Work Text:
“Seungmin-ah, it’s your turn for makeup!”
Seungmin’s sitting on the couch placed at the side of the room, his head lolled back to rest against the back support, as he has his eyes closed to tune out any extra stimulation. It’s a hard thing to do, especially when every corner of his head is in screaming pain, but he manages to drift off to a calmer headspace—nearly about to fall asleep in the comfort of an air conditioned room instead of pursuing a schedule in the summer heat, when the voice addressing him breaks him out of his daze.
His head shoots up, a motion so instant that it leaves him feeling dizzy for the slightest moment, but he’s quick to recover from it as he makes his way to settle into one of the chairs pushed against the counter lined up with uncountable makeup products and accessories. One look at the clock tells him it’s only been ten minutes since he had slipped into his outfit for the day—a pair of black slacks, in combination with a full-sleeved white top topped off with a violet tee—and he wishes he could’ve had a moment longer to himself, but years of being an idol has acquainted him to the implausibility of that desire.
“How are we doing my hair today?” he questions, leaning his head back to give better access to his stylist as she starts playing with his strands, gaze contemplative as if she’s checking off different options in her head.
“What do you think about simply letting it down? We could go with bangs, with a simple wet-hair kind of look.”
“That sounds great,” Seungmin chirps up, attempting to sound as cheerful as he can with the pain beating around his consciousness and he can only hope that it comes out convincing, because all he receives is a smile and nod before the work begins.
Although usually the feeling of having someone run their hands through his hair, despite being accompanied by a variety of hair appliances and products, is almost calming for Seungmin to get his nervousness in check, the trick doesn’t work today. He’s still left fidgeting in his chair, hearing an occasional “stop moving” from the stylist and pulling at his sleeves, when he watches their manager enter the room from the corner of his eyes.
“Alright, kids hear out today’s details,” the manager starts, barely even seating himself down, and the hurried tone being an indicator of just how he’s about to run out of the room soon enough. “Minho and Seungmin are going to be the MCs, there’s going to be a bunch of group games and Q&A rounds. All of it is pretty simple, but just go over the details once and tell me if there’s any problem, alright?” he finishes by handing out an identical piece of paper to everyone one by one.
Once in hand, Seungmin realizes there are far too many words on the paper than his aching mind can grasp. He knows he should be reading—preparing himself for the event since he’s quite literally going to be the host, and placards can only help so much—but instead he resorts to scanning his surroundings in the hopes that maybe someone’s free to read the information to him instead.
His eyes land firstly on Chan, considering he’s the one seated in the chair next to him, and he would’ve been the obvious choice if he didn’t have a phone pressed against his ears. From a few seconds of eavesdropping, Seungmin can easily guess that the leader’s talking to a family member and he’d be the last person to want to interrupt that, considering just how much less free time they’ve been getting with the comeback at hand.
Another quick sweep to his left rewards him with a sight of Jisung, Felix and Hyunjin munching on food—one hand habitually taking up little bites of food to their mouth, while the other holds up the paper with schedule’s information for them to read. It’s a comical sight with how they look like identical copies of each other in that posture, and he would’ve laughed about it by now on any other day when he didn’t have worries plaguing his mind.
He gives up on looking around at that, deeming himself too tired to exert any more effort than he has to and reluctantly picks up the paper again. Even the deep-seated self control he’s managed to build doesn’t help him suppress the groan that escapes his lips at seeing the paragraphs of words staring at him, once again—taunting.
“There will be two MCs for today’s Mwave Meet & Greet—Lee Know and Seungmin, in today’s case,” comes Minho’s voice as he weaves his way to take a place in the empty chair on Seungmin’s right. “The major events, as explained in detail below, will be including greeting and introductions, fact check, answering and reacting to live comments from Twitter, and splitting into two teams—namely team Rabbit and team Hare—for the games of elephant nose print and balloon bomb.”
The last Seungmin had looked around the room, Minho had been comfortably sprawled out on the couch while mindlessly scrolling through his phone, and it’s hard to understand why anyone would give that up to sit in an uncomfortable chair. However, he doesn’t raise any questions or interrupt the other’s recitation which only encourages Minho to speak more confidently, and a little louder too which undeniably earns him a few requests to shut up that he blatantly ignores.
If Seungmin lets the ghost of a smile slip up to his lips, he doesn’t think anyone but Minho gets to take notice of it.
