Devious
Title: Devious
Lenght: one-shot
Characters: Kai, Taemin
Pairings: Kai/Taemin
AU: non!au
Rating: pg
Word count: 5.112
Genre: comedy, fluff?, slice of life?
Warnings/notes: for
estivaate in the context of the Pretty Boys fic exchange, although not posted. Proper a/n at the bottom.
Summary: Although they both have different views on the concept for their duo debut, there is one point they agree in: they wouldn't want to do it with anyone else.
“I don’t care what happens out there, we’re already winning.”
________________________________
“Is it recording?”
Taemin checks for the flickering red light, giving a small nod when he sees it flash alive. He stretches his arm out, eyes fixated on the viewfinder, trying to get them both in the frame. He’s sweaty and disheveled, hair sticking in weird directions, T-shirt disgustingly moist; but he’s happy, and the sparkle in his eyes would betray him if he tried to hide it.
Beside him, Jongin doesn’t look much better. His hands go to fidget with his fringe, too long by now and in desperate need of a haircut, drenched and most likely annoying. The sleepy curve of his eyes droops lower than usual, and Taemin knows Jongin slept even less than he did last night.
“Hello! This is SHINee Taemin-“
“And EXO Kai,” adds Jongin, chin going to rest on Taemin’s shoulder.
“-and we’ve just finished our first practice for our subunit promotions!” It’s hard to believe. Taemin’s been consistently giggling with staggering frequency, but managed to make it pass as coughing fits. Jongin doesn’t buy it, but neither acknowledges it. “It’s still a secret to you, but by the time you see it, you will all know what we’re talking about.” He nods, reassuring.
“It’s been hard to keep it hush because we’re so excited, but we will make sure you get the best performance possible. It’s only the first practice, but I think we can do well.” With each of Jongin’s words, his chin stabs Taemin’s shoulder. It’s not exactly pleasant, but his body is warm behind his own and, though the viewfinder doesn’t show it, his waist is circled with Jongin’s arms in a loose embrace.
“It’s going to be amazing!” promises Taemin at the camera, eyes glimmering with excitement despite his weariness. “I can’t wait for you guys to see this choreo. But we had a long day-” The last word comes drawn out in a shameless, lazy yawn, and Jongin takes over the statement.
“And it’s…” He takes the camera from the older and flips it around, pointing at the clock on the opposite wall. “…four a.m. right now, so we’re going to go shower and then go to bed,” he finishes, flipping the camera back. It’s only natural then for Taemin to rest his head back on the younger’s chest, slipping forward ever-so-slightly on the wooden floor, allowing his eyes to go closed for just a moment. When he opens them again, Jongin is shaking his head with a grin, playing a game of complicity with their imaginary viewers. “We’ll get back to you sooner than later.”
He winks at the camera ̶ Taemin sees it on the viewfinder, his head tucked securely on the crook of Jongin’s shoulder ̶ and the older matches it with a pout, a sleepy excuse of a kiss blown with poor enthusiasm. “See ya,” he finishes before Jongin extinguishes the flickering red light.
Fifteen minutes after the camera gets turned off, the dancers have not yet moved from their spot on the studio. “In a minute,” repeats Jongin for the fourth time, wrapping lean arms around Taemin’s waist tighter.
***
“And this is the set we’ll be filming at today. Isn’t it cool?”
Jongin makes a face at the camera when it goes past him, giving him as much attention as if he was just another part of the scenery, dressed in one of those tree costumes little kids wear sometimes at school plays, instead of Calvin Klein and Armani. “Hey!” he whines, making Taemin laugh and spin back to him. He walks towards the little hand camera then, getting closer than it will be comfortable for the viewer, to the point they could count his eyelashes if they really wanted to. (Taemin notices, but he doesn’t say anything). “Hi,” whispers Jongin, knowing that the mic, as HD as the lens, will catch it even over the background sound of rumbling and chatting, over the instructions of a director that’s getting impatient for the delays, over the general chaos that any idol gets used to after a few sessions of filming.
“Hi,” Taemin whispers back, ripping a snort followed by muted laughter from Jongin.
“I was talking to them,” he says, smile still big on his face.
The set is honestly breathtaking, but Taemin doesn’t pay much attention to it, because in the viewfinder, the younger still grins; all chiaroscuro in the dim lighting, a flash of brightness in a room much too dark.
***
“Five minutes break!”
Jongin falls butt first on the floor, effectively crumpling one of the most expensive costumes he’s ever worn. He figures it doesn’t really matter.
Taemin walks to him with a plastic cup in each hand, and when Jongin takes one, sipping on it eagerly, the steam warms his numb cheeks. The last time he had to film on below-zero weather, there was a two months old poodle in his jacket to keep him warm, he remembers with vague yearning.
“How’s it going?” asks the older, sitting next to him and bumping his knee with his own.
Jongin doesn’t reply until his nose hits the top border of the cup, tilting it to get the last drops of tea to fall onto his tongue. “You should know, you were watching comfortably over there in that fucking giant coat of yours.”
Taemin just laughs, choked and almost soundless, hand covering his mouth in a gesture he’s never been able to get over. “I already did my scene and froze my ass off, I deserve my coat.”
The younger scowls. It’s not fair that Taemin got his scene during the daytime, at least twelve degrees warmer than the temperature now. It doesn’t matter that the set’s windows are closed, because it’s really damn cold anyway.
Jongin looks down at his clothes, far too thin to be even remotely comfortable in the middle of winter.
“Okay, let’s resume!”
At the voice of the scene director, Jongin gets up, Taemin taking the plastic cup and giving him a pat on the back. “You’re doing great,” he encourages before trotting back to his spot, right next to the screen on which he’s monitoring Jongin’s recording. Wasn’t it Taemin staring at his hits and misses, Jongin would have felt a little judged.
***
January 8th, Seoul, EXO dorm
I feel like I’m walking in circles.
I think it’s because of this concept. It’s kind of cool, different from most of the other stuff that’s going around, but I wish I could skip on looking all bad and tough all the time. I’m used to it, but I guess I was hoping this would be the time to show something different.
But Taemin seems to be right where he wants to be. Everybody and their grandmother knows he’s done with the fairy prince looks, the aegyo and the pastel skinnies; done with playing the flower boy he was generally claimed as. He got the chance to prove otherwise and the public got the memo, extremely pleased with the change, and he’s is all up for that, so when they picked Devious as our subunit name and concept, it seemed to make the deal for him.
