to love you (exo oneshot)
title: to love you
author: himawarixxsandz
rating: pg-13
pairing(s): xiuhan
summary: 10 reasons to love you
a/n: NO REALLY BUT EVERYONE CLICK ON THE LINK bc i used the same reasons that were in the song only with a different twist and i don't really explicitly state them in the fic sO yeah. also it's the sweetest song ever i cry like every time bc it's so fuggin cute. I AM JUST IN SUCH A XIUHAN MOOD BC THEY'RE ACTUALLY SO ACHINGLY RIDICULOUS.
1
When he first arrives at SM, the atmosphere that surrounds him amongst the other trainees isn’t the greatest. There are a few other Chinese trainees, and he’s made friends with them but they all still mostly huddle together in the sea of Korean trainees that are less than friendly because of how it’s common knowledge that the company is probably willing to invest a little more on foreign material for promising marketable overseas material. Add that to the fact that Luhan is already fluent in Korean, can sing a little over passably well, and he perhaps receives more hostility than the other Chinese trainees.
Bullying is inevitable.
Being ignored to the point where being outright bullied would hurt less is also fairly expected.
During breaks he’d usually eat with the others (Wufan and Yixing and Zitao are closest to him lately) but all three of them are having Korean lessons together-all of the Chinese trainees are having Korean lessons today and Luhan is the only one who doesn’t need them, so he’s here with the other trainees, taking a lunch break from dance practice. He has no one to eat with. It’s not a big deal, it’s just lonely and he can’t stop it from stinging because he’s more sensitive than he’d usually be if he were back home where everything is still bright and the future isn’t so uncertain and bleak.
He sets out against the corner, taking out chopsticks and the plastic container filled with rice and leftover beef and greens from last night. His back leans against the cool mirror, sighs of relief escaping his lips at how cold it is against the perspiration-soaked back of his t-shirt. He’s just about to begin opening everything when a pair of scuffed sneakers appears in his line of sight and his eyes glance upward.
“Can I help you?” Luhan asks, blinking.
And he knows this boy-he knows Kim Minseok because Yixing and this boy are usually pulled to the side for extra dance assignments just to see what kind of material they can master and how far they might be pushed. He doesn’t know Kim Minseok, but he knows the name and the face (hidden behind layers upon layers of soft, dark hair that sorely needs a haircut).
Minseok sits down beside him and begins unpacking his own lunch (and Luhan’s eyes move across the studio, over to where the other packs of Korean trainees have completely given up on ignoring Luhan and are outright staring at them). “All of my friends are out sick,” Minseok says simply in what is probably the worst and most half-hearted lie Luhan has ever heard. He stares at the other boy and can’t be bothered to stop because what is Minseok doing. “Also,” Minseok continues and Luhan is staring as hard as the outraged Korean trainees behind him (whom Luhan assumes are Minseok’s actual friends-not the imaginary sick friends), “I wanted to steal your beef.”
And as Minseok does exactly that (and then smiles out at Luhan and reels him in instantly into a debate about what song they’ll be made to learn a routine to next and if Luhan could help Minseok with some vocal scales), Luhan feels an odd warmth exploding all through his body just by meeting the other boy’s eyes.
2
On his way out of the dressing room and towards the studio for the photoshoot, Luhan comes to a screeching halt right by the full-length mirrors positioned conveniently behind the round of cameras. His eyebrows furrow and he blinks unsurely. “Minseok-ah,” he says, as he watches Xiumin contort his own face with his hands-pulling at his own cheeks and making terribly funny faces at the reflection, “what’re you doing?”
Xiumin catches his gaze in the mirror. “Trying to practice a smile that doesn’t make my face look bigger-I heard they had to edit me for a long time in our last shoot.”
“Your face is the size of my fist,” Luhan says, confused. “And what’s wrong with your smile?”
“Nothing’s wrong with my smile,” Xiumin grins, turning around. “Just for the photos, that’s all-manager-hyung said I should smile prettier. Different smiles for different things.”
Luhan frowns.
But Xiumin is already walking forward for his turn, right after Tao finished up.
It’s only after five different sets that Luhan starts to realize what Xiumin is getting at. Smiles for magazine shoots are subtler, calmer, half-smiles that lilt teasingly and quietly and Xiumin barely shows any teeth and his eyes stay round and shining instead of disappearing like they normally do when he really smiles. The difference isn’t bad and Luhan supposes that distinguishing that isn’t horrible either, but it just doesn’t sit right with him personally. The magazine pictures are supposed to be for their fans and Luhan doesn’t think any real fan of Xiumin’s wants to see only those smiles.
(Luhan doesn’t really like to look at those smiles himself)
The next time they’re on stage for a short talk after their performance, Luhan shoves Xiumin forward in sacrifice at the interviewer’s request for aegyo and he’s rewarded with a grand peal of laughter from Xiumin’s mouth-followed by immediate shoving and smacking, but Luhan doesn’t really mind because the goal was never to actually get Xiumin to do the aegyo. The real goal is accomplished easily as Xiumin turns to face Luhan and the dancer’s face is carrying a smile that stretches from ear to ear, teeth and gums on full display, eyes formed into perfect crescents, and Luhan gives a mental you’re welcome to all the cameras that suddenly flash at Xiumin.
(that’s the smile Luhan can never take his eyes off of)
3
He isn’t sure exactly when it became such a habit-he just knows that by the time they debuted there was no way to curb it-more of a security blanket than anything else, and it just continued to happen. And Luhan continued to let it happen. He does it unknowingly at any given time for whatever reason he has yet to figure out. It’s just something that happens, whether they’re walking in the airport or waiting around behind the scenes of a shoot or on stage being interviewed and talking to their fans.
Luhan has yet to figure out exactly what makes him latch onto Xiumin’s hand at any and all moments. He doesn’t really intend on putting all that much brainpower into solving this phenomenon though-it’s a nice phenomenon and it’s probably a healthier security blanket than most people his age probably have in the career they’re in.
