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Chapter Text

Wonwoo is not, by any stretch of the imagination, a snob. He isn’t, and he will fight you over that!

He’s a reporter, and a good one at that, who does his job without any fuss and takes his orders well from his superiors without any complaint.

Were he a snob, Mr. Lee Jihoon, he wouldn’t have been caught dead in the seedy slums on the outskirts of Seoul, living there for three months so that he could accurately and intimately write his investigative think piece on whether or not the government was actually doing enough to address the situation of those living below minimum wage. Were he a snob, he would not have been able to survive three years on the crime beat, elbowing his way through crime scene tapes and gruff detectives who hated the press so that he could find out the truth and deliver the hard cold facts to readers. Were he a snob, he would have told his boss to stuff it when he was assigned to write for supplements for the summer because their lead reporter had gone on maternity leave and the page editor had the E-I-C wrapped around her little finger, but no. He just blinked and nodded, bowing his head and asking Park Jaekyung-ssi what direction she envisioned for the in-depth feature article on summer festivals she asked him to write.

“I didn’t say you were that kind of snob,” Jihoon retorts when Wonwoo tells him these things, punctuating each point with a shake of the soju shot glass in his hand. “I meant, like, intellectually!”

“What do you fucking mean, Jihoon?” Wonwoo grunts, putting down the shot glass so he could pour more soju in it. Only the taste of the beef coating his mouth saves him from complete inebriation; he’s a little bit of a lightweight, though not as much as Jihoon, whose face and cheeks are already dotted with red. “I’m not an intellectual snob. I mean, look at who I’m friends with.”

He gestures at Jihoon himself, and ducks the pair of metal chopsticks thrown in his general direction.

They don’t always resort to alcohol during their weekly meat-all-you-can dinners, the copious amounts of pork and beef slices being jammed down their throats usually enough for them. But Wonwoo’s been through a rough past couple of days, being forcibly removed from his usual crime and national news beat and being saddled with the more esoteric ‘supplements’--in truth, supplements is just a fancier word for ‘sponsored features’. Every summer, his newspaper gets hefty ad placements from the tourism department in exchange for a guide to the summer festivals Korea was starting to get known for. Some of the assigned writers were instructed to go around and attend the events, and then would be tasked to write nice flowery things about the actual event in order to entice people to plan their vacations around the next year’s installments.

In theory, Wonwoo thinks it’s a good idea. Hard-hitting news and public affairs pieces are the bread and butter of the Seoul Standard, but it’s the Lifestyle and Entertainment sections that bring in the advertising that keeps them afloat, and keeping afloat in an age where people were slowly but surely turning away from the written page was important to him.

But why did it have to be him?

“It sounds like I’m going to be writing about people playing schoolyard games and picking flowers,” Wonwoo grumbles as he turns over the pinker portion of the slab of beef on his side of the grill; the surface sizzles in response, and the scent of smoke and meat wafts upward, clings to his and Jihoon’s denim jackets. “That’s not what I went through school for.”

“See, you dickhead. That’s your problem,” Jihoon points out, before shoving a piece of pork into his mouth and chewing thoughtfully. “You think that those things are beneath you,” he says after swallowing. “You think they’re not worth your time.”

Wonwoo pinks at that accusation because, well, it’s not that Jihoon is exactly incorrect. “So what?” That’s a terrible reply that just confirms Jihoon’s theory. “I mean… What do you think?”

Jihoon holds his hands up. “I take photos, Wonwoo. I don’t care whether it’s a dead body or a bunch of people dancing in their hanboks. I get paid for it all the same.” He takes a long swig out of the soju bottle, hiccups cutely.

Wonwoo sighs. “It takes very little out of you to see the difference.”

“You could just have fun for the first time in your career, maybe. Write about fucking flowers, for once.”

“Fun and flowers doesn’t get you editorial positions, Jihoon,” Wonwoo says, frowning. He drinks the soju straight out of the bottle this time, coughing a little as the alcohol sears down his throat and makes his eyes water.

“Do you know, Jihoon look at me, do you know,” Wonwoo continues after he puts the bottle down, a little hysterical because Jihoon’s blinking at him but looking at a spot over his shoulder. “Do you know that I’ve been doing this for five years now, hired straight out of school by the Seoul Standard.”

He slams a palm against the table, rattling the utensils and the little silver plates, before waggling five fingers in Jihoon’s face. “Do you know how hard it is to get hired by one of the top three newspapers in the city?”

Jihoon looks like he wants to cry, but not out of sentiment. More likely out of disbelief. “You’re really talking like we don’t work at the same place.”

Wonwoo shakes his head. “You know what I mean.” He rubs his hands all over his face. “I am going to have the worst time because I can't write fluff pieces to save my life, and it won’t even help me get assistant editor position.”

“There, there. I mean, it doesn't have to be a fluff piece. There’s obviously a deeper cultural significance in these festivals.”

Wonwoo pointedly ignores him, voice getting higher and higher in pitch with each passing bout of hysteria. “I bet when Jeonghan finally snaps and moves onto a magazine or some shit, they’ll give the assistant editor position to some like… I don’t know. Hyemin.”

Jihoon’s eyes light up. “Hyemin is nice,” he says, in a dreamy voice. “She would do great.”

“But so would I, Jihoon,” Wonwoo says, his voice nearly cracking. “I just want to know how long it would take to actually see my goals… come true.” He can feel his nose tingle. Is he actually going to start crying? What the fuck.

“Wonwoo," Jihoon says strongly, leaning forward to grip Wonwoo’s upper arms. He opens his mouth.

Wonwoo jolts and stops, eagerly anticipating whatever wise or comforting words he’s about to say.

"Actually, I don’t know when you'll become editor. But I hope you get to soon. Also. I am slightly tipsy.”

Wonwoo stares at him; Jihoon looks like a tomato.

“You are more than slightly tipsy. You are red. Red as a tomato.”

Jihoon snorts, but then gives Wonwoo a big mischievous smile. “Hey! Tomatoes! Isn’t that—”

Wonwoo frowns, suddenly being reminded again of his assignment. “Yeah.”

“When do you leave?”

“Tomorrow, actually.” Wonwoo pours out the last bits of the soju into his and Jihoon’s glasses, protesting when Jihoon picks up his glass before he’s even done pouring. “But not for that one. That one’s the week after next.”

“It sounds like, like… like fun,” Jihoon slurs, having just downed the two last shots in succession. He stares down at the half-eaten plate of meat in front of him. “Wonwoo, I can’t eat anymore. I’ll die.”

“You fucking lightweight,” Wonwoo scowls at Jihoon, as if he himself weren’t already halfway to drunk either. “You’re just going to make me finish this all by myself?”

“Mmmm.” Jihoon starts dozing lightly on the table, his face missing the grill by a mere three inches. “Bye.”

Wonwoo sighs. Ever since Jihoon’s started dating the Korean-American photographer girl he met at the freelance bureau, he’s been a changed man. Wonwoo’s not exactly sure if he likes it. Biting his lip, he flips off the grill’s switch, and picks off the pieces of meat one by one until he’s running to the bathroom to divest his whole dinner down the drain.

—-

Despite the early morning that had him scrambling towards Cheongnyangni Station at the ungodly hour of half past 6 and the pounding headache that had continued to plague him almost from the time he opened his eyes, he finds himself calm.

The train to Gangneung is a little crowded since it’s the first day of one of the most important festivals in Korea, but his years of slipping through the tiniest spaces to get to a story nets him an empty two-seat near the back of one car. Wonwoo puts on his sunglasses and sighs, grateful; he presses his fingers to his temples in the hopes that it would be able to physically stop the hammer in his head from swinging against his cranium and closes his eyes.

Eventually, his hangover does die down a little, mostly due to the copious little sips of water he takes in between winces. He crosses his arms and watches the scenery rush past him, slowly transitioning from the tight urban spaces to more generously placed tenements. The little ball of displeasure lodged in his chest ever since he was given this assignment loosens, just a little. Like Jihoon said, there was no point in complaining. He’s always been a hard worker, and always perceived roadblocks as challenges to be overcome. Besides, if Ms. Park liked his work, maybe she could put in a good word for him with the chief.

An image of a large brass plate rises in his head, shiny and new. Jeon Wonwoo. Assistant Editor. National News Division.

He almost shudders with delight. Yeah, he’s going to write the best fucking summer festival feature the Standard had ever seen, and no one was going to stop him.

Already feeling more settled than he has been since Monday, he leans back against the head rest, the resolution calming his disposition and lulling him into a stupor that was slowly easing into slumber.

“Hey, um, is this seat taken?”

Wonwoo jerks, almost growling at the sudden disturbance; he restrains himself, however, instead pressing the bridge of his shades back up his nose while stealing a glance at the interloper.

It’s another guy, who looks more or less about his age. His black hair hangs over his eyes, clearly still wet, and he’s dragging a duffel bag behind him in the narrow aisle, blocking the way. His eyes are wide, pleading, because there’s a few older men coming up behind him in the queue, and they would most certainly be making a few choice remarks about him holding everyone up if Wonwoo didn’t take his jacket off the seat in approximately five seconds.

“Please?”

Wonwoo sits up before the first ahjussi harrumphs in their direction. Tugging his coat onto his lap instead, he nudges to the other end of his seat, close to the window, so that the guy could sink gratefully into the now-empty space next to him. He runs a hand through his hair, before shoving his duffel bag under the seat in front of him. The camera around his neck, a fancy DSLR model that Wonwoo recognized was similar to Jihoon’s own Canon that he’d fiddled around with in the past, follows suit. Wonwoo’s eyes widen at how cavalierly he handles the expensive equipment, and his mouth opens, intent on fully expressing his disdain when he stops.

Now, Jeon Wonwoo fancies himself a writer. A damn good one. One who knows when to use his words sparingly to deliver hard facts, or when to use them to reach out to an audience, to elicit sympathy, remorse, guilt, even pride. At the end of the day, when it comes right down to it, he likes to think of himself as someone who knows how to say things the way they should be said.

But nothing prepares him for how much this guy’s smile renders him speechless.

(Wonwoo swears up and down that it’s because he’s never seen anyone smile so genuinely at just before 7 am, a close-lipped grin showing just a hint of straight white teeth, but wide enough to push his eyes into tiny curves that sit high on the crests of his full, round cheeks. His brain, however, knows the truth.)

“Hi,” the guy tells him, inclining his head low to express just how thankful he is that Wonwoo's given up his jacket’s seat for him. He looks up again, tossing his hair back a little so that it’s not in his eye so much, all while maintaining the cutest smile Wonwoo has ever seen on a human being. “I’m Kwon Soonyoung. Thanks for saving me from all that. Did not want to deal with yelling this early.”

“Um, I-yeah. No problem.” Wonwoo frowns at how the words stumble out of his mouth, like he’s confused at how they didn’t sound the way they did when he thought them in his head. Soonyoung tilts his head at him, curious; his eyes thin even more as his cheeks bunch up with delight, his smile growing wider. “It’s fine.”

“Got a name?”

“Wonwoo,” he replies hastily, almost abruptly. He sticks a hand out, hoping with all his heart that the shade on his sunglasses was dark enough to hide how his eyes had widened. “It’s Jeon Wonwoo.”

His hand gets shaken energetically. This guy must be a morning person. Wonwoo suppresses a shudder.

“Nice to meet you, Wonwoo. Guess we’ll be seat buddies for awhile.”

“Are you,” Wonwoo clears his throat, fiddling with the ends of his sleeves. “Are you heading all the way to Gangneung then?”

“Yes sir. All the way to the end of the line,” Soonyoung makes a little whooshing sound with his hand, pointing to the front end of the train.

Wonwoo blinks. “Um, me too.”

Soonyoung chuckles. “You’re one of those ‘can’t-operate-without-caffeine-before-9-am’ people, aren’t you Wonwoo?”

“More like I’m one of those ‘can’t-be-assed-to-move-before-9-am-unless-I-have-to’ people,” Wonwoo replies, but the tips of his mouth tilt upward in appreciation of Soonyoung’s enthusiasm. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Soonyoung says, shrugging.

“So,” Wonwoo starts when an awkward pause creeps up between them. “Are you going to the festival?”

“Yeah,” Soonyoung answers. His eyes brighten up. “Are you?”

When Wonwoo nods, he turns to him fully. “Cool. Have you been before?”

“No,” Wonwoo says, shaking his head. Soonyoung’s enthusiasm is making the tips of his mouth tug upward involuntarily. He tries to bite his lip and hide it. “Have you?”

Soonyoung shrugs. “Me neither. But I’ve heard a lot about this festival. It’s pretty neat.” He leans forward, perches his chin on his palm.

“Really? How so?”

“I grew up in Namyangju, so farming? Big thing for us.”

He says it so sincerely that Wonwoo laughs, deep and delighted. “Oh I see. I’ve heard about you Namyangju farming juggernauts. Nothing you can’t plant.”

“Exactly,” Soonyoung says; he’s smiling again, eyes dancing with mirth. “You should hear how they rhapsodize about our strawberries.”

“I’m sure you can tell me.” Wonwoo doesn’t remember ever being fascinated with the way someone used their hands when they talked but Soonyoung is making a case for it to be the first thing he’ll notice in a guy next.

Wonwoo finds it easy to talk to Soonyoung, or rather, to listen to Soonyoung talk to him; he’s segued into talking about his memories growing up and planting various farm produce and raising chickens. Strangers on a train, Wonwoo thinks, are the easiest people to tell your life stories to, and it’s probably something Soonyoung thinks to himself as well.

Although, looking at the way Soonyoung smiled… maybe Wonwoo doesn’t want to be strangers for very long.

Despite Soonyoung’s best efforts, the lack of sleep catches up to Wonwoo, and he stifles a yawn behind the back of his palm while Soonyoung is asking him if he grew anything back home in Changwon.

“Shit, am I boring you?”

“No, no, not at all!” Wonwoo says, raising both hands up in reassurance. “You’re great. You’re… really great.” Soonyoung tilts his head, a little bashful at the sudden compliment. “I just… I didn’t catch a lot of sleep last night. And I’m also recovering from copious amounts of soju.” Something about Soonyoung makes Wonwoo want to be just as honest with him as he’s been with Wonwoo.

Soonyoung nods knowingly. “You should get some rest then.” He gives Wonwoo one of those really big smiles again. “It’s cool! I can entertain myself. You just go ahead and sleep and I’ll make sure no one bugs you.”

By this time, he’s unearthed a pair of earphones from the depths of one of his jeans pockets, and he’s plugged it into his iPhone. Giving Wonwoo one last smile, he turns to scroll through his phone for an appropriate train travelling playlist, leaving Wonwoo to shrug and curl into himself, hoping to catch at least half an hour of sleep before arriving at Gangneung.

—-

Dano wouldn’t be for a few more days, but Wonwoo wants to get to Gangneung to observe the preparations for the opening of the festival right before the opening parade that evening. Already designated by UNESCO as an intangible heritage, the festival was supposed to be celebrated in honor of the fifth day of the 5th month of the lunar calendar, which was said to be the day when the sun’s power would be the strongest. Most of modern Korea had already forwent the celebration of this day, which also supposedly marked the end of the summer harvest, but not Gangneung.

Gangneung celebrated the heck out of it, and Wonwoo has to admit that he respects that.

The Gangneung Danoje festival was one of the most important festivals in South Korea; from dawn to dusk there would be masked dramas, shaman rituals, event displays and games, all of which harkened back to traditions passed on from generation to generation from the Joseon Dynasty and even before that.

Despite his initial misgivings about the assignment, Wonwoo admits that he looks forward to seeing the centuries-old techniques and prayers. As a creature of duty and habit, there were many things that Wonwoo held close to his heart, and at the top of that list was tradition. He had the utmost respect for the preservation of things, of the way things were; there’s very little he dislikes more than chucking out the old and bringing in the new just for the sake of having something new.

Jihoon mocks him all the time. You useless fucking romantic, he’s been told, every so often. Wonwoo scoffs. Jihoon doesn’t get it. It’s not a romantic tic, it’s a principle.

Wonwoo awakens when the train pulls into the station one stop before his. Trying to blink away the feeling of cotton padding his cranium, he pulls his shades away from his face to rub the sleep out of his eyes. He hates the stale feeling in his mouth and instantly yearns for the warmth and comforting sweetness of instant coffee.

