Work Text:
They’re getting ready to head to another pojangmacha for the third round when Mingyu finally, finally manages to beg off.
There’s a chorus of protests when he gets the words out, but it’s weak. Most of his coworkers are already drunk, and Mingyu was especially good tonight— he took his shots gamely, sang five songs at karaoke, and let his sunbaes tease and give their unsolicited advice in turn.
One of his teammates tries a little harder to get him to stay, but Jeon Wonwoo— a sunbae from college, who recommended Mingyu for the job— steps in.
“Let Mingyu-ssi alone,” Wonwoo says. He still looks put together after five hours of drinking, though he’s taken off his tie and put it away somewhere. “You’ll see him again on Monday, and it’s past last train. I’m going home, too.”
“Eyyy,” says team leader Park. It’s half-hearted; he’s already losing interest. “Where’s your company spirit?”
Wonwoo just snorts, waving him off. It’s another round of good byes, then the two of them start walking.
It’s closer to midnight than morning, but it’s still late— the row of pojangmacha is quieting down, filling up with late shift workers instead of white collar drinking parties. By the end of the third round the sun might already be coming up.
Wonwoo was easy to get along with in university, and he’s easy to get along with now. The mood is comfortable on their way to the bus stop. They converse lightly on the warmer weather, the close of the project that kickstarted the night out in the first place.
The stop is empty except for a plastic cup that someone’s left on one of the benches. Mingyu waits for Wonwoo to sit before he follows suit, flopping down on the metal seat with a groan.
Mingyu’s shoes are killing him, and he’s already sweated through his shirt twice. He folded his suit jacket wrong earlier in the night. He fusses with it now, thinking about the laundry he’ll have to do over the weekend, whether the steamer his mom gifted him can get the creases out.
Wonwoo’s quiet on his phone for a bit, but then he asks, “How are you getting home, Mingyu-yah? Bus? I’m in Chancheong-dong if you want to split a KakaoTaxi.”
This is the kind of easy gallantry that had every member of their university club pining after Wonwoo. Mingyu, too, once upon a time.
“Sorry, hyung,” Mingyu says apologetically. “We’re up near Myongji. I’ll just take the bus. Thanks, though, I appreciate the offer.”
Wonwoo just nods, although his eyebrows raise a little. “Long commute,” he says. “You must get up early.”
“A little bit,” Mingyu laughs. He scratches at the back of his head, sheepish. “But our lease is up next January, so we’ll probably find somewhere closer depending on where Seungkwan gets in.”
“I’ll give you my real estate agent’s contact number,” Wonwoo says. There’s the soft trill of a notification from his phone— the taxi must be on its way. “She had some good suggestions last time I was looking. Affordable, nice neighborhoods.”
“Sure, hyung,” Mingyu says. “That’ll be a lot of help, thanks.” He smiles to show that he means it.
—
It’s a fifteen minute walk from the bus stop up to their apartment. Mingyu takes a little side trip to the nearest CU on the way, letting the bored part-timer watch while he takes his time debating on what yogurt drink to get.
He decides on strawberry and banana, and picks up a little box of fried chicken at the counter, too. It’s the last one on display, still warm.
There’s no elevator at their place. He takes the steps two at a time, up the four flights of stairs before turning left at the hallway. The buttons on their door lock are yellowed with age, but they beep reliably when he keys in the combination.
The light in the little living area is still on when he gets inside. He toes off his shoes, tucks them into the little shoe rack by the door, then calls out, “Seunggan-ah?”
“Eung,” says Seungkwan’s voice.
Mingyu enters the room to find him hunched over their little table, a stack of reviewers and practice applications scattered all over it. There are a couple of beer cans on the floor by his knees, an empty potato chip bag with only crumbs left.
Mingyu places his suit jacket carefully over the back of a chair, then eases himself down to the floor beside Seungkwan. He puts his hand out to brush his thumb against the soft part of Seungkwan’s cheek; Seungkwan leans into it absently, still frowning at the pages in front of him.
“Hi,” Mingyu says. “Still studying?”
“Mmm.” Seungkwan looks up then and allows Mingyu to give him a little peck on the lips. He sighs. “I just started. I fell asleep after dinner.”
Seungkwan looks like it— soft and sleepy, in an old university shirt with the collar warped. There are marks on his cheek from the pillow or the sheets, still fading, and his hair is fluffed up on one side.
