𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞, 𝐟𝐭. 𝐜.𝐬𝐜, 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞
>>> the one where a fire alarm gets you a date and then some
fic navigation: master list ↩️ | ▶️ part 1 | ⏩ part 2 | ⏩ epilogue
pairing: c.sc / f!reader
summary: it starts with some toast on fire, and turns into a date and maybe the love of your life - OR - you’re an over-tired corporate worker who meets a handsome firefighter who makes you realize that there might be more to life than jumping through every hoop work gives you
𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝟏𝟖+, 𝐦𝐝𝐧𝐢, 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭, 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐜𝐮𝐭
word count: 16.8k
genre tags: alternate universe - modern world | non-idol-au | firefighter!cheol | soft!cheol | corporate girlie!reader | slice of life | meet-cute | romance | romcom | idiots in love | eventual smut (see chapter warnings) | domestic af | hospitals (no one dies) | pov swaps | plot with porn | found family | reader hates dating apps | reader has stressful job | sort of svt fire station | semi-text chat | Kkuma included |
chapter warnings: explicit language | suggestive behavior | multiple make-out sessions | mentioned d!ck pics | drinking | s3xual tension |
a/n: misspellings in dms between characters are intentional andddd yeah, just enjoy ^^ like, reblog, or generally let me know if you also kind of love their world bcs i actually do and kept adding to this and worrying about having too many paragraphs for a single post - and now it's in parts soooo oops ;-; thx for reading with me tho - this is my first like one big long fic here eekkkk, okie byeee and if you prefer reading longer works on ao3
✦•┈๑⋅… 1 …·๑┈•✦
You had been scrolling apps aimlessly when your friend asked how dating was going.
You shrugged. “Fine,” you’d mumbled.
‘Fine’ was more like a deflection, not an adjective. It was meant to end the conversation, not spur it the fuck along.
“You’ve got to find someone,” came Rei’s voice - she was so certain.
You rolled your eyes. “I really don’t, though.”
“Okay, but you’ll be the sad, lonely one learning how to Heimlich yourself,” she muttered, with a judging glance.
“I’m never watching 30 Rock with you again,” you groaned, and chucked a pillow at her.
You really hated dating apps. They were so impersonal. Plus all the stats said there were way more women on them anyway - like the chances of matching were so low to begin with.
Besides, you weren’t exactly throbbing for some dude who’d just leave crumbs everywhere, and make extra garbage, and have meat sweats mid-fuck.
Maybe you could ask your dealer out, you thought - that’d shut Rei up, surely, you guessed.
Anyway, you weren’t wading into fucking Bumble, or Hinge, or any of the other spaces again.
If you were going to meet a guy, it’d be irl, thank you very much.
˚⟡˖ ࣪
Rei was a good friend. And a mostly fine roommate.
She was less great when it came to things like not setting off the fire alarm when she forgot toast.
She was even worse when she was stoned and forgot that the bread even existed and wandered off to find saltwater taffy in her desk drawer.
So it wasn’t shocking that the fire alarm went off, waking you with its insistent PING-pinging sounds.
You bolted up and out of bed, running downstairs to find smoke billowing from under the kitchen door - fuck, fuck - this was bad, you thought as you pushed the door and went in.
At least it was localized. Just two tiny infernos in the oven.
You made it to the kitchen in time to shut everything off.
However, you didn’t make it in time to stop your security company from contacting emergency services.
And now you were stood on your front lawn, trying to explain to a fire…person that yes, the fire was, in fact, out.
You were in a very unsexy robe, terry cloth with big ol’ stripes, feet jammed into your massive yellow snow boots because those were the shoes in the hall closet of death, and a baseball cap tossed on to hide your bed head when the fire truck appeared.
You were absolutely fucking mortified. Because it was two pieces of toast! But you also couldn’t really do anything but handle it since Rei was happily passed out.
Fucking twat, you’d determined, lovingly, when you checked on her.
The fire department, though, you played every stupid card you could to explain about your friend the terrible cook.
At 2:15 AM.
On a Tuesday.
The main guy seemed to accept the idea of two dumb females.
Of course he would.
The guy next to him, though, he was younger and seemed to be taking it all in with a slight smirk.
He had a look like: (1) he didn’t believe you anymore than he could throw you regarding the idea that you’re-just-dumb, and (2) he kept glancing at your baseball cap like it was genuinely laughable.
It was distracting - who was he to judge your hat?
You kept looking to the side, registering the smirk from the peanut gallery.
So what if you noticed that the peanut gallery had gorgeous lips, and large eyes that flicked from your cap to your face - he wasn’t eyeing your tits, at any rate.
The main guy huffed. Hard. Something about a report to file and wandered off.
You apologized profusely, pointing to the remnants of the burned toast on the front lawn as evidence that the fire was definitely OUT.
You’d flung both pieces out the kitchen window with total abandon.
Fucking toast.
You were lucky not to be getting a citation. But there was some fine for a false alarm and response. You’d be checking the mail for that.
What an absolute fucking headache.
You sighed, muttering a small ‘thanks’ to the firefighters for their time. The second guy, Mr. Peanut, was still smirking.
You couldn’t help it when you met his gaze - he was really fucking fine. You’d finally looked since his boss was stomping away.
“What?” You asked quickly, genuinely wondering what was so funny.
“That hat,” he pointed, “kind of an insane choice, no?” He asked, voice low and sweet.
Oh, he was cute. And had one of those voices. Fuck.
You were quick to pull it off and see it was one from your home city - The Mets.
You were firmly in Dodgers land. You rolled your eyes and jammed it back on your head. “It’s called fashion, lance corporal —“
He snorted. “Fire Captain,” he corrected gently.
“Yeah, well, Fire Captain, I don’t even keep up with any teams,” you trailed off.
He smiled, a cute smile. “No? Maybe you should try a game sometime,” he suggested, voice soft.
You eyed him - he was definitely fit, tall, handsome. Definitely not staring out at you from your phone screen.
“That an offer?” You’d blurted it before you could even think.
He smiled, teeth showing. Really fucking cute. He glanced over his shoulder and then gave a small nod. “Just uh,” he glanced back, “you know, call the station, not 9-1-1, ask for Captain Choi?”
You found yourself nodding.
✦•┈๑⋅… 2 …·๑┈•✦
“So, did she call?” Mingyu asked. He was sitting across from Seungcheol and already halfway through his food somehow.
They’d barely sat down - and already with the question.
Seungcheol groaned. “Stop asking,” he muttered, digging into his chili and regretting that he’d told Mingyu anything. “And stop blabbing about it.” He shook his head, knowing his friend was a loudmouth. Unintentionally, usually, but still.
Besides, he didn’t want to talk about the girl in the Mets hat. And he didn’t want everyone in the station to know. All he needed was Soonyoung to find out…then the gc.
He just wanted to eat his lunch.
His shift was almost over, and then he had two days off to crash and game and - shit - pick up dry cleaning because one of their friends had the nerve to get married and he needed a suit.
Fuck - he’d definitely forgotten the wedding thing…maybe because of the girl in the Mets hat. It wasn’t the only false alarm they’d gotten in the last few days, but watching her walk out every version of ‘I’m-just-a-girl’ was entertaining, especially when she’d given him a new rank and title.
He’d not mentioned that part. He knew Mingyu, and ‘Lance Corporal Choi’ would have become a nickname way too quickly - he’d have to be reassigned to a station on the East Coast for it to maybe end.
Why he’d even told Mingyu at all was a mystery - Mingyu was too positive to share things like that with.
Besides, Seungcheol hadn’t given her his number because he was on duty and responding to a call, and that would definitely have looked weird. Plus, she was totally out of his league.
Someone living in Echo Park was not calling him.
He’d already made peace with that fact.
Now he just needed Mingyu to do the same.
“Look,” he started as he ate, “be more helpful and ask me whether I picked up my suit for the wedding thing, okay?”
“Did you?” Mingyu asked flatly.
“No - I mean like ask me tomorrow when I’m off.”
“So be your reminder?” Mingyu asked, brows arched.
Seungcheol shrugged. “More helpful than asking me about whether some random girl calls the station,” Seungcheol said as he ate.
Mingyu sighed. “Dude - save these requests for Mets Girl, or - just hear me out - there are these things on your phone called apps…and there’s one called ‘reminders’ – boom – mind-blowing shit, right?” Mingyu asked with an annoyingly condescending smirk.
Seungcheol rolled his eyes and gave Mingyu the finger. “Such a prick,” he mumbled as he finished his lunch and started to leave the table.
“But a prick with a date to Jeonghan’s wedding,” Mingyu added, still smirking…like a prick.
Suddenly, Seungcheol was glad they were on alternating shifts because it was that kind of comment that really annoyed him. What did it matter if he went stag? His life wasn’t over because he hadn’t asked anyone.
Still, their shifts weren’t completely alternating.
On a normal day, he’d be looking forward to when they were back on the same rotation. He’d almost always rather be on shift with Mingyu than not. Not that he didn’t trust anyone else, but he and Mingyu had known each other since training. And even if he trusted everyone, he always trusted Mingyu a little bit more.
Which made it even more irksome that Mingyu cared about his dating life. And brought it up. And had filled out multiple dating profiles for Seungcheol.
Seungcheol had checked the Hinge profile once and was surprised to find that he apparently enjoyed rock climbing on the weekends. He hadn’t even bothered to change it because he’d never use the app, so what did it matter if all the details were bogus?
˚⟡˖ ࣪
The problem was the texts he woke up to on Thursday morning. He was off and lying in bed at home.
[k.mingyu]
𝚐𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚠𝚑𝚘𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚍𝚍𝚍𝚍𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚛 fire captain 𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚒 𝚝𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚞 𝚍𝚞𝚍𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎
Staring at the texts, still blinking away sleep - he typed something about ‘stop bothering me’ and deleted it. He just wasn’t sure Mingyu was serious.
[seungcheol]
dude it’s early
[k.mingyu]
i waited told her to call back fri. bcs that’s ur next shift
[seungcheol] surrprised u didn’t give her my number
[k.mingyu]
on duty or i woould have 10000% u need a date
Groaning loudly enough to get an odd look from Kkuma, Seungcheol flopped back against his pillows, muttering ‘sorry’ in the direction of her basket.
Still, he did not need a date. He needed to drop off dry cleaning and buy some food besides cereal…those were needs.
He also had to make sure that suit still fit - at least the wedding was still six weeks away…besides, how was he supposed to know that she would actually call him?
Lying there, in the privacy of his own apartment, he could admit that she was really cute that night too.
