Chapter Text
“What are you planning on doing this summer?”
It’s staticy, the person’s question on the other line turns out to be while Seungmin is on the phone with them. It makes him wonder what kind of activities he’s looking forward to engaging in during the golden and cloudless holiday.
Usually, brands would put out different clothing lines to match the season. And his agent would be quick to contact him about it. ‘Seungmin, they’re looking for someone to model these pieces. I pitched in your portfolio, they love it!’ is what he would usually say.
On most occasions, Seungmin would agree. Not once had he ever turned one down. Modelling is part of his life. It pays the bills. The rent, for example, in a serene yet rustic apartment he’s been able to afford to live in for the past fifteen months. All thanks to the same person he’s on a call with right now: Jungsu, his best friend.
“Nothing at the moment,” he replies, admittedly. His agent hasn’t provided him with any news about upcoming modelling opportunities. “My calendar is empty for now.” Truth be told, if Seungmin does have one plan, it would be to stay idle; a quick break from the bustle of life. Even just for a short while.
“You should ask Hyeongjun about it. Aren’t you close?”
Seungmin can’t help but roll his eyes at the suddenness of Jungsu’s question. “How inquisitive.” He hears laughter on the other line, making him sigh. “I’m not sure my roommate, who spends his waking days cooped up in his own comfort, would ruin all of that by spending time with me. Besides, he’s in his last year. He might be busy with university stuff.”
For the duration of his stay at the apartment, Seungmin had deduced that Hyeongjun very much likes to be on his lonesome. Jungsu even mentioned that Hyeongjun has lived in the building since his freshman year and has gotten a total of two roommates before him—none of whom he has gotten close with. So, it won’t be a surprise if Seungmin does indeed inquire about Hyeongjunʼs schedule, or lack thereof, and the latter won’t even appear interested in answering it. Seungmin would do the same. They’re more alike in that aspect than most people think.
“It could be some secret plan of his, who knows?”
“Why don’t you do it?” Seungmin knows itʼs a bit pointless, his little interrogative approach. Jungsu being their landlord doesnʼt necessarily mean he’s required to build a close connection with the tenants. It may become an advantage for some, especially when rent is due, but it’s the kind of relationship Seungmin would personally avoid, even if it’s nothing but strictly professional. “And are you really suggesting he has plans to spend time with me? What if his secret plan actually involves going home in the summer? To see his family and friends again, you know?”
If Seungmin had moved forward with his college education, he would’ve been in the same year as Hyeongjun—taking different classes, but at a similar level regardless. Assuming college is as energy-draining as he thinks it is, Hyeongjun could potentially consider getting away from it for the meantime. Or he’s just simply studious and extremely busy (to some degree) and would rather face books all day than engage in anything arduous.
“I’m not his roommate here, am I? It’ll be easier for you to talk to him because of your proximity.” Seungmin wants to laugh, hearing Jungsu being so adamant in pointing out his and Hyeongjunʼs nonexistent closeness. Hyeongjun being the same age as him is basically the only thing they have in common, other than the fact that they both value their private and personal lives. They wouldn’t have any exciting activities to share in the summer, even if Seungmin tried. And actually tried. Hyeongjun is reserved to a fault. It’s not something to blame him for, though. “And you’re his friend, Seungmin. He might not admit it, but you are. You’re his longest roommate in a while. That’s saying something.”
Seungmin takes no notice of Jungsu’s words. That piece of information alone doesnʼt necessarily warrant certain think pieces, only a cause for a deep and drawn-out breath. Their conversation is going nowhere. He thought he made it clear that he has no plans on doing anything this summer, besides his usual modelling work. It should be a given already.
“Jungsu, for the last time, I—” Seungmin hears rustling coming from the door. His mood has already turned sour and is about to get even worse when he is suddenly interrupted. But, he realises one thing: no stranger dares to enter their apartment without knocking or ringing the doorbell. Unless it’s a burglar, then Seungmin’s growing irritation is justified.
