[oneshot] A disastrous pas-de-deux. -- 1/2
Title: A disastrous pas-de-deux.
Group: MBLAQ
Pairing: Seungho/Joon.
Rating: G.
Warning: AU, long as fuq, bad English.
Summary: University AU. Seungho moves into the dorms. His roommate is not what he had wished for.
N/A: Written for tottchupi on this year's mblaq_ss. I know my oneshots are always huge but >16,000 words is a personal record. :(
Sometimes, once a bunch of years or when the right star shoots along the right meridian in the night sky, the most different people in the world meet and just click, marking the birth of a quite tight friendship. This is a phenomenon that has brought wonder to small groups of men and women for ages, even if such wonder is untold, since these hypothetical people would probably disagree on most things, unlike to ever voice the same opinion about a subject, and still treasure each other as good friends. It’s something even the brightest human brain would, maybe reluctantly, label as destiny’s doing.
But then, look at Yang Seungho’s case. University student, actor in the making, alone in the city and as poor as a student can be, the quiet and reserved Seungho found himself in such state of monetary difficulty that he had to resort to his last, very last option of habitation. The university’s residence halls. Seungho shuddered as the very happy hall director chattered instructions to him.
Obviously, since Seungho had been so reluctant about living in the halls that he even slept on friends’ houses for a while, all the single rooms were already very much taken - Seungho’s illusion that people in the halls were sociable and would prefer living with someone was proven to be stupidity - and he was given no choice but to live in one of the double apartments with someone else. According to the hall director, his roommate was “cheerful, sociable, talkative and friendly”, which was translated in Seungho’s brain to “a chatterbox and probably hyperactive”.
Seungho knew he was being fast to judge, but he couldn’t care less. He had barely gotten any sleep in days, he was hungry, his legs were aching and he didn’t want to have a roommate to deal with.
“Then, I guess we’re done!” the hall director suddenly announced with sickening enthusiasm. “Here are the keys, and here is a list of useful phone numbers,” and then he went on explaining what was each number for, which Seungho paid no attention to. “That’s for now, Yang Seungho sshi. Please enjoy your new home.”
And he quickly walked away in tiny steps, as if trying not to hop his way down the hallway. Seungho sighed deeply, lowering his pathetically small luggage to the floor for a moment. This was entirely his own fault for not finding a job fast enough. If only he had gotten a job when he still had enough money left… and he’d be able to go back to his dream-like, horribly expensive old place. He sighed, missing the roomy apartment and the green and peaceful parks around it. But indeed, the rent plus bills plus bus fares had done it for Seungho. Resigned, melancholic and rather tired, Seungho grabbed his luggage and opened the door with the key that had been given to him.
Seungho squinted. Inside, his new home was dark and, for what Seungho could see in all that blackness, somewhat small. Or was it just messy? Clumsily, Seungho searched for the light switch and flipped it, letting the artificial light of the lamp unveil the real appearance of the place to Seungho. And you can’t really say the student enjoyed it.
The living room, or what it was supposed to be, was both small and messy. Messy, by the way, was a quite kind way to put it; all sorts of small objects were scattered on the floor, from pens and papers to unfinished puzzles, and the furniture was all crooked, giving the impression that a strong wind had just blown everything out of their places. There was a huge lump of old sheets on the couch, and the kitchen’s counter was full of boxes, bottles, dirty plates and mugs, making Seungho feel queasy by imagining how dirty could that whole mess be. The TV was on - Seungho noticed it was very small and old, like a portable TV from the nineties - but displayed nothing but a black screen. Seungho jumped several centimetres in the air when the lump of sheets moved.
“Who turned the lights on…?” a pasty voice came from it as it moved some more, slowly, as if it had been sleeping. Seungho briefly wondered what to do.
“Your new roommate,” he decided to state. “My name is Yang Seungho.”
The lump stopped moving, as if surprised by Seungho’s answer. Then, slowly, it came undone, revealing to be not a bunch of talking sheets but the shelter for a human being, clad in pyjamas and looking terribly sleepy. Seungho took in the image of his roommate with a cold stare. The man in front of him reeked of sweat and inertia and old Chinese dishes.
“Hello,” the man said simply, rubbing an eye and yawning. “I’m Joon. Your bed is the one on the right and there’s food in the fridge. Welcome.”
And he went back to under the sheets as if Seungho weren’t standing right there, glaring at him. Well, that’s what I call cheerful, sociable, talkative and friendly, Seungho thought acidly while dragging his luggage to the bedroom. Although he would very much object to having a blabbermouth as a roommate, he didn’t want to live with a lazy and dirty excuse for a human being either. He groaned. The lack of sleep had made him awfully grumpy, and realizing that the bedroom was almost as messy as the living room didn’t brighten his mood an inch.
Slowly, he dragged his luggage over the cluttered floor, wishing none of the objects would damage his bag. Short of energy to unpack, he merely let the bag fall beside his new bed, jumping on it without thinking twice.
He let out a scream as his back collapsed with something stiff and cold that broke down with a loud crack.
Seungho was not one to often engage in ferocious strives, but he was more than glad to open an exception to his new roommate called Joon.
“Why didn’t you look before you jump on the bed?!” Joon screamed at him, now very much awake, clutching whatever Seungho had broken against his chest as if it were a 100-carat diamond.
“I never imagined I’d have such a lame roommate,” Seungho shouted back, furious as he hadn’t been in a long time. “that he wouldn’t even bother to clean up once in a while!”
“I would have cleaned up,” Joon flailed, and Seungho had to step back to avoid being covered in spit. “if you had told me you were arriving today! But no, you didn’t even care! You just barged in!!”
“How could you not know when the hall director told me that he talked to you this morning?!” Seungho was so exasperated that he felt like he could throttle Joon in a blink of eyes.
“Wha-this morning?” he seemed to remember something, and Seungho felt a wave of triumph as he watched Joon’s face grow redder and redder. “B-but you still didn’t look before jumping!”
“If you want stuff to stay in one piece, lesson number one,” Seungho raised a finger. “Clean up. Lesson number two,” he raised another finger. “Don’t leave things on other people’s bed.”
“Don’t lecture me!!” Joon shouted in a ridiculous shrill voice, with a face now so red that he could be well be fuming.
“Whatever. What is this thing, by the way?” Seungho made a gesture toward the broken object. “Is it a mirror?”
“That’s none of your business,” Joon spit out, shoving the object in his wardrobe carelessly. Seungho sighed, rolling his eyes as Joon went back to the living room, probably to burry himself under his sheets again. “Try not to break more stuff, please. You know, look where you throw yourself on.”
Seungho regretted not throttling him when he had the chance.
You see, in Seungho’s case, such a strong feeling of dislike acquired in such a short time could be labelled as destiny’s doing as well. Just… the devilish kind of destiny’s doing. Think of it as a prank from the Gods.
Seungho had dinner at the cafeteria, which was not good to his wallet as he had opted out of a meal plan, but he refused to eat in the apartment’s chaotic and absolutely unhygienic kitchen. Besides, Byunghee and Sanghyun were with him. They always made him feel sane again whenever he was on the verge of losing it.
“You know what, when you described the place, it reminded me of when I started living in the halls. My place was also a huge mess,” Sanghyun commented thoughtfully, a nostalgic smile on his lips. “Except that I didn’t break anything and my roommate was nicer.”
“It’s not hard to be nicer than that guy, if Seungho’s account is accurate,” Byunghee patted Seungho’s back in sympathy as the older man ate happily. “What a prick he was.”
“And he smelled,” Seungho crinkled his nose in disgust. His friends did the same. “I can’t live with that guy. I really can’t.”
“Talk to the hall director,” Byunghee advised, like an expert on the field of disgusting roommates would. “Explain the situation and ask him for a change. It’s improbable that all the rooms are fully occupied. I’m sure you’ll find a better partner in no time.”
Seungho nodded without much vitality. Knowing that he’d still have to sleep there at least that night put him in a rather gloomy mood.
At eleven PM, Seungho found himself facing his new home’s door, unexcited before the prospect of entering the environment again. Noise was coming from inside; Joon was probably still up. Taking a deep and encouraging breath, Seungho swung the door open, receiving as a greeting something flying just past him, barely an inch away from his cheek, and hitting the wall with a heavy crack.
Of course it’d turn out like that. Seungho looked down to whatever had been thrown at him and, from what he could recognize, the pile of broken pieces had once been a cellphone. He looked to the couch, from where Joon’s head popped up.
“Er,” the man visibly squinted, trying to distinguish Seungho’s figure in the darkness of the room. “Oh, it’s just you. Never mind.”
“Never mind?” Seungho asked, annoyed, lifting the phone’s broken screen to emphasize his outrage. “This could have hurt me.”
“It’s not like I was aiming at you,” Joon stubbornly argued, turning back to whatever was playing on the TV. It was some anime Seungho couldn’t recognize. For dinner, Joon was eating a piece of pizza that, judging by what Seungho could see thanks to the faint light of the television, didn’t look edible at all. His stomach made an unpleasant turn.
However, determined not to fight with the same man twice in the same day, Seungho went to his bedroom without saying a word, not even considering shower - he had the feeling that the bathroom was just as chaotic as the rest of the house, and that was a scenario he’d rather not see - and carefully lying under the sheets, verifying if there was any other object he could possibly lie on. There was nothing, and Seungho quickly made himself comfortable.
Half an hour went by, and then an hour, then an hour and a half, and Seungho wouldn’t fall asleep. It wasn’t hard to imagine why, of course. He couldn’t shake off the feeling that there might be cockroaches living in the apartment, and he didn’t appreciate the idea of having one of these climbing up his leg while he was sleeping. Besides, the television was too loud. Seungho could distinctly hear each word that the characters were saying, despite not understanding it.
He decided to politely ask Joon to turn the volume down; maybe even offer peace. There was a possibility that Seungho would be off to a better room in a near future, so why not? He got up and walked toward the door, careful not to step on anything, opening it in a silent movement.
As he got nearer to the room, however, he noticed an addition to the noise. The anime’s calm, slow opening song was blasting from the TV’s poor speakers, and, by listening carefully, Seungho noticed Joon was singing along, barely whispering the words, voice breaking pathetically.
