How many nights have you wished someone would stay?
Louis groaned in annoyance as his phone began to ring, the harsh sound pulling him out of his sleep. He fumbled to grab it and answered it without looking, ready to berate whoever was on the other end.
“What?!”
“…Lou?”
Harry?
“Hazza? It's 3am, love, what are you doing awake?” He sat up straight in bed and glanced over at his clock.
“I, um…" Harry's voice was shaking, wavering in a way that made Louis know the younger boy was close to tears. “I can't…”
“It's okay, love. It's okay. Take deep breaths for me,” Louis soothed, climbing out of bed and searching around for his keys. “I'm on my way, okay?”
“Stay- please, stay.” His heart lurched.
“I'll stay on the phone, baby, I promise.”
Every dodge, every grip along your fingers, every bullet expended, every venomous coil of a tendril to every recoil of my handgun; it's a catch-and-release situation isn't it? As we shift from near death to life again and again, I realize that's the only language we can express. And I notice; the absence of you even trying anymore as this hunt - not even of your own choosing - continues.
When will you stop playing at wanting my death?
Jinwoo didn't know why, exactly, Myungjun was standing at the front door of his apartment carrying two long fishing poles and wearing a tan bucket hat over messy hair. He also didn't know how, exactly, Myungjun was still standing straight after all they had to drink just the previous night.
“Myungjun?” Jinwoo asked, squinting groggily at the bright smile of his boyfriend. “What...what are you doing here?”
“We're going fishing!” Myungjun proudly exclaimed, and he pushed his way inside the apartment building. “I have everything packed up in my car. Which fishing pole did you want? I had to steal them from my brother – I think his favorite is the blue one, and his girlfriend owns a pink one, so we'll fight for the blue one, unless you want the pick one, which is perfectly fine – Jinwoo, why aren't you dressed yet?”
Jinwoo couldn't really process all of that information, not with his mind as muddled as it currently was. He swallowed thickly, feeling quite dehydrated, then repeated his original question: “What are you doing here?”
“You said we would go fishing,” Myungjun replied, furrowing his eyebrows.
“When?”
“Last night. You were talking about how much you missed doing it with your dad, and I told you that I would like to go fishing, and you promised that we'd go today!” Myungjun held out his fishing poles, as if they could somehow provide proof of the story. “And I have everything prepared! I've never gone fishing, so my brother gave me some pointers, but I figured it would be cute if you could teach me!”
Jinwoo didn't even get a chance to try and reject the activity; he couldn't, anyway, not with Myungjun's lower lip jutted out in a childish pout, not with his eyes wide and lashes fluttering. He was a man who knew how to get Jinwoo to agree to anything.
“I'm hungover,” Jinwoo complained.
“I have warm soup in the car. I made it this morning. Oh, and plenty of water and medicine for your headache.”
Damn. Myungjun had really thought of everything. Jinwoo sighed and glanced down at his clothes, still wearing his pajamas, before muttering, “Do you mind waiting while I change and get ready?”
Upon hearing the request (and understanding it was basically an agreement), Myungjun's face lit up and he nodded enthusiastically, a wide smile overtaking his features. “Yeah!” he exclaimed, setting his fishing poles on the ground. “Hurry up, though! If it's too late in the day, all of the good spots might get taken.”
Jinwoo already knew he wouldn't hurry. And it wasn't on purpose, either. He was never very fast at getting ready, and Myungjun always showed up ten minutes after the agreed-on time, just because he knew Jinwoo would be slow. Couple that with a hangover, and Jinwoo had basically set himself up for the slowest morning ever.
As he changed, he could hear Myungjun shuffling around in the other room. Myungjun was quite used to moving at all waking moments of the day, and he usually occupied himself while he waited. Sometimes he cleaned, sometimes he made a mess, and other times he just lounged on every piece of furniture he could.
Today, it seemed, Myungjun had decided to try something new; Jinwoo heard a small bang on the living room wall.
He pulled on his shirt, listening quietly – another bang.
He was hitting something against the wall, but Jinwoo wasn't aware of what it was. Still, he wouldn't investigate. He trusted Myungjun enough not to ruin anything.
But as he fixed his hair, the bangs got progressively more frequent. It was a constant noise, something hitting the poor wall in the living room, something that further aggravated Jinwoo's headache. He tried to block it out, but it was impossible, and, finally, Jinwoo grit his teeth down and hurried out of the bathroom.
Myungjun had found Jinwoo's old baseball, and was tossing it into the wall and catching it again. Not unexpected, considering it was Myungjun and Myungjun never could sit still, but it was annoying, all the same.
When Jinwoo entered the room, Myungjun caught the ball and grinned. “Are you ready to go?” he asked.
“No. My hair's only half finished.”
“Don't worry about your hair. I have one of these hats for you, as well.”
“Still, I'd rather my hair look nice.”
Myungjun shrugged, then returned to his solo game of catch, tossing the ball up against the wall. “Well, hurry up, you sloth. We don't have all day.”
Jinwoo watched for a second or two, and in that time, Myungjun had thrown the ball three times. “Myungjun?”
“Hm?”
