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“Fuck me.”
It was said with such a woeful inflection that two heads poked out from the prep area at the comment.
“Not it,” Changbin spoke up first, pointing a finger to his nose,
Chan elbowed the shorter male in the ribs, “Well, I’m not doing it.”
Minho ignored his friends’ remarks, pressing himself further against the kitchen wall where he had taken cover from the view of the restaurant floor, wailing out, “I hate him. He’s in the gold pants – again!” There was resignation lacing his voice as he continued though, “But it’s fitting really, seeing as his tiny ass was sculptured by Gods. It makes him look like a golden statue...” He smacked his head back into the wall, eyes squeezed tightly shut, “…One I need to worship up close and personal…” Another thump, “…Preferably with heavy physical contact.”
“Oi!” Chan tossed a piece of vegetable peel at him, “Leave the customers alone and get back to work.”
Minho glared at him, flicking the carrot off his shirt, “No can do, boss. He was in a crop top too. Tonight is the night I die. If you have any last words for me, say them now.”
“Don’t you have drinks to get?” Changbin pointed to the order sheet in Minho’s hand, hip resting against the counter and cabbage temporarily forgotten as he raised his eyebrows at the server where he flailed against the wall.
“I don’t wanna,” Minho whined, “That means I have to go back out to his table.”
“And I don’t wanna be your friend yet here we are,”
Minho gave him a disbelieving look, “We’re friends?”
Changbin sent him a rude gesture before returning to his chopping board.
Minho stuck out his tongue in retaliation but quickly pulled it back in at Chan’s judgmental look. Then with a sigh, he reluctantly pushed off the wall, heading to the fridges to grab drinks.
“I know I’ve been on the lunch shift for the past month, but what did I miss? Does this always happen?”
Changbin shook his head in disbelief at Minho’s sulking back, before turning to answer Chan’s question, “Not initially. The first couple of times this kid came in Minho was fine. But he has come back three times in just the past two weeks, and I don’t know what he’s doing but Minho will not shut up about him and those gold fucking pants.”
Minho chose that moment to walk back past with a tray of drinks in hand, “If you saw the pants you’d understand-”
Changbin shook his head in protest,
“-with them on, he could sit on my face and I’d thank him.”
Chan’s mouth dropped open, a giggle on his lips that he tried desperately to squash because one of them had to be mature, “I honestly can’t tell if that’s a compliment or borderline sexual harassment,”
“The latter.” Changbin chimed in before pushing Minho’s unwilling body towards the door.
. . .
“I want him to crush me with his thighs.”
There were two beats of silence following the surprisingly unsurprising outburst – muffled into the table where two plush cheeks were pressed into the hardwood in resignation – before the small moment of shock wore off and the eldest spoke up, warning lacing his tone, “Jisung.”
“Just think of it. Death by quadriceps. Asphyxiation in the tastiest way possible.”
“Han Jisung.” Woojin’s tone held more threat the second time around,
Hyunjin just giggled, poking the limp form of his friend in the shoulder, “Let him be. Watching his pathetic thirsty ass is sort of funny.”
“It’s repulsive,” Seungmin commented from the other side of the table, not even looking up from his menu.
Jisung vaulted sideways, draping himself hopelessly over Hyunjin instead of the table, “Do you know I heard his name the other day?”
Three pairs of eyes glanced at him in question,
“Minho.” He said dreamily, “The short angry one – with arms that’d I’d also allow to choke me – called him that the other day.”
Seungmin scoffed at Jisung’s comment then hummed, eyes back on the menu, “If his nametag is correct with Lee, then his name is probably Lee Minho. It’ll be hard to find him online if so, that’s a pretty common name.”
“But perfect,” Jisung refuted, “It suits him.”
“He could come over here in a garbage bag with a mullet and you’d think it suits him,”
“True.” Jisung huffed at Hyunjin’s words, blowing out his cheeks in a pout, “But only because he could definitely pull it off anyway.”
