Chapter Text
There’s a few things you should know about Choi Yeonjun from the top:
He liked lists, guidelines, and straightforward information. He didn’t like to pussyfoot around, so to speak. People should know what they want, say what they mean, and act with conviction. Which is to say that, if Yeonjun didn’t like you, you knew. If he saw something he didn’t like, he’d do something about it. He spoke up for himself and he spoke up for others, if he liked you.
However, if he did like you, you wouldn’t know it. He wasn’t mean to people, but he didn’t like being warm and fuzzy. It didn’t seem useful to him— for others to know how he was feeling. It was better to just exist at an amenable constant that was functional in all situations. Straight forward.
One of the things that Yeonjun liked was boys. He hated the way boys or young men or… “dudes” his age acted, talked, and moved. But, he’d known he was attracted to them since the 8th grade and he wasn’t going to act like he wasn’t no matter how awful they were. A lot of people gave him shit for it. He doesn’t even remember when everyone figured out during his freshman year, but once people were gossiping about it— he went out of his way to start telling people in a monotone, disinterested, sometimes intimidating voice that it was true: he was gay and don’t fuck with him. It didn’t earn him too many admirers.
Which might explain why—
Yeonjun had never been on a date. He had never held hands to walk under the stars or driven anyone home or kissed anyone goodnight at the door… none of that shit. He wasn’t really sure why he would want to. He was 20 in a few weeks and he didn’t really think people his age had any reason to invest emotions into someone when they had their entire lives to figure the fuck out and were going to break up within a few months anyway.
Just because he’d never been on a date didn’t mean he didn’t get laid. Flirting came easily to him, sometimes he did it for sport even when he didn’t like someone. He’d flirt with guys, girls, and everyone in between… but he sort of preferred guys. If he got laid out of it, he didn’t mind as long as it was only a hook-up. Hook-up’s were straight forward. They had a good utility to them. Yeah, sure— Maybe he wasn’t always leaving all that satisfied. But, did he really need anything more than that?
Finally, if not most importantly—
Choi Yeonjun was not affected by pretty boys.
Choi Yeonjun knew who he was, even if he didn’t like it.
Yeonjun awakes to the metallic jingling of the worst sounding cell phone alarm he’s ever heard. Which can only mean one thing: he’s late. Nowadays, he has 4 alarms: too early, early, on time, and late for work. Late for work had by far the most frustrating sound of them all and he should know — because he was hearing it now.
Face still burrowed straight into his pillowcase, he slapped his hand onto the bedside table, knocking his still blaring phone onto the floor. And, in a new world record, his patience for the day has snapped in under 30 seconds. Ever one for the dramatic, he groans into his pillow until he’s using it to muffle subdued screams.
Well, now that that was over with.
6:00am. His shift started in 30 minutes… he’d done more with less.
13 text notifications were pasted to his lockscreen… He gave them a scan.
Beomgyu. Huening Kai. Beomgyu. Huening Kai and Beomgyu. College guy he hooked up with 4 months ago at a grad party who was back in town that Yeonjun was currently deep into the process of ghosting. And his work group chat… might as well check those in case he was miraculously being told not to come in.
He opened the texts on his way to the bathroom.
Group Chat: The Ugly Mug
Bawse Ass Bitch: New employee coming in today at 9, who wants to train~?
Wooyo: Not Me
YO-jin: I feel like I’m too new to be any good at it.
MinHOE: I would rather die
Bawse Ass Bitch: Don’t worry, no one was considering you, Minho.
Wooyo: Ooooooo Boss Shade for breakfast!!
MinHOE: I’m not even scheduled so
Catgirl: my shift starts at noon, don’t look at me.
Wooyo: Yeonjunnieeeeeeee
Yeonjun rolled his eyes at himself in his bathroom mirror, were these bastards really texting at like 5am about this? He checked the timestamps, 9pm yesterday. Okay, so maybe he might have been ghosting the work chat a little bit… It’s not that he didn’t like his coworkers– it’s just that texting was just so fucking annoying somtimes… and so was thinking about work when he was trying to watch cartoons high all night.
Toothbrush now hanging out his mouth, he structured his trump card argument.
You: Why would I do it? I’m shift manager.
MinHOE: Which makes you have even more of an authority on training and such!
You: Bro stay out of it, this doesn’t even affect you???
Bawse Ass Bitch: Yeonjun, you can shift manage and still train today. It’s his first shift anyway, nothing complex.
You: Okay but when we get robbed today because I was distracted by a newbie, it’s not my fault
MinHOE: Do you want us to get robbed, you bring that up as an excuse so much
You: MINHO STAY OUT OF IT
Yeonjun was typing out his defensive against Minho when he suddenly felt the toothbrushing he’d paused for a moment overpower him as frothed toothpaste fell from his mouth onto his shirt. Well, shit. Now he couldn’t wear this. Not that he was going to wear the shirt he slept in to work… that definitely isn’t what he’d planned on doing.
He rushed the rest of his tasks in the bathroom, splashing water on his face before wetting his hair. If he wanted a shower, he would have gotten up earlier. But, he closed last night and he wasn’t getting up at 5 fucking am for this job. If his hair looked bad, so what? He didn’t have anyone to impress.
He came up from the sink and caught eye contact with himself in the mirror, water falling from every feature of his face, his hair pushed flat against his head. He pressed a finger against his harshly pointed eyebrows, trying to push them down. Trying to see if he could round out his own edges. He stood further back from the mirror to take in the rest of himself. His blue t-shirt with the now tap drenched neckline and white toothpaste on his chest. He lifted the damn thing, to see himself.
