Work Text:
Pros: Pay is above minimum wage. Sometimes, on good days, the job is easier than, say, working retail at the mall or something. (“Not really,” Dohyon would probably say. “You just think Fortnite's the only way to connect with my generation.”) Schedule is flexible. Co-workers are all great, for the most part. Decent job, typically.
Cons: Emotionally taxing. Sometimes enough to make him contemplate homicide. This job alone has singlehandedly caused him to experience a sincere and permanent loss of hope in the human race, as a whole. Every now and then, someone filled to the brim with pure evil steals his lunch from the communal refrigerator (probably Hangyul) (definitely Hangyul) (“Pure evil is a little much. I’m an angel,” Hangyul would say, while also Not Denying responsibility for Seungyoun's missing lunch). Not the best job for climbing the professional ladder. Not the best job, period.
And?
Oh, right.
Phone calls like this one.
“I understand,” Seungyoun says into the receiver, despite not understanding and despite having zero intention to even attempt to understand. He’ll never understand. He knows this. The first step to enlightenment is acceptance or something along those lines. This, this is acceptance.
There’s a guy—a complete stranger he knows nothing about save for a name and the reason why said guy’s relationship has dissolved into nothing, presumably—on the other end of the line, crying incoherently. It’s been a solid fifteen minutes of just this alone. Routine calls are supposed to last five minutes, maximum.
He’s going to have nightmares about this exact person’s wailing.
Seungyoun's gaze is glued to the clock.
“Sir,” he says again, a little more firmly, “I assure you, though it may seem bleak now, you will most certainly get through this.”
Chances are, this dude might not even get through this phone-call. Cho Seungyoun, however, is a professional, and years in this industry have done wonders on his ability to bullshit convincingly.
“It’s just—” The Guy drawls out. “I thought it was true love, you know? One minute I’m telling my mom about this amazing girl that I want to marry and the next minute, I get a call from a third-party breakup service telling me it just isn’t going to work out? God, I’m miserable. This is miserable. I’m going to go hurl myself out of the window. Love is bullshit. I hate love. I hate happy people who are in love. Don’t you? No, don’t tell me. You’re in love, aren’t you? Everyone’s in love. I hate you. You know that? I hate you.”
Suppressing a scream, Seungyoun massages the side of his head with his free hand and wonders how long he might survive in a society like Seoul’s if he quit this job on the spot.
He looks at the ceiling and counts to one, the grand total number of days he’d last.
Not today, he thinks sadly to himself, drumming his fingertips against the desk drawer where he keeps his handy dandy resignation letter stored. Not today.
“Sir,” he says instead, trying his admirable hardest to sound as deeply invested as possible. “Mister—” His gaze flickers to the dimly lit screen before him, scanning the page for a name. “—Mister Choi Byungchan? Please take my word for this. I’ve called plenty of people to deliver breakup messages in my time at this job and I promise you, you’re going to be okay.”
It’s almost lunch time and he still has another name to tick off the list before he can take a break from being the number one enemy of true love.
“You know what?” Seungyoun asks. “I’m going to transfer you to a therapy specialist and get you a consultation, free of charge. Heartbreak is difficult and trying, but don’t you worry. You’ll feel much better after speaking to someone who can help. Thank you for your time. This has been Woodz of Heartbreak Heaven—breaking hearts at prices that won’t break yours!”
With perhaps too much force, Seungyoun slams the transfer button and mentally apologizes to Seungwoo for re-allocating the work to him.
God.
Honestly, Seungyoun should be used to it by now.
Three years of sitting at the same desk in the same cubicle in the same dingy office building. Three years.
Seungyoun should be used to it by now—and for the most part, he is. The outliers, though, are outliers and he’s not so jaded as to be entirely unaffected by gut-wrenching displays from heartbroken victims. Not yet, at least.
“You done?” Hangyul peeks over the divider separating his desk space from Seungyoun's. “Did you get another crier?”
“Am I being assigned people like this on purpose? Does management just know who’s going to cry and decide ‘oh! Well! Guess we should send that one to Seungyoun! He loves it when people cry!’” Seungyoun buries his face in his hands. “I still have one more person to call. If they cry, I’m going to cry. I’m going to cry. I’m a grown man with a grown-ass life and I’m just, I’m just going to fucking bawl.”
Hangyul doesn't say anything for a hot second before he starts to laugh nervously, gaze darting from side-to-side like he’s scanning all parameters for an escape route. Gingerly, he reaches out and pats Seungyoun on the shoulder. “Cheer up, hyung,” he says with little certainty. “Life gets better,” he continues with even Less certainty.
He bites back a scream. “Just go.” Seungyoun waves Hangyul away and feigns a strangled sob. “Eat without me. I’ll just be here. Alone. Starving.”
Without even hesitating for a second, Hangyul jumps to his feet. “Alright, well, if you insist,” he says, clapping Seungyoun on the back one more time for good measure—in what’s supposed to be encouragement but feels like betrayal. “Good luck, hyung. Let me know if you need tissues.”
“Wait—”
And just like that, Seungyoun is alone. The entire office floor is gone for lunch and all he has is the bitter taste of professional obligation lingering on the tip of his tongue.
He stares at his computer screen, dead-eyed, and miserably clicks on his next assignment.
It’s protocol to get accustomed to recipient profiles before actually making the dreaded phone call. Management claims it’s easier to make the calls more sincere, genuine, this way. Seungyoun, himself, isn’t too sure. Seeing a name and putting a face to said name doesn’t do much for him, personally, because all he can manage with his overactive imagination is a haunting picture of said face and said name crying alone on their couch with a gallon of ice cream.
He sighs. Loudly.
He wishes he was sitting alone on his couch with a gallon of ice cream.
“Kim Wooseok,” he reads aloud, squinting at the screen.
Kim Wooseok is twenty-four. Has an admittedly nice smile. Based on his profile picture, he's high-key kind of hot, and Seungyoun even finds himself thinking that at first glance, Wooseok seems like Seungyoun's type. He also doesn’t seem like the type that would cry over the phone to a complete stranger which is genuinely all Seungyoun cares about at this point.
The call will be quick and painless if his intuition is right.
Seungyoun takes a second to utter a silent prayer to the sound of his grumbling stomach.
He traces the information listed on the recipient profile with his index finger, narrowing his eyes again. “Reason for breakup?” he reads aloud, dropping his hand to his keyboard with a wince when he sees it. “‘Can’t say ‘I love you.’ Ouch.”
Reasons for breakups range from the typical to the ridiculous. This one falls right in the middle—too real to be funny and too specific to be common.
Seungyoun stretches his arms over his head and cracks his neck once, twice, before readjusting his headset and dialing the number listed at the top of Kim Wooseok’s profile.
Two rings and the call connects.
“Hello?” a voice greets, tight with what Seungyoun thinks might be fatigue. He almost sounds irritated.
“Hello,” Seungyoun replies. “Is this Mister Kim Wooseok?”
“Yes, this is Kim Wooseok speaking. Who is this?”
Cutting straight to the chase, Seungyoun thinks to himself. He maintains his best-ever customer service voice and clears his throat. “I’m calling you on behalf of a Mister... Go Minsoo?”
Wooseok doesn’t say anything for a moment. His voice wavers a bit as he asks, concerned, “Is he okay?”
Phone calls aren’t the best way to judge someone’s character, but experience hones instinct, and he can almost certainly confirm that this Wooseok guy probably isn’t going to ruin Seungyoun's day.
“He’s fine! He’s not hurt or anything,” Seungyoun explains. “Mister Kim Wooseok, my name is Woodz and I’m a specialist at Heartbreak Heaven. I’m actually calling you to deliver a message. I’m sure you have a vague idea of where this is going now.”
Silence again. Seungyoun closes his eyes and prays for no crying.
“Oh,” Wooseok murmurs. He even laughs, faintly. “I see.”
“Uh.” This time Seungyoun is the one faltering. It’s not often that someone takes a breakup in stride like this unless they’re used to it or really just that emotionless. “Yes. On behalf of Mister Go Minsoo, I am formally delivering a breakup message. He would prefer that you do not contact him for a minimum of ten days, or until he contacts you first. He has also listed a reason for the breakup if you would like to be clarified.”
“I think I know,” replies Wooseok. “But can you tell me anyway?”
Seungyoun's gaze flickers to the screen again, and he feels a little apologetic, in spite of everything, as he rereads the answer. “Yes, certainly. The reason listed is categorized under ‘Non-Reciprocity.’ The personalized customer-submitted reason is—” He takes a deep breath. “‘Can’t say ‘I love you.’”
Wooseok lets out a tiny sigh. “Sorry, what was your name again?” he asks instead of acknowledging what’s just been said. “Woodz, right?”