It’s not that I hate it or anything like that, but I think I would have picked something different. I’ve been doing that kind of stuff for so long… I’d like to focus on what I do more than on my looks, more than on what people seem to think I do. Be real, I guess. Authentic. It’s tiring to always do what’s expected.
I figure I could have said something, but Taemin seems so into it. While I’m trying to do something different, that’s what Devious is to him. I’m not sure it’s a concept I’d like to stick to forever, so I hope it’ll have a few different aspects to it, at least.
We’ll see what happens in the future. For now, I’ll just think of it as playing the black swan.
Jongin puts the pen down and closes his journal.
Ever since he debuted, a stage persona was imposed on him. He knew it was going to happen, and he manages to perform it with a smile on his face -after all, that’s what allows him to stand on the stage. It took him a while to get used to it -he would have never defined himself as sexy, despite whatever the internet says ̶ but by now he has come to terms with the idea that it’s only a character, that it doesn’t define him.
And ever since he’s debuted, he’s been playing around with the notion of edge and mild danger. It’s so, so far away from who he really is, from who most of his bandmates really are, but it works. It sells, and that, Jongin is afraid, is what matters the most, as far as the producers are concerned.
Being wicked and vicious, truly troublesome (or at least impersonating so), is one step further, and Jongin isn’t so fond of it. This isn’t play pretend, it’s not just the image of leather and velvet and lace and mesh and dark make up , a game that ends up with gooey cuddling nonetheless. This time around, the bad boy is no prince; no promises, no commitment, no strings attached. And it’s so not Jongin that he knows, he knows deep in his heart that no one is going to believe it for a second.
But this is work, and if he’s going to do it, he better do it well.
The debut stage is almost a week away; there’s no time for slacking. Jongin calls Taemin, and he only needs to say it in order to get the older to agree.
They don’t leave the studio until the sun starts coming up, the first rays of daylight projecting faint shadows on the wooden floor.
***
“I’m so tired I bet I could fall asleep standing up.” Taemin stops in his tracks, still in the middle of the empty hallway with his eyes closed.
“You’ll fall face first on the floor,” counters Jongin, his hands on Taemin’s hips, pushing hard enough to prop him to move forward, but not enough to make him fall given how unstable he is when half asleep.
He does stumble forward indeed, but Jongin gets to straighten him before his prediction becomes a reality. Taemin isn’t so sleepy that he can’t even walk, but the chance to bump into a wall -or, even more frequent, a glass door ̶ still exists, so Jongin watches the way for both of them, opens doors and avoids bumping into strangers and acquaintances.
As soon as they get to the dorm, Taemin lets himself fall on Jongin’s bed. It’s messy, because Jongin didn’t make it after his afternoon nap (not that he ever does), but it’s soft and comfortable, and a lot better than the floor.
“Chanyeol-hyung said he wouldn’t be coming tonight so you can use his bed if you want to,” says the younger, fidgeting through piles of clothing and pulling two sets of shirt and pajama pants.
“I’m here already,” the older whines, clutching Jongin’s pillow with small hands, his eyes shut tightly.
Jongin tosses the pants at him first, then the shirt. “Then at least change,” he tries to will as he quickly gets out of his sweatpants, striped pajamas coming on instead.
Taemin grunts before turning to lay on his back, not bothering to stand up in order to undress and dress again. Jongin doesn’t have the heart to tell him that he’s putting his pants on the other way around, or that the shirt is inside out.
In the time it takes Jongin to put his sweaty clothes on the chair where he consistently piles everything he’s used, realizing he needs to do laundry soon, Taemin’s breathing slows down to a rhythmic pace. He’s careful to not make any noise as he opens a drawer, pulling up the small camera and turning it on, wincing at the soft beep.
“It’s six-forty a.m. right now,” whispers Jongin, “and we just got back from practice. He was so tired I had to let him stay with us, because he was crashing into doors and saying he might fall asleep standing, and can you imagine him going back to his dorm in those conditions?” He makes sure the frame only catches his own bed and not Chanyeol’s empty one, as not showing other member’s personal lives was one of the rules that allowed them to film these vlogs in the first place. He knows that this bit is probably going to get cut off either way, because despite all the Taekai banners and fansites, it’s not something they can promote themselves, exactly -much less, the company. But he can’t bring himself not to record this, even if it’s most likely going to just stay on his computer. So he zooms on Taemin’s face, calm and peaceful despite the shadows that surround his eyes. “Cute,” he says, grinning to himself and then turning the camera off again.
Jongin turns the room light off and walks to Chanyeol’s bed; but Taemin’s arm hooks around the younger’s thigh, pulling him towards his own bed and finally making him topple on it. (Jongin blames both Taemin and the surprise of finding out he wasn’t actually asleep, and a faint blush creeps up his cheeks. He thanks himself for not turning the desk lamp on, at the very least). Jongin falls across Taemin stomach, but the older puts him upright. “This is your bed,” he justifies, disregarding the pillow that rests beneath Jongin’s head and laying his on Jongin’s chest instead, arms wrapped around him and eyes closed again already.
“You’re sweaty,” complains Jongin. Yet, his hand goes to rest atop the blonde’s head out of habit. “I’m going to have to change the sheets tomorrow.”
“You’re sweaty, too, you know” replies Taemin, voice soft and words slurred with fatigue.
Jongin rolls his eyes. “I know.”
“Then you should be thanking me, because if I had let you sleep on Yeol’s bed you’d have to change those sheets, as well.”
Taemin has got a point.
Jongin, however, does not acknowledge the fact that the sweat doesn’t bother him much; that the comfort of Taemin’s heartbeat thrumming against Jongin’s ribcage is a lot more important than the stickiness of their skin.
He tries to think of a comeback, but it ends up not mattering, because Taemin does fall asleep this time. The younger can tell by the grip of his hand on Jongin’s shirt, and the tilt of his head that makes his breath tickle Jongin’s neck.
Jongin isn’t as tired as Taemin was, but he’s tired nevertheless. However, he doesn’t fall asleep until seven-twenty-two, fingers still caressing the older’s now almost-dry hair.
***
Jongin wakes up to a room that’s empty aside from himself, and for a few seconds, he doesn’t remember much. Chanyeol probably hasn’t come back yet, he decides, rolling over onto his side. It’s only at the sight of the camera on the desk that he remembers the previous night.
He sits up, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand and yawning, and as he’s starting to get up, he hears a soft “Shit!” come from outside the room.
He pads into the kitchen, sleepy and barefoot, only to find a frowning Taemin staring at a plate of something.