“I love you, but oh my god, stop it.”
Myungjun froze, and recognition sparked in his gaze. Still, he acted oblivious, continuing with his game. “Stop what?”
Jinwoo waited until the ball landed in Myungjun's hands. “That,” he pointed. “Stop doing that.”
Myungjun did it again. “I have no idea what you're talking about.”
“Stop it, Myungjun. I have a headache.”
“And I have medicine to cure it.” Bang.
“Not with you.” Bang.
“I can go grab it.” Bang.
“Myungjun, don't do that.”
Myungjun huffed and crossed his arms over his chest, the ball still in his grip. “Don't tell me I can't do this! I will do this all I want! If you hate hearing it, maybe you should just hurry up!”
Perhaps it was true. Jinwoo had made a promise to Myungjun, albeit a drunk one, and it wouldn't be right for him to prolong Myungjun's wait time simply because he was some hungover idiot. Still, he didn't like having to hear that consistent sound, and he also didn't like Myungjun gaining the upper-hand. He narrowed his eyes and took a deep breath. “If you keep doing that,” he warned, “I will have to take action.”
Myungjun raised his eyebrows. “Really?” he asked, seeming to enjoy egging Jinwoo on in such a manner. “Enlighten me, Jinwoo. How on earth will you do that?”
“You don't want to know.”
Myungjun was quiet for a second, and then he threw the ball up against the living room wall again. “Try me,” he responded.
Jinwoo worked out. Jinwoo was strong. Jinwoo knew what spots on Myungjun would tickle him the most. It was such a simple matter, therefore, to hurry forward and grab onto Myungjun, pinning him into the couch and tickling him relentlessly. The baseball fell, rolled somewhere underneath a chair, as Myungjun squealed and screamed for mercy, his eyes squeezed closed and his arms weakly trying to fend Jinwoo off.
Jinwoo waited until he saw tears collecting in the scrunched corners of Myungjun's eyes, and until the boy was so weak in breath that he could no longer do anything but huff out, “Please, please, let me go!”
Jinwoo rolled off of him, collapsing on the other side of the couch, and grinned up at the ceiling. “So,” he said, ignoring the pounding of his head. “How was that?”
Myungjun groaned, shifting in his seat and turning to face Jinwoo. “You're nothing but a monster,” he accused, still panting from Jinwoo's devilish revenge. “An evil, evil monster.”
Jinwoo giggled and he leaned forward to plant a kiss onto Myungjun's nose. “I had to get you to stop,” he said, “and I had warned you. You brought this upon yourself, it looks like.”
“Yeah, well...” Myungjun didn't appear to have a comeback. He just sighed, closing his eyes and curling into Jinwoo's chest.
Jinwoo quite liked the proximity, even if Myungjun's stupid bucket hat was brushing against his chin. “Junnie?”
“What?”
“What if we just lay here for the day? We could spend the day like this-”
“I didn't steal my brother's fishing rods for nothing,” Myungjun snapped, and he quickly sat up, all his qualms of tickling forgotten. “And you can't get my mind off of fishing that easily. Get ready, you sloth.”
Jinwoo berated himself for talking at all – maybe if they had just stuck to quiet cuddling, Myungjun would have fallen asleep. Still, he had promised, and he refused to break a promise, especially one that his boyfriend had prepared for.
He kissed Myungjun's cheek. “I'll hurry,” he promised, “but I'm taking this with me.” He reached and fished the ball out from underneath his chair, holding it up and adding, “And I'm going to burn it so you can never play catch with it again.”
(He learned Myungjun didn't need a ball to make noise – he just turned the television up very loud. At least he knew how to get Jinwoo to really hurry.)
Bin's least favorite part about his job was cleaning the floor. But his favorite part of the job, he decided, was meeting Lee Dongmin.
for @puppycat-eyes
Bin's least favorite part about his job was cleaning the floor.
He could handle serving sub-par food. It was no issue to him that high school students who didn't know the difference between a spatula and a crowbar were flipping the burgers he would coerce hungry customers into buying. And it also didn't matter to him that the coffee machine hadn't been cleaned in weeks, probably, and he would serve it out willingly to tired businessmen.
He could also handle the hours. Two in the morning was a slow period, and he got paid to eat leftover fries (they were going to get stale, otherwise, is what he told his boss) while playing silly games on his phone. It also gave him an excuse to actually sleep in and attend school in the evening rather than the morning.
Sure, it ruined his social life, but he could text people. That wasn't a big deal. He hadn't seen Jinwoo in days, but he had sent him twenty-one texts in the past two minutes, so he supposed that was enough of a social life.
And he could definitely handle telling people, “I work at McDonald's.” Sometimes his mother berated him for working at a fast-food joint while all of his friends were interning at big companies and learning valuable life skills, but Bin ignored all of that. He didn't mind. He liked the work he was given, and he still had two years of university to actually get through. If he earned some money while staying at the top of his class, he didn't know what the issue was. He was proud of what he did, because it was a good job while he worked for something better.
The only thing he truly hated was cleaning the floor.
