Ship/Member: Wonwoo/Mingyu Major Tags: N/A Additional Tags: non-idol AU Permission to remix: Yes
sorry op i think i might've hijacked your prompt a little >__< but thank you for the lovely quotes and i hope you enjoy anyway
***
It’s raining when Wonwoo exits the restaurant.
The flashing lights of the OPEN sign swim at the edges in little pockets of rainwater, pooling in the places where the sidewalk is uneven. Wonwoo had worn his new leather loafers today, despite the weather forecast predicting the current situation exactly, and is now regretting it. He steps gingerly around the larger pools, making his way toward the covered seating by the bus stop.
He’s the only one to leave early this time, having tapped out after the second round of drinks even as his coworkers begged him to stay for a third. Still, it’s late. Wonwoo spares a glance at his watch. The buses have already stopped running and soon the cabs will, too. He sticks his head out from under the awning and watches for any last taxis to pass by.
As he checks his wallet for cash, someone comes to stand on the other side of the single row of plastic seats in a flurry of trembling clothing and shoes slapping against the thin layer of water covering the ground. Wonwoo thumbs through the bills before putting his wallet back into his pocket. The motion in his peripheral vision comes to a standstill. And then—
“Jeon Wonwoo?”
Wonwoo blinks. He knows this voice. He looks over and realizes he knows this face too.
“Kim Mingyu.”
Under the dim glow from the streetlamp across the road, Mingyu looks exactly the same and yet somehow completely different at the same time. As if the Kim Mingyu that Wonwoo used to know was a clay doll that had been pulled and pinched this way and that by a pair of metal tweezers to alter him just slightly, just enough for it to feel— strange.
But it’s easy to tell how well he’s aged. Unbelievably, he’s now even taller than he’d been back then. Grown into the full maturity of his features and yet somehow still as boyishly charming as ever.
“Long time no see,” says Mingyu, offering him a hesitant smile that spreads out wider when Wonwoo manages one back. “What are you doing here?”
“Went to dinner after work.”
“Ah, me too.” The evidence is clear enough, golden strips of light painting the image of cheeks flushed red with alcohol across Mingyu’s face. But Wonwoo would be remiss to think a little bit of soju could dull Mingyu’s acuity at all. Even now, his eyes glint with a sharp sort of brightness. “Where did you eat?”
When Wonwoo points it out, Mingyu laughs. “We were at the place right next door. We go there all the time,” he says. “What a coincidence.”
The restaurant Wonwoo was at earlier is a favorite of his coworkers. To think that they’d been so close, just a door away, without meeting, all this time.
“What a coincidence, indeed,” Wonwoo agrees. “You look well.”
“So do you, hyung,” says Mingyu. “Even caught in weather like this.”
But Wonwoo’s always thought this sort of dreary, wet weather has its own charm, even as his hair lies flat against his forehead and he can feel the skin of his feet pruning from his soaked-through socks. Sometimes the most inherently unromantic things can be romantic in their own right.
When, finally, they catch sight of a cab and Mingyu successfully flags it down, Wonwoo checks his watch again and knows this one will be the last one of the night. Mingyu opens the back door and asks if the driver takes card or mobile payment, hissing through his teeth when the answer is in the negative. “I don’t have cash,” he tells Wonwoo. “You take this one, and I’ll wait for the next one.”
Wonwoo takes the paper bills out of his wallet and folds them into neat thirds behind his back. “Do you still live in Seongsan-dong?”
“I— I do, yeah,” says Mingyu, after a beat. “You still remember?”
Wonwoo doesn’t answer that. “That’s far from here, isn’t it?”
The confusion on Mingyu’s face only lasts a second. “Oh no. Hyung—”
“It’ll be a while if you wait for the next one. You should go now.”
“We can share the cab,” Mingyu argues.
“I live in the opposite direction.”
The taxi driver is starting to look impatient. Wonwoo doesn’t blame him. Anyone would be tired at this time of night, and the wind is blowing rain into the car and onto the seats.
