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Home Sweet Home

Summary:

Yeo Hwanwoong left his mother behind in Jeonju, on a quest to make something of himself in the big capital city. Seoul hasn't exactly been the world he dreamed of, however, and he's stuck squatting in a musty basement while he waits to set hearts on fire.

Kim Youngjo loves three things: art, his dog, and Hwanwoong. His café job? He could take it or leave it. The rooftop apartment? Could be better. The honey cakes Hwanwoong's mother sends in the mail? Well, maybe make that four things.

Can Youngjo convince Hwanwoong to move in before winter arrives and freezes them both?

A spinoff of Kittenfisher and Stardust with Feelings, starting somewhere shortly after Stardust with Feelings chapter 11.

Notes:

Yeah, this was going to be a oneshot.
Then I wrote it.
It had other plans for itself.
Anyway, do enjoy!

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Chapter 1: Home Sweet... No

Chapter Text

Hwanwoong snuck down the alley like a ghost. Halfway through, a concrete stairway led down below the ground. He glanced around before bounding down the steps and withdrawing a screwdriver from his backpack. Some people have keys. Others have door codes. Hwanwoong had a screwdriver. Whatever. It worked. He held onto the doorknob on his side of the door. On the other side, it loosened as he turned the screws, finally falling onto the hard concrete floor with an echoing clatter. He pulled the door open, quickly reassembled the knob, and slipped inside, letting the door click shut behind him. 

He turned on his phone’s flashlight, sweeping the beam around the cavernous, dark room. The sunrise wasn’t quite bleeding through the dusty little windows yet. His cheap yo, just a thin sleeping mat he’d brought along when he left Jeonju, took up a small space along the cement block wall. It was straightened up just like his mother had trained him when he lived with her. He made his bed every morning, starting at the age of four, and it extended into his adulthood, though he no longer had a bed. 

Hwanwoong scanned around the room, thoroughly checking every corner and crack for mice and roaches… and worse. Satisfied that he was alone, Hwanwoong finally sat on his yo and covered his legs with the blanket. He was exhausted from work and he stretched out on his back, laying his head on the pillow and closing his eyes. Home sweet homeless.


He needed a shower. The nearby jjimjilbang was cheap. The staff were friendly, always treating him to boricha and bowl after bowl of sticky white rice. He brought his phone charger along. The battery was dead and he was eager to plug it into the wall and text his mother. 

The water in the shower was nearly scalding hot, filling the stall with steam. A pleasant green tea scent engulfed him as he scrubbed his hair and face. Sandalwood took over when he moved on to a tiny bar of soap, just big enough to wash his body. He stepped out in clean sage green sauna clothes, hanging baggy from his small frame. They looked like hospital scrubs, but with the addition of a towel hat with Princess Leia-like buns on both sides of his head. 

Hwanwoong sat cross-legged on a mat in the men’s communal room, shoved his charge cable into the wall, and checked his battery percentage. At 10%, his phone blinked back to life. His lock screen was a photo of the view from the front step of his mother’s house, all cobbled brick pavement with the roof of a temple peeking over the trees. He had a few missed texts from his mom and decided to take care of those first. He’d deal with his missed call from Youngjo after he talked to her.

 

Mommy (6:02 AM): You must be sleeping now, my hardworking baby. I love you.

Mommy (8:20 AM): Do you still like honey cakes? I bought a big bag of them from the honey cake halmeoni by the hanoks. I could send some to you if you’re homesick.

Mommy (11:30 AM): Please bring Youngjo home with you next time you visit. I still need to meet that boy.

 

Reading the words “honey cakes” made Hwanwoong’s stomach growl, though it was nearly impossible to hear over the crowd of chattering men. He wanted honey cakes from Jeonju, especially if the halmeoni his mother was talking about was the one he was thinking of. Hers were always perfectly soft, sweet, and just a little sticky. 

One of the staff picked his way through the room with a tray. He set a bowl of rice and a cup of steaming boricha in front of Hwanwoong. “Kamsahamnida,” Hwanwoong mumbled, nodding. 

 

Me (1:16 PM): Please send honey cakes. I need them. I am but skin and bones. Send a few extra so I can share with Youngjo.

Mommy (1:20 PM): Of course, baby! How’s Seoul?

Me (1:22 PM): Same as ever. My roommates are noisy. I’m having rice and tea.

Mommy (1:23 PM): Please eat more than that. Mommy worries about you.

 

Hwanwoong smiled, shoveling a spoonful of rice into his mouth. She worried, and that was why she didn’t know where he was living. He gave her Youngjo’s address when she wanted to send letters and gifts. It was better for her heart than knowing her son was squatting in the unused basement under a pocha.

 

Me (1:26 PM): I’m just not feeling well today. I’ll be fine. Love you!

Mommy (1:27 PM): Love you more, my baby.

 

Hwanwoong tapped on the missed call, his phone automatically connecting him to Youngjo. “Eung?” came the answer after three rings.

“Hi, Nyangie,” Hwanwoong purred. “Sorry I missed you. I was sleeping and then my phone was dead and now-”

“So you’re okay?” Youngjo breathed a long sigh of relief. “Thank God.”

“Mmm, I’m fine,” Hwanwoong confirmed, taking a sip of boricha. It was finally just cool enough to drink without burning his taste buds off. It tasted like sweet roasted barley. “My mom is sending a package to your place again but I don’t know when it’ll arrive. It’s honey cakes.”

“I can get you honey cakes at the market,” Youngjo laughed.

