Work Text:
To: Woo
Sent: 1:05 AM
Can we talk?
Yeosang stared at his phone like he could force Wooyoung to respond through sheer force of will. In all likelihood the man probably wasn’t even awake. The rest of the crew had gone home hours ago, leaving just Hongjoong in his office and Yeosang at his workbench. He’d told Jongho that he was going to try and get some work done on his drone when the hitter had tried to coax him into leaving at a human hour. In reality he’d just be staring at the half assembled core of the machine with his and Wooyoung’s earlier argument replaying on a loop in his head.
It wasn’t the first time they’d argued. Far from it in fact. It was hard to be friends as long as they had without hitting some nerves. This one was different though. Yeosang had said things he’d regretted as soon as they’d left his mouth. The things Wooyoung had hit back with hadn’t been wrong but it had been a harsh way to hear them.
The typing bubbles appeared in the text thread, disrupting Yeosang’s train of thought. Moments later a message came through.
From: Woo
Sent: 1:07 AM
Waffle House?
Yeosang quickly reacted to the message with a thumbs up and shoved away from his workbench. He knew exactly which Waffle House Wooyoung was referring to. The one they went to after school. The one they used to hide from Yeosang’s father. The one where they’d celebrated their first successful real job together. The one they had bled in after a job had gone wrong. The one they went to on the rare night Wooyoung could convince Yeosang to go clubbing. The one they had sat in when they decided it was better for their friendship if they didn’t work together. The one Yeosang still met Wooyoung in after he pulled off a spectacular heist.
Their Waffle House.
Yeosang slid his black Civic into a curbside spot with a smooth parallel parking maneuver. For a moment he just sat there, hands loosely wrapped around the steering wheel, staring out into the night. Rain had been falling all night, giving the city an almost pretty glow as the ever present lights reflected off the surfaces. He always thought Hala looked prettiest on rainy nights, like she was meant to be slightly melancholy. The mist rising off Crescent Bay, wrapping around the city. The slick roads sparkling in a not quite cheerful way. The sound of the rain on the sidewalks and windows. It was Yeosang’s favorite Hala and tonight it felt especially fitting.
With a sigh he forced himself to release the steering wheel and step out into the light rain. As he rounded the corner, he could see Wooyoung sitting in their usual booth, the only patron on such a gloomy night. Behind the counter, one very bored looking employee manned the grill. The bell above the door tingled as Yeosang pushed his way in. Wooyoung gave him a tentative smile as he paused to wipe his boots on the rubber mat.
“I ordered your usual,” Wooyoung told him before Yeosang could take a step towards the counter.
Yeosang nodded. “Thanks.”
The squeak of his boots on the cheap tile was piercing in the near silence of the restaurant. He slid into his side of the booth, back to the windows. Wooyoung got twitchy if he couldn’t see who was coming and Yeosang was always content to let Wooyoung watch his back. For a moment they just stared at each other. They’d done this awkward dance before but it never really got any easier.
“I want-”
“I shouldn’t-”
They both fell silent at the same time, staring at each other across the little table.
“Can I go first?” Yeosang asked.
Wooyoung gave a jerky nod.
Yeosang took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. “I shouldn’t have said you were just playing with San. That wasn’t fair of me. I’m sorry.”
Wooyoung sighed, eyes casting somewhere off to the side of Yeosang. “It’s fine. Well it’s not but like I get it. You’re right, my track record with guys isn’t amazing in the long term department.”
“I still shouldn’t have said it,” Yeosang told him. “That wasn’t fair of me. It wasn’t being a good friend.”
“You were trying to be a good friend to San.” Wooyoung gave a sad little shrug.
“Maybe, but I need to be a good friend to both of you,” Yeosang retorted. “And I wasn’t a good friend to you.”
Wooyoung swung his eyes to Yeosang’s face. “I wasn’t a very good friend to you either. That was a cheap shot from me.”
Yeosang shrugged. “Wasn’t exactly wrong either.”
“Didn’t mean I had to say it like that,” Wooyoung looked down at the table. “Or say it at all.”
Yeosang sighed, “What if we both agree we’re sorry and that we said things that shouldn’t have been said?”
Wooyoung smiled. “I can agree to that.”
Yeosang smiled back at him, a sense of relief flooding through him. It could have been so much worse. It had been so much worse before. One time an argument over a potential target had spun out into three weeks of not talking before they’d gotten over themselves. Maybe Wooyoung was right, maybe they had changed.
“Order twelve,” a bored voice called out into the dining area.
Wooyoung scooted out of the bench seat with more grace than he had any right to. “That’s us.”
Like it could have possibly been anyone else. They were literally the only two customers in this liminal space of a restaurant right now. The squeak of Wooyoung’s black and white checked vans on the cheap linoleum echoed in the silence as he walked to and from the pickup counter.
“So,” Wooyoung’s eye had a teasing glint as he slid a bacon hashbrown bowl at Yeosang. “Jongho, huh?”
Yeosang arched an eyebrow as he accepted the offered fork. “I could say the same thing about San.”
“Touche,” Wooyoung said with a smile before shoveling a forkful of his own sausage hashbrown bowl into his mouth. “But I asked first.”
Yeosang stabbed idly at his own bowl for a moment. They’d done this before, sitting in this exact spot before. Just the two of them bantering and chatting about crushes. But it felt different now. Or maybe it was just Jongho who was different. Yeosang wasn’t even sure he could explain to himself why Jongho was different. He just knew that he was.
“After the job’s over,” Yeosang said a little cryptically. “Maybe then.”
“Oh come on, Sangie.” Wooyoung stabbed his fork in Yeosang’s direction. “He’s hot, he’s smart, he dresses well, and he takes all of your sarcasm in stride. Don’t pretend you don’t want more.”
“I do,” Yeosang admitted to his bowl. “But he deserves someone who can handle commitment. I hardly fit that.”
“Maybe you just needed to find the right person to commit to,” Wooyoung suggested. “I didn’t think I’d ever find anyone who’d make me want to settle down but then San appeared and suddenly, I get it.”
“I’m happy for you,” Yeosang said, instead of addressing what Wooyoung was actually saying. “I’m glad San makes you happy. You both deserve to be happy.”
“Thank you,” Wooyoung said softly. “I know Sannie’s got a soft heart, I like that about him. I’m not trying to play games. He’s special to me.”
“He’s a good man,” Yeosang said simply.
Wooyoung gave him a knowing look. “I think Jongho is too. Just try talking to him, he seems like the patient type.”
Yesosang shrugged. “Maybe.”
There was a beat where Wooyoung just stared across the table like he wanted to say something more before he just shook his head and shoved another bite into his mouth. Yeosang was grateful for him not pushing. It was hard enough for him to think about his emotions, giving voice to them when he was still unsure was nearly impossible. Wooyoung was usually good about nudging Yeosang along without demanding more than he wanted to share.
For now, he was content to just sit here in this Waffle House at nearly two in the morning and chat with Wooyoung about inconsequential things. He’d figure the rest out later.