As the team manager, the task could easily be handed off to one of his employees. He had no qualms with watching some kid puke and turning to the new worker to instruct, “Alright, go clean that shit up.” Or when elderly ladies would spill their drink across the carpet, he would grab a roll of paper towels and toss it to whatever cashier had bugged him most that day.
But then, sometimes, he would have to clean.
He blamed it on the kindness of his heart. Because when some young child had an accident and peed on the floor, he turned to his employees, all in the midst of a sudden mad rush, and Bin would take it upon himself not to stress them out any further. He would do the dirty work. And, again, when some high school jackass would coat the carpeted area with ketchup as “a prank,” Bin couldn't turn to the new girl, because she was tiny and jumpy and shy, and he couldn't force her to deal with that mess, and so he would spend half an hour trying to fix “the prank.”
He just hated it. His too-kind heart hated cleaning the floors.
So when some incredibly attractive man turned from the counter at three in the morning and spilled his fries all over the place, Bin gave a large, loud, exaggerated sigh.
And the man burst into tears.
Bin hadn't expected that to occur. He had seen children cry over spilling their milkshakes or their hamburgers, but he hadn't ever seen a grown man break down and sob over a cheap carton of fries.
“Dude,” Bin started, “it's fries.”
And the man cried even harder.
“Hey.” Bin hurried around the counter, ignoring the panicked stares of his coworkers. “Hey, are you alright?”
The man was trying to catch his breath, short, small gasps coming out as he wiped at his face. “I-I-I'm sorry!” he sobbed. “I didn't me-mean to-”
“I can clean this up easily,” Bin assured him, even if he was already dreading doing so. “And I can get you a new thing of fries. Calm down.”
Telling the man to calm down just had the opposite effect. The crying just got louder, and the man buried his face into his hands. “I ca-can't!” he wailed. “I'm pathetic, I'm the mo-most pathetic person ever! I do-don't deserve anything at all!”
Bin had no idea what to do now. His coworkers had all stopped their tasks and were watching the scene, some with wide eyes and some with phone cameras up and ready.
Bin tried shooing them off without garnering the man's attention.
“I don't e-e-even deserve these fries!” The man gestured to the spilled food. “I spi-spilled them because I don't deserve them!”
It was getting a little pathetic. Maybe this man was half right in that regard.
But when he pulled his hand away from his face and looked up at Bin, Bin had to take it all back.
This man deserved all good things.
He had a handsome face, marred by tear streaks and red-rimmed eyes, but like former beauty queens, it still held the promise of exquisite expressions and gorgeous smiles. His skin looked soft, too, despite the current flush of his cheeks, and when he stared up at Bin, his eyes seemed to shine.
(Though, maybe that was just the crying.)
“I-I'm sorry,” the man hiccuped. “If you ha-hand me a broom, I can clean this up.”
“What?” Bin hadn't yet heard someone offer to clean their own mess. He glanced at the ground in confusion, then back up at the man. “You...want to clean this up?”
“I c-caused the mess, so I should clean it up.” The man gave a bitter laugh, accompanied by two more hiccups. “If y-you need a janitor, I should apply. That's-that's all I'm good for.”
“I bet that's not true.”
The man paused for a second, sniffling and wiping at his nose, then retorted, “It is true. I haven't slept in-in two days. I'm an idiot. I'll never pass this exam, and I'll never be a doctor, and my parents w-will disown me and I'll live on the-the streets and do you know how much I hate my life?”
He was starting to cry again, and Bin hurriedly grabbed at his hand, pulling it away from the man's nose.
(He hoped the wet fingers were from tears and not from snot.)
“Hey! Don't talk like that!” Bin fussed. “We'll get you another carton of fries, and I'll sit down with you as you eat them, and then you can take a nap.”
“A-A nap?” The man seemed to find the concept foreign. Bin's sleepy heart ached for him.
“Yeah. These tables are probably disgusting, but I have a computer desk in the back office you can use. I'll watch over you, too, and I'll wake you up when my shift finishes around five in the morning. Then you can go back to wherever it is you're staying and finish your nap or homework or whatever.”
The man tried to pull his hand away, but Bin kept a tight hold on it.
(The man's skin definitely was soft. A little clammy, but soft.)
“You can't just drop your fries and run! Come on, just a few hours.”
“I need to get back home, though. M-My exam is in two days-”
“Which leaves you plenty of time to study. Come on.”
Through the man's tears, Bin could detect interest and distrust, and he grinned lightly. “There's a security camera in there, Sir. I swear, I won't do anything. You can trust me.” When the man didn't move, Bin added, “Like I'd do anything to lose this job, anyway.”
The man looked around at the empty McDonald's building. “That do-doesn't instill much trust in me.”
Bin laughed, and this time, the man didn't try to pull back. “So will you? It's quiet and warm and I think-”
The man nodded his head, a silent confirmation, and Bin felt his heart do a weird, little flip in his chest before it beat along his ribs.
He dragged the cute man to his office, setting him down instantly in the office chair and shutting the door. He draped his jacket over the back of the man's shoulder, despite the man's protests, and then sat down on the smaller, metal chair beside him.
“How's this?” he asked.
The man sighed and glanced up at the clock on the wall. “I need to study.”
