Chapter Text
After completing his freshman year of college, Jiyong thinks that coming home for the summer feels a bit like taking a step in reverse. It’s not that he doesn’t love his parents (or the free food and the fact that his mom still does his laundry every Sunday afternoon), it’s just weird. To be back in a place he’s been trying so hard to leave behind. To find that everything is exactly the same, yet he feels like an entirely different person. It’s almost like getting off the train magically erased the last six or seven months from his personal history. He knows the friends he made and the experiences he had aren’t actually figments of his overactive imagination. It’s just something about the suburbs--about returning to what is essentially the starting block of his life--that makes the rest of the world seem too distant. Unreachable. Sort of like it did when he was in high school and all he could think about was a graduation that never wanted to arrive.
Needless to say, Jiyong is pretty much at a loss. He’s also bored out of his damn mind and he can’t remember what the fuck he did to pass the time before college happened. Before The Big City happened. Before life happened.
Jiyong squints at his phone screen for a long minute, telekinetically willing it to give him the solution to his problem. His problem being that he’s trapped in Pleasantville. Except Tobey Maguire and Reese Witherspoon aren’t here to turn his currently monochromatic existence into vivid technicolor. He sighs and slumps forward over the island counter in their kitchen, nose smushed against cold marble. What’s worse is that it’s Friday night and he’s probably going to spend it in his room staring up at his ceiling fan. Jiyong already misses the stoned 2AM burrito runs with Felix and Erin and Annie and Dave. The gift of public transit, bars that don’t card, and spontaneous dance parties on weeknights. Why oh why did I come home again?
There’s actually a long list of reasons--most of them involving his utter lack of money--but before Jiyong can start ticking them off in his head as a reminder that he still needs to find a summer job, there are fingers ruffling his hair and the sound of a glass clinking against the counter.
“What’s up, buttercup?” his mother asks, her voice painted with its usual parental concern. “It seems like you’re wilting more and more every day.”
“Just recovering from finals week, you know how it is,” Jiyong replies easily, pushing up onto his elbows and giving her the most convincing smile in his arsenal.
Soo Jin laughs. “Of course I do. Though after all these years I still can’t decide which is more hellish, writing papers or grading them.”
“This is why I refuse to follow in your footsteps.”
His mother snorts and arches an eyebrow.
“Corrupting impressionable, young minds isn’t your cup of tea, huh?”
“Well…” Jiyong pauses, his head tilting to the side, and he smirks. “I wouldn’t say that.”
This inspires a throaty cackle from Soo Jin, her hands raising in surrender as she backs away.
“I don’t even want to know.”
“That’s really great,” he replies. “Because I’m never telling you.”
In fact, the last thing his mom needs to know about is his burgeoning sex life. She knows he’s gay. Actually everyone pretty much knows he’s gay, but that’s kind of where Jiyong draws the line on sharing. Though if he ever manages to date someone for more than a few weeks, he might be persuaded to reconsider.
“Such a sweet boy.”
“Your son, remember?” Jiyong points out, sliding off his chair to stand.
“And I’ll never forget it.”
Soo Jin envelops him in a tight hug and Jiyong smiles into her hair. He supposes there are some things he genuinely missed about home. Mom hugs are definitely one of them.
*
The constant and incredibly loud buzz of a weed-whacker is what greets Jiyong at way-too-fucking-early in the morning the next day. He tries to fall back asleep and fails because somehow the sound is getting louder and he wonders how that’s even possible. When Jiyong rolls onto his side to glare at the window, he realizes he left it open all night. At least that explains why my ears are bleeding. He groans, pulling his comforter tight over his head, but it’s no use. The angry noises of plant-destroying machinery are too powerful and Jiyong is so weak. Eventually he forfeits and crawls out of bed to stumble into the bathroom. Though really, he should be accustomed to rude awakenings at ungodly hours after living in a city for any length of time.
Freshly showered and lazily dressed, Jiyong wanders downstairs to the kitchen in search of breakfast. What he finds instead is nothing short of debilitating.
“Thank you, Mrs. Kwon. I’m sure the rest of the guys’ll appreciate this.”
“Oh, no need to thank me, it’s the least I can do when it’s hotter than Hades outside.” Soo Jin beams at the young man standing in front of her, patting him on the arm in that Super Friendly Mom way that used to make Jiyong cringe.
Jiyong isn’t cringing right now, but only because he’s still paralyzed in the doorway, caught in some sort of trance as he watches a dimpled grin appear on the guy’s already impossibly handsome face. He can’t even construct fully-formed thoughts, just variations of fuck, you’re gorgeous and lots of internal whining.
The young man huffs out a small laugh, his dark, glittering eyes framed by long lashes and smile lines and Jiyong bites down on his lip as hard as he can. It should be illegal to look that fuckable in a sweaty, dirt-smeared t-shirt and khaki shorts.
“Still, thank you.” The man adjusts his hold on the pile of water bottles cradled against his chest and starts migrating towards the glass doors leading to the deck. “We should be out of your hair by three or four today. And I think Alan wanted to discuss the plans for the garden, should I, uh, send him in?”
“That would be great, Seunghyun, thanks.”
“No problem.”
Seunghyun tosses her another bright grin and turns, his gaze falling on Jiyong for the slowest five seconds of his life. He doesn’t even have the brainpower to categorize Seunghyun’s expression, too busy trying to get his stomach to cut it out with the acrobatics. He does, however, notice the way Seunghyun’s eyes give him a brief once-over--the quirk of his pretty, bow-shaped lips as he exits the house and the way those khaki shorts hug the curves of his seriously perfect ass. Dear lord why.
Jiyong blinks; lets out an unsteady breath.
When he finally regains control of his body, he glances down at his bare feet and, with bone-deep horror, remembers that he threw on one of his stupid ratty tank tops covered in holes and mystery stains and oh god my hair. Shoving his fingers through the limp, wet strands, Jiyong immediately regrets making the decision to get out of bed today.
“I have to say, I’m surprised to see you up this early, Jiyong.”
Jiyong’s head jerks up in alarm. He forgot his mother was still here. Crap. Can she tell how fucked he is? Because surely his facial features are betraying him just like they always do. Jiyong clears his throat, gesturing vaguely at the backyard, and he mumbles, “Weed-whacker” like it explains everything.
Soo Jin nods and then frowns, coming closer to press the back of her hand to his forehead. He tenses at her proximity, afraid that maybe she can smell the future boner on him.
“You all right, kiddo? Your face is pretty red.”
“Yeah, mom I’m--I’m fine,” Jiyong mutters, pushing her hand away. “It’s nothing.”
“Oookay,” Soo Jin sighs. “Your dad’s in the living room, by the way. Go talk to him after you eat.”
He executes a quick salute and swallows the feeling of dread rising up from his empty stomach as he walks to the fridge. Choosing the lesser of two evils, Jiyong lets his head fill with thoughts of Unfairly Attractive Landscaping Dude to distract himself from the impending doom of conversing with his father. And so it begins…
*
The “talk” with his dad, if it can even be called that, goes exactly the way he expected it would.
