final
teethingmisshapen: his smile is the first thing you notice about him - white, jagged bits sticking out in a genuine show of affection. there’s a bit of gum, strawberry pink, too, but it vanishes quickly as he begins to holler your name.
“haohao!” jun’s your bestfriend, and you’re almost embarrassed by the brass display of affection.
your mothers teeter with excitement, whispering about how cute you both are. you press a sulky face into her skirt, breathing in the soft lavender scent of the cotton.
“don’t be rude, minghao,” your mother says, urging you forward. “junhui’s been waiting to see you all day.”
you nod, pouting a little, and relent yourself to the enthusiastic boy in front of you. he downplays his grin a little, if only for a moment, and tugs you into his orbit. you grip onto his sleeve, a little overwhelmed by the warm welcome, and he begins murmuring a game of catch into your ear.
“i’ve got you!” junhui cries, a loud gawky boy in the middle of your living room.
you laugh, giddy with adrenaline, and can’t help your arms from swatting at him. junhui becomes something like a fixture in your house, or his - to be more precise, the two of you become inseparable playmates. no matter the space, time, or configuration, it was a guarantee that the both of you were always together.
“jun-ge,” you giggle, stumbling after him.
he feints getting tired when he sees that you’re still trying to chase after him, and when you finally pounce onto his back, dutifully plays the role of a conquered beast. he roars with exaggerated anguish, much to your 8-year-old delight, and pretends to die dramatically.
“oh! i’ve been slain!” he howls, rewarded by your rousing applause.
you cheer, laughing at his theatrics, and then at the way his pearly canines resemble that of a lion. babbling, you try to tell him about his teeth.
he seems to register that, because he nods seriously, and makes you promise not to tell anyone that -
“hu ya,” he says. “like a tiger’s tooth.”
you nod, a thrill running down your spine. “hu ya.”
the secret - or at least, with the way the two of you were huddled over each other, conspiring - sticks with you well after your playdate. in the night, you stayed up, restless, eyes latching onto the curve of the crescent moon.
something like fear, or bubbling exhilaration shimmers in your chest; you can’t quite fathom the idea of a secret, but something about it sends you over the moon.
the summers pass too quickly. one moment you’re fanning yourself with a torn-up comic in junhui’s room, the two of you lazing on the cold marble; the next, he’s curled up on his chair, fingers tap-dancing across his phone.
“it’s a friend,” he says, too old to put up with the likes of a younger family friend.
you roll your eyes, and proceed to read through his entire collection.
then one summer, the invitations stop. you spend the rest of that hot-headed, resentful break in the cool boredom of your room, biting into popsicles and rubbing at your sensitive teeth.
“he’s growing up,” your mother says soothingly, “just like you are!”
you glance down miserably at the pair of pants she’s patching up; those were your favourite, before they suddenly shrunk a little too tightly. your mother catches your look, and nods.
“see, you’re growing so fast. just yesterday...”
“but why can’t jun come over?”
your mother tuts, “hao-ah, you can’t be so selfish. junhui needs to study too - don’t you have homework as well?”
chastened, you nod. “yes. i did them already.”
“good,” your mother says, and then puts down her needle and thread. she cups your disappointed face. “look, i’ll call junhui’s mother and see if we can arrange for him to come over this midautumn?”
your gloom dissipates in favour of a grin, and your mother smiles at how easy it is to placate a child like you.
(the invitation doesn’t go through, for some reason, and you end up lighting candles by the curb alone instead.)
you’re fumbling with the first awkward notions of identity when junhui turns up at your house. it’s no question that he’s also dealing with the consequences of puberty. his hair, once cropped, is now shaggy to mimic current trends; he’s even got blue, squarish glasses to fit his gangly frame.
the worst addition would be the teal, striking braces on his teeth.
you don’t wince when you see him, but internally, something cringes really, really hard. junhui makes to smile, but it’s so obviously restrained; it’s been years since you’ve played with ‘jun-ge’, and his teeth are currently being stretched unpleasantly via the zipper-like chain.
“yo,” he says, indifferent. “i’m here to teach you math.”
you nod - you’d heard of this arrangement, vaguely. “okay.”
he hesitates with the silence, but gives up on wrangling it and instead plops down at your desk. you drag another chair over to the table.
