Ship/Member: seokmin/mingyu Major Tags: apologizing with actions instead of words bc if you said all that you felt it might be too much (and you never were good with words anyway) Additional Tags: forgiveness as something you earn instead of something that is given, food as a love language, love is hosted in the small things, the shame of saying i’m sorry so you do other things to hint at it, minor seokgyu antagonisms, but mostly they’re kind to one another, life advice guru minghao, nonfamous/slice of life AU Permission to remix: please ask!! wc: 1590
going for 5 of a kind — nonfamous/slice of life AU
the first thing i write in 2022 is going to be kind and warm and forgiving!!!! and i kind of ran away with this one (its always the seokgyu) but i hope you like it :’)
***
Seokmin is the first to break.
They’d gotten into one of their fights again. Like always, it started with a tiny little quip that Mingyu just could not let slide, even though Seokmin has made countless remarks like it before. Maybe that was the problem though, and like the metaphorical straw breaking the camel’s back, Seokmin’s words — meant to lighten and loosen the displeased lines that knit Mingyu’s brows together — became sharp and hurtful. They bruised instead of healed. Mingyu had gotten huffy, which in turn, made Seokmin huffy. He was just trying to help. Mingyu was also always trying to help. But in doing so, they’d inadvertently made things worse. The air soured between them, and they’d turned away from each other, steaming in their madness.
Like always, it ended in silence.
Seokmin slides the steaming bowl of seolleongtang towards Mingyu. Seokmin had put extra marrow in there when boiling the broth, because he wouldn’t hear the end of it if Mingyu took a sip and found it too bland to his liking. That was Mingyu though, always taking the time to nitpick at the tiny details instead of taking the gesture at its whole. Sometimes it was endearing. Sometimes it was incredibly exhausting.
So Seokmin has learned to prepare it the way Mingyu likes it. With all his years of living with Mingyu, Seokmin has long grown accustomed to the saltier taste anyways. No use in changing things now.
The bowl scrapes against the counter, shattering the quiet of the room. A little bit of soup splashes onto the counter just as the violence subsides. Mingyu glances down at the bowl in surprise.
“Eat,” Seokmin says, roughly but not unkindly. He grabs the ladle as an excuse for not looking Mingyu in the eye.
Seokmin can still feel Mingyu’s gaze on him, questioning, as he helps himself to a serving.
“While it’s still hot,” Seokmin gestures to the bowl with a meaningful tilt of his head.
Mingyu, ever obedient, picks up his spoon.
“Thank you for the meal.” Mingyu whispers it so Seokmin can pretend he didn’t hear it. They sit in begrudging silence for the rest of dinner. Shoulder to shoulder. Close enough that their thighs touch, elbows jostling into each other every time Seokmin or Mingyu take a sip of their soup. Even if it is by accident — or more likely, on purpose — they let the warmth of their bodies bleed into one another. To reassure the other person that they’re still there. That they’re not going anywhere.
Sometimes, this is enough.
Mingyu reaches over to grab Seokmin’s bowl when he’s done.
“I got the dishes,” he mutters, voice gruff. “You made dinner.”
Seokmin knows when to let things go. They’ve done this so many times he’s lost count. What is the same though, is how it ends.
“Alright.” Seokmin acquiesces.
Still, he stacks the rest of the plates neatly, the ceramic clacking as he carefully scrapes off any leftover scraps they missed. He wordlessly presents them to Mingyu when he’s done, who takes them with soapy hands and a quiet mouth.
When Mingyu’s done, he joins Seokmin in their bed. They curl up together, slotting together perfectly, like they’ve known only each other all their lives.
And then they do it all over again.
“Mingyu and I got into a fight,” Seokmin complains, grocery basket in hand.
“What is it this time,” Minghao sighs disparagingly, like he’s about to pass a higher form of judgement on Seokmin’s character. “Haven’t you guys run out of things to fight about?”
“No. Never,” Seokmin says mulishly, after pretending to take the time to think about it.
He’s whining, he knows, but he does so with the comfort of knowing that he’s known Minghao since childhood. He can act this way and all Minghao will be thinking is, Ah, Seokmin-ah, you haven’t changed a little bit, not at all. There’s no pressure to put on any act and pretend that the Seokmin standing here today is any better than the little kid he was, all those years ago. He still feels that age, especially with Mingyu by his side.
Minghao bumps his own cart along, frowning as he peers at the prices of the produce section. “Well,” he hums. “You guys will figure it out. Don’t these fights usually fix themselves?”