“You need to sleep,” Bin retorted. “My shift ends in a few hours. Just sleep for a bit longer, and then you can go home and you might feel more refreshed.”
“Mm.”
“I'll get you a fresh order of fries, too.”
The man snorted at that, and he rubbed at the leftover tears that were drying across his cheeks. “You know the way to a man's heart, don't you?”
Bin hoped that he did. Bin prayed that he did. And the more Bin stared at this man, the more Bin hoped and prayed that he knew the way to his heart.
He just needed to know his name.
“I'd like to know my way to...” Bin cleared his throat. This was a gamble, a large, stupid, flirtatious gamble, but it was a gamble he was willing to take. “What's your name?”
The man looked confused for a split second, but he replied, “Ah, Dongmin. Lee Dongmin.”
“Right.”
And then, “I'd like to know my way to Dongmin's heart.”
It was silent. Bin could hear the loudspeaker out in the restaurant playing the latest pop song, muffled through the thick walls and doors of the office. The air conditioning unit kicked on, a slight noise that made Dongmin jump slightly in his seat.
But no words were spoken.
Bin counted out fifteen seconds in his head before giving a nervous smile. “Ah. Well, um, yeah, that was bold of me. Just ignore that part and sleep, okay? I'll get your order to the kitchen and you'll have the most fresh meal we've got.”
Before he could get up and hurry out, suddenly Dongmin giggled. It was a clear difference from the man who sobbed on the dining room floor, surrounded by dirty, fallen fries. Bin liked the difference.
“You've found the way to my heart...” Dongmin narrowed his eyes, scanning for a nametag, and he muttered, “Moon Bin. You've found the way to my heart, Moon Bin.”
Bin watched as Dongmin's face transformed, as a tired yet satisfied grin chased away all previous concerns and worries.
(Bin was right – he had a gorgeous smile.)
“I didn't know the way to your heart was sleep and McDonald's fries, Lee Dongmin.” Bin laughed. “Sounds like a man who should be kept close to my heart.”
Dongmin's grin turned bashful, and he hurried to bury his head into his arms, draping himself over the desk and squeezing his eyes shut.
“I'd like to be kept close to your heart,” he murmured, and that was the last thing Bin heard from Dongmin before he gave into the whispers of sleep.
Bin's favorite part of the job, he decided, was meeting Lee Dongmin.
They first met at an overnight summer camp. Minhyuk thought he looked weird, with his floppy black hair and large glasses. Still, he had a smile that lit up the entire room, and he bounced from person to person with more enthusiasm than Minhyuk had seen before in his life.
His final bounce was in front of Minhyuk, and he waved a hand ecstatically. “Hi!” he greeted, seemingly out of breath. “I'm Yoon Sanha and I'm eight years old!”
He didn't realize he was supposed to introduce himself back until Sanha gave him a questioning stare.
“Park Minhyuk. I'm nine.”
“Whoa!” Sanha's eyes lit up. “You're nine? You're the oldest one I've met so far! You must be super smart! What grade are you in? Have you memorized your entire times table yet? I haven't. I think I can do it by next year, though.”
There was too much to respond to, and so Minhyuk decided to just fall silent and nod along with all of Sanha's inquiries and comments. He was talkative, in any case, and while Minhyuk didn't really like conversing all that much, he did like to listen.
So he tuned in to all of Sanha's rambling. He learned that Sanha was the youngest of three brothers who teased him all the time but cherished him more than anything. He learned that Sanha was teaching himself how to play the guitar and had made his fingers bleed in the early stages. He learned that Sanha one day wanted contacts instead of the bulky glasses he wore. He learned that Sanha would soon be getting braces, as much as he begged his mother not to, and that he was scared the metal pieces would come to life as a robot and murder him in his sleep.
All in all, it was a lot of information to take in, which was why Minhyuk realized he was perfect for the job as Sanha's best friend. How many other people would put up with being talked to for hours? Not many, and by the looks of it, everyone else seemed turned off by Sanha's relentless optimism. Not Minhyuk, though. Minhyuk tapped his shoulder at one point and said, “We're friends now.”
Sanha had grinned widely and had blushed, ducking his head and hiding his face, and Minhyuk just smiled to himself.
They roomed together for the summer camp. On the first night, Minhyuk came back from the toilet to find Sanha frantically searching through his bags, a look of fear solidly placed on his face.
“Sanha?” Minhyuk stepped closer. “What's wrong?”
“My blanket is gone!” Sanha announced. Minhyuk noticed his hands were trembling. “I-I-I thought I told my mom to pack my blanket! Why's it not here? Oh my gosh, Minhyuk, I can't sleep without my blanket! I know it's a-a childish thing, and everyone ma-makes fun of me, but I can't sleep!”
Minhyuk stared at his new friend for a second, at his panicked expression and the odd frown that had overtaken his features.
He wanted happy Sanha back.
He reached up to his top bunk, where his things had already been unpacked, and pulled down his own blanket. It was a newer one, something his mom bought him specifically for the trip, and it held no deeper meaning to him than just being something to wrap himself in.
