Your face is my mirror
Title: Your face is my mirror
Genre: Chuseok, hurt/comfort
Rating: G
Length: 1,391 words
Warnings: highlight to read -->description of anxiety/panic disorder
Summary: With play-fights and merciless teasing, they read each other’s minds.
Sometimes Minseok feels empty, almost transparent, like it would take very little for him to melt into the wallpaper.
Pushing back sweat-drenched hair, he sank to the ground amongst the water bottles, fingering the familiar sky-printed wall. Pre-debut, it seemed like the closest they would get to daylight for ages, locking themselves away to fight with themselves, dancing until their limbs shook and their vision blurred.
“Umin-hyung!” Suho called out, “let’s get back to it, can you round up the kids?”
Gently, Minseok tugged out his earbuds, pushing himself up. He was pulled out of his ruminations by a sudden nudge in the ribs from Luhan, who had managed to sneak up on him, a grin splitting his damp face.
“Yah! Don’t you have any dongsaengs to torture?”
“Nah, s’ok, got that covered, Baek and I managed to convince Tao that the toilets in the third floor hallway are haunted by the disappointed hopes of ex-trainees who never made it out of the SM basement”, snorted Luhan, face crumpling even more in amusement.
“Really? He still falls for that?”
“I know, I impress even myself. I’m taking bets on whose bed he’ll try to invade tonight. I can give you good odds on Junmyeon, interested?”
“Pfft, too obvious. Besides, aren’t we flying out tonight?”
“We’ll see”, cackled Luhan, dragging him along into the warren of practice rooms.
The airport was too much. Minseok fought with the creeping sensation of overstimulation, pulling his beanie down over his ears, and fretting with his mask. In the plane, with his members close, Yixing knocking his shoulders as he hummed along to some melody stuck in his head, and Sehun’s sharp knees on his thighs as he craned backwards to bicker with Tao, it had felt warm and familiar. Minseok could close his eyes and let comforting sensations wash over him, no pressure to contribute or talk or agonize. Outside, the flashes and screams seemed to penetrate through his defenses, pressing against him uncomfortably.
Luhan, ever vigilant, slung an arm around his shoulders, giving him a sharp pinch in the side. With a shuddering exhale, Minseok concentrated on the pain. In the slit between mask and a ridiculous unstyled fringe, Luhan’s eyes were crinkled tight at the corners, even as he made some ridiculous joke. Minseok pressed his fingers into Luhan’s wrist, as he was pulled through the airport at light speed, focusing on the thumping of a pulse into his clammy fingertips.
Upon arriving, Luhan wordlessly laid claim to a double with Minseok, crowding him into the room and locking the door.
“Come here,” he said softly, as he began unbuttoning Minsoek’s jacket. “You’ve worked hard, Minseok-ah.”
“Thanks, Lu-ge.”
“Damn right, I’m the hyung and you know it,” he giggled, as they gripped on to each other.
Pushed into the shower, Minseok sank into the hot spray. Luhan promptly started attacking his hair with shampoo.
“Your fringe looked awful today, Han. Let me style it next time.”
Luhan’s pretty face split open delightedly. “Do it for me tomorrow.”
That night, with Luhan curled around him, hot breath on his neck, Minseok felt his constricted chest loosen slightly, even as Sehun clambered in later, muttering something about Suho and Tao tanking too much room and Kyungsoo locking him out. As he floated just beyond sleep, listening to Luhan murmur, “Go to sleep, maknae-yah”, he felt a different sort of pressing in his chest, this time warm and safe.
It began slowly, the way Luhan seemed to know him inside out, centering him when it all became unbearable. A new trainee, too pretty for his own good, seemed to stare at him far too much. His laugh was too loud, with his mouth wide open, corrupting a usually sleepy Yixing into a devilish partner in chaos. Luhan pokes and prods at all Minseok’s soft places, and somehow over coffee and football and shared exhaustion, he finds that he doesn’t mind.
