Chapter Text
Seungcheol Choi is a good influence, Seungkwan thinks as he watches his boyfriend bring the casserole dish to the table, wrap his arm around his mother’s shoulder, then place a kiss on her cheek before telling Mrs Boo that it smells so good. It really does, piping-hot and covered in a layer of bubbling cheese; the fresh leaves of basil his mother’s torn on top smells minty and of anise, fragrant and cool and refreshing. Seungkwan’s seated at the table already after setting it up, mouth watering.
Mrs Boo swats Seungcheol’s hands away, telling him to wait another few minutes so that the lasagne would keep its shape, and Seungcheol behaves, taking his seat beside Seungkwan on the table and sneaking in a kiss to Seungkwan’s mouth when Mrs Boo turns her back to get a pitcher of water from the fridge.
“You’re making me look bad,” Seungkwan whispers.
“I want to eat her food even after we break up,” Seungcheol whispers back. Seungkwan hits him on the shoulder.
“As if my mom will love you after that.”
“As if I’ll ever break up with you.”
Seungkwan rolls his eyes. “Whatever,” he says, but the corners of his lips quirk upwards until he has to hide how satisfied he looks, turning his face to the opposite direction while Seungcheol lets out a laugh, his arm warm and heavy on Seungkwan’s shoulders. His mom comes back with the water and serves them all salad before cutting into the lasagne and putting large slices on all their plates.
“Are you eating enough there?” asks Mrs Boo.
Seungcheol shrugs as he slices up a forkful, replying, “I think so, but it’d be nice if you cooked there” before he eats. “See? This is amazing, Mrs B.” Seungkwan snorts at that, but he gets what Seungcheol means—sometimes Seungkwan feels like crying just so his mom will make him some fried rice to comfort him, and nothing else could ever really compare.
Mrs Boo preens—really, no one is safe from Seungcheol Choi—and gives him another slice, the corner piece with all the crispy edges, and Seungkwan’s maybe just a little bit smug about it, smiling into his salad.
After dinner, they form an assembly line—Seungcheol washes up, Mrs Boo dries, and Seungkwan puts away the clean dishes. Seungkwan loves how Seungcheol rolls up the sleeves of his sweater so he doesn’t get the cuffs wet because Seungcheol has nice arms, thick and solid, and Seungkwan can look at it all he wants.
“Everything’s good to go now, right, Mrs B?” Seungcheol asks.
“Yes, dear.”
Seungcheol smiles at Seungkwan, who takes it as his cue to run out of the kitchen, up the stairs, then to his room where Seungcheol catches up to him, impossibly large grin on his face and hands on either side of the doorframe.
“No tickling,” Seungkwan warns. Seungcheol steps closer to him, making Seungkwan cover up his neck in protection and double over when Seungcheol reaches for Seungkwan’s sides. “I hate you, Seungcheol Choi—”
“I had a long week, babe,” Seungcheol says, smiling widely when he manages to dig his fingers into Seungkwan’s side and Seungkwan breaks down into a loud laugh, clutching at his stomach and trying to swat Seungcheol’s hands away.
“This is how you destress?” Seungkwan demands. He’s starting to get paranoid, ghost fingers tickling at his neck; his sides are beginning to ache, too.
“How do you want me to destress?” Seungcheol goes for Seungkwan’s neck, laughing at how Seungkwan curls his neck against his shoulder.
“Ugh, I’m going to kick you—ah—” Seungkwan manages to break free of Seungcheol’s grip then runs to the opposite side of the bed, one hand covering the side of his neck while the other covers up his sides.
Seungcheol clambers onto the bed, then reaches for one of Seungkwan’s arms, trying to get him on the bed, but Seungkwan manages to wrench his arm free, running to his desk to throw his pencil case at Seungcheol.
“Stay there,” Seungkwan warns.
“Gladly.” Seungcheol stretches out an arm and places it under his head. “Aren’t you going to come here?”
Seungkwan stops. “Do you promise not to tickle me?”
“I don’t know.”
“I could watch TV with my mom downstairs, Seungcheol Choi.”
Seungcheol pouts, using his free hand to pat the space on the bed left. “Come on, Seungkwanie,” he calls. Seungkwan crosses his arms from his side of the room, leaning on his study desk until Seungcheol relents. “I promise,” Seungcheol says finally, and it’s only then that Seungkwan uncrosses his arms and walks slowly to the bed.
Sometimes, Seungkwan forgets how strong Seungcheol Choi can be, but is reminded of it when Seungcheol grabs Seungkwan’s arm and pulls him onto the bed, flipping them over so that Seungkwan’s caged beneath Seungcheol. “You’re so rude,” Seungkwan huffs.
“Hi,” is what Seungcheol says. He has his bottom lip caught between his smile, eyes dropping their gaze to Seungkwan’s lips, so he ducks his head down to give Seungkwan a kiss, light and sweet and short. “Hi,” he says again, then proceeds to kissing Seungkwan over and over again on his mouth, “I missed you.”
Seungcheol lifts up his head so he can kiss Seungkwan on the forehead, trailing his mouth down to Seungkwan’s cheek then back up to Seungkwan’s eyelid and down his nose, and Seungkwan smiles, lets out a tiny giggle. “I missed you, too,” Seungkwan tells him.
“Really?” Seungcheol teases. “It’s only been six days.”
“You said it first,” Seungkwan grouses. “One day, you’re going to miss me more than I miss you.”
“I already miss you more,” Seungcheol says, and Seungkwan wants to punch him in the gut. Instead, Seungkwan takes this opportunity to bring up two fingers to the spot under Seungcheol’s ear that makes him laugh, and Seungcheol’s entire neck just curls in on itself. Then Seungkwan goes for Seungcheol’s sides, Seungcheol squirming until he falls down on the floor, dragging Seungkwan with him, and he looks apologetic when he realises what just happened. “Are you okay—”
“Don’t ask me,” Seungkwan grouses, his breath knocked out of him. “You’re the one who fell on your back.”
“I’d tell you if it hurt.”
“You wouldn’t.” Seungkwan brings their faces together until the tips of their noses are touching, giggling when Seungcheol goes cross-eyed. “I know you, Seungcheol Choi.”
Seungcheol wraps his arms around Seungkwan’s waist, on the small of his back, and plants a kiss on Seungkwan's mouth. “You do,” he concedes. “How’s Mrs Smith, by the way?”
“Ugh,” Seungkwan groans, “she still asks after you.”
“Really?” Seungcheol grins. He teases Seungkwan, “she loves me.”
“She does,” Seungkwan complains. “That paper you sent me from that journal thingy really helped.”
“Really? I was worried it was reaching.”
“No. Mrs Smith could tell that you gave it to me, told me I’m lucky I have access to that kind of stuff.”
“What else did she say?”
“Ugh, you’re just fishing for compliments,” Seungkwan complains. “She said you got a perfect score on everything.”
“She’s exaggerating,” Seungcheol deflects. “She was really harsh on my first essays.”
“I’m pretty sure her harsh to you is like her really nice to me,” Seungkwan says. “In any case, if I want to match the grade you got, I’d have to do a lot of extra credit work.”
At that, Seungcheol knits his eyebrows together and asks, “why?”