She’d looked gently insane. And really good too.
The entire outfit was madness - he’d had to stare at her hat to keep a straight face - and the Mets too, what a shit team - and the toast on the lawn - just these two beyond crispy little briquettes because, of course, throw them on the lawn…during an LA summer. Nothing bad could come from that.
Remembering the way she turned to him to ask, “what?” only made him snort.
[seungcheol]
did she rlly call
[k.mingyu]
yes srsly i wouldn’t joke abt a grl ur a hermit
[seungcheol]
we can’t all be u
And fuck everything with a pulse, Seungcheol thought with a grin. Mingyu was known to attract every sort of girl and then struggle to say anything but ‘yes.’ Which made for great stories around the station…
[k.mingyu]
duh u just ignore when ppl like u or freak out n do nothing
Seungcheol scowled. He didn’t freak out. Nothing was sort of accurate - he usually didn’t make a lot of moves. And he wasn’t going to argue with hermit - half of the reasons he went out were to take Kkuma on walks or for other Kkuma-related things. And when he was on duty, he left her with the little old lady upstairs, Mrs. Lee - so he basically left his house to walk his dog or to visit someone else’s grandma who watched his dog…
Actually, the more he thought, the more he knew that Mrs. Lee probably knew more about him than his last girlfriend had…she knew what he did for a living, his schedule (she had a printed copy that he updated monthly), where he was from, where his family was from, his favorite dishes, that he didn’t like things too spicy…maybe he did have a date for Jeonghan’s wedding.
She did often refer to him as a ‘nice young man.’
He rolled onto his stomach to hide the way he was laughing at the idea, which wasn’t actually that bad of an idea - he knew her family didn’t visit her very often, and old people seemed to enjoy weddings…plus, Mingyu would shit a brick.
He buried his face in his pillow.
He was on his second nap of the morning. He’d been up early to walk Kkuma and pick up some milk from the bodega.
And then he’d come home and passed out for a bit…and woke up for a bit…maybe Mingyu had texted at a normal time…he didn’t know.
But apparently, on Friday, there would be a call. He yawned and flopped onto his back, deciding that he should maybe try to be positive.
He heard Kkuma’s collar jingle and then the sounds of her padding over to circle the stairs she didn’t like.
The joy of a studio apartment with a loft for the “bedroom” was that his bed wasn’t technically in his living room - it was over the kitchen and had enough room for him to sit up without whacking his head, but it was only accessible by way of these weird, wiry little spiral stairs that Kkuma never seemed to trust.
He’d realized the mistake quickly when she was a puppy, and he’d basically lived on his sofa to avoid Kkuma whining.
And now, he knew she probably wanted him up, or at least on the sofa where she could jump up too.
Little doggie demands were definitely something that he regularly gave in to, and he wasn’t embarrassed about that. Sitting up and running a hand through his hair, his mind lingered because…she’d actually called him.
˚⟡˖ ࣪
Besides the obvious fire emergency that wasn’t actually. You were in the middle of a fairly shit-show week.
Also, you weren’t sure if you were really meant to call the local fire station or not - you had looked it up during your commute, though. Fire station number 20.
And then you’d seen him in the station’s photos and immediately locked your phone like he would somehow cosmically know you’d searched for him.
But the embarrassment was real.
He’d seen you after you’d raided the closet that literally existed to absorb all the crap you and Rei collected and couldn’t be asked to actually put away when one of you cleaned - just throw it in the closet…and look like you fell into a pile of old tat just in time to meet a cute guy.
Sitting in your cubicle Tuesday morning, staring down at your first coffee of the day, you decided that closet had to be addressed.
You were less certain about calling him, though. Because it wasn’t even him, exactly; it was a station…if it was like calling your office, there was a receptionist and a phone tree and…you didn’t love the idea.
Especially if it wasn’t serious.
Stirring your coffee, you considered if his saying to call and who to ask for constituted seriousness of purpose. Luckily, your inbox started its normal explosion, which distracted you totally until you left the office at 2:23 PM to grab the burrito you’d ordered.
You were a regular at the place, even though it was standing room only for eating. You were pretty sure that standing only meant they didn’t have to offer a bathroom to customers. Which was fine; you could stand and watch people milling around the plaza that led to Angel’s Flight, which you kind of loved. The little orange and black rail-ish car that you sometimes walked to and rode up and down just to be out of the office.
It was like $1.50 for some level of sanity.
Just like your burrito. And standing and staring at something besides your computer or the office’s ceiling or the gray fabric of your cubicle’s walls.
You unlocked your phone, and it immediately showed you where you’d left off - seeing Fire Captain Choi’s face (and others, of course) next to a giant number 20.
The burrito made you feel more confident that you weren’t disturbing the particles of the universe by reading the caption and seeing that it was actually “Fire Captain Seungcheol Choi.”
And now you knew his first name.
But still not whether he was actually expecting you to call.
Which was a silly thought - you knew you - you’d call.
You just needed the correct level of burrito to settle your stomach. You had called guys before.
Just pre-apps…and usually it was a text about class or something.
Shit. What did you do before apps?
You clicked around to find the number for the station, and noticed that there was a Yelp! page… which was wild to see since it was a public service…not a donut shop. Still, you poked around the main webpage hoping that there were different lines, like for an operator or something, but no - just the one number to call.
But you’d finished your burrito, and you had a client call to prep for, anyway.
You could only hope that it would keep…and not be too weird.
˚⟡˖ ࣪
Wednesday was an early day.
You started checking emails before you were out of bed to see what might have happened overnight - nothing that was literally immediate. So you’d gotten up, found a quick YouTube yoga session, grabbed a shower but not your hair - dry shampoo would work for another day…and then you’d grabbed a yogurt, a granola bar, and a protein shake for breakfast and a little wheel of cheese and some nuts for a snack…otherwise, you would stress eat ALL of the BBQ flavored chips in the breakroom.
You might still.
You got to the office by 7:45 AM and were only minimally sweaty.
You ate at your desk.
And no burrito time because there were changes that someone wanted to the formatting of all the tables and charts…so you ordered a green bowl and the de-stress green drink and a ginger shot in the group order that the admin had started.
You knew the ginger shot well - it was vile, but it did wake you up.
It was one of those days where even going to the bathroom felt timed. Not in a visible way, but going always risked that that would be exactly when someone would ‘not be able to find you.’ Because bodily functions ceased to exist if there was a deliverable, somehow. At least in the minds of your colleagues, anyway.
And then there was dinner - a team dinner to celebrate another job ending. You’d thought you could slip out of it, but no - it was planned - someone had flown in…therefore, an Irish goodbye was not the fuck happening.
You lingered at your desk a bit so you could at least Uber to the restaurant on your own. And for once, you loved LA traffic because it gave you a solid twenty-five minutes of quiet.
Or it would have…if you hadn’t started talking to your driver.
But he was nice in that way that was endearing and easily approachable, and when you started off by asking if you could get his opinion, he was locked in like you’d known one another since childhood.
By the time you were getting your first drink, you’d been told emphatically to call that fire station!
You’d almost done it in the Uber, but his app had pinged for a pickup. He’d wished you good luck, though.
And anyway, at least you’d talked to someone about it. And they thought it was a genuine offer, partially because “man was at work, and he still dropped his name. MAMA come on.”
Did it maybe confirm your own thoughts? Yes.
But that was okay.
And once you’d had two cocktails, you slipped out to the balcony and dialed the number.
You listened to the first ring, and before there could even be a second one - “Fire Station 20, Specialist Kim speaking.”
The voice was so quick and abrupt. “Uh, hi - sorry, someone told me to call? And now that feels slightly weird…” Your voice trailed off, and you definitely wanted to hang up.
There was barely a pause. “Seungcheol - he’s not on shift, but I’ll tell him that the Mets Girl called - he’s back on Friday, and I feel like he’s got a pile of paperwork, so call like early when he’ll be in the office.”
You couldn’t help the small laugh at the informational deluge. “That’s extremely specific—”
“I know, but I’m not a fan of missed connections, so Friday, like 0800 - solid chance that he’ll be the only person in the office then, too.”
You nodded, still smiling. “Okay, Friday - thanks.”
And the call ended - not with a nasally operator or a phone tree debacle - just very specific directions from someone who knew Seungcheol.
It was maybe less nerve-inducing to know that apparently he had told someone that you were going to call…still, there was Thursday to get through.
And then the actual call.
˚⟡˖ ࣪
Thursday dragged at a literal sloth’s pace. But uphill. So maybe it was just a human pace, but going up an extremely steep incline…the nuance did not matter.
The day was a fucking slog until you were in your car and experiencing zero traffic because it was like 1:00 AM - it was technically Friday.
It was technically Friday, and all you wanted to do was pass out under a rock without wifi or cell signal for the next three days.
But while you were sitting at a tremendously long red light on West Sunset, you remembered that you were supposed to call Seungcheol…today. 0800 according to the voice who’d answered the call.
You weren’t sure if you could think of a less sexy scenario - a scheduled call with a member of the male species after other members of that species had given you endless tedious fucking notes on your report section, including that the shadow they’d requested for their tables was slightly larger than what they preferred…it was the kind of thing that made you consider physical violence.
But, no, you’d made it through. And you’d be revived by 0800.
You exhaled a long, slow breath and stared at the stupid red light, willing it to CHANGE.
And once it finally did - you made it home, parked. And autopiloted yourself to your room. You didn’t even change for bed or pull the duvet down - you just face planted.
Sleep was good.
But your 6:00 AM alarm was bad. Still, you sat up somehow, blinking into existence and hoping a shower would get your brain online.
You were in the office by 7:45 AM - again.
And you left to get breakfast - and to call.
You felt like being on the plaza near a coffee shop was better than your normal choice of hiding in the stairwell.
The call was still scary - that whole one ring and ANSWER thing, which was probably great when the caller had an actual emergency. Maybe he would let it ring twice, though - maybe?
You jammed your headphones in and tapped to dial.
One ring. Literally.
“Fire station 20, Captain Choi speaking.”
It was so crisp - he sounded rested, even - how dare he. “Um, right, hi,” you croaked - you weren’t a wizened crone of anything, scout’s honor. You squeezed your eyes closed. “I’m - uh - I’m the false-alarm-burnt-toast-Mets-hat-girl, and I don’t know if you were serious about my calling or not…” Your voice trailed off into the fucking ether.
You could feel the pause - he was definitely deciding something. “I - yeah, I was, actually.”
Nodding, you opened your eyes to see the little bee sanctuary things you usually sat near. “This is maybe early, but when I called before, umm—”
“Mingyu told you I’d be in the office?”
