of dumb ideas and heart attacks
AN: yet again i'm sorry, i don't know why i did this. and i still don't know how to work lj. also i can't write and chanyeol isn't this dumb, i'm just dumb. ok. have fun.
It happened when they were all still trainees, not long after the tall Chinese kid that stumbled over the round sounds of Korean had joined the group of boys that would eventually become EXO. He had introduced himself as Zitao, and then otherwise remained quiet, except for around the other Chinese trainees, and the oldest Korean member, Minseok.
Chanyeol, in his efforts to build team relations and brotherhood (or something like that… Jongin tended to tune Chanyeol out when he started rambling that excitedly, grinning with too many teeth and his hands waving exaggeratedly through the air, favoring studying the way his right eye scrunched up when he smiled too hard and dodging accidental blows that Jongin was sure would be fatal… is it normal for such a lanky guy to have hands that big anyways?) reached out to Zitao, watching as he practiced his Wushu routine, filling the practice room with enough gasps, and grunts to make you think that Chanyeol was the one flipping gracefully through the air. When Zitao had finished, Chanyeol would explode into applause and “Wahhhhhh~” before stumbling through some attempt at Mandarin that frequently came out wrong, as Zitao’s face would twist with surprise before laughing behind his hand.
“I think he’s warming up to us,” Chanyeol announces to Jongin one day as he bends in half to stretch, Chanyeol’s shoes are visible between his legs.
“What? Who are you talking about?”
“Zitao!” Chanyeol booms excitedly as he bends so that he’s looking Jongin in the face, fluffy hair almost reaching the floor. “Do you think he’d like it if I did that one flip he does? Where he just fwooosh and no hands? I wonder if I could do it on just one le-“
“Chanyeol, stop, you can’t even do a cartwheel what makes you think you can do Wushu flips without breaking something?” Jongin asks, eyebrows scrunched incredulously.
“… I guess that would be a problem” Chanyeol admits with hesitation.
“Of course it would be, now stop pouting at me and go stretch properly, you still need to work on the choreography for History” Jongin hopes that’s the end of the idea for Chanyeol, last time he’d tried one of his harebrained schemes, Joonmyun had ended up with a large round bruise on his chest that lasted two weeks and had gotten Chanyeol banned from any contact with a toilet plunger.
--
A few days later, Jongin is finally leaving the practice room; it’s late, he’s exhausted and achy, and he’s the last one there. Or at least he thought he was, he notices a light on in a practice room at the end of the hall. He goes to investigate, and when he gets closer he hears the unmistakable rumble of Chanyeol counting to himself, along with some other noises that would be more appropriate in a C-level kung-fu movie… Jongin needs to remember to keep Chanyeol away from the badly dubbed flicks.
Chanyeol is currently wobbling on one leg, with the other leg and his arms lifted in what Jongin thinks might be some mimic of a crane. He’s moving all his limbs in small circles, head bobbing in time to the strange warbling cry emitting from his chest- and is that a tie wrapped around his head?
As Chanyeol makes to jump, he catches Jongin’s gaze in the mirror and fumbles, landing in a tangle of his own limbs with a groan of pain.
Jongin is rushing to his side before he’s even hit the wood floor.
--
Chanyeol had almost convinced Zitao out of the guilt he felt (Chanyeol was trying to impress him after all) with his familiar wide grin, but when the grin turned into a grimace as Chanyeol overenthusiastically clapped, Wufan had to drag the young Chinese boy from the dorm to keep him from crying.
After stretching out on the couch for a while, Chanyeol starts pestering Jongin to reheat the microwavable heating pad that’s been on his lower back.
“Hyung, you’re going to be home alone most of the day tomorrow, the rest of us still have practice. Come let me show you how it works,” Jongin sighs as he shuffles into the kitchen. Thankfully Chanyeol hadn’t hurt himself all too badly, a few days of rest and the heating pad and he’d be good as new, but Jongin still hadn’t quite recovered from the heart attack he’d nearly had when Chanyeol had fallen. Those few seconds before Chanyeol had turned sheepishly to Jongin were some of the longest of Jongin’s life.
When arms wrap around Jongin’s torso and a head of fluffy hair is buried into Jongin’s neck, he’s snapped back out of his contemplation, startled by the sudden warmth at his back.
“It’s a lot worse than this normally, isn’t it?” Chanyeol mumbles into his neck, causing Jongin to squirm away at the sensation, but he’s stuck in Chanyeol’s embrace.
“What’s worse than what normally…?”
“Your back.”
Jongin manages to twist around in Chanyeol’s arms, looking up slightly to meet his eyes. He chews on his lips as he reaches to brush the hair out of Chanyeol’s eyes. “Not always, just if I’ve not been very careful…”
“Promise you’ll be careful and not overwork yourself?” Chanyeol actually looks serious, something rare for the boy outside of practice.
“As long as you promise to stop trying to hone your ninja skills, I don’t think my heart can take you risking maiming yourself on a regular basis, you have enough problems with your coordination just with regular life. But as long as my heart’s ok then my back will be fine,” Jongin’s face lights up with the grin that Chanyeol loves.
“The world will be missing out on one epic Wushu ninja master, but if it’s for you, no more-“ at this Chanyeol flails his arms around and lets out a high pitched squeal.
