“What are you making?” Jongdae sidles up behind his friend and embraces him, fitting his jaw in the curve of his neck like they’re two matching puzzle pieces. The great thing about his friendship with Minseok is how he can get away with things like this and there’s never any suspicion. This is just the way they were meant to be: affectionate to a questionable degree. He smiles as he inhales Minseok’s muted scent of various citrus fruit — lemons, oranges, grapefruit. It’s a strange but fitting mixture, he thinks.

Minseok starts to giggle, complaining that Jongdae’s tickling him and Jongdae teasingly blows air on his neck. He gets elbowed in the gut as a result but that’s okay. He doesn’t mind. It’s their dynamic. He messes with Minseok and Minseok causes him some kind of bodily harm.

He follows the gamer around awkwardly, refusing to let go. A cabinet sits above the stove and Minseok rises onto his toes to open its door and grab a small tube of garlic powder. Jongdae smiles lightly, cooing mentally over how short is.

“None of your business,” Minseok replies, slamming the cabinet shut.

“Why won’t you tell me?” Jongdae tightens his grip around the older man and sways them left to right.

“Go home,” Minseok changes subjects, settling the garlic on the counter. “I’ll come get you before my parents get here.”

Jongdae whines. “You’re trying to get rid of me.”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m trying to do.” Minseok turns around in his arms. He pokes Jongdae in the chest firmly. “I need you to go so I can cook in peace. You’re not going to do anything but distract me.”

“I can help!” Jongdae pouts. He doesn’t want to leave. If he leaves, he can’t pretend they’re actually domestic. Wait. That’s not why he wants to stay. He wants to stay to pester Minseok as he tries to cook.

“Go.”

Jongdae’s fingers twitch involuntarily behind Minseok’s back. Moving his hands to work out to the prickly feeling running through his fingers, he brushes them against the older man’s shirt, feeling where his spine just barely juts out from his back.

Minseok still has that expecting look on his face as he waits to be left alone to cook. “If my water over-boils, I’m poisoning you,” he says. Jongdae knows it’s not just an empty threat.

He stops rubbing circles into Minseok’s back and sighs dramatically.

“Just leave, you big idiot.”

Sliding his hands up to Minseok’s shoulders, he parts from his best friend, pushing them an arms-length apart. “Fine,” he begrudgingly accepts. “But I’m taking something with me when I go.”

Minseok’s browline crinkles with confusion. “Wha—”

He steals a kiss from the older man, leaving no time for Minseok to retaliate as he runs from the kitchen and out of the apartment to his own, not even bothering to take his shoes.

In the kitchen, Minseok rolls his eyes. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and wipes the back of his hand on the front of his jeans.

“Stupid Jongdae,” he muses, a light smile on his face as he turns around to his pot of boiling water.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

He likes to think that neither of them planned to end up in the same apartment building, on the same floor, three apartments down from one another. He likes to believe it was chance even though the probability of it happening was quite small. He and Jongdae attended different universities (since Minseok was going through a phase where he needed his space and wanted to prove he could survive the stress of college with his condition without Jongdae following him like a shadow like he did in high school). When Minseok was looking for a place to live after he graduated, not wanting to live with his family, he didn’t tell anyone where he was moving until after he had already moved in — not even his parents knew. There was no way his idiot of a best friend could have known but still, somehow, a month after Minseok moved in to his apartment, he ran into Jongdae moving into his own down the hall.

If Jongdae was going to (essentially) stalk him, he should have just moved in, Minseok thinks. There’s no point in the both of them renting out two-bedroom apartments in the same building, especially since Jongdae spends more time at Minseok’s place than he does at his own. Though it’s probably for the best that they’re not roommates because Minseok would have most likely killed Jongdae by now and blamed it on temporary insanity.

Banging his fist on the younger man’s door for the third time, Minseok crosses his arms over his chest. He hates Jongdae, he really does. He doesn’t venture down the hall to Jongdae’s apartment often — not because he doesn’t like to leave his house but because Jongdae’s apartment smells vaguely of sweaty socks and musky cologne — and the one time he does, Jongdae doesn't answer.

