Archive of Our Own ^beta

Bang Chan is, generally, not a jealous person.

Success of other people is impressive to him, and he tries to cherish it. Tries to cherish the way people around him are all unique in different and exceptional ways.

Chan is not exceptional, though. He is always good enough, but never to a point where it exceeds the expectation. And it is fine, really. Not everyone is born to this world to be exceptional.

Not everyone, but Minho is.

"I liked your game," Minho says, dragging out every word in a bored tone. It's the first time they talk to each other in two years, Chan not wanting to live with the realization that Minho exists beyond his unrequited jealous pining over Minho's excellence.

Chan clears his throat. "Uhm," he mumbles nervously, looking up from where he is sitting. "Come again?" 

Mino rolls his eyes, as if complimenting Chan is a big favor that entitles ownership. " The maze . You were looking for volunteers to test it on the college forum." 

Right, that he did. 

It was a whim, honestly. There are people in his class far better at coding and designing than he is, so Chan mostly relies on random splashes of creative currents and hyperfixations fueled by his ADHD during sleepless nights. So instead of taking his meds, The maze is born into existence. With its wanky graphics, unstable engine, and sea of bugs that at least prove themselves to be entertaining for a dozen of players that Chan managed to recruit, more than half of them being bribes to his friends.

"Thanks," Chan says. "It's more of a self indulgent idea than a working game." 

"Yeah. The code is shit." 

Chan knows that, really. He repeats it to himself constantly, like a mantra. Not to diminish himself, but mostly not to set his expectations too high. 

"You have a way with flattery," Chan attempts to joke but it comes out biting. Unkind.

But Minho is just giving him a lazy smirk, as if it's something entertaining. As if Chan is worth his time.

"The idea and mechanics are cool. You just need a working head, and a person who knows what they are doing." 

Chan can't help but scoff. Jealousy is bitter on his tongue, acidic in his mouth, hits him at the back of his throat. "Because you know what you are doing, right?" 

The most pathetic thing about this kind of jealousy is that it is fully unrequited. Chan sees Minho as someone better. A talented student. A competition.

But Minho isn't aware of Chan's existence at all. For the most part, Chan is just an annoying song in the background that keeps following him around wherever he goes.

And it's just sad.

"I always do," Minho shrugs, leaving with the same crooked smirk on his lips.

✾

“Again, what is this supposed to be?” 

Chan closes his eyes in irritation, taking a deep breath. The small presentation remote is all wet and slick from the dampness of his skin, so fidgeting it between his fingers becomes even harder. 

“I think it’s a crusher,” Jisung supplies helpfully, looking at the animation on the screen.

“Pulverizer,” Chan corrects meekly. He doesn’t have to look, but Minho’s heavy gaze is already prickling somewhere in the corner of his eyes. 

“And we will need it for?” Minho tilts his head to the side, leaning it on the palm of his hand. Somewhere beside him, Chan hears how their executive snicker. Chan’s gut twist unpleasantly.

“It’s a cool tool,” Chan rushes to explain again. “You can basically take any type of resource and pulverize it to make another useful resource. Like gunpowder or silica.”

Instead of previously expected oh and ah ’s, Chan is met with a profound silence and lifeless stares from the board members. Jisung tries to throw a small fist up in encouragement, but his cheeks dust in pink as soon as he is caught by Jinyoung who sits right in front of him.

So much for support.

There is a set image of an executive producer in the gaming industry. For the most part, it is always about the battle between the creativeness, monetization, and practicality, all of the above falling into a game of balancing out those aspects, yet still allowing the creatives to express themselves in the product.

 Chan learned that the hard way – at the end of the day, it is all about the power. And Jinyoung liked the feeling of control, while factually, not managing the creative process in any way or form. It is his definition of power.

“I don’t understand,” Minho says slowly. Jinyoung near him nods absent-mindedly, jumping onto the feeling of approval with a greed. Because, unlike Chan’s, Minho’s opinion is valued. Minho’s opinion makes everyone walk on tiptoes around him, trying to catch even the smallest splatter of Minho’s creative attention.

And Chan is just a tool for bringing those creative splatters to life.

“It’s a new mechanic,” Chan says, now looking at Minho directly. It takes a lot of effort not to become defensive, but Chan’s chest is already bubbling from the anger and frustration. “Like, precious stones in the game are completely useless now, the only thing you can do with them is sell to get more money. And in-game currency is something that can be earned in better ways so I suggest how to directly make an unusable resource something that fucking works. ”

Chan does not notice how his voice raises gradually, and how his words echo through the small confined space of the room. 

Stupid , Chan thinks. Why does he always pitch his ideas out when this is always a reaction he receives. 

Minho’s look is still unwavering. The left corner of his mouth is twitching, as if he is smirking at Chan’s pathetic attempts of presenting ideas, but his eyes are stone-cold, as if looking at the ice itself. 

“Look, Chan. You’re a very valued employee, and even more valued engineer. It’s fair to say that Silent Cry would not have existed without you in the first place," Jinyoung says, looking over everyone present in the room. There is fake gentleness to it, a hope of acknowledgment of everyone’s importance.

Chan does not waver. “It definitely would not.”

“I know,” Minho replies instead, eyes looking at him with a subtlety of amusement.

Chan wants to yell. So loud that it would make the perfectly clean windows blow out with all the small pieces cutting through Minho's big ego. 

"So that's a no?" Chan is not sure why he is even asking. He sees it on everyone's faces already. 

“Whatever,” Chan says after a beat of silence. It's almost angry. Almost. “You can finish without me, I have lots of things to do. Aside from everyone in this room.”

“Chan!" He hears someone calling after him but he is already out of the room, out of the office, and maybe out of this planet.

Way too dramatic – Chan does not care.

The backyard of the office meets him with cool air and falling snow. Chan is still in his hoodie, his coat left back in the dressing room, but the pack of cigarettes is tightly fit in his jeans pocket.

He wonders if it is a bad habit, after all.

“That was dramatic. If I knew you better, I would have assumed you took after Jisung.”

Chan does not look up. Does not have to, to know that Minho is standing behind his back, with arms crossed and voicing Chan's own thoughts out loud just like he always did when both of them were younger.

“Shut up," Chan replies. It's harsh and firm, because Minho is the only person who is reserved for Chan's rudeness.

“Chan." Minho sighs. Surprisingly, it does not seem annoyed. More like exasperated.

“One thing,” Chan says slowly. “One thing in the game that I could call mine, Minho. I didn’t ask for much.”

"The game literally exists because of you. I don't understand what the fuck are you talking about." 

And, the thing is, it is true. To some extent. 

Ironically, only Chan needs a constant reminder of that.

"It's always your ideas. Your solutions. And I am just this background energy– literally a working machine that tries to compile it together into something remotely workable."

"Because you're good at that," Minho shrugs. There is no emotion in his voice, but the words are firm on his tongue, solidifying it more to a staple fact.

Three years later, and Chan still does not believe that.

"You once told me my code is shit," he blurts out. The scene burns through his memory like fire, dancing on his eyelids. 

Minho blinks. "I don't even remember that." 

"Of course you don't." 

Because, even after all those years, Minho does not think about Chan, or his one-sided rivalry. He does not think about the words that cut like a knife, and leave scars that are impossible to get rid of.

And Chan is still jealous.

Minho sighs audibly. “Look, I will talk to Jinyoung, if you want.”

“I don’t need an act of altruism, Minho. It’s not your strong suit.”

“Everything has a price,” Minho shrugs. 

“Monetization Dep agrees with you, maybe you should change your career path.” 

Chan is being mean, he knows that. It’s unusual, and makes him feel sick on the inside, but with Minho it always seems like Chan wants to prove a point. A point that never even bothered Minho in the first place.

Minho observes him for a few seconds, head tilted to the side. “You’re mad at me,” he says. It’s not a question because he also sees it. “Why?”

And Chan feels like absolute shit again. Like the worst, most useless and miserable person in existence, who snaps out at a person whose only flaw is being better. 

“It’s nothing,” Chan says at last. 

“Mhm,” Minho muses, looking at the ground. His cheeks are flushed from the cold, and tiny snowflakes are dusted over his hair, melting down one by one. “Come when you’re ready to talk.”

Chan bites his tongue not to say that then they might not speak to each other ever again.

✾

Avoiding Minho is usually easy.

If to consider technicalities, Chan and him both work within the same creative department. But, while Minho gets the experience of spitting out his ideas to literally every living person on the second floor, Chan is locked down in the basement with the other part of his team, oftentimes feeling locked away not only from the rest of the company, but from the whole world.

There are certain advantages to it, on the other hand. Without the sunlight in the room it is easy to get lost in time, to forget what part of the day it is. Jeongin doesn't find it as exciting, taking more than a few breaks to stay outside in sunlight, but Chan doesn't mind. 

