Work Text:
He forgot to check the weather.
There are huge chunks of snow falling onto his face and leaving burning cold freckles on his cheeks. He’s worried about his backpack getting soaked and ruining his laptop, or his fingers turning black from the cold. But most importantly, his laptop.
Changbin knows that his house is close, close enough that he could sprint and make it inside within 5 or so minutes. But he’s not sure that he’ll survive that long, shivering in a t-shirt and losing the feeling in his toes.
He’s coming up on a cafe that he knows is open—it was his go-to spot for his senior year of high school and most of his freshman year of university. The long hours and tasty treats were what made it his favorite place to be, among other things.
If it’s anything like the last time he was inside, it’ll be the perfect place to take shelter from the snow.
Ducking inside the cafe in one swift move, the bell above the door jingles, and a wave of warm air soothes the angry red splotches on his face. It smells like cinnamon buns and whipped cream, and Changbin’s stomach rumbles.
It looks almost the same as it did the last time he was here back in January, with plants lining the windows and green tablecloths protecting the shiny oak tables. It’s empty, and he breathes a sigh of relief.
Until the door to the backroom is opening, and an employee in a yellow apron is walking up to the register. It’s exactly who he was hoping to avoid.
Hyunjin leans over the counter, propping his elbow up on the granite surface and sweeping his eyes over Changbin’s dripping t-shirt and his shivering arms. His hair is black again. It was blonde in January.
“You still don’t know how to dress for the weather?” Hyunjin says lazily, like he’s bored of Changbin’s presence already. It’s the first time he’s spoken a word to Changbin in 11 months and he sounds bored .
“You still don’t know how to respect customers?” Changbin retorts as quickly as he can, ignoring the uncomfortable flip that his stomach does. He must be hungry. Or something like that.
Hyunjin hums, pushing off of the counter and folding his arms, “You’re not a customer until you order something,” he glances toward the register, raising an eyebrow once his gaze falls back on Changbin.
“No thanks,” Changbin huffs, sitting down at the nearest table and peeling his frozen bag off of his shoulder, “You’d probably poison it.”
“Fine,” Hyunjin scoffs, but it sounds more bitter than it does mocking, “You don’t tip anyway.”
Changbin doesn’t have anything to say to that. It’s not true—they both know it’s not true. But he can’t bring himself to argue any further.
He tenderly grabs at his freezing-cold zipper and tugs his shoulder bag open, wincing as he grabs his laptop. It feels like an ice cube. A very expensive ice cube.
Opening his laptop and gingerly setting it down on the sage tablecloth, handling it as if it will shatter with any sudden moves, Changbin relaxes into the chair a bit as the cafe heater warms his chilled bones. The laptop screensaver turns itself on, but Changbin isn’t looking.
He’s watching Hyunjin working away at the espresso machine, moving quickly and fluidly as if he could make an iced coffee in his sleep. He probably could, and Changbin knows it. He’s been working here since they were in high school, picking up the job so that he could pay for his art school tuition.
He can’t watch any longer, his stomach growing more and more upset as he watches Hyunjin in his element. He doesn’t think it's because he’s hungry.
Choosing to distract himself with something a little more productive, Changbin types in his password and immediately opens his mixing software. He has a group project with Jisung due on Friday, and he knows that his partner will poison his noodles if he drops the ball on another one of their shared deadlines.
He’s only a few measures into the song when a cup of iced americano slides across his table, bumping his wrist and rattling to a stop. Changbin blinks at it for a moment, and by the time he looks up, Hyunjin’s back is already retreating toward the counter.
“An iced drink during a snowstorm?” Changbin isn’t sure why he chooses to be snarky instead of thankful, but the words have already left his bitter mouth before he can think to say thank you.
“You hate hot americanos,” Hyunjin stares at him from behind the register, and Changbin can tell by the way his forearms move that he’s fiddling with the hem of his apron below the counter.
This time, he can’t be snarky or spiteful. The iced americano at his left hand is a stark reminder of a long, winding history that still plagues him. He feels like the air has been squeezed out of his frozen lungs.
“Yeah,” he breathes out finally, not losing Hyunjin’s gaze as the barista stares him down with unreadable eyes. They both stare at each other for a moment that feels like a millennium, but Hyunjin is the one to break away. He turns around swiftly like nothing ever happened, busying himself with wiping down the counter.
Changbin can’t look away, though, watching Hyunjin’s back as he cleans the granite that already glistens with no imperfections. He can’t look away when Hyunjin leans against the counter and stares out the window, and he can’t look away when Hyunjin notices him watching.
There are soft shadows of snowflakes reflecting through the cafe’s front windows, speckling Hyunjin’s face with falling grey silhouettes.