It’s only after he puts his sunglasses into a side compartment in his backpack that he realizes he’s alone.

He peeks at the seat in front of him. No duffel bag. Nothing on the seat.

He must have found another seat and left. Wonwoo sinks into his seat a little at the realization that he'll probably never see Soonyoung again.

Not that I choose to care... particularly.

He frowns at himself, shakes his head. Whatever. He had a job to do. He untangles his arms from the jacket in his lap and plops it again onto the seat next to him.

“Sorry, Wonwoo,” a familiar voice says. “I’m always asking your jacket to get out of its seat for me.”

Wonwoo looks up and it’s Soonyoung, smiling that same adorable smile, albeit a little sheepishly this time.

“You’re… you’re still here,” Wonwoo says dumbly. He blinks up at him, feeling a little naked without his sunglasses, but hastens to move his jacket back into his lap when Soonyoung remains standing awkwardly next to the seat.

“Yeah, I just went to the bathroom,” Soonyoung explains. He points to the overhead compartment. “I stuffed my bag up here so that it wouldn’t get in anyone’s way.”

“That… that makes sense.”

He smiles at Wonwoo again, and Wonwoo thinks he should stop looking so cute every time it happens.

“You have to stop looking that cute,” Wonwoo mutters under his breath.

“Sorry?”

“Nothing, nothing.”

“Cool,” Soonyoung says, grinning. “Um, I was wondering… so where are you staying?” At Wonwoo’s surprised expression, Soonyoung stops and raises his hands, laughing nervously.

“Sorry, I guess that does come across as kind of creepy. You don’t need to tell me. I just thought, maybe, I could see you around.” He suddenly stops, eyes widening at how that sounds. “Like, in a friendly way! Not like that. Unless, I mean, do you?” Soonyoung lowers his head, peers up through his eyelashes at Wonwoo, almost hopefully.

Wonwoo is 80% sure he’s blushing by now, but he’s not going to put his hands up to feel his cheeks to check, not while Soonyoung’s looking at him all wide-eyed and curious. “I—”

“Anyway, moving on,” Soonyoung says, hastily. “Oh look, we’re here.”

Sure enough, the train’s pulled into the station. All around them, people are starting to stand and pull on their belongings, like travelers do. Wonwoo figures he should pick up the backpack he's stashed underneath his seat and make his way up to the crowd waiting for the doors to open, but Soonyoung's still sitting and looking at him like he wants to continue the conversation.

"I, uh," Wonwoo begins again, and he's really annoyed at how bad he is at starting conversations with Soonyoung so far--it’s always been the other who had to get the ball rolling between them. "I need to--" He gestures at the door, like he's trying to convey things more with his actions than his words. It's a frustrating state of being, for a writer of things.

Soonyoung's eyes widen, before he stands up all of a sudden, bowing slightly as Wonwoo shuffles past him hastily, jacket and backpack gathered in his arms. "Of course, yeah. Sorry! Bye... I’ll see you around?" There's pink spreading across his cheeks, and there's a part of Wonwoo that would love to stay behind and explore the reason behind it, but visions of an office with a window (even though their view of the Seoul skyline is pretty shitty, to be honest) has him hopping out of the train and hurrying to get through the turnstiles without giving Soonyoung an answer.

(He looks over his shoulder, once, just before he exits the station.)

—-

It’s not like he’s never covered special events before. He’s been through every single kind of assignment in his five or so years of working at the Standard, and even more when he was interning summers at smaller publications. In all those years, he’s gleaned that people treat reporters differently from the way they treated writers. Reporters have no obligation to anything but the facts; the more objectively one could record the occurrence of events, the better.

Feature writers, he can respect, depending on the day. What they write run the gamut from in-depth hard hitting human interest pieces to barely-rewritten puff pieces just rearranged from the press kits handed to them. He has no interest in pretending that he has anything in common with the latter, other than the fact that they produce stories for a living. He finds it hard to believe that anyone would waste a solid journalism or creative writing degree on work that’s barely their own.

Even worse, Wonwoo knows that most of them were only interested in being swayed and persuaded by firms and agencies into releasing their positively-spun PR-approved pre-written articles for a couple of complementary cards and gift certificates to various restaurants and establishments around the city. Wonwoo sneers; those hacks called them gifts, but he thinks of them more as professional bribes. No self-respecting writer would ever get caught writing something good because he was obliged to, on account of having accepted ‘gifts’, instead of what was the truth.

Wonwoo thinks these things while he’s wandering around the festival grounds, looking for the registration table to get his media pass. He’s stashed his backpack in the hotel the Standard had so kindly procured for him to stay at the two nights he’ll be spending in Gangneung to observe the festivities. Restless, he sticks his fingers into his pockets, the thin cotton long sleeves he’d changed into earlier still no match for the piercing summer sun.

He scowls, pushing the sleeves up his forearms in an effort to increase self-ventilation. Although he prefers the heat to the cold, he’s still no fan of the intense waves of heat pummeling the quaint seaside city. Not even the sweet ocean breezes were a match for a Korean summer at just past noon.

He wonders if he’ll run into Soonyoung somewhere. After all, he did say he was here for the festival.

If I see Soonyoung, I’ll take a dumb fucking chance and ask him out, Wonwoo promises himself.

He’s not a huge fatalist but he’ll make sure to think some thoughts to send Soonyoung his way when he observes the shaman rituals later. Just in case.

When he spots the white tent where a handful of people carrying cameras were huddled under, he almost cries from relief. That has to be it, right? He jogs over to them as quickly as he can, hoping desperately there was a drinks stand somewhere near it. The air was rich with the smell of newly-cut grass; a block over at the Nanjang Market, truckloads of merchants were unloading and getting ready to sell the goods they had prepared.

He lines up behind a pair who were dressed up to the nines and, he gladly notes, were already sweating through their makeup. He snorts, and disguises the sound with a little cough. Serves them right.

Likely they were society bloggers or something. He shudders. Don’t even get him started on bloggers--pseudo-celebrities with wide social circles of influence and hangers-on who wrote flighty little blurbs and got more reads than painfully constructed articles he and his colleagues worked their butts off.

Jihoon had told him once that he was probably just jealous and Wonwoo had scoffed. At least he actually had a career and a degree to his name. When a new blogger came in, old bloggers always faded away into the background, because what else did they have other than a website? Readers, especially in Korea, were always looking for the new big thing.

“It’s the reality of their situation,” Wonwoo told a disinterested Jihoon during one of their very rare smoke breaks on their building rooftop, probably during their first year of being at the Standard. “They’re at the mercy of their audience. Now journalism… journalism will always have an audience. News will never go out of fashion.”

Jihoon had shrugged then. “If you say so.”

Wonwoo blew smoke in his direction. “Says the photographer.”

“I do say so,” Jihoon retorted. He bumped Wonwoo companiably. “I’m just here listening to you gripe because I have nothing else to do and you’re my only friend.”

“Loser,” Wonwoo quipped, laughing as he exhaled and threw his stub into the planter they were standing next to. “Come on, then.”

Wonwoo shakes his head as he sees someone gesturing for him to go to the front; he marches up to the registration table, sighing as he comes into the blessed shade. “Jeon Wonwoo? From the Seoul Standard.”

The girl at the desk frowns and immediately he realizes he’s at the line designated as “blogs/websites”.

“Isn’t that a newspaper?”

“Of course it is,” Wonwoo retorts, a little appalled that she has to clarify. “One of the top three newspapers in the city, I might add.”

She rolls her eyes; Wonwoo only forgives her because she looks like she doesn’t want to be there as much as him. “This is the line for bloggers and website writers.” She gestures to her left, at the farthest line that appears thankfully short from where Wonwoo’s standing. “That’s the line for print media. You’d think you guys of all people could be good readers.”

Indignation flows through him, white-hot and uncomfortable. “Fine,” Wonwoo snaps. “Who wants to be labelled as a blogger anyway? They’re not even real writers. Why they even need to be in the same place as the media tent, I will never know.”

He whirls around, angry, and comes face-to-face with a familiar-looking face.

“Wonwoo.”

“Soonyoung?”

The face that greets him is devoid of the bright sunny smile he’d remembered from this morning; instead, his expression is one of a dawning displeasure.

“Did you really say those things?”

Wonwoo has no idea what to say. “Uhhh…” is his well-informed reply.

“Not a real writer huh? Is that why you were in such a hurry to run away from me this morning?” Soonyoung asks him, something akin to hurt coloring his tone. “You suddenly figured out I was here as a blogger?”

Wonwoo is staring at him, unsure how to respond. Specifically, he’s staring at the large media pass on his neck, with the large ‘blogger’ written on it.

“N-no, that’s not it,” Wonwoo says, but he’s still a little taken aback at Soonyoung being a writer just like him.

Well, not exactly like me... says the annoying voice in his head.

Soonyoung tugs him out of the line before they cause even more of a hold-up, smiling charmingly and bowing at the people behind the registration table in apology for Wonwoo’s rude behavior.

“I had no idea you were even a blogger,” Wonwoo blurts out as soon as Soonyoung looks at him again. “If I had known…”

“What?” His eyes harden at Wonwoo’s words, and Wonwoo thinks maybe he’s not doing this explaining thing very well. “Are you saying you wouldn’t have flirted with me if you knew I was a blogger?”

“I was not flirting with you,” Wonwoo hisses, voice low and panicked. Soonyoung has his arms crossed over his chest, the beginnings of a pout on his face; it’s really distracting Wonwoo. “I just, I just wasn’t expecting you to be a writer.”

That must have been a terrible thing to say, because Soonyoung looks absolutely livid by now. “What does a writer even look like, Wonwoo? Like you, skinny and tall with glasses thick enough so that you can look down on the rest of us with crystal clarity?”

Wonwoo holds his hands up, even if he doesn’t exactly disagree. “That’s not what I said! Don’t put words in my mouth!”

Soonyoung barrels on, fury painting every word that comes out of his mouth. “You’re one of those pretentious types who went to those fancy pants colleges aren’t you?”

“If by that you mean a journalist with a degree and a job at a newspaper then yes,” Wonwoo spits back, affronted that someone who didn’t even have journalism experience could stand there and criticize his education like it was something that was wrong about him. “I am one of those pretentious journalist types.” He puts his hands up and does air quotes, as if to emphasize how ridiculous Soonyoung sounds.

An ugly sneer spreads across Soonyoung’s face, and Wonwoo can’t help but think it looks so unwelcome and foreign on him. Granted, he’s only known Soonyoung for a few hours but still. He hadn’t hoped to see that kind of expression on him the next time he’d run into him. He’d hoped for something more along the lines of him gazing adoringly up at Wonwoo.

Well, so much for that idea, Wonwoo thinks to himself as Soonyoung’s ears burn red.

“I’ll have you know that my food blog has probably had more readers in the past month than your newspaper has subscribers!” Soonyoung hisses.

“Oh my god, you don’t even have one of those blogs that talk about people with real stories,” Wonwoo explodes in retaliation, throwing his hands up, aghast that he’s being lectured to by someone who wrote about restaurants, for goodness’ sake. “You run a food blog--a food blog! Do you even have any credibility outside of your stomach?”

Soonyoung turns red, and he visibly swallows. Wonwoo realizes their verbal jabs have the unintended effect of hurting each other’s feelings and the anger inside him abates a little. “Fuck, Soonyoung--I’m…”

“Nope,” Soonyoung throws his hands up and turns his face away. The breeze is picking up by now despite the heat, and the whole situation has goosebumps starting to prickle up Wonwoo’s arms. “Don’t say anything more. You obviously feel very strongly about this.”

He glares at Wonwoo with finality. “Good luck with your award-winning journalist piece, Wonwoo. I’d ask you to wish me luck on mine but you obviously think very little about my credibility. I hope we stay out of each other’s way for the rest of your visit.”

Soonyoung stomps away, almost primly, and Wonwoo would have laughed if laughing wouldn’t make him look and feel like a straight up asshole. He feels perhaps that’s the last time he’ll ever be seeing Soonyoung. His stomach twists a little at the thought; a tiny part of him is sad, wishes that he’d spent more time committing Soonyoung’s smile to memory had he had the ability to foresee the future.

Sighing, he ignores the dirty looks the other freelance bloggers are sending him, and frowns all the way to the end of the tent where the other members of the print media are getting their credentials.

Chapter Text

Wonwoo had thought after Soonyoung had exploded at him and stomped away, that that would be the last time he’d ever see him.

On the contrary, Wonwoo becomes hyper-aware of his presence over the next two days because for some strange reason, they seem to have the exact same festival itinerary.

He curses the organizers of the festival internally for augmenting the discomfort he’s already feeling.

Every time he shows up to an activity, he sees Soonyoung somewhere in the crowd on the opposite side, cheerfully watching and taking down a copious amount of notes until he sees Wonwoo, and then a sullen stony glare takes over for the rest of the time until the schedule for the festival concludes.

The same thing happens when he goes from a shaman ritual to a traditional masked dance display to an intercultural exchange that has him scratching his head because of all the places to see French folk dancing, he doesn’t expect to see it at Gangneung. But it’s an interesting concept that he appreciates in its context and despite Soonyoung shooting daggers at him whenever they cross paths, Wonwoo tries to enjoy the festival activities for what they represent.

The opening parade was beautiful, and it almost made him forget about the unfortunate incident with Soonyoung, although it rises in his mind every time he runs into him. He had munched on Surichi rice cakes while dozens, maybe even hundreds, of costumed locals celebrated and honored the traditions of each village through marching and dancing in the streets.

From there, Wonwoo flits from one place to another, particularly enjoying the treats from the market. It’s the biggest market in Korea and it’s only open during the Danoje Festival, so Wonwoo is glad to experience it at least once in his lifetime. He marvels at the intricate and handmade wares of the residents and tries everything new to his palate at least once.

He thinks about participating in the ssireum games, but hesitates, not wanting to give Soonyoung an opportunity to march up against him and wrestle him into the ground just to prove his superiority.

(Also, he’s not 100% sure he wouldn’t enjoy the experience--Jihoon always said he was a masochist at heart.)

Wonwoo doesn’t always talk to Jihoon while he’s on assignment because he likes to keep his focus on the tasks at hand, but he reasons that because it’s just a feature, he thinks he can spend his evenings in the hotel room venting.

To: Jihoon
From: Wonwoo
I saw Soonyoung again at the shaman ritual activity
How do I end up in these situations, Jihoonie?
I was going to ask him out but now he hates me.

From: Jihoon
To: Wonwoo
LMAO
Serves you right. Told you you were being a snob.

To: Jihoon
From: Wonwoo
Fuck off.
He almost accidentally drowned me when I had my head down a ceremonial metal bucket having my hair washed with iris water.

From: Jihoon
To: Wonwoo
I wish I knew the guy so I could ask him why he didn’t push through with the whole thing.
Shame.

To: Jihoon
From: Wonwoo
Again. Fuck off.

From: Jihoon
To: Wonwoo
So when do you get back?

To: Jihoon
From: Wonwoo
I’m leaving for home tomorrow morning. Jeonghan’s asked me to finish that article on the reunification implications that I’ve only just outlined.
Can we have soju when I get back before I head to Gwangju?

From: Jihoon
To: Wonwoo
Sure. Dumbass.

To: Jihoon
From: Wonwoo
I love you too, dickhead.

—-

“You have got to be kidding me.”

It takes a train and a bus to get all the way to Toechon, and by the time Wonwoo is trudging into the hotel, it’s almost noon and he’s exhausted. He drags himself and his belongings up to the front desk to check-in, and barely listens to the enumeration of the hotel’s scant amenities before he takes the keys leading to his room and resists the temptation to lean against the cool metal doors of the hotel elevator lest he fall asleep and miss his stop, or worse, he faceplants in front of some unsuspecting stranger when the doors to his floor open.

When the doors open up to the 5th floor, however, Wonwoo thinks perhaps the option to faceplant is less awkward than what greets him—five feet and eight inches of disdain, with a moue that Wonwoo thinks would border on adorable had he gotten at least five more hours of shut eye. The expression in the dark eyes, though. That was unmistakably icy.

It’s Soonyoung, because of course it is, how could it not be Soonyoung?

