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When Mingyu pulls himself out of a dream, it’s to the press of Seungkwan’s hand against his shoulder.
“Mbuh?” Mingyu says, half-turning, not all the way awake.
“Kim Mangyu, get up,” Seungkwan is saying. He’s got his cap and running gear on, half-kneeling over Mingyu on the bed. Mingyu’s body leans into the dip; Seungkwan’s knee is warm against his back.
Sleep lingers a little, grasping and clumsy on its way out. Mingyu rubs at his eyes, turning away, trying to catch it before it goes, but Seungkwan shakes his shoulder again.
“Hurry,” he says insistently. “I’m hungry.”
No chance of sleeping in, then. It’s fine; Mingyu’s body is waking up slowly, and his stomach, too.
“I bought food,” Seungkwan adds before Mingyu can say anything. He presses his palms against Mingyu’s cheeks and squeezes. “So come on.”
“You went out?” Mingyu mumbles from in between Seungkwan’s hands. He takes each thin wrist in hand and pulls Seungkwan’s hands away from his face. “A run?”
“Yeah, duh, hours ago,” Seungkwan says boldly. Then he cocks his head to the side and looks at Mingyu down on the bed, expectant.
Mid-morning. The sunlight streaming through the windows, slanting across the bed. Behind Seungkwan, the closet, half-open and empty. The door opening out into the hallway, and two suitcases leaning up against the wall, nice and neat.
Mingyu blinks up at Seungkwan, then at the door. He’s usually good at deciphering these looks, but he’s only been up two minutes.
Seungkwan spells it out for him, too impatient to wait for Mingyu’s brain to start up properly: “Kiss. And tell me I did a good job.”
Ah. Well. Mingyu can do that.
“Oh, of course,” he says, laughing. He sits up to close the distance, and pulls Seungkwan’s cap off his head and out of the way. Seungkwan’s hair curls a little from the sweat, damp against Mingyu’s hand. “My bad. Good work, Seunggan-ah~”
Seungkwan’s mouth is cool and wet. It tastes like iced coffee, and then under the iced coffee: Seungkwan. Mingyu concentrates on finding that taste, on the soft give of his lips and the way the seam of Seungkwan’s mouth curves up against Mingyu’s, pleased now that he’s gotten what he wanted.
Mingyu slides a practiced hand up under Seungkwan’s shirt, feeling around for his skin. He’s still a little sweaty; he must have taken the stairs on the way up.
“Okay,” Seungkwan says, pulling away. He gives Mingyu a little peck before he goes. “It’s itchy.”
Mingyu bursts out into a laugh. “Excuse me? You wanted to kiss me.”
“Yeah, and I still want breakfast,” Seungkwan says nonsensically. He turns around, heading for the door. “Your shaver’s in the bathroom somewhere.”
“So no kisses until I shave, is that it?”
“I’m hungry~” Seungkwan says from the hallway. “Hurry please~”
Unbelievable.
Mingyu watches him go: his round head, the flat part of his hair where the cap sat. His shoulders, his navy blue shirt, his black running shorts, his thin, pale legs. Mingyu watches and watches until he disappears round the corner, and then he looks around.
A wider bedroom than he’s used to. Windows to the east, taking up half the wall, and a doorway to a small balcony. Bare walls. An en suite bathroom. A walk-in closet. The bedroom door opening out into the hallway.
“Good morning,” he says to the empty room. Then he laughs again.
—
It’s not like this is the first time. Mingyu’s already lived with someone before— a girlfriend in college, for half a semester before he got called up to serve.
They stayed in the small studio unit that Mingyu’s parents were still paying for, eating cheap food and whatever else they could cook, playing house like that.
It’s a nice memory. Naeun was sweet, and even if she didn’t want to wait for him to come back from Cheorwon, there was nothing really wrong with the relationship. Just one of those college romances: a good lesson in what you want for the future.
And after that— after Mingyu had graduated and gotten a job and started earning real adult money— he’d thought: Well. It was kinda nice to have a space that was just his.
That was just how it ended up going. Mingyu likes people, liked dating, likes sex. He liked the people he was dating and having sex with. But he liked his privacy, too. Liked not having to bump shoulders with someone in the morning, liked having a quiet place all to himself at the end of the day.
Anyway. Funny how it all worked out in the end.
