Chapter Text
“... Really?”
“What? Don’t be rude.”
“No, I’m not being rude, it’s just– Really?”
Seungkwan scoffs, rolling his eyes as he leans back in his chair.
“Yes, really. You don’t think a tramp stamp would look cute above my butt?” he says, uncrossing his arms and pouting as he takes a sip of his iced americano.
Chan is about to reply, his mouth forming around the words before he’s promptly cut off.
“I think it would look great.”
Chan sighs at the interruption, turning his head to shoot an unimpressed look at Hansol, who is donning an apron and holding a tray– that is, notably, seconds away from toppling under the weight of almost all of the drinks the cafe he works in offers– balanced on one hand.
It’s kind of impressive how quietly he materialized next to them, considering he’s hauling at least five kilograms worth of loud, clinking glass cups filled to the brim with ice.
“Where did you even come from?”
Hansol blinks at Chan in reply– pointedly ignoring him– before fully turning to Seungkwan. “Boo, are you getting a tramp stamp?”
“There are people waiting for their drinks.”
“And they will keep waiting,” Hansol shoots back at Chan non-committally, setting his tray down onto the round, polished table and sitting next to him, his eyes still eerily focused on Seungkwan, “Are you?”
There’s a lovely blush spreading on Seungkwan’s cheeks as he’s blasted with the full intensity of Hansol’s undivided attention, a sentiment Chan tries to ignore in favor of keeping down the pastries he scarfed down just a few minutes before. It wouldn’t be a good look if he threw up during his best friend’s third overall shift at the cafe– first impressions and all.
First impressions were the reason why Seungkwan and Chan were there in the first place, wanting to support their friend in his new business endeavor.
Well– Chan would call Hansol his friend, at least.
Whatever he and Seungkwan were up to was, technically, none of his business, but– judging from how he’s somehow always falling victim to witnessing these strange will they won’t they hang ups– it’s also somehow all of his business, taking into consideration that they are also, unfortunately, the people he spends almost all of his time with.
If anything, he’s the one actively hurting himself and doing nothing about it, so, at the end of the day, he really doesn’t have the privilege of complaining.
Seungkwan finally gathers his wits, as he focuses on fussing over his slightly overgrown fringe in an attempt to will away the redness on his cheeks before replying.
“Yeah. I saw a picture of it on Instagram and I thought– this is so not me. And ever since then I’ve been totally obsessed with the idea of doing it!” he says, flailing his arms dramatically, “I thought, hell, maybe I should do it just because it isn’t me. Leaving the strict borders of my comfort zone– or whatever.”
Hansol nods his head appreciatively as Seungkwan finishes, “Hell yeah, man. The metaphor.”
It’s Chan’s turn to blink at Hansol, eyes narrowing, “You just want to see his tramp stamp peek out when he bends over.”
“Chan!” Seungkwan reprimands, scandalized.
“He’s not completely wrong.”
Seungkwan’s mouth forms an o as he takes in the implication, before he shuts it closed. “I– Okay. I can’t deal with that right now,” he shakes his head, like he’s trying to chase the improper thoughts away before continuing.
“My point is– I think it would look cute, and it could also be, I don’t know– empowering. A new experience!” he says gleefully, delighted that he was able to find the right words. Chan still isn’t sure about how sound Seungkwan’s mind is right now, but he’s nothing if not a supportive friend. He nods his head in understanding, moving his drink to the side.
“Sure, Kwannie. You know I’m with you no matter what, but– a tattoo? Are you really sure?” Chan says, making use of the free space he made, taking one of his hands and placing it over Seungkwan’s, “Those can kind of… hurt, you know?”
Seungkwan scoffs, peeved from how gently Chan was treating him, but threads their fingers affectionately despite his annoyance. His lips are fixed in a pout as he meekly gazes back at Chan and Hansol, lingering irritation overshadowed by the softness in his eyes.
“I know they hurt, I’m not stupid. I was thinking it would be a small, cute one– nothing crazy,” he says tentatively as he’s faced with Chan’s unwaveringly worried look, before groaning and rolling his eyes as he relents.
“Ugh. Fine– I’ll book a consultation first and see what I’ll do from there.”
“Yay!” Chan says, delighted, detangling their hands and holding them up in the air. Seungkwan keeps acting like he’s irked but he really can’t conceal his joy as he gives a little gleeful shake to their intertwined hands. Hansol sports a small dazed smile as he watches them interact, before he shakes himself out of it like he remembered he has something important to add.
“I could totally help you with that, by the way. Minghao gets regularly tattooed at this one studio, the guy is super chill and from what I’ve heard, he’s really serious about his work.” Hansol cuts in, mirroring their excitement in his own, toned-down manner.
“That sounds perfect! Thank you, Sollie.” Seungkwan says, leaning in to rub at his ear affectionately as Hansol searches through his phone, presumably to ask Minghao for the contact of the tattoo studio. Chan sips at his drink absent-mindedly, the elation dying down as the knowledge that this is truly happening finally sinks in.
“Wow, you’re seriously getting a butt tattoo.” Chan says dazedly, uncharacteristically unable to protest at the display of affection in front of him. Seungkwan’s hand stops its movement as he scrunches his face up in disgust, mulling over the formulation of Chan’s sentence in his head and severely disliking it, if his expression is any indication.
“Ew, what the fuck. Don’t call it that? It’s a tramp stamp.”
“What’s all this about tramps?”
The three of them jump in tandem, flinching at the sudden intrusion. Chan turns to his right and sees an eerily calm, smiling Jeonghan level the three of them with a scarily inquisitive look, quite alarming in its nature.
You don’t want to be someone who piques Jeonghan’s interest. Chan immediately thinks of how Seungcheol ended up and shudders.
He doesn’t let them answer as his gaze quickly snaps to Hansol’s form, eyes turning into slits as he smiles sinisterly.
“Hansollie. Do I pay you to sit there and do nothing?”
“I mean– You don’t pay me. And I am, technically, mandated by labor laws to get a couple breaks while working.” Hansol says, in a show of brattiness that specifically comes out when he’s stuck in a face-off with Jeonghan.
“Mm. Fair,” Jeonghan says, nodding his head twice, before cupping his hands over his mouth and yelling. “Seungcheol!”
Seungkwan balks at the brazen attempt at snitching before speaking, “Wow, that’s dirty. Seungcheol isn’t even here.”
Mere seconds pass before the sound of hurried footsteps overtakes the incessantly loud clamoring inside of the coffee shop, before they stop next to Jeonghan, harsh pants coming out of the offender's mouth before he takes in enough air to speak.
“Yes, Hannie?”
It’s Chan’s turn to balk this time, leveling Seungcheol with an incredulous stare, unbelievably dumbfounded. “What the– Hyung?! Aren’t you out for the day?!”
Choi Seungcheol is the beloved owner of Cherry Jubilee, the coffee shop that they’re currently in and that Hansol has just started working at. He is a longtime friend of theirs, and more importantly, he is Hansol’s older brother.
Previously an admirable sunbae at the university they attended, he fought tooth and nail to open his coffee shop. Everyone helped, each of them pulling their weight when it finally came down to the opening– matter of fact, Chan was the one who placed every individual chair and was the deciding vote that decided the color of the walls.
Unfortunately, the term everyone also implies the ominous presence of Seungcheol’s boyfriend turned fiancé, Yoon Jeonghan, who now simply acts like the place is his to govern.
Again– it was Chan’s vote that made the walls a beautiful mahogany brown, so if anything, he should be the one acting high and mighty.
Seungcheol straightens up, a surprised smile making its way on his face as he looks at the three of them, like he just realized they were there and consequently, completely ignored Chan’s inquiry.
