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“319, 321, 323, . . . aha! 325.” Minho comes to a stop in front of the apartment. Taking a deep breath, he squares his shoulders before pounding on it. “Kim Jungwoo! Open up!” There’s no answer, but that doesn’t deter him. “I know you’re there!”
After a few minutes of knocking and a few more of trying to guess what Jungwoo could’ve changed the door code to, Minho has no choice but to come to terms with the fact that his ex-boyfriend is either really good at ignoring him, or he simply just isn’t home at the moment. Damn it.
Just as he’s considering leaving and trying again tomorrow, another idea strikes him: what if he just waits for Jungwoo to come back, like a surprise ambush? It would be no less than what he deserves anyway.
Feeling pretty pleased with himself, Minho sits down on the ground next to Jungwoo’s door. The satisfaction quickly turns into regret, however: despite being carpeted, the floor is both hard and cold, and leaning against the wall is already hurting his back. Turning 25 is not easy.
It’s only been a minute and Minho’s already starting to squirm. He sighs, forcing himself to close his eyes. He’s probably going to be there for a while, so he might as well try to relax . . .
The next thing he knows, there’s footsteps coming down the hall and then someone clears their throat. “Um, can I help you?”
Minho startles awake. Apparently relaxing went a little too well; he’d dozed off for a while. He rubs one eye, blinking up at the person standing in front of him. His first thought is you’re not Jungwoo. His second thought is, well, this is embarrassing.
The guy is dressed casually in a black t-shirt and sweatpants. A backpack is slung over his shoulders and he holds a grocery bag in each hand (highlighting his rather nice arms, Minho notes). His eyebrows are raised as he looks at Minho quizzically.
“Oh, sorry,” Minho says. “I’m just waiting for someone.” When he doesn’t move, Minho adds, “My ex lives here.”
“Here?” the guy says. “Here as in number 325?”
“Yeah.”
He blinks. “Sorry, but unless she’s—”
“He,” Minho corrects without thinking.
“Okay, unless he’s me or one of my roommates, your ex doesn’t live here.”
That can’t be right. Minho knows it isn’t right. “What?” he says. “No. Sorry, but . . . I know where he lives. This is it.”
“I don’t see how that can be possible,” the guy says patiently. “This is my apartment.”
“I was here not that long ago,” Minho retorts, beginning to get irritated. “I’m telling you, this is his place.”
“Look, what’s his name?” he asks. “Maybe you just got the room number wrong.”
Minho knows he didn’t, but humors him anyway. “Kim Jungwoo.”
“Oh, him,” the guy says. Minho brightens; finally, they’re getting somewhere. “Yeah, he moved out a few weeks ago.”
It’s like getting punched in the stomach. Minho opens and closes his mouth a few times, struggling to comprehend the words. “No,” he says finally. “That can’t be true.”
The boy nods. “We signed the papers and everything. I remember his name.”
Minho swallows down the bile that’s rising in his throat, faced with no other choice but to accept that what he was saying was true. He tries to remember the last time he spoke to Jungwoo. Was it the night he dumped Minho? He hadn’t mentioned anything about moving out then. Maybe it was a sudden decision, since now he had no reason to stay there anymore.
“I just can’t believe he didn’t tell me,” Minho says finally. But a small voice in his head whispers really? You can’t?
He tries to snap himself out of it, realizing how pathetic he must look at the moment. “Okay,” he says, getting to his feet with as much dignity as he can muster. He bows stiffly. “I wasn’t stalking him, clearly. He just has some of my stuff and I was trying to get it back. Sorry to bother you.”
As Minho walks down the hall, he chants quietly to himself don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry. There will be plenty of time to do that later, when he’s in the safety of his bedroom, burrowed under the blankets with his cats curled up at his side. But right now, in front of a hot stranger, after he’s already embarrassed himself enough? Don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry.
He’s halfway to the elevator when a voice calls, “Hey.”
Minho turns. The hot guy is still standing there in front of his door, biting his lip. He shifts from foot to foot awkwardly.
