[oneshot] let that be enough
Title: let that be enough
Pairing/Character: mino-focused, slight mino/seunghoon
Rating: pg
Warnings: n/a
Author: gdgdbaby
Notes: minho will probably make it through the first round of auditions. seunghoon won't, because he isn't auditioning at all. an alternate reality in which team b becomes winner and mino's sent to smtm3 instead. written for rixythewraith for the 2015 cycle of winnerexchange, originally posted here. 1,033 words.
Minho spends the night before Show Me The Money 3 auditions tearing bbang into pieces at his desk. It gets pretty gross when he starts mushing it together between his fingers, rolls the pieces into tight, compact little balls of bread, but it gives him something to do besides vegetating in front of his laptop or staring at the wall, which he's been alternating through at increasingly pathetic intervals all evening.
"You're sulking," Seunghoon says from the door.
"I don't sulk," Minho says automatically, but he spins in his chair and wedges the first ball in his mouth with mulish satisfaction.
"Hey, stop that," Seunghoon says, swatting the next one away before Minho can fit it in. "First, it's disgusting. Second, you're carb-sensitive."
Minho makes a face and chews. Seunghoon settles at the edge of Minho's bed without asking, long legs crossed at the ankle, his plaid pajama pants riding up a little. He waits. Minho keeps chewing.
Since the word was passed down from on high, they haven't really talked about it. None of them: Seungyoon's trying to purge all emotion by writing one new waily ballad per day, Taehyun's trying to pretend like he's successfully purged all emotion already, and Jinwoo's-Jinwoo is keeping it together pretty well, actually, for someone whose entire future career is in jeopardy. But then-anything would probably be considered "keeping it together pretty well" in comparison to the nerveless, sleepless nights during sajangnim's latest foray into cruel and unusual punishment. The first couple of months after they lost, it was enough that they hadn't been kicked out of living in the same dorm. Minho could still wake up in the morning to the sound of Jinwoo banging pots two centimeters away from his ears, to the smell of whatever failed experiment Seungyoon was trying to put out in the kitchen. With these simple facts of life set firmly in place, moving on was a little less painful.
Then, in late February two months ahead of SMTM3 auditions, sajangnim had called Minho into his office at the YG building. Alone.
Minho and Seunghoon haven't talked about this, ever. About how YG Entertainment is a hip-hop label, how Minho's rapping is self-sufficient in a way that Seunghoon's isn't. Self-sufficient enough for support in a group to be unnecessary. When Yang-goon's reasons for calling him in became apparent, something in Minho's stomach sank like a stone. It is not that he's ungrateful for the opportunity, but he can't help thinking that he should be, that the initial impulse to be excited is too selfish to entertain. At least he's being given something to do during the pregnant waiting of will-we-won't-we-debut; the least he could do is seem somewhat contrite. For what, he isn't certain. This isn't really a subject he thinks about head-on very much, for fear of what he might uncover. It's easier to carry on like they always have, Minho and Seunghoon, clueless idiot hyungs with matching senses of humor and a way with the halmonis.
For his part, Seunghoon looks decidedly unimpressed. "You'd think you were being sent to the army already," he says. "Thought you'd be a little more enthusiastic than this. You're gonna know a lot of these guys, right?"
Minho lets his shoulder rise and fall jerkily. "Sure," he says, voice even. "I'm just nervous, I guess."
"Really," Seunghoon says, flat. His eyes are narrow. "Nervous."
"Well," Minho says, and he swallows. Talking to Seunghoon shouldn't be this hard; it feels wrong, somehow. "Okay, no. That isn't it." He twirls in his chair and stares down at Seunghoon's bare feet. "Just-aren't you mad that you aren't coming? You're a rapper, too."
Minho expects Seunghoon to withdraw. Get mad, maybe, or rush out in a fit as jealousy overcame him. If anything, though-when Minho looks up again, Seunghoon looks relaxed, the corner of his mouth curling up into a customary smile. "Oh," he says. "That's what this is about?"
