you and i will be young forever
title: you and i will be young forever
pairing(s): 2min
rating: nc-17
wordcount: ~5000
summary: Minho and Taemin are too in love for dumb, token gestures like prom.
a/n: installment number one of my "trashy pop song themed shinee fic series" !!!!! this is based on teenage dream, a katy perry classic. also it's extremely cliched and terrible, of course; that should just be expected when i write 2min lol
OH also << and >> are meant to indicate backwards and forwards in time!! otherwise this could be rly confusing haha
It begins when Minho asks Taemin to prom.
He doesn't do it particularly eloquently, just nudges his boyfriend in the arm while they're walking side-by-side and says, "So, prom together, right?"
Taemin jerks away. "What? No."
"No?" Minho turns to study Taemin's face, twisted into a sullen mask.
"I don't want to go to prom," Taemin says.
"Why not?" Minho asks, annoyed. Maybe Taemin doesn't understand, but Minho's on the soccer team and he's kind of expected to show up to things like dances, especially important ones like prom.
"Why do you want to go?" Taemin shoots back, crossing his arms. "It's a stupid, pointless excuse for girls to dress up in restrictive clothing and grind like nasty whores on their dates and get trashed at the after party. I don't see what's so great about that."
"It's a social event," Minho says. "It's fun."
"No, it's not," Taemin says, and damn it, he's very cute when he's petulant but this is one argument Minho is determined not to let him win.
"I promise it'll be fun," Minho says. "Come on. Do it for me?"
"No," Taemin says stubbornly.
"Why not?" Minho bursts out angrily. "Taemin, it's prom. The soccer team's doing pre-prom together, and - "
"I know this is all about the soccer team, just like everything else you do" - that stings a little, if only for the ring of truth - "but guess what, Minho, if you want to go to prom, you're going to have to find another date. I'm not fucking going." Taemin's eyes are hard, set straight ahead and coal black in the shade of late afternoon.
"Maybe I will find another date," Minho says spitefully, and regrets it as soon as he sees Taemin's eyes widen with hurt.
"Fine," Taemin spits. "Fine, you go ahead and do that. I'm going home."
They had been walking to Minho's place; now Taemin makes an abrupt one-eighty and marches furiously off in the opposite direction, his footsteps loud in the quiet street.
"Taemin, wait," Minho calls, and chases after him.
"No, no," Taemin says, speeding up. "Don't follow me. You have a prom date to find."
Minho slows down, the words but you're the only prom date I want catching in his throat. Taemin disappears around a corner and Minho feels disappointed and angry with himself for not knowing why.
<<
It begins when they're second-years, when Taemin (that weird kid from dance club who's gone and dyed his hair against school regulations, yet for reasons unknown gotten away with it) switches lockers and ends up right next to Minho (first string soccer mid who's oddly popular with the girls, despite his pitifully awkward interactions with them).
"Hey," Taemin says one day. "Can I borrow your math book?"
Minho, who's in the midst of cramming all of his books into his locker before soccer practice, turns and gives him a funny look. "I don't even know you."
"Well." Taemin sticks out a hand. "I'm Taemin."
"Minho." They shake, and Minho can't help but notice how soft and little Taemin's hand is. Warm, too. He withdraws his own hand quickly, fingers tingling pleasantly as they slide against Taemin's.
"Book?" Taemin prompts. "I'll return it tomorrow. Promise."
"You'd better." Minho hands him the book.
"Don't worry," Taemin smirks, and oh those are nice lips, "it's in good hands. I'll see you around, Minho."
Then he's sauntering off, hips swaying sassily and Minho's book tucked loosely under one arm. That reddish-brown hair bounces with every step, catching the squares of light refracted through the warm hallways' windows. It's enchanting.
Minho shakes his head to snap out of this little reverie - he can't stand around watching Taemin forever, because that would be weird - and slams his locker shut. He's late to practice.
Taemin is waiting for him after first period the next day, leaning coolly against his locker.
"That's my locker," Minho says, stoutly not taking note of how wide and dark and downright pretty Taemin's eyes are, or how enticingly smooth and creamy his collarbones are where they disappear into his creased uniform.
"And this is your book," Taemin says, presenting the math book with a flourish. "Thanks for letting me borrow it."
"Anytime," Minho says, careful to take the book in such a way that their hands don't touch.
Taemin doesn't move.
"Um," Minho clears his throat. "You're - "
"Are you a good student?" Taemin asks suddenly, studying Minho's face very closely. Minho blinks, taken aback.
"Yes," he lies. He's always contended that classtime is for sleeping and free time is for playing, but for some reason admitting that to Taemin seems like a bad idea. "Why?"
"No reason," Taemin says with a light shrug. He steps away from the locker, tucking his hands into his pockets as he turns to leave.
"There's always a reason," Minho blurts without quite knowing what he's saying. He stays frozen, just staring at Taemin, who stares right back, head cocked to one side. For a long moment there's nothing but a prolonged silence between them, and then Taemin is grinning broadly.
"Yeah, Taemin says softly. "Maybe you're right."
Again, it seems that he's about to leave, and again, Minho prevents him.
"So what's your reason?" he presses.
"That," Taemin says with a wink, "is a secret."
Then he really does walk off, leaving Minho smiling stupidly, his math book dangling warmly from his fingertips, utterly at the mercy of the butterflies mobbing his stomach.
>>
They've never fought before, so Minho's at a bit of a loss as to how he should go about making up. He wants to call, but he's afraid Taemin will hang up on him out of spite. His next thought is to text him, but he's afraid that will seem too half-hearted. It's a Thursday night, so he could just wait until school the next day to reconcile, but he doesn't want to wait that long. He wants them to be back to normal now. There's a physical itch compelling him to act, a writhing discomfort in his gut that he knows won't settle until he sees his boyfriend's face.
So he waits until his father comes home from work and slumps exhaustedly in front of the TV, and then he takes the car keys and slips quietly out the door. When he pulls up in front of Taemin's apartment building, it's already 10:30 and he thinks briefly of all the homework he hasn't started. Shaking his head, he dismisses the thought - his grades are fucked anyway, and it’s not like they matter when he's already got a soccer scholarship lined up - and he climbs the four stories to the Lee family residence.
Taemin's older brother is the one who answers the door, and he gives Minho a long, knowing look.
"He's in his room," Taesun says flatly, eyebrows furrowed.
"Thanks," Minho tells him. He thinks Taesun must at least suspect what they're doing (namely, dating), and he's grateful that the older boy hasn't said anything about it.
As he's walking in through the entrance hall, though, Taesun grabs him by his jacket collar in a surprisingly strong grip.
"Don't you hurt him," Taesun says, his eyes cold. "Don't you dare."
