Work Text:
Being totally honest — Hansol isn’t actually a very good manager.
His situational awareness isn’t great, he can’t read a room, and his time management is … well. Seungkwan’s called it “abominable.” Hansol’s perfectly fine owning up to it. It’s not like “idol manager” is his dream career, or anything. Hansol’s dream was — is — to be a music producer, and when Jihoon recommended him for this job he figured he wouldn’t make it that long, but that at least the industry contacts would be worth it.
It’s been a little over a year now, longer than Hansol ever would have guessed, and he has met a lot of people. But that’s not really the reason he’s stuck around.
Hansol’s stuck around for Seungkwan.
Hansol’s bad at most of the things a manager needs to be good at, it’s true. He sucks at reading his Google calendar, he hates checking his Kakaotalk, and meeting any kind of deadline has never been his strong suit. But Seungkwan doesn’t really need him to do any of that. Seungkwan micromanages himself with impressive (and concerning) ruthlessness. He’s aware of his entire schedule at all times, he remembers every person he’s ever met (and if he can’t, he can fake it with near perfect accuracy), and his phone is practically surgically attached to his hand. He doesn’t need Hansol to tell him his next schedule, or to remind him about appropriate behaviour, or to message anyone on his behalf, which is great, because Hansol can’t do any of those things.
Seungkwan mainly just needs someone who can do two things: drive him places, and keep him from losing his grip completely. Hansol follows road rules to a T, and he was still living at home when his mom went through her holistic wellness and mindfulness techniques phase. He’s the perfect candidate for both.
Right now he’s sitting on a worn couch waiting for Seungkwan to come out of the recording studio, listening to him repeat the line in a seemingly endless loop, punctuated by the occasional burst of laughter or unintelligible comment. Seungkwan’s drink is sitting on the floor by Hansol’s feet, a ring of condensation forming as the ice slowly melts. Maybe it’s a little weird, but Hansol likes listening to Seungkwan do stuff like this – and not just because he wants to be the person on the other side of the recording booth, one day, calling out instructions and laughing at the occasional inside joke. It’s just nice to watch someone do something they’re really good at, that’s all. It’s cool that some people have really found their calling.
So Hansol is enjoying himself – he really is – but he still zones out eventually, more than he means to. It’s inevitable, when they’ve been running around all day. Running isn’t really something Hansol does naturally.
When he snaps back to awareness it’s to find Seungkwan standing over him, waving an impatient hand. His drink is re-secured – in a tight grip – in the other, his bag over his shoulder and his sweater draped over his arm. Time to go, clearly.
“Sorry,” Hansol laughs sheepishly as he pushes himself upright to lead Seungkwan out, instinctively checking around the room before they go to see if either of them left anything – he’s had to turn around for a missing phone far too many times.
“It’s fine,” Seungkwan says immediately, trotting to catch up with Hansol as they make their way back towards the elevators. “That was probably really boring for you. I’m the one who should be sorry.”
“It’s not boring, it’s your job,” Hansol says automatically. “I like watching stuff like that.”
“I just redid the same part over and over again,” Seungkwan points out, wrinkling his nose. “Even I was bored.”
“No you weren’t,” Hansol says right away, meaning it. He really didn’t think it was boring, even if he did zone out. He zones out everywhere. Seungkwan knows that. “You love getting it right.”
Seungkwan is shocked into — temporary, Hansol’s sure — silence at that, eyes widening and cheeks gone a little pink. Hansol grins at him, pleased. He likes to surprise Seungkwan.
The elevator dings, the doors sliding open to deposit them at the parking garage. Seungkwan’s fast enough that he isn’t behind Hansol anymore, but pressed up next to him as they walk.
“You know where we’re going next, right? I’ll send you the location,” he says bossily, already pulling out his phone. It’s not actually necessary — Hansol really does know, for once — but he lets Seungkwan do it anyway. Seungkwan also likes to feel like he’s got things under control.
Seungkwan’s next schedule is a radio bit, which is a relief – it’s live, no reshoots or retakes, so Seungkwan’s done exactly at 11:30, just like it says on his Google calendar. An early night, by his standards.
At 11:39, Hansol pulls the car out of the studio parking lot and glances over at Seungkwan, trying to judge the mood. He’s typing something on his phone at lightning speed, looking very focused, but that doesn’t really mean much. Seungkwan has basically the exact same expression no matter what he’s doing – he takes ordering delivery exactly as seriously as he does messaging entertainment executives.
