exo drabbles: olympics style
three drabbles for three unlikely events
i. canada eh; Kris/Tao, basketball, pg, 682 words.
It’s the first round of qualifications and theoretically, it should be a breeze for Team Canada. Theoretically being because they’re playing against a team who whimpered when they saw their opponents and also because Canada’s one of the leading favorites for a medal in basketball this year.
Kris still doesn’t think that’s a good enough reason as to why he’s sitting on the bench right now. They’ve just started the second quarter and barely managed to pull ahead with a two-point lead. Kris bites down on his nonexistent nails as the newbie, some kid named Henry, manages to lose the ball for the second time. The opposing team grabs the opportunity to pass, dribble, and dunk to tie the score.
Goddammit.
He gnaws on his lips, thinking about the post-game interview with that snobby reporter, the early plane ride home, the disappointed looks from his parents, all those hours in the gym wasted because that one kid cannot hold onto the ball-
“Wu, get in there!”
Finally. Kris immediately rips off his jacket, nodding at his coach once, before he runs onto the court. The slick feel of floor against his shoes, the stench of sweat and heavy breathing- it’s like home to Kris and he feels his muscles jerk in anticipation. Waving his arms, he gathers his teammates for a quick pep talk.
“Okay, since you guys have managed to screw up a pretty easy game,” he shouts, taking care to glare at as many of them as possible, “we’re going to have to make it up in the next two quarters. All right, we’re going to run the ‘Two Moons’ play now. Got it?”
Kris thinks his bitchface must be on right now because none of his teammates will look at him in the eye. Nevertheless, they all nod and shout “Canada!” loudly before taking up their positions. It’s a special play Kris came up with himself, mostly involving fake passes and lots of tossing, but it works every time. Kris watches with a smug grin as the other team is thrown into confusion with their new line-up. Taking advantage of this, he catches Henry’s pass, shakes off a defender, and jumps for a beautiful dunk that shakes the entire backboard.
And that’s how basketball is played.
They refuse to let up for the remainder of the game, ending with Canada winning 100-54. Kris almost feels bad when he sees the other team head out, but the rush of euphoria on their first win and the cheer of Canadians in the stands bring another round of adrenaline. He high-fives his teammates, waves to the crowd, and runs into the locker rooms with the high of winning still in his veins.
“That was some game you played out there.”
Kris turns around at the familiar Mandarin that reaches his ears. There is a Chinese male standing at his locker, a thin white uniform covering his lanky frame. He’s a tall guy, with dark bangs falling around deep eyes and small smirk on his thin lips. A piercing on his left ear glints under the fluorescent lights as he tilts his head.
“A bit overboard for the qualification rounds though, don’t you think?”
“Qualifications are the first steps to winning a medal,” Kris retorts. The other male raises an eyebrow at the growl in Kris’s words. “Go big or go home.”
“Well then,” the male replies slowly, each syllable drawn out. “I like how you go big.”
He smiles, a shy tilt of the lips, as he pats Kris on the shoulder and heads out of the room. Kris stares at his retreating figure, the words “HUANG” etched in red fabric across his uniform, and nudges his nearest teammate.
“Who was that?”
Henry glances over. “Huang Zitao. He’s supposed to be the star player for Team China.”
“Zitao, you say?”
Kris reaches for a towel, wiping the sweat off his brows, before looking back again. Zitao. He smiles to himself, a small chuckle escaping his lips as he remembers that smug grin and those dark eyes.
Oh. He’ll definitely go big now.
ii. watch the reruns; Xiumin/Baekhyun, taekwondo, pg-13, 986 words
“I think that I might actually have a shot at a medal,” Baekhyun huffs. He steps off the platform, eagerly accepting the towel Chanyeol throws at him. Wiping through layers of sweat, he tries to regain his breath after his first preliminary win.
“Don’t get too excited,” Chanyeol says. “You still haven’t faced Xiumin yet.”
Baekhyun frowns. He’s heard about this taekwondo extraordinaire for a while now; a Korean-born who’s representing China, supposedly the leading contender for gold in London. Baekhyun hasn’t had time to watch any reruns of his matches yet, but from what he’s heard, this Xiumin is one to watch out for. By the way Chanyeol keeps talking about him, Baekhyun is fully expecting Xiumin to be nothing more than a six-foot plus statue of pure testosterone.
“Spoke too soon,” Joonmyun sighs as he joins them. He hands Baekhyun a piece of paper. “Your next match is with Xiumin.”
