an armful of comfort → for anonymous
Title: an armful of comfort
Recipient: anonymous
Pairing(s): Xiumin/Tao
Rating: G
Word count: 4,600
Summary: 5 times Zitao hugs Minseok, and the 1 time Minseok hugs him in return
1.
Zitao picked up on the concept of skinship far quicker than any other foreign trainee Minseok had ever seen. In fact, he seemed to thrive in it, reciprocating touches and affections almost naturally. Minseok wondered if it was because he was used to the affection, or if it was merely out of a desire to feel wanted. While Yixing and Lu Han still shied away from wandering hands and grew stiff in hugs, Zitao would be quick to touch back and tug someone closer. His Korean was still barely conversational, but what he lacked in his words he made up for in his physical affections.
Naturally, Minseok thought that it was adorable. Not that it wasn’t hard to think of Zitao as anything but adorable - the other boy had called Minseok oppa the first time they had met, after all. Minseok had been really confused to hear a very obviously male voice refer to him as oppa, but Zitao was also very obviously Chinese.
It’ll probably serve as a funny story for when they debut, Minseok thought, smiling to himself at the memory. He caught himself then, suddenly remembering that he’s been in the trainee system for a little over two years. If they ever debut, that is, he added, and his smile faded.
“Hyung?” Zitao was staring at him. He put his mug on the table with a small clack and tilted his head. “Are you okay?”
Minseok shook his head, forcing out a smile. “Yeah,” he said. Don’t worry about me, he had wanted to add, but bit on it. The less he said, the better.
Zitao’s eyebrows are knitted together, as though he were searching for words to say. The silence dragged out on the table between them, and Minseok turned back to his cereal, thinking that Zitao had let the conversation drop.
But there’s a low drag of the wooden chair against parquet, followed by the soft patter of feet.
Then Zitao’s arms, warm and heavy, around Minseok’s shoulders.
“Don’t be sad,” Zitao muttered into Minseok’s hair. Minseok can smell toothpaste mint muted behind the slightly stronger tinge of coffee in Zitao’s breath.
They stay that way for a while. Minseok supposed Zitao was a little uncomfortable, since he’d have to bend to hook his chin over Minseok’s head, but he doesn’t shake him off or tense up, accepting the hug the same way he’s accepted everything that’s happened to him in his life.
He reached up and patted Zitao’s arm that’s wrapped over his neck. “I won’t,” he promised.
There was a small sigh of relief, and Zitao untangled himself from Minseok, drawing himself back to his full height and sitting back down on his chair. He’s smiling, the corners of his mouth pulled upwards, revealing the tips of his white teeth.
They caught each other’s eye, and Minseok returned the smile.
2.
Being a trainee wasn’t easy. It was tedious, repetitive, boring work, the same endless cycle day in, day out. Minseok supposed that other jobs carried the same prospects after a certain period of working, but it didn’t carry with them the same blind hopefulness that trainees had of debuting and being a star. Being a trainee wasn’t a career or even some kind of part-time job. It was a very tough means to a very uncertain end.
It’s been two and a half years, and Minseok isn’t sure why he’s still holding on.
They’re watching their dance trainer demonstrate the choreography that he had wanted them to try. There’s quite a lot of them cramped against one end of the small dance studio, but Minseok had managed to find himself in front with an unobstructed view.
He followed their trainer’s limbs as they curve to the music, imagining himself trying out the choreography as well, when he felt a weight on his shoulders, and then on the back of his head.
“Can’t see,” Zitao muttered, his arms snaking around Minseok’s middle so he could hold himself in place.
Zitao was warm, his weight on Minseok’s comforting, so he made no move to make Zitao let go. They stay that way throughout the demo, Zitao’s chin hooked on Minseok’s shoulder, his breath tickling Minseok’s ear.
It was comforting.
3.
Four months into Zitao’s arrival in S.M., it was announced that they would be picking the lineup for a new boyband. M1 and M2 had been scrapped ever since Moonkyu and Liu Chao left sometime last year. Minseok hadn’t made the cut back then, but he was going to make damned sure that he’d make the lineup this round.
He knew he wasn’t the best vocalist - the pair of new trainees, Baekhyun and Jongdae, had that part in spades - or even the best dancer, so Minseok knew that whatever he had he’d needed to show it all off to the best of his ability. Putting in extra time for vocal classes and dance practices was bitter work, and he hardly saw the outside world anymore, shuffling only between the apartment where the trainees lived and S.M., but he knew it had been all worth it when his name was called during the lineup announcement.
It was surreal, and he blocked out the cries of excitement from the rest of the boys - his future bandmates, Minseok reminded himself offhandedly - just to take a moment for himself. Almost three years of training and chasing a distant, barely visible dream, and he’d finally been told that he was almost there.
He was pulled out of his thoughts when he found himself being tackled to the ground, strong arms wrapped around his shoulders and chest.
“We’re in!” It was Zitao, and he was ecstatic. “Hyung, we’re in!”
“Yeah,” Minseok replied, pushing them upright so he could hug Zitao back. “We’re gonna debut.”
“We’re gonna debut!” Zitao repeated. He pulled himself away from Minseok, holding onto his elbows instead of his back, to give him a huge grin, then saying, yet again. “We’re in, hyung!”
Minseok gave Zitao’s arms a tight squeeze. “We are, Zitao,” he agreed, grinning back. “We are.”
4.
The stage lights were always blinding; their fans’ screams always deafening. Minseok had never felt smaller standing above the sea of white lights at their debut showcase. He tried to ground himself by looking at where his family was seated, trying to pick Minyoung out by her caramel-coloured hair, but it was too difficult.
Next to him, Baekhyun was in his element, telling the crowd about how he bathed with Sehun. It didn’t hit Minseok how that information was of any value to anyone - it was something they did everyday, after all; they lived in cramped quarters - until he flinched as the screams were kicked up a notch.
