Work Text:
i. the pick-up
Me
heplme
Prince Harming
Context? Location? Anything remotely useful, perchance?
Who the fuck uses “perchance” in a normal text message in this day and age? Roksu continues politely smiling-or-grimacing at the overly passionate white-haired man in front of him who can’t take a hint, doing his best to discreetly type without looking at his phone under the counter. His shift should have ended almost twenty minutes ago but he’s trapped with a legend-obsessed freak.
Me
Crazt man at work
There. That should be enough context and location for Roksu’s annoying roommate. It’s his day off today and their apartment is close to the library (because Roksu was adamant about living within walking distance of his workplace so he could stay in bed as long as possible) so hopefully he will show up and do something before Roksu evaporates on the spot in embarrassment.
Unfortunately, that handsome bastard must be taking his sweet time, because Roksu has to sit through almost ten more minutes of agonizingly awkward flirting. Or at least, he hopes it’s flirting. It’s either flirting, or he’s about to be turned into the figurehead of some religious cult while he was just trying to do his damn job by telling a seemingly-normal visitor where to find books about Norse mythology. That was clearly a mistake.
“You could be a legend,” the nutcase says again, deep-seated insanity making his bright green eyes sparkle, and Roksu is starting to get really nervous about being canonized as some sort of obscure saint when—
“Hey, sweetheart!” a voice cheerfully proclaims before an obnoxiously loud and wet kiss lands squarely on Roksu’s cheek. Disgusting.
“Hey,” Roksu says, eyebrow twitching, looking towards his part-time saviour and full-time nuisance. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
Alver fucking Crossman seems to think that’s the funniest thing ever said. He only manages to get away with laughing so loudly in a library because he’s too good-looking for the average peasant to get mad at him. “What, am I not allowed to drop in and visit my boyfriend?” he lies smoothly with a wink, impressively ignoring the potential-cultist next to him.
To an outsider, it would appear that Alver is currently gazing lovingly into his boyfriend’s eyes as he leans on the counter. To Roksu, it’s obvious that his roommate finds this scenario incredibly funny and will demand some form of repayment once Roksu’s shift ends.
Sometimes, Roksu doesn’t know why he decided to live with someone this bothersome.
Then Roksu remembers that Alver pays for most of the rent.
“You could have waited for me to come home,” Roksu says, deadpan, as if he weren’t the one who desperately summoned Alver here in the first place.
“But I wanted to ask you what you wanted for dinner.”
“Phones exist. And why are you asking as if I’m not the one who has to make it anyway.”
“Technicalities. Anyway, are you feeling like kimchi-jjigae or spaghetti today?”
The white-haired man’s face looks as sour as if he ate three lemons. “Excuse me,” he interrupts, “but I was busy speaking with this lovely gentleman about something rather important. Do you mind?”
Alver raises a perfectly shaped eyebrow and Looks at the other man. It’s the Look that Alver uses when he can’t iron out a stubborn wrinkle in his dress pants, when he’s stuck in traffic and keeps getting cut off by ‘fucking hooligans who should get their licenses revoked’, or when he wants to disintegrate a particularly simpering businessman with the sheer disdainful force of his eyes. Roksu is very confident that Alver is in disintegrating-mode.
“Do I mind?” Alver’s smile is bright and full of malice. “I think it’s perfectly reasonable for me to show affection to my boyfriend when he was supposed to be home half an hour ago if he hadn’t been held up by some Sephiroth-looking clown denser than osmium who couldn’t take the hint that the librarian he was inappropriately hitting on isn’t interested.”
Roksu almost feels vaguely impressed. He will never admit it though. “Let’s just go home,” he mutters, practically vaulting over the counter in his haste to leave. His cheeks feel warm; it’s probably because he’s embarrassed that Alver must have caused a scene.
By the time they get back to their apartment, Roksu has mostly forgotten about the entire incident because he’s too busy grumbling at Alver for somehow fucking up boiling spaghetti noodles.