“For once, I wanna be on your level,” Seungkwan tells him. He’s a junior now and has about half of Seungcheol’s workload in high school—two advanced placement classes and one honours class and no, like, foreign language or musical instrument or newspaper whatever to keep him busy and no part-time job either. “You’re making it ridiculously hard,” he adds, making Seungcheol frown, and now Seungkwan feels a little guilty bringing it up.
For a few moments, neither of them say anything. Seungcheol brushes Seungkwan’s hair away from his face, trails the backs of his fingers down Seungkwan’s cheek and his nose. Seungkwan wants to apologise, but he finds it caught in his throat. When Seungcheol finally does speak up, he says, “hey—wait, can you get up?” as he nudges Seungkwan.
Seungkwan gets up and sits on the bed with his feet tucked under him. Seungcheol follows and does the same, linking one of Seungkwan’s hands in his and rubbing circles on the back of it with his thumb. Embarrassed, Seungkwan keeps his head down, tracing circles on his bed sheet with his free hand.
“Hey,” Seungcheol says again, “were you thinking that this whole time? Do you really think I’m better than you?”
“It’s kind of just… a given, you know?” Like this, Seungkwan’s kind of glad he doesn’t have to face Seungcheol; the way Seungcheol's voice sounds is enough to get Seungkwan a little sad. “Like, you’re smart, and everyone knows that. You’re also really charming and hot—at least, to me, but…” Seungkwan’s voice trails off and he bites his lip. Seungcheol squeezes his hand.
“Did someone tell you that?”
Seungkwan looks up, thinking he’ll never be ready for the way Seungcheol is frowning at him at this moment. “No one did,” he says. “It’s all just me; I’m really sorry.” He feels like crying, his throat getting all tacky and stuck and gross, but there aren’t any tears yet. “I’ll shut up about it,” he mumbles.
“That won’t change your mind,” Seungcheol tells him gently. “I’m not holding anything over you, you have to believe that.”
“That’s it,” Seungkwan says, and he’s just so annoyed—everything was good earlier, good and easy and painless. “Like, even now you’re just, like, so much better, like there’s nothing that gets to you—”
“This is getting to me,” Seungcheol forces out. He doesn’t sound mad, but he might as well be; Seungkwan withers a little under his gaze, enough to duck his head back down. “Two years, Seungkwan. I never knew.”
It was one carelessly timed comment… Seungkwan feels the tears starting to prick at the corners of his eyes. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers, but he doesn’t know what for—sorry for bringing it up at all, sorry for being an idiot, sorry for not being good enough. “I thought you knew when I asked you to help me with math—”
“Not being good at math doesn’t mean you’re dumb,” Seungcheol says. “Besides, math just takes practise. You can learn to be good at math.” He frowns when Seungkwan shakes his head. “What? Am I wrong?”
“No. Just…” Not getting the same grades his boyfriend got hurt a lot, more than Seungcheol would know, and— “It sounds stupid,” Seungkwan says, shrugging it off.
“It won’t,” Seungcheol reassures him, tone softening down to a little bit above a whisper as he ducks his head down to try to meet Seungkwan’s eyes. “I want to hear it.”
“I don’t want to hear it,” Seungkwan says.
Seungcheol sighs and runs his free hand through his hair. “Is it just about my grades?” he asks. Seungkwan shakes his head again, a tear coming out when he closes his eyes. “Is it my looks?” Seungkwan has to mumble out his no, shaking his head all the while. “Seungkwan.”
“I just try, okay,” Seungkwan bites out. “I try too much and it’s never, like, right”—he hiccups and has to wipe the snot from his nose with his hand, snuffling after and fisting the bed sheet—“and you don’t, so, like…” He pulls back when Seungcheol tries to wipe his face, lowering his face even more until Seungcheol can only see the crown of his head.
“I don’t know what to say,” Seungcheol admits. “I get lucky, I know that. I’m not as hardworking as I should be, but that doesn’t mean I don’t try. You know that, right?”
Seungkwan nods, sniffles, feels a little silly.
“You also know it’s not enough that I love you, right?” Seungkwan literally just stopped crying, but now he feels like flooding again; he whimpers when Seungcheol rests his hand on Seungkwan’s head. “You’re too hard on yourself,” Seungcheol adds, quick to stroke Seungkwan’s cheek when Seungkwan lifts his head up and withdraws both his hands so he could wipe off the grossness with his shirt.
“I should—I should change,” Seungkwan says thickly. “My shirt’s all nasty.”
“Me, too.”
“Go change in the bathroom.”
Seungcheol pouts. “I want to change here.” He reaches for the back of his sweater to take it off as if to prove a point. His arms and chest and stomach are suddenly very visible, and there’s a cough hiding in Seungkwan’s chest that wants to come out, but he swallows it down.
“Then I’ll go to the bathroom,” Seungkwan says with a roll of his eyes. “You’re so demanding.” He gets up to get his clothes from his closet, but Seungcheol pipes up, “can’t we change here together?” and Seungkwan stops at that, tries not to look at Seungcheol Choi’s bare torso otherwise he’ll have to start crying again because it’s real and he can touch it but he’s also grossly covered in snot and tears.
“I mean,” Seungcheol continues, “it’s not a big deal, right? It doesn’t mean anything.”
“You want to see the booty, that’s what it means,” Seungkwan counters. He laughs and pinches Seungcheol’s cheek. “You look like a sad puppy.”
“So what if I am a sad puppy?” Seungcheol pouts further. He reaches for his bag by the foot of the bed to get another shirt, but Seungkwan stalls him, wrapping his arm around Seungcheol’s neck and kissing him. Seungcheol brings Seungkwan down to straddle his hips.
“Can I?” Seungkwan asks when they pull away. Seungcheol nods, and Seungkwan ghosts his hands over Seungcheol’s torso before laying them flat on his chest to feel the toned muscle underneath. “I love having a hot boyfriend.”
“You’re a hot boyfriend, too,” Seungcheol offers.
“Next time,” Seungkwan tells him, “when I’m not all snotty and mad at you for making me cry.”
“You don’t look mad.”
“What you said made sense, too. Hey, I need to do my night ritual. You should have a shirt on when I get back.” Seungkwan stands up again, gets his clothes, then goes to the bathroom, and when he comes back with his face clean and moisturised and totally not swollen, Seungcheol’s gotten beneath the blankets, leaving just enough space for Seungkwan to slot himself neatly into.
Seungcheol wraps his arms around Seungkwan as soon as Seungkwan lies down with his back to Seungcheol’s chest, drawing the blanket over them both, and kisses the back of his ear. “Let’s sleep?” he suggests.
“It’s, like, nine pm, Seungcheol Choi.” Seungkwan yawns and has to concede when Seungcheol laughs, “yeah, okay, I’m exhausted.”
“I’m sorry,” Seungcheol apologises, “for making you cry.”
Seungkwan covers Seungcheol’s arms with his and shrugs as much as his position allowed. “It was going to come out,” Seungkwan tells him. Like this, with Seungcheol pressed up against his back, nice and warm, he can say anything. He adds, “I’ve been, like, competing with you in my head for a really long time.”
“God, you’re like that One Direction song.”
“Which one?”
“Their first one.”
“I forgot what that was, maybe you should sing it for me,” Seungkwan teases, laughing. Seungcheol hums the first few bars, and Seungkwan shuts him up before he gets to singing any of it, turning around and clamping Seungcheol’s lips together with his fingers. “No, not my favourite song. You’re going to ruin it.”