“What happened?” Jongin asks, his first words of the day, gruff and raspy.
Taemin turns around, if any, only slightly startled. “I think I burnt the toast.”
The younger comes to where Taemin is pushing the plate away from himself, looking over his shoulder. “They are not burnt,” says Jongin.
The older looks confused. “They aren’t?”
“No.” Jongin picks one up, and it turns to black crumbs on his fingers. “They are scorched.”
Taemin punches his shoulder as soon as Jongin starts laughing, but after a moment, he ends up laughing, too. “Stop it!” he scolds between chuckles.
“How did you even do that?” questions Jongin, not quite managing to stop the giggles. “The toaster does all the work, all you have to do is push the button!”
“I thought they weren’t toasted enough, so I put them in again,” admits the older with little shame. Jongin laughs louder than before.
His hands are rested on his aching abdomen, sore from laughing, when a spiral of smoke starts wrapping around them. “What’s that?” asks Jongin, looking around, and that’s when he notices the pan on the stove and, inside, what were probably eggs, but are, by now, a golden-brown mass.
Upon turning the stove off, Jongin has to hold onto the counter in order not to fall to the floor and curl up into himself.
“I said stop!” whines the older, trying to look upset but not really succeeding. In the end, he sets for crossing his arms above his chest and giggling only as much as he’s totally unable to suppress.
“Please tell me you didn’t try to make anything else,” asks Jongin once he can breathe again. Taemin only shakes his head. “Thank God. Then go shower and let’s go grab something that’s actually edible.”
“Fine,” agrees the older, starting to walk towards the bathroom. “Oh,” he says right before going in. “You have eyeliner on your neck.”
Jongin’s left eyebrow raises. “And guess whose fault it is?”
Taemin only winks before disappearing out of the room.
***
The cafe is decently empty by the time they arrive, with only an elderly couple and a businessman sitting there. They sit on the table that’s further away from the door, as always. It’s half hidden, and no one could see them if they just passed by the shop. They order their usual, plus a few pastries, making up for Taemin’s fail in the kitchen -which is also a usual.
“It’s exactly a week away,” points out Taemin, getting comfortable on the seat that almost has his name on it. Jongin just nods. “Are you nervous?”
Under different circumstances, maybe Jongin would have said no. Because it’s the easiest answer, kind of what’s expected from him, and because that’d save him from explaining the reasons why he’s feeling this constant lump on his stomach, one he hasn’t yet found a way to dissolve.
He gives himself a moment to think as the waiter brings them their order, but when she gets up and leaves, wishing them to eat well, he sees in his best friend’s eyes that he already knows the answer.
“I constantly feel like I’m going to throw up,” he admits in the end.
Taemin chuckles. “That’s about the normal reaction, yes.”
Jongin adds one sugar sachet to his coffee. Then, he adds another. He mixes it in, watching the foam turn and spin and change colors, and then he finally says: “I’m sure it was harder when you were by yourself. I mean, I guessed. But- I thought I knew better, I guess? Now I see that I didn’t even get half the pressure you must have had back then.”
Taemin listens to him while sipping on his coffee, the cup covering half his face. “It was hard, yeah,” he admits, putting the mug back down. “But how much I wanted to do it… that made it a lot easier. It’s scary, though. I know. Before, you had a dynamic with the people you performed with, you knew how things were, what worked and what didn’t, and now none of that is going to have much value. It’s like starting all over again, in a way.” Jongin nods. “And you know, just because people already like us… You never know how they are going to react.”
Jongin picks at a chocolate muffin. “Are you scared?”
The older picks his drink back up, and the steaming mug draws a slow, hot circle in the laminate of the coffee table. He seems to consider the question, and when he answers, he looks sincere. “No.”
“Why not?”
Taemin smiles, warm and beautiful and heart-wrenching. “Because I really fucking want to do this.”
***
“Is your mic ready?”
Jongin pats the device. “Yes.”
“Clothes in place?”
“Yes.”
“You remember the lyrics? The steps? The speech?”
“Yes, Taemin, I’m ready!”
The older frowns ever-so-slightly at Jongin’s tone, rough and annoyed, but he knows not to take it by heart. He’s nervous, after all, and Taemin has been on his shoes, in fact, not that long ago. He still remembers the palpitations, the oppressive need to turn on his heels and run out of the building just as much as he wanted to run onto the stage. The anxiety of not knowing the reactions, of saying all the wrong things. Of tripping and falling, or forgetting the lyrics, of getting the timing wrong, of his voice cracking embarrassingly in front of the audience. He knows all of that, and because of that, he lets Jongin get away with his mood.
After an eternity (or maybe a few seconds, Taemin can’t tell) they get signaled to get ready to go on stage. There isn’t much time to anything, really, but he steals a few seconds to grab Jongin’s face and make him look at him. “I don’t care what happens out there, we’re already winning.”
He pretends like he doesn’t see Jongin’s eyes glimmer with sudden wetness, that he doesn’t feel his hand shaking when he grabs it in his own, striding through the hallways towards the stage that will watch them debut as a duo.
***
Jongin is already crying by the time they get off the stage.
Taemin, on his part, is laughing, both at Jongin and with Jongin and at life and everything it put them through in the past months, because what he experienced up there was worth every second, every sore muscle, every bruise, every drop of sweat.
When they get back to the waiting room, Jongin finds a chair and lets himself fall on it, bending over until his forehead touches his knees, shoulders shaking with every sob. Taemin runs to his backpack and finds the camera on the front pocket.
“This is Devious’ Taemin, and on the back” -he points with his thumb ̶ “there’s Devious’ Kai, and we just got out of our debut stage!” The staff members that are still around them, arranging clothes in hangers and similar tasks Taemin is too busy to notice, stop for a moment and clap and cheer for them, and the boy improvises a bow.
Once he’s introduced himself, he turns the viewfinder back and gets behind the camera, hurrying to his best friend and now stage mate. “How do you feel, Jongin?” he asks, his cheeks sore from smiling.
“Go away,” replies Jongin, voice nasal and muffled against his legs, although he seems to have stopped weeping so hard.
“Jonginnieee…” Taemin calls, and Jongin finally looks up; he snickers at first, wet eyelashes somewhat maiming the effect, but Taemin has been laughing for the past five minutes and Jongin chokes out a chuckle followed by a hiccup that only drags another string of laughter from Taemin.
The older ends up sitting on the tile floor, his head rested on Jongin’s knees as they both continue to laugh, the camera still on but long forgotten.
