Chapter Text
Seungkwan has stared at the view in front of him so many times that he could probably describe it in his sleep. Actually, he has. Repeatedly.
His most frequent recurring dream takes place at work, because of course it does. If his previous nightmare of spiking into the back of the head of his volleyball team’s ace wasn’t enough, he’s now haunted by a work dream no less, and it involves spilling wine all over a guest in a white shirt. (He’s not even a server, so explain that one.)
Needless to say, that dream takes place pretty close to the exact spot he’s standing in right now, so he’s fairly certain his brain has memorized it. Across the street is an overpriced pocha with a neon sign that glares annoyingly in his face during every service, a flower shop run by a cute florist who Seungkwan admittedly stares at on slow nights, and a bank.
Those three places have always been across the street, and they’ve stood, unchanging, throughout the entire fourteen months Seungkwan has worked here.
However.
Tonight, he’s become fixated on one brick in the building façade across the street. Something about it seems darker than the rest, and he can’t decide if it’s always been that way or if one of the bricks has somehow magically changed colors.
Hansol would just tell him that the brick turned darker from a glitch in the simulation, but Seungkwan decidedly does not believe in that shit, and he’s felt so antsy for the past two hours that the mysterious brick is starting to make him fidget.
He squints a little harder and actually begins to consider going outside to get a closer look, but he’s startled out of his thoughts by a strong – too strong, frankly – clap on his shoulder.
Seungcheol, his manager, but also his hyung and mostly his friend, has walked up to the podium. The button down shirt of his uniform has been undone one more than usual. There’s a strand of hair falling in his eyes.
“What are you still doing here?” comes Seungcheol’s voice from beside him. “I told you you don’t have to close today. We’ve got enough hands, and I know you’ve been waiting to get off. We’re basically done already.”
Seungkwan blinks and points outside. “Do you think that brick looks darker than usual?”
Seungcheol gives him a look. “Go home, Seungkwan.”
Seungkwan huffs and pushes at one of his cuticles. “Hansol is picking me up. He said he wanted to take me somewhere and that it made more sense to meet here.”
Seungcheol’s lips twitch in thought, and he nods with what Seungkwan thinks is approval. A beat later, he gives Seungkwan a once over, completely lacking in transparency.
“Well, at least go get changed. And plug in the iPad!”
He calls the last sentence while already walking toward the bar, leaving Seungkwan staring down at himself, brick now forgotten. He doesn’t think he looks particularly awful in his work clothes, but Seungcheol has a point.
He pulls the iPad they use to plot and seat tables off of its stand and shuffles over to the bar, past one of the servers still busy wiping down the tables and putting up the chairs. Their last guest left a little while ago, but two bar seats are occupied.
Seungkwan can only see their matching heads of dark hair, but he’d recognize them anywhere, even if he hadn’t let them in at the front door half an hour ago. He’d been greeted with warm hugs and knowing eyes.
Yoon Jeonghan and Joshua Hong are both as relaxed as ever. Seungkwan would describe them as looking like they own the place, but he knows the reality of the situation, which is that Choi Seungcheol, general manager of said place and nephew of the actual owner, would do absolutely anything for either of them.
Seungcheol is now in the process of mixing a drink as Seungkwan slips behind the bar to do as he’s told and plug in the iPad. He has to squeeze himself into the tight space because there’s a third body here, though perhaps it only feels tighter because that third person is so big.
Kim Mingyu looks at Seungkwan carefully. Like Seungcheol, he asks, “Why are you still here?” But it comes out far kinder, if not a little concerned. It’s accompanied by the warm smile he gives to Joshua and Jeonghan as he serves them a few slices of bread left over from their dinner service.
The worry in his voice makes Seungkwan’s chest tight, but he resists the urge to wrinkle his nose.
On Sundays there are always a few staff or friends of the house milling about after close, whether it's for an extra drink or to snack on the food that would go to waste, since they’re closed on Mondays. Tonight just happens to be Joshua and Jeonghan, which gives Seungkwan the perfect opportunity to distract from the fact that both Seungcheol and Mingyu have noticed he’s been anxious for his entire shift today.
On any other night, they’d probably convince him to stay for a drink, too.
“Shouldn’t I be asking you that, hyung?” Seungkwan deflects, not even bothering to be subtle as he side-eyes his three other hyungs. Hanging out with those three alone can be, so to speak, intense at times. Especially for Mingyu, because none of them ever go easy on him. Not that he asks them to.
Mingyu pouts as he puts a smear of butter on the bread plate.
“Because Seungcheollie hyung said he was gonna make me a drink too.”
Seungkwan purses his lips, and just to be a pest, says, “And you really want to be here just to be made fun of over a cocktail? I don’t think anyone else is sticking around to keep you company tonight.”
Mingyu kind of likes being teased anyway, so Seungkwan’s point mostly falls flat.
Joshua swirls his glass of wine and scowls, albeit playfully. Jeonghan just smirks, amused, his gaze fixed on Seungkwan where he’s still standing beside Mingyu behind the bar.
Jeonghan pitches forward on his bar stool, elbows on the counter. He starts reeling in before Seungkwan even realizes there had been bait for him to bite.
“But why are you still here, Seungkwannie?” Jeonghan asks. “Didn’t Cheol tell you to leave?”
Seungkwan fiddles with one of the chits from service. People are always leaving them crumpled up instead of throwing them away. He lobs the ball of paper and thankfully makes it in the trash, because every single person in the room would definitely drag him if he missed right now.
“He just told me to change, first of all,” says Seungkwan pointedly. “And I’m waiting for Hansol. He’s picking me up.”
Joshua doesn’t even bother to hide his reaction, letting his eyes grow big as he murmurs, “Cute.”
When Seungkwan’s gaze cuts to him, Joshua just takes another long sip of his Cabernet. A battle not worth starting, Seungkwan thinks. Seungcheol pours a cocktail into Jeonghan’s glass that looks like it contains a considerable amount of whiskey, so he ignores the comment and carries on with his original plan of distraction . Even if Seungkwan is the one who walked the elephant into the room, he is simply going to do everything in his power to make sure they don’t acknowledge it.
“I can’t believe you guys drink like this on a Sunday. Don’t you two have normal jobs with normal working hours?”
The “unlike the rest of us” goes without saying. Mingyu and Seungcheol have long since resigned themselves to the unconventional – some might say, fucked up – hours of working in hospitality. Seungkwan is still somewhat in denial even though he’s been working in restaurants for nearly as long as either of them.
“This is the only day of the week that Cheol lets us come in after hours,” Jeonghan replies, matter of fact. He sips his whiskey cocktail. Seungcheol watches as Jeonghan tastes it, and he smiles when Jeonghan smiles. He must have made it well.
“And because it’s the only day of the week that I don’t have to worry about coming in to open the next morning,” Seungcheol adds.
These things are only partially true, Seungkwan knows. Seungcheol isn’t the opening manager every day, just most of them. And if Jeonghan asked Seungcheol to stay late and drink on a Friday like normal people, surely, Seungcheol would sacrifice one hungover Saturday lunch shift for him. However, those things are just semantics, and frankly, discussing them won’t do Seungkwan any favors with his plan to distract or the anxiety prompting it.
“Mingyu gives us snacks, too,” Joshua adds. He bites into a piece of buttered bread delicately.
