Archive of Our Own ^beta

It’s been just over a year since Changbin started college. He works two jobs, has a handful of friends, and a huge dream for his future. He loves music, and he knows he's going to get a gig producing for big names. In the future, of course. Probably pretty far in the future since he was going through his own personal hell getting the stupid program he was currently working on to time the snare drum correctly.

It was morning, the sun up and shining down on him brightly from the window, gently warming the room. Changbin had just gotten back from his morning workout, showered, and sat down on his bed with his laptop to go over the musical piece the professor had assigned the class. The previously mentioned stupid program had been giving him hell on the same track, one he was supposed to have finished to turn in for class this morning. Groaning in irritation, he–once again–resets the snare track back to default and runs a hand through his still-damp hair in frustration.

Two of his other roommates had already left for breakfast before their classes. His other roommate, Jung Wooyoung, popped his head up from under a pillow and squinted at the sound of Changbin’s continued frustration.

“That’s the third moan I’ve heard in less than five minutes. Wish I could snooze you like my alarm” he grumbled. “What the hell, Bin?”

“Sorry, sorry,” Changbin grimaced, embarrassed to have disturbed the other. “This snare track won’t let me match it up with the guitar and synth at the right time. It’s all out of whack and I have to have this done before class.”

“It’s still acting up?” Wooyoung yawned, giving up on any extra sleep before class.

“Still,” Changbin sighed, trying once again to manually drag the track to the correct bar–and hissing in subsequent frustration as it jumped back three bars too far. Again. For the hundredth time, at least.

“Man,” Wooyoung laughed a little at the expression on the other’s face. “And here I thought my ballet teacher gave me tough assignments.”

Changbin rolled his eyes, knowing good and well that the “tough assignments” Wooyoung complained about had something to do with the leading role he had in an upcoming recital. The leading role the dancer got because he was so good that the teacher “couldn’t see anyone else but Wooyoung so gracefully swooping across the stage,” as he put it.

“Good luck on your project, Binnie. Looks like you’ll need it,” Wooyoung jokingly pats the other’s knee, grabbing his toothbrush and paste on his way to the bathroom.

“Gee, thanks,” Changbin huffs in response.

Glancing at the time in the corner of his laptop screen, Changbin chews the inside of his bottom lip. Production class started promptly at 9 a.m. and if he wanted to be on time, he needed to start packing his laptop and notepads to go. Luckily, his dormitory wasn’t terribly far from the arts building, but the halls always got clogged up with students twenty minutes before class.

Standing up and running a hand through his already mussed hair, Changbin turns his PC off and shoves it in his duffle bag, quickly scanning his small desk for his stationary.

Throwing on his black and white vans and his black canvas jacket, he quickly makes his way out of the dorms and onto the university grounds proper, ideas about how to fix his pesky snare track plaguing him the whole way.

Changbin sits in his classroom for nearly forty-five minutes working on his stubborn snare track. Glancing up every now and then when another student enters, he’s confused once or twice to see a couple of older students from the year before coming in alongside his usual classmates. He brushes it off and continues working on his project, panic and dread both settling uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach every time he fails.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Changbin resigns himself to one last attempt. The teacher usually insisted that the class do things one way, which is why he had been trying so hard to complete the project by the lesson’s parameters–manually dragging it with his mouse and praying it wouldn’t skip. But, considering the manual way wasn’t working, Changbin decided to try things his way.

Swallowing in hesitancy, he used his fingers and laptop touchscreen to blow the tracks up. Hovering one finger over the damned track, he slowly drags it back toward the beginning sequence of the song and pins it in place. Finally, finally, the track doesn’t skip all the way to the beginning like it had been for the last five days. Sighing in relief, Changbin drops the track at the 16 second mark after the intro, exactly where it was supposed to be. Carefully moving his hand so as not to lose any progress, he saves the file in one of his folders, virtually wedges it between two of his own attempts at producing a song, and pulls out his thumb drive containing the (finally complete) class project.

Partially closing his laptop, he stretches in his seat, warm contentment and relief settling happily over him. The classroom had filled up quite a lot since he had last glanced up and the room, which was usually only maybe two-thirds full, was brimming with students. He recognized several of his own classmates chatting eagerly with their upperclassmen, the small space lively with the hum of conversation.

Looking further around the room, Changbin noticed that Mingi, a kind guy around his age who usually sat beside him, was in a chair closer to the front chatting animatedly with an upperclassman. Changbin wasn’t sure, but he thought he remembered the older man’s name being Hongjoong. He was a casual friend of Mingi’s, and one the guy really looked up to–figuratively, of course, since Mingi was kind of a giant, in Changbin’s opinion. He could admit he was a little bit biased, though.

Huffing softly at his own thoughts, Changbin turned his attention back to his jacket, picking at a loose thread along his sleeve. Changbin was happy Mingi was making and keeping friends outside of him, he really was. But sometimes it was still hard to watch other people get along so easily with others, and he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t gotten used to the twinge of pain feeling left behind gave him.

Changbin wasn’t an outcast, not by a longshot. But he didn’t have many people he considered close friends either. He’d had a few growing up, but ever since moving to Seoul, things were different. It seemed like half of the people at KHU came with someone they knew from high school. Changbin wasn’t so lucky. He was usually pretty good at ignoring the tightness in his chest, but today it was hitting him a little harder. He blamed his lack of sleep, though.

Gritting his teeth and forcefully pulling himself out of his mini pity-party, Changbin snaps his attention up just in time to see his teacher, Miss Hak, walking in alongside another upperclassman. The young man beside her is bubbly and bright, messy brown hair with pinkish blond highlights curling against his forehead, crater sized dimples on full display as he smiles happily while chatting with her. Changbin’s previously heavy heart leaps into his throat at the sight of the other man. He’s absolutely gorgeous.

Smiling and gesturing for the man to take his seat, Miss Hak turns to her desk at the front of the room and pulls out her own laptop. Changbin stares intently at the screen behind his teacher as she plugs her computer in, trying desperately to pretend his heart isn’t kicking into overdrive as the young man who entered with her walks confidently–and quickly–toward him.

Changbin flinches as the other steps toward his desk and tries to play it off as a small cough, shoving his mouth in his elbow to really sell it. The other man turns at the last minute when he hears a small “psst” from another one of Changbin’s classmates–Jisung, if he remembers correctly–to speak with him quietly, the two pulling each other into a half-hug. Changbin sighs in relief and ignores the small ache of disappointment at the exchange. Of course the older man wasn’t walking towards him . They’d never even met, and likely never would. 

“Good morning, everyone,” Miss Hak says from the front, drawing Changbin’s attention back to her. “I know class looks a bit different right now, but I promise it’s for a good reason,” the older lady says with a kind smile. “We’ll be doing things differently today.”

Changbin blinks, trying resolutely to ignore the handsome man squatting not a foot away from him.

“I’m afraid I’ll have to leave early this morning. My sister is at the hospital and they’re inducing her within the hour, and she asked me to be there for the delivery and subsequent trip home,” Miss Hak explains. “So, I can only provide you with a quick overview of what I want you to do today.” She clicks her computer and a slide comes up on the screen behind her, showing a relatively small list of what she expects them to accomplish during class. “Feel free to take a picture,” she tells the class. 

Changbin (and the majority of the class) obliges, snapping a quick shot of the screen.

“Now, because I won’t be here to see to it that you do your assignments, I called in a little extra help. Your upperclassmen here will be more than happy to fulfill my role until I’m back with you all next week,” Miss Hak says, gesturing to several of the older men sitting around the room. “Their class requires that they successfully mentor someone in production, which makes everything a win-win for both of you. Now, I know that many of you are close in age, but I still expect all of you to treat your temporary mentors with respect and dignity. If I hear that any of you are acting up in my absence, each guilty individual will get docked points on your overall class grade. Understood?”

The class nods in unison.

“Good. Now, I’m sure all–or most of you, at least–have some questions about this week’s assignment,” Changbin notices several students nod, a few grimacing. “The snare track that I gave all of you, as I’m sure you noticed, cannot be timed properly by manually dragging it. Instead, it has to be input in a separate window to align it with the other tracks.”

Changbin barely suppresses a groan of irritation. Other students aren't so hesitant.

“That, students, is why I told you all that this project was due today. You have until the end of class time to complete your song and upload your save file on the assignment page. Your new temporary mentors will help you all complete your project. Throughout the week, I’ll send you several other songs to help you get comfortable with this new method and you’ll turn each one in by the end of your classes. Any questions?”

No hands go up.

“Are you sure? A curious student is a learning student, after all,” Miss Hak says. 

Changbin, tucking his hands under his arms, sees several students tentatively raise their own.

“Hey, excuse me. Can I get by you real quick?” A new and lightly accented voice whispers in his ear.

Changbin nearly jumps in his seat at the unexpected sound, his eyes snapping up and beside him to see the handsome face of the upperclassman who had been talking to the student across the aisle from him.

Doing his best to calm his suddenly racing heart, Changbin nods, averts his eyes, and pulls his legs in on the theater-style seats, saying, “Oh, yeah. Sure. No problem.”

“Thanks!” The other man chirps brightly, squeezing in front of him. Changbin gulps at the close proximity, ignoring the blush lighting his ears on fire. He fully expects the guy to take the chair closer to the end, where two other students–Choi Yeonjun and Choi Soobin–sit comfortably. Instead, the older man plops down in the seat directly beside him.

Changbin quietly loses his mind.

He tries desperately to hear whatever question his classmate asked, and Miss Hak’s answer, but it’s hard for him to hear anything over the rabbit-quick thumping of his own heart.

What is wrong with me, he wonders. This is hardly the first attractive guy I’ve seen here, His brain hisses at him. Unbidden, a thought arises that he may just be the most attractive one, though. Changbin ignores it, neck and ears uncomfortably warm.

“–that’s all I have for you, class!” Miss Hak says with finality, unplugging her computer. “I’ll see all of you next week. Be good for your upperclassmen!”

A couple of students wave to her on the way out, others wishing her well. Changbin sits in awkward silence and stillness as the man next to him accidentally bumps elbows with him while waving to Miss Hak.

A few seconds after she exits the classroom, the guy next to him digs through his own bag to pull out his laptop and a small collection of thumb drives. Changbin hesitantly props his own open more, ears still red but finally cooling off.

Maybe I won’t have to pretend like I’m not nursing a schoolboy crush afterall, He thinks fleetingly, stomach churning.

“So,” the other man starts, promptly squashing his hope. “In case it wasn’t obvious, I’m here to help with all your producing needs for the day–er, week,” the other man says nonchalantly, tapping a few keys as his screen lights up.

“Ah, yeah. I kind of assumed,” Changbin starts, cringing at the dry tone of his own voice.

The other guy just cracks a grin, dimples once again flashing. Changbin pretends it doesn’t make his heart leap into his throat.

“My name is Chan. Bang Chan, actually. You can call me Chan, though,” He says with a 5,000 megawatt smile, holding a hand out to shake.

“Seo Changbin,” he answers, taking the other man’s hand and shaking. Changbin would never admit that it felt like a white-hot spark of electricity shot up his arm when the other man touched him. Well, maybe he’d admit it privately. To himself. When he had time to overthink things properly.

“Awesome! Nice to meet you,” Chan replies. “I’m gonna call another student over here and then we can get started on your class projects together, okay?”

“Okay,” Changbin answers and shifts awkwardly in his seat.

Placing his computer down and arranging his notes how he wants them, Chan stands up and quickly slips by Changbin again, going to grab the other student he’d mentioned. He glances up and sees the older man pulling the guy he was talking to earlier over, school bag and all.

“C’mooooonn, Jisungie. I can’t yell across the room just to teach you,” Chan says cheerfully, pulling the other man by his arm. “Jisungie” just smiles and laughs.

“Here! Slide into the seat by my stuff and we’ll get started,” Chan pushes the other into the row Changbin’s on, forcing him to pull his legs in at an awkward angle so the others can get through.

“Oh, yeah! Jisung! This is Changbin! You’re both gonna be working with me this week,” Chan adds, almost an afterthought. “Changbin, this is Han Jisung, a friend of mine. We were actually roommates last year,” he gestures to the other guy with a broad grin.

Jisung, halfway past Changbin, suddenly turns to the awkwardly contorted man, a smile emphasizing his full cheeks. “Oh! Hey! I’ve seen you around campus,” he says with a small wave, before holding out a hand to shake. “I’ve never actually gotten the chance to meet you before, though.”

Changbin, still bent in half, takes the other’s hand and shakes it. “Yeah, it’s nice to meet you. I have to work most of the week so I don’t really get the chance to spend a lot of time on campus. Or, not outside of classes, anyway,” he explains.

“Wait,” Han pauses and steps closer to Changbin. “You don’t work at The Meeting Grounds , do you?”

Changbin blinks in surprise, a small but genuine smile on his face. He’s surprised anyone noticed him working there but he’s fairly sure he’d remember someone like Jisung. “Uh, yeah, actually. I do. How’d you know?”

“You are the same Changbin! The hot barista Chan said Minho was gushing about the other day!” Jisung loudly declares, pointing an accusing finger in Changbin’s face. “You’re the one who made a peppermint frap so good he said he wanted to marry you!”

Jisung’s exclamation is so loud several heads turn to stare at the exchange currently taking place. Changbin feels his face grow warm with embarrassment, body still contorted in his seat.

“Wait, you’re that Changbin?” Chan suddenly pipes up from beside him, an amused smile quirking his lips. “The one and the same?”

Changbin’s head is swimming from being put on the spot. “I, ah, I can’t say I know for sure?” He says and winces at how squeaky it comes out. “I make frappes but I’ve never received a marriage proposal for them,” he chuckles awkwardly. 

“Oh god,” Chan giggles to himself. “You should probably expect one pretty soon. Minho, our friend–he’s a dancer somewhere in this building, by the way–is super impressed by your blending abilities.”

“Well, um, tell him I said thanks? I guess?” Changbin resists the urge to pick at his nails nervously, unused to the attention. Conversations in the room were still obviously on pause to hear what they were talking about and Changbin was having trouble keeping his voice steady under the scrutiny. “I can’t really say I remember that name, though.”

Jisung gasps dramatically, drawing the attention back to himself and causing a smattering of giggles around the room. “I can’t believe you said that,” he moans, throwing a hand over his face in animated horror. “Minho will be heartbroken to hear that his tender feelings aren’t reciprocated!”

Changbin laughs quietly to himself, and is internally startled to realize how genuine it is despite his general discomfort. “Well, tell Minho his next peppermint frappe is on the house. After all, I can’t leave my devoted customers unhappy with me, can I?” He says with a crooked grin, feeling his shoulders relax just a little.

Jisung laughs. “I’ll be sure to let him know. He really might propose now, though. Diamond ring and all. Coffee is the quickest way to his heart.”

“Okay, okay, coffee dates aside, we really need to start on our lesson. Jisung, will you please sit down so that I can too? And so Changbin here can stop his cirque du soleil impression?” Chan asks with a smile and a shake of his head.

“Oops. Sorry, Changbin!” Jisung says with a start and jumps out of the other’s way.

Changbin waves him off, smiling shyly–but gratefully–at Chan as he walks by.

“Okay, so,” Chan starts, sitting down and opening his notepad. “Miss Hak talked a little bit about how you need to align the snare track, but I’m going to show you how to do it. Follow along and do what I do. And don’t worry if you miss something the first time, I’ll make sure to go over it with you both several times for practice.”

Classes had felt tedious all week, Changbin taking slightly longer to pick up the new production techniques Chan was teaching than he’d like. Jisung, on the other hand, had moved on to trying it with songs outside of his class assignments with great success so far. Changbin would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little bit green with envy at the thought, even though he knew it wasn’t a competition.

Chan had been nothing but patient throughout the whole process, but Changbin could tell his patience was wearing thin. And he couldn’t say he blamed him, either, much as it pained him. The audio for several different tracks would warp anytime he moved them to the correct time, as though he was only dragging part of the song back. Chan had fixed it for him a few times manually but he shouldn’t have even had to. 

The whole situation was embarrassing. It didn’t help that Chan clearly knew Jisung from outside of class, so Changbin felt like he was third-wheeling with them half the time. It was fine, though. He knew he was a hard person to get to know and not a lot of people wanted to go to that kind of effort–especially not people he was temporarily studying with because of lesson requirements or whatever.

Shaking himself back into the present, he pulled the shirt he needed off a hanger in his small closet and over his head. It was Thursday evening and Changbin was dressing in his all black uniform for his shift at The Meeting Grounds . Tugging at the neckline of his uncomfortably snug long sleeve shirt, he sighed in resignation. It wasn’t that he didn't look good–in fact, he knew he looked damn good. The fit of his shirt emphasized his arms and chest very well. But he preferred looser sweaters and t-shirts to the snug sleeves of his uniform. It was either sleeves or makeup to cover his tattoos, though, and he did not feel like scrubbing forever when he got back to the dorms late tonight.

Pulling on his black regulation tennis shoes, Changbin threw on his jacket, tossed his apron over his shoulder and grabbed his phone, bag, and laptop. If business was slower, the manager usually let him work on school projects between orders.

The walk to the coffee shop was uneventful, as usual. It was nearly 5 in the evening, and late November, so it was quickly growing dark. The streetlights were just starting to click on with a low hum and the sunset was bathing the sky in the last vestiges of gold and pink. The air had a biting chill to it that Changbin could feel even through his clothes, leaving goosebumps trailing up and down his arms. 

While Seoul was always a bustling city, the street that this particular coffee shop was on was a little quieter than most. Rounding the next corner to the back of the shopping strip, he inhaled deeply and could already smell the scent of freshly brewed coffee wafting out of the cozy little cafe.

Pushing in through the back door, he called out a greeting to his shift manager, a man slightly older than him named Im Jaebum, who nodded back while pulling a fresh batch of cinnamon rolls out of the oven.

Pulling his hat out of his bag and dropping said bag off in the staff break room, he puts it on and hastily ties his apron around his waist. Finally, he makes his way to the staff sink to wash his hands before his shift begins. The cafe is quiet as he takes in the small crowd, only a few customers sitting around while sipping coffee and typing away on tablets and computers. Two people were in line and Lee Jihoon–an older production student who was nicknamed Woozi by his classmates–was quickly and efficiently taking care of their orders before he traded off with Changbin.

