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Jinseop is late.
Okay, not that late. But knowing how punctual Kim Cheol is, he thinks he should definitely pick up the pace. By the time he’s made it to the inside of the restaurant from the bus stop, he’s practically jogging. He pants at the door, looking around at the tables for his appointment.
Even from a distance, there’s no one else who’d possibly have a build that big nor one so intimidating, given the weary stares of the other patrons. Jinseop makes his way straight towards that table with a second doubt.
“Yo.” Jinseop presses a hand into Cheol’s shoulder, a fat grin on his face. Cheol was admittedly never one to wear emotions on his face, let alone positive ones, but for Jinseop, the corner of his mouth goes up and his eyes are warm.
It’s probably Miae’s influence but Jinseop will give himself the credit.
“Mo Jinseop.” He says with a nod, rising to his full height to pull him into a half-hug. He’s still awkward as always, but Jinseop will take it. “I was afraid you wouldn’t show.”
“After all I had to beg to even get you here?” Jinseop snorts, pulling back the chair. He shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over the back before taking a seat. “You’re a busy man, Kim Cheol. I should be thanking you for deigning to spare me some time.”
“Cut it out,” grunts Cheol, but he’s not pissed. He doesn’t seem to get all that mad with Jinseop anymore, after he realized that his intentions with Miae were nothing but a distasteful yet harmless series of taunts. Taunts intended to draw out Cheol’s right mind. “Let’s order, I’m hungry.”
As soon as they finish ordering an eye-raising amount of meat, Jinseop leans forward on his elbows, putting on his best, shit-eating grin. “So,” he begins and Cheol already looks tired, “how’s Miae?”
But Kim Cheol is a man now far too gone, years deep in a love sickeningly sweet. He smiles softly against his will. “Miae’s fine,” he says and Jinseop smirks; he’s so utterly taken.
It’s almost cute.
“You’re so disgusting,” he says instead, relishing in the way Cheol scowls.
“Why?”
“You’re seriously asking me that?”
“Yes,” Cheol insists, painfully genuine.
“Well, you have the pleasure of never seeing your face every time you talk about her,” Jinseop replies, unscrewing a bottle of soju as he shakes his head. He thinks of this shit happening all the way back in middle school; he’s glad he wasn’t around to see it all the time in high school. “I can’t believe it ever took you so long to realize your feelings for her.”
Cheol’s scowl deepens. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he snaps, sounding more embarrassed than upset. Jinseop’s glee rises.
“Actually I do,” he intercedes. “You never had the outsider perspective. You were sickening. Sickening and slow .”
His friend slouches as he slides over his glass for Jinseop to fill. “It’s fine,” mumbles Cheol, opening another can of beer. “It’s not like I’m ever going to let go of her now.”
Jinseop automatically finds himself faux-gagging as his own chest tightens. These two, really. He’s saved by the lady who comes to place their meat on the grill, setting down a heavy helping of side dishes between them. He’s grateful for the interruption in multiple ways.
“So what’ve you been up to recently? Exams over?”
“Mostly.” Cheol adjusts his ratio meticulously, as if someone of his size will ever get drunk on three to seven. “I have one more left on Tuesday and then I’m done for the semester. You?”
“The same but mine’s on Monday.” Jinseop briefly considers making his four to six but he has to get home in one piece, and it’s not worth mixing up the bus lines this late at night. “I bet you’ve been breezing through yours.”
“Ha, as if,” Cheol snorts. He takes a long sip, wincing lightly as it hits. “This isn’t high school, and it certainly isn’t middle school.” He sounds so stupidly mature, Jinseop feels a bit… hollow. “But I think it’s an experience regardless, yeah?
“Oh, yeah,” he agrees, carefully flipping over a piece of meat, relishing in the perfectly charred crust. “I’ve come to learn that reputations really precede you.”
“You’re telling me?” Cheol asks darkly, and oh, of course. Jinseop’s eyes hover over his scar. “You have no idea how awful it was in the beginning of the year.” He shudders a bit. “You’d think a person would’ve gotten used to it by now.” Cheol tries attempting to grab a pork belly strip but Jinseop smacks his head away.
