jinwoo had learned, very early on in their relationship, that myungjun really enjoyed animals in costume. he would laugh loudly whenever he came across pictures of such, and he would order costumes for all of the major holidays. he had a stockpile of large dog outfits, which jinwoo regarded with distaste.
“dogs don’t wear costumes,” jinwoo mumbled as he picked through each and every one. “especially not my dog.”
myungjun tsked lightly, snatching a frilly, pink outfit from jinwoo’s hands. “they do, too. i’ve researched this.”
“how do you research dogs wearing outfits?”
“just like that. it’s simple enough to search, jinwoo.”
jinwoo glared, then crossed his arms over his chest. “you’re not going to stick poor seonggye in any of these, myungjun. he’s a manly dog, and he deserves better.”
myungjun returned jinwoo’s stare, then cocked his head ever so slightly. “okay,” he agreed, “so it’s a big no to any of the clothes i have here, right?”
“right.”
myungjun seemed like he understood, so it didn’t make much sense when jinwoo came home from work the next evening to find his large boxer dressed in a frilly, yellow costume. it looked pathetic. seonggye stared up at jinwoo with sad eyes, and jinwoo yelled out, “myungjun!”
his boyfriend poked his head out of the bedroom, a grin plastered on his face. “yes, babe?”
“i specifically told you not to dress seonggye up in any of your stupid outfits!”
“you said-” myungjun hurried forward; he had a short dress - not a dog outfit, jinwoo noted - draped over an arm. “-not to dress him up in any clothes i had. i didnt have this one at the time. i bought it this morning. look how adorable he looks!”
“he looks pitiful enough to mercy kill,” jinwoo snapped. “get him out of it.”
“you sound jealous that he looks pretty and you don’t.”
“i’m not-”
“if you’re jealous, babe, i bought a matching set for his owner.” myungjun gestured to the dress he held and laughed when jinwoo narrowed his eyes.
“i’m not wearing a dress.”
“you might enjoy it.”
“myungjun-”
“you seem like the sort of sick degenerate who would get off to wearing a dre-”
jinwoo tackled him.
in the end, myungjun agreed to only stick clothes on his dog.
(“i don’t have a dog, jinjin,” the boy mumbled, staring sadly at his ripped dress.
“well, i guess we’ll have to go to the pound and find one.”
bin was pretty certain he didn’t want to hear a play-by-play of his failed first kiss.
sure, there were better things in life. those things included eating chicken, going to the gym, attending class, working on homework, being prodded by the staff of satan himself. anything, really, as long as it didn’t involve sitting back and watching as myungjun animatedly explained bin’s first kiss to his best friend, jinwoo.
myungjun was usually blunt, but, oddly enough, he decided to channel his inner storyteller. the words he spun were creative and interesting, and had they not been about bin, perhaps they also would have been nice to listen to.
but they were not, alas.
“-and he stops, jinny, okay? he stops right there, right in the middle of all these people rushing about, and he grabs my arm. his fingers are cold - it’s december, after all, jinjin - and he falters a bit, his grip loosening. but he tightens it! and he looks so determined!”
jinwoo leaned in, clearly engrossed in the tale. “then what?” he egged on. bin shot him a look, and he was pretty sure that jinwoo caught it. the bastard just chose to ignore it.
“then it gets better. you have to listen closely to this. so he’s holding onto me, my flight’s about to leave, and i snap, binnie, what is it, i need to go? remember, i’m pissed because i tried to kiss him at least five times before this, and he pushed me away each time. i just want to leave. i don’t even want to look at him at this point.”
bin wanted to sink into the floor.
“but he leans in suddenly, and i can smell his breath - he chews a lot of gum, thank god - and he says to me, myungjun, please, please try to kiss me one more time.”
jinwoo laughs - which is frustrating, because the story isn’t a particularly funny story. in fact, it’s bittersweet. bin wishes their first kiss could have been initiated by one of myungjun’s kisses, but he was dumb and shy and scared. he was worried to have myungjun kiss him and then be unable to see him for an entire month as he went on his volunteer trip to help poor children in some third-world country.
(myungjun was too good to be true, except when he lived to make bin’s life miserable.)
“and so i say, you ignored me all those other times, so why should i do it now?”
“and what did he say?” jinwoo urged.
bin grit his teeth down and nudged myungjun’s leg. “i’d...rather not tell it all,” he whispered.
“but it’s cute-”
“junnie, please, it’s...embarrassing, and i wish it was different, a-and i don’t know if jinwoo should-”
“myungjun, i could listen to the most embarrassing story ever and not even bat an eye,” jinwoo said, obviously eavesdropping.
