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“If I could not say how full of love I am, I would drown.”
— Miguel Hernández, tr. by Robert Bly, from “Child of Light and Shadow,”
Minghao doesn’t dream much, and when he does they don’t really make much sense. Splashes of colour, aimless conversations, talking animals.
But there’s one that keeps coming up: Minghao walking ahead of Junhui on a sunny day. Slowly, Junhui catches up to him and pulls ahead of Minghao instead. Minghao tries to meet him but he can’t seem to get any further than where he is. When he looks down, he sees he’s on a treadmill, palm tree scenery rolling behind him.
Just before Junhui disappears over the horizon, he turns, shielding his eyes, and waves at Minghao.
Minghao doesn’t like to think about them.
Two years in Korea, and Minghao isn’t able to use the foreign card anymore. You speak Korean like a native, his manager says, like it’s supposed to be a compliment. All Minghao hears is his father’s voice, deep and halting, laughing, You’re losing your touch Xiao Bao. He increases his accent when he’s talking to his relatives on the phone, speaks so fast even Junhui raises an eyebrow. He shrugs and turns to the wall, doesn’t slow down. He feels like a laughing-stock with his own kin, and the unwitting pariah of his own members. No one slows down their conversations for him anymore.
Minghao can’t keep up.
Minghao wakes up suddenly, the dream he was having already fading from his memory. He remembers: a glass cage, a corn snake coiled at the bottom and— and—
He drags a hand down his face, groaning. Careful not to wake Junhui up, he swings his legs over the bed and pads out of the room barefoot, closing the door behind him softly. In the middle of a yawn, something catches his eye. Blue light slips through the cracks of the kitchen door. He steps through it and finds…
Soonyoung, a quarter of a watermelon, and a strange feeling lodged between Minghao’s lungs, making it impossible for them to expand.
“It isn’t what it looks like.” He says. A watermelon seed flies out of his mouth.
“You mean you’re not going behind everyone’s backs and breaking your diet? Really, hyung?” Minghao asks, folding his arms and leaning against the doorway with one shoulder.
Soonyoung gulps, the ghostly blue-white light of the fridge the only thing illuminating the both of them. He opens his mouth and closes it again. “No..?”
Minghao huffs and Soonyoung pouts.
“Where did you even find the time to buy a whole watermelon?” Minghao asks, taking a seat across Soonyoung.
“I was just out.” Soonyoung explains. Minghao looks closer and finds that, yes, Soonyoung is dressed to go out. There’s a leather jacket draped over the back of his chair and his eyes are lined carefully. Minghao squints, he has all his piercings in. If he dared to lean any closer, he’d find that Soonyoung smells of night in Seoul too, like wet asphalt, light cologne and neon.
“Hyung.” Minghao says, chiding.
“I was just shopping.” Soonyoung defends, throwing his hands up.
Minghao wants to argue that you don’t dress up like that to go just shopping but he doesn’t know how to say it without, well. Saying it.
So he lets the topic drop, lets Soonyoung slip through his fingers like a smug fish, escaping the grill. “What about the watermelon, then?”
“The fruit lady got me.” Soonyoung huffs. Minghao smiles, the scene is familiar. Soonyoung is surprisingly quick to fall for any old woman offering him things on the street. Junhui told him to be careful; that’s how you get turned into a frog. “She said: Pretty boys like you deserve the best.”
“And you believed her?”
“And I believed her.” Soonyoung repeats, punctuating it with a sad bite of his watermelon.
Here, is where Minghao should drop it. Wish Soonyoung a goodnight and try to go back to sleep. But he doesn’t— didn’t. Call it curiosity, fate— the lure of good food at one in the morning. Whatever it is, Minghao licks his lips, asks,
“So? Is it any good?”
Soonyoung lights up. “Best thing I’ve had in my life. Watermelons aren’t even in season and yet—” He kisses the tips of his fingers with a flourish.
Minghao watches as Soonyoung cuts up another slice of watermelon for him. Takes out the seeds by hand. “Here.”
