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Hansol is positively sure that the person crashing at his convenience store at nights is a vampire.
Not like Hansol is superstitious on a regular basis, but something about the overlapping ambience of a post-Halloween craze clashing with biting frosts of a benign winter season makes the identity of a mysterious stranger in front of him more and more ambiguous.
“Is that all?” Hansol asks, not really expecting a reply. The stranger always has a selection of the same things – a pack of wipes, water, and a pack of red peach juice.
Hansol wonders if vampires drink peach juice specifically, and do peaches have to be strictly red in that case.
“Can I have a bag, too?” The stranger asks, rolling lacey strings of fabric hanging off his wrists up the sleeves.
One of the reasons why Hansol thinks the guy is a vampire – among the obvious paleness and sharp, overly intense features – is the way the guy dresses. He has been coming in every night at the same time for a week now, and while his choice of clothing is different on each occasion, it is always– well, ubiquitous.
Hansol is not very familiar with history, but he is pretty sure it's what people had worn in the Victorian era. And, honestly? Good for that guy for fitting the style like a glove.
Maybe he was turned in the fourteenth century, who knows.
“Sure.” Hansol clears his throat. He must have spaced out for a bit because the stranger looks at him with a curious tilt to his head. His overcoat is a pale-red color today, mixed in with swirls of gold, and Hansol thinks it makes his overly red lips stand out even more.
Shaking his head, Hansol snatches out a cheap plastic bag, placing the items with as much care as his sleep-deprived brain can allow.
“It's okay, I can do it on my own.” The stranger asks, but doesn't intervene as Hansol places the last item – that damned peach juice – in the bag. The man's voice is soft, almost feather-like as it hitches at the end of each word and Hansol is quite sure he can hear tinges of an accent that had been dulled out by years of practice.
“It's not a big deal, dude.” Hansol shoots him a quick smile but winces internally.
Dude? That guy is most likely an eternal being twice his age.
Hansol doesn't know if that's what breaks the ice a little, but the stranger chuckles softly, not exactly a laugh, but still clearly a sound of amusement.
“Thank you,” he says, and then his eyes snap up, gaze fixating right onto Hansol's face. “Dude,” he adds with a sharp tug at the corner of his lips as he takes the bag off the counter and leaves.
Hansol can't help but stare at the way his overcoat wavers lightly in the wind as he walks.
*
Hansol appreciates consistency. There is something calming in a way one day flows slowly into another, without any derivations in the form of unexpected events. Set and predictable pattern that Hansol can easily follow.
Having the vampire guy come in consistently for a few months now is a predictable pattern that Hansol grows to like. Just something about him, and his overly frivolous fashion choices each time they see each other makes him anticipate the meeting even more.
In his head, Hansol starts calling him Peach. Well, technically, stranger's nickname has been vampire guy for some time but Hansol thinks that the word seems too broad and impersonal at their level of familiarity now, and he kind of feels responsible for keeping that guy's not so obvious secret.
So, Peach it is in the end. Hansol convinces himself it's because of the guy’s love for red peach juice, and not because of the vibrant color of his lips.
They don't really talk – aside from exchange of pleasantries – but Hansol thinks they don't really need to.
They communicate with soft smiles and appreciative glances. Subtle lookovers of the outfit that Hansol gives him in return. Low chuckles at the sighting of a peach juice placed over the counter.
It's oddly comforting. They probably said not more than a dozen of words to each other in the span of a few months and yet Hansol feels that they are kind of friends.
He is friends with an actual, very much real, vampire.
Hansol greets Peach with a smile as he approaches the counter, but suddenly staggers as he sees the items spread out in front of him this time.
There are wet wipes, water and, of course, red peach juice. Which is not unusual.
What is unusual is a bottle of lube placed in between the wipes and a juice.
Do vampires even need lube to have sex?
Hansol's mind suddenly takes him places and he feels as heat rushes to his cheeks.
“It's not mine.” He hears Peach say. His voice is calm, but an airness makes it sound as if he is also embarrassed. “I mean, it is mine, but it's also for my roommate.”
Hansol's eyes snap up and he is met with Peach's big, brown ones. Their color reminds him of a melted chocolate, but not one from the cheap selection that they have in store, but one on a fancier side that Jeonghan usually eats. With rich brown undertones that molt into black almost with a sense of grace.
“Oh.” Hansol breathes out. His cheeks are still red.