He peered into the room. The anime’s opening sequence was playing. Joon, on the couch, was hugging his knees and the old lump of sheets, watching it while singing along; his cheeks were wet with tears that trailed down to his chin and fell on the sheets, creating a small wet spot on the fabric.
Seungho soundlessly walked back to the room and lay down on his bed, covering his head with the pillow so the noise wouldn’t disturb him too much. Somehow, he felt like that was not the right time to talk to his roommate.
“I’m sorry to tell you this, Yang Seungho sshi,” the hall director apologized nervously, looking at his own bureau instead of facing the two men in front of him. “But, right now, switching you is impossible. I’m terribly sorry.”
Seungho, who had a feeling that it’d end up being like that, merely nodded, gloomy. Byunghee, who had accompanied Seungho to the office, apparently would take none of that.
“It must be possible! I mean, this is an extreme case,” Byunghee argued as if it was his own problem. “Why don’t you go and take a look at the apartment? I’m sure you’ll agree with me.”
“That’s not the problem,” the director shook off with a trembling hand. “We have no room to relocate Seungho sshi to. The halls have been facing an issue of overpopulation for a while now, and the new wings aren’t ready yet. There’s virtually nowhere, that’s what I’m saying. I’m really sorry.”
Byunghee puffed sceptically, letting an awkward silence fill the room. Seungho sighed, upset.
“Okay, thank you for your time,” he bowed to the hall director and went out, Byunghee following him suit. They had classes after that, but Seungho had a plan. Afternoon would come with a new dash of hope to that horrible apartment.
Not that Seungho was particularly excited about his own plan, but he had to do it. It was Friday, he had no afternoon classes and, despite having a pile of texts to read and essays to write, the apartment’s state of disorder was a much more urgent situation. Those were the thoughts that kept him going when, after lunch, he arrived at the place and analyzed precisely the mess. Oh, dear mother, he thought. This is not going to be pretty.
Shoving such negative thoughts away, Seungho walked firmly toward the filthy kitchen, not bothering to greet Joon, who was under the sheets again - probably sleeping. And what about his classes?, Seungho thought while trying to cross the kitchen without touching anything. The kitchen’s floor had all sort of things scattered around as well, and Seungho angrily wondered if Joon had grabbed random objects from his drawer and just thrown them around the apartment for fun. Nevertheless, he succeeded in not stepping on anything and reached the big cupboard without major incidents. He swung the cupboard’s door open. There lay a very old and dirty broom, a shabby feather duster, a limey bucket, a vacuum cleaner covered in thick dust and, to Seungho’s relief, a pair of rubber gloves. Inside the bucket were several other objects, and in the back of the cupboard there were many bottles of different and colourful substances. Joon’s reason for not cleaning certainly couldn’t be the lack of proper equipment, Seungho verified, shaking his head.
He decided to start from the bedroom, so he could at least take a nap in a clean environment before engaging in the actual cleaning work. Seungho was tired just by thinking about it. Carefully cleaning the vacuum cleaner with the feather duster, which made a grey and quite thick cloud of dirt float around the object, Seungho carried it to the bedroom with certain difficulty, since the machine was heavy and impossible to drag on the cluttered floor. Joon moved slightly in his sleep.
Upon arriving at the bedroom, Seungho first picked up the objects that seemed either important or too big to be vacuumed - notebooks, for an example, and pens, as well as a wallet that Seungho believed to be Joon’s own, and many other things - and piled them on Joon’s already crowded bed. Then, with a somewhat sadistic feeling of enjoyment, Seungho turned the vacuum cleaner on with great noise, letting the mess be sucked by the machine. In no time, Joon was at the door, clutching his sheets with a horrified look in his face.
“What are you doing?!” he tried to pull the vacuum’s brush from Seungho, but was answered with the brush vacuuming the hem of his shirt, which made him scream in a painfully loud voice, pulling the fabric frantically. “Stop! You’re sucking my stuff! Stop!”
Seungho did stop, because he thought Joon deserved some explanations. Judging from angry look Joon was displaying, they pretty much agreed on that.
“So?” Joon pointed at the vacuum cleaner as if it was a forbidden object. “What’s the meaning of this? What if you already sucked something important in?”
“If it were important,” Seungho threw back. “It wouldn’t be on the floor.”
And he turned the machine on again, resuming his previous activity. Joon tried screaming at him again, but Seungho couldn’t understand the words because he was talking too fast and the noise of the vacuum was deafening. Eventually, Joon stomped away, shouting something that sounded suspiciously like curse words at Seungho. He didn’t mind. The floor was becoming clean and that was the important part.
After what felt like ages to Seungho, he finally considered the floor clean; what a difference it made! Even though there were still huge piles of mess in the corners and on Joon’s bed, the room looked much cleaner and more habitable. Deciding to deal with the remaining mess later, Seungho dragged the machine outside and turned it on again, cleaning his path toward the living room. Joon was on the couch, glaring at him nastily. Seungho shrugged. If he wanted to live in a pigsty, he should go live elsewhere.
“Wanna’ help?” Seungho offered jokingly. Joon huffed.
“Why did you move into here?” he asked, obviously in a foul mood. “There are other places in the halls.”
“Actually, there are none,” Seungho corrected him over the noise. “Or else I wouldn’t bother cleaning, I’d just move out.”
Silence was made, and Seungho had the feeling Joon was scowling at him, but he paid no attention. Joon then asked something he didn’t hear, so he had to ask for him to say it again.
“Never mind,” Joon shouted, but Seungho insisted in knowing what it was. After a moment of insistence and refusal, during which Seungho even turned the vacuum off to encourage him to say it, Joon gave up.
“Don’t laugh,” Joon commanded, looking at the vacuum. “Can I use it?”
Seungho blinked. He looked at the vacuum, then at Joon, then at the vacuum again. Joon seemed to guess what he was thinking.
“I don’t intend to help you! I just want to use it for a second!” he stated, accidentally spitting everywhere. His face was red. “If you laugh, I swear I’ll kick you out.”
“I won’t laugh. Here, stand up,” Seungho forced himself not to laugh while offering the handle of the machine to Joon. As much as he’d love to crack a joke at that, he shouldn’t waste such a golden chance to get Joon to help him, even if just a little.
Joon stood up and took the handle, and Seungho didn’t give him any instructions; he figured the other wouldn’t need them. He didn’t. Joon flipped the on-off switch and started moving the vacuum around, watching attentively as it sucked the small objects in.
“Ooooh,” he exclaimed, and Seungho almost let out all the laughter he was holding back.
“I’ll trust you to clean the living room’s floor then,” Seungho patted Joon’s shoulder, going back to the kitchen cupboard to get the gloves. Putting them on, he crossed Joon’s path carefully to head to the bedroom, having decided to get rid of those huge piles of random mess. His courage, however, faltered when he took in the actual greatness of those piles. It was like Joon hadn’t cleaned in half a decade or more.
“How long has it been since you last cleaned your room?” Seungho sourly asked, mentally readying himself.
“What?” Joon hadn’t heard a word over the vacuum’s noise. Giving up, Seungho told him it was nothing, and started sorting the objects of the nearest pile out.
Seungho was more thankful for the gloves than ever. There was a mix of trash, dirty clothes, old notebooks and school papers (Joon’s major was apparently related to art), ripped pieces of paper and used tissues, all together in the same pile. Resisting to the urge to throw everything out, he patiently sorted them in a this-looks-important pile, a dirty clothing pile and a this-is-trash pile, shaking his head as the latter grew and grew. Outside the bedroom, the vacuum cleaner was still on.
“Yah, did you pass out?” Seungho got up, annoyed, to check on his roommate. That was an awfully long time he was taking to clean a room! When out, however, he didn’t find Joon in the living room, but in the kitchen, vacuuming the floor with a very concentrated expression. “Wait! Did you put the bigger objects out of the way?!”
“Huh?” Joon shouted, not having heard a word again. Then, the vacuum made a very suspicious noise, as if it were choking, and Seungho shot across the room to see what it was. Joon was trying to suck a plastic cup in.
“Aish! Watch what you’re doing!” Seungho hastily turned the machine off and pulled the cup from the brush, accidentally crushing it in the process. “If you try to suck in objects this big, you’re going to break it, and we’ll have no choice but to clean the rest of it with a broom. You have to sort out the bigger objects before starting, so they won’t be on the way.”
“Oh, okay,” Joon nodded obediently, kneeling down to do as he was told to. Seungho blinked. Weird. A bit too weird, how his unruly roommate had been suddenly tamed by a vacuum cleaner.
“It’s okay, let me do it,” he offered, also kneeling down to help. He didn’t want Joon to think he was bossing him around, after all! But Joon looked at him with lost eyes.
“But,” he weakly objected, glancing at the vacuum as if he didn’t know how to say what he wanted to say. And Seungho understood. Or, at least, he thought he did. Joon liked playing with the vacuum.
“Okay, fine,” Seungho got up. “Then I’ll leave it to you,” he made a thoughtful pause, and added, “Thank you for helping me.”
“I’m not doing this for you,” Joon grumpily answered, stirring his tongue at Seungho. Seungho rolled his eyes.
“But it’s helping me either way,” he tried again. “Thanks.”
“Whatever. You owe me,” was what Joon said, and Seungho gave up on being thankful altogether. He simply went back to the bedroom, mood ruined by Joon’s stubbornness, and resumed his previous activities, undoing each pile dutifully.
As the trash pile became frighteningly huge, Seungho also found interesting objects lost in the pit of oblivion; a Zorro mask in good state of conservation, an empty bottle of cherry brandy that had a very interesting shape, a huge piggy bank full to the brim with nickels (that made it weigh a ton, Seungho noted to himself, wiping the sweat on his forehead with the sleeve of his T-shirt), and Joon’s student ID card. Seungho took some time to look at it, startled at how different Joon looked in the picture. Albeit being definitely Seungho’s roommate - the facial features were the very same - he looked much chubbier and kinder in the picture. Also, thanks to the ID card, Seungho found out that Joon was younger than him by an year, and that his name was Lee Changsun. Joon is probably a nickname, Seungho thought to himself, throwing the ID card in the this-is-important pile, pathetically short if compared to its neighbours. A quite senseless nickname, actually. Why ‘Joon’? Seungho decided to call him Changsun from then on.
