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Minho isn't expecting to see Seungmin at his high school graduation. Isn't expecting to see anyone, really, besides his parents and grandparents, who'd come down from the farm to attend.
But when Minho looks up from his halmeoni’s embrace, Seungmin is there, clad in his black school uniform and looking so, so fragile.
Fragile isn't a word Minho normally associates with Seungmin. Seungmin is annoying and persistent and almost as stubborn as Minho himself. He’s the opposite of a shrinking violet, has been that way since they were kids playing catch in the street and he’d marched up to Minho and declared that they were going to be best friends from then on, even though Minho was two years older and wore a perpetual pout.
Today, though, his eyes are round and glossy with unshed tears, face scrunched up and mouth pressed into a quivering line. Minho excuses himself and makes his way over, bends down slightly to peer into Seungmin’s red-rimmed eyes.
“What’s up, dummy?” he asks, frowning.
Seungmin valiantly tries—and fails—to suppress a sniffle. Minho is helpless in the face of Seungmin’s obvious distress, finds himself moving before he even knows what he's doing. Seungmin is smaller in his arms than Minho expects, a glacier of a boy funneled into a skinny, knobbly frame.
Seungmin buries his nose in Minho’s collar, definitely getting tears and snot all over Minho’s carefully ironed shirt. Minho doesn't say a word, just rubs comforting circles into Seungmin’s side, the nape of his neck.
When Seungmin finally draws back several long minutes later, he's gotten himself more or less back under control. He scrubs a furious hand over his eyes as if it'll help with the redness and swelling. It doesn't.
Minho decides that this is a good opportunity to change the subject. Not that they'd been talking about anything, so he supposed there isn't really a subject to change, besides Seungmin’s sudden and baffling breakdown. Not baffling in terms of the cause, of course, but rather the severity. Minho had thought that Seungmin would be sad to see him go, but not quite this sad. Seeing Seungmin's state now gives him the faintest bit of hope, though he feels fleetingly horrible for thinking that there's anything positive about the way Seungmin looks wrecked, face flushed and blotchy with tears.
Minho blinks a couple of times to clear his vision, clears his throat awkwardly. “I was going to give this to you later. But since you're here, you may as well have this now.”
He drops the object he's been hiding in his pocket for the duration of the ceremony into Seungmin’s uncomprehending palm.
Seungmin stares at it, then down at his own jacket, at the line of matching buttons there. “A button?”
“Not just any button,” Minho says. He pauses significantly, lets his gaze linger for a second longer than usual. “My second button.”
He waits for the pieces to fall together, for Seungmin to understand, but nothing happens. Seungmin just looks bemused, standing there with mussed hair and tear-streaked cheeks and a little piece of metal in his hand. Minho wants to smack himself in the forehead. Why are things so difficult? Why doesn't Seungmin get it? Is he really going to make Minho say it?
“Don't you remember that anime we watched last year, the one with the four friends and the transfer student…” He trails off, shifts from one foot to another.
Seungmin is silent for another moment before his still-red eyes widen to an almost comical extent. “Hyung, I–”
All of a sudden Minho is too afraid to hear the rest of that sentence, knows that whatever is about to come out of Seungmin’s mouth will change them forever. He interrupts too fast, too loud.
“Never mind! I should go! I think my family is waiting and my harabeoji has bad knees so he can't stand for too long! Bye! Thanks for coming! See you later!”
Minho can feel the stares of every nearby student and their family members boring into him after this outburst, the corresponding flare of his ears despite his best efforts to tamp down the heat. He doesn't clap his hands over his ears, and he does not run away. Instead, he turns sharply on his heel and speed-walks back where his family is standing, grabs his mom’s hand and starts tugging her towards the door.
“Come on, eomma,” he hisses.
She follows, but slowly, a grounding weight at the end of his arm. “Okay, baby, but what's happening?”
“I’ll tell you when we get home,” he says in a rush. He gives her hand another tug, frantic. “Let’s go!”
He has no idea how they get home, how he makes it back to the comfort of his own room. He immediately dives headfirst into bed, though, yanks the covers over his head in abject mortification. His mom laughs when he tells her everything, pats him on the cheek so fondly he feels like crying even though he's nineteen years old and definitely too old to be laying in bed moping like this.
He expects a knock on his door at any moment, for Seungmin to come bustling in like he always does, having charmed Minho’s mother and grandmother and every other godforsaken person on this planet in the process. But instead there's nothing. No knock, no insistence, no Seungmin.
Minho buries his head under his pillow and tries not to scream.
***
He doesn't see Seungmin for a week.
He spends most of that time packing, trying to sort through his entire life and figure out what to bring with him to university and what to keep safe at home. He wraps bundle after bundle of clothing, shoes, books. He packs his sleeping mask and his toiletries, his star-shaped string lights and a little animatronic cat his mom had brought home from the supermarket. To remind you of the kids, she'd said. When you’re missing them.