“Promise me you won’t be like that song.”
“Seungcheol,” Seungkwan whines, “you’re so cheesy.”
“I need to say it,” Seungcheol whines back. “What if you don’t get it?”
“I get it,” Seungkwan deadpans. “I do, I swear. Don’t say it or I’ll—”
“Promise me you’ll know you’re beautiful,” Seungcheol cuts him off, and Seungkwan wants to hit him so hard that the sleepiness is shaken out of his body, but he just huffs and turns back around, Seungcheol laughing behind him.
The tiredness comes back as soon as it went; Seungkwan pointedly says, “good night” then tries to get them both to sleep by closing his eyes, but it’s Seungcheol who falls asleep first like he always does—Seungcheol tries to even out his breathing so he could sleep, but Seungkwan catches every little hitch, until it eventually smoothens out and Seungcheol begins to snore lightly, faint whistles of air that become more prominent once the night settles in and everything else goes quiet.
***
“Morning,” Soonyoung yawns, eyes disappearing. He hitches his backpack up, holding on to the straps with his thumbs, and peers behind Seungkwan into the doorway, his head tilting to the side. When he catches Mrs Boo, he smiles and gives her a wave of his hand. “Was Seungcheol here? I thought I saw him last night.”
“Someone was snooping,” Seungkwan deflects, “but, yeah. He wanted to sleep, so he went to my house.”
Soonyoung’s eyebrows knit together. “Why? You forced him to sleep?” he asks. They start walking past the driveway with Seungkwan adjusting the cuffs of his jeans, shifting into a hop every now and then.
“He wouldn’t feel guilty if I did,” Seungkwan explains, cuffs in place so he begins to walk normally, “so, yeah, he’s sleeping right now.” He turns his head back to glance at his house, at the blinds covering his window, and adds, “if he does this again, I’ll kill him.”
Soonyoung laughs. “He’s going to be fine,” he reassures Seungkwan. “He’s a big guy.”
Seungkwan rolls his eyes. “His roommate thinks an egg makes ramen a balanced meal. Even my mom worries about him.” They go round the corner, where Seungkwan steps over a puddle of pee by the fire hydrant while Soonyoung goes the other side, then stop at the pedestrian crossing. “I know he’s older, but, like, he sucks at being by himself,” he rants.
“You sound like you have your work cut out for you,” Soonyoung notes. Seungkwan preens at that until Soonyoung adds, “you’re practically his mother.”
The crossing is clear, so Soonyoung steps forward to go, but Seungkwan pulls him back. “Hyung, no, don’t say that, don’t give him ideas—” He gets interrupted by Soonyoung flicking him on the forehead, so he slaps Soonyoung’s arm in retaliation. “That hurt,” he grumbles.
“You’re freaking out again,” Soonyoung reprimands. He shrugs his sleeve out of Seungkwan’s hold and starts walking, not stopping even if Seungkwan has to speed up to match his pace.
“You called me his mother,” Seungkwan stresses once he’s caught up. “Was I supposed to like it?”
“I said you were practically his mother, especially with how you smother his choices out of him.”
“I do not—He wants it,” Seungkwan whines. Soonyoung scoffs, and Seungkwan is trying really hard to not jostle him with his backpack because Soonyoung Kwon is really not a morning person. “He knows he won’t get away with doing work when he’s at my house, so.”
“So?” Soonyoung raises an eyebrow at him. “I don’t see the issue here. Seungcheol Choi sounds like he likes being babied.”
“And you really think I’m the kind of guy who likes having to baby him?” Seungkwan huffs. “He should be babying me.”
“I gave you a compliment, Seungkwan Boo,” Soonyoung grouses, “so appreciate it.” Seungkwan lowers his head and pouts, holding onto his jacket with tiny fists. Soonyoung laughs at that and wraps his arm around Seungkwan while pinching Seungkwan’s cheek with his free hand. “You’re a good match for Seungcheol hyung, okay? Remember that.”
Seungkwan sighs as he rubs his sore cheek, but at least he’s proud and preening again. His boyfriend is sleeping soundly in his room and will wake up to a nice breakfast prepared by his mom and clothes already laid out for him after he takes a shower. “You’re right,” he concedes, “I baby him a lot.”
“Wouldn’t he be busy today, though?” Soonyoung wonders aloud.
“He wouldn’t slack off like that,” Seungkwan says with a shake of his head. “I’ll kill him again.”
“You used to be terrified of him,” Soonyoung remarks. Seungkwan snorts, ears heating up as Soonyoung continues to tease him. “How did you tell him you liked him again? A letter?”
“Shut up.” It’s not as if Seungkwan could forget any of it—living through the embarrassment, Seungcheol telling him he’s straight, laughing at Wonwoo’s jokes out of fear. “By the way, have you applied anywhere yet?”
Soonyoung hums. “I tried for that one in New York, Juilliard. And Jihoon says he’s going to NYU, so he wants to look at places we can stay together,” he answers. Seungkwan laughs at that and Soonyoung kicks him at the back of his leg.
“Ow,” Seungkwan complains. They stop so Seungkwan can massage his sore leg. He sticks his tongue out at Soonyoung and adds, “you guys are a lot gayer than we are. Places together, really?”
“We’re in the same year,” Soonyoung tells him as he helps bring up Seungkwan so they could go to school before the first bell rings, “and it beats trying to get along with new people. We were doing homework last night, and Jihoon gets up without saying anything. He comes back then tells me he crapped in my bathroom and if I want nachos.”
Seungkwan wrinkles his nose. Jihoon hyung is too much sometimes, really. “Gross.”
“I’m used to him,” Soonyoung says with a shrug. “See, this is why being roommates would work. I bet you’d do the same with Seungcheol hyung if you were the same age.”
“Don’t rub it in,” Seungkwan groans, “and I wouldn’t.”
Soonyoung looks at him with surprise, and asks, “really?” Seungkwan nods. “Why not?”
“He can’t cook,” Seungkwan answers plainly, and Soonyoung bursts out laughing, hand reaching up to play with Seungkwan’s hair. “Hey, you’re gonna mess up my hair.”
“I’m going to miss you a lot,” Soonyoung tells him. He’s still laughing, wiping a tear from his eye. “I bet you wouldn’t marry him because he can’t cook.”
“I’m not that shallow,” Seungkwan says, deflecting the comment with a wave of his hand. He shrugs off Soonyoung’s arm and leads them to his locker first. With Seungcheol gone, it feels like he’s in the first semester of last school year all over again, with Soonyoung walking him to school in the morning and home in the afternoon. He opens his locker and hands his math textbook to Soonyoung, who lets it fall to the ground instead of catching it, but Seungkwan doesn’t pay it any mind. “You know, this is the first time you asked me about Seungcheol. Like, not offhandedly.”
“Really?” Soonyoung frowns then lowers himself to pick up the book, saying, “I’m pretty sure we’ve talked about him before” as he dusts it off then hands it back to Seungkwan.
“We weren’t together then,” Seungkwan reminds him. “He’s nothing like I expected he’d be.” He closes the door of his locker, and Soonyoung asks him if it’s a good thing, making a slow smile spread through Seungkwan’s face as he admits, “yeah he’s a lot better.”