“I‘m only trying to help you, Jiyong.”
“Your mom and I truly have your best interests at heart.”
“We worry about you, you know, so far from home. I’d like you to think about it. Put your old man’s mind at ease.”
This is his other problem. Well, it’s the same problem, but this is the other half. And it always comes back to money. Ugh, I hate money.
It’s not that Jiyong isn’t grateful to have supportive, doting parents. Or rather, supportive, doting, wealthy parents. But he’s never wanted to be one of those kids who gets by in life on daddy’s dime. They’ve done so much for him as it is, he should be able to take care of his own shit for once, right? And if he genuinely needs help, he’ll ask for it. Right now, though, Jiyong just needs his dad to trust him. To listen. Is that really so much to ask? He’s honestly starting to believe it might be.
Jiyong glares at his bedroom wall from where he’s lying on the floor, carpet stiff and scratchy under his hands. The chorus of yard work is still going strong, filtering in through his open window, and it makes concentration difficult. He almost convinces himself that attempting to think about being productive actually counts as productivity when his phone starts vibrating in his pocket. It’s a text from Nora. Jiyong winces and hates himself for not texting her first.
hey shithead. how long were u
gonna wait b4 telling me u were
back????
Easy, drama queen. It’s only
been 3 days. I didn’t even know
you were here.
so? i think i deserve 2b
treated w a little more respect.
buy me ice cream & maybe
i’ll 4give u
Only if you come pick me up.
I need your help with something.
oh so now u need me i c
how it is.
Nora, I’ll buy you an entire
ice cream cake if I have to.
must b srs
Double chocolate serious.
jfc alright, i’m omw
Jiyong flops over and presses his cheek into the carpet. At least now he doesn’t have to suffer in silence. He already left Felix a panicked voicemail about the insanely hot (and not at all real) landscaping guy who is currently in his backyard. Probably getting sweatier and dirtier and hotter by the minute. Coward that he is, Jiyong hasn’t dared to look outside again after the kitchen incident. This is why he needs Nora, because Nora will understand. Nora will also make fun of him, but it’s better than the alternative of jacking off in the shower and hoping for the best. Because there is no “best” in this situation, not when Jiyong knows that he has to survive an entire summer of Seunghyun, walking around with his broad shoulders and boyish charm.
“God, my life sucks,” Jiyong grumbles into the floor.
He doesn’t stand a chance in hell.
*
“You don’t stand a chance in hell.”
“Thank you, Nora, for stating the obvious.”
They’re both leaning against the island counter, staring out the large glass windows at the expanse of green that makes up the Kwon’s property. Members of the landscaping crew are scattered all over the yard, baking under an unforgiving sun. Nora side-eyes him and takes a sip from her can of cherry Coke.
“Hey, I just figured it needed to be said out loud.”
Jiyong runs a hand through his hair (hair that thankfully no longer resembles a wet dog) and heaves the most pathetic sigh. Just beyond the edge of the deck he can see Seunghyun kneeling in a wide patch of dirt, placing slabs of stone in whatever formation his mother instructed him to. Seunghyun’s shirt clings to his body, sweat beading on his skin and dripping from his furrowed brow. The defined muscles of his back shift beneath the damp fabric and Jiyong restrains a full-on whimper.
He shouldn’t be doing this.
Not because he thinks he’s being a creep (which he absolutely is), but because it’s making everything so much worse. Jiyong chews on his lip and follows the lines of Seunghyun’s tanned arms and the droplets of perspiration that wind down his face--follows his beautiful, long, dirt-caked fingers as they push at loose earth and swipe at the back of his neck, leaving streaks of rich brown. Clearly you were sent here to destroy me.
“So what the fuck am I supposed to do?” he asks, verging on desperate.
Nora shrugs. “I dunno, bone him? That’s what I’d do. Y’know, if I was a fan of dicks.”
“But what if he’s straight?”
She hums thoughtfully and plays with the tab on her Coke can, bending it back and forth until the metal weakens and breaks.
“You said he sorta checked you out earlier, yeah? That’s gotta count for something.”
“Maybe he thought I was a prepubescent girl,” Jiyong murmurs wryly.
He’s only half-joking, but it results in Nora almost choking on her next sip. She smacks him in the arm.
“Dude, gross,” Nora laughs while shaking her head, unruly black curls swaying as she does.
Jiyong’s mouth twitches and he nudges into her with his shoulder. Quiet settles over the kitchen. He listens to the metallic clink of Nora’s Coke can hitting the counter and pretends not to see Seunghyun stretch his arms above his head, then slick dark hair away from his eyes. It’s like watching softcore porn. Or a Jane Austen adaptation. And Jiyong is suddenly very thankful that his mother never went all out and installed a massive pond in their yard.
“Why are you so convinced he wouldn’t be into you, anyway?” Nora interrupts his Darcy fantasies, appearing both resolute and curious when she turns to look at him.
His mouth falls open, but he’s not sure what to say. Shouldn’t it be obvious? Jiyong has always been sort of wiry and small and unexceptional. Why would someone like Seunghyun spare him a second glance?
He lifts one shoulder slightly, not sure if he’s actually shrugging or curling in on himself.
“Because Greek gods never are.”
Nora steps in front of him, her palm held out and a thick eyebrow raised sharply. “Easy, drama queen,” she drawls, parroting his text from earlier. Jiyong laugh-snorts.
“Yeah, yeah, shut up.”
“Y’know, you shouldn’t be afraid to give yourself some more credit, Ji.” Nora’s expression turns soft. “A little confidence goes a long way. And you are, hands down, the cutest fucking twink I know.”
“I’m the only twink that you know.”
“Exactly.” She flashes him a big grin and then tugs on the hem of his shirtsleeve. “So can we go get ice cream now?”
Jiyong rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. Can’t help it. Nora has never been shy when it comes to her one true love: food.
“Do you wanna get high first? I have some that I brought back with me.”
“Yesss! You are seriously the best, I’m so glad that we’re friends.”
“Only because you know you can use me for weed and frozen dairy products,” he teases, herding Nora out of the kitchen and up the stairs.
“Ohhh hey, maybe we should go to that fro-yo place by the mall instead.”
“Whatever Nora wants.”
“Nora wants fro-yoooo,” she declares, one fist held high. Jiyong just shoves her into his room and shuts the door.
He decides childhood friends can go on the list, too.
*
As the days unfold, Jiyong treads very carefully. Or tries to. It’s kind of a challenge when the kitchen and the downstairs bathroom have basically been commandeered by a bunch of strange, sweaty men. Felix demanded a video of said sweaty men in action, but Jiyong doesn’t have the balls, even from the relative safety of his second-story window. Felix also told him that “these scenarios don’t grow on trees, Jiyong. You need to accept the fact that your life has now become a summer rom-com and I think you should gracefully step up to the plate as leading lady.”. To which Jiyong merely sighed and wondered what he did to deserve such unhelpful companions.
