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Minho really is a nice person. A good person, even. He volunteers at the local animal shelter (he’s even adopted three cats). He picks up litter when he sees it. He brings cookies to his neighbors, just because he feels like it. He has generally charitable feelings toward most of humankind.
The word “most”, of course, being the problem.
It’s not that he hasn’t tried to feel kindly toward everyone. It’s just that salespeople have a way of violently combating whatever effort one puts into not hating them. Minho can only hear the words “looks like your roof’s in pretty bad shape” so many times before he’s forced to retaliate.
Minho’s currently pondering his hatred of salespeople because he just opened the door to the first one of the year. On a nice day in March, the weather just starting to clear up—it was quite the jumpscare to answer the door only to see that the dangerous animals were out of hibernation, attacking in force.
“Hi there!”
Gag. As hard as Minho tries to assume the best of each salesperson he encounters, even the way they talk irks him, which makes it difficult.
“The sign says ‘no soliciting’,” says Minho, since the attacker seems to be expecting a greeting in response, and the grin on the salesman’s face somehow widens even further than the Grand Canyon it already was.
“Oh, I’m not a solicitor,” he says, shaking his head so vigorously it makes Minho dizzy.
“Hmm,” says Minho.
“Are you the homeowner?”
“No.”
“That’s fine! Is he available? It’s pretty urgent.”
Minho forces himself not to roll his eyes. Of course it’s urgent.
“No, she’s not available.” Curing the salesman’s sexism is more important than telling the truth, which is that the homeowner is a man, and is available, and is, in fact, Minho.
“Oh—well—like I said, it’s pretty urgent. I’ve been helping some of your neighbors. You know the Kims?”
Minho stares at the man, unimpressed, not giving any sign of recognition. Of course he knows the Kims. Seungmin is his best friend. He also knows that the Kims would never in a million years enlist the help of a salesperson.
The man clears his throat.
“Anyway, do you know when the homeowner will be available?”
Minho’s been anticipating that question, of course, because they always ask it, but that doesn’t make it any less annoying.
He swallows down the “None of your business” he wants to say and instead says, “I’m not sure,” very politely.
The salesman nods, his face falling into a (clearly artificial) serious expression. “I was just stopping by,” he says, eyes boring into Minho’s, “because your windows are pretty outdated—they definitely don’t fit in with the rest of the neighborhood—and I was just going to offer to get you in touch with a company that could replace them. I could even get you a free quote if you wanted.”
Dickhead. Asshat. Fuckwad.
Minho stares at the man, keeping his neutral expression as best he can. He doesn’t trust himself to speak just yet.
“I bet we could arrange a discount on the windows, too, if the full price is out of your budget,” the man adds, and Minho’s eye twitches just the slightest bit.
“Thanks,” he says, smiling, “but, as I said, I’m not the homeowner, so I wouldn’t be able to make any decisions on that.”
“Of course, I just—”
“But I do know that the windows were just replaced a month ago,” Minho says, smiling even wider. “And, as an architect, I happen to know that bay windows are, in fact, very much in style right now.”
It’s true that the windows were replaced a month ago, and while Minho isn’t actually an architect, Seungmin is, and the two of them had discussed window styles in depth before Minho made a decision.
The salesman goes red, eyes sliding over to the windows again before coming back to Minho’s face.
“I’m afraid you’re wrong there,” he said, shaking his head regretfully. “Beige windows haven’t been in style since—”
“Bay windows,” Minho corrects.
“Right,” the man says, face going even more red, “bay windows. They haven’t been in style since—”
“Since a month ago,” Minho says. “I gathered.”
The man nods eagerly. “So, I’d love to help you—”
“The homeowner won’t be around for the foreseeable future,” Minho says, “and I’m sure she’s not interested.”
“Well, we can—”
Minho shuts the door, dropping his head against it and groaning. The salesman can probably hear him. He hopes he can hear him. He should know the pain he’s causing.
Once Minho’s recovered enough to move, he drags himself over to the nearest chair and flops down on it. He’s supposed to go over to Jeongin’s place today, but now his social battery is entirely depleted.
Fuck that guy and his beige windows.
The future looks bleak at this point. No more blissful answering of the door. No more privacy. No more peace. Spring is supposed to be a time of joy but no, the salespeople can’t allow that, can they?
Who gave them the right to waltz around the world, insulting people’s houses, insinuating things about their financial state, invading their privacy?
Minho can feel the rage he only feels about wars and salespeople bubbling up in his veins. He’s sure if one more salesperson says another stupid thing to him, he’ll drop kick them across the street. Something will have to be done to prevent that.
* * *
The sign is beautiful. Sturdy aluminum, white lettering on a black background, a coat of special laminate to protect it from weather. Big words, in the classiest font Minho could find:
NO SOLICITING
- The homeowner is not available.
- If you insult the house, I will insult you.
It’s so perfect, he almost doesn’t want to let it out of his sight. But danger is imminent, and at any second the sign may be called into use. With a sigh, he opens his door, blinking at the bright sunlight. He spends a bittersweet moment staring at his old, trusty ‘No Soliciting’ sign; a simple affair, beautiful and unpretentious. Despite its unfortunate lack of results, Minho has many fond memories with it.
Once he’s thanked it properly, he unscrews it with reverent hands and lays it aside, picking up his new sign. This one will work, and even if it doesn’t, it’s sure to lead to some fun.
* * *
It’s not even a full day before someone solicits.
A friendly knock on the door (one of those odd patterns that makes you think it must be someone you know), and Minho opens it, foolishly ignoring the gnawing feeling in his stomach.
“Good afternoon!”
Damn it, this one’s hot. Some sort of casual work uniform that fits perfectly (gross). Hands in pockets, just barely—casually. Shaggy black hair poking out of a backwards baseball cap, shiny brown eyes, a crooked, cocky smile.
The hot ones are the worst. They always know they’re hot, and they hold it over your head. It adds insult to injury.
“The sign says ‘no soliciting’,” says Minho, determined to get this over with as soon as possible.
“I know,” says the man, nodding, and then he smirks. “It’s kinda hard to miss.”
“Right. Which begs the question: why are you soliciting?”
“I guess some might call it soliciting,” says the man, and he shrugs. “I see it as doing a service to someone in need.”
Is this hell? This must be hell. What did Minho do to deserve this demon being sent to torture him?
“Fascinating. Well, don’t hold back. I’m dying to know what I’m in need of.”
“Not you, the lawn.”
“The lawn,” Minho repeats. He’s so tired.
The man nods.
So tired.
Minho closes his eyes. “What’s the lawn in need of?”
“Well,” says the man, and Minho can’t stand the arrogant tone of his voice, “maybe you disagree, but to me it seems like the lawn’s in desperate need of a trim.”
