Ship/Member: Seokmin/Wonwoo, Wonwoo/Jeonghan
Major Tags: MCD ? Previous character death ?
Additional Tags: being haunted by your future boyfriend's ex wife-husband
Permission to remix: Yes

***

Seokmin scuffs his feet into the dent at the bottom of the stairs, hands deep in the pockets of his coat. There is an old tissue rubbing against his knuckles, but he’s already wearing his shoes to prove a point and he doesn’t want to make his way to the kitchen to reach the bin. On the side table, the lamp flickers once, but Seokmin keeps his gaze fixed straight ahead, towards the door.

“Sorry — I’ll just be two minutes.” A floorboard creaks as Wonwoo stumbles out of the bedroom, pausing at the top of the stairs to pull an apologetic face down to Seokmin. “I can’t seem to find my damn glasses.”

“Have you tried the top of your head?” Seokmin is only mostly joking, laughs as Wonwoo pats his hair and frowns. “Bedside table?”

Wonwoo grunts and heads back into the bedroom, a soft cheer trailing down the stairs when Seokmin is evidently proven right. He appears once again, now with two ties in hand. “What do we think? Red to go with the ugly trousers my grandma bought or green to match my socks?”

Pondering, Seokmin tilts his head. They were meant to leave fifteen minutes ago and he has to swallow the irritation on the tip of his tongue. “Red.” He leaves out that Wonwoo’s brother’s girlfriend actually bought him the ugly trousers. And that he bought the green tie that Wonwoo is now discarding on the railing. “Red and green will make you look like a Christmas ornament.”

“Well,” Wonwoo laughs. “’tis the season.” He plants a kiss on Seokmin’s cheek as he reaches the bottom of the stairs, hand firm on Seokmin’s shoulder. “You don’t want to hang me on your tree?”

“I think there’s a good chance your dad actually will if we don’t leave now.” Despite his smile, Seokmin feels every minute drag against him with increasing persistence. “We’re going to be so late.”

Wonwoo only offers a grimace, checking his hair and straightening his tie in the mirror hanging by the front door. Satisfied, he turns to Seokmin again. “You look nice.” He holds out a hand which Seokmin accepts, then tugs until his face is only inches away. “Nervous?”

Seokmin tries not to appear caught off guard, then smiles as softly as he can. “A little,” he lies. “You?”

But Wonwoo just shakes his head. “Why would I be? They’ll love you.” He gives Seokmin’s hand a squeeze. “Come on.”

The chill from outside feels like a smack across the face and Seokmin sucks in a deep breath, double checks that he has his keys as he steps across the threshold. As he turns to pull the door closed, his eyes stray to the divot in the floorboards. He realises that the dirty tissue had fallen out of his pocket and was fluttering there, caught against the bottom step by the icy winter wind.

Frowning, Seokmin slams the door shut behind him.

***

“How have you been?”

It’s been over a decade since Seokmin saw Wonwoo last, but he seems fundamentally the same. His haircut hasn’t changed, his shabby jumper, a little large around the shoulders, glasses with frames too thick to be considered trendy. A beer can is growing condensation on the table in front of him, his book discarded — and Seokmin can’t even be angry that Wonwoo is still the kind of guy who will bring a book to a bar because he’s here and real and looking at him.

Wonwoo’s shoulder jerks noncommittally. “Surviving.” His voice is quiet but carries easily over the rumble of the bar. “Doing my best.” He swallows, gazes at the space just behind Seokmin’s right ear. “You?”

“Surviving.” Seokmin smirks as he says it, but it falls flat in the space between the two of them. “Trucking along.” He sits, unbidden, in the seat across from Wonwoo. He’s too warm in his wool coat so he sheds some layers and spreads them out so no one else can join the table. “Work’s shit.”

Wonwoo glances back at his book for a moment, a degree of longing in his eyes, then seems to resign himself to being disturbed. “What do you do for work?”

“Same as before.” No look of recognition from Wonwoo, so Seokmin continues, “I’m a data analyst. Soulless, but I can work from home and I’ve been given a whole week off to hang out with my family for the holidays.” He grins. “It pays the bills.”

A slow nod. It’s clear that Wonwoo doesn’t have much interest in the world of predicative models or spreadsheets. “What are you doing now?”