Oh god, they were idols.
China was so much more different that Minseok had ever expected. Everything, from the culture to the food, took a lot of getting used to. Jongdae seemed to fit in almost seamlessly, using the meagre Mandarin he’d learnt in his six months of lessons to make their fans swoon, and putting every bit of food served to him into his mouth, much to the delight of their hosts.
Minseok, however, had never been a particularly adventurous eater. He pushed the meat around on his plate, despite Lu Han’s explanations to what each piece was, and picked at his rice and vegetables instead. The Chinese boys looked so happy, stuffing their faces with food and chatting animatedly in a mix of Mandarin and Korean with their managers and each other. Jongdae joined in too, tilting his head in Yixing’s direction when he didn’t understand in order to get a reply.
“Eat,” Lu Han nudged him in the ribs. “It tastes like the meat in Korea, I promise.”
Minseok picked up the smallest piece of grilled chicken and put it inside his mouth.
Lu Han gave him a look, but nodded nonetheless. “That’s a start. Now eat the rest.”
It soon became a friendly challenge between the Chinese boys to figure out which foods of their native cuisine that Minseok would like. Mealtimes involved a table filled with all types of different dishes - vegetables cooked in so many different, uninmaginable ways, and enough meat to feed an army. He picked through them politely, tasting the ones that looked appealing to him and taking a few more bites of those that were palatable.
“Hyung, this is delicious!” Jongdae exclaimed, waving the stick of skewered scorpion and offering it to Minseok.
Scorpion. Minseok’s insides did a little tumble, and he shook his head.
Next to Jongdae, Yifan was giving Lu Han a glare and pulling out his wallet while Zitao points and laughs over a bowl of soup. Lu Han said something in Mandarin and accepted the money, then slung an arm around Minseok’s shoulder.
“Told Yifan Jongdae would eat anything. He didn’t believe me. I told him to feed Jongdae a scorpion and see if he’d eat it. I won,” he said, cockiness dripping from his voice.
Jongdae looked up from his scorpion, eyes narrowed. “You guys betted on me?!”
“Why not?” Yixing interjected from his other side. “You’ve eaten everything we’ve given you so far. Time to test the limits.”
Jongdae’s eyes were still narrowed for a moment. It relaxes then, and he takes another bite out of his scorpion. “I doubt you can find something I don’t like,” he says casually. “Food is great.”
Zitao giggles. “Famous last words.”
It turns out that Minseok’s palate wasn’t that picky, as the list of acceptable Chinese foods was pretty long and varied. While it was in no way as extensive as Jongdae’s, it was still good progress. He had a particular affinity to dim sum, which might be attributed to Lu Han’s constant chiming of baozi in his right ear, so they ate it frequently when in China.
But Minseok had yet to find a favourite.
A few months into their debut finds them in a stuffy, cramped restaurant in Beijing. It was a slight change to the expensive restaurants that they usually frequent, due to their privacy and exclusivity, but it was also Zitao’s suggestion, and no one could really say no to Zitao.
“This is called huo guo!” Zitao says excitedly, lifting the lid in the middle of the table to reveal an empty pot that was split in the middle. “This store’s the best in Beijing right now.”
Across the table Lu Han nods. “I’m surprised you know about this. It’s famous mostly due to word-of-mouth.”
“I was hopping through our fans’ weibos. One of them had pictures of the huo guo here, so I searched it up on Baidu,” Zitao explains. He’s vibrating in his seat, his eyes glinting with happiness. It must be one of his favourite dishes, Minseok thought.
“Savvy,” Yixing comments. Jongdae’s glued to his side to see the menu, his own expression one of utter joy, as always when exposed to new foods.
“We should just get everything,” Yifan says. “It’s not like we won’t be able to finish it.” He closes his menu and looks around to wave someone over.
Minseok used to be nervous at the prospect of ordering everything. He’d never been a big eater, and neither had his family, but being in EXO-M had proven that it was better to order in excess than to order less. There was always someone to finish up whatever remnants of food left behind, be it Jongdae or Zitao or even one of their managers or stylists.
Zitao is the one who names the foods in front of Minseok this time, turning occasionally to Lu Han or Yixing for translations of meat parts that he didn’t know the Korean names of. There was tripe and innards and meat from all other parts of the cow and pig that Minseok had trouble keeping up. All of it, as well as a whole lot of vegetables, went into the pot in the middle, and they nibbled on rice and side dishes while waiting for it to cook.
“Hyung, try stirring! It’s fun.” Zitao holds out the ladle, and Minseok thinks it’s cute how he thinks that stirring soup is fun. He indulges the younger boy, taking the ladle and standing up so he could stir it properly.
“When will it be cooked?” He asks.
“Soon, soon,” Zitao tells him, sounding like he was assuring Minseok, though he was probably more likely to be assuring himself.
Five minutes later Zitao declares that the meat is cooked and ready to be served. Lu Han immediately thrusts out his bowl, but Zitao scowls at it and pushes it away.
“Oldest first,” he tells him, taking Minseok’s bowl and scooping a whole bunch of stuff into it. Minseok is sure there’s an innard in there, and stares at the bowl when it’s set down in front of him.
It’s red, similar to how kimchi jjiggae looks, but perhaps with more oil. There’s tripe and that questionable innard sticking out under cabbage, and Minseok wonders if it’s beef or pork.
He doesn’t realise that the other boys are staring at him. Zitao hadn’t served anyone after him, putting down the ladle and looking expectantly at Minseok.
“Minseok, please just eat so the rest of us can eat too,” Yifan groans, rolling his eyes at Zitao. Zitao sticks his tongue out at him.
“Oh,” Minseok replies, picking up his chopsticks and digging in. He picks up a piece of cabbage - super safe! - and stuffs it into his mouth.
