Title: All Things Bright And Beautiful
Author/Artist: [REDACTED]
Your Giftee: Sokkusu
Rating: so very, very, very PG.
Wordcounts: 6,258
Warnings (if applicable): cheese and ridiculousness, basically. unhealthy amounts of dairy products, probably.
Author/Artist’s note: i can’t believe i wrote a taco restaurant drive-thru au. dear giftee, i really hope you enjoy this, and i’m sorry about the lack of ;; also, thank you to the lovely mod who had to deal with me being a slow- writer, and thank you rea (ailurish) for being the world’s greatest cheerleader. happy holidays, suju fandom. x

 

---

 

 

strawberry milkshake #1

 

The line of cars hasn’t moved in what feels like forever. Hyukjae sighs, biting the inside of his cheek to stifle a yawn. He glares accusingly at the neon sign on the roof of Donghwa’s, the one that happily declares 24/7 Drive-Thru in bright blue letters.

“Alright, next time you crave a double-cheese quesadilla in the middle of the goddamn night, you’d better ask someone else to drive you,” Hyukjae says through gritted teeth, slumping forward and digging his chin into the steering wheel.

Sungmin, sitting comfortably in the passenger seat, gasps over-dramatically. “I’m only looking after you. Making sure you get something to eat. How dare you question my motives, I am hurt, I am wounded.” He drags a finger down his cheek, faking a tear. His eyes are wide with mock innocence. “Besides, you love the strawberry milkshakes at Donghwa’s.”

It’s true. Donghwa’s is mainly a Korean-Mexican restaurant, but they have the best strawberry milkshakes in Seoul.

Hyukjae groans. He never should’ve told Sungmin about his fondness for sweet strawberry drinks. “I hate you.” He tries to narrow his eyes to make a point, but they’re already half-closed with sleep. “You’re the worst best friend.”

Sungmin tells him it’s an oxymoron, Hyukjae tells Sungmin he’s a moron, and they throw insults back and forth for a few minutes, until the line of cars finally moves and it’s their turn to order.

Hyukjae rolls the window down, shivering when the cold night air hits his face.

“Hello, welcome to Donghwa’s!” the speaker announces. It’s a typical customer service voice, all clear pronunciation and (probably fake) cheerfulness, but Hyukjae can tell the employee doing the talking is not from Seoul. He’s almost about to ask about the odd dialect, for some reason, when the speaker rattles back to life. “What can I get for you today?”

“Huh? Oh, right, yeah, yes,” Hyukjae says, elbowing Sungmin in the ribs when he snorts. “Um, one large strawberry milkshake and a double-cheese kimchi quesadilla for my terrible awful no-good bastard of a friend who is definitely paying for our order.”

There is a moment of silence, and for a second Hyukjae thinks the speaker has broken, but then there’s a kind of a breathless chuckle. Speaker Guy is laughing. It should be annoying, probably, but it’s not. 

“Um—“

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Speaker Guy interrupts, clearing his throat awkwardly, remnants of laughter still lingering. “Um, yeah, okay, so a strawberry milkshake and a kimchi quesadilla with double cheese. Got it. Drive up to the window, please! Your order will be ready in a minute. Thank you!”

The speaker falls silent and Hyukjae turns to look at Sungmin, pointlessly waving his hand at the machine. “Did he—That was weird? Are they allowed to do that?”

Sungmin rolls his eyes. “What? Laugh? Oh, no, no, I’m sure the employees here get fired for showing any kind of human emotion. Now, the people behind us aren’t getting any happier, so can we please move?”

“Sarcasm is not appreciated in this vehicle,” Hyukjae points out, indignant. He drives up to the pick-up window anyway, because as much as he enjoys doing the complete opposite of whatever Sungmin tells him to do, he doesn’t want to fight with other drive-thru customers at two in the morning. And, yeah, maybe, just maybe, he kind of wants to put a face to the laughter.

It’s barely November but there are already Christmas lights hanging above the window, little reds and greens and blues moving in the wind. Hyukjae frowns; he has never liked the sight of man-made lights against the black night sky. It looks so artificial, like burning holes into a flawless canvas. He twists his body, leaning out of the car slightly, letting the cold wind ruffle his hair and chase away his annoyance.

“Not a fan of festive decorations?” someone says then, very close to his ear, and Hyukjae damn near breaks a rib trying to dive back into the safety of his car. He’s about to curse Donghwa’s to the deepest circle of hell – their heavenly strawberry milkshakes be damned – but then he actually looks at the employee who spoke, and it feels like his words disappear into the night.

