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1.
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Seokmin watches Soonyoung one hot, sweltering day, sitting at the top of the bleachers of their basketball court. His shirt sticks to his back. The sun is near unbearable, but he bears it regardless. Seokmin’s hands press indents into the milk carton pressed in between. It’s long gone from the cold chill of the fridge he took it from to a lukewarm drink.
On the court, he sees Wonwoo smile as Soonyoung bounds toward him, sweating so much that his dark hair has turned damp against his forehead. It would be awful to hug right now, but despite that, Wonwoo still allows Soonyoung to sling an arm around him, press their cheeks together. Sticky. Seokmin sets his milk carton down and takes out his phone, blinks at the single drop of sweat falling down the bridge of his nose. It’s past noon. Soon, it’ll stop being so hot.
Even setting his feet down for too long feels like stepping on volcanic rock. Seokmin wishes he had the foresight to not wear stuffy sneakers.
He watches them for a moment longer, eyes trailing to Soonyoung’s pinky finger.
“Seokmin,” Mingyu calls out, and his gaze is flickering away.
There’s a game going on, Seokmin knows. His limbs are heavy, lead and tar, sinking further down the longer he sits outside. He licks his bottom lip to bring back some moisture, wishing he brought his lip balm. It’s just like Seokmin to do this, to leave without bringing everything necessary to make himself comfortable. Throwing his body into the conundrum.
Mingyu reaches down and wipes his forehead with the hem of his shirt. His hair has been getting longer, and since there are no teachers at school to stop him from growing it out, he’s been letting it run wild for the first month of summer.
“Want to get something to eat?”
Their go-to is the 100-won ice-cream bars at the nearest convenience store, because they take their silver coins and use them on drinks on any nearby vending machine, since stores can be pricier. In between those are the rare days they crave something sweet on the teeth, tearing apart hotteok with honey and walnuts crushed in between. Seokmin’s teeth aches. The ice-cream helps, though. They sit in a shaded bench at a park nearby and shuffle awkwardly as the heat of the bench presses into the bare skin of their legs.
Mingyu is going through an exponential growth. Seokmin is sullen at his extra everything, hanging on by an edge as he attempts to settle in his bones. He complains about his knees and his shins hurting, about forgetting to duck whenever he enters his little sister’s room because the door is a bit lower than the rest. He goes through shoes every three months. His knee presses against Seokmin’s as he takes up space on the bench, and the place where their skin touches is warm and sticky.
Seokmin’s ice-cream is a melon bar. He unwraps it from the top.
“It’s weird, huh,” says Mingyu suddenly, crinkling the plastic wrap of an orange creamsicle in his fingers.
“What is?”
“Wonwoo and Soonyoung-hyung,” he gets some on the corner of his lip and wipes it off with the back of his hand. Seokmin crinkles his nose. “They’re pretty much dating at this point.”
Seokmin doesn’t like the way his mouth dries at that statement; of course, they are. Of course, that’s not anything he didn’t already know. Wonwoo-hyung had told Seokmin about his quiet, effervescent feelings himself, amongst one of their tutoring sessions in the library. Seokmin had always brought his favorite pen and wore his best shirt at their once-a-week meetings, but Wonwoo-hyung never noticed. His eyes were always somewhere else. Seokmin would look down at his fingers, spinning a pen between the pointer and middle, before his eyes strayed to the red, shimmering thread tied around his pinky. It never led to Seokmin.
“They’re cute together,” Seokmin says, because they are.
Apropos of nothing, Mingyu says, “Have you ever thought about it?”
“About what?”
“You know,” Mingyu waves a random hand in the air. There’s a distant buzz of cicadas in the background, as loud as it is grounding. “Being in a relationship.”
Seokmin tries not to think about it at all, actually. Instead, he hums. There’s not a lot of kids outside, surprisingly, and the playground nearby is a bit empty. Perhaps everyone’s already on vacation, somewhere with a beach. Away from people who provide tumultuous feelings, of happy summer couples and love that Seokmin can’t hold.