What’s also unhelpful is that, during the week, he’s usually the only one at the house in the afternoon. Meaning Jiyong has to field all the questions from Alan and his crew that he can’t answer. What the fuck does he know about building a garden? Jack shit, that’s what. And the most frustrating part is that his mom keeps neglecting to tell him anything useful. So he sits there at the island counter in the kitchen on his laptop and sulks. Because he still hasn’t found a job. He still doesn’t know how to respond to the strange, sweaty men. And Seunghyun is still obnoxiously hot. This summer sure is shaping up to be really awesome.
“Hey...” A deep baritone interrupts Jiyong’s moping and he startles, head peeking over the top of his computer screen. “Jiyong, right?”
It’s Seunghyun (because of course it’s Seunghyun), moving to stand on the other side of the counter, practically glistening from all the hours spent outside. Jiyong gulps and fidgets in his seat at hearing his name come out of that mouth. It’s quite a nice mouth. The kind he’d like to say hello to with his own mouth (and maybe a few other things) a hundred times or more.
His brain tells him to stop leering, so he looks elsewhere, instantly distracted by the sharp cut of Seunghyun’s jaw and the long neck it’s attached to. He thinks about maybe licking the salt from Seunghyun’s skin and what it would--
“Jiyong?”
“I-- what?” Jiyong snaps to attention, catching Seunghyun’s steady gaze, and blushes so hard he can feel the burn in his cheeks. “Sorry.”
Seunghyun’s incredibly nice mouth tugs at one corner and lifts into a half-smile. An amused half-smile. Which means he knows. Can a blush reach all the way to your internal organs? Jiyong is relatively certain he’s just achieved that.
“It’s cool.” Seunghyun licks his lips and glances away. “Is your mom around? Alan needs her for something before we head out.”
Tongue. Tongue. Jiyong breathes through his nose and attempts to remember the question.
“Um…no?”
This earns him a chuckle.
“You don’t sound very convinced of your answer.”
He’s about to try again, but he knows he can’t maintain eye-contact without losing his train of thought, so he looks down at the countertop instead. Which is a mistake, because Seunghyun’s large, amazing, beautiful hands are resting against the marble edge, nails dirt-caked and lovely. He’s just beginning to imagine how they would feel pressing into his skin when Seunghyun clears his throat. Jesus christ focus, Jiyong. He squeezes his eyes shut briefly to find even a molecule of zen to get himself through this.
“I mean, no, she isn’t. She’s teaching a summer course at the university, she didn’t tell you?”
“I’m sure she did, but Alan does this. Forgets things.” Seunghyun exhales a tired breath, hands moving to his hips. “Shit,” he mutters.
“She’ll be back in a couple hours. I don’t know if that helps.”
Peeking up at Seunghyun from under his bangs, Jiyong finds him shaking his head.
“We’re leaving in a little bit.”
“Oh,” he says quietly. “Sorry.”
Seunghyun offers him a tight smile, one hand reaching up to rub the side of his neck. “Not your fault.”
He nods. The pause in conversation (how are we having a goddamn conversation) stretches thin as the seconds pile up. Jiyong’s eyes flit from Seunghyun’s face to the smudges on his clothes to the rest of the kitchen and back again.
Well they were having a conversation. He’s not sure what the fuck they’re doing right now, and the gentle, whirring hum of the refrigerator only accentuates the fact that no words are being exchanged. Jiyong fidgets again, playing with one of the bracelets on his wrist. He can feel Seunghyun staring at him and every time their eyes meet it’s like having his heart clenched in someone’s fist.
“I, um,” Seunghyun starts, fingers tapping rhythmically on the counter. “I guess I should get going then.”
“Yeah.”
Jiyong notes that Seunghyun makes no moves to actually leave. Maybe he’ll go if Jiyong throws something at him. Anything to put an end to what has easily been one of the more awkward moments in his life.
“Thanks.”
Why are you thanking me? Jiyong’s eyebrows slam together. “You’re welcome?”
Laughing, Seunghyun inches backwards to the sliding doors, dirty fingers buried in messy hair and hips swaying with each step. The smile on Seunghyun’s lips is so charming Jiyong wants to claw his own eyes out.
“See you around, Jiyong.”
“Uh-huh,” he sort of grunts, then proceeds to mash his face into his keyboard the minute Seunghyun is finally gone.
*
Participating in the sacred act of Wake and Bake isn’t a thing Jiyong does all that often, least of all alone. But something about the gray light pushing through his curtains the next morning has him doing it anyway. It’s not like his parents care. They’re both reformed hippies, though his mom only sort of made it through that process before giving up somewhere in the middle. You’d think this would be a good thing, except half the time she can’t decide what she wants to be: the free-spirited mom who encourages him to do whatever the hell he wants, or the mom who can’t quite let go of her conservative roots. It’s enough to give him whiplash sometimes.
Jiyong rubs at his eyes and throws his comforter off--feet planted on the carpet and a weight on his shoulders he could really do without, thanks. He’s not in the mood to deal with life today. And when he eventually stands and goes to the window, it seems like today isn’t particularly in the mood to deal with it, either. How depressing. Jiyong perches on the windowsill, bowl in one hand and lighter in the other as he peers at the thick rain clouds overhead. It hasn’t actually started raining yet, but it’s going to. Jiyong wonders if that means the landscaping crew will go home early.
He takes a hit, holding smoke in his lungs until he can’t anymore. The yard is devoid of humans, but the trucks are still here, and he can’t hear anything except the wind pushing against the glass when he closes his eyes. Did I miss the apocalypse or something? Exhaling another thick puff of smoke, Jiyong sits there in the eerie quiet until he achieves a state a fuzziness he can work with, only leaving his room to hunt down something he can put in his stomach.
The problem, however, is that he’s too busy concocting the perfect breakfast in his mind to register the voices. Voices that are definitely originating from the kitchen, but he doesn’t realize this until he’s already standing in the middle of the room and oh...shit. His mother is there, huddled at the island counter with Alan and some of the other crewmembers while they discuss things Jiyong isn’t comprehending at all.
Maybe if I pretend I’m invisible they won’t notice me.
He starts moving towards the fridge, food being far more important than anything else at the moment. Except maybe Seunghyun, who’s not listening to the conversation because he’s staring at Jiyong; watching him over the cluster of bent heads. Jiyong notices that Seunghyun’s eyes dip lower, taking in the rumpled shirt he was wearing yesterday and his faded boxers that (naturally) have little cartoon dinosaurs all over them. He also notices how Seunghyun seems to be entertained by this, judging by the smirk on his forever stupidly handsome face. And when their gazes meet again, Jiyong doesn’t even have the brainpower to be mortified.
Clearly he is way more stoned than he thought he was.
“You can take care of that, right Seunghyun?” Alan’s loud voice cuts through the room, but gets no immediate answer. “Seunghyun?”
Jiyong can’t reign in his snort as Seunghyun jerks his attention back to the papers spread out on the counter.
