Chapter Text
“Is that everything?” Seungcheol asks, pulling the edge of his shirt up to wipe the sweat from his face. Jeonghan doesn’t let himself follow the motion with his eyes.
“I think so,” he says instead, taking a quick glance around the apartment — it wasn’t much to begin with, and now that it’s full of unopened boxes it looks even worse. Seungcheol had offered to help Jeonghan unpack them, too, but Jeonghan waved him off — he’s too tired to attempt that today. The couch is set up, and that’s all he really needs.
Seungcheol’s face does something weird, his eyebrows looking even more concerned than usual.
“Yah,” Jeonghan says suspiciously, squinting at him. “What’s that expression for?”
“Nothing,” Seungcheol says hastily. “Just. You’re sure this is what you want?”
Jeonghan stares at him in confusion.
“What does that mean?” he asks slowly, genuinely thrown by the question.
“Like, living alone,” Seungcheol clarifies. “You don’t want to find another roommate?”
Jeonghan wrinkles his nose. Who else would he live with? Joshua moved to L.A. for work, and even if Jeonghan was willing to consider him as a serious option, Seungkwan’s already practically married. Who else is left? A stranger? No. Mingyu? Definitely not.
“This is fine,” Jeonghan says, instead of telling any of that to Seungcheol. It would just make him even guiltier, probably, and he’s already so stressed he’s the reason Jeonghan has to move in the first place.
“You’ll take care of yourself, right?” Seungcheol asks, voice too serious for Jeonghan’s liking.
“Of course,” Jeonghan says lightly, but Seungcheol only frowns harder.
“Don’t skip any meals,” Seungcheol continues gravely, like he’s giving Jeonghan instructions on how to get to a funeral.
“Yah, Choi Seungcheol, what’s that face for? I know how to order delivery,” Jeonghan says with a laugh, but Seungcheol doesn’t look soothed at all.
Jeonghan pulls out all the stops, then, smiling and coming closer so he can punch jokingly at Seungcheol’s arm. Seungcheol whines, predictable as anything, and tries to twitch away from Jeonghan’s pathetic assault.
“Alright, alright,” he says, finally, once he’s had enough, straightening. His expression looks a little lighter, finally. Jeonghan laughs, drawing back to lean against the doorframe instead. “You’ll really be okay?”
Jeonghan nods.
“You go on,” he says, waving Seungcheol towards the door. “I’ll be fine by myself.”
But as soon as Seungcheol leaves the air in the apartment feels still, too quiet. Jeonghan probably should have expected this, but it’s too late now.
Yoon Jeonghan
are you busy
do you want to help build some furniture
6:23 PM
Kim Mingyu
kkkk sure..
what’s your new address
?
6:24 PM
“I think I’m going to ask Seokmin out,” Mingyu says a few hours later, stretched out long and golden in Jeonghan’s newly assembled bed.
For a moment Jeonghan just stares at him, sure he’s heard that wrong.
“Oh?” he asks, finally, trying not to let anything show on his face.
“He’s nice, right?” Mingyu asks, like that’s even a question. “I really like him.”
“He is nice,” Jeonghan echoes, but he feels strange as he says it. There’s no reason for it — Mingyu isn’t his boyfriend, just someone Jeonghan calls when he wants to get fucked and doesn’t want to have to work for it.
Maybe that’s what the weird feeling in his stomach is about. He’ll lose something convenient, that’s all. Jeonghan will have to come up with a new arrangement, find someone else and train them exactly how he likes.
Exhausting.
“If you want to do it, do it,” he says out loud, mostly meaning it.
Mingyu turns to look at him, a little surprised.
“Really?” he asks.
Jeonghan frowns, irritated. What was Mingyu expecting? It’s not like Jeonghan can say “no.”
“Really,” he says, flicking Mingyu’s bicep. Mingyu flexes it immediately, laughing. Jeonghan rolls his eyes.
“Okay,” Mingyu says, a little slowly. He’s still looking very closely at Jeonghan’s expression, so Jeonghan fixes a placid smile onto his face. “If you’re sure.”
“Just don’t break his heart,” Jeonghan adds, an afterthought. “I’d have to kill you.”
“Deal,” Mingyu says, then lets out a little sigh.
The strange feeling in Jeonghan’s stomach turns sour.
“Yah, Kim Mingyu,” Jeonghan bites out. He pinches Mingyu’s ear, relishing in Mingyu’s immediate offended squawk. “Don’t think about someone else when you’re my bed. What kind of man are you?”
“Sorry, sorry!” Mingyu laughs, easing himself upright. “I’ll get going!”
That isn’t actually what Jeonghan wanted him to do — it’s barely 10 P.M, and the bed always gets cold after Mingyu leaves — but now he can’t think of a way to stop it from happening.
Mingyu looks around at Jeonghan’s bedroom as he retrieves his shirt from the floor.
“When are you going to decorate?” he asks, pulling the shirt on over his head, running his hair to try and fix it — it’s a lost cause, but Jeonghan doesn’t tell him that. “It’s still really empty in here.”