(Thankfully, the Legend Lunatic never returns to the library, but Roksu’s coworkers keep asking when his hot boyfriend is coming back.)
ii. the date
Somehow, everyone keeps thinking that Roksu and Alver are dating each other. It’s a ridiculous notion, because they’re obviously just friends who decided to live together because it was financially logical. They didn’t even get along when they first met in university, so it’s a practical miracle that they decided to move in together after they both graduated.
The ‘miracle’ in question was just Choi Han: their mutual best friend who befriended Roksu and Alver around the same time and got fed up with their petty bickering. Choi Han: a man who somehow always manages to get his way with nothing but sheer determination and patience, and therefore won the battle of attrition against Roksu and Alver’s feuding phase. Choi Han: currently in Roksu and Alver’s apartment for their weekly movie night and being a traitor.
“Roksu-nim,” Choi Han says soothingly as if his friend is a dog futilely begging for treats instead of a grownass human man, “I am happy you asked me for help, but I don’t think I’ll be able to convince anyone that we’re a couple.”
Roksu mourns the fact that his less-annoying best friend is the one who can’t lie or act for shit. “I don’t want to ask Alver though,” he groans, slumping in his chair. “He’ll be so annoying the entire time. He’s still making fun of me because everyone at work thinks we’re dating.”
Choi Han smiles innocently. “I don’t think it’ll be too bad, Roksu-nim. You two could just act like you normally do and nobody would suspect anything.”
Okay, well, Roksu isn’t going to examine that right now.
“Are you making me look bad in front of Choi Han again?” Alver asks with a frown, joining them at the kitchen table with his freshly brewed mug of tea.
“You do that yourself,” Roksu replies, stealing the mug once Alver makes the amateur mistake of putting it on the table and leaving it unsupervised for less than two seconds. Mm, hibiscus tea.
Alver scowls. “Go make your own. Give it back.”
Roksu spits his mouthful of tea back into the mug before returning it, maintaining spiteful eye contact the entire time.
“You’re vile,” Alver declares. He drinks the tea anyway.
Choi Han stares at Roksu, eyebrows raised.
“What,” Roksu says.
Choi Han just throws his hands up in the air as if he’s fed up with something.
When Choi Han eventually leaves after they finish a painfully mediocre movie that Alver gleefully ripped apart to shreds, Roksu resigns himself to asking Alver to go with him to a dessert cafe that recently opened nearby.
“There’s a discount for couples,” Roksu says, shoving his phone screen towards Alver’s face. “Fifty percent. Fifty.”
“That doesn’t seem like a smart business decision,” Alver muses aloud, before adding, “So when are we going?”
They decide to go the very next day, because life is too short not to scam a cafe into giving you a steep discount as soon as possible.
“Table for two?” asks an employee wearing a frilly pink apron.
“Yes, please!” Alver leans against Roksu, turning his head to give the taller man a dazzling smile. “This place looks so cute, sweetheart.”
Roksu hopes his ears aren’t turning too red. “I-I’m glad you like it.” Fuck, he stuttered.
They’re seated in a booth tucked in a corner. Roksu is grateful, because there are giggling couples everywhere and he feels painfully out of place. Most of the other customers are obviously going on dates, while he’s just pretending with a roommate who’s way out of anyone’s league.
“Oi.” Alver kicks Roksu under the table. “Hurry up and pick something that will give you multiple cavities.” Alver points to a picture of some mysterious dessert that’s drowning in whipped cream and syrup. “We can order this couple’s specialty to share, by which I mean you can devour this monstrosity on your own while I avoid spiking my blood sugar to catastrophic levels.”
The dessert does look good. Roksu might as well get it. He acts like he’s too lazy to order for himself, letting Alver ham up the lovestruck-boyfriend one-man-act to their waitress who eats that shit up.
(If Alver also pretends that he’s the one who wants the ‘monstrosity’ because he knows Roksu hates it when strangers do a double-take once they find out he’s the one with the insatiable sweet tooth and not Alver, Roksu is going to pretend he didn’t notice anything.)
iii. the in-laws
“Are you sure?” Alver mutters, knuckles pale as his hands stay clenched on the steering wheel.
Roksu stares at Alver flatly. “Yes? You already asked me at least five times today, let alone all the other times you asked me earlier this week. And it’s not like I can leave now.”
