when you say nothing at all
when you say nothing at all
jongin/kyungsoo, pg, general
neither of them are very good with words, but who needs words?
also for badwolf_x and hotarumyst, i hope this attempt at a birthday fic is more satisfactory ;w;
It’s nearly ten when Jongin wakes up, padding across the kitchen barefoot to stop next to Kyungsoo. Jongin never manages to really open his eyes in the morning, but Kyungsoo finds the way he still peers over the pot to look at what Kyungsoo’s making endearing.
“What are you making,” Jongin asks, rubbing his eyes and yawning.
“Food,” Kyungsoo says, stirring his stew as he sprinkles some salt in it. It’s a little bland, maybe, he thinks, when he test-tastes it, and holds out his spatula at Jongin.
“Hmm,” Jongin blinks at him, but sticks out his tongue to taste. “Mmm, more sugar,” Jongin says as he makes his way to the little dining table and plops down on a chair, curling his legs up beneath him and resting his head on his arms.
“Sugar?” Kyungsoo is surprised, because it’s kimchi stew he’s making. Jongin mumbles something back in reply, and Kyungsoo decides to ignore him and add salt instead.
When he brings the pot to the table, mumbling at Jongin to move and sit up, Chanyeol and Sehun have woken to the smell of the stew and come bustling in noisily, dragging chairs to set themselves up at the table, forks and spoons in hand.
“You didn’t listen to me,” Jongin says as he takes his first gulp of soup. His eyes are still half-lidded, but Kyungsoo can see a little knot of mischief at the side of his mouth.
“Because you can’t cook,” Kyungsoo replies, taking his own sip of soup. The salt turned out pretty well.
“Oh yeah?” Jongin replies, shovelling rice into his mouth.
“You burnt the jeon for supper the other day, hyung,” Sehun reminds the table as he slurps his soup noisily, and is rewarded with a rice grain flicked at his nose.
Kyungsoo fills another bowl of rice and sets it down in front of Jongin, and he doesn’t say anything, but Jongin makes his way over to Kyungsoo’s side later that night to help with dinner.
It’s a leisurely day of break, near their comeback and Baekhyun and Chanyeol are at their first variety guesting and Sehun and Junmyeon at acting class. Kyungsoo was tasked with making sure Jongin eats his medicine and rests his back, Junmyeon repeatedly dangling the medicine packet in Kyungsoo’s face before he left that morning. “I know, god, why don’t you remind Jongin instead,” Kyungsoo had said frustratedly, but Junmyeon had just yelled about how Jongin is bound to forget as he ran out the door. Jongin had spent the entire day in bed, chatting idly with Kyungsoo and drifting in and out of sleep because of the medication; Kyungsoo had thought he was asleep when he left their room to prepare dinner, but apparently not.
“Go lie down,” Kyungsoo mutters, giving Jongin’s shoulder a little shove. Jongin just slings his arm round Kyungsoo’s shoulder and pokes at the ham Kyungsoo has on the chopping board.
“What are we making?”
“Food that doesn’t involve you,” Kyungsoo replies as he moves towards the fridge, Jongin following to hug him from the back. “Go lie down, or Junmyeon-hyung’s going to kill me later.”
“Junmyeon-hyung isn’t even here,” Jongin replies as he tightens his arms round Kyungsoo, “wait - are you telling me he installed security cameras in here or something?”
“Maybe,” Kyungsoo retrieves a container of kimchi, “just go lie down, you can’t help anyway.”
“Yes I can.”
“I don’t want to eat burnt noodles,” Kyungsoo tells him, and wiggles a bit. Jongin ignores the wiggle and hooks his chin over Kyungsoo’s shoulder.
“Well, too bad,” Jongin replies, “and I already laid down for the entire day, okay.”
Kyungsoo looks at Jongin out of the corner of his eye, and there is mischief in his eyes, but his mouth is also set in a determined little smile and Kyungsoo knows there’s no talking Jongin out of anything anymore.
“Okay,” Kyungsoo says, “you can cut the ham up. No - wait, the counter’s too low for you. Uh, you can… stand there and wait for the water to boil.”
“I’ll cut,” Jongin says, and grabs the knife before Kyungsoo can wrestle it away (not like he would, anyway).
Kyungsoo watches as Jongin does an appalling job of cutting, placing a hand on his back when Jongin bends forward subconsciously in concentration so he remembers to stand up straight, and when he’s done the ham is in cubes of irregular shapes and sizes and Kyungsoo chuckles a bit.