“Hey, Bin. How’s prod. class?” Jihoon greeted the other as he walked up, frothing almond milk for a vanilla latte.

“Good enough,” Changbin sighs, taking out some clean instruments and refreshing the hot water sanitizer for his shift. “Miss Hak has some of the older students mentoring us right now while she’s out to help her sister.”

Jihoon hums in acknowledgment. “Why only ‘good enough,’ then? That sounds kinda fun to me,” he asks with a smile, carefully pouring the warm milk into the coffee.

“Well, it’s taking longer than I'd like to get used to it all. And the guy mentoring me is super nice and everything but I get the feeling he doesn’t like teaching me very much,” Changbin chuckles dryly, grabbing a syrup spoon. “I get it, though. I mean, he had to go over the same sequence with me so many times. If he couldn’t do it blindfolded before I bet he can now. How about you?”

Jihoon frowns slightly at that but quickly replaces it with a smile as he turns back around to give the customer his order. The businessy looking lady behind him steps up, awkwardly maneuvering between her phone call and trying to order, mouthing “sorry” as someone (her boss, Changbin imagines) tells her his order. Jihoon quickly greets her and assures her everything is fine.

Changbin goes to work on her coffees–one medium blended caramel latte, double shot of espresso, with skim milk and an extra pump of sugar-free syrup, and the other, a large drip with a splash of oat milk–while the other man rings her up.

Combining the necessary ingredients, Changbin quickly has the concoction blended, with syrup and a swirl of light whipped cream on top. Jihoon quickly wraps and bags up her four mini quiches, and Changbin sets her coffees on the counter with it, topping the blend with a drizzle of sugar-free caramel and snapping the lid on. She thanks them with a smile and promptly rushes out the door.

Turning around with a huff, Jihoon gestures for Changbin to come closer after he cleans his tools.

“Okay, so first of all, you know it isn’t your fault for just needing a little extra time to learn something new, right? I mean, just learning how to arrange tracks itself is an annoyingly tedious task. Especially since the school’s production app doesn’t want to work how it should half the time,” Jihoon grumbles. “He shouldn’t be impatient with you because of something so small.”

“Wait, no. He’s not being impatient with me, he’s just not super personable. And he was more so when we first met? And with his other mentee, kinda, but they already knew each other. I wasn’t trying to say he’s being rude or anything,” Changbin rushes to explain.

“Well, still. It’s his job to teach you, at least for this week. He should want you to learn whatever it is you’re working on,” Jihoon says with a quirk of his eyebrow.

“It’s not that he doesn’t want me to learn either,” Changbin groans.

“Nah, I figured that. But still, patience costs him nothing but time–time he would be spending teaching you and his other mentee the ropes anyway. And, Binnie?” He says, making sure the other is looking him in the eyes. “You’re really good at what you do. Your songs may not always be conventional, but I’ve heard them and they’re good . You have a gift, man.”

Changbin flushes slightly, and looks to the floor. “Thanks, Jihoon. That means a lot.”

The other man smiles in response. “Well, it’s true. And, sad as I am to say it, it’s time for me to clock out now,” he says, gesturing for the other to follow him to the back as he pulls off his apron. “But I need to edit a few details on my upcoming paper. Professor has me writing friggin’ sonnets about the meaning of music to me,” he says with a good natured eye roll.

Changbin laughs at the other’s exasperation.

“I’ll be sticking around at least for a couple hours to work on it,” Jihoon continues. “So, when you get a slow spell, drop by my table. Maybe I can help you with whatever assignment is giving you trouble.”

“Seriously?” Changbin asks, almost giddy at the thought of Jihoon’s help. “You would?”

“Yeah, Binnie, I would,” Jihoon answers with a not unkind chuckle. “Just show me where you’re stuck. I’ve already passed the class you’re taking anyway. Seems silly not to help if I can.”

“Thanks, Jihoon. You’re a lifesaver,” Changbin sighs, tension he hadn’t realized he had bleeding out of his posture. Jumping when he hears the front doorbell chime, he throws one last grateful smile toward the older man. “And that’s my cue to get to work. Later.”

“Later!”

The evening was relatively slow, thankfully. Changbin didn’t enjoy serving an angry rush of people impatient for their coffee. Between customers, he was able to get help from Jihoon–who took one look at Changbin’s problematic music sequence and groaned. “Oh, god, Binnie. I remember this damned class,” he’d said with a pinch to the bridge of his nose. “My computer tried to do the same thing. Here, let me show you how to fix it.”

Jihoon told him it was actually an app setting that certain computers automatically turned on or off when the program was first downloaded. Once Jihoon took him through the steps to turn it off, he walked Changbin through the same lesson Chan had been trying to teach him for the last four days, only this time he was able to do it! Each track lined up perfectly with the next each time he dragged them to the necessary starting points and none of them lagged or had audio issues anymore. He even taught Changbin a quicker way to cut the unnecessarily long (and silent) intro out of the bass track.

By the time Jihoon was done showing him a few small tricks, Changbin was working through his projects (both current and upcoming) with a speed that rivaled even Jisung. He almost couldn’t wait for class the next morning, just so he could tell Chan what the problem had been and show him what he’d managed to do now that it was fixed. Some small part of him hungrily craved validation from the man, especially since he hadn’t been receiving much in light of his complications. 

Realizing his thoughts, Changbin took a mental broomstick to the thoughts and beat them back into line. Now is NOT the time to be thinking about this, and I do NOT need Chan’s approval to know I’m good at what I do.

Almost immediately after that thought, the doorbell rang with the first new patron in the last forty minutes. Asking to leave his computer with Jihoon, Changbin stood up smoothly and speedwalked behind the counter to serve the customer.

Tying his apron back around his waist, he washed his hands and turned back around to face the customer–only, it wasn’t a customer. Oh no. It was a crowd of about twelve people, several of them grouped up and talking with each other, all of them led by his own–thrice damned–roommate. Changbin resisted the urge to grimace and instead turned to Wooyoung’s mischievous smile.

“Welcome to The Meeting Grounds . What can I get for you today?” He asked, a strained smile on his face. In the background, Jihoon kissed his fingers and gave him a three fingered salute like it was The Hunger Games . Fat load of help he was.

“Hey Binnie! How’s work going?” Wooyoung asked, smile still firmly in place.

“Good, good. It’s been a quiet evening for the most part,” the “until now” went unsaid. “Big get-together tonight?”

“Uh, yeah. Bin, tonight was when a group of us were going out for fast food and studying. Remember? I invited you?” Wooyoung said, brow raised in mild amusement.

“Yeah, well, I had work,” he gestures to his apron.

“I knowwwww that. It’s why I suggested we come here for the studying part! That way I get to annoy–ahem, I mean, show you my appreciation anyway.”

“Thanks ever so much for thinking of me,” Changbin growls without any real malice. “But seriously, you’re holding up the line, Youngie. You want your usual?”

“Uh, sure. But put extra chocolate drizzle this time,” he confirms, while Changbin punches in his order. 

“Oh! And, uh, I may have lost a bet,” Wooyoung adds, just as Changbin goes to total him up. 

Instead of totalling him, Changbin pauses, sighs, and asks, “and just what does that mean for me?”

Wooyoung turns around and walks toward a group of four men huddling close and laughing. Changbin blinks dumbly after him, annoyance simmering under his uncomfortably snug collar.

Dragging another (vaguely familiar) man behind him, Wooyoung pulls the man in front of the counter. “Here. Tell him what you want, Minho.”

“Ugh, the story was just getting good, Young!” The other rolls his eyes.

Finally turning to face the counter, he blinks in surprise. “Oh, it’s you.”

With his patience already hair thin, Changbin narrowly resists the urge to glare at the other's tone. He does, however, feel his jaw flex as he grits his teeth. “Welcome. What would you like to order today?”

The other man smirks, seemingly very amused by something. “I’ll take the peppermint chocolate chip frap. With an extra drizzle of chocolate. For Minho, by the way.”

Changbin nods and goes to enter the order before something suddenly dawns on him.

“Wait, Minho?” Changbin asks, remembering Monday’s class. “As in, peppermint frap Minho?”

A couple of guys from the crowd waiting in line turn to face Changbin at the question. He can see both Jisung and Chan (and when had they gotten here?) suddenly whip their heads around, both wearing twin looks of horror on their faces.

“Oh, is that how I’m known around here now?” Minho asks in mock surprise, a smile lighting up his eyes.

“Not… exactly. Actually, Jisung and Chan might have mentioned something about you liking the ‘hot barista’ this past Monday,” he says, smirking and throwing a wink at the two horrified boys a few places behind Minho.

Minho’s face turns very red, very suddenly. “Uh…”

Changbin laughs at the look on the other man’s face. “It’s okay, really. I was flattered if anything. But I didn’t remember you by name, I’m afraid. Although your face is certainly not easily forgotten.” Changbin feels a thrill at his own boldness as he lays on the charm. “I was informed that such a sin was unheard of. So, to apologize for my own forgetfulness, your order is on me, Minho. Any size.”

The other man blinks in astonishment for a second before he seems to snap out of whatever stupor he’s in. “Well, ah, same order, I guess. Medium, thank you.”

“Happy to oblige,” Changbin responds, totalling Wooyoung’s drink and snack and subtracting Minho’s with his own card, adding on a peppermint and dark chocolate cookie as well.

Leaning over as though to whisper conspiratorially, Minho hisses, “I’m gonna kill him. Both of them. Chan wasn’t supposed to mention any of that, especially not to you or-or to Hannie.”

Leaning over to meet the other man halfway, Changbin smiles and, in another rare show of boldness, whispers, “just don’t go for the face, okay? Chan’s dimples are a little too pretty to screw up.”

Minho once again blinks in surprise, a slow smile spreading across his face. “‘Too pretty,’ huh?”

“So I like a pretty smile. Sue me.” Changbin rolls his eyes, standing up straight again. “Your orders will be out shortly,” he says louder, addressing Minho and Wooyoung together, the latter of whom shoots him a suspicious glance.

“What was that all about?” Wooyoung asks as Minho moves back to whatever conversation he was pulled away from, scathing glare aimed at a visibly nervous Chan the whole way.

“Nothing,” Changbin hums. “And you need to move so more people can order.”

“Fine. But we’re not done, yet. I wanna know what you two said,” he says with a squint.

Changbin just rolls his eyes, walking over to the kitchen window, calling Jaebum out to help take orders while he mixes coffees.

The next person to order is a taller boy named Hyunjin, a friend of Chan and Jisung with a kind smile. Changbin rings up half of it while he steams the milk for Wooyoung’s order before Jaebum finally makes it to the front, large tray of freshly baked and cooled raspberry turnovers hastily shoved in the glass case beside the register.

Jaebum handles the register from then on, smile in place and fingers moving at warp speed. Meanwhile, Changbin races around, apron ties flapping in the wind as he speedily makes the coffee orders (and one chai latte, extra cinnamon) to everyone’s request. Hollering out Jisung’s name as he races back to finish a marocchino, the other boy waits by the counter after grabbing his coffee, clearly intent on snagging a second with the busy barista.

Carefully adding the milk foam to the hot drink, he snaps a lid on the cup and calls out, “Order for Hongjoong!”

Mingi’s mentor quickly snatches the coffee up with a shy “thank you” and a smile.

“Hey, Changbin, when you get a sec, can I ask you a question?” Jisung asks as he races back to clean his stir-spoon.

“Sure. Just let me finish the orders, okay?” He answers, already steaming more milk for a cappuccino.

“No problem,” the other yells over the din of noise, smiling.

Finally, after what seems like forever but must have only been thirty minutes max, Changbin is hollering out his last order, “mocha for Felix!”

Twisting his neck to pop it and sighing at the resounding crack, Changbin turns around to wash his many utensils, Jaebum walking up behind him to help.

“Well, that was a huge rush for this late. And here I thought only the morning staff would ever have to deal with that,” the older man says with surprise.

“If this is what the morning shift is like, I pity Taekwoon,” Changbin says wryly.

“Well, him and Yeji both. She says the lunch rush is almost as bad as the morning. Boss is interviewing a friend of mine, Seokjin, to bring on as an assistant shift manager or something. Apparently people live for the midday pick-me-ups too.”

“I have never been more grateful to be on shift with you,” Changbin says, mild terror coloring his voice at the thought of having to work either big rush.

“Yeah, and I want you on more than just Thursday and Friday, too,” Jaebum says pointedly, drying the last frothing cup.

“I wish I could, but you know I have to work the other place to keep tuition up,” he says, quieter.

“I know. I’m just saying, if you ever wanna switch over here for a few more days, I’ll gladly put in a word,” Jaebum says with a smile, putting the last of the clean stir spoons away. “And besides, our regulars enjoy having you around too.”

Changbin just smiles to himself, wiping down the blender. Jaebum pats him on the back as he goes back into the kitchen to begin shutting things down for the night.

Heaving a big sigh of relief, he walks out from behind the counter over to Jihoon. The other man glances up from his laptop as he slides into the booth across from him. Changbin opens his own laptop and saves the necessary files onto his thumb drive before he shuts his computer down for the evening.

“You look like you’ve been through hell,” Jihoon comments, eyeing the other’s messy hair, milk-damp apron, and a particularly prominent caramel stain on his sleeve.

“Yeah, and I feel like it too,” he sighs, biting back a yawn.

“It’s never that busy. I was almost tempted to throw my apron back on and help you out, once or twice. You looked frantic, running between the frother and the counter.”

“Thanks for the kind thoughts,” Changbin says with a small glare. “They really helped.”

Jihoon just smirks and types something else onto his Google doc.

Putting his computer away, Changbin takes his hat off and rests against the seat for a second, slightly dreading the fact that he knew he still needed to make his way over to the (loud) table where Jisung was. He glanced up at said table just in time to see the freckled man (Felix, he thinks) elbow Hyunjin sharply in the ribs causing Jisung to laugh uproariously.

Sighing in defeat, Changbin stands and resignedly makes his way over to the long table, slowly untying his apron the whole way. He hears a wolf whistle as he pulls it over his head and looks up to see Jisung grinning broadly. Changbin raises an unimpressed eyebrow at the other.

“Geez, Changbinnie. I never knew you were so jacked,” Jisung says, admiring his now visible chest through his too-tight shirt.

In his peripheral vision, he notices Chan also paying closer attention to him, his expression surprised.

Changbin resists the urge to roll his eyes at the animated man, sighing instead as he pulls a chair over to sit down. Jisung will be Jisung, he thinks to himself. 

“Hello to you too.” He nods briefly at the rest of the table before turning back to the other. “You said you wanted to ask me something?”

“Oh, yeah! I know we’re not in class right now so it’s cool if you don’t wanna talk about it and all. I just wanted to ask if you wanted to take a study day Saturday? Maybe I could help you work out whatever’s been giving you problems,” he suggests, eyes guileless.

Changbin’s ears flush hotly, embarrassed at his previous incompetence. Clearing his throat, he starts, “uh, thanks for the offer, Jisung, but–”

“I really think it would be a good idea,” Chan interrupts, eyes guarded and mouth an unhappy line. Changbin feels himself shrink back a little at the visible disapproval from the older man. “I don’t like that I haven’t been able to help you figure out how to drag the tracks without the audio cutting out. Jisung might be able to help you where I haven’t.”

Changbin swallows, his throat suddenly dry, and glances briefly around the table in discomfort. He knew it was his own fault he hadn’t been able to complete the stupid song, but it was still embarrassing to have his own inadequacies so casually discussed in front of people he didn’t even know.

Hongjoong, who was also at the table, frowned in concern. “Cutting out? I haven’t seen that before,” he said curiously.

Jisung, seeming to sense Changbin’s growing discomfort, laughed awkwardly and gestured broadly. “It’s no big deal, really. I mean, if you can’t do it this Saturday maybe we could try some other time?”

“That’s blatantly untrue. This is a really big deal,” Chan said, attention still on the subject at hand. “If he can’t get this simple track lined up properly, I don’t see him passing this year,” he says matter-of-factly.

The others don’t seem overly bothered by the exchange, but even Mingi flinches slightly at that. They may not have been super close, but even he knows how much time and effort Changbin puts into his projects. They were a major point of pride for him, the whole reason he was in college to begin with.

Changbin sat back, stunned, a heavy pit in his stomach and a hot flush of humiliation burning his body.

“You didn’t let me finish,” he says weakly, swallowing past a lump in his throat.

“How can you finish if the tracks won’t line up, though?” Jooheon, another mentor asks innocently, oblivious to the inner turmoil Changbin was currently fighting with.

“Not just the tracks,” he says quietly, arms crossing and guard rapidly going up.

“I can’t help you do what you need–” Chan starts.

“I’m aware of that, Chan,” he says sharply, angrily, blinking hard and ignoring the stinging in his eyes.

Chan and Hongjoong both sit back a little at his tone.

“I actually spoke with another student, a friend. He remembers taking the same class I’m in right now, just a couple years ago,” Changbin continues.

“Oh! That’s cool,” Jisung says, trying to ease some of the obvious tension. “Is it anyone I know?”

“I’m not sure,” Changbin answers truthfully. “I only know him through work, personally.”

Chan opens his mouth, a frown on his face, clearly intent on saying something else. Right at that moment, someone behind Changbin lays a steadying hand on his shoulder. He turns around, surprised, to see Jihoon behind him, a tight smile on his face.

“Hey, guys. Don’t mind me, I’m just dropping off Binnie’s computer bag for him,” he says, tone light.

He carefully drops the bag handles over the back of the chair, then turns to Jisung first and foremost.

“My name’s Jihoon. I’m a friend of Changbin. We work together here at the coffee shop,” he explains, gesturing to the shop around them.

“I’m Jisung,” said man says and waves. “I’m one of Changbin’s classmates. We’re actually working together on a project right now!”

“Oh, really? You must be his current project partner in Miss Hak Chaewon’s class,” Jihoon says, smile growing somehow even more dazzling. That was never a good sign.