“Sure,” he replies instead, “I think. I don’t know much about it.”
“Noona has dated before, right?”
“Yeah,” Seokmin’s nose scrunches, “But I never like them much, they don’t treat noona well.” His older sister’s string of partners has always been a point of contention for Seokmin. They often treat him nicely in the presence of his terrifying older sister, but then tend to look at him with little care outside of it. Seokmin doesn’t really mind all that much, since the feeling is mutual, but his older sister hates when anyone treats him with the slightest bit of disrespect. A whole childhood of being kicked in the sandbox.
Mingyu makes a small noise that pulls him out of his thoughts. “What is ‘treating someone well’, then?”
“Oh, I don’t know, Mingyu-ah,” Seokmin says, suddenly tired of this conversation.
“C’mon, you must have some idea.” A nudge to his knee, where their skin meets.
“Why are you being so persistent about this?”
In true Mingyu fashion, he doesn’t give Seokmin a clear answer, instead deciding to talk about something completely inane. All of it is words strung along in sentences that hold no meaning to him. If he were paying more attention, Seokmin would have recognized it for what it was: an effort to diverge, to turn the conversation away from Mingyu’s true purpose, but he’s stuck in thinking: what does someone treating me well look like?
“We’d hold hands a lot,” he says suddenly, stopping Mingyu in his tracks. His voice quiets to a deafening silence. Seokmin twirls the ice-cream in his hands. He looks pointedly down at his own knobby knees, the bruises on his ankles, the lines of his calf. “And they’d listen to what I say. Maybe they would let me sing for them. We could get snacks together and go to the arcade after school and play street fighter or something, I don’t know. Something like that would be nice.”
“Oh,” Mingyu says quietly, and then, “But you suck at street fighter.”
Seokmin whirls around to meet his eyes. “Oi, I’m better than you are!”
They squabble; Mingyu pushes at his shoulder, and Seokmin scoffs while trying to save his ice-cream from falling. Some of it tips over onto his fingers, so he hurriedly licks it off before it can get to his wrist, but a couple of drops melt too quickly in the humid acridity before he can get to it. Mingyu hurriedly pushes off of him, looking away, clearing his throat.
Seokmin blinks. “Are you okay? Overheating?”
“What, no?”
“Your ears are red,” he points out, before returning to his ice-cream. Mingyu won’t tell him if he doesn’t want to, anyway. Mingyu’s always been like that.
-
2.
Jeonghan’s string is pale pink rather than red like Soonyoung and Wonwoo’s, slightly translucent. It goes down to his feet and then disappears, a sign that whoever is on the other side is nowhere nearby. Seokmin often reaches out to hold Jeonghan’s hand to try and feel what it feels like, but as he expected, his fingers always trail through the thin threads like air.
He is also one of the few people that know Seokmin can even see them in the first place.
They’re having lunch in the cafeteria, the beginning of the summer session starting just last week, and Jeonghan has already given Seokmin his stir-fried vegetables in exchange for his spicy octopus. It’s nice and air conditioned, Seokmin is spending as much time as he can with Jeonghan with the little time he has before the other graduates this year.
“Don’t be silly,” Jeonghan tells him when Seokmin is near tears at the beginning of the semester already. “We have a whole year together. Also, it’s not like I won’t see you anymore after college.”
“Hyung,” Seokmin says, unable to explain the deep-set fear of being alone.
“Besides, you have Mingyu.” Jeonghan continues blithely.
“He’s my neighbor!”
“My point exactly, you’ll have someone at all times!”
Seokmin just frets, “He’s not - it’s not the same.”
For as much as Jeonghan likes to tease him for how easy he cries, he’s just as quick to soothe the reason for his tears. “We talk every day on the phone. Things might change, but they won’t change to the extent that you think they will, Seokmin. This is why you see so many strings,” he pinches Seokmin’s cheek. “you’re too empathetic. Try not to feel too much.”