“Oh! My dongsaengs! How are you?”
“Cheollie. The kids are talking about tramps in our family friendly establishment.” Jeonghan cuts in, poking at the meat of his bicep with a dissatisfied pout on his face.
Seungcheol’s smile is replaced with a confused frown, his eyebrows scrunching pensively, as he tries to make sense of what Jeonghan is saying. He doesn’t make a sound as he turns to Chan questioningly, deeming him as the best person to explain the situation at hand.
Based on what criteria, Chan doesn’t know.
Chan sighs, taking up the mantle, before explaining taxatively, leveling Seungcheol with a blank look. “Seungkwan wants to get a tramp stamp. Hansol took a break from work to give him the contact information of a reputable tattoo studio,” he says, before narrowing his eyes at Jeonghan and continuing.
“And most importantly– your fiancé is harassing us while he’s on the clock.”
Jeonghan lets out a shrill gasp in mock-outrage. “Oh, woe is me! Whenever did our cute maknae Channie learn how to spit venom? You wound your hyung,” Jeonghan says dramatically, leaning on Seungcheol’s shoulder like a damsel in distress.
The resounding groan from Seungkwan grabs everyone’s attention, their heads turning to his cutely irked form.
He’s about to splay his palms over his face in a show of exasperation before, Chan guesses, he remembers that they’re dirty and he can’t put them anywhere near his skin, which somehow manages to amplify his annoyance even more. He lets his hands fall uselessly on his sides, before he levels all of them with a glare.
“You guys are the worst. Hansollie, can you just send me the contact info already?”
“I literally did. Your phone dinged like, five minutes ago.”
Seungkwan blushes, all traces of his previous irritation gone in a flash of embarrassment as Jeonghan and Seungcheol try to stifle their cackles.
“Oh! Yeah. It’s– It’s here,” he stumbles over his words while checking his phone and mumbling out shyly, “Thank you, Sollie.”
“Always, Boo.”
Chan readjusts himself in his chair, antsy, before he gives up trying to calm himself down, and tries, in a show of unabashed brazenness, to snatch Seungkwan’s phone from him.
His reflexes kick in before Chan can reach it though, to his chagrin. Seungkwan is seriously affronted, his eyes widening downright comically from shock as he holds the screen tightly to his chest, sputtering as he tries to speak.
“What– What is your problem?! Why are you trying to steal my phone?!”
Chan whines, bouncing up and down on the chair, obviously impatient, “C’mon, already! I want to know the name of the studio! Is the tattoo artist hot?”
“Yeah,” Jeonghan cuts in, taking a seat next to Seungkwan, peeking over his shoulder down at his phone– suddenly very interested, “Is he?”
Seungcheol lets out a sad, questioning sound before Jeonghan waves him away, not even sparing him a glance.
“Seungcheol, baby. I’m engaged, not dead.”
“Fine,” he says, huffing, as he picks up the tray Hansol left on the table, “If you’ll excuse me, I have to go behind the bar and kill myself because my boyfriend wants to ogle other men.”
“Fiancé,” Jeonghan corrects, smiling like the cat that got the cream, before continuing, “Make me an iced americano while you’re at it.”
He sing-songs an I love you before motioning for Seungcheol to lean down and give him a kiss, which he reluctantly places on his lips before he leaves, grumbling.
Seungkwan rolls his eyes, still peeved that Chan tried to take his phone, muttering to himself as he searches up the name of the studio Hansol sent him, tapping away quickly. “Oh but you don’t try to steal Hansol’s phone. Of course you reach for mine. All you people do is bully me.”
He mumbles some more before he squints at his phone in tandem with Jeonghan, signaling that Seungkwan found what they were looking for, “Jeon Studio?”
“Yup,” Hansol says, popping the p. “That’s the one. I’m telling you– Minghao raves about that dude.”
“Hm. He only has,” Jeonghan starts, squinting even more and turning the phone a bit to himself before mumbling about how annoying Seungkwan’s privacy screen is– a sentiment Chan shares– before continuing, “Thirty reviews?”
“Yeah, tattooing isn’t his full time job– he works based on recommendation. It’s more of a passion project.”
Seungkwan nods in understanding as Jeonghan, having now completely taken Seungkwan’s phone in his hands, scrolls maniacally before sighing and dropping it on the table. He shakes his head as Chan protests at the phone being shut off once again, leveling him with a disappointed look.
“Don’t bother looking, Channie. There’s no photos of him on Google, only of his work. Which– boring.”
Jeonghan leans back in his chair, groaning as he tries to relax into it, before giving up, “Okay. I need to go and tell Seungcheol to do something about these chairs– they’re impossible to sit on,” he says, getting up dramatically, dusting the imaginary lint off his pants as he rises and continuing, “Have fun, my babies,” he coos at Seungkwan and Chan, stopping to point a finger at Hansol.
“No fun for you though, Hansollie. Your fake illegal break is over.”
Hansol looks at the clock and nods obediently when he realizes that yes, fifteen minutes have passed– meaning Jeonghan isn’t just fucking with him– signaling that he should really get back to work, fake break or not.
He stands up, dusting his apron and only now realizing Seungcheol picked up his tray before leaving, silently cursing to himself because he knows he’ll get an earful for it later. “Okay guys, I seriously have to work now– I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”
Seungkwan and Chan nod, waving Hansol goodbye as they prepare to go up to the counter and pay. They take their empty plastic cups and put them on their tray in relative silence, taking it upon themselves to clean up after themselves as much as possible, fully aware Seungcheol will probably have Hansol on cleaning duty when they close as punishment for taking a break during their busiest hour.
They walk up to the cash register, depositing the tray onto its rightful place, not missing the thankful look Hansol sends them from across the coffee shop. Chan is about to tell Seungkwan that he should send him a kiss over just to fuck with him, but he’s cut off by someone appearing behind the cash register.
“Hello! Thank you for– Oh,”
Yerim beams at them at first, a near perfect show of five star customer service. However, she gets a modest three from Chan, since her smile immediately drops after she realizes who she’s talking to, instantly matching the freshly formed scowl on Seungkwan’s face as he sends her a look that can only be described as nasty.
Chan only hopes Seungcheol pays her enough if she’s able to put up a front that impressive– even if it was only for just a second or two.
“Ew. It’s you two.”
“Right back at you,” Seungkwan shoots back, before looking around the cafe theatrically and yelling while pressing the bell on the counter repeatedly, “Hello? Can anybody else come and ring us up?”
Chan sighs, knowing he’s about to witness a five minute passive aggressive stand off.
It might not seem that way, and people usually don’t believe him, but Chan solemnly swears– Seungkwan and Yerim are genuinely close friends.
They met during one of Seungkwan’s acting whims, when he barged into Chan’s room at two in the morning and asked him if he thinks he could be the next IU– aka, a singer and an actor.
Chan wisely chose to ignore that question, since he doesn’t think Seungkwan is as gentle or as delicate as IU, instead focusing on the laptop shoved in his face with an application form for the acting course their campus offered on the screen.
The idea to tackle this new life endeavor dawned on him after binge watching an entire season of “When Life Gives you Tangerines”, something Chan told him not to do because he was already having a rough time– having just broken up with his boyfriend, who was of course, just another guy Seungkwan tried to fill the Hansol shaped hole in his life with.
Watching a drama that has you crying every fifteen minutes seemed like a bad idea, but then again, that was always how Seungkwan processed things.
He tended to emotionally exhaust himself in the dark crevices of his room, moping for weeks until all the sadness left his body and the melancholy melted off his skin, refusing any actual help or support. It was a sentiment Chan didn’t share and couldn’t understand– always upfront about his moods, willing to unhinge his jaw and bite if that’s what he felt his heart needed.
