Room-mates

It’s the best arrangement possible.

It doesn’t matter that he doesn’t know his room-mate, that they haven’t seen each other in the month they have been sharing an apartment; so far it works out perfectly well. Besides, what else do you need to know about your room-mate other than his name and his odd taste in alcohol? He doesn't blast music while he is home and does his share of the house chores, so Jinwoo is more than OK with Minho even though he can’t put a face to the stream of funny notes on the fridge referring to the grocery shopping. Also, why meeting when they have no free time to spear in such an ordinary thing when they can text each other if any have some queries? Or write it on a note for the other to pick it up later and read it. So far it's what they have been doing and Jinwoo has no complaints - Minho asks for specifics snacks but thanks him profusely when he gets them for him, so it's all good between them and Jinwoo doesn't need to feel awkward meeting something new, feeling out of place on his own flat because they are occupying the same room at the same time (this way he can skip this problem and focus on his career).

Jinwoo works night shifts anyway, so he sleeps through the days – the days he can manage to crash at home, with his crazy schedules at the hospital, more often than not he stays in the staff room, waiting for the cycle to repeat. And Minho works in the morning during office time, so it is hardly impossible to overlap. It hasn’t been specified on the contract what Minho does for a living, but, if the collection of canvas that he is continuous bringing home has something to do, Jinwoo would say he works in the artistic field – not that he cares, he likes the smell of charcoal and painting coming from the crack of his door, it’s relaxing, far more pleasant than disinfectant and diseases he stinks of.

And it is great coming home to a quiet, tidy place, early in the morning, when Minho has already gone and he has all the apartment to himself. It's nice to not step into Seunghoon, who is noisy and loves gossips and kept him up another extra hour when they lived together - though a part of him misses his friend: the fun, the laughter, the cooking together on their free days.

There are only four norms and, as far as he is aware, neither of them have broken them: no friends, no parties, no lovers and the payment is due the first day of the month. And every week one of them has to do the shopping – for the house and for themselves. Jinwoo is very content with this settlement and Minho has proven to be a perfectly adequate and thoughtful room-mate – he comes in stealthy, holding in his breathe just to not wake him up. In return, Jinwoo keeps the fridge full with left-overs from the days he can prepare food – and Minho leaves the containers with his name written on with permanent markers spotless, all credits to Jinwoo and his wonderful cuisine.

Seunghoon thinks he is insane, but it’s all his fault – for moving out before their release was due and leaving Jinwoo exposed. So he can stick his opinion because, really, it’s the best option for Jinwoo – though he always closes his door with the key, just in case Minho turns to be a serial killer as his friend likes to insinuate.

On the scattered days off, Jinwoo opts to stay in and sleep as much as possible. Meanwhile, Minho, who has the weekends to himself, likes to go out, stays at friends’ house to do all sort of things he is not allowed at his place – out of respect to Jinwoo who barely can afford a few hours a week of rest in a proper mattress.

So, yes, it’s been a whole month and Jinwoo can only imagine Minho’s face out of the few times he has seen him coming out in a rush – a blear of neon-yellow hair, a swam of leopard-printed clothes moving in fast-motion, leaving a trail of blurry colours behind.

****

Jinwoo has been working non-stop three weeks in a row without a break just for this moment, just to be able to enjoy ten days off to go visit his family, meet his newborn nephew he hasn’t been able to see yet, spend some quality time with his father and mother, have a good laugh with his little sister, catch up with his eldest sister and her kids. He has planned it carefully, has gotten everything ready, has put a lot of hopes and expectations but it has been raining for two days straight and it doesn’t seem to happen to stop any time soon according to the forecast.

It’s not only rain, but it’s also a typhoon and everything is cancelled – his few days gone to waste, all his efforts worth nothing in the end and Jinwoo wants to cry and to sleep off this time until he is called back to work.

The weather is terrible and miserable, as gloom as he feels, dim and grey and defeated when he arrives to his apartment. He opens the door and sees spots in motion, all fuzz, a layer of haze and his head spins and Minho must be home because it smells like coffee and toasts and he is so, so tired…

He collapses on the floor unceremoniously, graciousless, lifeless. 