“No, it’s—oh. Yes. This has been Woodz of Heartbreak Heaven! Breaking hearts at prices that won’t break yours!”
“Okay,” Wooseok says, and he chuckles after a beat, sounds amused (albeit exhausted). “Thank you for the message, Woodz. It must be hard doing what you do. Have a nice day.”
The line clicks, shifting abruptly into the dial tone.
There’s still time to catch up with everyone else for lunch. He’s fulfilled his morning quota for the day. Seungyoun should be feeling an ocean of relief right about now.
He leans back in his rickety swivel chair and folds his arms behind his neck, gazing up at the ceiling, lips pursed.
“Must be hard,” Seungyoun echoes, loudly. He spins in his chair and very nearly falls out of it before slowing to a dizzying, gradual halt. “Must be hard?”
That's a first.
Sometimes they get repeat recipients. They’re usually assholes, the types of people that date recreationally—as a sport. For the purposes of being as impartial as possible (read: once upon a time, Hangyul decided to share his strongly worded opinion on someone to That Someone after he was tasked with delivering a breakup message for the sixth time in the same week), requests being routed to these particular people are usually spread out among the available call specialists. It’s rare to speak to the same person twice, and it’s strongly discouraged, too.
Which is why it’s beyond strange that the very last person on Seungyoun's list of the day is none other than Kim Wooseok.
He stares holes into his screen.
It’s been about two weeks since his first encounter with Wooseok. It almost seems too soon to be delivering a second message to him when not even a month has passed.
Then again, it’s not Seungyoun's place to judge or even have an opinion on what this guy is doing with his love life. Both from a professional standpoint and from a third-party standpoint, because Seungyoun has been woefully single since he first dropped out of college and fled from his parents’ home, so he probably knows a lot less about what dating culture is like in this day and age than Literally Anyone Else.
Idly, he taps his fingers atop his desk, contemplative.
He pushes his hands against the edge of his desk, the wheels of his swivel chair clicking on the floor as Seungyoun inches closer to Hangyul's desk.
“Hey,” he says.
Hangyul glances up from his very illicit game of League of Legends. He gazes at Seungyoun for approximately two seconds, gauging what little emotion is apparent in Seungyoun's eyes with remarkable precision, before uttering a single, flat, merciless, “No.”
“You didn’t even—”
“No.”
“I’m not asking you a favor—”
“Yeah, you are,” says Hangyul. He returns his attention to his computer screen. “So, no.”
Seungyoun musters up the most exasperated face he can manage and Hangyul isn’t even paying attention to him.
“It’s protocol,” Seungyoun drawls out. “I’m not supposed to be calling the same person twice. This guy’s nice. He’ll take five minutes. Just take him.”
“Hyung, no one even follows protocol anymore,” Hangyul huffs out in exasperation, clicking rapidly and muttering incoherently to himself, followed by an, “Okay, okay, okay, okay, goooooood! Wow. Perfect. Amazing. Did you see that? God, it's so exhausting being so good at everything.”
Realizing that this conversation is going absolutely nowhere and that Hangyul cares less about protocol and Seungyoun's job than he cares about keeping their apartment clean (which is saying a lot) (Seungyoun hasn’t seen the floor of Hangyul's room in the three years that they’ve lived together), he decides to retreat, dragging his chair back to his desk with a heaving sigh.
Maybe Hangyul's right. It’s true that no one really cares enough about the little, finicky rules like this one—but it’s also true that no one really has to care. Lately, there haven’t been any real instances of repeat offenders and even when there were, whatever algorithm Sunho's set up to delegate assignments has done a pretty great job of making sure no single person is dealing with them.
Sunho isn’t perfect (arguably, Seungyoun would say he never is, because no perfect man would be as stingy as Park Sunho) and sometimes Seungyoun just has to play the hero in a world full of unyielding villains (Hangyul).
He grabs his headset and absentmindedly dials the number, counting one ring, two rings, until there’s a click and a rustling noise greeting him.
“Mmmffgfhello?”
It’s four in the afternoon on a Wednesday. Not really the ideal time for a nap for someone who’s probably (Seungyoun's making an assumption, but it feels educated) an office worker. To his knowledge, Seoul’s office culture hasn’t changed at all for the past too-many years, and if he was caught napping on the job, Dongwook, despite his best efforts to play both the role of ‘cool hyung-friend’ and the role of ‘boss’ good-naturedly, would probably write Seungyoun up for a conduct violation.
Right. But. This isn’t Seungyoun's place to judge or even have an opinion on what the fuck this guy is doing with his life.
“Hello, is this Mister Kim Wooseok?” Seungyoun inquires, voice as sweet as possible.
“Wha—” This time, a crash. A hissing noise. “Yes," comes a raspy groan. "This is Wooseok speaking.”
“Oh,” Seungyoun manages. He bites his tongue, tries to hold back the laugh threatening to spill out. He swallows it down to the best of his ability and clears his throat. “Hello, Mister Kim Wooseok.”
“Hi,” Wooseok replies, sounding almost sheepish. He lets out a tiny exhale of a laugh. “This is—this is Woodz, right?”
Seungyoun blinks, caught off-guard. “Yes,” he says, thinking to himself that this is a new reason why protocol should be followed and also proof that if Wooseok somehow hunts him down by his Soundcloud username alone, Hangyul is at least partially responsible for doing jack shit to prevent it. “I’m flattered you remember,” he adds, though he’s more baffled than anything.
The only response he gets is another laugh.
“Haha,” echoes Seungyoun.
“Is this another…” Wooseok trails off. He hums once, pensive, as though this is really just an every-month occurrence he’s grown all-too accustomed to. “Is this,” he says again, and this time there’s a dip to his tone, a sudden weakness that makes itself apparent. Wooseok sounds tired. “Is this from a Ha Sungwoon?”
“Yes,” Seungyoun replies, taking a cursory glance at the file open in front of him. The customer’s name indeed reads Ha Sungwoon. He looks further down and takes a deep breath as he reads the submitted reason.
Just feels like we’re better as friends. If it’s possible, please tell him I’m sorry.
It’s a bit strange to be feeling so uncomfortably intimate two phone calls into sort-of-kind-of-but-not-really knowing someone. This is Seungyoun's job: to play third party, mediator—to break hearts without the mess. The more he makes himself familiar with Wooseok's messes, however, the more personally apologetic he feels that this is happening.
Guilt isn’t supposed to be part of the job. Seungyoun swallows his and decides not to think about it.
“On behalf of Mister Ha Sungwoon, I am formally delivering a breakup message. He has not specified any particular amount of duration that you cannot contact him. He has listed a reason for the breakup if you would like to be clarified,” he recites.
There’s a rustling on the other end of the line and Wooseok barely manages to catch a whisper of a laugh. “That’s alright,” Wooseok says after a lull. “I think I know.”
This is about when Seungyoun typically closes up the call, goes through the formalities, lathers his voice with sickening sweetness to churn out the tagline that he might as well get tattooed on his ass.
When recipients don’t indicate the desire to hear an explanation, Seungyoun isn’t obligated to give them one. In fact, it’d be out-of-line and probably against some rule he isn’t aware of to go out of his way to directly disobey a recipient’s request.
He can’t remember the last time he received a conduct violation warning and Seungyoun is quite the stickler for being stellar at everything he does (on most days), in spite of how much he hates this fucking job.
The annoying voice at the back of his head that others might colloquially refer to as a Conscience, however, is exceptionally loud in this exact moment.
He hesitates.
“Uh.” Seungyoun already regrets opening his mouth. He leans forward, running a hand through his hair before propping his elbow up on the surface of his desk. A sigh almost slips out. “He’d like you to know that he’s sorry.”
It’s pity.
Wooseok seems like a pretty decent guy—hardly troublesome and decent enough to actually try to empathize with a voice over the phone he’s never met before, who solely exists to shatter his heart into smithereens.
Must be hard, Wooseok's voice echoes in Seungyoun's mind.
“Thank you for your time,” Seungyoun abruptly continues. “This has been Woodz of Heartbreak Heaven—breaking hearts at prices that won’t break yours!”
“Thank you,” Wooseok cuts in right before Seungyoun has the opportunity to hang up. “Thank you for letting me know, I mean. I... I appreciate it.”
What could have been a tender moment of sweet camaraderie is ruined by the increasingly aggressive clicking of Hangyul's mouse followed by the increasingly distracting chanting of some secret LoL mantra that Seungyoun thinks might be in another language.
