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Seungmin walks to the corner store every Thursday, around three in the afternoon. Usually, he buys gum, maybe a cute hair tie or two that he keeps under his bed, something he knows he’ll never use, and always a bar of vanilla ice cream, coated in chocolate.
Chan thinks he’s weird for doing something like getting ice cream on a Thursday instead of a Friday, but he doesn't get it.
Well, neither does Seungmin, but it sounds better for him to say Chan doesn't get it than to explain that he doesn't understand it either: it just became a routine, some day nearly three months ago, and that was it.
Sometimes, Minho Lee works the register, who Seungmin goes to high school with. Once this summer is over, their last summer together, it’ll be probably their last time interacting for the rest of their lives, seeing as different as their goals are. Minho wants to stay in state, or at the very least, stay on the East Coast, if what Seungmin's heard his friends say is true.
Seungmin, on the other hand, can't wait to get out of here.
He feels guilty about it a lot. That there's nothing truly tying him back to this place. His hometown, his place of birth, the place where he grew up– None of that means anything to him. Nobody here makes Seungmin believe he could stay. Not even to pretend.
Even Chan will be gone once the summer's over: He’ll go back to Australia, back where he has his own life, and Seungmin will be stuck at home with his mother, disillusioned with life and absent with parenthood. Chan only comes to keep Seungmin company when he’s forced to be home all day, a small reprieve because that doesn't mean Seungmin’s mom is home any less, and then he leaves when Seungmin has school to distract him.
Seungmin also thinks about Minho Lee more than he probably should. They don't know each other, not really. Seungmin knows of Minho, at best. Their friend groups are adjacent– they both have friends within each other’s groups, but enough of them aren't friends with one another to merge it all into one big thing, and Seungmin’s honestly kind of grateful. Like Minho’s friends with Chan, so they should probably be better friends, but they're not.
There’s something grating about Minho. Something he can't really describe, but it’s like one glance at Minho sets fire ants going in his bone marrow and below. He makes everything start to burn.
Maybe it’s just some weird, fucked up attraction. That’s what Jisung tells him. But if Seungmin took everything Jisung said to heart, he’d probably have ingested rat poison out of guilt for the systemic oppression of rats and other rodents, and died years ago.
It’s not like Minho’s ugly, either. The occasional, second-long glances Seungmin gets at his weekly corner store visits (on the days Minho’s working, anyway) are nice enough. Minho’s got a nice enough nose bridge.
Seungmin wouldn't mind giving that jawline a good swipe with his tongue, if he didn't think he’d come away bleeding.
(That was an inside thought.)
It’s just the whole grating business that’s keeping Seungmin from turning Minho into a real crush kinda thing. He can't figure out why Minho sets him off like he does.
“Maybe if he took you to poundtown,” Jisung had interjected the first time Seungmin’s unexplainable irritation with Minho had been brought up, and Seungmin had promptly shut down the entire conversation, ears burning worse than his skin when Minho's around.
Whatever. This is their last summer existing in the same bubble. By the end of summer, they won't be anything ever again.
That’s what Seungmin thinks, anyways.
—
“I wanna go on a roadtrip at the end of the summer,” Jisung proposes. Hyunjin nods, which means they probably discussed it beforehand, but that’s a given.
Seungmin never checks his texts anyways, so if he did it’d probably be in some group chat somewhere.
“Bring Chan too,” Hyunjin adds. Seungmin doesn't mind Chan hanging out with his friends– he’s only a year older, so they've been friends since they were young. It's only different now that he’s in college. Plus, he’s a good driver.
Hyunjin probably only wants him so he can wordlessly ogle at his forearms when he drives and never say a word to him past that.
Seungmin wonders how Jeongin feels about that, but that isn't really his business, so he lets it slide.
“So you, me, Hyunjin, Jeongin, and Chan’s friends?”
“Who counts as Chan’s friends?”
“Felix, Changbin, and Minho, right?”
Seungmin groans. “Do we have to invite Minho?”
“Well, it looks bad if we don't. Plus, I don't think he’d wanna skip on inviting Minho.”
“He hasn't even done anything to you,” Hyunjin says, absentmindedly. “You just have, like, this weird, one sided rivalry with him.”
“How long are we thinking this road trip is gonna be?” If Seungmin can't avoid Minho and his skin-burning qualities, he’d better brace himself for how long it's gonna be. If he’s lucky, it'll be a couple days. If he’s unlucky, it’ll be a week max, right?
Jisung coughs, and Seungmin’s skin starts burning like on instinct.
“We were thinking about cross country…”
“You wanna drive to the other side of the country? From here?”
“It’d be fun! You know we can switch who’s driving so we could basically drive twenty four hours straight, so it wouldn't even take us three days.”
“How long max?”
“We’re thinking three weeks so we can sightsee. Two weeks at the very least.”
Jisung explains: They’re leaving a month before school starts, so they conveniently have one week left if they choose to stay longer, or if things go wrong on the way there.
“If we work super fast, we could get there in, like, two days.”
