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Hyunsuk is just barely passing calculus, and he can fully admit to the reason why.
It doesn’t help that he’s hit a dead end on their current worksheet, empty spaces between smudged print glaring back at him as he taps the corner of his desk in nervous habit, biting down on his lip harshly as an added bonus. Jihoon’s somewhere over his shoulder, nestled quietly in the back row of class, humming a distinctly identifiable tune around the chatter of students. Yoshi’s up at the board, wordlessly answering a question that Hyunsuk certainly doesn’t understand, but he can’t bring himself to watch Yoshi’s explanation.
He’s got something else far more interesting to hold his gaze.
Hyunsuk swears that in this moment, Mashiho is the prettiest that Hyunsuk has ever seen him, twirling a comically large highlighter between the indents of his knuckles and palm. Judging from what Hyunsuk can guess out of the corner of his eye, Mashiho seems to be halfway done with his work, his dark purple hoodie contrasting the fuzzy sun-glow from the high windows. Their classroom takes on a certain haze in the late afternoon, but Hyunsuk can clearly see every shimmer of glitter that Mashiho has brushed on the delicate arch of his cheekbone.
Mashiho’s got gentle pink eyeshadow adorning his features today, complete with the dust of golden glitter, and Hyunsuk wants to fall straight into the classroom tiles.
He can’t help but be a bit dramatic.
“Idiot, could you be anymore obvious.”
It’s a hiss from the corner of his ear, and Hyunsuk tears his gaze from where Mashiho’s tapping the eraser of his pencil against the plush of his lips. He instead eyes Jihoon with a frown, and awkwardly goes to rub the back of his head, an excuse already on the tip of his tongue.
Jihoon doesn’t let him finish. “This assignment is due in ten minutes dude, and even I’m lost, so I literally cannot give you answers this time.”
Hyunsuk startles, and goes to comically widen his eyes, pen jutting out in Jihoon’s direction.
“You owe me this assignment, I wrote your paper last week!”
“And I thank you endlessly for that, but I can’t help you with this one-“ Jihoon yawns widely behind his hand. “-man, I can’t even help myself right now, I’m beyond exhausted.”
As Hyunsuk is about to respond, half-sympathetic but half-indignant, the loud clatter of someone's forgotten pencilcase silences the class, and their teacher peers threateningly over her wide-rimmed glasses. Hyunsuk winces.
Lowering his eyes, Hyunsuk turns to face the front of the class again, and slumps further into his chair, mildly defeated and mostly exhausted. Yoshi’s returned from detailing out the last problem on the board, but Hyunsuk’s brain is as empty as the sheet in front of him, and Yoshi might as well have written in a foreign language.
His eyes stray from the chalkboard, up to the ticking clock.
Ten minutes.
That’s all he’s got until the end of the day, and Hyunsuk is no further along in his assignment, so he sneaks another glance Mashiho’s way, and startles to find his eyes met with a piercing gaze from the opposite side of the room.
Mashiho’s got a curious glint to his eyes, looking straight back at Hyunsuk, his lips still toying with the pink of the eraser tip, and Hyunsuk flushes all the way to his collarbone. He wants to drop his gaze immediately to the ground, where his feet are kicking the metal of his desk lightly, but Mashiho’s impossible to look away from, and Hyunsuk tentatively holds his gaze—he wants to draw the moment out for as long as he can, because everything about Mashiho’s delicate features are equally as endearing as they are captivating.
He blinks rapidly, still unable to pull his eyes away, unable to do anything else but note the slope of Mashiho’s penciled eyebrow, the rosy hue of his cheeks, and way his eyes crinkle when he smiles his sparkling, pretty smile—
Mashiho winks.
Mashiho holds steady with Hyunsuk, tilts his head to the side as he crosses his ankles underneath where he’s seated, and properly winks at Hyunsuk, rendering him speechless.
Hyunuk’s not sure he’s going to survive the last ten minutes of class without choking on nothing but air.
(He manages, if only just barely.)
♡
Jihoon’s on his third outlet store, seven shopping bags in, and Hyunsuk’s quite literally toppling under the weight of all the packaged tuxedos piled high on his forearm. He’s got one good hand, two aching legs, and three concrete facts to mull over.