“You’re welcome,” Seungyoun manages to say, reaching across their desk divider to whack Hangyul's shoulder insistently. “Stay strong, Mister Kim—” Whack. “—Wooseok.” He kicks Hangyul's chair, in hopes it'll roll away (and out the window, but that's wishful thinking).
Seungyoun sighs after he disconnects the call.
“Were you flirting with him?” Hangyul asks incredibly indiscreetly for a relatively scandalous question being asked in a moderately quiet, small office space. He's rubbing at his shoulder. Serves him right. “You said this guy was nice, right? Nice looking? Or nice… as in kind, would probably be willing to look past the fact that you don’t share your food with your very loving friends—”
“I’m going to tell Dongwook hyung that you’re playing games instead of doing your job.”
“I’m playing games because I’ve done my job, hyung,” Hangyul says with a grin. “You follow the script to a T. ‘Stay strong’? That's not in the script. Sounds suspicious.”
Seungyoun buries his face in his hands. “Am I supposed to tell him to fuck off?” He serves Hangyul a look. “You’re making it suspicious. Are you that bored? Sure you don't want some extra work to do to pass the time?”
“You made me lose my groove,” Hangyul explains, gesturing vaguely to his screen while leaning back in his seat. “It’s okay, hyung. I care more about your ancient love life than I do about gaming. Sort of. Conditionally. It really depends, but the point is that sometimes, I care.”
“I’m going to lunch,” announces Seungyoun.
Hangyul parts his lips, lifting a finger in the air pointedly. “Uh,” he says, “about your lunch—”
Heartbreak Heaven's a brainchild of the new era. Or, well, that's what they're supposed to say when asked outside the office. There's nothing that can't be done at the click of a finger these days. Everything's technological or outsourced to third-party services. That includes everything—groceries delivered straight to your door was so early 2010s. Now it's all about the bigger, brighter things, like delivering emotional disappointments in the most avoidant way possible.
Truth be told, Heartbreak Heaven was started when Lee Dongwook's long-time girlfriend decided to break up with him over text. He was heartbroken, naturally, but moping around in his room still hung-up on his first love made him start to think about how it must have been hard for her, his ex, to say anything to his face. Especially considering their history. Considering everything. He thought it'd be kind of nifty to have a service that did it for you.
(Dongwook's disgustingly empathetic—so sentimental that he cries sometimes just thinking about baby animals. But that's an entirely different story. The only thing that matters right here, right now, is that it's that disgusting empathy that leads him to create one of this generation's hottest services. Heartbreak without breaking so much as a sweat.)
It starts as a tiny partnership with Dongwook and his best friend Jicheol. They end up getting hitched, somewhere along the way. It's a huge deal and Seungyoun bawls his eyes out at the wedding. Jicheol stops working full-time to take care of their kid at home. They're a god damn family, a picture perfect love story. And to think it all started from a place of heartbreak.
Since the start, Dongwook had never envisioned the idea to grow into anything huge. Now it's a full-out business with upwards of thirty employees and Seungyoun's one of them. It's more like a family—as much as he hates the job, it's the work he hates, not the people.
Once, Yibo had commented over a mouthful of fried chicken that the whole idea kind of sounded shitty. "I mean," he'd said, waving his free hand. "It's just people deflecting, you know. They're getting closure but the person being dropped isn't. That's kind of shitty."
Seungyoun had only shrugged. "Yeah," he'd replied then, feeling a little convicted by Yibo's complaint. He knew the truth, though. "Those aren't the kinds of people we attract, to be honest."
Heartbreak Heaven isn't for people who are trying to avoid accountability, Dongwook always explains, word for word, at the start of onboarding. It's strange—we don't have any sort of filtering mechanism in place or anything, but we only ever attract the same kinds of people. At the end of the day, we're delivering the message for people whose hearts have already been broken.
"What do you mean?" Yibo's frown then had felt probing, almost.
"Dunno. I guess I feel like the people deflecting deserve to deflect." (The fried chicken shop from then is closed now. Seungyoun kind of misses it, the wax paper collecting grease inside of American-style red plastic baskets. The glitzy neon sign hanging from a back wall reading, Love takes more than just one heart.) "They've gone through enough."
(Heartbreak Heaven, Dongwook concludes, every time, without fail, is really for the heartbroken.)
The first two times were okay, but over the course of four weeks, Seungyoun has—and he can barely keep track on his fingers alone, having to borrow Hangyul's to keep count—called Wooseok a total of eighteen times.
Admittedly, a good portion of those eighteen times were a mistake due to the database error (Sunho's fault because he spilled god damn yukgaejang of all things on his computer and somehow the oil from it fucked up all order in the system), but three of those eighteen times were due to some fault in Kim Wooseok and Kim Wooseok alone.
Seungyoun remembers them. The first of the three was from a Seon Yein who wrote, I think I was selfish when I pushed you into it. The second from a Park Jimin explaining that he could just tell it wasn't going to work out the way he'd hoped. The third from Go Minsoo, who only added as a reason: I shouldn't have asked to try again.
The common denominator in all of the breakups, Seungyoun's noticed, is that it doesn't actually seem like Wooseok's done anything inherently wrong aside from exist. He'd taken all of the breakup calls (because Seungyoun was somehow forced to deal with all of them—all eighteen of them) in stride, sounded a little more fatigued with each one, but nothing too troubling. He'd ended every call the same way too, thanking Woodz for his time and asking for little else, if anything at all.
Wooseok's been nothing short of professional.
Seungyoun, though, is starting to reach his limit.
"I'm just wondering," Seungyoun says into the phone, probably sounding a little too exasperated himself, a little too informal. It's okay. It's after-hours at this point. He's working overtime and none other than Kim Wooseok is the last call of the day before Seungyoun can haul his ass out of an empty office and smother his face into his pillow back home. "I'm just—I'm just genuinely curious."
"Hello?" Wooseok murmurs. "Is this—"
"Yeah." Seungyoun slumps over his desk and drags a hand down his face. "Yes. It's me. Woodz from—"
"Heartbreak Heaven," finishes Wooseok. He lets out a small, nondescript chuckle. "I figured. What are you curious about?"
It's close to eight in the evening. Definitely not the time to be making breakup calls, but Wooseok's the last one, seriously. The last name on his list. And at this point, Seungyoun has Wooseok's number memorized by heart. He just wants to get down to the bottom of this. It doesn't seem like Wooseok's a bad person by any means, but it just doesn't make any sense why there have been so many calls directed to him and him alone over the past two months.
"Sorry, I know this is highly unprofessional of me—there's a survey at the end of this call, by the way, if you want to complain to the higher-ups about what a weirdo I'm being—but I just don't get it." Seungyoun peers aimlessly into his monitor, where an unfinished game of Minesweeper is left open. He has no idea how to play this game and blind luck alone has been getting him through the most rudimentary levels. "What's wrong with you?"
"I'm sorry?" Wooseok sounds a little perplexed. "I don't..."
"I mean," Seungyoun tries to amend, letting out a sigh, "why are all of these people breaking up with you?"
Pin-drop silence. For a second, Seungyoun thinks the line might have cut out.
And then, Wooseok laughs—quiet, again, like he's laughing just to fill the empty space. "That's a good question," he says, and to Seungyoun's relief, he sounds like he might be smiling. "I'm not sure I know the answer."
"Is it a you problem, do you think? Are you actually an asshole? I was thinking the other day that you seem kind of nice, so I don't know, maybe I'm just a bad judge of character?"
"Oh, maybe that's it," Wooseok hums. "I'm not sure—if I had to take a guess..."
Seungyoun idly clicks another gray space in his game. No mines yet.
"It's probably because they know it's not mutual," explains Wooseok. "Or that it'll take more time than they think. Or that it might not work out at all."
Seungyoun blinks, brows furrowing in mild confusion. "What the hell does that even mean," he mutters, mostly to himself. "Are you a serial dater?"
"It's—" Wooseok trails off. "It's kind of complicated."
"Yeah, I can see that," Seungyoun replies, a wry smile on his lips in spite of himself. "Considering I've called you a whopping nineteen times over the past two months alone."
"I got out of a long-term relationship a little while ago," Wooseok says slowly. "And I only recently started dating again. I just say yes to whoever asks. So far, it hasn't gone too well."
Oh.
That kind of makes sense. The high frequency of breakups, the lack of any scathing reason. Wooseok's "coping" with a long-term relationship coming to an end and sure, his coping's kind of weird and ineffective, but who's Seungyoun to judge when he hasn't dated since his last train-wreck of a relationship in university? In a way, it almost sounds like a sad indie movie about heartbreak. At this point, Wooseok probably doesn't have high hopes for love and all of its complexity anymore. Maybe in time he'll find someone right and believe again. The movie would probably end ambiguously though, a silhouette against a busy city backdrop. An ominous, ambiguous fade to black instead of a happily ever after.