“yeah? and i could punch you right now.”
“do it.”
“no! don’t punch jinny!” myungjun tsked lightly and placed his hand over top of bin’s knee. “the story goes as follows - he kissed me, and bin is one hell of a good kisser, and then i had to go save the children. when i came home, bin kissed me even more, and god, jinny, he’s a good kisser.”
jinwoo looked disappointed. “i was looking forward to hearing how bin embarrassed himself, though.”
“and even if he did embarrass himself, he’d still be ten times more amazing than you.” myungjun leaned into bin’s embrace and grabbed onto his hand. “and he gives me brand new kisses every single day. i’ve almost forgotten about our first, binnie. each one is just better than the last.”
“i’m assuming he threw up,” jinwoo mumbled.
(bin didn’t punch jinwoo, but he did manage to kick him out of their apartment.)
nobody ever really told bin how hard being a parent was.
(myungjun would very much disagree with that statement. myungjun would gladly inform bin that he told him multiple times that being a parent was impossible for idiots such as themselves, but bin won in rock-paper-scissors - which, in hindsight, wasn’t the best way to decide on becoming a parent.)
he had quit his job to stay home with their children - children, because the woman who carried the child they would adopt one day informed them that she learned she was having twins. myungjun refuses to only adopt one: “how can i choose, binnie, when i see both of them? oh, god, they’ll both be beautiful. we can’t decide. they’ll be too perfect.”
(they both were too perfect.)
binnie shaped up his life as quick as possible. he quit his minimum-wage job, allowing myungjun to work full-time at the hospital, which called for crazy hours of all times. bin didn’t want to complain, because myungjun worked long shifts without any breaks, and so bin wanted him to come home and not have to worry about anything at all.
so bin learned how to change diapers, how to warm up milk properly, how to burp a child, how to swaddle them - anything that had to do with babies, bin knew how to do.
(”i dont want to be an absent father,” myungjun cried to him one night, exhausted and lonely and confused. “i miss my babies, but i’m never home!”
“they’ll be old enough for preschool in a year,” bin murmured, kissing away all of his tears. “we’ll enroll them, you can go back to part-time and i can get myself a better job. it’s just until they’re old enough to go out into the wild, right, babe?”)
babies cried a lot, he learned, and for some weird reason, their babies always chose to cry when myungjun finally arrived home.
“i swear, they behaved all day,” bin assured myungjun, bouncing both of the wailing babies on either side of his hips. “they’re just happy to see you.”
myungjun took eunji, kissing her fat, ruddy cheek and holding her close. he hummed lightly, his voice melodic and soothing, and, soon enough, eunji was fast asleep.
he worked his magic on minsu next, smirking a little as bin watched in awe.
“how,” bin asked as they laid the children in their cribs, “did you do that?”
“jinwoo always told me my singing could calm even satan himself,” myungjun commented, smiling softly as he turned the lights off into the nursery. “ooh, bin, they’re so cute when they’re asleep.”
bin blinked, glancing over at his kids - yes they were cute - and then back at myungjun.
“your singing puts them to sleep.”
“seems that way.”
“so if you sing while we have sex, would they stay aslee-”
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.)
he knew he wasn’t as responsible as he would like to be. sometimes he didn’t take the garbage out when he needed to, and sometimes he would forget where he placed his keys. but when he and jinwoo adopted a little baby girl, myungjun swore that he would try even more to be responsible.
and, truly, he was. he changed the diaper whenever possible and he would wake up in the middle of the night to calm the baby’s cries.
jinwoo tried to take half of the responsibility, but myungjun, determined to prove himself, would shush his husband and push him back to bed. it was only on special occasions, on nights when myungjun was too exhausted to get up or was feeling sick, that jinwoo would force him to lay down and take over the duties.
but, more often than not, it was myungjun doing it. jinwoo usually would wake up when he heard the crying. myungjun would roll off the bed, and jinwoo would sleep again, knowing that myungjun would take care of it. their child didn’t cry for the rest of the night.
except, one night, jinwoo woke a second time to more crying. he blinked in confusion and glanced over beside him, where myungjun lay, sprawled out in a comfortable manner.
“junnie?” he slurred, shaking his husband. “junnie, the baby is crying?”
“mm? again?” myungjun yawned, and when he sat up, jinwoo realized how tired he was. “let me go-”
“why didn’t you tell me you were exhausted?”