“Do you want to come in for a second? I can see if he left anything that has his new address on it.”
Minho considers it. On one hand, he doesn’t know this guy at all. He could set one foot in this apartment and get murdered instantly. But on the other hand, he doesn’t really have anything to lose. And he really wants his stuff back.
“Sure,” he says finally. “Why not.” He goes back down the hallway.
“I’m Bang Chan, by the way,” the guy says as he types in the code to what was once Jungwoo’s apartment.
“Lee Minho,” Minho says, following him inside.
It’s strange, seeing the place he used to frequent so much now looking completely different. When Jungwoo and his roommates lived there, it was pretty much a dump: clothes everywhere, beer and soju bottles lining the tops of the cabinets, string lights hung around the ceiling, suspicious stains on the carpet and couch. Thanks to Minho’s influence, though, the kitchen was at least always somewhat clean.
Now it’s pretty bare, with the only furniture being a ratty gray sectional in the middle of the room that faces the huge black flat screen mounted on the wall. There’s some weight lifting equipment in a pile in the corner and a jumble of speakers and cables and what appears to be a MIDI Controller in the other. The only other wall decor at the moment is a big poster of Twice Sana. At least they have taste.
There are boxes stacked everywhere; a few are half-opened, but most of them are still taped shut. They’re all labeled similarly: someone wrote in all caps with a black marker KITCHEN SHIT, BATHROOM SHIT, CHAN’S SHIT, CHANGBIN’S SHIT, HANNIE’S SHIT, and so on.
“Sorry you had to find out about your boyfriend like this,” Chan says, putting the grocery bags on the kitchen counter and letting his backpack slide off his shoulders.
“Ex-boyfriend,” Minho corrects automatically. “And I guess it’s not your fault. I just feel like an idiot for not knowing.” He feels the back of his eyes start to burn again. Don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry.
“How long have you guys been broken up?”
“Three months, maybe? I tried texting and calling at first to get my stuff back because I didn’t want to, you know, be a creep. But he wasn’t answering, so I resorted to this.” Minho waves his hand vaguely.
“Huh,” Chan says, furrowing his eyebrows. “And how long were you together?”
“Two years.”
“Wow,” Chan says. He takes off his baseball cap for a second to run a hand through his curly, dark hair. “You’d think he’d at least let you know if he was moving. Especially if he had some of your stuff.”
Minho points at him, vindicated. “Yes! Thank you! You understand me.”
Chan smiles at him. Dimples, Minho’s brain notes unhelpfully. “D’you mind if I unload my groceries first? Some of this stuff needs to go in the fridge right away.”
“No, go ahead.” It’s not like Minho has anywhere else to be. “Want any help?”
“Nah, I got it. You can sit if you want.”
So he takes a seat at the kitchen counter, watching Chan put his groceries away. It’s interesting to see what he bought: a cut of pork belly, some ramyeon, protein powder, honey butter chips.
Chan opens the fridge to put some fruit away and Minho catches a glimpse of a six pack of beer, a few takeout containers, a carton of eggs, and a bottle of banana milk. Nothing else.
For a brief second, Minho pictures himself hanging out in this version of the apartment instead, sitting on the sectional and helping unpack boxes and cooking for Chan and his faceless roommates. Surprisingly, it’s not that difficult.
“How old are you, Chan-ssi?” Minho asks casually.
“I’m 26,” Chan says. “You?”
“Ah. I’m 25.”
“Guess that makes me your hyung then.” Chan doesn’t turn around, but Minho can hear the grin in his voice.
“Guess so.” Is it weird to already be familiar with someone he just met? Probably, but there’s something about Chan that’s just so . . . inviting.