“Hair’s done,” announces the stylist minutes after Minho’s done reading out the entire document. He hadn’t moved away though—still choosing to stay seated in the chair, maybe because his previous place had been occupied by Chan—as a result of which, he simultaneously jumps along with Seungmin at the sudden voice, “Now let’s do makeup. It’s a light one today so we’ll be done in ten minutes.”
“How are you feeling?” he hears Minho say, a glance to his side going unreciprocated as the older’s eyes stay fixated on his phone screen. If Seungmin didn’t know better, he’d think Minho was talking to someone on the device.
“Terrible,” he answers truthfully, all his pretentious filters to act fine failing in front of Minho.
He doesn’t even remember mentioning his headache to anyone, but it’s not the first time Minho’s managed to pick up on clues Seungmin doesn’t even remember dropping. Maybe it was the tightly shut eyes during his nap or his hands rubbing circles into his forehead moments ago that had given him away. He doesn’t know the answer, not when Minho’s so observant of any and every thing.
It’s annoying. Definitely that, and nothing else.
“So, just like always then?” Minho responds, eyes still not regarding Seungmin’s presence as if he just isn’t there.
It should piss him off, make him demand attention and yet all he does is feel comforted at having one less pair of watchful eyes on him. Not to mention, Minho’s quick wits and barely comedic humor does something to soothe the alarms blaring in his head. For that moment, it feels normal—not the kind of ‘I can do these schedules, they’re nothing new’ type of normal, but the ‘I’m just Seungmin who’s having a hard time, not the celebrity Kim Seungmin who has a reputation to uphold’ normal.
“Not you saying that,” Seungmin mumbles, and that’s the first time in the afternoon that he gains enough of Minho’s attention to become the focus of his gaze. Having that gaze on him though, playful yet fond, while being paired with a raise of an eyebrow still manages to knock the air out of his lungs. “You’re the one who’s always in a terrible mood.”
“And what choice do I have with you around, Seungminnie,” Minho sing-songs, shaking his head and once again resorting to face the screen.
It’s the first time Seungmin’s managed to laugh this afternoon, one that erupts out of his throat as a genuine chuckle and not a people-pleasing sound. He’s so wound up in the feeling of it that he almost doesn’t take notice of the outfit stylist coming up to him, not until she’s standing right in front of him with a headband.
“Ah, I forgot!” says the outfit stylist, holding out the bunny-eared headband out for him to take. “You gotta put this on.”
And well, if the feeling of a worsening headache clutching at his head wasn’t bad enough, the thought of having something else tightly wrapped around his head surely did. Yet, Seungmin’s reaching out before he can stop himself, accepting the accessory with a polite smile etched into his expressions. It’s just three more hours before he can curl up in his bed.
He’s got this.
He’s proving himself right at that, at least for now as he sucks in deep breaths here and there as the stylist finishes his makeup. He’s done with the process within the next two or three minutes, but he makes no attempt to get out of the seat even when the stylist announces that everyone’s ready. He probably would’ve rushed out of the chair if he knew there was another candidate in line for it, but the lack of same only reinforces his attempts at slouching down and curling upon himself in the spot.
Just three more hours.
“Here, take this,” Minho says, earning himself a confused look from Seungmin who leisurely drags his vision from looking at the older’s figure looming above him to the medicine and a glass of water clutched into his hands.
“Are you trying to poison me?” Seungmin jokes, well enough knowing just exactly what the pill’s for.
He sits there under Minho’s gaze for a moment longer, carefully placing the headband on to be able to accept the medicine waiting for him. It hurts, nearly even burns, to have his temples gripped around by a tight force but it only takes a momentary scowl and wincing for him to pull himself back together.
“Mhm, so you better hurry up and stop ruining my plans,” Minho mutters, rolling his eyes as he pushes the contents into Seungmin’s grasp.
He stands there, waiting till he’s made sure that the younger has swallowed the pill with enough sips of water, before he’s gone again. This time, it only takes him a minute to return—although he’s still not empty handed, only now being accompanied by a cookie.
He doesn’t say anything this time, doesn’t do anything but place that cookie on the counter in front of Seungmin’s chair. Seungmin doesn’t get the chance to thank him with any of his earnest words, as the other slips away from him in the next second to approach the outfit stylist who’s managed to make another brief appearance in the room.
