Work Text:
Despite what literally everyone in his life says, Chuei Liyu likes to think that he’s pretty much just a regular, very normal guy.
He’s pretty much the blueprint of any twenty-something year-old, Seoulite, corporate slave just trying to get through life one day at a time. He’d gotten an entry-level position at a medium-sized company right out of college, and right when the fatigue had started to tempt him into thoughts of sending in his resignation, they’d given him a promotion that looked great on paper, but was probably equally just as shitty in practice. It did pay more, though—and that’s another thing that’s normal about him. Liyu is borderline disillusioned after less than a year of working, but getting paid a worker’s wage feels like swimming in riches in such a doomed, unstable world. Looking forward to getting his paycheck, and then spending it, is the saving grace of every humdrum day that he gets up to serve the faceless rich person who resides in their building’s upper floor. He’s not worried about saving up to buy a house, because that’s impossible these days, anyway—and so Liyu is free to spend his money on little, daily things that he actually wants.
So, no—he’s not really strange or mysterious like everyone says he is. And according to Liyu’s new deskmate, Kim Minjae, what most people around the office mean by those statements is that Liyu just seems like he ‘doesn’t like anything’—which, evidently, is not true. Liyu doesn’t go through the trouble of explaining himself to anyone, though, because for better or for worse, that’s the thing that people probably think is strange about him: Liyu just can’t be bothered. It’s not like he hates people, or anything; a lot of things are just easier to do alone. Besides, why should anyone be bothered with what Liyu does in his free time, anyway? It’s a waste of the precious life force that’s being drained daily by their corporate overlords and the gears of the soulless, economic machine.
Chuei Liyu prefers to think that he’s a normal person, just with quite particular tastes. He likes the things he likes at any given time and has no interest in most others, until something comes along, and then suddenly, he does. It’s a simplistic, vague way to think about it, and Liyu knows that. Haneum has told him that countless times, says that’s what makes his first impression so stiff and off-putting—but the clincher is that Liyu is not interested in making himself more approachable for others, especially not now that his life is just a droning back and forth between home and work. When Liyu does indulge in the things that he likes, he prefers to do so alone—whether that’s listening to good music, spending money on nice things or good food, or going on quiet walks alone surrounded by greenery instead of skyscrapers—and he enjoys his life that way, no matter what anyone says.
He’s been this way ever since he’d moved to Seoul from Taipei, all alone, bright-eyed and ready to explore a world outside of the place he’d always called home. Chuei Liyu has tried lots of things, has made a few, lasting friendships here and there, and he’s even learned a whole new language over all that time—but now that all of it’s gotten familiar instead of fresh and new, he’s learned how to settle comfortably into the rest of the life he’s made, too. He lives for the quiet, in-between moments that he gets to spend alone, when the only person who has to enjoy his company is himself. He’s doing quite well in that regard, at the very least—and for now, regardless of what anyone says—that’s already much more than enough.
Chuei Liyu doesn’t expect any of that to change, when he makes the decision that leads him to Kang Woojin.
It happens like this:
Liyu has some kind of lightbulb moment one night, wherein he realizes just how much the society he lives in doesn’t love to cater to people who like to do things alone. In hindsight, he probably should have realized it sooner, but maybe he’s known it all along in the back of his mind when every little thing would compound onto the last, never seeming significant in the moment even as it leaves its lasting impression on how Liyu lives his life. Perhaps it’s just thought of as common knowledge, so deeply-ingrained into the widely-known fabric of what it means to be a happy, fulfilled person; after all, people at work talk about it with Liyu so openly—asking him if he actually has friends outside of work, if he ever feels left out when he skips team dinners, and doesn’t it ever get boring, doing everything by yourself?—and they never seem to mean any harm, because it’s not considered rude enough to count as gossip when someone’s just trying to be friendly. At least, that’s how Liyu has learned to see it. They usually back off when he grits his teeth and answers honestly anyway, never giving that sympathy-veiled judgment any more thought than it’s worth.
So, really, it would make sense for him to have had his lightbulb moment after the nth time that someone asked him those questions—but instead, he’s hit with the realization while sitting in line for a restaurant on a suffocatingly hot, humid summer night.
Because Liyu is a jaded, introverted office worker forced to work with a team of seven people for eight hours a day, and one of the opulent indulgences that he lives for is unlimited Korean BBQ at the end of a long, exhausting week—people really, really turn their nose up at people who turn up to eat at those places alone.
While he’s sitting in line and waiting for the table, he already feels a little bad about taking up an entire charcoal grill for just himself, when there are already a bunch of other groups and couples in line beside him. Liyu is craving the delicious taste of charcoal-smoked beef, freshly-cooked rice, and the warm feeling of soju shots going down his throat—and it’s his right to spend his hard-earned money however he likes, but he’s also already a little bit bummed about paying the single diner charge at the end of the night. It’s a problem he’s had before, but he always sucks it up and pays the extra anyway, because Liyu is the kind of person whose cravings can’t be shaken, only satisfied. So if there’s no one to go with him, then Liyu is fine going alone—he enjoys the meal even more, sometimes, that way—but it’s offset by the little damper that the extra charge puts on his mood, one way or another. In a perfect world, none of that would matter, but alas. This is what reminds Liyu that he does not live in a perfect world.
And on this humid, summer night, after Liyu finishes his overpriced meal, tipsy and full, he bites the bullet. Starts thinking. His phone screen is full of Haneum’s rejections after Liyu had asked him if he wanted to get dinner, and he clicks his tongue in annoyance, because suddenly, his co-workers are right. Liyu is left a sucker with no other options after Jang Haneum says no, and that guy really shouldn’t have that much power over him. Liyu shouldn’t have to be thinking about asking MInjae, who he barely knows, just because he’s desperate for barbecued meat; he doesn’t want to be going back and forth in his head in the restaurant line, debating whether or not he should take his earbuds out and scout out a group that would let him sit at their table without actually feeling pressured to pay attention to him throughout the meal. No—for problems like this, Liyu has to come up with solutions. He hasn’t spent so much energy optimizing his daily routine to avoid minor nuisances like this for nothing—and there has to be at least one other person, in a city as big as Seoul, who has the exact same problem that he does. He just has to find them.
Right?
Whatever. Fuck it.
When Liyu is home, warm and wobbly from soju, collapsing into his bed as he recalls the exorbitant amount of money he’d spend to eat alone and in peace—he opens up his phone, scrunching his nose as he swipes away all the text bubbles from his one and only friend. Supposedly.
And then he opens up the dating app that Haneum had put on his phone on a night just like this, when they were drunk after a good meal and he’d pouted at Liyu while asking if they could just try using it together, which was fucking ridiculous. Liyu had said as much to him, recalls his actual, exact words—Yah, Jang Haneum, why would you ask me that, that’s fucking ridiculous—but Liyu, being the softhearted guy that he is, gave his best friend his phone and let him put the app on there anyway. Liyu had never actually finished creating his profile, like he’d half-promised to—but now, that’s about to change.
Frederick Choi | 2004 | 🇹🇼
Itaewon, Seoul
Looking for an unlimited K-BBQ buddy to eat at restaurants without paying the solo diner charge~ Preferably my age but up to 3 years younger and 6 years older is fine, I don’t really mind as long as you like eating barbecue but never have anyone to go with. SERIOUS MESSAGES ONLY! Will ignore blatant flirting, I’m not here to date. Thx.
Likes: woosamgyeopsal, samgyeopsal enoki rolls, cheese, leafy parts of kimchi, candied sweet potato, egg rolls
Dislikes: gas/electric grills, seaweed salad
Fun fact: I like my beef a bit on the uncooked side (I cook it as little as I can without it being a health hazard lol)
It doesn’t actually take that much time and effort for Liyu to set up his profile; at least, not with the single, clear-cut purpose that he’d had in mind. There was no need for him to bother with the other, silly question prompts—all he had to do was type up exactly what he needed, and that was that. Maybe if he weren’t as inebriated as he currently is, he might have not hit Post as quickly, but Liyu figures that he might as well just do it anyway, now that he’s gone through the trouble. He can just delete the account in the morning, anyway, if it falls through. Yeah. Nothing about what he’s doing is insane at all. Right?
