Poēsis

"Shut up!" Taemin screeches sharply, and they stop whooping and cheering and laughing abruptly.

All four stand frozen, silent, watching him carefully, and he hates the looking, hates how he can feel their worried looks all over his skin. He lets out an aborted yell and pushes past them, rushing to his bedroom and slamming the door. The slam echoes in his brain so he opens it then closes it softly, breathing out at the sound of the gentle click.

He grabs one of his crop tops, the softest one that he never wears out, the one that's pastel pink with little flowers on it, matching his current hair colour exactly. Then he switches off all the lights, save his little nightlight in the corner, and buries into his duvet and flops around until he gets comfy. He doesn’t.

Still hidden beneath the duvet, he finds his trusty iPod under his pillow, enjoying the coolness of it against his fingers in contrast to the warmth of his little nest, then smashes the buttons and sends the text to Jinki.

Jinki opens the door softly barely 30 seconds later.

"Sweetheart?" Taemin makes a pleased gurgle and decides to sneak his hands out of his den and wiggle his fingers at Jinki. "Hey little fingers."

"Blan?" Taemin asks, the 'ket' bit refusing to come out. He doesn't worry though, because Jinki's very good at this sort of thing. Sure enough, the next thing he feels is the comforting weight of his woven blanket on top of him.

"Want me to stay?"

Taemin doesn't know so he doesn't say anything.

"I'll be quiet. We could just cuddle."

Taemin waves his fingers and manages to catch onto Jinki's shirt, pulling him closer. Jinki peels back the duvet and Taemin scooches over enough for him to climb in. Jinki's heat is enough for Taemin to pull the blankets down to feel the cool air on his face. He nuzzles his nose into Jinki's arm and they tangle their legs together. As per usual, Taemin's hands sneak down to rest on Jinki's thighs; Jinki muffles his laugh as Taemin kneads his thighs and lets out a little sigh of relief. He loves how warm they are, all squishy on the surface and firm muscle beneath.

They stay like that until Taemin's iPod vibrates. He flinches out of his doze and groans into Jinki's armpit, as Jinki continues to snore through the disturbance. The bright screen hurts his eyes.

'hey babs, dinner is ready if u and jinks want to come out?'

Taemin takes a deep breath and frowns at the buttons, moving his sleepy fingers carefully.

'jinki is aslep should i move or???'

‘can i come in?’

‘ok’

A moment later the door opens and Jonghyun creeps in on tiptoe, smiling when Taemin pokes his head up from where he’s tucked under Jinki’s wing, his pink hair all tousled, just barely lit by the nightlight, the warm light catching in the wayward strands. Jonghyun wants to ruffle it up even more. Taemin smiles back, tilting his head up a little, his eyes crinkling.

“Hey tiny strawberry.” Jonghyun giggles.

Taemin gurgles happily, then laughs outright when he realises what Jonghyun’s wearing, before slapping a hand over his mouth to prevent himself from waking Jinki. He carefully extracts himself from the sleeping man - who snores and snuffles as he rolls over and buries his face into the pillow where Taemin’s head was just a second ago - and scrambles out of bed to lunge at Jonghyun, who isn’t ready to catch him at all.

He still manages to. (He always does.)

“What, what, what?” He whispers, breathy and amused down Taemin’s ear; it tickles and Taemin digs his fingers into the hot skin of Jonghyun’s waist to make him stop.

Then, in response, Taemin pulls back and wriggles his chest a bit so his watermelon pink top flutters, then drags his fingertips up Jonghyun’s sides to latch onto the tassels at the hem of Jonghyun’s pale sapphire crop top.

“Oh, we’re matching.” 

Jonghyun’s bright eyes sparkle in the faint light, making Taemin feel sparkly too.

Jinki mumbles something loudly and they muffle their laughs, and then creep out of the room, shutting the door carefully behind them. Taemin doesn’t fully disentangle himself from Jonghyun, but the other man doesn’t seem to mind at all; if anything, he wraps his lovely, muscly arms around Taemin’s waist and holds him up, supports him, keeps him close.

Before they head down the little corridor to the living room, from which comes the indistinct sounds of cackling - Kibum - and Minho yelling jokingly at him to stop, Jonghyun brings them to a halt.

“How are we feeling about noise right now?”

