Chapter Text
A month after it’s officially over, Jihoon agrees to meet up with Soonyoung at their barbecue place. It’s not theirs per se, but it is; they’ve been regulars since high school, when they used to stumble in after every exam season to eat their hearts out, wearing the uniforms they’d undoubtedly fall asleep in.
This time, Soonyoung shows up a little late in polished dress shoes and a dark blazer in the crook of his elbow, the shirt he’d worn underneath crisp with a few buttons undone. As the grill heats up between them he keeps trying to peer at Jihoon’s face, dark under his well-worn cap.
After a few minutes of Soonyoung trying to be discreet, Jihoon whips it off and shakes out his hair.
“Alright, how do I look.”
Soonyoung pauses in the middle of pouring him water. “Huh?”
“How do I look?”
“Oh. Fine? I mean, you look like you slept, I guess.” Soonyoung presses his lips together, cutting himself off. His face is at utter odds with the styled hair, the tailored clothes. The expensive-looking watch on his wrist that he clearly didn't buy.
“Thanks. You look like you slept, too, I guess.”
Soonyoung’s mouth quirks. He relaxes a little, and so does Jihoon. “You bet. I recently discovered something amazing.” He clasps his hands together. “There’s this thing called memory foam.”
“Sure,” Jihoon says, though he’s certainly never used it. Anything that might make his bed more comfortable than it already is is dangerous knowledge.
Soonyoung gapes as a waiter slides their meat and veggies on the table. “Wait. You knew about memory foam and never told me?”
“You like it that much?”
Usually Jihoon would man the grill but he sits back today. Soonyoung shakes his head, carefully rolling up his sleeves. “You’ll see when you come over. You still haven’t been to my new place yet.”
Soonyoung puts meat on Jihoon’s plate, then his own, a light sheen of sweat forming on his temple. He’s always warmed up easily. It’s one of the reasons why he’s never liked suits and ties. Soonyoung loved loose things, layers, soft jackets. He was a dancer, sure, but above all he craved comfort. They were similar that way.
“How was the date?”
Soonyoung looks up a second too slow. If Jihoon hadn’t been watching his face, he wouldn’t have noticed. “Date? It was fine.” He starts a ssam, stuffing it with pork, kimchi, rice, garlic, more pork. “It wasn’t a date though.”
“Where did you go?”
“A bar nearby.” Soonyoung holds out the giant wrap he’d made. “Say ‘ah.’”
Jihoon picks up his chopsticks. “Put it here.”
“It’s too heavy. ‘Ah.’”
Maybe he’s annoyed, or tired, or sad, or some combination of those things and the fact that he hasn’t seen Soonyoung for over a month, but he opens his mouth and lets Soonyoung feed him.
“How big do you think my mouth is,” Jihoon chokes out. The syllables are unrecognizable but Soonyoung, grinning ear to ear, understands him somehow.
“Your mouth is as big as you want it to be.” His smacks his lips like he’s imagining the taste. “Is it good?”
Jihoon doesn’t bother responding. He slaps something of everything into a big perilla leaf and lunges across the table to stuff it into Soonyoung’s mouth, ignoring his yelp of protest.
Within seconds Soonyoung’s eyes start tearing up from the peppers inside. He chews it like he’s holding in a sneeze.
“Is it good?”
“Humna,” Soonyoung says, covering his mouth, and Jihoon cackles. He puts a cup of water in Soonyoung’s hand when it flounders around in search of relief.
Later, he realizes it was the first time he’d laughed in weeks.
As they’re walking off the meat at Gyeongui Line Park, Soonyoung cracks the question.
“How are you doing?”
Jihoon breathes in and sighs. His phone is heavy in his pocket, full of things he doesn’t want to deal with yet.
“We don’t have to talk about it.” Soonyoung is slowing his step to match Jihoon. Left with left, right with right. “I just want to know how you’re doing.”
“I’m fine. Things aren’t that different really.”
Soonyoung stares at the ground.
“I can hear you thinking,” Jihoon says, breaking the silence. “You’re being awkward.”
Soonyoung elbows him. “I’m trying to be considerate! It’s hard.”
“Dude, you think I hang out with you because you’re considerate?”