“It’s not even cooked yet,” he chides, pressing the meat down with his chopsticks. “Well, after middle school you should be fine.” Jinseop grins a little. “It’s not like you’re trying all that hard to hide your softie personality these days.”
“Hey.”
“I’m telling you,” Jinseop shrugs a bit deviously. “Outsider perspective.”
“I miss simpler times.”
“What?” It takes him a bit off guard and he glances up, finally placing strips of cooked meat on Cheol’s plate. “When people would try dragging you into their stupid cliques because of your build? Or when you’d constantly get mistaken as a bully because of that silly scar? Need I remind you of Lucifer—”
“No.” Cheol scowls instantly. “That’s a totally separate issue. And not like you weren’t one of them.”
“Hey.” Jinseop throws his hands up in faux innocence. “I pushed it at first but eventually let it go. You were the one who came to me. With your own agenda, not to mention.”
Cheol falls silent, and Jinseop wonders if he’s taken the joke too far, picking at scabs that already had keloids growing over them. But his expression is glum if anything. “Can you blame me?
“Uh, yes?” Jinseop blows at a piece of bulgogi he picked up straight from the grill. “For judging me the same way people would judge you?” He pops it in his mouth and sighs contentedly.
“But there were rumors,” Cheol says weakly, staring at his meat as if it’d wronged him.
“And of you too.” Indignance slips out before Jinseop can help himself, and he tries schooling it into smugness. “You didn’t see that stopping me.”
“Yeah.” Cheol hangs his head as Jinseop places another strip of meat on his plate. “Sorry.”
“Yeah, keep being sorry, you asshole,” Jinseop grins. “Trying to twist my innocent intentions into something vile.”
Cheol snorts. “‘Innocent’ is a strong word. You still asked Miae on that date…!” He cringes as the words leave his mouth, reminded of the sour memory.
“You can’t throw that at me,” Jinseop replies impishly. “Your entire realization of feelings was thanks to me.”
“Shut up.”
“I will hold this as blackmail up until your wedding.”
Cheol’s mortification skyrockets so visibly, blooming his face into a color that would put tomatoes to shame. “You’re so—“ he groans, pressing his palms into his face in a maneuver so unbecoming of his appearance. “Ugh. Anyway, by simpler, I just meant less adult-ish. Times where saved money could be used on arcade games and snacks, not for bills.”
“That’s the way of life, isn’t it?” Jinseop stirs his chopsticks in his sauce, then picks up some kimchi. “Graduate, get a job, find the love of your life, get married, pay your bills, have kids, retire; the list goes on. You’ve fulfilled a couple, you tell me.” Then more slyly, he tacks on: “At least, you’re about to.”
Cheol isn’t as unfazed as he was just before. In fact, he’s mulling over it. “It’s harder than I expected. And marriage life… you think we’re ready for that?”
It’s not often that Cheol seeks Jinseop out for advice, even indirectly. Jinseop takes a long sip of his drink, feeling it burn down his throat and settle warm in his stomach. “Don’t tell me you’re getting cold feet.”
“Of course not.” Cheol almost looks offended he’d even suggest that. “It’s just, do you think it’s too soon? What if we’re being hasty?”
For what it’s worth, this doesn’t sound like some last-minute nerves. By the look on Cheol’s face, these are genuine concerns, bouts of insecurity creeping in at the last moment. “You’ve known each other for almost your entire lives,” Jinseop says carefully, meeting Cheol’s eyes. “You couldn’t help but watch out for her even when you didn’t want her around. You haven’t looked at anyone else the way you do her. Even when both of you tried keeping your distance, you failed miserably.” He smirks a bit, trying to lessen the gravity of the words leaving his mouth. “Surely, I think, if the universe wanted you apart—if you two really didn’t want to spend the rest of your lives together—you would've gotten a sign already.”
Cheol’s face undergoes a flurry of emotions as Jinseop says his cheesy little speech—fear, hesitation, affection—before settling into relief. “You…” he laughs. “Thanks. I think I needed that.”
“What you really need is a smack in the face but unfortunately we’re in public,” Jinseop grins, glad to have escaped the serious mood. “Look, you’re young but you’re not— okay, maybe you are idiots”—he earns an eye roll for that —“but you’ve done this shit for a while now. You’re experienced idiots.”