They’re already parked outside the Crossmans’ obscenely large house and have been delaying their entry for a couple of minutes. Alver already promised to treat Roksu to an incredibly expensive dinner after sitting through the horrible one they’re already late for, and it’s starting to annoy him that the other man thinks he’s going to change his mind at this point.
“Well, it’s your funeral,” Alver mutters, finally turning off the ignition and stepping out of their car.
Roksu doesn’t dignify that statement with a comment. It’s not his family that’s full of so many trash bastards that Alver resorted to bribing his roommate to come along as moral support and maybe convince some bigots that an arranged marriage with a ‘suitable’ and rich heiress was not happening.
“And who might this be?” Alver’s stepmother finally asks when they’re seated at the uncomfortably large dining table. She had just introduced herself earlier, but Roksu had pointedly tuned out her voice so that her name wouldn’t stain his memory; to be honest, he’s been mentally referring to her as Her Bitchiness ever since he first heard unflattering things about her.
Alver smiles brightly, looping an arm around Roksu’s shoulders. “This is my sweetheart, Kim Roksu. We’ve been together since university.”
That’s technically true so Roksu nods along, content to leave most of the bullshitting to Alver as usual. Roksu would rather focus on the food. He notes that the Crossmans’ kitchen staff are one of the only good things about that family, aside from Alver’s existence.
Her Bitchiness’ smile is clearly strained. “And what exactly does he do for a living?”
“I’m a librarian,” Roksu answers blandly, stuffing another piece of steak into his mouth.
“How… quaint.”
“Is Father not joining us?” Alver asks, subtly cutting off his stepmother before she can say any more backhanded insults.
“Zed is a busy man,” Her Bitchiness replies in a clipped voice. “Surely you didn’t expect the CEO to have time for this dinner.”
‘The CEO’, Roksu notes, instead of ‘your father’. He tries not to frown.
“I don’t really expect anything from him,” Alver says delicately, “though it would have been nice if he were here so I could introduce him to Roksu.”
Her Bitchiness stops pretending to smile, turning to Alver with clear disapproval in her frosty eyes. “And what would you hope to achieve with such a useless introduction? Do you find it funny to disgrace us like this? Settling for that?”
“He’s a person,” Alver snaps, stabbing an asparagus with more force than necessary. “And there’s nothing disgraceful about him. About us.”
Her Bitchiness scoffs. “You weren’t content enough to humiliate us in front of the Breks by spurning their marriage offer to pursue an unnatural partnership. No, you also had to tie yourself to a leech instead of someone that can be useful to our family. I always knew you were an ill-bred disappointment as the son of that harlot, but I never took you for this much of a fool—”
Roksu abruptly stands up, chair screeching across the floor. “We’re leaving,” he announces, stiffly bowing towards Alver’s silent half-siblings. It’s not as if Roksu has any ounce of respect towards them, but he knows Alver tries to keep a vaguely-neutral relationship with them. Roksu doesn’t bother looking at Her Bitchiness at all. “Thanks for the meal.”
Alver looks startled. “Wait—” He yelps when he’s hoisted out of his seat and practically dragged out the dining room. “Roksu?”
“We’re leaving,” Roksu repeats firmly, ignoring Her Bitchiness’ outraged and hateful remarks hurled towards their retreating backs. Nobody should be hearing those things, especially not Alver.
When they’re back at the car, Roksu snatches the keys out of Alver’s pocket. “You’re never coming back here,” Roksu says, wrenching the car door open and throwing himself into the driver’s seat. “Fuck what they say. What’s the point of attending a family dinner like that train wreck? Fuck that woman. Fuck your entire family.”
Alver meekly slides into the passenger’s seat. It’s annoying to see him shrink in on himself as if he’s ashamed of what happened. Like any of that was his fault, somehow. “Hey, Auntie Tasha is great,” he protests.
“I obviously wasn’t talking about Auntie Tasha,” Roksu grumbles. He pretends he doesn’t see Alver’s hands shaking as they fiddle with the seatbelt. Alver wouldn’t appreciate it being pointed out. “She’s a fucking delight, and she would have killed that bitch with a fish fork if she hadn’t been banned from coming here.”
