Jongin’s gotten used to walking around in the dark. He’s usually the last one to go to sleep. A side effect, probably, of all those years spent practicing into the early morning hours. Today is no different, really. Everyone else is already holed up in bed, trying to make the best possible use of the few hours between them and their next schedule. Jongin yawns as he cracks open the door to his room, tugging off his t-shirt as he makes for his own bed. His spine cracks loudly as he does it and from across the room, he hears a rustle of sheets. 

“Ugh…” Kyungsoo’s voice is thick with sleep, but the tinge of mischief is still there. “Since when is my roommate a ninety year old lady?” 

Jongin scowls, though it’s meaningless in the darkness of the room, and chucks the shirt so conveniently balled up in his hands in the general direction of the other boy’s face. “If the sound bothers you so much, maybe you should offer to massage my back.”

Kyungsoo is making a disgusted noise and Jongin feels a small glow of satisfaction that his sweaty t-shirt missile must have hit home.

Jongin had always known that Kyungsoo is kind of incredible. It never ceased to amaze him, the way this tiny, kind of dazed looking kid would open his mouth to sing something, and then when he was done just smile sleepily while the whole goddamn world choked on whatever it was drinking. For Kim Jongin, it was a can of iced tea from the convenience store across the street, in a poorly air-conditioned practice studio, on Do Kyungsoo’s first day. 

Even then, Jongin knew a lot of guys with pipes that defied the laws of science. The kind of voices that get you a debut within a year of joining the company. But that guy, that guy had a voice that defied the laws of philosophy. A voice that Homer could have written an epic about.

 “Maybe I’ll start doing your laundry too.” Kyungsoo’s beginning to sound a little more awake, “What the have you even been doing? This smells like something died in it.”

Jongin bristles. “I sweat like a man, okay?”

Kyungsoo snorts derisively in response. “I don’t think smelling nasty is something you should be proud of. Shouldn’t you, like, shower or something?” Jongin can picture the revolted wrinkle in his nose, even if it’s too dark to actually see it.

“I was going to,” he sighs, “but someone used up all the soap. We have to go buy more tomorrow.”

Kyungsoo just snorts again. “Christ. This band, I swear to god... But do you actually need me to do your back?”

On that first day, Do Kyungsoo was a teenager with his very thoroughly together who spent the next two years growing up into a young man with his very thoroughly together while his friends and future band mates were still trying to get their hands and feet to fit the rest of their bodies (And Chanyeol was shooting up a few extra miles). There was a determined set to his jaw, and a solemn focus about him. He navigated the life he has chosen by carrying his stage name like a shield, wearing a dazed look and smiling a sleepy smile. Because (he told Jongin this once, very late at night when they were sitting on their roof, trying to find a star in the city smog above them) a properly executed smile is better than Kevlar.

When Jongin says nothing in response, he hears another rustle of sheets and a creak and a grunt as Kyungsoo heaves himself upright, switching on a lamp to bathe the room in light. The dark bags under his eyes make him look even more like an owl than usual, and he’s still blinking sleepily but he says nothing as he begins rummaging around in their dresser for Jongin’s pain medication. 

If he thinks about it, this is the reason Jongin loves Kyungsoo best. Because even if he’s known Taemin longer, or likes the same TV shows and video games as Sehun, Kyungsoo has always been the one to roll out of bed at three in the morning to rub muscle reliever into his back. To make him hot chocolate spiked with the bourbon they keep hidden in the pantry when he’s feeling depressed. To drag him out of the practice room on those obsessive nights when he would have stayed there until day break. Kyungsoo always has time for him. Kyungsoo genuinely gives a . And so Jongin loves him, insults and all. 

And sometimes, Jongin thought that maybe Kyungsoo really was made of Kevlar, because he’d never met anyone so strong. Jongin liked to put his forehead between Kyungsoo’s shoulder blades. He had this fantasy that if he did it often enough maybe one day some kind of spiritual osmosis would happen and he’d be able to absorb some of the iron in the older boy’s spine. Of course, when asked, he just mumbled about “nice and squishy” and took the smacks this always elicited quietly.

“Come on. The sooner we get this over with, the sooner I can go back to sleep.” Kyungsoo is patting the bottom of his own bed, the salonpas massage foam that is Jongin’s perpetual savior in his free hand. There’s a little smirk sitting on the corner of his mouth. “Besides, if you’re going to sound like an old lady, you might as well smell like one too. It’ll probably been an improvement over your so-called man sweat.”

It’s true. The menthol does make Jongin smell like a retirement home, but he responds only with a grumble of “,” as he flops down on his stomach on Kyungsoo’s bed. 

