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Chapter Text

The cafeteria is emptier than he expected (everyone sat down instead of standing up and flitting between tables, which contributed to the feeling of a large empty space—that, and the absurdly white walls, blinding white lights, and white tiled floor). Seungkwan quickly orders a bowl of instant ramyeon, asks for an egg to be dropped into the soup, and picks out the flakes of dried chili from his kimchi while waiting so they don’t get stuck between his teeth later. Soonyoung’s already seated, unpacking the lunch his grandfather probably made for him.

Once Seungkwan gets his food, he follows, pausing to let a senior pass in front of him—and wow, Seungkwan hadn’t seen an undercut look so good in practically forever.

“Who’s that cutie?” Seungkwan asks as soon as he arrives at Soonyoung’s table. He lays down his lunch tray on the table and then his bag, slinging it over the back of his chair and then zipping it up so the contents don’t spill out of his backpack haphazardly. Once he’s seated, he taps Soonyoung’s shoulder and points him to the table at the secluded corner of the room. “The tall one, look! Ugh, his hair is so adorbs,” he sighs, lips jutting out into a pout.

Soonyoung takes one look at the table behind him before turning back to shake his head at Seungkwan. “That guy? I know you’re gay but even if I were, I wouldn’t date Seungcheol,” he tells Seungkwan, whose face had broken into a grin, gently. “Why are you smiling?” he then asks slowly.

Seungkwan pokes his straw through his banana milk and replies, “So his name’s Seungcheol, huh?”

“Shut up and eat your ramyeon, Boo, and stop thinking about stupid wannabe rappers,” Soonyoung warns him through a mouthful of kimbap and with a soft hit to Seungkwan’s head. “Your mom’s gonna kill me if she finds out.”

Seungkwan whines, “Soonyoung hyung, he’s a senior, right? It’s not like he’ll notice me.” He bites his lip and raises his eyes to glance at Seungcheol, trying to prevent the smile coming its way to his face. He’s caught him mid-laugh, eyes all crinkly at the edges like they should be, like he’s having a good, proper laugh. It warms him all the way to his toes.

Soonyoung has to poke his cheek to get his attention. “Hey, are your fingers clean?” Seungkwan demands, hand cupping his cheek defensively. He swats Soonyoung’s finger away and turns his face to the opposite side. “Jesus,” he grumbles.

“Can you at least pretend to be a good kid? Or maybe find some friends in your class?” Soonyoung sighs. He finishes the rest of his lunch, packs it away, and brings out his trigonometry textbook.

On the first day of Korean high school, Seungkwan introduced himself in Korean (bow and all), only to find out that the students in his school mostly spoke English. He hears them down the hall talk about sushirritos and Game of Thrones like the white kids in the white middle school he went to. Even the lockers were the same. The math and science classes were ten times harder. He found himself chasing after the nerdiest kid in class to take a photo of her notes, only to end up trading his signed Ariana Grande CD for a year’s supply of her notes. At least she was smart enough to ask for something in return, though Seungkwan wished she’d ask for a boyfriend or something. He’d always wanted to be someone’s wingman.

“The only Korean I’ve heard since I came here was when those fangirls were chasing the seniors and calling them ‘oppa’,” Seungkwan complains to Soonyoung one night over homework. “You know, Cat-Eyes and Long Hair? I don’t see the appeal.”

“It’s because you like Coups,” Soonyoung tells him absentmindedly, more focused on drawing exact figures for chemistry class. When he catches Seungkwan staring, he adds, “He calls himself that. Kind of like how you call yourself Booyoncé except he’s serious about it.”

“Is that, like”—Seungkwan bites his lip—“a rapper name? Is he serious about being a rapper? Oh my god, that is so cute.” He buries his face in his hands and groans, “His stupid outfit today was so hot. Soonyoung hyung, he wore a beanie and—and, like, this stupid thick sweater that made me want to cuddle him…” He’s reduced to a whimper, fervently shaking his head. He had passed by Seungcheol on the way home, who was perched on the rickety metal staircase attached to the side of the school. He was with friends who looked like they were about to drop a mixtape called Koreans in da Hood or something except they were all laughing and goofing around. Seungkwan ducked his head as soon as he saw Seungcheol’s hair peeking out of his beanie, blushing all the way down to his neck. He wanted to bury himself under the kitchen floor remembering all this.

Soonyoung’s eating something; Seungkwan could hear the crunch of whatever it was Soonyoung’s chewing and if it’s chips, he wants it. He lifts his head from his hands and opens his mouth, gesturing for Soonyoung to feed him. Soonyoung graciously puts an onion ring in Seungkwan’s mouth before suggesting that Seungkwan write a confession letter, grinning widely when Seungkwan chokes out a horrified “No.”

“Relax, Boo, I’m kidding.”

“Hey, you can’t joke like that!”

“Can and did.”

“What are you, 12?”

“Like your crush isn’t some sixth grade nonsense?”

“Excuse you,” Seungkwan huffs, “I was on my last stage of girl-crushing in sixth grade.” He crosses his arms to let Soonyoung know the argument is over. After a short while, he says, “Maybe I really should send him one?”

Soonyoung swats him on the head with his notebook. “I was joking.”

“It doesn’t hurt to try!” And Seungcheol is graduating in June. Maybe he’s the type to read letters, laugh, then discard them. Maybe he reads it, gets flattered for a bit, then doesn’t do anything about it. Seungkwan doesn’t even want to think about the other options, ranging from getting teased mercilessly in school to Seungcheol writing a restraining order.

Soonyoung looks worried, brows knitted together. He’s chewing on his lip, even. “Is this news to you, the whole gay kid getting bullied at school thing?” he asks quietly.

“What?” Seungkwan bites his lip. Then, after thinking on it for some seconds, he breaks out into a small smile. “Yeah, I know, but I’m an optimist,” he says. He reaches across the table for a spare sheet of paper and his favourite pen, the one with smooth writing, dark blue ink, and a thick tip. Blue ink apparently made remembering words easier, he read somewhere. “Come on, hyung, help me write this!”

“I—Are you insane, Seungkwan Boo?!”

“Dear Seungcheol sunbae…” Seungkwan chews on the other end of his pen as he thought of what else to say. “Hey, hyung, how does ‘I really really really really really really like you’ sound?”

“Stupid.” Soonyoung returns to his homework, pencil tucked behind his ear so it doesn’t roll off the dining table.

“Fine,” Seungkwan huffs. He scribbles on a few lines, the generic ‘I know I’m new here but I like you’ and ‘It’s okay if you ignore this, I don’t mind’ and ‘I’m sorry’ sentences (though Seungkwan’s 110% sure that his apology is sincere; no one wants to be on the receiving end of the only openly gay kid in school’s crushing). The next part is more honest. He writes, “Sunbae, I think you’re cute,” with his face so hot he almost thought he was running a fever.

“How do I sign this now?”

“With your name.”

“Haha.” Seungkwan signs the letter with ‘Boo’, shaping the O’s into hearts. On top of that, he writes ‘Seungkwan’ between parentheses. He then folds it neatly into thirds and tucks it inside his math book, where it’s sure never to slip out (he never opens the stupid thing anyway). “Mom!” he calls out, “I’m done studying!”

Chapter Text

A week had gone by since Seungkwan wrote his confession letter. It sits in his closed math book, burning a hole through it. Or, it would have if it had a consciousness and a burning desire to be slipped into Seungcheol’s locker. He doesn’t even know where Seungcheol’s locker is, has never even seen him near one.

“Hyung, what if he doesn’t use his locker?” Seungkwan asks on Friday, turning the letter over and over with his fingers.

“He does. Stop touching it like that; you’re going to get it all sweaty,” Soonyoung reprimands him.

Seungkwan stops, pouting. “Do you know his locker number? Come on, hyung”—he latches onto Soonyoung’s arm and starts shaking him—“tell me!”

“Ugh, you’re so whiney,” Soonyoung complains. He attempts to get Seungkwan off him but realizes he won’t let go without that information. “It's 420,” he says, defeated. Seungkwan kisses him on the cheek, all wet and slobbery, and Soonyoung has to wipe his cheek with his sleeve, making disgusted noises all the way home.

That very Monday, Seungkwan wakes up at six a.m., fights the urge to fight his mom over the last of the milk, and arrives at school just before the school janitor opens the front door. Locker 420 is apparently in the farthest possible corridor from Seungkwan’s locker, making him very unsure of whether it’s a blessing or a curse.

He takes out the letter, reads it over once more, and seals it shut with a tiny sparkling heart emoji sticker. “I’m so embarrassing,” he mouths to himself. He takes a deep breath. Maybe another would be good, but he doesn’t push it. He slips in the letter through the first slit and leaves quietly.

It’s Wednesday when—finally!—something happens. Vernon from English knocks on Seungkwan’s wooden desk to get his attention. “Hey, you’re Seungkwan, right?”

“…Yeah.”

“Vernon,” he says with a smile. He’s wearing a headband that Seungkwan ended up looking at more than Vernon’s face while he talked, wondering why he’d wear something with a bow on top. “Hey, are you even listening to me?”

“Yeah!” Seungkwan crosses his arms, indignant. “Wait—what did you say?”

“I said, Seungcheol hyung wants to talk to you, so go to the staircase outside after class. You know where it is?” Wow, how did Seungkwan miss that? The headband was really too much—pink gingham with a floppy bow. It clashed with that red flannel shirt he wore every day.

“I—Yeah, I know,” Seungkwan says, feeling more embarrassed that Seungcheol was summoning him like he was a mafia don and Seungkwan just stole something from him.

The teacher arrives just as Vernon was able to rush to his seat, making Seungkwan unable to ask Vernon about what was up. He was left to stew in his panic. If it weren’t his last period, he didn’t know what he’d do. Die in the bathroom from stomach pain, probably. He already found himself unable to walk by the time the last bell rang. His classmates filed past him with their bags barely put together while Seungkwan took his time making sure all his things were stuffed in his bag neatly.

No one was left in the hall leading to the rickety metal staircase when Seungkwan left his classroom. He heaves a sigh of relief before slowly walking to the exit. Straight people must have it easier—they could so do the nonverbal confession thing. Seungkwan had to write a letter, but there was a reason he’s not in AP English.

He stops by the toilet and rushes inside. “Ugh, you’re being stupid, Boo. He’s just going to turn you down,” he tells his reflection. “Just accept whatever it is, okay?” Having relatively calmed down, he steps out again, walking outside with a more brisk pace.

Seungcheol’s already there when Seungkwan arrives, chewing on his highlighter as he goes through a part of his homework. The bright yellow highlighter shouldn’t be anywhere near Seungcheol’s mouth, Seungkwan decides; his lips are far too pink in contrast.

Seungkwan clears his throat, and Seungcheol looks up, eyeing Seungkwan with a smile. “Hey!” He starts shifting places and clearing up his things. “Sorry, I was getting started on homework and stuff. Got too much today,” he apologizes with a weak laugh. “Come on”—he pats the space beside him—“sit with me.”

Yeah, Seungkwan is definitely weak in the knees. He doesn’t know how he managed to walk over to where Seungcheol was sitting; he just feels the cold metal pressed against his butt and realizes that one way or another, his body was able to function without his brain. (Science would be amazed by this discovery.)

Up close, Seungcheol has really long eyelashes, the nice and thick kind that looks like the fake ones he sees being sold in Shu Uemura. Seungkwan mentally pats himself on the back for his choice of guy, thoroughly not disappointed by it.

“So, uh,” Seungcheol says nervously, bringing up a hand to rest on the back of his neck, “I read your letter.”

Seungkwan couldn’t hold in his groan. It escapes from his mouth, pushing him to hide his face from the senior. His face is way too hot and probably redder than boiled shrimp.

What he doesn’t expect is a hand rubbing circles on his back—slow, large circles that Seungkwan really wanted to get into. It’s already shaping up to be the best rejection yet. Heck, Seungcheol Choi is shaping up to be his favourite crush yet. He doesn’t even stop until Seungkwan is finally coaxed into showing him his face.

“To be honest, I don’t really swing that way,” Seungcheol apologizes. Seungkwan thinks he apologizes way too much. “But, you know, I don’t mind that you’re—that you like me, I mean.” He chews on his bottom lip as he thought of what else he could say. Seungkwan’s just happy he’s a lot nicer than he expected. His hand’s still on his back, comforting and warm. “Uh, you know Joshua and Jeonghan are my friends, right?”

“Cat-Eyes and Long Hair?”

Seungcheol laughs. “Yeah, he does look like a cat sometimes. You know they’re together?”

This… this is new. All those girls chasing after them would feel really silly if they knew. Even Seungkwan’s mentally beating himself up for not noticing, even after when he saw Jeonghan and Joshua walking home with their hands laced together one day.

His shock must’ve been obvious on his face. “Guess you didn’t know, huh?” Seungcheol says with a small smile.

“It wasn’t, uh—I didn’t want to assume…”

“Hey, it’s okay. They want to keep it a secret anyway. I’m just saying, I brought them together.”

Seungkwan definitely doesn’t know where this is heading. “Uh…”

Seungcheol shifts the topic. “So, your letter. I thought it was cute,” he says. He looks for it inside his bag. He finally finds it and opens it in front of Seungkwan, who no longer wanted to hear a word of this. “Like this part ‘I’ve tried playing it cool, but when I’m looking at you, I can’t ever be brave, ‘cause you make my heart race.’ It’s really cute and honest. I like it.”

“Those… are… One Direction lyrics…” Seungkwan mumbles, looking down.

“Oh yeah, no wonder they sound familiar,” he says with a gentle laugh. “And what’s ‘Boo’?”

“My last name.”

“Ah. That’s cute too, like all those hip-hop songs about their boos.”

If Seungkwan weren’t so mortified, he’d laugh. “You’re just going to keep calling me cute, aren’t you?” he asks.