He lingers over the memories, unsure whether it’ll hurt more to keep them with him or leave them behind. The photo strip of him and Seungmin from their trip to Lotte World three years ago, the tickets to the baseball game Seungmin had dragged him to last summer, the photo Minho’s uncle had taken of the two of them fishing when Minho was nine. Minho had caught a fish within the first hour and been deliriously happy, running around to show off his catch to everyone on the dock. Seungmin, who’d had especially limited patience for sitting still and doing nothing as a seven-year-old, had cheered enthusiastically along with him, smiled for the photo, politely thanked Minho’s uncle for inviting him, and then never gone fishing again.
There’s a knock on his bedroom door, and Minho says to come in without much thought. He’s squinting at his manga collection now, trying to decide which volumes he might want to reread while he’s away. He expects it to be his mom with another reminder not to forget his toothbrush, or his dad with an itinerary for the move.
It’s neither.
Instead, Seungmin walks in, more hesitant than Minho has ever seen him, and sits cross-legged next to Minho on the floor.
“Kim Seungmin,” Minho says in greeting, just to have something to say.
“Minho-hyung,” Seungmin returns.
They sit. Minho resumes staring at his manga collection, though he doesn’t register any of the titles. They’re just blurs of color, streaks of teal and orange and red on a plain white shelf. Seungmin is looking… well, Minho doesn’t know where Seungmin’s looking, because he’s not looking at Seungmin.
“Did you want—” Minho begins, just as Seungmin starts to say, “I just came to—”
They both snap their mouths shut. Minho gestures for Seungmin to continue, because he's a good hyung like that.
Seungmin takes a deep breath, then starts again. “I just wanted to come over to talk about your graduation.”
“What's there to talk about,” Minho says, even though he knows very well what there is to talk about, has been turning every second of that disastrous interaction over and over in his head for the past week.
Seungmin’s expression is unamused, like he can see right through Minho’s bullshit. He probably can, after all these years, but that doesn't mean Minho isn't going to at least try to get away with it.
After a moment, Seungmin reaches into the pocket of his shorts and pulls out the button.
“This, hyung,” he says softly, gently. Like Minho’s a spooked animal, and Seungmin’s treading lightly to avoid scaring him away. Minho hates that the metaphor feels apt, hates that his first instinct is to flee, hates that he’s vibrating with the need to be somewhere else, anywhere else, anywhere where Seungmin can't look at him like that. Too open, too honest, too Seungmin.
He doesn't run. Instead, he flattens his palms on his knees, spreads his fingers out to keep himself still. He takes a deep breath, then another. He can't seem to speak louder than a whisper, but he knows Seungmin will hear him anyway. “What about it?”
“I didn't know how to respond at first,” Seungmin says, more conversational now that Minho’s fully engaged, present. Now that Minho’s anchored himself here to Seungmin’s side. “I spent so long on Naver trying to figure out what to do, what people usually do in response to things like this. But there weren’t any instructions on what to do when your best friend gives you their second button at graduation and then runs away.”
“I wasn’t running,” Minho says, but it comes out weak even to his own ears.
“So I’ll just tell you how I feel,” Seungmin continues firmly, ignoring him. “And you can react however you want after I say it. But just. Just sit and listen for a bit, okay?”
Minho can only manage a terse nod. His splayed fingers tighten on his knees, fingertips screaming from the pressure of digging them into bone and sinew. He has no idea what Seungmin’s about to say. It won’t be cruel, at least, whatever it is. He trusts Seungmin enough to know that much, to know that he’ll be gentle even if he spends the next ten minutes ripping Minho’s proffered heart to shreds.
“I was so sad, coming to your graduation. I was sad because you're going away, and you're going to be doing so many things, and I won't be there to see them.” There are no tears in Seungmin’s eyes now, just frank honesty. Seungmin's always been braver than Minho, in that way.
“And I was scared, too,” Seungmin continues. “I was scared that you'd go away and forget me here. That I’d just be some kid from your neighborhood that you used to know. Someone you could leave behind.”
Minho opens his mouth to say that's ridiculous, that Minho could never forget Seungmin, that Seungmin has burrowed himself so deeply into Minho's bones that he can't remember which parts of him are him anymore, and which are Seungmin.
Seungmin doesn't let him, barrelling on at a speed Minho hadn't known he'd possessed. “But then you gave me your button, and that made me think that maybe you won't forget me. That you’ll miss me as much as I’ll miss you. That maybe… maybe you want me as much as I want you.”
Minho’s mouth is dry. He can't speak, can't move, can’t breathe. Suddenly, Seungmin is far too close, warm fingers clumsy on Minho’s knee.
“Hyung,” he whispers into the space between them. “Can I kiss you?”
The world stops.
There's a second before Minho’s brain fully catches up with the words, when he just blinks at Seungmin in complete incomprehension. Once, twice, three times. Then—
“Yes,” Minho breathes out.
Minho’s never kissed anyone before. He doesn’t quite know what to expect, has only ever seen kissing on tv. Seungmin’s face draws nearer and nearer, and Minho screws his eyes shut in sudden panic.