Seungyoun freezes. He's getting a little too invested in this fake movie he's directing and producing in his head.
He wants a happy ending.
"Sorry," Wooseok adds after a few seconds of silence. "I don't know why I'm telling you all of this—"
"I asked." He doesn't add that Wooseok hasn't actually told him more than the bare minimum. "Anyway, I don't want to keep you for longer than I have to. I have a breakup message to deliver for you on behalf of—"
"I got it," Wooseok says, too easily. "You don't have to tell me. We can save you the energy tonight."
Seungyoun falters again, his tongue tied in his mouth. "Uh, right," he murmurs. "Sorry," he says, even though he has nothing to apologize for.
"Why are you apologizing?"
"I don't know," confesses Seungyoun. He laughs, but his throat feels raw. "I'm sorry I made you talk about it. I just... I don't know. We've talked so many times over the phone, I was starting to piece together who I thought you were as a person and—oh, now I'm talking too much."
Wooseok hums, clearly amused. "Who am I as a person in the mind of Woodz?"
"White-collar office worker who's really good-looking but bad at dating. Are you an only child? Seems like you'd be an only child. You probably don't have a ton of friends... Wait! That sounded so mean, shit, my bad."
He wins a laugh. "I'm an only child," Wooseok concedes. "And I don't have a ton of friends, I guess. I'm not an office worker, though. I work at an art studio."
Huh. Interesting. Seungyoun kind of wants to know more, not just about the studio, but about Wooseok as a person.
"This is really weird, isn't it?" posits Seungyoun, the chuckle that follows reedy and a little breathless. "I'm definitely breaking a bunch of rules right now."
"What about you?" Wooseok poorly conceals a yawn. "Are you breaking hearts for prices that won't break mine because you want to?"
Seungyoun snickers, a tiny disbelieving hmph! slipping past his lips before he can stop it. "Nah," he says. "I like music. Maybe someday I'll do something with it, but it's—it's taking time. And I'm here while I figure things out."
"Hopefully soon," says Wooseok. "I think I was lucky to get all of my calls from you, but... this job seems hard."
"You said that the first time I called too."
"Am I wrong? I don't think we know enough about each other, but I'd imagine telling someone their relationship's over would be hard for anyone." Wooseok pauses, takes a beat to add, "Thanks, by the way. For doing it as kindly as you did."
"It's my job," Seungyoun insists. He feels his face warming up, the butterflies in his stomach aflutter. He grins. "I'm paid to be kind to you, Wooseok."
"You should give yourself more credit."
It's strange. Maybe it's the hour that's making Seungyoun feel a little out-of-it, a little reckless. He almost doesn't want to end the call, not yet at least. Wooseok doesn't say anything either, like he's waiting for Seungyoun to make the next move because it kind of is his job to.
"So," Seungyoun tries, his voice tight. He clicks another gray space on his game. No mines. His lucky streak's still going strong. Maybe he should push it even further. "You say yes to anyone who asks you out?"
Wooseok sounds confused again. "Yeah? It sounds kind of weird when it's coming out of somebody else's mouth..."
"Okay." Seungyoun clicks again. Hasn't died yet. "Go out with me, then."
Dead silence again—he can't even hear Wooseok breathing on the other end. It's supposed to be a joke (maybe not a great one) (maybe not a joke at all, now that Seungyoun thinks about it), but the lack of response from Wooseok makes Seungyoun's anxiety spike. Before he knows it, his heart's racing and his mind's stumbling over itself to formulate a decent response, something to brush aside the chaos of whatever remains from Seungyoun's momentary reign of terror.
"Really?" Wooseok asks, before Seungyoun has the chance to apologize.
"Huh?"
Wooseok falls quiet again, just for a second. "Really?" he repeats. "Are you seriously asking me out?"
"I, uh," Seungyoun stammers. "I was just—"
"You were kidding, right?" And something about the way Wooseok asks makes Seungyoun's stomach sink. But then Wooseok laughs, and it's quiet, a little strained, but it's there. "You almost got me," he says.
"Bad joke?" Seungyoun's hands are still shaking a little bit. He doesn't really get why he's this nervous. They're practically strangers.
"Not your best," Wooseok says. "Your pun about vampires and coffee from last week was better."
"I'm much funnier outside of business hours," promises Seungyoun, his grin peeking out as he starts to blindly click on squares in Minesweeper again.
"Really?"
"Really."
"Well," Wooseok starts, and the lilt to his tone is doing weird things to Seungyoun's heart. It's making Seungyoun smile a little too. "I'll judge for myself if we ever meet someday."
Seungyoun's joking. That's what he tells himself. There's no reason he would ever meet Wooseok in real life, and even if he did, Seungyoun wouldn't be so stupid as to approach him. Wooseok doesn't know what Seungyoun looks like—only knows what his business-hours-friendly-as-fuck voice sounds like. There's no way they'll ever cross paths. And maybe that's what makes Seungyoun feel so reckless, so stupidly brave for no good reason at all. "I'll ask you out in person while we're at it," he jokes.
His game ends. By some way, shape, or form, he's literally won it by sheer chance. Maybe Wooseok's his lucky charm.
Maybe that isn't a thought he should be having.
"You're pretty funny during business hours too," Wooseok suggests, stifling a laugh. "Good night, Woodz. Get some rest."
"Good night," Seungyoun says, grinning. "Hope you chin up, Wooseok! Things'll get better. Dream of something sweet!"
This time, Wooseok laughs, and it's so soft and warm that Seungyoun's heart positively squeezes.
Seungyoun sighs.
For the five-thousandth time in the past half hour, to be precise.
"And not to be rude or anything," Hangyul begins, probably as he's about to say something really rude, "but it's kind of distracting. You know? Interfering with my vibe. My chakra—"
"You meditate?" Seungyoun asks.
"What?" Hangyul frowns, brows furrowed in confusion. "I watch Naruto?"
They stare at each other for a few seconds, deadlocked, before Seungyoun sighs. Again. This time, for more reasons than one.
"Okay, spit it out. Why are you being like this?" There's no one at the office because Seungyoun and Hangyul are grossly early, thanks to the fact that Hangyul refuses to learn how to read analog clocks (and thought they were late) (when they were early) (and Seungyoun's wearing two different colored socks and his hair is painfully un-styled because Hangyul dragged him out of the apartment in less than ten minutes). "Is it because I—you know." He makes a vague hand motion. "Did that. Thing. This morning. Where I. You know."
"I really admire the way you refuse to say out loud where you have failed me as a friend," Seungyoun deadpans. "It's incredible. A lot of verbal artistry going on."
"I said I was sorry! It's not my fault that you don't own a digital alarm clock and my phone's been dead for three days."
Out of pity, Seungyoun doesn't point out that it's probably more Hangyul's fault than anyone else's. "I'm not mad at you," he says instead, leaning back into his swivel chair, sinking down until he's barely balanced atop it. "I'm just sad."
Hangyul fidgets noticeably. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asks, sounding a little reluctant to actually talk about it. "I'll listen. I promise I won't give you advice, either. For both your sake and mine."
"It's fine," says Seungyoun.
And then he sighs.
"Bullshit, dude. Come on. We only have another, uh, forty-five minutes before Dongwook hyung shows up. I'm not good at listening like Seungwoo hyung is, but I have ears and they are open and clean and ready to hear what's ailing your ginormous heart."
Where should he even begin? The more Seungyoun thinks about it, the dumber he feels. It's just—it's been a long while (a few weeks, give or take a couple of hours because yes, Seungyoun might have been counting) since the last time he's had to call Wooseok. Their last conversation was probably when Seungyoun was deliriously tired, on the verge of Losing It (with a capital LOSING IT), working overtime and crossing way too many lines. Maybe he scared Wooseok away. Maybe he creeped Wooseok out by jokingly asking him out on a date. Maybe he—
Seungyoun sighs. Hangyul replies in kind by kicking his chair.
"Dude!"
"It's just," Seungyoun starts, as he rolls down the aisle, just barely grabbing onto a desk corner (and knocking over Sejeong's TWICE calendar while he's at it, oops) to stop himself from swiveling to his demise. "Okay, let's say I have a friend," he says, slowly rolling himself back to his own desk. "This friend of mine is just your average, ordinary, run-of-the-mill dude. Nice guy. Tries his best. A real wholesome person. Anyway. My friend, uh, also works in a similar job as us. He works in customer service, calls people all day. Just like us."
Hangyul crosses his arms.