“Sorry, Alan.” Seunghyun coughs into his fist and spares Jiyong a lightning quick glance. “What was the question?”
Alan heaves a sigh, accompanied by a chuckle or two from one of the other guys, and he tunes everything out again. He doesn’t need to know about bulb types and fertilizer, he only needs to know where the goddamn blender is because shit is about to get real. From the fridge, he grabs the milk. From the freezer, a tub of vanilla ice cream. From the pantry, his box of Cap’n Crunch. And lastly, he walks around the island counter, coming up beside Seunghyun to reach for two bananas from the basket of fruit. Seunghyun looks down at him, appearing adorably puzzled with his furrowed brow and twitching lips. Though it should be setting off all manner of warning bells in Jiyong’s head that they’re standing inches apart. He can feel Seunghyun’s body heat, too, which adds another layer of fuzz to his already fluffy brain.
“Good morning, sweetheart,” Soo Jin says, drawing his focus away from twinkling brown eyes.
Jiyong gives her a dopey smile. “Morning, mom.”
He knows she knows that he’s stoned out of his gourd when she squints at him and then tries not to laugh. Lucky for him, his mom has chosen to be awesome today, and he’s infinitely grateful that she doesn’t comment on it--instead turning to Alan to continue discussing Mega Important Garden Things. Jiyong offers Seunghyun a dopey smile as well and proceeds to get back to business.
Finding the blender in one of the cabinets under the sink, he plugs it in and fills a third of it with ice cream. Then in goes the milk and the bananas and probably way too much cereal, but whatever, it’ll still be great. He’s high. Everything is great. Jiyong puts the lid on and flicks the switch, wincing when the harsh sound grates against his ears. He chances a look behind him and now everyone else in the room is staring. But Seunghyun and his mom are the only ones who seem to think it’s funny and not annoying.
“Sorry,” he calls over the noise before shutting it off.
Alan releases another sigh, not bothering to mask his irritation. “As I was saying…”
Jiyong rolls his eyes. Prick. Tossing the lid in the sink, he slouches back against the counter and holds the jar with both hands, lifting it to his lips and taking a long, slow gulp.
He doesn’t really mean to moan loudly in unadulterated bliss, it just sort of...happens. And the way all six heads in the center of the room turn in unison to gape at him has Jiyong cracking the fuck up. Oh my god, your faces. Alan’s expression of indignation is priceless, but it’s Seunghyun’s that takes the cake--mouth parted in a smile that isn’t sure if it wants to be amused or surprised or something else. Jiyong is attempting to figure out what that something else is when his mom approaches and sweeps his hair away from his forehead.
“Jiyong, why don’t you go into the living room, okay?”
“Uh-huh.” He giggles, cradling the blender jar to his chest as he shuffles out of the kitchen and tries to remember what oxygen is.
The first thing Jiyong does when he parks it on the couch is text Nora , telling her that Seunghyun now has intimate knowledge of what he sounds like in bed. Her response is a full page of keysmash, but he can't even begin to translate it because he's actually crying from laughing so hard.
*
So, have you fucked him
yet?
Jiyong’s mouth falls open in an awed grin. He really has to hand it to Felix for being so delightfully blunt.
What, you think I’m gonna
win him over in 48hrs are
you delusional?
It worked for Cinderella.
Cinderella had a fairy
godmother.
My license to practice magic
was revoked last month,
times is tough.
I’m disappointed in you.
Same, bro.
Now stop talking to my sorry
ass and go seduce the hired
help.
Jiyong cackles. “So inappropriate,” he mumbles to himself.
“What’s inappropriate, sweety?”
Soo Jin sweeps into the kitchen, arms laden with a fresh batch of water bottles for the landscaping crew.
“My idiotic friends.”
“Ahh.” She smirks. “Glad to hear you’re keeping such good company.”
Oh, if you only knew. Wedging his phone back in his pocket, Jiyong returns his attention to his laptop screen and scowls at Job Application #8. He wonders how many he’s going to fill out before surrender becomes his only option.
And speaking of surrender…
“Afternoon, Mrs. Kwon,” Alan greets as he enters from the sliding doors, flanked by Seunghyun and two more crewmembers Jiyong’s never met.
The room is quick to fill with his mother’s happy chirping and Alan’s booming Santa Claus laughter, even though he resembles an aging Ken doll more than Saint Nick. Jiyong hunches over his computer and prays he blends in with the decor. If he never experiences another hearty back-slap or Alan’s silent judgment, it’ll be too soon.
“Hey.”
Jiyong clenches his jaw and lifts his head, giving Seunghyun a blank look because not controlling his facial features is only a recipe for humiliation. He congratulates himself when staring into his eyes doesn’t immediately lead to heart failure.
Though the guy doesn’t make it easy to avoid having a heart-attack, standing there in his usual flimsy, sweat-soaked work shirt and khaki shorts, nibbling on his bottom lip. Seunghyun raises his eyebrows in what appears to be uncertainty. And when no more words are forthcoming, Jiyong mirrors the eyebrow raising to spur him on. He prays it has nothing to do with his brief vocal performance from yesterday.
“Um...” Seunghyun comes nearer, like he’s about to share a secret. “Is there another bathroom I can use?”
Thank god. Jiyong nods, relieved for all of three seconds when he reminds himself where said bathroom is located. He snaps his laptop shut with jittery fingers and tucks it under his arm.
“Sure. Upstairs.”
There are, in fact, two bathrooms, but one of them belongs to his parents. The other? Well, the other is his, and getting to it actually involves walking through his room. Which means Seunghyun is going to pass by the bed that he sleeps in every night. And possibly even look at it. The same bed where he’s already had several graphic and incredibly detailed sex dreams. Someone please tell me why this is my life. Jiyong releases a slow breath and trudges up the stairs with the primary donor to his spank bank in tow.
“Oh, I didn’t realize…” Seunghyun trails off, having figured out where they are.
“It’s not a big deal.” Except that it totally is. Jiyong refrains from flailing and points to the door in the far left corner. “In there.”
“Thanks.”
And now he has the image of Seunghyun disappearing into his bathroom burned into his retinas. Jiyong can think of a few other scenarios that involve looking at Seunghyun’s sweaty back. Really, he can think of countless scenarios, but now isn’t exactly the time. Resigned, Jiyong leaves his laptop on his desk and goes to sit on the windowsill while he waits.
His room is austere compared to how it was when he was in high school. Bare walls, almost no furniture. It used to be an explosion of...stuff. Anything that could be taped or pinned to a flat surface, was. Concert tickets, photographs, cafe receipts, grocery lists, postcards, magazine articles, shitty drawings from the margins of his school notebooks, song lyrics. There were stupid toys everywhere. Stuffed animals, knick-knacks, crap he found on vacations and school trips. It was painfully juvenile. Something Jiyong is trying very hard not to be. He wonders if Seunghyun will think he’s odd.
I am odd.