This boy – Speaker Guy, Hyukjae’s mind helpfully supplies – is kind of beautiful. He has a handsome face, framed by soft-looking brown hair swept to the side and held in place by a bobby pin, but it’s the smile that has Hyukjae’s breath catching in his throat. The boy is grinning, an almost child-like happiness written all over his face, and the brightness of the Christmas lights has nothing on him.

“I know, it’s barely even November, right. Kind of early for the lights, huh,” the boy continues talking like nothing happened. “Anyway, that’d be 11,000₩, thank you.”

Hyukjae makes a strangled sound, his throat sandpaper-dry. “What,” he forces out. “Sorry, what?”

The boy pushes a stray strand of hair behind his ear, still smiling. “The food. 11,000₩, thank you.” He doesn’t even sound annoyed when he has to repeat his words. Oh god.

Hyukjae manages, miraculously, to hand him the money without dropping anything. The boy reaches towards the car, a brown paper bag in hand. “Here you go, a large strawberry milkshake, and a double-cheese kimchi quesadilla for your,” he lifts his free hand to make air quotes, smiling, “terrible awful no-good bastard of a friend.”

Hyukjae barely hears Sungmin’s noise of protest. He reaches out to grab the paper bag, and his eyes land on the boy’s nametag.

Donghae, it says, in scribbly handwriting, a smiley face drawn next to the name.

“Donghae? Like the sea?” Hyukjae blurts. He can feel his face growing warm and he silently thanks the dark of the November night for hiding his blush. It doesn’t really help that his traitorous eyes have now moved from the nametag to where the boy’s shirt collar is ed, showing smooth skin and the line of a collarbone.

“Huh?” the boy asks, tilting his head. “Oh, my name? Yeah. Donghae. Like the sea.” His smile has gone softer now.

“Okay,” Hyukjae says, stubbornly blaming his loss of vocabulary on sleep-deprivation. “Well, um. Thanks? For the. Food.”

The boy -- Donghae, like the sea -- laughs. “Anytime. That’s kind of what we’re here for. Enjoy your milkshake.”

“You too. I mean—you don’t have a milkshake. You work here. But, um. Have a good night?” Hyukjae gravely considers holding his breath until he passes out.

Donghae grins. “You too.”

As they’re driving back to the campus, much to the relief of the customers behind them in the drive-thru, Sungmin tears into his quesadilla and Hyukjae wonders if Donghae’s hair smells like barbeque fumes when he goes home after work.

This isn’t good.

 

--

 

strawberry milkshake #2

 

Hyukjae tries not to think about Donghae.

He doesn’t think about the smile, brighter than goddamn Christmas lights. He doesn’t think about the undone buttons or the smooth skin of Donghae’s neck. He doesn’t think about the smiley face on his nametag or his horrible handwriting. He doesn’t think about the breathless laughter, or how soft Donghae’s hair looked, or the small wrinkles in the corners of his eyes when he grinned.

Hyukjae tries not to think about Donghae, and fails miserably.

He ends up driving back to Donghwa’s three days later, on a Friday afternoon, gripping the steering wheel so tightly he’s afraid it might break. He’s not this nervous even when he pulls pre-exam all-nighters, running on pure adrenaline and energy drinks. Hell, he wasn’t this nervous even in middle school when he had to get a vaccination. He cried in the nurse’s office, squeezed Sungmin’s hand hard enough to bruise, and then fainted. And yet, somehow, inexplicably, Hyukjae feels more anxious now, sitting in his car in front of a taco restaurant.

He can’t tell whether it’s relief or disappointment that he feels when the voice greeting him through the speaker is a soft, feminine one. He kind of wants to drive back to his dorm – and maybe punch himself in the face for thinking that stalking a drive-thru employee was a good idea – but that would be rude, so he orders a strawberry milkshake. Because, damn it, he might’ve lost his dignity, but at least he’ll have a cup of sugary heaven to drown his sorrows in.

The girl at the pick-up window has sharp eyes and pink lips, her hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. Her nametag says Hyoyeon in neat letters.

“Thanks,” Hyukjae says when Hyoyeon hands him the paper bag. She offers him a small smile in return. She doesn’t seem horribly intimidating, so Hyukjae takes a deep breath and asks, “Um, is— is Donghae working today?”

Hyoyeon tilts her head, ponytail swinging from side to side. “Are you a friend of Hae’s?” She narrows her eyes a little, and Hyukjae suddenly feels like he’s being evaluated.

“I— uh, kind of?” he says. I could be. At some point. In the future. If I don’t go to prison for stalking, he tells himself. It doesn’t make him feel any better about lying; mostly he just wants to crawl into the space between the dash and the driver’s seat and never emerge.

