just a little closer - Chapter 1 - boogiewoogii (2024)

Chapter Text

Wooyoung hates being an adult.

Disheartening, really, to say that when he’s been considered to be an independent adult for several years now. Because he can be as loud as he wants about it, there’s nothing he can do about it at this point.

He’s well into his twenties, having to do his own laundry in his own apartment, and paying rent with the money he earns at work. A real, adult work, at a real restaurant, as a real chef. Gone are the days he used to play with the cooking set for kids his mother bought him after he wailed in the middle of Toy Kingdom. Because now, he can’t even cry when nobody buys him the thing he wants (okay, he still does a little, actually, but only with Yeosang, he swears). He has to reason with himself, remember that he already has a lot of pair of shoes and he doesn’t need this one even though he’s been seeing it all over Instagram and it would really fit well his beige jacket and he could it pair it up with his earrings— he has to remember that he doesn’t need one more pair of shoes and he really should save up the money he earned working hard. Especially when said money is already spent for rent and bills, and he doesn’t have a lot left for food and he’s only at the start of the month.

He has to renounce even his most basic wants (taking long hot showers when you’re an adult with bills to pay is way less enticing, all of a sudden), sticking not to the most comfortable but the most affordable routine. He can’t even say that he isn’t paid well; Hong’s Kitchen is a pretty renowned restaurant, enough to be located in Gangnam, at least, and Wooyoung has come a long way. From playing with the kitchen set for kids to going to culinary school and working at various restaurants to better his knowledge of different kinds of cuisine, to ending up as a sous chef at Hong’s Kitchen after the three years of hard work he’s put into serving as a line cook for the restaurant. Sure, now, he has to work even harder but he’s always up for a challenge. If not for the experience and the passion for food that’s carried him all the way here, then for the paycheck.

But he still has to be careful with money because… you know… inflation and whatnot (he may be an adult, but Wooyoung refuses to read the economy part of a newspaper).

No really, being an adult is hard.

And today, just like any other day since his mother refuses to do his laundry because “you’re an adult now”, Wooyoung thinks the same, as his alarm rings off and the clock shows “7 A.M.”. It’s Sunday, though. Nobody should get up at seven in the morning on a Sunday.

But Wooyoung does. Because Wooyoung works at a restaurant, and a Sunday for someone working at a restaurant is what Monday is to a white collar. So because it’s a Sunday and it’s one of the busiest days, if not the busiest, they open up the restaurant a bit earlier than usual, so Wooyoung has to get up a bit earlier than usual as well. And he can’t do anything about it despite not being a morning person because, well… he’s an adult now.

He gets up, pees with his eyes closed, eat a little cereal bar with his eyes half-closed, down two cups of espresso to be able to open up at least one eye fully, and by the time he’s finished thanking himself for having a perm therefore not having to take care of his hair in the morning, he’s dressed in a gray hoodie and cargo pants, hands on the wheel of his car. After grabbing an iced Americano as takeout on his way, he’s finally able to open up both of his eyes fully, ready to be as uncivil as he can on the roads. Because an adult Wooyoung with a driver’s license on the busy roads of Seoul while everybody else tries to get to their workplaces like him means he’s got no one to scold him for cursing. And honestly, cursing first thing in the morning behind the driving wheel is second nature to the average full-time worker in one of the busiest capitals of the world, but it’s also almost therapeutic for Wooyoung. His own personal detox, if you will.

By the time he makes it through traffic, and drives in endless loops to find the closest spot possible to the restaurant where he could park, it’s almost nine. Once he’s out the car and walking up to the backyard because of course the closest spot he found is five minutes on foot, he leaves a quick voice message to his mom to promise her he’ll visit them some time soon (he won’t and she’ll make sure he knows that she knows with a heated answer later in the day, Wooyoung’s sure) and answers the messages Yeosang sent him by five in the morning (he has even a crazier schedule and Wooyoung has no idea how he even survives).

BITCH <

Yeosangie

> why did you feel the need to call me a bitch at two in the morning?

i had a nightmare <

you cooked me <

then you ate me <

couldn’t sleep for 2hrs after and now im TIRED <

bitch. <

Yeosangie

> it really was a nightmare

> cuz i would never eat you

bc you love me??? <

Yeosangie

Yeosangie is typing…

> no

> bc you’re an unseasoned dish

> you bland bitch

What Wooyoung sips from his plastic cup is mostly melted ice as he walks past the delivery guys dropping supplies and pushes the back door to hold it open for some cooks who carry the boxes inside, greeting him as well. Wooyoung quickly drops his belongings to his locker to help his coworkers out, chats a little with the usual delivery guys while signing off papers, before he asks about the days of everyone from the prep team while he starts stocking everything in the fridge. He takes mental notes of Chef Yongsung asking him for less shifts as his wife is due soon and Chef Mitsuru asking him for more shifts because she plans on going back to Japan to visit her family, promising them he’ll take it into account for when he’ll prepare the planning for next month with the manager.

Once he’s done with stocking, he promises everyone he’ll be back quickly, and runs upstairs, where the other sous-chef and the executive chef are talking by the bar, the first one taking notes while the second one is talking animatedly. “Chef Wooyoung!” Chef Mansik, the executive chef, is the first one to notice him, waving with a smile and shaking hands with Wooyoung as soon as he comes near. “Sleep well?”

“Yes.” As well as he could with the back of an eighty year old man he’s stuck with in his supposedly twentish body, he wants to add, but he refrains.

“Ready for a new day, then?”

“Of course, Chef.” No, he’s not, but then again, he refrains from telling that to his boss. “You went over the planning I left last night, already?”

Chef Mansik grabs one of the sheets on the bar, pulling off his reading glasses as he just eyes it, having probably read it by now. “Yes. A hundred and eighty four bookings from three ‘till six, and then it’s steady ‘till the family dinner at eight thirty and the birthday at nine thirty, right?”

“They’re probably gonna be here ‘till midnight,” the other sous-chef, Chef Narae, adds, still taking notes on her tablet. “You stay ‘till closing time, today, Chef?” she asks Wooyoung, and he nods, grabbing the master prep list to check where he’s placed each person of the prep team and who’s supposed to be working for service, even though he’s already memorized the list he himself prepared yesterday. But because adulthood comes with more frequent memory gaps, he checks it out, just in case. “I’ll be at the kitchen for prep, then come back for service later.”

“I’ll leave you with tomorrow’s planning and orders? Then you’ll get the caviars and the kimchi and Wooyoung-ssi, the meat?” Chef Mansik asks. “I’ll take care of the lobster and the tuna. Then we get to the raw bar together.”

“Yes, Chef,” she says, at the same time Wooyoung says, “Got it.” His eyes are still on the ideas for tomorrow’s menu the two chefs probably discussed before he got here, even though he’s not the one supposed to do the prep list, just to know what he should expect when he’ll be working. “Egg shortage’s over?” he asks, spotting the more egg-based recipes than the past two weeks with the unusual lack of eggs in deliveries.

“We received more than last week, that’s for sure,” Chef Narae answers, putting away her tablet before the three of them start making their way downstairs. They talk a bit more about the new pastry recipe Chef Mansik is planning on putting on the menu, and the price he wants to offer to the manager, who’ll be the one truly deciding on that matter anyway. Then they all go their ways: Chef Mansik off to take care of the lobster, Chef Narae of the kimchi and the oyster and Wooyoung changing into his freshly ironed chef whites before he’s back in the kitchen.

For the better half of the morning, Wooyoung helps out each line cook he himself assigned to a different task, peeling and cutting potatoes, onions and carrots, preparing a green mustard condiment for the fish and talking with the prep supervisor Sunhi about what should be the priorities of everyone so they can be done before lunchtime. Then he starts taking care of the dry aged meat, mindfully cutting it into portions, scraping off the fat and butchering it for ribeye, before he gets busy with cooking it the right way. At last, he helps out Chef Mansik with his plateau de fruits de mer, cutting the king crab and giving a hand to Chef Narae with her ceviche. By noon, they’re done with the raw bar. Wooyoung finishes up his third shot of espresso of the day in the blink of an eye and he greets the cooks that arrive by that time.

With the kitchen now a bit more filled, he starts cooking a quick meal for his team that arrived in the morning and himself. He serves them all a plate they eat in between tasks, while he wanders around with chopsticks in hands, giving out directions and advice to the cooks, tasting and giving feedback on what’s been prepared until now and giving a hand to the ones by the noodle station with their prep all the while he’s eating, having mastered multitasking a long time ago.

Eventually, he does get away from all the steam and the noise of the kitchen by one p.m, taking off his apron and grabbing his phone, some coffee and a pack of cigarettes before he’s out, sitting on the bench in the backyard, smoking while he scrolls down Instagram posts taunting him for not buying that pair of shoes, because now it’s even more trendy and he’s so stupid why would he eat when he could be fashionable anyway and why—

Yeonjun

> Can we talk?

He sighs, swipes the notification to ignore it, then looks up at the message his mom sent him.

Eunkyung-ssi

> Yeonjun called. He said you don’t answer his calls or his messages.

> Talk to him please, baby.

> You shouldn’t make any rash decisions.

> You guys have a beautiful relationship. It’s too bad to end it like this.

> He’s good for you isn’t he? Please think about it.

> I’m very sad about this whole thing.

> Your dad and your brother too.

seriously? <

mom come on <

why are you doing this to me now? <

Wooyoung groans. He tries to distract himself with social media, tries to think about a new recipe, but the sound of the message notification echoes in his ears, something far more insidious than smoke filling his lungs as he inhales. And when he exhales, he can still feel something nasty sitting on his tongue that almost makes him want to retch. Not just the after taste of nicotine. Not just that.