“I’m not letting you get out of here until I see you smile,” Seungcheol warns, pushing up the corners of Seungkwan’s lips. Seungkwan doesn’t know if he could smile with his brain currently on fire. “I don’t bite, I swear! Unless it’s steak, I mean.” At that, Seungkwan does smile, a tiny amused one but a smile nonetheless and Seungcheol seems satisfied with it. What he says next makes the smile disappear entirely from his face:

“I want to be your friend, Seungkwan.” When he sees Seungkwan’s expression, he must’ve gone into a brief panic. “I’m not friendzoning you!” he says quickly, “Wait, I probably am, but I just mean that I met you today so I’d like to know you more.” Then more slowly: “You sound like an awesome guy, so I’d like to get to know you better.” Then with a soft, shy smile: “Have lunch with me tomorrow.”

“Alone?”

“With my friends, of course,” Seungcheol says. He zips up his bag and slings it over his shoulder while standing up. “If you wanna be my lover, you gotta get with my friends. See ya!” He leaves Seungkwan there, pinching himself until his whole arm’s pink before finally going home himself.

Chapter Text

Seungkwan texts Soonyoung the next morning that he won’t be eating lunch with him. When lunch time rolls around, he finds him with pink-haired Jihoon, their bleached heads pressed together as they worked on something. He walks past them, pausing only to say hi.

“Hey, who are you sitting with?” Soonyoung asks, his narrow eyes looking straight at Seungkwan.

“Uh… Seungcheol hyung, maybe?”

“What’s with the ‘hyung’, huh?” Soonyoung faces Jihoon and tells him, “Are you seeing this kid? He’s dumping me for a senior!”

“Hyung,” Seungkwan whines. “I’ll tell you later, I promise!” He’s literally bowing his way out of Soonyoung’s line of vision, short bobs of his head that were awkward when coupled with the tray of pajeon he was holding. The other things—chopsticks, plastic plate, plastic cup filled with milk—rattled around in his tray as he walked. Were his hands really shaking that much?

He finds Seungcheol eventually. Vernon and the other tall guys aren’t with him this day; Cat-Eyes and Long Hair are. Soon enough, Seungcheol finds him too, wide smile on his face. He gets up from his seat, wraps an arm around Seungkwan’s shoulder, and stops just in front of the other two. Long Hair flicks his eyes from Seungcheol’s arm to Seungkwan’s face, raising up a hand to wave at Seungkwan. Cat-Eyes gives him a thumbs-up.

“Seungkwan,” Seungcheol says, his free arm pointing at Seungkwan. “Joshua”—he points at Cat-Eyes—“Jeonghan,” he finishes, with a point to Long Hair. Jeonghan pats the free seat beside him, which Seungkwan takes gratefully, shoulder slightly cold now that Seungcheol’s let go of it. Seungcheol resumes his position beside Joshua.

Jeonghan up close is almost like looking at a girl; his features were very delicate. Too caught up with it, Seungkwan almost misses Jeonghan asking him if he really wrote the letter to Seungcheol.

“I—I did,” Seungkwan answers. The tips of his ears burn a bright red. “It was really embarrassing, so can we, like, not talk about it or—”

“I thought it was cute,” Joshua offers with a smile directed more at Jeonghan, who ducked his head and ate his food with a small smile. Seungkwan decides that it was almost unfair the two were prettier than he was. “Mine was really bland, like, I wish I did it a little better, you know?”

“You know the real story?” Jeonghan pipes up. “Seungcheol dragged us both to the pre-K playground on 5th—”

Seungcheol looks offended. He leans back in his chair as he surveys the table. “I don’t drag people,” he huffs.

Joshua laughs, “You did! You were even like ‘I ain’t leaving till you tell him you want to play infinity minutes in heaven with him’.”

“Was the ‘infinity minutes in heaven’ thing real?” Seungkwan finally asks after some time of staying silent so he could eat his lunch properly, unsure of what to do with all this information or with the feeling of suddenly being all buddy-buddy with Cat-Eyes and Long Hair. If he had anything to take home from this, at least it was that Seungcheol was unexpectedly witty.

“Totally was,” Seungcheol replies, smug expression written all over his face. “I don’t want to brag, but Coups totally has his moments.” Oh god, the Coups thing was real. Maybe that’s why Soonyoung was so disapproving of this.

“You know what? You sound so dorky to me right now,” Seungkwan tells Seungcheol. Joshua and Jeonghan burst out into laughter, both of them grabbing for the other’s hand as they laughed. Once they calmed down, they were still holding hands across the table, with Joshua stroking his thumb over Jeonghan’s knuckle.

“I really like him,” Jeonghan tells Seungcheol with his free hand first pointing at Seungkwan then doing the OK sign.

Seungcheol’s seemed to let the whole jab at his pride go, settling for a smile. “I know.” After a quick glance at his watch, he gathers his things. “We got twenty minutes before fourth period, come on,” he says, carrying his lunch tray. The rest follow suit, with Seungkwan shovelling the rest of his food into his mouth before placing his used lunch tray on the designated counter.

As they walk down the empty hall, Seungkwan falls behind with Seungcheol, watching him watch Joshua and Jeonghan walk in front of them holding hands. “Wait, so why weren’t you with your rapper friends?” Seungkwan asks in a low voice.

“I didn’t want to scare you.” Seungcheol shrugs. “Think of them as my entry-level friends. So you get to meet the nice ones first and then we move on to the weirder stuff.”

“So… what are we doing now?”

“Eh, giving them alone time. You saw them during lunch—they were all over each other, ugh,” Seungcheol complains, look of disgust plastered on his face. His expression soon softens. “But, you’ve seen couples here, right? They can make out in front of their lockers or something. Josh and Jeonghan can’t do that here ‘cause no gay kid’s ever done that before. This is the closest they get to being public about it.” Seungcheol’s voice lowers to a whisper, making him lean closer to Seungkwan. He shakes his head, mouth set into a slight frown.

Seungkwan feels his heart sinking at the thought, but swelling at the idea of Seungcheol being as thoughtful and sweet as he was. Seungcheol Choi is leaning dangerously close to perfect boyfriend territory with every stupid shy smile showcasing his perfect teeth. Seungkwan is mentally panicking to the point that he nearly jumps when Seungcheol places a hand on his shoulder.

“Look, aw, they’re so cute,” Seungcheol gushes with a finger pointing to the inside of an empty classroom. He steps behind Seungkwan and covers his eyes. “Little kiddies don’t get to see this, though.” Seungkwan expected a heavier touch coming from Seungcheol, but he was gentle, his fingers never pressing. He even does the peeking thing Seungkwan does in front of his parents when they marathon horror movies. 

Jeonghan has his hands cupping Joshua’s face, thumbs tracing circles on Joshua’s face. Joshua raises his hands to cover Jeonghan’s with his own. He smiles up at Jeonghan.

“I can’t go home with you later,” Joshua apologizes.

“Errands with your mom again?” Jeonghan asks gently, forgiving.

“Yeah, I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s okay.” Jeonghan presses his lips to Joshua’s forehead, the tips of his fingers playing with Joshua’s hair. “Really, I went home without you way before last year.”

Joshua laughs. “So I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Call me when you get home.”

“Yeah, I will.”

“Bye.”

“Bye.” Jeonghan leans in to place a soft kiss on Joshua’s lips. They pull apart quietly, with Joshua smiling silly into the palm of Jeonghan’s mouth. Joshua adds a muffled “I love you,” and if Seungkwan felt he was intruding before, he’s definitely intruding now. He tries to close his eyes but he’s already seen it, heard the whole exchange.

“Knock it off, guys. People are coming,” Seungcheol warns, warmth dripping from his tone in syrupy notes. He turns Seungkwan around so they’re facing each other. “Come on, I’ll bring you to your next class.”

“Uh, why… why’d you show me this?” Seungkwan coughs a little to flush down his embarrassment and that nagging sensation that he wants what they have, wants to hold someone’s hand like that and kiss them quietly.

“I probably shouldn’t have,” Seungcheol tells him.

“Yeah. By the way, my class is over there,” Seungkwan says, pointing behind him.

Seungcheol laughs and steers them in the right direction. “I don’t know—just didn’t want to make you feel like you’re alone, maybe? High school’s always the first circle of hell, you know,” he says. “They like you so don’t be a stranger to them, alright? Say hi and stuff. Sit with them or something.” They arrive at Seungkwan’s next class and Seungcheol pats him on the back. “Have lunch with me again tomorrow,” he says before heading to his own class.

This is some Perks of Being a Wallflower realness, or maybe the world’s worst pity party. Seungkwan still hasn’t decided on it when he rings the doorbell to Soonyoung’s house later. He bows in front of Soonyoung’s grandfather before entering the house. Slippers ready for him to wear, he heads up the stairs quietly and knocks on Soonyoung’s door, waiting for Lady Gaga to stop singing.

“So what,” Soonyoung asks after letting Seungkwan in. He settles back on his bed, lies on his stomach. “Did he bully you or something?”

“No…”

“No ‘yes’ or no ‘not really’?” Soonyoung has an eyebrow raised without so much as looking at Seungkwan; one can hear the eyebrow being raised.

Seungkwan sits on the floor beside Soonyoung’s bed, laying his head on the fluffy comforter. “He’s too nice to bully anyone,” he finally says, finger tracing the rocket ship pattern. “Ugh, I wish he’d be a jerk, though.” No, no he does not. He ends up telling him about the whole thing: the hideous confession letter, the conversation by the rickety metal staircase, lunch, and lunch again tomorrow. He leaves out Joshua and Jeonghan, not wanting to tell Soonyoung about the kiss and about Seungcheol making him some kind of Peeping Tom.

“Huh,” is all Soonyoung can say after. “Well, yeah, he sounds nice, but his friends… Boo, if they see you with Seungcheol, they’ll think you’re out to make him gay or something.”

He waves it off. “Eh, he can handle it. But”—he bites his lip so he doesn’t smile like an idiot—“I really think he’s good for me.”

Chapter Text

Seungkwan found himself having lunch with them more often, to the point that he’d only wave at Soonyoung then point at Joshua and Jeonghan’s table then wave again. In the same length of time, Joshua and Jeonghan have grown to expect him, even saving him a space every day in case he drops by with more questions. “So, like, do you go on dates…?” Seungkwan asks after taking a sip from his melon milk. Jeonghan and Joshua laugh at the question, making Seungkwan bury his face in his palms because he feels so silly for asking.

Joshua, who sat beside him, rubs his back patiently, saying, “Yeah, we go on dates, but, like, you mean if our parents know we go on dates?” Seungkwan lifts his head to nod. “My mom knows. It was kinda easily, actually, since he and I were already together when I told her. And, like, she grew up here, you know? It really changed her, growing up here. I don’t think my grandparents would feel the same.” Joshua laughs uneasily, picking at his salad until all the shreds of carrot were gone.

“Mine don’t,” Jeonghan confesses with a shake of his head. “I don’t know what they think about this stuff, so I never told them. Like, he never picks me up at my house. I usually pick him up at his or we meet somewhere, and that’s why the sleepovers are always at Josh’s house.” They exchange a look and laugh again, and Seungkwan’s mouth drops open, his chopsticks clattering on his plate.

Seungkwan looks at both of them while pushing his tray of food away, finding his appetite severely lacking at the moment. “You don’t mean… Like—like it, right?” he whispers. “Have you done it? Was it awkward? Painful?

“How about,” Joshua begins, lowering his voice to a whisper and bringing his head closer to Seungkwan’s, “we tell you when you’re older?” Jeonghan was watching the exchange with a knowing grin on his face that melted away as soon as Joshua spoke; he leaned back on his chair and clutched his sweater as he laughed.

“Hey, I’m 15,” Seungkwan protests.  “I can handle it, Joshua hyung! Promise!”

“You can’t even drive yet,” Jeonghan teases. “You know, Seungcheol turned eighteen over the summer. Why don’t you ask him?” At that point, Seungkwan covers his ears and closes his eyes, willing away the image of Seungcheol touching himself, touching him. An arm slings itself around his shoulder, the warmth of it making him hyperaware. He straightens his back away from it.

“Ask me what?” he hears Seungcheol ask, and Seungkwan wants to die.

“If you can drive,” Jeonghan lies, exchanging a look with Joshua that has him laughing into his palm.

“Ah. Mind if I steal him?” he asks. Seungcheol turns his attention to Seungkwan, ruffling his hair with his free hand. “Hey,” he says, with a poke to his forehead that forces Seungkwan to look him in the eye, “why do you look so stressed out, huh? Did you need me to drive you somewhere? I’m really sorry I don’t know how to drive.”

“It’s okay,” Seungkwan mumbles. “I was just thinking about if I could walk there.”

“I’ll go with you,” Seungcheol offers, and Jeonghan’s laughing too, hiding it behind the back of his hand.

“Uh, it’s the birthday of my mom’s friend, so, like, if you go with me, you’ll have to stay there,” Seungkwan says slowly, drawing on the only thing that required his presence in the near future in his panic. “It’s an old people party kinda thing.”

“You’ll be bored, so it’s better if I go with you, right?”

Finally done laughing, Joshua tells Seungcheol, “Hey, man, you’re kinda badgering him,” quietly. If a fissure would just swallow up Seungkwan right now and spit him out into the void, it would be terrific; he sinks down, not wanting to be anywhere between the two of them, and covers his face with his hands.

“Really?” Seungcheol asks, his hand moving from the back of Seungkwan’s chair to his head, messing up his hair unncessarily. Seungkwan’s hands are still covering his face. “I didn’t know, man, I’m sorry,” he says to Joshua. Seungkwan just wants to die. Jeonghan across the table must be staring hard at him and at the hand that placed itself so casually on top of his head.

“This is awkward,” Jeonghan says as he drums his fingers on the table.

Seungkwan, finally so done with the whole exchange, uncovers his face and side-eyes Seungcheol. “You think?” he pipes up, nearly choking on how embarrassed he’s feeling.

