Chapter Text
3RD MARCH
Pushing a piece of burnt garlic bread around his plate, Minhyuk digs the prongs of his fork deeper into its surface. A soft crunch emits under the added pressure; Minhyuk seems determined to completely mutilate the unappetising subject. He begins, “Ki, you’re in your third year of college, the acapella group loves you to bits, you’re moving into a phenomenal apartment this weekend, you’re starting an internship next semester, so kudos to you on that.”
Minhyuk sips meditatively at his wine. "And you could have made it all so much better -- that boy was so cute, Kihyun."
Kihyun sighs loudly into his hands, which had planted themselves onto his face by reflex as soon as Minhyuk had said ‘third’. Kihyun has been listening to his roommate’s perpetual nagging on the subject since that really cute Starbucks barista had beamed at him, all teeth and gums, told him he had pretty eyes and scribbled a pickup line onto his coffee cup earlier today. A simple lunch date with Minhyuk always leaves sufficient room for stress (Kihyun has realised this after three years of living with him).
"Minhyuk, I just-- literally just, okay? It's been, like, five minutes -- said I gave him my number and told him he was cute," Kihyun persists, not caring much for how muffled his voice comes out against his palms. It’s not exactly a bad thing, because without his hands, Kihyun supposes probably everyone in the bistro would be able to hear him. He frequents the place with a hearty passion, because they have his favourite honey mustard chicken, they make the best iced tea, and all the workers here adore him to bits, so it's better this way.
Kihyun peels his hands away from his face. He grudgingly brings his full attention back to Minhyuk, the plates of semi-warm food placed on the table in front of him, the soft jazz music playing in the background, drowned out by the subtle chatter erupting from different corners of the restaurant. Kihyun twirls two to three strands of pasta around his fork, dipping the subject matter into a tiny pot of tartar sauce.
"You gave him your number, and told him he’s cute,” Minhyuk repeats with added emphasis, chucking a napkin at Kihyun, who just narrows his eyes at the gesture. “That’s Kihyun for I told him that to make him happy, because I’m never going on a date with him."
“No, I’m not,” Kihyun answers easily, but when Minhyuk glares him down for a deeper, more decent, explanation, Kihyun feels compelled to let out a sigh.
"He just seemed too pure, like someone who loves being in relationships, because he likes having someone to spoil,” Kihyun adds, swaying the piece of cutlery in his hand around, watching the strings of pasta swinging from side to side, instead of actually taking the pasta into his mouth.
Minhyuk breathes in slowly, his arms folded accusingly over his chest, but it’s not meant as a threat. “Kihyun, you can’t just assume someone likes being in relationships by simply looking at them. That’s stupid.”
Khyun scoffs. “It’s not stupid, it was a vibe. Respect the vibe.”
"It’s stupid ,” Minhyuk emphasises with a teasing undertone, leaning forward onto the table a little. “And you're stupid, so it's really stupid.”
The younger boy doesn’t argue any further. Instead, he finds himself pressing his lips together, tucking a piece of his faded pink hair behind his ear before trailing his eyes out the window in silent agreement. He can’t win this argument against Minhyuk -- it’s taken Kihyun countless tries to finally figure that out.
He fixes his gaze on a flyer, undulating gently in the early March breeze. It’s pinned up to a lamppost, promoting some dance studio, and Kihyun feels a small shiver travel up the column of his spine. He had taken dance lessons back in high school, though he immediately resented the decision after he’d face-planted onto the floor during his third session. It wasn’t a good time.
“Anyway, it’s just a date. You like dates, especially the first few dates. Dates aren’t relationship defining,” Minhyuk presses even more imploringly than before, the garlic bread now at the mercy of his fingers. He tears away at its edges until it’s just a curve of charred crust. “Which is good for you, because you don’t do relationships, right?”
There’s no bite to his words. Minhyuk means it all, and not in any way that’s derogatory or even snippy. If anything, Minhyuk’s statement offers enough reassurement for Kihyun to feel a heavy weight being lifted off his tiny shoulders.
"Why are you being so pushy about this?” Kihyun inquires rather speculatively, setting his fork, still occupied by a swirl of pasta, back down onto his plate. He props his chin onto his palm, elbow rested comfortably on the table, looking back out the window again (Kihyun secretly waits for Minhyuk to smack his arm down from the table in correspondence to those self-observed table manners of his, but he doesn’t). “If you liked him so much, why don’t you go on a date with him?”
There’s a moment of intense glaring, followed by a kick to the shin (one-hundred percent inflicted on Kihyun’s poor, poor leg by Minhyuk), before Minhyuk groans. “You’re impossible.”
Chuckling softly, because Kihyun can’t bring himself to actually feel offended, Kihyun reaches for his glass. Its rim is decorated with a network of slightly translucent lipstick stains, courtesy of Kihyun’s blood-red liptint. He gulps down the remainder of his lemonade in a heartbeat. “We’re still on for tonight, aren’t we? Or did you secretly plan a date for me with the cute barista?”
