Work Text:
There’s something about working the graveyard shift at the 7/11 for 4 days straight that entirely shuts down Seungcheol’s brain, forcing himself to just stare at the flickering lights in the fridge full of bags of ice. Yawning, he finally turns his attention to the automatic sliding door as someone walks in. He instinctively frowns, already unlocking the glass case behind him to pull out a pack of cigarettes.
“Having fun?” Wonwoo says the moment he walks up to him with the biggest shit eating grin, placing a couple crumpled dollar bills on the counter. Seungcheol swipes it and rings it up at the register.
“Piss off.” He replies, practically chucking the cardboard box at his friend. Maybe not a friend, he’d rather die than be in any sort of intimate relationship with him. An acquaintance. Peer maybe? Wonwoo rips off the plastic wrapping and attempts to throw it into the small waste bin next to them, but it floats down slowly. Neither of them bother to pick it up.
“Feel like I’ve seen you every time I come in, you in love with this place or something?”
“I can say the same for you. Why do you always come in to bother me?” He frowns, his eyes following Wonwoo to the small rack of obnoxiously designed postcards that hasn’t been organized in ages.
“Something about a piss smelling convenience store and grimy interior really speaks to me.” Wonwoo jokes.
“You’re disgusting.”
Wonwoo shrugs, pulling out a lighter from his back pocket and takes one of the sticks out before lighting it, embers falling onto the linoleum tiles. Seungcheol just knows he has to clean that up.
“I’m gonna take one of these with me.” He plucks a card that says “GRANDMA, WHEN IT COMES TO TELLING YOU HOW AMAZING YOU ARE…” on the front and tucks it into his coat before throwing a dollar bill on the counter. The door slides open for him, and Wonwoo gives one last look back into the store with the cigarette in his mouth.
“See you later, friend, same time tomorrow?” Wonwoo blows out the smoke into his general direction and leaves.
Seungcheol looks around the rest of the store to make sure no one really is here before letting out an audible, “Fuck!”
---
Stupid customers always asking where’s the bathroom at. Stupid customers always coming in only to drop their one dollar slushie onto the floor. Stupid Wonwoo always rubbing his grimy hands all over the hot dog machine (Seungcheol is certain Wonwoo is the devil since he never winces from the heat). You know who has to clean up after every single one of them? Fucking Seungcheol.
He doesn’t have the energy to make it to his bedroom once his shift is over, and instead throws himself onto the carpet of his living room that is in desperate need of vacuuming, hitting his head against the floor for good measure. In fact, he doesn’t even have the energy to be aware of his surroundings, completely missing the fact that a majority of his housemates were sitting on the couch behind him, watching his breakdown with amused expressions.
“Someone looks like shit today.” Jihoon deadpans, nudging Seungcheol’s shoulder with his foot.
“Thanks, I tried my best.” Seungcheol snorts.
“No need for the pissy attitude, dude. Do you want a blanket?”
He lets out an audible grunt, and Jihoon understands; he’s done this too many times. He feels a soft quilt drape over him, and he closes his eyes when Jihoon turns off the light.
When he wakes up, he realizes that he passed out for 12 hours, and no one is in the apartment. There’s leftovers on the table, probably from some sort of pity that Jeonghan developed after seeing him knocked out face first on the ground (“Here’s some pizza. we only had pepperoni left” is written on a sticky note next to the plate). He shoves the slices into the microwave, mouth feeling gross and his shoulders extremely sore.
Before he even has time to wallow in his own self-pity, he gets an email notification from his manager.
Kim: sungchol. Joshua’s sick; had to put your shift from 8:00-2:00 AM today.
Seungcheol: all good. And it’s seungcheol, sir
Fuck it. Seungcheol is never going to find time for his little pity party.
---
He’s expertly crafted his sleep schedule to fit well into the odd hours that he works. Or maybe not expertly, more of “sleep in the morning to wake up on time for work” as the strategy. Seungcheol absolutely despises it, but it’s what keeps his bills paying and for the groceries he needs to sustain himself from dying.
The instant coffee he brews when he’s in the break room tastes oddly stale and bitter, but he downs it in one go, ignoring the burn in his throat as he puts on his orange vest and makes his way down to the floor.
