Your Eyes Look Like Coming Home
Title: Your Eyes Look Like Coming Home
Rating: pg-13
Length: 8.8k
Side pairings: Chen/Liyin, Sehun/OC, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it Lay/Luhan
Notes: First of all, shout out to the mod for being so kind and patient with me throughout this entire process; you’re the real MVP. Secondly, thank you to M, C, and N for literally holding my hand and cheering me on this entire time. This fic wouldn’t have made it to its dubious end without you. ♥
Summary: Minseok come home for summer holiday to find some things have changed-namely, Jongin, the boy across the street.
Minseok flies into Incheon on a Sunday afternoon and gets off the plane more than a little exhausted. Lu Han and Yixing had demanded he come out with them for a celebratory drink for finishing their second year of university the night before. One drink had turned into two turned into three and a shot of tequila, and Minseok had to peel himself off the floor of Lu Han and Yixing’s bathroom to make it to his flight from Beijing to Incheon. Thank God he’d had the foresight to pack everything except himself beforehand, or Minseok thinks his plane definitely would have left without him.
Now, Minseok shoulders his backpack and pushes his sunglasses a little bit higher up the bridge of his nose, wincing as the sunlight filters through the windows of the airport. He’d wanted to get a couple hours of sleep on the plane ride, but there had been a crying baby a few rows behind him. Minseok still thinks he hears the ringing in his ears.
There’s a crowd of people around the international arrivals exit, and Minseok scans the crowd as he walks through the door. It’s been ages since Minseok’s seen so much hangul, and it takes a second for his brain to catch up with it. Even so, Minseok thinks he could have spotted his sister without reading his name; only she would consider making such a gaudy sign, the characters of his name loud and bold in bright red and blue.
“Oppa!” Minsun calls delightedly when she catches sight of him. She runs toward him and throws her arms around him. The poster bangs awkwardly into Minseok’s backpack, and he huffs a little with the force of the embrace. “Welcome home.”
A moment later, Minsun pulls back, nose wrinkled but a wicked smile playing on her lips. “You smell like you’ve been rolling around on the floor of a bar. You are so lucky Mom and Dad didn’t come pick you up.”
Minseok grins wryly but doesn’t deign to respond. “You cut your hair,” he says instead, pulling playfully at it. “I thought you were going to grow it out.”
Minsun shrugs and says nonchalantly, “I just wanted a change. Besides, my boyfriend likes it this length.”
Minseok fumbles with the strap of his backpack and blinks. “Boyfriend?” He’s not surprised; his little sister is voracious and charming, and even when Minseok was in his last year of high school and she in her first, she’d been popular.
Still, it’s a little strange for Minseok to think about his little sister dating someone, but he covers up his shock by teasingly asking, “When were you planning to tell me about this boyfriend?”
“When we got married, obviously,” Minsun responds guilelessly, and Minseok snorts loudly and obnoxiously. A businessman shoots him a disgruntled look, and Minseok dips his head in apology. “Just kidding. You’d know more about him if you just Skyped me once in a while.” She’s sulking, a little, and Minseok is relieved he can at least hear that familiar tone in her voice.
He hasn’t been home in ages, and his younger sister suddenly seems a little like a stranger. She’s dressed a little bit differently, and she carries herself differently too. Minseok suddenly feels a pang of sadness; Minsun’s gone and grown up without him there, and now she’s off to university too, somewhere on the outskirts of Seoul. The knowledge that this might be the last summer they spend together makes him grip her shoulder a little tighter.
“Sorry,” Minseok says sincerely. “I really wanted to Skype you, but I got busy with papers and projects and the internship, and then finals’ week rolled around and I had to make sure Lu Han didn’t overdose on caffeine-”
“How is Lu Han-oppa, by the way?” Minsun asks. There’s a teasing lilt in her voice. “Is he the same as always?”
Minseok snorts. “Worse,” he says, rolling his eyes as he recounts how Lu Han once, in a drunken stupor, had confessed his undying devotion to Manchester United FC to the poster of Messi Minseok had tacked to the wall in their room. He doesn’t mention that they’d kissed that same night for the first and last time. They’d both agreed the next morning that it wasn’t worth mentioning again, and Minseok had felt sorry for himself for only a few days after.
Lu Han had lived across the street from the Kim family when Minseok was nine and his younger sister, seven, and even after Lu Han’s dad’s job forced them to relocate back to Beijing, they’d determinedly stayed in contact. When Minseok had been considering universities, Lu Han had suggested studying in Beijing, and Minseok thought-why not? Tsinghua was just as good a school as any to study architecture, and he’d also be able to put to the years he’d spent studying Mandarin to good use. To study in the same university as his best friend was just a bonus.
It also helped that Minseok didn’t really have any ties to the people back home. Most of his high school friends had drifted away after that first summer, when Minseok had an internship in Beijing and couldn’t come home, and when Minseok looked back on it, he’d realized they’d only been friends for the sake of not being alone. The last he’d heard from Joonmyun, he was excelling at one of Seoul’s top universities, interning for some of the best law firms in the country, and he makes a mental note to text him. Of all Minseok’s high school friends, he and Joonmyun had been the closest, and with him gone, all Minseok has now at home are his parents and his sister.
Minseok grabs his bags from the conveyer belt as they come around baggage claim, and they’re halfway to the garage when his sister says, suddenly, “Oh. I forgot.” She pulls on Minseok’s arm so he falls into her and extends her own arm with her phone in hand to take a selca. Minseok is so bewildered all he can do is stretch his mouth into a polite smile before his sister’s tapping in a message and sending it and the picture off with a whoosh.
“What was that for?” Minseok asks when it becomes apparent she’s not going to elaborate.
“Jongin was really upset he couldn’t come,” she says, shoving her phone back in her pocket. “Dance practice and all that. So I’m taking a selca to rub it in his face that I could see you before he could.”
“Jongin’s still doing dance?” Minseok asks, pleased. He remembers Jongin contemplating whether or not he should quit, his fingers twisted together and a pleading hyung, tell me what I should do falling from his lips. Jongin had been only sixteen then, still lanky and awkward with a mess of shaggy black hair. He was Minsun’s best friend, which made him something like family.
Minseok told him to do what made him happy, regardless of what the other kids at school whispered about him behind his back. It was something Minseok had wished someone could have told him.
“Yeah, and now that he’s cut his hair, everyone is all over him,” Minsun says with a fond roll of her eyes. “He spends half his free time in the practice room and the other half reading manhwas. I don’t know what they see in him.”
“That was an awful haircut,” Minseok agrees, even though he can’t possibly imagine Jongin as anything else than what he remembers him as: a lanky boy with a terrible bowl cut, big, dark eyes, and a sweet, shy smile. He used to follow Minseok everywhere, a tentative shadow that half-annoyed, half-pleased Minseok. He'd never had a brother, but he imagined that's what it would have been like to have one.
“Anyway, he’ll be happy to see you,” Minsun says when they reach the car. “He’s coming over for dinner.” There’s a playful tease embedded in her voice that Minseok doesn’t understand. He chalks it up to the fact that he hasn’t seen her for-Christ, nearly a year-save through grainy Skype calls when Minseok could find the time and beat the time difference.
“Great,” Minseok says, and he means it. “I can’t wait.”
Minseok’s mother fusses over Minseok the minute he steps into the house. Minsun’s not even bothering trying to hide her laughter as their mom wraps Minseok into a tight hug before pulling away. The expression on her face is reminiscent of Minsun’s at the airport, and she pets Minseok’s cheek affectionately before saying, quite blandly, “Go shower so you don’t smell like soju when your father comes back from work.”
Minseok fights back a laugh and nods, kissing his mother on the cheek before grabbing his bag and heading up the stairs.
The shower runs hot, just the way Minseok likes it, and Minseok exhales deeply under the spray, exhaustion sluicing off his body with the wear and tear of airline travel. He showers quickly, lathering his hands with Minsun's shampoo because it's the closest bottle to him, and he hasn't been able to buy his own yet. When he steps out, he smells of strawberries. It’s so nice to be home; everything about it is familiar to him, from the finicky faucet to the arrangement of the toothbrushes along the edge of the sink. With the fogged up mirror, Minseok could believe that he hadn’t even left for university-that when he reaches up to wipe away the condensation from the glass, a chubby cheeked face will be looking right back at him.
Minseok drapes the towel over his head and looks down at his flat stomach, the faintest outline of muscle there, and he closes his eyes. It’s not two years ago; it’s now, and Minseok has been to university in China. He's discovered the city and all its hidden treasures and fallen in and out of love with his best friend. He's spent two years diligently watching his weight and running himself around a soccer pitch. This isn’t high school, not anymore.
Minseok opens his eyes and rubs his towel into his hair. He leaves the bathroom door wide open so the condensation on the mirror will disappear on its own.
By the time Minseok is changed with a towel slung over his shoulders to catch the water still dripping from his hair, his father is home, and Minseok tramps down the stairs to greet him. His father looks the same as always, round face with thick glasses, still in his suit for his job at the accounting firm he's worked at since Minseok was a toddler. He hugs Minseok with a loose grip-which Minseok is expecting; his father had not been super ecstatic, not when his only son announced he was going to university in Beijing or when he announced a moment after that he was gay-but he still smiles widely at Minseok just the same.
“Welcome home,” he says. “Dry your hair properly, or you’ll end up getting a cold.”
Minseok hides his grin in the towel hanging around his neck and proceeds to towel dry his hair over Minsun’s complaints about having to learn how to navigate the room with a fourth person taking up space. It’s overdramatic and exaggerated and harmless-Minseok can hear the smile in Minsun’s voice-so Minseok tunes her out as they set the table for dinner like they had when Minseok was in high school.
It’s methodical and an easy pattern to fall back into; soon, there are five bowls set, ready for Minseok’s mom’s doenjang jjigae. Minseok’s stomach growls when he catches a whiff of it. It’s been ages since Minseok’s had real Korean food, even longer since he’s had home-cooked food, and he'd missed it something awful.
His phone vibrates in his hand, and Minseok steals some kimchi his mother’s set out when she's not paying attention before going out to the living room and slumping on the couch to check the text.
It’s from Lu Han. We're never doing that again, I woke up this morning feeling like something had died in my mouth. Minseok snorts. Another buzz. How’s life at home? Miss me yet? The text is accompanied by a cheesy sticker, one of the generic default ones with its eyes squeezed shut and fingers making a 'v' over them.
Yes, Minseok wants to reply. It’s funny, how spending a few years in a city can make small towns feel inescapably tiny. There’s a quiet outside the living room window that Minseok can’t explain, too used to honking and shouting and the faint sound of music from the apartment across the street. Even with his father and mother chatting in the kitchen, and Minsun warbling to music upstairs, the inside of Minseok’s childhood home is too quiet. No Yixing concentrating on nailing the bridge of a song. No Jongdae from next door coming over to commiserate over homesickness and the wrong-footedness of being in a country so similar but so different to their own. No Lu Han falling into Minseok’s personal space and making a home for himself there.
Not even close, Minseok responds instead. Lu Han’s reply is swift: a tragic-faced sticker that makes Minseok laugh quietly to himself. He’s about to reply again when the doorbell rings.