He tries the doorknob. It turns. Frowning because the door has been open this entire time, he enters his friend’s home, nose wrinkling as soon as the odor that lingers inside the place attacks his olfactory senses. Walking through the entrance corridor, he yells out the other’s name. As he traverses through the house, he makes a note to force Jongdae to clean up the place a little bit. It’s a mess. There are jackets and shirts tossed over the arms of the dark brown sofa sitting in the living area and a pile of all white clothes sitting in the middle of the walkway. Kicking the pile to the side, he turns down the hall leading to the bedrooms. Grimacing at the stray sheets of paper littered around, he starts to call out Jongdae’s name again, cutting off in between syllables when he realizes that the shower is running and he can hear Jongdae singing.

Backtracking the couple steps he took past the bathroom, he twists the doorknob. Open. Jongdae should really work on locking his doors. And he talks about how worried he gets when he thinks about how Minseok is alone in his house, afraid someone’s going to break in and he won’t even be there to save his ‘damsel-in-distress’. He once even almost ran out to buy an indoor surveillance camera system so he can monitor Minseok’s safety. Minseok scoffs. At least he doesn’t leave his doors wide open for anyone to walk in.

Poking his head into the bathroom, Minseok’s temporarily blinded by a white haze of steam and he wonders how hot the water Jongdae’s using in there. Sliding into the room, he closes the door behind him gently, the sound of the lock coincidentally timed with Jongdae cutting the water off.

“I came in like a wreeeeeecking— holy , Minseok.” Jongdae does everything but scream when he notices him, flinging water all over the place as he throws his arms around, scrambling for the blue towel hanging off the side of the sink. Tying it around his waist, he looks at the gamer with wide, scandalized eyes.

Minseok takes great pride in the flush that spreads over Jongdae’s face and stretches just below his collarbones, knowing it’s not from his shower. Embarrassing Jongdae will never stop feeling wonderful. It’s payback for all of the crap he has to put up with every day as Jongdae’s best friend.

“You can’t do that!”

The older man puffs out his cheeks and tilts his head to the side innocently. “Do what?”

“Scare the out of people when they’re getting out of the shower. That’s what murders in horror movies do.” The journalist collapses onto the closed toilet seat and buries his face in his hands, his adrenaline from the scare gone. “You can’t look completely adorable while you do it either. That’s what murderers in real life do.”

“Get dressed. My parents should be here soon.”

Patting his cheeks one last time, Jongdae stands. He walks past Minseok to open the door — he makes sure to shake his head like he’s a wet dog and sprinkle Minseok with water as he does so — and exit the bathroom, walking the few steps remaining down the hall to his bedroom.

Standing there in the bathroom, Minseok’s eyes slowly narrow into thin lines. His anger quickly dissipates, though, when Jongdae calls from him, asking what he should wear. Wiping the droplets of water from his face, Minseok invites himself into Jongdae’s room. He flops onto his friend’s bed.

Jongdae’s standing in front of his closet, hands on his hips and towel already pooled around his ankles: a sight Minseok’s seen many times before.

There’s a large drop of water sitting right in the middle of the tan birthmark on Jongdae’s left cheek and Minseok giggle-snorts. “Maybe you should dry off first.”

“I would have dried off but you threw off my groove,” Jongdae explains, filing through his clothes.

“If your groove consists of you singing American pop songs off-key, I think you need to reevaluate your life.”

Jongdae hushes him as he pulls out a dark blue plaid shirt and black jeans. He turns around and holds the items in front of him, covering his body. “How’s this?”

“Get dressed, Jongdae. Neither I nor my parents care what you wear. Plus, you don’t have the most attractive body to look at.”

“Maybe I should meet them in my birthday suit.”

“Clothes. On. Now. I will dress you myself if I have to.”

Something in Jongdae’s eyes lights up and Minseok bites back a groan. He walked right into that.

Jongdae tosses the articles of clothing at Minseok and they fall to the floor in front of the bed. Minseok buries his face in the blankets.

He mumbles into them, “I’m not putting your boxers on for you.”