“You were probably tired,” Mingyu says. He was out this morning before Seungkwan got up. He wants to hug him; he feels his arms ache with the phantom pain of it, the way his body misses the weight of Seungkwan’s body.
But he hasn’t washed up after work yet. He probably still stinks of sweat. So instead, he busies his hands with cleaning up and places his little gifts on the table— the yogurt drinks, sweating condensation already, and the box of chicken.
“Whoah, Kim Mingyu.” Seungkwan smiles big, unguarded joy. Mingyu feels his own grin open up on his face. “You shouldn’t have! We still have the leftovers from yesterday.”
“It’s Friday,” Mingyu says, pitching his voice low like it’s their secret. “You worked hard this week.” He taps the empty cans. The aluminum rattles. “Should I have bought more beer?”
“Nah,” Seungkwan says, turning back to his papers. “I just got paid, I can do it tomorrow. How was the dinner?”
Mingyu leans back on his hands, stretching his legs out. Tonight is warm, but it’ll be weeks until they can justify turning on the air conditioning. The standing fan is running instead, a hand-me-down from one of Seungkwan’s older sisters’ moves.
“It was okay,” Mingyu says. He looks up at the ceiling, watching the old-fashioned, rusty chain hanging down from the light fixture swing gently in the breeze. “We drank, we sang karaoke. I think Song-daeri must be dating one of the other senior staff, I don’t know her name though.”
“Oh?” This is interesting to Seungkwan, like Mingyu knew it would be. He knows all the gossip in the neighborhood— perks of ingratiating himself with the little club of ahjummas who do their morning exercises in the park by their apartment building. “A secret office relationship? At your boring job?”
“I said I think,” Mingyu grins. “But I’ll report back if I find out anything more.” Then, cautiously: “How was the interview?”
Seungkwan purses his lips. He’s not looking at Mingyu, still ostensibly focused on the practice application form in front of him, but Mingyu can see the growing frown, the way his face goes still.
Mingyu’s own job search took all of three months and a lucky break— an open position in Wonwoo’s company, a good referral. Seungkwan’s is taking a little longer, but it’s fine. He’s working part time under one of his old professor’s research projects, he’s sending out applications. They have time.
Tomorrow it’ll be the weekend, and with the close of their last project Mingyu won’t have to go in to work. They can do laundry, buy groceries at the supermarket near the bus stop, go for a bike ride. After, Mingyu can help Seungkwan study for the application exams.
For now they can afford to take it easy. Mingyu watches the round back of Seungkwan’s head as he bends over his practice apps, the way he writes his answers down in his neat, careful penmanship.
“You took your umbrella, right?” Mingyu asks. He puts his hand on the back of Seungkwan’s neck, rubbing at the end of his hairline, where his brown hair dye is already growing out. “You always forget it.”
Seungkwan sighs, moving his shoulders dramatically. “Yes, ahjussi, I had my umbrella. I saw you put it on my bag.” Then, fondly, “Nag.”
“You love it,” Mingyu teases, and then because he can’t resist, leans over to kiss Seungkwan’s neck, right over the collar of that old shirt.
—
Monday goes a little worse, but that, too, is fine.
Someone in another department messed up with the data for the next pitch, using the wrong files from a different client. It takes Mingyu’s team three hours of overtime to correct the whole presentation.
Because Mingyu is the youngest and the newest employee, he can’t leave until the rest of his team are done. To their credit, they’re kind about it.
“Oh, Mingyu-ssi, you’re a hard worker,” says one, patting him on the shoulder halfway into their overtime.
“Keep your chin up, Mingyu-ssi,” says another, offering him a mint encouragingly. “This isn’t even the worst of it!”
“Aaargh,” says a third, when they’re nearing nine o’clock. “I’m going to kill you, Lee Minjun!!!”
Mingyu went to university for design and photography, filled with some vague dreams of setting up his own studio one day. Working in a marketing agency isn’t quite what he had in mind, but it pays okay. He’s young; he’ll have time and money to do what he wants to later.
And when he gets home, at least, Seungkwan is there. Sitting again at the small table, flipping through a book full of interview tips, the pages filled with little post-it flags. He’s left dinner on the table for Mingyu, galbi from his sister’s house and banchan from Mingyu’s mom.
“Good work today,” Mingyu says. He has to get up in five hours to make breakfast and get ready for work.
