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Chan flashes him a grin, his signature dimples particularly looking even more attractive—to mock him or not is not Minho's concern as of the moment—and the raising of his eyebrows doesn't even cut the release of adrenaline that Minho feels over his whole body.
It's not like Chan asks him to do something bad, enough for him to cower and scare away, but rather something stupid. Really, really stupid.
So, if Minho expresses his disbelief in a manner that only makes Chan holler a laughter, don't blame him. Blame Chan instead. That man is pretty absurd for what he’s talking about.
"You're telling me to what—" He can't even comprehend himself at this point any longer. He needs reasons, answers, and a long ass sleep because Chan's suggestion is just making him further lose his very limited amount of rest. "Hyung, I don't think that's very nice of you to say."
The older sits in front of him, pulling the office chair lounging in the practice room to face him completely. Chan is wearing a black tank top which exposes his collarbones and pale neck, and apparently, due to the season that doesn't seem to bother the said Australian, he's been wearing a lot of shorts as well—which looks totally good on him if you ask Minho and if he tries not to lie, but he is a liar so he won't say that.
"I am asking you to have a date with me." Chan says nonchalantly. He looks as if he isn't bothered by what's running out of his mouth while Minho's beginning to lose his mind over Chan's choice of words.
He doesn’t know if he’s right to just look at Chan, deducing whether Chan is serious or not, or to just dismiss everything and forget that all these ever happened. Yes, that’s right. He’ll try to do the latter.
“I am serious, Min.” And of course, Chan, his ever so brave hyung just told him that he is indeed serious.
"A date," he coughs which made Chan chuckle, "You're telling me to have a date with you," and coughs again, as accompanied by his eyes tearing up, after saying the same thought in his head, "With you over some petty remark I made."
He gets it.
Chan is a gentleman and Minho really respects him. But there's so much in that one phrase that pushes him to overthink and practically to malfunction on holding his water bottle that begins to spill out its contents.
He gets it. He totally does.
Chan likes to spur him with all these unorthodoxically remarks that he doesn't usually hear from Chan, and makes sure that he conforms to whatever this is—whatever this date is.
It’s not like he has to say yes; it’s not like he has to anticipate every second from now.
He just cannot help it. How can he?
He sees Chan's eyes rake down his thighs where the water begins to create a damp on his gray sweatpants, and while he knows he has to take care of the wet fabric, maybe he has to take care of Chan first and his offer.
He squirms on the couch and pulls his knees to his chest which prompts Chan to answer his statements of disbelief.
"You said dates are so overrated and I don't think you've been into one—" Chan tries to explain himself right after looking back into his eyes.
God. He totally gets Chan.
He totally gets how Chan likes sensing him so flustered, seeing how flushed he probably looks right now, and hearing him defend himself like it is nothing but a mere obligation.
"Excuse me, I have been into one." He quickly interjects and tries to roll his eyes away.
In the mirror he sees himself and Chan’s side profile.
“Having a convenience store’s takeout with your members isn’t a date.”
“And you’re telling me you’re not a member?”
And in that same mirror, he sees Chan smile. One big genuine smile. A smile that Chan does whenever the group does something that touches his heart, a smile that lets the two dimples that Chan has slightly deboss and show, a smile that has Minho searching for seconds after every single time he sees it, and a smile that Minho can no longer see because Chan already turns away.
“Treat me as not.” It’s a stern voice, not of command and direct but rather of honesty.
He’s a liar, he’s established this from the beginning.
He’s lying when he says he gets Chan. He doesn’t get Chan.
Not at all.
He thinks he knows Chan.
Maybe not the best, but he does in little ways.
He knows that Chan likes his bread a bit more toasted, that Chan always wears his shoes on his right foot first, that he has a habit of pressing his knuckles on the sockets of his eyes whenever he’s already so tired of facing his laptop for almost a day straight, and that Chan likes going around him, purposely trying to raise something out of him.
He knows Chan enough for him to overthink what the older told him that one certain night, and if looking at the ceiling with nothing but his curled eyebrows and a worried Felix that lounges on top of him is going to cut his overthinking, he thinks otherwise.
“Why do you look scary?” Felix pokes him once and peers at his eyes. His back is cold from laying on the floor with probably everyone’s sweat and shoes soles’ filth, but he doesn’t mind it one bit this time.