Work is his coping mechanism, and when you lose track of time it is easy to just never stop once you start.

"Should I drag you out to lunch myself?" 

Chan hears the voice muffled through his headphones, but does not need to turn around to know who that is.

He pulls the headphones down to his neck, and looks up at Changbin, who is standing there with his arms crossed. "I am not hungry." 

"Yeah, that's what Jeongin said," Changbin rolls his eyes. "I am a little disappointed at his lack of concern for you." 

"He already has a new patch to worry about, I shouldn't be the priority on his list anyway." 

"Is this because of what happened yesterday?" 

Chan stops in his tracks, fingers lifelessly hovering over the keyboard for a few painful seconds. "What happened yesterday?" He asks, trying to keep the expression on his face as dull as possible.

Changbin sighs."Chan." 

Chan opens his mouth. Closes it shortly afterward, his brain cutting down any supply of his usual excuses.

‘It’s all the after effect of full-on rejection of my ideas.’ 

‘Man, I just really want to seize to exist.’ 

So fucking dumb.

‘Minho was getting on my nerves, I am not at fault.’

Well, the last one might not be the best of his retorts.

So Chan gives in. "I pitched the idea. They rejected it again," he admits, looking up to meet Changbin's gaze.

Changbin looks back at him completely unfazed. "This happens to me all the time, you are not special." 

"Minho didn't back me up," Chan blurts out before he can think. His own voice is ringing back with anger and frustration through his own ears, making his whole body twitch.

Changbin hums softly under his breath.

"So, this is what everything is about," he says, corners of his mouth curling in a smile.

"He is head of the department. He should be backing up creatives whenever he has a chance or we will turn to another popular but questionable money grabbing MMO," Chan retorts, throwing his hands in the air. His gestures tend to get out of control whenever he gets nervous. "No offense," Chan adds apologetically.  

Changbin still looks at him as if Chan is a little child, holding a grudge against something as silly as a stolen candy. "Look me in the eyes and tell me it's not about your so-called competition?" 

Chan's face flushes all over. "There is no competition," he stutters out, darting his gaze away.

"Oh, I am sorry!” Changbin places a hand over his heart. “Your totally straight-not-pining-one-sided competition that you confuse with deeply rooted attraction." 

Chan's ears are as red as an error message in the compiler on the screen. "Dude, what the fuck?" He tries to sound angry, but it comes out all hushed and embarrassed. As if he cares.

(He does.)

"You have been obsessed with this guy since our second year in Uni, and that was like five years ago. So, either you're a sociopath, or you're attracted to him."

Chan thinks that maybe being a sociopath is not as bad. "Why am I even listening to you?" He says instead, rubbing his eyes tiredly. His skin still feels hot and flushed under his fingers. 

"Oh my god, you actually are," Changbin mutters. 

Chan wants to scream at the top of his lungs that he is fucking not . That this is stupid, and that he does not care about Minho, or his damned professional opinions, or his rather questionable authority.

Chan is not sure if he is trying to convince Changbin or himself.

"Our first meeting started with him calling my code shit," Chan admits. The anger suddenly turns into immense tiredness coming all over his body.

"Whatever weird stuff you're into, dude,"  Changbin chuckles.

"I swear to fucking–" 

"Okay, okay," Changbin raises his arms in the air defensively.  "Sorry for being nosy, I just find it very weird. I have known you since we were fourteen and I don't think I ever saw you being mean to anyone except Minho."

Chan pouts. "I am not mean." 

"Whatever makes you sleep at night,” Chagbin chuckles. 

Chan fumes at the mouth, trying to think of his next not-so-witty counterpoint, but Changbin reacts faster, already grabbing at his wrist and dragging Chan out of the room. 

"Anyway, I am dragging you out to lunch. You're not ready to admit your crush – it's fine, but you need to eat to function." 

Chan curses quietly. "I–" 

Changbin wavers him off, pushing both of them in the elevator. "And, for the record, Chan, your first conversation with Minho didn't start with him calling your code shit. It started with him saying he loved your game." 

Chan squints from the blinding lights, yet they don't compare with the sound of his own heart thumping in his ears. There are few things that he had to come to terms with at that moment.

One: he is still a pathetic loser.

Two: he is a complete and utter asshole on top of that.

✾

“So, Bang Chan.” 

Chan perks up at his own name, nudging into his chair uncomfortably. The room is too bright and stuffy, and his black sweatshirt is fully soaked in his own sweat, making him extremely uncomfortable.

“Yeah, hi,” Chan makes a small wave with his hand. His interviewer today is Yunjin , and judging by the e-mail with his Test Task approval last week, she is the Head of HR, which is a pretty big deal. “I mean, we already greeted each other actually so what I mean is more like I am ready to begin. Yeah,” Chan blabbers without taking a breath, feeling his face heating up.

Yunjin hums, but he spots a small smile appearing on her lips. Her gaze is still glued to the paper form in front of her that she is filling out as she talks.

Now she will ask him to tell her about himself.

“Tell me about yourself,” Yunjin says, as if on cue.

Chan takes a deep breath. Honestly, after five months of job search people can wake him up in the middle of the night and he will still give a perfectly rehearsed and informative reply.

“Well, I went to MIT briefly, and then transferred here, so I could help out my little sister. Graduated, picked up a few freelance gigs, helped some independent companies, you know.” 

“You were a part of the Strong at Heart team, that's impressive,” Yunjin says, giving him a look of amusement. “I love that game.” 

“I didn't do as much but,” Chan scratches at the back of his head, looking down at the floor.

“Don't be so shy,” she says. “Changbin told me a lot of good things when he sent your CV for review.” 

“He tends to exaggerate sometimes.” 

A comfortable silence sets as Chan tries to calm himself down. It is still going fine, he is talking to the Head of HR, which should mean that he is very close to the offer. He is going to be okay, and get this job, and finally move out of the dorms.

Yunjin purses her lips, leaning over the table. “Look, to be honest, considering your references and submitted Test Task, you're pretty much set for.” 

Chan gapes at her. “Really?” 

“Of course!” She exclaims, with the blinding smile. “I would start the paper work already but you still need to meet our PM-slash-creative lead.” Yunjin stops to look at the watch on her wrist and furrows, “who is really late and should start praying for his life.” 

Chan nods, veins thrumming with excitement already. He got a fucking offer! “I mean, that's fair. I think–” 

The door opens with a loud thump, as the figure strolls into the room. Chan smiles, and opens his mouth to speak, but then his vision is clouded, brain turning into a soft mush.

Minho doesn't look any different. He saw him last a little over a year ago (not like he counts), as Minho graduated a little earlier than Chan did. His hair is a little longer, bangs falling over his eyes and framing his face into a nice shape, and his eyes still have that glint of amusement, a cluster of sparks.

“Speaking of the devil,” Yunjin gives him a glare that Minho blatantly ignores, plopping into a chair next to her.

“Sorry, I am late,” he says. His cheeks are bright red, and he smiles as if he owns the world as his eyes set on him. “Oh, hey Chan.” 

Yunjin's furrow deepens. “You know each other?” 

“No,” Chan says.

“Yes,” Minho says at the same time and chuckles.

Fucking bastard .

Chan's ears are still ringing as he braces herself for a half-decent reply. “We were in the same class.” 

“I played his game,” Minho says, nudging Yunjin with his shoulder.

She rolls her eyes and leans away. Chan decides that he likes her. “You have a game?” She asks. The soft smile is back on her lips as she looks at Chan.

“It's nothing much,” Chan shrugs.

“It was good enough for its time,” Minho chimes in, already sprawled comfortably in his chair as he reads through Chan's CV. “Whew, Strong at Heart? You're a big deal now, aren't you.”

“And you're a project lead,” Chan grits through his teeth. He meant for it to sound neutral, but judging from Yunjin's surprised look it sounded more aggressive than he intended. 

“You sound accusing,” Mino says. His head is tilted to the side as he speaks, but the smile is still strong on his lips, as if it is a challenge for him.

As if everything is.

“I am not,” Chan replies. His vision is blurry, his face is heated up, and he feels that his is slowly boiling alive in this damned room.

“And defensive,” Minho adds.

“Fuck you,” Chan blurts out.

Yunjin gasps and Minho blinks slowly at him. Chan's heart is thumping through his chest like crazy.

“Oh, shit,” he mumbles. The initial daze wears off and he realizes that he fucked up. Irreversibly. “I didn’t mean to– Well, I did, actually.” He gulps, gaze wandering elsewhere. “You know, I'll go.” 

Chan jolts from his place and slings the backpack over his shoulder, rushing to the door as fast as possible.

“Chan–” He hears Yunjin calling after him, but his legs move faster than his brain, taking him further and further away.  

