Chapter Text
The end of September brings Chuseok, which in turn brings Seungmin’s family.
It's sheer luck that Chuseok falls on a Thursday this year, right on Seungmin’s one day off before the final three games of the regular season. His parents and sister fly into SFO on Tuesday, and Seungmin arrives back home from Minneapolis on Wednesday, entering his apartment to find his family already settled in.
Seungmin’s apartment isn't small, but it's by no means ostentatious in the way that some of his teammates’ places are. The four of them fill it almost to the brim, a marked difference from the usual quiet emptiness, the comfortable stillness he and Minho ordinarily engage in when they’re at Seungmin’s. Not that either he or Minho are particularly quiet people—quite the opposite, sometimes—but there’s rarely much need for words between them.
As if summoned, the electronic lock turns, and Minho enters, toeing his shoes off in favor of the cat-shaped slippers Seungmin had made sure to warn his family against wearing.
“Eomeonim,” Minho greets Seungmin's mother, then Seungmin’s father and sister in turn, bowing as best he can considering the big box of pears he's holding.
“Minho-ya,” Seungmin’s mother says, her voice warm and familiar. Seungmin tilts his head at her at that. His mother is unfailingly gracious, but she's rarely effusive towards strangers.
“Thank you very much for having me.”
Seungmin’s never heard Minho sound so polite. He’s not surprised that Minho’s on his best behavior, of course, but he has to press his lips together to suppress his smile nevertheless.
“Of course.” Seungmin’s been told that he smiles like his mother, and he sees it now, the way her smile stretches wide across her face, slightly crooked teeth on full display. “No one should be alone on Chuseok. And in any case, it’s the least we can do after you've taken such good care of our Seungminnie.”
Minho glances in Seungmin’s direction, the ghost of a smile flitting across his face. “We take care of each other, eomeonim.”
“I don't doubt it,” she says. “Now sit, we’re making songpyeon.”
***
The conversation flows easier than Seungmin had expected. Minho’s quiet, of course, as Seungmin’s learned he often is around groups of strangers, but he loosens up over the course of that evening and the next day, when they reconvene at Seungmin’s to continue dinner preparations for the holiday proper. Seungmin’s family draws him out little by little, asking Minho questions about his family, his job, what he’s doing in Oakland. Seungmin’s sister is shocked when she hears the name of the choreographer that had recruited Minho to come dance with her in the States, back when Minho had competed in World of Dance during his last year of university.
“But she's famous,” she says, mouth round with surprise. “She has like a million Insta followers!”
Seungmin aims a kick at her from across the kitchen, which his sister dodges with practiced ease. “Why’d you say it like that? Minho-hyung is famous too! You should see how many views his dance videos have!”
“Says the most famous person in this room,” Minho says, but he’s smiling. “How many people watch your game highlights again?”
Seungmin's sister rolls her eyes. “Fine, you're both famous, whatever. Anyways, about these dance videos...”
So they put Minho’s dance videos on Seungmin's TV, and Seungmin’s family oohs and ahhs at each one. A small scuffle breaks out after Seungmin’s sister wolf-whistles at a particularly provocative move, Seungmin launching himself at her without a second thought. Minho’s laughter suffuses the kitchen, light and pleased, even as the tips of his ears remain stubbornly pink.
As they start on the jeon, his family catches Seungmin up on all the little things that hadn’t been important enough to mention on Facetime—his father’s coworker’s new baby, the latest administrative drama at the hospital Seungmin’s mother works at, the renovations being done at their local Paris Baguette.
“Mini-yah, can I borrow your phone charger?” his father asks during a break in the conversation.
Seungmin's busy dropping battered slices of zucchini into the frying pan, holding the chopsticks at the very ends in an attempt to dodge any splatters of hot oil, but he looks up anyways to say yes, of course, give him a minute.
Minho beats him to it. “I’ll get you one, abeonim.”
He disappears into the guest room for a moment before popping his head back out again. “Seungmin-ah, did you move my charger?”
“Oh!” Seungmin looks up again, brow furrowed. “Yeah, I cleared out the guest room to make room for my parents. All your stuff is in my nightstand drawer, the one on the left.”
“The one you used to keep all your receipts in?”
“Yeah, I moved those. I made sure to store your cleansing balm and everything properly, don't worry.”
Minho nods and disappears again, this time into Seungmin’s bedroom. When Seungmin turns his attention back to the kitchen, his entire family is looking at him, expressions varying degrees of amused.
