Trust

Hard

I've moved quite a few times in my life so far; far more often than the average South Korean. I've got tons of experience in moving: I've packed and unpacked dozens of moving boxes, had a table's leg slamming down on my left big toe that still hurts every time I think about it, and squeezed a couple of fingers while moving furniture.

Nothing, however, could've prepared me for the stress that comes with moving with the help of Seonghwa and Yeosang.

At twelve o'clock sharp, my doorbell rings. As I get up from my bed and make my way to the door, it rings again. And again. And again.

"Wooyou-oung!", Yeosang shouts from the other side of the door. "Hurry u-up! We're mo-ving!"

When I open the door, huffing irritably, Yeosang doesn't even seem to notice. He walks past me, looking around, interested. "Your flat actually looks quite nice. I thought it would be way worse, since you wanted to move out that desperately."

"It's bad enough living on your own, trust me." With that, I turn to Seonghwa, who smiles and greets me like a normal human being: "Hey Wooyoung. Have you got everything packed?"

I salute playfully, "Yes, sir!"

"Oh, shut up." He rolls his eyes.

When he follows me in my bedroom, and his eyes land on the laundry basket in the middle of the room, he immediately stops smiling. "What about that? Can you fold it up or something?"

"Nope. There's still laundry in it."

"Well, in that case, just put it with the rest of your-"

"Dirty laundry, Hyung. It's gonna be alright. I've got this." I pat his shoulder. "This is not my first time moving."

"Where are we supposed to put the speakers in the car?" Yeosang lifts the first one up to examine it, and I need to fight the urge to rip it out of his hands. "They are sensitive", I say instead. "Better be careful with them, or I might have to rip your head off."

"Jeez, you're scaring me." Yeosang puts the speaker down again with a roll of the eyes, just as Seonghwa tells him: "You take them on your lap, Yeosang."

"What?! Why me?", he promptly whines.

Seonghwa raises an eyebrow. "You wanted to sit on the passenger's seat - you take the boxes."

"That's so unfair...", Yeosang grumbles under his breath as we start carrying my boxes to Seonghwa's car. "So unfair."

After he's said that five times, I can't hear it anymore. "Jeez. Just sit in the back then, and I'll take care of my speakers."

"Nope."

"Then stop complaining."

He finally does.

When we're sitting in Seonghwa's car half an hour later, after having packed all of my stuff in it, I get why Yeosang was so determined to sit in the front: I'm sitting on the backseat, the laundry basket between my knees, and my moving boxes are pushing me into the car door whenever Seonghwa changes lanes. I deeply regret my laziness regarding the washing of my clothes - but I'm also fighting the urge to throw the stupid basket out of the window. Or to empty it over Yeosang's head, who is snickering gleefully every now and then when he catches my pissed gaze in the side mirror.