Eight
Cantabile
eight
eight
[ Jonghyun ]
“Oh, you got a haircut,” Jonghyun exclaims when he opens the front door.
He doesn’t like it per se. In his opinion, it’s cropped too close to Taemin’s head, with no room to run fingers through or capture scent in. Though the silky texture is still there, it just doesn’t seem like Taemin, which is really the biggest issue Jonghyun has with it. But he knows better by now than to say something about it. He’s learned by now that Taemin’s defensive about anything concerning himself, so Jonghyun avoids that subject as much as he can.
“It looks good,” he smiles, taking Taemin’s jacket as the younger boy kicks his shoes off.
“Thanks,” Taemin replies, slightly breathless from the cold air outside. He grins at Jonghyun, and the older boy is blinded.
Jonghyun’s parents adore Taemin, Jonghyun suspects partly because he’s so different from the rest of Jonghyun’s friends. Nonetheless, they don’t get much done on the project because they spend most of the time talking and watching ancient episodes of Bleach or One Piece. Jonghyun feels Taemin begin to open up, and he finds himself wondering where the younger boy has been all his life. He wonders if he’s been right under his nose and he didn’t know it. Because Taemin is the only one, it seems, that’s like Jonghyun, with the same interests, obsessions, feelings. It helps, of course, that Taemin’s stomach provides the perfect cushion for Jonghyun’s head; the spot in front of Jonghyun’s TV, wedged in between the wall and Jonghyun’s shoulder, doesn’t have enough room for Minho or Key, but is perfect for Taemin.
It’s a little frightening how well they get along together, as if they’ve known each other all along. Jonghyun begins to suspect that they were brothers in another life. Or maybe not brothers, because maybe it’s something closer than that. Maybe--
“Jonghyun?”
“What?” Jonghyun snaps to attention, blinking rapidly in the glare of the computer screen.
“I thought I lost you for a second there.” When Jonghyun frowns in sleepiness, Taemin laughs delightedly and the sound is a bit too perfect, especially for this time of night.
Jonghyun groans and rubs his eyes with the palms of his hands. “What time is it anyway?”
“Eleven thirty?” Taemin’s voice does that curving upward thing again, where it sounds like a question. “
,” Jonghyun mutters. “Shouldn’t you get home? Don’t we have school tomorrow?”
Taemin shrugs. “It’s okay. I probably would’ve gone to bed at two or so anyway.”
Jonghyun is aghast. He involuntarily reaches out to grip Taemin by the shoulders, expression completely serious as he stares into the younger boy’s eyes. “You,” he intones carefully, “young man, need to get more sleep. Otherwise your brain won’t grow!”
Taemin laughs, but the sound is a bit strained, and his skin is a bit warm through the thin fabric of his t-shirt. He can’t meet Jonghyun’s gaze. “Fine, fine! I’m going home now, meanie!”
“You’re the meanie!” Jonghyun teases, arms coming back to cross over his chest.
Taemin shakes his head in disbelief, getting up to collect his things.
“Do you want me to drive home with you?” Jonghyun offers as he watches the way Taemin’s shirt, wrinkled from slouching on the ground, clings to his thin frame. “You seem pretty tired.”
“No, it’s okay. The night air will wake me up.” Taemin’s voice is lighter, happier, and so is Jonghyun’s chest.
“Sure?” he asks, almost hopefully.
“No, no. You should get some sleep, or your brain won’t grow.” Taemin’s eyes twinkle as they walk downstairs together. When they reach the door and he shrugs his jacket back on, he glances at Jonghyun nervously. “Next week, right?” he asks.
Jonghyun nods. “And next week we need to get things done,” he says in a mock serious tone. “No more tomfoolery.”
Taemin smiles again, his eyes disappearing into little crescent slits. “Okay!”
Jonghyun waves as Taemin steps into his car, watches until the tail lights are only dots in the distance, then rubs his hands together where they touched Taemin’s shoulders. The skin is still slightly warm, and he holds his hands close to his chest. When he gets back upstairs he looks at the amount of work they’ve gotten done (two sentences, to be precise).
Maybe working with Taemin wasn’t such a good idea, he muses as he changes into his pajamas.
Then he shakes his head. Not a good idea? Yeah right.
[ author's notes — please do comment if you're enjoying the story! :)
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