Seungmin’s sister, for instance, looks downright gleeful. “Minho-ssi seems to spend an awful lot of time here, doesn’t he?”
“I couldn't help but notice the extra toothbrush in the bathroom,” his father adds, raising his eyebrows. Damn it, it's been too long since Seungmin’s been subjected to his father’s lawyer interrogations.
Seungmin consciously relaxes his face into a neutral expression. “We’re good friends. I told you he comes over often.”
That much is true, at least, and it’s not like he can explain what they are to each other. Not when he doesn't fully know himself, though he knows what Minho feels like to him. What he wants Minho to be to him.
His sister looks like she’s bursting to say more, but then Minho’s reentering the kitchen, phone charger in hand.
After dinner, Seungmin’s parents retreat to the guest bedroom. It’s firmly morning now, Korean time, and Seungmin’s father hadn't quite been able to suppress his yawn at the folding table they'd set up as a makeshift dining table, Seungmin’s kitchen island proving far too small to fit five adults and a full Chuseok spread. Seungmin, Minho, and Seungmin’s sister stay out in the living room, sitting on the floor and passing the rest of the makgeolli between them.
Time passes in slow drips, one bowl of milky white liquid after another.
“Can’t believe you're all so old now,” Seungmin’s sister says wistfully. “I still remember when Jisungie was in his Soundcloud rapper era. Remember when he wrote that song about me?”
“Excuse me, noona, but do you have a boyfriend?” the three of them chorus in unison, before immediately dissolving into giggles.
“That was about you?” Minho has to wipe an errant tear from the corner of his eye.
“Only partially,” Seungmin clarifies through the last of his laughter. “He went through a phase where he was deeply in love with every older girl he met for like two weeks each, and well… it manifested itself into music.”
“Hey, I’m happy to say I was once partial inspiration for a producer who has like sixteen songs with perfect all-kills now,” Seungmin’s sister says. Her smile is softer, now. “We all knew he was a genius, even back then.”
Minho hums in acknowledgment, refilling Seungmin’s sister’s bowl with a practiced hand. “He is amazing, isn't he?”
Seungmin’s sister asks how Minho and Jisung met, and Minho obliges, launching into an extended story Seungmin’s only ever heard from Jisung’s point of view.
“—and of course we had to run from the police, and we’ve been best friends since.”
Minho’s expression is full of so much unbridled affection it makes Seungmin’s chest clench, just briefly. He wonders fleetingly what it would have been like to go to college, had he not chosen the draft. Seungmin loves baseball, he does. But if he hadn't loved it so much, if he hadn't wanted it so desperately... Would he have ended up at the same university as Jisung and Minho? Would he have met Minho years ago, introduced to Jisung’s eccentric upperclassman friend at some campus event? Would they still have ended up like this, thighs pressed together under Seungmin’s coffee table?
Seungmin pushes those thoughts aside, returns to the last thing Minho had said.
“Damn, what am I then?” he jokes.
He means it as a joke, anyways. He knows that Minho’s relationship with Jisung is probably the most important relationship either of them have, could never, ever begrudge them that. Despite his best intentions, though, the words don’t quite come out the way he intends, tinged instead with misplaced wistfulness for a shared past that doesn’t exist.
Minho gives him an indecipherable look. Then he reaches under the coffee table to take Seungmin’s hand in his own, curling his slim fingers firmly around Seungmin's.
“You’re different,” he says. “You know you are.”
***
“Okay, noona,” Seungmin says four days later, arms crossed over his chest as he stares his sister down from across the room. “Fun time’s over. Get out of my bed.”
She throws him a wounded look from her position sitting cross-legged on top of his covers. “I’m literally elderly and you're going to make me sleep on the floor?”
“You’re only 32!”
“Yesterday you said that meant I’m halfway to retirement!”
“Yeah, halfway, not all the way there. Which means that right now you and I are both employed, which means you need to get out of my bed so I can sleep there. So I can do my job tomorrow.”
“You’ve been managing just fine on the futon,” she sniffs, turning back to the sixth step of her skincare routine.
“Yeah, because those games didn't matter,” Seungmin grumbles. “Tomorrow’s the first game of the playoffs, I need to rest and recover.”
The A’s are the fourth seed going into the playoffs, which means that they’ll get to play at home for the first three games—the Wild Card Series. Seungmin plans to take full advantage, by sleeping in his own room in his own bed with his own pillows, the ones he'd gotten custom-molded to the precise size and shape of his head.