His head sinks into something puffy and nice and there is a warm feeling all around. He opens his eyes to a cloudy room dim lighted and another pair of pupils fall on him.

“Are you OK?” this is not exactly the way he wanted them to meet – he hasn’t planned anything, he is perfectly well with imagining Minho. Now, Song Minho is sitting on the edge of his bed looking at him concerned, thinking that his room-mate is a frail hag unable to take care of himself. “You look like you need a good week to sleep,” he says, smiling.

“What are you doing here?” he wonders, because he has nothing better to say and staying silent seems rude and Jinwoo doesn’t want to give out that impression – though falling on the ground on their first official meeting doesn’t sound that good either, but it couldn’t be helped, he was worn to the bones after over-working for nothing (all wasted, consumed by waterfalls and never-ending rain that is still pouring down outside, wetting his forehead).

“With the typhoon, I’m working from home,” he explains, which makes sense. The storm rages outside, the morning light veiled by a persistent fall out droplets banging against the window, shading any other sound that isn’t the wind and the blizzard “and you should sleep,” he says – and, in person, his voice is warmer and lower than over the phone, very different from the bright notes on the fridge he has gotten used to and that he has associated to Minho’s colour. In the flesh, he is tough and rough, broad and tall, tattoos peeking out from the sleeves of his shirt, staining his chest and his bright eyes look concerned, glancing over Jinwoo with a serious expression.

“Oh, I see...” and Jinwoo tries to get up but a pair of gentle hands push him back to the fluffy mattress, to the comforting sensation. His head aches and thumbs and he feels exhausted but he wants to be awake, wants to keep talking with Minho - doesn't want him to consider that he is an unfitted flat-mate in constant need of assistance. 

“You really need to sleep. Have you been living in the hospital this last few days? I haven’t heard you around,” he asks softly, caringly, tugging him with blankets, brushing away the sticky hair from the rain out of his forehead. He must have frowned because it makes him laugh, “the place smells like antiseptics and chlorine, I just assumed you worked in a hospital,” he explains and Jinwoo nods, humming in agreement, his heart relieved that Minho doesn't seem to mind taking care of him even though they have just met.

“I work on the ER, doing the night shift, which is usually the busier. But it’s well paid and I get to see all sort of things,” he murmurs, lids half-closed, voice mashed, sleep coming to him, covering every layer of his conscience. He tries to fight it, wanting to stay up, tries to force his mind alive, but he is worn out and drained and his head spins and he counts stars on the ceiling before slumping into nothingness, a pleasant blank space that envelops him with care.

“Now, now, sleep well hyung,” he says, gently petting Jinwoo’s shoulders. He stays for a while, ensuring that Jinwoo is resting as he must, a cup of coffee and his mind filled with the beauty that lays in front of his eyes – remembering how nice and kind-hearted he has always been, cooking for him and buying his favourite snacks even when he didn’t have to, doing the dishes and taking out the trash the days Minho was running late for work asking him to switch the turns and, so far, he has never complained, always have replied to him amicably. His face does his personality justice – perfect, pretty, well balanced, with almond-shaped eyes that shine, alive, with little constellation sparkling inside, strawberry lips that are always stretching in a perpetual smile, a perfect nose and clean, smooth skin covered in little dots of ink and, contemplating him, Minho feels the rush to pain – to sketch him, to study his factions, to doodle him in the air, memorizing all his freckles, the arch of his mouth, the shade that his lashes compose over his milky starry skin. He stays until the swaying of Jinwoo’s chest is even and he is sure that he won’t wake up any time soon. He closes the door gently and busies himself with his own work.

****

Jinwoo sleeps two days straight, death to the world and Minho checks regularly that he is still breathing – but he is too tired, he needs the break and Minho makes sure that, when he wakes up, the flat is tidy and in order, keeping it as Jinwoo always does.

Minho has never used the living-room much, preferring to stay recluse in his room, not wanting to annoy his roommate with his multiple stuff that he keeps in, so this situation is kind of new to him, staying in the couch waiting for the moment Jinwoo will come around, the TV on just for the back-up sounds that keep the solitude away. The only room they share is the bathroom - but even for that they managed to dance around, never encountering, never really sharing it, never living together but on scattered moments of serendipity, when one is coming in and the other coming out, always in motion. Minho avoids the kitchen because he once nearly burned the house down, and only steps in for coffee and instant food – he eats dinner curled in bed watching Netflix on the phone, lunch at the office, breakfast on the road, always running late.