“Is that so?”
“Among other things.”
Minho raises an eyebrow. The man stares back unflinchingly.
“Since we’re giving unsolicited advice,” Minho says, “you wouldn’t mind if I took a turn, would you?”
The man shrugs, smirking again.
Oh, Minho wants to drop kick him.
“As someone who’s also fond of doing service for people in need,” he says instead, after taking a calming breath, “I believe it’s my duty to tell you—and maybe you disagree—that it seems to me like your ego’s in desperate need of a trim.”
The man laughs, taking his hands out of his pockets and folding them across his chest. “Is that so?” he says. He seems unfazed.
“Among other things,” Minho says, in as biting a tone as possible.
The man grins. “Such as?”
Minho narrows his eyes. “Such as your hair. It’s in need of a trim, I mean.”
“Oh, you don’t like it?” the man says, and he pouts, before breaking into a grin again.
Why on earth is Minho still here, still humoring this guy? What is wrong with this guy?
It seems like a valid question, so Minho asks it.
“What’s wrong with you?”
The man shrugs.
“You tell me, Mewtwo,” he says.
“What the fuck?”
The man nods down at Minho’s shirt, where a picture of the Pokemon is, in fact, emblazoned across his chest.
“I like Mew better,” says the man, “but I guess Mewtwo has his charms.”
Minho glares at him.
“You know what else has its charms?” he adds.
Minho doesn’t respond.
“Getting your lawn trimmed by Bang the Bush Services.”
Minho’s eyebrows shoot up, and the man looks back at him innocently.
“That’s your company’s name?”
“Something wrong with it?”
It’s too much for Minho. He closes his eyes, bringing a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose.
When he opens his eyes, the salesman is watching him with a cocky smirk.
“Well,” he says, taking his hat off and running a hand through his hair before putting it back on, “you don’t seem to be feeling too well. I guess I’ll let you go.”
“Thank god,” says Minho, vehemently, and he closes the door, just barely hearing the man say, “See you around, Mewtwo.”
Minho can’t control the heavy, hot anger that courses through him. That dick just wasted practically his whole afternoon, and for what? A quick laugh? Fuck him. Minho should’ve just drop-kicked him. It’s a shame he won’t be coming back, otherwise Minho could really do it. Launch him five blocks down, right into Seungmin’s yard. Changbin would have to peel his Flat Stanley-ed ass off their perfectly trimmed lawn, and Seungmin could ogle Changbin while he did. A win for everybody.
A real shame.
* * *
“What’s new, Mewtwo?”
Every once in a while, there are days that feel like a bad dream.
Minho blinks, hoping his vision will clear and it will be just another salesperson.
“You seem a little off,” the man adds.
Minho closes his eyes.
“The sign says ‘no soliciting’,” he says.
“Yes, we’ve already established that I can read.”
“You’re soliciting.”
“Actually, I’m visiting a friend.”
Minho makes a show of looking left and right, of turning around and looking behind him. “Is the friend in the room with us?” he says.
“You don’t think we’re friends?” The man replicates his pout from the other day, his eyes going wide and sparkly. Minho hates how close it comes to being effective.
“I don’t even know your name,” says Minho dryly, combating the pout with a blank stare almost as potent. “Pretty sure that means we’re not friends.”
The man points to his chest, and Minho sees the nametag there. He’s pretty sure that wasn’t there last time. He would’ve noticed.
Jisung.
“Well, Jisung,” Minho says, “was there a specific reason you had for visiting your so-called friend?”
Jisung’s lips curve into his (already well-known to Minho) smirk. “I wanted to tell him his weed-beds—sorry, flower-beds—are looking pretty dry.”
Minho seethes. He feels his nostrils flare slightly, but he forces his face to remain blank.
“If I had a friend like you,” he says, “you know what I’d tell him?”
Jisung leans forward, shaking his head.
“I’d tell him his skin is looking pretty dry. Lotion is your friend, Jisung.”
Minho was hoping to at least get a rise out of Jisung, if not piss him all the way off of his property, but Jisung looks delighted.
“I was just thinking I should try to get a skincare routine going!” he says, not breaking eye contact. “Any product recommendations?”
“You’re the salesman, not me,” says Minho, and Jisung tuts.
“Not salesman, Mewtwo. Friend.”
“No, Jisung,” says Minho. “Salesman.”
He shuts the door then, listening to see if Jisung gives any sign of anger, but all he can hear is laughter slowly fading away.
* * *
Minho debates the sign change with himself for a day or two, but eventually gives in and orders a new one.
NO SOLSTICING
- The homeowner is not available.
- If you insult the house, I will insult you.
- I am not your friend.
* * *
“Afternoon, Mr. Mewtwo.”
Jisung bows slightly as he speaks, and Minho has to force himself not to audibly groan.
“The sign says ‘no soliciting’.”
“Actually, it says ‘No solsticing’.”
Minho looks over at the sign. NO SOLSTICING. He should have been more patient, double checked the text before hitting ‘confirm’. Oh well.
“I’m not solsticing,” Jisung adds helpfully, “so I assumed that didn’t apply to me.”
“Why are you here?”
“Well, I was going to ask—”
“No, I mean why do you keep coming?”
Jisung’s eyes widen innocently. “It’s my job.”
“None of the other salespeople come by multiple times.”
Jisung hunches over, clutching a hand to his heart. “There are other salespeople in your life? Why didn’t you tell me?”
Minho raises an eyebrow. “Did you need something?” he says.
Straightening up, Jisung nods. “Is the homeowner available?”
Minho shuts the door.
* * *
NO SOLICITING
- The homeowner is not available.
- If you insult the house, I will insult you.
- I am not your friend.
- This applies to you.
* * *
It’s an oddly warm day for April, but that doesn’t excuse the shirt that Jisung’s wearing. Highly unprofessional. Minho forces himself to look up from Jisung’s exposed biceps to meet his eyes. His eyes that hold an arrogant, knowing gleam.
Jisung reaches a hand up to scratch the back of his neck, flexing a bit, and Minho rolls his eyes.
“The sign says ‘no soliciting’,” he says.
“Yeah, it does! I stopped by to congratulate you on that.”
“Not to solicit, of course.”
“Of course.”
They stand there, staring at each other, for a very long fifteen seconds.
Jisung breaks the staring contest first, glancing over at Minho’s lawn.
“You know,” he says, “while I was walking up here, I noticed your lawn. It reminded me of mine, which I’m having serviced this week by an amazing company. I don’t suppose you’d be interested in—”
“No.”
Jisung shrugs. “Alright, Mewtwo, whatever you want. It’s your lawn that suffers.”
“The only thing suffering right now is me, because I’m stuck with you.”