“Yeah, kind of. Me and him are being mentored by Bang Chan,” he says, turning to the stiff-but-cordial man in the chair next to him.

Chan smiles, dimples once again on display, though it doesn’t seem very sincere. “Nice to meet you,” he says shortly.

“Ah,” Jihoon says, eyes alight with understanding and something else. “So you’re Changbinnie’s mentor,” he says, words weighty with intent.

Changbin turns and discreetly shoots him a pleading look. He does not want Chan to have one more reason to be annoyed with him right now.

Jihoon glances very quickly at him before fixing his attention back on Chan. “Changbin was telling me about the projects she has the class working on. Apparently the program has been giving him some issues the three of you couldn’t quite figure out, right?”

Jisung nods, glancing nervously between Chan and Jihoon.

“Something like that,” Chan confirms.

“Well, I’m glad he mentioned it to me. I was telling him about a similar problem I had with the app during my tenure in Miss Hak’s class. She was able to help me turn off the audio delay-save setting to keep it from warping or cutting audio on certain files. I was able to help Changbin do the same today. His songs are coming along quite beautifully, if I do say so myself,” he brags mildly, winking down at the flustered and flushing Changbin. “In fact, if he can make this canned class-project sound as good as he has, I’d hazard a guess he’s in for a really big career.”

Changbin covers his face and suppresses a groan. Jihoon was so kind but he couldn’t help feeling embarrassed at the unabashed compliments the older man was heaping on him.

“Did you say ‘setting–’” Chan starts but gets interrupted.

“Wait a second, did you say your name’s Jihoon? As in, Lee Jihoon?” Mingi pipes up, voice suddenly excited. “The famous ‘Woozi?’”

Jihoon blinks, surprised at the other man. “Well, yeah. I am, actually. But what do you mean by ‘famous?’” He asks with a grin.

“Are you kidding? You’re a freaking legend in the production department. Miss Hak still uses your final project as an example for other students. You’re amazing!” Mingi gushes.

Changbin, peeling his hands off his face, glances around the table and takes in the expressions of awe on the other production students’ faces. Even Chan and Jisung look surprised at the sudden revelation.

“Hah, that’s funny. I had a great grade in the class, so I just kinda said ‘fuck it’ and had fun with my final project. She graded me well, but I’m surprised she’s still using it as an example,” Jihoon muses, a pleased grin still firmly in place.

“Well, yours and Min Yoongi’s. He’s still going for his doctorate, isn’t he?” Hongjoong says, no small amount of giddiness in his voice.

“Yeah, he and Namjoon both are,” Jihoon confirms. “I’m very glad to hear my work is still inspiring the students of tomorrow,” he says, preening.

Changbin rolls his eyes at the other’s cockiness. “Oh please.”

“It’s true, though, Binnie! Why, just earlier today, my own mistakes inspired you not to repeat them!” He says, eyes comically wide and hand over his chest.

Changbin just shakes his head and laughs, secretly grateful for his friend’s cheekiness after the awkward conversation he’d been in.

“Speaking of, that brings me back to my original point,” Jihoon turns back to Chan. “I helped him turn off the stupid setting and taught him how to do it himself, too. Changbinnie’s a good student, Chan. I don’t see him having any more problems with the program unless the program itself fails altogether,” Jihoon assures the other man, tone sincere but lighter once again.

“I, uh, didn’t realize there was a setting that could even do that. I’ve never had that problem,” Chan says, rubbing the back of his neck bashfully. “And I don’t know anyone who has.”

“I wonder if that’s what’s been giving Park Woojin trouble,” Mingi wonders aloud.

“Only some computers seem to do it,” Jihoon sighs with an eye roll. “Mine and his both, apparently. Anyway, maybe Changbin could go over how to troubleshoot that with this Park Woojin? As well as the two of you later.” He nods to Jisung and Chan. “That way, any future mentees can get quicker help,” he says mildly.

Chan looks down at his hands at the mild reprimand, nodding. Jisung just smiles and agrees.

“Now, Binnie, I need to head out. It’s getting late and I have to turn in my paper tonight,” Jihoon turns to the younger man. “Text me if you need anything, alright?”

“Sure, Jihoon,” he answers with a smile, scrunching his nose as the other man ruffles his hair.

“See ya around. Bye everyone!”

The table choruses with a loud round of “goodbyes,” Mingi’s possibly the loudest, until the bell over the door chimes with Jihoon’s exit.

Changbin sits back in his chair, more relaxed and happy after the older man’s interruption.

“...That’s what you were trying to finish telling me, huh?” Chan asks rhetorically.

Changbin smirks with an eyeroll. “Yeah, something like that.”

“God, Changbin, I’m sorry. I was an ass about it, huh?” Chan laughs embarrassedly. “I guess I just figured you didn’t want to hurt your pride and accept help or something. That wasn’t really fair to you.”

“No, it wasn’t. Thank you though, Chan. And, to be fair to you, I didn’t exactly race to tell you either,” he responds with a grimace.

“Yeah, but still. I shouldn’t have acted like that,” Chan says regretfully.

“No, but I’m not eager to hold it against you either. Just, maybe let me get a word in edgewise next time?” Changbin suggests with a pointed look.

“Yeah, will do,” the other man laughs, redfaced and sipping his now-cold coffee.

“Hey, Changbin, right?” Hyunjin pipes up from the other side of the table.

“Yeah? Hyunjin, was it?”

“Right! I was just gonna ask you if the cafe closes at 10? I can’t remember what the website said.”

“We do,” Changbin says, nodding in confirmation.

“Damn,” the other swears. “We really need to go, then.”

“I mean, I’m not gonna rush you all out the door,” Changbin chuckles.

“Nah, but still. It’s late, and half of us have recital practice early tomorrow,” Hyunjin shoots a pointed look at Wooyoung, who has been chatting animatedly with Minho for the last forty-five minutes at least. The other boy rolls his eyes but gathers his trash to throw away.

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Wooyoung groans, standing up.

“When is the showcase anyway?” Changbin asks. “Wooyoung still hasn’t told me.”

“I’d be surprised if Wooyoung knows,” Hyunjin says teasingly. “He’s awful with important dates.”

“Why must you spread these lies?” Wooyoung sighs. “Why, just this year I remembered to get you a birthday gift! And you got it ON your birthday!”

Changbin sits back, content to watch the interaction unfold.

“Yeah,” the other snorts. “After Jongho reminded you to do it.”

“Wow,” Wooyoung says, aghast. “WOW. That’s just rude.”

“You didn’t even try to deny it though,” Hyunjin points out, smirking.

“Uh, I thought we were cleaning up to go. Not arguing like an old married couple,” Felix suddenly interjects, amused.

“Hush and stay out of this, Lix. Hyunjin clearly needs to be corrected. I mean, I’m absolutely amazing at remembering dates! Aren’t I?” Wooyoung turns to Changbin.

“...I’m gonna have to invoke my constitutional right to remain silent on this one, Youngie,” Changbin says, smirking.

The other man dramatically gasps in affront and a chorus of chuckles break out around the table.

“Right, well, I’m going to head back to the dorms,” Felix says and sighs. “I need to get back so I can actually have a chance to study tonight since my plans went out the window earlier.”

“You know we have Wi-Fi, right?” Changbin asks the younger man.

“Yeah, only problem is I can’t hope to type anything out for my group presentation with Wooyoung hollering every few minutes,” he says with a laugh.

“What is this, pick on Wooyoung day? What’d I ever do to you, Felix?” Wooyoung holds a hand over his heart.

Distantly, Changbin notices Chan watching him out of the corner of his eye.

“You told me to hush,” Felix responds with a cheeky smile.

Wooyoung folds his arms over his chest and huffs petulantly, making Changbin laugh quietly to himself.

“I’ll see you around, eh Changbin?” Felix says with a wave, carrying his bag with him.

“I hope so. Get back safe,” he says.

Performance apparently over, Wooyoung comes over to stand by Changbin. “Really, though, this place is cool. I’ll have to come here and study more.”

“I’d be happy to have all of you–if you don’t mind a little extra wait on the coffee anyway.”

At the other end of the table, Minho stands and starts gathering everyone’s trash together.

“Yeah, sorry about the ambush,” Wooyoung laughs. “We were out eating and I hated that you couldn’t come, so I figured I’d bring the hangout to you.” He squats down by Changbin. “I just…” he starts before glancing at the preoccupied table around him. He leans in closer and continues, quietly, “I just know how hard it’s been for you to find time to hang out. And my friends–and their friends–are good people, Binnie.”

Changbin smiles, warmth and happiness blooming in his chest. “I appreciate it, Wooyoung. I hate that my schedule keeps conflicting with your plans. I swear, one of these days I’m gonna take the evening off and come with you too,” he says apologetically.

“I’ll hold you to that,” Wooyoung says with a smile.

Changbin scoots his chair back and stands, going to help Minho gather some of the trash he sees on the table. He’s not technically a waiter, but he knows most people would appreciate the help.

“Well, if it isn’t the hot barista,” Minho says with a laugh as Changbin takes a big handful of cups and napkins from him. “Playing the role of the hot waiter today too?”

“No,” Changbin says, amused. “Just helping a friend.”

Minho smiles happily at that, grabbing a few small plates and following Changbin to the trash can.

“I never got to properly thank you for the cookie, by the way,” Minho pipes up and Changbin scrapes crumbs off a plate into the trash. “So, thank you. You didn’t have to give me that, though. I would’ve been fine with the frappe.”

“I know, but I wanted to,” Changbin insists.

“You don’t even know me, really,” Minho says lightly, but clearly a little bit confused.

“Yeah, I guess not. But Wooyoung? And Chan and Jisung? They’re good people. That means you are too. And I just wanted to, I guess. No real reason,” Changbin explains with a shrug.

Minho huffs, amused. “That’s interesting logic.”

Changbin just shrugs again, gathering the plates and any other dishes to take to the kitchen.

Rinsing the dishes he'd taken from the table, Changbin carefully puts them in the industrial dishwasher to sanitize. Turning around, he gathers his cleaner, washbucket, and two dishcloths to clean off the tables and chairs in the dining area.

Several members of the party toward the front of the cafe are already leaving, and Chan waves goodbye to the smaller group that had taken a booth. He thinks he remembers two of their names being Kim Geonhak and Kim Youngjo. 

Starting with Jihoon’s table, Changbin carefully sprays and scrubs the surfaces. Jihoon usually leaves things spotless but he’s still required to at least sanitize tables. Taking the other cloth, he sprays and cleans the seats as well, paying extra attention to a small spot of what looks like raspberry preserves on the edge of the opposite booth.

Moving efficiently from table to table, Changbin finishes cleaning surfaces in the back of the cafe. Making his way to the front, he notices that Jisung, Wooyoung, Chan, and Minho are the only ones left. Wooyoung is seemingly waiting for something–him, if he had to guess.

Prioritizing cleaning the previously occupied booth first, Changbin scrubs at a few small stains and has them spotless by the time he turns around to address the other two booths along the wall. He makes quick work of them and finally stands up, popping his back, and makes his way over to the table in the center of the room.

“Binnie, we’re getting ready to go,” Wooyoung says, almost a whine.

“Okay. Guess I’ll see you back at the dorm?”

“Yeah, but I wanted to wait for you to come too,” Wooyoung says, throwing himself on the other man.

Changbin sighs but catches the whiny man, holding him up easily. “You’re just procrastinating your paper, Youngie. You need to get some actual studying in tonight,” he chastises lightly.

Wooyoung just slumps against him even heavier. Changbin can’t honestly blame him.

Kitchen doors swinging behind him, a tired Jaebum makes his way out of the back with his own cleaning supplies in hand.

“Already got the back tables, bossman,” Changbin calls to him. “Just need to mop now.”

“You’re a lifesaver, Bin,” Jaebum calls, turning around from his trek toward the back to clean the work counter and display case instead.

“C’mon, Young. I really need to clean your table now,” Changbin pushes the other to stand up straight.

“Can I wait for you to finish?” He asks with a pout.

Changbin looks at him, deadpan.

“Please?” He pouts more, determined to have his way.

Rolling his eyes, Changbin sighs in weary exasperation. Wooyoung fist pumps in triumph.

“I’m so glad you’re such a softie,” Wooyoung yells excitedly, bounding over to the other three who had been talking by the door.

“Call me that again and I’m throwing you over my shoulder and carrying you out of here myself,” Changbin rasps out, only mildly annoyed.

Jisung laughs loudly and Changbin notices the fond look Minho gives him as he does so. Interesting.

“Kinky! I’m not really into that, though,” Wooyoung yells back.

Changbin shoots him an annoyed glare. “Information I didn’t need,” he says with an eye roll, turning to clean the table.

Behind him somewhere by the counter, he hears Jaebum laugh at his expense. He pointedly ignores it.

Finishing up with the table, Changbin starts sanitizing the chairs. He’ll need to mop after this, and then he’s free to go home. Jaebum usually locks up after he puts the leftover pastries and sweets in boxes for the morning shift. The lady over the homeless shelter comes by regularly and happily accepts their donations.

His last chair finally clean, Changbin hurries to get the mop and clean the floors, carrying the mandatory “slipping hazard” signs to set out as he goes. His back always aches after mopping under the booths and today is no different.

After another scrubbing session (this time along the floor), Changbin is finally finished. Grabbing his apron, jacket, hat, and bag, he makes his way over to the doorway, surprised to see the other three men still chatting with a waiting Wooyoung.

“I’m finished for the night,” he says, addressing Wooyoung. “Unless Jaebum wants me for something?” He calls over his shoulder in question.

“No, no,” the other man says, flipping off the kitchen lights. “I’m done for the night too. See you tomorrow, Changbin. Get home safely,” he says, ushering the boys out of the cafe, turning off the dining room lights, and locking up.

“You too,” Changbin nods, stepping out into the cold night air. “And stay warm while you’re at it,” he says with a shiver, throwing his jacket over his shoulders.

Jaebum agrees and walks away.

“You ready to head back?’ Changbin turns back to Wooyoung.

“Mm hm. I’m so tired, Binnie,” he groans.

“Me too. See you guys around I guess?” He turns to address the other three chatting quietly.

“Just a second. Changbin, can I talk to you real quick?” Chan asks, expression tight.

“Sure, I guess,” Changbin agrees, stepping away with him, an uneasy feeling in his gut.

Oh god , Changbin thinks, worried. I hope he’s not mad about the thing with Jihoon earlier. I thought everything went okay but maybe he disagrees.

“It’s nothing big, just…” Chan hesitates until they’re a good few steps away from the other three men. “I wanted to apologize. Properly. For-for earlier.”

Changbin almost sighs in relief, his concern about the impending conversation dissolving.

“I already forgave you, Chan. It’s not really a big deal anyway,” Changbin says softly, looking into the other man’s troubled eyes.

“But that’s just the thing. It is. A big deal, I mean. Jisung pulled me aside earlier. Kinda fussed at me for what I did, and for good reason. I already knew you were a good student. I guess I just got caught up in the frustration of everything that’s been going wrong the last few days,” Chan admitted, eyebrows still scrunched up. “And if I was really concerned, I should’ve pulled you aside to talk. Not embarrass you in front of the whole table.”

“I mean, I would have preferred that, yeah,” Changbin says with a small laugh. “But like I said, you’re already forgiven. It was an honest mistake to make. Besides, Jihoon got to show off a little–which I know thrilled his heart.”

Chan looked at him quietly for a minute, eyebrows still drawn tight. Changbin cleared his throat awkwardly, ignoring the butterflies throwing a rager in his stomach.

“Chan..?” He asked quietly after another few seconds.

“You… You’re too nice, you know that?” Chan finally admits quietly.

“What?” Changbin asks, surprised.

“I said you’re too nice. You have every right to be mad at me. I was an ass. But it’s just over? Just like that?” Chan points out, concerned.

“I mean, yeah. I do have every right to be mad. And I was when it happened. Actually, I was kind of humiliated,” Changbin admits, surprised at his own candidness. “But even when you were being ‘an ass,’ as you said, I didn’t think it was malicious. Just poorly timed–and expressed–concern.”

“Changbin–”

“If anything, I’ve felt kinda shitty the last few days. I knew what I was supposed to be doing but every time I tried it wouldn’t work. I didn’t want to keep holding the two of you back. And I definitely didn’t want you to get a bad rap with Miss Hak if one of your students couldn’t even figure out how to move a track without screwing the audio up,” he says, looking down at his hands. “You’ve tried really hard to teach us both in her absence and–”

“Changbin, wait, no,” Chan interrupts, voice urgent. “You haven’t held us back. The whole reason she assigned upperclassmen to teach was because she knew you guys would need extra hands-on help with some of her new techniques. And we were never mad at you or anything. I was frustrated because I felt helpless in the face of your problems, but I wasn’t mad at you. Neither of us were. You know that, right?”

“I mean, I guess,” he says weakly.

“Changbin.” Chan grasps him by either side of his shoulders, surprising him enough to look up into the earnest eyes of the other man. “I was never mad at you. I’m sorry if I made you feel like I was, but I wasn’t. I promise.”

“It’s okay, Chan,” Changbin says with a small smile, comforted by the warmth of Chan’s hands. “Maybe I was just projecting my own anger with it all or something,” he says with a quiet chuckle.

Changbin smiles sadly. “I’m sorry you were mad at yourself. It wasn’t even your fault. I’m glad Jihoon could help you figure out how to fix whatever setting was giving you issues,” he says softly, taking a step closer. “And I seriously hope you can show me how to do it too.”

“I will. Tomorrow, before or after class maybe,” Changbin agrees, a soft smile lighting up his eyes.

For a fraction of a second, he swears Chan’s eyes look positively tender.

Chan smiles, finally stepping back from the other man. “I’m glad,” he says. “So. We good?”

“Yeah, we’re good,” Changbin says with a tilt of his head, privately mourning the loss of the other man’s touch.

“Good! I’ll see you tomorrow, Changbin,” Chan says happily, leading them back to the others.

“See you tomorrow,” he says with a smile, turning to face his roommate.

Wooyoung hugs Minho goodbye, shooting Changbin a knowing look and nudging Minho with a smirk. The other smirks right back and Changbin feels a sense of foreboding hovering over him.