“Hmm,” Hyoyeon hums. She rests her delicate elbows on the counter, leaning forward to get a better look at Hyukjae. She’s one of those people whose eyes could probably burn holes in your skin if they tried hard enough. “Well, sorry to disappoint,” she says, after a moment, “but Hae only does overnight shifts.” Then, in a kinder voice, “He’ll be here after midnight, so. If you come back then, you’ll probably see him.”

Hyukjae cringes at the thought of going anywhere at such an ungodly hour, when he could be fast asleep under a fluffy duvet, and decides that this is the universe’s way of telling him nothing is ever going to happen between him and Donghae-like-the-sea. There will other people, surely. Other boys, or girls, with sunshine-bright smiles and incomprehensible handwriting.

Swallowing the bitterness of disappointment and ignoring the tight feeling in his chest, Hyukjae thanks Hyoyeon and leaves.

He has no intention of coming back after midnight.

 

--

 

strawberry milkshake #3

 

At 1am, Hyukjae is back at Donghwa’s, cursing his entire existence.

He turns the rearview mirror towards himself, cringing at the reflection. His face is puffy and he has dark circles under his eyes, a typical trait of any university student. His dyed-blonde hair is pointing into all possible directions, out of control and showing dark roots. He’s wearing slippers and pyjama pants, but that’s not even the worst part. Hyukjae looks down, in mild disgust, at the shirt he blindly grabbed on his way out of the dorm. It’s one of Sungmin’s, a pale pink cardigan with polka dot patterns, and it hangs loosely on Hyukjae’s thin frame.

everything.

Hyukjae rolls the window down, once again, his stomach twisting into knots. He stares at the speaker, hoping Hyoyeon wasn’t lying.

There’s a moment of static, and then a very familiar voice. “Hello, welcome to Donghwa’s! What can I get for you today?”

Hyukjae’s entire face goes hot, like someone just slammed it into a radiator. “Hi. Uh. A large strawberry milkshake, please.”

“A large strawberry milkshake,” Donghae repeats. “Got it. Would you like anything else?”

Yes, your number, Hyukjae thinks. “No, thanks,” he says.

“Alright, perfect. Thank you! Drive up to the window, please. I’ll be right with you.”

“Neat,” Hyukjae says, much to his own horror. Nobody has used the word neat since the 90’s and even back then it was considered lame by most people. “I—I mean, cool, I’ll just. I’ll. Yeah.”

The speaker goes silent.

“Oh, . ing, ing ,” Hyukjae curses. Unfortunately, no matter how badly he wants to, he can’t just order something and then bolt, so he does eventually pick up the pathetic remains of his courage and drive to the window.

Donghae is just as beautiful as before, if not more so. His hair is slightly curly today, a few loose strands stubbornly falling into his eyes. He’s got smiling eyes, Hyukjae thinks, the kind that seem like they absorb light and never lose their brightness. It’s mesmerizing, and Hyukjae doesn’t realize he’s staring until Donghae waves a hand in front of his face.

“Hey, you okay?”

Hyukjae wants to tell Donghae how beautiful he is. Instead, he says, “Yeah, no, I’m good.”

Donghae’s hand hangs between them for a while, and Hyukjae kind of wants to run his fingers over Donghae’s palm and count all the lines in his skin, but then the moment is over. Donghae leans back, frowning, his mouth oddly twisted, like he’s thinking of something.

“Oh!” he says then, smile returning. “You’re the guy from earlier this week, right? The milkshake—“ he points at the cardboard cup still sitting on the counter, “The milkshake guy.”

Hyukjae blinks. Donghae remembers him? Donghae remembers him. “You—you remember me? Don’t you get like a billion customers a night?”

Donghae laughs, throwing his head back briefly. “You were interesting, you and your friend. It was nice. He’s not with you today, though?”

Hyukjae’s brain is going into overdrive, creating a Donghae folder somewhere in the corner of his mind, storing away the word interesting in all caps and bold and cursive, because, oh god, did Donghae just call him interesting.

“Uhhh—oh, Sungmin? Yeah, he’s sleeping. He’s here in spirit, though. I’m wearing his shirt.” Donghae raises an eyebrow, his smile fading just a little, and Hyukjae realizes what he just said. “Oh, ohh, oh, no, he’s—he’s my roommate, and I accidentally took his fugly shirt. I wasn’t looking, I thought it was mine. Which it isn’t. It’s Sungmin’s. It’s not mine.”

