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MLB.com | Coveted 2-Way Phenom Seungmin Kim to Sign With Oakland A’s

By Christopher Bahng

OAKLAND — In perhaps the coup of the off-season, the A’s have emerged as the winner of the Seungmin Kim sweepstakes.  Following a wild courtship from all thirty Major League teams,  Kim’s agent, Hyunjin Hwang of CAA Baseball, released a statement on Friday revealing that the South Korean two-way phenom has chosen to join the Oakland Athletics.  The 25-year-old Kim, who starred as a right-handed ace and a left-handed slugger in the KBO, became the most coveted free agent this offseason after being posted by the Lotte Giants last week.  According to sources, Kim is set to make $200 million over the course of his four-year contract, and Oakland must also pay a release fee of around $20 million to his former club. Read more… 

***

Kim Seungmin, two-time KBO MVP and newest member of the Oakland A’s, has a problem.

“You didn't tell me your friend was hot,” Seungmin accuses, balancing his phone on his knee as he sits on the floor of his brand new walk-in closet (!!), organizing his socks.  He has his system down to a science by now:  practice socks in one row, dress socks in another, and casual socks in their own drawer.  Uniform socks, of course, stay at the stadium. 

“When would I have brought it up?” Jisung’s voice is tinny through the speakers, interrupted periodically by the clicking of his keyboard.  It’s nighttime in Seoul, and his familiar round face is lit only by the light emanating from the computer. 

“Literally at any point!”

Jisung raises his voice an octave in mocking mimicry.  “Hey, Seungmin-ah, I know you've been finding the food they serve in the team cafeteria super boring, maybe you can work something out with my university friend who lives nearby who’s a health nut and cooks really well but needs somewhere to do it because the kitchen in his apartment is shit and oh by the way he's hot.”

Seungmin points at his phone with a single, yet-unpaired sock, leaning over to frown at the tiny Jisung on his phone screen.  “Exactly!  You could've given me a heads up!”

“And what would that have accomplished?”

“I would've been mentally prepared!”

It’s true that the mental preparation wouldn't have changed anything about his behavior—Seungmin’s mother had taught him far too well for that—but he wouldn't have had to rely so much on muscle memory and well-practiced social graces to pull himself through their first encounter if he'd just been warned in advance.

Jisung snorts.  “Relax, dude.  Minho-hyung might be good looking, but he's so weird you forget about it real fast.  Just give it a week, and you'll be calling to complain about his personality, not his looks.”

“Looking forward to it,” Seungmin says drily.  

***

Lee Minho is not big on formalities, apparently, or social boundaries.  

“Call me hyung,” he'd offered casually, just moments after their first meeting.  He’d been bustling around Seungmin's kitchen, opening and closing every single cabinet with ferocious speed.  Most of the cabinets had been empty, save the one containing the small stack of plates and bowls Seungmin had gotten from Ikea when he'd first moved in.  “Any friend of Jisung’s is a friend of mine.”

“Okay, hyung,” Seungmin said, taking immediate advantage.

After approximately thirty more seconds, Minho closed the last cabinet door with more force than strictly necessary, frowning at Seungmin like he'd just discovered a new, perplexing species of bug.  “Don't you own anything?”  

Seungmin shrugged, leaned against the wall with deliberate nonchalance.  

“Was waiting for you, hyung.”  He’d grinned at Minho, then, let every single one of his teeth show.  “To tell me what to buy.”

Which is how Seungmin finds himself at the knife store—a place he hadn't known existed two days ago—trying to figure out the difference between a saucing soon and a normal spoon.  Minho’s already picked out three knives and gotten them sharpened to his liking, then wandered over to examine the carbon steel pans.  A single knife had cost three times more than the current contents of Seungmin’s cabinets had cost in total, but he doesn't complain, just follows and listens as Minho chatters on about pre-seasoning and handle lengths.

“Are you thinking of making crepes often?”

“Well, no,” Minho allows, “but it's important that a pan not be too nonstick no matter what you're making.  Same principle applies to jeon, more or less, and of course—”

He launches into a discussion of the importance of fond—not the emotion, apparently, but rather the bits of food stuck to the bottom of a pan when you cook it—to a good pan sauce, and they continue on like that through the entire checkout process and out the door.

Seungmin adjusts his grip on the bags to check his watch.  It’s still late morning, and he doesn't have to be at the stadium until 2.  

“I saw online that there's a place down the street that sells yujacha americanos,” he says carefully.  

Minho eyes him.  “You want to try it?”

“Yes,” Seungmin says.  He shifts the bag with the knives in it from one hand to the other.  “We can drink them in the park, if you're not in a rush.”

Minho squints at him for a second, as if trying to figure something out.  Seungmin meets Minho’s gaze head on, forcing himself not to fidget under the scrutiny.

“I’ve got time,” Minho says at last.  “Lead on, Kim Seungmin.”

***

The first time Minho comes over to cook, Seungmin doesn't know what to do with himself.  It feels rude to stay in his room, but it also feels rude to loiter in the kitchen without helping.  He could offer to help, but would he be in the way?  Maybe Minho’s one of those people who likes the kitchen empty of other people when he cooks.  Seungmin’s mother is like that, back home.  She'd refused to let either him or his sister into the kitchen for years, and now she complains that they’ve both turned out completely useless at cooking.  Go figure.

“Kim Seungmin,” Minho says, jolting Seungmin out of his musings.  “Don’t just stand there like a kicked puppy.  Can you cut vegetables?”

“If you show me how big you want them,” Seungmin says, honestly. 

Minho nods and demonstrates without any further commentary, for which Seungmin is grateful.  He chops onions and kimchi and zucchini and radish and peppers and spinach and minari, which Minho turns into a steaming pot of doenjang-jjigae and a staggering assortment of banchan.  They eat side by side at the kitchen island, swinging their feet from the barstools Seungmin had gotten delivered just three days prior. 

It’s delicious, just as Jisung had said, and especially delicious after two months of eating bland nutritionist-approved nonsense.

After that, they fall into a rhythm.  Minho has the passcode and his own slippers waiting by the doorway for when he comes by on Tuesday and Friday mornings.  When Seungmin’s home, he joins Minho in the kitchen, and Minho tells him what to do and how to do it.  When they’re finished cooking, they eat lunch together, sharing heaping servings of food between them.  Then Minho packs up his portions of the leftovers and takes them back home, and Seungmin cleans up before he heads off to the stadium.  

When Seungmin’s team is on the road, Minho still comes by to use the kitchen, though he mostly cooks for himself, Seungmin’s portions reduced to fresh banchan in the fridge and a day or two of home-cooked meals for when he gets back.

It works, somehow, and with every passing day Seungmin's little apartment starts to feel less like a place he comes back to sleep in and more like a place he lives.

***

There are many things he misses about Busan, about his homeland more generally, but his notoriety there isn’t one of them.  Seungmin hasn't been able to take the subway in years, not since he’d helped lead the team that won the Asia Games near the beginning of his career.  He’s missed it, the gentle whir of the motor, the soothing rhythm of the announcements, the ability to duck into a train car and go anywhere, at any time.  

It’s been nice to start over, to come over as a rookie, more or less, and have to prove himself all over again.  He’s confident in his skills, in his ability to grow, has faith that they’ll eventually mean his stardom here will eclipse even the fame he’d experienced back home.  For now, though, he takes full advantage of his relative anonymity to do all the things he hasn't been able to.

When he ducks into a train heading out of San Francisco—the City, he corrects himself mentally—on a random Tuesday morning, Minho’s there, frowning down at his phone.  He’s got big silver headphones on, chin tucked into the oversized shearling collar of his leather jacket.  Cozy, but untouchable.

Seungmin settles in an adjacent seat, reaches out to tap Minho’s foot with his own.

Minho jerks his head up, gaze fiery.  It takes him a moment to recognize Seungmin, bundled up as he is in a mask and cap, and the tension bleeds out of Minho’s shoulders immediately when he does.  Seungmin tries and fails to hold back the warmth bubbling up inside him at that observation.

Minho tugs his headphones off. 

“Yah, Kim Seungmin,” he says.  He’s not smiling, but he’s also not not smiling.  “Didn't your mother teach you not to sneak up on people?”

“Wasn't sneaking,” Seungmin retorts, “you just weren't paying attention.”

Minho shoots him the briefest of glares at that, but doesn't make any moves to put his headphones back on.  “Don't be cute.”

“Sorry, can't help it.”  It’s a reflex at this point, needling Minho like this now that Seungmin’s settled into their acquaintanceship.  Not quite a friendship, not just yet, but something vaguer, undefined.  “Genetic condition.  I'm biologically required to be cute, actually.”

Minho rolls his eyes harder than Seungmin had previously thought possible, simultaneously huffing out a sigh and knocking his head back dramatically against the station map on the wall of the train car.  “Are you biologically required to be annoying, too?”

“Nope!  I developed that talent all on my own.”  Seungmin shoots Minho his sunniest grin, leaning forward to rest his chin on his hands and bat his eyelashes.

Minho’s expression remains unimpressed.  “Nature versus nurture, huh.”

“Didn't take you for a science guy, hyung.”  Seungmin’s lying, of course, knows all too well from Jisung’s many stories that Minho had majored in electrical engineering before deciding to do dance full time.  

“There are many things you don't know about me, Kim Seungmin,” Minho says cryptically.  He tilts his head just slightly more towards Seungmin, eyebrows raised in challenge.  Their shoes brush.  Seungmin does not shiver.  

Instead, he settles back against his seat, gestures broadly to the headphones Minho’s slung around his neck.  “What are you listening to?”

Minho accepts the subject change for what it is, presses his headphones to Seungmin's ears to play him the song Minho's team is currently choreographing.  The train rumbles on beneath the waves separating Oakland and San Francisco, a solitary spot of light in the darkness carrying them both back home.

***

“Why don't you just find a new apartment, if yours is so shit?”  Seungmin asks one day, after a particularly long rant about Minho’s shitty fucking oven and useless thermostat that spins a wheel to pick whatever temperature it feels like that day.  

Minho looks at him like he's lost his mind.  “Because mine’s rent-controlled.”

Seungmin frowns, still baffled.  “From what Jisung’s said, it's not like you can't afford to pay more.”

“It’s a matter of principle, Kim Seungmin,” Minho sniffs, turning back to his cabbage-washing.  “You can't seriously tell me an apartment like mine is worth $1000 more a month now than when I moved in five years ago!  And anyways, your kitchen is nicer than anything in the apartments available near the studio.”

Seungmin can't disagree with that.  He also doesn't really want Minho to find a new apartment, not if it means he’ll stop coming over and Seungmin has to buy lunch at the caf again.  So he clamps his mouth shut and doesn't press, just sidles closer and asks what he can do to help.

***

Seungmin’s surprised, the first time he finds one of Minho’s notes.  He pulls one of Minho’s carefully packed Tupperwares out of his bag at dinner one day before a game, and a little yellow post-it note comes fluttering out with it.  He picks it up off the floor, eyebrows furrowed.

