Ship/Member: Joshua/Seungcheol Major Tags: The mortifying ordeal of seeing the same person on every dating app Permission to remix: Please ask!
***
Joshua lets Seungcheol choose the restaurant this time.
He does this for a couple reasons: one, because he’s nice, and the other, because he’s tired.
They aren’t dating. Like, Joshua calls his mom a couple times a month and she asks him if he’s seeing anyone and his answer is no. Describing their time together in any way that would get his mother’s hopes up feels mean.
It’s December. Joshua is on date 38. Seungcheol is on date 34.
—
Seungcheol chooses an italian place that Joshua always walks past on the way to the gym. It smells good outside, and it’s a dim place with a faux-wooden entryway and dead plants hanging in the foyer. They’re seated near a window and shown a wine list that Joshua finds to be both small and underwhelming.
Still, he orders them something decent and finally, they can start.
“So,” Seungcheol says, swirling his wine around in his glass. “It’s been a while. You’re up to 38?”
“Mm. Yeah,” Joshua sips his wine, feels it run over his teeth. Hopes it doesn’t stain.
“How was it?”
This is how it always, always goes. They wouldn’t work, exactly, but they work well enough for what they both need. Someone else who gets it. Someone else who hates being alone enough to entertain anyone’s company.
“Good enough,” Joshua says. “He took me to Rolling Pin, and then a cafe closer to him.”
His date had inched them, block by block, cafe by cafe, back to his place, where he plied Joshua with wine and kindness and Joshua accepted. Always did.
“What do you think?” Seungcheol raises an eyebrow.
“Not… not it.” Joshua slides a finger against the rim of his glass, wondering if he can touch it just right, so it makes a high-pitched howl. It doesn’t whine under his finger.
Seungcheol looks sympathetic. “On to the next,” he says, raising his glass for a halfhearted cheers.
“You?” Joshua says after swallowing another sip.
Seungcheol smiles, a little sad. “Nothing good. I met up with 27 but it didn’t go anywhere.”
Joshua remembers 27 from pictures. Short and a little shy, Seungcheol had said, but he smelled good.
Seungcheol continues, “And then I saw someone new last week but it turns out we’d matched on Tinder a while ago and he ghosted me back then. And that was sort of… hard to build off of.”
Joshua purses his lips in sympathy. He doesn’t get why Seungcheol is doing repeats.
In fact, Seungcheol is the only guy Joshua’s seen more than once since he moved to Seoul. He just doesn’t see the point—what would he get out of someone that he can’t see immediately.
Their date was decent, actually. Joshua liked the wine. He liked Seungcheol’s gums, his laugh, the way he paid the bill, shiny watch on his wrist.
He liked how Seungcheol put a soft hand on his back as they walked to the train. Not quite low enough to be scandalous, but low enough to give Joshua something to think about.
It wasn’t good enough, though. So, whatever. It was fine. Joshua didn’t seek out another date because he wasn’t looking for good enough.
But still, Seungcheol kept popping up. Joshua would make a profile on a new platform and on swipe number seven, Seungcheol would pop up. Tinder. Hinge. OkCupid. Grindr.
Seungcheol. Seungcheol. Seungcheol.
Maybe he was the only one who could understand the gnawing emptiness Joshua was trying to fill. Other people disappeared, fell in love and deleted their profiles, but never Seungcheol.
So, he texted him. Asked him how it was going.
Here they are now.
The pasta comes and they split two dishes, a steak and a fish. Seungcheol gives him more steak and Joshua gives him more fish.
Joshua wonders if this would be enough for someone else. A person who knows what he likes. A person who wants him to eat well.
He gets tipsy off the wine, without meaning to. Tipsy enough that the light painting Seungcheol’s face makes him look new. And then Joshua considers. Thinks. Imagines.
What if he could try being someone else tonight?
He gently lowers his fork and knife, suddenly full. He takes the time to look at Seungcheol, at the smear of oil on his lip and the grown-out length of his hair, and he tries to look at him like he’s never seen him before. Tries to point out the flaws, and finds none. Finds someone he could see again.
They take turns paying, and this time it’s Seungcheol’s turn. That, too, makes Joshua feel new. They bundle back up, scarves and gloves and coats and Joshua drops his wallet in the rush and Seungcheol stoops down to grab it for him, patting him gently on the shoe before standing and Joshua’s stomach flutters a little.
He can’t remember why he didn’t call Seungcheol back.
He can’t remember why he didn’t take Seungcheol home.
They share a cigarette outside the restaurant, leaned up against a planter. Joshua can’t stop thinking about indirect kisses—such a stupid, childish concept. He tries to keep his lips as much off the filter as he can, but every time he brings it back to his mouth it’s cold, wet from Seungcheol’s spit.
They walk to the train in comfortable silence, shoulders rubbing together, and Joshua’s heart beats like he’s been running. Doesn’t he want this? Can he want this?
At the last second, he’s brave enough to thread his hand through the crook of Seungcheol’s arm and pull him a little closer.
Seungcheol looks at him, red-cheeked and confused.
Joshua doesn’t know what to say—nothing really feels like the right thing. Nothing feels like how he’s feeling right now, tipsy and warm and cold and scared and here.
“Do you want to—would you come back with me? To my place?” Joshua asks.
Seungcheol looks away from him, his breath turning into clouds. Then he smiles.