“Here.” He held it out, and Sanha blinked at it. “I know it's not your blanket, but...but it can do for now, right?”
Sanha didn't answer at first, and so Minhyuk tried again. “Here, take my blanket. We can call your mom tomorrow and see if she'll drop off yours.”
Tentative hands reached out, lightly grasping a hold of the soft material. When Minhyuk let go, Sanha held it close to him, fingers curling up and clenching it near his chest.
“Better?” Minhyuk asked.
Sanha nodded. “Better,” he murmured.
Camping, Minhyuk soon learned, was rough. Setting up a tent was harder than it appeared in the movies, too, especially when the only partner available was Yoon Sanha.
“No, Minhyuk, this part goes here-” Sanha stuck one of the pegs in the ground and started tying off part of the tent. “And then the one labeled G goes on the other side-”
“You're reading it upside down!” Minhyuk exclaimed when he noticed the small instruction booklet that Sanha was trying to follow along to. “Didn't you think something was wrong when you saw that the tent wasn't even right-side up?”
Sanha tried to defend himself. “All campers do it like this, because real life is in reverse from the images.”
“That doesn't even make any sense!” Minhyuk tore one of the pegs out from the ground and snatched the book away. “I'm in charge of instructions from now on, okay?”
Sanha followed along, though not without several mistakes. By the time the tent was finally stuck up (albeit, a little lopsided, but it still would work for the night), the stars had woken from their slumber and the birds had begun to fall silent, lulled by the darkness into their own restful sleep.
Minhyuk made certain that all of their food were stored in the correct containers and that the fire they had set up before (which Sanha nearly burnt himself on twice) was properly put out. Sanha, meanwhile, seemed content enough to watch as Minhyuk did all the work. He flipped through a few of the books he brought, but after the third time Minhyuk checked on their belongings, he groaned and flopped over. “Minhyuk!” he whined. “I'm sleepy! Can we go to bed?”
“I can't believe you dragged me into the wilderness to go to bed,” Minhyuk mumbled. “Aren't you excited to see the forest at night?”
“Nuh-uh! Lots of weird things come out at night; wolves and bears and tigers and lions-”
“Are we in Korea in your head?”
Sanha pouted and pointed at the tent. “We didn't bring sleeping bags to just stare at them. Come on, Minhyuk, I'm tired!”
Minhyuk finally did relent, but not because he had a soft spot for Sanha or because Sanha deserved a good night's sleep every night. He just relented because Sanha made very good points, was all, nothing more and nothing less.
Still, he didn't want to sleep. He was stretched out on top of his sleeping bag, staring up at the thin fabric of their tent. Sanha lay beside him, curled up and looking quite similar to some sort of worm. A long worm. Maybe a snake.
But Sanha couldn't be a snake unless it was a cute snake.
“Hey, Sanha?”
“Mm?”
At least he was still awake. Minhyuk rolled over to face him. “Let's play truth or dare, okay? That's something that should always be done on camping trips.”
Sanha yawned and peeked through one eye. “Really?”
“I wouldn't lie to you, would I?”
“You definitely would.”
“Sanha.” Minhyuk sighed. “Fine. We'll go to sleep and make this the most boring camping trip of all time. Sounds like a great-”
“Truth or dare?”
It came so suddenly that Minhyuk had to take a second to actually react, but he made his decision still rather quickly. “Truth.”
Sanha hummed lightly, then asked, “Do you have a crush?”
Minhyuk stared at his friend. The moonlight filtered in through the fabric of their tent, casting a light blue glow over Sanha's face, shining in his brown hair and making him seem more soft and serene than he usually was.
And, when the sun would come up, Sanha would beam brighter than a big, orange ball of fire and flames could ever attempt to. He would probably stretch his ridiculously long limbs before rising from bed, and he would shake Minhyuk awake, ready to eat some of their prepared camping food around the fire that Minhyuk would have to start because Sanha was too clumsy to be let around anything that could burn him.
Did he have a crush?
“Yes,” he replied quietly, and he averted his gaze so that Sanha couldn't see the longing in them.
“Really?” Sanha sounded surprised. “Oh. Who is it, then?”
“You only asked me one truth, so now it's my turn!” Minhyuk wouldn't reveal that Sanha was his crush. Sanha wasn't like that. Sanha liked girls. Minhyuk would save himself the trouble and the heartbreak and never admit it. “Truth or dare?”
“Truth.”
“This is the most boring game of truth and dare ever. Dare is a lot more fun.”
“You can choose it next time, then,” Sanha retorted. “I chose truth. Ask me a question.”
Minhyuk bit at his lip, then turned over again on his back. “Do you have a crush?” he asked, and he was almost scared to hear the answer.
(He wasn't sure what he was scared of. He wasn't sure if he was scared of a yes or of a no. Both prospects were equally frightening.)
Sanha was quiet for a second or two before mumbling, “Yes.”
That was exactly what Minhyuk was afraid of.
(He had been afraid of both.)
“Truth or dare, Minhyuk?”
