Work Text:
“Motherfucker,” Han Jisung groans as one single chestnut mushroom, plump and ripe for the eating, leaps from his hands and rolls across the shop floor in leaps and bounds. “You’re such a bitch. Why can’t you stay put like the rest of your brethren?”
It’s a leaping day today. That’s what Jisung calls the days when every single fruit and vegetable in his greengrocers, originally named Hannie’s, seem to have a vendetta against him and make bids for freedom that have him crawling under shelves and getting dirtied and dusty in an attempt to retrieve them. He’d much rather do the good old ice cube trick; kick them beneath the shelves and forget about them, but he’d really much rather not attract rats and invite rotting into his shop. It would definitely deplete sales, for a start.
Sighing, he deposits his armful of mushrooms onto the scales at the till before bending down to retrieve the runaway fungi. He adds it to the top of the pile and presses a few buttons - ₩7200 a kilogram - before jotting down the price for the pile onto the long handwritten receipt he’s been working on all morning. Tuesdays are delivery days, which means he has to get through the town’s orders before nine o’clock in the morning. To be fair, Tuesdays are tame days, and there are always less orders to get through, but the longer orders take time . Even more so when his fucking mushrooms keep making a run for it. Fortunately, though, he only has three more orders to get through before he can load them all into his delivery van, wait for his singular employee - a young lad named Jeongin - to pick them up and then he’s all set for the day.
It’s a modest living: most days Jisung won’t even make too much over what he’s had to spend to keep his shop stocked. His modest apartment is minimally furnished, although he plays it off to interior design strategy, and his own fridge is only half as full as the shop’s fridge, but he doesn’t mind it one bit. With a job as fulfilling as one helping his town stay healthy and happy, how could he ever leave?
A dog owner walks past the door, and immediately the street fills with excited yelps and barks as their dog strains on their lead to enter the shop. Laughing, Jisung rummages about in the box he keeps beneath the till to grab a dog treat, and walks to the door to greet said canine and its owner, Heechul.
“Good morning, Heechul noona,” he greets politely as her dog, a beautiful grey whippet, licks all over his face and hands in elated greeting.
“Good morning, Jisung. It’s a good job you’re open so many days of the week; she won’t let me pass this shop without saying hi to you when we’re on our morning walks,” Heechul replies, eyes sparkling with warmth.
“She misses me every second we’re apart… it’s definitely not just for the treats,” Jisung says, and they both laugh.
“I have to get going fast today, I start work earlier than usual so I can’t pop in for anything,” Heechul says regretfully, but Jisung waves her off.
“Oh, don’t worry about it at all! Enjoy your day -- oh, wait,” - he runs to one of the outside shelf displays and picks a particularly full peach, soft and perfect - “take this for the journey. They’re particularly juicy this morning.”
Heechul thanks him gratefully, and then Jisung waves the both of them off as they make their ways back down the street, smiling all the way.
“You don’t get that sort of interaction at a nine-to-five office job,” Jisung says to himself contentedly as he makes his way back into the shop. The radio is playing cheerful tunes today, typical of his favourite station, and so he turns up the dial as he packs the rest of his orders, dancing little steps and swaying his hips here and there to the music. His orders are finished in no time with some music to pass the time, and soon the delivery van is fully packed up and ready to go, with fifteen minutes to spare until Jeongin should arrive to collect them all to distribute. The clock reads 08:51 , so it’s still quite early for customers, who usually start arriving after nine o’clock, so he has a few moments to collect himself, make himself a hot drink and prepare for the day ahead.
“Be my, be my baby,” he sings as he sashays over to the kettle in the corner of the shop, filling it up and pressing the little red button that turns it on. It’s quite chilly today, and the colder weather as summer turns into autumn combined with the air conditioning units keeping the fruit and vegetables fresh as can be, has Jisung shivering. He thanks his lucky stars that he finally remembered to bring his hot water bottle today, and fills it up once the water has boiled, hugging it close to his body and sighing with relief as warmth seeps back into his bones.