“Is that your way of telling me that I look ugly, Yongbok-ah?” While he doesn’t really think of what he just said, he prefers not to say what is running in his head because it’s not like it’s a huge deal, right? It’s not like Chan really says something like that with intent—why does he even care about that?
“Hyung, no,” Felix complains and tackles him, leaving the younger almost cuddled to his chest. “You just look like you’re thinking so much. Care to spill?”
He does care so much to actually even be spilling it. He looks to his side and checks whoever is there in the room. It’s already late in the evening, almost running tomorrow’s morning, but he cares so much now that instead of sleeping in his room, he chooses to just run to the company and bring Felix with him just to practice.
“Of course, I think.” He says, subtly nibbling his lips, waiting for the door to open.
Felix is not satisfied with his answer. “I know. But what about?”
It’s not like he can just say, ‘I’m thinking about your best friend in a way that I shouldn’t be thinking about,’ or ‘It’s probably a joke but Chan told me to have a date with him. A date, Yongbok, a date,’ because Felix will probably look at him full of curiosity and treat what he just said as a joke because Chan is just like that.
Chan is always like that. He knows that.
Chan is affectionate to everyone. Chan likes skinship. Chan likes it when the members give in to him wrapping his arms around them. Chan really likes everyone, and he’s just a part of that everyone. Just that.
“See, Yongbok,” he begins with the hopes of getting answers from Felix, “If someone asks you to have a date with them just because you said you don’t really like dates, what will you do?” even if that means he will ask something so absurd that makes Felix prop his elbows to look at him closely and clearly, and determine if he’s joking, he will do it.
He wishes he’s joking, really. He wishes he’s not spending at least half an hour of his life on his bed, thinking of the same words over and over again. But he isn’t joking.
Felix smiles at him with his lips and his eyes. He really likes the fact that Felix doesn’t pry further. “I’ll go? I think that someone is really close to me already for me to talk about how I don’t like dates after all, and maybe I’ll be proven wrong?”
“Do you think it’s a joke?” He wants to laugh, but he cannot bring himself to.
Felix pulls himself away and sits, slightly stretching his arms and back. “Do you think it’s a joke, hyung?”
The door in the practice room opens wide and he immediately looks at it, only to be welcomed by the sight of a Bang Chan looking at the two of them furiously.
“It’s two in the morning.” He says ever so casually, Minho’s beginning to think that Chan is not a human but rather something else. He doesn’t know for sure. “Why are you both here?”
He thinks he knows Chan—there are a lot of things that he knows about him after all. But whenever Chan looks at him like that, he begins to think that maybe all he knows is not enough to simply say that he indeed knows Chan.
“Practicing?” He prompts and pushes himself from the floor to sit.
“At two in the morning.” Chan replies, hugging the strap of his backpack, looking like he’s waiting for something more.
He doesn’t really know what that is.
“Yes, at two in the morning.” He says before standing up and walking towards the stereo.
It is just like what everyone is anticipating for—there’s the manager announcing the end of their schedules, their phones on their hands, waiting to mark their calendars, and most especially the cheers they all shout out after the long-awaited break that they finally got from their months of preparation for a comeback, the actual comeback, and their concert tour locally and internationally.
Changbin has probably started texting his sister, Seungmin as well, and maybe even Jeongin too has already texted his brother. Hyunjin pulls Felix to him, talking about some places that they need to be at, knowing that Felix cannot go to Australia and go back to South Korea in that short amount of time, and Jisung just runs, screaming about the list of anime he’ll be watching with his dog.
He looks at the last person he hasn’t talked about who is actually looking straight back at him.
It’s quite funny how he knows in that instant what will run out of Chan’s mouth. It isn’t like he hasn’t been thinking of that, of him per se, lately too. He nods to signal for Chan to just continue what he is supposed to say. Minho isn’t really disappointed.
“Let’s have a date,” Chan smiles a bit, and somehow, he finds that smile funny. “I can’t see why not, right?”
Chan isn’t even wrong. He likes to think of that too. Why not? Right?
Cause apparently, two idols of the same group going out to have a date of what seems to be a romantic one—because Chan is romantic whether Minho likes to admit it or not—and just out there probably strolling under the starry sky or humid air, and talking about everything that can be talked about—cats, dogs, next album, favorite dish to cook, to eat, new design of a shoe brand that they both like, questions about which grows more, dinosaurs, and every little thing.