“Oh,” Jisung says, entirely unbothered. “I can leave if you’d like.”
“Please do,” says Minho, and he shuts the door.
* * *
NO SOLICITING
- The homeowner is not available.
- If you insult the house, I will insult you.
- I am not your friend.
- This applies to you.
- Please leave.
* * *
“The sign says ‘no soliciting’.”
Minho chokes on his line, the line that just came out of Jisung’s mouth. He clears his throat.
“It does,” he says.
Jisung shrugs. “Just thought you might want to know.”
“You’re a professional sign checker now?”
“I dabble.”
Minho laughs, stopping himself just too late.
Jisung’s got that infuriating smirk on his face.
“Is that all you came here to say?” Minho asks, pushing the door just a bit closer to closing.
“Yup. Well, I also thought you might want to know that I saw at least ten wasps just on my walk up to your door. They’re getting out of control. Good thing Bang the Bush Services has a pest control branch!”
Minho sighs.
“Hold out your hands,” he says. He doesn’t know why he thinks Jisung will do what he says, but he’s right—Jisung holds his hands out, palms facing up, and looks at Minho expectantly.
“Palms down,” says Minho curtly, and Jisung complies. Minho grasps his fingers—just barely, just to bring them closer for inspection. Ignores how warm and firm they are. Ignores the calluses, which he’d generally find sexy. He stares at the fingers for a good ten seconds, then lets Jisung’s hands fall and looks back up at his face.
“Your cuticles are getting out of control.”
“Good point. If only Bang the Bush Services had a thing for fingers.”
Minho narrows his eyes.
“Do you have a thing for fingers?” Jisung asks.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Well, I’ll fix my cuticle issue and then I’ll ask again. Later, Mewtwo.”
Minho stares at the door for a good thirty seconds after it drifts shut.
* * *
NO SOLICITING
- The homeowner is not available.
- If you insult the house, I will insult you.
- I am not your friend.
- This applies to you.
- Please leave.
- No flirting.
* * *
“Mewtwo! Just who I wanted to see.”
“The sign says ‘no soliciting’.”
“I’m not soliciting. I’m checking up on you cause I’m worried about you.”
“Is that so?”
Jisung nods, eyes bright and teasing. “Have people been flirting with you?”
Minho sighs heavily.
Seungmin sticks his head out from the living room. “Have people been flirting with you?” he says, face blank.
Jisung, for the first time since Minho met him, looks thrown off-kilter.
“No, Seungmin,” says Minho dryly. “I’m all yours.”
Seungmin nods and retreats back into the living room, where he’s been listing the many benefits of being married to Changbin for the past two hours.
Minho turns back to Jisung, who’s back to his cheerful self.
“Just wanted to check in!” he says, bouncing on his heels. “If you decide you want help with your yard, you know who to call!”
He turns away before Minho’s even started to close the door.
* * *
NO SOLICITING
- The homeowner is not available.
- If you insult the house, I will insult you.
- I am not your friend.
- This applies to you.
- Please leave.
- No flirting.
- No check-ups. You’re not a dentist.
* * *
If Minho’s research is accurate, most of the salespeople don’t spare a second glance at his signs. They’re always thrown off when he insults them, and when he points to the sign by way of explanation, they always look surprised. When he made the first new-and-improved sign, he had been operating under the assumption that salespeople were literate. That was obviously a mistake.
Which is to say: there’s been no decline in salespeople because of his signs.
Well, except his latest sign. It was remarkably effective in getting rid of one particular salesperson. And since that salesperson is the only one who reads the signs anyway, after three weeks of relative peace, Minho figures he might as well put up a sign that takes up less space.
* * *
NO SOLICITING
Violators will be towed
* * *
“So, Mario, I’ve been calling you the wrong name all this time?”
“Huh?”
“I mean, if I’m Toad, you must be Mario. Right?”
“So… you admit you’re violating my policy on soliciting?”
“Hmm?”
Minho gives himself a moment to process the fact that Jisung’s here again, trademark smirk and all, before he responds.
“The sign says ‘no soliciting’,” he says.
“Yup, I noticed. Nice update, by the way. Why towing, though?”
Minho knows Jisung doesn’t deserve to be let into his strategies, but he also knows Jisung might be the only person to appreciate the pure genius of said strategies. Too tempting to resist.
“I thought it was funny,” he says. Right, maybe not so genius, now that he thinks about it.
Jisung nods sagely. “I thought that might be why. Good call.”
Minho ignores the prickle that crawls up his throat at Jisung’s appreciation of his genius.
“So, were you on vacation or something?” he asks. “I had such a nice few weeks.”
“Well, you know,” Jisung says, shrugging, “I’m a very busy man. I thought I might apply my talents somewhere they’d be more appreciated.”
“And were they appreciated?”
“Oh, very.”
“So why are you here?”
Jisung shrugs again. “Missed the challenge. When you’re as good a salesman as I am, it can get a little boring, you know?”
“Oh. Are you good?”
“I’m doing great, thanks for asking!”
Minho rolls his eyes, smiling. He leans against the door frame.
“I took down my old sign because it didn’t seem to be needed anymore. Should I plan on putting it back up?”
He’s asking for practical reasons only. He doesn’t care if Jisung comes back. Obviously.
Jisung turns to look at Minho’s lawn, narrowing his eyes. He licks his lips. Minho doesn’t pay attention to that, of course.
“Since your lawn’s dry spots are getting pretty damn noticeable, I’d say you should expect to see me again.”
Minho nods and goes to shut the door.
“What, no insult for me?”
He pokes his head around the door. “The sign doesn’t say anything about insults. I’m going inside to call the towing company.”
“Tell them I say ‘hi’,” Jisung calls as the door clicks shut.
Minho hums as he walks down the hall.
* * *
NO SOLICITING
- The homeowner is not available.
- If you insult the house, I will insult you.
- I am not your friend.
- This applies to you.
- Please leave.
- No flirting.
- No check-ups. You’re not a dentist.
- The towing company says “hi”.
* * *
“I actually am a dentist,” says Jisung, before Minho’s even opened the door all the way. “On the side.”
Minho’s horrified at how pleased he is by the fact that Jisung brought up the dentist addendum. He was quite proud of that one, really, and when no one showed any appreciation for it when he first added it, he was rather depressed.
“Are you?” he asks.
“No.”
“Hmm.”
Jisung stares at him, brown eyes wide and sparkling. Minho swallows, takes a breath.
“The sign says ‘no soliciting’.”
“You’ll notice that I haven’t yet solicited. You’re jumping to some pretty grave conclusions.”
“History does tend to repeat itself, Jisung.”
“Maybe I’m a changed man. Did you ever think of that?”
Minho narrows his eyes, gives Jisung a good, thorough examination—down, then up, then down again.