Eat well so you have energy for your game, the post-it says simply in Minho’s neat handwriting, accompanied by a crude drawing of a wrinkly old man face.

It takes a moment for Seungmin to realize that he's smiling.  He quickly reigns it in—he has a reputation to uphold, after all, one that does not involve grinning foolishly down at his dinner—and snaps a picture to send to Minho.  

Great self-portrait, hyung, looks just like you, he types, before tucking the note and his phone into his bag and eating his dinner.

When the game wraps up, he has sixteen unread notifications from Minho, ranging from how dare you!!! to his name is JUREUMI to see if i ever draw him for u ever again😑.

Seungmin cackles to himself and leaves Minho on read.

He starts leaving Minho notes in return, especially before he leaves for roadies.  He’s not an artist by any stretch of the imagination, so he leaves little nonsense comments and tidbits of gossip, coupons for the grocery store and recommendations for songs Minho might like.

Minho draws him infinite variations of Jureumi, enough for Seungmin to populate a whole village of them.  Seungmin saves them all in an unused drawer in the kitchen, smiles to himself as he imagines Minho hunched over the kitchen counter drawing, tongue between his teeth as he freehands the familiar lines.

It’s fun, passing notes back and forth like this.  It makes him feel Minho’s presence even on the days he doesn't come to Seungmin’s, even when Seungmin’s flown off to some far-flung city halfway across the country.  He feels Minho in every scribbled Jureumi, in every terse comment. 

He wonders absently if Minho feels the same, if Minho even reads his notes.  They don't usually respond to each other, and Minho’s never directly brought up anything Seungmin’s said in his notes.  But sometimes Seungmin will clip a coupon for some product and it’ll be in their pantry the next time he comes home, or he'll recommend a song that Minho will play weeks later, while the two of them are standing side by side at the kitchen counter.  

Seungmin’s stack of saved notes grows and grows, and with them a comfortable familiarity he hasn't felt since he left his best friends behind on the other side of the Pacific Ocean.

***

It’s shaping up to be a warm day today, the first non-cloudy day in a long stretch, and Seungmin is happy even though it's 9 in the morning and he’s already burned his toast.  He hears the telltale sound of Minho entering the passcode, and calls out to him.  “Hyung!  In here!”

“I know where you are, I can smell the smoke—”  Minho enters the kitchen, two full grocery bags in hand, and immediately stops short.  “Oh.  Shorts.”

Seungmin blinks at him.  “What?” 

“What?”  Minho turns away to busy himself with the groceries.  His ears are steadily reddening.

Oh.  Oh.  Seungmin’s smile broadens.

Minho glances over, no doubt to gauge Seungmin’s extended silence.  He scowls at whatever he sees on Seungmin's face, turning resolutely back to his produce.

“Hyung,” Seungmin singsongs, working his way into Minho’s space.  “Are you distracted by my knees?  Do you like seeing my calves? I worked hard on them, you know, they're insured and everything.”

Minho shoves several boxes of mushrooms into the fridge more violently than strictly necessary.  “I thought it was just your arm that's insured.”

“Oh, so you're keeping track of my limb insurance now?”  Seungmin sticks a single leg into Minho’s field of vision, wiggling his eyebrows for good measure.

Minho pointedly does not look at him or his bare legs.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Minho mutters.  He pushes away Seungmin’s proffered leg with a carton of eggs.  “Keep your limbs to yourself, Kim Seungmin.”

Seungmin laughs at him before complying, absconding to the other side of the kitchen island before Minho can threaten him with anything sharper.  

***

There are muffled voices in the kitchen when Seungmin gets home from his morning run.  He’d left a bit later than usual this morning, having had errands to run beforehand.  Minho, it appears, had arrived early.  It’s nice, coming home to noise rather than a silent apartment.

“Hyung?”  he calls, replacing his sneakers on the shoe rack before padding his way into the kitchen.  

Minho’s alone by the kitchen island, looking down at his phone as he cuts green onions into a small bowl.  He looks up at Seungmin’s entrance, broad grin shrinking into a more private smile.  

“Ah, Seungmin’s home,” he tells his phone, setting down his scissors to turn his phone around, revealing Jisung’s round face peering through the screen.

“Seungminnie!”  Jisung exclaims.  “It’s been ages since you last called!  How’s training?  I saw you guys are playing in Texas next week?  Is it gonna be hot?  Is Minho-hyung feeding you well?”

“I called you last week,” Seungmin says, laughing.  He drops his water bottle in the sink and starts washing the dishes there, the cutting board and pot from whatever Minho had been cooking piled on top of Seungmin’s plate from breakfast.  “Training is good, I’m leaving for Texas on Monday, it’s going to be hot but not too bad, and Minho-hyung has already tried to poison me twice this week.”

“Third time’s the charm,” Minho says brightly, reaching over to offer Seungmin a piece of chicken.  Seungmin accepts with an open mouth, hands soapy.

Jisung’s laughter is tinny through Minho’s phone speakers.  “I see you two are getting along well.”  

“We’re enemies,” Seungmin says through his bite of chicken.  “Didn’t you just hear him threatening me?”

The conversation moves on from there, to the latest anime Minho and Jisung are watching together and the romantic woes of various mutual friends.  Seungmin is content to listen, busying his hands with cleaning and stirring and whatever Minho needs.  Minho laughs more when he’s talking to Jisung, Seungmin notes, the conversation free-flowing and filled with stupid jokes.  Minho breaks into a giggling fit after one especially atrocious dad joke, and Seungmin finds himself smiling despite himself. 

He’s jolted from his task of drying the dishes when Jisung suddenly exclaims, “Ah, right!  Have you packed for Japan yet, Minho-hyung?” 

“Japan?”  Seungmin asks, bewildered.

Minho glances over, brow furrowed.  “Surely I told you I’m going on tour next week?”

Minho had told him, Seungmin realizes, he just hadn’t mentioned the tour would be in Japan.  Minho had just said that he’d be gone for about a month, leading the backup dancers for a well-known female soloist, and wouldn’t be able to come over for a while.  So you’ll have to content yourself with the cafeteria food for a bit, he’d said.  Don’t eat too much instant ramen when I’m gone.

I’ll do my best, Seungmin had said with a little salute, and that had been the end of it.

***

Minho’s only been in Japan for two weeks, but it feels like an eternity.

Seungmin lays flat on his back in his hotel room bed, staring at the darkness of his phone screen and wishing he had an excuse to call.  Would Minho even be able to talk right now?  It’s midday in Japan, but he doesn't know what Minho’s schedule is.  It’s a weird feeling, not knowing what Minho’s doing.  When had he gotten so accustomed to the rhythm of their daily lives?

In the end, he settles for a simple text.

10:53 PM  Hyung, are you eating well?

Then he tosses his phone onto the nightstand, pulls the covers resolutely over his head, and goes to sleep.

In the morning, he wakes up to two photos, accompanied by a simple text.

cat hyung~

[photo]

[photo]

delicious lunch~  4:12 AM

Seungmin’s smile threatens to swallow his whole face.  He sends a sticker of a penguin eating fries in return, then tucks his phone into his pocket and goes down to eat breakfast.

After that, he receives at least one picture a day, but usually two or three.  Most of the time it's food, photos taken so close the actual food is out of focus while the minuscule flecks of seasoning on top are perfectly sharp.  Sometimes it's a stray cat twining itself around Minho’s legs.  Once, it's a selfie.  Just Minho, looking fresh-faced and beautiful, leaning backwards at a frankly ridiculous angle to take a picture with a statue of a dog.  He's captioned it fancy seeing you here~.  

Seungmin lets himself study Minho’s round brown eyes, the sharp angle of his nose, the swoop of dark hair falling over his forehead.  He sees Minho all the time, nowadays, but he doesn't usually get a chance to just look at him like this.  He wants to look at Minho, Seungmin realizes abruptly.  He wants to be allowed to run his eyes over those familiar features without a time limit, to let his gaze linger on Minho’s high cheekbones, the curve of his jaw, his bunny teeth.  It’s something more than the initial aesthetic attraction he’d complained to Jisung about, something warmer, deeper, more intimate.

The rush of want rises in him so quickly it's overwhelming. Seungmin's abruptly glad there's no one else in the room, no one else to see the stab of longing no doubt written all over his face.  He sends a voice note in response without thinking too much about it, just two quick barks, short and playful.

Then he leaves for practice, patting his pockets on the way out to make sure he's not forgetting anything.  He doesn't save the picture.

***

Seungmin lets himself into Minho’s apartment with the spare key Minho had left at Seungmin’s before he'd gone to the airport.  It’s bright, and more spacious than Seungmin had imagined from Minho’s constant griping about his apartment.  Plants adorn the large bay window, and there’s a bicycle hung from the wall by the dining table, surrounded by various cat shelves and cat toys.

Conspicuously missing, however, are the cats themselves.

He crouches down, peering underneath various pieces of furniture to try to catch a glimpse of them.  After a moment of hesitation, he peeks into the bedroom.  It looks cozy, filled with posters and knickknacks and stacks of books.  There’s a large cat tree by the window, and little star lights strung across the ceiling.

No cats, though.

Minho had said they might be shy, but Seungmin hadn’t expected not to see them at all.  The disappointment is more acute than he’d expected.  It would have been nice to see Minho's cats, to meet the brothers he spends so much time chattering on about.

He sighs and gives up, goes to check the stock of lactobacillus to make sure that Minho’s new petsitter has been administering the daily dose as instructed.  Everything looks in order, as do the water bowls and the litter boxes.  

He texts Minho as much, and receives a thumbs up in reply.  

Then he lets himself back out, back to his own apartment and his own life.

***

Jisung sends him a Tiktok out of the blue, which isn't wholly unusual.  What is unusual is that the thumbnail is of Minho. 

OUR BOY IS FAMOUS, Jisung had texted alongside the video.

Seungmin frowns, clicks the link with mild trepidation.  It opens in browser, of course, because Seungmin steadfastly refuses to download the app, and he’s immediately confronted with Minho’s tiny waist and broad shoulders in some sort of tight-fitting stage outfit, hair immaculately styled and dark eyeshadow sharpening his feline gaze. 

It takes Seungmin approximately half a body roll to realize that it's a thirst trap edit, set to a sultry R&B remix of a popular song and captioned simply 🥵🥵🥵.  He blinks once, twice, then clicks to replay the video.

The notification at the top of his phone screen interrupts his sixth rewatch.  ??? HAVE U WATCHED IT YET, Jisung demands.

Seungmin rolls his eyes and types out a quick affirmative.

hannie~

AND????????  11:09 PM

 11:09 PM  Wdym and

hannie~

WHAT DO U THINK   11:09 PM

11:10 PM  The editor did a good job

hannie~

coward.  11:10 PM

11:10 PM  Takes one to know one~

hannie~

SO U ADMIT UR A COWARD  11:10 PM

I admit nothing
11:10 PM  Good night, Jisung-ah

11:11 PM 

Jisung spams Seungmin with thirst trap edits of himself on the baseball field in retaliation.  Seungmin ignores them, like he always does.