“I don’t have cash to pay the fare.”
Wonwoo pushes the money into Mingyu’s hand. “Now you do.”
Mingyu looks down at the money before looking up at Wonwoo again. Even in the low light, his face is openly distraught. “Hyung, I can’t accept this.”
“Please, Mingyu. It’s late.”
“How are you going to get home?”
“My place is close. I can walk.”
“In the rain?”
Wonwoo doesn’t waste his breath telling Mingyu not to worry because he will anyway. Instead he—hesitating only for a moment—takes Mingyu’s hands in his own and folds them around the money, holding firm even as he can feel Mingyu jolt under his touch. When Wonwoo lets go, taking a step back, Mingyu lets his hands fall in front of him and makes no move to give the money back.
“Let me send you home,” says Wonwoo. “One last time.”
---
It was raining when school ended on the day Wonwoo broke up with Mingyu.
Earlier that day, when Wonwoo went up to the rooftop to find Mingyu already waiting for him, it had been sunny, with a mild breeze. Uncharacteristic for February. The day before, the lobby of Wonwoo’s building had flooded, street gutters overflowing and soaking Wonwoo’s white sneakers in a suspiciously yellow tinge. But today the concrete was dry enough to sit on.
It was cold enough that Mingyu was still wearing a thick padded jacket over his school uniform. “Wonwoo-hyung!” he called, after the loud whine of hinges desperately in need of a good oiling announced Wonwoo’s presence. In front of where he sat criss-cross on the ground was a bowl of miyeok-guk on a metal tray, identical to the one Wonwoo set down when he sat next to him.
His cheeks were as pink as the tips of Wonwoo’s fingers. Wonwoo wanted to slip his hands into the pockets of Mingyu’s jacket. Mingyu wouldn’t mind. He never did.
In the end, Wonwoo tucked his hands into his own sleeves. He couldn’t tell if it was his hands making his arms feel cold or if it was the other way around.
“It’s so cold, hyung,” Mingyu whined, punctuated with exaggerated full-body shivers. “Why did you want to eat up here today, anyways?”
Because I thought it’d be nice, Wonwoo wanted to say. Because I wanted to eat with you today, and tomorrow, and every day after that.
“I’m graduating soon,” he said. “And you’ll be busy with exams next year.”
And Mingyu had always been smart. Cleverer than Wonwoo by far. So he understood what Wonwoo meant when Wonwoo himself was unable to say it outright.
Wonwoo watched Mingyu retract his hands and put them in his own pockets. “Okay, hyung.”
Between then and now the sky had opened up, the fluffy white clouds from earlier now dense and grey. The pitter-patter of rain slapping against the concrete echoed fast and frantic like a heartbeat. When Wonwoo stepped outside the building and under the awning, Mingyu was already outside, toeing hesitantly at the line between dry and wet ground. He looked over his shoulder at the sound of footsteps.
When he saw that it was Wonwoo, he turned away again.
“Mingyu,” said Wonwoo. Wishing he would look back even when Wonwoo didn’t deserve it. “Aren’t you going home?”
“I forgot my umbrella,” said Mingyu, curt. “I asked my mom to bring it for me.”
“I have mine.”
“Good for you.”
A little desperately, Wonwoo said, “You don’t have to call your mother. I’ll bring you back.”
Mingyu turned to him then. He’d never been very good at hiding his feelings—it was as easy as breathing for Wonwoo to read the hurt on his face. “You live in the opposite direction.”
“I don’t mind.”
“You’ll get sick. You always get sick so easily.”
“It’ll be fine.”
“You always say that.”
“Mingyu, please.”
Most of the time, Wonwoo tried his best not to be selfish. But just this once he wanted to be, just one more time.
When Wonwoo opened the umbrella over his head, Mingyu stepped underneath. The distance between their shoulders was small enough for Wonwoo to feel the heat radiating off of Mingyu’s body but still not close enough to feel its weight. One centimeter, give or take.
“Let me walk you home,” said Wonwoo. “One last time.”