“Rest and recover on the floor, then.”
Seungmin regards his sister with mild annoyance, before finally caving. “Fine, we can share. It’s not like there isn't room.”
Darkness makes it easier to have a lot of conversations, in Seungmin’s experience. Perhaps it’s that you can’t scrutinize your companion’s every expression, or try to read their body language. Perhaps words just come out more honest, in the dark.
Which is why he's hardly surprised when just a few minutes after he turns off the light—they'd played rock paper scissors for it—his sister speaks up, voice deliberate. “I like your Minho.”
Seungmin's whole body warms at her use of the possessive.
“Me too,” he admits, quiet. It’s the first time he's said it, even to himself. “I like him a lot.”
The pillowcase next to his rustles as his sister moves her head. Her voice is closer, now. “Does he like you back?”
“Yes,” Seungmin says, without even having to think about it.
The certainty in his voice makes the single syllable ring loudly between them. Minho’s right—Seungmin might not be able to put a precise label on their relationship yet, but he knows how Minho feels.
It’s obvious in every meal Minho’s made him, every note Minho’s left, every little thing Minho’s done for Seungmin without him ever asking. Obvious in every lingering glance, every soft touch on Seungmin's wrist, his back, his cheek.
Obvious in the way Minho had texted him a dozen times from the grocery store last week, asking whether Seungmin’s family liked jangsimrang or mansamgil pears better, whether Minho should bake a cake, whether Seungmin’s mother would be offended or pleased by an offer to help with the cooking (“since u said she’s particular abt people in the kitchen,” Minho had elaborated, halfway through the seemingly never-ending flurry of texts).
“Let me get this straight,” his sister says, after he lays out everything for her—omitting a few of the details, of course. “So you both like each other, and you both know you like each other, but you’re… what, continuously flirting and pulling back at the last second? For fun?”
The disbelief is heavy in her voice. Seungmin thinks about it for a minute.
“Yeah, that sounds about right.”
“So when does your little game end? How does one of you win?”
Seungmin hadn’t thought quite that far ahead, had been too focused on finding new ways to fluster Minho, to pull the pink from his ears into his cheeks and down to his neck. He shrugs, though he knows his sister can’t see the movement in the dark. “I don’t know. I guess when one person says they give up.”
Seungmin’s sister is silent for a long moment. Then she says, exasperated, “You’re both stupid.”
Seungmin pointedly rolls over to face away from her. “Good night, noona.”
“Don’t kick me in your sleep, idiot,” she returns. Her voice is fond, despite their usual sibling banter. “And good luck with your games.”
***
Seungmin Kim’s Postgame Interview After Athletics AL Wild Card Series Loss
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INTERVIEWER: Seungmin, Kevin Herrera just described the end of the season as “cruel.” How would you describe the end of the season and how you're feeling?
SEUNGMIN: Well, I don't think any of us wanted to go out this way. But, you know, baseball is a tough sport. We're proud of the effort we put in during this Wild Card Series, and sometimes… sometimes things don't work out. We thought we had a good chance to pull ahead today to win the series, but the Jays played well, and we weren't able to capitalize on all our opportunities. That’s just how things go sometimes. We’ll be back next season.
INTERVIEWER: Let's go back to that last inning, the ninth inning. What were the emotions like entering that inning, knowing what was at stake?
SEUNGMIN: The emotions were… well, we just wanted to go in and win it. We thought we had a really good chance of tying things up and taking them down, with [1:00] our clean-up up to bat. We could hear the fans chanting, too, and that always gives us strength. I'm sorry we weren't able to turn it around for them.
INTERVIEWER: Any specific fan interaction stand out?
SEUNGMIN: When I was walking out I heard a fan offer free Dippin Dots if I hit one out of the park. I’ve never tried Dippin Dots, so for a second I was like wow, that sounds good. If we’d won I might've taken him up on it.
INTERVIEWER: [laughs] But now you have to go buy your own?
SEUNGMIN: Exactly. [laughs] My run wasn’t quite enough this time, unfortunately.
INTERVIEWER: You've made quite a splash in your debut season in the MLB. You batted .285 with a .925 OPS, with 22 home runs, 61 RBIs, and 10 stolen bases, not to mention your pitching stats. Your name’s gotta be up there for AL Rookie of the Year, right?
SEUNGMIN: [laughs] I wouldn't want to presume. But I’m honored to even be mentioned in the same sentence as such an award. I know [2:00] I still have a lot to grow as a player, and I’d like to be able to show some of that growth next season.
