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45 degrees. What the hell does it matter? Like I'm gonna' pay attention to sines and cosines or whatever when I'm performing. Stupid.
The one downside that came from leaving their horribly packed dorm is that Minho was now left with his own thoughts, his sneakers squeaking against the wooden parquet and the rookies in the practice room adjacent to his being loud and annoying as usual.
Living with seven other boys proved to be a daring task on some days. Especially on weekends, when suddenly everyone's energy spikes up to a hundred but Minho's stays at a manageable seventy.
When their shrill voices started overlapping each other in a monstrous cacophony while playing Smash Bros, Minho excused himself quietly and made his way to the one place he could let his energy go, without having to join in his friends' antics.
Sweat dribbled down the side of his nose when he furrowed his eyebrows at the reflection before him. His hair was long, too long, and it stuck itself on his forehead and on his ears and got in his eyes and Minho came close to cutting it off for good more than once. He would have done it by now, if Chan hadn't complimented it that one Saturday.
It was embarrassing, the way he remembered the moment too well.
He remembered how Hyunjin was watching The Lion King for the third time that week, sprawled across the couch, how Seungmin borrowed one of his shirts but Minho forgot to tell him there was a stain on the back, and most importantly the way Chan's eyes turned into half-moons as he smiled when Minho told him a pun he read online. Minho smiled back, enamored, barely catching Chan's next words as his thoughts swam in a current of pure sunshine.
"Your hair looks nice like that, Min."
The mere picture in his head made Minho's neck feel hot to the touch as blood rushed to his face. He eyed his flushed reflection in the mirror, thinking what a pathetic loser the guy staring back at him is.
If this was a shitty dramatic movie scene, he'd punch the glass in a fit and watch the cracks split his frustrated expression into pieces. Instead, he turned away and let his sore back slide down the surface of the mirror wall until he was sitting, knees pulled up to his chest.
He couldn't even look himself in the eye, let alone Chan.
His particular predicament was absurd. Minho thought crushing on a friend, no, one of his best friends, was a thing for dramas. No way something like that would happen to him. Surely. Or that's what he thought, up until he locked eyes with him. The Devil. Bang Chan.
Minho was nervous, trying to ignore the way his breaths were way too loud and how his heartbeat pulsated in his ears. The recording room was foreign to him. Completely and utterly out of his element, it was hard to concentrate on the task at hand. His eyes darted back and forth, searching for something, anything, that could take his attention away from the horrible sinking feeling in his stomach while the people outside the room got everything ready.
As fate, horrible fate, would have it, his eyes found Chan's. He entered the room, already looking like he owns the place, and his stern gaze immediately shifted to tiny Minho in the booth, scared and clutching the paper with his lines messily scribbled on it.
Minho would have turned his stare away and ignored his presence completely in a strange kind of fear if Chan hadn't flashed a toothy grin directly in Minho's direction. The way his cheeks pulled back and how his eyes disappeared into the smile was.. cute. Driven by an outside force, Minho smiled back, against all the adrenaline rushing through his veins.
That simple gesture from the boy dressed in all black managed to ease the tension in Minho's neck, and the headache creeping up his nape was suddenly gone. He didn't notice that his gaze never left Chan's figure at the back of the room until the curly boy mouthed a "you can do this".
Just like that, Minho could breathe.
He knew what he felt in that room the second he stepped out of it and his mind raced. Butterflies swarmed in his stomach and for the first time in a while, Minho felt excited. Giddy, even. This new sensation poured over every inch of his skin and he basked in it entirely, his chest warm and full. This had to be some sort of witchcraft, he thought.
Now, he was starting to believe that theory, since the feeling persisted for years now, only now it had gotten worse. He got to know Chan, he got to feel his innocent touches, he got to see him at his best and his worst, and he was falling deeper and deeper in love with each side of him every day.
Everything in his body screamed Let him know! Do something! and every time he forcibly shut those voices down. It was tiring. Chan gave no indication of feeling anything more than close friendship, even when he draped his toned arms around Minho's shoulders from behind and let his fingers rest on Minho's collarbones, his breath so warm. And Minho would let him, as much as his skin burned where Chan touched it.
The inferno Bang Chan brought upon Minho's life was unmatched, yet he suffered in the flames, willingly.
The dancer had to remind himself to blink, as he had been staring at the floor for way too long, stuck in his daily Bang Chan daze. He took a gulp of water from the bottle beside him, realizing how exhausted he was. Just as he was about to get up, the noises from the rookies from outside ceased abruptly. Minho tilted his head curiously when only silence remained, that is until the heavy door to the room loudly clicked open, revealing the figure clad in black.
Speak of the devil.
Chan looked good as he always did, even with his hair disheveled and dark circles apparent. Minho thought about how kissable he was when looking like that until survival mode kicked in.
