Work Text:
If you ask a class of six-year-olds what they want to be when they grow up, you are likely to get a lot of footballers, princesses, and unicorns.
But Minho is not like other children.
His little head poked up above the table, his big round eyes following his grandmother's every move. Thread and needle, Minho learned these words before he could say "mama" or "dada" (although back then it was more like "tredt" and "nee").
"Can I do it?" he asked, his hands trying to grasp the remaining thread.
His grandmother patted his head and smiled, her eyes disappearing between the wrinkles, "Maybe next time, sweetheart. I don't want you to cut yourself."
He pouted, of course, he did. His lower lip curled and quivered and his brown eyes opened wide.
"Don't look at me like that..." his grandmother sighed, her eyes soft. After glancing around to make sure his parents weren't there, he lowered the T-shirt and an already threaded needle, "Just one stitch. And put on a thimble."
It was better than Christmas. Minho let out a small laugh and nodded, quickly putting a thimble on his finger. The cold needle rested in his chubby fingers and, holding his breath, he pierced the fabric.
It was a simple stitch, a running stitch —a term that would become familiar to him years later— but Minho knew in that instant that this was it. There was the answer to the annoying question all the adults asked him.
A tailor, like my grandmother!
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈
He achieved his dream when he was twenty-three. After fashion college, he decided to take a more traditional approach than his classmates, so instead of aiming to become a top-world fashion designer or dressing celebrities, he bought a small —but cozy— shop on the outskirts of the city, where rent was lower.
“Oh my! Look at that french knot!”
And also, where the population was on the older side.
“Very well done, indeed.”
“Ahh, thank you. But I’m nowhere near your skill level yet,” he said, talking back to the piece that had been rotating through the table.
“So humble! Are you sure you aren’t looking for a boyfriend dear? I have a very nice and muscular niece, his name is Changbin!” the woman smiled, lightly tapping his arm.
He giggled, shaking his head. Minho felt his face flushing, the ajummas around him cooing when they saw him so shy, burying his face into the fabric.
Having weekly workshops seemed like a great idea at first, not only for him to learn more from the experienced women but also for them to socialize and have some relaxation time outside of the house. But now, after two years, they all knew how to perfectly tease him.
“Let’s get back to work ladi—”
Ding.
All the eight heads of the room turned to the entrance. A head pecked on one side of the door, big round eyes scanning the interior.
“Oh, sorry. Should I come back later?”
Most of his customers were old ladies. Most, except one.
Han Jisung.
“If you come in like an hou—”
“We are all finished sweetie! We were just packing up.”
He arched an eyebrow, looking at the smiley group of ladies who were quickly cleaning the table.
We were not finished, though, he thought.
"Nice!" Jisung said, his face lighting up with a big, round smile.
He walked into the shop, a bag of clothes hanging from his shoulder, as the women finished cleaning up the work table.
"Well, dear, see you next Friday. As always, it was a pleasure," one of them said with a big smile on her face. They opened the door, and just before she walked out, she said as loud as she could, "I hope you find the boyfriend you want! "
This little—
He took a deep breath and smiled, focusing his gaze on Jisung.
“Sorry about that Jisung,” he muttered, inviting him in with an arm gesture, "What can I do for you today?”
“Just—” he rumbled through his back, taking three pants, " — the waist on these, please.”
Minho nodded, taking the garments.
There were two jeans and some sweatpants. It was an easy fix, he had made it a hundred times before.
“I think I can have them for tomorrow,” he said, taking his record book.
And indeed, he had enough space to make that little fix. He wrote his name and proceeded to take out the client chart.
Han Jisung has been a recurring customer for the past two years. The first time he came there, barely two months after Minho opened the shop, was a shy little mess. He came in with some pants, asking if it was possible to make them tighter in the waist.
At first, Minho thought it was for his girlfriend —which was a little bit of a bummer, Jisung was very cute.