Luhan leant out on the balcony, feeling the bite of the night air on his skin. It was strange being back in his homeland; he wondered if it should feel more familiar. Though Hong Kong was still China, it wasn’t like he like he knew anyone here; and somehow, after seven years of life abroad, a life set adrift between aeroplanes and anonymous hotels, a bunch of awkward limbed-boys with desperate dreams and inadequate notions of personal space, had elbowed their way into his definition of home.
He began to hum 淘米记 under his breath. The wind stole the old Haimen melody from his lips, blowing it into the bright lights of the city.
“What are you thinking?”
Luhan turned into the soft arm around his waist.
“I thought you were asleep.”
The corner of Minseok’s mouth twitched.
“I was, I suppose, until Chanyeol basically fell on me and started snoring. Then I noticed you weren’t there.”
Minseok’s eyes were curious, but he didn’t ask any more, wordlessly pulling him back inside to collapse into the small leather sofa in their room. Luhan wanted to crawl inside his ribcage and spill out his heart, but settled for playing with the cuff of Minseok’s sleep-warm jumper and pushing their thighs closer. The air pressed around like a blanket, Chanyeol’s snuffles coming from the bed familiar and safe.
“Come home with me for Chuseok.”
“Really?”
“Come on, I know there’s no time for you to fly over in the measly day off which passes for a holiday at SMent. I want you there anyway.”
“It’s ok with your parents?”
“Of course, pabo. You know Umma loves you,” grinned Minseok, flicking his forehead. “There it is!”
“What?”
“That stupid laugh that looks like your jaw has been dislocated. I missed it!”
Luhan punched him on the arm, pulling him into a chokehold.
“Just you wait, Kim Minseok! I know all your weaknesses. Any more from you and I’ll tell Baekhyun where you’re ticklish!”
Luhan followed Minseok home, with flowers in his hands and eyes bright.
He stood respectfully to the side as they paid respects to the ancestors, bowing in turn. Later, as they walked back, he wriggled cold hands up Minseok’s jumper, then laughing like a maniac as he was chased down the path.
In his room, Minseok pulled out a spare Hanbok, pressing it into his hands.
Luhan grabbed his hand, heart full. “Are you sure? It was your father’s.”
“Of course! It’s Chuseok, you have to wear it. Besides, it will suit you, Xiao Lu,” was the reply.
“Why I do it,” groaned Luhan, “Why do I hang around you. I’ve created a monster.”
“Don’t pretend you don’t like it. No one else is allowed to torture you, only me, you pabo…”
Luhan did indeed look far too pretty in a Hanbok. Umma cooed over him as they gathered over songpyeon, praising Luhan’s manners and his fluency in Korean.
“You know, Umma, when we first met, I thought he was Korean. I couldn’t tell at all, unlike some trainees I could mention. As expected from a SKY dropout!” teased Minseok.
The deer glared at him. “Prepare to die over football later! The reputation of Man U is at stake!”
Later, worn out, they lay facing each other on futon dragged out from the cupboard. Making the bed had turned into an impromptu pillow fight, and their chests rose and fell in time.
They whispered together, spilling secrets from quirked lips, sharing stories of autumn in Beijing, growing up in the city, fanboying over TVXQ, about the unrequited crush on a boy in the year below. About hours locked away in practice rooms, about the pressure of being the mathyung; about the feeling of words pressed into his throat, refusing to come out.
“Thanks,” Luhan whispered after a while, when silence hand settled around them like autumn leaves.
Minseok gazed at him fondly. “Of course.”
“I hope we can always be together. You set me right, you know…” Luhan whispered, suddenly timid, as small hands tugged affectionately at gel-stiff locks.
“You too. When I need a Ge, you are there, but also when I need someone to pull me out of my own head,” Minseok paused. “We need our own sub-unit.”
Luhan quickly covered his mouth to muffle a guffaw, before his friend pulled it down to lock Cartier-ringed fingers together.