“Yes - that - that’s the one.”
He was quiet for a moment. “So - I forgot that every call that comes in is recorded for training—”
You laughed. “Of course they are.”
“But if you happen to have Instagram?”
“Definitely, I am a member of this century - what should I be looking for?” You were trying to keep it together.
“It’s - basically my name…”
“Ah, a creative,” you mumbled, glad you were wearing headphones and could swap to the app and search.
“I know it’s - I spent time choosing where to add the period.”
You smiled and ran a hand through your hair. “Uh-huh - okay, so I’m guessing you were also creative with the profile picture that is clearly you?”
“Umhm, that’s - that’s me,” his voice cracked slightly. “This is terrible - this is like fourth date territory.”
You laughed then. “I think it’s perfect. No notes.”
He did at least have it set to private. You hit ‘follow’ and saw the almost immediate add.
You clicked into the messages and typed quickly.
“Testing?” he asked, reading out your message like it needed scrutiny.
“Exactly - testing.”
You watched the bubble pop up - ‘10-4’.
You smiled. “Good, 10-4.”
Another message popped up - ‘rlly srry this is complicated.’
“It’s fine - it’s silly, not catastrophic,” you mumbled.
“So we can plan?” he asked.
“Yeah, I think so, and for the record, and for the benefit of the Yelp page I happened to see - five out of five stars - all questions were answered - you were extremely obliging and knowledgeable at all times - I felt like this was just a really safe space for me...”
“That’s—” again the pause in his voice. “That’s great - I’m glad to hear that - if we can be of any further service—”
“No, no - super productive chat, thanks so much.”
And you ended the call and covered your mouth with a hand to hide the tiny screech that came from how insane the last, approximately, three minutes of your life had been.
You’d just given him a five-star rating in case there was like a review of recording and called it a safe space. What the fuck was your life, anyway?
✦•┈๑⋅… 3 …·๑┈•✦
He was on a two-day shift. And it was on day two that Mingyu came in to cover for someone who’d gotten sick.
He’d been so close to not having to give any details in person.
But there Mingyu was at roll-call…waiting, smiling, like a fucking shark…and Seungcheol’s dating life was the blood in the water. For once, he was glad he would be out inspecting buildings for the day.
Which only postponed the inevitable.
So a day of walking around a building site, sweating and miserable, checking for tiny fire code issues, and knowing Mingyu would still be there.
It was something, though - he could try to condense everything down while he sat in the back and stared blankly at a page of code in stupid, tiny font that made him feel like he needed his vision checked. Or maybe he could just talk about the phone call, not the extended cut of what planning looked like so far. Mingyu did not need to know that Seungcheol’d figured out that text bricks from you were normal and something like an emoji and one word were your version of “death.” And Mingyu never needed to know that Seungcheol liked your messages and thought it was cute when you used the goofy in-app features like the gift box message thing. Even he was embarrassed that he enjoyed it, and he had practically zero game. He should’ve been attempting to be cool.
But it felt pointless somehow like you already sort of knew that he was possibly a dork on some level. And didn’t seem to care. So technically a win, since judging by your Insta…you were hot. And probably not dorky since you went skiing and went to brunch with actual people and willingly stood in group pictures.
He didn’t go skiing. He went to brunch when Mingyu dragged him along. He avoided photos…mostly. He was…fit…he posted gym selfies. Which you had gone through and spam-liked over the weekend at 2 AM. He hadn’t asked for details about that - he just stared at the notifications when he woke up. You’d hearted every single one. Even lying in bed, he’d felt how warm his cheeks had gotten - it hadn’t mattered that he posted thirst traps - it mattered that you’d looked at every thirst trap and tapped the ‘heart’ icon. And that you knew roughly what he looked like under all the fire gear. That was a prime reason he’d set his account to private - people noticing things, when he was generally pretty modest. It wasn’t like he wasn’t noticing you…he was just quiet about it.
Still, he had to avoid telling Mingyu things.
Maybe if the date went well, then he would share? No, that didn’t sound like him.
Besides, he’d searched you in general and saw your firm profile…and your LinkedIn and all the stuff that read like it was from another planet. It wasn’t bad to see, but he wondered if maybe he’d seem boring. Boring and dorky. Even if he was fit - those were maybe strikes against anything besides a few dates…maybe one hookup. He wasn’t like Mingyu - he couldn’t just flatly be positive - he needed to manage his expectations, even if messaging you was fun - he didn’t know what it would be like in person.
˚⟡˖ ࣪
You still weren’t fully certain how you’d found yourself sitting next to Fire Captain Choi Seungcheol in the stands at a Dodgers game. Besides luck and that he possibly had questionable standards.
They weren’t playing the Mets.
Regardless, when he texted details a few days before, he’d not so subtly suggested a different hat - something about trying to fit in.
You’d glowered at the screen - your face scrunching because you weren’t that obtuse. Besides, you didn’t even like baseball. Fit in, though? You’d fit in alright. Like it was even a challenge to begin with and not just something silly he’d said. You’d rolled your eyes at yourself as you got ready. You really knew how to take the bait and run with it…at least he’d know that part. And only mildly at your expense.
Because you had gone slightly insane borrowing a jersey from a co-worker. A classic away jersey, too, apparently, according to Greg, who sat in a different cubicle cluster. You weren’t fucking around.
Seungcheol had still smirked at you when he saw you. “Cute,” he’d muttered, walking you to his Jeep.
You had the slight urge to give him the finger…instead, you just rolled your eyes and shook your head because, in your own weird way, you’d tried to do exactly what he’d suggested…fit in.
And maybe you let him open your door for you.
It was a little high school.
But also a little cute since you did have to climb onto the side step. But mostly because he seemed kind of earnest about it - not like it was ironic door opening or he wanted to touch your ass. More like this was just the thing to do.
He had a Jeep-Jeep - all white…and your knowledge ended there. It was one of the ones that looked outdoorsy and had rubber ducks across the dashboard, filling the front window. You wanted to poke a duck, but had no clue what they meant - gang symbols for all you knew. Therefore, no clue if it was rude or playful to touch. But there was one pink one that you had the urge to hurl out the window when you were on West Sunset.
Instead, you busied yourself staring out the window and glancing at him while he was driving - you’d done some light insta stalking. And maybe some photo liking…but he definitely posted thirst traps.
Gym selfie thirst traps, too.
Rei had caught you ogling in the kitchen and classified him as ‘Damnnn - if you don’t fuck, I swear.’ You’d laughed, of course, even if you felt just a little flustered.
Because he was maybe, unquestionably sexy…a word you weren’t super fond of, but you still kept finding yourself scrolling idly through his photos for the last few days…weeks? years? Who knew anymore…
You’d been in bed the night before, scrolling, and you wondered if you’d ever been this interested in a man’s pecs before.
No. clearly.
You’d sighed loudly into the dark.
“He’s sexy,” you’d huffed to yourself, flopping around until you found the right position and the cool spot under your pillow. “He’s stupidly sexy.”
Still, it was a little difficult to reconcile the thirst traps where he was flexing to show his arms, cap pulled low over his eyes, and the guy next to you in the car toggling around for music that didn’t sound like it was part of a gym playlist.
So much trap rap…and EDM, and you kind of respected both - it was more his own reaction to the situation that was entertaining.
His need to hit skip quickly and repeatedly was palpable.
You tried not to grin since the cosmos and his phone seemed to be set on embarrassing him.
You wanted to tease him. Or at least wrestle the aux cord from him for his own good.
He’d finally settled for just turning it off when Cyndi Lauper started playing.
Time after time, indeed, you thought with a snort.
“Cute,” you muttered, staring out the window, smiling hard, trying to let him save face and almost succeeding.
But after a few minutes, you turned and grabbed the aux cord, plugging it into your phone and playing what you considered ‘music for company’, aka not the 8 Mile soundtrack, which you were certain lurked in his saves.
You weren’t embarrassed by house music, though. And you enjoyed the knowing smile that crossed his face - something like ‘of course,’ clearly populating his brain.
˚⟡˖ ࣪
You were glad it was at least a night game. The temps would drop to something tolerable. LA heat could be brutal, after all.
The problem was - you hated baseball.
It was so boring.
The games you went to as a kid were basically you and a cousin running riot around the stadium - or just leaving and grabbing the train to do something better.
But this was a date that you initiated, to be fair, and the seats were good, as in not absolute nosebleeds.
You were close to the dugout, actually. You could hear the bat crack the ball now and then. But it wasn’t like soccer with fan chants, and it definitely wasn’t like football with everyone pounding everyone else. It was like sitting in another era…where talkies were all the rage and the radio was maybe leading young girls down a path of immorality. You pinched your arm to keep from laughing at the bizarre mental tableau you were building.
And seeing Seungcheol in civilian wear was almost awkward. You had just assumed he only appeared in compression shirts and officers’ slacks 24/7, waiting for a call. But no. Jeans, a t-shirt that was not as revealing as his gymwear, plus he was wearing an oversized button-down over his t-shirt (unbuttoned, at least), and a cap that was just the right amount of worn-in. He looked like the actual fan.
While you looked like you were cosplaying as a rabid fan.
He looked like he was watching with interest.
And you looked like you were practicing as an extra for a zombie movie - glassy eyes and minimal movement.
Which was something…you gave him a sideways glance, knowing it would just confirm that ‘yes - that was his jawline’…and wasn’t it kind of amazing? Yes, you answered silently.
But the silence couldn’t last.
“So, are you one of those guys who's annoyed if I ask questions about the game?” You had to ask - sitting in total quiet on a date was too bizarre.
He turned, brows scrunched like he’d heard the question and was confused why he was being asked it. “No.”
Nodding, you watched the batter approaching home plate. “Okay - the batter - is he any good?”
Seungcheol shrugged. “He’s okay, I think,” he mumbled.
“You think?” you asked, skepticism dripping.
He cleared his throat. “I like watching because it’s fun - I don’t go all in on stats and stuff…”
You gasped and pushed his shoulder lightly. “But you know enough to dunk on my Mets hat?”
He nodded, turning to look at you again, eyes wide with certainty. “Yes - they suck - full stop.”
You giggled at the intensity. “But you don’t know stats…”
“Even the most casual of casual fans would know they suck.”
“Mmhm, coming from a casual fan…” you muttered.
He shook his head. “I’m not that casual.”
You sighed and glanced at the Jumbotron as it flashed stats and cut to the field. You’d literally never listened to anything at a game as a kid, except the heckling - that was fun. You knew what a home run was…that was technically something.