“Fuck,” Chanyeol groans. “I thought Baekhyun would last a little longer.”
“Don’t worry too much,” Joonmyun says solemnly, patting Baekhyun’s shoulder. “Even if you lose to Xiumin, you’ll still have a chance at qualifications for a medal.”
“The amount of confidence you guys have in me is astounding,” Baekhyun says dryly. He chucks his towel Chanyeol’s head before walking away.
“Where are you going?” Joonmyun shouts after him.
“To prepare for my impending loss against the great Xiumin,” Baekhyun retorts. He can hear Chanyeol’s obnoxious laughter as he walks into the warm-up room.
To be honest, Baekhyun never thought he would have even made it to the Olympics, much less contend for a medal. When his name had appeared on the Olympics attendees list, he had nearly choked Joonmyun from hugging him so tightly. Every waking moment after that had been spent training in the gym, perfecting his moves on the worn mats to the tempo of Girls Generation long into the nights. He might be a newbie but he was damn well going to give it his best.
But it still feels like shit when your own trainers think you’re going to lose.
By the time the match arrives, Baekhyun is positively fuming. His one phone call home to best friend Jongdae - ex-best friend now- had only resulted in snorts of disbelief and “Oh my god, Baekhyun, you think they’ll broadcast when you get pummeled to ground by Xiumin?” As Joonmyun helps him suit up, Baekhyun furiously grinds his teeth. He’ll show that Xiumin. Regardless of how tall or how muscular this guy may be, he will make sure Xiumin feels the fury that is Byun Baekhyun. With a loud roar and chest pump exchange with Chanyeol, he steps on stage with the intention of winning.
So when he turns to face his opponent and sees a short male with squinty eyes and round cheeks beaming at him, Baekhyun is not merely confused. He’s fucking baffled.
The ring of the bell barely registers and when Baekhyun’s moving to take his first step, he sees the referee signal point. To China. As he’s turning to look at the scoreboard, Baekhyun feels a sudden impact to his head. He crouches on the floor, groaning, and faintly hears a soft “Oh no, did I kick too hard? Are you okay?”
Two minutes later, Baekhyun sits in the warm-up room again, clutching an ice pack to his head and sulking over what may have been the shortest match in Olympics history. Joonmyun and Chanyeol are heatedly discussing his next few matches in the corner, and when Chanyeol turns to snicker at him, Baekhyun wishes he could chuck his helmet at him.
“Hey, derp face.” Baekhyun slowly turns his head to see a rather pretty Chinese male sneering down at him. “Baozi wants to talk to you.”
He’s about to ask what the hell a baozi is when a horribly familiar face with chubby cheeks greets him in rushed Korean. “I’m so sorry about the match,” Xiumin rambles, small fingers clutching his uniform. “I really thought you would dodge that first kick.”
Baekhyun can see Xiumin’s Chinese friend laughing behind them and frowns. Xiumin turns to kick his friend. “Ah, ignore my trainer, Luhan. He’s a little immature.”
“Well, that makes two,” Baekhyun mutters, glaring at Chanyeol.
“Um, I really know this isn’t the best time, especially after I kicked you in the face on international television...”
Baekhyun winces, desperately hoping that Jongdae hadn’t watched his match. He would never hear the end of it.
“But...maybe we can grab some food or something later on?”
“...excuse me?”
“I mean, I heard that the tea here is great. We’re in London and heck, if the Queen drinks it then it has to be good, right? And I didn’t really want to go by myself-”
“Christ, just say yes to him so that he’ll shut up and get to his next match already,” Luhan jumps in. He dodges another of Xiumin’s kicks, sticking his tongue out childishly.
“I don’t understand,” Baekhyun begins slowly. Joonmyun, noticing the red flush creeping up Baekhyun’s face, starts to walk over.
“He likes you and you more than likely cannot say no to this adorable face,” Luhan says, pinching Xiumin’s cheeks. “So I’ll call your trainer later about the details, but for now, it’s a yes, okay? Good, now Xiumin has to go kick a Brazilian guy’s ass so wave goodbye.”
Baekhyun, with his mouth hanging out open and the beginnings of a bruise on his left eye, gapes as Xiumin gives a small wave as he’s being tugged back out to the stadium. Joonmyun fusses over him, pressing the ice pack back to his face, when Baekhyun’s cell phone rings.
“Dude,” Jongdae laughs hysterically into the line. “My entire class stopped lecture to watch you just get kicked in the face. This is the best day of my life-”
“I just got asked out on a date by Xiumin.”