“What are you staring at,” it’s not a question, and Hyunjin’s voice sounds angrier than his face looks. His lips are twisted into a sort of confused line, his eyebrows drawing together like he’s waiting impatiently for Changbin’s answer.
“Just zoning out,” Changbin replies, and it’s mostly true. He gets swept away by the familiar setting, the snow falling softly outside and piling up on the windowsills.
“Not a lot in that big head of yours, huh?” Hyunjin chucks out an insult, and his words bite at Changbin’s chest despite the lack of venom in his tone. He’s trying to be mean and failing, but somehow that hurts Changbin even more.
“Quite the opposite, actually,” Changbin replies quieter, breaking their eye contact and staring out the window. The storm refuses to dwindle, huge snowflakes smacking against the window and sliding down the glass as they melt into nothing.
When he gets the strength to look back at Hyunjin, the barista is looking back at him expectantly. He knows what Changbin is going to say before he says it—they’ve both been thinking it this whole time.
“It’s been a long time since it snowed.”
The air feels cold and the whirring cafe machines grow still. He doesn’t have to say anything else. They both know.
“Yeah, it has,” Hyunjin agrees, but he isn’t looking at the snow or the window. He’s looking at Changbin, and suddenly Changbin feels warm with shame but cold with nostalgia.
“Snow is my least favorite,” Changbin breaks the silence. It’s not exactly awkward, but it is suffocating, and it feels like all of the oxygen in the cafe has been frozen by the storm. His shoulders hurt from tensing up.
“I thought you liked it,” Hyunjin points out, and he’s right. The last time they spoke, Changbin was a fan of snowstorms and winter nights.
“Not anymore,” he admits, and he winces at the memory of his harsh actions and harsher words. He has regrets.
Hyunjin was shivering from how icy Changbin’s glare was.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Hyunjin screamed, hot tears streaming down his face and mixing with the snow across his cheeks.
“Me? What’s wrong with you ?! This is all your fault!” Changbin snapped back, wrapping his coat tighter around his body and feeling guilt gnaw at his fingertips.
“Happy fucking New Year, you dick,” Hyunjin scoffed, his bare arms covered in streaks of melted snowflakes and his nose bright red with frostbite.
“Aw, thanks. My New Year’s resolution is to never think of you again,” Changbin spat, his heart hardened by the cold as Hyunjin’s bottom lip wobbled pathetically.
It’s silent again, and Changbin isn’t sure how much longer he can take it. Hyunjin is staring down at his fingers against the counter, frozen as if he himself were a statue carved from granite.
There’s not much left to say, but they speak at the same time.
“I hate you.”
“I’m sorry,” Changbin admits over top of Hyunjin’s words, shoulders finally relaxing and dropping from where they were tensed by his ears. He should be wounded by Hyunjin’s scathing admission, but he already knew it was coming.
“You go first,” Hyunjin waves a non-committal hand in Changbin’s direction, leaning against the counter and turning to watch him plead his case.
“I’m sorry,” Changbin repeats, his posture slowly deflating and his shoulders sagging. It feels like the world’s heaviest weight is lifted off of his chest—to be able to speak to Hyunjin again, to be able to tell him how sorry he is.
“Is that it,” Hyunjin replies in a flat tone, but Changbin can hear the hint of hope in the back of his throat.
“Do you want to hear the rest?” he offers, sitting up straighter and latching onto any sign of interest.
“No,” Hyunjin replies quickly, but he shuffles his feet and leans toward Changbin’s table, “but go ahead.”
He draws in a long, warm breath.
“I’m sorry for behaving the way I did. I should have just been happy that you found someone for you,” Changbin starts, his confidence wavering. No one else has ever made him this nervous, “I valued my feelings over your happiness and what you wanted, and our friendship.”
Hyunjin blinks at him. Once, twice. Changbin is scared.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Hyunjin finally says, his eyes wide and shiny. He looks just as scared as Changbin feels.
“Hyunjin,” Changbin closes his eyes, and speaks even though it hurts, “I know you’re seeing Felix. I saw you with him at the Christmas party last December.”
“Felix,” Hyunjin blinks again like it's the only thing he knows how to do, “Like, Lee Felix?”
“Is there another Felix I don’t know about?” Changbin almost laughs, but the weight in the pit of his stomach keeps the sound from coming out of his throat.
“Changbin, I’m not dating Felix,” Hyunjin says, and it sends Changbin’s head spinning, “His boyfriend is the captain of the soccer team and I value my life.”
Changbin shuffles in his seat, his gaze falling down to his untouched americano. Condensation drips from the side of the cup and falls onto the green tablecloth.