(And if Seungmin spends another hour on his phone scrolling through clips of “the hot dancer from the Japan tour,” Jisung doesn't have to know.)

***

When Minho gets back two weeks later, he brings Seungmin back a delicate mug with a hand-painted tree on it.  Seungmin marvels at the detail, turning it over with hands that suddenly seem far too big, far too rough.  

“It’s just a cup,”  Minho says, looking away.  His ears are pink.  

“I’ll use it well, hyung,” Seungmin promises.  It comes out more sincere than he'd intended.

Chapter Text

cat hyung~

kim seungmin
seungminnie
kim seungmin-ssi
seungmin-ah
minnie-yah 8:41 AM

8:44 AM

PICK UP 8:45 AM

8:50 AM What

cat hyung~

i forgot my lunch in your fridge 8:51 AM

8:51 AM And what does that have to do with me…?

cat hyung~

seungmin-ah
do u want ur hyung to go hungry
to starve
to waste away on the floor of this practice room 8:52 AM

8:53 AM Text me the address

***

Seungmin finds Minho exactly where he’d said he'd be, in a bright practice room on the first floor of a building not too far from Seungmin’s apartment. He leans in the doorframe, watches Minho leading a group of people through some kind of choreographed routine.

Minho’s different here, his movements crisper, eyes sharper. He’s dressed like he always is, in an oversized t-shirt and baggy sweatpants, but somehow they serve to highlight the fluidity of his movements, the litheness of his frame. Seungmin watches in silence, admiring, until Minho’s eyes flick up and catch Seungmin’s in the wall-to-wall mirror.

The group finishes running through a section, punctuated by Minho’s narration (“Ba-da-ba-ba reachhhhhh, and point! One, two, we’re going craaaaaaazy—”), before they disperse for a break and Minho makes his way over to the door.

Seungmin holds out the metal lunchbox, neatly wrapped in a pink cloth with bunnies on it, in silent offering. He’d tucked a post-it note into the cloth before he'd left, just a little scribbled fighting!! and the world’s most atrocious drawing of a flexing arm.

“Thank you.” Minho takes the box, scrubs a towel over his face. He’s sweating, rivulets dampening his hairline and darkening his shirt, but his eyes are bright in a way Seungmin’s never seen before.

Seungmin raises an eyebrow, takes full advantage of the centimeters he has on Minho to lean into his space. He grins his most annoying grin, the one that had made Jisung and Jeongin sock him in the jaw on more than one occasion when they were in school. “That's it? No reward?”

Minho flicks his eyes to the ceiling, letting out a considering hum.

Then he unwraps the lunchbox, mouth quirking up at the corners as he notices Seungmin’s scribbles, takes the top piece of whole wheat bread off his sandwich, and offers it to Seungmin.

It’s soggy, adorned with ketchup and a couple stray flecks of black pepper.

Seungmin stares at him blankly. Minho shakes the bread at him, insistent. “You asked for a reward. Take it.”

“The… bread from your sandwich?”

Minho arches an eyebrow. “What were you expecting?”

Seungmin has no good answer to that, had just wanted to see what Minho would say. What Minho would offer, when he was bright and shining like this.

Minho waves the bread a little too close to Seungmin’s face, accidentally jabbing Seungmin in the mouth, and Seungmin immediately recoils.

“Ah, hyung,” he complains, scrubbing at his face with the sleeve of his hoodie. “You didn't even wash your hands!”

Minho’s only semi-successful in holding back his laughter. He takes a bite of the bread himself, chewing noisily. “Okay, germophobe.” 

“I just watched you rub your hands all over the floor! And now you’re putting all of that in your mouth?”

“It’s called floorwork, Kim Seungmin.”

“I don't care what it's called,” Seungmin says, affronted. “Does it being floorwork get rid of the bacteria?”

“So you don't want your reward?” Minho shakes the bread, now with a bite missing from the corner, at Seungmin again.

“Keep it,” Seungmin sniffs.

Minho shrugs and closes the lid of his lunchbox, already half-turned towards the huddle of dancers on the other side of the room. He tucks Seungmin’s yellow post-it note into the zippered pocket of his sweatpants, as casual as anything. “Suit yourself.”

“See you later,” Seungmin calls after him.

“See you,” Minho says over his shoulder. Then he's melting back into the group, and Seungmin leaves with a peculiar clenching sensation in his chest.

***

“What’re you doing tomorrow morning,” Minho says the next time he comes over. He’s slicing carrots with a mandolin, looking supremely unconcerned about how close his knuckles are getting to the blade.

Seungmin pulls out his phone to check his calendar, even though he's fairly certain the answer is nothing. “Why, where are we going?”

“Surprise,” Minho sings, dumping the julienned carrots into another bowl.

Seungmin frowns. He’s not really big on surprises. “What should I wear? What time should I be ready? Do I need to bring anything?”

Minho spares him a glance. “What you have on is fine. But you may want to bring a jacket. And maybe a hat.”

The next morning, Minho drives them up past the shipping cranes, up past the crush of cars waiting to cross the water into San Francisco, and exits down a narrow, empty road. The long grasses lining the road sway in the breeze, already beginning to yellow with the first hints of summer. Seungmin stares out the window at a lone Costco.

“Am I being kidnapped?” he wonders aloud.

“Yes,” Minho says blandly.

Seungmin nods gravely. “My mother always said to avoid getting into cars with strange men.”

By the time they pull into a parking lot and Minho gestures from him to get out of the car, Seungmin still has no idea where they are or what they're doing. He’s bundled up as instructed, cap on head and sunglasses in pocket just in case, even though it's currently gray overhead. He reads the sign by the sidewalk with bemusement. “A beach?”

“Not just any beach.” Minho nods ahead to the trail leading into the park. There's a person with a dog ahead of them, and after a moment Seungmin realizes that there's three more dogs even further ahead, off-leash and chasing each other with abandon.

He gapes at the sight.

“A dog beach?”

“The reward you requested,” Minho says, clearly pleased with himself.

Seungmin pauses at that, turns to look at Minho, to catch Minho’s fingers in his own.

“You know I was joking about the reward, right, hyung? I would’ve brought you your lunch no matter what, this isn't transactiona—”

“I know,” Minho interrupts, a slight smile worming its way onto his face. He squeezes Seungmin's fingers once before letting go. “I just fancied taking my puppy out for a walk today. Let’s go pet some dogs, Seungmin-ah.”

Minho’s eyes are open and honest under Seungmin’s scrutiny, and it takes a moment before Seungmin smiles back.

Then he obeys.

“Hey, daengdaengie!” Seungmin calls out to the dog running their way, an Australian Shepherd with a red collar. Seungmin bounds over to meet it, flicking his glance over to the person trailing behind the dog in a silent request for permission. The dog's owner nods at Seungmin even before he opens his mouth, and within seconds he's kneeling on the ground, laughing as he dodges the dog’s enthusiastic tongue.

They pet dog after dog as they make their way through the park, Seungmin’s grin widening the further they get. There are big dogs and small dogs, fluffy dogs and sleek dogs. The people accompanying the dogs are all different, too, some young and some old, some alone and some with family or friends. Minho makes friends with a little girl no more than five years old, who stops them to ask for help getting her dog’s tennis ball out of a tree. Eventually they stop at a little bluff overlooking the water, and Minho pulls two bottled coffees and a paper bag of bagels out of his backpack.

Seungmin looks at him with surprise. “Are these from…?”

“Yes.” Minho says shortly. He’s looking out at the outline of the city across the water rather than at Seungmin, eyes catching on the seabirds dipping in and out of the clouds.

Seungmin’s smile widens even further, and he leans over to bump Minho’s shoulder with his own. “Wow, hyung, you must really like me, to wait in line at this time of the morning just for bagels.”

“I got them for myself, not for you,” Minho snaps. He’s still not looking at Seungmin, but the seashell curve of his ear is rapidly reddening. “Don’t flatter yourself, Kim Seungmin.”

“Hyung likes me sooo much,” Seungmin sings. He jumps out of the way of Minho’s ensuing jab, laughing.

He lets it go, then, though he can't stop his expression from bordering on smug, couldn’t reign in the traitorous corners of his mouth even if he wanted to. They eat their bagels in silence, then, sitting shoulder to shoulder at a decrepit picnic table as the dogs play around them and the fog rolls in over the water.

***

“Kim Seungmin,” Minho says tersely, the second Seungmin picks up. “I can't come over today.”

“Okay,” Seungmin says. He takes a sip of his coffee. He’s trying a new brand today, something from a local roastery they'd passed on their way to the farmer’s market last week. “Everything alright?”

Everything is not alright, apparently. Minho launches into an extended rant about stupid landlords and collapsed ceilings and water all over my bathroom and construction all week and hotels that don’t allow cats, what kind of monsters would turn away a bunch of helpless kitties, Seungmin-ah?

“Hyung,” Seungmin cuts him off. “Just come stay with me.”

Minho pauses mid-tirade, as if he genuinely hadn't expected the offer. “Oh. No, it's alright. Hyung will manage, don't worry.”

Seungmin sighs, sets his coffee down on the counter. “I know you would. But I have a whole guest room no one's using, and I live close by, so it’d be easy to move all your stuff over. Anyways, I want to meet the cats.”

“No you don't,” Minho says suspiciously. “You don't even know their names.”

“Dori,” Seungmin says promptly, then pauses. The silence on the other end of the line is judgmental. “And, uh… the orange ones…”

“That's what I thought!”

“But you only ever talk about Dori,” Seungmin complains. This is familiar ground, far more familiar than the thought of Minho coming to live with him for a whole week. Seungmin’s already thinking about all the things he'll need to do to get the place ready. Wash the sheets, set out extra towels, make sure he tucks away any cables the cats might want to chew on. He should probably get blackout curtains for the guest room, like the ones he'd seen in Minho’s room that time he went to check on the cats.

Minho gasps, theatrical and well-practiced. “How dare you! I talk about all my brothers equally!”

“If you say so,” Seungmin sings. Will Minho want oat milk with his coffee? Minho’s usually the one who brings him coffee, the one who orders while they’re out, and Seungmin’s ashamed to realize that he doesn’t know Minho’s order. Maybe he should buy several types of non-dairy creamers, just in case.

“I do.”

There's a long moment of silence, though Seungmin barely notices, already adding a flurry of tasks to his Google Calendar. Do cats get nervous in new spaces? One of his previous catchers had told Seungmin about some spray he and his girlfriend had used to help their dog get acclimated to their new place in Busan. Seungmin should find out whether something like that exists for cats. They'd have it at the pet store, right? He can drop in and check on his way home from the grocery store.

Minho finally breaks the silence, jarring Seungmin from his musings. “It’s a big imposition.”

I want you to impose, Seungmin thinks, before he can stop himself.

Out loud, he says, “It’s only a week, hyung. Don’t worry about it.”