Well, fuck it. Either way, Liyu is in it now. The app prompts him to look at some profiles of people in his area so he can get some ‘matches’, and—Liyu has the passing thought that Haneum is never, ever going to let him live this down—whenever he stops to think about what the hell he’s even doing, he just starts going around in the same circles in his head, convincing himself that none of this is out of character at all. Drunk words are sober thoughts, or whatever they say. Besides, Liyu is just taking the most accessible and efficient route to get to his goal: he’s tapping into a market of people in his area, around his age, where it’s par for the course to skip the preamble, weed out the weird ones quickly, and find the perfect match for your needs. It just so happens that what Liyu needs isn’t what people on this app are conventionally there for, but it’s not like he’s trying to hide it or anything, so it couldn’t hurt.
Liyu puts his phone down after a round of swiping right on anyone who looked like a decent, real person and passing on the bots or the profiles with creepy vibes or the ones with all racy photos and are explicitly on there just to hook up. He’s not even sure how much time he’s spent just doing that; Liyu’s now laying with his back flat on his bed, phone hot in his hand, dreading having to get up and get ready for bed. It’s a Saturday tomorrow, at least, and if he doesn’t completely regret this in the morning, then he’ll probably have a decent number of matches to look through, and enough time and patience to find someone who’s actually interested in his offer and isn’t some serial killer catfishing their prey online.
Buzz. Buzz, buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
Liyu hums in curiosity when his phone vibrates in his hand. He only lifts his arm up to look at it after the third time—and he finds that his screen is already overrun with notifications from the app he’d just closed.
“Heh,” Liyu mutters to himself, looking with half-lidded eyes at the matches popping up on his screen, making his phone overheat even more. “There must be a lot of single, lonely people in Seoul.”
It’s also some kind of strange ego boost, weirdly enough, seeing how many people are interested. Liyu had posted only a single photo—one of his favorites, a shot of him in a nice outfit that Haneum took at a good barbecue place they went to last fall—and he literally said that he wasn’t looking to date, but still. It’s nice to feel appreciated. Liyu can’t remember the last time he dressed up or did literally anything special for anyone other than himself, so maybe it’s nice to be indirectly complimented by internet strangers. Even if he knows, objectively, that those same strangers were the ones he’d swiped through like he was sorting a deck of cards, just minutes ago.
Liyu shakes himself out of it. He’s got a mission here, and he’d better stick to it.
“Okay,” Liyu blinks his eyes fully open, holds his phone with both hands above his face. “Let’s see…”
He opens the first message.
Lee Haneul | 2005 | 🇰🇷
> hi :) cute blush in your pic!
> are you really not on here to date? ‘cause i’d love to go out sometime
Me
sorry, just looking for someone to eat with :) <
i don’t think we’re the right match, but i hope you find someone nice on here, haneul-ssi <
You have ended this chat.
Liyu groans in frustration afterward, mortified. He has to put his phone down onto the bed and cover his face with both hands instead, realizing that he literally said he would ignore blatant flirting—and this kind of conversation is the exact reason why. He’s already spent from dealing with just one person to reject; he can’t imagine dealing with another, or two, or five, ior twenty, or however many it takes to find someone who’s on the exact same wavelength as him. There has to be at least one. It’s too early for Liyu to give up now, and he’s not going to cast a wider net, either. In his life, Liyu’s learned to stay hopeful, but never too desperate. He’s going to hold onto that for as long as he can.
He looks through the rest of his messages. Song Jinsu: are you free tonight? my treat ;) — delete. Ji Hyunji: hi — Liyu decides to reply to those with a pre-written message, asking if they’re really interested in someone to just share a table with at unlimited barbecue places, and that’s it. And he does get quite a bit more of those messages—mostly girls, a few guys in between, people of all ages and from all around Seoul—and maybe he did have the right idea earlier, when he was thinking about calling it a night and coming back to all this in the morning. There are a few people who send him pick-up lines, some who ask point-blank if he’s joking, some who wait too long and end the chat on their own; Liyu ignores all of those, too.
There end up being a couple of people in between who actually say something normal, like, I’m interested—LIyu replies with a good-natured, Really? Do you like eating alone too? to which the first one, a girl his age called Hyejeong, responds, If you’re looking for someone to go to restaurants with, that means you don’t want to be alone anymore, right?
It’s almost, almost, just barely passable—
And then Hyejeong sends a heart emoji.
Liyu sighs. Seems like that’s a bust, too.
He promises that the next person will be the last that he entertains tonight.
Kang Woojin | 2007 | 🇰🇷
> im interested
Me
in getting unlimited barbecue without getting overcharged for eating solo? <
Kang Woojin | 2007 | 🇰🇷
> that too hahaha
> but mostly i just realized i havent met anyone in my life who prefers the leafy parts of kimchi
Liyu just… blinks. The guy, Woojin, replies so fast that Liyu doesn’t even have the time to exit the chat. Depressingly, Woojin is also the first person to actually mention something about even the silly, inconsequential things that Liyu filled into his profile, and it’s… refreshing. Woojin’s profile is the first that Liyu actually clicks on to look at, and he looks… decent. He’s got slanted eyes and orange-brown hair and seems to smile a lot. Liyu goes back into the chat after a bit of scanning, and he can’t believe he’s getting excited over one good response.
Huh. This is probably why everyone around him is saying that dating in the 21st century is going to shit.
Me
the leaves are the best part <
Kang Woojin | 2007 | 🇰🇷
> but the stalks are crunchy
> though you also said you liked the meat kinda raw
Me
i said a little bit uncooked not raw <
Kang Woojin | 2007 | 🇰🇷
> uncooked still means raw
Me
lol <
fine, i meant less cooked <
i’ll edit the post ㅋㅋ <
Kang Woojin | 2007 | 🇰🇷
> no don’t, i’m messing with you ㅋㅋㅋ
Me
im older than you <
be respectful <
Kang Woojin | 2007 | 🇰🇷
> sorry ><
> you’re in itaewon? what’s your favorite bbq spot then?
Me
usan bbq <
you? <
Kang Woojin | 2007 | 🇰🇷
> mama jjang!
> it’s around where i live
> so why don’t you have anyone to go with you to unlimited bbq?
Me
it’s not that i don’t have anyone to go with <
just no one who likes it as much as me <
besides i prefer eating alone <
Kang Woojin | 2007 | 🇰🇷
> but u want to avoid the single diner charge
> hahaha
> i get it
> same here
Me
does 2007 mean you’re in college? <
Kang Woojin | 2007 | 🇰🇷
> yeah, sophomore
> and youre a senior?
Me
i’m an office worker <
Kang Woojin | 2007 | 🇰🇷
> oh
Me
lol <
shouldn’t you be going out to eat with your friends all the time if you’re in college <
Kang Woojin | 2007 | 🇰🇷
> like u said, theres just no one who likes it as much as i do
> besides it’s kinda expensive ㅋㅋ
Me
just putting it out there, i wouldnt be paying for your meal lol <
i need someone to share a table with, that’s it <
Kang Woojin | 2007 | 🇰🇷
> well this is a dating app 😆
> what happens if someone ends up liking you ㅋㅋㅋㅋ
Me
cant be helped i guess <
as long as they don’t make it my problem <
Kang Woojin | 2007 | 🇰🇷
> there are places that don’t have a single diner charge yk?
> most ppl are also willing to let u share their table
> there’s also probably forums for things like this? those get reeeeally specific nowadays
Me
i was starting to consider you as a candidate <
you ask too many questions <
💢 <
bye <
Kang Woojin | 2007 | 🇰🇷
> nooo wait
> i’ll do it
> honestly it’s a solid idea
> i should have thought of it before ㅋㅋㅋ
> guess im just not crazy enoguj
> enough
> ㅋㅋㅋㅋ
> not that that’s a bad thing
> i like it
> it’s refreshing
Me
ok <
cool <
Kang Woojin | 2007 | 🇰🇷
> im rlly craving some meat now
> wanna go?
Me
the hell ㅋㅋㅋ <
right now? <
so spontaneous <
i guess you ARE still young lol <
yeah you should enjoy your youth <
Kang Woojin | 2007 | 🇰🇷
> ur 3yrs older than me, it’s not like you’re some middle aged guy ㅋㅋ
> is that a yes? i can go out right now
Me
i just got home from eating alone at a place in gangnam tonight ahaha <
sorry ㅋㅋ <
message me next time you’re craving it instead, just not tonight <
you can go back to scrolling on the actual dating app now <
Kang Woojin | 2007 | 🇰🇷
> hahaha okay
> u too
Me
me too? <
i thought we reached an agreement already <
Kang Woojin | 2007 | 🇰🇷
> oh rlly? so i passed?
> woohoooo
Me
text me if you want to eat and we’ll work something out hahaha <
just not tonight <
Kang Woojin | 2007 | 🇰🇷
> [Sticker]
> nice ><
Me
if you find someone on here and they think this is weird just let me know so i can find someone else haha <
good night <
Kang Woojin | 2007 | 🇰🇷
> ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ okay
> good night!
