Work Text:
“You’re drooling.”
Hongjoong startles back to earth, tearing his eyes away from the vision in black athleisure doing pull-ups. He hurriedly wipes at his chin. It’s dry. He whips around in his desk chair to level Seonghwa with a glare.
“I was not—”
“But you had to check!” Seonghwa accuses. He drops a clipboard and his ridiculous half-gallon water bottle on the reception desk before taking the seat next to Hongjoong. “This is pathetic.”
“You’re pathetic,” Hongjoong bites back automatically. “If I have to sit here for thirty-five hours a week, I’m allowed some entertainment.”
Seonghwa rolls his eyes. “Then use your phone like the rest of us and stop ogling the patrons, you weirdo.”
Hongjoong sticks his tongue out childishly at him, only to nearly bite it off as someone approaches the desk. Seonghwa quickly conceals his laugh and melts into his impeccable customer service voice as he turns in his chair.
“Hi, welcome to Treasure Gym and Fitness, what can I help you with today?”
It goes like this: Hongjoong gets to the gym a generous thirty seconds before his shift starts. His hours are fairly regular, by virtue of getting the gym’s scheduling responsibilities dumped on him as soon as he became floor manager. He mostly just sits at the reception desk, receiving. His coworkers try their damnedest to annoy him on a daily basis and frequently succeed; they are unfortunately the bulk of his friends. His only uniform is athleisure and he can patronize the in-house smoothie bar as often as he wants, though his strictly-fruit orders occasionally have a leafy aftertaste. The free gym membership included in his compensation goes mostly unused.
And then there’s him.
Blondie.
His name is Yeosang. But Hongjoong had to mentally call him Blondie for the first month Yeosang was around, since he didn’t know his name and the only person who did then—Wooyoung—refused to say. The little shit. Something about just talk to him yourself and you’re annoying. Whatever.
(Hongjoong got the last laugh when he happened to be on desk duty when Yeosang renewed his membership, handing over his name on a credit card-shaped platter.)
Yeosang started showing up nearly six months back and the torment his presence causes for Hongjoong’s psyche has become just another part of his routine.
It’s not like Yeosang does anything except work out and occasionally chat with Wooyoung at the smoothie counter. Hongjoong simply has eyes. And he likes his job, but it’s not exactly thrilling. The entertainment is welcome, and Yeosang is very entertaining.
Hongjoong watches a drip of sweat trail down Yeosang’s bare arms as he curls dumbbells. His pouty lips purse with concentration, nose scrunching up with the effort. His wardrobe seems to consist mostly of basketball shorts and indecently tight athletic tops. Today, his sweatpants cling valiantly to slim hips, drooping away from the hem of his faded tank top to expose an obscene sliver of skin just below his navel every time he moves. After each set, he pushes back a sweaty blond lock of hair that keeps flopping into his eyes.
The reception desk unfortunately has a great view of nearly the entire gym floor, though Hongjoong does try not to stare too obviously. He’s not eager to be a creep, as much as Seonghwa might say otherwise. He’s just… a curious onlooker in search of mental stimulation. Besides, Yeosang hardly seems to notice.
Which is to say: he hasn’t once noticed Hongjoong, in any capacity. It might be for the best.
A hand snaps in front of his face.
“Are you listening to me?” Seonghwa gripes. The guest he was attending to is gone.
“Uh…”
Seonghwa rolls his eyes. “I forgot to clock out yesterday, can you fix my timesheet?”
Hongjoong groans. What is it with these people and never clocking in right and making him actually do his job. Can’t they see he has more important things to do?
Yeosang disappears into the locker rooms during the squabbling anyways so Hongjoong doesn’t have much reason to keep slacking off. He boots up the computer to adjust Seonghwa’s timesheet, and even starts poking at some of the rest of his work now that Seonghwa can deal with any guests. He flips open his physical calendar, to next month’s tentative schedule consisting of scribbled names and sticky notes on their last leg of stickiness, and groans. It’s easy to see why the distraction is so appreciated.
Hongjoong cracks open the black hole of his email inbox instead to start going through the messages he’s dodged since the morning. “Wooyoung and San sent in time-off requests for the same weekend. What are the chances that’s a coincidence?”
“San? Kickboxing San?” Seonghwa asks. For all the time they spend bickering at the front desk, there’s an equal and opposite amount of time set aside for gossip, of which Hongjoong has prime access to. “Low. Extremely low. Did they send it at the same time?”
“Hm…” Hongjoong clicks around and then barks out a laugh. “Five minutes apart, at two in the morning. Jeez. I’m sure we’ll be hearing about this by the end of the week.”
Seonghwa laughs. “Wow. That was quick. What is this, like San’s third month?”
“Something like that,” Hongjoong says, shaking his head. He’s honestly a little impressed.
Seonghwa must be able to smell it on him, because he says, “Maybe you should ask Wooyoung for some advice on that friend of his.”
“Ugh!” Hongjoong’s hackles are immediately raised. “You know that’s not a thing, I’m just bored! See if I ever share my good gossip again.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Seonghwa says, well aware that Hongjoong will change his mind as soon as he stumbles across something juicy.
“You’re one to talk, anyways! How long have I been forced to watch you make moony eyes—”
They’re interrupted by the desk phone ringing, which Hongjoong reaches for, but Seonghwa waves him off.
“Oh no, I’ve got it,” Seonghwa says.
There’s an odd look on his face that Hongjoong can’t decipher until he looks up, and spots Yeosang walking straight towards the front desk. He’s dried off but still red-cheeked from his workout, his hair a little frizzed and escaping from a tiny ponytail.
And Seonghwa is occupied so now Hongjoong needs to…
He only has a half second to think what the hell, and oh shit, before Yeosang is at the desk. He’s got a sweet smile on his face that Hongjoong is not looking at because the armholes of his tank top are cut so low that it might actually violate the gym’s dress code.
“Hi,” Yeosang says, snapping Hongjoong to attention and his best attempts at eye contact. “Is this where I sign up for the 5K?”
“The…” Hongjoong trails off. “Sorry?”
Yeosang glances over his shoulder to the bulletin board near the entrance. It’s mostly class schedules, announcements, flyers for nearby businesses. He gestures towards one bright blue flyer in particular and — oh. Yeah, that. The gym is co-sponsoring a 5K run, something for a charity that he can’t make out the name of at this distance. Hongjoong should probably read the weekly staff emails a bit more closely.
“Ohh, right. Yeah. The 5k, for sure,” Hongjoong says. He glances around the desk for a registration form and sees nothing. He rifles through his stack of files for any clues, a memo or even one of the reminder sticky notes Yunho so kindly likes to leave stuck to the computer monitor.
Manager Hongjoong fighting! -YH
Happy Monday! You can do it! -YH
The staff bathroom is out of soap :( :( :( -YH
“Er… one second…”
Hongjoong shuffles a few more papers around in a fit of desperation, and then Seonghwa finally hangs up the phone. He reaches over Hongjoong to open the top desk drawer and extracts a sign-up sheet pinned to a clipboard that he hands to Yeosang.
“Here. Just fill out your info and you’ll get an email with the rest of the registration steps,” Seonghwa says.
“Ah, thank you,” Yeosang says.
“How did you get promoted,” Seonghwa mutters to Hongjoong under his breath. Hongjoong decides to be the bigger person and not respond to that in favor of taking advantage of the rare opportunity to look at Yeosang from so close up. His skin is flawless, which is unfair on top of everything else.
“Wow, a lot of people have signed up already…” Yeosang muses as he glances over the sheet.
“More than we expected! A lot of the staff is participating, most of the instructors…” Seonghwa says. He glances over at Hongjoong with a horrible gleam in his eyes. “Hongjoong, are you going to sign up too?”
“Huh?” Hongjoong stops admiring Yeosang’s profile long enough to comprehend the question. He’s about to laugh at Seonghwa for even asking, but then Yeosang’s eyes light up and he looks at Hongjoong with the sweetest smile.
“Oh, it’ll be fun, you should!” Yeosang says.
He looks so excited at the prospect of running a 5k of all things. And until now, Hongjoong had never experienced the full force of Yeosang’s gaze directed at him. It’s the kind of look that makes saying no, absolutely not feel like kicking a puppy. A really buff one.
“Ah… maybe I will then,” Hongjoong says. It’s not a no, but it’s not a commitment, either. He’s golden. Except—
“Should I put your name down right now?” Seonghwa says as he retrieves the clipboard, eyes sparkling.
“I need to check my calendar first, Seonghwa,” Hongjoong grits out.
“I hope you can!” Yeosang says, so sweet, so earnest, so completely unaware he’s about to witness a homicide.
“Maybe, ha ha,” Hongjoong says weakly.
Hongjoong waves as Yeosang leaves, watching until he’s out the door before putting his head down on the desk with a groan. Seonghwa tries to pat his shoulder and Hongjoong wiggles away from it petulantly. He’s ready for this shift to be over.
(Hongjoong basks in his humiliation for an entire day before resolving to put the whole ordeal behind him. He’s not actually signed up, it’s fine, he can make up an excuse before the race day when Yeosang asks.
If he ever does.