So, in comparison to how he usually gets, Chan was actually quite happy with this development and Seungkwan’s motivation, as he cheered on his friend to sign up for the acting course he shoved under Chan’s face.
That’s where he met Yerim.
And consequently, also the main reason why he and Yerim fight.
In a shocking twist of events, Kim Mingyu, Seungkwan’s ex boyfriend who he was just moping over, was also Yerim's older brother.
As in, Kim Yerim’s brother. Kim Mingyu. Kim Yerim.
Kim.
It’s pretty on the nose.
It was something Seungkwan probably should’ve figured out as Mingyu has mentioned several times that he has a sister and that she’s an acting major.
However, the break up is not why they fell out the first time. Or the second, or the third.
It’s one of the greater mysteries in Chan’s life, figuring out why a lead role they incessantly fought over– that neither of them got in the end– was a larger predicament for their friendship than Seungkwan breaking Mingyu’s heart– and he was genuinely a good guy. Big, muscly, sweet, good cook, all that jazz.
Chan would be on that in a second if it wasn’t for the bro code.
But then, it kept happening and he just– stopped caring. Chan now knows that when new semesters roll out and Seungkwan gets his schedule in the mail, he needs to brace himself for yet another ridiculous fight to erupt between the two of them. It’s like they live off of sucking each other’s life energy.
And, even more ridiculously, Mingyu and Yerim started hanging out with them semi-regularly as Seungkwan continued his venture into juggling singing and acting, consequently still fighting Yerim over roles as their similar tastes clash almost for every play they do.
Chan is so done with both of them that he forgets himself for a second, as he reaches for his phone to pay and only then, belatedly, realizes he’s also under Yerim’s scrutiny.
“Wait– You two? What the hell did I do?” he says, stopping his hand in mid air above his pocket.
“You’re like a package deal from hell,” she explains matter of factly, putting up one freshly manicured finger and then another as she continues, “Buy one get another for free. I don’t fuck with that,”
“Yerimie~ Don’t swear on the clock!” Jeonghan yells out from somewhere inside the break room, the sound traveling through the thin wooden door that connects it to the barista area.
Yerim rolls her eyes but listens, promptly shifting her expression into a– what now Chan recognizes as an incredibly fake– customer service smile again.
“Cash or card? And if you don’t answer within fifteen seconds I’ll tell Mingyu that you’re getting a tramp stamp.”
Seungkwan shrieks out a shrill “What?!” before placing both of his hands on the counter and leaning towards her face, “You wouldn’t dare. You know he’d be too hysterical,” he finishes, narrowing his eyes at her viciously.
“Five seconds left– Great!”
It’s Chan who disables the bomb, basically jumping over the counter to get to the card reader and pressing his phone up to it, a ding stopping Yerim from continuing the countdown as she puts on an actual, gleeful smile in the presence of her two peeved friends.
It’s not that Chan doesn’t think it’d be funny if Yerim told Mingyu, but Seungkwan raised a valid point by saying he’d get too hysterical– one of the biggest things he and Mingyu had in common was their refined taste for unnecessary dramatics.
Chan isn’t sure he could deal with that energy in his house today– and he’s sure Mingyu would be barging in with a lesson on responsibility and a topic that’s harder to stomach like, hygiene, or something equally awkward to listen to.
“Have a wonderful day!” Yerim yells out after them as they leave the coffee shop, both equally disgruntled, feeling like they just finished a shift at the mines.
They walk to the nearest bus stop in silence, sitting down on the bench and politely waiting for their ride, before Seungkwan perks up a bit, breaking the quiet and fishes out his phone from the tote bag Hansol bought him when he was in New York that is neatly placed on his lap.
Chan tracks his movement, fidgeting a bit as he tries to settle on the uncomfortable bench, raising his eyebrows in concern when Seungkwan lets out a huff and shows Chan his phone battery is empty.
“I thought we could read the reviews for that tattoo studio as we waited– thought it could be fun. Do you have any battery left?”
Chan shuffles around, patting his pockets for his phone, swiping it out of his jacket pocket and trying to turn it on– to no avail.
“Shit, I guess it died after I paid.”
Seungkwan hums thoughtfully, shoulders deflating, before he comes up with another idea– an idea Chan will definitely like, if the small smile playing on Seungkwan’s face is any indication.
“Want to open up a bottle of wine and read them when we get home?”
He mirrors Seungkwan’s cheeky grin as he bumps their shoulders, making both of them giggle, “Seungkwan. There is nothing else I’d rather do.”
Their trip home was an uncharacteristically quick one, the bus driver coming only a few minutes after they sat down at the stop– the entirety of he ride rounding up to a shockingly short fifteen minutes.
Their campus was near Seungcheol’s coffee shop, which made that exact bus stop the same stop they’ve been using since they were two bright eyed freshmen, a dance major and a music major stuck tackling the hellscape that is rush hour traffic while riding in public transport.
When they got home they quickly went into their respective rooms to change and shower after deciding who goes first with a dramatic game of rock, paper scissors. Chan won (Ha!), and gleefully walked into the bathroom to wash himself quickly, giddy at the prospect of drinking more than anything else.
Still, he can’t lie and say that he’s not interested in this elusive Jeon guy– Chan doesn’t think he’s ever had anything with a tattoo artist.
He’s dated a handful of artists, sure, an occupational hazard, really, as he falls under that category himself. He’s a dance major, an overly passionate one (Seungkwan’s words, not his), but he wouldn't have it any other way.
He blossomed under Soonyoung’s wing, his most beloved hyung and most respected sunbae, a person who fills him with so much inspiration and enthusiasm about his craft that he can’t imagine being on stage without sharing it with him or at least, without having his hyung cheer him on from the audience.
Soonyoung is also, as Seungcheol likes to remind him, pointedly crazy and definitely not a good influence but– Chan chooses to turn a blind eye to it all. He loves him too much to ever openly criticize him.
There were so many people Chan was grateful for, including Seulgi-noona, the very first sunbae who offered to help him when he was struggling with his first solo presentation. Jun-hyung who always reminded him to take it easy and stay healthy, Joohyun-noona who came every day to check on him when he was a freshman– which subsequently grew into the habit of coming every Wednesday to their dance practice to visit even after she graduated, making sure that they’re still being nice to him.
Chan hums softly, toweling his hair as he’s filled with a sense of nostalgic gratitude, a harsh knock on the door pulling him out of his thoughts.
“Hello? Did you die or something?” Seungkwan asks, obviously irked by how long Chan was taking.
Chan gets dressed quickly, a simple tank top and shorts, the hot weather making any heavier clothing absolutely unwearable. He opens the door when he gives himself a once over in the mirror, deeming himself appropriately clothed, and levels Seungkwan with a flat look.
It seems like Seungkwan was about to knock again before Chan revealed himself, looking kind of silly with his hand completely still in the air.
“Oh. Yay. You’re alive.”
“Yeah, to your chagrin.” Chan says, as he bends down to pick up his dirty laundry and tries to make the bathroom look a bit more presentable before Seungkwan’s shower. He straightens up when he finishes, signaling for Seungkwan to come in.
“Get your butt in there and shower, I’ll go uncork the wine and get your phone.”
Seungkwan sighs wistfully as he watches Chan leave towards the kitchen, “My hero…”
After the bathroom door clicks shut, Chan busies himself with preparing everything for the two of them. He looks at the clock on their kitchen counter as he takes the bottle out of the fridge, and nods, satisfied. The time shows 5:32PM, a completely socially acceptable time for Seungkwan and Chan to drink white wine and lounge on their couch with their noses in someone else's business.