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

His mother flutters over to hug Jongdae before she even looks at her own son’s face and Minseok is not at all surprised. She’s always been fond of the other. Ignoring his mother’s coos over how handsome Jongdae’s become — he looks as ugly as always, to be honest — Minseok allows himself to be pulled into a hug by his father. His dad’s face has aged decently well (he’s where Minseok got his face from, contrary to popular belief that he must look like his mother) and Minseok’s always happy to see the lively gleam in his father’s eyes. In his mother’s too. It’s obvious they’re both so content with their lives and Minseok can only help he’s like that when he gets to be their age.

“Min Min!” His mother calls after she releases Jongdae.

Minseok gladly wraps his arms around his mother. He scowls over her shoulder at Jongdae’s giggling. “I think Jongdae is jealous he doesn’t have a nickname from you, mom,” he says.

Jongdae glares at him and Minseok sticks out his tongue.

His mother laughs heartily and the sound warms Minseok inside out. Wow. He never noticed but he really missed his parents. “How about Dae Dae?”

“It’s okay, Mrs. Kim, you don’t —”

Oh, no. Jongdae’s not getting out of this one. “He told me earlier today he wants to be called DaePoo,” Minseok offers.

His mother opens her arms and drags Jongdae into the hug. “Min Min and DaePoo, my two precious boys.”

Minseok laughs at the pained expression on Jongdae’s face.

“So, what’s for dinner?” His father asks.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

Dinner is painful.

While Minseok moves the food — nothing special, just a large bowl of classic spaghetti since he was in the mood for western — from the kitchen to the small foldable table in the living room, everyone finds a space on the floor to sit. Minseok’s parents seat themselves on one side of the table and somehow Minseok finds himself in Jongdae’s lap when he finally settles down as well. He distinctly remembers sitting on the floor beside Jongdae, but he doesn’t question their current sitting arrangement. It’s not like he really minds.

The time spent eating is fine. His parents talk about how their handcraft shop back home is doing and how his sister says she misses him. Minseok talks about how he’s been wanting to get a cat to keep him company. Jongdae makes fun of him and calls him a cat-lady in the making. It isn’t until they’ve all eaten their fill and no longer have the distraction of empty stomachs that it all goes downhill.

“When are you two adopting?”

Minseok chokes on every single atom floating in the air.

“I’m trying to get a promotion at work. Minseok and I decided we’d look into the process either when I get it or when I receive a pay raise.”

Woah. Wait a minute. Minseok turns over his shoulder to hush his annoying friend but Jongdae hushes him instead, pressing their lips together in a quick kiss.

While Minseok thinks of a way to murder Jongdae in front of his parents without them seeing (which is actually quite difficult), his father decides to hop aboard the let’s-tease-Minseok train.

“Boy or girl?”

“Dad!” Minseok whines, looking at his dad with betrayal clear in his eyes. You were supposed to be on my side. How dare you?

“A girl. Definitely. Minnie holding a cute little baby girl is such a sweet image, isn’t it.”

Groaning, Minseok runs his hands over his face. The entire world is against him. He could never trust Jongdae but now he can’t rely on his parents either. He takes it back. He didn’t miss his parents. He didn’t miss them at all because they’re horrible people who team with Jongdae against their son to cause him distress and he hates it when they do that. It makes him think he’s never going to meet anyone special and end up spending the rest of his life with Jongdae. A lifetime of Kim Jongdae should be listed as a cruel and unusual punishment.

His father’s hearty laugh reaches his ears. “We’re just messing with you, son.”

“We know you and DaePoo—”

Minseok cackles. Jongdae punches him in the leg.

“—are only friends,” his mother adds. “But you guys are so cute, we can’t help it.”

Yeah, they’re cute. They’re going to be even cuter when Minseok strangles Jongdae after his parents leave.

The time for his friend’s doom comes sooner than expected when his parents help each other off the floor and announce that they’re going to head home.

“You’re leaving already?”

His mother shakes her head. “We have a long day ahead of us at the shop,” she says. “And it looks like you’re ready to hurt poor Jongdae.”

