Work It Out; Onew/Minho

[debriefings]

Title: Work It Out
Pairing: Onew/Minho
Rating: PG
Word count: 5,990 words
Notes: Apologies to my requester - when I wrote this, I hadn't checked the prompt in a while, and all I remembered was Onew and Minho and busy and injured leg. Then, when I went to send it, I found I'd taken a lot of liberties with the prompt. If it's too different for your liking, I'll happily write you another story! ♥
Summary “I’ll be your buddy for the next few weeks,” Jinki announces.

Prompt: #11: Onew/Minho; Onew's the busy college student who secretly wants to be a singer, Minho is the soccer player that Onew sometimes sees around at night -- the boy who still plays even with an injured leg. They relate over lost dreams and push each other to trive for something more than just acceptance.



“Excuse me?”

Jinki turns, smile at the ready, and nods politely at the little old lady peering up at him. She’s wearing a pink sweatsuit and a stiff new baseball cap, which is sitting very straight and proper on her greying hair. He stoops unobtrusively so as to seem more approachable and inclines his ear towards her mouth. “Yes?”

She wrings her hands and looks around nervously. “Oh, dear. I’m just not sure what to ask for!”

Jinki keeps his smile going and nods, encouragingly this time. “There’s no such thing as a silly question, halmoni! Just go ahead and I’ll try to help you out.”

She leans in and gazes up at him, eyes wide under the starched brim of her hat. “Could you...could you please show me your balls?”

The first time Jinki had been asked that question, he’d burst out laughing, spit flying everywhere, body doubled completely over and shaking with mirth. Fourteen months spent working at the sports store hadn’t quite managed to cure his juvenile sense of humour, but he’d gotten better at masking his reactions. Besides, he’d been asked that particular one so many times it had almost lost its power to induce side-splitting hilarity.

Straightening, he offers the granny his elbow. “I’ll take you there myself. They’re at the back, near the escalator - what kind of balls were you looking for?”

Ten minutes later he’s leading her to the only manned cash register, where Kibum is perched on a stool, flipping through a fashion magazine.

“Halmoni here would like to buy this bocce set,” Jinki tells him, turning back to the lady and bowing. “Kibum will assist you with the rest of your purchase.”

She reaches up with a bird-boned arm and lightly pinches his cheek. “Thank you very much for your help, young man. You were very patient with me!”

“Not at all!” Jinki bows again and ushers her over to the register. “But thank you!”

Kibum dumps the bocce set in a bag and flicks a glance at the sale screen. “24000 won. Thanks.”

Jinki presses his lips together and looks back at the old lady, who’s fumbling in her purse for the correct change. “Is that okay in a bag? Or would you like it wrapped?”

She tugs a handful of notes free with a triumphant noise and blinks up at him. “Hmm? Oh, wrapped would be lovely. Thank you, dear!”

Kibum shoots Jinki a dirty look and takes the box out of the bag again, setting it back on the counter with a theatrical sigh. He makes a big show of rooting under the register for the brown paper, and takes an excruciatingly long time to cut the paper, wrap the box, and tape down the flaps.

“There,” he says eventually, shoving the wrapped parcel back in the original bag. “All done.”

The old lady takes the bag and smiles again at Jinki. “Have a wonderful afternoon, young man! Thank you!” With a cheery wave, she adjusts her baseball cap and sets off out the door, bag held securely in both hands.

Kibum watches her leave, then transfers his gaze to Jinki. “You and old people.” He shakes his head. “Every single time you pull some doddering geriatric up to my counter, and every single time they want the cheapest, shittiest thing wrapped up like it’s Christmas.”

Jinki struggles to keep his smile going. “Er, sorry? It’s not like I deliberately do it, you’re just the only one on the registers.”

“I work too hard,” Kibum agrees, inspecting his fingernails. “Someone has to, around here.”

