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Monkey See, Monkey Do

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The man lying next to Sun Wukong is not the other groom. He looks almost exactly like him, except for the facial scars that Yoo Joonghyuk does not have, and he vividly remembers that the wedding was yesterday. If Sun Wukong were in bed with Yoo Joonghyuk on the morning after his wedding, he would already be dead.

Which means this is Yoo Joonghyuk’s twin brother.

Sun Wukong is pretty sure death would be a mercy right about now.

He doesn’t actually know Yoo Joonghyuk’s brother’s name. Everyone calls him SP, and they aren’t close enough that he can casually ask for his real name, or even approach him to start conversation. SP has always been kind of a bitch, in fact, and was Sun Wukong’s love rival up until the day before. They didn’t exactly have the kind of relationship where he would know his real name.

SP’s eyes slam open. Sun Wukong tries to scramble backwards and ends up falling off the bed, his legs—his very bare legs—tangled in the bedsheets.

“Fuck,” he says into the floor’s carpets. He contemplates staying there forever.

“What the hell did you do, Sun Wukong?” SP’s voice comes from somewhere above, dangerously quiet. Sun Wukong peeks upwards and finds that not only does SP’s anger look different from Yoo Joonghyuk’s, but also that he’s shirtless and much more fit than his brother as well. This is not information that he ever wanted to know.

Realizing that he’s still face-first on the floor, he hurries to sit up and glare. His head is pounding, but he can’t let SP see his weakness. “Why do you assume this is my fault? We’re both in this situation.”

“I’m not the person at fault here,” SP says stubbornly.

“Well do you remember what happened last night?”

He stays silent. Sun Wukong takes that as a win and stands up, wrapping the bedsheets around him with as much dignity as is possible for someone who still has no idea where he is. SP doesn’t even bother getting up; he only rolls over and searches for his phone on the bedside table. Whatever he sees on it makes his expression darken further.

Sun Wukong looks away, instead hurrying to the window and parting the curtains. He squints at the sunlight peeking through, his headache worsening but not enough to make him stop looking. It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust before he recognizes the sight of the city outside. He’s in the same hotel, at least.

“Fucking hell,” SP mutters behind him. “Hey, have you checked your phone?”

Sun Wukong turns back with a frown. “I don’t know where my phone is.” SP has a lot of suspicious-looking marks on his chest. Even more information he didn’t want to know.

“Look for it.”

He wants to say no just to spite him, but unfortunately he knows his phone will probably be able to tell him more about what happened last night than staring out the window will.

He finds his phone discarded on the floor, along with his pants. It’s just barely alive at 17%, and Sun Wukong is elated to see the texts from Kim Dokja until he sees the actual contents.

 

From: Kim Dokja <3

i just saw you leave with sp???

i can’t believe you 2 didn’t tell me you’re dating smh

have a fun night ;) tell me all about it later

idec if you interrupt my honeymoon

This is Yoo Joonghyuk. I care. Do not interrupt us or message Dokja for at least two weeks

 

Following Kim Dokja’s (and Yoo Joonghyuk’s) texts are more texts and missed calls from others that all say, essentially, the same thing: everyone saw him and SP leaving the reception together.

“Fuck,” Sun Wukong says.

“Fucking hell,” SP repeats, agreeably.


The day before was Kim Dokja’s wedding. Unlike in Sun Wukong’s daydreams—which never quite stopped after college graduation—he was not the one waiting at the end of the aisle for him. It wasn’t a surprise that Kim Dokja would marry Yoo Joonghyuk, but there was always a hopeless maybe. He tried to hold onto that hope, even when the two finally got their acts together and never broke up, all until he was watching Kim Dokja be walked down the aisle by his mother, and the grin on his face was so different from the one he usually wore when he was scheming, and Sun Wukong stopped.

So maybe he drank a bit too much during the reception. And maybe it started after he saw Yoo Joonghyuk smash a piece of the wedding cake in Kim Dokja’s face. Maybe he didn’t think he would be able to see Kim Dokja’s smile while completely sober. And maybe SP also started drinking with him at the same time.

If Kim Dokja and Yoo Joonghyuk’s “Love Story in Three Parts” (high school, college, and after) were an open secret, SP also being in love with Kim Dokja was almost the exact opposite. If you didn’t regularly spend time with Kim Dokja—and, by extension, SP—it was easy to miss. Sun Wukong knew because he saw the way SP looked when he purposely antagonized Kim Dokja, only for Kim Dokja to turn around and go to Yoo Joonghyuk for assistance. For all that Yoo Joonghyuk couldn’t properly express, SP was even worse.

