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Buy a house, they said. It’s good to start building up the investment while you can. Paying rent is basically throwing money away!
And Taeyang agrees with them! He does. That’s why he took the dive, and spent all his savings on a downpayment, and did the very, very grown-up thing of locking himself into a thirty-year mortgage instead of continuing to pay rent on his shitty apartment. And he’s very grateful, too. He can’t express how grateful he is to have the means. The ability to purchase a home at his age. He knows that he’s lucky, and fortunate, and privileged.
It’s just that no one told him about the shoveling thing.
The grass— okay. He can push a lawnmower without much trouble. Fine. But the snow.
Last winter, Taeyang swears it barely snowed at all. Maybe half an inch every few weeks. None of it stuck. Or, maybe it’s just because he didn’t have to shovel it— his landlord did it for him. But, this year— the year that Taeyang became a homeowner— mother nature must have decided to punish him specifically.
The forecast last night said one to two inches. Fine. Easy. Taeyang could have dealt with that. It might be nice, actually. A dusting. Picturesque, even. But, this morning, when he woke up at his usual one-hour-before-his-alarm seven thirty in the goddamn morning (on a Sunday, by the way), there was a good eight inches on the ground. Eight! That’s like, twenty and a half centimeters— not that Taeyang believes in the metric system.
And, really, the worst part about shoveling besides the physical labor of it all— which is the actual worst part— is that it takes ten minutes to get bundled up enough to brave the cold, and then another five to get his stupid winter boots on his feet, and tight enough around his ankles to keep out the snow, because there’s nothing worse than getting snow between pant and boot. It fucking burns.
So, here he is, at eight in the morning (still a half an hour before he set his alarm), standing in his garage with a shovel, staring at the eight inch (twenty and a half centimeter) wall of snow that lays untouched across his driveway. That he owns. Because that’s what everyone told him to do with his money. Right.
He’s lucky he even has a shovel. It was leftover by the last owners, along with a bunch of shit in the garage that Taeyang doesn’t even have a sliver of an idea how to use. Saws and tools that he has never seen before. Whatever. The snow shovel is nice. It has a bent handle so he can get a good angle to toss the snow easier.
The first scoop almost makes Taeyang give up, get in his car, and see if he can just drive out without shoveling at all. But that doesn’t erase the issue of the sidewalk. He feels too guilty to leave the sidewalk covered. He wants his neighbors to like him! That’s why he hasn’t been able to smoke weed in his backyard since he moved in. He’s so paranoid that his next door neighbors (both families with young kids) will find him inconsiderate and trashy. A stupid, privileged kid with too much time and little responsibility. (He’s a lawyer, for the record, so it’s not like he’s void of responsibility, he just enjoys a buzz from time to time. He thinks he deserves it, actually.) But, the sidewalks are a bar too far. What if an old woman slips on his property, because she got snow between her pants and boot, and then Taeyang is liable for negligence? Absolutely not.
He’s sweating by the time he has two squares of sidewalk uncovered. His arms ache. And he decides he’s really not built for homeownership. Not until he gets a husband, anyway. A big, strong husband, that will do everything for him, not because Taeyang is incapable, but because he simply doesn’t fucking want to. And the husband will be obsessed with him enough that he won’t even question it. He’ll just do it. That’s what Taeyang needs.
Fuck.
His breath puffs out in clouds of steam as he stares off into space, daydreaming. He might start drooling if he thinks about a man doing all his chores for him any longer. He frowns at the jagged path of his shovel cut into the snow at his feet. This is going to take forever. All day, maybe. He’s frail. He should really start taking iron supplements.
Another sad shovel full of snow gets tossed into his front yard. Another. He’s maybe two-percent done. Holy shit. This is horrible.
Taeyang takes another step over the portion of sidewalk he already uncovered. A very unfortunate, mis-placed step into a patch of ice. His legs slide out from under him, and he falls on his ass into the snow, a shriek leaving his lips when it gets between his sleeve and glove. He thought he only needed to worry about the boot and pant situation!
“Fuck my life!” he yells, hoping no kids are around. He gives up, dropping backwards into the snow, head pillowed by the powder. The sun is strong and bright above him. Clouds dotting the sky. What a beautiful day. Taeyang hates mother nature.
Suddenly, his sunlight is completely blocked out by a bulbous shadow. It takes a second for his eyes to adjust, narrowing his eyes, trying to distinguish features of the silhouette. A man— probably around his age— smiling in a way that seems a little too cocky for Taeyang’s liking.