“Hey, Changbinnie!” Minho calls, smirk still firmly in place. “Give me your phone real quick. I wanna get your number.”

Surprised and slightly wary, Changbin pulls his phone out of his pocket and hands it over. “May I ask what for?” He questions, suspicious.

“To text you, duh,” Minho says, rolling his eyes while he types something on his phone.

“Should I be concerned?” He asks Jisung.

“Do you have any reason to be?” Minho fires back before anyone else can get a word in.

“Not really,” Jisung answers Changbin’s question with a giggle. “Unless getting random pictures of his cats at 4 a.m. is cause for concern.”

“Those are gifts to the world and you should feel honored to receive them,” Minho says smugly.

“Riiiiight.” Chan rolls his eyes.

“I mean, at least they’re cute?” Wooyoung says with a shrug.

“Adorable,” Mino corrects, still typing.

“I don’t particularly mind that, if he doesn’t mind me sleeping through them most of the time,” Changbin says.

“As long as you acknowledge them properly once awake,” Minho sniffs.

Chan rolls his eyes again.

“Okayyyy, here you go. I’ll message you later,” Minho says with a wink as he hands his phone back.

“Cool. Get home safely, Minho,” Changbin says, pulling a still-smug Wooyoung after him.

True to form, Wooyoung teases Changbin all the way back to their dorm about his “puppy-love crush” for Chan. Apparently that’s where the smirks had come from. Changbin knew that foreboding feeling was there for a reason earlier.

“All I’m saying is you should definitely ask him out,” Wooyoung nags, kicking his shoes off in the doorway, following him further into the dorm.

“I am not asking him out. He’s, like, two years older than me anyway!” Changbin protests, peeling his syrup-sticky shirt over his head.

“We’re in college. Two years isn’t that much!” Wooyoung counters.

“No, but he’s my upperclassman! I can’t just ask him out,” Changbin says through gritted teeth, tired of their argument. “Besides he clearly just sees me as his mentee anyway. He’d laugh in my face! Well, actually, maybe not. He’s too nice for that. But he would still reject me and it would still be embarrassing.”

“You don’t know that for sure, though,” Wooyoung points out.

“No, but I’m pretty sure.”

“What are you two arguing about?” Seonghwa, one of their roommates, asks from his perch on the couch.

“Changbin has a fat crush on his upperclassman and won’t do anything about–MMPH!” Wooyoung rushes out before Changbin slaps a hand over his mouth.

“Ignore him, he doesn’t know what he’s saying,” Changbin says with a nervous laugh.

“Upperclassman, eh?” Yeosang, their other roommate asks amusedly around a mouthful of pizza.

“Shut up!” Changbin hisses. “Wooyoung’s jumping the gun.”

“Seems to me like he’s pretty spot on if your reaction’s anything to go by,” Seonghwa says lightly.

Changbin feels Wooyoung smirk behind his hand and he’s suddenly very tempted to pull him into a headlock.

“That doesn’t even make sense,” Changbin lies poorly. “And anyway, like I said to Wooyoung a thousand times already, it’s not like I have a chance. Besides, I’ve barely noticed him, and definitely not like that.”

“The lady doth protest too much, methinks~” Yeosang sing-songs unhelpfully.

“Shut up and eat your pizza, Yeosang,” Changbin hisses.

“Okay, but in all seriousness, is it anyone I know?” Seonghwa asks.

“I doubt it. He’s a production major, Hwa,” Changbin tries to brush him off.

“I had to take two semesters of production to continue my degree. Try me,” he challenges the younger.

“Okay, fine. He–ew! Wooyoung! Did you just lick me?” Changbin yelps, ripping his hand off the other’s mouth.

“You’re the one who put it within licking distance,” Wooyoung points out.

“That’s disgusting. What the hell?”

“Don’t cover my mouth again and we won’t have this issue.”

“Changbin! You were saying?” Seonghwa interrupts.

“Right,” he rushes to the bathroom to wash his hands. “Anyway, his name is Bang Chan. He’s older than me but I don’t know how much, and he’s super nice. Oh, and he has an accent. And dimples. He has really big dimples,” Changbin explains over the running faucet.

“‘Barely noticed him?’” Yeosang teases.

“Shut up, Yeosang,” Changbin demands again.

Yeosang flips him off.

“Yeah, he is super cute. And he seems nice, if a little bit of a hardass,” Wooyoung chimes in. “Changbin was giving him starry eyes before we came back from the cafe today.”

“I was not!” Changbin protests.

“And, honestly, Minho–you know, the guy from dance?–he thinks Chan was giving him starry eyes right back,” Wooyoung continues, ignoring him.

“He was not!” Changbin denies, stomping out of the bathroom with freshly washed (and spit-free) hands to grab a shirt. “He was literally apologizing for having been a jerk earlier. It was an accident, but still.”

“Yeah yeah, I know starry eyes when I see them. You two were practically drooling over each other,” Wooyoung says.

“You’re insufferable, you know that?” Changbin growls.

“Not as insufferable as watching you two looking into each other’s souls over a simple goodbye.”

Changbin glares, fuming silently.

“Nothing to say to that, hmm?” Wooyoung taunts.

“Actually, I was just trying to remember how much bail money it would take me to get out on a manslaughter charge,” Changbin says, deceptively mild.

Wooyoung blanches.

“Boys, simmer down,” Seonghwa interjects. “Changbin’s crush isn’t anything to get so worked up about.”

“I do not have a–oh, for the love of god.” Changbin runs a hand down his face.

“Why are you even denying it?” Wooyoung asks. “You two would be so cute together!”

“Which is never going to happen,” Changbin argues. “Look, even if I did have a crush–and I’m not saying I do–I seriously wouldn’t have a chance. I mean, I’ve barely even spoken to the guy outside of class.”

“So what you’re saying is I need to find an excuse to drag him to your shift at the cafe weekly until you’re both drooling on each other instead of the poor sidewalk,” Wooyoung says cheekily.

“For what it’s worth, Changbin,” Seonghwa pipes up again, “I do actually know Chan. Not well, but still. Everything I’ve seen of him is that he’s kind and dedicated–to his work and friends. He wouldn’t be a bad guy to date.”

“We’re not dating,” Changbin says, flushed in anger (and maybe something else). “We aren’t even really friends. What part of this don’t you guys understand?”

“Oh, we understand all of it,” Yeosang says. “It’s just that you’re being unreasonably dense and refusing to give the guy a chance before you’re writing him off as a lost cause.”

“What Yeosang said.” Wooyoung nods adamantly in agreement.

“Yeosang–”

“You tell me to shut up again, Seo Changbin, and I’m throwing the pizza at your face.”

“...nevermind.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Changbin heaves a weary sigh, frustratedly yanking on his fresh shirt and flopping down on the couch by Seonghwa, pulling out his laptop and headphones.

“Chan is a great guy, though, Binnie,” Seonghwa says softly. “You should definitely give it a chance before you dismiss it altogether. I think you two would be great together.”

“Thanks, Hwa, but I don’t see it happening,” Changbin sighs, plugging in his headphones.

“Feel free to continue discussing my nonexistent lovelife like I know you will anyway,” Changbin calls to a gossiping Yeosang and Wooyoung. “I’m going to try and brush up a couple of songs before class tomorrow.”

Tuning out the world in favor of chords and percussion, Changbin tries to ignore the nagging memory of everything Wooyoung (and now Seonghwa and Yeosang) had been arguing for the last thirty minutes.

Friday was a blur of classes and people. Somewhere between projects, Changbin and Chan exchanged numbers, but he was too afraid to message the older man first. Minho, however, had no such compunctions about messaging him.

Minho:

Hey lol

Did you see chan today

Changbin:

No. Why?

Minho:

Just wondering when the two of you will ever date

Changbin:

You’re not giving this up, are you?

I told you we aren’t dating. Not now, probably not ever.

Minho:

Nope

And you shouldnt either

He was talking about you last night

Changbin:

Yeah right.

Give it a rest, Minho.

Minho:

No seriously

He was gushing about some song you did for class

Apparently you can “make even class requirements sound good”

Blushing, Changbin didn’t know how to respond. So he didn’t, leaving his phone on his nightstand as he got ready for bed. Tomorrow was Monday and he had a lot to prepare for anyway. Or, at least, that’s what he told himself.

His phone dinged again and he sighed as he picked it back up.

Minho:

Ignoring me doesnt make the truth any less true Binnie Bin

The fact is chan really likes you

I bet youre even blushing arent you

Youre such a sap for him

Changbin:

Be quiet, you gremlin.

Minho:

So thats a yes on the blushing then

Changbin:

I need to go to sleep. Big day tomorrow being Monday and all. Next week is finals.

So unless you have something important to send (like pictures of Soonie, Doongie, or Dori) I have nothing more to say to you.

Minho:

Youre only friends with me for my cats arent you

Changbin:

I find they ask me far less annoying questions.

Minho:

Traitor

Changbin:

Cry me a river lmao

Chuckling quietly, Changbin pulls out the shirt he wants to wear tomorrow, being careful of a sleeping Wooyoung. He had his shift at Crescent Moon tomorrow, a customer having booked a long appointment. He knew it would pay well, but it was an exhausting undertaking when he was also studying for winter finals.

Scrolling through his contacts, Changbin hesitated before clicking Chan’s name. It was late, but he still felt like he owed the man something. Especially since he hadn’t texted like he said he would Friday. He typed, deleted, and retyped several times before settling on a message.

Changbin:

Hey Chan. Just put the finishing touches on the project due tomorrow.

Can’t wait to show the teacher all you helped me learn.

Goodnight! ^-^

Taking a deep breath, he clicked send and quickly shoved his silenced phone face down on his nightstand. He’d check for any replies tomorrow, when he wasn’t such a nervous mess.

Early in the morning, after brushing his teeth and grabbing his water bottle for the gym, Changbin checked his phone to see Chan’s reply.

Chan:

hey Changbin!

good to hear from you.

let me know how the presentation goes!

im super proud of what youve done with it! ( ˘▽˘)っ

Changbin had to consciously stop himself from squealing a little. Chan was proud of him. Of him! Composing himself, Changbin takes a deep breath as he steps outside.

Changbin:

Aw, thanks man! I appreciate it.

Couldn’t have done it without your help, though!

Chan:

lol somehow i doubt that

ur really good

like, really really good

but fr, good luck with class today

Changbin felt his heart skip a beat again. Was Chan trying to kill him? It certainly seemed like it. Making his way over to the gym, Changbin checked in with his student card and made his way to the weight benches. Yoo Taeyang, his distant buddy and usual spotter, was already cooling down from his own exercises. Pulling out his phone, Changbin finally felt composed enough to respond before he was distracted for the morning.

Changbin:

I really appreciate that, Chan.

I gotta go. About to warm up for my morning workout.

I’ll text you to tell you about the presentation, though!

Almost immediately after, his phone dinged with a reply from the other.

Chan:

ill be on the lookout for it

gl with your workout AND presentation, haha

who knows, maybe you can update me in-person

Changbin:

Maybe!

Thanks! I’ll see ya around, Chan.

Changbin shoves his phone on the table beside the weights bench, stopwatch out and ready for use. Humming happily to himself, Changbin starts his warm ups. Suddenly, he couldn’t wait to get back to the arts building. Definitely not because he was eager over the thought of seeing Chan in-person, though. Nope. Not at all. Just because he was excited for his project. That’s all.

Even he was starting to doubt his own objections.

Changbin’s morning and afternoon classes went exceptionally well. Miss Hak was so thrilled with how he pieced together his project that she left a note on his assignment page online. He had to keep himself from preening all throughout the rest of the day.

He hadn’t seen Chan anywhere, sadly, and he didn’t have time to message him before he had to race back to the dorms to get ready for his evening shift at Crescent Moon . He was starving and barely had time to grab a leftover muffin from his Friday shift at the cafe.

Changbin was currently racing down the sidewalk to a strip of somewhat obscure, hippie-ish (in his opinion) stores and boutiques. Not far away, he saw the partially concealed sign of his workplace. Entering the shop, he was hit with the strong smell of cinnamon. The walls were lined with painting after painting and drawing after drawing. Shelves lined the back wall, full of sketchbooks and canvas. Rows of shelves weaved throughout the store with paints, inks, pens, chalks, markers, and pastels of all different kinds.

It wasn’t a huge store, but it was big. However, the artsy front of the store wasn’t his destination.

Walking quickly through the employee-only door, Changbin called a happy greeting to his coworker sitting at a counter. His coworker–Jimin–nodded briefly in greeting and waved him on through. 

The walls in the back room of the store were lined with gorgeously detailed ink drawings in almost every color imaginable. Books sat on shelves, each one holding more drawings than the last. There were three separate rooms beyond the main one with sinks and cabinets full of medical alcohol, peroxide, gloves, needles, ink, piercing guns, and emergency ink-guns.

Changbin quickly made his way into the third room, bag thudding against his hip in his rush.

Carefully setting his bag down on the counter, he pulls a black case out and sets it aside, shoving his bag under one of the personal storage cabinets. Pulling his jacket and cap off, he quickly folds them and sets those inside as well, his own sleeves of tattoos fully on display. Finally done putting his personal belongings away, he quickly pulls on his waist apron and methodically washes his hands in the sink.

Unzipping his case, Changbin pulls out his own ink gun to sanitize thoroughly, snapping on a pair of gloves and pulling out his stencils as he does so.

Crescent Moon boasted some of the finest art supplies and paintings from local artists in the area, but it moonlighted as a tattoo parlor. The owner, a lady named Kim Hyojung, had a passion for art and young artists and so had opened the shop a little over fifteen years prior. Her workers generally didn’t have the medical licenses required to operate as tattoo artists in her shop, and neither did she, but she insisted they hold themselves to the same cleanliness standards of a legal shop.

Many of Crescent Moon’s customers were loyal patrons. Today, Changbin had an appointment with one of his favorites, Son Hyunwoo. The man had one sleeve of tattoos so far, and Changbin was more than a little proud to say he’d done almost two thirds of it. Today, the man wanted a large chest tattoo. Changbin was mentally prepared for several long sessions but he was more than excited to see the finished product in a few weeks.

Hyunwoo’s appointment was scheduled for about thirty minutes from then, so Changbin busied himself getting his needles and ink ready.

Changbin had been tattooing since he was only fifteen. He started out learning with the help of an upperclassman from high school, a boy who had learned from his uncle–who distantly knew Hyojung. Changbin picked up the skill very quickly, and was soon offered a job from his friend’s uncle. He worked in that old parlor until he had to move to Seoul, just over a year ago.

Tattooing was one of his favorite things to do. Changbin loved working with his hands. The monotonous and tedious motions of tattooing quieted his thoughts and often helped him decompress and relax. He loved doing it and couldn’t ask for better coworkers.

Just as Changbin pulled out the boxes of gloves for his session, he heard a knock on the door.

“Hey, Changbin,” Jimin stuck his head in. “Hyunwoo is here for his appointment a little early. You want me to send him back?”

“Hey Jimin. Please do, thanks,” Changbin answered through his facemask, drying his freshly rewashed hands and pulling on a clean pair of gloves. “The sooner we start the better.”

Smiling, the other man walks back and leaves the door cracked behind him.

A few seconds later, a tall man walks through the door wearing a loose shirt with Nirvana lyrics. Changbin spun around on his chair to face him, smiling broadly.

“Hey, Hyunwoo. How’s everything been?”

“Hey Binnie,” the older man greets him. “It’s been good. I have another story from work, too,” he laughs.

“Oh no. Please tell me it’s not your boss again,” Changbin says, remembering stories of the jerk who thought it was okay to mandatory overtime after Hynwoo asked for three days off.

“No, not this time. Well, not entirely,” Hyunwoo says. “I’ll tell you after I get settled down on the bench, though.”

Changbin gestures for him to do so, and the man happily strips off his shirt and sets it in an extra chair in the corner of the room, settling in for the session.

Pulling out several alcohol wipes, Changbin warns the man, “you know the drill. It’s gonna be cold, so be prepared.”

“Go ahead,” Hyunwoo responds.

Changbin thoroughly cleans the area and quickly gets to work, tattoo gun buzzing a low hum the whole while.

Changbin is utterly exhausted and starving by the time work is over. It’s 9 in the evening and he’s contemplating whether or not he’s willing to stop by McDonald’s on his way back to the dorms.

If I do, I’d prefer to get it to-go , he thinks to himself

December was only three days away, and the evening was cold and humid. In spite of the wintery cool, Changbin’s more than a little warm from helping Hyojung carry in a new shipment of sanitizing wipes, so he carries his folded jacket over his shoulder, tattoos proudly on display. While he had to be careful on and around school grounds and the cafe, he didn’t go out of his way to hide them in other settings.

His height wasn’t terribly imposing, but Changbin knew the sight of his body art was off-putting to many people around him still. The sidewalks weren’t very busy this late, but people he passed still gave him a wide berth. Unfortunately, even the fast-paced city of Seoul was still less than accepting of large tattoos.

Bag slung over one shoulder, Changbin caves to the ease of getting a Big Mac and fries and pulls his phone out to place his order for carry-out. He’s hungry, tired, too warm for comfort even in the cool of the evening, and his entire body is stiff and sore from being bent in the same place for several hours. He wanted an easy dinner.

I really need to message Chan , he thinks to himself, walking down the street again. I haven’t gotten a chance to tell him about my project, or the upcoming winter finals she has outlined.

Rolling his shoulder to one side to loosen it, he thinks about how to best word his message. Chan is a kind person, but he doesn’t know him very well and he hates sending lengthy messages, or a large amount of messages all at once, to anyone but his closest friends. He doesn’t think Chan would mind, but until he has more of a chance to get to know him, he doesn’t want to overstep or push the other man away. If he gets a chance to get to know him better , he thinks to himself.

He’s had too many fast friends who dropped texting him altogether because he “double texted too much” or “used too many words.” Privately, he thought it was bullshit and they were playing pretentious games. But still, a small part of him (that he refused to admit was growing a little bigger everyday) wanted to make a good impression on the older man.