In camaraderie, Sun Wukong began drinking with SP during the reception. That is where the night starts to get blurry.

As Sun Wukong scrolls furiously through his phone, it comes back to him in bits and pieces. Knocking back drinks with SP. Taunting him into a dance. The searing kiss that was all frustration and not true want. Kim Dokja, cheering when Sun Wukong started dragging him out of the building, his arm around Yoo Joonghyuk.


“SP is a catch,” Kim Dokja says over Sun Wukong’s protests. “I don’t see why you’re denying at least being into him; we all saw how the night ended for you two.” There’s a lot of noise on his end of the call. Sun Wukong wonders how angry Yoo Joonghyuk is for interrupting the first day of his honeymoon.

“If he’s such a catch, why didn’t you marry him?” Sun Wukong huffs.

“I could never marry anyone but my Joonghyuk” Kim Dokja declares. After a pause, he adds, “Even if that person is his older, hotter twin.”

Kim Dokja!” says Yoo Joonghyuk furiously.

“I’m kidding!” Kim Dokja laughs. “Seriously though. I wouldn’t marry SP. I can’t exactly see you two marrying either, but you definitely have something going on. All those arguments you two had just reeked of UST.”

Sun Wukong feels like there’s something very wrong with that sentence. “Since when?”

“Oh, you know,” Kim Dokja says vaguely. “Gotta go, Joonghyuk-ah is getting testy and it is my honeymoon. Congrats on the sex!” Yoo Joonghyuk is halfway through shouting Kim Dokja’s name when he hangs up. If Sun Wukong weren’t too busy reevaluating the past seven years of his life, he would be doing the same.


He manages a whole two weeks without ever seeing or contacting SP. He only gets away with it because Kim Dokja is still on his honeymoon and can’t force them to meet, and the only other person who would care enough is Uriel, who he luckily manages to avoid. (If he, at one point, hid in his bedroom and pretended he wasn’t home in an effort to get away from her, that was nobody’s business but his own)

It’s two days after Kim Dokja returns that SP suddenly ends up at his doorstep.

Sun Wukong didn’t even know he knew where he lived.

“I know you’re home, Sun Wukong,” SP says through the door, impatience coloring his voice. “Your car is in the driveway and it’s not like you have a job or do anything other than stalk idols and give Kim Dokja money he doesn’t even need.” Sun Wukong is faintly offended. How does he know that? “Kim Dokja told me. Open the door or I’ll let myself in.”

The door was locked, but that wouldn’t stop him. SP, in Sun Wukong’s memories, was willing to do anything. He wasn’t as bad as Kim Dokja—who in college became so notorious that the infirmary had a bed reserved for him—but all it took was one person (Sun Wukong, usually) saying he couldn’t do it for SP to scale the campus walls at two in the morning. He almost died twice and broke a window. At least three of SP’s scars are from that very window incident. It's still on film somewhere.

Sun Wukong absolutely believes SP would break his door down to get in.

“Alright, alright, fine, fuck!” He throws the door open and scowls. He’s wearing an old Hatsune Miku t-shirt. He hasn’t brushed his hair. And of course SP has to look as fucking put together as always. What a bastard. “I’ll have you know I don’t stalk people!”

“But you did try for three years to be Kim Dokja’s sugar daddy,” SP retorts flatly.

“No!” SP stares for a long moment. “Shut up! Why are you here?”

“…Kim Dokja made me come here,” he answers gruffly. “He said we need to talk.” Sun Wukong would judge him for doing what Kim Dokja asked if he wouldn’t do the same.

“What’s there to even talk about?” he huffs.

“You know what. Now let me in so I can say we did this.”


It only takes ten minutes for Sun Wukong to start yelling.

This time they’re completely sober when they stumble into bed.


It’s not until SP leaves that Sun Wukong realizes he didn’t even know SP lived nearby.


Sun Wukong rarely left the house for anything other than groceries, but he’s even more determined to stay inside after the second SP incident of the month. SP doesn’t try to contact him either.

And then Uriel shows up.

Nothing ever goes right when Uriel shows up.

“My Dokja-ya told me you’re being dumb so I’m here to fix you!” she exclaims as she slams open the front door. Sun Wukong curses the fact that he forgot to lock it.

