They are walking down the street, bellies full, arms interlocked, the third time Junhui tells Minghao.

Junhui recalls the bustling streets of Shenzhen with fond memories. In the daytime, the doors of the street shops were wide open, and walking by, you could smell the sweet fragrances wafting out of the stores. At night, the city was alive, with neon lights and tall, glowing billboards and banners. People of all ages littered the narrow back-streets and sidewalks, the incredible traffic congestion leaving cars backed up for miles. Walking was the most convenient way to get anywhere. He loved everything about it.

Seoul is a different world. There are street shops and food stalls and tall buildings with flashing neon lights, just like his hometown, but there is a difference. Junhui can’t put his finger on it. People, young and old, walk the sidewalks and the back-streets in small crowds and masses, wearing business suits and graphic shirts. But it’s not the same. He reasons it’s the language -- that no matter how well he speaks Korean, it will always be foreign to him. That when he’s walking along and reads the hangul on the shop signs or hears the passersby carrying their conversations, he feels uneasy. He expects home, when home is nowhere to be found.

So when Minghao and Junhui are walking together after stopping for lunch, the older of the two is comfortable at last. After much persuasion, Junhui links his arm with his friend, brushing off the looks from older civilians as they pass by them. Minghao flushes red when he catches someone staring, and turns his head away without a second thought. But he never pulls away. And although Junhui is thankful, he laughs hard at the blush on the younger boy’s cheeks.

He reaches over to poke Minghao on the side of the face, teasing him for being so shy in public, when he knows his own face is heating up at the sight of the boy’s pout. Minghao is quick to wave his hand away, rubbing the spot where he was touched. Without even making contact, he can feel the heat radiating from his skin, and he nudges Junhui in the side in fun. The older boy knows he’s won, won whatever game they were playing, if it could be called a game. He smiles a wide, toothy grin, and casts it at Minghao. His eyes move with his lips, and the corners wrinkle as they squint.

Minghao stutters in awe, his ears burning pink, at his friend. He has to remind himself to keep walking forward, or else they would be trampled, but he so wants to stop. To stop and take it all in, how wonderful Junhui is, how he’s shining brighter than any of the street lights or signs around them. He swallows hard, and his Adam’s apple bobs up and down, and his heart is picking up speed in his chest, pounding faster and faster with every moment he stares at Junhui.

It’s over all too soon, and Jun is left to wonder why Minghao is such a bumbling, flustered mess. The younger boy turns his head in the other direction and tries to calm himself, to distract himself with window displays and vibrant posters. Junhui stuffs his vacant hand into his jean pocket and tightens his hold of his friend’s arm, pulling him closer. Minghao shakes his head, refuses to make eye contact, but the older boy pays no mind.

“You’re my favourite,” Junhui smirks into Minghao’s ear, he can feel him jump under him, at his breathing down his neck. The boy hums in response, glances over at his friend and softens his gaze. They communicate no further for the rest of their trek, but Jun understands what Minghao really means to say. ‘I know.’

Both of them walk with a skip in their step.

This one definitely wasn’t based on Jun’s 24 hour cam. Nope. :^)