Whether it’s because he’s biased or if Xiumin really does have the best hands (and Luhan is rather inclined to think that Xiumin just has the best hands but that’s probably the biased thing factoring in once again), Luhan can never simply just hold Xiumin’s hand. It’s like there’s a mini sacred ritual sewn into there somewhere depending on where and when he’s holding the dancer’s hand.
At the airport, and it’s a quick tug, no intertwined fingers because there needs to be stability over intimacy-it’s all about making sure that they don’t lose each other in the crowd, that they stick close to their managers and the other members, that Luhan steadies Xiumin and Xiumin steadies Luhan because they can’t afford to trip or fall in the rush of fans. On stage, they can afford intertwined fingers, arms brushing and grips slack and loose because it’s all about teasing and playing and joking and flirting for the cameras-swinging their joined hands amidst the flashes and filming.
Behind the scenes, backstage or while they’re waiting for the set to be ready, it’s all them. It’s Luhan wandering around aimlessly, bored, before grasping at Xiumin’s hand in the darkness behind the curtains, linking their fingers together, thumb stroking over the dancer’s pulse. It’s Xiumin squeezing Luhan’s hand and offering a promising smile-promising movies on Xiumin’s phone on the long car ride back to the dorm, promising a shoulder for Luhan to pillow his head on during the plane ride back to Korea.
(Luhan always holds Xiumin’s hand against the sheets as he rocks the dancer to orgasm)
4
Kris’s eyes are anything but sympathetic as they look Luhan up and down. If anything, the gaze is smug and utterly infuriating and Luhan can only feel utter hatred as Kris’s head burrows deeper into the humongous scarf wrapped tightly around his neck and face. The scarf is thick and knit and looks wholly warm and inviting and Luhan glares at it with the grudge of a century as he himself shivers when another gust of wind blows through the rehearsal set. “Didn’t I tell you?” Kris says in Mandarin (probably so the managers won’t reprimand the goading), voice muffled and smug.
“Yes,” Luhan says. “Yes, you told me it would be freezing and no, I didn’t listen and yes, you were right and shove it up your ass, Wu Yifan.”
Kris looks offended for all of twenty seconds before he sniffs behind the annoyingly, stupidly large and warm scarf, proceeding to walk away to talk to someone less cold and irate than Luhan (most likely Tao, who is sporting an equally large and ridiculous scarf). Luhan perches himself lightly on the edge of the biggest speakers on the edge of the stage and ignores how his teeth clatter while they wait for further rehearsal directions. There’s not much his thin pullover does for the horrible draft coming in and it honestly looks like he’s the only one who underestimated the venue’s inept heating system.
He folds his arms over his chest and turns towards left stage just in time to see Xiumin come back from the bathroom, still wearing the puffy vest that makes him look equal parts ridiculous and adorable (and Luhan tries not to think about how all he can think about is the adorable half because the ridiculous doesn’t even register to him regardless of how hard Chen laughed at the vest this morning). The dancer stops just in front of Luhan, looking as amused as Kris did.
“Say nothing,” Luhan mutters, “nothing, Kim Minseok.”
But Xiumin merely grins, indeed wordlessly, and sits down beside Luhan on the speakers, leaning to the side and wrapping his arms around Luhan’s entire body-arms and waist and shoulders and all-or at least as much of all that as Xiumin could fit his arms around. The vest is warm around Luhan and the vocalist sighs in grateful relief as he fits his own arms around Xiumin in response, sliding in closer to the source of warmth that Luhan is sure is more Xiumin than the thermal vest of wonders.
“Better?” Xiumin asks once Luhan’s teeth have stopped chattering, and the dancer makes to pull away.
“It takes time to melt an icicle, Minseok-ah,” Luhan sighs with an air of endurance and keeps his arms locked around Xiumin like a vice. He can honestly hear the roll of Xiumin’s eyes and the accompanying grin that buries itself against Luhan’s neck as they stay like that-entwined close and warm, heat shared between just the two of them.
5
He’s only ever seen Xiumin cry twice before.
The first time was far, far before debut when they’d just met (before Minseok was Xiumin) and Xiumin had sprained his ankle dancing and it was a horrible sprain and Yixing had been the one who’d seen it happen because they’d been practicing together and he’d fallen into panicked Mandarin babble when he’d found Luhan to get their dance teachers to help. It was one of those sprains that would’ve been better if it’d just been a clean break instead because the pain certainly wasn’t any different and Luhan had watched as Xiumin’s eyes wetted and spilled over for just a moment before the dancer had clenched the tears away.
The second time is years after the first, and much harder to actually catch-Luhan might’ve missed it through his own tears blurring his sight. The second time is after they win their first award, their six other brothers sitting in front of the stage with proud eyes on them, the fans cheering, the video of all their moments playing on the screen behind them and Luhan has to stare at the ceiling for just a moment to blink the wetness away when he glances over and catches Xiumin doing the exact same.
Whether it’s from joy or pain, Luhan doesn’t like seeing Xiumin cry.
The third time, this time, is for a reason worse than an injury-and not nearly as comforting as happiness from their hard work finally achieving something. The third time is from frustration-for Luhan. There’s been another incident at the airport the way there always has and Lay is still injured and now Luhan has a few bruises scattered over his knees from being pushed, from bumping into the opening door of the van, and it’s probably been building for a few weeks now but Xiumin is outright crying-not sobbing, but the tears line the rims of his eyes and he looks more furious than upset but it’s still something Luhan doesn’t want to see.
“I’ll get more ice,” Xiumin says with quiet anger. He leaves the room a little too quickly, voice shaking, and Luhan wonders what hurts his own heart more-watching Xiumin cry out of pain or watching Xiumin cry for Luhan.
6
Everyone else is asleep by the time Luhan tiptoes downstairs through their rented apartment to catch a drink of water. The end of the year performance went well enough, even if Luhan might’ve liked to be able to spend it with his family or at least the other six in Korea but schedules are schedules. He expects to arrive downstairs at the kitchen in complete darkness, but instead, there’s a faint light leading in from the living room. He frowns, bemused, and forgoes the kitchen, following the source.
“That’s a fire hazard,” Luhan says, walking around the sofas and kneeling beside Xiumin in the middle of the living room.