“Fine. Get ready.” Soonyoung rolls his shoulders, heated. “First of all, I was worried. We were texting for a month and you pretended everything was okay. I mean, I get it. You probably didn’t want to talk about it. But I had to find out from Wonwoo. Since when did you talk to Wonwoo?”
“I didn’t tell anyone.” He takes in the frown on Soonyoung’s face. He hadn’t meant to shut him out, and the guilt softens whatever walls had survived the night. “I would’ve told you eventually, but you found out before I could.”
“That’s even shittier. Who was talking behind your back?”
He sounds so offended on his behalf that Jihoon snorts. “I’m not the only one with friends, you know.”
“Ugh!” Soonyoung shouts, scattering several birds into the night. “What an asshole!”
“What are you so mad for?”
“I’m expressing it for you because you won’t do it yourself.”
“I’m not mad. I’m just…”
He trails off and Soonyoung cools down, fast. He’s not mad, but the right word eludes him. Is he disappointed? Regretful? Sad? The tangled ball inside his chest is all and none of those.
Soonyoung saves him from going there. “Forget it. Just let me treat you to ice cream before I really start screaming.”
“Awesome. Two birds with one stone,” Jihoon says, and makes a run for it with Soonyoung hot on his heels.
He remembers one Friday night, long before it was over, when Soonyoung invited him out to dinner. He had a real motive this time, Soonyoung said, all sweaty from his dance class. He was finally going to learn how to drive and wanted Jihoon to come with. Jihoon had no interest in learning how to drive. In fact, neither of them had ever so much as touched a steering wheel outside of KartRider and he reminded Soonyoung of that fact while they gorged on jjampong in Mapo, but for some reason, he wouldn’t budge.
“You should ask Seungcheol to teach you,” Jihoon suggested a few hours later, over the sound of him absolutely kicking Soonyoung’s ass at DDR.
“Shut up,” Soonyoung had roared, “don’t distract me!”
The conversation repeated itself as they made their way through the arcade, and by the time they got to the claw machines, Jihoon had resorted to groaning, “Why me,” every time he lost a prize just to piss Soonyoung off.
Soonyoung slipped away sometime between the fifth or sixth groan and came back with two soft serve cones.
“Do you hate it that much?”
Jihoon took the peace offering and licked it. “Hate what?”
“You know. That. Comingwithmetomydrivinglessons,” Soonyoung said very quickly.
“Oh, we’re talking about it now?”
“I was trying find the right opportunity. Look, I even brought ice cream to butter you up.”
“This is stupid. Why even pay for lessons? I’m sure Seungcheol would teach you for free.”
Soonyoung cringed. “I already asked him. He said no.”
“What? Why?”
He covered his eyes. “He said I’m unteachable.”
Jihoon leaned against the nearest claw machine, threw his head back, and laughed.
“See, this is why I didn’t want to tell you anything!” He tried to muffle Jihoon with one hand but he didn’t have two to hold him down, so they just kept trying to out-grab each other’s faces.
“You’re so obnoxious,” Soonyoung grunted, trapping Jihoon’s leg against the coin slot. He changed tactics and snapped his teeth at Jihoon’s melting ice cream. It was hard to keep it out of reach and the tussle ended when he demolished half of it with one big chomp. To top off his victory, he wiped his sticky hand down Jihoon’s T-shirt.
Jihoon was disgusted. “Do you want me to come with you or not?”
Soonyoung bit his lip. “Yes.”
Jihoon rolled his eyes, jerking his head towards the bathroom. Soonyoung trailed him like a kicked puppy.
They washed their hands like civil human beings, because someone was shitting in one of the stalls.
“I won’t be as nervous with you there,” Soonyoung said softly.
Something tugged in Jihoon’s gut. He kept his eyes down, rinsing off soap that wasn't there anymore. He could feel the pressure of Soonyoung staring at him in the mirror. “Alright, geez. I’ll be there.”
Soonyoung perked up and did a little silent cheer. Jihoon laughed. He really hadn’t changed a bit since high school.
They crowded around the tiny hand dryer and Soonyoung gave him a nudge. “It was the ice cream, wasn’t it? You liked that, huh?”
Jihoon shook his head, smiling still. “Sure. You got me.”