“Please can we just order some food in peace for once.”
Seungmin agreed wholeheartedly with Woojin’s plea as the object of Jisung’s torment came back over to the table, balancing a tray of drinks in hand. He quickly deposited the bottles, tucking the tray under his arm and pulling out a notebook before looking at the faces of the table which had gone suspiciously quiet. Han had shrunk behind Hyunjin in the booth, his taller friend separating him from the server – the stunning object of his affection – and hopefully hiding his blush because if Minho was ten seconds earlier, he would have heard his desperate pining.
“Ready to order mains?”
And if Jisung blanked out, only coming back to reality when Minho’s figure was retreating to the kitchen – taking those delicious thighs wrapped in tight black jeans with him – and didn’t remember what he ordered, then that was his business and his business alone.
. . .
“Have you seen his fucking waist? It’s tiny. If I hug him, I think I would snap him in half.”
Changbin snorted, the conversation picking right back up from where they left it, choosing to mumble under his breath, “Yeah, because hugging is exactly what you were thinking of doing to him.”
“Please do not break our customers, Minho,” Chan called from behind a grill, cutting off any of Minho’s retort,
“I wasn’t gonna. It’s just that I reckon I could.” Minho whined, pinning the new order up to the kitchen,
“For that to happen you’d have to actually speak to him, you know, introduce yourself,”
Minho scoffed, rolling his eyes at Changbin’s unbelievable suggestion,
Chan poked his head out of the kitchen, putting two plates into the outflow window and he supplied, “He’s right, you know. You could just ask for his name and number like any sane human being,”
“Or I could not. What if he says no? He comes in here all the time. I would die of embarrassment.”
“Minho,” Chan leant over the window to slap a hand on his shoulder, “I watched you climb a tree to rescue a cat. Then get stuck in that tree after said cat jumped down to freedom, leaving you to remember in hindsight that you are afraid of heights, making dorm security come over with not one, but three ladders to get you down, nothing – and I mean nothing – could ever be worse than that.”
Minho hunched his shoulders, that night still haunted him in his sleep.
“Yeah man,” Changbin called, “I still watch the news clip every time you piss me off. It never fails to make me laugh.”
Ah right. He forgot the story made it onto the student-made news. God. What if golden boy went to their university?
And what if he had seen the clip?
With defiance clear in his voice, Minho retorted instead, “We don’t even know if he likes dick anyway,”
Chan and Changbin shared a look, the latter speaking up, “Really? You really think the gold pants aren’t a giveaway? Because they screamed Spartan callboy when I first saw him.”
Chan chuckled and Minho’s eyes flew wide, his mind immediately filling with a series of creative images – mostly involving chunky gold jewellery and very minimal clothing – he really didn’t want to be thinking about right then. He flushed red and punched out at Changbin, “Don’t say things like that!”
“What?” Changbin rolled his eyes, “You’ve literally said, and I quote ‘gold pants suit him because it’s the perfect wrapping for the prized family jewels I know he is carrying’ complete with raised eyebrows.”
“Well, yeah . . . But you called him a prostitute!”
“But a Spartan one, you know, a high-class one that gets shown off at parties, all shirtless and sprawled on your lap, feeding you grapes.”
No.
Nope.
He didn’t need to add those images to the fantasies already swirling around his head.
“That’s it. You’ve been watching too much Spartacus. I’m changing the Netflix password.”
“But it’s a show where scantily clad, muscled up men get physical with each other, it’s exactly your sort of thing.”
Minho gave him a sharp glare and Changbin looked beyond the kitchen at the lithe blond male seated across the room.
“Oh, right. Yeah. I guess bulging muscles isn’t your type.”
“Yeah, no shit.” Minho sneered, picking up the next lot of orders to take out. Before he made it two steps, he nearly dropped them at Changbin’s next shout,
“Spartan twink!”