As he waits, he discreetly checks his phone and sees he has a text from Felix in their group chat.
yongbokkie 🐱
hyung~~~
are you alive?
did jungwoo
take you hostage?
you’ve been gone
for over an hour
pls respond~~
minho
sorry
hyung’s alive
long story
turns out jungwoo moved
hyune
???
he moved without telling you?
and he still has your stuff?
that’s messed up
yongbokkie 🐱
yeah
that’s
super messed up~~
wait
so
where are you?
did you
get jungwoo’s new address?
minho
turns out a hot guy lives here now
ㅎㅎㅎ
he’s seeing if he can find a forwarding address
wish me luck
hyune
with getting your stuff back?
or finding a rebound?
either way good luck hyung
yongbokkie 🐱
wow
ㅋ ㅋ
i’m all for
a hot guy rebound~~~
good luck!
be safe!
“Alright,” Chan says, closing the fridge and facing Minho again. “Let’s see if we can find anything.”
They look in the hall closet, which is empty except for some of Chan and his roommates’ coats and a few rolls of toilet paper. Chan even digs around in their trash to see if he’d left behind a piece of mail with a forwarding address, but he can’t find anything.
Minho’s just beginning to think he might have to cut his losses and accept he’s never getting his stuff back when Chan asks, “Wait, which room was he in?” There are three bedrooms on alternating sides of the hall from each other.
“The second one on the left.”
“Oh, that’s my room! We can look in there.” Chan goes down the hall and opens the door to his room. Minho has no choice but to follow. He thinks about making a joke, like haha, technically I’ve had sex in your room!, but decides against it.
Like the rest of the apartment, Chan’s room is still pretty bare. He has a simple black comforter on the bed and a desk in the corner that’s surrounded by what appears to be music equipment. It makes Minho feel a little less weird about being there, especially since it used to belong to his ex.
The lack of personality makes it difficult for Minho to discern the question that’s been looming in the back of his head for a few minutes now: is Chan single? There are no pictures of anybody on his bedside table, no plushies that could’ve been gifts from significant others. He lives with roommates and didn’t mention a partner, but that hardly means anything. There’s no way he’s walking around out there with dimples and curly hair and a good personality and no one is biting. What’s the catch?
Not that it matters, Minho quickly reminds himself. Who does he think he is? They’re two strangers who met because of a weird situation. Chan’s either going to find a forwarding address for Jungwoo or not, but regardless, he and Minho will never speak again after this.
Minho focuses back on Chan’s desk. “You make music?” he asks.
“Uh, yeah,” Chan says, opening his closet door. “I’m a producer, actually. So are my roommates. We all kinda work together.”
“No way,” Minho says, impressed. “That’s cool.”
The tips of Chan’s ears turn a little pink. “Thanks. Um, what do you do?”
“I’m a dancer and choreographer.”
“Ah, really? What kind of dance?”
“Hip-hop, mostly.”
“That’s awesome,” Chan says, and he seems like he means it. “Maybe one day you can choreograph a dance to one of my songs, huh?”
For some reason that statement makes Minho feel like there’s something teeming in his stomach, alive and restless in a good way. “Maybe,” is all he says.
“Aha!” Chan says suddenly. He stands from where he was digging through a box on his closet floor, proudly brandishing a piece of paper. There, in big letters, it says: PLEASE FORWARD ALL MAIL HERE. And below—
“You found it!” Minho says, taking the paper and staring at the new address. It seems Jungwoo still lives in Seoul, just in a different neighborhood. Minho could be on his doorstep in an hour.
“Thank you so much,” he says, looking up at Chan.
“Yeah, of course, no problem,” he says. He’s smiling, but there’s a strange expression in his eyes that Minho can’t quite place. There’s silence between them for a few seconds before Minho clears his throat.
“Well, um, I don’t want to bother you any longer,” he says. “So . . . I’ll get going now.”
“Right, sure,” Chan nods. “I’ll walk you out.” He ushers Minho out of his room and back down the hall.
“Really, thank you so much,” Minho says. “You’re a lifesaver. I thought I was gonna have to resort to some seriously drastic measures. Well, I guess I kinda did.”