Mingyu’s eyes light up suddenly.
“There are desserts in the back, too! They won’t keep until Tuesday, let me go get them.”
Mingyu was excited enough about sharing his desserts with his hyungs instead of having them go to waste, but Jeonghan’s shriek of, “Ahhh! Dessert!” with the syllables drawn out all but has Mingyu dashing into the kitchen. Seungkwan does himself a favor and just follows.
Seungcheol is asking Joshua how the wine is even though Joshua has repeatedly said this is his favorite on their list, and Seungkwan doesn’t really need to overhear that anyway.
The staff cubbies are also in the back of the restaurant, and Seungkwan walks over to his things. He and Mingyu have seen each other in various states of undress since they met, so he starts to change right there. He’s grateful that his linen shirt only wrinkled marginally since he changed into his uniform this morning. He smooths it as best he can before tucking it into his tight, light wash jeans. There’s a full length mirror nearby, and he uses it to check his face. His bangs have kind of deflated since the morning, but whatever. There’s only so much one can do for themself after a ten hour shift.
“So Hansol is back?”
Seungkwan isn’t expecting Mingyu’s voice, but he uses it as an excuse to stop fussing over himself. He hums as his response and throws his bag over his shoulder.
By the prep kitchen, Mingyu neatly arranges leftover desserts on a plate.
“I didn’t know.”
Seungkwan shrugs. “It’s only for a few weeks. It’ll be nice to have him around. I’m sure he’ll be busy when he’s here, too.”
When Mingyu looks up, his gaze is a little too weighty for Seungkwan’s liking. It passes in an instant though, and then Mingyu is tilting his head as he asks, “Where’s he taking you?”
“Don’t know. He just said he wanted to come pick me up.”
“What, is he coming straight from the airport?” Mingyu jokes.
“No way,” Seungkwan huffs. At least, he doesn’t think so. That would be kind of unreasonable, and for the most part, Chwe Hansol is pretty reasonable in his decision-making.
Mingyu suggesting such a thing makes him fill with nerves for some reason – and Mingyu knows it, too. He’s known since the beginning of Seungkwan’s shift that Seungkwan has been kind of nervous all day, but he also knows that Seungkwan won’t crack open and spill it out right now. When Seungkwan takes a moment to look inward, he’s not sure he could come up with the right words, anyway.
“Come try the desserts, Seungkwan-ah,” Mingyu offers instead. “Or at least come tease Cheol hyung for getting crumbs everywhere while you wait.”
He says it with warmth and patience, still giving that kindness to Seungkwan when he’s done nothing special to deserve it today, so Seungkwan does as he’s told. He watches his hyungs eat desserts and sing to the loud music Seungcheol has put on now that they don’t have to worry about guests. He watches Joshua smile with his eyes as Seungcheol tells him he looks good today. He watches Seungcheol card his hand through Jeonghan’s long hair. He watches Mingyu get showered in praise for his baking. He even cracks a few jokes, because he likes to see these four laugh. He has a sip or two of Joshua’s Cabernet.
He’s not particularly paying attention to the time, but he feels suspended in it as he waits. He can’t say he even waits very long at all. Eventually his phone buzzes, and as soon as he glances at the screen, he peels himself away from where he was leaning against the bar and makes his way to the front of the restaurant. Hansol is there when he arrives, waiting behind the glass of the door, blocking the view of the brick that Seungkwan had spent so long looking at tonight.
In the grand scheme of things, it hasn’t been that long since they’ve seen each other. They’ve been in each other’s lives in fits and starts like this for a while now, and usually when Hansol is out of reach, Seungkwan is able to keep himself in check.
That always changes when Hansol is standing right in front of him again.
When that happens, Seungkwan can’t help but feel like he has to rush to meet him.
He tries not to let it show on his face, but it feels like he’s stumbling over his feet when he moves toward the door. It feels like he’s yanking it open after he unlocks it.
Next comes a blast of the cool spring air, and there’s Hansol, in a white t-shirt and a leather jacket. Hansol, with his hair down and wavy, casting into his eyes. Hansol, with a funny bulge in his front pocket from what’s surely his wallet and phone. Hansol, with his arms opening straight away.
When he hugs Seungkwan, it feels like he might be rushing too.
His hands find Seungkwan’s waist first, and then he pulls Seungkwan into a tight embrace. His breath coasts by Seungkwan’s hairline. Seungkwan feels him inhale.
Hands looped around Hansol’s neck, Seungkwan hugs back, breathes back.
“Boo,” says Hansol. “I missed you.”
Seungkwan smiles into his shoulder. They don’t let go yet.
“Mingyu hyung asked if you were coming straight from the airport.”
Hansol chuckles as he pulls them apart. His eyes, unwavering, stay fixed on Seungkwan.
“I thought about it,” Hansol says, as if that’s a completely normal and chill thing to admit, “but I had the foresight to like, put my shit in my apartment and take a shower.”
“Aw, I really thought you’d be rolling your suitcase around all night. Want to come say hi? Shua hyung and Hannie hyung are here, too.”
“Sure,” says Hansol, in English, which is another giveaway that he’s been in the States for a while. “But we can’t let them convince us to stay. There’s somewhere I wanna take you.”
Seungkwan doesn’t mention that he has the feeling that tonight, given his mood, none of them will even bother to ask.
Hansol gives Seungkwan one more bright grin before following him back into the restaurant. Seungkwan’s coworker, who must have finished closing up and declined one of Seungcheol’s drinks, passes them on the way out with a hasty wave.
Everyone around the bar stands or comes around to give Hansol a hug, bombarding him with the same questions he always gets after he’s away for a while.
Seungkwan hears Joshua ask, “How was New York, man?” in English, and he’s too exhausted to try to understand the answer.
He winds up with Seungcheol’s hand on his shoulder and Mingyu mouthing, “Okay?” from across the bar, making the symbol with his hand.
Seungkwan just nods. He gets a glimpse at Hansol laughing at whatever Joshua said, and his smile takes up his whole face. Seungkwan steals a sip of Jeonghan’s drink just to have something to do, and also to see Jeonghan squawk about it – and to watch as Seungcheol placates him, “I’ll make you another one, Hannie,” even though Seungcheol probably would’ve whined even louder if it was his drink that Seungkwan stole.
None of that lasts long though, because Hansol was apparently serious about not getting roped into staying. He knicks Seungkwan’s bag off of his shoulder before rucking it onto his own. He puts a hand on the small of Seungkwan’s back.
“Well, we gotta go. It was good to see you guys!”
“We’re getting dinner soon!” Joshua calls to him, in English again.
“You bet!” Hansol replies, and he flashes Joshua a finger gun, because he’s Hansol.
It makes Joshua giggle, and then they’re all saying quick goodbyes and Hansol is walking Seungkwan to the door, hand steady on Seungkwan’s back.
Outside, Apgujeong-dong is buzzing, even past 10 on a Sunday night. As though everyone in the entire city has reached an agreement, they all seem to be trying to drag out the weekend for as long as possible – like if every worker in Seoul pulls together, they might be able to stretch out Sunday night so long that Monday won’t come.
Seungkwan knows he’s one of the few people who has a schedule that doesn’t pressure him into feeling such a way, but he enjoys the energy of the neighborhood anyway. He wants to tug on Sunday until it’s long, until he can curl it around himself, until he can be suspended in this moment where the city feels free of the work they drown in each week.