INTERVIEWER: If you grow much more, soon no one's going to be able to catch you!
SEUNGMIN: That’s the goal! [laughs]
INTERVIEWER: At the beginning of the season, you told me you were still getting used to living in the U.S. How do you feel now that you've spent an entire season here?
SEUNGMIN: The adjustment was a bit hard, at first. But I’ve made some very good friends here, and they've made everything so much easier. I really treasure them and the relationships we’ve built together.
INTERVIEWER: Anyone you want to give a shout-out to?
SEUNGMIN: [in Korean] Minho-hyung, thank you very much!
INTERVIEWER: Seungmin, always a pleasure. Thanks for taking the time.
SEUNGMIN: Of course. Look forward to seeing you again for spring training, Chris.
***
Kim Seungmin is not someone used to losing.
It’s true that the most desperate edges of loss have been sanded off with professionalism. At least these days he can say with some degree of certainty that there will be a next season. Not like high school, where you only have three years.
Seungmin’s made it, had made it all those years ago when he first got drafted, and the only way to go from here is up.
He’s also no longer the pillar of his team, the one who’s far and away the best player on the team, the one the coaches play at every opportunity. Here, he’s just one of many: the fourth starting pitcher on their roster rather than the first, the sixth batter up to the plate rather than the fourth. When his team loses, it no longer feels like the responsibility lands squarely on his shoulders.
None of that eases the ache of loss. He suppresses it for long enough to go sightseeing with his family while they’re still in town, trekking to all the tourist destinations he hadn’t thought to visit before. He sets up AutoReply on his KakaoTalk, so that each of the dozens of people messaging him to offer commiseration or advice or whatever it is they have to offer will receive an automated response informing them that he’ll be away from his phone for a while, that he’ll get back to them when he can.
For his closest friends, he sends a more personalized, though short, message saying much the same.
I’ll be offline for a bit, hyung
8:02 AM I’ll be with my family, so there’s no need to worry about me
8:03 AM See you next week?
my nyangie 💕
who said i was gonna worry?
see you next week, seungmin-ah 8:05 AM
***
Minho lets Seungmin mope for precisely three days after his family flies back to Seoul. Then he’s bustling back into Seungmin's life like nothing’s happened, like Seungmin hadn't retreated into himself for a week and a half without speaking to anyone.
“Kim Seungmin,” Minho says, setting what looks like a large foil-covered box on Seungmin’s kitchen floor. “Start packing. We leave in an hour.”
Seungmin frowns at him from the kitchen island, where he’d been picking at a piece of toast when Minho had let himself in. “Where are we going?”
“That's for me to know and you to find out,” Minho says archly. Then, because he knows Seungmin, he elaborates. “Pack comfortable shoes that you can walk in for a long time but don't mind getting dirty. Bring athletic clothes, like the ones you wear to practice, and make sure you bring layers. More long-sleeved shirts than short-sleeved. Bring a sweatshirt and your windbreaker, that green one you wear in the mornings. Maybe a very light down jacket if you've got one.”
The toast crumbles between Seungmin’s fingers as his frown deepens. “How long—”
“Five days,” Minho says before Seungmin can finish the question. He’s rifling through the fridge now, pulling out a wide array of ingredients and putting them into the box. Now that the box is open, Seungmin can hear the vague electric hum, see the cold puffs of air surrounding the box’s opening.
Seungmin hums in acknowledgement before pushing himself to his feet and into his bedroom.
They hit the road an hour later, Seungmin's duffle bag in the trunk and Minho’s insulated mini-fridge safely stowed in the backseat. Minho silently holds out the aux cord as they pull onto the main road, and they drive off into the sun to Seungmin’s favorite R&B playlist.
As they begin winding up the mountains two and a half hours in, Seungmin rolls down the window to stick his whole head out of the car. The wind feels nice buffeting his skin, blowing his bangs out of his face. He finds himself smiling into it, eyes closed, crisp air stealing the moisture from his gums. It’s a simple pleasure, one he hasn’t had much opportunity to indulge in recently.
“You are such a puppy,” Minho says, fondness dripping from every word.
“Meong meong,” Seungmin says. He turns his grin onto Minho, then, and is unsurprised to find Minho already smiling back.