Xiumin has a cup of piping hot tea in his hands, even though Luhan thinks the dancer should already be warm enough in sweatpants and a thick sweatshirt. There’s a single, large, white candle on the coffee table, just level with Xiumin’s face as he sits on the floor. “I’ve cleared the area of everything flammable,” the dancer says breezily, and grins at Luhan, “unless you’re counting us.”
“Hilarious,” Luhan snorts, and Xiumin laughs. “What’s this for anyway?”
Xiumin holds the mug out to Luhan, and the vocalist sips at it lightly. “My mom always does this,” Xiumin says simply. “It’s like wishing the year happy birthday-says it’s for good luck and stuff-never hurts, right?”
Luhan pulls his sleeves over his hands and scoots in closer to Xiumin, their feet bumping beneath the coffee table as their legs stretch out on the carpet. The candlelight illuminates all the shadows of Xiumin’s face, warming the strands of his hair and eyelashes, hollowing his otherwise full cheeks, playing against the paleness of his skin. “What’re you wishing for?” Luhan asks, nudging the dancer with his shoulder.
Xiumin takes another mouthful of hot tea before sliding the cup over for Luhan’s turn. “Not wishing,” Xiumin says once he swallows. He smiles. “Praying-it’s different-works better too.”
“Okay,” Luhan rolls his eyes, smiling back. “What’re you praying for?”
The only reply Luhan gets is Xiumin’s mouth pressed against his own, Xiumin’s lips parting against his for a quick dart of tongue before he breaks it off and grins broadly. “It’s a secret,” Xiumin says-singsongs-and Luhan throws his arms around the dancer, tackling him to the floor.
(they muffle their laughter in each other’s shoulders because they can’t wake their members and managers)
7
As soon as the photographer yells for a break, Luhan is stomping past the cameras and sprinting after Xiumin. The dancer laughs and runs for it as soon as he sees Luhan approaching, and their managers simply shout after them to be back in time for the group shots. Luhan chases Xiumin up and down the studio, taking great care to swerve properly so that they don’t knock any of the equipment or staff to the ground but Luhan doesn’t even really care so long as he gets his hands wrapped around the dancer-that bastard.
He doesn’t manage to catch Xiumin until they’re out in the hall, out near the lobby, out near the building’s security desk. Xiumin shouts in surprise when Luhan tackles him against the wall and the shout dissolves into helpless laughter as the dancer slides to the floor with his eyes shut in mirth. “Say you’re sorry,” Luhan grins, “say you’re fucking sorry, Kim Minseok.”
Xiumin shakes his head profusely, opening one eye with everything but apology in it as he looks up at Luhan. The vocalist leans over him, fingers digging into Xiumin’s hips. “You didn’t have to laugh,” Xiumin says, mockingly lofty. “Didn’t know you were so unprofessional, Luhan-ah.”
And that’s just unfair because Xiumin’s face already puts Luhan in high spirits as it is-Xiumin’s face contorted in every which way possible on purpose just to make Luhan laugh will, definitely and fairly easily, achieve those exact results. To add insult to injury, Xiumin did all of this for the amusement of the members as he stood behind the row of cameras during Luhan’s turn for his one-on-one pictures-photos that Luhan needed to keep a straight face for.
Luhan pinches Xiumin’s cheeks with either hand, stretching them out far enough until Xiumin starts to bat away his hands and wince. “Luhan-ah,” he says loudly, and shoves the vocalist backwards. Luhan just bounces back and this time squishes Xiumin’s face inwards, dodging the dancer’s ineffectual slap.
“Payback,” Luhan laughs, when he finally relents and let’s Xiumin smack his arms and chest.
Xiumin sticks his tongue out, sucks air into his cheeks, and makes an ungodly squelching sound with his mouth-taking great lengths to cover Luhan’s face in as much saliva as possible and Luhan should be disgusted-he should.
(instead, he just can’t stop laughing)
8
Sometimes Luhan can’t sleep.
It’s horrible and mind-numbing-to be so exhausted that his eyelids are drooping even as they stumble into the hotel room or back to the dorms, but once his head hits the pillow, his eyes won’t seem to stay closed. He’ll toss and turn restlessly for a few hours before giving up and be all the more tired once they have to start schedules again. At one point, he’s been desperate enough to resort to taking sleeping pills that he stole off one of their managers, but that put him in a sleep that was so deep he couldn’t shake it off when he woke up early for a shoot and carried a migraine for the rest of the day.
He’s found a better solution since then.
Xiumin has a habit of humming as he gets ready for bed, sometimes even as he falls asleep. It could be a song that’s been stuck in his head for the week-it could be a cover song they had to perform on stage just hours before. Luhan doesn’t really care what song, because it’s not the tune that lulls him off to blissful unconsciousness whenever he has trouble closing his eyes.
“The fans always call me a baby,” Xiumin snorts, as Luhan wraps himself around the dancer beneath the sheets (and they’re both still sticky and naked and overly warm and breathless), “but it’s really you.”
Luhan just holds him closer and Xiumin’s head rests against the vocalist’s chest, hair tickling Luhan’s chin, as Xiumin obliges and indulges him anyway-a Chinese ballad that Chen’s been practicing around the dorms this time, and Luhan recognizes it. He supposes it’s probably been running through Xiumin’s head helplessly because of how relentless Chen has been in getting it memorized. Luhan can feel the vibrations of Xiumin’s low humming against his own heartbeat, and he presses his cheek to Xiumin’s hair.
The vocalist’s eyes close with a smile.
9
He’s been made fun for it more times than he can count.
From Kris and Lay far before debut to Sehun and Kai when they found out later on after debut. Everyone in the group has made fun of Luhan for it at least once, and most have made fun of him for it multiple times-normally every time it happens, at least one member thinks it’s necessary to poke Luhan in the side for it and laugh. “Luhan-hyung’s Minseok-hyung senses are tingling,” Chanyeol laughed one time, and Luhan never knew his own ears could turn that red.