The spring air is nippy enough that Seungkwan considers reaching for his bag off Hansol’s shoulder and grabbing his cardigan, but even on the sidewalk Hansol doesn’t move any further from him.
For some reason, Seungkwan can’t think of what to say right now. What is he supposed to talk about in moments like these? Sometimes when he and Hansol come back together it feels like he’s picking up a book after a while without having marked the page – only, he’s read this book a thousand times, so why can’t he remember where he left off? Why does it matter?
Shouldn’t he be able to flick to any part and have the words come right back to him?
He jabs a finger toward the brick facade he stared at all night.
“Do you think that’s a glitch in the simulation?”
Hansol looks equally delighted and caught off guard. “I don’t know exactly what you’re referring to, but I’d probably agree no matter what. Seungkwan-ah, have you been doing some research while I was gone? Did you listen to the podcast I sent you?”
Seungkwan laughs. “No, and I never will, probably.”
“One day I’m just gonna force you. We’ll be hanging out listening to music and then I’ll change it to the pod and won’t let you leave.”
“Is that illegal? It sounds illegal.”
“You need to listen to the podcast! Something already made you think of the simulation theory without me around. That means you’re on your way to believing it.”
Seungkwan wants to correct him, to say that he was really the reason that Seungkwan thought of the theory at all. However, Seungkwan is not sure he really wants to explain how he hyperfixated on a brick for the last few hours of his shift because all he could think about was Hansol, seeing Hansol, where Hansol was taking him, how it would feel to be with Hansol, if it would feel the same as last time, the same as it always does.
“We’ll see,” he sings instead. “So where are we going?”
Without Seungkwan noticing, Hansol has already led them around a few corners, and the streets keep unraveling in front of them in threads of neons above their heads. Couples dot the sidewalks and the streets, never mind the motorbikes weaving between them. They all dip into the late night spots, the shadowy bars and bustling pochas, the dim lounges and the convenience stores with their chiming bells.
“A café,” says Hansol.
“A café?”
“It’s new,” Hansol explains. “I heard about it while I was in New York from a friend and thought it would be a good spot for us. It’s so close to the restaurant, too.”
“Who in New York was talking about the hottest new cafés in Gangnam?” Seungkwan questions, quirking an eyebrow.
Hansol just looks amused, and he lets out a little chuckle as he squeezes Seungkwan’s waist. “I don’t only hang out with New Yorkers when I’m there, you know.”
I know, he wants to say. I know you have all kinds of people from all kinds of places wherever you go. I know you have friends who have seen you by the Hudson River, who have sent you postcards from far away, who recommend you songs I’ve never heard of and lyrics I’ll never understand, who can let you flip back and forth between your two tongues because they know what it’s like to have both of them live within their mouths.
Instead he huffs a dramatic sigh and leans into Hansol’s side to whine, “Don’t tell me you have friends who appreciate late-night coffee more than me.”
Hansol laughs again. His smile is so bright, like the neon of all the signs above their heads could never dare to compare to him.
“I highly doubt it. Anyway, you’ll see. I think they’re open until 11 or 11:30, so we still have some time to have a drink and check it out.”
“It’s good we finish early on Sundays,” Seungkwan says, mostly just to have something to reply with. It is true, of course. On other nights the restaurant stays open an hour later, and if Seungkwan has to stay to help close, he’s usually not getting home until past midnight.
“I was actually glad I still had the screenshot of your work schedule that you sent me when we were trying to plan a good time to FaceTime last week. I had to double check that you weren’t closing so we could go and still have enough time to enjoy it.”
“You could’ve just texted me and asked if I was closing,” Seungkwan points out.
Hansol only shrugs, his lips upturned, and Seungkwan knows he’s pleased that he was able to coordinate the evening without Seungkwan needing to do any planning or thinking ahead. Granted, Hansol doesn’t know how Seungkwan still rolled his thoughts around anxiously throughout his whole shift anyway.
Seungkwan is grateful for his thoughtfulness anyway.
For as long as they have known each other, there are still moments where Seungkwan is so surprised by the warmth and consideration that Hansol puts into his gestures.
“Anyway,” Hansol says, guiding them to a stop. They haven’t even been walking for ten minutes. “We’re here.”
Hansol opens the door for Seungkwan, and he finds himself in a wide space decorated in pale colors and a minimalist design. It’s filled with people sitting at low tables, drinking coffee or sipping wine, sharing slices of cake. Like many of Seoul’s cafés, the decor is immaculate and well-planned, the perfect place to take a photo for Instagram. But the environment Seungkwan steps into doesn’t feel too artificial or staged. Despite its clean lines and simplicity, there’s a warmth to the space that makes him want to take another step forward.
Seungkwan’s eyes are first drawn to the back of the room, where the scent of coffee wafts over in curls of something bitter and roasted. The back wall is lined with a bar, framed by shelves of speckled ceramic coffee cups and glittering wine glasses. A display case shows off simple layer cakes. Two employees wearing leather aprons smile at the patrons as they steam milk and pour wine in shades of pink, white, and red.
It’s not long before he finds his gaze fixed on the spiral staircase in the middle of the room. It probably should’ve been the first thing to catch his attention, with its sleek grandeur, all the tables situated around it like it’s a stage and those trailing up it are putting on a performance, balancing trays of coffee and showing off the outfits of Apgujeong — trailing coats, heeled boots, shiny leather bags.
At last, as he follows the steps of a woman around the curve of the stairs does Seungkwan notice the ceiling, and the fact that it’s entirely made of glass. Above him, the second floor is crystal clear. He’s met with sight of the soles of people’s shoes, the undersides of tables, the wrinkle of leather and totes that sit on the ground beside chairs. The people all hang above him, pulling coffee from straws, clinking their wine glasses together.
Seungkwan’s mouth parts, hardly two steps into the café.
“Hansol-ah, this place is insane.”
Hansol laughs.
“Let’s get a drink and sit upstairs. I heard they make really nice Americanos.”
Once they sit down, patrons filing in and out beneath them, coffees and a slice of cake between them, Seungkwan finds his eyes fixed on the clear floor.
“I could never take Mingyu hyung here. He would immediately get vertigo.”
“You could always sit downstairs,” says Hansol.
Seungkwan squints his eyes. “So that’s the gallery part?” he asks.
As they waited for their drinks, Hansol had started to explain more about the café and why he’d wanted to bring Seungkwan here. He mentioned that the space was designed to be both a gallery and a café, and that the bottom floor is where the art is hung. It was only then that Seungkwan really noticed the paintings behind glass hung neatly on the walls, intricate and pale, made with faded colors that reminded him of water.
“Mhm,” Hansol replies brightly, tapping his fingers on his coffee cup. “It’ll be such a great space for events. The whole concept of this spot is pretty genius because it will still be profitable even when people aren’t here for a showcase or an opening night. It’ll just function like a really cool, regular café. Plus it’s in a great part of town to attract buyers outside of, like, Hannam and Itaewon. Apgujeong is so busy and lively, it’ll kind of… bring the art to the people, in a way?”