Seokmin knows what he means; it’s both a blessing and a vice. He’s the best person to go to for understanding amongst his friends, but at the same time, he gets swept up in the waves of other people’s emotions. Takes things to heart too often. Overthinks about off-handed things other people say.
He wishes that he had a string tied to Jeonghan’s fingers, too, would give up one of his own. Something that ties them together. Seokmin thinks that it’s unfair that he only sees romantic relationships; if he could see platonic ones too, it would be entangled within Jeonghan’s. He knows it for a fact. They’ve been best friends since someone pushed Jeonghan on the swing set when they were kids and Seokmin cried loudly until someone came by and noticed. Seokmin didn’t actually mean to cry; he had sand in his face since his noona had tripped them both to the floor.
“Speaking of people who feel too much,” Jeonghan says mildly, which peaks Seokmin’s attention to what’s happening at their table now: Mingyu sitting down across from them, his shirt buttoned up to the top, hair pulled away from his face.
“Did Kang catch you?” Seokmin snorts. Mingyu’s hair is pulled too far away from his face, which makes his forehead look bigger than usual. He can’t help but smile.
“It’s just hair,” Mingyu mumbles, “Just because he doesn’t have any...”
They all share a mutual snicker before Mingyu starts up on his lunch. He looks briefly at Seokmin’s tray before reaching over to steal some of his fish cakes, and before he can staunchly complain, puts some of his roasted sausages on Seokmin’s tray instead.
When he looks at Mingyu questioningly, the other says through a mouthful, “You like them, right?”
Seokmin beams at him. “You’re not too bad, Kim Mingyu,” patting his shoulder in thanks before digging in.
Unknown to him, Jeonghan looks between the two of them with an indulgent glance, as if he’s a parent watching two kids say cute and out-of-pocket things. Seokmin meets his eyes and with a cheek full of rice, goes, “What?”
“Oh, nothing,” Jeonghan waves away.
After lunch, Mingyu waits for him at the entrance so they can walk home together, something they’ve done for years. Mingyu is demolishing a water bottle and checking something on his phone, and as Seokmin walks up to him, they get interrupted by a third, unknown person.
He’s handsome, with brown eyes and windswept hair and a polite smile. He’s not wearing their school uniform and speaks in broken Korean when asking, “Do you know which way is - is - admin building?”
It’s pointed toward Mingyu, whom he probably saw first. Seokmin sidles up next to him as Mingyu blinks in confusion before going, “The administrative building? Straight, then left,” he says, making hand motions to make his point. The other says thank you in English and then walks off. Seokmin notes the pink string hanging off his pinky finger... leading to someone inside the school.
“Seokmin?” Mingyu puts an arm around his shoulders, holding him close. He smells like sweat. Seokmin wrinkles his nose and pushes at him, complaining about how rank he is. “Think we have a new transfer student?”
“Probably,” he guesses. Seokmin’s only ever seen one other person in their school with a pink string. He supposes that they’ll know who he is sooner rather than later.
-
3.
His name is Joshua. He prefers to be called that way versus the Korean name that he was introduced with, a three-syllable Hong Jisoo from Jeonghan’s own mouth. He has a bright grin, is from LA, and brings sunshine with him. After a week of sitting at their lunch table, Seokmin learns a couple of things: one, that his and Jeonghan’s string are definitely attached to each other, pink of the left hand to his pink on the right; two, that Jeonghan doesn’t really spare him a second glance, which makes Seokmin suspicious of him; three, that Joshua is, for some reason, overly fond of speaking to Seokmin and sitting next to him; four, Mingyu doesn’t like him.
Seokmin doesn’t quite understand the sudden disarray of his life following one person. Jeonghan is still by his side as strong as ever, but he speaks coolly to Joshua, the way he does to some of his other classmates. Maybe they’re simply not close enough? Seokmin thinks of Wonwoo, and how he’d try his best to look unaffected in front of him, and then his red string with Soonyoung. His gaze flickers between them and he wonders.