Minghao takes a bite and the juice spreads on his tongue, sweet and full. He closes his eyes for a moment to savour it. It’s unsalted and yet the sweetness still comes through strong and clean. Somehow, Soonyoung has managed to accidentally acquire the ideal watermelon, unrivaled in its perfection. Nonpareil. It balances the water to fruit ratio perfectly, makes Minghao want to get on his knees and thank a God he doesn’t believe in anymore. If there is no divine creator; he remembers his mother saying to him. Then who are we to thank for such little miracles?
Fruit crafted by heavenly hands. Soonyoung smiling at him, backlit by the light of the fridge still left open.
“What’s your opinion on God?” Soonyoung asks when Minghao opens his eyes again.
“He loves me.” Minghao replies. He takes another bite, and another, until he hits the rind. Then he uses his bottom teeth to scrape that, too.
Soonyoung laughs triumphantly, slapping his hand down on the table. “My thoughts exactly.”
“Do you want more?”
Minghao raises an eyebrow like—do you even have to ask?
“Good, because I still have two quarters left in the fridge.” Soonyoung says, smiling, and Minghao has to struggle with the fact that Soonyoung has already eaten a whole quarter of a watermelon by himself while Soonyoung gets up and pulls out the remaining watermelon, and an extra plate for Minghao. When he sits down next. it’s beside Minghao, not across him.
Minghao watches Soonyoung’s hands as he works, stumbling to unwrap the nylon film with blunt nails. Then cuts the melon into triangles, seeding Minghao’s with the end of his knife and putting them off to the side until he has a glistening pile of seeds.
Minghao doesn’t bother telling him he doesn’t mind them, prefers it with the seeds even. It’s the thoughtfulness of the gesture that clogs his throat with gratefulness. Soonyoung catches him watching and grins up at him, eyes gleaming out from under his black bangs. That odd feeling doubles, expands, forces his heart right up against his ribcage.
He reaches for a slice of watermelon and bites to the rind in one go. Soonyoung laughs when he chokes, one hand on his back, coaxing him through it. Minghao reaches for another as soon as he gets the first one down but Soonyoung slaps his hand away and picks it up himself. Holds it to Minghao’s mouth.
“Take small bites— smaller!” Soonyoung instructs, watching Minghao carefully as he takes a bite out of the tip. “Savour it.”
Soonyoung brushes some of Minghao’s hair out of his eyes, smiling. “Slow down, Myungho. Who’s chasing you?”
When there’s weeks to a comeback, all there really is to do is practice. Practice, practice, practice, and when you’re not practicing, let guilt consume you whole.
Minghao stumbles into the dorm late at night, body aching. Collapses face down in the couch without even taking off his shoes. Someone throws a bottle of water at his head and Minghao accepts it gratefully, twisting it open and guzzling its contents.
He hears Junhui’s laugh, loud and obnoxious. “Are you dying? Blink twice for no.”
Minghao stares at Junhui, long and hard and Junhui laughs again.
He kneels in front of him, eyes shining. Their dorm building is dead center in one of the busiest districts in Seoul, because Pledis was too cheap to find them somewhere decent to live. It means that there’s always a light on, somewhere, somehow, and it slants in Junhui’s face now. Neon purple and green in stripes through the open blinds.
“Let’s play blackjack.” He says, pulling a deck of cards out of seemingly nowhere. Minghao doesn’t say no, he’s too high strung to fall asleep and he thinks Junhui knows, and it’s why he offered. He shuffles the cards slowly until Minghao takes them from him, impatient, and cuts the deck himself.
They play four unlucky rounds before Soonyoung comes prancing into the living room.
“What are you playing?” He asks. His hair is dripping, flat against his forehead, and he has a towel wrapped around his neck to catch the droplets. When he sits down, his knee brushes with Minghao’s, shoulders and elbows bumping. He smells clean and fresh, a little like coconut. Minghao turns away but doesn’t move, chewing on the inside of his cheek. He's weak like that.
“Blackjack.” Junhui answers for him. “Do you want us to deal you in?”
Soonyoung nods, water flying from his hair. “I don’t know how to play, though?”
“It’s okay,” Minghao says, starting to cut the deck again. He places his two cards face up. “We can teach you as you go.”
