There are so many aspects of waiting that pull Minseok to the edge of his sanity. These aspects involve staying inside the dorm, getting his frozen on the faintly heated floorboards and chewing on a half-devoured peppero stick while he flicks through the endless apps on his phone.

Because somewhere along these mindless activities, his heart sinks and his breathing turns into these heavy slow-mo beats that pull his head to his knees when he remembers he is, in fact, waiting, not only for the sake of waiting, but attempting to fast-forward time for someone.

For Luhan.

That little ball of sunshine and feathery touches.

Today’s the dreaded Idol Sports Championship Day, when members of a bajillion name-forgotten idol groups are expected to showcase their non-existent athleticism in front of twenty-two rolling cameras. Fortunately for him, he is not one of those people.

Unfortunately for him, his boyfriend is.

“You can come and watch if you want to.”

“Hyung already said no.” Minseok sometimes hates their manager with a passion.

“Don’t worry. It’s gonna be quick and painless. I’ll be back before you know it.”

Minseok falls into his little hole of silence. They both know there’s no grain of truth to those words. The last time Luhan went away to film a couple of their debut teasers, the day extended to a third of a week and all Minseok could do was stand in front of a rumbling coffeemaker, counting every drip that took with it a good particle of his sanity.

He really hates waiting.

“Just keep your hands to yourself. That’s all I ask.”

Luhan pouts. “You know we have to sell the ship. The fans love it.”

“ the ship.” No, really. the ship.

Luhan’s pout turns into a frown that somehow – always and effectively – draws Minseok to a quick surrender.

“Fine.” Minseok tries to breathe through his nose but manages to make his nostrils flare instead.

Luhan reaches for his waist and brings their bodies closer; hips, shoulders, cheeks and chests meshing like they have always belonged there, sealed in that warm intimate space where Minseok expectedly loses grip of reality.

He lets Luhan intertwine their fingers and pull his hand on the linguist’s chest, muscle and blood vibrating from the arteries of the young man’s heart to the palm of the elder’s hand.

“You know this is yours right?”

Minseok doesn’t know, he feels. Because that’s the only way he can survive this relationship that’s forever trapped in clandestine walls. He seals their lips together and lets a part of himself melt through his lips, because that’s what he does, he always gives a part of himself to Luhan. Even when there’s nothing left to give.

Luhan’s eyes twinkle underneath his light lashes.

It’s now 9PM. The snow is forming hazy cracks on the window as the winter claws its way into the room. Minseok, on the other hand, is clawing on the screen of his phone as he stares at countless fantaken pictures of Luhan clinging and flailing to just about every other person and their mom at the Olympic stadium.

His life is hard sometimes, he thinks.

He reels for a second and flips his phone back into his pocket, only to pull it out again four seconds after. He decides to be a little pissed and contemplates on cropping a photo of a butthole in place of Sehun’s mouth. He chooses to hate on Chanyeol, too, when he sees a photo of Luhan lounging in the gaps of the giant’s lengthy arms. That hate, however, only lasts for half a minute as he remembers how Chanyeol does know about their “secret relationship” and may, after all, be just flashing all that skinship to keep Luhan from submerging himself in that shipwreck of a HunHan pairing.

Minseok shakes his head. He can’t believe he just made a thesis paper-worth analysis over two fantaken photos.

“Are you okay, hyung?” Yixing’s face pops out from behind the couch.

“Jesus Christ, Yixing, can you not creep on me like that??”

“Sorry,” the dancer pulls the edge of his lips to his cheek.

Minseok decides to hate on Yixing’s dimples too.

“Are you waiting for Luhan hyung?”

“I’m waiting for all six members. Not just Luhan,” Minseok lies.

“Oh,” Yixing huffs, “It’s just, you’ve been staring at his photos and stalking his fansites on Weibo for the last 2 hours.”

Minseok rolls his eyes. “What did I just tell you about creeping, Yixing??”

Yixing shrugs as he swigs the half-empty can of coke from Minseok’s hand. “I’m going to bed,” he bids as he chugs down the rest of the drink in his mouth before dragging himself to the door. “Oh, and I wasn’t creeping, hyung. Luhan asked me to keep an eye on you while he’s away.”

“What do you mean keep an eye on me?”

“He knows you’re a little paranoid,” Yixing chuckles, “and I didn’t believe it at first, but well, now I do.”

Minseok pulls a pillow from the couch and throws it at Yixing’s face. “Just go to bed!”

The dancer laughs, chinky eyes disappearing under dark brown hair. “You might not know it, but if you studied your Mandarin a little more, you’ll find out how all our conversations are pretty much about you.”

Minseok stares at the dancer blankly. “Me?”

“Yes, you,” Yixing rolls his eyes. “Baozi, Xiumin, Minseok… you’re all he talks about every day. If Yifan didn’t threaten to smother you to death the other night, he wouldn’t even stop.”

Minseok drops his gaze to his fidgety hands. “Well,” he clears his throat, “he’s all I ever think about, too.”

Yixing walks back inside the room and claps a hand on Minseok’s shoulder. “Ugh, just do us guys a favor, will you?” He waits for Minseok to pull his head up and meet his gaze. “Just get married and move out of this dorm and just, I don’t know, save us all from drowning in your lovey-dovey grease.”

The elder’s mouth curves into a smile before pushing the dancer out of the room. “Thanks, Yixing. Now go to sleep and stop creeping on me!”

 “I’m so sorry. It was the schedule, the retakes, and ugh. You should have seen how those two idols got injured and how we had to sit back and wait for an hour or two… or maybe three --- I don’t know anymore, I was too hungry --- before taking our turn at the run,” Luhan spares no time to breathe as he spills every detail, every damn excuse that brought him home at 7-ing-AM. “I’m sorry,” he says again.

He gears himself up for a silent treatment, an icy glare, or worse, a dramatic walk-out, but Minseok does nothing of that sort.

Minseok steps forward and locks the linguist in his arms, clinging to the sides of his shoulders and allowing the sweat from the latter’s clothes to seep into his senses. “I missed you,” he whispers through puffs of blonde hair and Luhan’s familiar scent.

Luhan relaxes at the feel of the elder’s skin against his. “I thought you’d be angry,” he chokes in between weariness and bliss.

“I can never be angry at you.”

“Have you eaten yet?” Luhan pulls his head back to meet Minseok’s gaze. His eyes, those dark russet orbs that never fail to draw him in, are probably the most beautiful things in the world next to his round fluffy cheeks.

Minseok laughs. “Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that? You look famished.”

Luhan smiles. “You know me better than I do.”

Minseok decides it’s okay to wait. Waiting is better than forgetting and letting Luhan come home to an empty room or a dozed-off Baozi.

Waiting makes people remember, makes lovers cherish moments when the other half of their soul is there to fill those empty cracks in between their arms.

Because waiting is nothing, when you know that that other person is on the other side of the world… waiting for you too.