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Nam-gyu checks his phone discreetly under the cash register. 5:02 pm. Thirteen more minutes.
Se-mi must have done the same thing herself because she’s pulling the red and black visor off her hair and announcing that it’s time for her break, even though she already took one forty-five minutes ago. Myeong-gi's not here to berate her, and Nam-gyu's no snitch, so he just watches her go.
Shit, that means his odds are now 25% instead of 20%. Really, it’s 33.3% because Myeong-gi’s in his office and making a show of pretending to do something important on his computer. Realistically it’s more like 50%—Min-su will probably cry if he’s the one to take the fall three days in a row, and as much as this job has left Nam-gyu a hollow shell of a human being who delights in the suffering of others, he’s not so heartless as to reap any joy from seeing a grown man wearing a dumb red polo shirt cry.
50% it is. His eyes seek out Gyeong-su, who’s busy pretending to stack cups on the counter in the dining area. He’s very deliberately avoiding Nam-gyu’s gaze, who’s shooting daggers from where he stands at the register. The one by the drive-thru window.
Shit. He’s already here, and there’s thirteen minutes left. His chances are 100%.
Nam-gyu sighs and steels himself to accept his fate. It’s fair, he guesses. The last time he took the fall was a week ago, so he’s kind of overdue for it. He huffs in a deep breath through his nose, trying not to gag at the overwhelming smell of hot grease and sizzling low-grade meat wafting from the kitchen, and waits.
Two cars come through the drive-thru. That eats up seven minutes. Six minutes to go.
Min-su stops by and gives Nam-gyu a consolatory french fry. Nam-gyu takes his time chewing it, licks the grease and salt from his lips languidly. Five minutes.
There’s a lull in the drive-thru so he scrolls through his phone looking at TikToks. That takes up more time than expected when he gets caught on a video. “Love Me Not” playing over sped-up clips of funny cats. One minute long. It loops three and a half times because Nam-gyu likes the clip of two cats, one orange and one black, tapping their paws together at the line come here. It’s so cute, the way they're play-fighting. 5:15 pm arrives before he’s fully mentally prepared himself.
The headset over his ears crackles to life when a familiar grating voice hollers directly into the speaker post, cutting Ravyn Lenae off as she sings oh, it’s hard to see you . Well, Nam-gyu can see him perfectly, both in the grainy security camera footage and in his mind’s eye after dealing with this so many times—leaning out of his driver’s side window, gangly body halfway out of his shitty secondhand car, purple hair sticking up in every direction and a stupid, lopsided smile on his face. Nam-gyu wonders if this is the highlight of his day, harassing minimum wage fast food employees. It must be, because there is no other plausible explanation for how excited he sounds when he hollers out, “ Yooooo , let me get a—”
“₩23,000,” Nam-gyu says into his headset. He sighs, braces himself. Ugh.
“Oh, is that my sexy little Nam-su? What’s good, babygirl?”
“₩23,000,” Nam-gyu repeats, voice flat as he can muster.
“You didn’t let me order! How do you know how much my total is if I haven’t ordered?”
“ ₩23,000 ,” Nam-gyu all but seethes, pulling at the earpiece of his headset to keep Su-bong’s overly loud voice from causing permanent hearing loss. “Pull up to the window.” He’s already keying in the order, sending it off to the kitchen so this interaction can end as quickly as possible. His personal record is nine minutes. Myeong-gi’s is three. Nam-gyu will have to ask his manager what his secret is.
“Nam-su, baby, you gotta let me order first! Let me get that Zi—”
“Zinger Tower, extra cheese, double sauce, an order of Yangyeom Chicken, a side of nuggets with extra sweet chili sauce, an egg tart, and a large Coke Zero,” Nam-gyu finishes, rattling off the order that he and the other KFC employees have memorized against their will. “Pull up to this window right now or so help me, Su-bong, I will—”
“You’ll what?” Su-bong’s obnoxious gravelly voice prompts, sounding far too pleased with himself. “What do you want to do to me, babygirl?”
“Stop calling me that and pull up to this window,” Nam-gyu snaps. “₩23,000.”
“Aw, Nam-su, I know you like it when I call you babygirl,” Su-bong coos.
It’s a shame that Nam-gyu’s been stuck with “babygirl” as his nickname. It’s by far Su-bong’s stupidest. Min-su is “cutie pie.” Se-mi is “senorita.” Gyeong-su’s lucky and gets to simply be “my boy.” Hell, even Myeong-gi’s nickname is far more pleasant since he’s just “bitch.” But Nam-gyu, for whatever ungodly Su-bong reason, has to be “babygirl.” It’s been his Su-bong appointed appellation ever since the purple-haired demon first decided he was in the mood for daily KFC five months ago. Nam-gyu suspects it’s because of his hair, which Se-mi likes to regularly remind him is cut into a bob, but he refuses to let this job dictate his life anymore than it already does. There’s no way he’s getting a haircut just because one asshole happens to come through the drive-thru every single week day at 5:15 pm to harass him and order disgusting amounts of greasy fried chicken.
“Your total is ₩23,000,” Nam-gyu repeats for the fifth time, getting his voice level again. “Come to the first window.”
“Gladly,” Su-bong bellows into the speaker. “Can’t wait to see your pretty face.”
Nam-gyu shuts his eyes and inhales. Now comes the worst part.
The bright red 2018 Subaru Legacy idles up to Nam-gyu’s window, obnoxious hip-hop rattling out of the half-broken stereo and the dank scent of weed immediately infiltrating Nam-gyu’s nostrils. God, he could go for a joint right now. It would make this impending interaction far less unpleasant.
“Yo, what’s good, babygirl?” Su-bong greets, hanging out his car window with a massive, obnoxious smirk on his face.
“Cash or credit?” Nam-gyu asks. He stares at Su-bong’s stupid fingers, each nail painted a different color and knuckles decorated with silver rings, drumming against the side of his car, rather than looking at his face. Nam-gyu knows what will happen if they make eye contact, and it’ll just make this interaction take longer. It’s already been four minutes.
“ Nam-suuuu ,” Su-bong sings out, “how are you today? I haven’t seen you in a week! I missed you.”
“It’s Nam-gyu,” Nam-gyu snaps out, and he doesn’t know why he even bothers. Su-bong knows his real name. He just likes to make Nam-gyu blush with anger.
“You’re looking extra delicious today.”
Shit, Nam-gyu’s managed not to make eye contact but he can still feel his own face heating up. He turns quickly to stare at the cash register, pretending to fiddle with some buttons in hopes that Su-bong won’t notice.
Of course he notices. Why wouldn’t he? He’s staring directly at Nam-gyu.
“Aw, babygirl, I love it when you blush like that. Come on, let me get your number,” Su-bong pleads, all toothy grin and fluttering eyelashes. Nam-gyu burns holes into the POS system with how hard his eyes are trained on it.
“Cash or credit?” he repeats, ignoring the request like he always does. If he’s lucky today, Su-bong will just give in and pay for his food. He’s usually not lucky.
By some miracle, Su-bong actually digs into his wallet and pulls out his credit card. He holds it out in his hand, and when Nam-gyu goes to grab it, Su-bong makes a show of brushing his fingers over Nam-gyu’s wrist, wiggling his eyebrows the entire time.
Why can’t he do this to Se-mi or Min-su instead? He calls them cutesy, flirty names, but he doesn’t inundate them with derisive pickup lines like he does to Nam-gyu. He has a unique method of harassment for each of Nam-gyu’s coworkers, but no one else is subjected to this specific brand of flirtatious teasing. Not even Se-mi, who used to be treated to this kind of teasing before Su-bong learned she’s a lesbian. Perhaps somewhere deep in his obnoxious soul, he’s got some dusty remnants of what one might consider common decency. Not for Nam-gyu, though. He’s especially evil to Nam-gyu.
Nam-gyu blames Gyeong-su. He’s the reason Su-bong’s been made aware of the fact that Nam-gyu regrettably finds him attractive.
He doesn’t mean to. Su-bong is extremely annoying, so it’s very unfortunate that that terrible personality has been placed within a very hot body. Nam-gyu, sadly, is not immune to a good-looking man with tattoos and fistfuls of silver rings.
That does not mean he likes Su-bong. Attractive or not, he’s the most annoying person Nam-gyu has ever had the displeasure of being acquainted with. And he knows Su-bong isn’t being serious. He doesn’t actually think Nam-gyu looks “delicious.” He just derives some kind of sick pleasure from seeing KFC workers squirm and knows teasing Nam-gyu for his reluctant attraction will make him squirm the most. He’s a terrible person, really. Evil. It’s possible he’s the devil himself, sent to torture Nam-gyu for his past sins.
Nam-gyu puts Su-bong’s card through the system, rolls his eyes at the stupid personalized graphic of Gangster Spongebob on the card, and hands it back through the window without looking. His face is on fire, he knows, and the last thing he needs is to make eye contact with Su-bong.
Of course, because the universe hates Nam-gyu and likes to see him suffer, he drops the card on the ground between the drive-thru window and Su-bong’s car.
“Oopsie!” Su-bong giggles. “Do I really make you that flustered?”