Again, Joon - Changsun - took rather long to finish his task with the vacuum cleaner, but, when he did, the silence felt heavenly to Seungho, whose head was already starting to ache. His whole body was starting to ache, actually, for cleaning the room proved to be just as tiring as he initially thought it would be, and he was thirsty and hungry and sweaty. What Seungho wanted the most at the moment, he realised while admiring his crafty work at piling up trash and dirty laundry to heights before unseen in history, was a shower, some hot congee and a warm and soft bed. He didn’t know why exactly he was craving for congee, but that didn’t matter at the time. What mattered was the fact he’d need a jumbo-sized trash bag, or a whole lot of the normal sized ones, in order to throw all that stuff out. The issue was: he didn’t even know if they had trash bags. The prospect made Seungho shudder. He quickly walked to his saviour - the kitchen cupboard - to be enlightened with the truth.
The living room looked didn’t look that much organized, but having its floor free of random goods was a good start. In his way to the kitchen, Seungho found Changsun-or rather, the usual lump of sheets on the couch, the vacuum cleaner lay on the way. Seungho grumpily dragged the machine along his way, noticing that it wasn’t hard to imagine how the apartment had ended that way, if Changsun was the kind to just leave a vacuum cleaner at such a place.
Relief washed over Seungho when he found six or seven black trash bags neatly folded at the bottom of the bucket, under the toilet brush and bar soap. Seungho fetched them all. Seizing the fact he was at the kitchen, he also inspected the fridge and the storage cupboard, hoping to find something edible there. The cupboard was filled with bags of rice and flour so dusty that they looked grey. The fridge was simply and completely empty. It wasn’t even turned on.
“’There’s food in the fridge’, he said,” Seungho mumbled, closing the fridge’s door with violence. Well, at least they had rice, so it was still technically possible to cook congee; if only they had seasoning, that’s it. By making a quick search through all the cupboards, he found out that they didn’t. Seungho let his head collide with the cupboard with a thump.
“’you okay there?” Joon’s sleepy voice asked from the living room. It was kind of him to ask, but Seungho wasn’t able to give him an appropriated and kind answer at the moment, so he just hummed affirmatively. Seungho organized his thoughts. First, he’d throw the garbage out; then he’d think about grocery shopping.
When he finished the task, however, he was way too tired and sweaty to step out of the apartment, what to say about walking to the grocery shop? He’d have to take a shower, a nice hot shower, in order to restore his health and willpower. At the same time, he had no guts to face the possibly panic-inducing bathroom (he had never peaked into it but he had a clear mental image of the place) at such an hour. Seungho didn’t consider it for more than a second. He’d have to, unfortunately, settle with an empty stomach that night. The thought brought him into a state of melancholy.
“Changsun,” Seungho called, about to ask where to leave the trash. Changsun, however, jumped from the couch as if it were in fire, in an exemplar display of theatrical overreaction. Seungho shouted and jumped back, alarmed, and almost tripped over the now full to the brim trash bags that he had dragged to the living room.
“Don’t call me Changsun!” the man growled in outrage, flailing his hands in a quite comical way. “Who said you can call me Changsun? Who even told you my name is Changsun?!”
“Calm down,” Seungho held down his flailing hands, apparently the source of his raging power. Changsun decided, then, to sulk intensely. “I found your ID card in the bedroom. What’s the problem with ‘Changsun’? Joon is a dumb nickname anyway.”
“Yah! Everyone calls me Joon! Are you telling me I’m dumb?” Changsun shocked Seungho into silence with his nonsensical logic. “I don’t want you to call me Changsun. My friends don’t call me Changsun, so I don’t see why a stranger would be allowed to!”
“Because the stranger is not only your roommate,” Seungho pulled the trumph from his sleeve. “But also your hyung. So I’ll call you Changsun if I fancy so. And you should at least learn my name.”
“I know your stupid name,” was what the sulky younger boy muttered, outraged.
“Which is?” Seungho teased. Changsun didn’t say a word. “Seungho, Changsun. Seungho hyung to you.”
“As if I’d call you hyung!” Changsun spat out, turning his back to Seungho and going to the kitchen. Seungho gave up with a sigh. Ah, yes, he still needed to ask his roommate about the trash.
“Changsun-“
“Don’t call me Changsun!!”
“-where should I leave the trash bags?” Seungho dragged them further into the living room for Changsun to see them. He saw that the younger man was eating from a bowl of take-out pork ramen that, in opposition to the pizzas, looked quite edible - or it could be Seungho’s hungry brain losing its criteria. “We have food?”
“I have food. You don’t,” Changsun deadpanned with his mouth full of ramen. Seungho’s eyebrows curved upwards sadly.
“Changsun-“
“What did I tell you?!” Changsun glared at him venomously. “No. You go buy your food if you’re hungry.”
“Aish! You’re so damn childish!!” Seungho snapped, hungry, tired and annoyed. “You truly get on my nerves! Okay then, you brat! I’ll go to bed now, and dare you to make a sound while I sleep!!”
And he angrily stormed into the bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him.
Later, unable to sleep and admiring the ceiling instead, Seungho would admit he had been quite rude, and wondered if he should apologize. He didn’t want to live in bad terms with Changsun, and the boy had helped him, after all (with the sole intention of playing with the vacuum cleaner, yes but still), but, at the same time, talking with Changsun and not end up hating his existence was quite a hard task for Seungho. Why did they fight every time they talked? Coincidences? Genetic predisposition? Fate?
In the end, admitting to be partially at fault at causing the hostile atmosphere between both of them, he decided to apologize. If he had learned anything from the short time he had lived there, Changsun was probably awake. Silently and slowly, he tiptoed his way out of the bedroom, doing his best not to make the quietest noise. If he were wrong and Changsun were actually asleep, he didn’t want to be the one to wake him up.
He found the lights off, the TV shining blue, the couch empty and the sound of water running. Turning his eyes to the kitchen, he saw Changsun’s silhouette at the sink, where the sound was coming from. Seungho frowned. Was Changsun washing dishes? Unlikely, but he had no other theory. He decided to approach him.
“Hello,” Seungho said in a quiet voice, and Changsun jumped and screamed as if he had seen a ghost. Seungho was startled by the reaction at first, but when he realised he had been the one to startle Changsun, he felt an almost uncontrollable urge to laugh. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t laugh!”
“I’m not laughing.”
“You are!”
“I’m not. Anyway, I said I’m sorry,” Seungho finished the discussion with a hand gesture. Changsun clicked his tongue and resumed to his previous activity; to remove probably months old dirt crusts from a plate. Seungho found the sight of his ill-tempered roommate washing dishes so zealously endearing. He felt his usual spite for Changsun soften a bit.
“Tomorrow, I’ll go out for grocery shopping,” Seungho told him, not knowing well why he was doing so. “And then I’ll clean the bathroom, and throw the trash away. Then, there’s dirty laundry to deal with.”
“Good luck,” Changsun said sarcastically. Seungho didn’t let himself be affected by that.
“Do you want to help me?” he asked in his friendliest voice. Changsun scoffed, chuckling wickedly right after.
“Do you think I do? No,” he scrubbed the plate more and more vigorously. “No way. Don’t drag me into your stuff.”
Seungho did know, in fact, that the answer would be something like that, but he still had felt hope deep inside. Maybe because the younger had helped him with the vacuum earlier, or because he was washing dishes with no special motivation to do so, but Seungho thought…
Changsun sighed sadly, landing the plate on the counter with a heavy clang. Seungho watched that alarmed. What was wrong? Changsun shook his head.
“I do,” he suddenly mumbled, sounding miserable. “I do want to help you. I mean, I don’t want to help you. I just want to do chores,” he grabbed the plate and rinsed it with water. “but I don’t want you to be smug about it.”
Silence was made. There was a question on the tip of Seungho’s tongue, but would it be appropriated to ask? Or would it ruin Changsun’s will to indirectly help him? When he opened his mouth to ask it, Changsun spoke first.
“’If you like doing chores, why is your apartment a mess?’ is what you want to ask, right?” he angrily recited, effectively shutting Seungho up. That was the exact question Seungho had been about to ask. “Don’t. I don’t mean to be rude, but it’s none of your business.”
“I understand,” Seungho stood up and walked to the counter, searching for a rag to wipe the dishware dry with. He found none, so he decided to just stand out of Changsun’s way. “I’m happy you like doing chores. I hate it.”
“You? Hate chores?” Changsun stared at him incredulously. Seungho chuckled. “Why did you suddenly start cleaning up today, then?!”
“It was too messy for me to stay put. Even me, I mean,” was the older man’s answer, accompanied by a nonchalant shrug. “I don’t like cleaning up, but I like living in clean environments.”
“You’re absurd,” Changsun shook his head, as if giving up on Seungho’s case. Seungho shrugged as well, in agreement.
“Then,” he changed the subject. “Will you go to the grocery store with me tomorrow? Today, actually,” Seungho glanced at the clock.
“Yep. But as I said,” waving a wet sponge at Seungho, Changsun reminded. “I’m not doing this to help you.”
“I know, I know. I owe you,” Seungho rolled his eyes, making Changsun click his tongue in annoyance. “We’ll be out early tomorrow, okay? I’ll wake you up.”
“Okay. Now go to bed,” Changsun shooed him. Smiling, Seungho did as told, not forgetting to set his alarm clock before, finally, falling asleep.
At the time they went shopping, the grocery store was so empty that it gave out an eerie feeling. Seungho liked that, because it meant he could eat while shopping without being side-eyed by old ladies, and his mood was magically better after he ate a sandwich from the ‘quick dinner’ section. Same couldn’t be said about Changsun’s mood, rather unfortunately.
“Cannot believe,” Changsun kept mumbling, shaking his head glumly. “You are unbelievable.”
“Make sense, please,” Seungho joked, mouth full of chicken and corn.
“We’re shopping for groceries at five AM,” the younger man pointed out while stuffing the cart with bottles of green tea and müsli bars. “No one shops for groceries at five AM. I mean, no one who’s normal.”
“Does that mean you’re not normal? Since you’re here,” Seungho retorted, picking more sandwiches and bags of chips.