“I got it,” Minseok calls before Minsun can run down from her room. He shoves his phone back into his pocket and resumes the toweling of his hair as he walks to the door and grasps the handle. He doesn’t check to see who it is beforehand because it can only be Jongin, probably freshly showered, hurried over from his house and before that, dance practice. A greeting is on the tip of Minseok’s tongue when he pulls it open, but it dies when he sees who’s stood there on his front step.
“Hyung!” a very handsome man in a tight shirt says, clearly startled if the way he snaps his head up from his phone is any indication but delighted anyway. Minseok blinks. Taller than him, lean but muscular, broad-shouldered-and a face Minseok doesn’t remember but is sure he never would have forgotten. “Welcome home!”
It’s the smile and the big, sleepy eyes that click something into recognition, and it feels like a tiny electric shock jolting him out of his daze. Minseok is suddenly extremely aware of his breathing-short, quick breaths that make Minseok feel a little light-headed-but he recovers enough to step back to let Jongin-because it must be Jongin, there is no one else who smiles like that at Minseok-through the door.
“Jongin,” Minseok says, and Jongin’s face splits into an even bigger grin, his eyes squinting and creasing a little at the edges. For some reason, that grin alone makes the sudden constricting feeling around his chest loosen a little, and Minseok grins back, unbidden. “It’s good to be home.”
“Two years, yeah?” Jongin says, moving in and toeing off his shoes at the entrance. Minseok steps back and watches him, trying to find the boy he remembers leaving behind. There’s little of him left; where Jongin had once been awkward and clumsy, the man in front of him is graceful, deliberate. There’s an air of easy confidence about him now-Minseok can feel it exuding from him-and Minseok feels a little thrown, unsure of where he stands with this new Jongin that Minseok doesn't know. Jongin had slipped into adulthood better than Minseok had, and Minseok doesn’t know whether to be proud that Jongin had come into himself well, or jealous that Minseok hadn’t done so well at his age.
Then, Jongin trips a little as he’s shaking off a shoe, and he flails wildly around for something to balance him. The look on his face is horror at its purest form, and Minseok grabs Jongin’s shoulder to help him out. His shirt bunches under Minseok’s tight grip, and Jongin rights himself quickly, flushing darkly.
“Thanks,” Jongin says and looks up at Minseok through his damp bangs, and suddenly, Minseok can see straight through the charm. Jongin is still Jongin, no matter what, and Minseok is selfishly relieved to see it.
“Two years,” Minseok affirms. He loosens his grip on Jongin's shirt and smooths out the wrinkles his fingers had caused. Jongin's muscles jump a little under his touch. “You’ve changed a lot.” Minseok has to look up at Jongin now, just a little. The change is jarring; they used to be the same height.
"You got taller," Minseok says. Now he has to reach up to ruffle Jongin's hair, but he determinedly does so. He expects Jongin to duck away and whine like he had when he was younger, but Jongin just laughs, his eyes turning into crescents, and bends his head obligingly. His hair is soft when it threads through Minseok’s fingers.
"Maybe you just got shorter," Jongin says. He makes a show of looking Minseok up and down, and Minseok flushes, gooseflesh prickling on his arms. The tanktop and loose shorts he's put on to stave off the summer heat seems too suddenly too casual, especially with Jongin plodding into the living room looking like he's modeling the tight, white shirt and skinny jeans he's got on.
"Hey, you punk," Minseok says, frowning and pointing at Jongin, who grins back at him a little devilishly. That smile is new, too. "I might be shorter than you, but I'm still your hyung." Minseok hasn't got a complex about his height like Jongdae or Kyungsoo do, but it does feel a little bit disconcerting to be looking up at Jongin rather than looking straight ahead, especially when Jongin is younger than him and Minseok still remembers him standing uncertainly at his bedroom door frame, pigeon-toed and asking if he could come in.
"Tiny hyung," Jongin says under his breath, and Minseok, caught off-guard, doesn't have time for a snappy response when Minsun appears at the top of the stairs.
"Jongin!" she says crossly, effectively cutting off the thread of conversation as she hurries down the stairs, all energy packed into one tiny body. She flings her arms around Jongin, and Minseok blinks at the easy way they slot together. "You're finally here, I'm starving. I thought I was going to have to march over there and drag you over by the ear." She demonstrates by tugging gently on Jongin's ear. "How was dance practice?"
Jongin shrugs. "It was alright. We've been working on the choreography for the dance recital, you know. For the scene from-"
"Swan Lake," Minsun says, nodding. She turns to Minseok, who immediately schools his expression into something more polite than his gawking. From the smirk on Minsun's face, he thinks he'd been half a second too late. "Jongin's the prince. And he's doing a solo and a duet with Sehun, and-"
"Minsun, stop," Jongin says, embarrassed, but Minseok waves a hand.
"It's fine," he says, smiling. "I'm glad you decided to stick with dance. It looks like you're doing well."
Jongin’s cheeks turn a flattering red. "It's all thanks to you," he says earnestly, and Minseok is suddenly somewhat embarrassed himself. The tingly feeling crawling up the back of his neck is definitely the beginning of a flush. "If it hadn't been for you, I might've quit altogether two years ago. So, um. Thanks. A lot."
"Don't worry about it," Minseok says, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. Jongin's eyes flick toward the movement. "It was nothing."
"It was everything," Jongin says earnestly, ignoring Minsun as she laughs into the heel of her hand. Minseok is inexplicably embarrassed, but pleased.
"It's at the end of summer holiday, their big showcase," Minsun says, then with a wicked grin. "You should go."
"Minsun," Jongin hisses.
"No, it's okay," Minseok says, a little taken off-guard by Jongin's vehemence. His smile is tentative and uncertain. "If Jongin doesn't want me to go, I won't."
"It's not that," Jongin says hurriedly. "It's that-you don't have to come, if you're busy. I don't want you to feel like you have to." He ducks his head, chin pressing down to his chest. Standing there, pigeon-toed and shy, Jongin reminds Minseok of the awkward teenager he'd left behind, and he laughs a little.
"I'm on holiday," Minseok says. "I'm not busy at all."
"Really?" Jongin looks so pleased, handsome smile stretching across his face. Minseok's stomach swoops before he can stop it. "Great. I’ll let you know. I, uh. Your number.” Jongin looks a little embarrassed, but he plows on. “Can I have it? So I can, like, text you, or whatever, with the date when we decide on one.”
“Yeah, sure,” Minseok says, and the two of them switch phones. Jongin’s phone is battered and scratched, clearly dropped a few times (or ten) before.
“You should be more careful with your phone,” Minseok says, amused, when they trade their phones back. Jongin’s added a cute sticker to his name, and Minseok bites his lip to keep from laughing. It’s a puppy, and Minseok vividly remembers calling Jongin one two years before. He doesn’t exactly remember if Jongin had been there, but he definitely remembers making the connection.
“We can’t all be as careful as you, hyung,” Jongin says with one of those new, disarmingly charming smiles. “By the way, you got a message from, uh. Devil Deer?”
“Lu Han-oppa,” Minsun tells Jongin as Minseok slides a finger over the screen. There’s indeed a message from Lu Han reminding him of the soccer game in a few weeks. Manchester United versus Man City; Minseok fully expects Man Utd to crush them. He and Lu Han had planned to watch it together, even if the time difference killed them, but that had been before Minseok’s mother had wheedled him back home for the summer. The best part of soccer games, Minseok thinks, is watching it with someone else, and the prospect of watching it alone is a little, well. Lonely.
•••---•••
Jongin has a place at the table, right next to Minseok's spot, and Minseok, not used to another person, nearly knocks elbows with him on multiple occasions. That's not the only thing Minseok learns about Jongin; two years have gone by since Minseok's seen him, so he has to refresh his memory a little when Jongin and Minsun fall into easy conversation. Jongin has three dogs now, whom he affectionately calls his children. He still likes to dance and watch soccer games. And he's apparently been half-adopted by Minseok's family: Minseok’s mother fusses over whether Jongin is eating enough, and Minseok’s father asks Jongin what sort of companies he’s planning to enter when he graduates. It’s familiar and sweet, and Minseok is completely thrown off by how comfortable Jongin is in Minseok’s house. He hasn’t been home in two years, true, but Minseok can’t quite reconcile Jongin like this, and it makes him quiet, afraid of this new dynamic.
Minsun notices, which makes everything even worse because while Minseok’s been off in China doing his best to forget about Korea, they haven’t forgotten about him. After Jongin helps with the dishes and disappears across the street with a wide grin and a tentative wave, Minsun touches Minseok’s arm as they both start up the stairs.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Minseok assures her. “Just tired.” He pauses. “Does Jongin come over a lot?” Minseok doesn’t understand why he feels so embarrassed asking, but he does; every nerve end on his body feels extra sensitive.
Minsun makes a soft noise in affirmation. “Jongin’s sisters went off to university too, and his parents work more these days, so I think he feels lonely,” she tells him. There’s something unbearably fond in her voice. “He comes over sometimes, but most of the time, I’m over there. His dogs can’t be alone too long, they’re still just puppies.”
“You’re over there alone?” Minseok asks. He intends it to sound neutral, but the way Minsun snorts means he’s missed the mark.
“We’re not like that,” she says. “I have a boyfriend, remember? And Jongin’s-” Minsun pauses at the top of the stairs, her hand resting on the railing.
“Jongin’s what?”
“Too busy for a relationship,” Minsun says. She looks contemplatively at Minseok, who’s stopped on the steps. “Why do you ask?”
Minseok sees a flash of Jongin’s bright smile in his mind’s eye. “No reason,” he says. “I was just curious, since you haven’t told me anything.” He pretends to be wounded, clutching at his chest, and Minsun laughs.
“It’s not really a secret or anything,” she says. “You remember Sehun, right?”
Minseok isn’t sure who he’d been expecting, but Sehun is definitely not one of them. “Jongin’s best friend?” he asks incredulously. Sehun’s default expression is a scowl; he remembers Sehun staring blankly at him from over Jongin’s shoulder whenever they were over, and his lisp. Minsun and Sehun seem extraordinarily mismatched. The only thing they share is a best friend. “But you hate him.”
“Excuse me, I’m Jongin’s best friend,” Minsun sniffs, and then she smiles slightly. “And I never really hated him exactly, I just-”
Minseok holds up a hasty hand. He’s absolutely fine with his sister dating, but he really doesn’t need to be filled in on the sappy details, especially not when they’re concerning Oh Sehun. “I’m good, thanks,” he says, and Minsun snorts.
“I forgot, oppa,” she says playfully. “You’re allergic to feelings.”
“Not allergic,” Minseok protests. “I just don’t want to listen to my little sister, whom I knew in diapers, gush about her very grown-up boyfriend.”
“Please, you and I both know that Sehun’s a brat,” Minsun says. Then, fondly: “My brat.”
“Gross,” Minseok says emphatically. Minsun’s laughter follows him into his room, even after he closes the door. He’d forgotten how thin the walls at home are, and Minseok suddenly aches for the familiar four walls of his room back in Beijing, even if Lu Han is in the bed across from his. Maybe especially because he is, not that Minseok would ever admit it.
Minseok’s phone buzzes, as if by magic, and Minseok leans against his door to pull it out of his pocket. He’s expecting Lu Han, because he seems to have a sixth sense for Minseok even thinking about him, but it’s not.
Hyuung, it was good seeing you again today. I asked my supervisor for an exact date, but I couldn't find one :c I'll keep you posted!!