Joshua is friendly, and kind, if not a little touchy. Seokmin is okay with touchy when it’s people he knows very well; maybe it’s just a moment of catching up. There’s only so much time can fix. Mingyu starts sitting at their table every day, now, and he’s sullen and often times a little snappy, which is so unlike him that Seokmin has to pull him aside to check on him once in a while to make sure that there’s nothing wrong. Regardless, when they see each other in class or on the walk home, he’s completely fine.
One day, after Mingyu has exchanged his soft tofu stew for Seokmin’s spicy broth, Joshua notes this and goes, “Do you not do well with spicy food?”
“Oh, well, I just like this better from the canteen,” he touches the rim of the bowl Mingyu gave him.
“You hold your chopsticks differently,” Joshua notes. Seokmin looks down at his hands, which - he knows he does, but he’d unfortunately caught onto that habit and it’s never left. Now it’s second nature. Jeonghan is quietly eating his rice, looking at something on his phone. “It’s cute.”
“Um,” Seokmin says, because no one’s ever really said that before.
He’s half tempted to change the topic of conversation, unnerved by something he can’t quite explain, before Joshua leans over the table and takes Seokmin’s hand in his own. His fingers are wide and callused. “Your hands are pretty,” he remarks, and Seokmin flushes at the unexpected compliment.
“He is,” says Jeonghan, the same moment that Mingyu reaches over to take the water bottle on Seokmin’s side, effectively forcing him to lean back and pull his hand away from Joshua. “And also off-limits.”
Seokmin doesn’t know what’s happening, but he does know that their string is - deepening in color. Joshua’s darkens from a pink to a scarlet red, and as it trails over to Jeonghan’s side it fades back into a gradient of pinks until it’s nearly white on Jeonghan’s end. Seokmin’s never seen anything like it before.
“Um,” he starts, but then quiets down when Mingyu takes his other hand and holds it underneath the table.
Mingyu’s hands are familiar. Seokmin has held them almost his entire life, felt them grow, has born witness to scars and grooves, the shape of his palm, the length of his fingers. He knows just how Mingyu’s hand fits against his own, from the callous at the junction of his thumb and pointer to the scar that runs from his second knuckle to his first.
They hold hands again when walking home, Seokmin taking the initiative to slip his hand into Mingyu’s, chasing after the similar curious warmth from lunch. Instead of pulling away, Mingyu squeezes, thumb brushing across Seokmin’s knuckles gently, wistful. Seokmin didn’t know Mingyu was capable of being this gentle.
“Want to go somewhere?” he asks, a breeze floating past them, as if whisking them away to another world.
-
4.
It’s become more of a habit, now, to go to the arcade after school. Mingyu holds onto his hands every when his palms are sweating, forcing Seokmin to sometimes pull away and wipe his hands on Mingyu’s shirt in faux disgust. The other just laughs and grabs his hand again no matter how much Seokmin complains about how inconvenient it is to hide how pleased he is. Seokmin’s ears grow red hot whenever Mingyu gently drags his pointer finger down Seokmin’s palm. He doesn’t think he’s imagining the way his heart thumps painfully.
Sometimes, he looks at Mingyu’s fingers out of morbid curiosity, and doesn’t know whether to breathe heavy or easy when he sees no red string.
They stop by the nearest convenience store when Mingyu’s stomach growls. Seokmin stands by the register to wait for him, scrolling through his phone. Jeonghan posts a photo of food; despite his abysmal photo-taking skills, it still looks good. When he scrolls down his Kakao Story, though, Joshua has a post with both him and Jeonghan over the same ddeokbokki bowl. Jeonghan isn’t even looking at the camera. Seokmin snickers despite himself.
“What are you laughing at?” Mingyu asks, bringing out his wallet to pay for two trays of kimbap and a couple drinks.