Really, why not?
Others may have noticed or not; others may have seen, or heard, or not, but Minho does all that in that short amount of time. In that moment, in that second, all he ever sees is that faint smile on Chan’s face, all he ever hears is that low chuckle he lets out, and all he ever notices is Chan.
“You think you can make me say that dates aren’t overrated?” He challenges. He’s big on challenges. He likes it so much.
Chan looks at him for a short while without any expression. Just his eyes on him. Until such time that he shakes his hand and tucks it in his pocket before walking towards Minho, his eyes never leaving Minho. “Is this a bet, Min?”
It’s funny how he’s the one out there, challenging the heck out of Bang Chan, when all that Bang Chan did is to ask him to have a date just for him to malfunction. It’s really funny because he doesn’t know when all this has started, when all this made him anticipate every morning he gets to wake up to bother the group chat and check Chan’s message when he finally gets home, every practice he directs only to greet the leader with a black beanie on, and every night where he gets to check Chan’s studio just to see if the latter has already eaten. It’s just funny but he cannot bring himself to laugh when Chan reaches out to his head and ruffles his hair.
“I’ll treat you to something expensive if you’re not satisfied.” Chan manages to say before turning around and walking to where Felix is.
Now, Minho asks himself again, why not?
The weather isn’t helping him and the lack of people inside the dorm doesn’t help either. There’s so much that doesn’t help him like the clutter of clothes on top of his bed because, though he isn’t really required to as stated by the other side of the brain, he is looking for a good outfit later.
It’s autumn, the season of change, the season of comfort, of protection, of the beginning, of the end, and the beginning of the end. It’s autumn and the weather is cold. It’s autumn and the wind is strong. It’s autumn and instead of feeling warm by wearing the appropriate clothes, all he needs is to anticipate Chan and feel warm that instant.
He doesn’t understand it. None of these is ever understandable to him. He holds a brown sweater to his chest and looks at himself through the mirror—eyes teary, nose red, lips dry—and a smile remains, but he quickly pulls it down. He holds another jeans, throws it, another slacks, throws it again, and another.
It repeats like a cycle.
It repeats the way questions in his head keep on running around and over.
He doesn’t understand it.
He frustratingly grabs his phone and looks at the notifications. He thinks he can run away from it and maybe he can fool everyone else, but never himself. He peeks at everyone and reads through a certain message from a certain someone.
‘I’ll pick you up.’ The text says and he smiles. Oh God, he smiles.
‘Not a question but a statement. Nice.’ And still, he smiles. He’s beginning to think he sucks at this.
‘Why would I let my date walk?’ This as in the challenge, the bet, or whatever this is.
‘Cause he has perfectly two legs.’ He texts back and sits, feeling the warmth rushing to his cheeks, and probably, his ears are all red now. Not that it matters.
‘And perfect thighs too, I must say.’ He doesn’t understand it. Because even when Chan just acts that way he usually acts around and with him, Minho still thinks there’s something different.
‘You ready to treat me to something expensive, hyung?’ There is something different because he feels different. He feels as if Chan is not the person that he used to be. He feels as if though he understands Chan among everyone else, he doesn’t understand what feeling this is.
‘If you honestly tell me that our date is shit, sure.’ The feeling where it’s autumn in his head and his chest.
He doesn't understand him.
Chan looks nice.
He is a man with two eyes and good vision too so saying that Chan looks nice is not really an overstatement because Chan always looks nice with that pale skin of his, his non-black clothes, which he thinks is really wonderful of Chan to actually make an effort, and slightly messy hair.
A producer Chan is already attractive as he is. With the bitten lower lip, raspy voice, and directing tone, producer Chan and his black hoodie is not as intimidating as he wanted himself to be because that only makes him a ton times more attractive.
A sleepy Chan is already adorable. His eyes ever so often speak how tired he is. They’re glassy, they have wide blown pupils, and are always hooded.
An group leader Chan is already demanding his attention, and he really looks hot being one. Not because Chan likes to be dressed by the stylists with crop tops and leather pants, but because he makes sure that he does his ultimate best in everything; but because group leader Chan makes sure that everyone is okay, that everyone gets to have fun, the time of their lives, and that everything is worth it because no hard work doesn’t get paid off.
