seungcheol x gn reader
words: 1k
tags: comfort (with no hurt), modern working adult au 😔, feelings for each other but they’re not together
soundtrack: 7pm - bss feat peder elias
[7:03 PM]
You: hey where are you?
[7:09 PM]
Seungcheol: on the subway, just heading home
Seungcheol: why?
You: ah, nvm
You: i wanna leave work soon and i just wanted some company
You: we can catch up some other time :)
Seungcheol: no i’m coming
[7:10 PM]
Seungcheol: i’ll just hop on the inbound train at the next station
Seungcheol: be there in 10. I’ll meet you in your office
.
.
.
The gopchang restaurant that Seungcheol takes you to smells like grease and smoke. It’s August and the air in Seoul is unbearably hot and muggy as ever, even at night. A thin film of condensation creeps at the edges of the glass windows looking out into the street and the inky black expanse of the Hangang, but you’re tucked safely in the small corner booth.
Seungcheol is sweating. Cheeks pink and forehead glistening, he commandeers the grill, tongs in one hand and scissors in the other. His white button down hangs limply off his broad shoulders and the sleeves are roughly rolled up to avoid oil splatters. You sit and watch, listless, with your cheeks in your hands, propped up with your elbows against the table.
“Here,” he takes a small piece of meat off the grill and puts it on your plate. It’s slightly burnt, but it’s just the way you like it.
“Thanks, Cheollie,” you mumble. Taking one hand off your cheeks, you pick up your chopsticks and push the meat around for a second before sighing and lifting it to your mouth.
“No appetite, huh?” Seungcheol is evidently satisfied with the state of the meat and begins divvying it up between your plates, clacking his tongs and dripping grease on the table in the process.
“No, I’m hungry,” you say around a mouthful of gopchang and lettuce, “I had to skip lunch today.”
Seungcheol pauses and frowns at you.
“I know.” You chew miserably. “But my lunch time got scheduled over and I couldn’t miss the meeting. The project I’m managing, the green energy building in Seodaemun, is pushing over budget and late because of the chip shortage, and the stakeholders keep changing their minds.” You close your eyes and press your face into your hands, trying to assuage the oncoming headache. “I’m so tired. I can’t sleep because I keep worrying about this project.”
“Here.”
You look up to see Seungcheol opening a bottle of beer for you. He places the frosty cold bottle next to your plate. He lifts his own beer in a silent gesture, and you can’t help but to grin at the silly expression on his face, a mix of sympathy and understanding, and you click the neck of your bottle with his. The beer is cool against your throat as it goes down, just a little bit of relief from the sweltering Seoul heat.
“I wish I could help you,” Seungcheol says as he starts to load vegetables on the grill. “I mean, just say the word and I’ll go yell at whoever is making your job hard.”
You laugh and lean against the wall next to you. “Thanks, Cheollie. I wish I had you behind me for my meetings. But enough about me, how’s your new team member?”
Seungcheol heaves a heavy sigh. “He’s not the fastest learner, but he’s a hard worker and he has good intentions. I think he’d be better suited for another role, but I’ll give him some time before talking to him about it. I think I’ll just mentor him the best I can until then.”
You smile. You can just see him in the office in his neat suit, hands interlaced atop his desk, a kindly expression on his face. “I bet you’re the best boss ever,” you tell him, idly picking at the bean sprout salad on the table. Seungcheol purses his lips, somewhat embarrassed, and shrugs.
“I try my best.”
.
.
.
After your meal, Seungcheol insists on walking along the Hangang with you to work off some of the calories from the grease-heavy dinner. Here by the water, the air is somewhat cooler and fresher. Seungcheol’s thin shirt flaps in the soft breeze, his tie long forgotten, rolled up and tucked away in his pocket.
When he showed up at your office earlier to greet you and pick you up, you noticed that he was wearing a red silk tie with little burgundy stripes on it— the tie you bought him as a congratulatory graduation gift all those years ago.
“I like your haircut,” you tell him, affectionately running your hand through his freshly shorn short chestnut-colored locks. “You look cute.”
He laughs. “Cute? Don’t I look like a dad? That’s what Mingyu told me, at least.”
“No,” you shake your head, smoothing down his hair, ���you look young.”
He looks like how he did when he was in university, where the two of you met. Back when you had ambitions and he had none. You with your purposeful engineering degree, and him with the business degree that his dad made him enroll in. And now, you’re not sure if he’s happy in middle management in corporate hell, but he certainly looks better than when he was a resentful, aimless student.
“Thanks,” Seungcheol flushes. His eyes are wide and his cheeks are pink.
You hold your hand gently against his head, smoothing your palm down the back of his neck, painfully affectionate, and you convince yourself that it’s the soju that’s pulling the blood to his face and not the fact that he’s been in love with you for almost a decade.
In a small moment of indulgence, you place your palm against his neck and stroke your thumb slowly under his ear. He sighs softly and leans into your touch, ever so slightly.
“Thanks for coming out with me, Seungcheol,” you whisper. The two of you are standing right in the middle of Hangang Park, surrounded by fellow pedestrians, but you keep him close, like you’re trying to encapsulate the two of you in this moment, frozen in time. “I feel a lot better,” you smile. “I really needed this.”
“No,” Seungcheol replies, “I needed this too. I always feel better after getting food and hanging out with you.” His eyes are gentle and warm, so soft, all for you.
You swallow the lump in your throat. “You’re a good friend, Seungcheol. Thank you.”
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