Chapter Text
Despite common misconceptions, Kim Seungmin does not mope.
He doesn’t mope when his first roommate, fresh out of college, moves out after only six months, doesn’t mope when the second does the same after barely three. He definitely doesn’t mope when the third slams their—previously shared, now solely his—front door with enough force to rattle the frame, bags in tow and one last complaint about Seungmin’s behavior thrown over his shoulder like it will make a difference.
The thing is, Seungmin likes doing things his way, thank you very much, and he is not about to bend his rules for any pretty-eyed or smart-mouthed roommate who thinks they know better. His rules make sense, they keep everything clean and predictable and nice, and if someone doesn’t agree, well, they can move out just like the others did. Chan would chastise him for such stick-up-his-ass behavior in a way that somehow makes it sound even worse, and Jeongin wouldn’t even try to hide the snort that comes with a casual, that’s why you can’t keep a roommate to save your life, hyung, if Seungmin ever said any of this out loud.
He doesn’t mope when they all hang out either. Not at all.
“Dude, this is the, what, fourth one?” Changbin exclaims, leaning back with his eyebrows raised like he’s witnessing something impressive rather than mildly concerning. Seungmin merely makes a noise into the wooden table of their booth, something caught somewhere between a whine and a dying animal, dragged out and miserable. If Seungmin were even a little less drunk, he’d be mortified that such a sound came from him, that it exists at all outside of his own head.
Thankfully, Jeongin has been quietly replacing his empty glasses with drinks all night, no questions asked, just the occasional glance to make sure he’s still conscious. “Fifth,” he corrects bitterly, and a long-fingered hand comes down to pat his hand, grounding and brief. Jeongin, ever the sympathetic when it actually matters, even if he’ll mock him for it later.
It wasn’t meant to turn into a pity party when Seungmin texted the group chat asking if they wanted to go drinking, just something casual to pass the time, but as things often do in Seungmin’s life, it twists into one the moment Chan asks what’s new since the last time they all hang out. Curse his job at the law firm for being so boring, that he doesn’t have anything but his current lack of roommate to talk about.
“Jeez, Seungminnie,” Chan murmurs, something a little pitying and genuinely concerned threading through his voice, and Seungmin can practically picture the way he pouts even with his face pressed into the table. He would look up to see it for himself, but the table is so cool and nice against his heated face. “What’s the plan?”
Ah, yes. Because while Seungmin is notoriously incapable of keeping a roommate for longer than a few months, he is equally as known for always having a plan waiting in the background, tucked neatly behind everything else. It might just be his anxious brain or his pessimistic view of life, but maybe it should say something that Seungmin has a fallback plan prepared for every roommate he’s ever had, ready like he’s just waiting for them to prove him right and leave, but he’s far too drunk and far too irritated to examine that right now. The plan is always roughly the same anyway; work overtime at the firm and cut back on the vocal lessons he’s been taking once a week since college (back when he thought he’d use it for something real), scroll through every possible accommodation site where people are practically begging to be someone's roommate, swallow his pride just enough to lean on his hyungs a little more, and then repeat the cycle when it inevitably happens again.
“Get drunk,” he says instead, voice muffled and flat against the table, which, honestly, tracks with his current situation. Tomorrow he'll curse himself for drinking and staying out late on a sunday as is, but for now… “Maybe find someone to take me home with them, and then I’ll just charm my way into staying there forever. Haha.”
“Yah! That’s dangerous,” Changbin tuts at the same time Jeongin says, without missing a beat, “you’re not that charming.”
“Seungminnie,” Chan starts again, slow like he’s easing into something he already knows Seungmin won’t like. Like he's speaking to a spooked animal. Like opening his mouth is equivalent to punching Seungmin, so he may as well give him a heads-up for it. “Maybe it’s time to move, hm? To a place you can afford on your own?”
The thought of parting with his loving apartment sends a shiver down his spine. It’s within walking distance of his job, his neighbors are quiet and kind in that distant way he prefers, and there’s a dog park just around the corner that he pretends he doesn’t linger near on his days off. Seungmin would rather sleep on one of the benches in that park than give it up and start over somewhere unfamiliar.
“No,” he says, stubborn as ever, the word firm even through the alcohol, and his friends sigh, just like they always do.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
In the end, Seungmin does not go home with a stranger, but alone, which isn’t new, but still manages to suck in a quiet, familiar way that settles somewhere under his ribs. If he had found someone to take home, he would've been far too occupied to pity himself, too.
Even though all he wants is to crash face-first into his bed and sleep until everything somehow fixes itself without him, he can’t let himself do that. He has a routine to get through, one that sits in his bones more than in his head, automatic and stubborn. First, he clears the dishes from the sink, because he knows it will irritate him in the morning to leave the apartment with even one plate sitting there, and he’ll be too hungover to clean them then. Then he showers, letting the water run a little too cold against his skin, and dries his hair with a towel until it starts to frizz at the ends in a way he’ll deal with tomorrow, before changing into his pajamas.
Then he makes a round through the apartment, checking each window one by one, pressing them shut even when he knows they already are, just to be sure, just to settle the itch in the back of his mind, before finally letting himself collapse into bed.
He’s a little more tired by then, heavy in a way that drags him down into the mattress. The last thing he hears before falling asleep in the beeping of his phone.
Chan hyung
I know you don't like it when we meddle but I think I know someone who will be a great roommate for you!
Call me tomorrow after your hangover’s gone
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Seungmin finds himself sitting on a bench at his beloved dog park at 6:30 in the morning, which already feels like a decision he will regret in about three hours and find borderline suicidal and vaguely self-sabotaging when the caffeine wears off and the irritation settles properly into his bones, dull and persistent and entirely his own fault for agreeing to this in the first place.