Last time he checked, Wonwoo was in the final stages of training to be an inheritance solicitor. But that was five years ago, so maybe he’s had a change of heart since then. “I’m a lawyer.” He takes a swig of his beer, still not meeting Seokmin’s gaze.

“What kind of law?” The chair creaks as Seokmin settles back and crosses his feet at the ankles. He doesn’t know anything further than what he’s gleaned from the assholes he works with, but it won’t hurt him to at least appear interested in Wonwoo’s boring job.

Wonwoo sighs a little. “Family law. Wills and civil disputes and stuff like that.” He sounds like he’s had to explain this at far too many family parties and is more than fed up of it.

Trying his best to look interested, Seokmin nods. He leans forward conspiratorially, hunched over his glass of lukewarm lemonade. “Have you ever had to defend someone who, you know, definitely did it.” Wonwoo looks nonplussed. “Like a wife who for sure killed her husband for the dosh or something.”

The colour drains out of Wonwoo’s face and Seokmin feels his stomach plummet as he realises what he’s said.

“No. I didn’t. I mean.” His straightens his spine, panic thick in the back of his throat. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that.”

Wonwoo drains the last of his beer as he stands, setting the can down between them with a clink. His hand is shaking a little and he wrestles his way back into his thick down jacket. “It’s fine.” His voice cuts through Seokmin will a chill. “See you around.”

“Fuck.” Seokmin slouches further into the creaky leather of the chair and groans.

***

Wonwoo:
Thank you for the flowers.
How did you get my address?

Seokmin:
your wedding invites

Wonwoo:
You still have those?

Seokmin:
i throw nothing away

ever
its one of the reasons my ex broke up with me

Silence again on Wonwoo’s end, although Seokmin’s phone tells him his messages have been opened. He swallows, then types,

Seokmin:
i really am sorry
i didnt think
it was very stupid of me

Wonwoo:
It’s okay.

A pause, the bubbles lingering at the bottom of Seokmin’s screen.

Wonwoo:
It’s nothing I haven’t heard before anyway.

Something catches in Seokmin’s throat and he lets out a long slow breath.
Seokmin:
you dont deserve that
i remember from your wedding how perfect you were together. you loved him a lot. he knew that and anyone with any sense would be able to see it.
jeonghan was lucky to have you

More dots at the bottom of the screen. They disappear, then appear, then disappear again. Seokmin senses himself lingering on the edge of a precipice.

Seokmin:
let me buy you a drink to apologise
please
its been too long. i miss you.

He thinks that Wonwoo isn’t even going to open the message when the reply materialises.

Wonwoo:
That’d would be nice. Thank you.
I miss you too.

***

The restaurant is crowded with families full of festive cheer and there is mist on the windows which makes Seokmin shudder. Yelllowish light bathes Wonwoo’s face with a sickly glow, but someone he still manages to look handsome on the other side of the wobbly table. “I thought you said you were buying me a drink?”

“The drink comes with a pizza. Did I not mention that part?” Seokmin grins, tilting his head in a way which Jihoon once described as endearing and then instantly regretted.

Wonwoo rolls his eyes, but doesn’t get up. “This place isn’t even good,” he says softly, conspiratorially. “If you wanted to ask me for dinner, you should have at least asked for my recommendation first.”

“Not good? What do you mean not good? I used to come here every single week for Free Slice Friday!” Seokmin feels almost personally offended at the small slice of his childhood being besmirched. He wrote about this place in one of his early college essays where he had to describe a favourite memory for a creative writing module he was forced to take. His first kiss was in the alley down by the bins and he broke his wrist one year trying to impress his crush with his skateboarding tricks right outside this very front window.

But Wonwoo doesn’t seem impressed by any of this information. “That was before it was taken over by a chain. No more Free Slice Friday, I’m afraid.” He waits for the waiter to take their orders, then pours himself a glass of water. Over the rim, he says, “Jeonghan made me boycott this place after they announced they were axing that deal.” He holds Seokmin’s gaze steady, the glint of the lamp outside catching on the glaze of his glasses.

“Well, I’m with him. Let’s not pay tonight.” Seokmin keeps his voice low, forces Wonwoo to lean in a little. “It’s been far too long since I’ve dine-and-dash-ed.”
Wonwoo’s laugh is refreshing. “Not a good habit for you to reinstate. Maybe leave that one in your twenties.” Outside, a car sloshes past, spattering what used to be clean, white snow up onto the sidewalk. The sound is almost perverse in the quiet between them.