And then he walks into the gym the next day to see that bright blue flier on the bulletin board. And when he looks out on the floor, Yeosang is already there. He’s running on a treadmill. Worse still, he catches Hongjoong’s eye and waves bashfully.
He’s never waved at Hongjoong before.
Hongjoong walks behind the desk and clocks in, slowly. He sits in his chair. He boots up the ancient computer.
“Seonghwa, give me the clipboard,” He finally says.
Seonghwa is polite enough to laugh quietly.
It’s a moot point, later, when Hongjoong realizes he’s supposed to be processing these sign ups and has to register himself for the stupid race anyways. He could have dodged a little of the embarrassment.)
With barely seven weeks until the 5k, Hongjoong has no choice but to start running. For one, there’s a pace minimum he needs to meet for it. He’s not sure what they do to the unlucky runners who lag behind, but he does not want to find out.
Plus, dying of exhaustion halfway through the race probably won’t make Yeosang think much of him.
So he has to run. That’s about the sum total of his plan, and he shows up at the gym an hour before his shift to hit the treadmill.
An hour was generous for his first day.
Hongjoong has never been a runner by any stretch of the imagination, but shit. He’s gasping in measly minutes. As his newly-purchased running shoes pound an inconsistent rhythm against the treadmill belt, it only becomes harder to recover his breath. His heart is beating so quickly it makes him nauseous. Soon enough, his whole chest burns magma-hot, as if instead of the floor suddenly the air has become lava, stinging his lungs from the inside out.
He has to slap blindly at the treadmill’s controls to turn the thing off, on account of the sweat streaming into his eyes. Without a towel, he wipes his face with the hem of his shirt, wheezing as his breath slowly approaches normal-ish again. He spares himself the indignity of looking at the treadmill’s helpfully blinking time elapsed display. Some things are better not knowing. A surreptitious glance around the floor to confirm that no one is watching this ridiculous display.
And then he runs again.
This time, as soon as his lungs start burning, he drops the treadmill speed. Not to a stop, but to a sad slow walk, somehow more pathetic. But he does manage to run in these painful, short bursts, and he walks when he can’t manage that.
He mostly walks.
Yunho catches him on the tail end of a “run,” a brief moment of speed before the physical limitations of reality crash back down. He watches curiously for the last few moments until Hongjoong switches back to walking.
“What’re you doing?” Yunho asks. “Are you okay?
“I’m fine,” Hongjoong huffs out. He’s got both hands braced on the treadmill handles, chin touching his chest as he catches his breath. “I’m training for the 5K.”
“Oh, cool! I didn’t know you signed up too.” A quiet pause long enough that Hongjoong starts feeling self-conscious of Yunho’s continued scrutiny.
“Yunho,” Hongjoong warns.
“Did you stretch?” Yunho asks. He immediately folds when Hongjoong frowns. “Sorry, just wondering! I know you don’t,” he gestures towards the treadmill, “Very often. It’ll help you recover if you stretch thoroughly.”
“I feel fine?” Hongjoong says.
“Okay…” Yunho says, generously not pointing out Hongjoong’s wobbling legs. He keeps hovering though, with the hesitation of someone well acquainted with Hongjoong’s moods but eager to continue regardless. He shifts on his feet as if weighing the consequences of doling out more advice.
Hongjoong eventually puts them both out of their misery and shuts off the treadmill for good. “Alright, just spit it out.”
“You should run slower,” Yunho blurts out in one breath.
“What?”
“You should run slower!” Yunho says, more confident as he continues. “You’ll hurt yourself trying to sprint right away. If you run slow you can work on your form and build stamina. Then you can run fast!” He gains energy by the end, even daring to give a cheery thumbs up.
Hongjoong smiles weakly in return. It’s Yunho’s job to know far more about this than Hongjoong ever will. He knows he should listen, even if begrudgingly.
“Thanks, Yunho. I’ll keep that in mind.”
“And you know, you can always sit in on one of my classes, it’s good cardio, and I play good music…” Yunho trails off in a sing-song, as if Zumba is a genuinely fun activity he’s suggesting and not just more exercise. At least Yunho knows him well enough to know when to push his luck—one glance from Hongjoong and holds his hands up in mock surrender, backing off towards the classrooms. “Offer’s always open! But really, please stretch.”
Hongjoong does very immediately learn the value of stretching when he wakes up the next day. He didn’t know there were so many muscles in the leg that could possibly become sore, but it feels like every single one of his is rebelling. If he really thinks about it, even his toes hurt. He forces himself out of bed to take the hottest shower he can handle for his aching muscles, and downs three ibuprofen with his coffee.
Lucky for him, it’s carpool day. He limps outside to Yunho’s waiting car, where Seonghwa grins at him from the passenger seat.
“Yunho,” Hongjoong whines as he throws open the backseat door and gingerly lowers himself into the car. “You’ve gotten him first like five weeks in a row! I thought we had something special.”
“Good morning to you too,” Seonghwa says brightly.
“Sorry,” Yunho says. He gives a sympathetic wince at the general state of Hongjoong’s slumped body. “Seatbelt?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Hongjoong says. He buckles himself in, and Yunho starts driving.
Seonghwa twists in his seat to face Hongjoong sitting petulantly in the back. A captive audience. “So… how’s the running going?”
“Let me out, I’m walking to work,” Hongjoong says. The ibuprofen is not kicking in fast enough.
“I’d like to see that, you can barely move,” Seonghwa says, snickering.
“You know,” Yunho says loudly, before Hongjoong can well and truly get into it, “Jongho has some openings on his client list…”
“I’m not going to waste Jongho’s time with this, that’s silly,” Hongjoong says. His respect for Jongho’s expertise goes hand in hand with a healthy dose of fear. It’d be less painful to wander into the woods and let himself get mauled by an actual bear than hire Jongho as his personal trainer.
“He wouldn’t mind!” Yunho asserts. “He’d probably have fun helping you!”
A shiver goes down Hongjoong’s spine. “I’m fine by myself.”
Then Seonghwa gasps at something on his phone, and starts complaining about a bad Star Wars opinion he read like it personally wronged him. Presumably for Yunho’s benefit, who would politely listen to Seonghwa prattle on about anything, more than Hongjoong’s, who spends the rest of the ride unsuccessfully trying to rub the pain out of his calves instead of paying attention.
He’s definitely not running today.
He’s barely walking today, instead hobbling from the parking lot into the building. His mood takes a turn for the worse when Mingi cheerily greets him in the break room. How dare Mingi look so well-rested right in front of him? How dare he be so fit and energetic on this godforsaken Tuesday morning? Mingi changes into a Treasure branded t-shirt, flaunting the lithe muscle built teaching pilates, and that just sours Hongjoong’s mood further.
Mingi wisely slinks away, and retrieves a massage gun from his locker. “For your legs?” he offers, and Hongjoong remembers why Mingi is his favorite.
Hongjoong gets back to running the next day.
Too ashamed to ask Yunho, he turns to the internet instead. He settles on a simple-looking set of stretches and ditches the “running for his life” routine for timed intervals of running and walking. And then he starts slowly.
It feels… stupid. Going through the motions of running at a speed hardly fast enough to qualify as one is ridiculous, and self consciousness bubbles up as Hongjoong considers how silly he looks. His feet pounding against the treadmill belt feel embarrassingly exaggerated with his total lack of speed.
At least Yeosang isn’t in yet.
But miraculously, he manages a much better showing of it all. It’s slow going, but for once he’s moving his body somewhat consistently instead of in painful start-stops. Purposefully scheduled walking intervals means there’s enough air reaching his brain to actually think about the way his feet connect with the ground. He can focus on finding a comfortable gait, no longer slamming his heels down through the pain.
He could probably speed walk faster than the pace he’s running at, but still. It counts for something.
Hongjoong only runs for an amount of time he would still lie about if asked, but it’s already better than before. He doesn’t feel like he’s going to collapse immediately. He can sustain for a while. For the first time, Hongjoong thinks he might actually be able to get through the 5k without dying of exhaustion, embarrassment, or both.
Though he shouldn’t get ahead of himself; he’s already starting to feel achy as he clocks into his shift, limbs getting stiffer every minute he spends stationary in a desk chair. But he’s riding high from his moderately successful morning, enough to get a smoothie over his lunch hour even if it means braving Wooyoung.
“I heard you’re running the 5k,” Wooyoung greets, polite as ever behind the counter.
“You did,” Hongjoong says mildly. When Wooyoung only lifts his eyebrows in response, pressing for details, Hongjoong pretends not to notice. “Are you going to take my order?”
“Medium banana strawberry tango, hold the protein powder,” Wooyoung recites. “Now explain.”
“And only banana strawberry. Nothing else.” Hongjoong casts a suspicious glance over at the colorful assortment of veggies on the prep bench, just waiting to be puréed into some poor fool’s drink. Not his, not today.
Wooyoung scoffs as he punches the order into the register. “Obviously.”
“My last few smoothies tasted weird,” Hongjoong says.
“You’re weird,” Wooyoung says, “Seriously, the 5k? I thought you were allergic to exercise.”
“Like carrot-y weird,” Hongjoong continues.
“Enough about the smoothie!” Wooyoung says, leaning over the counter towards him. “Why did you sign up for the race?”
“...For fun.”