Every time Luhan tells himself that this time, this time, he’ll just keep it to himself, but time and time again proves him wrong-proves him incapable of going about his business whenever he hears those utterly familiar steps that he somehow can recognize from behind thick doors and thicker walls. It’s not that he has superhuman hearing-it’s not that he even has particularly good external senses-it’s just that somehow he can discern Xiumin’s steps from anyone else’s. Everyone hears steps, but Luhan just knows which steps are Xiumin’s.
“It’s kind of creepy,” Baekhyun says, as he and Luhan sit together in the waiting room before the performance. Most of the members haven’t finished dressing yet, and some members are still in the other room getting their hair done.
“No,” Luhan mutters defensively. “Like-Minseokie just walks differently-can’t you hear it?”
Baekhyun looks at him like he’s helplessly insane.
“Never mind,” Luhan flaps his hand uselessly at the main vocalist. He’s about to turn the subject to how Baekhyun and Chanyeol went into the shower this morning at the same time and spent at least an hour and a half in there, utterly deaf to the shouts of the rest of the group, when his ears prick up and he struggles to continue talking to Baekhyun as if he can’t hear anything outside the door.
But Baekhyun takes one look at Luhan and laughs. “Go on, hyung,” he rolls his eyes.
By now Luhan’s mostly given up on retaining his dignity, and strides to the door at the same time that Xiumin opens it, finally finished with hair and make-up and ready to put on his stage costume. The dancer blinks-first to Luhan and then to Baekhyun, who waves mildly. “I don’t think I’ll ever get over your weird, creepy hearing thing,” Xiumin says, as he leans in and gives Luhan a quick kiss colored with the bitterness of hairspray and foundation.
“Yours is over there, Minseok-hyung,” Baekhyun says, and points to the clothes rack in the far edge of the room.
“It’s not creepy,” Luhan says for the second time that day. And with the way Xiumin smiles at him, throws his arm around Luhan’s neck and gives him a far more thorough kiss (ignoring Baekhyun’s vomiting act in the background), Luhan knows that Xiumin doesn’t actually think it’s weird and creepy-not really.
10
It’s the smallest, most random, most spontaneous and nonsensical of things. It’s Xiumin looking up with amused eyes after fixing his microphone pack. It’s Xiumin choking on a bottle of iced tea and having to mime to Luhan to pat his back. It’s Xiumin laughing until he can’t possibly breathe over something Lay did yet again. It’s Xiumin trading ages with Chen and begging the main vocalist to buy him pudding. It’s Xiumin enviously touching Tao’s new jeans while the maknae wears them. It’s Xiumin grinning and helplessly trying to jump high enough to reach the can of soda Kris is holding above his own head.
It’s Xiumin jumping onto Luhan one day when Luhan is spread-eagle on the living room couch, trying to get some reading (sent by his father) done so his mind doesn’t completely deteriorate into nothing but schedules and songs and choreography. Xiumin pushes Luhan’s iPad aside, putting it onto the coffee table before the dancer leans down, the fronts of their bodies pressing together as Xiumin’s thighs frame Luhan’s hips. “Hi,” Xiumin says brightly, settling his face close enough to kiss but just out of Luhan’s reach.
Luhan has no choice but to smile back. “Hi,” he replies and braces himself up on his elbows to cover the distance between their lips.
“So I was thinking,” Xiumin begins conspiratorially, as Luhan buries his fingers in the dancer’s hair, “we should steal all of Wufan’s socks and hide them before we have to pack tonight-let’s put them in the bathtub.”
Luhan moves the hand in Xiumin’s hair to the back of the dancer’s neck, pulling him in for another kiss that goes on and on and on and doesn’t stop when Luhan’s tongue playfully slides against Xiumin’s lips-doesn’t stop when Xiumin sighs into Luhan’s mouth-doesn’t stop until they’re nearly panting and Luhan’s hands are starting to wind up beneath Xiumin’s shirt, hiking the fabric up until Xiumin’s bare chest and stomach are pressed against Luhan’s body. A flush colors Xiumin’s face as he grins, lips now swollen and wet, down at Luhan.
“Good idea,” Luhan says.
“All my ideas are,” Xiumin shrugs. He doesn’t bother pulling his shirt down so Luhan continues to stroke up and down Xiumin’s bare side.
Luhan sits up a little straighter, swiftly brushing his lips over Xiumin’s cheek. “Let’s not get carried away.”
The shirt falls back down over Xiumin as the dancer stands up and pulls Luhan to his feet as well. “I was the one who thought of painting Junmyeon’s dress shoes orange. And then blaming it on Chanyeol.”
“I was the one who actually painted his shoes orange,” Luhan says. “And then blamed Chanyeol.”
Xiumin grins, slipping his hand into Luhan’s and squeezing playfully. “So I’m the brain and you’re the brawn. Nothing new there.”
“One day, Kim Minseok, I’m actually going to tear you limb from limb and you’ll never know the conspiracy until it hits you and then we’ll see who’s the actual brain-we’ll see who went to one of Korea’s best universities-we’ll see,” Luhan mock whispers as mock-terrifyingly as he can, hands cupped around his mouth and Xiumin is dissolving into absolute hysterics-the dancer is falling back onto the couch and rolling around, utterly lost to the absurdity of it all.
Luhan decides to dive back in, arms thrown around Xiumin’s body and he muffles his own laughter into Xiumin’s stomach, the warm cloth of the t-shirt soaked in Xiumin’s scent. And-oh-he loves far too much the sound of Xiumin’s laughter, loves too much how Xiumin’s teeth and gums are all over the place when his head is thrown back, mouth open, eyes absolutely vanished.
“Yeah,” Xiumin snorts, still half in helpless laughter. “Yeah-okay, Luhan-ah-okay. Tear me limb from limb-sure, you will.” He rolls his eyes before settling his gaze back to meet Luhan’s. “You love me.”
Too much, Luhan adds in his mind, way too much-too much to even be possible.
“I hate you actually,” Luhan retorts, playfully poking Xiumin’s cheek. “C’mon-Wufan’s socks won’t steal themselves.”