Tired, distracted, and rapidly approaching the door to the McDonald’s ahead of him, he resolutely decided he’d simply message Chan once he got back to his dorm room. And after he’d had at least one bite of his burger. Or maybe two.

Walking in and making sure the door shut behind him, Changbin walked up to the counter to show the lady at the register his order number. She eyed him warily on her way back to the kitchen as he smiled at her from behind his facemask and baseball cap, thanking her.

I guess I could try short but sweet , he thought to himself. But I don’t want to seem even more standoffish than he probably already thinks I am. I really don’t want to push him away. Would sending a screenshot of Miss Hak’s comment be too much? God, why is talking to people so hard?

Lost in his head, Changbin didn’t notice the door open and close behind him, nor the man who walked into the restaurant. So consumed in the current Chan Conundrum was he that, when tapped on the shoulder, he startled so hard he dropped his phone. Right on his foot, thankfully, so the screen didn’t crack, but still. It was the indignity of the reaction that embarrassed him.

(And he definitely didn’t jump! No matter how much people might try to insist he did, he did not jump! He simply jerked a little. That’s all).

“Oh, hey! Sorry! I was just going to ask if you’re in line,” a familiar voice apologizes right behind him.

Partially bent to pick up his phone, Changbin feels his stomach manage the impossible feat of both filling with butterflies and sinking to his knees at the same time.

Grabbing his phone, Changbin straightens back up and slowly turns to face the dimpled smile of the very man he’s been agonizing over texting for the last thirty minutes–who is standing right behind him !

“Chan?” He asks, startled, though he already knows the answer.

The other man’s eyes shine with polite confusion, but no recognition.

“Yeah, that’s right! I’m sorry, have we met somewhere before?” Chan asks, voice light.

For half a second, Changbin contemplates playing it off and walking out of there with Chan none the wiser. A voice that sounds suspiciously like Wooyoung’s promptly grabs his mental broomstick to beat that particular thought back before he can even properly plan anything. 

“Uh, yeah, I should hope so,” Changbin says, laughing lightly. “You kind of taught me how to not be ass at aligning tracks all last week.”

Chan looks even more confused than before for a split second before Changbin pulls his mask down to his chin. The other man’s eyes positively twinkle with happy recognition upon his new discovery.

“Changbin! I didn’t recognize you, what with the mask and–and such,” Chan exclaims, eyes briefly darting to his uncovered arms.

“It’s okay, I don’t usually go around with my face all covered and my tattoos out,” Changbin laughs, suddenly a little wary. He sincerely hopes Chan isn’t the kind of guy to treat people differently just because they have tattoos, but he doesn’t want to be disappointed either.

“Ah, yeah. Sorry. I was actually a little surprised to see it was you. I didn’t know you had any,” Chan says, seemingly guileless.

“Well,” Changbin says, tense, “I’ve had them since I was fifteen. Guy I worked for started my first sleeve four years ago when I turned eighteen. But I can’t exactly go around campus with them visible. I mean, theoretically I could, but the treatment I’d get would be drastically different. So, uh, yeah. Long sleeves and makeup unless or until I don’t need it.”

“That's kinda stupid to me,” Chan says, frowning.

Changbin feels himself tense and knows something in his expression must change because Chan quickly gets a panicked look in his eyes.

“Wait, no! That came out wrong,” the older man rushes to explain. “I mean it’s stupid that you have to do that. Your tattoos don’t affect your competence or professionalism or anything. And they’re pretty to look at. I’m sorry if you’ve gone through any trouble just for having them.”

Oh my god he just called my tattoos pretty, Changbin freaks internally. 

“It’s fine,” he smiles, relieved. “It’s not like you specifically made my life harder for having them or whatever.”

“I mean, no, but that still sucks,” Chan gripes, rolling his eyes. “And it isn’t even logical. I mean–well. It’s just not logical.”

“No, but prejudice rarely is,” Changbin concedes. He looks back in time to see the lady returning to the counter with his bag of food and a small coke.

He thanks her as he takes it and steps back, intent to say his goodbyes and let Chan order. However, the other man steps aside with him.

“Hey, I don’t know if you’re busy or not, but do you wanna eat with me? I would’ve invited you sooner if I knew you were in the area,” Chan offers kindly.

Changbin tries very hard not to smile like an idiot. He hopes he’s succeeded but he honestly isn’t sure.

“I appreciate the offer, but I don’t want to intrude on anyth–”

“You’re not intruding,” Chan says with a good-natured eye roll. “I wouldn’t invite someone if I thought they were intruding. In fact, I’m not sure you could ever intrude on me even if you tried,” he continues with a crooked grin, getting back in line.

Changbin tried very hard not to blush. Just what did Chan mean, he “couldn’t intrude if he tried?”

“Well, um, I mean–”

“Besides, you still need to tell me how the project went over with Miss Hak,” Chan throws over his shoulder.

Changbin concedes that point, and it would be easier than figuring out how to text him without sending too much. Sighing, he makes his way to a booth in the corner of the restaurant. The dining area is mostly empty, and no one’s sitting around to witness him potentially fuck up his upcoming interaction with his not-crush.

Distantly, he gets the feeling that Wooyoung of the future is laughing at him very hard.

Setting his food down and pulling out his phone to nervously pass the time, Changbin scrolls through his dorm’s discord chat.

Several minutes later, Chan sets his cup down on the table in front Changbin with a dull thump. Changbin glances up to see the older man slide into the booth across from him, pulling his food out of his bag.

“So,” Chan begins.

“So,” Changbin echoes awkwardly.

Chan raises a teasing eyebrow.

“You project. I wasn’t kidding when I said I wanted to know how it went. And I wasn’t just being nice either. How did Miss Hak like it?” He asks.

Pulling his own food out, Changbin smiles briefly for a second at the other’s gently teasing kindness.

“It went pretty good, actually.”

“‘Pretty good,’ Changbin? Really?” Chan asks in disbelief.

“Well, actually,” he pulls his phone back out and slides it across the table for Chan to see the note she left him. “Maybe a little better than pretty good?”

Taking his phone, Chan’s brows furrow as he reads the message. “‘...because the talent you displayed was unlike any I’ve seen in a long time. I look forward to hearing more class projects from you in the future, Seo Changbin.’” The older man reads out loud, before letting out a low whistle. “She’s a kind woman, but I hope you know she doesn’t just give out praise like that for no reason, Changbin,” Chan says with a pointed look. 

“Yeah, I mean, I figured,” Changbin says, barely controlling his self-satisfied grin. “She told me in-person that she liked how I lengthened the intro, delayed the percussion tracks, and pulled the outro in a little. Apparently she ‘rarely sees students utilize the creative liberties she tries to encourage them to,’ or something.”

“Yeah, I’m not surprised. Most people just want to pass the class and move on to making their own music,” Chan says, nodding.

“That doesn’t even make sense, though,” Changbin says, mildly affronted at the thought even though he knew it was true. “If you aren’t basically practicing with the class projects, it’s going to take you a lot longer to learn and understand how to better produce your own tracks once you start composition classes. There’s a reason we have to take this class first.”

“I agree, but a lot of students see it as unnecessary,” Chan points out.

“I almost can’t imagine that,” Changbin admits, perturbed.

“It’s probably a good thing you can’t. The effort you put into everything shows,” Chan compliments him, smiling. “Who knows? You may even be the next ‘Famous Jihoon,’ as Mingi called him,” he says, laughingly.

“I doubt that, but thanks for thinking I could,” Changbin says with a wry grin. “How about you? I know you had to successfully mentor younger students, so how did that whole project go down with your professor?”

“Ah, yeah. Professor Lee was impressed with the work we did, but now he wants us to write a paper critically examining how the experience went,” Chan huffs.

“How long?”

“Three thousand words minimum, five max. Not awful, but not great,” Chan says between mouthfuls of chicken sandwich.

“Due when?”

Chan stays suspiciously silent.

“Chan, when is it due?” Changbin tries again.

“Uh, well, you see,” he starts, setting down his sandwich. “It’s possible that it’s due by Tuesday.”

“Tuesday?” Chanbin states more than asks. “As in, tomorrow Tuesday? That Tuesday?”

“That would be the one,” Chan halfway squeaks.

“Chan!” Changbin chastises. “You should be writing right now!”

“Hey, now. Who’s the older one here anyway?” Chan asks, jokingly.

“I was just wondering that myself,” Changbin retorted cheekily.

Chan laughs it off and takes a sip of his drink. “I mean, in my defense, I’ve been writing almost nonstop for the last three hours. I need another five hundred words done and then it’s on to editing.”

“Oh, thank god. If I were you and I was only just starting this late, I’d be shopping for coffins on the side,” Changbin remarks. “But I am feeling more tired than usual today so maybe I'm just dramatic.”

“Yeah, if I was starting this late, I would already be in a coffin, honestly,” Chan jokes right back.

Changbin snorts.

“I’m also kind of dreading finals. Professor Lee has us taking an hour-long test that, and I quote, ‘is based entirely on class content, so you better have taken good notes,’ which is terrifying since I missed a day back in September,” Chan says.

“Well, that’s only one day, though,” Changbin points out. “That’s not awful. Unless you’re a perfectionist like me. I hate missing info that I need.”

“Same, honestly, and that’s why it bothers me so much,” Chan sighs.

Changbin grimaces in sympathy before taking another bite. “Can you borrow from a classmate?” 

“I texted one who takes really good notes. Haven’t heard back for a couple days, though.”

“That sucks. I hope they at least text you back soon. Maybe they’re just busy with last minute paper writing too,” he says pointedly.

Chan smiles coyly. “Well, maybe my writing was last minute, but I’m glad it was. It means I accidentally skipped dinner and got to run into you here,” he says with a charming smile.

Changbin huffs and looks down at the last few bites of his burger, at a loss for words. Chan chuckles softly at his reaction.

“I’m kinda glad I ran into you too,” Changbin says, finally. “I’m tired after work but getting to see you was cool.”

“Only ‘kinda,’ eh? You’re breaking my heart here, Changbinnie,” Chan teases.

Changbin rolls his eyes, face flushing red at the nickname and praying Chan doesn’t notice it.

“Now you’re just overdoing it,” Changbin says gustily, embarrassed but flattered.

Chan leans forward across the table to stage-whisper to him, “not if it’s got your face so pretty and pink.”

Changbin freezes like a deer in headlights, face flaming hot.

Oh my god, did he just say that? Did Chan really just say that? There’s no way he meant it like that, though, Changbin thought to himself. He’s just teasing me. He’s gotta be.

“Now you’re really overdoing it,” Changbin mumbles weakly.

Chan laughs heartily but not unkindly, eyes sparkling crescents. “And my previous statement still stands,” he says, smirk firmly in place.

Changbin groans loudly behind a facepalm, trying valiantly not to bury his face in his hands.

Chan just laughs more.

“An-y-way,” Changbin emphasizes each syllable. “I should probably head back to my dorm now.”

“Me too,” Chan concedes, still smiling. “I’d be happy to walk you back?” He offers kindly.

Changbin’s heart skips a beat at the thought.

“I mean, if you want to,” he concedes quietly, gathering his napkins.

“Well, we’re heading to the same building. May as well, eh?” Chan points out.

“Yeah, sure,” Changbin agrees.

“Great. Now let me just take this for us and we can head out,” Chan says, grabbing Changbin’s trash from his hands to throw away. Changbin tries to protest, but Chan silences him quickly with a pointed look that does things to his stomach.

I’m so doomed, Changbin muses.

Changbin sighs as he closes the door behind him. Chan had eased up with the friendly teasing on the way home and most of their conversation consisted of school and plans for the upcoming holiday break. But the lingering memory of what he’d said at the fast food joint still had Changbin’s face warm.

Changbin tried to brush the memory aside multiple times but he couldn’t help being surprised by how friendly Chan had been. They’d only been tentative friends for a week now. He was happy Chan was so comfortable so quickly but the way he’d joked kept making him feel almost giddy, even though he knew it was just that–a joke.

Still, Changbin couldn’t ignore the irony of Chan joking about him doing anything “prettily.” Like, had he looked in a mirror lately? Changbin was convinced he hadn’t seen anyone as “pretty” as the other man. Not to him, at least.

Tamping down on the goofy smile he could feel on his face, Changbin slowly made his way into the dorm, hyper aware of his roommates’ presences.

“Hey there, Changbinnie,” Yeosang crooned, a goading smile on his face.

“Hello, Yeosangie,” Changbin says, eying the other boy suspiciously.

“Sooooo,” the other man draws the word out. “How was work tonight?”

“Yeah,” Wooyoung chimes in, grinning like the cat that got the canary. “How was work? You got home kinda late tonight.”

Changbin looks between the two of them and Seonghwa who has been quiet so far but has the same strange sparkle in his eye.

“I stopped to get a burger on the way home,” Changbin admits slowly.

“Yeah? See anyone you know while you were out?” Yeosang pries.

“As a matter of fact,” Changbin starts, guarded, “I may have seen a new friend when I went to pick up my food. Why are you three asking? I feel like I’m being interrogated by my parents.”

Seonghwa laughs lightly. “Wooyoung may have spied you walking with Chan outside the window.”

“My god, the three of you are more invested in my personal life than I am,” Changbin laughs, and the other three join him.

After a couple of seconds, Yeosang finally says quietly, “We just wanna see you happy, Binnie.”

Changbin feels his heart warm at the others’ kindness. They can be massive pains in his ass, but they’re good people. Times like this prove as much, in spite of Wooyoung’s insistence on behaving and being perceived as a complete gremlin.

“I appreciate it. But we’re just friends, honestly,” Changbin says equally softly. “We ran into each other at McDonald’s and hung out for a little while. And we both live in the dorms so we walked back together.”

“Yeah, of course,” Wooyoung nods in fake solemnity. “It couldn’t possibly be because he enjoys spending time with you or anything, right?”

Changbin rolls his eyes and refuses to acknowledge the other’s snark.

“I need to get ready for bed. I have several big appointments at work and everything,” Changbin calls over his shoulder on the way to his and Wooyoung’s bedroom.

“That’s okay, gives us more free reign to talk about you and Chan,” Yeosang chimes.

Changbin groans in resignation and shuts the door behind him to the sounds of the other three’s giggles.

It was once again the weekend, Changbin just getting off his Friday shift at the cafe a little early. The evening was slow, but Chan came in for a late evening caffeine boost to help his evening studies. Privately, Changbin couldn’t help wondering if he only came in for the coffee or if maybe part of Chan’s motivation was coming to see him. He quickly beat that thought back with his handy-dandy mental broomstick. 

It wouldn’t be good to start assigning motives where there are none–good or otherwise , he told himself. Chan just wanted coffee and that was that. If he happened to neglect his computer bag on the back of a chair he’d pulled over to the counter to chat with Changbin while he worked, well. It was only a happy coincidence.

Pulling his apron off and his jacket on, Changbin waves and calls a happy goodbye to Jaebum–who is shutting down the kitchen lights–on his way out.

“See you next Thursday, Binnie,” the other responds.

Sighing happily, Changbin gestures for Chan to follow him out. The older man obliges him happily, a spring almost visible in his steps.

“I really am glad you were able to help Jisung with his outro,” Chan continues their conversation from earlier. “I know the length of it was really giving him a fit.”

“It probably wouldn’t have even been a problem if it didn’t try to lengthen the click track with it,” Changbin says. “That was the main problem. I don’t know why that damn program wants to be so stubborn sometimes. It makes me wish we just used a mainstream program sometimes.”

“Yeah, I know right? I don’t know why they insist on only using it. But whatever. It’s made for some pretty funny stories from the screwups and all if nothing else,” Chan says with a laugh.

“It’s a program, Chan. You don’t have to be nice about it. You can’t hurt its feelings,” Changbin teases, elbowing the other man lightly.

Chan laughs bashfully and scratches the back of his neck. “Well,” he says, “I’m not being nice so much as just looking on the bright side.”

“Only you could find a bright side of that damn program,” Changbin says with a shake of his head.

“Yeah, yeah,” Chan grouses, shaking his head. “Listen, I know it’s kinda late, but have you had dinner?”

“I had a granola bar before work,” Changbin admits. “Does that count?”

“No, Changbin. Honestly, it’s a wonder you’re as healthy as you are,” Chan chastises him. “There’s a small restaurant up the road from here that sells soup. And I’ve been craving soup for nearly a week. Wanna grab some and head back to my–or your–dorm?”

“Sounds kind of good. My dorm is fine if you don’t mind Wooyoung’s screeching,” Changbin says. “He has three days before his dancing showcase, and he’s working on two of his term finals as well. He’s mostly done, but he gets louder the closer he gets to big deadlines,” Changbin explains.

“Ah, you sure he won’t mind, then?” Chan asks, hesitant.

“Nah. If anything, he’ll kiss you on the mouth for providing him with an interesting distraction,” Changbin says with a chuckle.

Chan laughs, and they travel the rest of the way to the small restaurant in companionable silence. Chan opens the door for him when they get there and Changbin resists the insistent urge to blush like a schoolgirl on a date.

“Thanks,” he mumbles, burrowing his face in his jacket as he walks in. Maybe he can brush the pink on his face off as just the cold weather.

“Hey, auntie,” Chan greets the lady behind the counter. “I was hoping to get some soup to go,” he says.

The lady finishes scrubbing a spot with her cloth and turns to them with a smile.

“Ah, Channie! It’s been so long since I last saw you here. How’s your schoolwork coming?” She greets him happily. Then, turning to Changbin, she asks, “and who is this you’ve brought with you?”

“Ah, the schoolwork is fine but finals are coming up. I’ve been very busy,” he explains. “And this,” he turns to the younger boy, “is Changbin. He’s a good friend from school.”

“Hello. It’s nice to meet you. Chan has nothing but good to say about the restaurant,” he says softly. Once again, Changbin hopes he can hide his blush behind his cold-reddened cheeks. Chan thought he was a “good friend?”

The auntie behind the counter apparently has a similar train of thought. “A ‘good friend,’ you say?” She asks with a twinkle in her eyes.

It may be a trick of the light, but Changbin could almost swear Chan gets a little more red around his nose when she asks him that.