.inhyuk feigns hurt by letting his jaw drop low, and placing a gentle hand over his chest. “Firstly, I am hurt. Hurt, I tell you,” he swallows, and Kihyun tries to skillfully hide a smile behind his hand. It doesn’t work out so well. “And secondly, we’re still on, but Jun cancelled. He’s sick; he said he might be dying.”
And just like that, in a heartbeat of a second, Kihyun’s lips completely abandon that cloud-parting smile of his for the frown that has now materialised onto them.
"Oh, my God, no," he whines, his eyebrows tugged close together and his face all kinds of sad. “Jun’s not coming?”
“He’s sick ” Minhyuk repeats, trying his very best not to crack a smile at the level of adoration Kihyun must harbour for the boy in question. It’s not a common sight to witness -- seeing Kihyun all pouty over hearing someone’s not going out clubbing with them -- because Kihyun hardly ever associates himself with people in any way that’s emotional (Minhyuk can only think of a handful of people Kihyun actually genuinely cares about, and he’s a little proud to say he’s one of them).
When Kihyun throws his napkin onto the table and slides down into his chair, Minhyuk lightly nudges his calf with his boot. “Hey, that’s okay, though. Daehyun’s gonna be there, Hyejin and everybody else, too,” the older boy reassures, and Kihyun lets out somewhat of a whimper. “We can still have fun, and you can go drop by Jun’s place later.”
Kihyun only sticks his lower lip out a little more, and Minhyuk almost squeals at the sight.
"It’ll be nice,” the blonde presses further, his voice soft. “It’ll make him happy. You know how much he loves seeing you.”
At that, however, Kihyun brightens up a bit, his pretty, beaming smile coming back to grace his incredulously red lips. “Maybe I'll just go see him right now, and I can meet you guys at the club later.”
Minhyuk hardly gets any time to react to Kihyun’s declaration. He would’ve liked to have the opportunity to whine and complain a little, and say, Kihyunnie, you can’t leave me. But Kihyun has already picked up his coat, tugged his scarf back around his neck, and he's leaving his credit card on the table for Minhyuk to pay with (they agreed lunch was on him, and Kihyun is always true to his word). Even through the blur of frazzlement, he manages to toss a quick, “I’ll say ‘hi’ to Heonny for you,” over his shoulder, and Minhyuk almost scoffs.
Then, Kihyun is rushing out the entrance in a whirl of pink.
.
Evn without Junhui there for Kihyun to link arms and drink with (it’s a little tradition of theirs), clubbing still proved to be just as fun. The loud, thumping music bouncing off walls and hot, sweaty bodies had left Kihyun's bones rattling under his skin. Youngjae had practically tipped a glassful of a cherry-red drink down Kihyun's throat, and Kihyun actually wound up ordering another one. And Daehyun had very gallantly stepped up and offered Kihyun a dance. It wasn't much of a dance, as it was a frenzy of swaying hips, wild grinding and standing a bit too close to one another.
Hyejin even dragged Kihyun off to one of the restrooms just for the sole purpose of applying an extra few layers of liptint to his mouth. "lt will make your lips look bitten, and that's, like, super hot,” she had reasoned, and Kihyun didn't have the heart to argue, because it actually looked good. Way better than anything Minhyuk could manage. More importantly, Kihyun found himself feeling a lot more thankful for it later the same night.
Kihyun wouldn’t ever admit it to Minhyuk out loud, because he’d never let Kihyun live down the way he’d pouted and sulked at lunch, but with the situation at hand, Kihyun doesn’t think anything could pull him down from the canopy of clouds he's perched up on.
He realises, in hindsight, maybe (just maybe) he shouldn’t have had so much to drink. Because now, Kihyun can’t really trace back to how exactly he ended up being pressed up against a wall by probably the most gorgeous piece of work he’s ever seen in his twenty-three years of living. But Kihyun swears being kissed by this boy, with a knee pressed so far up between his thighs that Kihyun's head is spinning, is nothing short of heaven. It's all so hot and heavy, a clash of teeth, tongues and roaming hands, that Kihyun can feel his blood buzzing with electricity. Sizzling, like a tangle of live wires.
The flashing club lights don’t do justice to much, but if Kihyun pay attention, he can actually see the boy in front of him. Messily styled blue hair, faded to a silver near the roots, his skin pale and glowing, and dark eyes, kohl-lined to perfection. He’s admittedly a work of art, a walking masterpiece, and when his plump, red lips (they’re so incredulously red, Kihyun wonders if that's actually the product of being bitten down into by him) curl into an effortless smirk, all the air is knocked out of Kihyun’s lungs. It perfectly complements the patent twinkle in his eyes -- and, God, is he gorgeous, simply and truly fucking gorgeous.
After a flurry of whiskey kisses, the boy, in all his blue-haired glory, mouths sloppily at Kihyun’s neck, nipping, biting, sucking -- everything that makes Kihyun feel like he’s walking on clouds. Just as Kihyun feels his knees starting to shake under him, he twists his fingers into the boy's hair. He brings him up to his mouth for one last kiss, and tugs him out of the club.