“Please just let me collapse in peace,” Wonwoo pleads in a monotone, really not in the mood to be subjected to the other’s fury, no matter how warranted. He’s gotten approximately 4 hours of sleep in the past three days, and unlike his trip to Gangneung, the bus had been full of stops and starts, jolting him awake every time he even managed to close his eyes. “You can continue hating me later after you let me pass.”

Soonyoung furrows his brow, the irritation in his eyes abating slightly. “What’s wrong with you?”

Wonwoo’s ears quirk at the slight concern in his voice, but he just shrugs in reply. “Just haven’t gotten much sleep.” It’s true—the deadline he was chasing coming back from Gangneung was particularly brutal and he had to pull two straight all-nighters to even be remotely pleased with his output. Still, he’d given it to Jeonghan the day before just as the paper was being put to bed, and Jeonghan had been so pleased he’d told Wonwoo to take the rest of the day off, which just meant he and Jihoon had more time to drink and build up an even bigger hangover headache.

Honestly, Wonwoo thinks, he should really stop drinking with Jihoon because they’re both really bad at it. He’d spent most of the time ranting about how wrong Soonyoung was, calling him stuck-up.

(“This feels like déjà vu,” Jihoon had told him, cheeks pink and mouth shiny with grease. “This is literally the second time someone called you an intellectual snob in the space of a week. You would think someone as smart as you would get the hint.”

Wonwoo’s response was two very choice words.)

Soonyoung leans against the door he had just exited, before suddenly re-asserting his stubborn expression. “The weight of true journalism weighing you down?”

Wonwoo doesn’t want to deign that with a direct answer, necessarily. He sighs and leans against the wall opposite to where Soonyoung’s standing. “You left Gangneung early too?”

“Just the other day,” Soonyoung replies, shrugging. “I got what I needed already anyway. Not that you would care.”

Wonwoo rolls his eyes, patience wearing thin. “I’m not getting into this right now.”

Soonyoung pushes off the wall, huffy. “Please, you started this.”

“What are you, twelve? God,” Wonwoo says, incredulously. He rolls his eyes as Soonyoung sneers at him before marching off to the elevator. The thought of sharing a floor with him for the next two days makes the migraine in Wonwoo’s head strike a little harder. Groaning at the pain, he stumbles to a room further down the hall that matches the number on the keycard in his hand. He shoves his keycard into the door and breathes in the cool breeze coming from the centralized air-conditioning unit.

He flops onto the bed, not even bothering to climb underneath the covers, eyelids growing heavier with every passing second. He pulls out his phone to set an alarm for three hours later, before succumbing to the bone-deep exhaustion.

—-

In retrospect, Wonwoo thinks he should have expected it.

Perhaps he was too exhausted going from the bus station to the hotel, but he’d completely missed the smell of ripe tomatoes in the air. As soon as he steps out into the streets, however, his nose told him where to go.

By the time Wonwoo makes it out to the festival grounds, it’s red everywhere, and not just because the late afternoon sun was beginning its descent into the horizon. There’s signs of tomatoes in any place where a thing could be set—ripe tomatoes on tables, in food, as decoration, and even as flooring, as pulp peeked through the little tufts of grass. Everywhere, kids were running around with streaks of red on their shirts, and seeds stuck on their faces.

Clearly, Wonwoo had underestimated how seriously Toecheon took this festival.

“Excuse me,” Wonwoo says, a wide berth between him and a group of friends who were laughing and poking at each other’s tomato juice-soaked clothes. He’d read up on the various food quirks of each festival and this was, by far, the most unconventional. Then again, it was a festival to celebrate a fruit (or a vegetable, depending on who you were talking to). Maybe quirk was inherent in in the classification.

Wonwoo veers into the safer zone of recreational activities based on the tomato, and away from the tomato and water pool. Fortunately, he’d already gotten his media credentials from the festival representative at the hotel, so he could just wander around freely, taking note of points of interest to include in his article outline.

His mouth turns up with amusement as he spots a small crowd gathered around a stage, where participants were each trying to remove a tomato from a sizable block of ice. Intrigued, he stays, watching their progress until he finds himself rooting for one of the contestants methodically chiseling towards his goal.

He raises his fist in solidarity as the contestant narrowly claims first place ahead of everyone else, beating the person next to him by only a few seconds. “Nice one,” Wonwoo murmurs to himself, clapping.

“Close fight, huh?”

Wonwoo lifts his head and meets warm deep brown eyes. “You saw that, huh?” He raises his shoulders sheepishly, caught.

The other guy grins widely, delicate features crinkling delightedly. “You were so into it, it was cute!” A camera and a set of media credentials hang around the guy’s neck, and a quick glance tells Wonwoo he’s speaking to Wen Junhui of “Nibbles and Sticks”. Wonwoo tries not to let his face betray him and schools his expression. Another blogger. “I would have taken a picture, to be honest.”

Wonwoo winces, scratches the back of his head. “I’m grateful you didn’t, actually.”

“Nonsense,” Junhui replies, the slightest of accents weighing on his syllables. “I’m sure we’d get tons of hits on our article with a picture of a guy as cute as you on it.” Junhui smiles at him, almost cheesily. “I’m Junhui.”

“I figured,” Wonwoo replies. He narrows his eyes at him. “Are you trying to flirt with me?”

Junhui laughs, a little melody dancing out of his mouth. “If you have to ask, that means I’m not doing very well.” He peers closely at the ID around his neck. “Jeon Wonwoo. Besides, no, I am not. I am very happily already attached. I’m just here to admire your begrudging joy at observing an ice picking contest.”

Wonwoo pretends to scowl, although in truth he finds Junhui rather easy to talk to. “It was exciting, okay?”

“I’m sure it was,” Junhui nods soberly. A light seems to go off in his head. “If you’re looking for someone to flirt with, though, my writing partner is single, cute and available. You are into guys, right? I mean, I just assumed, what with you thinking I was flirting with you and not being grossed out by it.”

“No! I mean, yes, but no,” Wonwoo shakes his hand at Junhui, trying to explain. “I mean, no, I am not interested in flirting with anyone right now,” he tries to say, looking Junhui in the eye.

Junhui just smiles, giggling a little. “Ah, that’s such a shame. He’s been in a bad mood all week, I’m sure he would have appreciated the distraction.”

I’ve never been reduced to a distraction in my life; I’m not sure I like it. Wonwoo looks at Junhui with dead eyes. “I’m sure you can find another guy around here for him to be distracted by.”

The other shrugs, dark honey-blonde hair bouncing softly in the early evening breeze that’s thankfully picking up. “Cute boys are slim pickings at tomato festivals, apparently.” He picks up his camera, flicks through his recent pictures. “Though I’m sure that’s not exactly what you’re here to cover.” He starts to walk off, and he tilts his head at Wonwoo companionably, wordlessly asking him to walk with him.

Walk with him, Wonwoo does. The crowd around the stage has begun to thin, as activities start to die down and close for the day. Wonwoo realizes that most of his observation work would have to start tomorrow, and he makes a promise to himself to wake up early to make up for all of today’s lost time. In the meantime, however, his stomach reminds him he’s yet to eat anything other than the sweet bread he’d stuffed into himself on the train.

“Where are you going?” Wonwoo asks Junhui, hoping someone from a place called ‘Nibbles and Sticks’ would be heading towards a location with plenty of food. “Do you know where we can get some food?”

“I’m heading to the eating area now. I told my writing partner I’d meet him there, and I’m sure he’ll be happy to point out the best things to eat around here,” Junhui says, giving him a big grin. “Are you hungry?”

“A little.” Wonwoo tries to cough over his stomach’s growling noises.

“Good. Hoshi’s pretty good at the whole writing about food thing, but me? I’m just here to take pictures. It’s a fun side job that keeps the debt seekers at bay.”

“So this isn’t all you do?”

“This?” Junhui snorts. “God, no. This is more of a friend’s passion project that I just ended up helping out with. We both have other jobs.”

“Do you take good pictures? My friend’s always looking for people to work with at the Seoul Standard.”

Junhui wrinkles his nose. “Does this mean taking pictures of dead bodies? Because no thanks.”

“No!” Yes, actually. “I mean, okay, sometimes, but it’s still pretty prestigious to get a photo byline in our newspaper.”

“The Seoul Standard’s one of the only few things I read in print nowadays,” Junhui says out-loud, as if musing; he lifts his eyes from his camera for the first time in awhile. “Such a good balance of human interest pieces and accurate news reporting—”

“Thank you,” Wonwoo says emphatically. “That’s exactly what I think too.”

“But my favorite part’s the comics section. Park Kijung-ssi writes the funniest storylines, and he’s a great artist too,” Junhui concludes. He smiles at Wonwoo brightly.

Wonwoo blinks at him. “You’re a real renaissance guy, aren’t you, Junhui?” he says in a dry voice.

The other goes back to his camera, laughing. “I do try. But yeah, maybe one day I’ll take you up on that offer.”

The smell of spaghetti and stews strengthens with every step they make towards another enclosed area, and Wonwoo almost staggers. “Ugh, it smells so good,” he groans, not even disguising how he’s clutching his stomach by now. “Is your friend Hoshi there already?”

Junhui is still perusing his shots of the day. “Mmm, yeah, he should be by the entrance. He’ll help you pick what to eat. He’s better at the whole actual food thing than I am.”

Wonwoo looks up and frowns automatically. “Ugh, just great.” He’d thought that his luck from last time had held out and that he’d successfully avoided Soonyoung for most of the day but apparently Lady Luck had abandoned him one more time today.

“What’s wrong?” Junhui asks him, but he’s still distracted.

“Nothing,” Wonwoo replies sullenly; maybe if he’s really quiet he and Junhui can creep past Soonyoung and meet this Hoshi person inside instead. “Let’s hurry.”

Unfortunately, God really hates him.

Soonyoung’s eyes meet Wonwoo’s and they both glare at each other with mutual distaste. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to eat, which is what people do at places like these,” Wonwoo retorts. He crosses his arms over his chest. “So just, I don’t know, glare at me from an appreciable distance. I want to enjoy my food.”

“Wait a second,” Junhui pipes up from somewhere behind him. “You two know each other?”

Wonwoo watches Soonyoung spot Junhui from behind him. “Junnie, why are you with this dick?”

“Who are you calling a dick?” Wonwoo cries, affronted. Soonyoung gives him a sarcastic look, as if the answer were apparent and Wonwoo was just dumb.

Junhui looks back and forth between them, before nodding sagely. “Ah. I see.” He clears his throat. “In an effort to clarify things, Wonwoo, this is Hoshi. My writing partner. And it appears you are the, and I quote, ‘stuffy pompous jackass’ who’s managed to have him in a snit all week long.” He smiles at Wonwoo brilliantly. “It really is great to meet you, I’ve heard quite a lot.”

That’s when Wonwoo realizes God doesn’t just hate him, he absolutely despises him with every fiber of his omnipresent being.

—-

Wonwoo wakes up early, the sky still light purple and the sun still a whisper of a promise. He steps into the shower, winces at the ice cold water that sputters out of the shower head before it mellows and transitions into something hotter and sharper. He sticks his head under the water and lets the temperature wake him, coaxing him into full consciousness almost ten minutes later.

He hits the hotel breakfast buffet just before seven, scarfing down his fill before going back up and opening his laptop to his article outline. He researches on Naver before he pulls up a document to make some preliminary observations about the location and the areas, but notes that he will need to do a lot more scouting before his segment on the Toecheon Tomato Festival would even be half as interesting as the one on the Danoje Festival. He vows to keep focused on the festival from now on, and only the festival.

(And nothing else, especially not the image of Soonyoung’s little scowl that he’s come to appreciate putting on his face. He is nothing if not a masochist, to be honest. It comes from being friends with Jihoon.)

It’s a little past ten by the time he’s done with his reading and writing, so he takes all of his things and walks briskly to the festival area, grateful that he’d already studied the map that morning and more or less knows his way around the exhibits now. He can just go through a quick cycle of the exhibits, taking note of which ones actually talked about the healthy benefits of incorporating the tomato more in the daily Korean diet and which ones just crafted fun activities around the tomato, like the tomato pool thing that he had no inclination of going into at all, even if it was limited to elementary school aged kids. It’s a good plan, one that Wonwoo intends to stick to.

He heads over to the activity center where most of the games are already starting for the day. He bypasses the one where people are mixing tomato sauce and spaghetti with their hands (he makes a mental note to not eat the dish any time today) and zeroes in on the one where people are searching for gold in and among the tomatoes.

Wonwoo watches as the first group step ups to a fresh batch of tomatoes and plunge their arms into the cartons, squealing as their fingers squeeze and squish among the produce, the juice coloring their elbows in deep red. He smiles to himself as a little girl laughs as her dad takes a bunch of tomatoes and puts them into her hands, larger hands helping her press them together to make them almost explode in her palms.

He’s about to walk away when he spots a familiar duo near the end of the line. He grits his teeth and tries to ignore them, but his ears perk up at the sound of Soonyoung giggling when he tells Junhui that he’s tired and can they switch places already?

“Just a few more pictures, Soonyoungie,” Junhui coos, and he makes approving noises at how adorable Soonyoung looks on camera. Wonwoo scowls a little.

He’s not that cute.

He watches as Soonyoung scrunches up his nose and whines at Junhui about how itchy it is. “I’m going to go crazy Junnie, please scratch it for me.”

“I am not touching your nose, Soonyoung, not while I’m holding onto my camera; you have sunscreen all over it.”

Soonyoung starts jumping in his place, arms still outstretched, juice dripping off the edges of his fingers and elbows. “Junnie,” his voice climbing decibels. He looks so much younger now, pouting at his friend. “Be my best friend in the whole world.”

Wonwoo shakes his head, trying to hide his small smile of amusement as Junhui heaves a giant sigh, as if mightily put upon, and puts down his camera to use his index finger to scratch the spot on his nose that Soonyoung has scrunched up.

Okay, maybe he is just a little bit cute. He still has an awful personality though.

“Oh, look. It’s Wonwoo. Wonwoo!”

He is jerked out of his reverie and sees with horror that Junhui is waving his hand around, looking straight at him, with Soonyoung glaring right next to him, tomato juice now smeared across his t-shirt.

Trying to look like he hasn’t been watching them for the past few minutes, Wonwoo raises one hand to wave briskly in return, hoping this will be enough to satisfy Junhui.

Of course, it isn’t.

Wonwoo watches in horror as Junhui leaves Soonyoung’s side to bound up next to him. “Good morning! You haven’t tried this yet, right? You should!”

Looking at Junhui, with a frame equally as wiry as Wonwoo’s, he doesn’t look like he has the upper body strength to manhandle anyone just as tall as him (if not a few centimeters taller, Wonwoo does say so himself). And yet here he is, dragging Wonwoo from where he’s standing, safe and distant, to a spot next to an irate-looking Soonyoung.

He glares back at Soonyoung, as if trying to convey that he feels exactly the same at finding himself right next to him.

From behind, he feels someone plucking his notebook and pen from his hands. “What the—”

“You don’t want to get tomato juice on your writing instruments, am I right, Soonyoung?” Junhui sounds awfully chipper, like he’s trying to pull something. “Tomato is hard to get out of paper!”

Wonwoo yelps as his arms get shoved into the gooey pool of tomatoes that’s rapidly becoming less solid and more gushy. It’s an uncomfortable feeling, and since they’d been in the sun for awhile now, the juices that have just started to stain the edges of his (white) shirt sleeves feel lukewarm and mushy in between his fingers. “Holy fuck—Junhui!”

“Language, Wonwoo, there are kids around,” Junhui mock gasps, but it ends on a titter of a laugh. He pats Wonwoo’s and Soonyoung’s shoulders, squeezes them tightly together, before letting go and stepping back, presumably to resume taking pictures.

“You might as well just let him have his fun,” Soonyoung mutters from next to him. Wonwoo glances at him; Soonyoung seems to have continued the purpose of submerging his hands in the carton of produce.

“Is there really gold in here?”

“Supposedly,” Soonyoung replies. He exhales through his mouth. “It’s one of the festival’s most popular activities.” He looks like the last thing he wants to do is be polite to Wonwoo but it’s taking too much out of him to think of something mean to say at the moment.