“I don't want to play anymore. I'm tired.” It was a lie, a silly, stupid lie, and he knew Sanha could see right through it. Nine years of being close made them aware of each others' quirks, of likes and dislikes, of truths and lies. And Minhyuk was lying, and based on Sanha's narrowed eyes, the younger boy could tell.
Still, Sanha didn't try to convince Minhyuk otherwise. He simply scoffed and pointed at the sleeping bag. “At least go to bed in your sleeping bag. My mom didn't buy these so you could sleep on top of them.”
“I'm not that cold.” Another lie. Another lie that Sanha saw right through. It didn't help that it had gotten a little chilly in their tent and Minhyuk's arms were crossed, wrapped around himself in order to try and conserve some sort of body heat.
In response, Sanha reached down into his sleeping bag and pulled out a familiar-looking blanket. It was cheap and gray with red lightning bolts. Minhyuk recognized it instantly, and he tried to hide a smile. “Is that-”
“Here. Take my blanket.”
“Your blanket.” Minhyuk grinned as it was passed over to him. It didn't really cover much of his body anymore, and he couldn't imagine it would cover any of Sanha's body at this point. It had a few holes toward the edges, the telltale signs of it having been used until it had become worn, and for some reason, that made Minhyuk's heart leap in his chest.
He wrapped up in the blanket the best he could. He felt warmth flood in through him, and he knew it wasn't from the extra material covering his skin.
“Better?” he heard Sanha ask with a yawn.
Minhyuk took a deep breath. “Better,” he whispered.
College was a more difficult time than Minhyuk could have ever imagined. He told his mother he was simply stressed over schoolwork and extracurricular activities. Truth be told, though, he could easily handle the load of work he had been given. He could handle being out until late at night, finishing up assignments in the library or practicing his choreography in the campus' dance studio. None of that was an issue to him.
Rooming with Sanha, though, stressed him out more than anything.
He dreaded going home at night. Sanha would greet him cheerfully, exuberantly, usually with some sort of meal prepared. They would eat and laugh and talk, and Sanha, ever so fond of being close to people, would hug him or nudge his shoulder or just touch him. It sent jolts of electricity through Minhyuk's skin, and when they both retreated to their rooms for the night, Minhyuk would stare over at Sanha's door, reminded of how unreachable the younger boy truly was.
“I still think you should tell him,” Minhyuk's friend and dance partner muttered to him one night after a particularly grueling practice. “I mean, that's what I did to the guy I like, and look where I am now!”
Minhyuk scowled, then glanced over at his partner's partner. “Everyone knew that Myungjun-hyung had a huge crush on you, though,” he mumbled.
“I didn't.”
“Because you're an idiot, Jinwoo.”
He might have deserved the small smack to his shoulder, but he just gave Jinwoo a smirk in response.
“Point is, you might be surprised. I was. I thought I knew everything about Myungjun that there was to know, and so when I confessed to him, I expected him to kindly reject me and for our relationship to turn awkward. I didn't expect that he would laugh and end up crying on my couch and tell me how long he loved me for.”
Nearby, Myungjun was painting a large banner on the ground, something for the arts festival that the dance team would be taking part of. His strokes were even and clean, and he had his tongue sticking out of his mouth in slight concentration as he worked. Jinwoo rubbed some sweat off his own forehead and stared fondly over at his boyfriend.
“I know Sanha better than you knew Myungjun back then,” Minhyuk mumbled under his breath, causing Jinwoo's attention to be broken away from Myungjun.
“Not likely. I think you're missing something really big right underneath your nose. Like, he's friends with tons of people, but he only lights up for you. And he hates to cook, always talks about how much he despises it, but he still makes sure you have something to eat when you come home. And you claim he only dates girls, but when has he ever gone on a date in his entire life?”
Jinwoo had very good points. Minhyuk just hated being proven wrong, so he shot back, “He tells me how pretty girls are sometimes, though.”
“Myungjun would tell me how nice some guy's ass was. It's a jealousy thing. It's stupid to do, but he's probably trying to make you jealous like Myungjun was trying to make me jealous. It's stupid,” Jinwoo repeated, then glanced over once more at his boyfriend. “Hey, sweetheart!” he called out. Myungjun looked up. “You're stupid!”
Myungjun grinned in reply. “Love you, too!” he yelled, a little too loud for the practice room, before turning right back to his painting.
Jinwoo stared pointedly at Minhyuk. “Doesn't Sanha act like how I just acted? Doesn't he tease you and call you names? And doesn't he seem like he's trying too hard to make you jealous at times?”
Maybe in certain circumstances, it was perfectly okay to be proven wrong. After all, if Minhyuk was proven wrong here, perhaps it meant that Sanha actually did like him. Perhaps it meant he wasn't harboring a one-sided crush at all.
Perhaps it meant Sanha would see him more than just a friend.
He hurried home as soon as they had cleaned up the practice room. Myungjun and Jinwoo walked hand-in-hand, and Bin took a few steps ahead of the group in order to call Dongmin.
(“Myungjun thinks Dongmin and Bin will get together before you and Sanha,” Jinwoo had whispered. “If you let me down, Minhyuk, I lose twenty-two thousand won and my dignity.”)