“My roommate has a boyfriend now, or whatever.” Peach shrugs. A heavy purple colored blouse that he is wearing today is moving along with his shoulders.
And then, because Hansol's brain is suddenly deciding to short circuit him, he blurts out, “Is your roommate a vampire too?”
Peach blinks at him owlishly, his red lips parting. “Excuse me?”
That could have been the end of it but Hansol has never been good at stopping half-way. “It's fine, I know your secret.”
At that, Peach all but snorts. Loudly. “Secret?” His eyes are crinkled now, almost in a smile.
“Look, I really don't care that you're a vampire, okay?” Hansol raises his arms in the air, defensively. “You do you, and all that. It's not like vampires can be provided with a proper infrastructure to begin with, I get that.”
“Infrastructure,” Peach echoes. It's not very clear if his expression is amused or deeply confused.
“Like, I know supernatural stuff should be lowkey but technically you guys are also citizens. You need commodities, and stuff. And not like it's that easy to avoid daylight and live a good life.”
Hansol is probably rambling. It's not something that he controls well in his life – he is quiet, and can be quiet for long periods of time but as soon as any sense of familiarity with a person sets in, his mouth stops shutting up on pair with his constantly loud brain.
A short silence sets as Peach presses a card over the chip to pay. There is a ghost of a smile on his face as he looks up at Hansol again. “I honestly have no idea what you are talking about.”
Hansol huffs. “Yeah, sure.” He puts a shopping bag in front of Peach. “I am taking your secret to the grave, you know.”
As Peach leaves, Hansol can still hear tingles of his laughter.
*
“If that's you trying to prove to me that you are a human I don't think you're succeeding.”
Peach doesn't even budge at Hansol's voice as he strides into the store. Hansol supposed that he attempted to dress casually today, switching huge overcoats and lacey blouses to a pair of wide-leg pants and a dark blazer – but Hansol is also positive that the man can't really grasp how even casual clothes still make him look elegant and somewhat aloof, even in the middle of Hansol's run-down convenience store.
Peach regards him with a look, and instead of heading for the aisles with juices as he usually does, he comes up to the cash register right away.
“I am not a vampire.” Peach tries to make it sound annoyed – with a little eyeroll and all – but a small smile tucked away on his lips betrays him a little.
Hansol shrugs. “That’s fine, man. We can pretend that I don't know anything.”
“Oh, come on, Hansol.”
Hansol doesn't know what jolts through him more – the fact that the guy knows his name or the way it rolls out on his tongue with so much endearment.
“How do you know my name?” Hansol blinks. “Oh my god, are you stalking me now?”
Peach furrows, leaning over the counter, right into Hansol's space. “I am a psychic.” Hansol can feel his breath on his lips as he speaks.
And Hansol just – can't move, or talk, or breathe at all. He doesn't know if it's from close proximity, or from the close-up view of Peach's long neck, pale skin stretching over it in intricate lines, as if painting a picture.
Or from the fact that the Peach vampire guy is now a psychic as well.
He doesn't know how much time passes, but Peach suddenly bursts into laughter. It's not as deep as Hansol expected, and a little squeaky, but his heart still contracts painfully from the sound of it in his chest.
“God, your face,” he wheezes out in-between laughter. “I am just fucking with you, it's on your name tag.”
Hansol's gaze snaps down, to the small silver tag with his name printed over. “Right,” he nods.
Peach leans back – Hansol really wishes he hasn't, to be honest – and takes one of the snow globes from the display near the counter. It's the one that Hansol likes the most, with birds placed all over snow-covered branches.
“My theater troop is adapting The Devil and the Good Lord for a spring showcase and our costume designer is only available at late hours for the fitting. And I usually have to rush right back home to get some hours of sleep before work so that's why I don't bother changing on my way home.”
Peach doesn't look at him as he explains that, eyes still glued to a snow globe in his hand. He looks mildly mesmerized by it, which makes Hansol mesmerized too.
“It's not only clothes, you know.” Hansol finally finds his own voice that still gives a light tremble when he speaks.
Peach looks up, arching an eyebrow at him in a silent question.
And Hansol really – like, really – wishes he could have shut up for once in his life. “Your face,” he blurts out.
“My face?”
“Yeah, like I don't think it's possible for humans to be so attractive and put together. Also, your skin. And the color of your lips.”