“So, can I ask something?” he asked, voice light and interrupting the stampede of your own thoughts.
You nodded. “Yeah, it’s a date - questions are sort of the point,” you added.
“You wondered if you could ask sports questions?”
You huffed. “Yeah, because experience tells me men don’t like being bothered during their sport watching.”
“Date rules don’t trump sport watching in your world?”
You paused to consider and finally shook your head. “No, if anything it means sit back and prepare to be ignored for like two hours.”
“Wait - timeout - you’re telling me that your experience is being ignored on dates like this, and you were like ‘let’s go to a game’?” he asked, a small grin appearing.
Oh, no - he couldn’t be making mental leaps like whatever he was. “Okay, before you start thinking some boy thing—”
“What are boy things?” he interrupted.
You groaned. “You know, just like before you start telling yourself I was just so into you I’ll sit through a miserable activity or some similar macho nonsense—”
“You are literally sitting and dressed seriously for a thing you don’t like.”
You pursed your lips. “Be that as it may - okay - just accept that I may have a weird competitive streak at times that outruns anything else, and you were so smug—”
“I wasn’t smug - I was on duty—”
“Umhm, and judging how I dressed in a panic. And mentioning that I should fit in…”
He laughed. “I – yeah, fine, the yellow snow boots were something…and wearing that hat would be so random…”
You crossed your arms in a faux-sulk. “I love those boots - they’re technically Moon Boots, by the way, which are very cool. And I already explained the hat…”
He nodded, glancing at you, clearly smiling as he examined your state. “Fine, if we’re saying embarrassing things—”
“I’m not embarrassed about my footwear…”
He smirked. “Can I say my thing?”
You nodded, pressing a finger to your lips like you were in Kindergarten and needed to prove you’d be quiet.
He gave a soft shake of his head. “I didn’t really think the date would get this far,” he said, voice flat.
You felt your brows scrunch. “Wait - far as in?” You had to clarify.
He shrugged again. “I sort of thought you would cancel, well, no, actually I didn’t think you would call…”
Your brows went up.
“Why?” you asked, voice a little sharp.
He hummed, gaze flicking back to the game. “You seem a little out of my lane, I guess,” he mumbled.
Your brows scrunched together. “How?”
He looked back at the game for a moment. “Your LinkedIn reads very intensely, I guess,” he said with a small laugh.
You immediately felt heat in your face - you hadn’t even considered stalking LinkedIn. But you fully knew how your profile sounded…very accolade-heavy, and then there was your job that sounded oh-so-serious and was basically bullshit that you hated waking up for.
You nodded. “Right,” you mumbled, chewing your lip lightly, “sounds like the online stalking was mutual, then?”
“Seems like it…I just didn’t ‘heart’ things.”
You felt the way your head jerked at that and forced yourself to stare straight ahead. So what if you had hearted things?
A quiet settled between you and him. Not awkward silence, exactly. More like the normal quiet that sometimes comes in a conversation. You felt his knee brush yours - you watched for a moment to see if he pulled away…one Mississippi…two Mississippi…three Mississippi…you couldn’t help glancing every few seconds to see if it was still happening - the actual feeling of denim against your skin wasn’t enough - you needed the visual.
The silence didn’t last.
“So, besides thinking I’m smug, why come to a game you don’t like?” He asked, glancing at you, knee still touching yours.
You flushed - you needed to say something real. “Uh, honestly?”
“Yes, ideally.”
You grinned. “Right - ideally - uh, because I met you in person…and apps are so weird, so I decided I’d only talk to someone if I met them in the wild - plus you didn’t seem offended by me, generally, which is always a plus….”
He hummed again. The sound was soft, like he was registering the response for its quality.
“Apps are weird,” he agreed.
You nodded. “Right? Like, who wants to type a brick about themselves?”
“Everyone I work with,” he admitted.
You glanced with interest. “You?”
You watched the slight pink appear higher on his cheeks. “Not by choice,” he offered, looking away quickly.
You grinned, immediately opening your phone to do recon…post-recon, you wondered to yourself.
He was easy to find. You started to read his bio, but he was also sitting next to you. You bit your lip lightly, navigating around to your own profile, which you’d never completed.
An idea came to you, and you clicked into the questionnaire. “Okay, so instead of me creeping on what I feel like was perhaps a group effort for you,” you mumbled, glancing to see the way he was pointedly staring at the game, “maybe we go through some of the insane questions on my unfinished profile?” you offered, almost sounding excited.
It was at least distracting. And you found out that he really liked his job and that he lived in the fire station when he was on call. “Really? Don’t you miss your bed, though?” you’d leaned slightly closer, like it was the literal most interesting fact in the world.
He’d glanced at you and rolled his eyes. “Yes - sometimes, but it’s not bad,” he added.
You nodded, humming. “So what else do you do when you’re there?”
“Test stuff, repair things, go to meetings…” he glanced at you then as if to ask if he needed to go on.
“Do you commute?”
“Umhm.”
“Right.” You glanced at his knee that was still touching yours.
You didn’t really pay attention to the game. And even he didn’t seem to want to sit through the double-triple-heptagonal overtime. You’d followed him out of the stands and ended up looping your arm through his as you walked through the milling groups of people waiting for the bathrooms or picking up food. You’d squeezed closer to him whenever you felt like you might collide with some oncoming person.
And then you were finally in the massive parking lot, arm still looped through his as you walked to his parking space.
You were mostly glad to be out of the ballpark. You sighed when you were back in his car, almost happy to see the ducks staring at you in greeting.
You still didn’t poke them.
You listened to the car start, feeling the ambient heat wrestle with the first waves of the AC. “I liked the Cyndi Lauper,” you mumbled, staring out the window at some guy with face paint.
“Who doesn’t?” He asked, getting situated.
You were still watching the face-painter. “Lunatics?” you mused.
The ride home was easy.
It was late - traffic was almost nothing.
And then you were parked in the driveway. You would have normally popped out of a guy’s car so fast.
But you didn’t.
You stayed in the seat, feeling the weird liminal space of being in his Jeep - you were outside but also not...
“What’s with the ducks?” You couldn’t keep it in.
He glanced at them. “Uh, kind of a dumb Jeep thing - you see someone else, and you leave a duck and collect the ones people leave you.” He answered.
You stared for a moment. “That’s so…wholesome,” you sighed, turning to look at him.
He nodded, reaching to poke a duck back into its proper place.
You waited for him to turn back to you again. One-banana, two-banana, you counted internally.
“Seungcheol,” you whispered like his name was some secret phrase.
He looked. “Hmm?”
“Could we like maybe go out again?” you asked, gently nudging the duck butt of the pink duck.
He watched you for a moment, his intense baby-cow eyes on you, and nodded. “Yeah,” he confirmed.
You pursed your lips, pausing for the drama. “Like soon, maybe?”
“Should I bother trying to be cool and wait like two days or whatever to answer?” He asked, a smile building.
You tilted your head. “Please be joking,” you muttered.
He smiled - fucking dimples that did weird things to your brain appearing on cue. “Yeah, I’m—”
You cut him off, leaning across the console to kiss him.
It could have been quick. But you’d been thinking about it since the third inning.
His lips were warm - your fingers and hand pressed gently to his cheek. You weren’t expecting him to deepen it, to nip lightly at your lower lip - you breathed harder when he did, leaning closer, opening for him. Your fingers tangled in his short black hair - his hand came to your jaw, guiding you, tracing along the side of your neck and down to the center of your collarbones, until you needed to breathe, anyway.
You didn’t exactly want to stop.
You swallowed hard and gave his hair a gentle tug and got rewarded with a smirk and the reappearance of his dimples. You wanted to climb into the back seat…so high school of you.
You bit your tongue gently, deciding this shouldn’t be that - not yet, anyway.
“Message me?” you asked, as you gently poked his left dimple.
“Yeah.” It was so simple - the way he gazed at you as he answered, his voice breathy - the way he didn’t push for more, even though you hadn’t let go, even though his fingers were still tracing just under your collarbone, teasing the neckline of the jersey.
You pressed the bridge of your nose to his, letting your lips barely graze his before you pulled back and shifted back to your own seat.
And then you had to get out. Because staying would have been a weird choice.
You were almost inside when you stopped to wave to him - then you slipped inside, messaging him as you walked upstairs.
[y/n]
ur sweet and it was fun
[y/n]
let me kno u get home pls
[choi.s]
home now it was fun ttyl?
[y/n]
you better i know where u wrk
[choi.s]
another threat?
[y/n]
maybe first one worked out pretty well 💅 andd it would be fun to see you come down a pole…
✦•┈๑⋅… 4 …·๑┈•✦
Cleaning the mess hall was not Seungcheol’s favorite, but it meant he could keep thinking about his date without Mingyu’s interjections. Not that they were terrible, exactly. He just wanted it to be in his brain for a little while longer - just him with the details of how good you looked in a jersey - the most bored super fan in the world. He had to pause wiping down a table and force the smile that was forming into something more neutral.
He couldn’t walk around looking happy - someone would notice. It wasn’t just Mingyu who tried to set him up. Soonyoung had once stared at him from across the table at lunch and suggested his own sister…the same sister who assumed any calls from Soonyoung were butt-dials.
He needed to look stern. He tried thinking about something serious…a graph? Graphs were usually serious…and boring. Graphs didn’t leave their knees touching his. Graphs would not have put up with any of that - graphs would have clutched pearls and called him ‘forward’…you hadn’t, though. You’d pressed your knee slightly to his…your knees were nice too, and your legs…he should be thanking whoever invented shorts.
“Dude!”
Seungcheol turned around. “What? Sorry…”
Mingyu grinned and pushed Soonyoung’s arm. “Told you - he finally ended his drought.”
“No, he looks spaced out and dopey even when he hasn’t gotten laid,” Soonyoung said, voice matter-of-fact.
Seungcheol glared at Mingyu for a moment…he’d clearly told Soonyoung. He wasn’t supposed to tell anyone about the fact that there had been a date. Mingyu was taller, but that had never really stopped Seungcheol from tackling him before or putting him in a hold that would make him tap out.
Mingyu held up his hands. “He noticed the follow on Insta - I was under duress - I swear,” he said it as he was slowly moving to stand behind Soonyoung. Like Soonie was a serious block.
Seungcheol started to circle the table. Mingyu jumped slightly. “I didn’t mean to—”
“Who else did you accidentally tell?”
“No one…basically,” Mingyu reassured, walking backwards, putting a long table between himself and Seungcheol.