He ignores Jungsu’s worried voice on the other line and walks stealthily toward the noise. Taking self-defence classes might’ve been put on the back burner, due to his busy schedule, but Seungmin is certain his instincts wouldn’t hesitate to signal him to fight. If his face bruises for days, which will most likely cause his agent to throw a well-reasoned fit, then he can take it. The most important thing is protecting their home—his and Hyeongjunʼs. And he’s doing just that when he attempts to confront the perpetrator—fists in the air and all—only to be face-to-face with the topic of their conversation.
Speaking of the devil.
“Seungminie?” There’s an ineludible softness in Hyeongjunʼs voice that Seungmin can’t particularly place. Something he has never heard before in all the time they’ve been living together. It’s almost as if Hyeongjun is testing the waters to see Seungminʼs reaction, despite their amity being little to none as of recently. “What are you doing? Are you thinking of fighting me or something?” Seungmin doesnʼt know what to think. Although there’s a visible pout on Hyeongjun’s lips, his tone suggests good-natured teasing otherwise.
He puts his fists down and places them behind him keenly, ignoring the buzz inside his head induced by Hyeongjunʼs slightly playful manner. “Thought you were a burglar. Can’t hurt to be careful.”
Then, a familiar voice blares through the speaker of Seungminʼs phone without warning. “Seungmin?” He finds himself wincing at the loud feedback echoing in his ears, his mind almost failing to recollect the fact that he is still actively on a call with his best friend as well. “Is that Hyeongjun?” It should be obvious. Seungmin is gripping his phone, after all—five of his fingers wrapping around the device that is painstakingly growing warmer with each passing minute. “I want to talk to him! That’s not how you treat a friend, by the way! I don’t know if you know that!”
A mild grumble is threatening to escape Seungmin’s lips. But he passes his phone to Hyeongjun to drown it. In response, the latter puts down the heavy eco bags he’s carrying—presumably filled with groceries and other necessities—on the floor near the entrance. As soon as his faculties are free, he accepts the object being handed to him, while Seungmin takes it upon himself to haul the bags into their kitchen (without much thought), setting them onto the island carefully.
He doesnʼt go to the trouble of listening to whatever topic Jungsu decides to bring up to Hyeongjun. It’s possible he might continue their previous conversation and include his roommate in it, considering the matter shifted to him. So, Seungmin goes back to his position on the long couch in the living room and plops down sluggishly, facing his bedroom near the kitchen island sink.
If his agent contacts him while Hyeongjun and Jungsu are on the phone, then that’s not his burden to deal with. A reason like that would’ve been much more preferable to prevent the two from prolonging their conversation—assuming Seungmin’s name unprovokedly slips in—but it’s somehow starting to be unknowingly disregarded. Resting is much more enticing than the concept of sabotaging himself and the people around him.
He could make the sofa his alternative bed right here and now. And he almost does. Until, slender yet calloused fingers jolt him awake.
It’s Hyeongjun.
Who else would it be?
He’s almost reaching down to the height of the couch to level with Seungmin. His right hand, holding out Seungmin’s phone, is extended. Seungmin nods at him and takes the device using his own left hand wordlessly. No peep, no grateful gestures—nothing. Hyeongjun doesnʼt ask. He hardly looks annoyed, even if Seungmin is mentally urging him to. There’s only a smile on his face, innocent and unassuming. Seungmin reciprocates. The silent understanding that envelops them feels prickly on his skin. Recurrently. Like it has been for months. Hyeongjun must’ve felt it, too, because he’s already turning his heels to walk away.
Seungmin then sits back up, muscles aching. When he notices the call is still ongoing, he puts the phone to his left ear and listens in. “Seungmin? You still there? I’ve got some bad news—”
“I know.” The disappointment laced in Seungmin’s tone is noticeable. It wasnʼt meant that way, but somehow that’s how it appears to be. He hides it with a sigh. “I told you.”
Maybe he is simply sensitive to the idea of people expecting him and Hyeongjun to instantly be all buddy-buddy just because they share the same space. It’s harmless—supposedly—coming from Jungsu, his own best friend.