“Sleep now, Xiao Lu.”
Genre: Chuseok, hurt/comfort
Rating: G
Length: 1,391 words
Warnings: highlight to read -->description of anxiety/panic disorder
Summary: With play-fights and merciless teasing, they read each other’s minds.
Sometimes Minseok feels empty, almost transparent, like it would take very little for him to melt into the wallpaper.
Pushing back sweat-drenched hair, he sank to the ground amongst the water bottles, fingering the familiar sky-printed wall. Pre-debut, it seemed like the closest they would get to daylight for ages, locking themselves away to fight with themselves, dancing until their limbs shook and their vision blurred.
“Umin-hyung!” Suho called out, “let’s get back to it, can you round up the kids?”
Gently, Minseok tugged out his earbuds, pushing himself up. He was pulled out of his ruminations by a sudden nudge in the ribs from Luhan, who had managed to sneak up on him, a grin splitting his damp face.
“Yah! Don’t you have any dongsaengs to torture?”
“Nah, s’ok, got that covered, Baek and I managed to convince Tao that the toilets in the third floor hallway are haunted by the disappointed hopes of ex-trainees who never made it out of the SM basement”, snorted Luhan, face crumpling even more in amusement.
“Really? He still falls for that?”
“I know, I impress even myself. I’m taking bets on whose bed he’ll try to invade tonight. I can give you good odds on Junmyeon, interested?”
“Pfft, too obvious. Besides, aren’t we flying out tonight?”
“We’ll see”, cackled Luhan, dragging him along into the warren of practice rooms.
The airport was too much. Minseok fought with the creeping sensation of overstimulation, pulling his beanie down over his ears, and fretting with his mask. In the plane, with his members close, Yixing knocking his shoulders as he hummed along to some melody stuck in his head, and Sehun’s sharp knees on his thighs as he craned backwards to bicker with Tao, it had felt warm and familiar. Minseok could close his eyes and let comforting sensations wash over him, no pressure to contribute or talk or agonize. Outside, the flashes and screams seemed to penetrate through his defenses, pressing against him uncomfortably.
Luhan, ever vigilant, slung an arm around his shoulders, giving him a sharp pinch in the side. With a shuddering exhale, Minseok concentrated on the pain. In the slit between mask and a ridiculous unstyled fringe, Luhan’s eyes were crinkled tight at the corners, even as he made some ridiculous joke. Minseok pressed his fingers into Luhan’s wrist, as he was pulled through the airport at light speed, focusing on the thumping of a pulse into his clammy fingertips.
Upon arriving, Luhan wordlessly laid claim to a double with Minseok, crowding him into the room and locking the door.
“Come here,” he said softly, as he began unbuttoning Minsoek’s jacket. “You’ve worked hard, Minseok-ah.”
“Thanks, Lu-ge.”
“Damn right, I’m the hyung and you know it,” he giggled, as they gripped on to each other.
Pushed into the shower, Minseok sank into the hot spray. Luhan promptly started attacking his hair with shampoo.
“Your fringe looked awful today, Han. Let me style it next time.”
Luhan’s pretty face split open delightedly. “Do it for me tomorrow.”
That night, with Luhan curled around him, hot breath on his neck, Minseok felt his constricted chest loosen slightly, even as Sehun clambered in later, muttering something about Suho and Tao tanking too much room and Kyungsoo locking him out. As he floated just beyond sleep, listening to Luhan murmur, “Go to sleep, maknae-yah”, he felt a different sort of pressing in his chest, this time warm and safe.
It began slowly, the way Luhan seemed to know him inside out, centering him when it all became unbearable. A new trainee, too pretty for his own good, seemed to stare at him far too much. His laugh was too loud, with his mouth wide open, corrupting a usually sleepy Yixing into a devilish partner in chaos. Luhan pokes and prods at all Minseok’s soft places, and somehow over coffee and football and shared exhaustion, he finds that he doesn’t mind.