“I don’t know about this one,” Seokmin says mournfully, absentmindedly scanning the aisles and picking off stuff from the shelves to place in his basket. “Mingyu said he was, and I quote, ‘Getting a little tired of pizza’. Can you believe that? And I was like, well, if you’re getting so tired of pizza then maybe you can be in charge of making dinner for once — which, I know, is hard, since he just got the new promotion and his boss is making him work overtime like crazy. And I know, I know, I should be more supportive of him but did he really have to go at my pizza? I love making pizza, and Mingyu loves my pizza, Minghao, you know that, so for him to say that, it really hurt my feelings—“
Minghao stops to stare at him.
“What,” Seokmin asks, still irritated thinking about it.
“You put the Chapagetti in your basket. It’s Mingyu’s favorite.”
Seokmin huffs defensively, hand curling over his basket. “I know that. Just because we’re fighting doesn’t mean that I don’t want him to eat well.”
Minghao mutters something to himself, something that suspiciously sounds like You guys need help, and stalks off.
Seokmin frowns at the space where his friend once stood. “Rude. I thought he said he was trying to be a better person this year. Self-actualization and all that.”
This fight lingers on longer than Seokmin thinks it will. Maybe they’d yelled at each other a little too long, a little too loud, and all the hurt they’d been keeping in spilled out again, hot and messy. But it’s not unfixable.
Both of them are stubborn creatures, unwilling to budge but also too soft in heart to truly hold a grudge. It’s a lot of missed chances and forlorn glances, pride too sharp to be the first to wave a white flag. By the third day, when Mingyu’s side of the bed remains cold and unforgiving as it did the first night they’d had the argument, Seokmin gets antsy. He misses Mingyu. He just doesn’t want to admit it.
“Well,” Minghao says drily when Seokmin calls him over the phone, frantic for advice. “Have you tried saying sorry?”
Here’s the thing about Mingyu and Seokmin: never once have they said sorry to each other.
Not outright, anyways.
Mingyu will jostle Seokmin’s shoulder and then pull him closer, tight, as if he couldn’t bear the thought of being apart any longer, clinging onto him for the rest of the night. And Seokmin will complain, loudly at first, and struggle to no avail against Mingyu’s freakishly large biceps, but eventually he’ll sink into it because the feeling of being hugged so fiercely is quite nice, and honestly, who doesn’t love being loved like that? Mingyu laughs every time it happens.
Seokmin will shuffle into the room, eyes downcast, hands working at the hem of his overly large t-shirt, mumbling some excuse about needing help with some random task he’d made up for the sole purpose of getting Mingyu to talk to him again. Mingyu will huff but he will also roll out of bed and follow Seokmin to where he needs him.
These, too, are acts of kindness, done out of love. A sorry without having to fully outright say it. If not to spare the other person’s pride then to save them from hurting even more.
In the end, the meaning gets across. It doesn’t matter how. Sometimes, the words get too hard to say. They both understand that.
Seokmin knows what he has to do.
He makes another grocery trip.
(A memory, from a long time ago —
“Here we are, Seokmin-ah,” Seokmin’s halmeoni grins as she proudly unveils what’s cooking on the stove. Under the kitchen lights, she looks like an angel, shining and ever so lovely. “Are you hungry?”
Seokmin’s stomach growls in response, and they both laugh.
“Food won’t fix everything,” his halmeoni says softly, spooning a steaming portion into Seokmin’s mouth. “But it helps. Don’t you think?”)
Seokmin does a balancing act worthy of a circus performance, juggling the groceries in his arms before he opens the door to a sheepish Mingyu standing over the stove, armed with a frilly pink apron and a spatula. By the smell of it, it’s Seokmin’s favorite dish. Some part of his heart squeezes, as if to remind him who it beats for.
“I’m sorry,” Mingyu says softly, a toothy smile peeking out. “I don’t think I say it enough, but I hope you know that. I’m sorry, Seokmin-ah.”
Seokmin smiles, though it feels a little wobbly. There is a beautiful boy in his kitchen, one that loves him even in spite of all the silly little fights they have. They are not perfect, but love never truly is. They’re starting to learn that, he thinks. Together. Which is the most important part.
A tear falls out before Seokmin can catch it. “Me too. I’m sorry Mingyu-yah, I—“
“We’ll talk about it later,” Mingyu shakes his head softly, gesturing to the pan on the stove. “Come eat while it’s still hot. I made it for you, you know.”