Liyu just stares at the now-unmoving chat screen for a few seconds, his cursor blinking at him in the empty message bar as he processes how he’d gotten through that whole conversation like it was nothing—and then he shoots upright on his bed when everything they’d said really catches up to him. One moment, Liyu had zero viable options; now, just a moment later, there’s Kang Woojin.
“Maybe he’s right,” Liyu mutters to himself, one hand on his reddened face to cool the skin down, “I must be crazy. I must be insane.”
And Chuei Liyu might very well be a little bit out of his mind—but if he’s insane and has someone to share a table with, then so be it. At least he can finally put his phone down, and get ready to go to bed in peace, without having to worry about the next time he gets a craving but has no one to share it with. It’s the best thing he could ask for, at the end of a long week like this.
(Liyu ends up passing out in his bed, still smelling like charcoal smoke. It’s Saturday tomorrow, anyway. It’ll be a problem for tomorrow-Liyu to figure out, alongside all the crazy things he’d said to Kang Woojin.)
Liyu almost completely forgets about the stunt he’d pulled on the dating app until two weeks later—sooner than he would’ve thought—when Kang Woojin sends him the first message after their initial conversation.
Kang Woojin | 2007 | 🇰🇷
> hey :)
> are u up for usan bbq today?
Me
hi <
sure, after work <
Kang Woojin | 2007 | 🇰🇷
> ok me too, after rehearsals !!
Me
7pm? <
Kang Woojin | 2007 | 🇰🇷
> perfect
Me
i don’t like when people are late ㅋㅋ <
Kang Woojin | 2007 | 🇰🇷
> i’ll keep that in mind
> see you later
> [Sticker]
Now, Liyu is sitting in line at his favorite, unlimited barbecue place: earphones in, stomach growling, and no Woojin in sight. To be fair, it’s only two minutes past 7 PM, and Liyu had come straight here after clocking out to get ahead of the long queue; it’s just that the queue doesn’t end up being particularly long today, and there’s only two more groups in front of him now that are about to get called anytime.
Maybe this was a bad idea. This is exactly why Liyu prefers his alone time in moments like this in the first place. He’s here to unwind after a long, soul-draining day at his corporate job, not drive himself even crazier with anxiety from having to wait on someone else. Maybe he’ll just suck it up, tell the hostess that his companion is running late, share the meal with Kang Woojin, and then be done with him for good. Yeah, maybe he’ll do that. Maybe—
“Hey!”
Liyu’s anxious spiraling is interrupted by a sudden, new presence materializing in front of him. The shadow that it casts over him causes Liyu to perk up and take a proper look at the person now standing before him—and he feels his entire body sag in relief at the sight of Kang Woojin in the flesh, just as innocent and smiley as he looks in the photos on his profile.
Liyu’s eyes widen as he looks up at him—way up—and the first thing that comes out of his mouth ends up being, “You’re… tall.”
Woojin laughs. He says something that Liyu can’t hear through his earphones, so he pulls on the wire to take one out. Woojin actually looks so excited to be here, to even just meet him, that Liyu starts to feel bad for even thinking about just tolerating him for one night and then kicking him to the curb like a lost puppy. Liyu has to clear his throat before speaking again. They should have a proper introduction, at the very least.
“Sorry, say that again?”
“Oh, sorry,” Woojin smiles, “I said, it was listed on my profile. My height.”
“Ah,” Liyu answers, nodding awkwardly. “Well, I didn’t really look through it that much.”
“Really? Not at all?” Woojin laughs. “I’m hurt.”
Liyu is dying inside. Why is he so bad at this? “You’re here, regardless.”
“You’re right,” Woojin says good-naturedly, the smile ever-present on his face despite Liyu’s curt, prickly demeanour. “How should I call you, by the way? Frederick-ssi?”
Liyu’s eyes widen in surprise when he hears his English name in Woojin’s voice, the combination jarringly new. Woojin’s got a smooth tone and a strong accent, and Liyu is reminded that he’s a college student wearing his university jacket and it feels a little funny to have him calling a guy in a dress shirt Mr. Frederick Choi.
“You can call me Liyu, now that we’ve met. Chuei Liyu.” He says it with nothing more than a simple nod, music still playing in his left ear over all the noise. “Nice to meet you.”
“Oh, wow. I’m just Kang Woojin,” the other boy says, eyes disappearing into his smile. Woojin bends down a bit lower, that innocent look still on his face—and before Liyu can say anything, their faces are mere inches apart. Not too close for comfort by any means, but definitely closer than Liyu’s used to. He knows his eyes probably look like saucers when Woojin looks right into them, and says like he’s just testing the feel of the words on his tongue, “Liyu-ssi? Liyu… hyung?”
Liyu just huffs at that. The exhale cuts through the moment and apparently unfreezes his eyeballs, allowing him to break away from Woojin’s intense gaze and look back down at his phone, like he’s been intending to do the whole evening, anyway. “Sure. Do what you want.”
Woojin says something in response to that, but Liyu doesn’t catch it. He puts his earphone back in instead, hopes that Woojin will get the hint while they wait their turn to go inside. Thankfully enough, he doesn’t try to get Liyu’s attention for the rest of the time that they’re in line; he just takes the seat beside him when more people are let inside and they’re moved up to the front, Woojin’s head turning in all sorts of directions and his face sporting all sorts of expressions as he takes in all there is to see. Liyu doesn’t bother him, as long as Woojin does the same. Maybe this was a good idea. Liyu could get used to this arrangement, if it goes like this the whole night.
(Liyu should really learn not to get ahead of himself like this so often, but alas. He’s a jaded man who’s still a romantic at heart. Deadly combo, if he does say so himself.)
It goes fairly smoothly, at first. It doesn’t take much longer for the two of them to get sat at a table for two in the middle of the restaurant, and Liyu orders what he wants right away while Woojin takes his time looking at the menu. Liyu gets his usual cuts of beef—plain and marinated—a cup of rice, a bottle of soju. His favorite music drowns out just enough of the ambient noise, and he’s free to dig into the all the side dishes laid out in front of them, and the moment that the waiter leaves after taking Woojin’s orders—Liyu finally feels like he can relax into himself, for the first time since getting in line. He picks up the small dish of cheese to put into one of the slots on the grill, already getting excited at the aroma of charcoal smoke and sizzling fat. Woojin seems to be just doing his own thing beside him, laser-focused as he pours cups of water for both of them, and tries to stay out of Liyu’s way.
The first thing that happens is—after Liyu takes a bite of some fishcakes and starts going for a piece of candied sweet potato—there’s suddenly a piece of kimchi being set down onto his plate from his right side.
Of course, it’s from Woojin, and Liyu doesn’t know what to do except blink at him incredulously while his chopsticks leave Liyu’s plate.
Woojin even made sure to pick out the leafy parts. Liyu eats the kimchi along with the candied sweet potato, and wonders if he should say something if Woojin does it again.
The second thing happens when Liyu calls over a waiter, pulls out an earbud, and asks, “Can we get an extra set of tongs, please?”
Woojin quite literally looks at Liyu with puppy-dog eyes while the waiter is still there, and goes, “Liyu-hyung, I was gonna cook for you…”
Liyu spends about three seconds looking back and forth between Woojin and the waiter, all flustered and confused, before eventually telling the former, “It’s okay, please give us another one, thank you.”
Right before Liyu can put his earbud back in, Woojin swoops in to pout at him, saying, “You told me to be respectful. Remember?”
Liyu stares, dumbfounded, wracking his brain for what the hell Woojin is even talking about—and then he remembers. Their first conversation, when Liyu was way too tipsy to be talking to anyone, much less strangers on a damn dating app. He holds up both hands to tell him, “I was joking, Woojin-ah. Just eat comfortably, you don’t have to mind me.”
Liyu puts his earphone back in before Woojin can say anything else, hoping he’s done just about enough to set the tone for the rest of the night.
Liyu’s soju arrives a minute later, and their cuts of meat right after.
When another set of tongs arrives, they end up cooking separately, dividing the grill space diplomatically between them, and Liyu starts to ease into the silence between them—
Until the third thing happens.
Liyu reaches to open his soju, the green bottle a familiar weight in his hands. He twists the cap off with ease, the rough edge of the aluminum leaving a shallow scratch on the heel of his palm, and goes to pour it into one of the two shot glasses that the waiter left for them—and he’s just about to pick up the shot and tip it back into his throat, until Woojin intercepts him before his fingers can even touch the glass.