Jinki’s smile is hanging by a thread, although there’s not much he can do should he go all the way and snap. Kibum’s the son of the store owner, meaning he can do what he wants, when he wants, which translates to nothing, all the time. Jinki works on a small retainer but earns the majority of his pay through commission, while Kibum is paid a higher flat hourly rate. Jinki has put in several requests to transfer to cashiering and each time they’ve been refused.

“You’re so good at what you do!” Kibum’s father tells him after every attempt, slipping him a thin envelope of paper incentives. “The old people love you!”

Which is true, Jinki has to admit. He seems to have an affinity for people over fifty - they seek him out like old, grey moths to a flame, instinctively gravitating towards him. While he is happy to help them, and actually enjoys making conversation - the elderly have lived through so many things, and they’ve done so much - they really aren’t the wildest of spenders, and he already has a second job out of necessity. At the rate he’s going, he’ll have to start looking for a third.

Jinki’s saved from having to think of something tactful to say to Kibum’s outright lie as Kibum’s eyes slide past him and his eyebrows draw together in alarm. He reaches under the counter for the REGISTER CLOSED sign and plonks it on the conveyer.

Jinki checks his watch. “Where are you-“

“Break time!” Kibum announces, loosening the strings on his apron and pulling it off with surprising speed. He rolls it into a ball and chucks it under the counter. “Hyoyeon’s back now - ‘kay, bye!”

He spins on his heel and power walks around the back of the registers. Jinki watches him go with confusion, since he’s worked here over a year now and has never seen Kibum do anything so gauche as to power walk before.

Brushing it off with a ‘first time for everything’ sigh, he turns to go back to his assigned department, only to find Kibum’s father bearing down on the registers, an unfamiliar, lanky boy following at a more sedate pace.

Behind Manager Kim and to the left, Jinki spots a tuft of hair poking up above the baseball equipment, and realises a second too late why Kibum has slithered off and why Hyoyeon is hiding amongst the racks of mitts.

“Jinki!” Manager Kim booms. He looks pleased to have found him.

Jinki thinks he must look like a sucker, because if he’s not mistaken he’s about to be saddled with -

“Got an assignment for you, Jinki.” Manager Kim stops in front of him and claps a firm hand down on his shoulder. Jinki tries to stand tall, but Manger Kim’s fingers squeeze in and he dangles from his grip like a wet noodle. “Meet Minho. He’ll be joining the team from today.”

- a newbie to train.

Jinki lets out a breath and ducks out of Manager Kim’s hold, before straightening and training his automatic customer-service smile on the new guy. “Hi! Nice to meet you, I’m -“ he points at his name tag, “-Lee Jinki.”

The new guy nods, eyes dark and serious in a face that seems to Jinki to be too far off the ground. “Choi Minho.” He doesn’t add anything further and Jinki realises after a few moments of silence that he doesn’t plan to, either.

“Ah.” Jinki rubs at the spot on his collarbone that Manager Kim’s fingers crushed. He’s going to have bruises tomorrow. “Well, um, I guess I should show you around?”

Manager Kim nods and rubs his hands together, like he’s done them both a great service. “Excellent! I have suppliers to meet with this afternoon, so Minho, listen to Jinki here, and Jinki, take care of Minho.” He strides purposefully back to his office and Hyoyeon finally emerges from the baseball aisle, sidling past Jinki and sending a furtive, appreciative look at Minho.

“Where’s Kibum?” she asks, going to the far register and keying in her service code. She sneaks another look at Minho from under her bangs.

Jinki rubs at his cheeks; they’re getting sore from smiling. “He had something that came up.”

She nods. “Ah, yeah. Me too, before.”