Even that sentence, as short as it was, as gently as Jonghyun says it, pierces Taemin’s head, each syllable and tiny intake of oxygen echoing around his skull and he bites his lip against a pathetic whimper and nuzzles into Jonghyun’s armpit.

“Shh, baby.”

Jonghyun slips away, leaving Taemin in the corridor, and Taemin doesn’t try and hear what he says to Minho and Kibum, just leans against the wall, and then crouches when the wall feels too cold and impersonal after Jonghyun’s warmth, and lets himself drift off. He likes the pattern on the carpet, the swirls like waves, remembering fondly that first month when they all moved in together and Kibum took them out all the time for house designing - he would keep remembering absolutely essential things - and they all had to give the ok before Kibum bought anything, from the mirror hanging at the end of the hallway to the scented hand soap.

“Why’re you smiling, bab?” Jonghyun crouches next to him.

He tilts his head and his blonde hair flops across his cheeks and his shiny eyes blink at Taemin kindly and he looks so soft and tiny and beautiful that Taemin has to swallow down a needy little whine.

Instead of replying, Taemin shakes his head and reaches out for him almost subconsciously.

Jonghyun smiles, taking Taemin’s hand and lacing their fingers together, and it makes his eyes disappear into little stars and Taemin’s eyes drop to Jonghyun’s thin pink lips and he topples forward to smush their lips together messily. Jonghyun tastes like a pleasantly surprising mix of himself and Kibum’s lip balm, though it’s a bit disconcerting because Jonghyun doesn’t usually taste like that and.

Taemin didn’t ask if he could kiss Jonghyun before he’d fallen into him.

Disappointed in himself, guilty and worried, he tumbles back, landing on his bottom, and hunkers down, sinking his neck in like a turtle; he tries to take his hand from Jonghyun’s but Jonghyun follows him, Jonghyun’s free hand hugging Taemin whilst their clasped hands are trapped between their chests.

“It’s ok, I liked it. Kiss?” Jonghyun says, coaxing Taemin out of his turtleness (that’s a word), Jonghyun’s hand sliding from Taemin’s shoulder blade to thread into the soft pink hair at the nape of Taemin’s neck. Jonghyun has no idea how Taemin keeps his hair so soft even after dyeing it all the time.

“We’re kissing on the floor.” Jonghyun chuckles, panting into Taemin’s mouth. Taemin the spit from his bright pink lips and decides maybe it’s nice that Jonghyun tastes a bit like Kibum; like when all five of them have those kissing sessions, which are Taemin’s favourite as long as he’s not feeling too claustrophobic or overwhelmed, when all their tastes merge, twirling together.

Taemin lets Jonghyun pull him to his feet and into the living room.

Kibum and Minho freeze mid-battle, Kibum’s leg in the air, pushing and kicking at Minho’s shoulder whenever Minho pauses in tickling Kibum mercilessly. All four of them look at each other before bursting into laughter. Minho pushes Kibum’s leg away with an air of finality and stands, heading for the kitchen to serve dinner. Taemin catches Kibum checking out Minho’s and giggles despite the way that hurts his head a bit.

Kibum realises he’s been caught, and winks at him, making grabby hands so Taemin stops latching onto Jonghyun and drifts across the living room to curl up next to Kibum on the sofa, the cushions still warm from Minho sitting there.

Taemin wriggles into Kibum’s space, sneaks his arms around Kibum’s thin waist, snuggles under Kibum’s arm, loving the smoothness of Kibum’s skin against the back of his neck and shoulders. With his head resting just above Kibum’s s, he can hear Kibum’s heartbeat. It’s super relaxing and Taemin sinks into it, melts all over Kibum’s lap.

After a while of calm, Kibum murmurs softly, being careful not to hiss because they all know just how much Taemin hates that, “We’re proud of you.” Taemin grins and sniffs Kibum’s collarbone, the familiar scent of vanilla body cream.

Minho comes out of the kitchen with dinner and the sound of the plates being put down on the table makes Taemin jump, snaps him out of his daze, breaks his calm instantly. He can feel his heartbeat speeding up, his face flushing, feels heat pouring from him, his skin not right, not right. He flaps his hands and not only does that relieve the pressure swelling below his skin but the swoosh of air against his face is also somewhat cooling. Kibum shifts to give him space but Taemin doesn’t want him to go, makes a squawk of distress as Kibum gets further away, the sound bringing Kibum back instantly.

“What d’you want, sweetheart?”

