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Spin, spin, spin.
The bottle spins atop the dirty coffee table, and so does Sumin's world with it. He watches the empty green bottle swirl around in a manner that's strangely baleful. Like a crow gliding low to the ground, looming. The bottle gradually slows to a sluggish halt, and Sumin follows the glass to confirm his fate.
Sumin's throat goes dry when he makes eye contact with the person on the other end of that bottle. The world briefly screeches to a halt, the sounds of Fall Out Boy fading into muffled background noise as realization dawns on him. His chest throbs, and sweat coats his palms.
Not that he'd let anyone know.
"Guess it's you and me, jagiya~" Sumin snarks, wiggling his eyebrows for good measure. Jinsik - who'd been blinking at him owlishly - nods with a pout.
"Don't have too much fun in there, you two," Hyunwoo laughs. Jinsik rolls his eyes, and Sumin winks. Confidence will keep them off the scent, right? He makes a show of hoisting himself off of the ground, stretching languidly as if his brain didn't just stomp down on the gas pedal.
"You gonna keep me waiting, yeobo?" Jinsik asks, face unreadable. Is he bothered? Excited? Mildly amused or annoyed? Typically, Sumin is good at reading the other, but Jinsik's choosing now to wear that adorably blank, vacant expression he gets sometimes.
"After you," Sumin gestures dramatically. With a roll of the eyes, the younger of the two swings open the closet door and disappears into the dark, cramped space. Sumin follows him in, and it's Minjae who seals them in with a shit-eating grin.
"Seven minutes starts now!" Minjae hollers, voice stifled by the barrier of the door.
Seven minutes.
"We should get comfortable, huh?" Sumin says quietly. Even though his words are innocuous, the idea of being overheard terrifies him for some reason. The two of them are sitting in total darkness. They can't see one another —yet, suddenly Sumin feels more exposed than ever. He can just faintly make out the outline of Jinsik perched on the floor. The other has his arms wrapped around his knees, and he rocks slowly from side to side. Sumin feels like he's being rattled externally—like an earthquake is jostling his body. He shakily takes the spot next to Jinsik. They're so close that their hips and shoulders press against one another. The warmth of Jinsik's body sinks into Sumin's clothes, and the scent of the other's body wash tickles his nose. It's intoxicating.
"So, um, what do people even do in here?" Jinsik asks. He knows - they all know. Hell, they're not even the first ones picked. They've seen people strolling out of the closet with messed up hair wearing wide smirks.
"I dunno. I mean- Y'know. Make out and stuff. But we don't have to! We can just chill, yeah?" Sumin replies.
"Y-yeah. That sounds good. I mean... Do people really make out in these things?"
"Well, yeah. That's kind of the whole point?"
"Really?" Jinsik's head tilts slightly in confusion. "I just thought it was a thing from movies and stuff. I didn't think people, like, actually did those things. I dunno."
"I mean- movies are definitely... Probably sensationalized, but it happens."
"Have you ever done that before?"
"What?!" Sumin's heart lurches with shock at the sudden question. "Me? Like, you mean- seven minutes in heaven?"
"Yeah."
"Oh, well, um. No, not really. I mean, I've been in the closet with someone before- ha- but, I didn't, like, do anything."
"Ah..." Jinsik nods, accepting the answer.
The two lapse into an awkward silence after that. Sumin loathes it. He and Jinsik never have awkward silences. They don't do awkward silence—yet the quiet hanging between them fills his lungs like a noxious fog poisoning him from the inside out. He can't think of anything to say. It's weird because the reality of the situation is objectively not too strange. Two friends chilling in a closet—what's weird about that? Why can't they make conversation? Why does the implication of the venue and the accompanying expectations put such a damper on the two of them?
Are they really just going to have to spend the full seven minutes suffocating in silence?
"You've been kissed, right?" Jinsik asks.
"Um. Yeah." Sumin mutters. His past experiences are hardly remarkable. He got dared to kiss a girl under the bleachers back in grade school—that was his first kiss. After that he had one situationship of sorts that took a lot of his firsts, but he didn't mourn the loss of it after moving on with life. Since then, there have only been casual pecks on the cheek—maybe an errant drunken kiss here or there.
Sumin thinks to reciprocate the question, but then he realizes this is something he ought to know. He feels sheepish not being able to recall something so basic about his best friend. There are faint whispers in his mind speaking to some relationship Jinsik had in the past, but the memory is a blur. It doesn't surprise Sumin that he can't remember those things. Any time Jinsik so much as hinted at a crush things between them got... Awkward. It never came up often as a topic of conversation because of it.
"You have too, right?" Sumin asks anyway, not wanting to stew in silence for too long.
Jinsik nods—and though it's dark, Sumin can tell the other's gaze is fixed into his lap.