Seungcheol lets out an enthusiastic “Hey!”, smiling widely at the sight of Seungkwan’s face. “You’re alive!” he exclaims, then says more seriously, “Wanna have lunch tomorrow?”

“Am I allowed to say ‘no’?”

He doesn’t want—loathes—to see Seungcheol pout. It makes his stomach drop to the floor and him realize that the crush thing was seriously getting out of hand—Seungcheol Choi was embarrassing and he couldn’t tell him he didn’t like it. Joshua and Jeonghan returned to a normal conversation, leaving him entirely alone with Seungcheol.

“I’m kidding,” Seungkwan rushes after five seconds of being unable to look Seungcheol in the puppy eyes. He pushes his face away from him then proceeds to eat his lunch, now sadly cold and bland. “We haven’t had lunch together in a month,” he then says. He bites his tongue right after, wishing it would bleed so he doesn’t have to open his mouth anymore. It doesn’t bleed.

“You’re meeting my scary friends.”

“…no?”

“You’ll like them, I promise!” Seungcheol makes a cross on his heart. “If you do, I’ll go with you to your ahjumma party,” he then offers with a grin.

“…no.”

***

“Ugh, what even is Seungcheol Choi’s deal? I’m totally bugging right now,” Seungkwan whines to Soonyoung at his house. He rushed there after school and barely knocked on his door when his grandfather opened it for him.

Jihoon watches him with an expression of disdain—narrow-eyed and arms crossed. “Are you stupid or something?” he huffs. “So Seungcheol hyung likes you, big deal.”

“You’re being mean again,” Soonyoung tells him in a low voice, earning him nothing but a “Shut up” from Jihoon.

“Whatever.” Jihoon rolls his eyes and grumbles, “He barges in here and showers us with his melodrama—”

“You don’t know how embarrassing he is, Jihoon sunbae,” Seungkwan complains further, placing his head on Soonyoung’s shoulder. “Like”—he ticks off a list with his fingers—“he makes me feel like a pervert, he’s way too clingy, he should’ve just told me ‘no’, now I’m meeting all his friends…”

“I know him, Seungkwan,” Jihoon cuts him off, “I went to middle school with him.”

Soonyoung speaks with the only detail that sticks with him: “What do you mean he made you feel like a pervert?”

Seungkwan waves Soonyoung off. “It’s a really long story. Anyway, like, does he even do this to other people? What’s up with him?”

Jihoon snorts. “You’re the first person to like him, he’s probably just as embarrassed as you.”

“Sunbae, you’re kidding,” Seungkwan says slowly, horrified, mentally praying. He’s clutching Soonyoung’s arm now and Soonyoung has to pry him off, but he does it gently, guiding Seungkwan’s hands to the table where they fidget with the tablecloth instead. “Wait, sunbae, can you make jokes?”

***

True to form, Seungcheol finds him the next day at lunch and nearly pushes him all the way to his table, repeatedly reassuring Seungkwan that he’ll like his friends. As they arrive at their table, the freakishly tall one stands up to get something and Seungkwan feels awkward just having to direct his gaze upward to see his face. In the end, he sits beside Vernon and eats the kimchi Vernon gives him because he’s not feeling it today.

“So, you and Coups hyung, huh?” Vernon says after lunch as they walk to English class together. “So are you guys together or something?” 

Seungkwan didn’t have the heart to tell him only he and Seungcheol actually call Seungcheol that. Instead, he adjusts the straps of his backpack so they rest a little lower on his back. “I thought it’s obvious we’re not,” he answers.

“I don’t know, man. He kinda treats you like how I treat my girlfriend,” Vernon tells him with a shrug. He has the hood of his pullover on, so Seungkwan couldn’t see if he was wearing another headband today (he found himself looking forward to them during English class).

“You mean badly?” Seungkwan deadpans. “Embarrassingly?”

Vernon laughs. “Yeah, he’s got those moments. But, seriously, man, getting my girlfriend to like all my friends was my number one mission! Her friends and I get along but she really hated some of them,” he says, shaking his head. “But, you know, I tried.”

“When did you meet her?” Seungkwan asks.

“Middle school. I asked her out to eighth grade homecoming and things kinda just happened.” They fall into silence for a while before Vernon speaks up, “So, like, you’re not trying to make him gay or anything, right?”

“What? Oh my god, I’ve been trying to get him off my case since I told him,” Seungkwan rants, making Vernon hold his hands up in surrender.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, just relax, okay? I didn’t mean… I was just, you know, making sure you’re not forc— It can’t be a bad thing, right? He wants to be your friend, it’s totally cool,” Vernon finally says. He takes a breath then continues, “Look, man, I’m really sorry I said it badly. I don’t mean to be a douche, you know?”

“Yeah…” Seungkwan says slowly, releasing a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. He’s used to this—straight guys thinking he has an ulterior motive. His last crush in middle school would call him out when they pass by each other in school. “It’s okay, no biggie. I’m not really doing anything. Like, he’s straight, whatever. I can’t change that.” He can hear how deflated he sounds, but Vernon smiles again, albeit less brightly. They arrive at their classroom three minutes before the bell rings.

“By the way, he wants to meet you again after school.”

“Seriously?” Seungkwan demands, a little exhausted from having to react so much. “Can’t he ask me himself? Why are you the messenger?”

Vernon raises his hands again, pleading, “Please don’t kill the messenger. Coups hyung is really shy.” The teacher arrives, so it’s not like Seungkwan can do anything about it either, though he does admit he’d rather kill Vernon than Seungcheol.

While their teacher droned on about, like, Little Women or something (and later, algebra, which Seungkwan never bothered paying attention in anyway), Seungkwan ended up reliving the horrendous days of middle school when he crushed on a white guy and he was suddenly the Asian guy out to steal both the valedictorian position and people’s boyfriends. He’d rather have Seungcheol’s kindness, he realized, no matter how embarrassing it was for him to deal with how overbearing his sunbae could get. Later, when he goes out the main door of the school to meet Seungcheol, he can’t even sound as annoyed as he’d like to be. He says, “Hey, can’t you just text me like a normal person?” with a silly smile spreading across his face.

Seungcheol pats his pockets for his phone and gives it to Seungkwan once he gets it. “I never got your number, what was it again?” he teases. Seungkwan swipes the phone from his hand and adds his number, putting a shining star emoji next to his name before returning it to Seungcheol. Seungcheol quickly types a text, which Seungkwan then reads aloud:

“Hey, Boo, kissy face emoji— Kissy face emoji? Who do you think you are, my boyfriend?”

“So, the ahjumma party… When is it?” Seungcheol raises his arms to stretch, his sweater leaving behind a peek of stomach that Seungkwan fears he’ll dream of one night.

“Huh? Wait a sec, lemme check,” Seungkwan mutters, exiting Messages to open Calendar. “Next weekend.”

“Deal’s a deal, Boo,” Seungcheol tells him a little smugly. Not that Seungkwan could deny anything—the one with the blank stare surprisingly smiled a lot and cracked jokes that were funnier than Seungcheol’s.

“Ugh, you’re so pushy today, hyung,” Seungkwan complains. He tries to stop his voice from rising. “You’re just going to get bored, too, I swear!”

“Why don’t you let me decide for myself, huh? Come on, let me walk you home.” Seungcheol slings an arm around him and they begin walking like that. “Where do you live?”

“Uh, 4th? We’re kinda going the wrong way,” Seungkwan says. He waits for Seungcheol to turn them both around, which he does after three reiterations (Seungcheol was blocky and Seungkwan didn’t want to ruin his neck). “You don’t have to walk me home.”

“Hm?” Seungcheol’s barely looking at him. “I wanted to. I can’t remember why, though…”

“Oh my god,” Seungkwan breathes, entirely aware of his stomach clenching just so. In the same second, he realizes how easy it would be to lay his head on Seungcheol’s shoulder. It would be comfortable, too—his neck wouldn’t get strained right away. “Can you, like, try to remember?”

“Oh, yeah!” They stop. He lets go of Seungkwan’s shoulder, and Seungkwan already misses the warmth. Winter is coming, and winter means cuddles. Seungcheol digs around his bag and mutters to himself, before finally removing the USB stick that was tied to his ID. “I made you a playlist, and I was gonna burn it on a CD… you know, old school stuff, but I was worried it wouldn’t read or your laptop’s a MacBook Air— Anyway, I’m not singing on it, I promise!” he rambles, the USB stick dangling between his fingers. He takes Seungkwan’s hand and deposits the USB stick on his palm. “It’s got some good stuff, like Kendrick and Tyler… uh, I put a One Direction song”—and Seungkwan swears both their faces were well and truly flushed at this point–“and some of Childish’s old stuff ‘cause that was, like, magic, you know?”

“T–Thank you,” is all Seungkwan manages to say. He’s bubbling all the way down to his toes, pocketing the USB stick with a wide grin.

Seungcheol smiles back sheepishly with his hand resting on the back of his neck. “By the way, if you’re not doing anything tomorrow, drop by the mall. Got a new job at Baskin Robbins,” he says, making finger pistols. “Thirty-one flavors, yeah. Shift’s from opening to six or seven, so I got lots of time.”

Seungkwan laughs and nods. “But I’m not buying anything. I’m so broke right now,” he replies.

“You can try all thirty-one flavors before the boss notices and kicks you out, how ‘bout that?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Seungcheol lays down an open palm. “High-five?” he asks. Seungkwan gives it to him, thoroughly not expecting Seungcheol to lace their fingers together.

He stares at their joined hands for what feels like minutes. The feeling registers a little later; before that, it felt like he had plunged his hand into ice water. Now it’s like taking his hand out of ice water, suddenly warm and very tingly.

“Is this okay?” Seungcheol asks.

Seungkwan chokes. When will he just stop— “You think?”

Chapter Text

The tracklist was amazing—a 20-song long playlist alternating between honest and trashy (Seungkwan suspects that Seungcheol thought of him when he put ABBA on it). Seungkwan transfers the whole playlist to his iTunes and it infiltrates his sleep and his morning shower; he sings, “I-I-I-I need a minute, cold water to the face,” as he picks through his clothes for something to wear.

“Seungkwanie,” his mom says through the door, knocking on the door before opening it, “where are you going today?” She looks at Seungkwan’s outfit and moves nearer him to fix the collar. “Aish, why are you so dressed up? Your hair’s so flat, too,” she complains, running her hands through his hair to fluff it up, then licks her fingers before styling his hair.

“Too much?” Seungkwan looks at the mirror, fidgeting with the folded sleeves. Maybe the button-down was too much. He unbuttons it and changes into a speckled polo. He checks himself out in the mirror, then agrees with his mother, “Yeah, now I don’t look so trust fund.” He kisses his mom on the cheek then thanks her before holding out a palm to ask for money. She gives him twenty dollars, which he stuffs into his pocket with a wide smile. “See you later!”

He takes the bus to the mall, grabs chicken nuggets from McDonald’s for lunch, and orders another box for takeout after eating. It’s only when he walks to Baskin Robbins that he think it’s a stupid idea; he even sprung for the 10-piece box meal because giving Seungcheol six nuggets and no fries seemed a little sad and pathetic after he held his hand.

Seungcheol, dressed in a pink Baskin Robbins shirt and the trademark stupid visor, sees him first and waves him over enthusiastically. “You came!” he exclaims, smiling way too brightly for someone in an ugly visor. He raises his hand and waves it in front of Seungkwan’s face. “High-five?”

Seungkwan’s face colours and he splutters out, “Are you gonna, like…”

“Nah, my boss is probably glaring at me from the back,” Seungcheol replies with a grin. He wiggles his fingers and says, “Come on, don’t leave me hanging.” Seungkwan returns the high-five and passes the takeout to him over the counter.

“I— I got you lunch,” Seungkwan explains, “‘cause I wasn’t sure if you had lunch yet or something and I had extra money… So, yeah…”

“I have to wait for the other guy to show up so I can eat this in the back,” Seungcheol says not unkindly. He opens the paper bag and his expression lifts (if that were possible; he already looked too happy when Seungkwan entered the store). “Thank you. You’re amazing.” The quiet tone is what does it in for Seungkwan—that, and the shy smile that came with it.

“I know,” Seungkwan replies, face red, completely frozen on the spot.

“So”—Seungcheol puts down the paper bag and prepares a fan of pink taster spoons—“I did promise I’d make you try all thirty-one flavors.”

“I thought your boss was looking? Is he okay with this?” Seungkwan cranes his head to look more into what was probably the back area, but sees nothing. When he looks back at Seungcheol, one of the taster spoons was already filled and he was waving it in front of Seungkwan’s face. Not wanting to get him in trouble, he takes the spoon meekly and puts it in his mouth himself. “Vanilla? Be serious, hyung, I know what vanilla ice cream tastes like.” There’s a box for used spoons, which Seungkwan feels conscious about filling up, but he has to deposit the spoon in anyway; he didn’t want to end up with a mountain of saliva-stained pink plastic spoons.

“You’ll like this one, I think,” Seungcheol says, digging into the mint chocolate chip with the spoon and giving it, which contains a little more ice cream than the first, to Seungkwan. “Okay, think of the best mint chocolate chip you’ve ever had, then, like, improve it. This is it, okay, best mint chocolate chip you’ve ever had, hands down.”

Seungkwan laughs at Seungcheol’s enthusiasm, not wanting to dampen the mood by mentioning that mint chocolate chip was one of his lesser favorite flavors, even a particularly nice one like this. “I wanna try the cotton candy next,” he says to Seungcheol.

“You might regret it,” Seungcheol warns, but he prepares the spoonful for him anyway. In his best Simon Cowell impersonation, he says, “This one’s a no from me,” while passing the ice cream over the counter.

“Really? I just wanted to try it, like bubblegum but you don’t have it…” After tentatively licking at the spoon, he makes a face. “Bleeghh,” he groans, sticking his tongue out. “This is nasty, ugh.” He drops the spoon in the box and wipes his mouth.

