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Yeosang was looking up at the stars while he skateboarded down the sidewalk.

He’s not quite sure what happened between then and unceremoniously slamming against the warm metal of a car, and the stinging pain of his elbow scraping against the concrete when he fell to the pavement.

He groans and rolls to his side, chest already sore from the impact. He distantly hears a car squealing as it brakes and then a car door slamming closed. It’s quiet aside from that and the ringing in his ears, no chatter of other cars or pedestrians this late at night.

“Oh my fucking god, are you okay?!” There’s a frantic voice off to his side now, and Yeosang blinks his unfocused eyes back open to see what even his frazzled mind can register as a very attractive man crouched next to him. “Holy shit, I’m so sorry. I’m going to call an ambulance, okay?”

“Wait… wait, don’t,” Yeosang finally slurs, sitting up and scooting the short distance to the curb. He’d barely been in the intersection at all when he wiped out. The stranger frets even more as he moves his sore limbs, but Yeosang’s pretty sure nothing is damaged too irreparably.

“What? I just hit you with my car! You need to go to a hospital.”

“Dude, to be totally honest with you, I’m high as balls. I really cannot go to a hospital right now.” A giggle that Yeosang can’t quite control slips past his lips with the admission. Maybe an entire brownie was a bit too much before indulging in some late night cruising on his board.

“Oh my god,” The stranger groans, rubbing at his temples frustratedly. His neatly coiffed hair is falling out of its careful arrangement on his head, but he still looks oddly put together. Yeosang notes the embroidered bees on the man’s stiff suit jacket, and has to pull his focus away when he starts talking again. “What if you’re concussed or… or I don’t know, are you sure nothing’s broken?”

Yeosang quietly takes stock of his limbs—his wrist aches from landing on it, he can feel an ugly bruise forming across his abdomen, and his elbow stings where it was scraped—but he shakes his head. “Nah, I’ve fallen harder before. I’ll sleep it off, really,” He moves to stand but groans as his abs protest, and the stranger scrambles to help him up, bracing him as he slowly stands. “Thanks.”

His brain finally starts to play catch-up with the rest of his body as he looks around. The stranger’s car is angled like he was turning right, which Yeosang of course didn’t see with his eyes fixed skyward. There’s a slight dent in the passenger side door, where Yeosang must’ve slammed into. It’s not particularly Yeosang-shaped, which is a bit disappointing—he suppresses a giggle. His board is on the other side of the street, having been crushed after flying out from beneath his feet. That makes his face fall.

“That was my favorite board,” He grumbles, shrugging off the stranger’s hold on him to hobble across the street and pick up his deck, now broken in two and splintered. The stranger watches quietly for a moment, baffled.

“Um… can I at least drive you home if you won’t let me take you to a hospital?”

“Yeah, that’d be nice,” Yeosang says, cradling his broken board to his sore chest as he walks back towards the car. The whole just-body-slammed-a-car thing doesn’t feel quite so dire with the buzz of weed still dulling his brain. The stranger rushes to open the now-dented passenger side door and helps Yeosang sit down carefully. “What’s your name, by the way?”

“It’s the least I can do.” The stranger says as he gets back into the car. “My name is Park Seonghwa.”

“I’m Yeosang.”

“Sorry we had to meet like this, Yeosang.”

Yeosang shrugs. He’s made worse first impressions. Seonghwa checks and double checks the sidewalk on both sides before he shifts the car into drive and completes the turn he was in the middle of.

It’s quiet. Yeosang isn’t quite sure what kind of conversation he’s supposed to make in this situation, and he keeps zoning out while staring at the swing of the air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror, anyways. His focus shifts back to the gold embroidered bees on Seonghwa’s blazer after a few more moments of quiet, and it takes him a moment to recognize that the other has spoken. “Huh?”

“I asked where you live… are you sure you didn’t hit your head or something?” Seonghwa eyes him for a second before returning his focus to the road.

“No, I swear I’m just really stoned,” Yeosang laughs even though it makes the soreness in his chest more pronounced. Seonghwa’s answering chuckle is tinged with exasperation. “I live in the student housing nearby, so just keep going this way for like a mile.”

“Alright.” A pause. “I am really, really sorry though.”

“I’m pretty sure it was my fault, dude. It’s fine.”

“Still…” Seonghwa sighs, sounding pained, but goes quiet again.

The ride to Yeosang’s dorm passes quickly though, and Seonghwa is parking and hopping out of the car to help Yeosang out before Yeosang even fully registers that they’re there.

“Listen, can I buy you lunch or something this weekend? I feel really bad about all of this…” Seonghwa says, walking Yeosang up the steps even though he insisted he could do it himself.

“I already said it wasn’t your fault, but if it’ll make you feel better, then sure. I’m free.” He shrugs. Even high, Yeosang was not dumb enough to turn down a free meal. He punches in his door code for the building and struggles with the handle for a moment before Seonghwa reaches to open it himself.

“Okay, I can pick you up here around 1 tomorrow? Do you need help getting to your room?”

“That works for me. And I’ll be fine, thanks though.” Yeosang manages to wave Seonghwa back to his car after a couple more apologies, and gingerly trudges to the elevator.

When Yeosang wakes, he briefly can’t remember why his whole body seems to ache before it all comes rushing back without the weed haze to dull it. He groans miserably, rolling around in bed for a moment before finally getting up when he sees it’s nearly noon already. He slept for more than twelve hours.

His first steps out of bed are careful, but a few minutes of moving thankfully loosens up his limbs that felt impossibly stiff when he first woke. After an aspirin and a hot shower, the only thing that even hurts is his scraped elbow and still-sore wrist and honestly, he’s gotten worse injuries just wiping out at the skatepark. Considering that this involved a several ton vehicle, he knows he got off pretty lucky.

Wooyoung’s eating lunch in their living room once Yeosang ventures out.