He talks excitedly about work, in a manner Seungkwan doesn’t usually get to hear. Seungkwan often feels far away from this part of Hansol’s life. Not because Hansol doesn’t share it with him, because he does. He never forgets to keep Seungkwan looped into what’s going on, but sometimes Seungkwan feels like it goes over his head, no matter how careful Hansol is in his explanations. Listening to the lilt of his voice, Seungkwan pauses thoughtfully, just for a moment.
“Hansol-ah… were you involved with this?” asks Seungkwan.
Hansol’s job involves close work with artists, galleries, and creative networks both in New York and Seoul, and a big part of the role involves liaising between the two cities. He helps curate galleries and collections, and he’s slowly built a name for himself as someone who is just as passionate about art as he is talented at organizing it to be shared. Seungkwan knows a lot about Hansol’s work, but he still has trouble keeping up with all of his projects and their details – who is he working with this time, at what gallery, with what theme, for what cause?
Hansol has been in this line of work for a long time now, before Seungkwan even finished his undergraduate degree, and all the paths he’s paved for himself have led him to an incredibly successful career at only 25. He started young, in some sense following in the footsteps of his parents, both of whom were involved in the art world in their own way, but it was his own drive and perspective that got him to where he is now. He’s been traveling back and forth to New York City since they were 18 – when Seungkwan was still in high school and Hansol dropped out to finish his degree through standardized exams – though now it’s with much more frequency than the trips once or twice a year during their youth.
To Seungkwan’s question, Hansol just does a sort of shrug and looks around the café happily.
“Not really,” he replies. “Just… the late stages. That friend, Seonghun hyung, he asked for my advice a couple of times when he was coming up with the plans last year, and one of the investors is someone I work with a lot, and, well– basically he put in the good word for me, and I think we’ll end up hosting a lot of events in this space. It just opened last week, while I was in New York.”
Seungkwan playfully slaps Hansol’s wrist. He tried to play it so cool.
“That’s huge, Hansol-ah! Congratulations! You don’t have your hand in it at all?”
Hansol grows a little sheepish. “Let’s call it… a finger? I might get more involved as things start to pick up more because the owners are kind of new to the scene and don’t have that many connections yet. They really want to find the right kind of vibe for the different showcases and collections they end up displaying downstairs. They’re a really diverse group of people and want to focus on inclusivity in their artists – women, queer folks, mixed race people, foreigners.” He interrupts himself with a grin he can’t seem to hold back. “They trust my taste, I guess.”
“ Might get more involved,” Seungkwan repeats, huffing, smiling, knowing just how much Hansol is trying to play this down. If he chose to take Seungkwan here at this stage, that means he already has a bunch of ideas up his sleeve, scrawled into his notebook on plane rides and tapped into his notes app in the backseats of taxis.
“Well, I hope so,” Hansol concedes. “I’m pretty busy, but these are the kinds of projects I enjoy the most. Organizing and curating events is cool, and obviously I love doing stuff in New York, but actually helping to shape a space, something that doesn’t just end after a few weeks… that’s the dream.” His eyes have gone all sparkly, and Seungkwan enjoys the dazed look on his face before he collects himself again. “So yeah, I wanted to show you, because I’m excited, and Seonghun hyung said the coffee was good, and I thought you’d like the vibe.”
“I do,” says Seungkwan, but he looks at the glass floor as he says it, and gazing downward, he suddenly feels very far away. “Thank you for taking me.”
“Of course.”
Seungkwan shifts in his seat. The anxiety that had prodded at him throughout his shift had subsided a little when Hansol picked him up, but it’s starting to creep back up on him, making his hands restless. There’s a tightness that suddenly appears in his chest. He can feel his tongue in his mouth and how the bitterness of the coffee is lingering there.
He knows that Hansol will be able to tell the moment he starts to show all of this, so he pushes the conversation back onto him. He wants to keep Hansol talking so that all Seungkwan has to do is listen.
Even though Seungkwan likes to talk – to string together stories and voice all the characters that appear so brightly in his days – Hansol has always been the easiest person for him to lend his ears to. When he listens to Hansol, he doesn’t feel any pressure. He doesn’t feel like he has to carry himself with the energy that people usually expect from him. He never has to do anything to demand Hansol’s attention; it is always on him anyway. Hansol’s smiles are never ones he has to earn. He smiles just by looking at Seungkwan, laughs even when his jokes fall flat.
Seungkwan urges the conversation forward with a simple set of questions, each one with an answer he truly cares to know.
“So will you tell me about your trip? What did you get up to this time? Is it still cold in New York?”
Seungkwan and Hansol always keep in touch while Hansol travels. It’s usually a text here and there. An Instagram post in their DMs. If time allows, a phone call. Frankly, Hansol is pretty bad at having real conversations over text, and even though Seungkwan is chronically on his phone, it’s usually never to have an extended chat. If not on social media or making jokes in a group chat, Seungkwan can actually be sort of hard to get a hold of. Besides, he and Hansol have always done better in person anyway.
While Hansol was gone this time, Seungkwan is pretty sure they only managed to FaceTime once, given their long work schedules and the odd hours lended to them by the time difference between New York and Seoul. Even that call had felt a little far off, in a way Seungkwan is not sure he could explain. It felt like they were telling stories from behind a veil. Seungkwan could understand Hansol clearly when he spoke, but the phone added a tin to his voice that forced a twist in Seungkwan’s belly. He couldn’t put a single face to any of the names Hansol spoke about. All of the players blurred together, the stories bleeding into something murky.
In the end, Seungkwan hung up feeling even farther away than when they’d picked up the phone, reminded of how many things about Hansol’s day that he does not know. The gaps felt widened, expanded like ice, forcing cracks to split even further apart.
That call was almost a week ago, but the cloudiness seems to be lingering. It’s fog rolling over the sea, like he remembers from the winters he spent on his island when he was young. Hansol tells him a story about a restaurant in Williamsburg he went to for a meeting, a place Seungkwan would’ve loved, apparently. But there must be something off in Seungkwan’s expression, or the purse of his lips, or maybe the tail of his questions don’t curve up the way they usually do, because even when Seungkwan thinks he’s as poised as ever, Hansol notices. As he always does.
He takes the fork out of Seungkwan’s hand. He had been twisting it around to play with the frosting of the cake. He hadn’t even noticed he was doing it. Hansol gently sets it on the plate.
“Boo? You with me?”
“Hmm?” says Seungkwan. He tilts his head. He smiles, but he doesn’t feel it in his eyes that have begun to droop with fatigue. Coffee be damned. “Yeah, of course.”
“Are you sure?” Hansol asks. “You worked a double today. I’m sure you’re tired.”
“I am tired,” Seungkwan admits. When he shifts again in his chair, he feels the protest of his muscles, aching from a day standing up. Even sitting down, his feet sting a little in his shoes. The yoga he did this morning feels far off. “But I’m okay. Sorry, I promise I was listening.”
“I know you were,” Hansol says softly. “Finish your coffee. I’ll take you home.”
“We don’t have to go, it’s okay.”
The café will be open for a little longer. The people around them seem so happy to stay sitting here in the late night, as if they have no worries about when they will go home and what tomorrow will bring them.
Hansol just smiles and nudges Seungkwan’s cup a little closer to him.
They end up not leaving long after that. This time Seungkwan does have to pull his cardigan from his bag. The fatigue has made him more sensitive to the cold. Hansol puts an arm around him and he erupts in goosebumps.