“The goal of the game is to have your cards add up to twenty-one. If you do, make sure to shout blackjack! Or it doesn’t count.” Junhui explains gleefully, until he picks up his cards and his face falls. “If you don’t have enough you can ask for another card, and if you go over you’re out.”
“You can stand if you’re uncertain.” Minghao adds. He picks up a card from the deck in the middle and frowns when he sees it’s an eight. “I’m standing.” He calls.
“How much is a Queen?” Soonyoung asks. He has his cards held right up to his face, obviously struggling to keep them hidden. Minghao stifles a smile and Junhui holds up ten fingers and drops his cards. “And an ace?”
“With a face card, it’s eleven. Otherwise it’s just one.”
“Oh,” Soonyoung says. Minghao can see the gears turning in his head as he does the math. The answer dawns on him the same time it does Minghao. “Blackjack.”
Junhui groans, even though he went bust two turns ago. “Beginner’s luck.”
Soonyoung laughs in glee. Minghao shuffles, reshuffles, and shuffles the deck again before he deals. As much as he likes Soonyoung— likes?— it’s embarrassing to lose to him so awfully when you were supposed to be the expert.
Unfortunately, Soonyoung wins the next ten rounds they play within four turns. It’s ridiculous— because he keeps stopping to ask Minghao basic math questions.
“Beginner’s luck.” Junhui grumbles again after his eighth loss.
“There’s only so much luck in the world, Jun.” Minghao counters, snickering as he collects the cards again. “And luck doesn’t explain why you’ve gone bust on every round you’ve played.”
Soonyoung smacks him on the back. “Don’t be upset! I’m a prodigy.”
Minghao laughs at Junhui’s scowl. The sting of embarrassment has long since left him. Like— leave it to Soonyoung to dominate at a game he’s never played before.
“You’re sapping the universe’s luck, the rest of us not blessed people just suffer. ” Junhui whines still. Minghao is inclined to agree. He walked under a ladder the day of his auditions and now he has a seven year contract with Pledis. “Greedy! Save some for the rest of us!”
Soonyoung laughs, still holding his cards. The neon lights of Seoul shine blue on his face, the plain curve of his neck. Minghao stares at him, thinks he would bless him too, if he had the power.
Minghao goes to bed that night, he sleeps, he dreams.
Here, it’s like this: Minghao is in an empty room, at a desk, he’s in the middle of taking an Arithmetics exam. He is sixteen. He has never taken Arithmetics before. He looks up at the clock anxiously, back down at his test, then up at the clocks again. Double take— hold on, there are two clocks on the wall now, going twice as fast.
Minghao blinks and another appears. Stunned, Minghao whips around in his chair and more clocks appear wherever he looks. Soon, the room is made of clocks, ceiling to floor, the hands a blur. Minghao cries out for help and a disembodied voice shushes him. He buries his head in his hands.
He can’t keep up.
The heat of the grill sears, causes sweat to gather in the dips of Minghao’s face like tide pools on a beach. He wipes his damp hairline with a napkin. Mingyu flips the meat way too early and the still pink underside staring up at him like a mockery. Seungcheol laughs at him and orders another round of shots. Soonyoung, already nursing a beer, tries to protest but Seungcheol simply pushes the glass towards him and smiles.
“You get introspective drunk. I want to see that today.” He says, grinning. Soonyoung frowns and chugs the rest of his beer. Seungcheol cheers him on.
“What is your wisdom for me today?” Minghao jokes when Soonyoung finishes, pinching his cheek as an excuse to touch him.
“Never let your parents talk to you about marriage.” He grumbles.
Minghao blinks. “Why?”
“My parents called me today, my sister-in-law is having another baby.” Soonyoung stares into his shot, frowning. He’s petulant about it, sulking like a child who got scolded for something they can’t help. “They want something I can’t give them. And they won’t give it up.”
“Grandkids?”
Soonyoung shakes his head. “My fulfillment. They know I’m gay it’s just— they think the road to my happiness is paved with picket fences and normalcy. They can’t believe that I could be happy like this, unmarried.”