Wow. It’s delicious. It’s spicy, but not in the way Korean dishes are spicy - a slow throb under your nose - but this is a nice, solid kick to the back of his throat. Surprised, he picks up his spoon and drinks the soup.
“This is really good,” he says. He doesn’t realise that it’s the first time he’s outwardly praised anything he’s eaten until the words leave his mouth.
The other boys are staring at him, eyes wide.
“I win!” Zitao shouts, pumping his fist into the air before collapsing back onto his chair and pulling Minseok into a hug.
Minseok finds his cheek pressed against Zitao’s neck and warm, strong arms around his shoulders and chest. Across the table, Lu Han and Yifan are scowling at Zitao’s back, while Yixing and Jongdae look content. Another bet, then.
When Zitao pulls away his expression is one of pure excitement. He’s practically bouncing in his seat. “Is this your favourite so far, hyung?”
Minseok smiles, then considers it for a moment. “Hmm, I think I need to try another spoonful.” He does, scooping up a piece of carrot and a small piece of meat and chewing on it. The spiciness is to die for, he thinks, and the meat is well cooked and blends perfectly with the rest of the soup.
“Yeah, this is my favourite,” he concludes, and gets rewarded with another hug from Zitao.
5.
Minseok was a little homesick. It’s almost 4am in the morning and he can’t sleep, his head filled with all sorts of thoughts about EXO and S.M. and his friends and family. He wonders what Minyoung is doing, if she were studying hard in university, if she had settled on a major. He wonders if his parents were living comfortably with the money he’d sent them, if his dad had taken less days as Minseok had told him to. He wonders what his friends are doing, if some of them had graduated and found jobs.
It was hard to keep track of everyone he cared about when he’s an idol - he’s so busy in this little bubble of showbiz and entertainment; of being Xiumin, that he has little time to do anything else. Precious time off was sometimes used to sleep, or call home if the timing was right. But at awkward hours such as these when slumber seemed beyond his reach, all Minseok could do was wonder.
He tosses and turns on the bed, then gives up and gets out of bed in search for something to do. He can’t turn on the light - Zitao is sleeping soundly in the bed next to him - so he grabs his phone and curls up on the armchair in front of the TV instead.
KakaoTalk is filled with notifications from group chats as usual, and as much as Minseok misses his friends from high school, he doesn’t know where to pick up from the mass of texts that they have sent. He scrolls through them slowly, learning of their new experiences and struggles, and feels so, so distant from them. When he’s reached the end of the chat he replies a couple of questions he’s seen them ask, and asks a few generic questions in return, then closes the app.
His wallpaper stares back at him. It’s a picture of EXO from the backstage of their showcase, all twelve of them with their arms around each other and a myriad of nervous expressions on their faces.
They’ve changed since then, he realises. Jongdae’s gotten a lot more witty, replying to questions in interviews and shows in his limited Mandarin with so much easy confidence it’s easy to forget that he’s a foreigner. Yifan doesn’t slip up as often, and Lu Han no longer acts like he’s allergic to the microphone. Yixing still spaces off, but he snaps back to throw Yifan or Lu Han off their game, and it makes a good band dynamic.
Minseok, however, doesn’t know what he is, or what he wants to become.
Zitao wakes up earlier than Minseok does, shuffling around the room unzipping bags and pulling out toiletries. He’s not making much noise, but it’s enough to pull Minseok out of his slumber.
When Zitao notices that Minseok’s awake, he stops in his tracks and gives Minseok a smile.
“Good morning, hyung. I’m just gonna brush my teeth and head down to the gym, wanna come?”
Minseok rubs his eyes and sits up. “What time is it?” He mutters, groping for his phone.
Zitao pulls out his before Minseok can reach the phone on his bedside table. “6:45,” he tells him. “We have about two hours, I think, before we gotta leave.”
Two hours was enough time to do a quick workout, shower, then grab breakfast. “Sure,” he says, dragging himself out of bed and groping for a t-shirt. “Let’s go.”
Minseok expects Jongdae to be at the gym, but it’s just him and Zitao. There’s a woman in the gym besides them, jogging on the treadmill with earphones in. She doesn’t notice them walk in.
“Help me stretch?” Zitao asks. He’s already seated on the floor, legs spread and leaning forward. He gives Minseok a sheepish grin, and makes to reach for his toes.
Minseok does, going behind him and pressing him down. Zitao stretches with a groan, and Minseok holds him down for a full ten seconds before letting him back up. They repeat the movement some five times in complete silence before Zitao finally breaks it.
“Are you happy here, hyung?” He asks.
The question catches Minseok by surprise. He pauses, letting go of Zitao before the ten seconds is up. Zitao turns, his head tilted, confused.
“What are you thinking about?” Zitao prods gently.
“I-” Minseok begins, then sits back on his heels. “I don’t know if this is what I want.”
Zitao turns his body and crosses his legs under him. “But are you liking this?” He makes a vague gesture with his hand. “All of this. Being an idol. Being Xiumin.”
Minseok thinks of screaming fans at the airport. So many bodies around him, so many voices in his ear; a neverending cacophony of chaos that only stops when they get onto the plane. He thinks of sitting in the middle of the practice room at 3am in the morning, t-shirt translucent with sweat and hair sticking to his forehead, eyes blank as he stares at his own reflection. He thinks of Junmyeon with him and Lu Han in Seoul, talking with hushed voices about the little cracks within their group of twelve.
He thinks of the hustle and bustle of their makeup and styling team before every performance, checking against lists to see that every one of them is exactly the way their image demands them to be - every pore and blemish covered, clothes pressed creaseless and hair coiffed up with hairspray. The stage lights are blinding even in his memories, the sea of heads bobbing under him indistinguishable from each other - the anonymous, faceless void that they call their fans.
“I don’t know,” he ends up telling Zitao, only to get a disappointed sigh in return.
