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Lee Taemin watched the boy move fluidly to the music from the corner of the practice room where he was sitting, a towel draped across his shoulders, a half empty water bottle in his grasp. There was sweat dripping off of him and quite frankly he just really wanted to shower and sleep but there was something about watching his best friend dance that was absolutely mesmerizing so here he was, watching said boy as he ran through new choreo that Taemin had never seen before.
Quite frankly, it was amazing, watching him dance. He moved with the fluidity of water yet he had this ability to put an edge of sharpness into each move, which contributed to the dizzying combination that was Kim Jongin. Or, he supposed, he was now called Kai. Taemin didn’t really like it, but he had to grudgingly admit that it fit Jongin’s stage personality well.
He watched as Jongin’s hands caressed his own face, his eyes closing and his throat bobbing as he swallows and Taemin's heart pounds uncomfortably, he wants to be the one touching Jongin like that, intimate and raw, but Jongin's hands don't pause and he can only be a silent observer as they continue downwards, splaying and mapping out his own chest and Jongin clenches at his heart like he's been hurt, and if Taemin had a hard time breathing before, it's gotten fucking impossible now, watching Jongin's body curl in on itself before his hands are trailing down his taut stomach and stopping short of the waistband of his sweatpants. This was the shit that poets would spend three years describing every little detail, and honestly Taemin’s personally thanked all the gods in existance that he gets a front row, up close and personal view.
He’s even more glad that Jongin has long since forgotten his presence, lost in the choreography, his face contorting in emotions as he pours his soul into each movement, so that he can’t see the way that Taemin is watching him, drinking in the sight of the sweat slicked body moving effortlessly in front of him, his eyes flickering up and down Jongin’s body hungrily, watching the way his muscles flexed and rippled under his skin.
Fuck it, this is the shit that he should write about.
If he ever released his own solo album, of course.
Jongin’s thumbs are hooking into his waistband now as he rolls his hips excruciatingly slow, biting his lip in concentration. And then he’s dropped to the floor, and Taemin barely registers that ouch, that’s gotta hurt a little before Jongin is dragging his arm across the hardwood floor in one smooth stroke with the push and pull of the music, almost like his body is a calligraphy brush and Taemin would be lying if he said that he wasn’t nearly breathless watching the younger boy.
There’s a quick twist and then Jongin is on his knees and Taemin can see just how heavily his chest is rising and falling from noticing how nicely the thin material of his shirt clinging to his muscular body and he feels a pang of sympathy for the other boy. Jongin works his ass off to the point where Taemin’s pretty sure he’ll collapse at any given moment. Not that Taemin didn’t work hard either, but Jongin coped with his insecurities about being a dancer by… dancing more. He knew that Jongin didn’t think of himself as that good of a singer, so he made it his goal to compensate by his dancing. Thus, the relentless practicing and the ever present drive to be better, learn choreo quicker, nail difficult moves faster.
The song must almost be over by now and the choreography is slowing down, the muscles in Jongin’s quads flexing and quivering from overexertion as he slowly straightens up with an incredible grace. He has to remind himself to close his mouth and he blinks and it almost hurts because of how long he’s been watching Jongin, his eyes dragging across the lines of the younger boy’s lithe body.
The music ends with Jongin standing in front of the mirror, his sweat soaked bangs plastered to his forehead, his head lowered and he can see the boy’s whole chest rising and falling as he tries to catch his breath. In an instant though, he’s looking up and catching Taemin’s eye in the mirror and his stage persona is flicked off, a sheepish grin replacing the confident smirk on his handsome face as he rakes a hand through his hair.
Taemin’s pretty sure he’s never going to ever forget the sight of Jongin dancing out of his head. It’s weird, especially cause the world could be ending and everything could be going crazy but watching Jongin dance grounds him and makes him forget about everything else.
“Hyung? Was it okay?” Jongin's voice breaks through his thoughts, worried. He ambles over to where Taemin is sitting.
“It was more than okay - it was amazing Jongin-ah,” he replies, beaming, and Jongin’s face splits into a grin.