“Night shift for the fifth time in a row?” His coworker, Seokmin, asks from the register. Seungcheol nods and leans against the counter.
“You’ll get used to it, then you become a night owl. Like me!” Seokmin continues almost way to enthusiastically for Seungcheol’s liking, but ignores it. It seems like Seokmin is coping with horrible hours a different way than he is. The way Seokmin absentmindedly drums his fingers on the counter and stares off into the distance really gives Seungcheol all the answer he needs, anyway.
“What do you usually do to pass the time?” He finally asks, “Not like anything needs to be restocked right now, and nobody is here, anyway.”
“Usually my homework, or I catch up on notes.”
Seungcheol would think it’s a good idea, but he graduated last year. His major requires a master degree to actually be deemed useful, but at this point he’s exhausted.
“How about when you don’t have homework?”
“I get ready for next lecture and start-“
“Ok, nerd. How about if you don’t have any homework or class? Period.”
Seokmin gives him a look, but doesn’t say anything of it.
“I space out.”
“Of course.”
Seokmin lets out a sigh, looking at his watch. He perks up, and gives Seungcheol a pat on the shoulder.
“Hope you have fun with the rest of your shift, I’m off.” He waves, immediately taking off his vest and folding it neatly before tucking it under his arm. Seokmin seems to be in a hurry, as Seungcheol watches him clock out at the speed of light and leaves the store without even saying goodbye.
Now Seungcheol is left alone, and the quiet hum of the ice fridges encompasses the silence once again.
It’s dangerous to let your mind wander too much, and when there’s nothing to stop you, say a customer asking where the chips are or a manager telling you to stop fucking around, you’re too far gone.
He imagines himself in front of a crowd of people, mic in his hand as he performs a song he both produced and wrote. Perhaps it sounds exactly like the Kid Cudi song playing in the speakers of the store right now, but he’ll pretend it’s his. He gets a Grammy, and he’s on Ellen the next day, talking about his transition from singer to actor in his new movie.
“I’d like to be called an all around artist, do you understand that Ellen?” Seungcheol would say, and Ellen Degeneres would nod enthusiastically. It’s a wonderful daydream, and he notes to himself to keep on thinking about it.
The sliding door signals another customer, and Seungcheol slides a pack of Marlboro across the counter.
“Thanks, sir.” Wonwoo greets. The routine is monotonous, and Seungcheol is handing him his change wordlessly. Wonwoo looks at him quietly before smirking.
“What’s up your ass today?” Seungcheol asks.
“What’s up yours?” Wonwoo repeats back, and Seungcheol rolls his eyes.
“Nothing, I was just zoning out.”
“Really?” Wonwoo continues, “What were you thinking about?”
Seungcheol hesitates, wondering if Wonwoo would make fun of him if he admits it, which is highly likely. Wonwoo just has that vibe surrounding him no matter how many times he’s seen this guy wander into this store high or drunk and running headfirst into the sneeze guard as he looks at the cheap nachos.
Actually, there’s not much to lose, and Seungcheol replies.
“Being a rapper.”
There’s a pause. Seungcheol gulps. Wonwoo snorts. “I had those thoughts before.”
“You’re not dicking around with me, right?”
Wonwoo shakes his head. “No, I definitely have had thoughts of being a rapper. You know that one Chris Brown song? I’d replace Busta Rhymes.”
The silence ensues, and Seungcheol clears his throat to try to alleviate half of the awkwardness surrounding both of them. Maybe because they both just admitted a really embarrassing portion of their lives they never intended on sharing to anyone. Wonwoo nods, looking at the grimy walls of the convenience store one more time before leaving.
---
“I’m going to quit my job.” Seungcheol declares at the dinner table. Jeonghan looks up from digging through the fridge.
“Yeah, you’ve been saying that for the last four months or so.”
It’s true, Seungcheol does say this every two weeks or so, but this time he means it. Like what he said two days ago.
“I’ve had enough of that dumbass stoner dude coming into work, making me feel all bad about myself.”
“Who, Wonwoo? If it provides you any consolation, he makes for some pretty fun work related stories.”