***

Seungmin surveys his work with a critical eye. His guest room is now exceptionally clean and orderly, sporting white walls, fresh pinstriped bedding, and newly installed blackout curtains, but it looks a bit… plain? Sterile? Certainly a far cry from Minho’s warmly decorated apartment, with its scattered books and prints and cat toys.

He frowns, goes into his closet to see if he has anything he can put on the walls to make them look less empty. He hadn't had much room to bring decor during the move, and it's not like he'd ever had much to begin with. Back in school he'd lived in dorms full of teenage boys, none of whom spared decorating a second thought. Not when they spent every waking moment on the baseball field, gripped with hunger to succeed, to win, to thrive. To make a name for themselves, so that they could survive just one more day, play just one more game.

Seungmin had been one of the lucky ones.

Well, no—it hadn't been luck, not really. He’d battled himself for every skill he had, had wrung every last drop out of his aching body. He’d spent more time than anyone perfecting the swing of his bat, honing his pitches, making sure that the ball rolled off his fingers the same way every time.

But whether it had been luck or practice or some combination of both, the truth is undeniable. He’s one of the few still standing. One of the few who still gets to play at all, rather than trudging into some desk job day in and day out. One of the few that baseball loves back.

He shakes himself out of it, grabs a stepladder so he can reach the poster tube he accidentally drops on his head at least once a week. When he slides the contents out onto his bed, he can't help but sigh.

He'd thought that maybe there'd be something else, like the two little square prints he'd had hanging in his childhood bedroom in Gangnam, or perhaps the postcards Jeongin had sent from his time studying abroad in France. But no, it's just poster after poster of Seungmin’s face, posters that various teams had gifted him and his mother had insisted he keep. He rolls them all up again, stuffs them back into the tube with a twinge of frustration.

He supposes Minho will just have to deal.

Seungmin will have to deal, is really what it is.  Honestly, Minho will probably bring all his own stuff anyways, so why is Seungmin even worrying about it? It’s not like Minho hasn't been to Seungmin’s apartment before. Minho knows exactly what it looks like, has already brought over countless little bits of himself to leave at Seungmin’s place. Minho’s cat magnets stuck to the fridge, his gray apron hung in the pantry, his wooden salt box on the counter by the stove.

But Minho’s never lived here before, Seungmin's traitorous mind whispers. It’s different, somehow.

Seungmin pushes the thought away and goes to dust the baseboards.

***

His week with Minho opens with a cat in Seungmin's bed. He doesn't realize it at first, just stirs to a warm weight on his chest, an unfamiliar softness against his chin. Seungmin blinks his eyes open blearily, only to be immediately confronted by brown fur. It’s Dori curled up on top of Seungmin’s blankets, sides rising and falling in time with the tiniest snores Seungmin’s ever heard.

Seungmin wiggles an arm out from his blanket cocoon to lay a tentative hand on Dori’s side. In response, Dori lets out a disgruntled noise and stretches, pushing his little paws against Seungmin’s nose as he yawns.

“Dori-yah,” Seungmin whispers through the cat limbs covering his mouth. “Hyung has to get up, okay?”

Dori cracks open a judgmental eye. Seungmin stares back, and the two of them engage in a silent battle of wills until finally Dori yawns again and jumps off the bed. He pads out of Seungmin’s room, nosing the door further open as he goes.

Seungmin stares at the open door, bewildered. He’s sure he closed the door before he went to sleep, but somehow Dori had gotten in anyway. Can cats open doors?

When Seungmin emerges, five minutes past his usual time, Minho’s already in the kitchen, sleep-mussed and looking so, so soft in his baggy t-shirt and sleep shorts.

“Yah, Kim Seungmin,” he says, looking up at Seungmin’s entrance. In the early morning light, Seungmin’s full name sounds like an endearment. “Why do you have a spaceship for a coffee machine?”

Seungmin laughs at him. “Is that why you always bring coffee, hyung? So you won’t have to figure out my coffee machine? I could’ve made you coffee here, you know.”

Minho’s pout is too much for Seungmin to endure at this hour. “I bring both of us coffee out of the goodness of my own heart, Seungminnie, can’t believe you’d throw my efforts back in my face like this!”

“Oh? I thought you brought me coffee because you had to meet the delivery minimum?” Seungmin teases.

Minho opens his mouth, then immediately closes it again.

“Never mind,” he announces, turning on his heel. “I’m going back to sleep.”

Seungmin cackles delightedly.

Then he goes to make the coffee, Dori winding around his legs in silent support, and he and Minho drink it together on Seungmin’s little balcony as the sun rises over the Oakland hills.

***

It takes Seungmin far too long to realize that Minho’s snapped a photo of him making stupid faces at one of the orange cats—Doongie, he thinks, though he’s only 87% sure.

Minho’s giggling finally cues him in, and Seungmin glances up to see Minho’s iPhone pointed directly at them.

“Ah, hyung,” Seungmin complains, straightening from his crouched position by the sofa. “Delete it!”

Minho sticks his tongue out at him. “Won’t!”

He continues giggling as he patters into the guest bedroom, moving remarkably fast for a man taking the tiniest, shuffliest steps known to mankind while simultaneously tapping away at his cellphone. Seungmin could overtake him in three strides.

He doesn't, though, just follows Minho into the room and throws himself dramatically onto the bed, missing Minho’s sprawled frame by inches. “Hyung! Delete it!”

“No,” Minho sings, swinging his legs back and forth like a child. He holds up his phone, taking care to keep it just out of Seungmin’s reach. “I’m making this my wallpaper, so it’s the first thing I see when I wake up every morning.”

“I hate you.” Seungmin gives into the urge to pout, resting his cheek on his folded arms.

Minho’s gleeful expression softens just a touch at that. He brings his phone within arms reach, lets Seungmin really look at the photo for the first time. It’s not as bad as he'd initially thought, Seungmin admits to himself. Minho had taken it in an in-between moment, when Seungmin hadn’t been making one of his really horrific faces. He can almost see why someone might like the photo, Seungmin puffy-cheeked and squinty-eyed, a Pochacco hair clip holding his bangs back as he hovers inches from Doongie’s face. Of course, Doongie had stared impassively up at Seungmin the whole time, entirely disinterested.

“Fine,” Seungmin groans. “But I’d better not see that photo on the internet later.”

“Who do you take me for?” Minho says.

He’s already distracted again, though, and right on cue, the phone in Seungmin’s pocket begins to buzz with notifications.

Seungmin catches a glimpse of Jisung’s BWAHAHAHA the second he pulls it out, and his pout intensifies.

“I hate you,” he repeats, tossing his phone balefully onto the carpet.

“You didn't say anything about private group chats,” Minho says smugly. Then he looks at the photo again and laughs so hard that he has to lean on Seungmin’s shoulder to catch his breath.

***

“On my day off?” Minho says. In the background, Seungmin can hear the faint honking of geese, the muffled sound of a passing car blasting 90s hip hop fading into the distance. Minho had mentioned something about a picnic by the lake with Soonie when they'd had breakfast together that morning, Minho eating leftover beef and cabbage stir-fry and Seungmin managing not to burn his eggs and toast. The picnic must be wrapping up by now, though, knowing Minho’s lunchtime habits. “Absolutely not.”

“Okay,” Seungmin says agreeably, having expected that response.

This is, admittedly, not what he thought he'd be doing today either. Not until the team’s social media manager, a no-nonsense woman in her thirties, had tracked him down by the vending machine after batting practice, anyways. Seungmin tilts his head back, feels the sun warm his face as he sits in the empty stands.  It'll be a couple of hours yet before the fans start filing in, and another two hours after that before Seungmin will be on the field.

“I appreciate you and your support a lot though, hyung.” He blinks up at the sky as innocently as possible, even though Minho can't see him. “Which is why I’ll definitely make sure to tell our social media team that it was you who taught me this Tiktok dance. Even if you don't actually come teach me. It’s the thought that counts, right? And any publicity is good publicity.”

There's a long moment of silence, so long that Seungmin almost checks his phone to make sure Minho hasn't hung up on him.

Then Minho lets out a gusty sigh.

“Resorting to blackmail now, Kim Seungmin?” He manages to make Seungmin’s full name sound like an insult, this time. “Why can't you just make a fool of yourself like everyone else, huh?”

“Surely you know me better than that by now, hyung.” Seungmin knows his grin is audible at this point, but he makes no effort to tamp it down.

“Unfortunately,” Minho grumbles. Foil rustles, followed by containers clacking together and the distinct sound of a zipper.

“I’ll buy you dinner,” Seungmin says, consoling.

“Three dinners.”

Seungmin’s grin grows even wider. “It’s a date.”

Minho hangs up on him.

***

Oakland Athletics ☑️ 👤4 • 2d ago
Can't hit our pitchers’ fastballs, can't touch their dance moves. #MLB #oakland #fyp #fypage

BigDaddyShrek
yo whys seungmin kinda good????

andre
Damn didn't know Kim had moves!! Triple threat 🔥🔥🔥

yeonkong
김승민 화이팅!!!!

onlyA’sfan (o´▽`o)
when the A’s win the world series and Seungmin does this on the mound…

Oakland Athletics ☑️ 👤1 • 1d ago
Reply to 💬 Oakland Athletics
Seungmin putting in the work! #behindthescenes #MLB #oakland #fyp #fypage

seungmin’s bf
WHO’S THAT WITH HIM???

seungmin’s bf
guys i found him omfg he's a dancer there's a lot of videos from his studio on tiktok

rachel.
Tiktok detectives coming through!! I’m Looking 👀

E
stop looking immediately that is my MAN

Ricky
Great content guys!! :D

038481828
seungmin practicing the dance in the locker room with such intense concentration… screaming crying throwing up

Yasmine ☁️
So do y'all ever play baseball or

***

Seungmin walks out of the bathroom the next morning feeling light and chipper. He has a plan for the day, and he’s excited to execute it. First is breakfast—usually he’d make his coffee first, but today’s breakfast requires a little more prep than usual—then coffee, then his morning jog, followed by a stop at the pet store to pick up the kids' favorite flavor of Churu before he heads home to get ready for work.

Minho’s been gone for hours already, something about a sunrise promotional photoshoot for an upcoming gig. It’s nice to have a bit of time to himself, Seungmin thinks, especially since he’ll see Minho again later tonight. For a Sailor Moon watching session, of all things, because apparently Sailor Moon is required watching, and it’s unfathomable that Seungmin has never watched even a single episode in his twenty-five years on this earth.

How were you childhood friends with Han Jisung without ever watching Sailor Moon? Minho had wondered the other day, legs draped casually over Seungmin’s lap as he’d scrolled through the streaming offerings on Seungmin’s TV.

Seungmin had shrugged, furrowed his brow as he’d thought back to their childhood. We watched lots of things together, Hannie and Jeonginnie and I. But I think he watched Sailor Moon more with his cousins, not with us.

Minho had shaken his head at that, whipped out his phone and immediately sent Seungmin a calendar invitation. Embarrassingly enough, Seungmin’s heart had stuttered at that, at the unexpected display of familiarity. When had Minho learned that Seungmin lived and died by his Google Calendar?

