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Saturday, August.
Lee Dongsik is careful to keep the noise to a minimum, careful not to wake the sleeping birds on the balcony. He prefers the broom to a vacuum, and lets the meager crumbs of sunrise guide him through the spaces and corners of the floor. It is not a big place compared to the house in Manyang; this apartment is only as big as the first floor of the house he had grown up in, possibly a fraction smaller than his basement.
But it is enough. A kitchen, a living room, a balcony—and enough space for two people.
Dongsik hums as he sweeps, just a tone over the grumble of the air conditioning. Dongsik had been used to sleeping in rooms with only fans as a means to cool down the temperature, and the mountainside had never been so hot as to need air conditioning. However, that makes only one of the two people in the apartment having no preference towards air conditioning. The other has quite the opposite opinion.
“What are you doing so early in the morning?” The voice is rough with sleep; it is familiar and sharp, like the dull tip of a fork. “Let me.” A hand comes to reach for the broom handle. Dongsik is quick to change his direction of sweeping.
He hums, a tune from a long time ago. More than two decades ago, in fact; it was a song that still knew his sister as she breathed.
“Lee Dongsik.”
Dongsik looks up, shoulders drooping, head lolling towards the direction of the voice. He smiles, that same teasing, lopsided smile he has used since the two of them met, while his eyes gaze at the sight before him.
“It’s the weekend, Inspector Han. Don’t you always sleep in on the weekend?”
Han Juwon stands in front of him in a sweater and sweatpants. His hair falls flat on his head, with a few waywards strands sticking up from the back.
He looks cute like that.
“Didn’t I tell you I’ll vacuum instead?”
Dongsik smacks his lips. “Ah, a young man with a young solution.” Dongsik looks away and continues to sweep. “You said you’ll vacuum. You didn’t say I couldn’t use the broom.”
Dongsik peeks at Juwon from over his shoulder, beyond his messy fringe. Juwon stands there, fists against his waist, the skin between his brows creasing again. They are back to the weeks they first met: Dongsik teasing Juwon, and Juwon eternally irritated. Except.
Except there is a smile begging to bloom at the corner of Juwon’s lips, and Dongsik knows Juwon would prefer he use the vacuum to make his life easier—despite knowing Dongsik likes the banality of using a broom to clean up the apartment floor.
“Then I’ll say it: stop using the broom. If you’re so insistent on cleaning, just use the vacuum.”
“Aigoo,” Dongsik straightens, hearing his back crack and meeting Juwon’s gaze. Always that intense gaze, even from the first day. “If you have enough time to tell me what to do, you have enough time to make us breakfast.” He fixes Juwon with a stare. It isn’t missed on him how he feels his mouth relax into a smile and how Juwon’s brows relax as well. “Cook, Juwon-ah.”
Juwon holds his gaze before turning around, because the sun is getting higher and the morning is coming on, and Han Juwon had never been the type of person to let anyone see his smile breaking across his face. Dongsik doesn’t need to see it to know it’s happening.
Dongsik continues to sweep as Juwon begins to go through their cupboards.
“What do you want for breakfast?”
Dongsik hums as he thinks. He steals a glance at Juwon once: Juwon looks taller, somehow, and bigger. Perhaps, Dongsik thinks, it is what happens when a person is no longer hunkered down by old childhood pains. But perhaps, Dongsik thinks, it is also because Juwon has to hike more often now. Almost every day in fact. No more being a stick in the mud when he has to go through reed fields and get his shoes dirty every other day.
“What do you want for breakfast?” Dongsik replies. “Anything’s fine by me.”
They have lived together long enough for Juwon to know that answer: anything, even as simple as rice and soup. On most weekends, Dongsik has gotten used to Juwon cooking grand western breakfasts for them—a full English breakfast, bacon and eggs, once even lamb chops—though Juwon knows his preferences. It’s not that Dongsik didn’t like special breakfasts on weekends; it’s the only time the two of them can spend their mornings together with little to no rush, so it really is an occasion worth celebrating. But Dongsik likes simple things: the way the sun spills onto their apartment floor, the growing plants they have on the balcony, the continuously emptying and refilling cupboards in their kitchen. He likes spending mornings with Juwon, even if it is just over a bowl of rice and soup.