Nam-gyu can feel his blush extend down his neck. His face must be the same color as his polo now. This is so embarrassing. He can hear Gyeong-su snickering from the dining area. Nam-gyu vows to murder him once Su-bong finally drives off.
Su-bong opens up his car door and gets out to retrieve the card, uncurling his long body and Nam-gyu does not ogle it at all, no way. His eyes are just naturally drawn to the movement. It’s basic science. Still, he quickly averts his gaze back to the screen on the cash register. He can sense, however, when Su-bong stands all the way up and leans his elbows against the window, now invading Nam-gyu’s personal bubble far too closely.
“Get back in your car,” Nam-gyu commands to the cash register.
“How about this: I’ll get back in my car if you give me your phone number,” Su-bong says.
“Nope.” Nam-gyu looks out past the dining area and towards the kitchen, hoping Su-bong’s order is almost done. The kitchen knows to anticipate him by now, so they should have already started it before he even came by. Of course they didn’t, though.
“How about your Snap, then?”
“No.”
“Instagram?”
“No.”
“LinkedIn?”
Nam-gyu laughs against his will. “Do I look like someone who’d have a LinkedIn account?”
He can see Su-bong’s massive grin in his peripheral vision. Damn it. He took the bait. Nam-gyu should know better than to laugh by now. It eggs Su-bong on.
“Aw, babygirl, you like me so much it’s embarrassing,” Su-bong coos. “Come on. Just admit it.”
Nam-gyu scoffs and sends glances towards the kitchen. “Where are we with that Zinger Tower?” he calls out.
The universe takes pity on him. Dae-ho ambles out of the kitchen and hands off the paper bag overflowing with enough greasy chicken to feed an entire family. Nam-gyu sighs with relief and thrusts the bag into Su-bong’s hands.
“Have a nice day,” he says flatly.
Su-bong blows him a kiss and stuffs his lanky body back into his car. “See you later, babygirl!” he says before finally, thankfully, driving off.
Nam-gyu shuts his eyes and focuses his attention on getting his flush to go down.
“You like him so much it’s embarrassing,” Gyeong-su says, seemingly manifesting directly at Nam-gyu’s side.
“I will kill you.”
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“Bitch! You didn’t even let me finish my order!”
“Quit playing with me, Su-bong! I will reach through this window and strangle you! Pull up and get your goddamn chicken!”
Nam-gyu kind of likes it when it’s Myeong-gi’s turn to take the fall. His manager’s interactions with Su-bong are hilarious, and Myeong-gi’s a major asshole, so it’s quite satisfying to watch him squirm.
Nam-gyu’s in the dining area, leaning over the counter on his elbows and grinning as he watches Myeong-gi scowl and jab his fingers violently at the register by the drive-thru window. He’s supposed to be cleaning the tables, but his favorite show is on. He hopes today is the day that Myeong-gi finally keeps his promise and actually strangles Su-bong. That would be fun to watch. Maybe if he’s lucky, he’ll get to see Myeong-gi thrust a flimsy plastic fork at Su-bong again. That was a very fun Wednesday.
He smells the Subaru Legacy before he sees it. Su-bong must’ve just smoked because it’s extra dank today. It’s more evident when he sees the top of Su-bong’s face through the window, eyes red and heavy-lidded, with an extra stupid smile curled lazily across his lips.
“Cash or credit, dickface?” Myeong-gi asks.
“I love it when you talk dirty to me,” Su-bong replies.
“Give me your credit card right now or I’m spitting in your food.”
“Can you get Nam-su to spit in it instead?”
As if on cue, Nam-gyu startles and starts choking on his own saliva. Really, he shouldn’t be surprised by now. Su-bong’s been saying this kind of crap every single time he pulls up to the window for the past four weeks. Even if Nam-gyu’s not the one taking his order, Su-bong will still flirt with him by proxy. Last week, he asked Se-mi where her “twin” was.
“I need to see my babygirl! Cocky want boing boing,” he said at the time, thick eyebrows wiggling and lips pulled up in a devious smirk. It made Se-mi and Nam-gyu let out twin retches.
Fucking Gyeong-su, curse him for making Su-bong aware of Nam-gyu’s grudging attraction. But even though he knows to anticipate it, it still catches him off-guard when Su-bong says something particularly suggestive. He thumps a fist against his chest in an effort to keep from choking to death.
“Nam-gyu,” Myeong-gi hollers out. “Come here and spit in this asshole’s food.”
“Oh, better yet! Get him to come here and spit in my mouth.”
A woman trying to refill her soda thumps a hand on Nam-gyu’s back and asks if he needs the Heimlich maneuver. Nam-gyu shakes his head and tries to regain the ability to breathe. She wanders off, shooting perturbed glances Nam-gyu’s way, soda cup abandoned by the fountain machine.
Myeong-gi grimaces and suppresses a gag. “Su-bong, you are disgusting. I should have you banned.”
Su-bong scoffs. “I should get you fired, bitch! You’re out here insulting paying customers and threatening to deface their food!”
“I’ll deface your face if you don’t stop coming here and bothering me. There’s a perfectly good McDonald’s across the street!”
Nam-gyu’s got tears in his eyes from all the choking, but he can still see the beaming grin on Su-bong’s face. “Aw, but I like your chicken. McDonald’s doesn’t hit the same.”
Myeong-gi sighs and thumps his head against the cash register. “You need to stop eating fast food every day. Your cholesterol must be through the roof.”
“It’s cute that you care about my health so much. You must be in love with me, bitch. Now give me my chicken.”
All in all, the interaction lasts four minutes before Su-bong’s driving off with his large Coke Zero and bag full of greasy, cholesterol-raising food. Nam-gyu is still on the brink of choking to death.
“I’m making you do the drive-thru tomorrow,” Myeong-gi shoots out when he passes Nam-gyu by on his way to his office, no doubt planning to hide out for the next hour to recover from the interaction. “Get back to work.”
Nam-gyu glares at him between ragged, painful breaths. “Bitch.”
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Here’s the thing: Su-bong’s never getting banned. Despite all the threats, Myeong-gi is far too obsessed with money to let go of a customer that gives them ₩23,000 five days a week. And while Nam-gyu could probably tell his manager he’s getting blatantly sexually harassed every weekday and get Su-bong’s picture on the banned list in the breakroom, he’s not going to. Because if he did and Su-bong actually got banned, Nam-gyu wouldn’t be able to buy weed from him anymore.
It’s extremely unfortunate how it’s all worked out, but despite being the most annoying person in existence, Su-bong is a very good dealer. He’s consistent with his product and he always gives Nam-gyu a discount for being his “favorite customer.” Funny, since Su-bong is Nam-gyu’s least favorite customer, which is saying a lot. There’s an old man who comes once a week, seemingly with the sole purpose of yelling at Nam-gyu for getting his order wrong. It never is—he just likes having someone to berate and occasionally throw drinks at. Nam-gyu’s driven home pissed off and covered in Sprite more times than he cares to think about.
At least Nam-gyu and Gyeong-su have a system worked out. They switch off who has to actually buy from Su-bong every week and share their purchase once they return home to their apartment. It’s a fine system, and it means that Nam-gyu only has to step foot in Su-bong’s Subaru Legacy every other Friday.
Sadly, this Friday is his Friday.
“Oh my fuck , Su-bong, Zinger Tower, extra cheese, double sauce, Yangyeom Chicken, side of nuggets, extra sweet chili sauce, egg tart, and a large Coke Zero. Get your scrawny ass to this window right now before I punch you in the face.”
Se-mi’s at the drive-thru this Friday, and she’s extra snappy today. Her shift ends in forty-five minutes and she’s had the crappiest luck with customers all day long. Nam-gyu would feel sympathetic to her plight, possibly even offer to take over drive-thru duties, but he’s going to have to discreetly cross the street to the hair salon next door in fifteen minutes to meet up with Su-bong, and he’s not feeling very sympathetic. He just feels dread. So, he leans his elbows on the counter and watches the interaction unfold like usual.
“ Senorita ,” Su-bong sings out as he drives up to the window. “What’s popping, boo? You having a good Friday? Excited for the weekend?”
“Give me your credit card,” Se-mi snaps, thrusting her hand out the window.
“When are we hitting the club? We can be each other’s wingmen. I know a hot babe who has a thing for goth chicks with piercings.”
“Give me your stupid Spongebob card,” Se-mi seethes.
Nam-gyu can practically hear the giddiness in Su-bong’s voice. “How do you know I’m doing credit today, huh? What if I wanna pay cash?”
“They give me your money , oh my god , Su-bong. I don’t have time for your shit right now. I just had to clean up baby shit in the women’s bathroom.”
Su-bong fakes a gag. “You’re handling my food with baby shit on your hands?”
Se-mi raises a fist. “Don’t think I won’t reach through this window and break your nose.”
“Fine, fine, fine. I’m texting you later, though. We’re going to Club Pentagon tomorrow and I’m totally hooking you up with that girl. You gotta release some of that pent-up aggression, senorita.”