“Where is ‘there’?” Seungmin sighs.
“California. Duh. City of dreams. Or something.”
Seungmin’s going to be around Minho for three weeks, at least, and he doesn't even like people, and they're taking him to California.
He wants to ask how their parents are cool with this, but then he remembers his mom wouldn't look twice if Seungmin disappeared for three weeks, and they're basically all in that same boat.
Except Chan’s friends, who Seungmin knows next to nothing about.
—
The next Thursday, about a month before their roadtrip, Minho’s working the register, again. Seungmin doesn't talk to him, but he doesn't look at his shoes the entire time, instead opting to study the face of a boy he’s going to have to be around for almost a month, which is as much of an invitation to conversation as he’ll give.
Somehow, Minho seems to understand.
“No hair tie this time?” Minho looks up when he says this, and there’s a half second of eye contact before Seungmin looks away on instinct, belatedly realizing his skin is burning again.
He’s referring to the stupidly cute hair ties Seungmin likes to buy– undeniably girly, usually some shade of pink with charms like bows or lollipops or something childish. Not for any reason, honestly. Seungmin just thinks they're cute.
“Did Chan tell you about the roadtrip?” Seungmin asks instead, opting to ignore Minho’s earlier question. He’d told Chan about it a couple days ago, and he’d seemed unnecessarily enthusiastic.
Minho hums, now looking down as he bags Seungmin’s items. He’s taking forever, hands twitchy, and Seungmin just stares at the top of his head.
“Your parents are cool with it?” Seungmin’s not sure where the question comes from, and when Minho looks up at him, maybe something akin to surprise if Seungmin’s peripheral vision is accurate, Seungmin’s still looking at his name tag, pointedly avoiding eye contact.
“My dad doesn't give a fuck, yeah.” There’s something brittle in his tone, like if Seungmin pressed too hard it’d snap.
So he nods, because he doesn't know Minho well enough to push, to make him snap, and then gestures to his bag, which Minho has yet to let go of, his grip tight enough for Seungmin to get a glance at the veins on his arm.
“You're melting my ice cream, I think.”
Finally, something like a smile as Minho slides the bag towards him, plastic crinkling. Not really a full smile, but the closest Seungmin’s gotten thus far, maybe.
His skin has been burning this entire time, but the sorta-smile is something else entirely. It’s like a lightning bolt shot up his spine, and there’s a buzzing thought in the back of Seungmin's head, hazy and muddled, that’s saying something about how he needs that smile directed towards him for the rest of his life.
He’s a lot more screwed than he thought he was, apparently.
Jisung’s also a lot more correct than he thought he was, too.
—
“So, do you remember when you first brought up this whole Minho rivalry thing?” There’s something undeniably smug in Jisung’s face, the way his lips are trembling as he holds in a smirk, the way his chin is propped up on folded hands.
Seungmin’s already regretting bringing Minho up again– he’d only said he’d seen him at the corner store again, and asked about the road trip. Seungmin really, genuinely only meant it to help Jisung confirm plans.
“Remember when I said he should just take you to poundtown,” Jisung continues, ignoring Seungmin’s indignant yelp, “And you acted like I was crazy, but actually I was right all along?”
“Yeah, he kind of ended you. To be honest.” Hyunjin adds this comment, perpetually distracted, this time because of his hands in Jeongin’s hair.
Seungmin must stay silent for a beat too long, because when he locks eyes with Hyunjn, he notices the slight flare of his nostrils, and then Seungmin’s bracing himself for how on Hyunjin’s about to put him on blast in front of all his friends.
“No way.” Hyunjin’s breathless. “Seriously?”
“Well. Not poundtown. Seriously. He just smiled at me and– I started thinking about marriage.” Which is funny, because not a single person in Seungmin’s life has parents who had happy marriages. Not even his own. He has no reason to feel so positively about it, and yet.
“Jesus.” Jeongin sighs, disheveled from how quickly Hyunjin sat up from his lap. “Are you gonna do anything about it?”
Seungmin wants to say no. He’s never been the kind of person to go for people he likes. He just stays away from them until the feelings are gone. Or, when that isn’t an option, he shoves them so far below his chest he stops feeling them.
But he’s never going to see Minho again, after this summer. He’s already been accepted to a college in California. And Minho’s staying here, on the East Coast. If Seungmin plays his cards right, he thinks he could get one last summer out of him, and then never have to worry about stupid things like feelings again.
So he nods at Jeongin’s question, ears burning again. “I’ll try,” he adds, averting his eyes from the way Jisung’s cheesing at him.
—
Maybe Minho’s been working more recently. Or Seungmin’s just going to the corner store way more.
Well, Seungmin is there more than his usual once a week. He’s gone nearly every day this week, though he never buys anything. He stalks creepily around the back, gets a cursory glance at the front to see if Minho’s working the register, either confirms or denies it, and then stalks back out and walks home.