1. Jihoon’s on the Spring Dance Planning Committee—mainly because he’s the only one other than Yoshi with a shred of artistic talent. He’s been a whirlwind of ribbon and art supplies for the past month, and Hyunsuk doesn’t hear the end of it. Notable moments including ‘you just don’t get it, the cardboard leaves have to be positioned horizontal, not vertical’ and ‘do you think we have the budget to bring in a small garden? do we need a small garden?’. Their school did in fact, not have the budget for anything Jihoon fantasized for, but the designs were still coming along nicely.
2. The Spring Dance was in a month. Jihoon kept tight-lipped about his own plans, and Yoshi was naturally going with Mahiro, which left Hyunsuk the odd one out. He didn’t need a date, and certainly felt no pressure to secure one, but he’d be lying if he didn’t want to slow dance at the end of the night with someone other than a tipsy friend.
3. That’s where his thoughts circle to Mashiho. After close to eight months of pining after him, Hyunsuk isn’t willing to lie to himself. He wants every cliche—the matching tuxedos and flowers on wrists, Mashiho’s tousled hair and laid back grin, them both dancing and swaying comfortably from where the music hums a soft, slow song for couples and friends alike.
It’s these three things that bring Hyunsuk to the mall on a lazy Tuesday, absently moving from cardigans to vests to a full tuxedo, and Hyunsuk has never felt more out of his depth and right at home. The feeble pale light of their neighborhood strip-mall is both a comfortable childhood nightmare and a young adult dream, and Hyunsuk keeps close to Yoshi as they search for anything edible within sight.
Jihoon stops short at their usual vendor, and eyes the menu carefully, lips pursed. All three settle on the array of pretzel bites, some charred and some undercooked, and Yoshi gives a comical squeak just to the left of Jihoon.
“I really don’t think these are up to health code standards.”
The humming of distant mall lights fade into white noise as Yoshi’s voice drops to a whisper, just to the corner of Hyunsuk’s ear, and they all watch the oil fryer spit out more, half cooked dough bites. They’re barely pretzels, but they’re also half edible, and Hyunsuk’s growling stomach makes his decision for him.
Hyunsuk’s voice drops equally low. “If I pay, will you both share with me?”
“You want me to eat those?”
Jihoon looks a bit horrified, but Hyunsuk knows he’s going to give in; they’ve been eating at this mall for close to a decade now, with no major resulting health issues. Probably.
“We either eat now, or we starve until dinner.”
Jihoon grumbles something that sounds like a ‘well if it’s your credit card’ but Hyunsuk chooses to ignore him, and minutes later they’re strolling to one last outlet store—stomachs churning slightly, but paying no mind to the quality of food for the sake of hunger.
Their last stop is a quiet makeup store, full of off-brands and no particular organization, and Hyunsuk lazily drags his fingers across the smooth finishes of several palettes; he doesn’t wear makeup, if ever, but Yoshi’s got more lip colors than Hyunsuk’s got clothes in his rather large wardrobe, so the makeup store is a regular stop. Jihoon himself is delicately tracing the side of a highlighter set—Jihoon’s already got seven highlighter sets, what’s he doing looking at another one?—but before Hyunsuk can think to ask Jihoon what he’d do with a shade that doesn’t match his skin tone, his eyes catch a familiar brand, and he immediately stills, hand slowly outstretching to grab the last product on the stand.
It’s lovely. An eyeshadow palette with deep hues of purple and accented shimmer, complete with dull blue powder contrasts and a few selected shades of a gentle lilac and orchid.
One color stands out in particular: a deep plum shade.
He can picture it far too clearly; Mashiho in his favorite purple hoodie, the accented eyeshadow along the creases of his eyes, silver eyeliner to complete the look. Hyunsuk bites his lip in slight embarrassment, but glances at the price tag briefly and decides that no matter what, it’s worth buying.
(Now if he could just figure out how to casually pass it off as a gift without raising questions.)
Just as he slips the palette in a small basket, next to a pomegranate face wash, Yoshi claps his shoulder from behind, and Hyunsuk nearly jumps out of his skin.