Jongin texts unexpectedly cutely, and Minseok adds another tally to the list of new things he’s learning about Jongin. They’d never exchanged phone numbers before, Jongin too shy to ask and Minseok too preoccupied with his own life to notice Jongin outside of recognizing a shadow. It’s surprising, how much a person can change in two years, but when Minseok throws his phone onto his bed and then falls after it, he wonders exactly who’s changed more-Jongin, or him.
•••---•••
Time passes oddly back home; Minseok's not sure if it feels fast or slow, or if maybe it moves in different phases. Sometimes, the days feel like they're dragging on forever, and other days, Minseok feels like he blinks and a week's gone by. He passes the time mostly by sleeping, running, and Skyping with Lu Han and Yixing. Lu Han's in Changsha with Yixing, and Minseok feels only a little jealous when he sees the two of them, small and pixelated on his screen.
"Don't forget about the Man City game coming up," Lu Han reminds Minseok sleepily one night. Yixing looks already asleep, somehow managing to find a comfortable spot with his chin hooked over Lu Han's shoulder. "We have to watch it together, since you're all the way in Korea now."
"Sorry," Minseok says. "I know I was supposed to watch it with you, but my mom-"
"No worries," Lu Han says cheerfully, interrupting Minseok like he always does since Minseok's dropped the news about going back to Korea over summer holiday. Minseok doesn't remember Lu Han's parents all too well from the brief time they'd lived across the street, but he knows that every time Minseok mentions his parents, Lu Han likes to change the subject. Minseok lets him almost always. "Just be here, okay?"
"Okay," says Minseok. "Night, Han."
"Night." Lu Han waves, jostling Yixing. Yixing whines and presses his nose closer into Lu Han's neck at the disruption, and Minseok misses them so much. His room feels suddenly very lonely, and Minseok draws the covers around him tightly, even though it's sweltering outside, and falls into a fitful sleep.
•••---•••
The day of the match comes soon enough, thanks to Lu Han's daily reminders, but the morning of, Minseok almost can't bring himself to get out of bed at the sound of his alarm. It takes a lot of mental fortitude to gather the courage to roll out of his warm bed and his nice, dreamless sleep, and trudge down to the living room with sleep still clinging to his eyes.
The channel for soccer is a bit tricky to find; Minseok’s so used to having it on at all times in uni that he’s forgotten where he can find it at home, and it’s almost kick-off when Minseok finally lands on the right channel, high school brain kicking in. He has his computer all set up on the coffee table, Skype opened up and waiting for Lu Han to sign in.
His phone buzzes against his thigh as Minseok curls into the couch, feeling more awake as the adrenaline kicks in, and he checks it.
I can't make it to Skype tonight, the text reads. Disappoint curdles in Minseok's gut. Yixing's grandparents are sleeping in the next room and apparently the walls are super thin. >:( I have to watch the game with the sound off. TT____TT
Minseok sighs, but there's not much he can do so far away. It's not like he can suggest they meet up. Don't worry about it, he writes. Skype soon?
Definitely, Lu Han replies, and then Minseok's phone goes silent.
His phone buzzes loudly against the coffee table again. Minseok frowns and opens it, not sure who to expect. It's probably from Jongdae and his late night panic over being in a committed relationship, but the message isn't from Jongdae; it’s from Jongin.
Hi hyung. Still awake?
Another message buzzes in almost immediately after. I’m not stalking you, promise!! I saw your light on.
And then another. Shit, are you asleep?? Did I wake you? I’m sorry!!! Jongin sends an apologetic sticker.
Minseok imagines Jongin flushing, and he has to stifle the tiny laugh that falls from his mouth. Soccer match. Man Utd. and Man City. I'm most definitely not up by choice. And then, with his bottom lip trapped between his teeth, Minseok adds, Do you still like soccer?
•••---•••
“Late night dance rehearsal,” Jongin explains softly when Minseok lets him in. He’s wearing only a thin tank top and some sweatpants cuffed at the bottom. His hair is damp, like he’s just run out from under a shower, and Minseok resists the urge to rub a towel into his head.
“This late?” Minseok asks, eyebrow arched. Jongin flushes as he toes off his sneakers. He isn’t wearing socks.
“I might have fallen asleep there,” Jongin admits sheepishly. Minseok covers his mouth with his hand to stifle the laugh.
“You can still fall asleep anywhere, huh?” Jongin shrugs and smiles, looking very handsome and very tired. Minseok feels guilty all of a sudden. “You know, if you want to get back home to sleep, you can,” he says.
Jongin shakes his head. “No, it’s fine,” he says. “I want to watch the game with you.” He smiles his ten thousand watt smile and pads to the couch, flopping down with practiced ease. Minseok wonders how many times he’s done it before when he’d been at uni.
Minseok turns to fix Jongin’s shoes, but finds them neatly pushed up against the wall, all edges matched up neatly. He glances over his shoulder at Jongin who’s looking back at him. The television light throws half his face into relief, and Jongin looks suddenly very young.
“I know you hate it when they’re out of place,” Jongin says, half-grinning. There’s a quiet cheer from the television, and he turns back to it. “Look, hyung, it’s kick-off.”
“Right,” Minseok says, shaking himself out of his stupor. He walks back to the couch and sits, awkwardly near the corner. Jongin is sprawled out all over, and Minseok suddenly feels very aware of the placement of his limbs, as well as the curve of Jongin’s sharp jaw.
•••---•••
Ten minutes into the first half, Jongin is sleeping peacefully slumped against Minseok’s shoulder. By halftime, Minseok’s arm feels dead, but Jongin snuffles in his sleep, and he looks so young and sweet and tired, even in sleep, that Minseok feels bad for even thinking about waking him, so he settles for swapping texts with Lu Han, who’s suffering a similar fate in Beijing.
Yixing’s fallen asleep on me, Lu Han complains, even though Minseok knows Lu Han’s probably carding his fingers through Yixing’s hair right now, affectionate to the last. Jongin shifts in his sleep, and Minseok briefly wonders how it would feel if he did the same.
Jonginnie’s fallen asleep on me, too, Minseok replies instead, calming the itch in his fingers. Jongin’s hair is soft where it tickles Minseok’s neck, and the urge to touch is almost too much. Almost.
That kid who used to bother you all the time? Lu Han asks, and Minseok bites his lip.
That’s a bit of an exaggeration, is all he sends before he switches off his phone and leans back carefully, arm wrapping around Jongin so he won’t fall further. The TV blurs in front of Minseok’s eyes, exhaustion from finals and travel and jet lag dragging his eyelids lower and lower until he’s just listening-listening to the broadcast, to Jongin’s soft, measured breathing, to the pounding of Minseok’s own heart, beating rhythmically in his chest-and then nothing at all.
Jongin apologizes for it profusely the next morning, his face completely red and his hair sticking up from where it’d pressed against Minseok’s throat. Minsun’s laughing outright, having found the two of them sprawled out on the couch together, the TV still on. Minseok’s still a little groggy, torn from a comfortable sleep-the most comfortable one since he’s come home-but he still walks Jongin to the door, Minsun’s cackles following them from the kitchen. There’s a red mark on Minseok’s shoulder where Jongin had rested his head for almost five hours, and it tingles as Minseok waves off Jongin’s apologies.
“I’ve been slept on before,” Minseok says, and Jongin bends down to pull on his shoes, dark hair falling over his face. “Take care of yourself, okay? Don’t push yourself too hard.”
“I won't,” Jongin says, a touch shy. "I mean, I won't push myself too hard. I'll take care of myself though. Sorry I wasn't so fun this time."
"Get some more sleep," Minseok says. "Next time will be more fun."
Jongin looks delighted. "Next time," he echoes.
•••---•••
After that, it’s like everywhere Minseok turns, Jongin appears. Minseok goes to the park, Jongin’s there with Sehun (who had bowed awkwardly to Minseok before Jongin had said, impatiently, “You’ve already met him. It's too late for you to make a good first impression.” Sehun had turned extremely red and kicked Jongin in the shin.)
Minseok goes to the nearby convenience store to grab some vitamins, and Jongin happens to visiting his friend who works there. (“Baekhyun-hyung,” Jongin introduces reluctantly when Minseok asks, and Baekhyun grins, razor sharp, at him; it looks more like a leer than anything, and Minseok texts Lu Han later with a sticker and a message that reads I think I’ve met your match. )
Even when Minseok goes out running at five in the morning, Jongin’s out there walking (see: being dragged by) his three dogs. Minseok ends up getting roped into helping Jongin out, literally. One of the dogs runs her leash around Minseok’s legs and ends up nearly toppling both him and Jongin over.
(“I think Jjangah likes you,” Jongin says, after they’ve properly untangled themselves. Jjangah is plodding along contentedly now next to Monggu and Jjangu, but Minseok still has a death grip on her lead, just in case she can smell his fear. “Chanyeol will be so jealous.”)
Minseok doesn't mind it at first; Jongin is cute, always has been, and Minseok enjoys seeing him having come into himself so nicely. It's a strange kind of proud, but Minseok feels it. It helps that Jongin is still as sweet as ever, conversation flowing easily between the two of them, more than it's ever been able to before. Minseok chalks it up to the fact that Jongin's gotten older; the four year age gap doesn't feel as big now than it had been Jongin was in middle school, and Minseok likes the way Jongin laughs, eyes scrunching up at the ends, his mouth gaping open. It's easy for Minseok to want to be around Jongin more often, and he doesn't realize how often it is until Minsun starts asking Minseok how Jongin's been with the same kind of teasing tone of voice as from the first day, when she'd picked Minseok up from the airport. It's like she knows something Minseok doesn't.
“I’m starting to think you’re stalking me,” Minseok jokes when he spots Jongin when he’s outside getting the mail one day. Jongin jogs over, looking fresh from dance practice. There’s a thin sheen of sweat on his skin and a low flush of exertion on his cheeks; the healthy glow matches his bright smile, and Minseok follows the way Jongin’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows before he tears his eyes away.
“Hi hyung,” Jongin says. “You’re just really predictable.”
“Oh?” Minseok cocks an eyebrow. The summer sun is hot on his bare arms; he’d opted for a thin tank and shorts, but Minseok still feels sweat prickling his scalp. “What do you mean?”
“I mean you have a routine,” Jongin explains. “You do the same thing every day at the same time. Like clockwork. You did the same thing in high school, and you haven't changed at all.” Jongin seems pleased by it.
Minseok freezes for half a second. “I'd hoped I would have,” he says lightly, even though his grip around the mail tightens so his knuckles turn white. “I wasn’t this cool in high school.”
“You were the coolest,” Jongin protests, which is rich coming from Jongin, who looks like he’s straight out of a magazine. Minseok snorts.
“I was not,” Minseok says matter-of-factly, but Jongin looks like he’s personally offended by Minseok’s words.
“You were,” he insists. “You were patient and kind, and you always gave great advice. You were really someone I could depend on, and I’m glad that you haven’t changed.”
Minseok’s not really sure how to respond to that except to stare a little. There are a million things running through Minseok’s head-chief among them that it’s Jongin saying this, Jongin who seems to have grown into himself so easily and so perfectly-but they’re all drowned out by the sudden, gutwrenching realization that hits Minseok like a three ton truck.
He wants to kiss Jongin.