Another thing about Su-bong: somehow, he’s kind of technically friends with half of the KFC employees. At least, he’s kind of friends with Min-su and Se-mi, and actually friends with Gyeong-su. It’s a somewhat recent development, after months of seeing Su-bong on a near-daily basis. They all have his number, and they occasionally, reluctantly, hang out at Club Pentagon together. Maybe Nam-gyu is sometimes there at the same time. He’s still never giving Su-bong his number. He can only imagine what evil things Su-bong would do if he had access to that kind of personal information.
“I’m blocking your number,” Se-mi says, though she never actually goes through with the threat. Kind of like Myeong-gi and his threats to ban Su-bong. Like Nam-gyu and his threats to find a new dealer.
Nam-gyu seriously needs to do that at some point. And find a better job. One where he doesn’t deal with purple-haired demons teasing him and Sprite being launched at his face.
For now though, Su-bong’s got his order, and Nam-gyu knows he’s about to peel off into the parking lot of the hair salon next door. Nam-gyu waits fifteen minutes like usual, giving Su-bong time to inhale his ungodly amount of greasy fried chicken, before discreetly announcing his break and stepping outside to cross the street.
In all fairness, this process would be easier if he had Su-bong’s number. When it’s Gyeong-su’s week to buy their weed, he just drives to Su-bong’s apartment after work and picks it up from there. It’s safer, less risk of Myeong-gi catching on and firing them for buying drugs on company time. But Nam-gyu has at least the tiniest stitch of pride left in him. Giving Su-bong his number feels like giving in. So, he does what he does every other week and takes his time crossing the parking lot, making a show of lighting a cigarette in case Myeong-gi decides today is the day he’ll actually look at the security cameras, and slips through the bushes to the hair salon.
The Subaru Legacy is parked where it always is, behind the salon and next to the dumpsters. The thick, skunky stench of weed is wafting out through the open windows. Nam-gyu steels himself, takes a deep breath, flicks the cigarette he didn’t smoke onto the ground, and opens the passenger side door.
“Hey, babygirl,” Su-bong greets brightly as he rolls the windows back up. “Looking tasty as always. Want some?”
Nam-gyu stares at the dashboard as he takes the joint. He keeps his eyes trained on the stickers littering the glovebox as he inhales, forcing his mind to focus on the stickers rather than the fact that the joint was just touching Su-bong’s lips. There’s a whole mess of stickers, different band logos and memes and random cartoon characters.
When Nam-gyu looks down at the floorboard, he sees a suspicious white stain among the discarded fast food wrappers and CD cases. It wasn’t there last time he was here. He hopes it’s mayonnaise. His brain is very busy trying to supply otherwise. Revolting. Nam-gyu fails at not thinking about Su-bong’s lips on the joint. The paper is slightly damp from his spit.
Nam-gyu holds the smoke in his lungs as he digs two crumpled up banknotes from his pocket. “Here,” he says as he puffs out the smoke, still avoiding eye contact when he drops the money onto Su-bong’s lap.
Su-bong stares at the money for a moment before a frighteningly devilish smile eases its way onto his lips. “Let’s make a deal,” he says.
Nam-gyu stares at a Regular Show sticker. It’s Mordecai and Rigby with red eyes, smoking a blunt. Su-bong is so stupid. “No.”
“I’ll give you your weed for free if —”
“I already gave you the money.”
“— if you give me a kiss in exchange.”
Do not blush , Nam-gyu commands himself mentally. Do not. It can’t be helped, though. It’s creeping down his neck, making his skin burn and itch.
He knows Su-bong is just messing with him because he thinks it’s hilarious, but Nam-gyu’s stupid blushing face just can’t seem to get the memo. Truly, genuinely, screw Gyeong-su for doing this to him. The past four weeks have been absolute torture all because Gyeong-su can’t keep his dumb mouth shut.
It all started during one of their weekend excursions to Club Pentagon. Se-mi and Min-su were working the dreaded Saturday night graveyard shift, when all the rowdy university students flood to KFC to get their post-club fried chicken fix. While Nam-gyu was happy not to be manning the drive-thru, this meant that Gyeong-su was the only social barrier between him and Su-bong. And when Gyeong-su gets drunk, he gets talkative. He’ll talk about anything and everything, not bothering to process the words through his brain before they come spilling from his mouth.
On that night, his conversation topic of choice was Nam-gyu’s recently discovered attraction to Su-bong. It was all purely accidental, egged on by Su-bong pulling up to the drive-thru earlier in the week in a muscle tee that showed off his tattooed arms. The arms, paired with the ridiculously suggestive moan Su-bong let out when he took a bite of his Zinger burger for “quality control” while still idling in the window, had Nam-gyu flushing hot and getting hard in his pants. It was mortifying, and while it was a small comfort that Su-bong could only see him from the waist up, Gyeong-su was loitering by the drive-thru window to avoid work and saw everything.
He pulled Nam-gyu into the walk-in freezer immediately afterwards to make fun of him, and while Nam-gyu tried to deny it, the incriminating evidence was right there, tenting the front of his pants. At least the cold air of the freezer made it die down immediately, and Gyeong-su promised not to say anything to anyone else.
Of course, that was sober Gyeong-su making that promise. Drunk Gyeong-su was having a blast leaning into Su-bong’s space and telling him all about Nam-gyu’s boner for him.
“ Dude , bro, man, i-it’s—” Gyeong-su sloshed out, red-faced and beaming, totally oblivious to Nam-gyu going white as a sheet from mortification, “you gotta stop wearing tank tops or Nam-gyu’s gonna get written up for, like, jacking it in the walk-in.”
Su-bong wore a muscle tee again on Monday. Nam-gyu hid in the walk-in freezer until his fingertips were numb.
It’s been constant flirting and teasing ever since. It was constant before , but now it’s laced with a thick layer of virulent mockery that leaves Nam-gyu feeling small and pathetic.
Well, fuck it. Nam-gyu can’t let Su-bong have this power over him. He’s just some dumb jerk with a nice body and quality weed tucked away in the backseat of his car. He’s a loser, really. He’s a deejay , for fuck’s sake. He eats KFC five out of seven days a week. Nam-gyu has no business being intimidated by him, and it’s that thought that has him setting his jaw and finally turning to properly face Su-bong with a determined glare.
“Fine,” he says flatly. “Deal.”
He doesn’t give Su-bong time to respond. He knows if he does, he’s going to immediately chicken out, and he needs to make it clear that he’s not going to keep putting up with Su-bong’s teasing. So, he barrels forward and slams his mouth against Su-bong’s, all teeth and tongue just for the principle of it all. Su-bong tastes like spicy chicken and Coke Zero.
It should be gross. It is gross. Su-bong is nasty.
Nam-gyu pulls back after a few seconds of chicken-flavored licking and returns to glaring at Mordecai and Rigby, obdurately choosing to ignore the way his dick is very much deciding that the kiss was maybe not all that nasty after all.
“Weed now,” he demands quickly. He needs to get out of this car and hide in the walk-in freezer until his lips are so numb, the memory of the kiss cracks with chilblains and freezes off.
Su-bong says nothing. Nam-gyu doesn’t check to see what his face looks like, not even in his peripheral vision. He just holds out his hand until he feels a sealed plastic bag get placed in it.
“Bye,” he says, and shoots out of Su-bong’s car as fast as his shaky legs will allow.
It’s only when he’s huddled up in the freezer next to the frozen bags of sweet chili sauce and brown gravy that he realizes he never took his money back. He gave Su-bong that kiss for free.
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Nam-gyu doesn’t go to the club on Saturday. He stays home and goes through a quarter of the weed he bought yesterday, obstinately ignoring the half-chub he’s been sporting whenever he accidentally allows his brain to remember the feeling of Su-bong’s lips on his own. Gyeong-su complains about the dwindling weed supply all day on Sunday. Nam-gyu threatens to tell Myeong-gi that Gyeong-su steals chicken nuggets every time he goes on break.
Nam-gyu hides in the bathroom from 5:13 pm to 5:26 pm on Monday. Myeong-gi yells at him and makes him stay past his shift to deep clean the fryers. He doesn’t get back home to the apartment until 8:11 pm, an hour and eleven minutes after the end of his shift. All the weed is gone—he finds Gyeong-su red-eyed and blitzed, watching Adventure Time with a dazed and slightly terrified look on his face. Nam-gyu goes to bed sober, horny, and very, very mad.
Nam-gyu spends the week trying desperately to avoid taking the fall. By Thursday, though, he knows he’s going to have to face his fate. The last time he took the fall was last Wednesday, eight days ago. He held out for seven days last week. It does not escape Se-mi, Min-su, Gyeong-su, or Myeong-gi’s notice that he hasn’t been taking up his fair share of drive-thru duties.
Min-su’s the one who ends up manhandling him into the drive-thru. The others know he hates seeing a grown man cry, and Min-su has an uncanny ability to tear up at the slightest hint of confrontation.
“He said I looked like a chubby-cheeked hamster yesterday,” Min-su whines with wide, hamster-like eyes. “You can’t make me go through that again.”
And he can’t. Even if it’s an apt comparison. Nam-gyu accepts the consolatory french fry Min-su offers him and willingly awaits his doom.