“Ha. Yeah, she would have.” Alver sighs and closes his eyes tiredly. A moment of silence, before: “I’m really sorry—”
“Alver Crossman, if you apologize for that horrid woman’s vile and utterly embarrassing behaviour, I will make you sleep on the couch for a week.”
“But—”
“Couch. Shut the fuck up.” Roksu side-eyes Alver. “You know she was full of shit, right?”
“Right.” Alver chuckles dryly. “Can you imagine if she found out how much money I spent on you? She would have called you a gold digger too.”
“Wasn’t ‘leech’ close enough?”
“I guess, but you haven’t really tried sucking my blood yet. I feel like there are better things to suck.”
“Ugh.”
(They keep bickering the entire drive back. When Alver unlocks the apartment door, his hands are no longer shaking.)
iv. the confession
Roksu gets a call from Alver at 2am one night. Well, a call from Alver’s phone.
“Hello?” says an unfamiliar voice. It’s hard to hear them with what sounds like loud music in the background. “Is this Alver’s so-called ‘sweetheart’?”
“Uh, who is this?” Roksu asks blearily, barely awake.
“Alver’s friend, though I’m starting to regret it. Dumbass had too much to drink, can you come pick him up?”
So Roksu resigns himself to driving to some bar instead of being asleep on a Friday night. He finds someone with messy reddish hair with an Alver-shaped lump slouched over the shoulder, both of them barely standing upright on the sidewalk. “Alver,” Roksu calls out. “I’m taking your drunk ass home.”
When there’s no response, the redhead sighs and swats at Alver’s head. “Hey, your sweetheart is here.”
“What sweetheart?” Alver mumbles. He lifts his head and then breaks into a lopsided grin the moment he spots Roksu. “Oh! That sweetheart!”
Roksu ignores the burning in his ears and the redhead’s rude sniggering. “Yes, that’s me,” Roksu agrees just to end this embarrassing exchange sooner. He tugs Alver off the redhead’s shoulder, staggering under the dead weight. “Come on, let’s go.”
“He wouldn’t stop talking about you, y’know,” the redhead says suddenly with a sly smirk. His face is flushed from alcohol, but his eyes still look clear and bright. “It was kind of embarrassing to witness, honestly. Never expected to ever see him act so ridiculous in public. He didn’t seem the type to save his boyfriend on his phone with a pet name, either.”
“Shut up Cale,” Alver mutters, sticking up his middle finger at his friend.
‘Cale’ raises his hands in mocking surrender. “I’m just telling it as it is. Anyway, have fun with your sweetheart at home once you’re more sober. Don’t barf in the car, that’s a moodkiller.”
Alver thankfully does not barf in the car nor the walk up the stairs to their apartment. He mostly just mumbles the whole journey home, not entirely present unless directly addressed. It’s rare for him to be this drunk, but Roksu decides not to pry.
Until Alver suddenly starts crying on the couch.
“Uh.” Roksu flounders, awkwardly pulling Alver into a confused hug. “You… okay there?”
Obviously not, but what else are you supposed to say when a friend who’s generally calm and collected at all times spontaneously bursts into tears?
“Maybe?” Alver doesn’t look or sound very sure. He leans into Roksu’s hug. “…No, I suppose I’m not,” Alver murmurs, hunching his shoulders. “I… I guess that dinner last week upset me more than I thought.”
Roksu huffs, a scowl forming on his face as he recalls the awful vitriol that came out of Her Bitchiness’ mouth. “Don’t believe anything she said. It was all bullshit.”
“I didn’t care what she said about me,” Alver quietly admits. “It’s nothing I haven’t heard before. I was angry that she treated you like shit. That I let you get treated like shit by taking you there. And she insulted my mother, and my fucking father didn’t even bother to show up despite being the one mandating these stupid biannual dinners in the first place!”
“Stop going back there,” Roksu mutters. “They don’t deserve you.”