Catching the plate of chicken that was dangerously close to tipping over, Minho turned back to glare at his friend, “What?”
“That’s his codename.”
Slack-jawed, Minho spluttered out, “I am not referring to him as Spartan twink,”
Changbin frowned at him, “You’re no fun,”
Minho glared back, “And you’re rude,”
“That’s a little pot calling the kettle black,” Changbin waved him off before heading towards the pantry to help Chan bring out the next lot of ingredients. “And it’s not like I was going to say it to his face.”
Minho huffed but left the kitchen anyway, plates rebalanced on his arm.
. . .
“I like to think of myself as a thigh connoisseur.”
Seungmin was pointedly ignoring him and Woojin was giving him a longsuffering look, Hyunjin at least seemed entertained by Jisung’s words, “And?”
“And I’m just saying that if he were steak, he’d be an eye fillet. Tender and juicy.”
Hyunjin cackled,
Woojin sighed softly, “Honestly, sometimes I worry for his safety with the things you say.”
“It’s true though!” Jisung protested, “Besides, I’m the one hoping to choke on his dick-”
Seungmin picked the wrong moment to take a drink, spitting his beverage all over the table at his – dare he admit it – friend’s words.
“-even if it kills me.”
Woojin patted the back of the poor boy choking next to him, narrowing his eyes at Jisung, “Okay. We get the point. Can we just eat the delicious meal in peace from now on?”
Hyunjin was still snickering from Jisung’s side of the table, throwing napkins onto both Seungmin and the mess he’d made.
“Fine. I’m done.” Jisung threw his hands up in a placating gesture, “No more comments about him tonight. I know the meal will good and all. . . His voice trailed off as his gaze drifted across the room, “But I am really hungry for another snack tonight.”
Jisung’s eyes were watching with fascination as the server traipsed between tables with a delicious sway of his hips. The man was an enigma. How could someone so breath-taking be working at the local chicken restaurant of all places? With that face and that body, he deserved his own runway, instead of being restricted to performing late at night, hidden away in a bathroom, in the two-man show of Jisung’s obscene imagination.
. . .
“You’ve been staring at him for months now.”
Minho didn’t turn towards Chan at his comment, eyes still locked across the room where the boy wasn’t in his iconic gold pants, but instead a tank top that was showing off the entire left side of his chest. Minho had stuttered so bad trying to get their orders minutes prior, he still hadn’t recovered and was refusing to go back out to the table, instead opting to look wistfully from afar.
“He’s a customer. I have to look at him.”
“But you don’t have to compliment his ass while you’re at it,” Changbin grumbled,
“Actually, you’ve really got to stop talking about ass so openly at all,” Chan pointed out, “We need a codeword,”
The younger two gave him a look, and when no one responded he took it upon himself to come up with suggestions,
“What about peach? I think it’s perfect.”
“Isn’t it a little . . . obvious?”
Chan’s eyes were alit with pride at his idea, “But that’s the thing! It’s so obvious no one will think that we’d actually use it.”
“I guess . . .” Minho nodded along,
“Don’t include me in this. Please.”
Chan turned to Changbin, swinging an arm over his shoulder, “Too late. You joined us when you signed the contract. Fifteen hours a week, mate. You are all ours.”
“You are supposed to be on my side against him! Not enabling his comments,” Changbin groaned and pushed Chan’s arm off his shoulder, an exhausted sigh leaving his mouth,
“Come on,” Chan whined, “It’s fun! We don’t get a lot of chances to pick on Minho-”
“Hey!”
“And this is perfect. He’s so lovestruck he can’t defend himself properly.”
Minho snorted at Chan’s words, “That’s a lie. Go me any day and I’ll still come out on top.”
“Come on then, lover boy. His order’s ready now. Let’s see you hand these out without a single complaint,” Chan shoved the dishes towards the younger man, taunting eyebrow raised, “Unless you’re gonna be bested by a man that looks under fifty kilos,”
Minho scoffed and grabbed the plates, “Watch and learn, losers.”