He got up with newfound ease, refusing to let Chan see a hint of weakness in the way his shoulders twitched and his posture sank. Retrieving a towel from a nearby chair, he turned on his heels to face the leader, whose arms were holding a familiar cardboard box.
"Something up?" Minho's voice came out rough, like he hadn't spoken in days.
"The boys ordered pizza, I didn't want to let your pieces get cold." His tone was so soft and kind Minho wanted to wrap himself in it.
He wasn't particularly hungry, but the nervous buzz in his abdomen from being alone in a room with Chan could be mistaken for hunger, sure. "Yeah, thank you, hyung." Minho approached him timidly, legs still slightly wobbly from the intense practice session.
As he took the box out of Chan's hands, their hands lightly brushed together, but the sensation felt as if lightning struck down on him and Minho retracted them awkwardly. Chan didn't seem to notice. Not that he notices anything, ever.
When Minho opened the box and remembered he wasn't really hungry, his love-starved heart worked faster than his brain and he turned to Chan so fast his neck could have snapped. "Hyung, do you want to eat this with me?" He knew for a fact Chan didn't eat yet, he eats after everyone gets their share. Just when you think he can't get any more perfect.
Chan looked around, as if someone was there to tell him no. Minho watched as his dark hair swirled in the motion. "Sure, if you don't mind."
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
This is basically what Minho wanted: alone, with Chan in reach distance, his giggles and smiles and dimples only his.
Only his.
Mine. Mine. Mine.
And yet, why did he feel like his heart was about to give out? Sweat beaded on his forehead, for an entirely different reason now.
They sat cross legged opposite each other, a damn pizza box as the only barrier between them. That was a lie, the barriers were endless, but he could ignore them for a few minutes. A few blessed minutes, just to look at Chan's plump lips, to connect the moles on his neck with his eyes only (sadly).
They ate in silence and with every passing moment Minho could feel the atmosphere crush down on his bones. Say something, coward.
"So how's Smash Bros?" Minho asked, also known as Casanova, apparently.
"I wouldn't know, I got out of that mess as soon as you did, honestly. Jisung apparently won by how loud he was screaming." Chan nibbled on his pizza slice and his honey eyes analysed the practice room, but the corners of his mouth were turned upward into one of those squishy smiles Minho would give anything in the world to kiss.
Minho nodded, blowing air out his nose in a small laugh. He tried not to think about how Chan wasn't devouring his pizza slice and how he avoided Minho's gaze. He really tried.
They sat in silence once more, the air thick with tension and it made it hard to breathe.
"Hyung, are you okay? You look.. off." It wasn't like Minho and Chan didn't talk about personal things, it was an essential part of their team. They all needed to take care of each other, and Minho couldn't ignore the way Chan nervously played with the hem of his shirt, his own feelings aside.
"No, I'm fine, just.. tired, I guess. Do I look that bad?" Chan smiled weakly, hiding his face behind his hands. Minho smiled back.
Liar.
Usually, he would pry, ask, be annoying. He cares about Chan, more than the other members, they just don't know it. He's one of the few who can see the tumultuous waters in his pretty eyes, and today they were overflowing.
"You look great, as always." The fire in Minho's chest was burning through his ribcage and he realised that this wasn't a time for him to ask anything, not when his own feelings were chewing their way out slowly but surely. "I'm gonna do a few more songs and then I'll go, you don't have to stay, hyung."
Minho didn't want him to stay, but god damn he wanted him to stay.
Push and pull, all the time. Tsunamis going back and forth for days on end, that's what being in love with Bang Chan was like.
He got up before Chan had the chance to respond and carried the box with the leftovers to the trash. They barely ate anything.
"O-oh, okay. I'll see you at the dorm then." Chan's voice hid a hint of.. disappointment? It couldn't be. Minho brushed it off and looked at Chan's reflection in the mirror.
Don't go.
"Yeah."
Every organ in his body stung as he watched Chan get up and make his way towards the door. How many times has he let this happen? He lost count a long time ago. The voices started up again, swirling around in his ears like tiny ghosts beckoning him to do something, anything.
Deep breaths in, deep breaths out. He'd be fine. He's always fine.
Piercing eyes gazed back at him in the mirror, but they weren't the only pair staring back.
Dark amber ones at the back of the room, warm and inviting like they have always been. Minho was suddenly back in the recording booth, the feeling of butterfly wings tickling at his stomach.
"Hey, Min."
Minho was ready to risk it all even when Chan called his full name, but Min made his insides melt.
"Yeah?" Not paying too much attention to the mirror, instead letting the sound of Chan's voice saying his name loop on repeat in his mind, Minho barely registered what was happening until it hit him all at once.
Chan, taking steps towards him.
Chan, putting his calloused hands on Minho's shoulders.
Chan, turning him around.
Chan, pushing him back against the mirror.
Chan, his breath, so, so warm.
Minho's mind went blank, his vision a complete blur of lights and colors and him.
With blood rushing through his ears, he barely registered Chan's next sentence.