Jeonghan shrugs, settling back down against the pillow.
“I’ll get around to it,” he says dismissively, pulling the blanket back up to his chin. Mingyu makes a skeptical little sound.
“I can help, if you want,” he offers as he reaches for his jeans. Jeonghan makes a face at the idea.
“It’s fine. Don’t forget your phone,” he says, gesturing vaguely at where it’s lying on the floor. Mingyu makes a startled sound when he notices it, reaching out from where he’s struggling with his jeans to scoop it up, the action making him stumble and crash into Jeonghan’s (also newly assembled) dresser.
Jeonghan snorts out a laugh.
“Hyung,” Mingyu whines as he gets his footing, finally zipping up his jeans and looking over, stuffing his phone into his back pocket.
Jeonghan waves a hand at him, still laughing.
“Get out, Mingyu-yah,” he says, not unkindly.
Mingyu leaves, finally, pouting the whole way out, and then the door closes and Jeonghan’s alone.
It’s just like he expected — the bed is already cold.
“How’s the new place?” his father asks after dinner on Friday night.
Jeonghan shrugs.
“It’s fine,” he says, looking up from his phone to meet his eyes. His father nods in quiet acceptance, not asking for anything more.
“What about work? Anything interesting happening there?”
“Not really.”
“What did you say you were doing, again?” Jeonghan’s father asks, brows furrowed together like he’s really thinking about it.
“Logistics and customer experience,” Jeonghan says smoothly, the exact same line he’s fed everyone who’s asked since he graduated. His dad hums in acknowledgment, clearly not sure what that means — mostly that Jeonghan spends a lot of time on the phone with either customers or the company’s courier service, honestly, but he doesn’t need to bore anyone with the details.
“And you’re still not seeing anyone?”
“No.”
“You’re getting older,” his father comments.
“Yes,” Jeonghan agrees. His father heaves out a sigh, like even this brief attempt at conversation has exhausted him.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Jeonghan’s mother says, entering the living room with a plate of fruit. “Honey, would you lighten up? It feels like a funeral in here.”
“Yeah, appa,” Jeonghan says. “Lighten up.”
His father huffs good-naturedly and lets Jeonghan’s mother bully him into silence, taking a single slice of orange and then ignoring the rest of them to read articles on his phone for the rest of the night.
Jeonghan, meanwhile, steals strawberries off the plate, one by one, as Hyesoo regales him and their mother with horror stories about her most recent client, each more dramatic than the last until until his mother finally shoos them both towards Hyesoo’s room, claiming she needs to clean up the kitchen.
“You’re really not seeing anyone?” Hyesoo asks later, playing with Jeonghan’s hair as he sprawls out across her bedroom floor. Jeonghan snorts.
“No,” he says. “Who is there to see?”
Hyesoo hums, not sounding particularly convinced.
For a long moment Jeonghan stays silent, making a small noise of distress as Hyesoo starts to get more aggressive with whatever she’s doing to his head — braiding, maybe?
“You’ve just been seeming very … well rested, lately,” Hyesoo says. Jeonghan makes an offended noise, his entire face scrunching up in distaste at the implication. That’s not — well. It was kind of true, he supposes. It isn’t now. Jeonghan tries to turn his head to look at Hyesoo, but her grip on his hair is too tight. He settles for reaching behind him to pinch her knee, laughing when she swears and twitches away.
“You’re a menace,” Jeonghan says, meaning it. “And it’s none of your business.”
“If you say so,” Hyesoo responds, a smug tone to her voice that Jeonghan doesn’t particularly like. “Oppa, you really need to do something about your roots, this is — ”
“Jeonghan-ah,” his mother interrupts them, flinging the door open without bothering to knock first. “Do you — oh.”
She stops short as she gets a better look at him, bringing a hand to her mouth to cover a snort. Jeonghan realizes, belatedly, that his scalp is really aching.
“What did you — ” he cuts himself off, sitting up and reaching for the heart-shaped hand mirror Hyesoo keeps in a cup by her bed. “Wretched child,” he says, delighted, staring at the assortment of childish hair clips currently adorning his head. He doesn’t even know where Hyesoo got them — she’s twenty-four years old. Surely that’s too old to own so many fuzzy pompoms?
“Did you need something?” Hyesoo asks their mother, ignoring Jeonghan completely. Jeonghan tries to pull one of the clips out and gives up immediately, yelping indignantly at the sting.
“I was going to ask if Jeonghan needed a ride home,” she says. Jeonghan looks over at her, still rubbing at his tender scalp.
“It’s fine,” he waves her off with his free hand. “I’ll just go back tomorrow morning.”
“If you’re sure,” his mother says, clearly torn between polite insistence and the desire to give in to her own exhaustion.
“I’m sure,” Jeonghan says firmly. “Go on to bed, we’ll be quiet.”
“Okay,” she says, coming closer to drop a kiss on his forehead. She pauses as she pulls back, frowning. “When was the last time you got your roots done, sweetheart? This is really — ”
“Yah,” Jeonghan whines, batting her away. “I get it, okay? I’ll go next week.”
