14. MUM, DAD

As soon as Kyungsoo's head stops pounding from the impending ache that his sister's mortifying questions tend to bring along, he manages to make his way back to the living room, hissing subtly at his sister to stay put. She chuckles, a hearty, infuriatingly boisterous sound, and Kyungsoo groans under his breath. 

He's surprised when he sees that Jongin hasn't moved from the spot where he is sat, an uninterrupted vision of timidity. Even from here, Kyungsoo can see how tense he's become, how still and cautious, like he's been reminded of the fact that he doesn't live here, hours of laid back conversation a distant time away. 

Kyungsoo wonders if it had been his sister's presence that had broken the spell, or if it had been her words: however clear the teasing tone she'd held had been. It shouldn't be so important, and it shouldn't make Kyungsoo hesitate where he is stood, but he feels so differently about the two possibilities that he can't refrain from questioning it.

If it is simply that his sister is here now, pressing a dampener on their stream of comfortable exchange, then Kyungsoo thinks he can understand that. But if it's her words - and it's so preposterous to even think, such a stupid reason to feel  such a saddened pinch in his chest -, but if that is the case, than Kyungsoo can't help but wonder if the idea of them being more than friends is so unattractive to Jongin that he can't help but to close himself off. It's just a stupid thought, such a callous, uncalled for thought, and Kyungsoo shouldn't even care about something like that, should understand that anyone would feel awkward after such a prospect is implied to their face-

But it doesn't stop the fact that Kyungsoo does. He cares, and he cares a lot, even if this situation is understandably an awkward one. He cares and God how stupid is he to care in this short, short time in which he has known Jongin. 

Kyungsoo can label this feeling, of course he can - this formidable whisper of nerves and warmth; telltale early stages of a crush. Kyungsoo's felt it before, once, and he didn't know the first time how dangerous these feelings could be, how hard they are to handle and how taboo they are when directed to someone with mirroring anatomy. Liking someone has never been nice, has never felt easy and natural, but has always been a burden instead; a constant reminder to tread carefully, compose your expressions, keep a secret from the world. When Kyungsoo last felt such a sovereign warmth for another person in his life, he had been the most cautious he has ever had to be before. It was the worst of times, and then, when it ended, and even before that, everything fell apart.

Just to remember all that once happened is enough for Kyungsoo's heart to beat faster, and blood to run colder than he has experienced for a long while. 

Whatever it is he's feeling right now, staring at the back of Jongin's head, he doesn't want it to develop.

And, like his thoughts had been loud enough, distressed enough to be heard out in the open, Jongin finally looks up.

"Ah," Jongin startles, standing in an instant, expression hesitantly casual, like he's unsure about whether or not Kyungsoo still wants to speak to him. It's such a twist from what Kyungsoo had been expecting from Jongin - that pleasant, authentically tentative line to his lips and those soft, cautious eyes. Jongin looks at him like he's afraid Kyungsoo would be put off by what his sister had said, and not the other way round, and it makes Kyungsoo want so suddenly that it leaves him breathless. 

"Would you like to stay for dinner?" He hears himself saying, the idea and the voiced preposition so closely knit together that Kyungsoo hasn't the time to think it through. Jongin, across from him, jolts; the question makes him so urgently present, so alive with his senses, that he could have been sleeping before. 

"You want me to stay for dinner?" Jongin repeats, something strange in his eyes, in the tip of his tongue, like there's more he wants to see or say. The question isn't cruel or stunned by a mocking disbelief; it's weighted, yes, but it's honest and serious, hefty and mature. It's Jongin, and he's giving Kyungsoo the chance to back out. 

Kyungsoo blushes, though he can't pinpoint if it's from embarrassment or from how Jongin is staring. He feels his cheeks heat, and he raises a hand to his face, hiding behind the pretence of twisting a lock of his fringe away from his eyes. 

"Yes," Kyungsoo answers, his voice breathy because he can't believe it himself. He peeks at Jongin, drops his hand, remembers his earlier thoughts and clears his throat to feign nonchalance. "Would you?"

Jongin eyes him for a long, pregnant moment. There is so much in his expression, and Kyungsoo doesn't dare to tear his gaze away. Finally, his lips twitch; not in a smile - it's more mysterious than that, more weighted. The look he sends is like a confession; shy and hesitant, slow practiced words trapped between his lips and secrets hidden behind his eyes.