Yeonjun

> Wooyoung

> Please

> I just want to talk

He ignores the messages, tries to write down a few ideas for the new meat dish he wants to try with some Hanwoo beef, eager to talk about it with his team and—

Yeonjun

> I know you’re reading my messages

> Please just answer

ffs <

just leave me alone <

do i need to block your number? <

Yeonjun

> I just want to talk

and i DON’T <

so f*ck off <

He tries to breathe in and out, one hand crushing his empty plastic cup and the other hand tapping against his thigh, like his mother would. “Focus on other sensations,” she would tell him if she were here. But he’s not even sure he wants to see her right now. Not her nor anybody else who keeps telling him what he should do with his own life without trying to even understand why he’s not doing things the way they want in the first place. He shouldn’t, really, but he ends up lighting a second cigarette. He doesn’t think anything else would help him calm down.

“Did nobody tell you smoking is bad for your health?”

Hongjoong looks just like any other day Wooyoung’s seen him since he started working for him: like he’s fresh out of bed. Bare face with eyebags that make his eyes look even smaller, brown hair sticking out in every direction possible except the right one, the eyes of the dragon on his chest peeking through his wrongly buttoned shirt (and Wooyoung’s pretty sure it’s the same shirt he wore yesterday) and half of his usual accessories missing. He’s holding his phone hanging by the wire of his earphones (who even uses wired earphones anymore?) in one hand and an empty pack of cigarettes in the other. “Of course, Manager Kim, you’re right, smoking is really bad,” Wooyoung scoffs, shimmying a bit to let Hongjoong helplessly sit by his side, groaning as he extends a hand towards Wooyoung who gives him a cigarette of his own with a laugh.

But Hongjoong doesn’t take the new cigarette and starts staring intently at Wooyoung. It’s almost a battle of who’s going to blink first. Almost. Because for it to be a battle, Wooyoung must have had a chance at winning to even begin with. Which he doesn’t, and he doesn’t even try to pretend he does: he just rolls his eyes, tucks the new cigarette back inside the pack and gives Hongjoong the one he’s smoking. “What tornado did you get caught in, to come to work looking like this?” he asks, after a beat of silence passes by where Hongjoong just smokes, and Wooyoung just stares at him.

“To come to work, I have to leave work first. Which I very obviously didn’t.”

“You’re literally the manager of a fine dining restaurant in Gangnam, you can’t actually be homeless, but I’m really starting to believe it.” He tries to straighten Hongjoong’s hair as best as he can, while Hongjoong himself is taking off the rest of his accessories with his eyes half-closed.

“I wish I could go back to the days when I was homeless. Being a restaurant manager isn’t for me. So many bills, deliveries, appointments, schedules, bills—”

“You already said that one.”

“Shut up,” Hongjoong grunts and Wooyoung laughs. Now that almost the entire team working at the restaurant have gotten used to it, nobody raises a brow at the casual tone Hongjoong and Wooyoung use to talk to each other, neither do they seem weirded out by how comfortable even Chef Mansik, Narae and Wooyoung himself act around them.

For Hongjoong, the catering sector is stressful enough with its often difficult to please customers, hectic routine and harsh work conditions, so it isn’t useful to anyone to add in useless ego fights and pettiness into the mix. That’s one thing he makes very clear with every new person he hires. He wants Hong’s Kitchen to be a friendly work environment. Of course, when put under the pressure of such a huge amount of work, some fights between co-workers are predictable and maybe a little healthy too, so nobody goes around harboring negative feelings in a corner before they inevitably explode one day. But with an understanding managerial team, they’re more prone to settle their differences in a mature way rather than a dramatic one.

Now, as to Hongjoong and Wooyoung’s relationship, Hongjoong has never shied away from loudly confessing that he never should’ve allowed Wooyoung to be that comfortable with him to even begin with, because Wooyoung finds a way to make him regret that decision every single day. To which Wooyoung always responds with a boisterous laugh and a naughty hand pinching or lightly hitting Hongjoong on any given occasion before the rest of the staff watches their sous-chef get chased down in the backyard by their manager. All the while they’re getting ready to greet wealthy businessmen of Gangnam in a few hours to their restaurant. But it’s too late now, Wooyoung’s grown too attached to the idea of teasing Hongjoong, it’s almost therapeutic for him. His own personal detox, if you will.

Wooyoung checks his phone, ignoring the message notifications and checking what time it is. “We still have two hours before opening. Your house’s close, you’re gonna go shower and change, right?”

“Yeah, of course. I don’t plan on greeting guests looking like I’m some homeless dude picked up from the streets to serve as a host.”

“How’d you even go unnoticed? I don’t think Chef Mansik mentioned anything about you being here.”

“He looked like he saw a ghost when he saw me get out of my office earlier. I would’ve joined you for the morning reunion but I couldn’t get up.”

“Aren’t you over thirty, Manager Kim? Do you not plan to go past forty?”

Hongjoong tuts, throwing a side glance at Wooyoung who smirks. “Aren’t you an intelligent one?” He gets up, crushing the cigarette with the heel of his shoe and throws his bag on his shoulder, looking a bit more awake than earlier. “I’ll be back in an hour,” he says, his eyes traveling from the cigarette butt on the ground to the empty cup Wooyoung crushed in anger earlier. “Want a secret to go over thirty, Wooyoung-ssi?” He taps a finger against Wooyoung’s forehead, a little smile on his lips as Wooyoung tries to back away with a fake whine. “You’re annoyingly intelligent. I don’t know how many people already live inside your head but I’m guessing there are many. Must be a lot of ruckus in there… so if you try to listen to them and to the people outside your head, you’ll end up in the ER by twenty-nine because of lung cancer. So don’t smoke too much and don’t drink too much coffee, and don’t listen to other people too much. You wouldn’t want me to bury you, right?”

Must be magic, Wooyoung often thinks after any conversation he has with Hongjoong. Magic must be what gives the ability to Hongjoong to appear out of thin air right next to you when you didn’t even think you needed someone, and to say the things you didn’t even think you needed to hear, but never prying and never judging. Wooyoung hasn’t even openly talked once to Hongjoong about his family or his ex. He probably didn’t even see the messages Wooyoung was answering when he arrived, because if he were close enough to read messages, Wooyoung would have noticed him. But here he is, making Wooyoung understand that he knows something’s on his mind, enough to push him to harm himself little by little. He shows Wooyoung that despite not knowing anything about the context, and probably having no desire to even know anything, he’s still here for him in his own way: a stolen cigarette, a thoughtful glance, a light conversation.

Hongjoong has either seen too much of humankind to be an excellent judge of character and a very good observer or it must be magic. Wooyoung hasn’t decided yet.

A beat of silence passes, where Wooyoung doesn’t say anything, unsure of how he should react. But then, he reminds himself that Hongjoong doesn’t want anything from him other than for Wooyoung to act like he usually does. So, he does. “Sure, old man. My goal’s to outlive you anyway, but that won’t be too hard, I guess,” he says, a mischievous smile stretching his lips as he dodges Hongjoong’s hand last second to jump back on his feet and run to the back door, laughing like a gremlin proud of himself.

He waves at Hongjoong who walks away to his car, mumbling curses, before he’s back in the kitchen. He puts his phone in his locker, determined not to check any upsetting message, at least until he’s done for today.

Fortunately, he doesn’t even have time to think about the notification buzz still ringing in his ears in between the preparation of condiments on the pass, talks about today’s menu with the cooks from each different station, adjustment of the grill, and more vegetable and meat cutting to have them ready for later tonight. By the time he’s done, it’s half an hour before opening time, and he’s upstairs, greeting the waiters who are setting the tables. Hongjoong is back too, dressed in a light blue suit, his hair straightened back, his usual (as Wooyoung likes to say to say, “emo”) accessories nowhere to be seen, replaced by an expensive watch on his wrist, with shoes freshly polished. He has less eyebags, tattoos and an overall vibe of “I’m going to jump into the Han River” and more makeup, expensive brands and an overall vibe of “I swim in a pool filled with money every night”.

“Boujee,” Wooyoung whispers as he walks past the rostrum Hongjoong stands behind, before he sits by Chef Narae, Hongjoong shaking his head a little but still focused on his tablet screen. Wooyoung finds it ridiculous that Hongjoong is still nice to commoners such as Wooyoung himself, despite being as rich as he is (because, really, he might have had his rebellious teenage phase where he lived kind of a crazy life, from all the anecdotes he sometimes tells, by refusing his parents’ money, he’s actually crazy rich ever since he evolved from that phase). Because if Wooyoung had Hongjoong’s net worth, he sure as hell wouldn’t talk with peasants, starting with Yeosang. Oh God, how funny it would be to use his money to make fun of Yeosang. That’s his sole purpose of wanting to be rich: trolling Yeosang. Nothing’s as important as this very specific life goal to Wooyoung.

He almost drools dreaming about it when he feels a hand on his shoulder. “ Oh. My. God, ” a voice too close to him shrieks by his side. When he faces the person standing behind him, he’s met with a figure crumbling, knees hitting the ground in a very Shakespearian gasp, the hand still on his shoulder. “How dare you? Ha! This beauty, this charm, this charisma! I’m… I think— I think I’m blind!”