He gets on his tippy toes to take out two glasses of wine from a set of four, a gift from Jeonghan when they moved in– and subsequently, a passive-aggressive jab at how thoroughly single they are.
The other two glasses are still in the box, which both satisfies and irks Chan, on one hand because those were expensive and it’s a small vengeance against Jeonghan not to use them– even though they were most likely bought with Seungcheol’s money– but on the other hand, it also proves Jeonghan right.
They are genuinely too single.
Really, only Hansol comes over regularly and he doesn’t even like wine that much.
Both him and Seungkwan have their fair share of flings and one night stands, although Seungkwan's situation is, truthfully, a bit peculiar. Simply put, he has flings and Hansol. Mingyu was his one and only attempt at a grown-up relationship, which only helped him realize that grown-up is definitely not something he can do. The idea of not having Hansol even as a possibility devastated him to no end.
Chan, in contrast to his roommate, was always more of a casual dater. If he likes someone, he’ll go for it, but he’s never interested enough for it to become anything beyond having sex and going on a couple of dates. He acts upon attraction immediately, as he has always been someone who can’t help using everything in his arsenal to get exactly what he wants, exactly how he wants it.
Yerim called him a maneater multiple times, but Chan, to this day, doesn’t agree with the sentiment.
If he had to give himself a title, he'd say he’s a man… sampler. A few bites here and there, not enough for it to hurt but enough for them to feel a little pinch. Chan knows he’s kind of a slippery fish to catch, but it’s never in his interest to hurt anybody.
It’s just difficult for him to truly like someone, let alone fall in love.
When he fills the glasses with way too much wine for it to be fancy or appropriate, he carries them to the small coffee table that sits neatly in front of their large couch and sets them down carefully, not wanting to spill any of it and risk an annoyed Seungkwan fussing over the wood staining for the next thirty to forty five minutes.
He blows at his fringe to get the unruly, overgrown strands out of his eyes as he surveys the state of their pillows, fluffing them and getting everything ready for what’s probably going to be a four hour chatting session, if Seungkwan’s audible rushing is any indication.
He only rushes when he’s excited. Or when there’s wine.
He quickly ducks into Seungkwan’s bedroom to detach his phone from the charger, and retreats back to the couch to settle on it.
The second he sat down, the bathroom door flew open with so much force it almost startled Chan. He turns his head at the sound, seeing Seungkwan’s form through the condensation leaving through the opening, the two, apparently vastly different temperatures clashing as the boiling water inside the bathroom battles the cool air produced by the AC.
Seungkwan makes his way to the living room shakily, plopping himself on the couch next to Chan, who is leisurely sipping on his wine as he watches Seungkwan pant to catch his breath.
“How you don’t boil yourself alive in that shower is beyond me.”
“Shut up and pass me the alcohol.”
Chan passes him the glass and the phone silently, watching Seungkwan take a sip first to wet his mouth, a content sigh leaving him as he unlocks his phone and finds the reviews of the tattoo studio, straightening up to let Chan look past the blackness of his privacy screen.
They start scrolling giddily, wriggling their toes in excitement as they click on the reviews button, matching smiles on their faces as they strap in for the ride, happier when they’re nosy than when they’re doing anything else.
However, their excitement dies down quickly– freshly replaced with a sort of twisted curiosity as their eyes take in the words on the screen. As they dig through the reviews in relative silence, they subconsciously start leaning forward from where they were half-lying down against the back of the couch, finding themselves in a sitting position after the third comment.
Chan isn’t sure what they expected, maybe something slightly risque or maybe, subtly flirtatious in nature, anything that could count as funny enough to laugh over a glass of wine. A five to ten minute activity at most.
It’s been twenty minutes, and they’re still staring at the screen.
Every single review is about the tattoo artist’s– who’s now officially identified as Jeon Wonwoo– quote on quote, incredible looks. There aren’t many of them, but there’s enough for this fixation to be slightly worrying.
Sure, they focus on his, apparently, impeccable work ethic but– there are paragraphs among paragraphs just detailing how handsome he is. It’s almost like he’s some sort of tattoo studio Gong Yoo, you’d think he put a spell on these people before they walked out.
Every description is as vague as it is detailed– he’s tattooed, wears glasses and has slightly longer hair. Also, Chan leans in to squint at Seungkwan’s phone and the review they’re currently reading on his screen, he is– maturely sexy? Whatever that means, Chan is more than interested to find out.
One particular review left an impact on him.
Anonymous Google User
⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
No words. Jeon Wonwoo is a national treasure. I don’t even know what I agreed on getting tattooed, I just know he chuckled when I told him I’m scared it’ll hurt and put his hand over mine and told me he’ll try to be gentle. It was so hot. I think I blacked out after that. Ten out of ten experience. Thank you Minghao-hyung for recommending this studio, I owe you my life.
Seungkwan lets out a low whistle, impressed by the impact Wonwoo has on people, and also, equally impressed by the social reach Minghao has. More than half of these reviews thank him for his generosity, like he’s some sort of tattooed matchmaking fairy godmother.
He nudges Chan, about to throw a joke his way until he stops in his tracks when he realizes Chan is already staring at him– with an overly serious look on his face.
“Chan,” Seungkwan starts calmly, a bit frightened, “What is going on?”
“You need to get that tattoo, Seungkwan.”
“Yeah, I– Wait what?”
“We need to go. Now.”
“Chan. It’s 6:30PM. No one is tattooing me at half past six.”
“Seungkwan. There are around fifteen comments about this guy being over six feet and talking to people like he just finished fucking them through the bed,” Chan says pointedly, taking Seungkwan’s phone from his hand and going through the reviews, looking for one of the sentences he has in mind.
He finds it, raising his hand triumphantly and quotes, “Here– He held my hand as he talked me through it– God, what the fuck. That wording is still insane even on the second read.”
Seungkwan balks, taking the phone from Chan’s hand, reading over the review with his own two eyes, before scoffing and putting the screen in front of Chan’s face, “The process, Chan. It says– He held my hand as he talked me through the process,” he takes one finger and flicks Chan’s forehead lightly before continuing.
“As in– the process of getting a tattoo. You’re seeing things, you pervert.”
Chan whines high in his throat, waving his hands around maniacally, “The implication, Seungkwan! It’s the same!”
“God, I wish Sollie was here–” The answering groan Chan lets out is automatic, not even letting Seungkwan finish his sentence.
“Oh my God, you’re so annoying. What I meant was– I wish Hansol was here so he could calm you down!” he says, pointing a finger at Chan before letting his hand fall and ducking his head lightly as he mumbles, “Truth be told, I can’t do it because I’m kind of freaking out too. Seriously, who is this guy and why do all of these people want him so bad?”
“Right!” Chan says, before taking his hands from his lap and holding them up to his chest, practically begging, “Seungkwan. Kwannie. You have to book that consultation,”
He levels Seungkwan with a look he hopes is pitiful enough for him to agree, “Do it for me– I’m begging you.”
Seungkwan is a bit flustered by Chan’s pestering, “What is it with you? I already told you I’m doing it.”
“Like you told me you were going to start coming to that pottery class you made me sign up for? Like you told me two years ago that you'll confess to Hansol and free me from third-wheeling your odd relationship?” Chan asks, pointedly ignoring Seungkwan’s affronted expression, his jaw basically unhinging from the force of Chan’s audacity as he doubles down, shaking his head, “No, Seungkwan-ah. This time I need you to really do it.”
A beat of silence passes as Seungkwan gathers his bearings.
“You are actually the worst.”
“You love me, though.”
Seungkwan sighs, unable to refute anything Chan has said in the past five minutes, rubbing at his knuckle with his thumb in a show of affection, “Unfortunately.”