Peach huffs. “What’s with my lips?”
“I don't think it's a natural color.” Hansol furrows.
“I use chapstick?”
You see, when put together like that it's hard for Hansol to back up his own reasoning of the existence of supernatural.
“Almost got me, Peach, didn’t you?” Hansol goes for a joke because humor always works. Even if it's dry and bad.
He realizes his mistake as soon as their eyes meet again.
“Peach?” The guy repeats, and it doesn't sound like a question. More like, an amusing discovery with the way his lips are curled into a smirk.
“I had to nickname you somehow.” Hansol flushes – he feels it deep in his skin, hot and blazing. “Not like you are wearing a nametag for me to figure out.”
Hansol tries to pretend he is very busy with recounting the register. His skin is still prickling, as if he was burned.
“Minghao.” Peach says, softly. “My name, I mean.”
Hansol looks up and Peach – Minghao – is still smiling at him.
He doesn't like the weird fluttering in his ribcage that accompanies that.
Hansol realizes that Minghao is still holding that snow globe in one of his hands. It's small, and Minghao's fingers are long, engulfing the sphere fully.
“Those are bullfinches,” Hansol says. It's the first thing that his brain supplies in an attempt not to make it more awkward.
Minghao furrows. Hansol wonders the amount of confusion that he caused for the guy to experience just in the span of two days.
“Birds in the snow globe are bullfinches,” he explains. “In folklore they symbolize a departure or an arrival of a loved one.”
“Oh.” Minghao blinks, twisting the globe around to inspect it. “That’s kind of romantic. I like it.”
Hansol hums in agreement. “It's my favorite one,” he shrugs. “People usually go for Christmas trees or houses, or snowmen, but I always thought this one was the prettiest.”
Silence sets, but Hansol doesn't think it's uncomfortable, or awkward. If he listens carefully enough he can hear Minghao inhaling and exhaling slowly over the music that plays from the speakers.
He watches as Minghao puts the globe back and heads for the aisles. When he returns it's the one remaining constant from their previous interactions – wet wipes, water, and red peach juice.
Hansol smiles without really noticing.
As he scans the last item and puts it in the bag, he hears Mighao speak again.
“Wait.” He mumbles, clearing his throat afterwards.
In bewilderment, Hansol watches as he takes the snow globe and places it on the counter.
It's– kind of exciting, if he is fully honest.
Minghao pays, and as Hansol tries to place the globe in a bag with the remaining items, Minghao stops him again.
“No, it's– uhm,” he stutters a little before gaining composure again. “That’s for you.”
Hansol gapes. He wishes he doesn't look like a dead fish but he probably does.
“For me?”
“Yeah.” Minghao nods. “If you want it, of course.You just seemed to like it.”
Hansol wants to say a lot of things – that it’s a dumb gesture because no one actually buys those snow globes and he gets to stare at it all day at work anyway; that it’s really overpriced and it can be bought for twice less at a local flea market nearby; that he does not really know what to do with that snow globe now that he can take it home.
And yet, he doesn’t say any of it. Because Minghao looks as if he just put his whole life on the line with the way the lines of his face are all curved as he worries his bottom lip in between his teeth.
“That’s really nice of you, Peach.” Hansol is not fully sure why he still settles on a nickname, but something about actually saying Minghao’s name out loud – trying it on his tongue as he rolls it in between his lips – it might have made him clinically insane.
And the way Minghao’s cheeks pinken, even so lightly at the sound of the nickname, is a nice bonus.
*
Their daily meetings slowly, but surely, start to deviate from the state of consistency more and more.
It’s in small things, again. Now, Minghao actually stops by the register before grabbing the items to talk – actually talk. About nothing and everything at the same time.
And Hansol is not really sure what their level of acquaintance is. He doesn’t know most of the things about Minghao – how old is he, what does he do besides theater, if he has any siblings or why there are still remnants of an accent when he talks.
In Hansol’s head, those things are not as important, though.
What is important is that he knows how passionate Minghao is about performances. How he can talk for hours about his favourite plays, actors, and writers; he knows that Minghao likes to read, but prefers listening to music without lyrics; he knows that his favorite color is yellow because it makes him sad that people don’t like orange enough to be their favourite color.
Hansol thinks he has never known anyone in a way that he knows Minghao. And it’s equally as scary as it is exciting.
“Reading on the job, Hansolie?”