He takes the stairs instead of elevator that day. The office is at twenty-fourth floor, and his lungs hurt like crazy by the time he is outside, but the pain is almost soothing compared to that overwhelming feeling of seeing Minho again.

A fucking Project Lead . Barely two years after graduation.

Chan feels like shit.

To his surprise, Yunjin calls in the next day with an offer still standing. Chan shots up from his bed as he receives a call, trying very hard not to perceive it as the fluke of imagination.

“It was really nice meeting you, Yunjin. I am sorry,” he says right ahead because it’s true. Yunjin seemed really nice, and appreciative, and compared to all the other interviews he had she at least pretended to be interested in what he had to say.

“You didn't hear it from me, but Minho needs someone to challenge him. Rile him up sometimes, you know,” she laughs softly from the other side of the line. “Our internal communication here is not as formal as you're used to and sometimes people yell or scream at each other but at least it keeps people from holding grudges. I think you will fit in just right.” 

“So, did Minho approve?” Chan doesn't know why he asks that because it shouldn't be important. The company doesn't– shouldn't– consist of only his opinion.

“Oh,” Yunjin yelps in surprise. “He actually encouraged me to proceed with you.” 

Chan feels like smashing into a wall. Hard and fast.

At least he got a job.

✾

Chan means to apologize to Minho. He really does. But, somehow, hours blur into days, days blur into weeks, and weeks blur into a month. 

Changbin gives him pointed looks at all of their weekly meetings – judgy and obnoxious, as if proving that Chan is a coward who cannot face that he fucked up.

And Chan just– he can't, okay?  

It was one thing to have Minho as a stupid competition. An obstacle. Something to roll his eyes at whenever he needs to let off steam from the workload. It was easy to just be petty and jealous, and for it to pine, pine, and pine , pulling over in a big emotionally unavailable mush.

Apologizing, and having Minho as something else was scary. His jealousy was the only barrier that kept their relationships going, and without it Chan will probably just stop down to madness.

He groans, dropping his head in the crook of his elbows.

It's eight in the evening that day as he sits in the office kitchen, the place looking oddly deserted at this late hour. Low lights are flickering behind him, and there is a faint noise from somewhere on the floor. Theoretically, he should be doing code reviews and fixing bugs. Practically, he is still trying to accept the fact that he is an asshole.

“You look awful.”

He looks up at Minho walking into the kitchen with a blue cup in his hand. He is still wearing a black button up that seems almost sheer, tucked into a pair of jeans and making him look all crisp and clean, as if he just showered a couple of minutes ago.

Chan looks down on his own worn out hoodie and sweatpants and wants to die of embarrassment. “Thanks, man. You have your way with words, as always,” he says, his gaze following Minho's figure as it approaches a sink right behind the counter.

The sounds of running water fill Chan's ears as Minho rinses his cup with an overly attentive precision. 

“Care to share what's up?” He asks, shaking his hands to get rid of excessive water, droplets falling from his hands right on the floor. “And, by the way, it wasn't an insult. I just don't like seeing you like this.”

Chan gulps audibly, words landing exactly as he expected – like a blow. There is a ticking bomb, somewhere in his heart, or guts, or chest, overwhelming him with beeping sounds that countdown the end of this miserable prolonged fight.  

Not with Minho, with himself.

“That's stupid, but just, you know, work.” The words spill almost on their own as he starts speaking. “A lot code to review, a lot of things to test, and we're already pushing back the release date and I am stressed as fuck,” he says. “And that stupid bug with items in the shop which I still can't figure out how to fix. People are running out with premium items for free.” 

“Maybe that's not that bad,” Minho shrugs. His back is against the kitchen counter, and his arms are crossed over his chest as he looks back at Chan. Having a closer look, he can see a bluish glow of tiredness under Minho's eyes, making him more attainable. More real.

Chan suffocates an embarrassing noise threatening to spill out. “Don't let Changbin hear you. He'll whine about us being too generous again.” 

“God forbid,” Minho rolls his eyes.

Chan laughs, making Minho fixate on him again. His gaze is deep and intense, but his mouth is curled in his usual smile of amusement.

It's always like that when they talk.

“Why are you here?” Chan asks, clearing his throat and looking away. He still feels Minho's eyes following his every move.

“You won't believe it, but I actually have work to do.” 

“Telling people how everything is wrong,” Chan concludes. 

“Hey, I am giving feedback!”

“Don't know how you just look at this game all day. I am mostly looking at words and numbers and it all makes me sick.”

There is a deep furrow on Minho's face. “Haven't you played Silent Cry for fun?” 

Chan blinks at him slowly. “No.”

“Like, ever?”

Chan shakes his head again, watching as Minho sighs in exasperation as he grabs the nearest towel to wipe up his hands and reaches Chan in a few strodes. 

“Oh my god, let's go,” he says, grabbing Chan's wrist. It almost burns when he touches him.

“What?” Chan asks, still dazed from the sensation on his skin. Minho drags  him somewhere across the room, pulling on his wrist harder until they reach a blue colored wooden door. “I–” 

“Come on, dude,” Minho grunts, pushing him inside. It is a testing room, with a few laptops and headsets lying around in front of a big monitor and a couch. “I know you don't like me, but let me help you with this.” 

Minho grabs two controllers from a charging station, plopping down on the couch and patting the place near him with his hand.

Chan sits down tentatively, grabbing one of the controllers from Minho's hand, grasping on it as if it is a lifeline. “You’re so on, smartass,” he can't help but chuckle, turning on his remote.

The room is lit up with a white-blue glow as Minho starts the game. “That's more like it.” 

Chan doesn't really know for how long they play. Could be minutes, could be hours, could be days, honestly.  Minho gets all animated as they grind on and on, with his hands flying up in the air, and his expressions all open and vulnerable and full of life as they take on another boss or fail to get through another fight. 

And Chan is entranced, shamelessly. Because Minho is no longer just an idea, or something distant and unattainable – he is real, with all of the emotions worn on his sleeve.

“I don't remember making those space storms as strong,” Chan says after another hour of playing as he presses a pause. The excitement is throbbing in his veins and he feels his face all hot and flushed, as if he is twelve again, playing Final Fantasy in someone's bedroom.

It reminds him why he works in the gaming industry in the first place. To give people this thrill.

“Yeah, we actually had some complaints from the players about intense motion sickness.”

“No one told me!” Chan gasps, head thrown back as he laughs.

“That was your idea, remember?” Minho smirks, back leaning into the couch as he turns his head to look at Chan. “No, wait, I remember because when I said it is too strong of an encounter for a simple resource quest you proceeded to yell at me and did your signifying ‘i will storm off dramatically so I don't have to talk to you’ thing,” he rolls his eyes. “Had to convince Jinyoung that it was making the game more realistic.” 

It is meant to be a joke. A playful banter, something not condescending, but it feels like a punch in the gut, reminding Chan, once again, that he is an asshole.

Chan takes a deep breath, feeling his hands shake. “I am so sorry,” he mumbles.

Minho smiles. “Are you kidding? The complaints were from people who loved it.” 

“No, Minho, I–” Chan stumbles, not really managing to find the right words to justify anything. “I am sorry for being an asshole to you. Like, all the time.” 

The silence that settles is uncomfortable. Chan still hears Minho's breathing in and out calmly, but Chan's own eyes are shut close, insides threatening to spill out.

“I always wondered, why do you hate me,” Minho says, after some time. His voice is firm and steady, but surprisingly hoarse. “I see how you are with other people. How you banter with Changbin, but there is more playfulness to it than aggression, unlike with me. Or how you pop into Yunjin's office just to have a coffee break when I still didn't manage to even have lunch with you once, and we're in the same team. Or how you spare little ones from overworking themselves and then complain to me that you're past deadlines.” 

Chan thinks Changbin was wrong. 

Chan thinks apologizing was a terrible idea. Because now he sees those moments– gets to see them come to life under his eyelids and yet he is not able to do anything to fix it. It hurts, and hurts , and hurts–

“I am sorry,” he croaks. Chan opens his eyes, daring to look at Minho again. “I think you were cool. Are cool . And I was jealous. Felt the need to compete with you ever since I met you.” 

Tight lines on Minho's face relax as he breathes out. Chan sees as he bites down on the inside of his lower lip, nibbling it nervously. It's pink and flushed, and he wonders if it's soft as his teeth sink into it.

The tips of his ears go red and he prays thanks to all the gods who deprived that room of decent lighting.

“I know I can be blunt,” Minho says, shoulders shrugging uncomfortably. Chan doesn't think he ever witnessed him looking that nervous. “I hear it all the time. But, Chan, any harsh stuff that I possibly told you– I never mean to intentionally hurt people. I know I still do, but,” he sucks in a breath as he blinks. “Sometimes the truth is hard but it is harder for me to try sugarcoating it.” 