“it’s not a big deal, just - just hold on, alright. i’ll be right back.” he got out of bed, but didn’t miss jinwoo’s scathing glare. “i’ll sleep tomorrow night,” he assured, “and you can take care of her then.”
jinwoo agreed, if only because myungjun hurried from the bedroom, and he rested his head back down to get some sleep - but then, once more, he was awoken harshly, this time by frantic shakes and light punches.
“ow- what the heck is-?” jinwoo fussed, shifting and moving and getting away from the hands. “myungjun, what-”
“i lost our baby!” myungjun exclaimed.
the urgency in his tone caused jinwoo to sit up straight, eyes wide with alarm, sleep forgotten. “what?”
myungjun was in tears, shaking his head and pulling at jinwoo’s arm.
“i lost her!” he repeated. “she-she’s not in her crib!”
“what do you mean you lost her?”
“i can’t find her in her crib!”
jinwoo pulled the covers back and hurried out from bed. “where all did you check?” he asked, rushing down the hallway, myungjun hot on his toes. one peek into the nursery confirmed myungjun’s story.
“ju-just the crib,” myungjun admitted. “she should be there! bu-but i think, the first time sh-she cried, i took her somewhere - i don’t remember! i was changing her diaper an-and i got distracted and - oh my god, jinwoo, i lost-”
“shh.” jinwoo turned and planted a kiss on myungjun’s cheek. “so you heard her crying, you got up to check, and she wasn’t in her crib?” myungjun nodded tearfully. “and she stopped crying, i assume?” he didn’t hear her anymore, at least.
myungjun nodded again. “ri-right after i got up, she was quiet.”
“well, you usually change her on the couch, remember?” jinwoo gestured for myungjun to follow him, and they both rushed into the living room.
their baby lay on the couch, swaddled in clothes with a changing towel underneath her. she was peacefully asleep, little fists balled up near her head, and the moment myungjun saw her, he sobbed and reached out to pick her up.
jinwoo assured him it was fine, promising that nothing would really ever happen to their little girl as long as myungjun cared for her, but myungjun claimed he felt at fault.
“i was so tired, i just forgot-” he stammered, “-an-and i could have really lost her!”
“not in our apartment, you can’t. it’s fine, myungjun.”
“it isn’t, jinwoo! i want to be responsible!”
jinwoo smirked and kissed myungjun’s cheek. “you know how to be responsible?” he asked. when myungjun looked at him, curious, jinwoo continued, “you get proper sleep and actually let me do some of the tasks around here, deal?”
all myungjun could do was sniff and give jinwoo a watery smile. “deal,” he agreed.
sometimes, bin thought, minhyuk was difficult to live with.
they had moved in together a few weeks prior.
(”i want to make sure all those ghouls stay away.”
“shut up, minhyuk.”)
minhyuk liked to keep things tidy. bin would toss his clothes on the floor and hop in bed. minhyuk would fold those, then take off his own and give those the same treatment. he would put them away in their correct dresser drawers. he would mutter, “bin, you keep putting the socks away where the sweatpants go.” he would tsk and move those.
he wouldn’t get much further before bin would throw a pillow at his head and yell, “i want to have sex!”
in the mornings, he liked to listen to music while eating. his head would bob up and down to the rhythm, and he would tap his fingers on the table. he was rather bright and cheery.
bin, who was admittedly Not A Morning Person, would stare groggily as the love of his life pretended six in the morning on a monday was a great time to be alive. he would mention it, too; “you’re too happy for the mornings.”
“not all of us can be as lazy and dreadful as you, binnie.”
bin was usually too sleepy to be mad.
minhyuk liked to cook dinner for them later in the day. he claimed that bin’s cooking was good enough, but he could make it better.
“it’s all about spice, binnie,” he would say. “which you wouldn’t know because your life was bland before i came along.”
bin was Very Much An Evening Person, and he would stomp forward with a scowl. “what did you just say?”
“oh, good, you heard me. unlike any of your seven alarm clocks this morning.”
“wha-”
“i know i’m the dependable rock in our nice household, but you seem more like a rock to me.”
bin would slap his hand on the counter (it usually hurt - he never stopped hitting it hard) and exclaim, “enough with the sass, minhyuk! i swear, you’re the most infuriating, awful, despicable-”
minhyuk would kiss him, softly, sweetly, and bin would just melt. when their lips drew back, bin would finish, a little dazed, “-kindest, sexiest, most amazing person in this whole, wide world.”
“mm.” minhyuk would look please and pinch bin’s cheek. “ditto, binnie. here, stir this while i use the bathroom.”