Another head tilt and Seokmin purses his lips, watches Wonwoo’s eyes flicker down to catch the movement. “It’s probably not my worst habit, if I’m honest.” He takes a sip of red wine, the taste rich and dry on his tongue.

“It’s not?” Wonwoo mimics Seokmin, the drink staining his lip a deep burgundy. “What is, then?”

Seokmin pretends to think, a finger lightly stroking his chin. “Well, I do hog the covers when I sleep.”

“That is pretty awful.” Wonwoo is resting his cheek on one hand now. He looks almost like he’s having a good time. “Unforgivable, I think.”

“That’s not even it. I’m also a chronic procrastinator.”

Wonwoo chokes. “What was that?”

“Pro-cras-tin-a-tor,” Seokmin wheezes. “Don’t get that one confused.”

“Right. My bad.” Wonwoo dabs at his mouth with the corner of his mouth with his napkin. “Well, I bite my nails. If that helps.”

Seokmin pulls a face. “It doesn’t, actually. That’s gross. There are more germs under your nails than on a toilet seat.” He vaguely remembers reading that fact in a Christmas cracker once. He glances at Wonwoo’s nails — they seem perfectly manicured, not at all bitten.

“Jeonghan used to say the same thing,” Wonwoo admits. “He hated it.”

“Then I agree with him again.” Seokmin raises his glass in something almost like a toast. “Do you want to know my worst habit?” Wonwoo tips his head in a silent question and Seokmin smiles. “I never know when to give up.”

***

The house is nice, Seokmin thinks. Classy. It’s certainly a step above the one bed apartment in the city that he’s just signed the lease on.

Wonwoo pauses on the top step. “Thank you for driving me home,” he says quietly. “I was wondering if you might like to come in for a coffee.”

Fireworks whiz and pop in Seokmin’s stomach and he has stop himself from punching the air. “If you’re sure,” he says gladly, his hand already on the railing by the front door, crowding easily into Wonwoo’s space. Their breath mingle into mist between them.

“It’s a little messy. I wasn’t expecting company.” The hallway is dark but seems totally acceptable. The moonlight hits the shining wooden floors, gleaming in the white of the night, catches on the edge of a framed photo in the entryway. “I also have some nice whiskey you might like.”

“I won’t be able to drive home if you ply me with drink, Wonwoo.” Seokmin pitches his voice low as he hangs his coat up on a peg behind the door. He slips out of his shoes and feels the gloss of the floor beneath him, slippery on his socks.
Wonwoo just huffs a laugh, doesn’t look at Seokmin in the dim hallway. “I have a spare bed if you need.”

Seokmin just hums.

***

“It’s been a while,” Wonwoo whispers. His glasses were discarded downstairs, his shirt somewhere on the landing. “I haven’t since…” he trails off.

“It’s okay.” Seokmin runs his hands down Wonwoo’s arms, lacing their fingers together. He edges closer, looks up at Wonwoo through his lashes. Their tongues taste like liquor and the cheap rice snacks Wonwoo found in his cupboard. “I don’t mind.”

And he doesn’t.

Wonwoo is unhurried, generous in bed, although Seokmin gets the sense that he is holding out on him somehow. It doesn’t bother him until they are wrapped around each other in the early hours of the morning, Wonwoo snoring gently in Seokmin’s ear.

He sits up, shivering in the chill away from Wonwoo’s body. There are no photographs in this room, but the bedding is a higher thread count than Seokmin would ever bother to splash out on and there are fake flowers in a vase near Wonwoo’s head.

“What time is it?” Wonwoo rolls over, reaching out a hand across the sheets in search of Seokmin’s.

Seokmin looks down at the ring, brazen on Wonwoo’s finger. “Still early,” he mutters. “Go back to sleep.”

***

“Where did you find that jumper?”

Seokmin looks down at himself. He thought the cream complimented the colour of his eyes. “It was in your cupboard,” he says blankly. “Sorry. I thought I’d borrow it. Is that okay?”

“It’s not mine.” Wonwoo sits down at the table, serves himself eggs directly out of the pan. “Please put it back.”

***

Cross posted to ao3 :3