Kyungsoo knows he'll say yes and-

"I'd love to."

Sure enough.

-

Kyungsoo only realises that Jongin will meet his parents when they're conversation is interrupted by a sensible rev of a car engine, as proper and smooth as the driver who has tamed the beast into the clean, symmetrical park. Conversation dims, Jongin pliant and observing.

Kyungsoo must visibly change, though he can't figure out how. He hadn't twitched, hadn't hesitated for longer than a moment when the arrival sounds had first blared, had kept his smile in place. 

It must have been my eyes, Kyungsoo thinks, blinking his emotions away too late. He's noticed that Jongin readily holds contact with the person he's conversing with - eye-to-eye, intimate, close resolve sort of contact. Kyungsoo has never seen Jongin's gaze caught by another pair of eyes as resolutely as they catch on Kyungsoo's. 

"What is it?" Jongin asks, and isn't that a question.

It isn't that Kyungsoo hates his parents; he loves them, truly, and it's not a twisted love or a love with a but, but a love he's always felt for them. 

Recently though, it's not been a healthy love; not even in the slightest. It's a love that's grown too much, strayed too far from purity. It hasn't bloomed like a flower, with sentiment as its seed and miscommunication as its pest; the love has grown like the marks of a bruise pushing up against your skin after a punch, red and swelling as a galaxy. It's grown as a longing, an ache, a silent plea for something requited. 

But requited isn't the right word either. He knows his parents care, that their busy lives and tired eyes are for his sake, and for Eun-Seo's, but he's forgotten what they're fighting for. 

Have you asked what I want, mum, dad?

He supposes it's also him that needs some blame, for a voice too small, too contemplative, but it scares him sometimes how much he loves them, and how long he's dealt with the lack of love they show.

I just want you to talk to me.

A car door slams from outside. Kyungsoo wonders if that's how it'll happen for him - a sudden bang, a change: one second he'll care so much it'll be tangible, and in the next second he'll stop caring altogether; parents be dammed, family to the ing flames.

"It's nothing," Kyungsoo answers, trying not to stare too openly towards the hallway's entrance, and then, "I think my dad might be home," stopping himself from repeating, it's nothing.

Jongin doesn't pry, though Kyungsoo reckons that's more down to the fact he hasn't the time to. The front door opens, the sound grandiose in the stillness of the living room, and Kyungsoo suddenly realises that the atmosphere they'd had has completely crumbled, like snowy sheets off a mountain after an avalanche.

"Can we talk?" Kyungsoo asks, so desperate that he doesn't even think to sugarcoat it. "Please, Jongin," he forces a smile, darts eyes to the hall where a clatter of movement can be heard, wants so desperately to impress that it's almost laughable, "talk to me, now."

"Taemin was telling me about something his little sister did the other day..." Jongin starts, and he doesn't even hesitate or question, doesn't look at Kyungsoo like he's strange or like his request is as pathetic as it is. He tells a story, real or fake, Kyungsoo can't hear, can't ascertain over the beat in his heart, but his cue to laugh is clear when Jongin lights up with an authentic chuckle, a rumbling flurry of excited movement that is so perfectly alive that it's almost hard to believe. 

He loses himself in trying to reawaken an air which has turned stilted. In his mind, Kyungsoo has the conversation of a lifetime.

Ask me why I'm laughing, dad, he wishes, because it will always just be a wish. Ask me who this is, and why I'm laughing.

"Kyungsoo-..." His father dithers into sight, sensible, sensible, sensible. Kyungsoo peers at him through fraudulent, laughing eyes, and Jongin twists his head to look back at him - both, without prior agreement, feigning surprise at his entrance, as if Kyungsoo isn't always intent on the sounds of his arrival. 

His father catches his gaze, and Kyungsoo holds his breath, like he always does, encouragement roaring in his heart, pulse rate skyrocketing. He tries, in that moment, to recall the last time his father has ever lingered this long in his presence by his own will, prolonging conversation when he always tends to avoid it. It’s so far back he can’t even pinpoint it, can’t even see a shadow of a memory from a faraway place, and he thinks to himself, please.

"This must be a friend." Is what his father says in the end, short answer, efficient, and Kyungsoo can't even hide the way his face falls - neutral, unblinking default. Kyungsoo, rebellious, heart pounding, wants suddenly, desperately, to be able to put down the perfect guess.