Ever the opportunist, he takes the devoid shop as a perfect chance to scan for any imperfections in his layout. This morning, when unloading the van of the fresh fruit and vegetables he had purchased from the markets, he had taken extra care to display the best side of every single slice of nature, putting away the bruised and battered elements to give away for free to those who may need it, or as a last resort, to a fresh food bank for others to buy at a discounted price. Today, Hannie’s is looking particularly well-kept and fully stocked, practically bursting with all the colours of the rainbow with all the goods that mother nature provides for humans and animals alike to feast upon and nurture themselves with.
“Hi, hyung!”
The smiling face of Jeongin pokes through the door, and Jisung grins as he waves him in, turning on his dramatic flair to make sure Jeongin starts the day smiling.
“Jeongin, hello, so good to see you. How are you this fine sunny morning?”
Jeongin regards the dull, damp morning outside the shop and grimaces, making Jisung chuckle.
“Not so fine a morning, but I’ll be in the van for most of it so it’s okay. How many deliveries are due today?”
“Not too many; you might finish early today. I’ve stocked the van in order of delivery addresses so you won’t have to be driving back and forth all over the place to get them all dropped off.”
“Ah, so helpful. Thank you, hyung,” Jeongin says sincerely, and Jisung claps him on the shoulder.
“Anything for my favourite employee.”
“I’m your only employee!”
“Potato, potato. Here, it’s still early - take one of these for breakfast. I made too much this morning,” Jisung says, and reaches behind the counter for a container of gyeran bokkeumbap for Jeongin to take with him on his morning rounds. “No - take it. You need your energy.”
Jeongin, who looked like he was about to argue, deflates and takes the container with a grateful smile. “Thank you, hyung. I did forget to eat breakfast today, as well, so your timing is perfect.”
“Of course. Come, sit down here as you eat it, and then take a moment to rest before you go off delivering. I’m going to organise the stock outside.”
As Jeongin sits behind the till to eat his breakfast, Jisung steps outside into the cold air, shivering just slightly as chilly fingers of wind rake through his hair and around his neck. He pulls his jumper closer to himself before shaking his hands out, poised to arrange and rearrange and double check that each individual piece of fruit or vegetable is in top condition and ready to be sold.
He adjusts the position of an avocado, and out of nowhere an apple falls from its pride of place from the next box over, bumping and jumping across the floor. From a height like that, the apple will surely be bruised beyond selling, if the ground hasn’t already taken a chunk from it already, rendering it no good to be on display any longer. Jisung swears loudly.
“You bitchass fucking apple, maybe you’d get sold faster if you stayed in your fucking place-”
“Hello, Han Jisung.”
Jisung screams.
Leaning against the wall, arms crossed, smirk overriding his features, is Lee Minho, the owner of the hairdresser’s across the road. Being the owner of such a shop means that Minho, of course, is incredibly well-read on haircare, and his hair is always looking unfairly good, with so much shine to it that Jisung barely manages to hold himself back from touching it whenever he gets too close. Last month he dyed it a lovely lilac colour, reminding Jisung of evenings spent in a sunkissed meadow, and honestly, damn him for taking up so much of Jisung’s brain capacity for it. This motherfucker should be paying rent .
“You need a haircut,” Minho comments, walking up close and taking a pinch of Jisung’s hair between his fingers, inspecting closely. “Look at those split ends. I could spear marshmallows with these.”
Jisung blinks. “Yeah, I’m good thanks, and you?” he says sarcastically, and Minho laughs.
“You should come into my shop soon. I’ll do your hair for you, free of charge.”
Jisung is well aware of his split ends, but recently he hasn’t been earning quite enough to splash out on something as inessential as a haircut. Split ends, he can live with - but food, he quite literally couldn’t live without. He’d tried cutting his hair himself in the past, but it had ended so disastrously that he’d decided to just leave himself be for the time being. But there’s no way anyone else knows how little he makes at his shop - he’s not told a single soul.
Eyes bugging wide, Jisung regards the elder man with suspicion. “Free of charge?”
Minho at least has the decency to look hesitant. “It’s just… Well, you do so much for our town, and are so selfless - I’ve seen the efforts you go to to make people’s days just that little bit better, so consider it a way of giving back to you. Good karma, or something.”