Soonyoung makes a face. “I didn’t ask for this,” he says. “Just go to your class. Shoo.”
***
It takes a while for Seungcheol to wake up properly, shaking the initial thickness and confusion from his voice away from when he first wakes up, and he nudges Seungkwan on the shoulder. “Seungkwan…”
Seungkwan knows; it’s pressing against his butt, so he reaches for his phone on the bedside table, reads the time, and offers, “go to the bathroom; my mom already went to the supermarket.”
Seungcheol lets go of Seungkwan and falls against the bed, whining, “I’m lazy.”
“Too bad,” Seungkwan notes. There should still be some eggs, maybe enough to make a substantial scramble or an omelette. Cereal’s always in the cupboard, but they finished the milk yesterday. There’s leftover lasagne; he’s read somewhere that he can reheat it on the waffle iron, and that sounds like a really good idea.
“Can I do it here?” Seungcheol asks.
“With me in the room?” Seungkwan wrinkles his nose. “No way.”
“You’re my boyfriend.”
“That doesn’t mean you can.” Seungkwan stands up and adds, “I’m going to go make breakfast. You… take care of little Cheol in the bathroom. I don’t want it on my sheets.”
“I’ll do it in my pants.”
“Whatever. Just keep it clean.”
Once Seungkwan’s reached the kitchen, he hears the door to the bathroom close and lets out a laugh as he preheats the waffle iron. Seungcheol comes out some ten minutes later, sneaking in the a bit of cold lasagne that falls away from its slice when Seungkwan lays it out into a plate, and Seungkwan slaps his hand away, demanding, “did you wash your hands?”
Seungcheol rolls his eyes. “I did, and I wiped everything down. No cold bits, okay?” He places his hands on Seungkwan’s shoulders and kisses him on the cheek.
“Of course. Go set the table.”
The reheated lasagne comes out with lots of crispy edges, and Seungkwan is pleased with himself when he puts down the plate on the table. He takes his seat beside Seungcheol and reaches for one with his fingers, licking off the grease that comes away on them.
“How was it?” Seungkwan asks.
“Nothing new.” Seungcheol puts a forkful into his mouth. “This is so good.”
“This is the first time you ever brought it up” is what Seungkwan says in an attempt to steer the conversation back, but the lasagne-waffle thing is good and he needs to tell his mom about it. “Like, ever.”
“What are you talking about?”
Seungkwan rolls his eyes. “Sex, Seungcheol.” Seungcheol chokes on his food, making Seungkwan slap him on the back. “No big deal, right? I do it, too.”
At that, Seungcheol laughs. “I honestly thought you didn’t,” he admits.
“What, did you think I was, like, some sort of asexual chicken—”
“Because,” Seungcheol interrupts, “we don’t talk about it. Like how you apparently have self-esteem issues—”
“Shut up.” Seungkwan’s face is burning and he just wants to maybe lock himself up in the shower and exfoliate until he’s red. He takes a drink of water then says, “but, yeah, I do want to talk about it. Like…” There’s a question on the tip of his tongue, but thinking about it makes him squirm. “I don’t know.”
“Are you saying you don’t know or…”
“Just—Okay, but don’t laugh.”
Seungcheol chews up one last forkful, wipes his mouth with a table napkin, then turns to face Seungkwan properly. Seungkwan does the same, too, and Seungcheol reaches for Seungkwan’s hands to play with them, rubbing circles on the palms. “We’re both embarrassed,” Seungcheol says slowly, “okay? But we need to talk about this, then we’ll talk about last night.”
Seungkwan makes a face. “Can we not?” At Seungcheol’s face, he quickly adds, “I was kidding. God.” It takes another minute or so for him to get out his question, and even then it falters. “What do you think of? Like, when you… uhm… touch little Cheol.” He bites his lip and looks up, and Seungcheol Choi is impossibly pink in the face, mouth twisted like he doesn’t want to answer but his shoulders are shaking from laughter, so Seungkwan pulls away from Seungcheol’s grip and shakes him. “Hey, I asked you something.”
“Is little Cheol going to be the running theme here?” Seungcheol asks as he wipes a tear from his eye. “Are we going to talk about this using little Cheol as a crutch?”
“I panicked. Just answer it.” It could be big-boobed porn stars for all Seungkwan knows… or something along the lines of James Dean and Marlon Brando, which Seungkwan wouldn’t complain about. Ever.
“You,” Seungcheol confesses in a voice so small Seungkwan nearly gives up trying to understand him, but it couldn’t be any other word anyway. “Us. Together.”
Who the hell is Seungcheol— “Thank you?” Seungkwan finds himself saying, and he wants to bury himself under the kitchen floor or go back to bed so he can pretend he was dreaming.
Seungcheol bursts out laughing and Seungkwan slaps his shoulder.
“What would you say?” Seungkwan demands at Seungcheol’s outburst. “Say I tell you you’re what I think about when I get my morning wood, what would you say?”
“Really?” Seungcheol answers. “I mean, like, really ‘really’. Then I’d ask you like how. What was I doing? Were you there?”
“You pervert,” Seungkwan complains. “So what was I doing?”
“Who’s the pervert now?”
“I’m protecting myself in case your fantasies get a little weird,” Seungkwan says with crossed arms. “Tying me up is a no-go.” Seungcheol giggles as if he’s guilty and Seungkwan hits him again. “Hey! So you were tying me up. Bet you were calling me nasty things, too.”
“I wasn’t,” Seungcheol stresses. “It’s… sweet.”
“Oh, god.” Seungkwan wants to vomit. Why is Seungcheol Choi always like this? “Sweet,” he repeats, and it’s just so gross. He stacks up the dirty plates, eating the last piece with his fingers, so he doesn’t have to look at him.
“The dirty stuff happens with anonymous bodies,” Seungcheol offers.
“Seungcheol.”
Seungcheol raises an eyebrow at him and asks, “did you want me to lie? Sometimes I like it when they beg or do it on the bus. I’m not always a roses in bed kind of guy.”
“But you are with me,” Seungkwan notes. He’ll ignore that Seungcheol Choi practically admitted to two things he’s into, and he’ll ignore the idea that maybe Seungcheol’s making it sound more ideal than it really is and probably does imagine Seungkwan alongside of those things. “Why?”
“You’re the first guy I ever liked,” Seungcheol says with a shrug then refills both their glasses, “and probably the last. I want it to be special. Besides, every other time, it’s always girls.”
“Making love to me but disrespecting girls?” Seungkwan jokes, but his voice rises slightly, making him sound panicked and nervous and antsy, and that makes Seungcheol frown. “It’s not like I have a say about what you think of when you… touch little Cheol… but—”
“You sounded kind of…”
“I choked. God, let me rest. Anyway, I’m not judging you.”
Seungcheol snorts. “Thanks for that,” he says drily. “But what about you? You just confirmed that you… do it with little Boo—”
Little Boo. Seungkwan wants to punch him, but he knows he set the whole thing up—it was inevitable. The return of the spotlight on him makes him anxious, too, and he’s torn between shifting the conversation back to Seungcheol or just avoiding the question outright. “I hate you,” he says instead. “Also, it’s basic. Just, like, hot guys. Liam Payne.”
“Is that it?” Seungcheol looks amused, giggling a little when Seungkwan mentions Liam Payne.
