fanfiction: continue to revolve
Title: continue to revolve
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Onho
Summary: "Backstory on the cute airport chin on shoulder moments." - mykidsatemykpopfeels
A/N: 2675 words. As per usual, wouldn't have written a word without Sara. She puts up with a lot. :( This was supposed to be really short and easy, and HA that didn't happen.
Usually his body stiffens the instant contact is made, joints locked and mind following to deduce whether or not said touch could be trusted. He’s never been the type to enjoy being taken by surprise: a fan grabbing his hand, a stranger poking his back, or even a friend hugging him from behind. Perhaps it’s irrationally fussy, but Jinki prefers to be completely aware of his immediate surroundings - even if he’s damn good at hiding this particular disposition.
This instance however, marks one of those rare exceptions, aside from his mother and her nurturing hands. Despite the surely overcrowded environment, fans equipped with oversized DSLRs, fellow disgruntled passengers, and airport staff trying to create a semblance of order, Jinki has a noticeably absent reaction as an unexpected weight falls against his shoulder blade, heavy but not uncomfortable. The sensation is all too familiar, the slight scent of cinnamon and a small intake of breath as the warmth seeps through his jacket.
“Hyung.”
The singsong and playful voice, sinking like syrup into his ears, Jinki appreciates but does not require the extra cue. A smile curls at his lips, the reminder that he’s had more than half a decade to become accustomed to this position, Minho’s head resting gently against his shoulder. A vain part of himself believes - hopes - that the younger man behaves this way for his affections, a private plea for his attention. But, then again - Jinki smiles wistfully as he knows the truth better than anyone - he is the very culprit who brought this situation upon the both of them.
The dimly lit 5th floor hallway, Jinki years younger and face still round with leftover baby fat, taking his leave from evening vocal practice. Things had gone well, his coach as impressed as ever and the generous reward to leave an hour early, which truly meant a lot in Jinki’s sleep deprived highschooler condition. With a pair of outdoor sneakers pulled over his ankles and black bag slung over his shoulder, it was then and there that he happened to pause, paces away from the elevator.
Behind the first door of the floor, Jinki was drawn to two voices from a practice session, probably not meant to be overheard by prying ears. The need for privacy was increasingly obvious as a raw chord was struck in Jinki’s chest, the desperate voice of a trainee being constantly reprimanded by a less than kind authority figure. Painfully difficult strings of English syllables were drilled at rapid fire, something Jinki actually found quite impressive. Of course, he was no instructor and the man behind the door seemed hardly amused, lashing out at the slightest of stumbles and imperfections.
It felt grossly invasive on Jinki’s part, to listen in on a peer getting torn apart, but he convinced himself that the incomprehensible display of dedication was what compelled him to stay. For all the abuse - for fuck’s sake, even targeting the lisp that was working with a foreign language no less - the trainee only seemed more determined. Each passing second, the inexperienced voice grew in volume (not that volume could really help), enunciation crisper and tone bolder.
Somehow, it all floored Jinki, literally. Slipping to the ground, Jinki’s head slid back against the wall, eyes pointed at the ceiling. That was how his hour of freedom passed, empathetic ears straining to hear a Korean boy belt out words of unknown meaning.
By the time the session ended, Jinki’s eyes were already fluttering shut, the soreness in his chest and fatigue in his limbs overwhelming. His snap back to reality was the trainee’s firm salute of farewell and the dawning shock that Jinki was still right there, outside the door and clearly eavesdropping. When the door clicked open, Jinki barely had the time to gather his belongings and scramble clumsily to the elevator.
Not that it mattered.
A freezing numbness took over his body as Jinki bit his bottom lip, standing before the elevator - with a companion no less. It took only one sideway glance to know how badly he screwed up and how completely dumb he was because anyone, anyone would have recognized the person standing next to him, a boyishly handsome face and legs for days. This particular trainee was already on the guaranteed road to idol stardom, celebrated and respected by peers - a stark contrast to Jinki’s shaky path.