“Fun,” Wooyoung repeats, somehow imbuing the single syllable with doubt, amusement, and his baseline levels of vaguely scheming. “Really?”
Hongjoong tries to hand over his work ID to scan, but Wooyoung doesn’t take it. There’s not much to be explained about the circumstances of his 5k registration without incriminating himself, which is an even less interesting prospect in front of Yeosang’s self-proclaimed best friend.
“And… self improvement, whatever. I’m serious, have you been putting carrots in my smoothies?”
Wooyoung snorts, and finally swipes the ID to finish the transaction. Then, casually as ever, he says, “Yeosang told me he just signed up too, did you know?”
It’s not really an accusation, but it is. It’s entirely an accusation, and any answer Hongjoong comes up with will be an admission of guilt. That’s how Wooyoung gets you.
“Cool.” Hongjoong looks down at his phone to check the time instead. “I need to get back to work, so if you could…”
Wooyoung’s wry smile is enough for Hongjoong to know he still lost this conversation. But at least there aren’t any dubiously vegetal undertones in his drink today.
Hongjoong manages to get himself on a consistent running routine, mostly out of necessity. It’s amazing how motivational the fear of catastrophic failure can be, because he truly hates every second he spends on the treadmill. It’s not a lot of seconds, not yet, but he’s working on a steady increase.
At least there’s Yeosang.
Yeosang has been running more with the race on the horizon, too. It’s not nearly as entertaining as when he lifts in Hongjoong’s opinion, but it’ll do. Besides, it has them in the same corner of the gym most days.
And as of rather recently, Yeosang knows Hongjoong exists.
“Morning!”
Hongjoong is thankfully on a walk interval, so he recovers from his surprise easily and waves back. “Hey, Yeosang.”
“Have a good run today,” Yeosang says, enthusiastically giving a thumbs-up.
“You too!” Hongjoong says, stupidly, because Yeosang smiles and heads to the free weights, like he always does on Tuesdays.
But it’s a highly motivating new development anyways, the way Yeosang starts greeting him. A cheery hello! or have a good run! every morning, and maybe Hongjoong should be embarrassed about how energizing it is, but he’ll take anything to make the running tolerable. At this point, it’s only muscle memory in the way one vividly remembers torture.
It gradually starts to go like this: Hongjoong gets to the gym an hour before his shift starts. He braces himself for whatever new way his coworkers try to encourage him (someone unearthed a party horn last week and between Mingi and Yunho, he was sure to hear it every day). He makes small talk with Yeosang that he shamelessly allows to buoy him through his run, the ordeal of changing in the break room, and his subsequent shift.
He could not, with a clean conscience, say he enjoys running. But he does it every day and that has to count for something.
“Good morning!” Yeosang says, ever sweet as he hops on the treadmill next to Hongjoong.
Yeosang’s hair is tied back into a tiny blond ponytail, though Hongjoong is a bit more preoccupied with the gaping neckline of his tank top. It’s so much worse now that Yeosang isn’t just a mysteriously pretty face; he’s been unerringly kind and encouraging every time they meet, and Hongjoong can barely take it.
“Morning,” Hongjoong says. Do they just sell shirts like that? Or did Yeosang cut the collar out himself? If that’s the case, did he intend for most of his sternum to be visible?
“Woah, your shoes are really cool,” Yeosang says, snapping Hongjoong out of his reverie.
“Huh?” Hongjoong looks down at his running shoes. They were originally gray and plain when he bought them at the beginning of the month, but there’s only so much Hongjoong can subject himself to. An easy fix with paint, dyed laces, and some stitched-on trimmings. “Oh, thank you, I reformed them myself.”
“What?” Yeosang says. He hadn’t yet started his treadmill and steps off to come closer, even bending down to take a closer look. Hongjoong awkwardly slows his own treadmill to a stop to let him. “Wow! Even the embroidery?”
“Yeah,” Hongjoong says, suddenly bashful. His needlework was crude but he liked to experiment.
“Wow,” Yeosang repeats. “Do you do that a lot?”
“Just sometimes. They were so boring at first, and I thought I’d run better if I liked them more, if it was my art too,” Hongjoong says. He belatedly feels silly for saying it.
But Yeosang nods like it makes perfect sense. “It’s a very mental sport.”
“...Um, totally.”
Yeosang finishes his examination of Hongjoong’s shoes and hops back onto his treadmill. “That’s so cool. I hope you have a good run!”
And by god, Hongjoong does.
Disaster strikes one sunny morning.
Hongjoong has been diligently stretching before each run, he has. He’s still a little sore pretty much all the time, but he’s learned the value of a thorough routine. He even stretches after each run, a quick cool down before he starts work.
He’s balanced on one foot and holding the other in a quad stretch for one such cool down, waiting for the tightness in his thighs to ease. Instead, the stretch betrays him.
His hamstrings spasm and Hongjoong gasps with the onset of an excruciating cramp.
His eyes squeeze shut and he lowers himself jerkily to the foam mat before he topples over. Every other muscle in his body has seemingly locked up in response to the pain shooting up his thigh, and it's all he can do to clutch his leg and grit his teeth to keep from making some horrible noise.
He’s aware enough to notice the shadow suddenly looming over him, and when he manages to crack an eye open, it’s Yeosang. Yeosang, lightly sweaty and a little flushed from his own run, looking down at him.
“Are you okay?” Yeosang asks, brows furrowed.
“Leg cramp,” Hongjoong wheezes, thankfully too preoccupied with pain to feel embarrassed.
Yeosang frowns and squats down, joining Hongjoong on the floor. “You should massage it, that’ll help release the cramp.” At Hongjoong’s feeble attempt at kneading the back of his thigh with his fingers, Yeosang gives a sympathetic wince. “You really have to get in there.”
Hongjoong tries to press harder, but hisses in pain. “I think we need to amputate. Agh.”
Yeosang’s lips press together with a contained laugh. It's a shame Hongjoong is too busy dying on the gym floor to appreciate the expression. “Um… do you want me to help?”
This is a strange kind of nightmare. As soon as Hongjoong nods his assent, Yeosang grabs him by the thigh and remorselessly digs his thumbs into the muscle. That, combined with pain enough to make Hongjoong’s eyes water is a deeply confusing experience for his whole body, to say the least. The noise that wheezes out of him is ragged, like a deflating balloon.
A few torturous moments later, the pain suddenly eases. Hongjoong sucks in his first full breath in several minutes, and the change in his body tension is enough for Yeosang to look up from his work and smile.
“Better?”
“Yeah,” Hongjoong breathes out. He cautiously flexes the muscle, still sore but no longer cramping. He rubs a tear or two out of his eyes. “Thanks.”
“Um, it might be dehydration? Muscle cramps are more likely if you’re not getting enough water,” Yeosang says.
“Damn, you’re probably right,” Hongjoong says. He’s been forgetful with his water bottle, he’ll admit. “Thank you, again.”
They look down, at where Yeosang’s hands are still on Hongjoong’s thigh. His shorts had ridden up enough that Yeosang touches bare skin. A beat later, Yeosang snatches his hands away with an exaggerated a-hem and quickly stands. Still, he offers to help Hongjoong up.
“Uh, I should probably… finish my stretches,” Hongjoong gestures lamely at the mat.
Yeosang nods enthusiastically. “Yes! You should.” He clears his throat again. “Have a good rest of your workout!”
Then he’s off towards the locker rooms, and Hongjoong is alone with his stretch routine once again. He does finish it. He’s not risking any more pain today.
After, he hobbles over to the reception desk on sore legs, practically flopping over the counter. He can still feel the phantom pain-pleasure of Yeosang touching him, unrelenting even as Hongjoong squirmed. It might be the most erotic thing that’s happened to him in recent memory.
He ignores Seonghwa and Wooyoung chatting on the other side of the desk, though they stop to look at him with disgust (Seonghwa) and glee (Wooyoung).
“Quite the show over there,” Wooyoung quips. “Felt like I was intruding on something.”
“You’re getting sweat all over the counter,” Seonghwa says, nose wrinkled.
“Please don’t ruin this for me,” Hongjoong says into the cool laminate.
A few weeks’ worth of consistent running is the most athletic Hongjoong has been in ages.
It hasn’t changed much in his life besides how early he wakes up, but his appetite has doubled to keep up with all the fuel his body suddenly needs. He finds himself at the smoothie counter more often than he was previously willing to be, as a result. Wooyoung hasn’t yet grown sick of pointedly asking how his training is going.
There’s a line today, which gives Hongjoong a moment to contemplate his order. He should probably give in and start adding protein powder to make them more filling, which gives him pause, because is he really at a point in his life where he’s going to start drinking protein shakes? For some guy?
He suddenly notices the guy in question waving in his periphery, and Hongjoong startles to attention.
“Hey!” Hongjoong greets. His face feels hot, embarrassed suddenly.
“Hi,” Yeosang says. He looks awkward in return, his soft cheeks gone pink. Clearly neither of them have repressed yesterday’s impromptu massage session yet.
Hongjoong laughs nervously. “Actually, you have great timing, I need a smoothie recommendation. I always get the same thing and I’m sick of it.”
“Oh! Of course,” Yeosang says. He contemplates the menu very seriously, which Hongjoong appreciates. “Hm… you should get the Wild Berry Spinach.”