Seungcheol shook his head, not accepting that little ‘basically’ Mingyu added.
“Jeonghan knows - he thinks you have a plus one,” Soonyoung said, stepping out of Seungcheol’s way.
Seungcheol’s eyes widened. “The fuck?”
Mingyu shrugged. “It just…we were in chat, and everyone noticed the hot girl follow—” and then Mingyu was running.
Seungcheol scrunched his face. “I know where you sleep!”
Mingyu flipped him off as he kept going. Seungcheol rolled his eyes. “He better fucking run home.”
He turned to find Soonyoung still there. “Okay, but for real, inquiring minds and all…” Soonyoung said with a crazy forced smile…like that was convincing anyone.
Seungcheol shook his head. “No. Fuck off - aren’t you supposed to be washing something?”
“Did it. Wrote a book about it. Sorry, but Mingyu told us about the toast and the hat and—”
“So, he ran his mouth? I don’t have to corroborate any of it. In fact, you all - we’re not friends for the rest of shift - I’m the captain on duty - fuck off somewhere.” He crossed his arms and did his best ‘eat shit’ face.
And Soonyoung just walked closer until he reached up and squished Seungcheol’s cheeks. “I know that works on the recruits, but seriously,” he squished Seungcheol’s cheek harder, “I’ve known you too long for it to really have the same effect. Besides, you’ll spill the beans eventually and be annoyingly cute and shit - so fine, I’ve got an audiobook...” he said it like it was the biggest fucking deal to be listening to some murder mystery while he vacuumed.
But he did finally stop squishing Seungcheol’s cheeks like the most intense eomma on the planet. “There’s a second date, though, right?”
Seungcheol just stared in response, eyebrow arched in annoyance because Soonie couldn’t actually be fishing for fucking details. Apparently, some things still worked on Soonyoung since he backed away then. “I’ll just assume the stony face means ‘yes’…” he declared as he walked away.
Seungcheol didn’t care, but he checked the gc. Why was all his shit somehow always in there, he wondered, scrolling…fucking Mingyu.
He slept off and on that night - no emergencies, at least - and left for home the next morning. He’d mostly not talked to his friends until the 0800 shift swap. But he also knew it was kind of dumb to be mad at them when they were just happy for him - happy idiots. He’d finally broken when they were playing pool against each other. He hadn’t told them about knees touching or anything, but he’d admitted that there had been a kiss. And it was like being attacked by two oversized dogs with way too many questions about what kind of kiss it was. What was the pressure like? How long did it lasttt? Where were your hands?!
Fucking idiots. His idiots.
He was sitting in the parking lot now, though. Costco. His own version of a zombie apocalypse…too crowded, everyone for themselves, shoving, crying…nightmare stuff.
He felt his phone buzz…you. You, whose day was just starting. You who looked really sexy in shorts and a jersey and had definitely made out with him…still talking to him…the same him who’d still been hard about the makeout when he’d gotten home after the game. He’d had the briefest, tiniest urge to send you a dick pic after the game and something about it being your fault.
Why did he feel like you would be down for a dick pic? Constant flow of messages? But you hated online dating…but you didn’t seem to hate him. And he still wasn’t sure what that kind of photo would do. He’d snapped a bathroom selfie the day before, after lifting…shirt up, abs and arms. He smirked, knowing you were hating work at that very moment…his thumb hovered over the photo…you’d literally liked every single thirst trap…this was thirstier?
Then the message popped up.
[y/n]
so jealous ur at costco during the day
He snorted, closing his eyes, letting it really sink in that you were talking about his Costco run. He leaned forward, letting his forehead rest on the steering wheel. He was going to send a thirst trap to someone who wanted to talk about Costco…No. Shit. He couldn’t, right?
[choi.s]
u mean the most calustrophic store on earth?
[y/n]
gots to love it
[choi.s]
i don’t tho dread it is more accurate
[y/n]
that’s the beauty stock up
[choi.s]
i have like one closet
[y/n]
just be more efficient
[choi.s]
is this where i say smth dumb abt efficiency and get to see u again
[y/n]
you dun have to say anything dumb i already asked
[choi.s]
right u keep doing that
[y/n]
be faster next time
[choi.s]
what’s faster for u asking for a thrid date now
[y/n]
i do like like a schedule
[choi.s]
dinner?
[y/n]
when second date or third
[choi.s]
when says grl w worst schedule ever 2nd
[y/n]
when asks grl who will try very hard to make it work even if slightly dead
[choi.s]
tell me when works
[y/n]
thurs??
[choi.s]
yes
[y/n]
ayeeee sweet - date 2 dinner consisting of 1 dead grl & 1 pretty boy
[choi.s]
date 3
[y/n]
let me check
[choi.s]
srsly?
[y/n]
i mean...yeah
˚⟡˖ ࣪
He’d made it through Costco and back home. He shoved the cold things in his fridge quickly, and went upstairs to get Kkuma. He didn’t like to be late picking her up after his shifts. Mrs. Lee was already way too nice for keeping Kkuma as often as she did - she was practically a second home for the little white fuzz ball.
Precious white fuzz ball, he corrected himself as he caught his hand on the bannister leading to the second floor, smooth wood gliding under his hand.
He knew Mrs. Lee loved her “Kkuma time.” She even took Kkuma to the dog groomer sometimes - she’d gifted Kkuma a rain jacket for walks and little knitted doggie sweaters when the weather started to shift - “she needs some extra warmth.” Which, they all went along with the bow clips Seungcheol bought to keep Kkuma’s bangs out of her eyes...he winced at the door - he maybe did too much as a dog-Dad.
He knocked on the heavy wooden door - not his normal ‘official’ knuckle rapping, the soft, polite knocks of a neighbor. He appreciated the sound of knocking against old wood, though - it was one of the nice things about living in a building from like the 1920s. Wooden doors and noisy pipes and weirdly good layouts.
The door swung open to reveal Mrs. Lee, already up, awake, and dressed, wearing a massive sun visor that made her have to literally tilt her head fully skyward to see him.
“Seungcheol - we’re going for walkies now, you go home and rest,” she said in that clipped way that always made him smile.
“I’m home, though - I can take her.” He didn’t reach for Kkuma’s lead. He knew when he wasn’t going to win with Mrs. Lee. He still made his attempts, though.
“Ah, we already decided, walkies now, and then after some dilly-dally time in the park, we’ll find Dad, right, Kkuma?” She disappeared completely from his view as she looked down to confer with Seungcheol’s very pampered dog. He nodded to the visor as Mrs. Lee continued cooing over Kkuma, knowing Mrs. Lee and Kkuma would do the half-mile to the park on Golden Ave. and do some route through on the trails he could never exactly replicate on his own, much to Kkuma’s chagrin.
He still felt like he was imposing. “What if I go with you?”
The visor was suddenly up, and Mrs. Lee was staring at him with concern. “Don’t you need sleep? Besides, we have fun.”
“I know - I know, but I like the park too…” And he already felt bad for being late, even if this was his shopping day. He tried to stick to his schedule.
She seemed to weigh whether he actually liked the park and finally nodded. “Okay. Fine. We’ll have girls time another morning.”
And then they were off at the particular breakneck pace that only LA county crosswalk signals managed to slow. It was brisk as fuck. And she nudged him whenever he started to check his phone when they were stalled at a street corner.
“This is walkies time - check your phone at home - you know, where there are not idiot drivers who pay no attention to pedestrians - you’ll be a pancake, and then it will just be me and Kkuma.”
He nodded and smiled and put his phone away. “Sorry,” he mumbled, catching up to her.
She hit his arm when he started to reach for his phone again at the next crosswalk - he knew your messages would pile up - he’d have to back-read…
“So who is she?” Mrs. Lee asked, voice full of certainty.
“It could be a he…” he didn’t know why he’d said that.
“Maybe, but I’ve only heard about ‘shes’ so far.”
He snorted. “Yeah, I – am I that obvious?”
“I like to think I know you somewhat, but you do get twitchy with your phone when there’s someone - and you’re extra twitchy - is it serious?”
She was worse than Mingyu and Soonyoung. He would take ‘describe the pressure of the kiss’ for $800 now. “Uh, I don’t know, actually - we’ve only been on one date so far…”
“But you’re still talking away? How many days ago was the date?”
“Almost a week.” He hadn’t even had to think about it.
She looked up at him with her knowing smile. “You like this one.”
He couldn’t lie - he didn’t need to. “I do—”
“But you’re thinking some silly thing that probably has never even crossed her mind?” she asked, interrupting any qualifiers Seungcheol might have given.
He could have rolled his eyes, but that would be rude…and Mrs. Lee probably had a point. They were already crossing into the park. “She just has a different kind of job,” he said it like it was a question - he wasn’t even sure exactly what his hang-up was at this point.
“What is she?” She barely paused before answering her own question. “A stripper? They make money, too…”
He laughed, covering his mouth quickly. “No - no…like corporate stuff.”
“Oh, she makes good money then?” she asked, rubbing her thumb against her fingers like someone from a film talking about ‘moola.’
“Probably.” He could only guess. He didn’t even know what number of dates were required for things like finances to be discussed.
“Good for her. What’s the problem? You make money, she makes money, buy a nice place and fill it with babies, then I can spoil them and Kkuma.”
“I don’t think we’re that far along—”
“You never know, maybe she’s already decided. I decided before my husband - he was like you, dumb ideas about things - I fixed that, though. We were married for 42 happy years,” she said it with a soft sigh and a smile.
Seungcheol grinned, fully certain that Mrs. Lee had fixed every problem that had come her way. Besides, he’d had dinner with her before, and he’d seen all the photos of the happy couple that decorated the apartment. “Things can happen, though,” he mumbled.
She shrugged. “Maybe, but you should be confident - you’re a nice boy - you keep a nice place - you have a job that keeps you in shape…those things matter more than you think.”
He shrugged, toeing the grass. “I met her because her fire alarm went off,” he admitted, glancing at the small figure next to him.
“Was it her fault?”
“Her roommate’s cooking experiment,” he said, remembering the toast.
“Sounds like she’s the responsible one, then.”
He hadn’t even thought about that. No, he’d been debating whether a gym selfie was right…he hummed.
“She asked me out.” He could feel the slight tug of a smile at the corner of his mouth.
“She wasn’t messing about then.”
He smiled. “We went to see the Dodgers, and she doesn’t even like baseball,” he said with a smile and shake of his head.
“Hmm, she’ll go do something she doesn’t like to spend time with you - doesn’t sound so bad so far.”
