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“I’m not mad at you.”
“What?”
Youngmin’s hair is getting too long, starting to part near the middle. With his head tilted down, it obscures his eyes, and when he looks up, it frames him and his huge stupid deer eyes, softly. It’d be sort of cute, if cute was a word Minwoo was willing to use to describe him. Not entirely repulsive, maybe, in good lighting.
“I said I’m not mad at you,” Youngmin says. His eyebrows knit together. “You’re going to ask again, and I already told you I’m not.”
“You’re avoiding me,” Minwoo says, which is the truth.
“I’m not.” Youngmin shakes his head, looks away. “Do you actually care?”
“No, I don’t give a shit,” Minwoo says, rolling his eyes, “that’s why I’m asking.”
Youngmin stands up, maybe unsettled by having to look up to talk to him. It’s kind of funny that Youngmin would think that just being taller would literally give him the upper hand, but Minwoo will allow him that. Like this, he doesn’t look more comfortable. “Why would I be mad at you?” he asks.
Minwoo has given this plenty of thought. From an outsider’s standpoint, there are plenty of reasons. Minwoo is kind of an asshole. To Youngmin, especially, because he makes it too easy. But that’s - that’s just how it is. He would and has defended their friendship to people who question it, because they are friends, and Youngmin generally gets pissed off for an hour or two and then gets over it. This - this is different, but Minwoo doesn’t think anything has changed.
“I don’t know,” Minwoo says.
“Then I’m not,” Youngmin says, and Minwoo wants to point out that this really doesn’t logically follow, but he doesn’t.
“Sure.” Minwoo nods. Now he has to tilt his head up a little to look Youngmin in the eye. “Then what’s your problem?”
“I don’t have a problem,” Youngmin says defensively, then softens. “Forget it. Like you’ve never been in a bad mood before.”
“You’re in bad moods all the time,” Minwoo points out. “I can distinguish between your normal bad and seriously-interfering-with-daily-life bad.”
Youngmin sighs, rolling his neck to the side. “It’s not important,” he says. “Seriously, it - you wouldn’t even -” He’s trying to back off. Minwoo grabs his forearm, and Youngmin wobbles a little in surprise, his head swinging down. Their faces are really close together.
This close, Youngmin doesn’t look real. Sort of like a cartoon, but in unreasonably high definition. His mouth is slightly open. Minwoo had something to say, but he can’t remember what.
And - he would never admit this, if anyone asked, but - Minwoo panics a little. “Fine,” he says. “Forget it.”
He catches Youngmin watching him, not constantly but enough to be frustrating, considering they’re still not really talking that much and it’s weird. When Minwoo is talking with customers, Youngmin’s pretending to organize shirts, pulling the hangers off the rack and putting them back in exactly the same place. Watching.
It’s stupid. It’s worse since the whole thing sort of confuses everyone else, too. Despite constant bickering, they’ve been practically inseparable since they were like nine years old, through no actual choice of their own. Sometimes these things just happen. It doesn’t matter if they can’t get along for more than a handful of minutes at a time; they have way more trouble getting along without each other.
And - okay. Minwoo never really realized this before, but it kind of sucks.
Maybe the only reason he catches Youngmin watching him is because he’s watching Youngmin back. Sometimes. Like when there’s a customer near him and Youngmin fumbles the same sentences he says to everyone, somehow, like he suddenly forgot how words work. Or when he tries to make a joke and whoever’s listening totally doesn’t pick up on it, and Youngmin shuffles awkwardly back to hide his face in a rack of coats.
There are also those moments where his jokes get laughs, and he brightens up, bolstered by the approval. After that, he’s always slightly more annoying for an hour or two, trying to flash his cheesy smile at everyone who looks in his direction, but it’s always nice for a second to see him in his element. Youngmin has always seemed like an incomplete draft of a really charming guy, handsome and charismatic, but sometimes the pieces do come together.
And Youngmin is Minwoo’s friend, alright, so in his weaker moments Minwoo does like to see him happy. At least for a second.
Minwoo doesn’t think about that much, but he’s thinking about it more often lately than he ever has, and he doesn’t particularly care for it.
Youngmin apologizes. Were he of a weaker constitution, Minwoo might have fainted from shock.
“It’s fine now,” Youngmin says, shrugging. Their shifts have ended, but Youngmin started talking while they were picking up their stuff from the back room, and they haven’t left yet. “I was being - it’s kind of-” He sighs.
“It’s cool,” Minwoo says, because it’s not like he was upset at Youngmin or anything, he just kind of wanted him to stop doing what he was doing.