The left corner of Donghae’s mouth twitches. “Oh, okay. Well, that’s a relief. Because, I’m sorry, but that cardigan is… um…”

Hyukjae’s eyes widen. There it is: something they have in common. They both hate Sungmin’s shirt. They can bond over this. Hyukjae grabs the opportunity like a lifeline.

“I know, right? It should apologize to all other cardigans for its existence.”

Donghae grins. “It’s definitely ruining the good name of cardigans.”

Hyukjae feels laughter bubbling in his chest. If he had a journal, he would open it right now and write, November 7, had an actual conversation with Donghae, we insulted Sungmin’s fashion choices together, it was amazing.  

“Anyway,” Donghae continues. “It feels weird to know your friend’s name when I don’t know yours. Oh, and you probably don’t remember mine, it’s Dong—“

“—hae,” Hyukjae finishes, quietly, not meeting Donghae’s eyes. “Your name is Donghae. Like the sea.” He looks up then, and the smile that greets him is breathtaking.

“Yeah,” Donghae says.

“I’m Hyukjae.”

“Nice to meet you, Hyukjae.”

Hyukjae decides he’ll never get tired of hearing Donghae say his name. “Nice to meet you, too, Donghae.”

Donghae looks like he’s about to say something, but then there’s a loud crash somewhere behind him, the unmistakable sound of a plate breaking. He bites his lip. “Ah, Jongwoon-hyung probably broke something again. I’d better go and check that out, and, uh, actually, there’s a queue behind you…”

“Oh, right, yes. Um, can I— the milkshake?” Hyukjae asks.

“Hm? Oh, yes, the milkshake! God, I’m so sorry, I didn’t—yeah. That’s 6,000₩, thank you.” He puts the cardboard cup in a paper bag and hands it to Hyukjae, blushing lightly, and Hyukjae reaches out to give him the money. They say thank you at the same time and smile at each other.

“I’ll come again soon,” Hyukjae promises, hoping it’s something Donghae wants.

“Yeah, that’d be,” Donghae pauses for a second, grinning. “That’d be… neat.”

 

--

 

strawberry milkshake #4

 

Soon turns out to be the very next night.

This time around, Hyukjae says hi, Donghae, it’s me before ordering his large strawberry milkshake, and Donghae says I’m glad you came back, it gets a bit boring here sometimes before the speaker goes quiet again.

Hyukjae wonders if boring equals lonely, but he doesn’t ask. Instead, they end up talking about football.

When it’s time for Hyukjae to leave, Donghae asks if he’ll come back.

“I will,” he says.

Donghae smiles, and Hyukjae has never been so far gone in such a short time.

 

--

 

strawberry milkshake #5

 

On Sunday night, Donghae tells Hyukjae that he’s only in Seoul for the holidays.

“Donghwa is my older brother,” he says with a proud smile. “This place means the world to him, and things get crazy around Christmas, so I come and help out every year. There aren’t many people crazy enough to work overnight shifts during holiday season, so. I do my best. Once things slow down, I go back home.”

Hyukjae squeezes the paper bag in his lap. He doesn’t want to talk about this, so he asks about Donghae’s dialect instead. “Where is home, anyway? Where are you from?”

Donghae’s smile is both happy and sad when he says, “Mokpo.”

That’s really far away from Seoul. Hyukjae feels like his ribcage is slowly shrinking, growing tighter around his heart.

“What about you, though? You’re not from Seoul either.”

Hyukjae smiles at that. “Takes one to know one, huh. I guess we’re both crap at faking a Seoul accent. I’m from Goyang.”

“Goyang?” Donghae says, loud, his eyes going wide. “Seriously? So we’re from the opposite ends of the country.”

“Yeah, we are.”

A silence falls over them, broken only by sounds of traffic. Hyukjae thinks of the stories people sometimes like to tell, about the red thread of fate and soulmates and all that, how certain people are destined to meet no matter where they’re from. How people gravitate towards each other, as if pulled by invisible strings.

“Must be fate, huh?” Donghae says, then. He’s grinning but it’s hard to tell if he’s joking or not.

Hyukjae grins back, nonetheless. “Yeah,” he says. “Must be.”

 

--

 

strawberry milkshake #6-#20

 

In the next two weeks, Hyukjae falls for Donghae, fast and hard.

He learns a new tidbit of information every night. He learns that Donghae pokes his tongue out sometimes when he’s counting the change. He learns that Donghae loves short rib tacos, because Hyukjae orders one on a Wednesday night (with his milkshake, of course), and Donghae hands the paper bag to him with a smile and says, good choice, short rib tacos are the best ones, and Hyukjae almost drops the bag. He learns that Donghae’s fingertips are warm as they accidentally brush against the cool skin of Hyukjae’s hand.