Earnestly, he didn’t get the chance very often. He didn’t get a lot of privacy. But, he liked self-evaluation. He pressed his fingers in the rises of his ribs, wanting to change them the same way he’d tried to change his face. He sighed, it was a lost cause. He wandered his fingertips lower, over the stark black ink of a moth tattooed under his chest, wings stretching from the base of each of his lowest ribs. And he stood there staring at it, feeling sort of hopeless realizing that he existed at all.
The bathroom door opened with cracking pop as it always did from being water warped out of fitting into the doorway many long years ago.
Yeonjun jumped, dropping his shirt and holding his hands away from his body out of hopes of not seeming like he was checking himself out in the mirror.
“Jesus,” he swore to get the startled feeling out of his body.
“Hey,” said his mother, now standing in the doorway in her favorite baby blue slippers and black and pink plaid pajama pants. “Where’s rent?”
“What do you mean where’s rent?” he asked, trying to sound bored. “The week isn’t up yet.”
“That’s not how rent works,” she said, pointing an accusing finger at him now. “In the real world, they don’t wait for you to be ‘ready’ to pay rent.”
“Yeah, well,” he said, trying not to get angry about the same old shit for once. “Most 19-year old’s living with their parents don’t have to pay rent, so…”
“Don’t take that tone with me. You're an adult now, it’s your responsibility,” she said in the same old tone he always told him that exact same thing.
Yeonjun wanted to remind her that she’d been using the ‘you’re an adult now’ routine on him since he’d turned 15. But, he bit his tongue. There was no use.
“Yeah, ma.” He conceded. He was falling behind on his morning routine speedrun and just wanted this to be over. “I’ll see if Jessi can pay me today instead of Friday, okay? But I don’t know if she can.”
He moved toward the doorway, gently placing a hand on her shoulder to rotate her enough for him to fit through.
“Why do you need to ask Jessi?” She called after him as he moved back toward the end of the trailer that his room was in. He stepped into his room, now aware that she was following him as she crowded that doorway as well. He stepped around his room, perusing the clothing all around the floor for something work acceptable. He lifted his toothpaste shirt off over his head. “What happened to your last paycheck?”
“It went to the fucking fridge!” He reminded her, trying not to raise his voice, his arm swinging through the air in front of him for emphasis.
He pulled on a black shirt that he was pretty sure he hadn’t worn to work yet this week. He shouldered past her out of the bedroom again.
“That fridge is an investment!” she yelled from behind him, as he picked up his leather jacket from the couch in the living room on his way to the front door. He had heard this one a thousand times before.
“Yeah, Ma,” he said in an attempt to placate her. But, it didn’t work because she kept going.
“This house will be yours someday,” she said, like she always had every time he asked why he had to pay out the ass to keep the damn thing standing. It’s not that he didn’t want them to have someplace to live. He just didn’t understand why he was the only one pitching in most of the time.
“It’s a trailer,” he said, immediately regretting it. Not that there was anything wrong with a trailer, but this trailer was a dump. It was maybe 10 years too old and it had long ago sunk into the ground a little further than was kosher. To make things worse, the trailer and the lot it sat on was a bit of a modest hoarder’s den. They were the biggest eyesore in the entire park. It was embarrassing. But, he also didn’t think it was his job to make them magically get their act together. He rushed to say more so that she wouldn’t immediately correct him. But, he didn’t have the idea to think of anything inoffensive. “And it’s a shithole and I don’t want it.”
“Yeonjun!” she spat back at him, coming toward him faster than he would have liked. He didn’t have time to fight right now.
“Ma, Ma, Ma,” he repeated, hands raised in front of him in mock surrender. “I know.”
“When are you going to grow up and stop acting like a brat?” she said, her voice seething with both disappointment and annoyance.
“Don’t know,” he said, before opening the front door and stepping out onto the roofed patch of asphalt that constituted his porch. When he heard the screen door skitter shut, he felt his shoulders relax knowing the conversation wasn’t going to follow him out onto the street.
He picked up his helmet and a roll of duct tape off the long neglected bubble glass porch table before bounding down the steps in a huff.
It was getting colder out and even the air felt dewy. He wasn’t going to be able to ride his bike soon… which meant he was going to have to wake up even earlier to get himself to the bus stop. He shuddered at the thought of snow and the bus and being cooped up inside.
He got to where his motorbike was parked in the grass, where he rolled out a 3 inch strip of duct tape before placing it between his teeth and tearing it to half its width then off the roll itself. He cringed at the chemically abhorrent taste that leaked into his mouth before adhering the tape around his left hand rear-view mirror. Once he was done, he looked at his handy work… She would live to see another day.
Rolling his bike off the grass and onto the road, he glimpsed his favorite neighbor. She was ducking under the support pole holding the hood of the junker truck that had been parked across the street for the past two years. Her little white head dipped low to see him, yellow eyes regarding him with disdain. Because she regarded everyone with disdain, he loved that about her.
“I know,” he said to her. “I’m late, you don’t have to tell me.”
He loved that damn cat. He didn’t even know if she belonged to someone else in the trailer park or anything. He doubted she did, she seemed as though she owned herself. Her name was Frost even though her white fur was often not frost white, considering the life she lived. He thought sometimes that he was just like her. They looked mean and gnarly and unapproachable but they had the capacity to be sweet… it wasn’t their fault the world had made them defensive.
Slipping his helmet over his head, he pushed the loose padding back in and fastened the straps of it.
Yeonjun climbed onto the seat of his bike, turning over the engine. It started not with the roaring of an engine, but more of a hiccup. He’d gotten the damn thing on Craigslist 2 years ago for $500 and it was nearly 11 years old. He wasn’t asking for anything more than its stupid sputtering exhaust and its ability to roll him from here to 15 minutes up the road to The Ugly Mug.
“–late,” was the first word Yeonjun heard from his coworker, Wooyoung, by the time he’d parked his bike and taken off his helmet. Wooyoung and his other barista for the day, Yeojin, had been sitting on the stoop in front of the Ugly Mug waiting for a keyholder to arrive.
