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Subong kicked the door shut with his heel, juggling two grocery bags and a clamshell of grapes like he was performing for an unseen audience.
“Namgyu-yah,” he called out in a sing-song voice as he walked into the living room, “I bought treasure.”
From the couch, Namgyu didn’t even lift his head from his phone. “If it’s another strange imported chip flavor, I’m not eating it. Last time my tongue went numb.”
“It’s grapes,” Subong said proudly, shaking the container like a maraca with the enthusiasm of a kindergarten teacher.
Namgyu finally glanced over, unimpressed. “I don’t want grapes.”
“You didn’t even think about it!”
“I did,” Namgyu replied flatly. “The answer is still no.”
Subong scoffed dramatically and marched over to plop down on the couch beside him. The bags rustled, the grapes jiggled, and Namgyu’s expression turned even flatter.
“You said yesterday you were going to start eating healthier,” Subong reminded him, poking his thigh with the corner of the clamshell.
“I did say that,” Namgyu admitted, “and then I remembered that healthy food takes prep, which takes time, and I don’t have time because I’m busy ignoring you.”
Subong crossed his arms. “You’re unbelievable. I’m trying to help your lifespan.”
“My lifespan is fine.”
“Your lifespan,” Subong declared, “is made of convenience store kimbap crumbs and iced Americanos!”
Namgyu smirked. “And yet I thrive.”
Subong stared at him, long and exasperated, clearly plotting something. The kind of stare that said: I am about to ruin your peace for the next hour and enjoy every second of it.
Then he brightened, looking mischievous. “Okay. New rule.”
“Oh no,” Namgyu muttered, already bracing himself. “Every time you say that, I lose brain cells.”
“Every time you want something from me,” Subong announced, opening the grape box with dramatic flair, “you eat a grape.”
Namgyu blinked. “What?”
“You want me to get you water? Grape. Want me to shut up? Grape. Want me to hand you the TV remote that’s literally three centimeters from your hand? Grape.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“That’s accountability. And vitamins.”
Namgyu rolled his eyes and returned to his phone. “I’m not playing your dumb grape game.”
“Cool,” Subong chirped, leaning back smugly. “Guess I’ll just start talking about that one time you—”
“Shut up,” Namgyu said immediately.
Subong held out a grape, his eyebrows raised.
Namgyu stared at it, feeling betrayed. “…Seriously?”
“A deal’s a deal,” Subong said sweetly.
“I never agreed to a deal.”
“You implied consent by telling me to shut up.”
“That’s not how that works—”
Subong popped the grape into his mouth mid-protest.
Namgyu froze, cheeks puffed, glaring like a hamster that felt insulted.
Subong grinned. “First grape down!”
Namgyu chewed slowly. Painfully. Resentfully. Like the grape had done him wrong and insulted his ancestors too.
After a moment, he swallowed and sighed through his nose like he had experienced the greatest suffering in the world.
“Congratulations,” Subong said, patting his knee. “You’re healthier already.”
Namgyu groaned. “This is going to be the worst day of my life.”
“Oh, absolutely,” Subong agreed cheerfully. “Want me to turn on the aircon?”
“Yes, please.”
Subong dangled another grape between his fingers.
Namgyu covered his face. “I hate you.”
Another grape appeared in his peripheral vision.
Namgyu peeked through his fingers. “I’m not eating that.”
“Then sweat.”
Namgyu groaned, grabbed the grape, and shoved it in his mouth like it was a punishment.
Subong practically sparkled. “See? Isn’t this fun?”
“No,” Namgyu said, chewing resentfully again. “You’re weaponizing fruit.”
“And I’ll do it again.”
Namgyu pointed at the TV. “Remote.”
Subong held up a grape.
“Ugh—fine,” Namgyu muttered, taking it. “But I’m only doing this because you’re annoying.”
“Three grapes already,” Subong sang. “You’re practically a health icon.”
Namgyu glared at the ceiling as if asking for patience from the universe. “When I die, it’s going to be from spite, not malnutrition.”
Subong tossed a grape into his mouth with a smug flourish. “If you die, you’re not allowed to haunt me.”
“No promises.”