He hears about Donghae’s co-workers, too. Stories of the sharp-eyed Hyoyeon who’s younger than Donghae but treats him the way an older sister would; Heechul whose attitude got him fired from all his previous jobs; Taeyeon, a sweet-faced girl who can keep even the most difficult customers in check; Jongwoon who’s prone to oil burns and spends most of his working hours looking for ice and plasters; Ryeowook, the best cook at Donghwa’ despite his young age. Donghae talks about all of them happily, rolling his eyes every once in a while, like they’re just as much his family as Donghwa is.

Hyukjae and Donghae talk every night, leaning out of their respective windows, barbeque fumes hanging in the air between them. It’s only ever a few minutes at a time, though, because Donghwa’s is quite popular and the drive-thru has to keep flowing smoothly.

Hyukjae hates leaving, and he thinks maybe, just maybe, Donghae might hate watching him go.

 

--

 

strawberry milkshake #21

 

The downside of late night visits to a taco restaurant becomes very obvious very fast.

On a Monday morning in late November, Hyukjae wakes up to the sound of students walking past him. Which strikes him as odd, until he realizes he’s not in his dorm; he’s in the lecture hall, his cheek pressed into his notes and drool on his chin. It’s not the first time, either. He’s been falling asleep in class a lot lately, ever since his stupid heart went and fell for a boy who only works overnight shifts.

Hyukjae sighs, glaring at his drool-covered lecture notes like the sheets of paper are somehow at fault. They’re mostly incomprehensible scribbles and smudged ink and, yeah, there might be some drawings of tacos in the corner of a page or two. Hyukjae picks up his pen.

I am so ed, he writes below the first taco doodle.

Limbs still heavy with drowsiness, Hyukjae makes his way out of the lecture hall and heads back to the dorms for a nap.

He has barely drifted into sleep, lecture notes still hugged tightly to his chest, when Sungmin stomps into the room and declares that he’s staging an intervention.

“What?” Hyukjae blinks sleepily, letting the lecture notes fall off the bed. He rubs at his eyes. Sungmin is standing by the door, face stern and arms crossed over his chest, like a prison guard. There’s a taller boy next to him, unfamiliar, all skinny arms and messy hair. “Wait, what? And who is that? What is happening? Am I still asleep? Is this a nightmare?”

“An intervention is happening,” Sungmin repeats. “And this is Kyuhyun.” He grabs the boy’s shoulders, gently pushing him towards Hyukjae. “He’s a vocal major. So, either you tell me why you’ve turned into a sleep-deprived zombie or Kyuhyun will sing the entire discography of Sechs Kies. In chronological order. On repeat. Until you beg for mercy. It’s your call, big guy.”

The boy, Kyuhyun, rolls his eyes at big guy, very obviously trying not to laugh.

Hyukjae sighs. “Sungmin, it’s not that I don’t appreciate your FBI act, but, honestly, I’m fine, there’s no need for all of—“

“Hyukjae,” Sungmin says, voice softer now. He flops down on Hyukjae’s bed, legs folded underneath him. He looks impossibly small like this, and Hyukjae is suddenly reminded of the first time they met, years ago, as fearless little boys with dirt all over their clothes. They’ve been best friends for a long time, and Hyukjae knows he’s going to tell Sungmin everything when he asks, in that soft voice, “Seriously, are you okay?”

“I… okay, so, uh, I kind of have a, um, a guy problem?”

Sungmin raises an eyebrow. “A guy problem like erectile dysfunction, or a guy problem as in…“

Hyukjae doesn’t even laugh at the erectile dysfunction bit, he just looks down at his hands and bites his lip. “…Yeah, the second one,” he says quietly.

It’s still a weird topic to discuss, even though Sungmin found out years ago. They were in high school, back then, and there was a boy in Hyukjae’s English class, and it didn’t take long for Sungmin to notice the lingering looks. Hyukjae remembers the conversation, and the tears, and the relief when Sungmin didn’t leave.

Sungmin seems to be remembering the same conversation. “You know I don’t think it’s wrong, right?” He squeezes Hyukjae’s knee reassuringly. “It’s fine.”

Hyukjae looks up, feeling a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. “I know. Um, what about. Um.” He turns to look at Kyuhyun who is now sitting on Sungmin’s bed, observing the situation from across the room.