Yeonjun tossed his keyring from his bike at Wooyoung as he was standing up off the stoop. The bundle of keys was heavy, making Wooyoung stumble as he barely managed to catch them.
“Shut up,” Yeonjun said in return even though he wasn’t entirely sure what bullshit Wooyoung had actually been saying. He liked Wooyoung, liked him a lot actually. They’d worked together long enough that Wooyoug was pretty good at being able to tell when to give him a wide berth and when he was in a joking mood. Which was also exactly why Yeonjun hated his guts sometimes. Because Wooyoung abused that power often and without mercy.
“Good Morning, Yeojin,” he said, much more politely as he followed Wooyoung who was unlocking the door. She hummed in response.
Yeonjun flicked on the lights and surveyed the tables and seating area, it was all warm woods, kitschy and hectic as ever. Mismatched chairs were stacked on top of equally mismatched tabls… his least favorite of which was definitely just a card table with a little– as Jessi called it– ”oomph”. He also hated the odd, mismatched signs all about with words like “kitchen”, “don’t talk to me before I’ve had my coffee”, “home is where the heart is”, “mind your own biscuits and life will be gravy”, and— his personal favorite “No Bitchin’ in my Kitchen”… But that was just to name a few. The cafe space seemed to have enough random phrases and patches of prose visible around every corner to populate a novella.
He let himself into the owner’s office, equally as cluttered– if not more so. Jessi was an organizational mess. The pile of empty water cooler jugs outnumbered the number of usable water jugs in the office– which was 0. The oversize box housing their new printer was still taped shut, acting as a table for their old, not so functional printer– and it had been that way for probably 8 months. The desk drawer only had black sharpies, the tape dispensers were empty, you would have to spend an hour looking for a paperclip.
It was a very…professional and…open work environment. That’s probably why he was able to do well here.
He perused Jessi’s note on the desk for morning reminders. Size small cups were low so try to upsell. Milk order came in yesterday. Fall drinks start today. Don’t let Yeojin near the bagel slicer again because it was clogged for days and we just fixed it last night.
Wait. Shit.
Fall drinks start today. Pumpkin spice, apple, maple, the whole autumnal nightmare. Good for business, nightmare for baristas. Busy days were the only time he actually had to do any work as shift manager.
He didn’t even like fall all that much. Why was he the one who had to pay for this?
Maybe Jessi hiring on an extra guy wouldn’t suck as much as he thought.
Yeonjun’s stomach growled and finally took in the vague fog and blurriness of his brain and vision. Shit, he didn’t eat. It was cigarettes and iced coffee for breakfast again, he guessed. Maybe there would be something edible in the expired baked goods, that could be nice.
Great, now he was daydreaming about eating garbage. Things were really looking up, huh?
Yeonjun got up to tell Wooyoung and Yeojin the bad news visavi the ever encroaching passage of time that brought with it the inevitable drawl of seasons changing. His eyes fell on the unused standee chalkboard sign against the wall as he placed his hand on the door. Maybe they could actually use it now, seeing as now they had a very important message for the world– ”Pumpkin Spice is Here! Please Kill Me Now”.
Yeonjun had instead spent the better part of an hour looking for their recipe guidelines book with stupid arbitrary numbers about how many pumps of that and how much poured of this and so on. That was, until he’d admitted defeat and texted Jessi… Who admitted further defeat, telling him they’d never had a physical copy.
Sometimes it felt like this shop’s ugly name had cursed them with an ugly mess of a cafe.
Yeonjun pretty much immediately instituted a new system for this disaster— a bit of friendly competition, gambling, and wasting of viable, edible cafe materials. Desperate times, desperate measures.
“$5 gift card to whoever can figure out an actual fall drink recipe. We need 5 or more in total,” he told Wooyoung and Yeojin in a lull between customers. It wasn’t a bad team to have working on this. Yeojin liked sweet drinks and Wooyoung liked strong drinks. They would have this done by noon…hopefully.
The system appeared to be working. Yeojin had completed a brown sugar latte within the first ten minutes. And the three of them stumbled around a pumpkin spice latte, landing on something good but not great. But it would have to be good enough until they were able to practice it more.
Wooyoung put a half empty paper cup in Yeonjun’s hand after about 10 minutes of radio silence.
“What the fuck is it?” Yeonjun asked, being clear that he was not going to ingest any mystery liquids handed to him by Wooyoung without a little more information… Which was generally his rule around Wooyoung. Unless the drink had hard liquor in it, then it didn’t really matter. What with the cleansing features of alcohol and such. “Woo, what is it?”
“Just try it,” Wooyoung insisted. And Yeonjun was not able to tell if the smile on his face was confidence or trickery.
“If this is nasty, I am killing you,” Yeonjun told him pointblank. Wooyoung just nodded in understanding, raising his eyebrows as if telling Yeonjun to get a move on.
The first thing that Yeonjun noticed about the substance in the cup was that it was completely room temperature, murky while not yet milky, and smelled like little other than coffee. That was, until it hit his mouth in a chalky sludge type way, some kick in the back of his throat and cleared his sinuses, and then a stale nearly sour sweetness mingled into his mouth, sticking to his teeth.
Bastard.
Sure, it may have been inedible but its worst offense was that it was not a seasonal drink.
Wooyoung broke into his own crackling laugh but he only had a few seconds of triumph before Yeonjun was tackling him at his middle and maneuvering him into a headlock. They both spun as Wooyoung tried to get out, sounding barely able to breathe between his spurts of laughter.
“I’m going to kill you,” Yeonjun stated the obvious. “I am going to put salt in your americano’s every time I see you for the next 3 weeks. I am going to slash your tires. I am going to fuck your boyfriend. I am going to get really close to your mom for no reason. I am going to learn your greatest fears and make them real. You are going to resent the day you were ever born. ”
“Um,” a small voice said.