“You look the same.”
Jisung wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. “My cuticles don’t. Wanna see?”
“This feels like another kind of soliciting.”
“Do you have a problem with that?”
Minho shrugs. “Not particularly. But I’m not going to pay to see your cuticles.”
“It’s a free show,” says Jisung, and he holds his hands out in front of him expectantly.
Minho steps onto the porch, leaning down to get a better view.
“You can touch,” Jisung says, smirking, and Minho looks up at him, raising an eyebrow. He doesn’t move to touch him.
“Much better,” he says finally, once he’s finished his inspection. He steps back into the doorway.
“So, do you have a thing for fingers now?”
Minho sighs. “Don’t you have anywhere else to be?”
“I can leave if you want, Mario.”
“Whatever you want, Toad.”
Jisung seems a bit more thoughtful than usual as Minho closes the door.
It’s such a nice evening, Minho decides to take his after-dinner tea on the porch. It’s twilight, everything painted in the same blue-purple light, which must be why the person walking along the sidewalk toward his house looks so much like Jisung. Their head is hanging down, so Minho can’t see their face well enough to check, but of course it isn’t Jisung. Salespeople are diurnal. None of them should be active right now.
The little part of Minho’s brain that thinks it’s Jisung won’t let him look away from the person until they pass, which means he’s staring like a creep when they look up, straight at him. They are, in fact, Jisung.
Jisung jumps, looking away from Minho quickly. His steps falter, like he can’t decide whether to stop and talk or to get the hell out of there.
“Toad,” Minho calls, “shouldn’t you have clocked out by now?”
Jisung’s smirk makes a valiant attempt to reanimate itself, and his face lights up just the slightest bit. Enough to be visible even in the dull dusk light.
“Needed to check up on my favorite patient,” he calls back, and then his smile drops again and he stutters something unintelligible.
“What was that?” Minho stands up and walks a few feet into the yard.
Jisung doesn’t respond, just kicks at the ground a bit.
“What’s wrong, Jisung?”
Jisung looks up and meets Minho’s eyes. “Do you mean the things you put on the signs?”
“What do you mean?”
“Like, obviously you don’t like salespeople. But I guess I sort of assumed you thought this—” he gestures between himself and Minho— “was fun. I thought you were adding the extra things to the signs as a joke. But I realized maybe I was wrong, and maybe I’ve been way overstepping your boundaries and…all sorts of things.”
Minho doesn’t say anything.
“Especially with our conversation today,” Jisung adds. “I think I might have gone too far. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I can stop coming by.”
“Don’t,” says Minho, before he can think better of it. “I would miss the challenge.”
“Not a bad challenge, right?” Jisung says, the corner of his mouth pulling up (the beginnings of a smirk).
“Of course not. But I won’t be admitting that ever again.”
Vulnerability is easy at this time of night.
“Of course not,” Jisung repeats softly.
They stare at each other for a bit. For too long, maybe.
“Well,” says Jisung, blinking and straightening up, “goodnight, Mario.”
“Goodnight, Toad.”
* * *
NO SOLICITING
- The homeowner is not available.
- If you insult the house, I will insult you.
- I am not your friend.
- This applies to you.
- Please leave.
- No flirting.
- No check-ups. You’re not a dentist.
- The towing company says “hi”.
- I appreciate you reading this far \(^∇^)/.
* * *
“Very cute,” Jisung says, right as Minho opens the door.
Minho blinks.
“The sign.”
“Oh.”
“What did you think I was talking about?”
Minho shrugs.
“Mario’s kind of cute, I guess,” says Jisung.
“Okay.”
“Do you think Toad is cute?”
“I think Toad is a very persistent salesperson for how ineffective he is.”
“Hey! I’m very good at my job. Bang the Bush Lawn Services is very successful. We’ve got oodles of satisfied customers.”
“Oodles?”
“Oodles.”
“Well. Good for you.”
Jisung leans forward with a smarmy smile. “Do you have any interest in being part of an oodle?”
“Jisung. What the fuck.”
Jisung grins and leaves, leaving Minho staring after him.
“Bye, Mario!” he calls, as he climbs into his car, a little red thing parked across the road.
Minho shakes his head and walks inside.
* * *
NO SOLICITING
- The homeowner is not available.
- If you insult the house, I will insult you.
- I am not your friend.
- This applies to you.
- Please leave.
- No flirting.
- No check-ups. You’re not a dentist.
- The towing company says “hi”.
- I appreciate you reading this far \(^∇^)/.
- I’d rather be called Frog than Mario.
* * *
“Are you a frog?”
“Jisung—” Minho rubs his eyes, pulls out his phone. Checks the time. “It’s six in the morning.”
“Okay…” Jisung looks confused. “So do you not turn into a frog until later in the day? What are you trying to say?”
“It’s remarkably impolite to knock on someone’s door at six in the morning trying to sell something.”
“It’s remarkably impolite of you to assume I’m trying to sell you something.”
Minho stares at Jisung. Points at his shirt, which reads “Bang the Bush Lawn Services” in big, bold letters. His hat, which says the same thing. The stack of flyers in his hand.
Jisung stares back blankly.
Might as well humor him. “Alright then. What are you here for?”
“I’ve been thinking about you.”
Minho blinks. He can feel the flush rising up on his cheeks.
“Well, about your lawn,” Jisung adds, and the blush recedes. Minho shakes his head just the tiniest bit, to clear it.
“What about my lawn?”
Jisung sighs. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but… the grass is thinning out.”
“Your hair is thinning.”
Jisung smirks. “No, it’s not. You can do better than that.”
“My patience is thinning.”
The sparkle in Jisung’s eyes is disturbingly attractive. Minho curses under his breath.
“What was that?” Jisung says.
It wasn’t fair of Jisung to attack him at an hour like this, when he hasn’t had any time to prepare.
“Nothing,” he says.
“Great. Anyway, what are your thoughts on your lawn situation?”
Minho leans against the doorframe. He’s feeling a bit off today. “I don’t ever think about my lawn,” he says.
He can see the triumph in Jisung’s eyes before he even opens his mouth.
“I can tell,” Jisung says.
Minho rolls his eyes. “What do you suggest I do about my lawn situation?”
“I’m so glad you asked,” Jisung says, and he grabs the top flyer from his stack, handing it to Minho.
“I hate to say this,” Minho says—it’s a lie, but he’s nothing if not polite— “but it seems like you’re trying to sell me something.”
“Oh, god,” says Jisung, smacking his forehead, “you’re right. I can’t even believe myself.” He looks up at Minho through his eyelashes, a dangerous gleam in his eyes. “What can I do to make it up to you?”
Minho’s too tired for this. He can’t read the situation right. He can’t tell what Jisung really means.