I see you have an early game tomorrow, Minho had said, pointing a finger at Seungmin. Block off five hours for me after we get home, and we’ll get your education started.

Seungmin had liked the way Minho said “home,” tongue curling familiarly around the word. Like it was normal for them to spend their evenings together, to be coming home to the same place at the same time.

So he’d accepted the calendar invite without further question, left it there next to his “OAK v. COL, 1:10 PM PT” appointment and his “pick up laundry detergent @ target” reminder. And then he’d sat and mentally prepared to be pressed to Minho’s side for five hours straight, just like they were then, watching a children’s cartoon in the dark.

There’s a soft warmth against Seungmin’s leg, and he looks down to see Soonie rubbing his face on it, sniffing Seungmin’s bare skin afterwards as if to judge the effectiveness of his marking. Seungmin smiles, squats down to run his fingers along the silken fur of Soonie’s cheeks, the short down of his ears.

“Morning, baby,” he whispers down at the orange cat. He’s never lived with cats before, but the adjustment has been easier than he'd expected. Dori had opened up to him the first day, and Soonie hadn’t been too far behind. Doongie still only tolerates him, but Minho assures him that it’s normal, that soon Doongie will be lying all over Seungmin's shoes and refusing to allow him to leave, too.

Seungmin goes through all the steps he’d planned for his breakfast, cuts all of the different types of fruit they'd gotten at the farmers market the other day and layers them with yogurt and honey and the new type of granola he’s been wanting to try. He takes a bite and hums with satisfaction before turning to make his coffee—

And freezing.

There, stuck to his expensive coffee machine, is one of Minho’s notes, marked by a scribbled Jureumi in the corner.

Hai hai~
Breakfast in the fridge.
Heat up the gyeran-guk, rice, and oyster mushrooms
in the microwave, but eat the spinach namul cold.

Seungmin's gaze lingers on the little yellow post-it note for longer than he’d admit. He has to bite his lip to prevent the smile from spilling out, from making the sudden flare of affection in his chest too plain, too obvious. Without hesitation, he wraps up the yogurt parfait he's spent the past fifteen minutes making, sticks it back in the fridge and exchanges it for the little bowls and plates Minho had left for him.

It’s delicious, of course. He eats each bite slowly, savors the familiar flavors and the warmth of Minho’s efforts. Then he washes the dishes, including the ones Minho had left from his own breakfast this morning, gets ready for his run, and sets off to carry out the rest of his morning plans.

***

Something’s shifted between them, even after Minho’s ceiling is fixed and he moves back to his own place with his brothers. Minho’s more open, somehow, less guarded. He lets his real laugh out more, the high-pitched one that always devolves into giggles. He teases Seungmin more freely, too, pokes and prods at him without the veneer of indifference he'd sported for the first couple months of their friendship.

Another side effect of their temporary cohabitation is that their previously fixed schedule has loosened, and Seungmin sometimes walks into his apartment to find Minho already there. Minho’s usually puttering around in the kitchen, trying a new recipe or putting away whatever exciting food he'd spotted at the market, but sometimes he's just chilling on the couch, scrolling on his phone while some show Seungmin’s never heard of plays on the TV.

This morning is a couch morning, apparently, and Seungmin stops short, phone still pressed to his ear, when he walks into his apartment to see Minho sprawled out on the sofa.

“Jeongin-ah, I have to go, but text me when you're free to chat again, okay?” It’s hard to get a hold of Jeongin nowadays, now that he's started his new teaching job. Jeongin yawns into the receiver as he says goodbye.

“You didn't have to hang up,” Minho mumbles into Seungmin’s couch cushions.

Seungmin frowns as he draws closer, notices the tired droop of Minho’s eyelashes, the way his limbs hang limply off the edge of the sofa. “Are you okay, hyung?”

Minho cracks open an eye. “I’m fine.”

His voice is a shade too flat to be believable. Seungmin sits cross-legged on the floor, ghosts a tentative hand across Minho’s brow. It doesn't feel warm or anything, and now that Seungmin’s seeing him up close, Minho doesn't look sick. Just exhausted, in a way that Seungmin hasn't seen before. “It’s that show you're choreographing, isn't it?”

Minho’s lips press tightly together at that, and Seungmin interprets that as a yes.

“It’s not going well?” Seungmin guesses.

Minho sighs, low and slow, before giving in. “It’s going okay. There's just a lot of people with opinions on this one, and it’s hard to please everyone, is all.”

Seungmin doesn’t press, just gives in to his sudden urge to run his thumb along the curve of Minho’s ear, to give his earlobe a gentle tug. “I’ll make you some tea, hyung, to give you strength. Do you want a blanket? Or to take a nap in bed, maybe?”

He doesn't need to specify which bed. He’s kept Minho’s room pretty much as-is even after Minho went back to his own place, and there are still scattered bits of Minho all around the apartment. Minho’s extra phone charger by the nightstand, his extra toothbrush in the bathroom, the umbrella he'd forgotten in the coat closet.

Minho looks considering for a second, before shaking his head as best he can with his cheek mushed into the cushion. “I have to go back to the studio in a bit. I just…”

Seungmin waits, head tilted ninety degrees to the left so he can look at Minho properly.

“Your couch is very comfortable,” Minho says at last, instead of whatever he was originally going to say. Seungmin’s mildly surprised Minho has told him even this much, so he doesn't ask any further questions, just goes into the kitchen to cut up a couple of fresh peaches and brew steaming mugs of maesil-cha.

Then they sit in silence, sharing the peaches between them and sipping their tea, until Minho says he has to go and reluctantly pushes himself off the couch. Seungmin washes their mugs slowly—he'd used the mug Minho had gotten him in Japan, of course, and Minho had used Seungmin’s favorite Pochacco mug, like he always does—before getting ready for the rest of his day.

The next time Minho comes over he's back to normal, playful and teasing and jokingly acerbic.

They don't talk about it. Seungmin's not sure whether there's anything to say.

***

It doesn't really rain here, he's learned, but Seungmin always carries an umbrella in his bag anyways. A holdover from his days in Busan, when torrential rain could strike at any moment. It’s a habit he's glad he hasn't managed to shake yet, when the skies unexpectedly open up just after their game ends one night.

“Ah, shit, I didn't bring an umbrella,” says their shortstop, a slim, pinch-faced man with curly brown hair. He’s frowning out of the window, the turmoil of the storm reflected in the wire-rimmed glasses he'd changed into in the locker room.

“It never rains at this time of the year,” their third baseman agrees, leaning over the shortstop’s shoulder to look. He offers both Seungmin and the shortstop a lift, but only the shortstop takes him up on it. 

Seungmin exits the stadium by foot as he always does, holds out his hand to feel the rain pelting his skin. It’s been so long since he's been out in the rain, since he's even seen rain. At least it had waited for the game to wrap, even if it meant the fans would be soaked on their way out.

Abruptly, Seungmin remembers that Minho’s umbrella is still in Seungmin’s coat closet.

He’d bet his left shoe that Minho’s still at the studio, too, even at this hour. Minho’s gotten busier and busier as his show approaches, to the point that Seungmin’s taken over cooking for the both of them recently. Of course, this means they've had Maangchi’s tuna kimchi jjigae twelve times in the past three weeks, but it's the thought that counts, right?

He wavers for a second before turning left towards the train, rather than right towards his apartment. The train ride to Minho’s studio is short, and he buzzes himself in without issue.

Minho’s by himself tonight, frowning at the mirror as he executes a series of moves that look flawless to Seungmin’s untrained eye. There's something novel about seeing Minho at night, Seungmin thinks. Even during their brief stint as roommates Seungmin had only seen Minho after dark once, their schedules otherwise just managing to misalign. In Seungmin’s mind, Minho exists in the morning, before they part ways and go do their respective jobs. There's something strange about being here now, ending his day with Minho rather than starting it.

Their eyes meet through the mirror, and Minho pauses the music.

“Seungmin-ah. Didn't you have a game today?” Minho sounds surprised, and Seungmin suddenly feels incredibly stupid. What was he thinking, coming here at this time of the night when Minho isn't expecting him?

He smiles, close-mouthed, to cover his sudden embarrassment. “I was just… in the area. Wanted to see how you were.”

Minho raises an eyebrow but, blessedly, doesn't comment further. He nods at the umbrella in Seungmin’s hand. “Not doing you much good, is it?”

Seungmin looks at him inquisitively. There's a long moment of silence before Minho gestures to Seungmin’s shoulders, both of which are splattered with rainwater.

“Ah,” Seungmin says. “Yeah, it's a bit small. But it kept my head dry.”

Minho looks at Seungmin for a long moment. Really looks at him, round brown eyes studying what seems like every square centimeter of Seungmin’s face. Seungmin’s freshly showered, skin still flushed pink from the warmth of it. He doesn't know what Minho is looking for, but after a moment Minho just nods once and says, “Give me ten minutes to finish and clean up. You can sit over there, if you want.”

Seungmin sits, taking careful note of the crumpled protein bar wrappers peeking out of Minho’s usually tidy bag, the unfinished iced coffee on the floor.

Ten minutes later, Minho is tucking away the last of his things, and they make their way down the street towards Minho's apartment together.

If the umbrella barely covered Seungmin before, it's doing a truly horrendous job now. The green training jacket he's wearing is almost black with damp on Seungmin's left side, the white t-shirt he's wearing underneath practically transparent. Minho, on the other hand, is almost perfectly dry, except for a rivulet of water that drips off of Seungmin’s little umbrella and drops rather unceremoniously onto Minho’s elbow.

Minho lets Seungmin drop him off at the entrance of his apartment building. Seungmin's about to duck out from under the alcove sheltering the door when he feels a soft touch on his elbow. He turns back, looking back at Minho with a quizzical expression.

The question dies in his throat.

Minho’s backlit by the alcove's warm light, and it hugs every plane of his face, highlighting the delicate curve of his eyelids, the slope of his nose, the cant of his slightly parted lips. Seungmin finds himself drawn closer by the warmth, until he's so close he can feel Minho’s shaky exhale against his chin. He’s transfixed by the glimpse of Minho’s bunny teeth, the way his lips part further as Seungmin nears, his tongue darting out to moisten his top lip.

Nervous, Seungmin realizes absently. He’s nervous.

Seungmin’s reaching out reassuringly, hand just centimeters from the knife-sharp edge of Minho’s jaw, when his umbrella drips water onto his sneakers and he startles so badly he flings droplets all over both of them. Minho stands stock still by the door, water dripping down his chest. A wry smile works its way onto his face, and he waves off Seungmin’s profuse apologies as if nothing’s happened, just steps back and tells Seungmin not to get too much wetter on his way back home.

Because nothing has happened, Seungmin thinks as he trudges back to his own building, rain continuing to drip forlornly onto his shoulders. Absolutely nothing happened.

And yet somehow, in the space of a minute, everything's changed.

Chapter Text

Everything's changed, and yet nothing has changed.