“Like you’re not.”
“Trust me,” Jinseop says wryly, “I’m not nearly as experienced in the love department as you and Miae.” He thinks of cheap dates and girls older than him and a reputation that spoke more for him than his actual mouth. His stomach churns and it’s certainly not the alcohol. “Whatever the hell I did then was… definitely not love.”
The look Cheol gives him in response is… odd, to say the least. Some cross between pity and suspicion and something warm. “Alright. Enough about me,” he starts abruptly, taking the tongs Jinseop’s set aside. “Tell me about yourself.”
“What’s there to say?” Jinseop shrugs. He watches Cheol flipping beef and takes the chance to make a lettuce wrap. “It’s technically only been two months since we’ve last met up. Same old, same old. Everyone sucks.”
“That’s…” Cheol tilts his head a tad, frown deepening. “That’s not what I meant.” He leans forward on his elbows. “Haven’t you met anyone?”
“Of course I’ve met people.” Jinseop picks at the meat on his plate, stealing garlic from Cheol’s side of the table. “I live in a dorm, in a university, and I go to class with hundreds of other people and get dragged out to get drinks and go to parties with people who get so drunk they can’t even remember their own name.”
“That’s not what I mean either,” Cheol says sternly, and it’s so reminiscent of that no-nonsense tone Miae takes up with him. Jinseop can’t prevaricate any longer. “Have you met someone?”
“Not all of us have a Miae to their Cheol, you know,” scowls Jinseop, not unkindly, but a little irritated. He’ll be the supportive friend from the sidelines but these days, the thought of relationships makes him nauseous. “No, I have not met anyone.”
“Really?” Cheol seems surprised, for some reason that Jinseop cannot fathom. “Still being picky? No one catches your eye?”
“Nope.”
“You’re not exactly starved for options, are you?”
“That’s not really the issue.” This is strange. This isn’t really a conversation Jinseop would be expecting to have with Kim Cheol of all the people but love really changes people, doesn’t it? Disgusting.
“Then what is?”
“I’m not really looking around to date,” Jinseop says, as casually as he can. “I feel like I did enough of that in middle and high school. Messing around is… getting old.”
Cheol blinks. “That’s uncharacteristically mature of you.”
Jinseop shoots him a crude finger. “Times change,” he shrugs, knowing full well he’s trying to channel the wise old man persona he’s certainly not. “We all change too. Five years ago, you would’ve lost it at the idea of sitting around and getting dinner with me.”
Cheol once again looks ashamed. Jinseop personally thinks it’s funny, though, and they both know there’s no actual heat in it. “I’m just worried you’re getting lonely.”
Oh god. “Where is this coming from?” Because “lonely”? That truly takes the cake. “Did Miae put you up to this? Are you both feeling bad for the third wheel?”
“Of course not.” Cheol huffs, rolling his eyes. “I’m your friend. I want to know about your social life. If you’re doing alright.”
“No.” Jinseop shakes his head. “Absolutely not is this turning into a counseling session for me. I’m fine.”
“You’re good at pretending you’re fine,” corrects Cheol and the acute deduction makes Jinseop flinch. He covers it up quickly, snatching the tongs back from Cheol. “You’ve changed.”
“In a good way or bad?” The look Cheol gives him in return is purely unimpressed. “Look. Of course I’ve changed. You said it yourself; this isn’t high school or middle school.”
“Yeah but—I just want to know if that change is the result of something… bad,” Cheol finishes lamely.
“I can assure you this ‘change’”—he uses finger-quotes to further make his point—“was not the result of an awful breakup. I have not seen anyone, for fun or serious, for a while now. Because I don’t want to.” Jinseop hesitates. “It’ll happen when it happens.”
The lies leave bitter on his tongue; Kim Cheol is the last person he wants to deceive, after all. But what Cheol doesn’t know won’t hurt him, and Jinseop has never been more grateful he never thought to talk about his last serious relationship. All that remains of that are ash stains on his fingers, residue that can’t be washed off without a new flame.
Because there are only so many times he can commit to something, knowing full well the other person just wants the idea of him. How many times is he supposed to watch others leave, just because what they think he is and what he really is, don’t align?