“Good work today,” Seungkwan replies. His interview suit is already hanging up by the window, ready for another round.
They look at each other. They sigh. Then they laugh.
It’s still fun.
—
When Mingyu asked Seungkwan if he wanted to start dating seriously, Seungkwan had thought it was a joke.
The timing maybe hadn’t been the best. Mingyu asked him in the library, during finals week. He was half-crazy with his thesis, and Seungkwan was only midway through a paper that was due in an hour.
They were surrounded by half-drunk cups of coffee. Mingyu hadn’t washed his hair in two days.
Mingyu had said, “Hey, do you want to go steady? With me.”
Seungkwan looked up at him like he’d grown a second head. “Are you crazy,” Seungkwan told him. “If you ask me anything again in the next hour I’ll kill you.”
But after he’d submitted his paper and napped a little on Mingyu’s shoulder he said yes, so it all worked out anyway.
—
Their apartment isn’t the best. It’s not even the best of what they can afford, but it was available when they were looking, so now they’re trying to make the best of it.
During the last winter the water heater broke and took weeks to fix. They’d had to heat their water in the electric kettle and pour it into a big basin in the bathroom, taking turns to run back and forth to the kitchen. Once, the electric door lock had run out of battery, and it was hours until the landlord sent the locksmith to get it sorted out.
But it has its charms. With the days getting longer, the light has started to hit the tiny window in their bedroom in just the right way, making it look dreamlike and cozy instead of small. And it’s close to the river, just a five minute bike ride away, which they both love.
On days like this, though, Mingyu can feel himself losing his mind a little.
He got off work early for once and caught the bus at just the right time to grab a seat. Coupang Eats had a discount voucher for the mul naengmyeon place that they’ve both been obsessed with, and Mingyu picked it up at the restaurant on his way home.
He feels good— great, even, pleased with himself and the world. So when he opens the door to find water spraying everywhere and a bedraggled Seungkwan standing in the middle of the kitchen, it’s a bit of a shock.
“What,” is all Mingyu can say. He puts the takeout down on their tiny dining table, then thinks better of it and moves it further away from the splash zone.
Seungkwan’s holding a bucket up to the kitchen faucet, trying to catch the worst of the spray. His arms are straining with effort.
“It just started doing that,” he says miserably. “Hyung… I don’t know how to turn off the water.”
The water valve is under the sink, inside the cabinets. Mingyu crawls on his hands and knees to get to it and gets his office pants soaked through for his trouble.
It takes another hour for them to mop up all the water and wipe down the kitchen. Seungkwan takes four tries to send their landlord a strongly-worded text, and five more replies before she promises to send over a plumber in the morning.
The mul naengmyeon is all melted, the noodles soggy and fat. It’s still good though, maybe even better now that they’ve gotten a workout against their will. Mingyu’s decided his motto is to always look on the bright side.
After, when they’ve washed up properly and climbed into bed, Seungkwan says quietly, “I couldn’t get any prep done because of the sink.”
Mingyu just strokes his hand up and down his back. Seungkwan’s hair is still a little damp, cool against Mingyu’s shoulder, the underside of his chin.
“When’s your next interview?” Mingyu asks. They’ve left the window open now that it’s warmer, and the electric fan is whirring pleasantly in the background.
“Thursday,” Seungkwan sighs. His nose bumps against Mingyu’s neck. “I’m worried.”
“Eyyy,” says Mingyu. “Don’t be. You’re Boo Seungkwan. It’s just an interview. You’ll knock it out of the park.”
Seungkwan snorts, probably rolls his eyes. Then he says, “I wish we had a nicer place.”
“Any place is nice with you,” Mingyu says honestly, then adds, “Ow,” when Seungkwan pinches the flesh of his side.
“You know what I mean,” says Seungkwan. Mingyu can hear the pout in his voice. “Don’t you want a bigger kitchen? One that doesn’t flood if you turn the faucet on wrong.”
Mingyu’s turn to sigh. He pulls Seungkwan closer and squeezes him, kicking his feet out from under the sheets. The soft parts of Seungkwan give pleasantly under Mingyu’s hands, so he squeezes him again. “Of course,” he says. “But we’ll get there. This is just our character-building arc.”
“I don’t wanna build my character.” It’s dangerously close to a whine. “It’s just taking so long. Hyung, I’ll get a job soon and—”
Mingyu frees a hand to tilt Seungkwan’s chin up. He kisses him, smacking their lips together like in a cartoon. Seungkwan makes a face and wipes at his mouth.