Juwon smiles so easily when Dongsik compliments his soups, too.
Juwon is quick to take out a pot and a bowl from the cupboards, and set aside ginseng and chicken from the fridge. Dongsik has watched him cook everything from scrambled eggs to roasted turkey, depending on what it is that Han Juwon was in the mood to smell, make, and eat for the day, sometimes regardless of Dongsik’s preferences. Han Juwon cooking Western food looks relaxed, casual; Juwon cooking Korean food is careful, measured—specific to what Juwon knows would make Dongsik smile.
Dongsik continues his humming as he continues to sweep across their floors.
“Are you really that old?” Juwon says from the kitchen. It forces a smile on Dongsik’s face.
You say that as if you ever minded, Dongsik thinks.
“What? Do you expect me to know more recent songs?” Dongsik says. “What’s your request? I’ll see if I know it.”
Dongsik knows Juwon’s favorite song, at least. Or, the song Juwon seems to like listening to the most. If asked, Han Juwon would never admit to having something as mundane as a favorite song; if anything he’ll say something like the piano pieces he likes to listen to while cooking.
He doesn’t do that anymore when Dongsik is home.
“Don’t bother.” Juwon says, and it makes Dongsik chuckle. “Just keep humming your song and finish sweeping.”
Dongsik sweeps: under couches, under chairs and tables, between shelves and at the base of walls. He sweeps corners and vacant spaces, and as he does, he watches the sun climb up from the floor to the walls.
Their walls are relatively bare. Gone are the days of walls covered in pieces of paper and scribbled notes; the only whiteboard they have is by the kitchen counter which only ever lists the grocery items—in case either of them decide to go for a grocery run out of the blue.
Dongsik hums as he sweeps, and in between sweeping, he glances up at Juwon in the kitchen.
Juwon’s shoulders are relaxed, and he moves from stove to countertops with ease. The first time Dongsik had watched Juwon cook, he had noticed a certain lightness to his step when surrounded by pans of meat and bowls of ingredients. It was surprising, to say the least, that this man with raw determination that could rival an angry lion seemed to have a passion for one of the most domestic tasks of all. Dongsik won’t deny he expected Juwon to prefer having a chef. Juwon seemed a lot like a spoiled rich kid, back in the day; everyone needs their own versions of comfort, though.
It’s not lost on Dongsik how, these days, his humming often makes Juwon look even more relaxed in the kitchen.
Dongsik finishes up the sweeping just as the sun pulls out of their apartment and rises higher in the sky. It is time for breakfast, he thinks, as he stores the broom back in their supply closet and makes his way to the kitchen. They must look like an odd pair like this: Inspector Han Juwon in his most comfortable clothes, cooking breakfast, and Lee Dongsik in clothes that Juwon had bought for him, his back to the table while watching Juwon.
Jaeyi had teased them once.
“Ah, I feel like I’m intruding on something.” That time, Dongsik had been helping Juwon out in the kitchen. Their friends were coming over for dinner, so Juwon was cooking a feast. “Don’t start kissing each other when I’m not looking, okay?”
It’s been like that for a while now. Jihwa also liked to comment that at least they weren’t trying to get each other in trouble anymore. Or, even, getting into trouble because of each other.
Juwon looks back at Dongsik for a moment, and had it been years ago, Juwon would have been brusque and asked, ‘ what? ’. Now, however,
“Are you hungry?”
“No, not really.” Dongsik says. “Just make sure you let it simmer.”
It’s like quiet spring mornings, every moment he’s with Juwon.
“Mm, I’ll make sure I let it simmer.”
Dongsik doesn’t miss the smile that blooms on Juwon’s lips, or the fraction of a moment where Juwon lets him see it.