But then…
“Do you have the measurements?” he asked, examining the fabric.
“Uh… no? I think it’s a small.” Jisung nervously giggled, hand running through his hair.
“That’s not—” he sighed, "That’s not how it works. Can you ask for the person’s measurements?”
Jisung blinked, a faint blush tinting his cheeks, “How can I take them? This is my first time trying to fix them.”
Oh.
“Is it for you?”
“Yeah. I always have the issue of them being too loose on the waist and my mom told me to have them fixed, you know. To be more comfortable.”
“Oh sorry, I thought—” damn, he was blushing so hard, "I thought it was for someone else, sorry.”
After that, Jisung came every month with a new pair of pants to fix, or some buttons, or some shirts. In the end, Minho had his measurements memorized.
101,06 centimeters for the chest.
89 centimeters for the hips.
And 70 centimeters for the wa—
“Could you measure me again?”
Minho blinked, lifting his gaze from his notes. Jisung was looking back at him, lips pressed in a shy smile and cheeks blushed.
“Huh? Why is that?” he asked.
“I lost some weight… The pants I have right now are a little bit big.”
Now that Minho focused, he saw how his cheeks weren’t as round as the last time and his wrists were even more thin.
“Have you been eating well, Jisung-ah?” he asked softly, retrieving the measuring tape from a hook on the wall, “Go to the stand, please. I’ll take first the new measures and then the pants adjustments.”
Jisung obeyed, quickly jumping on the platform and extending his arms. Minho had to bite back a smile at the sight.
So cute.
“I’ve been eating, it’s just stress,” he mumbled.
Minho hummed and extended the tape, "I’m going to start with your hips, you can lower your arms.” Jisung nodded and did so. "What have you eaten today?”
Jisung was a little bit shorter than Minho so thanks to the stand he stayed at a perfect height for Minho to pass the tape around his hips.
“I ate some ramen,” he said.
Minho tsked, shaking his head, "That’s not very healthy.”
“I knooow… I just don’t have time,” Jisung whined. Minho didn’t need to look up to know a pout was adorning his lips.
He placed the end of the tape on his side, maneuvering with his other hand to get it around his hip. He gave it a small tug, making sure it didn’t slide or it was not loose before annotating the result.
87 centimeters.
He did lose some weight.
Minho annotated the changes in the chart, crossing the previous number.
“I’ll do the waist now,” he muttered. Jisung was wearing a bulky shirt, so he asked, “Do you mind lifting your shirt a little bit?”
Jisung instantly did so, revealing his soft tummy. He had some definition —but nothing crazy— and a happy trail going south. Minho had seen many waists before. Hell, half of his degree was about learning to take accurate measurements.
But he was nervous . He laid the tape a little bit over his belly button, pressing with his thumb to maintain it in place while he wrapped it around with his other hand. He felt Jisung tremble behind him and he had contained a small smirk. He tugged until the pressure was good enough and looked at the number.
67 centimeters. God.
“You lost some centimeters, but it’s nothing crazy,” he said, taking a step back, "You can change in behind the curtain and I’ll mark the pants.”
Jisung released the shirt and stepped down, "You are the best!”
Minho hummed, trying to suppress a smile.
Don't be so pathetic, oh my God.
Jisung took one of the trousers, went behind the curtain, and without warning took off his shirt. Minho saw the silhouette of his body for a second before he turned around, his cheeks completely red. He pressed the backs of his hands against them, trying to cool them down.
"These are the loosest," Jisung said as he stepped out of the curtain.
Minho turned his gaze back to him and—
Fuck.
He had tried on the sweatpants and as expected they were loose. Very loose. They sat just below his pelvis, revealing the faintest strip of his underwear.
"They—" he coughed, trying to sound calm, "They're very loose indeed."
"They didn't have a smaller size... But you can fix them, can't you?"
Jisung looked at him with those big round eyes, and the only word that could come out of his mouth was a yes .