Oh, I’ll hurt him all right. Clambering off Jongdae’s lap, he walks his parents to the door with Jongdae following behind him as per usual. His mother wraps her arms around the both of them. “Call home for once, will you?” she requests and Minseok nods obediently before he kisses her cheek.

The two young men wave them off, watching the couple walk toward the stairs down the hall. Before they disappear from sight, Jongdae yells out, "Bye, mom. Bye, dad."

Minseok stomps on his foot and Jongdae's shout of pain mixes with the sound of his parents' laughter.

"You're a horrible person," Jongdae complains, precariously balancing on one leg as he rubs his injured foot.

Minseok turns around to go back into his apartment. "Go home, Jongdae."

He slams the door shut behind him.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

you, you, all of you, Lu Han thinks as he cuts around people on the sidewalk. Glancing at the open text message on his phone, he searches the surrounding buildings for the address in the message. He has a terrible sense of direction when it comes to things like this. His cheap, ty phone doesn’t even have a GPS function. Trying to read the street signs as he passes them, he blinks when someone walks straight into his path of travel and slows down their pace.

“What the actual ,” he growls too quietly to be heard. He’s not willing to slow down as well and at this time of day there isn’t any available space on the sidewalk for him to walk around. Grumbling under his breath, he kindly shoves the man in front of him to the side, pushing him into a group of girls walking in the opposite direction.

The guy yells after him, telling him to watch where he’s going. Lu Han raises his middle finger over his shoulder for the everyone to see.

He looks back the address again when he passes by the same row of buildings as ten minutes ago. He hasn't made any turns. How the hell did he walk in a giant circle? Moving out of the flow of sidewalk traffic, he stops to regroup. Something is wrong here. Looking around, he randomly grabs the next person who walks past. His victim is a young lady with dyed dirty blond hair and an oddly pointed noise. Lu Han thinks he should tell her that whoever her plastic surgeon was deserves to have their license revoked, but decides against it for the sake of her not walking away.

"What the hell?! Let go of me." She struggles in his grip, probably thinking he’s trying to make a move on her.

"Chill, woman. I'm looking for this place. You know where it is?" He releases her arm and shows her the address on his phone.

She nods. "Yeah, I know."

He nods as well. She stares at him. His eye twitches.

"Are you going to ing tell me where the it is or are we going to stand here all damn day? I didn't ask you where it is for you to look at me with your misshaped eyes and your crooked Pinocchio nose."

She flinches at his words and he rolls his eyes. He follows her arm when she points in the direction he just came from. "If you walk down that way and take a right at the intersection, it should be right there."

Lu Han doesn't pay her another glance as he walks away in the direction advised.

"Aren't you going to say 'thank you'?!"

Lu Han doesn’t even bother to respond.

He doesn’t exactly know how he could have missed it before. Multiple times. Minseok said it was a small place but a building that spans across half the street is in no way small. A glass wall faces the street and the owners have scribbled cute little messages onto the windows to entice people into coming into their cafe. There are cute drawn pictures of couples and families and pets and Lu Han has to force himself through the glass doors of the place so he doesn't attempt to smudge it off.

He spots Minseok immediately when he walks into the place. The Korean man is sitting at one of the tables near the back, his head leaning up against the wall. Minseok finds his gaze before he's even made it halfway to the table and the cute thing smiles. Lu Han would smile back if he wasn't still simmering in anger so he lifts his hand in a wave instead.

“What are you doing here alone?” Lu Han asks as he slips into the seat opposite Minseok.

“Jongdae was here earlier. For his lunch break,” Minseok adds as an after-statement. “He left a couple minutes ago without taking me home ‘cause he was late. You’re the only person I know in real life so I was hoping…” He looks down at the table, where his hands are folded.

Lu Han scrunches up his nose. He really wishes Minseok would stop with the overly cute look. It makes him want to shield the small man away from the rest of the world and that sounds like the beginning of a kidnapping . “Do I look like a ing taxi service to you?”