However, it doesn’t erase the fact that it’s a ridiculous assumption. The back of his mind is even telling him to ignore it; shove the whole other topic elsewhere and go back to the main one. But if Jungsu feels Seungmin’s change of mood, with the way he’s currently lacking the usual remarks, then that’s the kind of trouble he has to face alone, by himself.
Has Seungmin ever found time to do some much-needed spring cleaning?
It’s rather odd, coming back from an impromptu photoshoot location (courtesy of his ever-loyal and hardworking agent) to find that not only is the living room spotless, but also the kitchen, the washroom, and even the balcony—which usually has dried leaves on the floor dropped from the various plants placed around it.
It’s the day before summer starts. Seungmin noted it in his itinerary to clean the entire apartment in the event that Hyeongjun might go home to the countryside, just like last year. Although neither of them is untidy, they haven’t done any sort of rearranging. Home decor, sure, but almost turning the apartment’s layout upside-down and inside-out? Quite unheard of.
Until now.
When Seungmin is speculating that the entire operation isn’t his doing, Hyeongjunʼs figure coming out of the washroom wearing a plastic dirty-white apron in front, a mask covering almost his entire face, a brown lightweight hairnet over his head, and some green rubber latex cleaning gloves somehow puts his mind to rest.
They see eye-to-eye, for the first time in a while.
If Hyeongjun is expecting himself to get in trouble just because he beat Seungmin in doing the usual housekeeping, then he shouldnʼt.
“You’ve done a great job, Hyeongjun,” Seungmin says with a smile, reassurance hinted in his praise. He’s uncertain whether the pink dust on Hyeongjunʼs cheeks is caused by a mild reaction or not, but he doesnʼt point it out for his sake. The delightful smell dancing in the air catches Seungmin’s attention instead, despite the unavoidable stuttering mess Hyeongjun is starting to become in front of him. He sets down his things on the sofa and lets his nose follow the origin of it. “Something’s cooking…”
“Oh!” Hyeongjun hurriedly checks on the pot boiling on the cooktop, while removing the mask from his face and the gloves from his hands. Seungmin spectates, ready to help Hyeongjun when he needs it. And sure enough, by the time he sees him about to open the lid without a rag or an oven mitt, he immediately yanks Hyeongjunʼs right hand away from the stove—its burners screaming and hissing with flames. He doesnʼt notice how Hyeongjunʼs mouth is agape or how he turns to him in surprise—too busy controlling the fire to prevent any accident. But the moment he does, there’s an apparent frown on Hyeongjunʼs face. The message is clear. And, in a way, he must’ve instantly understood it. “Sorry,” because now his roommate is apologising, and his eyes are downcast; sadness discernibly flowing. “I should’ve been more careful. My mind is a mess right now. I’m sorry.”
“Hyeongjun.” Seungmin wants to stop him from being apologetic about something he has no control over. In actuality, Seungmin should be the one feeling guilty, not him. There was no warning. Seungmin bit more than he realised; ramming forward, and somehow unknowingly blaming Hyeongjun for reacting the way that he did. “It’s not your fault. I didnʼt know you were gonna cook. It’s okay to ask for help, you know? In fact, I can finish the food preparation if you want.” Where did that come from? Seungmin asks himself. He doesnʼt know what prompted him to suggest such a thing all of a sudden. Initiating a connection with Hyeongjun in this manner has never crossed his mind, ever.
“You will? Really?”
Seungmin chuckles heartily. “Of course.” If he has never seen the sparkle in Hyeongjunʼs eyes before, the way they’re currently materialising now, then at this moment in time the sight of it is as clear and as bright as it can be. Seungmin finds him adorable. He’s somehow glad that his offer to help sprang that reaction from Hyeongjun. “What’s the occasion? How many people are you planning on feeding?”
“Four,” Hyeongjun says under his breath, almost a whisper.
It should’ve been evident with the size of the pot that Hyeongjun is using that it’s quite ample. But Seungmin didn’t expect to hear just how many.