***
January 16th, Seoul, Taemin’s dorm
I got direction again. I thought I was walking in circles, and maybe I was, but at some point I stopped and this is where I was, and I realized it’s exactly where I was supposed to be. So whatever road I had to take in order to get to where I am… I’m glad I took it.
This felt so different. It was a dream we had worked on together so long ago, back when we were halfway between believing we could do anything and thinking we’d never achieve anything. So much happened in between, and this is so hard to believe. But it’s real. It’s real.
My legs felt so wobbly I felt like I was going to trip and fall all the time, but I didn’t, not even once. And every time I looked over, I was reminded that I wasn’t alone. Nothing could go wrong, really.
He said something to me before we went on stage, and I didn’t really get it until it was over, but he was right. I would put it on here, but I don’t think it’s necessary. I could never forget it, anyway.
“What are you writing?”
Jongin closes his journal, dropping his pen and almost making it fly across the room. He’s thankful it doesn’t happen, because it was a gift from a fan and he has the EXO logo painted in silver all over it, and Jongin loves it and he would hate for something to happen to it. He tucks it safely into the pocket of his backpack, along with the little notebook.
“Nothing,” he answers. “Are you ready?”
Taemin narrows his eyes at him suspiciously, but, surprisingly enough, he lets it go. “No,” he answers, pointing at the towel that hangs around his shoulders.
Jongin sits still on Taemin’s bed, his legs crossed beneath himself, fidgeting with a loose thread on the black blanket. He doesn’t look when Taemin walks to his closet to find a shirt, but he’s forced to when the older grabs one from its hanger and holds it up, calling him with a contemplative voice. “Jongin?”
“Hm?”
“What do you think of this one?”
It’s simple, really, but it’s the kind of clothing Taemin looks best in; so he gives a thumbs up and goes back to the blanket.
He waits until Taemin finishes buttoning his shirt up, puts on perfume and does something to his hair (Jongin isn’t sure of what, because it ends up looking the exact same as before). Only then, he gets up from the bed and gets his wallet, leaving his backpack on the bedroom floor. They are going to come back there, anyway.
***
Jongin eats fried chicken until he feels like he can’t fit one more piece, gleefully chugging down the last of his beer. It’s his first, so he doesn’t really feel the alcohol (at least not yet), but he and Taemin have been acting drunk since they got to the restaurant, full mostly of groups of men that went to grab something to eat after a long day at work. Kind of like them, really.
“Na na nananana, nanana nanananana,” sings the older loudly, waving the piece of chicken in his hand; “I-I-I-I feel, goo-oo-oo-ood!”
Jongin laughs, almost choking on the drink. They’ve been singing songs about being happy and merry all day long, both sappy ballads and beat up electro music, but it was mostly Taemin coming up with them.
Taemin is, unlike Jongin, a little drunk. He hasn’t had that much beer, either -but he gets tipsy a lot more easily. Thankfully, he’s not annoying-drunk, but he gets in that state where everything is hilarious and so, so amusing; if any, slightly more touchy than he normally is. So when he grips Jongin’s knee as he sings a little louder, he doesn’t find it strange, even when it drags until it gets to his thigh.
Jongin figures it’s time for him to stop drinking nonetheless, so he calls the waiter and pays the bill, despite Taemin’s complaints and pleas to stay for a little bit longer.
***
Jongin blames the alcohol when, once in the dorm, Taemin ignores his question of whether he wants tea or coffee and kisses him instead, effectively shutting him up mid-question.
It was sudden, really, and for a moment Jongin doesn’t react; eyes wide open and hands in fists at his sides, a quiet gasp parting his lips.
That’s the chance Taemin gets to coax him into it, his tongue running along soft flesh, and it takes a lot less convincing than Jongin would ever admit for him to surrender and his hands to relax, his eyes to close with slow restraint and his lips to respond to the older’s.
They go from the kitchen to the living room to the bedroom, ending up tangled up in Taemin’s bed; but nothing further than roaming hands and needy grabs takes place, and they fall asleep not that long after, pressed up on each other the same way they have so many times before.
Neither of them talks about it in the morning.
***
January 18th, Seoul, EXO dorm
Things are the same they used to be, and at the same time, they aren’t.
I don’t know anymore.
***
Their crew surrounds them once they are off the stage, all claps and cheers and congratulations and you did well’s, escorting them back to the waiting room for the last time. This, Jongin thinks, he’s going to miss.
This time around, he’s the one to pull out the camera and turn it on, brushing away sweaty hair and smiling at the lens. As soon as Taemin gets rid of his jacket, he jumps behind him, arms wrapping around him and fingers lacing at Jongin’s stomach.
“This is Devious’ Kai, Taemin is here with me and we just finished out last stage!” He makes sure to infuse as much glee into his voice as he’s physically capable of, even though, after months of preparation, it’s almost become a part of him, and leaving it behind makes his stomach turn with melancholy. It hasn’t even been ten minutes since they hopped off the stage as a unit, and he’s already dreading it.
“It’s been a long journey, full of hard work and worries, but there was also a lot of fun and self-satisfaction. I think this has brought us even closer than we were before,” Taemin says nodding, matter-of-factly.
Jongin smiles at the statement. “And we’re glad we were able to share it with you! We don’t know when these are going to be released, but we hope it’s soon. There were things we weren’t able to record for various reasons, but we’ll make sure to do better next time. Until then, enjoy these bits of our life we got to register.”
“This marks the end of our activities,” announces Taemin, and putting it in words, out loud, makes Jongin even sadder. He didn’t know he’d get so attached to a project. “We’ll make sure to come back with even better music and stages as soon as we can.”
“Until now,” smiles Jongin despite the lump in his throat; “this has been Devious!” Taemin finishes the sentence with him, right before the flickering red light dies one last time.
________________________________
a/n: okay, so. as said above, this was written for estivaate following one (two?) of the prompts she gave me in the context of the Pretty Boys exchange that took place idk from december to like a week ago? i wasn't able to make this in time to turn it in for the exchange as an additional, so im posting it on here anyway bc honestly i can.
i kinda smashed a hella lot of things together but i really liked the idea of the vlogs and the diary entries so there's that
also i do have plans to write a sequel but no promises because i dont have an actual /idea/ for it this is just me not knowing when to stop.
in any case i hope this was enjoyable on any level AND thanks so so much to matchynishi for being lovely beta-ing it and being my all-round partner in crime when it comes to taekai <3
Lenght: one-shot
Characters: Kai, Taemin
Pairings: Kai/Taemin
AU: non!au
Rating: pg
Word count: 5.112
Genre: comedy, fluff?, slice of life?