“I was dragged by you!” Changsun snatched the chips from Seungho’s hand and put it back on the shelf. “And what’s your thing with fast food? There’s nothing but fast food in the cart!”
“Nothing but fast food - three sandwiches and a package of instant seasoning - the three bottles of green tea you picked, the bag of oatmeal cookies, the cereal bars, the-“
“Okay. Shut up. Grab your chips or whatever,” Changsun threw the chips at Seungho face, who almost let them fall on the floor. “Are we done?”
“Are you crazy? We have to shop for at least a whole week,” finishing his sandwich and putting the wrapping in his pocket, Seungho started to push the trolley. “We haven’t even bought meat. Or bread. Or things to put on bread. Did you know your fridge is completely empty?”
“It is, isn’t it? I had no idea,” Changsun nodded, following his roommate. “I found out yesterday. All we have is rice and flour.”
“That look a century old,” Seungho added sourly, dumping a bunch of instant ramen cups in the cart. “I won’t ask, but I do wonder how you survived for God-knows-how-long on pizza and Chinese take-out food. Specially when you seem to like these so much,” he noted, grabbing one of the müsli bars.
“I’m glad you didn’t ask then,” Changsun glared.
“None of my business. I know,” the arrived at the meat section, which was way too cold for how early it was. “Let’s make it quick here.”
“Lee Joon!” a voice called from one of the hallways, and both Changsun and Seungho turned their heads around to search for its source. There was a very tall and slim man with a shopping basket walking toward them.
“Sunbaenim!” Joon exclaimed, running to talk to the man. They stayed at distance from Seungho, so he decided to go ahead and pick some meat while they chatted. In the back of his head, while verifying the prices, Seungho wondered if Changsun had realised he had been talking to his senior in pyjamas, the same pyjamas he had been wearing for - for - oh God, for how long? Seungho glanced at the pyjamas, slightly horrified. The first thing he’d do after cleaning the bathroom that day would be getting Changsun to shower and find him clean clothes. Were there any clean clothes in the apartment? Seungho felt something like despair, but a quiet sort of it.
Changsun came back, apparently finished with the talk, and the senior waved at Seungho with a grin before going back into the hallway. None of them seemed to have paid attention to the pyjamas, or merely didn’t mind.
“Senior of yours?” Seungho asked rhetorically. Changsun nodded.
“Asking me why I haven’t been going to classes,” Changsun mumbled, not exactly distasted; somewhat disappointed.
“So you haven’t. I wondered if you even had classes,” Seungho stated, and quickly added. “Although you probably have a reason to be absent.”
“None,” Changsun threw back, grabbing a package of the cheapest cut of pork and throwing it in the trolley. “I have no reason,” he grabbed some fish as well. “No justifiable reason, at least.”
Upon that, Seungho remained silent. Why did he feel Changsun hadn’t meant to tell him that? Despite any supposition, he shouldn’t pry further into the matter. He felt he shouldn’t.
“What are you majoring in?” he asked instead.
“You’re going to laugh,” Changsun gloomily announced.
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I won’t!”
“I major in dance. There,” Changsun gave up, making a gesture of impatience with his hands. Seungho did laugh. “Aha. What did I say?”
“I’m not laughing of you. I’m laughing at the situation,” Seungho shook his head. “If you think majoring in dance is a laughing matter… well, I major in theatre.”
Changsun raised both eyebrows, incredulous. “Seriously?” The older man nodded. “Heh. No wonder you’re nuts. Theatre people…”
“Well, your senior is as nuts as we are,” Seungho retorted, grabbing jam from the nearest shelf. Seeing Changsun’s questioning look, he explained. “He’s shopping for groceries at five AM. You said yourself-“
“Go die,” Changsun cut it, but he was laughing, so Seungho didn’t take it to heart. “Let’s get out. Do we even have enough money?”
Seungho’s blood grew cold.
In the end, what had been supposed to be a fifty-fifty percent bill ended up as eighty percent Changsun plus twenty percent Seungho. Never had Seungho’s lack of money bothered him so much, for now Changsun was all about Seungho being deeply indebt with him. Seungho didn’t want to be indebt with Changsun in any way.
“I have a great idea,” he interrupted Changsun’s bragging, irritated. “Why don’t you shut up and help me to put this stuff in order?”
“You don’t boss people you owe money to around, Seungho,” Changsun shook his head with a smug smile.
“Well, you don’t call people older than you only by their first name, unless they allow you to,” Seungho retorted, getting black specks of dust on his cheeks while trying to plug the fridge on. “Turns out we’re two uneducated poor fellows. Now, do you mind…? Store the chips and cereal bars and whatsoever in the cupboard, please.”
They eventually managed to strike a state of partnership, albeit they often exchanged pointy words. Well, as long as they could work together… the day had barely begun, however. They still had to face the bathroom.
“You should know,” armed with rubber gloves, mask, bucket, and dingy scrubbing cloths, Seungho started before going in. “What’s the exact state of the bathroom?”
“Well,” equipped with bottles of many cleaning substances, giant trashbags and gloves improvised with plastic bags, Changsun tilted his head to the side. “It’s a bit dirty, I guess?”
Seungho winced. “You go first.”
“Why do I have to go first?” Changsun made a pained face.
“Because it’s your fault the bathroom is like this,” Seungho glared.
“Well, it wasn’t my idea to clean it, so please,” Changsun invited with a curtsy.
To avoid further argument, Seungho stormed into the bathroom, pushing Changsun forward like a shield.
Turns out the bathroom was one hair strand away from being worse than Seungho had imagined - small objects scattered, an overflowing trash bin, a stuffy and smelly atmosphere, hair everywhere, lime. Deciding against his urge to hit something with the bucket, he locked both of them inside and started to work. Changsun, despite being a whiner, worked really well, he had to give him that. They had a short-living quarrel when Seungho mercilessly crumpled an envelope and threw it in the trash bag, for it seemed the envelope had ‘an emotional value’ to Changsun. Seungho took none of that and threw it away anyway, which led to a long period of sulking from Changsun.
“I can’t believe we’re done,” it was way past lunchtime when Seungho finally said those words. Changsun had stopped sulking about the envelope, and both of them were hungry, sweaty, wet and tired. They had collected another bagful of trash, which would join its friends at the building’s trash wagon (that was what Changsun called it), its appropriate place to be. Changsun volunteered to take the bag downstairs, but Seungho said no.
“You,” he pointed at Changsun’s pyjamas. “Will take a shower and wear clean clothes. It’s about time. I won’t ask you when your last shower was, but I can guess it was a long time ago.”
“Are you my mother?!” Changsun batted his hand away, cheeks intensely reddened. “Okay then. I don’t know if I have clean clothes, though. It-“
“If you find out all your clothes are dirty, wear mine. My bag is still unpacked near my bed,” Seungho sighed. “Damn, I still have to unpack. Anyway, grab anything. Just-wear something clean. I’ll be back in a minute.”
And he went out, dragging the bag along, not giving Changsun the chance to object. Because he knew Changsun would, just for the sake of objecting. His trip to the trash wagon was uneventful, but slightly embarrassing. It was Saturday, and there were many people wandering in the hallways, including some of his seniors. He got over the embarrassment, though, eventually growing too tired to mind. It took him around five minutes to go downstairs and come back.
When Seungho did come back, the shower as running. He smiled. Obedient Changsun was the best Changsun, obviously. Now, he should do something pleasing for a change. Why not cook lunch?
“Changsun,” he shouted at the bathroom door. “Is congee fine for you?”
“What?” the sound of the shower stopped.
“For lunch,” Seungho explained. “Is congee fine?”
“Congee? Weird,” he could hear Changsun’s chuckle. “But it’s fine. Anything is fine.”
“Thought so,” and Seungho was off to the kitchen. The shower started to run again, and Seungho, accomplished, washed his hands and got to work.
Congee was one of the dishes Seungho could cook the best; it was easy, quick, tasty, and could be eaten anytime of the day. He decided to season it with dry rosemary, sesame and salty seaweed, and then, imagining that eating only congee wouldn’t be good to Changsun - who had been eating nothing but junk food these days - he also started grilling some pork. Ah, the scent was glorious…
Seungho thought hunger was causing him to have delusions, because he was quite sure he had heard a doorbell ring. But they didn’t have a doorbell there, did they? It ringed again. Could it be…? He lowered the fire for the pork, covered the rice with a lid and went to check the door, feeling slightly stupid.
But alas, there was indeed a person there, ringing the quite existent doorbell. It was a girl with really, really long hair, dressed rather too elegantly to be just passing by. And there was also the fact hat he didn’t know her. Maybe a friend of Changsun’s?
“Good afternoon,” he greeted, knowing well he was anything but presentable at the moment.
“Good afternoon. Are you Lee Changsun’s roommate?” she asked in a pleasant, polite voice.
“I am. As I thought, you’re a friend of his,” Seungho moved away from the door in order to invite her in. “Please come in. I think he’ll be able to see you in a minute.”
He made a swift work of pulling Changsun’s sheets out of the couch and throwing them in limbo, offering the couch for the girl to take a seat. She did, as elegantly as it would be expected. After leaving her there, he walked to the bathroom and knocked on the door.
“Changsun?” with a turn of the doorknob, he found out it was unlocked. When he peeked inside, Changsun was fully dressed, combing his hair, but he still jumped back in surprise.
“Oh, it’s you! You startled me,” he said as soon as he realised it was just Seungho’s head. The older one was silently laughing at how weird Changsun looked wearing his grey T-shirt and black long pants, a tiny bit too big for the younger one’s short and slim body. “What is it?”
“You look much better now that you’re clean,” Seungho grinned. “A friend of yours came to see you.”
“A friend of mine?” he asked nonchalantly, styling his bangs expertly.
“Mm. A girl with mad long hair,” was what Seungho said, and, curiously, Changsun halted still. The expression in his face morphed to shock in a second, and was him growing pale? “… should I not have let her in?”
Instead of answering, Changsun let go of the comb, that collided with the sink and then with the floor, and ran to the living room. Seungho watched all of that in confusion. What was going on…?