Chan doesn't not identify a wheezing sound that leaves his mouth, somewhere at the back of his throat as it pierces the air.

“What?” Minho asks, the corner of his lips tugging into a smile.

“You’re still the coolest person I know,” Chan groans, throwing his head back against the headset of the couch. Somehow, it's no longer embarrassing for him to admit aloud.

Changbin will be proud.

“Says you?” He sees Minho leaning over on his elbow, giving him a look. “Chan, you built this game from zero ground with only bare hands and determination. I know you think that no one counts with you but, honestly, just get your head out of your ass. It is as much of your game as it is mine.” 

Chan stares at the ceiling in bewilderment, words still lingering in a small confined space. His hands are shaking, and he almost swears he sees stars each time he blinks for longer than a second, and there is nothing in the world that can be half a decent reply to what Minho said.

To the way he said that. With admiration spilling all over his words, and confidence to back it all up.

“You need a ride back? It's pretty late,” Minho snaps him back, already getting up. He stretches his arms over his head, making the already sheer shirt he is wearing fit even tighter over his body.

Chan looks away. “It's cool. I think I still have work to do and I had a really good break.”

“Fine,” Minho huffs. Chan can see he doesn’t like that, but is grateful that he is not pushing him over. “But if I see you at the office tomorrow earlier than two in the afternoon I am suspending you for a week,” he points a finger at him with an unnecessary serious frown on his face. “Yes, this is a threat.” 

“Got it,” Chan replies, giving him a lazy grin.

Minho opens his mouth, as if trying to say something else, but in the end just waves with his hand, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

When Chan falls asleep back in his room, he sees galaxies.

✾

Making friends is hard – it is something that gets easier and easier to grasp on the older you get. 

As a kid, Chan didn’t comprehend that in full force. He always was likable, friendly, and nice, not having any troubles with blending into the new social surroundings or groups of people. He always tried to help, to please, and to feel useful as some psychotic norm of validation.

By the time Chan turns twenty, already having a huge social background to rely on, it sadly occurs to him that he has no friends at all.

Because talking about his feelings sucks.

Because talking about his feelings make him want to lock himself in a basement and never see the day of light.

Because talking about his feelings– well, you get the point.

And that's where befriending Minho becomes difficult. Because Minho is difficult. And different. And the weirdest thing about it is that Minho doesn't need to do anything in particular for Chan to word vomit whenever they talk to each other.

It becomes some kind of a fixture, Chan seeking out Minho every time he gets stuck with another instance of code just refusing to work, or people just refusing to listen to him. Minho would give him a soft look that is bordering with something scolding, and a little judgy, and then silently grab his wrist (which, by the way, still burns right through Chan's skin) and shove him into a testing room to play together.

“I talked about the crusher with Jinyoung,” Minho says, smiling. They finished their gaming session a few minutes ago, now making their way to the kitchen.

The office is already half-empty and it's only five p.m. – which Chan finds oddly concerning.  

“Pulverizer,” Chan corrects absent mindedly as he grabs two cups from the shelf above. 

“Whatever, it's space,” Minho waves his hand, turning on the coffee machine. “He gave it a go.” 

Chan winces. It seems like that whole fight was at least a decade ago, something from another life. Or plane of existence.

“Dude, I told you it's fine,” Chan shrugs. Because, it is. As much as it pains to admit that communicating openly works, it did manage to make Chan less perceptive and grumpy towards rejections. “Sometimes ideas don't work. It's fine.”

Minho gives him a dubious glance, before a short silence settles. Chan hears the grinding of the coffee machine as he places two cups under the tube. Minho like his coffee mild, so Chan just adjusts most of the time.

“I got back to it and you were right. It's a nice resource management tool,” Minho says, leaning his back against the sink. Chan hopes he doesn't notice how his fingers twitch nervously. “I don't want for you to approve my ideas just because we're friends now,” Chan manages. His voice is a little shaky, and scratchy, and for the first time he is thankful for the coffee machine being that loud.

He hears as Minho huffs a laugh behind him. “Are we now?” 

Chan freezes in his place. He is not sure how a heart attack is supposed to feel, but in that moment he thinks he gets the gist of the phenomena as everything inside of him goes still. “I mean– Yes. No?” 

“Oh my god, relax,” Minho groans, bumping him with his shoulder. “For a guy who has so many friends you sure are awkward about it.” 

They are close. Chan doesn't particularly face him as he is leaned toward the counter, and a little to the side from where Minho is standing, but with another step to the left he could probably cage Minho in between his arms.

Feelings are dumb. So fucking dumb.

“I don't,” Chan blabbers. The coffee machine goes silent and now he is positive that Minho can pick up on all the cracks in his voice. “Have many friends, I mean. Not ones who I can talk to.” 

“Changbin?” 

“That's different.” Chan bites his tongue not to say something cheesy like he is like a brother, at this point. “We have been friends for ages,” he says instead.

And in all honesty, Chan doesn't know why it is so easy to admit all of that, to Minho out of all the people. This friendship – or whatever their weird nature of relationships is – was not supposed to be something beyond casual, office appropriate conversation.

“Well,” Minho says, after the silence skipped a beat. (Chan's heart did too.) “You can talk to me, you know? Not only about work.” 

Chan pushes back from the counter, giving Minho his cup and grabbing his own. He takes a few steps back, trying to create respectable distance. Or something respectable – he is not sure.

“That's what we do now? Talk about our feelings?” Chan smirks, but it's soft. Playful.

Minho looks like he is ready to accept the silent challenge as he grins. “If you wanna make me yell that bad–” 

“No.” Chan shakes his head, definitely not thinking about a more inappropriate interpretation of the unfinished sentence.

Definitely.

“I don't mean to scare you,” Minho says, as the silence stretches almost uncomfortably. “Just so you know, I am not that good at maintaining friendships, so maybe I just–” He sucks in a breath, thrumming his fingers on the counter. “I dunno, don't want to lose this as well?” 

This. Here it is again. Hanging over Chan's head like a goddamn sentence. Like a fucking–

“I should have shut up,” Minho grumbles, taking the train in Chan's head off the rails. 

He looks as if he wants to crawl into himself, and Chan thinks it's a rare sight for someone like Minho. Bright, vibrant, and confident. 

“You wanna hang out sometime? Like, outside the office?” The words spurr out of Chan's mouth without a warning, without a single thought behind them.

Casual relationships. Of fucking course. Way to fucking go, Bang Chan.

He meets Minho's gaze tentatively, almost awkwardly, as if walking on the thin ice. There is a deep furrow on Minho's face, but it clears out in a span of a few seconds, and a smile graces his lips.

It's so soft that Chan's heart clenches and crushes and then the pieces of the remains come together again just from the sight of it.

Screw the late night conversations and friendly banters, when did this become a thing

“There is a game con, on Sunday. Jinyoung sends me there to network,” Minho scrunches his nose in distaste. It's cute. “God, I hate that word.” 

Chan laughs, throwing his head back a little. “This still sounds very work appropriate.”

“Beer at my place later?” Minho offers with a shrug. As if saying – not a big deal .

When it is a pretty fucking huge deal, in Chan's opinion.

“I don't have a car.” Chan doesn't know why he says that. Or tries to resist.

“I can pick you up and drive you back.”

Like a date? is what Chan answers in his head. “Yeah, cool,” is what he actually says, offering Minho a tight smile.

“Cool,” Minho nods. As if it's a good fucking decision.

It's a disastrous one.

✾

Sunday is far enough for the things at work to go downhill.

“You might wonder why all of you are here today,” Yunjin announces, clasping her hands together as she stands in the middle of the room.

Chan traces his gaze over everyone present there. Hyunjin is bickering about something with Jisung. Seungmin looks concentrated as he goes over the stack of papers in front of him, letting out a series of deep, irritated sighs. Changbin is sprawled on the chair that is way too small for him, barely managing to keep his balance. And Minho– 

Once, Chan got himself electrocuted. It's an embarrassing story: Chan was a freshman, working part-time with hardware for a barely-known fintech company. Just as he was figuring out the connection issues in the server room, he didn't really notice that one of the rods was naked, spiking currents shooting through him upon the touch. It hurt then, but not in an explicitly painful way, sensation tingling all over his fingers.

Every time Chan sees Minho, he feels the same. As if myriads of tiny little currents go through his body, crawling somewhere under his skin, tingling all over.

Chan realizes that he is staring with the shove to his shoulder, as Changbin gives him a questioning look.

Chan silently shakes his head, gesturing with his hand to pay attention. “I won't assume because of our very successful new patch,” he suggests, scratching the back of his head.