“I know,” he says. He kisses Seungkwan again, gentler this time. “But it’s nice, right? Playing house like this.”
Seungkwan just says, “You’re so weird.” But he trembles in Mingyu’s arms when he pulls him closer, and opens his mouth up for another kiss.
—
Thursday’s interview is a bust.
Seungkwan gets back home late, even later than Mingyu. Mingyu’s already washed up by the time Seungkwan keys himself in and is watching a drama on his laptop with the volume down low.
It takes a while for Seungkwan to get to him. Mingyu can hear the clatter of him kicking off his shoes, the soft clunk of his little foldable umbrella hitting the ground.
The characters move on the screen. Mingyu presses pause and looks at the figures of the actors frozen in time. His ears tingle with the effort of listening for Seungkwan moving around in the darkness.
Finally, Seungkwan enters their little living area. His shoulders look small and thin in his black suit. His tie is a little askew.
Mingyu says, hesitating a little, “You’re home late.”
Seungkwan’s looking at Mingyu’s laptop. His eyes are a little unfocused, half-lidded. He says, “I took a walk.”
Mingyu gets up then and closes the short distance between them. He takes Seungkwan’s hand in his, running his thumb over the cool, slim fingers, the jut of his knuckles.
“I’ll heat up dinner for you,” he tells him. Then, “The next one will go well.”
Seungkwan’s fingers spasm in Mingyu’s hand. “Yeah,” he says in a measured voice. “The next one will go well.”
—
Overtime at work again. It’s the third time this week, and it looks like they’ll have to come in on Saturday, too. Mingyu’s starting to get sick of it.
The numbers, the decks, the meetings to decide if this slide should go here or if that slide should go there. There’s no time even to have dinner, just short little smoke breaks on the roof of their building. Mingyu needs to wash his face before he gets home; Seungkwan hates the smell of cigarettes.
The hardest work goes to Mingyu because he’s the youngest, but even that takes forever to get to him. His coworkers are starting to get annoying, too. The little niceties, the rules. Lee Jooyeon from the next team never stops talking, even in the middle of data cleanup. It takes everything in Mingyu not to throw his pen at him and tell him to shut up.
Even the bus ride home is miserable. It rained all day, but the air’s turned humid instead of cool. There are no seats despite the late hour, and the handgrip Mingyu’s leaning against is sticky for whatever reason.
Seungkwan texted him that he left his dinner out on the table. Mingyu debates whether it’s worth it to stop by the CU for a beer, but even that idea holds no pleasure. He just wants to get home and shower and sleep. In the morning he’ll have to do this all over again.
The hallway is dark when Mingyu lets himself into the apartment, although Seungkwan’s left the light on in the kitchen at least. Mingyu’s plate is covered with their little plastic net. They leave the windows open now to let the air in; sometimes there are bugs.
There’s no Seungkwan in the dining area. He’s not by the couch, either, though his practice sheets are scattered all over the table.
He’s in the shower— Mingyu can hear the water running. He’s singing.
It must be a Taeyeon song. Seungkwan’s been listening to her new album nonstop this week. He loves to sing her stuff at karaoke, too.
Mingyu’s head is aching from work and not eating. He should heat up his dinner and eat, so by the time Seungkwan gets out it’ll be his turn to shower. He’ll feel better after that.
He doesn’t do any of that, though. He just leans against the wall next to the bathroom door. He puts his work bag down carefully so that it doesn’t make a sound.
Mingyu stretches his shoulders out against the wall. He can feel it press against his back, still tense from the workday. Seungkwan’s voice echoes beautifully against the tile, in Mingyu’s head.
The summer night is warm. The feel of the wall against Mingyu’s back is cool. Mingyu stays like that for a while, just listening, until Seungkwan finishes this song and starts on another.
—
The work doesn’t let up. One day a few weeks later, after another long day of meetings and presentations, Mingyu lets himself in to find Seungkwan crowding him at the door, pushing him back out.
It’s almost immediately apparent why. The inside of their apartment stinks of bug spray. The smell of it is acrid, oppressive; it piles on top of the headache Mingyu’s already got, making it worse.