“What’s that? You’re finally buying yourself a few shades?”
Yoshi curiously glances at the range of color, and gives a soft oooh.
“Ah, not exactly.” Hyunsuk doesn’t give anything further, and Yoshi whines.
“Come on, if you’re not starting your collection with purple, is it for Jihoon?” Yoshi’s voice dips to a secret, glancing at Jihoon who is halfway across the store.
“Yeah, not that either, he probably owns this one anyway.”
Yoshi gives him a curious look, a slow smile spreads across his face, and snaps his fingers with a sharp click.
“Mashiho.”
Hyunsuk flushes, and gives a half-shrug, hastily walking down another aisle to reach Jihoon. “If you say so, then sure.”
“Man, what does that mean.”
Yoshi trails after him, moving between sets of bath soaps, murmuring the names of each scent under his breath, From around the corner, Jihoon rejoins the group, arms full of highlighters and face masks, and takes his own look at Hyunsuk’s basket.
“A eyeshadow set? You can just borrow my stuff, unless you want new colors?” Jihoon only pays Hyunsuk half-attention, his eyes instead taking stock of his own haul.
“Nah, that one’s for Mashiho.”
“Yoshinori.” Hyunsuk hisses, and Jihoon looks up, his own grin to match Yoshi’s wide one.
“That’s part of your Spring-posal then?”
Hyunsuk gives a long suffering sigh. “My what now?”
“The dance, idiot. Are you asking him to the dance with that?”
“Uh.”
Yoshi brings a hand up to press against his temple, “You’re both useless, just go with each other at this rate. Or just with our friends, whatever, you don’t need dates.”
Hyunsuk’s quick he’s not my date layers with Jihoon’s muttered I have one, shut up, and Yoshi and Hyunsuk both immediately turn to Jihoon, attention dropped from the purple palette.
“You literally can’t keep saying that and not tell us who you asked out.” Yoshi huffs, and Hyunsuk nods behind his shoulder with a quick, “Or who asked you.”
Jihoon bites his lip and shakes his head, bath sponge almost dislodging from where it’s tucked under his shoulder due to his basket overflowing. “Don’t try and change the subject, just ask Mashiho to the dance.”
Hyunsuk opens his mouth to argue, and Yoshi swiftly cuts him off, ushering them over to the check-out line.
“Just ask him out, you’re both hopeless-not you Jihoon, chill, but you-” Yoshi gives Hyunsuk a swift poke to the ribs, “you might need to make the first move here.”
Hyunsuk protests the whole way home.
♡
Thing is, Hyunsuk really shouldn’t be this tongue-tied around Mashiho: they’re far from classroom acquaintances.
Jihoon picked up skateboarding on a late afternoon after watching Yoshi skid circles around them all, deciding that he definitely needed to be able to do that, and it’s been months since Hyunsuk first started accompanying his friends to the park.
Mashiho became a regular at the park only a month after them, accompanied by a few people that Hyunsuk couldn’t quite place names to, but decided were plenty nice with how they often offered Jihoon tips on how-to-not fall flat on his ass. Jihoon had been entirely delighted with how Hyunsuk first choked when Mashiho approached them months ago, Mashiho’s smile bright and neon-orange skateboard brighter.
(Mashiho leaves him tongue-tied with a simple good afternoon; Hyunsuk's only half-embarrassed.)
While everyone is busy for hours under the beating afternoon sun, Hyunsuk prefers to sit alongside the shaded fence, atop the cement holdings and rusted metal plates lining the skatepark, and watches as his friends only get better at ollies and kickflips. It’s mostly comforting, how Jihoon’s delighted screams echo against the half-pipe he’s currently skating across, while Yoshi laughs freely from where he’s perched above the pipe.
Hyunsuk closes his eyes for a moment, warm and comfortable with the afternoon haze, and forces himself away from watching Mashiho skid across a launch ramp. Mashiho is at the other end of the equipment today, perfecting some half-twist jump that looks terrifying and impressive all at once, and instead Hyunsuk tips his head back against the chains of the old fence, ignoring the cold metal to the back of his head.