He scoffs at himself and stares, unseeing, at the dull blue carpet. Then the bathroom door clicks loudly and he’s dragged back to reality. Reality being his wet dream come true wandering over to him, hands jammed in his pockets, and a determination on his face that has Jiyong pressing his back more firmly against the window pane.
“So...” Seunghyun’s voice is low, his smile timid and almost self-conscious as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “You spend a lot of time in the kitchen.”
A sharp laugh propels itself from Jiyong’s mouth. Maybe I’m not the odd one here. “Do you have a problem with that?” he asks.
“No.” Seunghyun inches closer and his smile widens. “I dunno, most kids like hiding away in their rooms. I always did.”
“My room doesn’t really feel like mine anymore. And I’m not most kids.”
“So I’m learning,” Seunghyun murmurs.
Are you flirting with me? Jiyong finds the courage to study Seunghyun for a moment, the curve of his lips and the humor in his eyes telling him the answer is probably yes. This realization sends an odd thrill directly to his center. Like the butterflies gnawed a tunnel right through him instead of hanging out for a while and making him nauseous.
The fact that Seunghyun’s concentration lingers, gaze heavy on Jiyong’s face, is more than he’s capable of dealing with and his courage leaks out of him just as swiftly as it arrived. He could use a drink. Multiple drinks. Alcoholic ones with no mixers and no ice. Jesus, I need to get out of here.
In his haste to do so, Jiyong stands up too fast, losing his balance, and next thing he knows there’s a strong hand gripping his arm.
“Easy.”
He swallows roughly, eyes flicking up to Seunghyun’s and holy mother of god you’re touching me. Suddenly the air around him is oppressive in its warmth; Jiyong too flustered and definitely not okay, not with Seunghyun so tangible and there. He can even smell him--the unmistakable scent of damp earth mingling with his body odor. Jiyong wants to bury his face in Seunghyun’s chest. But that would be super weird.
“W-we should, um, we should...go,” he says in a near whisper.
Seunghyun’s hand slides down his arm to cup his elbow briefly and Jiyong’s breath catches at the skin-on-skin contact. At the feeling of calloused fingers grazing hard bone. Fuckfuckfuck. He doesn’t know what to do in this situation. Doesn’t know what to do with the way Seunghyun is looking at him. Has been looking at him. So he just focuses on dark, dark eyes and not the full lips he’s spent so many hours fantasizing about.
“Right.” The word rumbles out of Seunghyun gravel-thick and he blinks once, his grip falling away.
Jiyong thinks he feels woozier now than he did after the headrush. It makes forward motion an issue, but he does manage to walk through his door and down the stairs, floating around his house on autopilot. The kitchen is distressingly empty and he’s hyper-aware of Seunghyun’s presence behind him as he opens a cabinet to find a glass, filling it with water. Jiyong refuses to turn around until he’s consumed at least half of it, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Is it cool if I grab some waters for the road?” Seunghyun asks from a distance that is much smaller than he was anticipating.
Jiyong coughs and nods. “Knock yourself out.” He waves at the fridge with a grimace, stumbling over his words. “Not- not literally, I mean.”
Seunghyun tosses him a look, his smile revealing those cute as hell dimples. “I know.”
Of course you know. He threads his fingers into his hair and pinches his lip between his teeth, staring intently at the floor. Jiyong decides he’s going to ask Seunghyun to dig him a hole so he can crawl inside of it and never come out ever again.
“What were you watching yesterday morning, by the way? I could hear it from the kitchen.”
Or we can keep talking, that works.
“Something narrated by David Attenborough. I, um, I can’t remember which doc, they all kind of blur together after a while.”
Placing five bottles on the counter next to the sink, Seunghyun shuts the fridge and leans against it, arms crossed loosely over his chest. Jiyong ignores the way it makes his biceps more prominent.
“I’m sure the weed helped.”
“Ahh,” he chokes out an awkward laugh, mumbling, “Yeah, that was kind of obvious, wasn’t it.”
Seunghyun nods slowly and grins. “Though Alan had no idea, he’s generally pretty clueless about shit like that. The rest of us thought it was hilarious.”
Oh, fantastic. Jiyong presses a hand to his cheek and he laughs again. At this rate he’s going to set the house on fire.
“Glad to be of service.”
He must be broadcasting his embarrassment loud and clear, because the way he’s being smiled at is alarmingly sweet. It’s too much and Jiyong wants to pull his shirt up over his face so Seunghyun can’t look at him anymore. You’re terrible, I hate you. Jiyong is still a big fat liar.
“So what are you always doing on your computer?” Seunghyun continues with the random line of questioning.
“Applying for jobs,” he answers, spinning one of his bracelets around his wrist. “It’s not going super well.”
“You need a job?”
Jiyong frowns at the skeptical tone of Seunghyun’s voice. “Yes? Why is that a surprise?”
“Your dad’s brand new Mercedes S600 made me assume you didn’t need one.”
Wow. He snorts. “Well you assumed wrong. Dad’s money, dad’s car. Jiyong has no money, therefore Jiyong has no car. Simple.”
The knot between Seunghyun’s brow intensifies and Jiyong imagines his isn’t much better. This is the most tired topic of conversation regarding his non-stereotypical “rich kid” life. Which apparently surprises the shit out of way too many people. Jiyong really hates that he has to explain himself, but everyone sees what they want to see, even Seunghyun, who keeps prodding anyway.
“But what about school?”
“My parents don’t pay for school,” he answers, hackles rising despite his efforts to chill out.
“Huh.”
This seems to confound Seunghyun on a deep level and Jiyong takes a step towards him, not really angry, but insulted enough to feel the need to defend himself. He inhales quickly, voice quiet yet controlled as he folds his arms, mirroring Seunghyun again.
“Y’know, just because they’re well-off doesn’t mean I’m some spoiled brat with shiny toys and a trust fund.” Jiyong hugs himself a little tighter and his words turn a little sharp. “I worked really fucking hard to get into college without anyone’s help and I plan on finishing the exact same way.”
All right, maybe he is a bit angry. And maybe Jiyong shouldn’t be taking his lifelong frustration out on Seunghyun, if the genuine guilt creeping onto his face is anything to go by. Is he a dick? He might be a dick. But at least he wasn’t the one jumping to conclusions based on luxury sedans and opulent landscaping plans. Jiyong is not his parents.
Seunghyun’s mouth falls open and his arms drop to his sides, his own cheeks pink in embarrassment now. “I didn’t--”
But he gets cut off, the sliding door whooshing faintly as one of his crewmembers from earlier darts inside.
“There you are, man. C’mon, we’re done for today, Alan’s waiting.”
“Jiyong, I’m--”
“It’s fine. Go,” Jiyong cuts him off this time, wearing a tight smile and not really meeting his gaze despite Seunghyun’s attempts to catch it.
After a beat, Seunghyun sighs and Jiyong watches him pick up the water bottles in silence, trailing after his coworker with tense shoulders and heavy feet. Well done. The glass door slides shut. Jiyong thinks that probably should’ve gone a bit differently, and he walks out of the kitchen feeling like a total asshole.
