+ On The Line [1/2] [2PM]
Title: On The Line
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Junho/Nichkhun (Taecyeon/Wooyoung)
Word Count: ~12,830 words
Notes: My wips are in a state of disarray and I haven’t written anything of substance in a very long time so biases ever so kindly offered me a prompt, and I went with it. And then I had to rewrite it but that's a whole 'nother story. Massive thanks to augmenti for reading it over, and to Mary for cheering me on. (I meant to post this before ficmix started but uh... Sorry, wonderful remixer, hope this doesn't mess with anything!)
Summary: Tennis begins with love.
+
Junho hates these events.
It's not proper to say so out loud, since they usually come with a title like 'Raising Cash for Kids' or 'Smile for Africa!' (originality must have been in low supply that day), but those titles mean nothing. Junho would have no problem if these charity balls were all about philanthropy and altruism, but the sad fact of the matter is, when celebrities are involved, it's really just about celebrities (who signs the biggest cheque, who poses for the most cameras, and who manages to seem the most poised even though they've been stuck wearing their most uncomfortable finery for hours). The underprivileged are just a great excuse to be seen in a good light.
Still, Junho figures, at least something's happening. Any small bit helps, whether it's in terms of raising money or awareness. He just hates all the showiness-hates that he has to stand in the corner and smile for another two hours before he can leave and not be reported in the papers as ungracious.
He reaches up and loosens his tie a little, but it doesn't really help. He'd feel suffocated in this place even if he was naked.
A woman he thinks he should recognise, dressed in what is probably the most absurd dress of the evening (not a accolade he's passed on lightly, she has a lot of competition), looks his way and waves coyly, and he nods back, trying not to look too interested. She's already talking to someone but she starts to edge closer to Junho and that's when he breaks. He slides away from the wall and darts through the crowd, trying to force his way through egos so enlarged by years of reinforcement it feels impossible, but then he spots the exit (memorised exactly in preparation for moments like this) and he slips out into the cool night air, away from those sucking desperately cigarettes, moving further back into the fancy garden. In daylight it's probably pretty, intricate brickwork contrasting with colourful flowers, but right now it's simply vacant and quiet and peaceful. Junho breathes deeply, loosening his shoulders like he would before a playing a point, blocking out his surroundings and focusing on breathing.
He's so caught up in trying to centre himself that he doesn't even notice the other guy until he's right in front of him, and then he's so startled that he stumbles back and would end up in the Olympic-sized fish pond, if not for the guy's quick reflexes and strong grip around his biceps. He freezes in place, half leaned back, and the guy does too, his fingers tightening, heat beginning to seep through Junho's expensive suit jacket.
"Uh," the guy says, "are you okay?"
The soft American-sounding English makes Junho realise he's still hanging precariously over the pond, and he reaches up to grab the guys elbows for balance as they slowly straighten up together. The force pulls Junho close to the guy's body and when he looks up they're way too close for two strangers.
"Thanks," Junho murmurs, his own English still heavily accented, even after so many years. He steps backwards, gently manoeuvring himself out of the guy's personal space.
"Just call me your knight in shining Armani," the guy says, smiling and straightening out the arms of his jacket. "Or whatever this suit is."
"Is that your official title?" Junho asks. He squints, wishing he could see more of the guy's face, but he's turned his back to the moon and all Junho can see is his profile, and sometimes the hint of a bushy eyebrow when he turns his head right. He sounds young though, and for once Junho finds himself wanting to know more about one of the guests at a celebrity event.
"Only during working hours. I'm Khun." He reaches out a hand and Junho responds automatically, trying to remember if he's ever heard the name.
"Junho."
Khun's grip is firm and warm, just like it had been on his biceps, and when Khun pulls away it's not to pluck and preen so Junho figures Khun doesn't recognise him either. (For all the fame he dreamed of when he was a kid, it's such a relief when that happens now.)
"Well I should go back," Khun says, gesturing to the main building a little awkwardly, and Junho nods.