His doom comes in the form of his headset crackling to life as a gravelly, obnoxious voice bleats out “ Yooooo ” way too close to the speaker post.
“₩23,000,” Nam-gyu says. Deep breath. He can do this. He’s already turning bright red. His tongue darts out and licks his lower lip against his will. The phantom memory of spicy chicken meets his taste buds. He hates Gyeong-su so much, he vows to put rat poison in his coffee tomorrow.
“Is that my babygirl I hear? Nam-gyu, sweet thang, what’s good?”
His actual name. This is a new one. Nam-gyu tries not to think about it. “₩23,000,” he says. “Pull up to the window.”
“Now, babygirl, you gotta let me order first, and then I promise I’ll come see you. Let me get that—”
Nam-gyu can’t do this today. He explodes. “Su-bong, you’ve been coming to this damn KFC for the past five months! I’m not playing this game with you anymore, so stop fucking around and come to this window right now! ₩23,000! I swear to god I will—”
“You’ll what? Attack me with your mouth again? Don’t threaten me with a good time, babygirl.”
The smarmy tone of Su-bong’s voice practically leaks through Nam-gyu’s headset, oily and thick with suggestion and leaving Nam-gyu feeling a terrible mixture of pathetic and aroused. He hates that Su-bong still has this effect on him. The kiss was a total failure. He didn’t even take his money back.
“You owe me ₩60,000,” Nam-gyu snaps.
“I thought you said my total was ₩23,000?” Su-bong asks, fake confusion dripping from his baritone voice.
“It is,” Nam-gyu says. “Pull up to this window right now.”
“So eager to see me! Don’t worry, babygirl, you’ll see me in just a second. Don’t blow your load just yet.”
There is no hope for him getting out of this interaction unscathed. Nam-gyu’s flushed so hot, his skin itches like an allergic reaction. He keeps his eyes trained on the cash register as the Subaru Legacy pulls up to the window.
“Daddy’s here,” Su-bong greets.
Nam-gyu is going to dip his head into one of the deep fryers. It’s the only logical response to this situation.
“Cash or credit?” Nam-gyu asks, planning out exactly how he’s going to sneak past Dae-ho and launch himself face-first into the boiling oil. Dae-ho will probably try to stop him, the amiable bastard.
“Cash today,” Su-bong says with a grin. “I’ve got a tip for you.”
Nam-gyu fully expects that statement to be followed by a dick joke, but instead, Su-bong thrusts his hand out and gives Nam-gyu ₩83,000. The same crumbled banknotes from last Friday. He knows, because on one of them, King Sejong the Great’s been defaced with a little Sharpie monocle. Gyeong-su did that.
“Oh,” Nam-gyu says, taken aback. “Thanks.”
“I’ll give you the other tip later,” Su-bong says with a smirk and an over-exaggerated wink.
Nam-gyu’s face burns so hot, he thinks he may have lost blood circulation to the rest of his body. A good thing, really, because his dick does not need it. Not at all.
“You’re so red,” Su-bong teases. “You like me so much it’s embarrassing.”
No, no . Nam-gyu is a grown man, damn it. He is not going to let some thirty-year-old loser deejay bully him like they’re in high school. He slams the drive-thru window shut, rips off his visor, and storms out into the parking lot.
Su-bong’s car is still idling in the drive-thru. Good. Nam-gyu doesn’t let himself think about it too much when he pulls the driver’s side door open and grips the front of Su-bong’s shirt in his fist.
Su-bong’s grinning like an absolute buffoon. “You gonna kiss me again?” he asks.
Nam-gyu narrows his eyes and glares, finally looking at Su-bong head-on. He’s still red-faced and blushing, but whatever. This crap needs to stop. He doesn’t get paid enough to deal with attractive men picking on him all the time. “Leave me the fuck alone, Su-bong,” he seethes.
The grin doesn’t go away. If anything, it widens. Su-bong must be so pleased with himself. “Babygirl, I—”
Nam-gyu jerks his fist forward, jostling Su-bong in his seat. “I’m being serious , asshole! I’m fucking tired of your bullshit!”
Something must click. Su-bong’s grin falls as he blinks at Nam-gyu, looking between his eyes as his mouth opens and closes in an effort to put words together. For once, he’s speechless. Nam-gyu feels satisfied knowing he’s finally got the upperhand.
“Stop flirting with me,” Nam-gyu commands. He tries to keep his voice level. It’s mostly working. “Stop calling me babygirl. Just- Stop fucking harassing me all the time.”
Su-bong blinks again. “Okay.”
Nam-gyu frowns. This can’t be that easy. “Okay?”
“Okay, Nam-gyu. I’m sorry, I’ll stop.”
He sounds like a kicked puppy. For once, his deep baritone voice is feeble. Genuinely apologetic, possibly even a little hurt. A weird thing is happening to Nam-gyu’s chest. It’s almost like he feels bad for Su-bong. He doesn’t let himself linger on it, though. It’s probably just his stupid dick reacting to how cute Su-bong looks when he’s sheepish and actually using Nam-gyu’s proper name.
No. Su-bong is not cute. He’s annoying and evil. Nam-gyu mentally berates himself for thinking of such an ill-fitting adjective.
“Good,” Nam-gyu says, nodding, before he lets go of Su-bong’s shirt. He turns around, not letting himself look at Su-bong’s face again before stomping back into the restaurant.
“The fuck was all that?” Se-mi asks from behind the counter.
Nam-gyu doesn’t respond. He takes the paper bag full of Su-bong’s food and brings it to the window. He keeps his eyes trained on the floor as he holds the bag out.
“Have a nice day,” he says flatly.
Su-bong doesn’t respond. Nam-gyu doesn’t look at him. He feels the bag get taken from his hand and hears the sound of Su-bong’s engine starting back up.
He feels weird about it. He doesn’t know why.
🍗❤️🥤💚🍟💜🍔
Things start getting weird.
It begins the next day. Gyeong-su is on drive-thru duty. Nam-gyu is hanging out with him, sitting on the counter next to the register and shoving french fries in his mouth. It’s 5:14 pm. Usually he’d be hiding in the walk-in or propped up on his elbows on the counter in the dining area to watch the show from afar by now, but that strange feeling from yesterday after Su-bong apologized and drove off silently has been eating at him. He wants to see if Su-bong was being serious about leaving him alone, see if he still looks sheepish and contrite. So, he stays by the window when Gyeong-su’s headset crackles to life and the familiar “ Yooooo ” blares out, Su-bong’s sonorous voice loud enough to be heard outside of the earpiece.
“₩23,000,” Gyeong-su says, and the familiar pattern starts up. Nam-gyu leans in a little to hear better, even though the volume of Su-bong’s voice negates the need to do so.
“What’s good, my boy? Let me get that—”
Gyeong-su rolls his eyes and pulls a silly face, making Nam-gyu snort out a laugh between bites of mushy potato. “I’m not playing with you today, Su-bong. Pull up to the window and get your slop.”
Nam-gyu can hear Su-bong’s incredulous, mock-offended reply. “Excuse you? Would Shin Ho-sang really want one of his employees describing your food at slop? I should report you for your treason!”
“Why on earth do you know that name of the CEO?” Gyeong-su asks. “That’s so weird. ₩23,000 at the next window.”
“Let me order first! What if I want something different today?”
“You’ve ordered the same thing every Monday through Friday for almost half a year, Su-bong.”
“Yeah? What if I want a milkshake?”
“You know we don’t serve milkshakes. Pull up to this window right now . Chop, chop, chicken boy.”
“If anyone’s a chicken boy, you’re a chicken boy, chicken boy! You look like a chicken with that freaky-ass neck of yours!”
Despite how annoying Su-bong is, Nam-gyu can’t help but chuckle. Gyeong-su’s sputtering at the insult and it’s got his mouth hanging open in a hilarious way. Nam-gyu takes advantage of the open cavity and tries to chuck a french fry in there.
Gyeong-su laughs and swats Nam-gyu’s hand away. “Stop being a dick and pull up to this window! Your boyfriend is here waiting for you.”
Nam-gyu glares at him, and braces himself for the incoming tease, but it doesn’t happen. Su-bong pulls up to the window, Gangster Spongebob credit card already in hand. He’s only looking at Gyeong-su.
“What’s good, my boy?”
Nam-gyu just sits there and listens as Gyeong-su and Su-bong talk, exchanging their usual light-hearted quips. It’s weird. Too weird. Su-bong never passes up on an opportunity to embarrass Nam-gyu, and Gyeong-su just served him up the opportunity on a silver platter.
Nam-gyu feels weird. Disappointed? No, that can’t be it. Just off-kilter. He’s gotten used to this routine, so he must just be feeling off. He leans forward, just in case Su-bong somehow doesn’t see him.
Su-bong finally spares him a glance. He smiles, small and tight. Polite. “Hey, Nam-gyu.”
His real name again. Not babygirl or Nam-su. He’s taken aback. He mumbles out a quiet, “Hey.”
Gyeong-su looks between the two of them suspiciously. “What? No flirting? What’s going on here? Did you guys finally quit the foreplay and fuck?”