Warnings/notes: for
estivaate in the context of the Pretty Boys fic exchange, although not posted. Proper a/n at the bottom.
Summary: Although they both have different views on the concept for their duo debut, there is one point they agree in: they wouldn't want to do it with anyone else.
“I don’t care what happens out there, we’re already winning.”
________________________________
“Is it recording?”
Taemin checks for the flickering red light, giving a small nod when he sees it flash alive. He stretches his arm out, eyes fixated on the viewfinder, trying to get them both in the frame. He’s sweaty and disheveled, hair sticking in weird directions, T-shirt disgustingly moist; but he’s happy, and the sparkle in his eyes would betray him if he tried to hide it.
Beside him, Jongin doesn’t look much better. His hands go to fidget with his fringe, too long by now and in desperate need of a haircut, drenched and most likely annoying. The sleepy curve of his eyes droops lower than usual, and Taemin knows Jongin slept even less than he did last night.
“Hello! This is SHINee Taemin-“
“And EXO Kai,” adds Jongin, chin going to rest on Taemin’s shoulder.
“-and we’ve just finished our first practice for our subunit promotions!” It’s hard to believe. Taemin’s been consistently giggling with staggering frequency, but managed to make it pass as coughing fits. Jongin doesn’t buy it, but neither acknowledges it. “It’s still a secret to you, but by the time you see it, you will all know what we’re talking about.” He nods, reassuring.
“It’s been hard to keep it hush because we’re so excited, but we will make sure you get the best performance possible. It’s only the first practice, but I think we can do well.” With each of Jongin’s words, his chin stabs Taemin’s shoulder. It’s not exactly pleasant, but his body is warm behind his own and, though the viewfinder doesn’t show it, his waist is circled with Jongin’s arms in a loose embrace.
“It’s going to be amazing!” promises Taemin at the camera, eyes glimmering with excitement despite his weariness. “I can’t wait for you guys to see this choreo. But we had a long day-” The last word comes drawn out in a shameless, lazy yawn, and Jongin takes over the statement.
“And it’s…” He takes the camera from the older and flips it around, pointing at the clock on the opposite wall. “…four a.m. right now, so we’re going to go shower and then go to bed,” he finishes, flipping the camera back. It’s only natural then for Taemin to rest his head back on the younger’s chest, slipping forward ever-so-slightly on the wooden floor, allowing his eyes to go closed for just a moment. When he opens them again, Jongin is shaking his head with a grin, playing a game of complicity with their imaginary viewers. “We’ll get back to you sooner than later.”
He winks at the camera ̶ Taemin sees it on the viewfinder, his head tucked securely on the crook of Jongin’s shoulder ̶ and the older matches it with a pout, a sleepy excuse of a kiss blown with poor enthusiasm. “See ya,” he finishes before Jongin extinguishes the flickering red light.
Fifteen minutes after the camera gets turned off, the dancers have not yet moved from their spot on the studio. “In a minute,” repeats Jongin for the fourth time, wrapping lean arms around Taemin’s waist tighter.
***
“And this is the set we’ll be filming at today. Isn’t it cool?”
Jongin makes a face at the camera when it goes past him, giving him as much attention as if he was just another part of the scenery, dressed in one of those tree costumes little kids wear sometimes at school plays, instead of Calvin Klein and Armani. “Hey!” he whines, making Taemin laugh and spin back to him. He walks towards the little hand camera then, getting closer than it will be comfortable for the viewer, to the point they could count his eyelashes if they really wanted to. (Taemin notices, but he doesn’t say anything). “Hi,” whispers Jongin, knowing that the mic, as HD as the lens, will catch it even over the background sound of rumbling and chatting, over the instructions of a director that’s getting impatient for the delays, over the general chaos that any idol gets used to after a few sessions of filming.
“Hi,” Taemin whispers back, ripping a snort followed by muted laughter from Jongin.
“I was talking to them,” he says, smile still big on his face.
The set is honestly breathtaking, but Taemin doesn’t pay much attention to it, because in the viewfinder, the younger still grins; all chiaroscuro in the dim lighting, a flash of brightness in a room much too dark.
***
“Five minutes break!”
Jongin falls butt first on the floor, effectively crumpling one of the most expensive costumes he’s ever worn. He figures it doesn’t really matter.
Taemin walks to him with a plastic cup in each hand, and when Jongin takes one, sipping on it eagerly, the steam warms his numb cheeks. The last time he had to film on below-zero weather, there was a two months old poodle in his jacket to keep him warm, he remembers with vague yearning.
“How’s it going?” asks the older, sitting next to him and bumping his knee with his own.
Jongin doesn’t reply until his nose hits the top border of the cup, tilting it to get the last drops of tea to fall onto his tongue. “You should know, you were watching comfortably over there in that fucking giant coat of yours.”
Taemin just laughs, choked and almost soundless, hand covering his mouth in a gesture he’s never been able to get over. “I already did my scene and froze my ass off, I deserve my coat.”
The younger scowls. It’s not fair that Taemin got his scene during the daytime, at least twelve degrees warmer than the temperature now. It doesn’t matter that the set’s windows are closed, because it’s really damn cold anyway.
Jongin looks down at his clothes, far too thin to be even remotely comfortable in the middle of winter.
“Okay, let’s resume!”
At the voice of the scene director, Jongin gets up, Taemin taking the plastic cup and giving him a pat on the back. “You’re doing great,” he encourages before trotting back to his spot, right next to the screen on which he’s monitoring Jongin’s recording. Wasn’t it Taemin staring at his hits and misses, Jongin would have felt a little judged.
***
January 8th, Seoul, EXO dorm
I feel like I’m walking in circles.
I think it’s because of this concept. It’s kind of cool, different from most of the other stuff that’s going around, but I wish I could skip on looking all bad and tough all the time. I’m used to it, but I guess I was hoping this would be the time to show something different.
But Taemin seems to be right where he wants to be. Everybody and their grandmother knows he’s done with the fairy prince looks, the aegyo and the pastel skinnies; done with playing the flower boy he was generally claimed as. He got the chance to prove otherwise and the public got the memo, extremely pleased with the change, and he’s is all up for that, so when they picked Devious as our subunit name and concept, it seemed to make the deal for him.
