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i. cold
A deep breath in and the air tastes like salt water; lungs filling slowly while the ocean waves lick up the sides of the rocks beside them. It’s an arrhythmic splashing, mimicking a heartbeat, whispering its story because everyone seems to forget that things are alive. (Seungkwan listens carefully and then he remembers.)
“Do you think we’re allowed to walk on the rocks?”
“You can try,” suggests Mingyu, hand still nestled warmly in Seungkwan’s, “but you might fall.”
“And die,” adds Soonyoung from a few meters away.
Seungkwan sticks out his tongue and pulls the taller a little closer to his side.
“It’s so fucking cold, why did we decide to come today of all days?”
Mingyu laughs, a sort of sympathetic chuckle: “You wanted to see the ocean, here it is.”
“Don’t trust things I say at 1am.”
“Shush, you love it here. Don’t complain,” he scolds, and calls out to the only other person at the waterfront at dawn on a Wednesday. “Hey, we need some warmth support down here!”
“Yessiree” is what echoes back and a figure starts jogging towards them, breath fogging in the early morning air.
“Hi, long time no see.” Soonyoung unties his windbreaker from his waist and drapes it carefully over Seungkwan’s head.
“Thanks,” Seungkwan replies (mouth muffled by the jacket). “You’re sure you don’t need it?”
“Nah, the cold is nice. Makes me want to run, I think.”
“You just ran?” Mingyu looks slightly concerned.
“One can never run enough,” Soonyoung assures him with a strong nod, turning to bounce back down the wooden walkway, but his sleeve gets grabbed by a small shivering Seungkwan before he can get any farther.
“Just stay still for like, two seconds. Please,” he murmurs.
There’s a (reluctant) sigh and shuffling when hands dig hands out from crumpled sleeves to slip one into the other. It’s ten times- no, a hundred times better than heat packets.
After a few minutes more of walking around aimlessly, they decide on a good rock for sitting on (watching the waves roll by, half asleep on each other’s shoulders, fingers loosely linked together).
If I did fall into the ocean right now, Seungkwan muses, at least there would be someone to miss me.
ii. warm
The pages stick to the sweat on his fingertips and it feels like all the words are blurring together like a dictionary melted and didn’t bother to clean up.
“I can’t focus.”
“Please? One more line,” Mingyu begs, “and I’ll walk to the store and get you like, four hundred popsicles.”
Seungkwan makes a muffled Noise of Distress and slams his head on the table.
“It’s not worth it, I can’t do it, I can’t do anything.”
“Don’t be such a downer, cutie. You can do it!” Mingyu enthusiastically waves invisible pom-poms in the air. After a few seconds of being ignored, he wraps his arms around Seungkwan from the back, nestling his head between the younger’s neck and shoulder.
“Get off of me. It’s a billion degrees and I’m not a cutie.”
“What a cute thing to say,” he leans in to whisper in Seungkwan’s ear, “ cutie. ”
“ I swear to god, Kim Mingyu. ”
It takes another hour or so for the sun to start setting, for the dizzying heat to dissolve into cool evening air (the kind where you want to take a walk around the block just to breathe it in).
He’s rolling things over in his mind (like cookie dough, maybe) when Soonyoung walks into the room, a small cardboard box cradled in his arms.
“Surprise! I brought treats.”
“Popsicles? Gosh, Soonyoung, you read my mind.”
“I thought you didn’t like cold things?”
“They’re not for me,” he announces, tossing them onto the table and flopping down onto Seungkwan’s bed.
Mingyu grabs one from the box and unwraps it, sticky plastic falling on the carpeted floor. Seungkwan snatches it immediately and glares at the culprit, crumpling the wrapper in an angry (loving) fist.
“I’ll have you know, this is a litter-free zone.”
“Mhm.” Mingyu crawls up onto the bed next to Soonyoung (who’s playing Colour Switch quietly on his phone) and plants a cold popsicle kiss on his cheek.
“WhatareyouDOING?” He shrieks, trying to bat Mingyu away but accidentally falling off the bed (and dropping his phone in the process) as the taller continues to litter his face with icy kisses, both laughing a bit too loud for such a small room.
Something (he pretends he doesn’t know it’s the need for attention) bites at the back of Seungkwan’s mind and he feels compelled to tug at the hem of Mingyu’s t-shirt.
☼
“That’s not-”
“There’s no third wheel, there’s nobody left out. That’s what you said, that’s how it was supposed to work. Right?”
The words pour out faster, louder, more desperate than Seungkwan expected them to. It feels like he was spinning in one of those teacup things at the carnival, and now he’s off and getting sick all over the hot concrete ground. (His mom hands him a pack of Skittles and pats his head, saying “feel better, kiddo”. The janitors give him dirty looks.)
From where he’s standing, their faces look wavy and distorted, but he figures it’s probably an illusion of the heat.
(He just wants to cool down.)
☼
“Me too-”
He hardly gets the words out before Soonyoung is carefully unwrapping another popsicle (blue raspberry flavoured), gently attaching his lips to the ice.
“Ouch,” he says and flinches slightly at the contact, but Seungkwan knows it doesn’t hurt, it only numbs, and then cold lips are on his and warm hands on his thighs and it’s weird and new and tastes like blue raspberry and hot summer afternoons.
The air is thick and muggy but Mingyu cuddles up close to Seungkwan’s side anyways, burying his face in the crook of the youngest’s neck. ( Like he always does; the thought pops up and there’s an undeniable comfort in knowing someone, in having habits and routine.)
The kisses are quick and light (but achingly loving and tender), and Soonyoung’s hands have worked their way up, one to Seungkwan’s shoulder and the other brushing against his cheek. He licks his lips and they’re not so cold anymore but they’re sweet, sweet like popsicle and like being confused but trying your best.
In the end, that’s what they’re doing, just trying their best, and Seungkwan catches a glimpse of his popsicle (lemon-lime) melting into a puddle on the table. Just trying.
It’s not that he likes getting angry. In fact, he hates it; he hates yelling so loud his throat growls and scratches, he hates trembling until it feels like the earth is quaking below him, he hates tripping over his words because they’re running too fast for his mouth to keep up.
Slowly, the hands that were on his shoulders and face reach his hands, weaving fingers through fingers and pressing palms against palms.
“You too,” Soonyoung breathes, and Seungkwan feels like crying.