“That’s not helping. I’m just tired of customers.”
Jeonghan shrugs, putting a slice of ham into his mouth and slams the fridge shut. Really, how long has it been since everyone actually had a proper meal?
“You’ll find something better.” Is all Jeonghan says.
——-
He’s not really sure how to respond as he sees Wonwoo walk across the aisles of canned foods, constantly squinting at the labels and then giving a spaced out look as he stared beyond the shelves.
“The Doritos are on the other side, if that’s what you’re looking for.” Seungcheol says, and Wonwoo takes a few seconds to actually process what he’s saying before turning around.
“I’m in a Fritos mood.”
“Who the fuck is ever in a Fritos mood?” He mumbles as Wonwoo picks the bag of chips from the shelf.
“Dude, you’re being really aggressive. Sorta fucking with me right now.”
Seungcheol keeps his mouth shut, scanning the bag. He waits for Wonwoo to rummage through his pocket for cash.
“Hostility is not good in retail.” Wonwoo nags.
“As if you’d understand this shithole of a business.”
“You’re right, I don’t. I work in an office.”
Seungcheol squints, “How do you afford to come here every night at 2 in the morning to come and mess up this 7/11 if you have a nine to five job? Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”
A pause. “That was a lot of words in a single breath.”
He pulls on his hair, but lets it go, seeing that Seokmin is about 5 feet away from them, scrolling through his phone. Seokmin obviously hears everything, as he continuously darts his eyes back and forth from his screen to them every couple of seconds.
“You give me too much unnecessary stress for this job.”
“That’s not my fault. I think it’s some innate nature in you to be angry at every little thing.”
“Are you trying to freud me while you’re high?”
He’s this close to pushing Wonwoo out the store, but the fucker gestures for him to lean closer. Hesitantly, Seungcheol does, and Wonwoo tries to inconspicuously show him the piece he has in his jacket pocket. Seokmin lets out a loud cough in the back.
“I’m telling you, you can freud anyone with this shit.” Wonwoo grins. He scoffs back in reply, pulling away.
“Don’t really care.”
“I think you do.”
He crosses his arms across his chest, staring at Wonwoo with the hope of conveying the message of “I will murder you”. Wonwoo’s possibly too high to notice.
“Listen,” Wonwoo half-whispers, “you work this job from what, 8 to 5 am almost every day. Ever want to let go?”
“All the fucking time.”
Wonwoo raises his eyebrows, and Seungcheol bites his bottom lip.
If he becomes a rapper, what would it look like if TMZ digs up his past of being fired at a convenience store for smoking with some guy he barely knew? He’s going to have to go through this period of reflection, or maybe have to face all the millions of memes that are going to surface on Twitter because of it.
He has to snap out of it. It’s not real life. In reality, Seungcheol has to apply for grad school, has to find an internship in order to escape this hellhole. Escape the fear of staying in the same place forever.
He takes off the vest and tucks it somewhere under the counter.
“I’m off for my 15.” He tells Seokmin.
——-
“So you want to be Kid Cudi?”
Seungcheol accidentally inhales one of the ashes, and he’s coughing so hard he can barely see Wonwoo through the tears in his eyes.
“Come again?” Seungcheol finally manages to utter out. Wonwoo shakes his head and brushes off the pebbles and dirt under his palms. They’re sitting on the asphalt behind the convenience store, quietly trying to muster up the courage to say that this is not the best place to be high at. It’s been way past 15 minutes, and Seokmin hasn’t bothered to call him, so he assumes it’s fine.
“Kid Cudi. You know, the ‘man on the moon’.”
“I know who Cudi is, and no, I don’t want to be him. Have you heard Speeding Bullet To Heaven ?”
Wonwoo shrugs, “I mean, you told me you wanted to be a rapper, and you were just humming to one of his songs two minutes ago.”
“I don’t want to be a rapper. It’s a cool idea, but I’m not musically talented and have never made a serious effort to do it. It’s just nice to imagine about being someone else sometimes, don’t you think?”
He grins, “And you said you wouldn’t freud out when you’re baked.”
“Fuck off.”