Hyesoo snorts in amusement where she’s settled next to him on the rug, reaching up to accept her own hug when their mother moves in her direction.
Jeonghan settles onto his back as their mother slips out of the room with a final good night, leaving the two of them alone again. He turns his head to get a better look at Hyesoo.
“Appa wasn’t wrong, you know,” Hyesoo says, continuing their discussion from earlier. “You are getting older.”
“Yah, what’s this?” Jeonghan laughs nervously. “I’m twenty-five, not dead.”
“They won’t care if it’s not a girl, you know,” Hyesoo continues. Jeonghan closes his eyes and takes a deep breath for patience. “I asked.”
“Hyesoo-yah,” Jeonghan says uneasily. “You didn’t need to do that.”
Hyesoo just shrugs.
“It’s good to know, right?” she asks. Jeonghan supposes it is, although it wasn’t really something he was worried about — he knows his parents know about him, and they’ve never said anything about it either way.
“I guess,” he concedes. “But I’m fine, okay? I’m not missing anything.”
“Maybe,” Hyesoo says skeptically. “It’s nice to have someone who will do things with you. No one wants to be the one setting by themselves at the café like a loser, you know?”
“Isn’t that what your friends are for?”
“Yeah, but then they all get boyfriends,” Hyesoo says, with the deep irritation that comes from personal experience.
Jeonghan frowns, confused.
“What about that guy you were seeing? The librarian?”
“We broke up,” Hyesoo says impatiently, and Jeonghan frowns even harder. When did that happen?
He makes a noise that falls somewhere in between concern, commiseration, and sympathy — it’s pretty open to interpretation, honestly — and Hyesoo snorts, clearly seeing right through him.
“Thanks for your support, oppa,” she says dryly.
“Always,” Jeonghan responds graciously, over-the-top like it’s a joke, trusting Hyesoo will know that it isn’t. Hyesoo hums her acknowledgment before changing the subject to the webtoon she wants him to read instead, a clear ending to their heart-to-heart.
“Hyung!” Seokmin shrieks into the phone a few days later, off like a shot the instant Jeonghan accepts his call. “You’ll never believe what happened!”
Jeonghan winces, both at the volume and the conversation starter — Mingyu must have asked him, then.
He hums inquisitively, waiting for Seokmin to break the news.
“I got the call!” Seokmin continues excitedly, and for a moment Jeonghan can only blink in confusion, totally thrown.
Oh. Right. The new musical — Seokmin’s been waiting to hear back about it, anxious and on-edge for the past week.
“Yah, Seokmin-ah,” Jeonghan says, recovering quickly. “I told you, didn’t I? Of course you did. Always trust your hyung.”
Seokmin laughs, sharp like it’s forcing its way out of him, like he can’t hold it in. Jeonghan smiles in return, fond, and listens to Seokmin babble about the schedule, the rehearsals. How excited he is to meet the other cast members. Jeonghan listens carefully to all of it, but Seokmin never mentions Mingyu at all.
It seems a little weird that he doesn’t bring it up, but what’s Jeonghan supposed to do, ask? Jesus christ. No. Seokmin will tell him when he’s ready, and Jeonghan will try not to think about it until then.
At work on Tuesday Jeonghan spends three straight hours on the phone, his jaw aching by the end of it. Sein smiles sympathetically at him when he finally puts the phone down to take his lunch break — two hours late, but who’s counting?
“You’re working so hard, Jeonghan-ssi,” she comments. Jeonghan smiles thinly at her. He’s so hungry he feels like he’s dying, and the way his neck is aching he knows he won’t be sleeping tonight.
When Jeonghan took this job he told himself that the benefits — free food, good vacation time, friendly atmosphere — made it worth it, but that’s hard to remember, sometimes.
“You’re coming to dinner on Friday night, right?” Sein continues, smiling up at him from where she’s still seated. Jeonghan concentrates very hard on keeping his face neutral.
“Of course,” Jeonghan says, smiling back, but he’s already planning how he can get out of it.
Wednesday isn’t much better than Tuesday, and by Friday Jeonghan’s so exhausted he doesn’t even have to make an excuse to skip the dinner — Sein sends him home an hour early with a hot pack tucked in his pocket and three Vita 500s from the mini-fridge.
He sleeps through most of Saturday, honestly, but when he wakes up on Sunday he’s determined to make the most of the rest of his weekend.
“Seungkwan-ah,” Jeonghan whines into the phone as soon as Seungkwan picks up his call. “What are you doing? I want to see you!”
“Aish, this hyung,” Seungkwan huffs. “I might be busy, did you ever think of that?”
Jeonghan frowns. What could Seungkwan possibly be doing that's more important than this? It’s Jeonghan’s only real free day, and he doesn't want to spend it alone.
“Don't you love me?” he says petulantly, over-the-top so Seungkwan will play along.
Seungkwan makes a disagreeable little sound into the phone.
“Why are you being weird?” he asks impatiently. “Did you do something terrible?”