"I - I won't," Minho stammers. "I swear."
Taesun releases him and walks away without another word. Minho gulps.
The door to Taemin's room is just slightly ajar, and from outside Minho can see Taemin sitting at his desk, nodding his head to a faintly audible beat pulsing at what must be an incredibly high volume from sleek, cushy headphones. Slowly, inch by inch, Minho eases the door open. Taemin, lost in his music, predictably doesn't notice. Minho lets himself in and closes the door behind him.
If the urge to touch weren't so strong, Minho could spend hours just watching Taemin like this, head bobbing, hovering over a worksheet barely started for the distraction of the music. But as it is, he's crossing the room after less than a minute, laying his hand softly on Taemin's shoulder, heat blooming in his chest as he feels Taemin give a little jump at the contact.
"What the - Minho," Taemin says, eyes going wide as he spins around in his chair, so flustered and taken aback that his mp3 player falls to the ground. Minho keeps his hand planted on his shoulder. "How are you - why - how'd you get in here?"
"Your brother let me in," Minho says. "But - it doesn't matter. I just came to say, I'm sorry."
Taemin flushes faintly.
"I’m still curious as to why you don't want to go to prom," Minho continues, "but if you don't want to go, then that's it." His hand curls around Taemin's neck, lets it slide down his lean chest, and he drops to his knees between Taemin's legs. "We won't go. It's not like I have any reason to go without you, after all."
"Duh," Taemin sniffs haughtily, but his eyes are shining sweetly. He places his hands tenderly on either side of Minho's face. "I'm sorry I snapped at you, though."
And it's as easy as that: they've made up. Minho grips Taemin by the hips and surges up to meet his lips in a long, lingering kiss, one that starts slow and easy and deepens gradually, leaving them both slightly out of breath. Taemin tastes like peppermint gum, and his breath is hot as he whispers into the space between their mouths, "I wasn't really mad at you."
"It doesn't matter," Minho whispers back, nipping gently at Taemin's lower lip. He's rewarded with a low hum of approval, and then he stands slowly, without drawing back, and hooks his hands beneath Taemin's knees. Taemin throws his arms around Minho's neck, winding their bodies closely together, and then Minho is lifting him from the chair, leaving it spinning and squeaking gently as he walks them the four steps to the bed.
(Because Taemin loves being carried almost as much as Minho loves carrying him.)
Taemin has this way of teasing him in such a way that Minho can never tell if it's intentional or not. Is it calculated, the way he clings while barely touching, making Minho push himself closer? Is it planned, the way he ruts his hips so antagonizingly slowly against Minho's crotch?
When they kiss, Minho feels like Taemin's leading him through the steps of a dance, all their movements perfectly synchronized. It's a well-choreographed routine, this frantic groping and fumbling they do, from the slide of Taemin's mouth down Minho's neck to the heat of Minho's palm on the ass of Taemin's tight gray jeans. They fit together, Minho thinks. They belong together.
They come together, too, hands wrapped indelicately around each other's cocks, stroking with a practiced rhythm that they have down to an art, moaning into each other's mouths as earnestly as they can without being heard by Taemin's parents.
"M - Minho," Taemin pants. "I'm - fuck, I'm close - "
"Yeah," Minho responds, "yeah, come on, come for me, baby - "
"Oh, fuck," Taemin groans, and then it's over, they both abandon all control and soar off the edge, bucking against each other and whimpering with spasms of pleasure.
Taemin falls asleep then, and Minho puts him in a pair of pajama pants before tucking him under his covers and kissing his sweaty forehead goodnight. As he's slipping quietly out the door, Taemin stirs and says drowsily, "I love you, Minho."
Minho smiles. "I love you, too."
<<
For some reason, Taemin asks to borrow his math book three more times over the next two months. Each time, he looks more and more annoyed. Minho's not really complaining, because it's not like he does his math homework anyway, but it's slightly unnerving how insistent Taemin is. Also how cute he is. Now that Taemin's on his radar, Minho sees him around a lot, and he's become resigned to feeling his heartbeat speed up every time the other boy enters his sight. He tells himself it's because Taemin has delicate, feminine good looks, but that doesn't really account for why he likes all of the other quirks he's secretly observed.
He likes the savage yell Taemin lets loose when he kicks the soccer ball during P.E., and he likes the glint in Taemin's eye when he's shoveling down insane portions of kimbap for lunch. He likes the way sweat makes Taemin's thin T-shirts stick to his skinny frame when he's walking to the bus stop after dance practice - not that Minho is waiting around school to watch him or anything, but he does have soccer practice at the same time, so usually he just happens to see Taemin as he shuffles out of the dance studio looking exhausted but happy. It's on one of these afternoons, when he experiences an unpleasant spike of jealousy upon seeing Taemin laughing radiantly with some of his fellow dancers, that he realizes maybe he should try to face his feelings about this whole situation.
And so, when Taemin returns his math book for the fourth time, he has a plan. He's going to ask Taemin out, not on a date or anything because that would be embarrassing and Taemin might not even be gay and Minho's not sure if he's gay, but just to hang out. And he's going to ask in such a suave and casual way that Taemin will have no choice but to say yes, and then they'll hang out and become great friends, and somehow that will remedy the pangs in Minho's chest that come with passing Taemin wordlessly in the halls every day.
"Hey," Minho starts as he takes the book and tucks it into his backpack, but Taemin doesn't let him go on.
"Hey, yourself," he snarls, poking Minho sharply in the chest. "What's your math grade, anyway?"
"Um, well it's - pretty average," Minho fudges.
"Don't lie to me!"
Minho sighs, embarrassed. "Okay, well right now I'm getting a D plus, but - "
"Well, fuck," Taemin exhales. "Of course you are. Right, that's it, that's enough. I'm done."
"Done with what?" Minho says, confused.
But Taemin is shaking his head angrily, his cheeks reddening with agitation. "Forget it, Choi Minho. Forget I said anything - hell, forget we even met. I'm an idiot, I realize, but at least I know when to give up. I can't believe I was this stupid."
Before Minho can ask what he's giving up on, Taemin turns to walk away. This really isn't going at all how he'd planned. He darts forward to grab Taemin by the wrist.
"Don't go," he says.
Taemin's head whips around to face him, eyes wide with surprise.
"Um," Minho says, suddenly tongue-tied by the beauty of that innocent expression. "Uh." Taemin's skin is so warm against his, and like this, he can almost imagine they're holding hands: a real couple. All his smooth words fly out the window. "Do you want to hang out sometime?"
"Excuse me?" Taemin says, looking shell-shocked.