“I saw your broken board by the door. What happened this time?”

Yeosang sits heavily on the couch next to him and swipes some chips from his plate. “Wasn’t paying attention and bumped into a car, my board went flying when I fell.” Bumped is maybe a bit of an understatement, but whatever.

Wooyoung rolls his eyes and tries to hold his plate out of reach. “I told you to stop going out skateboarding when you’re high! You’re gonna break something or worse if you keep being so dumb. Go on a walk like normal people.”

“Yeah, I know, save the lecture please,” Yeosang says, scooting closer and reaching to steal more of Wooyoung’s food. Wooyoung gives him this spiel every time he does something mildly reckless. Yeosang might actually listen this time, though—his sober brain has realized how horrible last night could have been if things were only slightly different.

“Get your own lunch, you leech,” Wooyoung says, shoving Yeosang away and not feeling bad when he hisses with pain. “You can’t play the injury card when it was your own stupidity that caused it.”

Yeosang shrugs. “Yeah, fair,” He grunts with effort as he stands. “I have plans anyways. I’ll see you later, Woo.”

“Don’t do anything stupid, please. Two days in a row is excessive.”

Yeosang doesn’t recognize Seonghwa’s car when he pulls up. He wasn’t exactly in the best state of mind to be noting details like car model the previous night, so it takes Seonghwa parking and getting out for him to notice it.

It’s a Lexus.

Like a shiny black, probably this model year top-of-the-line Lexus.

He body slammed a fucking Lexus while too high to skateboard? Jesus christ.

“Hey, ready to go?” Seonghwa asks as he approaches. He helps Yeosang up from where he’d sat on the stairs and to his car after he nods, a steadying hand on his elbow even though Yeosang can definitely walk by himself.

In the light of day and with a sober mind, Yeosang also notices how ungodly attractive Seonghwa is. Good lord. He’s wearing a turtleneck and a leather jacket, which Yeosang feels should look stupid, but Seonghwa looks like a model. He’s wearing platform boots, too, which is just unfair when he already has a couple inches on Yeosang.

Sitting in Seonghwa’s goddamn Lexus, Yeosang feels a little underdressed in the beanie and red zip-up he tossed on.

Sitting in the fancy French place Seonghwa takes him to that Yeosang can’t quite pronounce the name of makes him feel even more underdressed.

“You really didn’t have to do something this nice… I’m pretty sure you could sue me for crashing into you like a dumbass last night,” Yeosang says, eyeing Seonghwa nervously over the top of the menu he can barely decipher. The prices aren’t even listed.

Seonghwa handwaves his concerns. “No, I should have seen you. Besides, you’re the one who got injured.”

“I mean, I forgive you if that’s what you’re concerned about,” Yeosang says, eyes flicking between Seonghwa and the menu. Accidentally denting a random guy’s car was somehow a lot less nerve-wracking than denting a random obviously rich guy’s car. “And I’m fine, I promise.”

“You were going pretty fast… are you sure you’re not injured? Are you still in pain?” Seonghwa’s face is painted with so much concern that it would almost be funny if he wasn’t intimidatingly attractive.

“Eh, my stomach is kinda bruised and my wrist still hurts but I’m sure I’ll be better tomorrow.”

“Your wrist?” Seonghwa’s concerned face somehow twists up even more, before melting into a cool facade when the waitress walks up to take their order. Seonghwa orders something with what seems like perfect French pronunciation, because of course.

“I’ll have the same,” Yeosang says, slightly panicked when the waitress turns her attention to him—he’d hardly looked at the menu, much less managed to figure out what the hell any of the dishes were. She takes their menus and walks off, and Yeosang releases a breath. “Um—yeah, my wrist is still a bit sore, but I’m sure it’ll be fine by tomorrow.”

Seonghwa eyes him critically for a moment, and Yeosang has to consciously try not to squirm. “Here, give me your phone. If it’s not better by tomorrow, call me and I’ll take you to the hospital to get it checked out.”

“Oh, you don’t have to, you’ve really done more than enough,” Yeosang tries, but hands his phone over all the same. He watches Seonghwa add himself as a new contact before he hands it back.

“Yeosang, I hit you with my car. I’d really like to make sure you’re okay,” Seonghwa says.

Yeosang is still pretty sure colliding with Seonghwa’s car was his own fault, but Seonghwa clearly won’t entertain that argument anymore. “Alright. I’ll let you know if it still hurts tomorrow.”

Seonghwa smiles, and Yeosang momentarily forgets that he probably shouldn’t stare.

Thankfully the moment is broken when the waitress returns with bread and twin bowls of soup. Yeosang eagerly digs in, despite not knowing exactly what he’s eating. It smells good, at least.

“Good?” Seonghwa asks. Yeosang nods before shoveling another spoon in his mouth as Seonghwa sips delicately at his own. Seonghwa chuckles as he gestures towards Yeosang’s face. “You’ve uh, got something there…”

Yeosang blushes, wiping his mouth with a napkin. He must miss the spot though, because Seonghwa reaches over the table a moment later to wipe the corner of Yeosang’s mouth with his thumb. That decidedly does not help the blush on Yeosang’s cheeks.

“So, you’re a student, right?” Seonghwa asks, like he didn’t just have his hand on Yeosang’s face.

Yeosang shoves another spoonful of soup in his mouth before realizing he should not have done that if he intends to talk. He nods as he swallows. “Yeah, I am. What, um, what do you do?”

It’s clear Seonghwa isn’t also a student, even considering the number of rich trust fund kids that go to Yeosang’s university. He’s far too… put-together.

“I work in marketing,” He says simply, like that somehow explains everything. “What are you studying?”

“Uh, I’m an education major. My concentration is upper grade and high school.” Yeosang braces himself for Seonghwa to scoff at aspiring to teach, but he doesn’t. He leans forward instead, interested.

“That’s awesome. Have you always wanted to be a teacher?” Seonghwa asks.