“Why are you in my house?” he exclaims.

“I know exactly what will cheer you up!” she says, bypassing the question as she tends to. “Go get changed! Love the shirt, but you shouldn’t wear that in public.” She wrestles him into his bedroom, ignoring his protests and refusing to back down until he gets changed. Uriel is a force of nature, and as always, Sun Wukong has no choice but to go along with it.

They’ve known each other since they were kids, but they only became something like friends after Kim Dokja came into their lives. Still, knowing each other for so long meant Sun Wukong knew what happened when you didn’t listen to Uriel. She had been making grown men cry for years and despite her small stature, she could best SP in a fight. It was smarter not to cross her—unless you were Kim Dokja.

She forces him into her car and drives ten minutes to get to a coffee shop just outside of town. Sun Wukong looks at her oddly. “You wanted to go here?” he says. “There’s a closer one, you know. Lots of ‘em, even. All in town.”

“Yeah but I wanted to go to this one.” She grins mischievously. “Come on, come on. I brought you here for a good reason.”

He does not trust that grin.

Uriel takes the lead in entering the shop, and whatever he’s said about her before, he takes it back.

At the counter, wearing the signature green apron and little black hat, only barely suppressing a scowl at the blushing teenage girls in front of him—is none other than SP.

Sun Wukong sees the moment SP notices him. He grins, exactly like the woman behind him, as SP’s expression sinks. “Fancy seeing you here!”

Chapter Text

“Get out.”

“No.”

“Right now.”

“I’m a paying customer.”

“You’re a nuisance.”

“Well this nuisance will take a tall nonfat chai.”

SP looks at him, dead in the eyes. “I hate you.”

“The feeling is mutual.”

Uriel coos. “Well, that’s all I came here for!” she says cheerfully. “Have fun you two!” Without ordering anything, she leaves them alone. Sun Wukong can’t even bring himself to be mad about it. This is amazing.

“You work as a barista?” he says gleefully.

“Shut up,” SP says.

“Barista!”

“You said a fucking tall nonfat chai?”

“Hold the fucking. Is this where you get your new scars now that no one is daring you to break into graveyards?”

“I can give you a personal demonstration of how I got some of these scars if you’d like.” He aggressively inputs Sun Wukong’s order. “You’re holding up the line.”

Sun Wukong moves out of the way, but doesn’t find a table. He’s still grinning as he watches SP painstakingly take the next customer’s order. This is an SP he’s never known and it’s hilarious. His plastic smile is perpetually twitching. Girls think he’s hot as though the scar on his face isn’t from getting clawed by Shin Yoosung’s cat. He’s wearing a uniform.

(He doesn’t look much different from Yoo Joonghyuk in an apron—which is a surprisingly common sight—but there’s something incredibly satisfying about seeing SP in this uniform that makes it different)

The person making his drink calls his name and he smiles at her in thanks. “Hey, do you know what days he works?” he asks, keeping his voice low. SP is preoccupied with another customer, but he’s not taking any chances.

“Him?” The girl’s eyebrows rise. “You want to know about him?” He nods. “Uh, well, he works weekdays. Didn’t know he had friends…” The last sentence is muttered, but he hears it loud and clear. He laughs, making SP glare at him.

“Thank you,” he tells the girl. He goes up to SP as the last customer steps away and, with another grin, says, “I’ll leave for today, but I’ll be back.”

“Don’t.”

“I will. See you later, SP.” He waves as he heads out the door.

Then he remembers Uriel took the car and he’s mad again.


He does go back to the shop again the next day. SP looks like he can’t decide between killing him and killing himself.

“I’m back!” he says cheerfully.

“Fan-fucking-tastic,” SP drones. “What do you want? Tall nonfat chai again?”

Sun Wukong grins, leaning forearms on top of the counter. “You remembered.”

“Leave me alone. You’re horrible.”

He does not leave him alone. SP’s uniform is the most entertainment Sun Wukong has had in a while, and he’s willing to forget the two incidents from before in favor of seeing SP out of his usual all-black getup. The first few times, he leaves immediately after getting his drink, but on the sixth day, he decides to stay.

“So how did you get this job anyway?” he asks, in the lull between customers. SP isn’t looking directly at him, as though staring straight ahead will make him disappear. “You’re not exactly the customer service type.”

“You don’t know me,” SP says flatly.

“I saw you try to fight our professor for looking at you wrong.”