Liyu watches, dumbfounded, as Woojin swipes the shot glass from in front of him. All he can do is stare with curious, slightly twitching eyes when, until Woojin picks up the bottle of soju, pours another shot into the empty glass still left in front of them, and then pushes that in front of Liyu instead.
Woojin doesn’t say anything when he finally makes eye contact with him. There’s a bit of a staredown between them for a few seconds, watching and waiting for who will break first.
Eventually, Liyu takes his earbud out again, since Woojin makes it pretty clear with just his eyes that he has something to say.
“Pouring your own drink is bad luck, hyung,” Woojin says, smiling softly. “Did you know that?”
Liyu sighs. That sounds like something his college classmates probably told him a lot back then. It’s just that— “It doesn’t make a difference to me. I do this alone all the time, anyway.”
“Yeah, but when you are with someone—” Woojin starts off, picking up his shot glass and raising it into the space between them, “—you should still let them pour your drink for you. Yeah?”
Liyu sighs. True to form, Woojin still just looks so… eager. Those bright eyes of his make it hard not to give in—so Liyu raises the glass that Woojin had just poured him, expression kept neutral while he still hasn’t figured out exactly how this all makes him feel. “Sure, Woojin-ah.”
They clink their glasses between them afterward. Woojin turns his face away to drink, and Liyu puts his earbud back in.
He probably could have predicted that the fourth thing would happen multiple times throughout the rest of their meal. To be fair, Woojin lets him eat in peace for a good, few minutes before another interruption, and Liyu actually gets to savor the taste of the meat and rice like he’d been waiting for the whole day; still Liyu’s no longer that surprised when there’s a tap on his knee under the table a few minutes later, like clockwork. He doesn’t even waste any effort on reaching up to take his earbud out—he simply tugs on the wire until it falls out of his ear, and turns to his right to find Woojin already facing him head-on.
“So, how long have you been in Korea, Chuei Liyu-ssi?”
Liyu takes a moment to think while he chews the food that’s still in his mouth. There’s a small voice in his head—the same one that governs the whole stern, no-nonsense persona that Liyu had mustered all of his courage to embody when he’d made every decision that led him to this boy anyway—that thinks briefly about doubling down on his arbitrary boundaries and telling Woojin that there’s no need to talk to him. They’re here just to share a table, and that’s that. Nothing would be wrong with that; Liyu had made it clear from the start. Right?
But then, of course, there’s also that other, clearer voice in his heart—the one that lingers in perpetuity, never has to force itself to be there—and it tells Liyu that it wouldn’t feel good at all, shutting Woojin down like that.
“Five years, almost,” Liyu answers with a curt smile after he swallows his food, and he just barely regains his bearings enough to not make a fool of himself by asking Woojin the same question back. “I moved here for college, decided to stay after.”
“Lucky for me,” Woojin laughs. “You liked Korean barbecue that much, huh?”
“Among other things, yeah,” Liyu answers, tearing his eyes away from Woojin’s bright gaze. He picks up another piece of bulgogi beef off the grill instead. He thinks it over for about two seconds—and then he sets it delicately atop Woojin’s bowl of rice. “Eat up.”
Woojin smiles at him even brighter afterward. Liyu looks away much too abruptly to really take it in.
Liyu puts his earbud back in. There’s a break in between now where they both get to continue without any more interruptions—and he’s not a hundred percent sure if Woojin’s thinking about it, but Liyu is grateful for it, regardless. Liyu gets to focus on the music playing in his ears again, and really savor the taste of his food, perfectly cooked in the exact way that he likes. It becomes effortless after a bit, the way it always does whenever he does this alone, and it’s really, really nice. Almost exactly what he’d imagined when he went out of his way to find someone to make this easier for him in the first place. Almost.
Because he can’t lie—Liyu is thinking of Woojin now, too. The taste of the food and the warmth from the alcohol wears him down fairly quickly, and soon enough, Liyu gets tired of pretending there isn’t another person, present and real, on his right side. Woojin wordlessly pours Liyu another shot; Liyu returns the favor, but Woojin doesn’t drink until Liyu does, too. Liyu takes a look to his right after bringing a bite of rice into his mouth, and watches Woojin as he enjoys his own meal, too. He observes how Woojin reacts to the meat and the cheese and the kimchi hitting his tongue; Liyu mindlessly takes note of how Woojin’s the type of guy to so openly react when the food tastes good—genuine and a little bit over-the-top, whether or not anyone’s watching—and Liyu doesn’t know if he quite feels anything about that, other than having the thought that they’re so, clearly different. Woojin is big and bright and so, unapologetically himself.
Woojin taps at Liyu’s leg again. Liyu pulls at the wire of his earbud. “What?”
“Do you work around here, then, hyung?”
Liyu shrugs. He’s really bad at small talk, but it’s cute that Woojin’s still trying, somehow. “It’s nearby. A few subway stations away,” he answers. “You?”
“Me, too. My university, I mean,” Woojin explains. He looks at Liyu expectantly, who only blinks and nods his head—and when he doesn’t prod any further, Woojin tells him himself. “I’m studying music.”
“Mmm,” Liyu nods, widening his eyes in interest, trying his hardest to kick his brain into gear after spacing out for so long. “Right, you said you had rehearsals.”
“We have a big performance evaluation in a few weeks.”
“Oh, really?” Liyu responds. “What do you do?”
“Vocals and guitar,” Woojin answers sheepishly. He leans over to pick up an egg roll from a corner of the table that had been blocked from Liyu’s view, and then puts it right onto Liyu’s plate. “Some songwriting, too.”
Liyu just stares awkwardly again. It’s like every little thing that Woojin does just completely resets his brain. What the hell? “Oh, cool.”
Woojin simply smiles back. “Mhm.”
Liyu attempts to salvage the atmosphere by picking up his shot glass again. Thankfully enough, Woojin follows suit.
“Good luck,” Liyu tells Woojin, hoping his voice at least doesn’t come out sounding like some damn robot.
They clink their glasses. Both of them turn their heads away to drink, this time. Liyu slips his earbud back in and slams his glass down on the table. They fall back into the familiar lull of grilling and eating, one more time.
Liyu only finds himself easing more into it, strangely enough. It certainly isn’t the ideal, ‘perfect’ situation he’d been imagining—he’s flustered and buzzing and all out of sorts—and yet it’s scarily easy go back and forth, figuring out a rhythm that works for the both of them as the night goes on. Clearly, they aren’t perfectly there—but Liyu does notice the little things that suddenly start feeling natural, as the night goes on: they never run out of side dishes because Woojin orders more when they start running low; Woojin eats a lot of kimchi, but makes sure to leave the leafy parts for Liyu to find later on; Liyu’s cup of water and glass of soju never run empty, because Woojin just wordlessly fills them up. Somehow, even if Liyu had gone through the trouble of telling Woojin off the first time, he’s ended up enjoying the little things that Woojin does for him instead. Liyu can’t deny that—no matter how weird it all makes him feel.
He’s not gonna lie; he isn’t used to being taken care of like this. Liyu is a little bit uncomfortable, but only so far as being tipped a little bit past his comfort zone always makes him. All he can really do is sit with the fact that no matter how prickly or standoffish he tries to seem, he’s always been softhearted. Simple to please. He warms up to people slowly if they say the right things or treat him some type of way—and Kang Woojin seems to be able to just do all of that without trying, without asking for anything in return.
And as for Woojin—he isn’t just a profile on a screen anymore, either. Right now, he’s a real person, smiling and laughing and having full-body reactions to the food he eats. And Liyu can’t just pretend he doesn’t care about the fact that he’s there.
Liyu grabs the bottle of soju, pours Woojin a shot. He pulls his earbud out before Woojin even taps him to get his attention, and with a gentle smile, Woojin asks, “Hyung, are you having a good time?”
Liyu just brings up his own glass, already filled. “You mean, with you?”
“I mean, is the food good?” Woojin giggles, and Liyu is a little bit amused, rolling his eyes fondly despite himself. Woojin asks again, “Are you satisfied?”
“Oh,” Liyu shrugs, just watching, gaze following Woojin’s movements as he picks up his own shot. “Yeah, I am. It’s good. Cheers.”
The glasses are clinked and then tipped back again, and Liyu is tipsy enough to give in and think, yeah—he is having a good time. The food is as good as always.
The company isn’t half-bad, either.
They find a balance like that for a bit, and it’s nice. Every time Liyu pours a new shot, Woojin starts another conversation. He asks about Liyu’s food preferences and some other silly, benign things.