They make small talk between bites of bread and their main entrees arriving—some fancy looking sandwich situation. Yeosang tells Seonghwa about how his mom is a teacher and it’s all he’s ever wanted to do since he could understand the concept of a career. Seonghwa opens up more about his job–he’s the most senior employee in the strategy department of a marketing agency, but his real passion is the pro bono consulting he does for his close friend’s emerging clothing brand.

“Wow, you’ve done so much and you’re so…” Yeosang trails off, realizing belatedly that it might be a little rude to comment so directly on his age.

“Young?” Seonghwa laughs. “I got lucky. The agency I’m with was just a startup when I graduated university and got hired. There were like… ten of us? Twelve? Anyways, we managed to snag a few really big clients, and business just grew exponentially after that.” He shrugs like it’s not a big deal. “All of the original employees were given a stake in the company when we finally went public a few years ago.”

“That’s amazing.”

“Ah, thank you. It’s not quite as noble as teaching. And I’m not that young, at least not in my industry.”

“You’re like barely six years older than me, you’re still young,” Yeosang rolls his eyes, and Seonghwa laughs.

“I’m still your hyung, don’t be a brat.”

Somehow, it’s not awkward to have lunch with Seonghwa. He’s easy to talk to, even as Yeosang finds most people outside of his small group of friends decidedly not easy to talk to. But with Seonghwa, it just flows naturally. It’s pleasant, and Seonghwa is a gentleman. He doesn’t even let Yeosang glance at the bill before he’s paying—handing the waitress a black credit card.

Yeosang fills the car ride back to his dorm with mindless chatter about his classes, prompted by Seonghwa’s questions that sound legitimately interested in his coursework. It makes something warm bubble up in his stomach. He doesn’t even notice when Seonghwa parks in front of his building.

“Thanks for lunch, hyung.”

“It was my pleasure.”

<< hey hyung
<< don’t freak out but my wrist is definitely swollen

>> Do you have class today?

<< just one
<< 11-12:30
<< [Location Pin]

>> I’ll meet you there at 12:30.

Yeosang cradles his wrist close for the morning and most of his class, the joint tender and swollen, an ugly purple bruise blooming on the underside. Thankfully it’s his left wrist and not his dominant hand, but it’s still a hinderance. Maybe he should’ve gone to the hospital when Seonghwa wanted to take him two days ago.

He spots Seonghwa’s car as soon as he leaves the building, shiny black Lexus with a dent in the passenger side door. Seonghwa jumps out to open the door for Yeosang before sliding back into the driver’s seat. He looks frazzled.

“Are you in a lot of pain?” He asks, holding his hands out for Yeosang to place his aching wrist into. He turns it gently and cringes at the sight of the bruise.

“Only if I move it too much,” Yeosang says honestly.

“I’m sorry. We should have gone to the hospital that night,” Seonghwa says, shifting into drive and pulling out of the parking space.

Yeosang shrugs. “It’s not your fault, hyung.”

Seonghwa seems like he wants to say something to that, but he doesn’t, eyes fixed on the road as he drives. He’s wearing glasses, which makes Yeosang want to scream.

He belatedly notices the plaid suit Seonghwa is wearing, one side of the collar flipped and rumpled like he was in a hurry to put the jacket on.

“Shit, you were at work, weren’t you? I could’ve waited until later…”

“Nonsense. There’s no reason for you to be in pain longer than you already have. Don’t worry about it.”

Yeosang sighs. Part of him is oddly flattered that Seonghwa, a near stranger, is willing to drop everything to take him to the hospital but another part just feels bad for inconveniencing him. The rest of the ride is quiet.

The urgent care center is relatively empty, thankfully, and Yeosang can walk right up to the intake nurse at the reception desk. He explains his wrist pain and the incident on his skateboard—calling it a ‘nasty spill’ while ‘distracted’ instead of crashing into a car while high—and gets walked through a stack of paperwork to fill out with his information. He pauses once he gets to the insurance portion.

“Uh… I only have the student insurance my university offers, I don’t think that covers here?” He asks the nurse, mentally trying to brace himself to have to pay this off for the foreseeable future.

Seonghwa waves a hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about that. I’ll cover the bill.”

“What, hyung, really? We don’t even know how what’s wrong or how much it’ll cost,” He tries to protest. The thought of someone dropping a hospital bill’s worth of money on him makes Yeosang feel a little panicky.

“Yeosang, it’s really not any trouble. It won’t be a burden on my finances, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Seonghwa says. His tone feels final, like Yeosang couldn’t possibly convince him not to.

“If you’re sure…” Yeosang fills out the rest of the paperwork with guidance from the nurse, and holds his tongue when Seonghwa hands over his credit card when she asks for a method of payment to put on file.

He broke his wrist.

He broke his wrist, and he’s pretty sure Seonghwa will never let him forget that he brushed off medical attention for two days after breaking his wrist.

In Yeosang’s defense, it wasn’t particularly painful until it started swelling up.

The actual visit with the doctor goes quickly after Yeosang’s name is called in the waiting room, Yeosang dragging Seonghwa into the examination room with him for moral support. From there, it’s a few xrays, being painfully prodded at by the doctor, and then he’s getting his wrist set in a cast and being sent on his merry way.

Seonghwa indulges in a few “I told you to get that checked out earlier”s once they make it to the car, but is mostly apologetic for Yeosang being injured in the first place, no matter how much Yeosang tries to tell him it was his own fault.

His gloating is stopped when Yeosang’s stomach growls—embarrassingly—and Seonghwa insists on taking him to dinner.

“Do you find pleasure in taking me out to places I’m wildly underdressed for?” Yeosang asks as Seonghwa helps him out of the car and leads him into a steakhouse Yeosang could never dream of affording to eat at. Seonghwa looks fine, still in his work clothes, but Yeosang had only put on a sweatshirt before heading to class this morning.