. . .
“I’m just saying, the new hair is doing something to me, you know?”
“No, I don’t know. And please don’t elaborate.”
“Come on, Seungminnie. Just admit it. Seeing him come over here with that fiery red on his head must have started a fire in your loins too,”
“Ew.” Seungmin gagged, “Don’t ever say that word around me again.”
“Yeah, Hannie. That was pretty nasty, even for you,” Hyunjin scrunched his nose in distaste, “And besides, the way he stumbled over his words was more cute than anything.”
Han shook his head, “Look, Jin. I see where you’re coming from, but that just goes to show he has more sides to him than we thought, and nothing is hotter than versatile boys.”
“But you don’t know any of his sides. You don’t know anything about him besides his name and that he works here,” Woojin pointed out,
Jisung pouted, “I know has a bike. Like an actual motorbike.”
“That’s not really what I-”
“What?!” Hyunjin cut Woojin off,
“I saw him arriving on it when I was picking up our takeaway the other night,”
“This is an important development,” Hyunjin gasped, offended he’d been withheld vital information, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I was a little pre-occupied,” Jisung shrugged, thinking back, he’d spent a long time in the shower that night, “But it was exactly like what you’re picturing, a lot of tight black leather. I’ve always been a little afraid of bikes, but I swear to God I would ride him on that thing all night long.”
Seungmin pushed back his drink, not having any choking repeats tonight, “I don’t know why I still come to eat with you when I know I’m going to lose my appetite the second you open your mouth.”
“Oh, shut up. You know it’d be hot. There is nothing about Minho that doesn’t scream sex God. He’s just got that glint to his eye that tells me he would be more than happy to grab you and make you his all night long.”
“I’m going have to agree with him on this one,” Hyunjin pointed a thumb at Jisung, “He’s a little explicit, but he’s got a point. Minho radiates big-”
“Wait!” Jisung suddenly belted out, walloping Hyunjin in his side, his eyes locked on a red head of hair heading straight for their table, “Shh shh shh.”
Minho was before them in a second, polite grin on his face and arms filled with food. As always, the table was questionably silent as he off-loaded the plates. Jisung, who usually shrunk back behind whoever was closest to him, sat staring straight at the waiter this time, unable to get over the very bright change to Minho’s usually dark hair. He only realised he was staring when Minho’s eyes flickered down and locked with his. There was a split second where Jisung’s gut heaved and his body was about to go into full panic mode at being caught staring before he could stop his mouth, he found himself blurting out, “I like your new hair. The red is hot.”
Jisung could only watch on in disembodied horror after his outburst, waiting for the look of disgust, instead, the corner of Minho’s mouth twitched up into a smirk and he said, “Enjoy the meal,” before sauntering off after giving a wink very obviously directed to the blond boy verging on mental breakdown.
“Screw the bike,” Jisung said, mouth dry after the server had left, “I need him to just take me right here on the table.”
There was a unanimous eruption of groans from the table at that, but Jisung managed to keep his mouth shut for the rest of the meal. It was only when they were walking out the door at the end of the night when Woojin decided to comment offhandedly, “You know he might actually like you back.”
“He might what?” Jisung spun so around so quickly Woojin was afraid he’d give himself whiplash,
“I mean, that was a pretty pointed wink earlier.”
“You think so?” Jisung asked, wonder shining bright in his eyes. He was too busy internally panicking over what’d he’d said first and how attractive the wink was – even if Minho had winked with both eyes – to even start considering that a wink directed at him might just maybe be considered flirting, “What if he was just doing it for his job?”
Seungmin snorted, “No job would ever pay enough to get me to flirt you,”
Woojin sighed, “That’s a rude way of putting it, but he’s right. I think winking at customers is outside his job description,”
“Oh God,” Jisung gasped, “I’m not ready. What do I do?”
