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aclowntiny · 1 year

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Nails and Nighttimes- The8 x Gender Neutral Reader

You would have never thought meeting at a workshop could lead to such a brilliant evening… and such an awkward mistake.

Word Count: 4533 | First Meetings & Awkward Mix-Ups, Drama Queen Jun lmao | Warnings: very suggestive jokes/implications, but no graphic content as always 😘 language

(This man & his nail art! He’s so pretty & so are all his arts!!! I love him. Also expect a part 2 to this hehehe)

Signing up for an art workshop had been a spur-of-the-moment, zero-thoughts-head-empty decision. On the wait to get on the train your eyes had wandered around the station, grazing graffiti and stickers and posters on pillars until they stuck on one like glitter glue. The image of a beautiful gallery topped it, words underneath beckoning people to give themselves up for one of three “art experiences” guided by gallery affiliates themselves. Maybe the subway air vibrations and the mingling scents of passersby had you waxing poetic, but you’d been lamenting of late your lack of opportunities to meet new people, so maybe this was a sign. The gallery doors literal doors into some experience you were meant for.

Or maybe it would be a lonelier version of one of those wine and paint nights. Whatever.

Since you had some time on the train anyway, you scanned the QR code on the poster, pulling up the gallery site’s sign-up sheet to fill out all the fields as walls, lights, and dozens of occupied, distant yet so close to your world strangers chugged past.

Maybe it was luck that they still had spots open, your sign-up and fee being accepted immediately, no waitlisting required.

The very doors pictured on the poster that beckoned you loomed much taller than the image implied, much more imposing. And yet excitement buzzed in your chest as you shouldered your bag and stepped forward through them, following the map to pass from one room of paintings- ooh, impressionism- into another and down a short hallway that dumped almost right into your room.

Several people were already seated at various stools throughout the room’s tables, supplies strewn about them all and color wheels, art prints, and encouraging historical quotes decorated the walls. It felt like the first day of college all over again, entering a room of strangers and feeling the pressure to choose the right one…if you wanted to venture looking like you had an affinity for anyone. Otherwise you could simply start filling an empty table and see who, if anyone, chose you.

Nah. The guy with the glasses looked really cool.

You wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d taken these classes plenty of other times. Dark hair spilled down the nape of his neck, which he ran a hand bearing a few different rings and painted nails over. He had a loose black patterned jacket that looked designer draped over his white tank top, but rather than look cocky he simply sat calmly with his hands in his lap, waiting. As you slid into the seat next to his, he smiled at you, a very kind, genuine expression.

“Is this your first class here?”

“Did I look lost when I came in?” You teased, chuckling nervously.

“No,” he shook his head, voice calm and pretty as the rest of him looked, “I’ve just never seen you here before.”

“Well, you got me there,” you replied with a smile, “I am new. I just happened to see the poster for it in the train station.”

“Then it was meant to be,” he said.

“That’s what I thought, too. Maybe it really was. Oh, by the way, my name is (y/n).”

“I’m Minghao.”

“Nice to meet you. Are you an artist?”

“Well,” Minghao replied, “I’m a regular at the gallery. I just think looking at beautiful things is good for the soul. I do enjoy painting, it’s a way to get my feelings out.”

Yeah, you were right, this guy was cool. “Nice. I’m not much of a painter, usually, so I guess I’m hoping this helps me improve. It’s just been a long time. I still have the painting I did of a family cat from high school, though.”

“I’m sure it looks great.” He could have been being sarcastic, but he sounded so nice you chose to believe it was genuine. The smile still looked kind, so…

It was about that time that your workshop instructor entered the room, introducing herself and the fundamentals of the class as well as the basic items she’d brought to serve as subjects.

“If you’re ready for a more advanced task or just want a challenge, you can choose something else, though,” she added at the end.

“Is that what you’re doing?” You leaned over and whispered just to tease your neighbor.

“You’re so confident in my abilities,” he shot back as you organized the tubes of paint and other supplies on your shared table, “but I have to admit that I did bring something to try.”

You mirrored his grin. “Oh yeah, what’s that?”

Leaning down, Minghao unzipped the bag he’d had sitting by his feet, pulling a small patterned green glass vase out and setting it on front of him. “I’ve been wanting to get more practice with reflective surfaces,” he told you as he pulled himself back up, turning in one swift motion.

“Very nice. I bet it’ll look great!”

And for a while things got silent as you learned the best way to mix your paints, preparing them along with the composition of your images. One of the items your instructor had brought for everyone was a banana, but she’d also brought a checkerboard, so you decided to get ambitious and do the checkerboard in a diamond orientation, banana inverted on the bottom. Why you didn’t know, but it just seemed boring to only paint the banana.