“when did you get braces?”
he shrugs. “a few months ago.”
“why?”
junhui’s somewhat irked by the question. “my teeth were crooked.”
“they weren’t,” you say, but what you meant really was that they were fine.
he doesn’t glance up from his textbooks. “they were. where are your worksheets?”
grudgingly, you take them out. he whistles lowly when he sees your chicken-scrawl penmanship and the corresponding grade.
“you’re never gonna get into pledis high like this,” he says.
you roll your eyes. “who says i want to get into pledis high.”
but you’re lying - you’ve dreamed of going there ever since your mother relayed junhui’s admission into the school. that, and the fact that it’s got one of the best bboying team.
junhui susses out your lie in a matter of seconds, but spares you the embarrassment. instead, he flips through your working, flinching at some of your more desperate attempts at calculus. you try not to stare at the disapproval in his face, and resort to clicking your pen lazily.
“okay, i see your problem,” junhui announces, though he stumbles a little on his words, no doubt hindered by those braces.
he rushes through explanations and technical jargon, and at one point spits unfortunately on your papers. you don’t comment on it, though you’re sure junhui’s noticed. he tries to subtly rub at the wet blot, and shuffles the piece of paper away into the shadows quickly.
you quietly listen, trying your best to pick out what he’s saying. but the rest of the lesson is spent distractedly tracing the outline of his braces, wondering exactly where your shared secret went.
pledis high is a whole new ball game. you pick at your collar, starched stiff and neat, and try to fold your pants up. your mother had insisted that you’d grow taller anyway, so wouldn’t it be more useful to get them in a size bigger?
two sizes bigger, actually.
as a scrawny little freshman, you’re a little overwhelmed. junhui had left too early that morning, no doubt trying to avoid the chore of chaperoning you to school on your first day. his mother had sighed, and you did your best to stifle the sulkiness rising in your chest.
it takes three periods after orientation for you to catch a glimpse of junhui. he smiles, close-lipped, but you can still see the glint of his metal braces whenever he speaks.
you’re almost about to wave hello when you realise that he’s surrounded by a group of tall, good-looking guys. they’re probably his age, and they’ve definitely gotten great luck at this biological lottery. for a moment, you can almost sympathise with junhui - struggling to catch up to the rest of his friends, tucking away his teeth with a practised (but lacking) suaveness.
he walks past you, and you make no indication that you know each other.
the strangest thing happens in your second year, right before junhui’s graduation.
“xu minghao!” someone, probably menglin, from the other class, screams for you.
you get up from your desk, and lean against the doorway. “what?”
she swats you on the head - totally unnecessary, you’re still growing. “wen junhui.”
“what about him?”
“do you know what kind of girls he likes?”
your classmate, huixiang, joins in, “yeah, xu minghao, you were childhood friends with him, right?”
you shrug. “yeah. why?”
“he’s really handsome now!” huixiang exclaims, as though she were stating some universal truth.
menglin nods. “he is!”
your mental image of junhui is still stuck somewhere between his toothy childish grin and his awkward braces-smile. somehow you don’t think that’s what the two girls are teetering on about.
“uh, we haven’t talked for a long time.”
menglin waves that away. “but you must know something.”
“doesn’t he have braces?”
huixiang rolls her eyes. “yeah, but they’re off now.”
“i don’t know anything, sorry.” you shrug noncommittally and return to your seat.
in the next few weeks leading up to graduation, more girls are ambushing you. it’s kind of flattering, actually, until all they talk about is wen junhui. for that alone, you feel almost resentful at the irony, and do your best to avoid any contact with junhui for the rest of your high school life.
it works, because the junhui-craze does go away as the school year ends. you find yourself growing exponentially during the break, and your mother informs you that junhui’s going to a university out of town.
“hey hao,” wenhao says, pressing his phone into your face. “isn’t that your childhood friend?”
you squint. it’s a picture of some commercial model - a closer look reveals the face to be familiar. longer, older, more handsome, but still somehow familiar. the name is on the tip of your tongue.
“i don’t know him,” you settle, once the silence has overstayed.
“huh, really,” wenhao says, and scrolls down. “wen junhui.”
your pencil drops. “what?”