“I told you you couldn’t cook,” Kyungsoo says as he turns the stove up to fry the ham.
“Whatever,” Jongin replies as he grabs the kimchi to cut up, “it’s all the same when it’s in your stomach anyway. And like anyone can tell the difference. It’s all ham, man.”
“I can,” Kyungsoo says as he readies a pan on the stove, and Jongin looks up suddenly. “I want to fry!”
There’s a tiny bit of Jongin’s upper lip tucked in a pout, the pout he uses when he gets Junmyeon-hyung to treat them all to steak, and it’s just about as effective to Kyungsoo as well, to be honest. The smile on Jongin’s face when Kyungsoo surrenders and holds out the pan handle creases Kyungsoo’s cheeks in a laugh.
“Don’t burn it,” Kyungsoo warns laughingly, and Jongin just jabs at the uncut kimchi with his pinky. Kyungsoo moves over with a reluctant smile to take over the position of assistant chef and cuts the kimchi as he dictates instructions.
“Some oil when-” Kyungsoo starts, but Jongin’s already poured a large puddle of oil in the wet pan. Kyungsoo yanks him away just as the oil starts popping.
“You’re going to get a huge crater on your face,” Kyungsoo admonishes, “don’t you ever cook?”
“You know I don’t,” Jongin replies, and yelps as a bit of oil sputters onto his arm. “Why is it doing that?”
“Because you’re an idiot,” Kyungsoo replies, and Jongin moves to hide behind Kyungsoo. Kyungsoo can nearly feel Jongin’s pout in his chin rested on his shoulder.
“You’re a monkey butt,” Jongin replies, and sometimes the nineteen year old kid in Jongin just floors Kyungsoo. His back muscles relax so he leans back into Jongin just a teeny fraction, and they stay like that for a bit, Jongin’s breath fluttering on Kyungsoo’s ear.
“Okay,” Kyungsoo says when the oil stops sputtering, “you can go nearer now, and after you fry the garlic add the ham and move it around, okay?”
“Okay,” Jongin replies, and hesitantly holds out the spatula, pinching the tip so he’s as far away from the pan as possible.
“It’s not going to explode anymore,” Kyungsoo chuckles a bit, continuing his chopping. “If you’re afraid I can take over…” he trails off, and Jongin looks disgruntled as he steps closer.
“No,” Jongin says softly, and throws the chopped garlic into the pan. He manages not to burn it, and Kyungsoo comes up next to him to place the ham into the pan, holding Jongin’s arm to stir the ham around.
“Mmmm,” Jongin approximates a whine, but he shuffles closer to Kyungsoo. The contact is familiar, Jongin’s elbow fitting into Kyungsoo’s side, and Kyungsoo’s hand slips to the small of Jongin’s back smoothly in a practiced, fluid motion, as though patting some sort of salve through Jongin’s shirt. Jongin smiles a bit out of the corner of his eye.
Jongin gets through the rest of the frying uneventfully, and stirs happily as Kyungsoo drains the spaghetti and places it in the pan.
“See,” he tells Kyungsoo, “I can cook, you guys just never let me demonstrate my abilities.” His lips are turned up in a proud little smile, as though Kyungsoo hadn’t been instructing him exactly what to do.
“You can make fried rice whenever Sehun wants it, then,” Kyungsoo tells him laughingly as he takes the pan from Jongin.
“Ew,” Jongin replies, wrinkling his nose, “brat can make his own food.”
Dinner is just the two of them, though they had made enough for all six, but Jongin wolfs down two portions and a bit more. The dorm is quiet without Chanyeol’s bass yelling and Baekhyun’s bursts of song, but it’s a comfortable, familiar quiet with just Jongin. They chat about everything and nothing at all, and Kyungsoo laughs as Jongin moves fluid and flowing to the songs on Music Bank as he chews and Jongin laughs as Kyungsoo sprays ketchup all over the table.
Later that night Kyungsoo’s on the couch watching a sitcom, freshly showered and the dishes in the sink (“just make Baekhyun do them when he comes back,” Jongin had said, “he’ll eat the food anyway”), Jongin comes in rubbing his hair with a towel and barrels straight for the couch, pillowing his head on Kyungsoo’s lap. Kyungsoo looks down as Jongin adjusts himself comfortable and turns towards the television, a contented smile on his face. Kyungsoo jams a pillow under Jongin’s lower back for support, which Jongin folds comfortably against.