“Do you want something sweet next?” Seungcheol asks. Seungkwan nods then pushes Seungcheol’s face away when he leans in, pointing at his cheek.

“Hey, I thought you wanted something sweet,” Seungcheol grumbles.

“I want cookies and cream, not you.”

Seungcheol looks annoyingly smug when he says, “I really think you mean ‘and’.”

“You’re really milking this crush thing, aren’t you?”

Seungcheol laughs then says, “Yeah, I kinda am,” sheepishly. “One, your reactions are gold. Two, I’m really glad you’re not, like, a sore loser or something.” He prepares the free taste of cookies and cream, frowning when Seungkwan doesn’t want to take it. “Huh? What’s wrong?”

“So, like”—Seungkwan thinks he might vomit his heart out with the way it’s beating too fast inside his chest—“you holding my hand yesterday was just… what?” He feels so silly bringing him chicken nuggets like they were a domesticated couple and briefly wonders if he could ask for them back so he could eat them at home and sulk. “What is your deal, Seungcheol Choi?” Then realizing he was being too rude, he adds, “…hyung.”

“What? I really liked holding your hand yesterday,” Seungcheol tells him, smile entirely gone from his face. He’d eaten the cookies and cream spoonful so it doesn’t go to waste, the pink handle jutting out of his mouth. A customer—a woman and her three kids—show up just as Seungkwan remembers his manners, ducking out of the line to avoid causing a scene. He turns his back to Seungcheol, who greets them with a cheerful “Hi! What can I get ya?”

The youngest child predictably asks for chocolate and smears it all over his cheeks. Seungkwan, unable to stomach any sort of mess, gets a couple of napkins and lowers himself to the floor near the kid while his siblings decided on their scoops. “Hey, kid, look here,” Seungkwan says gently, taking the boy’s face in his left hand and wiping his cheek clean with the other. “Now turn the other way,” he instructs, and the boy does, but not before staring at him with large eyes. He wipes the other cheek clean and hands him the extra napkins. “Stay clean, okay?” The mother comes to Seungkwan to claim her son and they leave the store.

Seungkwan stands up, brushes off his hands, and returns to the counter. “Did you eat my cookies and cream, hyung?”

“It’s not worth it,” Seungcheol answers offhandedly. “It tastes like frozen Oreos, if you like that kinda thing. Wanna try Love Potion #31 next?”

“Hyung,” Seungkwan stops him, hand unintentionally placing itself on Seungcheol’s elbow that was on the counter. Seungcheol places his chin on the counter as well and looks at Seungkwan expectantly, eyes flickering between Seungkwan’s hand on his arm and Seungkwan’s face. Seungkwan withdraws his hand and licks his lips, throat drier than the cold storage freezer air. 

“I, uh, you know, I like you, hyung. Like, a lot, but I don’t want to keep hanging out with you if you’re gonna keep teasing me like this. It’s, like, really annoying.” He doesn’t know where he’s finding the guts to say this, but it’s all spilling out of his mouth now in a stupid Baskin Robbins, of all places. “I’m not a sore loser, hyung. Just when it’s you.”

“Seungkwan,” Seungcheol says, and Seungkwan doesn’t think he’s ever heard him say his name before, let alone all serious like that, “I’m not kidding about the hand holding.” And Seungkwan, after getting seriously puffed up, deflates within moments. “And today was, I don’t know, the only time I joked about you having a crush on me? I’m not leading you on, okay; I want to be your friend.” His tone is firmer now—a little scary, if Seungkwan’s honest.

“I— Me too, but do you really do this to all your friends?” Seungkwan crosses his arms, mildly irritated by the next thought that crosses his mind. “Or is this like some kind of gay kid pity party? I hate pity parties.”

Seungcheol shakes his head. “I really don’t know,” he admits quietly. “I just knew I wanted to, then bam, I did it.” His tight expression loosens into a smile and he goes, “What if I like you, Seungkwan Boo? Even I don’t know what my deal is lately.” He makes another spoonful of cookies and cream for Seungkwan as a peace offering.

His body tired of reacting, Seungkwan eats the ice cream slowly, letting his mouth melt it down to a sticky sweet syrup on his tongue. He chews on the nubs of chocolate biscuit after. “You’re right,” he says, eyes raking through the display of flavours for one that catches his eye, “it does taste like frozen Oreos. Hey, I want pralines n’ cream next.”

“Seriously though, you should try Love Potion #31. I swear I’m not implying anything; it’s literally so good.”

“After I get my pralines n’ cream,” Seungkwan deadpans. Seungcheol obliges him anyway.

“Yeah, this is really good,” Seungcheol explains to him. “The caramel’s super chewy, kinda like a Tootsie Roll. And I hate nuts in my ice cream but this one’s so good, ‘cause you got that bitter thing going on.” Seungkwan nods with him in agreement as he walked him through that spoonful.

“Alright, let’s try your love potion whatever,” Seungkwan tells him with a smile, licking his lips.

“Okay, so,” Seungcheol begins his sales pitch, “the official description is white chocolate and raspberry ice cream with raspberry-chocolate hearts, but what you really have is super sweet ice cream—it gets a little gross, actually—then the jam, which is kinda bitter and seed-y and crunchy, like the chocolate pieces. You gotta let the chocolate melt in your mouth first so you can taste it, alright?” He watches Seungkwan’s face for any telltale reactions, his own painfully reminiscent of puppies.

Seungkwan shows him what is probably the most enthusiastic reaction he’s ever given, even if he does prefer the pralines n’ cream, just so Seungcheol would smile a little wider. “This is insane, hyung. Seriously, so good, man,” he rambles. (Later that night, he will realize how whipped he is and bury his face with a pillow.)

Seungcheol’s co-worker comes in just as he was getting on his ten-minute break. Seungkwan lets himself be ushered to a table where Seungcheol eats the lunch he bought him in peace.

“Wanna watch a movie later? My shift ends at six. We can have dinner first then catch the last showing or something,” Seungcheol suggests after two nuggets, dipping his fries in the barbecue sauce. All Seungkwan could do is show him his pocket and the pathetic amount of change inside, to which Seungcheol responds with, “Hey, no big, it’s my treat.”

“What is this, a date?” Seungkwan asks drily, crossing his arms. “I still have enough money for my own ticket, so just buy me dinner.”

“Where do you want to have dinner?” Seungcheol asks.

“I don’t know—I don’t want ice cream for, like, another month.”

“How about Panda Express?” Seungcheol’s finished his food in record time, leaving Seungkwan to wonder just where did it all go. “Will you still call it a date if I buy you trashy Chinese food and I don’t pay for your ticket?” he asks, wiping his mouth.

“Are you calling it a date?”

“Yeah.”

Seungcheol’s shift is nearly over. He cleans up after himself and asks Seungkwan to stay, sorry that he’s unable to supply him with more free ice cream now that a co-worker was watching.

“Like I’d stay here for another four hours,” Seungkwan grumbles. He doesn’t leave anyway; he stays in his booth and abuses the free mall Wi-Fi to look up clothes he can’t afford then goes on Spotify after, but boredom kills and he’s not used to waiting—he fidgets and shifts in his seat before finally giving up, telling Seungcheol he’ll come back after he stretches his legs and takes in some air. He goes window shopping, listens to a couple of CDs in the music store, tries to quell the way his stomach is twisting itself. There were a million ways he imagined they would go on a date, and none of them felt like they were riding on the coattails of an apology. In his panic, Seungkwan briefly considers going back to Baskin Robbins to tell him he’s going home, but when he returns, Seungcheol is dressed out of his uniform and in some stupid Mickey Mouse shirt that is literally so cute, he could just die.

“Your— Your hair’s down,” Seungkwan says finally, physically unable to deal with anything else but this fact.

“Huh?” Seungcheol, confused for a moment, touches his hair then explains, “Yeah, I only put wax on it when I go to school, why?”

“Can you, like, keep it this way forever?”

“You like it like this?” Seungcheol asks, surprised. He plays with his fringe and makes a face. “I look like a kid, though.”

“Really,” Seungkwan goes, voice all soft (the vocal expression of the heart eyes emoji), “I love it.” He reaches up to touch it as well, feeling how soft the locks of hair feel between his thumb and forefinger (which were super soft, by the way).

“Are we still on that date?” Seungcheol asks gently. He doesn’t remove Seungkwan’s hands from his hair, just waits for the movement to die down naturally.

Seungkwan lets go and laces his hands together, twiddling his thumbs like a nervous schoolboy. “I’m not calling it that unless you really like me back, Seungcheol Choi,” he says finally. He gathers up the courage to say what’s on his mind, feeling himself get more at ease as he lets it out: “But, no, we’re not on.”

“Oh, okay, yeah. At least let me walk you home,” Seungcheol offers, and that—that, Seungkwan can accept. “Wait… did you walk all the way here from your place?”

Seungkwan rolls his eyes and snorts. “I took the bus, hyung.”

“Okay, bus it is.” Seungcheol carefully unlaces Seungkwan’s hands and takes one, interlocking their fingers together.

At this point, Seungkwan doesn’t know if he’s happy about this newfound intimacy. He just recognises that it exists and that Seungcheol Choi is actually a cuddle monster, perpetuated by how all over Seungcheol is on the bus ride home. Seungcheol’s got his arms wrapped around Seungkwan, Seungkwan’s head on his shoulder. He smells good—the Mickey Mouse shirt like it’s fresh from the laundry and Seungcheol himself a bit like baby cologne and really clean soap. And he’s patting Seungkwan’s hair, laying it down flat then combing his fingers through it.

Seungkwan feels a pair of lips on his hair. He finds it annoying, but he clings to Seungcheol a little bit harder, hand twisting into Seungcheol’s shirt.

“Hey,” Seungcheol whispers, “I’m really sorry."

“Yeah,” Seungkwan replies, inexplicably sad and overwhelmed, “I know.”

Chapter Text

“Seungcheol Choi is so annoying,” Seungkwan complains to Soonyoung the next night over Chinese takeout and E! News. He stretches over Soonyoung for another crab rangoon and pops it into his mouth, his other hand reaching for the TV remote to mute the stupid thing. “Seriously, we’re not even together but he keeps touching me—like, hyung, he wouldn’t stop holding me and we were in the bus… Ugh, I feel so violated.”

Soonyoung doesn’t reply right away. He shovels fried rice into his mouth and picks up a piece of kung pao chicken with his chopsticks, chewing it with a deliberation that Seungkwan doesn’t appreciate.

“Hey, hyung, talk to me,” Seungkwan whines as he tries to wrestle the box of fried rice away from Soonyoung’s hands, but Soonyoung’s hands have formed claws around the box and Seungkwan gives up after a few minutes.

“Don’t touch my food,” Soonyoung grumbles. He picks up an egg roll and takes a big bite, talking to Seungkwan with his mouth full. “What do you want me to say? Do you want me to be real with you or nice?”

“Real, duh,” Seungkwan answers. He goes back to his original seat and picks up his chopsticks again. “But can you be nice and real at the same time?” Soonyoung rolls his eyes.

“I think he likes you back,” Soonyoung tells him. He scrapes the sides of the rice box for the last bits of fried rice, which he then tips into his mouth. Seungkwan offers him the last crab rangoon and tries not to look disappointed when Soonyoung actually takes it and eats it as if he just barely chewed it then swallowed the thing whole. “But Jihoon thinks it’s because you told him you liked him, so now he thinks he likes you back. He calls it the ‘you like me, so I like you’ syndrome.”

“Syndrome? Like a sickness or something?” Seungkwan regrets the invoking the ‘real’ option, especially now that he knows Soonyoung talks about him behind his back. “Why’s his hair pink anyway?”

“Prank,” Soonyoung explains, finishing the kung pao chicken and Seungkwan’s leftover fried rice. “Some girls wanted to make him cute because his personality isn’t.”

At that, Seungkwan laughs. He at least eventually remembers what he wanted to talk about and sobers up. “Jihoon sunbae makes sense,” he admits, a bit sad about it. “But, like, had he ever had crushes before?”

“Just because he’s weird doesn’t mean he hasn’t liked anyone before, right?” Soonyoung tells him drily. “But I don’t know anything. Wanna ask Jihoon?”

“No!” Seungkwan blurts out, clutching his pillow. “It’s just… Jihoon sunbae scares me a bit,” he then mumbles, “like, especially after he got mad at me the other week…”

“You get used to it, I swear. There was this one time in middle school when I wouldn’t stop crying because of him.”

“What? How?” The image of Soonyoung crying because of a short guy couldn’t fully register in his mind, but Seungkwan tries to conjure it up anyway.

“It was science class… or music? I don’t remember, but, yeah, he’d call me stupid ‘cause the teacher kept calling me when I didn’t know the answer,” Soonyoung reminisces, hugging his own pillow. “What a little jerk. But he mellowed down in high school and even said ‘sorry’ to me first day of school. I felt bad so I told him I didn’t remember it at all—you know, just being nice and stuff.”

“Wow,” Seungkwan says softly. “Now I kinda wanna ask Seungcheol hyung about him next time we hang out.”

“‘Next time’?” Soonyoung repeats, eyebrow raised. “Oh yeah, he’s your date for my mom’s birthday party, right?”

Seungkwan whines, “He literally won’t stop bugging me about it. Like, I wanna tell him it’s cancelled but he was so eager—”

“And you can’t say no? You’re so whipped, Boo.”

“I know.” Seungkwan buries his face in the pillow and groans. “Hyung, will you help me with him?”

“What?” Soonyoung snorts. “I’ve got the whole line of Kwons coming over and a thousand cousins to be nice to so he’s your problem on Saturday, not mine. Besides, I’ve never talked to the guy.”

“But— At least say hi to him,” Seungkwan says, defeated. Soonyoung tosses him one of the fortune crackers and they crack it open together, with Soonyoung laughing at his and Seungkwan trying not to cry. “Hyung, what does yours say?”