It takes Wooyoung a second before he actually understands who’s on his knees in front of him, and he bursts out laughing. He claps his hands, his eyes starting to water and his stomach hurting with how hard he’s laughing, as he drops on his knees as well, clutching at San’s shoulders, pulling him into a hug. He hiccups when he calms down a little, lightly hitting San’s chest. “You’re so cringey!”

“That’s why you’ve been laughing your ass off for two minutes?” San asks, a smile so big, Wooyoung thinks his cheeks must start hurting.

He hits San’s chest again, then properly pulls him into a hug to greet him. San puts them both back on their feet, smacking a loud peck on Wooyoung’s cheek before inviting him to sit back on his chair. He stays right by his side though, a hand around his shoulders as Wooyoung almost nuzzles up against him. “I didn’t know you were coming back today!”

San lets out a fake gasp, then exaggeratedly pouts. “You’re telling me you didn’t count the days until your husband came back to work? I spent my two weeks of holiday thinking about you, darling!”

Wooyoung lets out an endeared laugh, hugging San closer by the waist. “I’m sorry, baby, I missed you a lot.” Then he pulls back a little, to take a good look at him. “It looks like thinking about me didn’t prevent you from sunbathing, though.”

San is as handsome as ever. A little tanner than before his leave, looking rested and refreshed, but nothing much different apart from his black undercut; waist still scandalously thin compared to his wide shoulders, his jaw and eyes still so sharp, Wooyoung wonders, just like always, whether his features have been literally drawn with meticulous care by God. And of course, who would be San if he didn’t come dressed in a black wifebeater to better display how well he’s sunbathed during his leave, and if everybody can see the rippling muscles he obviously doesn’t flex when he suddenly helps a waiter friend to carry chairs around as well, well, that’s not his fault, is it? And Wooyoung is certainly not staring. He would never.

He hits San’s thigh as soon as he’s back by his side, letting out, “... you whor*.”

“Don’t slu*tshame me, baby,” San teasingly shoots back.

“You two must’ve missed each other,” Chef Narae, still by Wooyoung’s side, comments, laughing a little at their antics.

“The greatest trial of my life is staying away from my wife,” San cradles Wooyoung’s head, letting out a dramatic sigh.

“You say that, but you still didn’t buy me that house by the beach, ‘husband’…” Wooyoung huffs.

“You know what, one day, you two will come here telling us you’re really dating, and I won’t even be surprised.” Chef Narae shakes her head a little, before she’s back to talking with one of the cooks sitting by her other side, not even leaving time to Wooyoung to answer back.

She probably knows he’ll say something along the lines of “We’ll gladly stay platonic work husbands” as usual but Wooyoung would be lying if he said he himself didn’t start to doubt that excuse. Because, well… sue him , San’s a little lot of everything: a little lot handsome, a little lot caring and a little lot funny. Everybody is a little in love with Choi San, Wooyoung knows that much. Why would he be any different?

He wasn’t born yesterday, he knows he won’t be delusional if he says that he isn’t the only one out of the two of them having some not-so-platonic thoughts. He feels it in the hand that lingers for too long on his waist, in the stare that’s too burning as eyes rake over his body, in the laugh that’s too delayed to a joke full of innuendos. San isn’t any more innocent than Wooyoung is. They’re tied in the reluctantly shameless desire that tingles when skin meets skin and eyes meet eyes.

But three years of working together, and getting so well along that losing such a connection for a relationship that won’t even work with how f*cked up Wooyoung’s supposedly adult life is just isn’t worth it. So yeah, maybe being San’s platonic work husband is better than nothing.

“Did Eunha enjoy her holidays too?” Wooyoung asks at some point. For some reason, he’s always the first one to talk to snap them back to reality when they’re starting to get on dangerous territory like now. He’s felt it, San’s hand tightening around the skin when he failed to even pretend to deny Narae’s half-joke. And he’s only grateful for his white shirt to be a barrier between them, because otherwise, he might not have resisted the temptation to pull San a little closer by his waist. Just a little closer. Maybe then San would’ve pulled him a little closer by his shoulders too. Just a little closer.

Just a little.

But Wooyoung didn’t. And San didn’t either, and (un?)fortunately, he finally lets go of Wooyoung, his glassy eyes lighting up in a spark at the mention of Eunha. He takes his phone out of his back pocket, searching through it with a big smile stretching his lips, before he shoves the screen right in Wooyoung’s face. Wooyoung watches with a fond smile the pictures San excitedly shows him, mourning because he’ll never see San half-naked outside of some beach photos, but immediately focusing on the endearing images of a little girl, her two cute buns sometimes hidden by a blue hat, either playing in the sand or standing on top of San’s shoulders with her bathsuit, her smile bright enough to make the Sun want to hide away in shame. Wooyoung strokes the screen, his finger covering Eunha’s happy face. “Where’s she now? With you or with her mom?”

“She’s staying this week and next week with her mom, since we changed up the schedule a bit and I brought her with me for two weeks. We’ll be back to our usual one week out of two next month.”

“Her mom was cool leaving her with you for two weeks?”

San sighs (an actual one, this time) as he lovingly watches his daughter’s face one more time, before he puts his phone in his back pocket. Instead of saying anything, he winces, but it's an answer enough to Wooyoung, who tries to comfort him with taps on his thigh. “It’s not that bad,” San ends up telling him. “I could’ve had worse ex-wives. Like you.”

The comfort tap becomes an aggressive one that makes San back away with a yelp. “What did I even do to you, jerk?” Wooyoung whines.

“You just hit me!”

“You deserved it!”

“Listen, I just know you’re going to be a nightmare if we ever divorce one day.”

“Oh yeah? Well, let’s see how much of a nightmare I am then, because that’s it, Choi San, I’m asking for a divorce!”

“No!” San drops back on his knees, holding onto Wooyoung’s legs, as Wooyoung looks away with a petulant huff. “No, don’t leave me, I can’t live without you!”

“Should’ve thought about that earlier. Jerk.”

“Baby, I love you! I’m so sorry!”

“You’ll tell me when you two feel like working and I can start the recap, I wouldn’t want to interrupt your flirting,” Hongjoong half-shouts, obviously talking to them with his eyes boring into them as if he could see past their heads and into their soul (he probably can).

“Sorry, Boss!” San shouts back, looking far from apologetic, and still on his knees and holding onto Wooyoung’s legs.

“Don’t come in naked next time, San, and I’ll forgive you,” Hongjoong says, his eyes already back on his tablet screen.

“What’s up with the Korean Big Minion today?” San whispers in Wooyoung's ear, as he gets up to drag a chair and sit next to him. Wooyoung does his best to conceal his laugh and keeps staring away as if he were still hurt. It doesn’t stop San from linking their arms and snuggling close to him, though. At least, he’s far enough from Wooyoung’s chest not to hear the way his heart just skipped a beat.

Platonic work husbands, Wooyoung. Platonic.

“Everybody’s here?” Hongjoong’s voice is enough to drag Wooyoung’s attention back on reality, and far from some unhealthily romantic daydreaming. He watches as the last people from the team come from the kitchen downstairs, and waiters finish setting the tables, everybody either sitting on a chair or standing, the clock showing twenty minutes before opening, as conversations of guests waiting outside filter through the closed doors when everybody stops talking to listen to Hongjoong’s recap. “Alright guys, well, great start to the weekend yesterday and we’ve got a busy day coming up today too. We’re looking at forty-two covers for the opening. Then we’ll get deuces ‘till five, with a few three tops in the mix. We’ve got two big parties, one at five, six top and the other at five thirty, seven top. So a hundred and eighty four bookings in total ‘till six, then sixty-four ‘till eight thirty, all deuces. At eight thirty, we’ve got the family dinner for ten on table three and at nine thirty we’ve got a birthday for twelve on table fourteen. Then it’s twenty covers for the rest of the evening,” he explains. “Chefs, got any comment?”

“It’ll be a busy service, so be careful with the available stock and prep. Check more often to see if anything’s missing and start preparing earlier than usual,” Chef Mansik says, standing by Hongjoong’s side. “We’ll need two expeditors for the evening, one for the hot station and the other for the cold station. Also check out the noodles before service. Chefs?”

“Just, don’t be too slow for plating like last time but don't be hasty either, or you’ll make a mistake,” Wooyoung intervenes. “If you’re behind, call me and I’ll help you guys out, but you really have to call me. I’m busy in the kitchen, so I don’t always have time to check on you guys upstairs. Don’t pile up all the work like yesterday, otherwise we won’t make it through a busy service like this one, okay?” Those he was indirectly speaking to nod, still looking a bit embarrassed after Wooyoung lectured them yesterday. But they seem more reassured when they see him smile at them.

“Okay, any questions? Comments?” When nobody answers, Hongjoong claps his hands. “Okay, people. I trust you to send away every single one of our guests from here with delicious food in their stomach and a smile. Okay? Okay! Let’s go, team!” They all whisper-shout in excitement, clapping hands for motivation and high-fiving their teammates as everybody goes to position.

“See you later, wifey,” San loudly smacks Wooyoung on the cheek before they both go downstairs, Wooyoung back to the kitchen and San to the changing room to dress into his work uniform.

If Wooyoung keeps smiling for too long in the kitchen, well… who can blame him?

☀

If Wooyoung doesn’t have enough strength in his body to barely stand on his feet, let alone smile to the last guests who leave the restaurant, well… who can blame him?

It’s past midnight and he’s truly had one of the most exhausting services of his whole career, with the birthday group who stayed until the very end, ignoring the distressed looks of the remaining staff, including Wooyoung, who just want to close up and go home. But the worst part is, that wasn’t even unusual for a Sunday. Meaning next Sunday will probably be no different than this. And the next one. And the next one.