Minseok shivers but Lu Han recognizes the barely noticeable action for what it is, a flinch. Before he can apologize Minseok shakes his head.

“No. I mean, technically you won’t be taking me home considering you don’t drive. I just want someone to accompany me. I’m not used to traveling alone. Jongdae’s usually with me,” he explains, pressing his index fingers together.

Lu Han didn’t think anyone but Japanese anime schoolgirls did that. He rubs the heel of his palm over his chest as if that will ease the sudden strange pressure building in his lungs.

“Are you and Jongdae together?”

The shy upturn of Minseok’s lips immediately morphs into a deep frown. “Oh dear God, no. Please don’t be mistaken. We’re just friends. I’m a little too dependent on him because he’s the only person beside my parents I ever feel truly at ease with.”

Lu Han is almost 100% sure Minseok is semi afraid of him so… “Why’d you call me? We hardly even know each other.”

Minseok reaches for his cup full of tea sitting off to the side of the table. “You said I could.”

“No, I didn’t.”

He takes a sip. “Yes, you did.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Yes, I… You did not just successfully rope me into that.” Lu Han thins his lips, unhappy at being fooled by such an old trick.

But Minseok’s smile blossoms like buds in the springtime so it’s sort of okay. “Yes, I did.”

Lu Han only shakes his head as he pushes out the chair to stand. “C’mon runt, let’s get you home.”

“Hey!” Minseok yells indignantly. “Who are you calling a runt?” He grabs his tea and a box with the cafe’s insignia on it and walks around to Lu Han.

“You.” The pressure builds as Minseok pouts. Lu Han ignores it and traces his steps back to the exit.

He asks where the closest bus stop is once they’re outside but Minseok informs him that his apartment building is just a couple of blocks away.

The beginning of their walk is relatively quiet as Minseok watches his feet as he walks and Lu Han looks around at the nice neighborhood, but then Minseok clears his throat.

Lu Han looks down at him. “You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Minseok nods his head. “But I’ve been wondering…how old are you?”

“Twenty-four.”

Surprise washes over Minseok’s face and Lu Han hears him mumble something along the lines of I thought you were older than that. “What month?”

“April.”

“Oh? I’m older than you.”

Lu Han wasn’t expecting that. He thought he had at least two years over the other. “Why?”

“Aren’t you supposed to ask questions like this when you make new friends?”

The bartender shrugs. “Hell if I know. I don’t have friends.”

Minseok goes quiet and when Lu Han looks at him he sees disbelief scribbled all over his face.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

Minseok shakes his head. “I expected you to be Mr. Popular.” He tilts his head to the side. “But, then again, you are kind of hard to approach so it makes sense.”

Lu Han starts to scowl but then remembers who he’s with. The last thing he wants to do is scare Minseok off.

“I guess that means I'll be your first friend then, huh?” Minseok grins up at him and it should be illegal for someone to naturally be so goddamn adorable.

Lu Han has to stop because his chest is being weird again but Minseok stops before he does and then he realizes they’re at Minseok’s place.

The tiny thing glances at the building before looking at Lu Han and shoving the box he was carrying into his arms.

“What’s this?”

A pretty pink spreads over Minseok’s face. “A cake. You’ve been extremely nice to me even though we’re still strangers. I don’t know if you like sweets but it’s my favorite cake from that place so I thought I’d buy one for you. As a thank you gift. So, uh, thank you.”

Lu Han notices that Minseok’s breathing has picked up. He must not like having to explain himself like this, the psychology graduate muses to himself. Before he can thank Minseok for the cake, the shorter man rushes into the building.

He glances down at the cake box in his hands and shakes his head. He wonders if he should see someone about the dull pain.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

Where in the world is that—

A hand curves around Lu Han’s shoulder and he turns around to see one of his more tolerable coworkers. Zitao’s face is scrunched up with annoyance and just from the darkened look of the younger man’s eyes, Lu Han already knows he doesn’t want anything to do with whatever is about to come out of the other’s mouth. Zitao’s a cute kid, he really is (even though Lu Han swears the dark puffiness beneath his eyes cannot be natural). But cute or not, he doesn’t appreciate how Zitao thinks there’s some unspoken rule that whenever happens, it’s Lu Han’s job to fix it.

