Chapter Text
The spreadsheet Yunho is supposed to be working on goes dim, and he wiggles his mouse to light the screen back up. The day is dragging, minutes ticking by in that horrible, slow way that has him checking the time in the corner of his monitor every few beats, as if that will speed up time.
He sighs quietly, even though there isn't anyone in the building apart from himself right now, still abiding by the rules of the library despite the fact that he's the only one here to enforce them.
He's considering making himself another cup of tea, simply to give himself something to do that isn't cross-referencing or anything to do with an Excel document, but then the door creaks open, slow and almost timid.
Yunho doesn't mean to stare. He's been raised to be polite, had his instinctive nosiness scolded out of him, but those lessons get forgotten as the man at the door steps into the building.
The first thing Yunho notices is that he's tall. As a person over six foot himself, he's not often one to think of anyone else as tall, usually towering over those around him. This man is tall enough to potentially rival his own height, and that catches his attention before all of the other, more obvious, things do.
Like the guy's hair, platinum blonde, obviously damaged from heat and dye, half up in a ponytail, the rest curling a little around his neck. Like his piercings, flashy and silver, two small hoops in each ear, a bar through his eyebrow. Like his tattoo, peeking out the bottom of the sleeve of his shirt, something black and sprawling that Yunho can't pick out from this distance.
The guy in question catches his eye, and Yunho shrinks back minutely, intimidated by the piercing stare he receives. He tries his best to smile, despite the way his heart has picked up in pace.
The guy takes some more strides, straight to the desk Yunho is currently shrunk behind, and he realises that the insanely handsome man needs assistance. A horrible jangle of nerves shocks through him, for reasons he can't begin to dissect right now when the man is still staring at him.
"Welcome, to uh, the library," Yunho says, cadence and tone all wrong, cringes inwardly at himself. "Can I help you with anything?"
"Oh, hi, uh," the guy stumbles, and his voice is low, gruff around the edges, "How do I, uh, get a library card?"
"Oh!" Yunho blurts, pleased that it's a request he can actually help with, that the blonde man towering over the desk isn't here to inflict him bodily harm. "I can set you up now, I just need some details, and then I can just," he gestures to the clunky machine next to the printer. "Make a card for you."
"Right now?" The man asks, expression hardening slightly, and Yunho isn't sure what he's said to upset him, but immediately feels the urge to apologise.
"I mean, yeah, if… you want?" He hates the way his voice wobbles, shyness and nerves showing in his syllables. The blonde man just nods sharply, bites his bottom lip for a second.
It's distracting, bringing attention to his plush lips that Yunho had been desperately trying to ignore, already too overwhelmed with everything else that the man is, the energy he's carrying. He swallows, probably audible in the silence of the room.
"Right, so, uh," Yunho mumbles, clicking to wake up his computer again, opening the software he needs. He rolls his desk chair over to the filing cabinet, grabs the form. "If you just fill in this, and then I can input it all and get that set up for you."
He tries very hard to put on his best customer service voice, his best customer service smile, and the man just blinks at him for a second before he takes the paper out of his hand.
"Can I borrow a pen?" He asks quietly, eyes darting, "for, uh, the form?"
"Oh, yeah, of course!" Yunho says, probably too enthusiastic, goes to stand, but stumbles over his own feet, almost falls back onto his ass. He feels the hot burn of embarrassment on the tips of his ears, in the highs of his cheeks, as he grabs the desk to steady himself. "Sorry, here."
The guy's lips twitch in amusement, but he takes the pen Yunho's offering without saying anything, nods jerkily. Yunho sits back down, pretends to pay attention to the computer even though all that's in front of him are empty cells and blank spaces.
There are a few minutes of quiet, only broken by the clicking of the pen in the tall man's hand, by Yunho tapping his nail on the mouse button.
"Here," the guy says, pushing the form back over the desk, handing the pen back, "I can use the computers, with this card, right?"
"Yeah," Yunho nods, grabbing the items, scanning the document curiously. "Oh!" he blurts, without meaning to, and the man stiffens minutely out the corner of his eye, posture suddenly rigid.
"Oh?" he parrots, voice flat and unreadable, and Yunho glances up, grins at him.
"We're born in the same year," he gushes, and the man's entire body relaxes. "Small town like this, we're the youngest here by far," he jokes, hoping to lighten the weird tension. Maybe it's in his own head, because the guy chuckles quietly, gives him a small smile.
"Ah, yeah, I was surprised when I came in here, seeing you, to be honest," the blonde admits, voice softer and expression significantly less tense. "Thought I was the only person under fifty in this entire place."
Yunho giggles, lifts his hand to cover his mouth, nervous and shy and all the things he hates that he is. He bobs his head awkwardly, unsure of how to proceed. There's a strange beat of silence where they just look at each other.
"Anyway, let me set this up, sorry, uh, Mr. Song," Yunho apologises, getting his name from the top of the document, turning to fill out the application on his screen. "It'll only take a few minutes, feel free to browse or whatever."