“Look at you,” Minghao joked, “you’re already an artist.”

“Oh, yeah, we all know Van Gogh started with bananas.”

“Everyone starts somewhere, right?” He reminded you with a shrug and another soft smile. Those seemed to be his specialty.

As you painted, the pair of you provided each other with tips, quips, and questions; from it you learned Minghao was close to your age, a dancer, did a lot of music and filming projects with his friends- also musicians and dancers of course. He heard about your job, your train commute, your pet.

As your workshop came to an end, you were actually very satisfied with your painting. Definitely worth the price of the workshop, you dare thought.

“What are you calling it?” Minghao asked you, eyes scanning the piece beneath the room’s faintly dim light. “If you’re giving it a name.”

Indeed, you had been the only one to frame your piece like that or even pair those two potential subjects; even your instructor had been surprised, expression stilling for a bit, then widening. In amusement, pride, surprise? Probably a bit of all three. As you wiped your mess of yellow and black smudges off the dark surface of your table, your eyes flicked back to the painting where it dried.

“Sad Checkerboard.”

At that, Minghao giggled, a charming sound you found rather adorable. “Sad Checkerboard,” he repeated, shaking his head.

“I’m kidding. I think,” you said with a chuckle of your own, tossing the moist bundle of wipes in your hand down into the trash can on the floor. “I don’t know if you’re naming yours, but it turned out really well. The pattern looks so accurate.”

“Thanks,” he replied, gently wringing a brush clean at the sink from behind you, “it’s a bit similar to my nails, so maybe that’s why- muscle memory!”

“Oh yeah, I noticed they were painted, but didn’t really look- let me see,” you requested.

Holding out his hand, Minghao raised his eyebrows slightly as you grabbed it in both of yours, bringing it before your eyes to study the monochrome dappling that indeed resembled his painting in a simple black-and-white variant of the green blown glass. Guy had pretty nice hands, too, lithe and nimble like the rest of him- no wonder he was so good at dancing and painting. Even on canvases as small as his fingernails.

“Wow,” you blinked, letting go of his hand after what felt like minutes despite lasting seconds, “these are really good, too. So you do these yourself?”

“Yeah, I just got into it recently,” he answered with a nod as you both grabbed your bags, heading back out into the dim gallery hallway.

“Well, you’re clearly doing it right! Please do mine,” you joked, holding out your currently-empty fingernails in front of your eyes.

Minghao’s next words almost had you halting in the middle of the hall, causing a budding-artist domino pileup. “Sure, why not? Are you doing anything tonight?”

That serene, matter-of-fact expression didn’t waver, his rich brown eyes looking into yours evenly as if he’d said have a nice day. You floundered, opening your mouth in silence once before words came to you, almost not of your own volition.

“Oh. Uh, yeah,” you shook your head, “I’m not doing anything tonight. You’re not sick of painting?”

“No,” he chuckled, finally smiling again though his voice remained casual, “I guess I’m not. I can do your nails if you want. Follow me from the parking lot- all my nail art stuff is at mine and my roommate’s flat. If you’re cool with that?”

Your eyebrows shot up, but somehow your nerves weren’t firing as hard as they probably should have been- how far did this guy’s chill aura reach? Or was he just that comfortable to be around? Somehow you felt like you’d known him for way longer than a couple hours. “Is your roommate going to be home too?”

“Yeah, of course,” Minghao nodded.

“Alright, sure, what’s your rate?” You joked, shrugging the weight of your backpack down its loose strap at your side.

“Don’t worry about money, I just enjoy the process,” Minghao answered, sidestepping a glass display as you two closed in on the gallery’s front doors.

“Even better,” you replied with a grin, “lead the way.”

He was parked a ways closer than you were, but made sure you got to your car before heading back to his. Nice car, but not flashy, just a very clean-looking white sedan. It made you wonder if Minghao’s flat was going to be as monochromatic as the rest of him. How artsy his roommate was, too. Maybe there’d be canvases everywhere against the walls and tarps on the floor like every artist’s home in a corny romance film. But then again, chaos didn’t seem his style.

The route you followed behind his sedan didn’t take you so far from the gallery, it turned out, and at a large complex of flats you’d seen countless times. In fact, you had a friend who lived there and she found it typically quite safe.

Maybe you’d text her if you felt weird about anything. For the time being, though, it was all excitement, anticipation to see the mystery flat and have your nails done who-knows-how at the hands of a multi-talented artist. Plus, who were you kidding? Hadn’t your heart thudded a bit faster when his hand was in yours?

