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coffeequeue · 9 years ago

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***** Maybe it’s due to the click of her heels or the fact that her blouse is buttoned right up against her neck, but for whatever reason, Jinki thinks Eunbi is upset with him. “I think we should have taken his advice.” Ding ding, the passive aggressive reminder and his skills of deduction are still right on the money. “Whose advice?” But Jinki feigns ignorance anyway, hands in his pockets, walking exactly three steps behind Eunbi. Her pace is particularly brisk today. “Minho-ssi’s,” Eunbi answers plainly, not even bothering to look back at him, black hair framing her pale neck. So no less than a week later, it’s this issue, Jinki scowling openly behind her back, contrasting the oblivious tone of his voice. “What do you mean?” Sadly for him, Eunbi appears to know that his act of innocence is bullshit, still refusing to give Jinki the opportunity for eye contact. She replies to him all the same. “I mean doing something new or exciting during our routine.” Her back is stiff. Jinki can see it through the sheerness of her blouse, sharp shoulder blades locked into position. She’s more than upset, exhausted he surmises, and that signal alone makes Jinki’s frustration shift to guilt. Chewing his bottom lip, he gives into instinct, reaching his hand out towards her. He should close the gap. One millisecond too slow and a familiar chime rings out as she suddenly shifts, Jinki’s hand barely brushing the white fabric before jerking his hand away. Eunbi finally turns to look at him, face blank and unaware, motioning for him to enter first. Jinki does so, head tilting down as he puts his hand discreetly back in his pocket. He’s not met by the expected presence. Instead, his eyes fall upon a shockingly pretty young man, short red hair and a rehearsed but sweet smile. * “How many?” “Two.” Jinki lifts his hand, giving a v. The man nods and seats them by the window. “Well that’s new.” Jinki cracks a light-hearted joke as he removes his sweater. “We weren’t greeted by Minho-ssi and we’re sitting near the front today.” Unfortunately for him, the joke isn’t funny, Eunbi’s lips pressing into a slanted line as she seats herself. Not smooth Jinki. Thankfully for him, the server is back, interrupting the developing state of awkwardness. He pours ice water into two glasses before giving another sickeningly sweet smile to the two of them. “Are you ready to order or would you like some time?” “Uh.” Jinki swallows, glancing at Eunbi and her blank expression before looking back to their too-well-rehearsed server. “No we’re ready to order. One kimchi jigae, an order of jaeyuk bokkeum, and... one ulmyeon.” The server nods, jotting the order down before walking away. Jinki can’t put his finger on it because honestly, the guy hasn’t done anything wrong, but for some reason the atmosphere feels much colder than usual. And of course, she isn’t making the situation any better, Eunbi looking up sideways at Jinki, her chin resting against the back of her hand. “Trying something new?” Sarcastic and curt. “I thought it would be exciting.” And probably not best time for him to reply with the same intonation, but Jinki fails to censor himself. As expected, the comment earns him a small but wicked glare, Eunbi rummaging through her purse and withdrawing her phone. She scrolls through the touchscreen quickly, nails clicking away at the surface. It’s the most effective form of ignoring company: text messaging. Jinki sighs, sitting back dejectedly as he looks out the window, staring at the people walking by. He hasn’t been very thoughtful lately. If anything would go his way this day, he would continue to mope some more. Except, in the span of one blink, Jinki’s thoughts are interrupted, a tall blur streaking across his vision. Following shortly thereafter, the bell at the front door rings out violently, Jinki’s mouth agape as he barely manages to connect the dots. Tousled black hair, “gorgeous and handsome” – Eunbi’s words from the previous week, not his – sprints through the door to the back of restaurant. He returns only moments later, changed and ready for work, more specifically a simple uniform: a white v-neck shirt, albeit slightly wrinkled, with legs half-covered by a black apron (was it really necessary to be that tall?). Frankly, for this rushed effort, the guy should look like a hot mess, out of breath and sloppily composed, but instead, it’s a tragic irony as Jinki’s left feeling kind of jealous; Minho looks good. Although, it’s not like this fact is surprising, Jinki having become accustomed to what was basically, a high fashion model serving him food every Friday for the past year. Eunbi seems to think no differently either, Jinki catching her from the corner of his eye. He witnesses her undivided attention on their regular server, phone abandoned on the table. The sight makes him bites the tip of his tongue, sliding it against his front teeth, not an act of anger but one of indifference. The brief thought is terrifying; he should be upset but he isn’t bothered, not in the slightest. Jinki shakes his head, refusing to comprehend the thought further. Instead, he lets his interest wander back to Minho, the man apologetically approaching his also fairly attractive redhead coworker. “Taemin thanks for filling-in.” Minho inhales quickly, catching up on oxygen, his voice resonating softly. “They really gave me that project last minute.” Jinki thinks it might be a little creepy that he’s listening in on the conversation, but considering the state of his own social relations, there isn’t much else to do. The pair take no notice of him anyway, the man named Taemin smiling with an almost devious glint in his eyes – the first human reaction he’s seen from the guy, not robotic like the first impression. “You owe me hyung.” Minho laughs, punching Taemin’s arm. The room feels warm again. “Are you interested in what Minho-ssi is working on?” Jinki halts, eyes turning towards his girlfriend. So those two may not have noticed, but Eunbi certainly did, eyes inquisitive and unfaltering. “Not really.” Although Jinki has no reason to admit anything, turning his body forward while leaning one arm relaxedly against the back of his chair. “Eavesdropping because I’m bored.” It flashes by in a brief second: disappointment. Jinki feels a simmering guilt bubble up, eyes opening wider as he sits up properly, arm reaching out to Eunbi, her pale hand resting against the table, blue veins visible. “How are you two? Trying some new dishes I see.” It’s Minho, a tray balanced on his hand along with a friendly smile. He smiles politely, placing the food onto the table. “I still think Jonghyun’s japchae is the best in town but you won’t be disappointed with what you’ve ordered today either.” “We’re expecting good things then Minho-ssi.” Eunbi laughs brightly, a stark contrast to her dark demeanor just prior. Jinki then notices that another opportunity has eluded him; her hand is no longer within reach, withdrawn to her side. “Well then, I’ll be sure to come back and get your report.” Minho smiles softly once again, fingers wrapped around the top edge of the emptied tray. “Thanks.” Jinki awkwardly mumbles out his appreciation a second too late, Minho unable to hear as he swivels his back towards them. She’s looking at him curiously again, Jinki and Eunbi locking eyes for a few passing moments. She then breaks the trance, hand brushing against his as she reaches for his bowl, spooning in some white noodles and a thick seafood broth. “Let’s try it.” Jinki nods, taking the bowl back and slurping some noodles into his mouth. Meanwhile, he watches Eunbi, busying herself as she cuts the kimchi with a pair of scissors, carefully mixes the pork belly and sauce, then ladles herself a bit of red broth in a bowl full of rice. Every action is careful but deliberate, a reminder of Eunbi’s charm ever since middle school. But it isn’t the same. By high school, the time when Jinki finally had the balls to ask Eunbi out, they had already fallen into a comfortable routine. Eunbi would portion out their food – because she liked things to be under her control – while Jinki ate and talked away, making lame and hardly laughable jokes. Eunbi smiled all the time then, sometimes leaning her head against Jinki’s shoulder, pressing pink laughter against his skin. That was love. This isn’t. The extended silence between them, eyes and mouths focused on food, not the slightest bit of contact, Jinki isn’t sure how to fix it. “I’m not feeling well.” The abrupt clink of chopsticks against the bowl’s edge, Jinki lifting his head as he recognizes the code for, I don’t want to be around you. “Do you want me to take you home?” Eunbi shakes her head, purse already hanging off her shoulder as she places a few thousand won on the table, her half of the bill – unusual since Jinki is the one who customarily pays for their dates. