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“We’ll get there - someday, one day,”
The weight on his lap was awfully familiar; the result of endless nights of practice, evaluations, months and months on end of living a dream you’re unsure of being able to pursue. Yeosang was just as helpless as mingi was; could feel that he was slowly draining – slowly becoming a lantern losing its vigor, its fuel, warmth and light dying as hours passed by. But who was he to think that way when he had to be strong for Mingi?
For his Mingi?
Yeosang feels the fabric on his sweatpants dampen, the light grey fabric now blotched with a dark spot. He feels the weight on his lap shift, now long arms stretch to wrap around his waist. They were all too familiar; arms that helped him reach to wipe the practice room mirrors at parts where he couldn't reach. Arms that would always find its way around his shoulder for a reassuring squeeze. Arms that enveloped him in times he needed them most even when he didn't say anything.
It’s like he knows; Mingi always knows. It was something familiar to them; the unspoken affection, the understanding, almost binding them together through nothing more than the simple threading of fingers between each other’s hair, the hushed secrets they whisper to each other wrapped under their thin blanket at the end of the day, and the way one would always sneak into the other’s bed to fall asleep in each others arms on the days when it gets too hard – and sometimes it would be all of the above in order. They lived in the comfort of the other’s presence, and neither would wish for anything more. Simply existing next to each other was reassuring. Calming. Grounding.
Grounding; yeah, grounding. This was mingi’s way of grounding; wrapping his arms around yeosang for minutes; doing nothing but listen to the steady sound of yeosang’s breath. Sometimes, his hums to a certain song he's practised over a hundred times for their weekly evaluation, and sometimes he’d bury his head deeper into yeosang’s stomach, to which the other would know that it was one of the more difficult days; one of the days where mingi would need extra reassurance that he was doing fine, that they were doing fine, and they always will be. Yeosang would run his fingers through his hair, stroke the back of his neck, and pat his back as he always does; a reminder that mingi has worked hard. And although it’s what he tells himself everyday, what he thinks when he looks in the mirror, what he whispers to himself before he dozes off to sleep, it’s much harder to believe it than say it when your worth isn’t a good score written on paper.
“We’ll get there one day, right? I believe in you,” Yeosang hums, untangling the strands from mingi’s hair as a result of his hair being under the beanie all day. “Both you and me – we’ll make it.”
Mingi wants to believe him, but he feels awful when he couldn't deny the presence of doubt in yeosang’s voice. He says nothing, only sniffles a bit. He can feel yeosang’s stomach vibrate when he chuckles.
“You’re doing amazing, Mingi – you know they're being tough on us because they want us to get better.” Yeosang pats the crown of mingi’s head, “it’s just the nature of our training.”
“I’m not upset that they told me I wasn’t good enough,” Mingi’s voice came out muffled. “I’m upset that they gave you a low score just because you had a bad cough.”
Yeosang stills at the comment, and although Mingi couldn’t see, he could feel yeosang pause.
“It’s still partly my fault that i didn't take care of myself well enough.” yeosang offers him a smile. Mingi pushes himself away from his stomach, now staring back at yeosang’s eyes. Mingi wants to deny it, wants to reply – but he knows more than anything in the world that nothing can stop yeosang from humbling himself and taking it all, even when he’s the one wronged.
Yeosang notices that mingi has been staring at him a second too long and laughs. “What?”
Mingi opens his mouth to reply. But then he thinks of all the times yeosang has made honey tea for him at the wee hours of the day when practice had just ended. He thinks of the first time yeosang offered to show him around the building of his first day as a trainee. He thinks of the way yeosang laughed to be polite at mingi’s awful joke as a poor attempt to break the ice; and he thinks about the way yeosang had genuinely laughed for the very first time; it was refreshing. Deep and contagious and so so pure; as if you could see it resonate from the very pit of his body out of his mouth, travelling to mingi’s ears in a melody mingi had never expected it to sound like. He thinks of all the times yeosang had offered him everything he had for mingi to get better, for them to get better.
For one dream. For their dream.
“Mingi?” Yeosang raises his eyebrows, perplexed and worried. “Is something the matter?”
Mingi thinks about the warmth radiating from the boy above him.
Mingi thinks about how much he loves yeosang.
“Nothing,” –and now mingi’s face is gone, buried back into yeosang’s stomach. He smells like a mixture of baby powder and cherry candy. “You have no idea how much I love you.”- was what echoed in mingi’s mind; but he manages to keep it to himself, seal the words off of his lips, and swallow the affection for the boy on top of him as he always does; just like every other day.