Liyu is midway through a bite of a lettuce wrap when Woojin taps him on the arm again, and Liyu has to just sit there and let Woojin watch him struggle to eat the whole thing in one bite. Liyu’s mouth is still full when he pulls out his earbud and just looks at Woojin like a lost deer again, chewing through lettuce and meat and waiting for Woojin to say what he has to say.
“What are you listening to?”
Liyu continues chewing. He has to turn his face away lest he combust under Woojin’s intense, expectant stare, and suddenly, eating a lettuce wrap is the most arduous task he’s ever had to perform in his life.
“Sorry…” Woojin says again after a few more seconds of silence, “...am I too talkative?”
LIyu raises both hands up, waving an emphatic no as he continues chewing his food. He knows that he keeps putting his earbuds back in, and maybe Woojin is starting to finally catch on that Liyu doesn’t want to talk much—but Liyu doesn’t actually want to ignore him and pretend he doesn’t hear the silent invitation in every small thing that Woojin’s been doing for him this whole meal. He’s not about to do that to this sweet, genuinely kind boy.
“No, Woojin-ah,” Liyu finally relents when he swallows his food, a small pout on his lips as he tells him sheepishly, “I think I’m just too quiet. Sorry…”
“No, no, I don’t mind that at all!” Woojin exclaims, mirroring Liyu’s earlier action. “I’m just not used to… not… talking,” he chuckles, “but I can stop bothering you if you want.”
Liyu huffs. He realizes that he kind of doesn’t want Woojin to stop bothering him.
“It’s old music.” Liyu answers Woojin’s question instead—and then he hands him the earbud that he’s been taking out and putting back in, over and over again. “You might not like it.”
Woojin’s eyes light up at Liyu’s quiet olive branch. He happily takes what Liyu’s offering, scoots a little closer so they can share the music playing from Liyu’s phone. He listens for a few seconds, and then gets all excited. “Carpenters? You’ve got good taste, Liyu-hyung! I love older music, too.”
Liyu just smiles softly, a perfect contrast to Woojin’s big reaction. They stay like that for the rest of it, anchored together by music and food and a bottle of soju that’s nearly all the way done, a perfect middleground for their two, opposite extremes.
Liyu could get used to this, actually. He doesn’t mind Kang Woojin’s company—and miraculously enough, Woojin doesn’t seem to mind being with Liyu, too.
Surprisingly, the second time that they go out to eat, it’s Woojin who invites Liyu out. Again.
They’re at Woojin’s favorite place this time, a few subway rides in the other direction from Liyu’s workplace. It’s about three weeks after the last time, and Liyu hadn’t been expecting that Woojin would get a craving again so soon, but he’s not complaining. Not at all.
Liyu is more, just… surprised. Beyond the fact that Woojin might like unlimited barbecue even more than Liyu, there had also been an unresolved, lingering worry in Liyu’s mind that Woojin wouldn’t actually want to meet up again, after all the awkward fumbles of that first time. It’s the only thing that’s been plaguing Liyu’s thoughts every time that he would get a moment alone; he’d start wondering if Woojin thought he was rude, questioning every instance that he’d tripped over his words instead of carrying a conversation like a normal person, and regretting the speed at which he’d thrown back his soju shots just to try and loosen up. Liyu was, in no uncertain terms, a mess; Woojin didn’t seem to mind much, but the boy is also three years younger than Liyu and incredibly polite. All that Woojin said after they walked out of the restaurant together was, Get home safely, hyung, good night—but honestly, no matter what he said, it would have been just enough for Liyu to overthink it, to wonder if Woojin wanted to say more or say it nicer or say it with more than just words. Liyu sort of thought that Woojin would have been the type of guy to walk him to the subway station, at least—but also, Liyu has to slap himself in the face a little, every time that thought crosses his mind.
Liyu isn’t here to date, after all. He still isn’t, no matter how nice Woojin is; Liyu’s just still getting used to reacting normally when he’s shown an ounce of kindness by a stranger, for better or for worse. He’d been so focused on his own impression of Woojin on that first night, that he’d ended up totally oblivious to Woojin’s impression of him—but clearly, Liyu was probably blowing all of that out of proportion in his own head. Liyu even kept his post up on the dating app, just to keep his options open—but Woojin had invited him out again before Liyu could reach out first, and three weeks’ worth of worries were crushed with a single smile when they met again.
And Liyu shows up properly, this time. He takes his earbuds out right as he steps off the train, greets Woojin with a matching smile on his face when he sees him standing in line for a place called Mama JJang! that serves premium cuts of beef and some types of seafood, too.
This time, when they get seated, Woojin sits beside Liyu instead of across, just like the last time. Woojin is the one who asks for another set of tongs, and he orders two bottles of soju, right off the bat. He chats up the ahjumma who runs the place and sweet-talks her into giving them a huge bowl of cheese—and Liyu has to hide his face in embarrassment when Woojin starts talking all cutesy, and the lady eats it right up.
Woojin leans over, smirking as if he’d just done some kind of expert-level negotiation, and whispers almost into Liyu’s ear, “You asked for cheese refills, like, ten times, last time.”
Liyu—against all odds—finds himself breaking into a laugh. He shoves Woojin away with a swat on the shoulder, like it’s second nature; he doesn’t expect it to send him flying. It takes a bit of a second for Liyu’s eyes to widen as he realizes, and he sputters out, “Oh my god, sorry—”
Woojin just bounces back, laughing just as brightly, eyes disappearing into that wonderful smile. “You seem like you’re in a better mood today, hyung. How was work?”
Liyu shrugs, shaking his head as he tries to parse out the words. Nothing about work was particularly special, really. Today was just as normal and boring and bothersome as any other weekday tends to be. The only thing that’s different is— “I don’t know. But I’ve been looking forward to this since you sent me the message this morning.”
Woojin raises an eyebrow, smug. “Oh, really?”
Liyu rolls his eyes. “I looked this place up when you told me it was your favorite, you know. I was wondering when I’d get to try it out.”
“You won’t be disappointed, I’ve got great taste.” Woojin turns his head up afterward, while Liyu follows a second later, and then there’s plates of uncooked beef, pork and shrimp being set down in front of them. Woojin thanks the lady and continues, “I go here with my friends so often that Ms. Jang already knows my face. Do you like seafood, Liyu-hyung?”
Liyu’s face heats up at the sweeter tone that Woojin suddenly takes, catching him off-guard. “Sometimes. I can try.”
“It’s great when it’s charcoal-grilled. Should I cook some for you?” Woojin asks, already picking up the tongs. He holds them out in between them for a second, though, before he asks, “Or do you wanna do it?”
Liyu blinks, a deer in the headlights again. He already knows he’s going to think about this exact moment later, wondering why his brain always lags a full second behind. “You do have good taste. A charcoal grill is way better than gas.”
Woojin takes it as an answer, and goes to grill the meat and some of the shrimp himself. “Of course. Nothing beats charcoal, especially with beef.”
Liyu reaches over for the soju and shot glasses, pleasantly surprised at the balance they seem to have struck—and he hopes that the look of ease on his face is enough to speak for itself. “Let me pour you a drink.”
For the rest of the meal, it’s… comfortable. And that surprises Liyu, too, considering how much time he’d spent wondering if Woojin even wanted to see him again. Liyu doesn’t have his earphones in anymore—and yet Woojin doesn’t constantly pester him, only talking when they’re in between servings or about to clink their glasses and drink. He asks Liyu about the same, mundane things, and they find out all the little things about each other that they should at least know to consider each other as friends. Liyu tells Woojin that he’s an illustrator on a graphic design team at work, that he visits his family in Taipei once a year, and that his best friend from college is called Jang Haneum and makes good music and that he and Woojin would probably get along. Liyu learns that Woojin was born in Boryeong, that he’s been playing guitar since he was really little, and that he has a best friend called Sanghyeon that Liyu would probably get along with, too, ‘but hopefully, not too much.’ Liyu laughs at some of Woojin’s jokes and rolls his eyes at most of them, and he quietly savors the food that they share while Woojin enjoys it loudly, with the full range of his expressions and every octave of his voice. It’s comfortable. Liyu is actually having fun, even without the usual peace that comes with solitude and a noise-cancelling headset. Woojin isn’t here just to fill a seat; he’s here to share a meal with Liyu, with all of the things that come with it.
“Oh, by the way,” Woojin brings up casually, midway through a bite of spicy shrimp, “I saw that your post was still up.”
