Work Text:
He just won’t stop staring.
Seonghwa is mostly used to people staring at him by now. The reasons have changed over the years, from being the new kid who talked funny in elementary school to that brief stint he had as a trainee in high school. People stopped staring in university, when he moved back to the States and was just (he admits this as humbly as he can) one good-looking face among hundreds, but even now, years later, it’s impossible to forget the way those eyes lingered, digging into his soul and uncovering all of his darkest secrets.
And now here he is, twenty-five years old and working the same minimum wage barista job he’s had since he was young enough to still believe he could make something of his life, and this stupid customer won’t stop staring.
Sorry. Jongho, the cute part-timer, says that calling customers stupid behind their back is inappropriate. He’s probably right, but Seonghwa once heard him call another customer a “candy corn bitch” to their face, so there’s also that.
This regular customer, who comes every Tuesday and Thursday at 9 in the morning and sits staring blankly out the window for an hour and a half, has recently transitioned to staring at Seonghwa. Which was fine maybe the first few times, because he’s not bad looking, with shaggy hair and moles dotting his face. But it’s been nearly a month now, and Seonghwa is starting to get concerned. Maybe for his eyesight, if nothing else.
Seonghwa thinks about going over to his table sometimes, maybe to say hi, maybe to ask him to stop staring. He never does, of course. Chances are, this guy’s not even staring at Seonghwa in particular, and Seonghwa is just overthinking this for no reason, just like he always does. The guy comes in twice a week, to an overpriced coffee shop on Newbury Street. Clearly, he has more important things to be thinking about. Like his bank account, perhaps.
But today is Monday, in the afternoon, and he’s here. And, to make matters worse, he’s brought a friend.
Seonghwa hates taking orders. He’s awkward at small talk but good at making drinks, no one else keeps the workstation as clean as he does, so it’s kind of his default job so long as he’s working with someone of equal or lower ranking in the work hierarchy as him. But today he’s picking up Jongho’s shift, the cute part-timer, which also means that he’s working with an actual manager. And when the manager says to take orders, that’s what Seonghwa does.
Seonghwa didn’t realize how tall this guy is. It’s hard to tell, when he’s normally hanging out on the other side of the shop, sitting almost completely still except for his throat as he swallows his drink and his eyes as they track Seonghwa across the room. But it’s hard to ignore how he towers over Seonghwa, as Seonghwa is forced to stare up at him as he orders his normal latte with an ungodly combination of syrups and sweeteners.
His equally-as-tall friend orders an iced americano. Thank god for small mercies.
“Where’s Jongho?” The friend asks. His smile reminds Seonghwa of an especially excited puppy. “He normally works today.”
Seonghwa doesn’t smile back, because he’s been told on multiple occasions by various acquaintances that his smile looks like someone’s stabbed him in the stomach with a knife, but it’s sweet. Jongho, the cute part-timer, has cute friends that come visit him at work.
“Jongho has a rehearsal.” Or something. Seonghwa’s brief stint as a trainee was not enough to explain all the nuances of the performing arts, and Jongho’s program in classical opera singing is definitely out of Seonghwa’s realm of expertise. “He’s working Thursday morning, if you want to come by and see him then.”
“Are you not working then? On Thursday?” The guy asks. His voice is lower than Seonghwa expected, raspy with a hint of power behind his tone. It sends shivers down Seonghwa’s spine.
“Nope.” Seonghwa replies. He’s staring, even now, eyes creased in what could potentially be disappointment. Seonghwa refuses to look too deep into it.
But. “I normally work most mornings except for Sunday and Monday.” Seonghwa continues, doing his best to ignore how his words could possibly be taken as an invitation to come in and stare some more.
Whatever.
The customer smiles, and Seonghwa mentally resigns himself to a lifetime of being stared at (or, at least, until this guy inevitably moves away). The only thing missing now from the two puppies in front of him is a tail wagging behind their backs.
“My name is Yunho.” The friend says. Yunho. “Will you tell Jongho we stopped by?”
Seonghwa shrugs. “You’ll probably see him before I do.” He can see his manager giving him dirty looks out of the corner of his eye, annoyed at how he’s holding up the line. It’s not Seonghwa’s fault, though. He’s bad at taking orders, and it’s Yunho’s fault anyway for making conversation, and the other customer’s fault for staring up close, where Seonghwa can actually tell that he’s staring and also stare back.