“Oh, don’t worry about that, you’re fine,” Seonghwa says. He keeps a hand on Yeosang’s arm to steady him, as if he broke his leg or his foot instead of just his wrist and needed help walking. Yeosang rolls his eyes, but part of him warms at the action.

Thankfully, it’s a menu Yeosang can actually read. Seonghwa orders a bottle of wine to split and changes his mind about the cut of steak he wants to get about six times before giving up and ordering the same filet Yeosang had settled on. It’s hilariously endearing, and Yeosang has to work to forget how… date-like this whole thing seems. Aside from the urgent care visit, of course.

“So, do you make it a habit of denying medical care when you break bones, or was this just a special case?” Seonghwa says, swirling the wine in his glass.

Yeosang rolls his eyes. “I told you, I’ve never broken anything before! I thought it was just a sprain or something that I could sleep off.”

“Alright, alright. I’ll stop,” Seonghwa holds his hands up in a placating gesture, “Just, promise me nothing else hurts? The rest of your body feels fine?

“Yeah, as fine as it can while sleeping on a shitty dorm mattress,” Yeosang tries to joke, but Seonghwa just hmm’s consideringly.

It’s easy to fall back into conversation with Seonghwa, despite the earlier tension on the way to the urgent care center. Seonghwa asks about the class he had that morning and listens attentively when Yeosang tells him about the education psychology course that he thought would be a bore but has turned out to be his favorite this semester. In return, Seonghwa tells Yeosang about the client he was dealing with that morning, and the meeting he was more than happy to have a reason to get out of. Yeosang has to remind himself that it’s not a date, but he can’t deny that it feels nice to be the focus of someone’s attention.

Once again, Seonghwa doesn’t even let him come close to seeing the bill before he’s handing his fancy black card over.

It’s late by the time he makes it back to his dorm.

Seonghwa had insisted on taking him grocery shopping to stock up his dorm, concerned that it’d be too difficult for Yeosang to do so himself with one arm unavailable. Yeosang tried to convince him that he was fine, he had more than enough food in the fridge, but to no avail.

“Convince me you have food other than instant ramyun, and I won’t buy you groceries.” Seonghwa said, car idling in the parking lot of the steakhouse. At Yeosang’s silence—he was thinking, dammit—he laughs, shifting into drive and pulling out onto the street. “Exactly. You can’t heal if you’re not eating a balanced diet, Yeosang.”

Yeosang lets Seonghwa pile up a cart with fruits and vegetables and enough healthy snacks to last through the apocalypse. He doesn’t even bother putting up an argument when they go to check-out, and vigilantly ignores that part of his brain that’s starting to enjoy being so doted on.

“Oh, before I forget…” Seonghwa says once he’s parked in front of Yeosang’s building, reaching to the back seat to grab a bag that he places in Yeosang’s lap. “This is for you. I don’t know the first thing about skateboards but I went to a shop downtown and told them to give me the most indestructible thing they have.” He laughs a bit nervously. “I’m sure skateboards are a very personal thing to pick out, but I hope you can get some use out of this one anyways.”

“Holy shit,” Yeosang pulls a deck out of the bag, a slick carbon fiber and maple composite skateboard. There’s shiny new wheels and hardware at the bottom of the bag too, even though Yeosang could have easily salvaged those from his broken board. The whole rig is easily pushing five hundred dollars. “Hyung… I don’t know how to thank you for this…”

“You don’t have to. Just promise me you won’t use it until your wrist is better,” Seonghwa looks at him pointedly, “And only while sober.”

Yeosang can’t help his ears tinting pink at the admonishment. “Yeah, I promise. Thank you so much, hyung.”

Seonghwa smiles at that. “You’re very welcome.”

Yeosang quietly hoped that Wooyoung would be out when they finally make it back to campus, just so he didn’t have to explain, but of course luck was not on his side. Wooyoung’s working on his laptop in the living room when they walk in, and watches critically as Seonghwa helps Yeosang put away the absurd amount of groceries he had purchased. Wooyoung, to his credit, at least holds his tongue until Seonghwa leaves, finally shooed off after Yeosang promises to let him know how he’s feeling tomorrow.

“Please explain the hot piece of ass that just helped your sorry self carry groceries.”

Yeosang groans, flopping on the couch next to Wooyoung. “Oh my god, don’t call him that.”

“Still does not answer my question.”

“So, remember how I had an… incident with a car on my skateboard a few days ago? That’s the guy whose car I ran into. He felt really bad and took me to urgent care today because my wrist started swelling,” Yeosang pulls back the sleeve of his sweater to reveal the chunky blue cast on his arm, “Turns out I broke it.”

Wooyoung stares at him for a moment before cracking into laughter. “Did you intentionally crash into the hottest guy you could find or was it a coincidence?” His laugh goes high-pitched and squeaky, and Yeosang shoves Wooyoung’s shoulder with his uninjured hand in an attempt to get him to shut up. “And the groceries?”

“He bought me groceries because he was worried it would be too difficult for me to get food with a broken wrist.”

Wooyoung’s eyebrows raise as he continues chuckling to himself. “Damn, he must really feel bad.” A pause. “Wait, he bought them?”

Yeosang sighs. “Yeah. Woo, I think he’s like loaded. He paid for the urgent care visit, too.”

“Holy shit.”


“Damn Sangie, get it!”

“Oh shut up, it’s not like that.” Yeosang says, shoving at Wooyoung’s shoulder again and deciding to not mention the new board. He only gets an unconvincing mm-hmm in response.

There’s a huge box at their door when Yeosang rolls out of bed the next day with barely enough time to spare before his 10 am class. It’s addressed to him, and curiosity makes him forgo stopping for coffee to instead drag the box inside and open it.

It’s a mattress topper. Not even the thin, shitty barely-feels-like-anything kind you can get at a department store. It’s four inches thick, all memory foam and, as the box informs him, ‘gel-infused to help regulate temperature.’

