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Some of the first words I asked you teach me in your language were ‘good morning’ because it’s what I wanted to be able to say every day. It meant you had stayed.
It’s still relatively early—Kyrell of course, has already started his day, leaving the rest of his roommates in the sleepy haze that comes with the territory of their lifestyle. Mackiah typically aims to get up around the same time as their resident sunshine, but he’s currently buried beneath an obscene amount of blankets and the full body weight of one of the members—resulting in partly bleached hair fanning out along his chest. An entanglement of limbs and shared body heat, located in a bed that barely fits one. The biting cold of the outside world can’t quite reach the two of them here, tucked into each other’s space in the minimal privacy that Siyun’s bottom bunk provides, with his hanging blankets serving to hide them from the curious eyes of their fellow members.
Mackiah can’t quite help himself, fanning his long fingers through the—surprisingly very soft—locks of the older of the two. Siyun grumbles slightly—seemingly protesting the thought of being awake too soon after another night of working entirely too late—but doesn’t join the land of the conscious quite yet.
The pins and needles Mackiah is getting from the dead weight on top of him are a worthy price to pay for Siyun to actually get a good night’s sleep, he thinks to himself. His hand hasn’t left Siyun’s hair, gently working in small circles as though he was a massage therapist.
Apparently more awake than Mackiah had realized, Siyun lets out a pleased hum before readjusting his position—rolling over to prop himself up onto his elbow. With an unabashedly fond smile, Siyun takes hold of Mackiah’s hand still resting on the top of his head, choosing to entwine their fingers together.
Siyun—in carefully practiced English—mumbles a soft, “Good Morning, Yejun.”
Mackiah—feeling a dopey grin quickly take over his face—can’t help but parrot the English greeting right back, “Good Morning, Hyung.”
And in what may be the cutest thing Mackiah has ever seen, Siyun let’s out an endearingly awkward laugh as embarrassment warms his cheeks.
“Ah, was that okay?” He murmurs in his native tongue, pressed close enough for Mackiah to feel the words form along his skin. “I asked Kyrell about the pronunciation and he—”
Having thoroughly exhausted his restraint, Mackiah can’t help but plant a quick kiss on Siyun’s rambling lips, effectively stopping the nervous speech he had begun to devolve into.
The feelings between them are still somewhat uncharted territory, having strayed past the line of being just friends all too recently. The thrum of energy from their most recent performance in the air—eyes meeting across the room, bodies still buzzing from the high of being on stage.
Mackiah thinks he might be one of the luckiest people alive, getting to see Siyun’s ears turning a brilliant shade of red from the unexpected kiss.
Perhaps with time, Siyun won’t become so flushed from such a simple display of affection. As a hands-on learner, Mackiah will simply have to test that theory himself, for science of course.