Seungmin looks forward to the following Friday with an odd jitteriness he hasn't felt since he was a skinny high schooler awaiting the draft. He knows better than to think they'll talk about it, has no real desire to bring it up himself, but something between them is definitely different now.

Right?

The next time Minho comes over, though, he’s so aggressively normal it's distinctly abnormal. He chops, he sautes, he chatters on about his brothers’ newfound obsession with packing peanuts and the latest developments at the studio. There's a temporary lull in show preparations, apparently, and he's excited to have a bit of a break before they launch into rehearsals in earnest. He doesn't look at Seungmin for a millisecond longer than necessary, though, and when Seungmin brushes past him on the way to dispose of some food scraps in the compost bin, Minho jumps back so fast he knocks a spoon onto the floor.

Seungmin takes the hint. He keeps to himself, making sure to maintain a safe distance between them. It’s harder than he anticipates, though. Somewhere between their scheduled biweekly meetings and increasingly frequent casual hangouts he's grown used to having Minho close, to constantly being pulled into Minho’s orbit.

Is it normal to miss someone when they're three feet away from you?

He purposefully doesn't watch Minho work today, doesn't steal glances or look at him for guidance. It takes more effort than Seungmin expected. He hadn't realized how much time he’d spent just looking at Minho, before.

The shrimp shell Seungmin’s pulling off bursts open, startling him out of his thoughts. Minho glances over. “Pay attention, Kim Seungmin.”

“Okay, hyung,” Seungmin says softly.

He’s paying attention, alright. Seungmin can read between the lines, knows that whatever almost happened between them that day in the rain will have to stay there, stuck behind the orange-tinged haze of his memories.

It’ll take a bit of time, but he can learn to accept that. For now, he's quiet, concentrating on peeling the shrimp for their lunch.

***

Seungmin cannot, in fact, read between the lines.

He generally thinks of himself as a rational, perceptive person, which is why it catches him off guard when he realizes he's misjudged the situation. But perhaps it had been his own acute disappointment that clouded his judgment, distracted him from the truth he'd already known: Minho is not someone who can be rushed.

You have to let Minho-hyung meander a bit on his own before he'll come to you, Seungmin thinks, fondness twinging in his chest. Like a cat.

It happens like this:

Two weeks after the Incident, as Seungmin has taken to calling it in his diary, Minho walks in the door with his chin up and back ramrod straight. Seungmin greets him with his customary grin, then goes back to the all-important task of cleaning his coffee machine.

He’s not looking at Minho, which means he’s completely unprepared when Minho suddenly appears behind him, resting his right hand deliberately on Seungmin’s right shoulder as he brushes past Seungmin to grab a can out of the cupboard with his other hand. The touch only lasts a second, if that, but Seungmin can't contain his sharp inhale at the brief press of Minho’s firm chest against his back, the way Minho’s long bangs brush his cheek as he draws away.

When Seungmin chances a glance behind him, smug self-satisfaction is written all over Minho’s face.

That fucker, is Seungmin’s immediate first thought, simultaneously infuriated and delighted.

Then, simply, !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

And finally:

Oh, it is so on.

He finds an opportunity for retaliation just a few moments later, when Minho’s mixing the sauce for the bibimguksu, lips pursed in consideration as he alternatively tastes and adjusts the ratio of ingredients. A smear of gochujang lingers at the corner of his mouth, but he hasn't seemed to notice yet.

Thankfully for both of them, Seungmin does.

“Hyung,” he says, watching Minho’s head swivel towards him on autopilot.

Minho lets out a questioning hum, round eyes fixed on Seungmin’s as Seungmin draws closer and closer. Seungmin ignores him in favor of pressing himself to Minho’s side, resting a casual hand on Minho’s back as he brings his other thumb up to Minho’s lips. He takes his time with it, lets his gaze linger on Minho’s red mouth as he slowly wipes the sauce away.

With Herculean effort, he retreats, letting Minho go as he brings his thumb up to his own lips, cleaning it off with a quick swipe of his tongue.

“You had sauce,” Seungmin says by way of explanation, keeping his expression open and guileless. “Just there.”

Minho stares at him for a long moment.

Then a huff escapes, seemingly without permission, and he turns back to his sauce curtly, neck and ears stained red.

Seungmin grins, leaning in so he can observe Minho’s face properly.

“Why, were you expecting something different, hyung?” He lets his grin broaden even further, corners curling up with unconcealed mischief. “All you have to do is ask.”

“Ask? You?” Minho snorts, mixing the sauce with so much force a drop flies out of the bowl and lands on his cheek. So much for Seungmin's efforts to clean him up. “Absolutely not.”

Seungmin shakes his head in mock sorrow. “Then it appears we're at an impasse.”

“So it seems.” Minho’s voice is even, but his ears are still furiously red.

Seungmin’s cheeks hurt from the breadth of his amusement. That’s a victory, in Seungmin’s book.

***

Seungmin's not expecting Minho the next day, but Minho’s on the couch when Seungmin comes in from his run, legs drawn up against his chest as he scrolls through the Netflix catalog.

“Hi, hyung,” Seungmin says absently, before pausing on his way past the living room. He turns back around, taking the scene in again. Minho, sitting on Seungmin’s couch, eyes fixed on Seungmin’s TV, wearing… “Is that my sweatshirt?”

“Yeah,” Minho says, nonchalant. After another moment of silence he turns to look at Seungmin, eyebrow arched. “And what about it?”

The words are stalling in Seungmin’s throat, brain frantically trying to process the sight of Minho in his old Lotte Giants crewneck, team name emblazoned on the front and Seungmin’s name and number on the back. It looks right, Seungmin thinks wildly, for Minho to be wearing it.

He’s probably been staring for too long at this point, but he can't tear his eyes away, every ounce of focus zeroing in on Minho and Minho alone.

“Oh,” he says at last, when he can trust his voice again.

Minho’s eyes crinkle in mirth, the beginnings of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Oh?”

Seungmin's voice may have recovered, but his brain certainly hasn't. He manages only a jerky nod, eyes wide and lips pressed tightly together.

“Cat got your tongue?” Minho teases, pushing himself off the couch in favor of stalking towards Seungmin. “Shouldn't have left your belongings lying around if you didn't want someone to use them, hmm, Seungminnie?”

Seungmin's pretty sure he hadn't left it lying around, actually, distinctly remembers hanging that sweatshirt on the back of his bathroom door after he'd worn it out to run some errands yesterday. Not that it matters, of course. Nothing matters, not when Minho is so close, the warmth of his body heating Seungmin's skin. Seungmin's mouth is suddenly incredibly dry.

Minho’s smile is small, close-lipped. He runs a hand up Seungmin’s neck until he’s cradling Seungmin's jaw, thumb pressing lightly against Seungmin’s cheekbone.

“You were so bold yesterday,” Minho murmurs, thumb trailing down to press briefly at the corner of Seungmin’s mouth. It’s an echo of Seungmin’s movements the day before, he realizes, though Seungmin hadn't been wearing Minho’s name on his back when he'd done it. “Not so much today, hmm?”

That snaps Seungmin out of it. He jerks away, eyes still feeling twice their normal size.

“I have to uh, go wash up,” he says, cursing himself internally for stumbling over his words. Then he flees into the bathroom and sticks his head under the faucet until his cheeks stop feeling like they're about to explode.

When he returns to sit by Minho ten minutes later, freshly washed and freshly changed, he brings with him a crisply folded practice jersey, green with the yellow Oakland logo across the front. And his name on the back, of course. He places the jersey neatly on the ottoman.

“Wow, careless me,” he deadpans to the room at large. “Leaving my belongings all over the place.”

“That is careless of you.” Minho’s smile is audible, even though Seungmin's pointedly looking out the window and not at him.

Seungmin nods magnanimously. “Wouldn't want anyone to get too hot wearing a sweatshirt in the middle of summer.”

“End of summer,” Minho snipes, but he's already reaching for the jersey.

***

A couple of days later, they find themselves at the farmers market. It's oddly busy for 8 a.m. on a Sunday, and Seungmin has to rest a hand on Minho’s elbow to keep track of him in the crowd.

Minho’s skin is warm, as always, the intoxicating nearness of him drawing Seungmin even closer.

After a second of deliberation, he trails his fingertips down Minho’s bare forearm, noting the way the veins there shift when Minho tenses, and laces his fingers loosely through Minho’s.

He glances over at Minho, who appears to be concentrating very hard on a basket of pluots. His ears are flaring up, though, and Seungmin smiles to himself, swings their joined hands slightly just to feel the brush of Minho’s palm against his.

Two stalls and several fruit samples later, Minho’s calloused fingers wrap around Seungmin’s knuckles, thumb sliding up and down Seungmin’s index finger in the briefest of caresses.

Seungmin’s grin threatens to overwhelm his entire face. Minho doesn't let go for the rest of their shopping trip, not even when he picks out an absolute monster of a watermelon that absolutely requires two hands to hold. They each contribute their free hand instead, pressing shoulder to shoulder to keep the watermelon cradled between them. Their laughter trails behind them all the way back to Minho’s car.

The mid-morning sun beats down on them unrelentingly, and Seungmin has never felt so warm.

***

Seungmin makes the mistake of assuming that their little game is off while he’s on the road. Minho can't very well cage him against any counters or slide any casual hands into Seungmin’s back pocket while Seungmin's 4000 kilometers away, can he?

But when Seungmin finishes batting practice before an early game on their last day in Cleveland, there are two KakaoTalk notifications waiting for him. He doesn't think anything of it, just taps the notification absently as he pulls off his gloves.

He doesn't notice anything, at first. It’s a selfie of Minho and Dori, the brown cat laying on Minho’s collarbone as Minho makes an unfairly cute kissy face at him. It looks like Minho’s just woken up, hair messy over his white pillowcase. Seungmin smiles down at his phone, tracing their familiar features with his eyes and fighting his urge to coo—

Hold on.

He’s shirtless, Seungmin realizes abruptly, eyes growing so wide they threaten to start watering. It's unmistakable, the bare shoulder connected to the hand holding the phone, the glimpse of firm chest barely hidden under Dori’s fur.

What the fuck.

Minho not only isn’t stopping while Seungmin’s away, he's escalating. Shouldn't this be illegal? Hasn't Seungmin's heart suffered enough in Minho’s presence? Shouldn’t Seungmin be granted some kind of reprieve in Minho’s absence?

The complaints bubbling up in him need an outlet, so he decides to vent to the one person who will understand.

11:27 AM Your friend Lee Minho is a menace

hannie~

u mean OUR friend lee minho
what did he do this time lol 11:28 AM

Seungmin ignores Jisung in favor of tabbing back to his chat with Minho, typing out a quick response and hitting send before he can think about it too much.

nyangie 💕

[picture]
dori misses u 10:57 AM

11:28 AM Just Dori?

Then, desperate, he calls in the big guns.

***

Hwang Hyunjin is all too willing to help.

It’s the middle of his workday, but that doesn't seem to matter much to Hyunjin. Seungmin supposes that he does make Hyunjin quite a bit of money, so maybe this could be considered part of Hyunjin’s job, though Hyunjin’s honestly just as much a friend as he is an agent at this point.