“You look comfortable. Care to share any of that?”
Yoshi’s voice drifts somewhere from Hyunsuk’s left shoulder, and he opens his eyes to a late afternoon sun, one that’s only slightly blinding. A red slushie, forgotten and melting, sits besides Hyunsuk’s foot, and Hyunsuk shrugs lightly, gesturing to the drink.
“Whatever man, it’s all yours.”
Yoshi slides next to Hyunsuk and knocks against his shoulder, wordlessly sipping from the straw as they both watch further into the skatepark where Jihoon and Mashiho are taking turns testing a new loop installed just that past week.
“Jihoon’s gotten kinda solid, Mashiho is a pretty good teacher.” Yoshi notes casually, and looks out the corner of his eye to Hyunsuk, who ducks his head.
“Yeah, looks like it.”
Hyunsuk’s response is clipped, not of irritation but rather embarrassment, and refuses to raise his head and watch Mashiho guiding Jihoon along the new ramp. Hyunsuk’s ears are already red from sunburn; he doesn’t need the tips of ears red with blush as well. Yoshi doesn’t seem to take any pity on him.
“You any closer to asking him to the dance? You’ve got, like two weeks left until tickets sell out.”
“Yoshi.” Hyunsuk hisses, and looks around for anyone in sight who could have heard them; Mashiho is still kicking his feet as he sits by the ramp edge, giggling about some joke Jihoon must have told.
“I’m working on it.” Hyunsuk quietly admits, watching the way Mashiho kicks back up, swinging his skateboard around his back and bouncing lightly on his toes. The golden hour gently bounces off of Mashiho’s hair just so, and Hyunsuk is embarrassingly close to quoting soliloquies.
He turns back to Yoshi quickly, running his hands through his hair in an effort to move his bangs from his eyes, and shifts his weight between his thighs, uncomfortable with the shifted pebbles that dig into his skin.
“I don’t even know how I’d ask, everyone’s doing something personal, and all I got is some skateboard meme saved on my phone.”
“That’s devastating.”
Hyunsuk rolls his eyes, “you don’t think I know that?”
“You know‒” Yoshi’s rolls his lip between his teeth and bites down lightly, “‒Jihoon is on the planning board.”
“I know? He doesn’t stop talking about it?”
“No, like, he’s on the planning board.”
“Yoshi, I swear to everything I-”
Yoshi sharply clicks his tongue, arms raised in admission, “Are you listening to me! He can plan your proposal!”
In that very moment, between Yoshi’s grand statement and gears turning in Hyunsuk’s head, Yoshi drops Hyunsuk’s warm, overly-sweet slushie right onto the black tar of pavement, and apologetically watches as all the light drains from Hyunsuk’s eyes.
Hyunsuk’s eye twitches.
“You owe me a slushie and new shoes.” Hyunsuk grumbles, standing to dust black specs of dirt from his faded jeans, and side steps the staining red dye of his spilled drink, now pooling uselessly on the ground.
“I just saved the entire dance for you.”
“It was never that dramatic.” Hyunsuk retorts as he wordlessly watches the wind pick up the empty slushie container and roll it further from his foot, but even Hyunsuk has to admit that Yoshi might be onto something.
“Yoshi, say I hypothetically, and I mean hypothetically take you and Jihoon up on this potential offer to help me plan something. What’s your asking price?”
Yoshi grins, “you know me so well.”
He takes a moment to put on a show, pointer finger against his chin and eyes looking upwards in fake contemplation. A minute passes before Hyunsuk sighs.
“It’s math homework, isn’t it.”
“Bingo!” Yoshi’s finger guns should have been comical, but Hyunsuk was a good three weeks behind on calculus content. He takes the gamble and plays his hand, fully willing to work with the risk he’s probably undertaken.
“Yeah, fuck it. I’ll propose.”
“I mean, good on you dude, but at least wine and dine a man before-”
Yoshi doesn’t get to finish his statement before Hyunsuk gives a good-natured whack to Yoshi’s thigh and rolls a shoulder back, shaking out his legs to loosen his muscles from where they’ve been cramping for over an hour on the cement stone. Hyunsuk jumps to his feet and follows Yoshi past the skate park and towards the community water fountains, dehydrated and willing to risk drinking the tepid water.