And Xiumin gives a last laugh before he lets Luhan pull him up and towards their leader’s room.
author: himawarixxsandz
rating: pg-13
pairing(s): xiuhan
summary: 10 reasons to love you
a/n: NO REALLY BUT EVERYONE CLICK ON THE LINK bc i used the same reasons that were in the song only with a different twist and i don't really explicitly state them in the fic sO yeah. also it's the sweetest song ever i cry like every time bc it's so fuggin cute. I AM JUST IN SUCH A XIUHAN MOOD BC THEY'RE ACTUALLY SO ACHINGLY RIDICULOUS.
1
When he first arrives at SM, the atmosphere that surrounds him amongst the other trainees isn’t the greatest. There are a few other Chinese trainees, and he’s made friends with them but they all still mostly huddle together in the sea of Korean trainees that are less than friendly because of how it’s common knowledge that the company is probably willing to invest a little more on foreign material for promising marketable overseas material. Add that to the fact that Luhan is already fluent in Korean, can sing a little over passably well, and he perhaps receives more hostility than the other Chinese trainees.
Bullying is inevitable.
Being ignored to the point where being outright bullied would hurt less is also fairly expected.
During breaks he’d usually eat with the others (Wufan and Yixing and Zitao are closest to him lately) but all three of them are having Korean lessons together-all of the Chinese trainees are having Korean lessons today and Luhan is the only one who doesn’t need them, so he’s here with the other trainees, taking a lunch break from dance practice. He has no one to eat with. It’s not a big deal, it’s just lonely and he can’t stop it from stinging because he’s more sensitive than he’d usually be if he were back home where everything is still bright and the future isn’t so uncertain and bleak.
He sets out against the corner, taking out chopsticks and the plastic container filled with rice and leftover beef and greens from last night. His back leans against the cool mirror, sighs of relief escaping his lips at how cold it is against the perspiration-soaked back of his t-shirt. He’s just about to begin opening everything when a pair of scuffed sneakers appears in his line of sight and his eyes glance upward.
“Can I help you?” Luhan asks, blinking.
And he knows this boy-he knows Kim Minseok because Yixing and this boy are usually pulled to the side for extra dance assignments just to see what kind of material they can master and how far they might be pushed. He doesn’t know Kim Minseok, but he knows the name and the face (hidden behind layers upon layers of soft, dark hair that sorely needs a haircut).
Minseok sits down beside him and begins unpacking his own lunch (and Luhan’s eyes move across the studio, over to where the other packs of Korean trainees have completely given up on ignoring Luhan and are outright staring at them). “All of my friends are out sick,” Minseok says simply in what is probably the worst and most half-hearted lie Luhan has ever heard. He stares at the other boy and can’t be bothered to stop because what is Minseok doing. “Also,” Minseok continues and Luhan is staring as hard as the outraged Korean trainees behind him (whom Luhan assumes are Minseok’s actual friends-not the imaginary sick friends), “I wanted to steal your beef.”
And as Minseok does exactly that (and then smiles out at Luhan and reels him in instantly into a debate about what song they’ll be made to learn a routine to next and if Luhan could help Minseok with some vocal scales), Luhan feels an odd warmth exploding all through his body just by meeting the other boy’s eyes.
2
On his way out of the dressing room and towards the studio for the photoshoot, Luhan comes to a screeching halt right by the full-length mirrors positioned conveniently behind the round of cameras. His eyebrows furrow and he blinks unsurely. “Minseok-ah,” he says, as he watches Xiumin contort his own face with his hands-pulling at his own cheeks and making terribly funny faces at the reflection, “what’re you doing?”
Xiumin catches his gaze in the mirror. “Trying to practice a smile that doesn’t make my face look bigger-I heard they had to edit me for a long time in our last shoot.”
“Your face is the size of my fist,” Luhan says, confused. “And what’s wrong with your smile?”
“Nothing’s wrong with my smile,” Xiumin grins, turning around. “Just for the photos, that’s all-manager-hyung said I should smile prettier. Different smiles for different things.”
Luhan frowns.
But Xiumin is already walking forward for his turn, right after Tao finished up.
It’s only after five different sets that Luhan starts to realize what Xiumin is getting at. Smiles for magazine shoots are subtler, calmer, half-smiles that lilt teasingly and quietly and Xiumin barely shows any teeth and his eyes stay round and shining instead of disappearing like they normally do when he really smiles. The difference isn’t bad and Luhan supposes that distinguishing that isn’t horrible either, but it just doesn’t sit right with him personally. The magazine pictures are supposed to be for their fans and Luhan doesn’t think any real fan of Xiumin’s wants to see only those smiles.
(Luhan doesn’t really like to look at those smiles himself)
The next time they’re on stage for a short talk after their performance, Luhan shoves Xiumin forward in sacrifice at the interviewer’s request for aegyo and he’s rewarded with a grand peal of laughter from Xiumin’s mouth-followed by immediate shoving and smacking, but Luhan doesn’t really mind because the goal was never to actually get Xiumin to do the aegyo. The real goal is accomplished easily as Xiumin turns to face Luhan and the dancer’s face is carrying a smile that stretches from ear to ear, teeth and gums on full display, eyes formed into perfect crescents, and Luhan gives a mental you’re welcome to all the cameras that suddenly flash at Xiumin.
(that’s the smile Luhan can never take his eyes off of)
3
He isn’t sure exactly when it became such a habit-he just knows that by the time they debuted there was no way to curb it-more of a security blanket than anything else, and it just continued to happen. And Luhan continued to let it happen. He does it unknowingly at any given time for whatever reason he has yet to figure out. It’s just something that happens, whether they’re walking in the airport or waiting around behind the scenes of a shoot or on stage being interviewed and talking to their fans.
Luhan has yet to figure out exactly what makes him latch onto Xiumin’s hand at any and all moments. He doesn’t really intend on putting all that much brainpower into solving this phenomenon though-it’s a nice phenomenon and it’s probably a healthier security blanket than most people his age probably have in the career they’re in.