Minho blinks. "I. Yes? I, uh, thought it would be obvious."
Seunghoon rolls his eyes and flops back in Minho's bed, arms stretched across the sheets. "Why would I be mad?" His smile gets a little bigger. "It isn't-I'm not like you, alright? I'm not a rapper like you are. Never thought I'd be telling you this, but you're really overthinking it. Just go out there and have a good time, dude."
Minho's saved from gaping like a fish by the faint buzz of his phone. He flips the covers up to dig it out. good luck tmr, i'm mad jealous flashes across his screen, a LINE message that, if Minho's being honest with himself, he was totally expecting. He snorts and thumbs it away.
"Who is it?"
"Bobby says he's jealous," Minho says. "Pretty insensitive, don't you think? All things considered."
Seunghoon laughs. "Figures," he says, but it doesn't sound resentful or anything. Just a little tired, a little amused. Minho feels a rush of warmth burst in his chest, surges up to choke in his throat-relief, mixed in with something unquantifiable, a sense of rightness in the world. Seunghoon was right: he isn't nervous. If there's anything he believes in, it's his own ability to do well under pressure. Minho doesn't have many chips on his shoulder, but this is his chance to take, his chance to prove something to himself, to his teammates, to Yang Hyunsuk. He's got nothing left to lose, and everything to gain.
"I'm gonna win," he promises fervently. "I'm gonna do it. For you guys."
"Of course you are," Seunghoon says, touching a grave hand to his own chest. "Bring back honor for us all, or whatever. But do it for you, too, yeah?"
Minho nods. He's probably not going to be able to sleep tonight, but not for the reasons he was thinking about before. He slumps back in his chair and plays with the bbang in his hands. "Gonna visit me on set for moral support?"
Seunghoon's smile crinkles at the corners of his eyes, spreads out to encompass his whole body. He props himself on his elbows, toes knocking against Minho's shin, and says, "Wouldn't miss it for the world."
Pairing/Character: mino-focused, slight mino/seunghoon
Rating: pg
Warnings: n/a
Author: gdgdbaby
Notes: minho will probably make it through the first round of auditions. seunghoon won't, because he isn't auditioning at all. an alternate reality in which team b becomes winner and mino's sent to smtm3 instead. written for rixythewraith for the 2015 cycle of winnerexchange, originally posted here. 1,033 words.
Minho spends the night before Show Me The Money 3 auditions tearing bbang into pieces at his desk. It gets pretty gross when he starts mushing it together between his fingers, rolls the pieces into tight, compact little balls of bread, but it gives him something to do besides vegetating in front of his laptop or staring at the wall, which he's been alternating through at increasingly pathetic intervals all evening.
"You're sulking," Seunghoon says from the door.
"I don't sulk," Minho says automatically, but he spins in his chair and wedges the first ball in his mouth with mulish satisfaction.
"Hey, stop that," Seunghoon says, swatting the next one away before Minho can fit it in. "First, it's disgusting. Second, you're carb-sensitive."
Minho makes a face and chews. Seunghoon settles at the edge of Minho's bed without asking, long legs crossed at the ankle, his plaid pajama pants riding up a little. He waits. Minho keeps chewing.
Since the word was passed down from on high, they haven't really talked about it. None of them: Seungyoon's trying to purge all emotion by writing one new waily ballad per day, Taehyun's trying to pretend like he's successfully purged all emotion already, and Jinwoo's-Jinwoo is keeping it together pretty well, actually, for someone whose entire future career is in jeopardy. But then-anything would probably be considered "keeping it together pretty well" in comparison to the nerveless, sleepless nights during sajangnim's latest foray into cruel and unusual punishment. The first couple of months after they lost, it was enough that they hadn't been kicked out of living in the same dorm. Minho could still wake up in the morning to the sound of Jinwoo banging pots two centimeters away from his ears, to the smell of whatever failed experiment Seungyoon was trying to put out in the kitchen. With these simple facts of life set firmly in place, moving on was a little less painful.