“Me? I don’t even know you, so I don’t really care whose pants you want to—“ Sungmin clears his throat, and Kyuhyun backpedals. “I mean, who you like. Doesn’t bother me,” he finishes awkwardly.

“Anyway,” Sungmin continues. “So you like someone. That doesn’t explain the sudden narcolepsy. Do you lose sleep over this guy? Do you stay up all night thinking of him and—no, wait, don’t answer that.”

Hyukjae smacks the side of Sungmin’s head. “No, you , I’m tired all the time because I can only see him at night.”

Sungmin blinks. “Because he’s an actual fairytale princess or…?”

“Yes, that’s exactly it. No, idiot, he works at Donghwa’s, but only the overnight shifts, so I… kind of drive up there every night around 2am to see him?”

There’s a silence, then, and Hyukjae is painfully aware of just how pathetic he is. Sungmin is frozen in place like a statue and Kyuhyun’s face is red with suppressed laughter.

“Okay,” Sungmin finally says, amused. “So, you sleep in class because, let me get this straight, you like a guy who works night shifts at Donghwa’s and you hit the drive-thru every night just to see him?”

Hyukjae wishes the floor would swallow him. “Yeah.”

“Wait—it’s not the speaker guy, is it? It totally is, isn’t it?”

Hyukjae groans. “Yeah, that would be him. Now please take this pillow and smother me to death.”

Sungmin grabs the offered pillow and throws it at Kyuhyun who is shaking with uncontrollable giggles. “Alright, so it’s, uh. Pretty serious, then?”

“Sungmin,” Hyukjae says. “I literally draw Mexican food on my lecture notes.”

Sungmin at least has the common decency to hide behind his hands when he starts laughing. Kyuhyun just falls off the bed, with all the grace of a gangly university student, wheezing. Hyukjae flips them both off.

 

--

 

That night, underneath the Christmas lights, Hyukjae is brave and asks Donghae if he’d like to share the milkshake.

Donghae looks around, biting his lip. For once, there is no queue behind Hyukjae’s car, nobody to witness anything that happens, so eventually he nods. Hyukjae removes the lid of the cup while Donghae gets another straw.

They pass the milkshake back and forth between them, fingers brushing every now and then.

When Donghae accidentally on the wrong straw and his cheeks go a little pink, Hyukjae thinks that, yes, yes, this is definitely worth falling asleep in lecture halls.

 

--

 

strawberry milkshake #22

 

On Tuesday night, Hyukjae is so tired that he drives past the speaker and straight to the window.

Donghae only brings it up when they’ve been chatting for about five minutes. “So,” he says, smiling, leaning on the counter. “Were you actually going to order something, or…?”

Hyukjae blinks, eyelids heavy with exhaustion. Then it hits him. “Oh, , , oh—I, yeah, I totally drove straight past the—Should I go back and--?”

“Hey,” Donghae interrupts, voice cracking with laughter. “It’s fine, you idiot. I knew you were coming, so.” He disappears behind the counter, and emerges with a cardboard cup in his hand. Smiling a little sheepishly, he offers the milkshake to Hyukjae. “It’s an extra large, too. You have exams coming up soon, so I thought… yeah. If you want it. Here you go.”

Hyukjae opens his mouth but words refuse to come, so he reaches out a hand instead. He grabs the cup, gently trapping Donghae’s fingers between his own and the cold cardboard.

“Thanks, Donghae.” He keeps his eyes fixed on the ground, too scared to look up.

“Sure,” Donghae says, whisper-soft. “You should go now, though. Study well, okay? And don’t come and see me! You need your sleep, alright? I’ll see you once your exams are over.”

Hyukjae releases Donghae’s fingers. “Okay,” he says. “See you in two weeks.”

“Yeah.”

As he’s rolling the window up, Hyukjae is pretty sure he hears Donghae say I’ll miss you, but it might just be the wind playing tricks on him.

 

--

 

strawberry milkshake #23

 

It’s nearly mid-December when Hyukjae finishes his last exam for the semester. He’s excited about that, but he’s more excited to see Donghae again. Unfortunately, Sungmin and Kyuhyun decide to tag along. Sungmin insists that he’s only looking out for his best friend, while Kyuhyun says that observing Hyukjae in social situations is like watching a monkey trying to use tools.

This is how Hyukjae ends up in the car with Sungmin in the passenger seat, a weird feeling of déjà vu washing over him. Kyuhyun is in the backseat, wrapped in a fluffy coat, drifting in and out of sleep.

Donghae looks a bit disappointed when Hyukjae arrives with company, frowning a little in confusion. Hyukjae mouths I’m sorry, and Donghae smiles softly.