Sometimes, when Minho’s watching him, Seungmin freaks and goes to the one part of the store where he knows no one can see him, except that’s the part of the store with all the condoms, and Minho probably thinks a lot of weird shit from how often Seungmin’s in the condom aisle.
He’s memorized the entire aisle by now. First, the normal ones, going up in increasing size order, and then the flavored ones. Banana, strawberry, mint, and grape. And then all the lube.
Seungmin, on Thursday, finally buys his weekly pack of gum, three hair ties instead of his usual two, and the same ice cream bar he always does.
Minho’s working the register, eyes scanning him as he walks up.
“You’ve been working here more often,” Seungmin starts.
Except Minho’s brows furrow, before they smooth out. “I’m here everyday. But sometimes I’m in the back, if that’s what you mean,” he adds, his thumb thrown somewhere behind him. Seungmin’s eyes flit to where he’s pointing, and he notices a run-down swinging door, in desperate need of a paint job. If he stares hard enough through the circular little window, he can almost make out a shelf, lined with binders and stacks of paper burying the walls.
“Oh.” Seungmin’s fulfilled his daily quota of embarrassment, especially after being the one who started the conversation, so he opts for staying silent.
“Why? You lookin’ for me?” There’s a lilt to Minho’s voice, his head tilted as he looks down at Seungmin’s items. Bagged already, so Seungmin could grab them and book it, if he so wanted. But his voice snags, something sultry in the question, and Seungmin wonders if this is what it would’ve felt like if he attempted to make a move on every person he’d liked before.
But he knows, somewhere deep down, that this is different. The tug in his ribs is different.
“Maybe,” Seungmin says, the most admission Minho will ever get, before reaching over the counter for the plastic bag and leaving as quickly as he can, an attempt at preserving his last bits of dignity.
—
Chan’s more than ready for the road trip, as he is about most things. He’s also more than willing to provide for Seungmin during the trip, should the need arise, but Seungmin has leftover money from all his odd jobs.
He remembers last summer, when Chan had only come home for a couple of weeks, and Seungmin had taken people up on about every offer he could get for jobs, just to get out of the house. To not be in the same vicinity as his mother, and her blank-eyed stares.
He’d done fast food, he’d done retail, he’d mowed lawns and washed cars, sometimes all at the same time, and even babysat, for a couple weeks, before the parents realized what kind of town he lived in and what kind of fucked up family he had, and, conveniently, “found a better suited sitter.”
The point being, Seungmin has more than enough money to last him the last three weeks of summer, since they’re all trading off on gas money, and everyone else does, too. They all have money saved from past jobs or current jobs or whatever the hell, but Chan’s the most stable out of his friends, so he reminds Seungmin that his wallet is also there, when need be, and it’s a throwaway comment, but it strikes something deep inside of Seungmin.
Chan’s got this weird, natural fatherly instinct to him. They’re only a year apart, but he treats Seungmin with that same devoted love and care neither of them got from their fathers. It’s instinctual, not even just for Seungmin, but in general– the way Chan takes people under his wing and keeps them there as long as they need, the way loving people is second nature, even when loving himself isn’t.
It’s funnier when Seungmin remembers they don’t even have the same fathers, because apparently both of them were shit out of luck when it came to present parents.
That reminds him of Minho, scoffing when he’d mentioned his own father, which just pisses Seungmin off. He needs to get over this, and being trapped with him for three weeks isn’t going to help him at all.
—
Seungmin thinks distancing himself might help, which is why he doesn’t go to the corner store, two Thursdays in a row. He’s severely lacking in his shitty, likely expired ice cream bars, but he needs to get over this whole Minho thing.
Except that he’s started dreaming about Minho, as if his brain refuses to let him forget about a certain guy with a fake snarky personality and arms so attractive Seungmin wants to die.
And then he starts seeing Minho around town, which is something that has never happened before, so maybe that’s the universe throwing signs at him, that he needs to stop ignoring it. He can’t ignore it forever, obviously. The issue of the three weeks in a car with him is looming over Seungmin, and he knows he isn’t ever going to be able to avoid him then, but he’s not really willing to be logical or rational right now.
Until Seungmin hears someone knocking on the door, on a Tuesday, one month before they go across the country under the pretense of some kind of final freedom of their teenage years, as if the absent parentage they've dealt with their entire lives isn't something that's loomed over them their entire lives more like a threat than a gift, and–
Seungmin's just been down, lately. He’s been cooped up in his house trying to avoid Minho, but he can't avoid his mom. She works, but they're odd hour shifts, and he can't avoid her entirely. She doesn't seem to see him, even when she passes him a sad smile: She’s looking through him, past him, more focused on a wall behind him or the lanky shoulders that poke through his shirts.
He yanks the door open with more force than probably necessary, assuming it’s Chan, who’d gone out a couple hours ago to see Felix. Instead, he’s staring into deep, dark eyes, eyebrows furrowing in surprise, and Seungmin has to reel in every ounce of self control in his body to not throw his head back in anger and slam the door in Minho’s face.
“Are you looking for Chan?” He opts, attempting to give Minho an out.