“I was young and dumb.”

“You tried to fight a cop a few months ago.”

“Like you wouldn’t?” SP gives him a disbelieving look. He has to concede that point.

“That’s fair. Alright, you tried to fight Lee Gilyoung a few weeks ago.” At the wedding, he doesn’t say, because neither of them need that reminder.

“He was being a little shit.”

“You’re so not a people person. How did you get this job?”

SP lets a long sigh. “I don’t know how I got this job,” he admits reluctantly. “I needed the money and this place was hiring. I didn’t think it would actually work.” His eye twitches. “There are some people here I’d really like to burn…” He somehow manages to look even more homicidal than usual. Sun Wukong decides not to ask.

On the seventh day, he says, “How did I never know you lived near me?”

“You’re a shut-in,” SP deadpans. Sun Wukong chokes on his latte.

“Excuse me?” he coughs.

“You heard me.” SP doesn’t continue as a customer approaches the counter and he plasters the horrendously fake and honestly frightening smile on his face.

Sun Wukong waits until the customer has gone to say, “No matter how much I… don’t leave my house—”

“Have you even gone for a walk since Kim Dokja’s wedding?”

He chooses not to answer that. “I would think I would know if one of my friends lived near me.”

“Since when were we friends?” SP asks, eyebrows furrowing in genuine puzzlement. Sun Wukong’s chest hurts, and he’s not sure why.

“I’d think we’re friends at this point.”

“Friends usually have each other’s numbers.”

“Give me your phone and I can fix that.” He holds out a hand. After a beat, SP hands it over.


“Who even are you?” asks SP’s coworker—the girl who is always making Sun Wukong’s drinks—some time after Sun Wukong has been dropping in regularly. He recognizes vaguely that he has no idea how long it’s been since he started this. “Like, do you need a job or something? Is that why you keep coming here?” He’s a bit offended on SP’s behalf that Park Jiyu doesn’t believe he’s only there for him.

“I don’t need a job,” he says. “I’m just here to bother SP.”

“Why do you keep calling him SP?” she asks. He doesn’t know how to tell her that no one who has known him before college graduation knows his real name, except for his family and possibly Kim Dokja. Even his nametag has ‘SP’ scribbled over it instead of his real name.

“I don’t actually know,” he answers. He looks at SP, who is glaring at his phone. He tries to take a peek at the screen, but he can only make out Yoo Mia’s name before SP realizes what he’s doing and hides it. “Hey SP, where did ‘SP’ even come from?” When they met, everyone was already calling him ‘SP’. It never occurred to him that he would have any other name until it was too late to ask.

SP gave him a withering look and doesn’t answer. That’s the expression he makes when his brother is involved. Sun Wukong lets it be.

“I bet it’s an old middle school nickname that he can’t get rid of,” Park Jiyu mumbles. Sun Wukong snorts. If SP hears, he’s very resolute in not giving a reaction.

“Okay but actually,” she says, looking at Sun Wukong, “do you like, need a job? ‘Cause I’m pretty sure you don’t do anything but come here and bother SP.”

“I have a job!” he says.

“No you don’t,” SP says. To Park Jiyu, he explains, “He’s a rich kid. Doesn’t need to make money.”

“I’m a model!” he protests.

“You did like, three modelling gigs.”

Eight, and they paid the bills.”

“Oh, you pay bills?”

“Alright listen—”

“Do you want that job or not? We have an opening,” Park Jiyu interjects. In true teenage girl fashion, she looks incredibly tired of the both of them. For a moment, Sun Wukong genuinely considers it. Then he feels SP’s piercing stare and discards that idea.

“Nah, I have more fun messing with this guy,” he says, grinning as he jerks a thumb at SP.

Park Jiyu blinks. “You’re a weird guy.”

“You have no idea,” SP mutters. He’s smiling a little bit. Sun Wukong doesn’t know if he’s ever seen SP smile like that.

It’s nice.


One day, he walks into the shop and sees Kim Dokja and Yoo Joonghyuk standing at the counter. Yoo Joonghyuk and SP are having their usual “brotherly” glaring contest while Kim Dokja is wheezing to the side.

It’s the first time Sun Wukong has seen the happy couple since their wedding. That day—where he could hardly bring himself to breathe when he saw Kim Dokja in his white suit, smiling brightly at Yoo Joonghyuk in contrasting black at the end of the aisle—feels so long ago. Kim Dokja has a hand in the crook of Yoo Joonghyuk’s elbow and his ring sits on his finger for all to see and Sun Wukong can’t remember how to feel what he did that day.