The only other things in the box is the online order invoice, price not listed, and a note that reads For your ‘shitty dorm mattress’ - PSH.

He sends Seonghwa a picture once he hauls it into his room and clumsily gets it onto his mattress with one hand functionally unusable.

<< hyung you really didn’t have to
<< but thank you

>> I’m happy to help.
>> Sleep well.

Not even having to speed walk to class to make up for the minutes he wasted can dampen his mood.

Seonghwa starts texting him pretty regularly.

At first it’s just to ask what dates Yeosang scheduled his follow-up appointments for—Seonghwa insisting on driving Yeosang, no matter the time of day. The next one isn’t for over a month, and Yeosang kind of expects Seonghwa to leave it at that. Instead, he starts texting just to check in with Yeosang, ask how his wrist is doing and if he’s in any pain, how the rest of his bruises and scrapes are healing.

It evolves into asking about how his classes are going, letting Yeosang complain about ridiculous deadlines or out-of-touch professors or incompetent group mates. Yeosang really starts appreciating having someone else he can confide in, so he’s not constantly making Wooyoung deal with his shit. Seonghwa says he’s just thankful for a distraction during endless meetings he’s forced to sit through.

Something about the way Seonghwa gently teases out his concerns and worries and lets him vent makes Yeosang feel at ease, and he can’t remember ever growing so comfortable with talking to someone so quickly.

“...And then it’s the night before the presentation, and this asshole hasn’t even touched his slides,” Yeosang says, flopping angrily onto the living room couch, only barely mindful of his injured arm. Wooyoung was still in class, so he had called Seonghwa to have someone to get his emotions out to before he burst. “And it’s an early class, nine in the morning, so I waited until two a.m. before just giving up and doing his slides too. It’s not like I’m in peak typing form either with this damn cast.”

“I’m sorry, Sangie, that’s awful. I hope you got enough sleep.”

Yeosang shrugs before realizing that Seonghwa can’t hear that. “I’ve functioned on less, honestly.”

“Did you tell the professor that he didn’t do his part?”

“Not yet. He looked like a fucking idiot when we presented since he didn’t know any of the material, so I’m sure the prof has a hunch.”

“Ahh, that’s good at least.”

“Yeah,” Yeosang puts his phone on speaker so he can run his good hand through his hair, energy deflated now that he’s had the chance to let out his frustrations. “Sorry, hope I didn’t interrupt something important.”

“Oh no, you’re a welcome distraction from the paperwork I was doing. Besides, sounds like you really needed an ear.” Seonghwa chuckles. Yeosang can distantly hear some papers shuffling in the background.

“God, yeah. The course is interesting but my classmates are going to be the death of me, I swear.”

“I certainly hope not,” Seonghwa says, voice teasing. “Oh, did you get the water filter pitcher I sent? I know you mentioned accidentally breaking your old one…”

That’s another thing that happens pretty regularly—the gifts.

Usually it’s just things Yeosang mentions being frustrated with or having broken. There’s a new electric kettle on his doorstep less than 24 hours after mentioning that his was on the fritz, a new backpack being delivered—something over-engineered and designer—just days after Yeosang mentioned needing to fix the strap on his current one. He’s almost afraid to put his books in it.

Seonghwa is quick to dismiss Yeosang’s concerns about spending money.

“Listen, I have the means to help out. There’s no reason for life to be harder because of things that can easily be fixed, Yeosangie,” is what he says in response to an angry phone call courtesy of Yeosang after the backpack incident.

And that—that’s fair, Yeosang supposes, even considering the short amount of time they’ve been… acquainted? Friends? And Seonghwa reassures him over and over, insists that it makes him happy to help, even. Yeosang lets that quell his conscience.

Seonghwa even picks him up to get lunch on the few occasions that he’s in the neighborhood for some meeting or another. Yeosang gets better at talking him down to less obnoxiously-upscale establishments.

“Sometimes you just need chicken and shitty beer, hyung,” Yeosang says between bites one afternoon after successfully convincing Seonghwa to get lunch at Yeosang’s favorite hole-in-the-wall campus establishment. Besides, it didn’t even make sense to go somewhere nice when Seonghwa only had a short break for lunch between a morning client meeting near Yeosang’s campus and an afternoon meeting with investors back at his office.

Seonghwa looks hilariously out of place, crisp blazer over a black-and-white patterned shirt betraying him. He's not wearing a tie, at least, but it feels just a little bit like karma. “Alright, I’ll give you that.”

Yeosang feels like he should be concerned at how easily he gets used to it, grows accustomed to Seonghwa picking him up in his—now dent free!—Lexus for lunch every once in a while, how he doesn’t even bat an eye when the packages at his doorstep go from practical to absolutely not, designer hoodies and jackets with just a note of Reminded me of you - PSH.

Wooyoung picks up on it pretty soon.

“So when are you bringing your sugar daddy around again?” He asks, apropos of nothing while they eat dinner together one evening.

Yeosang chokes on the spoonful of ramyun he’d been about to swallow, chugging down half of his water to quell the ensuing coughing fit. “He’s not my sugar daddy, holy shit.”

Wooyoung looks all too pleased with himself. “Care to explain why nearly all of our kitchen appliances have been replaced, then?”

“I—,” Yeosang sighs. He hadn’t quite realized how much Seonghwa’s given him in the time they’ve known each other. “Seonghwa hyung says that I need to be eating well for my wrist to heal, and he’s more than happy to help out since he has the means to, so… yeah. Kitchen stuff. You know our rice cooker was a piece of shit anyways.”

“And the six-hundred dollar Bape hoodie you’re wearing?”

“... He said it reminded him of me.”

Wooyoung laughs, a high-pitched tinny sound. Usually Yeosang finds it cute, but not right now. “Oh my god Yeosang, you’re a sugar baby.”