[FILL] i want us to eat well
Major Tags: apologizing with actions instead of words bc if you said all that you felt it might be too much (and you never were good with words anyway)
Additional Tags:
forgiveness as something you earn instead of something that is given, food as a love language, love is hosted in the small things, the shame of saying i’m sorry so you do other things to hint at it, minor seokgyu antagonisms, but mostly they’re kind to one another, life advice guru minghao, nonfamous/slice of life AU
Permission to remix: please ask!!
wc: 1590
going for 5 of a kind — nonfamous/slice of life AU
the first thing i write in 2022 is going to be kind and warm and forgiving!!!! and i kind of ran away with this one (its always the seokgyu) but i hope you like it :’)
***
Seokmin is the first to break.
They’d gotten into one of their fights again. Like always, it started with a tiny little quip that Mingyu just could not let slide, even though Seokmin has made countless remarks like it before. Maybe that was the problem though, and like the metaphorical straw breaking the camel’s back, Seokmin’s words — meant to lighten and loosen the displeased lines that knit Mingyu’s brows together — became sharp and hurtful. They bruised instead of healed. Mingyu had gotten huffy, which in turn, made Seokmin huffy. He was just trying to help. Mingyu was also always trying to help. But in doing so, they’d inadvertently made things worse. The air soured between them, and they’d turned away from each other, steaming in their madness.
Like always, it ended in silence.
Seokmin slides the steaming bowl of seolleongtang towards Mingyu. Seokmin had put extra marrow in there when boiling the broth, because he wouldn’t hear the end of it if Mingyu took a sip and found it too bland to his liking. That was Mingyu though, always taking the time to nitpick at the tiny details instead of taking the gesture at its whole. Sometimes it was endearing. Sometimes it was incredibly exhausting.
So Seokmin has learned to prepare it the way Mingyu likes it. With all his years of living with Mingyu, Seokmin has long grown accustomed to the saltier taste anyways. No use in changing things now.
The bowl scrapes against the counter, shattering the quiet of the room. A little bit of soup splashes onto the counter just as the violence subsides. Mingyu glances down at the bowl in surprise.
“Eat,” Seokmin says, roughly but not unkindly. He grabs the ladle as an excuse for not looking Mingyu in the eye.
Seokmin can still feel Mingyu’s gaze on him, questioning, as he helps himself to a serving.
“While it’s still hot,” Seokmin gestures to the bowl with a meaningful tilt of his head.
Mingyu, ever obedient, picks up his spoon.
“Thank you for the meal.” Mingyu whispers it so Seokmin can pretend he didn’t hear it. They sit in begrudging silence for the rest of dinner. Shoulder to shoulder. Close enough that their thighs touch, elbows jostling into each other every time Seokmin or Mingyu take a sip of their soup. Even if it is by accident — or more likely, on purpose — they let the warmth of their bodies bleed into one another. To reassure the other person that they’re still there. That they’re not going anywhere.
Sometimes, this is enough.
Mingyu reaches over to grab Seokmin’s bowl when he’s done.
“I got the dishes,” he mutters, voice gruff. “You made dinner.”
Seokmin knows when to let things go. They’ve done this so many times he’s lost count. What is the same though, is how it ends.
“Alright.” Seokmin acquiesces.
Still, he stacks the rest of the plates neatly, the ceramic clacking as he carefully scrapes off any leftover scraps they missed. He wordlessly presents them to Mingyu when he’s done, who takes them with soapy hands and a quiet mouth.
When Mingyu’s done, he joins Seokmin in their bed. They curl up together, slotting together perfectly, like they’ve known only each other all their lives.
And then they do it all over again.
“Mingyu and I got into a fight,” Seokmin complains, grocery basket in hand.
“What is it this time,” Minghao sighs disparagingly, like he’s about to pass a higher form of judgement on Seokmin’s character. “Haven’t you guys run out of things to fight about?”
“No. Never,” Seokmin says mulishly, after pretending to take the time to think about it.
He’s whining, he knows, but he does so with the comfort of knowing that he’s known Minghao since childhood. He can act this way and all Minghao will be thinking is, Ah, Seokmin-ah, you haven’t changed a little bit, not at all. There’s no pressure to put on any act and pretend that the Seokmin standing here today is any better than the little kid he was, all those years ago. He still feels that age, especially with Mingyu by his side.
Minghao bumps his own cart along, frowning as he peers at the prices of the produce section. “Well,” he hums. “You guys will figure it out. Don’t these fights usually fix themselves?”