He’s rambling. He knows and yet he can’t seem to stop. This rarely ever happens to him—what is his problem? He meets one guy with nice arms and dimples and suddenly he has no control over his brain-to-mouth function? His dongsaengs would never let him live this down if they were here.
“I’m sorry I camped out in front of your apartment like a weirdo. I promise I’m not. Just a Scorpio.”
Chan laughs. “I don’t know what any of that stuff means, to be honest. Only that I’m a Libra.”
Air and water. Not a bad pairing, Minho thinks before he can stop himself.
Chan opens the door and Minho steps into the hallway, bowing one last time. “It was nice to meet you, Chan-ssi.”
“You too, Minho-ssi,” Chan says. He rubs the back of his neck, looking almost rueful. “Good-bye.”
Minho stands there for maybe half a second more—just in case, just to see. Maybe Chan will ask to exchange contacts. Maybe he’ll ask to see Minho again. Maybe Minho himself will pluck up the courage to do one of those in return.
Nothing happens. Chan continues to stand there, so he forces himself to turn and start down the hallway. This is good; he’s got Jungwoo’s new address. He can finally get his things. And yet it doesn’t feel like a victory.
But then—Minho’s almost at the elevator when, just like last time, a familiar voice calls, “Hey.”
He looks back, trying to ignore the deja vu that washes over him. “Yes?”
Chan’s still standing in his doorway, brows furrowed. “Are you—sorry, I know it’s none of my business, but are you going to his new place . . . now?”
“Uh,” Minho says. That was not the question he thought Chan would be asking. “I was planning on it, yeah.”
“Right,” Chan says, nodding. “Of course. But . . . will you be okay going there?”
Does Chan think he’s going to go there and have sex with Jungwoo and get back together or something? Because that is definitely not happening, he can guarantee that. But before he can speak, Chan adds, “Like, by yourself and everything?”
“Oh,” Minho says. “Um, I should be. Why?”
“Just, uh, I don’t know if you’ve ever been to that area before, and it’s going to get dark in a little bit, and . . . what if he gives you a hard time about giving back your stuff?” Chan says. “I just think it’d be better and safer if you had someone there with you.”
Minho stares at him. Chan’s expression is carefully neutral, but his neck is a dead giveaway: it’s bright red. “Do you . . . want to come?” he offers finally.
“Sure,” Chan says with a would-be casual shrug. “Yeah, I think I should. Let me just get my wallet.” He pauses and looks back at Minho with slight apprehension. “But only if you really want me to. I understand if you’d rather go with someone else, I just still think it’s best for you to have a buddy with something like this—”
“Hyung,” Minho interrupts, trying not to laugh. “Go get your wallet. I’ll wait here.”
Judging from the expression on Chan’s face, he definitely did not miss the use of the honorific. He flashes a grin and says, “Be right back,” before ducking back inside the apartment. He returns in record time, locking the door and jogging down the hall to where Minho is still standing by the elevator.
Minho maps out the route on his phone; it’s about 30 minutes from Chan’s place in Mapo-gu to Jungwoo’s new building in Yeonhui-dong. He wonders if Jungwoo will be surprised or angry to see Minho. He wonders what Jungwoo will think of Chan.
While they wait for the bus, Minho checks his KaTalk and sees he has more messages from Hyunjin and Felix.
hyune
does the hot guy have a name?
just so we know what to tell the police
minho
brat
his name is bang chan
he found jungwoo’s new address actually
we’re going there now
yongbokkie 🐱
yay!
but
you’re going
together?
minho
he offered to come
in case jungwoo gives me a hard time
hyune
one of us could’ve gone with you?
minho
yeah right
neither of you are exactly intimidating
besides
he’s very sweet actually
and hot
i like him
i’m going to see where it goes
Minho can feel Chan not-so-subtly trying to read over his shoulder, so he says, “Just telling my friends your name in case you end up being a killer or something.”
Chan laughs, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment. “Definitely not. They can look me up on Insta, though, if they’re not convinced.”
“Can I look you up on Insta?” Minho asks.