"Boyfriend, dad", he imagines himself faux-correcting, and the conversation which would follow - it would last full minutes, surely, hours if shocking enough? Being gay in a country where acceptance is so rare; perhaps that would work, perhaps that would make his dad fear enough to pay him attention, show some emotion: anger, despair, sadness, denial - Kyungsoo would accept it all, would take it willingly, if only it meant they could just, even for a moment, talk to one another.

Kyungsoo shakes his head, bites his tongue, hard, averts his eyes. Not this way, he thinks, not that far. Not yet.

There's a short moment, and then Jongin rises smoothly, quickly, bowing a respectable ninety degree bow.

"Mr Do," Jongin smiles, a pretty, gleaming image of manners. "I'm Kyungsoo's friend, Jongin. It's nice to meet you."

"Same to you," Mr Do smiles, appraisal in his eyes. He's the type of man who can hide his emotions well, and the type of man who can switch on fake ones when he wants to - a silent, tight-lipped man who is easily reputed wise, even though Kyungsoo, at the very least, knows it is just veiled trepidation. 

When Kyungsoo watches the exchange, he finds no familiarity in it; he isn't looking at his dad, he's looking at the September month photo boy of the Father's Union calendar - a poor, misconstrued attempt at perfection.

Look at me, Kyungsoo thinks loudly. Look at me like you did when I was at the hospital. Look at me like you care.

His eyes must be emblazoned with the thoughts which spiral in his mind. The ferocity in them must be something new, the soundless urgency unsettling, because when his father looks back at him - a casual, sweeping movement of his eyes - he winces away like he's been struck. It's the first flicker in his face that Kyungsoo has seen since his lip had been busted and leg fractured by the leader. 

Back then it had been a slip of the anthropomorphic kind, a truly human flaw in his plastered smile - a care that Kyungsoo didn’t realise still existed in his father. It was a dad’s realisation that something was terribly, terribly wrong in his son’s, and that it had been wrong for a long while now, and it makes Kyungsoo ache for more.

Today though, the fault in his shield of perfection means since when have you looked at me like that? Kyungsoo knows, even if his dad hides it, even if he doesn’t want him to see. Kyungsoo will always, always know - no matter how far they seem to be drifting apart -, and the day he doesn’t will be the point of no return.

"Dad."

Eun-Seo stands in the hall opening, and the look in her eyes sings her frustrations. Before she can say anything else, Kyungsoo sees danger; he darts a gaze, purses his lips as discreetly as possible, watches Eun-Seo bite her tongue for him with a relieved sigh on his lips.

"You haven't started on dinner," Mr Do immediately turns his attention on her, father countenance back in place, posing it like a statement, even if it should be a question. 

Ask us Dad, Kyungsoo thinks, please, ask us.

"I have an assignment." Her answer is curt like their father's usually are; she's mad at him, fuming if the minute tremble to her lips is anything to go by. Kyungsoo stares and stares at her, willing her tone to even into something steady. 

Their father, if he notices, pretends not to. He brings his arm up, a sharp, rush of movement to uncover the face of his watch, as gleaming and apt as usual. His very being screams professional; desktop job, reading glasses, contract signings. Kyungsoo doubts he'll ever be able to pull off such a purposeful motion in such a casual situation with even years of practice. 

We’re worlds apart, Dad, he thinks, eyes drawing to his knees.

"I can't do it," Mr Do announces, "not today. And you know your mother is working late..." He pauses, and then- "Kyungsoo, would you maybe-"

"He's ill!" Eun-Seo seethes, visibly vexed that she's had to remind him. Their father straightens at her tone, catching the hard gaze she's fixed on him, the insipid, repetitive blink to her eyes and the quiver to her lips. She isn't the child he thinks he deserves; Kyungsoo sees it, in the way he looks at her. The rebellion, the hard-cut, unforgiving morals, the loud, listenable mouth - it's far from the gentle daughter he'd wanted. Even her looks - her unruly, unevenly-cut pixie-do and bold, bold lipsticks; Eun-Seo leaves the house looking exactly how she wants to look, without a care for whatever anyone else thinks, wants and expects from her - a perfect picture of imperfection.

Kyungsoo wonders how much being gay will play as a tarnish on him; the image of his father, in the future, not being able to meet his eyes, suddenly manifests from his thoughts, and he realises it isn’t really that different from now.