"I just - well, you keep borrowing my book," Minho says quickly, withdrawing his hand from Taemin's wrist and running it sheepishly through his hair. "So, you know. It would seem that, like, you owe me? I thought we could um, spend some time together? Like, we could get ice cream. Or something. Just, um, anything you wanted. I mean - "
"Sure," Taemin interrupts, mercifully cutting him off. Minho, who's been staring determinedly at the floor, looks up and locks eyes with Taemin at last, and oh god he's smiling that gorgeous smile. Minho blushes.
"Yeah?" he says. "So, are you doing anything right now?"
"Apparently I'm hanging out with you," Taemin says, beaming. Minho decides that nothing in this world could be more satisfying than being the cause of that heart-stopping grin.
One week later, he realizes he's wrong: no sensation could ever be better than that of kissing Lee Taemin.
>>
Prom night, they drive down to the river and share a picnic on the hood of Minho's dad's car. It turns into a sloppy makeout session, which ends abruptly when they hear a series of catcalls from a couple of hobos. Taemin cusses the gnarly old men out soundly, and then they get into the car and speed off.
"Well, this is definitely classier than prom," Minho laughs as they drive away.
"Yeah," Taemin giggles. Then he seems to sober up, and he sighs. "Hey, Minho?"
"Hm?"
"Sorry we didn't go. To prom, I mean."
"Don't worry about it," Minho says, "this is way better."
"I know you wanted to - "
"Hey," Minho says. "I did, but honestly I'm glad you talked me out of it. Prom is just a dumb tradition, something I wanted to go to because everyone else was going, but it wouldn't have been special. It would have been completely meaningless in the end. I'm glad we did our own thing. Started our own tradition."
"Yeah," Taemin says softly. "Well. It's not like I had any good reason for not wanting to go, though."
Minho glances at him sideways.
"It was just me being selfish, as usual," Taemin continues.
"What do you mean?" Minho says. They haven't really talked about this, mainly because, having had three months to think about it, he assumed he'd come to understand Taemin's reasoning. Now, though, he feels a little apprehensive, because Taemin sounds scared.
"I thought if you saw us in comparison to all the other couples, the, you know, normal couples, you'd think twice about dating me," Taemin admits. "I've never really understood how you ended up choosing me over all the girls who've confessed to you over the years, but - "
"Stop," Minho commands, annoyed. "Don't say that, don't ever say that. You're the best thing that has ever happened to me, Taemin, you chose me over however many people I've had to chase away from your ass the past year and a half, and I'd be a huge fucking idiot to ever take that fact for granted. Every single day I thank my fucking stars that you still want to be with me, and there's no way I'd leave you because of something like prom."
"Okay," Taemin says, his voice shaky. "Okay, well, good."
"Oh my god," Minho says, stricken, "don't cry! Baby - "
"I'm not," Taemin sniffles. "I just - fuck. Minho, I love you, I really, really love you."
"I love you, too," Minho says, "I love you so much."
They've exchanged these words countless times already, but there's a weight to them now that wasn't there before. The three simple syllables are a pact, a declaration of unconditional faith, and somehow Minho realizes that, though they didn't have one when they started driving, they're headed toward a definite destination now. He knows Taemin knows it, too, and the car ride goes quiet with nervous tension.
The motel isn't the greatest, but it's not terrible for the price they're paying. Minho wonders how the lady behind the desk must be seeing them, two teenage boys renting a room with a single bed. If she's judging them, she shows no outward sign of it. She hands them a worn brass key without ceremony and points them in the direction of their room. Minho bows his thanks and then, on the way out, grabs Taemin's hand, not bothering to look back at the woman's reaction.
<<
"You should have done your math homework," Taemin mumbles against his collarbones. It's summer and they're lying together in the stifling heat atop Minho's apartment building. The sun is slowly inching across a cloudless sky, and they're both growing visibly sunburnt, but it's worth it to be able to steal kisses right out in the open.
"Huh?" Minho says.
"Your math homework last semester," Taemin says. "You didn't ever open that book, did you?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," Minho says, pushing Taemin's hair out of his face and then shifting forward lazily until their lips meet, "but it's summer vacation and therefore I should not be hearing the word homework out of your mouth." He kisses Taemin soundly, demonstrating what he does want out of Taemin's mouth.
"I'm just saying," Taemin manages when they part, "it would have saved us a whole lot of trouble."
The next day Minho digs out his math book and flips through it. On every other page, scrawled messily, almost desperately, between practice problems and above page numbers and along hyperbolas and sine curves, is Taemin's phone number.
>>
It feels like he's been waiting for this his entire life. Maybe he didn't expect it to happen in a cutprice motel with mold in the corners of the bathroom ceiling and the television blaring next door, but when Taemin grabs him by the collar and kisses him hotly, desperately against the door, Minho knows that where they are doesn't matter. What matters is that Taemin is touching him everywhere, passionate and hungry and tender, and grinding against him, each hip roll accompanied by a soft breathy moan.
What matters is that when they topple softly to the bed and Minho bites his lip and says, "You're sure, right?" Taemin replies with, "Of course I'm sure, so shut the fuck up."
"Sorry for asking," Minho grumbles teasingly.
Taemin draws back, considers for a moment. "Are you sure?"
"I have never been more sure about anything in my entire life," Minho says seriously.
And that seems to satisfy Taemin, so Minho presses an open-mouthed kiss to his throat and they continue.
They've done research on the mechanics of this, and they get most of it right. Other than Minho dropping the lube and a brief argument about what position they should use ("I heard that it's better from behind, Minho"; "But I wanna see your face!"), things go pretty smoothly. Minho's got Taemin splayed out in front of him, and when he enters it's so exquisitely, dizzyingly tight that he has to clench his teeth and focus all of his efforts on not coming right then.
He starts thrusting slowly, cautiously, and Taemin squirms beneath him.
"Oh my God," Minho pants, "oh my fucking God."
Taemin gives a grunt.
"Baby," Minho says, speeding up, "you feel… incredible."
Another grunt.
"Um." A thought occurs to him amidst the haze of pleasure. "Are you - how is it for you?"
"It's fine," Taemin says. Minho looks down, realizes that Taemin's erection is wilting.
"But I want it to be great," he says, agitated.
"Baby - " Taemin says.
"Let me make you feel good," Minho insists.
They spend a few minutes trying to find a good angle, but every time Taemin yelps a breathy, "Yes - there," they're unable to recreate the moment. Taemin is flushed and slightly sweaty and from here - they're back to where they started, face-to-face with Minho on top - he does look incredibly good, and Minho's heart does give a bounding leap when their eyes meet, but it's not enough because he wants this, their first time, to be totally flawless. He wants Taemin to be screaming his name as he comes just from Minho pounding into his ass.
(Totally not based off all the porn he's watched.)