All of a sudden, Wonwoo is tired of trading barbs. If Soonyoung is doing stories on the festivals, which he had gleaned from Junhui chatting his ear off last night as Wonwoo was trying to find the nearest exit from the food plaza, then they’re bound to run into each other at least once in the future. He doesn’t want to have to tiptoe around whether or not he’ll be seeing either Soonyoung or Junhui at the next coming festivals; not only does he want this summer to pass quickly, he wants it to pass uneventfully. He wants to be fully focused on the article he will be writing at the end of the July, and not on anything else.

Which is why he decides to take matters into his own hands.

“Hey Soonyoung, can’t we, I dunno,” Wonwoo begins tentatively; Soonyoung stops scrounging around and stands still, waiting for him to continue, but doesn’t lift his head up just yet. “Call a truce?”

Soonyoung turns to him, mouth pursed, and Wonwoo tries very hard not to soften under his direct gaze. “And what does calling a truce mean?”

Wonwoo stops. He lifts his hands, eyeing the mush slipping through the spaces in his fingers warily. “I guess it means no more calling each other out on what each person does, even if we don’t really see eye to eye about everything. I mean, it’s clear that we have different kinds of experiences doing what we do.”

“And?”

“And what?” Wonwoo sees something darkening in Soonyoung’s eyes and he’s completely at a loss at where it’s coming from. “I’ll keep whatever things I think about your hobby to myself, and you keep whatever things you think about me to yourself. So we can be civil the next time we run into each other.”

To say that Wonwoo doesn’t expect what happens next is an understatement. Here he is, being the bigger person and taking the first step towards peace instead of whatever strange war of words he and Soonyoung are wielding against each other. He’s doing this for both of their own good, and so that maybe Junhui stops trying to play a strange kind of peacemaker between them. He expects Soonyoung to nod, give him a small smile and concur that this is the best course of action for the both of them.

What he doesn’t expect is Soonyoung taking a huge handful of tomato muck and dumping it on his head.

Wonwoo’s jaw drops and he freezes in shock. He can feel every drip of tomato muck sliding down and into his head of hair, warm and slow and distinctly uncomfortably, until gravity pulls it down, over his scalp, to run rivulets down the sides of his face, under his chin, to trail down under the collar of his shirt. He stares as small spots of faint red bloom on his shirt, the tomato juice cheerfully being absorbed in and through the fabric. He’s so startled, he can’t talk or move; he just stands there as Soonyoung continues to glare at him, before shaking his hands free of tomato residue and marching away from the scene of the exhibit.

“Oh my goodness,” one of the volunteers gasps as she runs up to him. “Sir? Sir, are you okay?”

He turns to her, jaw still open, about to ask if this actually really happened to him when he hears the familiar click and whirr of a camera being snapped.

This is the worst festival ever, Wonwoo thinks to himself, before he takes a slow turn towards the sound.

Junhui is biting his bottom lip, trying desperately not to look like he’s holding laughter in. “Um, I think he needs a towel,” he tells the volunteer, before he turns back to Wonwoo, sighing and shaking his head. “You are really bad at this, Wonwoo,” he says remorsefully.

“But hey, bright side! I heard tomatoes are good for the skin.”

He claps Wonwoo’s shoulder once before turning to walk out of the area.

Chapter Text

When Wonwoo gets home from Gwangju, the first thing he does is deposit his dirty laundry in the hamper and keep his things, stashing his backpack in his closet. The second thing he does is make a cup of tea.

The third and most important thing he does is pull up his laptop and look up Soonyoung’s blog.

“Let’s see what you have for me, Nibbles and Sticks,” he mutters, completely aware that this situation has reduced him to holding conversations with himself. Something in the corner of his eye twitches when he sees Soonyoung’s cheerful face in the upper corner of the website, but he simply clears his throat and clicks on the first blog post available, which turns out to be the third in a series.

When he looks up from the computer, eyes strained and itchy from overuse, he’s surprised to see that four hours had already passed. He frowns to himself, not exactly sure how he feels about getting so immersed in Soonyoung’s blog that he’s about to miss dinner.

But immersed he was. Is, even. Soonyoung has a way with words—a way that’s very direct and engaging and incredibly readable. The aesthetic of the blog walks a tightrope between fun and professional, and he thinks it suits Soonyoung and Junhui very well. The way Soonyoung describes food and the cultural experiences associated with them, though, has Wonwoo more curious about dishes written about by the end of each blog entry than Wonwoo’s ever been stuffing it down his throat. The pictures taken by Junhui that come along with the articles help in that regard, bright and vivid and looking so palatable that it’s Wonwoo’s stomach acting up that reminds him that he’s not eaten yet and that he’s about four pages deep into Soonyoung’s article archive, but in the end he keeps going back to the words.

It’s not that he’s unhappy that he found out that Soonyoung’s a good writer. On the contrary, he’s told himself that Soonyoung is probably really good, because you’d have to have some degree of popularity and likeability to be able to garner a reputation that publicity teams want to have on their side. But after having read pages and pages of Soonyoung’s words, he’s surprised by how much he just enjoys reading him. The words he uses aren’t deep or philosophical or anything, but they’re just as engaging to Wonwoo as any Pulitzer prize-winning novel.

(Maybe it’s because when his eyes run over each character in each entry he clicks open, he hears Soonyoung’s voice in his head, thrilled, fascinated, mirthful, just like when they first met. If Wonwoo concentrates hard enough, he can even see the sparkle in Soonyoung’s eyes.)

He shakes his head and gets up from his seat. He grabs the jacket hanging on the hook just by the door and shrugs it on, having suddenly developed an impulsive hankering for samgyetang after reading the fifth part of the Nibbles and Sticks feature series on quintessentially Korean food.

He’s not usually this malleable but who is he to argue against his gut? What his stomach wants, his stomach gets. The sooner he finds a place to eat, the sooner he can read more of Soonyoung’s blog.

(If only everything else was as simple.)

---

This would either be a stroke of brilliance, or the worst idea ever. Wonwoo’s not sure yet.

Still, he finds it funny that the person who could make or break it turns out to be Jihoon.

“Tell me again how you know Junhui?” Wonwoo asks Jihoon while they sit in of the booths at a bar near their office, where Junhui told Jihoon he would meet them.

Jihoon raises his eyebrow, before perusing the drinks menu the waitress left on their table. “He’s a professional photographer in this city, ergo, he’s part of the bureau.” He looks at Wonwoo, unimpressed. “You’re usually much smarter than this.”

Wonwoo crosses his arms and scowls, sinking deeper into his seat. “Shut up,” is his witty retort. Jihoon snorts and giggles. “I mean, I didn’t know Junhui was a professional and that you were friends through the bureau.”

“Oh yeah,” Jihoon says thoughtfully. He whips out his phone and types a few words in. “He freelances for the Seoul City Beat sometimes, especially for civic events. We don’t hang out, but we’re decent enough colleagues during functions.” He hands over his phone, and Wonwoo looks through the page Jihoon leaves on his screen thoughtfully. It’s a series of photos taken of the elderly citizens working at libraries and mailrooms, and Wonwoo is impressed at how the photographer captured the strength and dignity in the lines of each face.

“This is his work?”

“Yup, every single one!” says a new voice.

Both Jihoon and Wonwoo nearly jump out of their seats, Wonwoo suppressing the tiniest squeak. Junhui is leaning over them both, hair slicked out of his eyes, feline features pulled into a mischievous grin. “That was two years ago though, and I’ve gotten better.”

He slides into the booth next to Jihoon, and beams at him. “Hello Jihoonie. Long time no see.”

“Wen,” Jihoon says in a deadpan manner, but Wonwoo sees the tips of his mouth twitch upwards, betraying his friend’s fondness for the other.

“So, what can I do for you both?” Junhui says cheerily, before he looks straight at Wonwoo for the last part of his statement. “Did you get all the tomato out of your hair?”

The quip makes Jihoon choke just a little, and Wonwoo thinks he deserves it. “Yes, thanks. Or rather, no thanks to you.”

Junhui raises both eyebrows at this, holding his hand over his breastbone as if in complete shock. “Me? I was trying to help you woo him!”

Scarlet bleaches Wonwoo’s cheeks. “I don’t--who sai--I don’t intend to woo anyone, especially not Soonyoung! There will be no wooing!”

Wonwoo’s spluttering brings a delighted smile onto Junhui’s face. “The blush on your face says otherwise, my friend,” he purrs.

“You are looking a little red,” Jihoon adds, his hand in the air, his eyes flicking between Wonwoo and the location of the nearest waitress. When she comes over, Jihoon’s eyes are wide with enthusiasm. “We’ll have three bottles of soju.”

“What, what, no! Who said we are?!” Wonwoo’s almost apoplectic by now, red splotches appearing all over his neck. “We’re just here to talk!”

“Considering Junnie just got here, he’s already pushing your buttons so hard you can’t even talk in your regular pitch,” Jihoon rationalizes. He pats Wonwoo’s hand patronizingly. “There, there. You need this.”

Wonwoo really does not.

“So what can I do for you? Do you want me to tell you exactly what Soonyoung thinks of you?”

“No,” Wonwoo says, firmly.

“Sure,” Jihoon also says, interestedly.

Wonwoo pulls back and glares at him. Jihoon smiles back at him, amused.

“You guys are cute,” Junhui says, chortling. “I wasn’t going to, but I just wanted to check. You said you wanted to talk, so let’s do that. Talk.”

It’s seven bottles of soju later when Junhui perches his head on the pads of his palms and blinks blearily at the two of them, smile drawing a squiggly line across his face. “You guys are really… really sweet to reach out to me… For Soonyoung.”

“I am not--I am--I am only a spectator in this whole business, Wen Junhui,” Jihoon warbles, index finger jabbing into the squishy side of Junhui’s cheek with as much conviction as he can muster. “This is all Jeon Wonwoo’s doing. This is his mess and I am just here to watch.”

“I can’t feel my thumbs,” is Wonwoo’s contribution to the conversation; he’s draped over his side of the booth, staring incredulously at his fingers, slowly clenching and unclenching them just to prove they’re still connected to his palms.

“It’s nice to know you’re not a total dickhead,” Junhui says, in a lighthearted tone. “I was worried when Soonyoung told me about the things you said. About what he does. I’m glad you want to apologize now, and make everything good between you two.”

Thumbs forgotten, Wonwoo pouts and stares darkly at the remains of the clear liquid in his shot glass. “I didn’t mean it like that. He misunderstood what I meant that… that time in Toecheon especially. I was really tired and uncomfortable.”

“He told me you thought all bloggers were bad and unworthy.”

Wonwoo winces at his words being paraphrased so succinctly. “I admit it’s wrong to generalize, but I’ve not had the most favorable opinion on bloggers because of the ones I’ve been exposed to.”

“Are you saying that Soonyoung’s a different kind of blogger?” Junhui gasps, eyes sparkly with sentiment. “He will love that. I think you should lead with that when you apologize to him in Buyeo. I almost wish I were there to see it.”

Soonyoung’s a different kind of everything, Wonwoo can’t help but think, but he’s not telling Junhui that. That something, he’s keeping to himself for now.

—-

Wonwoo is usually a sucker for a good story, but he can’t help but be distracted.

He’s sitting in one of the media briefings while the main organizer describes the legends surrounding the Buyeo Seodong Summer Festival, an annual festival that celebrated and sought to promote the preservation of the lotus flower. He’d gotten to Buyeo the night before instead of that morning, so he’d managed to get settled early enough. He received his credentials as soon as he’d checked into the hotel last night, so when he’d arrived at the event area early this morning, he’d been able to slip in and get a seat near the back before everyone else arrived.

Wonwoo fiddles with the ID around his neck with the word ‘PRESS’ on it in giant letters, doing his best not to jump every time the door opens and someone shuffles in unobtrusively, trying not to disturb the speaker at the front who was relaying the historical relevance of Buyeo and its responsibility to spearhead certain cultural preservation efforts of the country. He cranes his neck at every new arrival, angling his head and attempting to be discreet about being on the lookout for Soonyoung but anyone who sees him will know that he’s on the lookout for someone, that someone being Soonyoung.

He takes out his phone to text Jihoon.

To: Jihoon
From: Wonwoo
He’s not here yet.
What if he doesn’t show up?
Junhui said that they invited him.

From: Jihoon
To: Wonwoo
Then you will have to live with your pretentious ass being wrong for the rest of your life.
Also you sound really pathetic.

He frowns down at his phone. Jihoon sucks, honestly; he should get other friends.

The door slams shut once again, and Wonwoo is too busy trying to figure out a witty reply to Jihoon to notice that it’s Soonyoung who has finally arrived (alone, without Junhui in tow, as Junhui had told him merrily a few days back during their impromptu soju bonding session) and that the only seat left is the one right in front of him, which he currently has his arms draped over.

“Hey.”

“Hey!”

“Wonwoo!” Wonwoo realizes that the hissing is being made in his general direction when he almost jolts at the sound of his name. He looks up and sees Soonyoung’s slightly red face. His efforts in trying to get Wonwoo to let go of the seat he is clutching has many looking behind them or towards the back, and the attention is making Soonyoung blush.

Wonwoo lets go of the chair immediately, a “sorry” bubbling out of his mouth. Soonyoung sinks into the chair with a frown, bowing apologetically around him in the nearly full briefing room. He sends Wonwoo a tiny scowl, as if it was his fault he came in twenty minutes late.

Something prickles at the back of Wonwoo’s head, and he opens his mouth to retort, when the speaker begins talking about Gungnamji Pond, the oldest artificial man-made lake in Korea, and some famous lotus varieties growing on it during the summer.

He bites his lip. Calm down, Wonwoo, he tells himself. He’s still pissed at you, and if you say anything more, this will end up like what happened in Toecheon.

He shudders internally, before leaning back. He still can’t get the red stains out of his jeans.

When the organizer finally wishes them a good time and everyone starts getting up to shuffle out of the room or grab a quick smoke before heading out to see the different exhibits and displays, Wonwoo taps Soonyoung’s shoulder and jerks his head a little, as if asking to see him to the side. Soonyoung narrows his eyes at the wordless act, but follows him out the door anyway.

Outside, the air is humid and heavy, but the sun beats down hard at the back of their necks. They wince together; the July summer sun isn’t the most pleasant of sensations, and Wonwoo is grateful he remembered to put sunblock on, even though the stickiness is picked at mercilessly by the humidity. Already he sees fellow members of the press putting large lotus leaves on their head, which had been given out just outside the room. He supposes that means that rain would soon be breaking through the heady summer heat and monsoon season would be upon them. Wonwoo bows at one of the volunteers passing them out and wordlessly gives one to Soonyoung, before getting another one.

“Thanks,” Soonyoung says; he sounds slightly suspicious now, as if waiting for Wonwoo’s other shoe to drop.

“So…” Wonwoo tries to start it off casually. “Are you by yourself here? Where’s Junhui?” As if he doesn’t already know.

Soonyoung shrugs. “He had a previous engagement he couldn’t get out of. Meeting the parents of the guy he’s dating. He’s really bummed out he’s missing this one though. He’s always wanted to go to Buyeo.” He suddenly stops, and Wonwoo feels like he realizes he’s being almost friendly with him. “Hey. What gives?”

“Hmm?” Wonwoo says, feigning innocence with wide eyes. Soonyoung looks absurdly adorable with a lotus leaf on his head, and if he didn’t think he would bolt, Wonwoo would tug the brim lower over his eyes just to watch him splutter. “What do you mean?”

Soonyoung stops now, crosses his arms over his chest. He looks a little like a distressed hamster. Wonwoo has to stop relating him to cute things otherwise nothing would get done on his end. “You’re behaving weirdly. Like, all peculiar.”

“Oh, peculiar,” Wonwoo says lightly, testing out a little teasing tone. “I see.”

Soonyoung scowls immediately. “Don’t mock me, I’m not dumb.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Wonwoo says, trying not to sigh. “Maybe not everything I say should be taken the wrong way huh?”

Surprise crosses Soonyoung’s expression, but his eyes remain guarded. “Maybe you should prove that I can trust that you don’t mean whatever you say meanly.”

“Ah, understandable,” Wonwoo says. He buries his hands in his pockets and turns to look at Soonyoung. “Well. I guess I should start.”

“Please.” Soonyoung still hasn’t moved from the spot where he stopped in protest at Wonwoo’s suspicious behavior.

Slowly, Wonwoo walks back to him. He schools his face into a serious expression, that’s seriously tested because every step he takes towards Soonyoung has his eyes widening almost imperceptibly. Wonwoo catches it, though, and it makes him want to smile, and rub his stomach to stem the butterflies from fluttering too aggressively.

