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To say Xu Minghao was exhausted may have been a slight understatement. Standing outside the local tesco, the blue and red lights irritating his eyes, he contemplated if working in a dance studio while studying medicine could be considered a form of self harm. Seungkwan would probably agree.
“Working at Hoseok's and maintaining THOSE grades?” Jeonghan had responded, managing to sound incredulous even with a mouthful of food and while sitting on Seungcheol’s lap. “Just don't be surprised when you get run down hao, its too much to be taking on”.
Minghao had rolled his eyes at the time, unsure of how to respond to his friend, who was currently being fed forkfuls of chocolate ganache by Seungcheol, his own desert pristine and untouched. Minghao had shrugged and grabbed the abandoned tart, eliciting an indignant squawk from Jeonghan, who wobbled atop his precarious position.
The slam of a car door nearby yanks Minghao back to reality rather roughly, his large eyes blinking slowly. He shakes his head and heads into the supermarket, the harsh white lighting doing nothing to help his developing migraine. He takes a deep breath, fiddling with the worn hem of his too-baggy hoodie, the softened fabric reassuring him.
He made a beeline for the instant foods, his thoughts occupied by the msg-filled heaven of instant noodles. His eyes quickly single out the prize ‘Sichuan Baijia Chongqing Noodles’, narrowing in determination as he noticed only one brightly-coloured packet remained.
In hindsight, Minghao may have been a little too riled up by a combination of lack of sleep and poor diet to function in the lawless world that is a supermarket at 3am. Living on little more than stale Aldi baguettes and spending an inordinate amount of time with screeching five year olds is not exactly helpful in dealing with stress. So when the taller boy in front of him reaches for the noodles and minghao snatches the packet, sprinting for the checkout, he feels entirely justified in his actions.
His victory, however, lasts about as long as it takes for the other boy to catch up with him and slam into him, sending him sprawling across the beige tiles, gangly limbs flailing.
He recovers quickly, snatching the noodles and moving to run for the checkout again, accepting this noodle death battle with all the rationality a sleep-deprived teenager is capable of. However, before he can resume his mad dash the boy grabs him, shoving him down on the floor and holding him there, making childish grabs for the gaudy noodle packet. Minghao snarls, gazing upward to glare at the boy, who is oh god he’s really pretty what the fuck what the
His mini crisis is interrupted by the (gorgeous) boy snatching the noodles out of his hands with a triumphant caw, his other hand still holding Minghao’s arm in place. Minghao blinks tears away furiously, refusing to allow processed food to get to him this easily. Unfortunately, sleep deprivation is a nasty bitch, and Minghao lets out a pathetic sniffle before he can stop himself. The boy above him freezes suddenly, peering down, a concerned expression evident on his face. Minghao declines to mention the boy is still sitting on his chest in a public supermarket, focusing all his energy on not stress-crying in this Tesco.
‘Are you okay?” the boy inquires, and his velvety voice strangely makes minghao want to cry more.
‘m fine’ he mumbles, still hyper fixating on the boy sitting on his chest like its natural. “I just—”
And all of a sudden everything is just too much , and he's lying on the ground in this supermarket and the floor is probably filthy and he’s so tired and he just wanted some goddamn noodles .
“Oh my god,” the boy says, his voice laced with genuine concern. He scrambles off Minghao’s chest, the noodle packet forgotten on the ground. Minghao struggles to calm himself, all the stress of the last few weeks threatening to boil over.
“Look, uh,” he gazes upwards, eyes meeting the other boy’s. The boy clears his throat, clearly quite uncomfortable with his current predicament. ‘I’m. so sorry for manhandling you like that i just. I really want these noodles y’know? I know its cheesy but they uh, remind me of home and stuff and—” He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “You obviously um, really want them though and I feel really bad so you can have them if you want”. He says this with what sounds like great difficulty and Minghao feels a spark of sympathy for the boy, watching him pick at his nails nervously.
“We can share it,” Minghao suggests, his voice still rough from his impromptu crying session. “It reminds me of home too,” he adds softly. The other boy eyes the packet, probably contemplating the pros and cons of sharing packet noodles with a gangly stranger and his bad haircut.
He smiles softly though, and stands up, extending a graceful hand to minghao. “Yeah,” he replies, switching to mandarin because he knows . “That would be nice.” Minghao takes his hand.
He finds out that the boy’s name is Junhui, he’s a year older than minghao, and he studies illustration in the same university (he draws a tiny doodle of minghao on a napkin in the student union kitchen they’ve decided to occupy, and Minghao folds it and puts it away with more care than he’d like to admit).
He finds out they have multiple friends in common, and Junhui leans closer to him as they debate the odds of Jihoon realising he’s in love with Soonyoung before winter break. The noodle packet isn’t exactly designed for two people, but they make it work, rationing it out with more mathematical skill than either of them displayed in secondary school.
Despite their ridiculous attention to the portions, Minghao notices Jun transfer some of his noodles to minghao’s dish when he goes to hunt for forks.
Minghao drags out his noodles for as long as possible despite not having eaten anything in at least eight hours. He becomes entranced by Junhui’s smile, the way he throws his entire body around when he laughs, his blonde hair that he has to keep flicking out of his eyes. He finds himself leaning closer and closer as Jun speaks, close enough to see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes.
It’s only when Junhui emerges from an excavation into the cupboard, victorious, armed with two forgotten packets of rich tea biscuits and a self- satisfied grin that minghao thinks, oh .
Eventually, the sun starts to come up, and Minghao struggles to stifle a yawn as Junhui carefully cleans the dishes and disposes of the evidence (the noodle packet). He laughs when he turns around and sees Minghao, slumped on the kitchen counter, his eyes threatening to close.
“Come on, we’d better get you back to your dorm,” he starts, a smile in his voice. Minghao nods, but all the strength seems to have left his body and he slips in his attempts to get off the counter.
In a millisecond, Jun is there, supporting him. They both laugh nervously and Jun goes to let go, but Minghao slips again, his vision blurring, and this time Jun just grabs him and lifts him down from the counter, and Minghao lets out a surprised squeak, wrapping his arms around Jun’s neck out of instinct.
Jun sets him down and looks away quickly, colour rising in his cheeks. “So uh, I’ll see you around I guess?’ he mumbles, looking anywhere but Minghao’s face.
Minghao swallows. “Sure”. He turns to pick up his coat, wondering why he suddenly feels disappointed, and moves towards the door.
He’s just turning the knob when he hears Junhui shuffle behind him.
“Wait.” He turns around, not sure what to expect, and finds himself looking up at the taller boy. Jun looks vaguely embarrassed, tugging on his sleeve, the threads coming loose. He’s looking at minghao’s lips, his gaze soft. Oh my god .
“Can I-” he begins, but Minghao’s already leaning upwards, clutching the front of Jun’s t shirt in his fist to balance himself, and pressing his lips against the other boy’s. It’s a simple kiss, innocent and short, but it carries with it the implication of many more to come. Then they’re breaking apart, and Jun is pushing a piece of paper with his number on it into Minghao’s hands, and he’s pressing a soft kiss to Minghao’s forehead, and then he’s gone.
Minghao grabs the back of a chair to steady himself, his vision blurry. He breathes deeply, struggling to regain calm. Jesus christ he needs more sleep.