*
Despite their strange little non-argument, Jiyong ends up dreaming about Seunghyun for the next three days in a row. Horrible, perfect, and achingly realistic dreams where his subconscious acts out his desires in life-ruining HD.
Seunghyun taking him from behind, Jiyong’s forehead pressed against his bedroom wall with his back arched and his legs spread wide, those magnificent hands digging into his hips and Seunghyun’s teeth making his skin bloom with red.
Jiyong on his knees in the shower with Seunghyun’s cock in his mouth and Seunghyun’s hands tugging roughly on his hair; the sound of water hitting the tub basin overlapping with the sound of Seunghyun moaning his name.
Their legs tangled up in sheets that become grass. Seunghyun kissing him into pillows that become beds of dirt; kissing him until his entire body is warm and soft and pliant. This dream happens more than once, always ending with them sprawled out in his backyard, Seunghyun’s arms locked tight around his waist. It’s so depressingly fucking pleasant that Jiyong usually wakes up feeling sad instead of satisfied.
It’s also the only interaction he’s had with Seunghyun, imaginary though it may be. Because Jiyong refuses to talk to him. Avoids him, more specifically--hiding away in his room just like he’s supposed to. He acknowledges that this is pointless and stupid. And that he’s being a child, which he hates.
Jiyong is smart. But excelling at interpersonal relationships has nothing to do with intellect.
Lucky for him, the friends he does have seem to think he’s not a total waste of their time, as made abundantly clear by Nora, who decided to invade his space so completely it’s almost like having a new roommate.
“Do you think Seunghyun likes pizza?” she asks, face squished up against the window and a greasy, half-eaten slice of pepperoni in one hand.
“What kind of question is that? Who doesn’t like pizza?”
Jiyong’s spread out on his back with the delivery box balanced on his stomach, palms caressing the rough fibers of the carpet absently. They smoked a bowl earlier, which was an excellent idea. Now he doesn’t feel so moody.
“Maybe you should bring him some.”
“Hell no.”
Nora turns away from the window to waggle her eyebrows at him. “But he’s probably hungry after all that bending over.”
Please don’t. Jiyong whines, shoving the pizza box onto the floor, and rolls over.
“Let him starve,” he groans into the crook of his arm.
“What a grinch.” Nora kicks gently at his head, her toes poking his cheek. Jiyong chuckles and smacks her leg to make her stop.
“I don’t like sharing.”
“You’re sharing with me.”
“Nora is special.”
“Damn right Nora’s special,” she says, laughing. But her amusement quickly turns into something else. “Ohhhoho, damn.”
Jiyong twists his neck to look at her. She’s staring out the window with an expression he can only label as impressed. “What?”
“What do you mean ‘what’?”
“What happened?”
“I’m not telling,” Nora taunts, and her lips curl up at the corners in a secretive smile.
“Noraaa.” He rolls over onto his back again, limbs askew as he glares at her upside down.
“Nuh-uh,” she mumbles around a mouthful of pizza and shakes her head. “Not until you go talk to him. You’ll thank me when you do.”
“But--”
“Dude, no buts.” Nora’s eyes light up and she giggles, taking another bite. “Well, yeah, butts,” she continues, glancing pointedly out at the backyard.
“I’m so confused.”
“You wouldn’t be if you went downstairs already.”
“But Seunghyun,” he whines again.
“Who you owe an apology,” Nora reminds him sternly.
“Hey, he owes me one too.”
Jiyong pouts, letting his arms flop out on the floor. He really doesn’t want to move right now, perfectly content to remain here in his peaceful, Seunghyun-free bubble. But Nora has a point, he does need to apologize. And maybe the fact that he’s stoned is actually a good thing and he won’t make a fool out of himself a second time. Wishful thinking, jackass.
Nora’s hand pushes at his shoulder. “Whatever, just go down to the kitchen. And hurry up,” she commands, forcing his body into an upright position.
“Why am I hurrying?” Jiyong asks, scrubbing at his face as he crawls over to the bed to help himself stand. He sways a little and ruffles his hair, readjusting his shirt and hiking his jeans up.
“Oh my god, you look fine. GO. NOW.”
He jumps when she yells, narrowing his eyes and grumbling a cranky, “Jesus, okay, I’m going.”
Going? Yes. Hurrying? Not so much. Jiyong grips the bannister on the stairs to keep himself steady, out of sorts now that he’s vertical and no longer within the safety of his bedroom. The rest of the house feels overly large as a result--strange and silent until he rounds the corner into the kitchen and collides with something that is definitely moving and not a wall. What the--
“Jiyong,” a familiar voice states, and he realizes there are a pair of wide hands on his shoulders.
When he takes a step back, he is 100% not prepared for what he sees.
“Whoa...tank top,” Jiyong croaks, hooded eyes glued to an exposed collarbone and toned arms and patches of sweat soaking through light gray fabric.
“What?”
But Jiyong isn’t listening. He’s mesmerized by what he can see under the tight material hugging Seunghyun’s lean frame. So mesmerized that he can’t control the urge to reach out and touch. Jiyong’s fingers connect with the solid planes of Seunghyun’s chest for all of three seconds before a much larger hand wraps around his and draws it away.
“Jiyong are you…are you high?” Seunghyun laughs and the sound is so lovely. Was it always this lovely? Jiyong wants to make it happen again.
“Yep,” he answers with a single nod and a slight giggle, head lolling back to meet Seunghyun’s too intense gaze.
“Of course you’re stoned when I’m about to apologize,” Seunghyun murmurs.
Jiyong feels the grin on his face, feels the ache in his cheeks from how big it is. He can also feel the warmth of the fingers that haven’t let go of his. You’re holding my hand. And that brings the butterflies back, except the flutter in his stomach isn’t nauseating it’s...good. Really good.
Seunghyun returns his grin, those smile lines crinkling at the edges of his eyes as he huffs another soft laugh.
“And I am sorry, you know, for what I said the other day. That was...a really shitty thing to do.”
His grin falters. “Yeah, it was.”
“It’s just--” Seunghyun pauses, the hand on Jiyong’s shoulder slipping lower, his fingers curling tighter like he wants Jiyong to understand just how much he means it. “This is gonna sound awful, but...after three years of working jobs for people with money, it’s easy to think you have them all figured out when they never challenge your preconceptions. So, thank you. For pulling my head out of my own ass.”
Jiyong laughs. He’s going to be officially fucking upset if Seunghyun turns out to be not just unfairly attractive, but unfairly intelligent as well. He doesn’t even know how old Seunghyun is. Did he go to school? Is he still in school? Where? What does he study? Jiyong almost loses himself to the internal barrage of questions, but then Seunghyun squeezes his hand, just a little bit, and it jolts him back to the present.
“I, uh, I didn’t mean to snap at you, either,” Jiyong mumbles.
“It’s okay.”
His eyes flicker along the contours of Seunghyun’s face and his smile turns rueful. “It’s not, actually. But it happened. And I’m sorry.”