When he arrived back in his shared apartment, Sanha was already waiting. He jumped up from his seat on the couch the moment Minhyuk walked through the door and gestured excitedly at the microwave. “I made you some rice!” he announced proudly. “You might have to heat it up, if you want, but you can definitely eat it cold. Either way, I think, it should taste fine, because I tried a recipe my mom had told me about and-”
“I like you, Sanha.”
The words came out before he could stop them, and once they hung in the air between the two boys, Minhyuk decided not to snatch them back. He was going to be honest with himself, and with Sanha. And if Jinwoo was wrong somehow, if Sanha didn't like him back, then Minhyuk would request that their friendship remain as steady and strong as it had been already for years and years.
But if Jinwoo was right, then surely this was the correct thing to do. Surely admitting his feelings would work better than storing them in and bottling them up and watching as he and Sanha went through life flirting around each other but never quite grasping onto their mutual emotions.
Sanha stared at Minhyuk for what seemed like a full minute. Nothing was said. The noise on the television was light and steady and didn't cut through the moment.
Sanha was the first to break it. “I...have rice-”
That aversion to his confession really wasn't what Minhyuk wanted to hear. He tried again. “Were you listening, Sanha? I like you. I like you as more than a roommate and as more than a friend. I want...I want to have an actual relationship with you. Like, a relationship where you hold hands and...and go out on dates. A relationship where maybe we can one day tell each other that...”
Sanha wasn't looking at him. Sanha was scurrying off to the microwave, opening it to reveal a large bowl of rice, and he seemed nervous. “Rice!” he exclaimed, pointing at his dish. “I made you rice, Minhyuk! I've always made you rice, and you always just come and eat it, and I think we should just do that right now! You should eat the rice and I can sit down and talk to you about everything that happened to me today, and then we can watch an episode-”
“Why are you avoiding the subject?” Minhyuk snapped. Sanha fell silent and licked his lips. “If you don't like me, just tell me, Sanha! I can take it! And if you don't like me, we can...we can do all those things you wanted and I'll ignore my feelings.”
Sanha remained quiet.
“Sanha...” Minhyuk balled his hands up into fists and took a deep breath. “Do you like me?”
The television was the only sound in the apartment again, and after an extra minute, Minhyuk decided to turn. But then Sanha smacked the bowl of rice onto the table, and he heard his friend yell, “I've always liked you, stupid Park Minhyuk, but you're an idiot! You're the most stupid idiot on the whole planet! It took you this long to confess – you're so dumb, Minhyuk!”
Minhyuk wasn't the first to retreat to his room like he thought he would. Instead, Sanha shoved past him, ignoring Minhyuk's shocked expression, and hurried into his own room. The door slammed shut and Minhyuk couldn't even wince.
Sanha liked him?
Sanha liked him since always?
Sanha always liked him?
The information was a lot to take in, and Minhyuk's mind was reeling. Jinwoo had been right all along. Now that Minhyuk stopped to think about it, everything Sanha said or did was due to his feelings and emotions. He always made food, he always picked Minhyuk up during rainy or snowy weather, he always tickled him and got close to him and leaned on his shoulder and stared at him when he thought Minhyuk didn't notice.
He did all the things that someone with an obvious crush would do, short of explaining their love, and Minhyuk just now saw it all.
His heart hammered heavily in his chest. He rushed after Sanha, opening his door to reveal the boy in tears on his bed.
“Sanha?” he whispered.
Sanha didn't look up. Sanha just covered his face with his hands and shook his head. “Go away, you idiot,” he mumbled with no bite to his words. “I can't be-believe I've liked you all this ti-time and you finally blurt out that you like me. H-How long have you liked me? If you liked me, why couldn't you see how much I liked you?”
He hadn't meant to upset Sanha. He closed the door behind him and made his way to Sanha's bed, feeling the slight dip in the cheap mattress as he, too, took a seat.
“I think you established why I never noticed,” Minhyuk mumbled. “It's because I'm an idiot.”
Sanha sniffed and peeked through his fingers at Minhyuk. “You are,” he fussed. “You're the most stupid idiot ever. I can't believe I like someone so dumb.”
“I feel blessed that you like me even though I'm an idiot.” Minhyuk cleared his throat. “Y-You should feel happy that I'm willing to put up with your stupidly long arms and legs, and your ridiculous screeches you make when something embarrasses you.”
“Better to date someone like me than to date s-someone like you.”
Minhyuk smirked and continued to stare over at Sanha. They made eye contact, and Sanha didnt' move away. “And, yet, you want to date me. You want to date a stupid idiot. I wonder why that is.”
Sanha's lips trembled. “Because...because I'm a stupid idiot. I-I never noticed that you liked me.”
“Birds of a feather flock together.”
Sanha gave a small snort, then rubbed at his nose. He removed his hands fully from his face, clasping them nervously together in his lap. “But...but I like you, an-and you like me, so now what? Does this mean...does this mean we're together?”
Together.
The thing Minhyuk had been yearning for since he could remember. Together with Sanha. The thing he had thought he would never once in his life attain. He could finally grasp onto it. Sanha was his. He was Sanha's.