"Okay. Thanks for... saving me," he finishes lamely, but Khun's mouth opens wide in a grin.
"Just try to avoid taking another dip." He turns away before spinning back again and this time his face is at just the right angle to be fully illuminated by the moon. His eyebrows are rather exemplary but he's otherwise very attractive, in a flower-boy kind of way.
Junho tries very hard not to like him just a little bit more.
"Unless you're a swimmer," Khun adds, and Junho has to take a few moments to remember what they're talking about.
"Wrong sport," he says, and at that Khun nods, waves, and heads back inside.
Junho watches him go, sidestepping so he can see Khun right up until he disappears through the doorway, and ends up with one leg knee-deep in the pond anyway.
+
Two weeks later Junho is knocked out in the first round of a major tournament after a frustrating tiebreaker played in forty degrees celsius, and it's when he's having his post-match ice bath that he sees it.
The connecting bathroom in his hotel has a really good view of the TV in the bedroom and he likes to leave it on sometimes because he finds the quiet hum of voices relaxing, no matter what language they're speaking. The last time he looked at the screen there was news on but now it seems to be halfway through a cooking programme (which Junho usually avoids, since they just remind him of all the food he wants but can't have) so he nearly blocks it out again but then there's a sudden side-on angle of the chef's face and-
Those eyebrows. Junho has seen them before.
The shot transitions to a front on view and the chef smiles for a brief moment, twisting something tiny in Junho's chest, before they head to an ad break and the logo of the show appears in the middle of the screen.
'Cooking with Khun'.
+
Taec comes in handy for a multitude of reasons. Taec is Junho's physiotherapist and Taec travels the circuit with him while he doesn't have a full-time coach, but Taec also has a life that isn't all tennis all the time, and he takes it upon himself to fill Junho in on any applicable pop culture. So when Junho wants to know about Khun, he doesn't even bother with the internet and instead goes straight to Taec.
"Khun's pretty much a household name, when people remember how to pronounce it," he says, rubbing at Junho's shoulder. "My sister has all his cookbooks. You said there was a twinge on your overheads, right?"
Junho nods, wincing as Taec digs his fingers right into his skin.
"The ladies love him," he continues. "He's hot and he can cook, he's like a dream come true."
"Shallow," Junho comments, but really he's just wondering if he's the last person in the world to know about this guy.
"Oh, and he hosted that fundraiser for Africa last year."
Junho sighs.
"Hurt there?" Taec asks, sounding concerned.
"No, it's not that. I'm fine."
"You're not. Be more careful with this shoulder, you've already had surgery. It could become permanent."
"I know, stop nagging." Junho stands up and carefully stretches out his arms, testing his shoulder-it feels as if God Himself has had his hands on it.
Taec grins knowingly. "Spirit fingers." He wiggles them and Junho feels it's only right that he should roll his eyes as he puts his wifebeater back on. "Hey," Taec says suddenly, "You should come out tonight with me and Wooyoungie. The restaurant's supposed to be really amazing, we only got a reservation once Wooyoung proved that it was really him on the cover of Men's Health."
"Why wasn't I already invited?" Junho asks mildly, not that he really cares (much). He's just stalling for time, trying to calculate if the energy spent getting ready, going out and then constantly looking over his shoulder will be worth it. "Was it a date?"
Taec laughs but suddenly becomes very interested in packing his bag. "No, it's because you're a bitch when you lose and Wooyoung has given up on you in disgust." He looks up again and frames his chin with his palms, blinking rapidly in a way he obviously thinks is cute. "Come on, Junho-yah. Pwease?"
Junho gapes at him in disgust.
Taec grins victoriously.
+
A few hours later, Junho has to admit that Taec was right-not that he'd ever tell him that. They have a table in the VIP section of the restaurant so no crazy fans or press are stalking them (unless you count the two girls who waited for Wooyoung while he was in the toilet, but they were harmless enough) and the food is absolutely, wonderfully delicious. Junho can't remember the last time he ate restaurant food this good and by the time dessert comes around, even if he allowed himself to consume sugar he wouldn't be able to fit it in.