“This is Sungmin,” Hyukjae introduces, sharing a grin with Donghae when they both remember the pink cardigan. “And the, uh, lump in the backseat is Kyuhyun.”

“Nice to meet you,” Donghae says, bowing his head. “Um, I’m a bit busy right now, actually, so I can’t really talk, I’m sorry. But, um. Here.” He hands Hyukjae the strawberry milkshake he ordered, teeth digging into his lower lip. “Um. Good night. And congrats on finishing your exams.” His fingers linger on Hyukjae’s for a brief moment. “And it was nice to meet you, really,” he adds, then, looking at Sungmin and Kyuhyun.

Sungmin smiles, and Kyuhyun waves sleepily.

As soon as they leave the Donghwa’s parking lot, Hyukjae elbows Sungmin in the ribs. “You are the literal worst, Lee Sungmin,” he says, eyes so narrowed he can barely see the road. “I’m never taking you anywhere ever—“ He glances at the milkshake, words stopping mid-sentence. “Wha—wait, wait.”

Hyukjae parks the car next to a sidewalk, two blocks away, and stares at the cardboard cup Donghae handed him just minutes ago. There are words on it, in terrible, scribbly handwriting.

i missed you

“Oh, . . I’m so ed. Help.”

Sungmin leans over to pat Hyukjae’s shoulder in sympathy, clearly sensing now is not the time for jokes or bickering. “He seems like a good guy,” he says, earnest, offering a smile. “You should talk to him.”

Hyukjae hugs the milkshake to his chest. “I’m scared, Min. He doesn’t even live in Seoul, and we’re both—“

“Jesus Christ, he obviously likes you,” Kyuhyun says. Both Hyukjae and Sungmin turn to look at him, eyes wide. “Just use your goddamn words, okay? If you shut up every time there’s a possibility you might say something wrong, then you’re never going to speak at all. Just ing go and get your man, you loser. And wash your ing car every once in a while, honestly, it smells like something died in here.” With that, he pulls the hood of his coat over his head and falls back asleep.

Sungmin grins, squeezing Hyukjae’s shoulder. “He does have a point, you know.”

Hyukjae sighs. “I know, Min. I know.”

 

--

 

strawberry milkshake #24

 

It snows on the following night, thick flakes falling slowly from the sky, looking a bit like fireflies when they catch the glow of the Christmas lights.

“It’ll be Christmas soon,” Donghae says, smiling down at the counter, his fingers drawing invisible patterns on the surface.

“Yeah,” Hyukjae says. His chest feels three sizes too small for his heart. “When are you going home? Right after Christmas?”

“Maybe. Or the week after, I’m not sure yet.”

“Okay.”

It’s the most awkward conversation they’ve ever had, even worse than the very first one. Hyukjae keeps talking but he doesn’t really say anything. Donghae’s smile keeps growing sadder and sadder until it disappears entirely.

The snow slowly turns into rain.

 

--

 

strawberry milkshake #25

 

The next time they meet, Donghae focuses very hard on placing the plastic lid on the cardboard cup, avoiding Hyukjae’s eyes.

It hurts.

Hyukjae feels like he’s built a fire and it just keeps on spreading, and he’s not sure if the pleasant feeling of warmth outweighs his fear of getting burnt. He knows Donghae will go back to Mokpo, and he knows what can happen to boys who fall for other boys, and he knows he shouldn’t have gone back to Donghwa’s at all in the first place.

And he knows he wants Donghae. He wants this bright-smiled boy with a name like the sea. He wants him so much.

Hyukjae makes a decision, then. The bravest one he’s made in a long time.

“Donghae,” he says, voice cracking on the name. “Donghae. I—I need to tell you something. Can you look at me?”

Donghae bites his lip, shakes his head a little.

“Please?” Hyukjae tries. “Please. Please, Hae. It’s important.”

Donghae places the milkshake on the counter with a loud thud. He looks exhausted. “Okay, fine. Just, be quick, okay? It’s a busy night, I have work to do.”

Hyukjae’s heart is beating at hummingbird speed, and he feels like he might vomit if he actually speaks the words he wants to say, so he points at the milkshake instead. Donghae frowns in confusion. Hyukjae turns his palm skywards, curling his fingers slightly.

“Oh.” Donghae gets the hint, grabbing the cardboard cup and handing it to Hyukjae. Their fingers brush, the familiar warmth of that contact traveling up Hyukjae’s arm and settling in his ribcage.

