to go nowhere in particular ; 2min

love language in form of grocery shipping

Seungmin’s hands are numb.

He’s been weighing the two bags of frozen peas for at least eight minutes now and they might even start defrosting but he still isn’t sure about which one to buy.

Minho makes a full circle and comes back with a too big bag of banana chips and a tacky box of heart shaped chocolates. He raises a brow at Seungmin which he returns, jerking his chin at the chocolate in his hands, cherry red and glaring in all of its glory.

“It was on clearance sale. Half off on all candy,” Minho says, adding it to the basket Seungmin held in the crook of his elbow.

“I got my braces off a week ago. Less than a week, hyung. Who’s gonna eat all that?” he grumbles but doesn’t tell him to put it back.

Minho scoffs and doesn’t bother replying. “Did you choose a brand yet?” 

A forlorn sigh slips past his lips and he is back to comparing them. “No, I’m tired. I hate shopping,” he whines, focused on reading the nutritional information printed on the label.

A car zooms by in the distance, startling the stagnant silent air of the store. Seungmin’s neck snaps up and he decides purely out of tiredness.

He drops the one in his left hand into the basket. “I can’t do this, fuck — let’s buy this one,” he gripes, putting the other one back in.

A thought strikes him and his face pinches into a surly scowl. He reaches into the basket and picks the bag of peas up and puts it back in too. 

“Kim Seungmin if you don’t buy those fucking peas I’m going to put you in air-fryer. Don’t tell me you’ve spent all that time here to not buy,” Minho rambles, the corner of his mouth pulled into a frown, frustrated by his boyfriend’s actions.

He shakes his head and replaces it with a colder one. “I’m not an idiot,” he indignantly crows.

Minho flicks him on the ear. “You’re the biggest idiot ever.”

“Do you ever think, maybe I should be nicer to my boyfriend?” 

“I don’t,” Minho deadpans and Seungmin throws a tiny ice cube at him.

“Where the fuck did that ice come from?” he squeaks, watching it melt into a puddle, sidling up to stand beside Seungmin.

“It was in the freezer,” he replies with a bored shrug but there is mischief curling in the corners of his smile. 

“Let’s get some ice-cream,” Minho loudly says, walking to the freezer two steps away, ditching his boyfriend behind, and curls his fingers into a fist to rub off the condensation and peer through the glass.

Seungmin obedient as ever follows, the basket hanging from his hands. “Let’s get mint choco,” he offers and Mingo shoots him a scathing glare.

“Kim Seungmin —”

“I like it!”

“I don’t. I won’t be paying to eat frozen toothpaste,” he gripes, but there is no heat.

The minute Seungmin voiced his choice, he knew they would go back home with it. He would get that tub of mint chocolate chip either way but Minho found joy in disagreeing and having petty arguments over domestic stuff.

And like the good boyfriend he is, Seungmin indulges him. 

Levelling him with an unimpressed stare, Seungmin replies,“Our toothpaste tastes of cloves. How does mint — emphasis on mint, hyung — resemble the taste of clove in our toothpaste? Are you sure you went to a culinary school?”

Minho snorts and opens his mouth, another barb ready to spill but the overhead lights flicker for a moment, dousing the deserted store, save for them and a bored teenager, in the dark for an exhale’s worth.

A motorcycle, a yellow flash, a man whooping as he speeds down, a buzz coming from the bulb sockets, a fluorescent glow coming back to life. Glazed, bottle green light spills onto the wet asphalt — the aftermath of rain, their breaths fog, the open door of the freezer is blowing cold air, Minho’s cheeks are flushing pink.

Under the harsh glare of the lights, the grey of shadows cut soft shapes, they dance over Minho’s face like reflections of light rippling on water’s surface and his breath catches in his throat, struck by a bolt of love. 

He’s always romanticised mundane, little details and feels frustrated but then he sees Minho, creates poetry for him and it feels a little less choking to be so aware of everything all the time.

Minho notices his staring — he always notices — and leans forward, with a blush-pink smile, the soles of his shoes squeak as they unstick from the floor, chilly puffs of air escaping through the little crack in the glass, his eyes glittering with a thousand broken stars sprinkled in his irises, face a bloom of love and presses his lips against Seungmin’s. 

They share a tender kiss, a press of petal lips, an action spurred by love, to show love, bold in their fragility. A tender act which never fails to make Seungmin come undone.

They pull away with smiles on their faces.
Minho shuts the door a little too hard and the glass bottles inside rattle.

“Let’s go home,” Seungmin mumbles around a yawn, fatigue clear in his tone, shaking his head.

“We could’ve been home half an hour earlier if you chose quicker,” Minho grumbles, fond and adoring, rolling his eyes as he gently tugs the basket away from him.

“I’ll pay, bring the car around,” he says, taking Seungmin’s hand and prying his fingers apart, one by one and laying the keys on his flat palm.

“You’re so exasperating,” Seungmin says, loud and faux irritated, muscles in his cheeks spasming from biting back a smile.

They always do this, have petty fights about paying little bills like this.

He wouldn’t have it any other way. No one else will love him this way and it’s comforting. Only with Minho will he feel at home.

“Brat. I’m putting the ice cream back.”

Later when Seungmin checks their purchased items, sat in the driver’s side of the car, he finds a tub of mint chocolate at the very bottom. Minho’s ears are red when he squeezes their entwined hands.
Seungmin’s hands are warm.