Whether it’s because he’s biased or if Xiumin really does have the best hands (and Luhan is rather inclined to think that Xiumin just has the best hands but that’s probably the biased thing factoring in once again), Luhan can never simply just hold Xiumin’s hand. It’s like there’s a mini sacred ritual sewn into there somewhere depending on where and when he’s holding the dancer’s hand.
At the airport, and it’s a quick tug, no intertwined fingers because there needs to be stability over intimacy-it’s all about making sure that they don’t lose each other in the crowd, that they stick close to their managers and the other members, that Luhan steadies Xiumin and Xiumin steadies Luhan because they can’t afford to trip or fall in the rush of fans. On stage, they can afford intertwined fingers, arms brushing and grips slack and loose because it’s all about teasing and playing and joking and flirting for the cameras-swinging their joined hands amidst the flashes and filming.
Behind the scenes, backstage or while they’re waiting for the set to be ready, it’s all them. It’s Luhan wandering around aimlessly, bored, before grasping at Xiumin’s hand in the darkness behind the curtains, linking their fingers together, thumb stroking over the dancer’s pulse. It’s Xiumin squeezing Luhan’s hand and offering a promising smile-promising movies on Xiumin’s phone on the long car ride back to the dorm, promising a shoulder for Luhan to pillow his head on during the plane ride back to Korea.
(Luhan always holds Xiumin’s hand against the sheets as he rocks the dancer to orgasm)
4
Kris’s eyes are anything but sympathetic as they look Luhan up and down. If anything, the gaze is smug and utterly infuriating and Luhan can only feel utter hatred as Kris’s head burrows deeper into the humongous scarf wrapped tightly around his neck and face. The scarf is thick and knit and looks wholly warm and inviting and Luhan glares at it with the grudge of a century as he himself shivers when another gust of wind blows through the rehearsal set. “Didn’t I tell you?” Kris says in Mandarin (probably so the managers won’t reprimand the goading), voice muffled and smug.
“Yes,” Luhan says. “Yes, you told me it would be freezing and no, I didn’t listen and yes, you were right and shove it up your ass, Wu Yifan.”
Kris looks offended for all of twenty seconds before he sniffs behind the annoyingly, stupidly large and warm scarf, proceeding to walk away to talk to someone less cold and irate than Luhan (most likely Tao, who is sporting an equally large and ridiculous scarf). Luhan perches himself lightly on the edge of the biggest speakers on the edge of the stage and ignores how his teeth clatter while they wait for further rehearsal directions. There’s not much his thin pullover does for the horrible draft coming in and it honestly looks like he’s the only one who underestimated the venue’s inept heating system.
He folds his arms over his chest and turns towards left stage just in time to see Xiumin come back from the bathroom, still wearing the puffy vest that makes him look equal parts ridiculous and adorable (and Luhan tries not to think about how all he can think about is the adorable half because the ridiculous doesn’t even register to him regardless of how hard Chen laughed at the vest this morning). The dancer stops just in front of Luhan, looking as amused as Kris did.
“Say nothing,” Luhan mutters, “nothing, Kim Minseok.”
But Xiumin merely grins, indeed wordlessly, and sits down beside Luhan on the speakers, leaning to the side and wrapping his arms around Luhan’s entire body-arms and waist and shoulders and all-or at least as much of all that as Xiumin could fit his arms around. The vest is warm around Luhan and the vocalist sighs in grateful relief as he fits his own arms around Xiumin in response, sliding in closer to the source of warmth that Luhan is sure is more Xiumin than the thermal vest of wonders.
“Better?” Xiumin asks once Luhan’s teeth have stopped chattering, and the dancer makes to pull away.
“It takes time to melt an icicle, Minseok-ah,” Luhan sighs with an air of endurance and keeps his arms locked around Xiumin like a vice. He can honestly hear the roll of Xiumin’s eyes and the accompanying grin that buries itself against Luhan’s neck as they stay like that-entwined close and warm, heat shared between just the two of them.
5
He’s only ever seen Xiumin cry twice before.
The first time was far, far before debut when they’d just met (before Minseok was Xiumin) and Xiumin had sprained his ankle dancing and it was a horrible sprain and Yixing had been the one who’d seen it happen because they’d been practicing together and he’d fallen into panicked Mandarin babble when he’d found Luhan to get their dance teachers to help. It was one of those sprains that would’ve been better if it’d just been a clean break instead because the pain certainly wasn’t any different and Luhan had watched as Xiumin’s eyes wetted and spilled over for just a moment before the dancer had clenched the tears away.
The second time is years after the first, and much harder to actually catch-Luhan might’ve missed it through his own tears blurring his sight. The second time is after they win their first award, their six other brothers sitting in front of the stage with proud eyes on them, the fans cheering, the video of all their moments playing on the screen behind them and Luhan has to stare at the ceiling for just a moment to blink the wetness away when he glances over and catches Xiumin doing the exact same.
Whether it’s from joy or pain, Luhan doesn’t like seeing Xiumin cry.
The third time, this time, is for a reason worse than an injury-and not nearly as comforting as happiness from their hard work finally achieving something. The third time is from frustration-for Luhan. There’s been another incident at the airport the way there always has and Lay is still injured and now Luhan has a few bruises scattered over his knees from being pushed, from bumping into the opening door of the van, and it’s probably been building for a few weeks now but Xiumin is outright crying-not sobbing, but the tears line the rims of his eyes and he looks more furious than upset but it’s still something Luhan doesn’t want to see.
“I’ll get more ice,” Xiumin says with quiet anger. He leaves the room a little too quickly, voice shaking, and Luhan wonders what hurts his own heart more-watching Xiumin cry out of pain or watching Xiumin cry for Luhan.
6
Everyone else is asleep by the time Luhan tiptoes downstairs through their rented apartment to catch a drink of water. The end of the year performance went well enough, even if Luhan might’ve liked to be able to spend it with his family or at least the other six in Korea but schedules are schedules. He expects to arrive downstairs at the kitchen in complete darkness, but instead, there’s a faint light leading in from the living room. He frowns, bemused, and forgoes the kitchen, following the source.
“That’s a fire hazard,” Luhan says, walking around the sofas and kneeling beside Xiumin in the middle of the living room.