“What do you want me to say?” Seungkwan demands.
“What about with me?”
“Why do you care?” Everything is so stressful, and Seungcheol Choi is an idiot. Seungkwan didn’t sign up for this, and he really hopes his mom comes back from the grocery soon.
“I care,” Seungcheol says, “because it means you want it. And, like, I’ve been thinking about it lately.”
“It’s illegal.”
“I know,” Seungcheol sighs. “I can wait, but, just—You think about me, right? Like, with little Boo.”
“Say that one more time and I’ll never talk about this again,” Seungkwan threatens, though he’s not entirely serious about it. He feels the stress bubbling up inside him, turning into a lump in his throat that he needs to cough out. “I did call you hot last night, remember? God, Seungcheol Choi, stop looking so smug.”
Seungcheol does look satisfied, like he just won the lottery or had Kendrick Lamar compliment his awful rap skills, and he brings their chairs closer together so he could kiss Seungkwan on the cheek. “You think about me,” he says happily, and dear god.
“You’re gross,” Seungkwan grouses. “I like Liam more sometimes, you know, but, whatever. I do think about it, too. I’m not an asexual chicken.”
“There’s a ‘but’ somewhere there,” Seungcheol prompts.
“Yeah, I mean, your dead butt will go to jail if you touch me, that’s one. And… I don’t know. I’m not ready for it yet, I think,” Seungkwan says. “I’ve touched your bare chest, like, once.” Two years and only seven minutes total of a shirtless Seungcheol Choi—they’re so very behaved; Seungcheol is too good at tiptoeing, but Seungkwan’s even better. He reaches for his glass of water and drains it.
“So you’re saying you want to know me better? A gradual kind of thing?” Seungkwan nods. “I kind of get it now, too, though,” Seungcheol muses. “There are so many things you haven’t told me, and having sex now… wouldn’t be right.”
“They’re about you, that’s why.”
“But I want to know them,” Seungcheol insists. “Or, at least, whatever’s integral to our relationship.”
“Ugh, can we clean up first?” Seungkwan suggests. “I’ll tell you in my room.”
They get up and gather the dishes. Seungkwan opens the door of the barely used dishwasher and puts the dirty dishes inside, dragging Seungcheol back to his room once it’s up and running. Once in his room, he locks the door, sits by the head of his bed with his feet tucked under him, and points at the foot of the bed for Seungcheol to sit. “There’s a lot,” he warns.
“We don’t have to do it all right now,” Seungcheol says gently. He’s so patient sometimes, with the strength of an old man, but can one-eighty into a child in a flash. “Just tell me whatever you feel like telling me.” Instead of sitting up like Seungkwan does, he lies down and tucks his arms under his head for a pillow, and Seungkwan is secretly glad he doesn’t have to look Seungcheol in the eye.
“It’s all just… compounded,” Seungkwan says. He tilts his head up to the ceiling and fixes his gaze on it, letting out a deep breath. “Like, last night. And today. It’s all connected. I’m not ready because…” College ruined Seungcheol Choi—now he pays attention to how Seungkwan uses language and looks into even the differences between intensities of words, but Seungcheol will have to forgive Seungkwan for messing up anyway. “Because I still feel immensely lucky to be with you and it could’ve just been a dream all along, and you’re making me say some really embarrassing things, Seungcheol Choi—”
“You’re digressing.”
“Whatever. I’m just saying that it wouldn’t be right to do stuff with you if I keep thinking that you’re too good for me. See? We’re back to last night. If I cry again, it’s on you.” Seungkwan nudges Seungcheol’s side with his foot and a pout, but Seungcheol stays quiet, chewing on his bottom lip.
Eventually, Seungcheol turns on his side to face Seungkwan, saying, “somehow I think this is my fault” slowly and Seungkwan kicks him for it.
“It’s not. You’re just impossibly nice,” Seungkwan complains. “If you’re going to say something weird, just don’t.” Seungcheol frowns but doesn’t say anything, and Seungkwan watches him shift around until he returns to lying on his back, playing with his mouth. With a sigh, Seungkwan stands up and says, “I’m gonna take a shower,” leaving Seungcheol on the bed.
***
Seungkwan swears it’s Seungcheol Choi downstairs—every time Seungcheol planned a surprise was ruined because Seungkwan could hear everything, even when his mom tries to keep the television on low—so he needs to remind Seungcheol that the noises in the house carry. He hears the door close and Mrs Boo asking Seungcheol if he’s eaten and if he would like some of the beef stew she made for dinner. She’s already cleaned up the kitchen, but if it’s Seungcheol asking, she’d start up everything again and make him fresh food.
“No thanks, Mrs B,” Seungcheol says. Mrs Boo continues to fuss over him still, making Seungcheol laugh. “I don’t want to be a bother! I just wanted to see your son.” He takes the stairs two at a time, his heavy feet loud on the staircase, so Seungkwan pretends he’s trying to do work when Seungcheol comes in his room and tries to hug Seungkwan from behind.
“It’s Thursday,” Seungkwan says. Seungcheol should be at school, maybe microwaving his dinner in his room, but he’s here, kissing the top of Seungkwan’s head and smoothing down his hair.
“I know.” Seungcheol squeezes Seungkwan tighter and in a small voice says, “I miss you.”
“I miss you, too,” Seungkwan tells him, “but I have homework.”
“Me, too.”
“Really.”
“Yes, really. Your mom said we could stay in the kitchen.” Seungcheol helps Seungkwan bring his stuff down to the kitchen, where his laptop was already set up beside a stack of books and his calculator.
“Hey,” Seungkwan says as he places his laptop on the table and sits opposite Seungcheol, “help me with this. I have to write about a short story.”
Seungcheol looks up just as Seungkwan hands him some sheets of paper. “Just tell me what it’s about,” he tells him. He eyes the title from the paper and raises his eyebrow. “‘The Happy Prince’?”
“He’s not so happy in the story,” Seungkwan offers.
“I know. I read this, too,” Seungcheol says. He puts a chip in his mouth and with his mouth full, adds, “just talk about the statue itself. Like how in its full splendour, it made no one as happy as when it was stripped bare.”
“So what?” Seungkwan asks. Nevertheless, he starts typing out his essay, trying to keep what Seungcheol said in mind.
“It’s a basic reading, isn’t it? You’re not happy until you share what you have. You don’t even have to contextualise it.” Seungcheol reaches for his glass of water and drinks from it. He notices how Seungkwan looks at him, so he asks, “What?”
“That sounds really simple,” Seungkwan says slowly.
“It’s supposed to be.”
“I thought you’d complicate it, like last time,” Seungkwan tells him. Seungcheol sent him a PDF from an online database for his history paper, full of unheard terms and long-winding sentences that made Seungkwan’s head hurt—he ended up not using it anyway because it was hard trying to break down and simplify the paper into something he understands and can use, but he hasn’t told Seungcheol about that. “I could’ve done a reading like that.”
Seungcheol frowns. “Of course you can.”
Seungkwan returns to his work, so Seungcheol goes back to his, too, the kitchen falling silent except for the noise their keyboards make. Like this, mouth screwed in concentration and glasses pushed up his nose, Seungcheol looks distractingly good. He notices Seungkwan looking, so he sighs and says, “you’re not working.”