“Don't think she is that worried about our performance,” Minho says, looking bored as he flicks at his own nails. His fingers are small, but dainty, specked with tiny moles here and there.  Chan wonders if they feel strong when they dig into someone's skin.

Fucking hell.

“Okay, first of all, I am,” Yunjin crosses arms on her chest as she talks. “And, more importantly, I need you all to pay attention because this is serious.” 

“Jisung fucked up again, didn't he?” Hyunjin says from his place, giving him a mocking look. 

“Hey!” Jisung exclaims, cheeks puffing out. “For all you know, it can be your department as well.” 

Hyunjin rolls his eyes. “You people always have problems with art dept. I am not drawing butt-naked characters again. They are in space .” 

“So what?” Minho mumbles.

“Yes, this is about PR dept,” Yunjin intervenes, taking a step forward.

Hyunjin throws a fist in the air. “Ha!” 

“You could have easily solved this with me personally,” Jisung pouts, taking a planchet from Yunjin's hands. 

“Oh, really? Solve the accusation of our company being homophobic.” 

Somewhere behind him Changbin chokes on the air, laughing uncontrollably.

Yunjin glares at him as she purses her lips.

“Sorry, this is very funny,” Changbin says after calming down, still half doubled over his chair.

“It is not!” Yunjin all but yells, throwing her hands in the air. “Because Jisung happened to reply to one of sunshine's tweets while calling him a slur and while still logged in our official account.”

Chan suppresses a laugh because, objectively – this is hilarious. Considering that Jisung is, in fact, gay. Chan is not so sure about sunshine or his personality, he only knows that he is an unexplainably popular twitch streamer who for some reason only streams Silent Cry. The big chunk of their core fanbase basically lives off him and his streams.

So, while objectively hilarious, he can understand why Yunjin looks so worked up.

Jisung's face is a palette of red, pink, and purple. “It was an accident! And he was calling us names!”

“Dude, seriously?” Changbin leans in from his place, looking at him. “How dumb are you?” 

“I am not tolerating this slander,” Jisung grumbles, fanning himself over with his hand.

“I want to quit,” Seungmin says quietly but firmly, staring into nothing. “Can I quit?”

Chan can not say that it is hard to sympathize with that revelation.

“No one is quitting,” Yunjin groans, massaging her temples. “I gathered all of you to fix this fucking mess.” 

“I am sorry, I am not even a lead, and I don't really understand what I am doing here when I could be working,” Chan makes an attempt to leave but as he stands up, Yunjin is already there, finger pointing at him aggressively.

“Because, Chan , if our game massively gets canceled you won't have anything to work with to begin with.”

“We are already on massive decline, dude,” Changbin agrees, giving Yunjin a node. 

“This is stupid,” Minho says, hands grasping his knees. “Should I, like, post a proof of me kissing boys in my free time? Haven't they seen my instagram?” 

“Yeah, it's just cats and cooking. Super gay if you ask me,” Seungmin shrugs. 

Everything becomes muted suddenly, blending into a one blurry picture as Chan fixates on Minho's face. “You’re gay?” He blurts out, tilting his head to look at him.

Changbin beside him chokes on air again and he can practically hear Seungmin's eye roll behind him.

Yunjin sighs audibly. “See? This is a reaction that we try to avoid here.”

“What? No!” Chan yelps, feeling his face heating up as Minho looks at him curiously.  “I am bi.” 

“Half of this company is. You’re not special, dude,” Hyunjin chimes in. 

“Can we move back to the topic?” Jisung asks, still looking vaguely embarrassed.

“I can do a video,” Minho says. His stance is still calm and crisp as he talks.

“So, like, coming out?” Chan asks, eyes still glued to Minho's figure.

Their eyes meet, and another stream of current makes its way up to Chan's cheeks and ears. 

“I am not that discreet about it, Chan,” Minho replies. Chan might be imagining but it feels like his voice drops a little lower as he speaks.

“The more genuine, the better,” Yunjin steps in between them, breaking the contact. Chan exhales in relief. “So, Jisung – draft and issue an apology. Minho, we need to film that video today, and I will ask some of you to volunteer for help.” 

“As head of PR–” 

“You should shut the fuck up.” Changbin groans, nudging Jisung with his shoulder. “I think that was enough damage.” 

Jisung squints at him. “Accident, Changbin. Accident .” 

“I want Chan,” Minho announces.

It's like thunder striking over the room – the silence after is almost deafening in Chan's ears. He hears nothing but his own thumping heart and Changbin's silent laughter as his body shakes, and wishes for earth to just swallow him right there.

His eyes are boring into the patterns on the floor as he speaks. “Huh?” 

“For help. A volunteer,” he hears Minho saying. His voice is coaxing his ears, all smooth and gentle and– 

“I really don't know how I can help,” Chan bites back, harsher than intended. 

Minho chuckles. “We can figure something out, can't we?” 

Chan shrugs, face still unbearably hot. “I guess.” 

“I'll help, too. Since it directly affects our monetization and profit, it's fair that I am involved,” Changbin says, hand clasping over Chan's shoulder.

He hates him. So fucking much.

“Great!” Yunjin claps, turning on her hills. “I want the video approved by me and posted today. The headquarters are already on my ass.” 

“We'll figure this out, don't worry,” Minho yells after her, but she is already out of the room. “Both of you – my office in five.” He gestures with his fingers back and forth and walks away.

Chan startles as two hands land on his shoulders from behind. 

“Shut up,” Chan hisses back as he walks forward. Changbin trails behind, hands still gripping tightly onto him.

“You don't even know what I was gonna say,” Changbin chuckles. “But if the shoe fits–”

“I said shut up .” Chan throws off his hands, picking up the pace. “It was your idea, in the first place.” 

Changbin looks rather perplexed, trying to figure out what exactly was his idea, but Chan thinks it's a good enough punishment.

“Why is this one so grumpy again?” Minho asks as both of them enter the room. 

Chan purposely keeps his eyes on the floor. He really doesn't want to deal with this right now. Or ever. 

“It's one whole hour of him not working, so I think he is probably close to collapsing now,” Changbin scoffs. 

Chan watches as he grabs the tripod and starts fiddling with it, Minho shoving some of the parts right into his hands. “Betrayal,” Chan groans. Perhaps, a little over-dramatically as it erupts a laugh from Minho.

The corner of Chan's mouth twitches. “It's just absurd. Didn’t even know that people have to actually deal with something like this,” he says. 

“You haven't been there when Jisung called someone a nazi,” Minho scoffs. He is busy setting up the camera, not really looking at Chan, and at first he thinks that this might be – has to be – a joke, right?

Right ?

“Huh?” Chan feels his eyes bugging out as the incomprehensible sound comes out from his throat.

“Long story,” Minho laughs. He throws Chan a quick glance over his shoulder, obviously entertained by his predicament. “But, I think, at some point the headquarters were more afraid of offending them.”

“No fucking way,” Chan mumbles. 

He knew rather well what he was getting into while committing to the gaming industry, and heard of enough scandalous headlines to understand the level of fucked up that some companies reached, but it never occurred to him that, at some point, he might be caught in the midst of it as well.

Suddenly, Minho's position doesn't seem as chill and untroubling as he initially thought. 

“So, honestly? This is refreshing,” Minho continues, in a light-hearted manner. As if it is nothing new. 

“I doubt you'd want to pretend to be a nazi,” Chan tries to joke it off with a shrug.

Minho's head immediately jerks up. “Was this a joke, Bang Chan? Is this what a promise of a beer does to a dude?” 

Changbin squints, looking in-between them. “So you two really are hanging out, huh,” he mumbles, but it is loud enough for both Minho and Chan to hear.

Chan's face instantly feels hot all over as he clears his throat. 

Minho, on the other hand, looks fully unbothered (but then, again, does he ever?). “Don't worry, I will return him. Eventually,” he says cheekily, giving Chan a wink.

This is the worst day of his fucking life. And the most pathetic thing about it is that the person he likes and his best friend have to witness it too now.

Chan winces internally. The person he likes. Simply great. 

Fun-fucking-tastic.

“Nah, it's fine. Keep him,” Changbin laughs. Being the traitor that he is.

“Hey!” Chan yells, covering his cheeks in futile attempts of covering his blush. Which is not very helpful, considering how it already spread out down to his neck.

Minho chuckles. “Nothing gayer than two guys fighting over you, isn't it?”

“I am leaving,” Chan groans, making a great point by not getting up from his place at all. 

“You have been working for, what–” Minho looks down at his ridiculously expensive watch – seriously, do people their age still buy those? “Ten hours already?” He asks, arching an eyebrow. “Sit and enjoy the show. I rarely let people watch me at the lowest points of my life and it's good blackmail material.”

“This is what it's all about?” Chan stammers. Something annoyingly warm cradles right inside of his chest. It's almost painful.