Yeonjun wasn’t entirely sure where the voice even came from seeing as he and Wooyoung were both bent completely over and pushing each other against either side of the cabinets behind the order counter. But, Yeonjun didn’t have time to pause this encounter unfortunately. Because, if he knew anything about how these tussles went, they were about to enter Phase 3: Wooyoung bites me.
Sure enough, Wooyoung’s hands were grabbing his forearm and pulling it closer to his face. Now, that wouldn’t do.
Yeonjun used his other arms and torque in his torso to spin Wooyoung around so he was bending over backwards and Yeonjun was the only force keeping him from falling. Wooyoung’s head lulled back looking upside down across the bar at the seating area. His gaze froze, on something there but Yeonjun just assumed it was a farce he was putting on to distract him.
“Yeonjun,” said Yeojin’s voice again, louder and firmer this time. It wasn’t that he ever meant to ignore Yeojin, there was sometimes just a lot going on that she couldn’t talk over.
“Yeah?” he said, lifting his head to look at her, not releasing from his position lest he contract barista-based rabies. Yeojin pointed a finger to a figure standing against the bar just a few feet from him. “New hire’s here.”
Yeonjun glanced up at whoever it was from his bent over position.
Tall, dark hair, hands raised to chest height, fidgeting with his fingers… nervous, thought Yeonjun. The guy couldn’t have been any older than him, but he didn’t seem so young either.
As his features started to come together in Yeonjun’s vision, each one was shockingly familiar. But, certainly, it was only deja vu, because Yeonjun would remember a face like that. They didn’t really make faces like that in this town. He was striking, sure. Mouth pulled into some taught, nervous smile that was pressing a dimple into his cheeks. Her eyes were open big and full as were his rounded cheeks all contributing to some ambient innocence about him.
Thank god. A hot new coworker wasn’t a challenge that Yeonjun usually fared well with. But, this wasn’t a hot boy or a handsome boy or a manly man.
This was a pretty boy.
Choi Yeonjun was not affected by pretty boys.
They had no interest in him, he had no interest in them. It was the type of symbiotic, cellibite relationship everyone looks for in a fellow barista. Not that everyone is looking for a fellow barista but you get the gist.
But still, the innocent look of this guy was ringing a bell.
“Do I know you from somewhere?” Yeonjun asked, no reason to beat around the bush or ask in three days “hey are you that guy from that thing last year or 3 years ago or…” That shit was stupid. If they’d met before, they should say so now. It wasn’t embarrassing to forget someone as long as you hadn’t hooked up with them. And Yeonjun had not hooked up with this guy, he would have remembered if he had… He’d said pretty, not forgettable.
And, while Yeonjun was waiting for a tall, pretty boy to answer his question, Wooyoung finally bit down on his arm.
—--------------
Soobin and Yeonjun had been going to the same school since the 6th grade.
They did not meet until 3 days after high school graduation.
4 MONTHS AGO..
Graduation was in mid-May. Much to his chagrin, Soobin had been invited to a number of graduation parties from fellow graduates. The way he figured it, he wasn’t exactly allowed to skip all of them. Someone would say something, call him out for being antisocial or ask him what was wrong. He briefly thought that may be alright, seeing as though he wouldn’t be seeing most of these people ever again once they all went away from college. But, another part of him was too much of a coward to bail just like that.
But, even when he did settle on going, the idea of everyone and their mother asking what his plans were after the summer already was itching at him. Should he lie to everyone? Making something up? Soobin didn’t have wants or dreams for his future, let alone plans. He wasn’t forlorn about it or anything. It's just that, when he tried to look at his future, there was just nothing there. There were hints of community college or a part-time job or an apartment but largely…nothing. But, he was ignoring that for now.
So, that’s how Soobin got to himself sitting on the floor of what was clearly a child oriented ocean themed bathroom on the second floor of whomsoever’s suburban neighborhood board middle class parents’ house. He was keeping the lights off because he was pretty sure he was close to bedrooms so, even if this wasn’t the most popular floor in the house right now, he still thought people may be… passing through… to use the unique… privacy of some of the spaces up here. Which is to say, the lights were off to dissuade anyone from the belief that someone was in here and needed company. Light was still filtering in through a small curtained window about the toilet, so he hadn’t gone completely bat mode.
There was a mute, deep hum coming from the floor beneath him, making him feel like the tiles under him were nearly vibrating. He wasn’t going to complain about the music choice or anything, he liked a lot of pop music. He just didn’t enjoy music the way everyone else was tonight.
He clicked on the corn crop on his phone game to harvest it.
‘You had three drinks, you’re not a square,’ he kept reminding himself. But, he was struggling to get it to stick.
The thing about Soobin was that he wasn’t unpopular. He wasn’t socially illiterate. People laughed at his jokes, were interested in his ideas, and seemed to genuinely find him charming. It wasn’t difficult, Soobin had always been more or less genuine and people usually took to that version of him quite well. He got invited to things– he attended dances, pep rallys, and football games. He floated between social groups just fine. All-in-all Soobin came off as a perfectly normal, perfectly fun, and perfectly un-lame 18-year-old high school graduate.
The reality was…
‘I’m so uncool, I hate it here, I want to go home,” he felt it chanting in his head reminding him. ‘I'm an 18-year-old virgin with no game and nothing in common with other people my age. I’m a loser and I just tricked everyone else into liking me.’
He paused in his phone game to kick at the plunger sitting next to the toilet in his frustration, and the damn thing just lifelessly flopped over, taking all of the power out of his outburst.