Or something, Jisung hopes.
Minho is still fiddling with Jisung’s hair as they talk, and has taken to twirling strands of it around his forefinger, making Jisung hope against all hope that he hasn’t turned as red as he’s feeling. Perhaps, if he’s questioned on it, he can put his obvious blush down to the heat of his hot water bottle making its way up his neck to his cheeks.
To be completely honest, Jisung feels a little awkward taking up an offer for anything for free. He feels as though he’d be freeloading, which of course isn’t the case when he’s been offered this opportunity completely unprompted, but something about it just feels wrong . Yes, he gives some of his produce away for free for those who need it, or to little children who come in, curious about the fruits but with parents who are careful with money, cautious to buy what they might not eat - but haircuts can be pricey. This is more than a stray punnet of strawberries, although it’s certainly just as sweet.
“Let me do something for you in return,” he bargains, and Minho’s eyes sparkle.
“I’m partial to red peppers and avocados,” is all he says before he takes his leave, spinning on his heel and leaving Jisung feeling cold without his presence so close to him. Minho passes by an old lady, a regular customer of Jisung’s on his way out, and Jisung realises with a jolt that she had likely been waiting there for quite a while.
“Oh! I’m so sorry if I kept you waiting,” he starts, but the lady holds up a hand to halt his words in their tracks.
“Oh, don’t apologise for that, love,” she says warmly, eyes glimmering with something that makes Jisung feel safe. “It’s always lovely to see young sweethearts acting so fondly with each other. It reminds me of my youth, too.”
We’re not sweethearts, is what Jisung wants to say - should say, that is - but something in his chest reaches out to block the words before they can escape. Something in that word, that old fashioned label of sweethearts has his heart thudding and cheeks flushing, and he doesn’t quite want to chase the feeling away just yet. So instead, he settles on a simple thank you.
A few feet away, Minho overhears the whole exchange, and his heart sets alight with hope; a new spring befalls his footsteps as he walks away.
Once the lady - Eunha, is her name - has bought her usual daily order of one bell pepper, a punnet of strawberries, asparagus, broccoli and cabbage, Jeongin emerges from the back room, mischief written all over his face even through the bottle of water he currently has held to his lips.
“Sweethearts, hyung?”
Jisung groans. “Not you too.”
“I’m not saying a thing.”
Turning to look at Jeongin, Jisung can’t help but grin. “But your face is speaking awfully well for you.” As Jeongin begins to laugh, Jisung rolls his eyes fondly and shoos him away. “Begone with you and your teasing! Go and get those deliveries done.”
“Thank you for breakfast, hyung,” Jeongin says innocently, and then he’s climbing into the delivery van and driving away with a merry wave, leaving Jisung to his own devices until the usual onslaught of morning customers make their way into the shop.
It’s a small shop, and would be cosy looking if not for the door that’s always kept open, and the small, thigh-height air conditioner that keeps the shop interior at a steady low temperature to better preserve the goods sold there. The vibrancy of the shelves of fruit and vegetables certainly make up for the lack of physical temperature, but that’s unfortunately nothing Jisung’s own body can compensate for. Summer is bearable, as the heat outside balances out the inner chill, leaving things pleasant and free, but with summer rapidly spiralling into chillier autumnal weather, Jisung finds himself wrapping up warm every day: today he dons three layers, and knows for a fact that he won’t be parted even once from his hot water bottle.
Before long the usual morning of customers begins its high rise, and Jisung forgets all else in favour of serving them to the best of his ability and making sure their experience shopping at Hannie’s is just as good as every other time they’ll visit.
It’s easy to throw himself into his customer service role and make sure that every customer leaves as happy as he can provide, but the warmth that had bloomed in his chest at the featherlight tangle of fingers in his hair never quite leaves him.
~🍄🍄🍄~
‘And it was all yellow….’