“I guess, I think I know what you dumped those tomatoes on my head,” Wonwoo starts off, deliberately choosing words that are the most neutral, trying not to get too ahead of himself. He wishes he were as fluid with words as Soonyoung was.

(That’s something he’d never thought he’d say, but after consuming most of Soonyoung’s blog’s contents, it’s something he truly believes.

“I can’t believe you’re going to try to woo a guy by telling him you like his internet scribblings,” Jihoon had said the afternoon before they’d met Junhui for drinks. Wonwoo threw a book at his head—paperback, he wasn’t a total monster—because who said anything about wooing? He’s just going to make things right between them, that’s all.

Jihoon hoots over his shoulder when he catches Wonwoo checking his phone because an alert about a new post pinged while they were together. “You’re so smitten and you don’t even realize it,” he cackles. “It’s honestly great. It’ll give me all the opportunity to get back at you for all those times you ragged me for getting together with Yejin-noona.”

Wonwoo just narrows his eyes at him.)

“Oh, do you now? I’m glad you could take a hint that you were being rude.” Sarcasm sounds foreign in Soonyoung’s friendly voice, and Wonwoo can tell he’s hesitant, that he doesn’t fall back on it like the jaded individuals more along Wonwoo’s ilk. No, sincerity and enthusiasm are the tools Soonyoung uses to engage the world; his earnest words about how he thinks it’s important to always appreciate traditional cooking even when urban places in Korea are getting more and more fascinated with foreign cuisine. He doesn’t think he’s ever thought about food the way Soonyoung does, but now he’ll never consider a quick round of chimaek without thinking about how it’s become a globalized sensation, which Soonyoung discussed thoughtfully and thoroughly in an entry a few months back.

Wonwoo looks at Soonyoung now, right in front of him, and he thinks about how many words of his he’s digested in the past few days, and he feels chastised and small for ever thinking the person in front of him was somehow less than him, when he’s certainly captured much more attention than any of Wonwoo’s works have captured anyone else’s, a fact that Wonwoo had difficulty admitting when he first realized it but is something he acknowledges nonetheless.

“I was telling you last time that we should call a truce and not talk about what we think about each other’s work.” The leafy string under Wonwoo’s chin tying the lotus leaf hat in place is itchy as it digs deeper into his skin the more he talks. He raises his hand to adjust the hat, securing it better in place. “When actually, I should have been apologizing.”

Soonyoung’s whole face is still set carefully, but at Wonwoo’s words, his eyebrows shoot up in surprise, then soften almost immediately, and Wonwoo thinks, man, he’s such an idiot for holding that back when he knew, deep down, that that was all it took.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Wonwoo says, nodding almost eagerly. His hands reach out, almost itching for something—he’s not exactly sure what—and his fingers clench over air just before they grip Soonyoung’s elbows. “I, uh, I’m really sorry. For saying that.”

“Saying what?”

Wonwoo grits his teeth. “For saying that bloggers aren’t real writers.” He sighs. “That’s not true at all.”

“But that’s still how you think, right?” Soonyoung shifts his stance a little, tilting his head. “Just because you’re sorry doesn’t mean you don’t think that way anymore.”

Oops. Caught there. Wonwoo shrugs. “I’m a stubborn asshole, and if I think something, there’s a reason for that.” He places his hands on his hips, and honestly, if Jihoon were standing there right now, he’d be taking a fuckload of pictures of him with his hips cocked, lotus leaf on his head. “I’ve been around a lot of people for a long time, including people who write on blogs who come to these events.”

“I’ve seen good sides, but I’ve also seen really terrible behavior, stuff that really makes me upset. I know you think I’m some pompous career journalist who just cares about his work but I really—I really take my job seriously, including the code of ethics it follows.” Wonwoo’s rambling now, and someone really ought to tell him to stop, but Soonyoung is just listening to him talk, camera dangling over his stomach, fingers tucked into his elbows, a neutral expression on his face now.

“And I’m sorry, but I can’t stop thinking that about some people who do what you do, but I’m sorry for thinking that you might be one of them.”

Soonyoung’s whole face softens then. His shoulders lower, as if no longer so tense, and he starts nibbling at his bottom lip.

“I’m sorry for all the things I said, but to be fair… you also overreacted.”

Soonyoung opens his mouth, probably to argue with that last statement Wonwoo said, but he shuts it again to think.

“Okay, you got me. I’m sorry I overreacted and put words in your mouth. And for calling you a lot of names.”

Wonwoo exhales gratefully, a slow smile spreading across his face. “That’s okay.” He bows a little at Soonyoung, hoping it conveys what he wants—a clean slate. “It’s all forgot—wait. When did you call me names?”

Red dusts across Soonyoung’s cheeks again. “I forgot I didn’t say them in your presence.”

Wonwoo’s eyebrow quirks but he holds his hand out anyway. “Alright, fine, whatever. Truce? A real one, this time.”

Soonyoung considers and blows out his cheeks, looking for all intents and purposes like a blowfish; it takes everything inside Wonwoo not to poke his cheeks with both hands.

After awhile, he lets out a sigh and a small smile. “Okay. Deal. Truce.”

They shake hands, and Wonwoo tries to tamp down the tiny thrill he gets in feeling Soonyoung’s smooth palm against his.

Get a fucking grip, Jeon, he tells himself. You want to be friends, not sleep with the guy.

He ignores the cheeky little voice in his head that begs to differ.

“Okay,” Soonyoung says, dropping Wonwoo’s hand and stepping back awkwardly, fingers wrapping around the straps of his backpack instead. “So, uh, have you been here before?”

“Me? No,” Wonwoo says. He places his hands inside his pants pockets, ignoring the itch in his palms. “But I heard good things about this place.”

“Oh really? From where?”

“The briefing,” Wonwoo answers with a straight face, and it gets him a laugh and a real, genuine smile. He tries not to be a cliché but he really does think Soonyoung’s smile is a thing, a thing he really really likes seeing.

“Well, of course they’d say that,” Soonyoung says after his laugh dies down. “That’s their job.”

“Well, apparently there’s a really interesting set of displays just over there,” Wonwoo says, pointing to where the crowds were gathering. “Where we can get lotus tea and paint fans and make lotus flower soaps, or something.”

“Cool, that sounds interesting, I’m a little hungry,” Soonyoung says, rubbing his stomach to get his point across. He starts to walk faster, leaving Wonwoo behind just a little.

Before Wonwoo can even blink and process, Soonyoung stops and turns around. “Want to walk around here together?” He gives Wonwoo a tiny smile, one that’s tentative and unsure, but it’s there. “I heard that these festivals are more fun when you don’t do them alone.”

Wonwoo knows a lifeline when he sees one. “Sure.” He tries not to stumble and embarrass himself as he hastens his pace to keep up with Soonyoung’s. “I can do that.”

Chapter Text

“That’s it?”

Wonwoo is busy throwing things into a new duffel bag because he’d just gotten his laundry back from his trip to Buyeo that day after having arrived just two days ago, and he’s getting ready to leave again for Boryeong in the morning.

There’s a change though; Jihoon is assigned to him as a photographer since apparently he’d requested it while Wonwoo was away at Buyeo and he’d managed to convince the editor-in-chief that it’d be more interesting to have photos aside from the photographs contained in the event kits given by each organizer at the same time as credentials.

Honestly, it’s a waste of company funds, I don’t need anyone to go with me to these things, Wonwoo had argued over Facetime a few days ago, but the supplements editor had insisted, and Jihoon’s smug face at the end of the phone call told Wonwoo that he had lost this battle.

So now Jihoon is lying on Wonwoo’s bed, waiting for Wonwoo to finish packing so that they can leave early in the morning to head for Boryeong, to the biggest annual summer festival held in Korea—the Boryeong Mud Festival.

Wonwoo isn’t really looking forward to it, to be honest—he’s had enough of diving into things humans aren’t supposed to dive into, from tomatoes to mud—but Soonyoung had told him he’d be heading there after and, well, he might be a little eager to see him again.

He pinks, remembering how he’d run up to Soonyoung to get his number before he’d left Buyeo for Seoul. He tried to look nonchalant about it but he thinks maybe the stuttering gave him away.

(It’s a little stupid, being his age and having a schoolyard crush on the bright boy-next-door, but Wonwoo thinks he’s been a serious kid ever since he hit puberty and that maybe, just maybe, he’s entitled to a little light-hearted flirting now and again.)

“What do you mean, that’s it?” Wonwoo says, grunting as he stuffs another extra shirt into his bag. A mud festival sounds like just the place to bring an extra bit of everything. “I told you everything.”

“Mmmm, no,” Jihoon disagrees lightly. He’s tossing a football over his head mindlessly, already bored with whatever updates his social media accounts had brought him earlier; Yejin being on an assignment abroad also meant that there would be no correspondence with her until morning. Which meant Wonwoo had to entertain his friend with whatever happened between him and Blogger Boy in Buyeo. “You were practically incommunicado until you were on your way back from Buyeo, which meant you had nothing to complain about.”

He hates how well Jihoon knows him. “Maybe I was just busy, you know, covering the festival.”

Jihoon snorts. “Please, they’re lotus flowers. What more could they do for you, sing? Dance? I mean, I think they should be getting far more PR if they actually did all that.”

Wonwoo rolls his eyes.

“I take it this means your apology was taken well?”

“Ummm,” Wonwoo hums, and he doesn’t know what to say, really.

(He thinks about the past few days, about how the ice between he and Soonyoung thawed slowly over the course of the festival schedule, how they watched different presentations on the stories of the Baekje and Goguryeo dynasties, how he listened while Soonyoung regaled him with stories about how lotus tea was made, how he watched as Soonyoung quietly and carefully took several hundreds of pictures of different lotus varieties, how they laughed over their incomprehensible souvenir fan paintings and how they walked through the acres and acres of festival grounds, both in pleasant silence and fervent conversation, knuckles brushing softly every time.

He thinks about how, during the last night before Soonyoung left, their shoulders knocked together when Soonyoung leaned over him, fascinated, eyes locked on the two actors portraying the legendary love story between King Mu and Princess Seonhwa, fingers trailing softly over Wonwoo’s.

He thinks about how he’d agonized about turning his palm over and entwining their fingers together, and how he was a whisper from doing it before Soonyoung leaned back in his seat again, moment past.)

“I think he took it okay. My apology, I mean.”

Jihoon stops tossing the ball, turns his head to survey the stubborn set of Wonwoo’s jaw and his hooded, thoughtful expression. Wonwoo feels him stare at him silently for a few beats before sighing, resigned. “Well, at least it won’t be weird when I’m there. I’d hate to have to watch you embarrass yourself.”

Wonwoo snorts, throws a pair of boxers in Jihoon’s direction. From Jihoon’s splutter of disgust, it must have landed on his head.

“You motherfu—oof!”

Jihoon’s curse is silenced when Wonwoo gleefully jumps into the bed next to him, distracting him (and himself, quite honestly) by sticking his fingers into Jihoon’s sides and going to town, knowing just how ticklish Jihoon gets.

“You’re a dead fucking man, Jeon Wonwoo, I swear to God!”

—-

He drags a still catatonic Jihoon to the bus station to grab a ride to Daecheon Beach and manages to get both of them to Boryeong without much fuss, except Jihoon almost snapping at a little boy about as tall as him when the latter had stepped on his foot hard. The look he’d sent him had the little boy nearly in tears; Jihoon just blinked aggressively before deciding to go back to sleep.

The sun is shining brightly, a last hurrah before the summer storms move in. Jihoon collapses onto the bed for a few more hours before the lunch briefing, but Wonwoo is sitting up in the other bed in the double hotel room they’re billeted in.

He pulls out his phone and, after checking to hear the light snoring from the curled up figure under the bundle of sheets in the other bed, taps out a few messages.

To: Soonyoung
From: Wonwoo
Hey! Are you in yet?
I am.
Or do you get in tomorrow? I’m sorry, I forgot.
Anyway. See you at the briefing?

Wonwoo winces as he reads over his last messages. Great. Now Soonyoung will think he’s a dope. He’s glad Jihoon isn’t awake to witness this ludicrous display.

He thrusts his phone underneath his pillow, as if to physically hide his shame. He stands up, nervous energy coursing through him. Is this how liking someone felt at his age? It sucked. 10/10 wouldn’t do again.

From: Soonyoung
To: Wonwoo
Haha!
[laughing with tears emoji]
I’m here already. See you at the briefing! Save me a seat.
[winking emoji]

The sudden knock almost makes him drop his phone (and definitely not the last message or emoji, definitely not that.)

Puzzled at who that could be, Wonwoo makes his way to the front and opens the door.

Junhui stands on the other side, huge grin on his face. He throws his arms open and gives Wonwoo an enthusiastic hug. “Finally!”

“What on earth are you doing here? How did you know where we were even staying?!”

“Jihoon texted me!” Junhui announces cheerfully. He pushes past Wonwoo and nudges the door closed from inside their room. “I’ve been waiting for you for awhile now. We’ve been here since last night.”

Wonwoo watches him skip past the bathroom and locate Jihoon underneath the blankets on one of the beds. “When was Jihoon even conscious enough to tell you our room number? I don’t think he’s opened his eyes since we’ve been in the hotel.”

A hand worms its way out from under the covers, middle finger held up in Wonwoo’s general direction.

“You’re such a ham, Wonwoo,” Junhui says warmly. “Soonyoung’s said that about you.”

Wonwoo’s ears perk up at the mention of Soonyoung’s name. “Really?”

“Jesus Christ,” Jihoon’s voice comes muffled from underneath the sheets. “Rein it in a little before you embarrass yourself.”

“Shut up, disembodied voice,” Wonwoo retorts.

Junhui laughs delightedly. “You guys are so much fun.” He picks himself up off the bed, shoving a little at Jihoon’s sheet-covered figure. He narrowly avoids getting kicked in the kneecap in retaliation. “Anyway, I was just stopping by and should be heading back soon. I just told Soonyoung I had questions for the front desk. We’re at 1206.”

Wonwoo nods casually, as if he wasn’t tucking that information into the handy little folder in his brain.

Junhui waves once before heading back out the door. “See you at the briefing!”

“Fuck, the briefing,” Jihoon mutters. “It’s too damn early to be briefed about anything.”

“You’re here for work, you know,” Wonwoo berates Jihoon playfully. “Besides, I never heard you complaining about the work hours when you were taking pictures at the edge of the Korean DMZ. Or that time you took photos of that Super Junior concert.”

“Nghtkjsdhfa,” is the sound that emanates from Jihoon’s prone form.

Warmth spreads across Wonwoo’s chest, the familiar fondness for his good friend settling the nerves in his stomach. “Come on, let’s go.”

If he’s eager to go down to the hotel conference room for the media briefing, well, that’s just because it’s an important cultural event and he wants to know all about it. That’s absolutely all there is to it.

“I hope this Soonyoung guy is worth it,” Jihoon mutters under his breath, before rolling out of bed. “Because this will be the last time I will ever chaperone your dates ever again.”

—-

“You,” Jihoon says flatly. “Are a disaster gay.”

“Shut up, I am not,” Wonwoo hisses. “Where did you even learn stuff like that?”

“Junhui,” Jihoon retorts. He’s fiddling with his camera, trying to tighten the strap even more so that it wouldn’t drop into one of the mud pools or the ocean. “That’s what he said when he saw your expression when Soonyoung sat next to me at the briefing because you were too busy being a wuss. And I completely agree with him.”

“I was not being a disaster,” Wonwoo insists. “I just… I just dragged Junhui down to sit next to me because people were starting to stare.”

Jihoon stares at him, as if he doesn’t believe that Wonwoo did not panic at all.

“What?”

“Whatever,” Jihoon says, deadpan.

“You both looked like you were getting along, though,” Wonwoo says lightly, trying not to look like he was prying. “What did you two talk about?”

“Oh,” Jihoon pauses. “He saw the Bruno Mars concert ticket I keep tucked in my case and said he was a big fan too. He dances, you know. That’s his main job.”

Wonwoo falls silent for awhile. Throughout the whole summer, he never thought about Soonyoung actually having a job aside from writing for his blog. “Really? That never came up with us.”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t start sulking.”

