Did you forget?

As a dancer, Jongin’s always been a little egotistical. Because before he can remember, people have always praised him. Whether it be his form, his attention to detail, or even his feet; he’s always been one of the best dancers in the room. But even dancers, once in a while, have to take a step back out of the spotlight. They have to let the next dancer grace the stage. They have to share it with them. They even have to watch.

Jongin, the dancer, has to still his movements, rest his muscles, and simply revel in the magnificence of someone else. But do you know how excruciating that is? To admit that someone else is better than you? To admire their use of control or wish you could have let out of your turns as easily?

It’s like having a nightmare. You see their body moving across the stage, see every detail of their performance with a decisive eye. Judging and waiting. Will they make a mistake? Wait, that didn’t look quite right. Oh, but that was so beautiful. Oh, but that made me feel something.

Oh . . . I don’t think I could have done that the same way they did. I . . . need to practice more. I’m . . . really lacking.

 And then before you know it, you want it all to stop. You want to rip the dancer off the stage and shout at the top of your lungs to the awed crowd. “No, it’s me! I’m the best! I can do it just like they did, but better! Watch me!”

But no matter how hard you try, you’ll never do it exactly the same way. For everyone moves differently, expresses differently . . . dances differently.

Jongin would have never have come to this conclusion if he hadn’t of met Taemin. Of course he’ll never admit it; he has to keep some of his pride intact. And it’s not that Jongin doesn’t want to be perfect. It’s not as if he’ll stop practicing any less. It’s just he never knew he could watch someone else dance and not think he was in a nightmare. He never thought he would look at another dancer in awe and amazement and not want to be better than them.

 To Jongin, Taemin just danced differently, and for whatever reason, it made him feel warm inside. A feeling he couldn’t quite equate to anything else, except perhaps some vague childish nostalgia. But the point is, Jongin started to crave that feeling of comfort and light, that airy wind that had suddenly blown into Jongin’s life and somehow rearranged everything.

The day after their first ual encounter, Jongin and Taemin found themselves soaking in the tub for hours. The water lightly rippling as Jongin’s fingers drew lazy circles against Taemin’s forearms, making them itch from the tickling sensation. And Taemin’s eyes would sparkle as he laughed and turned around in the tub, meaning to pinch Jongin in his side, but somehow, be it the slippery-ness that is water, his fingers found themselves clamped onto the cheek of Jongin’s . And suddenly they would both blush and cover their mouths in embarrassment, as if they hadn’t spent hours learning the curves of each other’s body in great detail.

And after all, it’s the body that truly doesn’t lie. It’s the body that communicates much easier than words ever could. Jongin doesn’t need to be perfect. He doesn’t need to say the right things- in fact he and Taemin barely talk at all- even as they finally get out of the tub, their toes pruned and pale. They grow bold and shy again as they patiently wipe the other dry.

 Jongin bends down to wipe Taemin’s legs, starting at his tiny feet and moving all the way up to his thighs.

Taemin bites his lips as he covers is manhood, not entirely as bold at the other, but he blushes and shivers as the rough soft-ness of the towel slides against his skin, going ever higher as Jongin reaches up.

Somehow, Jongin gets lost just taking in Taemin’s pale skin or the way his muscles bulge out from the frailness that are Taemin’s sticks for legs. But the towel slips to the floor, and Jongin’s fingers becom