***
Their first view of Yosemite Valley is breathtaking. It’s enough to make Seungmin forget about everything that isn’t this, isn’t open skies and tree-lined roads and towering granite cliffs. Minho was right to drag Seungmin out of his apartment, Seungmin thinks. He’d been prepared to shut himself up in there until his flight leaves for Seoul two weeks from now, cocooned on his couch watching dramas and leaving only to adhere to his strict off-season training routine, but this is better.
Not that Seungmin’s going to tell Minho that, of course.
They arrive at their campsite just after noon, a long tree-lined spot relatively isolated from the main campground. It takes longer than expected to set up the tent, even with two of them.
“Don’t you go camping often?” Seungmin grouses, looking down at the mess of pole segments in his hands. “Shouldn’t this be easy?”
“This isn’t my tent,” Minho huffs. He bends two knobbly tent poles towards each other, letting out a frustrated growl when they spring apart for the sixth time. “Why are there so many parts, anyways?”
Occupied as he is with the poles, it takes a second for Minho to notice Seungmin’s quizzical look. He runs a hand through his hair with a sigh, almost dislodging the pair of sunglasses holding his bangs back in the process, before answering Seungmin’s unspoken question.
“It’s my coworker’s. My tent is only big enough for one person.”
“Oh.” Seungmin has to look down again, this time to hide his pleased expression.
“Don’t get any funny ideas, Kim Seungmin.” Minho points at him with one of the tent poles, frowning exaggeratedly in the way he does when he's trying not to smile. “You’re here as free labor. Someone’s got to fetch water and haul firewood and protect me from bears.”
“Okay, hyung.” Seungmin says, solemn. “I’ll punch any bears that try to come close, don’t worry. Right on the nose, like this.”
He does his best impression of an uppercut, shadowboxing an imaginary bear until Minho finally breaks down into giggles. Then they’re both laughing, partially assembled tent pieces scattered all around them.
It takes at least another hour to figure out the tent, after that.
***
Minho sets up a little Bluetooth speaker, and they both sing along to his playlist as they make dinner together, shoulder to shoulder as always. It’s fun and upbeat, filled with throwback songs from their youth.
(No more depressing ballads, please, Minho had said, nose scrunched. This campsite is a fun-only zone, Seungmin-ah.)
When the first notes of Good-bye Baby float out, Seungmin gasps. Then he’s setting his knife down firmly and pointing at Minho.
“Minho-hyung… You'd better prepare yourself, because you're about to see what a real dancer looks like.”
Minho’s mouth twitches at the corners, though the rest of his face remains remarkably impassive. He sets his own knife down, turns to face Seungmin properly. “Go on, then.”
Seungmin uses a nearby can of bug spray as a makeshift mic as he sings along, just swaying to the rhythm until the chorus hits and muscle memory hits in. It’s been years since he and Jeongin had learned the choreography on a whim over the course of one sleepless Saturday night, but he's surprised at how much he remembers. Minho’s impassive expression dissolves into laughter approximately 0.2 seconds after Seungmin starts dancing, every movement large and exaggerated—the flick of his wrist, the chest pop, the swing of his hips—tongue pressed to the corner of his lips as he drops Minho a salacious wink.
Then Minho’s joining in, mirroring Seungmin’s dancing with his own. He remembers far more of the choreo than Seungmin does, of course, and Seungmin takes to singing dramatically into his can of bug spray during the non-chorus parts, even hollering, “Minho-hyung, with the dance break!” when said dance break rolls around. Minho obliges, moves suddenly razor sharp and focused rather than casual and playful, though his eyes remain crinkled with mirth.
Then it’s the rap part, and Seungmin goes all in, like he’s on Show Me The Money. Minho cracks up at that, unfiltered laughter dissipating into the darkening sky like the smoke from their campfire. Seungmin takes a bow when they’re done, unable to stop the grin from spreading across his face.
“Hey,” Minho says later, when they’re eating in their mismatched camping chairs. He nudges Seungmin’s foot with his own. “You okay?”
Seungmin smiles wryly into the campfire. “Yeah. I’m always like this, when the season ends this way. Sorry. I promise I’ll be over it soon enough.”
“Okay,” Minho says quietly. He looks horribly awkward for a moment, before rushing out, “Let me know if there’s anything you need.”
That is unusual, Seungmin thinks fondly. Minho doesn’t usually ask outright. He just notices things that could use doing and does them, without any fanfare. Like a little gremlin, if gremlins were helpful and also could bench-press you.
“It’s nice being here with you, hyung,” Seungmin says, instead of any of that. “Thanks for inviting me.”
Minho waves it off, of course, just plies Seungmin with more budae jjigae as the last of the light slips beneath the horizon.