“Blackmail? Well, you need to have some kind of power over me.” 

“Me working a lot.” 

Changbin sighs, shaking his head. Minho clicks with his tongue, giving Chan a look that says ‘are you for real?’ 

“You might be scaring a lot of people by these self-neglecting tendencies. And by scaring I mean, we are very worried.” 

Changbin beside him nods, uncharacteristically quiet.

Chan squints at him. “You were onto this.”

“Not really. But Minho is right,” he deadpans.

“Thank you,” Minho hums appreciatively.

The thought of them casually discussing him like they do with lunch options every day makes him sick to the stomach.

Hey, do you want noodles or salad for lunch?

Salad, please. Also, have you noticed that Chan from R&D is a fucking psycho? 

“I don't like this friendship,” Chan grumbles, crossing arms over his chest. So they know it's not something that they can just hold against him.

They don't hold it against him when Chan doesn't pay attention as they write a script for the video. They don't hold it against him when the filming starts, and Chan feels as he starts dozing off in that same damned chair. They don't hold it against him when Chan takes a full-on nap in Minho's office, no one even thinking of waking him up for the nearest hour.

And when Yunjin thanks him for taking the initiative for the video, Minho calmly explains how they, in fact, just make a really good team.

✾

Chan stares.

PARTICIPANT is glaring almost mockingly at him on his stupid plastic badge, and it shouldn't mean anything.

It shouldn't, it shouldn't, it shouldn't .

Yet, here he is, completely frozen, with Minho hovering over him nearby to strengthen the blow.

“You okay?” He asks carefully, as he leans over Chan's shoulder. Probably doesn't understand why this stupid participant pass is making him combust on the inside.

“Yeah. It's cool,” Chan croaks, hands shaking as he grips on the edges of the badge almost painfully. “Amazing.” 

“You don't sound amazing,” Minho says. His voice is soft and suddenly Chan is very aware of the proximity and everything feels just a little too much.

“It's stupid,” he mumbles. “I just– The first time I got to be here I almost had to sell my kidney because the tickets were so expensive. And people barely talked to me, because I was just a junior with a lot of ideas and now I am–” he sucks in a breath shakily. “This?” 

When Chan looks up, Minho's laughing face is in front of him, almost intruding in that little amount of personal space that he had.

“First of all, I don't understand why you are so surprised. You do know that you're, like, a big thing now?” He asks, taking the pass from Chan's hands. The touch is fleeting, and it takes a lot of will power for Chan not to tug Minho's hand back. “I actually am afraid that today someone will snatch you away from us with double the amount we can pay you.” 

“You're kidding,” Chan mumbles. His body shivers from the sweat rolling down his neck, as Minho stretches out the lace on the badge, and puts it over Chan's head.

“Not in the slightest. Maybe if you checked your email,” Minho winks, with hands still resting on Chan's shoulders. “Let's go. I have networking to do.”

With the last squeeze to Chan's arm, he tugs him forward, entering through the glass doors of the pompously huge pavilion.

Chan's mood deflates progressively the moment they step inside the big hall. Minho almost instantly leaves – and, honestly, not like Chan expected for it to be a date, or even a proper hang out between friends. It is a work thing, and Minho conveniently decided to tag him along for unknown reasons. And, still, the moment he is left alone, Chan feels a sour taste in his mouth and a sudden indulgence to chug a shot of the most disgusting flavored vodka down his throat.

“Hey, you're Bang Chan, right?” 

The voice is high, and pitchy, and startles him from the back, making him jolt.

“Yeah, hi,” he says, turning around. In front of him is a woman, looking at him with an enthusiastic smile as she clutches a stack of papers and flyers in her hands. “Do I know you?”

“Probably not. I am Bora. From Odd Eye?” She offers, stretching out her hand.

“That horror game, right!” Chan exclaims. They shake hands with a laugh, and Chan is thankful to her for smoothing over the looming awkwardness.

“That's us– uhm.” Bora snatches her hand away when it stays in Chan's grip for too long. “Really nice to meet you. I am a big fan.”

Chan gapes. “What.” 

“Silent Cry, right? You're co-creative?” 

“Just main dev, actually.” Chan winces. 

“Man, you're amazing!” Bora exclaims, visibly not very bothered by Chan's lack of seniority. “Sorry if I am coming on strong, I swear I am not harassing you. Just, my girlfriend and I were really inspired by you when we just started with Odd Eye and a lot of your game mechanics are so fucking cool.” 

“It's really not a big deal,” Chan tries to reassure, mastering a smile. “Your game is, like, another level.”

“I am glad you like it!” Bora grins widely. “We are barely seven people now, so it's kinda tough, but the feedback is a little overwhelming so far,” she shrugs. “It means a lot coming from you.” 

“I am really not that good,” Chan says, feeling his cheeks flush. “But, you know, if anything, hit me up?” He reaches into his pocket for a pen, and starts writing his number on one of the papers in Bora's hands. “I can at least promote you on socials or something.” 

“That would be awesome, dude,” Bora says in awe, staring at Chan’s scribbling at the top. He even made sure to draw a little worm. “Gotta go, it was really fucking cool to meet you, Chan.” 

And once it starts, it kind of never ends.

Chan doesn't know how many people approach him at that point – men, women, children, creatives, developers – all kinds of them. Some just are nice, like Bora, gushing about Silent Cry as if it is the best game in the whole existence. Some, apparently, have heard about him and ask if he is up to try their demo (which, he is tired of explaining that he is definitely not a VC and yet, they still insist). And, as Minho predicted, some of them are very eager to get him to join their company for astonishingly twice the pay he gets now. Which he kindly declines, with a screeching heart.

Because, reasons.

Because, he really is not looking for a new job.

Because, Minho's eyes are bright, and pretty, and he likes his voice, and talking to him, and makes him play games whenever his code does not work.

Maybe he does need that shot of vodka after all.

Just as he tries to raid the place for a possible existence of the bar, someone grabs him by the elbow and tugs.

“Fuck,” Chan yelps. 

“Sorry,” Minho whispers right in his ear, trailing behind. His body is pressed close, and it burns right through all the layers of closing. “Had to wait out till you're alone. They wouldn't let me through.” 

“I am so confused,” Chan whispers back. They both walk forward in small steps, Minho practically propelling him from behind.

Maybe it's good he doesn't see his face at that moment. Chan is sure he looks like a goddamn tomato.

“Told you, you're a big thing now,” he hears Minho chuckle. It sends shivers down his spine. “Tired?”

“A little. All of this attention is indeed ego-boosting, but I feel drenched.”

“Still up for that beer?” Minho asks, suddenly serious.

Chan holds his breath for a few seconds. Breathes out slowly. He can almost see this – a point of no return, glowing an alarming color of red in front of his eyes. Once he crosses that line, he is not sure there will be a way back.

Honestly, he is not sure there still is.

“Yeah, sure,” Chan says, trying to keep his voice even. It comes out strained.

When he turns around, Minho is smiling wide. “Parking's downstairs.” 

✾

Minho's car is rather spacious, to Chan's surprise. Not like he himself is a big guy, but it's nice not to have to fold his legs too much, or stiffen his arms unnaturally. 

“So, any interesting offers today?” Minho asks. His eyes are fixated on the road, throwing short glances to the navigation system. 

Chan tries not to look too much. Really tries. But focused Minho is not only attractively confident, but is also wearing those cute, comically big glasses that make him look adorable as well.

“There was one,” Chan replies. He sees as Minho tenses up at the words, hand gripping on the wheel much tighter.

There is a hope – it's faint, and barely flickering, and Chan is way too oblivious to know that it's there, and yet. 

Maybe, Minho is scared of the same thing.

“You heard of Odd Eye?” Chan asks, and watches as Minho's body goes limp again.

“That fantasy horror rogue?” 

“Yeah. One of the devs, Bora, came up to me today. She is really sweet. Said our game really inspired her and her team.” 

“Your game, you mean,” Minho huffs.

Chan smiles to himself. “As much mine as it yours.” 

“Using my own words against me.” Minho clicks with his tongue. “I am just the guy with ideas and wishful coding.” 

“Wishful coding?” 

“You know, when you really want to have a thing in the game so you just write whatever you assume should work, and then you break the system and your lead dev has to fix everything.” They stop at a crossroad, and Minho throws him a quick glance as he smirks. “Definitely didn't happen.” 

“You’re ridiculous,” Chan laughs.

“That's why they keep me around.”

Chan's chest bubbles with the silent laughter again as he leans back in his seat. The city lights glow vibrantly through the window, lulling himself to sleep. He is not sure if the ride to Minho’s place is supposed to be long, but his head is already feeling mushy and fuzzy every time he blinks. All he knows is that he shouldn't sleep.