Yeosang’s ears burn red with embarrassment. “Shut up, it’s not like that. I don’t even see him that much, we just text and get lunch sometimes,” Yeosang has the sinking feeling that he is not helping his case. “He’s really concerned about my wrist.”

“Like… dirty texts? Are you sexting your sugar daddy?”

“No! Wooyoung! Stop calling him that!”

Wooyoung’s answering laughs ring in his ears for hours.

It’s the weekend before Yeosang is due to get his cast off—somehow the eight required weeks had passed in the blink of an eye—and he’s skateboarding on the quad.

Wooyoung had guests for dinner, and while he didn’t explicitly ask anything of Yeosang, Yeosang figured it’d be a good bro move to vacate their room for a while.

It takes him a bit to get used to the new board, but he’s back to skating down deserted sidewalks and hopping over curbs in barely any time at all. The board—and top of the line wheels and trucks and bearings Seonghwa had bought—rides like a dream. Yeosang quickly realizes how much he missed the rush of speeding across the quad and the feeling of wind on his face. Just walking to class had been a poor substitute.

He’s distracted by his phone vibrating with a phone call, and slows down to sit in front of the math building.

“Hey hyung, what’s up?” It’s not surprising for Seonghwa to call anymore, he knew texting was tedious for Yeosang with the cast.

“I wanted to confirm the time of your appointment this week. Thursday at 3?”

Yeosang almost laughs at the formality of his tone, not unlike when Seonghwa meets him for lunch and his brain is still in work-mode. “Yeah. I’m in class till one, so do you want to pick me up from the dorm? Maybe two-thirty-ish?”

“That works.” A pause. “I could also pick you up from your class so we have time for lunch before the appointment, if you wanted to.”

“Oh,” Yeosang can’t help the beginnings of a smile, “Yeah, that’d be nice too. I’ll be in the education building.”

“Great, I’ll pick you up there at one on Thursday.” Another pause, like he’s not sure what to say. “What are you up to today?”

“I’m just cruising around on the quad. Wooyoung is uh, in use of our place right now,” Yeosang says. He realizes a beat too late what he admitted.

“You’re skateboarding?” Yeosang winces. Whoops. “I thought I said not to use that until your wrist was better, Sangie.”

“Well… in my defense, this is the first day I’ve used it. So I’ve kind of listened?”


“Well I didn’t want to just wander around the quad like a weirdo when I have a perfectly good board!”

Seonghwa sighs. “You’re going to give me heart problems.”

“Aww hyung, you care that much?” Yeosang regrets the words as soon as he says them, but Seonghwa just sighs, amused.

“You’re… something,” There’s a sound like he’s muffling the receiver on his phone for a moment before his voice is back on the line. “So run that by me again? Your roommate sexiled you?”

“Basically? I sort of… volunteered.”

“I’m ordering an Uber to pick you up and bring you here.”

“Wait, really?” Yeosang feels like he missed a step somewhere in this conversation. Seonghwa had never invited him to his home before.

“Yeah, I can order in dinner or something. You… you don’t have to come over, of course, but I’d rather you not skateboard after sundown with a broken wrist.”

Yeosang lets a smile break over his face. “You’re not busy? I wouldn’t want to be a bother.”

“My job description definitely does not extend to Saturday evenings. And you’re certainly not a bother.”

“I’ll see you soon then, hyung.”

Yeosang’s not sure exactly what he’s expecting of Seonghwa’s home. Part of him almost thought it would be some sprawling mansion or something equally impractical, the kind of house that dudes who randomly drop thousands of dollars on college students have. Really, it’s just a condo in a highrise.

Although just a condo most definitely understates things. It’s a very nice condo, twenty-five floors up in a neighborhood Yeosang probably can’t afford to breathe in. Seonghwa meets him at the door and walks him in.

He’s dressed more casually than Yeosang’s ever seen him, just a soft blue cardigan over a white shirt. It’s still probably something designer, but at least Yeosang doesn’t feel totally out of place in a ripped pair of jeans and his worn Thrasher shirt. He’s still strikingly handsome, and Yeosang isn’t sure if it’s because it has been a few days since they last saw each other, or if he’ll just always feel a little off-balance around Seonghwa.

“This is not me encouraging you to skateboard while still injured but… is it good? The board?” Seonghwa asks as Yeosang toes out of his shoes and leaves the board propped up by the door.

“It’s great, hyung. I love it,” Yeosang says, honestly. “And I haven’t broken it yet.”

Seonghwa huffs a laugh at that, leading Yeosang past a ridiculous kitchen into a living room furnished with couches that look more comfortable than a literal bed.

“Good, I’m glad.” He looks around for a moment, lost like he’s not quite sure what to do when there’s guests in his home before finally gesturing for Yeosang to sit, and Yeosang can’t help but find it endearing. “What do you want for dinner? I can order whatever.”

“How do you feel about chicken?”

“That sounds perfect.”

Seonghwa puts a drama on the television that they ignore and talk over instead while they eat. Their conversation flows quickly, no different from their texts and calls and lunches, the added variable of being in Seonghwa’s condo not creeping up on Yeosang’s nerves like he expected.

“Were you really going to just skateboard around campus until your roommate was done?” Seonghwa asks as he stacks their dishes and empty containers on the coffee table but makes no move to get up and take them to the kitchen, both of them feeling sluggish from the large meal.

“Yeah, pretty much. I brought a joint but figured I probably shouldn’t double down on disappointing you,” Yeosang says, teasing smile curling up on his lips.

“Oh my god,” Seonghwa laughs incredulously. “You really brought a joint with you?”

Yeosang fishes the baggie he stored it in out of his pocket and proudly brandishes his prize. “Yep.”

“Well, I appreciate you not smoking before skateboarding again, at least. I’d hate to have to take you to the hospital again,” Seonghwa teases.

