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Jihoon shares a cup of white tea with Taeil one morning. They’re due on-set for some talk show or other by 9am, to be on air from 09:30, for whatever God-forsaken reason, so they sit quietly whilst makeup noonas and directors and crew members flutter around them noisily, despite the early hour of 7am.
It’s peaceful, despite the buzz - they’re tucked up in a corner of a dressing room, a pocket of quiet nonactivity, sipping from a steaming paper cup that puts a flush on Taeil’s cheeks.
(Is it the tea, with it’s subtle kiss of raspberry, or is it the way Jihoon’s fingers trace over his every now and again, warm hands instilling the blush of rose that flares across his cheekbones?)
(He’s not sure, but he’s also not sure if he cares, so there’s that.)
(God, he’s screwed.)
A presenter Taeil vaguely remembers the name of approaches them both, pretty with her curled hair framing her face just so. She wishes them both a good morning, making a quiet joke about the time and an appointment with her bed. Jihoon laughs. The sound ripples through Taeil and seems to wake up the millions of butterflies in his stomach (when did they get there?) and makes his cheeks positively burn. The woman smiles at them before she bustles away, excusing herself to greet the other members.
(He ignores the flash of green in his vision. Jealousy isn’t something he’s that used to, so he pushes it down.)
(He tries not to entertain the thoughts that he’d love to be the reason Jihoon’s smile lights up like that so early in the morning.)
The tea is still lukewarm, sort of. There’s about a quarter of the cup left and the younger of the pair pushes the cup towards Taeil with concern written across his features.
“Hyung, drink up - you’re all flushed, do you feel okay? I can go and grab you some water or I can find some more tea if it’ll help you feel better-”
“Thank you, Pyoji, I’m okay. A bit warm, if I’m honest.”
(He’s lying through his teeth, of course - he’s damned freezing, it’s so cold with the air con on, he’s just about hiding the shaking in his hands. Is that the cold? He’s getting concerned at the sheer amount of questioning Jihoon makes him do.)
Still, Taeil drinks down the majority of the drink remaining, hoping it’s herbal goodness will settle into his soul. Grinning, Jihoon takes the cup back and drinks the last mouthful. He’s lit up like sunshine, eyes shining as his own young soul illuminates the space around them.
(Taeil isn’t sure he’s ever seen anything more beautiful, really.)
With the cup gone, Jihoon instead takes Taeil’s hand, the smile on his face never leaving.
(If he’s truthful, Taeil wants to lean across and kiss the other man, taking his own tiny sip of sunshine to keep him warm and safe for the rest of the morning. Of course, he’s not totally sure what everybody would say at such brazen actions, but the scene in his head leaves him feeling light as a feather and twice as soft.)
The warmth that blooms through him has him leaning further into the maknae. The taller man’s smile maybe tones down to something more content, possibly, to an experienced eye, as he slips his arm up and across Taeil’s shoulders. The same experienced eye would also notice how well he fits under Jihoon’s arm, head tucked into his shoulder.
(If he was a little bit light earlier, he’s walking on air now, radiating contentment and light like he’s not quite sure what. He’s not too bothered what he’s glowing like, in truth.)
They sit like that for some ten minutes, a faint trace of raspberry lurking in the backs of their mouths. The world continues to buzz around them with a thousand voices calling back and forth and the crashing of set up crews, the Earth continuing to spin around their tiny envelope of quiet warmth.
(He doesn’t want to kiss the taste away, honestly; doesn’t want to taste what he’s convinced himself will be hazelnuts and caramel on the youngest’s tongue, the chocolate he’s sure he’ll taste behind his teeth-)
“Jihoon-sshi! Can we steal you for makeup, please? Taeil-sshi, we promise we’ll return him in one piece.”
“Yah,” Taeil giggles, only a little disappointed to be losing Jihoon (and definitely not leaning after him as he goes). “If he comes back looking respectable enough for the cameras, I don’t care how many pieces he comes back in.”
Everybody laughs (Taeil ignores the tiny flash of hurt that shines in Pyoji’s eyes, promising himself he’ll make up for it later with more tea or a cookie or something because Gods and demons, he didn’t expect it to resonate in his heart quite so much) and Jihoon disappears with the kind-eyed makeup artist.
In the time before the youngest’s return, Taeil checks all of his social media, takes a lot of bored selfies, doesn’t check the almost-forgotten cup for more tea (honestly) and doesn’t sit looking slightly lonely and a little bit dejected at the loss of the other man.
(He definitely doesn’t pretend there’s another small mouthful of tea in the cup, pressing his mouth to the spot last marked by Jihoon’s own, savouring the idea of a tiny shared kiss, no matter how indirect.)
(He’s hopeless.)
(Okay, so maybe his dumb ‘crush’ has been with him for a while. Okay, so maybe he’s just tired this morning and everything means more to him than it probably should. Okay, so maybe he’s choosing to ignore every other occasion he’s been sat as close and his colony of butterflies has made his heart do somersaults. Okay, so maybe he lights up a little bit when Jihoon rounds a corner, eyes searching him out.)
The maknae settles back next to Taeil after twenty minutes of absence, smelling faintly of cosmetics and something powdery. He instantly wraps his arm up around his shoulder again, drawing the other back to his shoulder.
“Miss me?”
“About as much as a fish misses riding a bike.”
“How rude. I’m your maknae, you should be nice to me.”
“You’re also a brat, Pyoji, did you ever consider that?”
“Maybe once or twice. Usually only when Jiho yells at me.”
“Trust you to never listen to me, God.”
“You know I love you, hyung.”
“Bullshit.”
Jihoon’s laugh rings out (Taeil’s heart does something, he’s not sure what) and just as the same makeup artist comes back, asking this time for Taeil himself, the bespectacled young man feels a kiss pressed to his temple as a wisp of white tea inundates his heart. He follows after the young woman with a spring in his step.
(He understand that yes, he’s absolutely hopeless, but hey - so are the butterflies that he’s certain leaving him smelling raspberry all day.)