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Seokmin thinks Soonyoung doesn’t know just how much of a stranglehold he has over Seokmin’s heart.
But he’s wrong— Soonyoung has at least a bit of an idea.
If that wasn’t the case, why else would he keep doing this?
This, being, twisting Seokmin around his finger—intentionally or unintentionally (it’s a blur; the universe hasn’t decided yet)—to get him to run him an errand.
They were trainees then, on the cusp of their debut.
Some of their voices still cracked. Some of them still didn’t know how to maneuver such awkwardly long limbs. All of them were all still kids. Tired kids, who’d gone from vocal practice to dance practice, to dance practice, and more dance practice. Seokmin understandably feels like passing out by the time a break is called, but he doesn’t; instead, he’s wobbly legged and collapsing against a cold, hard wall, and onto the practice room’s ever-familiar wooden planks, which the mere sight of sent them dizzy on days when they were particularly starving or sleep-deprived.
Sweat glazes Seokmin’s skin, wetting the tips of his cropped black hair, collecting on the groove atop his upper lip— and as one could guess, it’s disgusting. He’s all sorts of disgusting right now. They all are. Gross, and exhausted.
Except Soonyoung, apparently, who in that window of time everyone else used to despair, wither away, and will themselves to melt into the mirrored walls, had already washed his face and procured a face towel to dry it with, which was now wrung loosely around his neck. There’s still a bounce to his step and a boom in his voice not even Seungkwan possesses at the moment, and Seokmin confirms that the theory sitting patiently and amassing dust at the back of his mind about Soonyoung not being real is completely true.
Is Soonyoung ever tired?
No, and yes.
Soonyoung has the will, stamina, and energy of unbelievable magnitudes. It’s almost insane.
But he gets tired, like everyone else— will, stamina and energy be damned. To seem fine on the surface doesn’t have to mean being truly fine, and with time, Seokmin had learned to discern that Soonyoung himself had become enough evidence to prove this.
Seokmin, more than anyone else there, has seen Soonyoung in forms and versions of him where he’s most tired. He’s seen it far too many times he thinks is even fair, especially for someone as— as what? As perfect as Soonyoung?
No, he wasn’t perfect; far from it, even— he had his flawed smile: his round cheeks bunched up at his eyes, his eyes turning into twinkling 10 past 10 slits, and his nose getting caught in an endearing scrunch—but he’s Soonyoung, and Seokmin feels that while that doesn’t necessarily mean being perfect, it was just as good.
Soonyoung crouches down in front of Seokmin, smiling a smile that varied a bit differently from the usual in that it was probably a preamble to a request, but the smile makes Seokmin smile, too, nevertheless; all traces of fatigue vanish at Soonyoung's presence—an effect on the other that they both shared. He smiles, and it makes Seokmin smile, and that makes Soonyoung smile even wider, because they're weird that way.
"So," starts Soonyoung.
"So." Seokmin parrots, because he already knows.
"You know how we have schedules?" Soonyoung says, settling cross-legged across Seokmin. "And the practice room isn't open for us tonight?"
"Hyung, I'm not scheduled to use the practice room, either." Seokmin says, not annoyed at all; even sort of regretful because Soonyoung apparently expects he can do something for him when he can’t. In reality, however, Seokmin would do most of anything for Soonyoung— the latter rarely has to ask. Seokmin could swim across the English Channel, for all he cares, as long as he's sure Soonyoung wanted it. And Seokmin didn't even know how to swim.
"I know that." Soonyoung replies.
Seokmin blinks. "So what can I do?"
"Okay." Soonyoung is skimming his eyes around the room suspiciously, as if what he's about to say was to be a guarded secret. Predictably, this intrigues Seokmin, as most things concerning Soonyoung do, and Soonyoung inches himself just a little bit closer to Seokmin, his voice dropping to a whisper when he says: "You're close to the noona who keeps the key, right?"
Seokmin splutters.
His eyes go wide, warmth and a light shade of pink creeping onto his face, and it's tragically embarrassing. It's almost comical. Seokmin doesn't know what he expected, really.
But Soonyoung shakes his head reassuringly; he has mercy on Seokmin today, deciding to use this as ammunition for another day. "No, I don't mean anything by it. She just dotes on you a lot more than she does anyone else."
Seokmin doesn't notice that. "I don’t really see what—"
"Seokmin."
Soonyoung sounds and looks the least bit pleading, and that's about as long as it takes before Seokmin cracks.