Jinki represses a sigh and turns back to Minho, reminding himself forcefully that it wasn’t his fault he was new and would therefore be a burden to Jinki for the next few weeks. No one liked training new people - not only was there equipment-specific knowledge they had to learn (which had admittedly taken Jinki a lot of research in his own time to catch up on since he wasn’t sporty, not in the slightest, but a job was a job, especially in these times of economic uncertainty) but there was also the constant babysitting and checking; were they treating the customers with respect, were they telling them the right things, were they selling items at the right price? Jinki can almost taste all the extra work he’s going to be doing. It’s going to affect his commission, and not in a good way.

He closes his eyes. He’ll have to see if he can pick up some extra shifts at the restaurant on the weekend.

Nodding to himself - it’s always good to have a backup plan - he opens his eyes again to find Minho watching him, no discernible curiosity or interest on his face.

“Ahaha!” Jinki rubs the back of his neck, suddenly self-conscious. He’d slipped into thought without realising. “Uh, well, so you haven’t been shown around the store yet?”

Minho shakes his head.

Jinki interprets his expression as expectant. “Well then, I guess we should start with that, since, you know, you’ll be working here from now on.”

Minho blinks. Jinki winces. Of course he’d be working here. Way to go!

“Ahem.” Clearing his throat, Jinki turns and points at the front of the store. “These are the registers. As you can see. I guess that’s kind of obvious? We usually only have two or three running at any one time, except when there are big events coming up, like the World Cup, or Christmas.”

He checks to see if Minho is following. Minho gives him a slight nod.

“Okay! So, um...” Jinki turns and starts walking to the left-hand side of the store. “On this side of the ground floor we have leisure activities, like fishing, kayaking, mountain climbing stuff, and behind that is the winter gear, skis and snowboards.” He pauses and gestures with both hands, feeling remarkably like a flight attendant pointing out the escape routes, and coughs back a laugh at the weird imagery. Minho raises his eyebrows at him, having picked up on the strangled noise.

“Ah, well, I just thought it was like we were on a plane,” Jinki says, startled into explaining himself. “Like my hands were all please exit the aircraft from these hatches, you know?”

Minho looks at his hands and then back at his face. “How old are you?” he asks, voice low. Jinki chooses to imagine there’s an edge of curiosity to his tone.

“Me? I’m twenty!” He smiles encouragingly up at Minho, hoping this indicates a breakthrough in communication, since the only other thing he’s said so far is his name. “And you?”

“Eighteen.”

Before he can stop it, Jinki’s mouth drops open in shock. “Wow, really? I mean, you look older, which isn’t a bad thing, I bet it helps with girls and stuff and you can probably go drinking if you wanted to, which you definitely do not want to while you’re working, okay?” He gives Minho’s arm a friendly pat. “See, I’m already giving you hyung-like advice.”

Minho looks at him again.

“Oh, right, the tour! Well, we’ve done this side, let me introduce you to the side on the right.”

Jinki leads him over to the other half of the room (“balls, team sports equipment, bicycles”) and then they make their way upstairs (“shoes, apparel and miscellaneous items”.) The store is the largest sporting goods shop in the entire region, so even with giving only a brief overview of each area, it takes them half an hour before they’re back on the ground floor again.

Jinki smiles and nods at his co-workers as they go past, weighted down with equipment to unpack and shelve, or in the middle of assisting customers. “I’ll be your buddy for the next few weeks,” Jinki announces once they’re downstairs. “If you have any questions about anything at all, just ask me, okay?” He gives Minho a thumbs up. “Sound good?”

Minho eyes his hand and nods.

Jinki tilts his head curiously. “Do you have much experience? I mean with selling,” he adds hastily, when it occurs to him that could be misconstrued. “I was just wondering. You seem a bit quiet.”

Minho regards him steadily. “I’m always like this.”

“Ah, that’s a relief!” Jinki laughs and stuffs his hands in his pockets. “Sometimes I get a little talkative and take over the conversation, so I was wondering if I was doing that. Just tell me if I do, okay? And don’t think that because I chat a lot that I’m not a good listener, because I’m definitely here for you-“

“Excuse me?”