Jongin grabs the bean filled heat pad and whaps Chanyeol in the arm, “Hyung, you’re an idiot,” but they’re both laughing.
It happened when they were all still trainees, not long after the tall Chinese kid that stumbled over the round sounds of Korean had joined the group of boys that would eventually become EXO. He had introduced himself as Zitao, and then otherwise remained quiet, except for around the other Chinese trainees, and the oldest Korean member, Minseok.
Chanyeol, in his efforts to build team relations and brotherhood (or something like that… Jongin tended to tune Chanyeol out when he started rambling that excitedly, grinning with too many teeth and his hands waving exaggeratedly through the air, favoring studying the way his right eye scrunched up when he smiled too hard and dodging accidental blows that Jongin was sure would be fatal… is it normal for such a lanky guy to have hands that big anyways?) reached out to Zitao, watching as he practiced his Wushu routine, filling the practice room with enough gasps, and grunts to make you think that Chanyeol was the one flipping gracefully through the air. When Zitao had finished, Chanyeol would explode into applause and “Wahhhhhh~” before stumbling through some attempt at Mandarin that frequently came out wrong, as Zitao’s face would twist with surprise before laughing behind his hand.
“I think he’s warming up to us,” Chanyeol announces to Jongin one day as he bends in half to stretch, Chanyeol’s shoes are visible between his legs.
“What? Who are you talking about?”
“Zitao!” Chanyeol booms excitedly as he bends so that he’s looking Jongin in the face, fluffy hair almost reaching the floor. “Do you think he’d like it if I did that one flip he does? Where he just fwooosh and no hands? I wonder if I could do it on just one le-“
“Chanyeol, stop, you can’t even do a cartwheel what makes you think you can do Wushu flips without breaking something?” Jongin asks, eyebrows scrunched incredulously.
“… I guess that would be a problem” Chanyeol admits with hesitation.
“Of course it would be, now stop pouting at me and go stretch properly, you still need to work on the choreography for History” Jongin hopes that’s the end of the idea for Chanyeol, last time he’d tried one of his harebrained schemes, Joonmyun had ended up with a large round bruise on his chest that lasted two weeks and had gotten Chanyeol banned from any contact with a toilet plunger.
--
A few days later, Jongin is finally leaving the practice room; it’s late, he’s exhausted and achy, and he’s the last one there. Or at least he thought he was, he notices a light on in a practice room at the end of the hall. He goes to investigate, and when he gets closer he hears the unmistakable rumble of Chanyeol counting to himself, along with some other noises that would be more appropriate in a C-level kung-fu movie… Jongin needs to remember to keep Chanyeol away from the badly dubbed flicks.
Chanyeol is currently wobbling on one leg, with the other leg and his arms lifted in what Jongin thinks might be some mimic of a crane. He’s moving all his limbs in small circles, head bobbing in time to the strange warbling cry emitting from his chest- and is that a tie wrapped around his head?
As Chanyeol makes to jump, he catches Jongin’s gaze in the mirror and fumbles, landing in a tangle of his own limbs with a groan of pain.
Jongin is rushing to his side before he’s even hit the wood floor.
--
Chanyeol had almost convinced Zitao out of the guilt he felt (Chanyeol was trying to impress him after all) with his familiar wide grin, but when the grin turned into a grimace as Chanyeol overenthusiastically clapped, Wufan had to drag the young Chinese boy from the dorm to keep him from crying.
After stretching out on the couch for a while, Chanyeol starts pestering Jongin to reheat the microwavable heating pad that’s been on his lower back.
“Hyung, you’re going to be home alone most of the day tomorrow, the rest of us still have practice. Come let me show you how it works,” Jongin sighs as he shuffles into the kitchen. Thankfully Chanyeol hadn’t hurt himself all too badly, a few days of rest and the heating pad and he’d be good as new, but Jongin still hadn’t quite recovered from the heart attack he’d nearly had when Chanyeol had fallen. Those few seconds before Chanyeol had turned sheepishly to Jongin were some of the longest of Jongin’s life.
When arms wrap around Jongin’s torso and a head of fluffy hair is buried into Jongin’s neck, he’s snapped back out of his contemplation, startled by the sudden warmth at his back.
“It’s a lot worse than this normally, isn’t it?” Chanyeol mumbles into his neck, causing Jongin to squirm away at the sensation, but he’s stuck in Chanyeol’s embrace.
“What’s worse than what normally…?”
“Your back.”
Jongin manages to twist around in Chanyeol’s arms, looking up slightly to meet his eyes. He chews on his lips as he reaches to brush the hair out of Chanyeol’s eyes. “Not always, just if I’ve not been very careful…”
“Promise you’ll be careful and not overwork yourself?” Chanyeol actually looks serious, something rare for the boy outside of practice.
“As long as you promise to stop trying to hone your ninja skills, I don’t think my heart can take you risking maiming yourself on a regular basis, you have enough problems with your coordination just with regular life. But as long as my heart’s ok then my back will be fine,” Jongin’s face lights up with the grin that Chanyeol loves.
“The world will be missing out on one epic Wushu ninja master, but if it’s for you, no more-“ at this Chanyeol flails his arms around and lets out a high pitched squeal.
Jongin grabs the bean filled heat pad and whaps Chanyeol in the arm, “Hyung, you’re an idiot,” but they’re both laughing.