Minseok drones about for the rest of the day, finding it hard to snap out of his low mood. The rest of M had taken notice and tried to cheer him up, but he really couldn’t find it in himself to brighten up.
“Hyung, what’s up?” Jongdae asks when they’re finally done with schedules for the day. “You seem so down.”
“It’s nothing,” he tells him. “Just tired, that’s all.”
Jongdae’s lips twist into a frown, but he doesn’t press it. He pulls out a box of snack from somewhere and offers it to Minseok. It’s a box of chocopie, and it makes Minseok smile, just a little. He takes one and eats it, savouring the taste of home and childhood, looks out of the window, and wonders.
Zitao’s uncharacteristically quiet when they get back to their hotel room. Minseok asks him if he can use the bathroom first, and Zitao avoids his eye and gives a sharp nod. He’s dozing on the armchair when Minseok comes out, phone held loosely in his hand and on the verge of falling, so Minseok goes over and plucks it out before it hits the ground.
“Hyung,” Zitao calls when he’s turning away. “Don’t walk away.”
Minseok turns back. “I’m not.”
Zitao frowns. He looks a little frustrated, and Minseok suddenly understands. He’d been closing himself off to Zitao that the other boy now feels frustrated interacting with him.
“I’m sorry,” he says, then pauses. For not saying much? He doesn’t know what exactly he’s sorry for.
“Hyung, don’t be sorry,” Zitao stops him. “And don’t.” He stops and makes a garbled sound, then gets up from his seat. “We’re here. We care about you.”
Minseok doesn’t know what to say.
“I don’t know if you don’t trust us, but it makes me sad to see you closing yourself off.” He pauses and reaches out to touch Minseok on the arm - it’s light, but it’s comforting in a way that Minseok hadn’t ever felt before. “I’m here for you. If you need me.”
Minseok looks at Zitao and sees a scared and yet, fiercely determined Chinese boy who came alone from his hometown in Qingdao. He sees someone exceedingly loyal and endearing, someone that Minseok is supposed to protect, being one of the youngest boys in their twelve-member team.
Zitao looks lost, standing an arm’s length away. Minseok wants to say something, but he really doesn’t know what to reply, so he ducks his head. He’s embarrassed by his lack of words - he wishes that just once, he’d be able to find something to say to Zitao.
It’s then that Zitao steps forward and closes the gap between them, pulling Minseok into a fierce hug that has him stumbling into Zitao’s shoulder. Zitao shifts his hands, slides one up to clutch at Minseok’s shoulder, and the other curled around his waist. He rests his chin on the top of Minseok’s head, and it makes Minseok feel small, but at the same time, safe.
He slides his hands up Zitao’s back, feeling the bumps of his spine and the knobs of his shoulderblades, and closes his eyes.
When Minseok wakes up, they’re tangled together on Zitao’s bed. Zitao’s snoring lightly in his sleep, his breath ticklish against Minseok’s ear. He has a leg strung across Minseok’s and an arm under Minseok’s head. His fingers are curled in the hem of Minseok’s t-shirt, and Minseok doesn’t ever want to pull away.
The clock on the bedside table tells him that he has an hour or so till they’d have to get up to catch their flight back to Seoul, so Minseok curls himself into Zitao’s embrace, sliding his hands around Zitao’s waist and pulling him closer. He sticks his nose against Zitao’s collarbone and breathes in his scent - hotel soap and musk and that earthy scent of boy - and goes back to sleep.
+1.
There's just something about Zitao that drew Minseok in. Perhaps it's how childlike he was -- his actions and words innocent and naive, a sign that he hadn't yet been blemished by the cruelty of life. Never before had Minseok felt such a strong urge to protect someone that wasn't his younger sister.
Until he met Zitao, of course.
It didn't make any sense that of all the people he'd develop a protective urge towards, it would be for a 185cm tall martial artist who possessed a glare that could possibly cause a serial killer to wet his pants out of fear. But then again, Zitao only looked terrifying, but was actually, surprisingly, a large teddy bear. Minseok took a week to learn this, after finding Zitao curled up on his bed crying from homesickness.
He looked so small, so vulnerable, wrapped in his blankets, the Zitao-bundle shivering slightly with every sob he let out. It stirred something in Minseok, and he sat next to the lump and reached out to pat a bump that he'd thought was Zitao's shoulder.
Zitao had stilled then, but didn't emerge from the bundle.
“Hey,” Minseok began. If you need someone to talk to, I’m here, he wants to say. But Zitao’s Korean hasn’t really reached a point in which they are able to hold a conversation. It’s only been some three weeks since Zitao appeared in the practice room calling out oppa to Minseok. It’ll probably serve as a joke when they debut, Minseok had thought, but at that point in time, language was that large cavern that separates them both.
He rubbed the Zitao-bump instead, and felt relieved when Zitao’s sobs ceased and he lay still in his cocoon, the only movement the steady rhythm of his breathing.
Minseok wondered if he was asleep. He considered asking, but that might break the moment. He started to pull away then, as gently as he possibly could.
“Hyung?” Zitao’s voice was unsure, coming out as a little squeak. The buddle squirmed, and Zitao’s face peeked out from the top of the covers, his eyes puffy and glistening with shed tears. “Going?”
“Do you want me to stay?” Minseok asked.
It took a moment for the question to sink in, Zitao’s eyebrows furrowed slightly as he took in the still-unfamiliar Korean words. Minseok opened his mouth to repeat the question, but Zitao nodded.
“Okay,” Minseok slid back onto the bed, settling into a comfortable position by Zitao’s side. He raised his hand to rest on Zitao’s shoulder, a little unsure if it was what Zitao had wanted.
Zitao leaned into the touch and closed his eyes, and soon Minseok found himself curling around Zitao and falling asleep too.
Author's note: i’m so sorry if you were expecting cute fluffy cuddle fic that evolved into sexytimes. i hope you like this anyway!