“wen junhui,” wenhao says. “so you know him?”
you thank the gods for the chance to avert your gaze while you pick up your pencil. “not really.”
but as curiosity would have it, you end up scrolling through every social media site, hoping to catch a look at junhui. he appears in only a select few photos - you get it, he’s not really a bigshot now, and even in those pictures he looks a bit awkward.
they’re all staged in a pretentious, aloof manner - hands resting on hips or thighs or necks in an attempt at feigning nonchalance. very, very posed - that sealed frown, especially, looks off.
but the clothes look good on him. they fit well, emphasising the edges and hard lines his body has matured to carve. you try not to stare at his face, struck by the onesided intensity of his unmoving gaze. junhui has matured well, you figure. perhaps there was some truth in those giggly girls’ gossips.
you dream of clean cut shirts and sleek contours. the dream itself is pleasant, but waking up to cold, clinging shorts, is a rude unwelcome reality.
you do your best to forget the face behind those hands, steadily scrubbing through pruned fabric. shame follows you into the nights, readily wrecking your sleep with unnerving touches and hot flashes of bliss.
sometimes you wake with a jolt, halted from your release. in the blanket of the night, you close your eyes, and guide yourself towards a soft, sinful shudder.
university rolls around. you’ve given up on your obsession with junhui’s amateur modelling shots after a particularly gruelling year of just studying; really, you’d been knocked out so thoroughly after lectures and revision and cram schools that your sleep was nothing but a short bleak span of unconsciousness.
your grades are okay, good enough to get you into a couple of universities. there’s nothing much that really piques your interest, or so you think.
“you got a letter from MMA,” your mother says, watching while you fold laundry meticulously by her side.
“mm.”
“junhui’s in MMA too, i think,” your mother says, too casually.
you try not to fall into the trap. “yeah?”
“yeah, he’s studying acting.” and then, without missing a beat, “you were really close when you were young.”
“that was then.”
“i would be more reassured if you went to a university with someone we know.”
“ma,” you sigh. “don’t make me go there just because-”
“i’m just saying,” she says, “but MMA is a good university. don’t let us stop you from going.”
(she’s got a point.)
it’s a set up. it has to be. junhui’s things are littered all over the dorm, and there’s a soft hum from the bathroom. you press your lips into a thin line, and examine a photoframe on the desk. yep, definitely junhui. and a girl.
a preposterously attractive couple.
you tug your luggage over to what seems like your side of the room. even though the bed is still stark and unmade, junhui’s papers have made their way onto the mattress. you sigh. has he always been this messy?
someone giggles. it doesn’t sound like junhui. in fact, it doesn’t sound remotely like a guy. your suspicions are confirmed when a lower, sultry whisper emerges from the toilet. horrified, you stand there, gawking at the traces of abandoned clothing on the floor. is that a bra -?
“ert,” a girl cries, rushing out of the toilet, junhui in tow.
you avert your eyes and cough loudly. there’s a shocked yelp as the girl flees back into the toilet.
“are you my new roommate?” junhui says. you wonder how much you’ve changed over the years for him to sound so indifferent. “i thought you were coming in next week.”
“yeah,” you say, gritting your teeth.
“who’s that?” comes a high-pitched voice from the bathroom.
junhui crosses the room to retrieve his boxers. “it’s just the new roommate.”
“oh,” the girl says, peering up into your face.
she’s not the same girl on the photo frame, you realise. but there’s a certain quality of feminine charm to her figure- you flush, turning red, when you realise you can see her cleavage despite the towel.
“he’s cute!” the girl pipes up, and junhui snatches her arm.
you finally look up at junhui. there’s a flash of uncertainty in his eyes, and then something quite unrecognisable. you fake a cough.
“xu minghao,” he says. “is that you?”
you nod. “yeah, wen junhui.”
“oh, you know each other?” the girl says.
junhui nods, a cold inclination of his head to acknowledge the past years you’d spent conspiring. his nonchalant look is quickly replaced by a suave, patronising one when he smiles down at the girl.
“hey, bingbing, i’ve got some catching up to do with my friend,” he says. “why don’t you go back first?”
she pouts. “you’re always so bossy.”
