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Seungcheol fidgets, visibly uncomfortable.
“You don’t think we’re too old to be in here?” he asks in a stage whisper, loud enough that the guy down the aisle — visibly over 50 — glances over at them with a scowl. Jeonghan smiles at the man placatingly, using the exact same expression he pulls out when he gets scolded for not paying attention in homeroom.
“Don’t be a baby,” he says dismissively to Seungcheol, after the old man has turned his scrutinizing gaze back towards the figurine display.
Seungcheol huffs, glancing around the store yet again, like he’s scared someone’s going to pop out from around a corner and take his picture. Like it matters at all if someone sees him here.
“You’re being ridiculous,” Jeonghan says. “Make yourself useful and help me, would you? These are the ones he likes.”
Jeonghan pulls up the list of shows on his phone to show Seungcheol, who, to his credit, actually squints at it to get a better look. He’s pouting as he does it, sure, but Jeonghan will take what he can get.
“This store’s selection isn’t very good,” he says thoughtfully. “Maybe I should just order it online?”
“Maybe?” Seungcheol says hesitantly. He looks like he’s really thinking about it, but he also clearly knows even less about anime figurines than Jeonghan does — at least Jeonghan has the dubious benefit of having run a cursory internet search beforehand. “This one looks okay,” Seungcheol offers, holding up a box for Jeonghan to inspect.
“He has that one, I think,” Jeonghan says, going back to his phone, scrolling through his album until he finds the picture he took of Jihoon’s bedroom. “See — there. That’s the same, right?”
He looks up to meet Seungcheol’s gaze only to find Seungcheol just staring at him, eyes very wide.
“What? Is it not?” Jeonghan asks, peering back at the image on the screen. He doesn’t know what that look on Seungcheol’s face is about — he’s pretty positive he’s right.
“You really like him,” Seungcheol says, something suspiciously close to wonder in his voice. Jeonghan flinches reflexively, laughing nervously before he can stop himself.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks.
“Nothing, just,” Seungcheol pauses, visibly searching for what he wants to say. “For my birthday you gave me a pair of athletic socks,” is what he settles on, finally.
Jeonghan stares at him.
“Yes, and?”
“I’m pretty sure they were used,” Seungcheol adds. Jeonghan snorts, remembering — they were.
“It was funny though, right?” he can’t resist prodding, even in the face of his own embarrassment.
“No, and that’s not the point,” Seungcheol says, and then, before Jeonghan has a chance to respond, “are you dating Jihoon?”
Jeonghan freezes, a denial on the tip of his tongue, then he wrinkles his nose thoughtfully.
Is he dating Jihoon? He doesn’t think so. But ever since Jeonghan’s mom got a job last year his own apartment has been so quiet — his sister has her academies and her friends to keep her busy after school, so when he’s home Jeonghan ends up alone more often than not.
Jihoon’s mom doesn’t care how much time Jeonghan spends visiting — she mostly seems thrilled that Jihoon’s invited anyone over at all. Jeonghan has very tactfully refrained from teasing Jihoon about it, even though he’s sure Jihoon’s reaction would be adorable.
Jeonghan likes being around Jihoon. He isn’t like Seungcheol, eager for attention, or Jisoo, easygoing to the point of indifference. Jihoon’s affection is something you have to earn, but when he cares he really cares. Jihoon is special, and when he lets Jeonghan into his orbit it makes Jeonghan feel special, too.
“What if I was?” he asks, finally, which isn’t really an answer at all.
Seungcheol blinks, clearly taken aback.
“Um,” he says awkwardly. “That. Um. That would be … fine?”
“Glad I have your approval,” Jeonghan says dryly. “Now please help me, I don’t actually want to be in this store any more than you do.”
He ends up ordering the stupid figure online.
Upcoming birthday or no, isn’t hard to get Jihoon alone — he and Jeonghan spend a lot of time together, these days, curled up on Jihoon’s couch or on his bed, Jihoon’s laptop in front of them playing whatever show Jihoon picks. He’d offered Jeonghan the choice, once, but Jeonghan had waved it off — he doesn’t really care what they watch. The shows aren’t the important part.
It’s Jihoon’s body curled up around him that Jeonghan wants. Jihoon pushing his nose into Jeonghan’s neck when he gets tired, Jihoon smiling sleepily at him when Jeonghan pats his head. Jihoon playing with Jeonghan’s hair as some sports anime or other plays on the screen in front of them.
Jihoon’s cheeks go a sweet pink when Jeonghan hands him the bag, the tip of his nose flushed to match.
“You didn’t need to do anything special,” Jihoon says, pulling the figure out. He’s clearly thrown off-balance, focused on the box on his hand instead of looking up at Jeonghan as he says it, peering at it through the clear plastic so he won’t have to make eye-contact.
Jeonghan snorts.
“Of course I did,” he says. Of course he had to do something special — Jihoon is special.
Jeonghan still remembers when they met — at seventeen the only way Jeonghan knew to get along with people was to be exactly what they wanted, so little Lee Jihoon was a shock. The way he scowled and flatly refused when he didn’t want to do something, never caving even if it inconvenienced someone else. It had fascinated Jeonghan, drawn him in despite himself. He’s never quite managed to pull himself back.
“I didn’t get anything for your birthday,” Jihoon mutters now, not meeting Jeonghan’s gaze as he says it.
“Sure you did,” Jeonghan says easily. “You came to my party, didn’t you? I know you didn’t want to.”
“That’s not true,” Jihoon says, looking up, embarrassment immediately swapped out for defiance. “Of course I wanted to.”
Jeonghan blinks, surprised.
“Well,” he says. “Isn’t that a present, too?”
Jihoon makes a disgruntled face — it is, like most things about him, almost unbearably cute.
“It’s okay, then?” Jeonghan asks, mostly so Jihoon won’t have to think of what to say next, gesturing at the box still clutched in Jihoon’s hand as he says it. “It isn’t one you already have?”
He’s surprised to find he genuinely wants to know. Jeonghan isn’t sure he’s ever felt so self-conscious about a gift before. It feels strange and a little unsettling, waiting for someone else’s approval like this.
Jihoon shakes his head.
“I don’t already have it,” he says.
“Good,” Jeonghan says, not really sure what he’s supposed to do now. “You can just put it in your room and forget it’s from me, if you want.”
Jihoon frowns.
“Why would I want to forget it’s from you?” he asks, sounding genuinely offended. He cradles the box a little closer as he says it, like he thinks Jeonghan’s going to change his mind and take it back. Something warm blooms inside Jeonghan, flowering before he can squash it back down.
“I don’t know,” Jeonghan shrugs helplessly. “Just — If it’s too burdensome, that’s all.”
“It isn’t,” Jihoon says stubbornly. “It’s — It’s really nice, hyung. It was really nice of you. Thank you.”
He looks up as he says it, and suddenly Jeonghan is the one who feels shy, his cheeks flushing their own pink to match. Embarrassing.
“Ah,” Jeonghan says, waving a dismissive hand, laughing weakly as he says it. “It was nothing. Let’s go watch your little volleyball boyfriends, I'm ready to lie down.”
Jihoon snorts, shoving at Jeonghan’s arm without any real heat. Jeonghan smiles down at him, lets Jihoon guide him both to his room.
Jihoon doesn’t put on his volleyball boyfriends — he chooses something softer, instead. There’s a prince, sparkling on the screen, roses all around him every time he appears.
“He looks like you,” Jihoon mutters, half-asleep, snuggling even closer into Jeonghan’s side.
Jeonghan smiles.