Subong gasped. “Grap—”
“NO,” Namgyu snapped before he could finish. “I’m not eating a grape to revoke haunting rights.”
Subong shrugged. “Worth a try.”
Namgyu shot him a long look, weighing homicide as a reasonable option. Then…
“I want you to shut up again.”
Subong smiled like Christmas came early and held out another grape.
Namgyu sighed, defeated, frustrated, but also — very slightly — fond.
“…Fine.”
It took less than ten minutes for the grape system to completely spiral out of control.
Namgyu leaned back on the couch, chewing his fourth grape with all the excitement of someone forced to take cough syrup. Subong watched him with a look that mixed parental pride with smugness.
“See? Eating healthy is easy,” Subong said, nudging his shoulder like he had just solved global nutrition.
Namgyu shot him a glance. “It’s easy because you’re doing all the work.”
“I literally just handed you a grape.”
“And that,” Namgyu replied, “is work.”
Subong threw his hands into the air dramatically. “You are so high-maintenance.”
“And you’re so annoying.”
“Grape?” Subong offered sweetly, his eyes shining.
Namgyu groaned into a pillow. “I need new friends.”
“Nope.” Subong popped a grape into his mouth like he was feeding a disgruntled zoo animal. “You’re stuck with me for life.”
Namgyu froze mid-chew, glared, then continued eating slowly, maintaining eye contact so intense it almost felt threatening.
But then—
“Hey,” Namgyu said, his voice suddenly quiet.
Subong perked up. “Yeah?”
“…Can you get me some water?”
A grin spread across Subong’s face so quickly and deviously that Namgyu regretted asking.
“You know the rules,” Subong sang, shaking the grape container like a rattlesnake.
Namgyu closed his eyes, accepting his fate. “If I choke on a grape, it’s your fault.”
“I’ll give a great eulogy.”
Namgyu grabbed a grape with the resigned attitude of a man signing his will. He popped it in his mouth.
Five grapes down.
Subong gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. “Oh my god. You’re halfway to the daily serving recommendation!”
“Shut up,” Namgyu mumbled.
Subong lifted a grape like it was a solemn tribute.
Namgyu stared at the ceiling as if asking God for strength. “Can’t I get one free shut-up?”
“Nope,” Subong chirped. “Pay the grape tax.”
Namgyu took the grape, chewing as if he were personally offended by agriculture. “I’m going to turn into a grape at this rate.”
“Cute,” Subong said without thinking.
Namgyu paused mid-chew.
Subong blinked, his brain short-circuiting. “…I mean—like—cartoon cute? Mascot cute? Fruit-shaped cute? Not—cute cute—just—like—”
Namgyu interrupted calmly. “Shut up.”
“Grap—”
Namgyu snatched the grape out of his hand before he could finish.
Subong looked personally offended. “You didn’t even let me say it!”
“I’m streamlining the process for efficiency,” Namgyu said, eating it with the conviction of a man resigned to his fate.
Subong folded his arms indignantly. “Fine. You want efficiency? New rule.”
Namgyu groaned into the pillow. “Please don’t.”
“For every three things you ask from me, you eat a bonus grape.”
Namgyu stared at him, horrified. “Bonus grapes should not be a punishment! Who raised you?!”
Subong puffed his chest proudly. “Me. I raised me. And look how great I turned out.”
“You’re drunk on power.”
“And vitamins.”
Namgyu let out a sound that was half-laugh, half-defeated. “This is a human rights violation.”
Subong scooted closer, bumping Namgyu’s knee. “You sound like someone who wants something.”
Silently, Namgyu held out his empty water glass. No words needed. Pure surrender.
Subong extended a grape.
Namgyu grabbed it.
“That’s one…” Subong counted as he got up to get the water.
Namgyu shoved the grape into his mouth with a sigh.
“That’s two…” Subong added when Namgyu gestured urgently for him to hurry.
“Shut up,” Namgyu said through a full mouth.
Subong held up another grape without missing a beat.
Namgyu ate it.
“That’s three,” Subong announced proudly. “Now for the bonus grape—”
“NO—” Namgyu tried to dodge, but Subong gently tapped a grape against his lips.
“This is abuse,” Namgyu groaned.
“This is nutrition,” Subong corrected.