Seungkwan’s voice is muffled through his mask. He must have put it on to spray around the house. He’s saying, “Sorry, sorry. I was trying to make dinner and then these cockroaches just flew out from behind the refrigerator—”
Mingyu should pay closer attention. He should listen; this could be a funny story later on. It’s easy to imagine their friends cracking up over it, the way Seungkwan’s cheeks and ears will turn red, embarrassed, until he starts laughing himself.
But Mingyu doesn’t want to. He’s tired after a long week. He’s hungry. His head hurts, and now he can’t even walk into his own home because his boyfriend has emptied a can of bug spray all over it.
“I think I got them all, though,” Seungkwan is saying. “But hyung, I’m sorry, can you be the one to throw them out, it’s disgusting, you know I can’t stand them—”
“Yeah, fine,” Mingyu says curtly. He pulls Seungkwan out of the apartment with him and slams the door a little harder than he means to. “Stop apologizing.”
Seungkwan stills, uncertain. He’s still wearing his house slippers, the yellow ones. Mingyu just clucks his tongue and opens the door again, feeling around the shoe rack for Seungkwan’s sandals and throwing the yellow slippers back in once Seungkwan’s changed.
Seungkwan tries again, “I wanted to—”
It’s past nine in the evening. All he had today was some triangle gimbap for lunch. Mingyu’s trying to calculate it, what restaurants will be open, how long the walk will be, the wait.
“I get it,” Mingyu says, then sighs. He runs his hands through his hair roughly. What the hell is he doing?
Seungkwan’s hand goes up to his lips; his old nail-biting habit. Mingyu takes it in his, conscious now of how he looks and sounds, trying to be gentler.
“I get it,” he says again, in a softer voice. He closes his eyes and takes a breath.
It’s not Seungkwan’s fault that he had a long day at work, and it’s not Seungkwan’s fault that there are cockroaches in their shitty little apartment.
Mingyu lets the breath out. He tries for a smile. “Let’s just eat out.”
“I haven’t gotten paid yet,” Seungkwan says quietly. His eyes are large and dark. He’s still wary.
A little ache lances through Mingyu’s heart. He cups Seungkwan’s cheek with his other hand gently. “It’s okay,” he says. “It’s a special occasion. Cockroach Day.”
It’s a stupid little joke, but Seungkwan’s lips quirk. “There’s no such thing.”
“Well,” Mingyu says, shrugging. “Now there is. Didn’t you hear? It was on the news. I heard some guy sprayed his whole apartment and all the cockroaches in the world just seized up and died. Like, every single one of them.”
“Aishh, seriously,” Seungkwan says, but he’s smiling for real now. “It’s not funny.”
The mood is a little lighter when they go out to eat at a chimaek place a few blocks away, but Seungkwan must still be thinking about Mingyu’s mood. He’s on full power tonight, cracking jokes, doing little impressions of the neighborhood ahjummas, the newscasters on TV. He talks the whole way home, while they air out the apartment, and all the way to bed, until he falls asleep immediately, exhausted.
Mingyu throws out the dead little roaches, as promised, and wipes down the kitchen counters and does the dishes. When he climbs into bed after Seungkwan and checks their shared calendar on his phone, he sees it— another group interview scheduled for tomorrow afternoon.
It’s late, and Seungkwan’s already fast asleep. He must have wanted to do some practice questions before bed, but the whole night— Mingyu’s jaw clenches, hard. His hand is gentle when it comes up to brush Seungkwan’s hair away from his face.
The next morning Mingyu wakes up extra early. He makes a good, hearty packed lunch for Seungkwan with what they have left in the fridge. He steam presses Seungkwan’s suit once more for good measure, places his umbrella next to his bag, and puts the little interview book on their bedside table, so that Seungkwan sees it immediately when he wakes up.
Then, after all that, he gets ready to go to work.
—
The new project isn’t going well. The overtime isn’t paying off. They do a test presentation in front of the department leader and Mingyu stumbles over a sentence and gets chewed out for ten minutes.
It rains hard at the bus stop, a brutal summer squall. Despite Mingyu’s best efforts his leather shoes get soaked through; he’ll have to dry them carefully and condition them over the weekend to prevent mold from growing.
When he gets home, Seungkwan’s sitting at the table. His review books are stacked around him, but they’re closed. Mingyu knows immediately something’s wrong.
Seungkwan says, “Dr. Lee didn’t win the grant.” The cadence of his speech is slow, careful, like he practiced it in his head. “She said she won’t be able to take me on for the next research project.”