Wooyoung declines as well but Taec decides to have something ice-creamy, probably just to taunt Wooyoung. When the waiter (Seulong, he'd insisted they address him, before assuring them that he'd cater to their every need) brings it to them, Taec makes a show of taking the first bite and Wooyoung pretends not to care.
"Is the owner in?" Taec asks through a full mouth, just as Seulong is motioning to leave.
Seulong tilts his head, eying Junho for a moment (which is a little creepy, but nothing he's not used to) before responding. "I'll let him know you wish to see him."
A few minutes later he's returning with someone in a bright red shirt in tow, but Seulong is freakishly tall so Junho can't see the man's face. And then Seulong shifts out of the way and Junho immediately thinks-of course. The realisation only grows stronger when Taec elbows him pointedly in the ribs.
"Hello," Khun says, bowing. "I'm Nichkhun Horvejkul. I hope you're enjoying your meal." He looks tired, his eyes don't have the sparkle they do on TV, but he's smiling anyway, leaning in to shake with Wooyoung, Taec and then- "Junho?" he says, looking confused (which admittedly is not the ideal reaction), but then his polite smile morphs into a wide grin that makes the tips of Junho's ears start to burn. "It's nice to see you," he says warmly.
Junho nods and forces himself not to pat down his hair over his ears. "You too. I didn't know this was your restaurant."
Khun's smile dims a little, but Junho has no time to read into it because Wooyoung clears his throat loudly. Junho and Khun look over simultaneously-Wooyoung has his best 'I'll humour you with this but it better be good' face on and Taec is just looking plain lecherous.
"So," Taec says, eying them meaningfully, "you two… know each other?"
"Not really," Junho says, at the same time Khun blurts, "A little."
Junho wonders when any encounter of his will ever not be awkward.
"We met at a fundraiser the other night," Khun hastily explains, but it's entirely the wrong thing to say because Wooyoung's unimpressed expression immediately morphs into a sadistic smirk.
"I see," Wooyoung says, looking Khun up and down. "So this is him, huh?"
"Sorry?" Khun frowns.
"Doesn't matter," Wooyoung says. He pushes Junho aside and forces Khun into his empty seat. "As long as you stay and tell us all about yourself."
Khun seems unperturbed. Junho wonders how long that will last.
+
It takes half an hour of Khun's life story (mixed-race parents, strict childhood, teenage years away from home where he learned to cook for himself, working his way up in the hospitality industry, developing his own brand) and Wooyoung's feigned interest and thinly-veiled insults until Taec finally takes pity on Junho and insists it's time for Wooyoung's deep-tissue massage. He drags him out with a not-so-subtle thumbs up to Junho, leaving Khun and Junho alone. Almost completely alone, Junho realises-a peek out of the VIP partition reveals that all of the other patrons have left too. Only Seulong and a few other wait staff are left in the restaurant, tidying up for the next day.
"We close early on Monday nights," Khun says, and Junho turns back to see him smiling softly in the candlelight. "So." He leans in, resting his chin on his palm. "Wooyoung was very protective of you."
Junho snorts. "Wooyoung can't decide whether he hates me or likes me. Two players the same age from the same country on the same tour, we're more like rivals than friends. If he wasn't more popular than me I'm pretty sure he'd never speak to me again."
"So there's nothing…" Khun looks down, fiddling with the cutlery. "Nothing romantic there?"
"Not with me and him," Junho says quickly. People have asked before. Even the overseas media have made illusions to it. "I have my suspicions about Taec and Woo. I never take that many clothes off for my treatments."
Khun laughs and Junho does too, because Khun's laugh is kind of like that. "You know, I've never seen a tennis game before."
"You're missing out on a lot," Junho tells him seriously. "Lots of sweating and grunting."
Khun's eyebrows raise. "How did I not know this? Okay, I'm definitely in."