Hyunsuk fails to see the way Mashiho’s eyes track them with a fond smile.
♡
Jihoon is often overly ambitious, but this time it might just work in Hyunsuk’s favor.
On the evening of their long-awaited plan, with the sun low in the sky and horizon spread out like watercolor on a faded canvas, Hyunsuk watches the energy of his friends in a daze and instead closes his eyes, tipping his chin close to his chest; he wants to crawl into the flower bed of chrysanthemums and promptly fall asleep, and the exhaustion hits him all at once. It’s a lot brilliant and mostly unbelievable with how quickly they pulled everything together, but Jihoon had pulled out his phone with flourish, gave a short I have contacts, I’ll give him a call. Hyunsuk, too wrapped up in planning and figuring out how to fund all of this, didn’t have the heart to ask who exactly “him” was.
For all the anxious nerves currently bundled in the pit of Hyunsuk’s stomach, even he can admit that Jihoon might be some kind of genius; the neighborhood skatepark has been transformed into some sort of garden paradise, and Yoshi hasn’t lost the elated skip to his step even after four hours.
(Jihoon had wanted to spray paint will you go to dance with me in a highlighter yellow, but he was later informed that it was both illegal and expensive. He digresses.)
Instead, there’s a hundred dozen flowers scattered in bunches across several half pipes and rusted floor dips—Hyunsuk wishes he was kidding, Jihoon’s connection apparently worked at a plant nursery; they had overstock this year. Most of the accessories in the park were decorated in some way, and it had worked to ward away potential skaters that night. Hyunsuk hopes it’ll stay that way. Jihoon had been further tasked with calling Mashiho to the skatepark that evening, requesting an innocent and realistic help on his kickflip technique.
(“I perfected that move last week, I can’t ask that.”
“Fine, ask about a half-skate flip, or whatever.”
“That’s not even a thing.”)
What Hyunsuk doesn’t expect is for Mashiho to arrive from the back-end of the park, guided with a bandana over his eyes by an elated Yoshi, who sneaks up behind Hyunsuk and taps him on the shoulder, immediately bringing a finger to press against Hyunsuk’s lips to avoid any noise of surprise.
Yoshi mouths a faint he’s all yours and fades into the background, leaving Hyunsuk gaping and pointing uselessly at his friend’s retreating back. Mashiho clears his throat a little, a small smile on his lips, and takes a guess, though it probably didn’t take too much to make the assumption.
“I have to be real with you, and I obviously knew Jihoon was planning something when he asked me to put this over my eyes, but I’m still a little in the dark here.” Mashiho sounds amused, and takes a small step into Hyunsuk’s space, hand coming up to grasp at the pink bandana shielding his view.
Mashiho gently removes his blindfold, keeping his gaze on Hyunsuk, and Hyunsuk stares at Mashiho. The set-up is behind Mashiho’s back, and the boy must clearly not realize, because his eyes are trained on Hyunsuk, an easy smile on his face. He tilts his head just so, as delicately as the arch of his cheekbone, and Hyunsuk goes a bit cross-eyed with how close Mashiho suddenly is; he can count every eyelash, every delicately pressed rhinestone to the corner of Mashiho’s eyes, and everything slows down as Mashiho’s skin glitters under the golden sunset.
It’s the worst time to be tongue-tied, but Hyunsuk’s body clearly isn’t willing to cooperate with him; he opens his mouth twice, winces as he can’t find the exact words, and just gives a, “please look behind you.”
Mashiho quirks an eyebrow, and turns. “If you need a few minutes, that’s fine, I can-oh.”
Mashiho goes rigid, his arms stilling as they come to rest by his side, as he takes in everything, from the dozens of pink chrysanthemums and swaying yellow balloons to the pale green and purple dip-dyed carnations that nestle in quietly among the more vibrant colors of the park. The sun is setting, casting an orange dust to the entire display, and the wind picks up a bit into the late evening, ruffling Mashiho’s curly hair from where his back remains turned to Hyunsuk.