A few days after barbecue with Soonyoung, Jihoon walks into the café near his studio and immediately spots Mingyu standing in line. He tries to duck out without being noticed, but in addition to being annoyingly tall, Mingyu has a creepy knack for sensing fear. It probably comes in handy in vet school. Jihoon could really do without it.
“Hyung! Jihoon-hyung!”
It’s too late now. Mingyu is making urgent “I see you” and “I’ll meet you over there at that table” and “Give me two minutes” gestures with his long arms. The girls in line behind him are starting to look a little terrified so Jihoon waves him off, sitting down by the window.
Minutes later, their lattes in hand, Jihoon speaks. “What is it?”
Mingyu takes a deep breath. He looks like a walking spring catalogue, and Jihoon wonders idly if he’s been scouted today. It used to happen all the time in high school. “You know what I’m going to say,” Mingyu begins gently, “but I have to say it.”
“I have no idea what this is about.”
“Scratch that. You won’t want to hear this, but hear me out.”
He woke up this morning to a phone call demanding last minute edits and he hasn’t even had a drop of coffee yet. This day is already too long. “Mingyu. Spit it out.”
Mingyu shrinks a little before sitting up again. “Okay. I think it might be a good idea to talk to You-Know-Who.”
Jihoon pinches the bridge of his nose. “Please use his real name.”
“Hyung.” He feels the table shift when Mingyu leans forward. “Did you hear what I said?”
“I heard you. I’m guessing Jungkook put you up to this.” Jihoon stands, cradling his latte. “But let me be clear. It wasn’t a mistake.”
“I know,” Mingyu touches his arm. “But Jungkook didn’t ask me. It’s me. I’m asking.”
“Why.”
“I don’t know. Because you’ve been acting miserable for a month–” Jihoon clenches his jaw. “–and maybe you need closure?”
“You’re the one who told Wonwoo,” Jihoon realizes.
Mingyu groans. “I swear I didn’t mean to! Jungkook was over and he overheard us talking.”
“Soonyoung found out from Wonwoo.” Jihoon sits back down. “Who else knows?”
“I’m sorry. Hyung, look at me.” Jihoon does, very reluctantly. “I’m really sorry. It’s none of my business and I didn't tell anyone who didn’t already know. I was only talking to Jungkook because he was worried.”
“Don’t tell me You-Know-Who’s all torn up about it,” Jihoon says, but it sounds mean, even to him.
Mingyu shifts. “Well. He’s been drinking a little too much. But don’t tell anyone I told you that.”
Jihoon studies the grain on the table. “You think talking to him would fix things?”
Mingyu considers it. “No,” he admits eventually. “I don’t.”
“Yeah. It won’t. He drinks because he has a drinking problem.” That’s not exactly true. When they were together he had been fastidious about avoiding alcohol, and it hurts, just a lingering vague kind of hurt, to hear he’s turning back to old habits.
But that’s none of Jihoon’s business anymore. He gets up. “I’m not mad at you, so stop looking like that.”
“Looking like what,” Mingyu mumbles, picking at the lid of his drink.
“Like Sad Mingyu.” Jihoon fishes some change out of his pocket and slaps it on the table. “Thanks for the coffee. I’m off.”
He hears Mingyu sigh behind him. “Hyung, let’s get dinner sometime. Without Soonyoung.”
“Yep,” Jihoon calls, and then he’s out the door, doing the thing he’s just so good at doing — walking away.
Jihoon tells people they met at a party neither of them had signed up for, but that’s not quite it.
To be fair, Seokmin had only brought Jihoon along that night because it was a music major thing and all of his other more sociable music major friends were preoccupied (read: heartless assholes). Whoever invited Seokmin had invited just a few other friends to their apartment, and Seokmin had been too nice to turn them down but too nervous to go alone. Jihoon felt slightly bad for him. He was also interested in some free booze after spending hours laboring over unnecessary details for his composition final.
“You didn’t bring anything?” Jihoon asked, maybe a bit too late, on their way up. To say he was sleep deprived was an understatement. He left his dorm in the same hoodie he’d been living in for the last three days and had thrown on a hat to cover the unfortunate state of his hair — and just, his entire face, for good measure.
Seokmin froze, deer in headlights. “Am I supposed to? Oh no. I’m supposed to.”