“A get-together with friends, I assume?” Seungmin carefully opens up the lid using the pot holder from the countertop and before he knows it, the mixture of different aromas hits his nose all at once. “Dakdoritang. Spicy chicken stew? They’re gonna love this.” His taste buds are envious. If only he could savour Hyeongjunʼs dishes. The craving is undeniably hard to resist. “You’re just simmering this now, right? Any other dishes to cook?”
Hyeongjun points to the ingredients sitting on top of the island behind them, just near the dinner table. “It’s everything you will need. As well as the names of the meals, and their recipes. There are six of them left. I’ll take care of the other half. I hope you don’t mind.”
Seungmin shakes his head. “Not at all. Please.” He sees Hyeongjun remove the hairnet from his hazelnut brown hair, exhaling a calculated breath as he does so. The idea that his roommate is possibly stressing over the whole meal preparation is astounding to Seungmin. A small get-together with his friends shouldnʼt make a mess in Hyeongjunʼs mind. But it does. And Seungmin wants nothing more than to ease it. “Shall we start?”
Seungmin didn’t realise how absolutely perfect and mouth-watering the food assortment is when they’ve already finished cooking. Just some delectably vibrant kimchi fried rice, dubu jorim (braised tofu), haemul pajeon (seafood scallion pancake), japchae (glass stir-fried noodles), and bossam (boiled pork belly wraps) sitting on top of the table. As well as hotteok, which can satisfy anyone’s sweet tooth. Not to mention there’s also soju, cider, and of course, water available to down it all.
The scent coming from them is heavenly, and the genuine desire to fill Seungmin’s stomach with every bit displayed on the table and satisfy his appetite as much as he can is so strong he almost can’t stop himself. Almost.
A while after doing some final touches, Hyeongjun left the kitchen to go to the bathroom. It only occurred to Seungmin that Hyeongjun was going for a shower when he heard the water run. He thinks of doing the same once Hyeongjun finishes.
Looking at the clock above the TV, it’s half past six o’clock. They’ve been doing the preparations for more than two hours. The stains splattered across Seungmin’s white sweatshirt and black pants are hard to ignore: oily, saucy, and proud. He will take his time removing all of them later.
After a few minutes, Seungmin hears the door of Hyeongjunʼs bedroom click. The white trucker jacket over a brown shirt and some black slim tapered pants Hyeongjun chose to wear—as he comes into Seungmin’s view—make him look dressed for the occasion. It suits him.
“Everything’s ready,” Seungmin announces, catching Hyeongjunʼs attention. “I’m gonna make myself scarce and leave you and your friends to it, okay?” As much as Seungmin wants to extend his and Hyeongjunʼs time together, excusing himself is the right thing to do. Getting in between Hyeongjun and his friends’ little gathering, knowing he’s not part of their friend group, would be unbecoming. Being Hyeongjunʼs roommate doesnʼt give him the pass to be involved, and he has never considered it that way, ever.
When the doorbell finally rings, Seungmin is quick to go to his bedroom. But not before Hyeongjun grips his left arm, stopping him. “I’ll go get the door, okay? Wait a bit, please?”
The confusion in Seungmin’s mind grows with every passing minute, questioning why Hyeongjun wanted him to stay still when his clothes are a mess and it would be embarrassing to face whoever is coming through the door as he’s wearing them.
But Seungmin understands now.
The moment he hears the words mom and dad being used as a greeting, Seungmin is frozen in place. His assumption was way off, and now he’s stuck, unable to do anything but widen his eyes in shock.
Hyeongjun’s parents are here, and he is nothing short of mortified.
“Please, come in.” Hyeongjun is even ushering them inside. “I told you I’m taking good care of myself and the place, didnʼt I? I can’t believe you don’t even trust your only son to do things on his own, when I’ve been living here for four years.” There’s a little huff that Hyeongjun let out. Seungmin can’t see it, but Hyeongjun probably looks cute doing so.