Even though he probably should, Junho doesn't hesitate. They've both been flirting, and Khun's smiling and his eyes are back to sparkling, so he uses that as his rationale as he says, "Wooyoung and I are having a practice match tomorrow."
"Is that an invitation?"
"It's whatever you want it to be. I lost in the first round but we promised we'd help each other out so…" He looks up and Khun's face is closer than he remembers, but it's not like that's a bad thing. (Unless Junho has food in his teeth, or that blemish on his chin is acting up again, but he tries not to think like that.)
"Okay," Khun says softly. "In that case, I'll see you again tomorrow, Lee Junho."
+
He would never tell anyone, can barely even admit it to himself because of how traitorous it feels, but Junho's almost glad he's been knocked out of the tournament. Ever since he met Khun his focus has been off, and even when he's watching footage of his losing match to analyse his gameplay, something his first coach used to berate him for obsessing about, instead of criticizing that foot fault or where he went wrong with that serve placement, images of Khun keep invading his mind.
It's only worse after Khun calls him confirming some details and saying how much he's looking forward to the match, so bad that even Wooyoung picks up on it-although Junho trying to put the wrong shoe on the wrong foot in the locker room probably doesn't help.
"What's wrong with you?" Wooyoung asks bluntly. "You're even clumsier than usual."
"Thanks." Junho finally finishes tying his laces (three knots, undone and redone three times, one of his rituals since he started playing tennis) and jumps up, grabbing his racket bag. Maybe he can try to distract Wooyoung. "So, the number three seed next, huh? Got a plan of action?"
"Yeah, to win." He leads the way out and they're joined by way too many security guards, separating and flanking them as they make their way to the practice courts and making further conversation impossible.
Thankfully.
Junho checks his sponsor-provided watch-Khun should get here soon. He hopes he arrives after he and Wooyoung have warmed up, because Junho is notorious for screwing up right until the game starts (something about the headspace of the game, being in the zone really curbs his clumsiness) and Khun has already been witness to more than enough of his stupidity.
Fans react as they make their way to through the stadium, smiling or waving or giggling, and quite a few people follow them. There's small crowd gathered by the time they reach their designated court, and when Wooyoung turns and waves a bunch of girls start screaming. Junho rolls his eyes as he follows Wooyoung onto the court and they put down their things at the players' seats.
"Why does everyone like you so much," he complains.
"My charm," Wooyoung says, forming a heart with his arms. The crowd goes even wilder.
+
Khun arrives when Junho and Wooyoung have just started playing for real-or as real as possible when Wooyoung has an important game the next day. Junho only sees him because he's been keeping an eye out between points, and he's pleased to note that Khun looks great but inconspicuous, his Ray Bans and red hat (which Junho thinks might say 'Jesus' on it) hiding his face and making him seem like any old rabid tennis fan.
Considering his recent mental state Junho had wondered if he'd be able to concentrate for the game, but as it turns out having a supporter in the stands only works to his advantage. It's been a long time since he really played for someone, and since Wooyoung's holding back anyway he beats him according to their modified scoring system easily and efficiently. They meet again at their seats afterwards and Wooyoung pouts at him.
"Yah," he says, panting between gulps from his water bottle, "you can leave now, you're making me look bad."
"I would apologise but…" Junho looks Khun's way and Khun grins and gives a little wave. Wooyoung follows his gaze.
"Oh. He's here."
Junho shoves him. "Shut up."
"Taec looked into him. You know he used to play badminton? Badminton, Junho. That's like comparing a motorbike," he shakes his racket, "to a unicycle."
"Okay, I'm going. Have fun playing with yourself."
"I always do," Wooyoung says.
Junho ignores him and looks back in Khun's direction but he's not there. He frowns-he can't have left already, could he? He grabs his stuff and exits the court, and he only just has the time to wave off security before a hand wraps around his wrist and yanks him away, through the crowd, behind another court, around beside a building and into a tiny alcove. Junho is pushed into the wall but he's not worried (he's anything but worried) because he knows exactly who it is just from the warm, possessive grip.