Luhan leant out on the balcony, feeling the bite of the night air on his skin. It was strange being back in his homeland; he wondered if it should feel more familiar. Though Hong Kong was still China, it wasn’t like he like he knew anyone here; and somehow, after seven years of life abroad, a life set adrift between aeroplanes and anonymous hotels, a bunch of awkward limbed-boys with desperate dreams and inadequate notions of personal space, had elbowed their way into his definition of home.
He began to hum 淘米记 under his breath. The wind stole the old Haimen melody from his lips, blowing it into the bright lights of the city.
“What are you thinking?”
Luhan turned into the soft arm around his waist.
“I thought you were asleep.”
The corner of Minseok’s mouth twitched.
“I was, I suppose, until Chanyeol basically fell on me and started snoring. Then I noticed you weren’t there.”
Minseok’s eyes were curious, but he didn’t ask any more, wordlessly pulling him back inside to collapse into the small leather sofa in their room. Luhan wanted to crawl inside his ribcage and spill out his heart, but settled for playing with the cuff of Minseok’s sleep-warm jumper and pushing their thighs closer. The air pressed around like a blanket, Chanyeol’s snuffles coming from the bed familiar and safe.
“Come home with me for Chuseok.”
“Really?”
“Come on, I know there’s no time for you to fly over in the measly day off which passes for a holiday at SMent. I want you there anyway.”
“It’s ok with your parents?”
“Of course, pabo. You know Umma loves you,” grinned Minseok, flicking his forehead. “There it is!”
“What?”
“That stupid laugh that looks like your jaw has been dislocated. I missed it!”
Luhan punched him on the arm, pulling him into a chokehold.
“Just you wait, Kim Minseok! I know all your weaknesses. Any more from you and I’ll tell Baekhyun where you’re ticklish!”
Luhan followed Minseok home, with flowers in his hands and eyes bright.
He stood respectfully to the side as they paid respects to the ancestors, bowing in turn. Later, as they walked back, he wriggled cold hands up Minseok’s jumper, then laughing like a maniac as he was chased down the path.
In his room, Minseok pulled out a spare Hanbok, pressing it into his hands.
Luhan grabbed his hand, heart full. “Are you sure? It was your father’s.”
“Of course! It’s Chuseok, you have to wear it. Besides, it will suit you, Xiao Lu,” was the reply.
“Why I do it,” groaned Luhan, “Why do I hang around you. I’ve created a monster.”
“Don’t pretend you don’t like it. No one else is allowed to torture you, only me, you pabo…”
Luhan did indeed look far too pretty in a Hanbok. Umma cooed over him as they gathered over songpyeon, praising Luhan’s manners and his fluency in Korean.
“You know, Umma, when we first met, I thought he was Korean. I couldn’t tell at all, unlike some trainees I could mention. As expected from a SKY dropout!” teased Minseok.
The deer glared at him. “Prepare to die over football later! The reputation of Man U is at stake!”
Later, worn out, they lay facing each other on futon dragged out from the cupboard. Making the bed had turned into an impromptu pillow fight, and their chests rose and fell in time.
They whispered together, spilling secrets from quirked lips, sharing stories of autumn in Beijing, growing up in the city, fanboying over TVXQ, about the unrequited crush on a boy in the year below. About hours locked away in practice rooms, about the pressure of being the mathyung; about the feeling of words pressed into his throat, refusing to come out.
“Thanks,” Luhan whispered after a while, when silence hand settled around them like autumn leaves.
Minseok gazed at him fondly. “Of course.”
“I hope we can always be together. You set me right, you know…” Luhan whispered, suddenly timid, as small hands tugged affectionately at gel-stiff locks.
“You too. When I need a Ge, you are there, but also when I need someone to pull me out of my own head,” Minseok paused. “We need our own sub-unit.”
Luhan quickly covered his mouth to muffle a guffaw, before his friend pulled it down to lock Cartier-ringed fingers together.
“Sleep now, Xiao Lu.”