“Of course,” he smiled, "You want them in a low rise, right?”
“Yep,” Jisung said, actually emphasizing the p.
He hummed and got the pins.
“I’m going to pin the excess fabric now,” he muttered, getting closer to him. Jisung hummed and lifted his arms.
Minho took the excess fabric between his fingers and stuck a pin, keeping it together. He did the same to the other side.
He was about to finish when he heard a hiss. Minho quickly lifted his gaze, finding Jisung’s eyes closed.
“Did I poke you? Are you okay?” he asked, worry lacing his words.
“No it’s— It’s okay,” Jisung giggled, a faint blush adorning his cheeks, "Your hand. It was cold, it startled me.”
Minho looked down, to see his hand resting on Jisung’s hip. Immediately he removed his hand. He didn’t even notice it went there.
“Oh…Sorry about that.”
“No worries,” Jisung smiled, his eyes becoming a crescent moon.
Minho. Focus.
His eyes returned to the pants and he finished putting the last pin.
“Okay, let’s see…” he said, taking a step back and ensuring it was even on both sides. It was, "That’s it for these.”
“Cool, thanks,” Jisung said, "The other two are the same model, so should I just try one on or…?”
“Just one will do.”
Jisung nodded and took one of the pants before going once again behind the curtain. This time, Minho was already looking away.
He repeated the process on the second pair of pants and waited for Jisung to change back into his clothes.
“I can have them for tomorrow, is that okay for you? Around eleven?” Minho asked, taking out his agenda.
He had two orders for that day, but they were already completed. And the pants didn’t take that much, so he could have them by then.
“That would be great, thank you!” Jisung said, his smile wide.
Minho smiled back and scribbled down the time.
“Perfect then. See you tomorrow, Jisung.”
“See ya, Minho.”
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈
That night, Minho cooked a big pot of kimchi jjigae. Normally, he had enough for two days, but because he had a big batch of kimchi he needed to use, he ended up doing more than usual. When packing his meal for the next day, he realized that he could fill another container.
And he did so.
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈
It was a slow morning so far. Saturdays were always slow, the ajumas were busy taking care of their grandkids and cooking for the family. So Minho could dedicate the whole day to finishing his pieces.
Jisung pants were the priority. It was an easy fix, just a few stitches on the waist and they would be as good as new, but Minho wanted to finish them as soon as possible. Once he finished, Minho folded them and placed them on the counter.
The hours passed quietly. Sometimes the little bell of the shop tinkled signaling the arrival of a customer, mostly those who were looking for buttons or a specific garment. Minho worked diligently, his quick hands fixing zippers, patching holes, and hemming pants.
And finally…
Ding.
He raised his head and a soft smile appeared on his face.
“Hey!”
“Welcome back, Jisung,” he greets.
His heart shouldn’t beat that hard every time he sees him. The sight of Jisung, always with that bright smile had that effect on him. Minho had to take a deep breath to try and calm the butterflies that were having a field day in his stomach.
He took the pants and slid them across the table, stopping right in front of Jisung.
“Here you go.”
“Thanks, man,” Jisung said. He looked at the pants, then back at Minho with a satisfied grin. “How much is it?”
“Fifty, please.”
With a small hum, Jisung took out the money. He slid three twenty-dollar bills across the counter, and Minho quickly went to the register to get the change.
“Keep the change,” he said with a smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
Minho felt a warmth spread throughout his chest. It was a small gesture, and he shouldn’t have read that much into it, but it was hard when he saw Jisung smiling back at him. So natural, so kind. He returned the smile, though he felt a flush creeping up his cheeks.
“Thank you, Jisung,” he said, his voice surprisingly steady.
“No worries.”
He took the pants and stored them in his bag, making sure they were not unfolded in the process. Minho observed every movement, his heart beating so fast that he wondered if Jisung could hear it.
With a head movement, and a “ see you soon”, Jisung walked to the door.