"He, uh, made a friend, you see..." God, this sounds ridiculous. "A friend that he hasn't actually met in real life or anything. They've just talked a bunch over the phone, but my friend can tell that this mystery person is super cool, chill..." Seungyoun finally makes it back to his desk and takes a peek in Hangyul's direction to gauge his expression. So far, Hangyul looks like he's thinking about what his dinner for tonight is going to be. This is neither good nor bad for Seungyoun, so he'll take it. "But uh, lately, my friend and his mystery person haven't talked? It's been a few weeks since the last time they talked... and my friend's been..."
"Been...?"
"Worried," Seungyoun says. "My friend misses his... phone buddy. My friend is, uh, very worried! Wondering if maybe he did something that scared the mystery person off!"
Hangyul presses his hands together and gives Seungyoun a critical, searching look. "Your friend met his friend—okay, wait, this is so confusing. Can we give them names? They don't have to be real. Fake names or whatever. Your friend's name is Naruto and the person he's in love with is Sasuke—"
Seungyoun tenses. "In love? What? He's not—Naruto's not in love? I never said I was—I mean he was in love?"
"I can read between the lines, hyung," Hangyul says, scoffing once. "It's clear that Naruto has a crush on Sasuke, otherwise Sasuke suddenly disappearing from Naruto's life wouldn't be that big of a deal. They've never met in real life, right? Never even talked face-to-face. They met through Naruto's job. The fact that Sasuke's on Naruto's mind right now is just a sign that the dude's crushing. Hard."
This is the worst epiphany that could have come out of this conversation. Seungyoun feels both wildly confused (because he isn't sure, retrospectively, if he'd rather be Naruto or Sasuke) and kind of sick to his stomach. He feels sick because what Hangyul's saying actually makes sense and that's absolutely unacceptable considering it's true: Seungyoun and Wooseok have never met in real life and Wooseok has no idea who Seungyoun is beyond his persona as Woodz of Heartbreak Heaven(!). Even Seungyoun doesn't know anything about Wooseok outside of what's contained in his tiny profile, the little forms that his exes have filled out.
He can't have a crush on someone he doesn't know.
(But when Seungyoun thinks about it, maybe crushes don't have to make sense. Even if they did, maybe it doesn't have to be completely out of the world to form affection for someone he's spoken to so many times on the phone now. At this point, he knows the state of Wooseok's heart better than he knows his own. Maybe that's enough. More than enough.)
"Fuck," Seungyoun mutters.
"What?" Hangyul tilts his head to the side. His eyes glint like he knows something. "Is it the end of the world if Naruto likes Sasuke?"
"Kind of?" Seungyoun drags a hand down his face. "No, I guess not. But okay, in the hypothetical scenario where Naruto does like Sasuke, what is he supposed to do about Sasuke emotionally ghosting him?"
"I don't know, dude! Watch the anime!" Hangyul stills. "Wait, fuck. Sorry, I forgot we're talking about you—r friend. God, maybe this is more confusing than before. Okay, anyway. I don't know, hyung. Frankly, I think it'd be creepy if Naruto did anything right now. He should just wait for Sasuke to reach out first and they can go from there. Maybe Sasuke's going through some shit and needs to get himself together before he—" There's an irritated crease between his brows. "Can we just acknowledge that this is about you and that 'nice guy' you were flirting with a few weeks ago and proceed from there?"
Seungyoun blanches before clearing his throat, with purpose. "No idea what you're talking about. I do not have a crush on Wooseok like that."
"So his name's Wooseok. Great. We're making progress."
Fuck. "I didn't say that." He did. "Okay, look. Can we just move on? I will actually cry if I have to unpack this with you, Hangyul. Love you to death, but the fact that I might have a crush on someone I barely know is probably the worst news I've gotten in my twenty-four years of existence."
Hangyul looks a little pensive. "It's probably not the worst," he says, in what is supposed to be consolation.
To Hangyul's credit, he isn't wrong. Seungyoun's entire life up until a few years ago when he finally decided to drop out of college and leave his parents' house was nothing short of tumultuous. The past three years have been hard, sure, but falling in love with an almost-stranger that he maybe has memorized the laugh of? Haha. Totally not a big deal.
(He's going to cry.)
"Just wait it out, hyung," Hangyul says, right as the entry door whirs with life and someone's footsteps sound from the distance. It's probably Dongwook, and as the lights flicker on, Seungyoun feels his energy leave him in droves at the mere thought of working a full day. "If this Wooseok guy's as nice as you think he is, he wouldn't leave you hanging." He scoots his chair back to his desk, properly. "He'll be back in your life before you know it."
Seungyoun sighs, just for good measure. "Yeah, yeah," he grumbles as he rolls back to his desk space, fumbling with the wire of his headset. His phone screen lights up with a message from his mom asking if he'll have time to stop by for dinner this weekend. Seungyoun sighs. "What I need to do is suck it up," he decides.
Suck it up and move on. Some things aren't meant to last.
"Wait," Seungyoun mutters. He just started watching Naruto last week. "Sasuke emotionally ghosts Naruto in the anime?"
Hangyul laughs nervously and pretends to be preoccupied.
At some point, Seungyoun decides he doesn't want to be a businessman. His parents are insistent, telling him that it's fine if he has other interests, but he needs something stable to rely on, a foundation to stand on. You can take over our restaurants, his dad says. My company could be yours too, his mom promises. But none of that appeals to him, probably never will—to the point that one day he wakes up and decides he doesn't even want to pretend anymore.
His parents are understanding for the most part. They're disappointed, sure, but what parents wouldn't be? He makes a couple of premature promises, says he'll move out and support himself while he's figuring out what his dream really entails. They won't have to worry about him. Seungyoun will be fine, and when he finally settles on his idea, wish, for the future, he'll pursue it wholeheartedly and everything will work out for the best.
He already knows he's optimistic, sometimes stupidly so. Music doesn't work out the way Seungyoun wants it to, and sure, he hasn't given up quite yet, but the past three years have taught him a lesson in complacency. It's not that he's tired of fighting whatever plans fate has for him; it's just that he's tired of chasing something (a dream, a childish wish) that doesn't want to be followed. Or, well, that's what he tries to tell himself, to soothe the glimmer of optimism, foolish hope, that always blooms at the center of his chest. So he's got big dreams, and he's been rotting in an office cubicle since he decided to pursue them, but he knows dreams take time, and time is precious.
Sometimes, his mom will ask him if he's ashamed, and that's why he doesn't visit home, asks his parents not to bring him up too much at family dinners with the extended relatives that he strategically can't attend. He's not ashamed. He used to be, sure. Used to be so embarrassed that his cousins were off doing great things, making names for themselves while climbing the steep corporate ladder—but these days, he's not ashamed. He's just tired.
Fatigue doesn't have to be permanent. Good things will come eventually; some already have (his friends, the slow climb of attention directed to his music, Wooseok). He just needs to be a little more patient, and for how bright and energetic Seungyoun is, he's stupidly patient too.
It's why he relents when an older lady and her disgruntled son accidentally cut him while he's waiting in line at some pretentious coffee shop Yohan insists is worth it for the Instagram pictures alone (and Seungyoun doesn't want to admit it, but to his humble following, he likes to pretend he's hip and trendy too). It's why he doesn't say a thing, only offers a smile, when the flustered barista messes up his order—why he says, It's okay! as he accepts a creamy drink that'll inevitably be too sweet for him. It's why he's accommodating when a grandpa sitting a table away pushes a phone into Seungyoun's face and asks how to switch the conversation into a video call so he can see his granddaughter.
Sometimes, though, he isn't.
Like right this second when his eyes flit up from his laptop screen, where he's trying to finish up one last song to post on his Soundcloud before the year ends, and sees none other than Kim Wooseok walking into the coffee shop, his cheeks red, a scarf bound tightly around his neck.
Of course he recognizes Wooseok. He's seen Wooseok's face—looking blankly at him from a tiny passport-photo sized icon pressed to the corner of a profile logged into Heartbreak Heaven's system—countless times.
Seungyoun realizes belatedly that Wooseok hasn't seen his, doesn't even know what Seungyoun's real name is.
(It's kind of stupid, the way Seungyoun's mind flits about in a frenzy in that exact moment. One second, he's thinking about music—about his dream, and how he'd gotten so accustomed to just waiting for a good omen, any sort of sign, that he'd befriended his own complacency. The next, he's thinking about his job, about the way Yibo had called the whole idea shitty and how maybe Seungyoun agreed for a second—until he remembered he knew better. And then he's thinking about Wooseok, about their first call (a strange amount of empathy); their second, third, all the way until their last (and maybe Seungyoun regrets leaving it at that). Maybe there are some things he isn't meant to stand back and watch unfold.)