Hansol levels Soonyoung with a look. Tuesday is the only day so far when Hansol knows that Minghao is not visiting and, coincidentally, the only day when there are two people on the night shift.
He still has no clue why Soonyoung has to be there as well when the store is practically deserted for a good portion of their shift, and he is pretty sure that the guy just bribed their manager just not to of do a night shift all on his own.
Hansol tries not to show it much, but secretly he kind of enjoys the company. Most of the time.
Not today, though.
“At least I am actually working.” Hansol rolls his eyes. “You’ve been playing basketball with paper for three hours now.
“You need to throw out all of the old invoices anyway,” Soonyoung shrugs. “You’re only mad because I am doing it in a way that is fun.”
Hansol likes how straightforward Soonyoung is. Not in the way Hansol is straightforward, but they do align in a sense that society pointedly reminds them how they are different from the norm. Soonyoung is doing whatever he wants unapologetically, without much consideration of what is accepted, and Hansol is very upfront about what he needs from people without submitting himself to the hell that is a small talk. Hansol thinks he is the only person in the world who hates the question How are you? with such a burning desire.
So, in a way, he can say that while both of them don’t really fit into society, they do fit together in a nice way.
“What’s the book anyway?” Soonyoung asks, his long legs dangling off the counter as he aims for another shot. “Haven’t seen you so invested in a while.”
Hansol blushes.
It’s not like he doesn’t read at all – he does, sometimes, when his mind is in a good enough state to actually concentrate. It just doesn’t happen often. But the first time Minghao mentioned the play that they are doing for the spring showcase he, without a shame, went for a long search for the copy of The Devil and the Good Lord.
Apparently, it’s not as easy to find in Korean. He is not sure the translation even exists. He couldn’t find the English version in the city either – the original is in French that he sadly doesn’t know – so eventually he just asked his sister to send him a copy.
Hansol is well-aware that he could’ve just downloaded it as an e-book, or something. But he is a tactile person when he reads. It’s really impractical but it’s one of few impractical things that Hansol allows himself to have.
So, he patiently waited for his copy to arrive. From the look of it it’s a second-hand book, one of the old editions with pages almost crumbling under his fingertips and all the color being scratched out from the cover.
Hansol adores it.
“It’s a play,” Hansol replies, finally. He is not sure that Soonyoung remembers that he asked a question but he continues anyway. “I am mildly confused for, like, most of it, but once I got the gist it’s pretty good. Has themes of–”
Hansol is interrupted by a sound of a bell as the door opens. Soonyoung doesn’t even budge from a place that he sits, so Hansol doesn’t feel the need to hide the book in his hands either.
It almost falls out of his hands as he looks up anyway.
Minghao is dressed up today – after their first conversation he kind of started alternating casual clothes with his costume fits, and Hansol is mildly suspicious that it’s because he still tries to prove that he is not a vampire. Not like Hansol cares anymore, really.
But today he is in a full-on fit. Huge black overcoat with patterns that seem to be taken right from the wallpapers in Hansol’s apartment, weirdly looking set of pants that have no right to look as good on a person instead of ridiculous, and a pinkish blouse underneath. Minghao’s bangs are also swept back this time, instead of how they usually frame his face.
“You don’t come in on Tuesdays,” Hansol says instead of a greeting. He feels Soonyoung’s gaze on him even without looking.
“And you don’t usually read on the job,” Minghao nods at his hand, the one that is holding a book. “Aren’t we all full of surprises?”
“Man, you look amazing!” Soonyoung exclaims, unknowingly interrupting their staring contest. “Are you a vampire or something?”
“Oh, god.” Minghao groans and Hansol tries really hard to suppress his laughter. “Not again. I just gained Hansol’s trust.”
“You really look the part, what can I say?” Soonyoung shrugs.
“See? I am not the only one who finds it suspicious.” Hansol throws both of his hands in the air, conveniently putting the book with a cover down on the counter. He really hopes Minghao didn’t notice.
Minghao seems not to, as he simply rolls his eyes and starts making his way to the juice aisle.
“Oh, wait!” Hansol suddenly springs into action, almost kicking Soonyoung off in the process. He catches up with Minghao quickly as they make their way deeper into the store, near the freezers.
“We ran out of red peach juice,” he explains when Minghao graces him with a confused look.
It’s the first time that they stand without any barrier in between and it’s a little thrilling to realize that Minghao is not as tall as he appears at the first glance.
