Archive of Our Own ^beta

Ryan idly plucks at his guitar as the fire in front of him hisses and crackles. Above him, a lilac moon casts a purple hue onto the makeshift campsite him and Min have made. The car they’re currently resting in has been dubbed by him the “Blue-Purple-Redwood Car”— blue because of the rich indigo rivers covering the terrain, purple because of the moon, and redwood because of the towering redwoods that are literally red.

Look, for someone who came up with the band name Chicken Choice Judy , this is pretty par for the course.

But anyways, when they first entered Min had decided this would be as good a place as ever to take a short rest before traveling through the next few cars. He’d gone out a little bit ago to go wash off in one of the rivers, and Kez had gone in the opposite direction to go scout for the door. 

Ryan tries not to be unnerved by the general silence that’s fallen over the campsite. It reminds him of his time driving in the van alone, too far from any city to pick up anything but static on the radio. 

He plays a small riff in an attempt to soothe his nerves. The acoustic sound isn’t as rich as he’d like it to be, but he’ll take what he can get. He plays for a while longer until his fingers grow sore and he is forced to take a break.

After only a few seconds of quiet, a soft crunching of twigs behind him alerts him of Min’s approach.

“All clean?” Ryan asks, twisting around to view him. He hopes his relief isn’t as apparent on his face as he feels it is. 

“Mhm,” Min grumbles, running a hand through wet, unstyled hair. Ryan turns back to his guitar. Min looks entirely too good right now for him to risk making eye contact. He prays the purple light of the moon masks the warmth in his face.

Wordlessy, Min plops down on their leaf mattress, folding up his jacket and using it as a pillow. He lays down with his back to Ryan, his shoulders tense.

Ryan swallows. He knows Min, knows him like the back of his hand, and right now it’s painfully clear something is wrong. But Ryan’s track record of communicating with Min has been pretty hit or miss lately, and he isn’t sure he wants to risk another screw up in their already tumultuous relationship.

As he debates whether or not to say anything, memories of a mildew-infested bathtub filter into his mind. Min’s smile as Ryan revealed his chicken choice judy shirt to him. The happiness Ryan felt when Min finally opened up and he was able to help . 

I think we’ve just gotta do it.

Ryan clears his throat.

“Min?” he asks quietly.

“Ryan,” Min replies, his voice guarded.

“Are you… okay?”

Min’s form seems to curl into itself for a second. “I’m fine.”

“Min,” Ryan repeats, a bit more assertive but still pleading.

“It’s stupid,” Min says. “I’m being stupid.”

Ryan frowns. “If it’s seriously bothering you, it’s not stupid.” He wants to reach out to Min, grasp his shoulder or rub his back like he did when they were kids, but things have changed so much that he doesn’t know if that’s allowed anymore.

Min sighs. It’s deep and tired and makes Ryan’s heart ache. “I just… really wish I was home.”

Before he can stop himself, Ryan snorts. Min whips his head around, mouth partway open to yell at him, but he’s already explaining himself before Min can get a word out. 

“Dude, wishing you weren’t on a giant magical train is the most un-stupid thing ever,” Ryan says, grinning. “If you didn’t feel that way I’d be seriously concerned for your mental health.”

Min shifts onto his back so he can look at Ryan more easily. The smile on his face isn’t exactly happy, but it’s leagues better than the distant planes of his shoulders. 

“I guess, yeah,” he agrees after a moment. “This is just so weird, y’know? Taking a bath in a bright blue river really makes you miss your shower at home.” 

Ryan laughs at that. Partly because he understands and partly because he’s pretty sure Min would freak if he knew some of the places Ryan had showered in while on the road. “Yeah, you’re definitely right,” he says.

The grin Min shoots him is soft and genuine. “Do you remember my mom’s cooking?” Min asks.

How could he not? Mrs. Park was a master chef, always blowing Ryan away with her flavorful korean dishes. With five children to provide for, Ryan’s parents mostly stuck to microwavable meals and takeout. Most of Ryan’s knowledge about any sort of cuisine comes from Mrs. Park patiently explaining to him and Min how she cooked their meals. Ryan had always wanted to help, loved trying to stir ingredients together, and Mrs. Park was always kind enough to let them do little things. To prepare you to be good husbands, she had teased as Ryan clumsily dropped noodles into boiling pots of water. Dinner with the Parks was always one of Ryan’s favorite way to spend an evening, and even when he and Min were separated, he would think back on those nights fondly.

Realizing that Min is still waiting for him to answer, Ryan finally replies with a rushed affirmative.

“What I wouldn’t give for some bulgogi ,” Min murmurs, turning his gaze up to the dark sky above him.

Carefully, Ryan takes his guitar off his shoulders and places it down on the ground. He falls backward onto soft leaves, landing about a foot away from Min.

“You’ll eat it soon,” Ryan says. “I promise.”

“Yeah,” Min replies. “Yeah,” he repeats again, and he sounds like he’s slowly starting to believe it.

Unable to help himself, Ryan reaches over and ruffles Min’s dark locks playfully. Min laughs and swats at his hand.

Ryan smiles. “Min-Gi, we’re gonna get through this, okay?”

“Okay,” Min says. Then, after a moment, “thanks, Ryan.”

“Anything for my main man,” Ryan says, pillowing his head with his arms as he grins up at the moon like an idiot. He thinks he hears a quiet shuffling noise coming from his right hand but doesn’t bother to look. He doesn’t need to see his number to know that he and Min are slowly piecing things back together.