“You don’t understand,” Hwanwoong said. “These are real granny honey cakes from a real old granny in Jeonju. They’re my favorite.”

“Ah, I see.” Youngjo still had laughter in his tone, like he was amused by Hwanwoong. Something hissed and clanged in the background. “Ah-yah! Oh, steam is hot. Wow, that hurts.”

“Are you at work?” Hwanwoong asked. His heart pattered in his chest. “Is everything okay?”

“I’m at work, yeah. I just burned my hand on the steam from the espresso machine.” Hwanwoong could hear a faucet turning on. Youngjo was running his burn under cold water. “I think I got out of the way fast enough that I won’t sustain too much damage. Where are you?”

“At the jjimjilbang across from the pocha I live under.”

“I still don’t understand why you won’t just move in with Sunny and me.” Hwanwoong fell silent, nibbling at the rice in his spoon. “Peanut? I’m sorry. I know you don’t want to rely on anyone else, but it’s hard to be self-made in this city. And you came here with nothing.”

“I know,” Hwanwoong mumbled. “I’ll come over after I get off work tomorrow and sleep with you, okay?”

“All right. You know where to find the key. See you tomorrow.”


Hwanwoong’s job was easy. Clean the store, stock the shelves and toss anything that had expired, and man the cash register whenever there were late-night customers. He kept an eye on his watch as he mopped the floor. The triangular kimbap in the snack fridge would officially expire at 12:01 in the morning, but that didn’t make it inedible, and Hwanwoong was allowed to have as much expired kimbap as he wanted. 

As soon as the clock turned over, Hwanwoong propped the mop up against the counter and skipped to the refrigerators at the back wall of the convenience store. He tossed all the expired kimbap into a basket and trotted back to the front of the store. They were wrapped tightly in plastic cling film, and he peeled it away from one that promised to be stuffed with rice, kimchi, pickled radish, and Spam, and bit into its grassy seaweed exterior. 

Hwanwoong was on his tiptoes, stocking a shelf of ChocoPie, when one of the morning workers showed up for his 4 AM shift. He could just see a head of bright blue hair sticking up over the top of the aisle. He stuffed the last box into place and emerged, breaking down the shipping box as he walked. “Annyeong!” he sang, nodding at his cute dongsaeng. Giwook was small, though still taller than Hwanwoong, with squishy cheeks and uneven eyes. Giwook had been born with just one double-creased eyelid and it gave him a unique face. “Up late with Dongmyeong again?” Hwanwoong asked, winking.

“Yeah,” Giwook said with a yawn. “I swear he could text endlessly. Are you going straight home?”

“I’m going to Youngjo’s place.” Hwanwoong made his way behind the counter and watched Giwook count his till. “I should pick up some more treats for Sunny before I go. Maybe he’ll forgive me for stealing his spot in Youngjo’s bed. Hey, do you know how Dongju and Geon…”

“Hak,” Giwook said without glancing up from the bills he was counting.

“Geonhak! Yeah. Do you know how they’re doing? Every time I ask Dongju-yah, he turns all red and asks me if I want to die.”

“They’re fine.” Giwook closed the till and recorded the balance. “They seem to like each other a lot.”

“Good.”


With a small bag of soft, meaty-flavored dog treats in his lap, Hwanwoong rode the early bus to Hongdae. Youngjo’s rooftop apartment wasn’t far from the bus stop. It was about a three-block walk for the half-asleep convenience store clerk. He reached the building, climbed the metal stairs to the roof, and crunched his way across the gravel to Youngjo’s door. 

The key was tucked under the mat and Hwanwoong retrieved it. It glided smoothly into the lock, which opened with a quiet click. Hwanwoong slipped his shoes off and padded across the small room in stocking feet, approaching the bed where Youngjo was passed out with Sunny beside him. Youngjo’s hand was wrapped in a white bandage, probably to keep the burn salve off his sheets while he slept. 

Sunny, Youngjo’s fluffy little white dog, had curled into a ball and tucked his nose under his tail to sleep. Hwanwoong felt terrible about waking him, but he couldn’t get into bed if he didn’t. He gently stroked Sunny’s back. “Sunny,” he whispered. “Treats!” The dog perked up and barked. “Shh, hush! Don’t wake Youngjo!” He continued petting Sunny with one hand, pulling out a treat with the other. Sunny yearned forward, sniffing the air. “That’s right. It’s for you. I’ll put it on the floor, okay?” Hwanwoong dropped the treat and Sunny leapt off the bed to find it. 

Hwanwoong undressed, stopping at his boxer briefs, and tucked himself beneath Youngjo’s comforter. The bed was warm with Youngjo’s body heat, softer than his yo in the basement, and the pillow beneath his head smelled like a mixture of freshly washed sheets and whatever shampoo Youngjo used.

The artist turned over, wrapping an arm around Hwanwoong’s waist and snuggling against him. “You know it’s rude to force puppies out of bed,” Youngjo mumbled, his deep morning voice rumbling against Hwanwoong’s shoulder.

“He can get back in the bed,” Hwanwoong argued. “I just didn’t want to lie down and squish him.”

Youngjo chuckled and kissed Hwanwoong’s cheek. “Go to sleep. I’ll make sure you’re fed if you come to the café after you wake up, okay?”

“Mmm,” Hwanwoong hummed, settling deeper into the bed. Sunny hopped onto the mattress, nestling himself in a spot by Hwanwoong’s hip, and curled up in a ball again. Why didn’t Hwanwoong just move in?