His boldness only makes Chan blush harder. “Oh—yeah, sure, if you want. It’s just my name . . . but backwards.”
“How original,” Minho says, smiling so Chan knows he’s kidding. The bus pulls up and they get on. Chan slides into a window seat and Minho hesitates for a second before taking the one next to him, instead of behind him.
They ride in silence for a few minutes. Then Minho asks carefully, “So, what would I find on your Insta? What kinds of posts?” It’s not his smoothest line, but whatever.
“Hm? Ah, nothing interesting really. Sometimes I post my music on there, but mostly it’s just me trying to be cool. The guys make fun of me for it all the time.”
“Gotcha,” Minho nods. “So, just fake artsy pictures then? None of you or your roommates or anyone?”
“Um, I mean sometimes I’ll post a selca. And yeah, I guess Jisung and Changbin are in a few . . .”
“No partners?” Minho presses. When Chan just stares at him, confused, Minho sighs and says, “Hyung, I’m trying to ask if you’re single.”
“Oh!” Chan’s eyes widen, and the shocked expression on his face is so comical it makes Minho laugh.
“Seriously, have you never been flirted with before?”
“Oh, God.” Chan hides his face in his hands. “I have —I mean, not often—but I just didn’t think, because you’re so—”
“So what?” Minho asks, grinning. “Tell me.”
“Shut up,” Chan mumbles. His ears are bright red. Minho wants to bite them. “Besides, given the situation it didn’t seem appropriate anyway!”
“We’re on our way to my ex’s house,” Minho points out. “If anything it’s the perfect situation. But I’ll just confirm it for you to be sure: I am single, and I am definitely flirting with you.”
“Got it. Noted.” Chan finally uncovers his face. “I’m, um, also single too.”
“Good to know,” Minho says, satisfied. Again, how a total catch like Chan can be single is a mystery to him, but whatever. It works out in his favor.
He thinks Chan might actually combust if Minho embarrasses him any more, so he goes easy on him and changes the subject. He pries a little more about his roommates-slash-coworkers Changbin and Jisung. It’s interesting to him how they can live and work together so closely without ever needing a complete break from one another.
Chan merely shrugs. “They’re my family,” he says. “I’m not sure I could ever get sick of them.”
Minho nods thoughtfully. “I guess that’s how I feel about my dongsaengs too,” he says, grudgingly adding, “Even Kim Seungmin.”
The bus pulls up to their stop all too soon, and they get off and walk the winding streets until they’re finally in front of Jungwoo’s building. “You sure you wanna do this?” Chan asks as they stare up at it.
Minho snorts. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”
“Probably,” Chan says. “We’ve come this far, though. Would be a shame to turn back now.”
“True,” Minho agrees. They go inside and tell the ahjussi sitting at the front desk they’re friends of Kim Jungwoo’s in apartment 127, and he happily lets them right up.
“By the way,” Chan says as they ride the elevator. “I never asked: what stuff of yours does he have anyway? You don’t have to answer,” he adds when Minho hesitates.
“No, it’s okay,” Minho says. “It’s probably just going to seem kind of stupid.” When Chan merely looks at him patiently, he sighs. “Just . . . some of my clothes. A mug Jeongin gave me for my birthday. A scarf my grandma knitted before she died. And I think a few of my dance trophies. Trivial, I know.”
He waits for Chan to get angry, to tell him that those are definitely not worth the fuss Minho’s been making.
But he doesn’t do either of those things. “It’s not,” he says. “Stupid or trivial, I mean. Those are your belongings. They’re personal to you and you should get them back.” The elevator door opens and he marches out. “Let’s go.”
All Minho can do is follow.
Chan lets him take the lead when they’re in front of Jungwoo’s apartment, nodding encouragingly and stepping back a little. Minho takes a deep breath, summons all the heartbreak and frustration and indignation he has in him, and knocks.
After a couple seconds the door swings open, and Minho is met with his ex for the first time in three months.