Wooseok idles by the counter after he's paid, gaze washing over the entire cafe in search for an open table. There aren't any.
Seungyoun starts shaking his leg. Bad habit, nervous tic. He closes his eyes, rakes through his mind for a solution—something that won't set him up for debilitating failure (or worse, rejection).
He shouldn't be hasty. Shouldn't jump into something because his chest feels tight, too small for the way his heart's swelling in size.
But before he knows it, his chair's scraping as he gets up, laptop left unattended (seriously, Seungyoun?), lukewarm mug of a too-sweet vanilla latte growing colder by the second on the table behind him. He catches Wooseok just as he's about to ask the cashier to switch his order to to-go, finger tapping Wooseok's shoulder before he can reel himself back and think things through.
Wooseok turns, gaze searching, brows slightly furrowed in mild confusion. "Can I help you?" he asks, his voice as level as always. There's a tightness to it, though; probably because he doesn't know who Seungyoun is.
(And that kind of warms Seungyoun's heart too, how warm and gentle Wooseok's voice always is over the phone when he registers it's Woodz he's talking to.)
"Sorry," Seungyoun blurts out first, laughing awkwardly. Wooseok raises a brow. "I just—I thought you might be looking for a seat. There's an empty one at the table I'm sitting at." Wooseok still looks confused. Seungyoun juts a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of his stuff. "I'm probably going to head out soon," he adds, though he came here with the intention of staying until the cafe closed.
"Oh," Wooseok murmurs. He looks a little embarrassed, shrinking back into himself. Like he was expecting something else, steeling himself for something else. "Thank you. It's fine, though. I don't want to impose." A tiny smile works its way onto his lips when he catches a glimpse of Seungyoun's station. "Kind of looks like you're camping out for the long-term."
Seungyoun's cheeks probably color a bit and he tries to laugh it off again. "It's seriously not a big deal," he insists. "I, okay, not to be creepy or anything, but it's really cold out and it seems kind of cruel to force you to head back out when you just found some warmth in here."
Wooseok parts his lips to protest, again, but the cashier—an unenthused teenager, probably, with bottle blonde hair—interjects dryly, "Can you two please continue flirting somewhere else? Far away from here but within sight because unfortunately, I'm invested. You're holding up the line."
"I think he answered for you," Seungyoun says with a grin.
"I think he did too," mutters Wooseok, the smile still on his face despite the exasperation that lingers with each step he takes beside Seungyoun.
By the time Wooseok settles into the seat across from Seungyoun, Seungyoun's mind is running on empty. He doesn't really know what to say anymore, if there's even anything he's supposed to say. He could start with his name, maybe. And then they could see where it goes from there.
Technically speaking, there's no real explanation for why Seungyoun did what he did. Hangyul might have been right about the whole crush thing, but the fact of the matter is that they don't really know each other, and even Seungyoun's mindful enough not to tread uncharted territory (more so when he secretly knows what kind of boundaries exist).
He supposes he's relieved. Happy to see that Wooseok's still alive and kicking, that he's out and about, that he looks like he's been sleeping and eating properly.
That's really all Seungyoun could ask for anyway.
"—name?"
Seungyoun startles, looking up from his screen to Wooseok, who's sitting plainly across him, expression neutral. "Sorry, what?"
"Your name?" Wooseok repeats.
"Oh." Seungyoun grins. "I'm Seungyoun, Cho Seungyoun."
Right about now is when Seungyoun should return the question, but it doesn't cross his mind the way it should because he already knows Wooseok's name. It must be obvious that Seungyoun's hiding something because Wooseok laughs.
"Is my name that funny?" presses Seungyoun, feigning offense.
"I was just going to ask if you wanted to know mine," explains Wooseok, taking an idle sip of what's probably an Americano, exactly what Seungyoun wishes he'd gotten. "But I guess you already know?"
Time skids to a stop. A record scratches, somewhere in the distance. Seungyoun wants to blame this all on Hangyul. It's not Hangyul's fault or anything; Seungyoun's just desperate for someone to pin his internal panic on.
"What," he just barely manages to choke out. In an attempt to look casual and chill, he takes a hearty sip from his now-cold latte and almost spits it back out.
"This has been Woodz of Heartbreak Heaven! Breaking hearts at prices that won't break yours!" Wooseok parrots. "Isn't that you?"
Seungyoun has a couple of options. He could (a) continue to feign ignorance and live a life of lies, potentially dashing all hopes of a future (whoa, maybe he's getting ahead of himself) with Wooseok; (b) just let out a big old scream and run out of the coffee ship to find refuge in his apartment, where no one will be able to mock the tagline he's forced to recite about fifty times every day with remarkable precision; and (c) —
"You recognize my voice," Seungyoun says, states, hoping it doesn't show how absolutely nervous he is. "That's kind of sweet, Wooseok."
"I'd recognize your voice anywhere," admits Wooseok, smiling over the rim of his mug. "Heard it too many times, for better or for worse."
His heart's doing all sorts of work right now, sprinting a god damn marathon while Seungyoun tries to maintain his composure. He isn't sure how to feel about Wooseok seeing right through him, about recognizing him from his voice alone. There's a tiny part of him that wants to take that fact and run with it, let it bloom into something stupid but hopeful. There's another that tugs him back to reality, anchors him to the present; to Wooseok, smiling at the dumb things Seungyoun's saying, in the flesh and blood.
"Is that why you haven't been giving me much reason to call these days?" Seungyoun asks, and though he really does want to know, he's careful about wording it as a joke. "You got tired of my voice?"
Wooseok doesn't say anything, only sets his mug down onto the plate. His shoulders seem strained. "If only it was that simple," he says, in a mutter. "I never said I was tired of your voice."
"You don't have to say it, Wooseok," Seungyoun sighs out, overdramatic. "I can tell when I'm unwanted."
"Are you fishing for compliments?"
Seungyoun smiles. "Nah, just trying to keep you laughing."
Contrary to his best efforts, Wooseok's expression wipes clean, replaces itself with vague shock. Seungyoun might be coming off too strongly, but this is also who he is—and sure, Wooseok being who Wooseok is is playing a huge part in it too, but Seungyoun's serious. Seeing Wooseok laugh and smile in real time is so much better than listening for any hint of mirth over the phone. He's already regretting when Wooseok has to leave.
"I wasn't tired of your voice," Wooseok says, instead of contemplating the lifeline Seungyoun threw out, a haphazard peace offering to get them away from the topic at hand, the question they both know Seungyoun was veering toward. "I haven't gone on any dates recently."
Oh.
"Whaaat, a serial dater like you? Taking a vacation?" Seungyoun teases. He tapers off a little bit, clearing his throat too obviously. "Everything good? I was worried, you know. Then I figured I probably shouldn't be. If your heart isn't getting broken, that's for the better, isn't it?"
Isn't it?
"Everything's fine," Wooseok replies. "It felt kind of insincere going on dates with people after recent developments, so."
"Recent developments," Seungyoun echoes, hollowly. "Did you adopt a cat? Find a new hobby?"
Wooseok props an elbow up atop the table, resting his cheek against an open palm. He looks at Seungyoun, looks right through him, and has the absolute audacity to smile. "I met someone," he says, so directly that Seungyoun almost forgets to speak.
"Wait, seriously?" He can feel something creaking with exertion—close to breaking (he's exaggerating, fine, but seriously? Heartache this early in the afternoon?). "Wow, I'm kind of wounded, not gonna lie. I thought we had something special."
"I thought you promised you had better jokes outside of business hours," Wooseok says, easily skirting past Seungyoun's dramatics. "You're the exact same as you are on the phone. It's strange."
"In a bad way? Seungyoun presses.
Wooseok leans back in his seat, arms crossed against his chest, gaze fixed on the edge of his cup. "Not really." He purses his lips. "Not at all."
"Well," Seungyoun starts, "I think you're meaner in person."
The contemplation coloring Wooseok's features shifts into curiosity, bemusement. "Meaner?"
"Maybe meaner isn't the right word." He waggles his brows, a grin spreading easily. "More mysterious? Enigmatic? You're a lot more closed off. I guess that makes sense. We're practically strangers."
"Do you really feel that way?" asks Wooseok. "That we're strangers? I would argue that knowing how terribly my love life was going probably bumps you up on the scale."
"Business acquaintances," suggests Seungyoun, stretching his legs and accidentally kicking Wooseok's shoe in the process. "So, no more dates, huh? Here I was, hoping to push my luck by asking you out in person..."
Wooseok looks up. "Are you joking again?"