Such echoed in your mind as you pulled into a visitor parking spot by a row of flowered hedges, walking out to meet Minghao with both hands giving your backpack strap anxious tugs.

"Is it going to bother you if Junhui- that's my roommate- is watching a movie?" He asked.

You shook your head. “Not at all. If we need background sound that’ll be it.”

Minghao smiled, and with that you crossed the lot into the building, riding the elevator to the third floor.

Minimalist was how you would describe Minghao’s apartment, its colors indeed mostly matching the monochrome of his black-and-white outfit. The walls were white, hung with an intricate round metal piece with a Chinese character, 喜, centering its design as well as some flowing abstract paintings in the areas first visible.

“The main meaning of that,” he motioned to the character, “is happiness.”

“You guys have a lot of that in here?”

“Well, I guess you’ll find out,” Minghao bantered back.

Your voices, it seemed, tipped off your classmate’s cinephile friend, who was seated cross-legged on the armchair nearest you two. “Oh, you’re back! Hi! Did you want me to get out of your hair, or-”

“No, it’s fine, remember?” Minghao reminded him. “We might not even stay out here.”

“Right,” the man you assumed to be Junhui nodded, “well, I just finished Ratatouille, what should I watch next?”

His big smile as he scrolled titles on Disney+ had you mirroring the expression, a rush of childlike wonder overtaking you. “Ooh, do The Incredibles or Turning Red!”

“Oh, it’s been a while since I’ve watched The Incredibles, good call,” he nods your way before introducing himself.

Once you’d shared your name, too, you swiveled back around to Minghao, who was sending a fond smile your way. Feeling yourself flush, you twisted your heels on the white carpet several times before speaking.

“So, uh…nails? Out here, or…” Your words trailed off, hand feebly raising in a halted gesture. It was like visiting a friend’s house for the first time except without, you know, the prerequisite of friendship. Sure, you could copy shoe-removal practices, but how much say did guests have? Did they eat on the couch or table-only? Could they move freely or were they bidden to follow their hosts? What was normal behavior for these guys? Cleaning, if you had to guess. The place looked halfway to a mini-hotel.

“Yes, let’s do them out here. Wait here and I’ll get my stuff.”

“Ok!” Agreeing, you plopped down cross-legged on the carpet, not quite feeling cozy enough to drape onto a couch yet.

“So, uh, you guys met at that painting class?” Junhui’s voice came from his own couch seat just a bit above and adjacent to you.

You hummed in agreement. “It was my first one, too, and I was hoping to meet someone cool- guess I was successful, huh?”

You watched Junhui’s gaze flicker out of yours. “Uh, yeah, sure looks like it. What color are you doing your nails, then?”

This time it was your gaze that drifted. “I hadn’t really thought about it, honestly. I’ll take suggestions.”

“Grey.”

“No longer taking suggestions,” you joked, laughing as Junhui stuck his tongue out at you.

“Is he giving you trouble?” Minghao’s sweet tone rang out into the room as he passed through the doorway with a case in hand.

“No, just telling me to paint my nails grey. I was thinking of something a little more…”

He cocked a brow. “Exciting?”

“Bingo. What say you?”

“How about dark green? I’ve been wanting to try out this forest tone I got for a while now, but the black and white has held for so long.”

You grinned, extending your hand. “Perfect. I’m all yours.”

A part of you couldn’t believe you just said that, but it seemed Minghao let it slide, just peering intently at your nails as his palm slid under yours. Junhui's eyes slid between The Incredibles and you two as Minghao reached over your joined hands, pinching a little clear bottle between his fingers.

"Bottom coat first," he muttered, already focused as his dark lashes fluttered downward onto his cheeks. Your own gaze was reflected in the lenses of his glasses, eyes wide and faltering.

Minghao was as gentle and dexterous with the nail polish brush as he was with his paints in class, swiftly drawing the slight cold over each of your nails, the first of which almost made you jump, but you caught yourself with a faint flush. No need to make yourself look silly upon the pristine carpets of such an apartment as nice and composed as its owner.

Soon all ten of your nails shone with the faint iridescence of the priming layer, and you’d gotten a little too used to the feeling of your hand in Minghao’s for your own liking. Something about the way those brown eyes looked into yours had you wanting to take risks. Heck, ever since you laid eyes on that fateful museum poster, doors beckoning you, it had been caution to the wind, mundanity be darned. Or maybe fate really had taken the helm.

“So, what kind of music do you listen to?” Minghao’s voice cut into your swirling reverie, sending your brain bobbing back to reality as he shook the forest green nail polish bottle.

