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Soonyoung doesn’t know how he got here.
He does know that he’s just on the right side of tipsy, flushed warm and red and altogether languid. Soonyoung moves slowly, like he’s a deer apt to spook, taking great care in wrapping his hand around the ankle in front of him. The skin is smooth and cool, and Soonyoung digs the nail of his thumb into the jut of bone, distantly fascinated at the redness it leaves in its wake. He rests his warm cheek against the mattress and decides too easily to test the waters.
Minghao doesn’t say much. He doesn’t do much but sigh, and it’s this pitchless, small, quiet thing that has Soonyoung’s head on a proverbial swivel, like he’s waiting for it, anticipating something. Soonyoung looks up.
He is in Minghao’s room, on Minghao’s bed, with Minghao’s ankle in his hand, and he doesn’t know why or how or when, but he likes it all the same. He always likes Minghao.
Soonyoung watches Minghao’s mouth curl and stretch around his stage name, and only hears the blood rushing in his ears. He blinks. Minghao’s lips are pretty. Plush. Something to be jealous of, if Soonyoung were jealous of that kind of thing.
They’re more red than anything now. Minghao’s lips. They were pink at dinner. Soonyoung knows. He remembers the slide of Minghao’s tongue over his own bottom lip, and remembers Minghao complaining about the dry air, even this deep into the forest. Seungkwan offered an extra lip mask, because he and Joshua were the only two who thought to bring their entire skincare regimens to a rural retreat, and Minghao gracefully declined, falling quiet in wait.
Soonyoung played right into his hand. He was sober when he fished his lip balm out of his pocket and held it out, and he’d only half-wished that he wasn’t. Three tipsy gazes had stood still between him and Minghao—Seungkwan let out a snort, rising on shaky legs to amble out, no doubt in search of Hansol; Wonwoo looked back down at his phone; Joshua just kept breathing, basking in the luxury of being undisturbed.
The world around them fell silent, and Soonyoung was deeply aware of it as Minghao looked Soonyoung in the eyes, held him at the end of his gaze and used his lip balm as his own and complimented the flavour with a satisfied hum, like he’d tasted it right off Soonyoung’s mouth.
Something inside Soonyoung tilted just a little then, skewed him off-axis. It’s not every day he feels the need to distance himself, usually deeply contented with a jab or two at Minghao’s demeanour, that quiet, close-lipped smile that he knows he will always get in return before he slinks away; but Soonyoung watched Minghao turn the lip balm in his slender fingers, watched him pocket it. Felt as that same axis slid further from the centre and resolved to hover just out of reach as he gunned one can of Terra and went to open another, like he could drown it back into place.
The moon hung a heavy silver stone atop a deep, pebble-studded river, shining through the half-open window of the playroom when Minghao toed the line Soonyoung drew himself, the grip of his cool hand at the back of Soonyoung’s neck, pads of his fingers dipping beneath Soonyoung’s collar, and Soonyoung—
Soonyoung looked up from his spot on the floor, followed the lithe, bleary line of Minghao’s body up to find him soft, even with that look in his eyes, longing for a challenge—he leaned down and Soonyoung’s head fell back in his hold and Minghao’s lips brushed warm against the shell of Soonyoung’s ear when he said,
“I’ll hold onto it for you. Come get it, hyung, when you’re ready.”
Soonyoung let him leave. Drank a little deeper into the night.
He stumbled around to toss his cans in the trash, told Joshua and Wonwoo to take their time, shoved his feet into his shoes and pushed himself into the cold, watery dark, steps guided by the ghost of Minghao’s hand.
Now, the bottle of wine at his bedside gives Minghao away, half-empty and glowing red beneath his skin, soft on his mouth.
“Hyung,” Minghao calls, turning his leg a bit. It moves easily in Soonyoung’s hold, still smooth and cool, the both of them varying in warmth against the air and their skin that hasn’t yet picked up on the space heater in the corner. Minghao must have changed as soon as he got back; now all of him is swallowed in soft white cotton. Soonyoung looks at the triangle of bare skin beneath his robe, the apex of it upside down and widening up to his sharp collarbones, the long column of his neck. “How much did you drink?”
Soonyoung can almost feel himself blink again.
“A lot,” he says. He chased each can with a bottle of water, a shot at responsibility that he’s sure missed the mark. “I missed you.”
There’s nothing foreign in the way the words sit in his mouth. Nothing lost in translation as Minghao hums again, as dignified a response as it would be to say it back.
Soonyoung blinks up at him again. “You were reading.”
Minghao nods, a smile playing at his lips and tugging his voice into something Soonyoung always knows to be fond. “I was.”
“Keep going,” Soonyoung drawls. “Share some wisdom with hyung, Myungho-yah.”
Minghao hauls himself up, back straight against the headboard. He runs his finger along the edge of the hardback cover on his lap. His eyes flick over to Soonyoung’s again, even though he doesn’t need to make sure Soonyoung is still watching. He always is.