“Is he home?” Minho asks, seemingly adjacent to the question.
“No, he’s at Felix’s.”
Minho nods. And then does that infuriatingly attractive head tilt, looking down. “I was looking for you, anyways.”
“Why?” Seungmin's voice is unnecessarily clipped, and he feels bad, because Minho hasn't really done anything to warrant that. Besides being attractive.
Minho’s eyebrows furrow again, likely picking up on Seungmin's tone, but he doesn't say anything. “You haven't been in the store for a while.” He breathes a laugh, before continuing, “Haven't stalked around in the condom aisle for a bit, either.”
Seungmin wishes his ears would stop burning red, picking apart at his facade of forced carelessness.
“I don't stalk around,” he grumbles, a lazy attempt at deflection, but that only makes Minho’s smile grow. “Why were you looking for me?”
This question finally seems to get through to Minho, who stands up the slightest bit straighter, no longer leaning against Seungmin's doorway like some kind of shitty rom-com hero. His hands, still stuffed in his pockets, seem to flex, but that’s all Seungmin sees.
Still, Minho just shrugs. “Work’s been slow,” he deflects.
“Me stalking around in the condom aisle makes it go by faster?”
A huff, maybe. “A little.” And then he pauses, and Seungmin– well, Seungmin doesn't even know what Minho’s doing here, standing on his porch in a muscle tee that’s really criminally attractive.
“Thought I’d return the favor and come look for you, instead,” Minho concedes.
Seungmin's done everything he can to keep his eyes on Minho’s face, but with his arms out, and the weight of his gaze, Seungmin gives up, instead looking behind Minho, somewhere out into cracked sidewalks and pothole filled roads.
Minho doesn’t say anything for the length that Seungmin stares past him, and it isn’t like Seungmin has anything to do, anyways, so he pulls the door shut behind him, a pleasant click sounds, and he’s stepping out onto the porch.
Neither Seungmin nor Minho are expecting that to happen, so Minho doesn’t take a step back until Seungmin’s close enough for their arms to brush.
Fire ants.
Burning, tingling, crawling under his skin.
Seungmin, in a fleeting, passing thought, wonders if Minho feels them too.
–
Minho’s– well, it’s weird. He’s not directly talkative, but he’s funny when he wants to be, and he’s got a subtle charm to him, besides that beautiful face of his.
So unfortunately, Seungmin can't get over him, and actually only continues to fall deeper and deeper into the stupid crush, until it’s too long winded to be a crush.
Now Seungmin just likes him, and he likes their silence, and he hates how much he likes their silence.
They’re sitting on the curb outside the corner store, Minho with ten minutes left of his break, and they're both eating a bar of Seungmin’s favorite ice cream.
“Why’d you come looking for me?” It's not a question Seungmin necessarily means to ask, but it comes out regardless. “And, seriously. Like, you had to make the decision to come to my house and knock on the door.”
Minho’s quiet, as Seungmin expected.
“I like you,” Minho starts, and Seungmin's heart nearly stops. “Not– well, y’know. I mean, I like the persona you've put up. Ice cream and girly hair ties. And you’re Chan’s brother. He’s one of my best friends, and I knew next to nothing about you.”
“Half-brother,” Seungmin corrects. He's not sure why he says that, either.
Minho shakes his head. “Doesn't mean anything to me. You live with him. He calls you his brother.”
“Well.” Seungmin puts the now finished ice cream bar down, wiping his hands on his pants. “What do you think of my girly hair ties?”
“I can't really fathom what you do with them, unless they're for your mom. Or some secret family member I don't know about. A cousin. Another sister. Maybe you have a secret daughter born out of wedlock.”
This time it’s Seungmin’s turn to shake his head, looking down at his nails to hide his growing smile. “No secret family members. No daughters born out of wedlock.” He pauses, wondering if he should say the next thing he’s thinking of saying, and decides he has nothing to lose. “Plus, I’m gay, so– I don't think that would be happening regardless. All the hair ties just sit in a shoebox under my bed. I don't ever look at them after I buy them, or anything. It’s just the collection.”
—
The next time Minho comes to Seungmin’s house, he pulls something out of his pocket. Seungmin hears it before he sees it, the same crackly plasticky paper that all his hair ties are always in.
“I found a couple they haven't put on the shelves yet. In the back,” Minho says, but he’s scratching behind his particularly red ear with one hand, and Seungmin thinks he looks kind of nervous. “If you have it already, you don't have to take it, but I thought you might like it?”
Seungmin accepts it, and he’s pretty sure he murmurs some kind of thank you, even though he can only focus on his heart hammering in his chest.
—
“If you could be anything, what would you be? It doesn't matter how unrealistic.”
“I'd like to work in an auto shop, I think.” Minho hums, nodding to himself. “That sounds pretty good to me, yeah.”
“Why an auto shop?”