Sunday is a bitch.

“Just close the restaurant at ten, I’m begging you,” he whisper-shouts at Hongjoong right by his side, both of them waving at the guests with forced smiles, Hongjoong’s even faker than Wooyoung’s.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m a monster of capitalism, and I can afford to pay my staff properly for service ‘till midnight.”

“You don’t even need the money!”

“You do.”

As Wooyoung was about to shout out the curses waiting at the tip of his tongue since that family dinner table at nine thirty who kept ordering and ordering and ordering , these f*cking instable pigs, and now this f*cking rich Kim Hongjoong who dares remind Wooyoung that he doesn’t have enough money to buy that beautiful pair of shoes and— “Thank you, we’ll definitely come back here again!” the drunk birthday girl turns around to yell, held by her friends when she was almost about to sprint back to… hug them? Kiss them? Drunk people are unpredictable, so Wooyoung has no idea.

He holds himself off at last tongue, and in a sharp spin, turns back to wave at the guest with that same fake smile. “Please don’t,” he mutters under his breath.

Once they’re finally gone, Hongjoong leaves for his office, not even pretending to listen to Wooyoung. Now, Wooyoung would have gone after him to keep giving him a piece of his mind, but the moment he’s left alone in the middle of the empty restaurant, he feels like a ragdoll, all nerves leaving his body. Lying on the floor and sleeping until forever is a very tempting idea right now, but one look at the two poor waiters who stayed ‘till the end and who start cleaning around looking like they’re all about to cry, and knowing the cook and the dishwasher downstairs probably aren’t faring any better either, he forces himself to grab a mop and start cleaning around. “If you have all that money, at least hire a professional cleaner!” he yells, without even a care if Hongjoong can hear him from his office at this distance.

They all clean around, heavy feet dragging across the restaurant, until the floor and tables are clean, the chairs are put away, and the dishes are washed.

Wooyoung checks one more time the stocks Chef Mansik prepared before he left around seven, hangs the master prep list for tomorrow that Chef Narae printed earlier before she left, and sends away the remaining staff, telling them to get a good night of sleep.

He struggles to pull himself up on a barstool, dropping his forehead on the cold marble of the counter in defeat, letting out a long sigh. He feels like he could cry if someone just touches him— “You did good, baby.”

“I swear to God I’m gonna f*cking cry if you don’t stop now,” he whines, burying his face in the crook of his elbow. But San’s strong hands keep massaging his shoulders, and so desperate to stop himself from crying in public and hold onto the last shred of his dignity, Wooyoung tries again, “go back to cleaning your glasses, barman guy.”

San hums noncommittally. Wooyoung weakly bats his hands away, but they’re quickly back, this time working the knots of his neck, his grip delicate but firmer as if to dissuade Wooyoung from pushing him away. And because Wooyoung wasn’t very resolute to even begin with, he lets himself go lax in San’s caring hands. He doesn’t even have it in him to feel bad because San worked for the whole night too, barely having a moment to sit, let alone to eat, only grabbing a mouthful of a sandwich Wooyoung quickly prepared for him when he went to the kitchen to grab trays and help out the waiters overwhelmed when the restaurant got too packed at some point. Then, he went back to his own job, preparing and serving drinks behind the bar, and— no, actually, Wooyoung still has it in him to feel bad. “You don’t have to wait for me everytime I close up. You can go home earlier, you must be tired too…” Wooyoung says. Or at least he thinks so, even though he didn't understand what he just mumbled with his mouth stuck to the crook of his elbow, wet from saliva with how relaxed he’s gotten under San’s touch.

So of course he’s not expecting for San to understand either. But he does. “I stay because I want to.”

Not even a moment after San’s hands leave his shoulders, Wooyoung hears the barstool next to him drag against the floor, and a thud. When he turns his head, still resting on his arm, he’s met with the sight of glistening stars in eyes, constellation mapped out on a neck in display and a tempting dimple on a very biteable cheek, San’s mimicking his posture with one side of his face resting in the crook of his elbow. Wooyoung could get used to the sight.

“You’re not even gonna acknowledge my super romantic confession?” San inquires, when all they do is look at each other in the same position.

No, Wooyoung won’t acknowledge the super romantic confession. Might be too heart fluttering for him. And heart fluttering things are dangerous and definitely a no-no on platonic work husbands territory. So instead he just squints his eyes, letting out a playful, “what are you after?”

San could try again his whole flirting stratagem he’s perfected over the three years they’ve been walking on this dangerous territory, where he flirts with Wooyoung but hides it under the guise of a joke, so he could back away in case it goes wrong. He does it perfectly. He’s just done it now, with his “super romantic confession” thing. Truth inside a joke. But he must see it, feel it, that Wooyoung is a bit weaker tonight. Maybe it’s because he started working early and finished working tardily, or because he had a very stressful morning in the traffic of Seoul, a very exhausting work day, messages and calls all day long from the same people he doesn’t want to talk to, or maybe it’s just because his life overall sucks and being an adult sucks and not buying the shoes you want suck and— yeah, Wooyoung is a bit weaker tonight. Enough to be about to cry because of exhaustion. Because of the truth inside a joke.

He can’t take any of those for tonight, and San must feel it somehow, because instead of doing whatever he usually does, he just chuckles. Playful. Friendly. “Okay, fine, you got me. You’re always giving me free meals, and I’m starting to get worried you’re just keeping tabs in secret and you’re gonna ask me for money one day. So I pay in services like massages.”

It takes a second for Wooyoung’s entire brain to load, and he lets out a weak, but no less sincere laugh, as he leans into San. “What?” San yells, faking offense. “I’m a single father, Wooyoung! I have to be wary of those things! Or else, what am I gonna do about my daughter’s college money?”

Wooyoung is glad that things are just this easy with San. That he doesn’t really need to say anything explicity, and yet San still understands his needs. They don’t even hang out outside of work, and they see each other, at best, for a full hour when they work together. Yet, in three years, San has managed to tune in with Wooyoung’s brain frequencies, their communication mostly telepathic at this point.

Work is hard, Sunday is a bitch, but things have never been easier in Wooyoung’s life outside this restaurant. He’s got his staff, his kitchen, Hongjoong and San here.

He could get used to this.

San is smiling at him and his heart is fluttering now, so it’s dangerous.

But Wooyoung could definitely get used to this.

☀

“Hey, ugly!”

“What do you want?”

“Do I need a reason to call my little brother?”

“... yes?”

“Come on, Wooyoung, I call you plenty for no reason!”

Wooyoung sighs, putting his phone on speaker and leaving it by the mirror, before cleaning the soap on his face with water. “Hyung, we’re Friday, I’ve had a very busy week and this is my first night off of the week and I’ve had a very busy week—”

“You already said that—”

“So,” Wooyoung interrupts him. “Just tell me what you want to tell me so I can hang up on you faster.”

“Wooyoungie, come on!” his brother’s whine. “I’m just calling you to ask how you are. You haven’t come to visit us in a long time.”

“Yeah, because Mom and Dad have been on my ass for the past month,” he says, ever the honest, grabbing his toothbrush.

“We don’t have to meet up at the parents’ house, you can drop by at my place.”

“Your poor ass is living outside of Seoul, are you gonna pay for my gas to come all the way there?”

“Not nice.”

“Never meant to be.” He starts brushing his teeth, without a care for his brother’s complaints.

He loves the sound of his own voice too much anyway. So Wooyoung lets him talk and tell him all about the breakfast he had last Sunday with his coworkers, some dating show Wooyoung stopped watching a long time ago, the latest restaurant he tried out with surface-level questions to Wooyoung about how things are going at where he’s working, to which Wooyoung mumbles a half-hearted response while he flosses, but he knows his brother didn’t even bother listening to him, humming before talking about how he’s gonna hit the jackpot this time with his new investment in cryptocurrency, firmly denying when Wooyoung’s attempts at warning him against a scam. He swears that by next year, around this time, he’ll be on the Bora Bora islands with Eunji, his wife. Wooyoung lets him believe that and turns off the bathroom lights.

“So, listen, Eunji’s taking her leave for the summer starting Monday. We wanted to go to Jeju for a few days—”

Wooyoung plops down on his couch, remote in hand, and snorts, “what happened to Bora Bora islands?”

“Shut up!” He hears a rustle on the other side of the line, someone whispers, but the sound gets cut as if his brother muted the call, before he’s back, his voice sounded perhaps too joyful compared to earlier. “So, we wanted to go to Jeju next weekend and Mo— I thought it would be a good idea if you came along. You still didn’t go on vacation, right?”

Wooyoung rolls his eyes and tries very hard not to grit through his freshly brushed and flossed teeth. “No, I haven’t and no, I don’t want to.”

“Why not? You deserve to rest! And, hey, listen, you could bring someone along!”

He stops zapping channels, gripping the remote tightly while he breathes through his nose.“Who?”

“Well, huh—” More rustles, a more distinctive whisper, and Wooyoung’s pretty sure that’s not Eunji. “Ye— huh… Yeo… sang? Why don’t you bring Yeosang? Or, you know… Yeonjun—”

His finger hits the end button before he even has time to think about it. His phone and the remote bounce back when he throws them on the couch. He rubs his hands against his face, the friction fast and harsh. Next to him, his phone rings. Rings. Then rings again. Again. Again. Again. His palms press against his eyes, the worst headache throbbing in his ears. But he still hears his phone. It rings and rings and rings.