Hongjoong glances over at the menu and instinctively frowns. As the name forewarned, the first ingredient is spinach. No amount of blueberries can atone for that. And what in god’s name is spirulina anyways?
“Or the Kale Party, that one’s good after a run…” Yeosang continues.
Hongjoong can’t school his expression of horror fast enough. But then Yeosang is giggling, eyes sparkling. He’s teasing, Hongjoong realizes.
“Sorry,” Yeosang says, laughing behind a tiny smile. “I do get those two most often. They’re good!”
“I’ll have to take your word for it,” Hongjoong says, because he will not be drinking a spinach smoothie today, no matter how cute Yeosang is. He can’t choke down his pride and leafy greens.
“The Berry Breeze is good too,” Yeosang continues, smiling. “No kale! You should get the protein powder, though.”
“Sounds great,” Hongjoong says weakly, still recovering. It’s not a lie at least—banana, mixed berries, vanilla protein and chia seeds is easy. He doesn’t think anything ever masks the distinctly off flavor of protein powder no matter what it’s dressed up in, but he can make some sacrifices.
When they get to the front of the line, Wooyoung takes their orders with a shit-eating grin.
“Oh, changing it up today?” He says, waggling his eyebrows as he keys in their orders.
“Yes,” Hongjoong says. There’s still a line, extending behind them, so there’s no time to lightly harass each other today. Hongjoong ignores the eyebrows and hands over his work ID. He gestures towards Yeosang. “Can you comp his with my ID too?”
Wooyoung snorts. “Do you really think I make Yeosang pay for his smoothies?”
Hongjoong blinks. “...I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.” Then, as the words really sink in, “Wait, that day I forgot my ID you made me pay for mine!”
“You know, according to the employee handbook—“
“Jung Wooyoung!” Hongjoong yells, and then quickly drops his voice to a sharp whisper, mindful of the people around. “You haven’t done anything according to the employee handbook a day in your life!”
“No time like the present?” Wooyoung says, laughing at him. He swipes the card and hops away to the back counter, and Hongjoong can’t be angry since he’s finally making their smoothies.
“I’m sorry if you never see Wooyoung again, I’m gonna start scheduling him on the night shift,” Hongjoong grumbles.
Yeosang is quietly laughing, hand politely covering his mouth like he’s not sure if he should. “Sorry, I can pay for my smoothies.”
“It’s not that big of a deal,” Hongjoong waves a hand dismissively. “I don’t care as long as I don’t hear about it.”
“But… you did hear about it?” Yeosang says.
“Hm, nope, no clue what you’re talking about,” Hongjoong says. He leans over to knock his shoulder against Yeosang’s teasingly. His skin is warm. “I’m pretty forgetful. I think all this running makes it worse…”
Yeosang schools his expression and nods very seriously. “Ah, yes, yes. I’ve been paying for them the whole time.”
God, Hongjoong would gladly be complicit in smoothie embezzlement for Yeosang.
“Exactly,” Hongjoong says.
Hongjoong runs and runs and runs.
He gets better at it, both a relief and a bit disturbing. He’s not even winded after climbing the three flights of stairs to his apartment anymore. He’s been sleeping better, which he would not admit to anyone. It’s taken a real swing at his caffeine habit.
The whole ordeal isn’t quite torture anymore, though Hongjoong still wouldn’t go as far as saying he likes it.
But it’s not all bad.
Hongjoong is already running when Yeosang gets to the gym that morning, but Yeosang comes by the treadmills to wave.
“Good morning!” Yeosang is wearing neon yellow track shorts, with a ridiculous inseam.
Sometimes, it’s even good.
“Hey, Yeosang,” Hongjoong says. One of the benefits of getting better is that he isn’t too winded to appreciate the tiny shorts. Small blessings.
“Have a good run!”
Yeosang skirts around the treadmills to the nearby benches, and starts adding plates to a bar. Hongjoong watches with growing horror as Yeosang sits with the barbell in his lap, his shoulders braced against the bench and feet planted flat on the floor.
In one smooth movement, Yeosang lifts his hips and the bar up into a hip thrust. When he lowers his hips back down, he does it slowly, with perfect control over the weight. He does another rep, spine straightening as his hips drive the bar upwards. His chest rises with a deep breath every time he lowers the bar back down, and each thrust up is on a steady, measured exhale. Sweat shines on his neck and arms by the end of the first set.
Hongjoong takes a few panicked gulps from his water bottle. Yeosang sips from his own water a bit more politely.
The exertion shows on Yeosang’s face through his second set and into the third. It makes his nose scrunch up in concentration as he moves his hips with firm, unyielding strength. Hongjoong bumps the speed a bit higher. He can only wonder, without the distance and loud drone of treadmills, if he’d be able to hear Yeosang’s efforts as well. Though it’s likely for the best that any incidental grunts aren’t making their way to Hongjoong’s ears, for his own safety.
When Yeosang finishes the last set of hip thrusts, he wipes his sweat off the bench and racks his weights. Then he’s off to the opposite end of the gym, probably to the hip abduction machine, if Hongjoong had to guess.
When Hongjoong looks down at the treadmill screen, he realizes he’s run his normal routine straight through, skipping past the staggered walk intervals.
He breezes through his cool-down in a mild daze. He feels like a voyeur. He’s also pretty sure only the exertion of running prevented him from popping a semi, a truly humiliating thought to contend with. He changes in the break room quickly, and with one last glance at the clock he flops facedown on the reception desk.
That’s how Yunho finds him. “Morning, Hongjoong!”
Hongjoong groans. “My shift starts in thirty seconds.”
Yunho waits politely.
Thirty-one seconds later, Hongjoong lifts his head and says, “Okay, what’s up?”
“Are you okay?” Yunho asks.
“Yeah, tired,” Hongjoong lies. “You need something?”
“I brought you a coffee,” Yunho says, pushing a warm paper cup into Hongjoong’s hands.
Hongjoong looks at it suspiciously. “Is this about your timesheet?”
Yunho reveals a stack of colorful papers from behind his back. “Uh, Seonghwa left these in my car. He told me to give them to you, that you know where they’re supposed to go?”
That explains the peace offering. Hongjoong takes the stack and flips through it — it’s the printouts meant for this month’s bulletin boards. Unfortunately, he does know where they’re supposed to go. So does Seonghwa, but of course he’s not in today. “Yeah, I do. Thanks Yunho, I’ll put these up.”
Hongjoong peels himself out of his chair. He’s not as uselessly sore as he was in the beginning, but the persistent aches of a body unused to so much movement don’t go away in just a few weeks. And he definitely—unintentionally—pushed himself today. He should probably nab Mingi’s massage gun again.
“Also…” Yunho is still loitering.
“What is it?” Hongjoong says.
“I think I forgot to clock in yesterday,” Yunho says quickly. He shoots Hongjoong a nervous smile.
Hongjoong rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll check.”
“Woo!” Yunho pumps a fist, energy restored. “Thanks, Hongjoong! Have a good shift!” And then he’s off, bouncing away in the direction of the classrooms.
Hongjoong just shakes his head and slaps a sticky note on the monitor to remind him later. He digs a stapler out of the unorganized desk drawers and takes his stack to the first of three bulletin boards.
Though he really should've taken a glance around first, because dealing with the locker room first quickly becomes a mistake.
He’s only in the middle of tearing down last month’s wrinkled flyers when there’s a feeling like the air shifts behind him.
Hongjoong turns and there’s Yeosang, in boxer briefs and nothing else. He has a tiny pleased smile, and his hair is wet from the shower, and water drips onto his shoulders, trailing down, down, and—Hongjoong is not looking, he’s absolutely not looking, the last thing he wants is to seem like a pervert in the locker rooms, he is turning away—
“Hi,” Hongjoong chokes out once he tears his eyes back to the bulletin board. He yanks the rest of the old flyers down more forcefully than needed.
“Hi! How was your run today?” Yeosang asks, kindly and half-nakedly.
“It was… good,” Hongjoong says. Oh god. How obviously was he staring earlier? He feels like he blacked out. Did Yeosang notice him being a freak? He can’t be a freak, they’re on speaking terms now! Why didn’t Yeosang put on a shirt before talking to him? Fuck!
Yeosang nods, encouraging him to continue, and Hongjoong sputters. He's sweating.
“Uh, it was the longest I’ve run without stopping,” He says, though he will not be explaining why. “I’m still pretty slow.”
“Endurance is more important than speed,” Yeosang says seriously, and Hongjoong swallows his spit wrong and has to clear his throat. “Wooyoung told me you just started running?”
Hongjoong glances down his chest quickly, which is a mistake, because he keeps looking. Anyways, he’s too busy reeling from the information Yeosang has unintentionally shared: that he and Wooyoung have talked about him. It’s a cruel revelation; if Hongjoong attempted to pry more details from Wooyoung, he would laugh so hard he’d crack a rib.
“Yes,” Hongjoong says weakly. “Pretty recently.”
“Wow! You’re really dedicated,” Yeosang says.
“Ha ha,” Hongjoong says. Then, because Yeosang is not joking, he says, “Oh, uh, thank you. I mean, definitely not as dedicated as you with,” he waves a hand at the carved marble in front of him, “Uh. Everything.”