He's supposed to be, but that doesn't seem like the answer to Wooseok's question. Seungyoun tilts his head to the side, looking as innocent as he can. "I could be," he says, and that doesn't seem like the right answer either. "It wouldn't matter either way," he continues, laughing. "I think it's good you found someone who—"
"If you asked," Wooseok interrupts, his eyes fixed on Seungyoun, "I wouldn't say no."
Seungyoun can't tell if Wooseok's pulling his leg, and his uncertainty manifests in an uneasy, frail smile. "What?" He rubs at his eye from beneath his glasses. "You're—" too good for me? "Are you making exceptions so soon?"
For as nervous as Seungyoun feels, the expression Wooseok's wearing is relaxed, serene, sure. He stretches his arms over his head, one eye clamping shut before his chair scrapes. Wooseok rises from his seat, careful as he picks up the plate with his now empty mug on it. "Just one," is all Wooseok says as he turns to leave. He pauses, settling his plate back down on the edge of the table for a passing moment. "Oh, and—" For another second, he spots an uncapped pen Seungyoun left lying next to a blank notebook and grabs it, reaching out for Seungyoun's hand. "Can I see your hand?"
"My hand?" Seungyoun blinks before letting Wooseok take it, watches helplessly as Wooseok scrawls something down on the back of it. "Are you leaving?"
Wooseok sets the pen, now capped, back on the table and picks his dishes back up. "I have to get back to work," he explains, gesturing across the street to a small office building. "Thank you for protecting me earlier. God knows I wouldn't have been able to brave the cold to cross the street."
Seungyoun balks.
"Let me know if you figure out the answer to my question," Wooseok adds, offering Seungyoun a close-lipped smile. "Bye Seungyoun."
He's about to point out that he has no means of letting Wooseok know anything unless someone wants to try breaking Wooseok's heart again, but Seungyoun catches a nearly illegible, slanted scrawl of a phone number on the back of his hand at the last second.
The door jingles loudly as it shuts behind Wooseok.
From behind the counter, the blonde cashier rolls his eyes with feeling, like he can't believe what just happened before his eyes.
Seungyoun can relate.
"Dude?"
Seungyoun jolts, nearly dropping his phone. "What," he bites out, a little more irritated than intended.
Hangyul stares at him from the hallway, where he's toweling his hair. "Excuse me for wondering why you're trying to shoot daggers through your phone." He shuffles into the kitchen and calls out, "Something up?"
As soon as he'd gotten home, Seungyoun had taken care to save Wooseok's number in his phone. The faint imprint on the back of his hand is still there too, and if Seungyoun squints, he can still recall how cold Wooseok's hand was, the smell of Wooseok's cologne (wait, that's kind of creepy, isn't it?). It's been a few hours. He'd spent a futile three more hours at the coffee shop, barely finished fine-tuning a track to send to a client. Trudged home, picked up some gopchang on the way, and now he's here, rotting on the couch while thinking about how ridiculously surreal the day's been.
"No," Seungyoun lies. "Yes," he despairs.
Hangyul lets out a small laugh of disbelief before walking back into the living room, plopping down unceremoniously on the couch beside Seungyoun. "Is this about Sasuke?" He stills. "I mean, fuck. Wooseok? Whatever his name is? Your crush?"
Seungyoun grabs a pillow and muffles a scream into it.
"Good to know you're handling whatever it is like a real adult," Hangyul says, cracking open another can of soda Seungyoun's pretty sure expired three months ago. "What happened?"
"Nofig."
Hangyul gently explicates the pillow from Seungyoun's grasp. "Doesn't sound like nofig."
"Nothing happened," Seungyoun says, again, sinking back into the couch cushions. "I ran into Wooseok at that coffee shop in Hongdae Yohan's been raving about."
"That sounds like something," comments Hangyul. "Isn't that a good thing? You were wondering what he was up to."
"He gave me his number?"
"This sounds like a good thing too...?"
"And told me he'd go out with me if I asked? Even though he said he wasn't dating anymore?"
Hangyul narrows his eyes. "The more you talk about this, the less of a problem this seems. I'm not seeing any issues."
Seungyoun covers his face with his hands, drags his palms down his cheeks in muted agony. That's the thing. There isn't a problem. There aren't issues. Seungyoun's just scared because this is the first time in three years that he's even thought about dating, the first time in three years that he's wanted to date, and Wooseok almost seems too good to be true. It's just like him to panic when a good thing's dropped into his open hands, demanding to be pursued.
"Hyung," Hangyul tries again, this time, a little gentler. "You're freaking out over nothing. Just text him."
"I'm not scared of texting him," Seungyoun says, rubbing at his cheek. "I just—it kind of... Doesn't this seem ridiculous? Too good to be true? We barely know each other. I don't want to dive into this with high hopes. I feel like I have to emotionally prepare myself when he finds out I'm a university drop-out who's been picking at a pipe dream for the past three years. My hobbies include humiliating myself on the dance floor on weekends and breaking hearts on weekdays! What a charmer!"
Hangyul snorts. "You're freaking out," he repeats. "Why are you making it so complicated? You're not proposing to him. You're asking him out on a date. If some dude on a dating app has the nerve to send a complete stranger a dick pic as a greeting, it's not completely out of the question for you to text someone you've talked to on the phone five-billion times and met in person to ask them if they want to grab dinner."
He's right. It doesn't have to be as serious or as scary as Seungyoun's making it. It might be because Seungyoun does want it to work out, does want Wooseok to enjoy his time with Seungyoun, doesn't want to be another name on a list of failed attempts at trying again (for Seungyoun and for Wooseok).
"If it doesn't work out, it doesn't work out," continues Hangyul. "That's not the end of the world. You should know that better than anyone else, hyung. All of the people you've called at work have picked themselves up and moved on. It might have taken some time, but in the end, everything happens for a reason. We wouldn't have jobs if Dongwook hyung didn't get his heartbroken however many years ago. You can't keep shutting down every chance to have something good because you're scared it won't work out. You can't keep shutting yourself down before you even try."
"You..." Seungyoun trails off, his expression fixed into one of deep contemplation. "You sounded really wise just now. It's scaring me. Are you sick? It's all of that expired soda you've been drinking—mmfggh!" The pillow Hangyul shoves into Seungyoun's face is deserved. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding! You're right. Didn't mean to sound like a downer or anything."
"You're allowed to be down. I'm just telling you you need to stop selling yourself short, hyung," Hangyul says. "You're a god damn catch!"
"Yeah, I am!" Seungyoun pumps a fist in the air.
"You're talented! You write good songs sometimes! You do well at your job! Moms love you!"
"You're right!"
"And if Sasuke can't see that, then he deserves to rot in the depths of Orochimaru's snake dungeon!"
"Ye—what?"
Hangyul stares at Seungyoun, looks a little uneasy, like he just realized he might have said something he Should Not have said. "What? Sorry, I got too into it. I, uh, forgot you're one thousand episodes behind." He clears his throat with purpose and then gestures to Seungyoun's abandoned phone. "So, anyway. Text him. For all you know, he could be sitting by his phone waiting for a message from you, thinking he's fucked up before anything's even started—just like you."
To be honest, Seungyoun's still kind of rattled by this whole mention of Orochimaru and Sasuke. Sasuke would never abandon Team 7 like that, would he? Maybe he has to reevaluate whether he wants Wooseok to even be Sasuke in this extended analogy that has definitively gone way too far.
"Hyung."
"What? Oh." Seungyoun reaches for his phone and unlocks it, staring at the message he'd been attempting to compose for the past hour. So far, all he's got (and had) is a feeble Hi Wooseok. "Right."
"You can do it," Hangyul assures him, clapping a hand over Seungyoun's shoulder and squeezing. "Even if it doesn't work out, the world'll keep spinning. Chase your mans, hyung. You're good."
Cho Seungyoun
(21:16) hey wooseok! it's seungyoun
(21:16) i was just wondering if you
(21:16) maybe
Oh god. He's panicking again.
Cho Seungyoun
(21:17) had a strong preference for sasuke or gaara?
(21:17) haha
Kim Wooseok
(21:18) i'm sorry, what?
Seungyoun covers his face with his hands and tries to withhold a very palpable scream when he feels his phone vibrate again.
Kim Wooseok
(21:18) clearly gaara?
(21:19) also i thought i made it clear i only wanted to hear from you if you figured out the answer to my question
(21:19) gaara vs sasuke??????? that's not even a question
(21:19) fuck sasuke
He's flabbergasted.
Wooseok's right. He's not Sasuke, he's Gaara. That makes so much more sense than what fucking Hangyul tried to suggest, and—oh. Seungyoun stops laughing at his texts to remember why he texted Wooseok in the first place.