“I’ll take you home,” says Hansol again.
Seungkwan had thought he was just saying it before, so he turns to Hansol in surprise.
“What? You don’t have to. The trains will have stopped by the time we get there. How will you get back to yours?”
“I’ll take a taxi.”
Seungkwan frowns. Hansol squeezes his shoulder.
“It’s fine, Boo,” Hansol insists. “I want to. I’m jet lagged anyway. It’s the middle of the day for me.”
Seungkwan sighs, but he lets it happen. Protest is not worth much in situations like these.
They’re quiet for most of the subway ride. Hansol is still holding his bag. He lets Seungkwan lean his head on his shoulder as they sit, and afterward, he walks Seungkwan all the way to the door of his apartment. They linger there for a minute, quiet, knowing that Seungkwan has feisty neighbors with whom they’ve had one too many bad encounters.
“What are you doing tomorrow? You have a day off, right?”
Hansol speaks to him in a soft voice, low and warm. His hand comes up to fiddle with Seungkwan’s cardigan; there’s a loose button that needs to be restitched.
Seungkwan shrugs his response. “The usual stuff. Gym, cleaning. I was gonna get back to Jihoon hyung, too. He asked me about a project he’s working on, something about a guide.” He shrugs again. “I didn’t really make plans.”
Because I knew you were coming home, he wants to mention. He thinks that goes without saying, though. He hopes it does. He thinks he’d feel a little foolish if it didn’t.
“I have to go into the office in the morning, but do you want to meet for lunch?”
“Yeah, let’s do that. I’ll have more energy then.”
“Sleep in, Seungkwan-ah.”
Seungkwan nudges him with his elbow. “Are you making a subtle dig at my dark circles?”
A hand comes to Seungkwan’s cheek. Seungkwan has to hold his breath. One thumb runs windshield wipers between his eye. “How can I make a dig at something that’s not there?” Hansol whispers, and Seungkwan didn’t expect him to be so gentle, not right now, not in response to what was meant to be a silly joke. Hansol has never let him get away with teasing himself so easily.
“I just want you to get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? Text me.”
“I will,” says Seungkwan, to all of it. Hansol’s hand has fallen from his face, so Seungkwan grabs his wrist even though he doesn’t expect Hansol to walk away until the door has shut in front of him. “Sorry I was weird tonight.”
“Why are you sorry? What do I always say?”
“Yeah, right. I just–”
Hansol cuts him off by pulling him into a hug. “We’ve got time, Boo. There are always more nights at cafés together.”
Face in Hansol’s neck, Seungkwan inhales.
The small, bitter part of him wonders, Is there? Is there always? But he squashes it down as soon as it bubbles up, and he tightens his arms around Hanol’s waist.
“Text me when you’re home,” says Seungkwan, close to Hansol’s ear. He wonders if he sounds as strangled as he feels.
“Will do,” says Hansol.
And at least that, Seungkwan knows, is certain.
Seungkwan sleeps. It feels like the world goes dark as soon as his head hits the pillow, and a dreamless night follows, eating up hours so quickly they feel like seconds. He wakes feeling like he has sunken into the bed, his body heavier, his duvet cradling him. His limbs ache with the familiar dull pain that comes after a double shift, and he winces at the pull in his knees, the sharpness in the arches of his feet.
He spends the morning at home. He drinks coffee by the window, sitting at the tiny dining room table that seats only two — though he and his friends have occasionally dared to challenge that. Light only comes through here during a few precious hours in the beginning of the day, so he basks in it, watching the black of his coffee shimmer a richer brown by way of the sun. When there are only dredges in his mug, he makes his bed. He vacuums the way he’s been meaning to all week. He leaves the trash bags by the door for him to take down when he heads out. He forgoes the gym in favor of following along to a pilates tutorial on YouTube with his favorite instructor.
It takes a while for his body to feel fully awake, yet the first half of the day still feels like it’s passing too quickly, as days off always do. While he gets ready to meet Hansol, he’s left with just a hint of regret, wishing he had woken up earlier. He feels like the people he saw in Apgujeong last night, desperately trying to stretch their weekend longer. Seungkwan rarely gets more than one day off in a row, and he’s already searching for ways to make the morning last all afternoon.
He’s excited to see Hansol. Just from the clarity and pacing of his thoughts, he knows that he’s in a better headspace than he was yesterday. Still, he can’t help but yearn for more moments like this – in his space, small as it is, enjoying the place that he’s tried to make a home. As the door locks behind him, sourness twists in his belly despite himself, knowing that he sometimes treats his apartment as nothing more than somewhere to sleep. He’s always shuffling between work and the subway and his friends and his hobbies. Today is no different.
He meets Hansol outside of his office, a modest building in Hannam not far from many of the smaller galleries that dot that part of Seoul. It’s warmer than it was yesterday, so Seungkwan lets his denim jacket fall off his shoulders. He tilts his face into the sunlight and closes his eyes.
When he feels a hand on his arm, he startles. He hadn’t even noticed Hansol appear at his side.
“Hey,” says Hansol, with a bright smile. He’s amused that he scared Seungkwan, but that’s to be expected. He squeezes Seungkwan’s wrist. “Let’s go?”
Seungkwan nods, knocking their hips together. They fall into step and conversation ever so easily.
They weave through the hilly side streets of the neighborhood without much refuge from the sun. The earliest spring flowers have only just begun to show their colors. Seungkwan wishes there was a little more shade.
On their right is a schoolyard. Children play outside, and Seungkwan catches sight of a ball being tossed around. From what he can tell, there’s a high-pitched disagreement, and small hands outstretch in a heated game of rock, paper, scissors. A screech of victory follows, then the groan of the loser, and the oohs and ahs of the on-lookers who had watched with bated breath. Their voices even carry onto the sidewalk, and Seungkwan glances over at them through the fence with a grin.
The uniforms of the children are not too different from the ones he and Hansol wore more than ten years ago. That’s where they met – both Seungkwan and Hansol were freshly thirteen, and Seungkwan walked into a classroom of unfamiliar faces with round cheeks and his head held high. Despite being the new student amongst a class of kids who had known each other for years, Seungkwan not only entered the fray with ease, but he shaped it. He was without a clue of how they did things in Seoul, but his classmates took a liking to him right away, even with his Jeju dialect.
Seungkwan did everything he could to start off his new life with a good attitude, even though there was a part of him that wanted to be bitter and petulant. He had to leave the only place he’d ever called home because his mom received an opportunity that she’d be foolish to pass up. His mother’s company was transferring her to the capital with a pay raise — money that would one day help carry him towards his future. Distantly, Seungkwan had already begun to dream of universities in Seoul, but he never thought that he would move so close so soon. So much of what made a dream a dream was the fact that it was far away. He was too young to picture it in any detail; he had never thought of what the city would feel like when he was on the inside looking out. He was just a boy, after all. Dreaming came easily then.
To make things worse, Seungkwan’s sisters didn’t come with him and his mother. They had no reason to. They were older than him and more capable of taking care of themselves. One was already in university, and the other was basically on her way. And while Seungkwan’s grandmother had so graciously offered to continue to look after him while his mother went to Seoul on her own, that idea was shot down in an instant. Halmeoni had already devoted so much of her life to taking care of children. Now was her time to be taken care of.