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” She’s handing him an ultimatum, there’s no question of that. “Eunbi.” The chair rattles as Jinki steps forward, fingers on her wrist, pulling her forward. It’s fleeting and chaste, the soft press of lips, as he turns his body to cover her from intruding eyes. For once he doesn’t miss the opportunity, Jinki withdrawing slowly. “See you tomorrow.” She merely nods, cell phone pressed over her lips as she makes her exit, bell ringing behind her. And then he’s alone, Jinki ignoring the few hushed judgmental whispers of conservative prudes who couldn’t handle the slightest of pdas. They’re not worth his attention anyway and Jinki sits back in his chair, slouching against its frame. He’s confronted by a table of food, lukewarm soups and a half-eaten bowl of rice. For once in his life, he doesn’t feel like eating. “Did Eunbi-ssi leave?” Jinki doesn’t need to lift his head; he knows who it is. “She said she’s not feeling well.” Jinki makes a noise, sucking his tongue in at the bitterly accented speech. Accordingly, he expects the typical response, a shared empathy between two guys jeering about unreasonable partners. Yet, in the span of only a second, Jinki can see it, his effort at making the stressed intonation going completely unnoticed. Minho’s response is instead a naively understanding but deflated smile, embarrassingly oblivious. “I hope she feels better. It’s been getting colder lately, especially in the evening.” Apparently, his hot model server hasn’t heard of the code before. “She’s angry at me.” So Jinki gives the direct translation, somewhat surprised by his own candour. This surprise however, can only be mirrored ten fold by Minho, the man looking shocked by the sudden confession, an unexpected ambush. Silence follows, Jinki practically watching the gears spinning in Minho’s head, the server rapidly trying to formulate a half-decent response. It’s not really fair of him. Jinki’s mood suddenly shifts as he laughs, waving a hand back and forth in the air. “Sorry. I was just venting. Don’t worry about it.” “But I think it’s time to go.” Smiling is easy. “Can you pack the food and bring the bill please?” Minho nods and hoists the dishes onto his arms, walking away dutifully, expression still lined with the traces of shock. It could be worse however, and Jinki is just thankful that he hasn’t been questioned or given forced words of advice. Consequently, his exit is relatively clean, Minho ringing his bill up (albeit with a slight shift of nervous eyes), producing an exchange of money, and offering the friendly but obligatory Please come again! It’s only when Jinki returns home, positioned in front of the fridge, that he notices it: an extra box. Considering what was left behind from the failed date, he did have a lot of leftovers, but not enough to justify the weight of the bag. Normally, he would have realized it, if it hadn’t been for him being so distracted, subway ride home and five minute walk a complete haze. It’s gonna be okay. ㅍ_ㅍb But for his careless mistake, Jinki can’t help but smile, fingers brushing over the neatly penned black ink on white cardboard. He opens the box, inside a serving of clear noodles and fried chicken doused in red sauce. His stomach rumbles. ***** “What’s up Choi?” Minho jumps as he receives a swift slap to his ass. “You’ve been acting kind of weird these past few weeks.” “Especially on the Friday shift.” Jonghyun’s eyebrow is a mile high and Kibum’s inquisitive stare is not far behind, the two a deadly duo as ever. It was one thing for Minho to handle each of them separately, an entirely new endeavour to deal with them together. “Are you unhappy?” Jonghyun circles behind him, hands on his hips as he peers up at Minho. “Need some time off?” Before Minho can respond, he swivels on his toes to get a face full of Kibum. “Or maybe you need more money.” Kibum looks at him intensely, a sharp frown delineating his features as he backs away and sighs forlornly. “I knew we should have enforced tips. It works in the U.S. so why not here? Most of the customers should pay up anyway, since they get decent eye candy as servers—” “That isn’t it.” Minho rolls his eyes as he inhales a steadying breath, throwing his change of clothes in a locker. “I’m fine.” “You’re a terrible liar.” Jonghyun glowers at Minho, pulling Kibum to his side to initiate the twice as powerful suspicious glare. Minho resists the urge to pull a strand of hair from each of their blond heads. “I’m telling you it’s nothing.” Minho ties his apron around his waist, shrugging as he shuts his locker. “It’s probably just a bit of stress from the morning classes I’ve been taking.” “But those classes are on Tuesday and Thursday, not Friday, not today.” One of the best and worst things about Kibum is how perceptive he is. That trait combined with Kibum’s inability to keep his mouth shut, often leads to the worst for Minho, accusation after accusation with no chance for escape. “Maybe the stress just adds up at the end of the week.” But be damned if Minho doesn’t try his best. “He’s been worrying over that couple that comes in on Friday nights.” And be damned if he can live a day where his roommate doesn’t screw him over. Minho frowns at Taemin, the red-head smiling helpfully while slipping on a black t-shirt. It makes Minho almost regret the fact that Jonghyun actually listened to his suggestion to have more than one server on Friday nights. “Couple?” But honestly, that is the least of Minho’s worries as the realization dawns on him, turning towards a smug and almost gleeful face. “So. I. Was. Right.” Minho groans internally, Kibum propping up his arm as he pats a knowing finger onto his dimpled cheek – yes, that’s how hard the man was grinning. “Wait, what are you talking about?” Jonghyun steps in, arm on Kibum’s shoulder, not wanting to be excluded. “Couple?” And it hits off, the two whispering and snickering like a pair of teens, occasionally glancing up at Minho, shitfaced grins on their dumb mugs. Only enhancing the act, Jonghyun makes an astonished gasp, as if an epiphany has hit him, Kibum’s smile growing wider while watching Minho cautiously. At this point, Minho is ready to grab their collars, demanding just what the hell they found so interesting but Kibum has already seen the signs a mile away, dragging Jonghyun away to continue their discreet conversation. If anything, the high-fashion partners are likely going to talk about him and other plans to watch the couple ‒ spicing up life in the restaurant so to speak. This public revelation, of course, is going to eventually come back and bite Minho in the ass, Minho not wanting to imagine the gossip that his two bosses, supposed friends, are conjuring up. More so however, Minho feels sorry for Jinki and Eunbi, knowing full well that they were going to become Jonghyun and Kibum’s new spectator sport. “It could be worse.” Minho is startled from his thoughts as Taemin pats him on the back, smile still as clean and deceptively innocent as ever. “I could have told Kibum hyung that you’ve actually been obsessing over the guy.” “Obsessing?” Before Minho has a chance to grab the red head to interrogate him further, Taemin is already out on the floor, door swinging behind him. Tactful little snitch. Although, to be fair, he couldn’t quite say Taemin was wrong, only issue being that the word choice was a little strong. It wasn’t like Minho could avoid it anyway, drawn towards observing Jinki and Eunbi a little more closely, after Jinki’s abrupt admittance. And boy, even Minho could not deny, after witnessing a few dates, that whatever their problems were, they were still hanging over the pair like a dark cloud. Minho soon follows after Taemin, greeting guests and serving food, performing the tasks expected of him. After all, he was on shift, and it’s not like he could spend the whole day rehashing the topic. Still, Minho is unable to stop the lingering thoughts during the inbetweens, moments that require less executive functioning; he recalls every Friday night date