Jinki looked to his hands and could see them tremble, could feel the way the blood was rushing through his veins, heart pulsing, lub dub lub dub. He really could not make himself anymore obvious, a nervous fidget to shake his body loose, short inhalations to catch his breath. He mind as well kiss his days of peaceful obscurity goodbye and welcome his disparate future, cruel harassment by every well-known trainee in the company.
“Did you just finish too hyung?”
Great, it seemed like Choi Minho wanted to draw out the inevitable punishment, prolonging Jinki’s cruel demise. Even the damned elevator was not on Jinki’s side, still floors away from allowing a quick escape.
“Yeah. Just a few minutes ago.”
Not that Jinki couldn’t feign some composure. His speciality always was to flash a charming smile before acting natural.
“That’s great.”
Although he could not say the same about Minho, the youth’s response unexpected but obviously strained: chiseled jaw locked into place, a watery smile that betrayed his distant and hurt eyes. Jinki had to admit, it was probably the first time he had seen any less than a smile from Minho, the guy who was usually freakishly positive no matter the situation. Unfortunately for Jinki, this disparity meant that from some small and repressed space, his conscience would take precedent.
In other words, the countdown was on for Jinki to act incredibly stupid.
“You don’t have to fake it okay?” The words left Jinki’s lips before he could comprehend them. “Contact your minions so they can rip me a new one.”
“Pardon?” Minho’s arms lay loose by his side, eyes wide with confusion and a hint of disbelief. “Minions?”
“You don’t need to beat around the bush.” Jinki really disliked playing the game of naivety and would prefer to end it sooner than later. With his brows furrowed, he stared at the elevator door, not quite brave enough to look Minho in the eyes but still brave enough to advance straight to the point. “You saw me snooping so call me out on it.”
“Ah.” The shock was evident in Minho’s eyes before his features could soften from the dawning realization. “It’s not a big deal hyung.”
Followed up by a forced smile from the handsome boy, Minho’s slender fingers grazed the back of his neck. “I mean if I heard something as awful as that... I would have too--”
Not a second too early, the arrival of the elevator was finally signaled by a chime from opening doors. It was a little brash thinking back on it, but Jinki took ahold of Minho’s wrist, pulling the boy into the elevator with him. He could only stand each word of self-deprecation for so long before frustration took over. Jinki may have been the third party, but even he knew the criticism was undeserved.
“You were great okay? Fuck that old guy. When you said that ‘she shells seashells by the seashore’ thing, that was great-”
“Sells seashells.”
“What?”
“It’s sells seashells.”
The awkwardness of the situation reached Jinki then, the understanding that Minho’s hands were grasped firmly in his own as he looked up at the guy with the gaze of a madman. Minho however, seemed to take in the situation as well as any functioning teenager could, overall expression perplexed but attitude still relatively calm.
Jinki withdrew instantly, allowing his gaze to fall to his feet in a feeble attempt to cover his burning cheeks.
“Uh. What I meant to say is.” Jinki took pause for three seconds, the time necessary to muster enough courage to look into Minho’s brown eyes. “I’m sorry.”
Subsequently, Minho’s reaction was unreadable (albeit there was possibly a hint of a smile?) as he suddenly dropped forward, hands on his knees. Yet again, within their brief time together that day, Minho left Jinki surprised, and a little more than uncertain of what to do next.
Was he okay?
Minho’s body started to shake.
Or maybe he was angry.
Jinki could only presume the latter option, all things considered.
“You can totally punch me.” Under this train of thought, Jinki allowed his flawed (and hasty) reasoning to get the better of him. “Right in the gut! No need to hesitate just because I’m older!”
Minho didn’t respond. Of course, Jinki took it as a sign to ramble on.
“You have to be upset after going through that.” Jinki began to stutter over his words, a fool trying to be helpful while reaching blindly in the dark. His sole vantage point was looking down at the back of Minho’s head, which honestly didn’t help much. “Pretend I’m your instructor and take a good whack. Or heck, just hit me since I was pretty terrible too!”