“Hey, you must be the new neighbor,” the shadow says. And then there’s an arm extended towards Taeyang. “Saw you fall over.” He laughs. “Sorry. It was funny, but I appreciate that you didn’t try to get up right away. That’s the only way to avoid the embarrassment of it, in my opinion.”
Taeyang squints up at the stranger. He frowns. Purposefully avoids the offered hand when he sticks his own hands into the snow and pushes himself up without assistance. He shakes the snow off his arms when he’s upright, frown stuck on his face, and finally gets a good look at the guy.
Goddamnit. He’s handsome. And he clearly knows it. His jacket is one of those thin, puffer situations that fits his body perfectly. Like he got it tailored. Maybe he did. He has a scarf wrapped around his neck, and a beanie shoved over his perfectly glossy hair. He’d even taken his glove off to offer Taeyang a hand up. (Pretty hands, Taeyang notices absently.)
“I’m Yoon Keeho. I live across the street. Sorry I haven’t introduced myself yet, I’ve been so busy,” Keeho says, sticking his hand out again, this time to shake.
Taeyang, still feeling mildly sour, shakes his hand with his snow-covered glove. It’s a test. Keeho doesn’t flinch. He squeezes Taeyang’s palm and shakes. “Choi Taeyang,” he says lamely. “You’ve been busy since July?”
“Well,” Keeho laughs. His smile leans to one side, still a little too cocky. He shrugs. He’s still holding Taeyang’s hand. “Yeah. I’ve got a robust social life.”
“Right…” Taeyang says. He might hate this guy.
“Anyway,” Keeho laughs again, probably trying to fill the void Taeyang created with his obvious skepticism. “I came over for a reason. I have a snowblower. I can take care of this for you. No big deal.”
Taeyang blinks at him. “Why?” he asks bluntly.
Maybe he shouldn’t be biting the hand that feeds him, but he doesn’t like men so presumptuous. He doesn’t like men that can’t or won’t explain themselves. He doesn’t like liars. Unless they’re lying with him, then it’s fine.
“Uh,” Keeho looks around like he’s trying to get a reaction from an audience. The snow stays painfully silent. “Because I’m a caring citizen and a good neighbor. A real stand up guy.”
Now it’s Taeyang’s turn to laugh. He barks it out, right in Keeho’s face. “Yeah, no thanks. I’ve got it.” He bends down and grabs his shovel, immediately going for the next strip of snow.
Keeho doesn’t move. He gapes like a fish, watching Taeyang struggle a little more, slowly removing snow from the sidewalk. He breaks at the third shovelful. “Okay, I want to help because I feel guilty that I haven’t come and introduced myself since July, because I’m not actually that busy, I’m just an idiot, and my brother kept teasing me about how hot the new neighbor is, so I was too stubborn to say hi, because I didn’t want him to be right.”
Taeyang stands up straight, hand on his hip, turning to Keeho with his eyebrows raised as if to ask, is that all?
“But, shoveling is the worst, and I really don’t mind helping out. You shouldn’t spend your Sunday morning like this. Promise. I can handle it. I’m reliable when my mouth is shut.”
Tongue rolling over the inside of his cheek, Taeyang considers Keeho. He does look strong under his jacket. He’s pretty, and Taeyang likes nothing more than pretty boys working for him. “I’m not going to pay you.”
“No need to pay me,” Keeho’s smile returns full force. “Trust me, Taeyang, I want to do this for you.”
“Hm,” Taeyang hums. He gives Keeho a once over. Twice over. It’s not that hard of a decision. “Fine.”
Keeho licks over his bottom lip— Taeyang’s eyes involuntarily follow the movement. “Great. I’ll get to work. Go inside and relax. Make some tea. You look like a tea guy. I’ll come knock when I’m finished up.”
“You better do a good job, Yoon,” Taeyang snipes. “You’re acting suspicious.” He starts trekking back to the garage, dumping his shovel against the door.
“Hey!” Keeho scoffs in faux offense. He’s dramatic. “I’m not acting suspicious! You’re just too suspicious of kind, honest people!”
“Mhm,” Taeyang throws over his shoulder. He gives Keeho a lazy, half-wave, stomping snow off his boots at the front stoop before stepping back inside.
The third worst thing about shoveling is that it takes ten minutes to get un-bundled once he gets back inside, and another five to unlace his boots. And then he’s out of commission for at least twenty minutes, overheated from the stark temperature change and the heat blasting in the house. Taeyang hates mother nature.