Jeonghan frowns.
“I’m not being weird,” he says, offended. What’s weird about wanting to see Seungkwan? They’re friends, aren’t they?
“Ooooookay,” is Seungkwan’s response. They’re not even on video, but Jeonghan can still tell he’s rolling his eyes.
“Fine,” Jeonghan says, a little stung by Seungkwan’s rejection but trying not to make it obvious. “I’ll call someone else.”
“Tell Seokmin I say hi,” Seungkwan says immediately, and Jeonghan frowns even harder. Who says he’s going to call Seokmin? Just for that, he isn’t going to. See what Seungkwan knows.
Except then he does call Seokmin, and Seokmin doesn’t pick up — he’s busy with the new musical now, Jeonghan remembers. He thinks about calling Seungcheol, but he can’t quite make himself do it.
It’s fine. He’ll just play Animal Crossing until he’s hungry enough to order delivery. Maybe if he gets restless enough he’ll take a walk. That’s a perfectly fine way to spend a Sunday, Jeonghan decides.
“Seungcheol said he’s kind of worried about you,” Joshua says when he calls on Monday night, because he never lets Jeonghan get away with anything. Jeonghan scowls at the screen, irritated.
“Why would he say that?” he asks.
“He says you never call him anymore,” Joshua says, and Jeonghan frowns even harder. So what?
“He can call, too,” Jeonghan points out. “He’s the one with weird hours.”
Joshua hums, which isn’t the response Jeonghan would hope for. He doesn’t say anything more, waiting for Joshua to continue.
“Did you, like,” Joshua pauses, a weird constipated expression on his face. Jeonghan narrows his eyes in suspicion.
“Did I what,” he says slowly.
“Did you have, like. A thing? For Seungcheol?”
Jeonghan’s stomach does a sudden free-fall inside his body, the lurch of nausea so immediate and intense that for a moment he thinks he might really throw up.
“A what?” he laughs uncomfortably, trying to look natural. “Why would you even ask that?”
“I don’t know,” Joshua says, still watching him closely. Jeonghan wishes he could turn the camera off, but it’s too late now — Joshua would know he was trying to hide something. “You guys were so close, and now it’s weird between you.”
“It’s not weird,” Jeonghan says immediately. They were closer when they were roommates, but they were friends too — are friends. They are friends.
“It’s okay if you did,” Joshua says, ignoring Jeonghan completely. If he were here in person Jeonghan would pinch him, but he has to settle for an irritated nose wrinkle instead.
“Well, I didn’t,” Jeonghan says pointedly. “Just because I fuck guys doesn’t mean I’m into every hot guy I know. I’m not that stupid.”
He means it — he’s always known Seungcheol was off limits, no matter how affectionate he could be. Seungcheol always crawled all over Jeonghan, fawned over him like he was something really special, but it meant something different for Seungcheol than it did for Jeonghan, and that was fine.
There’s a very pointed pause, and Jeonghan rolls back what he said, wincing when he gets to it.
“Or every guy,” he corrects, but they both know it’s too late.
“Okay, well,” Joshua says, a slow skeptical drawl. “Whatever’s going on, you should still call him. He thinks you’re mad at him.”
“Big baby,” Jeonghan says. There’s no disguising the fondness in his voice, though, and when Joshua hums in agreement he just sounds amused.
Seokmin comes to pick Jeonghan up for dinner the next Sunday — one of his rare days off. He comes all the way up to Jeonghan’s apartment instead of waiting at the front, and Jeonghan lets him in without thinking. Seokmin pauses when he gets his shoes off, a weird expression on his face.
Jeonghan frowns in confusion.
“Hyung,” Seokmin says carefully, eyebrows knit together as his eyes dart around the apartment, taking it in. Jeonghan stiffens.
“What,” he says immediately, defensive. He looks around, trying to see the place through Seokmin’s eyes. Bare walls, bare floor. Boxes still pushed against the wall from when he moved in months ago. A single pillow on the couch because Jeonghan keeps falling asleep in front of the TV. Suddenly it feels imperative that Jeonghan doesn’t let Seokmin see the empty kitchen. “I’m ready anyway, let’s just go,” Jeonghan says, grabbing at Seokmin’s arm, pulling him back towards the door.
Seokmin lets himself be led out of the building and down to the sidewalk, pliant as always, but there’s still an expression on his face that Jeonghan doesn’t like.
“You could ask Mingyu to help you decorate,” he says after a moment, sounding hesitant, his hands stuffed into his pockets. “He helped me with my apartment, you know. We went to IKEA.”
“No,” Jeonghan says immediately, his whole body shuddering at the very thought. The humiliation would kill him, he’s pretty sure. He still doesn’t know what’s going on with Mingyu and Seokmin, and he doesn’t think he wants to. Neither of them have said anything — well. Seokmin hasn’t said anything, and Jeonghan hasn’t really talked to Mingyu at all, so obviously he hasn’t said anything either.
Seokmin doesn’t look convinced, though.
