fire alarm; [minho/taemin]
fire alarm
minho/taemin; pg
1,351 words
Summary: Taemin smokes. Minho reacts. Just a random tidbit of a fic before I'm off to school. Please don't ask what came over when I wrote this. The other boys tend to smother and baby him, and I bet any teenage boy would feel indignant. Just. Cries. Oh Taemin.
Taemin knows a lot of the sunbaenim smoke. They huddle together in open spaces, red, blue and green packs in their hands. He sees a few of them waving to him with slightly yellowed teeth, their stage outfits reeking of smoke when they move to ruffle his hair. Some of their group mates trail after them with subtly disapproving looks on their faces, and Taemin finds himself taking the smokers' side. They were old enough to make their own decisions. They were old enough to know better, and who were the others to tell them what not to do?
When he explains to Kibum later on the van ride home that he needs to go out and buy a new set of earphones, and Kibum shoots the idea down with a flat-out no, the grate of irritation nestles in his chest.
"Why not?" he says.
"Jinki will do it," Kibum says without looking up from browsing his ipod. "And you need to do your homework. How much time will you have left if you go out?"
"A lot," he argues. "Come on, hyung --"
"No, Taeminnie." Kibum sighs in exasperation, and Taemin feels like a five-year-old sitting in time out.
Come the next concert with their sunbaenim, Taemin leans on the doorframe of their dressing room, greeting Yoochun with a sunny smile, and the other man does the same. He passes in a rush, but Taemin is quick on his feet; he snatches the pack from Yoochun's rear and buries it deep in his pocket when Jinki stands beside him and asks who he was talking to.
He smiles, looking up at Jinki. "No one, hyung."
-
He inhales a good lungful of smoke his first time, and his even breathing quickly degenerates into choking coughs and hacks. He folds into himself and clutches his stomach as he tries to regain control of his body. He springs back up with a deep breath, closes his eyes, heaves, and brings the stick to his lips.
This time the smoke settles in his stomach and swirls around him, making his eyes teary and unfocused. He isn't that surprised to find that he likes it.
-
"Are you okay?" Jinki's hands on his forehead are cool to the touch, and his own body betrays him as he leans forward. "You don't look so good, Taeminnie."
His hands are shaking and his limbs are splayed out all over the floor. The other members peer down at him, curious and more than a little concerned. He lets out a small cough as he rises to his feet, unsteady and awkward. It feels a bit like growing pains, but it melds together with the odd feeling of euphoria.
"I'm fine." It comes out rough, sandpaper grating on wood, and even Minho does a double take.
"Our little baby is growing up," Kibum squeals, and embraces him tight. He wrings his hands once, twice, thrice, just to get rid of the tremors, before putting his arms around Kibum's back.
-
"Minho-hyung," he says, clearing his throat. "I was thinking..."
"Mm?" Minho says non-commitally. He's putting things into his knapsack, things that he probably won't even need, Taemin thinks. What were the flashlight, band-aids and junk food for? Wasn't he just going on a dorm visit?
"Where are you going?" he asks instead, quietly.
"Change of plans," Minho grunts. "Nichkhun-hyung wants to go hiking with Wooyoung-hyung."
He sputters, and it must have sounded foreign to Minho because he cranes his head to look at him in surprise. "And you're going? But we have schedule tomorrow!"
Minho shrugs, throws a pack of wet towels in for good measure. "I'll be back tonight."
Later that afternoon, he ushers his three hyungdeul outside in the pretense that he's sick with some infectious cough, locks the door and opens the windows.
It's already midnight and Minho has returned by the time he hears tentative knocks on the door. Taeminnie, Taeminnie, we have to sleep, they're saying, but he's too busy huffing and puffing and fanning all the smoke out into the open air. He's out of breath by the time he opens the door, and he's panting, sweaty and dressed only in a thin tank-top and boxer shorts.
Jonghyun wrinkles his nose as he enters. "What is that smell?"
"It's a new age herb medicine my grandma sent me," Taemin says through his teeth.
"You sound way worse." Jinki's frown is deep as he steps back out with Kibum. "I'll go get you some water and aspirin."
Minho says nothing and only looks at him with narrowed eyes. For the first time since they've been in the dorm together, Taemin stares back.
-
The tremors come more frequently now. Sometimes his head spins so much that he barely feels the ground he's walking on, much less remembers where his foot goes and how his body is supposed to twist. It's a time of many firsts for Taemin - their choreographer takes him aside and chews him out as the other members shot them discreet looks over their shoulders.
