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Seongmin is always the first one to wake up.
One of the many luxuries of having the single room is being able to savor those first moments awake by himself. The soft beeping of his alarm, his fingers pawing blindly at his phone to turn it off, the crack of his back when he rolls around in bed– all his alone. Seongmin has never had space for himself since he became a trainee, moving from cramped dorm to cramped dorm. He stares blankly at the wall for a few seconds, waiting for his brain to boot up like an old computer.
Today is a rare morning off. In his mind, Seongmin methodically takes stock of everyone in the dorm. It’s much easier now that there’s only four of them since Jay isn’t around. Yedam is probably still sound asleep. Since it’s a Sunday, Taegyun probably didn’t even come home last night.
When he gets up and checks the time on his phone, it’s only nine in the morning. Jongwoo should be awake soon, if he isn’t already. Seongmin pauses with his hand on the door handle, breath hitched in anticipation– but he doesn’t hear a sound.
Seongmin shuffles quietly out of his room, half-expecting Jongwoo to be out there. He’s not. Nobody is. He tries not to be disappointed. Five people is already a lot quieter than what Seongmin was used to– sometimes, this dorm is silent like a lonely castle.
After getting ready, Seongmin heads over to the kitchen. For breakfast, he’ll usually have eggs, hardboiled. He digs through all the leftovers and energy drinks that are stacked on top of each other and finds his carton of eggs. Trying to be discreet, he sets a pot of water on the stove to boil.
Seongmin used to watch his mom clean the house. He watched her every move, fixated on how she scrubbed the sink and vacuumed up the couch with concentrated effort all over her face, copying her with his little hands. He learned every cleaning technique from his mom; but now he understands why she needed to clean.
A way to kill time, to relieve stress, to feel useful. To feel like a person.
Cleaning is discipline. Seongmin takes pride in being the good boy, teacher’s pet, everybody’s favorite; the one that’s responsible and disciplined and sweet. Cleaning is an exorcism. Even after an unsatisfying dance practice session, he could come home and rinse out the sickening feeling in his stomach with the dirty dishes.
He hears a door open. At first, Seongmin isn’t sure if it would be Yedam or Jongwoo but then he hears the footsteps, lumbering and gruff, and he knows it’s Jongwoo who will turn the corner into the kitchen.
“Good morning,” Seongmin says politely, glancing over at him. Jongwoo only has a loose shirt on out of consideration for the members; once or twice, Seongmin caught glimpses of Jongwoo emerging out of his room shirtless, unshaven with shorts slung low on his hips. Seongmin decides he can’t look at Jongwoo this early in the morning.
The two eggs in the pot spin in circles, dancing eagerly around each other.
Jongwoo comes up behind him like a shadow, his left hand landing on Seongmin’s hip, instead of responding. His palm sits there comfortably, fingers creasing Seongmin’s shirt. Seongmin doesn’t move but his knees feel weak. The water is about to roll over to a boil.
This is a game they like to play. They take turns saying things, touching each other, pushing the other to the edge; neither of them ever fall off. Sometimes they have an audience, sometimes not.
“Yedam’s still in his room?” Jongwoo murmurs into Seongmin’s ear. His nose burrows into Seongmin’s hair like it’s a nest. “Our baby’s still asleep?” His breath is hot on Seongmin’s neck, lips hovering just above his skin. Seongmin nails his gaze to the water that’s starting to boil.
Sometimes, he isn’t sure they ever stop playing this game.
“Hmm,” Seongmin says, calm and collected. It’s his turn. “You should go check, honey.” The word honey smears blushing red all over his ears, but it’s out there now, sticky in the air between them.
There’s a pause. For an inhale, Seongmin prepares for the worst. Maybe he can still blame it on sleep or alcohol or a joke even if they’ll both know otherwise. But when he exhales, Seongmin feels Jongwoo’s hand move, down his hip, curving around–
“I’m sure he is,” Jongwoo whispers. He squeezes, fingers pressing down on Seongmin’s black shorts, over his ass. Not too hard, not violent, but firm enough to let Seongmin know he won’t back down. Jongwoo doesn’t lose.
Seongmin makes a sharp and involuntary noise. Are they still playing a game? He discards the question and comes up with a new one. Does it even matter? Jongwoo wants to go somewhere; Seongmin is going to follow.
He licks his lips and swallows tight, bracing himself for what’s to come. “Did Taegyun come home last night?” There’s a question mark in the checklist of Seongmin’s mind.
Jongwoo scoffs. “No,” he says plainly. Then he digs his thumb into the side of Seongmin’s hip, lips leaning in right next to Seongmin’s ear. “Oh,” Jongwoo says, his tone turning sly and knowing. “Yedamie is going out later, isn’t he?”
Seongmin feels naked from how easily Jongwoo can read his mind. It’s a simple equation; four minus two equals Seongmin and Jongwoo home alone. He hums to the tune of fake innocence.
He glances at the clock– the eggs are almost done. The day is about to start, and the little bubble of the kitchen about to burst. “I have to eat my eggs,” Seongmin says, like a warning.
Usually, Jongwoo knows when to snap into action. To Seongmin, that’s one of his best qualities– how he can turn on any of his personas, as an idol or leader or dancer, in just a second. He can read the room. But right now, Jongwoo doesn’t let go of Seongmin.
He wraps his arms around Seongmin’s waist, hugging him like a kid with a stuffed toy, and buries his face gently into the back of Seongmin’s neck. Jongwoo doesn’t say a word but he sinks into Seongmin, suddenly heavy.
Seongmin holds them up and steady. He switches off the stove, watching the steam rise up from the pot, eggs unmoving and unbroken in the water, and he waits.
They stand like that for a moment, Jongwoo hanging onto him. Seongmin isn’t strong enough to pull them out of the water but he’s strong enough to carry them. They don’t talk– this is an important part of it. They don’t talk. The exhaust fan is on the lowest setting, buzzing in the background, but the silence drags, trapped between them.
Slowly, Jongwoo loosens his grip. There’s a pause and Seongmin knows it’s because Jongwoo is trying to think of something to say, because he can read Jongwoo too. “Your eggs,” he finally settles on. It comes out in a stiff embarrassed voice. He clears his throat.
It’s okay, Seongmin wants to say. You don’t have to do this with me.
“Do you want one?” Seongmin asks instead.
They peel the eggs over the compost, letting the wet shell fall in, and eat standing in the kitchen. This time, they face each other. Seongmin lets himself look at Jongwoo, at his bare arms, his thighs, and his uncombed hair. Casual Jongwoo in the kitchen, messy and gross first thing in the morning. The only dirt that Seongmin has wanted to smear on himself.
“Want malatang for tonight’s schedule?” Jongwoo asks, mouth full of egg. They’re slipping back into place, putting their clothes back on. The creak of Yedam’s door opening lets them know he’s awake.
“Sure,” Seongmin smiles, lowering his voice. “Or we can have it after Yedamie goes out.” He knows he doesn’t have to explain himself; Jongwoo chuckles under his breath. When their eyes meet, they smile.