What If...

"Can we take five? My waist is killing me," Sehun grunts breathlessly, his face contorting painfully as he collapses onto the wooden floor of the rehearsal hall where he and Jong-In have been hard at practice these three hours. With Tokyo Dome and their Japanese debut drawing nearer by the hour, everyone, from members to management, is feeling the pressure and none more so than EXO's youngest dancers.

The higher-ups have issued an order: a new joint solo stage to replace their now famous Baby Don't Cry water-spectacular and Jong-In and Sehun must be the ones to devise it. Creativity, this is the company's latest concept for their golden group. Music by EXO-Lay and EXO-Chanyeol; Choreography by EXO-Sehun and EXO-Kai - doesn't that have a nice ring to it? 

Tomorrow a filming crew will be joining their practice so as to "document the creative process". The two young men cannot afford to make a single error. No one needs to see them failing, falling, struggling, repeating each movement until their minds grow dull and their bodies limp with exhaustion. It's not the process that wants documenting but the product, and the only product sold by this company is perfection.

Sehun pulls up the hems of his sweatpants and studies his newest "badges of honour". His fair skin is mottled with bruises, red upon blue upon green upon yellow. Rainbow-knees - how very Wolf era, he reflects sardonically, battling the urge to self-pity with his usual sarcasm. 

Jong-In settles beside him, nimble despite his weariness, his sweat-drenched hair half-covering his deep-set emotive eyes. Sehun's gaze traces their trajectory as the myriad droplets of perspiration trickle down Jong-in's well-formed cheeks, nose and mouth. He's beautiful... He bites his lip unconsciously at the thought. 

Being of an age and occupying similar positions within the group, Sehun and Jong-In have been close friends since their trainee days. In the three years since their debut, with the exception of sleeping space, the two have shared everything...almost. This almost has been nettling Sehun's consciousness with increasing frequency over the past few months. He wants to erase it, to replace that almost with an all. 

Can friends be lovers? What happens when the love dies? Does is it bury the friendship with it, or would their seven-year-long bond survive its demise? These are the questions that he hides with ellipses between almost and all. He knows that he isn't alone in his doubts whenever he catches Jong-In's thoughtful gaze in his own. They'll stare at each other for seconds that stretch like hours, each daring the other to make the first move, and just when it feels as though they might die if they don't, uncertainty will bubble up their throats like an undigested meal and spew out of them in wretched laughter. Over and over and over again, dancing and dancing but always in place. How long has it been now? Jong-In-ah...

"Jong-In-ah -" 

I think we should be good for tomorrow," Jong-In interjects, the moisture from his ample lips and smiling contentedly at the familiar brackishness. This is the real taste of success - salty and sharp - and to Kim Jong In at least, there is none other can rival its deliciousness. 

"Mm" is all the affirmation he receives from his dancing partner, group-mate and close friend. Jong-In inquires no further; he knows too well the meaning of that abstracted mm. He glances at the three-months-younger man and feels himself shrivel with remorse. Why am I such a bloody coward? Why are you?! 

The answer comes in the form of a question: What if...we can't? What if...we break? I don't want to lose you. Sehun-ah...

When first they met as fourteen-year-old brats, Jong-In had just completed his sixth month of training under SM. Oh Sehun was their latest acquisition, a lanky ulzzang with few credentials and a big attitude. Jong-In fell for him at first sight.

Being their star trainee, the company assigned Sehun to him. "One day, this boy might be your group-mate," they had told Jong-In, "look after him and teach him well. You're only as good as your members, remember that." 

Oh Sehun had bowed to him reverently during the introduction, but as soon as they'd been left alone in the practice room, this newbie raised his head, and with a smile that was anything but deferential, said: "Three months older, right? So...should I call you Jong-In hyung or what?" 

It was a head-on dare on Oh Sehun's part, and Jong-In knew that his reply would indefinitely determine the balance of power between them. What if...he had answered in the affirmative, illogically demanding that courtesy, though he wasn't owed it? What if he had claimed seniority over Sehun instead of marking the younger his equal? What if at that time, at that question, at the indescribable expression on Oh Sehun's beautifully feline face, he hadn't bitten his lip, then burst out in laughter? 

What if...of all the questions devised by Man none is more hateful to Kim Jong In. 

"I was saying that you're good for tomorrow," he repeats to a seemingly detached Sehun. "Your dancing is solid; the choreography is perfect for your style and bodyline. Just make sure your body isn't the only thing that's moving, OK? You tend to do that when you're distracted and the effect is -"

Jong-In's speech is cut short by Sehun's hand that abruptly wipes the sweat from his brow, clearing the still-wet strands of hair from his face to reveal the elder's eyes. "You're drenched," Sehun mutters, and the unexpected tenderness in his gaze nearly causes Jong-In's heart to arrest. 

They stare at each other for seconds that stretch like hours.

Almost...or all?

Do...or die?

Jong-In-ah...

Sehun-ah...

They laugh.