The cold sensation had become familiar by the time you watched green swipe over each of your fingernails, telling your impromptu manicurist excitedly about your favorite band. He listened intently as he could through his focus, nodding enthusiastically.

“I don’t think I’ve heard of them before,” he told you.

“I could show you some of their songs when we’re all done here,” you offered.

“That sounds great,” he replied, raising your hand to his lips and gently blowing the polish dry, gaze piercing yours.

“Wow, this is such a good movie, hu- whoa!” Junhui chimed in right then, turning around to see you both before whirling immediately back around.

In silent response, Minghao rolled his eyes cheekily. You couldn’t help but laugh, and soon he was, too.

His extra airpods were in his room, so once your nails were dry, you ended up making your way there, sitting on the bed when he patted the spot next to him. This time it was your eyebrows that shot up, but you complied, accepting the proffered earbuds. Holding them in your palm, you directed Minghao to one of your favorite songs and popped them in as he pressed play.

The space was as calming as you expected, a fancy incense burner resting on a dark wood dresser that perfectly matched the bed, which was draped with a pretty dark green and white patterned. He’d set his new painting down on some paper towels in case it was still wet, so it sat drying before a few bottles of cologne and a black jewelry holder also resting there. A speaker sat there, and a-

“I really like these instrumentals,” Minghao spoke softly, as if not wanting to compete with the music.

You smiled. “Me, too. They really do something unique, don’t they?”

“I think I’m going to send this to my producer friend. He might get some inspiration from the arrangement!”

Your heart swelled in secondhand pride for your music, happy to have found someone who does more than just listen and mutter a generic ‘yeah, it’s pretty good’. Minghao actually listened, thought about it. You appreciated that.

Scooting a bit closer across the silky bedspread, you motioned to the phone resting there, shoulder brushing his just slightly. “Now you pick one. We can alternate!”

Minghao’s music was unsurprisingly relaxing, though he just claimed that was ‘because it’s nighttime’, that air of artsy mystery that first drew you to him returning faintly.

You swapped songs, tried on Minghao’s glasses, looked at a few other paintings he did, watched his latest dance routine and learned some of it yourself, heard some funny stories about Junhui’s little brother…

…and somewhere along the way fell asleep, slipping so seamlessly into the deep of it you passed without awareness.

You woke up in a haze, eyes fluttering contentedly half-open. Your bed seemed extra comfortable, relaxing rhythm greeting you as you woke. Reaching up to push your blanket off, your hand passed through naught but empty air. Eyes opening a bit wider, you realized you weren’t underneath anything. And you were still in your clothes.

You’d never left Minghao’s apartment. In fact, as you slid further out of the morning-tide blear, you realized that very comfortable thing your head was propped up against was his chest. He’d passed out, too, it seemed, airpods still in his ears and peaceful expression on his face as his eyelashes fluttered.

Jolting upright, you tumbled off the side of the bed, face on fire. Minghao’s eyes flew open as your warmth left him, blinking up at you as a pensive look crossed his face. No surprise, just a study of you and your frantic haste.

“I’m so sorry,” you exclaimed, “I didn’t mean to stay the night!”

“I didn’t exactly mean for you to stay the night,” Minghao shot back, rolling over onto his stomach and propping his head cheekily on folded arms.

“Fair enough.”

“But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t nice, right? I kind of liked sleeping with you.”

If it was even physically possible, your face felt even hotter. “Don’t say it like that!”

That earned you another cute giggle, this one perhaps a bit nervous, too. “Alright, alright. Well, since you’re here, want breakfast?”

“I’ll make breakfast,” you told him, shaking your head in exasperation, all of which was self-directed, “it’s the least I can do for imposing.”

“You didn’t impose. I was the one who brought you into my room.”

Would your face ever cool down again? “I was the one who wanted my nails painted.”

“But who offered to paint them?” Minghao countered; his eyes slid down to your hands. “They look great, by the way. The green really complements your skin tone.”

Holding out your hand, you followed his gaze. “Thank you! I think so too, honestly-”

“Great, so since you dropped it I’ll make breakfast!” Minghao cut you off triumphantly, launching up off the bed and out into the flat.

“Hey, wait!” Heart leaping, you followed him, shuffling out and through the carpet of the living area where you’d half-listened to The Incredibles the evening prior, other half of you enjoying makeshift salon treatment.

You couldn’t help smiling faintly to yourself as you passed through the kitchen doorway…

…at least until you got in there, eyes immediately meeting the wide gaze of Junhui, who sat at the table with a blue bowl full of porridge in hand and a stiffening spine. Why was he looking at you like that?

“Here, (y/n), sit down.” Waving you into the chair catty-cornered from his roommate’s, Minghao returned to the refrigerator. “Do you like pancakes?”