It’s not that I hate it or anything like that, but I think I would have picked something different. I’ve been doing that kind of stuff for so long… I’d like to focus on what I do more than on my looks, more than on what people seem to think I do. Be real, I guess. Authentic. It’s tiring to always do what’s expected.
I figure I could have said something, but Taemin seems so into it. While I’m trying to do something different, that’s what Devious is to him. I’m not sure it’s a concept I’d like to stick to forever, so I hope it’ll have a few different aspects to it, at least.
We’ll see what happens in the future. For now, I’ll just think of it as playing the black swan.
Jongin puts the pen down and closes his journal.
Ever since he debuted, a stage persona was imposed on him. He knew it was going to happen, and he manages to perform it with a smile on his face -after all, that’s what allows him to stand on the stage. It took him a while to get used to it -he would have never defined himself as sexy, despite whatever the internet says ̶ but by now he has come to terms with the idea that it’s only a character, that it doesn’t define him.
And ever since he’s debuted, he’s been playing around with the notion of edge and mild danger. It’s so, so far away from who he really is, from who most of his bandmates really are, but it works. It sells, and that, Jongin is afraid, is what matters the most, as far as the producers are concerned.
Being wicked and vicious, truly troublesome (or at least impersonating so), is one step further, and Jongin isn’t so fond of it. This isn’t play pretend, it’s not just the image of leather and velvet and lace and mesh and dark make up , a game that ends up with gooey cuddling nonetheless. This time around, the bad boy is no prince; no promises, no commitment, no strings attached. And it’s so not Jongin that he knows, he knows deep in his heart that no one is going to believe it for a second.
But this is work, and if he’s going to do it, he better do it well.
The debut stage is almost a week away; there’s no time for slacking. Jongin calls Taemin, and he only needs to say it in order to get the older to agree.
They don’t leave the studio until the sun starts coming up, the first rays of daylight projecting faint shadows on the wooden floor.
***
“I’m so tired I bet I could fall asleep standing up.” Taemin stops in his tracks, still in the middle of the empty hallway with his eyes closed.
“You’ll fall face first on the floor,” counters Jongin, his hands on Taemin’s hips, pushing hard enough to prop him to move forward, but not enough to make him fall given how unstable he is when half asleep.
He does stumble forward indeed, but Jongin gets to straighten him before his prediction becomes a reality. Taemin isn’t so sleepy that he can’t even walk, but the chance to bump into a wall -or, even more frequent, a glass door ̶ still exists, so Jongin watches the way for both of them, opens doors and avoids bumping into strangers and acquaintances.
As soon as they get to the dorm, Taemin lets himself fall on Jongin’s bed. It’s messy, because Jongin didn’t make it after his afternoon nap (not that he ever does), but it’s soft and comfortable, and a lot better than the floor.
“Chanyeol-hyung said he wouldn’t be coming tonight so you can use his bed if you want to,” says the younger, fidgeting through piles of clothing and pulling two sets of shirt and pajama pants.
“I’m here already,” the older whines, clutching Jongin’s pillow with small hands, his eyes shut tightly.
Jongin tosses the pants at him first, then the shirt. “Then at least change,” he tries to will as he quickly gets out of his sweatpants, striped pajamas coming on instead.
Taemin grunts before turning to lay on his back, not bothering to stand up in order to undress and dress again. Jongin doesn’t have the heart to tell him that he’s putting his pants on the other way around, or that the shirt is inside out.
In the time it takes Jongin to put his sweaty clothes on the chair where he consistently piles everything he’s used, realizing he needs to do laundry soon, Taemin’s breathing slows down to a rhythmic pace. He’s careful to not make any noise as he opens a drawer, pulling up the small camera and turning it on, wincing at the soft beep.
“It’s six-forty a.m. right now,” whispers Jongin, “and we just got back from practice. He was so tired I had to let him stay with us, because he was crashing into doors and saying he might fall asleep standing, and can you imagine him going back to his dorm in those conditions?” He makes sure the frame only catches his own bed and not Chanyeol’s empty one, as not showing other member’s personal lives was one of the rules that allowed them to film these vlogs in the first place. He knows that this bit is probably going to get cut off either way, because despite all the Taekai banners and fansites, it’s not something they can promote themselves, exactly -much less, the company. But he can’t bring himself not to record this, even if it’s most likely going to just stay on his computer. So he zooms on Taemin’s face, calm and peaceful despite the shadows that surround his eyes. “Cute,” he says, grinning to himself and then turning the camera off again.
Jongin turns the room light off and walks to Chanyeol’s bed; but Taemin’s arm hooks around the younger’s thigh, pulling him towards his own bed and finally making him topple on it. (Jongin blames both Taemin and the surprise of finding out he wasn’t actually asleep, and a faint blush creeps up his cheeks. He thanks himself for not turning the desk lamp on, at the very least). Jongin falls across Taemin stomach, but the older puts him upright. “This is your bed,” he justifies, disregarding the pillow that rests beneath Jongin’s head and laying his on Jongin’s chest instead, arms wrapped around him and eyes closed again already.
“You’re sweaty,” complains Jongin. Yet, his hand goes to rest atop the blonde’s head out of habit. “I’m going to have to change the sheets tomorrow.”
“You’re sweaty, too, you know” replies Taemin, voice soft and words slurred with fatigue.
Jongin rolls his eyes. “I know.”
“Then you should be thanking me, because if I had let you sleep on Yeol’s bed you’d have to change those sheets, as well.”
Taemin has got a point.
Jongin, however, does not acknowledge the fact that the sweat doesn’t bother him much; that the comfort of Taemin’s heartbeat thrumming against Jongin’s ribcage is a lot more important than the stickiness of their skin.
He tries to think of a comeback, but it ends up not mattering, because Taemin does fall asleep this time. The younger can tell by the grip of his hand on Jongin’s shirt, and the tilt of his head that makes his breath tickle Jongin’s neck.
Jongin isn’t as tired as Taemin was, but he’s tired nevertheless. However, he doesn’t fall asleep until seven-twenty-two, fingers still caressing the older’s now almost-dry hair.
***
Jongin wakes up to a room that’s empty aside from himself, and for a few seconds, he doesn’t remember much. Chanyeol probably hasn’t come back yet, he decides, rolling over onto his side. It’s only at the sight of the camera on the desk that he remembers the previous night.
He sits up, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand and yawning, and as he’s starting to get up, he hears a soft “Shit!” come from outside the room.
He pads into the kitchen, sleepy and barefoot, only to find a frowning Taemin staring at a plate of something.