But then, maybe Kyungsoo isn’t that surprising, because SM ing E is not a place for half-assers. Blood, sweat, and tears isn’t a figure of speech around here. It’s a way of life. You don’t come here unless you love the dream more than you love yourself. More than your sleep. More than your education. More than your limbs (Jongin is pretty sure his lower back would have sued for emancipation by now, if it could). More than your family. More than the girlfriend you left back in your hometown, because even if the stress and long hours and competition don’t make you break up with her, the contract you sign to debut definitely will (Jongin definitely did). 

“What’s that, Jongin? ‘Thank you almighty D.O for forgoing your precious beauty sleep to attend to my pathetic muscles?’ That’s right, Jongin. You should be grateful. I’m glad to see you have such good manners.”

Kyungsoo’s fingers, as they rub the medicine into Jongin’s skin are cold, making him wince slightly on contact, but the feeling is soothing in its familiarity, because Kyungsoo’s fingers are always cold. Poor circulation or something. (Every time Jongin asks, Kyungsoo responds with a deadpan about vampirism, which of course quickly devolves into “ah, that explains how white you are” and “how old are you?” “21” “how long have you been 21?” “a while…”)

“Thanks” Jongin says into the sheets, allowing himself, at long last, to relax as he buries his face in the warm, comforting scent of his friend’s blankets 

Kyungsoo just makes a vague grunting sound that might, if you squinted, have passed for affectionate, and keeps massaging gently.

(Although recently, Jongin’s been wondering if the fact that he thinks about Do Kyungsoo literally all the time isn’t pointing to the fact that he would have broken up with his girlfriend anyway.)

Thankfully, by time Jongin wakes up the next morning, someone (meaning their manager, of course) has replaced the soap and he’s able to shower. Kyungsoo is very noisy about finally getting some relief from the agony his nose has been suffering, and Jongin replies that Kyungsoo can’t have been suffering that much, since he was snoring pretty loudly. This remark earns him a smack to the back of the head as Kyungsoo passes him his breakfast (“even my snores are a musical delight and you know it”), but he remembers (like always) to put a sliced banana in Jongin’s cereal, so Jongin chooses to put his spoon in his mouth rather than reply. 

Of course, he doesn’t mention that the reason he could hear the snoring was that he had been laying awake, mentally tracing the path of Kyungsoo’s fingers across his back, while his stomach did some detailed research on the flight patterns of butterflies.

Their schedule for the day consists of recordings, rehearsals for the recordings, and interviews in the spare blocks in between, so by the time they arrive at their final stop, a nighttime radio show, Jongin is only really processing about a third of what is said to him. Kyungsoo settles into the seat beside him without saying anything. 

“Nearly there now” Kyungsoo murmurs to Jongin gently, patting his fingers on the younger boy’s knees. 

Jongin tries not to think about the way his heart rate is elevating.

“I’m not the one who won’t make it” he murmurs in response. It’s true, Sehun, on his other side, has been running a fever all day and really does look like he’s about to pass out, eyelids drooping as Joonmyun pets his shoulder. He’s been sick for days, but in typical Sehun fashion, he’d been trying to hide it until Baekhyun happened to notice the cold sweat on his forehead this morning. It’s at times like that when Jongin most misses the M members. Jongdae and Luhan would have caught the maknae in a few hours, instead of the full week it took the rest of them. Kyungsoo turns, exchanging a worried, helpless look with their leader. 

“Hey, Yeol, do you have any of those energy drinks left? Sehunnie’s gonna fall over in a second,” Jongin says, his eyes still on Sehun, very firmly avoiding any consideration of Kyungsoo’s fingers still resting on his kneecap.

Chanyeol shakes his head, a frown settling between his eyebrows. “I think I saw a vending machine outside, I’ll go grab some coffee or something -- ”

“I don’t know if coffee is the best idea right now –“ Joonmyun begins to protest, but Baekhyun shakes his head. 

“He has to get through this broadcast. We have medicine back at the dorm. I’m going to kill you, by the way Sehun, when you get better.” 

Sehun only sticks out his tongue, leaving Baekhyun to bluster indignantly, but even Sehun’s frown seems droopy and limp, and the expression in Baekyun’s eyes is just as concerned as Joonmyun’s. After a minute, Chanyeol stands up. “I’ll go get something hot, at least.”

“Thanks, hyung.” Sehun croaks, head dropping to land on Joonmyun’s shoulder. The older boy continues to pet his hair gently, and as Jongin surveys them, he realizes that the danger that Sehun will actually collapse in the middle of their broadcast is quite real.

It’s not surprising then, that all six boys are a little distracted, which would explain what happens next.