—
At the moment, their kitchen is almost laughably empty. They don’t even have a dining room set yet; they have to stand up at the counter to eat.
“I bought us bugeoguk and some Hetbahn. Is that okay?” Seungkwan is saying, while Mingyu gets to work unpacking the food. “And the imo gave us some side dishes and kimbap as a freebie. Wasn’t that nice of her?”
“Thank you, imo-nim,” Mingyu says obediently, cracking open the top of the soup container. “Did you have a good run?”
Seungkwan shrugs, a little evasive about his alone time, as always. “Maybe,” he says, which is code for yes. He peels open the Hetbahn covers and puts them into their brand new microwave. There’s still plastic film on the handle. “Hyung, I saw another Emart on the way back. It’s walkable if we need small stuff.”
Mingyu took stock of all his consumables before packing them away before the move; he’s not sure if Seungkwan did. Anyway, dishwashing detergent is definitely on the list— all they have right now is a half-empty pump bottle of peach-scented hand soap that Seungkwan brought over from his old place.
“Oh, good work~” Mingyu tells Seungkwan, meaning it. “Our Bboorangdungie did well~”
“Aw,” he says, smiling to himself and ducking his head, lips pursed a little in pleasure like he think Mingyu can’t see him. “It wasn’t that hard…”
“Getting us this good breakfast,” coos Mingyu, really laying it on thick. “Finding the supermarket~”
“Ah, hyung, come on,” Seungkwan demurs over the microwave beeping. The instant rice comes out steaming and shiny. He looks proud about that too, which is hilarious and also unbearably cute.
Mingyu slides a pair of chopsticks over to him, saying sweetly, “The bugeoguk is perfect, Seunggan-ah~ It’ll give us so much energy for when we unpack all the boxes later~”
“Oh.” Seungkwan hesitates. “Well—”
“And put away our things.” Mingyu’s really having fun now. “All of our things. All the plates and bowls and clothes and decor. You know I have a lot of records, right? And your sportswear, too. And all of Seungkwannie’s caps~”
“Uh,” says Seungkwan. “Today…?”
“Of course today,” says Mingyu. “We can’t eat takeout forever. And we have a ton of things to buy at Emart, too. Why?” he adds, fighting back a smile. “Did Seungkwannie think he was just going to go for a run and eat and play badminton and sleep and the boxes would unpack themselves…? Was an apartment fairy going to do it all for him…?”
“Yah, Kim Mingyu,” Seungkwan pouts, tapping Mingyu lightly on the bicep. “Don’t tease me!! I wasn’t going to make you do all of it…”
“Yeah, and I’m not gonna do most of it, either,” he replies, laughing now. “But you did get us breakfast, so maybe I’ll do 55%.”
“I got us coffee, too,” Seungkwan points out.
“Eung, thank yew~” Mingyu says cutely. “Even though I know you really just wanted one for yourself~”
“I still got you one anyway~” Seungkwan sing-songs, playing along. Then he leans his body into Mingyu’s, trying to push him to the side, and steals a piece of radish from Mingyu’s bowl, just because he can.
—
“With Seungkwan?”
Chan was really good at making it sound like the shock of the century. It was almost enough to make Mingyu feel embarrassed about telling him at all, but he was feeling too good to care.
“Yeah,” Mingyu told him, smiling a smug, secret smile over his beer. The condensation left a shiny dark ring on the plastic table. Mingyu tried to put it down on the same spot, like a little game, and almost made it.
“Boo Seungkwan,” Chan said again. “Boo Seungkwan who got us lost in Gangwon during our club MT and then made me drive the rest of the way to the rest house even though he said he would do it. That Boo Seungkwan.”
“Oh, what. I didn’t know that,” said Mingyu. “What year were you?”
Chan waved a hand like he was swatting away a particularly irritating fly. “That doesn’t matter. Hyung. Are you sure??”
The summer humidity was unbearable, even at night; the pojangmacha’s walls were rolled up all the way, but with no breeze the air inside the tents was hot and still. Mingyu had almost canceled on Chan in deference to the heat, but their Friday after-work drinks were a tradition, and anyway he’d had a secret too good not to share.
“Yeah, I’m sure,” he told him. “The same Seungkwan you introduced me to. That one.”