Jungwoo looks the same, objectively. Tall and lanky, full lips, dark eyes that used to make Minho weak in the knees. They immediately narrow after the surprise wears off. “Minho?”
“Hello, Jungwoo.” It’s hard not to slip back into informal speech with him.
“What are you doing here? How did you even get this address?” Jungwoo doesn’t seem to recognize Chan, or even notice him, which Minho decides is a good thing.
Minho clears his throat, reaching for all of the righteous anger he had just hours ago at the old apartment. Jungwoo dumped you out of nowhere, he reminds himself. He dumped you and then left without giving you all your things or even telling you he was moving.
“I’m here for my stuff,” he says.
“What stuff?”
“You know what stuff.”
“No, I don’t.”
“The scarf from my grandma,” Minho says, counting on his fingers. “My World of Dance trophy. Oh, and that really nice shampoo Hyunjin gave me!"
Jungwoo rolls his eyes. “I don’t have anything of yours. Sorry to disappoint.”
“Really? So that sweatshirt of mine you always borrowed from my closet, you didn’t take it with you when you left? You expect me to believe that?”
“Let’s just skip to the real reason why you’re here,” Jungwoo says. “It wasn’t enough to call and text me over and over. You just had to track me down and come all the way here.”
“I told you, it’s because you have—”
“Oh, come on,” Jungwoo interrupts. “You really care about that old trophy? Or that stupid mug your dongsaeng made? Or were you just hoping I’d change my mind once I saw you in person and give you another chance?”
“Get over yourself,” Minho scoffs. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Am I?” Jungwoo asks, eyebrows raised in cold amusement. “I’m not the one who found my ex’s new apartment and showed up three months after we broke up. Face it, Minho-yah. You’re desperate.”
“Shut up,” Minho snaps, but he feels something inside his chest squeeze just a little. Because hang on a second—is Jungwoo right? Has this entire thing just been an exercise in humiliation? Getting dumped out of the blue three months ago was a blow to his ego, for sure, but he thought he was over it by now. Was getting his things back just an excuse to see Jungwoo one last time, to demand some answers, to maybe take another stab at it?
He almost forgets he met someone today who completely disproved that theory altogether. Luckily, Chan suddenly steps forward.
“Why don’t you just give him his stuff back, man?”
Jungwoo blinks. “Who the fuck are you?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Chan shrugs.
But Jungwoo just laughs, looking at Minho in disbelief. “Seriously? You brought your new plaything here to try and intimidate me? Just when I thought you couldn’t get any more pathetic—”
“Hey.” Chan’s voice, which was formerly neutral, now has a hard edge to it. He moves in front of Minho, getting so close to Jungwoo that he has to actually back up. “I wouldn’t finish that sentence if I were you.”
Jungwoo scoffs, but Minho can see the discomfort on his face. Chan might be shorter, but he’s sturdier and definitely a lot more built. And it’s not just that—it’s his energy too. The flustered, awkward mess he was when they were flirting earlier is nowhere to be found. Now he’s practically radiating confidence, authority, and stability. It’s . . . kind of a turn-on.
Minho shakes himself out of it. Popping a boner while his ex argues with a guy he met an hour ago would surely be a new low.
“Or what?” Jungwoo says. “What are you gonna do to me?”
“I don’t think you want to find out,” Chan says. They stare each other down, Jungwoo pressed against his door. He reaches out, likely to shove Chan away, but Chan catches his wrist easily. He doesn’t twist it or force it down, just holds it. Jungwoo tries to pull his arm back, but Chan’s grip is stronger.
“Hey—let go of me! What are you, his guard dog or something?”
“Or something,” Chan agrees. After a few tense seconds he releases Jungwoo, who’s smart enough not to try anything else.
Instead he warns, “If you set one foot inside here, I’ll call the cops on you. I’m serious.”