Jinseop’s tired, and he can’t keep hiding his hurt behind antipathy much longer, not when he can simply pretend it doesn’t exist at all.
Cheol doesn’t seem all that satisfied by that answer, frankly, but he doesn’t seem to want to push it either. Perhaps the expression on Jinseop’s face isn’t as refined as he’d like it to be. “Alright,” he acquiesces, still with narrowed eyes. “Tell me about your classes then.”
And though Cheol couldn’t have picked a worse topic—likely an intentional choice—Jinseop relaxes, grateful for the respite, before launching into the memory of his worse-than-the-devil chemistry professor.
———
“Okay, come on, let’s hug it out,” Jinseop insists as Cheol awkwardly leans in to pat his back. It’s like hugging a statue—a very bulky statue, what with all the layers they’ve both piled on. “You can act like you like me, you know. People would think I have you at gunpoint or something with how you hug, or that I haven’t known you for nearly seven years.”
“Shut up.” Cheol gives him a solid, warm thump on the arm when he pulls away. He tugs his hat down. “Take care of yourself. Don’t become a loser.”
“Like you’re one to talk.” Jinseop grins, and that syrupy feeling in his chest returns. To think that after all these years, one of the closest relationships he’s maintained is the one with the guy who couldn’t even stand him for the longest time. “I’ll see you around, Kim Cheol. I better be the first to get that wedding invitation. Better yet, I’ve got to be the best man.”
Cheol’s face flushes and he punches Jinseop’s arm again. “I’ll keep my schedule free for you,” he mumbles, a bit warmer than he seemed to have wanted. “Call me up for drinks whenever you’d like.”
“‘Course.” He stands at the edge of the tunnel to the train station. “Get home safe. Give Miae a kiss for me.” Jinseop puckers his lips to send his point home.
Cheol snorts as he descends down the stairs and Jinseop watches until he disappears into the crowd. He lifts his wrist, glancing at his watch and the time reads just past ten. They wrapped up a bit early, careful not to drink too much so that they wouldn’t be hobbling around in the cold all inebriated. December in the city was no joke.
The walk to the bus stop takes a bit longer, now that he’s not tripping over his feet in a rush. Jinseop pulls up the edges of his scarf, making sure it covers his ears. When he sees the stop in the distance, he’s surprised to see there’s quite the crowd at this time of the night.
There’s a small group of four men and women, still in business attire, seemingly wrapping up a work dinner. An old lady stands to the side, pulling her coat tighter with a bag by her feet. There’s also a girl, Jinseop realizes when he’s a couple of meters away, being accosted by two men.
“Sorry,” he hears, and that voice is far too familiar for him to ignore. Could it be? “I’m really not interested.”
“Oh, come on,” a sleazy tone comes in turn, a little slurred. “We can show you a good time.”
“I have a boyfriend,” the girl says firmly, and it’s much more unshaken than Jinseop remembers. “Not that it should matter.” Han Songyi stands with her arms crossed, glaring up at the two men even though they tower over her. “Now if you’d kindly step aside—”
“Aw, don’t be like that—”
He’s not sure where the abrupt plan of action came from, but his feet are already moving before he realizes it. Definitely the alcohol, he tries telling himself.
“Songyi!” Jinseop struts over, immediately redirecting the attention onto himself. He slings an arm over her shoulder, casual but cautious, tugging her closer. “There you are! I told you to stay inside the cafe and wait; now you’re all cold.”
Up close, she’s… she’s like everything Jinseop remembers, but so much more different as well. Her hair’s longer, her face leaner, prettier. Songyi’s older obviously, but the wide-eyed gaze and parted mouth is exactly as it was years ago.
She snaps out of her momentary shock when Jinseop squeezes her shoulder lightly, reminding her of the predicament they’re currently in. In an instant, Songyi schools her expression into a fond smile, and her right arm loops around Jinseop’s waist. “Sorry,” she murmurs, effortlessly flashing him a charming grin. She reaches up and fixes Jinseop’s scarf and it’s such an uncharacteristic action from whatever image of Han Songyi he has burned in his head that Jinseop almost flinches. “I got a little impatient.”