"Order food in then," their father responds eventually (only) and then, like he's remembered he's supposed to be perfect - "would you?" 

Kyungsoo's blood runs cold. He's reminded, suddenly, of what he'd first thought of when he'd invited Jongin to dinner; a clandestine, proper meeting on the dining table, full roast or full platter or full picture, amiable conversation and an air of formality that every meet my new friend, (his name is Jongin) situation should grant. 

Instead he sees takeout containers and subliminal grease, dirty fingers and industrial napkins beneath their burgers to keep the mayonnaise from seeping out. He sees himself look up, and catching distaste beneath Jongin's eyes, and it floods his system with a harsh, untameable panic.

"Dad," he calls, softly, "dad, I invited Jongin to dinner." And he says it like, 'I invited Jongin to dinner', because takeout food is not his definition of dinner - or at least, not his definition of dinner when it comes to first invites and fresh friendships, not when this is so important.

"That's okay," his father says, "Jongin can pick what he wants." And then he walks out of the room. 

Kyungsoo's mouth falls shut. His urgent eyes fall to his lap, and he startles to see his hands trembling. 

He's seen Jongin's wealth - it's carried with him in the way he stands, the air around him; the watch on his wrist and the press to his shirts. He doesn't flaunt it; Kyungsoo has just always been observant enough, to notice these things, these details. 

His face fills with colour, and it's more embarrassment than he's felt in a while, more irony. This takeout dinner is Kyungsoo in a horrible metaphor: sub-standard, momentary, broken, avoided. More trouble than is worth working a friendship around. 

He senses Jongin look at him, though he daren't look up, and he knows, without a doubt in his mind, that Eun-Seo has gaged his silence. 

Your face is so , Eun-Seo has always told him. I can always see everything you're thinking, and everything you're feeling. 

"I can cook," she says, at the same time Jongin says, "I like chicken."

Kyungsoo's head darts up, not at Eun-Seo, but at Jongin, and it's so reflexive that he hasn't the time to prepare - but there's nothing there to prepare for. 

"Chicken wings," Jongin clarifies, a wide, indulgent smile on his face, exuberance bathed in his eyes, "I know a really good place that does them. I haven't had them in ages, it's really such a tragedy."

And Kyungsoo loses his words - such a common occurrence around the other boy; being left breathless, wordless, mindless in his thoughts. The reason he loses them this time is because he's never seen Jongin look so hopeful, sound so genuine. 

"If... If you're okay with that?" Jongin stutters when Kyungsoo only continues to stare unblinkingly his way. "I mean, it's your house, so it's -well it's your choice, is what I'm really trying to sa-"

"What-" Kyungsoo thinks there might be stars in his eyes. "Whatever you want."

And it's scary how much he means that, and even more scary how hard Jongin's resulting smile makes his heart thud.

If someone had told Kyungsoo a few months back that he'd be here, on his sofa, eating greasy but amazing fried chicken with Kim ing Jongin of all people in his school he would've probably laughed in their face and walked away. 

That's really the current situation he's in now though, and it feels... Nice. Oddly domestic. It feels like they've been doing this for a long, long time, and Kyungsoo, who's only ever had such momentary experiences with friendship, doesn't know what to make of it. 

They've got the television on, some movie that Jongin had found to be showing on the box, but Kyungsoo couldn't tell you confidently what the film is about. Jongin is just so distracting, with the way he eats and the comments he makes between taking some bites. It's a strange thing to find endearing, but Kyungsoo likes watching how Jongin treats the meat before him like he's been starved, and then how proper and refined he is whilst doing so - no excessive streaks of grease around his lips, no small dots of spicy breadcrumb flicking off in places it shouldn't be. 

And then of course there's the way he his lips clean between adverts to talk, and that repetitive motion makes Kyungsoo feel so warm and embarrassed that he has to look away. All seven times (not that he was counting). 

It isn't the dinner he'd been intent on, but it's a dinner he reckons to be far more comfortable, and toned down, than the one he'd had in mind.

"You don't mind eating this, do you?" Kyungsoo questions during an advert, still horribly unsure. 

But Jongin only grants him a soft, soft smile, and the way he answers back - "I like this, Kyungsoo," makes it sound like he had wanted to say something else entirely. The way his gaze lingers, the way he trails over Kyungsoo's curled up form and the blanket he has buried himself under - it screams a thousand soundless words that he is holding back. 