“Your skin, oh yeah, your skin and bones,” Jisung sings softly along to the radio as he clears away the empty boxes at the end of the day; music turned up and the door propped open in case of any last-minute buyers, “turn into something beautiful…. You know… you know I love you so…” He stacks the empty cardboard to be put into the recycling bin outside and stores any delicate fruits into the fridge in the back room for fresh-keeping until tomorrow, tucking everything tightly in next to each other on the shelves before covering each box of potatoes with paper sacks to keep the light - and potential bugs - out of them until tomorrow. The guitar in the chorus of the song makes goosebumps erupt on Jisung’s skin, and he beams to himself as he turns the radio up that little bit more, sinking into each layer of the music like a warm bubble bath.
Across the road, Minho watches Jisung dancing and singing among the bell peppers and sighs softly, resting his chin on the palm of his hand from where he sits at the salon’s front desk, waiting patiently for his next booking. They’re running a little late; not that Minho minds. It gives him a while longer to admire the breathtaking greengrocer from down the street, as his hair bounces with every movement and his smile glows brighter than a thousand stars.
He’s beautiful.
Blissfully unaware of the endeared eyes following him across the street, Jisung begins to stack the boxes that each vegetable is kept in into a pile, ready to unstack and unload into the next day, all the while humming to himself. He’s almost done now; not long until he can pack up and go to spend time with his friends this evening. They have a long-awaited night of movies and wine planned ahead of them, and Jisung has been clinging to their plans like a lifeline today, needing something to get him through his exhaustion to look forward to. Right as he finishes stacking the vegetable boxes, there’s a knock at the open door.
“Hello, dear, we’re not too late to buy anything, are we?” an elderly woman asks, face apologetic at having disturbed Jisung from his closure. Jisung immediately wants to ease any and all hesitation from her conscience.
“Of course not! As long as this door is open, we’re open; come in!” He ushers her inside, her husband and what Jisung assumes is their granddaughter following closely behind her. The granddaughter is no taller than knee height to Jisung, and is clutching a punnet of strawberries close to her chest, the same way one might hold a baby.
“Strawbees,” the child says, beaming brighter than the sun, and Jisung’s heart melts.
“Yes, strawberries,” he coos, and the little girl rips the punnet of strawberries open with vigour, spilling them all over the floor. He giggles to himself as he helps her pick them up, waving off her grandparents’ apologies as he does so. “I understand your enthusiasm for strawberries. They’re very tasty, aren’t they? Are they your favourite fruit?”
The girl looks at him for a moment, eyes wide, and then grins again. “Strawbees.” She sounds incredibly triumphant.
“Strawbees,” he agrees, and puts them through the till. “There. Are you going to be careful with them?”
“Yes!! Strawbees!”
Her grandparents eye Jisung with grateful appreciation for his patience as they pay by card, purchasing a healthy amount of potatoes as well as a bouquet of flowers from the colourful display outside. As they leave the girl turns back to wave an energetic goodbye to Jisung, and yells one last happy “strawbees!” before skipping away down the street, holding her beloved strawberries in her arms like a trophy.
As Jisung waves them away from the doorway, his eyes catch Minho’s through his salon window, and even across the road there’s a perceptible amount of pink dusting his cheeks as he raises a hand to wave at Jisung. Jisung waves back cheerfully, ignoring the way his heart leaps at the short interaction, and then heads back inside to tend to the rest of his shop.
When he leaves that night, his eyes wander back across the street to Minho’s salon, as if drawn by some invisible force, and can’t hold back a smile at the sight of Minho laughing and joking with his client as he expertly holds up sections of her hair to trim and even out. It’s a joyful sight, and it warms Jisung’s heart.
He’s breathtaking, he thinks, and spends the entirety of his movie night just a little bit preoccupied with the thought of glossy hair, gentle hands and the warmest smile.
~🍄🍄🍄~
It’s a surprisingly sunny day for autumn, and warm coloured leaves cast a fiery glow on the ground, warmed by the sun that’s turning chilly with each passing day and complimenting the large pumpkins that Jisung has begun to stock outside his shop for any potential pie-eaters or pumpkin carvers out there that they may intrigue. He has half a mind to take one home for himself -- he’s a dab hand at pumpkin carving, and his friend Felix makes an amazing pumpkin soup, so he could give the seeds and guts to him, if he so wanted.