“Do you want to stop somewhere to pick up your dinner?” Hansol asks, timing it early enough for Seungkwn to decide. Sure enough, his face twists up as soon as he registers what Hansol’s asked, locking his phone so he can really think about it, deliberating every choice out loud in a long, continuous ramble. Chicken is out, apparently, he has filming tomorrow morning. The diet place he likes is already closed. What does Hansol think about meat? No. Too rich. Stew? Maybe. But the salt…
Hansol fights the urge to smile as Seungkwan runs through the familiar arguments for and against every option, waiting until Seungkwan trails off into silence to offer his opinion.
“There’s the sushi place,” he says neutrally, eyes still on the road. “You liked it last time, remember? The one with the cream cheese roll.”
“I can’t eat a cream cheese roll right now,” Seungkwan says immediately – a reflex, not a real no. He makes a considering noise. “Is that what you want? Sushi?”
Hansol blinks in mild surprise, cutting a quick glance over to Seungkwan before focusing back on the road.
“Does it matter what I want?”
“Well, duh,” Seungkwan says, sounding a little impatient. “It’s for both of us, so.”
“Oh,” Hansol says dumbly. “Um. Yeah, sushi’s good.”
Seungkwan’s already got his phone back out, tapping determinedly at his screen to pull up the delivery app.
“You hate eel, right?” he asks, distracted, as he thumbs through the options. Hansol blinks, surprised again.
“I don’t hate it,” he says automatically, only for Seungkwan to huff impatiently. Hansol laughs. “I don’t love it either,” he concedes, smiling at the satisfied sound Seungkwan makes in response, always thrilled to be proven right.
“I knew it,” he says, quietly triumphant, more to himself than anything, and for a few moments there’s silence as he makes his decisions. He doesn’t appear to require Hansol’s actual input on anything else. “I’m getting it delivered,” he says in a much louder voice, finally, looking up from his phone. “So you don’t have to stop.”
“I don’t mind,” Hansol says, mostly just to say it — it’s pretty clear Seungkwan’s already decided, and the way he shakes his head immediately at Hansol’s offer confirms it.
“It’s easier like this,” Seungkwan says dismissively, order made, dropping his phone into his lap – face down, for maybe the first time all day. He must be really tired.
“We’re almost home,” Hansol says – a little uselessly, since Seungkwan is familiar with the route, and also the type of person to be paying attention to it. Seungkwan only hums his agreement, though, eyes fixed firmly out the window.
It isn’t until they’re parked at Seungkwan’s apartment building that Hansol realizes that since Seungkwan got the food delivered, he’s going to have to go up to Seungkwan’s apartment with him to eat it. “You don’t mind, right?” Seungkwan asks anxiously as he lets himself out of the car, a calculated air to his fussiness that means he absolutely saw this scenario coming.
Hansol snorts quietly, closing the door on his side and coming around.
“I don’t mind,” he confirms, one hand automatically coming up behind Seungkwan’s back to urge him towards the elevator – Seungkwan got distracted by his phone again immediately after exiting the car, standing awkwardly on the cement and scowling down at the screen. He doesn’t put it away as they start to walk, relying on Hansol to guide him instead.
“Everything good?” Hansol asks, after he’s pushed the button for Seungkwan’s floor and Seungkwan still hasn’t looked up from his phone.
“What?”
“I said,” Hansol repeats, chuckling a little as they exit the elevator and he has to grab Seungkwan’s elbow to keep him from clipping the side of the doorframe. “Is everything good?”
Seungkwan blinks up at him, finally, distracted.
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
“I don’t know,” Hansol laughs. “You tell me.”
He steps back to let Seungkwan key in his door code, then follows him inside to the entryway, where they both shed their shoes, stepping into slippers to shuffle into the living room. Seungkwan sets off immediately to go complete his getting home routine – phone set to charge by the couch and tumbler dumped and rinsed at the kitchen sink, followed by a five-minute disappearance to his bedroom from which he reemerges with his hair freshly brushed, dressed much more comfortably.
“Thank god,” Seungkwan says as soon as he’s back out, flopping himself onto the couch in a dramatic starfish pose, only for the doorbell to ring immediately. He pushes himself back upright with a disgruntled expression, but Hansol waves him off before he can stand up for real.
“I’ll get it,” he says, laughing, already headed towards the door.
Unfortunately, Seungkwan’s weird mood gets even weirder as they start to eat, which is exactly the opposite of what Hansol was hoping for – his fingers twitch constantly towards his phone, stopping before they make contact when Seungkwan catches himself every time.
Hansol wonders, suddenly, a half-chewed piece of salmon in his mouth, if maybe Seungkwan’s seeing someone. The realization cresting over him in a sour wave, ruining his appetite completely. Which – doesn’t reflect amazingly on him, he’s pretty sure. He’s always thought of himself as a pretty chill guy, and he’s self aware enough to know that the lurch in his stomach isn’t just professional concern.