after the fact. The first one – after sacrificing his free daily order of food for Jinki the week prior – upon entering the restaurant, the man had smiled at him softly. Then, that smile was all but gone, Minho watching the two pick at their food, back to the regular order, a quiet and awkward date as ever. Then there was the Friday after, Eunbi once again leaving early, Jinki staying behind with an order of three bottles of soju. Minho can’t erase the imprint of the moment, Jinki’s head thudding dully on the table, eyes skimming over the ingredient list on the green bottles: once, twice, thrice. Minho may or may not have ended up paying for one of those bottles. Now, Minho can’t even imagine what may happen, but he holds this dreadful anticipation, a remorseful tightening in his throat. Couples like this are supposed to last. It’s lucky for him that when the two culprits of his distress finally appear again, bell ringing loud and clear, Taemin appears to take pity, offering himself up to be their server. Minho’s gives a thankful look to his roommate, biting the inside of his lip as he heads towards the kitchen to grab the next order. The last thing he wants is to make eye contact with either Eunbi or Jinki. It almost feels like running away. “You’re too nice Minho.” Minho freezes as he reaches the kitchen, watching Jonghyun fire up another sizzling wok behind the counter. The sweat drips from Jonghyun’s brow as he focuses on cooking, a comforting smile on his lips. No doubt, the man had been filled in, now up and ready to offer advice. “You know, Kibum and I have fun with this.” Jonghyun drops a dish filled with veggies into the hot oil. “But we still wanna look out for you.” Minho listens silently, loading up a tray with food and side dishes. “Remember, you don’t know them.” Jonghyun smiles nonchalantly, one eye now peeking up at Minho, flames dancing beneath him. “Don’t let yourself get too involved. It’s inevitable that we’re going to watch, but let’s just keep it at that.” Jonghyun snorts. “We don’t need you crying like you did for Yang halmeoni.” “Hey, you cried for her too.” Minho side eyes Jonghyun, lifting the tray onto his arms. “Exactly.” Minho blinks as Jonghyun pauses briefly, giving a pointed stare. “I know how much it sucks.” There is a quick and strained smile before Jonghyun returns his focus to cooking, effectively ending their brief conversation. But it’s enough for Minho because he gets it, looking over at Jonghyun with a small appreciative glance. Heading back to the front, Minho returns to helping customers while continuing to reflect silently. It’s not like he would argue with Jonghyun because Jonghyun was right. Ultimately, no matter the person, they were his customers and he was their server: no more, no less. “Minho oppa!” Albeit, he was allowed to let the occasional cute one slip through the cracks right? Minho smiles at the little girl bounding towards him, armed with a pair of Pororo chopsticks. “You said you’d help!” Minho laughs and nods, holding onto Sae’s hand, leading her back to her parent’s table. This was a much simpler relationship to maintain with the regulars, close but not too close, Minho helping Sae cut her food into smaller and manageable pieces. Unfortunately for him, Minho’s simple peace can only last so long. Not even two minutes into helping Sae, Minho hears a sudden noise that turns into a spectacle for the whole restaurant. There is a splash of water followed by the punctuated slap of splatters against the floor. Minho turns around, eyes widening at the realization that a bad situation had turned for the worse. Jinki stands meters away, drenched from the head down, Eunbi wielding a near empty glass, still tilted in his direction. His eyes are empty and she’s shaking, silence from the shock of the moment, only to be slowly interrupted by the hushed whispers and astonished remarks of customers. That’s when she bolts, Eunbi turning a quick heel, rushing out of the restaurant in a blind rage with her purse at her side. Jinki on the other hand, makes no move to chase her, eyes merely scanning the vicinity before him. He then reaches an arm out sluggishly, napkin grasped in his hand, making a pathetic attempt to clean the mess before him. Jinki wipes the spilled food and water, reminiscent of the action Minho once thought was endearing and sweet. Now, it just resonates bleakly, unfairly. “Come.” In an instant, Minho is at Jinki’s side, curling a hand around the man’s wrist before pulling him towards the back of the restaurant. On the way, he gives a quick look to Taemin, an I owe you for leaving his dongsaeng to clean up the mess. Minho has other priorities to handle, pushing Jinki into the back room, only leaving him for a split second before returning with a towel. He doesn’t even think, just lets the towel dangle in his fingers before wrapping it around Jinki’s head, scrubbing gently. “I can do it myself.” Minho pauses as a hand pushes his wrist away, suddenly all too aware of his carelessness. “R-Right.” Pulling away, Minho drops his hands, allowing Jinki to wipe himself dry. His cheeks feel absurdly warm, embarrassment seeping into his skin for his brash actions. Fortunately, it seems that Jinki isn’t offended – although admittedly, it’s hard to determine with certainty, Jinki’s face a complete blank, stony and hard. The damp hair and soaked shirt don’t help the visual either, Minho frowning sadly. “If you’re okay with it.” Minho heads towards his locker, unlocking it and withdrawing one of his standard v-necks, along with a comb. “You can change into this.” Minho then blows on the comb, brushing it free of any stray hairs. “This too. I uh, don’t have lice.” Jinki looks up at him, pupils reflecting light, and in return, Minho oddly feeling as if he was five feet shorter than usual. “Thank you.” Pause. “Is there a place I can change?” Minho blinks, only then realizing his position, staring at Jinki for no apparent reason. “Uh. The bathroom’s over there.” Minho points a thumb to an open door on the right. “Thanks.” Jinki turns. "And, um, thanks." The door closes and Minho stands frozen, only movement being his fingers slowly reaching to up to touch his forehead. He feels the warmth against his finger pads and suddenly all the pressure is released, Minho flopping down onto the nearest chair, exhaling a deep breath. Honestly, his comb doesn’t have lice? What kind of comment was that? Kibum would have surely awarded him with the smooth talker medal of the week. Besides, beyond that, there was no reason to be so tense. Normally, Minho would be more thoughtful, careful and considerate with customers, not in a rush to fix things. But. The scene replays in his head, Eunbi quaking with emotion, normally pale skin flushed red; Jinki in contrast, still as death, wet bangs drawing shadows over his eyes. Sure, they hadn’t been getting along as well as they usually did, but something big would have to trigger that kind of reaction. Minho sighs. “I wonder what happened.” “I told her I was bored.” Minho jumps for the one-too-many-eth time in a day. Jinki is looking down at him, cleaned up, blackcomb extended towards Minho. Minho takes it and sits up properly, face apologetic. “I’m sorry.” His fingers curl in and out. “It’s none of my business.” “Yeah.” Jinki turns his head, focused on the wall as he sits across from Minho. “But I’m telling you.” Minho swallows. “She asked me if I was bored.” Jinki nonchalantly pulls at the white shirt, definitely one or two sizes too small, cotton clinging to skin, rippling against every curve of his body. “I said yes.” A bitter smile follows, eyesight falling to the floor. “That makes me a bad person doesn’t it?” Pause no. 2. “Were you happy?” “Pardon?” Minho leans forward, throat dry and uncertain, but determinedly pressing the question. “Were you happy?” Jinki’s eyes are wide, looking directly at Minho for a few thoughtful seconds. “No.” Jinki leans resignedly back in his chair, a hand tracing the hairs on the back of his neck. “No, I guess not.” “That means something then right?” Minho isn’t so sure of it himself, but the words leave his lips anyway, two fingers resting beneath his chin. “Maybe.” Jinki tilts his head, facing Minho directly. “Thank you.” The warm voice resonates, milk and honey against his ears and Minho isn’t prepared for it when he sees it, a small but appreciative smile. He’s speechless. A smile, that smile definitely looks better. Minho doesn’t know it then; it’s the last he will see of Jinki for a month.