‘Everyone only likes you because they think you being so stupid and lame is cute and funny,’ he reminded himself. Not that anyone had ever told him that, but he was sure it was true. Now he was going to enter adulthood with none of the experience he needed to be fucking normal. So everyone was just going to grow and grow and everyone was going to keep outpacing him for the rest of his life.
But, there was something worse than all of that to him. And that was the fact he didn’t even want to do a lot of those things. He didn’t want to drink more, he didn’t want to do drugs, he didn’t want to have meaingless sex, he didn’t want to break the law, he didn’t want to go to loud parties or loud concerts, or ride a motorbike. At least not yet he didn’t. And he hated it. He wanted to want those things so badly. He lied about wanting them all the time. That part was easy. But, the aching feeling of a missing desire everyone seem to receive so easily— that was much harder.
What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he just—
The bathroom door suddenly opening made him jump, pressing his phone to chest as his arms wrapped defensively around himself and puling his long legs up against his chest. The immediate fear of the instantaneous sound wore off quickly, but now his anxiety about who was going to walk through the door, what they were going to say, and how stupid they would think he was stuck to him as though he were an insect glued to a fly trap… Trapped.
Soobin was trapped.
The first thing Soobin saw were black leather combat boots with buckles that jingled as his intruder moved in stuttering, sloppy steps. The next thing he noticed were long thin legs, they were tall with all long lines just like Soobin. Whoever it was had just stumbled to the sink and turned on the faucet placing this face close to it. Hydrating late in the game maybe.
The guy– he could tell by the baritone in his exertion– began to cough, doubling over the counter with shoulders shaking in his black leather jacket. He began to suddenly remove the jacket as if overheating, which was fair based on the exertion of his cough. The house itself had felt so hot and wet anyway, in the way that rooms in early summer filled with a hundred sweaty young bodies would be.
Soobin almost perked up, a wave of sympathetic concern rising in his chest at the raspy sound of the stranger’s vocal chords. He almost said it, he almost overcame his shyness to ask the guy if he was okay.
Until he saw the tattoo of a bowie knife stretching from elbow to wrist on the outside of his left forearm.
Choi Yeonjun.
Soobin’s throat tightened.
He didn’t have any personal vendettas with Choi Yeonjun. No history. No mutual friends. Yeah, they’d gone to school together for 6 years but if they’d had a course together in middle school, he certainly did not remember. But, still. Yeonjun was a living legend. And not in a particularly good way.
Honestly, Soobin did not believe half of what people said he’d done. None of it was all that malicious and, from what he could tell, most of the behavior was generally warranted. But, they were still the type of things that scared Soobin shitless of doing himself.
The thing was—Yeonjun was sort of the main gay guy out in school. And there was no end to shit that made him have to endure. First, it was everyone knowing he had hooked up with girls and holding that against him as some got-ya token. But, Soobin was pretty sure that all the rumors had started about Yeonjun liking boys without ever stopping to ask if he was bi or pan. Everyone just jumped straight to gay.
And Soobin was pretty sure the only reason that bothered him was that someone might do that to him. And, if they did that to him when he was still so unsure about the right words for himself, he thinks he would just fall apart. He didn’t want to fall apart. He wanted to stay put together exactly like this, safe, and stable,and… he was getting off topic.
So yeah, sometimes when Yeonjun lashed out it was totally deserved. But, sometimes he caused mayhem for mayhem’s sake. Which came at the price of literally any prank or vandalism at the school getting blamed on him immediately.
Every dirty drawing in the bathroom stalls– Choi Yeonjun.
The TP-ing in the student dean's office sophomore year— Choi Yeonjun.
Deathcore playing through the overhead in place of afternoon announcements, crackling and screaming until even staff members were clasping hands around their ears– Choi Yeonjun.
Busting open all the feminine product dispensers so that you didn’t need a quarter for a fucking tampon anymore– Choi Yeonjun.
The plastic solo cups shoved into the football field’s chain link reading ‘Homecoming' rearranged to say a simple, “Fuck 12”–Uh, yeah. I’ll take Choi Yeonjun for 500, Alex.
And, sure, Soobin was always someone to give people the benefit of the doubt when meeting them. But, he was also shy and anxious even on a good day. And today was not a good day.
Yeonjun’s coughing slowed and he stuck his mouth under the faucet again. Soobin became afraid that Yeonjun could see him through the mirror– despite the dark and despite the fact that he had clicked off his phone light.
Yeonjun spun on his heel. He was unsteady. His black hair was sweaty, hanging thick and wet in front of his eyes at the lowest point of his center parted hair. In the rotation, Soobin saw exactly how tight his undercut was cut, nearly shorn all the way down in the back. Light from the window bounced blue off the water that had spilled on his cheek and fell down the muscles of his neck, then dipping below the neckline of his shirt out of sight.
Yeonjun slowly pulled an arm up to his face to wipe off the excess water, the knife tattooed on his forearm sliding across in front of his face as if he were cutting a chelsea smile. His eyes wandered around the room in a slow, confused way.
And then they landed directly on Soobin who was sitting staring awestruck at him in complete silence.
Yeonjun laughed at him.
“Oh, shit,” he said, still through a laugh. “Didn’t see you there.”
Without really knowing what was happening, Soobin flinched as Yeonjun took the scant few steps to his side of the bathroom before slowly lowering himself down to sit next to Soobin with his back against the tub.
Yeonjun leaned toward him a little as if he was about to tell a secret. Soobin’s entire body tensed.
“Who are you hiding from?” Yeonjun whispered before making himself laugh a little again.
Soobin shook his head immediately in his own defense.
“No one,” he insisted. It was true, he was hiding but not from anyone in particular.