The question is a little random, but hey, the fans know best, right? Which is probably why when the DJ reads out “Are there any members with interesting/bizarre physical characteristics” Baekhyun doesn’t think very hard about pointing to Chanyeol and his satellite ears and absurd height, nor does Chanyeol think very hard about sputtering his retort:

“It’s true. My ears are a little big. But it’s not like I’m the only one who has weird physical habits! Chen likes to swallow his saliva before he goes on stage, and when D.O gets nervous his hands get super, super cold,”

Chanyeol is rambling now to keep the attention of the radio cameras away from Sehun, who is literally wilting before their eyes. Jongin knows this, and wouldn’t be paying him any mind if it weren’t for the fact that Kyungsoo beside him has suddenly gone very stiff, his eyes getting wide.

“It’s actually kind of cute,” Chanyeol continues “because he’s actually a little bit of a shy person, back when D.O didn’t know us all well, his hands used to get cold all the time, you went to shake it and it was like touching an ice block, but of course, he’s more comfortable now. The only person who still makes him like that is Jo—“

And then he makes eye contact with Kyungsoo, and promptly clamps his mouth shut, a look of fear and horror creeping onto his face. Jongin understands why when he turns to look to his left, where Kyungsoo is glaring with the promise of an eternity of suffering. 

The DJ is laughing, and prompting Chanyeol to finish his thought, but Kyungsoo’s eyes, and the telepathic wave of “keep talking and I’ll put your in a blender” so powerful it could be a physical force emanating from them, make Chanyeol only laugh awkwardly. 

“It’s our manager” he whispers when he’s recovered sufficiently from Kyungsoo’s ESP threats, following this up with an explanation of how Kyungsoo still worries about being scolded by their manager, even when he knows he’s done nothing wrong. But Jongin knows he’s lying. He knows Chanyeol. Knows him viscerally, knows him the way only the members of the band can know each other because they were all required to grow up together, all at once under the bright glare of stage lights.

Chanyeol is lying through his teeth.

And Jongin, who’s recalling the feeling of Kyungsoo’s icy fingers pressed against his back, knows suddenly that the name Chanyeol was about to say was his own.

The car ride home is fairly quiet. Liberated at last from work, Sehun has passed out across Baekhyun’s lap. Baekyun is Sehun’s hair as he and Joonmyun debate what to feed the maknae when he wakes up. Chanyeol, in the front seat is bobbing gently to something playing through his headphones, and Kyungsoo, who has not made eye contact with Jongin since the radio show, is engrossed in something on his phone. Or at least pretending to be engrossed in something on his phone. Kyungsoo is normally very still when he’s focused, but right now, his feet are shuffling nervously.

Jongin himself is still pondering the implications of Chanyeol’s blunder, and Kyungsoo’s reaction to it. Why would Jongin make Kyungsoo nervous? And why would Kyungsoo be so mortified at the thought of Jongin finding out? None of it made sense. Kyungsoo is synonymous with confidence in Jongin’s mind. He can hardly imagine the older boy being ashamed of anything, much less nervous in the presence of his younger, infinitely less collected bandmate. Even in the worst of situations, when his voice cracks, or when he falls on stage, Kyungsoo responds with frustrated anger, not shame or anxiety. Yet here he is, unable to meet Jongin’s eyes, practically quaking in his seatbelt.

Jongin doesn’t say anything though, about Kyungsoo’s determinedly averted gaze, as they arrive home, heave Sehun onto Chanyeol’s back (Chanyeol is the only one tall enough to carry him these days), and make their way up to their dorm. He doesn’t say anything as they eat dinner, and stays in the living room when Kyungsoo disappears into their bedroom immediately afterward. His thoughts are still a knot which he can’t untangle and –

“Keep frowning like that, and your face is going to get stuck.”

It’s Baekhyun, hair damp from a shower, a small, infuriating smirk hovering around his mouth.

Jongin only scowls deeper in response. 

Baekhyun, in turn, heaves a theatrical sigh, flopping down on the couch. 

“Oh for Christ’s sake, just go in there and jump him or something. He won’t mind, and I swear to God, you’ll be doing the rest of us a favor. Watching you two is enough to make me itchy.”

Jongin feels his spine suddenly stiffen. There is no air in his lungs. There’s a way to fix that called… called…

“Wha-what?” 

Inhaling. Important if you want to live.

“Kyungsoo’s gonna kill me.” Baekhyun is examining his nails, looking remarkably nonchalant considering he’s in the middle of systematically blowing the fundamentals of Jongin’s reality to , “but I guess Yeol already outed him earlier. You may not be the brightest of kids, but you’d have figured it out eventually. This way, I can at least save myself having to witness your tortured angst in the mean time—”

“I don’t understand what you’re saying” Jongin interrupts. Breathing is still remarkably difficult for him.

Baekyun finally turns his eyes on the other boy, and, seeming to clock his state of emotional crisis, sighs again. 