The sitcom segues into the news, and Kyungsoo thinks Jongin’s fallen asleep; he nearly falls asleep himself, when Jongin suddenly mumbles something, so quiet Kyungsoo almost doesn’t hear it.
“Do you think it’ll get better?”
“It will if you rest it,” Kyungsoo says a split second before he realises Jongin’s not talking about his back - Jongin rolls over on his back to look up at Kyungsoo, his eyes muted. It’s these times when Jongin is only all of his nineteen years that floors Kyungsoo; these rare times amidst all the sexy and charming and independent Kai, so strong and outstanding in front of an audience. Kyungsoo nearly forgets sometimes that Jongin is barely out of his teens, really. Just like all of them, fumbling around in the dark for a dream.
Kyungsoo offers him a tiny smile, one that isn’t pitying or consolatory because Jongin needs none of those, and slips his arm over Jongin’s to take his hand and squeeze it a bit.
“Yes,” Kyungsoo says, and Jongin stares down at Kyungsoo’s hand over his. They stay like this for a while, Kyungsoo feeling Jongin’s heartbeat slow to a steady beat through his fingers. Jongin’s always taken everything a little too much to heart, especially the pressure, and Kyungsoo knows how it gets to him. Sometimes he gets up to get a drink in the middle of the night to see Jongin lying in bed staring at the ceiling in a trance, and everyone can see how much Jongin practices dances over and over and over, even if he’s already perfected it. Thirteen trailers and the frontline of EXO don’t come easily; Kyungsoo knows that second-hand.
“Okay,” Jongin says after a while. Kyungsoo hears the trust in his voice.
Kyungsoo isn’t one for too many words with too little substance, so he unwinds his fingers from Jongin’s and pats his chest, once, twice. He thinks Jongin understands - Jongin’s eyes turn softer, lips mold together to form the start of a smile.
“Okay,” Jongin says again, taking Kyungsoo’s hand.
When the rest finally come home and inhale the leftover spaghetti, Sehun whining for Chanyeol to leave him some, Jongin’s already asleep from the medication and Kyungsoo’s thigh is numb, but he doesn’t make to move when he looks down and sees his hand still tucked in Jongin’s warm grasp.
jongin/kyungsoo, pg, general
neither of them are very good with words, but who needs words?
also for badwolf_x and hotarumyst, i hope this attempt at a birthday fic is more satisfactory ;w;
It’s nearly ten when Jongin wakes up, padding across the kitchen barefoot to stop next to Kyungsoo. Jongin never manages to really open his eyes in the morning, but Kyungsoo finds the way he still peers over the pot to look at what Kyungsoo’s making endearing.
“What are you making,” Jongin asks, rubbing his eyes and yawning.
“Food,” Kyungsoo says, stirring his stew as he sprinkles some salt in it. It’s a little bland, maybe, he thinks, when he test-tastes it, and holds out his spatula at Jongin.
“Hmm,” Jongin blinks at him, but sticks out his tongue to taste. “Mmm, more sugar,” Jongin says as he makes his way to the little dining table and plops down on a chair, curling his legs up beneath him and resting his head on his arms.
“Sugar?” Kyungsoo is surprised, because it’s kimchi stew he’s making. Jongin mumbles something back in reply, and Kyungsoo decides to ignore him and add salt instead.
When he brings the pot to the table, mumbling at Jongin to move and sit up, Chanyeol and Sehun have woken to the smell of the stew and come bustling in noisily, dragging chairs to set themselves up at the table, forks and spoons in hand.
“You didn’t listen to me,” Jongin says as he takes his first gulp of soup. His eyes are still half-lidded, but Kyungsoo can see a little knot of mischief at the side of his mouth.
“Because you can’t cook,” Kyungsoo replies, taking his own sip of soup. The salt turned out pretty well.
“Oh yeah?” Jongin replies, shovelling rice into his mouth.
“You burnt the jeon for supper the other day, hyung,” Sehun reminds the table as he slurps his soup noisily, and is rewarded with a rice grain flicked at his nose.
Kyungsoo fills another bowl of rice and sets it down in front of Jongin, and he doesn’t say anything, but Jongin makes his way over to Kyungsoo’s side later that night to help with dinner.