Yeosang smiles, unphased by his own near-nudity or Hongjoong’s wandering eyes. “Thanks! If you ever wanted to work out together we could!”
“I don’t think I could keep up with you,” Hongjoong says without thinking.
“I’m sure you would,” Yeosang says. His cheeks are pink, which Hongjoong stares at so he doesn’t look at Yeosang’s nipples instead. “Oh! Actually, I meant to give you something!”
Hongjoong stands there, flabbergasted for a lot of reasons, as Yeosang spins away to a locker a few rows down. He returns with a fistful of bright blue powdered drink packets.
“You should try these! It’s the only electrolyte flavor that tastes any good. I drink them all the time when it’s hot, it can help if you’re having trouble staying hydrated.”
“Oh,” Hongjoong says, taken aback. There’s too much going on at the moment. “Thank you.”
A drop of water just barely clinging to Yeosang’s bangs finally escapes and rolls down his cheek. On instinct, and because he isn’t quite in his right mind, Hongjoong reaches out to wipe it away. He quickly jerks his hand back when he realizes, and they just stare at each other for a moment.
Hongjoong’s other hand is still holding the stapler, because he is at work. He is at work, where he should be doing his job, and not staring at Yeosang’s reddening face, or his absolute lack of clothing, or the cut lines of his muscles, pumped after his workout, or his pink, kissable mouth.
Hongjoong squeezes the stapler hard enough it clicks together and it shakes them both out of this stupor. He clears his throat, gesturing at the bulletin board. “I should get back to this! Thank you again!”
“No problem!” Yeosang says quickly.
And then he sets back off towards his locker, while Hongjoong keeps his eyes firmly on the board.
Within a day of receiving their race shirts in the mail, Yunho is throwing a party at his apartment to tie-dye them. Outside, since this group is liable to accidentally knock over a bottle of dye or three.
When Hongjoong arrives, Yunho greets him at the gate to his building’s courtyard and shuffles him in with an eager smile. “You made it!”
“Of course I did,” Hongjoong says. He’s late, since he worked that morning and bravely didn’t even skip his run, but the race shirt is a fiendishly ugly shade of pale yellow. He wouldn't miss an opportunity to fix it, and he wouldn’t miss one of Yunho’s parties anyways.
The tiny courtyard is busy, with several plastic folding tables set up with dye bottles and bags of rubber bands piled on top. There’s a couple coolers off to one side, overflowing with ice and cans. Yunho’s coffee table has been dragged outside too. It’s clearly the snack table, laden with bags of chips and a cut watermelon that looks like it was hit by a bomb instead of a knife, but Hongjoong has no doubt the wood will somehow end up stained with dye by the end of the day.
“I’ll come find you in a sec!” Yunho deposits a can of mediocre hard seltzer in Hongjoong’s hand and then runs off to deal with some emergency involving the garden hose.
There’s a good twenty or so people scattered around, in various stages of tie-dyeing and drinking. Hongjoong recognizes most of them from the gym, and wow, Seonghwa wasn’t even bullshitting about most of the staff participating in the race. Practically half the payroll is here dyeing their race shirts.
“Oh! Captain!” There’s San, eagerly waving from a group clustered around one table. He’s been calling Hongjoong that since he started at the gym a few months back, and Hongjoong is pretty sure Mingi put him up to it—suspicions peaked by the way Mingi fails at hiding his laughter. Either way it seems cruel to tell San to knock it off, so Hongjoong puts up with it.
Hongjoong joins them, fishing his shirt out of his bag. “Hi, San. I thought you weren’t doing the race?”
“I’m not! I’m tie-dyeing this,” San says, holding up a white Treasure Gym STAFF shirt half knotted with rubber bands. He considers it again. “Wait, would that be against the dress code?”
Mingi snorts. “No one enforces the dress code.”
Hongjoong is too off-the-clock to care about flagrant disregard for the employee handbook, but he does at least roll his eyes at Mingi for the comment. “I think it’s fine, San.”
“Yay!” San says.
Mingi is squeezing dye onto his tied shirt in stripes of black and purple, fingertips already stained. San is still very focused on his tying, and Hongjoong joins him. He starts with rolling one corner of the shirt into a spiral, before tying that half off in tiny twists on a diagonal. He’s attempting to split the colors on either side, separated by the line of little starbursts from shoulder to hem. It’s a fun chance to experiment; he only has to wear it once if it turns out ugly.
Jongho wanders over at some point during this and watches his work appraisingly.
“Where’s your shirt?” Hongjoong asks.
“Already finished it,” Jongho says. He points at the courtyard fence, adorned with several shirts hung up to dry. His has a perfectly-executed multicolor spiral on it, a highlight amongst the display of muddied colors and off-center twists. “Oh, this is gonna be cool.”
“Let’s hope,” Hongjoong says. He’s only just started applying dye in careful sections, but he trusts Jongho sees his vision.
“How’s your training going?” Jongho says.
“He still won’t take my class,” Mingi complains. While he’s distracted, Jongho casually swipes one of his dye bottles and hides it.
“It’s going fine, I don’t need pilates,” Hongjoong says. “I’m sore enough as it is.”
“When you finally accept that you should do some lifting, I could always fit you in for a session. Just say the word,” Jongho says. He flexes both arms theatrically.
“Oh no, he should ask Yeosang for lifting advice,” San says, sing-song.
“San!” Hongjoong gasps, shocked, scandalized. San used to be so polite when he first started at Treasure, all smiles and yes captain! This is Wooyoung’s fault.
“Wait, is that Wooyoung’s friend you’re obsessed with?” Mingi says. (His fault, too.)
“No,” Hongjoong says at the same time Jongho says, “Yep.” Hongjoong tries for a glare, but Jongho is mostly immune. He only grins back.
“Oh, now I get it. You sign up for the 5k, go on a fitness journey, woo the gym rat,” Mingi nods consideringly. “Kinda smart.”
Hearing it all laid out like that makes Hongjoong’s eye twitch. It’s not like his original intentions were so… calculated. “We’re not talking about this!”
“Not talking about what?” Wooyoung pops up behind him, and Hongjoong almost screams. Wooyoung is ominously holding several bottles of dye.
“Nothing!” Hongjoong says. Jongho is full-out belly laughing.
Wooyoung elbows Mingi over until there’s room on the bench, but still sits nearly on San. “I didn't know you were coming! I told Yeosang you weren’t here.”
Hongjoong pales. “He asked?”
“Yeah?” Wooyoung says, and then he laughs. “Woah, you should see your face.” He glances around for a second. “He just got here, I thought he was right behind me…”
“Oh,” Hongjoong says, normally. He wasn’t expecting to see Yeosang here, in the light of day, outside of the gym. In the gym, he might still be a figment of Hongjoong’s fevered brain.
“You should go find him!”
“Uh…”
“You guys are taking forever anyways,” Wooyoung continues, which makes San bristle.
“You dyed your shirt black and gray, of course it was fast!” San cries. “Mingi’s still working too!”
“Hey, I’m almost done, I just can’t find the shade of green I mixed earlier…” Mingi says, eyeing the bottles in Wooyoung’s hands suspiciously.
Hongjoong doesn’t run off in search of Yeosang immediately; that would be pathetic. He lets the general squabbling around him increase in volume until he’s finished the strategic placement of his second dye color. Then, with everyone mostly not paying attention, he grabs his shirt by an un-dyed sleeve and swiftly exits.
He finds Yeosang at one of the tables off to the side, staring seriously at his blank race shirt.
“It’s way quieter over here,” Hongjoong says in greeting. He deposits his work on the table next to Yeosang. “My table got a little… rambunctious.”
Yeosang smiles at him. “I’m surprised it was peaceful at all.”
“Yeah, me too,” Hongjoong snorts. “What’re you doing for your shirt?”
“Um, I was actually wondering… the tie-dye shirts you wear at the gym, you made those, right?”
“I did,” Hongjoong says. He’s taken aback that Yeosang has even remembered the reformed stuff he’s worn while running. He’s not an expert on it, just spent a Sunday afternoon freshening up some fading work shirts once, but they’d come out well and he was a little proud. “Do you… want me to show you how?”
Yeosang brightens immediately. “I like the zig-zag one a lot. If it wouldn’t be bothersome.”
“No, of course not. It’s easy, I can show you,” Hongjoong says, and then he laughs, because what is going on? “Have you picked your colors?”
Yeosang follows along dutifully as Hongjoong instructs him. It’s a lot of folding pleats, which Yeosang does with a steady concentration after Hongjoong demos it for him. Hongjoong helps him rubberband it together in the right spots, and then he’s back to dyeing his own.
“That pattern looks complicated,” Yeosang says, eyeing Hongjoong’s shirt. He watches Hongjoong apply dye carefully, and then does the same for his own shirt, matching the height Hongjoong holds the bottle and the amount of dye he saturates each section with.
“We’ll see if it even turns out. I just made it up, but I think it should come out alright if the colors don’t bleed too much.” He’s finished the side that’s meant to be in grayscale, but the green-blue-purple of the opposite half runs the real risk of smearing into brown.
“You made it up?” Yeosang stops to look closer at the shirt, and then returns to applying red dye in careful lines across his own. “Wow, you’re really good at these things.”