"Honestly, Minho," Taemin says, and it's not a scream but Minho is somewhat gratified to hear him at least panting and out of breath, "you're worrying too much."
"I just want you to enjoy this," Minho says plaintively.
"I am enjoying it," Taemin says. "Having you inside me feels, just, extremely good."
"But - "
"It doesn't have to be amazing," Taemin interrupts. "It's already perfect, Minho, because it's you."
Minho doesn't know what to say to that, doesn't even think that words are necessary, so he leans down and kisses Taemin instead, slow and deliberate and heated, savoring the softness of his mouth.
And that seems to do the trick, that slight shift of their bodies, because suddenly Taemin is gasping. He's cursing and begging for it, and it's just like Minho's fantasies except different, better, the way they slide cluelessly against each other like animals in heat. There's no point in holding back, so Minho lets go, and Taemin lifts his hips to meet the crest of every thrust, and Minho knows he's hitting the right spot because when he does, Taemin utters a keening moan that sends Minho into a frenzy.
Someday, Minho is going to make Taemin come just by ramming into him relentlessly, over and over, without letting Taemin touch himself. He really can't imagine anything hotter than fucking Taemin and seeing him writhing, chest heaving, dick bobbing, and then coming messily and helplessly all over himself just from being filled with Minho's cock.
Yes. Someday. Not today, though, because already Taemin is whimpering, "Minho - I'm gonna - " and fisting his cock, stroking it frantically and crying out wantonly.
That's what finishes Minho, because Taemin is getting off riding Minho's dick and yelling Minho's name, and it's overwhelming, the way Taemin looks with come spurting out of his dick and Minho still sheathed in his ass. And then his muscles are clenching hotly around Minho, and it's too tight, it's too much, and Minho comes, waves of pleasure rocketing through his veins and sending a shudder down his spine as he rides out his climax in a blind haze.
After they've wiped the white stickiness from Taemin's stomach and thrown away the condom and straightened the sheets a little, there's nothing to do but lie in bed and induge in some naked cuddling. Minho gathers Taemin to his chest, reveling in how close Taemin's lips are to his skin, so close that every exhale tickles his neck.
"So, that was fun," Taemin says sleepily, draping one arm possessively over Minho's waist. "I think we should do it again sometime."
"I second that," Minho murmurs. "But, hey, don't fall asleep, babe. Your brother might castrate me if I don't get you home tonight."
"Don't wanna go home," Taemin mumbles. "Wanna stay like this forever."
"Babe, don't," Minho warns, but Taemin's eyes are already slipping shut.
Being on Taesun's bad side is the last thing Minho wants, but Taemin looks so perfect and peaceful right now, and with the way their bodies are pressed together, tucked safely beneath the covers with limbs warmly intertwined, it's hard to imagine leaving yet. So Minho doesn't.
"Fuck it," he says happily, settling his head into the pillow with a grin. "We'll stay."
Taesun's still going to kill him in the morning, and the soccer team's still going to resent him for skipping prom, and the motel's still a total dive with linen that stinks of cigarette smoke, but Minho buries his face into Taemin's soft, sweet-smelling hair and everything else just falls away. Knowing that the other boy will still be there when he wakes up, Minho closes his eyes and drifts off.
<<
It begins when Taemin enters high school. He's jittery, a stick-thin bundle of nerves with legs too long for his frame and eyelashes too long for a boy, so when he's walking down the halls for the very first time and is jostled from behind, he gives a startled jump and all the books in his arms go flying. English lands face up, math face down; his brand new binder slides clear across the hall and skids to a forlorn stop against a stationary student's shoes.
Taemin drops abruptly to the ground to collect his books, keeping his face low so as to hide the dark blush spreading over his cheeks from the snickering passersby. As he reaches out to grab the math book, he's mortified to see his hand shaking. Someone snorts, "Poor freshie." Taemin can't help it; tears of embarrassment spring to his eyes.
Could this morning get any worse?
A soft voice interrupts his rapid downward spiral into depression.
"Um, I think you dropped your binder."
Taemin looks up reluctantly, and finds himself staring into what has to be one of the most attractive faces he's ever seen. Breathtaking brown eyes gaze down at him from beneath strong brows furrowed in concern, and round, pink lips part slightly on the verge of speech. It's a boy, probably another freshman, and though he's just as gangly and raw as Taemin, he seems to be more collected, more at ease. He smiles hesitantly, and Taemin's heart pounds frantically. Vaguely, he registers that this is the owner of the shoes against which his binder must have landed, but more pressingly, this handsome creature is smiling at him and Taemin is just gawking back at him in slack-jawed stupidity.
"Yes," he says at last, clearing his throat. "That's my binder, yes."
The other boy looks relieved to discover that Taemin is not in fact deaf and dumb.
"Okay, well." The binder sits expectantly in his outstretched hands. "Here you go."
"Thanks," Taemin says. Slowly, he reaches out to take it, his fingers curling around the crisp seams of black plastic. The other boy lets go of the binder before their hands can touch, and Taemin tries not to be disappointed with the lack of contact.
"You're welcome," the boy says with one last, brief smile. And then he's gone.
Feeling dazed, Taemin gets to his feet and stumbles off to class, his embarrassment forgotten and thoughts of the boy's twinkling eyes filling his mind. He's so absorbed in his daydreams, in fact, that he nearly doesn’t notice when the bossy boy sitting next to him in homeroom introduces himself.
"Kibum," the boy says impatiently, "Kim Kibum. What's your name?"
"Taemin," Taemin says meekly. "Nice to meet you."
Somehow he ends up eating lunch with Kibum, and from across the cafeteria he spots the mystery boy from earlier. He's laughing and joking with a big group of kids, his head thrown back and his mouth wide open in a hearty guffaw. Taemin's pulse quickens.
"Hey," he says, nudging Kibum in the elbow. "Who's that guy?"
"Hm? Oh, him? Choi Minho. He was in my class in eighth grade," Kibum says matter-of-factly.
"Choi Minho, huh?" Taemin says thoughtfully, testing the name on his tongue. As he watches, Minho throws one arm around another boy and whispers something in his ear. Something deep inside Taemin, something uncomfortably close to envy, stirs sluggishly. He thinks of Minho's lips, of the cute indentations at their corners, of how they might taste.
"Why do you ask?" Kibum says.