There’s a sharpie in the glove compartment, buried underneath road maps and trash. Hyukjae doesn’t realize how much his hands are shaking until he finds the pen and presses the tip to the cardboard surface of his milkshake cup. Taking a deep breath, he writes down the words he’s too nervous to say.  

Donghae observes this quietly, arms crossed over the counter. He blinks when Hyukjae hands the milkshake back to him. “Wha—“

“Read it,” Hyukjae says, quietly, giving Donghae’s fingers a light squeeze before letting go. “And please don’t hate me.”

This is it.

Donghae looks down at the cup he’s holding, his mouth falling open when he sees what Hyukjae wrote. On the white cardboard, below the Donghwa’s logo, in unsteady handwriting, it says,

you are all things bright and beautiful to me.

Hyukjae holds his breath, anxiety clawing at his insides. Donghae looks up, meeting Hyukjae’s gaze. There’s a question in there somewhere, in the bright brown of his eyes, like he’s not sure any of this is real.

“Donghae,” Hyukjae says, softly. “I—you and me, this—I like you, so much, and sometimes I think you might, you just might—I’m not imagining it, right? Please tell me it’s not just me.”

Donghae’s eyes are even brighter now, the corners looking slightly wet. “Wait there, alright?” he says, before disappearing somewhere inside the restaurant.

Hyukjae waits, too stunned and confused to do much else. And then, suddenly, there’s a Donghae in front of him. As in, outside, standing on the pavement right outside Hyukjae’s car. He’s panting a little, and Hyukjae realizes he ran all the way through the restaurant and past the drive-thru queue. He ing ran. For Hyukjae.

“Hi,” Donghae says, breathless.

“Hi,” Hyukjae echoes. He’s only ever seen Donghae from the waist up, before, so being able to see his feet and legs and thighs is kind of strange and amazing. Hyukjae opens the door, slowly stepping out of his car. They’re both standing outside now, facing each other. Donghae looks even more beautiful up close, and Hyukjae wants to run his fingers all over his face, like tracing lines on a map.

“You’re not,” Donghae says, quiet, “You’re not imagining. It’s not—It’s not just you.”

Hyukjae huffs out a laugh, burying his face in his hands. “Oh my god. Oh my god. So, you—“

“Yeah,” Donghae says, his lips curling upwards. He takes Hyukjae’s hands in his, pulling them away from his face, a bit uncertainly because this is new and neither of them knows what they’re doing. “Yeah. It’s not just you. It’s me, too.”

“Oh god,” Hyukjae repeats. “Can—is it okay to hug you? I mean, there are people, but—“

He swallows the rest of that sentence when Donghae puts a hand on his shoulder, encouraging him to come closer. Hyukjae’s arms settle around Donghae’s waist, and he thinks briefly of the invisible strings pulling people towards each other. Donghae wraps his arms around Hyukjae’s neck, smiling into his shoulder. They fit together well, like this, with no space between them.

Hyukjae lifts one hand, just to run his fingers through Donghae’s hair. It’s soft. He smiles to himself. “You’re beautiful,” he whispers into the side of Donghae’s neck.

Donghae shivers. “You, too. And just so you know, you’re kind of unbearably cute when you’re sleepy. It’s very distracting.”

“I promise, I’ll try very hard to be less cute,” Hyukjae swears, grinning. Donghae laughs, kicking him in the ankle.

They stand like this for a while longer, in each other’s arms, hearts beating fast, and Hyukjae hopes they’re both brave enough to make this work.

 

--

 

strawberry milkshake #???

 

“You have your very own ringtone now, Hae,” Hyukjae says, setting his empty milkshake cup aside and leaning across the kitchen table until his nose touches Donghae’s.

They both have beads of sweat running down their faces. Seoul is hot in summer and the air-conditioning of their apartment died two weeks after they moved in. It’s okay, though; all the more reason to drink milkshakes.

Donghae tilts his head, smiling. “I do? It’d better not be I Drove All Night again.” He grabs his phone and calls Hyukjae’s number.

The kitchen fills with the beat of my milkshake brings all the boys to the yard, and damn right, it’s better than yours…, and Donghae’s face turns bright red.

Hyukjae escapes into the living room as fast as he can, cackling. Donghae chases him around the room until they’re both breathless and doubling over with laughter. They end up sprawled on the couch, legs tangled and chests pressed together.

Donghae kisses Hyukjae, with just as much affection as he did the first time, lightly on his lower lip. “You’re so dumb,” he whispers into Hyukjae’s mouth. “I love you.”

Hyukjae smiles, dizzy with quiet happiness. “I love you, too.”

 

---

a/n: enough cheese to make a whole army of quesadillas for sungmin tbh.