Xiumin has a cup of piping hot tea in his hands, even though Luhan thinks the dancer should already be warm enough in sweatpants and a thick sweatshirt. There’s a single, large, white candle on the coffee table, just level with Xiumin’s face as he sits on the floor. “I’ve cleared the area of everything flammable,” the dancer says breezily, and grins at Luhan, “unless you’re counting us.”
“Hilarious,” Luhan snorts, and Xiumin laughs. “What’s this for anyway?”
Xiumin holds the mug out to Luhan, and the vocalist sips at it lightly. “My mom always does this,” Xiumin says simply. “It’s like wishing the year happy birthday-says it’s for good luck and stuff-never hurts, right?”
Luhan pulls his sleeves over his hands and scoots in closer to Xiumin, their feet bumping beneath the coffee table as their legs stretch out on the carpet. The candlelight illuminates all the shadows of Xiumin’s face, warming the strands of his hair and eyelashes, hollowing his otherwise full cheeks, playing against the paleness of his skin. “What’re you wishing for?” Luhan asks, nudging the dancer with his shoulder.
Xiumin takes another mouthful of hot tea before sliding the cup over for Luhan’s turn. “Not wishing,” Xiumin says once he swallows. He smiles. “Praying-it’s different-works better too.”
“Okay,” Luhan rolls his eyes, smiling back. “What’re you praying for?”
The only reply Luhan gets is Xiumin’s mouth pressed against his own, Xiumin’s lips parting against his for a quick dart of tongue before he breaks it off and grins broadly. “It’s a secret,” Xiumin says-singsongs-and Luhan throws his arms around the dancer, tackling him to the floor.
(they muffle their laughter in each other’s shoulders because they can’t wake their members and managers)
7
As soon as the photographer yells for a break, Luhan is stomping past the cameras and sprinting after Xiumin. The dancer laughs and runs for it as soon as he sees Luhan approaching, and their managers simply shout after them to be back in time for the group shots. Luhan chases Xiumin up and down the studio, taking great care to swerve properly so that they don’t knock any of the equipment or staff to the ground but Luhan doesn’t even really care so long as he gets his hands wrapped around the dancer-that bastard.
He doesn’t manage to catch Xiumin until they’re out in the hall, out near the lobby, out near the building’s security desk. Xiumin shouts in surprise when Luhan tackles him against the wall and the shout dissolves into helpless laughter as the dancer slides to the floor with his eyes shut in mirth. “Say you’re sorry,” Luhan grins, “say you’re fucking sorry, Kim Minseok.”
Xiumin shakes his head profusely, opening one eye with everything but apology in it as he looks up at Luhan. The vocalist leans over him, fingers digging into Xiumin’s hips. “You didn’t have to laugh,” Xiumin says, mockingly lofty. “Didn’t know you were so unprofessional, Luhan-ah.”
And that’s just unfair because Xiumin’s face already puts Luhan in high spirits as it is-Xiumin’s face contorted in every which way possible on purpose just to make Luhan laugh will, definitely and fairly easily, achieve those exact results. To add insult to injury, Xiumin did all of this for the amusement of the members as he stood behind the row of cameras during Luhan’s turn for his one-on-one pictures-photos that Luhan needed to keep a straight face for.
Luhan pinches Xiumin’s cheeks with either hand, stretching them out far enough until Xiumin starts to bat away his hands and wince. “Luhan-ah,” he says loudly, and shoves the vocalist backwards. Luhan just bounces back and this time squishes Xiumin’s face inwards, dodging the dancer’s ineffectual slap.
“Payback,” Luhan laughs, when he finally relents and let’s Xiumin smack his arms and chest.
Xiumin sticks his tongue out, sucks air into his cheeks, and makes an ungodly squelching sound with his mouth-taking great lengths to cover Luhan’s face in as much saliva as possible and Luhan should be disgusted-he should.
(instead, he just can’t stop laughing)
8
Sometimes Luhan can’t sleep.
It’s horrible and mind-numbing-to be so exhausted that his eyelids are drooping even as they stumble into the hotel room or back to the dorms, but once his head hits the pillow, his eyes won’t seem to stay closed. He’ll toss and turn restlessly for a few hours before giving up and be all the more tired once they have to start schedules again. At one point, he’s been desperate enough to resort to taking sleeping pills that he stole off one of their managers, but that put him in a sleep that was so deep he couldn’t shake it off when he woke up early for a shoot and carried a migraine for the rest of the day.
He’s found a better solution since then.
Xiumin has a habit of humming as he gets ready for bed, sometimes even as he falls asleep. It could be a song that’s been stuck in his head for the week-it could be a cover song they had to perform on stage just hours before. Luhan doesn’t really care what song, because it’s not the tune that lulls him off to blissful unconsciousness whenever he has trouble closing his eyes.
“The fans always call me a baby,” Xiumin snorts, as Luhan wraps himself around the dancer beneath the sheets (and they’re both still sticky and naked and overly warm and breathless), “but it’s really you.”
Luhan just holds him closer and Xiumin’s head rests against the vocalist’s chest, hair tickling Luhan’s chin, as Xiumin obliges and indulges him anyway-a Chinese ballad that Chen’s been practicing around the dorms this time, and Luhan recognizes it. He supposes it’s probably been running through Xiumin’s head helplessly because of how relentless Chen has been in getting it memorized. Luhan can feel the vibrations of Xiumin’s low humming against his own heartbeat, and he presses his cheek to Xiumin’s hair.
The vocalist’s eyes close with a smile.
9
He’s been made fun for it more times than he can count.
From Kris and Lay far before debut to Sehun and Kai when they found out later on after debut. Everyone in the group has made fun of Luhan for it at least once, and most have made fun of him for it multiple times-normally every time it happens, at least one member thinks it’s necessary to poke Luhan in the side for it and laugh. “Luhan-hyung’s Minseok-hyung senses are tingling,” Chanyeol laughed one time, and Luhan never knew his own ears could turn that red.