Mingyu hasn’t shaken out his umbrella properly, but there’ll be time for that later. He leans it against the wall and crosses the hallway to sit at the table. He reaches out to put his hand over Seungkwan’s, but Seungkwan moves his away.
Mingyu tries for gentle, understanding. “That’s okay.”
Seungkwan shakes his head. “It’s not, actually,” he says. He’s trying to keep his face expressionless, but a frown is already starting between his eyebrows. “Hyung, how are we going to pay the bills?”
“I can handle that,” Mingyu says.
“No, you can’t,” Seungkwan counters. He puts his hands together, picking at a hangnail, then at the laminated tabletop. His lips jut out in a pout; it would be cute if he weren’t in such an awful mood.
“I can,” Mingyu insists. “We’ll be fine. I have some savings. If we can’t pay then I can just ask my mom for a loan, she won’t mind.”
Seungkwan makes a face. “No, don’t do that,” he says.
“Seungkwan-ah.” Mingyu tries to keep his voice level, but he’s getting irritated despite himself. “I’m just trying to find solutions. It’s not the end of the world.”
Mingyu knows that Seungkwan feels worse about not having a steady job than he lets on. He could go back to school, get a master’s degree, but he wanted to move out of his sister’s house and be with Mingyu.
He’s put his head down and done the work, doing interview prep nearly every night and sending applications out to wherever is hiring. But it’s just not working out. All Seungkwan’s planning and practicing and little charts and practice forms— he’s made it to the third round of interviews only twice so far, and graduation is looming.
Seungkwan’s not the type to ask for help. Mingyu knows this.
Seungkwan would rather try to make his own way than ask his parents or Mingyu’s parents for a loan. Mingyu also knows this.
But Mingyu’s been working hard, too. It’s hard to stop the unfairness of it all from catching hold in his head. The long hours at work, the hour each way to commute to the office, getting up early to make them breakfast, chores over the weekend—
The kitchen light flickers. It’s about time to change the bulb. Just the thought of it makes a hot wave of irritation surge up through Mingyu’s chest, threatening to spill out of his throat.
“You’re working hard, Seungkwan,” Mingyu tries again. “It’s just not panning out the way we want, but you’ll get a job soon, and this will all get much easier.”
Maybe his tone is wrong, or maybe Seungkwan can sense that his heart really isn’t in it. He rolls his eyes. “Thanks, hyung,” he says.
This isn’t going to be a productive conversation. They’re both not in the mood— they need to cool off, get back to the drawing board later, find solutions together. A hyung would lead the way on this.
Mingyu doesn’t really feel like being a hyung right now.
“You know, you could try being a little happier,” Mingyu says, then abruptly wishes he hadn’t.
“Oh. Right!” Seungkwan isn’t even looking at him anymore. “Be happier. Why didn’t I think of that?”
Mingyu’s hand curls into a fist, then releases. “I’m just saying,” he says stubbornly. “It feels like it sucks now, I get it, but feeling down about it isn’t going to get you anywhere—”
“We shouldn’t have done this,” Seungkwan says.
Mingyu pauses. He knows what Seungkwan means. Seungkwan means, move in together too early when they didn’t have a real fallback plan, but Mingyu’s head won’t listen; it’s telling him something different.
He wants to say, It’s going to get better, but out of his mouth comes, “What do you mean by that?”
“I don’t know,” Seungkwan says.
“Well, you must know, because you said it,” Mingyu points out. “Seungkwan. Tell me what you mean by that.”
Seungkwan throws his hands up in the air. “I don’t know!” he tells him. He’s upset now for real, his face reddening. “Stop making me—”
“I’m not making you do anything,” Mingyu says. “I’ve never made you do anything. You said you wanted to do this, so we looked for an apartment, paid the deposit— Seungkwan, I’m so sorry it’s not the perfect life you thought it was going to be, but that’s just how it is—”
“Don’t raise your voice at me,” Seungkwan says.
“I’m not raising my voice, I’m trying to have a fucking conversation with you,” Mingyu snaps. “What do you want to happen?”
“Why does it matter what I want to happen??” Seungkwan’s hands clench into fists. He pulls them into his lap, under the table. “I don’t know! I can’t even get through second round interviews, hyung. I guess you forgot what it was like because it’s so cushy in the office job that Jeon Wonwoo set up for you but I hate it, I hate getting on the stupid train, I hate studying for the fucking exams they make you do, I hate smiling and waiting for the text that goes, no, sorry, you didn’t get this job that you didn’t even want—”
“Seungkwan,” Mingyu says. The words tumble out of him before he can stop them: “Grow up.”