“Besides,” Hyunjin speaks up again, beckoning Changbin’s attention again, “I’m not into Felix. I don’t like twink-on-twink relationships, and neither does he. We both have a thing for beefcakes.”
It’s Changbin’s turn to blink owlishly, the foundation for his hatred over the past 11 months crumbling beneath his feet. He feels foolish, he feels silly. But most of all, he feels hopeful.
He fiddles with his straw, the plastic squeaking and the ice rattling against the sides of the cup.
“Is that why you started being a dick?” Hyunjin leans against the counter, watching every movement of Changbin’s fidgeting fingers.
“Yeah,” Changbin nods slightly, ashamed but not afraid to own up to his grave errors.
“So you admit that you were being a dick,” Hyunjin has his eyebrow raised, Changbin doesn’t have to look to see it.
“Yeah,” he nods again, his fingers slowing to a stop. The ice is melting and the straw noise is giving him a headache.
“You didn’t even wish me a happy birthday,” Hyunjin points out, and Changbin can’t deny it.
“Yeah.”
“I wished you a happy birthday.”
“Yeah, you did.”
“You broke my heart.”
“Hyunjin, I’m sorry,” Changbin finally has the strength to say something other than the same syllable on repeat, dropping his hands back into his lap and wringing them together.
“No, it’s my turn,” Hyunjin stands up straighter and frowns, “I spent the last 6 years of my life pining after you and hoping you would look at me the way I look at you. I bleached my hair when you said you liked blondes, I stopped wearing my contacts when you said that glasses are cute. I was bending over backward just to get you to notice me and I bent so far that I tricked myself into thinking that you were folded in two just like me.”
He takes in a deep breath, and Changbin can hear the way it rattles through him.
“But then all of a sudden you weren’t. You were mean and you were cold and I didn’t recognize you anymore, and it felt like you didn’t want to recognize me. And it broke my heart. You broke my heart,” he exhales and it sounds just as broken as his inhale, “But what breaks my heart the most is that I don’t even hate you for it.”
His chest heaves up and down even though his breathing is inaudible, and his fingers are gripping the counter so hard that Changbin can see the tendons in his wrist straining.
Changbin can barely move.
“I’m an idiot,” Changbin says dumbly, and it’s the stupidest thing he’s ever said. Hyunjin huffs out a wet laugh, half in amusement and half in disbelief.
“I’m a jealous idiot who can’t think past seeing another guy with his hand around your waist,” Changbin continues, wearing his heart on his t-shirt sleeve in a desperate attempt to reel Hyunjin back in, “A prettier guy with a kinder smile who makes you laugh so hard that your head goes back. I’m stuck in my childish envy and I—”
“He’s not,” Hyunjin cuts him off quickly, so still behind the counter that Changbin feels like he might be imagining his presence.
“He’s not what?” he asks, thrown off of his apology course by the interruption.
“He’s not prettier than you,” Hyunjin barely moves a muscle, but Changbin feels like he’s on fire, “Not to me.”
They cut each other off with their words again, overlapping sentiments and timing.
“I’m sorry,” Changbin repeats, at the same time that Hyunjin says, “I love you.”
There’s rain drumming against the cafe window, droplets shining yellow as they’re illuminated by the flickering streetlight. The shadows still dance through the window, beads streaking down the window and refracting onto Hyunjin’s cheeks, but he’s not crying. The snow on the windowsill shrinks until it disappears, raindrops pooling into grey puddles.
“I forgive you,” Hyunjin says, and it’s the first time Changbin has seen him smile since January. It’s small and it’s hesitant, but it’s beautiful and it feels like the sun is coming out.
“You don’t have to,” Changbin points out because he isn’t sure that he would forgive himself. He tries to imagine how he would feel if Hyunjin had said the same cruel words to him, and it reignites the shame in his gut. He knows he would forgive Hyunjin.
“But I want to,” Hyunjin unties the bow of his apron behind his back, letting it fall forward onto the counter, “I want to go back to before the snow. I want to let you make it up to me.”
“I promise I will,” Changbin has never spoken so earnestly in his life, and the promise of another chance makes his chest swell with hope. He’s not sure that this entire interaction even happened, so he can’t be sure that the pink he thinks he sees on Hyunjin’s face is really there.
But suddenly the small smile across the barista’s lips spreads into a wider, more mischievous one.
“Then start right now,” Hyunjin snatches his apron from the counter and throws it over the hook by the register, and he begins the motions that Changbin easily recognizes as closing up the cafe. He flicks a handful of power switches and turns off the flashing neon ‘OPEN’ sign, and Changbin scrambles to shove his laptop back into his damp shoulder bag.
Hyunjin is done in record time, pulling his coat over his shoulders and hopping out from behind the counter. He pushes the door open and holds it for Changbin, and as soon as they step foot out onto the pavement, Hyunjin pulls out a pink umbrella and unfurls it above their heads.