***
Seungmin is almost asleep when Minho speaks up.
“It’s cold, Kim Seungmin,” Minho says into the dark.
Seungmin mumbles something into his pillow, unintelligible even to himself but intended to convey something like, then put on a sweater.
“It’s cold, Kim Seungmin,” Minho repeats, impatience plain even in Seungmin's sleep-addled state.
Seungmin turns his head just enough to crack an eye open at Minho, a dark silhouette in an almost-pitch black tent. “And what do you want me to do about it?”
Minho huffs. “Do I need to do everything around here, Seungmin-ah?”
The unmistakable sound of a sleeping bag being shuffled across the crinkly ground cover tarp they’d spent ages staking down fills the tent, followed by a loud unzipping noise. Seungmin takes the hint with only a little more grumbling, unzipping his own sleeping bag. They bump heads as they maneuver the two sleeping bags together, Minho swearing quietly under his breath as he struggles with the zipper.
Seungmin laughs at him through the fogginess in his brain, fingers brushing Minho’s as he takes over. Together, they manage to zip their sleeping bags together into a single toasty cocoon.
Minho immediately tucks himself into Seungmin’s neck like he's done it a thousand times, frigid nose brushing Seungmin's clavicle.
“Much better,” he mumbles.
The vibration of Seungmin's slow laughter jostles Minho slightly. “If you say so.”
He curls his arm around Minho’s broad shoulders, combs his fingers gently through Minho’s hair. It’s gotten long recently, falling into Minho’s eyes and curling around his ears. Seungmin wants to kiss it, suddenly, and does. “Sleep well, hyung.”
Minho doesn't say anything, but Seungmin can feel the curve of his smile against his t-shirt. When Seungmin’s breathing slows again, Minho’s slows to match. Then they drop off into sleep together, the only two people in the universe.
***
Unusually enough, Seungmin wakes before Minho the next morning. Minho’s rolled off him at some point during the night, curling up in a little ball by Seungmin’s side instead. Part of Seungmin wants to curl himself back around Minho, slip an arm around Minho’s waist and pull him close.
The other part of Seungmin really needs to pee.
Taking care not to disturb his sleeping bedmate, Seungmin wiggles out of their now-combined sleeping bag and trudges down to the communal bathroom to relieve himself and brush his teeth. Then he sets to making another fire, stacking the logs just like Minho had shown him yesterday, so he can cook them some breakfast.
By the time Minho emerges twenty minutes later, bleary-eyed and wearing one of Seungmin’s giant hoodies, Seungmin has the coffee brewing and oatmeal bubbling away over the fire. Minho shuffles up, looking adorably disgruntled in the early morning light. He wraps his arms around Seungmin’s waist from behind, slumps to rest his face against Seungmin's shoulder.
Seungmin smiles down stupidly at the fire and covers Minho’s clasped hands with the hand not stirring the oatmeal. One of his hands engulfs both of Minho’s, and he has to wriggle his fingers a bit until he can interlace them with Minho’s. “What are we doing today, hyung?”
“Sightseeing,” Minho mumbles. “Let’s do the easy stuff on the weekdays, when there are fewer people. Tomorrow’s Saturday, so it’ll be a good day to do a sunrise hike, if you want. We can get in and out early, avoid the tourists.”
“We’re tourists.”
Minho yawns, before burying himself further into Seungmin’s shoulder. “Speak for yourself, Kim Seungmin. I’m a local everywhere. Now are you in or not?”
“Sure, hyung. Can you send me—”
“The itinerary? Yeah. It’s in your inbox already. We can always change things around, though, if there’s something you want to do.”
Seungmin shakes his head, careful not to dislodge Minho in the process. “I trust you. Let’s go see the sunrise tomorrow, then, hyung.”
***
They stop at the top of Sentinel Dome to soak in the view the next morning, the valley below awash with the rosy light of dawn. Seungmin takes a photo of Minho, who immediately does a peace sign and sticks his leg out behind him, and Minho takes one of Seungmin in return. The pictures come out beautifully, the diffused light illuminating their features as if from within.
A passing woman asks if they'd like to take a photo together, and of course they do.
Seungmin drapes an arm around Minho's shoulders, knocks their heads together, and grins widely. Minho’s answering smile presses his cheek more tightly against Seungmin’s, and the woman snaps several shots before handing the phone back to them.
"You two make a lovely couple," she says, smiling at them before rejoining her group. “I hope you're happy together for a long time.”