“Did something happen today?” he asks, shoving the thought aside. Seungkwan startles, mouth dropping open as he blinks soundlessly in Hansol’s direction. Hansol obviously caught him by surprise. “Just – you keep checking your phone,” Hansol adds.
“I’m always checking my phone,” Seungkwan counters, his voice absent, like he’s thinking about something else.
“You seem tense,” Hansol tries, not sure why he’s pushing it like this. It really isn’t his business.
Seungkwan pulls his bottom lip between his teeth.
“Sorry – ” Hansol starts, but Seungkwan cuts him off before he can finish.
“Are you gonna leave?”
His voice is a little too loud, like he had to force it out. Like he’s overcompensating. He does that when he’s scared, Hansol knows. Tries to cover it up by being twice as loud.
“Leave where,” Hansol asks blankly, confused both by the question itself and the intensity of it. Seungkwan isn’t looking at him anymore – he’s reaching for another piece of salmon, fussily making sure he gets the right amount of soy sauce so he won’t have to look at Hansol’s face. “Seungkwan. What does that mean? Leave where? You asked me to come up, remember?”
Seungkwan heaves out a sigh, abandoning the salmon to look back up properly. He definitely means something bigger, then. It’s not just tonight.
“I talked to Seungcheol-hyung, you know,” he says, self-righteous and clearly miserable about it, his words confirming Hansol’s suspicions. “He told me about the job offer.”
For a long moment Hansol can only stare, so lost he can’t figure out how to respond.
“You talked to him?” he asks, finally, still confused. “When?”
“A few days ago,” Seungkwan mutters, gaze dropping back to the food in front of them.
Hansol didn’t know anything about that – he didn’t know Seungkwan had any reason to be talking to the guy who’s technically his boss. Thinking about it makes him feel kinda weird. Like they were going behind his back, or something. Like Seungkwan’s his boss, too, which is – technically, maybe kind of true? But Hansol’s never felt like that before. Seungkwan’s just Seungkwan. The guy Hansol jokes with in the car. The guy Hansol has to remind to breathe, sometimes – the mindfulness podcasts his mom sent him are actually kind of helping. Seungkwan made Hansol give him her number so he could thank her directly.
Hansol pulls himself back to the moment, forcing himself to zone back in. Seungkwan’s still not looking at him.
“Why didn’t you just ask me?”
“So you could say you were leaving?” Seungkwan asks, sounding briefly miserable before he bolsters himself, overly dramatized irritation creeping back into his voice. “And anyway, you should have been the one to tell me.”
“There’s nothing to tell,” Hansol laughs, nonplussed. He really doesn’t understand why Seungkwan’s acting like this.
“What's that supposed to mean?”
“Exactly what it sounds like.” Hansol ducks his head and leans in, trying to make eye contact. “Seungkwan, come on. Would you look at me? I didn’t tell you I was leaving because I’m not leaving.”
Seungkwan’s face goes slack.
“Well, why not?”
Weirdly, Seungkwan sounds almost as mad that Hansol’s not leaving as he did when he thought he was. Hansol laughs again, even more confused, trying very hard not to get irritated at him for the presumption.
“Why would I? I like working with you.”
That, at least, makes Seungkwan pause, his confidence draining out of him and leaving a lost expression in its wake, but before Hansol can figure out what to say to salvage the situation he’s already straightening again, visibly bolstering himself
“Yeah, but Seungcheol-hyung said it would be a promotion for you, so you should do it.”
Hansol stares at him, stung. Seungcheol had said basically the same thing to him – that it was a promotion, and a good opportunity. But Hansol hadn’t thought that mattered. It’s not like he cares about advancing his career, or whatever, because this isn’t his career. This is just his job, that’s all, and he’s not even all that good at it. He’s good at Seungkwan. There’s a difference.
Hansol thought Seungkwn knew that.
“Is that really what you want?”
He’s weirdly hesitant to ask – what if Seungkwan actually says yes? Hansol thought they knew each other well, that they worked together well. Maybe even more than that, if he lets himself be really honest. He thought Seungkwan wanted him around because he liked him.
But maybe this is just work to Seungkwan, like almost all his other relationships are. Maybe Hansol isn’t any different from the guy who came before him, who Seungkwan still mentions casually from time to time. Yunjoon always waited til the last minute to get gas. Just throwaway comments, nothing more than that.
Maybe that’s all Hansol is, to Seungkwan, and when he’s gone Seungkwan will say the same things about him – basic statements that are only half-true, just Seungkwan’s ideas of who he thought Hansol was. Hansol hated eating eel. That’s all Hansol will be.