This morning, Jeongin had bought Jisung a black forest hot chocolate from their local coffee shop as a surprise, and the warm, fruity twist on the beverage has Jisung feeling as light and fluffy as a cupcake as he goes about his day, glowy with happiness and practically bouncing on his heels as he thinks about all the good things that autumn brings.
“Hannie!”
Jisung’s head shoots up from where he’s checking the day’s income at the till as the glossy head of Lee Minho pokes through the door, all sunshine smiles and golden eyes. His heart leaps up within his chest, and begins to race just a little.
“Hey, Minho hyung. What can I do for you today?”
Minho walks up to the counter and slaps a red Uno reverse card down next to the till, grinning like a maniac. “No.”
Jisung blinks once. “What?”
“What can I do for you, is the question,” Minho says ominously. “I have an appointment slot, the last of today, that’s just miraculously freed up due to an emergency cancellation.” He points at Jisung with a finger that positively exudes foreboding. “You’re coming with me.”
Jisung glances at his watch: there’s still an hour to go until closing time, and as much as he’d enjoy spending some time with Minho that isn’t the other man poking his head through his shop door for a short conversation every day, he really can’t just abandon all responsibility for a guy . No matter how cute he may be.
“There’s still an hour to go until I close up shop,” Jisung says apologetically.
“Jeongin is here. I’m sure he can manage on his own without you for an hour,” Minho replies innocently, face contorted into one of pure angelic poise. “I’ve seen him working solo before.”
A snort of muffled laughter makes Jisung turn around, and he doesn’t know whether to glare or laugh at the sight of Jeongin muffling barely concealed glee into his purple sleeve. That motherfucker.
“Go, Jisung hyung,” he says brightly, and Jisung resists the urge to wrangle him. “You really do need a haircut, it’s tragic. I’ve got it from here.”
“Are you sure?” Jisung hesitates visibly, torn between his business and a lovely favour from a friend. He knows Jeongin will be fine without him, it’ll hardly be the first time he’s worked the shop alone, but the idea of abandoning his own business for a haircut makes him antsy.
Gentle hands push at his shoulders as Jeongin leads him out of the shop.
“I’m serious, hyung. I’ve finished the deliveries early today, so I have extra time to kill. Go and enjoy the feeling of Minho-ssi’s hands in your hair, or something,” he whispers into Jisung’s ear, and Jisung pretends to smack him on the arm.
“Brat. But thank you…” Eyes softening, Jisung turns to look Jeongin fully in the eyes. “Really. I don’t think I’d have been able to find the time otherwise.”
“Of course. I’ll close up for you in half an hour, and drop the shop keys to you at the salon on my way home.”
Jisung turns to Minho, who’s watching them both with concealed amusement, arms wrapped around his waist to keep the cold away.
“Then I guess I’m all yours?”
“He wishes,” Jeongin mumbles, and Jisung coughs loudly over it.
“I guess for tonight, you are,” Minho smiles smoothly, and takes a hold of Jisung’s jumper sleeve, tugging on the thick orange wool to get him moving again. Jisung follows willingly, heart thudding behind the punnet of strawberries; the very last of the season, that he grabs on the way out, keeping them clutched tightly to his chest for security.
“Bye, hyung!” Jeongin’s gleeful voice follows them across the street, and Jisung turns back to send him a withering glare.
Minho’s hairdressers salon is beautiful: professionally classy with just the amount of additional touches of lighting and comfortable cushions to feel homely, too. Through the full-length front windows it’s beginning to get difficult to see beyond, as the day is already darkening, making the windows more reflective than see-through, and perfectly aligned rows of seats facing polished mirrors blink back at Jisung through the glass.
“I bought strawberries,” Jisung says as Minho holds the salon door open, “I know they’re not peppers or avocados but the ones we had left today weren’t exactly in top condition. I thought strawberries would be nice, though, especially as these are some of the last ones we’ll have in for the year…” he trails off hesitantly, and has to turn back to make sure Minho’s face isn’t steeped in distaste.
He’s met with a blinding smile, and Minho reaches forward to pluck the punnet from Jisung’s fingers.