When he looks up at his screen, he sees several missed calls. From his brother, obviously. His mother too, unsurprisingly. Even his sister-in-law called him. They even made his little brother call him, for f*ck’s sake—

And of course, a message from Yeonjun. Because why the hell not?

Yeonjun

> Why do you refuse to just talk to me?

> Do I mean nothing to you?

YOU ended the relationship <

and now you’re trying to guilt-trip me? <

what were you expecting? <

for me to come running and crying after you? <

is it hurting your ego? <

that i’m not begging you to take me back <

that i’m trying to move on <

Yeonjun

> This is not true and you know it.

> How could you believe that?

> Wooyoung we’ve been together for six years

> Do you think that low of me?

> I admit it I f*cked up

> I made the biggest mistake of my life and I’m sorry

> I just want you back

> I miss you

> I love you

You love me until you’re bored <

Oh, this is not good.

The notifications are flooding in and Wooyoung stops looking at them, but he wants to. This is not good. Yeonjun keeps apologizing and telling Wooyoung how much he loves him, and something is churning in Wooyoung’s stomach, ants dancing on the tip of his fingers to write back, to reply, and this is not good . He can’t be weak. Not again. Not this time.

But the TV isn’t enough of a distraction. He tries finishing that documentary about the Joseon dynasty he’s been meaning to watch for three months. But halfway through an expert talking about the "Gwallyeholgi", Wooyoung catches the glimpse of a message on his lightning screen and he literally has to grab his own hand at last second to stop himself from looking.

He’s going to go crazy if he doesn’t find a way to just stop thinking about Yeonjun and his messages, Yeonjun and their relationship, Yeonjun, Yeonjun, Yeonjun—

It’s almost midnight. He’s on his day off and he doesn’t start working until noon tomorrow. The TV isn’t enough, and nothing in this house that has too much of Yeonjun everywhere is going to help him.

So he grabs his phone, closes his eyes until he’s safely unlocked it to avoid reading the start of the messages through the notifications, and dials the first number he can think of.

☀

“I literally hate you so much.”

Wooyoung spins on the barstool, then sips his drink while he watches the crowded dance floor without a care for Yeosang’s stare burning the side of his face, which would be very hard for anyone else, but not with Wooyoung and his perfected skill of being in denial after more than a decade of friendship with Yeosang. “Sorry, but I couldn’t spend one more night having nightmares about you eating me.”

“Ugh, why did I even agree to go out?”

“Because you have a day off tomorrow, and your life is spiceless without a pinch of me in it, so don’t be boring and let’s have fun!” He downs the remaining of his drink in one go before he stands on wobbly feet and grabs Yeosang by his arm to forcefully drag him where bodies are pressed against each other, dancing under the neon lights to the rhythm of a music deafening enough for Wooyoung not to even hear his own thoughts.

He manages to sneak into the crowd, a wave of dancing people squeezing him and carrying him in a tight spot where he presses himself close to Yeosang to start moving their hips in tandem to the rhythm of some club song with the high-pitched voice of some singer that can barely be heard above the deafening electro beats. He doesn’t really care all that much, though. He probably should.

Did he send more messages—

Yeosang looks ethereal under the neon lights. Sweat on his strong arms glistening like pearls on porcelain skin, the blue hue above his blonde head like a light from Heaven shining upon his angel with a beauty worthy of a La Chapelle Sixtine painting. His eyes, sharpened by the shadows, are a threat to the heart and to the mind, hypnotizing enough to get lost into them, willingly forgetting everything else around. Though now, they’re an entirely different kind of threat to Wooyoung; if his eyes were to meet Yeosang’s right now, he would probably have to start talking about why the hell he’s invited him to go out completely unprompted only to throw himself to the bar of the first nightclub they could find, and start the night by downing a few shots. Deafening music or not, Yeosang would make him talk. But Wooyoung doesn’t want to talk. He probably should.

Does he really miss him—

Whenever they go out clubbing, Yeosang pretends like he can’t dance. Anybody who would watch him awkwardly move his body to the music would never guess that dancing is literally what Yeosang does for a living. But of course, some random techno sound in a nightclub isn’t the same thing as Debussy. Though Wooyoung isn’t a danseur working at the Korean National Ballet like Yeosang, he loves dancing. Especially to some random techno sound in a nightclub, with a few shots in his blood. But his shoes were not made for dancing. Those Instagram ones would probably be better. He really should have bought them.

His mom and his brother are probably right, where else is he going to find someone as good as Yeonjun—

It’s too hot here. His legs are starting to get tired. The sweat running down his forehead and drying in his back is getting uncomfortable. The friction of skin against his skin is starting to get annoying too. “Where are you going?” he can faintly hear Yeosang yelling the question to him.

He backtracks to shout into his ear, “grabbing a drink.” At the bar, he downs two shots of vodka, offers the third one to Yeosang who joins him at some point. They order one more co*cktail. Dance a bit more. Wooyoung thinks about grabbing his phone every time he’s not drinking, so he orders more shots. Dances a little. Flirts with people. Gets offered more drinks. More alcohol to burn his throat, to make him feel light on his feet, numb to sensations, forgetful of reality, of phones, of families and exes and so he drinks. Drinks and drinks.

He drinks until the moment he’s out in the open, cold air hitting his sweating face as he throws up his meal and everything he drank for the past hour. He throws up a lot. Retches too. Cries a bit (a lot). And the one holding his hair is not even Yeosang. “It’s okay darling, you’re okay, you’re good, go ahead, throw up a bit m— okay, you already are.”

The guy is some passerby who Wooyoung literally fell on top of, before he hardly crawled off the stranger’s body to start puking on the side of the street. Probably the handsomest passerby Wooyoung ever had the chance to encounter on an unfortunate puking and crying session out the nightclub, actually: nicest legs ever seen on a man that Wooyoung is perched on, lean body he forcefully hugs as he sobs, delicate hands tying his hair in a ponytail and gently putting back the hair stuck to his forehead by the sweat, a pretty face with a pretty smile, never faltering, even as Wooyoung wails, “I’m sorry I’m disgusting!”

“Nooo, baby, don’t say that!”

“But I am! I’m disgusting and nobody loves me!”

From somewhere afar (or maybe it’s close, Wooyoung has no idea with the orchestra playing in his head and giving him a hard time to focus), someone yells, “Seonghwa !” Wooyoung has no f*cking idea who Seonghwa is.

“Coming!” the stranger he’s hugging yells, and hugs Wooyoung tighter too. “Why are you saying that?” he whispers in Wooyoung’s ear, as if scared to startle him.

But Wooyoung only wails louder, “even my ex broke up with me! He dumped my ass!”

“That’s his loss, honey.”

“But I don’t— I don—” Hiccups take over, but that doesn’t stop Wooyoung from blabbering. “I wanna call him! He wants to get back together with me, can I call him?”

“Aw, then do it! Live the romcom life, babe! Why would all stories end sad?”

“But I don’t kno— know if I— I lo— love him.”

“You know what my motto in life is? Trash stays where trash should stay: the dumpster.”

“But he’s so nice to me!”

“Keep him then!”

“But he said he got bored of me and— our relationship—”

“Feed him to the dogs!”

“He has this beautiful smile and he knows me so well, and I have fun with him.”

“So cuuute!”

“My mom said I won’t find anyone better, and he said one time that he didn’t know how anyone could live with me sometimes.”

“f*ck all of them, honestly.”

“Can you please decide?” Wooyoung whines, stomping his feet in his half-lying position and quickly stopping when he senses that his stomach isn’t completely empty yet.

“I’m sorry but no. What if I encourage you to do one thing and not the other and it entirely changes your life? Too much responsibility, darling.”

“Seonghwa!” someone yells again. Wooyoung still has no idea who the f*ck Seonghwa is.

“I said I’m coming!” the stranger yells again. “Okay, honey, listen to me, okay? You and I don’t know each other, and you are— hey listen to me, you are freaking hot . Okay? You’re hot, you’re beautiful, you rule and you don’t deserve anything less than the absolute best, okay? If you settle for less, that’s hom*ophobia. You better not march at Pride with people making you feel anything less than proud of yourself and of your choices.”

This guy doesn’t even know Wooyoung’s name, but he’s the nicest someone’s ever been to Wooyoung. What if someone breaks that guy’s heart like they broke Wooyoung’s heart? Oh my God, what if this guy gets hit by a car driven by a psychotic ex or something once Wooyoung lets him go. Why do bad things only happen to good people? The world is so cruel and unfair, Wooyoung feels sick even thinking about it. He hugs the stranger closer to himself and sobs in the crook of his neck. “Don’t die!” he begs him.

“I hope I don’t!” the stranger chuckles.

“But wait, I have a question for you, though.”

“Yes, I am gay too.”

“No, that part was obvious, I’m drunk, not blind, I can see what you’re wearing.” Indeed, from this close, Wooyoung has had all the time to eye the stranger’s black top, ripped from the shoulders and complemented with a choker. “You’re a sex worker, aren’t you?”

“... what gave me away?”

“You were literally hollering cars when I fell on top of you.”

“Okay, fair enough.”

“Seonghwa!”

“Yes, yes, I’m coming, jeez… okay, honey, I really need to go now. Are you going to be okay?”

Wooyoung sniffs and weakly nods, enjoying the safety in the crook of the stranger’s neck, but getting a bit irked by his perfume, overwhelming to his sensitive nose and his churning stomach. So he slowly lets him go and dries his tears. “My friend’s with me, we’ll be okay.” His voice is raspy and his throat still burns so it’s a bit hard to talk. He hopes the stranger understood him.