In the end though, like has happened too many times between them to count, silence prevails.

"I should get going," Jongin announces when the film has finished, peeking quickly at his watch. 

"Oh, right, yeah," Kyungsoo agrees, shrugging the blanket off his shoulders and live-pausing the credits of the movie.

They stand together, Jongin offering, insisting to help with the dishes first until Kyungsoo's answering glare steals his words from his mind. He chuckles, and Kyungsoo really likes that sound; how warm, and sincere, and gentle it is in the stale profundity of a silent room.

Jongin scoops his bag over his arm, and Kyungsoo moves forward to unlock the door for him, but a soft "wait," makes him halt, and he watches confused as Jongin fast-walks back to the living room. Before he can follow, Jongin appears again, his blanket in hand, and he steps up to him with those soft, brown eyes gleaming.

"You shouldn't let your cold get worse," Jongin says, and then he circles his arms behind Kyungsoo's head. Kyungsoo opens his mouth to dispute - a natural, impetuous response - but his throat just sort of releases a wispy breath of air as Jongin tugs the blanket by each of his hands, and wraps it securely over Kyungsoo's shoulder. He moves forward, impossibly close, pulling the excess material behind Kyungsoo for extra warmth, and Kyungsoo looks up at the exact moment that Jongin looks down.

Something happens - though Kyungsoo can't explain what it is, or even what it means. All he knows is that the proximity between them is so small that when they stare at each other, Kyungsoo sees Jongin in a way he has never seen Jongin before, and it feels... It feels so inexplicably private, that it makes him shiver.

"Take care, okay?" Jongin prods, voice low and intimate and so abundant with care that Kyungsoo can't help but to smile back.

He doesn't grant the question an answer, only opens the door for Jongin to leave through, and Jongin slips on his shoes, steps through the open entrance, and glances back. 

"See you in school," he says, and then he walks out into the night air, and Kyungsoo watches him, even when he's far from visible, only slinking back to the sofa when the cold, like Jongin had known, finally starts to bite.

It's been a few days since Jongin had come over when Kyungsoo was ill (even if the amount of mortification Kyungsoo had felt during that time still suddenly sneaks up on him from time to time), and Kyungsoo's cold is, for the most part, diminished. He usually heals a lot quicker, but he theorises that his sister and her smarmy, teasing face had prolonged his illness just that slightest bit longer than the usual.

It feels comfortable going back at school, even if his neck prickles at the thought of another panic attack, in the halls, where everyone can see him and judge him and make it all worse. He pushes the thoughts to the back of his mind, pushes away the image of the leader's sneer and that dark look he always has in his eyes, and breathes.

He's currently in the car on the way there, and it's one of those rare, rare days where his mother has the time to drop him off - even if it is at an ungodly hour, and he's bound to get there at an excessively early time. He tries so desperately not to notice how edgy she looks at her prolonged arrival time, tries not to see how she glances every so often at her watch and speeds up when the road looks emptier, but pretending never works if the hurt is always present, instilled in his bones like marrow and cartilage. 

"You didn't have to take me..." Kyungsoo says eventually, even though he'd been so happy when she had offered. "I know that you're busy."

His mother makes a tutting sound, "I wanted to," she mutters, shooting him a soft smile, but he can still see the strain in it, and it makes his heart pang. He thinks his father must've mentioned what happened a few days back, that split second of shared eyes and forced understanding; she would never have offered otherwise. 

The rest of the drive is in relative silence, only exchanges of phatic talk between the two of them, and Kyungsoo finds himself wondering when things became like this; how their conversation first begun to deprecate into such needless, basal concerns.

"Thanks, mum," he says when she's stopped, opening the car door almost as soon as she's halted.

"Be careful with your leg, Kyungsoo," she calls just before he's slammed the door closed, and then she drives away before Kyungsoo can even think of waving her goodbye. 

A soft, exhausted whisper of a sigh slips past his lips, shoulders crooking as he takes a gliding look around himself. There isn't anyone around just yet, probably only teachers and canteen staff for the breakfast snacks the school offers. 

Kyungsoo has over an hour to kill, and he doesn't know what to do or where to go. The library isn't open yet, and he hasn't got a book to read with him. He's done all his work in all the time he's been at home, and that's not something he wants to do anyway. He wanders aimlessly for a while, across the paths of the school he's walked over too many times to count, and it's when he sees a particular building that he stops.