It’s a leisurely day of break, near their comeback and Baekhyun and Chanyeol are at their first variety guesting and Sehun and Junmyeon at acting class. Kyungsoo was tasked with making sure Jongin eats his medicine and rests his back, Junmyeon repeatedly dangling the medicine packet in Kyungsoo’s face before he left that morning. “I know, god, why don’t you remind Jongin instead,” Kyungsoo had said frustratedly, but Junmyeon had just yelled about how Jongin is bound to forget as he ran out the door. Jongin had spent the entire day in bed, chatting idly with Kyungsoo and drifting in and out of sleep because of the medication; Kyungsoo had thought he was asleep when he left their room to prepare dinner, but apparently not.
“Go lie down,” Kyungsoo mutters, giving Jongin’s shoulder a little shove. Jongin just slings his arm round Kyungsoo’s shoulder and pokes at the ham Kyungsoo has on the chopping board.
“What are we making?”
“Food that doesn’t involve you,” Kyungsoo replies as he moves towards the fridge, Jongin following to hug him from the back. “Go lie down, or Junmyeon-hyung’s going to kill me later.”
“Junmyeon-hyung isn’t even here,” Jongin replies as he tightens his arms round Kyungsoo, “wait - are you telling me he installed security cameras in here or something?”
“Maybe,” Kyungsoo retrieves a container of kimchi, “just go lie down, you can’t help anyway.”
“Yes I can.”
“I don’t want to eat burnt noodles,” Kyungsoo tells him, and wiggles a bit. Jongin ignores the wiggle and hooks his chin over Kyungsoo’s shoulder.
“Well, too bad,” Jongin replies, “and I already laid down for the entire day, okay.”
Kyungsoo looks at Jongin out of the corner of his eye, and there is mischief in his eyes, but his mouth is also set in a determined little smile and Kyungsoo knows there’s no talking Jongin out of anything anymore.
“Okay,” Kyungsoo says, “you can cut the ham up. No - wait, the counter’s too low for you. Uh, you can… stand there and wait for the water to boil.”
“I’ll cut,” Jongin says, and grabs the knife before Kyungsoo can wrestle it away (not like he would, anyway).
Kyungsoo watches as Jongin does an appalling job of cutting, placing a hand on his back when Jongin bends forward subconsciously in concentration so he remembers to stand up straight, and when he’s done the ham is in cubes of irregular shapes and sizes and Kyungsoo chuckles a bit.
“I told you you couldn’t cook,” Kyungsoo says as he turns the stove up to fry the ham.
“Whatever,” Jongin replies as he grabs the kimchi to cut up, “it’s all the same when it’s in your stomach anyway. And like anyone can tell the difference. It’s all ham, man.”
“I can,” Kyungsoo says as he readies a pan on the stove, and Jongin looks up suddenly. “I want to fry!”
There’s a tiny bit of Jongin’s upper lip tucked in a pout, the pout he uses when he gets Junmyeon-hyung to treat them all to steak, and it’s just about as effective to Kyungsoo as well, to be honest. The smile on Jongin’s face when Kyungsoo surrenders and holds out the pan handle creases Kyungsoo’s cheeks in a laugh.
“Don’t burn it,” Kyungsoo warns laughingly, and Jongin just jabs at the uncut kimchi with his pinky. Kyungsoo moves over with a reluctant smile to take over the position of assistant chef and cuts the kimchi as he dictates instructions.
“Some oil when-” Kyungsoo starts, but Jongin’s already poured a large puddle of oil in the wet pan. Kyungsoo yanks him away just as the oil starts popping.
“You’re going to get a huge crater on your face,” Kyungsoo admonishes, “don’t you ever cook?”
“You know I don’t,” Jongin replies, and yelps as a bit of oil sputters onto his arm. “Why is it doing that?”
“Because you’re an idiot,” Kyungsoo replies, and Jongin moves to hide behind Kyungsoo. Kyungsoo can nearly feel Jongin’s pout in his chin rested on his shoulder.
“You’re a monkey butt,” Jongin replies, and sometimes the nineteen year old kid in Jongin just floors Kyungsoo. His back muscles relax so he leans back into Jongin just a teeny fraction, and they stay like that for a bit, Jongin’s breath fluttering on Kyungsoo’s ear.
“Okay,” Kyungsoo says when the oil stops sputtering, “you can go nearer now, and after you fry the garlic add the ham and move it around, okay?”
“Okay,” Jongin replies, and hesitantly holds out the spatula, pinching the tip so he’s as far away from the pan as possible.