Jinko cuts himself off mid-breath and turns with a smile. “Yes, how may I help you?”

This customer is about fifty years younger than his last one and looks a lot better in her pink tracksuit. She sends a flirtatious smile over Jinki’s shoulder. “Not you, him.”

Jinki glances at Minho, then back at the customer. “He’s currently in training, but we can certainly assist you together?”

The lady ignores him and steps closer to Minho, winding a slim hand through the crook of his elbow. Her nails, Jinki notices with a flash of bemusement, match her tracksuit.

“Talk to me about balls,” she purrs at him.

Minho’s expression doesn’t change, but he stiffens in what Jinki presumes to be alarm, and his eyes meet Jinki’s over the customer’s expensively coiffed hair.

Letting out a steadying breath, Jinki turns his smile up and steps past the unlikely pair. “You’ll find the correct section at the back of the store,” he says, voice falling into his polite-service tone. “What particular sport were you looking for?”

“What do big, tall boys play?” she asks, sliding a meaningful fingernail down Minho’s arm.

Jinki stops in his tracks and stares at the scene with mounting hysteria. Did that constitute harassment? Could he ask her to leave? If he did, would that be enough to get him dismissed? Granted it wasn’t the best job in the world but the hours suited him and the pay, although not great, was reasonable, and-

“Basketball,” Minho says suddenly, snapping Jinki out of his frantic calculations. Minho’s expression softens into a smile, and the lady is immediately smitten, gazing blankly at him, and Jinki finds himself gaping along with her at the difference it makes on Minho’s serious face. He pinches his own cheek to stop himself from being dazzled.

“Yes,” murmurs the lady, almost swaying on her feet. “Basketball sounds good.”

Minho leads her gently towards the back of the store. “You’ll need a stand and a hoop, of course.”

“Of course,” she agrees.

Jinki picks his jaw off the floor and trails after them, fighting back the uncomfortable sensation that something almost supernatural is happening right here, right before his eyes.

“Is money an issue?” Minho asks casually, as they reach the appropriate area.

The lady shakes her head. “No,” she breathes, staring adoringly at Minho.

“Excellent,” says Minho with satisfaction, and proceeds to sell her half the basketball section.

- - -

Jinki helps him carry the basketball stand down to the loading bay after she leaves, pressing a scrap of paper into Minho’s hand as she sets off, a bag with a shiny pair of Air Jordans looped over her other arm.

“That was amazing!” Jinki gushes, unable to resist an adoring look of his own across the flatpack to the other boy. “How did you do that? You just transformed! Wow, I wish I could sell like you.” Minho winces and Jinki halts automatically. “What? What’s wrong?”

Minho shakes his head and motions for Jinki to continue. “Nothing.”

Jinki eyes him worriedly. “Are you sure? Are you okay? Are you hurt? Was it something I said? Oh, we’re here.” He guides them both through the double doors, and they set the pack down. Jinki leans back and stretches, then tapes the receipt and delivery instructions to the side of the box. He pats it happily. “You need to attach all the information to anything that will be delivered, otherwise the drivers have to come upstairs. They hate coming upstairs.”

Minho comes around and hunkers down to read the form. “Just fill in the spaces?”

Jinki leans over his shoulder. “Yeah, and don’t forget to put the region code on, see here?” He points, arm brushing past Minho’s ear. Minho stiffens and stares fixedly at the receipt. “S for Seoul, and then 48 is the district that Customer Kim Hee Na is in. There’s a book with all the codes behind each register, and if you don’t know, you can just ask any of the cashiers.” He straightens and stretches again. “Except Kibum, he might not help you.”

“But you will?” Minho rises slowly and gives Jinki an unreadable look. “You said I could ask you anything.”

Jinki laughs. “Yeah, of course! I just meant if I’m not here. I only do four days a week, so it depends on what shifts you get.”

Minho’s lips press together in thought, and eventually he nods. “Okay.”