They sit in silence again, and Seungcheol waves his arms out in front of him, finding it funny that he can’t move them any faster. Wonwoo has decided to play the rest of the Migos album, calling it a “musical massage” when he starts alternating the volume of the music from loud to soft.
The song blurs, and Seungcheol can’t help but notice that it would be nice to believe he was some successful businessman or A-class celebrity in the future. All he needs to do is work hard, right? That’s what he learned.
“How do you think I’d look like in a suit.” Seungcheol brings up.
“Snazzy.” Wonwoo mumbles.
A nice suit, a briefcase, working in a cozy office instead of standing up for what seems like eternity, coming home only to collapse onto the couch. Money, fame, it all seems so nice.
“What do you do, outside of work?” Wonwoo asks.
“Sleep. A lot of sleep. Sometimes if I have the day off, I end up just sleeping for 24 hours.”
“Sounds like the life.”
“Yeah, except you take into account that this has literally been my life ever since I graduated. I don’t think I’ve actually met any of my friends in months.”
There’s a tightening in his chest, and his arms he waved in front of his face came to his hair, and he tugs at the strands. He inwardly groans and lies down, ignoring that he’s this close to a wet puddle.
“Is this going to be the rest of my life?”
“What-”
“Am I going to be stuck working at this fucking 7/11 forever? I don’t feel like applying for grad school cause I’m so sick of studying it hurts my head. Oh my god, I have to, or else I’m going to have to deal with cleaning up puke on the floor for the rest of my life.”
He grabs Wonwoo’s collar and pulls him closer, “Do you understand? Holy shit, I thought I would be something by 23. Who am I?”
“Seungcheol.”
“I’m not a bad person.”
“You’re not.”
“I work hard.”
“And you do.”
“But I don’t know who I am.”
Seungcheol suddenly feels like crying, which is the last thing he expected to happen in this situation.
“I don’t want to be like that, dude! Holy shit. Holy fuck.” He’s mumbling to himself, tears welling up in his eyes. It’s embarrassing, to say the least, to have a breakdown in front of a stranger who’s more or less too stoned to even comprehend a blubbering idiot. This makes him feel even more like shit, but he stops when he feels Wonwoo come closer, patting him on the back.
“Hey, everything’s going to be fine. You deal with the bullshit I do on a daily basis, which is by far way more than anyone can ever imagine. I can’t remember the last time someone has still willingly talked with me, albeit with an incentive, after I dicked around at their workplace for almost six months. By default you’re already a way better person than everyone else.”
Seungcheol sniffles, “I should’ve told my manager to ban you on the first day.”
“Ouch. Glad you didn’t.”
Seungcheol tries to wonder what it would be like if Wonwoo never came in. First of all, there will be less of a mess to sweep up after. Second of all, Seungcheol wouldn’t have had those nightmares of Wonwoo breaking the slushy machine. Third of all, Wonwoo would’ve never been able to scare the living hell out of Seokmin that one time when he came up from behind, making him drop his coffee right onto Seungcheol’s new shoes. He snorts, wiping away the tears.
“For your record, I don’t want to be Kid Cudi. More on the lines of Lil Uzi. Ever heard of him?”
Wonwoo grins, nose scrunching. “Who hasn’t?”
---
Seungcheol tries to make it less noticeable that he was crying in the back of the store when he walks back in. Seokmin snaps out of whatever trance he was in and waves at him.
“How was the break?”
“Fine, I tried to sober up as much as possible.”
“I don’t think you can do that in just 40 minutes.”
“I was only out for that long?”
Wonwoo stands behind them, holding the bag of the chips in his hand.
“Munchies.” He explains, and Seungcheol gives a small smile.
"Thanks, for making me feel better."
"No worries, it's the least I can do for fucking up your whole store for so long."
There’s a silence between them, and he would be lying if he said it wasn’t still awkward. Wonwoo clears his throat and gestures to the exit.
“I’ll get going now, have fun with the rest of your shift.”
“Like that would ever happen.”
He has his foot out the door before he turns around, looking at the grimy walls before turning to Seungcheol.
“We’re friends now.” is all he says before leaving.
Seungcheol snorts. “Guess we are.”