Youngmin stares at the ceiling. “It’s just - okay. I’m used to it, you know? You’re so - good at everything and it’s really-”
Minwoo blinks. “I’m - what?”
He thinks Youngmin’s face is turning red. He’s always embarrassed too easily. “I kind of suck at everything, okay, I know that.” He pushes a lock of hair back from his face. “And I just have to watch you be good at everything I suck at, and I always have, but sometimes it just-” He sighs.
“What exactly am I good at?” Minwoo says. He waves his hand around the room. “This?”
“I know it’s nothing important,” Youngmin says, frowning. “It’s not like work is hard, but I’m still - I’m not good at it. I don’t do anything else. I should be good at the one thing I actually do.” He pauses to rub the back of his neck. Minwoo lets him speak. “You’re funny and good-” He coughs a little. “Good-looking and, you know, everyone loves you. You don’t even care. You don’t even try, but you don’t have to. It’s - I’m not mad at you for it. I think I’m, uh - mad at myself, maybe.”
“I do try,” Minwoo says, trying to ignore everything else. “I don’t care all that much, but I try.”
Youngmin looks down. His hair falls in his face again. “Sorry.”
“Stop apologizing,” Minwoo says. His voice feels smaller than usual. “It’s freaking me out.” He moves to punch Youngmin in the arm, but he sort of just ends up resting the back of his hand there for a second, before he realizes his mistake and moves it.
Minwoo’s first realization is: if Youngmin is jealous enough to ruin his mood for two weeks, it means Youngmin thinks about him as much as he thinks about Youngmin, which is a lot.
His second realization is: fuck, okay, he thinks about Youngmin a lot. That’s kind of weird. He’s not sure if this is new or if he just never noticed it before, but he’s extremely preoccupied with what Youngmin is doing, even if he’s just considering how best to torment him for his own amusement, or whatever. (He isn’t always. He doesn’t really want to talk about that.)
His third realization is: he likes that Youngmin thinks about him. He wonders, wonders what Youngmin thinks about. He probably doesn’t want to know. He wonders anyway.
They aren’t alone that much. They’re always at work or with other friends - Kwangmin’s usually around, despite his insistence that he doesn’t need to be around his brother all the time, they’re twins, right, not joined at the hip, and so on. So Minwoo takes what he can get.
They’re walking home from dinner. Their apartments are near each other, but Minwoo doesn’t turn down his street. Youngmin doesn’t question it. Minwoo doesn’t excuse himself at Youngmin’s front door, either, and Youngmin lets him inside. This is normal.
It’s quiet. Youngmin’s roommate is asleep, probably. Minwoo says, “You really think I’m good-looking, huh?”
Youngmin starts coughing violently. It’s been a few days, anyway, but the atmosphere hadn’t really been right to mess with him when the joke was still relevant. “That’s not-” Youngmin splutters, attempting to breathe like a normal human. “You know you’re - that’s not the point.”
“And you know you’re handsome,” Minwoo says. “So it’s not really a good point of comparison.”
It’s too dark to really tell. Minwoo is still absolutely certain Youngmin is blushing. Youngmin lets out a huff but doesn’t say anything.
“If you wanted me, you could’ve just said that,” Minwoo says. It’s a stupid thing to say. He could - should, maybe - do this the nice way, but he can’t bring himself to. It’s not like he’s in love with Youngmin. He’s just - fixated. Attached. His feelings aren’t all that sweet, but they are -
something.
He moves so his face is centimeters away from Youngmin’s. When he’s doing it on purpose, when he’s in control, it doesn’t freak him out nearly as much. “Come on,” he says, soft, when Youngmin doesn’t move.
“You’re an asshole,” Youngmin says. There’s nothing keeping him here - no wall behind his back - but he doesn’t back up.
“I’m not the only one,” Minwoo says. They aren’t even touching. That Youngmin isn’t moving away is confirmation enough. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
Youngmin makes a disgusted noise and closes the minimal distance.
It’s all Minwoo needs to stop controlling himself. Youngmin has his hands on Minwoo’s face almost immediately, holding him there, so Minwoo gets his hands up between them, pulling hard at Youngmin’s shirt, then slipping underneath. Youngmin almost hesitates, but Minwoo leads with as much aggression as he can manage, his teeth catching sharp on Youngmin’s lip, nails digging into the soft skin of his sides.
Minwoo isn’t sure this is right, kissing like they need it but are viciously angry at - maybe each other, maybe themselves for it. It’s just the only thing he can think of, right now, the only thing he can allow. It doesn’t scare him, because he doesn’t have to figure out what it means - it just is.
Youngmin would kiss him gently, probably, if he had the chance, slow and open. He’d probably like that. One day, Minwoo thinks, he might let him.