“It’s really you,” he heard Changsun say, in a very disdainful voice, before letting out a scoff. “You’re unbelievable.”
next→
Group: MBLAQ
Pairing: Seungho/Joon.
Rating: G.
Warning: AU, long as fuq, bad English.
Summary: University AU. Seungho moves into the dorms. His roommate is not what he had wished for.
N/A: Written for tottchupi on this year's mblaq_ss. I know my oneshots are always huge but >16,000 words is a personal record. :(
Sometimes, once a bunch of years or when the right star shoots along the right meridian in the night sky, the most different people in the world meet and just click, marking the birth of a quite tight friendship. This is a phenomenon that has brought wonder to small groups of men and women for ages, even if such wonder is untold, since these hypothetical people would probably disagree on most things, unlike to ever voice the same opinion about a subject, and still treasure each other as good friends. It’s something even the brightest human brain would, maybe reluctantly, label as destiny’s doing.
But then, look at Yang Seungho’s case. University student, actor in the making, alone in the city and as poor as a student can be, the quiet and reserved Seungho found himself in such state of monetary difficulty that he had to resort to his last, very last option of habitation. The university’s residence halls. Seungho shuddered as the very happy hall director chattered instructions to him.
Obviously, since Seungho had been so reluctant about living in the halls that he even slept on friends’ houses for a while, all the single rooms were already very much taken - Seungho’s illusion that people in the halls were sociable and would prefer living with someone was proven to be stupidity - and he was given no choice but to live in one of the double apartments with someone else. According to the hall director, his roommate was “cheerful, sociable, talkative and friendly”, which was translated in Seungho’s brain to “a chatterbox and probably hyperactive”.
Seungho knew he was being fast to judge, but he couldn’t care less. He had barely gotten any sleep in days, he was hungry, his legs were aching and he didn’t want to have a roommate to deal with.
“Then, I guess we’re done!” the hall director suddenly announced with sickening enthusiasm. “Here are the keys, and here is a list of useful phone numbers,” and then he went on explaining what was each number for, which Seungho paid no attention to. “That’s for now, Yang Seungho sshi. Please enjoy your new home.”
And he quickly walked away in tiny steps, as if trying not to hop his way down the hallway. Seungho sighed deeply, lowering his pathetically small luggage to the floor for a moment. This was entirely his own fault for not finding a job fast enough. If only he had gotten a job when he still had enough money left… and he’d be able to go back to his dream-like, horribly expensive old place. He sighed, missing the roomy apartment and the green and peaceful parks around it. But indeed, the rent plus bills plus bus fares had done it for Seungho. Resigned, melancholic and rather tired, Seungho grabbed his luggage and opened the door with the key that had been given to him.
Seungho squinted. Inside, his new home was dark and, for what Seungho could see in all that blackness, somewhat small. Or was it just messy? Clumsily, Seungho searched for the light switch and flipped it, letting the artificial light of the lamp unveil the real appearance of the place to Seungho. And you can’t really say the student enjoyed it.
The living room, or what it was supposed to be, was both small and messy. Messy, by the way, was a quite kind way to put it; all sorts of small objects were scattered on the floor, from pens and papers to unfinished puzzles, and the furniture was all crooked, giving the impression that a strong wind had just blown everything out of their places. There was a huge lump of old sheets on the couch, and the kitchen’s counter was full of boxes, bottles, dirty plates and mugs, making Seungho feel queasy by imagining how dirty could that whole mess be. The TV was on - Seungho noticed it was very small and old, like a portable TV from the nineties - but displayed nothing but a black screen. Seungho jumped several centimetres in the air when the lump of sheets moved.
“Who turned the lights on…?” a pasty voice came from it as it moved some more, slowly, as if it had been sleeping. Seungho briefly wondered what to do.
“Your new roommate,” he decided to state. “My name is Yang Seungho.”
The lump stopped moving, as if surprised by Seungho’s answer. Then, slowly, it came undone, revealing to be not a bunch of talking sheets but the shelter for a human being, clad in pyjamas and looking terribly sleepy. Seungho took in the image of his roommate with a cold stare. The man in front of him reeked of sweat and inertia and old Chinese dishes.
“Hello,” the man said simply, rubbing an eye and yawning. “I’m Joon. Your bed is the one on the right and there’s food in the fridge. Welcome.”
And he went back to under the sheets as if Seungho weren’t standing right there, glaring at him. Well, that’s what I call cheerful, sociable, talkative and friendly, Seungho thought acidly while dragging his luggage to the bedroom. Although he would very much object to having a blabbermouth as a roommate, he didn’t want to live with a lazy and dirty excuse for a human being either. He groaned. The lack of sleep had made him awfully grumpy, and realizing that the bedroom was almost as messy as the living room didn’t brighten his mood an inch.
Slowly, he dragged his luggage over the cluttered floor, wishing none of the objects would damage his bag. Short of energy to unpack, he merely let the bag fall beside his new bed, jumping on it without thinking twice.
He let out a scream as his back collapsed with something stiff and cold that broke down with a loud crack.
Seungho was not one to often engage in ferocious strives, but he was more than glad to open an exception to his new roommate called Joon.
“Why didn’t you look before you jump on the bed?!” Joon screamed at him, now very much awake, clutching whatever Seungho had broken against his chest as if it were a 100-carat diamond.
“I never imagined I’d have such a lame roommate,” Seungho shouted back, furious as he hadn’t been in a long time. “that he wouldn’t even bother to clean up once in a while!”
“I would have cleaned up,” Joon flailed, and Seungho had to step back to avoid being covered in spit. “if you had told me you were arriving today! But no, you didn’t even care! You just barged in!!”
“How could you not know when the hall director told me that he talked to you this morning?!” Seungho was so exasperated that he felt like he could throttle Joon in a blink of eyes.
“Wha-this morning?” he seemed to remember something, and Seungho felt a wave of triumph as he watched Joon’s face grow redder and redder. “B-but you still didn’t look before jumping!”
“If you want stuff to stay in one piece, lesson number one,” Seungho raised a finger. “Clean up. Lesson number two,” he raised another finger. “Don’t leave things on other people’s bed.”
“Don’t lecture me!!” Joon shouted in a ridiculous shrill voice, with a face now so red that he could be well be fuming.
“Whatever. What is this thing, by the way?” Seungho made a gesture toward the broken object. “Is it a mirror?”
“That’s none of your business,” Joon spit out, shoving the object in his wardrobe carelessly. Seungho sighed, rolling his eyes as Joon went back to the living room, probably to burry himself under his sheets again. “Try not to break more stuff, please. You know, look where you throw yourself on.”
Seungho regretted not throttling him when he had the chance.
You see, in Seungho’s case, such a strong feeling of dislike acquired in such a short time could be labelled as destiny’s doing as well. Just… the devilish kind of destiny’s doing. Think of it as a prank from the Gods.
Seungho had dinner at the cafeteria, which was not good to his wallet as he had opted out of a meal plan, but he refused to eat in the apartment’s chaotic and absolutely unhygienic kitchen. Besides, Byunghee and Sanghyun were with him. They always made him feel sane again whenever he was on the verge of losing it.
“You know what, when you described the place, it reminded me of when I started living in the halls. My place was also a huge mess,” Sanghyun commented thoughtfully, a nostalgic smile on his lips. “Except that I didn’t break anything and my roommate was nicer.”
“It’s not hard to be nicer than that guy, if Seungho’s account is accurate,” Byunghee patted Seungho’s back in sympathy as the older man ate happily. “What a prick he was.”
“And he smelled,” Seungho crinkled his nose in disgust. His friends did the same. “I can’t live with that guy. I really can’t.”
“Talk to the hall director,” Byunghee advised, like an expert on the field of disgusting roommates would. “Explain the situation and ask him for a change. It’s improbable that all the rooms are fully occupied. I’m sure you’ll find a better partner in no time.”
Seungho nodded without much vitality. Knowing that he’d still have to sleep there at least that night put him in a rather gloomy mood.
At eleven PM, Seungho found himself facing his new home’s door, unexcited before the prospect of entering the environment again. Noise was coming from inside; Joon was probably still up. Taking a deep and encouraging breath, Seungho swung the door open, receiving as a greeting something flying just past him, barely an inch away from his cheek, and hitting the wall with a heavy crack.
Of course it’d turn out like that. Seungho looked down to whatever had been thrown at him and, from what he could recognize, the pile of broken pieces had once been a cellphone. He looked to the couch, from where Joon’s head popped up.
“Er,” the man visibly squinted, trying to distinguish Seungho’s figure in the darkness of the room. “Oh, it’s just you. Never mind.”
“Never mind?” Seungho asked, annoyed, lifting the phone’s broken screen to emphasize his outrage. “This could have hurt me.”
“It’s not like I was aiming at you,” Joon stubbornly argued, turning back to whatever was playing on the TV. It was some anime Seungho couldn’t recognize. For dinner, Joon was eating a piece of pizza that, judging by what Seungho could see thanks to the faint light of the television, didn’t look edible at all. His stomach made an unpleasant turn.
However, determined not to fight with the same man twice in the same day, Seungho went to his bedroom without saying a word, not even considering shower - he had the feeling that the bathroom was just as chaotic as the rest of the house, and that was a scenario he’d rather not see - and carefully lying under the sheets, verifying if there was any other object he could possibly lie on. There was nothing, and Seungho quickly made himself comfortable.
Half an hour went by, and then an hour, then an hour and a half, and Seungho wouldn’t fall asleep. It wasn’t hard to imagine why, of course. He couldn’t shake off the feeling that there might be cockroaches living in the apartment, and he didn’t appreciate the idea of having one of these climbing up his leg while he was sleeping. Besides, the television was too loud. Seungho could distinctly hear each word that the characters were saying, despite not understanding it.
He decided to politely ask Joon to turn the volume down; maybe even offer peace. There was a possibility that Seungho would be off to a better room in a near future, so why not? He got up and walked toward the door, careful not to step on anything, opening it in a silent movement.
As he got nearer to the room, however, he noticed an addition to the noise. The anime’s calm, slow opening song was blasting from the TV’s poor speakers, and, by listening carefully, Seungho noticed Joon was singing along, barely whispering the words, voice breaking pathetically.
