Prompt: Late Night musings

Ratings: Pixiedust 

“Peter Pan,” Minho says suddenly.  ”You remind me of Peter Pan.”

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And Minho gets it. The one eyebrow going up, the head tilt, the obvious “huh” written all over the other’s face because he’s got Jinki’s shirt up around his shoulders and his pants are somewhere down by his ankles and it’s not the best of times to talk about subjectivity of visions, of ideals, but Minho can’t stop his brain from thinking it.

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The couch was a dangerous place to be. They had a spacious floor plan, foot after foot of raw open space without any sharp corners or huge objects to hide behind. That being said, the fact that this was the first time they’d had a moment to be something else other than fodder for flashing lights and interview questions about idealism… the first time they’d had a moment to just be, to not hide behind contrived platonic touches–fingers that itched to touch– or having to divert questioning gazes from the members…well it shouldn’t be wasted.

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But Minho had to say it.

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Minho pauses, pulls Jinki’s shirt back down and takes a moment to frame Jinki’s face in the buffer of his hands. Jinki has known him long enough to know that what they were doing, whatever they were doing, would have to wait until Minho’s interminable need to be inquisitive was quenched.

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Jinki sighs. “Why. Why do I remind you of Peter Pan?”

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Words fall out of Minho’s mouth like water gushing out of a ruptured dam.

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“It’s illusive. You’re…you’re illusive. Like a fantasy that I can only live at night, where I can be swept away, by you, all of you. But it’s a no win. I have to return by the morning, so we can survive. If I stay, we’re doomed.”

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“That’s ridiculous and highly dramatic.”

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Minho is undeterred because Jinki always does this–downplay the fact that the very essence of their relationship is clandestine. That they lie, that they have to keep lying, that they will keep lying, because it was the right thing to do. But it doesn’t mean that Minho likes it.

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“Sometimes when they call our names for an award, or we have a good show, I want to run across the stage and jump in your arms and kiss your stupid face silly. And I want to hold your hand when we’re in public, or shout when I finally drag you out of the house and sometimes I want everyone here to know how good it sounds when you scream my name but I…I can’t. I can’t do any of that. It .”

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Jinki scoffs. “You’re acting like I can change that.”

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“I’m not asking you to. I’m just,” Minho sighs. “I’m just talking. Sometimes I miss you and you’re sitting right next to me.”

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“I don’t know what you want me to do…”

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“Nothing. Your the leader, I wouldn’t dare ask you to do something. There’s nothing to be done. Maybe we should….”

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“Minho, don’t.”

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“Don’t what?”

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“Walk away. You think it’ll get easier? This isn’t magic. You’ll still want me and I’ll still want you even if you pretend that we aren’t worth the hassle anymore. I need access to you, I can’t live without it.”

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“Then what do you suggest I do?”

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“Kiss me?” Jinki edges on with a smile.  “And give us time. Please. I want to be with you when none of this matters anymore, and I can’t do that if you give up.”

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Minho chuckles. “Me? Give up. You don’t know me very well do you? It’s genetically impossible for me to do so.”

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“Oh, really?” Jinki says as his nips Minho’s chin. “Then I’ll be looking for you at the finish line, my good and trusty lost boy. Look for the second star on the right and still believe. I just hope when we get there, we’re old and gray.”

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And just like that, Minho felt like flying, like Jinki had sprinkled magic pixie dust on them and the limits seemed invisible.

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Maybe they existed in never-never land. Maybe it would blow up all in their face. Maybe they weren’t meant to be.

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But what if they were?