"I just need to polish up some of the moves with Chan. It won't even take long." Soonyoung grins. Seokmin tries to gauge if Soonyoung is even aware he's already won, and fails to reach a definitive conclusion in time. "I mean, you know, we're kinda efficient."
With a long-drawn exhale of breath that was meant to be overdramatic, Seokmin acquiesces. "Fine." He says, with an intentionally tired-sounding tone, still smiling.
"Thanks, Seoku, you're the best!"
Soonyoung pulls him into a tight hug that Seokmin readily reciprocates— with even more enthusiasm than Soonyoung does, actually; as if Seokmin had been the one who has had a favor of his accepted. In fact, Soonyoung pulls away first—he always does—and there’s always this small regret that blooms in Seokmin’s core when he has to let go— it’s always there, in his fluttering heartbeat, and in the hand that takes far too long resting on Soonyoung’s waist. Soonyoung doesn’t mind or notice. He never does.
And yet Seokmin is willing to go through this. He’d been listening for maybe an hour or two now. Or more. That doesn’t mean aimlessly sitting there, mind elsewhere, waiting for aforementioned noona to run out of things to say— no, Seokmin really does listen, because he’s Seokmin, and Seokmin just is like that.
Seokmin is fine for the most part. He isn’t sure how to handle her when she starts crying, though. Her mascara is running down her cheeks in inky rivulets, breath hitching helplessly, voice warbled by her love life’s woes, cursing her own luck and her own taste in men. Seokmin had felt instant panic.
Seokmin really doesn’t know what to do. He’s never been faced with a situation quite like this. Or maybe he has once, in middle school, and he remembers failing spectacularly. He opts for offering her a stiff, awkward embrace, and the moment his hesitant arms spread, she is immediately crying into Seokmin’s shirt.
“Next time, noona,” says Seokmin, rigidly patting her back, but wearing a soft smile nonetheless, “stay with someone who makes you laugh, not someone who just makes you cry all the time.”
The words draw her into a bit of a calm eventually. She sits up, still sniffling miserably, but she also tells Seokmin in stuttering breaths that if she were ever to have son in the future, he wishes he would be exactly like Seokmin, and Seokmin laughs good-naturedly, thanking her.
She soon glances down at her watch, in realization. “Oh no, it’s late.” She says, steady-voiced now, but red-eyed still. “Sorry for taking your time, is there anything you needed?”
“It’s really alright!” Seokmin reassures her, voice teeming with that trademark Seokmin brightness. If Seokmin wasn’t good at comforting, then Seokmin, as a person, was just intrinsically comforting.
“But um.” Seokmin scratches at the back of his neck, sheepish. “I left my jacket in the practice room a while ago. I was going to get it back? But it really is late though, so I was thinking I could borrow the key and lock up myself, so that you can go home and rest.”
She doesn’t show any particular sign of doubt, but Seokmin still crosses his heart and goes, “I’ll return the key in the morning. I promise!”
He’s not sure how much of that is believable, but he acquires the key nonetheless.
The walk back is punishingly cold. Once he’s back at the dorms, he sees that not a lot of them are still awake— there’s just this assemblage of boys bundled up in blankets and pillows and sweaters. Whoever was assigned to fix up the heater today is sure to get shit from everyone the next day; unless someone like Junhui goes out and does it himself in the middle of the night. Of course, Soonyoung, of all people, is very much still awake. He’s reading off of his phone, earphones on either ear, hugging his legs atop a couch near the entrance. When he hears the door shut behind Seokmin, his attention immediately refocuses.
“How did it go?” Soonyoung asks, one earphone now off, whispering in the dimly lit room.
“Catastrophic. A big failure. Full of regrets. An absolute disaster,” replies Seokmin, walking over to where Soonyoung sat, tossing the key right into his hands, “You’re welcome.”
Soonyoung gives a soundless declaration of love and thanks, shooting up and looping his arms around Seokmin’s neck to pull him down for another one of those hugs. Seokmin—there’s no other suitable word for it—melts into the embrace. Soonyoung’s soft hair tickles at his chin, and Seokmin can sort of get a subtle whiff of that citrusy shampoo all of them used. “You’re the best! I love you!” Soonyoung says, and it doesn’t matter to Seokmin in which way he means it.
Seokmin grins, even though Soonyoung can’t see. “I already knew that.” He responds, sing-song. “Tell me I’m your favorite.”
“You’re my favorite,” laughs Soonyoung.