“Ready for your next customer?” Jinki bows and sweeps his hand towards the exit. “After you.”

“No.” Minho stays where he is and shakes his head. “You’re the hyung.”

Jinki gapes in delight. “Does this mean you’ll call me hyung?!”

The edges of Minho’s mouth curl into a less overpowering version of the smile he’d bestowed upon Customer Kim Hee Na. Jinki finds he likes this one better. “Okay. Hyung.”

“Awesome!” Jinki raises his hand for a high five, which Minho gives him after a beat of confusion. “Finally! See, Kibum is younger than me but he’s not very nice and he won’t call me hyung, and Taecyeon in the fitness department was born in the same year, and Leeteuk up in apparel is a few years older and then the team leaders all use formal address so there’s no one here to call me hyung.” He beams at Minho. “Or at least there wasn’t, until you.”

Minho stares at him for a long moment, before letting out a breath of laughter.

“Yes, I know it’s sad.” Jinki rubs his hand through his hair and gives a self-deprecating chuckle. “But we have to take the small pleasures in life, don’t we? That’s what my grandmother always used to say.”

Minho presses his hand to his mouth and when he drops it he’s composed again, although Jinki thinks his face is a little more open and a tad less guarded than before. “Yes,” he says, tilting his head at Jinki. “That’s right.” He pauses. “Hyung.”

Jinki puffs his chest up and puts his hands on his hips, giving Minho a deliberately superior grin. “That’s what I like to hear. And again!”

“Hyung,” says Minho obediently, and Jinki wheels and leads them back into the store, frog-marching importantly right into the ball section, where he reluctantly remembers to gets back into work-mode.

- - -

The weeks of training pass in a happy blur, and before Jinki knows it, Minho has been there for over a month. They continue to get along famously, and while Minho isn’t quite the conversationalist Jinki is, he opens up as their friendship progresses, and soon enough it feels like they’ve known each other forever.

They talk about anything and everything, or rather Minho will mention something and Jinki will ask a million questions about it, and he learns that Minho has finished school, is taking a year off before he goes to university, and doesn’t yet know what he wants to study.

“I want to play soccer,” he says one day, the unexpected admission startling Jinki from a count he’s doing on golf tees.

Jinki puts a stroke through one of the printed quantities and pencils the correct number beside it. “Hmm? Right now?” He glances at his watch. “We don’t close for another two hours.”

Minho sighs. “No, hyung.” Jinki straightens and gives the store at large a pleased look - he still gets a little thrill each time Minho calls him that. “I meant in the future. Professionally.” His eyes drop to the floor and he traces a careful pattern with his left leg. “I just don’t know if I can.”

Jinki taps his pencil thoughtfully against his lip. “It’s always hard to know how things will happen in a competitive arena, like sport, or,” he uses the pencil to point at himself, “music. I told you what I’m studying, right?”

Minho nods. “When you were...drinking.”

Jinki had taken Minho out for a congratulatory dinner on the day he’d completed his training, raiding his piggybank to afford a good meal at a nice restaurant. The waitress had taken one look at Minho and brought them a complimentary bottle of soju along with their food, and Minho had politely declined to drink any, what with being underage and all. Jinki had manfully vowed not to let it go to waste, and had downed the whole bottle, which had resulted in Minho carefully guiding him home.

Jinki has hazy memories of weaving all over the footpath, loudly regaling him with stories of how difficult and expensive music education was and why did he even pick it and his piano needed tuning, did Minho know a good piano tuner? He remembers that much, as well as Minho’s grave apology that he did not, in fact, know any piano tuners, good or otherwise, but the rest of the night is still a mystery.

He coughs and waves the question away. “But yes, with stuff like that, you only know how good you are. It’s hard to know where you stand in relation to anyone else, right?”

Minho stares at his foot and stills his leg. “Yes,” he says softly. “Your only obstacle is yourself.”