#onho #ikuitenshi #pg #SHINee

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coffeequeue · 10 years ago

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I think I’ll post my fanarts here cause I feel too embarrassed to post any on my main blog. lol

#minho #shinee #fanart #ikuitenshi

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coffeequeue · 10 years ago

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Title: The Way He Tells Me Author: ikuitenshi Rating: R Pairing: Minho/Onew Summary: Hand jobs, breakfast, and domesticity. A/N: About 3500 words. When Onew and Minho make it canon before I can finish writing it. Sorry if things are unclear. Also unedited... orz. /makes every excuse possible (LJ Link)

Nowadays what wakes him isn’t the restless clatter of his former insomniac roommate or the spray of the nearby shower because Taemin’s taking a longass shit in my bathroom again. What wakes Jinki is the demanding rumble of his stomach, arm tossed over the side of the bed, eyes groggily blinking to the sight of nothing – complete silence and neatly made sheets in an adjacent bed.

His eyes twist shut, buried in the comfort of a warm pillow, the numbing ache of morning begging to sneak in a few extra minutes of sleep. Except, his persistent stomach won’t have it, the vibration of another pronounced gurgle, practically having a conversation with itself. Jinki rolls on his back and exhales then, hand rubbing his eyes, just short of shielding the grimace on his face. Even he knows of the two most important things in life, sleep and hunger, hunger always triumphs.

Have you eaten yet?

The text flashes across the screen as Jinki completes the first stage of his automatic morning ritual, clumsily reaching for and checking an iPhone that is far too bright and glaring for drowsy eyes.

No. Just woke up but going to soon~

But sometimes, a sweet message from his mom is more than enough to make up for his pain, Jinki keying in a response before scraping the crust off his eyes. Feet swinging to the floor, Jinki rests his elbows on his knees, pondering the magic of motherly intuition – she could sense his own body’s needs better than he could.

A bubbling chime rings in a few seconds later: Make something healthy dear. Cereal isn’t enough and you have a busy day today!!! :( :(

It’s hard not to feel those little tugs of warmth, Jinki rising to his feet as he casually thumbs in another reply.

We’ll see! It isn’t my turn to cook today ke ke~!

The returning chime is almost immediate this time, smile faltering as pupils scan the brief message.

You can come home anytime dear. Relax, just like your members.

Skin numb, it’s a few soundless moments of throat constricting confliction.

Luv you mom ~♥

The cellphone screen blackens, and Jinki tosses it onto the sheets.

Rubbing his toe against his calf, Jinki yawns as he opens the door. It’s unsurprising when he is welcomed by more silence and empty space, the only other company taking form in yellow light filtering past white curtains. This false show of sunshine feels a bit like a scam though, air chilly enough to make goosebumps crawl up Jinki’s exposed arms and torso. The temperature was high enough to sleep without a shirt but not high enough to protect him from shivering pitifully.

Feet creaking across the hardwood floor, down the hall towards the front door, the solution is obvious. Jinki swings a right and opens the door to a bedroom unoccupied by actual persons, instead stacked high with pile after pile of clothing. It only takes a minute of contemplation before Jinki chooses a white t-shirt printed in bold English text: I KNOW WHAT YOU’LL WEAR NEXT SUMMER. Hell if he actually knows what it means, but if he’s learned anything from his years of reformation, fashion doesn’t really need to make sense.

He sniffs the white cotton carefully before slipping the shirt on. It smells clean enough, in all probability, brand new and freshly pressed. Jinki then pauses for a moment, collar pulled over his lips, distracted by the sensation of cotton rubbing against sensitive skin. He can only imagine the shill shriek of anger for wearing the new clothes that weren’t his. The guilt is something Jinki easily shrugs off however. If Kibum insisted on turning these rooms into his personal walk-in closets, they might as well be put to use. Besides, Kibum rarely slept there anymore – wouldn’t be able to without shoving some clothes off the bottom bunk.

A weak grumbling whine serves a distraught reminder and Jinki looks down, his belly acting more than pathetically desperate.

Right. Breakfast.

It’s a short walk to his next destination, Jinki careful to tiptoe in banana socks (another “borrowed” item from Kibum’s closet) to reduce as much noise as possible. With his hand on the door handle, Jinki turns it slowly and even softens the release with his fingers, preventing the jarring click from interrupting his schemes. He enters the room of the one other occupant in the apartment, presence marked by soft breaths and an incredibly defenseless position. Jinki’s roommate appears to be nothing more than a tuft of brown hair and gangly limbs, twisted within a blue comforter.

Sleeping so restfully when Jinki was this hungry. That couldn’t be called fair could it?

The urge kicks in and Jinki spots a fangift to his right, an adorable pink teddybear. The animal would work well enough, Jinki grasping the ammunition in his fingers as he extends his arm back and takes a quick step forward. The pitcher’s swing is flawless as the toy swiftly hits its target, striking sound reminiscent of a hardball hitting a catcher’s mitt. Not all too shabby, Jinki reveling in the flailing of arms and distressed groan. A shitfaced grin marks his face and Jinki approaches the now disturbed lump.

“It’s your turn to make breakfast.”

Another groan accompanied by long fingers defiantly prying back at sheets, a turtle hiding in its shell.

“Yah.”

Jinki won’t have it, nudging with his knees what he assumes to be the delineation of a leg. Unfortunately, for all his efforts, his bandmate decides to provide the perfect non-response, immobile and suspiciously quiet. Jinki should have known it would not be so easy, considering out of everyone he knew, this person could resist waking the most. Perhaps his following actions are cruel but really, the only answer is escalation.