Namgyu ate it with the exhaustion of a man who had lived a thousand years.
Finally, he relaxed against the couch.
“…The grapes taste good,” he admitted quietly.
Subong blinked. “Wait. What?”
“But I’m never telling you that again,” Namgyu said immediately, refusing to look at him.
Subong beamed like he had just been awarded a Nobel Prize. “Too late. I heard it. It’s in my heart now.”
“Shut up,” Namgyu muttered, but the blush creeping up his ears betrayed him.
Subong lifted another grape silently.
Namgyu stared at him.
Then at the grape.
Then at the ceiling.
He groaned like a dying man—
—but opened his mouth anyway.
By grape twelve, Namgyu had given up on dignity.
He sat slumped on the couch with a full glass of water. A small pile of grape stems lay on a napkin beside him. Subong looked far too happy with what he had done.
“Look at you,” Subong said proudly, tucking one knee onto the couch. “So healthy. So nourished. So—”
“Stop narrating my life,” Namgyu muttered.
Subong raised the grape box.
Namgyu scowled. “I didn’t ask for anything.”
“Mm,” Subong hummed, lowering the grapes but not moving away. “Habit, I guess.”
Namgyu rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitched up before he looked away. “Your habits suck.”
“No,” Subong said, leaning in a little, his voice soft with mischief, “my habits keep you alive.”
“Barely.”
“Barely is still alive.”
Namgyu groaned and dragged his hands down his face. “Why do you care so much anyway?”
Subong blinked. “What?”
“You’re not my mom,” Namgyu mumbled. “You don’t have to force-feed me fruit.”
Subong hesitated for just a second. “Do you… not want me to?”
Namgyu froze.
The air changed.
It wasn’t as loud or chaotic as it had been a minute ago. No laughter, no arguing, no grapes being thrown. Just… quiet. Intent.
Namgyu swallowed, his eyes drifting toward the blank TV screen. “It’s not that I don’t want it.”
“Then what is it?” Subong asked gently, not teasing.
Namgyu picked at the hem of his sweatshirt, tapping his thumb anxiously. He was doing that thing he always did when trying to say something real—avoiding eye contact like it was dangerous.
“It’s just…” he finally said, “if you’re fussing over me, then I… have to think about why.”
Subong tilted his head. “Why what?”
“Why you care.” Namgyu paused. “Why I… like that you care.”
The last part was nearly a whisper.
Subong blinked, stunned for a moment. His grip loosened on the grape box, as if he forgot he was still holding it.
Namgyu coughed, embarrassed. “It just makes things complicated.”
“Complicated how?” Subong asked softly.
Namgyu grumbled something unintelligible, his cheeks warm. He sank deeper into the couch. “Because food isn’t the point,” he said quietly. “It’s not about grapes. You know that.”
Subong went still.
Then, very slowly, he set the box aside.
When he spoke again, his voice lacked its usual teasing bounce. It was softer. Warmer.
“I do know,” he said.
Namgyu finally looked at him.
Really looked.
“And I don’t mind complicating things a little,” Subong added, reaching out to lightly flick Namgyu’s knee. “If it means you don’t skip meals. Or forget to take care of yourself. Or pretend you’re made of caffeine and spite.”
Namgyu pressed his lips together, like he was holding back something sincere.
“And,” Subong admitted under his breath, “because I… like when you rely on me for stupid little things.”
Namgyu looked away again, flustered. “You don’t have to—”
“No, I don’t.” Subong nudged him gently. “But I want to.”
Silence. But it was a good silence.
Then Namgyu’s voice came out small, grudging, but honest:
“…I like it too.”
Subong’s smile softened around the edges.
“Then,” he said, picking up one grape and holding it between them, “no more games. Just one more. Last one. If you want it.”
Namgyu stared at the grape.
At Subong’s hand.
Then he leaned forward and bit the grape right out of Subong’s fingers.
Slowly. Intentionally.
Subong forgot how to breathe.
When Namgyu pulled back, chewing, he murmured:
“There. Happy?”
Subong’s voice cracked a little. “…Yeah.”
Namgyu leaned back against the couch and closed his eyes.
“Good,” he said softly. “Because that one wasn’t about the grape either.”