He sheds all of his clothes and hangs them to drip dry in the foyer, dropping onto the couch until he stops sweating. He can hear a motor starting outside. Keeho must really have a snowblower. Good.
It’s not the worst thing in the world to have a hot neighbor that will blow his snow for him, but Taeyang kind of wishes Keeho didn’t seem like the type to keep score. Like he’s going to act like Taeyang owes him one for this. Taeyang can’t be owing things to his hot neighbor. It’s not going to work for him.
He stands up after a while, looking around his messy living room. He’s losing his mind. His place needs to be deep cleaned. That seems like an afternoon problem.
Taeyang pulls a sweater off the armchair— he left it there last night. He tugs it over his head, folding his arms across his chest and wandering over to the front window. He has to wipe away the fog to see out. He gasps.
There’s four men in his driveway. Two with shovels, one with the snowblower. Keeho stands at the very end, seemingly giving them all directions, pointing here and there, directing the shovel-boys to clean up the remnants the snowblower is leaving. The three boys doing the work for him look younger. Keeho has them under his thumb, they scurry wherever he tells them to. And, for what it’s worth, they’re doing an incredible job getting all the snow. The asphalt is almost spotless.
A small part of Taeyang is annoyed that Keeho would represent himself as a selfless, good-actor when he wasn’t going to do any of the work himself. Another, larger part of Taeyang is… well— turned on.
He pulls out his phone, opening his texts with Jiung.
How much of a red flag is it if my hot neighbor is using child labor to clear my driveway of snow?
Jiung responds almost immediately
???????????????????
He’s really hot, and he’s good at ordering them around.
He’s a leader, Jiung.
?????????????????????????????
How serious are you being right now?
Dead.
That’s gotta be the biggest red flag I’ve ever heard in my life.
You literally dated an investment banker for a year, Jiung. Sorry if I don’t believe you.
You’re the one who texted me!!!!!!
Taeyang rolls his eyes, tossing his phone on the kitchen table. What does he care about Jiung’s opinion?
Nothing, he decides.
He goes over to his cabinet and pulls out the coffee he keeps in the very back for guests. He can’t drink it. He’s a tea guy. But, Keeho said he looks like a tea guy, so he’s going to make sure he’s drinking coffee when Keeho comes and knocks on the door.
The knock comes just as he’s pouring the coffee into his mug. Perfect timing.
He takes his time, floating towards the door, careful not to spill his coffee. He counts to ten before he unlocks and opens it. Raises his eyebrows when Keeho is on the other side alone, no sign of his employees.
“All done!” Keeho announces, taking a step forward to lean against the doorframe, stupidly handsome, cocky smile fixed on his face. He pretends to wipe sweat from his brow. There’s no sweat, because he’s done no work. “It’s no big deal. Easy Sunday activity, y’know. I’m always happy to help.”
Taeyang stares at him blankly. Right up until Keeho starts to twitch. Then, he puts him out of his misery, “Who were those kids?”
“Oh. You saw that?” Keeho’s smile drops. He finds it again easily enough, but his eyes shift to something sharper. Playing on Taeyang’s level, maybe. Or, what he thinks is Taeyang’s level. Taeyang refrains from laughing at him. “They’re from the boys and girls club. I check them out every weekend and make them do chores for me.”
“Holy shit. Wow…” Taeyang snorts. He steps back, going to shut the door in Keeho’s face.
“I’m kidding!” Keeho blurts, hands up, eyes wide.
(Taeyang knew he was kidding, but he wanted Keeho to get a little scared.)
(It worked.)
He waves his hands defensively, looking genuinely upset. “I’m kidding. Sorry. They’re my brother’s friends. I beat them in poker last night so they’re mine for today. They have to do whatever I tell them.” His eyes drop down to Taeyang’s coffee, still steaming. He makes a funny face, like he’s actually shocked it isn’t tea. “If you need anything else done, I’m happy to lend them to you. But only if you admit that you’re not going to drink that coffee.”
Taeyang opens his mouth to argue, but quickly shuts it again. He can see the dangerous sparkle in Keeho’s eye. They’re on exactly the same level after all.
“How open are you to being obsessed with me?” he asks carefully.
Keeho blows out a long breath, shaking his head. “Oh— god— so open.”
“Alright,” Taeyang takes a step back into his house, making room for Keeho to come inside. “My house needs deep cleaning. You can stay too, if you want. But only until I get tired of you.”
