Chapter Text
College life was not for the weak, and most definitely not for only children. Seonghyeon, who had grown up without any siblings, had never once shared his space, not so much as a shelf. Privacy wasn’t something he valued, because he’d never had to think about it, which made its now absence all the more glaring.
Roommate housing, therefore, had to be one of the worst creations ever made. At least this time, the elevator was working. Last semester he’d dragged ten suitcases up four flights of stairs by hand, and by the sixth trip he’d been lightheaded enough to see spots, sweat soaking through his shirt, legs shaking.
He knew he couldn't get too comfortable. Before move-in day, his mother—who’d apparently spent the better part of her twenties bouncing between shared apartments and dorm hell—sat him down for what he called Roommate 101. Set boundaries early-on, she’d said. Make a chore schedule and stick to it. Never be loud after nine and if you are, know how to talk your way out of it. Be polite, not overly nice and stand your ground, but don’t be a dick about it.
Challenging? Perhaps. Something he could conquer? Absolutely.
And one blissful semester he had. Everything had been fine, more than fine honestly. He still missed his parents’ house some nights, the quiet of his childhood room, but he couldn’t really complain. He’s gotten quite lucky with the roommate lottery. His assigned roommate was Kim Juhoon. Pre-med, was rarely even home, and when he was, he was either dead asleep or hunched over a mountain of exam papers. Either way, peaceful and quiet. Juhoon could even be nice sometimes, in his own dry and sleep-deprived way.
All of that changed when Juhoon started dating this new guy, Martin.
Seonghyeon met Martin on a random Tuesday at exactly 6:34 in the morning and he would remember the precise time for the rest of his forsaken life. Seonghyeon was a Kinesiology major, which meant he was up at six. Stretch, jog, shower, and out the door by eight fifteen. He’d laced his shoes in the dark that morning, half-asleep, headphones in, padding out to the kitchen for water before his run. What greeted him first thing in the morning was none other than a very tall, very naked, and very blonde stranger, sitting on his kitchen counter, eating out of his Ben&Jerry’s cookie dough tub. His Ben&Jerry’s cookie dough tub, it even had his name written on it and everything.
See, everything Seonghyeon had known about Martin up to that point was the following:
- He was Juhoon’s boyfriend (or situationship, to be honest, Juhoon himself seemed fuzzy whenever the topic came up).
- The two of them met at some sketchy party across town on the dance floor, making out until Juhoon’s knees had given out from under him. Martin—ever the gentleman, according to Juhoon and Juhoon only—had taken him home and asked him to be his boyfriend, or sexual partner, the following day (again, clearance issues).
- Martin was also, apparently, some type of, underground producer on Soundcloud. One of his tracks had gone semi-viral in some niche, algorithm-blessed corner of Tiktok. He was also failing the year because of it, by all accounts, too busy working at getting his music to blow up.
- And Martin was, by every secondhand account Seonghyeon had ever been given, this big, hotshot playboy whose relationships allegedly never lasted.
All things considered, Martin seemed like the world’s biggest asshole and absolutely not the kind of partner Seonghyeon wanted anywhere near his sweet, exhausted and overworked roommate. And to his dismay, not only was Martin the world’s biggest asshole but also a perverted exhibitionist.
“What the fuck?”
The guy seemed far less bothered than he should’ve. “Mornin’,” he chirped, spoon shamelessly still in his mouth while talking, his legs swinging off the counter edge. Seonghyeon didn’t dare look further down, he refused. His body was rigid, hands flailing by his sides, not knowing where to let his eyes rest.
“Who the fuck are you?”
“Martin.” His eyebrows had wiggled. Wiggled. Could one believe the audacity of this guy? “Who are you?”
“I live here.”
“So do I.”
“No you don’t,” Seonghyeon protested. His eyes narrowed, suspicion creeping in. “Are you drunk?”
“Nope,” he replied, popping the p as he finally hopped off the counter. Which did nothing to help since he was still, well—there, in all his glory.