“Are you happy?”
“Is anyone really?”
“So you don’t want to get married?” Minghao pushes, resting his chin on his hand and leaning forward to see Soonyoung better. A plate of meat gets passed their way and Soonyoung takes it and unloads it onto Minghao’s plate until Minghao tells him to stop before serving himself. It’s the little things like this, that has Minghao’s heart rocketing up his throat. Soonyoung’s just so charming, so easy to admire.
“I do. I just gave that up when I chose to become an idol— or rather than saying I gave it up, I postponed it?” Soonyoung finally stops eyeing his shot and knocks it back, wincing and pulling a face. Minghao, who drank his ages ago, asks around the table for another shot and takes it out of solidarity. Soonyoung smiles at Minghao, staring out of the side of his eye. “I really hate tequila.”
Minghao laughs.
“What about you? About the future— not tequila.” Soonyoung asks.
“It’s more or less the same, except i’m not so hopeful about it.” Soonyoung raises an eyebrow, gesturing for Minghao to continue. “Like I’ll never be out of the public eye, now. Even if my life turns out exactly how I want, there will always be parts of myself I’ll have to repress. Especially my sexuality.”
Soonyoung’s amused smile turns into a grimace. “I’m too sober for this conversation.” He says, standing. Minghao gets up too and follows him to the bar. Soonyoung orders two of the same drink, one with ice and one without.
The drinks arrive in cocktail glasses, the pink of it startling and vibrant. Soonyoung takes the iced one for himself.
Minghao frowns at it. “What is this?”
“Strawberry lemonade martini. Don’t knock until you try it.” Soonyoung replies, taking massive gulps of his own drink, visibly draining it with every go.
Minghao takes a tentative sip of his own and recoils. “It tastes like drinking a candy bar.”
“You’re just a wine snob.” Soonyoung says, laughing. “If you can’t finish it, I’ll take it don’t worry.”
Minghao waves him off, knowing Soonyoung will groan over a hangover in the morning if he lets him.
It takes half of Soonyoung’s drink to get him talking again, a slight slur in his voice and a bright flush spreading up his neck and cheeks.
“When I was a trainee, I was so scared that we wouldn’t, like, make it. Every time our debut got pushed back it was a nightmare. I didn’t know what I was gonna do if I’d done all this for nothing— I needed to be famous. Now I kinda wish I could take it back. Not too much—I love what I do— but I want to dress however, talk however… I can’t even hold hands with the person I like.” Soonyoung says, voice trailing off near the end. He turns his head into Minghao’s shoulder and holds on to his arm. “Sucks.”
Minghao stays silent and he reaches out with one hand and covers it with his own. “Sorry— talked too much.”
Minghao swallows. His heart picks up at the smell of Soonyoung, the warmth of him, fresh and clean like the city after a downpour. He stares at their hands with a burning intensity, then laces their fingers together.
Soonyoung smiles against Minghao, the fabric of his shirt moving around it. He looks up at Minghao, eyes and lips glossy. Minghao clears his throat and hopes Soonyoung doesn’t hear the tremble in his voice when he speaks, “No, it’s alright.”
Romance is a flower that needs to be taken care of, carefully, painstakingly, watered with affection until it flowers. Minghao’s feelings for Soonyoung, though, is a flower that sprouted, budded, and flowered all on its own and completely without Minghao’s permission. It interrupts with the way Minghao acts around Soonyoung, like the flower was seeded in his gut and bloomed in his throat.
“It’s important to rest up before a comeback.” Soonyoung says. He’s been arguing his point to an immovable Minghao for the past half hour, all while packing his suitcase.
Minghao leans against the doorway, arms crossed, stone-cold. “I just don’t see why you have to leave to do it.”
“How am I supposed to rest when I’m surrounded by work?” Soonyoung shoots back, draping a tacky t-shirt over his arm. Minghao almost walks away from his perch by the door to replace it himself but he remembers his resolve and the movement ends up as just a weird twitch of his upper body. Soonyoung looks at him weird, one eyebrow cocked. Minghao scoffs and looks at the floor.
“Just close your eyes.”