He takes a second before he nods resolutely, rolling his eyes exasperatedly as he takes in Chan’s hopeful, beaming expression, “Okay, okay– I get it. You can drop the puppy eyes,” he says, before taking a pause and shyly adding, “But you have to be the one to make the call, I’m kind of embarrassed.”
Chan practically jumps out of his skin from the joy coursing through his veins as he gets up off their couch and runs around it excitedly, too happy to care about their downstairs neighbor as he celebrates the fact that he’s going to add a hot, handsome tattoo artist to his resume. Seungkwan laughs at him, telling him to slow down or he’ll fall and get hurt, managing to calm Chan down with the promise of pouring him more wine.
They unwind after Chan makes Seungkwan promise one more time that they’ll really do this, sipping on wine leisurely until a mix of fatigue and alcohol started weighing down their bones, yawning in tandem as the clock showed a staggering 11PM.
Where all that time went– along with a bottle of wine and six beers– Chan doesn’t know.
They bid each other good night, stumbling a bit as the haze of alcohol clouds their senses, Chan only mustering enough strength to make it to his room and plop himself down unceremoniously on the bed, the world as he knows it disappearing as he immediately blacks out.
The next morning, he’s woken up by a splitting headache and a clamor coming from outside of his bedroom door that only, somehow, seems to make the throbbing behind his temples worse. He sits up groggily, realizing he didn’t even get under the covers and just slept on top of his made bed– twenty five cushions and all– like some kind of animal.
All he does before exiting his room to investigate what could possibly be making all this noise at– he can’t help but gasp, offended when he checks the time– 9 fucking AM, is run a hand through his hair and yawn.
He’s done with his exams, and the start of the semester isn’t until September– can’t the universe let him rest properly after such an emotionally taxing day?
He decides to duck into the bathroom before checking out what all the noise is about, too disturbed by his morning breath, the door to it located a mere ten inches from his own bedroom. A privilege he had to fight for through participating in a drinking competition with Seungkwan.
Chan’s not sure how Seungkwan ever thought he could win one of those, when he’s regularly out-drank by Yerim and Joohyun– who are both, at least, a head smaller than him.
He quickly brushes his teeth and washes his face, straightening up to check his reflection in the mirror and hissing when the movement makes a fresh wave of pain ripple through his head, groaning as he tries to shake it off.
He opens the door with one hand covering his eyes, scared of the bright light pushing another button that would trigger his headache, as he solely relies on muscle memory to make his way towards their kitchen where he detects the source of the sound to be.
“You better have a good fucking excuse to wake me up at 9AM after I ingested enough alcohol to power a car.”
“Good morning to you too.”
Chan would recognize that voice anywhere, but he makes a crack through his fingers to take a quick peek at the offender anyway, and groans exasperatedly when he’s expectedly met with the sight of a happy– pointedly not hungover– Hansol munching away at takeout that he probably bought before coming.
“You should start paying rent too, with how often you come in uninvited,” Chan mutters to himself as he makes his way to the sink to pour himself some water to try and ease his splitting headache.
Hansol chews and promptly swallows his bite before speaking, “You’re acting like I made you drink the six beers and one bottle of wine– which, really. Kind of impressive.”
“You– How do you even know how much we drank?”
“I saw the bottles in your trash.”
“You looked through our trash?” Chan scrunches up his face in disgust, “Weirdo.”
“Alcoholic.” Hansol shoots back casually, not even looking at Chan, too busy poking through the food in the takeout box with his chopsticks.
“Touché.”
Their bickering is broken as the booming sound of the door to Seungkwan’s room flying open makes them snap their heads towards his disgruntled figure, as he menacingly makes his way to the kitchen counter and stops when he’s close enough.
It seems he acquired a pair of sunglasses– which suspiciously look like Mingyu’s– from his room to battle the natural lighting that spreads through their apartment, before coming to face them.
He opens his mouth like he’s about to tell them off for being too loud, but Chan can’t help cutting him off with a cackle, “Seungkwan, I’m sorry but– you look so stupid.”
The sunglasses he’s donning are way too fashionable and also– more importantly– way too big for his face, the comical state he’s in only making Chan laugh stronger.
“Ugh. I can’t deal with this right now,” Seungkwan says, to no one in particular, as he takes his sunglasses off and turns to Hansol, leveling him with a half-hearted glare, “Hansol. Your life hinges on whether you brought any food for us or not.”
Hansol only beams at him as he proudly points at the bag sitting neatly next to Chan, which he hasn’t even taken note of until now. He stops laughing immediately as he rummages through the contents of it, a pleased smile making its way onto his face as the smell of fried rice and vegetables wafts through the kitchen.
Seungkwan and Chan quickly join Hansol at the counter before digging into their food themselves, finishing their fried rice and a copious amount of side dishes at record time. Chan stretches out on his bar-stool happily, a happy chirp leaving his throat at the satisfying resounding pop his joints make at the motion, his anger successfully quelled now that his belly is full.
Hansol is the one who breaks the silence, setting his chopsticks down, “So– did you guys check the reviews on that tattoo studio? Are you satisfied, Boo?”
“I’d say I’m satisfied, but Chan is–” Seungkwan glances pointedly at him before doing a double take and startling at the image of Chan practically vibrating in his seat from the mere mention of something Jeon Wonwoo related, “God– what is wrong with you?”
He side-eyes Chan some more before shaking his head and turning back to Hansol, “Well, you can see for yourself. I lost him last night and he hasn’t returned to me since.”
“Damn. What did those people say?”
Chan balks, slapping his hands on the counter in shock, “You haven’t read them?!”
“No, I have already heard enough praise from Minghao to last me for a decade.”
“Okay, but, did Minghao talk about Jeon Wonwoo chuckling while holding his hand and promising him he’ll be gentle?” Chan asks, using air quotes to emphasize the last bit of his sentence.
Hansol opens his mouth and closes it, before settling on shooting Chan a confused look, “Um. No?” and eloquently ending on a pointed– The fuck?
Seungkwan, who was busy typing away on his phone and searching for the reviews for the past few minutes of their exchange, now slides the screen to Hansol and quietly signals him to read.
A myriad of expressions flashes through Hansol’s face as he scrolls through every comment and rating, ranging from shocked disgust to secondhand embarrassment. He finishes off with wide eyes and an almost perfectly flat expression, as he tries to offer an expectant Seungkwan and Chan an appropriate response.
“That was– Wow. Who the fuck is this guy?”
“Right?! That’s what I’ve been saying!”
Chan turns to Seungkwan, mirroring the same puppy-eyed expression he wore last night when he begged Seungkwan to truly commit to this– but, this time, he is immediately shut down as Seungkwan shakes his head, getting up from his bar-stool and leaving the AoE of Chan’s puppy eyes.
“No, no, no. We are not doing this again.”
“Kwannie–”
Chan is about to make a point about how it’s fine to make a business-related call at 9AM, but is promptly cut off as Seungkwan shakes his head again, somehow even more aggressively than before, “I am not doing anything without coffee in my system. Hansol fed me, now it’s your turn.”
Chan practically jumps out of his chair while waxing poetry about how he’ll give Seungkwan a drink and the world if that’s what it takes, running around and getting himself ready, bumping into his flummoxed roommate quite a few times and subsequently, pissing him off even more.
Hansol just sits at the counter silently scrolling his phone, waiting for them to get ready so they can go to the cafe together where he starts his 10AM shift. He gets to come an entire two hours later simply because of younger brother privileges.
Also, he stays up quite late working on his music, to Seungcheol’s chagrin, as he has to witness waking up to a still awake, zombified Hansol at eight in the morning, starting his every day by getting scared half to death.