“She said not to think that—”
“That means you should.” Mrs. Lee patted his arm. “And she won’t disappear because you take time to go on walkies with Kkuma – you know how I know?” She looked up at him again and made a vague swirling motion with her hand like she was plucking the answer from behind his ear - for the drama, he knew. “Because your phone keeps making that little buzz-BUZZ sound, even I can hear it - you’ll go home to 30 messages,” she said with a smile, patting his arm again.
“It could be work,” he mumbled.
“They’d call.”
✦•┈๑⋅… 5 …·๑┈•✦
It was Thursday. You’d made it. You’d made it through most of the day anyway. And you hadn’t cancelled your date. Which was…you were a little concerned. Not because you didn’t want to go. You really, really did. It was literally what you kept reminding yourself of, that and triple-checking your messages that it was definitely today and not some other Thursday.
It was more like the idea of going home to locate an outfit that wasn’t a set of matching PJs was starting to feel less and less doable. You’d even had one of the gross ginger root shots - vile, by the way. And only semi-effective. You tried to shake it off - it was tapas! Tapas didn’t call for three hours of hair and makeup…and Seungcheol didn’t seem like the kind of guy who would be looking for that on a Thursday night anyway.
You couldn’t look like shit.
But jeans were probably fine. And you were leaving on time, even if you had to sneak out, which you didn’t think you’d need to, but you did take a few trips to hide in the stairwell when you thought someone might be approaching to ask for something extra. You left your sweater on your chair, though - the universal for ‘she’s still here - check back.’
You were currently on a stairwell sojourn, drinking a coffee from the break room and trying to mentally picture what non-work clothes were clean…and cute. There were jeans, and maybe an oversized rugby shirt? That was more chill vibes…less ‘I’ve had 32 shots of espresso so far this week.’ Your heart rate was basically the same as a hummingbird’s. You had this cute top that wrapped somehow, but that was giving like spring day or something. You looked up the restaurant again - it was cute and a little more sleek. Jeans and a blue Oxford shirt - white undershirt…shoes? You mentally swiped left on several pairs…you had these mules you’d been wanting to wear, so maybe those. And your hair was in good shape, so some touch-ups to your makeup and a quick wardrobe change were probably all you needed.
You were taking the metro anyway. You were not staring down any level of traffic. He had the day off. He’d offered to meet somewhere near you, but you hadn’t wanted that - you’d already done the date that was nearer to you.
You pressed your lips into a thin line - what if the date was very near him, you wondered. Would it be weird? Would he say if it were…you had no idea. You were meeting at his apartment and walking to the restaurant. Maybe it was time to see if you were already going to be disappointing for him? Rip off that particular band-aid earlier instead of trying to hold out and appear cool…
You hit dial and waited…there were more rings than normal. It was an Instagram call, though. The things people generally assumed were mistakes because they were. “Hi?” Ugh, his voice - so hot.
“Hi,” you said, checking over the railing to see if anyone else had popped in.
“We should swap numbers,” he said abruptly.
You smiled. “Yeah, it does feel a little fake, right?”
“A little…but what’s up?”
You hummed. “I’m that transparent, huh - uhhh,” you sighed and glanced around at the weird gray and orange walls. “Can I ask a favor?”
“You can ask anything…”
You felt the stupid grin that created. “Right, I can - um, tonight, could we maybe do take-away and just like hang out?” You scrunched your eyes closed, waiting to see if there was some massive sigh of annoyance. You were so used to the massive, long sighs.
“You mean not go out?”
“Yeah…that.” You held your breath slightly.
“So no loud people and no standing in line…”
You brightened slightly - he didn’t sound disappointed. “Umhm.”
“Yeah, we can do that.”
You smiled, laughing softly. “You’d rather stay in?”
“Almost always.”
You were still grinning. “Cute.”
“Usually I get ‘boring,’ but I’ll take ‘cute.’ Do you want me to meet you at the metro stop? I could place the order from there…”
You leaned against the wall, grinning harder somehow - of course, he would meet you at your stop - that was simply what one did in Seungcheol-world. “Yeah, that – that would be really nice,” you answered, voice softer.
There was a soft pause. “So good day?”
You scrunched your face. “Okay day,” you muttered, picking at your sleeve.
“‘Okay’ isn’t bad, though, right?”
“Right.”
Another beat of quiet, just him on the other end of the line, and you in the stairwell.
“Tell me when the metro does the loop at Downtown?”
It started to sink in - he was really going to meet you, like be waiting for you. “I will.”
“Good.”
Another small beat that you could have counted in banana increments but didn’t.
“Byeee.”
“Bye.”
You ended the call and groaned - he was lucky you hadn’t said ‘bye’ like five more times. You watched his message bubble pop up…and his actual number appear. You shook your head softly - disbelief washing through your brain that he was still sweet. Changes like not going out had been major issues before. It was nice that it wasn’t. Really, really, really, infinity times nice. And you’d still wear the same basic outfit - maybe the rugby shirt was back in the running, though.
You added his number and messaged him so he had yours. He was right that it felt less fake to have actually - finally - exchanged numbers. You watched the little heart react appear on your number. Had you maybe made his day by not wanting to go out? Maybe you’d finally found an introvert…you did tend to look at MBTIs on apps…and always pick the ‘E’ types, even though you were always annoyed when they were constantly ‘E’-ing. Maybe you needed an ‘I’ - maybe you were an ‘I.’ You searched for a quick MBTI quiz as you walked back to your desk.
No reason you couldn’t check.
˚⟡˖ ࣪࣪
You’d managed to leave at exactly 5:00 PM. And traffic was…whatever. It was more when you got home and needed to change that things became a little annoying. You knew roughly what you wanted to wear, like you had it narrowed - it was just a quick change. Except no, it wasn’t because Rei was in a mood to follow you around like a lost puppy from the moment you entered the house.
“Do you really have to go out?” she whined.
You’d found your jeans - now the shirt debate - rugby shirt or Oxford shirt…one had, well, no, they both had some buttons. And you were largely ignoring your roommate. She whined often, if not daily, about something. To your mind, it was maybe that she literally lived the kind of charmed life that was practically a satire of itself. And really, by ‘charmed’ you meant her Dad was richer than ‘as fuck’ could even start to describe. Which was fine mostly - you’d been roommates since your first year of college - year two had just meant that she invited you to live off campus at ‘one of’ her Dad’s places and you paid practically nothing. It’d been amazing because you had just a little bit more than nothing as a student - so it mathed.
It had mathed less and less since then. Especially on a night like this.
“Yes, I want to go, so chill out.” You’d already pulled on a white cropped tank top and your jeans of choice before she’d even barged in…you had also maybe taken a moment to pick cuter panties and a semi-matching bralette, which were details you could and possibly would take to your grave.
“Oh, come on - didn’t you already do the nasty? Why go all the way to Long Beach? It can’t be that good,” she said, her voice husky enough in that almost movie star way that came so close to making it feel like cute banter from a friend, instead of something totally asinine.
You rounded on her. “The nasty? Are you 13? And a boy?”
She shrugged. “For real, come onnn, stay in - I have weed and drinks, and there’s a million Love Island episodes…I reelly should have gotten that call back,” she concluded, doing the thing where she started dragging out her vowels weirdly to sound ‘posh’ before she flopped onto your bed.
You were fairly certain she hadn’t gotten the call back because she’d gone to the casting call not just with a hangover, but still literally drunk. Even Love Island casting had limits, apparently. Or just an insurance issue.
“Look, I just think that it was a laugh and now you should come back to normal life - stay in or go out with me because there is a party tonight and it’s supposed to be like everyone - EVERYone - is going - so you should go too…” she was still lying on your bed, messing with your duvet.
“What so I can be your boring friend in the corner?” That sounded harsher than you wanted, but you also really wanted to figure out your shirt problem…the Oxford looked good, almost sexy because you could control the number of buttons...
“You’re not boring - not that boring, anyway - but you’re my wing…girl, come onnn, don’t make me go alone,” she pleaded again.
You shook your head. “I’m busy tonight.” You were busy almost every night, actually. She’d never seemed to notice that.
“No, you’re heading off towards a night of additional boredom for some reason I can’t work out.”
You were going with the Oxford shirt with a white tank underneath - you headed to the bathroom, touched up your makeup, brushed your teeth…anything else? You stared around. Nothing. Still nothing. Shirt could go on now. No danger of getting stuff on it…
You walked out from the bathroom, grabbed your shirt and bag and decided quickly on some light pink Doc Martens because…walking - fuck - you needed cute socks - you sighed…grabbed some white socks with a cherry pattern, cuffed the hems of your jeans so you didn’t look like a - whatever the fuck - you didn’t care - you needed to catch the metro, not edit your internal monologue.
You stood up and found Rei slightly too close to you. This was getting fucking bonkers.
“Look - I don’t know how to tell you this,” you said it almost gently, as you grabbed her hands and held them like you reelly gave a shit in the moment - she was technically an old friend. “I like him - so stop being mean, and call someone else, okay? Love you, but seriously, I am busy,” you said it all in your best client service tone and with roughly the same forced smile.
And then you walked out.
She definitely followed you and continued like you had barely spoken. Wasn’t she the one who wanted you to start dating? You were out the door - it didn’t matter.
But you downloaded an apartment finder app as you found a spot on the metro car. It was probably time to think about finding your own place - not just time, more akin to long overdue.
You swiped around the map looking for places that looked interesting - none of the giant all-inclusive places - that was definitely not you…you wanted something that felt like it had some history, at least. Or just didn’t look like a cube of cubes, maybe?
Seungcheol had sent some menus that you swapped to. He recommended any of the places, leaving it up to you. You saw a curry and felt your mouth water slightly…he was serious, right?
You messaged for a few minutes about an order at the Curry House. And you figured out that he was serious - he did like it - just nothing super spicy for him.
A fact which you filed away as you heard the bing-bong for Downtown and messaged ‘at downtown.’ And feeling slightly shit…but you left that out. If you waited until you weren’t tired or weren’t stressed, you’d basically be a nun before you could see him again.
Still, it wasn’t the most auspicious start.
˚⟡˖ ࣪࣪
But you hadn’t wanted some Insta-perfect night, anyway. Kind of the opposite.
Plus, when you glanced out the window and saw him literally waiting, it was - you couldn’t help the dopey grin your face was suddenly arranging itself into…at least he was also wearing jeans and this like knit sweater that was like the nice boy version of his gym shirts. And you were thinking of all the thirst traps…seriously, his upper body, generally, was enough to send you spiraling, but why did his jeans show off his ass so well?…you wondered if it was too soon to touch it.