Khun looks down at him with intense eyes, sunglasses hooked into his shirt pocket and hat turned sideways, and then all of a sudden they're kissing, Khun's hand cradling his face, Khun's mouth warm, Khun's tongue soft and Junho's stomach fluttering.
He's really sweaty but Khun doesn't seem to care, his hands wandering down Junho's body, under his t-shirt to graze over his stomach and then slipping down to his ass.
"This is… um..." Junho fumbles for words between kisses, because this is moving really fast and he might just need a moment to process things, "sudden."
"If I'd kissed you on the night of the fundraiser like I wanted to, that would've been sudden," Khun murmurs and Junho feels another little thrill to know the attraction was mutual. "This has been too long coming. Also that game was really hot," Khun admits, pulling away just enough to look into Junho's eyes.
"You're an idiot," Junho tells him, although there's no bite to it at all. "How did tennis turn you on?"
"I was prepared for the grunting." He nuzzles Junho's neck and scrapes his teeth over his jaw. "But when you kept bending over to hit Wooyoung's ball-"
"Receive his serve," Junho corrects automatically, only vaguely registering how much dirtier that sounds.
"-it was like..." He presses Junho further into the wall with his hips. "So hard to watch."
"Okay, it's not that I don't like what you're doing," Junho says, pushing Khun back, "but I really need to warm down and shower. And then I need food."
Khun unwillingly lets him go. "I can be involved in at least one of those things, right?"
+
No-one expects Wooyoung to beat the player ranked third in the world (not even, Junho suspects, Wooyoung himself), which is why it's such a shock when he does.
The interviewer in the delayed broadcast of his post-game interview mentions Junho and Wooyoung makes some witty remark, and Junho's just glad he's watching from the safety of his hotel room. Wooyoung's always been much better at the publicity stuff than him. Junho's English is slightly better than Wooyoung's and more than one poll has confirmed that he looks better in his shorts but in the end Wooyoung is the one to get the laughs, so Wooyoung is the one to get the fans.
Junho's only jealous sometimes. Okay maybe more than sometimes. But at least he doesn't have to do embarrassing things in public, like the victory dance Wooyoung is being asked to do right now.
The Real Wooyoung barges into his room just in time to catch himself shaking his ass at the crowd, and he groans and throws himself face-first onto Junho's bed.
"Turn it off," he pleads.
Junho keeps it on a few seconds longer, just because he can, before hitting standby on the remote.
"Congratulations," he tells Wooyoung.
Wooyoung grunts.
"Through to the fourth round, you're doing our great nation so proud."
Another grunt.
"Come on, where's your ssanti spirit now?"
Wooyoung props his head up on one hand and glares. "Stop pretending to encourage me. We both know you want me to lose."
"That wasn't encouragement," Junho says, ignoring the second part because he hates that Wooyoung always seems to be able to understand the ugliest parts of him, parts he wishes no-one, let alone his best rival-slash-friend, knew about. He jumps up and emulates a kamehameha, shouting, "This is encouragement!"
Wooyoung blinks. "If only you'd do things like that on camera... Why are you so happy anyway?"
Junho shrugs, grabbing his phone and trying to look busy. It's not that he's happier, per se, it's just… there's more to look forward to now. But he would rather eat a tennis ball than try to explain that to Wooyoung.
Not that it seems he has to, because Wooyoung suddenly says, "Ouh!" and Junho looks up in time to see his eyes take on an evil glint. "It's him, isn't it? The celebrity chef."
Junho tries very hard not to react.
"I thought you hated all that celebrity shit," Wooyoung continues. He collapses onto his back and stares at the ceiling. "Why are you suddenly buying into it?"