“It’s not going to explode anymore,” Kyungsoo chuckles a bit, continuing his chopping. “If you’re afraid I can take over…” he trails off, and Jongin looks disgruntled as he steps closer.
“No,” Jongin says softly, and throws the chopped garlic into the pan. He manages not to burn it, and Kyungsoo comes up next to him to place the ham into the pan, holding Jongin’s arm to stir the ham around.
“Mmmm,” Jongin approximates a whine, but he shuffles closer to Kyungsoo. The contact is familiar, Jongin’s elbow fitting into Kyungsoo’s side, and Kyungsoo’s hand slips to the small of Jongin’s back smoothly in a practiced, fluid motion, as though patting some sort of salve through Jongin’s shirt. Jongin smiles a bit out of the corner of his eye.
Jongin gets through the rest of the frying uneventfully, and stirs happily as Kyungsoo drains the spaghetti and places it in the pan.
“See,” he tells Kyungsoo, “I can cook, you guys just never let me demonstrate my abilities.” His lips are turned up in a proud little smile, as though Kyungsoo hadn’t been instructing him exactly what to do.
“You can make fried rice whenever Sehun wants it, then,” Kyungsoo tells him laughingly as he takes the pan from Jongin.
“Ew,” Jongin replies, wrinkling his nose, “brat can make his own food.”
Dinner is just the two of them, though they had made enough for all six, but Jongin wolfs down two portions and a bit more. The dorm is quiet without Chanyeol’s bass yelling and Baekhyun’s bursts of song, but it’s a comfortable, familiar quiet with just Jongin. They chat about everything and nothing at all, and Kyungsoo laughs as Jongin moves fluid and flowing to the songs on Music Bank as he chews and Jongin laughs as Kyungsoo sprays ketchup all over the table.
Later that night Kyungsoo’s on the couch watching a sitcom, freshly showered and the dishes in the sink (“just make Baekhyun do them when he comes back,” Jongin had said, “he’ll eat the food anyway”), Jongin comes in rubbing his hair with a towel and barrels straight for the couch, pillowing his head on Kyungsoo’s lap. Kyungsoo looks down as Jongin adjusts himself comfortable and turns towards the television, a contented smile on his face. Kyungsoo jams a pillow under Jongin’s lower back for support, which Jongin folds comfortably against.
The sitcom segues into the news, and Kyungsoo thinks Jongin’s fallen asleep; he nearly falls asleep himself, when Jongin suddenly mumbles something, so quiet Kyungsoo almost doesn’t hear it.
“Do you think it’ll get better?”
“It will if you rest it,” Kyungsoo says a split second before he realises Jongin’s not talking about his back - Jongin rolls over on his back to look up at Kyungsoo, his eyes muted. It’s these times when Jongin is only all of his nineteen years that floors Kyungsoo; these rare times amidst all the sexy and charming and independent Kai, so strong and outstanding in front of an audience. Kyungsoo nearly forgets sometimes that Jongin is barely out of his teens, really. Just like all of them, fumbling around in the dark for a dream.
Kyungsoo offers him a tiny smile, one that isn’t pitying or consolatory because Jongin needs none of those, and slips his arm over Jongin’s to take his hand and squeeze it a bit.
“Yes,” Kyungsoo says, and Jongin stares down at Kyungsoo’s hand over his. They stay like this for a while, Kyungsoo feeling Jongin’s heartbeat slow to a steady beat through his fingers. Jongin’s always taken everything a little too much to heart, especially the pressure, and Kyungsoo knows how it gets to him. Sometimes he gets up to get a drink in the middle of the night to see Jongin lying in bed staring at the ceiling in a trance, and everyone can see how much Jongin practices dances over and over and over, even if he’s already perfected it. Thirteen trailers and the frontline of EXO don’t come easily; Kyungsoo knows that second-hand.
“Okay,” Jongin says after a while. Kyungsoo hears the trust in his voice.
Kyungsoo isn’t one for too many words with too little substance, so he unwinds his fingers from Jongin’s and pats his chest, once, twice. He thinks Jongin understands - Jongin’s eyes turn softer, lips mold together to form the start of a smile.
“Okay,” Jongin says again, taking Kyungsoo’s hand.
When the rest finally come home and inhale the leftover spaghetti, Sehun whining for Chanyeol to leave him some, Jongin’s already asleep from the medication and Kyungsoo’s thigh is numb, but he doesn’t make to move when he looks down and sees his hand still tucked in Jongin’s warm grasp.