Then, in late February two months ahead of SMTM3 auditions, sajangnim had called Minho into his office at the YG building. Alone.
Minho and Seunghoon haven't talked about this, ever. About how YG Entertainment is a hip-hop label, how Minho's rapping is self-sufficient in a way that Seunghoon's isn't. Self-sufficient enough for support in a group to be unnecessary. When Yang-goon's reasons for calling him in became apparent, something in Minho's stomach sank like a stone. It is not that he's ungrateful for the opportunity, but he can't help thinking that he should be, that the initial impulse to be excited is too selfish to entertain. At least he's being given something to do during the pregnant waiting of will-we-won't-we-debut; the least he could do is seem somewhat contrite. For what, he isn't certain. This isn't really a subject he thinks about head-on very much, for fear of what he might uncover. It's easier to carry on like they always have, Minho and Seunghoon, clueless idiot hyungs with matching senses of humor and a way with the halmonis.
For his part, Seunghoon looks decidedly unimpressed. "You'd think you were being sent to the army already," he says. "Thought you'd be a little more enthusiastic than this. You're gonna know a lot of these guys, right?"
Minho lets his shoulder rise and fall jerkily. "Sure," he says, voice even. "I'm just nervous, I guess."
"Really," Seunghoon says, flat. His eyes are narrow. "Nervous."
"Well," Minho says, and he swallows. Talking to Seunghoon shouldn't be this hard; it feels wrong, somehow. "Okay, no. That isn't it." He twirls in his chair and stares down at Seunghoon's bare feet. "Just-aren't you mad that you aren't coming? You're a rapper, too."
Minho expects Seunghoon to withdraw. Get mad, maybe, or rush out in a fit as jealousy overcame him. If anything, though-when Minho looks up again, Seunghoon looks relaxed, the corner of his mouth curling up into a customary smile. "Oh," he says. "That's what this is about?"
Minho blinks. "I. Yes? I, uh, thought it would be obvious."
Seunghoon rolls his eyes and flops back in Minho's bed, arms stretched across the sheets. "Why would I be mad?" His smile gets a little bigger. "It isn't-I'm not like you, alright? I'm not a rapper like you are. Never thought I'd be telling you this, but you're really overthinking it. Just go out there and have a good time, dude."
Minho's saved from gaping like a fish by the faint buzz of his phone. He flips the covers up to dig it out. good luck tmr, i'm mad jealous flashes across his screen, a LINE message that, if Minho's being honest with himself, he was totally expecting. He snorts and thumbs it away.
"Who is it?"
"Bobby says he's jealous," Minho says. "Pretty insensitive, don't you think? All things considered."
Seunghoon laughs. "Figures," he says, but it doesn't sound resentful or anything. Just a little tired, a little amused. Minho feels a rush of warmth burst in his chest, surges up to choke in his throat-relief, mixed in with something unquantifiable, a sense of rightness in the world. Seunghoon was right: he isn't nervous. If there's anything he believes in, it's his own ability to do well under pressure. Minho doesn't have many chips on his shoulder, but this is his chance to take, his chance to prove something to himself, to his teammates, to Yang Hyunsuk. He's got nothing left to lose, and everything to gain.
"I'm gonna win," he promises fervently. "I'm gonna do it. For you guys."
"Of course you are," Seunghoon says, touching a grave hand to his own chest. "Bring back honor for us all, or whatever. But do it for you, too, yeah?"
Minho nods. He's probably not going to be able to sleep tonight, but not for the reasons he was thinking about before. He slumps back in his chair and plays with the bbang in his hands. "Gonna visit me on set for moral support?"
Seunghoon's smile crinkles at the corners of his eyes, spreads out to encompass his whole body. He props himself on his elbows, toes knocking against Minho's shin, and says, "Wouldn't miss it for the world."