“Your eye bags are so big now,” Seungkwan points out. One semester of college did so much damage—he wants to brush them away or dab them with eye cream, but all he settles for turning off his alarm for tomorrow and letting Seungcheol sleep in, no matter how numb his arms get after a night of spooning.
“We’ll go to sleep when we finish this,” Seungcheol counters. They go back to work, and Seungkwan rushes to finish his, typing up the concluding paragraph when he hears Seungcheol let out a yawn some three hours later. The yawn is big, a tear rolling down Seungcheol’s cheek when he does.
“Save your progress,” Seungkwan says.
“Why?”
“Let’s sleep.” Seungcheol shakes his head at Seungkwan’s suggestion, making him huff and roll his eyes. “Are you saving it, Seungcheol?”
“Yeah, yeah, I am.” Seungcheol clicks his tongue and waves Seungkwan’s nagging away. Seungkwan closes his laptop and goes over to Seungcheol, bringing down the laptop screen and pulling Seungcheol up by both wrists. “You’re seriously dragging me to bed?” Seungcheol then asks.
Seungcheol’s wrists feel firmer in Seungkwan’s grip, and Seungkwan loves the weight of it, rubbing the bones with his thumbs. “Don’t think I can’t,” Seungkwan warns.
“Seungkwanie,” Seungcheol begins, face immaculately somber, “you know I always want to go to bed with you.”
“What is your deal?” Seungkwan demands. The tips of his ears feel too hot; he can feel them radiate heat. “I’m going to kick you.”
“I had three hours of sleep today, so you probably—Hey!” Seungcheol wrenches one of his hands free from Seungkwan’s grip to rub where Seungkwan raised his foot to kick Seungcheol on the thigh. “That wasn’t necessary,” he grumbles.
“Didn’t you have an all-nighter before that? Whatever, just give me your hand.” Seungcheol returns the hand he’s gotten loose into Seungkwan’s grip. Seungkwan doesn’t let go of Seungcheol, even as they approach the stairs, so he loses his footing and stumbles getting up on the first step, and he feels like kicking Seungcheol again for laughing. He whines, “you don’t have to laugh” with a pout. Seungcheol closes the distance between them, feet on the step below Seungkwan’s, and kisses him, but Seungkwan makes a face when Seungcheol pulls away. “Ew,” he says. They start climbing the stairs again—Seungkwan turns his head back every other step to make sure he won’t trip—until they reach the hallway of the second floor.
Seungcheol says, “let go.”
“Why?” Seungkwan challenges.
“So you can open the door,” Seungcheol answers. He looks behind Seungkwan, eyes drifting down, and Seungkwan turns his head to look, too.
Seungkwan faces the door to his bedroom and his mouth falls open slightly. “Oh.”
They spill into the room, and it isn’t long before Seungkwan is ushering Seungcheol to the bed and climbing in after. He tells Seungcheol to face the other side so he can wrap his arm around Seungcheol and press his nose to his nape. Seungcheol smells less like nice laundry soap and a little more like generic body soap on top of a layer of slight sweat and musk—more lived in, like he has no time for minor details anymore, but he smells a little more real to Seungkwan.
“Are you sleeping?” Seungkwan asks softly. Seungcheol groans out his answer, his even breathing eventually replaced with snoring after a few moments. Seungkwan doesn’t fall asleep right away; he pets Seungcheol’s hair, which was matted down with sweat, until his vision begins to feel heavy and he nods off.
Seungkwan’s alarm is the loudest and most obnoxious one that comes in his phone settings, and Seungkwan winces when he feels Seungcheol stir beside him, so he hurries to turn it off then gets up after a few minutes, laying a kiss to Seungcheol’s temple before getting ready for school.
“Hey, mom,” Seungkwan says when he goes down for breakfast, “please don’t wake up Seungcheol.”
***
“Why didn’t he say anything?” Seungkwan demands from Mingyu that Monday at lunch. (He’s left out the entire bit about little Cheol, going for an extremely streamlined version that Mingyu will understand in fifteen minutes without embarrassing Seungcheol in the process.) Mingyu looks pained and glances at Vernon for help, but Vernon is on his phone, his lunch pushed farther down the table. Seungkwan draws Mingyu’s attention back to him with: “Was it such a hard thing to reply to?”
“I don’t know,” Mingyu says finally. He runs a hand through his hair and fidgets with the packet of salt that came with his fries. “If you told me that, I wouldn’t know what to say either.”
“It’s not hard,” Seungkwan whines. “He just had to say I’m good enough for him, right? Wonwoo hyung would get it.”
“Don’t be so sure about Wonwoo hyung,” Mingyu tells him. “Seungcheol hyung’s good with words, too, normally. You just said the one thing he didn’t have a reply for. Stop pouting like that.” Seungkwan pulls the tray he just pushed away back to him and puts a piece of broccoli in his mouth with a frown. “Was that what you wanted to hear anyway?”
“Well,” Seungkwan begins before swallowing, “yeah.”
“Maybe…” Mingyu muses, “he thinks it’s not what you need to hear.”
“Yeah,” Vernon echoes. He doesn’t look up from his phone but Seungkwan turns to face him anyway. “I mean, I’d tell my girlfriend what she wants most of the time—”
“Me, too,” Mingyu pipes up glumly. “She broke up with me anyway.”
“Well, that,” Vernon acknowledges, “but, you know, that’s not how a relationship works. It’s not like being gay makes it any different, right?”
Mingyu snickers at that; Seungkwan wants to hit them both and leave, but Jihoon and Soonyoung are having lunch in college, roomie-ing it up with three-day old pizza and beer, and he realises with a frown that all he has left is the ragtag remains of Seungcheol’s group of friends plus the sophomore with the Michael Jackson fixation that Soonyoung took under his wing.
“Whatever.” Seungkwan clears his throat and cleans up his tray. “I just had no one else to talk to,” he adds.
“You should talk to him about it,” Mingyu suggests.
Seungkwan makes a retching sound. “It sounds so naggy,” he complains.
“I’m pretty sure hyung wants to help you with your self-esteem issues,” Mingyu says not unkindly. From his phone, Vernon nods his agreement. “You’ve been together since forever.”
Calling it ‘self-esteem issues’ makes Seungkwan cringe like mad. It also weighs down on him a lot, so he stays quiet until the end of lunch, when Vernon taps him on the shoulder and reminds him he’ll be late for history. Seungkwan makes Vernon wait for him while he gets his things ready, then walks with Vernon to his chemistry class first. Outside the cafeteria is a table for prom, and Vernon drags him over to buy tickets for him and his girlfriend.
“‘Midnight in Paris’,” Seungkwan reads the sign. He sticks out his tongue and complains, “it’s such a cheesy theme.”
“I thought you’d like prom,” Vernon says as he elbows Seungkwan for making the prom committee glare at the pair. “Two tickets, please.”
“I love prom,” Seungkwan corrects him, “so I want it done right.” He’s also maybe watched High School Musical 3 a little too many times.
“So you’re not going?” Vernon asks. One of the prom committee hands him two tickets, dark blue and glittery with a silhouette of the Eiffel Tower on the left and looping silver script on the right. Vernon hands them a pair of bills. “Thanks.”
“Are you kidding? I waited two years to go to prom, so I’m going.” Seungkwan turns to face the students handling the booth and asks for two tickets.