Hansol is actually sure he has a couple of inches on him as they stand face-to-face.
Minghao frowns. “Really?” He asks, voice laced with somewhat disappointment.
“Yeah, man, I am sorry.” Hansol tries not to wince. “We do have, like, apple and wild berries, and pineapple if you’re into that.”
“I have eyes, thank you.” It would have come out rude from anyone else but Hansol knows Minghao, sees clearly how his lips twitch in amusement.
“Just so– you know. You don’t waste much of your time.”
Hansol mimics Minghao’s pose, leaning on the shelf with his body turned towards him. He refuses to look away, and it seems like Minghao doesn’t want to, either, so they just stare at each other for what seems to be like an eternity.
“You’re never a waste of time, Hansol.”
It’s in the way Minghao says it – without any uncertainty, without a single hitch in his voice. Making sure that you know that he means it.
“I’ll grab wild berries.” His voice snaps Hansol out of the Minghao-induced trance.
“Second best to red peach, I’ll make a note of it.”
Minghao grins. “What? Planning to ask me out?”
Two can play this game, so instead of replying Hansol just shrugs, smiling coyly in return.
As they make their way back to the register and Hansol is ready to check the items out, Soonyoung beats him to it, swinging his legs over the counter as soon as he sees that they are approaching.
“I’ll get that, don’t worry,” he wavers with his hand, signaling Minghao to put the items in front of him.
“Kwon Soonyoung, working?” Hansol gasps dramatically, placing both of his hands over his heart. “Like a second coming of Jesus Christ.”
Soonyoung pouts. “You’re making me look bad.”
“That’s because you are.”
Minghao doesn’t intervene in their bickering, but Hansol spots a soft smile from the corner of his eyes.
“Thanks, guys. You’re fun,” he says after paying. “Bye, Soonyoung. See you tomorrow, Hansol.”
With that he gives both of them a small wave and leaves.
“Not a word,” Hansol cuts off right away, getting back behind the counter. He feels the hotness of his cheeks, but also feels a dull pain from smiling so much.
“I didn’t even say anything, but whatever,” Soonyoung snorts. “You guys need to fuck asap, though. I don’t think it’s appropriate to be this horny in public.”
Hansol wants to ask when has Soonyoung ever cared about being appropriate, but what comes out instead is a loud groan as he drops his head into his hands.
Soonyoung can’t stop laughing at him till the end of the shift.
*
Hansol finishes The Devil and the Good Lord at six sharp in the evening, as he stares at a snow globe that Minghao gifted him a month ago.
It’s a few hours before his night shift, and usually he tries to squeeze in some sleeping time prior to that, but he is so overwhelmed from the excitement of finishing it, and the desire to talk about it with someone, that he ends up pacing his room back and forth in span of the five remaining hours.
As the clock strikes a little past two in the morning during the shift, Hansol feels as sleep deprivation claws into him with a new-found intensity. His eyelids are extremely heavy, and lidded, and all he wants is to get a good eight hour sleep at that point of time.
He doesn’t even notice when Minghao passes him inside the store.
“Rough night?” Hansol’s head snaps at the sound of Minghao’s voice. “Or what was it, morning? Evening?”
“You could say that,” Hansol replies with a chuckle.
He waits for Minghao to follow-up, but belatedly notices how something about his demeanor shifts. As if he is – disappointed, or something.
Hansol freezes. He is not good at questions with subtext.
“I was reading,” he rushes to explain. “Didn’t plan to finish the book and when I did I felt way too overwhelmed to actually go to sleep.”
Hansol watches as Minghao visibly relaxes, features going slack again as his shoulders roll down. “What was the book?”
Fuck.
Fucking–
He didn’t plan this far ahead, and, of course, Minghao asks.
“It’s, uhm– the play that you mentioned. The Devil and the Good Lord? I picked it up almost right away after you brought it up.”
Hansol goes for the truth because it feels right. He doesn’t think he is capable of lying to Minghao – it would taint that pure, unconditional trust that they built way too quickly.
Minghao, though, looks positively excited. “Really?” He asks, with a soft exhale. “Did you like it? Where did you even get a copy? Don’t think it has a Korean translation yet.”
It’s not much, but Hansol thinks it’s kind of adorable that Minghao doesn’t automatically assume that he is fluent in English.