For all the absurdity of Jinki’s misguided enthusiasm, Minho merely shook his head at the offer.
“Hey uh.” Jinki couldn’t help but feel like he was talking to himself, his gut reaction afterward telling him to approach the form that was shrinking in on itself. Sometimes physical contact could be more effective than verbal comments right? “I’m sorry. I’m not really good at this.”
A step forward followed by a timid hand, Jinki’s palm eventually came to rest on Minho’s shoulder. If it weren’t for his focus, breaths silent and ears attentive, Jinki would have not caught the minute response, a slight tremble accompanied by a whisper quiet sniffle.
“Minho.” Jinki frowned, overly familiar with the symptoms of bottling. “You could-- you could cry too you know.”
“You know it’s okay to cry a little, right?” Jinki moved in closer, having prattled on far too much to really back out now. “Hey, stand up.”
Although, perhaps Jinki should have thought more thoroughly about his suggestion before making it, Minho rising to his feet and startling the older teen. Promptly, Jinki was reminded that he was indeed a lot shorter that Minho despite their age difference. Being cramped inside a small box didn’t help matters, the two males standing toe to toe, Jinki’s mouth inches away from Minho’s collarbones. Their proximity felt a bit too close for comfort, which Jinki was not in the least hesitant to address.
“Minho, if you could mo--”
“Hyung.”
A painful twinge returned to Jinki’s chest as his speech was cut short by a vulnerable plea. Pupils rolling up, Jinki caught glimpse of it, damp eyes and quivering blue lips.
“You said it’s okay to cry right?”
Mouth open and soundless air passing through, it was a foreign sensation for Jinki to be at a loss for words. He had no choice but to resort to nodding dumbly, his silent affirmation to the question. Jinki would have the chance to blink only once more before Minho’s figure confronted him.
Abruptly, with arms wrapping around his waist, the pads of Jinki’s toes reflexively braced against the ground to support the weight that fell upon him. He grunted from the impact, a little surprised, a little dumbfounded. If it had been any other scenario, Jinki imagined he would have surely thrown the person off in utter revulsion. But, maybe due to the obvious stiffness in trembling bones, the cool feel of Minho’s tan skin, the realization that someone taller than him could still feel so small in his arms - Jinki refrained.
Instead, Jinki pressed his lips into a thin line, met by the urgent need to do something, anything. He already knew he wasn’t good at these types of things, but heck there must have been a reason his mother sobbed at the compassionate leads in romantic dramas - might as well take the cue.
Chin resting against Minho’s neck, Jinki took the awkward angle to watch his right hand rest against the small of Minho’s back. The left travelled higher, patting Minho’s shoulder in an an uneven rhythm, nothing like the way a responsible adult would comfort a child, but the best Jinki could manage in his sixteen years of finite wisdom.
“You did-” With hesitation, Jinki chewed his bottom lip. “You did great.”
A soft hiccup, and Jinki found himself witness to the unravelling of Minho’s defenses.
The tickle of hair against his neck, limp frame in his arms, a wetness soaking through his school uniform and into his shoulder, Jinki held back his own suffocating remorse. Perhaps it was something contagious, empathy for the despondency that came along with enduring abuse in the name of an impossible goal. Jinki blinked back tears.
As they reached the first floor, doors sliding open to an empty foyer, Jinki’s grasp tightened around Minho, the youth still buried in his shoulder. Impulsive and not the most rational of decisions (But frankly, why not add another one to the tally?), Jinki took a free hand and quickly pressed the button for every floor. The metallic doors slid to a close, and the elevator jerked before beginning its ascent. Their commitments could wait.
That was the first and last time Jinki would see Minho cry - at least in sadness.
Minho’s head lifts from his shoulder, proximity absent for only mere milliseconds as the hairs on Jinki’s neck stir, a sudden puff of hot air wafting over sensitive skin. Minho’s flirtations cause Jinki to grin as round lips press near, following whisper a cheeky and mischievous timbre, unlike everything you would expect from the silky baritone.