“You are very talented in many ways,” Soonyoung reads aloud, laughing even harder. “Yours?”

“Keep your eye out for someone special,” Seungkwan answers. “You know, hyung, I’m not sure how I’ll feel if he really does like me. Like, I’d probably keep asking myself if it’s real or not.” Which was probably why he’d prefer it if Seungcheol didn’t like him, but… cuddles (cuddling with Seungcheol was too nice of a thing to really give up).

“Relax,” Soonyoung advises. “You should think you’re good enough for Seungcheol to like you back, ‘cause you are.”

Seungkwan stares at him for a while, unable to stop the grin on his face. “Hyung, are you okay? Do you have a fever?” He places the back of his hand on Soonyoung’s forehead and waves his other in front of Soonyoung’s face.

“Knock it off,” Soonyoung says. “I’m so bored of your self-deprecating whatever, okay.”

“Hyung…” Seungkwan clutches his heart. “Admit it, you love me.”

“Who else is gonna take care of you, huh? Did you even tell your mom you have a date for Saturday?”

Seungkwan bites his lip. “No…”

“Yeah, well, you should. She deserves to know her son’s finally getting some action.”

“I am not,” Seungkwan protests, coughing into his hand. He sets his pillow aside and starts gathering the remnants of their takeout, pushing the leftover bits of food into one container. “Hyung, help me clean this up.”

The next day is the first time Seungcheol’s ignored him—or, at least as much avoidance as he could muster (he and Seungkwan made eye contact on opposite sides of the cafeteria and Seungcheol gives him a slight wave before ducking his head down). For the most part, Seungkwan doesn’t mind; he ducks his head down, too, and squeezes in between Soonyoung and Jihoon for lunch.

Later, he gets a text saying, “I’m gonna think hard about it, promise,” and a fist emoji. He doesn’t reply and instead concentrates on his sad microwaved pizza, mentally beating himself up for dying inside when he saw Seungcheol was wearing a beanie again.

***

Seungkwan gets ready for the ahjumma party at Soonyoung’s house, dragging three pairs of pants, two pairs of shorts, seven shirts, and two pairs of shoes with him across the street. Soonyoung’s already dressed by the time Seungkwan knocks on his door, in a button-down and slacks combo that makes Seungkwan burst into laughter after seeing it.

“What’s so funny?” Soonyoung demands. He’s brushed his hair back as well instead of letting it flop down his forehead like he normally does.

“You look like a tango dancer,” Seungkwan says between laughs. He dumps his clothes on Soonyoung’s bed and gets to work fixing the collar and sleeves of Soonyoung’s shirt. After, he rummages through Soonyoung’s closet for a pair of slimmer pants. “Ditch the pants, please.”

“I’m not the one on a date here,” Soonyoung complains, but he takes off his pants anyway and replaces it with the pair Seungkwan just gave him. “Show me what you got, Boo.”

“I’m not feeling these anymore,” Seungkwan muses, pointing at all the pairs of shorts and two shirts. In the end, he chooses the cleanest-looking clothes of the lot and puts them on. He catches Soonyoung staring at him with a critical expression on his face and has to ask, “What?”

“Don’t button the top, you look like a priest,” Soonyoung tells him and Seungkwan obeys, asking him as well if he should tuck in his shirt or not. It was a no—the brown chinos were a slim fit and would show where the white button-down bunched up underneath it if he does tuck it in, making for unsightly bulges everywhere.

Seungkwan puts on his white Superstars then checks himself out.”Hyung, how do I look?”

“Like you flew in from Boston,” Soonyoung answers, looking a bit bored now. He’s fixed the rest of Seungkwan’s clothes while he waited for Seungkwan to finish fixing his hair and hands him the pile of neatly folded clothes. He stands up from the bed and glances at the window, saying, “I think your boyfriend is outside your house.”

“What?” Clothes still in hand, Seungkwan rushes to the window, where he can see that Seungcheol is definitely outside his house with flowers and he doesn’t think he’s ever run so fast in his life; he rushes out of Soonyoung’s house and crosses the street in record time, breathing heavily and stomach flopping about. He doubles over and clutches his knees, vowing to himself that he’ll do more exercise come the new year so he doesn’t look this stupid in front of Seungcheol Choi ever again.

“Are you okay?” Seungcheol asks, placing a hand on Seungkwan shoulder as he regains his breath. His brow is furrowed.

“What—do—you—think—you’re—doing?” Seungkwan exhales in shudders, the clothes he was carrying now strewn around his feet. He points at the bouquet cradled in Seungcheol’s arm and asks (or rather, gasps), “What’s—with—the—flowers?”

“Hey, hey, just breathe,” Seungcheol tells him slowly, the hand on his shoulder a little more firm to keep Seungkwan steady. He even lowers himself so his eyes can meet Seungkwan’s, his mouth making exaggerated breathing exercises that exacerbate the problem and leave Seungkwan a little more breathless every time he sees that pink mouth fall open. “What were you doing over there?”

“Huh?” Seungkwan takes a moment to register what Seungcheol’s saying, mouth and hair and boyfriendclothesboyfriendclothes alternating in his mind like some pinball machine. “That—That’s Soonyoung hyung’s house,” he explains, straightening himself up. “It’s his mom’s birthday today, so.”

“Oh, it’s her party? Should I say hi to Soonyoung?” Seungcheol lets go of Seungkwan so he can crane his neck every which way to peek at the Kwons across the street.

“Hyung, you’re weird.”

“These are for you, by the way,” Seungcheol says offhandedly, hand extending the bouquet to Seungkwan. It’s a pretty bouquet—red roses and angel’s breath all wrapped up in pink—but bordering on cheesy and embarrassing and reeking of early 2000s courting. Seungkwan takes it nonetheless and gives the roses a good sniff. “I don’t know what flowers you like,” he apologizes, “so I got the standard.”

“This is the standard?” Seungkwan asks, eyebrow raised. “Flowers for what?”

“Don’t guys normally bring flowers when they pick up their date?”

“This isn’t a date, Seungcheol Choi,” Seungkwan protests a little weakly. Nonetheless, he draws the bouquet closer to him, the scent of the roses all up in his face. “But, whatever, I’m carrying this inside and you can pick those up.”

Seungcheol picks up the littered clothes with a laugh. Together, they cross the short walkway to the front door, which was left unlocked for Seungkwan by his mom. “Come on, I want to see your room,” he goads.

“Uh, no way, you stay right there,” Seungkwan declines, pointing to the living room (really, it was just that he currently has Disney princess bedsheets, the remnants of starting out in a new country with barely any money when he was a kid coming back to haunt him). With a pout, Seungcheol takes a seat on one of the couches, looking so nicely settled in his house that Seungkwan almost couldn’t stop looking. Instead, Seungkwan rushes to the kitchen to place the flowers in a tall glass he’s found in the cupboard and fills it up with cold water. Then, he takes the clothes, runs up to his bedroom, dumps them on his bed, and returns to Seungcheol in under a minute, taking the space beside him in a mess of tired limbs.

“Hey, wanna ditch this?” Seungkwan suggests. “They always make me do karaoke and, like, I’m not in the mood…”

“But I wanna hear you sing,” Seungcheol whines. “Do you wanna go for karaoke?”

“Anywhere but the ahjumma party.” Seungkwan admits, “I’m so game for anything right now.”

“Anything?” Seungcheol, grinning, bounces off his seat and drags Seungkwan up with him. “We’re going to the Pier!”

“Ye—Are you serious right now?” Running after Seungcheol when he gets excited is like chasing the most active dog in the neighbourhood. He even had to stop to properly lock the door of the house behind him so he was severely behind, finally catching up to Seungcheol at the bus stop. “Seriously—hyung—you—have—to—make—me—stop—running,” he pants, latching on the first thing he recognized (Seungcheol’s shoulder).

Seungcheol just pats him on the back. The bus they’re using arrives and Seungcheol goes ahead and makes Seungkwan rest his head on his shoulder again, offering him one earbud. Seungkwan, for his part, doesn’t know when he’ll stop finding his smell attractive; Seungcheol smells so clean, like he showers all the time, with none of the funky deodorant most high school guys use. The music isn’t bad either—just The Weeknd’s Kiss Land turned down low. 

Seungcheol taps him on the head when they arrive at the Pier and Seungkwan stumbles out of the bus, rubbing his eyes.

“Burgers?”

“Yeah, burgers.”

“I’m buying.”

Seungkwan holds out an arm to block Seungcheol’s path to the burger shack. “Yeah, no, I’m not letting you treat me ever,” he says, and Seungcheol only has to put a little pressure on Seungkwan’s arm for it to fall back on his side.

“Did you bring money?” Seungcheol asks, eyeing Seungkwan’s clothes as he did.

“I—” No, he did not. Seungkwan’s face flushes a bright red—he keeps his commuter’s card on his phone, snapped securely behind the plastic case for ease of access, and there’s always a spare key on the windowsill. “Fine, you can treat me.” Seungcheol only laughs and buys them both double burgers and thick chocolate milkshakes. They share an order of fries between them, and it takes them nearly an hour to get through the fries while it took them only ten minutes to eat the burgers, because Seungcheol, between fries, would ask Seungkwan questions:

“You really sing?”

“My mom heard me in the shower and enrolled me in lessons.”

“You must be really good.”

“I can’t sing ‘Problem’, so…”

“Will you sing for me?”

“I don’t know.” Seungkwan shrugs, though he doesn’t admit that he sings about Seungcheol more often than he’d like to. “Let’s see how I feel about you by next year.”

“Why me?”

“Why not you?”

Seungcheol bursts out laughing. “That doesn’t answer the question.”

“Ugh,” Seungkwan huffs, rolling his eyes. “The first time I saw you, I thought you looked cute. And, like”—he can’t help the smile on his face—“you didn’t stop being cute.” He sticks out his tongue and makes a face. “Blegh.”

“And now?”

He’s learned his lesson about being quiet around Seungcheol Choi—if he doesn’t embarrass him, the knots in his stomach will kill him; being frank was always better. “I like you even more now,” he admits. Then, he adds, “Ew.”

“You’re hurting me, Boo.”

“Okay, like, I know I can move on if I get turned down, but, like, you totally didn’t, so let’s be real—it’s your fault,” Seungkwan grumbles. He shoves three fries all at once into his mouth and chews a little bit more forcefully. “And you smell so good, like, why.” Sick of the taste of potatoes, he pushes the basket closer to Seungcheol, who wolfs it down.

“Were you expecting me to smell bad?” Seungcheol asks, mouth full. “For your information, I take a shower twice a day.”

“I don’t need to know about you in the shower.”

“Hey, there’s a carousel!” Seungcheol exclaims, picking up the trash on their table and practically slamming it inside the trash can. He takes Seungkwan’s wrist and drags him across the sand and before Seungkwan realizes anything, he’s seated on one of the horses with Seungcheol taking the one next to him, looking inexplicably happy. “This is my first carousel ride,” he tells Seungkwan. “My parents didn’t want me riding it ‘cause they only saw girls on it.”

And, okay, it’s not like Seungkwan wants to fall harder for Seungcheol Choi, but he’s literally making it impossible.

“Try not to be disappointed,” Seungkwan teases. The carousel starts up slowly and as it begins to speed up, he turns to face Seungcheol more, not wanting to miss any candid reaction. (The best was of Seungcheol clutching the pole when the carousel jerked forward a little.) “Having fun?”

Seungcheol grins. “Duh. I wanna go to the ferris wheel after.”

“Let’s save it for sunset?” Not that it was more romantic, but it definitely was. “The view up there is amazing,” Seungkwan says. The carousel slows to a stop and Seungkwan finds himself saying, “We can go fishing?”

“Yeah… no.”

“Let’s stay by the beach?”

“Yeah, okay, we can get a mat somewhere, right?” There’s a shack that rents out mats by the food stands. They get a dark blue one and lay it out close to the shore, their shoes left behind and pants rolled up as much as possible. 

Once settled, with both of them facing the sea and their arms barely two inches apart, Seungkwan asks, “Hyung, can you really rap? I wanna hear you rap.”

Seungcheol laughs. “I’m kinda bad at it. Maybe on a good day I could do ‘Sweatpants’.”

“Today’s a good day,” Seungkwan tells him, laughing as well. “Do ‘Sweatpants’ and I’ll sing you something.”

“Can I pick the song?”

“Sure.”

“Hmm… ‘Change My Mind’ by One Direction.”

“I thought you didn’t listen to One Direction?” They’re both blushing now—Seungkwan from the lyrics and Seungcheol from admitting that the letter made him download their entire discography in one go. Whatever embarrassment he had about listening to One Direction had gone by the time he started rapping and moving his hands, which he did a lot of. 

“Your turn,” Seungcheol tells him, grinning. Seungkwan sings him a few bars, voice a little shaky and breathless, but maybe it’s because he’s singing for Seungcheol, telling him to sit right there while they both sort out this mess.

Seungkwan finishes and they both fall silent, broken all too soon when Seungcheol pokes his shoulder then points at a kid running in the water who falls over, laughing way too hard.

“Hyung, you’re so mean!” But Seungkwan laughs, too, because the kid stands up just as a wave comes in and knocks him down again. “Aw, he was just looking for his mom,” he says when he sees the kid sprint the last few steps to his mother, little arms extending to wrap around her waist.

“Cute,” Seungcheol comments. “You know, I always wanted a little brother. Good thing in school I got, like, three.”

“Koreans in da Hood?”

“What?” Good thing Seungcheol looks more amused than offended.

“Oh, right”—Seungkwan laughs into his fist—“I kinda made that up when I first saw your scary friends. Like, I thought you’d just be sneakerheads but you guys were wearing bucket hats…”

“Wow, who’s judgemental now?” Seungcheol teases.