So, naturally, they settled on 10AM.
A decision Jeonghan tried to veto just to fuck with him, before giving up when Hansol said he’ll sneak leftover dessert to him every day after closing. Jeonghan doesn’t even like sweet things that much, but Hansol’s self-sacrificial dedication delighted him.
Seungcheol hates nothing more than when they scheme behind his back, and Hansol took a serious vow of secrecy per Jeonghan’s request, promising not to tell Seungcheol anything.
It’s not that they’re keeping this secret because he’ll get mad that they’re damaging his business, he’d probably let Jeonghan do anything. Hell, he’d let him eat the pastries during rush hour with all the customers looking.
The real inspiration behind Jeonghan’s evil plan is the fact Seungcheol hates feeling left out– which is why the nature of this arrangement will hurt him more than anything else and also why he took advantage of Hansol’s naivety.
So, in short, Jeonghan accepted Hansol’s offer only because he revels in the dejected expression Seungcheol wears when he sees the two of them sharing conspiratorial looks.
Chan isn’t even entirely sure Jeonghan eats the dessert he’s given.
After a few minutes of Chan getting ready, and another thirty of Seungkwan doing God knows what to his face– they reconvene in the living room with their bags packed and matching smiles on their faces, the hangover they sported, surprisingly, short-lived.
Chan can’t contain his excitement for the entirety of the trip, unable to participate in small talk with Hansol and Seungkwan after they settled down in the bus, practically vibrating in his seat at the prospect of talking to Jeon Wonwoo for the first time.
Just how low is his voice? Is it rough around the edges, the sound thrumming through your ear drums like thunder, or is there a lilt as he speaks? Is he kind of condescending, teasing, or is he sweet?
There are so many possibilities, and Chan can’t help but like each one, so incredibly interested in this random man he knows absolutely nothing about.
On second thought, saying he knows nothing would be kind of offensive to the authors of the erotica written in his reviews. He knows Wonwoo is calm, collected and kind. Chan never found any of these traits inherently sexy, but he can’t help wiggle in his seat at the thought of having someone so fawned over in his vicinity.
More importantly, he knows he’s someone Minghao likes, which makes him as trustworthy of a person as one can be. Minghao’s standards are downright cruel, which is just another factor that adds points to Wonwoo’s attractiveness in Chan’s mind.
One time, Minghao met one of Chan’s flings by accident, at a bar near Hansol and Seungcheol’s place. It was a bit edgier than what Chan fancied, obviously for people with a finer taste in alternative style, but the guy he was with at the time was exactly that– someone with a finer taste in things.
It’s why he was with Chan in the first place.
And Chan was fairly proud of their… relationship, until Minghao walked in and was so flabbergasted by the way the guy looked Chan had to break it off not even thirty minutes later.
When he noticed the guy leaving, he shot Chan a thumbs up, obviously happy with the way things unfolded. A week later, Chan found out the guy got arrested for scamming people on Vinted by selling fake vintage goods.
Ever since then, Minghao is the person Chan trusts the most when it comes to his romantic endeavors. So, consequently, Jeon Wonwoo immediately starts off with fifty points to his name.
Chan doesn’t even want to think about the more complicated things like, is Wonwoo even gay or what if he is and he’s taken, because for now– he is a faceless entity floating around Chan’s brain like a pinball and, again, for now, that is enough.
However, as he watches the tall buildings of Seoul pass while they’re reaching their destination, he can’t help the twinge in his stomach at the thought of Wonwoo being unattainable. It’s not realistic for Chan to say that he’s already feeling something, because that would be childish and ridiculous, not to mention completely delusional.
So, he brushes off the clawed, uncomfortable feeling that climbs up his stomach as something instinctual, something that probably has everything to do with his natural-born reflex to want anything that sounds even mildly like something he could get fixated on, and settles back down in his seat as he waits for the bus to stop.
Or at least, tries to, because they reach their stop not even a second after Chan stops his line of thinking. What he was doing for– twenty minutes, he establishes after looking at his phone– of their ride, he doesn’t know. It’s not like him to get so deep into the crevices of his own thoughts that he loses track of time, always someone who stood firmly on the ground with his own two feet.
Maybe that hangover wasn’t completely gone.
They exit the bus, the sound of Seungkwan’s and Hansol’s chatter still filling the silence around them as Chan takes in the summer morning air while they walk towards the coffee shop, a pleasant breeze messing up the chestnut tufts of his hair and coaxing out a smile to appear on his face.
He finally relaxes, able to stretch out his limbs properly, taking in the fine view of The Hangang stretching out for miles, sitting parallel to the street Seungcheol’s coffee shop is located in. The river is painted with drops of yellow, the sun reflecting off of the shimmering waves, moving in tandem like they’re participating in a beautiful dance.
Everything reminds Chan he was born for the stage, but it’s views like these that feel like a certain sign that he is exactly where he’s meant to be in life.
“Chan-ah? You okay?”
Chan’s serene expression breaks as he widens his eyes a bit, startled, and turns his head from the river to look at Hansol, “Oh– yeah, I am, why?”
“It’s nothing, you’ve just been quiet for the entire ride,” Hansol points out, as perceptive as ever, before landing a hand on his shoulder, “Is there something on your mind?”
Seungkwan looks worried from where he’s peeking over Hansol’s shoulder, situated on Hansol’s right while Chan is on his left, obviously sharing the sentiment.
Chan shakes his head fondly and shoots them a sincere smile, warmed by his friend's concern, “No, I’m fine really! Just excited, that’s all.”
He runs a bit in front of them to theatrically open the door to the cafe for Seungkwan to walk through, pampering him in lieu of Chan’s promise to treat him wih a drink in exchange for his pseudo-matchmaking services, and gesturing for Seungkwan to enter.
“Ladies first,”
“Ugh.”
Hansol snickers as he walks in after a disgruntled Seungkwan, giving Chan an appreciative high five before running to the counter and disappearing into the staff room behind it, getting dressed to properly start his shift.
Chan goes up to the counter thanking God Yerim works the second shift, and gets their drinks, paying for them immediately, two iced americanos and a slice of sugar-free cake to thank Seungkwan for his efforts, before coming back to their table and setting the tray down with more force than necessary.
“Okay. You got the drink, you even got the cake, it’s socially acceptable to make a business-related phone call at 10AM–” Chan lists the terms and conditions Seungkwan set, before dropping himself unceremoniously onto his seat and leveling him with a look that screams pure determination, “Your phone, Seungkwan. Give it to me.”
“...Why does it even have to be my phone?”
“Seungkwan.”
“Ugh. Fine!” he says, typing the phone number from his messages into his contacts and giving Chan his phone, “Here. Jesus, since when were you so pushy?”
Not even sparing a second, to Seungkwan’s shock, Chan immediately presses the green call button as he answers with the phone pressed to his ear, “Since I started fantasizing about the voice of a man I’ve never heard or met.”
His show of bravery lasts exactly as long as the first two beeps the phone sounds out as it waits for the line to connect. Chan practically vibrates with the force of his elevated heart-rate, an uncharacteristic flash of anxiety making its way down his spine through a shudder he tries to fight off to no avail.
Despite it all, Chan doesn’t back down or even think about pressing the button to end the call, holding the screen even firmer to his ear as his other hand trembles a little.
He jumps out of his skin as the line finally connects, startling Seungkwan from across the table who was just as, if not more, anxious than Chan.
“Hello?”, the male voice on the other side inquires.
Chan wills away his anxiety and musters up the energy for his sultriest voice, the one he knows works like a charm, “Is this Jeon Wonwoo, owner of Jeon Studio?”
Silence.