“Just the idea of it. All I wear is white tanks, but I call them wife beaters, my hands are always stained with oil, but I’m super macho, and I know how to fix cars.” Minho huffs. “Imagine how good I’d look leaning over the hood of your car. I don't like cigarettes, but I’d smoke if I worked with cars. That kinda guy.” Minho exhales, as if he’s imagining himself smoking already. “What would you be, if you could be anything?”
Minho’s joking about imagining that last part, but Seungmin's seeing the vision. And the vision is really attractive. Unfortunately.
“An astronaut, probably. I watched Interstellar when I was younger, and decided I wanted to do that too.”
“You saw him spend, like, seventy years in space, on accident, and decided that’s what you wanted to do?”
“But the effects were cool,” Seungmin whines, because they were. “It was all so pretty. I’d like to see all of that in real life.”
“You’d look funny in an astronaut suit,” Minho says.
“You’d look stupid in a wife beater,” Seungmin returns. Though he personally disagrees. Appearances are important.
Still, from the way Minho is smirking at him, Seungmin thinks he’s been caught. Whatever.
—
The car backs out of Seungmin’s driveway, Chan looking behind him as he does so, and Seungmin leans against the window, eyes scanning his house.
His mother hadn’t blinked an eye when they’d said they were leaving, her gaze seeming to float right through them, as it always did. Seungmin wonders what it is, what seems to be looping behind her eyes when she’s so absent.
They’ve never been familial, never really had the picture perfect family that Seungmin thinks his mom dreams of: even when they’d been two parents and a child, there had been no idealism about their situation. There was no, “but at least we have each other,” when times were tough, only more struggles because all they had was each other. So it’s not even like she’s reminiscing on a better life– if she is, it's one before Seungmin existed, back when his father had been in the picture.
Seungmin's never missed him, not really. It’s hard to miss someone you never knew, and he’d left just after Seungmin had been conceived. He guess he misses what could’ve been, one where they had a good relationship and his mom was all here and his dad was Chan’s dad and they were all one big family.
But they're on the road trip now, at least. Officially. Hyunjin’s been ogling Chan’s forearms from his spot besides Jeongin, which is definitely a choice. Jeongin, whether he’s noticed or not, doesn’t say anything, and the car is mostly quiet, for a while. Jeongin and Hyunjin keep dozing off on each other, and Seungmin’s always been content with silence. Even Chan seems distracted, thinking about whatever he thinks about instead of the shitty small talk he seems to be so fond of, and Seungmin’s a little bit glad.
They pull over a few hours later at some run down restaurant, the kind where Seungmin's always wondered how they stay in business when they so rarely get customers. But with eight hungry men rumbling into the shop, they’re probably about to get so much food they'll single-handedly cover this shop’s rent for the next three months.
That’s barely an exaggeration, anyways. Seungmin ends up right across from Minho, so eye contact is inevitable, and as are to be expected with run down restaurants, the booths are so small that their knees keep knocking together.
Seungmin’s knees burn, every single time it happens, and he worries that the burn will end up spreading to his ears, painting them an undeniable shade of red.
Even if he tried to avoid eye contact with Minho, Seungmin doesn't think it'd be possible. All he’s been doing is looking at Seungmin. Minho’s quiet when they eat, really only talking when prompted, which feels simultaneously unexpected and on par with how Seungmin has seen him. Seungmin's usually the ones starting conversations between them, but Minho’s good at keeping them going. Now, his answers are concise, though still full of the dry wit Seungmin has become surprisingly accustomed to.
So Minho stares at Seungmin, their knees knock into each other six times, Seungmin pretends he doesn't notice Minho’s staring, though he gives a semi apologetic glance every time they knock knees, and it’s generally pretty awkward between the two of them. Chan’s next to Minho, while Han’s next to Seungmin.
Seungmin doesn't look right at Minho very often, but he definitely uses his peripheral vision to stare at the space between Chan’s curly hair and Minho’s ears, eyes focusing on the worn down wood of the seat behind them.
—
They get off track, because of course they do. Chan pulls over at a parking lot, deserted and run down, like most everything Seungmin’s come across lately. The stars are out, unaffected by light pollution, and it’s the sky is entirely clear of clouds, too. They manage to crawl onto the roof of the car, and they just sit, while Hyunjin and Jeongin situate themselves on the hood.
The other car organizes themselves the same way: Changbin and Jisung on the hood, and Minho and Felix on the roof. Felix, as loved as he’s ever been, leans into Minho, his head on Minho’s shoulder, and Seungmin’s finds he’s almost sick in his jealousy. He’s not even sure where it comes from, really. He wants Minho, of course, in soft ways and also not in soft ways, but he’s never thought of himself as someone that would get jealous of his significant other’s friends.
But he’s so jealous. He’s envious of how easy, how casual those touches are. Felix is simply putting his head on Minho’s shoulder, Minho is simply leaning ever so slightly into it, and they’re murmuring to each other, quiet enough that even Seungmin can’t hear, though they’re not that far from each other. He just sees their lips moving, little smiles passed between them. An inexplicable sort of intimacy in that friendship that Seungmin doesn’t know if he’s ever understood, or been able to reciprocate.