“Jeonghan-hyung,” he answers truthfully. Seokmin isn’t sure what goes in behind Jeonghan’s perfectly poised expressions when he’s around Joshua, but he can very clearly see the way the tips of his ears have turned red in the photo. He shows it to Mingyu. “Look, he’s embarrassed.”
Mingyu squints. “He doesn’t look any different to me.”
Seokmin clicks his tongue. “That’s because you don’t know him like I do,” he says, and it’s not a brag - Mingyu doesn’t talk to Jeonghan as much as Seokmin does. When they all get together, he mostly leans toward Seokmin, sometimes answering Joshua’s one-off questions. It’s strange to say Mingyu is one of the quieter ones when they’re all together, because he shoots Seokmin’s ear off when they’re alone.
They sit outside, at a table with an umbrella folded up. It’s pretty sunny. Mingyu sets down a tray of kimbap in front of Seokmin, even though he argues that he isn’t really hungry, and works to unfold the umbrella up. Instead of sitting across from him, Mingyu drags the chair until they’re side by side.
“Just eat it,” Mingyu remarks, clumsily putting a pair of take-out chopsticks in Seokmin’s hand.
He chews on one spicy tuna kimbap as he watches people pass them by. It’s nice and calm, sitting with Mingyu after school, having snacks. They’ll probably fight each other at the DDR machine at the arcade, anyway, so the amiable quiet between them preludes something more later. Despite that, Seokmin can’t say he’s complaining. He’s content with watching Mingyu eat, hunched over the side of the table, and scanning his eyes across the crowd once in a while.
The convenience store they’ve gone to is not too far from their school, either, which is why Seokmin isn’t surprised to see a lot of his own school uniform around. Not even when he spots - “Oh, there’s Wonwoo-hyung,” he comments, only discerning a moment later that he’s also with Soonyoung. They’re a bit too far from them, but Seokmin still can see the way Soonyoung jumps to throw an arm around Wonwoo’s shoulders.
Their red strings, one pinky to another, are all tangled up together. Seokmin sees it even from here, as clear as day, as insistent as an unending pulse.
That is, until he hears Mingyu grumble, “So?”
Seokmin turns to him. “What do you mean, so?”
“It’s just Wonwoo,” he says, unimpressed, even having the gall to scowl in their direction. Seokmin, appalled, smacks his hand. “What?”
“I thought you were on good terms with Wonwoo-hyung!”
“You think he’s cool, but he’s a dork,” Mingyu says through a mouthful, still unimpressed. “I’ve seen him throw a soda can after losing a game of League.”
It’s so out of pocket that Seokmin looks at Mingyu for a heartbeat and then snorts. He doesn’t expect to make that noise, either, putting a hand up to clamp over his own mouth, especially when Mingyu raises an eyebrow at him. “No, I mean... I didn’t expect you to say that, pfft. I do think he’s cool. He’s a good friend.”
Something about that makes Mingyu settle. He looks at Seokmin’s tray of kimbap, of which he’s only eaten two, and then back up at him. It’s hilarious how Mingyu’s bought it for Seokmin to eat, but he’s still hungry himself. He rolls his eyes and picks up a slice to feed to Mingyu without further comment. “Besides, he’s clearly threaded to Soonyoung.”
Mingyu pauses. Seokmin doesn’t talk about this often, the threads that he sees. Mingyu only knew that he could because the first time he’d gone over to Mingyu’s house, he commented on how Auntie and Uncle had really red strings to each other. The both of them had smiled at each other and then at Seokmin, but Mingyu, thinking that he had said something rude to his parents, pretty much interrogated him about it.
Seokmin didn’t know much about his ability; he, like all others like him, felt things deeply. It seems to be a pre-requisite, almost, to be able to parse out these feelings easily, to have it sink deep into him. He sees romantic strings, ones formed by choice. Others see platonic ones, or ones of hate; deep enemies, fated tragedies. After reading the things other people have to see on online forums, anonymous names that go through the same struggles Seokmin does, he’s learned to be grateful. His gift is kind.