Changbin’s steps stutter, “You had an umbrella this whole time?”
“Some of us read the weather forecast,” Hyunjin shrugs with a sly grin, holding it high enough to keep them both dry. Their shoulders bump under the small umbrella, and Changbin laughs as they sprint across the empty street in a small huddle. The rainwater is rushing through the gutters and gurgling into the storm drains, and some droplets spray off of the tires of Hyunjin’s parked car.
Hyunjin holds the umbrella for him as he climbs into the passenger seat, but he doesn’t notice much after that. He’s overtaken by something too familiar, too identical. The car smells exactly the same, and the weight on the axles shifts in the same small rattle as Hyunjin drops himself into the driver’s seat.
There’s an ice cream-scented air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror and an empty coffee cup in the console, and Changbin wonders if that air freshener even smells anymore. The stack of CDs below the stereo is in the same order, with the exception of one missing. It’s the CD that Changbin had gifted him in their senior year of high school, and his heart falls to the car floor when he notices its absence.
“Did you throw it away?” Changbin can’t stop himself from asking as Hyunjin turns the key in the ignition and pulls out into the street.
He doesn’t seem to need any clarification, as Hyunjin lifts his hand from the steering wheel and hits play on the stereo.
Changbin flushes as he hears his own voice filling the car, bass thumping through the speakers that he helped Hyunjin install last year.
“Oh,” he says quietly, and his face feels very warm despite knowing that Hyunjin’s car heater is broken.
The fact that the drive to his house is only 1 minute long makes Changbin wonder whether or not he would have made it safely if he had just kept walking when the snow began, if his fingers would have survived, or if his laptop’s battery would have survived the cold. But he forgets about it as soon as he thought of it, distracted by Hyunjin slotting the car into park and throwing the umbrella over his shoulder.
The car is still running as Hyunjin throws open his door and runs out into the rain, his whole body immediately soaked and his hair sticking to his forehead. He tugs the passenger side door open as well, leaning into the car and over Changbin’s chest to unbuckle his seatbelt. Changbin’s heart rate goes haywire with the proximity, thrilled to even be within a 20-foot radius of Hyunjin after believing that they would never speak again.
He shrieks as his t-shirt is drenched, Hyunjin tugging him out into the street by the wrists and forcing him into the pouring rain. A shiver wracks through his spine and down to his toes, but his cheeks are impossibly hot where Hyunjin takes them between his hands.
Under the dim light of Changbin’s patio lamp and the white fluorescent headlights of his car, Hyunjin kisses him, and Changbin is glad to be home.
He’s thought about kissing Hyunjin many times. He thought about it when Hyunjin transferred into his 8th-grade class, and he chose to sit right next to Changbin with his pretty hair and his prettier face. He thought about it when they graduated high school and Hyunjin enveloped him in a huge hug and he could smell his shampoo. He thought about it when they finished their first-ever university finals, and Hyunjin laid his head in Changbin’s lap on the couch with his eyes closed. He even thought about it when he ducked into a cafe to hide from a snowstorm, and he thought about it at every moment in between.
But as he has always expected, his imagination could never live up to the real thing. Hyunjin’s lips are not soft like pillows or warm like tea—they’re chapped and bitten, but they fit between Changbin’s like a piece of a puzzle.
Hyunjin’s hands slide from Changbin’s cheeks down to the sides of his neck, finding their place on his broad shoulders. Changbin takes this as a hint to bracket Hyunjin’s waist with his shivering hands, anchoring himself there and hoping to never set sail again.
Just as Changbin dives further and pulls a sound from the back of Hyunjin’s throat, the younger pulls away and blinks the raindrops from his eyelashes. They land on his cheeks, and Changbin still can’t be sure if either of them are crying.
Hyunjin ever so gracefully shoves the passenger side door closed with his soggy sneakers, grabbing Changbin by the wrist and tugging him toward the sidewalk. He drags him all the way up the walkway and up the few stairs, fishing the spare key out of the bottom of the mailbox as if he was the one who put it there.
There’s no sign of snow anymore, only the pouring rain that washes away the icy cold and replaces it with the promise of flowers.
Hyunjin is sliding the key into the lock and turning it with the world’s strongest muscle memory, and Changbin sniffles to avoid letting some gross snot ruin their magical moment.
“I’m gonna catch a cold,” Changbin whines, waddling side to side as his t-shirt sticks to his skin like glue.
“Want me to kiss it better?” Hyunjin pushes open the front door to the house, but he doesn’t even get the chance to flash Changbin a teasing smile before he’s pushed over the threshold and the door is slammed shut behind them.