“Get his number,” Woojin shrugged, directing them back to the campus accommodation,
“Yeah. Yeah. I can do that,” Jisung took a couple of steps forward, then froze again, “But what if he’s just seen me looking at him? What if he’s heard me talking about him?! This could all just be an elaborate trick to mock me.”
“Or, he might for some unknown reason think you’re hot despite all that and want your number too.”
“Yeah. Yeah. You’re right. I’m hot. I’m a catch. I can do it.” Jisung jogged to catch back up with them, then his anxiety blindsided him again and he froze again, “Guys. I don’t think I can do it.”
Three groans echoed in the street.
Hyunjin stomped up to him, “You can ask for his number and you will because if you don’t I’m telling the RA that it was you who tripped the circuit breaker and almost started a fire in the dorms because you forgot you had the rice cooker going all night.”
Jisung held his hands up in defeat, “Okay. Okay. Next time I’ll do it.”
. . .
“Did you see that?” Minho stalked into the kitchen, head held high,
“What? You gave them him his dinner,”
“Gave him some Minho charm too.”
Changbin gagged, “I don’t want to know what that is,”
“You couldn’t handle it anyway,” Minho brushed passed him towards Chan. He wouldn’t admit that his heart was still racing from the ten seconds of eye contact he just had with the boy.
“And what was his reaction?” The eldest asked, “Did he respond to the ‘Minho charm’?”
“I don’t know.” Minho smiled sheepishly, “I didn’t stick around to see.”
“Pussy,” Changbin not-so-subtly coughed,
Minho hissed back, “Shut up.”
“Not my fault you’re too chicken shit to introduce yourself.”
“Not my fault you’re the size of a garden gnome,”
Chan just sighed and returned to his fryer, knowing all too well it wasn’t worth his time and energy to get between them,
“Asshole.” Changbin huffed, upturning his nose, “And here I was thinking of sharing his name with you.”
“His what?!”
Changbin turned back to his chopping board, speaking nonchalantly as if he didn’t just admit he’d been holding back an important piece of information to Minho’s problem, “I happen to know the name of your Spartan twink.”
“Stop calling him that, you nasty gremlin,”
“Is that really how you’re going to speak to the guy that holds your world in his hands?”
Chan let out another long-suffering sigh from where he was listening in, “His name is Han Jisung. We were hoping you’d find the courage to find it out yourself without us having to tell you,”
“What? How do you know that?”
Changbin puffed out his chest, liking the position he was in, holding the power, “He’s in music production. A couple of years your junior.”
Minho’s mouth dropped open, “He goes to the same Uni as us?”
Changbin nodded,
“This. This is great news. I think. How come I haven’t seen him around?”
Changbin shrugged, “It’s a pretty big campus. It’s not surprising you haven’t crossed paths,”
“So, will you introduce yourself now then?” Chan piped in,
“Definitely not. That just proves his lives around here and if he doesn’t like me back, I’ll feel like such an idiot every time he comes here. Or worse.” Minho threw himself face down onto a counter, “I might make it so awkward he never comes back. And he loves this place!”
“Settle down, mate, I’m pretty sure he likes you back.”
A groan came from against the countertop, “Why would you think that?”
“There’s only one reason a guy would watch you so intently as you bend over,”
Minho’s head popped up, “He what?!”
“He likes ya peach,” Chan stated as he walked past to unload a plate of food, slapping Minho’s ass where he was bent over the counter, “Even if there’s not a lot there.”
“You really think so? I mean, he did say he liked my hair tonight,”
Chan looked at him with a pained look in his eyes, “Min, I love you dearly, but you are blind when it comes to Jisung. We have been watching him blush in your presence for months now. Around you, that boy is as straight as a circle,”
“I-I didn’t notice,”
“Because you’re whipped,” Changbin added informatively, Yet even knowing that, you’re too much of a coward to do anything about it.”