“You—” Seonghyeon’s hands flew up to shield his eyes, heat crawling up the back of his neck as he stumbled backward until his shoulders hit the doorframe. His voice cracked embarrassingly on the next words. “Jesus—can you put something on?”
A mischievous glint danced in Martin’s eyes as a crooked smile touched his face, entirely too pleased with himself. “Like what you see?”
“What—no!” That came out of him way too fast and Seonghyyeon hated it immediately. He dropped his hand just enough to glare properly. “That’s mine, the ice cream. Give it back.”
Martin glanced down at the tub in his hand, thumb dragging across the label taped to its side. Eom Seonghyeon.
“Eom Seonghyeon,” he repeated, and something about hearing his own name in a stranger’s mouth—a stranger currently naked in his kitchen—made a shiver crawl up Seonghyeon’s spine that he chose to aggressively ignore. “That you?”
“Yes.”
“Nice to meet’chu.” Martin extended the ice cream toward him like a peace offering, but Seonghyeon was thinking of anything but peace.
“Put my ice cream back and put some clothes on.”
“Why? Can’t handle it?”
“You’re Juhoon’s boyfriend.”
A wry smile touched Martin’s lips. “So you do know who I am.”
“Unfortunately. Now will you please put something on?”
“Fine, fine.” Martin raised both hands in mock surrender, though he made sure to take his sweet time, no hurry at all despite Seonghyeon’s visible distress. “Can’t a man be free in the privacy of his own home?”
“This is not your home,” Seonghyeon called after him, his voice climbing an octave.
Martin brushed him off, offering a lazy flick of his wrist to dismiss him and disappeared through Juhoon’s door, closing it with his foot.
Seonghyeon stood frozen in the kitchen for a long moment, releasing a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, shoulders finally dropping from somewhere up around his ears. When he came back to himself, he grabbed his water bottle with more force than necessary, muttered something hostile under his breath and left for his run twelve minutes behind schedule.
Unfortunately for him, that would be nowhere close to the last time he saw Martin. Not even close.
**
It was lunch-rush-hour in the dining hall. Seonghyeon had claimed a table near the window before Juhoon showed up, because Juhoon showing up at all was rare enough that Seongyheon wasn’t about to waste it on a bad seat.
Lunch with Juhoon happens maybe every two, three weeks now, a kind of miracle. Seonghyeon had always waited for these lunches as they were very valuable and definitely worth clearing his schedule for. Exactly why he’d been sitting on this grievance for two days, waiting for an audience.
“Juhoon, there’s something very wrong with your boyfriend.”
Juhoon looks up from his half-eaten sandwich, unbothered, picking a stray crumb off the corner of his mouth. He chews and swallows first, taking his time on both actions.
“What’chu mean?”
“For fuck’s sake, you and him even talk the same.” Seonghyeon gestures between the empty air where Martin wasn’t and Juhoon’s face.
Juhoon just shrugs, turning the sandwich in his hands, deciding which side would be a better bite. “Did he sleep in your bed?”
“No—” Seonghyeon’s voice cracked up an octave, glancing sideways to make sure nobody at the next table was listening. He drops his volume, leaning in. “But he flirted with me. Naked. And he ate out of my ice cream tub. The one with my name on it.”
“Right.”
Seonghyeon sat there dumbfounded, blinking in disbelief.“Doesn’t that bother you?”
Juhoon tilts his head, considering the questions with far more patience than Seonghyeon currently had for it. “The fact that he was naked or that he ate your ice cream?”
“That he flirted with me!” He looks around again, drops his volume again and then, because he was nothing if not thorough about his grievances. “And yes, obviously, also that. Don’t you find him weird? At all?”
“To be quite honest,” Juhoon starts, popping his water bottle open, “I don’t really care.”
Seonghyeon had known Juhoon for about four months now. But none, none of what he knew about him lined up with this. He stared at him stunned, jaw hanging open.