“Hey, I never said it was a bad thing,” Seungkwan defends himself. Wonwoo surprisingly wore bucket hats—even floral ones—well. “Besides, I really like you in a beanie.”

“So hair down and beanie?”

“And boyfriend clothes.”

“What are boyfriend clothes?”

“Uh, clothes boyfriends wear?”

“So, like, if I have a boyfriend or something, I’d have to buy new clothes?”

“I didn’t say that!” Seungkwan is totally hung up on Seungcheol saying boyfriend instead of girlfriend, like it was a huge marker of something. Maybe Seungcheol Choi wasn’t as straight as he was marketing himself out to be a few months ago. “But, you know, nice clothes help. Like today. You look good today.”

Seungcheol blushes, and Seungkwan swears he’s never been as happy about Seungcheol as this moment in all the times they’ve been together prior. “Thanks.”

“You’re blushing.”

“It was a compliment.”

“Whatever, hyung, you were blushing.”

“Do you think you could, maybe, not call me ‘hyung’?” Seungcheol asks slowly, like he’s not sure of the request himself, but he’s already said it, and Seungkwan just stares at him for a while before laughing.

“Force of habit, sorry. My mom didn’t raise me to not call my elders properly. Do you want me to call you ‘oppa’? ‘Oppa, oppa! I love youuuuu!’”

“No!” Seungcheol is laughing so hard he struggles to say the next words: “Please just call me ‘Seungcheol’.”

“Give me, like, five years.”

“Just once.”

“Seung…cheol.” It’s hard not adding the ‘Choi’ at the end; the rhythm is all wrong in his mouth.

Seungcheol makes gestures for Seungkwan to continue. “Come on, once more, with confidence—”

“Seungcheol.” The applause Seungcheol gives him is entirely overreaction—he claps his hands like a seal then claps Seungkwan at the back.

“That wasn’t so hard, right?”

“Ugh,” Seungkwan groans, “can we just go to the ferris wheel now?” Together they put on their shoes and roll up the mat nice and tightly. The day was already chilly to begin with (as it should be in December), but with the sun setting, the temperature drops a little further. Seungcheol wraps an arm around Seungkwan, drawing him closer to his body as they get in line for the ferris wheel.

“You’re right,” Seungcheol says once they’re inside their compartment, completely ignoring Seungkwan to look at the view down below, “it looks amazing right now.”

“Of course,” Seungkwan responds a little smugly, “I used to go here with my mom a lot as a kid.”

“At least she let you ride the carousel.”

“I think that’s how she knew I was gay, to be honest.” They fall silent again, their compartment near the top now. Seungkwan looks at the sea, admires how prettily orange it is.

Seungcheol breaks the silence again with: “Does this bother you?”

“What bothers me?”

Seungcheol leaves the view to sit beside Seungkwan, takes one of his hands and plays with it, drawing figures on Seungkwan’s palm. “Hanging out with me and stuff,” he says quietly.

“What? No, of course not. I’m not a masochist.”

“So you’re having fun?”

“Yeah, and, like, I had free food, so.” On a technicality, but it felt good nonetheless.

“Would you call this a date?”

Seungkwan would cross his arms, but Seungcheol still has a firm hold on his left arm, now flapping it about and tracing circles on his forearm. “I told you, it’s only a date if—”

“I like you back,” Seungcheol cuts him off. “Yeah, I know. What if I do?” Seungkwan withdraws his arm from Seungcheol’s grip like it’s burning him and caresses his wrist.

“You don’t mean that,” he says.

“It sounds bad, yeah, but I do.”

“No,” Seungkwan stresses, “you really don’t.” He wonders how bad the fall will be to the bottom, if he could even knock down the glass window blocking him from jumping off in the first place. 

“I thought you’re not a masochist.”

“Just you saying you like me back doesn’t make me happy.”

“What will?” Seungcheol demands. “I don’t hang out with you even if I want to, and it’s not like I’ve had a relationship before, so I know how to act… Okay, I would never have met you without that letter—”

“Exactly,” Seungkwan interrupts him. “We wouldn’t have met without that letter.”

“But aren’t you happy?” Seungcheol takes Seungkwan’s hand again and laces their fingers together despite Seungkwan sweating like all hell broke loose and his heart threatening to give up. “‘Cause I am. Like, insanely happy,” Seungcheol admits, chewing on his bottom lip. Seungkwan might cry; his vision is blurring and a splash of warmth lands on his cheek. “Please be my boyfriend, Seungkwan Boo.”

At that, Seungkwan floods, breaking into a sob. “What the hell, Seungcheol Choi,” he whines, “you’re making me cry.”

“You’re such a crybaby,” Seungcheol laughs. He thumbs away the tears that were on Seungkwan’s face. “But please say yes.”

“Of course I say yes,” Seungkwan finally lets out. He’s stopped crying but now he’s smiling like a true idiot and won’t let go of Seungcheol’s arm once they get off the ferris wheel. Seungcheol walks Seungkwan home like that, all the way to the front door of Seungkwan’s home, where he waits for Seungkwan to open the door.

“Good night,” Seungcheol says once Seungkwan’s crossed the treshold into his house. He leans into the doorway.

“Good night,” Seungkwan says back, still smiling.

“See you Monday?”

“Yeah.”

Seungcheol gives him a kiss on the cheek, dry and soft, with his hand cupping Seungkwan’s face. The sensation lingers long after Seungcheol’s gone home.

***

Monday can’t come fast enough, and when it does, it does so in a blur. Seungkwan’s lining up for his lunch when a pair of arms slip around his waist, pulling him closer to Seungcheol.

“Hey,” Seungcheol whispers in Seungkwan’s ear.

Soonyoung’s glaring daggers at Seungkwan from his table; Jihoon looks disgusted. The girl beside him in the lunch line doesn’t know where to look, eyes darting between Seungcheol placing his chin on Seungkwan’s shoulder and the lunch lady preparing her japchae. “He—What do you think you’re doing?”

“Showing off my new boyfriend,” Seungcheol answers smugly. He holds Seungkwan a little tighter and presses his mouth to his shoulder. “I can’t keep you a secret, I’m sorry.”

“This… this is fine,” Seungkwan says weakly, heating up from head to toe, either from embarrassment or from happiness or both. (It was definitely both.) “You’re not getting lunch?” The lunch lady deposits Seungkwan’s food on his tray, and Seungcheol gives her a little wave.

“I stopped by Burger King on the way to school.” Seungcheol carries the tray for Seungkwan and leads them to a table near the door, placing both their bags on the empty seats so no one would sit on them. At least it’s far from where Soonyoung’s sitting.

“Better give me some fries, then,” Seungkwan grumbles. What he doesn’t expect is Seungcheol feeding him one—nudging the end of a fry against his lips until Seungkwan opens his mouth to eat it. His thumb remains on Seungkwan’s lip, coated in salt, and Seungkwan, face flaming, darts out a tongue to lick it, making Seungcheol laugh into his palm. “What?” Seungkwan demands, then, with a slight cough because he choked on the fry anyway.

“You’re gonna kill me like this,” Seungcheol tells him, still laughing.

“Excuse you,” Seungkwan grouses, “you’ve been killing me since day one. This is the least I can do. Why are you even so PDA today?”

“You told me before that Josh and Jeonghan keeping it a secret made you sad,” Seungcheol replies after a mouthful of burger. “I didn’t want us to be like that.”

Seungcheol makes him want to do things, like make Seungcheol blush and laugh and cry (but mostly blush—Seungcheol had the prettiest facial expressions when he blushed) as much as Seungcheol made him blush and laugh and cry. As they eat through their lunch, Seungcheol continues feeding him fries and Seungkwan, getting a little more shameless after every fry, ends up sucking on Seungcheol’s thumb by the last of them.

“Are you sure you’re 15?” Seungcheol asks, a little breathless, and Seungkwan mentally pats himself on the back when Seungcheol clears his throat.

“I’m turning 16 next month,” Seungkwan says, wiping his mouth.

Seungcheol does a low whistle. “Hey, are you done with that?” he asks, pointing to Seungkwan’s lunch tray. Seungkwan nods and they clean up after themselves, rushing to the door afterwards with Seungcheol gripping Seungkwan’s wrist. He stops only in front of a closed door and opens it, dragging Seungkwan inside and locking the door.

He’s leaning on the door and he maneuvers Seungkwan so that Seungkwan’s body is pressed against his, hands placed on the small of Seungkwan’s back. “Hey,” he says, making Seungkwan look up at him, “I really wanna kiss you right now.”

Seungkwan’s having none of it. Their position was a little cramped, his hands on Seungcheol’s chest, both his legs between Seungcheol’s. “Now?” he whines. “We’re in the janitor’s closet.”

“Please?”

“It stinks here.” Seungkwan shakes his head. “Come on, I’m not having my first kiss in the janitor’s closet.”

“It’s my first kiss, too,” Seungcheol says quietly. He ducks his head down and it’s just near enough for Seungkwan to stretch his arms and pinch Seungcheol’s cheeks.

“Ugh, you’re so cute.” Seungkwan pouts. He honestly wants to know what it’d feel like to kiss Seungcheol Choi, if it weren’t for the smell of disinfectants and dirty mop water, but it could be worse—it could’ve been at the rickety metal staircase, where it smelled like cigarette smoke and compost waste, or at his house during spring cleaning with dust hanging over their heads in semi-tangible clouds. He doesn’t say anything more; he just meets their lips halfway, Seungkwan leaning closer to Seungcheol’s body until his knees hit the door, his hands cupping Seungcheol’s face. And he doesn’t know what to expect—was it really supposed to be this warm?—but there’s a slight trace of Coke on Seungcheol’s lips, sticky and sweet, that makes Seungkwan kiss him again, a little more forcefully. This time, Seungcheol smiles into it, still smiling after they pull away.

“…wow.” The bell signalling the end of lunch rings and Seungcheol quickly lowers his head to kiss Seungkwan again before they disentangle their bodies.

“You tell me,” Seungkwan says, touching his lips like he couldn’t believe what just happened.

It was a good thing Seungkwan was slowly getting used to the physical intimacy, that by the next day, when Seungcheol greets him with a kiss and an arm wrapped around his shoulder at seven-thirty in the morning, he just laughs and kisses him back while Soonyoung makes noises behind them.

Seungcheol suggests, “Movie night on Friday?”

“What movie?” Seungkwan asks.

“Bring your favorite.”

“So your place?”

Seungcheol grinned. “Parents are out of town,” he says with a wiggle of his eyebrows. Seungkwan slaps his shoulder in disgust. Seungcheol kisses Seungkwan’s cheek and says, “Be there at seven, okay. I’ll text you the address.”

“Yeah, sure.” Seungkwan waves him bye as Seungcheol heads to the gym for first period.

“You’re so gross,” Soonyoung complains. They walk to his locker first, where Soonyoung has to get all his Japanese notes for a test later. “What even happened last Saturday? You didn’t even show up to my mom’s birthday, now she’s mad at you.”

“I’m sorry,” Seungkwan apologizes. “He and I kinda went to the beach instead. And, like, he told me he liked me so—”

“So you made out with him?” Soonyoung’s eyes were barely perceptible at this point. “What happened to you, Seungkwan Boo?”

“I didn’t make out with him! We just kissed yesterday—”

“Nope, stop,” Soonyoung says, covering his ears, “I don’t want to hear this.”

“It was hot.”

“You do know what ‘movie night at my house’ means, right?” Seungkwan holds out his arms so that Soonyoung can pile his textbooks on them while he goes through the contents of his locker.

“I’m—I’m not going to sleep with Seungcheol Choi,” Seungkwan says indignantly. He hands over the textbooks to Soonyoung once he’s closed his locker.

“Good,” Soonyoung says in relief.

“Yet.”

Soonyoung nearly drops his books, making a face. “Yuck. And you kissing him in front of me was really gro—Hey, did you know Cat-Eyes and Long Hair are gay? I saw some girl crying about it yesterday when she said she saw them making out at the movie.”

Seungkwan just hums. “What movie was this?”

“Exodus?”

“They were making out?” Seungkwan laughs. “That’s really not the best movie for that.”

Soonyoung shrugs. “Some people need an excuse. You obviously don’t,” he complains, making Seungkwan grin.

If Seungkwan could preen, he would, proud that Seungcheol isn’t relegating him to some kind of person he’d only meet behind closed doors. He’s more open about it than Seungkwan could ever be, really, but he already knew Seungcheol Choi is as shameless as one could get.

Soonyoung claps him on the back. “Hey, I gotta get to class and cram this,” he tells him.

Seungkwan just laughs and says, “Whatever, go ace it.”

***

Seungkwan brings his whole laptop to Seungcheol’s house since he was unable to decide on a movie when he was at home fixing himself. (He took another shower and sprayed on a little bit more cologne, just in case, but he wore a ratchet hoodie and sweatpants anyway.) He rings on the doorbell and Seungcheol opens the door in pajamas, entire body sprawled against the door frame.

“Hey!” Seungcheol greets.

“Cute PJs,” Seungkwan says drily, eyeing the pineapple pattern on them. They were a matching set, even. The top had a pocket.

“Thanks! I normally sleep naked but you were coming over, so.”

“Please don’t sound sad about it, hyung,” Seungkwan tells him, making his way inside the house. There was a large pizza box on the living room table, accompanied by garlic bread and Dr. Pepper.

Seungcheol closes the door behind them and follows Seungkwan inside. “I told you not to call me ‘hyung’ anymore,” he says, slightly put out.

“Sorry, Seungcheol,” Seungkwan apologizes, though the feeling is still a little foreign in his mouth. “Can we eat? I’m really starving.”