He stays an hour in the shower and sings, happily. Minho likes what he hears – Jinwoo has a very pleasant voice, hitting all the high notes of G-Dragon’s songs. When he comes out, wet hair dropping tears on his face, a towel wrapped around his neck, sweatpants and a baggy T-shirt, Minho is left speechless – he looks gorgeous even then, as expected. He looks refreshed, alive, beaming, well-rested, all jolly and merry even when the storm hits the windows and the wind brawls, opaque the thuds of his heart, the words of his mind. Jinwoo smiles at him, shaking his hand, finally able to introduce himself properly. Minho’s fingers curl around his and he feels the weight of him, his strength – it is nice, a mild sensation tripping up Minho’s heart, clambering, rooting on his chest deeper with every smile he shines on him.

“I really needed it,” he says, sipping water, “I’m sorry to have bothered you,” he adds, sitting on the couch next to Minho, who makes room for him. It doesn’t feel awkward even when it’s the first time, Jinwoo sinks into it and wonders why they never talked before, why they kept avoiding each other, skirting when it feels so natural to be with him.

“It's nothing, I’m glad you could rest,” Minho says sincerely, “you got me a scare. The first time I see you and you fell down,” he is teasing him, but Jinwoo flushes nevertheless, too embarrassed. “What happened? If you don’t mind me butting in. I’m the curious type,“ and Jinwoo would usually lay by it, too shy to tell the truth but, with Minho, it hits different – it’s not invasive, just interest and eagerness to know more, perhaps, and Jinwoo finds that he wants to explain himself, regain his dignity, maybe, by telling him how he managed to collapse on the floor (he doesn’t want to make a fool out of himself since he intents to share his flat with Minho for the long term: he is really a good room-mate).

“Well, I took three weeks of working straight in exchange for ten days off. I was planning to visit my family back in Mokpo,” he explains, cross-legged, ocuping the left side of the couch, Minho on the other end, listening carefully at him, “but with the typhoon, even trains have been cancelled so, instead of holidays, I have to be stuck at home,” he sighs, deflated. This is clearly not what he was looking for – he wanted an outing, enjoying the taste of the ocean, the waves on his skin, the laughter of the kids running around and him playing with them on the shore.

“No wonder you looked dead tired,” Minho says, in awe, eyes open in surprise, “I’m sorry that you can’t spend time with your family. I know it’s not the same, but you can hang out with me. We are gum up here together anyway,” he chuckles, looking at him intently, internally thanking the weather for allowing him to finally meet Jinwoo, to put such a wonderful face to the already wonderful image on his head. “I mean, there isn’t much we can do.”

“Sure,” Jinwoo agrees easily and Minho beams assured to rely on his presence – that he won’t have to spend days on his own, pretending not to be home.

Jinwoo is not the chatty type but Minho enjoys his company nevertheless, too accustomed of being alone during the week – it is nice to have someone to watch TV with for a change and who cooks ramyon at ungodly hours of the night just because he is craving it and that laughs at everything (a laugh so clean, so beautiful, it makes Minho try harder, make him guffaw more). They stay up until late, talking and laughing and having fun, discovering, finally, who they are sharing an apartment with, the TV forgotten, loosening up while catching up with each others' life. 

****

Four days into his holidays and the typhoon finally summits. Outside the sun shines again and the ravages from it can be still seen like scars on the streets. The wind is mild and the pantry empty and it’s Minho’s turn to do the shopping.

“But why don’t we go together?” he suggests, “it will be nice to go out after being imprisoned inside for so long,” he adds. Usually, Jinwoo wouldn’t bother – he can stay in for weeks, doesn’t need to go outside, he is a home-boy dyed-in-the-wool. But Minho is smiling at the possibility and he doesn’t want to disappoint and, well, what harm can it cause? A bit of air won’t kill him, certainty.