"I don't know what's wrong with you, Lee," she says, a hand on her hip, "but whatever it is you have to get your act together, pronto. I've never seen you so unfocused."
When he steps back to the group and takes the center of the formation, he sees everyone looking straight at the mirror save for one. The weight of Minho's eyes on him follows him all throughout the dance, and he misses a few more steps, gets scolded a few more times; he only nods and stretches his fingers, reaching for something he knows isn't there.
-
"I know what you're up to," Minho says, walking up to him just as he's crushing his second cigarette butt underneath his heel. "And you have to stop. Now, Taemin."
He's usually as affectionate as the hyungdeul when it came to pet names, but he drops it this time as he grasps Taemin roughly by the shoulders.
"I'll stop if I want to, hyung," he says, pleasant and a with touch of youthful arrogance. He tilts his face up and sets his mouth in a line. "I'm sixteen, I'm old enough, I --"
"I'm seventeen, and even I know not to do something that stupid." Minho's pitch rises up just a miniscule notch, but hearing him so often, Taemin notices how he's trying to hold back. "Stop it. You're ruining yourself and the group."
"Let me do something for myself for once," Taemin spits, wriggling out of Minho's hold. "At least this," he says, waving the pack of menthols in Minho's face, "this doesn't tell me what to do. None of you are my parents, or my brothers, or my family. So you stop it."
Minho doesn't go after him when he runs away. If he did, he would have crashed into Taemin, because he stops only after a minute to clutch at his aching chest.
-
His hair is a mess right after the photo shoot, and he itches to get out of the suit they stuck him in.
A mild pounding sensation starts in his head. He looks over to Jinki, Jonghyun and Kibum in their make-up chairs, laughing and throwing careless dibs at each other. He's about to reach into his pocket when Minho grabs him by the wrist, his brown eyes shining against the fluorescent lights.
"Taemin," he says, soft and awkward. They haven't spoken in days. "I don't... I don't know how or why you're doing this, but please."
His eyes narrow instinctively. "Hyung --"
"Please."
Taemin is sure in everything he does. If anything, it always shows in the way he danced as if he owned the stage. Though he usually defers to his elders, that doesn't mean he isn't sure when he concedes to their decisions. He is sure. He is always sure.
Minho's grip on his wrist tightens just a fraction, and he instantly jolts with second thoughts.
minho/taemin; pg
1,351 words
Summary: Taemin smokes. Minho reacts. Just a random tidbit of a fic before I'm off to school. Please don't ask what came over when I wrote this. The other boys tend to smother and baby him, and I bet any teenage boy would feel indignant. Just. Cries. Oh Taemin.
Taemin knows a lot of the sunbaenim smoke. They huddle together in open spaces, red, blue and green packs in their hands. He sees a few of them waving to him with slightly yellowed teeth, their stage outfits reeking of smoke when they move to ruffle his hair. Some of their group mates trail after them with subtly disapproving looks on their faces, and Taemin finds himself taking the smokers' side. They were old enough to make their own decisions. They were old enough to know better, and who were the others to tell them what not to do?
When he explains to Kibum later on the van ride home that he needs to go out and buy a new set of earphones, and Kibum shoots the idea down with a flat-out no, the grate of irritation nestles in his chest.
"Why not?" he says.
"Jinki will do it," Kibum says without looking up from browsing his ipod. "And you need to do your homework. How much time will you have left if you go out?"
"A lot," he argues. "Come on, hyung --"
"No, Taeminnie." Kibum sighs in exasperation, and Taemin feels like a five-year-old sitting in time out.
Come the next concert with their sunbaenim, Taemin leans on the doorframe of their dressing room, greeting Yoochun with a sunny smile, and the other man does the same. He passes in a rush, but Taemin is quick on his feet; he snatches the pack from Yoochun's rear and buries it deep in his pocket when Jinki stands beside him and asks who he was talking to.
He smiles, looking up at Jinki. "No one, hyung."
-
He inhales a good lungful of smoke his first time, and his even breathing quickly degenerates into choking coughs and hacks. He folds into himself and clutches his stomach as he tries to regain control of his body. He springs back up with a deep breath, closes his eyes, heaves, and brings the stick to his lips.
This time the smoke settles in his stomach and swirls around him, making his eyes teary and unfocused. He isn't that surprised to find that he likes it.
-
"Are you okay?" Jinki's hands on his forehead are cool to the touch, and his own body betrays him as he leans forward. "You don't look so good, Taeminnie."