"I'm not!" Junho says. (Half true. He hasn't read a gossip magazine in years but only yesterday there was one with a feature on Khun and he somehow found himself buying every copy in the store.) "Khun's not like that." (All true. Junho's met numerous celebrities over the past few years, and there have only been a few who he's considered keeping in contact with, let alone entering into a relationship with. Assuming that's what this thing with Khun even is-they've only been out a few times and Junho's leaving again soon, so it's probably best not to use labels at all.) Junho sighs and lowers himself down next to Wooyoung. Their arms are touching and usually Wooyoung would pull away but he doesn't, so Junho doesn't either.
They stay in comfortable silence for a while, Junho comforted by Wooyoung's even breathing, before Wooyoung clears his throat.
"Just…" he says, sounding awkward, "just… be careful."
Junho grins. "You really do care."
"I'm usually in the hotel room next to yours, that's all. If you cry yourself to sleep every night it'll keep me awake."
"Right, got it." Another pause, before he adds, "He's teaching me to play badminton tonight, wanna come?"
Wooyoung rolls away and practically throws himself off the bed. "I take it back. I hope you die a long, painful death."
Junho laughs.
+
On Junho's last night in the country, he visits Khun at his apartment (well one of them, anyway). They're going to watch Wooyoung's fourth-round match together but beforehand Khun is going to cook, and really, who is Junho to turn him down.
Junho's as disguised as he can possibly be in the summer (bowler hat, aviators, popped collar) but he still feels very much on display as he hurries from the taxi to the door, pressing the buzzer three times and muttering "It's me" into the intercom. Khun finally lets him in and he uses the elevator ride to compose himself, settling his breathing with an exercise that was drummed into him ever since his passion changed from bowling to baseball to soccer to tennis as a child.
Truthfully, he feels a little ashamed for allowing himself to care so much about getting caught. Khun doesn't, and he'd told Junho so the day of the tennis match, but Khun has never really kept his sexuality a secret. He's never paraded it in front of cameras, but it's a generally-known fact that he's gay and it hasn't seemed to impact his career at all (not in the ways that matter, anyway).
Junho envies him. Only a few select people know his true sexuality. If he didn't think it would end in disaster he'd want all of the people he loves to know, he can stop living such a huge part of his life in secret, but that will never be an option for him. Both his immediate and extended family are pretty devoted Christians, and they think he is too. If they ever found out about his lifestyle they would be devastated.
Not only that but Koreans as a whole aren't particularly known for their acceptance of homosexuals, and Junho's quite certain he has no interest in finding out how the entire populace of his home country would react to finding out that one of their sporting heroes is gay.
In interviews he's often asked about a girlfriend but he usually just says that he's too busy (half true) or that he's not interested (all true, although not for the reasons the media might infer). Other than the occasional Wooyoung-related article, in the eyes of the public and his church-going family he's one of tennis's most eligible bachelors, and he'd much rather keep it that way.
He's calm by the time he reaches Khun's door, and when Khun opens it and pulls him inside for a kiss he responds eagerly, sliding a hand around Khun's shoulders and pressing their bodies together.
Khun grins against his mouth. "Hey," he says softly, stroking Junho's hair.
"Have you been chewing that disgusting strawberry gum again?" Junho replies, pulling a face, and Khun pouts just he knew he would, drawing away and slapping Junho on the ass.
"You suck," Khun says.
"Maybe later," Junho says, gliding past Khun and further into the modestly-furnished apartment, not giving him time to respond. "I need to use your bathroom."
He's lucky that he picks the right direction to walk in-and that he waits until he's out of Khun's line of sight before he trips on a rug and runs into a wall.
+
When he gets back is in the kitchen (oversized and gleaming and pristine, as you'd expect of a celebrity chef) Khun is fiddling with his Blackberry. Junho stands on his toes and peeks over Khun's shoulder and sees it's Twitter.
"What's the latest update?" he asks, only half-interested.
"Hmm," Khun hums, leaning back against Junho, "'Korean tennis-playing boyfriend promised me a blowjob tonight', exclamation mark, smiley face, 'sharing is caring', tilde."
Junho freezes.