Nam-gyu grimaces. He’s getting ready to spit out something about how gross it is to even consider them having sex as a possibility, but Su-bong lets out a sigh and asks, “Is my food ready or what?”
Oh. He sounds annoyed. Shit. Nam-gyu, all of a sudden, feels immensely guilty and he’s not exactly sure why. Because of the kiss? Because he knows Su-bong doesn’t actually want to fuck him? It’s a weird, confusing sort of guilt, one with no logical origin since Su-bong’s the one who asked for the kiss and the one who’s been flirting with him so relentlessly in the first place.
Guilt, though, nonetheless. Nam-gyu can’t really stand to be here any longer. He pushes himself off the counter and retreats into the dining area, mind swirling with a complicated mix of that illogical guilt, bizarre disappointment, and immense frustration with himself for being aroused at the thought of fucking Su-bong.
The weirdness lingers through the rest of the shift. Gyeong-su keeps looking at him, a question clearly on the verge of being asked, but he saves it until they’re back at their apartment.
“Why are you and Su-bong being weird?” he asks. He’s shrugging off his work polo, changing into a sweatshirt so he can go and pick up their weed from Su-bong.
Nam-gyu wonders for a moment what Su-bong’s apartment must look like. Gyeong-su’s been there nearly a dozen times now, but Nam-gyu’s never asked. Never wanted to know until today. He bets it’s a lot like Su-bong’s car: messy and disgusting, littered with cheesy, meme-y decor, reeking of weed, probably also covered in suspicious translucent white stains. But he kind of wants to know for sure now.
“I’m not being weird,” Nam-gyu retorts. “Su-bong’s the one being weird.”
Really, he’s being the opposite of weird. He was treating Nam-gyu like a regular customer should treat him. Nam-gyu should be pleased he finally got what he wanted. He shifts on the couch, pulling at the t-shirt he just changed into. The fabric is brushing uncomfortably against his skin, like it’s too starched or something. They don’t starch their clothes. The whole day has just been so weird.
Gyeong-su snorts and lets out a laugh. “Oh, come on. I know something happened yesterday. Se-mi told me you rushed out of the restaurant and said something to Su-bong. So what did you say? Did you finally ask him out or whatever?”
“No!” Nam-gyu exclaims. “For the millionth time, I don’t like him.”
Gyeong-su sits down on the couch next to him, a weirdly sympathetic look in his eye. “Did he turn you down?”
Nam-gyu wants the couch to open up and swallow him whole. “What the fuck? I didn’t ask him out! I’m never going to ask him out.”
“Okay,” Gyeong-su murmurs, rolling his eyes. “So what? What did you say?”
“I just told him to leave me alone.”
Gyeong-su laughs. “Like you actually want that,” he says sarcastically. “You love it when he calls you babygirl.”
Nam-gyu opens his mouth to deny it, but Gyeong-su cuts him off, hand pressed to his mouth. “Stop trying to deny it! I’m sick of your weird foreplay. Just fuck each other and get it over with.”
Nam-gyu mumbles against Gyeong-su’s hand. The words he says don’t matter. Gyeong-su’s been convinced of this since the day he saw Nam-gyu’s reaction to Su-bong in a muscle tee.
“I need to get high. I’m off to Su-bong’s. Wanna come?”
Nam-gyu shakes his head, still unable to give a verbal response with Gyeong-su’s hand cutting off his words.
“Ugh, whatever. I’ll tell your boyfriend you said hi.”
🍗❤️🥤💚🍟💜🍔
Things stay weird.
On Saturday, Nam-gyu joins the others at Club Pentagon. Su-bong barely looks at him the whole night. Nam-gyu’s happy about it. It means he can dance and drink without a demonic presence looming over him. He goes to bed confused and frustrated and still feeling weirdly guilty.
There’s no Su-bong at KFC on Sunday. There never is. That’s his day off from his shitty day job at the gym, so he’s got no reason to leave his apartment until late at night when he’s off to deejay for shitty clubs and house parties. The guy who likes to yell at Nam-gyu comes into the restaurant and throws a Sprite in Nam-gyu’s face, claiming his chicken is pink in the middle. It’s not. Nam-gyu drives home later with his hair tangled and sticky, busy wondering if Su-bong will continue to be politely distant with him tomorrow.
He doesn’t hang out in the drive-thru to check. On Monday, Min-su is on drive-thru duty. Nam-gyu mops the floor of the women’s bathroom from 5:15 pm until 5:28 pm. Min-su complains about Su-bong comparing him to a newborn bunny rabbit. Nam-gyu wonders if Su-bong mentioned him at all. He doesn’t ask. Min-su doesn’t offer it up.
He hangs out in the dining area, close to the drive-thru, when Myeong-gi argues with Su-bong through the window on Tuesday. They’re trading jabs, making their usual threats. Nam-gyu’s name, or any of his appointed monikers, doesn’t come up. He takes Su-bong’s food from Dae-ho and brings it to the window. Su-bong just says thank you and drives off. Nam-gyu’s in such a strange mood, he doesn’t even laugh when Myeong-gi throws packets of ranch dressing at Su-bong’s departing car.
On Wednesday, Se-mi’s at the window. Nam-gyu delivers the food bag again, just to see what will happen, and Su-bong says thank you. No flirting, no teasing, no being called babygirl. Nam-gyu isn’t off-kilter because he misses the nickname—he’s satisfied, really. He’s a twenty-seven year old man, not a female infant. He’s off-kilter because he doesn’t want to get his hopes up, only to be teased again tomorrow.
It’s for that reason that Nam-gyu finds himself volunteering to do the drive-thru on Thursday. He has to know if this is just their dynamic now. It’s a good thing if it is. It’ll make Nam-gyu’s job so much easier if he only has to worry about the Sprite guy constantly harassing him. He’s not feeling guilty or disappointed anymore, he tells himself. Just curious.
He perks up when he hears “ Yooooo ” crackle through his headset at 5:15 pm.
“₩23,000,” he says, standing up a little straighter after hunching over his phone for the past twenty minutes. Maybe he says it a little brighter than he usually does. No one’s close enough to hear it and confirm. Only Su-bong can hear him, and Nam-gyu knows how shitty their intercom is. There’s no way Su-bong’s picking up on the subtle nuances of his vocal tone.
“Okay.”
Okay? What? No teasing? No insisting that he actually state his order? Nam-gyu’s skin feels too tight on his body.
“Okay,” he echoes. “Pull up to the next window.”
The beat-up Subaru Legacy does just that. Su-bong already got two banknotes and six coins in his hand. Exact change. He hands it over through his open car window and Nam-gyu accepts it. There’s no brushing against his wrist, no cold silver rings clacking against his palm. It’s weird how cold Nam-gyu’s hand feels without it.
“How are you today, Su-bong?” he asks.
Su-bong offers him a polite smile, completely free of mockery. “I’m fine. How are you, Nam-gyu?”
It shouldn’t feel weird to hear his actual name. “Good,” he says, quiet and tight. His face heats up thinking about how stupid it is that he kind of wants Su-bong to call him babygirl again. At least then, things would be normal. He hates that he feels tense for no good reason at all.
It’s quiet as they wait for the food. Dae-ho brings it over, and Nam-gyu hands it to Su-bong.
“Have a nice day.”
Nam-gyu has a new record. Two and a half minutes. Thirty seconds better than Myeong-gi. He doesn’t feel like celebrating it.
🍗❤️🥤💚🍟💜🍔
On Friday, Nam-gyu doesn’t wait until 5:30 pm to take his break. He follows Su-bong’s car behind the hair salon and pulls the passenger door open while Su-bong is still biting into his Zinger Tower.
Su-bong startles, bits of bread and chicken shooting from his mouth. “You’re early,” he says wide-eyed, cheeks puffed out from the mouthful of burger.
Nam-gyu keeps his eyes locked on Su-bong and adamantly ignores the way his own face heats up. “You’re being weird,” he says.
Su-bong chews, slow and mechanical, taking his time swallowing as he maintains eye contact. Nam-gyu’s eyes dart down for a brief moment to watch his Adam’s apple bob. Just a brief moment. Reflex, really. Basic science.
“I’m not,” Su-bong finally says. “I’m just trying to eat my dinner.”
Nam-gyu narrows his eyes. “You stopped calling me babygirl.”
Su-bong’s eyebrows twitch before pushing together. “You told me to stop?”
Maybe this confrontation was a bad idea. Nam-gyu did tell him to stop. He wanted him to stop. He still does, obviously. It’s been a very nice week, not being teased and made fun of. But it feels weird and wrong. Su-bong isn’t supposed to behave like a normal, polite person. It’s like the earth is spinning slightly off its axis, this shift in Su-bong’s behavior causing a butterfly effect that makes everything else in Nam-gyu’s life feel strange and askew. His clothes feel starchy and his skin feels too tight, all because Su-bong isn’t acting like Su-bong. He wants Su-bong to stop being mean to him, but he’s grown far used to the annoying back and forth they used to have. There needs to be some kind of middleground here, like they had before Gyeong-su opened his big mouth and told Su-bong all about Nam-gyu’s crush.