He was leaving. Minho glanced at Jisung’s back and then his own bag, where he had his lunch, and then -
"I have an extra lunch," he blurted out.
Jisung paused, his hand leaving the door handle and turning back to look at Minho, eyebrows arched in confusion, "Huh?"
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Minho nodded, trying to keep his voice as stable as possible, "Uh... I made too much yesterday," he cleared his throat, "Thought you might like some.”
Jisung looked at him, his eyes widened and a big grin appeared on his face. A full smile, teeth included. A smile that could cure depression, Minho was sure of it.
"Are you serious?"
"Yes," he affirmed, "here."
He took the container from the bag, ignoring the way his hands trembled, and held out his hand to offer it. Jisung took it. As he opened the container, he let out an exclamation and quickly raised his eyes to meet Minho's.
"Minho, I... I can't accept this,"
"Jisung, seriously, I won't be able to eat it all by myself," he insisted, "Please, consider it my treat for being a loyal customer."
"I—" Jisung trailed off, "Okay."
He was about to thank him when Jisung spoke again.
"Only if you eat with me."
Minho blinked. He looked at him, Jisung's eyes moving over his face, trying to pick up some signal. It took him a second to understand what Jisung was suggesting.
"If you don't..." Jisung started, his hands fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.
And it took him another second to remember how to speak.
"No!" he cleared his throat, "No, I would like to eat with you."
"It's ok if you don't! Seri—"
"Jisung," Minho took a step forward, "I would love to."
"Yeah?"
He looked up, his lips curving into a small smile.
"Yeah."
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈
three months later
"Minho, darling, can you help me with this stitch? My hands are not what they used to be," a lady said, pointing at her garment.
"Of course," he chirped, quickly dropping the scissors and sitting down next to her. His fingers moved with precision, the needle weaving through the fabric easily.
"Ahhh, you are such a gentleman, Minho!" another voice said.
A few seconds later, Minho was showered with compliments, from his sewing skills to his personality to his looks, obviously.
"And look at that nose! Ahh, so perfect," they cooed, laughing as Minho’s cheeks turned a deeper shade of red.
“Please…stop,” he muttered, hiding his face between his hands.
Torture. This had to be some kind of torture.
“Son, my Changbin is still single, are you sure you don’t want me to set up a da—” began one of the women.
Ding.
The bell above the shop door chimed just in time. Minho raised his head, his lips curving into a small smile when he saw the person who entered the shop.
“Ahh, sorry, am I interrupting?” his head peeking around the door, eyes scanning the room.
“We have a few min—” started one of the ladies, only to be cut off by Minho.
“No worries Jisungie, we already finished,” he interrupted with a smug smile on his face.
All the ladies looked at him, some with arched eyebrows and others with knowing grins on their faces.
“Really?” one of them asked.
“Yes dear, we have,” another chimed in, quickly standing up and seconds later, the rest followed.
In less than three minutes, the old ladies were exiting the shop, “Thank you again, Minho,” one said, smirking before adding, “And it was nice to meet your boyfriend too.”
Minho blinked a few times, all his blood rushing to his cheeks. He looked at Jisung, and then back at the grandma.
“I—”
“The pleasure is mine ajumma!” Jisung chirped in, a big smile on his face. The grandma chuckled, and with a wink, he exited the store.
“You blush so much, is that with everyone or only with your boyfriend ,” Jisung teased, walking towards Minho.
“You are—”
“A cutie? The best?” Jisung said, a smug smile on his face while closing the distance, “Your boyfriend?”
“A menace,” he whispered, right before kissing him.
It was a small kiss, a peck, but like the first one, butterflies invaded Minho's stomach. Jisung’s lips were soft, softer than any fabric Minho ever touched.
“Now,” he said, stepping back. Jisung let out a small whimper, “What can I do for you?”
“I need to lose up my pants,” Jisung said, “Someone keeps giving me delicious food…”
“Thankfully someone can also fix your pants.”