Work Text:
When his phone rings and Baekhyun reaches to pluck it out of Minseok's small laundry necessities basket and answers it, Minseok tips his head back against the cold window pane. He stares up at where the ceiling meets metal, and then glass, at the yellow sitting there like lost blotches of watercolour. The laundromat still smells of fresh paint. Minseok tries to imagine the kind of person who would paint around water stains—if they'd be anything like Baekhyun.
The laundromat has enough of an awning that the rain falls heavy just past it, a soft curtain blurring the world beyond from sight. Here, it's only Baekhyun, talking with his voice raised to not be drowned out by the washing machines, his flip-flop hitting his heel when he bounces his leg, the sound echoing Minseok's thoughts running up against the one wall he can't let them past. He barely listens to what Baekhyun is saying, restlessness pushing into his legs until he gives in, lets them shake. He looks over. Sees. Baekhyun's hand cradling his phone like a treasure. Baekhyun's other hand rubbing wide circles over his own thigh like he's smearing questions into the fabric. Then: Baekhyun going quiet, his mouth falling open just enough to remind Minseok of the sharp canines he likes to show off with his smiles. Then: the way Baekhyun's neck draws a long line of curiosity like this.
He looks back at the laundry again, his a dark tangle, wonders when he'll stop finding moments to add to the jar he's been trying to contain them in. A small well now that he sits at the bottom of, desperate not to let it spill.
He needs to stop. Had heard Baekhyun loud and clear.
"Don't make me fall in love with you," Baekhyun said, all the mischief gone from his face. Minseok found the corners of his mouth tense and his eyes filled with reluctance, and he agreed so easily.
It hadn't been too late, then. But Minseok's heart, in wonder at the opportunity, the chance of a fleeting, meaningless crush, had taken on the work. Now, he owns a catalogue of things to like. Of fewer, but enough things to love. The second pen Baekhyun carries around, its end pristine, unchewed. How his face softens when Minseok tells him enough. The cotton bag Baekhyun stuffs his wet laundry into to air-dry at home, the complaints when the dampened bag bumps into his legs on the walk back. The box of laundry detergent Baekhyun owes him by now.
For a while, it had felt like a bow on a gift—an unnecessary expense, but nice to look at. Detachable. Reusable. Shining briefly once a year, and spending the rest of it in a dark cupboard. Now, Minseok doesn't know that he wants to remove it.
"Minseok," Baekhyun says, something careful to his voice, something as soft as fine, dry sand. Almost too gentle, between the steadily pouring rain and the washing machines going into spin cycle. "That was your mother."
He must be bearing bad news, but Minseok almost laughs. He hasn't picked up his mother's calls to his phone in a long time, has gotten a landline to speak to her at home, where he's as comfortable as he can be, and able to shake off their conversations quickly. He wonders if she talked to Baekhyun the way she does to him.
He shifts in the plastic seat with nowhere to go, and his shirt attempts to glue him to it for a moment as he leans forward, then thinks better of it. Baekhyun's hand on his knee doesn't feel damp at all, feels so warm he wonders if Baekhyun is soaking up all his body heat.
"She told me to tell you your cat died."
Baekhyun's thumb is tracing warm lines over his kneecap, like that was where Minseok's heart sits. Minseok takes a breath, and listens. The rain, still nothing but a dense rush of noise, the rumbling machines, Baekhyun's quietness. His heartbeat thrumming in his ears. He hasn't gone to his parents' home in years.
"It was a long time coming," he says, and blinks a few times to see if there are tears to blink away before he looks over to Baekhyun. This was the last thing that tied me to my childhood home, he wants to say. When he meets Baekhyun's eyes, an anticipation in them, maybe of—shock or grief, he gives him half a smile. The other half Minseok keeps as the token of trust he's placing in him. "I've had to leave it behind when I moved here. The cat liked my mother better, anyway."
Minseok listens some more, and finds his heart in agreement. He's long since grieved everything he left behind. When he looks up again from the spinning laundry that caught his gaze, he finds Baekhyun standing in the door, Minseok’s phone still in his hand.
"Don't run off," Baekhyun says, and vanishes into the wall of rain.
💐
Baekhyun returns, hood and shoulders soaked, rivulets trailing behind him. He must have stepped into a deep puddle along the way, caught a whole pond in his boots. There's a small bouquet in his hand, and Minseok scoots to the edge of the seat to receive it. The orange paper is wet and folded half over the flowers, and he peels it back.
"Just some baby's breath," Baekhyun says. "Didn't like any of the other flowers, looked like someone chewed on them." He sits down but stands again quickly to peel himself out of his hoodie. Minseok tries to look away before his heart gets to catalogue his ruffled hair, the flushed cheeks, the unsure grin as well.
The flowers are nice. Small, simple, white, scattered abundance—just how Minseok feels around Baekhyun. He should fold his laundry. He lays the bouquet on top of his laundry necessities basket, stops the dryer at two minutes left. The towels he pulls out are warm in his hands, not unlike Baekhyun's touch. He can sacrifice one of them, he guesses, and tosses it at Baekhyun, for him to mop up the puddles on the floor so no one will slip. Baekhyun takes it to his dry hair instead.
"Not sure what to do when someone loses their pet," Baekhyun admits from under the towel he leaves draped over his head.
"I like the flowers," Minseok says, now shaking one of the larger towels out over the table before he starts folding it.
"You know. . ." Baekhyun begins, and Minseok can see him standing up again from the corner of his eye. "Maybe you shouldn't be alone tonight."
His tone is so hesitant, Minseok refuses to look up, even when Baekhyun steps close to press into his side, even when he slides a hand across his back before it settles around Minseok’s shoulder in a loose grip.
"You live next door," he says, and rolls the towel up, Baekhyun's hand almost as heavy as the guilt he can't shake for abandoning his cat to his parents. He's surprised to find a tear or two in himself at that, and he dabs at his cheeks with the back of his hand.
"That's an entire phone call away," Baekhyun protests, shrugging out of his shirt sleeve to help with soaking up the tears. He's so gentle, Minseok thinks he'll find it in himself to forgive him for it being one of the shirts he borrowed from Minseok, and stretching out the fabric. "I think I should stay close. Just to make sure."
With another towel put away, the next one smoothed out against the table and Baekhyun now half draped over his back, Minseok stills. "You know I don't have a couch, or any mats."
"We'll share your bed. Don't be difficult on purpose."
Minseok can't help but hide a laugh behind his hands. He has enough pillows to keep Baekhyun at bay, and his heart out of trouble. "Wouldn't want to take that from you."
He's surprised when Baekhyun keeps quiet, humming into the top of his shoulder like he's keeping himself from saying something. Then, Baekhyun's weight settles into him, heavy and warm, and Minseok thinks he'll be lucky if as much as a drop of this will remain in him, a small ember for the quiet heartbreak of a coming rainy day.