Soonyoung rolls them. “You’re like a child.”
“I’m not.” He says petulantly. Soonyoung turns his back to him and Minghao flounders, grabbing for pieces in his smashed argument. Regularly, he’d be mortified to see himself acting so desperate about Soonyoung— or anything, really. And he probably will be, later. But now, he can’t find it himself to be embarrassed. “It’s gonna be hard without you.”
“I know. I’m sorry, I’ll be back soon.” Soonyoung apologizes. Moves to walk past Minghao in the door. He places his hand on Minghao’s shoulder meaningfully as he passes, looking him in the eye. “Wait for me?”
Minghao pushes his hand off his shoulder roughly, pauses, then reaches out and grabs Soonyoung’s other wrist. Soonyoung looks down and back up at Minghao slowly.
“Stop being clingy.” He says, smiling.
“I’ll be as clingy as I want.” Minghao replies, jutting out his chin. He pulls on Soonyoung’s arm, lightly, and Soonyoung stumbles back into his chest easily. Willingly.
“You should go visit your family.” Soonyoung says, absent minded, running a hand up and down Minghao’s arm that has trapped against his chest. He winces when Minghao laughs, gruffly in his ear.
“Don’t say anything— I mean. Shit.” He stumbles. Minghao just laughs harder.
“I’d like to see my family too.” He laughs, then decides hell, who’s it gonna hurt. and leans down, says right against Soonyoung’s ear. “I’d like you to see my family, too.”
“Likewise.”
A comfortable silence passes between them, Minghao with his hand flat on Soonyoung’s chest, counting the space between his breaths, the expanding and contracting of his ribcage. Soonyoung turns his head so his lips brush the shell of Minghao’s ear, opens his mouth to say something. The sound of a door slamming somewhere in the dorm sends them flying apart, Soonyoung blushing guiltily and Minghao unable to take his eyes off the way it darkens.
He’s about to lean in, do something stupid, when Junhui bursts in on them with Minghao’s hand still outstretched. Junhui cuts in front of Minghao, blocking off his sight of Soonyoung. Minghao lets his arm fall and Junhui attacks Soonyoung with a barrage of questions: Are you really leaving? For how long? When will you be back? Will you miss me? I’ll miss you more. Please don’t go. And other things Minghao was too proud to say.
Soonyoung makes eye contact with Minghao over Junhui’s wild form and shrugs, an apology in his eye.
The night after Soonyoung leaves, Minghao has his first nice dream in a while.
He’s at a carnival, the whole place echoing with conversation and the screeches of delight and fear, yet it’s empty save for him. And Soonyoung, apparently, eating cotton candy. And holding his hand.
“Let’s ride the ferris wheel first.” Minghao hears himself say. He never really speaks in his dreams.
“You want something to drink?”
Minghao nods and Soonyoung smiles a little. He leans up and pecks Minghao on the corner of his mouth. Here, is where Minghao’s brain shuts down and he waits to wake up alone in his bed again. Yet somehow, his body knows how to respond. He holds onto Soonyoung by the small of his waist and turns his head to deepen the kiss. Soonyoung giggles into it, looping one arm around the back of Minghao’s neck, and using the other to hold his cotton candy far away from their bodies. He tastes like it, too, and pink lemonade.
Soonyoung breaks away first, leaving Minghao chasing after him. He laughs and knocks their foreheads together. “I’m getting you a drink now.”
“Okay,” Minghao says, voice small. He kisses Soonyoung again, close mouthed and sighs against his lips. It’s easy, like this, to miss something he doesn’t have. “Minghao.”
He wakes up with his face mashed against his pillow, and a craving for something sweet.
“We need to go grocery shopping.” Soonyoung says, staring despondently into the fridge. Ever since the watermelon incident, he’s been increasingly finicky and over demanding about what he eats, especially if it’s fruit.
Minghao frowns, but turns his phone off and slides it into his pocket. Secretly, he’s pleased to finally have an excuse to leave the dorm. Even more pleased that it’s Soonyoung that’s offering. “We?”
Soonyoung nods. “We are out of milk and apples.. And bread.”