“Toad,” he says, “why are you here at six in the morning?”
“I have a flight at nine.”
“Oh.” Minho doesn’t know if the relationship between the two of them is such that he can ask where Jisung’s going. What he’s doing. When he’ll be back. If he’ll be back.
“I wanted to get a little work in before I left.”
“So you decided to go around knocking on doors at six in the morning.”
“Door.”
“Hmm?”
“Door, singular. Knocking on one door.”
“Oh.”
“I’ve got an internship. Starts tomorrow.”
“How long?”
“I’ll be gone three months.”
“Thank god,” says Minho. His mouth feels papery.
“I wanted to give you one more plug for Bang the Bush Services.”
“Waste of time,” says Minho. He looks down at his nails, picking at the cuticles. Jisung grabs his wrist, stopping him.
“If I have to take care of my cuticles, you do too,” he says, letting Minho’s hand fall.
Minho’s wrist itches where Jisung touched it.
“Right,” he says.
Jisung shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “You know,” he says, scratching the back of his neck. Minho stares at his bicep. Forces his eyes back to Jisung’s face. Jisung isn’t even smirking. “You know,” he says again, “if you take care of your lawn this summer, I won’t have to keep bothering you.”
“Right,” Minho says, again.
“It’s going to be a dry summer. Make sure to water a lot.”
“Right.” The flyer in Minho’s hand is crumpling with the force he’s holding it with.
Jisung lifts his wrist, checks his watch. Looks up at Minho.
“Bye, Frog,” he says.
“Right.” Minho’s not sure if he actually says that out loud, or if he just thinks it as Jisung turns around and hurries down the walkway, down Minho’s driveway.
Minho watches as Jisung opens the lid of his recycling bin and tosses the rest of his flyers in. Gets into his car and drives away.
When Seungmin lets himself in later, Minho’s sitting in the front room, spaced out, staring at the window. He’s been sitting there since a little past six this morning. For no particular reason.
* * *
NO SOLICITING
- The homeowner is not available.
- If you insult the house, I will insult you.
* * *
Minho didn’t know it was possible to hate salespeople more than he already did.
It’s the fifth “Is the homeowner available?” (if they’d read the fucking sign they wouldn’t have to ask) in a row (without any intelligent enemies in between) that does him in.
New plan:
Hear a knock.
Open the door.
Salesperson?
Pull out a conveniently placed water gun, give it to ‘em good, close the door.
It’s nice. Minho likes routine. He gets yelled at by plenty of dripping salespeople, but that’s fine. He updated the sign to include a clause about water guns. They should’ve read it.
* * *
NO SOLICITING
Violators will be subject to the water gun
* * *
Minho wakes up one morning to the sound of sprinklers in his yard. He’d forgotten about the schedule he put them on a few years ago. June first, 6:00 AM. All the way through to the end of September.
He stares blankly out his window at them, then forces himself up and out of bed. Drags himself into the garage. Turns off the sprinklers. Turns off the schedule. Goes back to bed.
He sleeps in the next day, and when he wakes up, the grass is still dry.
* * *
“It’s a little pathetic, if you think about it,” says Seungmin, his mouth full.
“What is?” Minho cuts the sandwich he’s about to eat into four triangles, because it’s prettier that way.
“You. Pining after that salesman.”
“I’m not pining after anybody.”
“Your lawn looks like shit.”
Minho swallows his bite of food before he responds. “That doesn’t have anything to do with pining. That has to do with being lazy, and with refusing to accept any recommendations from any salespeople.”
“You took care of your lawn just fine last year. And I happen to know you were just as lazy then.”
“I wasn’t.”
“Every time there’s a knock on the door, you nearly kill yourself trying to get there.”
“That’s because I want to torture salespeople.”
“I see your face when it’s not him, Minho.”
“I already know it’s not him before I open the door. He’s gone for three months.”
“See, pathetic. You know your salesman’s whereabouts.”
Minho shrugs.
Seungmin stares at him.
“You should call him.”
“I don’t have his number, idiot.”
“Call Fuck the Butt services, or whatever it’s called.”
Minho laughs. “And say what? ‘Hey, there’s this one salesperson who’s really invasive—yeah, Jisung, that’s the one—I know he’s away for an internship, but I have urgent salesperson questions to ask him. Could you put me in contact with him?’”
“Perfect.”
“No, thanks.”
* * *
Minho isn’t sure what he was expecting, but with a company that can afford such dedicated salespeople, he really thought Bang the Bush would have a bigger office. The illusion of grandeur is shattered now that he sees it—small, tucked away next to a tacky nail salon (Professio-nails) and a suspicious massage parlor (Lucky Day Massage). Minho pushes through the door, inhaling the faint smell of grass and chemicals.
“Hi, welcome in!”
Minho nods at the man who’s standing behind the counter, leaning up against it. He’s wearing a black muscle tank and baggy shorts, and all his muscles are clearly evident. Minho blinks at them.
“I’m Bang Chan,” says the man, reaching out a hand to shake. Minho takes it. “I’m the guy who runs things around here. How can I help you?”
Bang Chan. Bang the Bush. Hmm.
Minho narrows his eyes.
“How much do you pay your salespeople?”
“Huh?”
“Your salespeople. They’re pretty persistent. There must be a reason they work so hard. Salary, or something. I thought I might apply to be one.”
A lie, of course. Minho would never betray humanity in such a gross manner.
“We don’t—oh. Oh.”
Bang Chan stands up straight, leaning back to call into the backroom.
“Kim! Get out here, man!”
“Just a sec!”
There’s the sound of footsteps, and then Changbin is standing there, staring at Minho.
“Minho?”
Minho blinks. “You work here?” he says.
“You two know each other?” Bang Chan’s looking between the two of them, eyebrows raised.
“He’s Seungmin’s best friend,” says Changbin, walking in further to give Minho a one-armed hug. “And yeah, Minho, I started working here a few months ago. What are you doing here?”
“Hang on,” says Minho, pulling out his phone. “I need to send a text really quick.”
To Kim Seungmin:
your husband works at fuck the butt lawn services
“He came in because he says our salespeople are persistent,” Bang Chan is saying, as Minho puts his phone away.
Changbin’s face screws up in confusion. “We don’t—oh. Oh.” His jaw drops. “You?” he says, staring at Minho.
“Me, what?”
“You’re the sign guy.”
“The sign guy?”
“Yeah. Jisung talks about—” Changbin pauses, digging in his pocket for his phone. “Just a second,” he says. “I’ve gotta take this.”
Chan and Minho stare after him.
“So, Mr. Bang,” Minho says, turning back toward the counter, “how much do you pay your salespeople?”