It’s a visceral feeling, physical attraction burning hot and low in his stomach, and Minseok reels from it. He feels suddenly unsteady and dizzy, and Minseok has to grab onto the mailbox post to keep his balance. Jongin lurches forward, as if to catch him, but Minseok flinches away.
“Hyung?” Jongin asks.
“Nothing,” Minseok says hastily. “It’s nothing.”
It's something, but Minseok doesn't know what to call it, and that makes him restless. That night, in a futile attempt to sleep. Minseok tries to rub one off quickly, clinically. He's not quick enough to stop the flood of images of Jongin on his knees, mouthing at his cock with that pink mouth of his, how big his hands would be on Minseok's thighs, if he would let Minseok pull his hair a little. How he would sound afterwards, throat wrecked by Minseok's cock.
If he'd let Minseok kiss him afterwards.
Minseok comes all over his hand, and it's not the idea of Jongin being wrecked that does it, but the idea that Minseok would be the one to patch him back together afterwards.
Fuck, Minseok thinks miserably, rolling over to grab a few tissues from his nightstand. He's fucked.
•••---•••
Minseok tries his best to ignore the budding feelings for Jongin, but he fails miserably because Jongin is always there, and even though that had never bothered Minseok before, it bothers him now-not because Jongin is there but because Minseok is so aware of him being there. Every time Jongin touches him, whether it's a casual arm slung over Minseok's shoulder or the backs of their hands brushing, which had been fine for the previous part of the summer, now it feels like an iron poker being pressed to his skin, and Minseok can’t help but draw back, put up barriers between the two of them.
Every single time, Jongin withdraws, looking confused and a little hurt, and Minseok hates that he’s put that expression on Jongin’s face, but he just-he just can’t. Minseok’s not new to dating or attraction, but this is an entirely different playing field than his brief stints in Beijing. Jongin is younger than him, still in high school-and more than that, Jongin is Minsun's best friend, someone precious. Minseok can't run away from Jongin, even if he wanted to. It's better if Minseok just tries to trample the starting flame before it grows into a roaring fire-a hard thing to accomplish when Jongin is standing there, looking like he does and acting like Minseok hung the moon in the sky.
The only thing Minseok can think of to do is to start avoiding Jongin, but the problem with being home for the summer is that there is no one else to help keep Minseok's mind off him. Even when he Skypes Lu Han and Yixing, the conversation inevitably leads back to Jongin. Yixing thinks Minseok is being ridiculous; Lu Han, predictably, is weirdly vindicated.
Did I do something, Jongin asks after Minseok pretends not to hear him in the hall, keeping his door resolutely closed and his earbuds in his ears. It's the third time this week that Minseok's avoided talking to Jongin, the fourth if you consider Minseok ducking into different aisles in the convenience store to avoid seeing Jongin. Jongin's friend, Baekhyun, had seemed unamused at that.
Minseok's not sure what to even say to that. No, Minseok wants to write. This is all on me. He starts five different drafts, deletes them all, and then ends up texting Jongdae, because in some bizarre twist of fate, Jongdae is the only one out of all of them in a steady relationship.
"You're being an idiot," Jongdae says without preamble when Minseok calls as per Jongdae's request.
"You don't understand," Minseok huffs, falling backwards onto his bed. "It's Jongin. I used to walk him home from school. I babysat him. He calls me hyung!"
"I call you hyung," Jongdae says, unimpressed. "What's the point?"
"The point is, he's too close for me to want anything," Minseok says. "What if I mess up? I don't exactly have a good track record with relationships."
"To be fair, the Sam debacle was really Lu Han's fault," says Jongdae. "What if you don't mess up? What if your, I don't know, deep and meaningful history with Jongin is the something that will make it work?"
"Unlikely," Minseok mutters. "And we don't have a deep and meaningful history, don't exaggerate."
"Then why's it stopping you?" Jongdae snarks. Then, more gently: "Look, hyung, you're the best. Stop getting in your own way."
"How?" Minseok must be pretty desperate to want to go to Jongdae.
"I don't know hyung," Jongdae says, "but apologizing is a good way to start."
•••---•••
It feels almost like deja vu, standing in front of the school gates. The only difference is now, Minseok's not wearing a uniform. It's late enough to warrant a long-sleeve shirt, and Minseok gratefully accepts the opportunity to keep his head down as he slinks in, feeling a bit like a thief trying to steal into the school, which is ridiculous on two accounts: the first being that Minseok isn't a thief and pays the correct, overpriced amount for his ticket, and the second being that this is Minseok's alma mater, and therefore, this is as much his school as it is any other student's.
Minseok managed to wheedle the opening date for the dance recital from Minsun, who'd looked positively unamused at having to play double double agent. Minseok makes sure to pick the section of the auditorium that's less crowded-apparently, the dance club is more popular than Minseok remembers it being-and he sidles low in his seat, shoulders hunched. He's not looking to see anyone but Jongin.
The lights flash once, twice, and then go out completely, and Minseok relaxes under the cover of the darkness. A single spotlight illuminates the center of the stage, and Jongin comes out, his hair carefully pulled back, stage makeup heavy on his face. Minseok's breath catches a little in his throat; Jongin looks great, poised and calm and perfect under the spotlight, and not at all nervous. There are a couple of hoots in the crowd, some cat-calling, and Jongin allows a smile to slip onto his face briefly before he takes his place in the middle of the spotlight, his arms carefully curled, his hands set into delicate, graceful positions. A hush falls over the audience, like they're holding their breath, and then the music starts.
Jongin is a natural born performer; Minseok can tell this as soon as Jongin starts moving, effortlessly and precisely, shifting from move to move on stage like a shadow. It's Jongin's expressions that are the most interesting and arresting, though; he throws his entire body into the performance, his expressions transitioning from fierce to tender and back again according to the music, and as Minseok sits in the dark of the auditorium, a person caught in Jongin's performance like a moon caught in a planet's gravitation field, he realizes-this kind of mask, this kind of performance art, is familiar. The only difference is the setting and the time; whereas Jongin's performance ends after the spotlight shifts, Minseok's remains, even two years after that stage has ended.
At the ending stage when the entire dance team comes on stage and takes a final bow together, Jongin sees Minseok in the crowd. Minseok can tell because Jongin's smile drops a little, realization making his eyes-rimmed dark with eyeliner-widen. Minseok's stomach drops, or swoops maybe.
When the performers have finished their bows and dispersed-either backstage or into the crowd to greet their friends-Jongin makes a beeline for Minseok. Up close, the make-up is too heavy, sweat mussing up Jongin's eyeliner, and his hair is sticking damply to his forehead and temples, and Minseok's traitorous heart lurches once or twice as Jongin stops in front of him. His stage persona has slipped off with his make-up, leaving behind only Jongin, but Minseok is the one who feels a little exposed and bare.
"You came," Jongin says, a little breathlessly. He looks nervous but there's an undertone of hope in his gaze, a tiny touch of something warm and fond and familiar.
"Yeah," Minseok says. "You were great."
"Thanks." Jongin pulls his lower lip into his mouth, catching it between his teeth. It's a little distracting. "Can we-hyung, can we talk?"
Minseok's muscles jump instinctively, every fiber of his body yelling at him to run. Start with the dance recital, Minseok reminds himself. "Here?" he asks.
Jongin glances around at the audience still milling around, and he takes Minseok's wrist. "Come with me," he says.
They end up in one of the bathrooms on the second floor. The harsh fluorescent lights hurt Minseok's eyes, but Jongin crosses his arms, hunches in on himself and leans against the sink. "So?" Jongin asks, demands really, but the sting is somewhat lessened by the hurt that colors Jongin's voice. "Why've you been avoiding me?"
Minseok leans against the bathroom stall, his fingers playing along the hem of his shirt. Even though it's reasonably cold in the bathroom, Minseok feels a little hot. He can't even imagine how his cheeks must look now, how red he must be. There's no way to really approach it, and Minseok's never been good at words, so he just steels himself and goes for the throat.
"I like you," Minseok says.
Jongin stills, the ever moving shadow brought to a rest by Minseok's words, and he stares at Minseok. Minseok squirms under the weight of Jongin's gaze.
"Is this a joke?" Jongin says finally, after the silence has stretched on for ages, and Minseok's stomach drops unpleasantly, warmth draining away. It feels like there are stones collecting in the pit of his stomach.
"No," Minseok forces himself to say, instead of the careful joke on the tip of his tongue. He has to be more honest with himself. Stop getting in your own way. Minseok chooses his words deliberately, trying to go slow so as to not make any more misunderstandings. This is him starting over. "I know it's sudden, and I know that you might not even be interested, but I really like you, Jongin." Minseok's never been too good with words, and he stumbles over them now as they start tumbling over each other in their haste to get out. "And I'm sorry, for ignoring you. I, uh. I needed time to figure things out."
"And did you?" Jongin's face is closed off, expressionless.
Swallow. Breathe. "I did."
Jongin lets out a low breath and shifts, his hands going up to run through his hair. Minseok watches with some trepidation, his heart fluttering at the hollow of his throat, blood rushing in his ears. There's nothing else he can say at this point.
"Are you sure?" Jongin asks, his stone face slipping. Minseok can see Jongin again; the realization that he can spot the tiny differences that make Jongin Jongin isn't a huge, earth-shattering one. It's not life-altering, and it doesn't nearly knock Minseok over with the force of it. In fact, the realization feels more like a small sigh of relief. There it is, is what it feels like. That's what it feels like to know someone that well.
"Yeah," Minseok says.
Jongin moves, closes the gap between them carefully, his shoes barely making a sound on the floor. He gets close enough that Minseok has to look up at him, has to lean his head against the bathroom stall to look Jongin in the eye, and Minseok licks his lips nervously, feeling the warmth pool low in his gut. Jongin's eyes track the movement, flick downwards before Jongin jerks his gaze upwards, like he's guilty at having been caught.
"Can I kiss you, hyung?" Jongin asks. Relief surges through Minseok so fast that he nearly buckles with the force of it. Minseok swallows and then nods.
The first press of Jongin's lips on his is deliberate. Jongin's mouth is soft and warm, his lips a little chapped, and he reaches up to gently curl his hand around Minseok's jaw. The pads of Jongin's fingers feel so warm on Minseok's skin, and his mouth opens for Jongin instinctively, his hands going to Jongin's waist to pull him in closer.
Jongin makes a soft, irresistable noise when Minseok touches him, his entire body shuddering, and Minseok pulls away a little, his heart thumping wildly in his chest at the actual visceral reaction he can pull out of Jongin. Jongin leans back immediately, even though Minseok's hands are still on his hips, and he looks flushed, his lips an inviting red.
"Sorry," Jongin says, horrified with embarrassment, his voice thick in his throat.
"Don't be," Minseok says, distracted by the unwarranted distance between his mouth and Jongin's, even though Minseok's still close enough to see the faint imperfections of Jongin's skin, close enough to see the flecks of yellow in Jongin's eyes. He presses his thumb against Jongin's hip comfortingly, and he can feel Jongin's muscles jump under his hand. Minseok has to suppress a smile; he has the entire remainder of summer to figure out what that means, and he's ready to figure it out. No more excuses.
"Kiss me again?" Minseok asks, tilting his chin up for another one, and Jongin obliges. His smile is so, so sweet when it bursts over Minseok's mouth, and normally Minseok doesn't like that sort of stuff, but he thinks he could make an exception for Jongin. It wouldn't be the first time.