“Doesn’t everyone?” You shot back with a smile.

He looked at you fondly. “Pancakes it is. I think we have everything for them. Alright, I’ll be right back.”

The moment Minghao disappeared out the door, socked feet padding across tile and back into carpet, his roommate spoke up.

“You’re really special, you know that?” He asked before taking another spoonful of porridge.

Your brow crinkled in confusion. “What do you mean? Are you upset?”

“No,” he shook his head, glancing down at his bowl, “it’s just awkward talking to you now that you’ve, you know, known my roommate carnally. But he never takes people home like this. Minghao’s always been a really friends-first kinda guy, so the fact that he brought you here is a big deal. I mean, you know how much he likes you already, I’m sure, I guess you’d know better than me,” he trailed off with a nervous chuckle and another spoonful of porridge, "but even without that I can see the love eyes he gives you."

If you thought your insides were turning somersaults before, well holy shit. You spluttered, heat you'd just managed to chase away returning beneath your whole skin, melting over you past your cheeks and down the rest of your body. Junhui’s words sparked mental images you didn’t need, translucent flutterings across your mind’s eye that got locked away the moment they surfaced. Incredulous as you felt, you had to concede that you did walk into his apartment with his roommate a stranger, only to emerge in the morning wearing the same clothes.

Blinking, you replied the only way you could; somehow the incredulity escaped your tone in favor of an awkward drone. “We fell asleep listening to music. I passed out in his room and offered to make him breakfast.”

“Oh,” was all Junhui said to that, single syllable drawn out, over-pronounced by slow-moving, exaggerated lips. His bowl suddenly became fascinating, totally capturing his attention as if the stuff sloshing in it wasn’t the planet’s drabbest color.

Right then, Minghao returned through the doorway, smiling serenely in ignorant bliss at you. Junhui glanced at him, then positively stared at you, wiggling his eyebrows and mouthing “love eyes” before falling a little to the side, covering his face and snickering at his own comment.

Did he know something you didn’t? Then again, he also mistook you for a one night stand.

“Want help with the pancakes?" You asked, rising up from your seat a little too fast, giving a harsh squeak of chair legs on tile.

“Alright, since I know I won’t hear the end of it otherwise,” Minghao teased, sliding a drawer open and handing you a large spoon, “the scale is right above you. You can be in charge of the dry ingredients.”

Suddenly even the brush of your skin during the spoon sendoff had you flustered.

"Hey, what's with him?" As he poured milk into a glass measuring cup, Minghao nodded toward his roommate, who now peered up from his bowl with innocent eyes and scruffy hair. "Did he say something to make you uncomfortable?"

Scraping off the heaped top of your flour cup, you placed it gently on the scale, a tiny cascade of white dust snowing onto the chrome surface. If you ever wanted to see your handsome new artist friend again, it was probably wise to keep your mouth shut. But then again, you'd also get a very quick idea of how true Junhui's words were if the response you received was a clear rejection. Maybe it was better to have sure footing. Or maybe whatever it was about Minghao that sent your inhibitions reeling was kicking in again at the domesticity of his requests, the gentle way he'd guided you as you attempted his dance, even taking your arms at one point to reposition you, body slipping tightly against yours just for a moment.

"No," you shook your head, turning it towards Minghao to whisper into his ear and smiling in spite of yourself at the way he pressed closer, "he just, er, thought you brought me here under different pretenses."

As if just to keep you on your toes, Minghao giggled, shaking his head and responding just as unexpectedly as you'd expect of someone whose mind seemed to rest on a greater, far more beautiful astral plane than the average layman, nonchalantly spinning words expertly as one who sat at a workspace and willed story. "I won't know your body until I've known your soul." He shook his head, too. "Let me at least take you on a date first, hm?"

That one painting class really had been fate, antithesis to your many laments, proof of good things happening to those who wait. And hey, you liked Sad Checkerboard, too. Money's worth and them some. Maybe things were moving a little fast, but you were tired of those endless days alone on the train, life chugging past. It was why you'd signed up in the first place- for a little adventure. You couldn't complain when you finally got it.

Minghao raised his eyebrows, lowered them again teasingly in a bit of a chastising look. I'm waiting, his sparkling eyes said.

Reaching over for the flour cup, which had measured the perfect amount on the first try, you smiled. "Of course. Now, do you want chocolate or vanilla pancakes?"

#seventeen #seventeen imagines #seventeen reactions #seventeen x reader #seventeen scenarios #the8 #the8 x reader #the8 x gender neutral reader #gender neutral reader #suggestive #humor #slightly lmao

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