“Ha, thanks,” Hongjoong says. He wasn’t trying to fish for compliments, but Yeosang's earnest praise is so endearing.
“Um… are you excited for the 5k?” Yeosang asks, after a brief pause.
“A little bit,” Hongjoong says. He’s surprised to realize he’s not even lying. He’s mainly excited to get it over with, and pretty sure the actual experience of it will be half miserable, but he’s a little proud of having gotten so far. He’s looking forward to seeing what time he manages once it actually counts. “I’m nervous, but yeah, excited too.”
Yeosang nods. “It’s only for fun anyways. Just getting through all the training is an accomplishment.”
“That’s true,” Hongjoong says. He feels emboldened, suddenly, to lay a hand on Yeosang’s bicep. Yeosang fumbles his dye bottle a bit. “How about you? I’m sure you’ve barely had to do any extra training, right?”
“Not really, I’ve been running a little more, but…” Yeosang trails off. He’s as red as the dye on his hands, but he still flexes his arm under Hongjoong’s touch. He clears his throat. “I’m not uh, doing a lot extra for it, ha ha…”
“Of course, you don’t need to. It’s really impressive,” Hongjoong says. He squeezes Yeosang’s arm briefly, relishing it, and then releases him.
“Thank you…” Yeosang clears his throat. It really is a shame if someone’s not telling Yeosang how hot he is every day. Wooyoung is probably making a decent effort of it, but surely not enough if Yeosang reacts like this.
“Oh, I meant to tell you, those electrolyte packs you gave me are good. You were right. I haven’t gotten any muscle cramps in ages,” Hongjoong says. They’re way better than the putrid salty nightmare electrolytes stocked in the break room at the gym. Those nearly made him lose his lunch.
The reminder of his present, or maybe the leg cramp ordeal, seems to only embarrass Yeosang more. He looks away, back to his shirt. His voice is low when he says, “I’m glad. You’re welcome.”
They finish their shirts quickly after that, Yeosang’s in shades of red and gray and Hongjoong’s thankfully still managing distinct colors instead of brown blobs. Hongjoong nods approvingly, as if he can glean the finished design while they’re still soaked and tied.
“Not too bad,” Hongjoong says.
“Wow… how are your hands so clean?” Yeosang cries, looking between his dye-splotchy hands and Hongjoong’s.
“I think you’re just messy,” Hongjoong teases. “Come with me.”
They leave the shirts with a collection of other knotted, technicolor lumps of wet fabric, since the dye needs to sit before they can rinse it. There’s a dye-rinsing corner of the yard too, designated by several large plastic tubs of ice water and a nearby hose, and Hongjoong shuffles Yeosang over to it.
The water alone doesn’t do much for Yeosang’s stained hands, which he holds up sadly. It looks a bit like he murdered someone.
“Hm…” Hongjoong locates a bottle of dish soap and pours some into Yeosang’s hands. He means to help Yeosang scrub it off, which quickly reveals itself as a stupid plan. He’s just rubbing his slippery hands over Yeosang’s equally slippery hands and making little progress. They manage to work up a decent pink-tinted lather at least, but the dye stains barely fade.
“I like your nail polish,” Yeosang blurts in the midst of this.
“Hm?”
“Watch out!” Someone calls, maybe San, but Hongjoong barely has time to register it before Yeosang is yanking him bodily to the side.
The soap means that neither of them have a particularly good grip, so Hongjoong’s hands slip out of Yeosang’s and he ends up stumbling forward into Yeosang’s chest.
A bottle of dye sails past Hongjoong’s shoulder and crashes into the fence.
Yeosang laughs awkwardly and helps Hongjoong stand up straight. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, sorry,” Hongjoong says, embarrassed. He turns in the direction of the projectile. “What the hell even was that…?”
They look over at the commotion from a nearby table. The circus Hongjoong left has only grown in volume. They’re playing some kind of bottle-flipping game with the dye and, like every party of weird jocks eventually becomes, it’s a contest. A spare shirt is the landing pad, with each bottle flip decorating it with a new arc of sprayed dye. Hongjoong would never admit that the resulting design actually looks kind of cool, since the method is so ridiculous.
“Whose aim is that bad?!” Hongjoong yells at them, though the only answer he gets is laughter. If he had to guess, San looks the guiltiest. To Yeosang, he grumps, “You really can’t leave them unsupervised.”
At the table, Mingi is egging Yunho on into attempting it blindfolded. Seonghwa is readying himself for his own turn, lining up his throw with rubber dishwashing gloves pulled up to his elbows. Jongho is trying to distract him.
“Yeosang! I need you on my team!” Wooyoung calls.
Yeosang looks between him, and Hongjoong, and his hands.
“Do you want to?” Hongjoong says.
“Well, if my hands are already stained…”
Hongjoong snorts, and then shoos Yeosang into the commotion. “Go on then.”
“You should stay behind me! I’ll make sure you don’t get hit with dye,” Yeosang says, putting on a serious expression to look tough, but he doesn’t. It’s just cute.
“Okay,” Hongjoong says, laughing. Once they rinse the soap off, Hongjoong greedily takes the opportunity to cling to Yeosang’s arm again, hiding behind him as Yeosang slips into the circle of nonsense.
Hongjoong has no doubt he’ll be stained with dye by the end of the night, but he peeks over Yeosang’s shoulder and joins the chaos anyways.
Before Hongjoong knows it, the race is just around the corner.
San kindly advises him to take it easy in the days immediately before the race, though the week before the fateful day drags slowly regardless. Hongjoong is just so close to never having to run again that this final stretch of training is painful. He’s dragging his feet nearly as badly as week one.
It’s in this vulnerable state that he ends up in one of Yunho’s morning Zumba classes instead of on the treadmill. He unfortunately has to admit that it’s kind of fun—and significantly less excruciating than his planned run.
“Should I expect you at my next class?” Yunho asks afterward, his puppydog eyes sparkling.
“No,” Hongjoong says, because he can’t lie to Yunho. He can’t disappoint him either. “But… maybe every once in a while…”
“Yes!” Yunho pumps a fist. “I knew you’d love it!”
The day of the race, Hongjoong has to wake up inhumanely early. A 7 AM start time means he’s there at 6:30 to check in and collect his race bib, which is a sad white rectangle on his multicolored shirt. His tie-dye experiment came out great, so now all he has to do is run without injuring himself so he doesn’t taint the shirt with bad memories.
He finds most of his friends already there, waiting near the starting line. Jongho is leading them in a stretch routine.
“Morning,” Hongjoong says. He slips into the circle between Yeosang and Mingi.
“Good morning!” Yunho says, chipper even at this ungodly time. “Great, almost everyone’s here.”
“Knee to your chest,” Jongho instructs. Hongjoong joins in and grabs his left knee, feeling the pull in his hamstrings. He already stretched before he left his apartment, but he’s not about to stand in Jongho’s circle and not follow his directions.
Even Seonghwa is stretching and he’s not even running. Though he is wearing a coordinated all-black athleisure set, so while he stands out in their little group of eclectic tie-dyed shirts, he looks ready to participate anyways.
“Yours came out really well,” Hongjoong says to Yeosang. He reaches over to tug on one red-striped shirt sleeve.
“Only because you showed me how,” Yeosang says. He smiles sweetly. “How’re you feeling?”
“Pretty good,” Hongjoong says. “More excited for this to be my last run.”
“Maybe you’ll like it more than you think,” Wooyoung says. “It’s so different from the treadmill, once you feel the rush of crossing the finish line, you’ll see!”
Hongjoong grimaces, which unintentionally makes everyone laugh. “I’ll let you know if I reach enlightenment.”
San is the last one to arrive, running up to their little group just as Jongho releases them from stretch purgatory. He’s completely out of breath.
“Woah, what’s up?” Hongjoong says.
“One of the posters didn’t dry overnight, I had to use a hairdryer on it for twenty minutes before I could leave the house!” San says. “Young-ah, I think you put the paint on too thick.”
“What? Are you sure it was one of mine?” Wooyoung asks.
“Yes!”
“Posters? What are you talking about?” Hongjoong butts in.
Then Hongjoong notices the rolled papers under San’s arm. Seonghwa helps him juggle the pile, and San starts unrolling one. It’s a banner with S! O! N! G! M! I! N! G! I! on it in huge letters, decorated with hearts.
“We made one for everybody,” San says, unrolling another. “Oh, here’s Wooyoung!” GO WOOYO GO! is in bright blue paint surrounded by stickers. He shows the rest off to a chorus of oohs and ahs, ending with a bright orange YOU CAN DO IT HONGJOONG!
“That’s… really sweet you guys,” Hongjoong says, touched. His friends have enjoyed teasing him throughout this ordeal a little too much, but they’re also half the reason he even managed to make it through, so he’s thankful.
“It was all Sannie’s idea,” Wooyoung says proudly, and San beams.
“I hope you don’t all have a similar pace, we can only hold two at a time,” Seonghwa says.
“Should we have Jjong’s ready first?” San asks, brandishing the LET’S GO JONGHO! banner decorated with bear stickers.
“No way!” Mingi objects. It sets off some strange shoving-and-grappling ritual as he and Jongho bicker over who’ll get the best time.