Jihoon shrugged. His shoulders ached from being hunched over. “I don’t think it matters. We’re college students.” He waited for Seokmin to knock on the door.
“No, hold on. Do you think I can buy something from the store really quick? Really quick. I’ll be back in like, five seconds.”
“It’s not that big of a–”
“Now that you brought it up, it’s going to kill me if I don’t.” Seokmin’s already headed for the elevator. If it were anyone else Jihoon would think they were being dramatic, but this was Seokmin, who cried after his first musical because he’d missed his cue. “Sorry! Wait for me, hyung.”
Jihoon wasn’t going to hover outside a stranger’s door so he slipped into the stairwell. It was unexpectedly drafty and smelled like tobacco. He leaned over the railing. One flight down, a guy in a black hoodie and bleached-to-hell blonde hair was smoking with the window cracked open.
The guy glanced up then did a double take when he realized Jihoon was looking at him. “Can I help you?”
The smoking probably violated some kind of code, but it wasn’t Jihoon’s business. “I didn’t realize someone was here. Don’t mind me.”
The guy took one more drag before putting out his cigarette. He pulled a crumpled box from his pocket and stuck the stub back in. “Sorry,” he said quietly, but his voice was rough and low and it hung in the air. “I’m trying to quit.”
Amused, Jihoon pocketed his phone, having sent a text to Seokmin to let him know where to find him. “Good to know. You don’t have to apologize though. I don’t live here.”
The guy raised his eyebrows, and it dawned on Jihoon what else he might be thinking. “I’m older than I look,” he added defensively.
Cigarette Guy laughed, crossing his arms — not like he was posturing, more like he was actually feeling cold. “How old do you think you look?”
Jihoon clicked his tongue. “No comment.” He leaned his arms on the railing. “How old are you?”
“Younger than you think I am.”
“Twenty-six.”
“Ddaeng.” He looked pleased that Jihoon got it wrong.
“Twenty-three.”
“If only.” He leaned against the wall, his hair so pale it could almost blend in with the white. “Twenty-five.”
“How old do you think I am?”
The guy cocked his head and studied Jihoon, inhaling slowly through his teeth. “Let’s see… twenty?”
Jihoon grinned. “Twenty-two.”
“University student?”
“You?” Jihoon asked in lieu of answering.
“Grad school. I just started at Hanyang.”
“Oh,” Jihoon lifted his hand. “Hanyang. Second year.”
Cigarette Guy seemed wistful. “Undergrad. Those days were a different time.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you seem old because you talk like you’re fifty?”
“Why don’t you come down here and tell me yourself, you little punk?”
Jihoon held in a laugh. “Nah, I’ll stay here. Take your time getting up the stairs.”
The guy sniffed, shrugging further into his hoodie. “Pass. I don’t fight losing battles.”
Jihoon was about to ask what he meant when Seokmin burst through the stairwell door, out of breath. “Hyung! Thanks for waiting.” He held up a bag full of snacks. “Let’s go.”
“Finally.”
“Hey, I ran as fast as I could!”
Before he left, Jihoon glanced over his shoulder, but Cigarette Guy was busy staring out the window again.
He couldn’t have predicted that ten minutes later, he’d find him nursing a beer in the tiny apartment’s kitchen.
“It’s you.”
“It’s me.” The guy cleared his throat, also startled. “You’re a lot shorter up close, huh?”
“Didn't ask,” Jihoon grunted. He stuck his head in the fridge and pulled out a beer, twisting the cap off with his hoodie as a buffer. He took a swig.
“You study music then? These are all music people.”
“Yeah. Composition.” Jihoon was interested again. “Do you?”
“No. Architecture.” He smiled ever so slightly when Jihoon tilted his head to make sense of it. “I make music on the side,” he explained.
“Oh, cool.”
The guy cupped a hand around his ear. “What was that? I’m cool, you said?”
Jihoon shrugged. He hoped he was being infuriating because this was kind of fun. “Maybe. I’m Jihoon, by the way.”
“Didn’t ask.” Still, the guy set down his drink and extended a pale hand, oddly formal, but fitting. Jihoon took it, and felt the vibration of his voice as he said, “Min Yoongi."