Maybe hanging out with Minho isn’t such a great idea, at least not when he is forcing Jinwoo to try all kind of clothes, cheering him with enthusiasm when he shows up out of the changing room with whatever he has chosen, saying that he is too good looking to hide under sweaters and oversized suits and hoodies.

“You look really great, your body has such godly proportions. Models should be crying, you could end their careers,” he jokes, but only partially – it’s true that Jinwoo could be doing the cat-walk if he wanted. But Minho has other things in mind – he has taken pictures of him as references for a modelling concept he is working on (Jinwoo has found out that Minho is weird and one of his hobbies is to compel by force others to try clothes so he can keep them for future characterizations and paintings).

In the end, though, it is interesting and different and Jinwoo enjoys the company and the gush of compliments and ends purchasing half of Minho’s recommendations and half the liquor store because it’s movie night, and soju is a must.

Minho is the perfect drinking buddy. Unlike Seunghoon, he can drink a whole bottle and his mind is still in place, unaffected. They watch three films and talk over them all loudly, having fun, not really watching, drinking and talking the night away. By the end of the fourth movie, Minho is smashed, slooshed on the couch, half on Jinwoo, his tattoos showing up from the mess of wrinkled clothes he has managed to ruin - Jinwoo glances over them, taking in their meaning (but most of them have none) and drags him to his bedroom. His room, as expected, is as messy as his fashion is - by now Jinwoo is not shocked when he comes up wearing his so-called trendy outfits, - but Jinwoo finds it peaceful inside the chaos, colourful and luminous, with fairy-lights hanging on the ceiling, splashing shades all over the covers. He is lighter than he seems – he looks board and sturdy but he is only flesh and bones under all the layers of clothes. All around there are paintings of hands and eyes, all hued in highlighting colours, none of them making sense to Jinwoo - he can tell that they aren't anatomically correct but attractive to the eye, catching his attention: they kind of look familiar somehow. 

Jinwoo leaves a bunch of aspirins for the incoming head-ache and turns the lights off, wishing that he will sleep well – despite the stomping beat of his heart and the need to stay up, taking care of his hang-over that he is partially guilty of. 

****

Minho makes Jinwoo feel accompanied after being lonely for so long; it's been months since Minho first came in and, before that, Jinwoo took four-month to find a suitable new room-mate after Seunghoon's departure, so he has been alone for more than a year. But, even when he has Seunghoon as his friend, Minho is different: he feels fresh and new and Jinwoo likes having him around. With Minho, everything is funnier, more interesting, brighter and he feels alive, all the weight of his shoulder dimmed, his heart beating tranquil, calmed. Minho has a positive and creative mindset, he always comes up with ways to show Jinwoo the world, to take him out of his shell, pushing him to step out, try new things and Jinwoo likes the person that he is with Minho – braver, bolder, wittier and more open, sincere. He likes being with Minho, as a team. 

****

Jinwoo’s ten days end and things slowly come back to normal, only that they don't. Jinwoo still works at nights and crashes home early in the morning only to find that Minho is having breakfast, waiting for him with a cup of tea ready, steamy. Usually, if by the time Jinwoo came back Minho was still in the flat, it would be a chaos of grumbles and a rush of uncoordinated movements because he would be running late but now it appears that Minho has no hurry or hasten to leave to the office.

He lingers home by lunchtime, which arises alarm on Jinwoo. It’s not that he doesn’t enjoy having Minho around but it is strange because he had always eaten out – usually one of Jinwoo’s delicious left-overs lunch-box. Jinwoo waits until it’s been three weeks since the typhoon to confront Minho, too worried that Minho is staying in to keep an eye on him.

****

“Minho, how is that you are now home? Did something happened?” he wonders, head in the fridge, looking for something to cook. It’s Thursday and he has the day off, so he will take the opportunity to prepare food for the rest of the week. Minho is watching him, enjoying the show that it’s Jinwoo on the kitchen, testing his abilities, tasting the results out of the pan.

“Oh, I’m working from home,” he explains, shrugging. “I’m trying to update myself, you know, doing some online courses, so I’m pretty busy,” he continues and it’s only partially the truth – and it is a full lie. He has been made redundant at work but he can’t tell Jinwoo – he can’t because he likes him a lot, doesn’t want to part ways because he can’t afford the rent and so he is doing his best to save up all he can, selling most of his unnecessary belongings, painting commissions too.