Seunghyun bobs his head slowly, concentration unwavering. He’s giving Jiyong that look again and it brings a fresh wave of nerves crashing down around him.
“Apology accepted.”
“Good.”
Gnawing on his lip, Jiyong peers up at Seunghyun, his conscience pounds lighter than it was a few minutes ago. He notices, belatedly, how intimate they must seem huddled close like this in the doorway and it sort of freaks him out. So he takes another step back, leaning against the doorframe. Their arms fall limp at their sides. His fingers feel weird, like they’re not part of his body anymore. Seunghyun’s hands disappear into his pockets. Jiyong envies Seunghyun’s khakis.
“Can I ask--” He hesitates as he speaks, his mouth kind of running off on its own before his brain has a chance to commit. “--something personal?”
“Um, yeah, go for it.”
Don’t cave, just do. Jiyong rocks back onto his heels, fingers twitching against his thigh. He takes a deep breath. “How old are you?”
A burst of laughter spills from Seunghyun’s mouth, the sound buoyant, and it makes his face scrunch up in this really wonderful way that has Jiyong’s stomach bunching into all kinds of complicated knots.
“Twenty-five,” Seunghyun answers, his head tilting to catch Jiyong’s gaze and hold it.
Older than he thought, then. Now Jiyong is exceptionally curious. He wants more than five minutes alone with Seunghyun--wants time to get to know him. His lips quirk and he stares down at his feet, giddy at the thought.
“I can’t tell, are you pleased or disappointed?”
When he lifts his head, Seunghyun is still smiling and still very difficult to look at. “Neither,” Jiyong admits. “Can I ask another?” Because if he doesn’t keep talking there’s a chance he might try to touch Seunghyun again.
“You can.”
He goes with the first question he can think of. “Last name?”
“Choi.”
“Siblings?”
“An older sister.”
“Where did you grow up?”
“Outside of Portland.”
Jiyong’s chest starts to fill with an odd sense of gratification as he collects each piece of information, like Seunghyun is somehow becoming more real in the process--not a mythical creature, but an actual person with a history that he wants to know every detail of.
“School?”
“Here, at the university.”
“Major.”
“Business.”
“Shit.” Didn’t see that one coming.
“Surprised?”
He laughs, blushing at being caught. “A little.”
“Don’t worry, you’re not the only one,” Seunghyun reassures him, joking at his own expense and offering him a smile that carries a hint of bitterness.
Jiyong senses a story there. But since the universe hates him, they’re interrupted before he can utter another syllable--the door to the garage flying open at the end of the hall. His pulse skips a few thousand beats.
Of all people, it’s his father who waddles in with both arms full of bulging paper bags. “Ah, Jiyong. Just the man I was looking for. Can you help me with the groceries?”
“Sure, dad.”
From where they’re standing, Young Hwan can’t see Seunghyun on the other side of the doorway. Jiyong motions with his chin and Seunghyun takes the hint, albeit slower than he should--lingering there in front of him until the last minute, expression almost playful. Challenging. Flirtatious.
You asshole, he communicates with his eyes. Seunghyun swallows yet another laugh and saunters backwards, one eyebrow arched and lip caught between his teeth.
Great, just what Jiyong needs, more spank bank material. Yay.
“Go,” he mouths, shooing the moron with a frantic hand just as his dad sidles up to him, kissing him on the head like the massive, overly-affectionate cheeseball that he is.
“Thanks, kiddo,” Young Hwan says cheerfully, ducking into the now deserted kitchen.
Jiyong slumps against the wall and looks up at the mile-high ceiling, wondering how the hell he’s going to get through this. Because his heart’s still beating too fast and he feels like maybe he needs to lie down on the floor and wait until he’s not stoned anymore to process the last ten minutes.
Watch this all be one giant, weed-induced fever dream.
But his meltdown will have to wait. Plus there might be snacks in those grocery bags and Nora probably already finished their pizza like the bad, bad friend that she is. In wordless agreement, Jiyong’s stomach grumbles, and he heads for the garage with a loud sigh.
*
Harsh sun beats down upon Jiyong’s gradually melting face as he ambles along the sidewalk on his way home. It’s so hot he’s pretty sure his brain has gone beyond well-done and reached a state of crispiness it hasn’t experienced since mid-terms. He wipes a layer of sweat from his forehead, unsticking his t-shirt from his body and shaking it out. Guhhh, I wanna die. The very thin and almost imperceptible silver lining to this moment is that he’s no longer unemployed, the second-run movie theater in town having taken on the role of his saving grace. It’s a total shit-hole and the pay is lousy. But a job is a job, and maybe he can actually start chipping away at his summer reading list when it’s not too busy. Which will probably be always. Another bonus is that it’s within walking distance. Sort of. Maybe he should think about unearthing his old bike from the murky depths of the basement.
“Oh thank god. Jiyong, honey, can you come here real quick?” his mom calls to him from across the yard as he shuffles towards their house.
Reluctantly, he jogs over to the driveway where Soo Jin is half-inside her car, digging in her purse with a Very Distressed look on her face.
“What’s up?” Jiyong pants, shaking out his shirt again. God, he can’t wait to shower.
“I left some things at the school, but I don’t think I’ll be back before Alan and the guys take off. Be my knight in shining armor and bring this to him?”
Soo Jin hands him an envelope and offers a brief smile. Work must be really stressing her out, because the smile doesn’t come anywhere near reaching her eyes. Jiyong nods and his mother hurriedly climbs all the way into her car, slamming the door and turning the keys in the ignition. She’s gone before he can even think to wave goodbye.
“All right, then.”
Wandering around the perimeter of the house, he finds the landscaping crew packing up their equipment for the day. Jiyong even has to take a moment to appreciate how his yard looks absolutely nothing like it did a couple weeks ago, all manner of flora bursting from every corner of their property. His mom’s really outdone herself this time, because they’re only about half-way finished. Sighing, Jiyong grimaces and uses his free hand to wipe his forehead again. At least now he fits in with all the other sweaty dudes. I still wanna die.
Alan is in the middle of a conversation with one of his crewmembers when Jiyong spots him near the gazebo. A crewmember who is also shirtless. The same crewmember that he has dirty thoughts about at least twenty times a day. Fuck my life. Jiyong slows his pace in a sad effort to postpone his fate. And perhaps to also shamelessly check out the golden expanse of Seunghyun’s back--the breadth of his sun-pinkened shoulders and the slight curve of his waist. How the hell is he supposed to talk to Alan, or breathe for that matter, when Seunghyun’s everything is like a physical assault on his senses? For fuck’s sake, even your back has dimples. Jiyong steels himself and soldiers on.
Of course, at the exact moment he reaches the pair, something Alan says makes Seunghyun laugh loudly and with his whole body. But since that’s not nearly painful enough, he catches a glimpse of a dusky nipple, and then pivots on his heel so fast he nearly trips over his own feet.
Nuh-uh, nope, screw that.