Regardless, he stays quiet about it, because it’s never a good idea to try and insert himself into business that isn’t his own. Not many people know, anyway; his family does, as does Jeonghan, and Mingyu.
“Do I...” Mingyu looks down for a moment. “Do I have one?”
Seokmin remains quiet for a second, but before he opens his mouth to answer, Mingyu shakes his head. “No, nevermind, I don’t want to know.”
“Mingyu?”
The other picks up their garbage, standing as Seokmin stares at him wide-eyed. With a solemn seriousness Seokmin does not often see from him, Mingyu says, “I’d rather not let that knowledge drag me down. I know exactly who I want to tie myself to.”
His eyes are shadowed by the umbrella, hair haloed by the sun. For the first time, Seokmin thinks that Mingyu’s a bit good looking, something he’s always objectively known, but it - hits him, for real, like this.
“Ah,” he says, because he has nothing else to say, his heart ratcheting in his ears. His fingers tingle.
Mingyu throws out whatever they have left into the garbage, coming back to only reach for Seokmin’s hand again. His grin is wide and boyish. “Let’s go! You have yet to beat me at that puzzle game, and you said you’d buy me a drink if I won again.”
Seokmin splutters. “You only won once; we came to a draw the second time! Hey, Kim Mingyu, wait you stupidly tall asshole - “
Seokmin holds his hand tighter, betrayed by the way flutters rise in his ribs when Mingyu laughs.
-
5.
Seokmin isn’t so oblivious to be unknowing of what’s going on in his head or in his heart. He tries to ignore it, the same way someone would ignore a train crash: looking away until the moment of impact passes. It’s how he manages to keep himself sane. Seokmin wonders if it makes a difference, pretending that his hands don’t grow clammy whenever Mingyu drags a finger to trace the vein of his pinky. Seokmin doesn’t tell anyone, either, swallows up words whole until they become suffocating.
Jeonghan’s thread is pinker than before, a deep flush, like the first blush of spring. Seokmin pretends he doesn’t see it. He doesn’t see fate. He sees possibilities, some stronger than others, probability.
It says something, doesn’t it, that he sees nothing on Mingyu’s fingers.
He’s so close, it’s hard not to mistake his kindness for more. Seokmin trips himself into thinking that Mingyu’s sweetness is a flavor that is meant for him only, a touch that he doesn’t show to others - he’s never seen it shown to others - and he revels in it the way greedy people do, pleased with the attention, aglow with consistency. He can’t let it get to his head. There’s still no possibility.
He spends a half-second thinking about ignoring Mingyu, about walking away from him, but that feels even worse. They’re tied up in more than just romantic prospects; friends, neighbors, confidants. Seokmin has learned the shape of Mingyu’s laughter, and now he’s stuck knowing how it will feel in its absence.
So, he keeps it quiet, lets it tie up his mouth. Summer drags on and on, but eventually it begins to come to an end, too. The days start cooling down. Things change, unable to be held back by time. Seokmin walks through the streets leading toward his school as the leaves begin to yellow and bronze. It smells like autumn, crisp rain and foliage. He has to wear a cardigan over his clothes to chase after some semblance of warmth.
This morning he had skipped out on walking to school with Mingyu, but there’s no use in trying to escape him. He rolls up next to Seokmin mere moments later, dragging along his bike that’s been hanging around outside whenever he needs to take his sister somewhere. His hair flops in his face. There’s a mosquito bite still hanging around at the base of his neck because he keeps scratching at it. When he rings his bell four times to get Seokmin’s attention, he’s once again sucked into the same routines.
“I have an express ride,” Mingyu says proudly, patting the front of his bike. He’s stopped with a scuff on the heel of his shoe. Seokmin looks at him blankly, then says, “You’re joking.”
“Hey, you used to beg to be on this bike with me!”