“you like me for it.” he kisses her, full on the lips.
bingbing, now satisfied, begins to collect her clothes from the floor, and sweeps out of the dorm room. before closing the door, however, she gives you a wink.
“hey, xu minghao, was it? if junhui’s an i’ll come find you!”
junhui smirks back at her. the door soon closes, however, and his charm blinks out in a second.
“so you got into MMA.”
something about those words feel like an accusation, as though junhui could have known about those guilt-stained nights. the sight of his bare chest, smooth and firm, doesn’t help. immediately, you begin to sputter excuses for a verdict unvoiced.
“it- i- it’s not like i wanted to be here,” is what you say.
he narrows his eyes. “but you’re enrolled.”
“i mean, this room,” you say.
no matter how many years have passed, you still can’t help but feel the full two years’ worth of refinement that junhui’s got. you were always clinging onto junhui when the two of you were young, chasing after fireflies or imaginary dragons in your living room. in your stubborn, quiet youth, you’d listened to his patient explanation and recognised his wits for what they were.
even now, though you’re roughly the same height, you can’t help but be dwarfed. and maybe that’s why you’re so adamant on proving that the two of you being roommates is nothing more than a morbid coincidence; that you haven’t been steadily following in his footsteps like a lovesick puppy.
in your haste, however, junhui seems to misunderstand what you’re trying to say.
“that’s fine,” he says, tone chilled to the bone, “i’ll stay in my side of the room, and you can have yours.”
you falter, but his gaze remains on yours, challenging. “fine.”
“oh, wen junhui?” seokmin, your coworker says. “that’s your roommate?”
even jeonghan, ears perking up at the sound of the name, scuttles over from his slacking station. “oh, junhui? we did a gig with him a while back, didn’t we?”
you look at jeonghan, who combs through your hair soothingly. “a gig?”
“yeah!” seokmin says, bright as always, even if he’s struggling with the coffee machine. “mingyu’s boyfriend is a photographer, so mingyu asked us for help.”
the barista in mention emerges from the kitchen, sacks of coffee beans in hand. “did someone call me?”
“yeah, we were talking about the gig when we were freshmen,” jeonghan says dismissively. “thanks for getting the beans.”
“you’re such a slacker,” mingyu says. “yeah, what about that?”
“nothing,” you say, waving mingyu away.
at that, jeonghan purrs and starts rubbing affectionate little pats on your head. you can’t say you hate the coddling - especially if it makes mingyu go into a faux-tantrum like that.
“good job, hao,” jeonghan says slyly. “it’s around twelve anyway.”
the bell chimes, just as mingyu is huffing in exaggerated hurt, and in glides a thin man. he pauses at the counter, where seokmin and mingyu are improvising a skit.
“now watch,” jeonghan says, eyes locked on his target.
with a flourish, jeonghan strides over to the customer, and flashes a mega-watt smile. the customer doesn’t look very amused, but inclines towards jeonghan instead of those bumbling fools anyway.
“wonwoo!” jeonghan exclaims, successfully drawing mingyu’s attention. “you look as gorgeous as always!”
as mingyu clambers to get to jeonghan’s counter, wonwoo’s poker face doesn’t change. “you look good too, jeongh-”
“ah! no, no, no,” mingyu cries, pushing jeonghan out of the way. “you’re only allowed to say that to me, wonwoo!”
wonwoo allows the briefest of smiles to appear on his face. “alright.”
mingyu waits, expectant, like a puppy. “mmhmm?”
“i’ll have the usual, then,” wonwoo says, eyes trailing up to the menu in false appraisal.
jeonghan pats himself down and settles next to you in mock hurt. you slide an arm around him, watching the drama unfurl.
“anything else?” mingyu asks in a small, hopeful voice, concentrating on his register keys.
wonwoo peeks down at mingyu, and relents, “and you?”
the effect is instantaneous: mingyu’s face lights up with a pink flush, and he’s grinning wide, bouncing on the balls of his feet. beside you, jeonghan sighs, but he’s smiling too.
“it’s so easy to make mingyu happy,” jeonghan says, and then cuddles up to you. “meanwhile i need to figure out what makes you happy!”
you shake your head. “you’re too cunning.”