“...what?”
“I’m going to get tea with fucking Xiumin.”
iii. first impressions; Kai/D.O., diving, pg-13, 765 words
When Joonmyun had offered him a job for the summer, Kyungsoo had thought it was maybe a delivery service gig or even a tutoring position at a local high school.
Not a translator for the South Korean Olympic diving team.
Before he had a chance to consider the offer, his mother had raved about “honor” and “glory to one’s country” before shoving him onto the plane that was bound for London. Well, Kyungsoo had always wanted adventure and he supposed this was his only chance. That, and the paycheck is very good.
Two days into the Olympics and Kyungsoo has figured out why the paycheck is so good. The diving team is fucking insane.
And the leader of said insane team, Kim Jongin, is the craziest of them all. He seems to have a certain pleasure in driving Kyungsoo mad while simultaneously trying to bring shame upon all Koreans.
“Ask if the Queen wipes her own ass,” he said to Kyungsoo on a trip to the Buckingham Palace. Kyungsoo had sputtered, smiling politely at the tour guide as he tugged Jongin away before he could get them kicked out.
“Kyungsoo,” Jongin said at the opening ceremony, “Ask them if I can ride on Lord Voldemort.”
“Kyungsoo, tell the hotel manager the tea here sucks,” Jongin said outside his hotel room, clad in nothing but a towel. “And I want some wieners with my breakfast.”
“Ask where I can find Emma Watson,” Jongin said on their next tour, “I promised my friend Taemin I would grope her ass and report back to him.”
And now, after a particularly long day at preliminaries in which Jongin tried to get him to translate “which country is fucking you in the ass” to the judges, Kyungsoo slams his head against the dining room table and wishes he had never left Korea.
“Rough day?”
He glances over to see Oh Sehun, the only innocent kid left on the team, sit down next to him. Kyungsoo sighs deeply, burying his face into the cool wood.
“Jongin tried to get the team disqualified,” he mutters.
Sehun clicks his tongue, patting Kyungsoo sympathetically on the shoulder. “And I thought athletes had it tough.”
“This is in no way worth the paycheck,” Kyungsoo groans, lifting his head slowly. “I did not sign up for this.”
“Well then, how about I give you something more pleasurable for your time?”
Kyungsoo looks over to Sehun, shrinking away in alarm when he notices the hooded gaze the younger is throwing his way. Sehun licks his lips, slipping a hand under the table to grope his thigh; Kyungsoo nearly falls out of his chair.
“What the hell are you doing, Oh Sehun?” Jongin shouts, making his way over to the table. Grabbing him by his jacket, Jongin pushes Sehun away from Kyungsoo.
“Oh come on,” Sehun retorts. “You were taking forever to make a move so I thought I would have some fun.”
“Mind your own business,” Jongin growls, stepping in between the two boys. “Go chase after those Chinese athletes you were gawking at yesterday.”
Sehun rolls his eyes but gets up to leave. He throws Kyungsoo a quick wink before leaving the room, dodging the furious kick Jongin aims at him.
“Hey, are you okay?” Jongin asks softly. Taking in Kyungsoo’s trembling form, he gnaws his lips nervously.
“...I....thought...he, Sehun...he’s supposed to be,” Kyungsoo sobs, still reeling from the sexual harassment he just endured, “...innocent?”
“The youngest are the most dangerous, hyung,” Jongin sighs. He pours a glass of water and places it in Kyungsoo’s hands. “Damn. And I specifically told Sehun you were off limits.”
Kyungsoo nearly chokes on his water, sputtering as he tries to get out his words. “O-off limits?”
“Well yeah,” Jongin replies. He looks uncharacteristically sheepish then, rubbing his hair and refusing to meet Kyungsoo’s gaze. “I thought I made it clear, with all those times I tried to impress you. I don’t stand outside just anyone’s hotel door naked you know.”
It’s almost endearing, the slight flush on Jongin’s face as he puffs his cheeks. He plays with his jacket nervously for a while before speaking again. “I was going to ask if you wanted to go to the London Eye today, but thanks to Sehun-”
“I like ferris wheels,” Kyungsoo blurts out, blinking rapidly. “I mean, yeah. That sounds nice.”
“Really?” Jongin says, looking up at him.
And when Kyungsoo sees that pleased smile on Jongin’s face, the small crinkle of his eyes as he gives a shy laugh- that just might be worth the paycheck after all.
