Chapter Text
Moving to a new town is one thing. Moving to a new town with no job lined up and only a two-week booking in the first bed-and-breakfast he can find - that is something else entirely.
The stairs of the B&B complain under Minho’s suitcase, each creak announcing him to the whole house. It feels ridiculous, dragging his life into a place that still smells faintly of lemon polish masking weed and someone else’s cooking, but here he is.
His old life hadn’t been unbearable, just… stale. Every day had blurred into the next until the thought of another spreadsheet made his skin crawl. Quitting hadn’t been brave, so much as necessary. Minho hadn’t planned much beyond that - just a suitcase, a booking confirmation, and a vague hope that things might look brighter somewhere new.
By the time he reaches the top floor, Minho is already flushed from hauling his bags. The end room is small but tidy, with a quilt folded neatly at the foot of the bed. He drops his suitcase, shuts the door behind him, and flops onto the mattress with a long sigh.
The stairs creak outside Minho’s room, and he tells himself he’ll have to get used to this for now. This is only temporary, he reminds himself, a stopover while he figures things out. Still, an unsettled ache tugs at him - a feeling that even with the move, he is still searching for whatever it is he needs.
A knock at the door pulls him from his thoughts.
“Sorry to intrude.”
It’s Chan, the owner of the B&B, who handed him his keys only moments ago and explained that breakfast was usually served around eight. He’s holding out a familiar rectangle in his hand.
“You left your phone downstairs,” Chan smiles, laughing when Minho’s hands shoot into his empty pockets.
“Oh. Thanks. Sorry you had to come up.”
“Don’t be daft, you’re all good. I was on my way up anyway to find Min-Min. Speak of the devil..”
As if on cue, the door across the hall opens. A younger man steps out, hair rumpled like he’s awoken from a nap. His sharp eyes soften by the faintest trace of a smile. His hoodie sleeves are pushed up, hands buried in the pockets as though he isn’t sure what to do with them.
“Seungmin - Minho. Minho - Seungmin,” Chan introduces.
They both bow in quiet greeting.
“Minnie’s a bit of a permanent fixture, you’ll find. Couldn’t get rid of him if I tried.” Chan grins, patting his hand on Seungmin’s shoulder. Seungmin immediately shoves it off and turns his attention to Minho.
“If you snore, I’m switching floors.” His voice is flat, but there is also the tiniest tug at the corner of his mouth, like he is half-joking and half-curious to see if Minho will laugh.
Minho huffs out a surprised laugh. “Guess I’ll try to keep it down.”
“Good.” Seungmin gives a curt nod, then slips back into his room without another word, the door clicking softly shut.
“Don’t mind him,” Chan says with a small chuckle. “He’s friendlier than he looks.” He gives Minho an encouraging smile before heading down the hall himself.
Minho lets the quiet return. He sets his phone on the nightstand and sinks into the mattress, staring up at the ceiling beams. The creaks of the old building seem louder in the dark, and his mind won’t stop tumbling - about how strange it feels to be here, how quickly everything has changed, and how little he knows of what comes next.
Eventually, exhaustion wins. He closes his eyes and lets himself drift.
The next morning, Minho wakes to the faint clatter of dishes and the smell of something warm drifting up through the floorboards. He pulls on a clean shirt, smooths down his hair with his fingers, and follows the sound downstairs.
The dining room is small but sunlit, with mismatched wooden tables and a sideboard crowded with coffee pots and condiments. Chan is already seated with Seungmin at one of the tables, the two of them working through a spread that looks halfway between a full Korean breakfast and something you’d see in a café - steaming rice, fried eggs, grilled toast, kimchi tucked beside scrambled eggs.
“Morning, mate,” Chan waves him over. “Help yourself and join us.”
Minho hesitates before sliding into the seat across from them, offering a quiet thank you as he reaches for a slice of toast. His stomach growls, betraying him, and Chan grins knowingly.
Between mouthfuls, the conversation turns easy - where Minho has come from, how long he plans to stay. He doesn’t mean to let it slip, but soon he admits, “I should probably start looking for work. Can’t live on savings forever.”
Chan nods, sympathetic. “Plenty of odd jobs around. I can keep an ear out.”
But it’s Seungmin who sets his chopsticks down and leans back. “You sound like you need fresh air more than a job right now.” His tone is matter-of-fact, as if it isn’t really up for debate. “Come with me to the bakery later. Might do you good.”
Minho blinks, caught off guard by the offer, but Seungmin is already turning back to his rice like it has been decided.
Chan chuckles. “That’s Minnie for you. Straight to the point.”
For the first time since arriving, Minho feels the corners of his mouth lift. Maybe he doesn’t know what’s next, but at least, he isn’t starting alone.