Liyu looks up from where he’d been making a lettuce wrap, blinking in curiosity. “What?”
“On the dating app,” Woojin clarifies, “your offer’s still up.”
“Is it?” Liyu chuckles unconvincingly, looking away. “I guess it is.”
“Why haven’t you taken it down? Are you going out to eat with other people?” Woojin pouts, a teasing tone in his voice. “Yah, how often are you out eating unlimited barbecue?”
Liyu scoffs. “I’m here for a good time, not a long time.”
“So I’m not the only one?” Woojin scoffs back, clutching his chest dramatically, “Ouch, hyung.”
“You’re upset? Why would you be upset?” Liyu half-jokes, softening the building tension with a laugh. “This is purely transactional, isn’t it?”
“Still, I should be the only one. I’d be upset if you’ve been asking other people all this time, and you’re only here now ‘cause I asked you first.”
“Relax, kid. I’m not really diligent enough to try talking to anyone new.” Liyu chuckles, scrunching his nose as he lifts up the lettuce wrap he’d just made, and shoves it not-s0-gracefully into Woojin’s mouth. “You’re already a handful. And besides—it’s not like you sent me a single text after the last time! I was keeping my options open.”
“Well, you didn’t message me at all, either!” Woojin saya threw garbled chewing. “I was waiting for you to come to me on your own.”
Well. He has a point. “Fine. Since I know that you don’t hate me, I’ll delete the post. Cool?”
Woojin nods. “Yeah.”
“Okay.”
“Delete it now.”
Liyu shoves him in the arm again. This time, he doesn’t apologize. “Chew your food. I’ll do it when I get home.”
“...Okay.”
“Better do it before Haneum sees that I’m on there, anyway,” Liyu mutters absently.
“Does this mean I get your number?” Woojin asks once he’s swallowed his bite, gazing intently right into Liyu’s eyes. “To text you? Outside the app?”
Liyu sighs. He hadn’t actually thought that far—but it is better than staying on that app and having to field the new people still trying to message him all the time. “Sure. Yeah.”
“Great!”
“...Good.”
“Also… Liyu-hyung?”
Liyu turns to look at him when he notices the shift in tone, the slight pout on Woojin’s bottom lip, the slight redness of his cheeks from the alcohol they’re sharing. Liyu is a bit more cautious when he asks, “Yes…?”
Woojin answers with a huff, “I’m not a kid.”
Liyu stares at him again, lips parted and eyes wide, dumbstruck and utterly amused. Instead of teasing him any further, Liyu just chooses to clap him on the back, shake his head, and say in his best, terrible impression of an old man, “Sure, I guess you aren’t since you’re paying for your own meal, too, huh? Okay, I got it. Eat up, Kang Woojin-ssi. Eat as much as you want.”
Woojin rolls his eyes, and grabs his shot glass of soju instead. “Cheers, Liyu-hyung.”
Liyu raises his own glass, taps it against Woojin’s with a soft clink. Their skin is warm when their fingertips brush. “Cheers, Woojin-ah.”
Liyu and Woojin enjoy the rest of their meal, already quietly looking forward to the promise of next time, lingering somewhere within the charcoal smoke.
The weeks go on as they usually do, and Liyu welcomes yet another shift of summer into fall—except this time, while the leaves brown and the temperature mellows, Liyu has one new thing that stays lively and warm.
Liyu and Woojin end up sharing more meals together, often a few weeks apart. They’ve tried out a few new places together since the second time, and Liyu finds himself taking the subway to places further and further and even further, each time. Woojin is often the one who invites Liyu out, but Liyu has initiated, too, at least once or twice. And Liyu doesn’t go out of his way to go and see Woojin, or anything—but undeniably, every new message from Woojin never fails to be a bright spot on his otherwise dull, mundane days. Whether Woojin wants to go out and eat, or he’s just taking advantage of having Liyu’s contact information and sending him music, internet videos, photos of scenery around his university, or inconsequential little updates about his life—seeing Woojin’s texts light up his phone gives Liyu something to look forward to, even if he doesn’t end up responding to most of them for days on end.
Unfortunately for Liyu, while Haneum didn’t end up catching him on the dating app, he did happen upon a slew of Kang Woojin’s messages popping up on Liyu’s phone while they were hanging out in his studio, and Liyu ended up having to tell him the full story that he’d been keeping from him since June. Haneum’s reactions had progressed from, What the hell? You’re actually insane, to Are you serious? You tried to ignore him completely on your first meeting?!, to So, why is he texting you all the time, all of a sudden? What is he to you, now?
And Liyu wasn’t even going to waste his energy by commenting on Haneum using the word ‘date’—but since Haneum was pushing it, the rest of their conversation went something like:
“We go out to eat unlimited barbecue together, that’s it.”
“That’s it? You said he cooks the meat for you.”
“Sometimes.”
“And you share your earphones to listen to music.”
“Only when I’m too tired to talk.”
“You’re always too tired to talk.”
“He majors in music! He has to rest his voice sometimes, too!”
“...Eating greasy food doesn’t exactly help with that.”
“Is that my fault? He shouldn’t invite me out, then.”
“...”
“Don’t look at me like that!”
“You know what I’m gonna say.”
“I— No, I don’t wanna know.”
“This college kid clearly likes you—”
“Shut uuup—”
“You met on a dating app.”
“Where I stated clearly that I wasn’t even on there to date.”
“So what? He just texts you all the time now? Even if you don’t respond to him?”
“I respond to some of them,” Liyu rolls his eyes, “but he doesn’t mind, either way. So I don’t stop him. It’s totally normal! He’s just a good guy!”
Haneum had relented eventually, but he’d achieved his goal of getting Liyu’s mind all out of sorts again. In all honesty, it’s not like he hasn’t considered the possibility of Woojin’s affection having grown beyond what they’d agreed upon at the start, but it’s a whole different monster to have someone else say it out loud. He even distinctly remembers telling Woojin in their first text conversation that if someone ended up falling for him, he’d simply ignore it, wouldn’t bother with making it his problem—but when it came to Woojin, Liyu’s determination to ignore him had lasted for about ten minutes into their first meeting, before crumbling into a pile on the ground, never to be picked up again.
The thing is—and Haneum never fails to slap the sense of it back into him—Liyu has always been a hopeless romantic, no matter how deep he tries to bury it within the confines of his jaded heart. It’s just that Liyu has always just been great at the hopeless part, and relying on someone else for the romantic part feels like asking too much from a world he usually can’t even be bothered to give too much to, at all.
It feels like that with Woojin, a lot of the time. It’s scary, too. Most of their conversations are exactly like their text messages, where Woojin talks and Liyu listens, Woojin gives and Liyu takes. Woojin always asks for an extra set of tongs, but towards the end of every night, they end up only really using one. Woojin takes care of grilling until Liyu decides he wants a turn, and the handoff is seamless and their fingers brush and Liyu doesn’t say anything when he gives Woojin a larger portion, because it’s only fair after everything else that Woojin does. There was one time that Woojin had showed up with his guitar bag on his shoulder, and ever since then, he’s had to skip out on the soju to preserve his voice for a bunch of performance evaluations at school—and somehow, he’d ended up accompanying a slightly-tipsy Liyu onto the subway, and walking him to the door of his home—and that was also the first night that Woojin had thrown an arm around his shoulder, clinging to him like he was the one in need of balancing on the uphill road to Liyu’s place. Woojin hasn’t stopped doing it, ever since. And it’s really quite frightening to think about just how natural it all starts to feel—Liyu and Woojin quietly existing in each other’s lives, easily falling into step with each other no matter how many weeks they spend apart.
It’s a bit of a warmer evening in September when Liyu is walking home with Woojin again, a bit more drunk than he’s used to, and he doesn’t even think twice about clinging onto Woojin’s side to steady himself as they walk up the subway station steps.
They stay that way even as they walk the empty, uphill street to Liyu’s apartment—one of Liyu’s arms around Woojin’s waist, and Woojin steadying him with a patient smile and his freakishly long arm supporting Liyu’s weight. Liyu’s face is hot, both from the alcohol and the fact that he’d ended up a complete mess in front of Woojin again, like he often tends to do. It shouldn’t make any sense; Liyu is older, and he should be the responsible one, should stop clinging to Woojin like a lifeline because Woojin is sober and Liyu’s not—but Liyu knows himself well enough to know that he’s going to stumble and fall if he walks alone, so he doesn’t even try to resist.
It should be embarrassing, but he’s too drunk to be embarrassed—and maybe, just maybe—he’s a little too comfortable to pretend he wants to let go, too.