"No reason," Taemin says airily. "Just, I want to meet him sometime. I feel like we'd really get along."
yep idk man i don't do good endings i just do laziness, also i apologize if the time-skippy format was too weird but hopefully it's somewhat understandable??? agh sorry this is just me doing the high school au thing bc 2min are living the teenage dream in my heart except minho's not a teenager and wow taem's almost not a teenager anymore either wowwww crying
pairing(s): 2min
rating: nc-17
wordcount: ~5000
summary: Minho and Taemin are too in love for dumb, token gestures like prom.
a/n: installment number one of my "trashy pop song themed shinee fic series" !!!!! this is based on teenage dream, a katy perry classic. also it's extremely cliched and terrible, of course; that should just be expected when i write 2min lol
OH also << and >> are meant to indicate backwards and forwards in time!! otherwise this could be rly confusing haha
It begins when Minho asks Taemin to prom.
He doesn't do it particularly eloquently, just nudges his boyfriend in the arm while they're walking side-by-side and says, "So, prom together, right?"
Taemin jerks away. "What? No."
"No?" Minho turns to study Taemin's face, twisted into a sullen mask.
"I don't want to go to prom," Taemin says.
"Why not?" Minho asks, annoyed. Maybe Taemin doesn't understand, but Minho's on the soccer team and he's kind of expected to show up to things like dances, especially important ones like prom.
"Why do you want to go?" Taemin shoots back, crossing his arms. "It's a stupid, pointless excuse for girls to dress up in restrictive clothing and grind like nasty whores on their dates and get trashed at the after party. I don't see what's so great about that."
"It's a social event," Minho says. "It's fun."
"No, it's not," Taemin says, and damn it, he's very cute when he's petulant but this is one argument Minho is determined not to let him win.
"I promise it'll be fun," Minho says. "Come on. Do it for me?"
"No," Taemin says stubbornly.
"Why not?" Minho bursts out angrily. "Taemin, it's prom. The soccer team's doing pre-prom together, and - "
"I know this is all about the soccer team, just like everything else you do" - that stings a little, if only for the ring of truth - "but guess what, Minho, if you want to go to prom, you're going to have to find another date. I'm not fucking going." Taemin's eyes are hard, set straight ahead and coal black in the shade of late afternoon.
"Maybe I will find another date," Minho says spitefully, and regrets it as soon as he sees Taemin's eyes widen with hurt.
"Fine," Taemin spits. "Fine, you go ahead and do that. I'm going home."
They had been walking to Minho's place; now Taemin makes an abrupt one-eighty and marches furiously off in the opposite direction, his footsteps loud in the quiet street.
"Taemin, wait," Minho calls, and chases after him.
"No, no," Taemin says, speeding up. "Don't follow me. You have a prom date to find."
Minho slows down, the words but you're the only prom date I want catching in his throat. Taemin disappears around a corner and Minho feels disappointed and angry with himself for not knowing why.
<<
It begins when they're second-years, when Taemin (that weird kid from dance club who's gone and dyed his hair against school regulations, yet for reasons unknown gotten away with it) switches lockers and ends up right next to Minho (first string soccer mid who's oddly popular with the girls, despite his pitifully awkward interactions with them).
"Hey," Taemin says one day. "Can I borrow your math book?"
Minho, who's in the midst of cramming all of his books into his locker before soccer practice, turns and gives him a funny look. "I don't even know you."
"Well." Taemin sticks out a hand. "I'm Taemin."
"Minho." They shake, and Minho can't help but notice how soft and little Taemin's hand is. Warm, too. He withdraws his own hand quickly, fingers tingling pleasantly as they slide against Taemin's.
"Book?" Taemin prompts. "I'll return it tomorrow. Promise."
"You'd better." Minho hands him the book.
"Don't worry," Taemin smirks, and oh those are nice lips, "it's in good hands. I'll see you around, Minho."
Then he's sauntering off, hips swaying sassily and Minho's book tucked loosely under one arm. That reddish-brown hair bounces with every step, catching the squares of light refracted through the warm hallways' windows. It's enchanting.
Minho shakes his head to snap out of this little reverie - he can't stand around watching Taemin forever, because that would be weird - and slams his locker shut. He's late to practice.
Taemin is waiting for him after first period the next day, leaning coolly against his locker.
"That's my locker," Minho says, stoutly not taking note of how wide and dark and downright pretty Taemin's eyes are, or how enticingly smooth and creamy his collarbones are where they disappear into his creased uniform.
"And this is your book," Taemin says, presenting the math book with a flourish. "Thanks for letting me borrow it."
"Anytime," Minho says, careful to take the book in such a way that their hands don't touch.
Taemin doesn't move.
"Um," Minho clears his throat. "You're - "
"Are you a good student?" Taemin asks suddenly, studying Minho's face very closely. Minho blinks, taken aback.
"Yes," he lies. He's always contended that classtime is for sleeping and free time is for playing, but for some reason admitting that to Taemin seems like a bad idea. "Why?"
"No reason," Taemin says with a light shrug. He steps away from the locker, tucking his hands into his pockets as he turns to leave.
"There's always a reason," Minho blurts without quite knowing what he's saying. He stays frozen, just staring at Taemin, who stares right back, head cocked to one side. For a long moment there's nothing but a prolonged silence between them, and then Taemin is grinning broadly.
"Yeah, Taemin says softly. "Maybe you're right."
Again, it seems that he's about to leave, and again, Minho prevents him.
"So what's your reason?" he presses.
"That," Taemin says with a wink, "is a secret."
Then he really does walk off, leaving Minho smiling stupidly, his math book dangling warmly from his fingertips, utterly at the mercy of the butterflies mobbing his stomach.
>>
They've never fought before, so Minho's at a bit of a loss as to how he should go about making up. He wants to call, but he's afraid Taemin will hang up on him out of spite. His next thought is to text him, but he's afraid that will seem too half-hearted. It's a Thursday night, so he could just wait until school the next day to reconcile, but he doesn't want to wait that long. He wants them to be back to normal now. There's a physical itch compelling him to act, a writhing discomfort in his gut that he knows won't settle until he sees his boyfriend's face.
So he waits until his father comes home from work and slumps exhaustedly in front of the TV, and then he takes the car keys and slips quietly out the door. When he pulls up in front of Taemin's apartment building, it's already 10:30 and he thinks briefly of all the homework he hasn't started. Shaking his head, he dismisses the thought - his grades are fucked anyway, and it’s not like they matter when he's already got a soccer scholarship lined up - and he climbs the four stories to the Lee family residence.
Taemin's older brother is the one who answers the door, and he gives Minho a long, knowing look.
"He's in his room," Taesun says flatly, eyebrows furrowed.
"Thanks," Minho tells him. He thinks Taesun must at least suspect what they're doing (namely, dating), and he's grateful that the older boy hasn't said anything about it.
As he's walking in through the entrance hall, though, Taesun grabs him by his jacket collar in a surprisingly strong grip.
"Don't you hurt him," Taesun says, his eyes cold. "Don't you dare."