Khun laughs. "Here, look." He holds his phone up over his shoulder, and sure enough it says, Teaching a friend how to cook tonight! = ] Sharing is caring~
Junho shoves at him and Khun turns around, frowning a little.
"Did you really think I'd…" He shakes his head. "Would it be so bad if…"
Junho's heart seizes up again, and even though Khun forces a smile Junho knows deep down that it's something they'll have to discuss in the future-if they have one.
And then he processes the entirety of Khun's tweet and realises-
"Wait, I have to cook?"
+
No matter how much Junho pleads, no matter how many kitchen-related horror stories he relates or ass-related promises he makes (although Khun almost caves by that point, Junho can tell), Khun is determined that they're going to cook together.
Somehow he even convinces Junho to go out shopping for ingredients with him (how Khun does all these things, Junho doesn't know, but something about Khun relaxes him, makes him let his guard down. It might have something to do with big pleading eyes and warm wet mouth but Junho refuses to lock anything in just yet). By the time they reach the supermarket car park though, Junho's doubts have returned at full force.
"This is crazy," Junho mutters, peering carefully out of the tinted window. There aren't many people around, thank God. "Anyone could see us."
"So?" Khun says. "We're friends. I'm hardly going to do this," he grabs Junho's neck and jerks him towards him, kissing him roughly, briefly, and then pulling back, "in there." He squeezes Junho's cheeks and gets out of the car. Junho waits a few moments before following him into the store, keeping his head down.
They make their way quickly through the aisles and Junho's so on edge that he doesn't even notice what Khun's buying until they get to the meat section.
"Which meat would be best for," Khun checks his handwritten list, "bul-go-gi?"
Junho blinks. "What? Bulgogi?"
"I thought maybe we could make something from your home," he admits, scratching his head sheepishly. "You must be missing it, right?"
In that one moment Junho feels all of his inhibitions fall away, and it takes all of his willpower to tamp down on his sudden urge to launch himself on Khun and kiss him just they did in the car, right in front of everyone.
Which is scary, because he never, ever thought he'd feel that way about Khun-never thought that within only three weeks of first meeting someone that he could be feeling and thinking the way he is.
Forget scary-it's terrifying, is what it is.
Khun puts his hand on Junho's shoulder, leaning in concernedly, and Junho shakes himself a little, knocking Khun's hand away.
"Try that," he blurts, pointing at some meat that looks vaguely adequate. Khun bends to look at it and that's when Junho registers the price tag. His eyes widen-he's won his fair share of small tournaments and he has a few endorsements back in Korea, but his earnings have hardly been enough to go wild on. "Yah wait, that's too expensive!"
"It's fine," Khun says. He pulls out a shiny black credit card and waves it in Junho's face. "Company card."
"Well in that case," Junho says, and takes charge of the rest of the shopping trip, his unsettling emotions left conveniently in aisle one.
+
Khun is the most patient teacher Junho's ever had.
His first coach liked to shout a lot and his second tended to forget that Junho had human limitations just like everybody else, not to mention his tutors, who were always unimpressed by his eagerness to get back on the court. Khun, however, is calm and gentle, even if his instruction is a little more… hands on than Junho suspects it needs to be. Maybe it helps, too, that they really are kind of working together-Khun's never made Korean food before and Junho's at least seen it done, which puts them on much more equal footing. Or so Junho likes to think.
The meat is prepared and set to marinate with little incident (Junho insists that he probably still would have been able to hold a racket without his little finger but Khun is not amused) and they're preparing the side dishes (bean sprouts and honeyed potatoes-Khun bought pre-packaged kimchi but carefully put it back away when Junho made his disgust clear) when Junho suddenly feels Khun's arms around his waist, palms smoothing up and over his stomach, Khun's chest pressing against his back.
"You're very grabby," Junho comments, wringing the last of the water out of the sprouts.
"You're very grabbable," Khun breathes into his ear, biting gently at his lobe.