Probably.
Probably too soon to reveal that side of yourself…the absolute horn-dog side.
Besides, he was waiting. And didn’t look impatient or annoyed. You almost waved like a loon but tamped it down. It wasn’t like you’d traveled the world or been to war and only conversed via letters from the literal trenches…it’d been like a week. Even if he was looking kind of extra gorgeous by just showing up.
You worked your way towards the doors of the train car and walked out quickly in case any tourists had the idea to stampede. You walked to him, giving a small wave as you crossed your arms against the gentle wind that had started to pick up. He had his phone open, ready to order, just like he’d said.
You made it to him. “Hey,” you offered, still trying to control the stupid grin that wanted to take over your face - why was he so - whatever he was, you wondered as you noticed the wind barely tossing his hair. Thank the sky gods you were still at least wearing sunglasses and preserving some semblance of calm as you watched the insane display that Mother Nature was putting on for you. At least until he leaned in and kissed your cheek quickly before returning your ‘hey’ as he leaned away.
You smiled then. It was – exactly what you needed. You moved closer and looped your arm through his like you had when you’d been leaving the game the last time. “So was that like how you greet your Grandma and I should ignore it or—”
“No, it was like I – it felt right?” he asked, the slightest glint of concern somewhere deep in his eyes.
You nodded and squeezed his upper arm. “So which way is food?” you asked, voice soft - you leaned on his shoulder, confirming the kiss was right…because leaning on him also felt right.
It wasn’t a long walk. Maybe ten minutes. Which was just enough time for Seungcheol to decide that it was better if his arm was around your waist and that kissing you quickly on the temple while waiting for the lights at crosswalks to change was completely normal.
They were small kisses. Chaste pecks that meant you kept smiling and everything else from the day seemed like it had happened in another lifetime. You’d taken the metro and exited into some new territory not previously known, and there was still curry.
The line was quick.
But you still leaned on his shoulder, wondering slightly if you were about to have curry and maybe pick up where you’d left off? Not a bad idea…or maybe eat delicious curry and poke around his bathroom and then make out like horny teens once you established that he knew what Q-tips were - so many tantalizing options. You were spoiled for choice.
Besides, the walk back to his place was a bit calmer - you were heading away from other people, plus he had precious cargo now…curry and butter chicken and daal. None of that stopped your hand finding his free one - your fingers lacing easily with his as you walked a bit faster, which only made him laugh because ‘you don’t know the building.’ Which…fair. You didn’t.
“So tell me if I’m hot or cold,” you offered, walking past a crosswalk near an apartment complex, feeling him pull you back.
“Freezing cold,” he said with a smile, pulling your hand closer to his side as he watched for the light to change.
You groaned. “So where is it?”
“Close - like the next block, but it’s a shorter building—”
“Oh, shorter?” You couldn’t help being curious. Almost no one talked about being in a shorter building.
He nodded. “There’s ivy and stuff,” he added.
“In LA?”
He was still staring at the light, and you were staring at him, watching the smile that teased the corner of his mouth. “Well, in Long Beach there’s ivy,” he clarified, tearing his eyes away from the light for a moment, his smirk definitely teasing.
You had the urge to bite his shoulder in retaliation. Instead, you squeezed his hand and started off across the street at a faster pace the moment the light changed. It was one hundred percent faster than you had any business going. But you had two things to look for, though - it was shorter, and there was ivy - it’d stick out like a sort of big green thumb.
And it did…in the best way.
You paused when you found it, staring at the short brick building with the surprising cornices and the almost completely ivy-covered front…it even trailed to one side. It was just sandwiched between these two boring concrete blobs. And it had this massive wooden main door, and balconies that included fire escapes…it wasn’t what you’d imagined at all. You’d kind of assumed something cube-y - guys usually went with cube-y…past guys, old guys, not-Seungcheol-guys. They all liked the cube, especially when the cube had a basketball court listed as an amenity. This place, though, was the kind of place you loved finding, not just leftover from another era, but that someone had bothered to keep.
You were possibly enthralled. He had to pull your hand to get you moving again.
“Come on,” he mumbled, leading you down the side of the building to a set of covered side entrances with a privacy gate. You tried to imagine what search prompt he entered into which app to find this place. You’d seen guesthouses, cube apartments, and absolutely nothing was this interesting.
He managed to get you inside, which was maybe a mistake - in that once your shoes were off, you padded around behind him, staring at everything, especially a large Shinchan plush that peeked out from the edge of what looked like a loft. You glanced at it as you passed by to go to the kitchen with him…you would find out why the Shinchan seemed to be hiding. But also, how did a studio have a small kitchen, a full bathroom, and a washer and dryer at the back?
Otherwise, the standouts were the very gorgeous cognac brown leather sofa in the main room, the use of lamps instead of the Big Light™, and the fact that there was hardwood throughout that was somehow highlighted by the rug choices - saturated colors on a sort of warm pecan floor. It was coherent - and there were hand towels and soap dispensers. It was like a functioning human occupied the space and had tastes and preferences.
Brave new world, indeed.
You used the bathroom just to admire the fact that the soap dispenser had soap in it…but it also made the Shinchan more appealing. Because Seungcheol had only gestured to the loft and said it was the bedroom…but why was Shinchan out of the way, you wondered as you breathed in the lavender hand soap before rinsing and drying your hands. You stayed for a moment and checked out the small collection of face things and some cologne and one small framed piece of art that reminded you of something sort of like graffiti…and then you left before it was clear you were an absolute snoop of the highest order.
But the entire apartment was certainly planting a little hopeful seed in your mind that you could find a place - maybe you just needed to ask the person who’d managed to find this little gem…he was literally standing next to you, unpacking curry and asking whether you wanted a bowl or a plate.
“You have both?” you asked, not even trying to hide your smirk.
He rolled his eyes. “Are you also going to be shocked when I have actual silverware and not just a drawer of leftover takeaway spoons and forks?”
You nodded. “Naturally - I’ll fall over if you have glassware, too.”
He shook his head, smiling and reaching for a cupboard to open it - water glasses, juice glasses, and mugs - oh my!
You laughed at the display. “Oh, Choi Seungcheol, you know how to make a girl weak,” you mumbled and kissed his cheek. You were surprised when he turned, his lips catching yours gently - gently for a moment - gently until you felt his arm around your waist and the kiss deepening. He pulled away so slowly.
“All my pots and pans have their original lids, too,” he whispered, voice low, the slightest waggle of his brows.
“So sexy,” you answered, finally taking a bowl from him and helping yourself to the lovely curry and rice and naan that looked like it might reset your biological age to childhood.
You ate in the living room at the table in front of the sofa.
It was comfortable and easy. And the music he picked was markedly different - he’d asked about music vaguely a few days before and got you to admit that you did like jazz.
You stared at the phone for a moment, wondering what else he’d gently wangled out of you…the sneaky sneak. It was another tally under the column of ‘he is sexy,’ though…and maybe even went under the column of ‘he likes me.’
“So how was the metro?”
You hummed. “Normal, but my standards are at sea level - as long as I’m not driving, it’s acceptable.”
“So it could have smelled like the inside of a gym bag?”
“I’d still take it…” you admitted, voice flat.
“But plates and bowls?”
You winced. “Look, I’ve found myself in places where a spork would have been a delight?”
“Hence avoiding apps?”
“Precisely why I avoid apps…and anyone my roommate suggests - I’ve learned - that’s almost always for the bit,” you mumbled.
“Really?”
You nodded, glancing at him. “You know, don’t you have one of those friends who like 80% of their existence is so they can have a story to tell?”
He watched you with slightly wide eyes. “No.”
You pushed his shoulder. “Bully for you - seriously, no one who commits too hard to some bullshit?” you asked, clarifying, and sipping your beer.
You could see the crack starting to form as he mentally flipped through some friendship Rolodex. “Yeah, okay, okay…I wouldn’t live with any of them, though.”
“No?”
He shook his head emphatically and popped more chicken into his mouth.
You nodded. “Probably smart. It was fine before, but I think I should maybe branch out,” you said, swiping curry up with your naan.
“Like move?” he asked, glancing at you.
“Yeah…like it’s her Dad’s, so you know, cheap rent, but I don’t want to put out toast fires anymore.”
He scrunched his brows. “Please say you don’t have more toast on your lawn…”
You smiled. “No - you would have heard.”
He sighed and leaned back against the sofa, his head tipping back onto the seat for a moment. He groaned, rubbing his stomach for a moment and finally leaning up, glancing at you.
“That good?”
He nodded. “Perfect…”
You grinned and went back to your own food and your sour beer because he’d remembered that you liked sours. And when he picked up some beer, he apparently saw them…and now you had special sour beer sitting in his fridge.
You turned. “So what about you? Your day?”
He shrugged. “Mostly quiet,” he answered with a sigh.
Glancing again, you wondered if it was really that quiet.
He smiled. “Sometimes everything is quiet - shifts are quiet besides normal dumb things.”
Of course you rounded on that. “Normal dumb things?”
He grinned. “I helped Soonyoung film a dance challenge…”
Everything stopped for a moment so you could locate the dance challenge and confirm that Seungcheol was not visible in the video.
“Disappointed?”
“No, it would have been cute, though…another side to you, and all that,” you said, locking your phone and putting it away.
“I don’t think competent dancing is one of the sides,” he murmured, still leaning against the sofa.
You were almost finished eating. “I didn’t say you needed to be competent—”
“No, but to me, definitely required,” he said, voice soft.
It was quiet for a moment.
“But, for you, quiet and silly things mean a good day - nothing serious?”
He hummed. “Yeah, all quiet is the best case.”
It was weird to think about the number of times something was referred to as a ‘fire drill’ in your office, all because Ted or Kevin or whoever was just really shit at client communications. And it was also weird to think that someone you knew actively did something risky for work. You didn’t especially want to think about it…instead, you leaned on the sofa and smoothed his bangs off his forehead. He really, genuinely, had annoyingly clear skin - you weren’t sure you could even spot a pore.
“You’re like safe, though, right?”
His eyes barely opened. “Worried?”
You glanced away for a moment before finding his gaze again. “Apparently,” you murmured, your fingers tracing along his jaw.
“Just assume dance videos unless…I say it’s not dance videos - or admin - there’s always admin,” he sighed.
You leaned against him, then, letting the quiet come back. You had no idea when your brain had decided that worrying for Seungcheol was an active thing running in the background. But you’d said it, so it must be.