And for what it’s worth, the chuckle that erupts out of Jinseop is entirely genuine. How… cute, he settles on. But that’s not the issue at hand. Jinseop turns to the other two boys, who’ve taken a couple of steps back at Jinseop’s appearance. Smart. He eyes them over scantily. “You two need anything?” He asks nonchalantly, in a stance that screams anything but.
There’s a chorus of mumbles Jinseop can’t decipher and a shake of a head. They loiter off and only when they’re a safe distance away does Jinseop release his grip on Songyi. He leans against the bus stand and crosses his arms, grinning. “That went well I’d say, don’t you think?”
To add onto his surprise, Songyi smiles. “It did,” she says, meeting his eyes without a break or fluster. “Thank you. You couldn’t have had better timing.”
“I’m glad I could help,” Jinseop replies, shrugging. He glances her over, unable to take his gaze off her. “Sorry for taking the role of your boyfriend though. I’m not exactly amazing with my improv.”
“Oh, don’t be sorry for playing a role that doesn’t even exist,” she laughs. “I was just trying to exhaust all my resources.” She tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. “And I owe you for making me not look a fool.”
“As if you could ever look like a fool.” It comes out automatically, Jinseop’s almost embarrassed. He doesn’t quite want to leave that image of him on Songyi.
Songyi cants her head. Her eyes are light. “You’re still going around sweet-talking people, are you?”
She’s changed a fair amount; the Songyi he remembers would’ve hurried off with a mumbled thanks. This Songyi calls things as they are, tosses out smiles knowing exactly what effect she has with them. It’s a bit frightening. It’s a bit attractive.
Jinseop grins. “A leopard can’t change its spots.” Some gall he has to say that, after giving Kim Cheol that big spiel on time and change.
“But you’ve changed anyway,” she says thoughtfully, like she’s staring at glass instead of a person. “I don’t think the Jinseop I knew would do me a favor for free like that.”
Now he can’t have that. “I never said for free.”
Songyi raises her eyebrows. “Oh?” Still, there’s no sign of embarrassment in her countenance. Mo Jinseop, you bastard, are you losing your game? “What would you like in return then?”
Jinseop is more than prepared to laugh it off because quite frankly, he hadn’t even expected to get this far. “Your number,” he blurts, maintaining his cool, and wonders where along the way he became the one being strung along. He likes how she’s ready for him, likes that even though she knew who he once was, she’s still here. “If you will.”
Songyi smiles as if she half-expected it. “That won’t be a one-time fee, will it?”
“So you’re aware.”
“A meal won’t suffice?”
“But what if I want to see you after?” Jinseop pouts and she laughs.
“Let me think about it for a bit,” Songyi replies coolly. “Where are you headed, Jinseop?”
“Back to my dorm at Hongik. I was supposed to recharge my bus card on the way back but I’ll have to save that for tomorrow, I suppose,” he dismisses with a wave of his hand. “Not when I have a fine lady to keep my attention.”
“To Hongik?” Songyi blinks, completely ignoring the sweet talk. “You go to Hongik?”
Jinseop cocks an eyebrow. “Is it such a surprise I’m going to university?”
“Of course not,” insists Songyi, lightly shoving his arm. Jinseop tries not to act startled by the action. “It’s just that I go to Ewha, and I’m heading to Yonsei now to stay with a friend for a couple of days. I’d no idea you were so close by.”
“Must be fate,” Jinseop says, and for all intents and purposes, he believes it.
“It must be,” Songyi exclaims, in awe. “Care to go together then?”
“I’m surprised you’d want me around for so long.” It’s true. They didn’t have an ugly past, but neither of them are the type people really expect to hang out outside of favors.
“I still owe you a number,” she points out, gesturing towards their oncoming bus. “At least, I might. All depends on how you act for the rest of the bus ride.”
Who is this girl? Fresh and snarky, yet classy and sweet. To think he once called her boring.
Jinseop offers out an arm, finding that he doesn’t even need to ground his face into a grin; it’s already there. “Then shall we?”
She smiles, soft at her eyes despite the level taunt in her expression, and takes his hand. “Lead the way.”
———
“So,” Songyi starts once they’ve settled into seats in the back of the bus, “how have you been? It’s been quite some time, hasn’t it? Miae mentions you now and then. You still hang out with her, don’t you?”
