Chapter Text
Minseok’s phone vibrates. He glances at the screen and catches the sender’s name.
His stomach churns.
This has been going on for hours. Ever since their defeat in Worlds years ago, he feels jittery and sick before the season kicks off. To be fair, he thinks he’s done great covering up this far. He will not (he cannot) disappoint the team again.
So he turns to his monitor, blinks a couple of times and dives back in. It’s not the first time he will pretend his phone is set to do-not-disturb by mistake.
You see, Minseok is never sure how to handle Minhyeong hyung’s attention quite well in private.
In a completely opposite wing of the building, Minhyeong stares at his screen, waiting for a reply.
Nothing.
The season is coming up fast, and even though he trusts Minseok completely, he can sense something’s off. Well, something’s been off for a while, but he’s sure the measures he’s put in place are good enough to protect Minseok from internal devastation. Or super dry eyes.
He starts typing again, a little more serious this time.
"Give me a sign of life, please.”
He does hesitate before hitting send, then leans his head back against the comfy chair. He also knows there’s no way he’s going to sleep until he’s 100% sure his friend is okay.
He can wait. He’s really good at waiting. Or wearing Minseok down. Whichever happens first.
It's late. Minseok knows because his phone is now at 14% battery and Minhyeong hasn't stopped sending messages every thirty-forty minutes. If he were to make a broad calculation from the amount of times the phone has vibrated, he’d say it's around 3am.
His mouth is dry and his jaw is tight. He noticed, too late, he forgot his mouthguard in the dorm.
One more message wakes up the screen of his phone. He feels empty, and it's the worst.
Minhyeong, on the other hand, is still glaring at his phone, the glow from the screen starting to blur as he waits. It’s been hours, but something in him still hopes for a reply. Anything, even a quick “I’m good”
He runs a hand through his hair, then drops his phone onto his desk with a soft thud and stands up, pacing around his room. He hates this feeling, like there’s something he’s missing. So he grabs his phone again, hesitating for a moment before sending another message.
"Where are you?"
He waits a minute, two, three… still no reply. He should be in bed, trying to get ready for tomorrow’s match, but he can’t get the thought of Minseok alone somewhere in the building, or wherever he’s chosen to disappear to. He glances over at the door. The dorm is quiet—too quiet, but he can make an educated guess as to where Minseok is. He stands up, determined.
Minhyeong makes his way down the hall, the familiar thud of the carpeted floor under his feet comforting in a weird way. The kitchen light is dim when he walks in. There you are , he smiles.
He finds Minseok by the granite island, staring down at a glass of water like it holds the answer to everything.
The friend in question doesn’t see him, or pretends not to, and instead takes a sip of water.
"Talk to me. Please?", he tries again.
Minseok lets his brain go blank as he gets lost in the ice cubes floating in his glass. He’s currently focusing on the cold feeling of the kitchen tiles under his bare feet. It's OK . He commands his chest to stop heaving. It doesn't listen. Please work, please work . According to the team's counselor, this should work; this should be enough to kill the panic pooling in the pit of his gut. Please work . I need to get at least an hour of sleep.
Minhyeong steps closer again, this time he rests his hand beside him. He can feel the tension radiating off his lithe body. He takes a breath, leaning in just a little more, trying to be gentle without crowding him too much.
"Minseok... it’s me."
His voice is soft, but steady. He reaches out, hesitating for a second before gently placing his hand on Minseok’s shoulder.
Minseok thinks it's borderline humiliating how his body gives all his thoughts away the second Minhyeong touches him.
He already knew it was Minhyeong from the muted padding before he walked into the kitchen. He also knows him by muscle memory. One more thing he knows? Minhyeong is not in a hurry now that he has found him. Call it a gut feeling, call it hope. Whatever it is, Minseok chose long ago to not dwell too much on it.
He bites his bottom lip softly. In a distant part of his mind, he remembers how much Minhyeong hates it. So much, he’s even taken to carrying cherry lip balm everywhere only to push it into Minseok’s face the second he notices he’s chewing the dry, flaky skin.
He’s right, and the sight of him pulling on his lip hits Minhyeong like clockwork.
His hand drops from Minseok’s shoulder, and before he can even realize that he’s been Pavloved into this, he’s fishing around in his pocket, pulling out the familiar tube of lip balm. He’s carried this thing around for months now— because of him .
He nudges it into Minseok's sight, the way he’s already done a thousand times before.
Minhyeong is already protective on camera. Offline, he can be a nuisance, an absolute nuisance in his quest to force Minseok out of the sad, foggy corners of his brain. Sure, he won't push, but he also won't leave him alone. And maybe that's for the best. Maybe he's right. Or maybe it's more like Minseok could allow him to be right this time.
Sure .
Minseok nods and takes the bright red tube. Was Minhyeong even aware these had been sold out after a fan caught him on HD video as he shoved it into his hand during a press conference last year?
Minhyeong seems to navigate life blissfully unaware of events like such. Minseok, on the other hand, doesn't know how he will feel when this tube finally runs out, if that’s even a possibility.
He pops the cap off and glides it across his lips. Eyes cast down, unable to acknowledge the way in which Minhyeong’s eyes follow the swift motion of the stick coating Minseok’s soft, plush lips. He finishes, clasps the cap back on and rests the stick on the kitchen counter in front of them.
Silence isn’t heavy, but it’s… getting stale.
Minseok takes a slow, deep breath. "I'm sorry, hyung", he finally manages.
His quiet apology breaks the silence and Minhyeong recoils. For a second, he looks like he wants to scream. Instead, he lets out a small sigh, leaning his back against the counter, arms crossed casually. His eyes drift to the floor for a second, collecting his thoughts before he speaks again, before he brushes a hand against Minseok’s arm instinctively seeking to comfort him.