It’s not a crush. Nam-gyu grimaces at the word. He doesn’t like Su-bong. He just thinks he’s kind of sexy. Maybe kind of funny and charming, in an obnoxious way. Cute, apparently, since the word’s been floating in Nam-gyu’s head for the past eight days. Maybe it’s a little bit of a crush. But that’s the problem, isn’t it? Nam-gyu’s little outburst last week made it clear he’s harboring some sort of feelings for Su-bong beyond just a passive desire to fuck him.
“Are you homophobic?” Nam-gyu asks before he can think too hard about the question.
Su-bong frowns. “Are you homophobic?”
Nam-gyu can’t help his laugh. It’s an incredulous sound, bubbling deep from the middle of his throat and bursting out of him sharp and biting like a popped balloon. At least Su-bong’s acting like his old self again, making fun of Nam-gyu.
“I don’t hate myself that much,” he says.
“Okay, then,” Su-bong replies, and takes another bite of his burger. There’s sauce gathering at the corners of his lips. It’s gross. Su-bong’s gross. He’s also pretty cute, cheeks stuffed with food and eyes crinkling. Nam-gyu’s staring at him. Su-bong notices.
“You want a bite?” he asks, talking with his mouth full.
Nam-gyu grimaces. “I hate chicken.”
Su-bong’s eyes widen. “What kind of freak doesn’t like chicken?”
Nam-gyu does like chicken. He just hates KFC. “That burger you're eating isn’t even legally chicken. We had to stop calling ourselves Kentucky Fried Chicken because the meat is so genetically modified it’s barely even meat anymore.”
Su-bong takes another bite. “You’re so weird, Nam-gyu. Wanna smoke?”
Another normal thing. The world feels a little less lopsided. Nam-gyu nods and leans back when Su-bong reaches across him to pop open the glovebox. Despite everything, Nam-gyu gets a little dizzy looking at Su-bong’s arms. The swirling black ink, the muscles. Su-bong’s hot. He’s also probably homophobic.
“I don’t have a crush on you,” Nam-gyu reassures him as he watches Su-bong light the joint.
Su-bong looks at him sharply. “Okay? Whatever.” He goes back to his task, takes a hit. Holds it in his lungs as he passes the joint to Nam-gyu.
The filter is wet from Su-bong’s spit. Maybe Nam-gyu does have a crush on him. Like a school kid with a crush, his brain gets caught on the fact that they’re kind of indirectly kissing when they share a joint. He wraps his lips around the filter and inhales, tasting spicy chicken.
It’s silent for a while as they pass the joint back and forth. It’s burned down to the filter and Nam-gyu’s feeling pleasantly buzzed when Su-bong speaks again.
“I’m sorry,” he says. It sounds too genuine. Nam-gyu wants Su-bong to tease him again.
“I wouldn’t be mad if you called me babygirl again,” he says, his building high stopping his brain from processing the words too intently.
“You’re so weird, Nam-gyu.”
Nam-gyu laughs. “So are you actually homophobic? Why do you make fun of me all the time?”
Su-bong looks at him, eyes bloodshot and lids droopy. It occurs to Nam-gyu that his break must have ended a while ago. “Because you’re sexy when you’re riled up.”
Nam-gyu hums. The high has his thoughts moving slow, like his brain is floating in water. His torpid brain takes the words and considers them languidly. “Do you think Myeong-gi’s sexy when he’s riled up?”
“No. He just looks funny when his face gets all purple like that.”
“Like your hair,” Nam-gyu snorts, and Su-bong snorts back.
Then they’re both laughing, wheezing really, doubling over in their seats. Nam-gyu can see his manager’s stupid, bloated face in his head. He’s probably purple right now, wondering where Nam-gyu fucked off to. He says as much, and Su-bong lets out a hoarse, bleating laugh.
“Do you think Min-su’s sexy when he’s riled up?” Nam-gyu asks. He thinks he knows the answer. It’s worth it to check.
Su-bong’s still working his way through the last bleating remnants of his laughter when he says, “No. He’s cute. But like how a puppy is cute. You’re cute like how a cute guy is cute.”
Nam-gyu nods in understanding. “So you’re not homophobic.” Not a question, but perhaps a revelation. Something warm blossoms in Nam-gyu’s chest, slow and calm. His high keeps him from feeling anything too profound about it. It just settles. A calm, new knowledge.
“Definitely not. I don’t hate myself that much.”
Silence passes. Nam-gyu closes his eyes for a second, basking in the warm feeling in his chest. It's blooming into something big, but it's not freaking him out like it probably would if he was sober. He kind of wants to kiss Su-bong again. For free this time. He doesn’t, though, just keeps his eyes closed and thinks about it.
After a while, Nam-gyu checks his phone. 6:12 pm. Oh, his break ended twenty-seven minutes ago. He laughs again , losing his breath and nearly choking from the lack of oxygen. He’s so going to get yelled at. Myeong-gi’s face is going to look hilarious when he does it. It almost makes it worth the hour he’s going to have to spend deep cleaning the fryers later tonight.
He needs to get back to work. He kind of wants to stay in Su-bong’s gross car, though. Things are back to normal when he’s in here, and he doesn’t want that normalcy to end. He also wants to see if there’s any chance he can get that second kiss at some point, the one without any weed or money involved.
“Do you still want my phone number?” Nam-gyu asks.
Su-bong perks up. “Yeah? Are you actually gonna give it to me this time?”
Nam-gyu holds out a hand, urging Su-bong to give him his phone. Su-bong does, and Nam-gyu types in his number. Su-bong takes it back, jabs his thumbs clumsily at the screen. Nam-gyu’s own phone vibrates with a new message.
wassgood bbgirl
So he's babygirl again. He doesn't let himself get too hung up on how happy it makes him. It's familiar. A routine they established almost half a year ago. Nam-gyu decides he's never getting a different haircut.
“So can I take you out some time?” Su-bong asks.
Nam-gyu smiles, slow and lazy. He’s high, he thinks passively. If he wasn’t high, he probably wouldn’t say yes. But he is, so he does.
It’s only halfway through Myeong-gi’s purple-faced lecture that Nam-gyu realizes he never actually bought weed from Su-bong. He supposes he has a reason to see his apartment now.
If he wasn’t high, the thought would probably make him squirm. But he is, so it doesn’t.
🍗❤️🥤💚🍟💜🍔
Nam-gyu isn’t high anymore when he makes the drive to Su-bong’s apartment at 8:24 pm, an hour and twenty-four minutes after his shift ended. He hasn’t been high in about an hour, so he’s had plenty of time to agonize over his interaction with Su-bong.
Negatives: for some ungodly reason, he gave Su-bong the green-light to call him babygirl again. Su-bong now has his number, so there’s no telling what horrible things he’ll do now that he has access to Nam-gyu outside of working hours. Nam-gyu now knows that Su-bong finds him sexy, and his brain is going absolutely insane with that information.
Positives: Nam-gyu now knows that Su-bong finds him sexy, and his brain is going absolutely insane with that information.
Despite the lack of balance, the positives feel a bit like they outweigh the negatives.
Su-bong greets him at the door, grinning wide. This is the first time Nam-gyu’s been standing up at the same time as him. Usually one or both of them are sitting in a car. Nam-gyu knew he was tall before, but it’s different now. Su-bong’s got at least a few centimeters on him. The thought makes his face feel hot in a good way.
“Hi,” he says, blinking a little deliriously.
Su-bong leads him inside. “Hey.”
“Your apartment is nice.”
Su-bong’s apartment is actually nice for some reason. It’s messy, but it’s not disgusting. Cluttered rather than dirty. Nam-gyu only has a few seconds to consider the implications of that before Su-bong is on him, cold silver rings pressed against his jawline and cheeks as Su-bong darts his tongue into his mouth.
It’s a shock to his system, kissing Su-bong properly. He doesn’t taste like spicy chicken. He tastes like weed and toothpaste. The thought that Su-bong brushed his teeth after Nam-gyu texted him asking for his address makes Nam-gyu unreasonably hard. Maybe he really does have a crush on Su-bong. It’s possible Su-bong has a crush on him too, judging by the way he’s licking the roof of his mouth like he’s trying to steal Nam-gyu’s soul from his throat. At the very least, Nam-gyu knows Su-bong finds him sexy. That’s enough to spur him on.
He drags his hands up Su-bong’s chest, catching on the fabric of his t-shirt. Soft, not starchy. The world feels less off-kilter. His pants feel too tight. Su-bong tastes too good.
Nam-gyu’s red polo still smells like grease. It’s logical to take it off. So, he parts from Su-bong long enough to pull his shirt over his head before reattaching himself to Su-bong’s lips, biting and sucking until Su-bong’s releasing desperate little moans into his mouth. The silver rings move from his face to his exposed torso, running cool lines down his chest before landing on his waist and squeezing at his skin.
Nam-gyu presses his hips forward, seeking Su-bong’s cock. It’s hard, just as hard as his own, and that spurs him on further. “Take your shirt off,” he says.