“For god’s sake, I am a grown man,” Wonwoo says, growling almost. “I do not sulk.”

“Listen, Wonwoo,” Jihoon starts. He stops in his tracks, places a hand on each of Wonwoo’s upper arms, which are well above his own shoulders. The fact that he doesn’t grimace over their notable height difference means he’s actually trying to get through Wonwoo’s thick, stubborn skull. “You just need to relax and be yourself with this guy. Because from what I see, you really like him. I’ve never seen you like this over anyone.”

Wonwoo doesn’t answer, choosing instead to frown. “Maybe he likes you.”

“Oh my god, shut up,” Jihoon says, and Wonwoo tries not to yelp when he’s shaken vigorously. “First of all, straight. Second of all, taken. Lastly, you are, unfortunately, my best friend, and I wouldn’t do that to you. Besides, he’s not interested in me.”

He looks at Wonwoo, who reddens immediately.

“You spent half an hour with the guy, how do you know he likes me?”

“I never said anything about him liking you, I just said he wasn’t interested in me,” Jihoon says, a smirk growing on his face. Wonwoo scowls even deeper; what did he do to deserve someone like Jihoon as a best friend? He could do a whole lot better.

“I hate you,” Wonwoo announces moodily. Jihoon ignores him and begins snapping test shots. He walks beside him, resisting the urge to look back and try to look for Junhui’s and Soonyoung’s figures. They had stayed behind to have lunch first. They’d looked to the two of them and Junhui was about to ask them to join them but Jihoon had suddenly said that he was in the mood to walk around the whole location just so he could get a gauge of what kind of photos he needed to take, and Wonwoo didn’t want to be stuck behind with the two of them, trying to eat the equivalent of his feelings in spaghetti bolognese.

He sticks his hands into his pockets and looks around instead, tucking away his juvenile anxieties for when he’s not supposed to be doing his job. He takes the pamphlet that the organizers had given out earlier at the briefing, surveying the contents. He grimaces. “So it’s really all… mud, huh?”

“It’s not just any mud,” Jihoon corrects him. “It’s very good mud.”

“You won’t be thinking it’s good when some kid splashes some onto your Canon lenses.”

Jihoon stiffens and Wonwoo almost crows delightedly. “Shut up, I know how to take care of my own equipment.”

“Imagine that. And you had just bought your new lens!”

He glares darkly at a still guffawing Wonwoo. “Just for that, I’m going to tell Soonyoung you almost peed your pants the first time you had to interview convicted murderers in prison.”

Wonwoo’s jaw drops. “You wouldn’t.”

Jihoon strides forward, ignoring Wonwoo completely. “Just watch me, pal.”

Wonwoo sighs. Being best friends with Jihoon meant a constant exercise in compromise.

“You know too much about me.”

Jihoon snickers, before he snaps a picture of Wonwoo, the tilt of his mouth betraying the fondness he felt for his closest friend. “Someone has to,” he says lightly, before elbowing Wonwoo in the gut. “Now let’s go find some corndogs. I’m starving.”

“You’re the one who didn’t want to stay for lunch,” Wonwoo points out, but he starts scanning the edges of the booths to look for the way to the concessionaires.

“I was looking out for your dumb ass. Watching you simper makes me lose my appetite.”

“I’m not that bad,” Wonwoo argues lightly.

“You’re not the one who has to watch.”

Wonwoo shrugs. “Point taken.” He slings a friendly arm around Jihoon’s shoulders, and they walk together in companionable silence.

—-

It’s still early in the afternoon but Wonwoo’s already exhausted from the humidity and the sheer amount of people. He’s not one to begrudge anyone of their mirth, and he notes appreciatively how the raucous and buoyant atmosphere from the festival goers, both local and foreign alike, really contributed to the overall festival feeling that pervaded every corner of the grounds but he’s really an introvert at heart, and this exposure to this much people over a prolonged period of time just wearies him in general.

(Truth be told, he’s been itching to find out where Soonyoung is, but he’s on such a roll taking notes half of the article is already written in his little writing pad.)

“Wonwoo! Hey Wonwoo!”

He looks up at the sound of his name, distracted from scribbling down various observations about the festival. Immediately, an arm takes his notepad and pencil, then snakes around his shoulders to bring him against a mildly cooler body.

“Oh my GOD,” Wonwoo reacts automatically, cringeing and desperately trying to get away from Junhui’s vice-like grip. “Holy fu—Junhui you are covered in mud—stop it!” The more Wonwoo tries to wiggle away from him, the more the gray, clay-like mud inches onto his black shirt.

“Now, Soonyoungie!”

Immediately hands reach around from behind him and smear something gooey along his cheeks. More dumb clay. Wonwoo is pretty positive that by the end of this summer his laundromat will accuse him of destroying their machines, the way he keeps using them to try to rid the variety of stains from his clothing. First tomato gunk, then paint, now mud? Honestly, they’re going to be filing a complaint soon.

He hears giggles from behind his right ear, and fingers settle around his neck, light and lithe. Heat races up the back of his neck, and he tries to crane his head to see just who it is that has him in their grip.

(Clearly, he knows who it is, so the next series of events is on him.)

In a few seconds, it becomes apparent that Wonwoo has overestimated his balancing ability, because he gets tangled up in the arms of the person behind him—it’s Soonyoung, because of course it’s Soonyoung—and he trips over his too long limbs and trips into Soonyoung’s figure.

Fortunately, for them both (and unfortunately, for Wonwoo’s laundromat), they’re right next to a pool with sides that came up to their shins. When Wonwoo stumbles right into Soonyoung’s arms, the added weight and the unexpected act surprises Soonyoung into stepping backwards right into the pool, which is padded enough to cushion his heel.

However, gravity is a selfish victor, and all of this is not enough for Soonyoung to keep them both upright.

(Junhui’s light push did not help anything either.)

“Aaaaaaaaaah!”

They both yell out in surprise, Soonyoung’s yelp higher in pitch but Wonwoo’s elongated to perfectly express his sheer horror. It’s too late though; when Wonwoo raises his head, gray is caking his vision. Already, he can feel something thick and cool seeping into his clothes and wrapping around his appendages. He doesn’t need to see his shorts and shirt to realize that they are completely covered in mud.

To his immediate right, he can hear a group of men and women squealing and laughing. From the sound of it, it sounds like they are too busy slipping and sliding and throwing mud around at each other to notice that two people had accidentally fallen into the pool with them.

It’s then that Wonwoo realizes that he’s practically lying on top of Soonyoung.

“Oh shit,” Wonwoo says all of a sudden; he tries to sit up but his palms give way and slide forward. He falls blindly, and he’s pretty sure he’s fully lying down on top of Soonyoung by now. “Hang on—wait—” He’s stammering now, the heat coming off his face in waves. “Sorry—”

“Wonwoo, calm down,” Soonyoung says.

Vision still obscured, Wonwoo turns to the sound of his voice and ends up hitting his head against Soonyoung’s.

“Ow!”

“Shit!”

“Wonwoo, stop moving before we injure ourselves,” Soonyoung says with a little huff that was half exasperation and half… amusement, maybe?

He does what Soonyoung says, and waits. He feels oddly vulnerable like this, glasses smeared and hands fisted in more of the gray substance.

(He is also trying desperately to ignore the feeling of Soonyoung underneath him, the slide of his body against his while they struggled to sit upright, the warmth beneath all of the cakey mud.)

“Junhui? Would you mind getting us a couple of towels over at the shed?”

“Got it,” Wonwoo hears Junhui’s voice somewhere behind him. “You okay Wonwoo? Sorry about… all this.”

“I’m… okay,” Wonwoo answers in a low voice, but he’s not even sure if Junhui hears his answer, because he’s basically incapable of seeing much of anything.

He inhales sharply when he feels Soonyoung’s fingertips dance up his neck; he tries not to shiver, even if the sun is beating hard against his shoulders. They glide over his cheeks, tracking lines of clay in their wake, walking up to his temples.

Honestly, Wonwoo’s struggling to breathe at the moment. The distant part of his brain tells him to stay in the present, but it feels like everything in the background’s faded into a low muted buzz.

He suppresses a shiver when he feels his glasses being pulled from his face. He blinks owlishly when they’re finally off, trying to clear his vision and have them adjust. Soonyoung gives him a small grin, lips pursed and lopsided. “Better?”

“Mmmm,” Wonwoo murmurs, squinting. Soonyoung has his glasses in his mud-free palm, and he’s peering up at Wonwoo with an amused expression. “So, nice day for a mud bath huh?”

Soonyoung shrugs sheepishly. “I must admit it was completely my idea to smear mud all over your face. Junhui was just my accomplice. It’s good for your skin, you know.”

“Haha,” Wonwoo lets out a faux chuckle, catching the reference. “Very devious plan. And now we’re covered in mud.”

“Yes, well, I didn’t count on you having the balance of a hippo,” Soonyoung says, teasing lightly.

“I usually have very good balance,” Wonwoo insists, lying through his teeth. He’s still lying half on top of Soonyoung during all this, the rest of the occupants of the mud bath seemingly committed to ignoring them. “You just surprised me, is all.”

“Sure, I figured,” Soonyoung says. He shrugs, good-natured. “You just looked so hot standing there.”

Wonwoo raises an eyebrow.

Soonyoung’s eyes widen. “I mean, warm. You looked warm. Because, you know. It’s hot.” Soonyoung scowls at him all of a sudden. “Don’t read into things.”

Wonwoo looks down at him and notices the pink at the edges of his ears, the defensive little stammer. It hits him like a brick, just then, that maybe his schoolboy crush isn’t so one-sided after all.

(Of course, Jihoon and Junhui would tell the both of them that they were both being oblivious as bats, but hindsight is always 20/20.)

“Can’t I?”

Now Soonyoung really turns red, and he sits up abruptly, pushing Wonwoo off. Trying not to get off balance, Wonwoo grabs at Soonyoung’s upper arms when he’s falling backwards, pulling him on top of him.

“Oof,” Soonyoung grunts, legs tangling with Wonwoo’s as he’s pulled into his lap. He tosses his mud-caked hair back, and Wonwoo looks up at him, slightly irritated with his hair pushed back, and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything more attractive in his life. He smothers a giggle, barely.

“What’s the big idea?” Soonyoung grouses. He shoves lightly at Wonwoo, glasses still clutched in his hand. “Now we’re even worse off.”

“Your hair just looks like the failed batch of yul-lan cookies you made that you wrote about last Christmas,” Wonwoo says, amused. He realizes just then that his hands, which had clutched at Soonyoung’s upper arms and pulled him with him backwards had settled now somewhere around Soonyoung’s hips. “Just really gray and crusty.”

Soonyoung narrows his eyes. “How did you know I wrote that last Christmas?”

Oh. Wonwoo realizes that he’s never told anyone save Jihoon just how much he’s read of Soonyoung’s blog.

“I, uh, I read it.”

Soonyoung sits back on his haunches now, slightly pulling out of Wonwoo’s grip; Wonwoo can’t help but feel a little ripple of sadness when his hands end up clutching at air. “You read a blog? My blog?”

“Yes?”

“And?”

Wonwoo isn’t sure how to tread now; Soonyoung’s schooled his expression into something neutral, waiting for him to speak. A part of him wants to step back and wrap old habits around himself, but another part of him that sounds annoyingly like Jihoon is daring him to be a little bolder, to be a little braver.

So he goes and does just that.

“I read a lot. I stopped at the entries from around December 2016 because I had to get food.”

Soonyoung’s eyes widen. “That’s almost my entire archive.”

“Is it?” (Wonwoo knows it is.)

His eyebrows furrow, and he’s genuinely confused. “Why would you do that?”

Wonwoo sighs. “Because I liked it. I liked reading your stuff.”

Soonyoung barks out a laugh. “You? Mr. Intellectual Journalist Man? Like my pedestrian, run-of-the-mill food blog? I find it hard to believe.”

A little annoyed, Wonwoo crosses his arms. “I thought we agreed to stop doing that.”

“I’m sorry,” Soonyoung replies, looking chastised. “But I just find it hard to believe that you would like anything I ever put out. It’s not exactly high brow.” He bows his head a little, shoulders slumping forward, and Wonwoo realizes that he’d not just hurt Soonyoung’s pride back in Gangneung. He’d genuinely hurt his feelings, and made him feel insecure about something he should have taken a lot of pride in. His heart clutches at having made a person as talented and as good as Soonyoung feel that way.

“Hey,” Wonwoo says softly. He inches forward, fingers reaching out to hold. They draw two lines across the curve of Soonyoung’s cheek, and get his attention. “I have read a lot of good stuff in all my years as a journalist, and a lot of people couldn’t hold a candle to what you have.” He takes a breath, before he reaches in again, thumb tracing the line of his cheekbone, painting a path. He rests his palm against Soonyoung’s cheek, waits for Soonyoung to smile and push it against his hand.

He doesn’t have to wait for long. “You mean that?” Soonyoung says softly.

Wonwoo gives him a big grin. “I’ve read practically all of Nibbles and Sticks’ articles. I know what I’m talking about.”

Even with his terrible eyesight, Wonwoo sees wetness well up in Soonyoung’s eyes. “Oh my—are you going to cry?”

“No, silly, mud got in my eye,” Soonyoung retorts, but his voice is more watery than normal. He pushes against Wonwoo in embarrassment. “You’re an idiot.”

“I tell you you’re the future poet laureate of South Korea, and I’m the idiot?” Wonwoo kids. He rubs his chest in faux agony. “I’m wounded, Kwon Soonyoung.”

“Shut up,” Soonyoung says, but he’s smiling now, pleased. He sighs, before standing up and extending a hand to Wonwoo, helping him get up. “Come on, I’ll race you to the beach. Last one has to pay for each other’s laundry bill.”

Wonwoo’s jaw drops as Soonyoung darts out and jogs towards the ocean, leaving him standing in the pool of mud, gray dripping off his khaki shorts and into his socks, which apparently he’s still wearing.

He’s still trying to get out of the pool when Junhui finally appears behind him, carrying around two huge beach towels. “Here, Wonwoo.” He looks around. “Hey, where’s Soonyoung?”

“At the beach. We’re supposed to be having some kind of race.”

“Oh,” Junhui says. He nudges Wonwoo. “Shouldn’t you be running then?”

It wouldn’t matter. Soonyoung’s already won.

Wonwoo bites back a smile, and gives Junhui a shrug. “I guess I should. I really guess I should.”

Chapter Text

Listen, to Wonwoo, there’s a difference between being creepy and coincidence. He has a sister; he knows all about creepy. He doesn’t care if he’s the younger brother, Seulgi, he can beat the crap out of guys who have weird fixations on her no matter how old they are now. He knows all about those boys who just happened to be in the neighborhood whenever they got home after Seulgi picked him up from school. They’re bad news, he’d tell her, and she’d just roll her eyes and tell him he was being overprotective.

So when he says he finds himself in the same area as Soonyoung’s dance studio after following up a lead on another assignment he’s writing in between festivals, he’s being honest.

(Yes, really, shut the fuck up Jihoon and Junhui.)

As it is, it’s nearly seven by the time he realizes this. He also realizes the coincidence because Soonyoung’s just texted him that he’s done with his teaching class already. He recalls Soonyoung mentioning where he worked during dinner at a hole in the wall eatery that served the best kalguksu Wonwoo’s had in recent memory and Wonwoo’s surprised to remember that it was just about a few short streets away from where he was right now.

Immediately he wonders if it’s a good idea to just show up and ask Soonyoung to eat, especially since they’ve been home from Boryeong for a few days now and they’re due to leave for Pohang on Friday. Especially since he doesn’t have Jihoon and Junhui to rescue him from any awkwardness he’s tended to fall back on because he’s not exactly sure where he stands with Soonyoung.

Truth be told, he’s not exactly sure how to go about asking Soonyoung to date him. He likes him, he likes him a lot. His initial impression of Soonyoung was that he was adorable, but after this summer, he realizes that Soonyoung’s infuriating, ridiculous, fascinating and ambitious, all in a package that he can’t deny he finds hot.

He rounds the corner thinking this, and is immediately greeted by the sight of Soonyoung in light sweatpants and a thin white cotton shirt coming out of a building with dark glass panels. Just like the first day they met, his hair is damp and hanging over his eyes; he’d clearly just come from a shower and it shows. He’s talking to a tall guy with elfin-like features, and he’s laughing as he looks around and catches Wonwoo’s eye.