A/N: because what better outlet for EXO feels than the olympics.
i. canada eh; Kris/Tao, basketball, pg, 682 words.
It’s the first round of qualifications and theoretically, it should be a breeze for Team Canada. Theoretically being because they’re playing against a team who whimpered when they saw their opponents and also because Canada’s one of the leading favorites for a medal in basketball this year.
Kris still doesn’t think that’s a good enough reason as to why he’s sitting on the bench right now. They’ve just started the second quarter and barely managed to pull ahead with a two-point lead. Kris bites down on his nonexistent nails as the newbie, some kid named Henry, manages to lose the ball for the second time. The opposing team grabs the opportunity to pass, dribble, and dunk to tie the score.
Goddammit.
He gnaws on his lips, thinking about the post-game interview with that snobby reporter, the early plane ride home, the disappointed looks from his parents, all those hours in the gym wasted because that one kid cannot hold onto the ball-
“Wu, get in there!”
Finally. Kris immediately rips off his jacket, nodding at his coach once, before he runs onto the court. The slick feel of floor against his shoes, the stench of sweat and heavy breathing- it’s like home to Kris and he feels his muscles jerk in anticipation. Waving his arms, he gathers his teammates for a quick pep talk.
“Okay, since you guys have managed to screw up a pretty easy game,” he shouts, taking care to glare at as many of them as possible, “we’re going to have to make it up in the next two quarters. All right, we’re going to run the ‘Two Moons’ play now. Got it?”
Kris thinks his bitchface must be on right now because none of his teammates will look at him in the eye. Nevertheless, they all nod and shout “Canada!” loudly before taking up their positions. It’s a special play Kris came up with himself, mostly involving fake passes and lots of tossing, but it works every time. Kris watches with a smug grin as the other team is thrown into confusion with their new line-up. Taking advantage of this, he catches Henry’s pass, shakes off a defender, and jumps for a beautiful dunk that shakes the entire backboard.
And that’s how basketball is played.
They refuse to let up for the remainder of the game, ending with Canada winning 100-54. Kris almost feels bad when he sees the other team head out, but the rush of euphoria on their first win and the cheer of Canadians in the stands bring another round of adrenaline. He high-fives his teammates, waves to the crowd, and runs into the locker rooms with the high of winning still in his veins.
“That was some game you played out there.”
Kris turns around at the familiar Mandarin that reaches his ears. There is a Chinese male standing at his locker, a thin white uniform covering his lanky frame. He’s a tall guy, with dark bangs falling around deep eyes and small smirk on his thin lips. A piercing on his left ear glints under the fluorescent lights as he tilts his head.
“A bit overboard for the qualification rounds though, don’t you think?”
“Qualifications are the first steps to winning a medal,” Kris retorts. The other male raises an eyebrow at the growl in Kris’s words. “Go big or go home.”
“Well then,” the male replies slowly, each syllable drawn out. “I like how you go big.”
He smiles, a shy tilt of the lips, as he pats Kris on the shoulder and heads out of the room. Kris stares at his retreating figure, the words “HUANG” etched in red fabric across his uniform, and nudges his nearest teammate.
“Who was that?”
Henry glances over. “Huang Zitao. He’s supposed to be the star player for Team China.”
“Zitao, you say?”
Kris reaches for a towel, wiping the sweat off his brows, before looking back again. Zitao. He smiles to himself, a small chuckle escaping his lips as he remembers that smug grin and those dark eyes.
Oh. He’ll definitely go big now.
ii. watch the reruns; Xiumin/Baekhyun, taekwondo, pg-13, 986 words
“I think that I might actually have a shot at a medal,” Baekhyun huffs. He steps off the platform, eagerly accepting the towel Chanyeol throws at him. Wiping through layers of sweat, he tries to regain his breath after his first preliminary win.
“Don’t get too excited,” Chanyeol says. “You still haven’t faced Xiumin yet.”
Baekhyun frowns. He’s heard about this taekwondo extraordinaire for a while now; a Korean-born who’s representing China, supposedly the leading contender for gold in London. Baekhyun hasn’t had time to watch any reruns of his matches yet, but from what he’s heard, this Xiumin is one to watch out for. By the way Chanyeol keeps talking about him, Baekhyun is fully expecting Xiumin to be nothing more than a six-foot plus statue of pure testosterone.
“Spoke too soon,” Joonmyun sighs as he joins them. He hands Baekhyun a piece of paper. “Your next match is with Xiumin.”