“Bet?” Minho fixed Changbin with a challenge in his eyes,
“Bet.”
“Just wait, next shift he’s here you’ll both be eating your words.”
. . .
Jisung never got his ‘next time’.
He’d been to the restaurant four times since being enlightened to the fact that Minho probably liked him back, but the other boy was nowhere to be found. Occasionally, he thought he caught a wisp of red hair out back in the kitchen but chalked it up to seeing things. Had he quit? Did he just not want to see Jisung anymore? Did the comment last time scare him off? He let his worries overflow until he ended up slouched in his seat, a pout on his face and uncharacteristically silent every time they visited the place.
“This is just sad,” Hyunjin commented, poking Jisung’s cheek, the boy didn’t react at all,
“It’s nice.” Seungmin retorted, “I can finally eat my food in peace.”
Jisung just sunk further into his seat at the sight of their server for the night, smiling dimpled face and braces giving the illusion he was a sweet young kid. Jeongin. He somehow knew about Jisung’s woeful crush the first night he served them and had managed to taunt Jisung about it every single time he saw him. But Jisung’s friends all loved the boy and couldn’t see the devil that he was.
Why couldn’t Felix be on instead? The freckled server was an absolute angel, not as handsome as Minho, but he sometimes even managed to crack a smile out of Jisung’s desolate form.
“This is sad,” Jeongin confirmed, joining the conversation, “It’s no fun if he doesn’t bite back.” He’d been laughing about the Minho and Jisung situation ever since he started work there, but it wasn’t so much fun to watch the two pining over each other anymore, “You know, I could probably get Minho to come and see him sometime,”
“Don’t,” Jisung sighed, “I see the truth now. We were never meant to be.”
Hyunjin rubbed Jisung’s arm supportively, “He’s just busy. I’m sure he’ll be back soon.”
“It’s okay, really,” Jisung brushed him off, “I haven’t even thought about his thighs once this week.”
“You know what,” Seungmin finally agreed, “This is sad.”
. . .
“I haven’t eaten my words yet,” Changbin stated as Minho walked in for his shift a month later.
“That’s because I’m back here. No time for asking hot boys out when there’s food to cook.”
“Uh-huh,” Changbin rolled his eyes, “Definitely has nothing to do with you being a coward.”
“Look,” Minho put the tongs he’d just picked up back down and turned to Changbin, a pained look in his eyes, “Even while I’m back here he’s taunting me. I saw his collarbone last week. His fucking collarbone.”
“And?”
“And I’ve never seen something so smooth and tan and beautiful,”
Changbin squinted at him, waiting for it to drop,
“I’ve never wanted to mark something so much in my life. My carnal instinct was screaming at me to bite him.”
“There it is,” Changbin muttered to himself, shuddering off the image, “It’s really not that hard to just say, ‘I like you’,”
“As if you can talk, you haven’t done a thing about Felix practically throwing himself over the counter at you,”
“Actually,” Changbin’s eyes turned down, pink dusting his cheeks, “We’re going out this weekend,”
“What?”
“Yeah, it surprised me too. But I knew I couldn’t make him wait any longer and had to let him know how I felt. You should think about doing it too because if you wait any longer, Jisung will get bored and move on,”
“I know,” Minho agreed, resignation in his eyes, “I just don’t understand why he makes me so nervous,”
Changbin turned to his friend, voice uncharacteristically soft, “Hyung, I know it’s scary because you like him so much, but you really need to do something. Watching the two of you sneak around each other is just getting painful,”
“I know,” Minho repeated in the same sad tone, the two going silent as they went back to work.
Minho was still thinking about what Changbin has said two days later. He had the day off and was heading home after an evening spent in the dance studio. He really wanted to speak with Jisung, it just never seemed to be the right time. Jisung was always surrounded by is friends and Minho was always at work. There was always an excuse to keep them from talking.
