a tiny Chinese restaurant tucked away in Seoul, he finds comfort in his own language and in the girl behind the counter, who makes it feel like home.
The restaurant almost looked like it was hiding.
Pressed between a neon-lit convenience store and a polished café with floor-to-ceiling windows, the sign above it was small. Red paint, slightly chipped. Gold lettering that had faded just enough to feel real.
Minghao paused on the sidewalk.
He had walked past it twice before.
He didn’t know why he stopped today.
Maybe he was tired of the polished places. Tired of cameras, mirrors, curated spaces. Tired of hearing Korean and Japanese and English all day but not enough Mandarin.
He pushed the door open.
A small bell chimed.
The smell hit first. Real stir-fry heat. Garlic blooming in oil. Vinegar sharp and clean. Chili that actually meant something.
And then—
"Welcome."
He froze.
Mandarin. Soft. Natural. Not forced.
He stepped fully inside, letting the door close behind him.
It felt smaller than it looked from outside. Four tables. Laminated menus. Old fan in the corner. A wall calendar from Guangzhou.
He hadn’t realized how much he missed that.
"Just one?" you asked again.
He looked up.
And that was when he saw you.
Behind the counter. Hair loosely tied back. No heavy makeup. Just you. Comfortable in your own space. Like you belonged here.
“Yes,” he answered automatically. Then corrected himself in Mandarin. "Yes. Just one."
Your eyes lifted properly then. Noticing him.
There was a flicker of recognition. Not idol recognition. Not yet.
Just curiosity.
You handed him a menu. "First time here?"
He nodded. "Just found this place."
You smiled a little. "Most people don’t."
That felt important.
He chose a seat by the window. The laminated menu felt familiar under his fingers. Mapo tofu. Liangpi. Tomato egg stir fry.
Not fusion. Not toned down.
When you brought his tea, you set it down gently.
"Our food is kind of spicy," you warned.
He almost laughed. "I can handle spice."
You raised a brow. "Really?"
He met your eyes. "Really."
It was such a small exchange. But something about it settled into his chest.
The food came out quickly.
He took one bite.
And he had to stop himself from closing his eyes.
It tasted like somewhere he hadn’t been in too long.
When he went up to pay, he tried to keep his expression neutral.
"It was really good," he said quietly.
You looked pleased. "Thank you."
There was a pause.
You glanced at him more carefully this time.
"Are you a celebrity?"
He blinked.
Of course.
He gave a small smile. "Kind of."
You nodded slowly. No squealing. No phone. No sudden shift in behavior.
"That must be tiring," you said simply, handing him his receipt.
That was it.
He stepped back outside into the Seoul evening and felt something strange in his chest.
Relief.
===
He came back three days later.
Not on purpose.
He just ended up there.
The bell chimed again.
You looked up and this time your eyes warmed immediately.
"You’re back?"
He shrugged lightly. "Wanted something spicy."
"Excuse," you said without missing a beat.
He almost choked on air.
The restaurant wasn’t busy that afternoon. Just one older couple in the corner. The owner cooking behind the half wall.
When you brought his food, you lingered.
"Where in China are you from?" you asked.
"Liaoning," he answered.
Your eyes widened slightly. "Oh, a northerner."
"And you?" he asked.
You tilted your head. "Guess."
He studied you, amused. "Guangdong?"
You shook your head.
"Shanghai?"
Another shake.
"Then I give up."
You leaned closer slightly. "Wrong."
You still didn’t tell him.
He realized you liked holding onto little secrets.
He liked that.
===
After that, it became a habit.
Not every day. Not enough to draw attention. Just when he needed it.
When schedules were too loud.
When fansigns felt like smiling through glass.
When the dorm felt crowded.
The bell would chime. You would look up.
"Long day?" you’d ask.
"A little," he’d admit.
You’d refill his tea without asking.
Sometimes you’d sit across from him if the shop was empty.
"There are really seventeen of you?" you asked once.
"Thirteen."
You blinked. "That’s a lot."
"It is."
"How do you sneak out?"
He smirked faintly. "I say I’m getting coffee."
