He taps lazily on the remote with one hand, welding chopsticks and surprisingly good mandu with the other as he finds something else that will hold his attention and keep him from refreshing his emails over and over. He’s waiting to hear if he passed a new certification – one that will let him charge triple what he does now - and the desire to stare at his phone until the world around him erodes into dust is <i>strong</i>.
His co-workers told him to go out. His boss told him to get dinner with friends, to take his mind off of things. Wonwoo hasn’t yet made it public knowledge that all of his friends are famous sex workers and purveyors of bespoke kink. They’re not exactly the most relaxing people to be around, <i>especially</i> for a lifestyle introvert.
The woman on the screen is confessing to her parents that she’s fallen in love with a poor man. This could get good. Wonwoo holds his beer between his knees and twists the lid off, letting it clatter to the table at the same time there’s a knock on his door.
“Ignore it,” he mutters to the tv.
“Ignore it,” he mutters to the tv.
“I don’t <i>want</i> to marry Park Chi-young, I want to marry someone I <i>love!</i>” answers the woman on the television.
Another knock. Wonwoo swallows a mouthful of beer and sinks down into his couch. The leather squeaks.
A flurry of knocks erupts from his door. His neighbours are going to complain. And then-
“Hyung! Are you in there?”
Wonwoo sits bolt upright, head swiveling to the door. Was that…?
“Hyung! It’s Chan!”
<i>It’s Chan!</i>
“C-coming-” Wonwoo jumps to his feet, stumbling over a pile of fabric samples stacked next to his coffee table. He looks around his lounge in total despair, kicking an unfinished waist cincher he had been toying with underneath the tv stand.
“Hold on!”
“Hold on!”
He gathers his dinner up in one armful, carrying it into the adjoining kitchen and dumping it onto the counter, trying to at least look like he was eating in there and not on his couch in front of Kim Tae-ri’s latest award winning performance. There’s not much to be done about the rest of the clutter; there are piles of textbooks that play table to neglected houseplants, and his work backpack looks like it’s suffered a terrible bleeding wound, spilling its insides out over the armchair on the other side of the lounge. Wonwoo glances at himself in the mirror and, thankfully, he still looks presentable from work. Hair combed back off his forehead, white shirt unbuttoned to his collarbones, and only a little chojung dotting the collar.
Okay, alright. He’s ready.
“Hey Channie,” he says as he opens the door, voice an unnecessary octave lower than usual. The carefully crafted handsome smile falls from his face as Chan sniffs and lurches foward, eyes wet and puffy.
“Can I stay here,” he mumbles into Wonwoo’s shirt, face pressed firm into his chest. Wonwoo deflates, nods, and cups the back of his head with one hand.
“Of course.”
Wip Wednesday!! Almost 10k words into this wonchan and I'm maybe halfway done 🫠
#wipwednesday #kpopficsky #svtfic