Hyunjin is touchy, and Jisung is touchy when he wants to be. And they’re touchy with Seungmin, when they feel like it, but Seungmin’s never known how to reciprocate that. He didn’t grow up with people that used touch as a form of love: he didn’t grow up with very many forms of love at all. So he doesn’t shove Hyunjin off of him when he drapes an arm around him, but he doesn’t ever drape arms back.
He doesn’t know how to accomplish that naturally, and he wants that. He wants that from Minho, but he wants it to mean something, and he wants to be able to reciprocate it, too.
There's this heavy, heavy weight in the chest in Seungmin’s heart, and he kind of wishes he could barf. He hates it because he hates his jealousy, but also because he hates how quickly it all happened: He’d been fine an hour ago. Hell, he’d been fine twenty minutes ago. But seeing how easy touch comes to everybody but him–
He wonders if want is supposed to ache like this. He aches with his heart pounding and his fingers tingling.
And his goddamn fucking fire ants.
He keeps his head tilted up that night, leans back on his hands, his eyes focused solely on the stars, on that realization that he is truly so little in the grand scheme of the universe, and he doesn’t look at Minho or Hyunjin or Jeongin or Jisung anyone else who might look at him for less than a second and understand how heavy he feels. He stays thinking about how if he was up in that star, he wouldn't be able to see himself down here, the way he can see the stars from the ground. He wonders how lonely it must be for stars in the daytime, their ever-presence and yet their ignorance.
When they leave, he sleeps in the car, wordless as ever.
—
He sleeps fitfully, waking up when Chan takes a speed bump too fast and Seungmin's forehead knocks into the window, or when the music is just a smidge too loud. His dreams don’t allow him any reprieve, of course. He dreams flashes of Minho, flashes of hands held and mouths kissed and lashes fluttered and flashes of touch and touch and touch and touch.
—
The next day is mostly driving. The energy seems weirdly charged from last night, so when they step into another restaurant, there’s minimal conversation between all eight of them. Rather, they talk quietly around the people they’re sitting with, but Seungmin’s sitting in the innermost part of the booth, and Chan’s talking to Felix already, so his only choice for conversation is the wall next to him.
He’s across from Minho, and this time he’s pointedly avoiding eye contact with him. It isn’t really working– Seungmin’s dedicatedly staring at Minho’s hands, laying on the table across from him, but now he’s just realizing he thinks he has a thing for hands. That realization makes him wanna look away because now he feels like a creep, but there’s nowhere else to look. Minho lifts his hands to scratch the back of his neck, and Seungmin’s eyes follow that, too, except he’s too close to making eye contact so he stares pointedly at Minho’s ear, now.
Alas, Seungmin caves. Minho raises his eyebrows at him, silently asking what’s up with him, and Seungmin just shakes his head.
He thinks that’s the end of it, but of course Minho’s not one to give up. He nudges Seungmin’s foot under the table, and Seungmin can’t help the way his lips press together, hiding a smile.
He nudges back, ever so slightly.
A touch, reciprocated. It should probably seem like a bigger deal to him. But it’s Minho, so it seems natural, somehow.
And then they end up playing an aggravating game of footsies under her table, and Seungmin’s shoulders keep knocking into Chan’s, who’s sitting next to him, and Minho’s somehow knocking shoulders with Changbin, which is insane because it’s not like his biceps leave much room for that, and the entire table is not-very-discreetly observing them, and Seungmin can’t even find it in himself to be embarrassed.
It’s an aggravating game because Seungmin's fucking terrible at footsies, apparently, but it’s not like he has much practice with it. So Minho wins, and their interaction seems to have made that nameless tension dissipate: Everyone talks over everyone else, leaning over the table to yell at each other, and their arms reach uncomfortably across the entire booth.
They’re loud and annoying and the waiters probably hate them, but Seungmin’s fine, for once. A lightness, a weightlessness.
Someone brings up changing car positions, though Seungmin doesn't remember where it starts, until it just turns into a one sided insult competition between Changbin and Hyunjin.
“I don’t want to be crushed by your biceps again,” Hyunjin wails. “My shoulders are bruised from being pressed against the car door.”
“But I love you,” Changbin wails back, just as dramatic. They're screaming–wailing– at each other from across the parking lot, Hyunjin in front of the restaurant door and Changbin in front of their car door, and Seungmin’s just leaning against the car, watching them. Minho is, of course, leaning on the car door next to him, though Seungmin doesn't know how that happened.
“I love you, and you love my biceps,” Changbin howls.
Hyunjin shakes his head sadly, seemingly unable to come up with an argument against that.
Minho scoffs a laugh, which makes Seungmin smile.
They end up with Changbin driving and Hyunjin sitting in the passenger seat, both of them cooing at each other like married couples, Changbin pretending the center console is some kind of unscalable wall holding him back from Hyunjin. Seungmin and Minho end up pressed right next to each other, after having been ushered inside when they'd been standing next to each other in the car. Felix sits on the opposite side of Minho, and Seungmin tries his best to tamp down the— admittedly pathetic— jealousy he feels at that.