You laughed properly that time. Bright and quick.
He found himself waiting for it every visit.
===
It didn’t take long before the others noticed.
Joshua leaned against the fridge one night. “You’ve been disappearing.”
Minghao didn’t look up from his tea, swirling it just enough to not splash on Jun's kitchen table. “I go out.”
Jun added from the couch, eyes bright. “But you come back smiling.”
Minghao paused. “Do I?”
Seungkwan narrowed his eyes dramatically from his perch on the counter. “Who is she?”
He didn’t answer.
Wonwoo looked up from his book. “So it is a she.”
Minghao clicked his tongue. “You’re all bored.”
“Is she pretty?” Hoshi demanded.
He hesitated.
Yes.
But not in a way he wanted to share.
He shrugged instead. “She works hard.”
Jun switched to Mandarin suddenly. "Do you like her?"
Minghao met his gaze.
"I don’t know."
That wasn’t entirely true.
He just didn’t want to define it yet.
Because once he did, it would become real. Public. Shared.
And that little restaurant, those small conversations, would stop being just his.
He wasn’t ready for that.
===
One evening, it was raining.
Hard.
He almost didn’t go.
But his feet carried him there anyway.
The restaurant was nearly empty. The windows fogged. The air warm.
You looked up when he entered, hair slightly damp.
"It’s raining," you said unnecessarily.
"I noticed," he replied.
You poured his tea before he even sat down.
He watched you for a long moment.
"Why did you open this place?" he asked suddenly.
You paused.
"It’s not mine. It’s my family’s. I just help."
He nodded.
"Are you happy?" you asked.
The question caught him off guard.
He considered lying.
Instead, he answered honestly.
"Sometimes."
You nodded like that made sense.
Rain tapped softly against the glass.
"Will you go back to China one day?" you asked quietly.
"Maybe."
"And here?"
He didn’t answer immediately.
“I don’t know,” he said finally.
You studied him for a moment.
Then you smiled gently. "Then for now, just eat."
He laughed under his breath.
===
Weeks passed.
The others kept asking.
He kept deflecting.
He didn’t bring anyone there.
Not Jun. Not Joshua.
It felt selfish.
But he needed one place that wasn’t shared.
One place where he wasn’t Seventeen’s Minghao.
Just Xu Minghao ordering too much chili oil.
One afternoon, when the shop was closing early, he stayed longer than usual.
You were wiping down tables.
"Are you coming tomorrow?" you asked casually.
He hesitated.
“We have a schedule.”
You nodded, not pushing.
He stood slowly.
"Will you always be here?" he asked instead.
You met his eyes.
"For now."
There it was again. That careful vagueness.
He realized something then.
You never asked for his number.
Never asked for pictures.
Never asked for promises.
You let him come and go like he was just another customer.
And somehow that meant more than if you hadn’t.
He stepped closer to the counter.
"What if one day I stop coming?"
You tilted your head.
"Then it means you don’t need this place anymore."
It wasn’t bitter.
It wasn’t sad.
It was just true.
He swallowed.
"And what if I still need it?"
You held his gaze.
"Then the door will stay open."
The bell above the door chimed softly as someone stepped in behind him.
The moment thinned.
He stepped back.
“I’ll see you,” he said instead of goodbye.
You smiled faintly.
"Mm."
===
That night, at practice, Dino squinted at him.
“You went to your mystery place again.”
Minghao didn’t deny it.
Vernon grinned. “Are you ever going to tell us?”
He thought about the chipped red sign.
The foggy windows.
Your soft "Welcome" every time the bell chimed.
He shook his head.
“Not yet.”
Jun smirked knowingly but didn’t press.
Minghao lay in bed later, staring at the ceiling.
Maybe one day he would bring the others.
Maybe one day he would ask where you were really from.
Maybe one day he would stop pretending this was temporary.
But not yet.
For now, that little hole in the wall was still his small piece of China.
And inside it—
You were waiting behind the counter.
Door bell ready to chime.
Happy ending?
Maybe.
Or maybe just another day where he walks in, and you say—
"You’re back?"
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