[FILL] swipe
Major Tags: The mortifying ordeal of seeing the same person on every dating app
Permission to remix: Please ask!
***
Joshua lets Seungcheol choose the restaurant this time.
He does this for a couple reasons: one, because he’s nice, and the other, because he’s tired.
They aren’t dating. Like, Joshua calls his mom a couple times a month and she asks him if he’s seeing anyone and his answer is no. Describing their time together in any way that would get his mother’s hopes up feels mean.
It’s December. Joshua is on date 38. Seungcheol is on date 34.
—
Seungcheol chooses an italian place that Joshua always walks past on the way to the gym. It smells good outside, and it’s a dim place with a faux-wooden entryway and dead plants hanging in the foyer. They’re seated near a window and shown a wine list that Joshua finds to be both small and underwhelming.
Still, he orders them something decent and finally, they can start.
“So,” Seungcheol says, swirling his wine around in his glass. “It’s been a while. You’re up to 38?”
“Mm. Yeah,” Joshua sips his wine, feels it run over his teeth. Hopes it doesn’t stain.
“How was it?”
This is how it always, always goes. They wouldn’t work, exactly, but they work well enough for what they both need. Someone else who gets it. Someone else who hates being alone enough to entertain anyone’s company.
“Good enough,” Joshua says. “He took me to Rolling Pin, and then a cafe closer to him.”
His date had inched them, block by block, cafe by cafe, back to his place, where he plied Joshua with wine and kindness and Joshua accepted. Always did.
“What do you think?” Seungcheol raises an eyebrow.
“Not… not it.” Joshua slides a finger against the rim of his glass, wondering if he can touch it just right, so it makes a high-pitched howl. It doesn’t whine under his finger.
Seungcheol looks sympathetic. “On to the next,” he says, raising his glass for a halfhearted cheers.
“You?” Joshua says after swallowing another sip.
Seungcheol smiles, a little sad. “Nothing good. I met up with 27 but it didn’t go anywhere.”
Joshua remembers 27 from pictures. Short and a little shy, Seungcheol had said, but he smelled good.
Seungcheol continues, “And then I saw someone new last week but it turns out we’d matched on Tinder a while ago and he ghosted me back then. And that was sort of… hard to build off of.”
Joshua purses his lips in sympathy. He doesn’t get why Seungcheol is doing repeats.
In fact, Seungcheol is the only guy Joshua’s seen more than once since he moved to Seoul. He just doesn’t see the point—what would he get out of someone that he can’t see immediately.
Their date was decent, actually. Joshua liked the wine. He liked Seungcheol’s gums, his laugh, the way he paid the bill, shiny watch on his wrist.
He liked how Seungcheol put a soft hand on his back as they walked to the train. Not quite low enough to be scandalous, but low enough to give Joshua something to think about.
It wasn’t good enough, though. So, whatever. It was fine. Joshua didn’t seek out another date because he wasn’t looking for good enough.
But still, Seungcheol kept popping up. Joshua would make a profile on a new platform and on swipe number seven, Seungcheol would pop up. Tinder. Hinge. OkCupid. Grindr.
Seungcheol. Seungcheol. Seungcheol.
Maybe he was the only one who could understand the gnawing emptiness Joshua was trying to fill. Other people disappeared, fell in love and deleted their profiles, but never Seungcheol.
So, he texted him. Asked him how it was going.
Here they are now.
The pasta comes and they split two dishes, a steak and a fish. Seungcheol gives him more steak and Joshua gives him more fish.
Joshua wonders if this would be enough for someone else. A person who knows what he likes. A person who wants him to eat well.
He gets tipsy off the wine, without meaning to. Tipsy enough that the light painting Seungcheol’s face makes him look new. And then Joshua considers. Thinks. Imagines.
What if he could try being someone else tonight?
He gently lowers his fork and knife, suddenly full. He takes the time to look at Seungcheol, at the smear of oil on his lip and the grown-out length of his hair, and he tries to look at him like he’s never seen him before. Tries to point out the flaws, and finds none. Finds someone he could see again.
They take turns paying, and this time it’s Seungcheol’s turn. That, too, makes Joshua feel new. They bundle back up, scarves and gloves and coats and Joshua drops his wallet in the rush and Seungcheol stoops down to grab it for him, patting him gently on the shoe before standing and Joshua’s stomach flutters a little.
He can’t remember why he didn’t call Seungcheol back.
He can’t remember why he didn’t take Seungcheol home.
They share a cigarette outside the restaurant, leaned up against a planter. Joshua can’t stop thinking about indirect kisses—such a stupid, childish concept. He tries to keep his lips as much off the filter as he can, but every time he brings it back to his mouth it’s cold, wet from Seungcheol’s spit.
They walk to the train in comfortable silence, shoulders rubbing together, and Joshua’s heart beats like he’s been running. Doesn’t he want this? Can he want this?
At the last second, he’s brave enough to thread his hand through the crook of Seungcheol’s arm and pull him a little closer.
Seungcheol looks at him, red-cheeked and confused.
Joshua doesn’t know what to say—nothing really feels like the right thing. Nothing feels like how he’s feeling right now, tipsy and warm and cold and scared and here.
“Do you want to—would you come back with me? To my place?” Joshua asks.
Seungcheol looks away from him, his breath turning into clouds. Then he smiles.
“Lead the way,” he says.