“Hyung,” he says again, his voice very careful. “Is there, like. Something wrong?”
“No,” Jeonghan says immediately. “What would be wrong? There’s nothing.”
“Okay,” Seokmin says, still looking nervous, and somehow his acceptance makes Jeonghan feel even worse.
“Let’s just go eat,” Jeonghan sighs. “You’re paying, right?”
“Yah, hyung,” Seokmin whines, but his face melts into a laugh when Jeonghan pokes at his side, trying to squirm away and nearly tripping over his own feet in the process.
“You’re a successful actor! I’m just a lowly office worker! Don’t you care about your poor starving hyung?”
“Shameless,” Seokmin laughs, then his face changes into something mock serious. He continues with a dramatic shake of his head, putting on an affected voice. “Ah, this hyung … Can’t even pay for his own dinner … I’ll do it, but it’s only this once, alright?”
Both of them know it won’t be only this once, and they both know Seokmin doesn’t really mind. Jeonghan grins, still clinging to Seokmin’s arm, relieved by his indulgence, and they don’t mention his apartment again.
“You don’t always have to come all the way out here, you know,” Hyesoo says on Saturday, looking down at where Jeonghan’s sitting cross-legged on her bedroom floor. “I can come visit you instead.”
Jeonghan snorts. He looks around Hyesoo’s perfectly decorated bedroom — at the fluffy pink rug, and the pastel-coloured stationary organized at her desk. The framed photos of her friends, decorated with stickers and arranged neatly above her bed. He can’t imagine her getting comfortable in his bare living room, so ugly in comparison to Hyesoo’s thoughtful decor.
“This is fine,” he says. “I like the trip.”
Hyesoo wrinkles her nose skeptically.
“If you say so,” she says.
“Ah, enough about me,” Jeonghan says, waving his hand to clear the idea from the air. “How have you been, huh? My perfect baby sister?”
Hyesoo doesn’t laugh or give him a cutesy response the way she usually would, just heaves out a sigh as she slumps down further on the bed. Jeonghan narrows his eyes up at her, concerned.
“Hyesoo-yah? Is something wrong?”
Hyesoo sighs again, her fingers fidgeting with the pillow she has clutched to her chest. Jeonghan waits patiently.
“I think I really miss Youngwoon,” she says, finally. She presses her face down into the pillow as she says it, the words coming out muffled.
“Youngwoon?” Jeonghan asks, confused.
“My librarian,” Hyesoo clarifies with a pointed eye-roll, pulling her head back up. Her cheeks are flushed, either with embarrassment or upset. “Well. Not mine anymore, I guess.”
“Ah,” Jeonghan says delicately. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s whatever,” Hyesoo says, waving a hand. It isn’t, obviously, or she wouldn’t be so hesitant to talk about it. “He said I didn’t care enough.”
Jeonghan makes an understanding noise.
“I was like, whatever, but….”
Hyesoo trails off, staring up at the ceiling.
“But I think I cared a lot, actually,” she says after a long moment. “I think I’m really lonely.”
“Ah,” Jeonghan says again. The feeling is, unfortunately, familiar. He leans back until he’s lying down on her fluffy rug, letting the material tickle the back of his neck as he leaves the silence open in case Hyesoo wants to say more.
“It’s just weird now, I guess. I don’t have anyone to buy couple pyjamas with anymore,” Hyesoo says. Jeonghan makes a sympathetic hum in response, even though he’s not sure he really understands.
“I’ll buy couple pyjamas with you, if you want,” he offers after another pause.
Hyesoo huffs out a weak laugh.
“You’re so stupid, oppa,” she says tiredly. “That isn’t the point.”
“Of course! Of course,” Jeonghan says into the phone, voice perked up as bright as it’ll go. If Seungkwan could see him right now he’d never let it go, probably. He sighs as soon as the call ends, so dramatically it kind of takes the wind out of him, leaning down to rest his forehead on the desk.
“Whose idea was it to market to upper-middle class moms?” he moans, turning so the wood digs into his cheekbone instead. Sein laughs where she’s siting next to him, reaching out to offer a consoling back pat.
“They’re where the money is,” she says with a little grimace. “Unfortunately.”
Jeonghan moans again.
“Noona,” he whines. “Save me.”
Sein makes another face.
“I can order tteokbokki for lunch?” she offers. Jeonghan gives her a thumbs-up without moving.
The tteokbokki does kind of help, or at least not being hungry helps — Jeonghan makes it through Wednesday, and then Thursday, and then Friday, and he’s even doing well enough that he makes it to the company dinner before he goes home and sprawls out on the couch, drained.
His phone wakes him up from a sleep so deep he feels vaguely nauseous, bleary and disorientated as he reaches for it, confused. Did he set an alarm? Is it Monday already?
No, he realizes, blinking to clear his eyes as he squints down at the phone. It’s his ringtone, Seungkwan’s name lighting up the screen.
Jeonghan’s so out of it that his hands don’t feel like they belong to his body. He fumbles to accept the call, bringing the phone up to his ear and grunting a greeting into the speaker.