And Soonyoung pulls away first, like always, and disappears behind a door to presumably go get Chan. Seokmin watches him go, before he trudges over to his own bed as quietly as he's able, subconsciously wondering if he’ll ever get used to the fevered tempo his heart plays— the same rhythm Soonyoung himself had struck.
Soonyoung is pretty sure Seokmin isn’t aware how his very smile can pick Soonyoung apart and untether his sewn edges.
And he’s entirely right.
Soonyoung is getting some work done— or trying to.
They had just grown out of the “rookie” title, their third comeback forthcoming.
And to be fair, Seokmin isn’t actively doing anything to impede his progress, but it doesn’t change the fact that it’s still very much distracting.
Soonyoung idly circles the room, fiddling with his phone, the soles of his rubber shoes squeaking relentlessly— its sound the only thing bouncing off the walls in the silence. He scrolls through the numerous music files of Jihoon’s most recent tracks— some untitled, some in code; some official and already baptized with a hit-worthy, catchy name. He presses what was to be their title track this time around, and the speakers his phone had been hooked to starts vibrating to the song’s introductory beats.
Soonyoung's previously limp appendages spur into action, and he's commanding of the floor in every aspect, down to his very expressions. Soonyoung makes it through ninety percent of the routine flawlessly, as is to be expected.
His moves are all sure and impactful.
That is, until he lets his laser focus waver.
His eyes go from watching and scrutinizing his own movements in his own reflection plastered onto the room’s mirrored walls, to the reflection of Seokmin at the back in what was like a short flicker: Seokmin looked so stupidly invested, an amazed look coming to grace his face as he watched and—
And—
And Soonyoung falters.
It might be Seokmin, or it might be because it’s around 3am, and Soonyoung hasn’t had real sleep since 3am yesterday. Either way, it’s probably the universe telling his workaholic ass to take a break.
Sighing, Soonyoung ruffles his now-dark colored locks in mild frustration— he had literally just gotten it down smoothly beforehand, and that only makes it feel infinitely worse. It doesn't help that he'd always been a bit of a perfectionist, either. There were times—maybe a lot, depends on whose point of view it is—where he'd indulge in obsessing over his littlest mistakes, like what he does do for a moment before pure exhaustion instantly clouds the self-blame.
Seokmin can probably catch wind of whatever internal monologue Soonyoung is having. At the same time, though, to basic people like Seokmin, the so-called mistake is non-existent— he doesn't even notice: everything looks perfect, and entirely intentional.
Intentional, just like how Soonyoung drops down next to Seokmin in his comfy, toasty little corner, so that one leg rests on top of Seokmin's.
Soonyoung chugs from his water bottle, feeling the slight burn of his throat soothe, and his adrenaline simmer down. “Why are you still up?” He asks Seokmin, wiping at his mouth with his sweater paw. Not that he minds that Seokmin’s here. He doesn’t mind. He doesn’t ever mind, really. Seokmin doesn’t have to do much to make Soonyoung’s tiredness fade away into a laugh, or a grin, or a skip of the heartbeat.
“I was going to do this fun 97line bonding thing with Mingyu and Myungho only to find out they’ve already started their bonding rituals without me. Can you imagine how crestfallen I was?”
Soonyoung snorts. Seokmin's head falls back on the wall, exaggerated hurt painting his face, and Soonyoung is unconsciously grinning at the display. “My poor Seokminnie,” he coos, letting a pout of his protrude in mock sympathy, while reaching to touch Seokmin's face. Seokmin instinctively lets him.
Seokmin breaks out into an uncontrollable smile—far more muted than the usual, but still blinding—and Soonyoung can't help that he mirrors it. He can't help that his hand flinches away like he'd touched fire, been burnt—or worse, caught—when he realizes it's been there too long, either.
Seokmin doesn't mind or notice. He never does. “For real though, I’m always left out. Isn’t that kind of unfair? Do they have some sort of agenda against me?”
Soonyoung's caught between amusement and sincere sympathy, because it's a trait inherent to Soonyoung— he cares. About everyone and everything. Maybe more than what's needed. “Going here instead of catching up with them does what?”
“Mend my broken heart,” replies Seokmin, placing a hand on over his chest, his ridiculous expression twisted so that he looks absolutely forlorn— simply crushed.
“I’m always the one mending your broken heart.” Soonyoung says, still smiling. Soonyoung isn't at all stingy with his smiles; but it's sort of different now. With Seokmin, it feels like he can't stop. It's unavoidable that Soonyoung has bad days— slumps no one can get him out of no matter what rope they throw at him. However, regardless of what kind of day casts a shadow over Soonyoung, Seokmin just has this special ability unique only to him.