“You’re going with hyung?”
Seungkwan looks at him. “Why not?” he challenges. “I know he’s too old for it but he’s a jerk if he won’t go with me.”
“He might be busy,” Vernon argues. “How about you buy one ticket first then buy another when you’re sure he’s going?” Seungkwan huffs, so Vernon rolls his eyes and asks for just one in Seungkwan’s place, holding out his hand for Seungkwan’s payment before dragging him away to his chemistry class.
“Hey—”
“You’ll thank me later,” Vernon cuts him off. “Swear. Now go.”
Seungkwan runs to his class. His teacher is headed towards the classroom from the opposite direction, so Seungkwan hitches his backpack up his back and makes a break for the door, gripping the doorframe as he rushes inside a few seconds before the teacher walks in. He gives her a string of apologies all the way to his chair, where he plops down and whips out his phone, keeping it under the desk as he types up a text to Seungcheol: Prom in three weeks. You coming?
It takes a while for Seungcheol to reply, and when he does, the phone vibrates hard enough to threaten falling off his thigh, but Seungkwan catches it in time. Seungcheol sends him the thinking emoji. When is it? he asks.
Three weeks from now, Seungkwan texts back. Please please please—
I have an exam, Seungcheol tells him. Oh. It’s like Vernon could tell the future or something. Before Seungkwan could reply, Seungcheol sends another text: I’ll check again. He doesn’t send any more after that, so Seungkwan drops his phone into his bag and thanks his teacher for deciding to do a recap of the lecture last Friday before proceeding with the next lesson. When he gets out of class, Seungcheol texts him, yeah, I really can’t with a sad emoji.
Mingyu catches him in the hallway, his next classroom along the same way as Seungkwan’s, and frowns when he sees Seungkwan hovering his prom ticket over the trash can.
“What kind of jerk professor arranges a final exam on a Saturday evening?” Seungkwan fumes. “What’s his problem?” Mingyu snatches Seungkwan’s ticket away from him and goes for one of Seungkwan’s arms so he can drag him to their classrooms but Seungkwan pulls his arm away.
“You should chill,” Mingyu says.
“I’m chill,” Seungkwan stresses with a grit of his teeth. He crosses his arms and glares up at Mingyu. “That professor has no chill.”
“It can’t be helped,” Mingyu tells him. “If hyung really can’t go, then I’ll go with you.”
Seungkwan’s surprised enough to loosen his arms, so Mingyu grabs one of his wrists and starts walking. “Wait, you’ll buy me a corsage?”
“You’re wearing a dress?” Mingyu asks. Seungkwan steps on his foot, making Mingyu hiss in pain. “It was an honest question.”
“I’m gay, it’s not a requirement,” Seungkwan grumbles. “Are you serious though?”
“Yeah. I’ll buy you the corsage for your suit or whatever,” Mingyu says. Seungkwan relents and stands on his tiptoes to kiss Mingyu’s cheek, who makes a face and furiously rubs his cheek with his hand to wipe off all traces of Seungkwan on it. “Don’t.”
“You’re so nice!” Seungkwan protests. He reaches up again as a joke, laughing when Mingyu sets him down. “Seriously, hyung, you’re the best. Better than Seungcheol.” He clings to Mingyu until they both reach Mingyu’s classroom then reminds him to get his own ticket and that he wants a classic red corsage.
***
“There’s an afterparty,” Mingyu says when he takes his seat again. He hands Seungkwan a cup of water, who drinks it all in one go, then sinks into his chair, neck shiny with sweat. “Wanna go? It’s at Seokmin’s house. I can get you drunk.”
Seungkwan thinks of Seungcheol at home, watching TV with his mom, then shakes the thought out of his mind. He’s off somewhere celebrating the end of finals week, probably. “I should…” he says slowly then chews on his bottom lip.
“Yeah, you should,” Mingyu tells him. “I mean, I get that you like the dancing and corsage thing, but this is way better. Last year was at Wonwoo hyung’s house. He didn’t even go to prom.” Vernon laughs and agrees to go, and so does his girlfriend, but Seungkwan shakes his head. “Come on, Boo. One hour, you can chill with my friends, and you won’t get drunk, unless you suck, then I’ll walk you home.”
Mingyu Kim is awfully persistent. “One hour,” Seungkwan stresses as he holds up an index finger to prove a point. At least he didn’t outright say no. Once the prom was announced over, he lets Mingyu lead him and Vernon to Seokmin’s house. It’s a big house with a basement where everyone was gathered around two kegs of beer or at the small bar some girls set up.
“Where’s Seokmin?” Mingyu asks one of Seokmin’s friends, who’s gotten a headstart on the beer and is looking at them with lots of blinking.
“He’s prom committee, right? They’re still cleaning up,” she tells them.
“Stay there,” Mingyu tells Seungkwan, pointing at the couch that was mostly empty save for a girl sitting on someone’s lap.
Seungkwan sits as far away from them as the couch allowed, then waits for Mingyu to come back. It takes a while; he can see Mingyu trying to squeeze himself in the crowd surrounding the beer kegs. Mingyu eventually comes out and goes to where Seungkwan’s sitting, handing him beer in a red cup while Vernon drags his girlfriend along to the sound system to change the music.
“Drink up,” Mingyu says. He sits on the arm of the couch next to Seungkwan, now too tall for decent conversation.
“Sit on the floor,” someone tells Mingyu, pulling him down from his perch to drag his butt to the ground, beer sloshing out of the cup to stain his shirt.
“Rude, Myungho,” Mingyu complains.
Myungho sits on the arm of the couch and smiles smugly down at Mingyu. “Get me one, too,” he says, laughing when Mingyu stands up with the face of a kicked puppy then goes back to one of the beer kegs. “You’re Seungcheol hyung’s boyfriend, right?” he then asks Seungkwan.
“Yeah,” Seungkwan answers. He takes a sip of his beer, the bubbles hitting him hard at the back of his throat before dissolving into bitterness. The next sip isn’t so bad, but he thinks he’d rather have the sweet-looking drinks that are coming out from the table at the corner.
“Cool” is all Myungho says before Mingyu comes back and shoves a cup into Myungho’s face.
“You were nicer last year,” Mingyu gripes at Myungho. Another guy comes in to wrap his arm around Myungho’s thin shoulders, his other hand plucking the cup from Myungho's hands to drink from it. “Seokmin agrees with me, right, Seokmin?”
“Hm?” Seokmin returns the half-drained cup to Myungho. “About Myungho being nicer? Joonhwi hyung changed him,” he says finally, then takes his seat beside Mingyu on the floor. “Hey, it’s Seungcheol hyung’s boyfriend.”
“Who are you?” Seungkwan asks, eyes flitting between Seokmin and Myungho. Seokmin bursts out into laughter, the large, booming belly laugh that fat rich guys have, and Myungho snickers. “I’m serious.”
“We have a class together,” Mingyu explains. “Was it homeroom?”
“Theater?”
Myungho waves it off. “It doesn’t matter,” he tells Seungkwan not unkindly. “You should drink.”
Mingyu drawls, “he’s still a kid. One cup’s enough.”
“You’re scared Seungcheol hyung will kill you,” Seokmin teases, reaching in for Mingyu’s cup, but Mingyu bats him away and finishes his cup right in front of Seokmin, wiping his mouth after.