He peered into the room. The anime’s opening sequence was playing. Joon, on the couch, was hugging his knees and the old lump of sheets, watching it while singing along; his cheeks were wet with tears that trailed down to his chin and fell on the sheets, creating a small wet spot on the fabric.
Seungho soundlessly walked back to the room and lay down on his bed, covering his head with the pillow so the noise wouldn’t disturb him too much. Somehow, he felt like that was not the right time to talk to his roommate.
“I’m sorry to tell you this, Yang Seungho sshi,” the hall director apologized nervously, looking at his own bureau instead of facing the two men in front of him. “But, right now, switching you is impossible. I’m terribly sorry.”
Seungho, who had a feeling that it’d end up being like that, merely nodded, gloomy. Byunghee, who had accompanied Seungho to the office, apparently would take none of that.
“It must be possible! I mean, this is an extreme case,” Byunghee argued as if it was his own problem. “Why don’t you go and take a look at the apartment? I’m sure you’ll agree with me.”
“That’s not the problem,” the director shook off with a trembling hand. “We have no room to relocate Seungho sshi to. The halls have been facing an issue of overpopulation for a while now, and the new wings aren’t ready yet. There’s virtually nowhere, that’s what I’m saying. I’m really sorry.”
Byunghee puffed sceptically, letting an awkward silence fill the room. Seungho sighed, upset.
“Okay, thank you for your time,” he bowed to the hall director and went out, Byunghee following him suit. They had classes after that, but Seungho had a plan. Afternoon would come with a new dash of hope to that horrible apartment.
Not that Seungho was particularly excited about his own plan, but he had to do it. It was Friday, he had no afternoon classes and, despite having a pile of texts to read and essays to write, the apartment’s state of disorder was a much more urgent situation. Those were the thoughts that kept him going when, after lunch, he arrived at the place and analyzed precisely the mess. Oh, dear mother, he thought. This is not going to be pretty.
Shoving such negative thoughts away, Seungho walked firmly toward the filthy kitchen, not bothering to greet Joon, who was under the sheets again - probably sleeping. And what about his classes?, Seungho thought while trying to cross the kitchen without touching anything. The kitchen’s floor had all sort of things scattered around as well, and Seungho angrily wondered if Joon had grabbed random objects from his drawer and just thrown them around the apartment for fun. Nevertheless, he succeeded in not stepping on anything and reached the big cupboard without major incidents. He swung the cupboard’s door open. There lay a very old and dirty broom, a shabby feather duster, a limey bucket, a vacuum cleaner covered in thick dust and, to Seungho’s relief, a pair of rubber gloves. Inside the bucket were several other objects, and in the back of the cupboard there were many bottles of different and colourful substances. Joon’s reason for not cleaning certainly couldn’t be the lack of proper equipment, Seungho verified, shaking his head.
He decided to start from the bedroom, so he could at least take a nap in a clean environment before engaging in the actual cleaning work. Seungho was tired just by thinking about it. Carefully cleaning the vacuum cleaner with the feather duster, which made a grey and quite thick cloud of dirt float around the object, Seungho carried it to the bedroom with certain difficulty, since the machine was heavy and impossible to drag on the cluttered floor. Joon moved slightly in his sleep.
Upon arriving at the bedroom, Seungho first picked up the objects that seemed either important or too big to be vacuumed - notebooks, for an example, and pens, as well as a wallet that Seungho believed to be Joon’s own, and many other things - and piled them on Joon’s already crowded bed. Then, with a somewhat sadistic feeling of enjoyment, Seungho turned the vacuum cleaner on with great noise, letting the mess be sucked by the machine. In no time, Joon was at the door, clutching his sheets with a horrified look in his face.
“What are you doing?!” he tried to pull the vacuum’s brush from Seungho, but was answered with the brush vacuuming the hem of his shirt, which made him scream in a painfully loud voice, pulling the fabric frantically. “Stop! You’re sucking my stuff! Stop!”
Seungho did stop, because he thought Joon deserved some explanations. Judging from angry look Joon was displaying, they pretty much agreed on that.
“So?” Joon pointed at the vacuum cleaner as if it was a forbidden object. “What’s the meaning of this? What if you already sucked something important in?”
“If it were important,” Seungho threw back. “It wouldn’t be on the floor.”
And he turned the machine on again, resuming his previous activity. Joon tried screaming at him again, but Seungho couldn’t understand the words because he was talking too fast and the noise of the vacuum was deafening. Eventually, Joon stomped away, shouting something that sounded suspiciously like curse words at Seungho. He didn’t mind. The floor was becoming clean and that was the important part.
After what felt like ages to Seungho, he finally considered the floor clean; what a difference it made! Even though there were still huge piles of mess in the corners and on Joon’s bed, the room looked much cleaner and more habitable. Deciding to deal with the remaining mess later, Seungho dragged the machine outside and turned it on again, cleaning his path toward the living room. Joon was on the couch, glaring at him nastily. Seungho shrugged. If he wanted to live in a pigsty, he should go live elsewhere.
“Wanna’ help?” Seungho offered jokingly. Joon huffed.
“Why did you move into here?” he asked, obviously in a foul mood. “There are other places in the halls.”
“Actually, there are none,” Seungho corrected him over the noise. “Or else I wouldn’t bother cleaning, I’d just move out.”
Silence was made, and Seungho had the feeling Joon was scowling at him, but he paid no attention. Joon then asked something he didn’t hear, so he had to ask for him to say it again.
“Never mind,” Joon shouted, but Seungho insisted in knowing what it was. After a moment of insistence and refusal, during which Seungho even turned the vacuum off to encourage him to say it, Joon gave up.
“Don’t laugh,” Joon commanded, looking at the vacuum. “Can I use it?”
Seungho blinked. He looked at the vacuum, then at Joon, then at the vacuum again. Joon seemed to guess what he was thinking.
“I don’t intend to help you! I just want to use it for a second!” he stated, accidentally spitting everywhere. His face was red. “If you laugh, I swear I’ll kick you out.”
“I won’t laugh. Here, stand up,” Seungho forced himself not to laugh while offering the handle of the machine to Joon. As much as he’d love to crack a joke at that, he shouldn’t waste such a golden chance to get Joon to help him, even if just a little.
Joon stood up and took the handle, and Seungho didn’t give him any instructions; he figured the other wouldn’t need them. He didn’t. Joon flipped the on-off switch and started moving the vacuum around, watching attentively as it sucked the small objects in.
“Ooooh,” he exclaimed, and Seungho almost let out all the laughter he was holding back.
“I’ll trust you to clean the living room’s floor then,” Seungho patted Joon’s shoulder, going back to the kitchen cupboard to get the gloves. Putting them on, he crossed Joon’s path carefully to head to the bedroom, having decided to get rid of those huge piles of random mess. His courage, however, faltered when he took in the actual greatness of those piles. It was like Joon hadn’t cleaned in half a decade or more.
“How long has it been since you last cleaned your room?” Seungho sourly asked, mentally readying himself.
“What?” Joon hadn’t heard a word over the vacuum’s noise. Giving up, Seungho told him it was nothing, and started sorting the objects of the nearest pile out.
Seungho was more thankful for the gloves than ever. There was a mix of trash, dirty clothes, old notebooks and school papers (Joon’s major was apparently related to art), ripped pieces of paper and used tissues, all together in the same pile. Resisting to the urge to throw everything out, he patiently sorted them in a this-looks-important pile, a dirty clothing pile and a this-is-trash pile, shaking his head as the latter grew and grew. Outside the bedroom, the vacuum cleaner was still on.
“Yah, did you pass out?” Seungho got up, annoyed, to check on his roommate. That was an awfully long time he was taking to clean a room! When out, however, he didn’t find Joon in the living room, but in the kitchen, vacuuming the floor with a very concentrated expression. “Wait! Did you put the bigger objects out of the way?!”
“Huh?” Joon shouted, not having heard a word again. Then, the vacuum made a very suspicious noise, as if it were choking, and Seungho shot across the room to see what it was. Joon was trying to suck a plastic cup in.
“Aish! Watch what you’re doing!” Seungho hastily turned the machine off and pulled the cup from the brush, accidentally crushing it in the process. “If you try to suck in objects this big, you’re going to break it, and we’ll have no choice but to clean the rest of it with a broom. You have to sort out the bigger objects before starting, so they won’t be on the way.”
“Oh, okay,” Joon nodded obediently, kneeling down to do as he was told to. Seungho blinked. Weird. A bit too weird, how his unruly roommate had been suddenly tamed by a vacuum cleaner.
“It’s okay, let me do it,” he offered, also kneeling down to help. He didn’t want Joon to think he was bossing him around, after all! But Joon looked at him with lost eyes.
“But,” he weakly objected, glancing at the vacuum as if he didn’t know how to say what he wanted to say. And Seungho understood. Or, at least, he thought he did. Joon liked playing with the vacuum.
“Okay, fine,” Seungho got up. “Then I’ll leave it to you,” he made a thoughtful pause, and added, “Thank you for helping me.”
“I’m not doing this for you,” Joon grumpily answered, stirring his tongue at Seungho. Seungho rolled his eyes.
“But it’s helping me either way,” he tried again. “Thanks.”
“Whatever. You owe me,” was what Joon said, and Seungho gave up on being thankful altogether. He simply went back to the bedroom, mood ruined by Joon’s stubbornness, and resumed his previous activities, undoing each pile dutifully.
As the trash pile became frighteningly huge, Seungho also found interesting objects lost in the pit of oblivion; a Zorro mask in good state of conservation, an empty bottle of cherry brandy that had a very interesting shape, a huge piggy bank full to the brim with nickels (that made it weigh a ton, Seungho noted to himself, wiping the sweat on his forehead with the sleeve of his T-shirt), and Joon’s student ID card. Seungho took some time to look at it, startled at how different Joon looked in the picture. Albeit being definitely Seungho’s roommate - the facial features were the very same - he looked much chubbier and kinder in the picture. Also, thanks to the ID card, Seungho found out that Joon was younger than him by an year, and that his name was Lee Changsun. Joon is probably a nickname, Seungho thought to himself, throwing the ID card in the this-is-important pile, pathetically short if compared to its neighbours. A quite senseless nickname, actually. Why ‘Joon’? Seungho decided to call him Changsun from then on.