Hands clutching every cover possible, Jinki pulls hard, teeth grit together. There is a stir of air as the blankets take off, exposing the man beneath, practically naked and grossly stunning. It’s a jarring assault on the eyes, an awkward fetal position composed of slender limbs and an unnecessary, unnecessary amount of tan skin. Jinki snuffs, licking dry lips before swallowing back some cold saliva.

Rhythmically paced steps in his approach, and Jinki drops down on the edge of the bed unabashedly. He takes it a step further, being as so bold as to place a supporting hand centimeters away from the young man’s face. In this position, Jinki drapes himself over the paradoxically slim body, rippling muscles and defined abdomen – honestly so offensive.

Jinki forcefully blows cold air as he opens his mouth to speak.

“Minho. I’m hungry.”

Minho scrunches his nose, shivers and actually dares to press his forehead to Jinki’s wrist before determinedly attempting to fall back asleep.

“Hey.”

Jinki’s annoyed, and not just because Minho refuses to wake.

Already past hesitation, Jinki’s fingers manage to reach beneath cool skin, forcing Minho’s face to turn towards his. It’s his solution for mitigating his bubbling irritation, eyelids fluttering down, catching sight of long eyelashes, a sharp nose bridge, parted wine red lips. He avoids trying to put it into words, this acutely stifling uncertainty, heart pounding. Instead, Jinki leans in closer, thumb carefully pressing into the hollow of Minho’s cheek, breath deliberately still until a soft heat brushes against his lips.

Madness.

Cold finger pads shock his heated cheeks, pulling Jinki much too effortlessly into a deepened kiss. Minho’s tongue shyly twists against his, lingering and tempting, earning a frustrated pant from Jinki. Minho is far too well-practiced – they are too well-practiced for this – Jinki responding by curling his fingers roughly into Minho’s nape. He can’t help but grin then, swallowing the younger man’s consequent groan.

When they part for air, Jinki quietly observes as Minho’s eyes peek open, his flushed cheeks oddly handsome and sweet. The boyish chuckle that rings afterward resonates far too fully in Jinki’s ears, almost stinging.

“You need a mint hyung,” Minho teases, upturn of lips playful but appreciative.

It’s enough to make him self-conscious, Jinki’s reflex to act with quick-witted retaliation, charging into battle with a hasty game plan.

“You’re the one who’s hard,” Jinki counters, tone brisker than intended, accompanied by a matter-of-fact gesture towards Minho’s crotch.

There’s a pause, the embarrassing realization before Minho laughs again and runs a hand through his already more than ruffled hair.

“Jesus Christ.” Minho takes the comment in stride, ashamed but unoffended – kinder than Jinki thinks he should be.

“Despite your odd choice of rise-and-shine techniques hyung—” The upward arch of a single eyebrow sleazy enough to signify Minho really had no problem with Jinki’s methods at all. “—it’s freezing so I’ll settle down in a sec.”

The process seems simple enough then, signalling the end to their conversation as Jinki watches Minho obediently follow the initial request to wake, yawning into the back of his hand before raising his torso with both elbows. Although, with the continual simmer of uncertainty, simple is not how Jinki regrettably chooses to function. Face tingling with discontentment, Jinki frowns because he is right there, because Minho did not need to settle.

The gnawing sensation takes center stage and Jinki’s hands are on Minho’s shoulders, the younger man gasping as he is pushed into the mattress. That noise is cut short however, transformed into a soundless wisp as Jinki pushes aside Minho’s bangs, crushing their lips together. Jinki impulsively presses his tongue against Minho’s teeth, taking advantage as they part by licking into the scorching heat.

It’s enough of a distraction to mask his more reckless intentions, a blunt nail skimming down a tight abdomen, palm coming to rest against a firmness restricted by fabric.

They part with a wet suck, Minho’s hips bucking upwards.

“Fuck.”

Captivating and breathless, the younger man tinged scarlet down to his collarbones.

“Yeah.”

Jinki swallows, nearly croaking from a suddenly dry throat. Beads of sweat forming beneath his bangs, it takes everything to repress his own shivers, short of crackling electricity.

It appears that Minho is no longer blind to this fact either, Jinki easily swept as firm arms loop securely around his neck to rein him in. The graze of a nose past his cheek, Jinki nearly hisses as teeth pull at his flushed ear.

“Jerk me.”

The whisper is unnecessarily hot and breathy against his ear, and Jinki gives a feverish shudder. Biting back a moan, Jinki refuses to delay any longer, returning to Minho’s lips whilst his fingers duck beneath a grey elastic band.

A sudden lurch against his hand, deep groan swallowed past parted lips, Jinki’s mind clouds over. Perhaps it was the way they enjoyed it, or more likely the remnants of an old habit, but Jinki doesn’t think much of it, lips refusing to part from Minho’s. His boyfriend’s length in hand, Jinki makes quick firm strokes, an unrelenting pace even as Minho’s thighs squeeze up against his palm, body writhing. Each subsequent moan is muffled, thrilling to the senses.

That is the sole reason Jinki finds himself grounded at all, soft lips moving against his, equally unrelenting. Almost frenzied, tongues and teeth clash together, Jinki’s bottom lip most certainly bruised from the aggressive treatment. A pull on his lip, and Jinki sinks into another kiss, swallows another sound, unsure if it is him or Minho.

The whine though, the whine is definitely Minho’s, almost a plea. Muffled moans are overtaken by the slick slap of friction, and Jinki moves his hand faster, fingers wet with the heat of come and sweat.

Only when Minho parts from the kiss, curls his toes into the mattress, chest rising with a soundless moan, does Jinki slow, dipping his thumb into the slit. Delayed tugs, more gentle in cadence, Jinki coaxes Minho through orgasm, lowering to scrape teeth against damp collarbones.

Their breathing eventually returning to a uniform rate, Jinki does not withdraw before leaving a parting gift. A soft sound of suction and Jinki sits up to marvel at the purple bruise beneath Minho’s sternum, a trail of translucent drops following afterward. Minho’s gaze is something more difficult to meet however, shuttering brown eyes crinkled and fond. Nevertheless, Jinki’s not the type to escape, making direct eye contact—

“Morning hyung.” The clean ring of laughter.

—even if it leaves him feeling unhinged.

“I love you.”

Really unhinged.

Not that Minho minds, in fact dares to push, rising up himself and inching closer to Jinki. A chaste kiss against his lips and Jinki shudders once again as Minho whispers teasing words on his skin.

“We don’t have to be that quiet anymore hyung.”

Jinki’s eyes widen as his body jerks, nose falling into Minho’s shoulder, moans muted as he reflexively sinks his teeth into the naked skin. Minho’s hand is down his shorts, palm pressed up against him, aching. Brazenly, Jinki presses their bodies closer, feels the dips and grooves of Minho’s stomach, takes secondary notice of semen seeping into cotton.

“Kibum’s gonna kill us you know?” Another laugh, obviously unbothered despite the wary words – exactly how Jinki feels.