“I don’t know,” Alver sniffles. “Does anyone? Deserve me, I mean. You make it sound like I’m a catch instead of an idiot who can’t take a hint that there’s probably nobody out there who will love him easily.”
“You’re really annoying, vain, two-faced, childish, and self-centred,” Roksu says, carding his fingers through Alver’s rumpled brown hair. “But you’re also clever, hard-working, resourceful, kind, and annoyingly handsome. You’re brilliant. It’s their loss for not seeing it.”
Alver laughs wetly, awkwardly contorting himself on the couch until he can plant a clumsy kiss on Roksu’s cheek. It misses and lands somewhere at the corner of Roksu’s mouth instead. “Thanks, I think,” Alver sighs. “But would it kill you to compliment me like a normal person?”
Roksu rolls his eyes. He’s definitely not relieved that Alver’s mood seems to have slightly improved. “Your head is big enough as it is.”
“Hm… you know what else is big?” Alver asks, probably wiggling his eyebrows even though Roksu can’t see from this angle.
“It’s not that big. Don’t flatter yourself.”
“How scandalous. I wasn’t talking about that.”
“Sure you weren’t.”
(Later, when both of them are nearly asleep, Alver quietly whispers against Roksu’s collarbone. “I promise not to contact them any more. I kept putting it off because I didn’t want to feel alone.”
“As if you could get rid of me,” Roksu mumbles.)
v. the love letter
It’s been a terrible few days with the library needing to weed a large portion of its collection, leading to endless bickering between Roksu’s colleagues about what to keep and what to add and hauling around too many heavy books for his liking. Most days, he likes working at the library, but weeding is one of his least favourite tasks.
Roksu groans. He can feel a migraine starting and wishes he were relaxing at home instead, buried under the fluffy blanket he stole from Alver. Maybe Roksu could also nap in his favourite spot (Alver’s bed, because the bastard could afford a nice memory foam mattress, and he barely uses it anyway so Roksu might as well steal that too).
“Hey,” another librarian says, dragging Roksu out of his wandering thoughts. “Your boyfriend dropped off some food for you. I put it in the office.”
Roksu blinks in surprise. He had slept in and resigned himself to only eating a rushed breakfast all day until his shift finished. Well, he isn’t the type to turn down free food, so there’s a near-imperceptible pep in his step when his lunch break starts.
There’s the takeout container from yesterday’s dinner sitting on the table Roksu usually eats at. He peels off the sticky note attached to the lid to see what it says.
To my starving sweetheart~
Someone who’s always nagging me to eat more shouldn’t forget to bring lunch. You better finish it all or I’ll be pissed off!
- Your Favourite Roommate
“You’re my only roommate, dumbass,” Roksu mumbles under his breath. He doesn’t notice the hint of a smile tug at the corners of his mouth once he spots the misshapen gimbap inside the box. A few have already started to fall apart, near-bursting with the amount of fillings crammed into them.
Roksu clearly remembers trying to teach Alver how to make gimbap and other Korean dishes when they first moved in together. The lessons didn’t stick very well; Alver was better at baking than cooking, even if he was uncannily skilled with a knife. It was usually more trouble than it was worth to babysit Alver in the kitchen and make edible meals at the same time, so Roksu had become the default chef of the apartment over the years.
Roksu takes an intentionally blurry photo of the gimbap and texts it to Alver.
Me
they look like shit
ty
Prince Harming
🖕
Praise me properly you ungrateful peasant.
Me
I feel utter elation and overflowing gratitude that the esteemed Alver Crossman deigned to squander his precious time on this Earth to lovingly bestow upon me such a tantalizing meal of bespoke gimbap to fill my undeserving stomach.
Truly, his radiant generosity knows no bounds and makes us mere penniless mortals appear unworthy of existence in comparison.
Prince Harming
😒
Me
🤩😌😋🙇🙏✨💖💖💖
To Alver’s credit, the gimbap tastes alright even if they look ugly. He even used most of Roksu’s favourite fillings. There’s an odd sweet aftertaste as if Alver tried to make the danmuji taste less sour, and it takes some time getting used to it, but it’s not bad.