“Hyung, you should probably help Taemin out.”
Minho’s slender finger points to the specific problem, the stiff label of a brand new hat digging into their maknae’s irritated skin.
“I don’t know if I want to,” Jinki replies quietly, playfulness mirrored in his own expression for only Minho to see. Hiding from onlookers behind a plane ticket and passport had become one of the tools of the trade. “It’s kind of cute when he scratches his neck like that.”
Minho rolls his eyes behind dark sunglasses, coincidentally another tool of the trade. “Don’t be mean.” The pouting tone from round red lips, something Jinki would never admit to adoring. “Look how tired he is.”
Thinking about the three hour journey ahead, Jinki relents, raising a hand to push the black label back under Taemin’s beanie. Naturally, Taemin doesn’t even respond to the gesture, used to being cared for by the other members.
His valiant effort having gone without acknowledgement, Jinki looks back at Minho, the initial plan to glare at the man in annoyance. Instead, the amusement is plainly evident on Jinki’s features, wrinkled crescent eyes and a toothy grin. Well, even if his face refused to show it, at least he could fake it with his voice.
“Happy now?” Jinki can’t resist nudging Minho once.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” Minho jerks away, stepping a few paces ahead while responding with false astonishment. However, this boyish act turns out to be brief as at the last second, Minho withdraws, concealing his expression by having his head turned away. Jinki’s own smile almost sours at this action, but is halted by the fact that Minho could only conceal so much for so long. The younger man’s voice is noticeably muted but sweet as he speaks once more.
“I’ve got you hyung.”
Jinki doesn’t stop, keeps walking forward in casual strides, shoulders slouched in a show of nonchalance. Except, with the rising heat tinting his cheeks, an inelegant grin on his lips, and fingers fidgeting, it takes every piece of willpower for Jinki to resist the urge to slide his beanie over his face.
He really really hates it when he lets Minho get the last word.
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Onho
Summary: "Backstory on the cute airport chin on shoulder moments." - mykidsatemykpopfeels
A/N: 2675 words. As per usual, wouldn't have written a word without Sara. She puts up with a lot. :( This was supposed to be really short and easy, and HA that didn't happen.
Usually his body stiffens the instant contact is made, joints locked and mind following to deduce whether or not said touch could be trusted. He’s never been the type to enjoy being taken by surprise: a fan grabbing his hand, a stranger poking his back, or even a friend hugging him from behind. Perhaps it’s irrationally fussy, but Jinki prefers to be completely aware of his immediate surroundings - even if he’s damn good at hiding this particular disposition.
This instance however, marks one of those rare exceptions, aside from his mother and her nurturing hands. Despite the surely overcrowded environment, fans equipped with oversized DSLRs, fellow disgruntled passengers, and airport staff trying to create a semblance of order, Jinki has a noticeably absent reaction as an unexpected weight falls against his shoulder blade, heavy but not uncomfortable. The sensation is all too familiar, the slight scent of cinnamon and a small intake of breath as the warmth seeps through his jacket.
“Hyung.”
The singsong and playful voice, sinking like syrup into his ears, Jinki appreciates but does not require the extra cue. A smile curls at his lips, the reminder that he’s had more than half a decade to become accustomed to this position, Minho’s head resting gently against his shoulder. A vain part of himself believes - hopes - that the younger man behaves this way for his affections, a private plea for his attention. But, then again - Jinki smiles wistfully as he knows the truth better than anyone - he is the very culprit who brought this situation upon the both of them.
The dimly lit 5th floor hallway, Jinki years younger and face still round with leftover baby fat, taking his leave from evening vocal practice. Things had gone well, his coach as impressed as ever and the generous reward to leave an hour early, which truly meant a lot in Jinki’s sleep deprived highschooler condition. With a pair of outdoor sneakers pulled over his ankles and black bag slung over his shoulder, it was then and there that he happened to pause, paces away from the elevator.