“I have an English translation, unfortunately I don’t speak French.” Hansol shrugs. “And I asked my sister to send me a copy. Not really a big fan of e-books or audio.”
“Hard to concentrate on those, isn’t it,” Minghao muses. “So, what do you think?”
The thing is, Hansol thinks a lot. So many entangled thoughts, hypotheses, ideas. He wishes he could afford to study liberal arts – anything liberal, really – but unfortunately he is not rich enough to afford that if he has hopes of sustaining himself on his own.
“I liked it,” Hansol concludes in the end. “It’s a great piece on the discussion of morality, and I love that it is hard to define what morality is by the end of the play. Like, are you really a good person if you are only trying to be good to get a reward out of it?”
Hansol expects Minghao to engage but he stays silent, as if knowing that Hansol has much more to say.
“And, I generally am a sucker for the themes of corruption and religion and how hand-in-hand they go, most of the time. I liked how it’s essentially about being responsible for having freedom and the choices you make.”
Hansol thinks he is quite good at reading Minghao, but this time around he can not place a wistful expression on his face and what does that mean. Maybe, he made a fool of himself and misunderstood the play completely.
“That’s a good train of thought,” Minghao says at last.
There is a sticky feeling in Hansol’s stomach as he watches Minghao in-between the food aisles with his back turned. It’s not exactly awkward, but not as light-hearted as it usually is, with him.
Carefully, Hansol pulls out the book from his backpack. He doesn’t know why he decided to bring it along after finishing – maybe, to reread some lines on commute, ones that he diligently highlighted with a pencil that is soft enough not to ruin the pages.
And as his eyes land on Minghao again, he knows what to do.
“Take it,” Hansol says, pushing the book into Minghao’s free hand as his other one holds a shopping bag. “I finished it, anyway.”
“Hansol, no.” Minghao looks almost shell-shocked, his eyes open wide. “I can’t accept it.”
“Please. I don’t have a good place to keep it anyway, and I know you will take good care of it.”
Minghao’s gaze falls on the book cover as he inspects it.
“If you can’t accept it as a gift, just take it as a thank-you for the snow globe,” Hansol adds in haste. “I really want you to have it.”
Minghao’s palm closes over the book’s spine, right where Hansol’s fingers are still grasping on it. His fingers are cold, but gentle.
“Thank you,” he says, taking the book and pressing it to his chest. “I–” he visibly stumbles, looking anywhere but Hansol, “– have to go. See you.”
Hansol’s expression sours as he watches him leave. He doesn’t know what he expected, really. Shouldn’t have had his hopes up.
And now, possibly, he spoiled one good thing that–
The door swings open again, making Hansol jump. Minghao is still pressing the book closely to his chest as he walks up to the counter.
“When are you free?”
Hansol blinks at the question. “Huh?”
“Weekends, weekdays. When are your days off?”
“Oh,” Hansol exhales slowly. It feels like there is not enough air in his lungs to speak anymore. “Sundays, actually.”
“Cool.” Minghao nods. “Wanna hang out? I’ll pick you up.”
Hansol physically feels how his heart drops to his feet. “You have a car?” He asks, because it's the only thing he can manage as a proper reply.
“I don’t but I do have good friends.”
Hansol chuckles. “Yeah, sure. Let’s hang out.”
“Good.” Minghao smiles – a wide one, with teeth and all. “Give me your number.”
Hansol’s phone is somewhere in the locker so he takes out a pen, scribbling digits on the half-printed check that Minghao forgot.
He hopes Minghao does not notice how hard his hand shakes in the process.
*
Minghao suggests a picnic at the river, so Hansol makes sure to make a good use of his employee discount to grab a few things from the store before closing night shift a day prior to that.
Minghao laughs, looking over the items spread out on the blanket. “You didn’t just bring both peach and wild berries juice.”
“Maybe I like one of those too,” Hansol shrugs.
“You like grape one,” Minghao says, grinning.
Hansol stares at him questioningly.
“I saw empty packets near the register.”
Hansol hums. It does make sense.
The view from where they are sitting is a little short of breathtaking. Hansol was a little skeptical when Minghao suggested River Han because of the amount of people on weekends, but Minghao assured him that he knew just the right place.
Just the right place turns out to be right under the bridge. Hansol can still see flocks of people from where he is sitting, and somehow, it’s still far enough for the place to feel secluded.