The first brush of lips against his is soft, hesitant, just barely there before Seungmin’s warmth recedes. Minho’s eyes flutter open to see Seungmin leaning back again, removing himself from Minho’s personal space.
It’s not enough, Minho realizes abruptly. He wants Seungmin’s lips on his again, the taste of Seungmin’s cherry chapstick on his tongue. He wants to map the contours of Seungmin’s mouth with his, run his tongue across the ridges of every single one of Seungmin’s teeth. He wants to devour Seungmin from the inside out, to fuse the two of them together so completely that scientists five hundred years from now will nod solemnly at their conjoined bodies and say, “Humans in the twenty-first century occasionally engaged in such bonding rituals, which permanently bound two beings together both physically and spiritually,” or whatever the fuck scientists say. He wants so badly he aches with it, the longing he's been suppressing for so long unshackled in an instant by one measly kiss.
He opens his mouth to complain, to demand that Seugmin come back and kiss him properly, but notices Seungmin’s expression just in time, the same note of fragility hovering around the corners of Seungmin’s mouth as he'd seen a week ago in the school auditorium. Had it really just been a week ago?
Seungmin hasn't done this before either, he realizes. He’s nervous, too.
That realization brings him back to himself, grounds him. He’s the hyung here, not Seungmin. He can't always rely on Seungmin to be brave enough for the both of them.
“Kim Seungmin.” It comes out hoarse, and he clears his throat, embarrassed.
“Minho-hyung,” Seungmin whispers.
Minho can feel his expression softening at the wobble in Seungmin’s voice, the way Seungmin fidgets with his hands. He moves, this time, crawls across the carpet and hovers over Seungmin’s crossed legs.
“Can I—” he begins, and he doesn't even know how he means to end the sentence.
Seungmin saves him, as always. “Yes, hyung, anything.”
Minho directs Seungmin to straighten his legs and sit back against Minho’s bookshelf, then settles onto Seungmin’s lap, arms draped over Seungmin’s shoulders.
“Is this okay?” he asks, quiet. Nervous.
Seungmin nods furiously. He doesn't know where to look, Minho notes, doesn't know what to do with his hands. Well, no matter. Neither does Minho.
He throws all caution to the wind and just does what feels right, just grabs Seungmin’s collar and crashes their mouths together. It's awkward, and uncomfortable, and their teeth definitely clack together in a distinctly unsexy way. After a few seconds of fumbling, though, Minho tilts his head in one way and Seungmin tilts the other, and they finally manage to slot themselves together properly. Seungmin’s nose presses into Minho’s cheek, and his big hands come up to rest on Minho’s waist, the nape of his neck. Seungmin seems like he's everywhere, Minho thinks deliriously, they're pressed together in so many places. Seungmin’s all he can see, hear, taste, feel, the only thing that matters right now and forever. Fuck university—Minho’s going to drop out and get a degree in Seungminology, in the way Seungmin opens up underneath him, the way Seungmin reacts to his touch, the way he gasps into Minho’s mouth.
Minho’s forced to draw away first, this time, by a distinct lack of oxygen. He’d been prepared to keep going, too, but his lungs had started screaming at him and he'd decided that fainting on Seungmin was probably a bad way to begin their relationship. At least, he thinks it's a relationship. Hopes it's a relationship.
He worries it over for a second before deciding to follow Seungmin's lead and just ask out loud.
“Yah, Kim Seungmin.”
“Yes, hyung?”
“We’re dating now, right?”
He’s blinded by the flash of Seungmin’s sudden grin, boxy and boyish. “If you want to be, yes.”
Minho scowls. “What kind of question is that? Of course I want to. I gave you my second button, didn't I?”
Seungmin smiles up at him, tightens his grip on Minho’s waist as he shifts them both to be a bit more comfortable. “Yes, hyung. That you did.”
Minho tries to hide his relief, but he's not sure he entirely succeeds from the way Seungmin’s smile quirks, from the way his eyes grow even fonder than Minho had previously thought possible. So Minho falls back on what he knows, frowns down at Seungmin and says, “For a smart person, you can be awfully stupid sometimes, Kim Seungminnie.”
“I’m stupid?” Seungmin demands. He’s still smiling, though, so Minho thinks they’re alright.
Knows they're alright, when he leans down to kiss Seungmin again and finds Seungmin already swaying up to meet him. They kiss slower now, unhurried, trying to figure out the best angles, what makes the other react.
Eventually they'll have to separate, and there will be more packing to do. Minho will move to a goshiwon near his new university in Seoul, and Seungmin will take the train up to visit on the weekends. It’ll be hard, at first, to balance something so new and tentative with the demands of Minho’s university life, and Seungmin will sometimes feel left out, will go silent and sulky until Minho notices and reaches out, tugs Seungmin gently into his orbit, reassures him with kisses and murmured stories of people Seungmin’s grown to know, first secondhand and eventually firsthand. They’ll work it out, in the end. They always do.
For now, though, Minho focuses on the boy in front of him. He lets himself be consumed, understood, adored. He lets go, and Seungmin catches him. Like he always does.