Recipient: anonymous
Pairing(s): Xiumin/Tao
Rating: G
Word count: 4,600
Summary: 5 times Zitao hugs Minseok, and the 1 time Minseok hugs him in return
1.
Zitao picked up on the concept of skinship far quicker than any other foreign trainee Minseok had ever seen. In fact, he seemed to thrive in it, reciprocating touches and affections almost naturally. Minseok wondered if it was because he was used to the affection, or if it was merely out of a desire to feel wanted. While Yixing and Lu Han still shied away from wandering hands and grew stiff in hugs, Zitao would be quick to touch back and tug someone closer. His Korean was still barely conversational, but what he lacked in his words he made up for in his physical affections.
Naturally, Minseok thought that it was adorable. Not that it wasn’t hard to think of Zitao as anything but adorable - the other boy had called Minseok oppa the first time they had met, after all. Minseok had been really confused to hear a very obviously male voice refer to him as oppa, but Zitao was also very obviously Chinese.
It’ll probably serve as a funny story for when they debut, Minseok thought, smiling to himself at the memory. He caught himself then, suddenly remembering that he’s been in the trainee system for a little over two years. If they ever debut, that is, he added, and his smile faded.
“Hyung?” Zitao was staring at him. He put his mug on the table with a small clack and tilted his head. “Are you okay?”
Minseok shook his head, forcing out a smile. “Yeah,” he said. Don’t worry about me, he had wanted to add, but bit on it. The less he said, the better.
Zitao’s eyebrows are knitted together, as though he were searching for words to say. The silence dragged out on the table between them, and Minseok turned back to his cereal, thinking that Zitao had let the conversation drop.
But there’s a low drag of the wooden chair against parquet, followed by the soft patter of feet.
Then Zitao’s arms, warm and heavy, around Minseok’s shoulders.
“Don’t be sad,” Zitao muttered into Minseok’s hair. Minseok can smell toothpaste mint muted behind the slightly stronger tinge of coffee in Zitao’s breath.
They stay that way for a while. Minseok supposed Zitao was a little uncomfortable, since he’d have to bend to hook his chin over Minseok’s head, but he doesn’t shake him off or tense up, accepting the hug the same way he’s accepted everything that’s happened to him in his life.
He reached up and patted Zitao’s arm that’s wrapped over his neck. “I won’t,” he promised.
There was a small sigh of relief, and Zitao untangled himself from Minseok, drawing himself back to his full height and sitting back down on his chair. He’s smiling, the corners of his mouth pulled upwards, revealing the tips of his white teeth.
They caught each other’s eye, and Minseok returned the smile.
2.
Being a trainee wasn’t easy. It was tedious, repetitive, boring work, the same endless cycle day in, day out. Minseok supposed that other jobs carried the same prospects after a certain period of working, but it didn’t carry with them the same blind hopefulness that trainees had of debuting and being a star. Being a trainee wasn’t a career or even some kind of part-time job. It was a very tough means to a very uncertain end.
It’s been two and a half years, and Minseok isn’t sure why he’s still holding on.
They’re watching their dance trainer demonstrate the choreography that he had wanted them to try. There’s quite a lot of them cramped against one end of the small dance studio, but Minseok had managed to find himself in front with an unobstructed view.
He followed their trainer’s limbs as they curve to the music, imagining himself trying out the choreography as well, when he felt a weight on his shoulders, and then on the back of his head.
“Can’t see,” Zitao muttered, his arms snaking around Minseok’s middle so he could hold himself in place.
Zitao was warm, his weight on Minseok’s comforting, so he made no move to make Zitao let go. They stay that way throughout the demo, Zitao’s chin hooked on Minseok’s shoulder, his breath tickling Minseok’s ear.
It was comforting.
3.
Four months into Zitao’s arrival in S.M., it was announced that they would be picking the lineup for a new boyband. M1 and M2 had been scrapped ever since Moonkyu and Liu Chao left sometime last year. Minseok hadn’t made the cut back then, but he was going to make damned sure that he’d make the lineup this round.
He knew he wasn’t the best vocalist - the pair of new trainees, Baekhyun and Jongdae, had that part in spades - or even the best dancer, so Minseok knew that whatever he had he’d needed to show it all off to the best of his ability. Putting in extra time for vocal classes and dance practices was bitter work, and he hardly saw the outside world anymore, shuffling only between the apartment where the trainees lived and S.M., but he knew it had been all worth it when his name was called during the lineup announcement.
It was surreal, and he blocked out the cries of excitement from the rest of the boys - his future bandmates, Minseok reminded himself offhandedly - just to take a moment for himself. Almost three years of training and chasing a distant, barely visible dream, and he’d finally been told that he was almost there.
He was pulled out of his thoughts when he found himself being tackled to the ground, strong arms wrapped around his shoulders and chest.
“We’re in!” It was Zitao, and he was ecstatic. “Hyung, we’re in!”
“Yeah,” Minseok replied, pushing them upright so he could hug Zitao back. “We’re gonna debut.”
“We’re gonna debut!” Zitao repeated. He pulled himself away from Minseok, holding onto his elbows instead of his back, to give him a huge grin, then saying, yet again. “We’re in, hyung!”
Minseok gave Zitao’s arms a tight squeeze. “We are, Zitao,” he agreed, grinning back. “We are.”
4.
The stage lights were always blinding; their fans’ screams always deafening. Minseok had never felt smaller standing above the sea of white lights at their debut showcase. He tried to ground himself by looking at where his family was seated, trying to pick Minyoung out by her caramel-coloured hair, but it was too difficult.
Next to him, Baekhyun was in his element, telling the crowd about how he bathed with Sehun. It didn’t hit Minseok how that information was of any value to anyone - it was something they did everyday, after all; they lived in cramped quarters - until he flinched as the screams were kicked up a notch.