“Lift your phone up a bit more,” Hyunjin directs, face tiny in the corner of Seungmin’s phone screen. He’s clearly in the office, the green of Central Park through his floor-to-ceiling windows a blur behind him. “And tilt your chin down.”

Seungmin complies, feeling ridiculous. He’s hiding in an unused storage room in the Guardians’ stadium, struggling to take the perfect selfie. For no particular reason, of course.

Hyunjin hums, tapping an elegant finger on his chin. He stares at Seungmin for a long moment, lips pursed, before finally snapping his fingers. “Okay, I got it. Take your shirt off.”

“What?” Seungmin squawks, too high and too loud. Thankfully, the hallway outside remains quiet, the other players and staff occupied with their various pre-game activities.

Hyunjin rolls his eyes at him. “You want to make this mystery guy lose his mind, or what? Take your shirt off.”

“I’m not trying to look desperate,” Seungmin hisses. “Just kind of. Alluring. But not like I’m trying to look alluring. Like. Hot in a normal way.”

He feels stupid the moment the words leave his mouth. Yeah, this is definitely not in Hyunjin’s job description.

The eye roll he receives in response would rival one of Minho’s, which is frankly impressive. Seungmin makes a mental note to never introduce them to each other.

“It’s going to look classy, trust me,” Hyunjin says impatiently. “Just take off your undershirt and put your jersey back on over it, okay, unbuttoned, like you're just cooling off after practice. It’ll just be a teeny tiny bit of skin! You can keep the compression sleeve on and everything!”

The doubt on Seungmin’s face must be evident, because Hyunjin heaves out a put-upon sigh. “Look, do you want my help or not?”

Seungmin sighs and puts his phone down on the ground so he can use both hands to undo his buttons.

***

hannie~

WHY DID MINHO HYUNG JUST SEND ME A MINUTE LONG AUDIO OF HIM SCREAMING 1:28 PM

WHAT DID U DO 1:29 PM

ANSWER ME 1:31 PM

KIM SEUNGMIN!!!! 1:32 PM

1:33 PM What makes u think it had something to do with me ?

hannie~

…..
is this another one of ur weird flirting things
can u guys leave me out of it next time omfg i feel like i shouldn't be witnessing this 1:33 PM

1:34 PM You want me to stop talking to you about Minho-hyung? Sure thing

hannie~

…………UGH ok ur right i'm too nosy for that nvm tell me everything 1:34 PM

SEUNGMIN-AHHH COME BACK I WANNA KNOW 2:15 PM

***

Neither of them mention the photos when Seungmin gets back. Which isn't to say that Seungmin isn't thinking about it, of course. Just the opposite—that glimpse of pale, unblemished skin haunts Seungmin’s every waking moment (and, to be honest, quite a few of his sleeping moments as well), to the point that he's starting to feel a bit like a Victorian man.

You can't even see anything! he chides himself.

But we can imagine! his traitorous mind supplies, cheerful.

He tries his best to act normal, to pretend like he isn't thinking about what it would feel like to run his fingers along Minho’s bare chest, to be allowed to rest his head on that smooth expanse of skin in Dori’s place.

It’s fine! It’s fine! Seungmin can do this. His mother didn't raise a quitter, and Kim Seungmin is sure as hell not going to be the first to crack now.

***

Things calm down a bit after that, like they've mutually agreed to stick to light touches and some casual hand-holding. Seungmin lets himself be lulled into this new rhythm, this gentle push and pull. There’s an undeniable frisson between them, an undeniable attraction buzzing beneath Seungmin’s skin whenever he's around Minho, but he's not entirely sure where they stand beyond that.

He thinks he can guess, knows Minho well enough by now to know that he doesn't give out affection of any kind lightly. Still, he’s hesitant to push too hard just yet. He wants—no, needs—to collect as much information as he can before making any assumptions.

They’re at a new cafe down the street from the studio now, Seungmin having dragged Minho out for a mid-morning coffee before his first class.

He goes to grab a table while Minho orders for them both, and is busy craning his neck to watch a stubby little corgi walk past when he’s met with a familiar gasp.

“Seungmin!” It’s a woman's voice, and he looks up to see their main catcher’s girlfriend striding towards his table, to-go cup in hand and long box braids swaying in her wake. He’s only ever seen her in jeans and a t-shirt before, but she looks markedly different today, sporting a beautifully tailored pinstriped suit and dark brown kitten heels that blend perfectly with her skin tone.

He grins widely at her, turning to admire her outfit properly. “Rebecca! You look sharp. Are you on your way to work?”

“Yes, I’ve got a hearing at the courthouse down the street in half an hour,” she says, beaming down at him in return. “So I’ve got to run in a minute, but I saw you sitting and had to come by and say hi!”

They chat about a TV show they've both been watching for a few minutes before Rebecca looks down at her watch and sucks air through her teeth. “Shit, I really have to go. Talk soon?”

“Oh, before you go.” Seungmin pats his pockets for his phone. “I still need your number, so I can send you that playlist I was telling you about that time in New York.”

“Oh!” She fishes her own phone out of her bag easily, hands it over so he can type in his own number and send himself a text.

“I’ll send it to you this afternoon, after our bullpen session,” Seungmin says, returning her phone with another smile.

She thanks him and hurries out, sending him a fluttery wave over her shoulder as she goes.

Minho arrives a moment later with two drinks in hand, setting one down in front of Seungmin as he takes his seat. They sit in silence for a minute as Seungmin takes his first sip, letting out an appreciative hum at the smoothness of his iced americano. He’ll have to add this place to his rotation, Seungmin thinks, finally locating his phone and flicking it open to pin the cafe to his Google Maps.

“Who was that?”

There's something in Minho’s voice that makes Seungmin look up. Something a hair too neutral, too cool, too impassive. Seungmin studies Minho for a second, notes his slightly narrowed eyes, the grim set of his lips. He replays the conversation with Rebecca in his head, then, recalls the way he’d smiled when he saw her, the once-over he'd given her outfit, the way he'd given her his number before she'd left.

Seungmin can't stop the corners of his mouth from twitching. Minho’s eyes narrow even further at that, and he leans back in the wooden cafe chair, crossing his arms across his chest.

His handsome, muscly arms, Seungmin’s brain supplies, before he tells it to shut the fuck up so he can concentrate on the conversation at hand.

“Who was what?”

Minho raises an eyebrow, visibly unimpressed. “Who was the person you were talking to.”

“Why do you want to know?” Seungmin quirks an eyebrow of his own.

The air between them cools even further. Minho’s face is doing something very complicated, his eyes fixed on Seungmin’s as his jaw works. Then he tears his gaze away to look out the window, fingers tight on the handle of his mug. “You're right. It's none of my business.”

Seungmin lets that statement percolate for a moment before finally putting Minho out of his misery.

“My teammate’s girlfriend,” he says. “Her name’s Rebecca, I’ve gone out for lunch with the two of them a couple of times while we've been traveling for games.”

Seungmin watches in fascination as Minho’s jaw visibly unclenches, his expression thawing like Gugok Falls in the first warmth of spring.

“Oh.”

“Oh,” Seungmin echoes, amused. He waits for Minho to take a sip of his coffee before continuing. “Completely unrelatedly, have I ever told you I’m gay?”

Minho chokes on his coffee. Seungmin helpfully provides him with napkins as Minho coughs, upper body bent almost horizontal over the table.

“No,” Minho splutters finally, wiping his chin. “No, it's never come up.”

“Well, I am.” Seungmin sips on his own coffee. He’d ordered an iced drink, but he’s feeling quite warm inside. “Just so you know.”

Minho seems to have recovered, eyes contemplative as he stares down at his coffee. “Me too,” he says at last. “Thanks for telling me, Seungmin-ah.”

Seungmin smiles at him then, soft and genuine. Then the conversation moves on to a book another one of Seungmin’s teammates had recommended, one Seungmin thinks Minho will like, and the topic is quickly forgotten.

***

Seungmin doesn't ordinarily have problems sleeping. He finishes his game, cools down, washes up, heads home, and collapses into bed. If he’s pitched that day, he ices his shoulder, too, but otherwise his routine is more or less fixed.

Today is different, though. Today he’d had a bad day, had thrown one too many meatballs, let one too many runners on base. It had been a waste of a pitching start, not to mention a wasted opportunity to get closer to the top of the leaderboard, now that playoffs are around the corner. He lays awake, staring at the ceiling, the litany of mistakes he'd made replaying in his mind on loop. The fielding error in the second, the fastball thrown straight down the middle in the fifth, the wild pitch in the very last inning, when it had mattered the most. They hadn't lost by much, but it doesn’t matter, not now. Not to the team, not to the fans, not to Seungmin himself.

He’d played poorly today, and it had cost them.

He rolls over, reaches over to his nightstand for his phone. If he can't sleep, he may as well rewatch clips from the game, so he can see what he did wrong, see all the things he should have done instead.

But when he swipes open his phone, ignoring the Do Not Disturb screen, he's met with a notification. Several notifications, actually, recent ones. He sighs, not feeling up to shooting the shit with one of the friends for whom it's already midday.

It’s not any of the people he expects, though.

nyangie 💕

hey
u awake 11:15 PM

11:27 PM ???

nyangie 💕

thought u might be
come over 11:27 PM

11:27 PM What’s this, a booty call? I’m flattered

nyangie 💕

shut the fuck up 11:27 PM

Seungmin laughs. He can picture Minho's scowl, the furious blush that's no doubt overtaken his face. Seungmin’s phone buzzes again, this time with a photo. It’s a blurry photo of Minho’s TV, an episode of Sailor Moon barely visible through Doongie’s orange ears taking up half the screen.

nyangie 💕

hurry up or i'll start without u 11:28 PM

Seungmin's heart stutters in a way that should probably be concerning. Surely he's too young to be having cardiovascular issues, especially with all the steps he takes to maintain a healthy lifestyle. He can't stop it, though, the flip in his chest.

Oh, Minho knows him. And even worse—for Seungmin’s heart, at least—Minho has been following his games enough to know that Seungmin had had a bad one today.

It doesn't take long for Seungmin to reach Minho’s apartment. He lets himself in, runs a greeting hand along Doongie’s cheek as the cat twines himself between Seungmin’s legs. The other two aren't far behind, and he stops to hold out his hand for each of them to sniff before making his way into the dark living room.

Minho’s on the couch, face illuminated by the light emanating from his phone. He’s curled his legs up beside him, looking soft and pink and warm in his loose white t-shirt and patterned sleep shorts. The Hulu screensaver bounces around his otherwise black TV screen, casting a green glow onto the living room furniture.

Seungmin flops down on the other end of the couch, suddenly exhausted. Minho doesn't say anything, just tucks his phone away and hands Seungmin a steaming mug of tea from the coffee table. Maesil-cha, Seungmin realizes as he takes a sip, warm and familiar. Halfway through the episode, Minho shifts so that they're pressed shoulder to shoulder, so that Seungmin can feel the rumble of Minho’s laughter against him, the stillness of his breath during particularly dramatic scenes.