[FILL] just as usual
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: non-idol AU
Permission to remix: Yes
sorry op i think i might've hijacked your prompt a little >__< but thank you for the lovely quotes and i hope you enjoy anyway
***
It’s raining when Wonwoo exits the restaurant.
The flashing lights of the OPEN sign swim at the edges in little pockets of rainwater, pooling in the places where the sidewalk is uneven. Wonwoo had worn his new leather loafers today, despite the weather forecast predicting the current situation exactly, and is now regretting it. He steps gingerly around the larger pools, making his way toward the covered seating by the bus stop.
He’s the only one to leave early this time, having tapped out after the second round of drinks even as his coworkers begged him to stay for a third. Still, it’s late. Wonwoo spares a glance at his watch. The buses have already stopped running and soon the cabs will, too. He sticks his head out from under the awning and watches for any last taxis to pass by.
As he checks his wallet for cash, someone comes to stand on the other side of the single row of plastic seats in a flurry of trembling clothing and shoes slapping against the thin layer of water covering the ground. Wonwoo thumbs through the bills before putting his wallet back into his pocket. The motion in his peripheral vision comes to a standstill. And then—
“Jeon Wonwoo?”
Wonwoo blinks. He knows this voice. He looks over and realizes he knows this face too.
“Kim Mingyu.”
Under the dim glow from the streetlamp across the road, Mingyu looks exactly the same and yet somehow completely different at the same time. As if the Kim Mingyu that Wonwoo used to know was a clay doll that had been pulled and pinched this way and that by a pair of metal tweezers to alter him just slightly, just enough for it to feel— strange.
But it’s easy to tell how well he’s aged. Unbelievably, he’s now even taller than he’d been back then. Grown into the full maturity of his features and yet somehow still as boyishly charming as ever.
“Long time no see,” says Mingyu, offering him a hesitant smile that spreads out wider when Wonwoo manages one back. “What are you doing here?”
“Went to dinner after work.”
“Ah, me too.” The evidence is clear enough, golden strips of light painting the image of cheeks flushed red with alcohol across Mingyu’s face. But Wonwoo would be remiss to think a little bit of soju could dull Mingyu’s acuity at all. Even now, his eyes glint with a sharp sort of brightness. “Where did you eat?”
When Wonwoo points it out, Mingyu laughs. “We were at the place right next door. We go there all the time,” he says. “What a coincidence.”
The restaurant Wonwoo was at earlier is a favorite of his coworkers. To think that they’d been so close, just a door away, without meeting, all this time.
“What a coincidence, indeed,” Wonwoo agrees. “You look well.”
“So do you, hyung,” says Mingyu. “Even caught in weather like this.”
But Wonwoo’s always thought this sort of dreary, wet weather has its own charm, even as his hair lies flat against his forehead and he can feel the skin of his feet pruning from his soaked-through socks. Sometimes the most inherently unromantic things can be romantic in their own right.
When, finally, they catch sight of a cab and Mingyu successfully flags it down, Wonwoo checks his watch again and knows this one will be the last one of the night. Mingyu opens the back door and asks if the driver takes card or mobile payment, hissing through his teeth when the answer is in the negative. “I don’t have cash,” he tells Wonwoo. “You take this one, and I’ll wait for the next one.”
Wonwoo takes the paper bills out of his wallet and folds them into neat thirds behind his back. “Do you still live in Seongsan-dong?”
“I— I do, yeah,” says Mingyu, after a beat. “You still remember?”
Wonwoo doesn’t answer that. “That’s far from here, isn’t it?”
The confusion on Mingyu’s face only lasts a second. “Oh no. Hyung—”
“It’ll be a while if you wait for the next one. You should go now.”
“We can share the cab,” Mingyu argues.
“I live in the opposite direction.”
The taxi driver is starting to look impatient. Wonwoo doesn’t blame him. Anyone would be tired at this time of night, and the wind is blowing rain into the car and onto the seats.