Seonghwa moves on to the next customer. Yunho and the other guy don’t stick around, and just take their drinks and leave. Good for them. Seonghwa tries to ignore the way those eyes stayed glued to him the entire time they were in the store.
The rest of his shift is pretty miserable. He gets dirty looks from the manager twice more, once for almost giving the wrong amount of change to a customer, and another time for knocking a drink over. By the time his shift is over, the sun is already setting, his feet ache, and he wants nothing more than to go home to the tiny apartment he basically lives in by himself because his roommate never comes home, curl up in bed, and stare at his phone until the blue light makes his brain melt out of his ears.
Instead, he finishes closing the store, mentally cursing Jongho the entire time, and finds the stupid customer waiting for him. Staring, as he is prone to do.
“Mingi.” He blurts out, before Seonghwa can ask what he’s doing. “My name is Mingi.”
Seonghwa blinks once. Twice. Mingi is still standing there, in front of him. He’s not a figment of Seonghwa’s imagination, or a hallucination brought on by stress and exhaustion.
“Hello Mingi, I’m Seonghwa.” Seonghwa says, reaching deep into his soul for the last dregs of his customer service voice. “How can I help you?”
Mingi blushes. It’s hard to tell, because it’s November, and the sun sets at 4 p.m., but Seonghwa thinks he can see Mingi’s cheeks getting ever so slightly darker in the dim light.
“I just realized I never introduced myself.” Mingi says. “Yunho told you his name, but I think I see you more often than he does and I’ve never told you mine.”
“Alright.” Seonghwa doesn’t need to know Mingi’s name. He doesn’t want to know anything about Mingi, really, because everything he does know is warning him to not get attached. Mingi looks like one of the thousands of students who come in and out of Boston every year, who get their degrees and move on to bigger and better things.
Like Jongho the cute part-timer will, when he graduates in the spring. Like Seonghwa was supposed to.
“We always visit Jongho at work on Mondays.” Mingi says. Seonghwa doesn’t know why he’s still talking. “We always come and visit him, but he didn’t tell us about switching shifts, which is weird, because he always tells us when his schedule changes.”
Seonghwa’s feet still hurt. Can Mingi get to the point?
“I’ve asked him about you before.” Mingi’s words start rushing, blurring together, like he can tell Seonghwa is about two seconds from walking away and getting on the T. “He knows I think you’re pretty, and I might be overthinking it, but I think he switched with you on purpose, to try and get me to talk to you. Normally when he has to switch he does it with the other guy, the one with the birthmark. Yeosang?”
Seonghwa’s clothes smell like coffee, and his hands smell like a mixture of sugar and the harsh scent of artificial cleaning supplies. His face is greasy beyond measure, his hair even worse, and he has absolutely nothing going for him in life.
Pretty? What a joke. Pretty is for people like Yeosang, who only ever works four hours at a time and never spends enough time behind the bar to truly start to hate his life. Pretty is for the people in Mingi’s classes, who are probably smart and hard working and have legacies and trust funds to fall back on.
“Thank you.” Seonghwa replies, because he doesn’t know what else to say, that’s what you’re supposed to do when people compliment you. He remembers that much, at least, from before he dropped out of school.
“I was wondering if I could buy you dinner.” Mingi offers, seemingly not put out by Seonghwa’s reticence.
Seonghwa stares incredulously. The only thing stopping him from passing out on the spot is the knowledge that he is standing in one of the most populated areas of the city, about half a block from approximately six different schools in any given direction, and that anyone who sees him drop to the ground will remember it forever as a funny story from college.
Seonghwa wants to go home. But home is two train rides away, and there’s nothing in his fridge but a single raw chicken thigh and a half-empty container of gochujang, because it’s Hongjoong’s turn to go grocery shopping. (It’s been Hongjoong’s turn to go grocery shopping the past three turns. Seonghwa will probably be picking this one up for him too.) He has to be back at work at 6 a.m. tomorrow morning, but Mingi is offering a free dinner in Boston and Seonghwa is not nearly stupid enough to turn that down.