A Chan hyung is a perfection. He likes being the pillar, he likes being the one to be called when no one can open the doors when they misplace their keycards or keys, he likes to be involved in everything because that’s how caring he is. He likes being caring in a way that no one else can.
But Christopher is different.
Christopher drags his feet on the ground when he already lacks sleep which happens more often than not. Christopher randomly grabs loaves of bread from the table and stuff them in his mouth without chewing, purely swallowing. Christopher doesn’t mind if the water from the glass he’s drinking from gets spilled. Christopher cannot be bothered to fully cook the egg he cracked because he needs to fill himself up before going to the bed that he long missed. Christopher shows up with his curly hair, bare face, and goofy smile. Christopher is raw, unbothered, and beautiful like that.
Yes, Chan looks nice, but Christopher looks better, if not, the best.
“Where to go mister?” He asks his date and tries his hardest not to stare at Chan who is wearing a white long sleeve, blue denim jeans, and an overused converse. He looks as if he’s just going out for a stroll and Minho isn’t complaining.
“It’s a surprise, my dear Min.” Chan holds the steering wheel softly and turns it around. Minho doesn’t care to understand where they’re going, his head is just a ball of mess after hearing Chan saying that endearment. “Don’t want my date to think that dates aren’t worth going to.”
He likes to know what prompts Chan to do this, what his intentions are, or even what he will get from this. He’s not that interesting, why would Chan even exhaust his boredom like this? He’s not that fun to be with. He complains a lot, he likes challenges, he thinks so much and babbles too. He knows all that.
“Surprise me then.” He urges his chin forward, preventing himself from looking at Chan nor at the way he drives. “Surprise me, really.” He whispers and closes his eyes.
Sometimes he wishes to see Chan and not Christopher.
If there is one thing that Minho cannot do, it is to swim, and accordingly, if there is one thing that Minho is afraid of, it is to drown.
Chan holds his hand out as they walk towards a private cabin in front of the beach and Minho doesn’t know whether to scold Chan because the rent looks horribly expensive or to scold Chan because he, once again, cannot swim, and he, again, doesn’t like to drown.
He is wearing something that is not beach-worthy. If only he knows, he will wear something like a rashguard or something, but he doesn’t know, and Chan didn’t even try to inform him.
“Hyung—” He is about to complain when Chan cuts him, never leaving him a chance to continue and show off his rapping skills.
“It’s cold and I don’t want you to get sick. We are not going to swim.” But Chan knows him so well. God, how does he do that?
Even as they walk, Chan is just holding his hand out. It’s as if he’s waiting for something. It’s as if he’s waiting for Minho. Each step he takes is just him leaving a print on the sand; each step they take is just both them leaving bits of themselves in that place, and as much as he tries to reach out for that hand, he chooses not to reach it.
For when he takes another few steps ahead comes the sight of the sunset, a picnic mat, a basket, two pillows, and fairy lights. He stops walking.
“You’ve always been a sunset person.” Chan whispers, just enough for him to hear, and whispers again to hold his hand. “And not a lot of people know that about you.”
“You like picnics over restaurant dates too.” Chan starts filling the silence in, walking forward, “You like home cooked meals over the fancy one or even the convenience store’s meals,” squeezing his hand a bit, but his hold remains around, “You like the ocean but not to swim.”
They walk slowly, taking their time mending with the wind and sand. He only looks at Chan’s head and allows himself to be dragged.
“You’re afraid of drowning but never of taking risks, so why not?” Chan surprises him. He always does. But this time, it feels more of Christopher than Chan.
Because Chan will not allow himself to look like the wreck of an autumn standing in front of all the good things that come to end the ending, and begin the beginning. Only Christopher will.
Why not? A question that can have so many answers to.
Why not? A question that Minho likes to answer.
Why not? A question that is itself an answer.
“Yeah, why not?” He mumbles and feels his whole face warm up.
If there is one thing that Minho cannot do, it always has been to swim, and if there is one thing that he is afraid of, it always has been to drown.
So, maybe it isn’t acceptable for him to swim in the feeling of seeing Chan in front of one thing that he really likes and discern just how incomparable Chan is to sunset, and just drown with his words until he’s breathless.
But why not?
‘Now tell me, is it overrated?’
‘I think I need to experience it again to have a final answer.’
‘Just say you want to date me, Min.’
‘Why not, right?’
‘Right, why not?’