“Sick,” Keeho says. He turns back towards the driveway for a second, bringing his fingers to his mouth to whistle sharply. Taeyang only flinches a little bit. All three of the kids Keeho is using to do his bidding come hurrying out from where they must have been hidden behind Taeyang’s garage. Keeho rounds them up with a wave of his hand. “Taeyang, this is my brother, Shota, and his dumb-shit friends, Jongseob and Intak. Kids that are worse at poker than me, this is Taeyang. You’re going to clean his house.”
“Step-brother,” Shota corrects.
“The important part of that dialogue was worse at poker, not brother,” Keeho says. “Leave your snow clothes on the porch. I’m assuming you’re going to be cleaning floors.”
The kids groan, but they all start peeling off their layers of outdoor clothes.
Taeyang nearly swoons. Maybe there’s something wrong with him, but he can’t bring himself to care.
You can’t just decide someone is going to be your husband just because he used indentured servitude to shovel your driveway, Jiung said (in a frantic series of text messages that Taeyang read when Intak very politely delivered him his phone, because he was cleaning the kitchen table and it was in the way). You don’t even know the guy!
And Taeyang agrees with him! He does. That’s why he made sure he kissed Keeho before he decided.
Keeho was sitting across from him on the sofa, talking over the drone of the vacuum upstairs, and the squeak of Intak shining the counters. He was telling Taeyang about work, or something. Keeho has a stable job. His brother lives with him, because he’s younger, and needed a place to land after college, and Keeho practically raised him anyway. Taeyang is enjoying listening. He really is. It’s just that Keeho has really nice lips, and Taeyang can’t stop thinking about what Jiung said. Jiung is right, after all.
So, he interrupted Keeho, and said, “Do you want to make out with me?”
“Uh—” Keeho looked caught off guard for all of ten seconds before he pulled it together. Said, “Yeah. Fuck yeah.”
Taeyang crawled across the couch— that goddamn cushion between them that felt much too far— and kissed Keeho. Keeho’s hands came up immediately. Warm and solid. One at Taeyang’s jaw, the other at his waist. He shifted, and parted his legs to make room for Taeyang between them.
He tasted like the coffee Taeyang made him drink to prove his intentions. He kissed like he wanted to be in charge, but quickly bent to allow Taeyang to take the lead when Taeyang fisted two hands into the front of his shirt.
Smiling into the kiss— only thirty seconds after it started— Taeyang decided that Keeho would be his husband.
Thirty minutes into kissing Keeho on his sofa, hands shoved up Keeho’s shirt and thighs bracketing his hips, pressing him into the cushions as he takes stock of the shape of each of Keeho’s teeth, he’s locking in his answer. Keeho is husband material.
Taeyang keeps it to himself, because it doesn’t feel helpful at the present moment.
“Ew,” one of Keeho’s brother’s friends (Taeyang thinks that one is Jongseob) says when he walks into the room, hauling the vacuum behind him.
Keeho’s hand leaves Taeyang’s hip long enough to flip Jongseob off. Then it’s back, squeezing Taeyang harder than before. Taeyang nearly melts. He smiles into Keeho’s mouth, laying a laugh onto his tongue. Keeho smiles right back. Stupid, and handsome, and cocky.
“Someone named Jiung is texting you telling you soulmates aren’t real,” Jongseob says.
Taeyang sighs, pulling back from Keeho, a thin string of spit connecting them for a second. It’s gross, and really hot, and Taeyang is going to marry this man. Jongseob is standing above them, holding Taeyang’s phone— it must have fallen out of his pocket.
“I don’t know a Jiung,” he says simply.
Jongseob doesn’t budge, looking completely bored. “Is this not your phone?”
“Nope,” Taeyang lies. Jongseob stares at him, unamused.
“Chop chop, Seob, the vacuum can’t run itself,” Keeho chimes in.
Jongseob’s eyes roll back into his head. “They literally can, though. You just need a Roomba.”
“You can leave the phone on the table,” Taeyang says sweetly.
“This is why Shota didn’t want Keeho to come over here—” Jongseob mutters under his breath.
Taeyang wipes the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, shifting his focus back to the man underneath him. Keeho goes to say something that sounds dangerously close to soulmates? But, thankfully, he’s cut off by the loud whirr of the vacuum turning on. Taeyang leans back in to kiss him again, hands going straight for his chest (the man has great tits, by the way).
Keeho makes a sweet little noise into Taeyang’s mouth.
When they get married, they’re going to have so much capital built up. Why would Taeyang keep relying on a landlord to shovel snow for him when he could rely on his boyfriend instead? He’s literally so good at being a homeowner, it’s crazy.