Oh god, they were idols.
China was so much more different that Minseok had ever expected. Everything, from the culture to the food, took a lot of getting used to. Jongdae seemed to fit in almost seamlessly, using the meagre Mandarin he’d learnt in his six months of lessons to make their fans swoon, and putting every bit of food served to him into his mouth, much to the delight of their hosts.
Minseok, however, had never been a particularly adventurous eater. He pushed the meat around on his plate, despite Lu Han’s explanations to what each piece was, and picked at his rice and vegetables instead. The Chinese boys looked so happy, stuffing their faces with food and chatting animatedly in a mix of Mandarin and Korean with their managers and each other. Jongdae joined in too, tilting his head in Yixing’s direction when he didn’t understand in order to get a reply.
“Eat,” Lu Han nudged him in the ribs. “It tastes like the meat in Korea, I promise.”
Minseok picked up the smallest piece of grilled chicken and put it inside his mouth.
Lu Han gave him a look, but nodded nonetheless. “That’s a start. Now eat the rest.”
It soon became a friendly challenge between the Chinese boys to figure out which foods of their native cuisine that Minseok would like. Mealtimes involved a table filled with all types of different dishes - vegetables cooked in so many different, uninmaginable ways, and enough meat to feed an army. He picked through them politely, tasting the ones that looked appealing to him and taking a few more bites of those that were palatable.
“Hyung, this is delicious!” Jongdae exclaimed, waving the stick of skewered scorpion and offering it to Minseok.
Scorpion. Minseok’s insides did a little tumble, and he shook his head.
Next to Jongdae, Yifan was giving Lu Han a glare and pulling out his wallet while Zitao points and laughs over a bowl of soup. Lu Han said something in Mandarin and accepted the money, then slung an arm around Minseok’s shoulder.
“Told Yifan Jongdae would eat anything. He didn’t believe me. I told him to feed Jongdae a scorpion and see if he’d eat it. I won,” he said, cockiness dripping from his voice.
Jongdae looked up from his scorpion, eyes narrowed. “You guys betted on me?!”
“Why not?” Yixing interjected from his other side. “You’ve eaten everything we’ve given you so far. Time to test the limits.”
Jongdae’s eyes were still narrowed for a moment. It relaxes then, and he takes another bite out of his scorpion. “I doubt you can find something I don’t like,” he says casually. “Food is great.”
Zitao giggles. “Famous last words.”
It turns out that Minseok’s palate wasn’t that picky, as the list of acceptable Chinese foods was pretty long and varied. While it was in no way as extensive as Jongdae’s, it was still good progress. He had a particular affinity to dim sum, which might be attributed to Lu Han’s constant chiming of baozi in his right ear, so they ate it frequently when in China.
But Minseok had yet to find a favourite.
A few months into their debut finds them in a stuffy, cramped restaurant in Beijing. It was a slight change to the expensive restaurants that they usually frequent, due to their privacy and exclusivity, but it was also Zitao’s suggestion, and no one could really say no to Zitao.
“This is called huo guo!” Zitao says excitedly, lifting the lid in the middle of the table to reveal an empty pot that was split in the middle. “This store’s the best in Beijing right now.”
Across the table Lu Han nods. “I’m surprised you know about this. It’s famous mostly due to word-of-mouth.”
“I was hopping through our fans’ weibos. One of them had pictures of the huo guo here, so I searched it up on Baidu,” Zitao explains. He’s vibrating in his seat, his eyes glinting with happiness. It must be one of his favourite dishes, Minseok thought.
“Savvy,” Yixing comments. Jongdae’s glued to his side to see the menu, his own expression one of utter joy, as always when exposed to new foods.
“We should just get everything,” Yifan says. “It’s not like we won’t be able to finish it.” He closes his menu and looks around to wave someone over.
Minseok used to be nervous at the prospect of ordering everything. He’d never been a big eater, and neither had his family, but being in EXO-M had proven that it was better to order in excess than to order less. There was always someone to finish up whatever remnants of food left behind, be it Jongdae or Zitao or even one of their managers or stylists.
Zitao is the one who names the foods in front of Minseok this time, turning occasionally to Lu Han or Yixing for translations of meat parts that he didn’t know the Korean names of. There was tripe and innards and meat from all other parts of the cow and pig that Minseok had trouble keeping up. All of it, as well as a whole lot of vegetables, went into the pot in the middle, and they nibbled on rice and side dishes while waiting for it to cook.
“Hyung, try stirring! It’s fun.” Zitao holds out the ladle, and Minseok thinks it’s cute how he thinks that stirring soup is fun. He indulges the younger boy, taking the ladle and standing up so he could stir it properly.
“When will it be cooked?” He asks.
“Soon, soon,” Zitao tells him, sounding like he was assuring Minseok, though he was probably more likely to be assuring himself.
Five minutes later Zitao declares that the meat is cooked and ready to be served. Lu Han immediately thrusts out his bowl, but Zitao scowls at it and pushes it away.
“Oldest first,” he tells him, taking Minseok’s bowl and scooping a whole bunch of stuff into it. Minseok is sure there’s an innard in there, and stares at the bowl when it’s set down in front of him.
It’s red, similar to how kimchi jjiggae looks, but perhaps with more oil. There’s tripe and that questionable innard sticking out under cabbage, and Minseok wonders if it’s beef or pork.
He doesn’t realise that the other boys are staring at him. Zitao hadn’t served anyone after him, putting down the ladle and looking expectantly at Minseok.
“Minseok, please just eat so the rest of us can eat too,” Yifan groans, rolling his eyes at Zitao. Zitao sticks his tongue out at him.
“Oh,” Minseok replies, picking up his chopsticks and digging in. He picks up a piece of cabbage - super safe! - and stuffs it into his mouth.