His hands are shaking and his limbs are splayed out all over the floor. The other members peer down at him, curious and more than a little concerned. He lets out a small cough as he rises to his feet, unsteady and awkward. It feels a bit like growing pains, but it melds together with the odd feeling of euphoria.
"I'm fine." It comes out rough, sandpaper grating on wood, and even Minho does a double take.
"Our little baby is growing up," Kibum squeals, and embraces him tight. He wrings his hands once, twice, thrice, just to get rid of the tremors, before putting his arms around Kibum's back.
-
"Minho-hyung," he says, clearing his throat. "I was thinking..."
"Mm?" Minho says non-commitally. He's putting things into his knapsack, things that he probably won't even need, Taemin thinks. What were the flashlight, band-aids and junk food for? Wasn't he just going on a dorm visit?
"Where are you going?" he asks instead, quietly.
"Change of plans," Minho grunts. "Nichkhun-hyung wants to go hiking with Wooyoung-hyung."
He sputters, and it must have sounded foreign to Minho because he cranes his head to look at him in surprise. "And you're going? But we have schedule tomorrow!"
Minho shrugs, throws a pack of wet towels in for good measure. "I'll be back tonight."
Later that afternoon, he ushers his three hyungdeul outside in the pretense that he's sick with some infectious cough, locks the door and opens the windows.
It's already midnight and Minho has returned by the time he hears tentative knocks on the door. Taeminnie, Taeminnie, we have to sleep, they're saying, but he's too busy huffing and puffing and fanning all the smoke out into the open air. He's out of breath by the time he opens the door, and he's panting, sweaty and dressed only in a thin tank-top and boxer shorts.
Jonghyun wrinkles his nose as he enters. "What is that smell?"
"It's a new age herb medicine my grandma sent me," Taemin says through his teeth.
"You sound way worse." Jinki's frown is deep as he steps back out with Kibum. "I'll go get you some water and aspirin."
Minho says nothing and only looks at him with narrowed eyes. For the first time since they've been in the dorm together, Taemin stares back.
-
The tremors come more frequently now. Sometimes his head spins so much that he barely feels the ground he's walking on, much less remembers where his foot goes and how his body is supposed to twist. It's a time of many firsts for Taemin - their choreographer takes him aside and chews him out as the other members shot them discreet looks over their shoulders.
"I don't know what's wrong with you, Lee," she says, a hand on her hip, "but whatever it is you have to get your act together, pronto. I've never seen you so unfocused."
When he steps back to the group and takes the center of the formation, he sees everyone looking straight at the mirror save for one. The weight of Minho's eyes on him follows him all throughout the dance, and he misses a few more steps, gets scolded a few more times; he only nods and stretches his fingers, reaching for something he knows isn't there.
-
"I know what you're up to," Minho says, walking up to him just as he's crushing his second cigarette butt underneath his heel. "And you have to stop. Now, Taemin."
He's usually as affectionate as the hyungdeul when it came to pet names, but he drops it this time as he grasps Taemin roughly by the shoulders.
"I'll stop if I want to, hyung," he says, pleasant and a with touch of youthful arrogance. He tilts his face up and sets his mouth in a line. "I'm sixteen, I'm old enough, I --"
"I'm seventeen, and even I know not to do something that stupid." Minho's pitch rises up just a miniscule notch, but hearing him so often, Taemin notices how he's trying to hold back. "Stop it. You're ruining yourself and the group."
"Let me do something for myself for once," Taemin spits, wriggling out of Minho's hold. "At least this," he says, waving the pack of menthols in Minho's face, "this doesn't tell me what to do. None of you are my parents, or my brothers, or my family. So you stop it."
Minho doesn't go after him when he runs away. If he did, he would have crashed into Taemin, because he stops only after a minute to clutch at his aching chest.
-
His hair is a mess right after the photo shoot, and he itches to get out of the suit they stuck him in.
A mild pounding sensation starts in his head. He looks over to Jinki, Jonghyun and Kibum in their make-up chairs, laughing and throwing careless dibs at each other. He's about to reach into his pocket when Minho grabs him by the wrist, his brown eyes shining against the fluorescent lights.
"Taemin," he says, soft and awkward. They haven't spoken in days. "I don't... I don't know how or why you're doing this, but please."
His eyes narrow instinctively. "Hyung --"
"Please."
Taemin is sure in everything he does. If anything, it always shows in the way he danced as if he owned the stage. Though he usually defers to his elders, that doesn't mean he isn't sure when he concedes to their decisions. He is sure. He is always sure.
Minho's grip on his wrist tightens just a fraction, and he instantly jolts with second thoughts.