“Ah, Wukong-ssi!” Kim Dokja straightens, waving his free hand in his direction. “What are you doing here?” He lowers his hand to wipe his eyes. Sun Wukong tries to find the familiar flutter that always used to accompany that happiness. He remembers how it felt when he first realized Kim Dokja was becoming happier. It’s not the same anymore.

When Yoo Joonghyuk and SP look away from their contest, he thinks it feels less hostile than it used to. SP looks at him first.

“Not you again,” he sighs half-heartedly. He stopped sounding genuine after the first week. Park Jiyu, who seems to be aggressively making drinks, looks much more irritated in comparison.

“I’m back!” Sun Wukong chirps. “Maknae-ya, good to see you. I come here every other day to see SP.”

“Oh? Interesting,” Kim Dokja says. “How often is that?”

“Uh…”

“Tall nonfat chai?” SP interrupts.

“Yes, thank you.”

“Wow,” Yoo Joonghyuk says. He looks at Kim Dokja with an unreadable expression, which is different from his angry expression and his resting face. Lots of his expressions are annoyingly unreadable. Kim Dokja is probably the only one who knows the difference.

“I planned on staying for a little while longer, but I think Joonghyuk-ah and I better head straight home instead,” Kim Dokja says.

As if on cue—or she might have been motivated—Park Jiyu slides two drinks across the counter. “For you two,” she says. Her eyes dart between SP and Yoo Joonghyuk like prey watching for predators. They ignore the look. Yoo Joonghyuk grabs the drinks.

“Oh, really?” Sun Wukong asks.

“Yeah, we’ve got things.” Kim Dokja waves a hand. He doesn’t believe his words at all, but he doesn’t feel like calling him out on it. He’s less disappointed than he thought he would be.

“Okay. If you’re sure.”

“It was good to see you two,” Kim Dokja says as he links arms with his husband again and grins cheekily. “That apron looks good on you, SP.”

SP nods. “Bye.”

(He used to turn red when Kim Dokja complimented him, even when it was a compliment hiding laughter behind the words)


From Kim Dokja, ten minutes later, the text reads, i’m happy for you guys :)

From Yoo Joonghyuk, an hour later—Don’t fuck up.


He doesn’t go see SP the next day. Or the day after. SP calls him and he answers and he ends up staying on the phone for half an hour longer than he meant to. SP asks, “Are you okay?” It comes out quietly, uncertain. Sun Wukong’s heart flutters. Ah. There it is.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he answers. “I’m just working through some things.”

“Oh.” The silence stretches for a long, not uncomfortable, moment. “Do… you need anything?”

“No, I… no. I just won’t be around until, uh, probably Monday?”

He can practically feel the frown through the receiver. “Okay.”

“I have to go,” he says.

“Alright. Bye.”

“See you later.”

SP ends the call. He never thought he could hate the dial tone so much before.


SP is, as always, by the register when Sun Wukong storms through the doors on Monday. “SP,” he declares, nearly slamming his hands on the counter, “it took me way too fucking long, but I’m in love with you and the next time we sleep together, I want it to be after a date where I romance you with flowers and dinner and everything you deserve. Asshole.”

The words come out in a rush before he can lose his nerves. His cheeks are burning hot and he might be panting since he’s been holding his breath since he got there. That’s when he realizes he bypassed the early morning line and SP is holding someone’s card.

It’s Park Jiyu who speaks first. “What the fuck.”

“Shit,” Sun Wukong says. “I’m so sorry. Please ignore me until all of you order.”

They do. SP is clearly dazed as he absently takes orders. Sun Wukong is a little concerned, but no one uses his shock to their advantage and the line clears up quickly. A somewhat familiar regular shoots him a smile and mouths good luck as they grab their drink. He would appreciate it if he weren’t dying.

He doesn’t know what to say as he moves to stand in front of SP again. SP stares at him.

“Uh,” he says. “So. Uh.”

Idiot,” SP snarls at last, and then he’s tugging on the collar of Sun Wukong’s shirt and pressing a furious kiss to his lips.

“What the fuck,” Park Jiyu might have repeated. Sun Wukong doesn’t quite hear her.


“Oh, huh. I just realized.”

What.”

“I still don’t know your real name.”

“You what.”