Besides, Seungkwan couldn’t bear to leave his mother on her own, and he wasn't sure he’d like being so far away from her, either.
So he left that island shaped like home.
He left the apartment complex he had always lived in and the neighbor on his floor, the one with the fluffy white dog who always used to lick him when they crossed paths in the elevator. He left the salt in the air; he left his friends and their crooked teeth; he left the choir where he learned to sing and belt his heart out; he left the music club where he read his first notes of sheet music; he left the rocky cliffs carved by time and the daring feet of children who liked to climb. He left the sea. He left his sisters.
He left, but Seungkwan was as adaptable then as he is now. Having two sisters always made him crafty in that sense. He learned things that plenty of other boys his age would have never thought about. Still, leaving wasn’t joyful or easy. Being forced to leave home at thirteen was no easy feat, but he was young enough to not yet be afflicted by teen angst, and he knew better than to complain. All he could try to do was be excited for the newness. After all, he’d heard a lot about Seoul from one of his friends who went every Chuseok to visit his grandparents there.
He could hardly resent his mother, either, not when he knew so much of this was for him. Their new apartment wasn’t any bigger than the one in Jeju, but sometimes it felt like it was, being only the two of them. They were closer to the city center, too. His school was better, and there were so many cram schools to choose from here that he was able to go to an academy for math and English. There were more opportunities to chase and even though he was a little too young to fully realize it then, his mother was right.
Now, more than a decade later, his mother is back in Jeju, and here Seungkwan remains, on his own in Seoul.
By his side, Hansol meets his eye. They’d both been watching the children play. Hansol can smile about it now, but that part of their youth feels so far away that it almost doesn’t feel like their own life anymore. Memories sometimes play back like a movie for Seungkwan, like he’s a spectator of his past rather than the person who lived it.
This is something he’s not sure that he and Hansol share. For as long as they’ve been together, so little of their lives are the same. If they are both in a garden, rather than two flowers side by side, one of them is the blossom, and the other is the bee who comes to visit. Lingers, when he can.
When Seungkwan joined their middle school, Hansol was the first person he noticed. This was not unusual. He’d later find out that that was a defining factor of Hansol’s life, and one he would come to resent for a long time. Hansol was, of course, striking. He was different looking, with a gaze that could cut when he wanted it to, and he was smart in a way a lot of his classmates weren’t. Like it or not, Hansol was always drawing attention, even when he actively avoided doing so.
Seungkwan picked up on a lot of things about Hansol just from his first day at school. Hansol was quiet but not shy. He always participated in class, raised his hand, and spoke when called upon. He always helped clean up. He was polite to the teachers, some of whom received him kindly and others who dismissed him, not too unlike the way his classmates did. He coasted through English class because there was no other language class for him to take. Yet he was scorned and picked on by his classmates for being “perfect.”
It was easy for Seungkwan to see what was going on here. There was no alternative for Hansol, and he was never the type to make his own vices. Either he’d speak perfectly and be hounded for it, or he’d face all kinds of backlash for not being able to speak his second language. There was no winning. He would be ridiculed either for knowing or not knowing.
Seungkwan would soon figure out that Hansol usually made the right choices.
Strangely, their classmates rarely spoke directly to Hansol’s face at all. That mystery faded quickly too. Back when they used to pick on him face-to-face, Hansol never responded the way they wanted him to. He never gave them the anger and frustration they so desperately hoped for. Tired of not getting a reaction, they eventually just gave up. If anything, silence would always be on Hansol’s side.
At least until Seungkwan showed up.
On the street in Hannam-dong, they round the corner.
“Is it okay that we’re going to our spot? We sort of just started walking to it without talking about what we wanted to eat.”
Seungkwan laughs. “As if I wouldn’t have said something by now.”
Hansol’s expression evens out with a nod of acknowledgement. “True.”
“Are you craving Korean food?” Seungkwan asks. “Did you eat any in New York this time?”
“We went out to this one spot in the East Village that was kind of a fusion place? And it slapped, but it wasn’t anything like home. It passed the kimchi test though. Soonyoung hyung would’ve loved it, actually. There’s a disco ball in the bathroom.”
“Sometimes you describe things from New York and I wonder if you actually fly Korean Air to another planet.”
Hansol bursts into laughter, vibrant, like a supernova, like another world’s star. No matter how often he wins it, Seungkwan always feels that a laugh like that is a prize.
More often than not, when Seungkwan and Hansol go out to eat by Hansol’s office, they wind up here. As they arrive at the restaurant, the ahjummas greet them warmly. The women buzz with questions about Hansol’s last trip to New York, calling him handsome and hardworking as the two of them choose a table by the window. Hansol has his hand on Seungkwan’s back as they walk toward their seats, and one of the women catches his eye with a wink. There are crow’s feet at the top of her cheeks, but she’s playful, and her look makes Seungkwan’s face flush.
“Aigoo,” she murmurs when she brings them a bottle of water, the plastic sweating from the fridge. “It’s been a while since you kids have come by. Is it your day off, Seungkwan-ssi?”
Seungkwan nods. “ Sajangnim , I know you understand me,” he says woefully, puffing out his cheeks dramatically. “Life in a restaurant never stops, does it?”
She cackles as she lays out the banchan on their table from her cart. “That’s right,” she agrees. “Good thing you have Hansollie here to take you out to eat when you get a moment to yourself.”
Seungkwan starts to whine, saying, “Hey, who said he’s paying? I might be taking him out!”
But it’s lost to Hansol’s enthusiastic nod. “Of course, that’s what I’m here for.”
Seungkwan sulks for a second just to get the aunty to laugh again, and then she takes their usual orders before wandering back to the kitchen, a cheeky grin still in place.
Sunlight pours in from the window, and Seungkwan relishes in the way it cascades over his body. It’s gentler than it was outside casting through the bare trees. He sheds his jacket and hangs it on the back of the chair. He takes a moment to look at Hansol across from him, the sunshine suiting him so nicely. The rays of light show off the natural warmth of his hair, browner and fairer than Seungkwan’s own. His eyes look lighter too, wide behind the natural curve of his long eyelashes.
Their food comes quickly despite the lunch rush. Places like these always know how to keep turning things around. Big bowls of kalguksu wind up in front of them in no time, alongside a few more smiles and quips from the aunties. Kalguksu has always reminded him of home. Back when he was young, he and his sisters would go to the kalguksujib down the street from their apartment. The chef there always seemed to scowl when he sliced the noodles, but he never failed to give them a free plate of fried mandu when the three of them would visit after school together.
He’s grateful for the Korean food and the familiar flavors. As much as he likes Western food, working around it as much as he does sometimes brings about phases where he can’t stand to look at it. Admittedly, there are days he simply cannot suppress a shudder at the sight of rosé pasta. No matter how good it tastes, various iterations of Western style saucy carbs start to get old regardless of how creative the chefs at work try to get with staff food. Sorry, Kim Mingyu.
Working in hospitality can make Seungkwan’s job feel so inescapable. Watching the aunties dip back and forth between the floor and the kitchen makes him itch with empathy. He tries to keep his eye on Hansol and the view outside instead. Sometimes Seungkwan just wants to sit down at a restaurant and not be reminded that he knows exactly what’s going on in the back. He wants to sit, eat, and be served without noticing every detail he’s paid to notice when he’s doing his own job. Even though a family owned noodle shop is so different from the fancy, trendy place where he spends his days, the fundamentals of any restaurant always remain. Besides, he’s worked with Seungcheol, Mingyu, and Jihoon at all kinds of sikdangs and pochas when they were in high school and university. In some ways, it’s all the same to him. Service is service.