“This friend?” The moment Wooyoung sits by himself on the cold floor when he feels that he’s not going to throw up anymore, and opens up his eyes bleary with tears, he’s met with the sight of Yeosang, head heavy on the stranger’s shoulder, his eyes wide open, staring ahead of him as silent tears stream down his face. “He’s been mumbling something about a Jongho guy…?”

The stranger might not understand the context of what he just said, but Wooyoung did. Perfectly, actually.

And with everything he knows, and the rare sight of tears on Yeosang who rarely ever cries, who can blame him for throwing himself right back into the arms of the stranger, sobbing even harder than he has until now?

☀

“That guy was a sex worker, right?”

“What gave him away?”

“How he’s dressed. It was either that or he’s a stripper. Maybe both… he had very nice legs, though.”

Wooyoung hums, Yeosang shrugs, they both slurp their co*kes.

The fast food restaurant is oddly crowded at three in the morning, probably other partygoers like them.

Wooyoung has no doubt Yeosang is a reflection of what he himself looks like at the moment: hair messy, makeup smudged, skin oily, eyes red and overall, pretty hollow, as if someone just sucked the life right out of them, but they’re still sipping their (non-alcoholic, thank f*ck) drinks.

“The sous-chef of a fine dining restaurant eating at a fast food place? What a scandal!”

“Oh, f*ck no.” Wooyoung grabs several napkins to lay them on his face, as he slumps down his chair to try and… lay down on the ground and see if it swallows him? “Get the f*ck out of here, Choi San.”

“Nuh-uh.” Napkins are lifted off his face, and he’s met with a smile. And dimples. f*ck , really.

“It’s three in the morning,” Wooyoung says, as San drags a chair from another table right next to Wooyoung. “We’re at a random fast food place.” San sits, his body facing Wooyoung and hums, head supported by his fist as he listens to Wooyoung, smiling and looking absolutely delighted , his dimples never leaving. “How? What are the odds? Why now, when I’m looking like a goblin ?”

“A very cute one, if I may—” San cleans a smudge of mascara near Wooyoung’s eye mole with his thumb.

“Get off my face, you f*cking liar.”

“Husband, this is fate—” As San was about to keep talking, another chair is suddenly dragged loudly on the floor to be put right next to Yeosang’s, who’s been eating his fries without a care for their exchange like it would be expected from Yeosang. Then, a tall body plops down on the chair and a tray is carelessly clattered on the table. “... also called Jeong Yunho. This is Yunho, my friend, he came to the restaurant a few times but I don’t think you’ve officially met. Yunho, meet my coworker, Wooyoung. Also, hi Yeosang, long time no see, you’re looking like you don’t give a f*ck, per usual. Meet my friend Yunho. Yunho, this is Wooyoung’s friend, Yeosang.”

Yunho barely waves at Wooyoung and Yeosang. He just… stares right ahead of himself as he unwraps a burger and eats it in three bites, fluffy-looking hair messy, makeup smudged on his cute face, glowing skin all oily, eyes Wooyoung knows to be usually bright and happy whenever he sees him at the restaurant saying a quick hi to San all red and overall, pretty hollow, as if someone just sucked the life right out of them. Then, he sips his drink and Wooyoung understands. “You’ve been drunk crying the whole night too, right?” he asks, sympathetic.

Yunho stops sipping to properly look at Wooyoung. “You too?” his voice is raspy, as if he either cried or threw up, but from the looks of it, probably both.

Both Wooyoung and Yeosang nod, and Yunho looks at one, then the other. Then, he raises his drink and stretches his arm. The three of them clatter their plastic cups.

“Wow, had no idea this was some pity party I got invited to,” San whistles.

“You invited yourself over, though,” Yeosang claps back.

“You did,” Yunho nods.

San completely ignores them in favor of looking back at Wooyoung, all-smiley, with his head on his fist. “It’s been three years, and this is the first time I’m seeing you outside the restaurant.”

“Wait, you’re right!”

“Technically, we’re still in a restaurant,” Yunho chirps.

Yeosang laughs, then exchanges one of his fries with Yunho’s baked potatoes.

San and Wooyoung completely ignore them. “And for once, you’re not naked.” Wooyoung throws a meaningful glance at the dark shirt sticking to San’s chest, similar to his work uniform but a little tighter as per San’s usual wardrobe rule of showing as much as possible the body he worked hard for. Wooyoung would have no problem with it, if it weren’t so distracting.

“I wear sweaters in winter!”

“Sticking to your nipples, yeah.”

“So you noticed?” San smirks.

“Was it possible not to?”

“If you’re not looking, yeah.”

Wooyoung lets out a high-pitched cackle, leaning into San as he laughs. “Oh my God, you’re the worst.”

“And your flirting is making me want to throw up again, so please shut up and let’s go home,” Yeosang groans.

“Amen.” Yunho finishes up his second burger, effectively emptying his tray and looking ready to doze off.

“Ya! I had to put up with your drunk talk the whole night, you could be nicer and support me!” San whines, pointing an accusatory finger at Yunho.

And that’s when there’s a sudden spark in Yunho’s eyes, looking at San as if he were about to cry, his lips jutting out in the most adorable pout, his cheeks pump and round. Wooyoung has to physically hold onto his chair not to get up and kiss a guy he’s officially been introduced to not even ten minutes ago, so he doesn’t blame when San can’t resist the temptation and hits his forehead against the table in a groan, before pinching Yunho’s cheeks. “Okay, fine, I don’t have enough money to give you the entire world, stop making that face. We’ll go home,” he mumbles.

And then Yunho just… barfs. And slumps back against his chair, laughing and hiccuping as San tries to hit him at the same time as he fishes his phone out of his pocket. “What’s your address, Wooyoung?”

“No, don’t pay an Uber for u—”

Yeosang is already giving San their address before Wooyoung can even finish. Wooyoung turns to look at him with wide eyes. “Why did you do that? Now he’s gonna pay for the—”

“That’s exactly why I did that.”

“Oh, come on—”

“What is all this youth and beauty for if you’re not going to use it?” Yeosang sighs.

“Aw, you think I’m beautiful?”

“No, I was talking about myself, you’re a goblin.”

Wooyoung throws his empty plastic cup at Yeosang, who easily avoids it and highfives Yunho at the same time. “Male manipulators…” Wooyoung curses.

“Okay, it’s supposed to be here in ten minutes, so let’s go wait outside.”

Wooyoung braces himself against the sudden cold of the night, tightening his jacket around his body and burying himself further into San’s side, clutching at the arm he offered him the moment they got up. He rubs his hands against each other, trying to warn them with the friction, but San barely lets him, dragging them to shove them inside his own pockets, locking them in a sort of hug. They’re now facing each other, and Wooyoung can’t help his smile, shy and giddy. Maybe it’s because of the alcohol, or maybe it’s because San is looking even prettier under different lights than the restaurant’s. He can’t really look at him in the eyes, heat flaming his face when he does. But he can feel that San doesn’t take his eyes off him, even for a moment. “Wanna talk about it?”

“Hmm?”

“Why you’re in the same state as Yunho… wanna talk about it?”

Wooyoung briefly meets San’s eyes, then lowers them back on their shoes. “I would… like to. But— not now. Not here.”

A beat of silence passes. Then San talks again, closer to his ear, voice deep, “okay, then. We’ll talk. Another day. Somewhere else.” It’s maybe meant to be a question, but it comes out more like a promise. Wooyoung’s not sure he wants to complain about that.

Then they wait in the silence, time passing by without Wooyoung barely realizing it, comfortable in this semi-hug, his hands warm, his body close to San’s. He wishes they could be closer. How things would be different if they could. Be a little closer.

Just a little closer.

“The car’s here.” Yeosang’s voice is a slap back to reality, a conclusion to this weird night.

Wooyoung takes his hands off the pockets of San’s coat and takes a step back. He gets inside the car, but San stays outside, lowering himself to the window. “Wait you’re not getting in?”

San smiles. “I’ll drive Yunho’s car.”

“You paid an Uber just for me?”

“Gotta treat my husband right,” he shrugs.

“You mother—”

“Stay safe, babe. See you tomorrow!” San’s off, and the car starts driving.

And Wooyoung… well Wooyoung is very ready to get home, die on his couch and never wake up again.

(Or on a less dramatic note, he’s very ready to sleep and maybe dream of nicer things than Yeosang eating him and holidays in Jeju with Yeonjun in a utopian world where he doesn’t have to deal with the problem of unanswered calls and messages. Maybe he can dream of San. He really hopes he dreams of San.)

☀

The weekend was awful; Saturday a never-ending nightmare, Sunday a living hell. By Tuesday, Wooyoung can still feel the pain of the rushed service in his bones. Maybe he’s starting to get old, apparently unable to recover as quickly as he did when he was a rookie. Or maybe Hongjoong’s seriously getting understaffed.

He doesn’t seem to be faring any better than his staff: every day, he walks around like a body out of his coffin until they finish prepping, puts on his best act yet in front of guests but by closing time, he’s a ghost. Wooyoung wonders when was the last time he had a good night of sleep.

Tuesday is a good day, though. It’s the only day of the week Hongjoong is actually living the life of a regular man, only coming to work in the morning to check how everything is going, finish up paperwork, send emails, then he’s off to see his mother like he does every Tuesday. Or more like he’s forced to do every Tuesday, because the only Tuesday he didn’t follow tradition and dared to cancel on lunch with his mom, she came all the way to the restaurant and threatened Hongjoong to cause a scene in front of guests (Wooyoung loves Hongjoong’s mother).