“Hair?” Taemin asks, still flapping because otherwise he’d just shake all over. He vaguely notes Minho placing one of his favourite stim toys on the seat next to him.

“Sure.” Kibum hums, turning to sit on the floor in front of him, pulling the bobble out of his hair so it fans out from the topknot, flowing down over his shoulders. It’s so beautiful that Taemin’s breath catches in his throat for a second. Today Kibum has curled the ebony strands into a tumble of black waves down to between his shoulder blades; Taemin notes the hair care and the cute lacy top Kibum’s wearing and figures it must be a girly type of day.

There’s a tiny second-long gap between Taemin stopping the flapping and burying his fingers into the silky shimmer of Kibum’s hair. He sighs deeply and barely notices how Kibum’s shoulders quake with suppressed giggles. The strands slip between the dips of his fingers and when he twists his hands they tangle around his knuckles, black lace over the tan of his hands. It’s so soft and smooth like running water, like freshly washed pure cotton bed sheets, like an old blanket.

Taemin pushes his fingertips into Kibum’s scalp, rubbing in little shapes and kneading into the roots, hands slipping forward to press gentle circles into Kibum’s temples. The massage draws little murmurs from Kibum’s lips, soft encouragement, happy purrs. At one point he sighs so deeply he almost slips down, away from Taemin, making them both laugh.

When Taemin thinks the stim toy beside him, the one with the rubber spikes that Taemin can push his fingers against until tiny white marks are left against his palm, white marks that flush into red, fascinatingly, will be ok, he sets about disentangling his hands.

Carefully, so as to not hurt Kibum, Taemin unknots his hands from the black river and instead half-curls his fingers into a comb and gently tugs through it, sweeping through the little knots. It’s not so curly when he’s done, the ringlets looser and more natural. Taemin loves it, feels like his chest is expanding with every breath and every brush of his hand over Kibum’s hair until he can actually take in oxygen, until his heartbeat slows.

“Which one?” He asks quietly, bending closer from his seat on the sofa to whisper in Kibum’s ear.

“Perhaps a Dutch braid?” Kibum suggests, but his tone is so mild it’s evident he won’t mind anything Taemin chooses. Even though Taemin kinda wishes he’d asked for a fishtail plait, he’s not that selfish and wants Kibum to enjoy this too, wants Kibum to continue letting him play with his hair, so he nods and sticks his tongue out and braids Kibum’s hair.

He likes how, just as he ends the plait, Kibum senses it and passes the hair tie back over his shoulder.

Kibum waits until Taemin pats his head, then twists around and kisses Taemin’s knee.

“Thank you.” He smiles up at Taemin and that tiny niggling worry - that Taemin had annoyed him by preventing him from eating dinner, that Taemin relied on Kibum too heavily - disappears with a flash of Kibum’s bright white teeth and another press of Kibum’s lips against the grazes on Taemin’s legs (Taemin never knows where they come from, he’s clumsy like that). “How do I look?”

Taemin reaches for the stim toy and presses his fingers in one at a time, lets half his brain occupy itself with the reassuring pressure so the other half can focus on the beautiful sight in front of him, the beautiful sight of Kibum resting is little chin on Taemin’s knees, blinking up questioningly, content to wait until Taemin’s ready, through his long, curled eyelashes. Taemin thinks he must be wearing mascara because there’s no way eyelashes could naturally be that beautiful.

“Pretty.” He whispers, slightly awed, taking one hand from stimming to along Kibum’s high cheekbone.

“Want dinner?” Kibum asks, and when he smiles again his cheek wobbles under Taemin’s fingertips.

When Taemin opens his mouth to speak, it no longer feels like his tongue is swollen or his mouth full of cotton wool.

“Yes please.”

---

That night, they all watch a film together, Jinki having gotten up just in time to eat dinner with Taemin and Kibum, whilst Jonghyun and Minho had already eaten before them. Taemin lies on the cold wooden floorboards and listens to the sounds, lets the rise and fall of the words wash over him, whilst the others crowd onto the main sofa together, a mess of limbs and laughter.

“You ok down there, buttercup?”

Taemin squirms happily at the endearment and nods his head at the ceiling, missing the fond grin Jinki sends in his direction before sharing the affectionate look with the other three.

Somebody in the film shouts something and Taemin sits bolt upright, making Jonghyun jump.

“Sweetheart-“

“Sorry.”