Jinki frowns. “That wasn’t exactly what I was going for,” he replies. “But I suppose it’s true as well.” He uses his clipboard to point down the aisle. “Golf tees done, soccer accessories next.”

Minho follows him towards the soccer section, and they’re almost there when they’re waylaid by a pair of teenage boys. “Hyung!” one says, stopping in front of Minho and staring at him with shining eyes. “Coach sent us to-“

Minho makes a sharp motion with his hand and looks quickly at Jinki, who glances between him and the boys with mounting confusion. He’s never had the best sense of tact but even he can tell that they have something to discuss without him.

“Um!” He tucks his pencil behind his ear in what he hopes is a rakish manner. “I have a date with some sexy soccer equipment. See you later, Minho!” He grins at the boys and walks off, whistling jauntily, managing to overhear one of them ask Minho in a scandalised whisper, “Who was that?”

Minho’s reply, when it comes, is too low for Jinki to make out, and he’s oddly disappointed.

“Hello, friends,” he says, crouching next to the shin guards. “How many of you are there today?”

When Minho catches up with him some time later, Jinki takes one look at his face and carefully doesn’t ask what the boys wanted, and Minho just as carefully doesn’t tell him a thing.

“Want to help me with the baseball gear?” Jinki rises once they’ve done the counts and turns to the next page on his clipboard. “I promise it’ll be fun!”

“Is this a trick question?” Minho asks, and Jinki pretends not to notice how relieved he looks at their unspoken agreement to avoid whatever that was.

“Only one way to find out.” Jinki grins and leads the way to the next section.

Minho follows without a word.

- - -

Before Jinki knows it, Christmas is just around the corner, and midway through November Manager Kim takes on some temporary employees to get them through the holiday rush. Where Jinki’s demographic of appeal involves the elderly and the infirm, Minho seems to cater to everyone else, and he’s been the top sales assistant since his first week at the store. Somehow Manager Kim attributes Minho’s success to Jinki’s ‘excellent’ training, and he’s saddled with training the newbies again and getting this lot up to speed, fast.

“How long will training last?” Minho asks before work one morning, as Jinki rummages through his bag for his name tag. A sheaf of manuscript goes flying from the side flap of his satchel and he lets out a squeak of annoyance, almost tripping over the bench in the centre of the locker room in his haste to snatch after the sheets.

Minho’s arm whips out to steady him, and he gently pushes Jinki upright before ducking down to pick up the scattered paper.

“Ah, sorry!” Jinki jogs around the bench and kneels next to him, grabbing the pages out of order and shuffling them haphazardly into a pile. “I have so much going on at the moment, there’s a big assignment due soon and I have a performance coming up and then there’s all this added pressure at work.” He slumps and gropes blindly for the next page. “I don’t want to sound like a whiner, but it’s almost too much.”

Minho reaches for a piece of manuscript at the same time and their hands collide, fingers tangling a breath above the floor. Jinki jerks back in surprise but Minho is faster, locking down his grip and trapping Jinki’s hand, skin warm against skin. He stares at their joined fingers as Jinki blinks up at him in confusion.

“I want to help you,” Minho says quietly. “How can I help you?”

Jinki laughs nervously and pulls his hand back with more force this time. It comes free, fingers sliding against Minho’s palm and leaving his fingertips tingling from the touch. He resists the urge to tuck his hand against his chest and tries not to notice the rapid beating of his heart. “Well, you can’t write my concerto for me, and I’m pretty sure your piano skills aren’t quite at third-year level.” Jinki shrugs and stands, stuffing the papers back into his bag. “But you can be my cool, supportive dongsaeng! How does that sound?”

Minho doesn’t rise, just watches him from the floor with dark, shuttered eyes.

“Is that the time? Oh, my goodness! We better get out there and at them. Like the saying, ‘up and at ‘em’. Except out.” Jinki flings his bag into his locker and takes a nervous step backwards, trying and failing to stem the flow of babble from his throat. “Which is relevant, I think, in a competitive environment. Like the sales arena. Where we should be.”