“Fuck,” Chanyeol groans. “I thought Baekhyun would last a little longer.”
“Don’t worry too much,” Joonmyun says solemnly, patting Baekhyun’s shoulder. “Even if you lose to Xiumin, you’ll still have a chance at qualifications for a medal.”
“The amount of confidence you guys have in me is astounding,” Baekhyun says dryly. He chucks his towel Chanyeol’s head before walking away.
“Where are you going?” Joonmyun shouts after him.
“To prepare for my impending loss against the great Xiumin,” Baekhyun retorts. He can hear Chanyeol’s obnoxious laughter as he walks into the warm-up room.
To be honest, Baekhyun never thought he would have even made it to the Olympics, much less contend for a medal. When his name had appeared on the Olympics attendees list, he had nearly choked Joonmyun from hugging him so tightly. Every waking moment after that had been spent training in the gym, perfecting his moves on the worn mats to the tempo of Girls Generation long into the nights. He might be a newbie but he was damn well going to give it his best.
But it still feels like shit when your own trainers think you’re going to lose.
By the time the match arrives, Baekhyun is positively fuming. His one phone call home to best friend Jongdae - ex-best friend now- had only resulted in snorts of disbelief and “Oh my god, Baekhyun, you think they’ll broadcast when you get pummeled to ground by Xiumin?” As Joonmyun helps him suit up, Baekhyun furiously grinds his teeth. He’ll show that Xiumin. Regardless of how tall or how muscular this guy may be, he will make sure Xiumin feels the fury that is Byun Baekhyun. With a loud roar and chest pump exchange with Chanyeol, he steps on stage with the intention of winning.
So when he turns to face his opponent and sees a short male with squinty eyes and round cheeks beaming at him, Baekhyun is not merely confused. He’s fucking baffled.
The ring of the bell barely registers and when Baekhyun’s moving to take his first step, he sees the referee signal point. To China. As he’s turning to look at the scoreboard, Baekhyun feels a sudden impact to his head. He crouches on the floor, groaning, and faintly hears a soft “Oh no, did I kick too hard? Are you okay?”
Two minutes later, Baekhyun sits in the warm-up room again, clutching an ice pack to his head and sulking over what may have been the shortest match in Olympics history. Joonmyun and Chanyeol are heatedly discussing his next few matches in the corner, and when Chanyeol turns to snicker at him, Baekhyun wishes he could chuck his helmet at him.
“Hey, derp face.” Baekhyun slowly turns his head to see a rather pretty Chinese male sneering down at him. “Baozi wants to talk to you.”
He’s about to ask what the hell a baozi is when a horribly familiar face with chubby cheeks greets him in rushed Korean. “I’m so sorry about the match,” Xiumin rambles, small fingers clutching his uniform. “I really thought you would dodge that first kick.”
Baekhyun can see Xiumin’s Chinese friend laughing behind them and frowns. Xiumin turns to kick his friend. “Ah, ignore my trainer, Luhan. He’s a little immature.”
“Well, that makes two,” Baekhyun mutters, glaring at Chanyeol.
“Um, I really know this isn’t the best time, especially after I kicked you in the face on international television...”
Baekhyun winces, desperately hoping that Jongdae hadn’t watched his match. He would never hear the end of it.
“But...maybe we can grab some food or something later on?”
“...excuse me?”
“I mean, I heard that the tea here is great. We’re in London and heck, if the Queen drinks it then it has to be good, right? And I didn’t really want to go by myself-”
“Christ, just say yes to him so that he’ll shut up and get to his next match already,” Luhan jumps in. He dodges another of Xiumin’s kicks, sticking his tongue out childishly.
“I don’t understand,” Baekhyun begins slowly. Joonmyun, noticing the red flush creeping up Baekhyun’s face, starts to walk over.
“He likes you and you more than likely cannot say no to this adorable face,” Luhan says, pinching Xiumin’s cheeks. “So I’ll call your trainer later about the details, but for now, it’s a yes, okay? Good, now Xiumin has to go kick a Brazilian guy’s ass so wave goodbye.”
Baekhyun, with his mouth hanging out open and the beginnings of a bruise on his left eye, gapes as Xiumin gives a small wave as he’s being tugged back out to the stadium. Joonmyun fusses over him, pressing the ice pack back to his face, when Baekhyun’s cell phone rings.
“Dude,” Jongdae laughs hysterically into the line. “My entire class stopped lecture to watch you just get kicked in the face. This is the best day of my life-”
“I just got asked out on a date by Xiumin.”
