Work Text:
Prologue.
He remembers the day their paths crossed like it had only happened yesterday. In the eyes of a bystander, that moment was—in all honesty—garden-variety.
It happened on a Friday evening, amidst the rush hour and people bustling through the streets of Hongdae. Three tall, young men were standing outside a busy restaurant, pacing themselves after a nice steak dinner courtesy of Kim Mingyu who has 2.3 billion to his name before they head off for more drinks (He had actually just lost a bet and was now facing the consequences of his actions).
Hansol had been quietly looking around and sees a familiar face among the sea of strangers. He quickly takes off the pair of headphones from his reddened ears and greets the other man. “Hyung! How’ve you been?”
The other pulls him in for a half-hug, half-handshake. “All good, Hansol-ah. I haven't seen you in forever, man! You good?” he smiles at the younger.
“Yeah, just been working on some tracks, Hyung. Ah! these are my co-worker—uh, friends.” Hansol gestures at the two who had just been quietly watching on the side.
“I’m Mingyu.” The taller of the two perks up. With a Chip Skylark smile on his face, he approaches Hansol’s friend for a handshake.
“Joshua.” Hansol’s friend answers back.
“I’m Coups, hi.” the other friend adds.
A bystander would call it a mini-convention of insanely attractive young men who were bro-hugging the hell out of each other.
Hansol follows up the conversation by asking his Joshua-hyung what he was doing out late. The older says that he had just met up with a colleague and they were on the way home. And like silly androids, the three tall, young men automatically look around for said colleague.
Their curiosity was immediately satisfied as soon as Coups felt a cold wetness on his jeans.
“AH!”
More heads turn simultaneously as a screech slips out of Joshua’s colleague’s mouth. Just a few seconds ago, the strawberry soft-serve ice cream was safely in his grasp. And now it wasn’t.
“I’M SORRY!” he half yells in horror. The baby pink contrasted well with the jet-black dye of the man’s jeans.
Joshua whips his head and sees his colleague, in panic, trying to wipe the ice cream off. “Jeonghan, what happened?”
“I tripped. I’m really sorry!” Jeonghan says, hastily scooping the melted desert off of the fabric and back to his cone.
Coups, on the other hand, hasn’t even processed what was happening yet. He looks on at Jeonghan then at Joshua, and then to the other two who were fighting off their laughter with awkward grimaces on their faces.
And that’s how they met. The rest is history.
The end.
Sike.
It was actually the beginning.
And it was day Yoon Jeonghan learned, painfully, the act of pining.