Taemin is slumped on the couch, fiddling with his phone, and it’s like the universe is against Jongin because a ray of late afternoon sunlight streams in through a gap in the curtains and caresses Taemin’s bowed neck, illuminating the highlights in his hair like a prettier version of Tao’s blinged out jackets and damnit, not again.

Jongin is resigned to the fact that his crush will never quite fade, but at least it’s not quite unrequited. Maybe. Possibly. Jongin can never quite tell with Taemin. They fool around, but it’s not like they’re exclusive or anything. Jongin refuses to consider the question of whether he wants to be – they’re comfortable with each other, and happy, and they’re gonna stay that way forever, and that’s all there is to it. If only his stupid brain would cooperate.

Jongin’s always been attuned to Taemin, but lately it’s just gotten worse, somehow. He feels like a protagonist in one of those stupid novels his sister likes to read or something, because of all the stupid flowery his mind seems to spontaneously generate whenever Taemin is in the vicinity. It’s like he’s a tuning fork specifically programmed to Taemin, and dammit, there he goes again.

Taemin huffs at his phone irritably, drawing Jongin’s attention. One hand comes up to rub at his shoulders, and Jongin has to close his eyes for self-protection. The comfortable silence is broken when Taemin drops his phone on the table with a careless clatter.
 
“Jongin?” he hears, but Jongin resolutely keeps his eyes shut. “What are you doing?”
 
“Meditating,” he replies, and well, that’s true. No need to answer what about.
 
“Oh.” There’s a pause. “Is it working?”
 
“I’m not sure,” he replies honestly. The couch creaks a little. Jongin wonders if Taemin sat up. Probably stretching or something. He stops that thought midway and tries hard to clear his mind.

“Why are you meditating?” Taemin sounds baffled. Jongin can’t blame him. It’s not anything Jongin’s wanted to do before.
 
“Suho hyung said it’s good for stressful situations.” Jongin replies dutifully.
 
“Is that your way of saying I’m stressing you out?” Jongin can imagine the pout that goes with the injured tone very clearly.
 
He takes deep breaths. “Not… more than usual.” He’s cheered to see that he’s stopped himself from the temptation of opening his eyes. “I’m practicing.”
 
“Well, stop it,” Taemin says. “I’m bored.”
 
“You said you were tired and wanted to sleep!”
 
“You’re the one who’s going to sleep if you keep doing what you’re doing, Mr. Narcoleptic,” Taemin retorts.
 
“Doesn’t sound too bad,” Jongin muses, and hears a snort. The room is peacefully quiet for all of 3 seconds.

“So…” Even Taemin’s voice sounds bored. Jongin tries not to feel guilty. “Is it working?”
 
Jongin scowls. “You’re distracting me!”

“Jongin, if I wanted you distracted, I’d be right over there with you,” Taemin says, laughing.

Jongin’s ongoing tries to clear his mind fail to keep him from imagining exactly how Taemin would distract him, and he can feel the ghost of a flush creeping up his face, and no. No. He refuses to abandon his self-control.

Luckily (or unluckily for Jongin), that decision is taken out of his hands by Taemin sliding out from the couch and walking over to grab at Jongin’s arms. There’s a light scuffle where Taemin tries to make Jongin get up but Jongin has the advantage and uses it shamelessly.

Taemin falls with a curse, and Jongin is laughing as he pins him down by the shoulders. “Gotcha,” he crows victoriously, but then Taemin relaxes into his hold, smiling back, and Jongin’s brain resumes its state of composing bad prose.

“So, no PC bang?” Taemin asks, raising his eyebrows. Jongin is both staring at, and trying not to stare at the way Taemin’s hair spreads out on the rug beneath him. He says the first thing that comes to mind in an effort to distract himself.

“What if we get caught by Dispatch?”

Taemin laughs and then groans. “I’m in no mood to put on makeup.”

“Don’t tell me you were serious about that,” Jongin says, snickering. Taemin hums, non-committal, and brings up his hand to push back Jongin’s hair from his eyes. Jongin can’t quite stop himself from leaning into the touch.

“Maybe coffee..?” Taemin wonders aloud.

“We’ll need to find a new café.” Jongin thinks back to the last time when a fan had recognized them. Luckily it’d been one of the sane ones. He’d still tensed up, though Taemin hadn’t been worried.

Taemin frowns up at him. “Is there a reason you’re sabotaging all my plans?”

“It’s cold out,” Jongin defends. In all honestly, he’s not quite sure why he’s insisting on staying in. It seems counter-productive to his plans to focus less on Taemin. Some of his thoughts must’ve shown on his face because Taemin looks curious.

“Anything you want to do then?” Taemin asks. “And don’t say meditation.”

“Who’s spoiling plans now?” Jongin jokes, and gives in to temptation.

Taemin blinks down at where Jongin has snuggled into his neck and blows out a breath. “Ah, sorry, I’d forgotten you wanted to roleplay a cat,” he grumps out.

Jongin snickers and hums a few lines in reply. He can’t quite stop himself from moving his hands, either.

“Oi,” he hears, and then his head is being pulled to the side, and none too gently either. “Stop dancing when you’re lying on me, your hair is going into my mouth!”

“Ouch! Ow, that’s abuse!” Jongin whines, trying to get his hair free of Taemin’s grip. “I’ll tell AoA!”

Taemin’s laugh rings out long and loud, and Jongin can’t help but join in. Eventually the room is quiet again. Taemin’s hand has returned to Jongin’s hair, this time absently combing through the strands. Jongin’s eyes are closed, face once again tucked into Taemin’s neck.

His mind is blissfully blank, only focusing on the faint smell of shampoo from Taemin’s hair and the fingers lazily his scalp. There’s absolutely no bad poetry running through his head, thankfully. It’s weird that the whole meditation thing seems so much more effective this way, he thinks. Now all he has to do to not think of Taemin is... wait. He frowns. There’s something screwy about his logic.

He struggles with the thought for a few seconds, then gives up. It’s hard not to relax into contentment here with Taemin, like this.

He curls his hands into the fabric of Taemin’s overlarge, comfy tee and shivers into the touch when Taemin’s fingers fondly the outer shell of his ear.