Behind the first door of the floor, Jinki was drawn to two voices from a practice session, probably not meant to be overheard by prying ears. The need for privacy was increasingly obvious as a raw chord was struck in Jinki’s chest, the desperate voice of a trainee being constantly reprimanded by a less than kind authority figure. Painfully difficult strings of English syllables were drilled at rapid fire, something Jinki actually found quite impressive. Of course, he was no instructor and the man behind the door seemed hardly amused, lashing out at the slightest of stumbles and imperfections.
It felt grossly invasive on Jinki’s part, to listen in on a peer getting torn apart, but he convinced himself that the incomprehensible display of dedication was what compelled him to stay. For all the abuse - for fuck’s sake, even targeting the lisp that was working with a foreign language no less - the trainee only seemed more determined. Each passing second, the inexperienced voice grew in volume (not that volume could really help), enunciation crisper and tone bolder.
Somehow, it all floored Jinki, literally. Slipping to the ground, Jinki’s head slid back against the wall, eyes pointed at the ceiling. That was how his hour of freedom passed, empathetic ears straining to hear a Korean boy belt out words of unknown meaning.
By the time the session ended, Jinki’s eyes were already fluttering shut, the soreness in his chest and fatigue in his limbs overwhelming. His snap back to reality was the trainee’s firm salute of farewell and the dawning shock that Jinki was still right there, outside the door and clearly eavesdropping. When the door clicked open, Jinki barely had the time to gather his belongings and scramble clumsily to the elevator.
Not that it mattered.
A freezing numbness took over his body as Jinki bit his bottom lip, standing before the elevator - with a companion no less. It took only one sideway glance to know how badly he screwed up and how completely dumb he was because anyone, anyone would have recognized the person standing next to him, a boyishly handsome face and legs for days. This particular trainee was already on the guaranteed road to idol stardom, celebrated and respected by peers - a stark contrast to Jinki’s shaky path.
Jinki looked to his hands and could see them tremble, could feel the way the blood was rushing through his veins, heart pulsing, lub dub lub dub. He really could not make himself anymore obvious, a nervous fidget to shake his body loose, short inhalations to catch his breath. He mind as well kiss his days of peaceful obscurity goodbye and welcome his disparate future, cruel harassment by every well-known trainee in the company.
“Did you just finish too hyung?”
Great, it seemed like Choi Minho wanted to draw out the inevitable punishment, prolonging Jinki’s cruel demise. Even the damned elevator was not on Jinki’s side, still floors away from allowing a quick escape.
“Yeah. Just a few minutes ago.”
Not that Jinki couldn’t feign some composure. His speciality always was to flash a charming smile before acting natural.
“That’s great.”
Although he could not say the same about Minho, the youth’s response unexpected but obviously strained: chiseled jaw locked into place, a watery smile that betrayed his distant and hurt eyes. Jinki had to admit, it was probably the first time he had seen any less than a smile from Minho, the guy who was usually freakishly positive no matter the situation. Unfortunately for Jinki, this disparity meant that from some small and repressed space, his conscience would take precedent.
In other words, the countdown was on for Jinki to act incredibly stupid.
“You don’t have to fake it okay?” The words left Jinki’s lips before he could comprehend them. “Contact your minions so they can rip me a new one.”
“Pardon?” Minho’s arms lay loose by his side, eyes wide with confusion and a hint of disbelief. “Minions?”
“You don’t need to beat around the bush.” Jinki really disliked playing the game of naivety and would prefer to end it sooner than later. With his brows furrowed, he stared at the elevator door, not quite brave enough to look Minho in the eyes but still brave enough to advance straight to the point. “You saw me snooping so call me out on it.”
“Ah.” The shock was evident in Minho’s eyes before his features could soften from the dawning realization. “It’s not a big deal hyung.”