“Hah, yeah. Sorry it’s been a while, though,” Chan returns to the previous subject.

“I think you can be forgiven, considering the circumstances,” she teases with a pretty smile and a glance in Changbin’s direction.

Just what did she mean by that? She was talking about finals, right? But then why did she look at me? Changbin wondered.

“Anyway, what can I get the two of you to eat?” She asks, setting her cleaning equipment aside for a moment.

“Ah, I’d like a large yukgaejang, extra spice,” Chan orders. “What about you, Changbin?”

“I think I’ll try the large samgyetang, thanks,” Changbin orders, glancing over the chalkboard menu against the counter.

“And that’s to-go, auntie,” Chan reminds her.

“I got it, I got it,” she waves him off. “It’ll be out shortly. Feel free to sit at one of the empty tables until I bring it to you,” she calls over her shoulder as she disappears in the kitchen.

Chan quickly obliges and makes his way to a small two-seater, Changbin not far behind him.

“I swear, the food is so good here you’ll be craving it everyday,” Chan laughs. “The broth alone had me coming back for more the day after I first tried it.”

“It smells really good,” Changbin says. “But I am kinda hungry too. Bar must’ve worn off.”

“No kidding,” Chan says, rolling his eyes. “You can’t live on just bars, Changbin.”

“I knowww. I usually don't. I was just extra busy today and running behind for my shift,” Changbin explains, trying not to whine.

“Yeah, well, just be sure to take care of yourself. Okay?” Changbin says, somber, his kind eyes smiling softly at him.

“Okay,” Changbin concedes, looking down at his sleeves. “But you should do the same. I know you have to be at least as busy as I am. You even admitted it to the auntie just a second ago.”

“Wait a second, who’s scolding who, here?” Chan says in mock-affront.

“What? I thought that’s what ‘good friends’ are for, Chan?” Changbin teases carefully. “Keeping each other on track and making sure the other’s doing okay.”

Chan rolls his eyes and that is definitely a blush lighting up his face now that Changbin is facing him head-on.

“You’re not wrong, but geez. Give a guy some credit. At least I didn’t eat a granola bar after school and try to call it dinner,” Chan says pointedly.

“Right,” Changbin agrees easily. “And when was the last time you ate, exactly?”

Chan’s eyes go wide as saucers and he chuckles nervously. “Well…” He trails off.

“Well…?” Changbin urges.

“Um, maybe? I had coffee this morning?”

“And?” Changbin prompts.

“And… nothing else…” Chan admits slowly.

“Chan! That isn’t food! And that definitely doesn’t count as a meal!” Changbin admonishes him.

“Well, I mean, I had it with cream. And some sugar,” Chan tries to defend himself.

“Neither of which counts as food, Chan. I can’t believe you,” he huffs. “Trying to lecture me about caring for myself when you haven’t even touched food today.”

“Hey! Now that’s just exaggerating. I had a muffin at the cafe earlier,” Chan points out with a sniff.

“Yeah. A dessert muffin. The size of maybe half your hand,” Changbin deadpans.

“Still! That’s food! And I touched it. I even ate it,” Chan points out.

Changbin rolls his eyes–hard. Just as he opens his mouth to rebuff the stubborn man, the auntie from earlier comes back with two bags of food smelling like soupy heaven.

“Here’s the order, boys. If you follow me to the counter, I can ring you up,” she says, setting the bags on the table in front of them.

Changbin grabs Chan by the arm just as he goes to stand up.

“You’re not out of the clear yet, so don’t get your hopes up too much,” he hisses under his breath.

Chan audibly gulps.

Grabbing his bag and glancing inside to see the soup bowl, Changbin quickly stands and follows the older man to pay.

Patiently waiting his turn, Changbin quietly seethes. His own anger at Chan’s lack of self-care surprises even him. But he doesn’t try to settle it, either. Sure, taking care of himself was important. But it was important that Chan took care of himself too! Changbin usually had breakfast for himself ready quickly in the small kitchenette and he was sorely tempted to hunt down Chan’s dorm and start making a little extra to tote the man to eat. He would figure out how to get Chan to take better care of himself, that he swore.

“Alright,” Chan turns around after a second, shoving a couple of napkins in his bag. “Let’s go.”

“Just give me a second,” Changbin says, stepping up to the counter. “I’ll be right behind you.”

“It’s all taken care of, Changbinnie. Let’s head back to the dorm,” Chan calls behind him, rushing out the door.

Changbin freezes like a deer in headlights.

“Auntie?” He starts, voice even.

“Yes, Changbin?” The lady gives him a smug smile.

“Please tell me that idiot didn’t just pay for my meal without telling me?” He asks, calmly.

She just smiles at him, eyes mischievous. “I make it a policy not to lie to my customers,” she says serenely.

“Well, Auntie, I hope you said a proper goodbye to him. You may not be seeing him for a while after I kill him, you see,” Changbin explains, smiling evenly. “Thank you for your help this evening. Good night.”

Changbin turns around and storms after the older man, getting ready to lay into him something fierce.

“Chan!” He hollers, holding the food carefully as he races to follow the other man who is speedwalking suspiciously fast. “Chan, you get back here!”

“Nope! Sorry! I don’t want the food to get cold out here,” he yells back over his shoulder.

Changbin quickly catches up to the other and yanks him back by the arm.

“Chan! Why would you buy my food?!” He demands, slowing both their paces down. “I had my money out and everything.”

“Well, I mean,” the other is obviously fumbling for an excuse. “I’m the one who invited you. It seems only fair if I pay, especially if you end up not liking it or something.”

“If you honestly think I’m dumb enough to buy that shitty excuse, you must have an awfully low opinion of me,” Changbin growls.

Sighing heavenward, Chan finally stops and turns to look him in the eye. “Is it so hard to just accept that maybe I wanted to do something nice for you?” He asks.

“No, I guess not,” Changbin concedes. “But I wish you’d just tell me that. I don’t want you paying for my food in the future without telling me, though.”

“‘In the future?’” Chan asks, dimples flashing with a pretty smile.

Changbin blushes, realizing what he’d just assumed. “Well, I mean–I just…” He splutters awkwardly. 

Chan just laughs.

Changbin smacks the hand he’d been holding to slow the other man away from him. “Oh, shut up . You know what I mean.”

“You trying to wring more food out of me, Changbinnie?” Chan teases, still giggling.

“Shut up, Chan,” Changbin hisses. “Oh, and don’t think I’ve abandoned our previous discussion either. About what does not constitute breakfast.”

Chan winces at that. “Yeah, I did kinda hope you’d forgotten about that,” he admits.

“Tough luck.” Chan starts walking again. “We have a lot to discuss,” he says ominously.

Chan cringes but follows.

“..at’s my point!” Changbin grouses, kicking off his shoes as he enters his dorm, Chan following suit. “You have literally no right to lecture me about what does or does not constitute a meal when you, yourself, from your own goddamn mouth, admitted that you had ‘coffee for breakfast,’ Chan. Coffee isn’t food!”

“I still retain that milk and sugar have enough calories. It counts as a meal,” he argues.

“That’s not!–That’s barely even a snack!” Changbin protests, free hand pointing a finger at the older man’s nose. Chan went cross eyed at the action. Any other time, Changbin would be tempted to laugh, but he was still too frustrated to give it a second thought.

“At the very least I had a granola bar. And I had breakfast this morning and half of my chicken from lunch while I was working on another song. You had a muffin at seven this evening. A muffin!” He’s close to yelling but only keeps his voice down to avoid disturbing his neighbors. Choi Hyunsuk, the man next door, was particularly grumpy when disturbed.

“It’s hard for me to get breakfast together quickly some mornings, Changbin. I swear I usually eat better than I did today,” he tries to placate the other man.

“Well, I know for damn sure that you’re going to start eating better if I have anything to say about it,” Changbin says threateningly.

“Wait, what? What do you mean?” Changbin asks, tone worried.

“Oh, nothing,” Changbin says breezily.

“Changbin.” Chan says warningly, tone dropping. “What do you mean by that?”

Changbin just smiles beatifically. “We should eat before the soup goes cold, Channie,” he says, ignoring the other man’s question.

Pretending not to hear the other man’s insulted spluttering, Changbin finally walks out of the short entryway to see two of the dorm's other three occupants staring in their direction, Wooyoung frozen mid-bite on a handful of fries.

“Hey guys,” Changbin greets, setting his bag down on the small kitchen counter. “We’re back. Did you get my message?”

“Hey, Changbin. Yeah we did. Didn’t expect you back so quick, though,” Yeosang says slowly, glancing at the fuming Chan behind him.

“Yeah, well, we didn’t want the soup to get cold,” he half-lies. Truthfully, Chan had tried walking faster to avoid the lecture Changbin was heaping on him as they walked. He was unsuccessful, and they were both nearly running back to the apartment half the way, Changbin’s chastisement following the whole way.

“Right. Uh, how was work?” Wooyoung asks, an amused smirk lighting up his face.

“Fine. Ran into Chan there. Hey, Wooyoung, you don't happen to know any of Chan’s roommates, do you?” He asks.

“I do,” Wooyoung admits slowly. “Why do you ask?”

“Just wondering. Think you could give me their number?”

“Changbin! What are you doing?” Chan demands.

“I mean,” Wooyoung starts, “I guess? But why don’t you ask Chan yourself? I mean, he’s right behind you and all.”

“Oh, no reason. Just have a few small questions to ask,” Changbin says cryptically.

“Changbin, I don’t know what you’re trying to pull but I can assure you it’s not going to work,” Chan says through gritted teeth.

Changbin staunchly ignores him.

“There. It’s Hongjoong. I sent his contact to you,” Wooyoung says, setting his phone down. “Now, what the hell are you two bickering about?”

“Besides coffee, apparently?” Yeosang pipes up, always eager for some new gossip.

Changbin rolls his eyes, pulling out a spoon and popping open his cup of soup. He quickly sets it on the table, along with the complimentary rice and kimchi the restaurant provided, before finally facing them to answer their questions.

“Chan over here,” Changbin glares pointedly behind him, “seems to think that coffee constitutes a meal.”

“I mean,” Yeosang starts, “if it has enough extra crap thrown in, I could see how that would be kind of snack-y, at least.”

“Thank you, Yeosang!” An indignant Chan pipes up from his own search for a spoon. Changbin walks over to the drawer and hands him one before stomping back to glare at Yeosang.

“On the other hand,” Yeosang starts before Changbin can lay into him, “even with a bunch of extra cream, syrup, sugar, or whatever, it’s still a really shitty option and won’t really give you any strength or calories for a long day,” he finishes.

“Thank you, Yeosang!” Changbin says pointedly over his shoulder.

Behind him, Chan rolls his eyes, spoon and food in hand as he walks to the table.

“Traitor,” he growls at an unrepentant Yeosang.

“I prefer not to really take sides,” the smug boy inputs. “Just call me Switzerland.”

“I’d rather call you Judas,” Chan grouses, sitting down heavily in the last free chair at the small table.

“Oh, please,” Yeosang says. “And here I thought Wooyoung was overdramatic.”

“Hey!” Said boy complains around a mouthful of fried chicken. “I’ll have you know I am a perfect level of dramatic.”

“Wooyoung don’t talk with your mouth full,” Changbin chastises.

“Okay, dad,” Wooyoung huffs with an eye roll.

The table settles into companionable silence as the occupants dig into their respective meals.

After enjoying a hearty meal, Chan and Changbin settle in on the couch to watch reruns of crappy old crime shows. They’re halfway through an episode of Murder She Wrote when Changbing glances over and sees Chan has fallen asleep, slumping slightly against him. Changbin smiles softly at the serenity on the other man’s face. He really was a beautiful sight to behold.

After a second of contemplation, Changbin pulls his phone out to text the number Wooyoung sent him earlier.

Changbin:

Hey, Hongjoong? This is Changbin, Wooyoung’s roommate.

I was just messaging because I know you’re roommates with Chan.

We got into a little argument today. Everything is fine, except for the fact that he apparently thinks coffee is an acceptable meal.

I usually have some leftovers from my breakfast and I was wondering if it would be okay if I ran those by some mornings around 6ish? I can bring it later, too, if need be.

Clicking send, Changbin sits back and waits. It doesn’t take long for his phone to ding, alerting him that the other man has responded to his message.

Hongjoong:

Hey Changbinnie! Yes, this is Hongjoong.

Yeah, believe me. BamBam and I have been trying to get him to eat better for years.

He sleeps fitfully, though, so he doesn’t usually have time for breakfast all the time.

I’m usually up around 6 so if you want to bring food by, I’m sure he’d appreciate it.

Goodness knows me and Bam will, seeing him finally have something other than just coffee in the mornings..

Room number is 215. Knock and I’ll be there.

And rest assured, Chan and only Chan will get the food. :)

Changbin sighs in relief, happy the other man is on board with his idea. Tomorrow, plan “Save the Chan” would commence, and he was more than eager to get started. He was surprised to learn the other man lived on the same floor as him, though. Apparently Chan was just down the other hallway and Changbin had never run into him before. Huh.

Glancing down at the still snoozing man, Changbin smiles again. He was happy the older man had such good friends around him, trying to care for him and get him to care better for himself. Chan was a sweet person, kind down to the depth of his bones, and it hurt to know he was struggling sometimes. It hurt less, however, to know that he was surrounded by such good people in the midst of it all.

Changbin:

Thanks, Hongjoong! I appreciate your help.

See you tomorrow on my way to the gym! :)

Setting his phone beside him carefully, Changbin sits back into the cushions and turns on Netflix. If Chan struggled to sleep sometimes, he was more than happy to let him rest while he could.

Shifting slowly after Changbin’s motion disturbs the cushions under them, Chan slumps further against his side. Changbin can’t help but chuckle fondly. Chan was adorable when he slept, and it only endeared Changbin to him all the more.

Flipping on the Pink Panther remake, Changbin settles in, content to rest alongside the older man, if only for a few minutes anyway.

What feels like only a couple hours later, Changbin slowly stirs from a nap he didn’t even remember taking. The movie he’d flipped on is off, some Christmas one frozen on an “Are you still watching?” screen. Changbin is barely aware of a heavy weight holding him down.

Stretching slowly and popping his neck, Changbin goes to get up and freezes when the weight on his chest grunts. Glancing down, he sees a sleeping Chan sprawled over him like a starfish, body radiating warmth in the cool dorm room. Changbin feels his face grow very very warm, very very quickly, and barely controls the urge to jump up off the couch. Chan could not wake up and find them like this.

Inching slowly out from under the broad man, Changbin tries to carefully lift Chan’s head off his chest so he can give in to the very insistent call nature is making. Unfortunately, the other squirms and wraps his arms tightly around his middle, halting any further progress. Changbin’s face was absolutely fiery at this point and he had no idea how to get out of this situation.

Swallowing his pride, Changbin carefully prods Chan’s side. “Hey. Hey, Chan?” He says softly, voice scratchy with sleep. “I need you to let me go, man. Gotta get up.”

Chan grumbles something and shuffles further into his chest. Changbin tries very hard not to squeak.

“Chan, please,” Changbin practically whines. “I gotta go to the bathroom, man.”

Slowly, Chan raises his head, eyes blearily blinking open to stare at his own. “Changbin?” He asks, voice thick with sleep, his timbre rough and deep. “What?”

“Gotta go to the bathroom,” He pokes one of the arms currently holding him in a vice grip.

“Oh,” Chan mumbles, letting him go and rolling partially off him.

In his rush to the bathroom, Changbin sees soft morning light shining through a cloudy sky. Slept longer than I realized , Changbin thought to himself, shutting the door behind him.

Quickly taking care of business and washing his hands, he pulls the door to a crack behind him and shuffles sleepily back toward the couch. Chan is still half asleep, leaning against the back of the couch and blinking slowly. Changbin sits down carefully. Picking up his phone, it informs him that the time is currently 5:59 in the morning. It also informs him that he has several messages and four missed calls, two from Hongjoong’s number, and another two from unknown ones. That was worrisome.

Shit , Changbin thinks. I haven’t even started breakfast yet. I’m gonna be late to the gym, too , he thinks, dejected.

His dismay is quickly replaced with fond embarrassment when Chan slumps back against him again. Chuckling, Changbin nudges the older man gently.

“We really need to get up, Chan,” he whispers. “It’s morning already.”

“Ughhhhhh,” Chan groans. “I need coffee.”

Changbin rolls his eyes. “No, what you need is probably the bathroom and some breakfast.”

Suddenly going rigid, Chan swears under his breath. “You’re right. Shit.”

The older man scrambles to stand up, stumbling awkwardly in the direction of the door.

“Chan, what the hell are you doing?” Changbin shoots up to follow him.

“I gotta go,” Chan mumbles, bent over and struggling to find his shoes.

“You just woke up, though. And it’s Saturday–no class,” Changbin adds, watching in confusion from the kitchenette.

“No, I mean I gotta go ,” Chan emphasizes.

“Oh, for god’s sake–we have a bathroom, you himbo,” Changbin grabs the other man’s hand and pushes him in the direction of the unoccupied toilet. “You don’t have to walk all the way up the hall to yours.”

“Oh, right,” Chan mumbles, setting his shoes back down and stumbling pitifully toward the bathroom instead.

Changbin has to suppress a giggle at the other’s antics. He really is tired, isn’t he? Changbin thought to himself.

Washing his hands, starting some rice, and cracking a couple eggs to fry, Changbin gets to work on an easy breakfast for the two of them. Hearing the bathroom door crack open a few minutes later, Chan comes out, slightly brighter eyed and stumbling significantly less.

“‘Morning,” Changbin calls.

“‘Morning,” Chan greets right back. “What’re you doing?” He asks, coming to stand behind the younger man and watch him flip the eggs.

“Making breakfast, duh,” Changbin says, teasingly.

Chan huffs a quiet laugh. “No kidding, huh?”

Changbin smiles and goes to check the rice. Seeing that it’s done, he grabs a bowl with a lid out of one of the cabinets and starts spooning some up. Next, he pulls some kimchi out of the fridge and adds a layer on top of the rice. After that, he scoops two eggs out of the pan, yolks still runny, and sets them gently on top. Finally, he spoons some chili oil over the eggs and snaps the lid on, handing it back to the man behind him.