Rating: pg-13
Length: 8.8k
Side pairings: Chen/Liyin, Sehun/OC, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it Lay/Luhan
Notes: First of all, shout out to the mod for being so kind and patient with me throughout this entire process; you’re the real MVP. Secondly, thank you to M, C, and N for literally holding my hand and cheering me on this entire time. This fic wouldn’t have made it to its dubious end without you. ♥
Summary: Minseok come home for summer holiday to find some things have changed-namely, Jongin, the boy across the street.
Minseok flies into Incheon on a Sunday afternoon and gets off the plane more than a little exhausted. Lu Han and Yixing had demanded he come out with them for a celebratory drink for finishing their second year of university the night before. One drink had turned into two turned into three and a shot of tequila, and Minseok had to peel himself off the floor of Lu Han and Yixing’s bathroom to make it to his flight from Beijing to Incheon. Thank God he’d had the foresight to pack everything except himself beforehand, or Minseok thinks his plane definitely would have left without him.
Now, Minseok shoulders his backpack and pushes his sunglasses a little bit higher up the bridge of his nose, wincing as the sunlight filters through the windows of the airport. He’d wanted to get a couple hours of sleep on the plane ride, but there had been a crying baby a few rows behind him. Minseok still thinks he hears the ringing in his ears.
There’s a crowd of people around the international arrivals exit, and Minseok scans the crowd as he walks through the door. It’s been ages since Minseok’s seen so much hangul, and it takes a second for his brain to catch up with it. Even so, Minseok thinks he could have spotted his sister without reading his name; only she would consider making such a gaudy sign, the characters of his name loud and bold in bright red and blue.
“Oppa!” Minsun calls delightedly when she catches sight of him. She runs toward him and throws her arms around him. The poster bangs awkwardly into Minseok’s backpack, and he huffs a little with the force of the embrace. “Welcome home.”
A moment later, Minsun pulls back, nose wrinkled but a wicked smile playing on her lips. “You smell like you’ve been rolling around on the floor of a bar. You are so lucky Mom and Dad didn’t come pick you up.”
Minseok grins wryly but doesn’t deign to respond. “You cut your hair,” he says instead, pulling playfully at it. “I thought you were going to grow it out.”
Minsun shrugs and says nonchalantly, “I just wanted a change. Besides, my boyfriend likes it this length.”
Minseok fumbles with the strap of his backpack and blinks. “Boyfriend?” He’s not surprised; his little sister is voracious and charming, and even when Minseok was in his last year of high school and she in her first, she’d been popular.
Still, it’s a little strange for Minseok to think about his little sister dating someone, but he covers up his shock by teasingly asking, “When were you planning to tell me about this boyfriend?”
“When we got married, obviously,” Minsun responds guilelessly, and Minseok snorts loudly and obnoxiously. A businessman shoots him a disgruntled look, and Minseok dips his head in apology. “Just kidding. You’d know more about him if you just Skyped me once in a while.” She’s sulking, a little, and Minseok is relieved he can at least hear that familiar tone in her voice.
He hasn’t been home in ages, and his younger sister suddenly seems a little like a stranger. She’s dressed a little bit differently, and she carries herself differently too. Minseok suddenly feels a pang of sadness; Minsun’s gone and grown up without him there, and now she’s off to university too, somewhere on the outskirts of Seoul. The knowledge that this might be the last summer they spend together makes him grip her shoulder a little tighter.
“Sorry,” Minseok says sincerely. “I really wanted to Skype you, but I got busy with papers and projects and the internship, and then finals’ week rolled around and I had to make sure Lu Han didn’t overdose on caffeine-”
“How is Lu Han-oppa, by the way?” Minsun asks. There’s a teasing lilt in her voice. “Is he the same as always?”
Minseok snorts. “Worse,” he says, rolling his eyes as he recounts how Lu Han once, in a drunken stupor, had confessed his undying devotion to Manchester United FC to the poster of Messi Minseok had tacked to the wall in their room. He doesn’t mention that they’d kissed that same night for the first and last time. They’d both agreed the next morning that it wasn’t worth mentioning again, and Minseok had felt sorry for himself for only a few days after.
Lu Han had lived across the street from the Kim family when Minseok was nine and his younger sister, seven, and even after Lu Han’s dad’s job forced them to relocate back to Beijing, they’d determinedly stayed in contact. When Minseok had been considering universities, Lu Han had suggested studying in Beijing, and Minseok thought-why not? Tsinghua was just as good a school as any to study architecture, and he’d also be able to put to the years he’d spent studying Mandarin to good use. To study in the same university as his best friend was just a bonus.
It also helped that Minseok didn’t really have any ties to the people back home. Most of his high school friends had drifted away after that first summer, when Minseok had an internship in Beijing and couldn’t come home, and when Minseok looked back on it, he’d realized they’d only been friends for the sake of not being alone. The last he’d heard from Joonmyun, he was excelling at one of Seoul’s top universities, interning for some of the best law firms in the country, and he makes a mental note to text him. Of all Minseok’s high school friends, he and Joonmyun had been the closest, and with him gone, all Minseok has now at home are his parents and his sister.
Minseok grabs his bags from the conveyer belt as they come around baggage claim, and they’re halfway to the garage when his sister says, suddenly, “Oh. I forgot.” She pulls on Minseok’s arm so he falls into her and extends her own arm with her phone in hand to take a selca. Minseok is so bewildered all he can do is stretch his mouth into a polite smile before his sister’s tapping in a message and sending it and the picture off with a whoosh.
“What was that for?” Minseok asks when it becomes apparent she’s not going to elaborate.
“Jongin was really upset he couldn’t come,” she says, shoving her phone back in her pocket. “Dance practice and all that. So I’m taking a selca to rub it in his face that I could see you before he could.”
“Jongin’s still doing dance?” Minseok asks, pleased. He remembers Jongin contemplating whether or not he should quit, his fingers twisted together and a pleading hyung, tell me what I should do falling from his lips. Jongin had been only sixteen then, still lanky and awkward with a mess of shaggy black hair. He was Minsun’s best friend, which made him something like family.
Minseok told him to do what made him happy, regardless of what the other kids at school whispered about him behind his back. It was something Minseok had wished someone could have told him.
“Yeah, and now that he’s cut his hair, everyone is all over him,” Minsun says with a fond roll of her eyes. “He spends half his free time in the practice room and the other half reading manhwas. I don’t know what they see in him.”
“That was an awful haircut,” Minseok agrees, even though he can’t possibly imagine Jongin as anything else than what he remembers him as: a lanky boy with a terrible bowl cut, big, dark eyes, and a sweet, shy smile. He used to follow Minseok everywhere, a tentative shadow that half-annoyed, half-pleased Minseok. He'd never had a brother, but he imagined that's what it would have been like to have one.
“Anyway, he’ll be happy to see you,” Minsun says when they reach the car. “He’s coming over for dinner.” There’s a playful tease embedded in her voice that Minseok doesn’t understand. He chalks it up to the fact that he hasn’t seen her for-Christ, nearly a year-save through grainy Skype calls when Minseok could find the time and beat the time difference.
“Great,” Minseok says, and he means it. “I can’t wait.”
Minseok’s mother fusses over Minseok the minute he steps into the house. Minsun’s not even bothering trying to hide her laughter as their mom wraps Minseok into a tight hug before pulling away. The expression on her face is reminiscent of Minsun’s at the airport, and she pets Minseok’s cheek affectionately before saying, quite blandly, “Go shower so you don’t smell like soju when your father comes back from work.”
Minseok fights back a laugh and nods, kissing his mother on the cheek before grabbing his bag and heading up the stairs.
The shower runs hot, just the way Minseok likes it, and Minseok exhales deeply under the spray, exhaustion sluicing off his body with the wear and tear of airline travel. He showers quickly, lathering his hands with Minsun's shampoo because it's the closest bottle to him, and he hasn't been able to buy his own yet. When he steps out, he smells of strawberries. It’s so nice to be home; everything about it is familiar to him, from the finicky faucet to the arrangement of the toothbrushes along the edge of the sink. With the fogged up mirror, Minseok could believe that he hadn’t even left for university-that when he reaches up to wipe away the condensation from the glass, a chubby cheeked face will be looking right back at him.
Minseok drapes the towel over his head and looks down at his flat stomach, the faintest outline of muscle there, and he closes his eyes. It’s not two years ago; it’s now, and Minseok has been to university in China. He's discovered the city and all its hidden treasures and fallen in and out of love with his best friend. He's spent two years diligently watching his weight and running himself around a soccer pitch. This isn’t high school, not anymore.
Minseok opens his eyes and rubs his towel into his hair. He leaves the bathroom door wide open so the condensation on the mirror will disappear on its own.
By the time Minseok is changed with a towel slung over his shoulders to catch the water still dripping from his hair, his father is home, and Minseok tramps down the stairs to greet him. His father looks the same as always, round face with thick glasses, still in his suit for his job at the accounting firm he's worked at since Minseok was a toddler. He hugs Minseok with a loose grip-which Minseok is expecting; his father had not been super ecstatic, not when his only son announced he was going to university in Beijing or when he announced a moment after that he was gay-but he still smiles widely at Minseok just the same.
“Welcome home,” he says. “Dry your hair properly, or you’ll end up getting a cold.”
Minseok hides his grin in the towel hanging around his neck and proceeds to towel dry his hair over Minsun’s complaints about having to learn how to navigate the room with a fourth person taking up space. It’s overdramatic and exaggerated and harmless-Minseok can hear the smile in Minsun’s voice-so Minseok tunes her out as they set the table for dinner like they had when Minseok was in high school.
It’s methodical and an easy pattern to fall back into; soon, there are five bowls set, ready for Minseok’s mom’s doenjang jjigae. Minseok’s stomach growls when he catches a whiff of it. It’s been ages since Minseok’s had real Korean food, even longer since he’s had home-cooked food, and he'd missed it something awful.
His phone vibrates in his hand, and Minseok steals some kimchi his mother’s set out when she's not paying attention before going out to the living room and slumping on the couch to check the text.
It’s from Lu Han. We're never doing that again, I woke up this morning feeling like something had died in my mouth. Minseok snorts. Another buzz. How’s life at home? Miss me yet? The text is accompanied by a cheesy sticker, one of the generic default ones with its eyes squeezed shut and fingers making a 'v' over them.
Yes, Minseok wants to reply. It’s funny, how spending a few years in a city can make small towns feel inescapably tiny. There’s a quiet outside the living room window that Minseok can’t explain, too used to honking and shouting and the faint sound of music from the apartment across the street. Even with his father and mother chatting in the kitchen, and Minsun warbling to music upstairs, the inside of Minseok’s childhood home is too quiet. No Yixing concentrating on nailing the bridge of a song. No Jongdae from next door coming over to commiserate over homesickness and the wrong-footedness of being in a country so similar but so different to their own. No Lu Han falling into Minseok’s personal space and making a home for himself there.
Not even close, Minseok responds instead. Lu Han’s reply is swift: a tragic-faced sticker that makes Minseok laugh quietly to himself. He’s about to reply again when the doorbell rings.