He knows from a few years back that the studio is always open and busy at early times, students coming in to practice songs or dances in the school facilities. He remembers a time when he'd get his mum to drop him off everyday just so he could waste away time in the rehearsal rooms, writing songs and singing soft melodies to himself before school began. It feels so far away when he recalls it, so unreachable, bridging the gap between the forgotten and the remembered. It's like a shot of nostalgia - standing before the building now he can feel a deep wave of familiarity wash over him at his surroundings. His heart buzzes, warm and fast-beating, and it feels like- feels like home.

He walks through the studio doors before he even acknowledged that he is moving, and is struck, once more, by how upgraded the building has become over the time he hasn't frequented it. So much has changed. Even such minor altercations in the things which had once been so prevalent in his daily routine makes Kyungsoo ache at all the time he has lost here.

He doesn't realise he's walking towards the rehearsal rooms until he's stopped directly in front of the one he used to frequent before, and so many memories flood back at him. He wants so badly, so desperately, to be able to reach forward and open the door; it almost hurts, how tangible, reachable, his past is. His hand though is stiff and coiled tight, unyieldingly taut with so many fears: fears of repetition, of mockery, fears of chasing his dream and losing it all over again.

Speaking with Jongin about this has made everything in his memories so bold and potent. After avoiding even the smallest branches back into this taboo world, the world he'd left behind all those years back, and pushed away even as his heart longed for it, recounting all he had let go has worked as a reminder he can't shake from his thoughts. It has brought everything right back to the forefront of his thoughts, and it makes him think of his song books, his music sheets - still compiled in a draw in his cupboards - with a fresh, wanting mind-set. 

Except... nothing's ever really that simple. Wanting and getting; sometimes, it's impossible to have both. And when he reaches a hand out at last, makes his head listen to his heart and takes one step forward, his whole body seizes up. He delves further into the draw in his mind, he unearths the song book which he'd salvaged, the song book which two rolls of Sellotape had pieced back together, each page, reattached by the seam after being torn apart by harsh sniggers and horrific, pre-emptive planning, and that haunts him.

He takes a step back, heart thundering now with something more than exhilaration, something more than what Kyungsoo can deal with, and Kyungsoo wishes for so many things in that moment: for strength, for lack of fear, for faith, in himself, and in what he can do.

In the end, he walks away, just as he's done all those other times he's ever tried to go back to this place, and when he goes, he leaves another little piece of himself behind.

Only, he doesn't get very far.

"Kyungsoo?"

Kyungsoo whips around, urging the expression on his face away when he recognises the voice.

"Taemin..." Kyungsoo responds, walking a few steps towards the boy.

Kyungsoo shouldn't be so surprised that he is here. As a dancer, morning practices aren't an unheard of thing.

He must have been on his break, if the way he looks is anything to go by. There's a thin sheen of sweat coated over all the unveiled parts of his skin (and, can Kyungsoo just mention, that is a big, big area of skin when Taemin is wearing a plain black muscle tee with the sleeves cut way too low to be proper) and his hair is dripping wet as if he has dunked it in a basin of water and shook it around. 

"Your crutches," Taemin exclaims, smile stretching wide when Kyungsoo has stopped before him.

"Oh -yeah, I got them off a few days ago," Kyungsoo provides, lips turning up warmly. Now he's closer he eyes the room which Taemin had been in for practice, a low rumble of bass still pressing through the floorboards from within.

"Are you practicing with someone?" Kyungsoo questions when he hears more movement from inside, sounds of dance; feet singing routine beats against the wooden flooring, wisps of air invoked by purposeful, echoing gestures. It's a different art to singing, a different palette, but creative minds are of the same genus, sited in the same wavelength, and - as much as Kyungsoo fills his head with numbers and facts, and sweeps the board with a full row of A's - that will never diminish. 

"Oh right," Taemin laughs, like he's only just remembered something important, but when Kyungsoo stares at him expectantly, waiting for an answer, Taemin only smiles. "You can watch us practice for a while, if you'd like?"

Kyungsoo eyes him suspiciously. There is something off here, something too smug and expecting in Taemin's expression that makes him hesitate in his affirmation.

"Ah, come on," Taemin whines, grabbing a gentle hold of Kyungsoo's wrist and edging closer to the room. "You can give us feedback, yeah?"