"You hear that, hyung?" Seungmin intends for the question to be teasing, but it comes out just a shade too sincere. He’s been doing that more often, these days. “We make a lovely couple.”
The sharp planes of Minho’s face are soft when he turns to look at Seungmin. His reply comes easily, like he's stating the most obvious fact in the world.
"She's right, we do make a lovely couple.” He blinks up at Seungmin, long lashes fluttering with the motion. “And I hope we're happy together for a long time, too.”
It’s the first time Minho’s hinted at the future, their future, and it freezes Seungmin in his tracks. He stares at Minho for a second, two seconds, five. Then he slaps both hands over his whole face, feeling his cheeks flare up underneath.
"Hyung, you can't just say things like that!"
Minho laughs at him, high and unfiltered. "Really? That's what got you?"
Seungmin whines into his hands. He’s gotten used to Minho’s presence, his touches, his silent displays of affection, but this?
“I give up,” he says, words muffled. “I don’t even think we ever set terms, but whatever we were doing. I give up. You win.”
“Wow, the great Kim Seungmin admitting defeat? Someone call the presses immediately! On this day, October 21, Kim Seungmin-ssi said the following words to Lee Minho—”
“Fuck off,” Seungmin says, without heat.
When Minho's crowing finally dies down, Seungmin peeks at Minho through his fingers and finds the gentlest of sun-warm smiles in its wake. Minho sees him looking and assembles his face into a more characteristic smirk, but it's too late. Seungmin smiles back, and something within him settles.
He reaches out, and Minho takes his hand. Then they make their way down the dome together, fingers intertwined as the sun rises on their new beginning.
**
Seungmin rouses slowly that afternoon, blinking up into the low-hanging sun. Still drowsy, he slowly disentangles himself from the hammock he'd been napping in and goes to look for Minho.
Minho is almost exactly where Seungmin had left him, except he’s standing to look out over the lake, fishing pole baited by his side, rather than lounging in his camping chair. He doesn't move when Seungmin comes up behind him, not even when Seungmin hooks his chin over Minho’s shoulder.
“Hi, hyung,” Seungmin mumbles, voice gravelly. “Catch anything?”
Minho shakes his head, the motion brushing the brim of his floppy fisherman’s hat against Seungmin’s ears.
“Nope.” His voice is light, almost cheery.
“You sound happy about that.”
“I once read that fishing is all about sitting and telling lies for nine hours and catching zero fish.”
“So you’re happy because you've been succeeding at all three?”
“Exactly,” Minho says, and Seungmin doesn't even have to look to know exactly what kind of self-satisfied smirk Minho's wearing.
Seungmin shakes his head at Minho’s nonsense, chin rubbing against the soft cotton of Minho’s shirt. It’s a well-worn t-shirt with the name of Minho and Jisung’s university on the front, sleeves cut off to expose Minho’s well-defined arms. Seungmin doesn’t stop himself from touching, not now, gives into his impulse to ghost his fingertips along Minho’s exposed skin from knuckles to bicep.
Minho turns at the touch, dislodging Seungmin’s chin from his shoulder, but his sentence never gets past the first, soft, “Seungmin-ah.” He falls silent instead, lips parted and eyes almost unbearably fond as they roam across Seungmin’s face.
“Minho-hyung,” Seungmin returns, smiling.
“Seungmin-ah,” Minho says again.
He reaches for Seungmin’s left hand. It’s an invitation, and Seungmin reciprocates without thinking. He twines their fingers together, uses his other hand to push the brim of Minho’s ridiculous hat out of his face. Minho tilts his face up, expectant.
Seungmin takes a moment to just look, to catalog Minho’s familiar features, the shine in his round brown eyes as he looks up at Seungmin. He can feel Minho getting impatient, feels the slight tug on his hand, the inhale as Minho gears up for what is no doubt a complaint about Seungmin taking forever to get to it, now that they're finally allowing themselves this. Seungmin cuts him off before Minho can even begin to formulate the words, closing the few inches between them and pressing his lips to Minho’s.
It’s gentle, sweet and exploratory. Seungmin takes a moment to revel in the closeness, the intimacy, the warm slide of Minho’s lips against his. This kiss has felt so inevitable for so long, yet now that it’s finally happening Seungmin can’t quite believe it’s real. He lets go of Minho's hat to cup Minho’s jaw instead, to ground himself in the warm skin beneath his fingertips. Now that Seungmin’s no longer supporting it, though, the brim of Minho’s hat flops over onto Seungmin's forehead, and he huffs out a laugh against Minho’s upper lip.