He had just rounded the corner towards his dorm, still stuck in his thoughts, when Minho saw a familiar figure in the distance. Well, it was actually two figures that just happened to be clumped together into one mass of flailing limbs and a lot of cussing. His heart leapt to his throat as he got closer, and sure enough, it was Jisung and his taller friend, the one with mole.
Minho froze for a moment, composing his racing heart and mind and cursing whatever higher beings were at play for making him confront his problem. But this was what he’d just been asking for, a moment where it could be just them without the restaurant. Taking a deep breath to collect his resolve, Minho strode forward with a determined step.
. . .
“Hyunjin!” Jisung squealed as he felt their centre of gravity veer dangerously to the left again, “How can you have so much limb but so little muscle?!”
Hyunjin groaned as he righted them, biting back, “How can you be five feet tall and still weigh so much?!”
“Fucking rude,” Jisung hissed, “You wouldn’t have to lift me if you didn’t suggest that stupid game,”
“I wouldn’t have to lift you if you knew how to kick straight,”
“You know nothing about me is straight,”
“Shut it and just grab the goddamn shoe!”
“I would if you stopped swaying so much!”
Hyunjin groaned again and took another step forward, bracing himself and Jisung enough for Jisung’s world to stop swaying. Without his body rocking dangerously, he could actually see pretty well from up there. For one, he could see his sparkly converse, the current bane of his existence and just beyond that, down the end of the street he could see . . .
Shit.
Shit. Shit. Shit
This was not how he imagined it happening.
Jisung wasn’t blind. And most definitely saw the object of his heart-crushing affections beelining towards him.
Any other day and any other time this would have been great, and his heart would be soaring, but unfortunately, Jisung was currently in a predicament.
A predicament that included him struggling to balance on his tall – but surprisingly weak – friend’s shoulders to retrieve a shoe. A shoe that was not on his foot like it should be, but currently above his head, sitting on the roof of the innocuous little bus stop shelter, leaving the very pink and very fluffy sock on his right foot exposed.
“Hyunjin put me down!” Jisung yelped in a strained voice,
“What? Did you get it?”
“No,” Jisung sounded pained, a few octaves too high, “It’s- it’s-”
“Hey,”
A new voice startled Hyunjin, who couldn’t see much past Jisung’s thighs obstructing his vision. He turned quickly to the new person and came face to face with the server, Lee Minho, explaining Jisung’s meek whimpers. Very ungracefully so, Hyunjin dropped into a crouch and Jisung scrambled off his shoulders.
“Hey,” Jisung and Hyunjin said simultaneously once they were both back onto solid ground,
“You’re Jisung, right?” The newcomer asked, looking at the blond,
Jisung nodded his head quickly, little bobs that sent his fringe flying into his eyes,
“I’m Minho,”
“I know,” Jisung said, glancing a look towards Minho’s eyes, seeing the surprise at his confession amongst the beautiful brown of his irises,
“Oh?”
“You work at that chicken restaurant,” Jisung stated dumbly,
“Yeah,” Minho was a little dumbfounded, sure his friends had been harassed to get Jisung’s name, but he didn’t think the other would have gotten his too, “I do.”
“It does really good spicy fried chicken.”
“Yeah. It does.” Minho looked astonished at Jisung again, then turned his eyes towards the taller friend who still hadn’t said another word, he had an almost scarily happy smile on his face as he watched them,
“I’m Hyunjin,” The boy in question suddenly spoke up, realising Minho had been giving him a questioning stare,
“Are you guys okay?” Minho asked with the introductions out of the way. He finally gave them both a proper once over, his eyes lingering on Jisung’s feet. The boy quickly shifting his right foot behind his other leg, as if the damage wasn’t already done and Minho didn’t see the offending sock, “Can- can I help?”