Followed up by a forced smile from the handsome boy, Minho’s slender fingers grazed the back of his neck. “I mean if I heard something as awful as that... I would have too--”
Not a second too early, the arrival of the elevator was finally signaled by a chime from opening doors. It was a little brash thinking back on it, but Jinki took ahold of Minho’s wrist, pulling the boy into the elevator with him. He could only stand each word of self-deprecation for so long before frustration took over. Jinki may have been the third party, but even he knew the criticism was undeserved.
“You were great okay? Fuck that old guy. When you said that ‘she shells seashells by the seashore’ thing, that was great-”
“Sells seashells.”
“What?”
“It’s sells seashells.”
The awkwardness of the situation reached Jinki then, the understanding that Minho’s hands were grasped firmly in his own as he looked up at the guy with the gaze of a madman. Minho however, seemed to take in the situation as well as any functioning teenager could, overall expression perplexed but attitude still relatively calm.
Jinki withdrew instantly, allowing his gaze to fall to his feet in a feeble attempt to cover his burning cheeks.
“Uh. What I meant to say is.” Jinki took pause for three seconds, the time necessary to muster enough courage to look into Minho’s brown eyes. “I’m sorry.”
Subsequently, Minho’s reaction was unreadable (albeit there was possibly a hint of a smile?) as he suddenly dropped forward, hands on his knees. Yet again, within their brief time together that day, Minho left Jinki surprised, and a little more than uncertain of what to do next.
Was he okay?
Minho’s body started to shake.
Or maybe he was angry.
Jinki could only presume the latter option, all things considered.
“You can totally punch me.” Under this train of thought, Jinki allowed his flawed (and hasty) reasoning to get the better of him. “Right in the gut! No need to hesitate just because I’m older!”
Minho didn’t respond. Of course, Jinki took it as a sign to ramble on.
“You have to be upset after going through that.” Jinki began to stutter over his words, a fool trying to be helpful while reaching blindly in the dark. His sole vantage point was looking down at the back of Minho’s head, which honestly didn’t help much. “Pretend I’m your instructor and take a good whack. Or heck, just hit me since I was pretty terrible too!”
For all the absurdity of Jinki’s misguided enthusiasm, Minho merely shook his head at the offer.
“Hey uh.” Jinki couldn’t help but feel like he was talking to himself, his gut reaction afterward telling him to approach the form that was shrinking in on itself. Sometimes physical contact could be more effective than verbal comments right? “I’m sorry. I’m not really good at this.”
A step forward followed by a timid hand, Jinki’s palm eventually came to rest on Minho’s shoulder. If it weren’t for his focus, breaths silent and ears attentive, Jinki would have not caught the minute response, a slight tremble accompanied by a whisper quiet sniffle.
“Minho.” Jinki frowned, overly familiar with the symptoms of bottling. “You could-- you could cry too you know.”
“You know it’s okay to cry a little, right?” Jinki moved in closer, having prattled on far too much to really back out now. “Hey, stand up.”
Although, perhaps Jinki should have thought more thoroughly about his suggestion before making it, Minho rising to his feet and startling the older teen. Promptly, Jinki was reminded that he was indeed a lot shorter that Minho despite their age difference. Being cramped inside a small box didn’t help matters, the two males standing toe to toe, Jinki’s mouth inches away from Minho’s collarbones. Their proximity felt a bit too close for comfort, which Jinki was not in the least hesitant to address.
“Minho, if you could mo--”
“Hyung.”
A painful twinge returned to Jinki’s chest as his speech was cut short by a vulnerable plea. Pupils rolling up, Jinki caught glimpse of it, damp eyes and quivering blue lips.
“You said it’s okay to cry right?”
Mouth open and soundless air passing through, it was a foreign sensation for Jinki to be at a loss for words. He had no choice but to resort to nodding dumbly, his silent affirmation to the question. Jinki would have the chance to blink only once more before Minho’s figure confronted him.