“Yeah, right,” Yeonjun said, not even interested in his side of the story. Yeonjun leaned his head back against the edge of the tub. Soobin watched the way Yeonjun’s jewelry shifted with him, his dangly earrings falling back and the surprising delicate silver chain around his neck dipped into the divet of a collarbone that Soobin had accidentally glimpsed through the collar of his shirt. “What are you doing up here in the dark all by yourself then?”
“Nothing,” Soobin lied. “I was just getting a breather.”
“Oh, I get it,” Yeonjun said, nodding. “Are you on acid?”
“What?” Soobin said immediately, not entirely sure what characteristics he was exhibiting that was suggesting this.
“You’re totally tripping, aren’t you?” Yeonjun pressed.
“I’m not—” Soobin was trying to insist, but he was cut off by the sound effect of a cow mooing through his phone. They both jumped at it.
Soobin was thankful the bathroom was dark enough that Yeonjun couldn’t see how red and hot he could feel his face had just gotten.
Yeonjun lifted his head from the tub.
“What the fuck was that?” he said, a smile dancing across his laugh again. Yeonjun was just like everyone else. They seemed endeared by Soobin on the surface but clearly just thought that him being so childish and naive was funny to them.
Soobin tried to barely raise his phone to pause the game and turn it off, but Yeonjun was suddenly against his shoulder, dipping his head to see the screen. Soobin tried to lean away, in part because he didn’t want Yeonjun looking at his screen but also because he didn’t appreciate the invasion of his personal space.
“What is it?” Yeonjun said again, a playful pout in his tone. It sounded weird, to hear someone as scary and harsh as Yeonjun whipping out what was ostensibly a baby voice with someone he’d never spoken to before.
Soobin rolled his eyes, knocking his shoulder back so that 1. Yeonjun’s face was a little bit less in his entire deal and 2. He could turn the phone screen so that they could both see.
“It’s just a game,” Soobin surrendered.
“Mhmm,” Yeonjun hummed as if Soobin had something profound. His head stayed pressed and interested against Soobin’s shoulder. “Well, you came up here to play it, so play it.”
“Uh,” Soobin said. He was at a loss for words in his own utter humiliation. He moved his finger to shut off the phone but Yeonjun suddenly grabbed the index finger that was heading to the button. Dark shapes and scribbles of tattoos were visible on each of Yeonjun’s knuckles now bathed in the light of the phone screen, but Soobin could not make them out…Not that he would ever want to.
He stumbled to find the right question to express his incredulity.
“What?” he landed on. Good, straightforward, a true classic.
“Play your game, I’m bored,” Yeonjun said, that pouty, nasal tone coming out again.
Soobin wasn’t stupid. He knew that drunk people were annoying and said stupid shit. He knew that high people were very much the same. And, if Yeonjun thought there was acid at this party— there was no telling what he was actually on. Which is all to say, Soobin knew better to think that Yeonjun actually cared about him or was actually interested. He was just talking to Soobin because he was here. And no other reason.
“No, it’s just a stupid game,” Soobin insisted.
“I’m sure it’s not stupid,” Yeonjun repeated back softly. If Soobin didn’t know any better, he’d feel like they were actually talking about something else. Like they were both trying to prove some point completely unrelated to the phone or the game or the stupid bovine sound his speakers had just made.
Plus, what was Yeonjun getting at anyway? Was he really not like what everyone said he was? Or was he trying to trick Soobin? Trying to play him? Trying to make fun of him?
“Only you get to decide if what you do or don’t do is stupid or not,” Yeonjun said, as though he had knowledge far beyond Soobin’s years. Which was bullshit of course, they had both just graduated mere days ago. And Soobin didn’t particularly remember Yeonjun being held back so many years that he’d now be old enough to talk like his father.
“That’s not true,” Soobin argued, staring blankly into the dark in front of him. The dark made it easier to talk to a stranger. Maybe it was less embarrassing, more ambiguous. “People judge each other all the fucking time.”
“So?” Yeonjun asked, like it was all so simple to him. “Why’s any of that matter?”
“What do you mean? Of course it matters,” Soobin said, nodding. He was embarrassed knowing the way his face probably just instinctively scrunched up and pushed his lips forward in his frustration. He knew Yeonjun wasn’t looking at him but still.. What if he had seen how pathetically worked up Soobin was by this whole thing?
“Why? Why’s it matter?” Yeojun repeated his question once more. But, there was humor in his voice and Soobin could feel in his heart that Yeonjun was about to laugh at him. It was so fucking funny to Yeonjun that someone could be shy and sheltered and scared of what other people thought and scared of offending or hurting people. Yeonjun didn’t understand what it was like to stay closeted, he didn’t know Soobin, he didn’t know… Yeonjun just didn’t know anything.
“Because it does okay!” Soobin said. “I don’t have to explain myself. Not everyone is like you, okay?”
Soobin knew he’d fucked up the second he’d said it. Yeonjun lifted his head from the tub, Soobin could feel his piercing gaze turning toward him but didn’t dare look.
“What am I like then?” Yeonjun asked.
“Nothing,” Soobin said immediately.
Yeonjun moved suddenly, turning toward Soobin, positioning his torso in front of his. He placed a hand against the tub by Soobin’s far shoulder, boxing him in. He leaned in. His face suddenly inches from Soobin’s and his features were so much clearer from this close. Soobin pushed himself as far back against the tub as he could but it wasn’t enough.There was nowhere else to go. He was trapped by Choi Yeonjun…again.
“No, really,” Yeonjun insisted and Soobin saw some maniacal smile meander across his face. “What is it that you think I’m like?”
“I- I don’t know,” Soobin stuttered out, dishonesty dripping from it like he was a guilty crook being interrogated after they’ve been found clear as day with the murder weapon. He tried to focus on the sound of water dripping out of the tap that Yeonjun had not shut off quite all the way. He tried to imagine he wasn’t here.