“don’t say that, haohao,” jeonghan coos, pinching your cheeks.
you still. “uh.”
“oh, no?” jeonghan pauses. “right, haohaohao it is then!”
you smile, but it’s a bit strained, and jeonghan can tell too. your saviour comes in the form of seokmin, who stumbles over to the both of you.
“it’s him,” seokmin whispers dramatically. “wen junhui!”
“oh, which unfortunate lass is it this time?” jeonghan says, craning his neck to look behind seokmin.
“does he have a lot of... girlfriends?” you pipe up.
seokmin and jeonghan swivel around to face you. “yes.”
“to be fair, they’re not girlfriends. they’re just...” jeonghan pauses.
“playmates?” seokmin suggests, and you feel a sickening lurch in your stomach.
“he’d almost tried to pick me up,” jeonghan sighs dreamily. “but i was already attached.”
seokmin shudders. “hannie, don’t go back to your casanova days.”
the rumours about wen junhui continue to pile up. the more you inquire, the more questions and ridiculous conspiracies you’re left with. the strange, sordid affairs this wen junhui has cloaked himself in is in sharp contrast with the quiet, indifferent attitude he adopts in the dorm room.
sometimes it feels like you’re living with a stranger, or a shadow - some nights he doesn’t come back, and the only reminder that you have a roommate at all is the slept-in bed on his side.
you wonder where the boy you’ve known all your life has gone.
one week hits you particularly hard - there are essays due every twenty other hours, junhui’s been staying out every single night, and you can barely revise indecipherable lecture notes written from the depths of your REM cycle. (no really, what does “lettuce is frances history loot” mean?)
to top it off, you’re covering shifts for seungkwan - a supposed regular who you’ve yet to meet. jeonghan gives you a pitying look and then pilfers a shot of espresso for you. you feel slightly alive after that, but when you’re cranking out an unnecessarily complicated frappucino for the third time, you think you might just will yourself to die.
“welcome to campus coffee, how may i help you?” you say, eyes trained on the luminous green of your register.
it’s a good way to hide how bloodshot they are.
“one americano,” the voice, somewhat familiar, drifts in and out of your consciousness. he hesitates, “and one chai latte.”
you try not to nod, just in case you accidentally fall headfirst into the register. “okay. that will be 17.30 in total.”
you look up, if only to see wen junhui pressing a note into your hand. it’s a twenty, you think. or at least, it’s green.
he sighs, and then says, “keep the change.”
you jab the keys in the register. it springs open, and wen junhui moves over to the collection point. once you’re done, you tear the receipt from the register and push it into mingyu’s hands.
mingyu steadies you. “yo, hao, you wanna take a break?”
you can feel someone staring at the both of you. “no it’s fine.”
“you sure,” mingyu says, bending down to examine your face. “wow, you look terrible.”
this earns him a laugh, and you punch him in the arm. “shut up and make your drinks.”
when you’re done, you carry them over to junhui. his presence finally registers in your befuddled, hazy mind when he gives you a customary smile. it softens upon closer inspection of your face.
“hey, you should really get some sleep.”
you set the drinks down on the counter. “are you going to stay out tonight?”
“what, miss me already?” he wriggles his eyebrows.
you shut it down with a flat, unquestionable: “i’m not one of your girls. don’t do that.”
it shuts him up. for a solid moment, you’re looking at the way his fingers are pressed up against the side of the beverage.
“right,” he finally says. “i’ll see. the latte’s for you.”
and then he’s striding out of the cafe. your instincts seem to have gone on strike, as you muster the energy to rise above the foggy illusions of your sleep deprivation. jeonghan, noticing this, pushes the cup of latte into your hands and forces you into the break room.
in between the time when you plummet onto the bed and your first lucid dream, you hear the tell-tale signs of a doorknob slowly turning. the door creaks, and there’s a soft cringe at the doorway.
“junhui?”
all movements still, until an owl hooting in the distance pierces the air. “yeah, you’re awake?”
“somewhat.”
“sorry for waking you.”
you don’t say anything, your face still muffled by the pillow.
“i’ll be quiet,” he promises.
you remember something, shuffling up and perching yourself on your elbows, you croak, “thank you for the latte.”
he shrugs, peeling off his coat. “i’m supposed to take care of you.”