Hongjoong snorts. “Well you don’t have to worry about me, just put it at the bottom of your stack.”
Yunho claps him on the shoulder. “You should believe in yourself more, you trained really hard!”
“Ah, you think I have a chance of beating you?” Hongjoong says.
“Oh no, I’ll be first,” Yunho says serenely. Hongjoong elbows him.
“We should go get spots!” San says. “Look for us!” And then San and Seonghwa are off, laden with their posters and everyone’s bags.
The rest of them begin lining up as the mass of runners starts getting organized.
Yeosang sidles up next to him. “...You should pin that on.”
Hongjoong belatedly realizes he’s just been clutching the race bib the whole time. Yeosang’s is already on his shirt. “Oh shoot, yeah.”
“Want me to?” Yeosang offers, and Hongjoong agrees.
It’s a mistake, because Yeosang has to stand so close and he’s just-barely-but-not-at-all touching Hongjoong as he pinches Hongjoong’s shirt and pins the bib on carefully. He’s so close that kissing him would be trivial, so close that Hongjoong can’t possibly distract himself by the thought of anything else. It’s the reminder of his coworkers being barely five feet away that keeps him from acting like an idiot.
“Thanks,” Hongjoong says, more of a whisper than he intends.
“Yeah,” Yeosang whispers back.
It’s several long, jittery minutes before their section can start, and then finally they get the go-ahead. The whistle makes Hongjoong’s heart jolt in his chest, and then he’s running, he’s doing this, as if he didn’t really think it would actually happen until it’s happening.
Mingi and Jongho take off at a near sprint, determined to beat each other. The rest of the group is lost in the crowd as everyone splits off into their own pace within the first few moments.
Except Yeosang.
Yeosang stays close, running alongside Hongjoong. It makes Hongjoong feel oddly self-conscious at first, but Yeosang’s seen him run plenty by now. Besides, Hongjoong’s been quite good at embarrassing himself in front of Yeosang that he should really be desensitized to it by now.
They don't talk—Hongjoong is not very capable of it at the moment—but Yeosang sticks by his side in some kind of unspoken agreement he seems to have only made with himself. It’s… nice, Hongjoong realizes, better than running alone in this crowd. And he’s far too stubborn to quit this far into it, but he likes having some accountability too. He can’t give up, not in front of Yeosang.
“First kilometer down,” Yeosang notes, checking his watch. “You’re doing great.”
“Only four more to go…” Hongjoong says weakly.
His breaths still come easily, not yet burning in his lungs, but his legs are starting to feel his efforts. He definitely should’ve practiced running outside more. He knows he can run this distance, he’s done it before, if on the relative comfort of a treadmill, so he pushes on with Yeosang’s comforting presence at his side. And it’s a pleasant route at least, taking them across a cute neighborhood and into a small park. The leaves are starting to change, and it would almost be a pleasant morning out if Hongjoong wasn’t running through it.
They stop once when they spot San and Seonghwa cheering loudly in the crowd, making sure they aren’t missed. They have Hongjoong and Yeosang’s banners held up high, and Hongjoong knows he’s down disgustingly when the thought that even their names look nice together floats through his mind.
“Wooo!” San yells when Hongjoong and Yeosang jog up to the barrier fence.
“Wow, look at you, almost at the end,” Seonghwa says, somewhere between teasing and impressed.
“Am I last?” Hongjoong asks, panting. There’s still a good crowd of other runners around and behind them, but he lost sight of their friends ages ago.
“It’s about the journey, not the destination!” San says, which Hongjoong takes for a yes.
They drink some water while they’re stopped, though Hongjoong is too nervous about overdoing it and puking that he only takes a few sips. San insists on exchanging sweaty hugs over the fence before they leave, which Hongjoong would usually protest, but it’s actually kind of nice. Even Seonghwa’s stiff-armed pat on the back feels kind of motivating.
“Thanks Seonghwa, and Sannie,” Yeosang says. To Hongjoong, “Ready?”
“Let’s finish it,” Hongjoong says. They start off again, and Yeosang falls into step easily next to Hongjoong.
“This pace still okay?” Yeosang asks.
“Yeah, I can do it,” Hongjoong says.
He’s huffing and puffing much sooner on this stretch, which betrays him a bit. He can feel the burn in his thighs slowly crossing from good exertion to just painful, but it only motivates him more. He worked fucking hard for this, goddammit. The whole ordeal felt halfway between a joke and punishment the entire seven weeks, but he should really be more proud. He’s going to finish strong if it kills him, not limping over the finish line.
”I think that turn up there is the last one before the finish,” Yeosang says. His steadiness at Hongjoong’s side keeps the last stretch bearable.
It ends up being over much faster than Hongjoong expects. It’s not that long of a route, not really, but he’d built it up so much in his head he expected the experience to feel like hours. Really, when they cross the finish line, Hongjoong can hardly believe it. He skids to a stop and puts his hands on his knees, breathing heavy.
“Holy shit,” He says, and then again, “Holy shit. I finished?”
“You did it!” Yeosang cheers. He carefully leads Hongjoong a few more steps to collect their finishing medals, out of the way of the other runners.
Hongjoong staggers along with him, and glances at the big timer displayed near the end. “This is the best time I’ve ever run.”
“Woo, new PB! That's amazing!” Yeosang’s smile is so bright it’s blinding.
Hongjoong can see Yeosang is genuinely happy for him, but… he can also see that Yeosang is not nearly as winded as he is. Yeosang is sweaty, but in a sexy, dewy way. Hongjoong is sweaty in a drowned rat way.
Between heaving breaths, Hongjoong asks, “What’s yours?”
“My, um, my PB?” Yeosang says, suddenly cagey. “Like… for a 5k?”
Hongjoong narrows his eyes. “I’d love to know what you bench, but yes, I mean for a 5k.”
Yeosang looks at his watch and frowns. “Well… my last one was about… eleven minutes faster?”
“Oh my god. What?” Hongjoong says. Yeosang looks sheepish as Hongjoong continues, “Are you serious? That almost killed me and you can do it eleven minutes faster?”
“...Yes?”
“But you still ran with me? Why?”
“Uh… I’m sorry?” Yeosang says.
“Ugh. Ugh,” He groans.
Hongjoong is at his absolute limit. He cannot do this any longer.
He grabs Yeosang by his sweaty tie-dye shirt and kisses him.
“Oh!” Yeosang says, sort of, because it ends up mostly muffled against Hongjoong’s mouth.
But then he’s kissing back, and he wraps his arms around Hongjoong’s waist — thank god, because Hongjoong sags against him. Hongjoong did not catch his breath enough to be kissing like this and it’s making him a little lightheaded. He has no interest in pulling away, not with Yeosang right where he’s wanted him for so long, so it’s a risk he’s willing to take.
Yeosang eventually pulls away, frowning a bit. “Are you mad that I stayed with you for the race?”
“Furious,” Hongjoong says, and kisses him again. Yeosang laughs against his lips.
They kiss for as long as Hongjoong thinks they can get away with, still loitering by the crowded finish line, which is not very long at all.
“We should probably find the others?” Hongjoong suggests, as much as he doesn’t want to.
“Okay,” Yeosang says, pouting. He’s bouncing on his heels like he’s too excited to keep still, and god, Hongjoong wants him so bad. He steals one more kiss.
They find their loud group easily. San is running around in excitement, Jongho has Mingi in a headlock for reasons Hongjoong will not inquire about, and Yunho is radiating a quietly smug sort of air that immediately clues into his winning time. His finisher’s medal is inexplicably around Seonghwa’s neck.
“He survived!” Mingi yells, which rallies the rest of them into rowdy cheers.
Hongjoong smiles despite himself, and bows theatrically. “Thank you, thank you. Enjoy your laughs now, you’ll never see me running again.”
Wooyoung jostles him. “Come on, we’re going out to celebrate!”
“What?” Hongjoong says. “Where? It’s 8 in the morning and most of us are disgusting, Wooyoung.”
“Well, maybe you are,” Wooyoung says, rolling his eyes.
“We can find somewhere for breakfast,” Seonghwa says. He leans towards Yunho and then Hongjoong, conspicuously sniffing. He wrinkles his nose. “Somewhere with a patio.”
“Count me out,” Hongjoong says. “I’m going home and showering immediately.”
“Aww,” San says. Mingi and Wooyoung boo.
“Um, I’m gonna skip it too,” Yeosang says. “Sorry.”
Wooyoung looks between them suspiciously and frowns. “What are you up to?”
“Nothing!” Yeosang insists, though it only sounds more suspicious.
“Well, I’ve gotta run—ha ha—if I don’t want to miss the next subway,” Hongjoong says quickly, backing away. “I’ll see you guys at the gym!”
Yeosang makes his goodbyes too and quickly catches up with Hongjoong, weaving through the crowd of race finishers and spectators.
“So not to be presumptuous or anything,” Hongjoong starts. “Do you wanna come back to mine? I'd like to take you out for breakfast, but I need to shower before I go out in public, you can shower at my place too, obviously, uh, I mean that in the least weird way possible—”
“Hongjoong,” Yeosang says. He takes Hongjoong’s hand, surprising him. “Yes. I’d like to.”