“ … hyung?” Seungkwan sounds confused, which is weird. Usually he just starts talking.
“Mm?” Jeonghan isn’t sure he can manage words yet, still swimming through the haze of oversleep.
“Is everything okay?” Seungkwan asks hesitantly.
Jeonghan opens his mouth to answer and yawns instead, not bothering to muffle it with his hand.
“ … did you just wake up?” Seungkwan asks.
“Mm,” Jeonghan says, looking sideways at the black TV screen in front of him as he nestles his head back into the pillow. “What time is it?”
“It’s 6 P.M,” Seungkwan says slowly.
“On … Saturday?” Jeonghan asks, just to be sure.
“Yes,” Seungkwan says. There’s a worried note to his voice Jeonghan isn’t sure he likes. “As opposed to…?”
“I don’t know,” Jeonghan says. He’s so tired he can’t quite orient himself. It feels like the entire conversation is moving a hair too fast for him to catch up. “Sunday?”
“You thought you slept through an entire day?” Seungkwan asks, voice shrill.
Jeonghan winces. He thought he slept through two entire days, technically, but that doesn’t seem like something he should tell Seungkwan.
“No,” he says, sighing. “I don’t know. Maybe?”
“Oh my god,” Seungkwan says faintly. “What is going on over there? Does this happen a lot? I’m coming over right now.”
That wakes Jeonghan up.
“Wait,” he says. “Don’t — don’t. You don’t have to. I’ll meet you somewhere. Where are you?”
There’s a long, suspicious pause.
“No, I think I need to come over,” Seungkwan says, finally. “What’s your address? Oh my god, I don’t even have your address. Hyung. Oh my god. It isn’t somewhere really weird, is it?”
Jeonghan feels whatever burst of energy he got before drain right back out of him, shifting onto his back and giving up completely.
“Please stop,” he sighs. “It’s not somewhere weird. I’ll text you the address.”
“You said it wasn’t somewhere weird,” Seungkwan hisses when he meets Jeonghan at the building entrance forty-five minutes later. “Hyung. This building is decrepit.”
“It’s fine,” Jeonghan waves him off a little irritably. “Let’s just get coffee, or whatever. Don’t worry about it.”
Seungkwan narrows his eyes suspiciously, clearly worrying about it, but he lets Jeonghan guide him to a nearby café easily enough.
“Okay,” Seungkwan says once he’s settled, perched neatly in his chair with his drink in front of him. “What the fuck is up with you?”
“Nothing,” Jeonghan says immediately. “Why are you being weird?”
“Why am I being weird?” Seungkwan huffs indignantly. “I’m not the one who didn’t know what day it was.”
“It’s my weekend,” Jeonghan says mildly, mostly just to mess with him. “I can spend it how I want.”
“Yeah, but that’s, like….” Seungkwan pauses, making a face as he searches for what to say next. “A cry for help,” is what he settles on, and Jeonghan grimaces.
“I’m not crying for anything,” he says. “I was tired.”
“Are you having a crisis or something?” Seungkwan asks, ignoring Jeonghan completely. “Do you need to get laid?”
Jeonghan grimaces again, trying not to think about the last time he slept with someone, suddenly sure that if he pictures Mingyu in his head Seungkwan will be able to see him too, somehow.
“Definitely not,” he says. That seems like an awful lot of effort, and anyway, where would he even meet someone? He used to go out, sometimes, before he started hooking up with Mingyu, but now the very idea of going to a club makes him tired just thinking about it. He doesn’t know who he’d even go with — Seungkwan doesn’t really go out anymore, either, now that he has Hansol. Joshua’s gone, now, and Seungcheol’s all the way out in Incheon. Seokmin’s busy with his new show.
Jeonghan’s the odd one out.
“Are you sure?” Seungkwan asks, squinting dramatically like he’ll be able to glean everything he wants to know from Jeonghan’s expression alone, if he only looks long enough. “It would be so easy for you, you’re so handsome.”
Jeonghan preens a little, straightening in his chair.
“I mean, sure, your laugh is the worst thing I’ve ever heard, and your personality leaves a little to be desired — ” Jeonghan’s smile fades into a scowl “ — but like, some people don’t care about things like that.”
“No, no. Go back to the part where you were complimenting me, please,” Jeonghan demands, reaching under the table with his foot to kick Seungkwan’s chair. Seungkwan jerks it out of reach immediately, unable to keep a straight face as he does it.
“Sorry,” he says. “But really, hyung. Do you want to be alone forever?”
Jeonghan blinks at the bluntness of the question, unsure how he’s supposed to answer it. What a strange thing to ask — of course he doesn’t want to be alone forever. Who does?
“I don’t mind it,” he says, like it doesn’t matter either way. It’s easier to just not think about it, anyway. He’s busy these days with work. Isn’t that what’s most important? “I’m fine.”
“Okay, literally just hearing you say that gave me a rash, what the fuck,” Seungkwan says, taking a sip of his drink for dramatic effect. “Since when are you so pathetic?”