“Dude… Kyungsoo’s in love with you. He’s been in love with you since…always. I mean, for ’s sake, he remembers how you like your cereal. I know you’re in love with him too, don’t deny it because you can’t lie for , and I’ve had it up to here watching you two ing gazing longingly at each other. So please, put the rest of us out of our misery, get off the couch and go tell him how you feel, you utter embarrassment.”

Been in love with you since always.

Jongin gets off the couch.

The shape of Baekyun’s smug smile is still imprinted on his eyelids, and he’s not quite sure exactly how he makes it from there to his bedroom, but next thing he knows he’s closed the door behind him and is staring at Kyungsoo’s back as the older boy finishes pulling on a t-shirt.

Songs. Smiles. Kevlar. Butterflies. Kyungsoo.

“Hyung why are your hands always cold?”

“Look, Jongin,” Kyungsoo doesn’t turn around. His tone is mildly scornful, but his shoulders have gone rigid again, “Chanyeol says weird stuff all the time, it’s not always true, okay  –“ 

“It wasn’t just Chanyeol,” Jongin interjects, “Baekhyun was saying some stuff too and I just – do I make you nervous, hyung? Just tell me the truth. Why are your hands always cold?”

Smiles. Kevlar. Butterflies. Kyungsoo.

Kyungsoo finally turns to look at him. He stands like that for a long moment, watching Jongin, sizing him up, Jongin can’t help but imagine. Despite the confused whirl of his own brain, he can still somehow visualize Kyungsoo piecing together what he wants to say in his mind, lining up his words carefully before letting them out –

“You terrify me.” He says flatly. 

“What?” Whatever semblance of order Jongin had returned to his mind promptly flees.

“You. Terrify. Me.” Kyungsoo repeats slowly, enunciating each syllable with knife-like precision. 

Kevlar. Butterflies. Kyungsoo.

“I what? Why? That doesn’t make any sense,” Jongin doesn’t even know where his words are coming from anymore, everything is a jumble, and all of the feelings he’s been half-supressing for the last four years seem to be bubbling up and interfering with his brain to mouth filter “Why on earth would I scare you you’re… you. You’re Do Kyungsoo and you can do anything and I’m just a giant up who somehow succeeded in getting to breathe the same air as you what do you even mean I scare you –“

Butterflies. Kyungsoo.

“Jongin!” Kyungsoo interrupts, and Jongin stops talking immediately. Kyungsoo stares at him for another long, agonizing moment. Then all of a sudden, he heaves a small, frustrated sigh, and he’s crossing the room, grabbing Jongin by the back of the neck and pulling him down to kiss him. 

Kyungsoo. 

And this is less like butterflies and more like a stampede of elephants tearing through his body. Every metaphor about seeing stars and white and every color all at once suddenly make sense to Jongin because this, this, this is all of those things. Kyungsoo’s lips are pressed against his and Jongin’s hands reach out to pull the rest of him forward without his brain asking them. His blood has been replaced with something sweet and fizzy, and once again there’s no air in his lungs, but this blackness is perfect and he wraps it around himself even as he wraps his arms around Kyungsoo and crushes their mouths together harder. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” Kyungsoo’s mouth is still against Jongin’s own as he says it, whispers it like a precious secret. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted you to,” Jongin murmurs back. And Kyungsoo just lifts his face once more.

Kyungsoo had always known that Jongin is kind of incredible. It never ceased to amaze him, the way this gangly, kind of awkward looking kid would melt his bones into music and dance, and then when he was done, shuffle his feet and smile while the rest of the world just watched and felt its various limbs turn to jelly. For Kyungsoo, it was his knees, in in a poorly air-conditioned practice studio, on his very first day. 

Even then, Kyungsoo knew a lot of guys with bodies that moved like water. The kind of body that could channel a beat like it was nothing. But that guy, that guy had a body that was the beat itself. A body that moved like poetry.

On that first day, Jongin was a little kid who knew exactly where he belonged, and Kyungsoo watched him turn into a young man who knew exactly where he belonged while his friends and future band mates were still trying to figure out which direction was forward (and Suho was learning how to be a brother and parent all at once). There was a smirk always at the corner of his mouth, a reckless abandon about him. He navigated the life he has chosen by throwing himself in head first and smiling a wild smile. Because (he told Kyungoso this once, very late at night when they were sitting on their roof, trying to find a star in the city smog above them) if you can’t smile, what’s the point anyway?

And from that moment on, Kyungsoo started smiling more, because he’d never met someone who made him feel so light. When Jongin rested his head between Kyungsoo’s shoulders, Kyungsoo could almost feel, as though by some kind of spiritual osmosis, his own body absorbing some of the other boy’s electricity. And when Jongin made comments about “nice and squishy” Kyungsoo would smack him, even as all his nerves tingled under his skin, and his stomach did detailed research on the flight patterns of butterflies.