Seungmin does his best not to notice how his and Minho’s knees are pressed flush together, does his best to not notice every time Minho looks at him, does his best to not notice how red his own ears are becoming. He just hopes his hair is long enough to cover that.
Except occasionally, Minho will nudge Seungmin's shoe with his own, and Seungmin will nudge back, and he forgets how Felix’s head is draped along Minho’s shoulder.
Well– he doesn't forget. But he cares less, maybe. Seungmin’s affected by it less, knowing that he’s allowed a part of that too.
Plus, sometimes Felix will extend a hand behind Minho and pat Seungmin’s head, or run his fingers through Seungmin’s hair, and he’s reminded of why everybody calls Felix one half of the sunshine duo, even though him and Jisung have only recently been acquainted– he embodies that, this bright glowing ball of yellow sugar.
—
They end up in California the next day, and decide to do karaoke. Again, Seungmin’s not sure who decides, and he’s not sure who even brought it up to begin with. The eight of them crowd themselves into a tiny little booth that was probably meant to comfortably fit about five people max, which also means that Changbin will take any chance to get Hyunjin to sit on his lap.
Thinking back, Seungmin doesn't even know how they got there. He didn't think Hyunjin had already been friends with Changbin, but that’s kind of the only explanation he can think of for why they're so comfortable with each other.
Nearly an hour later, they’re in this shitty karaoke booth, Jeongin’s singing his heart out, being egged on by Chan, and Seungmin’s heart is thrumming with the bass. He keeps making eye contact with Minho, who’s gaze is so heavy it makes his stomach drop.
The lyrics aren't helping, either. This is not the most karaoke-esque song in the world, and Hyunjin’s really dedicated to replicating Justin Bieber’s weirdly sensual tone in Flatline, and he’s still on top of Changbin while he’s singing, and it's all very weird in general.
Everyone else loves it, of course, cheering them on, and– listen, Seungmin hasn't understood Hyunjin’s whatever with Changbin, except– Changbin’s hands come to rest lightly on Hyunjin’s hips as he’s basically moaning into the mic, and then Seungmin has to avert his eyes 'cause this is far too much for him. And he’s probably gonna start developing a crush on Changbin, too, like Minho wasn't bad enough.
Except Minho’s making eye contact with Seungmin again, and Seungmin thinks he might actually barf. He volunteers to go next, just so he can stare at the screen and not at Minho, and he picks a normal karaoke song, because he's not trying to give Minho a borderline lap dance in front of the rest of their friends like Hyunjin and Changbin.
Yeah, he has no idea what just happened with them, and seeing how quiet both of them have gotten, he assumes they’ve crossed some invisible line, entirely on accident.
Except Seungmin can't stop himself from looking at Minho during karaoke, and the only reason he doesn't immediately mess up the lyrics is because of pure muscle memory.
Until Minho winks at him, like actually fully unironically winks at him, and looks good doing it, and it doesn't gross Seungmin out, and Seungmin chokes into the mic so hard it squeaks throughout the entire room.
Holy shit, he needs to kill himself immediately. He shoves the mic into Minho’s hands, who fake groans but is still smirking at Seungmin, and then Seungmin decides to sit in the corner and not look at anybody for the rest of this godforsaken trip.
—
Later that night, when they finally get to their motel, they all crowd in one room even though they've booked three rooms, and Jeongin pulls out his suitcase. Which starts clinking as he rolls it, and Seungmin has a pretty good idea of what’s in there.
Lo and behold, it’s a whole bunch of alcohol.
“How’d you even get that,” Hyunjin sputters. “You're literally younger than us. This is terrible. We’re terrible influences.”
Jeongin snorts. “I could've told you that way before this, too.”
Jeongin mixes up some unholy concoction of coke and vodka, which doesn't mix at all and isn't even supposed to mix to begin with, and all this talk Seungmin has been saying of barfing was nothing compared to how heinous this tastes.
It’s disgusting, but it gets the job done. So Seungmin drinks it, even though he might as well be drinking a glass of nail polish remover, and he gets a little drunk.
It feels okay, he supposes. Nothing insane. He feels a bit lighter than usual, and he wants to make stupider decisions than maybe he would otherwise, but he’s still in control of himself.
Mostly.
Somebody puts music on in the background, not loud enough to be obnoxious to other people in the motel, but Seungmin’s assuming that eight people in one room will never be quiet enough to not be obnoxious.
He ends up next to Minho, eventually. After taking a few more sips of that devious ass combination, he sticks to a fruit punch flavored Capri Sun, and keeps that with him for the rest of the night.
When Changbin clambers up to the kitchen, Seungmin follows him for a glass of water, and ends up in the little hallway to the bathroom. Hallway is a generous term for it, but there’s a little section of the wall that’s deeper than the rest, enough for a mirror and a large sink, and next to that is the door to the bathroom. Seungmin leans on the counter, until his nose is almost touching the mirror.