Chef Mansik works for most of the evening service and Chef Narae takes over after him, so apart from the usual reunion for the menu of the day in the morning, prep in the kitchen, stocking and getting the paperwork for tomorrow done, Wooyoung doesn’t have much to do. Meaning, he’s free to go home by one in the afternoon.

He’s already texted Yeosang at noon to ask him to eat together in the evening. He’s almost done with tomorrow’s planning on Hongjoong’s computer (what’s his is Wooyoung’s too anyway), sipping his coffee while sitting on the barstool, adjusting his glasses back from time to time, when he jerks at the contact of cold hands against his neck. He clutches at his chest, heart beating fast, and hits San’s arm in protest with a pout. San moves away, laughing, then plops down on the barstool in front of Wooyoung. “Hi pretty.”

“Get out!”

“Feeling feisty today,” San sighs dramatically, then eyes Wooyoung’s half-drunk coffee. “How many shots are there in this? Two?”

“Try again.”

“Three? Five? Sixty thousand? You know what, we have to consider the fact that you might be addicted to coffee.”

Wooyoung rolls his eyes, focused on his planning to avoid looking for too long at San’s dimples, and smirks. “No way you guessed that alone. Thank you, genius. What would I do without you?”

“Have a very sad life, probably.”

Wooyoung rolls his eyes again, with a laugh this time. He starts tapping something on his keyboard, but he’s quickly interrupted by San’s foot, lightly hitting his calf. At first, Wooyoung brushes it off, thinking it’s an accident. But then San hits him again. And again. Until there’s a whole rhythm to it, and Wooyoung can no longer fully focus on his computer screen. So he hits San with his foot too, to make him stop. But San hits him back, so he has to hit him back, so San has to hit him back back, so Wooyoung has to—

Two minutes later, Wooyoung’s glasses have slided off his nose the same way they’ve both half slided off their chairs, their feet tangled as they keep trying to lock the other one’s legs in a grip, having a hard time to contain their giggles.

“Where the f*ck is my com— Wooyoung-ssi!” Hongjoong’s groggy voice and sudden presence is enough to give them sense of where they are, so with his ears flushed, Wooyoung is quick to sit back straight on his chair. He avoids San’s gaze, mostly to stop himself from laughing when Hongjoong is looking at both of them behind the bar counter.

He closes the computer screen and snatches it off Wooyoung’s hands, barely fazed by Wooyoung’s whines. “I was just away to check deliveries, I never said you could touch my stuff meanwhile.”

“Buy me a computer then!”

“Do you think I’m your father?”

“Yes. Dadd—”

“Don’t you even dare.” Wooyoung just shrugs, and Hongjoong gives up with a groan, looking disgusted. Then, he turns to look at San. “What are you doing here?”

“It is pretty early…” Wooyoung checks his watch for good measure, seeing it’s barely past one. Since San is mainly serving as barman, and only occasionally helping out as a waiter when the restaurant’s packed, he’s not supposed to be here before six, five at best, on a normal night.

“It’s not even that, he’s not even working today. Jaewon isn’t sick, right? Why didn’t he ca—”

“No, don’t worry, Jaewon’s still coming to his shift tonight,” San reassures him.

“Wait, what are you doing here if you’re not working?” Wooyoung asks.

San turns to smile at him. Not a normal smile, though. A mischievous one. “I’m never late to my dates.”

“Your what?”

“Dates.”

“Who you got a date with?”

San keeps looking at him, smile never faltering. Wooyoung keeps looking at him too, with a frown. They do this for a while, until San’s smile does start faltering a bit, and Wooyoung is even more confused when San turns to look at Hongjoong this time. “Did he really not understand?” he asks Hongjoong.

Hongjoong just sighs. “Wooyoung-ssi, I’m pretty sure you’re not a virgin, so why do you have such a hard time taking a hint?”

Taking a… hint?

“Oh, for f*ck’s sake, I already have to deal with my mom today, I can’t put up with your situationship right now,” Hongjoong loudly sighs before he leaves in a haste with his computer.

A hint…

Oh.

Wooyoung points a finger at himself, mouth gaping, as he looks at San. Eyes full of confusion, but a different kind this time. “Me?”

Now it’s San who’s looking confused, as if he was confused at why Wooyoung is confused. “... yes? I mean, it’s not a date, I was just kidding ‘cause it’s not like we’re a thing, but I came here ‘cause I know you were finishing up early today so I’m taking you out.”

It’s not a date? “You’re taking me out?”

San laughs, endeared. “Yes, I’m taking you out. Friday night… you said you would like to talk to me about… whatever’s happening to you. Somewhere else, at some other time. And I’m not working tonight, and I checked the schedule, I know you’re not either. So… why not officially spend time together outside this restaurant for the first time? You don’t have any plans, right?”

Wooyoung’s still confused, honestly.

Why would someone as great as San would waste time on someone like him?

He probably should make the reasonable choice for the two of them, and refuse. Even though San’s saying it’s not supposed to be a date, Wooyoung’s not sure he won’t want that if San really is as pretty on the outside light as he remembers him to be from the other night they bumped into each other.

Yep, he’s definitely gonna say no.

dinner’s cancelled tonight <

go eat dirt or smth <

the bitch that haunts my nightmares

the bitch that haunts my nightmares is typing…

> k

> i hope you die

kys <

love ya <3 <

Tuesday is a good day indeed.

☀

“Dude, you can’t be for real.”

“What?”

“You said this isn’t a date then you bring me to the Han River?”

“Hey, I can’t help it if I’m a romantic at my core, okay?”

Wooyoung breathes in deep Seoul’s polluted air and tries to forego his annoyance at the summer warmth, screaming kids around them, the bicycles that almost hit them thrice, and the shoulders bumping into him in this crowd to take in the beautiful scenery of the Han River. But Wooyoung’s not a romantic at his core. He’s a logical and practical man who gets annoyed very easily and doesn’t have an ounce of appreciation for abstract stuff like beauty of the scenery or some other sh*t.

The problem is, Wooyoung might not be a romantic, but he’s a whipped man. And San seems to be enjoying too much their little walk by the Han River, breathing in the air, feeling the sun on his bare arms, cooing at some of the kids that remind him of something about Eunha, waving at bicycle riders to reassure them it’s okay and apologizing to the people that bump into his too-wide-not-to-hit-anyone-on-accident shoulders. And of course, appreciating the beautiful scenery of the Han River.

Oh, Wooyoung is whipped whipped.

So of course he just huffs, shakes his head, adjusts his bag falling off his shoulder and his glasses (he felt too lazy to put on his lenses), and he just… follows San without a complaint, if not for the ones occasionally slipping off his mouth in a mumble, loud enough for San to hear and laugh at him. “If you want to go home, just—”

“Just shut up and keep walking.”

San lets out a boisterous laugh and links arms with Wooyoung. Suddenly, the Han River is lit under a brighter sun and birds start singing. Well, not really and Wooyoung still wants to throw some kids in the water, but the urge feels less pressing with San holding onto his arm this strongly.

“Hey, I actually can’t believe this is our first time seeing each other outside work,” San tells him at some point, truly sounding amazed.

“Hm… why didn’t we do this sooner?”

“I was scared I would actually fall in love with you.”

Wooyoung laughs, hoping his voice doesn’t fail him by faltering and showing how giddy he suddenly feels. “You’re not scared anymore?”

“No, not really. Now, I just accepted that I’m already in love with you. I can’t deny my fate anymore!” He lets go of Wooyoung’s arm for a second, to open up his own in a big gesture, acting out a pained expression, then clutching at his chest. When he throws a glance at Wooyoung, and seems to be satisfied by how much he’s made him laugh, he links their arms again.

“But isn’t Eunha with you this week? You should’ve enjoyed your day off with her.”

“I have a day off tomorrow too. Besides, I’m not the one who didn’t want to stay with her today, she asked me to go out.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Something along the lines of ‘I miss uncle Yunnie’ and ‘he’s funnier than you.’, so… I think she might be getting bored of me.”

“No waaay!”

“I swear! Looking for new father applications and everything. I fear ‘Uncle Yunnie’ comes first on the list… betrayed by my own best friend,” San huffs.

“Yunho seems nice. Hope I can meet him under more… normal circ*mstances.”

“Please don’t.”

Wooyoung tightens his grip on San’s arms, pouting. “Why not? I thought we were husbands, but you don’t even want me to meet your friends?”

“No I don’t want you to meet Yunho, there’s a difference. Like, you could meet Mingi. Mingi’s a loser. Yunho, under normal circ*mstances, is tall, charming, funny and even more handsome and hot. You meet him again when he’s sober and not out of a puking and crying session and boom, you leave me and our years long marriage is over.”

They walk for a little while. San obviously waiting for an answer. Wooyoung not giving one. “You know, that’s the moment when you’re supposed to be like ‘Noooo, I would never leave you, love of my life!'” San says, offense obvious in his voice.

Wooyoung lets go of San’s arm and starts walking ahead. Faster. “Hey. Hey! Come back here, you little—” With a laugh, Wooyoung starts spriting, San on his heels.

They run and laugh and joke and tease each other, all the while the sun keeps getting lower in the sky, and the summer warmth is slowly replaced by a stronger wind. Wooyoung doesn’t really realize how much time passes, between conversations about daily life, work gossip and anecdotes from their past, all the while they avoid the most sensitive topics so the sweet taste of hotteok doesn’t sour in their mouths.