Spinning on his heel with more grace than he knew he possessed, Jinki all but runs outside and approaches the first customer he sees. He listens with only one ear to their request, hyper-aware of when Minho leaves the locker room and pauses in the doorway, gaze burning into the skin of Jinki’s back.

- - -

Jinki tries to write off the weird locker room tension as a strange and isolated incident between friends, but he can’t help but notice Minho now in ways he never did before. He’s always been attractive, and he’s always had that uncanny charisma, the one that lures in unsuspecting customers and relieves them of their money, but Jinki had considered himself immune. Something is different now, and he’s not sure he wants to know what it is.

He throws himself into work and classes and practice, working on his piano and his vocals until his fingers threaten to fall off and his throat protests. Christmas and the performance draw ever closer, and he finds himself trapped in a cycle of school, work and sleep.

The day finally comes for him to hand in his composition, and it’s such a relief, since it effectively frees up a third of his time. He’s walking to the bus stop from university, tired but pleased to have one thing out of the way, when he spots a familiar figure making use of one of the university sports fields. It’s Minho, of course - he’d recognise that lanky frame anywhere, and he’s jogging the length of the field, a soccer ball skimming across the grass in front of him.

Jinki freezes mid-step, entranced. Minho’s mentioned soccer before, of course, but Jinki’s never seen him in motion until now, and really, he’s beautiful. He’s all lean lines and controlled grace, the ball an extension of his body, and Jinki can sense his complete confidence in himself from the side of the field. Minho knows where the ball is at all times, and he’s absolutely certain in his ability to take it where it needs to go.

Watching him, Jinki wonders where that brief flash of vulnerability had come from, his admittance an aeon ago that he might not make it, that maybe he couldn’t. Seeing him in motion, all fluid movements and such obvious skill, Jinki just can’t understand why he could have any reason to doubt his future success.

Minho approaches the goal, left foot guiding the ball, right drawing back to kick it into the net, and then something gives, something changes, and he crumples to the ground.

“Minho!”

Jinki’s flying across the grass towards him before he knows what his feet are doing, and Minho barely has time to lift surprised eyes from his foot before Jinki is tumbling onto the ground beside him.

“Are you okay? What happened? Should I take a look? Um, I might have a cooling patch in my back, let me check!”

He reaches for his satchel but Minho shakes his head, throwing a hand out to pull Jinki’s fingers away from the zip. Unlike last time, he’s careful to let go of Jinki’s hand immediately and turns deliberately to the goal square, still flushed from his exertions on the field.

“What are you doing here, hyung?”

Jinki’s silly chest tingles happily at the hyung again, and he tries to pretend it’s just a normal thing to feel. “Oh, wow, funny story. I was on my way back from uni when -“ he trails off, finally spotting Minho’s grimace of pain. “Actually, it’s not a funny story at all. What’s wrong?”

Minho bites his lip and looks at the ground. Jinki smacks his own leg in sudden frustration.

“Okay, don’t tell me! I just thought we were closer than that, but-“

“We are,” Minho interrupts, voice low and intense. He carefully doesn’t look at Jinki. “I mean, we’re close, and I want to be closer.”

Jinki gapes unattractively at him, mouth moving before his brain has a chance of catching up. “Are you confessing to me?”

Minho does look up at that, and Jinki doesn’t miss the flash of hurt in his eyes. “Hyung.”

Jinki waves his hands frantically in front of him. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded, I was just incredulous, because, um, I mean, I’m me, and you’re you, and that seems very weird. Does it seem weird? I think it seems weird.” He gives Minho a shaky grin. “Right?”

Minho looks back down and this time Jinki can see that he’s not checking the ground at all; he’s staring at his foot. Things start to filter back - his awkwardness when lifting things, the way he only guided Jinki home instead of carrying him when he was drunk that time, the furtive soccer conversation with those boys. Jinki points very rudely, right at Minho’s face. “Is your foot injured? Has it been injured all along?”