“Just call me Chan,” he says, waving a hand. “If you’re Jisung’s friend, you’re my friend.”
“I don’t know if I’d say I’m Jisung’s friend.”
Chan laughs like that’s the funniest joke anyone’s ever made. “Right,” he says. “Friend probably isn’t the right word. It’s more like—”
“Holy fuck Chan, get back here, holy shit, motherfucker—”
Chan’s eyes widen and he runs toward the backroom. “Be right back,” he calls over his shoulder. “Sorry for the language!”
Minho can hear Chan and Changbin’s hushed voices, but he can’t quite make out what they’re saying. Something about Seungmin.
Chan walks back in with a wide grin, clapping his hands together.
“So, you wanted to apply to do sales for us?”
Minho nods slowly.
“Bin’s just back there printing out an application.”
“Did something go wrong back there?” Minho says.
Chan’s grin widens. “What? No!” He laughs stiltedly. “Bin and I…our favorite team just won…the game. He was showing me the winning point.”
“The game,” Minho repeats, raising an eyebrow.
Chan nods, his smile growing impossibly wider.
Minho hums. “Very nice.”
Very suspicious.
Changbin walks out, application in hand, and shoves it into Minho’s hand before herding him toward the door.
Minho narrows his eyes at him but lets himself be shoved outside. He was planning to use the application as an excuse to get more intel on the sales department, but apparently his presence in the office was unacceptable, so the intel will have to wait.
He can always talk to Changbin, at least.
To Kim Seungmin:
not only does your husband work at fuck the butt lawn services, he's also weird
are you aware of that?
From Kim Seungmin:
I am now aware that he works there.
I was always aware that he was weird.
What happened?
To Kim Seungmin:
he just handed me an application to be a salesperson for fuck buddies lawn services
From Kim Seungmin:
I'll admit that's weirder than I expected.
To Kim Seungmin:
yeah
you'd think he'd know i hate salespeople
Kim Seungmin is typing...
Kim Seungmin is typing...
From Kim Seungmin:
He says you asked for the application.
To Kim Seungmin:
that's not important
From Kim Seungmin:
Were you trying to get info on Jisung?
In a pathetic manner?
To Kim Seungmin:
how do you know his name?
From Kim Seungmin:
You've told me three thousand times.
Minho’s pretty sure he hasn’t, but then again, he has been a bit fucked in the head lately. Hmm.
* * *
Ding ding ding ding ding.
Minho grabs the water gun.
DING DING DING DING DIIIIIIIIIIIING.
It’s been less than an hour since the last salesperson, can they not give him one second of rest?
The ringing of the doorbell gets mixed with obnoxiously loud knocking.
Minho throws the door open, sees a uniform, and lays the water gun on thick.
“We don’t have time for this, Minho, put the gun down.”
Minho obeys immediately, blinking. He knows that voice.
Sure enough, Jisung stands there, dripping, hands on his hips. His cheeks are puffed out slightly, eyebrows scrunched and eyes wide. He looks like some sort of angry squirrel.
“How do you know my name?” Minho asks.
Jisung ignores him. “Get out here,” he says.
“You’re not supposed to be back until—”
“Out,” Jisung says again, glaring.
Minho steps out. Jisung steps forward, fisting a hand in his shirt and pulling him closer.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” he says, and Minho can’t look away from him. He feels like he might die, right here, with Jisung all up in his space. “You’re going to go inside and think about what you’ve done—”
“What did I—”
“Your lawn was so beautiful, and now look at it. I can’t believe you’d let it get to this point.”
“I thought you didn’t like my lawn before.”
Jisung glares and moves on like Minho didn’t say anything. “You’re going to go inside, and I’m going to go get my friends, and you’re going to let us tear out and re-sod your lawn. Got it?”
“I’m not using Bang the Bush Lawn Services,” Minho says, folding his arms across his chest.
“You’re not,” says Jisung. “I just told you. You’re using my friends and I. And all the equipment and sod we happen to have.”
“Price?”
“Free.”
“Bullshit.”
“Don’t argue with me on this, Mewtwo. I’d rather do it with your blessing, but I’m not above knocking you out and locking you in our truck ‘til we’re done.”
Minho’s lips twitch. “Alright then, if you insist.”
“I do insist.”
Jisung turns around, and before Minho can process anything, he’s speeding away in his car.
Minho stares after him.
He’s sitting on the doorstep, still staring, when Jisung drives back twenty minutes later. This time he’s in a big pickup truck (instead of his usual red car), the back loaded with all sorts of shit, Chan and Changbin squished in the cab with him.
They all hop out, Chan and Changbin immediately going to the back of the truck to start unloading. Jisung walks toward Minho and stands in front of him, hands on his hips again.
“You were supposed to go inside and think about what you’ve done.”
“Am I not allowed to supervise?”
“Absolutely no—”
Changbin, who’s just walked up to tell Jisung something, laughs.
“Just let him watch the pretty men work,” he says, clapping a hand on Jisung’s shoulder. “It’s fine.”
Jisung looks sideways at Minho, raising an eyebrow, but follows Changbin back to the truck.
Minho has no particular feelings about watching the pretty men work. He invites Seungmin over to join him, because Seungmin will appreciate it greatly. Quietly, but greatly.
He’s surprised to find Seungmin staring more at Changbin than at Jisung. He knows they’re married, but still, there’s something about Jisung. Isn’t there?
When the three workers look exhausted enough, Minho calls them inside for some cool air and lemonade. Chan and Changbin accept his invitation gratefully. Jisung ignores him. Seungmin throws a look Minho’s way (what’s that supposed to mean?) and shepherds Chan and Changbin inside, closing the door behind himself. Minho’s left alone on the porch, torn between staring at the door and staring at Jisung.
He decides to stare at Jisung, who’s kneeling in the garden, yanking weeds out of the soil with extreme vigor.
“Are you not going to come in?” he calls, once he’s sure Jisung really isn’t planning on coming in.
Jisung shakes his head without looking up.
“Why not?”
“I’m mad at you. Obviously.”
“What?” Minho laughs. “Why?”
Jisung sits back on his heels, staring at Minho in disbelief.
“You’re kidding me, right?” he says.
Minho shrugs.
Jisung glares at him. “You ruined your lawn.”
“I know.”
“You know you didn’t have to do that, right?”
“Of course I didn’t have to. It just happened.”
“Bullshit,” Jisung mutters, just loud enough for Minho to hear. He stands up, walking toward the porch. “You did this on purpose,” he says.
“What are you talking about?”
Jisung, who is suddenly very close, stabs a finger into Minho’s chest. “You let your lawn die because you wanted me to come back here.”
Minho scoffs. “Me? Want a salesman to come back?”