“Hyung, why did you even drink so much?” Woojin breaks the silence after a while, his voice light and airy and tinged with a soft laugh. “Hard day at work, or something?”
Liyu snorts. He laughs a little stupidly, doesn’t even try to stop himself. All he can really focus on is the warmth radiating off of Woojin’s body, their footsteps on the wobbly ground. “Obviously, it’s ‘cause I finished the bottle alone. You get drunk, too, when we order for two.”
“Not like this,” Woojin counters, steadying Liyu when he inevitably stumbles, grabbing onto Woojin’s arm for support. God, why is he so drunk? “You usually pace yourself. You finished it in, like, one go.”
“I did not.”
“Okay, maybe not one go—”
“I’m fine, so stop nagging. It’s making my head pound, Woojin-ah.”
“Sorry,” Woojin apologizes immediately, his voice sheepish and lowered to a whisper. Liyu relaxes back into the steady pace that they walk together, joined at the hip, Liyu slowly giving up on getting his vision to stabilize enough for him to at least be able to walk in a straight line.
It’s a good thing Woojin’s silent presence is just about as soothing to Liyu as his loud, energetic voice. They sink into a moment of calmness for a while, where the only noise is the distant background of Seoul city life: car horns, the zip of subway trains, the faint buzz of streetlights. Liyu’s eyes fall closed before he knows it, his body sagging with relief as he leans more of his weight onto Woojin’s body; his head tips onto Woojin’s shoulder, just close enough to his chest that Liyu can feel the faint pulse of his heartbeat on his chin.
Liyu can feel the rumble of Woojin’s voice when he asks, softer this time, buzzing against his skin, “You know, hyung, you never talk about your own life much, when you’re with me.”
Liyu blinks his eyes open slowly, breathes out a deep sigh. “I was hoping you wouldn’t notice.”
Woojin cups a hand around Liyu’s shoulder, and squeezes. “Why is that?”
Liyu chuckles again. He finally pulls away, allows Woojin’s hand to hang comfortably above his shoulder, right where it was just seconds ago. Liyu doesn’t really have a good answer to that question—and perhaps that’s an answer enough. “There’s nothing to talk about. It’s not interesting.”
“I’m interested,” Woojin turns to look at him, wide eyes and pouted lips. “I want to know about you, too.”
Liyu looks up at him, a beat later. He blinks, a little delirious; parts his lips around the answer that threatens to slip out on its own; then he closes his mouth, swallows hard. “There’s nothing to know.”
Woojin squeezes at his shoulder again. “You could at least tell me about this job you have that stresses you out so much.”
“It’s a regular office job,” Liyu laughs, shrugs against Woojin’s touch. He can feel his face getting even hotter. “I draw. And send emails. And talk shit with my co-workers.”
Somehow, what Woojin picks up from that is, “You draw?”
Liyu huffs. He trips on his feet. He groans in complaint, “Look what you did, asking me about work when I’m drunk.”
“You know, hyung, you act all tough,” Woojin laughs—he fucking giggles—and continues, “but you’re all bark and no bite.”
“Tch,” Liyu rolls his eyes. He knows. “I know.”
“Do you do this all the time? When you get stressed out?”
“Which part of it?”
“Eating ungodly amounts of food with your co-workers, getting wasted, stumbling all the way home…”
“Ah,” Liyu laughs, shakes his head. He tries to pull away fully when thinks a bit more about what Woojin is actually saying, and the words tumble clumsily out of his mouth, “I’m sorry about this. I don’t actually do this. I never do this—when I do do this, I do it alone. I really shouldn’t be making you—”
“Hyung, that’s dangerous,” Woojin says, firmly pulling Liyu back into his side, looking down at him again with a furrowed brow. Liyu sighs at him again, hates that he can’t stop melting into the inviting warmth of Woojin’s touch. “You should call me, from now on. I’ll come just to walk you home. Just like this. I’ll even carry you.”
Liyu glares. He knows it doesn’t have the effect he intends; he’d admitted that, just seconds ago. Haneum’s words echo sharply in the back of his head, taunting him: What is he to you, now? “That’s… I can take care of myself.”
Woojin hums, amused. “Really?”
“Hey, I can—” Liyu clicks his tongue, all fired up, and starts waving his arm wildly in the air, “I can… do self-defense, too…”
“Really? Care to show m— Ow!”
Liyu sobers up about halfway once he realizes that he’d swung the side of his hand onto Woojin’s stomach a little bit too hard in his petty, drunken boldness—and now he’s still wobbly on his feet as he tries to steady Woojin, too, who’s bent over and clutching at where he’d just been hit, somehow still laughing through his little bout of misfortune.
“What the hell, hyung, that really hurts…”
“Oh my god. Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to do it so hard—” Liyu puts a hand over his mouth in a mix of shock and concern and embarrassment, his other hand linked loosely onto the bend of Woojin’s arm. “You’re not, like, gonna die, are you?”
Woojin laughs, then goes right back to clutching at his stomach, lips pressing into a thin line. “No, but I might throw up.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Why did you do that?”
“You told me to show you!” Liyu whines.
Woojin just laughs again, all the pain from the hit seemingly gone. Liyu pouts at how quickly Woojin is able to straighten himself out, because he knew he didn’t hit him that hard—but it’s hard to complain when Woojin just grits his teeth through the residuals, and takes his place back at Liyu’s side to support him while they walk again, a mellow smile now playing on his lips. Liyu is a mess of so many different emotions, and Woojin is still just there—smiling, standing strong through it all.
Woojin locks both his arms around Liyu’s shoulder, tilts his head until his cheek is resting perfectly atop Liyu’s hair, and says, “You’re so cute, Liyu-hyung.”
Liyu rolls his eyes. Woojin is… He’s so—
“Hyung.”
Liyu clears his throat. “What.”
“Make it up to me.”
Woojin lifts his head back up, and Liyu finally gets to look right into his eyes—and he can tell that Woojin’s serious. “How do I do that?”
“I wanna see you again soon,” Woojin tells him, eyes shiny with hope. “Like, soon.”
Liyu blinks. “Text me the time and the place.”
“I was thinking…” Woojin looks up to the sky, drops his hand to the small of Liyu’s back, “Maybe a weekend, one of the parks with a view of the river… I’ll even bring one of those portable grills, some ramyeon, some drinks. I’ll play my guitar for you, too. It’ll be nice.”
Liyu lifts his chin up, looks at him head-on.
If he’s being honest, it’s not like he didn’t see this coming—but he doesn’t expect Woojin to gain the courage so soon.
Liyu doesn’t expect that Woojin would make him gain the courage so soon, either.
“Kang Woojin,” Liyu says firmly, staring right up into Woojin’s hopeful gaze, “do you like me?”
Woojin stares for a bit, this time—and it’s nice to know that Liyu can leave him speechless sometimes, too. “What? Are you confessing to me, right now, hyung?”
“I’m the one who’s asking,” Liyu rolls his eyes, his tone probably too serious for the amused, almost giddy smile that blooms on Woojin’s lips. “Answer me.”
“Ah, what am I supposed to do…” Woojin mutters, suddenly fielding Liyu’s intense gaze, “You told me not to make it your problem.”
It’s Liyu’s turn to break into a soft chuckle this time, and he shakes his head. “I’m all bark and no bite, remember?”
Woojin chuckles, nervous and tentative, and that glimmer of hope returns even brighter in his eyes.
He pulls Liyu in closer by the small of his back, and Liyu stops resisting.
Liyu reaches up to tip Woojin’s chin up until their eyes meet, and there’s nothing else to say but the truth. “Answer, Woojin-ah.”
Woojin’s answer is a slow, but steady nod, his voice shaky as the words leave his mouth, “I do.”
Liyu’s answer is to stand on his tiptoes, plant a split-second kiss onto Woojin’s cheek, and then bury his face into his shoulder before he can even see Woojin’s flustered reaction. It’s enough to be able to feel how tightly Woojin embraces him afterward, giggling into Liyu’s hair like he’d just been given the greatest gift of all, squeezing so tightly that Liyu’s worried that Woojin might lift him off the ground.
For now, though, Woojin walks Liyu the rest of the way home. Woojin tells him how happy he is, while Liyu—like always—listens. There’s a content smile on Liyu’s face, and one ear close to Woojin’s heart. He knows it’s more than enough for Woojin to know how he feels, too.