“What happened?” Jongin asks, his first words of the day, gruff and raspy.
Taemin turns around, if any, only slightly startled. “I think I burnt the toast.”
The younger comes to where Taemin is pushing the plate away from himself, looking over his shoulder. “They are not burnt,” says Jongin.
The older looks confused. “They aren’t?”
“No.” Jongin picks one up, and it turns to black crumbs on his fingers. “They are scorched.”
Taemin punches his shoulder as soon as Jongin starts laughing, but after a moment, he ends up laughing, too. “Stop it!” he scolds between chuckles.
“How did you even do that?” questions Jongin, not quite managing to stop the giggles. “The toaster does all the work, all you have to do is push the button!”
“I thought they weren’t toasted enough, so I put them in again,” admits the older with little shame. Jongin laughs louder than before.
His hands are rested on his aching abdomen, sore from laughing, when a spiral of smoke starts wrapping around them. “What’s that?” asks Jongin, looking around, and that’s when he notices the pan on the stove and, inside, what were probably eggs, but are, by now, a golden-brown mass.
Upon turning the stove off, Jongin has to hold onto the counter in order not to fall to the floor and curl up into himself.
“I said stop!” whines the older, trying to look upset but not really succeeding. In the end, he sets for crossing his arms above his chest and giggling only as much as he’s totally unable to suppress.
“Please tell me you didn’t try to make anything else,” asks Jongin once he can breathe again. Taemin only shakes his head. “Thank God. Then go shower and let’s go grab something that’s actually edible.”
“Fine,” agrees the older, starting to walk towards the bathroom. “Oh,” he says right before going in. “You have eyeliner on your neck.”
Jongin’s left eyebrow raises. “And guess whose fault it is?”
Taemin only winks before disappearing out of the room.
***
The cafe is decently empty by the time they arrive, with only an elderly couple and a businessman sitting there. They sit on the table that’s further away from the door, as always. It’s half hidden, and no one could see them if they just passed by the shop. They order their usual, plus a few pastries, making up for Taemin’s fail in the kitchen -which is also a usual.
“It’s exactly a week away,” points out Taemin, getting comfortable on the seat that almost has his name on it. Jongin just nods. “Are you nervous?”
Under different circumstances, maybe Jongin would have said no. Because it’s the easiest answer, kind of what’s expected from him, and because that’d save him from explaining the reasons why he’s feeling this constant lump on his stomach, one he hasn’t yet found a way to dissolve.
He gives himself a moment to think as the waiter brings them their order, but when she gets up and leaves, wishing them to eat well, he sees in his best friend’s eyes that he already knows the answer.
“I constantly feel like I’m going to throw up,” he admits in the end.
Taemin chuckles. “That’s about the normal reaction, yes.”
Jongin adds one sugar sachet to his coffee. Then, he adds another. He mixes it in, watching the foam turn and spin and change colors, and then he finally says: “I’m sure it was harder when you were by yourself. I mean, I guessed. But- I thought I knew better, I guess? Now I see that I didn’t even get half the pressure you must have had back then.”
Taemin listens to him while sipping on his coffee, the cup covering half his face. “It was hard, yeah,” he admits, putting the mug back down. “But how much I wanted to do it… that made it a lot easier. It’s scary, though. I know. Before, you had a dynamic with the people you performed with, you knew how things were, what worked and what didn’t, and now none of that is going to have much value. It’s like starting all over again, in a way.” Jongin nods. “And you know, just because people already like us… You never know how they are going to react.”
Jongin picks at a chocolate muffin. “Are you scared?”
The older picks his drink back up, and the steaming mug draws a slow, hot circle in the laminate of the coffee table. He seems to consider the question, and when he answers, he looks sincere. “No.”
“Why not?”
Taemin smiles, warm and beautiful and heart-wrenching. “Because I really fucking want to do this.”
***
“Is your mic ready?”
Jongin pats the device. “Yes.”
“Clothes in place?”
“Yes.”
“You remember the lyrics? The steps? The speech?”
“Yes, Taemin, I’m ready!”
The older frowns ever-so-slightly at Jongin’s tone, rough and annoyed, but he knows not to take it by heart. He’s nervous, after all, and Taemin has been on his shoes, in fact, not that long ago. He still remembers the palpitations, the oppressive need to turn on his heels and run out of the building just as much as he wanted to run onto the stage. The anxiety of not knowing the reactions, of saying all the wrong things. Of tripping and falling, or forgetting the lyrics, of getting the timing wrong, of his voice cracking embarrassingly in front of the audience. He knows all of that, and because of that, he lets Jongin get away with his mood.
After an eternity (or maybe a few seconds, Taemin can’t tell) they get signaled to get ready to go on stage. There isn’t much time to anything, really, but he steals a few seconds to grab Jongin’s face and make him look at him. “I don’t care what happens out there, we’re already winning.”
He pretends like he doesn’t see Jongin’s eyes glimmer with sudden wetness, that he doesn’t feel his hand shaking when he grabs it in his own, striding through the hallways towards the stage that will watch them debut as a duo.
***
Jongin is already crying by the time they get off the stage.
Taemin, on his part, is laughing, both at Jongin and with Jongin and at life and everything it put them through in the past months, because what he experienced up there was worth every second, every sore muscle, every bruise, every drop of sweat.
When they get back to the waiting room, Jongin finds a chair and lets himself fall on it, bending over until his forehead touches his knees, shoulders shaking with every sob. Taemin runs to his backpack and finds the camera on the front pocket.
“This is Devious’ Taemin, and on the back” -he points with his thumb ̶ “there’s Devious’ Kai, and we just got out of our debut stage!” The staff members that are still around them, arranging clothes in hangers and similar tasks Taemin is too busy to notice, stop for a moment and clap and cheer for them, and the boy improvises a bow.
Once he’s introduced himself, he turns the viewfinder back and gets behind the camera, hurrying to his best friend and now stage mate. “How do you feel, Jongin?” he asks, his cheeks sore from smiling.
“Go away,” replies Jongin, voice nasal and muffled against his legs, although he seems to have stopped weeping so hard.
“Jonginnieee…” Taemin calls, and Jongin finally looks up; he snickers at first, wet eyelashes somewhat maiming the effect, but Taemin has been laughing for the past five minutes and Jongin chokes out a chuckle followed by a hiccup that only drags another string of laughter from Taemin.
The older ends up sitting on the tile floor, his head rested on Jongin’s knees as they both continue to laugh, the camera still on but long forgotten.