“These look gorgeous! I just know they’ll be delicious, thank you,” he chirps, and rips the thin lid off with a crinkle, setting them on the ledge that extends from the mirror that Jisung presumes he’ll be sitting in front of. “I’ll leave them here, and we can both eat them whilst I work. Now - sit here, and I’ll grab a cover for your clothes.”
Jisung knows it’s standard practise for one’s barber to put the protective cape onto their client to maximise efficiency and make sure it covers most of their clothes from stray hair clippings as they can see a lot better than the person in the chair, but something about the way Minho leans in close, warm breath fanning over the shell of Jisung’s ear as he ties the cape closed behind his neck, makes the tips of Jisung’s fingers tingle and his heart begin to race.
“I know I invited you here for a simple dry trim, but I do admit that I’ve been thinking recently… about if I were to dye your hair too. I bought a new colour for the salon supply recently, and have been wanting to try it out on someone. What would you think?”
Jisung grins as shivers of anticipation run down his spine. “What colour is it, exactly?”
Minho’s matching grin could rival the Cheshire Cat’s. “Well, you’ll just have to wait and see. Do you trust me?”
Maybe. “No.”
Minho snorts. “Tough. Let’s begin.”
Sitting back in defeat, Jisung can only stare as Minho turns his chair away from the mirror, muttering something about ruining the illusion and keeping things surprising, and Jisung finds that he’s weak against the faint idea of arguing. He lets himself be manoeuvred, and before long he finds himself with a head full of hair bleach, the chemical smell stinging his nose as Minho stands back and fights in vain against a smile.
“Flattering,” he teases, and Jisung blushes.
“I don’t even want to know how bad I look right now.”
“You don’t look bad,” Minho says, and then he turns his back as he mumbles his next words, likely not for Jisung to hear at all. But Jisung’s heart jumps in his chest when he hears Minho say, “it’s cute. ”
He stares a hole in the wooden flooring to avoid making eye contact after such a sweet comment -- but perhaps Jisung doesn’t mind looking like this for a while after all. Just this once.
Minho’s hands in Jisung’s hair are absolute heaven when the time comes to wash the bleach away. There’s a painful crick growing in Jisung’s neck as he leans back over the sink, but for once it’s an easy feat to ignore as he closes his eyes and loses himself to the blissful scratch of fingertips working in tandem with warm water, small circles scratching gently at his scalp until he’s sighing at the feeling.
Light chuckles break him from his delighted spiralling.
“I think you’re liking this,” Minho’s voice cuts through his brain fog, hazy and drowsy. “Good news! -- We’ll be doing it all over again once the coloured dye has sat for long enough.” And Jisung has to hold back a satisfied groan at that.
“How are you so good at this?”
“It’s my job,” Minho deadpans, “but I also have three cats at home. You remind me of them, in a way.”
Fireworks, amber and red, explode in Jisung’s chest.
“I do? How so?”
“You meow a lot, clearly,” Minho replies, and laughter bubbles out of Jisung’s throat unbidden. “No, I’m kidding, but you are cute and your cheeks remind me of their fluff in that I want to coo over them for hours.”
Jisung keeps laughing quietly, his hands coming up to cover his cheeks in defiance. “Hey! -- I’ve never had my cheeks called fluffy before!”
“It’s a compliment,” Minho assures him, and then one of his wet hands comes to poke at the squishy flesh of one, weaving between Jisung’s fingers for access. “Ah - perfect.”
“Yah!” If Jisung wasn’t fully blushing already, he certainly is now.
“Strawberry cheeks…” Minho trails off, and then turns the water at the sink off, wrapping Jisung’s hair in a towel before prompting him to sit up. Jisung blinks rapidly, feeling his blood redistribute to his body like normal, and uses a stray end of the towel to sluice away some water that had dripped down his neck in the process of moving. Minho picks up a particularly ripe strawberry from the punnet, and bends down to hold it next to Jisung’s cheek for a moment in comparison, so close that their breaths almost mingle as Minho makes eye contact that feels almost illegal in its intensity.