If Seungmin is being honest, he can just move quickly to his right and enter his room with ease. Just a few steps and he’ll be in the comfort of his own bed. But somehow, fate isn’t in favour of him this time. Because right as he was about to tiptoe across the floor, a squeal unexpectedly pierces through his ears. It’s loud and unavoidable. And it’s coming from a woman with short hair and delicate features, who Seungmin guesses is Hyeongjunʼs mother.
“Oh, my! You must be Seungmin!” She comes up to him and reaches for his hands, shaking them earnestly he becomes envious of her strength. “You are so handsome in person! I’ve heard so much about you. Hyeongjun is a talker, did you know? He talks about you all the time.”
There’s an inescapable curiosity brewing inside Seungmin. That can’t be right. He doesnʼt recall being that close to Hyeongjun that he has enough to share about him. Today is the most he has ever heard Hyeongjun talk, counting the minute instructions he has given him in between food preparations.
Seungmin forces a smile. “Ah, well…it’s nice to meet you, Mrs Han.”
“Oh. Too formal, dearie,” Hyeongjunʼs mother waves off, grinning from ear to ear. “Call me Hyeri, or mom. Whichever you prefer.”
Wait…
Mom?
Seungmin nervously laughs. In no way is he in some sort of hallucination. It’s not possible that Hyeongjunʼs mother meant what she actually meant when she said Hyeongjun talks about him all the time, right? As well as her allowing Seungmin to call her mom, like it’s the most normal thing to say to her son’s roommate?
When he looks at Hyeongjunʼs direction, mentally scanning for an explanation, clarification, or any reason why this is happening, Seungmin just sees him mirror his expression. But instead of Hyeongjunʼs eyes screaming dumbstruck, there’s a certain evasion to it, as if he knew this would be coming.
Seungmin is lost for words.
Still, he composes himself.
His roommate will give him the answer to his questions eventually.
By the time Hyeongjunʼs mother let go, Seungmin turns to the man beside Hyeongjun—who he suspects is his father—and stretches out his hand for him to take. “Hello, Mr Han. Welcome.”
In response, Hyeongjun’s father grunts. The stare he’s sending Seungmin is as intimidating as it can be. He’s standing tall, and broad, which only adds to his rather guarded stature. It doesn’t help that the grip he has on Seungminʼs right hand, once he took a hold of it, is firm. Seungmin can only grimace silently.
“I donʼt know about this one, Hyeongjun.”
Seungmin breaks out in a cold sweat at the older man’s statement, the questions inside his head running wildly and in absolute disarray.
What is going on?
Hyeongjun’s mother playfully smacks her husband, who doesnʼt flinch, in any way, when her hand makes contact with his left shoulder. Seungmin is done for. “Don’t scare him like that, honey! He’s good to our Hyeongjunie. Aren’t you, dearie?”
“That’s right, Mom.” Seungmin hears Hyeongjun reply, suddenly coming up to his side to loop his left arm over Seungmin’s right. With widened eyes—stunned at Hyeongjun’s sudden display of affection—Seungminʼs feet remain rooted on the ground, unmoving. There isn’t any visible hesitation on Hyeongjun’s face, even when Seungmin dares to look for any signs of it. He just caresses Seungmin’s skin, as if soothing his nerves, and grips his hand around Seungmin’s muscles lightly. “He even cooked for us while I cleaned. Isn’t that right, babe?” Huh? Wait, what? Babe? The gears in Seungmin’s head stop spinning in an instant. What is he supposed to say to that? Hyeongjun was so casual about it, using such endearment! He doesnʼt even have time to process it when Hyeongjun swiftly leaves his side to go to the dinner table to show where the food is. “Everyone, please, take a seat before the food gets cold.” And his parents follow suit. Seungmin is also expected to.
But how can he, when Hyeongjun referred to him as someone special in his life? It can’t be, no. Hyeongjun did not just pull Seungmin into this kind of situation. Hyeongjun doesnʼt want Seungmin to pretend to be that kind of person in front of his parents, no.
It’s not possible.
Is it?