#087
“Thirty tickets?”
“Ah, yes, yes! I’ll give you thirty tickets. I’m really sorry.”
“Get up.”
Hyeonwoo stood up as if mesmerized by Jiwoon’s words. Standing straight, Hyeonwoo scratched his head and said.
“That… I don’t have anything on me today, so I’ll give you the meal tickets tomorrow. I heard you practice every day. Ah, thank you so much!”
To Hyeonwoo who was bowing again, Jiwoon said.
“Practice.”
Jiwoon turned around and stood in front of the mirror. “What’s next?” Jiwoon asked the president and soon began stepping again.
Then Hyeonwoo followed Jiwoon’s steps from behind. Yechan watched this quietly and then turned his head back to his laptop.
The next day, Jiwoon got eighty meal tickets in his hands. Jiwoon, who became somewhat satisfied, glanced at Yechan.
Yechan really loved cooking meals himself and enjoying them together. Of course, Jiwoon felt the same way. It was a time when his eyes, ears, and mouth were all happy.
However, no matter how he thought about it, Yechan’s efforts were excessive. Weekends or vacations were one thing, but cooking breakfast and dinner every meal during weekdays of the semester was truly laborious.
Since he didn’t know how to cook, the only option left was eating out. But whenever Jiwoon suggested casually having meals near school, Yechan would strongly refuse and try to cook at home.
And one night, seeing Yechan rubbing his eyes while doing assignments at the dining table while boiling something, Jiwoon had dry-washed his face.
The reason he received payment in meal tickets was for such reasons. The school cafeteria with its changing daily menu was decent enough to eat and was a meal with proper nutritional balance.
The excuse that they had to use the existing meal tickets would be a good excuse to break Yechan’s stubbornness. Jiwoon was satisfied thinking he could reduce Yechan’s efforts until vacation.
* * *
“One, two, three, turn here. Okay! This time it was right.”
Days of heading straight to the practice room after finishing lectures continued. The dance club was renting out a private practice room set up in front of the school. It was close to Yechan’s house, so on days when classes ended early, they could lounge around at home appropriately before coming out – it was a conveniently located place.
Yechan, who checked his wristwatch, closed his laptop. In front, Jiwoon was concentrating on practice with the dance club members.
Though there were signs of fatigue on his white face, Jiwoon’s jet-black eyes sparkled as if enjoying himself. Yechan recalled the sports festivals and school festivals from high school.
Enjoying what you can enjoy now and making memories was precious. And now, when Jiwoon was making memories, he was by his side.
“I should make them prettier.” Yechan, who had waved at Jiwoon when their eyes briefly met, soon turned around and left the practice room.
“Really, I’m so happy every time. Junior, I’ll eat well.”
“I’ll eat well!”
“Long live the golden spoon!”
“At this level, isn’t it diamond?”
Yechan’s nickname in the practice room was ‘Golden Spoon Roommate.’ Using the excuse that he had no talent for dancing but liked watching, Yechan occupied a table in one corner of the practice room and brought food every evening.
When Yechan brought appropriately ordered delivery food, hungry college students would swarm over and devour everything.
“What’s today’s roommate set menu?”
“Dakgalbi.”
Someone asked and Yechan answered without even looking. “Sounds delicious!” Several people’s chatter died down as food entered their mouths.
While providing delivery food to people, Yechan always brought lunch boxes he made himself for Jiwoon’s portion. The club members, who initially found it strange, now naturally assumed Jiwoon was picky about food.
“Drink and eat. You need to replenish fluids.”
“I’m hungry.”
Jiwoon poured the ion drink Yechan offered down his throat. Yechan, who wiped Jiwoon’s sweat-soaked hair with a towel, held out chopsticks.
Jiwoon naturally took the chopsticks in the daily evening routine. The lunch box with white rice, dakgalbi, seasoned mung bean jelly, and vegetables was neat.
“Hyung, eat slowly.”
Yechan twisted open a water bottle and handed it to Jiwoon. Yechan was thorough, offering water while eating and ion drinks and shakes during practice.
Every time he saw Yechan taking care of him, Jiwoon’s insides heated up. He had to struggle desperately to resist wanting to kiss Yechan who was doing assignments with his laptop on the practice room table.
The empty puzzle piece remained unfilled, but the size of the puzzle board kept growing. Jiwoon chewed the moist, not-spicy dakgalbi and asked.
“Did you eat dinner today too?”
“Yes. When I cook and pick at it, I get full.”
Yechan answered lightly and smiled looking at Jiwoon’s bulging cheek. Jiwoon chewing the rice he made looked like a chick.
“Jiwoon hyung, want to just match the break and go after eating?”
Suddenly Hyeonwoo’s voice flew over. Jiwoon roughly nodded.
Unlike the bad first impression, Hyeonwoo was sticking to Jiwoon eagerly, learning dance and matching steps with him.
Yechan looked briefly at Hyeonwoo’s droopy eyes as he smiled and put tteokbokki in his mouth, then gulped down the water he was holding.