“I don’t have cash to pay the fare.”
Wonwoo pushes the money into Mingyu’s hand. “Now you do.”
Mingyu looks down at the money before looking up at Wonwoo again. Even in the low light, his face is openly distraught. “Hyung, I can’t accept this.”
“Please, Mingyu. It’s late.”
“How are you going to get home?”
“My place is close. I can walk.”
“In the rain?”
Wonwoo doesn’t waste his breath telling Mingyu not to worry because he will anyway. Instead he—hesitating only for a moment—takes Mingyu’s hands in his own and folds them around the money, holding firm even as he can feel Mingyu jolt under his touch. When Wonwoo lets go, taking a step back, Mingyu lets his hands fall in front of him and makes no move to give the money back.
“Let me send you home,” says Wonwoo. “One last time.”
---
It was raining when school ended on the day Wonwoo broke up with Mingyu.
Earlier that day, when Wonwoo went up to the rooftop to find Mingyu already waiting for him, it had been sunny, with a mild breeze. Uncharacteristic for February. The day before, the lobby of Wonwoo’s building had flooded, street gutters overflowing and soaking Wonwoo’s white sneakers in a suspiciously yellow tinge. But today the concrete was dry enough to sit on.
It was cold enough that Mingyu was still wearing a thick padded jacket over his school uniform. “Wonwoo-hyung!” he called, after the loud whine of hinges desperately in need of a good oiling announced Wonwoo’s presence. In front of where he sat criss-cross on the ground was a bowl of miyeok-guk on a metal tray, identical to the one Wonwoo set down when he sat next to him.
His cheeks were as pink as the tips of Wonwoo’s fingers. Wonwoo wanted to slip his hands into the pockets of Mingyu’s jacket. Mingyu wouldn’t mind. He never did.
In the end, Wonwoo tucked his hands into his own sleeves. He couldn’t tell if it was his hands making his arms feel cold or if it was the other way around.
“It’s so cold, hyung,” Mingyu whined, punctuated with exaggerated full-body shivers. “Why did you want to eat up here today, anyways?”
Because I thought it’d be nice, Wonwoo wanted to say. Because I wanted to eat with you today, and tomorrow, and every day after that.
“I’m graduating soon,” he said. “And you’ll be busy with exams next year.”
And Mingyu had always been smart. Cleverer than Wonwoo by far. So he understood what Wonwoo meant when Wonwoo himself was unable to say it outright.
Wonwoo watched Mingyu retract his hands and put them in his own pockets. “Okay, hyung.”
Between then and now the sky had opened up, the fluffy white clouds from earlier now dense and grey. The pitter-patter of rain slapping against the concrete echoed fast and frantic like a heartbeat. When Wonwoo stepped outside the building and under the awning, Mingyu was already outside, toeing hesitantly at the line between dry and wet ground. He looked over his shoulder at the sound of footsteps.
When he saw that it was Wonwoo, he turned away again.
“Mingyu,” said Wonwoo. Wishing he would look back even when Wonwoo didn’t deserve it. “Aren’t you going home?”
“I forgot my umbrella,” said Mingyu, curt. “I asked my mom to bring it for me.”
“I have mine.”
“Good for you.”
A little desperately, Wonwoo said, “You don’t have to call your mother. I’ll bring you back.”
Mingyu turned to him then. He’d never been very good at hiding his feelings—it was as easy as breathing for Wonwoo to read the hurt on his face. “You live in the opposite direction.”
“I don’t mind.”
“You’ll get sick. You always get sick so easily.”
“It’ll be fine.”
“You always say that.”
“Mingyu, please.”
Most of the time, Wonwoo tried his best not to be selfish. But just this once he wanted to be, just one more time.
When Wonwoo opened the umbrella over his head, Mingyu stepped underneath. The distance between their shoulders was small enough for Wonwoo to feel the heat radiating off of Mingyu’s body but still not close enough to feel its weight. One centimeter, give or take.
“Let me walk you home,” said Wonwoo. “One last time.”