Before Kyungsoo can respond then, Taemin moves behind him and guides him forward with two hands on his shoulders, only letting up to push open the door, and as Kyungsoo steps in - "I really don't think my feedback will be all that constructive..." -, peering at Taemin from behind, a flash of movement from within the room makes him look away.

And God he hates Taemin.

Because it's Jongin, and that part isn't shocking, that part he'd been expecting already, but- no, wait - he's-he’s not Jongin, he's Kai, and Kai is a completely different person, even in the stories. Kai is a persona Kyungsoo has never seen, never dealt with or handled for even a moment, and Kai also apparently likes to practice without a ing shirt on. 

So Kyungsoo stands there, mouth agape for a moment, watching flashes of tan skin twist into a cacophony of motions, watching Kai's face on Jongin's, the smirks and the dark, dark hooded eyes that promise so much danger, and then darting, belatedly, to the thin suggestion of toned abs he really didn't need to know existed and-

He screams. Or squeals might be a better word. Either way he twists back around to leave and finds himself buried in a shaking Taemin's chest (shaking with laughter, the bastard) and it's enough sound for Jongin- Kai- whoever the that is to finally notice their presence in the room.

"Kyung-Soo?!" Jongin splutters over the music, and then there's a clatter of feet, and the music cuts, and Kyungsoo turns to look his way-

And he's still not got a shirt on, and God Kyungsoo's so ed if he thinks he's not attracted to this boy. 

"H-H-Hi," Kyungsoo greets, cursing the stutter, knowing, without doubt, that his cheeks must be a blazing red by now - a perfect picture of a shy school girl before their crush, gaze diverted to the ground and state visibly nervy. There must be enough in his person for Jongin to gage what has made the air awkward, because after a soft, understanding exhalation and a flurry of movement like before, Kyungsoo peeks up to see that Jongin has thrown a hoodie over his head, a nest of fabric around his neck, and he watches long enough to see the way the fabric shields, from view, his heaving chest, and the line of his abs, coated in a soft, soft sheen of sweat and speckled with dots of moisture and-

Kyungsoo blinks rapidly, diverts his gaze again even if he doesn't have to, even if it should be okay now, and God he hates his cheeks. 

"Cute," he hears, a mutter from Taemin, but more like an exclamation in the quiet of the room, and when he peeks up at the boy beside him and away from he floor, he startles to see the fond, teasing smile that plays on his lips. He locks eyes with the taller boy and Taemin's expression doesn't even waver, maybe turns even softer by the way Kyungsoo's cheeks heat even more, and that expression, even if Kyungsoo can't place it, must be easily understood by Jongin from across the room, because he interrupts. 

"Kyungsoo, what- what are you doing here?" He questions, voice unnecessarily high, tarnished with a rise in pitch and a fluttering stutter which sounds unnatural to anyone's ears. 

"Um, I ran in to Taemin. He said- said I could watch?" Kyungsoo offers, suddenly unsure that he is welcome by the way Jongin darts squinted eyes Taemin's way. From his peripheral vision, he sees Taemin beam a smile back in response, and he's abruptly so jealous of their relationship - of how much trust must be between them, how much recognition, for their understanding of each other to supersede even words. He can't for the life of him comprehend what they are saying to one another, and what that soundless conversation can possibly mean.

"You can," Jongin says after a moment, snapping Kyungsoo from his thoughts. "I mean, it might not be all that interesting, but sure."

It might actually be far too interesting, Kyungsoo thinks, realising suddenly that he's about to be sat in a room with full permission to watch (read: ogle) two very, very beautiful dancers all he pleases and Wow, since when was life like this?

Only, before any of the three of them even has the chance to actually move, a new voice breaks through the stillness-

"Kyungsoo? Do Kyungsoo?"

-

A/N

Introducing a new character WOOO! It's another idol - I've been waiting to put them in for so long and the time has finally come ^~^ Take your guesses below haha

I'm sorry this was kind of late! Exams are finally over now so yayyyy I should be able to update a bit more

I had to have Taemin in this after his Japanese solo debut I mean seriously his title track has been on repeat for me for 3 days

Also shirtless Jongin <33 Only a thin suggestion of toned abs because come on people he’s only 17 in this fic, let’s not get ahead of ourselves ;D

I hope you liked this chapter everyone ^~^ Comment your opinions below xxx (also, gifs not mine)