“I don’t know about this one,” Seokmin says mournfully, absentmindedly scanning the aisles and picking off stuff from the shelves to place in his basket. “Mingyu said he was, and I quote, ‘Getting a little tired of pizza’. Can you believe that? And I was like, well, if you’re getting so tired of pizza then maybe you can be in charge of making dinner for once — which, I know, is hard, since he just got the new promotion and his boss is making him work overtime like crazy. And I know, I know, I should be more supportive of him but did he really have to go at my pizza? I love making pizza, and Mingyu loves my pizza, Minghao, you know that, so for him to say that, it really hurt my feelings—“
Minghao stops to stare at him.
“What,” Seokmin asks, still irritated thinking about it.
“You put the Chapagetti in your basket. It’s Mingyu’s favorite.”
Seokmin huffs defensively, hand curling over his basket. “I know that. Just because we’re fighting doesn’t mean that I don’t want him to eat well.”
Minghao mutters something to himself, something that suspiciously sounds like You guys need help, and stalks off.
Seokmin frowns at the space where his friend once stood. “Rude. I thought he said he was trying to be a better person this year. Self-actualization and all that.”
This fight lingers on longer than Seokmin thinks it will. Maybe they’d yelled at each other a little too long, a little too loud, and all the hurt they’d been keeping in spilled out again, hot and messy. But it’s not unfixable.
Both of them are stubborn creatures, unwilling to budge but also too soft in heart to truly hold a grudge. It’s a lot of missed chances and forlorn glances, pride too sharp to be the first to wave a white flag. By the third day, when Mingyu’s side of the bed remains cold and unforgiving as it did the first night they’d had the argument, Seokmin gets antsy. He misses Mingyu. He just doesn’t want to admit it.
“Well,” Minghao says drily when Seokmin calls him over the phone, frantic for advice. “Have you tried saying sorry?”
Here’s the thing about Mingyu and Seokmin: never once have they said sorry to each other.
Not outright, anyways.
Mingyu will jostle Seokmin’s shoulder and then pull him closer, tight, as if he couldn’t bear the thought of being apart any longer, clinging onto him for the rest of the night. And Seokmin will complain, loudly at first, and struggle to no avail against Mingyu’s freakishly large biceps, but eventually he’ll sink into it because the feeling of being hugged so fiercely is quite nice, and honestly, who doesn’t love being loved like that? Mingyu laughs every time it happens.
Seokmin will shuffle into the room, eyes downcast, hands working at the hem of his overly large t-shirt, mumbling some excuse about needing help with some random task he’d made up for the sole purpose of getting Mingyu to talk to him again. Mingyu will huff but he will also roll out of bed and follow Seokmin to where he needs him.
These, too, are acts of kindness, done out of love. A sorry without having to fully outright say it. If not to spare the other person’s pride then to save them from hurting even more.
In the end, the meaning gets across. It doesn’t matter how. Sometimes, the words get too hard to say. They both understand that.
Seokmin knows what he has to do.
He makes another grocery trip.
(A memory, from a long time ago —
“Here we are, Seokmin-ah,” Seokmin’s halmeoni grins as she proudly unveils what’s cooking on the stove. Under the kitchen lights, she looks like an angel, shining and ever so lovely. “Are you hungry?”
Seokmin’s stomach growls in response, and they both laugh.
“Food won’t fix everything,” his halmeoni says softly, spooning a steaming portion into Seokmin’s mouth. “But it helps. Don’t you think?”)
Seokmin does a balancing act worthy of a circus performance, juggling the groceries in his arms before he opens the door to a sheepish Mingyu standing over the stove, armed with a frilly pink apron and a spatula. By the smell of it, it’s Seokmin’s favorite dish. Some part of his heart squeezes, as if to remind him who it beats for.
“I’m sorry,” Mingyu says softly, a toothy smile peeking out. “I don’t think I say it enough, but I hope you know that. I’m sorry, Seokmin-ah.”
Seokmin smiles, though it feels a little wobbly. There is a beautiful boy in his kitchen, one that loves him even in spite of all the silly little fights they have. They are not perfect, but love never truly is. They’re starting to learn that, he thinks. Together. Which is the most important part.
A tear falls out before Seokmin can catch it. “Me too. I’m sorry Mingyu-yah, I—“
“We’ll talk about it later,” Mingyu shakes his head softly, gesturing to the pan on the stove. “Come eat while it’s still hot. I made it for you, you know.”
Seokmin beams back. “I know.”