A slow grin stretches across Soonyoung’s face, and he lifts a hand to greet Wonwoo, pleased to see him.

Something inside Wonwoo curls around his gut, warm and easy. Oh yes. Soonyoung is really hot.

“What are you doing here?” Soonyoung asks him when he walks up next to them; the other guy watches them, head tilted, curious.

Wonwoo shrugs, and tries to look as casual as Soonyoung does. “I was in the neighborhood, and I was going to grab a bite to eat. I was going to text you but I was literally just around the corner and so… yeah…”

Whatever he’d planned to say died after that pause. So much for an attempt at suaveness. Internally, he mourns the death of his verbal prowess.

Soonyoung doesn’t seem to mind though; the tips of his ears pink as he nods. “Mmmm. I am good at that. Food recommendations, I mean. Why didn’t you just text me? Oh right, you were in the neighborhood. You just said that.” Soonyoung chuckles.

The other man clears his throat, either trying to remind Soonyoung of his presence, or attempting to rescue both of them from their wretched attempts at flirting. “Soonyoung-hyung?”

“Oh!” Soonyoung yelps, mouth forming an adorable round ‘o’ as he realizes he hasn’t introduced his friend. “What was I thinking? Sorry, Hao. Wonwoo, this is Minghao. Junnie’s boyfriend?”

“Oh. Hello Minghao. It’s nice to meet you,” Wonwoo says, bowing slightly.

Minghao bows in return, eyes widening slightly. “Oh. You’re that Wonwoo. The one he went drinking—”

“Yes, yes, that’s me,” Wonwoo says hastily. Soonyoung’s eyebrows raise a little in curiosity, but he says nothing.

“Anyway,” Wonwoo continues, coughing only slightly. “I was wondering if you wanted to, like, join me for dinner. Unless you already have plans. You probably already have plans.”

“I don’t!” Soonyoung blurts out. “Have plans. I mean, I usually walk home with Hao because we live near each other.” He looks at Minghao. “Do you want to have dinner?”

“The more the merrier!” Wonwoo says, lying through his teeth.

Squinting his eyes at Wonwoo, Minghao’s gaze darts between him and Soonyoung until he starts to smirk. “Much as I’d like to have a front seat to whatever entertainment a dinner between you both would bring, I will take a rain check.” He inclines his head again, before hitching his bag over his shoulder again. “I’ll see you next week after your trip, hyung.”

Soonyoung waves at Minghao as he turns to go down the street, watching closely as he walks further away from them, eventually disappearing into the early evening crowd that starts thickening a few buildings down. When he’s sure that Minghao’s an appreciable distance away, far enough at least so that he won’t change his mind and circle around back to them, Soonyoung turns to Wonwoo with a bright smile.

“I hope you like chicken.”

Dinner is a slightly raucous affair. Soonyoung takes him to a nearby chimaek a few buildings back, and they share a box of generously breaded chicken over two mugs of frothing cold beer. It’s fun, eating with Soonyoung. Any nerves about being alone together dissipate in amusing anecdotes over how often Soonyoung comes over and all the times the owner’s threatened to kick him out when he whines about the chicken not being ‘clothed’ well enough.

“I’m the reason why the breading is so thick,” he admits bashfully, and Wonwoo maybe wants to tuck him under his chin and against his side, he’s just so endeared.

“It’s good,” Wonwoo mutters, around a mouthful of chicken, instead.

Wonwoo walks Soonyoung home, which he insists on doing because he’s not going to let Soonyoung walk all the way home when he’s this inebriated (he had two big mugs of beer, and it’s apparent he is not a huge drinker in general.) It’s only a fifteen minute walk away. He can tell how tipsy Soonyoung is because he’s skipping a little, and Wonwoo watches him with amusement, watches him stop every few steps when he remembers that he’s not walking home by himself.

“Sorry ‘Nonwoo,” Soonyoung apologizes mournfully, and Wonwoo smothers a laugh. “I think… I think I’m a little drunk,” he continues, lowering his voice conspiratorially.

“Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me,” Wonwoo replies, tucking his hands into his pockets because his fingers physically itch to reach out to Soonyoung, thread his arm through his to keep him close.

His statement eases the worry that creases Soonyoung’s eyebrows. “You’re a nice guy, Nownoo,” Soonyoung gushes lightly, still mangling Wonwoo’s name beyond recognition. “I’m sorry it took us so long to become better friends.” He bumps up against Wonwoo, shoulder brushing his almost playfully.

“I’m sorry, too,” Wonwoo says; he means it. It’s been awhile since he’s been like this with anyone, but every time he’s with Soonyoung, the passing seconds never feel like enough time to really appreciate the crinkle of his eyes, the curve of his smile. He could spend hours talking to Soonyoung, and their constant messaging during the day just makes the grind of his daily routine that much more bearable.

“I can’t believe you think I’m a good writer,” Soonyoung muses out loud. He giggles quietly. “I’m just a boy with a laptop and too much time on his hands, who likes to think he has a thing or two to say about food.”

“That’s not true,” Wonwoo says quietly, almost in a whisper. It’s as close as he gets, for now. “You’re a really good writer.”

But you are also so much more than that, Wonwoo thinks. You’re a splash of color, a whirlwind of energy, musical chimes in the wind. You are… brilliant.

Wonwoo wishes he was a braver person.

Soonyoung ducks his head, almost shyly. “Thanks.”

He starts to spin, however; small little twirls and loops all over the sidewalk. He misses narrowly bumping into people and street posts.

“You should see me dance, though. That’s what I do best.”

Wonwoo can imagine. They’ve spoken a little bit about his actual work, but he’s never been given a preview until now. He imagines his actual dancing is more grace and less stumbling, but he’s endeared nonetheless.

(Wow, he thinks to himself, he really has got it bad.)

“Hey, no fair, you look completely sober,” Soonyoung grouses. He’s stopped dancing and planted himself in the middle of the sidewalk. An unintentional pout mars his face, and his cheeks puff out cutely. “How did you do that?”

Wonwoo’s breath catches in his throat when Soonyoung’s face looms closer to his. He freezes, and Soonyoung peers up at him, studying his features closely. “Soonyoung?” he says, a little breathless.

Soonyoung’s gaze gentles. “Yes?”

It would be so easy, so easy to just reach out and take Soonyoung’s face in his hands and pull him closer. He’s been thinking about kissing him since the moment he met him, and he would be a liar if he said that he never thought about how it felt to have Soonyoung underneath him during particularly weak moments. He’s not proud of it, but he’s human, and an overwhelming part of him is just itching to swoop down and taste.

“Uhhh,” Wonwoo stutters, and he steps backward instead, almost stumbling. “I-uh-I think we’re almost here.”

Sure enough, they’re two buildings away from what Wonwoo remembers of Soonyoung’s address when he had pinpointed it earlier on Kakao Maps.

There’s a few moments of Soonyoung blinking up at him, confusedly. “Oh.”

“I’m just--look at the time, I have to—” Wonwoo is blabbering at this point, and walking backwards, embarrassment searing paths up and down the back of his neck. “I have to go. Early newsroom meeting. I’ll see you at Pohang in a few days! Right? See you!”

Soonyoung stares at him as he almost trips over a manhole cover while trying to beat a hasty exit. “Bye!” Wonwoo calls out over his shoulder, as he tries to remember where he saw the subway entrance and not the look of confusion on Soonyoung’s face as he walked away from him.

—-

“I’ve changed my mind.”

Wonwoo clutches the paper cup of coffee close to him. He’d quit smoking a year ago, even though he was a casual smoker at best, which is why he was guzzling down caffeine on the roofdeck after their newsroom meeting instead of puffing away.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I can’t believe anyone would want to date your dumb ass.”

Wonwoo calmly takes his coffee stirrer out of his cup and flicks it nonchalantly at Jihoon.

Jihoon evades the maneuver easily; aim was never Wonwoo’s biggest strength.

“I’m serious, though. I can’t believe you left him on the streets while he was drunk and helpless.”

“That is a clear exaggeration,” Wonwoo argues. He scowls down at his coffee. “He was only tipsy, and we were almost at his door.”

Jihoon tsks, takes a sip of his own coffee. “What is it about him that makes you all… pathetic? I remember when you were dating that girl from Circulation… Minhee, was it?” He shakes his head. “You were never this far gone over her.”

“I dated Minhee for three months,” Wonwoo replies. He sips his coffee, the dark nutty taste of the newsroom brew comforting him just a little. “There wasn’t enough time to go anywhere over her.”

“And yet you’ve known Soonyoung for just about a month or so now, and you’re in a right state over him.”

“I think it’s because we got off on the wrong foot,” Wonwoo replies after awhile. He’s had a lot of time to think about it, because what Jihoon said was true. He’s not exactly a Don Juan, but he’s never experienced this kind of second-guessing, this kind of general ineptitude over a person. Wonwoo’s no fool--he knows he’s not terrible-looking, and that a lot of people think his face is one that would break a lot of hearts. He’s not that kind of guy, though. “I just, I know I hurt his feelings before, and it’s because I say the wrong thing a lot and it never used to matter to me if I said something too blunt or too cavalier but I…”

He stops a little, swallows. “I just keep second-guessing everything because I don’t want to say anything that will hurt him or his feelings. He’s such a good person, he doesn’t deserve that.”

Maybe I should just sto—

“Stop right there,” Jihoon says abruptly.

Wonwoo’s eyebrows knot. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re spiralling into a funk and you’re starting to talk yourself out of liking Soonyoung because you think for some reason that you don’t deserve someone like him.”

Jihoon exhales and Wonwoo blinks up at him, surprised. He had no idea he was that transparent.

“Well,” Wonwoo starts again. “You have to admit that I suck at the whole sensitivity thing. What if I say something or do something wrong?”

“First of all, you know I’d leap at the chance to say you suck at anything,” Jihoon says, holding up his index finger. He raises a second finger before speaking again. “But more importantly, you generally have your heart in the right place. That counts for a lot.”

The tight grip that his nerves have had around his heart since last night loosen, just a bit. “You think?”

“Puh,” Jihoon snorts. “You might be a blunt motherfucker, but you’re a good person, Wonwoo. You deserve nice things.”

A strong urge to give Jihoon a hug rises in Wonwoo, and he’s tempted to give in before he sees Jihoon eyeing him narrowly. He gives him a big smile instead. “Thanks, Hoonie.”

“Just for that, I take back everything I said.” Jihoon turns away, chugs down the rest of his lukewarm coffee with a grimace. “I will never ever say anything like that ever again.” He starts to walk back towards the door to the stairwell, which leads back down to their stuffy cubicles in the open workroom.

Wonwoo finishes his coffee in two quick gulps, before crushing the cup in his hand and tossing it towards the trashcan littered with cigarette butts. He jogs up to Jihoon, catching him easily on account of his legs nearly being the length of Jihoon’s whole body. “You love me.”

“I most certainly do not,” Jihoon retorts stiffly, but the corner of his lip twitches.

Wonwoo wraps an arm around him and they walk together, mood considerably lighter. “I know I’m your best friend.”

“I have no friends, merely acquaintances.”

“You want me to be happy.”

“I want no such thing,” Jihoon responds, before breaking out of Wonwoo’s grip and running ahead of him.

“Wait for me, best friend!”

“Go away!”

—-

Because his flight got in at around three o’clock in the afternoon, Wonwoo had plenty of time to walk around Pohang. Jaekyung was a big fan, so far, of all the drafts of the articles he’d written about each festival, and when Pohang came around she volunteered for the company to buy him a ticket instead of having him suffer through a six hour long bus ride.

When he’d protested at the additional expense, she’d waved a hand in the air dismissively.

“We have a barter deal with a domestic airline anyway, so it’s no skin off our nose,” she told him. She smiled brightly at him after this. “I’m really very happy you’ve taken so well to this assignment, Wonwoo-ssi. I hope this isn’t the last of your association with the supplements section.”

“It’s been eye-opening,” was all he’d said, wryly, scratching the back of his head.

“At first I was afraid you’d not take this seriously, but your works have been vibrant and a joy to go through,” Jaekyung had confessed, eyes lowering a little in embarrassment. “It was wrong of me to question your absolute professionalism.”

Something twinged in Wonwoo’s chest, and he just bowed his head abruptly. “Think nothing of it, Jaekyung-ssi.” He’d raised his head after, and given her as genuine a smile as he could muster. “I have learned a lot through this, and I’m really thankful for the opportunity.”

He walks through the streets of Pohang in search for an early dinner before the festival’s main event—the International Fireworks Show. This year Brazil would be featuring as a participant in the show, and Wonwoo was excited to see the whole spectacle. He liked fireworks, liked the festivity and grandeur and excitement of it. It always meant good things to him—joy, delight, a celebration of all things new, of beginnings.

Wonwoo had been advised by the organizers to eat early and find a seat on the slope of the park facing the waterfront. He should be sitting in his spot by 6pm, and it was already ten past five. He starts brisk walking a little, finding a street vendor selling odeng a little ways off the more expensive festival concessionaires. He bathes his odeng in the dipping sauce and wolfs down three sticks in almost a blink of an eye.

“Hungry?” the ahjussi manning the stand teases him lightly.

He pinks in response, giving him a sheepish smile.

Sated for the meantime, he makes his way to the park, where people were already gathering with their blankets and pillows in groups to prepare for the long but entertaining evening ahead.

Wonwoo takes a soft picnic blanket from his backpack and lays it on the ground, before plopping onto it, sighing. He makes himself comfortable, water bottle in his lap, before taking out his phone.

He hesitates, before tapping out a message.

To: Soonyoung
From: Wonwoo
What time are you and Junhui coming in?
Already at the park, ready for the show.

From: Soonyoung
To: Wonwoo
Just me today.
Cool, haha. [smiling emoji]
See you in a few hours.

Wonwoo sighs. On the face of their interactions, nothing seems to have changed since the night they had dinner and Wonwoo walked Soonyoung home. But Wonwoo can sense it, the stilted thought-out replies replacing the spontaneous whimsical quips he once used to get peppered throughout the day from Soonyoung.

He’d messed everything up.

Moody, he brings his knees up and wraps his arms around them, perching his chin on his kneecaps.

Families and couples start to gather on the bank, and soon Wonwoo is politely trying to fend off a growing number of people encroaching on his territory. Technically, Soonyoung didn’t ask for him to save him a spot, but he’s doing it anyway, because he doesn’t know anyone else here and because it’s what a friend would do.

Deep down, though, Wonwoo knows that he doesn’t want to just be friends with Soonyoung. Objectively speaking, he thinks Soonyoung maybe feels the same. Whatever is stopping him from just taking the initiative to officially ask him out, he’s chalking up to a combination of self-preservation and a weird kind of guilt.

“Hi, Jeon Wonwoo-ssi, right?”

He looks up into a friendly face. Female, hair trailing down her back, tiny—she also has a bright smile that lights up her eyes. She’s not familiar to him at all. “Hello,” he says politely, unsure about what else to say.

“You don’t know me,” she says, correctly anticipating his question. “My name is Kang Yebin. I’ve been covering the summer festivals for Examiner Korea.”

Now her name is ringing a bell. He vaguely remembers seeing her byline in the cultural portions of the bi-monthly publication. “Nice to meet you, Yebin-ssi. What can I do for you? Would you like a seat?”

“Oh no, that’s okay, I’m supposed to be looking for my friends on the other side of the bank. I was just walking past there and I saw you and thought I’d find Soonyoung oppa around here too.”

“Oh, he’s not here…” (Yet.) “You’re, uh, friends with Soonyoung?”

“Oh yeah. We’re good friends,” Yebin says. She bends down and squats over the grass so that she and Wonwoo can continue speaking at eye level. “He was my sunbae at university, and we used to intern together at the Examiner.”

“University?” Wonwoo can’t help his curiosity—it’s his reporter’s instinct. “For what?”

“Japanese literature with a minor in creative writing,” Yebin says. She’s plopped onto the grass by now, having made the decision to hold a conversation with him. Idly, Wonwoo thinks about how the grass stains would look like on the silk of her shirt.

(He shudders internally. He has never thought about laundry as often as he has before this summer, and he’s afraid he’ll never look at it the same way again.)