The lights are off, this part of the motel room only dimly lit by the rest of the lights wherever everyone else is drinking, and Seungmin can only really see the whites of his eyes properly.
“Like what you see?” Minho's voice isn't slurred, just a little bit rougher than usual, and Seungmin only knows he’s still a little bit tipsy because of the tips of his ears.
Ha. Tips. Tipsy. Seungmin smiles to himself, but Minho catches that, too.
Seungmin really wants to kiss Minho.
“I would really like to kiss you right now.”
Seungmin really did not want to say that out loud.
Minho’s eyes widen, and he straightens up, hands no longer leisurely in his pockets, and even though everyone else is being loud, the rest of the sound seems to suck out of this room, until all Seungmin can hear is his own heartbeat in his ears and Minho’s feet padding against the floor.
“Tell me you're sober.” Minho is more serious than he’s ever been, which is insane because it's not like he’s particularly playful otherwise.
“I’m– well, I’m not at a hundred percent, but I promise I’m not so out of it I can't be rational. I–” Seungmin’s voice drops into something like a whine, which is pathetic to admit. “I’m good. I promise.”
Minho’s close to him, closer than he’s ever been, until he’s got his hands on the counter, and Seungmin is trapped between that and Minho.
It’s a beautiful place to be trapped.
“You promise, huh?” Minho begins to murmur, but the last couple syllables get mostly cut off because he says them against Seungmin’s lips, and then Seungmin’s hands come to rest around Minho’s neck, and then they stop resting and now they're pulling Minho even further in, and Minho’s hands are no longer on the counter but on gripping Seungmin’s waist in a way that Seungmin’s literally only dreamed out, and he’s in absolute pure bliss.
Seungmin was just drunk an hour ago, but that was absolutely nothing compared to how kiss-drunk he is right now. Minho’s lips don't stay on his, but sometimes end up on his neck, the space just behind his ear, his hands sometimes travel up Seungmin’s shirt and then come back down, and his lips press in the divot of Seungmin’s collarbones, until he finally pulls away, though one of his hands stay on Seungmin's hips, possessive in a way that makes Seungmin dizzy.
Minho looks down at Seungmin, and then uses the thumb of his other hand, rubs it across Seungmin’s lips, rough, and Seungmin has never needed someone else in his pants so badly.
They don’t, of course. They’re still on a communal sink (communal for whoever’s room this is), and even if that weren't an issue, there’s the issue of the six other people that could at any time decide they need to use the bathroom or throw up and walk in on them.
“Hoooly shit, okay, I’m going now, I actually didn't have to use the bathroom, you guys just– do whatever you’re doing,” comes a panicked Jisung, just in time, seeing Seungmin still trapped between Minho and the counter, Minho’s hands on his mouth, and Seungmin just sighs, throwing his head back.
—
The next morning, they’re sitting on the floor of some unnamed park, Seungmin doing a coloring book and Minho staring daggers down at his sudoku. Everyone else is doing something of the sort, whether it be word searches or crossword puzzles, courtesy of their recent visit to the dollar tree.
Seungmin's chewing a piece of gum that he’d also bought, and everyone is mostly doing their own thing.
“Give me a piece of gum,” Minho whispers, nudging him with his knee.
Seungmin looks around to see if anyone is paying attention to them, establishes that they're not, and sticks the piece of gum out of his mouth, holding it with his teeth, and fake-grins at Minho.
“Come and get it,” he mumbles around it, only half paying attention, eyes cast down towards his coloring book.
There's a second of silence, where the air seems to gain weight, something unspoken in the air. Seungmin looks up in curiosity, the gum still poking out between his teeth, and–
And then Minho grabs his chin, and kisses him so hard it makes him lightheaded. His hands are no longer grasping his chin, more so just resting on his face, but Seungmin can taste spearmint from the gum in his mouth and a hint of sugar from whatever Minho last ate. Something honey-ish, if he’s getting the taste right.
Point being, Minho tastes good.
But the more important thing– he steals Seungmin’s gum, right out of his fucking mouth.
Well. He tries, but then Seungmin holds his gum tightly between his teeth, because the thought of simply pulling away and closing his mouth doesn’t occur to him. So Minho manages to rip off less than half of an already tiny stick of gum. Seungmin should be really annoyed about how little gum he has left.
Seungmin becomes aware of how silent it's suddenly become, and looks around to see the rest of his friends just– staring silently at them. Chan looks flabbergasted, and also a little bit grossed out because that's his little brother, while Jisung wordlessly drops a twenty dollar bill in Hyunjin’s outstretched hand, and Jeongin just looks as grossed out as he always does.
It almost begins to get awkward, so Changbin saves them, because of course he does.
“Me and Hyunjin next? Seungmin, got any extra gum?” Changbin pauses. “Just give me a new piece, though. I don't want the one out of your mouth.”
“I wouldn't have given you the one out of my mouth, either.”