Another bold move and Jinki grinds forward, feeling Minho grip him firmly. Heat pooling between his thighs, Jinki focuses on the long fingers around him, also poignantly aware of the intent eyes studying his every move. Lifting his head up, arms draped across Minho’s shoulders, Jinki meets the intense gaze, biting his lip as he jerks into Minho’s hand. Maybe, just maybe he could break old habit and relent a little.

Neck bent back, lips to the ceiling, he moans Minho’s name.

When Jinki exits his room, towel hanging off his neck and bangs still wet from a much needed shower, his senses are instantly assaulted. Nothing like the subdued atmosphere from an hour prior, Jinki enters their living space to find exactly that, liveliness. White light streaming from open curtains, past the living room and into the kitchen, Jinki walks on the warmed floorboards. He hears the sizzle of a hot pan, and smells the scent of eggs frying in oil, with background notes of melted butter slathered on toast. His stomach naturally rumbles in distress.

It’s an intriguing point to consider, but in his morning quest to quell his hunger, Jinki had forgotten about the factor of lust. It’s not something that would usually deter him, but clearly – Jinki shamefully bowing his head as he thinks about how nice his boyfriend would look naked in an apron – his sexual appetite needed to be sated first. It’s that constant reminder, that somehow dealing with Minho would always lead to unexpected exceptions.

For one, he’s still here.

Jinki’s stare weighs heavy on Minho’s shoulders before he shrugs it off, thumbing for his phone from his back pocket. He stares at the illuminated screen and casually drops onto a seat at the dining room table. More texts from mom, one from Joon, and another from Kibum with an excessive amount of knife emoticons. It would almost make Jinki feel ashamed if he wasn’t grinning so hard.

“I think we owe Kibum a present” Jinki announces, continuing to browse his inbox, elbow resting on the back of the chair.

“Because he gave you a new shirt?” Minho replies without looking over, concentrated on carefully plating his perfectly cooked egg.

“You didn’t have to tell him that fast.”

“He would have found out sooner or later.”

Jinki peeks one eye into the kitchen, watching Minho pause thoughtfully with a spatula in hand. His boyfriend’s handsome features are marked with modest concern, an embarrassed but overall remorseless smile.

“Plus, it would be too awkward to see Kibum wear that shirt now. It looks good on you anyway.”

Jinki half snorts, eyes returning to his phone, the weather forecast looking sunny and clear. His attention remains undeterred when a soft clink sounds before him, Minho placing down their plates.

“Orange juice or milk?”

Jinki replies without hesitation. “Americano.”

“You wish.”

A cold carton is bumped against his cheek, not painful but hard enough to make Jinki grin and laugh.

It’s more than enough to divert his attention, Jinki turning his head to catch Minho’s smirk, sculpted eyebrow arched a mile high. He nods graciously then, taking the white carton in his hand and popping the lid open. A swig of the creamy liquid down his throat, Jinki then passes the carton back to Minho, only vaguely aware of the younger man repeating the same action. He has a much higher priority to focus on now anyway, devouring his long awaited meal.

Toast in hand, Jinki reaches over, nudging the corner into the yellow yolk of a delightfully round fried egg. It splits open and oozes out almost instantly, yolk soaking the bread and Jinki savouring the moment as he returns the delicious bite to his lips, smooth and rich.

“Are you serious hyung?”

And that’s only part of the pleasure.

Jinki’s smiling harder now, faced with a laughably hurt look from his boyfriend.

“You ruined my only good egg.”

Jinki can’t help but release a childish giggle.

“And I already made you two good ones.”

It’s the truth, Jinki’s plate loaded with two carefully crafted sunnyside up eggs, and Minho’s containing one botched attempt and another now broken egg. Yet, having already committed much more grievous crimes for the morning, Jinki’s less inclined to feeling remorse as he reaches for a second dip.

“Yah!”

Minho’s pout is painfully sweet, taking a disgruntled seat as he slouches in his chair across from Jinki. It’s enough to make Jinki relent with slightly calculated manipulation.

Fork piercing a sausage, Jinki lifts it towards Minho, tilting his head with a soft smile.

“The food’s really delicious.” It’s an acknowledgement of how far Minho’s cooking skills have progressed, disasters of fried egg scraps having been a reality only months prior. But really, their bachelor-esque cuisine could do nothing but go up, considering the absence of their more capable former roommates and accordingly, fewer visits from their hired maid.

Maybe that is why Minho reluctantly accepts the compliment, leaning forward and opening his mouth to take a bite of the sausage. Consequently, the cheeky smile that immediately follows, with an upturn of thinned lips and playful but narrowed eyes, should have served as a clear warning, but Jinki is two steps behind. The sudden clatter of metal and plastic leaves Jinki stumbling, caught between a gasp and laugh of disbelief. Only then does Jinki see the butterknife in his egg, Minho’s revenge. Needless to say, the remainder of the meal contained their usual antics: Jinki protecting what was left of his breakfast, Minho whining about his wasted efforts, and Jinki feigning disgust at Minho’s appeals to make up for it by feeding him again.

It’s when Jinki’s hands are submerged in suds, washing the dirty dishes, does the sobering realization hit him. These acts between Minho and him have become their routine, grossly flirtatious and embarrassingly reassuring.

A puff of breath between still lips and Jinki nudges the cutlery with his fingers, listening to the soft clinks. The thought of his mother’s round cheeks, his father’s proud smile, and the darkened device littered with indirect exchanges – Jinki can barely fathom that he has already made his choice. It’s an unbelievable (and perhaps selfish) decision that would have been an impossibility to the him from only two years ago.

“Apple?”

Jinki’s mouth opens automatically, Minho approaching from behind and casually popping a slice of the fruit in.

Sweet to the taste, Jinki chews silently, his shoulders relaxing. Just like that, every action, no matter how simple, is oddly pacifying.

A look at his boyfriend, dark friendly eyes and an easy smile, Jinki wonders if it is the same.

“Minho?”

“Want some more—”

“My mom asked.”

Jinki turns on the faucet, rinsing off a white plate, expressionless.

Meanwhile, Minho leans against the counter, close enough in proximity for Jinki to brush against his arm.

“Yeah?” Minho’s voice is deep and soft, a quality Jinki finds himself easily sinking into.

He scrubs off some more dishes and places them in the drying rack.

“She offered to let me come home again.”

Home. The word feels strange on his tongue, in this context a little more distant than it used to be.

“What did you say?”

He can hear the faint falter, which inspires slight hope and slight guilt.

“I haven’t said anything yet.”

Stiffened arms and distinct veins running along the length, Jinki knows very well that he isn’t being fair. It was a bad habit, to read Minho like this, especially considering they were letting go old vices.

Accordingly, that is why Jinki halts, drying his hands off on a nearby towel. No more distractions or deflections, Jinki decides to take a gamble on his security. He retries once more.

“I like it here.”

Jinki turns, running fingers along the pronounced veins, only stopping once his hands rest in Minho’s palms. By the time he looks up, encouraged by thumbs gently stroking his own, a toothy smile highlights his features.