Alver still isn’t that great at cooking. But it’s very cute that he tried today.
Roksu finishes devouring all his homemade gimbap before his thoughts finally catch up to him.
…Did he think Alver was cute?
“Oh. Fuck.”
(Roksu barely pays attention to the rest of his shift, preoccupied with thoughts of Alver awkwardly and seriously hunched over their kitchen counter while attempting to make lunch for his one and only favourite roommate.)
(the happily ever after)
Alver yawns, shuffling into the kitchen to make himself some coffee. He’s surprised to see Roksu already awake, sprawled on the couch with a spaced-out look on his face as he stares at the ceiling contemplating whatever the fuck goes on in that mind of his.
“You’re up early,” Alver comments, stifling another yawn threatening to escape. Seeing Roksu’s bedhead makes Alver want to mess it up even more, so he reaches out and roughly ruffles it just to be annoying. The resulting bird’s nest is endearing. “Is something special happening today?” he wonders out loud, taking a careful sip out of his steaming mug.
“Are you in love with me?” Roksu asks.
Alver spits coffee onto the couch.
Roksu frowns. “Gross. That’s going to stain.” He looks up with a bored expression as if he hadn’t said something insane less than ten seconds ago. “Well, am I right?”
“What the fuck,” Alver splutters, the tips of his ears and back of his neck feeling like they’re on fire. “I—where did that even come from?” He’s not awake enough for this, so he sips some more coffee in desperation.
“I was hoping you were in love with me, otherwise it’d be awkward to say I think I’m in love with you,” Roksu says, before jumping off the couch to avoid another spray of coffee. “Can you put the mug down? I’m trying to have a serious conversation here.”
Alver represses the urge to slam the mug onto Roksu’s thick head and use it as a coaster. “You’re such an annoying bastard,” Alver hisses in between coughs, abandoning his mug on the coffee table. “I can’t believe you’re accosting me on a random Sunday morning before I’ve even had my caffeine.”
“You still haven’t answered my question,” Roksu points out petulantly, having the gall to sulk after causing Alver to choke twice.
Alver folds his arms. “I don’t want to,” he says somewhat childishly. “I refuse to entertain this conversation with the ridiculous way you initiated it.”
“Don’t you hate it when I beat around the bush?”
“Some preamble would have been nice!”
“But you look cute when you’re a bit mad,” Roksu says with a devious smirk on his face, and oh that’s not good for Alver’s skyrocketing pulse. “Besides, we’re practically married at this point, according to our friends.”
“At least take me on a proper date first,” Alver mutters, stealing Roksu’s spot on the couch and retrieving his coffee. “Just to… test the waters, you know? Since we’ve only pretended to be boyfriends.”
“I feel like we’ve gone on a lot of accidental dates already,” Roksu says, curling up next to Alver like he usually does. “Further testing doesn’t seem necessary. We can just… be boyfriends. If you want to.”
Alver does want to. He’s wanted to for a while, but never thought he would get this far. He makes a noncommittal humming noise instead of answering properly.
Thankfully, Roksu doesn’t seem very bothered. They’re both used to each other’s weird quirks by now. Roksu does ask one more question after a few minutes of comfortable silence: “Are you going to keep calling me ‘sweetheart’?”
“Do you want me to stop?” Alver asks carefully.
Roksu thinks for a moment. “I didn’t hate it.”
“Then I’ll keep doing it.” Emotionally bolstered by the mouthfuls of coffee he managed to ingest, Alver scrapes together enough courage to press a light kiss onto Roksu’s lips. “Let’s go back to that cafe again? So my dumbass sweetheart can eat as many sweets as his heart desires.”
Roksu crinkles his nose. “Maybe I do hate it.”
Alver smiles, cheeky and full of more relief and happiness than he knows what to do with. “All the more reason for me to keep calling you ‘sweetheart’.”
“You’re awful.”
“I am. But you’re still stuck with me.”
Technically, they’re both privately committed to being stuck with each other for life, but neither of them feel like mentioning it out loud yet.
(“How do you feel about kids?” Roksu asks later. “I think three would be nice.”
Alver spits coffee again.)