"Yeah. I don't really... Get this, though." Jinsik waves around vaguely. "I don't get the appeal of just kissing random people. I dunno."
"Hey—jagi~ I'm not a random person. I'm your best friend!"
"You know that's not what I mean! What if—what if I got put in here with anybody else?"
"Well—" Sumin's brain pumps the brakes upon processing the question. He immediately hates the idea of it. The image of Jinsik being stuffed into this closet, thigh to thigh with someone else—a person intent on kissing him—it's kind of like a waking nightmare to picture it. "You don't have to kiss them, you know."
"I guess. Is that, like, a normal thing, though?"
"Huh?"
"To make out with strangers like that? Sometimes I feel like I hear about things, but they don't seem real. I always wonder if stuff is overblown or if I'm just the weirdo—you know?"
A fond smile crosses Sumin's lips, and he nods, "Yeah, I know. Maybe I'm weird too, I dunno. I guess there's no big deal in kissing random people. It can be kind of fun, but it's not something I think is regarded as massively appealing, I don't think. Seems like more of a movie thing."
"Ah, got it. Well, regardless of what others do, I'm definitely glad I was stuck in here with you."
Sumin's cheeks sting with warmth. He's grateful for the darkness obscuring it, because otherwise he knows he'd look pinker than a pig. He nods in acceptance of the compliment, not quite sure how to respond without sounding like a total dork.
"Same." He mutters. Another spell of quiet sets in between them. Usually silences aren't too awkward, but Sumin can't alleviate the pressure pressing onto his shoulders. He doesn't know what to say while he's busy batting away invasive thoughts.
"So, are you going to kiss me?" Jinsik asks out of the blue.
"Uh—What?!" Sumin chokes out with a cracked voice. He was not prepared for that. The impulsive urge to actually do the damn thing closes around his mind like a vice. The pounding of his heart reverberates through his ribcage and echoes into his ears. Ba-dum. Ba-dum.
"That's what people do in here, right?"
It awes Sumin that Jinsik sounds so cool, so unaffected. Does he hear himself?
Does he not care?
"W-Well, yeah, but we don't have to. If you don't want to, it's fine."
"Do you want to?"
"I—I don't want you to be uncomfortable, man." Sumin feels as if he'd been put into an oven and the heat got cranked up. He starts getting hot under the collar, and his palms clam up with sweat.
"You don't feel comfortable?"
"What? No, I just don't want—I mean, I didn't think you'd actually want to."
"Why not?"
"Hm?"
"Why wouldn't I want to kiss you?" Once again, Jinsik sounds so level, so stable through it all. Without light Sumin can't tell what the other is thinking, he can't see if the other is fidgeting or where his eyes are. He's known Jinsik for years, so it's not like he's flying completely blind, but it's still disorienting.
"I—I dunno. I guess I just didn't think you'd want to."
"I'm sorry—am I making you uncomfortable?"
"Wh—No! Not at all. Jagi, you could never make me feel like that." Sumin laughs awkwardly. "It's just, I dunno."
"Are you afraid?"
Yes.
"Wh—No! Hold up, hold up—are you—do you want me to—to—"
"I'm just saying, I don't know why you're freaking out so much." Jinsik lets out a little chuckle. There's an underlining of dryness to it—like he's laughing more from disbelief than humor.
"I am not freaking out, okay?"
"No? You sure?"
Is Jinsik egging him on? To what end?
Sumin feigns swagger, voice pitching up in his reply, "You wanna kiss me so bad? Then pucker up big boy~ Oh—and try not to fall in love."
His heart jumps into his throat as he leans forward. He can feel the warmth radiating off of Jinsik's face, can feel his own breath bounce off of the other's skin. It puts him on the cusp of blacking out. Sumin's hands tingle, and his heart pounds as he leans forward. Finally, their lips make contact. Sumin shuts his eyes and presses the most featherlight, gentle kiss he can muster atop the other's lips. Even that mere contact is enough to make his heart soar. Fireworks ignite in his chest, twinkling lights fizzling in his fingertips and toes. He clutches his hands in his lap to prevent them from going anywhere they shouldn't.
Sumin parts with haste, eyes darting across Jinsik's features to gauge his reaction the best he can. To his dismay, Jinsik's expression is blank again. He simply stares at Sumin, wordless, as if expecting some kind of elaboration.
"What? Too starstruck?" Sumin ventures a joke—not that Jinsik's face budges.
"That's it?" The other asks, voice straight and frank.
Under different circumstances, Sumin might have given those words more thought. Perhaps he'd have questioned "Why?" or even wondered "What?". The blunt challenge in Jinsik's tone takes him aback. Unfortunately, his cognitive abilities are significantly diminished. Sumin sputters, falling back on humor as his shield.