“What’sis?” Chan asks, still a little out of it.

“That’s breakfast,” Changbin says, pointedly. “Your breakfast, to be clear.”

Chan just blinks up at him sleepily.

“You’re supposed to eat it,” Changbin nods to the bowl.

“Why?” Chan asks.

“Because that’s generally what people do with their breakfast,” Changbin fights to keep the condescension from his tone. If Chan was trying to be stubborn about it and annoy him, it was working.

“No. I mean why,” Chan starts, taking a step close to the younger man, effectively boxing him into the corner of the counter, “did you make me breakfast?”

Gulping, Changbin looks into Chan’s confused and sleepy eyes. He wouldn’t be surprised if the other man wasn’t even aware of the position he’d just put them in.

“Because I told you yesterday,” Changbin answers, face pink, “that you needed to start taking care of yourself. And I’m more than happy to help you do that.”

“...I need to brush my teeth,” Chan tries to excuse himself weakly, going to hand the bowl back.

“So take it with you. Brush your teeth, wash your face, whatever you need. But eat that afterward, okay?” Changbin insists.

“It’s your bowl,” Chan tries again.

“And we live on the same floor,” Changbin turns around to deal with his own eggs, back to the other man. “Just bring it by later if having it bothers you. But I expect all of the food in it to be eaten,” he insists.

Chan goes quiet behind him. Changbin turns after a few moments to see the older man pulling his sneakers on, bowl balanced awkwardly against his hip.

“I guess I’ll see you later, then?” Chan asks, still looking mystified.

“Yeah, Chan. See you later,” Changbin says. “Every last drop, you hear me? Every last drop better be eaten–by you, Chan–before I see you again.”

Chan rolls his eyes at that but agrees, stepping out into the hallway.

“Bye, Changbin. Had fun last night,” he calls.

“Me too,” Changbin says quietly to himself as the door shuts. “Me too.”

Jumping up mid-breakfast, Changbin panics when he remembers the missed calls and messages on his phone. Scrambling to grab it, he quickly clicks Hongjoong’s number and calls him back.

Several rings later, a voice pipes up from the other side.

“Changbin, when you said you were going to cook him breakfast, I didn’t realize you meant in your apartment ,” the other man growls, not happy. “Would have been nice to know that little detail.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Changbin cringes. “I sat back on the couch and the next thing I knew, it was morning. I couldn’t have imagined we’d sleep all night,” he explains.

“I figured that out when I finally called Wooyoung last night. He explained it all,” the older man says. “But please, let me know next time it looks like there’s even a possibility he’ll be there all night. He never messaged me, and me and the guys were worried sick. This hasn’t happened before and we didn’t know where he was.”

“I’m so sorry,” Changbin apologized. “I swear I am.”

“It’s fine. Just text or something next time, please. He’s back now, anyway. Showering, from the sound of things,” Hongjoong says. “I’m just glad he was fine. Listen, I gotta go, but thanks for the callback. Talk to you later.”

“Okay. Bye, Hongjoong. Sorry again,” Changbin says around a grimace.

“It’s fine. Bye, Binnie,” Hongjoong says with a huff.

Hanging up, Changbin exhales a relieved breath. Poor Hongjoong. That explained the random calls and texts, though. He hadn’t even thought the man could be sitting in his dorm worrying about Chan not coming back.

Sitting back down to eat while scrolling through the messages he missed, Changbin sees several from a handful of unknown numbers.

Unknown:

Changbin, you don’t know me but I’m Chan’s roommate–Kim Dongyoung

He hasn’t come back and Hongjoong thinks he might be with you

If he is, please let us know he’s okay when you see this

Thanks.

Changbin sighs through his nose, embarrassed that he’d missed his phone dinging through half the night, apparently. Chan’s roommates were worrying until nearly 2 a.m. and he hadn’t even seen their messages until now.

Changbin:

Hey Dongyoung. I’m so sorry I didn’t reply sooner. Chan and I accidentally crashed on the couch after dinner and I slept through every notification on my phone.

I know he’s back already but I still wanted to apologize for making anyone worry.

I hope all is well now.

Finished with that, he flips to the other unknown message thread.

Unknown:

hey changbin this is bambam

chans roomie

hes been gone a while and we havent heard from him

joongie thought he was with u so please msg me back if you see this

Changbin:

Hey BamBam. Sorry for the delay in getting back with you and I apologize for making you wait so long for a reply.

Chan and I crashed on the couch after dinner and I slept through every call and message you guys made.

Sorry again. Thanks for reaching out. I’ll be more mindful if such a thing happens in the future.

Last but not least, Changbin opens the thread of several unread messages from Hongjoong himself, each clump of messages getting progressively more frantic as the hours wear on.

Hongjoong:

Changbin, sorry to message so late but I still haven’t heard anything from Chan.

I thought he was with you based on your messages earlier.

If so, please get back with me as soon as possible.

Hey, it’s been a little while but I still haven’t heard back from you. Everything okay?

Changbin, I’m starting to get worried.

Well, more worried.

I tried calling Seonghwa but he’s not answering either.

Please call me.

Changbin! If you don't answer this in the next twenty minutes I’m marching to your dorm room and breaking the damn door down.

Wooyoung’s not answering my texts either. What is going on?!

Fuck this, I’m gonna try calling Wooyoung.

Finally got him. I have a bone to pick with you, you jerk.

Leaving me agonizing over you and Channie while you’re over there playing Rip Van Winkle.

Call me when you wake up.

Changbin:

I’m only just getting a chance to read these Hongjoong and I am SO SORRY.

I swear to you I thought I was just gonna take a nap. Not go to sleep for the night.

I’ll be more careful to at least message you guys if he’s ever over here as late as he was last night.

Thank you for caring for him so well.

Changbin runs a hand through his hair as he sits back, bowl empty and breakfast finished. The frantic nature of their messages sapped away a lot of the warmth and contentment from this morning. Still, as embarrassing as it was to wake up with Chan sprawled all over him, he couldn’t help thinking that he wouldn’t mind waking up like that far more often.

Shaking his head and willing that particular train of thought to go away, Changbin huffs and goes to throw on his exercise clothes. He still needs to go to the gym today, even if he’s a little later than normal.

The rest of his week was fairly uneventful. Changbin had taken to inviting Chan over most nights, and the other man did the same with him. Most times they wound up eating and watching crappy shows they would mock between bites of dinner, other times they’d play games. Ever since Chan had slept over accidentally, he’d gotten far more touchy-feely and cuddly. Changbin wasn’t sure what to make of it the first time he’d leaned his head against his shoulder while they were watching a movie but he quickly decided it might be one of his favorite things ever.

One night, Chan flipped on a Christmas movie he loved that Changbin hadn’t seen but they wound up talking through the whole thing about their childhood Christmas traditions. They spoke so long Chan’s roommates went to bed before they were done.

Changbin was admittedly a little embarrassed because he came from a very well-off family. He loved his parents very dearly, but he was determined to make a name for himself, so he got his first job when he was young and insisted on paying his own way to college. His mother often shook her head at his stubbornness, but he could tell some (big) part of her was very proud of the independence he had strived for.

Having grown up as he did, however, meant that a lot of his Christmas memories were made on business trips he would tag along with his parents on. Usually that meant hotel suites, fancy clothes, and lots of strangers at random galas. Thankfully, though, his mother and father both strived to keep something consistent that they could do every year.

Traditionally, his mother would make a hearty beef soup for Christmas Eve dinner that they’d eat off of for the day while she made special treats. He loved helping her make chapssal doughnuts in the evening while a holiday movie played on a tv somewhere in the background. When he got a little older, he even experimented with some traditional western Christmas desserts with her.

Christmas dinner was usually as close to Western as they could get it, with duck instead of turkey. He loved how his mother baked it, and his father made the best mashed potatoes he’d ever had. There were years when they simply weren’t able to cook, but even the meals they catered were delicious to him.

He told Chan all about his favorite Christmas traditions, leaving out a few of the details that could easily give away his wealth. He didn’t think Chan would ever try to use him for his money. It was just that he’d had far too many people treat him differently or avoid him because of it. He just wasn’t ready to reveal that part of his life yet.

Chan told him about his traditions from Australia. Changbin laughed and said it explained the accent. After, Chan waxed poetic about how his mom would go out of her way to get turkey that his dad would inject and baste while he roasted the bird in the oven. Chan’s family loved sweet potato casserole as well, something one of his mom’s friend’s from America had taught her how to make. He talked about wanting to make it sometime, but that he’d never gotten around to it.

Before either of them knew it, hours had passed by and it was beyond time for them to part ways. Still, every time Changbin thought of that evening, he felt a little giddy. He loved getting to just chill with Chan and talk like they were old friends. Time spent with Chan was a familiar comfort to him even though he’d only known the man for a couple of weeks. He cherished every minute of it.

The day immediately afterward, Changbin had been grabbing himself soup and a salad from a nearby restaurant on his way to work and ran into Jisung and Chan. Jisung practically dragged Changbin over to their table and they spent even more time talking before he had to leave for work.

Today was Monday, however, and Changbin was back for his shift at the tattoo shop. He hadn’t seen Chan in two days (which he fiercely told himself was perfectly fine and that missing him after such a short amount of time was ridiculous) but he knew the man was supposed to be with Hyunjin, Felix, and Jisung, all getting dinner and hanging out. Changbin had been invited as well but had to decline because of work.

Which was why, standing over his bench with his tattoo pen, readying for his 6 o clock session someone had booked only the night before, Changbin was frozen solid, mouth gaping open, to see Chan, Jisung, Hyunjin, and Felix all standing in front of Jimin and Hyojung’s front desk.

The other four were staring right back at him, his tattoos bared in all their glory around the large armholes of his sleeveless t-shirt, with their own mouths gaping in return.

“Changbin?!” Jisung was the first to get over his shocked silence.

“Jisung?!” Changbin demanded back, just as bewildered.

“What are you doing here–” they both started to ask at the same time.

“I think that’s my line, actually,” Changbin says, voice still pitched high in his incredulity. “How do you even know this place?”

“A friend has come and recommended it to me–Choi San, if you know him. But what are you doing here?” Hyunjin finally speaks up.

“I work here,” Changbin says, deadpan, gesturing broadly with the tattoo pen and gloves on his hands. “This is my job. It would be weird if I wasn’t here.”

“I take it you five know each other?” Hyojung pipes up with an amused smile on her face.

“Yeah, they’re friends from school,” Changbin says with a nod in the other four’s directions.

“Well, someone named Hyunjin has this next appointment booked. ‘For a friend,’ apparently,” she muses, looking at the customer log.

“Uh,” Changbin says inelegantly.

“Right,” Hyunjin says, shaking himself out of his stupor. “Well, this is definitely a surprise, but I do have an appointment. Chan’s been nagging us about a tattoo he’s wanted for months. So I booked an appointment for it.”

“You know it’s pretty normal to do a consult beforehand? To make sure you’re getting what you want?” Changbin points out, still stupefied, and trying desperately to banish the thought of working on a shirtless and beautiful Chan’s back.

“Well, yeah. That’s how I did my tattoo,” Hyunjin says. “But he wants a simple one and I figured maybe it wouldn’t take too long to consult and get it done.”

Changbin shakes his head, but gestures for them to follow him.

“Two of you sit out here, unless you all have appointments booked with other artists I don't know about,” Changbin points to a small group of chairs in the makeshift waiting area. “Hyunjin and Chan, follow me I guess.”

“I had no idea you worked here,” Chan pipes up after a while. “I mean, I saw your tattoos that day at McDonald’s but I didn’t know you, like, did that.”

“Yeah, since I was fifteen,” Changbin admits.

“I’m just surprised you have tattoos,” Hyunjin says with a low whistle. “They’re gorgeous, don’t get me wrong, but you seemed so straight-laced and goody goody.”

“Heh, who’s to say a guy can’t be a goody-two-shoes and a tattoo artist?” Changbin jokes, wry smirk on his lips.

Hyunjin just laughs.

“So,” Changbin says, turning his back to the other two as he pulls out sanitizing wipes for a potential session. “What were you hoping to have done?”

Chan hesitates for a second before pulling a paper– honest to god paper, that should not be as endearing as it is –out of his pocket to show Changbin a small flock of flying raven silhouettes. 

“I was hoping I could get this tattooed over my left bicep,” Chan admits quietly, gesturing to the paper. “They mean intelligence and wisdom. And it represents the good and the bad of the wearer. I’ve thought about this for a long time, Changbin. I know it’s a little unorthodox, but I really hope I can get it done here. And, from what Hyunjin says, you guys have a great reputation among the tatted population,” he finishes with a small laugh.

“I actually just did a similar tattoo on another customer just last week,” Changbin says quietly. “I have the stencils. I’m confident I can do it well. But Chan, are you sure? I love tattoos, you can see that,” Changbin gestures with both of his arms. “But tattoos are a lifetime commitment. If you decide you don’t want them down the road, you can book a surgery appointment, sure, but even those don’t always work out the way they should.”

“I’m sure,” Chan looks at him with fierce resolve. “I’ve thought about this for a long time. I want to do it,” he says, eyes steely.

Changbin takes a deep breath, before setting down his equipment and pulling his gloves off.

“Okay. Follow me back to where Jimin is. He can get you set up with the paperwork while I prepare the ink cartridges for your tattoo. He’ll also go over the care instructions with you and hand you a small pamphlet to help in the days after,” Changbin says, walking back out towards the front area, Hyunjin and Chan behind him.

“Oh, and prepare yourself. I know the tattoo is small, but I’m gonna do the best I can. You’ll be back there with me for at least a five hour guestimate, okay? I think I can have it finished tonight but we may need to schedule you a followup session if not,” Changbin says, before leaning over to explain what’s happening to Jimin.

Going back to his room, Changbin focuses on sanitizing his work chair and pulling up the arm rests for Chan to prop his arms on. This was really happening. Chan was really getting a tattoo. Changbin was really the one tattooing him. Wow.

What felt like forever but was probably only ten minutes later, Chan came bounding into the room behind Jimin, aftercare pamphlet in hand.

“Hey, Changbin. I got the paperwork all done and Jimin says I’m ready to start,” he says.

“Changbin will sanitize your arm properly before starting,” Jimin explains gently. “He’ll tell you what he needs you to do for that to happen. Call for me if you need anything.”

“Thanks,” Chan says with a smile.

“Okay, I’m going to get you to sit down facing this way,” Changbin gestures. Prop your arms up on the rests in front of you. Actually, how far up your bicep do you want the tattoo?” Changbin asks, before Chan can settle all the way in.

“I was hoping I could have it almost up here by my shoulder,” Chan gestures to the meatiest part of his arm. “Is that okay?”

“That’s fine. But I need your sleeves to stay completely out of the way. Can you roll them up for me?” Changbin asks, getting out his alcohol wipes.

“Oh, uh, that could be a problem,” Chan says sheepishly. “My sleeves don’t really roll up past my elbow,” he admits quietly.

“That’s not really a problem,” Changbin fights to keep his voice from breaking. Oh god, Chan would have to–

“You sure? I mean, maybe I can pull my arm out my neck? It may stretch a little though,” Chan says.

“That’s not a good idea,” Changbin says. “Actually, if you’re comfortable doing so, you can pull your shirt off and we’ll go from there. That way neither of us has to fight with it. I recommend putting it in front of you on the chair, though. The plastic gets cold,” Changbin remains distinctly professional throughout the suggestion.

“Oh, uh, yeah. Okay. Sure,” Chan stumbles out awkwardly, pulling his shirt over his head and–oh god. Changbin has to look away for a second to gather his thoughts. Chan is fucking built.

Turning back around with his gloves on and his wipes ready, Changbin manages to keep his thoughts (and gaze) clinical and analytical. He sanitizes the skin of the other man’s bicep thoroughly and dries it.

“Okay. I’m going to start higher up and work my way down,” he explains, grabbing a smaller stencil and placing it near Chan’s shoulder where the other man had gestured earlier. “Let me know if you need to take a break at any time, okay? Your comfort is most important.”

Sitting down on his rolling stool, Changbin settles in for a long session. He honestly can’t wait to see the finished work–and he’s the one doing it.

Chan’s session went swimmingly. He didn’t ask for a break once, keeping his winces to a minimum, and Changbin had him finished and out of the parlor in six hours. The tattoo was beautiful, a simple design but perfect for Chan, and he was very proud of his work.

So was Chan, if the sunshine bright smile on his face as he paid and left was anything to go by. Well, that and the three million times he’d thanked Changbin while gushing about it.

The rest of the week seemed to go by in a blur of Chan and school, and before he knew it, it was finals week before Christmas break. His final exams and projects were due Friday, the 17th, and he was racing to get his songs done, his papers written, and his chapters read before the big day. Production class only had a song due, but there were a lot of tedious elements Changbin was working on. His ear-training class, however, had a one hundred question quiz due during class time Friday. His Music Theory test and paper both were also due by 7 that evening.

It was Wednesday evening and Changbin was still recovering from his last (exhaustingly detailed) tattoo session from earlier that evening. A lady had come in for work on her intricately detailed partial sleeve and it took him nearly his whole shift just to get one third of her request done. He was tired, his eyes were glazing over as he tried to reread his notes from Theory class, and he was generally grumpy because he hadn’t seen Chan in several days. Their two schedules conflicted horribly all week long and the other boy was running around more than even he was.

Yawning for what felt like the hundredth time, Changbin gave up and slammed his notebook shut, rubbing at his tired eyes. He couldn’t wait for this hell to be over and for Christmas break to begin.

His mother and father were out of the country this year, so he wasn’t going home to see them. They’d offered to send tickets to fly him out, but Changbin had no desire to do anything but sit back and relax once break began. As such, they’d all talked and agreed that he would be staying in the dorm for a couple days afterward to rest before migrating to his parent’s city apartment suite several miles away. They hadn’t used it in a while, but everything was kept up-to-date.