He unwraps the snack, carefully munching on the food while avoiding spillage of any crumbs and it’s not until he’s had his first bite that he realizes just how much his body needed this. He had barely eaten a proper meal in the morning, instead gulping down cups and cups of coffee as a cure for the headache building up in his head, but his strategy had only failed him. Now with some food in him though, he felt a little less squeamish and a lot more hopeful that he was indeed going to survive these three hours.
When Minho comes back, Seungmin can’t help a thin-lipped smile break out as a greeting. All that he receives in return is glare, one that surely falters the moment their eyes meet but still very much persistent.
“Give me your headband,” Minho requests—no, announces as he stretches out his hand, waiting for the item to be handed over to him.
“What?” Seungmin responds, confusion tinting his voice as he sits up straighter. “Is this supposed to be yours? The stylist noona told me to wear it though?”
“God, Kim Seungmin you’re infuriating,” Minho voices out in annoyance, hands already getting tired of waiting as they move to pluck away the accessory donned on Seungmin’s figure themselves. It’s not easy, not when he’s interrupted with Seungmin’s retaliation and ‘you’ll ruin my hair’ comments, but none of them are strong enough to break down his will or garner any of the other members’ attention.
Everyone has pretty much learned to tune both of them out now, because of just how often they get into petty little arguments and playful banter. Minho thinks it’s valid, considering how important conservation of energy is in their line of profession.
“What is your prob—”.
“No, what is your problem?” Minho interrupts, exasperatedly putting on the accessory himself. “Why can’t you just say no to things when they’re giving you a hard time? Seriously, Kim Seungmin. I can’t stand you.”
That’s all he says before walking away—a thing which has happened too much within the span of the last fifteen minutes for Seungmin’s liking—as he leaves behind a blushing mess of the younger boy. He knows he should get his feelings under control, stop his thoughts from reeling, when they’re so close to walking towards the stage for a live broadcast but he just can’t help himself from reveling in the joy of being cared for .
He’s known Minho for years now, and through that he’s seen every side of him. He’s seen him be frustrated, angry to the point that you’d be scared to approach that steaming hot mess of a man even, and he’s also been here to see him resolve to pouty whining for when Minho’s tired. Through all of that getting to know him, he’s also learned that Minho’s emotions aren’t so easy.
He doesn’t outright engulf you in a hug like Felix or whisper words of affection for your ears as Changbin does. He’s just there, in the moments when you least expect him to be, doing the absolute most ridiculous of things and it still manages to radiate comfort somehow. At least that’s how it has been with them for as long as he can remember. They’ve settled into a place in their relationship where they barely progress beyond indirect conversations and banters, and yet the only reason Seungmin knows they work is because they understand each other—they know that feelings like this, all the love and endearment that he carries in his heart, don’t have to be visible to be felt.
For them, it’s just there —enveloping them in every breath they share.
And despite knowing that, the only thing running inside Seungmin’s head throughout that live event is how much he would like to be able to show his feelings to Minho for once. He laughs and he talks, just how he’s supposed to, with the feelings for the man at his side growing unbearably heavy in his heart.
In that moment, where he sits there with Minho’s thigh pressed against his, the subsiding headache becomes the least of his worries as all his thoughts become a never-ending stream of Minho—about everything he is, about everything he’s done and about everything he means to Seungmin.
It’s a lot of things, and Seungmin isn’t sure he even knows words good enough to communicate all that he feels. Surely he could resort to a simple “I love you” or “thank you” but he fails to understand how any of those simpleton expressions could do justice to the extraordinary wonder that is Lee Minho.
Maybe they are right to think that words—things so visible and tangible, limiting and suffocating—are not good enough to encapsulate all that they represent. And so even after they’re back at the dorms, all hints of a camera-ready persona stripped off of his figure, Seungmin doesn’t try to change what’s been theirs.
He doesn’t barge into Minho’s space with an impulsive confession slipping past his slips. He doesn’t make a grand gesture by attempting to cook one of Minho’s favorite dishes. He doesn’t do anything other than slipping into the darkness of Minho’s room—so naturally driven towards the intoxicating blazing presence of the other—and into his bed, hands instinctively circling around his waist.
And once again, he knows that Minho agrees with him by how he tangles their legs together. There’s no words, no hum, only the sound of their hearts racing in synchronization and he thinks it’s the only rhythm they need.