"Didn't wanna overwhelm you, jagi. Y'know, I give you too much and you won't wanna stop. After all, it wouldn't do for you to fall madly in lo—"
Sumin doesn't get to finish that sentence. His body gets abrutly yanked in the direction of his partner, and without warning their lips are smashed together. A surprised whimper escapes Sumin's lips at the sensation of colliding with Jinsik again. This time, it's the other who is in control, and he makes Sumin look like a complete amateur. Jinsik uses one hand to cup Sumin's face while the other anchors him by the shoulder. He laves at Sumin's lips, demanding moreso than asking for entrance. Sumin can't say no to Jinsik on a normal day. And now? Now that his walls have been effortlessly vaporized? He's powerless. He obliges Jinsik's silent demands, an embarrassing moan leaving his lips when the other starts probing.
Sumin's eyes roll back into his head as their tongues tangle. He can't whelm any critical, concrete cognition. All he can do his feel—feel Jinsik's soft lips against his, feel the other's hot, wet tongue probing against his own, feel the other's stern yet hesitant grip hold him close. The two devolve into an almost frenzied tangle of lips and limbs. Sumin grabs anything he can. One hand tangles in the fabric of Jinsik's shirt while his other arm wraps around the other to pull him in close. Their legs wind around one another, spindly limbs forming a tangle in which Sumin is sort-of straddling one of Jinsik's thighs.
For a brief window of their existence, time slows down, and the world disappears. There is no party going on, no music blasting beyond the door, no riotous partygoers or free-flowing booze. The four walls surrounding them form the boundary of their world, and they are its sole inhabitants. Sumin's heart pounds against his chest as if it's trying to reach Jinsik's. Jinsik nibbles at Sumin's lips and sucks on his tongue. Sumin's toes curl as he grasps at Jinsik's biceps and neck, fingers fervent in their journey for bare flesh. The two make out until their lungs are fit to burst. Even when their lips part, they can't bear to be far from one another. Their breath mingles as they recover, minds catching up with their bodies at a sluggish pace. Jinsik idly noses at Sumin's cheeks and jawline, and Sumin draws shapes onto Jinsik's skin atop his shirt.
Once they've recovered, awkwardness seeps into the silence between them. Sumin backs off slightly and tries to appraise Jinsik's mental state. The other appears to be doing the same, eyes starting to widen as if just realizing what transpired. Sumin tries to say something, but no words arise. He can't think of anything to say—has no idea where to start. Does he tell the truth? Crack a joke? Ask Jinsik where he's at?
Jinsik is the first to part his lips. He swallows nervously, gaze evading Sumin's and he starts:
"You—"
"Ten—!" A shout bellows through the door, making them both jump. The yell is followed by a rough bang to the door—their signal that time is very nearly up. By reflex, the pair of them jump, and their entanglement causes them to bump into the closet walls. Minjae counts down at a pace that sounds entirely too quick. Sumin and Jinsik part with anxiety fueled haste. Neither have the time to think or talk or consider the other's feelings. All they can do is oblige the impulse to separate from one another before anyone can see.
"—zero! Alright, time's up!" Minjae laughs as he swings the door wide open. Sumin's head throbs at the sudden influx of light flooding his vision. Jinsik doesn't seem to be in any better condition, practically cowering into the corner. "You kids have fun?"
"So much fun," Sumin says, trying to play it off as a joke. He hopes nobody notices the lack of conviction in his tone. "Isn't that right jagi?" Jinsik glances at Sumin, and for a moment, Sumin senses something in that gaze. Something negative. He can't place it, but Jinsik doesn't look all too pleased. Whether it's him or the situation, Sumin can't say. He doesn't have time to dwell on it.
"My legs are cramping." Jinsik says. He hoists himself off of the ground with a grimace and walks off. Sumin does the same mind still reeling in the wake of their seven minutes. A deluge of snarky comments and wolf whistles wash over them as they rejoin the group. Sumin bats them away with sarcastic remarks, his default armor. It's so innate to him that he doesn't even consciously think of his replies, his drunken mouth just rattles off banter while his mind wades through the muddied waters of his friendship. It takes a few minutes for him to notice that Jinsik is conspicuously gone.
The bottle spins again, uncaring of his plight.
Sumin wants to seek Jinsik out, but the idea of being found out is too threatening to him. Whatever spell had been cast over them dissolved the second Minjae shouted at them, and what's left is delicate. He can't stand the idea of bearing that vulnerability around his drunk friends. They mean well, he knows. He doesn't question their intentions or their good natures. He simply knows in his heart of hearts that now is not the time to loop them into this. This is between him and Jinsik.
Whatever "this" is.
As long as this thing allows him and Jinsik to be together, Sumin is confident he can weather the storm. No matter how rough. He just needs Jinsik by his side.