"Don’t apologize," he says, voice steady, "you don’t need to say sorry for feeling like this"
Minseok knows he means it. He knows it in his bones. They’ve had similar versions of this same conversion before, and he's like that— transparent. What you see is what you get.
He lets himself lean into the touch, ever so lightly. He’s aware that he’s in need of something to tether him to the world of the living. He closes his eyes and Minhyeong examines his face. It seems like the angry void is finally quellying down. This leaves Minseok with a distant taste of numbness and airiness in his head. Enough for him to realize he hasn't had anything to eat for hours.
"I'm hungry", he mumbles to the floor.
It's almost pathetic how, even in moments like this, he knows himself spoiled under Minhyeong’s attention, unable to know how to better manage it— the fact that Minhyeong will jump if he asks him to. The fact that he seems completely ignorant to the idea that he never hesitates if Minseok does as little as batting his eyelashes in his general direction. All of this makes Minseok feel terribly self-conscious. Guilty, even, to be so reliant on Minhyeong. Their friendship, he knows, is too precious to risk with silly, selfish misinterpretations of Minhyeong’s attention.
And Minhyeong is, indeed, quite delightfully oblivious. He can’t help but smile genuinely at Minseok’s implication.
"Alright, let’s get you something to eat”, he says, a hint of a grin tugging at his lips. "If you’re hungry, then I guess it’s my job to feed you"
Minseok watches him as he moves between the stove and the fridge. He allows his brain to disconnect, this time in a different way— relaxing, even. The scent of melted butter on the grill is the final drop that pulls him fully back into the kitchen with Minhyeong.
He straightens on the chair at the counter. His feet dangle centimeters above the tiles as he swings them contentedly.
Cooking is finished. Minhyeong turns around with a soft hum and nudges the plate towards Minseok.
"Feeling better?" Minhyeong asks after a moment, the tone still soft.
The frown from earlier is gone, replaced by something warmer. He probably knows Minseok is alright, but he needs to hear it from himself.
How worried must you have been? Minseok’s phone suddenly feels heavy in the pocket of his sweatpants and a second wave of guilt washes over him.
He blows the steam off the remaining corner of his cheese toast and gives a final bite. Minhyeong smiles so brightly, Minseok finds himself getting some cheese stuck in the back of his throat. He coughs clumsily.
“Slow down, will you? The toastie’s not going anywhere”
Minseok sticks his tongue out. He feels lighter already. What time is it even? Daylight is yet to creep through the large windows overlooking the city. He can’t get rid of the self-conscious feeling. If he pulls his phone out now, no doubt Minhyeong’s eyes will catch a very crowded notifications screen with all his messages still unopened.
Minseok rubs his feet together.
"What time is it, hyung?", he asks softly. He doesn't want Minhyeong to think he’s sleepy. Well, he is , but he doesn't want to give up this moment yet .
Minhyeong checks his phone quickly, careful not to show him the clock. “It’s late— or early, depending on how you look at it. But we’ve got a little more time before the day catches up with us”
He keeps the phone face down on the counter, giving both of them the excuse to ignore the time. If you don’t want to pull out your phone, I won’t either . It’s just them in the middle of the night, and Minhyeong can’t recall the last time this has happened.
“Are we okay for a bit longer?” Minhyeong phrases it more like a request, and the words come out so… intimate. He surprises himself. Then again, it’s been some weeks since they spent quality time, just the two of them. They used to do it more often— just them and some ramyeon, some old anime or a really cheesy drama in Minseok’s room. Some time ago, however, Minseok chose to spend more and more time on his own, practicing, and Minhyeong wasn’t invited to a sleepover again.
The quiet, caring tone makes Minseok’s heart skip a beat and now he doesn't know what's going on. Very few times has he not been able to keep the butterflies in check. He clears his throat and feels his cheeks heating up in a way he knows is self-incriminating. He looks somewhere else, anywhere else but at Minhyeong. He shivers, but the kitchen is warm.
Minhyeong catches the way Minseok’s cheeks redden and something seems to awaken in him. It’s subtle, but he feels it. And suddenly, the air between them, only inches apart, feels different. It’s charged in a way that makes Minseok’s heart want to jump through his ribcage.
Minhyeong leans in just a little, not too much, still leaving some space.
"Minseokie...", his voice is quieter. "Are sure you’re okay?"
His eyes search Minseok’s face while his chin rests on the back of his hand, observing.
Oh no . Minseok’s hands are sweating. There’s something about Minhyeong when he gives you his full attention, when he’s focused on you. Don’t quote Minseok on this, though. Evasive maneuvers. He chooses to drink more water instead. When he puts the glass down, he realizes there's no running away this time. He thinks of the team, thinks of the young model Minhyeong was photographed with months ago. He thinks of himself.
Impulsively, he bites down on his lip before speaking.
"Would you...", he takes another deep breath. This is not happening, is it? "Hyung..." He’s not entirely happy with how whiny, pleading even, his voice sounds. He’s fighting for words here. He knows at least ten people in the same building who would be baffled to find him in such a pitiful situation.
" Hyung ", he stammers again, forcing himself through the surge of embarrassment, and this time he Minhyeong’s gaze, hoping his incomplete sentence makes any sense.
Well. This hits Minhyeong like a truck. It’s the way he hears the words again, the way he sees Minseok babbling and blushing— he doesn't think he’s ever seen him like this, and it sends his mind reeling into a different, uncharted, dimension.
So he doesn't move. His breath catches as he leans in just a fraction closer, not wanting to push Minseok but needing, wantonly and without any logical explanation, to hear what comes next. His voice is barely above a whisper as he speaks.
"What is it?"