“Oh, that’s great!” Jinwoo beams, delighted to hear so, with a bunch of packets in one hand, a smile spreading all over his face and Minho feels the weariness of the lie sinking inside his chest. The room smells delicious and Minho pretends to be busy just to avoid Jinwoo's glance - he can't lie to these pretty eyes. 

****

“So you finally put a face to your room-mate?” Seunghoon asks, five days after, sipping from his coffee. Jinwoo nods, joyfully.

“And let me tell you that he is very nice and caring. Not a serial killer as you suggested,” he retorts, smiling.

“Good to know. I’ll need to find out another suspect in case you are murdered now,” he jokes and Jinwoo rolls his eyes at his friend’s silliness that it’s nothing compared to Minho’s – he finds Seunghoon bleaker, dull, his wits withered despite that he was so sparkling before, always the one making him crack up, clapping at his banter enthusiastically. He regrets deciding to stay the weekend with him to give Minho some solace, a bit of time on his own – to bring friends or lovers as he has assured him he could now. As much as he likes Seunghoon, he is not Minho and it feels different - as if his heart was torn and Minho held the biggest part, as if, somehow, he belonged there, with him, and part of his mind was on the flat, laying with Minho, thinking of him. 

****

Minho feels uncomfortable: home doesn’t feel home without Jinwoo in. He walks around, distressed, thinking of ways to make some money, to make ends meet, but comes up empty-handed as all his friends and acquittance can’t give him some aid and he is lying to the only person who could help him with the rent. And he misses Jinwoo. He makes it all lighter, makes him forget about his problems, his mere presence erase everything else going on. And Minho finds that, besides him, it’s easier to breathe, to think.

He turns his laptop on, crawls on the couch and looks for a new job. But nothing comes up – only Jinwoo’s face and he ends painting him on yet another discharged canvas, the night filling his room, gleaming over Jinwoo’s starry eyes.

Jinwoo has told him to bring in whoever he wants – he has changed the rules since he works weekends nights so the flat is empty with no-one to annoy with music and laughter, so why not take the chance? But there is only one person Minho wants to be with and it’s the only one who is out of his reach, so he stays in all weekend, missing Jinwoo, drawing him under his eyelids.

****

Jinwoo is back from a two hours surgery. He has taken a shower to get rid of the remaining blood on his hands, the taste of the operation room of his lips. He has a few minutes to himself when his phone rings. It's Minho. 

“Hyung, I’m on my way to the hospital. You forgot your dinner!” says a cheerful Minho, and Jinwoo can hear the traffic, his breathing, his smile while running to him. It’s Friday and he has no plans other than to spend time in the waiting room, on-call for the night but expecting nothing.

Jinwoo nods and thanks Minho, but asks him to go out, to enjoy the night and his freedom when he hands him his food. It's the fourth time in a month that Minho has come over to hand out with Jinwoo in the hospital and this is not normal - Minho needs to be with his own people, his buddies, doing his life without worrying about Jinwoo; in the end, he is only his strange roommate. 

When Minho leaves, he hides his dejection from Jinwoo, cries on his way back home.

****

He feels like he has been a jerk with Minho and that he has all the rights to give him the cold-shoulder. But Jinwoo only wants him to not rely on him alone, he wants Minho to be out and about, hanging out with friends as he used before – before they random meeting, before everything changed and they became to spend time together, drinking in the couch while complaining, laughing at the TV's shows.

“Do you want to go do the shopping together?” he offers, willing to be forgiven. “My treat,” he adds and Minho jogs to him, smiling. “If you have no other plans, I don’t want to interfere,” but seeing Minho rushing to get ready – which takes less time than usual, - Jinwoo is sure that he has nothing else to do.

Just to make Minho happy, Jinwoo lets him chose new clothes, brush his hair and hold his hand. Minho takes it graciously, beaming with a progression of joy beating down his blood. And Jinwoo is happy to witness it since, lately, Minho has been a bit upset with him, worried about something he doesn’t tell.