“Oh, that won’t be a problem,” Chan says calmly. “Because here’s what's gonna happen: you’re going to turn around, get Minho’s things, and bring them here. Every last thing. I don’t care if it’s an old grocery list of his. If you have it, I want it back. And I’ll know if something’s missing, or if it’s damaged, because he’ll tell me. And if that’s the case then I’ll just come back. And I’ll keep coming back until it’s all fixed. Understood?”
Jungwoo shifts, clearly trying to see if there’s a way out of this. Chan just waits. Finally, he mumbles, “This is fucking ridiculous,” before he turns and goes back inside the apartment.
As soon as he’s out of earshot, Chan turns back to Minho, eyeing him worriedly. “You okay?” he asks. Once again, his demeanor is completely different than what it was mere seconds ago. “I’m sorry; I hope I’m not overstepping. It was just making me mad, how he spoke to you.”
Minho manages to shake his head. “I’m fine,” he says. “You . . . yeah. I can’t believe you got him to listen.”
Chan shrugs. “Let’s see if he actually does. But I meant it, yeah? If there’s anything you’re missing or that he broke, I’ll come back and make it right. I don’t care.”
Minho knows he would, is the thing. Oh God, he might faint. He’s never been into the whole “damsel in distress” thing—he can handle himself just fine, thank you very much. He’s an only child of working parents, so he grew up naturally independent. Even now, he loves being a hyung to Hyunjin, Felix, and even Jeongin and Seungmin when they allow it. It’s how he’s always preferred it—taking care of his loved ones in ways they’ll never be able to prove and figuring his shit out on his own. But this? This is unlocking a whole new feeling inside of him.
Jungwoo comes back, a sour expression on his face and a box in his hands. “Here.” He practically throws it at Chan. “Everything’s in here. Hope it was worth all of this.”
“Thanks,” Chan says with a smile. “Appreciate it.”
“Now leave me alone, alright?” Jungwoo says, and Minho is pleased to hear a note of fear in his tone. “We’re done, Minho. That’s it.”
Minho nods. “That’s it,” he says. “Have a nice life, Jungwoo.”
He tries to take the box from Chan as they wait for the elevator, but he insists on carrying it. “S’not that heavy,” he says. “Besides, you’re gonna have to carry it home, so I don’t mind holding it for now.”
And that—that’s it. Minho doesn’t think he can take one more second of this. He’s silent the entire ride down, and Chan doesn’t say anything either, seeming to sense the shift in his energy.
They leave the building and only make it about half a block before Minho grabs Chan’s arm and drags him into a nearby alleyway, checking over both their shoulders to make sure no one can see them. “What’s—?” Chan starts to ask, but he never finishes his sentence. Minho takes the box from him and carefully places it out the ground before winding his arms around Chan’s neck and pulling him into a kiss.
Chan is clearly not expecting it, judging by the startled noise he makes and the way his entire body stiffens. Minho moves back, looking up at him. “This–is this okay?” he asks, a little uncertain. He probably should’ve done that first. Normally he does, but something about the way Chan handled all of that—the way he’s handled everything today, honestly—is making him feel kind of insane, like there’s a hive of bees buzzing under his skin.
Chan’s eyes are wide and his ears are scarlet. He stares at Minho for a second, almost in disbelief. Then he nods vigorously. “Yeah,” he whispers, already leaning back in. “Yeah, it’s—yeah.”
This time, Minho meets him in the middle, and Chan’s hands find their way to his waist, holding him tightly. It’s nothing like a first kiss usually is; there’s nothing cautious or gentle about it. It’s hurried and desperate, the two of them pressed tightly together.
“You’re so fucking hot,” Minho gasps against Chan’s lips. He slides a hand along Chan’s jaw, tilting his head to kiss him deeper. “I have the feeling you don’t hear that enough, so I’m telling you now: you are incredibly sexy, hyung.”
Judging by the noise Chan makes in his throat, Minho’s right. “Me?” he asks, and Minho takes the opportunity to kiss down his neck as he speaks. “Have you seen yourself?”