“I got it,” Minseok calls before Minsun can run down from her room. He shoves his phone back into his pocket and resumes the toweling of his hair as he walks to the door and grasps the handle. He doesn’t check to see who it is beforehand because it can only be Jongin, probably freshly showered, hurried over from his house and before that, dance practice. A greeting is on the tip of Minseok’s tongue when he pulls it open, but it dies when he sees who’s stood there on his front step.
“Hyung!” a very handsome man in a tight shirt says, clearly startled if the way he snaps his head up from his phone is any indication but delighted anyway. Minseok blinks. Taller than him, lean but muscular, broad-shouldered-and a face Minseok doesn’t remember but is sure he never would have forgotten. “Welcome home!”
It’s the smile and the big, sleepy eyes that click something into recognition, and it feels like a tiny electric shock jolting him out of his daze. Minseok is suddenly extremely aware of his breathing-short, quick breaths that make Minseok feel a little light-headed-but he recovers enough to step back to let Jongin-because it must be Jongin, there is no one else who smiles like that at Minseok-through the door.
“Jongin,” Minseok says, and Jongin’s face splits into an even bigger grin, his eyes squinting and creasing a little at the edges. For some reason, that grin alone makes the sudden constricting feeling around his chest loosen a little, and Minseok grins back, unbidden. “It’s good to be home.”
“Two years, yeah?” Jongin says, moving in and toeing off his shoes at the entrance. Minseok steps back and watches him, trying to find the boy he remembers leaving behind. There’s little of him left; where Jongin had once been awkward and clumsy, the man in front of him is graceful, deliberate. There’s an air of easy confidence about him now-Minseok can feel it exuding from him-and Minseok feels a little thrown, unsure of where he stands with this new Jongin that Minseok doesn't know. Jongin had slipped into adulthood better than Minseok had, and Minseok doesn’t know whether to be proud that Jongin had come into himself well, or jealous that Minseok hadn’t done so well at his age.
Then, Jongin trips a little as he’s shaking off a shoe, and he flails wildly around for something to balance him. The look on his face is horror at its purest form, and Minseok grabs Jongin’s shoulder to help him out. His shirt bunches under Minseok’s tight grip, and Jongin rights himself quickly, flushing darkly.
“Thanks,” Jongin says and looks up at Minseok through his damp bangs, and suddenly, Minseok can see straight through the charm. Jongin is still Jongin, no matter what, and Minseok is selfishly relieved to see it.
“Two years,” Minseok affirms. He loosens his grip on Jongin's shirt and smooths out the wrinkles his fingers had caused. Jongin's muscles jump a little under his touch. “You’ve changed a lot.” Minseok has to look up at Jongin now, just a little. The change is jarring; they used to be the same height.
"You got taller," Minseok says. Now he has to reach up to ruffle Jongin's hair, but he determinedly does so. He expects Jongin to duck away and whine like he had when he was younger, but Jongin just laughs, his eyes turning into crescents, and bends his head obligingly. His hair is soft when it threads through Minseok’s fingers.
"Maybe you just got shorter," Jongin says. He makes a show of looking Minseok up and down, and Minseok flushes, gooseflesh prickling on his arms. The tanktop and loose shorts he's put on to stave off the summer heat seems too suddenly too casual, especially with Jongin plodding into the living room looking like he's modeling the tight, white shirt and skinny jeans he's got on.
"Hey, you punk," Minseok says, frowning and pointing at Jongin, who grins back at him a little devilishly. That smile is new, too. "I might be shorter than you, but I'm still your hyung." Minseok hasn't got a complex about his height like Jongdae or Kyungsoo do, but it does feel a little bit disconcerting to be looking up at Jongin rather than looking straight ahead, especially when Jongin is younger than him and Minseok still remembers him standing uncertainly at his bedroom door frame, pigeon-toed and asking if he could come in.
"Tiny hyung," Jongin says under his breath, and Minseok, caught off-guard, doesn't have time for a snappy response when Minsun appears at the top of the stairs.
"Jongin!" she says crossly, effectively cutting off the thread of conversation as she hurries down the stairs, all energy packed into one tiny body. She flings her arms around Jongin, and Minseok blinks at the easy way they slot together. "You're finally here, I'm starving. I thought I was going to have to march over there and drag you over by the ear." She demonstrates by tugging gently on Jongin's ear. "How was dance practice?"
Jongin shrugs. "It was alright. We've been working on the choreography for the dance recital, you know. For the scene from-"
"Swan Lake," Minsun says, nodding. She turns to Minseok, who immediately schools his expression into something more polite than his gawking. From the smirk on Minsun's face, he thinks he'd been half a second too late. "Jongin's the prince. And he's doing a solo and a duet with Sehun, and-"
"Minsun, stop," Jongin says, embarrassed, but Minseok waves a hand.
"It's fine," he says, smiling. "I'm glad you decided to stick with dance. It looks like you're doing well."
Jongin’s cheeks turn a flattering red. "It's all thanks to you," he says earnestly, and Minseok is suddenly somewhat embarrassed himself. The tingly feeling crawling up the back of his neck is definitely the beginning of a flush. "If it hadn't been for you, I might've quit altogether two years ago. So, um. Thanks. A lot."
"Don't worry about it," Minseok says, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. Jongin's eyes flick toward the movement. "It was nothing."
"It was everything," Jongin says earnestly, ignoring Minsun as she laughs into the heel of her hand. Minseok is inexplicably embarrassed, but pleased.
"It's at the end of summer holiday, their big showcase," Minsun says, then with a wicked grin. "You should go."
"Minsun," Jongin hisses.
"No, it's okay," Minseok says, a little taken off-guard by Jongin's vehemence. His smile is tentative and uncertain. "If Jongin doesn't want me to go, I won't."
"It's not that," Jongin says hurriedly. "It's that-you don't have to come, if you're busy. I don't want you to feel like you have to." He ducks his head, chin pressing down to his chest. Standing there, pigeon-toed and shy, Jongin reminds Minseok of the awkward teenager he'd left behind, and he laughs a little.
"I'm on holiday," Minseok says. "I'm not busy at all."
"Really?" Jongin looks so pleased, handsome smile stretching across his face. Minseok's stomach swoops before he can stop it. "Great. I’ll let you know. I, uh. Your number.” Jongin looks a little embarrassed, but he plows on. “Can I have it? So I can, like, text you, or whatever, with the date when we decide on one.”
“Yeah, sure,” Minseok says, and the two of them switch phones. Jongin’s phone is battered and scratched, clearly dropped a few times (or ten) before.
“You should be more careful with your phone,” Minseok says, amused, when they trade their phones back. Jongin’s added a cute sticker to his name, and Minseok bites his lip to keep from laughing. It’s a puppy, and Minseok vividly remembers calling Jongin one two years before. He doesn’t exactly remember if Jongin had been there, but he definitely remembers making the connection.
“We can’t all be as careful as you, hyung,” Jongin says with one of those new, disarmingly charming smiles. “By the way, you got a message from, uh. Devil Deer?”
“Lu Han-oppa,” Minsun tells Jongin as Minseok slides a finger over the screen. There’s indeed a message from Lu Han reminding him of the soccer game in a few weeks. Manchester United versus Man City; Minseok fully expects Man Utd to crush them. He and Lu Han had planned to watch it together, even if the time difference killed them, but that had been before Minseok’s mother had wheedled him back home for the summer. The best part of soccer games, Minseok thinks, is watching it with someone else, and the prospect of watching it alone is a little, well. Lonely.
•••---•••
Jongin has a place at the table, right next to Minseok's spot, and Minseok, not used to another person, nearly knocks elbows with him on multiple occasions. That's not the only thing Minseok learns about Jongin; two years have gone by since Minseok's seen him, so he has to refresh his memory a little when Jongin and Minsun fall into easy conversation. Jongin has three dogs now, whom he affectionately calls his children. He still likes to dance and watch soccer games. And he's apparently been half-adopted by Minseok's family: Minseok’s mother fusses over whether Jongin is eating enough, and Minseok’s father asks Jongin what sort of companies he’s planning to enter when he graduates. It’s familiar and sweet, and Minseok is completely thrown off by how comfortable Jongin is in Minseok’s house. He hasn’t been home in two years, true, but Minseok can’t quite reconcile Jongin like this, and it makes him quiet, afraid of this new dynamic.
Minsun notices, which makes everything even worse because while Minseok’s been off in China doing his best to forget about Korea, they haven’t forgotten about him. After Jongin helps with the dishes and disappears across the street with a wide grin and a tentative wave, Minsun touches Minseok’s arm as they both start up the stairs.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Minseok assures her. “Just tired.” He pauses. “Does Jongin come over a lot?” Minseok doesn’t understand why he feels so embarrassed asking, but he does; every nerve end on his body feels extra sensitive.
Minsun makes a soft noise in affirmation. “Jongin’s sisters went off to university too, and his parents work more these days, so I think he feels lonely,” she tells him. There’s something unbearably fond in her voice. “He comes over sometimes, but most of the time, I’m over there. His dogs can’t be alone too long, they’re still just puppies.”
“You’re over there alone?” Minseok asks. He intends it to sound neutral, but the way Minsun snorts means he’s missed the mark.
“We’re not like that,” she says. “I have a boyfriend, remember? And Jongin’s-” Minsun pauses at the top of the stairs, her hand resting on the railing.
“Jongin’s what?”
“Too busy for a relationship,” Minsun says. She looks contemplatively at Minseok, who’s stopped on the steps. “Why do you ask?”
Minseok sees a flash of Jongin’s bright smile in his mind’s eye. “No reason,” he says. “I was just curious, since you haven’t told me anything.” He pretends to be wounded, clutching at his chest, and Minsun laughs.
“It’s not really a secret or anything,” she says. “You remember Sehun, right?”
Minseok isn’t sure who he’d been expecting, but Sehun is definitely not one of them. “Jongin’s best friend?” he asks incredulously. Sehun’s default expression is a scowl; he remembers Sehun staring blankly at him from over Jongin’s shoulder whenever they were over, and his lisp. Minsun and Sehun seem extraordinarily mismatched. The only thing they share is a best friend. “But you hate him.”
“Excuse me, I’m Jongin’s best friend,” Minsun sniffs, and then she smiles slightly. “And I never really hated him exactly, I just-”
Minseok holds up a hasty hand. He’s absolutely fine with his sister dating, but he really doesn’t need to be filled in on the sappy details, especially not when they’re concerning Oh Sehun. “I’m good, thanks,” he says, and Minsun snorts.
“I forgot, oppa,” she says playfully. “You’re allergic to feelings.”
“Not allergic,” Minseok protests. “I just don’t want to listen to my little sister, whom I knew in diapers, gush about her very grown-up boyfriend.”
“Please, you and I both know that Sehun’s a brat,” Minsun says. Then, fondly: “My brat.”
“Gross,” Minseok says emphatically. Minsun’s laughter follows him into his room, even after he closes the door. He’d forgotten how thin the walls at home are, and Minseok suddenly aches for the familiar four walls of his room back in Beijing, even if Lu Han is in the bed across from his. Maybe especially because he is, not that Minseok would ever admit it.
Minseok’s phone buzzes, as if by magic, and Minseok leans against his door to pull it out of his pocket. He’s expecting Lu Han, because he seems to have a sixth sense for Minseok even thinking about him, but it’s not.
Hyuung, it was good seeing you again today. I asked my supervisor for an exact date, but I couldn't find one :c I'll keep you posted!!