The look Chan gave Mingyu was so melodramatic and full of pity that he had to laugh. It was funny; he knew by now that Chan didn’t mean it.
“If I’d known I was throwing you into the tiger’s den like this I would never have done it,” Chan said mournfully, still hanging onto the bit for one last joke. Then, in his normal voice, he said, “Guess I’m just a bit surprised, is all.”
“We’ve been dating for two years,” Mingyu said, checking his watch absently. It was just a little past eleven— if they finished this round, he could still make last train. This pojangmacha was just three stops and a short bus ride to Seungkwan’s apartment; the thought of it was so good that he had to bite his lips to keep from smiling. “I don’t think it’s that surprising.”
“I mean,” Chan was saying. “Didn’t you just move? I thought you liked your place. It’s on the same train line as the office.”
Mingyu’s apartment was a pretty good price for a one-bedroom officetel unit. The building was new, the gym was actually useable, and it had a pool where Mingyu did laps every Saturday morning. It was over an hour by bus from Seungkwan’s neighborhood.
“I do like it.” Mingyu shrugged. He’d thought he’d scored the deal of the century when he signed the lease, but that was a different time. “It’s still nice. It’s just small.”
Chan made a face. “For what.”
“For two people, you punk,” Mingyu laughed, kicking at him under the table. “Seungkwan and me. What were you thinking of?”
“Nothing,” he said darkly. “Just that people can change when you least expect them to.” Then, dodging another kick, he added, “Could you put in a good word for me with your landlord, then? Tell her I’m not a fool for love and I won’t move out.”
“Yah,” Mingyu said. “Tell her yourself.” But he was still laughing as he said it.
—
They’d decided on Mingyu’s cookware for the apartment. Seungkwan only owned one pot and one pan, hand-me-downs from his mother. He barely cooks; it isn’t interesting to him the way it is for Mingyu.
He still nods when Mingyu shows him where the pans will go, though— which cutting board he uses for meats, which one for vegetables. How to store a knife so the edge doesn’t dull, and what to do if it does.
“Don’t think too hard about it,” Mingyu adds, watching as Seungkwan puts the knife sharpener back in the drawer with a cautious hand. “You can just ask me if there’s stuff you don’t know.”
“That’s everything.” Seungkwan’s trying to make a joke of it, but his ears are pink. “I’ll probably annoy you with all my questions. Kim Naver.”
“You won’t annoy me.” Mingyu says, then thinks about it a little. “Anyway. I’ll probably do stuff that annoys you too. That’s fine, right?”
“Yeah,” says Seungkwan. “That’s super romantic, actually. Getting annoyed. Like it really gets me going.” He smiles big when Mingyu giggles. “Is it that funny?”
Mingyu has to calm down; objectively, it wasn’t. But he can’t help himself. “It was all right.”
Truth be told, they’re taking a little too long to unpack. It’s well into the afternoon, and there are still boxes lined up against the walls. The big furniture arrives tomorrow— the table and chairs, the shelves that they’ll have to assemble. Mingyu had hoped to get most of the boxes out of the way by then, so they could have space to set everything up.
But they might not be able to go any faster. Mingyu had thought he knew most of everything about Seungkwan, but there are still things to discover— a little story for every little item that comes out of a box.
Why Seungkwan still can’t let go of his ratty college sleep shirt, the comedy of errors that led to him buying three of the same kind of cap. And from Mingyu, too— the resort in Yangyang where he took the photos they’re hanging on the wall, the little glass sculpture that his sister had brought home from her summer abroad in Italy.
It’s not something he’s ever really thought about. He likes things done fast, likes it when everything goes according to schedule. On his own, he might have gotten the boxes emptied and his things packed away in half a day, then cracked open a cold beer and enjoyed the quiet of a new apartment.
It’s not that quiet in here. Seungkwan’s got a playlist going, all his favorite girl group songs from second gen. Right now, the Wonder Girls are singing about why they’re so lonely.
Mingyu leans back against the sofa for a second, surveying the mess of clothes and knick-knacks on the floor.
It’s a little nice. It’s a little nice that it’s not that quiet.
—
“You might not like me when you’re stuck with me,” Seungkwan told him one night, in the dark.
They’d just washed up again after sex. Mingyu had been dozing off, but now he was wide awake, turning on his side to face Seungkwan, frowning at his silhouette.