Can't sleep. He wants to salvage this moment, this sudden feeling of intimacy and comfort while having Minho around.

Fucking hell. Just three weeks ago he was sure he hated that guy's guts and now he is swooning over his crush like a teenager in love.

“Can I ask you something?” Chan asks. His voice is a little muffled by an overly upbeat song coming from the speakers.

“Shoot,” Miho replies, turning down the volume. Now the music feels much softer, just a mere background noise.

“Why did you ask Yunjin to proceed with me after that interview?”  

Minho's face twitches in surprise for a second. “Oh. Wow,” he huffs, blinking rapidly. “Just went in there, didn’t you?” 

“No– I mean.” Chan clears his throat awkwardly. “You said it yourself, you always thought I hated you. And I was awful to you that day. Yunjin said that she just needed someone to challenge you, or whatever.” He feels a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “But you could have easily vetoed her choice. I saw you doing it before.”

Minho is quiet for about five minutes – Chan counts. It is long enough to think that maybe, it wasn't the best thing to ask, or discuss. Especially considering how whatever is going on between them is still a fragile little thing. 

When Minho does speak, though, it's rather unexpected. “Do you remember Sungji?” 

Chan furrows. “That guy from our calculus class?” 

“Yeah, that asshole. He kept bugging you about transferring from MIT but ending up having the worst grades that term.” 

“What does this have to do with anything?” Chan asks, still feeling perplexed.

He did remember the guy. If he's honest, everything about that year seemed like an utter disaster. Chan had just moved back from California to help his sister out, while both of them were still trying to deal with the consequences of their parents’ divorce. It took him a long time to adjust to a new place, and, on top of that, he had issues with getting his ADHD medication. Safe to say, his grades during his first year were not the best. 

“It was after the finals. We had that grade appeal session, and he kept arguing over losing points for using a different method than the one we discussed in class.”

“It was something about complex optimization, I think,” Chan mumbles absent-mindedly.

“Probably.” Minho shrugs. “Professor Ahn was furious. Kept threatening him to fail his grade. But didn't because of you.” 

Chan remembers that, too. Remembers taking out his phone, and recording the conversation. Remembers going to the dean, and getting the guy transferred from the department.

“You'd do it, too,” Chan says. 

“No, I wouldn't. I honestly think that it would be fair, considering how he was such an ass to you. But you helped him.” 

Chan feels his heart rate picking up. “I still don't understand.” 

Minho's fingers thrum against the wheel. It's a soothing sight, something about it making Chan a little overfixated. 

“I admired you,” Minho says at last, voice not louder than a whisper.

Chan's heart drops. He practically feels it falling through his guts and down to his feet. “What?”

Minho fidgets with his lower lip. The look in his eyes seems more distracted than it was before, but, at the same time, there is something downright dreamy about his expressions as he speaks. 

“It’s cool to be smart, or strong, or have innate abilities to calculate things like a machine. But it takes guts to be that kind even to people who, honestly, don't deserve that in slightest.” 

Chan sits there, feeling fully dumbstruck. He doesn't know what– or how – to reply to this, to even react to something like this. The words are blunt, and straightforward, and yet carry such admiration and sweetness in them that it makes Chan feel like he is exploding. Little particles of him breaking apart and smothering over the universe and out of his body.

“So what you say I was the worst,” is what he says. He doesn't really recognize his own voice – he has it that bad. 

“I am saying that I wanted to be like you,” Minho admits. He smiles, but it doesn't fully reach his eyes. Not yet. “And even though you didn't like me, I wanted to keep you close. You were making me a better person, Chan.”

Chan shakes his head. “I was awful to you–”

“And yet, you never did anything behind my back. We were screaming, and yelling, and arguing, for sure, but you always had guts to do that to my face. I'd rather have that.” 

Chan wants to say something. Something stupid like, I was not even sure you knew about my existence . Or, You were so much better than me that I started suffocating at some point . 

But nothing comes out. The sight is pathetic as he sits there, opening and closing his mouth like a fish deprived of water.

“We're here, I think.” Minho interrupts his internal turmoil as the car comes to a stop. It's too dark to see anything outside of the window, but Chan is already getting himself outside, desperately needing air.

Or a drink. One of those, for sure.

He hears Minho blabbering something about beer as he leads the way, but Chan’s thoughts are far, far away from him. They curl helplessly around the words I wanted to be like you, clutching on it like a goddamn lifeline. 

This was going to be a very long night.

✾

“This is… definitely a place,” Chan mutters under his breath. 

Minho's home is posh . And it is not as much about expensive things, as it is about all the space . It seems like the room stretches out way beyond Chan's vision, making it look huge.

“I like having space,” Minho says. He stops in the middle of the room, hands on his hips as a true house owner. “Pun not intended.”

Chan furrows, scrunching his nose. “Awful.”

“Not like anything prevents you from having the same. I saw your paychecks.” Minho gives him a knowing look. 

“A romantic.” Chan rolls his eyes, but smiles. “I do have. Space, I mean. I just live with my sister, so that doesn't leave much freedom to it.”

Minho hums, making his way to the kitchen. It's an open plan situation, so Chan can still trace all of his movements all across the living room. He does follow suit shortly after.

“What is she like?” Minho asks, opening the fridge. Chan hears the sound of glass clicking against each other as the two bottles of beer are put in front of him.

“Really different from me. She's more into arts, and stuff. Don't think parents are very fond of that,” Chan replies sheepishly. “A little pain in the ass, too. You know how younger siblings are sometimes.”

“I really don't,” Minho laughs.

Chan may be a genius, and yet the thought of people just not having siblings does not occur to him. So he stares. In confusion.

The corner of Minho's lips twitches. “I am an only child,” he deadpans.

“Oh.” Chan gulps, hands grasping on the cold beer in his hand. “That explains a lot, actually.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“Can mean something good for sure,” Chan suggests, taking a big gulp.

Minho takes one, too. “Asshole,” he scoffs.

The moment feels cozy. Chan is grateful, to some extent, that all of the intensity and heaviness of the atmosphere during their ride is gone now, replaced by something softer. Gentler. Not as fragile.

“I dunno, it's weird to explain. I am so used to having people around me that sometimes I feel like I will go insane if it gets quiet around me for too long,” Chan says. There is a sudden need to explain something. To just talk about anything and nothing at the same time. “Not sure if that's growing up with siblings or ADHD, though.”

“Figures,” Minho replies. He looks relaxed as well, with his eyes lidded almost close, and yet the fidgeting movement in his fingers adds on a bit of uneasiness. 

“So– uhm. We can, like, watch something? Or just chill and talk. Or maybe you wanna play?” Minho asks, leaning in over the counter. With a delay caused by the sudden proximity, Chan realizes that he is pointing to the Sony Station in the living room.

Playing is good. It is a safe territory with an expected outcome. Chan can work with that.  “I still need to beat your ass,” he says teasingly.

“We're on the same team, dumbass,” Minho grumbles, lightheartedly.

“It's like you made that game or something.” Chan bats his eyelashes innocently at him. 

They don't play much in the end. One pause in-between the games results in them just talking for hours, without much of a filter. Chan practically becomes one with the couch, feeling at that foreign place way too comfortable.

And Minho mostly listens, which is weird. Chan is quite aware that he starts rambling, at some point, getting overly excited to talk about all the unrealised ideas that sit in his head, but Minho doesn't seem to mind, asking questions every so often. 

“I also want, at some point, to like– make people build their own space ships?” Chan goes on, twisting the remote in his hand absent-mindedly.

“Like with weapons in Fallout?” Minho asks, leaning over the edge of the couch. They are sitting not very close, but they legs are not far enough not to touch, and it sends soft tingles all over Chan's body.

“Yeah, but not just improve it, actually build it. Collect the scrapes, make your own blueprints. In simplified form, of course but,” he shrugs. “Too complex, isn't it.”

“No, I like it. Definitely something I would enjoy. Don't think Jinyoung does, though.” Minho throws back his head and laughs. He didn't drink more than one bottle of beer, and yet, his cheeks are deliciously flushed in pink, and his eyes look just a tiny bit glassy, glistering under the yellowish light. 

“What does he even like,” Chan says, still staring at Minho shamelessly. He can't do anything about it, really. His eyes physically feel glued to one place.

“Plain and simple,” Minho says, mimicking Jinyoung's cranky voice almost perfectly.

Chan has to admit, he is a little tipsy. Tipsy enough to think about something utterly stupid – like kissing living daylights out of Minho. 

“Do you ever think of leaving?” Minho asks, looking at him.

Chan stumbles. Blinks through a few times. “Huh?” 

“Like–” He gestures with his hands aimlessly. “I dunno. Making your own company. Doing whatever the hell you want.” 