“Of course it’s not what I want,” Seungkwan says, even bossier than usual to cover his obvious discomfort, and Hansol feels a swoop of relief in his chest. Seungkwan’s eyebrows are knit together, like he’s really trying to figure something out, only Hansol can’t imagine what it is. “It’s not about what I want, it’s what you want.”
“Well, I just said I didn’t,” Hansol says, only a little impatient. “Do you not believe me? I said I don’t want to.”
Seungkwan stares at him.
“Why not?” he whispers, finally. His face has gone totally blank, his bravado finally deserting him for good.
Hansol shrugs, not letting his eyes leave Seungkwan’s face.
“I like working with you,” he says, slowly this time. Honestly. “I don’t want to work with anyone else, and I don’t care about getting a promotion. It’s not like I want to pursue a career in management, or anything.”
Hansol means it to comfort him, but Seungkwan only makes a pinched expression, like hearing it hurts.
“I don’t,” he starts, then shakes his head helplessly, visibly at a loss for words. It’s a weird look, on Seungkwan. Unfamiliar. Hansol doesn’t particularly like it. “I don’t want you to go,” Seungkwan says, finally.
“I just said I wasn’t going to,” Hansol laughs, nonplussed, but Seungkwan’s face only twists up even more, looking upset and angry all at once.
“You said it wasn’t your career!”
“Come on, you know it’s not,” Hansol tries. “Seungkwan-ah. You know this isn’t what I want to do forever.”
Seungkwan falters, mouth dropped open but no words to fill it.
“Seungkwan,” Hansol says again, voice quiet and careful, nudging the forgotten sushi container out of the way to awkwardly scoot closer. “Why are you really upset?”
“I just said it,” Seungkwan huffs out, impatient. “Didn’t you listen? I don’t want you to leave like everyone else.”
Hansol’s heart clenches. That sounds like – but he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know what Seungkwan really means. Seungkwan isn’t like Hansol. He twists everything around inside his head, always, so sure his warped perspective is the truth. It’s hard to get him to say things straight.
“We’re friends, right? That’s how you think of me?” Hansol asks, trying.
This close, he can see Seungkwan’s cheeks flush pink.
“Don’t embarrass me,” Seungkwan moans. Hansol fights to keep the fond smile off his face, not wanting to make Seungkwan feel worse. It isn’t really the time.
“Seungkwan,” he says instead, nudging him again. “Boo Seungkwan. You’re my friend, too. Even if I stop working for you, you’ll still be my friend. Will I be yours?”
“You’ll be too busy,” Seungkwan protests, then frowns and shakes his head. “I’ll be too busy. My schedule is so annoying, you know that.”
“I do know that,” Hansol agrees.
“So I don’t have time for friends,” Seungkwan continues, as though it’s totally obvious. “I don’t have any friends now.”
“Sure you do,” Hansol says, confused. “Mingyu, Chan – ”
“That’s different,” Seungkwan cuts him off impatiently, waving a dismissive hand. “They’re work friends. It’s convenient.”
Hansol’s pretty sure that isn’t completely true, but he’s trying not to let them get too sidetracked. If he starts a fight about that Seungkwan can keep it going all night, probably, and that isn’t what Hansol wants to be talking about right now.
“Okay, well,” Hansol says instead. “Even if I quit, I still want to be your friend, okay? It doesn’t matter whether it’s convenient.”
Hansol doesn’t think it’s such a strange thing to say, but for some reason Seungkwan’s entire face goes slack with shock. There’s a drawn-out pause, the air between them crackling with strange static. Hansol doesn’t know what it is, doesn’t know why Seungkwan’s looking at him like that, doesn’t –
Seungkwan lurches forward and presses their mouths together, awkward and way too hard until Hansol gets with the program and lifts a hand to the back of his neck, guiding the kiss into something gentler.
Seungkwan kisses like he talks – too brash at first, losing confidence and then gaining it again, pushing forward only to pull back. He smells like whatever he washed his face with, clean and a little medicinal, skin soft and slightly sticky when Hansol’s hand comes to rest at his cheek.
It’s – it’s good. Probably Hansol would have predicted that it would be, if this was something he’d let himself think about in any detail. Hansol uses the hand at Seungkwan’s cheek to tilt his head back and he makes a tiny sound, a soft little hiccup at the back of his throat. Hansol’s hand shakes. His heart beats way too fast.
“Fuck,” Seungkwan blurts out suddenly, jarring in the quiet of the room, jerking back with a gasp, so fast Hansol nearly loses his balance. His cheeks are pink, eyes wide with horror, but he can’t go far when Hansol’s still holding his other hand.