***
January 16th, Seoul, Taemin’s dorm
I got direction again. I thought I was walking in circles, and maybe I was, but at some point I stopped and this is where I was, and I realized it’s exactly where I was supposed to be. So whatever road I had to take in order to get to where I am… I’m glad I took it.
This felt so different. It was a dream we had worked on together so long ago, back when we were halfway between believing we could do anything and thinking we’d never achieve anything. So much happened in between, and this is so hard to believe. But it’s real. It’s real.
My legs felt so wobbly I felt like I was going to trip and fall all the time, but I didn’t, not even once. And every time I looked over, I was reminded that I wasn’t alone. Nothing could go wrong, really.
He said something to me before we went on stage, and I didn’t really get it until it was over, but he was right. I would put it on here, but I don’t think it’s necessary. I could never forget it, anyway.
“What are you writing?”
Jongin closes his journal, dropping his pen and almost making it fly across the room. He’s thankful it doesn’t happen, because it was a gift from a fan and he has the EXO logo painted in silver all over it, and Jongin loves it and he would hate for something to happen to it. He tucks it safely into the pocket of his backpack, along with the little notebook.
“Nothing,” he answers. “Are you ready?”
Taemin narrows his eyes at him suspiciously, but, surprisingly enough, he lets it go. “No,” he answers, pointing at the towel that hangs around his shoulders.
Jongin sits still on Taemin’s bed, his legs crossed beneath himself, fidgeting with a loose thread on the black blanket. He doesn’t look when Taemin walks to his closet to find a shirt, but he’s forced to when the older grabs one from its hanger and holds it up, calling him with a contemplative voice. “Jongin?”
“Hm?”
“What do you think of this one?”
It’s simple, really, but it’s the kind of clothing Taemin looks best in; so he gives a thumbs up and goes back to the blanket.
He waits until Taemin finishes buttoning his shirt up, puts on perfume and does something to his hair (Jongin isn’t sure of what, because it ends up looking the exact same as before). Only then, he gets up from the bed and gets his wallet, leaving his backpack on the bedroom floor. They are going to come back there, anyway.
***
Jongin eats fried chicken until he feels like he can’t fit one more piece, gleefully chugging down the last of his beer. It’s his first, so he doesn’t really feel the alcohol (at least not yet), but he and Taemin have been acting drunk since they got to the restaurant, full mostly of groups of men that went to grab something to eat after a long day at work. Kind of like them, really.
“Na na nananana, nanana nanananana,” sings the older loudly, waving the piece of chicken in his hand; “I-I-I-I feel, goo-oo-oo-ood!”
Jongin laughs, almost choking on the drink. They’ve been singing songs about being happy and merry all day long, both sappy ballads and beat up electro music, but it was mostly Taemin coming up with them.
Taemin is, unlike Jongin, a little drunk. He hasn’t had that much beer, either -but he gets tipsy a lot more easily. Thankfully, he’s not annoying-drunk, but he gets in that state where everything is hilarious and so, so amusing; if any, slightly more touchy than he normally is. So when he grips Jongin’s knee as he sings a little louder, he doesn’t find it strange, even when it drags until it gets to his thigh.
Jongin figures it’s time for him to stop drinking nonetheless, so he calls the waiter and pays the bill, despite Taemin’s complaints and pleas to stay for a little bit longer.
***
Jongin blames the alcohol when, once in the dorm, Taemin ignores his question of whether he wants tea or coffee and kisses him instead, effectively shutting him up mid-question.
It was sudden, really, and for a moment Jongin doesn’t react; eyes wide open and hands in fists at his sides, a quiet gasp parting his lips.
That’s the chance Taemin gets to coax him into it, his tongue running along soft flesh, and it takes a lot less convincing than Jongin would ever admit for him to surrender and his hands to relax, his eyes to close with slow restraint and his lips to respond to the older’s.
They go from the kitchen to the living room to the bedroom, ending up tangled up in Taemin’s bed; but nothing further than roaming hands and needy grabs takes place, and they fall asleep not that long after, pressed up on each other the same way they have so many times before.
Neither of them talks about it in the morning.
***
January 18th, Seoul, EXO dorm
Things are the same they used to be, and at the same time, they aren’t.
I don’t know anymore.
***
Their crew surrounds them once they are off the stage, all claps and cheers and congratulations and you did well’s, escorting them back to the waiting room for the last time. This, Jongin thinks, he’s going to miss.
This time around, he’s the one to pull out the camera and turn it on, brushing away sweaty hair and smiling at the lens. As soon as Taemin gets rid of his jacket, he jumps behind him, arms wrapping around him and fingers lacing at Jongin’s stomach.
“This is Devious’ Kai, Taemin is here with me and we just finished out last stage!” He makes sure to infuse as much glee into his voice as he’s physically capable of, even though, after months of preparation, it’s almost become a part of him, and leaving it behind makes his stomach turn with melancholy. It hasn’t even been ten minutes since they hopped off the stage as a unit, and he’s already dreading it.
“It’s been a long journey, full of hard work and worries, but there was also a lot of fun and self-satisfaction. I think this has brought us even closer than we were before,” Taemin says nodding, matter-of-factly.
Jongin smiles at the statement. “And we’re glad we were able to share it with you! We don’t know when these are going to be released, but we hope it’s soon. There were things we weren’t able to record for various reasons, but we’ll make sure to do better next time. Until then, enjoy these bits of our life we got to register.”
“This marks the end of our activities,” announces Taemin, and putting it in words, out loud, makes Jongin even sadder. He didn’t know he’d get so attached to a project. “We’ll make sure to come back with even better music and stages as soon as we can.”
“Until now,” smiles Jongin despite the lump in his throat; “this has been Devious!” Taemin finishes the sentence with him, right before the flickering red light dies one last time.
________________________________
a/n: okay, so. as said above, this was written for estivaate following one (two?) of the prompts she gave me in the context of the Pretty Boys exchange that took place idk from december to like a week ago? i wasn't able to make this in time to turn it in for the exchange as an additional, so im posting it on here anyway bc honestly i can.
i kinda smashed a hella lot of things together but i really liked the idea of the vlogs and the diary entries so there's that
also i do have plans to write a sequel but no promises because i dont have an actual /idea/ for it this is just me not knowing when to stop.
in any case i hope this was enjoyable on any level AND thanks so so much to matchynishi for being lovely beta-ing it and being my all-round partner in crime when it comes to taekai <3