No one knows what triggers it. One day Minki is perfectly healthy; the next he's croaking.

 

Croaking as in frogs.

 

“Hyla japonica,” he says seriously, nose pressed to the window one particularly rainy morning.

 

Dongho is barely awake and is rummaging around in the fridge on his third trip around the kitchen, the sleepy part of his brain still convinced that something to eat will appear before his eyes if he just keeps looking.

 

“Hi to you too,” he says, not bothering to do more than squint over at the maknae for a brief moment before returning to the refrigerator. “Is jap—jap—is that my new nickname?”

 

Minki snorts. “No, it's a species of frog. Very common.”

 

“Oh.” There's a great, shuddering yawn, then the fridge slams shut. “Weird name.” With a disappointed glance at the refrigerator—it's failed him miserably—Dongho turns and walks out of the kitchen. Maybe they'll be able to order something to eat when they're on the road.

 

Minki is still staring at the fat, green frog on sill outside the window. “It's also known as a japanese tree frog,” he tells the empty kitchen.

 

//

 

It's late at night for some and early in the morning for others when Minki goes amphibian again.

 

“Did you know,” he tells the occupants of the van brightly, “that we have eighteen species of amphibian in South Korea?”

 

Jonghyun glances back at him from the front passenger seat, too tired to really care but willing to humor him for a bit. “Oh, really.”

 

“Yeah. Six are salamanders, four are toads, and eight are frogs.”

 

Dongho can't help but blink at Minki dumbly. “Why do you know that?”

 

“Why do you want to know that?” Aron's the only one of the five besides Minki who's fully awake, and he turns his large, round eyes on the maknae. “No one needs to know how many frogs are in South Korea. It's useless knowledge.”

 

The youngest tilts his head to the side, owlish behind his thick fringe. “I never said I knew how many frogs are in South Korea. I just said I knew how many frog species there are.”

 

There's a collective groan from the rest.

 

“Well, there's a difference,” Minki says mildly into the silence.

 

//

 

After they've crawled into bed—Minki into Dongho's because he refuses to let his bedsheets smell like anyone besides himself—the youngest sighs.

 

“What?” The question is laced with sleep, more an automatic mumble than anything else, but it's punctuated with a light squeeze that lets Minki know more than the question does that Dongho is still awake.

 

“I'm really happy I'm not a frog.” He's been thinking about this, thinking about amphibians all day, perusing different websites in his spare time, eating up all of the facts he can find.

 

There's a sigh. “I don't know why you keep talking about toads--”

 

“Frogs,” Minki corrects.

 

“--frogs. Anyway, I don't know why you do, but I really hope there's a reason that you can tell me about, otherwise I'm going to start getting really confused.”

 

“I was just thinking.”

 

“Just thinking. That's all.” Dongho sounds dubious.

 

“Yeah,” Minki says, nodding. “I like frogs. The longest they ever live is fifteen years though. That's not an awfully long time, and it also means that if I was a frog I would be dead right now.”

 

The older smiles, pressing his face against Minki's hair affectionately at the wordy, purposeless statement. It's at times like this that he realizes just how much he's acclimated to being with the younger, that he realizes how he would miss him if he left. “I like you better than frogs.”

 

There's a pause, then: “If you start getting sappy I'm going to go back to my own bed.”

 

Dongho tightens his grip around Minki's waist, holding him securely in place. “I'd like to see you try, lovely darling sweetheart.”

 

“I'm warning you--”

 

“Fine, I won't. You're not leaving, though.”

 

Minki's sullen huff is directly contradicted by his body which tenses for a moment, then relaxes completely, soft in Dongho's arms.

 

“Dongho. I need your advice.”

 

“Yes?” His breath hits the back of Minki's neck, a puff of warm air.

 

“When I start memorizing the scientific names of the toads do you think I should do it in alphabetical order or order of which is most common?”

 

“I think,” Dongho says, and it's clear that he's rolling his eyes even though it's dark, “that if you don't be quiet and stop talking about frogs I'm going to start calling you pet names again.”

 

“Toads,” Minki can't help but correct.

 

“Go to sleep, honey bear.”

 

Dongho's grip is too tight to escape, so Minki does.