“Not quite as red as the strawberry,” Minho whispers, and then grins brightly. “But certainly sweeter.” He holds the strawberry out in front of Jisung, plump and inviting, but Jisung simply takes it between his fingers instead of biting it from Minho’s own grasp, needing a way to diffuse the tension between them that had come out of nowhere, brewing and thickening like a thick potion made from unspoken longing, pining, loving. It’s deliciously forbidden; forbidden only through their own hesitance creating boundaries that feel as thick as lead walls between them but are as easy to overcome as a single brick in one’s path, and as badly as Jisung wants to break it, he can’t find it within him to make a further move just yet.
The rest of their appointment passes by in a similarly easygoing fashion, and Minho trims Jisung’s hair before applying the coloured dye to his hair, whining about how good he looks blonde and how he’s contemplating simply keeping things this way. It gives Jisung a little ego boost after the mild embarrassment of not knowing how badly he looked with the bleach sitting in his hair, and he brings his hands up to cup his face, posing for a laughing Minho before he attacks Jisung with hair dye. Although the dye is dark and vaguely coloured already, Jisung can’t quite tell what colour his hair is going to turn out. It doesn’t stop him from trying to sneak peaks into the bowl of hair dye that Minho keeps close to his chest, or at arm’s length above his head to stop a nosy Jisung from guessing the colour before it’s developed, and after lots of laughs and giggles and finally, a mocking threat to blindfold Jisung, he finally agrees to stop trying to guess, to keep the element of surprise alive.
For what it is, it’s surprisingly exciting.
He lets Minho dry and style his hair before he sees the final product, and to spend so many hours with Minho practically pampering his hair (save for the chemicals in the dye, of course) feels like pure heaven to Jisung, who doesn’t usually have the time for self care apart from the very basics. Minho carefully shampoos, tones and deep conditions his hair, and every second of the massaging, sitting and washing would be sending Jisung off into a deep sleep if not for the lively conversation flowing naturally between them. Around halfway through his first trim, Jeongin drops by to drop off the keys to Hannie’s , and leaves with a badly concealed wink - it's like he didn't try at all - and a cheeky finger wave that reinforces just how much of a little shit he is.
“You look amazing,” Minho says as he finally spins Jisung around to face the mirror, hands on his shoulders, and he smiles into Jisung’s reflection as Jisung lights up with a beaming smile. Striking, auburn hair winks back at Jisung, reminding him exactly of the colour of the leaves outside: he looks warm and autumnal, and he couldn’t imagine loving a hair colour more.
“Oh my god,” he whispers, awestruck, and Minho laughs to himself, delighted. “I love it. Oh my god.” His hair is finally cut back too, and no longer falls into his eyes; perfectly trimmed and styled to fall into his face just so. He has to remind himself not to touch it, so as to not mess it up or make it greasy, but oh, he hadn’t expected to feel this incredible about himself with a simple haircut and colour.
“Thank you,” he cries happily, and Minho grins back at him, squeezing his shoulders as they smile at each other’s reflection.
“I’m glad you like it, Jisungie,” he replies, and Jisung turns around to face him, throwing his arms around Minho’s neck.
“I really, really love it. Thank you,” he says into Minho’s shoulder, and doesn’t bother to bite back his widening smile as Minho squeezes him in return.
~🍄🍄🍄~
Since his impromptu appointment at Minho's salon, Jisung has been particularly eager to drop by each day, knocking on the glass door as if Minho hadn't already seen him approaching and gifting the elder man with the very best of each morning's produce deliveries, heavy on the bell peppers and avocados. It makes Minho laugh a little, and he insists that Jisung doesn't need to repay him quite so heavily, but Jisung's incredibly homosexual self quite likes the excuse to visit Minho at work every day, instead of just having the latter visit him all the time. It's a refreshing scenery change, and Jeongin is all too happy to wave Jisung from the shop before he departs on his daily deliveries to let Jisung go and flirt with Minho for a few minutes every morning.
This morning, he had already delivered Minho's new daily order, and so when he steps into Hannie's at a few minutes past eleven, just a few hours after Jisung had visited his salon, it throws Jisung for a little bit of a loop. Perhaps it's the sleep deprivation: he hasn't been sleeping well recently, or perhaps it's sheer gay panic. Whatever it is, he finds that he doesn't quite mind the shock factor so long as Minho is involved.