He couldn't help the grin that tugged his lips upward, and he leaned suddenly into Sanha. “Do you want to be together? I don't know if you can handle me, Sanha. All this swag and cool-”
“You're a moron!” Sanha cried out, struggling to get away from Minhyuk's affectionate cuddles. “I don't want to date a moron!”
“Too late! You're going to date me and you're going to like it!”
Fortunately, Sanha was giggling, all previous signs of his tears drying up quickly. He fell down onto the bed, and Minhyuk followed suit, scooting over next to him and realizing just how difficult it was to remove the smile from his face.
Sanha caught sight of the smile. “Stop smiling. You look so dumb.”
“That must be why you like me so much.”
“Yeah, right. As if.”
“Oh? So if you don't like my stupidity, then you must like my swag.”
He received a shove then, and he laughed as he rolled back over to his original position. Sanha clutched at his pillow with a pout, and Minhyuk realized just how lucky he was. Even if Sanha had stupidly long limbs and a loud screech, he was cute and beautiful and kind.
“Here.” Minhyuk reached down to the end of Sanha's bed, where a familiar gray blanket with faded lighting bolts was folded. He straightened it out and draped it across Sanha's head. “Take my blanket.”
Sanha didn't move at first, and so Minhyuk whispered, “Better, Sanha?”
Once those words left his mouth, Sanha poked his head up from the blanket before grabbing onto Minhyuk and cuddling in close. The new proximity made Minhyuk's ears go red, and he stiffened before Sanha hit his shoulder weakly.
He could actually get used to this, and with slow movements, he wrapped his own arms around Sanha's body.
it was far too difficult to explain to his parents that he was a fugitive on the run, which was why he never spoke to them anymore, so dongmin instead informed them that he was moving overseas, somewhere in china, for a job position. they had been slightly miffed at the idea, but allowed him to go.
he said phone reception would be spotty. he said he would be in a village far away. he said they probably wouldn’t hear from him for a while.
it was odd, even for him, but they accepted his claims with little pushback.
and so dongmin was able to escape korea with a stolen object at his disposal, dragging it onto the plane with no one the wiser. it was quiet, it blended in, and it seemed to belong to dongmin.
(though dongmin had told it, when he first stole it, “i don’t want you to belong to anyone.)
china was different than korea, and dongmin was grateful for the chinese lessons he had taken as a child. less grateful, though, was he for the tiny little hut he was given up near the mountains. the wifi signal was dreadful, and the locals seemed shocked by dongmin’s reliance on technology.
dongmin retired on the first night with great exhaustion, collapsing in his bed and listening to the sounds of crickets just outside his window. it was such a bizarre sound, as he had lived in the city for his entire life, and he questioned it to his stolen object.
“have you ever heard the crickets before?”
even in the dark, he could make out eyes peering back at him, scanning his features before the figure they belonged to slowly shook its head. “no.”
“you were never outside the laboratory, were you?”
again, another shake of the head. “no.”
dongmin smiled softly and sat up, yawning and rubbing at his eyes. the object watched him. “if you’re tired,” it said, voice deep but youthful, a little melodic, a little fake, “you should sleep. people need to sleep when they’re tired. it’s a biological standard. a necessity, creator lee dongmin.”
“you don’t have to call me creator.”
the object blinked. “but you created me.”
dongmin regarded the android with interest. he had created him - and many other failed ones. model r-o-c-k-99 was the only android who worked, who felt emotions and could hold conversations and looked just as a regular human would. it was a groundbreaking invention, and dongmin was praised highly and was treated as royalty throughout the world.
the company had given him the grant to design an android, though, and the company had laid out their terms in a contract. r-o-c-k-99 was lawfully their own.
but dongmin loved him.
“just call me dongmin. especially now that we’re away from them.”
the android would know exactly who he was referencing. it never quite enjoyed being poked and prodded, being used as a spectacle, being pushed down and knocked over, physically and mentally, in order to show his wide range of abilities. it scared him. dongmin would always see him on the verge of a breakdown at the end of a long day, and it would ask, in a quivering voice far different than its usual fake voice, a tone bristling with vulnerability and pain, “why do they do this to me, creator?”
and even now, the android appeared distraught, remembering the them that they left behind in korea. dongmin noticed, and quickly moved from his bed to reach out and grasp onto the android’s synthetic hands. “hey. rocko.” the familiar nickname slipped from his lips, and dongmin caught a brief glimpse of warmth on the android’s face, something that he didn’t know r-o-c-k-99 could ever portray. he smiled and, with his free hand, pet down the android’s hair, donated by a prominent korean stylist. “calm down. they can’t hurt you anymore.”
the android blinked up at him, blearily, and asked, “is it because you’ll keep me from them, like you promised? will they stay away because you’ve hidden me?”
“you’re smart,” dongmin commented, and he laughed as he sat beside the android. “i won’t let them lay a finger on you.”
the android looked curious for a minute before its expression melted into relief, and then it returned dongmin’s smile; it never smiled in front of anyone other than dongmin himself. “i’d like it if you kept me with you forever,” the android said.
dongmin nodded his head. “alright, rocko,” he murmured, “i think i will.”