The set-up spells out a simple DANCE with a poorly designed question mark at the end, but the message is clear.
“Oh my god,” comes Mashiho’s quiet admission for the second time, but he doesn’t turn around or say anything else, giving Hyunsuk no indication that he likes or even dislikes what’s before him, and Hyunsuk all but freezes. Hyunsuk’s momentary awkwardness fades into a slight panic, and he immediately brings a hand up to reach out to Mashiho, but drops it at the last minute.
“This was too much, wasn’t it,” Hyunsuk mumbles, and then widens his eyes, “of course it’s too much, what was I thinking, I should have given Jihoon a firm 'no' when he even thought of the-”
Hyunsuk breaks off, shaking his head, and Mashiho whirls back around, eye’s equally wide. It grows colder, and the air does nothing to comfort Hyunsuk as he barrels on despite Mashiho looking like he wants to say something.
“You can literally leave right now, I won’t blame you- wait, actually, could I ask you to think about this, before you leave? I’m trying to ask you to the dance, but you already knew that I think, but if you don’t want-”
“Hold on, give me a moment.” Mashiho cuts in and looks a bit bewildered, his breath forming light clouds before them, and he’s huffing not a second later to bite back from swallowing the now-cold air, tucking back into his thin coat.
“Say you’ll think about it, please— ”
“Hyunsuk, wait, that’s not what I was trying to—” Mashiho’s voice cuts through Hyunsuk’s plea with a gentleness that somehow works to soothe and terrify Hyunsuk all the same, but he continues to frantically fill the space between them, rushing to finish his thought, unaware of Mashiho’s slow forming smile, still hidden under the layers of his hoodie.
“—Say you’ll let yourself even consider it.”
Hyunsuk finishes, breathing a bit unevenly, and Mashiho carefully lifts his head from his hood, revealing a brilliant smile, eyes crinkled in fondness and amusement, cheeks red from the cold.
“Of course I want to go to the Spring formal with you.”
“Oh, thank god.”
Mashiho laughs, a precious little laugh that floods Hyunsuk with affection, and the gentle weight of it curls warmly against his chest.
♡
Two weeks later, and another evening falls on the skatepark, but while Hyunsuk seriously wonders why none of his friends want to hang anywhere else in town, today he doesn’t mind his setting all that much.
Especially not when Mashiho gently presses his palm to the curve of Hyunsuk’s cheek and the skatepark falls away to just reveal them both; in this moment they’re just two students both infatuated and saccharine sweet in the way they draw near each other and blend close enough to resemble a smudged shade of charcoal.
Mashiho is far too close, and far too lovely under the ember glow of the sunset.
Hyunsuk’s half disoriented, thinking nonsensically about how Mashiho looks especially lovely with this particular shade of eyeshadow, how his lashes flutter delicately as his eyes close, how the flush across Mashiho’s neck blooms all the way up to his cheeks, how—
He doesn’t get to marvel Mashiho any further, because the initial press of Mashiho’s lips are soft, more gentle than Hyunsuk expects, and he draws in a wordless breath and leans forward without realizing, until his hand comes to rest carefully against the small of Mashiho’s back as in turn.
For all the confidence that Mashiho presents, he’s uncharacteristically tentative, and Hyunsuk realizes that he needs to show Mashiho that he wants this, that this among the few things that Hyunsuk has wanted for weeks now, and he decidedly pulls Mashiho closer against the curve of his hip in the hopes that Mashiho will understand.
Mashiho does. He parts his lips against Hyunsuk, pressing firmer against the plush of Hyunsuk’s lower lip, thumbing over the sharpness of Hyunsuk’s jawline, and giggles into their shared breath, and Hyunsuk wants to melt into the precious boy before him, breathless and high on the fact that Mashiho wants to go to the Spring formal with him, wants to share time with him, wants to just simply be with him.
They’re lazy for a few moments, Mashiho catching his lip in gentle tugs as Hyunsuk rocks forward on his toes, hands tangled in messy curls and drawing Mashiho closer and closer with every shared gasp, both of them in sync until Mashiho’s suddenly impatient, arching into Hyunsuk with a newfound fervor that Hyunsuk doesn’t know how to handle, and it’s suddenly much too warm despite the chill of the evening.