Su-bong groans, takes his fingers off Nam-gyu’s waist and lifts his shirt by the hem. He’s got more tattoos than just the ones on his arms. Skulls, crosses, hearts—all black, all blocky, all very stereotypical dudebro. All very typical Su-bong. Nam-gyu’s straining in his pants.
It’s a messy fumble to the couch, but very worth it when Su-bong’s gangly body lands on top of him and starts undoing the buttons of his work pants. Nam-gyu sighs with relief when his aching dick is freed from its constraints, though the sigh transforms into a moan when Su-bong grips him in his ring-laden fingers. The cool press of metal contrasts deliciously with the warmth of Su-bong’s palm.
“You got a yummy-looking cock,” Su-bong says, and right, yeah. Nam-gyu remembers that this is Su-bong he’s doing this with right now.
He remembers the first time Su-bong came up to the drive-thru. Se-mi was manning the window, and Nam-gyu was sitting on the counter next to her, avoiding work as he shoved french fries in his mouth. He flinched when the loud, grating “ Yooooo ” burst through the headset. Se-mi nearly toppled over with the sound right in her ear.
“The fuck?” Nam-gyu asked through a mouthful of potato.
Se-mi shot him a look and said, “Welcome to KFC, would you like to try our new—”
“Don’t even bother, senorita, I know what I want.”
Se-mi and Nam-gyu stared at each other with mounting horror as Su-bong rattled off his insane order for the first time. And that look of horror only increased when Su-bong pulled up to the window, reeking of weed, blasting music, and grinning between the two of them like he just won the lottery.
“Well, damn! Aren’t you yummy? You twins or something?”
Nam-gyu blanched, a chunk of fry falling out of his mouth. He and Se-mi look literally nothing alike. And, more pressing, this freak just called them yummy.
“Are you high?” he asked.
“As a kite, babygirl,” Su-bong replied with a grin.
It had struck Nam-gyu in the moment that Su-bong was way too hot to be so weird. But right now, it’s kind of working for him. Nam-gyu bucks his hips up, pushing into Su-bong’s hand. “Wanna taste it?”
Su-bong growls, low and deep in his throat. “Yeah, can I?”
Nam-gyu nods, scrambling up to his elbows and watches Su-bong kiss his way down his torso, mouth wet and warm and teeth leaving little nips on his chest and stomach. It’s nice to see him use his mouth for something other than being annoying. He wonders if it would be too mean to say it out loud.
Screw it. Su-bong’s been a nuisance to him for months. “It’s nice to see you use that mouth for something useful for once.”
Su-bong mewls, looks up at Nam-gyu with desperate, starving eyes. A hand flies down to his own pants and clumsily pulls his cock out.
“Do you get off on that?” Nam-gyu asks, a little incredulously. Su-bong’s palming himself and shuddering with arousal. “Being teased?”
“Yeah? Who doesn’t? It’s hot,” Su-bong says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Then his mouth is on Nam-gyu’s dick, and Nam-gyu only spares a passing thought to the fact that Gyeong-su was onto something with the foreplay thing before falling back down against the arm of the couch and sucking in a breath at the feeling of Su-bong swallowing around him.
Nam-gyu drags his hands through Su-bong’s hair, pulling at the strands. He keeps it mostly gentle, but he throws in a couple rough tugs here and there. Su-bong moans when he does it, and Nam-gyu’s still pissed off about the “cocky want boing boing” thing from three weeks ago. Maybe Su-bong will get off on hearing how stupid of a line it was. Nam-gyu finds that he really wants to hear him moan again.
“Your pickup lines are stupid,” Nam-gyu says.
Su-bong pulls off to smirk at Nam-gyu. “Still worked though.”
Nam-gyu tugs forcefully at his hair, finally eliciting that moan he wants to hear. Maybe Su-bong has a point. Maybe they both get off to a little teasing here and there. He uses his grip of Su-bong’s hair to urge him back down, and Su-bong happily complies, flattening his tongue on the head of Nam-gyu’s cock and swirling it around before descending back down to the base.
It’s a lot to feel. A lot to see too. From where Nam-gyu is laying, he can see a massive tattoo spanning from the back of Su-bong’s neck down to the base of his spine. Hangul, big blocky black letters that spell out Thanos. Nam-gyu wonders if he’s really into Greek mythology or if he's some kind of comic book nerd. The latter seems more likely. Nam-gyu will have to ask later. He’s kind of curious to know more about Su-bong as a person.
Nam-gyu definitely has a crush. Something to freak out about later. Su-bong’s doing a very good job of distracting his thoughts with his tongue.
Too good of a job. When Su-bong swallows, constricting his throat and sucking pressure around Nam-gyu’s dick, he feels close to coming. He kind of doesn’t want this all to end with a blowjob. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he has a desire for this to be more profound than that. The phrase "getting head" doesn't feel like it's enough to encapsulate the things he wants to have with Su-bong. Maybe this is a whole lot more than a crush. Something to freak out about later.
“Wait, hold on,” Nam-gyu says breathlessly, tugging at Su-bong’s hair until he lifts off him with a wet pop . “Do you wanna fuck?”
Su-bong blinks at him. His lips are swollen and red. Nam-gyu wants to kiss him again. “Like right now?”
A tongue runs over the swollen lips, catching stray spit. Nam-gyu really wants to kiss him again.
“If you’re down for that,” Nam-gyu says.
Su-bong sits up on his knees, blowjob abandoned in its entirety. “Nam-gyu, I really like you.”
It’s not exactly what Nam-gyu’s expecting to hear, so he doesn’t quite know what to make of it. “Okay.”
“I want to go on a date with you first.”
Oh. Nam-gyu really doesn’t know what to make of that. That desire for the profound is thrumming in the back of his head, but he's not quite sure if he should let it take up space at the forefront just yet. “Okay.”
“Are you working tomorrow?”
Nam-gyu sits up properly. He looks between Su-bong’s eyes, trying to discern some hint of mockery. He doesn’t think he sees any. “No,” he says.
“Can I take you out to dinner?”
It’s difficult to believe that this is the same Su-bong who once told him wants to lick barbecue sauce off his “juicy little twink lips.” Who asked Myeong-gi to get Nam-gyu to spit in his mouth. He looks vulnerable, almost, like he’s afraid Nam-gyu will say no. Like maybe he's got something profound hidden away in that purple head of his. Nam-gyu wants to make sure.
“Why?” Nam-gyu asks.
Su-bong reaches out and grabs Nam-gyu’s hand, threading their fingers together. The silver rings knock against Nam-gyu’s knuckles. His eyes are drawn to it, the sensation, and he’s caught again by how much he likes Su-bong’s hands. They look good with the rings. They look good with the colorful polish. They look good interlaced with Nam-gyu’s own. “Because I really like you and I want you to like me back.”
Su-bong grins, wide and goofy and very cute. Su-bong’s very cute. Nam-gyu likes him, he decides, corny pickup lines and confusing personality shifts and all. “I already like you.”
“You do?” Su-bong asks through his toothy smile. “So you’ll get dinner with me?”
“As long as it isn’t chicken,” Nam-gyu says. “Can I kiss you again?”
Su-bong beams bright and radiant and leans forward. “You like me so much it’s embarrassing,” he says, before capturing Nam-gyu’s lips in a disarmingly sweet kiss. Toothpaste and the phantom piquant taste of Nam-gyu’s skin. Much better than spicy chicken, but Nam-gyu wouldn’t mind so much either way.
It is kind of embarrassing how much he likes Su-bong, he’s realizing. He likes him enough that he doesn’t mind that he’s still very hard and getting a serious case of blue balls.
It’s still worth a shot, though. “Can I suck your dick?”
Su-bong grins against his mouth. “Embarrassing,” he reiterates. “Sure.”
It’s only hours later, when Nam-gyu stumbles home with a dopey grin plastered to his face and plans to meet up at a Thai restaurant in the city at 5:15 pm tomorrow that he realizes he once again forgot to buy weed from Su-bong.
Another excuse to go to Su-bong’s apartment, then. Nam-gyu isn’t mad about it.
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It's Saturday night. Technically Sunday morning, but for once, Nam-gyu isn't so hung up on the time. The last time he checked his phone, it was 1:24 am. It could have been minutes or hours, he doesn't care.
"Are you tired?" Su-bong asks into his hair, voice low and deep and hardly above a whisper.
"I have to be at KFC early," Nam-gyu replies.
Maybe they should finally just go to sleep. They probably only have a few hours before they need to untangle so Nam-gyu can go to work. But Nam-gyu doesn't feel so driven by the clock right now. Kind of a dream, the way time feels thick and nonlinear. Maybe it's the lingering high from the joint they shared earlier.
Nam-gyu smiles, thinking about the indirect kiss they shared between the filter. Warm mouth to warm mouth, contact bridged by the seconds it took to pass the joint. The paper tasted like minty toothpaste. Su-bong's lips, hours earlier, tasted like som tam and panang curry. Maybe some of it was Nam-gyu tasting himself, just like with the toothpaste. It delighted him in a strange, warm way to stand next to Su-bong in his cluttered bathroom and brush his teeth with his finger. Maybe he can sneak a toothbrush of his own on the counter the next time he comes over. That feels profound. Nam-gyu's brain is too relaxed to freak out about it. He doesn't think he'd need to, anyway. Su-bong likes him so much, it's embarrassing.