The performance was scheduled for the first day of the festival. And until the festival, there were exactly three days left.
“…Three, four. No, like this here. Left foot.”
“Sorry! Like this, right?”
Practice continued after monitoring. Hyeonwoo was making mistakes in the same movements several times.
Though this wasn’t just a day or two occurrence, today the president who usually focused on caring for Hyeonwoo had left early due to circumstances. Jiwoon lifted and lowered Hyeonwoo’s arms, or crouched down tapping his knees, matching movements one by one.
Hyeonwoo had no talent for dancing. He was the type who competed with practice amount and enthusiasm.
“One, two, three, four. Oh, got it.”
“Wahhh!”
Hyeonwoo, who finally succeeded in matching steps with Jiwoon, jumped up and down then wrapped his arms around Jiwoon’s neck.
After jumping up and down a few more times, Hyeonwoo immediately repeated the movement once more. Jiwoon also raised the corners of his mouth crookedly at finally ending the dance teaching.
A while later, the group that finished practice scattered. Jiwoon headed to Yechan’s car, flapping the front of his t-shirt dampened with sweat.
“Are you tired?”
Yechan, who had fastened the seatbelt for Jiwoon sitting in the passenger seat, asked. Jiwoon, sprawled in the passenger seat with his eyes half-closed, said.
“I’m tired. Don’t stick to me. I sweated.”
“That makes me want to stick to you more.”
Yechan started the engine and grabbed Jiwoon’s hand. Since the day they went to Hangang when he kissed the back of his hand, Yechan would grab his hand once every time they got in the car.
Each time at his heart beating pleasantly, Jiwoon would briefly close his eyes. His insides tickled at Yechan’s warm body temperature spreading in his palm.
Jiwoon, who swallowed dry saliva, silently stared at the dark window outside.
After arriving home and washing up, Jiwoon collapsed on the bed. “My muscles are going to disappear.” Dance was aerobic exercise. If not for the lunch boxes and shakes Yechan consistently provided, his muscles would have disappeared long ago.
The performance practice, which had finished memorizing movements and was working on details, was going smoothly, but the physical exhaustion was excessive. It felt like running around for four hours a day without rest.
Jiwoon closed his eyes and naturally drew Yechan’s image with his arm over his eyes. Yechan quietly filled the background of practice time. Carrying not only food and water but also towels and Jiwoon’s spare clothes, he was almost like a manager.
Even without speaking out loud, Yechan ghostily knew what was needed and offered it, spending long hours in the practice room as much as Jiwoon.
And that appearance stimulated Jiwoon’s motivation. Yechan was becoming his strength. Jiwoon took a big breath of the rising air.
It was then. Yechan with wet hair entered through the open door.
“Fucking pretty.” Jiwoon, who had turned to lie on his side, propped his head with his arm.
Yechan, who had patted lotion on his face, soon turned off the lights and came to bed. Jiwoon quietly looked at Yechan’s face lying beside him. The lines reflected in the mood lighting were beautiful.
“Hyung. Is practice fun?”
Suddenly Yechan slightly raised his head and asked, meeting eyes. Jiwoon thought for a moment. Is it fun? It seems fun.
Jiwoon answered.
“It’s fun. Why?”
“…If it’s fun, that’s good.”
After hearing the answer, Yechan turned his gaze to the ceiling and closed his eyes. He looked like he had something to say. His face, drained of laughter, was stiff.
Sensing something unusual, Jiwoon raised his hand and stroked Yechan’s cheek.
“What’s wrong.”
But Yechan only closed his eyes silently and breathed evenly. “That’s strange.” Jiwoon, who narrowed his eyes, lowered his arm and laid his head on Yechan’s pillow.
“Yechan.”
Yechan didn’t answer. Jiwoon lowered his hand and stroked Yechan’s neck. The hand that went down his neck soon touched his collarbone. Jiwoon gently caressed the collarbone left and right and asked again.
“What’s wrong.”
Only then did Yechan slightly open his eyes. Still stiffening his expression and only looking at the ceiling, Jiwoon grabbed Yechan’s cheek and turned it toward himself.
Jiwoon read the hidden sulkiness in Yechan’s eyes.
“You don’t like me practicing?”
At Jiwoon’s question, the dissatisfaction in Yechan’s eyes deepened. Jiwoon, who found that appearance cute, smiled slightly. Yechan frowned.
“Why are you laughing?”
“I’m asking you. You don’t like me going to practice?”
“…I don’t dislike practice. You’re doing it because you want to do well, hyung.”
“Then what do you dislike?”
Yechan tightly shut his mouth again. His closed lips seemed to stick out a little.
“Baby, baby.” Jiwoon couldn’t resist and kissed Yechan’s lips with smacking sounds.
“What do you dislike? Tell me.”
At Jiwoon speaking while kissing, Yechan blinked.
Author: Hyacinthus B
Hyacinthus