“...what?”
“I’m going to get tea with fucking Xiumin.”
iii. first impressions; Kai/D.O., diving, pg-13, 765 words
When Joonmyun had offered him a job for the summer, Kyungsoo had thought it was maybe a delivery service gig or even a tutoring position at a local high school.
Not a translator for the South Korean Olympic diving team.
Before he had a chance to consider the offer, his mother had raved about “honor” and “glory to one’s country” before shoving him onto the plane that was bound for London. Well, Kyungsoo had always wanted adventure and he supposed this was his only chance. That, and the paycheck is very good.
Two days into the Olympics and Kyungsoo has figured out why the paycheck is so good. The diving team is fucking insane.
And the leader of said insane team, Kim Jongin, is the craziest of them all. He seems to have a certain pleasure in driving Kyungsoo mad while simultaneously trying to bring shame upon all Koreans.
“Ask if the Queen wipes her own ass,” he said to Kyungsoo on a trip to the Buckingham Palace. Kyungsoo had sputtered, smiling politely at the tour guide as he tugged Jongin away before he could get them kicked out.
“Kyungsoo,” Jongin said at the opening ceremony, “Ask them if I can ride on Lord Voldemort.”
“Kyungsoo, tell the hotel manager the tea here sucks,” Jongin said outside his hotel room, clad in nothing but a towel. “And I want some wieners with my breakfast.”
“Ask where I can find Emma Watson,” Jongin said on their next tour, “I promised my friend Taemin I would grope her ass and report back to him.”
And now, after a particularly long day at preliminaries in which Jongin tried to get him to translate “which country is fucking you in the ass” to the judges, Kyungsoo slams his head against the dining room table and wishes he had never left Korea.
“Rough day?”
He glances over to see Oh Sehun, the only innocent kid left on the team, sit down next to him. Kyungsoo sighs deeply, burying his face into the cool wood.
“Jongin tried to get the team disqualified,” he mutters.
Sehun clicks his tongue, patting Kyungsoo sympathetically on the shoulder. “And I thought athletes had it tough.”
“This is in no way worth the paycheck,” Kyungsoo groans, lifting his head slowly. “I did not sign up for this.”
“Well then, how about I give you something more pleasurable for your time?”
Kyungsoo looks over to Sehun, shrinking away in alarm when he notices the hooded gaze the younger is throwing his way. Sehun licks his lips, slipping a hand under the table to grope his thigh; Kyungsoo nearly falls out of his chair.
“What the hell are you doing, Oh Sehun?” Jongin shouts, making his way over to the table. Grabbing him by his jacket, Jongin pushes Sehun away from Kyungsoo.
“Oh come on,” Sehun retorts. “You were taking forever to make a move so I thought I would have some fun.”
“Mind your own business,” Jongin growls, stepping in between the two boys. “Go chase after those Chinese athletes you were gawking at yesterday.”
Sehun rolls his eyes but gets up to leave. He throws Kyungsoo a quick wink before leaving the room, dodging the furious kick Jongin aims at him.
“Hey, are you okay?” Jongin asks softly. Taking in Kyungsoo’s trembling form, he gnaws his lips nervously.
“...I....thought...he, Sehun...he’s supposed to be,” Kyungsoo sobs, still reeling from the sexual harassment he just endured, “...innocent?”
“The youngest are the most dangerous, hyung,” Jongin sighs. He pours a glass of water and places it in Kyungsoo’s hands. “Damn. And I specifically told Sehun you were off limits.”
Kyungsoo nearly chokes on his water, sputtering as he tries to get out his words. “O-off limits?”
“Well yeah,” Jongin replies. He looks uncharacteristically sheepish then, rubbing his hair and refusing to meet Kyungsoo’s gaze. “I thought I made it clear, with all those times I tried to impress you. I don’t stand outside just anyone’s hotel door naked you know.”
It’s almost endearing, the slight flush on Jongin’s face as he puffs his cheeks. He plays with his jacket nervously for a while before speaking again. “I was going to ask if you wanted to go to the London Eye today, but thanks to Sehun-”
“I like ferris wheels,” Kyungsoo blurts out, blinking rapidly. “I mean, yeah. That sounds nice.”
“Really?” Jongin says, looking up at him.
And when Kyungsoo sees that pleased smile on Jongin’s face, the small crinkle of his eyes as he gives a shy laugh- that just might be worth the paycheck after all.
A/N: because what better outlet for EXO feels than the olympics.