Junho feigns his composure, grappling for something, anything to say. "I'm trying to cook."
"That's what's so hot."
Junho snorts and turns to him, raising his eyebrows suggestively. "Even my sprout-squeezing turns you on?"
Khun laughs. "It's your focus," he explains. His fingers pluck at the hem of Junho's red apron and Junho bats them away. "When you concentrate your lips puff out and you open your mouth really wide. Your mouth, Junho." He leans in again and Junho lets him, flattered and much more willing to cooperate, and just as their lips touch-the rice cooker clicks off.
Junho sighs, gently prodding Khun backwards. "I need to get that."
"No," Khun says stubbornly.
"I have to turn it off, I hate it if it stays on the keep warm setting. Please move?" He tries to look cute, which is a gamble because he doesn't do it very often, but it must work because Khun sighs and steps aside.
"You're a tease," he accuses.
Junho says nothing, but makes sure to brush against him with most of his body when he moves past.
+
The bulgogi tastes like nothing he's ever eaten before but Junho decides it's passable, and teaching Khun how to parcel meat in lettuce is worth it for the wide-eyed look of pleasure on his face.
Once they finish they leave their dishes out and make preparations for Wooyoung's game to start. Khun makes some popcorn in the microwave while Junho rearranges the couch to his liking, taking up most of the room and not caring.
"Your parents live in Thailand, right?" he calls, adjusting the pillow under his butt. "You should cook Thai for me next time."
Khun practically leaps into the room, a large grin on his face, still managing to keep a massive bowl steady. Junho envies his agility. "Next time? Already thinking about our future?"
"Thinking about food," he corrects lamely, rolling his eyes, even as it sinks in that-yeah, he had been, and he hadn't even known it. It had just felt… natural.
"Food is the way to a man's heart, or so they say." Khun lifts Junho's feet and slides under them before letting them drop back onto his thighs. "I like to think that a sincere soul works just as well."
"Ugh, you're so corny," Junho grumbles.
Khun says nothing, and they sit in comfortable silence for a few moments until Khun says, "Wait..." He points at the television. "Did Wooyoung just grab his-" he hesitates, before adding, almost primly, "underwear?"
Junho looks and sure enough Wooyoung is at his end of the court, practicing his serving. He snickers as Wooyoung does it again. "It's his pre-point ritual. Some people bounce the ball a lot, some people wear certain clothing, Wooyoung likes to adjust his… shorts. How have you only noticed it now?"
"I was too busy watching you last time."
Junho ignores him and unmutes the TV as Wooyoung's statistics flash onscreen, listening instead to the commentators' ramblings about Wooyoung's history and Wooyoung's promise and Wooyoung's chance of winning.
"He's not getting enough height on his serve," Junho murmurs, also noticing the way Wooyoung's fingers are clenched too tightly around his racket. "He's way too nervous."
"Not that you'd know it," Khun says.
Which may be true for the average audience, since Wooyoung has his well-practiced poker face on, but Junho doesn't even notice that anymore. He knows Wooyoung too well to take anything he does at face value.
"Do you think he can win?" Khun asks, once the footage shifts to Wooyoung's opponent.
"I don't know," Junho admits. "His groin was tight earlier but if he works through it then-" He stops as Khun makes a strange noise and finally looks over to find Khun staring at him, the flickering light of the TV casting shadows over his face where his eyebrows are drawn together. "What?"
Khun shakes his head, casually picking through the popcorn. "Are you that intimate with all of Wooyoung's injuries?" he asks, and Junho can tell he's trying very hard to seem indifferent.
"You really are an idiot," Junho says. Khun looks at him. He looks back. He grabs Khun's neck and Khun goes with the motion as he pulls him forwards, aiming for a kiss.
"Wait," Khun protests half-heartedly, "what about the game?"
"I'll watch the replay," Junho says. Their lips touch before Khun can respond, and the popcorn tips up and spills all over the floor.
+
Wooyoung wins, but really, Junho thinks, so does he.
+
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