“So, what do you do besides theater?” Hansol asks. Not because it is something expected on a date – he supposes it is a date – but just because he genuinely wants to know.
“Not much,” Minghao replies. Each gust of wind ruffles his hair from one direction to another, so he shakes his head from now and then to get a clear view of the river.
It’s cute.
“I also work in retail, but at a thrift store, not far from where I live.”
Hansol chuckles. “That explains everything.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Minghao’s eyes are twinkling as he tilts his head to look at Hansol. His cheeks are healthily flushed from the cold.
“This,” Hansol points up and down Minghao’s figure with his hand. “The way you dress.”
“Wow,” Minghao sighs. “The audacity.”
They both know that Hansol means it in the best way possible.
“What about you, concerningly nocturnal person?”
Hansol deflates a little at the question, a smile dropping from his lips. “Not much, honestly,” he says. “I picked up a few courses here and there, they are mostly finance related. Nothing as exciting as what you do.”
Minghao frowns. “Why does it have to be exciting?”
Hansol laughs dryly. Because, it’s boring. Because it’s not ambitious, or remotely interesting. Because he doesn’t really look for something better. “It is what makes people interesting,” he settles on that.
“No it’s not,” Minghao says. “That’s what capitalism makes you want to believe in, actually.”
Hansol rolls his eyes, but good-naturedly. “You really want to go there?”
Minghao laughs, rolling over to pop a grape in his mouth. “For what it's worth, I think you’re interesting, Hansol. Regardless of what you are doing for a living.”
Hansol has to suppress a smile physically, by biting down on his lip. Still fails, probably. “It’s not like I am insecure, you know. You’re just– so, you. And you are doing what you’re passionate about, and here I am just – I don’t know – existing?”
Minghao is quiet for a few minutes, as if weighing it out in his head, one by one. “I don’t think that what you’re doing for living defines how passionate you are for something,” he says. “I got kind of lucky – my parents support me, and I have a job that does not really interfere with the other things that I do but that doesn’t mean that your passions are less real.” He stops, his gaze roaming all over Hansol’s face. “I know how you talk about things. How you talk about books you read, and movies you watch, things that you write. Seems passionate enough to me.”
Hansol feels like a balloon. But instead of air, he is full of everything that is Minghao – his soft voice, squeaky laugh, and calming presence. If he gets more and more of it he would probably burst and simply cease to exist.
“Is this a date?” It’s natural, Hansol doesn’t feel a single hitch in his voice as he asks the question.
Minghao tilts his head to the side, slightly. “I hoped so.”
Hansol can’t really help it, but his eyes gravitate towards Minghao’s lips on their own accord. They are still of the color of a red peach, plump and pink, a little glossy from the chapstick that Minghao uses. And he wonders, and wonders, and wonders if they taste as good as they look.
It’s a craving and one that is hard for Hansol to satiate just by looking.
When Hansol’s eyes snap back he just knows that Minghao knows it, too. Sees through him as if through the glass, as if Hansol’s feelings are as transparent as the little cracks scattered all over his open-mouthed smiles.
“I am going to kiss you now, okay?” The food is pushed to the side as Minghao swings one of his legs over Hansol’s hips, plopping down on his thighs.
Hansol is pretty sure he is not breathing as Minghao’s long fingers spread right under his jaw, wide enough to cup his face too. “Okay?” He asks again, this time right into his lips. Minghao smells like peaches and salt.
“Okay,” Hansol whispers back, mouth tingling with anticipation.
Minghao's lips are soft and sticky as they cling to Hansol's. Hansol's own ones are chapped, and the difference in roughness makes his heart rate spike.
Minghao kisses with force, as if Hansol will crumble down even if he lets go of the pressure for a second. His grip on his face is confident, and sure, and as his fingers drift down the expanse of his neck Hansol gasps, with Minghao's lips still sticking sweetly to his own.
As they part, Minghao doesn't go far, pressing his foreheads together. “I really like you, Hansol,” he breathes it out, fully with traces of laughter.
And Hansol is at a loss for words, again. Nothing has meaning anymore. “I am still not really sure that you're not a vampire,” he jokes.
Minghao chuckles lowly, and drops his head, teeth grazing his neck lightly. Too fast for Hansol to even process. “As if you'd mind.”
Not a chance, Hansol wants to say, but kisses him again instead.
A package of red peach juice is lying somewhere, fully forgotten now.