“Uh . . .” Jisung really wasn’t sure if he wanted to explain why he was sitting on his friend’s shoulders in the middle of the sidewalk, and he was finding it a little hard to focus while listening to the beautiful timbre of Minho’s voice after his ears had been denied the sound for so long,
Hyunjin found the courage to speak first, “Unless you have a step ladder hidden behind your back, I don’t think so. Long story short, we need to get a shoe, from there,” He finished by pointing to the top of the shelter beside them,
Minho glanced at the roof, the strange actions of the two suddenly making a lot more sense, he directed his next words at Jisung, “Ah, I can give you a boost if you want? I’m stronger than I look,”
“Yes, please do that,” Hyunjin butt-in on Jisung’s behalf, the boy still standing a little dazed, “I’m late anyway, I was supposed to meet Seungmin like fifteen minutes ago, so I can leave this up to you two, right?”
Hyunjin didn’t give either a chance to respond before he was dashing away, Jisung mumbled, traitor, under his breath before turning and giving a nervous smile to Minho.
Not saying it was awkward per se, but as Jisung climbed onto practically a stranger’s shoulders to retrieve his poor, nearly abandoned shoe, the words were limited between them. Jisung was pleasantly surprised at how stable Minho was though, but then that brought back unsavoury thoughts he had about the man and he had to bite his tongue to stop from focusing on the fact that his crotch was very close to Minho’s head. Once the shoe had been retrieved, they both moved to sit on the bench under the little shelter so Jisung could lace up the menacing shoe, trying not to blush about the fact that Minho commented on how cute Jisung’s socks were.
“I, uh, I haven’t seen you around much.” Jisung mumbled once the converse was secure with a sturdy double knot, “At the restaurant I mean.”
“Oh, ah, they’ve moved me out the back so I’m frying more than I’m serving,”
“Oh,” Jisung mirrored the syllable, face dropping slightly, “That’s good?” He inflected it as a question,
“Yeah, I really like cooking.” Minho explained with a smile, “The only reason I spent so long out the front was because I lost a bet against Chan and Changbin – even though I’m a better cook than both of them combined – and the owner was too lazy to organise new staff. But now we’ve got Jeongin and Felix. They’re sweet kids.”
“Felix? Yeah, he’s an angel,” Jisung agreed, “But the kid with braces?” He asked incredulously,
“Jeongin?” Minho turned to see the disbelieving look on Jisung’s face, “What?”
Jisung quickly looked away, there was no way he was explaining why he knew Jeongin was the devil, “Nothing.”
The conversation lulled, neither sure what to say next.
Eventually, Minho spoke back up first, “I missed seeing you,” He blushed seeing the awed look on Jisung’s face, “And the others too of course.” He chuckled nervously, “I mean, you guys are my most regular customers.”
“Yeah, um, you do really good fried chicken,” Jisung offered sheepishly, drawing an amused chuckle from Minho,
Jisung let out a whine at his teasing laugh and knocked their shoulders together. He didn’t pull away completely, just letting their sides brush, warmth flooding him at every contact point.
“Hey, ah,” Minho started, voice quiet as he glanced at Jisung out of the corner of his eye, “Tell me if I’m reading this wrong, but did you want to go out? . . . With me?”
Jisung’s jaw dropped, red dusting his full cheeks, and he stuttered over his response, “As in a date?”
Another hearty chuckled filled the air, “Yes. As in a date.”
“Yeah. Sure. Definitely. When?”
Minho’s mouth fell into a lopsided smirk, “What are you doing now?”
And maybe that date consisted of them swinging by the restaurant to grab a takeaway order of spicy fried chicken, the steaming box of goodness going straight home to Minho’s apartment where it was split between two greedy mouths.
And maybe Jisung had a few missed calls and texts on his phone the next morning, mostly from Hyunjin asking if he’d been kidnapped and murdered by Minho, but he couldn’t find it in himself to feel guilty because though he may have not choked to death, one of his fantasies did come true and he was still able to experience the little-death at the hands – and thighs – of Minho.