An exhale of pressure and warm breath ghosts across the skin of his nose, from a smile more watery than his own. Jinki’s chest pounds and Minho whispers.

“I like it here too, with you.”

#onho #ikuitenshi #r #shinee fic

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coffeequeue · 11 years ago

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Authors: civilized_era and ikui Rating: PG-13 Pairing: Minho/Onew A/N: SHINee Duets 2012 fic. Unfortunately, this fic is unfinished. I currently do not keep in contact with civilized_era and I am not confident in my ability to do justice for the missing parts. However, I thought it would be best to post everything that has been finished, including a part not posted on livejournal. I’m still not sure if I will write the rest of the story, but I don’t want to make any promises. Anyway, I hope you enjoy! (1, 2, 3)

#onho #shinee fic #ikuitenshi #pg-13

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coffeequeue · 11 years ago

Text

prompt: Backstory on the cute airport chin on shoulder moments." - mykidsatemykpopfeels

continue to revolve 2675 words. onho

A/N: As per usual, wouldn't have written a word without @jenetevoudraiplus. She puts up with a lot. :( This was supposed to be really short and easy, and HA that didn't happen. (LJ link)

Usually his body stiffens the instant contact is made, joints locked and mind following to deduce whether or not said touch could be trusted. He’s never been the type to enjoy being taken by surprise: a fan grabbing his hand, a stranger poking his back, or even a friend hugging him from behind. Perhaps it’s irrationally fussy, but Jinki prefers to be completely aware of his immediate surroundings – even if he’s damn good at hiding this particular disposition.

“Hyung.”

The singsong and playful voice, sinking like syrup into his ears, Jinki appreciates but does not require the extra cue. A smile curls at his lips, the reminder that he’s had more than half a decade to become accustomed to this position, Minho’s head resting gently against his shoulder. A vain part of himself believes – hopes – that the younger man behaves this way for his affections, a private plea for his attention. But, then again – Jinki smiles wistfully as he knows the truth better than anyone – he is the very culprit who brought this situation upon the both of them.

The dimly lit 5th floor hallway, Jinki years younger and face still round with leftover baby fat, taking his leave from evening vocal practice. Things had gone well, his coach as impressed as ever and the generous reward to leave an hour early, which truly meant a lot in Jinki’s sleep deprived highschooler condition. With a pair of outdoor sneakers pulled over his ankles and black bag slung over his shoulder, it was then and there that he happened to pause, paces away from the elevator.

Behind the first door of the floor, Jinki was drawn to two voices from a practice session, probably not meant to be overheard by prying ears. The need for privacy was increasingly obvious as a raw chord was struck in Jinki’s chest, the desperate voice of a trainee being constantly reprimanded by a less than kind authority figure. Painfully difficult strings of English syllables were drilled at rapid fire, something Jinki actually found quite impressive. Of course, he was no instructor and the man behind the door seemed hardly amused, lashing out at the slightest of stumbles and imperfections.

It felt grossly invasive on Jinki’s part, to listen in on a peer getting torn apart, but he convinced himself that the incomprehensible display of dedication was what compelled him to stay. For all the abuse – for fuck’s sake, even targeting the lisp that was working with a foreign language no less – the trainee only seemed more determined. Each passing second, the inexperienced voice grew in volume (not that volume could really help), enunciation crisper and tone bolder.

Somehow, it all floored Jinki, literally. Slipping to the ground, Jinki’s head slid back against the wall, eyes pointed at the ceiling. That was how his hour of freedom passed, empathetic ears straining to hear a Korean boy belt out words of unknown meaning.

By the time the session ended, Jinki’s eyes were already fluttering shut, the soreness in his chest and fatigue in his limbs overwhelming. His snap back to reality was the trainee’s firm salute of farewell and the dawning shock that Jinki was still right there, outside the door and clearly eavesdropping. When the door clicked open, Jinki barely had the time to gather his belongings and scramble clumsily to the elevator.

Not that it mattered.

A freezing numbness took over his body as Jinki bit his bottom lip, standing before the elevator – with a companion no less. It took only one sideway glance to know how badly he screwed up and how completely dumb he was because anyone, anyone would have recognized the person standing next to him, a boyishly handsome face and legs for days. This particular trainee was already on the guaranteed road to idol stardom, celebrated and respected by peers – a stark contrast to Jinki’s shaky path.

Jinki looked to his hands and could see them tremble, could feel the way the blood was rushing through his veins, heart pulsing, lub dub lub dub. He really could not make himself anymore obvious, a nervous fidget to shake his body loose, short inhalations to catch his breath. He mind as well kiss his days of peaceful obscurity goodbye and welcome his disparate future, cruel harassment by every well-known trainee in the company.

“Did you just finish too hyung?”

Great, it seemed like Choi Minho wanted to draw out the inevitable punishment, prolonging Jinki’s cruel demise. Even the damned elevator was not on Jinki’s side, still floors away from allowing a quick escape.

“Yeah. Just a few minutes ago.”

Not that Jinki couldn’t feign some composure. His speciality always was to flash a charming smile before acting natural.

“That’s great.”

Although he could not say the same about Minho, the youth’s response unexpected but obviously strained: chiseled jaw locked into place, a watery smile that betrayed his distant and hurt eyes. Jinki had to admit, it was probably the first time he had seen any less than a smile from Minho, the guy who was usually freakishly positive no matter the situation. Unfortunately for Jinki, this disparity meant that from some small and repressed space, his conscience would take precedent.

In other words, the countdown was on for Jinki to act incredibly stupid.

“You don’t have to fake it okay?” The words left Jinki’s lips before he could comprehend them. “Contact your minions so they can rip me a new one.”

“Pardon?” Minho’s arms lay loose by his side, eyes wide with confusion and a hint of disbelief. “Minions?”

“You don’t need to beat around the bush.” Jinki really disliked playing the game of naivety and would prefer to end it sooner than later. With his brows furrowed, he stared at the elevator door, not quite brave enough to look Minho in the eyes but still brave enough to advance straight to the point. “You saw me snooping so call me out on it.”

“Ah.” The shock was evident in Minho’s eyes before his features could soften from the dawning realization. “It’s not a big deal hyung.”

Followed up by a forced smile from the handsome boy, Minho’s slender fingers grazed the back of his neck. “I mean if I heard something as awful as that... I would have too——”

Not a second too early, the arrival of the elevator was finally signaled by a chime from opening doors. It was a little brash thinking back on it, but Jinki took ahold of Minho’s wrist, pulling the boy into the elevator with him. He could only stand each word of self-deprecation for so long before frustration took over. Jinki may have been the third party, but even he knew the criticism was undeserved.

“You were great okay? Fuck that old guy. When you said that ‘she shells seashells by the seashore’ thing, that was great—”

“Sells seashells.”

“What?”

“It’s sells seashells.”

The awkwardness of the situation reached Jinki then, the understanding that Minho’s hands were grasped firmly in his own as he looked up at the guy with the gaze of a madman. Minho however, seemed to take in the situation as well as any functioning teenager could, overall expression perplexed but attitude still relatively calm.