˚⟡˖ ࣪࣪
You helped with carrying things back to the kitchen. You dawdled, going to the bathroom to check your hair for a few minutes before you made your way back through the small kitchen to the main room. Seungcheol was on the sofa - you paused for a moment in the hallway, noticing the back of his neck…what if you kissed him there in passing? He’d kissed you already…you tilted your head, considering and decided the angle wasn’t right. Annoying.
So you walked back out to the living room, to your sour beer, and your…Seungcheol, flicking through movies to watch.
You dropped next to him, happily feeling the sofa and the way it held you. There was a blanket and throw pillows. You ignored them in favor of his arm sliding around your waist and pulling you close, so you could lean against him, your cheek against his chest. You let your arm snake around his waist.
“So why is Shinchan hiding?” you asked.
“Hmm?” he glanced down at you from the projected screen.
You pointed up towards the loft. “Shinchan?”
His eyes followed your finger. “It’s nothing.”
You sighed. “Definitely something then.”
“Absolutely nothing.”
“Are you embarrassed?”
“No,” he said flatly.
You grinned at the ‘no,’ your fingers tracing along his side, feeling the smooth muscle under the buttery soft knit fabric. “Totally embarrassed,” you mumbled, nuzzling closer against his chest.
“No - he - it doesn’t go with stuff,” he mumbled.
You couldn’t help smiling, feeling like you’d won, just a bit.
Shinchan definitely went with things…
You let your fingers trace up until you felt his ribs - you could hear the longer pauses on various movie trailers. You bit your lower lip gently.
There were only two small lamps on because movies…
“Seungcheol,” you murmured.
He hummed again.
“What if you found lo-fi or something?” you asked - voice truly, hand on heart, innocent as the driven snow, as you glanced up at him.
There was a pause. “Why?” he asked, looking down at you, gaze focused like he was sizing you up.
You shrugged. “Long day,” you whispered - your bottom lip barely catching between your teeth.
He hummed, but it was a lower tone this time. “Long day?” he echoed.
You nodded, letting your fingers shift and splay over his stomach. “So long…”
You watched him swallow and glance quickly at the screen, changing apps and scrolling for maybe three seconds before there was some vaporwave aesthetic moving screen saver and lo-fi playing.
You giggled when you felt your back hit the sofa.
And the way his lips immediately went to your throat, kissing and sucking gently, then licking and biting his way lower. You hummed, enjoying that he might have been thinking about this exact kind of moment. Your eyelids fluttered closed as you moaned softly - your fingers catching in his hair, pulling gently when he slid the collar of your shirt to the side and placed a line of wet kisses along your clavicle. You pulled his hair roughly, wanting his lips on yours. He leaned up with a soft moan, lips finding yours, biting gently, deepening it. Your hand slid down the neck of his shirt, your nails barely making little half moons against his skin as he licked into you. You felt his hand tracing along your thigh - you rolled your hips up against his…
And then his phone beeped.
He leaned up quickly, checking it. “Shit,” he mumbled.
“What’s wrong?”
He ran a hand roughly through his hair. “I need to walk Kkuma.”
Your brows went up, still uncertain. “Kkuma?”
“My dog – she’s with my neighbor,” he said with a groan.
You smiled. “Seriously?”
You could see the pink blooming higher on his cheeks.
“I just - I wasn’t sure how you’d feel…maybe she’d be too much,” he said with a shrug.
You hummed and reached up, smoothing the mess that you’d both made of his hair. “It’s okay - you hid Shinchan, too,” you said with a grin. “Poor Seungcheol,” you murmured, letting your fingers trace along his jaw. “So thoughtful and handsome,” you added.
His hand caught yours gently, kissing the backs of your fingers before he sat up. He glanced at you with a smile. “Maybe I just wanted to fuck,” he said with a shrug.
You giggled - like he could be that nonchalant - the man who had accidentally played Cyndi Lauper in his desperate bid to not reveal his gym playlist. “Still handsome - still 99.9% sweet, and, I guess, 0.1% fuck boi,” you corrected.
He shook his head. “Just the 0.1%…okay - she’s upstairs.”
You nodded, sitting up, finger combing your hair. “Can I come?”
“Yeah,” he said, standing and fixing his shirt - he offered you a hand, pulling you up. You let him straighten your shirt and look you over. “Do I look like - you know?” he asked.
You smiled and neatened his collar. “No, you basically look like you had dinner and sort of watched a film.”
˚⟡˖ ࣪࣪
You followed him through the building and up the back stairs. He stopped outside a second-floor apartment, knocking lightly. You heard some noise from inside, and then the door swung open to reveal a petite, older woman with amazingly iron-gray hair. She wore a pink floral dressing gown with silver slippers and was accompanied by a small white dog that wasn’t even barking. You could hear the TV playing - you recognized it…Love Island.
“Seungcheol?” she asked, voice a whisper.
“I came to see if she needs a walk,” he said quietly.
“Ah, we went after dinner, but probably - she can come back, though - we’re watching our show.”
“It’s okay,” he glanced at you, looking sheepish. “I probably shouldn’t have bothered you.”
“Kkuma staying isn’t a bother. Anyway, introduce us,” she said it with a voice that knew what the next part was and wanted to get to it.
You smiled and walked forward to be introduced, first to Mrs. Lee and then to Kkuma. Mrs. Lee smiled and asked how dinner was. “Amazing,” you answered.
She nodded like she hadn’t expected any other answer. “Good, now go on walkies - I’ll pause the show until you're back.”
You grinned. How could you not?
She picked up Kkuma and handed her to you, while Seungcheol was handed the lead and bags and hand sanitizer. Kkuma was immediately the cutest lump of fluff - with these silly long bangs and big boba eyes. You couldn’t help hugging her gently - she was so warm and cozy like she’d just come from a lap when she was half asleep.
You followed Seungcheol outside with her and held her while he attached her lead to her collar.
He stared for a moment.
“What?” you asked.
“You have to put her down,” he said.
“Oh,” you pouted and sat her down. It felt rude. She glanced up at you like she agreed with the sentiment. “Sorry,” you mumbled to Kkuma.
He shook his head. “No, not you too - she’s already a baby.”
“Is that so bad?”
He watched you for a moment. “We were fully doing things…and stopped - she’s massively babied.”
You grinned and put your arm through his. “She’s so cute, though.”
“She’s watching Love Island with Mrs. Lee…”
“I know,” you yawned and leaned on his shoulder. “I wonder if it’s a good episode?”
You walked with them around the block twice - the first time was apparently for sniffing and the second time was for peeing on what seemed to be a very specific shrub, which would have made you laugh if you weren’t feeling so tired. You hadn’t especially thought about the part where you went home…or you had, but that was ages ago when you were also looking for apartments. A million years before curry and the good sour beers…
You followed him back in to return Kkuma to Mrs. Lee. Apparently, she had genuinely paused the show waiting for Kkuma to come back. And then you walked back to Seungcheol’s, leaning against his back while you waited for him to unlock his door.
“Want to stay?” he asked, closing the door.
You’d taken your shoes off. It wasn’t your plan. Even if you hadn’t thought as specifically about leaving, you had planned generally to leave, and checked a timetable at some point and snapped a screenshot. You glanced around, looking for some logic to appear and suggest a barrier…
“You’re tired - borrow some clothes, take a shower. I’m off tomorrow, too, so I can drive you back in the morning.”
You finally looked at him. He was leaning against the wall near the door, watching you.
You remembered that you had definitely been doing things with him…you nodded. “It’s a work-from-home day, so I can still do the metro—”
“Or I can get breakfast for you and drop you off after, and then maybe you’ll have a less shitty day.”
“I said it was mostly okay…”
“Right, from the stairwell.”
You shrugged. “It’s the easiest break spot.”
He shook his head. “Just come on - come ogle the fact that I have a clean bathtub…”
“There’s a full bathtub?” How had he found this place?
“You didn’t check?” he asked, glancing suspiciously over his shoulder.
“I’m not opening shower curtains…” There were boundaries, plus horror movies told you that’s where the dead bodies were, anyway.
“Umhm…”
He ushered you along as he did things, grabbing clothes for you, turning on the taps. You had the feeling that if things were further along, he would have showered with you or at least stayed around to talk…but they weren’t.
So you were left alone to sniff his soaps and shampoo like an absolute toiletry pervert. None were overtly ‘boy’ scented…nothing tagged ‘spring’ or ‘mountain’ or ‘blood spurt’ or ‘it’s just grappling - no homo.’ Instead, he had something minty from a brand you knew - there actually were other sides to him, despite his suggesting there weren’t…at least not dance-y sides. There was definitely the side that had made this purchasing decision, though, for instance…
He showered after you. Meanwhile, you sat on the sofa, toweling your hair, and pondering when you’d actually become this tired. At least you would see Shinchan, you thought with a wry smile. And you didn’t mind that you’d gone with him to walk Kkuma…you’d literally forgotten how tired you were somehow. Weirdo boy magic - that was the only explanation.
Maybe horniness, too…
“Come on,” he said from somewhere near your side. You nodded and got up, following along. He’d loaned you a washed soft t-shirt and sweats. You went first up the stairs, noticing how tight the spiral was - it was slightly disorienting. There was room to avoid hitting your head in the loft space, though. You weren’t that short, but even Seungcheol didn’t seem in danger of bumping his head.
You waited while he put towels over the pillows. He was going to sleep with damp hair too. “Want Shinchan?” he asked.
You smiled, shaking your head. “Just you,” you said from behind your hand as you yawned.
He nodded, moving closer, wrapping an arm around you, pulling you close. You were already drifting.
You heard the soft ‘could have cancelled,’ as he nuzzled close.
That brought you back - your brows scrunching as you turned around. “Cancelled? Why?” you asked.
“You’re tired - a bad week? Those are reasonable things to say.”
You watched him for a moment, wondering what he was thinking. “That’s the kind of thing I say to people when I don’t want to see them,” you said, smoothing his hair. “I wanted to see you - I had a nice time, like really nice,” you whispered, kissing his cheek before turning back over and pulling his arm around you while you snuggled closer.
˚⟡˖ ࣪࣪
fic navigation: master list ↩️ | ▶️ part 1 | ⏩ part 2 | ⏩ epilogue
a/n: okay fr i hope you enjoyed this - it's my first like multi-big brick fics on tumblr and i really hope you had fun with these two ^^
♡ 𝚝𝚘𝚊𝚜𝚝
p.s. i kind of want a mingyu follow-up piece where he finds the right person LOL
read more here mingyu m.list | seungcheol m.list | general m.list
dividers by @/cursed-carmine (lace) & @/cursed-carmine (mdni)