“Am I wrong, then?” Jisung says. It doesn’t sound like a question. He’s looking at Minho with raised eyebrows and parted lips. Fuck, Minho’s staring at his lips. Rookie mistake.
He looks up from them quickly, but not before he sees them curling into a smirk. Jisung stares too far into Minho’s eyes. He’s probably seeing Minho’s skull back there. Which is probably ugly. Damn it.
This is terrible. This is not how you one-up a salesperson. This is Minho’s greatest failure. He forces his eyes to stay up, holding Jisung’s gaze.
“How was your internship?” he blurts, once the staring gets to be too much for him.
Jisung laughs. “It was fine.”
“Just fine? Not great?”
“I missed sales,” Jisung says, shrugging.
“What were you doing there?”
“Landscaping.”
“Oh. You like landscaping?”
Fuck. He’s not supposed to care if Jisung likes landscaping. He’s supposed to—
Jisung shrugs. “It’s cool, I guess.”
“You’re back early,” Minho says.
“Yeah, and?”
“Why?”
Jisung shrugs. “The last week was optional, and Chan needed me.”
“Needed you to do sales?”
“Yup. Exactly. The sales department has been desperately lacking since I left.”
“I got an application to join the sales department.” Minho doesn’t know why he said that. Mostly he just wants to see how Jisung reacts.
“What—at Bang the Bush?”
Minho nods, and Jisung’s face screws up in confusion.
“How’d you get an—”
Jisung is interrupted by the door opening.
“You should probably put up your new sign, since Jisung’s back,” Seungmin says blankly, tossing it out and closing the door. Minho’s not proud of the noise he makes as the sign hurtles toward the ground. Also not proud of the way his heart squishes when Jisung throws himself down, snatching it just before it’s irreparably damaged.
“Shit,” he says, reaching out a hand uncertainly. “Are you okay?”
Jisung stands up, looking entirely unbothered. Both knees and one of his elbows are bleeding, his upper arm scraped up.
“Shit,” says Minho, again.
Jisung holds the sign out in front of him to read it, and Minho realizes the danger. Fucking Seungmin.
He grabs the sign, trying to wrench it from Jisung’s grasp, but Jisung only tightens his hold.
“I was drunk,” Minho says quickly. “I don’t even remember what I—”
“You missed me?” Jisung interrupts him.
Minho blinks, and he watches the smirk crawl onto Jisung’s face again as he turns the sign around for Minho to read.
N O SOLCITNKG
- The homejshger is NT AVAISJIBLE.
- IF youjs insult the house it wil insjult you..
- i am no yoir friend,
- Thisjlkjg apl gihyou
- ALSDesse leave.!!
- NO FLIPTING.
- yosaeree not as denitsjt
- The owtoing comapnsgy as HI
- i asdpreiceait you readihgn this fas \(5v6]’.
- Id fatehr bec aslled frohg thay mareo .
- I MISSS GYOUUU fuckjski situupeid inetejrnship
Minho feels his face going up in flames, but he refuses to lose his cool.
“That clearly says ‘I miss Gyou’,” he says.
“Right. Gyou. What’s Gyou?”
“Gyou’s my friend.”
“Right.” Jisung turns the sign around, reading over it again. “Damn. You were wasted, huh?”
Minho stares at him blankly.
“What was this sign for?” Jisung asks, cocking his head to the side, eyes wide and curious.
“I needed to update the sign,” says Minho, as if it’s obvious (which it is).
“So, what does ‘fuckjski situupeid inetejrnship’ mean?”
Minho ignores the question. It doesn’t seem important. “I wasn’t going to hang that version up,” he says.
“I assumed as much.” Jisung grins. “What sign were you planning on putting up?”
Minho sighs. “I hadn’t decided. Something about being grateful for three months of peace.”
Jisung smirks, leaning toward Minho. Minho might explode. “You liked your three months of peace, huh?”
Minho nods shakily.
“Why didn’t you take care of your lawn, then? I told you if you took care of it I wouldn’t keep bothering you.”
Minho looks away from Jisung’s face. His annoyingly attractive smile. He shrugs. “Didn’t feel like it,” he says.
Jisung narrows his eyes, studying Minho’s face. He takes one of Minho’s hands in his own, lifting it slowly, right up close to his face. Inspects it carefully.
“You took care of your cuticles,” he says, and—Minho might be imagining it, but he’s pretty sure Jisung’s lips brush against his knuckle before Jisung drops his hand and walks back over to the garden, going back to weeding like nothing happened.
Minho stares at him, only blinking when the door opens and Seungmin says, as monotone as ever, “Get your ass in here.”
“That was pathetic,” says Seungmin flatly, once Minho’s seated in the front room, across from the couch (where Chan and Chanbin are sitting). Seungmin’s standing to the side, arms crossed.
Minho opens his mouth to protest, but Changbin says, “As sorry as I am to say it, I have to agree with Minnie. It was kind of pathetic.”
Minho looks over at Chan, who’s smiling apologetically.
“What are you talking about?” he says, turning back to Seungmin, who looks at him in bored disbelief.
“I just gave you the perfect opportunity to ask him out (or whatever the fuck this insane foreplay is leading up to), and you wasted it. He kissed your fucking hand, Minho. And you just stood there.”
“What else would I do?”
“Kiss him,” Chan suggests helpfully.
“Or talk to him like an adult and say you’re interested in him romantically,” Changbin adds, giving Chan a bit of a side-eye.
“Or drag him into the truck to fuck,” says Seungmin. “Anything but what you did.”
Minho blinks. “I’m not interested in him romantically.”
“God damn it, Minho.” It’s perhaps the most emotion Seungmin has shown in his life.
“He’s a salesman,” says Minho, by way of explanation, and the other three groan in unison. Seungmin starts for the door, and Chan gets up to follow him. Changbin hangs behind for just a second after they’ve left.
“I’m not supposed to say anything,” he says, “but…have you looked at the application I gave you when you came to the office?”
He doesn’t wait for Minho to respond, just follows the others outside.
It’s true that Minho didn’t give the application a second glance. It’s laying on his desk, a bit crumpled, under two empty coffee cups and a gum wrapper.
He picks it up, skimming over it. It’s a fairly normal job application, with questions specifically regarding yardwork, landscaping, and experience in similar areas. It doesn’t say anything about sales. Minho narrows his eyes, flipping through to the last page. There’s a note scrawled in the bottom corner.
‘Minho,’ it says, ‘we don’t do sales. (Don’t tell Seungmin I told you.)’
Minho drops the application, hurrying back out to the yard. He catches Changbin’s eye—jerks his head toward Jisung—raises his eyebrows. Changbin glances over at Seungmin, who’s looking at his phone, then looks back at Minho and shakes his head just barely.