(bin would watch him go, a dreamy look on his gaze. once minhyuk would leave, though, the magic was broken, and bin would blink himself out of it.
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.
Jinwoo hated it when Dongmin had to travel for work. He knew it was required sometimes, business conferences in other cities, and he was always invited, but it wasn't as if he could brush off his own job and readily join his boyfriend halfway across the country. Besides, who would feed their dog if they left, and who would water all of their plants?
So Jinwoo reluctantly stayed behind. Usually he would mope, constantly sending texts to Dongmin of how much he was missed and how much Jinwoo wanted him nearby again. Dongmin would respond with hasty messages of, “miss you too,” and “be back in three days hang in there.”
As if Jinwoo wasn't hanging in there enough. As if he wasn't suffering enough. It hurt knowing that Dongmin was so far away.
Selfies could make it all better, though.
He figured Dongmin would like to see one. Dongmin had always claimed that he liked seeing Jinwoo's face the moment he woke up. So, seven in the morning, once Jinwoo's alarm blared out, he took a selfie.
He looked pretty gross. His hair was a mess and his eyes were puffy with sleep. One cheek was red and smeared with dried drool.
But he had a peace sign held up in the photo, which might distract Dongmin enough, and so he pressed send, and then he waited.
Ten minutes later, Dongmin texted back a small heart emoji.
Jinwoo frowned at his phone as he prepared coffee, texting, I want to see a selfie of YOU babe!!!
But Dongmin didn't respond to that. He was left on read. Jinwoo knew better than to be upset; usually, in those cases, Dongmin had been dragged away by whatever coworker he was sharing an apartment with. It wasn't as if Dongmin could drop everything and constantly text Jinwoo cute little messages, not when he was busy earning money for them.
That thought did little to curb Jinwoo's desires, though, and so he took another selfie, holding up his coffee mug and putting a pout on his lips.
This coffee isnt as warm as your kisses are, was the caption. He looked a little better than he had so early on in the morning, so he had no qualms about sending it.
Dongmin took a little longer to open up that message, but as Jinwoo dressed for work, he frequently checked their conversation, waiting for it to have been read.
And, once it was, he waited for the inevitable heart response, which Dongmin sent, alongside a pair of emoji lips.
Jinwoo grinned, straightening his tie and holding up the phone for yet another selfie.
With this one, he sent first, then typed out, im all dressed for work but I only want to impress my sweet minnie.
He didn't get a chance to check if it had been read or not. A glance down at his watch informed him that his bus would soon be leaving, and he rushed out of the house in order to catch it.
The rest of the day went on in a similar manner. Jinwoo took selfies with anything he could; on the bus, getting off the bus, arriving into work, sitting at his desk, eating lunch in the cafeteria-
Dongmin soon stopped responding, but Jinwoo never stopped texting.
If Dongmin couldn't see him physically, couldn't be there with him at every single moment of the day, then it was probably good that Jinwoo was sending him so many selfies. He probably enjoyed all of them. Jinwoo would have really appreciated some in return, but Dongmin was probably much more focused on work.
Evening came, and when Jinwoo collapsed on the couch, he sent another selfie, curled up into his dog. She's cute but i'd rather this be you!
There was a few minutes in between that text and Dongmin's phone call. Jinwoo was excited as he answered, the grin nearly overtaking his face.
“Hey, Minnie!”
“Jinwoo, I love you,” was the instant response. “But...no more.”
Jinwoo sighed loudly into his phone and rolled over on the couch, pouting once more though he knew that Dongmin couldn't even see him. “Fine. I'll stop sending you selfies.”
“I'll be home soon, and then I'll see your beautiful face at every second of the day.”
“Except when we both have to go to work,” Jinwoo grumbled.
“And I'll make it up to you.” Dongmin continued as if Jinwoo hadn't spoken. “When I get home, I'll kiss you as long as you want.”
Jinwoo didn't want to be swayed by such words, blackmailed into submission by kisses, but he was. He bit his lip, then murmured, “Even if it stretches on for hours.”
“Especially if it stretches on for hours.”
Jinwoo giggled at that answer. He felt better, lighter inside, and he decided it didn't matter how many selfies he sent; Dongmin's love would never waver.
“I'll see you soon, Minnie. Can I call you tomorrow morning?”
“Of course you can, babe. I love you.”
“Love you.”
They ended the call, and Jinwoo was satisfied enough.
(He did send one more picture – though this one wasn't exactly of his face, and it was captioned this is what you're missing.