“No, I think you do know,” Yeonjun said, he leaned in even closer. Soobin turned his head away to avoid the intimidation of it. Soobin’s heart hammered in his chest. It felt so weird. No one had ever tried to fight him before. Was that what this was? It certainly didn’t feel like it. Was it flir— no. He shouldn’t even entertain that thought. It wasn’t anything but a guy who was rightfully offended confronting his attacker. “You wouldn’t have said that otherwise.”
“No, I don’t know why I said that,” Soobin pleaded. He turned his face back to Yeonjun to make himself seem more honest. Yeonjun was still so close, it was unsettling in his stomach. No guy’s face had ever been that close to his. He didn’t know how he felt about it at all. “I don’t even know you.”
“Yes, you do,” Yeonjun said, direct-on eye contact feeling like he was intentionally trying to tell Soobin he was seeing straight through his lies. “Come on, say it. Say my name.”
“No,” Soobin denied him.
“Come on,” Yeojun repeated.
“No, I’m not going to do that,” Soobin shook his head again, his eyes flickered away from Yeonjun for an instant out of fear but then they moved straight back against his own will as if he couldn’t look away. As if he didn’t know how.
Soobin gaze shuffled between the features of Yeonjun’s unfamiliar face– the fullness of his upturned top lip, the intensity of his dark eyes, his set, emotionless brow, dark hair falling into his eyes. When he moved, there was a striking bright sound, like a little bell as his thick silver earrings knocked against one another.
“Come on,” Yeonjun goaded him. His voice dropped deeper, quieter like he was really trying to get under Soobin’s skin. Yeonjun moved closer.
And then it hit Soobin.
He liked this.
He really, really liked this. Sure, there was alcohol burning in his stomach and his brain was all confused and cloudy. But, he still liked it regardless. He liked Yeonjun’s attention fully on him. He liked the push and pull. He liked that this silly dance made him feel desirable, like someone was seeing something new in him that no one else had before. He liked feeling like someone thought he was worth this kind of hassle. He liked the idea that he could imagine kissing Yeonjun.
“Egomaniac,” Soobin said, finally. His eyes were careful, watching any change in Yeonjun’s expression. But, there was barely anything but his eyes squinting a little, like he was analyzing Soobin for something.
Then, the moment broke.
“Guilty as charged,” Yeonjun said, seemingly satisfied by that response as he moved away from Soobin to lean against the tub again.
Now, Soobin was the one unsatisfied. He felt colder as disappointment made his gut feel heavy. That was the closest he’d ever been to… anything. And, even if Yeonjun hadn’t been flirting with him, it was enough just to know that Soobin himself had felt the urge to want to see where something would go with someone.
Soobin swallowed his pride. He had other.. Curiosities about Yeonjun he could explore instead. Soobin placed either of his palms against the cool tile floor, trying to ground himself again.
“Doesn’t it make you angry? The things people make up about you?” Soobin asked finally. Part of the reason Soobin didn’t want people talking about him was because of precisely that. Maybe Yeonjun could show him the way of the bold.
“Nah,” Yeonjun drawled. When he shruggedm it hit Soobin’s shoulder. “It’s the shit people say about me that’s true that bothers me more.”
That sparked Soobin’s curiosity. He lifted his head, looking over at Yeonjun's face. There was relatively little there. But, then again, there was usually little there.
“Like what?” Soobin asked, trying to keep his voice gentle because the moment felt fragile all of a sudden.
“Rude, unloveable, dirt poor, whore.” Yeonjun said before laughing. Soobin winced at that collection of words. Those were his things that were true? That couldn’t be. He must have taken other people saying that stuff hard. “It’s stupid.”
“What’s stupid?” Soobin asked, attention still rapt.
“Don’t worry about it,” Yeonjun groaned, laying his head back against the tub again. “How long are you going to stay in here?”
“I don’t know,” Soobin said, immediately as though he were trying to be obedient, as if being as open and easy as possible would make Yeonjun move toward him again. “Why?”
Yeonjun shrugged, “Just wondering.”
Why would he be wondering? Did he want Soobin to stay? Did he want him to go? Did he care whether Soobin was here at all?
Don’t leave, Don’t leave, Don’t leave, Soobin felt himself begging. This is the first time i haven’t felt stupid all night, please don’t leave.
Some little spark caught in Soobin’s stomach. He wasn’t going to get Yeonjun’s attention again without provoking him like he had before.
“Do you-” Soobin began to ask, but his voice cracked in his nervousness. “Do you ask all the boys to say your name?”
Yeonjun let out a sort of vicious, scoffing laugh. He didn’t lift his head, but he just barely opened his eyes, looking at Soobin in a scathing way.
Shit.
“Are you being homophobic?” he asked.
Shit, shit shit.
“No, I-” Soobin began to speak automatically, not sure what his excuse was going to be. Shit, he had nothing. Shit, shit, shit. Honesty would have to do. “I was….trying to flirt.. with you.”
Yeonjun looked him in the face, a smile there somewhere. And then his smile fell away.
“Oh, shit.” Yeonjun said with a tone of some kind of wistful wonder. “You’re serious.”
And Yeonjun just laughed at him, much harder than he had the entire time since he’d gotten in the room. Soobin had never been so humiliated in his entire life. Now, more than ever before, he wanted to instantly disappear.
“Sorry,” Soobin breathed out, barely audible.
“Nah,” Yeonjun said, shaking his head. There was a pause in Yeonjun laughter where he just looked at him, halfway between a smile and nothing altogether. The pause felt important to Soobin. Yeonjun hadn’t said no, had he? Maybe Soobin could kiss him, get his first kiss over with, right here in this stupid bathroom. Allegedly, Yeonjun has kissed tons of people so he probably wouldn’t mind because what was one more, right?
“Woah,” Yeonjun said, eyes wide when he realized how close Soobin’s face had become. “Back up, Harry Potter.”