“We had classes together for the creative writing minor. Our professor was the managing editor of Examiner Korea, and she loved Soonyoung. She would have recruited him straight out of college if things had worked out.”

“What, what happened?” Wonwoo hates himself for asking, but it’s the way he was trained.

She fixes him with a look of curiosity. “How long have the two of you been dating that he hasn’t told you he dropped out of university?”

“We aren’t dating!” Wonwoo splutters, reeling backwards in surprise at what Yebin says. “Who said we’re dating? It was Junhui, wasn’t it?”

“How are you not dating Soonyoung oppa?” Yebin looks just as shellshocked as Wonwoo is. “You’re always together during these festivals!”

“We’re colleagues!”

“No, oppa is my colleague,” Yebin clarifies. She looks at him with suspicious eyes. “I saw the two of you splashing water at each other in Daecheon.”

“Because we were covered in mud?” Wonwoo does not know why he sounds so defensive; what was wrong with other people thinking he and Soonyoung were dating? That was what he wanted right?

Yebin opens her mouth to reply but her gaze all of a sudden cuts away to a spot somewhere above Wonwoo. “Oh oppa! How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough, Kang Yebin.” Wonwoo hears Soonyoung’s voice from somewhere behind him. He sounds exhausted, and a little sad.

Wonwoo looks up to see Soonyoung. He’s surprised to see Soonyoung’s hair dyed silver; it glints in the moonlight and reflects the light of the street lamps they’re under. He likes it, though, Wonwoo, likes the way it makes him look just a little bit more magical. “Hi,” Wonwoo says, slightly breathless.

Soonyoung looks at him then, and Wonwoo startles when he sees the embarrassment in his eyes. “I’m suddenly not feeling well,” Soonyoung tells him. He holds his hand to his stomach. “I think it was something I had on the train.”

He’s starting to walk backwards now. Wonwoo doesn’t know what to do. Soonyoung just got here. “Soonyoung?”

“I’ll just watch the fireworks from the hotel room. Should be just the same, right?” Soonyoung shakes his head, lips pressed into a straight line. “I gotta go.”

When he turns around and walks away, Wonwoo realizes that it’s the nth time Soonyoung is walking out on him during a stressful situation. Maybe, just maybe, he should do some of the chasing this time.

“I should—”

“Yeah, you should,” Yebin quips. He looks at her quizzically; she rolls her eyes. “Yes, I’m still here, though both of you practically ignored me after setting your eyes on each other.”

Wonwoo studies her briefly before standing up. “Kang Yebin-ssi,” he says, with a bow. “I have to go see about a matter. But I’m entrusting this picnic blanket with you.”

“I got it!”

He almost stumbles on a low hedge of bushes on his way out. “I’ll find you before the end of the weekend!”

She waves her hands in a shooing manner. “Just go!”

He does.

---

“Soonyoung, wait!” Wonwoo calls out. He’s trying not to run into any people but it’s difficult; people are streaming past him in droves, trying to get to the place where he’d just come from. Internally, he sighs at the loss of his spot, but he knows resolving things with Soonyoung is more important.

Soonyoung stops and turns around at the sound of his name. He looks troubled, and the drag of his mouth downward tugs at Wonwoo’s chest.

“Um, Wonwoo, can we not? I’m really tired.” He stares at the ground and scuffs the toes of his sneakers into the sidewalk gravel, tentative.

“I’ll walk with you,” Wonwoo offers. They’ve both stopped in the middle of the pavement now, on the road heading back to the hotel. People are barely avoiding knocking into them, and the air is ringing with loud music and the sound of excited chatter from children and teenagers. The smell of the humid sea breeze wafts in from the shore, carrying with it the scents of sweets and fried food from the restaurants lining the avenue behind him.

Soonyoung shrugs. “You don’t have to do that.” He looks so incredibly small right now; Wonwoo wants to hold him, but knows it would be better right now to wait.

“I, uh, I like your hair.” His fingers are itching to reach out and touch, see if it’s as soft as it looks.

“Oh,” Soonyoung says, sounding slightly surprised, as if he himself had forgotten he’d gotten his hair colored. “Yeah. I changed it. For a performance we’re having soon.”

Wonwoo nods. “Can I come see you perform, then?”

All of a sudden, impatience clouds Soonyoung’s eyes. “Wonwoo, what are you doing?”

“I’m… asking to see you dance?”

“Yes, but why? I don’t get you. Sometimes, I think you’re flirting with me, and then sometimes, I think it’s all in my head. Maybe you like Junhui, or Jihoon even, because every time I see you interact with them, I can’t tell the difference between that and the way you interact with me, and it’s driving me up the wall.”

Wonwoo opens his mouth to reply, but shuts it when he sees Soonyoung’s on a roll.

“And like, I try to do things on my part, and then sometimes I feel like we’re really connecting, and then you run away like I set you on fire or something!”

Well. Wonwoo colors at that, gulping slightly. That one’s on me.

Soonyoung is well and truly rambling now, and it would have amused Wonwoo had the next words not come out of his mouth. “It just makes me think that maybe it’s all in my head. And now after what Yebin said you probably aren’t even interested in dating me anymore and I just don’t know what to think about all this Wonwoo.” He stops and takes a shaggy breath, refusing to look up at Wonwoo, whose mouth just dropped open.

“Soonyoung,” Wonwoo starts after the silence in the air between them fades into the wind. “Soonyoung, why would you think I wouldn’t want to date you when that’s literally all I’ve thought about ever since I met you?”

That’s not what Soonyoung expects to hear; his head rises sharply at Wonwoo’s words, and Wonwoo realizes they’ve both been running around in circles ever since the day they’d bumped into each other on the train. He shrugs at Wonwoo helplessly. “Because I thought you wouldn’t want to date someone like me.”

“Someone like you?” Wonwoo steps closer tentatively, and considers it a win when Soonyoung just watches him do it without taking another step back. “What do you mean, someone like you?”

“You know,” Soonyoung says, sighing. “It’s bad enough I’m just someone who makes a living dancing and writing about food. To be a college dropout to boot…”

“Hey,” Wonwoo says sternly. He’s right in front of Soonyoung now, and he places his hands on Soonyoung’s shoulders, as a test. “I thought we agreed we’d stop stereotyping each other. That was our truce, remember?”

“I remember,” Soonyoung said, nodding. “But I know you think those things are important. Being educated, having a degree, getting an important credentialed job.”

“They’re not that important,” Wonwoo tells him, and he’s kind of surprised to figure out that he really believes that. “I mean, they’re nice to have, but they’re just trappings.” Wonwoo’s hands slide down the length of Soonyoung’s arms, until his fingers find his. They interlock easily, sliding through and against each other, snug.

“The both of us… we’re just the same. We’re both writers. And I’m quite possibly one of your biggest fans.”

Soonyoung’s eyes widen, then curve. Wonwoo’s a little horrified to see wetness gathering in them again. “That’s a really nice of you to say.”

“Honestly, I can’t get over your chuseok series, to be honest.”

“Stop,” Soonyoung whines a little, cheeks bunched up and pink because he’s smiling so widely.

“I mean it!” Wonwoo says, a teasing edge to his voice.

“Okay, okay, if you say so,” Soonyoung says faux grudgingly. He peeks up at Wonwoo through his lashes. “So, uh, what does this mean?”

“What does what mean?”

Soonyoung rolls his eyes and shakes their intertwined hands in Wonwoo’s face.

“Oh, that,” Wonwoo chuckles softly before clearing his throat. “I’m, uh, I’m sorry I’ve been so tentative about my intentions.”

“Are you now?” Soonyoung teases him lightly. He smirks up at Wonwoo, and Wonwoo realizes two things: first, that what he says now would determine the fate of his happiness for the foreseeable future.

(Or much longer after that. He hopes.)

And second, that he’s never wanted to kiss anyone so badly as he wanted to kiss Soonyoung in that moment.

But first thing’s first.

“I was going to ask you out if I had seen you again around the Danoje festival,” Wonwoo reasons. Their hands are still joined together. “But then things happened and then when it rains, it pours. Specifically tomatoes.”

“Ha,” Soonyoung barks, biting back a giggle.

“And after, you know, Buyeo and even Boryeong, I wanted to ask you out but I kept thinking that I didn’t want to do or say anything wrong because I didn’t want to hurt your feelings again.” Wonwoo stops to swallow, nervous all of a sudden. “I know I hurt you really badly that day in Gangneung and I just, I kept second-guessing because I didn’t want to do that again.”

He looks at Soonyoung, who continues to watch him. There’s an openness to his expression now, and something that Wonwoo realizes looks a lot like trust. Soonyoung trusts him now. It’s taken awhile for them both but all of a sudden Wonwoo’s hesitations dissipate into the air, and he feels like he can talk freely now.

“I like you, Kwon Soonyoung. I really like you. Will you go out with me?”

Soonyoung says nothing; he simply releases Wonwoo’s hands, goes up on his tiptoes, wraps his arms around his neck, and kisses him.

It’s a chaste one, just a soft press of his lips against Wonwoo’s, but Wonwoo’s heart slams against his ribcage nonetheless. Over his head, he can hear the faint sounds of explosions and sparks, and the raucous applause and cheers of the people, but they all paled to the sound of Soonyoung’s quiet sigh into his mouth, a promise of more.

Soonyoung pulls back, and Wonwoo sees that he’d closed his eyes when he’d kissed him. His eyes flutter open now, and the pink that had painted his cheeks earlier had deepened into a lovely shade of scarlet. It went prettily against the silver of his hair.

“Okay,” Soonyoung says softly. “I’ll go out with you.”

Wonwoo grins so widely, his nose scrunches up. “Really?”

Soonyoung rolls his eyes, but he can’t help the smile that spreads across his face. “You big dork. Of course.”

“Let’s go right now.”

“Now?” Soonyoung asks; he steps away from Wonwoo a little more now because they’re starting to get stares from the customers of the shop they’d stopped in front of. They both bow apologetically, before stumbling away, even though a group of girls inside had started to applaud the scene they had caused.

“Yeah, now.” Wonwoo tugs Soonyoung closer by the hand, and wraps an arm around his shoulder. He bites back a smile when he feels Soonyoung’s arm settle around his waist.

“What do you have in mind?”

Wonwoo smiles down at him, feeling like his heart could burst any second from joy. “I heard there’s some nice fireworks around here.”

Soonyoung grins, before nudging Wonwoo’s shoulder playfully. “Sounds good. I’d like that.”

Chapter Text

When the alarm clock blares at seven in the morning, it’s Soonyoung who turns it off.

“God, why did we set the alarm this early,” he moans sleepily. Instead of trudging off to the bathroom to take a shower, he sinks back down onto the bed, limbs scrambling until they’re back underneath the warm covers.

“Cold,” Wonwoo grumbles. He tugs Soonyoung back into his arms, nestling his head into the back of Soonyoung’s neck, long legs wrapping around his warmth.

Three minutes pass before Soonyoung sighs and turns around in Wonwoo’s grasp. “I can’t go back to sleep anymore.”

“Try,” is Wonwoo’s croaky response. He still hasn’t opened his eyes since he’d shut them the night before.

He feels Soonyoung shake his head, his hair flicking against his own forehead. “Can’t do it. Once I’m up, I’m up. I’ll just go take a shower now.” He tries to extricate himself from Wonwoo’s vise-like grip, exhaling patiently after awhile. “Wonwoo.”

“No,” Wonwoo mutters. He burrows his nose even deeper into Soonyoung’s neck, lips brushing over the curve softly. “Sleep.”

“Wonwoo,” Soonyoung repeats himself, stifling the giggle rising from his throat. “Wonwoo, the orientation’s at noon in Jeollabuk-do.”

“Let’s just take the ten o’clock train instead of the nine o’clock one. We’ll make it in time.”

“Your level of logic is surprisingly impressive for someone who hasn’t even opened his eyes yet,” Soonyoung observes dryly.

He arrests a gasp before it leaves his mouth. “As are your motor skills. Fuck, your hands are like ice.”

Wonwoo snorts a laugh into Soonyoung’s sternum. “First time I’ve heard you complain about my hands.”

“Get them off my ass, Jeon. It’s a huge boner killer.”

“Oh no, no boner killers in my bed,” Wonwoo murmurs into Soonyoung’s skin. Despite his earlier instruction, Soonyoung can’t suppress the little shiver that goes through him while Wonwoo sneaks his hands into his shorts to pull them down. “I think I should help you with that.”

Half an hour later, Wonwoo’s fully awake.

“You look like a cat who ate the canary,” Soonyoung muses. He’s still trying to catch his breath from the surprise morning blow job he’d received from his boyfriend.

“Maybe I feel like one. Except you’re the canary,” Wonwoo quips. He tugs the covers around his sweaty shoulders and heaves himself up to face Soonyoung. He smirks at him. “You’re welcome. Canary.”

“Stop,” Soonyoung deadpans, except he can’t keep it up before a smile breaks out on his face. “Now we’re going to be late. Junhui’s going to kill me.”

“We could just take a shower together,” Wonwoo suggests with a straight face. “I’m all for a more economic use of our time.”

Soonyoung giggles now, slapping at Wonwoo. Pleasure blooms inside Wonwoo’s chest at having made Soonyoung laugh; he can’t help but want to do it over and over again every time.

“Thanks for letting me stay over so that we can go to Jeollabuk-do together,” Soonyoung says. He rubs Wonwoo’s side, a gesture that makes Wonwoo want to curl up around him. “The train station’s much closer to you than it is to me.”

“It’s nothing,” Wonwoo says. “You’ve been over before.”

“I know,” Soonyoung replies quickly, before he can blush and remember all the times he’s been over since they started dating a month ago. (He can tell Junhui all he wants that he held out for at least three full dates until he and Wonwoo finally slept together but Wonwoo knows the truth. Not that it matters to anyone but Soonyoung and Junhui.) “But, like, it feels like a big step for us, don’t you think?”

“You mean watching your dance performance and meeting your parents wasn’t a big enough step?” That was just last week; Soonyoung had invited him to watch his company’s dance recital—he neglected to mention that Wonwoo would be sitting next to his parents for the duration of the show. His parents, including his mom who Soonyoung had dropped out of college for because she had to have expensive medical treatments in the United States and they just couldn’t afford both, sitting next to him, a boy with a huge obnoxious bouquet of sunflowers.

Meeting the parents of the boy you’re dating when you’ve only been dating for three weeks is right up there in the list of the most intimidating things Wonwoo’s ever done, and that includes the time he had to go toe to toe with a police chief about information on a bank heist. Not that Wonwoo didn’t want to meet Soonyoung’s parents, or that they weren’t the loveliest people in the country… it was just. Parents.

(Soonyoung told him later that they loved him, that they kept waxing poetic about how handsome he was.

Wonwoo asked him if they knew about the circumstances of their meeting, asked if they knew their son had given him a hair treatment via tomatoes.

“Oh, look babe, I found this coupon for galbijjim in my wallet, do you think we should grab some for dinner?”

Wonwoo took that as a no.)

“Take all of it together then,” Soonyoung says, rolling his eyes.

“I guess,” Wonwoo says, shrugging. “But they’re steps I always knew I’d be taking with you.”

“Oh man.” Soonyoung scrunches his mouth into a pout. “You’re good at that. Words.”

Wonwoo grins. “Back at you, babe.” He leans in to press a soft kiss to Soonyoung’s cheek, pausing for awhile to lean his forehead against his. Isn’t he lucky. “I can’t believe there’s one more summer festival left. It’s practically autumn.”

“I know,” Soonyoung says, nodding. “But it’ll be fun. I went with my parents before, about ten years ago or so. The fireflies will be stunning.” After taking a deep breath, Soonyoung pats Wonwoo’s cheeks. “Okay, it’s time to go. Shower now.”

Soonyoung rolls out of Wonwoo’s arms and the bed. Wonwoo grumbles but watches in appreciation as Soonyoung tiptoes gingerly into his bathroom, grabbing the towel from the hook next to the door.

Wonwoo closes his eyes when he hears the shower turn on with a hiss, biting back a chuckle when he hears Soonyoung’s yelp of surprise.

He doesn’t know if he’s ever been happier. What a summer.

“Wonwoo, what were you saying about economic shower times?”

His eyes fly open at the invitation, and he grins.

“I’m on my way,” Wonwoo calls out in response.

And it just keeps getting better.