“No, I’m his friend Jihoon.”
And, scene.
The disappointment Chan feels is so immediate and so strong that he can’t help but to sputter out one last disgruntled ugh into the speaker before handing the phone over to Seungkwan, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms in a show of displeasure, mumbling to himself angrily.
Of course Jeon Wonwoo doesn’t answer Jeon Wonwoo’s phone, he thinks, sarcastically.
Seungkwan sputters as he grabs the phone, stretching out his arm and silently arguing with Chan as to avoid being heard by the man on the call– Jihoon, Chan thinks, begrudgingly– trying to persuade him into taking the phone back. Chan violently shakes his head no, and raises his nose, albeit pettishly, to show that the argument is over.
His jaw drops at Chan’s childishness, and he can tell Seungkwan is about to either get up and fight him physically or yell at him loudly enough, for not only Jihoon to hear, but for the entire cafe to hear as well, before he’s thankfully cut off.
“... Hello?”
Seungkwan snaps out of his rage and picks the phone, clicking the button that puts the call on speakerphone, “Um– Hi! My name is Boo Seungkwan and I wa– I’m calling to–”
His shoulders are practically all the way up to his ears from how flustered he is, a crimson red blush on his face as he stutters trying to figure out what to say, “I’m calling to book a tattoo consultation with Wonwoo– is he, um, free?”
A beat of silence passes through the line as Chan and Seungkwan wince at his unprofessional usage of the word free, like he’s on the phone asking Wonwoo’s fucking mom if he’s free to play outside, or something equally childish.
“He’s doing something right now,” Jihoon says, in a totally not shady manner, before continuing, “Do you have a recommendation?”
Seungkwan facepalms before answering, somehow forgetting the most important information, “Yes! Sorry– My friend Hansol knows Minghao, who recommended Wonwoo-ssi to him for anything tattoo, or um, design related.”
“I see. I’ll tell Wonwoo you called, he’ll text this number sometime during the day,” the voice answers, after another suspicious beat of silence passes. Chan’s interest is piqued again, as he uncrosses his arms and leans back towards the phone, neatly placed in front of Seungkwan.
Seungkwan nods his head like Jihoon can see him, before remembering he has to actually speak. Just as he’s about to give his closing remarks, hang up and jump over the table to strangle Chan, Jihoon suddenly speaks once more, his unexpectedly teasing words coaxing out a crimson blush that spreads down Chan's neck– the intensity of it practically boiling him alive.
“Oh, and tell your friend he doesn’t have to worry about missing Wonwoo again. He’s the only worker at the studio– if he comes with you, he will definitely meet him there.”
And then the line cuts off, signaling that Jihoon hung up.
Their drinks sit untouched between them, the slice of cake starting to tilt to the side from how long it’s remained uneaten.
Chan regrets the ten dollars he spent.
He flops face down onto the table, unable to will away the redness from his face or the sinking feeling in his stomach, as he is, for the first time in his life– truly and irredeemably embarrassed. This Jihoon guy has to be his arch nemesis or something, calling him out like that was downright cruel.
“Hey, did you–” Chan recognizes the voice as Hansol’s, only able to respond by groaning loudly in answer, the intensity of the volume he manages slightly hindered by the fact that his face is pressed into the hard surface of the table, “Woah, what happened here?”
“I’m going to kill Chan. That is, unless he kills himself first.”
“So– you didn’t call yet?”
“What? We did!” Seungkwan answers, confused, probably bunching his brows in that way he usually does when he’s annoyed.
Chan guesses that’s what he does at least, because he’s still face down, a position in which he will remain forever– or at least, until either he or Jihoon die.
Chan also guesses that Seungkwan shoots him a nasty look as he elaborates, “And that’s the problem. Chan made me talk the entire time after groaning and moaning into the phone like an idiot once he realized Wonwoo wasn’t the one who picked up.”
At this, Chan raises his head up, feeling wrongfully called out, “I didn’t moan– I said ugh.”
“Oh, my bad.” he apologizes to Seungkwan, raising his hands up in defense, “It’s just, you guys act like that all the time so I thought nothing special happened.”
Seungkwan opens his mouth to try and pointlessly refute his claim, but shuts up quickly. One, because Hansol is right, and two, because he shoots him a befuddled look that has Seungkwan pausing.
“So, who picked up if Wonwoo didn’t?”
“Jihoon,” Chan answers antagonistically, scoffing and narrowing his eyes as he jabs the straw of his iced americano into his drink, swirling the ice with much more force than needed.
“Wait– like, Lee Jihoon?”
Chan stops his ministrations and drops his scowl, as Seungkwan balks at him, jumping up from his seat, “You know him?!”
“I mean– Minghao talked about him a few times, if that’s even the same guy.” Hansol says, rubbing his chin as he thinks, “We can’t cross reference what he looks like but, he’s kind of… snippy?”
Chan scoffs again, leaning his head against his hand, “Yeah, snippy would be putting it kindly. He practically shot me in the head over the phone.”
“How did Jihoon even get his phone though?”
Seungkwan takes a fork to prod at the cake slice as he answers, “I don’t know, he said Wonwoo was busy with something.”
“Wouldn’t that mean he was in the room with him, though?”
Chan pauses and Seungkwan drops his fork, the sudden silence that takes over the table deafening.
“...Huh?” Seungkwan asks, carefully.
“His phone couldn’t have been that far from him, it had to have been, like, at least, in the same room.” Hansol says casually, like he’s not actively stomping on what’s left of Chan’s dignity right now, “I mean– you two have your phones on you all the time, don’t you?”
Chan looks down at Seungkwan’s phone and feels his stomach sink dramatically as he remembers all the times Seungkwan made him answer it in his stead.
Calls ranging from the bank, his failed flings, calls from the university’s administration– all taken while Seungkwan was in the room with him– play through his head like a movie as he raises his gaze up to Seungkwan’s, who is most likely thinking of the same exact thing.
Chan blinks blankly, detaching his eyes from Seungkwan’s and looking straight through Hansol,
“Oh my fucking God. He heard everything.”
At that moment, Seungkwan’s phone dings, signaling that he received a text message.
All three of them jump at the sound, startled out of their daze. The reaction is immediate, Chan and Hansol round the table and squish Seungkwan’s head between theirs as he unlocks his phone so they can look at the messages.
Jeon Wonwoo, Jeon Studio
Hello, Seungkwan-ssi. This is Jeon Wonwoo, owner of Jeon Studio.
Three dots appear, implying that he’s writing another message. They wait patiently, until Seungkwan’s phone dings again when it arrives.
Jeon Wonwoo, Jeon Studio
I heard you were interested in booking a consultation for a tattoo?
As Chan reads, he immediately notices two things.
First, Wonwoo’s grammar is unbelievably proper. Very formal, probably one of those people who had automatic word capitalization on. Or maybe, he does it manually, someone who didn’t mind going the extra step to appear well-read. Auto-caps can be quite bothersome, he understands the sentiment, if it’s even one they share.
The second thing he notices, doesn’t have as much to do with Wonwoo as it has to do with Chan. More specifically, with Chan’s heart.
It feels like it’s going to beat out of his chest.
“– Chan. Chan!”
The urgency in Seungkwan’s voice snaps him out of his reverie, Chan’s responding tone a bit shaky as he answers back, “Sorry– What?”
He hasn’t been this shaken up by a crush in ages. If this thing can be even called a crush. Right now, it’s more of a parasocial relationship than anything else. Like when Soonyoung-hyung cries over SHINee even though he doesn’t know them.
“What do I say?”
Chan looks at him incredulously, their faces awfully close, “What do you mean what do I say? Tell him yes!”
