The humidity is far too high, leaving the air thick and sticky and causing disgusting beads of sweat to roll down Zitao's back, his tank top sticking to the skin. He wipes at his brow, though it does no good, merely smearing a layer of grime across his pores. Why was he even out here again? Oh, right, Oh Sehun.

Grumbling quietly to himself, he blocks that grinning 's face out of his mind and crouches down, going back to pulling weeds from Yixing's garden. He definitely didn't deserve this -- none of this. Everything was Sehun's fault. But Zitao was always bad at words, bad with Korean, and when Joonmyun's stern face passed between both of them, a shattered chandelier from the front hall splattered across the tiles, Sehun was quick to point the finger.

Thankfully, Yixing'd saved him from a real punishment, and in the end, he was merely pushed to do grunt work. With the sun beating down on his back, he's starting to regret trusting Yixing's innocent face too. He probably just wanted someone to clear out his garden for him, the jerk.

A voice breaks him out of his self-loathing. Zitao blinks, tilting his head up towards the grounds, squinting in the sunlight. Minseok stands at the gates to the garden, looking comfortable in his tshirt and shorts, and Zitao is mildly jealous. He holds up a glass of ice water and calls again, and Zitao realizes he's beckoning for him. 

Dropping his tools, he quickly wipes his hands off on his jeans and steps over the pile of weeds, hurrying up the path to meet the other. When he reaches Minseok, he's beaming, head tilted downwards. Minseok's a good half of a foot smaller than him, and Zitao finds it rather endearing, despite him being much older than him.

"Hi hyung," Zitao hums, and he'd hug Minseok if he wasn't so dirty. Minseok smiles back, handing over the glass. "How'd you know I was thirsty?"

"Just a guess." Minseok's laughter is kind and Zitao can't stop grinning, taking a grateful sip. The water is extra cold, and he can tell by the way the frost is collected around the rim that Minseok iced it just for him. It feels wonderful on his throat, and the way it seems to cool his belly from the inside out does wonders.

Minseok's eyes wander slightly, down towards sweaty, tan skin, and defined muscles. It's hard not to notice the way Zitao's tanktop sticks to his chest. Zitao doesn't quite noticed, too focused on guzzling his drink. When the ice clinks to the bottom of the empty glass, Zitao sighs happily. That hit the spot.

"Thanks, hyung. I really needed that." Handing Minseok back the cup, he wipes at his brow again before giving him a pout. "Can't you maybe help me out?"

"Pulling weeds? No way; I'm not getting in the middle of Joonmyun's punishments," Minseok laughs and Zitao pouts more, nudging into the other despite his sweaty biceps ("Ah, so nice," Minseok thinks to himself). Minseok merely stares back, shaking his head. "Your puppy faces are useless on me. I'm immune. I've dealt with Luhan for too many years."

Zitao huffs, though there's a playfulness in it that assures Minseok he isn't actually mad. Instead, Zitao pushes his dark hair back with a dirty hand and does his best to fan at his sweating neck.

"Could you just turn the temperature down a notch then?" Zitao pouts and Minseok lets out a loud laugh, shaking his head. "Just a little!"

"Zitao!"

"Hyung, please," he whines, and for a moment, Zitao looks much younger than 19, all stompy feet and noodly limbs and puffed cheeks. Minseok feels his heart flip and lets out a loud sigh, and Zitao knows he's won. He beams widely and Minseok wonders when he let the rascal in his heart.

"Okay, okay...But only for a few minutes, okay? This is supposed to be punishment, you know."

"Punishment doesn't mean I have to die of heatstroke," Zitao huffs beneath his breath but otherwise bites in his snarky remarks. Rolling his eyes, Minseok sets the glass down on the ground and closes his eyes, tilting his head back. He breathes in and inside, the hot air twists and morphs and everything grows cool from the inside out. When he exhales, the air escapes in a frost. Opening his eyes, he reaches up to cup his hands around Zitao's cheeks, almost touching but not quite. Zitao watches excitedly. The air changes immediately around them as Minseok maps an outline of Zitao, dragging his hands downwards. 

Zitao can only imagine how cold it is when Minseok touches someone, because even an inch apart feels like running an ice cube along his skin. He groans at first, because it's such a relief from the relentless sunbeams, sweat drying up slowly but steadily. Minseok's eyes are intense, and Zitao is envious of the control he has over his gift. Zitao, on a good day, still manages to skip hours in the day on accident. Or on his bad days, sit somewhere for hours, waiting for time to start moving again. He's been struggling with it, and while Sehun's sudden whirlwinds cause physical damage, Zitao feels like his time is always suspended in chance.

Goosebumps start to rise slowly on his skin and he closes his eyes for a moment, relishing in the cold, the way that Minseok seeps into his skin and to his very core, belly warming him up from the inside out.

Something cold and wet hits the tip of his nose and he quickly blinks his eyes back open, staring down at Minseok in confusion. The other merely smiles as soft, downy snowflakes begin to flutter in the middle of summer. They cascade around Zitao, playful and wispy and sticking to his skin and his clothing. Zitao can't help the laughter that bubbles up and out, cupping his hands to catch a few.

"Nice and cool now?" Minseok grins as he drops his hands, eyes fond and affectionate. Zitao nods excitedly, blowing a handful of powdered snow at the other playfully. Minseok laughs, brushing it off his face and reaches up to pinch Zitao softly on the cheek. "I'll let it snow for a few more minutes...Go pull the rest of your weeds, okay?" Zitao wrinkles his nose a little but nods otherwise, snow collecting cutely on the top of his head.

"Can we go throw snowballs at Luhan after..?" Minseok laughs louder at that, but there's a mischevious glint in his eye that matches Zitao's. 

"Mm...Maybe. If you do a good job." Zitao gleefully turns to hurry back down to his pile of weeds.

He may or may not speed time up just a little bit.