Yeonjun punctuated the backhanded nickname by taking a finger and pressing it against the bridge of Soobin’s round glasses, by extension pushing his entire head back too.
“Sorry,” Soobin said, trying to get up.
“Listen, you’re cute. But, you’re not my type. And, I might be messy, but I’m not fucking two different guys in the same night.”
Oh.
Soobin felt so fucking stupid. Yeonjun had literally just hooked up with someone probably somewhere within the past hour and Soobin, this entire time, had been wondering if he was flirting with him and if it was okay to flirt back with him. That was how inconsequential sex was to everyone else, why couldn’t he be like everyone else?
Fuck, of course Yeonjun wasn’t interested in him. Not even in the silly intoxicated way where you enjoy having someone else play along with that silly little dance of affection we all love so much. What the fuck was he thinking?
Oh god, Soobin was a loser. He was a totally fucking loser.
The sound of Yeonjun vomiting in the toilet brought Soobin out of his doom spiral.
Soobin wasn’t stupid, he knew Yeonjun had been fucked up. Any number of very natural things could have made the guy throw up. But, still. His brain said one thing to him loud, clear, and nearly immediately:
Choi Soobin, the first guy you ever tried to kiss, threw up at the mere idea of it.
Soobin gathered himself up off the floor, tucking his stupid loud phone back in his pocket. He didn’t ask Yeonjun if he was okay or if he needed anything. He just didn’t want to.
To: Taehyun
You: Hey, I’m sorry to do this. But, this party sucks. Can you pick me up so I can stay at your house tonight?
Taehyun: omw
Taehyun: I told you I should have gone with you.
You: No, it’s a senior party. It would have been weird if you went.
You: There was no reason for me to go. I don’t know why I came at all.
You: I hope I never see any of these ppl ever again.
—------------------------------------------------------------------------
There’s a few things you should know about Choi Soobin from the get-go:
He liked when his sweater sleeves were long enough to cover his hands and fingers a little.
He was a hopeless romantic who had, in recent years, developed a nasty habit of falling way too hard, way too easily into crushes that had never once gone absolutely anywhere. His love life had been DOA for a million reasons– mostly pertaining to the fact that he never told anyone about his feelings and was perpetually confused and antagonized by the act of defining his own sexuality.
He did not like things that were too spicy, too bitter, or too sour.
And, oh yeah, he was an anxious, disorganized, lost, listless, unmotivated, uncertain, unconfident mess.
…what else was he forgetting?
Oh, right, he needed a job.
That’s all you really need to know to surmise that, of course, Soobin was worried about his first day at the Ugly Mug.
First of all, he was perpetually nervous about most things. So, it didn’t really come as a surprise.
Second, he hadn’t done anything particularly social since he’d graduated back in May. Now, it was late August and the only things he had to show for it were countless hours reading manga, watching anime, playing video games, hanging out with his best friend/cousin Taehyun, playing video games with his best friend/cousin Taehyun, eating entirely too much junk food, and sleeping for 10 or so hours a day. Miraculously, despite still staying at his parent’s, they’d been placated by him telling them he’d start a job a few weeks before community college courses began. And, sure, he’d missed the mark and taken the last thing available so now he only had a few days left until courses started up but.. Still… progress.
To make things worse, his parents were moving down south this month to take care of his grandmother. He’d known it was coming for a while, but it did even more to throw him out of whack. How he’d let his entire world changing sneak up on him after having months of summer to prepare for it, he didn’t know.
Soobin checked his outfit again in the window of his homely sedan in the parking lot of the shop as secretly as he could. He knew he looked cute in the pastel blue sweater, he knew it took away from the impact of his overall height. He knew he looked personable, he knew it’s not like he could change now. But, still.. What if he got too hot? What if the cardigan snagged on something? What if he spilled on his clothes?
Oh, god. That reminded him— what if he was clumsy today? He was always so clumsy, what if he broke a glass, what if he spilled on a customer, what if he ruined all of their supplies for something? Was it possible that he could mess up so badly that he would never come back again? He shuddered at the thought.
“Hi,” he said to the girl at the register. She looked like she had to be at least a foot shorter than him. God, now he felt huge, like he was taking up too much space. He pulled his arms in front of himself, trying to make his shoulders smaller. He tried to smile at her, but it barely had any of the gusto he’d wanted. “I’m a new hire, I’m supposed to be training today.”
“Oh, hi!” she said, much more chipper. She seemed as though she may say more but was startled instead by the sound of curses and arguing coming from next to her, the owners obscured by the espresso machine. “Let me get the manager.”
He followed her down to the end of the bar, to where he assumed customers typically picked up their drinks. The view behind the counter there was unobscured, giving way to the visage of two apron clad guys tussling by the sink. The one in the black apron clearing had the upper hand, cursing and shaking the guy who was wearing a brown apron matching the girl from the register.
What had he just walked into? Was this normal? No wonder it had been so easy to get this job.
“Yeonjun,” she said, distracting Soobin from the fight. Soobin shook his muddled and confused head. It was just a name. And he probably hadn’t even heard her right anyway. “The new hire’s here.”
Two faces turned to look up at him at once. First, the upside down employee in the brown apron who Soobin was trying to gauge was in immediate danger or not. Next, the face of the winner in the black apron. Soobin’s breath stilled in his throat.
Shit.
Choi Yeonjun was looking at him through long dark bangs that were dipping in front of his eyes. There was a wily grin still persisting on his face which sunk into something softer and more personable as Soobin watched Yeonjun’s face try to make sense of him.
Wow. When Soobin had stayed up all night fretting about the worst, most embarrassing things that could happen to him on his first day, not even his anxiety had been cruel enough to put this one on his list.
Not Yeonjun, anyone but Yeonjun.