“There’s no space,” he continues, unimpressed, because the last time Seokmin had jumped onto Mingyu’s bike, they were twelve and much smaller. Frankly, he’s surprised that the rickety old thing is even carrying Mingyu’s weight (and sometimes his little sister’s), but he doesn’t want to test the boundaries.
Unfortunately for him, there’s little that he can do when Mingyu looks at him like Seokmin’s offended his entire family.
He ignores the urge to roll his eyes, somehow exasperated and fond at the same time when he sees the additional seat already buckled on behind Mingyu. Seokmin kicks at Mingyu’s shin, just because, before hefting his side bag onto his lap. He hesitates in grabbing Mingyu’s sweater, and overcompensates his reluctance, a possible give for his feelings, by annoyingly fisting whatever he can at Mingyu’s back. Seokmin’s shoes hang a few centimeters off the ground.
“You should sing something,” Mingyu says as he kicks off, easily starting to cycle toward their school. Now they’ll both be early for homeroom. Seokmin wonders if he can get any good bread in the cafeteria in the morning, or if they’ve already sold out.
“Right now? Outside?”
“You’re always singing something,” the other points out, which, true.
“I just woke up twenty minutes ago,” he grumbles. “And I haven’t warmed up. I’ll sound horrible.”
And then, terribly, Mingyu says, “You never sound horrible.”
He swallows. Seokmin’s thumb swipes gently across the soft wool of the sweater that Mingyu is wearing, sinking his fingers in. It’s easy to clutch, compared to digging his nails into his own palms. “That’s not true,” he says quietly, barely loud enough to be heard over the wind whistling past them. “My voice cracked at my last audition.”
“You still got the part,” Mingyu points out correctly. “And that’s what you want, right?”
“Huh?”
“Someone to listen to me sing, sometimes,” Mingyu rattles off, a loose repetition of words that are vaguely familiar. A moment later, he coughs, apparently hitting a patch of cold wind. Seokmin stares at the nape of Mingyu’s neck, a strange expression on his features. There is a strange flutter in his stomach, again. It tingles down to his toes, hanging weightless as they ride by. “I mean, that’s what you said.”
That is what he said. When Mingyu asked what it meant for someone to treat Seokmin well.
They get to their school nearly fifteen minutes earlier than Seokmin had originally planned, which is strange in itself - Mingyu usually tries to get to school at least two minutes before it’s time to sit for attendance, since he doesn’t want to be in class ‘longer than he absolutely has to’. So why had he been on his bike already, racing to catch up to Seokmin’s slow amble toward school?
Seokmin waits as Mingyu leans down to lock his bike at the rack, shuffling around with his backpack. Overcome with a floating courage, he taps Mingyu’s shoulder halfway between Mingyu already turning to him to talk. Seokmin clutches his sleeve and pulls him down; surprised, Mingyu goes.
His lips touch Mingyu’s cheek briefly, but long enough. His skin is sun-warm; he smells like oncoming autumn, fresh change.
Seokmin pulls away and smooths down the crinkle in Mingyu’s sweater. The other is still bent at the same angle, struck dumb, staring at Seokmin with dazed eyes.
“Thanks,” he ends up saying, unsure of what else to say, awkward now that he feels his own face burning. “See you in class!”
As he turns around, he sees Mingyu raise a hand to cup his cheek, bright red thread wrapped tightly around his pinky.
-
+1.
“So,” Mingyu starts when they’re about to go home, broad grin so wide on his face Seokmin is tempted to call it stupid, “Want to go to the arcade to play street fighter with me?”
Seokmin looks at him. “I thought I sucked at street fighter.”
Mingyu shrugs. “I’ve been told I suck more.”
He holds out his hand, the other patting the seat behind him on the bike. Seokmin takes it, not even bothering to glance at the red thread circled around his pinky, curving a short distance to meet the one on Mingyu’s end. He takes his hand and laughs as Mingyu whoops loudly before kicking off.