Again, Joon - Changsun - took rather long to finish his task with the vacuum cleaner, but, when he did, the silence felt heavenly to Seungho, whose head was already starting to ache. His whole body was starting to ache, actually, for cleaning the room proved to be just as tiring as he initially thought it would be, and he was thirsty and hungry and sweaty. What Seungho wanted the most at the moment, he realised while admiring his crafty work at piling up trash and dirty laundry to heights before unseen in history, was a shower, some hot congee and a warm and soft bed. He didn’t know why exactly he was craving for congee, but that didn’t matter at the time. What mattered was the fact he’d need a jumbo-sized trash bag, or a whole lot of the normal sized ones, in order to throw all that stuff out. The issue was: he didn’t even know if they had trash bags. The prospect made Seungho shudder. He quickly walked to his saviour - the kitchen cupboard - to be enlightened with the truth.
The living room looked didn’t look that much organized, but having its floor free of random goods was a good start. In his way to the kitchen, Seungho found Changsun-or rather, the usual lump of sheets on the couch, the vacuum cleaner lay on the way. Seungho grumpily dragged the machine along his way, noticing that it wasn’t hard to imagine how the apartment had ended that way, if Changsun was the kind to just leave a vacuum cleaner at such a place.
Relief washed over Seungho when he found six or seven black trash bags neatly folded at the bottom of the bucket, under the toilet brush and bar soap. Seungho fetched them all. Seizing the fact he was at the kitchen, he also inspected the fridge and the storage cupboard, hoping to find something edible there. The cupboard was filled with bags of rice and flour so dusty that they looked grey. The fridge was simply and completely empty. It wasn’t even turned on.
“’There’s food in the fridge’, he said,” Seungho mumbled, closing the fridge’s door with violence. Well, at least they had rice, so it was still technically possible to cook congee; if only they had seasoning, that’s it. By making a quick search through all the cupboards, he found out that they didn’t. Seungho let his head collide with the cupboard with a thump.
“’you okay there?” Joon’s sleepy voice asked from the living room. It was kind of him to ask, but Seungho wasn’t able to give him an appropriated and kind answer at the moment, so he just hummed affirmatively. Seungho organized his thoughts. First, he’d throw the garbage out; then he’d think about grocery shopping.
When he finished the task, however, he was way too tired and sweaty to step out of the apartment, what to say about walking to the grocery shop? He’d have to take a shower, a nice hot shower, in order to restore his health and willpower. At the same time, he had no guts to face the possibly panic-inducing bathroom (he had never peaked into it but he had a clear mental image of the place) at such an hour. Seungho didn’t consider it for more than a second. He’d have to, unfortunately, settle with an empty stomach that night. The thought brought him into a state of melancholy.
“Changsun,” Seungho called, about to ask where to leave the trash. Changsun, however, jumped from the couch as if it were in fire, in an exemplar display of theatrical overreaction. Seungho shouted and jumped back, alarmed, and almost tripped over the now full to the brim trash bags that he had dragged to the living room.
“Don’t call me Changsun!” the man growled in outrage, flailing his hands in a quite comical way. “Who said you can call me Changsun? Who even told you my name is Changsun?!”
“Calm down,” Seungho held down his flailing hands, apparently the source of his raging power. Changsun decided, then, to sulk intensely. “I found your ID card in the bedroom. What’s the problem with ‘Changsun’? Joon is a dumb nickname anyway.”
“Yah! Everyone calls me Joon! Are you telling me I’m dumb?” Changsun shocked Seungho into silence with his nonsensical logic. “I don’t want you to call me Changsun. My friends don’t call me Changsun, so I don’t see why a stranger would be allowed to!”
“Because the stranger is not only your roommate,” Seungho pulled the trumph from his sleeve. “But also your hyung. So I’ll call you Changsun if I fancy so. And you should at least learn my name.”
“I know your stupid name,” was what the sulky younger boy muttered, outraged.
“Which is?” Seungho teased. Changsun didn’t say a word. “Seungho, Changsun. Seungho hyung to you.”
“As if I’d call you hyung!” Changsun spat out, turning his back to Seungho and going to the kitchen. Seungho gave up with a sigh. Ah, yes, he still needed to ask his roommate about the trash.
“Changsun-“
“Don’t call me Changsun!!”
“-where should I leave the trash bags?” Seungho dragged them further into the living room for Changsun to see them. He saw that the younger man was eating from a bowl of take-out pork ramen that, in opposition to the pizzas, looked quite edible - or it could be Seungho’s hungry brain losing its criteria. “We have food?”
“I have food. You don’t,” Changsun deadpanned with his mouth full of ramen. Seungho’s eyebrows curved upwards sadly.
“Changsun-“
“What did I tell you?!” Changsun glared at him venomously. “No. You go buy your food if you’re hungry.”
“Aish! You’re so damn childish!!” Seungho snapped, hungry, tired and annoyed. “You truly get on my nerves! Okay then, you brat! I’ll go to bed now, and dare you to make a sound while I sleep!!”
And he angrily stormed into the bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him.
Later, unable to sleep and admiring the ceiling instead, Seungho would admit he had been quite rude, and wondered if he should apologize. He didn’t want to live in bad terms with Changsun, and the boy had helped him, after all (with the sole intention of playing with the vacuum cleaner, yes but still), but, at the same time, talking with Changsun and not end up hating his existence was quite a hard task for Seungho. Why did they fight every time they talked? Coincidences? Genetic predisposition? Fate?
In the end, admitting to be partially at fault at causing the hostile atmosphere between both of them, he decided to apologize. If he had learned anything from the short time he had lived there, Changsun was probably awake. Silently and slowly, he tiptoed his way out of the bedroom, doing his best not to make the quietest noise. If he were wrong and Changsun were actually asleep, he didn’t want to be the one to wake him up.
He found the lights off, the TV shining blue, the couch empty and the sound of water running. Turning his eyes to the kitchen, he saw Changsun’s silhouette at the sink, where the sound was coming from. Seungho frowned. Was Changsun washing dishes? Unlikely, but he had no other theory. He decided to approach him.
“Hello,” Seungho said in a quiet voice, and Changsun jumped and screamed as if he had seen a ghost. Seungho was startled by the reaction at first, but when he realised he had been the one to startle Changsun, he felt an almost uncontrollable urge to laugh. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t laugh!”
“I’m not laughing.”
“You are!”
“I’m not. Anyway, I said I’m sorry,” Seungho finished the discussion with a hand gesture. Changsun clicked his tongue and resumed to his previous activity; to remove probably months old dirt crusts from a plate. Seungho found the sight of his ill-tempered roommate washing dishes so zealously endearing. He felt his usual spite for Changsun soften a bit.
“Tomorrow, I’ll go out for grocery shopping,” Seungho told him, not knowing well why he was doing so. “And then I’ll clean the bathroom, and throw the trash away. Then, there’s dirty laundry to deal with.”
“Good luck,” Changsun said sarcastically. Seungho didn’t let himself be affected by that.
“Do you want to help me?” he asked in his friendliest voice. Changsun scoffed, chuckling wickedly right after.
“Do you think I do? No,” he scrubbed the plate more and more vigorously. “No way. Don’t drag me into your stuff.”
Seungho did know, in fact, that the answer would be something like that, but he still had felt hope deep inside. Maybe because the younger had helped him with the vacuum earlier, or because he was washing dishes with no special motivation to do so, but Seungho thought…
Changsun sighed sadly, landing the plate on the counter with a heavy clang. Seungho watched that alarmed. What was wrong? Changsun shook his head.
“I do,” he suddenly mumbled, sounding miserable. “I do want to help you. I mean, I don’t want to help you. I just want to do chores,” he grabbed the plate and rinsed it with water. “but I don’t want you to be smug about it.”
Silence was made. There was a question on the tip of Seungho’s tongue, but would it be appropriated to ask? Or would it ruin Changsun’s will to indirectly help him? When he opened his mouth to ask it, Changsun spoke first.
“’If you like doing chores, why is your apartment a mess?’ is what you want to ask, right?” he angrily recited, effectively shutting Seungho up. That was the exact question Seungho had been about to ask. “Don’t. I don’t mean to be rude, but it’s none of your business.”
“I understand,” Seungho stood up and walked to the counter, searching for a rag to wipe the dishware dry with. He found none, so he decided to just stand out of Changsun’s way. “I’m happy you like doing chores. I hate it.”
“You? Hate chores?” Changsun stared at him incredulously. Seungho chuckled. “Why did you suddenly start cleaning up today, then?!”
“It was too messy for me to stay put. Even me, I mean,” was the older man’s answer, accompanied by a nonchalant shrug. “I don’t like cleaning up, but I like living in clean environments.”
“You’re absurd,” Changsun shook his head, as if giving up on Seungho’s case. Seungho shrugged as well, in agreement.
“Then,” he changed the subject. “Will you go to the grocery store with me tomorrow? Today, actually,” Seungho glanced at the clock.
“Yep. But as I said,” waving a wet sponge at Seungho, Changsun reminded. “I’m not doing this to help you.”
“I know, I know. I owe you,” Seungho rolled his eyes, making Changsun click his tongue in annoyance. “We’ll be out early tomorrow, okay? I’ll wake you up.”
“Okay. Now go to bed,” Changsun shooed him. Smiling, Seungho did as told, not forgetting to set his alarm clock before, finally, falling asleep.
At the time they went shopping, the grocery store was so empty that it gave out an eerie feeling. Seungho liked that, because it meant he could eat while shopping without being side-eyed by old ladies, and his mood was magically better after he ate a sandwich from the ‘quick dinner’ section. Same couldn’t be said about Changsun’s mood, rather unfortunately.
“Cannot believe,” Changsun kept mumbling, shaking his head glumly. “You are unbelievable.”
“Make sense, please,” Seungho joked, mouth full of chicken and corn.
“We’re shopping for groceries at five AM,” the younger man pointed out while stuffing the cart with bottles of green tea and müsli bars. “No one shops for groceries at five AM. I mean, no one who’s normal.”
“Does that mean you’re not normal? Since you’re here,” Seungho retorted, picking more sandwiches and bags of chips.