“We can’t drive.”
Soonyoung shuts the fridge and rests his back against it, stares Minghao down until he looks away. “We know public transport exists, and we are grateful for it.”
Minghao knows when he’s taken his teasing too far with Soonyoung, and although he does feel a little guilty, he still smiles at him. “Thank God, right?”
Later, Soonyoung loads all his bright blond hair into a beanie and takes out his piercings, dresses down to reduce the likelihood of getting recognized. He takes one look at Minghao and scowls.
“I feel stupid now.” He complains, tugging his beanie down over his head once they’re outside.
Minghao laughs. He watches Soonyoung suffer in silence with his beanie, using his phone camera to help him see, before he intercepts. “Leave your bangs out, at least.”
He pulls them out for Soonyoung, hands gentle, and a split second passes with Minghao’s hands still on Soonyoung’s face and Soonyoung staring up at him, bemused.
He coughs and breaks apart. “They hide your gigantic forehead.”
Soonyoung splutters. Without his hair to hide it, Minghao clearly sees his ears go bright red.
“Sorry,” He says, shoving his traitorous hands in his pockets. “Your forehead isn’t that big.”
Soonyoung shoots him a look to freeze hell, but he’s pouting heavily and has his hands over the top of his head in an attempt to hide, so the look only sends Minghao into choked laughter.
“I’m sorry.” He says again, less remorseful because Soonyoung’s smiling again, shy. “You have a regular sized forehead.”
Soonyoung nods once, huffing proudly, then turns away from Minghao, a teasing smile pulling at his mouth. “Wish I could say the same about your nose.”
Minghao rolls his eyes. “You’re blocking sidewalk traffic.”
Soonyoung shuffles closer to the curb, embarrassed, glaring at Minghao the whole time. For all his cutting looks, he still lets Minghao curl an arm around him protectively and pull him to his side.
He watches, half amused, as Soonyoung tries and fails to hail a taxi. They all drive past him like he’s invisible, despite his energetic flailing.
“You’re too eager.” Minghao says at last, gently pushing him off to the side. “Watch and learn.”
He makes eye contact with the next available taxi that comes speeding down the street and sticks his arm out. Immediately, the driver pulls over for him.
Minghao opens the door for Soonyoung, winking at him as he ducks into the car.
Minghao is on a diving board. One of the intensely high kinds you see in cartoons, that reach up over the cloud.
Minghao peers over the edge and gulps. Behind him he hears someone climb up after him. Minghao turns around to face Junhui, grinning at him. Junhui bounces up and down impatiently and shakes the board.
“What are you waiting for?” His voice is cold and empty. He’s wearing one of the outfits from their last promotion. “Jump!”
Minghao turns, swallows, jumps.
(In the air, Minghao opens his eyes . The pool is star shaped.)
Junhui shakes him awake.
“Are you okay? You were screaming.”
Minghao shrugs him off roughly. “Don’t you know to wake people up when they’re dreaming?”
Junhui bites his lip. He looks scarily young like this, wide eyed with worry and kneeling by Minghao’s bed. So far away from the stony faced monster that had taunted Minghao in his dream. “You were saying my name.”
Minghao has never been so mortified in his life. He turns to face the wall. Junhui stands but doesn’t leave, sits on the edge of Minghao’s bed.
“Do you— do you dream of me often?” He asks, voice small.
Minghao swallows, his eyes burning with—angry?— tears. Junhui runs his hand up and down Minghao’s side, slowly up each divot in his ribcage, counting. It’s soothing and not at the same time. Minghao opens his mouth to tell Junhui to go away but all that leaves his mouth is a choked sob. Junhui shushes him, wiping Minghao’s eyes for him.
“Everything’s so fast.” Minghao gasps pathetically. Junhui pauses his stroking, slides into the bed behind Minghao, warm. Minghao inhales sharply, then slowly rolls over and buries himself in Junhui’s chest. They’re the same height now, but Minghao purposely makes himself smaller so Junhui can tuck his chin over his head. His hands screw into Junhui’s shirt, and his tears wet the front but Junhui doesn’t say anything. He whispers, “I can’t keep up.”