“i’m not a child anymore.”
you can’t tell, what with the dark and the painful dryness of your eyes every time you try to open them, but he seems to stare right into you.
“yeah, you’ve grown a lot taller.” and then, “do you eat enough? you’re so skinny.”
you laugh. “you sound like my mother.”
the quiet that lingers is a little uncomfortable, so you rack your head for something to say.
“you don’t show your teeth anymore,” you say.
he laughs. “you’re tired. go sleep.”
“no, really,” you insist. “you used to smile with your teeth but now you don’t.”
“mm.”
egged on by some delirious sentiment, and the strange awareness that you’ll forget this in the morning, you say, “i thought you looked better when you smiled with your teeth.”
there’s a pause, before he reaches over to ruffle your hair. “go sleep, haohao.”
the change, though minute, gradual, is apparent. junhui begins to shed his cold, unyielding exterior bit by bit. when spring comes, you grow used to saving him a cup of coffee at the cafe, and you end up walking back to the dorm room together after your shifts.
he’s unnervingly flirtatious with everyone, you discover - though you’re still coldly snapping at him to “stop that, i’m not a girl”, and “save it for your fans”, he’s unbearably cheerful with his pick-up lines and generous winks. a part of you thinks that maybe he’s forgotten all about your childhood spent together, that this is his way of moving on.
and to think you’re still stuck in the confines of your shy, dependent childhood.
jeonghan does tease the story out of you one break, goading you into talking by way of offering to brew you a special cup of tea. (it’s highly suspect, but the aroma is irresistible, so you fold.) he listens, intent, to the stammering way you put forth your dilemma, feeling so small and trivial about a childhood friend grown up.
“it’s like,” you say, gripping onto the cup. “like he’s grown up, and i’m just still there.”
“that’s alright,” jeonghan says, eyes glinting. “we all grow up in the end - maybe it’s just because he’s really good-looking.”
you nod pathetically. “yeah, he is.”
“but you are, too,” jeonghan says, cupping your hand. “look, how about i set you up with a date with...”
he turns around, spots, something, and grins evilly. the look should alert you to coax jeonghan out of whatever scheme he has, but you’re too busy sulking. jeonghan continues his search, and then visibly lights up.
“how about seokmin?” he suggests. “seokmin is the best fool you could ever have - he’s tall, silly, funny and handsome. besides, if it doesn’t work out, he’s not the kind to hold a grudge.”
you glance up at seokmin, who’s currently laughing with soonyoung. “isn’t he dating -?”
jeonghan snaps his fingers. “not yet. which also means you’d be killing two birds with one stone.”
you roll your eyes, “hannie, doesn’t that mean you don’t want us to work out?”
“well,” jeonghan says carefully, choosing his words. “i never said what the first bird was. besides! junhui’s waiting at the counter for you.”
you sigh, and turn around. junhui’s eager, unspoiled face rushes into view when he sees you. you try to smile back, suddenly too aware of the glowing look on his face. beside you, jeonghan hums a victorious little jingle.
junhui - online
wjh [9:00am]: haohao
wjh [9:00am]: wat time do u end
you [9:01am]: uh you can go back first
wjh [9:02am]: inline.tumblr.98hh3.gif
wjh [9:02am]: ooh suspicious
wjh [9:02am]: does haohao have,,,,,,,,,
wjh [9:03am]: a date??????
wjh [9:03am]: inline.tumblr.00874h.gif
wjh [9:03am]: imgur764.jpg
you [9:04am]: yes
wjh [9:06am]: for real?
wjh [9:07am]: who?
you [9:07am]: seokmin
you [9:07am]: coworker.
wjh [9:11am]: oh
wjh [9:20am]: have fun!!!
wjh [9:21am]: use protection!!! ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
you [9:22am]: what the heck it’s just a d a t e
wjh [9:24am]: ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
wjh [9:40am]: where are you guys going?
you [9:41am]: ..........
you [9:41am]: why.
wjh [9:55am]: just curious uwu
seokmin is more like a blundering fool that you adore than someone who’d sweep you off your feet. though you spend the day easily chatting and making fun of passers-by (you’re poor college students who’ve spent too much time in libraries anyway) you don’t feel like it’s a date.
the fact that seokmin won’t stop yammering about soonyoung, too, might be a clue. over the three hours, you’ve learnt what kind of ice cream, shirt, colour, future house as well as number soonyoung likes.
but seokmin is a dutiful gentleman, so he sends you all the way to your doorstep. you don’t really want to give him a kiss, even if that was an entertaining date, and he seems oblivious enough.