Jeonghan rolls his eyes.
“I don’t know why I’m even talking to you about this,” he says, sighing deeply like the entire conversation is beneath him, trying to cover his genuine irritation.
“Because I give great advice, obviously,” Seungkwan huffs.
Jeonghan, who has neither asked for nor received any advice at any point in the conversation, rolls his eyes again, more pointedly this time.
“Well, maybe you can give me great advice about something else, instead,” he says drily. Seungkwan rolls his own eyes in response.
“Like what, hyung,” he says. “You never do anything, what am I supposed to give you advice about?”
That stings, somehow, more than Jeonghan would have expected it would.
“Then we don’t need to keep talking,” he says, a little harsher than he means to. He’s usually willing to humour Seungkwan, to play along in the role Seungkwan expects from him — it’s like a little game, and Jeonghan’s always loved games. But today he’s tired, and he doesn’t want to be here, and he isn’t having fun. Jeonghan pushes his chair back to stand up from the table, and Seungkwan’s eyes widen in surprise.
“Wait,” he says immediately, reaching for Jeonghan and then pulling back immediately, like he isn’t sure if it’s okay for him to touch. “Hyung, wait.”
Jeonghan pauses where he’s standing, waiting.
“I’m sorry,” Seungkwan says earnestly, his earlier snippy disposition fading completely into something softer, an expression he usually reserves for other people — never for Jeonghan. That’s not who they are. “Hyung, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m really sorry.”
Jeonghan sits down slowly, not making eye contact as he eases himself back in the chair.
“Let’s just talk about something else,” he says. When he glances up at Seungkwan he looks uncertain, the expression making him seem younger than usual. He nods.
“Okay,” he says slowly, his sudden hesitance making Jeonghan feel ill at ease.
“Yah, Seungkwan-ah, what’s this mood?” he chides lightly, to try to get Seungkwan back to his earlier confidence.
Seungkwan splutters a little and scowls, his usual put-upon expression returning. He spends two full minutes defending himself and another three faking offence, and Jeonghan smiles at him in relief the entire time.
After he parts ways with Seungkwan Jeonghan doesn’t go home, wandering vaguely in the direction of the park he likes best instead. He still feels weird and sick from sleeping for too long, plagued by the specific exhaustion that comes from not having done anything to exhaust himself.
He isn’t sure how long he spends walking along the different paths, trying not to think about Seungkwan said, but before he knows what’s happened it’s gotten dark outside.
The park is far enough from his apartment that usually Jeonghan takes the bus, but tonight he just keeps walking, like he’ll be fine if he just keeps moving for long enough.
When he gets home he calls Joshua before he can stop himself, the motions of it so familiar it’s like his body does it without his mind’s permission.
“Shua-yah,” Jeonghan whines, as soon as Joshua picks up. Technically it’s a video call, but Jeonghan is too lazy to actually hold the phone up, so it’s resting on the pillow next to his head instead. Both of them can get a great view of Jeonghan’s bedroom ceiling, mold stains and all.
“What,” Joshua laughs, not taking Jeonghan seriously at all. That’s what Jeonghan wants, usually, but it chafes today.
Everything chafes, lately. It’s like Jeonghan’s lost a layer of skin, leaving him vulnerable. Open, exposed. Even the slightest touch stings.
“Feel sorry for me,” he says, instead of saying any of that out loud. Joshua would only make fun of him, and Jeonghan would deserve it — it sounds insufferable, ridiculous and overdramatic even in his own head.
“Why,” Joshua says, voice clear even though he’s an ocean and 12 hours away.
“Why do I need a reason?” Jeonghan says, dodging the question as best he can. “Isn’t it enough for me to just ask?”
“Sure,” Joshua says agreeably, and then he doesn’t say anything more, leaving a space wide open for Jeonghan to speak.
Well. Jeonghan isn’t going to fall for that. He waits, completely silent, staring placidly up at the ceiling, expression carefully calm even though Joshua can’t see it.
“I can wait just as long as you can,” Joshua says, eventually. Jeonghan scowls.
“No you can’t,” he says. “It’s three in the morning, you’ll fall asleep.”
“I’ll call back when I wake up,” Joshua says, voice still calm. He’s always so calm — it’s driven Jeonghan crazy, for as long as he’s known him. That relentless desire to shake the unshakeable.
“I won’t answer,” Jeonghan counters.
“I’ll call Seungcheol,” Joshua says. “I’ll make him come back to Seoul to check on you.”
Jeonghan frowns at the idea.
“I won’t open the door,” he says, but they both know he’s losing steam. Horrible. He hates conceding defeat.
“We’ve both seen Seungcheol’s biceps,” Joshua says. “He’ll be like one of those mothers whose baby is stuck under a car, your door won’t stand a chance.”
Fuck. He’s right.
“I hate you,” Jeonghan sighs. Joshua laughs, a small warm chuckle.
“You don’t,” he says kindly. He is, unfortunately, correct.
“I don't want to talk about it,” Jeonghan concedes, and that’s as much as he’s willing to give.