“What makes you say that?” he asked quietly.
“I dunno,” Seungkwan said, shrugging. He had his nonchalant voice on, the one he used whenever he was saying something that cost him to say. “Just a feeling. You know.”
“Not really,” Mingyu said. “Seungkwan-ah.”
“Come on.” Seungkwan held his hands up, ticking the fingers one by one. “There’s a long list. I’m moody. I like to pick fights. I—”
Mingyu took Seungkwan’s hands in his, bringing them down out of the air. Seungkwan’s fingers twitched a little in his grasp, but they stilled. “Don’t talk like that about my boyfriend. I’ll get mad.”
“I have a boyfriend, too, you know,” Seungkwan said after a beat.
“Can he fight?”
“I dunno. Let me check.” The sheets rustled as Seungkwan turned his head away, then again when he turned back to Mingyu and stage whispered, “Hyung, can you fight?”
It got Mingyu laughing, hard. But he still held Seungkwan’s hands in his, a little afraid that if he let them free, they’d take the conversation somewhere he wished Seungkwan wouldn’t go.
Seungkwan let him. Mingyu had noticed that a long time ago— all of the little ways that Seungkwan let him.
Seungkwan said, “I might be a handful.”
“That’s okay.” There were a lot of things Mingyu was willing to do for Seungkwan. Some of them were difficult, some were easy. This was easy. “I have really big hands.”
“Whoah, Kim Mingyu,” Seungkwan said admiringly. “Where’d you learn that pick-up line? It’s really stupid.”
“What does that say about you, then?” Mingyu took one of Seungkwan’s hands and kissed it, on the soft, fleshy part at the base of his thumb. “If my stupid pick-up lines worked on you.”
Seungkwan was still for a moment. Then, he said seriously, “Yah. Don’t say mean things to me. I have a boyfriend. And I’m pretty sure he can fight.”
—
The windows in the living room look out into a purple summer sky. It’s taking its time to sink into night.
There’s budae jjigae simmering on the stove, with two eggs cracked into the soup. Mingyu’s checking the firmness of the noodles when Seungkwan comes out of the shower, dressed in his pajamas and announcing himself with a yawn.
“That smells good,” Seungkwan mumbles, plopping down on the floor by the foot of the sectional. “I’m hungry.”
“It’ll be done soon, your highness,” Mingyu says, pulling open a cabinet to get some bowls. They have dishwashing liquid now, after a run to the Emart, and paper towels, too. The rest they can get tomorrow.
When he turns around with two bowls in hand, Seungkwan is leaning against the sofa, listless. He’s used up all his energy reserves: a morning run, a full day of unpacking and organizing, then an hour at the supermarket. After dinner he’ll be out cold.
“Eat it quick,” says Mingyu, handing him his bowl. “Then you can sleep.”
“Eung,” Seungkwan mumbles, with an absentmindedness that delights Mingyu.
He’s sitting with his legs splayed out, with all the self-assuredness of a sleepy cat in his territory. A Seungkwan so comfortable he isn’t even thinking about being funny; a Seungkwan who’s gotten used to Mingyu’s food and Mingyu’s presence and Mingyu’s affection. Mingyu’s favorite kind of Seungkwan.
They don’t have a television set yet, but it’s not like Mingyu minds. He watches Seungkwan throughout dinner: as he picks sleepily at his food, then finds a burst of energy that helps him scarf it all down, and then slowing again, looking down at his empty bowl with his eyes blinking slowly.
“Seunggan-ah,” Mingyu says finally, laughing a little. “You’ll melt that, you’re staring so hard. What are you thinking about?”
“Thinking about how I’m happy,” Seungkwan mumbles, like it’s nothing.
Mingyu sucks in a breath. Then he opens his mouth on a smile he can’t hold back, nice and wide.
“Right,” Mingyu says. “Yeah. Me too.”
Tomorrow they’ll wake up in the same bed. They’ll eat breakfast, sign for the deliveries, unpack their things, play tetris with the furniture.
Then they’ll walk to the Emart to buy dinner, something good and hearty— maybe pork belly, to celebrate the move— and then they’ll eat what Mingyu cooked, in this home they’re making together—
Standing up at the kitchen counter, side by side, just like that, their shoulders bumping.