“Yeah!” Seungcheol agrees, hand rubbing his stomach. “But we should eat in the kitchen”—he raises a hand to place it on the back of his neck, almost ruefully—“’cause my mom hates cleaning up the crumbs.” It’s not like Seungkwan has a problem with it; he helps Seungcheol bring the food to the kitchen while Seungcheol gets plates and glasses, filling up the glasses to the brim with ice. When they sit down, with Seungcheol sitting beside Seungkwan despite all the other places on the dining table where he could sit and their elbows knocking as a result of it, Seungkwan realizes it’s barely been a week since they’ve started and he’s already slotted himself into Seungcheol’s life so easily, pajamas and all.

After eating two slices (mushroom and pepperoni) and downing a glass of Dr. Pepper, Seungkwan asks, “Do you think we’re moving too fast?”

“Huh?” Seungcheol’s mouth is full and Seungkwan has to stop himself from laughing. “It’s just a movie, Seungkwan,” he says before taking another bite. To be fair, Seungcheol has been fitting himself into the nooks and crannies of Seungkwan’s life even before all of this. Dinner and a movie was probably taking it slow.

“Speaking of,” Seungcheol continues, wiping his mouth with one of the napkins that came with the pizza, “what movie are we watching?”

“I—I haven’t thought about it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really.” Seungkwan rolls his eyes as takes another slice and puts it on his plate before replying, “I don’t know what movie I want to show you.”

“You must have a movie you really like though,” Seungcheol replies, licking his fingers. “Come on, the first thing you think of, we’ll watch.”

“Uh”—he bites his bottom lip, though he already knew what he was going to say—“Clueless.”

Seungcheol’s eyebrows knit together. “What’s that?”

“You’re clueless,” Seungkwan tells him, offended, and bumps him with his elbow. “It’s my favourite movie ever, but it’s, like, 90s girl trash, so I wasn’t sure if you’d like it ‘cause you probably watch stuff like The Godfather.”

“Hey, I’ve seen Roman Holiday five times,” Seungcheol says with confidence.

“You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

“Duh.” He practically drags Seungkwan out of his chair (the dragging thing was seriously getting out of control), telling him he’ll wash the dishes in the morning, and they run up the stairs to Seungcheol’s bedroom. Seungcheol collapses on the bed first then waits for Seungkwan to take his laptop out of his bag and set it up. They lie on the bed—Seungkwan curled up on top of Seungcheol, knees raised to prop up the laptop, and Seungcheol with his arms wrapped around Seungkwan’s stomach and legs around Seungkwan’s, almost very definitely like Seungcheol was hugging a pillow.

They are at the scene where Cher picks out the yellow plaid outfit for school when Seungkwan feels Seungcheol press his mouth to his shoulder. It stays there for a while before Seungcheol moves up to his neck, pressing kisses up and down the length of it until Seungkwan pauses the movie.

“Seungcheol,” Seungkwan says, encouraging himself to say his name more often so his tongue would get used to it, “are you even watching?”

“Cher thinks Dionne and her boyfriend won’t last. I think she’s wrong,” Seungcheol tells him, or rather, to his neck, and Seungkwan has to admit it’s a little hot.

“Bingo,” Seungkwan tells him, satisfied, and plays the movie again, though Seungcheol doesn’t stop. He hugs Seungkwan a little tighter, the kisses on his neck get a little wetter because Seungcheol’s rude enough to use his tongue.

“You smell good,” Seungcheol mumbles against his skin.

Seungkwan lets out a little groan of frustration. “Do you just wanna make out?” he sighs, turning his head to face Seungcheol as much as possible, though he regrets it because Seungcheol is looking like a puppy again.

“Pretty please?”

“Did you even want to watch a movie?”

“I did!” And Seungcheol for a moment sounded seriously offended. “Seriously, I was so up for the movie until we started watching it,” he protests with a weak laugh. “It’s my fault, I’m sorry. We ended up sitting like this and… Yeah, we can watch it later…”

“So…” Seungkwan says slowly, “we’re not just making out? ’Cause Cher and Josh are literally so cute.”

“Yeah, it’s movie night!”

Seungkwan laughs and consents to it with a “Fine, okay,” as he closes the lid of his laptop. He stretches a bit to make sure the laptop is placed securely on Seungcheol’s bedside table before he turns around and straddles Seungcheol’s hips. He leans in a little closer, hands reaching out to cup Seungcheol’s face, and Seungcheol meets him first, pushing his body outward so he could finally lock their lips together. The first kisses are gentle, just enough to make little noises in the now silent and dim bedroom. When Seungkwan tangles his fingers in Seungcheol’s hair so he can deepen the kiss, Seungcheol responds by tracing Seungkwan’s bottom lip with his tongue before shyly exploring Seungkwan’s mouth with it. It’s sloppy and wet and clumsy, but in a good way, Seungkwan thinks, and they have time to get better at it. Right now, he can’t even feel his lips anymore.

Seungcheol has his hands on the hem of Seungkwan’s hoodie, then they travel up, exploring Seungkwan’s back without ever slipping inside, which Seungkwan is grateful for. Seungkwan, on the other hand, can’t get enough of Seungcheol’s hair, even tugging on it a little as he nibbles on Seungcheol’s lip. He dips his head down to kiss Seungcheol’s neck, feeling taut skin against his lips, before going back up to kiss his mouth.

They do pull away eventually, when Seungkwan’s chest tightens and he realizes he hasn’t breathed properly the whole time, and return to watching the movie. But it’s become a sequence of movie, make out, then movie, that when they finally finish Clueless, it’s two in the morning and Seungcheol asks Seungkwan to stay.

“It’s not like I really want to say no,” Seungkwan yawns and places his head on Seungcheol’s chest, curling up against his body like a cat and closing his eyes, “but my mom…”

“She’ll be more worried if you walked home at two am, right? And I really don’t want to walk you home right now,” Seungcheol says, hand going through Seungkwan’s hair.

Seungkwan snorts. “Thanks a lot, you’re totally boyfriend of the year.”

“I’m really tired, okay,” Seungcheol says. “At least text her.”

“Do it for me,” Seungkwan says sleepily, yawning a bit harder now. “Passcode’s 0-0-0-0.”

Seungcheol reaches for Seungkwan’s phone without trying to remove Seungkwan from his place on top of him and types up a short text. Once it’s sent, he gets to work nudging Seungkwan off him. “You’re really heavy,” he complains.

“Nnn, you’re so whiney,” Seungkwan whines, but he lets Seungcheol move him until Seungkwan is facing the other side and Seungcheol can hug him from behind, nose pressed between Seungkwan’s shoulderblades.

“Good night,” Seungcheol mumbles, placing a kiss on Seungkwan’s back, but Seungkwan’s already fallen asleep, snoring softly.

Chapter Text

Seungkwan wakes up to Seungcheol literally breathing down his neck. He doesn’t move just yet, choosing to take in the look of Seungcheol’s plain white bedsheet in broad daylight and the feel of their socked feet tangled together as he runs a hand up and down Seungcheol’s forearm. Seungcheol hasn’t let go of Seungkwan once the whole night, and Seungkwan’s surprised he didn’t wake up sprawled all over Seungcheol, limbs scattered, like he normally does.

“Hey,” Seungkwan whispers, tapping Seungcheol’s arm, “don’t you have work, like, right now?”

Seungcheol grunts. “I switched schedules,” he replies, voice thick with sleep and snuggling deeper into Seungkwan. “I work after school now.”

“Oh god, what time is it?”

“Ten?” Seungcheol frees one arm to get Seungkwan’s phone from the bedside table to check the time. “More like noon, actually. Your mom texted, by the way. She says to be home before dinner.”

Six hours, then. “Breakfast?” Seungkwan suggests, and they go down to have reheated pizza and milk. Seungcheol squeezes way too much chocolate syrup in his, stirs it all with a spoon, then downs it in one go while Seungkwan watches, disgusted look on his face.

“Do you wanna take a shower?” Seungcheol asks while they do the dishes, passing to Seungkwan a freshly rinsed plate that Seungkwan towels off. “Not with me, I mean, but, like, you know…”

Seungkwan laughs. “Yeah. I kinda don’t want my mom to see how ratchet I look right now,” he says, fully aware of his sleep-rumpled appearance. He also probably—most definitely—stinks of dried saliva. They finish washing the dishes and replacing them back in their cupboards. Seungcheol pushes him to the bathroom with a clean towel he gets from the laundry room and a dental kit Seungcheol’s mom stole from a hotel somewhere.

“Just throw it when you’re done… or keep it there, if you want,” Seungcheol tells him about the tootbrush before closing the bathroom door.

When Seungkwan returns from the shower (he didn’t sing; the space of the shower wasn’t familar enough for him to be comfortable singing), he finds clothes ready for him on the bed—a white shirt, a pair of casual shorts, a pair of socks with a monkey on it, and his underwear, freshly laundered and still warm. It’s incredible how domesticated they’ve gotten in the course of one week—washing the dishes, movie night, actual sleepovers—that Seungkwan hasn’t had time to think any of it through. He just dumbly puts on the clothes Seungcheol’s laid out for him and sits on the bed, checking his phone for updates while Seungcheol takes a shower.

The feeling only manages to sink in when Seungcheol walks in his room wearing nothing but a towel and Seungkwan thinks that in no way does being together for a week merit this kind of thing (not that he covers his eyes, but he doesn’t, like, stare at Seungcheol while he’s dressing). “They fit,” is all Seungcheol says with a smile once he’s looked at Seungkwan, slipping a shirt over his head.

Seungkwan swallows the lump that’s formed in his throat; shoulders and stomach just aboout the only things he can process right now. “Yeah. Should I return them?” he asks, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. It smells like Seungcheol.

“Nah, they don’t fit me. By the way, I washed your clothes so pick them up tomorrow, if you can.”

“Ugh, we’re so clingy,” Seungkwan complains, but his insides are fluttering all the same—his boyfriend’s doing his laundry, Seungkwan’s wearing his boyfriend’s clothes, Seungkwan has a boyfriend.

“I’ll bring it to school, then,” Seungcheol says, grinning. “Got your stuff ready?”

“Yeah.” Seungkwan gets up from the bed and slings his backack over his shoulder. Seungcheol apologizes, saying his parents are also going to be home for dinner, so he has to clean up the house. They kiss by the door, brief exchanges between ‘bye’s, that end up with them making out on Seungcheol’s living room couch. Seungkwan’s hands go under Seungcheol’s shirt, feeling the firmness of his back and the tautness of his stomach. Seungcheol has his mouth latched on Seungkwan’s neck, breath heavy and slightly damp. Seungkwan’s bag was unceremoniously dropped on the floor. Before Seungcheol could let go of his hands tangled in Seungkwan’s hair to go a little further down, Seungkwan pushes him off because he really needs to go home. Seungcheol lets him go with a little wave of his fingers and a grin.

“You gotta cover up your neck before your mom sees.”

***

The holidays come and Seungkwan has to fly all the way to Korea, to Jeju, to spend quality time with his mom’s family. It’s only on Christmas Eve, when Seungkwan digs into a large bubbling pot of seafood hot pot, that he realizes he forgot to text Seungcheol before leaving California. He rushes one later while his aunts and uncles pass around the alcohol, and Seungcheol replies within a minute though it must have been around six in the morning. Seungcheol tells him it’s okay if they don’t talk until school comes back, especially if WiFi is such a hassle to find.

And they do get back on track when school starts again—good morning and hello kisses with the cold metal of Seungkwan’s locker pressed against his back and Seungkwan’s hands running up and down Seungcheol’s sides, Seungcheol’s knee between Seungkwan’s legs—that it’s become clear to Seungkwan that this won’t die down anytime soon; Soonyoung’s even learned not to stick too long around Seungkwan in school and practically melts away once Seungcheol shows up.

“How was Jeju?” Seungcheol asks, his words coming out in heavy gasps but the smile on his face is incredibly innocent.

“Cold as hell.” Seungkwan’s just as breathless, his face is too hot.

“That doesn’t make sense,” Seungcheol tells him, and they laugh together.

“How was… Where did you go, anyway?”

“New York. I bumped into Vernon, ew. He was wearing pink earmuffs.”

“Cute.”

“I wore a sweater.”

“Not cute.” Though, in all honesty, it was very, very cute.

Seungcheol rolls his eyes. “I got some letters from schools,” he says. Seungkwan’s positive he’s deflating in the middle of a near-empty corridor right before first period from the mere mention of college. He nods anyway when Seungcheol invites him to read them with him during lunch at the rickety metal staircase. Seungcheol kisses him on the cheek happily before depositing him in his first class, but not without a chance to realign their clothes first.

The rickety metal staircase was covered in sealed letters by the time Seungkwan arrived, finishing the sandwich that he bought from the cafeteria before going there. “Have you opened any of them?” he asks, throwing the sandwich wrapper behind him.

Seungcheol shakes his head. “I’m too nervous,” he admits, twisting his fingers.

“Where did you apply?” Seungkwan takes a seat a few steps below Seungcheol, gathering up the letters and stacking them up into a neat pile that rests on his lap.

“Every college in LA and, like, some others in the state. Also, NYU.”

“Community colleges?” Seungkwan asks as he reads the headers from some of the envelopes. Seungcheol nods. “But why?”

“I told you—I’m too nervous.”

Come to think of it, Seungkwan had never found out just how well Seungcheol did in school, but he sees a letter from the University of Southern California, and he thinks it’s a good way to find out. “Let’s open this one first,” he says, but Seungcheol wrests the envelope from Seungkwan and keeps it close to his heart.

“It’s my dream school, sorry. I want this last.”

Seungkwan shrugs. He looks through the rest for another big name university, finding one for UCLA and opening it gently. “Do you want me to read it or you’ll do it?” Seungcheol’s covered his face and he makes motions for Seungkwan to read it for him, which Seungkwan does. “Hey, you got accepted!” he announces, and Seungcheol, entirely disbelieving, snatches the paper from him.

“Are they serious? My SAT scores were so low,” Seungcheol mutters as he reads the letter quickly.

Seungkwan stares at him for a bit. “What was your SAT score?” He’s almost afraid to know the answer.