“Do you know what the best part is, hyung? For the performance they’re gonna have a special part of the stage that will come up that has holes in it and water will come out, so I’m gonna be dancing this in water!” He continues bubbling on about his solo eagerly and Taemin just grins at him and hands him his water bottle, and tries really really hard not to think about the final performance will look like.
EXO goes on tour again, and he’s blessed with texts throughout the entire time from Jongin.
“Hyung, you’ll never believe the fans at the airport….”
--
“Kim Jongin has sent you a photo.”
--
“Hyung, help. Chanyeol snores so loud and I can’t sleep!”
--
“I wish you could have seen how big the crowd was tonight, hyung”
--
“Hyung, I miss you ㅠㅠ”
--
“I. am gonna kill. Sehun.”
It’s early in the morning - way too early and he knows Jongin should be sleeping - when the younger sends him a link to a YouTube video.
“Kim Jongin has sent you a link: Youtube - EXO KAI Baby Don’t Cry Best HD”
He watches as the beginning of the YouTube video begins to play, realizing with a start that this is the dance that Jongin was showing him that one night in the practice room.
Oh yeah, he remembers, and swallows thickly, his throat suddenly dry. The water.
What he was not in fact expecting, and what Jongin so kindly failed to mention, was that he was clad in mother fucking skin tight leather pants.
He ends up watching the video four times on repeat and a total of ten times that day, trying to desperately squash the feelings in his stomach and the way his heartbeat speeds up dangerously every time there's close up on Jongin’s face and he can see the water dripping off his chin and his eyelashes and the rivulets running down his neck and the way his eyebrows furrow and his face twists in anguish with the emotions of the song and his chest expands with each breath and how his eyes flash dark and dangerous and tortured and desperate. He kills himself a little bit more by slowing the speed of the video down (thank you, YouTube!) and watching it in slow motion and he memorizes the way that the loose (and white, none the less) shirt clings to Jongin's muscular chest and frame.
After three consecutive nights of dreams filled with the sight of water dripping off of a soaked Jongin as he stares Taemin dead in the eye, his eyes dark and hooded and his chest heaving, he decides to put a pen to some paper and write down some lyrics in the hope that somehow, this would help get the feelings off his chest.
“I was good, wasn't I hyung?” Jongin asks him, from where his lanky body is splayed out across Taemin’s own. Exo is back from their tour and they're in one of the communal areas at SM, comfortably lounging on one of the couches, enjoying each other’s company. He's talking about the dance.
He hums in reply, not bothering to stop the head massage that he was giving the younger boy.
“You were amazing,” he murmurs softly, and the tips of Jongin’s ears go pink. “I couldn't stop watching the video and you plagued my dreams for days. I'm gonna write a song inspired by you dancing in the water.”
Jongin snorts out a laugh and twists so he’s peering up at Taemin, a lopsided grin on his face, but it slowly fades when Jongin realizes he's serious.
“Genuinely? You're gonna write a song about me?” He asks curiously.
Taemin laughs. “I've already written the first two verses, Jjong!” He scolds gently.
Jongin’s eyes widen and he’s quiet for a second but then it sinks in and a look of confusion crosses his face. “Why me though? I mean, don't get me wrong - I love you but...”
Taemin doesn't answer right away and instead focuses on the feeling of Jongin’s soft, silky hair carding through his fingers as he wrestles with his emotions since god forbid he starts fucking crying right now . “Cause you're amazing,” he starts. “And when you dance it's just - I dunno. It makes me wish I could dance as half as good as you can. You make everything look so effortless. And that dance, in itself, is a work of art.” He finishes, his heart swelling with emotions and he leans down and presses a soft kiss to Jongin’s forehead, a blush spreading across the younger boy’s cheeks as he snuggles deeper into Taemin’s chest, embarrassed and flattered by all the praise.
"O - Oh," Is all he says.
In my heart / Drip Drop / You fall, one by one...
Knock knock, you’ve knocked on my heart / With your ticklish whispers...