Minho lets out a long breath. “If it has?”

Jinki pushes him on the shoulder, hard.

“Hyung!”

“Well, that’s what you get,” Jinki replies, crossing his arms and putting his nose in the air. He keeps the pose for a long moment, then cracks an eye open to find Minho giving him a mournful look. “For being an idiot!” He uncrosses his arms and sits forward. “Seriously, why didn’t you tell me? I could have helped you!”

Minho shrugs and starts methodically plucking blades of grass from the field. “At first I didn’t want you to pity me - I had enough of that from my family and the team after physical therapy.” He gives his foot an evaluating stare. “And then you treated me like a friend, like an equal, and I didn’t want to disappoint you.” He slants a glance at Jinki. “And then I saw you working so hard, and I wanted to be like you. And then I ended up liking you instead. ”

The tingling in Jinki’s chest goes into fluttery overdrive, and he presses a hand to his heart just in case it tries to beat right out of his ribcage. “Wow. That’s, I mean, I wasn’t expecting you to, because...”

Minho swallows. “It’s okay if you don’t-“

“No!” Jinki makes a chopping motion in the air in front of Minho’s mouth. “I do! I mean, I do too!”

Minho looks up, eyes bright with hope, the promise of a smile hovering around the edges of his mouth. “You do?”

“Yes.” Jinki nods firmly. “I do. Too.” He thumps his hand onto his thigh in resolution, and his fingers catch the edge of his bag strap. “Oh, except if we’re going to be together and stuff I’m really busy for the next couple of weeks because I still have performance preparations and I have to train the newbies and Taemin’s okay but Jonghyun is really slow and he’s still picking up the basics and-“

“Hyung,” Minho says darkly, lips pressing together in controlled annoyance. “Please stop talking about other guys.”

Jinki gives him a blank look. “Huh? They’re the ones I’m training at work. I’m sure you met them.”

Minho nods. “You spend all your time at work with them.”

“Because I’m training -- oh!” Jinki’s face lights up in understanding. “You’re jealous! This is jealousy! Oh, I like it!”

“Well, I don’t,” Minho says, looking both perturbed and amused.

Jinki feels his cheeks crinkle into a triumphant grin. “You could always, you know, mark your territory or something.”

A dog trots past them and yips happily, pausing to sniff at Minho’s shoe. Minho turns to Jinki and raises a questioning brow.

“Not like a dog!” Jinki hurries to explain. “No, that wouldn’t be very enjoyable, or hygienic. I meant, you know, like a-“ he flaps at the air, suddenly embarrassed. “Like a you know.”

“I think I do know,” Minho replies, the smile spreading from his lips to the rest of his face, making his eyes gleam in the afternoon sun. “Let me see if I have this right.”

He leans in and Jinki meets him halfway.

- - -

“Absolutely right,” Jinki tells him a little while later, when they finally part for breath. “You’re very good at understanding my rambling.”

Minho shrugs and laces their fingers together. “You’re good at talking. I’m good at listening. We work like that.”

Jinki grins and starts nodding before something terrible occurs to him. “Work? Oh no, I’m late for work!” He groans and jumps to his feet, grabbing his satchel and bouncing unhappily in place. “I’ve never been late for work before!”

Minho stretches and rises also, grabbing Jinki’s hand again. “Let’s go together.”

“But you’re not on today,” Jinki says, following him in confusion. “I checked the roster.”

“Maybe if I do some extra hours for free, Manager Kim won’t get mad at you for being late.” Minho glances back at him. “Good plan?”

Jinki lets out a cheer and matches his step to Minho’s. “Dongsaengs are the best!”

“Boyfriends,” Minho corrects, smiling off to the side.

“Those too,” Jinki agrees, and swings their hands between them all the way to the bus.