“Technically, I didn’t smoke that night. I had an edible.” Yeosang laughs at Seonghwa’s ensuing eye roll. He wiggles the joint between his fingers. “Wanna smoke it?”

Seonghwa’s teasing expression melts off into one of hesitance.

“You don’t have to! No pressure or anything, I’m just offering.”

“No, I just… don’t know how?” Seonghwa admits, rubbing nervously at his thigh. “I’ve never smoked weed before. I think my college days were a lot less fun than yours.”

Seonghwa looks more nervous than Yeosang thinks he’s ever seen him, and something about that makes the weird bubbling warmth that had recently been making residence in his stomach when he’s around Seonghwa start to make itself known again.

“I can show you, if you want?”

“Sure,” Seonghwa shrugs. “Why not, honestly?”

“That’s the spirit,” Yeosang says, pulling a lighter out of his pocket. He flicks it on with his good hand and slowly rolls the end of the joint in the flame with the fingers of his other until it’s burning an even red at the tip. “Just inhale.”

“What? When?”

“You’ll know,” Yeosang says, scooting closer to Seonghwa before gently grabbing his chin with his good hand and leaning close. The expression on Seonghwa’s face tells him that he’s made his intentions pretty clear. “This okay?”

Seonghwa nods dumbly, and Yeosang takes that as his cue to take a drag from the joint pinched between two fingers on his casted hand, brief compared to the kinds of pulls he would normally take. His hand squeezes at Seonghwa’s chin, thumb pulling at his lip to open his mouth and leaning in the rest of the way. Their lips barely brush, and he exhales into Seonghwa’s mouth. Seonghwa inhales, pulling the smoke into his own lungs as Yeosang leans away. He exhales after just a moment, a short cough following.

“That wasn’t so hard,” Seonghwa says, words accompanied by a slight rasp in his voice and pink starting to dust across his cheeks.

“You did pretty well.”

“You must be a good teacher, then.”

Yeosang laughs at that, short and choppy. He didn’t even really take the hit but he feels a little breathless. “Again?”

Seonghwa nods, and Yeosang takes another hit, still keeping it small. He leans in and Seonghwa meets him halfway this time, his hand moving to cup Yeosang’s chin as their lips meet, actually pressing together this time. Seonghwa’s lips are warm against his. Yeosang exhales and Seonghwa inhales. A beat. He exhales. There’s no cough this time.

“Can I kiss you?” Seonghwa asks, his voice a scratchy whisper against Yeosang’s lips. His hand is still on Yeosang’s chin.

Yeosang nods before he even has time to think, immediately responding to the want that’s been singing in his veins for… he’s not even sure how long.

Seonghwa kisses slow, gentle like he always is with Yeosang. It’s just a soft press of lips until Yeosang takes the initiative to press in more firmly, slot their lips together and deepen the kiss into something that makes heat coil in his belly.

Yeosang groans in the back of his throat when Seonghwa slides a hand into his hair and tugs ever so slightly. The blunt goes forgotten, Yeosang reaching out blindly to stub it out on an empty takeout container. He slides his tongue forward to swipe against Seonghwa’s lips before pressing into his mouth, slipping against Seonghwa’s tongue and tasting the smoke still lingering. Yeosang feels dizzy with it, the heady feelings of want and finally acting on the attraction that’s been bubbling just under the surface.

He pushes off of the couch to kneel between Seonghwa’s legs, hands braced on Seonghwa’s thighs.

“Yeosang…?” Seonghwa asks, breathless. His lips are red and wet and Yeosang wants to bite them again.

“Lemme pay you back for all the stuff you’ve done for me, hyung,” Yeosang says, voice low.

“What?” Seonghwa grabs Yeosang’s hands, pulling them off of his thighs and holding them. “No, Yeosang. You… you don’t need to pay me back for anything. You don’t need to do anything. I wasn’t… expecting that kind of… arrangement…”

Yeosang sits back on his heels. Wooyoung’s words ring in his mind. “I mean, would you want that kind of arrangement?”

Seonghwa is quiet, shifting uncomfortably for a moment. He’s still holding Yeosang’s hands, fingers curled awkwardly around the cast. “I… I can’t say I’m opposed…”

Yeosang lets a grin spread over his face. “Good,” He says, returning his hands to Seonghwa’s thighs and squeezing with his good hand, “‘Cause I want to suck you off.”

Seonghwa looks away, eyes flicking somewhere on the wall. “Yeosang… you’re sure about this? I don’t want you to feel pressured...”

“I’m sure, hyung. I promise,” Yeosang says, moving to catch Seonghwa’s gaze and hoping he can see the sincerity there. Gifts or not, Yeosang would want to, but this… this certainly works too. He slides one hand up to cup Seonghwa through his pants. “So… should I call you daddy?”

Seonghwa chokes. “God, no. Oh my god.”

Yeosang laughs. “Okay, okay. Just hyung, then?”

“I…” Seonghwa looks like he’d rather be having any other conversation. “Yeah, that’s fine.”

He moves to unbutton Seonghwa’s pants, and Seonghwa already looks close to overwhelmed, hands clenching in the couch cushions. There’s sweat dripping down his temple by the time Yeosang has his pants and underwear—Versace, of fucking course—pulled to his knees, with help from Seonghwa. Yeosang wraps his good hand around him, humming appreciatively at the weight.

“Oh! What about oppa?” Yeosang says, just trying to tease. He expects another vaguely exasperated look from Seonghwa.

Instead, Yeosang swears Seonghwa’s cock twitches in his hand.

“Oh my god,” Seonghwa says. His eyes are dark.

Yeosang strokes him slow, near teasing. “Is that a winner?”

“I… yeah,” Seonghwa forces out, face red.

“I can’t wait to taste you, oppa,” Yeosang says, voice breathy with arousal and exhaling warm air against Seonghwa’s cock.

Fuck,” Seonghwa grits out, before groaning as Yeosang wraps his lips around him.