Abruptly, with arms wrapping around his waist, the pads of Jinki’s toes reflexively braced against the ground to support the weight that fell upon him. He grunted from the impact, a little surprised, a little dumbfounded. If it had been any other scenario, Jinki imagined he would have surely thrown the person off in utter revulsion. But, maybe due to the obvious stiffness in trembling bones, the cool feel of Minho’s tan skin, the realization that someone taller than him could still feel so small in his arms - Jinki refrained.
Instead, Jinki pressed his lips into a thin line, met by the urgent need to do something, anything. He already knew he wasn’t good at these types of things, but heck there must have been a reason his mother sobbed at the compassionate leads in romantic dramas - might as well take the cue.
Chin resting against Minho’s neck, Jinki took the awkward angle to watch his right hand rest against the small of Minho’s back. The left travelled higher, patting Minho’s shoulder in an an uneven rhythm, nothing like the way a responsible adult would comfort a child, but the best Jinki could manage in his sixteen years of finite wisdom.
“You did-” With hesitation, Jinki chewed his bottom lip. “You did great.”
A soft hiccup, and Jinki found himself witness to the unravelling of Minho’s defenses.
The tickle of hair against his neck, limp frame in his arms, a wetness soaking through his school uniform and into his shoulder, Jinki held back his own suffocating remorse. Perhaps it was something contagious, empathy for the despondency that came along with enduring abuse in the name of an impossible goal. Jinki blinked back tears.
As they reached the first floor, doors sliding open to an empty foyer, Jinki’s grasp tightened around Minho, the youth still buried in his shoulder. Impulsive and not the most rational of decisions (But frankly, why not add another one to the tally?), Jinki took a free hand and quickly pressed the button for every floor. The metallic doors slid to a close, and the elevator jerked before beginning its ascent. Their commitments could wait.
That was the first and last time Jinki would see Minho cry - at least in sadness.
Minho’s head lifts from his shoulder, proximity absent for only mere milliseconds as the hairs on Jinki’s neck stir, a sudden puff of hot air wafting over sensitive skin. Minho’s flirtations cause Jinki to grin as round lips press near, following whisper a cheeky and mischievous timbre, unlike everything you would expect from the silky baritone.
“Hyung, you should probably help Taemin out.”
Minho’s slender finger points to the specific problem, the stiff label of a brand new hat digging into their maknae’s irritated skin.
“I don’t know if I want to,” Jinki replies quietly, playfulness mirrored in his own expression for only Minho to see. Hiding from onlookers behind a plane ticket and passport had become one of the tools of the trade. “It’s kind of cute when he scratches his neck like that.”
Minho rolls his eyes behind dark sunglasses, coincidentally another tool of the trade. “Don’t be mean.” The pouting tone from round red lips, something Jinki would never admit to adoring. “Look how tired he is.”
Thinking about the three hour journey ahead, Jinki relents, raising a hand to push the black label back under Taemin’s beanie. Naturally, Taemin doesn’t even respond to the gesture, used to being cared for by the other members.
His valiant effort having gone without acknowledgement, Jinki looks back at Minho, the initial plan to glare at the man in annoyance. Instead, the amusement is plainly evident on Jinki’s features, wrinkled crescent eyes and a toothy grin. Well, even if his face refused to show it, at least he could fake it with his voice.
“Happy now?” Jinki can’t resist nudging Minho once.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” Minho jerks away, stepping a few paces ahead while responding with false astonishment. However, this boyish act turns out to be brief as at the last second, Minho withdraws, concealing his expression by having his head turned away. Jinki’s own smile almost sours at this action, but is halted by the fact that Minho could only conceal so much for so long. The younger man’s voice is noticeably muted but sweet as he speaks once more.
“I’ve got you hyung.”
Jinki doesn’t stop, keeps walking forward in casual strides, shoulders slouched in a show of nonchalance. Except, with the rising heat tinting his cheeks, an inelegant grin on his lips, and fingers fidgeting, it takes every piece of willpower for Jinki to resist the urge to slide his beanie over his face.
He really really hates it when he lets Minho get the last word.