“You don’t have to,” Junhui says, rubbing circles into his back. “You can slow down, Minghao, you don’t have to try so hard.”
Soonyoung brings Minghao water and slides down beside him. “How are you?”
“That’s a weighted question.” Minghao says through a weak laugh. He accepts the water and takes heaving gulps of it. He watches Soonyoung out of the side of his eye, watches a bead of sweat roll down his nose and trickle down the sweet curve of his lips and, silently, wishes it were him. It’s a visceral ache, like hunger. Like thirst.
Soonyoung wipes his face with the neck of his shirt.
“Okay, well. You’re not dying, right?” He asks.
“Unfortunately.”
Soonyoung chokes on a laugh. “You’re so negative after practice, Myungho. Lighten up.”
Inwardly, Minghao’s heart sings at the sound of his name from Soonyoung, the candied curl of it on his tongue. He latches onto the feeling, the instant gratification, and revels in it.
“Yeah?” He says, turning on his side. After realizing them, he thought his feelings would be easier to reign in, now that he’s so aware. But all it’s done is make him acutely aware of what he wants. Chasing that fulfillment like a dog with a bone. “It’s because you’re so hard on us, hyung. You’ve destroyed my hopes.”
“Myungho.” Soonyoung whines. “I’m not.”
“How would you know, though?” Minghao pushes. He wraps an arm around Soonyoung’s middle, grinning when Soonyoung doesn’t push him away. Soonyoung turns to face Minghao instead, so close Minghao hesitates for a moment.
He’s gotten greedy with Soonyoung in a way that scares him, just a little. Wants his eyes, hands, on him at all times. Soonyoung’s attention is intoxicating and Minghao wants more of it. There’s no way he doesn’t know.
“Yes, I would. I’m not mean.” He says, voice small.
“I never said you were mean, you’re just a hard-ass. I mean— you’re hard on us.” Minghao says, smiling. He curls his fingers into the back of Soonyoung’s shirt but doesn’t drag him closer like he really wants to. “I appreciate it, really, I do.”
“I just want you to be your best.”
“I know, hyung.”
“I’m not trying to be— I.” Soonyoung struggles. Minghao brushes some hair from his face. “I’m proud of you, you know.”
“I do.”
Soonyoung bounds up to Minghao after a particularly vigorous run through of their newest song.
“Hi,” He says, practically vibrating as he waits for Minghao to finish drinking. Minghao caps the bottle and turns to him and Soonyoung’s eyes snap up to his. “Hi.” He says again, a little strained.
“Nervous?” Minghao asks, smiling.
Soonyoung grimaces. “You can tell?”
His hair, which had been dyed inky black in between comebacks to keep it healthy, is now bright red and makes looking at Soonyoung harder than it really ought to be. Minghao caught sight of his nails when he ran his hand through his hair, bitten to a quick.
“Only a little.” Minghao acquiesces. “You look fine, and you did well on stage.”
Soonyoung grins. “Yeah? Stage rehearsals always make me like this.”
“But actual performances don’t..?” Minghao asks. Soonyoung nods and he snorts. “You’re so weird.”
“I’m not— really. Don’t look at me like that.”
Minghao smiles, leaning closer to press Soonyoung in on instinct. “I mean it. It’s like— so empty.”
Minghao thinks on it, thinks about teasing Soonyoung further, but he sees his point. It’s how whenever they perform, there’s always noise. In the practice room: the collective stamp of their feet; the squeak of sneakers on wood; cries of pain, frustration and pent up energy, and on stage it’s the deafening roars of their fans, a constant feedback loop.
It’s how Minghao sometimes feels like he’d never tasted self worth until he heard his name shouted from the stands, nestled in between twelve others like a blanket. Like a promise.
An empty stadium is a cheap mockery. The auditorium swallows any noise they try to make, and spits it right back at them, echoed and dimmed. A shirt washed too many times. The colours run.
“I understand.”
“You do?”
“Yeah, totally. It’s unnatural, somehow.”
Soonyoung beams up at him gratefully, eyes curving. Minghao fights the urge to smooth the skin underneath his eye with his thumb. “Exactly. Thanks, Myungho.”