Sitting there at such a time, disrupting a routine he has perfected down to the minute, is not something he does lightly, not for anyone, usually not even for people he likes, and Chan knows that, but Chan insisted this was something that couldn’t be pushed to the weekend, voice taking on that annoying, knowing edge that usually means Seungmin is about to be inconvenienced. Said inconvenience being meeting his soon-to-be-maybe-roommate, which already sounds like a bad idea the longer he sits with it, like something doomed by principle alone.
Still, here he is, waiting for Chan’s friend, because if this is going to go badly, and it will, statistically speaking, then he would rather get it over with before he needs to go to work, before he wakes up fully and understands this is such a stupid idea. Better to keep it contained, efficient, something he can go through quickly and decisively before work, determine whether this will be the same pattern all over again or, against all odds, an arrangement that might actually last longer than a few months.
He is halfway through counting the trees planted inside the park when the gate opens.
“It’s very early.”
It’s not a question, and something about that alone is enough to irritate him, just slightly, so Seungmin doesn’t look at him, doesn’t give him that immediately, instead he keeps looking over at the trees like the statement doesn’t require immediate acknowledgment.
“Yes,” he says anyway, seconds later, because silence is somehow worse and would cause him to squirm out of his skin. “because of you.”
There is a beat, quiet and stretched.
Only then does Seungmin tilt his head, just enough to look at the guy properly. The guy stands a few steps inside the park, his gaze already fixed on Seungmin with an intensity that feels misplaced for 6:30 in the morning.
“I wasn’t the one who decided to meet before work and not after,” he replies, something faintly irritated in the words but not in his expression, which stays oddly flat. “Can I sit?”
Seungmin gapes at his unspoken accusation, fingers wrapping around his jeans at the knees, and considers, briefly, saying no out of principle alone, just to reestablish some kind of control over this interaction that already feels slightly off.
Instead, he nods.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
It’s horrible.
Seungmin picked the bench facing the street so he can keep an eye on the street, an easy out saying he doesn’t wanna get stuck in the morning rush if he wants to go, but so far all he gets is the empty street stretching out in front of him, pale in the early morning light. The dog park sits in a quieter part of the city, sure, but this feels excessive, like the universe is actively conspiring to leave him stuck here with no interruption, no excuse to cut this short without looking rude.
The guy doesn’t speak, seems perfectly content to stare somewhere just past Seungmin’s counted trees, like there’s something there worth holding his attention, and Seungmin doesn’t speak either, because he isn’t the one who needs to sell himself here.
The silence settles thick and unmoving between them, not awkward in the way Seungmin is used to with new people, not fidgety or strained, but… there, solid and unbothered, and Seungmin finds himself watching the guy in pieces, gaze dragging slowly from his black hair to his wide, unblinking eyes, to the sharp line of his nose and the narrow cut of his philtrum, further down until the faint glint of a chain peeking out from under his gray shirt.
His toes curl in his loafers, restless in a way he refuses to show anywhere else, the urge to end this rising steadily in his throat, sharp and insistent, to tell this guy to leave and then call Chan just to throttle him for dragging Seungmin into this painfully drawn-out, excruciating excuse of a meeting, because why—
“So, you’re a lawyer? How come you can’t afford a place alone?” The words cut clean through his thoughts, abrupt enough to make Seungmin blink, his attention snapping back to him just as their eyes finally meet properly, and something about it, the timing or the tone or just the fact that it took this long, makes Seungmin feel like he is actively losing brain cells.
“I have student loans,” he replies, voice flat and automatic. “I don’t want to cheap out and live somewhere horrible just to afford it alone.”
“Ah.” The guy nods a few times, fluid and almost knowing, brows pinching together just slightly as his lips press into the faintest hint of a pout. It almost looks like he is trying to look sympathetic, like he expects that reaction to get him somewhere, and Seungmin has the brief, irrational thought that he is being manipulated into something. He will not fall for big brown eyes, especially ones that a moment ago didn't dare look back at him. “Okay,” he says. “I guess it makes sense.”
Just that. No attempt to fill the silence again, his gaze already slipping away to that same spot by the trees like the conversation has ended on his side and there is nothing left to add.
Seungmin blinks at him. “…And why do you want to be roommates?" he asks after a moment, the words coming out a little more forced than intended, more obligation than generosity.
The guy’s eyes flick back to him, blinking rapidly, four, five, six times in quick succession, like he is recalibrating something, reassessing the options with an intensity that feels disproportionate to the question.
“I’m a dancer,” he says finally. “I dance and teach others. As you can imagine, I’m not in it for the money.”
Seungmin stares at him for a second longer than necessary, something about it catching on him for whatever reason, before pushing himself up from the way he started to slouch on the bench, soles scruffing against the dirt. The sound startles the guy or something, his head swings to look at Seungmin’s shoes.
It only makes him feel self conscious for sitting on a park bench in his suit and loafers for a second, before he reminds himself that he likes suits, and most importantly – he likes his job, that demands them of him.
“Right. Sounds tough.”
The guy keeps his eyes on Seungmin’s shoes as he hums, as he brings a hand up to toy with his chain. “Thanks,” he says, polite and maybe even with a little gratitude in his voice. “I’m Lee Minho.”
“Kim Seungmin.”
“I know,” Minho hums again, like that part was never in question. His eyes flicker back up to him before darting away back to the trees. “Chan-ah told me all about you, Kim Seungmin-ssi. An awkward control freak lawyer, who can’t keep a roommate to save his life.”
Seungmin exhales slowly through his nose, feeling the beginning of a headache settle behind his eyes and completely erasing the smile that played on his lips before.
This is going to be a long morning.