"Are you tired?" Su-bong asks again.
Nam-gyu shifts under his arm, making himself more comfortable with his head against his chest. "Not really."
"Me neither."
Hearing that leaves Nam-gyu beaming for some reason. He doesn't want their first date to end yet. He kind of wants it to never end—he would be fine with staying in Su-bong's apartment forever, surrounded by his cheesy decor and mess of clothes, CDs, and comic books scattered along the floor. He's got confirmation behind the meaning of Su-bong's Thanos tattoo now. He's a massive nerd. A cute one.
"Do you want to play twenty questions?" Nam-gyu asks, because he doesn't want this date to end.
Su-bong's chest vibrates with his giggles. "Sure."
Nam-gyu presses a kiss to his sternum before he speaks. "Do you actually like KFC that much?"
Su-bong takes his time thinking it over, running his fingers through Nam-gyu's hair. He took off his rings before getting into bed. Nam-gyu bucks into his warm, soft hand like a cat. "It's okay. I like McDonald's more. Is the chicken really so genetically modified, they can't legally call it chicken?"
"I don't know," Nam-gyu says. "I read that online but I never followed up to see if it was true."
Su-bong's fingers tighten in his hair, a teasing yank. "I should report you to Shin Ho-sang for spreading false information."
Nam-gyu bites back a grin and a moan. "It's weird that you know the CEO's name. Did you really think Se-mi and I were twins?"
"No, you don't look anything alike."
"You're so weird, Su-bong," Nam-gyu says, grin breaking free.
"You're weird too. Would you want to go on a second date with me?"
Nam-gyu stretches his neck, resting his chin on Su-bong's clavicle to look at him. "Yes," he says, and draws him in for a kiss. Minty, like the joint. Su-bong's tongue is pleasantly cool against his own. "Does that mean our first date is over?"
"Is that your question?" Su-bong asks.
"No," Nam-gyu replies, pulling him in for another kiss. "I have a follow-up, depending on your answer."
Su-bong hums against his lips. "Seems like a lot of pressure. I better answer this correctly, right?"
Nam-gyu nods, his mouth too occupied for a verbal response.
Su-bong takes his time mulling it over, tongue dancing behind Nam-gyu's teeth and leaving a trail of cold in its wake. A good kind of cold. Nam-gyu reaches up to press his fingertips against the side of Su-bong's throat, feeling his pulse race under the pads of his fingers. Warm. A pleasant contrast. Nam-gyu really likes Su-bong, he decides. An embarrassing amount.
"Yes?"
Nam-gyu lets out a sigh. Part of him is still holding out for a perdurable first date. But a second date sounds nice. And he's been thinking about what Su-bong said since yesterday. Two days ago, technically.
"I have my third question," Nam-gyu says.
Su-bong nips at his lower lip. "It's technically your fourth."
Nam-gyu ignores him. "Will you sleep with me?"
"Sure." Su-bong nestles down against his pillows and closes his eyes. "Good night."
Nam-gyu laughs and pries an eye open with his fingers. "Quit teasing me."
"You like it when I tease you," Su-bong says, cracking a lopsided grin.
"Maybe. Will you sleep with me?"
"Right now?"
"Yes."
Su-bong dips his hands under the covers, seeking out Nam-gyu's waist. He tugs until Nam-gyu gets the memo and slides on top of him, chest pressed against chest and legs in a tangled mess of limbs under the blankets. "It's 2:30 am," he says.
Nam-gyu licks along his jaw. "Okay."
"You have to be at work in six and a half hours."
"It's weird that you know my work schedule," Nam-gyu says with a grin. "You like me so much it's embarrassing."
Su-bong doesn't retort, just moans when Nam-gyu's teeth find the pulse point on the side of his throat and bite down.
"So is that a yes?"
"Remind me of the question?"
Nam-gyu sighs and rolls his eyes. "Su-bong, will you have sex with me, please?"
Su-bong grins. "So polite. Yes."
It's profound. Their fingers are interlocked the whole time and Nam-gyu can't compel himself to close his eyes and look away from Su-bong like a normal person when he comes. Nam-gyu knows he won't freak out about it later. They're both kind of weird. Su-bong is looking at him too.
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Nam-gyu checks his phone discreetly under the cash register. 5:02 pm. Thirteen more minutes.
Two cars come through the drive-thru. That eats up five minutes. Eight minutes to go.
Min-su stops by and gives Nam-gyu a french fry. Nam-gyu takes his time chewing it, licks the grease and salt from his lips languidly. Seven minutes.
He pulls out his phone and checks his hair, pushing it behind his ears. Shakes it loose just to do it all over again. Five minutes.
He pulls up TikTok and goes to his liked videos. Clicks on one of the more recent ones. “Love Me Not” playing over sped-up clips of funny cats. One minute long. It loops four times because Nam-gyu likes the clip of two cats, one orange and one black, tapping their paws together. It’s so cute, the way they're play-fighting. It reminds him of someone he really likes. He’s thinking about which of them is which cat, close to settling on himself being the orange one, when 5:15 pm rolls around.
The headset over his ears crackles to life when a familiar grating voice hollers directly into the speaker post, cutting Ravyn Lenae off as she sings I miss you, come here . Well, Nam-gyu doesn’t have to miss him, not anymore, and he’s already blushing at the dopey smile he can see on Su-bong’s face through the grainy security footage.
“ Yooooo , let me get a—”
Nam-gyu beams as he cuts him off. “₩23,000, pull up to the next window.”
There’s a teasing, incredulous lilt in Su-bong’s voice when he says, “I swear, this is the most disrespectful fast food restaurant I’ve ever been to. You guys are always cutting me off before I can even order!”
“Do not play with me, Su-bong! Pull up to the window right now.”
Myeong-gi pops his head from around the corner. “Su-bong’s here?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed. “It’s Sunday.”
Nam-gyu holds up a finger at Myeong-gi, signaling him to wait as Su-bong rattles off some nonsense through the intercom.
“Su-bong, if you don’t get your ass over to this window right now , I swear to god I will—”
“What, babygirl? Tell me what you’re going to do to me.”
Myeong-gi narrows his eyes. “Why are you grinning? Did Su-bong finally make you snap?”
Maybe. The date yesterday definitely caused some profound shift in Nam-gyu’s psyche. He sat in his car and ate a Zinger Tower during his lunch break. He still hates KFC, but he really likes Su-bong.
Nam-gyu holds the headset closer to his mouth. “You don’t even want to know what kinds of things I wanna do to you.”
Myeong-gi shivers in horror. “Oh god, did you weirdos finally stop with all the foreplay and fuck each other? Eew.”
Se-mi leans out from over the counter in the dining area. “Did you say Su-bong and Nam-gyu banged? When did that happen?”
There’s an old couple sitting at a booth trying to enjoy their meal. Both their faces are drawn in looks of horror. None of them acknowledge it.
Nam-gyu grins at Se-mi. “Last night. Technically this morning, actually.”
“Eew!”
Su-bong’s baritone voice is still coming in through the headset, far too loud. “Oh, I wanna know, babygirl. Tell me everything.”
“Maybe later,” Nam-gyu replies. “Come over to my place after work?”
Sundays are always slow. That could logically account for why Gyeong-su and Min-su are now also hovering around the drive-thru window, but Nam-gyu knows it’s because none of his co-workers have any sense of personal boundaries and are far too nosy for their own good.
“Don’t invite him to our home!” Gyeong-su exclaims. “I have to live there!”
Nam-gyu smells the Subaru Legacy before he sees it. Su-bong pops his head out of his window, propped up on his elbows, and grins. “Aw, come on, my boy! We can all hang out. I still owe you weed, after all.”
“Excuse me?” Myeong-gi says.
Nam-gyu brushes him off. Looks at Gyeong-su with pleading eyes. “We’ll be quiet.”
Gyeong-su shivers, shakes his head, and walks off. Nam-gyu decides to take that as permission.
“Babygirl, you look extra scrumptious today.”
Nam-gyu leans over the window and smiles. “So do you.”
He really does. He’s wearing the same muscle tee he wore that time almost two months ago when Nam-gyu realized just how attracted to him he is. It looks good. His tattoos look good. Nam-gyu's chest feels as warm as his face, but he doesn't avoid Su-bong's eyes like he used to. Su-bong likes his blush. Something profound has definitely shifted in Nam-gyu's psyche, because it feels overwhelmingly romantic when he leans through the drive-thru window and meets Su-bong in the middle for a kiss. His stupid red and black visor knocks into Su-bong's forehead. The smell of chicken grease permeates the air. Nam-gyu feels like Juliet leaning in to kiss Romeo on the balcony.
“I’m writing you up for that,” Myeong-gi says. “And I’m writing you up for buying drugs on company time.”
Su-bong grins and flips him off. “Just put the fries in the bag, bitch.”
Maybe it's less than a Shakespearean soliloquy. Su-bong's hardly a Romeo. It still feels very profound.
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