Soonyoung can't wrap his head around an explanation. Can't think of anything more articulate than simply put, Seokmin makes him so happy—makes him feel the kind of happiness completely without consequence or pretense—and what’s so baffling about it is that Seokmin doesn't even have to try.
“You’re the one breaking it most of the times, hyung," retorts Seokmin.
Soonyoung fakes an offended gasp. “When have I ever—”
Seokmin gets ready to count, unfurling a finger, bracing to cite the unquantifiable amount of times Soonyoung had apparently fractured Seokmin's poor, glass heart.
“Fine! I don’t want to hear it.” Soonyoung clasps both hands over Seokmin’s fist, giggling. “You're hardly any better than me, though.”
The moment Soonyoung's hand is on his, Seokmin threads their fingers together reflexively, fitting Soonyoung's snugly in the spaces between his like it was second-nature, almost exactly like on those nights of yesterday—of their predebut days—where they're side by side, wrapped in the cold and the quiet. They couldn't sleep much less than they wouldn't, because they were too concerned with the shape of each other's smile.
Soonyoung marvels at warm heft of Seokmin's bigger hand on his, and Seokmin's grin still always manages to get his chest all tangled up. From anyone else's perspective but Seokmin's, it would show on Soonyoung's face. Even just a little— even just in the little corners of his upturned lips.
“I saw pictures of Jaehyun on your phone." Soonyoung says, a silent sort of faux anger that makes Seokmin laugh hanging from his tone. He didn't see anything, really, but it's a funny inside joke no one wants to let Seokmin ever live down, and Soonyoung is by no means above exploiting that. "You cheating on me?”
Seokmin lets out a guffaw, any semblance of embarrassment he undoubtedly feels wholly drowned out.
“Don’t be like that, hyung,” says Seokmin, coming down from the laughter. “You’re the only one for me.”
If Soonyoung is affected by those words, he doesn’t make it apparent. He holds Seokmin’s gaze—or tries to—and soon, he’s biting his lower lip, his shoulders shaking irrepressibly. “Pfft—”
And he’s laughing again, because they seem to do that often when they’re put together, admittedly much to some of the members’ chagrin at times. He lightly hits Seokmin on his arm, but doesn’t do anything to wipe the dumb look on Seokmin’s face. “Oh my god, you’re so cheesy. Why.”
The rest of the night progresses the same way— when the jokes stop containing any vestige of sense and the laughing becomes breathy and listless, Soonyoung struggles to pick himself up and get back to work. “I’ll just finish up. You can go ahead.” He says to Seokmin, who remains seated, even as Soonyoung offers him a hand up.
“I’ll stay.” Seokmin says, instead.
“You don’t have to.” Soonyoung replies. Soonyoung can stay up for all he wants and suffer through the repercussions, but he’s not about to drag someone else with him.
“Yeah, but I want to.”
So Soonyoung leaves him be, but not without a fond—not admonishing—shake of the head. Soonyoung retrieves his phone, the song starts, and he gets lost in it, with Seokmin in the background.
“Seokmin, do you want to go the convenience store?”
Silence.
“Seokmin?”
At first—looking down upon his notebook of formations only he can decipher—he’s confused. Then he looks back up, sees him in the mirror, and Soonyoung has to turn back to the real thing. Soonyoung’s mouth involuntarily morphs into another one of those smiles— Seokmin had fallen asleep. For how long, Soonyoung isn’t sure.
Soonyoung sneakers squeak over the floorboards as he makes his way to crouch in front of Seokmin’s sleeping form, a warm feeling washing over him and making home on his face.
“Seokmin.”
Soonyoung’s voice comes hushed; Seokmin mumbles and shifts, but is not rendered any less asleep.
It makes Soonyoung’s nose scrunch up in a quiet chuckle. He briefly contemplates waking Seokmin up, so they could walk back to the dorms and stew in the regret together as they see the sun light up the sky again far too early, and he was about to do it—
He lets out a long-overdue yawn, and he doesn’t do it.
It might be Seokmin, or the fact that it’s unquestionably morning, and Soonyoung just wants to sleep, but Soonyoung decides the most prudent course of action—well, not prudent per se, but the best, no doubt—was to curl up by Seokmin’s side.
Even asleep—Soonyoung doesn’t get to note—Seokmin adjusts to fit Soonyoung’s frame by his side perfectly. Soonyoung's tired eyes eventually close, getting pulled to calm slumber by the sound of Seokmin’s heartbeat.