Seungmin doesn't know when he falls asleep, head drooping against Minho’s shoulder. Through the haze of exhaustion, he faintly registers an arm pulling him closer, fingers combing through his hair, the barest press of lips against his temple.

The sound of Seungmin’s alarm jars him from his slumber, morning light filtering through the curtains covering the bay windows. He’s alone on Minho’s sofa, head pillowed on the armrest and a fluffy blanket tucked around him. Seungmin fumbles in the direction of the noise with sleepy fingers, trying not to disturb Dori, who’s curled up in the crook of his other arm, tail over nose. When he finally retrieves his phone from the side table, noting with another flip in his chest that his phone had been plugged in to charge overnight, he turns off the alarm without a second thought. He can take the time, this morning. He scratches Dori’s nose with a gentle finger, immediately eliciting a series of purrs from the drowsy feline, before wrapping his arms around the little cat and going back to sleep.

When he wakes again, half an hour later, it's to the familiar sound of Minho in the kitchen.

“Leftover bibimbap,” Minho says in explanation when Seungmin sits up to look in his direction over the back of the couch, cat in arms and hair no doubt sticking straight up in the back. “Go wash up and come back, it’ll be ready in five minutes.”

There’s a new toothbrush on the bathroom counter when Seungmin enters. His smile widens even further when he's done brushing, when he catches sight of their toothbrushes side by side in Minho’s ceramic toothbrush holder. Minho’s toothbrush here is purple to Seungmin’s blue, the inverse of their toothbrushes back at Seungmin’s place. He wonders if Minho’s noticed.

He emerges five minutes later to Minho sliding two fried eggs onto a steaming bowl, the other bowl already sporting its egg topping. Seungmin waits until Minho’s set the hot pan down before coming up behind him to circle Minho’s slim waist with his arm, fingers playing absently with the bunched fabric of Minho’s t-shirt.

“Thank you, hyung,” he mumbles. Not just for the food, but for everything. For keeping Seungmin company, taking care of him, distracting him from his most self-critical thoughts on a night that could have been one of his worst. Suddenly words don't seem like enough, so he drops a soft kiss into Minho’s hair, hoping that the gesture will convey all the thoughts Seungmin’s early morning brain can't summon the words to say.

Minho stills beneath his touch. He doesn't look at Seungmin, but after a moment the corners of his mouth turn up. When he moves again it's to face Seungmin, turning into Seungmin’s loose hold rather than out of it. Their faces are close, suddenly, so close Seungmin has to remind himself to breathe through the fog clouding his brain.

“Of course, Seungmin-ah,” Minho says, so plainly that it catches Seungmin off guard. They stand there looking at each other for a moment, so close Seungmin can make out each individual eyelash, the little mole on the tip of Minho’s nose. Then Minho gently knocks their foreheads together, just for a second, before drawing away, picking up both bowls to bring over to the dining table for breakfast.

***

The A's schedule lines up just right for Seungmin to attend the first day of Minho’s show when it finally opens, sparing him at least one extremely embarrassing conversation with their travel coordinator.

He waits for Minho in the atrium, flowers in hand as he smooths a hand over his freshly pressed navy suit. He’d spent way too long at the flower shop earlier picking them out, so much so that he'd had to run to catch his train afterwards. Were roses too romantic? Daisies too casual? How could he convey all the admiration and affection in his chest without it being too much, without leapfrogging over the unspoken line neither of them had yet dared to cross?

Naver had proven completely unhelpful, of course, and after approximately sixteen years of dithering, the florist had finally taken pity on him and asked what occasion he was buying for. He’d left the shop with a beautiful bouquet of purple carnations, long-stemmed and interspersed with eucalyptus leaves. They feel heavy in his hands now, which—to Seungmin’s distinct displeasure—are slightly clammy.

“Seungmin-ah!” Minho looks surprised to see him, but it quickly melts into an expression Seungmin might call excitement, all big sparkling eyes and slightly parted lips, bunny teeth on full display. The openness of his expression catches Seungmin off guard, so much so that it takes him a moment to recover enough to beam down at Minho.

“Hi, hyung.” He sticks the flowers out between them, watching as Minho’s eyes widen even further. “For you.”

“You were incredible,” Seungmin goes on. Then, softer, “I couldn't take my eyes off you.”

The smile blooms on Minho’s face like a sunrise, so bright and pretty Seungmin almost turns away to shield his eyes.

God, he’s so beautiful.

He realizes belatedly that Minho has said something, while Seungmin was busy drowning in the light of his smile.

“What?”

“I said,” Minho repeats, amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth, “that we’re all going out to celebrate, and you should come.”

“Oh, I don't want to impose—”

“I’m inviting you,” Minho says firmly, taking the bouquet with one hand and reaching for Seungmin’s hand with the other. Seungmin lets himself be led, first backstage so Minho can find a vase to put the flowers in, and then down the street and into a waiting Uber.

The club is surprisingly packed for a Thursday night, and Minho has to elbow his way towards the bar, where the rest of the dancers and their various companions have gathered. Seungmin recognizes most of them by now, nods in greeting to the people he knows and smiles politely at those he doesn't. There will be time for introductions later, he's sure, but not now. Not when Minho is still incandescent by his side, hand wrapped around Seungmin's wrist.

The group does one shot of tequila, then another. Seungmin reigns himself in there, knows too well from past experience that two is the right amount to get just tipsy enough to let loose a bit while making sure he’ll still be able to do his job at peak capacity tomorrow. Minho seems to note Seungmin slowing down, shaking his head at the next shot offered.

They make their way up the narrow stairs to the coat check, where Seungmin drops off his suit jacket. The knit polo he has on underneath has to stretch a bit over the breadth of his shoulders, and he catches Minho’s gaze lingering before he snaps his head back towards the crowd. Seungmin can't tell what color Minho’s ears are under the dark pink lighting of the club, but he has just enough alcohol in his system to reach out and tug gently at Minho’s earlobe, delighted when the soft flesh is searing hot under his fingertips.

Minho looks over his shoulder at the touch, looking quizzical. Seungmin has to lean in, nose grazing the curve of Minho’s ear, to be heard over the throbbing bass. “Let’s dance, hyung.”

It’s a non sequitur, and an obvious statement besides—what else would they be here for?—but he’s rewarded by Minho’s shiver against his chest anyways. Instead of replying, Minho links their fingers again, tugging Seungmin after him towards the middle of the dance floor.

When they arrive, the 2000s pop hits are rolling out one by one, prompting delighted reactions from the crowd. There's people all around them, strangers’ bodies pressing closer than Seungmin would ever ordinarily allow, but Seungmin doesn't see them, barely even registers their presence. It’s just him and Minho out there, limbs loose and laughter louder. They dance to song after song, shouting along to the words they know and making up the ones they don't.

“Alright,” says the DJ over the speakers after an indeterminate amount of time. It’s easy to lose track, when Seungmin’s feeling relaxed and easy like this. “It’s time to switch things up a bit.”

The next song is slower, with a pulsing beat and electronic synths layered on top. Minho changes up his dancing without missing a beat, suddenly all languid body rolls and sinuous hips, gaze darker, hungrier.

Seungmin’s unprepared for the change, and especially unprepared for Minho to fix him with the tiniest smirk, accompanied by a single raised eyebrow. Then he's mouthing words, distinct even in the dim light of the club. Come here.

Seungmin goes. He hadn't been far from Minho to begin with, maybe a foot of distance separating them, but suddenly they're pressed against each other, Minho’s hands coming up to rest on Seungmin’s waist as their noses knock together. The crowd fills in the space around them, forcing them even closer together. Seungmin's hyperaware of every place they’re touching, can feel the movement of Minho’s hips against his, the way their bodies move together, slow and deliberate.

Minho smiles at him, small and private, but unmistakable. He’s been doing a lot of that tonight, smiling. In fact, Seungmin’s not sure he’s stopped smiling, not since he'd caught sight of Seungmin back at the venue. Seungmin warms all over again at that observation, feeling perhaps too soft and gooey for the situation they're currently in.

He’s brought back immediately when Minho’s eyes catch on his, very deliberately, before dropping to his mouth. Seungmin’s breath hitches, and he knows Minho can feel the way Seungmin stills against him. Minho’s gaze lingers for a second, two, before flicking back up to meet Seungmin’s eyes again. Seungmin waits, motionless and expectant, as Minho leans in—

And leans right past Seungmin's petulant lips to murmur in his ear.

“You didn't think you'd win that easily, did you?”

It’s the first time either of them have acknowledged whatever it is they're doing out loud. Seungmin groans, pushing Minho a couple of inches away so they're no longer pressed so tightly against each other. Now that he has his hands on Minho’s chest, though, he can't see any reason to move them, so they stay like that, gently swaying to the rhythm together, Minho's hands on Seungmin's waist and Seungmin’s on Minho’s well-defined pecs.

“You’re so—” Seungmin says, entirely without heat.

Minho grins at him, still bright and happy under the neon lights. “You love it.”

“Maybe,” Seungmin allows, matching Minho’s grin with one of his own.

***

When he hits for the cycle on a random Tuesday in Milwaukee, Minho is the first person Seungmin calls.

“Hyung, hyung,” he gasps into the speaker, huddled in the corner of the dugout with his hand over his mouth. “I just—”

“I heard,” Minho interrupts. His voice is as warm as Seungmin has ever heard it, honeyed and bordering on fond. “Congratulations, Seungmin-ah.”

Seungmin's filled with warm surprise at that. Ever since that night a couple of weeks ago, he'd figured that Minho kept track of his games somehow, but he'd assumed that Minho just checked the score on his phone or something, not that he'd be following along closely enough to know about something like this. He looks down at his dusty cleats, unable to prevent the smile spreading across his face. “You’ve heard? But you don't like baseball…”

Minho coughs. There's a lot of shuffling in the background, before he finally says, “Ah, one of the guys had the game on. I just happened to see your home run, and the commentators were talking about it. The cycle.”

So he'd been watching. Seungmin’s smile is irrepressible, now.

Today’s game is important, one of the last games that will determine his team’s final standing in their league and thus their position going into their playoffs. He's not sure if Minho knows that, though. Seungmin certainly hadn't said anything. He’s not even pitching today, just batting.

How many games has Minho watched of his own volition, without Seungmin knowing?

“Okay,” Seungmin says, once the smile’s quieted enough that it won't be audible anymore. “Well, I just wanted to tell you. It doesn't happen often.”

That’s an understatement—this may very well be the first and last time in Seungmin's career.

“I know.” The momentary awkwardness in Minho’s voice is gone, replaced again by that uncharacteristic warmth.

There's a long pause. “Thank you for sharing this moment with me, Seungmin-ah.”

“Any time, hyung.”

Then Seungmin hangs up and goes to sit with the rest of his team on the bench, grin so wide he’s sure all the TV cameras can see it from a million miles away.

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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MLB 4.57M

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.