Minho frowns a little. “For what?”

“Sorry for yelling earlier.”

Minho’s forehead smooths and he smiles. “No worries.” They all go back to watching television but Jonghyun seems to sense something, slips from the sofa to sit next to Taemin, doing that puppy-like head tilt as he waits for Taemin to continue.

Taemin clears his throat, lowers his head, butts it against Jonghyun’s shoulder. “I know you were just happy and I wanna properly thank you for being happy for me. So. Thank you.”

Jonghyun hugs him super tight and Minho carries them one at a time to bed later.

---

'this isnt rlly my scene' Taemin texts him.

Jonghyun bites his lip and turns to get Jinki's attention, only to realise Jinki is already watching his facial expressions anxiously.

"Is he texting you? Why won't he use the group chat?"

Jonghyun doesn't dignify that with a response because Jinki knows why Taemin doesn't like using the group chat. Instead he just twists the screen so Jinki can see it.

The thing is, Taemin doesn't text unless he has to. His fine motor skills aren't the best and he gets easily frustrated when his fingers just won't press the right buttons. He’s thrown his phone across the room before when spellcheck autocorrected something he'd actually spelt correctly. When he's not speaking, he prefers to use his whiteboard instead.

But he doesn't really have a choice, considering the fact that he's backstage and they're sitting in the audience.

Jinki's face crumples into a worried frown. "Do you think I could persuade them to let me back to see him? I don't want him to be alone."

Jonghyun sighs and shakes his head because there's no chance of that happening, and Jinki knows it.

"Why the long faces? Aren't you excited?" Kibum rests his chin on Jinki's shoulder and smiles at Jonghyun widely. Jonghyun instinctively smiles back, caught up once again in their pride, their happiness.

"Yeah, but look what Tae just texted me."

Kibum reads it in a flash then shakes his head like he's trying to shake thoughts out of his head.

"Don't worry so much. I'm sure he's ok. He's got his kit and he's probably just messing you around for the fun of it. He's feeling good tonight."

From beside Jonghyun, Minho pipes up. "He couldn't stop talking about how glossy his blouse was in the car."

Even before Minho has finished speaking Jonghyun's phone buzzes.

':)'

Jinki sighs like an old man and Kibum laughs obnoxiously.

"He’ll be brilliant. Don’t worry.”

When Taemin’s name is called, they’re all on the edge of their seats, craning to see him. Black hair brushed carefully, little black star earrings, dark skin smooth; Kibum had ensured it, late night skin care sessions that often dissolved into giggles and painting nails. To see him there, cheeks round with shy happiness, hands twitchy with nerves.

Jinki can hardly think with how gorgeous Taemin looks, but so small, on that stage; he wants to run up and gather him into his arms and jump about in joy. Elegant, in a neat black suit with a silky cream blouse beneath, having had a meltdown over the texture of the shirt they had bought especially.

“But Taem, you liked it in the shop-“ Kibum had been on his knees, watching helplessly from a metre away as Taemin huddled into his little gap between the wall and the closet, Taemin tapping his fingernails rhythmically against the wooden wardrobe.

Jinki had touched Kibum’s shoulder and Kibum had looked up at him in desperation.

“You go and get ready, darling. Perhaps you could grab some of your pretty blouses?” Kibum had blinked in realization and rushed off to do just that, handing all the soft, expensive, glossy ones he owned to Jinki before dressing himself up. When Taemin had snuck into the bathroom to brush his teeth, Kibum had offered to do his eyeliner.

Taemin said on the way, to Minho with whom he shared the car, how much it amazed him that Jinki always knew when Taemin wasn’t feeling 100% boy, how it wasn’t Taemin’s autism or anything, but just a small prickling dysphoria, the feeling that masculine clothes were too stiff, too harsh. Kibum’s blouses, with their patterned paneling, and feminine cut, and pastel colours, were perfect.

He will tell Kibum just how perfect after this; he’ll tell Kibum that he is perfect. And Jinki. He’s perfect too. He’ll probably tell them all, because sometimes Taemin stims just by telling them how much he loves them over and over, particularly when he’s happy, and right now he’s so happy.

He had stepped up onto stage without falling up the stairs, and now accepts his Poet Laureate award and when one of the rows, halfway back on the right hand side, whoops loudly as his fingers close around the gilt certificate, his eyes squint up with the hugeness of his smile, grinning in the direction of their love.