“thank you for today,” you say to seokmin, instead, patting his shoulder awkwardly.
he’s unfazed. “it was really fun hanging out with you! we should do it more often!”
you laugh. “yep. night, seokmin.”
the door opens before you can get to it, and junhui peeks his head out.
“oh,” he says unnaturally. “hey, seokmin, right?”
“wen junhui!” seokmin greets. “i’ve come to bring minghao back.”
junhui flips on his charm, and you note that even seokmin isn’t immune to it. you push seokmin towards the lift lobby instead, and tell him it’s getting late. junhui gives you those greasy wriggly eyebrows.
“how was it?”
“were you waiting by the door,” you retort.
he shrugs. “you didn’t answer my question.”
“it was fine.”
“oh, just fine?” he parrots, sitting on the bed opposite yours.
you take off your coat. “seokmin is a good guy. he’s just...”
“incompatible?” junhui suggests. you can’t help but hear a note of glee in his voice.
“sure, yeah,” you say, suddenly miffed.
junhui doesn’t read the cues. “oh, so do you think you’ll have a second date?”
you’re about to tell him to get his own date when you realise that you haven’t really seen any girl fawning over him or pressing up against his side in a while. strange.
“maybe,” you say, squinting at his bobbing adam’s apple. “what’s it to you?”
“nothing,” he replies smoothly. “just making sure everything’s fine for our haohao.”
jeonghan doesn’t miss a beat. “how was your date?”
“you could ask seokmin.”
jeonghan swats you with his bunched-up apron. “i meant, what did wen junhui think of your date?”
you pause. “huh?”
“did he ask about it?” jeonghan presses.
“yeah,” you say, and jeonghan’s catlike smile spreads across his lips.
“that’s good.” and then, tying his apron on, jeonghan says, “by the way, soonyoung’s gonna ask seokmin out later around lunch time.”
“he told you?”
jeonghan waves his fingers in the air dismissively. “he doesn’t know yet, but he will.”
right before rush hour, at 11:30am, soonyoung is successfully goaded into confessing to seokmin. jeonghan, lazing by the side, gives you a sneaky smile before prowling off to sell some customer the most expensive drink on the menu. you shudder at the sly, sharp-witted manipulation, but take a look at soonyoung and seokmin who are currently all red and giggly.
it was time anyway.
history repeats itself: there’s a girl, no doubt here for wen junhui’s number. she’s sipping dreamily on her white chocolate mocha frappucino, and chatting at you. a few words, like “handsome” and “roommate” and “wen junhui” fly past your head as you grudgingly polish the cups at your station.
“what’s he like,” white chocolate mocha frappe asks. “does he like chocolates? should i give him some for valentine’s?”
you snort. “valentine’s over.”
“ooh! then his birthday! you’re his roommate, you must know!”
you pause, remembering. white chocolate mocha frappe catches on, because suddenly she’s leaning over the counter and bothering you about the date.
“what’s so special about wen junhui anyway?” you stall for time, trying to get soonyoung’s attention.
(he’s too busy clinging onto seokmin. traitor.)
white chocolate mocha frappe gasps, like you’ve committed some blasphemous crime. “have you never seen him? he’s so hot, and he’s got such a good style, and he’s smart, and his smile is just gorgeous!”
you roll your eyes, irritation reaching its peak. “he had braces done. it’s not even that good.”
because, really, you’re still a bit bitter about that whole awkward ordeal in high school.
"oh my god, wen junhui!” white chocolate mocha frappe exclaims, almost tripping over her seat to get to the man.
you turn around, and see junhui within hearing proximity. he smiles at her, and then at you, but there’s a hint of hurt in it. like someone decided to rip the door of his unfathomable ego right off its hinges.
it must be the braces.