“It's hard, when you're on your own. You don't really have a sense of direction, or help, and it's overwhelming. That's why I moved to corporate.” 

Minho grins. “I remember the Maze. It was a neat game.”

“The code was shit, though,” Chan says in all seriousness, making a futile attempt of not laughing with his mouth already twitching.

“Will you ever drop this?” Minho groans, hiding his face in his hands.

“Maybe you should think more before talking. That's a good habit,” Chan points out. It feels odd but nice – finally not being so bitter about it.

“I panicked, okay.” Minho adjusts his position a little, straightening his back against the couch. “You were this cool guy, with his own game barely into our second year, and I just wanted to make an impression.”

Chan ignores the swarm of butterflies in his gut. He thinks they made a whole-ass nest in there, at this point. “Dude, just learn how to flirt!”

“Well, I did get you into my house in the end, didn't I?” Minho grins, just before finishing his beer in one gulp. He is holding Chan's gaze the whole time.

Chan's throat goes dry. “This is not even a date,” he croaks. The air fizzles with the tension, suddenly so overwhelming that Chan is not sure what he wants more: run away or surge in to feel Minho all over his fingertips.

God, he is not even that drunk.

Minho looks at him intently. Chews on his bottom lip. Traces Chan’s figure up and down. “D'you want it to be?” 

Chan sucks in a breath sharply. 

He's dead. Like, officially now. Maybe it's time to call Changbin and ask to dig him a grave.

“No?” He manages to squeeze out, looking everywhere but at Minho. He grabs his beer somewhere from the floor. It's basically empty, note more than two drops left and yet he brings it to the lips and throws his head far back in an attempt to get the last bits.

Probably looks like an idiot in the process, too.

“A shame. That would be a killer one,” Minho says. It’s almost disturbing how unbothered he sounds.

“You’re drunk,” Chan replies. Knows for sure that none of them are that fucked up from one beer.

“I am sober enough,” Minho confirms.

See, this is the place where Chan owns his shit up, and actually does something . Confesses, maybe, or initiates the contact – kisses the guy he really likes, for fuck's sake.

But Chan is a coward, and instead, all he does is look for distractions. He unlocks his phone a few times, pressing the button obsessively, until he hazily notices that it's way past midnight.

“Shit. I have to go,” Chan mutters, jolting up from his place. 

“You need a ride back? I kinda promised.” Minho winces apologetically, looking at the bottle in his hand. Chan also thinks he looks disappointed, but has no strength to deal with this now.

“It's fine, I'll get a cab,” Chan says, looking for a taxi app on his phone. The typing in of the address is almost automatic, and he is done with confirming the order quickly. The app says his driver will be there in eight minutes. “Uhm, he'll be there soon. I will just–”

Eight minutes is plenty, actually. Chan just doesn't think he can bear to be in this proximity to Minho. Or, rather, bear being without it.

“Yeah.” Minho nods, standing up.

Chan turns back on his feet, going straight for the door. Feels Minho’s presence looming over from behind. Turns back around as he grabs on the door handle because he feels like a shitty guest.

“Chan?” Minho calls, and their eyes meet. It is a strange look on Minho, both scared and hopeful as he searches through Chan's face frantically. “This was nice,” he says, barely whispering.

This was great, Chan wants to say.

I really like you, Chan wants to scream.

In the end, he gives Minho a last short smile, seeing himself out of the door.

✾

The outside is cold. The freeze is biting as Chan leans back from the other side of the door, slowly sliding down. He glances at his phone shortly.

Six minutes.

Rubs his already frozen hands all over his face, feeling the heat on his cheeks.

Five minutes.

Thinks of Minho grabbing his wrist, guiding him out of the room full of people oh so softly. With care.

Four minutes.

Oh, to fucking hell with that.

✾

It's three minutes till his ride arrives when Chan is banging on Minho's door with a full force.

He doesn't wait long for it to open, Minho’s confused face peeking from the inside. His hair already looks disheveled, and soft, and everything about him is perfect at that moment. 

“Wh–” Minho starts, but his voice comes to a halt as Chan puts his hands on his chest, and pushes him back inside.

Two minutes.

Chan's hands go up his neck, cupping his face with both of his palms. They both are breathing heavily as they look at each other, and then they are kissing.

Chan surges in, not more than a firm press of lips at first. In his head, he plans for it to be gentle, soft, and very much romantic, but when Minho starts opening his mouth against his, Chan, quite literally loses it.

It's messy, and heated, and more of just tongues and teeth desperately clanking against each other.

One minute.

Chan is still grasping Minho's face tightly, as if it will make it feel more real. As if anything could. Minho grabs onto his waist desperately in retort, clashing their chests together as he licks into Chan's mouth, biting down on his lower lip. Chan gasps softly.

Thirty seconds . Chan's phone rings.

“Now I really gotta go,” Chan says, pulling away. Their faces are still close, a few inches apart, and the words are said right into Minho's mouth, each other's breath still hot on their lips.

Minho closes his eyes. Bumps their foreheads together, hands going up and down Chan's sides frantically. “I'll see you tomorrow?” 

“Yeah,” Chan says, peeling his hands away from Minho's face. Minho lets go of Chan's waist reluctantly in return. 

Chan wishes he would hold onto it forever.

✾

Tomorrow doesn't come fast enough. Even if it's barely six hours away.

Chan is at the office at around seven. He ignores all the conflicted stares – he doesn't usually appear at work at any point before eleven. No one is sure if Chan even knows what seven a.m. is.

But, Minho does. And comes in very early. And that means Chan has to be there too.

“I don't really know how to do this,” Chan says right from the get go, as he barges in into Minho's office.

Barging into Minho's space becomes his overall habit, it seems.

“Good morning to you, too,” Minho says, looking up. He doesn't look much better than Chan – with bags under his eyes, tiredness in his face. “I see you slept well.”

There is a smile on his lips. It is delightful, and warm, and finally reaches his eyes as he speaks. He looks happy.

Here goes nothing, he thinks. “I like you. So much. A lot. An embarrassing amount, actually.” Chan scratches the back of his head, looking down sheepishly. Not exactly how he imagined the perfect confession of an undying love. “And, honestly, I am shitless scared. Because you're you . Because I am weird. Because we work together. And god knows what else. And–”

“Okay. Stop,” Minho interrupts him, getting up from his place. Chan faintly realizes that he is still standing still, like a statue, in the far corner of the room.

Minho reaches him in three wide steps. Cups Chan's face with both hands. It's warm, and he wonders if his own hands felt as pleasant on Minho's skin yesterday. “Breathe in. And out,” he instructs, taking a big breath simultaneously with Chan. They both exhale slowly.

“I am in love with you,” Minho says. It's earnest, and he is still cupping Chan's face, and he looks at him longingly, rubbing soothing circles all over his cheeks.

It's way too much. Chan is exploding. His whole being is reduced to useless atoms.

“You’re not helping here, buddy,” he croaks, closing his eyes shut. His breathing becomes ragged again.

“Have been since like, forever. If that was not obvious enough. And I am just me. And you're not weird. You're smart, and kind, and stupidly selfless, and probably the prettiest boy I have ever seen in my life.” 

Chan lets out a strangled sound – something utterly pathetic, between groan and whine. “You make it sound very easy,” he whispers.

“Because it is,” Minho says softly. Grins at him. “I know you like to overthink everything. And it's okay, if you want. Just, let me in there, from time to time, okay?” He detaches one of his hands to tap his forefinger against Chan's forehead gently.

“Okay.” Chan nods, and smiles back.

Minho inches closer, placing a kiss to his lips. It's what Chan intended for it to be yesterday – all soft, and chaste, and sweet, and perfect. As it's supposed to be.

“Hey, Minho, I–” He hears Yunjin walking into a room. Then hears a yelp. “Oh my god. I am sorry!”

Chan tries to care. Throws her a look. She holds out her palm over her eyes comically.

Chan and Minho both laugh as she attempts to leave again.

“You do understand we need to talk about it, right? Unless one of you is leaving,” she says, going right back.

“No one is leaving, Yunjin.” Minho rolls his eyes, but smiles. “Let's just overrun Jinyoung,” he says, looking back at Chan.

They are still so close, and their arms and hands are all tangled, and honestly, Chan doesn't even have it in him to be embarrassed.

“Now that's evil,” he scoffs. 

“It's our game anyway. He can't code for shit.”

Chan gives him a look. “That sounds like a familiar pick-up line.”

“Shut up,” Minho mumbles. 

They are kissing again, and it's as if Chan can breathe again. As if the world is making sense again, suddenly becoming much sharper and clearer.

“Don't fuck in the office you guys!” Yunjin yells over, and they both break into giggles, still clutching desperately onto each other.

It almost feels like a new home.