Plus, if he really allows himself to look, Mingi is exactly his type. Cute and tall, built like he was made to protect the people around him, but holding himself in a way that shows he wouldn’t mind being taken care of.
Not that Seonghwa needs to be protected. Not that he needs anyone to take care of other than himself.
“Sure, Mingi.” Seonghwa says. “Buy me dinner.”
Mingi takes him to Tasty Burger. It’s not the most romantic of first date spots, but Seonghwa honestly doesn’t know what he was expecting. Everything about Mingi screams that he’s a struggling student, from his thrifted jacket just one size too large around his shoulders to his worn converse, the black canvas turning gray from wear and tear.
Seonghwa finds out that Mingi is twenty-four years old, and just recently started his Master’s degree in recording arts. He got an undergraduate degree in electrical engineering and computer science before deciding to follow his dreams and become a music producer. He has no allergies, other than pollen in the spring and fall, doesn’t believe in god, and spends most of his free time with his best friend Yunho and Yunho’s boyfriend San and Yunho’s boyfriend San’s boyfriend Wooyoung.
It’s a lot of words to say that Mingi is living in a completely different world than Seonghwa. Worst of all, it’s a lot of words to share with a complete stranger before they’ve even managed to sit down in the restaurant.
“You don’t have any dietary restrictions, do you?” Mingi asks, after they’ve ordered. “I probably should have asked before, but I got distracted.”
No shit. Seonghwa didn’t even know someone could spend so long talking about themselves. Still, it’s cute, the way Mingi stares expectantly after every bit of information shared like he actually wants to hear what Seonghwa thinks. If Seonghwa can relate.
Seonghwa never graduated college, because he wasn’t smart enough to keep his grade point average high enough to maintain his scholarship, and couldn’t keep going to school without the money. He’s slightly allergic to apples but not in a way where he can call it an actual allergy, believes that there’s a god that exists somewhere out there (probably) who doesn’t actually give a shit about people and their problems, and spends his free time watching the same three movies on repeat in an effort to not have to actually use his brain for anything useful.
And, “No, I don’t have any dietary restrictions.” Seonghwa says, and watches as Mingi’s shoulders slump in obvious relief. “How are you enjoying Boston so far?”
Mingi loves Boston. Or so he says. “It’s convenient, how I can get anywhere for $2.40.” He fidgets with his fingers as he talks, twisting the thick silver rings on his hands. “It’s so different from California. There’s like, actual seasons here.”
Seonghwa frowns. It’s November, which is arguably the worst season of all. Not quite cold enough to be winter, but definitely past sweater weather. Seonghwa has his hands tucked into the sleeves of his puffy coat and further tucked between his legs because being constantly sleep-deprived and slightly malnourished means it’s basically impossible to keep the chill out of his bones.
“Are you cold?” Mingi asks. “You haven’t taken your coat off.” He should stop staring. Someday, he might see something important.
“I’m surprised you’re not.” Seonghwa avoids the question as neatly as he can. “You’re California born and raised, aren’t you?”
Mingi shrugs and laughs. “I like the cold. Give me your hands.”
Seonghwa raises his eyebrows, but does as Mingi asks, reaching across the table against his better judgement. Mingi’s hands are softer than Seonghwa expected when they wrap around his own, just big enough to bring some feeling back into the tips of Seonghwa’s fingers, safe in their new warm cocoon.
Mingi’s eyes glitter with something a little too close to joy as they stare at Seonghwa's face. Seonghwa looks down at their hands until the food arrives, mentally praying the server forgets about the strange guys holding hands on top of the sticky table.
Mingi got an egg on his burger. It’s not the strangest thing Seonghwa has ever seen, but it’s funny in a way that has him giggling to himself for no reason.
“What?” Mingi asks, burger halfway between his mouth and the table, egg yolk dripping from his chin. He had to let go of Seonghwa’s hands in order to eat his food, and Seonghwa can already feel the chill returning.
“Nothing.” Seonghwa smiles as innocently as he can before taking a bite of his own burger. The food goes down warm, settling somewhere in the pit of his stomach like an old friend. It’s been a long time since he’s had something other than instant noodles or rice or work food.
Mingi is staring again. Nice.
“You’re really pretty when you smile.” He says.