“junhui, i-”
“i forgot i left something at bingbing’s.” and then he beats a hasty retreat.
“junhui’s birthday is coming, i made him upset, and i don’t know what to do,” is what you blurt out to jeonghan.
jeonghan, dazed and half awake, snorts at your predicament. “just kiss and make up.”
“i can’t do that!”
“why not?”
you blubber, “you don’t do that with your roommate!”
for a moment, you think jeonghan’s gone back to sleeping on the counter. but suddenly, there’s a hoarse chckle of disbelief. jeonghan looks up at you, eyes wet with tears of amusement before slowly grinding to a halt.
“wait, what?” he says.
“i talked about his braces-”
“no. what do you mean, ‘roommate’?”
you give him a glare. if he’s trying to be funny...
jeonghan moans, and presses his face into his hands. “you’re still not together?”
when confusion runs amok your features, jeonghan takes that as silent confirmation and gets up from his seat, pacing around unhappily. he shakes his head at you, adding to the incomprehension.
“look, you are not going to mess this up because of your obliviousness,” he says, cupping your face. “even soonyoung and seokmin got their together.”
you don’t understand what that means; soonyoung and seokmin have been forgetting orders due to lovestruck sighs and upsetting pots and pans in the kitchen for the past couple of weeks. there had been once when soonyoung accidentally keyed seokmin’s name for every order throughout the day.
jeonghan sighs, “alright, maybe just apologise for now. you’ve been friends for a long time, he’ll definitely forgive you.”
you nod obediently, and jeonghan lights up, cooing at your cuteness.
the thing is, having wen junhui tailor his schedule to suit yours means that you have no clue about his daily whereabouts. he’s retreated into the same routine of avoiding you entirely, and going to parties or hanging out at his playmates’ dorms. the thought of him tangled in white chocolate mocha frappe’s sheets has you fuming quietly, trying not to tip over boiling point.
when three cups of americanos have gone to waste because he didn’t show up, you decide to take the confrontational route: which is why you’re at the front door of some... cheap, college debauchery.
bingbing recognises you, and invites you into the frat house. she must have understood the look in your eyes - doubtful, intimidated but determined - because she excuses herself in the booming bass to help you find junhui.
it’s a whirl of colours, mostly tinted purple, and everywhere you look there are people making out, or engaging in some drunk, unfortunate behaviour. glancing around, you weave in and out of crowds, only to stop when you see someone of the same build as junhui.
he’s definitely seen you, too, because his mouth falls open as though to say something. then a slender arm snakes around his waist and a girl in a bedazzled tank top winks her way up to kiss him.
you’ve seen enough; so you turn your head and leave, feeling a pinch between your eyes. the clarity of the streets is still blurred by the pulsing bass from the frat house, and in the empty midnight you feel more suffocated than ever.
“minghao! hao!”
you don’t stop.
“haohao, look-”
“don’t call me that,” you say, disgusted, but it comes out as a weak sob.
he hesitates, but hears no bite in your words. “haohao, don’t cry, c’mon, look at me.”
you shove at him. “i’m not crying.”
“look, it’s just - you said -”
“oh, right, i’m sorry,” you spit, years of resentment and aching loneliness welling up. “i’m sorry i said that you got braces to that girl; i’m sorry i said i liked your teeth; i’m sorry i actually liked them; i’m sorry i interrupted whatever you had going on with bingbing;
“i’m sorry for chasing after you all my life - when we were playing, when you got into pledis and i followed, and now MMA and just now that party for your stupid birthday-”
you’re choking on your own tears now, breathless and panicked. junhui smooths a thumb across your cheek, and you flinch. he continues wiping away the tears on your face, even if they don’t feel like they’re stopping any time soon.
“did you really like them?”
“hu ya,” you whisper.
he smiles, all teeth. “you remember.”
a wave of shame and embarrassment engulfs you. “i- let go-”
he doesn’t. “now you’re the only one who knows about them - no one else can really see it, you know.”
junhui takes the opportunity as you still, trying to comprehend his words.
“haohao,” he says, gentle. “i really like you."
you can’t think straight. “i’ve wasted three cups of americano for you.”
at least he has the decency to pretend to be guilty. “let me make it up to you?”
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