After his trip to the shop, Jinwoo comes back carrying three bags of useless stuff Minho has picked up and a twinkly Minho – and for seeing him sparkling again, all his money wasted is worth it.

“Thanks for today!” Minho says, an arm around Jinwoo’s frame, pulling him into a half embrace. “I really needed it, hyung,” he says, all cheerful again and Jinwoo feels useful, finally. “Really, thank you,” and he kisses gently his forehead.

****

Jinwoo can’t sleep and he needs it. He can’t afford to mess up at work, not when he juggles with humans’ lives and so Minho needs to go – he needs to stop camping in his mind, lodging inside all the time; it is cumbersome, he needs his thoughts clean and fresh, his mind ready but there is nothing he can do, Minho’s names persist, lingering free on his brain, the memory of his lips on his forehead, his hands entangled, it feels vivid, the sensation fresh on his skin and it's been days and he can't move from it, his heart running wild and Minho's name engraved on his rims.

Minho can’t sleep either. He has to tell Jinwoo – because the payment date is coming and he hasn’t been able to eat or rest and there is constant pressure on his chest. He needs to come clean, release the burden he has been holding in.

He opens the door and feels the cold air of the night sweep his worries for a moment. There is water running, the sound of a tap dripping, an eery feeling hosting the room. He gets startled when, like a gosh, Jinwoo materialize between the haze of the darkness, crashing against him.

“Minho?” he calls out, the glass he is holding spilling water everywhere.

“Hyung?” Minho is perplexed, hands seeking for the switch. It is a mess when he turns the light on. Jinwoo is all wet, eyes round in shock. “You should dry yourself before you get a cold,” he observes but Jinwoo doesn’t move – he keeps on staring at him, wandering. “Hyung?” and, as speechless as he is, he doesn’t flinch when Minho’s hands reach for his when he pulls him in. “Here, let me help you,” he says gently, his hands romancing over his chest, fingers soaked with the wet fabric of his baggy T-shirt. Minho takes it off and wonders at the display of Jinwoo’s chest – pale, soft, slightly toned, - and he has to contain the sudden urge to ravish him, to kiss him roughly, devouring his flesh until all is white and his only thought is his name engraved inside his mind.

But, before that, he must tell him the truth though Jinwoo looks catatonic, staying still, half- in front of his hungry eyes.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he mumbles and Minho blinks, confuse. Does he mean the same he thinks? 

“I’m the same. You are all the thoughts that I have,” he confesses, coming closer to Jinwoo. “Since we first met, I feel like I have always known you,” he continues, “but I have something else to tell you first. I’ve… lost my job. I can’t pay the rent. Or to afford dating you because I have no money left. I’m sorry I lied to you, but I didn’t want you to take pity of me, to think I am a lost cause or something...” and he feels like crying but free.

Now it’s Jinwoo who blinks sheepishly.

“Do you want to date me?” he says as if the idea has just occurred to him, totally missing the point Minho is trying to do - that he has no job and, therefore, he will have to move. 

“I want to be with you all the time,” he replies, fingers intertwined and Jinwoo is so accommodating, allowing him to do so, to come closer, to hold his graze, to take his breath away. “Hyung, I really like you. You are such a wonderful person. I feel that I liked you even before I put a face on you. I felt in love with your kind acts and words, the way you always carried yourself to not be a nuisance, all the affection you put on your cooking, all of it. I would be so honoured if you wanted me, too. But if you don’t like me back, it’s OK. I can find a new house or move back with my parents,” he assures Jinwoo, not that he wants but he clearly must. 

“Why would I want you to move out? You are such a great room-mate!" he exclaims, indignant "I can pay the rent for us both, don’t worry about that. I can treat you on dates, too. We can make it work out,” he says in a rush of puffed words, holding on into Minho. “Please, stay with me?” he asks, half begging, breaking all of his defences because of course Minho wants to stay – he has no better place to be than with Jinwoo, no other place to call home but him.

“If you are so willing to keep me, of course, I stay!” he exclaims. “Even in your head," he says, kissing it, "but it’s late, you are soaked and someone needs to work to support my jobless life-style,” he jokes, pushing him to his room, climbing on Jinwoo’s bed, laying next to him, his head on his chest, listening to his heart-beats.