Wow. It’s delicious. It’s spicy, but not in the way Korean dishes are spicy - a slow throb under your nose - but this is a nice, solid kick to the back of his throat. Surprised, he picks up his spoon and drinks the soup.
“This is really good,” he says. He doesn’t realise that it’s the first time he’s outwardly praised anything he’s eaten until the words leave his mouth.
The other boys are staring at him, eyes wide.
“I win!” Zitao shouts, pumping his fist into the air before collapsing back onto his chair and pulling Minseok into a hug.
Minseok finds his cheek pressed against Zitao’s neck and warm, strong arms around his shoulders and chest. Across the table, Lu Han and Yifan are scowling at Zitao’s back, while Yixing and Jongdae look content. Another bet, then.
When Zitao pulls away his expression is one of pure excitement. He’s practically bouncing in his seat. “Is this your favourite so far, hyung?”
Minseok smiles, then considers it for a moment. “Hmm, I think I need to try another spoonful.” He does, scooping up a piece of carrot and a small piece of meat and chewing on it. The spiciness is to die for, he thinks, and the meat is well cooked and blends perfectly with the rest of the soup.
“Yeah, this is my favourite,” he concludes, and gets rewarded with another hug from Zitao.
5.
Minseok was a little homesick. It’s almost 4am in the morning and he can’t sleep, his head filled with all sorts of thoughts about EXO and S.M. and his friends and family. He wonders what Minyoung is doing, if she were studying hard in university, if she had settled on a major. He wonders if his parents were living comfortably with the money he’d sent them, if his dad had taken less days as Minseok had told him to. He wonders what his friends are doing, if some of them had graduated and found jobs.
It was hard to keep track of everyone he cared about when he’s an idol - he’s so busy in this little bubble of showbiz and entertainment; of being Xiumin, that he has little time to do anything else. Precious time off was sometimes used to sleep, or call home if the timing was right. But at awkward hours such as these when slumber seemed beyond his reach, all Minseok could do was wonder.
He tosses and turns on the bed, then gives up and gets out of bed in search for something to do. He can’t turn on the light - Zitao is sleeping soundly in the bed next to him - so he grabs his phone and curls up on the armchair in front of the TV instead.
KakaoTalk is filled with notifications from group chats as usual, and as much as Minseok misses his friends from high school, he doesn’t know where to pick up from the mass of texts that they have sent. He scrolls through them slowly, learning of their new experiences and struggles, and feels so, so distant from them. When he’s reached the end of the chat he replies a couple of questions he’s seen them ask, and asks a few generic questions in return, then closes the app.
His wallpaper stares back at him. It’s a picture of EXO from the backstage of their showcase, all twelve of them with their arms around each other and a myriad of nervous expressions on their faces.
They’ve changed since then, he realises. Jongdae’s gotten a lot more witty, replying to questions in interviews and shows in his limited Mandarin with so much easy confidence it’s easy to forget that he’s a foreigner. Yifan doesn’t slip up as often, and Lu Han no longer acts like he’s allergic to the microphone. Yixing still spaces off, but he snaps back to throw Yifan or Lu Han off their game, and it makes a good band dynamic.
Minseok, however, doesn’t know what he is, or what he wants to become.
Zitao wakes up earlier than Minseok does, shuffling around the room unzipping bags and pulling out toiletries. He’s not making much noise, but it’s enough to pull Minseok out of his slumber.
When Zitao notices that Minseok’s awake, he stops in his tracks and gives Minseok a smile.
“Good morning, hyung. I’m just gonna brush my teeth and head down to the gym, wanna come?”
Minseok rubs his eyes and sits up. “What time is it?” He mutters, groping for his phone.
Zitao pulls out his before Minseok can reach the phone on his bedside table. “6:45,” he tells him. “We have about two hours, I think, before we gotta leave.”
Two hours was enough time to do a quick workout, shower, then grab breakfast. “Sure,” he says, dragging himself out of bed and groping for a t-shirt. “Let’s go.”
Minseok expects Jongdae to be at the gym, but it’s just him and Zitao. There’s a woman in the gym besides them, jogging on the treadmill with earphones in. She doesn’t notice them walk in.
“Help me stretch?” Zitao asks. He’s already seated on the floor, legs spread and leaning forward. He gives Minseok a sheepish grin, and makes to reach for his toes.
Minseok does, going behind him and pressing him down. Zitao stretches with a groan, and Minseok holds him down for a full ten seconds before letting him back up. They repeat the movement some five times in complete silence before Zitao finally breaks it.
“Are you happy here, hyung?” He asks.
The question catches Minseok by surprise. He pauses, letting go of Zitao before the ten seconds is up. Zitao turns, his head tilted, confused.
“What are you thinking about?” Zitao prods gently.
“I-” Minseok begins, then sits back on his heels. “I don’t know if this is what I want.”
Zitao turns his body and crosses his legs under him. “But are you liking this?” He makes a vague gesture with his hand. “All of this. Being an idol. Being Xiumin.”
Minseok thinks of screaming fans at the airport. So many bodies around him, so many voices in his ear; a neverending cacophony of chaos that only stops when they get onto the plane. He thinks of sitting in the middle of the practice room at 3am in the morning, t-shirt translucent with sweat and hair sticking to his forehead, eyes blank as he stares at his own reflection. He thinks of Junmyeon with him and Lu Han in Seoul, talking with hushed voices about the little cracks within their group of twelve.
He thinks of the hustle and bustle of their makeup and styling team before every performance, checking against lists to see that every one of them is exactly the way their image demands them to be - every pore and blemish covered, clothes pressed creaseless and hair coiffed up with hairspray. The stage lights are blinding even in his memories, the sea of heads bobbing under him indistinguishable from each other - the anonymous, faceless void that they call their fans.
“I don’t know,” he ends up telling Zitao, only to get a disappointed sigh in return.