Seungkwan’s mouth snaps shut.
They look at each other for a long, awful moment. The kitchen light flickers again.
Then Seungkwan’s chair clatters and he’s moving up and away from the table, to their bedroom. Mingyu gets up, but doesn’t follow. His hand clenches on the back of his chair.
“What are you doing,” Mingyu says.
Their apartment is small enough that Mingyu can see Seungkwan moving around in the darkness of their bedroom from where he’s standing. He’s pacing back and forth, from the closet to the bed, throwing his things into a backpack.
“Getting out of your hair.” Seungkwan keeps his back to Mingyu. “What does it look like?”
“Seungkwan.”
The sound of a bag zipping shut. Seungkwan shoves on a jacket and turns around, pushing past Mingyu. He doesn’t meet his eyes.
“Leave me alone,” Seungkwan says. He tosses his bag to the floor, rooting around in the shoe rack for his sneakers. He’s in his house clothes, his big sleep shirt with the bear on it and his shorts, there’s no way— “I can’t even stand to look at you. I’m going to Hansol and Chan’s.”
This is spiraling way out of control, but Mingyu can’t make himself move to stop it. He just says again, “Seungkwan.”
Seungkwan finally whirls around to look him in the eye. His expression is murderous. “Don’t call me,” he tells Mingyu. “Don’t text me. I’m serious.”
“Fine,” Mingyu shoots back.
“I mean it, Kim Mingyu.” Seungkwan turns away again, shoving on his shoes. He doesn’t even have socks on. His ankles look thin and pale.
“I said, fine,” Mingyu says. “Go, then!” The door is wrenched open. “And take your fucking umbrella with you!!”
The slam of the door is the only reply he gets back.
—
Mingyu met Seungkwan at a party. There’s nothing really special about the story.
It was the middle of winter, a get-together for their university club. It snowed all night that night, but slowly, like in the dramas. Mingyu learned later that it was a week after Seungkwan’s birthday, a belated celebration. Yoon Jeonghan was their club president at the time; by then, Seungkwan was already one of his favorites.
This was the semester after Mingyu had just finished his military service. He was still a little shy about his shorn hair, but it was growing back, and so was his confidence. It was funny how hard it was to settle back into being a student— like being a freshman all over again, except you knew everything you didn’t know.
The snow piled in little drifts on the way to the restaurant. It settled on Mingyu’s coat, his beanie; he’d had to swat it off when he entered the building, to stop it from melting into the knit.
Inside the restaurant, the light was warm and golden. It was hazy with the steam coming up from the stone pots bubbling with soup, the smoke from the tabletop grills. Lee Seokmin had spotted Mingyu immediately and waved him over to a free seat at their table.
Seungkwan was at that table. He held court there like a little prince, making jokes and chattering eagerly with everyone who would listen. Maybe Chwe Hansol had been beside him then, or Lee Chan— Seokmin had handed Mingyu drink after drink as soon as he sat down, so a lot of the night was a little fuzzy.
Their introduction was quick, barely memorable. They wouldn’t talk properly until weeks later, during a planning session for the next MT.
Seungkwan laughed with his whole body. Mingyu remembers that clearly. His face scrunched up with the force of his joy, and he leaned into whoever was beside him, clutching at their sleeves, their shoulders.
There was nothing really special about it. Seungkwan wouldn’t be able to remember it even if you asked him. But at the time, Mingyu couldn’t look away.
—
The next day, Mingyu comes home and Seungkwan is there.
He’s sitting at the couch, quiet. The little table they use for that area is folded up and tucked away by their bookshelf. He’s wearing his yellow house slippers.
Mingyu doesn’t live his life afraid. He doesn’t hesitate at the door. He pulls his shoes off carefully, then walks the length of the hallway, past the kitchen table, until he can kneel at Seungkwan’s feet. The plastic bag of takeout rustles in his hand.
“Hey,” he says softly. He holds up the bag, a little offering. “I brought dinner.”
Seungkwan is still for a long, silent minute, and then he sighs. It’s permission.
Mingyu reaches his free hand up to him, then, running his thumb gently over the soft skin under Seungkwan’s eyes. They’re swollen, puffy.