Liyu has another lightbulb moment on a sunny, autumn, Saturday afternoon, when he realizes that he must really, actually like Kang Woojin. In hindsight, he probably should have realized it sooner—from the way it makes him feel whenever Woojin does simple, little things for him; to the ease with which he relaxes into Woojin’s touch; to the way Liyu’s cheeks are always sore from smiling, at the end of every evening they spend in each other’s company—but maybe Liyu is really just a little bit hopeless.
And that’s fine, anyway, because Liyu is with Woojin—and Woojin is always happy to sprinkle in enough romance for the both of them, no strings attached.
But Chuei Liyu realizes that he must really like Kang Woojin, because there’s no other reason he’d be out on a Saturday, eating cheap meat cooked on a butane grill, under sparse shade at a noisy park. Liyu appreciates the cool breeze, the nice view of the river, the stray cats that walk up to them from time to time—but there’s also some kids running around, a bunch of couples and some friend groups chatting loudly all around the grass patch, and brief moments when the clouds part and the sun shines right into his eyes.
There’s really only one thing that makes it worth it. It’s the boy who sits beside him on the picnic blanket, his red-brown hair fluffy from the wind and taking on a warmer color from the light of the daytime sun. Woojin is dressed a bit differently today, trading in his university jacket and denim jeans for a button-down shirt, knee-length shorts, and a pair of sunglasses that’s now lost somewhere on the picnic blanket below them, probably under Liyu’s jacket that he’d thrown off when the autumn air never got as cool as he was hoping for. Woojin’s got his sleeves rolled up to cook the beef he’d bought from a convenience store near his dorm, and he holds a hand up to Liyu’s eyes whenever he notices him getting bothered by the sun. Liyu is sitting against a tree with a little pad of paper in his lap, next to where Woojin’s guitar is propped up, and drawing little doodles of objects he can see around him: the cans of iced tea that Woojin brought, a single lens of Woojin’s sunglasses peeking out from underneath the fabric of Liyu’s coat, the autumn leaves falling onto blanket, the keychains hanging off of their bags.
“What are you drawing?” Woojin asks while he cooks, the soft clarity of his voice cutting through the rest of the world’s noise.
Liyu turns the pad of paper around to show him, shrugging his shoulders. “Just… things.”
Woojin chuckles. “Oh…” he scratches his head, “I thought you were drawing me.”
Liyu rolls his eyes fondly, then puts his pencil back onto the page. “I’m not good at drawing people.”
“You’re good, though,” Woojin chuckles, tacking a cute, little tilt of his head onto the compliment. “Why don’t you try?”
“You’re pushing it, Woojin-ah,” Liyu glares. Right on cue, Woojin dutifully returns to his task of grilling some meat, and only then does Liyu break into a small, amused smile.
Woojin narrows his eyes when he catches him—but he just lifts a piece of beef up anyway, barely cooked, and holds one hand underneath the tongs as he brings it closer into Liyu’s direction. “Ahh…”
Liyu opens his mouth to eat, biting the piece of meat around the hot metal of the tongs. Woojin smiles, satisfied, and goes back to cooking; Liyu goes back to doodling on his paper, perfectly content with ambient silence and stealing glances at Woojin’s side profile, every now and again.
This—this is one of the nicest things about Woojin’s company. It’s the simple, forgiving shape that their joy can take when they’re together, wherein Liyu doesn’t have to play himself up to appease Woojin, and he never asks Woojin to tone himself down, either. Woojin appreciates Liyu for who he is, from when he’s quiet and spaced-out, all the way to when he’s feeling a little more energetic (or drunk) than normal and is willing to say or do things that are more playful or out-of-pocket or borderline unhinged. Woojin tells Liyu that he likes him, and Liyu believes it. He has a feeling that Woojin’s affection will remain the same, whether or not Liyu even says it back.
“Hey.” Liyu calls Woojin’s attention after a while, when he eventually runs out of things to draw. Woojin’s still busy with grilling but one of them has to give in eventually and acknowledge that—at least deep down—they’re not even really here for the food. “Did you wanna listen to something with me?”
Woojin perks up at the sound of Liyu’s voice, and he nods his head immediately when he sees Liyu putting his things down, reaching toward his bag to grab his earbuds and phone. He continues flipping the thicker cuts on their grill, tilts his head to the side in a subtle gesture. “Sure, hyung. Come here.”
Liyu goes surprisingly easily. His knees hurt a little when he brings himself over to Woojin’s left side, already scrolling through his library for the song he wants to play. Woojin makes room for him, lifting his arm ever so slightly so that Liyu can lean on him however he wants—and Liyu, without thinking, just lets his head fall into Woojin’s lap. His back lays flat on the ground, legs making a little pyramid where they’re bent at the knees, and Liyu continues scrolling.
Liyu doesn’t realize until a beat later that he’s quite literally just used Woojin like he would a pillow on his own bed—and when he does, it’s a little too late to take it back. Woojin is looking down at him, a smug little smile on his face and a tinge of red in his cheeks, and all that Liyu can do is avoid his eyes and hand Woojin his left earbud. Woojin takes it gratefully, and that’s that.
Until Liyu feels a finger poking at the plush of his cheek, and he looks up at Woojin with a click of his tongue, a warning glare.
It doesn’t seem to work, because Woojin just laughs and says, “...Cute.”
Liyu lazily swats Woojin’s hand off of his face. “Shut up.”
“What are we listening to?” Woojin asks, leaning forward slightly to turn down the heat of the grill. “Are you alright there? Are you getting splattered?”
“It’s fine,” Liyu waves him off, finally queueing up the track. “It’s Haneum’s new song. I’ve been procrastinating listening to it, but he keeps saying I’m going to love it.”
“Mm? How long have you been putting it off?”
“I don’t know? Two months?”
“Two months?!”
Liyu scoffs. “I have things to do!” he argues. “It just slips my mind, okay? Give me a break.”
“One song is three minutes. Are you sure you’re actually friends with this guy?”
Despite himself, Liyu laughs at that, and risks a glance upward instead. “Yah, you look terrible from this angle, you know that?”
Woojin scoffs, and runs his free hand through Liyu’s hair, making Liyu’s eyes fall slowly shut. “Does that mean you think I look good, otherwise?”
“Shut up and listen to the song, Woojin-ah.”
Eventually, Woojin does. They both do. The first verse has been playing for a while, Haneum’s familiar voice in an unfamiliar melody, and to be fair, it is totally Liyu’s style. Lively guitar, a quiet buildup into passionate, emotional hook.
The lyrics aren’t lost on him, either—and now Liyu understands all the teasing that came along with Haneum’s whining for him to just listen to his new song.
“This is really good,” Woojin comments midway through the first chorus, while Liyu is spiraling, listening to a song about wanting to share earphones with someone on the way home and how you wouldn’t get nervous around someone who was just a friend, right? “It’s got a real summer vibe, though.”
Liyu raises an eyebrow. “And?”
“Well, it’s autumn.”
Liyu huffs. “Heh. We met in the summer.”
“Who? You and Haneum-ssi?”
“No, dummy. Me and you.”
Funnily enough, Liyu manages to leave Woojin speechless yet again.
They continue listening. Liyu laughs to himself when his best friend’s voice almost mocks him in that playfully affectionate way that they’re used to. In his other ear, Liyu can hear the continuous noise of all the other things that exist beyond the two of them: the sizzle of the grill, the blending of the voices of all the weekend park-goers, the crunch of autumn leaves flying in the wind, the faint buzz of the sun in the sky.
The song continues playing through Liyu’s earbuds, the old, beat-up wire connecting him to Woojin through a summery melody and bright, hopeful words. You’ll pass through countless moments in your life—but my whole world opens up through you.
Woojin runs a hand through Liyu’s hair again, gentle and slow—and this time, when Liyu looks up, Woojin is already gazing right down into his eyes.
Liyu’s eyelashes flutter open and shut, lips parting as he takes in the sight, savors the moment. “Woojin-ah.”
Woojin blinks, the pad of his thumb now rubbing absent circles against Liyu’s cheek. “Mm?”
Liyu sits up, turns just until they’re face to face.
Woojin blinks at him, all flustered.
Liyu laughs when he grabs Woojin by the chin and kisses him, and Woojin immediately cups the side of Liyu’s face, and another hand finds the dip of Liyu’s waist.
And, yes—Chuei Liyu lives for the quiet, in-between moments of the life he’s settled comfortably into, where the only person he has to think of being is himself—and that doesn’t really end up changing much, after he meets Kang Woojin.
Woojin pulls Liyu in closer—and Liyu is changed by love, but never for it.
“Don’t ever change, Kang Woojin.”
Liyu hopes silently that Woojin knows what those three words mean—and then he leans back in, kisses him again.