"I - I won't," Minho stammers. "I swear."
Taesun releases him and walks away without another word. Minho gulps.
The door to Taemin's room is just slightly ajar, and from outside Minho can see Taemin sitting at his desk, nodding his head to a faintly audible beat pulsing at what must be an incredibly high volume from sleek, cushy headphones. Slowly, inch by inch, Minho eases the door open. Taemin, lost in his music, predictably doesn't notice. Minho lets himself in and closes the door behind him.
If the urge to touch weren't so strong, Minho could spend hours just watching Taemin like this, head bobbing, hovering over a worksheet barely started for the distraction of the music. But as it is, he's crossing the room after less than a minute, laying his hand softly on Taemin's shoulder, heat blooming in his chest as he feels Taemin give a little jump at the contact.
"What the - Minho," Taemin says, eyes going wide as he spins around in his chair, so flustered and taken aback that his mp3 player falls to the ground. Minho keeps his hand planted on his shoulder. "How are you - why - how'd you get in here?"
"Your brother let me in," Minho says. "But - it doesn't matter. I just came to say, I'm sorry."
Taemin flushes faintly.
"I’m still curious as to why you don't want to go to prom," Minho continues, "but if you don't want to go, then that's it." His hand curls around Taemin's neck, lets it slide down his lean chest, and he drops to his knees between Taemin's legs. "We won't go. It's not like I have any reason to go without you, after all."
"Duh," Taemin sniffs haughtily, but his eyes are shining sweetly. He places his hands tenderly on either side of Minho's face. "I'm sorry I snapped at you, though."
And it's as easy as that: they've made up. Minho grips Taemin by the hips and surges up to meet his lips in a long, lingering kiss, one that starts slow and easy and deepens gradually, leaving them both slightly out of breath. Taemin tastes like peppermint gum, and his breath is hot as he whispers into the space between their mouths, "I wasn't really mad at you."
"It doesn't matter," Minho whispers back, nipping gently at Taemin's lower lip. He's rewarded with a low hum of approval, and then he stands slowly, without drawing back, and hooks his hands beneath Taemin's knees. Taemin throws his arms around Minho's neck, winding their bodies closely together, and then Minho is lifting him from the chair, leaving it spinning and squeaking gently as he walks them the four steps to the bed.
(Because Taemin loves being carried almost as much as Minho loves carrying him.)
Taemin has this way of teasing him in such a way that Minho can never tell if it's intentional or not. Is it calculated, the way he clings while barely touching, making Minho push himself closer? Is it planned, the way he ruts his hips so antagonizingly slowly against Minho's crotch?
When they kiss, Minho feels like Taemin's leading him through the steps of a dance, all their movements perfectly synchronized. It's a well-choreographed routine, this frantic groping and fumbling they do, from the slide of Taemin's mouth down Minho's neck to the heat of Minho's palm on the ass of Taemin's tight gray jeans. They fit together, Minho thinks. They belong together.
They come together, too, hands wrapped indelicately around each other's cocks, stroking with a practiced rhythm that they have down to an art, moaning into each other's mouths as earnestly as they can without being heard by Taemin's parents.
"M - Minho," Taemin pants. "I'm - fuck, I'm close - "
"Yeah," Minho responds, "yeah, come on, come for me, baby - "
"Oh, fuck," Taemin groans, and then it's over, they both abandon all control and soar off the edge, bucking against each other and whimpering with spasms of pleasure.
Taemin falls asleep then, and Minho puts him in a pair of pajama pants before tucking him under his covers and kissing his sweaty forehead goodnight. As he's slipping quietly out the door, Taemin stirs and says drowsily, "I love you, Minho."
Minho smiles. "I love you, too."
<<
For some reason, Taemin asks to borrow his math book three more times over the next two months. Each time, he looks more and more annoyed. Minho's not really complaining, because it's not like he does his math homework anyway, but it's slightly unnerving how insistent Taemin is. Also how cute he is. Now that Taemin's on his radar, Minho sees him around a lot, and he's become resigned to feeling his heartbeat speed up every time the other boy enters his sight. He tells himself it's because Taemin has delicate, feminine good looks, but that doesn't really account for why he likes all of the other quirks he's secretly observed.
He likes the savage yell Taemin lets loose when he kicks the soccer ball during P.E., and he likes the glint in Taemin's eye when he's shoveling down insane portions of kimbap for lunch. He likes the way sweat makes Taemin's thin T-shirts stick to his skinny frame when he's walking to the bus stop after dance practice - not that Minho is waiting around school to watch him or anything, but he does have soccer practice at the same time, so usually he just happens to see Taemin as he shuffles out of the dance studio looking exhausted but happy. It's on one of these afternoons, when he experiences an unpleasant spike of jealousy upon seeing Taemin laughing radiantly with some of his fellow dancers, that he realizes maybe he should try to face his feelings about this whole situation.
And so, when Taemin returns his math book for the fourth time, he has a plan. He's going to ask Taemin out, not on a date or anything because that would be embarrassing and Taemin might not even be gay and Minho's not sure if he's gay, but just to hang out. And he's going to ask in such a suave and casual way that Taemin will have no choice but to say yes, and then they'll hang out and become great friends, and somehow that will remedy the pangs in Minho's chest that come with passing Taemin wordlessly in the halls every day.
"Hey," Minho starts as he takes the book and tucks it into his backpack, but Taemin doesn't let him go on.
"Hey, yourself," he snarls, poking Minho sharply in the chest. "What's your math grade, anyway?"
"Um, well it's - pretty average," Minho fudges.
"Don't lie to me!"
Minho sighs, embarrassed. "Okay, well right now I'm getting a D plus, but - "
"Well, fuck," Taemin exhales. "Of course you are. Right, that's it, that's enough. I'm done."
"Done with what?" Minho says, confused.
But Taemin is shaking his head angrily, his cheeks reddening with agitation. "Forget it, Choi Minho. Forget I said anything - hell, forget we even met. I'm an idiot, I realize, but at least I know when to give up. I can't believe I was this stupid."
Before Minho can ask what he's giving up on, Taemin turns to walk away. This really isn't going at all how he'd planned. He darts forward to grab Taemin by the wrist.
"Don't go," he says.
Taemin's head whips around to face him, eyes wide with surprise.
"Um," Minho says, suddenly tongue-tied by the beauty of that innocent expression. "Uh." Taemin's skin is so warm against his, and like this, he can almost imagine they're holding hands: a real couple. All his smooth words fly out the window. "Do you want to hang out sometime?"
"Excuse me?" Taemin says, looking shell-shocked.