“I don’t care,” he says before Zitao even opens his mouth, going back to relocating the bottle of wine requested for the VIP party upstairs.

“There are these two guys who look like they’re about to duel to the death outside the men’s bathroom,” Zitao explains in his pitchy pre-pubescent voice that annoys Lu Han every time he hears it.

“Did you or did you not just hear me say that I don’t ing care?”

“Go stop them.”

“You go stop them. I’m busy.”

“You’re serving a party, I’m running the entire bar. I can’t.”

Lu Han huffs and turns around again. “You’re a useless piece of , I hope you know that. I’ll take care of it like I take care of every-ing-thing in this place this time, but the next time someone starts a fight and it’s not me, how about you find security and let them do their ing job?”

“You scare them away faster than security.”

For s sake, Lu Han storms past Zitao, purposefully knocking their shoulders as he passes. Anger brews and flares in his chest; he needs to put at least an entire city block distance between himself and Zitao before he turns around and wrings the younger bartender’s neck.

He stomps through the crowd, shoving anyone in the way out of his straight path to the restrooms. The sound of the altercation hits his ears before he sees it.

“…but that’s not what your girl said when she was riding me last night.”

Oh God, it’s one of these, Lu Han complains as he approaches, picking out two figures, one (a dyed ginger) with his hand fisted in the other (a natural brunet) man’s shirt.

“You wanna say that again?”

“Alright, alright boys. Let’s break it up,” Lu Han calls when he’s within listening range, clapping his hands slowly. Once he’s closer, he hooks his fingers in the back of the redhead’s collar and easily yanks them apart. “This is not the right place for this kind of petty . There’s another club two streets down called Eclipse. You can duke it out all you want there and—”

At first, the reason why he’s suddenly stumbling to the right doesn’t register in his mind, but as soon as a slight pain spreads over the bone of his cheek, he sees nothing red.

“This is none of your business, pretty boy.”

Closing his eyes, Lu Han tilts his head to the side. “See, that’s where you’re wrong. It wasn’t my business and I wasn’t going to make it my business, but…” He opens his eyes and as soon as they lock onto the redhead’s infuriating smirk, he immediately delivers a right hook to his jaw.

A grunt of surprise leaves the burly redhead’s mouth. When the shock evaporates, he lunges to throw another punch but Lu Han dodges, bobbing out of the way, leaving the man to stumble forward with the sloppy force behind his punch.

When Lu Han was hit the first time, he hoped this would turn out to be a good fight but he sighs in disappointment as he ends it, grabbing the back of his opponent’s head and slamming his knee into his face. The redhead surrenders, cupping his nose as his escapes into the restroom, and Lu Han spares a glance to the other one.

“You wanna with me too?”

The brunet shakes his head immediately, all but running off.

Lu Han scoffs amusedly. “Didn’t think so.”

“Han!”

Lu Han shakes his wrist, clenching and unclenching his fingers. He turns around to a not so happy boss and raises an eyebrow. “What’s up?”

“What did I tell you about fighting around here?!” Zhou Mi just about screeches. “And how could you abandon the party?”

Lu Han scoffs. “If Zitao’s punk didn’t send me over here, this wouldn’t have happened. I didn’t ask to get decked in the face and you know I don’t take lightly to being touched, let alone being ing punched.”

Zhou Mi exhales and rubs a hand over his face. “Lu Han, I hate to do this because I know you need the money, but I don’t want to see you back here until you get your attitude in order.”

The bartender’s eyes widen. “Excuse me?”

“I’m not firing you, but I think you need to take a little break.”

“I—”

“Two weeks.”

“Two weeks?! You can’t—”

“Three. Starting now.”

Barely holding back a snarl between clenched teeth, Lu Han nods stiffly. Zhou Mi has the nerve to pat him on the back and it takes all of Lu Han’s will to not kill everyone who breathes within a ten-mile radius of him. He’d rather not start his three wonderful weeks of unemployment with a trip to prison.