“Oppenheimer?”

“What?”

“You’re gonna see Oppenheimer?”

“It’s a Christopher Nolan movie, for God’s sake, you can’t be that shocked that someone wants to go see that instead of Barbie,” Wooyoung scoffs, taking a bite of his hotteok.

“I can’t believe you want to see Oppenheimer instead of Barbie! Here I was, thinking we were soulmates…”

“What are you on about? You love action movies, you’re going to go see Oppenheimer too!”

“Yeah, after seeing Barbie.”

“Why would I want to go see Barbie?”

“Oh, the hom*ophobia!”

“Come on!” Wooyoung groans, with a laugh.

At some point, they’re sitting on grass, backs against a tree, a jacket with almost twice his shoulder width draped over Wooyoung’s figure, arms hugging his legs and chin over his knees. His gaze is pinned on the lights of distant buildings dancing on the surface of the Han River, the sun soon nowhere to be seen to leave its spot to the moon. People around them are fewer, no more screaming kids, no more bicycles taking up half the spot. A nice breeze, with some nice company and an actual appreciation of the scenery.

San’s warmth by Wooyoung is much welcomed. Even if it weren’t by his mind, it would be by his body, their shoulders at first barely grazing, but now completely touching, soon about to become one, as Wooyoung leans more and more on San as if it were second nature. He still doesn’t think he’s close enough, though. Not when he turns his head to the side at some point, and sees them. The dimples, making the world a little better each time Wooyoung sees them.

Even if he doesn’t see it, Wooyoung can feel it; San’s shadow, casted over him, his wide shoulders making it impossible for Wooyoung to see what goes on beyond them in the park, and even further away, in the complicated world with its complicated problems that wait for Wooyoung at every corner. He can only see the Han River in front of him, and San’s dimples by his side.

Sheltered by the body of a mountain, and warmed by the comforting gaze of his own personal dimpled sun, words flood naturally from Wooyoung’s mouth to answer all the questions San has about him. “My parents are pretty cool with me being gay. They just always kinda knew. When I officially came out, they weren’t shocked but I could see it in their face, that they had this split second where they went like ‘oh, well, there goes our lineage’, but then a year later my brother got married so everything’s fine I guess. They’ve always been wary too, of what I could face as an openly gay man in a country like South Korea.”

“But they were supportive?”

“Yeah. Always. And they’ve been too supportive lately.”

“What does that mean?”

“I guess my parents think there are only three gay men in South Korea. Tony Hong, me and Yeonjun. So when I had my back and forth with Yeonjun, they always pushed me to talk to him again, get back with him again. They love him, so that definitely plays a part. But I think they do that mostly out of fear. Because if I’m not with Yeonjun, then who is going to love me…” Wooyoung sighs and takes out his glasses, rubbing his eyes, a sudden headache taking over him. “At least, my older brother was honest about it, contrary to them. One day, he very explicitly asked me what the f*ck I was planning to do without Yeonjun. Because ‘half of people like you are sex-driven freaks, you should be grateful you found a decent one and hold on to him’.”

“No way he said that!” Wooyoung’s heart hurts when he sees the frown adorning San’s bright face. Nobody should upset San, in Wooyoung’s opinion.

“He did,” Wooyoung scoffs. His hand that was nervously picking up grass until now suddenly on San’s knee, without knowing if he’s doing it to comfort himself, or erase that frown off San’s face.

San’s own hand, without a second thought, is on top of Wooyoung’s. “What did you do?”

“Punched him in the face,” Wooyoung grins.

San’s face finally lights up with a smile. “Noooo!”

“Yeah. But then you know… we talked like nothing happened the next morning. That’s always how it is between siblings, anyway.”

“Tell me about it.”

“You get along pretty well with your sister though, no?”

“Yeah. At least, I used to. It's a bit more complicated since…” San takes a deep breath, looking ahead as if actually looking over a whole timeline to determine when things went downhill. “Well… since Eunha, actually.” The answer seems to surprise him, before a sadness he can’t hide takes over.

“Does your family know that you’re bi?”

“I introduced them to my previous serious relationship before my ex-wife. It was a boy. It was a bit… complicated. They didn’t really wanna meet him, but they did anyway. My family’s kind of traditional, but we’ve always been very tied to each other, so they don’t want to miss out on important stuff happening in my life. So they just… forced themselves to accept the situation. Accept me. Me being bi. Me not wanting to go to college and trying out a bunch of different jobs, then going to Seoul to work at nightclubs. They were a little less shameful to admit what I did as a job to neighbors and people from my hometown asking when I started working at restaurants. But they were never really… proud of me. Only time they actually approved of something I did and actively supported me was when I got married and had a kid. Then, I managed to disappoint them again when I divorced.”

“How’d you meet your ex-wife?”

“Yunho’s cousin.”

Wooyoung hits San’s arm in shock. “No way! And you’re still friends with him?”

“Guy’s been my best friend since highschool! I met him and Mingi back then, and even if we were going to different highschools, we would waste half our lunch time to walk all the way to our meetup point and barely eat before we had to go back to class. Now that I look back at it, I'm like ‘damn, I guess those were the best days of our lives…’. Yunho knows me better than his own cousin.”

“Why did you two divorce? If you don’t mind me asking!”

“Actually, you should ask me why we got married in the first place, ‘cause I have no idea . I loved her. Like, for a long time. But I don’t think we ever really got along… like, we were never friends . And well, we had been together for quite some time, and I’ve always been the type to want serious relationships, so I didn’t want for this whole time we spent together to end in… nothing. My parents were pressuring me, friends kept asking us when we would finally get married so we just did and we started living together and it just… didn’t work out.

“We didn’t really enjoy doing the same things; she didn’t watch the shows I did, I didn’t like reading the books she read, we didn’t like the same food and we didn’t even live on the same timelines. I would usually work during the night and she would during the day. At some point, we stopped trying altogether to even see each other. She would be sleeping when I came home, and I would already be gone when she came from work. I thought it would get better when Eunha was born. Like, I tried harder the first years. Took her out on more dates, found a new job to change my schedule, just spent more time with her but…”

“It didn’t work?” Wooyoung finishes for him.

“Didn’t work,” San nods, his grip tighter on Wooyoung’s hand. “Not sure it’s gonna work now either, but you know… I have to try.”

Wooyoung’s heart misses a beat, but not for a good reason, this time. “You’re— thinking about getting back… with her?”

San just nods, grim, not meeting Wooyoung’s eyes. “It’s too complicated for Eunha. I’m scared she’s getting too confused at the change of environment every week. And now, my ex-wife’s possibly gonna get a job outside Seoul, so it’s gonna be a hassle to find a way to agree on our Eunha schedules. And, you know, I’m just… tired. My parents and my sister have been too much on my back because of this. Constantly asking me why I got a divorce, why I didn’t try hard enough for my daughter. Things are a bit smoother now, Yunho helps me out a lot, I found a good babysitter to keep an eye on Eunha when I’m working or I have something to do, because I can’t even ask my family for help. There’s just been… a drift, between us. And it’s getting complicated to deal with all of this alone. I’m just… tired and lonely.”

Tired and lonely. How fitting for adult life. Wooyoung can’t think of better words to describe what he’s feeling.

“What about you?” San asks him, when silence stretches for too long. “What’re you gonna do about that guy?”

“Probably what I’ve always done. Get back together with him. It’s… easier, this way.” Wooyoung slowly retracts his hand from San’s. He hugs his legs with both his arms and tucks in his chin further between his knees.

They both take a deep breath at the same time.

Suddenly, the chill of the evening makes Wooyoung all shivery. His mountain, his dimpled sun is farther away now.

But that’s how the world works, isn’t it? You just want the tide of the Han River to bring you closer together. But it gets dragging you further and further away. Wooyoung is not romantic at his core. He’s a logical, practical man. He knew all of this already.

But here, hidden from the rest of the world, he just gives in to the want he’s too scared to voice. Instead of sitting straight, he leans a bit more on San, their arms pressing a little more. And San doesn’t move away either. If anything, he leans in a bit closer too.

A little bit closer. For a little longer.

Until the moment they can’t do that anymore and they have to get away. Get up. Walk back where they came from. Wooyoung has to give his jacket back to San, when he drives him back to his house. A ride, long and quiet.

When San gets out of the car, he doesn’t go inside immediately. He first leans against Wooyoung's window, arm over the roof of the car, his face closer once again to Wooyoung’s. Wooyoung doesn’t really talk. Doesn’t smile either. He just looks up at San, words sitting at the tip of his tongue, never to be spoken because he can’t. He shouldn’t.

But San speaks them. He speaks those words Wooyoung himself would have loved to voice in another time, in another place. He speaks and he smiles. A genuine, dimpled smile. “I would have loved it, you know. If circ*mstances were different… I would’ve wanted for this to be a date.”

So Wooyoung allows at least one thing to slip off his tongue too. At least one thing. “Me too.”

They just look at each other, without another word, for a little while. Wooyoung’s eyes travel all the way from the dimples to San’s lips, and back to his shining eyes again.

And just like they always do when they’re on dangerous territory like this one, they go back to normal. With a joke. “Good, I’m glad we agree on something. I was scared our soulmate connection was severed because of Oppenheimer.”

“Oh, come on!”

They both laugh.

And this time, they don’t look at each other before they part.

just a little closer - Chapter 1 - boogiewoogii (2024)

Chapter Text

References