And that’s the thing. Seonghwa knows he isn’t pretty when he smiles. He knows his best looks, and his best angles, because he’s spent years perfecting them. He’s mastered the look of an ice king, someone who never smiles and remains a mystery to everyone around him. He has a good-looking face, sure, but not when he smiles.
“Thank you.” He replies.
Mingi’s face drops. “You don’t believe me.” He doesn’t phrase it as a question, but as though it’s the most heartbreaking statement he’s ever heard.
Seonghwa shrugs. Takes another bite of his burger. He doesn’t want to talk about this.
Mingi seems to get the hint, because he drops the subject. He talks instead about his older brother, how his only other relationship was when he dated Yunho for two months before their relationship dissolved back into friendship without the homoerotic tension that haunted it beforehand, and how the Boston housing market might be bad but it’s still nothing compared to the hellscape that was Berkeley, California.
(Seonghwa also has an older brother, has a string of short-term exes and one-night stands he never bothered to keep track of, and has never lived in a place long enough to call it home.)
They finish their food, and true to his word, Mingi pays. Seonghwa takes a peek over to his receipt, which is probably bad date etiquette, but whatever. Mingi tips well, at least.
“Can I walk you home? Or like, make sure you get home safe.”
Seonghwa smiles up at Mingi, half in apology, half as a test. Mingi’s eyes glitter as they fix on his face.
“I live in Quincy, Mingi. You can walk me to the station.”
Mingi nods. Swallows low in his throat. “Let’s go, then.”
They hold hands as they walk. Well, Mingi holds Seonghwa’s hand as they walk. They’re just as warm and soft as they were the first time. Seonghwa wouldn’t mind holding them forever.
They hold hands until the train comes, Seonghwa half buried into Mingi’s side. He smells good, and Seonghwa relishes the rare opportunity to be shorter than his date.
“Thank you for the food.” Seonghwa says, as the train barrels in. Mingi says something in return, but it’s too quiet to hear over the roaring.
Instead, before he can overthink it, Seonghwa rises to his very tippy toes and presses a kiss to the bottom of Mingi’s cheek, right where it hits his jaw. He can feel faint stubble against his lips, and for a split second, wonders what it would feel like between his legs.
No. Bad Seonghwa.
Mingi looks shell-shocked when he pulls away, hand instinctively letting go of Seonghwa to reach up and cup his cheek where Seonghwa’s lips were, and Seonghwa almost wants to take a picture. Instead, he laughs, and goes to board his train. Mingi stares until the train pulls away.
The train ride is long, but Seonghwa spends most of it thinking about Mingi. The way he smiled, the way his hands naturally sought after Seonghwa’s hands as they were talking, the affection in his voice when he talked about Yunho and his polycule. Seonghwa debates texting Jongho, the cute part-timer, to lecture him about setting Seonghwa up with his friends, but decides against it. The date wasn’t so bad, after all.
When he gets home, it’s late. Not late enough that the world has already sung itself to sleep, but late enough for Seonghwa to really feel the exhaustion from his day settle in. He had forgotten, somewhere in the middle of watching Mingi make a mess of his burger, just how tired he was.
“Hey!” Hongjoong greets Seonghwa, as he enters the apartment, huddled in front of his laptop on the couch and wrapped in what looks to be seven blankets. “You’re normally home earlier than this, is everything okay?”
Seonghwa is taken aback. Hongjoong isn’t normally home at this time. Hongjoong isn’t normally home ever, but this is especially true on Monday nights. Something about the weekend being over and all the normal office workers going back to their cubicles rattles something in Hongjoong’s little gremlin brain that has him in the studio for almost 24 hours straight, like clockwork.
“Yeah, I was on a date.” Seonghwa says, and slides past Hongjoong in their miniscule living room to pour himself a glass of water in the kitchen. He ignores the very dramatic gasp that exits Hongjoong’s mouth, turning his back on Hongjoong as he enters the kitchen area.
When he opens the fridge to get the brita, though, Seonghwa stops short again. It seems that today is full of surprises, because what greets him is a fully stocked refrigerator. Eggs, meat, and fruit, all lined up on the shelves. Seonghwa looks over to their pantry shelf and sees cereal and bread, too.