“Listen,” Juhoon continues, setting his water down. “I’m with him because he’s popular, he’s really hot, he makes music, and he’s great in bed. We’re not exactly exclusive.”
Seonghyeon closes his mouth before opening it again. “Why is he your boyfriend then?”
Juhoon smiles at him, faintly amused. “Oh Seonghyeon, my sweet summer child.” Juhoon sets his sandwich down. “One day you will grow up and see the benefit of dating someone who doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t get clingy, and is very good with his hands. Among other things.”
“Fucking hell.” Seonghyeon’s face scrunches in full-bodied disgust, one hand flying up to his mouth, trying to physically block the mental image. His stomach did an unpleasant little flip. “Not while I’m eating.”
“You asked.”
“I didn’t ask for that.”
Juhoon shrugs, entirely unbothered, and picks his sandwich back up. “Suit yourself.”
Seonghyeon stares at him for a moment, searching his face for any sign that Juhoon was about to crack and admit there is something deeper going on. But Juhoon just chews, his gaze drifting toward the window.
“That’s not—you’re supposed to like someone. Actually like them, not just—” Seonghyeon gestures helplessly, “list their qualifications like some employer.”
“Yeah, well.” Juhoon takes another bite, and whatever was on his face was gone as quickly as it came. “Not everyone gets the luxury of overthinking it, Seonghyeon. Some of us just take what works.”
**
The skate park was mostly packed on a Friday afternoon, younger kids trying and failing to land on the same trick, but otherwise still spacious enough that Seonghyeon and Keonho had a good part of the main lodge practically to themselves.
They’d been skating together since sophomore year of high school, when Keonho’s older cousin first dragged them both out with a hand-me-down board. Somehow they’d ended up at the same college anyway, entirely unplanned. Keonho was in Media Production now, always angling his phone at random moments to catch footage he always swears he’ll do something with eventually.
“Okay, what’s wrong,” Keonho asks, popping his board up with his foot and catching it under one arm and he drops down onto the ledge beside Seonghyeon. Both of them were sweating a little, catching up on air from the last hour.
“What what’s wrong?”
“You always start chewing on the inside of your cheek when something’s bothering you. There for sure are better food alternatives, you know.” Keonho grabs his water bottle, squinting at him over the top of it. “Let me guess. Juhoon’s boyfriend.”
Seonghyeon exhales, dragging a hand down his face. “That fucker ate my ice cream.”
“You’ve told me this.”
“He was naked when he did it, like—full on.”
“You’ve told me that too.” Keonho was trying his best fighting a smile, and losing. “You gonna tell me new stuff or are we just doing reruns today?”
“There’s no new stuff. He’s just—” Seonghyeon struggles to find the word, hands gesturing aimlessly in the air. “He’s everywhere, all the time. Juhoon’s never even around to supervise him, so it’s just me, dealing with a grown man who apparently doesn’t own a single fucking pair of pants he’s willing to wear indoors.”
“Sounds like a personal problem.”
“It is a personal problem. Mine, that’s what I’m telling you.”
Keonho cackles loudly, loud enough that one of the kids by the bowl glances over and Seonghyeon scowls at him in return. That’s when Seonghyeon’s eyes catch on a cluster of people gathered near the far end of the park, by the rail nobody but advanced skaters bothered with. His gaze snags, and sticks to one amongst them. Martin.
Now, at a distance and with no crisis to manage, Seonghyeon has the time to actually look. His eyes hover over the clothes first.
Martin is dressed in a vintage-style beige track jacket, fully zipped over a blue and white striped tee that peeks out at the hem. His jeans hang baggy, slung low on his hips and held by a silver-toned metallic belt. A black cap sits tilted to the side on top of his blonde spikes, just enough to look intentional.
He looks different in this light. His arm rests, slung loose around the shoulder of a girl laughing at something someone else said, head tipped back. He’s really tall too, at least two heads bigger than everybody around him.
Just then, knocking Seonghyeon right out of his daydreaming, Martin turns around, eyes landing on Seonghyeon. He flashes a smile and Seonghyeon freezes in place, water bottle halfway to his mouth.