Jinki withdrew instantly, allowing his gaze to fall to his feet in a feeble attempt to cover his burning cheeks.

“Uh. What I meant to say is.” Jinki took pause for three seconds, the time necessary to muster enough courage to look into Minho’s brown eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Subsequently, Minho’s reaction was unreadable (albeit there was possibly a hint of a smile?) as he suddenly dropped forward, hands on his knees. Yet again, within their brief time together that day, Minho left Jinki surprised, and a little more than uncertain of what to do next.

Was he okay?

Minho’s body started to shake.

Or maybe he was angry.

Jinki could only presume the latter option, all things considered.

“You can totally punch me.” Under this train of thought, Jinki allowed his flawed (and hasty) reasoning to get the better of him. “Right in the gut! No need to hesitate just because I’m older!”

Minho didn’t respond. Of course, Jinki took it as a sign to ramble on.

“You have to be upset after going through that.” Jinki began to stutter over his words, a fool trying to be helpful while reaching blindly in the dark. His sole vantage point was looking down at the back of Minho’s head, which honestly didn’t help much. “Pretend I’m your instructor and take a good whack. Or heck, just hit me since I was pretty terrible too!”

For all the absurdity of Jinki’s misguided enthusiasm, Minho merely shook his head at the offer.

“Hey uh.” Jinki couldn’t help but feel like he was talking to himself, his gut reaction afterward telling him to approach the form that was shrinking in on itself. Sometimes physical contact could be more effective than verbal comments right? “I’m sorry. I’m not really good at this.”

A step forward followed by a timid hand, Jinki’s palm eventually came to rest on Minho’s shoulder. If it weren’t for his focus, breaths silent and ears attentive, Jinki would have not caught the minute response, a slight tremble accompanied by a whisper quiet sniffle.

“Minho.” Jinki frowned, overly familiar with the symptoms of bottling. “You could—— you could cry too you know.”

“You know it’s okay to cry a little, right?” Jinki moved in closer, having prattled on far too much to really back out now. “Hey, stand up.”

Although, perhaps Jinki should have thought more thoroughly about his suggestion before making it, Minho rising to his feet and startling the older teen. Promptly, Jinki was reminded that he was indeed a lot shorter that Minho despite their age difference. Being cramped inside a small box didn’t help matters, the two males standing toe to toe, Jinki’s mouth inches away from Minho’s collarbones. Their proximity felt a bit too close for comfort, which Jinki was not in the least hesitant to address.

“Minho, if you could mo——”

“Hyung.”

A painful twinge returned to Jinki’s chest as his speech was cut short by a vulnerable plea. Pupils rolling up, Jinki caught glimpse of it, damp eyes and quivering blue lips.

“You said it’s okay to cry right?”

Mouth open and soundless air passing through, it was a foreign sensation for Jinki to be at a loss for words. He had no choice but to resort to nodding dumbly, his silent affirmation to the question. Jinki would have the chance to blink only once more before Minho’s figure confronted him.

Abruptly, with arms wrapping around his waist, the pads of Jinki’s toes reflexively braced against the ground to support the weight that fell upon him. He grunted from the impact, a little surprised, a little dumbfounded. If it had been any other scenario, Jinki imagined he would have surely thrown the person off in utter revulsion. But, maybe due to the obvious stiffness in trembling bones, the cool feel of Minho’s tan skin, the realization that someone taller than him could still feel so small in his arms – Jinki refrained.

Instead, Jinki pressed his lips into a thin line, met by the urgent need to do something, anything. He already knew he wasn’t good at these types of things, but heck there must have been a reason his mother sobbed at the compassionate leads in romantic dramas – might as well take the cue.

Chin resting against Minho’s neck, Jinki took the awkward angle to watch his right hand rest against the small of Minho’s back. The left travelled higher, patting Minho’s shoulder in an an uneven rhythm, nothing like the way a responsible adult would comfort a child, but the best Jinki could manage in his sixteen years of finite wisdom.

“You did—” With hesitation, Jinki chewed his bottom lip. “You did great.”

A soft hiccup, and Jinki found himself witness to the unravelling of Minho’s defenses.

The tickle of hair against his neck, limp frame in his arms, a wetness soaking through his school uniform and into his shoulder, Jinki held back his own suffocating remorse. Perhaps it was something contagious, empathy for the despondency that came along with enduring abuse in the name of an impossible goal. Jinki blinked back tears.

As they reached the first floor, doors sliding open to an empty foyer, Jinki’s grasp tightened around Minho, the youth still buried in his shoulder. Impulsive and not the most rational of decisions (But frankly, why not add another one to the tally?), Jinki took a free hand and quickly pressed the button for every floor. The metallic doors slid to a close, and the elevator jerked before beginning its ascent. Their commitments could wait.

That was the first and last time Jinki would see Minho cry – at least in sadness.

Minho’s head lifts from his shoulder, proximity absent for only mere milliseconds as the hairs on Jinki’s neck stir, a sudden puff of hot air wafting over sensitive skin. Minho’s flirtations cause Jinki to grin as round lips press near, following whisper a cheeky and mischievous timbre, unlike everything you would expect from the silky baritone.

“Hyung, you should probably help Taemin out.”

Minho’s slender finger points to the specific problem, the stiff label of a brand new hat digging into their maknae’s irritated skin.

“I don’t know if I want to,” Jinki replies quietly, playfulness mirrored in his own expression for only Minho to see. Hiding from onlookers behind a plane ticket and passport had become one of the tools of the trade. “It’s kind of cute when he scratches his neck like that.”

Minho rolls his eyes behind dark sunglasses, coincidentally another tool of the trade. “Don’t be mean.” The pouting tone from round red lips, something Jinki would never admit to adoring. “Look how tired he is.”

Thinking about the three hour journey ahead, Jinki relents, raising a hand to push the black label back under Taemin’s beanie. Naturally, Taemin doesn’t even respond to the gesture, used to being cared for by the other members.

His valiant effort having gone without acknowledgement, Jinki looks back at Minho, the initial plan to glare at the man in annoyance. Instead, the amusement is plainly evident on Jinki’s features, wrinkled crescent eyes and a toothy grin. Well, even if his face refused to show it, at least he could fake it with his voice.

“Happy now?” Jinki can’t resist nudging Minho once.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Minho jerks away, stepping a few paces ahead while responding with false astonishment. However, this boyish act turns out to be brief as at the last second, Minho withdraws, concealing his expression by turning his head away. Jinki’s own smile almost sours at this action, but is halted by the fact that Minho could only conceal so much for so long. The younger man’s voice is noticeably muted but sweet as he speaks once more.

“I’ve got you hyung.”

Jinki doesn’t stop, keeps walking forward in casual strides, shoulders slouched in a show of nonchalance. Except, with the rising heat tinting his cheeks, an inelegant grin on his lips, and fingers fidgeting, it takes every piece of willpower for Jinki to resist the urge to slide his beanie over his face.

He really really hates it when he lets Minho get the last word.

#onho #ikuitenshi #shinee fic #pg-13

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