Mashiho’s hold on Hyunsuk’s hip is tight, uncoordinated and mesmerizing in the way Mashiho urgently presses his fingertips into the thick of Hyunsuk’s outer thigh, and for a wild moment Hyunsuk wants to fall onto the bench beside them and drag Mashiho into his lap, until there’s no divide between where Hyunsuk begins and Mashiho ends.
A startling, low whine cuts the air between them, and Hyunsuk feels his movements stutter in surprise until he recognizes the voice as his very own, and Hyunsuk draws back abruptly, only to come face-to-face with Mashiho. The younger is flushed to the tips of his ears, bottom lip glistening messy with spit, and Hyunsuk draws in a shaky breath. He doesn’t trust his voice, but he tries anyway.
“I think someone just boarded past us.”
Hyunsuk winces at his own words. Not the most eloquent, and hardly relating to their current situation, but Mashiho’s own dark eyes suddenly crinkle into a familiar smile, and Hyunsuk’s chest unknots as Mashiho gently thumps his forehead against Hyunsuk’s chest, silent laughter only apparently from the shaking of Mashiho’s shoulders.
“Yeah, I think I heard something–” Mashiho tilts his head back to look into Hyunsuk’s eyes, and his smile is warm, “–so what do you think about cleaning up and getting out of here?”
♡
It’s not long before Hyunsuk realizes that Mashiho doesn’t just like the plum palette he bought for him, he loves it so much that here he is, in Hyunsuk’s arms on a slightly humid dance floor on a particular evening in late Spring, looking flushed and happy and beautiful.
The deep purple is a brilliant contrast to the delicate white of Mashiho’s suit, detailed with faint embroidery around the cuffs that are pressed against Hyunsuk’s lapels as they slowly sway back-and-forth, off-beat to the music but caring far too little about their surroundings to match them.
Spring formal has gone off without a hitch—save for Jihoon entering the decorated hall and immediately scrambling for his phone because “they forgot the red streamers, I only see orange and yellow”—but Yoshi had just laughed and whisked their friend away, sending Hyunsuk a wink and Mashiho one a second later, urging them to find their table and wait until Jihoon had made several calls.
Here they were now, lightly stepping around other groups of students also paired or in a group on the wooden floor, and Hyunsuk’s a bit stuffy under his dark navy suit, but this discomfort is easy to ignore with the way Mashiho’s cheek is pressed against his shoulder as they dance slowly. Hyunsuk’s grip is loose on the curve of Mashiho’s hip.
“Hyunsuk.” It’s murmured into the shell of his ear, and Hyunsuk hums.
“Is that Jihoon?”
“Oh?’ Hyunsuk gently moves them and guides Mashiho to take a few steps in a circle until Hyunsuk spots his friend against the low-light of the dance floor, dancing with a faintly recognizable student tucked into Jihoon’s neck, Jihoon’s own hand against the small of the stranger’s back.
Hyunsuk squints again, trying to make out a face, but there’s a strong shadow from where Jihoon is hidden in the corner of the room, and Hyunsuk shrugs in Mashiho’s hold, turning his head to press a kiss to gentle curls, opening his mouth to ask about grabbing a refreshment, but Mashiho beats him to it with a rushed, “Don’t quote me here, but is that- oh, I know I’m right, that has to be Jaehyuk.”
Hyunsuk gives him an entirely blank look, but Mashiho lifts his head from Hyunsuk’s chest with a mischievous glint in his eye, and fondly squeezes Hyunsuk’s shoulder, “I’m guessing Jihoon’s been sneaking around with our student president, but it’s not much of a secret anymore.”
“He didn’t need to hide this from us.”
“Nah, I think it’s Jaehyuk who’s shy.” Mashiho’s tone is light, grinning into Hyunsuk’s collar, “I think it’s kind of sweet, actually.”
“So that means we’re gonna force Jihoon to talk after the dance?”
“Oh, absolutely.”