“I was dragged by you!” Changsun snatched the chips from Seungho’s hand and put it back on the shelf. “And what’s your thing with fast food? There’s nothing but fast food in the cart!”
“Nothing but fast food - three sandwiches and a package of instant seasoning - the three bottles of green tea you picked, the bag of oatmeal cookies, the cereal bars, the-“
“Okay. Shut up. Grab your chips or whatever,” Changsun threw the chips at Seungho face, who almost let them fall on the floor. “Are we done?”
“Are you crazy? We have to shop for at least a whole week,” finishing his sandwich and putting the wrapping in his pocket, Seungho started to push the trolley. “We haven’t even bought meat. Or bread. Or things to put on bread. Did you know your fridge is completely empty?”
“It is, isn’t it? I had no idea,” Changsun nodded, following his roommate. “I found out yesterday. All we have is rice and flour.”
“That look a century old,” Seungho added sourly, dumping a bunch of instant ramen cups in the cart. “I won’t ask, but I do wonder how you survived for God-knows-how-long on pizza and Chinese take-out food. Specially when you seem to like these so much,” he noted, grabbing one of the müsli bars.
“I’m glad you didn’t ask then,” Changsun glared.
“None of my business. I know,” the arrived at the meat section, which was way too cold for how early it was. “Let’s make it quick here.”
“Lee Joon!” a voice called from one of the hallways, and both Changsun and Seungho turned their heads around to search for its source. There was a very tall and slim man with a shopping basket walking toward them.
“Sunbaenim!” Joon exclaimed, running to talk to the man. They stayed at distance from Seungho, so he decided to go ahead and pick some meat while they chatted. In the back of his head, while verifying the prices, Seungho wondered if Changsun had realised he had been talking to his senior in pyjamas, the same pyjamas he had been wearing for - for - oh God, for how long? Seungho glanced at the pyjamas, slightly horrified. The first thing he’d do after cleaning the bathroom that day would be getting Changsun to shower and find him clean clothes. Were there any clean clothes in the apartment? Seungho felt something like despair, but a quiet sort of it.
Changsun came back, apparently finished with the talk, and the senior waved at Seungho with a grin before going back into the hallway. None of them seemed to have paid attention to the pyjamas, or merely didn’t mind.
“Senior of yours?” Seungho asked rhetorically. Changsun nodded.
“Asking me why I haven’t been going to classes,” Changsun mumbled, not exactly distasted; somewhat disappointed.
“So you haven’t. I wondered if you even had classes,” Seungho stated, and quickly added. “Although you probably have a reason to be absent.”
“None,” Changsun threw back, grabbing a package of the cheapest cut of pork and throwing it in the trolley. “I have no reason,” he grabbed some fish as well. “No justifiable reason, at least.”
Upon that, Seungho remained silent. Why did he feel Changsun hadn’t meant to tell him that? Despite any supposition, he shouldn’t pry further into the matter. He felt he shouldn’t.
“What are you majoring in?” he asked instead.
“You’re going to laugh,” Changsun gloomily announced.
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I won’t!”
“I major in dance. There,” Changsun gave up, making a gesture of impatience with his hands. Seungho did laugh. “Aha. What did I say?”
“I’m not laughing of you. I’m laughing at the situation,” Seungho shook his head. “If you think majoring in dance is a laughing matter… well, I major in theatre.”
Changsun raised both eyebrows, incredulous. “Seriously?” The older man nodded. “Heh. No wonder you’re nuts. Theatre people…”
“Well, your senior is as nuts as we are,” Seungho retorted, grabbing jam from the nearest shelf. Seeing Changsun’s questioning look, he explained. “He’s shopping for groceries at five AM. You said yourself-“
“Go die,” Changsun cut it, but he was laughing, so Seungho didn’t take it to heart. “Let’s get out. Do we even have enough money?”
Seungho’s blood grew cold.
In the end, what had been supposed to be a fifty-fifty percent bill ended up as eighty percent Changsun plus twenty percent Seungho. Never had Seungho’s lack of money bothered him so much, for now Changsun was all about Seungho being deeply indebt with him. Seungho didn’t want to be indebt with Changsun in any way.
“I have a great idea,” he interrupted Changsun’s bragging, irritated. “Why don’t you shut up and help me to put this stuff in order?”
“You don’t boss people you owe money to around, Seungho,” Changsun shook his head with a smug smile.
“Well, you don’t call people older than you only by their first name, unless they allow you to,” Seungho retorted, getting black specks of dust on his cheeks while trying to plug the fridge on. “Turns out we’re two uneducated poor fellows. Now, do you mind…? Store the chips and cereal bars and whatsoever in the cupboard, please.”
They eventually managed to strike a state of partnership, albeit they often exchanged pointy words. Well, as long as they could work together… the day had barely begun, however. They still had to face the bathroom.
“You should know,” armed with rubber gloves, mask, bucket, and dingy scrubbing cloths, Seungho started before going in. “What’s the exact state of the bathroom?”
“Well,” equipped with bottles of many cleaning substances, giant trashbags and gloves improvised with plastic bags, Changsun tilted his head to the side. “It’s a bit dirty, I guess?”
Seungho winced. “You go first.”
“Why do I have to go first?” Changsun made a pained face.
“Because it’s your fault the bathroom is like this,” Seungho glared.
“Well, it wasn’t my idea to clean it, so please,” Changsun invited with a curtsy.
To avoid further argument, Seungho stormed into the bathroom, pushing Changsun forward like a shield.
Turns out the bathroom was one hair strand away from being worse than Seungho had imagined - small objects scattered, an overflowing trash bin, a stuffy and smelly atmosphere, hair everywhere, lime. Deciding against his urge to hit something with the bucket, he locked both of them inside and started to work. Changsun, despite being a whiner, worked really well, he had to give him that. They had a short-living quarrel when Seungho mercilessly crumpled an envelope and threw it in the trash bag, for it seemed the envelope had ‘an emotional value’ to Changsun. Seungho took none of that and threw it away anyway, which led to a long period of sulking from Changsun.
“I can’t believe we’re done,” it was way past lunchtime when Seungho finally said those words. Changsun had stopped sulking about the envelope, and both of them were hungry, sweaty, wet and tired. They had collected another bagful of trash, which would join its friends at the building’s trash wagon (that was what Changsun called it), its appropriate place to be. Changsun volunteered to take the bag downstairs, but Seungho said no.
“You,” he pointed at Changsun’s pyjamas. “Will take a shower and wear clean clothes. It’s about time. I won’t ask you when your last shower was, but I can guess it was a long time ago.”
“Are you my mother?!” Changsun batted his hand away, cheeks intensely reddened. “Okay then. I don’t know if I have clean clothes, though. It-“
“If you find out all your clothes are dirty, wear mine. My bag is still unpacked near my bed,” Seungho sighed. “Damn, I still have to unpack. Anyway, grab anything. Just-wear something clean. I’ll be back in a minute.”
And he went out, dragging the bag along, not giving Changsun the chance to object. Because he knew Changsun would, just for the sake of objecting. His trip to the trash wagon was uneventful, but slightly embarrassing. It was Saturday, and there were many people wandering in the hallways, including some of his seniors. He got over the embarrassment, though, eventually growing too tired to mind. It took him around five minutes to go downstairs and come back.
When Seungho did come back, the shower as running. He smiled. Obedient Changsun was the best Changsun, obviously. Now, he should do something pleasing for a change. Why not cook lunch?
“Changsun,” he shouted at the bathroom door. “Is congee fine for you?”
“What?” the sound of the shower stopped.
“For lunch,” Seungho explained. “Is congee fine?”
“Congee? Weird,” he could hear Changsun’s chuckle. “But it’s fine. Anything is fine.”
“Thought so,” and Seungho was off to the kitchen. The shower started to run again, and Seungho, accomplished, washed his hands and got to work.
Congee was one of the dishes Seungho could cook the best; it was easy, quick, tasty, and could be eaten anytime of the day. He decided to season it with dry rosemary, sesame and salty seaweed, and then, imagining that eating only congee wouldn’t be good to Changsun - who had been eating nothing but junk food these days - he also started grilling some pork. Ah, the scent was glorious…
Seungho thought hunger was causing him to have delusions, because he was quite sure he had heard a doorbell ring. But they didn’t have a doorbell there, did they? It ringed again. Could it be…? He lowered the fire for the pork, covered the rice with a lid and went to check the door, feeling slightly stupid.
But alas, there was indeed a person there, ringing the quite existent doorbell. It was a girl with really, really long hair, dressed rather too elegantly to be just passing by. And there was also the fact hat he didn’t know her. Maybe a friend of Changsun’s?
“Good afternoon,” he greeted, knowing well he was anything but presentable at the moment.
“Good afternoon. Are you Lee Changsun’s roommate?” she asked in a pleasant, polite voice.
“I am. As I thought, you’re a friend of his,” Seungho moved away from the door in order to invite her in. “Please come in. I think he’ll be able to see you in a minute.”
He made a swift work of pulling Changsun’s sheets out of the couch and throwing them in limbo, offering the couch for the girl to take a seat. She did, as elegantly as it would be expected. After leaving her there, he walked to the bathroom and knocked on the door.
“Changsun?” with a turn of the doorknob, he found out it was unlocked. When he peeked inside, Changsun was fully dressed, combing his hair, but he still jumped back in surprise.
“Oh, it’s you! You startled me,” he said as soon as he realised it was just Seungho’s head. The older one was silently laughing at how weird Changsun looked wearing his grey T-shirt and black long pants, a tiny bit too big for the younger one’s short and slim body. “What is it?”
“You look much better now that you’re clean,” Seungho grinned. “A friend of yours came to see you.”
“A friend of mine?” he asked nonchalantly, styling his bangs expertly.
“Mm. A girl with mad long hair,” was what Seungho said, and, curiously, Changsun halted still. The expression in his face morphed to shock in a second, and was him growing pale? “… should I not have let her in?”
Instead of answering, Changsun let go of the comb, that collided with the sink and then with the floor, and ran to the living room. Seungho watched all of that in confusion. What was going on…?
“It’s really you,” he heard Changsun say, in a very disdainful voice, before letting out a scoff. “You’re unbelievable.”
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