"Can I kiss you?"
Heat was in his head, heat was on his neck, heat was on his shoulders, heat was everywhere. Minho didn't think breathing was possible, he wasn't even sure if he took a breath yet.
His mind cleared up only so he could gasp out a barely audible "yes", only for it to go blank again when Chan closed the small distance between their mouths.
Chan's lips were sweet, too sweet, maybe because every sense in Minho's body was on maximum overdrive, or because he has waited for this moment for years, and now he couldn't get enough. The back of his head hit the wall awkwardly when Chan pushed forward, desperate to taste every inch of Minho's mouth as much as Minho wanted to taste Chan's. He felt teeth on his lower lip, resulting in a tiny gasp that only made the leader want more.
Minho grabbed the back of Chan's head, twirling his fingers into the locks of hair he dreamt about almost every night and pulled Chan in. The other hand slinked underneath Chan's loose shirt, up his chest, down his chiseled body.
They were so close, pelvises pressed together, no barriers.
Chan trailed kisses from Minho's mouth, to his jawline and down the side of his neck. The hot breath on Minho's skin and the pressure of Chan's light bites against his jugular made the room spin.
He still wasn't convinced this was real. This had to be a nightmare - a cruel trick from the universe where it would give him everything he wanted, and then take it back with her cold, clawed hands. But Chan was here, his warm body against Minho's, his lips on Minho's skin, and Minho couldn't help but smile. Chan's hands trailed under Minho's sweater, tracing his hips and abdomen.
Minho dared him to go lower, dared him to absolutely ruin him, to finish what he started, but Chan didn't go further. When Chan's lips found their way back to Minho's, they didn't kiss, and Minho stared down at Chan's wet, red mouth, some part of him still terrified of being this close.
"Look at me, Min." Minho didn't have a choice, since Chan's hand grabbed his chin and directed Minho's eyes towards his. Minho took all of him in: his light freckles, his dimples, his milky skin, and the dancer felt love, as strong as ever.
They looked at each other for a few moments, both horribly out of breath, gasping into each other's space. More connected than ever before.
"I wanted to do this for a long, long time." Chan almost whispered, moving a strand of hair from Minho's eyes. He isn't cutting it any time soon. "We just never had you know, time alone."
Minho wanted to scream at the top of his lungs, scream to the divines. Instead, he smiled, letting every emotion consume him for the first time in years. He hated Bang Chan, he loved Bang Chan.
"And you were sure this strategy would work?" He snickered, putting a hand on the side of Chan's face, lightly cupping his cheek. The fact he could touch him like this now made him feel faint.
"Obviously, I'm not blind." Chan retorted, another smile on his beautiful face. "I knew it the first time saw you, I've known ever since." His tone was again cotton-like, painfully sweet, and it was even worse when he got closer, letting their sore lips brush together.
Minho stared, stuck in another tsunami. He suffered for so long, and Chan knew? Were all those touches and remarks a way for him to pick and prod at Minho's feelings? He gulped, not wanting to let the daunting realization creep up into the forefront of his mind.
"I'm sorry." Chan suddenly spoke up, breaking Minho out of his confused state of mind. "I wanted to let you know, so many times, I just.. didn't know how. What we're feeling, it's dangerous."
The look in Chan's eyes made Minho's muscles tense up suddenly, his hand still cupping his cheek and his thumb lightly stroking the side of Chan's face. He didn't know where this was going, and he didn't want to let the moment slip away while he had it.
He knew what Chan meant, so he kept silent, dreading the feeling deep in his stomach.
"But I don't care anymore."
Minho's eyes sparkled, suddenly feeling reinvigorated.
"I want to kiss you, everything be damned." Chan flashed his grin, the same one from the recording room, and it looked even more brilliant up close.
Minho didn't know what to say, the rollercoaster of emotions leaving him absolutely disorientated. His only reaction was to press his forehead against Chan's, letting out a deep sigh of relief. Years and years of cruel torture, culminating in a make out session after eating pizza on the floor.
He giggled to himself, feeling Chan's heat on his own skin. "You're insane, Bang Chan." They both laughed, more out of nervousness than anything, but the thick atmosphere suddenly disappeared and was replaced by the sounds of their shallow breaths.
It was late, the rookies have gone home a while ago. And Bang Chan was his.
Relief washed over both of them like a gentle wave, tsunamis vanishing into sea foam.
Minho let himself go and leaned in to trap Chan in a kiss of his own, and the other boy smiled against his mouth. Minho could feel the shivers up his bones, electricity sending shocks down every nerve in his body.
"I love you." He mumbled through the kiss, drunk on serotonin. Chan immediately responded, pressing their chests together and angling his head to slow the kiss down, letting both of them enjoy the moment and the blooming feeling in both of their chests. "I love you too." He answered, voice barely above a whisper, and once again, Minho could breathe.
It was late, and Bang Chan was finally his.