“I barely broke 2000. Like, 2030? I didn’t take review, so I could’ve gotten higher, I think.”

“What—the—hell, Seungcheol Choi,” Seungkwan demands, slapping Seungcheol’s shoulder. “Why are you making out with me when you could be helping me with math homework?!”

At that, Seungcheol laughs hard. “You never asked. Plus, you really weren’t thinking about algebra when you were making out with me,” he counters with a wink, leaving Seungkwan to blush and stew in his own thoughts.

“Well”—Seungkwan clears his throat, unable to move on from the fact that his boyfriend is secretly a genius—“you can ignore these now.” He finds the ones from Californian community colleges and rips them in half one by one, tossing them by the side of the staircase so they flutter down like confetti. The only ones left are UC Berkeley, Stanford, NYU, USC, and a bunch of other smaller schools Seungkwan barely knew. They open all of them (Seungcheol got rejected from UCB and Stanford and waitlisted in NYU) until they’re down to USC. Seungkwan rips open the envelope for Seungcheol and holds his hand while Seungcheol reads the letter.

“Good news?” Seungkwan asks because Seungcheol’s fallen silent and he doesn’t know whether to prepare his cuddles in good faith or not.

“Amazing news,” Seungcheol lets out, voice shaking slightly, and that’s all it takes for Seungkwan to climb up the stairs separating them so he can give Seungcheol a hug, legs tucked under him. The hoodie Seungcheol’s wearing is thick and soft, padding up Seungcheol’s shoulders quite nicely.

“You’re amazing,” Seungkwan tells him before stuffing the papers in Seungcheol’s bag and kissing him, hands raising to lower the hood of Seungcheol’s hoodie so he can touch Seungcheol’s hair, even if it’s held up with wax like it is today. Seungcheol cups Seungkwan’s face with one hand, the other resting on the small of Seungkwan’s back, and they kiss like that until first bell rings.

Seungkwan texts him later, You still gotta help me with algebra, and Seungcheol only replies with a thumbs-up emoji.

***

There is a mouth pressing kisses on Seungkwan’s cheek. It’s gross and hot and grossly hot, but it’s also five-thirty in the morning and his room is dark and cold. Seungkwan pulls his blanket over his shoulders, makes a soft groan, and makes movements to remove the body currently pinning him down to his bed. For his efforts, he gets a whisper in his ear: “Happy birthday,” making him panic and jump up. He collides with Seungcheol, who collapses on the bed beside Seungkwan, clutching his head.

Seungkwan wipes his face with a disgusted expression, heart still pounding. “Who let you in here?!” he demands, and Seungcheol just laughs.

“Your mom did.” Seungcheol sits up and hooks his fingers under Seungkwan’s chin, pulling him close for a kiss, but Seungkwan turns his head the other way, crossing his arms.

“I just woke up, Seungcheol. You’re so gross.” They kiss anyway. Seungkwan pulls away, grumbling, “Okay, I’m awake. You better have a gift for me, like, right now.”

“I brought you breakfast.”

“What, you ambush me in the morning and you won’t bring me on a date?”

Seungcheol frowns. “You know I have work till closing,” he says, pouting.

Seungkwan pinches Seungcheol’s cheek, smiling widely despite the sun being not fully yet risen outside (Seungkwan’s mood always rises with the sun). “I’m kidding,” he tells him and kisses him again, morning breath regardless. “You’re the sweetest.” He wants to say I love you, but he doesn’t say it just yet because a tiny part of his mind tells him Seungcheol won’t say it back—not now, at least.

“I’m gonna get dressed, okay?” Seungcheol nods and stays on Seungkwan’s bed. When Seungkwan returns, fully dressed, Seungcheol’s fallen asleep, drooling slightly on Seungkwan’s pillow. He has to wake Seungcheol up, shaking his shoulder gently.

Breakfast, as it turns out, is birthday cake (though thankfully not ice cream cake). Seungkwan’s mom also makes eggs and bacon, putting down a plate in front of Seungcheol despite her complaining that she should always be the first to greet Seungkwan happy birthday as long as he lives with her. Seungcheol laughs and apologizes and tells her that her eggs are the fluffiest he’s ever had.

They go to school together with their hands laced together and once while on the bus, Seungcheol lifts up their linked hands to kiss Seungkwan’s knuckles.

“You’re 16,” Seungcheol says, slightly in disbelief.

“Yes, Seungcheol”—Seungkwan rolls his eyes—“16 comes after 15.”

“I was so awkward at 16, you don’t even know. Maybe that’s why I’m still a virgin.” Seungkwan doesn’t know whether to laugh about it or— “Look,” Seungcheol says, showing Seungkwan a picture of him on his phone. Seungkwan grabs at the phone, cackling and zooming in at awkward places. “You have no idea how lucky I am you saw me at the right time.”

“You’re still cute,” Seungkwan reassures him, though the bowlcut wasn’t exactly doing wonders for his attraction to Seungcheol Choi. “I mean, I wouldn’t hit that, but I’d still, like, be your friend or something.”

“How old were you then, 13?”

“Don’t remind me,” Seungkwan groans. A fluffy coconut head, overly baggy pants, and skinny chicken arms weren’t exactly boyfriend material for any gender. “We’re both lucky,” he mumbles.

Seungcheol takes the phone back from Seungkwan’s hand and replaces it in his pocket. He clears his throat and says, “How was your math test yesterday?” Seungkwan makes a face. “That bad?”

“I got it when you taught it to me, but I saw the test and, like, I panicked.”

“You tried answering it, right?”

“Yeah. I feel like I just forced out numbers, though,” Seungkwan admits, laying his head on Seungcheol’s shoulder. Seungcheol presses a kiss on the top of Seungkwan’s head and rubs his thumb across Seungkwan’s knuckle.

“You did well, okay? This is your day, own it!”

Seungkwan smiles despite his newly dampened mood (no thanks to algebra). It’s seven in the morning; the bus pulls over in front of their school, and he has fluttery feelings. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to this—Seungcheol warming him from the inside out with the tiniest things. “I take that back,” he says, “I’m the luckier one here.” 

Seungcheol just kisses him on the cheek. “Happy birthday,” he greets him again.

He gets a C on that algebra test, which is good enough for Seungkwan, but Seungcheol decides that Seungkwan deserves at least a B and together they relentlessly go over Seungkwan’s (lack of) notes until it no longer takes him twenty minutes to get one word problem right. Maybe it helps that Seungcheol’s idea of a reward system is a kiss for every right answer, even in the middle of the cafeteria where everyone stares at them one way or another (and this in itself was a bit of a good thing; Seungcheol was certainly overboard with the PDA but Joshua and Jeonghan were slowly warming up to the whole thing, kissing each other on the cheek in crowded corridors), as if the idea of Seungkwan succeeding turns Seungcheol on more than anything.

The first time Seungkwan aces a pop quiz, Seungcheol makes out with him in the janitor’s closet, making good on the idea that Seungcheol can make out with him and help him out with math. Not that Seungkwan’s protesting—he wears clothes he wouldn’t mind getting all disheveled to school for that very reason.

“Hey,” Seungcheol tells him after one particularly… enthusiastic session, lunch entirely forgotten, “let me take you out on a date.” His lips are swollen, his cheeks bright, his hair messed up, and Seungkwan’s proud he’s responsible for it, in an oddly satisfied way that says I made out with a senior.

“Oh, yeah, you’re so busy,” Seungkwan says. Mornings and lunch at school have become their routine while Seungcheol’s work schedule means weeknights are off and weekends have been more or less taken over by Seungkwan’s mom. “When was the last time we had a date?”

“…December?”

“What? You can’t be serious, it’s almost May right now.”

“This is why we should go on a date! And you’ve been so good lately—”

“Am I a dog, Seungcheol?” It’s gotten a lot easier to say Seungcheol’s name now. It practically rolls off Seungkwan’s tongue with ease, though it does help that Seungcheol Choi is really just the biggest loser in the state.

“Of course not,” Seungcheol says, placing a kiss on Seungkwan’s lips, “You’re my amazingly mean boyfriend.”

“Keep saying that and you won’t have a boyfriend soon,” Seungkwan grouses. It doesn’t deter him from pressing his body closer to Seungcheol’s, pinning him to the door, hands clenching his shirt. “So”—he twists the material of Seungcheol’s shirt, eyes locked on the movements of Seungcheol’s neck—“when are we having this date?”

“Next Friday?”

“Ugh, you’re so annoying. Friday’s not even a holiday.”

“It’s Senior Skip Day!”

“I’m a freshman.” And Seungkwan’s definitely worried Seungcheol’s forgotten about that because he certainly hasn’t. “You know I can’t just skip school.”

“Your grades are literally way higher than first semester’s”—that, that was too true; Seungkwan’s even taking AP English next school year—“so I think you deserve a break.” Seungcheol’s got his hands at the back of Seungkwan’s neck but they literally only have five minutes left before lunch ends, so they settle for just holding each other, breath ghosting over each other’s lips.

“Thanks to you,” Seungkwan admits with a soft smile. “You know, I was right about you.”

“Right about what?”

“I told Soonyoung hyung, like, ages ago that you were gonna be good for me.” The bell rings and Seungkwan jumps off of Seungcheol, slinging his backpack on his shoulders and fixing his clothes while he’s at it. Seungcheol stops him for a bit to kiss him on the cheek and to remind Seungkwan to meet him at the park with all the trees that day.

Next Friday is a little too warm to be comfortable, but when Seungkwan enters the park, the temperature drops and there’s a nice breeze courtesy of all the trees. There’s even that smell of freshly cut grass and something sweet in the air. (To be honest, he almost forgot they had a date planned, but Seungcheol texts him just as he’s about to leave for school and Seungkwan hides in the toolshed while he Googles for a way to get to the park by commute.) He’s got to applaud Seungcheol’s eye for detail—there is a picnic blanket laid out for them by the grove, hiding them from morning joggers, and paper bags from the deli nearby.

“I thought you were gonna cook,” Seungkwan says by way of hello. He sits with his legs crossed on the blanket and digs through one of the paper bags for a sandwich. It’s pastrami and Seungkwan takes a big bite in appreciation. “But this is better.”

“Of course it is, I can’t cook,” Seungcheol counters, moving a little closer to Seungkwan until their legs are brushing. He unwraps his own pastrami sandwich and begins to eat. “I just want a chill day today, ya know?”

“Yeah, I get what you mean,” Seungkwan replies. The sandwich is way too big; he’s considering taking a nap after he’s eaten. He looks for chips in the deli bags anyway, ripping one pack open and sharing it between them, propped up on his lap for easier access. Seungcheol opens a bottle of cold-pressed juice and offers it to Seungkwan first before taking a sip himself. And this—the calm day where they eat sandwiches together in a park—is something Seungkwan could get used to, probably more than the fevered making out on random surfaces in school.

“What are you thinking about?” Seungcheol asks, eyes drifting to the sandwich Seungkwan’s stopped eating.

“Nothing.” To prove Seungcheol wrong, Seungkwan takes another bite, chewing quickly.

“You’re blushing.”

“Am I?” Seungkwan raises a hand to cup his own cheek, and, yes, it’s warm but not sun-kissed warm. He laughs. “I was just thinking that we need more chill days like this, ‘cause we’ve been, like, making out nonstop,” he confesses and Seungcheol laughs too, embarrassment written all over his face. He adds, “You kinda cuddled with me more when we weren’t together,” and Seungcheol has to cover his ears.

“No, stop, don’t tell me how bad of a boyfriend I’m being,” Seungcheol pleads. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” And he does after they’ve eaten and made enough space to lie down on the blanket with Seungkwan’s head on his chest, their legs tangled together. Seungkwan has one arm on Seungcheol’s stomach, finger drawing circles on Seungcheol’s shirt. Seungcheol has one arm wrapped around Seungkwan’s back, the other hand occupied with Seungkwan’s hair. It’s amazingly warm but not suffocating. From their view, they could watch old couples shuffle together on their walking aides and ice cream vendors trying to sell their wares to suburban moms done with yoga for the day.

Seungcheol breaks the peace, as he normally does. He says, “I don’t know what I’m going to do in college without you,” quietly, but not quietly enough for it to be inaudible. Seungkwan catches it and feels tears well up in his eyes, making him bury his face in Seungcheol’s chest to hide it. “I’m gonna miss you so much.”

Seungkwan tries to keep his voice steady. “You don’t have to worry about me,” he tells him, his words muffled by Seungcheol’s shirt.

“Are you crying? And you’re asking me not to worry about you?” Seungcheol asks gently, rubbing circles on Seungkwan’s back.

About twenty minutes ago, the mood didn’t feel like it was the breaking up kind, and Seungkwan was starting to be confident that they could make it work. Now— “I love you so much,” Seungkwan lets out in shaky sobs, the tears coming out for real because he doesn’t know when else he can say it, regardless of Seungcheol saying it back. He holds on a little tighter to Seungcheol and tells himself not to lift his head until he’s stopped crying but when? Seungcheol patiently waits, taking off his shirt as soon as Seungkwan sits up and using it to wipe Seungkwan’s face. “I’m so gross,” Seungkwan whines.

“No, you’re not,” Seungcheol tells him kindly. He digs in his bag for a clean shirt and puts it on.

“Did you know I was going to cry?” Seungkwan demands, swallowing the lump in his throat because he feels like crying again. He tosses Seungcheol’s now frankly disgusting shirt to the side.

“I had a feeling.”

“Oh my god, Seungcheol Choi–”

Seungcheol cuts him off with a soft kiss. “I love you, too,” he says as he pushes Seungkwan’s hair back from his face. “Please stop crying, okay?”

“Are—Do you expect me to stop crying after saying that?” Seungkwan feels another bout of crying coming, but at least it’s happy, and he’s so torn between laughing and crying that it comes out as an odd mixture of both. Seungcheol embraces him.

“We’ll make it work, I promise.”