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"So," Changmin says, taking a noisy slurp from his iced coffee, the faux-casual lilt to his voice only a tad suspicious. "Younghoon-hyung got a tattoo."
Chanhee squints, but otherwise schools his features. "Oh?" His hands inch towards the fries between them.
Changmin hums, and then grins around his straw, all teeth and, quite frankly, a bit terrifying. "Yup."
Chanhee just blinks at him.
He loves his best friend. He really, really does, but Changmin can really be a conniving bitch when he feels like it.
More often than not, Chanhee doesn't take the bait.
He picks up a fry, then dips it into the ketchup. Fully intending to wait him out — Changmin is anything but patient when it comes to gossip — Chanhee chews, slowly, peering at him under his eyelashes.
A few minutes later, once Changmin is down to the ice cubes in his cup, and Chanhee is halfway through the fries, he finally speaks again. "Fine, fine . I'll spill."
Chanhee grins. "The floor is yours, oh nosy one."
He rolls his eyes. "As I was saying : Younghoon-hyung got a tattoo last week. He's, like, keeping it really secretive, though. Hasn't showed anyone." He says, with an exaggerated pout. "Not me, not even Jaehyun-hyung."
"And why should I care?" Chanhee wipes the grease off on the closest napkin and balls it up to throw at his face.
The thing is: Changmin knows he does, as most things concerning one Kim Younghoon, so he gives him a dubious look, and counters smoothly. "It's on his pinky, you know."
Chanhee regards him for a moment, falling silent. "His pinky," he then repeats, unnerved by a sudden feeling he can't place.
"Yup," Changmin says again, pretending to examine his nails. "I tried prying the bandage off yesterday and he practically ripped my head off."
"And—" Chanhee flounders, struggling to find the right words, like he isn't speaking to his other half. "You think this piece of information is of importance to me." When Changmin raises an eyebrow, he grits his teeth, whining "Changmin, don't do this to me. People get pinky tattoos all the time."
Changmin's gaze softens. "Younghoon-hyung isn't people . Not to you."
"That's exactly what he is," says Chanhee, his tone final. "He's just a guy."
"A 'guy'," he makes air quotes with both hands. "You have a crush on."
Chanhee sets his jaw, his heart leaping straight into his throat, eyes resolute. "I do not," he says. "Have a crush."
"Oho," Changmin says around his laughter. "In deep now, are we? How about..." He trails off, tilting his head in thought. "A guy you're hopelessly in love with?"
Chanhee splutters, and his next words are hushed, barely audible. "I don't know him well enough for that."
Changmin smiles triumphantly, pats Chanhee's hand, and says: "But you want to."
Chanhee groans, tempted to refute again — to deny, deny, deny — but instead covers his face with his hands, waiting for death to come.
****
The thing is, Chanhee’s crush on Younghoon is more than a crush, but he thinks that’s very much warranted.
While he and Younghoon first meet through Changmin, and Chanhee happens to mistake him for his best friend’s boyfriend for a few weeks, they very soon become just as close.
And that’s the problem, really.
Chanhee is used to keeping friends at a certain distance, with most being little more than acquaintances, while Younghoon clings to anybody and everybody like a starfish — demanding attention at all times. The problem is, Chanhee cannot ignore Younghoon like he usually does with people he’s introduced to by Changmin. Once he knows they’re not actually dating, he’s both literally and figuratively done for.
Younghoon is always intently listening to Chanhee’s nonsense, always turning his doe eyes on him, always holding his hands under the guise of ‘warmth’, always asking him on non-dates that could very well be considered actual dates in everything but name.
Younghoon is gay, and single, and always flirting with any guy who does as much as breathe in his direction.
Hell, Chanhee sometimes doubts Younghoon even treats he and Changmin any differently.
He’s just affectionate, is what Chanhee tells himself. Younghoon is merely a touchy person and he’s pining so hard he’s become delusional.
****
(It’s been two weeks, Jaehyun is teasing him more than usual, keeps throwing long meaningful looks at Chanhee’s own tattoo. He’s starting to think that maybe, just maybe, the bubbling of hope in his stomach is less delusion and more an actual possibility.
Chanhee has a plan.)
****
“Younghoon-hyung,” Chanhee says, the next day, when they’re alone in Younghoon’s apartment after their weekly café non-date. He takes a step towards him. “I think we need to talk.”
“Chanhee..” Younghoon says, cup of water halfway to his mouth, seemingly rooted to the spot.
Chanhee frowns. “Stop trying to avoid the situation.”
Silent, Younghoon sets the cup down.
Chanhee takes a deep breath, and then closer, lessening the distance between them. He can feel the heat radiating from him. His own skin prickling, sparks flaring in his chest.
The space between them slowly disappears, until they are barely a metre apart and Chanhee has to cant his neck up to maintain eye contact. Younghoon’s eyes are wide and unblinking, his mouth agape. He sounds a bit like he’s having trouble breathing.
“Show me,” says Chanhee, with such determination it almost sounds like a demand. Instead of waiting, he grabs Younghoon’s hand from his side, pulling it closer to his face. “Can I, hyung?” Chanhee breathes, looking into his eyes.