Mingyu says quietly, “Did you cry?” His other hand comes up to cup Seungkwan’s cheek.
“Why do you always ask dumb questions,” Seungkwan mumbles. His breath is cool against Mingyu’s face.
“That’s me, I guess,” Mingyu says. “Your dumb boyfriend.”
The windows are open to let the breeze in. It’s around the time when they should be using the air conditioning more, a muggy, humid summer night. They haven’t, yet, but it’s warm enough that Mingyu might start tonight.
Seungkwan quirks a smile, then sighs again. “Hyung, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I said all those things. I was just— I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”
Mingyu reaches for Seungkwan’s hand. He kisses the back of it, his knuckles, then turns it over to press another kiss in the center of his palm. “I know,” he tells that tender, warm spot. “I’m sorry I told you to grow up. You’re fine, we’re doing fine. I was wrong to yell at you.”
“So you were yelling at me,” Seungkwan says. His eyes narrow. It’s cute.
Mingyu just shrugs. “Heh. Yeah, a little. Sorry.” He leans forward until Seungkwan meets his eyes, then kisses him properly, slow and sweet. He pulls away a little to say, “Poor Seungkwannie.”
Seungkwan pouts, then leans his cheek against Mingyu’s hand. He says in a low voice, “I hate it here. I wish I had a job so we could live somewhere nicer. I wish you didn’t have to get up so early and come home so late.”
“I know,” Mingyu tells him. “Me too.” He kisses him again; he can’t help it. Then he leans back on his heels and makes to get up. “Come on. Let’s eat, and then let’s get out of this place you hate so much.”
Seungkwan says, “You mean, move?”
“Well, yeah,” Mingyu says. He stands, and pulls Seungkwan up with him. “Eventually. But I was thinking a walk, first.”
—
A late August night, sticky with humidity. The air is still, until a breeze comes up off the water to climb onto shore and stir through their hair. It smells vaguely fishy, a little metallic.
Mingyu puts his arm around Seungkwan’s shoulders. He can feel the heat of Seungkwan’s skin through the fabric of his shirt— Mingyu’s shirt, an old white one that hangs loose off of Seungkwan’s frame.
His senses zero in on where they touch. The shape of Seungkwan’s shoulderblades. The feel of Seungkwan’s body, the lean muscle, the bumps of his vertebrae. Mingyu cups the back of Seungkwan’s neck; it’s warm, slightly tacky with dried sweat.
It’s not too late yet. There are still a few evening joggers, couples out for a stroll by the water. But on this part of the riverbank, it’s just the two of them alone.
Mingyu pulls Seungkwan closer until the heat of their two bodies overlaps, then closer still. He imagines their bones lining up, rib by rib. He imagines his body unfurling like a sheet, or opening up like a home, until he can tuck Seungkwan inside himself and hide him away.
That doesn’t happen.
What happens is they’re still sitting on these concrete steps, facing the river. What happens is it’s still past midnight, and Mingyu has work in the morning. What happens is they’re still two bodies.
Seungkwan’s shoulder digs into Mingyu’s side. Seungkwan’s hair bunches up against the curve of Mingyu’s chin.
Seungkwan sighs. The last of the fight goes out of him, finally. His body sags, held up by Mingyu’s.
“It’s just so hard,” he confesses to Mingyu, to the water. “I didn’t think it was gonna be this hard.”
There’s really nothing to say to that.
Mingyu turns slightly and kisses the back of Seungkwan’s head, then the small, warm, secret spot behind Seungkwan’s ear. It must tickle; Seungkwan trembles a little.
He whispers there, “I think I’ll like you until I die. Literally.”
Seungkwan elbows him in the side. “Yah,” he says. “This hyung. I can’t have a crisis in peace?”
“No,” Mingyu says to the back of his ear. He kisses it again.
“Stop,” Seungkwan tells him. “You’re killing the mood.”
Mingyu puts his hand up to Seungkwan’s face, then turns so he can look him in the eye. He squishes his cheeks. He kisses one cheek, then the other, then Seungkwan’s lips.
“Stop it,” Seungkwan says. His lips puff out a little, like a small, round fish. “Seriously.”
“Okay,” Mingyu lies, and then kisses him again.
Seungkwan laughs, then. The sound of it carries over the water, into the night sky. It makes Mingyu smile.