“Okay,” Joshua says, like it’s as easy as that. Maybe it is, for him. He’s not the one who feels like they have snakes wriggling around inside their body, nauseating and unsettling, constantly squirming around.
“I’m hanging up now,” Jeonghan says. “Good talk.”
Joshua doesn’t try to call back, but he still manages to get the upper hand: Seungcheol shows up at Jeonghan’s apartment on Saturday and doesn’t take no for an answer, dragging Jeonghan to a nearby café and forcing him into a seat like he's a wayward toddler.
He doesn’t say, specifically, what made him come all the way out to Seoul, but Jeonghan isn’t stupid.
“How’s Jinhee?” he asks after Seungcheol returns with their drinks, mostly to stave off any inquisitions about his own personal life.
Seungcheol’s face lights up immediately, predictable as ever.
Jeonghan listens to him ramble about meeting her parents last weekend and tries to tell himself it doesn’t feel weird, and then he goes home to his quiet apartment and tells himself it doesn’t feel too quiet.
Goes through the entire week like that, coming home every night and turning on the TV immediately to break the silence — he finally understands why his mom is always watching evening variety shows, now that he’s gone and Hyesoo’s working.
He should call her, probably.
Next weekend.
Seungkwan takes everything personally, so Jeonghan can’t turn down an invitation for dinner two weeks later — he doesn’t really want to, anyway. He’s missed Seungkwan, and it’s not Seungkwan’s fault Jeonghan’s been feeling so weird.
It’s mostly fine, anyway. Quieter now that Chan and Soonyoung are gone, but Seokmin made it, at least, and he’s loud enough to make up the difference. Jeonghan sticks close to him, clutching at his arm and leaning on his shoulder to give his body something to do.
But somehow Mingyu still finds him before the night ends, pulling Jeonghan aside on his way back from the bathroom. Jeonghan winces, then tries to pull his face into something more nonchalant.
“Hyung,” Mingyu says, and then visibly chickens out of following it up with whatever he wants to say.
“Yes?” Jeonghan asks, both to communicate his impatience and also to help Mingyu along.
“I wanted to talk to you,” Mingyu says. Well — obviously. They’re not here because Jeonghan had something to say. He nods instead of pointing this out.
“I just wanted to tell you that Seokmin and I never went out,” Mingyu says, after a moment. He’s clearly embarrassed as he says it — the tips of his ears are bright red. “He said no.”
Jeonghan pauses, taking that in.
“Oh?” he says, finally, feigning disinterest as though it doesn’t matter to him at all.
“We’re still friends,” Mingyu continues. “It’s better this way, I think.”
“Why are you telling me this,” Jeonghan asks slowly.
Mingyu shrugs, a careful movement.
“I thought you might want to know,” he says. Jeonghan frowns.
Mingyu looks at him for a long moment.
“Just, like,” Mingyu starts, then pauses as he considers his words again. Jeonghan’s heart rises in his throat as he waits. “I realized it was shitty of me, to ask you about it the way I did.”
“It was fine,” Jeonghan says blandly, not giving anything away. “It was what you wanted.”
Mingyu frowns.
“I wanted you first, though,” he says. “I was just being stupid about it.”
Jeonghan freezes, staring at him.
“What’s that supposed to mean,” he says slowly.
Mingyu shrugs, laughing helplessly.
“I know it was dumb of me,” he says. Jeonghan stares at him, so taken aback he can’t process the words properly. “You kept saying it wasn’t serious.”
Jeonghan did say that, he remembers. It wasn’t serious — they went straight from bickering all the time to hooking up every chance they got, nothing in between. They weren’t even really friends first — Jeonghan’s not stupid enough to think that could build a real relationship.
“It never would have worked,” Jeonghan says, feeling like a different person as he says it. Like he’s watching himself speak. “You didn’t really like me, anyway.”
Mingyu’s head tilts in confusion.
“Who said that?” he asks. Jeonghan blinks.
“Does it matter?” Jeonghan asks. “It’s true.”
Mingyu’s frowning now, but it doesn’t look like what Jeonghan expected — there’s no petulance to his expression, no childishness. Mingyu looks older than Jeonghan remembered, and genuinely upset. Jeonghan doesn’t know how to handle that.
“It isn’t,” Mingyu says, finally. “Who told you that? It isn’t.”
“Oh,” Jeonghan says. He doesn’t have anything to follow it up with, so put off-balance by the entire conversation that he isn’t sure where to go next.
“But we’re okay now, right?” Mingyu asks, eyes wide and earnest. “I don’t want it to be weird between us. That’s why I told you.”
Jeonghan nods. He’s pretty sure it would have been better if Mingyu hadn’t said anything at all, but sure. Why not? There’s no reason they can’t be okay. No reason at all.
“Good,” Mingyu nods firmly, like it’s decided. He gives Jeonghan one more little smile, and then he turns back toward the party.
Jeonghan stays in the hallway for what feels like a long time, thinking about nothing, and then he makes an excuse to Seungkwan and walks home alone.