Just as he tucks into his bowl of noodles, Hansol flashes him a bright grin, leaning forward with one elbow on the table.
“So,” he drawls, “tell me about Boo Seungkwan.”
Seungkwan arches an eyebrow, noodles dangling from his chopsticks.
“Boo Seungkwan?” he parrots. “What’s there to say? Don’t you know it all already?”
“Hardly,” Hansol replies. “I haven’t seen you in three weeks. There must be something I missed. Did you decide to go through with the personal trainer? Your thighs are looking great.”
Beneath the table, Seungkwan crosses his legs, but he’s not sure if that qualifies as hiding his thighs or showing them off. His pants today are much looser than the jeans he was wearing last night, which can only mean Hansol was checking out his thighs at some point that he didn’t notice. Seungkwan shifts in his seat.
“I decided not to,” he says. “I’m pretty sure Mingyu hyung was only introducing me to try and set us up, anyway.”
Hansol’s sharp eyebrows shoot up his face, amused, but tinged with something else, too. “Oh? And was he cute?”
Seungkwan puffs up his cheeks thinking of him. The trainer was tall and muscular with a sharp jaw and mischievous eyes. His shoulders seemed to go for miles. His teeth were square and white in his smile.
With his lips pursed, Seungkwan says, “Well, of course. But I think I’d rather have hyung show me how to correctly do chest flies while he makes eyes at himself in the mirror than have a hot guy like that train me.” He blows out some air. “Too much pressure.”
Of course, either of them could argue that being trained by Mingyu is, for all intents and purposes, also being trained by a really hot guy, but Seungkwan is certain that neither of them see the value in raising such a point.
Hansol definitely seems unconcerned. Rather, he’s cocked his head, eyebrows still high on his face. “Pressure?” he asks.
Seungkwan takes a bite while he waves his hand around. “Oh, you know. I couldn’t focus and it made me self-conscious.”
Hansol sips the barley tea he ordered conspicuously. Seungkwan swats at him, to which Hansol just does little to stifle his laughter.
“Anyway,” Seungkwan drawls. “No personal training. I’ve just been keeping up with my usual stuff. Bike rides, YouTube pilates tutorials, and yoga with Myungho hyung and Shua hyung. Oh! And the occasional day of torture when I feel like subjecting myself to testosterone fueled anaerobic chaos, a.k.a. Chan, Mingyu hyung, Seungcheol hyung, and Soonyoung hyung’s ‘group workouts.’”
“Jihoon hyung doesn’t go to those?”
“Pshh,” says Seungkwan. “You’re lucky if he lets you workout with him. If he’s feeling generous, he’ll give you some pointers one on one, but I think a group workout would ruin everything that hyung loves about the gym.”
“Fair enough,” says Hansol. He takes another bite of food, but his expression remains expectant.
“Really, nothing else is new.”
“I find it hard to believe, but okay, Boo.”
Seungkwan’s nose twitches. Usually they don’t have to try this hard to talk naturally, but every time Hansol goes away feels longer, and every time he returns, he feels further away. The last thing Seungkwan wants is for things to feel awkward, but he’s not lying, either. When he thinks of his days, it mostly feels pretty mundane. Thoughts of work come to mind. His commute. The familiar path along the Han River he bikes with a friend whenever he gets a chance. Are any of those things worth sharing? Maybe Hansol would argue that they are, but there’s definitely no disco ball in any of the bathrooms he’s graced with his presence recently.
His pause must go on for a moment too long, because it’s Hansol who fills it.
“I’m happy to see you,” he tells Seungkwan. His eyes look wider like this. “I missed you.”
When he replies, “I missed you, too,” it feels like Seungkwan’s voice crackles out of his throat.
Always, he thinks. I always do. Why does it always feel like I’m missing you?
Before something ridiculous happens, like his eyes starting to sting, he steals a sip of Hansol’s tea and swallows it down.
Seriously, he needs to get a grip.
To flip the switch, he playfully presses a fingertip to the end of Hansol’s nose.
“At least bring me something next time. It’s been a while since I got a Chwe Hansol souvenir. I want to try a New York bagel. I heard they’re good. Can you bring bagels on airplanes?”
It takes a moment, but Hansol’s face does brighten.
“I’m pretty sure. Next time, I’ll bring you one. But if it’s kinda stale, you have to be understanding.”
“Aren’t I always?” Seungkwan bats his eyelashes, and it makes Hansol laugh. Then he starts pushing at his cuticles. “So when do you go back this time anyway?”
So much for getting a grip, really.
“In three weeks.”
“Three weeks?”
Hansol scratches the back of his neck. “Well, two and a half.”
“God, your sleep schedule must be fucked. How is your skin still so good? Why so soon this time?”
“The gallery we’re opening in Chelsea is getting serious with construction, and they want me in person to oversee some of the details. And to be honest, I want to be there to see it happen. Plus, there are some meetings that would be nice to attend in person instead of at fuckass hours over zoom, and there’s an event at The Whitney that I really wanna catch. Myungho hyung is probably coming out for a week or so too.”
Vaguely, Seungkwan remembers being told about the Chelsea gallery – but Chelsea is hard to pronounce, and he’s never been to New York City, so it’s hard for him to fully understand why this gallery is so important that Hansol needs to go oversee construction. He’s pretty sure that Hansol has never built anything in his life. When Hansol moved into his new apartment and the two of them were trying to put together IKEA furniture, they needed YouTube, emotional support snacks, and Wonwoo and Mingyu to help them put together a bed. It’s not like he can give detailed guidance.
The Whitney, though, Seungkwan he has heard of, because it’s one of Hansol’s favorite museums. It feels like he’s there every time he goes to New York. Some strange part of Seungkwan is glad that Hansol and Minghao will do that together. Of course, he’s glad that Hansol will be with one of his best friends, but there’s an undeniable other layer to his happiness about this.
When Seungkwan talks to Minghao, there’s none of the weight that comes with his relationship with Hansol. Talking to Minghao means that stories will flow out vividly, in his accented Korean and stippled with surprises after he throws in some high level vocabulary word that makes Seungkwan blurt, “Where the heck did you learn that?” Talking to Minghao also means that Seungkwan will get another window into Hansol’s life – this time by way of a friend. Someone Seungkwan knows. Someone Seungkwan doesn’t have to struggle to imagine. Conversations with Minghao will surely provide a perspective to his and Hansol’s trip together other than the one Seungkwan always struggles to picture through the short phone calls and little anecdotes he gets days later.
“How long are you going for?”
“Two weeks?” Hansol says. “I don’t know exactly. My mom mentioned coming up with Sofia, so it depends.”
“Ah,” says Seungkwan.
He must sound a little disappointed, which is not entirely untrue, but he also wonders how it must feel for Hansol to be uprooted all the time. He rarely shows any sign of it affecting him. The travel. Family abroad. Two circles of friends. Even his complaints usually seem to get overshadowed by excitement.
