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The first thing Seungmin registers in his post-nap haze is the feeling of something repeatedly poking the middle of his forehead. He wrinkles his nose and tries to swat it away, but the poking continues, now accompanied by a voice.
“Wake up. Seungmin-ah. Seungminnie. Kim Seungmin.”
Seungmin groans, burying his face deeper into the crevice of the sofa cushions. He’d only meant to rest his eyes after finishing his book, but the afternoon sun had been warm, and Minho hadn’t been home to bother him. “Go ‘way.”
“I’m hungry. Let’s go out for dinner.” Minho’s voice is closer now, right by his ear. He smells like lemon and soap. “Come on, it’s Friday night. I don’t want to cook.”
Without warning, a cold hand slides under Seungmin’s shirt and makes direct contact with his ribs.
“Yah!” Seungmin nearly launches himself off the sofa, twisting blindly to chuck a throw pillow at the blurry outline of Minho’s face. He rubs his eyes and scowls, trying his best to look murderous. “Okay, okay, I’m awake.”
Minho grins down at him, his dark hair a bit messy, looking completely unrepentant. “Fantastic. So, dinner?”
“Now?” Seungmin croaks. He squints at the clock on the wall—nearly 9 PM.
“Yup,” Minho says, popping the ‘p’. He turns to walk towards the kitchen, glancing over his shoulder. “Ten minutes. Don’t make me wait or I’ll leave without you.”
Seungmin groans again, but he can’t help smiling. It’s been a while since they’ve had time to go out for dinner. And it technically counts as a date, right? He might as well put some effort into it.
Seungmin drags himself to the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face to get rid of the nap-puffiness. He pulls out a crisp, cream-coloured turtleneck and a pair of nice jeans. He spends a good five minutes in front of the bathroom mirror, taming his sleep-mussed hair to fall back into place, and even spritzes a bit of one of Minho’s colognes.
He checks his reflection. Not bad, if he does say so himself. It’s impossible to tell he rolled out of a nap ten minutes ago.
When he finally steps into the hallway, slipping into his comfy black boots, he calls out, “I’m ready. Let’s—”
He stops.
Minho is leaning against the front door, scrolling through his phone. He’s wearing a giant padded puffer jacket that makes look like a black marshmallow. Underneath, Seungmin can clearly see the hem of grey sweatpants. On his feet are a pair of bright yellow rubber slides, worn over thick socks.
“...What are you wearing?”
Minho looks up, his amused gaze travelling from Seungmin’s fluffy hair down to his leather boots and back up again. “I could ask you the same thing. Did you have a secret gala invitation you forgot to mention?”
Seungmin blinks. “You said dinner.”
“I did,” Minho agrees, clearly trying not to laugh. He opens the door and gestures for Seungmin to go.
Seungmin lingers for a second, a sense of foreboding coming over him. “Where exactly are we going?”
“You’ll see,” Minho says, following him out and locking the door. “It’s a surprise.”
The ‘surprise’ turns out to be just under four hundred metres away.
The automatic doors of the 7/11 slide open, a rush of air conditioning and fried chicken hitting them as they step inside.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Seungmin mutters as he stands in the entryway, his long coat swishing as he crosses his arms. He watches as Minho grabs a red plastic basket and excitedly heads to the fridge section.
“The tuna mayo is 2-for-1,” Minho says, inspecting two wrapped triangles of onigiri and dropping them in the basket. He turns to grin at Seungmin.
Seungmin sighs, the sound echoing in the quiet store. He looks down at his polished boots, then at the linoleum floor tiles. “I hate you. I can’t believe you let me walk out like this.”
Minho walks back to him, his expression softening as he reaches out to adjust the collar of Seungmin’s coat. “Hey, you look really good,” Minho says, his voice dropping into a sincere tone. “The ahjumma behind the counter is very impressed. She probably thinks I’m dating a CEO.”
Seungmin tries to keep his face stern, but his resolve is crumbling embarrassingly quickly. “I still can’t believe this,” he grumbles. “I’m overdressed for onigiri and ramyun.”
“Nonsense,” Minho hums, dropping two packs of spicy buldak noodles into the basket. “Go pick a drink, CEO-nim. My treat. Since you dressed up so nice for me.”
Seungmin pointedly picks out the most expensive peach iced tea. Well, expensive being barely 3,000 won considering they’re in a 7/11 in all, but it’s the thought that counts.
Five minutes later, they’re perched on the high stools at the narrow counter facing the window, the dark street outside somehow managing to make the harsh brightness of the store feel somewhat cozy. Seungmin carefully stirs his steaming cup of noodles, trying not to splash any on his jumper, while Minho peels the plastic off his onigiri.
“I promise I’ll take you on a proper date next weekend,” Minho says, surprisingly softly. “I really wasn’t thinking. I was just hungry.”
Seungmin lets out a half-huff, half-laugh. “I could tell,” he says dryly. But then he leans back, his shoulder brushing Minho’s puffer jacket. “Actually, there’s some upsides to this. For instance, I couldn’t do this at a fancy restaurant.”
“Do wha—”
Seungmin leans over and takes a massive chomp out of Minho’s untouched onigiri, nearly taking a finger with it.
“Yah!” Minho squawks, pulling his hand back and clutching the mangled triangle as Seungmin chews with a triumphant, chipmunk-cheeked grin. “You have your own!”
“That was the tax for waking me up from a perfectly good nap.” Seungmin says, his voice muffled through the rice. He swallows with an exaggerated sigh. “Mmmmm. Tastes better when it’s stolen.”
Minho just shakes his head, a fond, helpless smile tugging at his lips. “You’re a menace, Kim Seungmin.”