Jinseop’s heard the occasional stories of Songyi from both Miae and Cheol too, who have kept contact with their friend from middle school. “I do. With both her and Cheol. I actually just wrapped up dinner and drinks with Kim Cheol.”
“No way!” She sounds so delighted by that and Jinseop feels his chest do something funky. Ridiculous. It’s just Songyi. “You really might be right about the fate thing.”
“I’m never wrong,” Jinseop says smugly. “But to answer your question, I’ve been doing well. I take it you have too, at Ewha.”
“Of course,” she chirps. “College has been everything I hoped for and more. How about you?”
“I was never studious like you were, but I think I’ve come a long way from having you help with my homework,” he replies, hoping the prod sits well with her.
But Songyi nudges him slightly, smirking. “Or rather, you tricking me into doing your homework for you.”
“So you still remember that.”
Songyi fiddles with the fringe of her scarf. “I still remember liking you even after you did that, even after you rejected me.” She says it so casually, Jinseop is nearly left speechless.
It’s been no more than fifteen minutes since they’d run into each other but Jinseop is already startled by how comfortable Songyi seems to be with him. He would attribute it to the fact that they know each other, but that was years too many ago and Songyi had always been flighty around him, shy and a bit of a pushover. After he’d spurned her the one time, Jinseop never thought Songyi would show her face around him again.
But clearly, the girl from then had vanished. Songyi spoke with grace, charm, with absolutely no hostility towards the childish past they’d once shared. It’s admirable, really; Jinseop doesn’t think he could ever be that undaunted. He hadn’t been able to actually, not with any of his exes and certainly not the last.
“You’ve changed, Songyi,” he says helplessly, a little in awe. Perhaps it’s the lasting effects of alcohol or the fact that he feels so inexplicably bare in front of her, but Jinseop is feeling loose-lipped. “I’m really liking it.”
And for the first time that night, Songyi’s face betrays the slightest hint of a blush. “And some parts of you haven't changed in the slightest.”
“I did warn you.” He’s being embarrassingly genuine but she doesn’t need to know that. Not yet.
Songyi chuckles softly, leaning back in her seat. “But I must say, I’m liking the parts of you that have changed too.”
“And what are those?” He’s merely curious, even though he knows that it might come off like he’s fishing for compliments—not that there’s harm in both. But he’s changed. He knows that and his parents know that and Cheol and Miae know it, and everyone always has different things to say. What would Han Songyi say, she who meets his quips with those of her own, who can see where the past meets the present in his personality?
“You don’t seem so… cocky anymore.” Songyi smiles in lieu of an apology. “At least to me. Back then you were…”
“An asshole?” Jinseop supplies.
“A little,” shrugs Songyi, grinning cheekily at Jinseop’s faux outrage. “Maybe too caught up in vanity. But that’s not so much different from anyone else or me, since that’s what I liked about you.”
Figures as much. Jinseop was—still is—all about image, though not in the same caliber. He’s not offended, and perhaps that is part of that change that Songyi so stubbornly stands by.
“And now?” he presses.
“You seem approachable. Down-to-earth.”
Jinseop arches an eyebrow. An interesting choice of words. “And what if this were all a front?”
“It would be impressive, certainly,” she admits, “but I doubt it.”
“You sound so sure of yourself.”
She meets his gaze head on. “I just think that the Mo Jinseop who decided to help me out was in no way wearing a facade.”
Jinseop whistles softly, his chest a strange combination of tightness and warmth. “You’ve gotten me all figured out.”
“Not completely,” she says, still smiling. The bus is nearing their stop and oh, he does not want to leave her at all. He hasn’t had someone to challenge him like this, to see past the luxury coats and gelled hair and carefully preserved panache since, well, ever. “Though color me intrigued. Are you still interested in my number, Mo Jinseop?”
Jinseop freezes, before bursting into laughter. “You’ve got game, Han Songyi.” He stands to let her pass and get off first. When they pause underneath the bus stand, under flickering lights and gentle city noise, Jinseop grabs her hand and presses his lips against her knuckles. “Yes, of course.” He earns a small gasp from Songyi, and a touch of color to the cheeks he’s sure isn’t because of the cold. “I’d be an idiot if I let you out of my sights.”
The unspoken again goes unheard.