“Okay, cool. Awesome,” Hongjoong says, unable to stop himself from smiling. Yeosang has him jittery with nerves in the best way possible. “I was kinda serious about the subway though, we should really go.”
Hongjoong’s apartment is thankfully only a few stops away, and he spends most of the trip stealing glances at Yeosang and feeling giddy. Yeosang is in mostly the same state, smiling bashfully every time they catch each other's eyes, so Hongjoong isn’t too embarrassed about it.
He’s really feeling the 5k in his thighs as they take the stairs to his apartment, and he fumbles his keys twice, unwilling to let go of Yeosang’s hand. Getting inside to the air-con and imminent clean clothes is a relief.
As soon as the door shuts to his apartment, Yeosang looks at him seriously. “Can I kiss you?”
“Fuck yeah,” Hongjoong says. He tosses his medal carelessly onto the sofa, and Yeosang's follows a moment later.
It’s more tentative when their lips meet this time. Yeosang settles his hands on Hongjoong's hips and kisses him slowly, gently learning the curves of his mouth. Hongjoong can’t stop giggling in disbelief, so there’s a lot of bumped noses and not-quite-kissing presses of their lips.
Plus, Hongjoong can touch now. He has no restraint like Yeosang’s politely still hands, instead grabbing Yeosang’s waist, and up to his arms, over his shoulders and back down the firm lines of his stomach. When Hongjoong squeezes his chest, Yeosang squeaks.
“I really want to keep doing this,” Hongjoong says. He proceeds to get distracted doing just that until he remembers himself. “But if I don’t shower soon, I might die.”
Yeosang laughs. “Yeah, of course.”
They don’t move yet, lazily exchanging a few more kisses until Yeosang teasingly pushes him away.
“I mean… if you wanted to join me you can…?” Hongjoong offers. “No pressure, you can shower after instead.” He quickly adds: “Or first! Since you’re a guest!”
“I’d join you, if that’s fine,” Yeosang murmurs.
“Okay, cool! Cool. Water conservation, haha,” Hongjoong says. He cringes at his own lameness but Yeosang just laughs.
They relocate to the bathroom, which Hongjoong is thankful he cleaned recently. He turns on the shower, and by the time he turns back around, Yeosang has already stripped out of his clothes.
“Oh!” Hongjoong gasps. He averts his eyes on instinct. Yeosang really is casual about nudity. On second thought, he looks back. “God, how are you built like this?”
Hongjoong approaches him, watching him fidget under the attention. He puts a hand on Yeosang’s shoulder and drags it down his chest. His skin is so smooth, and his muscles so firm under Hongjoong’s touch.
“It really drives me crazy,” Hongjoong says absently, just touching.
Eventually, Yeosang whines with embarrassment. “Why am I the only one still naked?”
“Sorry,” Hongjoong laughs. He finally tears off his running attire—sweet relief—and pulls Yeosang with him into the shower.
It’s a chaste affair.
For the first few minutes.
Hongjoong really does try to keep it friendly, because the post-race adrenaline is starting to fade and he’s crashing, suddenly exhausted. His shower doesn’t quite accommodate two full grown men, so they playfully swap back and forth under the spray of water, flicking soap and laughing.
Yeosang offers to wash his back, and of course Hongjoong returns the favor, and that’s about when he starts to lose the plot.
Yeosang’s back is strong and defined, which Hongjoong should’ve expected with all the lifting he does. He’s entranced, tracing his soapy hands up and down the muscles aimlessly for much longer than just washing would dictate. Yeosang has no complaints; in fact, he flexes under Hongjoong’s attention.
“What’s this?” Hongjoong asks, poking the middle of his back.
“Um… lats?” Yeosang says distractedly. Hongjoong hums.
Hongjoong slips his hands around to Yeosang’s front, prodding at Yeosang’s abs until he squirms. He steps closer to press against Yeosang, and slides his hands up to squeeze his pecs again. Yeosang’s wiggling against him is starting to feel extremely tempting and Hongjoong resists the urge to rut against him like an animal. He doesn’t resist the urge to pinch Yeosang’s nipple.
That seems to be Yeosang’s last thread of composure, because he turns his head and whines. “Hongjoong…”
“Sorry, baby,” Hongjoong says.
Yeosang cranes his neck to kiss him at this odd angle, and Hongjoong allows it for a few moments before he’s urging Yeosang to turn around in his hold. There’s a brief moment where Hongjoong gets the shower spray straight to the face and sputters, but then he’s back to eagerly exploring Yeosang’s mouth.
They’re both hard by now, pressed together from chest to thigh. Any hopes of an efficient shower are gone. It’s far too easy for the gentle shifting and fidgeting to boil over into something more firm, skin and heat pressed close as they rub against each other, all sounds lost in the water. It’s a very aimless kind of pleasure. All wet and steamy and slippery, uncoordinated in the best way.
“I think my knees might give out,” Hongjoong says between kisses. He wishes he had something sexier to whisper, but he doesn’t.
Yeosang puts a little more breathing room between their faces. “Should we stop?”
“We should not,” Hongjoong says.
Yeosang laughs and wraps an arm around Hongjoong’s waist, holding him up. Hongjoong moans. Fuck, Yeosang’s so strong, and he’s touching Hongjoong, and he’s moaning into Hongjoong’s mouth. It’s the hottest thing Hongjoong’s ever experienced, dizzy with pleasure.
As they get more frantic, Yeosang slips a hand between their bellies to stroke them together, and Hongjoong is extra thankful he’s being held up because his knees really do wobble dangerously.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Hongjoong swears.
Between Yeosang’s hand on him and the water hitting his skin and the steam in the air and the slip-slide of where their bodies touch, Hongjoong is overwhelmed by sensation. He’s quickly a goner, clinging dearly to Yeosang’s shoulders as he shudders and sighs through his release.
Yeosang follows a few moments later, spilling between them with a ragged sound he muffles on Hongjoong’s lips. Hongjoong is very interested in pulling that noise from him again in the future.
“I really didn’t plan that,” Hongjoong says, still aimlessly touching Yeosang everywhere. “I swear I just wanted to shower.”
“I didn’t complain,” Yeosang says. He leans in as if for a kiss, but just rubs their noses together. He’s pleasantly breathless, and Hongjoong is a little proud.
They rinse off the evidence and somehow manage to finish washing up before the water goes cold, a miracle in itself.
Hongjoong stumbles out of the shower, drying half-heartedly and waving Yeosang in the direction of his medicine cabinet. Yeosang’s skin is flawless; Hongjoong has to assume there’s a serum or some such involved somewhere. He won’t deprive the man of moisturizer.
“You can use whatever you want,” Hongjoong says, though he’s too lazy to do so himself. Once he’s dryish enough he slips on clean boxers and practically collapses into his bed, the exertion of the day hitting him like a truck. He’ll just lie down for a moment…
Yeosang emerges from the bathroom doorway in a cloud of steam shortly after, a towel wrapped around his waist and his skin glowing.
“Um… I didn’t bring clothes?”
Hongjoong laughs and gestures at his dresser. “Go for it.”
He doesn’t watch Yeosang get dressed, because at some point between blinks Hongjoong falls asleep without a word.
It’s still light outside when Hongjoong regains consciousness. His face is pressed against something warm, and when he rolls onto his back, he realizes it was Yeosang’s hip.
Yeosang, who is still there to Hongjoong’s mild surprise. His hair is mussed like he dozed off at some point too, but he’s awake now, sitting up against the headboard and letting Hongjoong use him for a pillow. He’s wearing one of Hongjoong’s tie-dyed Treasure STAFF shirts and boxers.
“Oh…” Hongjoong starts, his mouth slow with sleep and his brain catching up to this odd, dreamlike image. Yeosang, cozy and rumpled in Hongjoong’s bed? “Woah, sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep. How long has it been?”
“It’s okay,” Yeosang says, “Not long. I’m surprised you didn’t pass out as soon as we got back.”
Hongjoong glances up at him slyly, still flat on his back. “Well, I was a bit preoccupied, you might remember.”
Yeosang blushes. “Yeah…”
Hongjoong finally sits up, and realizing that he can touch now, he moves to perch himself in Yeosang’s lap. Stretching his legs reminds Hongjoong that he just had the best run of his life this morning, and his thighs will be paying the price for a while. He hisses in pain.
“Are you okay?” Yeosang asks. His hands flutter in the air for a moment before he settles them lightly on Hongjoong’s hips.
“Fantastic,” Hongjoong says. “I know I said we would go out, but how do you feel about ordering in? …I don’t think I can walk.”
“Oh no,” Yeosang says, “Do we have to stay in bed all day?”
Hongjoong smiles, and ducks his face against Yeosang’s neck. He smells like Hongjoong’s soap and clean laundry, and Hongjoong wants to bite him, so he does, because he can. Yeosang squeaks and Hongjoong is suddenly aware of his own state of undress. He presses closer, not with any kind of purpose, but just to feel Yeosang against him.
“I think it might be that dire, unfortunately,” Hongjoong says.
Yeosang nods, tilting his head to let Hongjoong do as he pleases. “Can I… attend to your recovery?”
“That sounds perfect.”
“You should do some more stretching today, actually. It’ll help.”
“Whatever you say.” Hongjoong laughs. He feels amazing.
He might even go for a run on Monday.