Hyunsuk turns them in a semi-circle again, just catching his foot from tripping over Mashiho’s, but Mashiho quirks his lips and gently draws back from him, intertwining their hands. Hyunsuk’s breath catches again, and he feels a little silly over how Mashiho’s thumb ghosting along his palm is enough for his heart to race a little, but it hardly matters with the way Mashiho is carefully leading him from the dance floor, Mashiho’s hand solid and warm in his own.
“Wanna get out of here?”
Hyunsuk properly trips this time, and stumbles into Mashiho’s shoulder with a hiss and an apology tied into one breath.
“Sorry?” Hyunsuk manages.
“Well, this ends at midnight‒” Mashiho’s eyes shine with something both sparkling and wild, and Hyunsuk is strangely reminded of Cinderella’s glass slipper tumbling down from a velvety red staircase, “‒and the night is still young, or something. I think that’s how the saying goes.”
Hyunsuk’s not following, and Mashiho raises an eyebrow.
“Hyunsuk, you look beautiful tonight, and as much as I love being here with you and eating a dozen tiny cakes, I asked my roommates to scram for the night, and I have leftover cheesecake in my fridge.”
Oh.
Then another oh followed by a resounding oh!
Hyunsuk wordlessly nods, eyes wide and chest fluttering, and Mashiho presses their foreheads together, ignoring the faint sheen of sweat on Hyunsuk’s brow.
“Wonderful. I’ll call the valet for my car.”
♡
(It’s a bit of a whirlwind from there. Between breathless kisses and just narrowing missing the edge of the doorframe, Mashiho presses Hyunsuk against his kitchen counter and bumps his elbow against a wooden stool, his arm tingling and chest wound up tightly against Hyunsuk’s own heaving body, his touch delicately trailing along Hyunsuk’s shoulder and drifting down to his wrist, grasping on tightly as Hyunsuk can’t seem to decide just how bruising his own grip on Mashiho’s hips should be.
They don’t make it very far along Mashiho’s apartment. Hyunsuk falls against a couch, his back hitting a soft cushion before Mashiho crawls into his lap, growing more bold by the minute.
Hyunsuk’s jacket is soon discarded to the ground along with several throw pillows, and he doesn’t bother with the insistent buzz of his phone in the open pocket, lighting up every few seconds, spilling notifications from his regular group chat.
Any post-dance plans can wait until later.)
♡
Hyunsuk gives it around ten minutes after Mashiho dozes off to finally check his phone, knowing that his friends are nothing if not persistent.
His phone is just to the left on a coffee table, and he reaches past Mashiho to swipe his screen on. Hyunsuk’s eyes are still blinking away the remnants of a nap as he scans through the onslaught of texts and missed calls, and Hyunsuk lightly grumbles and curls back around Mashiho, shifting them until they manage to just fit along the expanse of the couch.
“Jihoon said we have to be up in three hours for pancakes.”
Mashiho huffs a clear no into Hyunsuk’s collarbone, and he snorts lightly.
“We’re questioning him about Jaehyuk, remember. We can make his morning hell.”
“Still no.”
Hyunsuk looks down fondly as Mashiho folds himself even closer into his chest, pressing a brief kiss to his temple, nodding his cheek against Mashiho’s slightly damp curls.
“Meet me halfway here, because if we don’t wake up, Jihoon might actually break down your door.”
“I’m willing to risk that.”
“Mashi.”
Mashiho blinks opens one eye and giggles— he’s a menace, Hyunsuk has fallen for a menace— and compromises, “Say we go to breakfast, come back here and immediately go back to sleep, and you let me drive you to class tomorrow.”
Mashiho pauses, a bit of uncharacteristic nervousness working its way into his words, and adds on a quick, “and let me drive you to class the next day too, maybe make this a regular thing.”
Hyunsuk doesn’t bother telling Mashiho that this is most definitely not how a compromise works, and instead holds his pinky out expectantly. Mashiho quirks his eyebrow as if to say really?, but he reaches out anyway and interlocks with Hyunsuk, a little more pink in the ears and a lot more ease in the way he falls back against Hyunsuk.
Hyunsuk draws crescents into Mashiho’s hip until they fall back asleep.
They narrowly make it to breakfast the next morning.