Jongin texts unexpectedly cutely, and Minseok adds another tally to the list of new things he’s learning about Jongin. They’d never exchanged phone numbers before, Jongin too shy to ask and Minseok too preoccupied with his own life to notice Jongin outside of recognizing a shadow. It’s surprising, how much a person can change in two years, but when Minseok throws his phone onto his bed and then falls after it, he wonders exactly who’s changed more-Jongin, or him.
•••---•••
Time passes oddly back home; Minseok's not sure if it feels fast or slow, or if maybe it moves in different phases. Sometimes, the days feel like they're dragging on forever, and other days, Minseok feels like he blinks and a week's gone by. He passes the time mostly by sleeping, running, and Skyping with Lu Han and Yixing. Lu Han's in Changsha with Yixing, and Minseok feels only a little jealous when he sees the two of them, small and pixelated on his screen.
"Don't forget about the Man City game coming up," Lu Han reminds Minseok sleepily one night. Yixing looks already asleep, somehow managing to find a comfortable spot with his chin hooked over Lu Han's shoulder. "We have to watch it together, since you're all the way in Korea now."
"Sorry," Minseok says. "I know I was supposed to watch it with you, but my mom-"
"No worries," Lu Han says cheerfully, interrupting Minseok like he always does since Minseok's dropped the news about going back to Korea over summer holiday. Minseok doesn't remember Lu Han's parents all too well from the brief time they'd lived across the street, but he knows that every time Minseok mentions his parents, Lu Han likes to change the subject. Minseok lets him almost always. "Just be here, okay?"
"Okay," says Minseok. "Night, Han."
"Night." Lu Han waves, jostling Yixing. Yixing whines and presses his nose closer into Lu Han's neck at the disruption, and Minseok misses them so much. His room feels suddenly very lonely, and Minseok draws the covers around him tightly, even though it's sweltering outside, and falls into a fitful sleep.
•••---•••
The day of the match comes soon enough, thanks to Lu Han's daily reminders, but the morning of, Minseok almost can't bring himself to get out of bed at the sound of his alarm. It takes a lot of mental fortitude to gather the courage to roll out of his warm bed and his nice, dreamless sleep, and trudge down to the living room with sleep still clinging to his eyes.
The channel for soccer is a bit tricky to find; Minseok’s so used to having it on at all times in uni that he’s forgotten where he can find it at home, and it’s almost kick-off when Minseok finally lands on the right channel, high school brain kicking in. He has his computer all set up on the coffee table, Skype opened up and waiting for Lu Han to sign in.
His phone buzzes against his thigh as Minseok curls into the couch, feeling more awake as the adrenaline kicks in, and he checks it.
I can't make it to Skype tonight, the text reads. Disappoint curdles in Minseok's gut. Yixing's grandparents are sleeping in the next room and apparently the walls are super thin. >:( I have to watch the game with the sound off. TT____TT
Minseok sighs, but there's not much he can do so far away. It's not like he can suggest they meet up. Don't worry about it, he writes. Skype soon?
Definitely, Lu Han replies, and then Minseok's phone goes silent.
His phone buzzes loudly against the coffee table again. Minseok frowns and opens it, not sure who to expect. It's probably from Jongdae and his late night panic over being in a committed relationship, but the message isn't from Jongdae; it’s from Jongin.
Hi hyung. Still awake?
Another message buzzes in almost immediately after. I’m not stalking you, promise!! I saw your light on.
And then another. Shit, are you asleep?? Did I wake you? I’m sorry!!! Jongin sends an apologetic sticker.
Minseok imagines Jongin flushing, and he has to stifle the tiny laugh that falls from his mouth. Soccer match. Man Utd. and Man City. I'm most definitely not up by choice. And then, with his bottom lip trapped between his teeth, Minseok adds, Do you still like soccer?
•••---•••
“Late night dance rehearsal,” Jongin explains softly when Minseok lets him in. He’s wearing only a thin tank top and some sweatpants cuffed at the bottom. His hair is damp, like he’s just run out from under a shower, and Minseok resists the urge to rub a towel into his head.
“This late?” Minseok asks, eyebrow arched. Jongin flushes as he toes off his sneakers. He isn’t wearing socks.
“I might have fallen asleep there,” Jongin admits sheepishly. Minseok covers his mouth with his hand to stifle the laugh.
“You can still fall asleep anywhere, huh?” Jongin shrugs and smiles, looking very handsome and very tired. Minseok feels guilty all of a sudden. “You know, if you want to get back home to sleep, you can,” he says.
Jongin shakes his head. “No, it’s fine,” he says. “I want to watch the game with you.” He smiles his ten thousand watt smile and pads to the couch, flopping down with practiced ease. Minseok wonders how many times he’s done it before when he’d been at uni.
Minseok turns to fix Jongin’s shoes, but finds them neatly pushed up against the wall, all edges matched up neatly. He glances over his shoulder at Jongin who’s looking back at him. The television light throws half his face into relief, and Jongin looks suddenly very young.
“I know you hate it when they’re out of place,” Jongin says, half-grinning. There’s a quiet cheer from the television, and he turns back to it. “Look, hyung, it’s kick-off.”
“Right,” Minseok says, shaking himself out of his stupor. He walks back to the couch and sits, awkwardly near the corner. Jongin is sprawled out all over, and Minseok suddenly feels very aware of the placement of his limbs, as well as the curve of Jongin’s sharp jaw.
•••---•••
Ten minutes into the first half, Jongin is sleeping peacefully slumped against Minseok’s shoulder. By halftime, Minseok’s arm feels dead, but Jongin snuffles in his sleep, and he looks so young and sweet and tired, even in sleep, that Minseok feels bad for even thinking about waking him, so he settles for swapping texts with Lu Han, who’s suffering a similar fate in Beijing.
Yixing’s fallen asleep on me, Lu Han complains, even though Minseok knows Lu Han’s probably carding his fingers through Yixing’s hair right now, affectionate to the last. Jongin shifts in his sleep, and Minseok briefly wonders how it would feel if he did the same.
Jonginnie’s fallen asleep on me, too, Minseok replies instead, calming the itch in his fingers. Jongin’s hair is soft where it tickles Minseok’s neck, and the urge to touch is almost too much. Almost.
That kid who used to bother you all the time? Lu Han asks, and Minseok bites his lip.
That’s a bit of an exaggeration, is all he sends before he switches off his phone and leans back carefully, arm wrapping around Jongin so he won’t fall further. The TV blurs in front of Minseok’s eyes, exhaustion from finals and travel and jet lag dragging his eyelids lower and lower until he’s just listening-listening to the broadcast, to Jongin’s soft, measured breathing, to the pounding of Minseok’s own heart, beating rhythmically in his chest-and then nothing at all.
Jongin apologizes for it profusely the next morning, his face completely red and his hair sticking up from where it’d pressed against Minseok’s throat. Minsun’s laughing outright, having found the two of them sprawled out on the couch together, the TV still on. Minseok’s still a little groggy, torn from a comfortable sleep-the most comfortable one since he’s come home-but he still walks Jongin to the door, Minsun’s cackles following them from the kitchen. There’s a red mark on Minseok’s shoulder where Jongin had rested his head for almost five hours, and it tingles as Minseok waves off Jongin’s apologies.
“I’ve been slept on before,” Minseok says, and Jongin bends down to pull on his shoes, dark hair falling over his face. “Take care of yourself, okay? Don’t push yourself too hard.”
“I won't,” Jongin says, a touch shy. "I mean, I won't push myself too hard. I'll take care of myself though. Sorry I wasn't so fun this time."
"Get some more sleep," Minseok says. "Next time will be more fun."
Jongin looks delighted. "Next time," he echoes.
•••---•••
After that, it’s like everywhere Minseok turns, Jongin appears. Minseok goes to the park, Jongin’s there with Sehun (who had bowed awkwardly to Minseok before Jongin had said, impatiently, “You’ve already met him. It's too late for you to make a good first impression.” Sehun had turned extremely red and kicked Jongin in the shin.)
Minseok goes to the nearby convenience store to grab some vitamins, and Jongin happens to visiting his friend who works there. (“Baekhyun-hyung,” Jongin introduces reluctantly when Minseok asks, and Baekhyun grins, razor sharp, at him; it looks more like a leer than anything, and Minseok texts Lu Han later with a sticker and a message that reads I think I’ve met your match. )
Even when Minseok goes out running at five in the morning, Jongin’s out there walking (see: being dragged by) his three dogs. Minseok ends up getting roped into helping Jongin out, literally. One of the dogs runs her leash around Minseok’s legs and ends up nearly toppling both him and Jongin over.
(“I think Jjangah likes you,” Jongin says, after they’ve properly untangled themselves. Jjangah is plodding along contentedly now next to Monggu and Jjangu, but Minseok still has a death grip on her lead, just in case she can smell his fear. “Chanyeol will be so jealous.”)
Minseok doesn't mind it at first; Jongin is cute, always has been, and Minseok enjoys seeing him having come into himself so nicely. It's a strange kind of proud, but Minseok feels it. It helps that Jongin is still as sweet as ever, conversation flowing easily between the two of them, more than it's ever been able to before. Minseok chalks it up to the fact that Jongin's gotten older; the four year age gap doesn't feel as big now than it had been Jongin was in middle school, and Minseok likes the way Jongin laughs, eyes scrunching up at the ends, his mouth gaping open. It's easy for Minseok to want to be around Jongin more often, and he doesn't realize how often it is until Minsun starts asking Minseok how Jongin's been with the same kind of teasing tone of voice as from the first day, when she'd picked Minseok up from the airport. It's like she knows something Minseok doesn't.
“I’m starting to think you’re stalking me,” Minseok jokes when he spots Jongin when he’s outside getting the mail one day. Jongin jogs over, looking fresh from dance practice. There’s a thin sheen of sweat on his skin and a low flush of exertion on his cheeks; the healthy glow matches his bright smile, and Minseok follows the way Jongin’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows before he tears his eyes away.
“Hi hyung,” Jongin says. “You’re just really predictable.”
“Oh?” Minseok cocks an eyebrow. The summer sun is hot on his bare arms; he’d opted for a thin tank and shorts, but Minseok still feels sweat prickling his scalp. “What do you mean?”
“I mean you have a routine,” Jongin explains. “You do the same thing every day at the same time. Like clockwork. You did the same thing in high school, and you haven't changed at all.” Jongin seems pleased by it.
Minseok freezes for half a second. “I'd hoped I would have,” he says lightly, even though his grip around the mail tightens so his knuckles turn white. “I wasn’t this cool in high school.”
“You were the coolest,” Jongin protests, which is rich coming from Jongin, who looks like he’s straight out of a magazine. Minseok snorts.
“I was not,” Minseok says matter-of-factly, but Jongin looks like he’s personally offended by Minseok’s words.
“You were,” he insists. “You were patient and kind, and you always gave great advice. You were really someone I could depend on, and I’m glad that you haven’t changed.”
Minseok’s not really sure how to respond to that except to stare a little. There are a million things running through Minseok’s head-chief among them that it’s Jongin saying this, Jongin who seems to have grown into himself so easily and so perfectly-but they’re all drowned out by the sudden, gutwrenching realization that hits Minseok like a three ton truck.
He wants to kiss Jongin.