The idea of asking anyone out over text isn't particularly daunting, but it's something about Wooseok that makes Seungyoun sound like a fumbling idiot even when they're behind screens. Calling wouldn't be any better, but there's familiarity in that realm; kind of feels like a new beginning (an old beginning made new). So he calls instead, heart beating faster and faster with each second the call dials to connect.
It clicks.
There's a rustling noise and then a quiet, bleary, "What."
"You're right," Seungyoun says in greeting. "About Gaara, I mean."
"Of course I'm right," Wooseok grumbles, and his voice sounds thick with drowsiness, like he'd been fighting a nap while fielding Seungyoun's texts. "Why'd you call? To break up with me?"
"I wouldn't—we're not dating," Seungyoun points out, coughing awkwardly when he adds, sneakily, "yet."
Wooseok doesn't seem to catch it, though. The rustling grows louder and Wooseok's voice sounds a little clearer, more awake when he asks, "Why'd you call then?"
Seungyoun drums his fingertips against his knee, wonders when the last time anyone made him feel this nervous was.
"I called," Seungyoun attempts, his words dying in his throat for half a beat before he regains his composure. "I called to ask you out."
It's almost as if the entire world falls silent then. The only sound Seungyoun can make out is the drum-beat of his heart, pounding against his ribcage with a heightened desperation. Wooseok doesn't speak for so long (a few seconds—might as well be a century) that Seungyoun almost takes it back.
But then he hears a laugh, faint but warm, something Seungyoun's buoyed himself to since their first ever conversation.
"Finally." Wooseok chuckles. "Took you long enough."
"I know," Seungyoun blurts out, and the panic's gone and abated, but there's still a lingering jitteriness that he thinks is just attributable to Wooseok and how much Seungyoun likes him, likes seeing—knowing—he's happy. "But I was kind of scared. I haven't dated in a really long time, which sounds dumb considering my entire job basically exists because of dating. Or maybe it makes sense? To be disillusioned considering the work I do? Not that I'm disillusioned! I just—I don't know how to say this without coming off the wrong way, but you're terrifying, Wooseok. I've never started liking someone because of their voice or their laugh or the way they said things over the phone or how they seemed to treat their heart. I've never wanted to see someone get a happy ending so badly. At least... At least, not until I met you."
Wooseok lets out a small exhale, and it fades into a resigned, quiet laugh. "I started saying 'yes' to anyone who asked me out because I thought that'd be the best way to open my heart up again," he starts. "I was wrong. And it took you calling me for the fiftieth time to tell me I'd hurt someone to realize. I didn't want you to misunderstand, or to think I was being careless with people's feelings... So, I stopped dating. And then my friend told me I should evaluate why I cared so much what you thought about me in the first place." He sounds like he's smiling. "It was enlightening, to say the least. I thought I'd dial back and maybe if I felt braver in a little while, I'd call your HQ and ask to speak to you or something, but I guess fate had a different idea."
"I know you weren't being careless," Seungyoun says, levelly. "I know you weren't. I—I was really hoping you wouldn't be discouraged by my calls. The accidental ones—blame our tech guy—and the real ones because I really, really didn't want you to give up on..." He trails off, feels his cheeks heat up. "God, this is so cheesy. I didn't want you to give up on working on yourself, re-learning how to open up, practicing how to let people in. Getting your happy ending, you know? I want the best for everyone by default, but, uh, Wooseok. I... I guess... I want more than that for you."
Wooseok laughs again and Seungyoun feels his heart soar. He sounds a little more hesitant, a little shyer when he adds, "Me too. For you, too."
Looking back, he isn't sure why he was so scared in the first place. Like this, when Wooseok sounds softer, as though he's entrusting Seungyoun with something precious, it's hard to linger on the worst case scenarios Seungyoun had been humoring just an hour earlier.
"I'll answer your question now," Seungyoun says, the grin on his face widening until his cheeks hurt. "I'm asking for real. Go out with me, Wooseok. Make an exception for me, and only me."
"Okay," Wooseok says, his voice just barely above a whisper. "You're my exception."
Their first real date is at the same coffee shop as their first real meeting. It's less crowded than it was last week, and while Seungyoun shouldn't feel as nervous as he does, especially considering he's spent every day leading up to this exact hour texting, calling, or video-calling Wooseok while catching up on Naruto (in between work and sleep, of course), his heart's thumping rapidly again. He's getting used to it, though. Around Wooseok, his heart's always in a frenzy, and maybe it's just a matter of learning to accept it.
The same blonde cashier perks up when he catches Seungyoun entering the cafe, gaze flitting from Seungyoun to a table right across the counter—the same one as last time—where Wooseok's already seated, scrolling through something on his phone.
"Hey," Seungyoun says, footsteps slowing at the one empty chair, his smile already slipping out. "Is this seat taken?"
Wooseok looks up, mirror's Seungyoun's grin with a smaller one of his own. "I'm saving it for someone," he says as Seungyoun sits down. "But I guess I can make an exception for you."
They look at each other, just gaze at each other for a few passing seconds, and Seungyoun can't help but marvel at how they got here, how they came to fall into each other's company like this.
"Hi," Seungyoun says.
"You're staring too intently," Wooseok mumbles.
"Just thinking about how weird this is," Seungyoun explains, laughing. He reaches across the table to tangle their hands, relishes the way Wooseok squeezes once, gently, and then again, tighter. "I used to think good things only came to people who were willing to wait," he says. "But I'm glad I chased after you."
Wooseok smiles. "I didn't really plan on running very far."
"Where are you?" Seungyoun whines into his phone, twirling once in a too-large swivel chair, nearly giving himself vertigo when he tries to stop it from spinning.
"On my way," Wooseok says, and Seungyoun can practically hear him roll his eyes. "You're such a baby. I'm barely two minutes late."
"I'm bored," says Seungyoun, as though that's justification enough. "Besides, it's your first time visiting me at work and I'm kind of antsy. Are you almost here?"
"Yep. Right outside." Two knocks at the door.
Seungyoun rises from his seat and hurries to open it, beaming when he sees Wooseok, bundled up in an old scarf and a thick winter jacket, his cheeks still a little red from where the wind got him. He's careless as he pulls Wooseok into a tight hug, biting back a smile at the way Wooseok struggles to find his balance before relaxing in Seungyoun's embrace.
"Missed you," says Seungyoun, waiting until Wooseok peels off his scarf to peck him on the lips—once, twice, and then thrice, for a little longer, when Wooseok relents.
"You saw me this morning."
"Hours ago," Seungyoun groans, about to kiss Wooseok one more time when he hears someone clearing their throat loudly. He lifts his head and meets none other than Hangyul's gaze. "What the—"
"Hi, sorry to interrupt this, frankly, really gross moment," Hangyul starts, "but Wooseok hyung invited us—" He gestures to Yohan and Dohyon behind him. "—to see your new office."
"You're a big-shot producer now!" Dohyon marvels, hopping excitedly on the balls of his feet as he peers into the small, tiny studio Seungyoun's barely made a second home out of over the last week since he started here. He's holding a half-eaten bucket of Baskin Robbins ice cream, which Seungyoun figures he should just ignore because Dohyon's a growing boy, and his excitement's palpable and adorable.
"Not a big-shot producer," corrects Hangyul. "He's at the bottom of the food chain for now." When Wooseok gives Hangyul a pointed look, he adds, hastily, "But just for now!"
"Congratulations, hyung!" Yohan cheers. "How's work so far?"
Seungyoun feels Wooseok's arms tighten around his waist, wonders if Wooseok can tell just how special a passing moment like this one really is to Seungyoun, who's still trying to wrap his mind around where he is, how he got here, and who he got here with.
It's barely been a month since he turned in his resignation letter at Heartbreak Heaven. Just over a year since he first met Wooseok over a telephone call that was supposed to be the end of it. Nearly half a year of making the transition, finally resolving to go after his dream for real, no ifs, ands, or buts.
It still feels surreal.
"Good," Seungyoun manages, biting back a growing smile. "The hours aren't the best and I'm still pretty new to everything so there's a huge learning curve, but I'm learning a lot."
Wooseok looks up at him and mirrors Seungyoun's smile. "Must be hard," he says, an echo of their first ever conversation together. "I'm proud of you, Seungyoun."
The rest of the group's dispersed to explore Seungyoun's space, so Seungyoun takes this time to lean down again, kissing Wooseok slower, tenderly. "Thank you," he says, for more things than one. "I love you." And because he wants to see Wooseok's eyes crinkle: "You're the Gaara to my Naruto forever."
Wooseok rolls his eyes but they curve so prettily when he laughs not even a second later.
It's this—this exact picture, this exact moment, these people, everything—that reminds Seungyoun.
Good things, he knows now, are meant to be chased.