Minho grins as Chan hauls him back up to kiss him again. It shouldn’t be this easy to lick into Chan’s mouth, to fit against him perfectly, to match his pace so well. He’s never felt so in sync with someone before, so— excited. Kissing wasn’t a chore with Jungwoo, but it was always a means to an end. But right now, it feels like an event in itself: Chan’s mouth against his, his hands gripping Minho’s waist, pulling him closer, consuming him whole.
Minho trails his fingers over Chan’s solid chest, those nice arms he noticed the second they met in the hallway, his tight stomach. God, he just wants to devour Chan, take him apart right now and drink up all the beautiful sounds he knows he’d make. Minho lets his hands travel further, down, down, down . . .
“Wait,” Chan says suddenly, breaking the kiss. “Wait, stop.”
Minho pulls back immediately, though it may be the most difficult thing he’s ever done. “Sorry,” he says, trying to catch his breath. “I got, um, a little carried away.”
“It’s alright,” Chan says, and Minho has to fight not to get distracted by his lips while he speaks, so swollen and pink from kissing. “Just . . . we don’t even really know each other.”
Oh. It’s like a switch has been flipped. All at once Minho is painfully aware that he’s half-hard in the middle of some random alleyway, having just made out with a stranger he met not two hours ago. He wants to say he’s never done anything like this in his life. He wants to say ever since Jungwoo dumped him he hasn’t felt the desire to be with another person whatsoever, until now. He wants to make Chan laugh again and again, see those dimples and know that he was the cause of them.
But clearly Minho’s put him through enough today. He swallows and nods, stepping back. “You’re right. I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m so sorry if I made you uncomfortable, hyung.”
Chan’s eyes widen, and he’s shaking his head before Minho can even finish his sentence. “No, no, wait—”
“No, it’s okay,” Minho says. He may not have any dignity left after everything that’s happened this afternoon, but he’s certainly going to try to leave with whatever he can salvage. “I really appreciate everything you’ve done to help me. I know it wasn’t exactly—”
Minho’s cut off mid-sentence as Chan effectively shuts him up with a kiss. It’s a sweet, chaste one—just a gentle press of lips. He blinks dumbly when it’s over. “Um.”
“That came out all wrong,” Chan says. “It’s not that I didn’t like that, or that I didn’t want it, because I did. I do. Trust me.” He bites his lip. “But . . . I like you. I don’t want this to be some rushed hookup with a guy I’ll never see again. I want to get to know you. Possibly by taking you out on a date.”
Minho could faint from how relieved he is. Hope blooms in his chest for what feels like the first time in ages, a flower unfurling after a harsh winter. “I like you too,” he says. “And—yes. To all of it.”
Chan smiles and it’s a beautiful thing. “Great. That—that’s really great. Then, if you’re not busy, maybe we could start now? Are you hungry?” With all the chaos of the day, Minho didn’t even realize how much time was passing. It’s early evening now, the setting sun casting shadows at their feet and streaking the pink sky with gold.
Minho laughs, pretending to be scandalized. “Bang Chan-ssi, we’re moving quite fast, don’t you think?”
“Hey, you’ve already been inside my bedroom,” Chan jokes. “I just met your ex. Who cares if we do things a little unorthodox, right?”
He’s got a point. “Then yeah, I could eat.”
“Good.” Chan hesitates before he leans forward. For a second Minho thinks he’s going to kiss him again, and he sort of does: a soft peck on the very tip of Minho’s nose.
Minho doesn’t need a mirror to know his ears and his cheeks are burning red right now. “What was that for?” he asks, trying to sound unaffected and probably failing.
“Payback for all the times you made me blush today,” Chan says with a wink. He picks up the box of Minho’s things in one hand and holds out the other. “C’mon, I think I know a good spot around here.”
Minho’s usually not one to place symbolism on things, but this feels like an offering. Like a door opening, like a second chance. He laces their fingers together and squeezes, returning the smile Chan gives him. “Lead the way then, hyung.”
This is good, he thinks. This is going to be really, really good. And he follows Chan out of the alley and into the last of the daylight.