“Sorry,” Seungkwan says in a rush, before Hansol can quite catch up with what’s just happened. “Sorry, I’m so sorry, that was – are you going to get in trouble? Will that get you in trouble?”
Hansol can’t help the disbelieving laugh that spills out of him.
“Why would that get me in trouble?”
“I don’t know!” Seungkwan bursts out, somehow flushing an even darker red. “You’re like – at work!”
He’s at – jesus christ. Is that what Seungkwan thinks?
“I’m not at work,” Hansol replies immediately, firm. “I’m at your apartment, after work.”
Seungkwan’s face twists up in irritation, just like it always does when Hansol corrects him, but he can’t hold onto it for long.
“Chwe Hansol,” he says quietly, expression smoothing back out as his voice drops to something more serious. “Don’t tease.”
“Boo Seungkwan,” Hansol copies him, his own voice serious to match. “I’m not – I wouldn’t, okay?”
Seungkwan’s eyelids flutter closed, then open. His throat works as he swallows.
“It’s really okay?”
Hansol looks at him, really looks at him. The vulnerable openness in his expression, so rare for Seungkwan. Hansol’s only seen it a few times – only when Seungkwan gets really upset. A few months ago, when his mom got sick and he couldn’t go home to see her right away and Hansol drove him to the airport at four in the morning two days later, both of them running on nothing but iced americanos and sour panic. He knew Seungkwan wanted to pretend Hansol didn’t know he was crying, so Hansol didn’t say anything. He still feels like he should have.
It isn’t just work, between them. Hansol knows it isn’t. Not for him, and not for Seungkwan. Maybe it never was.
“It’s really okay,” Hansol repeats, reaching for Seungkwan’s other hand so he’s holding both of them in his own. It feels a little stupid, but it obviously works – Seungkwan nods once, fast, that serious look still on his face. “Seungkwan,” Hansol forces out, then, more nervous than he’d like. “I mean it. If I quit I’d want to be your friend, or even – ”
“Even what,” Seungkwan whispers, eyes locked on his face, mouth slightly open in anticipation. Hansol has to tear his eyes away from his lips, parted and still wet from Hansol’s mouth, to try to remember what he was going to say next.
“I’d want to be your boyfriend,” he finishes awkwardly, fighting the urge to cringe as soon as he’s said it. “If it was okay with you.”
Hansol honestly can’t tell, even after he’s said it, whether it was presumptuous of him or not. Is that something Seungkwan even wants? He hasn’t dated anyone in the time Hansol’s worked with him. He’s never even expressed interest, which Hansol guesses that’s self-protection more than anything. Smart of him, probably, but it does make it harder for Hansol to guess whether he’s willing or not.
“No one’s ever said that to me before,” Seungkwan says blankly, which isn’t exactly a yes. It isn’t a no either, though.
That day at the airport, Seungkwan offered to buy him a ticket. Hansol clings to the memory, now, convincing himself it could mean what he wants it to mean. That it’s possible.
“Did you … want someone to?”
Seungkwan blinks at him again, lashes casting a flickering shadow against the swell of his cheekbones. When he nods it’s quick, just a tiny jerk of his head. Hansol’s heart flops over in his chest, hopeful.
“I’d be bad at it, probably,” Seungkwan whispers. A little defiantly, like he’s daring Hansol to contradict him.
“I don’t think so,” Hansol murmurs, calling his bluff. It’s embarrassing, saying it like this – straight to his face, both their hands clasped together. He doesn’t know how else to make Seungkwan believe him. “I think you’d be really good.”
“I’m so mean,” Seungkwan whispers, only he’s leaning in as he says it, swaying forward as though pulled. Hansol looks at his mouth until he can’t anymore, until they’re so close his eyes start to lose focus. “I get so crazy, you know that. Everyone knows that. I’m a total control freak.”
“You’re really funny,” Hansol counters, voice low. “You care a lot.”
“You’ll get sick of me.”
He can barely hear Seungkwan say it; Hansol’s eyes are starting to cross, trying to hold his gaze. Seungkwan’s given up, his own drifted shut.
“I haven’t yet,” Hansol says, as firm as he can be when he can feel every one of Seungkwan’s breaths against his own mouth.
Hansol’s the one to kiss first, this time. Seungkwan lets him lead for about thirty seconds before he gets a hand at the back of Hansol’s neck to guide him where he wants him, every inch the control freak he accused himself of being. Hansol smiles against his mouth, relaxed, letting Seungkwan do as he pleases.
He’ll never be a good manager, probably, but he’s pretty sure he’ll be good at this.
He’s good at Seungkwan.