He nods, once, twice, three times. “Yeah. Okay,” he says, barely a murmur, and Chanhee has the fleeting thought that their faces have moved even closer, barely an inch apart. Chest to chest. Nose to nose. Close enough to kiss . He registers, in a daze, all the points of contact between them.
They’re close enough to kiss, could kiss and Chanhee realizes he very much wants to. Wants to feel the flutter of Younghoon’s eyelashes on his cheeks. Wants to know if he tastes like the cheesecake they shared. Wants to kiss him. Over and over. He wants to so vigorously he can barely breathe. Almost as much as he wants to see the mysterious tattoo adorning Younghoon’s little finger.
His hand reflexively tightens on Younghoon’s wrist.
Chanhee slowly peels the bandage off his pinky, careful not to snag any hair. He stares at Younghoon the entire time, and as he stares back, Chanhee’s heart in his throat.
“Oh,” leaves Chanhee’s chest as a whoosh , as he risks a look down once the bandage is completely off, between his thumb and index finger.
Right there, on Younghoon’s pinky, is close replica of the cross on Chanhee’s.
Mouth open in a silent gasp, Chanhee lets his thumb trace the tattoo, back and forth, back and forth . He wants to look back to Younghoon, to ask what does this mean , but is both transfixed and terrified of the answer he’ll get.
Chanhee risks a look, only to find Younghoon’s eyes forced shut. There’s a certain tension in his shoulders. Chanhee wants to relieve it at all costs.
“Hyung,” he says, firmly, confidently. “I really like you, you know.” He whispers it like a confession, dizzy with affection. Choi Chanhee is nothing but straight forward, and in that moment he wants to scream it from all the rooftops in Seoul.
Younghoon’s shoulders relax, but his eyes stay stubbornly closed.
“Hyung,” Chanhee repeats, his thumb brushing the tattoo, and then moving in slow circles. “ Younghoon , look at me.” He chews on his bottom lip, resolve slightly crumbling. “Please?”
A moment of silence. Younghoon’s eyes flutter open. Chanhee’s heart skips at least three beats.
Chanhee makes a tiny hiccup of surprise. Younghoon’s gaze is pinning him into place, as if the uncertainty never existed. He has the sudden urge to squirm.
“Hi,” says Younghoon, breatheless.
A nervous giggle escapes Chanhee. “I like your tattoo.”
Younghoon laughs. “Me too. I’ve never said, but — I like yours, too.”
“Well,” Chanhee says, a bit cheeky. “I think that’s kind of obvious, now. Just a little.”
Younghoon takes half a step back, and Chanhee’s heart thrums uneasily against his ribcage with the fear of an important moment passing. The page being flipped and glossed over, with only the memory of almost kissing Kim Younghoon.
In a bout of anxiety, Chanhee finds himself breaking eye contact, and then mindlessly studying Younghoon's hand instead, changing his grip to better examine it. He’s never really paid attention to people’s hands, before. But here, now , with the matching ink adorning this very one, Chanhee has the urge to scrutinize it — worship it.
Now or never , he thinks, and drops a kiss in the middle of Younghoon’s palm.
He lets out what Chanhee swears is a sigh, and his hand is still relaxed between his own, which only spurs him on.
Chanhee kisses two lone calluses, and then his wrist, and then each finger. With every slow, warm, measured press of lips, Younghoon’s breaths come faster, and Chanhee only wants more. As he’s face-to-face with the tattoo again, he wonders what kind of sound Younghoon would make if he were to scrape his teeth over the lines of it.
He traces it with his tongue, instead.
Younghoon hisses, his hand twitches in Chanhee’s hold.
Chanhee’s head snaps up, and he wants to downright whimper at the sight of him. At Younghoon staring down at him; mouth slightly parted, pupils unmistakably dilated. He might think Younghoon is almost always pretty, always handsome, but right now, in this very moment, he’s easily one of the most gorgeous things Chanhee has ever seen.
“Hyung,” he says, swallowing. “Kiss me.”
And, well, Younghoon does .
The first press of lips is a bit clumsy, just a bit off center, but then Younghoon digs his long fingers into Chanhee’s hair, tilts his head to slant their mouths together properly, to ease closer, and Chanhee keens . Chanhee drags his hands up Younghoon’s chest as he kisses back, trading peck for peck, until he can finally wrap his arms around his neck, running a thumb down the back of it. Kissing Younghoon, Chanhee thinks hazily, is more than his imagination could ever conjur.
As soon as they break apart, Chanhee leans in again, brushing against Younghoon’s upper lip before sucking it into his mouth. He takes note of Younghoon’s fluttering eyes before closing his own, fitting their mouths together again.
Younghoon makes a desperate noise, his other hand curving against Chanhee’s jaw to draw out their kisses, longer and warmer and more languid. His tongue slides against the seam of Chanhee’s lips, and Chanhee, unable to stifle a tiny gasp, doesn’t even hesitate to open up for him.
“Fuck,” Chanhee says against Younghoon’s lips, sometime later, fingers loosely strewn in sleek black hair.
Younghoon does taste like the cheesecake they shared. Somehow, though, Chanhee thinks the flavour is much better on Younghoon’s tongue.