They also, rather unsubtly in his opinion, suggested he bring any friends or partners he may have had if they were staying back for Christmas break as well. Changbin rolled his eyes but thanked them for the suggestion. Privately, he would have loved it if a few of his friends were staying back for Christmas. But he knew all three of his roommates were going home to spend the holiday with their families.

He hadn’t gotten around to asking Chan or any of the other’s what their plans were. He guessed it was still possible he wouldn’t be spending the holidays alone. Still, he tried not to let himself hope too much. It wouldn’t do for him to get disappointed if they were busy.

Sighing gustily, Changbin sits back against his bed and sets his laptop on the nightstand beside him. He’d been studying all week and his paper was in the editing phase. He was confident of his upcoming tests, but he still wanted to go over the content a few more times to make sure. That would have to be a task for tomorrow’s him, though. Tonight’s him needed sleep pretty bad.

Thursday was a blur of classes, studying, and Changbin frantically quizzing himself between coffee orders at the cafe. Finals were upon him and he wanted to get everything over with as quickly and painlessly as possible.

Chan came in for a few minutes for a caffeine boost before he too had to race back to his dorm to finish studying. And if Changbin also gave the other man a muffin on the house, well. Chan was too busy at the moment to really lecture him anyway.

Half of the student body seemed to cycle through the cafe during his shift, making the place lively. Jihoon took on a double-shift but he, Jaebum, and Changbin were still racing around with barely a chance to breathe. Jihoon was also studying in between manning the cash register and serving pastries, but even he looked a little more wild-eyed and harried than usual. Changbin could relate.

Once Changbin finally got back to his dorm for the night with food, he still forced himself to read through the summary chapters for his quizzes tomorrow. It was the final countdown, and he was feeling the pressure. He wanted to get exams over with, sure, but he wanted to do them well.

Before he knew it, it was Friday morning and he was clicking his phone alarm off one last time before winter break. He let himself sleep a little later this morning and was cutting down his gym time to only stationary biking. He needed to work off some adrenaline so he could focus, but he didn’t need to wear himself out too much.

The rest of the day was a blur of classes, tests, and “waiting for grading” alerts on his final projects and paper. Changbin had the evening off, as well as all of next week for Christmas. The cafe owner closed the business down for five days during the Holiday week, and he’d asked for time off from the tattoo parlor that Hyojung had happily granted him. After his final exam at 2 p.m., Changbin was a free man.

His final exam passed much like the ones before, in a blur of focus and tension. After maybe thirty minutes, Changbin was done. He scrolls through his answers to double-check everything before he submits it. Shutting his computer down and putting it quietly in his bag, Changbin makes his way out of the classroom.

Several steps down the hallway, he can’t resist slumping against the wall and taking a minute to breathe. Now I need to go start packing for my trip to mom and dad’s apartment, he thinks to himself. He couldn’t wait to sleep in his own bed.

Standing back up straight, he pulls his phone out to message Chan. He hadn’t seen the other man in several days and he hoped he could at least say goodbye to the man before Christmas break. Well, or invite him to spend Christmas with him if he was staying back in the dorms.

“Changbin!” A voice calls loudly down the hall, excitement obvious. “Changbin! Changbin! Finals are done!”

Changbin looks up to see a hyperactive Jisung barreling down the hallway, right towards him. The other man speeds up even more once he has his attention and Changbin realizes, with a start, that he’s seconds away from collision.

“Jisung, wai–” Changbin starts, but the other slams into him in a huge hug, cutting him off.

“It’s finally winter break and Christmas is just next week and I’m so happy you have no idea,” Jisung rattles off at the speed of light.

“Yeah I’m happy too,” Changbin wheezes.

“Jisung! You’re squeezing the life out of Binnie,” Chan calls, walking toward them at a far more reasonable pace, Minho beside him smiling fondly.

“Oh, shit, sorry,” the boy jumps back to give Changbin space.

“It’s okay,” Changbin says with a chuckle. “I’m excited too. I still need to go shopping for a few small things for some friends and family, too, which is kinda fun to me.”

“Oh god,” Jisung says, horrified look on his face. “I haven’t even started shopping!”

“You’re more than welcome to join me, if you want to. I’m off this evening and I was going to run to a few stores after I get some packing done,” Changbin offers, walking, and then looks at Minho and Chan to include them. “That offer goes for all of you, by the way.”

“Oh,” Chan sounds a little disappointed, his smile tight around the edges. “You packing to go home?”

“Yes and no?” Changbin answers. “My parents are out of the country right now and I’m going to house-sit their apartment. It’s only, like, fourteen minutes away–OH!” Changbin suddenly exclaims, turning to face the other three. “Right! What are the three of you planning to do for Christmas? My mom specifically said to invite any of my friends who might have been staying behind for Christmas to come spend it with me. If they wanted, anyway.”

“Wait, let me get this straight: your mom told you to invite a bunch of college students to their apartment–that they aren’t at–for, like, a week?” Jisung asks, incredulous. “Unsupervised?”

“I mean, she knows I’m not exactly the type of person to throw ragers. Or invite people who do,” he explains, flushing slightly. “She trusts me because she knows my idea of a good party is a handful of people sitting around the living room with takeout and a movie on.”

Jisung and Minho both laugh at that, and Chan smiles.

“That definitely fits,” Chan says fondly. “I can’t say I disagree. That sounds like a very good time to me.”

“Me too,” Minho agrees. “It’s just funny to me that you’re so laidback. It’s refreshing, if anything.”

“Yeah, I agree,” Jisung inputs. “As for what I’m doing, I was planning to stay behind in the dorms. I’m supposed to be moving to a different floor after the new year and it’s just easier for me.”

“Same,” Minho says. “Except I’m just moving dorms, not floors, thank god.”

“Tickets back to Australia this time of year aren’t exactly a stellar deal,” Chan adds. “I was planning to stay here as well. Probably hang out with Jisung and Minho for Christmas itself.”

“Well,” Changbin says, “I mean, if y’all wanna stay with me, I’d be happy to have you. But like I said, I won’t exactly be throwing any ragers.”

“I’m always down for sleeping anywhere that isn’t a dorm bed,” Jisung says with a laugh. “And I don’t really do ragers either. I’m in. When would you like me to come by?”

“If Jisung’s going, I’m certainly not staying behind in a cold dorm room alone,” Minho says with a pout before Changbin can answer.

“I mean, are you sure, Binnie?” Chan asks. “I don’t want to overstep in whatever plans you have for Christmas.”

“Bold of you to assume I had any plans,” Changbin says, wry. “But honestly, you’re not intruding or anything. I wouldn’t have invited any of you if not.”

“Well, how can I say ‘no’ to that?” Chan asks, dimples flashing.

“Hopefully you can’t,” Changbin replies with a smile. “Because I’d kind of like to spend Christmas with you there too.”

Oh god, I hope that wasn’t too obvious , Changbin groans internally. Maybe it just sounded friendly and not like I was coming onto him. I don’t want to scare him off or anything. He’s too good of a friend for that.

Chan’s laughing behind him, and Minho shoots Changbin a smirk while mouthing “nice.”

“Okay, I’m glad we’re all spending Christmas with you Binnie,” Jisung says. “But I still don’t know when I’m supposed to be there.”

“Right! Sorry, I’m feeling kind of distracted trying to figure out my own plans for this evening,” Changbin apologizes lightheartedly. “I’ll be heading there Sunday, around 10:30 in the morning, but I have to take the bus to get my car. I can come back to pick you guys up just about anytime after that, if that sounds good?”

“I’m good with that,” Jisung says happily, the other three nodding in agreement.

“And what about any of the others? I know Hyunjin is going home, but what about Felix?”

“He’s spending Christmas with his friends Seungmin and Jeongin,” Minho says. “One or the other has an apartment a few hours away and their parents invited them.”

“Okay. Well, since that’s settled, I’ll try to pick you all up around lunchtime Sunday. Maybe I can get delivery for lunch and get the Christmas tree up,” Changbin says, a spring in his step as he heads back toward his dorm. “Message me before 5 tonight if any of you wanna meet me for some not-quite-last minute shopping.”

The others voice their agreement and goodbyes. Changbin notices a little extra energy in his packing that afternoon and tries to tone it down. He can’t keep the smile off of his face, though.

Jisung and Minho both texted him to go shopping, Chan tagging along for “moral support,” as he put it, even though he was done. They took an uber to the Starfield mall, Jisung gaping as he first set foot in the place. Changbin got them coffee as they went to warm themselves. It was freezing outside, their jackets doing little to break the chill.

Changbin was able to finish his shopping between several of the stores they visited (even a few small gifts for Jisung, Minho, and Chan), and Jisung got most of what he wanted as well, saying he’d “finish his shopping online.”

The rest of the weekend passed in a blur, and before he knew it, Changbin was driving back in his Hyundai Sonata to get the other three (freezing, if their shivering was anything to go by) boys and their bags to take back to his parent’s place. He’d texted his mom to let her know what was happening and she was thrilled he wouldn’t be spending Christmas by himself.

He could tell his passengers were surprised when he drove through a gate into an underground garage in one of the higher class Yongsan apartment districts, each of them pausing their conversation to take in the scenery. They said nothing, though, and went back to joking and laughing about some of their past Christmas experiences. Changbin had never been more grateful for them.

The rest of the day passed by in flashes of food, Christmas lights, ornaments, and the artificial tree he’d enlisted Chan’s help setting up. At one point. Minho tripped on the strand of lights he was trying to untangle and went sprawling into the tree. Changbin helped him get back up after he finished laughing at the other’s affronted face. Together, they put the tree back up and started decorating again from scratch.

The first two days, each of them spent sleeping in and napping, exhausted from the school year. Changbin kept up his workout routine, but even he found himself slumping against Chan on the couch after his showers and dozing for minutes at a time.

Their third night together, Minho cooked them Kimchi stew with sides of rice and pickled vegetables and they stayed up playing games until well past midnight.

Minho, who had apparently never played Mario Kart in his life, kept beating Jisung at it and the other boy would shriek every time he got hit by a blue turtle shell. Changbin had no idea how Minho kept getting them and, privately, he was really glad he kept coming in second place since the other was so happy to use them.

Chan, who did okay at the game, would laugh every time it happened. Jisung, in turn, would reach around Changbin to whack the older man in the chest. Minho was content to sit back and smirk, reveling in his victories time and time again.

Several times throughout the week, Changbin caught Minho watching an excited Jisung with the most gut-bustingly adoring look on his face. Changbin pointed it out to Chan, once, and he smiled in understanding.

“Jisung is a little bit dense with Minho,” Chan had explained to him as they sat together on the couch, the older man leaning heavily against him as he scrolled through Prime Video. “He’s been head over heels for the guy since they first met. Apparently he thinks he doesn’t have a chance with Minho because he’s an upperclassman or something. Crazy, right?”

“Right,” Changbin agreed weakly, feeling more than a little bit called-out.

“I mean, Minho so obviously adores him that it hurts to watch,” Chan continued. “And besides, they’re barely 2 years apart. Jisung’s 21, for god’s sake. It’s not like he’s a high schooler,” Chan says with an eye roll. “But Minho also refuses to make a move because he doesn’t want Jisung to feel pressured. It’s been agonizing to watch the last year.”

Changbin swallowed but said nothing. If Chan really felt this way about Jisung and Minho, would he be receptive to Changbin? He wasn’t even sure he was willing to risk their friendship like that, but knowing he might have a chance? Well, Changbin wasn’t sure if it was encouraging or terrifying.

“Sometimes I wish one of them would just ask the other out finally,” Chan said against Changbin’s temple with a sigh. “Instead of dancing around each other like a couple of lovesick fools.”

Changbin nodded in agreement, so lost in his thoughts that he barely noticed when Chan turned on the original Miracle on 34th Street , one of his favorites. He couldn’t imagine doing anything to change the friendship he and Chan had now, but he wasn’t sure he could stop thinking about the possibility now that it had been presented to him.

Several more days passed, filled with ice skating, shopping (even though none of them had anything they really needed to get), eating, and looking at Christmas light displays across the city. Changbin’s heart was full, knowing his friends got to experience all of these amazing things with him. Jisung had taken up the role of the cameraman, snapping selfies left and right of all of them together and posting to his Instagram.

It was 8 p.m. on Christmas Eve, and a cold -2.2°C in Seoul. Changbin and Minho had been working tirelessly in the kitchen to prepare tomorrow’s meal. Minho was making a fresh batch of Kimchi at the moment, while Changbin was baking a pan of dinner rolls he got from a recipe online while he attempted to mash some potatoes based on the recipe his dad had sent him.

Changbin and Jisung had popped their heads in off and on between wrapping their gifts to steal pieces of cookies, Minho slapping their hands away anytime he caught them. Changbin laughed, completely unhelpful each time it happened, but he eventually had pity on the two boys and gave them a couple small napkins with treats.

Washing his dry hands–which were dry and cracking from how many times he’d had to wash them so far–for what felt like the millionth time, Changbin sighs as he scoops the potatoes into a baking dish and shoves them in the fridge. They’d have to be heated and served tomorrow, but at least they were done. He was exhausted, and his back and feet hurt from working on them for several hours that day.

“I’m so done,” Minho sighs, stepping back from the plastic bins of the pungent cabbage concoction. “It just needs to go in the fridge now. But I still have to go wrap my gifts. Lucky me.”

Changbin laughs but waves him on. “I’ll put it away. Wash your hands and go wrap, Minho. I just need to finish washing a couple small dishes and I’m done too. Or, as done as I can be until the rolls come out. I’m not even touching our Christmas Chicken until tomorrow.”

“Alright. Don’t spend too long in here, Binnie,” Minho says with a smile, drying his hands off and walking out.

“I won’t. I have a couple things left to wrap too,” he says with a smile.

Sighing heavily, Changbin leans back against the counter for a second to take some pressure off his feet.

Note to self , he thinks. If I ever need to spend this long in the kitchen again, I need to wear my damn tennis shoes. NOT go barefoot.

Turning back around, he scrubs the last few spatulas in the sink and dries them, missing it when the door opens behind him.

“Hey, Binnie,” Chan’s voice whispers, very close to his ear, arms coming up to wrap around his waist in a loose hug. “You almost done? I wanted to flip on It’s A Wonderful Life and I was hoping we could watch it together.”

Changbin jumps at the sudden voice but quickly relaxes back into the other’s arms with a grin, turning around to hug him back.

“I’m almost done. I still have about three things to wrap and then I can join you,” he answers, stepping back to towel-dry the last utensil.

“Sounds good to me,” Chan says with a smile, his dimples flashing adorably on his face. Changbin can’t help feeling terribly endeared.

“What about you? Are you done wrapping?” Changbin asks, back to the other man as he puts clean dishes away.

“Yeah, just finished. Thanks for the snacks, by the way. I know we had dinner, but I swear I’ve felt hungry again smelling everything you both have been cooking the last few hours,” Chan says. “The cookies were really good.”

“I’m glad you liked them. I’ll be sure to tell mom you liked her recipe,” Changbin says with a smile.

“You do that,” Chan says, going quiet.

Changbin assumes the other man left to get the movie ready, and is surprised to see the other standing there, watching him quietly, a soft look on his face.

“Chan?” He asks, confused. “Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine,” the older man says, taking a step closer.

Changbin shifts backward, the small of his back hitting the counter behind him.

“Are you sure? I mean, if you’re hungry, I can get out some of our leftover soup–”

“Not hungry,” Chan says, taking another step forward.

Changbin is blushing heavily, looking into the other man’s intense gaze. He has nowhere to go and no idea what’s come over Chan all of a sudden.

“Chan, I don’t understand–”

“Changbin, I know I’ve only known you for a month, but you’re one of my best friends. I love you, as a friend and maybe something more, and I like you very much. I know you’re not super touchy, but I’d be really happy if you’d let me kiss you right now,” Chan says all in one breath, his face mere inches away from the other’s, gaze flitting between Changbin’s lips and eyes.

Changbin does everything he can to abort the gasp that wants to leave his mouth at that. Chan likes him? Chan wants to kiss him?

“I’m getting kinda nervous here, Binnie,” Chan says with a small laugh, eyes crinkling into crescents and dimples once again flashing endearingly. “Hope I haven’t been misreading things.”

“You haven’t,” Changbin finally manages to gasp out. He hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath. “I just didn’t realize you felt how I did,” he admits softly, a smile slowly overtaking his face.

Chan looks surprised at that, smile easing a little bit. “You’re joking, right? I know I’m pretty huggy and all, but even I’m not as touchy with the others as I am with you,” he says, incredulous.

“I don’t know,” Changbin said. “I guess I didn’t want to overstep or anything.”

“How did you say it back at school?” Chan asks, looking to the side in recollection. “Oh, right. ‘You aren’t intruding or anything. I wouldn’t have invited you–to kiss me–if you were,” he quotes his own words back at him with a small twist, smile firmly back in place.

“Oh,” Changbin breathes, frozen in his stunned amazement.

“Now, can I please kiss you Binnie?” Chan asks, looking sweetly into his eyes.

“Please,” Changbin all but begs, and swallows a groan when the other man obliges.

Chan kisses softly, gently, like he has all the time in the world. He’s chaste, to start with, respectful of the newness of whatever this tentative thing is they have, but he leaves Changbin gasping for air all the same.

When they finally part, Chan peppering tiny kisses all over Changbin’s face, he realizes his arms had wrapped around the other man’s neck, clinging with desperation, while Chan's hands rest loosely on his waist.

“I never thought I could have someone like you,” Changbin whispers into the other man's shoulder, almost a prayer.

“You’ve had me since the day I first saw you, Bin. I’m just happy I finally have you too,” Chan whispers right back.

Changbin can’t keep himself from kissing the other man again at his gentle admission.

Later, when Changbin is no longer so consumed with Chan’s warmth and lips and smile, he’ll admit softly to the man that this is the best Christmas Eve he’s ever had.

Chan just smiles, those same crater-sized dimples he first fell in love with all the agreement he needs.

On another Christmas Eve far in the future, leaning against Chan's chest as they watch movies he barely pays attention to, Changbin would muse about how falling in love with Chan wasn't really falling at all–it was more like walking into a warm house for the first time, eyes wide open, and knowing you're finally home.