Martin has a smiley piercing, a small silver hoop through the webbing of skin that’s connecting the inside of the lip with the gums, catching the evening light every time he grins, glinting bright in a way that’s impossible not to notice. Seonghyeon hadn’t seen it that first morning, too busy trying to look anywhere else, but now it’s the only thing he could focus on.
“Earth to Seonghyeon.” Keonho’s voice cuts through, amused. Following his line of sight, his tone shifts. “Oh, so that’s who you’ve been—”
“I haven’t been anything.”
Keonho ignores him, squinting his eyes toward the group. He draws his brows together when he takes in the sight of someone standing just beside Martin, a shorter guy, headphones looping around his neck. He has short, brown hair and an angular, striking, and inscrutable face.
“Isn’t that James?” Seonghyeon asks, his mouth twitching.
“Yeah.” Keonho’s jaw clenched. “Yeah, that’s him.”
Seonghyeon knew little about James, but, enough, anyway. He’s a junior, two years above them, majoring in Music Business. He featured on the track responsible for half of Martin’s minor internet fame, a verse that had gotten the same amount of reposts as the beat itself.
He also knew that the two of them have a history. Freshman year, just four months ago, right after they’d both landed on campus, something started between them. It had lasted for about three months before they called it quits. Keonho doesn’t like to talk about the specifics, but Seonghyeon has pieced together enough over time. Problem was, according to Keonho, that James hadn’t taken him as seriously as Keonho wanted, the year gap apparently mattering more to James than Keonho had thought. Now, watching Keonho watch James grin at something across the park, makes a protective feeling settle in his chest.
“You wanna go home?” Seonghyeon asks, the question absent of any teasing.
Keonho blinks quickly, forcing a smile and shaking his head a little too fast. “No. No, it’s fine. Just—” He huffs a short, humourless laugh. “Weird, seeing him, you know?”
Seonghyeon doesn’t push it. He bumps his shoulder against Keonho and lets his gaze drift back toward the rail, toward Martin, who was now saying something that made his whole circle laugh, easily and unbothered in a way Seonghyeon almost envied.
**
Steam fogs the mirror, the shower running hot enough that Seonghyeon’s tanned skin has gone faintly red under the spray. This is, without exaggeration, the best part of his day. Fifteen minutes of steaming water and nobody’s problems but his own. He’s found himself treasuring it, especially lately.
He’s just worked shampoo into his hair, eyes shut, humming under his breath when the knock comes. Three sharp raps against the door.
“Occupied!” he shouts, tipping his head back under the water.
There’s a pause, and then another knock. “Occupied!” he repeats, slightly louder this time.
Silence, finally. Seonghyeon exhales, rolling his shoulders and goes back to massaging shampoo into his scalp, already thinking of what pair of pyjamas he’s going to wear tonight—
The door slams open. Seonghyeon’s whole body seizes. He grabs the shower curtain on reflex, fisting it against his chest hard enough to yank half the rings loose from the rod. His head snaps around the edge of it with soap still running down the side of his face. “What the fuck—”
Martin, of course it’s Martin, strolling in, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers and an expression of absolute serenity, crossing to the sink. “You—” Seonghyeon sputters, blinking water and rage out of his eyes. “I said occupied! Twice! What part of occupied do you not—get out!”
Martin doesn’t even glance over. He twists the tap on, cupping water in his hands and splashing it over his face. “It’s a shared bathroom.”
“It’s not the fucking time, get out.”
“I just gotta wash my face, relax.” Martin reaches for the little cup by the sink, fingers closing around a toothbrush. Seonghyeon’s stomach drops.
“That’s mine.”
“Hm?”
“That toothbrush. It’s mine, put it down—”
Martin holds it up, turning it in the light. “This grey thing?” He raises one eyebrow. “Kind of boring, no offense.”