“He’s not like that,” Seungkwan pipes up. His cheeks heat up when Myungho turns to the side and extends his legs across Seungkwan’s lap, looking at Seungkwan as if he’s deep in concentration. “I’m pretty sure he doesn’t care about stuff like this.”
Mingyu snorts at that. “You haven’t seen Seungcheol hyung get mad.”
“Nah, Seungcheol hyung won’t do that to Seungkwan,” Seokmin comments. “He loves him a lot.”
Well, okay, if strangers think that—
“Don’t listen to them,” Myungho says. “They’re just messing with you.”
“Yeah,” Seungkwan says weakly, not wanting to admit that his heart started beating insanely fast and his stomach started twisting, “I know.” He takes another sip of his beer, wondering where all the bubbles had gone.
“Seungcheol hyung’s a total softie,” Seokmin adds. He leans back, his wrists resting on his knees, and calls for one of his friends to give him a beer. “You look like you’re gonna cry.”
“What?” Seungkwan raises a hand to cup his cheek then tries to school his expression into something else. “I swear, I’m not—”
“If we make you cry, he’ll get mad for real,” Mingyu says.
“Shut up,” Myungho stresses. He ruffles Seungkwan’s hair. “Wanna play a game?”
“What game?” Seungkwan asks. It’s only been forty-five minutes.
“King’s Cup.”
“Just the four of us?” Seokmin asks. Mingyu calls Vernon and his girlfriend to come play with them, while Seokmin stands up to get a bottle of something, three cups, and a stack of cards.
“You can make me drink everything,” Myungho reassures Seungkwan. “If you get an eight, pick me. I’m the eight.”
“So, rules,” Mingyu starts. “Ace, everyone drinks. Two, you pick someone else. Three, you drink. Four, touch the floor. Five, girls. Six, guys. Seven, heaven. Eight, pick a mate. Nine, bust a rhyme. Ten, categories. Jack, make a rule. Queen, ask a question. King, you put something in the cup. Last king drinks everything.”
Seungkwan wrinkles his nose, but follows Myungho to sit on the floor, his cup now empty.
“Get the king, Boo. It’s fun,” Mingyu says with a grin. “Should we start?” Five minutes left. Seungkwan thinks they’ll make it through at least two people before he starts bugging Mingyu to bring him home like he promised. “I’ll go first.” Mingyu gets the card from the top of the stack then places it face up for everyone to see. His face falls when he sees it’s a three while Myungho laughs and Seokmin pours into the cup, handing it to Mingyu who drinks it all and makes a face. “That’s nasty.”
“Me next,” Myungho says. “Nine. Food.” He points at Seungkwan.
“Rude,” Seungkwan says.
“Good,” Vernon’s girlfriend says.
“Hood,” Vernon adds.
“Fast food,” Seokmin says. Mingyu hits him. “What?”
“What kind of rhyme is ‘fast food’?” Mingyu demands. He pours into the empty cup and thrusts it at Seokmin. “Drink.” He catches Seungkwan looking at his phone and goes, “wait, what time is it?”
“Like, twelve-thirty?” Seungkwan answers.
“Oh, yeah, I said I’ll bring you home.” Mingyu stands up and helps Seungkwan, who sits there dumbly and is lifted up easily. So Mingyu Kim does remember. “I’ll come back for round two.”
“Bye,” Myungho says, waving at Seungkwan.
“Stay safe,” Seokmin pipes up.
“Say hi to hyung for me,” Vernon tells him.
The quiet is a huge change from the basement of Seokmin’s house. The only other lights on are the street lamps and one window of a house down the street. Mingyu asks Seungkwan to lead the way and if he’s cold, shrugging off his jacket and placing on Seungkwan’s shoulders without a response.
“I have my own,” Seungkwan notes drily, but he is cold, and he appreciates it a lot. “Thanks.”
“Seungcheol hyung wanted me to take care of you,” Mingyu says.
“You make him sound like a mafia don.”
Mingyu laughs. “He’s not scary, like a real one, but you kinda end up thinking he’s the boss no matter what.”
“Isn’t that scary?” Seungkwan wonders.
“It’s just that he’s smart and nice, so instead of hating on a nerd like him, you just end up liking him. Plus, he made sure I didn’t flunk biology, so he’s more like a dad. He’ll help you out but you do something wrong, and your guilt will eat you up before he does.” Mingyu pauses to yawn and stretch, shaking his head. “Left or right?”
“Right.”
“You know, I really didn’t think he’d end up, you know, gay, but whatever. He really likes you.”
“Thanks. Go left here.” Seungkwan would preen any other time, but he feels too tired now, his eyes drooping. “He told me he was straight.”
“Yeah, we all thought he was. Not that it makes a difference. He’s still a solid guy,” Mingyu offers.
“I know. My house is on the next block. You know how to get back?”
It takes a while for Mingyu to say yes, but he eventually nods. “Yeah. If I get lost, I’ll get Myungho to come and find me.” They stop right in front of Seungkwan’s house. “This it?”
“Yeah.” Seungkwan heads for the door with Mingyu following. Mingyu doesn’t come in when Seungkwan gets the key from the flower pot on the adjacent windowsill and unlocks the door. “Thanks,” Seungkwan tells him once he’s inside.
“No problem. You wanna play King’s Cup again, just tell me.”
Seungkwan laughs and waves him bye before shutting the door. He only manages to toe off his shoes before giving up taking off everything else in favour of plopping down on the bed and falling asleep.
There’s a click on the door but it sounds distant and muffled, and Seungkwan swears he’s dreaming when the door opens and someone tiptoes into the room, closing it before collapsing on the bed with a heavy thud. Seungcheol reeks of alcohol, impossibly close and overwhelming, and Seungkwan realises he’s not dreaming. He keeps his eyes closed and burrows deeper into the bed, back facing Seungcheol.
“Seungkwan,” Seungcheol slurs. He’s managed to keep his voice soft, at least. Seungkwan doesn’t answer and tries to go back to sleep. Maybe in the morning, Seungcheol Choi won’t be there beside him, smelling terrible and slurring. “I’m sorry I didn’t go with you to prom. That test was so bad—I really think my professor’s a demon. Someone cried while taking the exam. I wanted to cry, too, but, like… last time I cried was when you said I was too good for you, so—yeah. That.”
He brings himself closer to Seungkwan, mouth below Seungkwan’s ear. He murmurs, “I missed you so much.” There’s a pause after that—Seungcheol pulls away and there’s some rustling before he returns to Seungkwan, radiating heat and the smell ticking Seungkwan’s nose. The whole room falls into silence again, until he hears Seungcheol let out a soft “ah” and a muffled groan.
Oh. Seungkwan blushes so hard he fears his cheeks and ears will fall off, but it gets his gut nice and warm, a flooding feeling inside. He wants to hear more of it—or know what Seungcheol’s thinking of.
“Seungkwan,” Seungcheol whimpers. His whimpers break into soft pants then into a high-pitched keen before becoming soft puffs of breath that eventually even out as Seungcheol succumbs to sleep. In his sleep, he reaches an arm out for Seungkwan and pulls him tight until he’s all but squeezing Seungkwan. He burrows his nose into Seungkwan’s nape and sighs, and Seungkwan thinks it’s time for him to fall asleep, too.