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Yeonjun has always considered himself a purveyor of good taste. He takes pride in his fashion sense, carefully curated over years of observing how all the big players in the industry dressed and that one mandatory visual arts class he’d had to take in his second year of highschool. Sure, his choices may be limited by his budget, but Yeonjun knows how to do a lot with a little — a skill that manifests itself in his cooking, too, if his infamous three-ingredient pasta dishes could speak for themselves.
The issue he’s struggling with at the moment, however, isn’t rooted in his taste but rather a lack thereof. Who in their right mind, Yeonjun wonders as he viciously clicks through yet another online shopping site to no avail, would spend so much time and effort just to secure a birthday present for someone who probably wouldn’t even use it.
Choi Yeonjun, that’s who.
And he can’t even complain because— because, well, it’s for Soobin and anything, everything is worth it if it’s for Soobin.
And there lies the problem, doesn’t it?
Because a larger, more pressing issue he’s struggling with at the moment — no, not just the moment. It’s been a while, after all — is that Choi Yeonjun might have a teeny, tiny, (monumental, all-consuming) crush on Choi Soobin.
Crush feels like a silly, juvenile word, making him think of milkshakes with two straws or young teens giddily exchanging notes at the back of a classroom. But he doesn’t know how else to explain the flavor or enormity of what he feels every time Soobin falls asleep on their living room sofa or brings him a towel when he’s been practicing late at the studio or, God forbid, walks around their dorm shirtless after showering because “it’s too hot for clothes, hyung”.
Yeonjun finally finds something with potential — a dark denim jacket with a fleece collar. It’s expensive, but there isn’t really anything else he’s seen tonight that could do Soobin justice. Soobin’s clothes all had the annoying tendency of paling in comparison to their wearer, making it extremely difficult to shop for him.
He sighs, shedding an imaginary tear for his wallet as he clicks the winking orange Buy Now.
It would be nice if he’d actually wear it this time, though.
“Hyung, you still awake?” Yeonjun nearly drops his phone on his face with a squeak as the object of his affections (the bane of his existence) pokes his head over the side of their shared bunk bed.
“Yeah, uh, can’t sleep. Didn’t take enough Ibuprofen after practice, you know how it is.” he lies.
“Your legs hurt?” Soobin says, concern palpable in his tone. His voice is rough, dripping fatigue, and Yeonjun feels bad, more than anything.
“Nah, it’s nothing. Don’t worry about it, Soobin-ah.” he hasn’t so much as finished speaking when the mattress above him creaks as Soobin swings his legs over the side, jumping down.
“Move over, hyung. I’ll massage them for you.”
“No, fuck, it’s fine, I’ll be fine, you don’t have to.” Yeonjun rambles guiltily, trying to sit up and narrowly avoiding hitting his head on the top bunk. Any other time, he’d jump at the opportunity to have Soobin’s hands on him but it’s literally ass o’ clock in the morning and they have vocal training at nine.
Soobin squints at him in the dark room, eyes puffy with sleep. He’s so cute, even like this, and Yeonjun knows he’d meant it when he’d offered to massage his legs. Soobin was just great like that.
“Well, okay, if you’re sure.” Soobin rubs at his face, stifling a yawn. “Move over anyway, ‘m too tired to climb up again.”
Yeonjun opens and closes his mouth but honestly? He isn’t in a position to argue. This is hardly the first time they’ve shared a bed, though it’s the first since Yeonjun had come to terms with his crush, infatuation, whatever. It’s just. Yeonjun puts so much into this thing between him and Soobin, both onscreen and off, just to convincingly sell the fanservice angle. Because there’s no way anyone who had actual feelings for someone else would spend all their time draped over them, making kissy faces and playing with their ears, right? It was all for show, it was just pretend.
(except it wasn’t)
But Soobin doesn’t know that. And he never would, if Yeonjun had his way.
In any case, refusing to move would only do more to hurt this carefully crafted perception than help it. So Yeonjun shuffles over awkwardly, against his better judgement. The mattress dips beneath Soobin’s weight as he slides in next to Yeonjun — It’s a tight fit, especially ever since Soobin had grown another inch since debut, the brat. Yeonjun distantly remembers a time when he’d been the tallest member out of the lineup. Good days. Life was so much simpler back then. No confusing emotions, no friends (well, one friend) for whom he felt the need to buy expensive gifts, because always being on the receiving end of their affection made his heart ache. Then Soobin swings an arm over his waist and Yeonjun stops thinking altogether.
“What did I do to deserve this?” he finds himself whispering involuntarily.
“Mm?” Soobin mumbles into his back. Yeonjun stills, quiet, hoping Soobin will go to sleep and end his suffering. But since Yeonjun’s life can never be easy, Soobin just presses in even closer, tucking his chin in the crook of Yeonjun’s neck. “What was that, hyung?” he says, breath tickling Yeonjun’s ear. God.
“I said, what did I do to deserve this?” Yeonjun repeats louder, with feeling. Hey, contextually, it still worked. Soobin just giggles into his hair.
“Stop complainin’. You get to spoon with your favorite dongsaeng.” Oh, you have no idea, buddy! Yeonjun wants to scream.
“Heyyy hyung, did you, um,” exhaustion is making Soobin slur his words and Yeonjun has to strain his ears to listen. “...change your shampoo? Smells nice.”
Yeonjun squeezes his eyes shut and prays for sleep, or death. Whichever comes first, really.
“Like… avocados.” Soobin says finally before lapsing into soft snores.
“Avocados, really?” Huening Kai pulls a face over breakfast. “Thought you didn’t like ‘em, hyung.”
Soobin briefly looks up from where he’s enthusiastically slathering bright green spread onto his toast. “I know, right?” he says through a mouthful. His gaze flicks to Yeonjun, almost deliberate. “I seem to have developed a taste for them.”
Yeonjun yelps when he spills his coffee everywhere.