“I don’t fucking care if it’s boring, it’s mine and it’s not going in your mouth—” Seonghyeon’s voice cracks somewhere in the middle of that sentence. Quite the predicament: torn between fury and the urgent need to keep the curtain fully closed around himself, soap threatening to drip into his eyes.
Martin grins, the corners of his mouth quirking up, and, maintaining eye contact, pops the toothbrush directly into his mouth.
“Oh my god.” Seonghyeon’s face switches between several stages of horror. “Oh my god, you did not—that is so disgusting, I use that on my teeth, Martin—”
“Mm,” Martin hums around it, already working it back and forth.
Seonghyeon, out of options, dignity and patience, grabs the nearest thing within reach, which happens to be a half-empty bottle of body wash and hurls it over the top of the curtain with as much force he can manage. It hits Martin square in the shoulder with thwack, bouncing off.
“Ow—hey!” Martin yelps, spitting foam into the sink and pressing a hand to his shoulder. “That hurt.”
“Good. Get. Out.”
“You’ve got terrible aim, by the way, that barely—”
“It will be a shampoo bottle next, I swear to fucking god—”
Martin raises both hands in surrender, toothbrush still hanging out one side of his mouth, grinning around it. He backs toward the door with zero urgency, clearly enjoying every second of Seonghyeon’s suffering. “Buying you a new one,” he says, muffled. “Or we could share, that’s more efficient.”
“I don’t want anything, I want you to leave—”
The door shuts and Seonghyeon stands for a long moment, chest heaving, soap dripping into one eye. “I hate him,” he announces. “I hate him so much.”
The curtain is fisted in one white-knuckled hand when it occurs to him that he hasn’t rinsed the shampoo yet. He lets his head fall back with a loud groan, and gets back to it.
**
Seonghyeon pads out of the bathroom with a towel scrubbing roughly through his damp hair when he spots Juhoon at the kitchen table. His feet are propped up on the opposite chair, half a sandwich in one hand—Seonghyeon could swear it’s all he feeds on—and a fried egg peeking out from between the bread.
Relief floods through him so fast it’s almost embarrassing. “Thank god you’re back.”
Juhoon glances up, chewing before he answers. “Mm?” His expression reads the usual mild curiosity.
“You have no idea what the fuck he just—”
“For you.”
Seonghyeon’s head whips around. Martin’s standing at the counter grinning, still in nothing but boxers, holding out a plate with a fried egg sandwich on it.
“I don’t want your egg. Fuck off.”
Martin’s bottom lip juts out, plate still extended in Seonghyeon's direction.
“Don’t be mean,” Juhoon says, not even looking up from his sandwich.
Seonghyeon’s eyes go wide. He throws his towel onto the back of one of the kitchen chairs. “Mean? Mean?!” His voice climbs, gesturing with his hands wildly toward the direction of the bathroom. “He barged into the bathroom while I was showering, Juhoon. While I was showering. I said occupied twice. And then he just—he used my toothbrush. I mean, literally put it in his mouth. On purpose.”
Juhoon blinks, taking another bite and nodding. “That sounds like him.”
“That’s it? That’s your whole response?”
“What do you want me to say?”
“I don’t know, something! This house is insane and I’m apparently the only one who—”
“Are you sure,” Martin cuts in, that same infuriating grin creeping back across his face, “you’re not just this riled up because you want me?”
The kitchen is dead silent for half a second. Seonghyeon’s whole body goes rigid, and his jaw drops open, genuinely speechless. He turns to Juhoon, arms flung wide. “Are you hearing this?”
Juhoon just shrugs, obviously completely unbothered by the whole situation. Seonghyeon stands still for a moment, breathing hard, staring between the two of them, trying to figure out what the hell he’s gotten himself into. He grabs his towel back off the chair, turns on his heel and walks toward his room.
“I don’t care how long it takes,” he announces, one hand on his door, “but I’m getting you out of this house with my own blood, sweat and tears. Mark my words.”
Behind him, carefree, he hears Martin’s voice. “Bold of you to think you’ll win.”
Seonghyeon slams the door shut.