“There’s a little hope in too, right? Like— soon all those seats will be filled. And we’ll get to do it all over again.” Soonyoung declares. Minghao smiles. That’s the beauty in him: there’s always something good in everything.
A moment passes with Minghao staring Soonyoung down for longer than socially acceptable and he squirms nervously, coughing.
Minghao blinks and backs off a bit, clearing his throat awkwardly too. He avoids Soonyoung’s eye, instead stares up at the stage. The big, bright thing, surrounded by white on all sides. Minghao can see the outline of some of his members still going through the point choreo, and the others lazing around with bottles of water, sweaty, exhausted and drained. Heads thrown back in laughter.
“You still seem nervous, though.” Minghao says, trying at a tease. It falls flat and Minghao cuts his eyes to Soonyoung, anxiously trying to parse his reaction. Soonyoung takes a swig out of his water bottle.
“It’s not just the auditorium that makes me antsy.” He confesses.
“What else?”
Soonyoung looks away, one hand itching at the skin on his wrist. “Who.” He corrects.
Minghao steps closer to him, worry tumbling in his chest and probably also playing on his embarrassingly open face. Had a manager been too cutting with their words? Or a member? It’s not good to be too anxious before a comeback, it could affect the entire group’s mood. Minghao could say he’s looking out for Seventeen as a whole, if it came down it. But he’s not sure he’d be able to lie like that. Not to Soonyoung
“Who, then.”
“Uhm— you. Sort of.”
Minghao reels. Suddenly, anxieties he hadn’t given though to hit him full force. That he was too blatant about his feelings for him, unfurled and as vulnerable as a new bloom, and that they’d made him uncomfortable— scared him off. That he was too scared, too kind, to tell Minghao to back off. And what did he mean by sort of? Was he still trying to pull his punches? Minghao bites his lip, that’s Soonyoung for you— always too fucking hesitant.
Soonyoung catches his eye and winces. “Myungho?”
“I’m sorry. I’ll back off if you want.”
“What?”
“I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable, really.” Minghao surges on, rambling.
“What?” Soonyoung parrots, before realization dawns on him. His eyes widen. “No— no. Not like that. You— god, I don’t mind it, really. It’s uhm— kind of flattering actually.”
So he did know. For some reason, Minghao isn’t as embarrassed or as terror-stricken as he thought he’d be. Of course, he’s a romantic, he’s played this moment over and over again in his head. The confession. Soonyoung’s admission Actually, Minghao (Soonyoung always calls him Minghao in his dreams)I’ve liked you for quite some time as well. . Maybe even a kiss shared underneath the setting sun, the evening stars just blinking into sight. On a picnic blanket. By the sea.
But this is good too: the both of them with their sweat just drying from practice; Minghao’s hair held back by several colourful clips he borrowed from his sister; Soonyoung turning just as red as his hair.
“How do I make you nervous, then?” Minghao asks, smiling.
“It’s embarrassing.”
“I don’t mind.” Minghao says cheekily. Soonyoung shoots him a weak glare. But Minghao grins at him and the look melts off his face, molds itself into something tender.
“Close your eyes.” Soonyoung orders. No sooner than Minghao has closed them, he feels Soonyoung’s lips press against his cheek fleetingly. Minghao blinks his eyes open and sees Soonyoung burning up, picking at the skin under his nails as he waits for Minghao’s reaction.
Yeah, Minghao thinks, leaning in. This is good too.
Minghao dreams, and when he does, he’s in a room full of clocks. They’re all going too fast for him. He’s writing an Arithmetics test. He’s never taken Arithmetics in his life.
In this dream, a door opens. Soonyoung peers into the room, smiles like a thousand watt bulb at the sight of Minghao. He saunters into the room and all the clocks stop.
He walks over to Minghao and peers down at his test, biting his lip and stroking his chin like he’s thinking really hard, then asks Minghao what the cube root of sixty-four is.
Minghao says he doesn’t know. Soonyoung takes his pencil and writes down sixty-four divided by three. Minghao laughs.
It’s a nice dream.