“Jiyong!” Alan’s big voice stops him in his tracks. Jiyong braces for impact, but still flinches when the older man slaps him on the back, leading him over to the gazebo where Seunghyun is, unfortunately, still standing. “What brings you all the way out here?”
“Um…” he fumbles for words that have nothing to do with “abs” or “pecs” or “happy trail” and averts his eyes from the offensive sight. “My mom wanted me to give you this.” Jiyong delivers the now crinkled envelope to Alan, letting out a wheezy laugh and staring at the grass. “She had to run back to the school for a bit.”
“Oh, great. Thanks, champ,” Alan replies, back slap #2 actually making Jiyong lurch forward with the force of impact.
He hears a muffled giggle to his left. Seunghyun covering his mouth with his hand, eyes dancing with humor. Jiyong wants to punch him. Or at least make him put his goddamn shirt on. Because all of that is about to give Jiyong heatstroke.
“So what do you think? Pretty neat, huh?”
Alan is asking him a question, his animated tone registering in Jiyong’s lust-addled brain, but all he comprehends is the bead of sweat sliding its way down the middle of Seunghyun’s torso. He follows it until it dies a blissful death in the waistband of Seunghyun’s underwear. That he can see, because those fucking khaki shorts are slung so low they’re hanging onto his hips for dear life. Jiyong will forever be envious of Seunghyun’s pants.
“It’s uh...” Jiyong’s tongue darts out to wet his lips, not looking at the yard when he answers distantly, “It’s nice. Really, really...nice.”
“Glad to hear it, sport.”
Back slap #3 nearly knocks his eyes from his skull and he wonders if Alan is doing it on purpose now. Plus who the hell talks like that? Jiyong stumbles, a firm hand grabbing him by the arm. Hello, deja vu. Carefully, he looks up, heart thundering in his ears so hard it pretty much drowns out everything else. Seunghyun’s gaze is bright and impossibly warm and Jiyong comes very close to moaning when he feels a calloused thumb stroke the inside of his elbow.
“Hi,” Seunghyun says quietly, mouth lifting in its customary half-smile.
He refuses to make words. So he just sort of grunts in reply, which causes that smile to crack a little wider. Jiyong gives himself a gold star.
“Sorry about Alan, he’s a lot to handle.”
“I said put it in the truck not take it apart, you idiot!” Alan bellows across the yard, oblivious to their murmuring, and stomps off in a blaze of sunburnt fury.
“No kidding,” Jiyong huffs, taking a step in reverse because they are way too close for comfort. He rubs his fingers over the patch of skin Seunghyun touched and keeps his focus on a newly planted flower bed in the distance.
“You okay?” Seunghyun asks.
When Jiyong turns, he finds thick eyebrows knotted in obvious concern. Which shouldn’t be more upsetting than the fact that Seunghyun is half-naked, but it is, and suddenly it’s like all the heat in the universe has decided to come live in his cheeks. He feels like his entire body is melting now.
“Yeah?”
“Maybe you should go inside,” Seunghyun suggests, closing the gap between them to clasp his shoulder. “You seem pretty flushed. Don’t want you passing out.”
Oh my god, would you-- His eyes dart low, sweeping over Seunghyun’s gleaming collarbones, and he worries his bottom lip until it hurts. This is so unfair.
“You’re right,” he almost squeaks, sort of laughing as he steps away again. “W-water sounds pretty great right now.” Or an arctic shower. Jiyong would bet all the money in the world that Seunghyun knows exactly what he’s going to do once he’s alone in his room.
The look he gets in return basically confirms it, Seunghyun’s eyes twinkling and lips slanting upwards into a smirk. For a moment, Jiyong can only stand there and stare back at him, wondering how the hell he ended up here. Not literally in his backyard, but here, in front of Seunghyun, the tension heavy enough to leave a dent in the earth.
A loud clatter breaks the spell and Jiyong jolts, nervously pushing damp hair off of his forehead.
“I, uh, I think Alan might need your help,” he says, motioning to the dumbass at the other end of the yard who is currently wrestling with an unruly garden hose.
“Ah, yeah.” Seunghyun chuckles, beginning to head in that direction. “Can’t let the hose win.”
He snorts. “See you tomorrow.”
“Take care of yourself, Jiyong,” Seunghyun returns. His smile is sweet enough to rot every tooth in a ten mile radius.
Jiyong spins around fully at that, walking backwards towards the house, and impulsively lifts his right hand to wiggle his fingers. “I intend to,” he blurts, with a bravado he didn’t even know he was capable of.
Holy shit.
But the ungodly heat crawling underneath his skin is worth it. Because Seunghyun laughs, rubbing at the back of his neck while he watches Jiyong go, something a bit darker in the way his eyes are twinkling. Something heady and not-so-sweet.
As he wanders, stunned, into the house, Jiyong hopes Seunghyun wishes it was his hand instead.
*
During his training at the movie theater, Jiyong’s mind is a complete mess. He’s listening to the acne-ridden sixteen year-old tell him how to navigate the register and work the popcorn machine, but what he’s thinking about is how terrifying it is that Seunghyun might really reciprocate his…his what? Crush? Jiyong almost snorts with laughter in the middle of Zach’s spiel about cleaning the soda fountain. Do grown men still get crushes? The thought of grown men in relation to Seunghyun has Jiyong’s brain derailing into shockingly pornographic territory and he misses all of the instructions for doing inventory.
“Hey, man,” Zach says, reclaiming his attention.
Jiyong raises his eyebrows. He’s well aware that there’s no way he can pretend he was listening.
“Hmm?”
“Did you even hear a word I just said?”
“Maybe one or two,” he admits without embarrassment.
Zach heaves a sigh, slouching over the concessions counter. “Whatever. It’s not like Ed really cares about half of this shit anyway.” He looks at Jiyong over his shoulder. “You smoke?”
“Yeah.”
“Awesome,” Zach replies, giving him a lazy grin and tucking a lock of his long blonde hair behind a gauged ear. Something in his eyes tells Jiyong that he just earned major brownie points. “Wanna split a j after the matinee?”
Is this real life? His brow furrows and he tugs on the knot of his tie. He tied it too tight this morning in a hurry to get out the door.
“You don’t, um...get caught?”
“Nope. Sometimes Ed partakes, too.”
Jiyong laughs. “How the hell has this place survived for so long?”
“Wishes and luck,” Zach murmurs, smirking like the clever little shit that he probably is.
Perhaps his job won’t be as mind-numbing as he thought.
After he shadows Zach for the first “rush” (a whopping total of about four or five customers), they wind through the maze of back hallways until they reach the wide alley behind the building. Jiyong learns that Zach is actually seventeen, is obsessed with Harry Potter, and wants to study animation when he goes to college next year. As one of the main people he’ll be working with for the next couple months, Jiyong thinks Zach isn’t so bad. Their boss, Ed, isn’t so bad either, although he’s a little strange, and not in the endearing sort of way. At least it’ll keep things interesting.
Later that afternoon, Jiyong walks home feeling a bit less butt-hurt about being trapped in the suburbs all summer.