Minho feels faint. He drops down onto the porch bench next to Seungmin, but stands right back up and staggers inside, making his way to the counter and downing a whole glass of lemonade.
Jisung is a salesman for Bang the Bush Lawn Services.
Bang the Bush Lawn Services doesn’t do sales.
Great. Fine. Cool.
This all makes sense.
Minho’s sitting on the counter, still drinking lemonade (at least it’s not alcohol), when Changbin hurries in, looking over his shoulder every few seconds.
“I told them I had to pee,” he says, rushed.
Minho nods dumbly.
“You saw the note on the application?” Changbin asks.
Minho nods again.
“So…” says Changbin, raising his eyebrows.
“So Jisung’s not a salesman?” Minho asks.
“Yeah. We sent him around once with flyers to tape to doors. Not to knock doors. He liked your lawn. It probably turned him on, cause he’s a slut for good landscaping. He didn’t say that, it’s just an educated guess. He saw your sign. Wanted to see if you’d actually insult him.”
“Is he a slut for good insults?” Minho asks.
Changbin looks at him like he’s stupid, then turns and runs when he hears the front door open. Minho’s left alone with his lemonade and his thoughts.
Jisung doesn’t say anything to Minho when the crew leaves. Seungmin stands with Minho and watches the truck disappear into the dusk, then turns and just stares at Minho, the same disappointed look that’s been on his face for the whole day still plastered there.
“What?” says Minho.
“You can’t seriously be letting the fact that Jisung’s a salesman get in the way of true love.”
Minho rolls his eyes and walks inside, locking Seungmin out. Seungmin doesn’t bother to use his key to come inside (probably wants to get home and fuck Changbin at his sweatiest, since Seungmin’s a slut for…that).
Minho sits down at his computer, pulls up customsigns.com, and starts a new sign. Drops the extra hundred dollars for next day shipping.
He doesn’t sleep much that night.
* * *
NO SOLICITING
- The homeowner is not available.
- If you insult the house, I will insult you.
(I missed you)
* * *
“What does it mean by ‘I missed you’?”
The saleswoman is pointing at Minho’s sign, brow scrunched up.
“It doesn’t say that,” he says.
Her face squishes up more. It’s like she thinks he’s crazy or something.
“Uhh… is the homeowner available?” she asks.
He shuts the door.
* * *
“Who’s ‘you’?”
Jisung’s arms are folded across his chest, one eyebrow raised.
Minho blinks. He should have seen this coming, but he didn’t.
“It’s just…” he drags out the word, trying to think— “the philosophical you. As in, I missed the presence of the things that make up the self of the reader.”
“So. I read the sign.”
“Right.”
“So you missed the presence of the things that make up the self of me?”
“Something like that.”
Jisung stares at Minho. It’s rather unnerving.
“Aren’t you supposed to be trying to sell me something?” Minho says, chewing on his lip.
“How much would you be willing to pay to get an up close and personal look at someone’s cuticles?” Jisung says, in his slimiest voice.
Minho purses his lips. Considering. “How much would you generally charge?”
“Three grand, usually, but I could probably settle for two. Friend’s discount, you know?”
Minho goes to point at item three on his sign (I am not your friend), then remembers he didn’t add it this time, and lets his hand drop awkwardly.
“So?” says Jisung, leaning forward a bit, the tiniest smirk playing on his lips.
“Who’s the someone?” Minho asks.
“The philosophical someone.”
“What does that mean?”
“You tell me.”
Minho looks at Jisung. Jisung looks back at him. Even though his voice was teasing, his eyes are wide and genuine.
“Hold out your hands,” says Minho, softly, and Jisung does—palms up, still watching Minho expectantly.
Minho grabs hold of both hands, pulling Jisung up into the doorway, up against him.
Jisung’s eyes are huge now, staring up at Minho with some mix of emotions—Minho can’t tell which ones.
“Is this okay?” Minho says, voice steady (as much of a shock to him as to anyone else).
Jisung nods. He steps forward, pushing Minho further into the house, and nudges the door shut behind them with his foot.
“I’m not reading this wrong, am I?” asks Jisung, eyes still wide and glued to Minho’s.
“You lied to me,” Minho says, eyes dragging down to Jisung’s lips, then back up to his eyes.
“What?” Jisung blinks. “When?”
“You said the landscaping internship was just ‘fine’. You shrugged about it.”
Jisung’s eyebrows knit together. “And?” he says.
“Changbin says you’re a slut for good landscaping.”
Jisung’s lips twitch, and he leans forward. Minho can feel his breath on his lips.
“I am,” says Jisung. “Does that make you regret ruining your lawn?”
Minho shrugs. His mind’s a bit blank. He clears his throat.
“You also said you were a salesperson.”
“I am.”
“Are not.” Minho’s proud of himself for maintaining any sanity with how close Jisung is.
“I’m here, aren’t I? My pitch clearly worked.”
“I’m not using Bang the Bush Lawn Services,” Minho whispers.
“Of course not,” Jisung says, one hand snaking up Minho’s arm all the way to his neck. “Who would use a company with a name like that?”
That’s what seals the deal, really. Minho is, after all, a slut for smart men. He puts one shaking hand on Jisung’s waist and moves forward the last inch necessary for their lips to meet.
He can feel Jisung’s smirk against his lips, just for a second, before Jisung’s kissing back. He thinks he likes that.
* * *
(“Minho,” Seungmin says, “of course I knew where my husband was working. Do you think I’m an idiot?”
He’s trying to explain why he couldn’t just tell Minho that Jisung was severely into him from the start. It all boils down to him wanting to watch Minho suffer.
“Unlike some people,” Seungmin adds, looking pointedly at Minho. “You couldn’t figure out a single thing on your own, could you?”
“Don’t be too hard on him, baby,” Changbin says, rubbing Seungmin’s arm, “he didn’t have much information to work with.”
“No thanks to you,” Seungmin snaps, swatting his arm. “You gave it all away. Buzzkill.”
Changbin’s lip twitches.
“Changbin,” says Minho, “can I apply to be your best friend instead of his? I think he hates me.”
Changbin goes to nod but is stopped by another swat, this time to the side of his head. He smiles apologetically at Minho, then kisses Seungmin soundly. Seungmin glares at him, and after that, neither of them pays any attention to Minho. That’s alright, because Jisung should be soliciting any second now.)
* * *
The sign is beautiful. Sturdy aluminum, white lettering on a black background, a coat of special laminate to protect it from weather. Big words, in the classiest font Minho could find:
NO SOLICITING
The homeowner is not available
He already has a hot salesperson husband
Most salespeople don’t read the sign, of course, so they still get plenty of knocks. It’s not so bad now, though; Jisung deals with the salespeople, and Minho deals with Jisung. Just the way they like it.