It’s a visceral feeling, physical attraction burning hot and low in his stomach, and Minseok reels from it. He feels suddenly unsteady and dizzy, and Minseok has to grab onto the mailbox post to keep his balance. Jongin lurches forward, as if to catch him, but Minseok flinches away.
“Hyung?” Jongin asks.
“Nothing,” Minseok says hastily. “It’s nothing.”
It's something, but Minseok doesn't know what to call it, and that makes him restless. That night, in a futile attempt to sleep. Minseok tries to rub one off quickly, clinically. He's not quick enough to stop the flood of images of Jongin on his knees, mouthing at his cock with that pink mouth of his, how big his hands would be on Minseok's thighs, if he would let Minseok pull his hair a little. How he would sound afterwards, throat wrecked by Minseok's cock.
If he'd let Minseok kiss him afterwards.
Minseok comes all over his hand, and it's not the idea of Jongin being wrecked that does it, but the idea that Minseok would be the one to patch him back together afterwards.
Fuck, Minseok thinks miserably, rolling over to grab a few tissues from his nightstand. He's fucked.
•••---•••
Minseok tries his best to ignore the budding feelings for Jongin, but he fails miserably because Jongin is always there, and even though that had never bothered Minseok before, it bothers him now-not because Jongin is there but because Minseok is so aware of him being there. Every time Jongin touches him, whether it's a casual arm slung over Minseok's shoulder or the backs of their hands brushing, which had been fine for the previous part of the summer, now it feels like an iron poker being pressed to his skin, and Minseok can’t help but draw back, put up barriers between the two of them.
Every single time, Jongin withdraws, looking confused and a little hurt, and Minseok hates that he’s put that expression on Jongin’s face, but he just-he just can’t. Minseok’s not new to dating or attraction, but this is an entirely different playing field than his brief stints in Beijing. Jongin is younger than him, still in high school-and more than that, Jongin is Minsun's best friend, someone precious. Minseok can't run away from Jongin, even if he wanted to. It's better if Minseok just tries to trample the starting flame before it grows into a roaring fire-a hard thing to accomplish when Jongin is standing there, looking like he does and acting like Minseok hung the moon in the sky.
The only thing Minseok can think of to do is to start avoiding Jongin, but the problem with being home for the summer is that there is no one else to help keep Minseok's mind off him. Even when he Skypes Lu Han and Yixing, the conversation inevitably leads back to Jongin. Yixing thinks Minseok is being ridiculous; Lu Han, predictably, is weirdly vindicated.
Did I do something, Jongin asks after Minseok pretends not to hear him in the hall, keeping his door resolutely closed and his earbuds in his ears. It's the third time this week that Minseok's avoided talking to Jongin, the fourth if you consider Minseok ducking into different aisles in the convenience store to avoid seeing Jongin. Jongin's friend, Baekhyun, had seemed unamused at that.
Minseok's not sure what to even say to that. No, Minseok wants to write. This is all on me. He starts five different drafts, deletes them all, and then ends up texting Jongdae, because in some bizarre twist of fate, Jongdae is the only one out of all of them in a steady relationship.
"You're being an idiot," Jongdae says without preamble when Minseok calls as per Jongdae's request.
"You don't understand," Minseok huffs, falling backwards onto his bed. "It's Jongin. I used to walk him home from school. I babysat him. He calls me hyung!"
"I call you hyung," Jongdae says, unimpressed. "What's the point?"
"The point is, he's too close for me to want anything," Minseok says. "What if I mess up? I don't exactly have a good track record with relationships."
"To be fair, the Sam debacle was really Lu Han's fault," says Jongdae. "What if you don't mess up? What if your, I don't know, deep and meaningful history with Jongin is the something that will make it work?"
"Unlikely," Minseok mutters. "And we don't have a deep and meaningful history, don't exaggerate."
"Then why's it stopping you?" Jongdae snarks. Then, more gently: "Look, hyung, you're the best. Stop getting in your own way."
"How?" Minseok must be pretty desperate to want to go to Jongdae.
"I don't know hyung," Jongdae says, "but apologizing is a good way to start."
•••---•••
It feels almost like deja vu, standing in front of the school gates. The only difference is now, Minseok's not wearing a uniform. It's late enough to warrant a long-sleeve shirt, and Minseok gratefully accepts the opportunity to keep his head down as he slinks in, feeling a bit like a thief trying to steal into the school, which is ridiculous on two accounts: the first being that Minseok isn't a thief and pays the correct, overpriced amount for his ticket, and the second being that this is Minseok's alma mater, and therefore, this is as much his school as it is any other student's.
Minseok managed to wheedle the opening date for the dance recital from Minsun, who'd looked positively unamused at having to play double double agent. Minseok makes sure to pick the section of the auditorium that's less crowded-apparently, the dance club is more popular than Minseok remembers it being-and he sidles low in his seat, shoulders hunched. He's not looking to see anyone but Jongin.
The lights flash once, twice, and then go out completely, and Minseok relaxes under the cover of the darkness. A single spotlight illuminates the center of the stage, and Jongin comes out, his hair carefully pulled back, stage makeup heavy on his face. Minseok's breath catches a little in his throat; Jongin looks great, poised and calm and perfect under the spotlight, and not at all nervous. There are a couple of hoots in the crowd, some cat-calling, and Jongin allows a smile to slip onto his face briefly before he takes his place in the middle of the spotlight, his arms carefully curled, his hands set into delicate, graceful positions. A hush falls over the audience, like they're holding their breath, and then the music starts.
Jongin is a natural born performer; Minseok can tell this as soon as Jongin starts moving, effortlessly and precisely, shifting from move to move on stage like a shadow. It's Jongin's expressions that are the most interesting and arresting, though; he throws his entire body into the performance, his expressions transitioning from fierce to tender and back again according to the music, and as Minseok sits in the dark of the auditorium, a person caught in Jongin's performance like a moon caught in a planet's gravitation field, he realizes-this kind of mask, this kind of performance art, is familiar. The only difference is the setting and the time; whereas Jongin's performance ends after the spotlight shifts, Minseok's remains, even two years after that stage has ended.
At the ending stage when the entire dance team comes on stage and takes a final bow together, Jongin sees Minseok in the crowd. Minseok can tell because Jongin's smile drops a little, realization making his eyes-rimmed dark with eyeliner-widen. Minseok's stomach drops, or swoops maybe.
When the performers have finished their bows and dispersed-either backstage or into the crowd to greet their friends-Jongin makes a beeline for Minseok. Up close, the make-up is too heavy, sweat mussing up Jongin's eyeliner, and his hair is sticking damply to his forehead and temples, and Minseok's traitorous heart lurches once or twice as Jongin stops in front of him. His stage persona has slipped off with his make-up, leaving behind only Jongin, but Minseok is the one who feels a little exposed and bare.
"You came," Jongin says, a little breathlessly. He looks nervous but there's an undertone of hope in his gaze, a tiny touch of something warm and fond and familiar.
"Yeah," Minseok says. "You were great."
"Thanks." Jongin pulls his lower lip into his mouth, catching it between his teeth. It's a little distracting. "Can we-hyung, can we talk?"
Minseok's muscles jump instinctively, every fiber of his body yelling at him to run. Start with the dance recital, Minseok reminds himself. "Here?" he asks.
Jongin glances around at the audience still milling around, and he takes Minseok's wrist. "Come with me," he says.
They end up in one of the bathrooms on the second floor. The harsh fluorescent lights hurt Minseok's eyes, but Jongin crosses his arms, hunches in on himself and leans against the sink. "So?" Jongin asks, demands really, but the sting is somewhat lessened by the hurt that colors Jongin's voice. "Why've you been avoiding me?"
Minseok leans against the bathroom stall, his fingers playing along the hem of his shirt. Even though it's reasonably cold in the bathroom, Minseok feels a little hot. He can't even imagine how his cheeks must look now, how red he must be. There's no way to really approach it, and Minseok's never been good at words, so he just steels himself and goes for the throat.
"I like you," Minseok says.
Jongin stills, the ever moving shadow brought to a rest by Minseok's words, and he stares at Minseok. Minseok squirms under the weight of Jongin's gaze.
"Is this a joke?" Jongin says finally, after the silence has stretched on for ages, and Minseok's stomach drops unpleasantly, warmth draining away. It feels like there are stones collecting in the pit of his stomach.
"No," Minseok forces himself to say, instead of the careful joke on the tip of his tongue. He has to be more honest with himself. Stop getting in your own way. Minseok chooses his words deliberately, trying to go slow so as to not make any more misunderstandings. This is him starting over. "I know it's sudden, and I know that you might not even be interested, but I really like you, Jongin." Minseok's never been too good with words, and he stumbles over them now as they start tumbling over each other in their haste to get out. "And I'm sorry, for ignoring you. I, uh. I needed time to figure things out."
"And did you?" Jongin's face is closed off, expressionless.
Swallow. Breathe. "I did."
Jongin lets out a low breath and shifts, his hands going up to run through his hair. Minseok watches with some trepidation, his heart fluttering at the hollow of his throat, blood rushing in his ears. There's nothing else he can say at this point.
"Are you sure?" Jongin asks, his stone face slipping. Minseok can see Jongin again; the realization that he can spot the tiny differences that make Jongin Jongin isn't a huge, earth-shattering one. It's not life-altering, and it doesn't nearly knock Minseok over with the force of it. In fact, the realization feels more like a small sigh of relief. There it is, is what it feels like. That's what it feels like to know someone that well.
"Yeah," Minseok says.
Jongin moves, closes the gap between them carefully, his shoes barely making a sound on the floor. He gets close enough that Minseok has to look up at him, has to lean his head against the bathroom stall to look Jongin in the eye, and Minseok licks his lips nervously, feeling the warmth pool low in his gut. Jongin's eyes track the movement, flick downwards before Jongin jerks his gaze upwards, like he's guilty at having been caught.
"Can I kiss you, hyung?" Jongin asks. Relief surges through Minseok so fast that he nearly buckles with the force of it. Minseok swallows and then nods.
The first press of Jongin's lips on his is deliberate. Jongin's mouth is soft and warm, his lips a little chapped, and he reaches up to gently curl his hand around Minseok's jaw. The pads of Jongin's fingers feel so warm on Minseok's skin, and his mouth opens for Jongin instinctively, his hands going to Jongin's waist to pull him in closer.
Jongin makes a soft, irresistable noise when Minseok touches him, his entire body shuddering, and Minseok pulls away a little, his heart thumping wildly in his chest at the actual visceral reaction he can pull out of Jongin. Jongin leans back immediately, even though Minseok's hands are still on his hips, and he looks flushed, his lips an inviting red.
"Sorry," Jongin says, horrified with embarrassment, his voice thick in his throat.
"Don't be," Minseok says, distracted by the unwarranted distance between his mouth and Jongin's, even though Minseok's still close enough to see the faint imperfections of Jongin's skin, close enough to see the flecks of yellow in Jongin's eyes. He presses his thumb against Jongin's hip comfortingly, and he can feel Jongin's muscles jump under his hand. Minseok has to suppress a smile; he has the entire remainder of summer to figure out what that means, and he's ready to figure it out. No more excuses.
"Kiss me again?" Minseok asks, tilting his chin up for another one, and Jongin obliges. His smile is so, so sweet when it bursts over Minseok's mouth, and normally Minseok doesn't like that sort of stuff, but he thinks he could make an exception for Jongin. It wouldn't be the first time.