Minho takes full advantage, surging forward and pulling Seungmin into him by the collar. Seungmin responds without thinking, kisses Minho deep and slow for what seems like ages, until they’re so wrapped up in each other he’s having a hard time thinking about anything but the warm heat of Minho’s mouth against his.
Of course, that’s precisely when they’re interrupted by an unholy beeping noise from somewhere below them.
They break apart, Seungmin’s confusion mirrored in Minho’s expression, and they both turn to look down at Minho’s Apple watch. It’s beeping and flashing like its life depends on it—or, perhaps more accurately, like someone else’s life depends on it. Frowning, Minho lifts his wrist to examine the screen, and Seungmin catches sight of the alert before Minho can angle it away. Abnormal heart rate detected, the warning blares, red heart logo flashing.
Seungmin’s shit-eating grin has barely started spreading across his face when Minho sticks his outstretched palm to Seungmin’s nose, already groaning. His hand is small enough that it barely manages to cover Seungmin’s mouth as well. “Shut up shut up shut up.”
“Haven’t said a word, hyung,” Seungmin says into Minho’s palm, injecting as much smugness into his voice as humanly possible.
Minho levels a glare at him, but the effect is rather ruined by how rumpled and adorable he looks, hat pushed back on his forehead and mouth distinctly reddened and swollen. Seungmin shakes off Minho’s hand with ease, without even having to resort to his backup plan: licking.
“Wow, you like me soooo much, hyung,” Seungmin taunts, once he’s free.
He expects Minho to deny it, like he’d done on a different shore so many months ago, to say something like don’t kid yourself, Kim Seungmin, or you’re delusional, or maybe I respond that way to everyone, huh, have you ever thought about that?
But perhaps he should have had more faith, because Minho juts out his chin stubbornly, kiss-swollen lips pressed into a disgruntled line. “And what if I do?”
Seungmin’s grin softens, open contentment no doubt written all over his features.
“How embarrassing for you,” he says, leaning down to press his smile to Minho’s lips.
***
~soondoongdo tenant rights union~
my nyangie 💕
seungminnie and i have an announcement 8:33 PM
hannie~
congratulations on your marriage 8:35 PM
my nyangie 💕
as i was saying.
we have decided to be enemies forever
long-term enemies, if you will
committed enemies
enemies exclusively dedicated to hating each other 8:36 PM
hannie~
wait a minute
CONGRATS ON UR MARRIAGE FR?????? 8:36 PM
8:36 PM Now how did you get that from what Minho-hyung said
hannie~
u forget. i have extensive experience in reading minho-hyung
im practically a minho-hyung dictionary at this point
like if u looked up “Lee Minho Dictionary” on naver my profile would pop up
wait omg im gonna have the BEST best man speech ever
u guys can fight over who gets to have me on their side of the aisle 8:38 PM
Lmao you wish
8:39 PM I’m picking Jeongin
hannie~
ok u know what that’s fair actually
im not even offended 8:40 PM
my nyangie 💕
planning our wedding already, seungmin-ah? 8:40 PM
8:41 PM Don’t pretend you haven't already started online shopping for cat tuxedos…
my nyangie 💕
hmm. win a world series first and then we’ll talk 8:41 PM
hannie~
im regretting ever introducing you two 8:42 PM
8:42 PM Too late!
my nyangie 💕
too late <3 8:42 PM
***
“Before you came, I always made the same four meals,” Minho whispers into the darkness, like it's a secret. “Over and over, every single week. I knew how to make more, but I never did.”
There's an odd weight to his voice. Seungmin rolls over to face him, their faces inches apart in the darkness of their tent. He thinks he knows the answer, but he asks anyways, so that Minho can say what he wants to say. “Why not?”
Minho is silent for a long second. Then— “Experimenting gets boring, when there's no one else to eat it.”
Seungmin reaches across the distance between them, twines his fingers with Minho’s.
“I’m glad I met you too, hyung.” The words are quiet, fragile. He smiles, once again remembering the words from the woman at Sentinel Dome. “Let’s be happy together for a long time.”
“Let’s be happy together, Seungmin-ah,” Minho echoes, just as quietly. He brings their clasped hands to his lips, kisses Seungmin’s knuckles so gently Seungmin has to remind himself to breathe.
Then they fall asleep, just like that, facing each other in the dark with their hands tangled between them.