Minseok drones about for the rest of the day, finding it hard to snap out of his low mood. The rest of M had taken notice and tried to cheer him up, but he really couldn’t find it in himself to brighten up.
“Hyung, what’s up?” Jongdae asks when they’re finally done with schedules for the day. “You seem so down.”
“It’s nothing,” he tells him. “Just tired, that’s all.”
Jongdae’s lips twist into a frown, but he doesn’t press it. He pulls out a box of snack from somewhere and offers it to Minseok. It’s a box of chocopie, and it makes Minseok smile, just a little. He takes one and eats it, savouring the taste of home and childhood, looks out of the window, and wonders.
Zitao’s uncharacteristically quiet when they get back to their hotel room. Minseok asks him if he can use the bathroom first, and Zitao avoids his eye and gives a sharp nod. He’s dozing on the armchair when Minseok comes out, phone held loosely in his hand and on the verge of falling, so Minseok goes over and plucks it out before it hits the ground.
“Hyung,” Zitao calls when he’s turning away. “Don’t walk away.”
Minseok turns back. “I’m not.”
Zitao frowns. He looks a little frustrated, and Minseok suddenly understands. He’d been closing himself off to Zitao that the other boy now feels frustrated interacting with him.
“I’m sorry,” he says, then pauses. For not saying much? He doesn’t know what exactly he’s sorry for.
“Hyung, don’t be sorry,” Zitao stops him. “And don’t.” He stops and makes a garbled sound, then gets up from his seat. “We’re here. We care about you.”
Minseok doesn’t know what to say.
“I don’t know if you don’t trust us, but it makes me sad to see you closing yourself off.” He pauses and reaches out to touch Minseok on the arm - it’s light, but it’s comforting in a way that Minseok hadn’t ever felt before. “I’m here for you. If you need me.”
Minseok looks at Zitao and sees a scared and yet, fiercely determined Chinese boy who came alone from his hometown in Qingdao. He sees someone exceedingly loyal and endearing, someone that Minseok is supposed to protect, being one of the youngest boys in their twelve-member team.
Zitao looks lost, standing an arm’s length away. Minseok wants to say something, but he really doesn’t know what to reply, so he ducks his head. He’s embarrassed by his lack of words - he wishes that just once, he’d be able to find something to say to Zitao.
It’s then that Zitao steps forward and closes the gap between them, pulling Minseok into a fierce hug that has him stumbling into Zitao’s shoulder. Zitao shifts his hands, slides one up to clutch at Minseok’s shoulder, and the other curled around his waist. He rests his chin on the top of Minseok’s head, and it makes Minseok feel small, but at the same time, safe.
He slides his hands up Zitao’s back, feeling the bumps of his spine and the knobs of his shoulderblades, and closes his eyes.
When Minseok wakes up, they’re tangled together on Zitao’s bed. Zitao’s snoring lightly in his sleep, his breath ticklish against Minseok’s ear. He has a leg strung across Minseok’s and an arm under Minseok’s head. His fingers are curled in the hem of Minseok’s t-shirt, and Minseok doesn’t ever want to pull away.
The clock on the bedside table tells him that he has an hour or so till they’d have to get up to catch their flight back to Seoul, so Minseok curls himself into Zitao’s embrace, sliding his hands around Zitao’s waist and pulling him closer. He sticks his nose against Zitao’s collarbone and breathes in his scent - hotel soap and musk and that earthy scent of boy - and goes back to sleep.
+1.
There's just something about Zitao that drew Minseok in. Perhaps it's how childlike he was -- his actions and words innocent and naive, a sign that he hadn't yet been blemished by the cruelty of life. Never before had Minseok felt such a strong urge to protect someone that wasn't his younger sister.
Until he met Zitao, of course.
It didn't make any sense that of all the people he'd develop a protective urge towards, it would be for a 185cm tall martial artist who possessed a glare that could possibly cause a serial killer to wet his pants out of fear. But then again, Zitao only looked terrifying, but was actually, surprisingly, a large teddy bear. Minseok took a week to learn this, after finding Zitao curled up on his bed crying from homesickness.
He looked so small, so vulnerable, wrapped in his blankets, the Zitao-bundle shivering slightly with every sob he let out. It stirred something in Minseok, and he sat next to the lump and reached out to pat a bump that he'd thought was Zitao's shoulder.
Zitao had stilled then, but didn't emerge from the bundle.
“Hey,” Minseok began. If you need someone to talk to, I’m here, he wants to say. But Zitao’s Korean hasn’t really reached a point in which they are able to hold a conversation. It’s only been some three weeks since Zitao appeared in the practice room calling out oppa to Minseok. It’ll probably serve as a joke when they debut, Minseok had thought, but at that point in time, language was that large cavern that separates them both.
He rubbed the Zitao-bump instead, and felt relieved when Zitao’s sobs ceased and he lay still in his cocoon, the only movement the steady rhythm of his breathing.
Minseok wondered if he was asleep. He considered asking, but that might break the moment. He started to pull away then, as gently as he possibly could.
“Hyung?” Zitao’s voice was unsure, coming out as a little squeak. The buddle squirmed, and Zitao’s face peeked out from the top of the covers, his eyes puffy and glistening with shed tears. “Going?”
“Do you want me to stay?” Minseok asked.
It took a moment for the question to sink in, Zitao’s eyebrows furrowed slightly as he took in the still-unfamiliar Korean words. Minseok opened his mouth to repeat the question, but Zitao nodded.
“Okay,” Minseok slid back onto the bed, settling into a comfortable position by Zitao’s side. He raised his hand to rest on Zitao’s shoulder, a little unsure if it was what Zitao had wanted.
Zitao leaned into the touch and closed his eyes, and soon Minseok found himself curling around Zitao and falling asleep too.
Author's note: i’m so sorry if you were expecting cute fluffy cuddle fic that evolved into sexytimes. i hope you like this anyway!