Yeosang is quick to work up a rhythm, good hand wrapped around the base of Seonghwa’s cock as he bobs his head. Seonghwa wrenches one hand off of the couch cushions to tangle in Yeosang’s hair instead, tugging lightly, barely enough to even sting. Yeosang groans. He focuses on moving his tongue, relaxing his mouth to take Seonghwa as deep as possible, wanting to take him apart as thoroughly as possible. He looks up at Seonghwa, pleased to see how flustered and wrecked he looks.

God,” Seonghwa says, sounding like all the air has been punched out of him. “You look so good, Sangie.”

Yeosang hums at that, Seonghwa swearing at the feeling. It feels good, down to every nerve in his body, that Seonghwa wants this, wants him.

He pulls off to take a few deep breaths, swirling his tongue around the head of Seonghwa’s cock and leaning into the comforting hand in his hair. He loves the noises he pulls out of Seonghwa when he takes him in his mouth again, Seonghwa’s hips starting to kick up unintentionally.

Seonghwa gently pushes Yeosang off a few moments later. “Come up here, I want to kiss you.”

Yeosang nearly shivers at Seonghwa’s words, pulling off and clambering into his lap. Seonghwa claims his lips hungrily, kisses wet and fervent. Yeosang cards his good hand through Seonghwa’s sweaty hair, finally getting to muss up that perfect styling.

Seonghwa swallows Yeosang’s moans as he unbuttons his pants, shoving his boxers down and finally wrapping a hand around them both. He’s efficient, stroking them together and kissing hot down Yeosang’s neck, grunting at every kick forward of Yeosang’s hips into his hand. Yeosang clutches to Seonghwa’s shoulder with his good hand for dear life.

“Seonghwa oppa, please, please,” Yeosang doesn’t even know what he’s asking for. He feels too hot, everywhere, distantly wishing they had at least gotten out of their shirts but can’t bring himself to pull away.

Seonghwa nips briefly at his neck before pulling away to kiss him again, sloppy. “Come on, I’ve got you.”

Yeosang comes over Seonghwa’s hand with a moan that he tries to muffle against Seonghwa’s sweater. He shudders through it, nearing oversensitivity before Seonghwa finally follows him over the edge, hand stilling as he pants damply against Yeosang’s neck.

It’s a long moment before Yeosang catches his breath and leans back, looking down to the mess between them.

“Hyung, you got come on my favorite shirt,” Yeosang says, pouting playfully.

Seonghwa laughs, still breathless. “I’ll buy you a new one. Ten new ones. Whatever you want.”

Yeosang chuckles before leaning close to kiss Seonghwa again. He could get used to this, easily. He has to pull away to yawn though, the day catching up with him. “Take me to bed?”

“Yeah. Anything.”

Yeosang wakes in Seonghwa’s bed, alone, and almost panics. It’s more than a little disorienting to wake up in a bed more than twice the size of what he’s used to, but he can smell pancakes and that quickly quells any of the worries that sprang up. He rolls out of bed, still half-asleep and walking slowly to the kitchen in his borrowed pajamas.

Seonghwa is there, apron tied over his pajamas and plating the last of the pancakes he’s pulling off of the stove. His hair falls soft over his forehead, and he smiles when he sees Yeosang. Yeosang can’t help the answering smile on his own face, the domesticity of the scene making that warmth bubble up again and making him feel off-balance.

"Sleep well?” Seonghwa asks.

“Yeah, I did,” Yeosang says. He slept wonderfully, warm and curled close against Seonghwa’s chest after they kissed lazy and slow for what could have been hours.

“I’m glad.”

Yeosang sits at the counter and lets Seonghwa push a tall stack of pancakes in front of him, bottle of maple syrup following quickly. Yeosang drenches his in syrup before handing the bottle over to Seonghwa. Seonghwa drenching his own stack in what looks like more syrup than Yeosang poured over his own is entirely unexpected but does nothing to quell that bubbling warmth.

Yeosang takes a few bites of his pancakes—they’re delicious, and it seems almost unfair that Seonghwa is also good at cooking—before he puts his fork down. The silence was comfortable but he needed to say something, before that warm bubbled up and out by itself.

“Hyung, I don’t really think I want to be a sugar baby.”

Maybe he should’ve waited until Seonghwa was done chewing, because he chokes and coughs for a moment before he can talk. His voice is calm when he speaks, though. “That’s more than okay, Yeosang. I told you that you don’t need to repay me. We don’t have to do anything, I absolutely don’t expect that of you.”

“No, that’s not—” Yeosang runs a hand through his hair. “I mean that I think I’d rather date you. Like regular date not… not a transaction or anything.”


“Yeah.” Yeosang suddenly feels stupid, and looks away to stare holes into his plate. Seonghwa was kind, more than kind, and willing to buy him nice things and maybe fool around on the side, but that doesn’t mean he’d want something that means more than that. Why would he?

“I’d like that too, Yeosangie,” Seonghwa says.

Yeosang finally looks back at him, finding only sincerity in his eyes and a soft smile on his lips. He leans closer and Seonghwa meets him halfway, lips meeting in a soft kiss that tastes sweet.

Yeosang’s sitting in his room working on a paper a few days later. He’d usually wait until late, procrastinate until he should be in bed and start it then, but he had plans with Seonghwa for that evening and didn’t want a paper to worry about.

He hears the front door open and slam closed before Wooyoung’s voice filters in from the living room. “You’ve got another box here for you, you little tart.”

Yeosang rolls his eyes as he walks out, letting Wooyoung waggle his eyebrows suggestively as he moves past him to grab the box he had kindly moved inside.

The first thing he pulls out is a Thrasher shirt, exact same as the one they had ruined this past weekend. In the box sit a few more shirts and hoodies of various styles, all emblazoned with the Thrasher logo.

Yeosang doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to wear them without thinking about Seonghwa.