“You went grocery shopping?” Seonghwa asks, his lips numb. He can’t name the emotion he’s feeling right now, but he thinks it might be positive.
“Yeah!” Hongjoong replies, far more excited about grocery shopping than any sane person should be. “Sorry I’ve been so busy recently, I know that wasn’t what we agreed to when we said we were gonna share groceries. We just finished a massive project so things at work should be better now. I’ll get the groceries next time too.”
Seonghwa turns around to look at Hongjoong on the couch. He’s curled up like a kitten, headphones around his neck and hair mussed, laptop whirring away on the coffee table. It’s clear that he was working before Seonghwa got back, no doubt deeply engrossed in his producing the way he always is, but at least he’s here. Hongjoong is home, and Seonghwa knows better than to believe that he’ll always be here, but for today, it’s nice to not be alone.
“Tell me about your date.” Hongjoong says, when Seonghwa collapses next to him on the couch. “Was he cute? Tall? Talented?”
Seonghwa snorts. “Talented?” Only a musician would make that a requirement for a potential partner. But still, Mingi checks all three boxes, and the bit of warmth still sitting in Seonghwa’s stomach rumbles at the thought of someone so good taking interest in him.
“His name is Mingi.” Seonghwa starts, but before he can continue, Hongjoong is already interrupting.
“Mingi Song?” He asks. “Tall, big lips, likes to wear those oversized jackets to hide his massive ass?”
That sounds about right, even if Seonghwa never caught Mingi’s last name. Not that he knows anything about Mingi’s potentially massive ass. He nods, and Hongjoong lights up even more.
“Nice, he’s super cute. I met him at a conference last year, in NorCal. He’s crazy smart too, even if he gets a little distracted sometimes.”
That’s definitely Mingi. Jumping from one topic to another, mind whirring like an engine, embellishing stories to an unrealistic degree, but still coming back down to Earth every once in a while to stare at Seonghwa with stars in his eyes.
“Yeah, he was nice.” It’s weird, being chased after like this. Weird that Mingi, who could have anyone, asked him out first.
Hongjoong nods vigorously. He must really like Mingi, from the one time they met a year ago. Well, it’s not like Seonghwa knows him any better. “Are you going to see him again?”
Mingi knows Seonghwa’s work schedule, and has friends who know Seonghwa too. Of course he’ll see Mingi again. But that isn’t what Hongjoong is asking.
“Probably. He bought me dinner.”
The last part isn’t important, but Hongjoong nods knowingly.
“Keep him.” Hongjoong says. “Free food is a green flag, and I think he’ll be good for you.”
Hongjoong’s fingers are itching towards his laptop again, trying his hardest to be polite but unable to keep his mind off work, so Seonghwa excuses himself to go to bed. He showers and washes his face, relishing in the feeling of being clean for the first time all day.
Mingi’s cologne gets washed off too, but Seonghwa refuses to let himself mourn the loss.
Seonghwa crawls into bed, his lights off but his mind still stuck on Mingi. Instead of closing his eyes and forcing his brain into submission, he opens his phone instead, and goes to instagram.
Mingi’s page is easy to find, now that Seonghwa knows his last name. It’s public, and Seonghwa is greeted with beautiful scenery, pictures of Yunho, and artsy black and white photos. He hits the follow button, and is entirely unsurprised when he receives a follow back notification within thirty seconds.
Seonghwa wonders if Mingi will message him. They never exchanged numbers after all, and Seonghwa wonders if that’s what Mingi mouthed at him as the train came into the station. But Mingi must be cognizant of the time, or afraid of coming off too strong, because no new message comes.
He turns off his phone, rolls over, and buries his face in his pillow. Today was one of the best days he’s had in a while, and he doesn’t want to say that it’s all because of Mingi, but Mingi definitely played a big part. Seonghwa feels a little bit of humanity returning to him, seeping under his skin through his sheets. He had forgotten what it was like to be wanted, and not just in a romantic or sexual sense.
Seonghwa falls asleep to the sound of cars passing by in the street outside his window, and the rhythmic clicking of Hongjoong’s fingers against his keyboard. He imagines seeing Mingi again tomorrow morning, and doesn’t think he’ll mind the staring at all.