Seungkwan types for a fraction of a second, before pressing send.
(You)
yes
Chan screams as the phone makes a sound signifying the text is sent, “Why did you– What is wrong with you?!”
Seungkwan is flabbergasted by Chan’s outburst, sputtering as he replies, “Wh– You told me to say yes!”
Chan tries– and fails– to answer him five times, stuttering from sheer disbelief, prompting Hansoli to interject and try steering the conversation in a calmer direction.
“I think what Chan meant was to confirm yes after, like, I don’t know, maybe introducing yourself first.”
“Yeah! Why would you just say yes like a fucking idiot?” Chan agrees, exasperated, asking and mocking Seungkwan, “He uses auto-caps, Seungkwan! We have to parry!”
“Stop yelling at me– I panicked!”
“Wow, you didn’t even capitalize the Y,” Hansol mumbles in amusement, his eyes glued to the screen, “I just noticed that.”
The break room door slams open, startling the three of them, as Seungcheol flies out, looking left and right with an overwhelming sense of urgency before identifying the source of the commotion at their table.
He sprints towards them gracelessly, only stopping when he reaches them, panting as he scans over their bodies for any signs of injury in a show of parental concern only Choi Seungcheol, father of exactly zero kids, could convey.
After he deems them safe and not in a life or death situation, he yells out, still perturbed, “Why did you scream?!”
“Seungkwan is ruining my life!”
“Would you just shut up and tell me how to fix this?!”
“Dude, just delete it and send another text. He hasn’t even seen it yet.”
The tension in Seungkwan’s shoulders disappears as he slowly looks to his right, regarding Hansol with an eerily icy expression, “Did you just call me dude?”
Chan groans, sensing that this will turn into something even more bothersome as Hansol stiffens, tapping Seungkwan’s thigh urgently, “Just listen to him and delete it! We don’t have time for this!”
Seungkwan snaps his head back to Chan, nodding, before turning to his phone and doing what Hansol told him, all while side-eyeing him in an apparent show of displeasure.
However, the second Seungkwan pressed the delete button, three dots appeared and then disappeared along with Seungkwan’s poorly worded message– signaling Wonwoo was typing something and then abruptly stopped once the text was gone.
A beat of silence passes as they watch the dots reappear, wholly defeated, and the phone dings.
Jeon Wonwoo, Jeon Studio
?
Chan’s resounding facepalm is so loud it makes Seungkwan flinch.
Hansol looks kind of impressed by how tragically this situation seems to be unfolding as he stares at the phone before speaking, “We’re about to get blacklisted from every tattoo studio in Seoul.”
Suddenly, a hand that Chan, amongst his grief, recognizes as Seungcheol’s, lands on Seungkwan’s shoulder, his expression crest-fallen as he regards the three of them with pity as he begs, “Seungkwan… Please give me your phone.”
He seems to have familiarized himself with the situation at hand, if the look on his face is any indication. He types fairly quickly before pressing send without consulting anybody, alarming the three of them as they’re practically one bad text away from getting blocked. Their anxiety is quelled when Seungcheol gives them back the phone, feeling surprisingly pleased by what he wrote.
Chan is, actually, pretty surprised by how well he impersonated Seungkwan. So surprised, that Seungcheol practically sees it on his face, scoffing as he reads Chan’s thoughts, “I practically gave birth to you three, why are you so surprised?”
Chan looks down to the phone again, flattening his lips as he notices something he didn’t on the first read.
(You)
Hi! Sorry for that, my phone freaked out. I’m Boo Seungkwan, it’s nice to meet you! And yes, that is correct! I am interested in booking a consultation. ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧
The trio tilt their heads in unison as they read over the last bit of the message, matching imaginary question marks floating over their heads at the dependable looking, winking face embedded into the text.
“He found that kaomoji so fast…” Seungkwan murmurs, low enough for Seungcheol not to hear, “I don’t even use those…”
“Right… Didn’t he turn thirty not that long ago?” Chan says, just as quietly.
However, Hansol speaks out, directly addressing Seungcheol and pointedly ignoring Seungkwan’s and Chan’s intentional discreetness, “Hyung, Seungkwan doesn’t even use kaomojis.”
“Well maybe he should start.”
“Dude, you are, like, at least five years too old to know what a kaomoji is. Let alone find one so quickly.”
“Too old–?!”
Seungcheol startles out of his prideful expression, caught obviously boasting about saving the day, as he replies with something Chan doesn’t catch. It’s obviously the start of yet another Choi sibling argument, if the redness in Seungcheol’s face is any indication.
Chan is too busy breathing for the first time in ten minutes to listen in on any of it.
A huge sigh of relief escapes him, the situation somehow salvaged. Seungcheol’s text reads normally and, more importantly, was sent promptly before Wonwoo decided he’s had enough and printed out Seungkwan’s number on a wanted poster, telling all tattoo studios to watch out for him and his deranged friend.
Maybe Chan is being dramatic but his parasocial relationship literally hinges on the way this conversation goes, since they absolutely blew it over the phone.
The phone dings, signifying a reply, stopping Hansol’s and Seungcheol’s argument and Chan’s train of thought– everyone’s attention reverting back to Seungkwan’s screen.
Jeon Wonwoo, Jeon Studio
I see. It’s nice to meet you too, Seungkwan-ssi. I am free for a consultation on Thursday, two days from now. Would 5PM work for you?
This time, Seungkwan’s reply is immediate.
(You)
Yes, that would be great!
How much is the consultation fee?
Jeon Wonwoo, Jeon Studio
Then we have a deal.
There is no fee, my consultations are always free of charge.
(You)
Oh, okay, great! I’ll see you on Thursday!
Jeon Wonwoo, Jeon Studio
I’ll see you then.
Chan lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding as the conversation finally comes to a wrap. He finally stands up, freeing his knees from the uncomfortable crouching position he was stuck in for the entire duration of their back and forth with Wonwoo, going back to his seat and stretching out his back as he sits down. He sighs in satisfaction after hearing his joints pop, finally settling down as his heartbeat calms.
What he doesn’t hear though, is Seungkwan’s phone dinging again.
“Ah, I feel like this conversation aged me ten years,” Chan says, putting his head in his hands, darkness enveloping his vision, as he asks, tone laced with self-deprecation, “What am I, a teenager? Get it together Lee Chan!”
He groans throatily, kicking his feet childishly, “But, seriously, why is he so proper?” he continues into his palm, the sound muffled, “Why is texting him so intimidating? Is he–”
“Chan.”
Chan raises his head from his hands, flinching when he sees the serious look Seungkwan levels him with as he slides the phone towards him wordlessly.
Chan lowers his gaze, not moving his head, widening his eyes as he realizes that, on the screen, is another text message from Wonwoo.
Jeon Wonwoo, Jeon Studio
Oh, and another thing. I couldn’t help but overhear how disappointed your friend sounded that I couldn’t answer the phone. I hope you bring him with you so I can make it up to him by introducing myself properly.
Hope to see the both of you on Thursday.
Chan reads the message once, twice, and then a third time. On the fourth time, he doesn’t even read, he just stares through the phone as the intensity of his blush threatens to burn him alive.
He hastily steals a handful of ice out of his iced americano, prompting a startled, scandalized gasp out of Seungkwan as he puts the cubes on his cheeks to quell the warmth brewing behind them, ignoring Seungcheol’s scoldings about making a mess.
“Ew! What– Chan! Put the ice down!”
“Dude, you’re soaking through your shirt.”
“Nevermind the shirt, he’s making a mess! I just wiped those floors!”
Hope to see the both of you on Thursday.
Funny, he thinks, his cheeks a vermillion red. Forget Thursday– Chan might not make it to tonight.