Maybe he’s not uprooted at all, Seungkwan thinks. Maybe he’s just more secure than others, able to be comfortable in two different places. Maybe he doesn’t have two lives, just one bigger than Seungkwan can even imagine.
“Don’t worry about that, Kwan-ah. I just got back. I want to see as much of you as I can this time. Meetings are pretty sparse this week, so it’s almost like I have a few days off.”
Seungkwan forces his face to stay relaxed. He wants to scowl. He wants to say, What about my week? How do I squeeze my life around your presence? Why do I always want to? I want to! I miss you and you’re right here looking at me.
All he can do is take advantage of it.
“Well, you’ve got me all day. What do you want to do?”
“Just be with you. I want to hear you tell me stories. Have you crushed Cheol hyung in any games lately?”
If anything lights a flame in Seungkwan, it’s talking about the long-term sport-related psychological warfare that he has endured against his hyungs for years, so Hansol gets an instant reaction. Seungkwan huffs, rolling his eyes. Hansol, enthralled across from him, looks absolutely delighted by the theatrics.
“Well,” Seungkwan starts, “I should have, but as expected, he, Shua hyung, and Jeonghan hyung conspired against me.”
“Oh really?” Hansol says. He leans forward across the table as if that will somehow get him closer to the action of the story. Chwe Hansol is by no means a Sports Guy, but he for whatever reason absolutely eats up Seungkwan’s sports stories like Seungkwan is on the national team and he is an insatiable fan.
As he pitches forward, inconsequentially closer, Seungkwan can’t help but be drawn in by him in return. He’s gorgeous and radiant – Seungkwan angles to him like he’s the sun. God, he hasn’t felt the light in days.
“It was basketball, though,” Seungkwan continues. “They know better than to challenge me in volleyball. My area of expertise will forever be a vulnerable point for Jeonghan hyung because he knows he can’t beat me.”
Slowly, like he can’t contain it, like the way the sun bursts over the horizon when it rises, Hansol’s smile grows so big it takes over his face. It looks like it’s going to swallow him whole. At that moment, Seungkwan isn’t thinking about how such a few trivial sentences made Hansol smile like this. He’s not thinking about the way the thought of Seungkwan messing around with a ball in a park with his hyungs can make Hansol so happy.
Instead he’s thinking of how much he likes Hansol when he smiles like that, so he snatches his phone where it had been face down on the table, quiet on Do Not Disturb. He unlocks it and snaps a photo of Hansol before the smile can be whisked away.
Hansol lets it happen, even throws up a V with his fingers for a second shot, but the grin that had spurred Seungkwan into action is long gone by then.
“I’d rather you take one of us together,” he comments lightly.
Seungkwan tsks and shakes his head, flicking back and forth between the few pictures he’d just taken.
“Your photo smile looks nothing like that, though. I like the real one.”
Hansol lets the words wash over him with a tilt of the head, and as soon as he looks at Seungkwan, that exact same grin appears once again.
At the sight of it, something rushes through Seungkwan. And just like wind turns the arms of a pinwheel, he feels himself winding and winding and winding until all his colors have become one, some unnameable shade that’s infinitely more beautiful because of the way they blend together.
“I’d still like to watch you play one day.”
Seungkwan crosses his arms.
“Not until you agree to play with us.”
Hansol wrinkles his nose.
“Will that really be fun for any of us?”
“Yes,” says Seungkwan resolutely. “Me, who gets to watch you, and also probably Seungcheol hyung who will definitely make fun of you when you lose.”
“And what if we’re on the same team?”
Seungkwan purses his lips. “Two sides to every coin, I suppose.”
“But somehow they’re both me being bullied by Choi Seungcheol?” Hansol exclaims.
Through his sudden laughter, Seungkwan replies, “Yeah!”
Hansol just sighs, but his tone is light. “We’ll see about that, Seungkwan-ah.”
Seungkwan grins into his noodles.
“So did you end up getting back to Jihoon hyung about that guide?”
The shift in conversation feels a little sudden, making Seungkwan go tense. Memories of his quiet and warm morning at home play in his head, the guide having not crossed his mind even once.
“I ran out of time this morning. I’ll do it this week, I’m sure.”
“What’s he working on?”
“A member of a boy group is going solo for the first time, and he wants his debut to be a ballad, so.”
“Be careful, Boo Seungkwan, don’t outsing the entire industry.”
Seungkwan flushes and rolls his eyes as if that’ll shoo the red in his cheeks away. “I haven’t even said I’ll do it yet. I need to read his messages again and get back to him.”
Lee Jihoon has been in Seungkwan’s life nearly as long as Hansol has, meaning they’re pushing a decade of friendship. He, like Seungkwan and Mingyu, was also recruited by Seungcheol’s uncle to work in his restaurants. Back then, Seungcheol’s uncle was mostly running smaller scale and lower key joints, so the work was dirtier and worse paying. But they were all desperate for cash during high school and university, so they stuck with it. Jihoon probably fared the worst out of all of them though. He hated guest-facing work, and he hated dealing with a lot of idiots who had no grasp of how restaurants worked even more.
It laid the foundation of their friendship though – all of them would linger in parks late at night, meeting Jeonghan and Seungkwan’s other friend, Soonyoung, to play 3-on-3 basketball and eat convenience store ice cream during the summer. Coincidentally, for as much as he hated restaurant work, Jihoon was the first – and only – to get out of it. Late nights messing around with beats on his MacBook with Seungcheol and posting them on SoundCloud led to Jihoon being scouted by an entertainment company before he was even done with his first year of university. Before Seungkwan knew it, Jihoon was one of the most sought after in-house producers at his company. He lives and breathes his work with music now. Seungkwan knows he was made for it. He lives for it, really. He even stayed in school and worked weekends and weird hours just to be able to keep learning.
He’s always had a soft spot for Seungkwan’s voice, too. This isn’t the first time he’s asked Seungkwan to sing for him.
“Why wouldn’t you do it?” asks Hansol.
“I don’t know, work?” Seungkwan replies, with just a bit of snark in his voice. “I’m busy, and I haven’t done a guide in a while, and I don’t know if it’ll fit his schedule when I have time to go record anyway.”
“Ayy, you know hyung would be at the studio any time of the day for you. He practically lives there as it is.”
“Yeah,” Seungkwan mutters. “Anyway, I’ll message him soon.”
“Do you have a double again tomorrow?”
He nods. “It’s an admin shift in the morning though.”
“Do you like that new role?”
Seungkwan shrugs. “It’s basically what I was doing before except now I get paid for it, and I get to use the work computer to manage emails instead of stealing Seungcheol’s phone and doing it from there.”
“That doesn’t really answer my question,” Hansol points out.
Seungkwan shrugs again, feeling his shoulders draw closer together under Hansol’s scrutiny. He’s always been able to see through Seungkwan’s defenses.
“What do you want me to say? Work is work. I’m lucky because I work with some of my best friends and I’m good at my job, but it’s still work, y’know?”
Of course, he doesn’t really know, and Seungkwan is fully aware of this.
Hansol opens his mouth to say something more, like he wants to keep asking until he gets whatever answer he’s looking for, but they’re cut off by the aunty coming past their table. She grows shocked by how little they’ve eaten, scolding them with teasing in her voice. Seungkwan charmingly tells her how they’ve been talking too much to focus on their food, because they don’t see each other that much, remember?
The aunty refills their banchan anyway.