"Just call me Mingi, that… feels weird, when we're the same age," Song Mingi says softly, bowing a little awkwardly. "I'll uh, be over here," he gestures vaguely behind him, "thanks, Yunho."
For a brief second, a horror falls through him at the way this stranger knows his name, something cold and sickening clutching at his chest, before he remembers the name tag he's wearing, pinned to his soft blue jumper. He makes a strange affirmative noise, averts his eyes back to the computer to avoid embarrassing himself anymore.
He sets up the card easily, faffs around a bit to buy himself some time to get himself together, then clears his throat.
"All done, M-Mingi," he stutters over his words, horribly readable in his inability to be normal, to be confident. Mingi appears not to mind, shuffles over and takes it without hesitation, movements assured in a way that Yunho aches to be. "Do you want any help with the computers, or, uh, I guess you… probably know what you're doing," he second-guesses himself, voice wavering, and the blonde smiles at him softly.
"Nah, I'm okay, thank you, though," Mingi murmurs, gently and kindly, and Yunho feels the rush of blood that spreads on his cheeks, burns his ears. "When do you close?"
"I'm here until six," Yunho answers a question that Mingi didn't ask, hating that he's unable to hold a conversation with people his own age like a normal person. "W-We close at six, I mean, we're open until six."
"Thanks," the blonde says, and then he's moving over to the bank of computers and away from Yunho. He takes a shaky, heaving inhale of breath as soon as the tall man is out of earshot, humiliated at his own actions.
The next three hours go by much quicker, despite the spreadsheet in front of him remaining tellingly blank, but he at least has the dignity to pretend to be working. The suite of PC's, unfortunately, is within eye line of the desk, just to the left of his screen, easy to spy on without looking like he's spying.
He wishes all over again that he were confident, as sure of himself as Mingi appears to be, that he could hold a conversation without stuttering or blushing. He thinks of a parallel universe where he has the courage to initiate interactions, maybe even has the bravery to flirt. He discards that immediately, scoffing at himself internally. He doubts the blonde man would be interested, even in his own fake world where he's suddenly got the boldness to try.
It's five to six when Mingi stands, chair scraping audibly in the constant silence of the library. Yunho instinctively glances up, accidentally makes eye contact with the blonde man again, who's making his way past the desk to leave. He waves, tries to go for an expression that reads as neutral, but pleasant, grateful for his custom, but not too intense.
Mingi's lips twitch up into a smile, and he waves back, nodding as he leaves. Yunho tries not to feel too giddy about it.
"Why are you grinning like that?" Wooyoung asks, three minutes into their video call, phone balanced precariously against the spice rack as he cooks. Yunho snaps back to reality, eyes wide, showing he's been caught. The younger man raises an eyebrow, gets a little closer to his phone so he can stare at Yunho more closely. "What? Did you meet someone?"
"What? No!" Yunho denies, too fast, voice too high, and Wooyoung just keeps staring at him, expression disbelieving. "No, it's just… stupid."
"If you don't tell me, I'll get it out of you some other way," the dark-haired man threatens, and Yunho pouts, letting his phone fall to show the blank ceiling. "I know you're still there, just because I can't see you doesn't mean you've disappeared."
"Shut up," Yunho mutters, but grabs his phone with a sigh anyway, peeks at the screen as if Wooyoung has moved. "Don't judge me."
"Never," he says seriously, spatula prone as he stares at Yunho through the pixilated screen. "You know I won't."
"So, I… there's a guy, he's… so hot," Yunho feels the hot burn of embarrassment crawl up his cheeks, covers his face with his hands, leaving his phone propped against the pillows. "He's so broad, and tall, and he came into the library and I made such an idiot of myself, but he was so nice to me anyway."
"Wow," Wooyoung murmurs, eyes wide, "did you ask for his number?"
"No?" Yunho questions, dropping a hand to squint at the younger man on his screen, "What, I can't just ask for his number? What are you on about?"
"Holy shit, you are so useless sometimes," the dark-haired man complains, picking up the phone to move, and Yunho sees the blur of the kitchen, the ceiling, before he gets propped up on the table. Wooyoung takes a bite of whatever food he's made, makes a noise like he's thinking. "Next time he comes in, you should ask him."
"Just like that?" the older man whines, already nervous at the idea of it, let alone doing it. "I've never even held hands with a guy before, how am I supposed to just ask him for his number?"
"You would have, if you hadn't decided to move to the back-ass end of nowhere as a way to repress your sexuality," Wooyoung states, too simple, much too close to the bone. Yunho scowls. "You're the only one stopping yourself at this point, my dude. I don't know how much more I can tell you that life only starts happening if you let it."
"Stop talking like a therapist," Yunho mutters, irritated more at himself than the other man, but taking it out on him anyway. "He's probably straight, I don't even know why he's moved here, he could be a criminal or something!"
"Oh, we love a bad boy," Wooyoung teases, and the older man's eyebrows raise.
"Not a criminal, Woo!"