"I just - well, you keep borrowing my book," Minho says quickly, withdrawing his hand from Taemin's wrist and running it sheepishly through his hair. "So, you know. It would seem that, like, you owe me? I thought we could um, spend some time together? Like, we could get ice cream. Or something. Just, um, anything you wanted. I mean - "
"Sure," Taemin interrupts, mercifully cutting him off. Minho, who's been staring determinedly at the floor, looks up and locks eyes with Taemin at last, and oh god he's smiling that gorgeous smile. Minho blushes.
"Yeah?" he says. "So, are you doing anything right now?"
"Apparently I'm hanging out with you," Taemin says, beaming. Minho decides that nothing in this world could be more satisfying than being the cause of that heart-stopping grin.
One week later, he realizes he's wrong: no sensation could ever be better than that of kissing Lee Taemin.
>>
Prom night, they drive down to the river and share a picnic on the hood of Minho's dad's car. It turns into a sloppy makeout session, which ends abruptly when they hear a series of catcalls from a couple of hobos. Taemin cusses the gnarly old men out soundly, and then they get into the car and speed off.
"Well, this is definitely classier than prom," Minho laughs as they drive away.
"Yeah," Taemin giggles. Then he seems to sober up, and he sighs. "Hey, Minho?"
"Hm?"
"Sorry we didn't go. To prom, I mean."
"Don't worry about it," Minho says, "this is way better."
"I know you wanted to - "
"Hey," Minho says. "I did, but honestly I'm glad you talked me out of it. Prom is just a dumb tradition, something I wanted to go to because everyone else was going, but it wouldn't have been special. It would have been completely meaningless in the end. I'm glad we did our own thing. Started our own tradition."
"Yeah," Taemin says softly. "Well. It's not like I had any good reason for not wanting to go, though."
Minho glances at him sideways.
"It was just me being selfish, as usual," Taemin continues.
"What do you mean?" Minho says. They haven't really talked about this, mainly because, having had three months to think about it, he assumed he'd come to understand Taemin's reasoning. Now, though, he feels a little apprehensive, because Taemin sounds scared.
"I thought if you saw us in comparison to all the other couples, the, you know, normal couples, you'd think twice about dating me," Taemin admits. "I've never really understood how you ended up choosing me over all the girls who've confessed to you over the years, but - "
"Stop," Minho commands, annoyed. "Don't say that, don't ever say that. You're the best thing that has ever happened to me, Taemin, you chose me over however many people I've had to chase away from your ass the past year and a half, and I'd be a huge fucking idiot to ever take that fact for granted. Every single day I thank my fucking stars that you still want to be with me, and there's no way I'd leave you because of something like prom."
"Okay," Taemin says, his voice shaky. "Okay, well, good."
"Oh my god," Minho says, stricken, "don't cry! Baby - "
"I'm not," Taemin sniffles. "I just - fuck. Minho, I love you, I really, really love you."
"I love you, too," Minho says, "I love you so much."
They've exchanged these words countless times already, but there's a weight to them now that wasn't there before. The three simple syllables are a pact, a declaration of unconditional faith, and somehow Minho realizes that, though they didn't have one when they started driving, they're headed toward a definite destination now. He knows Taemin knows it, too, and the car ride goes quiet with nervous tension.
The motel isn't the greatest, but it's not terrible for the price they're paying. Minho wonders how the lady behind the desk must be seeing them, two teenage boys renting a room with a single bed. If she's judging them, she shows no outward sign of it. She hands them a worn brass key without ceremony and points them in the direction of their room. Minho bows his thanks and then, on the way out, grabs Taemin's hand, not bothering to look back at the woman's reaction.
<<
"You should have done your math homework," Taemin mumbles against his collarbones. It's summer and they're lying together in the stifling heat atop Minho's apartment building. The sun is slowly inching across a cloudless sky, and they're both growing visibly sunburnt, but it's worth it to be able to steal kisses right out in the open.
"Huh?" Minho says.
"Your math homework last semester," Taemin says. "You didn't ever open that book, did you?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," Minho says, pushing Taemin's hair out of his face and then shifting forward lazily until their lips meet, "but it's summer vacation and therefore I should not be hearing the word homework out of your mouth." He kisses Taemin soundly, demonstrating what he does want out of Taemin's mouth.
"I'm just saying," Taemin manages when they part, "it would have saved us a whole lot of trouble."
The next day Minho digs out his math book and flips through it. On every other page, scrawled messily, almost desperately, between practice problems and above page numbers and along hyperbolas and sine curves, is Taemin's phone number.
>>
It feels like he's been waiting for this his entire life. Maybe he didn't expect it to happen in a cutprice motel with mold in the corners of the bathroom ceiling and the television blaring next door, but when Taemin grabs him by the collar and kisses him hotly, desperately against the door, Minho knows that where they are doesn't matter. What matters is that Taemin is touching him everywhere, passionate and hungry and tender, and grinding against him, each hip roll accompanied by a soft breathy moan.
What matters is that when they topple softly to the bed and Minho bites his lip and says, "You're sure, right?" Taemin replies with, "Of course I'm sure, so shut the fuck up."
"Sorry for asking," Minho grumbles teasingly.
Taemin draws back, considers for a moment. "Are you sure?"
"I have never been more sure about anything in my entire life," Minho says seriously.
And that seems to satisfy Taemin, so Minho presses an open-mouthed kiss to his throat and they continue.
They've done research on the mechanics of this, and they get most of it right. Other than Minho dropping the lube and a brief argument about what position they should use ("I heard that it's better from behind, Minho"; "But I wanna see your face!"), things go pretty smoothly. Minho's got Taemin splayed out in front of him, and when he enters it's so exquisitely, dizzyingly tight that he has to clench his teeth and focus all of his efforts on not coming right then.
He starts thrusting slowly, cautiously, and Taemin squirms beneath him.
"Oh my God," Minho pants, "oh my fucking God."
Taemin gives a grunt.
"Baby," Minho says, speeding up, "you feel… incredible."
Another grunt.
"Um." A thought occurs to him amidst the haze of pleasure. "Are you - how is it for you?"
"It's fine," Taemin says. Minho looks down, realizes that Taemin's erection is wilting.
"But I want it to be great," he says, agitated.
"Baby - " Taemin says.
"Let me make you feel good," Minho insists.
They spend a few minutes trying to find a good angle, but every time Taemin yelps a breathy, "Yes - there," they're unable to recreate the moment. Taemin is flushed and slightly sweaty and from here - they're back to where they started, face-to-face with Minho on top - he does look incredibly good, and Minho's heart does give a bounding leap when their eyes meet, but it's not enough because he wants this, their first time, to be totally flawless. He wants Taemin to be screaming his name as he comes just from Minho pounding into his ass.
(Totally not based off all the porn he's watched.)