His mouth, however, doesn't quite manage to convey the sentiment. It interrupts him with a huge yawn when he tries to greet Minho, and he's suddenly glad that Jeongin is still out delivering, or else he's sure he'd be on the butt end of mocking laughter right now.
“Ahh, is my sweet Hannie tired today?” Minho croons, and then he steps closer, wrapping an arm around Jisung’s waist as his other hand finds its way into Jisung’s hair, lightly scratching at his scalp in an imitation of the way he’d massaged the dye, shampoo and conditioner out of his hair the week before. Jisung is helpless against his touches, sagging bonelessly against Minho’s body as Minho hums gently into his ear.
“You’re gonna make me fall asleep,” Jisung manages to slur out, and Minho’s chest rumbles against his own as he laughs.
“Maybe you should. Maybe you need it.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t be distracting me from my job.”
“Maybe, but it’s early and you have no customers right now. I’m within my rights.”
Jisung hooks his chin over Minho’s shoulder, deciding it’s a little more comfortable at the moment. “Your rights to what?”
“My rights to Hannie Hugs! I can’t distract you from your customers if there currently aren’t any customers to distract you from.”
“The last time you distracted me from a customer she mistook us for sweethearts,” Jisung says. He’s not sure why he says it, and is certain that Minho can feel his heart thudding against his ribcage as he says it, but the words have been said and there’s no going back.
“Well, you are a sweetheart. Just, not my sweetheart… not officially; not yet,” Minho replies lightly, his fingers slowing from their massaging motions and beginning to stroke Jisung’s hair instead, almost cradling his head in his ministrations.
Jisung swallows dryly, heart thudding and pounding and threatening to burst. “Not yet?”
“Mhmm,” Minho hums. “Whenever you’re ready, or decide that you’d want to be.”
Is it now - finally - the moment? “And if I said that I’m ready? -- That I really do want to be?”
Minho pulls away from the hug just slightly; just enough to look Jisung in the face, and let Jisung drown in the rich colour of his eyes. His thumb strokes careful shapes into the soft skin behind Jisung’s ear, fingers buried in his hair, and Jisung can’t help but to lean into the touch.
“If you did want this, then all that would be left for me to do is ask,” Minho whispers, and Jisung’s entire being feels as though it’s been set alight.
He raises an eyebrow in a mischievous question, and Minho smiles.
“Be my sweetheart?” he murmurs, and his arm tightens around Jisung’s waist, pulling him impossibly closer as Jisung’s hands settle on his chest. “My love? My darling?”
“Okay,” Jisung answers softly as he reaches behind himself, fumbling blindly for the punnet of strawberries he had left open on the counter and grabbing one, holding it to Minho’s lips. “I’d really love that.”
Minho chuckles as he takes the strawberry from Jisung, biting into the red flesh of the strawberry and proclaiming its sweetness and announcing that he must return the favour to Jisung immediately. As soon as he holds another strawberry before Jisung, he waits for Jisung to lean forwards to take it before he whips the strawberry out of reach and replaces the sweet fruit with his own lips, smiling into the kiss when Jisung makes a surprised noise in the back of his throat before pulling him closer.
A playful look blooms on Minho’s face as they pull away, and Jisung has to exert every painful ounce of self control to not lean right back in and kiss it away. Instead he asks, “What?”
Leaning away from Jisung to pluck something off the shelf next to them, Minho holds a ripe date out between their faces.
“Have you ever eaten a date, hyung?” Jisung asks as they both eye the fruit in Minho’s hand, and Minho shakes his head.
“Then let me be the one to give you your first.” He takes it from Minho and feeds it to him, watching as Minho tentatively bites into the sticky, wrinkled fruit and blinks in surprise at the caramelised taste. “They’re good, right?”
“Mhmm,” Minho hums as he chews, thoughtful. “Let me be the one to initiate the next date. I'll make it much sweeter than this date here... Tonight, I’ll pick you up at six?”
“Alright then,” Jisung agrees, unable to contain his joyous expression. “Sounds sweet.”
And it was.