Every time Luhan tells himself that this time, this time, he’ll just keep it to himself, but time and time again proves him wrong-proves him incapable of going about his business whenever he hears those utterly familiar steps that he somehow can recognize from behind thick doors and thicker walls. It’s not that he has superhuman hearing-it’s not that he even has particularly good external senses-it’s just that somehow he can discern Xiumin’s steps from anyone else’s. Everyone hears steps, but Luhan just knows which steps are Xiumin’s.
“It’s kind of creepy,” Baekhyun says, as he and Luhan sit together in the waiting room before the performance. Most of the members haven’t finished dressing yet, and some members are still in the other room getting their hair done.
“No,” Luhan mutters defensively. “Like-Minseokie just walks differently-can’t you hear it?”
Baekhyun looks at him like he’s helplessly insane.
“Never mind,” Luhan flaps his hand uselessly at the main vocalist. He’s about to turn the subject to how Baekhyun and Chanyeol went into the shower this morning at the same time and spent at least an hour and a half in there, utterly deaf to the shouts of the rest of the group, when his ears prick up and he struggles to continue talking to Baekhyun as if he can’t hear anything outside the door.
But Baekhyun takes one look at Luhan and laughs. “Go on, hyung,” he rolls his eyes.
By now Luhan’s mostly given up on retaining his dignity, and strides to the door at the same time that Xiumin opens it, finally finished with hair and make-up and ready to put on his stage costume. The dancer blinks-first to Luhan and then to Baekhyun, who waves mildly. “I don’t think I’ll ever get over your weird, creepy hearing thing,” Xiumin says, as he leans in and gives Luhan a quick kiss colored with the bitterness of hairspray and foundation.
“Yours is over there, Minseok-hyung,” Baekhyun says, and points to the clothes rack in the far edge of the room.
“It’s not creepy,” Luhan says for the second time that day. And with the way Xiumin smiles at him, throws his arm around Luhan’s neck and gives him a far more thorough kiss (ignoring Baekhyun’s vomiting act in the background), Luhan knows that Xiumin doesn’t actually think it’s weird and creepy-not really.
10
It’s the smallest, most random, most spontaneous and nonsensical of things. It’s Xiumin looking up with amused eyes after fixing his microphone pack. It’s Xiumin choking on a bottle of iced tea and having to mime to Luhan to pat his back. It’s Xiumin laughing until he can’t possibly breathe over something Lay did yet again. It’s Xiumin trading ages with Chen and begging the main vocalist to buy him pudding. It’s Xiumin enviously touching Tao’s new jeans while the maknae wears them. It’s Xiumin grinning and helplessly trying to jump high enough to reach the can of soda Kris is holding above his own head.
It’s Xiumin jumping onto Luhan one day when Luhan is spread-eagle on the living room couch, trying to get some reading (sent by his father) done so his mind doesn’t completely deteriorate into nothing but schedules and songs and choreography. Xiumin pushes Luhan’s iPad aside, putting it onto the coffee table before the dancer leans down, the fronts of their bodies pressing together as Xiumin’s thighs frame Luhan’s hips. “Hi,” Xiumin says brightly, settling his face close enough to kiss but just out of Luhan’s reach.
Luhan has no choice but to smile back. “Hi,” he replies and braces himself up on his elbows to cover the distance between their lips.
“So I was thinking,” Xiumin begins conspiratorially, as Luhan buries his fingers in the dancer’s hair, “we should steal all of Wufan’s socks and hide them before we have to pack tonight-let’s put them in the bathtub.”
Luhan moves the hand in Xiumin’s hair to the back of the dancer’s neck, pulling him in for another kiss that goes on and on and on and doesn’t stop when Luhan’s tongue playfully slides against Xiumin’s lips-doesn’t stop when Xiumin sighs into Luhan’s mouth-doesn’t stop until they’re nearly panting and Luhan’s hands are starting to wind up beneath Xiumin’s shirt, hiking the fabric up until Xiumin’s bare chest and stomach are pressed against Luhan’s body. A flush colors Xiumin’s face as he grins, lips now swollen and wet, down at Luhan.
“Good idea,” Luhan says.
“All my ideas are,” Xiumin shrugs. He doesn’t bother pulling his shirt down so Luhan continues to stroke up and down Xiumin’s bare side.
Luhan sits up a little straighter, swiftly brushing his lips over Xiumin’s cheek. “Let’s not get carried away.”
The shirt falls back down over Xiumin as the dancer stands up and pulls Luhan to his feet as well. “I was the one who thought of painting Junmyeon’s dress shoes orange. And then blaming it on Chanyeol.”
“I was the one who actually painted his shoes orange,” Luhan says. “And then blamed Chanyeol.”
Xiumin grins, slipping his hand into Luhan’s and squeezing playfully. “So I’m the brain and you’re the brawn. Nothing new there.”
“One day, Kim Minseok, I’m actually going to tear you limb from limb and you’ll never know the conspiracy until it hits you and then we’ll see who’s the actual brain-we’ll see who went to one of Korea’s best universities-we’ll see,” Luhan mock whispers as mock-terrifyingly as he can, hands cupped around his mouth and Xiumin is dissolving into absolute hysterics-the dancer is falling back onto the couch and rolling around, utterly lost to the absurdity of it all.
Luhan decides to dive back in, arms thrown around Xiumin’s body and he muffles his own laughter into Xiumin’s stomach, the warm cloth of the t-shirt soaked in Xiumin’s scent. And-oh-he loves far too much the sound of Xiumin’s laughter, loves too much how Xiumin’s teeth and gums are all over the place when his head is thrown back, mouth open, eyes absolutely vanished.
“Yeah,” Xiumin snorts, still half in helpless laughter. “Yeah-okay, Luhan-ah-okay. Tear me limb from limb-sure, you will.” He rolls his eyes before settling his gaze back to meet Luhan’s. “You love me.”
Too much, Luhan adds in his mind, way too much-too much to even be possible.
“I hate you actually,” Luhan retorts, playfully poking Xiumin’s cheek. “C’mon-Wufan’s socks won’t steal themselves.”
And Xiumin gives a last laugh before he lets Luhan pull him up and towards their leader’s room.