"Honestly, Minho," Taemin says, and it's not a scream but Minho is somewhat gratified to hear him at least panting and out of breath, "you're worrying too much."
"I just want you to enjoy this," Minho says plaintively.
"I am enjoying it," Taemin says. "Having you inside me feels, just, extremely good."
"But - "
"It doesn't have to be amazing," Taemin interrupts. "It's already perfect, Minho, because it's you."
Minho doesn't know what to say to that, doesn't even think that words are necessary, so he leans down and kisses Taemin instead, slow and deliberate and heated, savoring the softness of his mouth.
And that seems to do the trick, that slight shift of their bodies, because suddenly Taemin is gasping. He's cursing and begging for it, and it's just like Minho's fantasies except different, better, the way they slide cluelessly against each other like animals in heat. There's no point in holding back, so Minho lets go, and Taemin lifts his hips to meet the crest of every thrust, and Minho knows he's hitting the right spot because when he does, Taemin utters a keening moan that sends Minho into a frenzy.
Someday, Minho is going to make Taemin come just by ramming into him relentlessly, over and over, without letting Taemin touch himself. He really can't imagine anything hotter than fucking Taemin and seeing him writhing, chest heaving, dick bobbing, and then coming messily and helplessly all over himself just from being filled with Minho's cock.
Yes. Someday. Not today, though, because already Taemin is whimpering, "Minho - I'm gonna - " and fisting his cock, stroking it frantically and crying out wantonly.
That's what finishes Minho, because Taemin is getting off riding Minho's dick and yelling Minho's name, and it's overwhelming, the way Taemin looks with come spurting out of his dick and Minho still sheathed in his ass. And then his muscles are clenching hotly around Minho, and it's too tight, it's too much, and Minho comes, waves of pleasure rocketing through his veins and sending a shudder down his spine as he rides out his climax in a blind haze.
After they've wiped the white stickiness from Taemin's stomach and thrown away the condom and straightened the sheets a little, there's nothing to do but lie in bed and induge in some naked cuddling. Minho gathers Taemin to his chest, reveling in how close Taemin's lips are to his skin, so close that every exhale tickles his neck.
"So, that was fun," Taemin says sleepily, draping one arm possessively over Minho's waist. "I think we should do it again sometime."
"I second that," Minho murmurs. "But, hey, don't fall asleep, babe. Your brother might castrate me if I don't get you home tonight."
"Don't wanna go home," Taemin mumbles. "Wanna stay like this forever."
"Babe, don't," Minho warns, but Taemin's eyes are already slipping shut.
Being on Taesun's bad side is the last thing Minho wants, but Taemin looks so perfect and peaceful right now, and with the way their bodies are pressed together, tucked safely beneath the covers with limbs warmly intertwined, it's hard to imagine leaving yet. So Minho doesn't.
"Fuck it," he says happily, settling his head into the pillow with a grin. "We'll stay."
Taesun's still going to kill him in the morning, and the soccer team's still going to resent him for skipping prom, and the motel's still a total dive with linen that stinks of cigarette smoke, but Minho buries his face into Taemin's soft, sweet-smelling hair and everything else just falls away. Knowing that the other boy will still be there when he wakes up, Minho closes his eyes and drifts off.
<<
It begins when Taemin enters high school. He's jittery, a stick-thin bundle of nerves with legs too long for his frame and eyelashes too long for a boy, so when he's walking down the halls for the very first time and is jostled from behind, he gives a startled jump and all the books in his arms go flying. English lands face up, math face down; his brand new binder slides clear across the hall and skids to a forlorn stop against a stationary student's shoes.
Taemin drops abruptly to the ground to collect his books, keeping his face low so as to hide the dark blush spreading over his cheeks from the snickering passersby. As he reaches out to grab the math book, he's mortified to see his hand shaking. Someone snorts, "Poor freshie." Taemin can't help it; tears of embarrassment spring to his eyes.
Could this morning get any worse?
A soft voice interrupts his rapid downward spiral into depression.
"Um, I think you dropped your binder."
Taemin looks up reluctantly, and finds himself staring into what has to be one of the most attractive faces he's ever seen. Breathtaking brown eyes gaze down at him from beneath strong brows furrowed in concern, and round, pink lips part slightly on the verge of speech. It's a boy, probably another freshman, and though he's just as gangly and raw as Taemin, he seems to be more collected, more at ease. He smiles hesitantly, and Taemin's heart pounds frantically. Vaguely, he registers that this is the owner of the shoes against which his binder must have landed, but more pressingly, this handsome creature is smiling at him and Taemin is just gawking back at him in slack-jawed stupidity.
"Yes," he says at last, clearing his throat. "That's my binder, yes."
The other boy looks relieved to discover that Taemin is not in fact deaf and dumb.
"Okay, well." The binder sits expectantly in his outstretched hands. "Here you go."
"Thanks," Taemin says. Slowly, he reaches out to take it, his fingers curling around the crisp seams of black plastic. The other boy lets go of the binder before their hands can touch, and Taemin tries not to be disappointed with the lack of contact.
"You're welcome," the boy says with one last, brief smile. And then he's gone.
Feeling dazed, Taemin gets to his feet and stumbles off to class, his embarrassment forgotten and thoughts of the boy's twinkling eyes filling his mind. He's so absorbed in his daydreams, in fact, that he nearly doesn’t notice when the bossy boy sitting next to him in homeroom introduces himself.
"Kibum," the boy says impatiently, "Kim Kibum. What's your name?"
"Taemin," Taemin says meekly. "Nice to meet you."
Somehow he ends up eating lunch with Kibum, and from across the cafeteria he spots the mystery boy from earlier. He's laughing and joking with a big group of kids, his head thrown back and his mouth wide open in a hearty guffaw. Taemin's pulse quickens.
"Hey," he says, nudging Kibum in the elbow. "Who's that guy?"
"Hm? Oh, him? Choi Minho. He was in my class in eighth grade," Kibum says matter-of-factly.
"Choi Minho, huh?" Taemin says thoughtfully, testing the name on his tongue. As he watches, Minho throws one arm around another boy and whispers something in his ear. Something deep inside Taemin, something uncomfortably close to envy, stirs sluggishly. He thinks of Minho's lips, of the cute indentations at their corners, of how they might taste.
"Why do you ask?" Kibum says.
"No reason," Taemin says airily. "Just, I want to meet him sometime. I feel like we'd really get along."
yep idk man i don't do good endings i just do laziness, also i apologize if the time-skippy format was too weird but hopefully it's somewhat understandable??? agh sorry this is just me doing the high school au thing bc 2min are living the teenage dream in my heart except minho's not a teenager and wow taem's almost not a teenager anymore either wowwww crying