rustle | exo: dare you to move (4/5)

Minseok hits the headboard when he stretches his arms over his head, then back. The impact isn't so hard, but there's enough force to leave a dull ache at the back of his hands. He rolls over so that he lying on his stomach, then feels around for his phone. On a normal day, he remembers to put on his bedside table or under his pillow, but sometimes his phone ends up on the floor in the morning. It's been happening more recently, what with the late nights he's been spending out along the Han, or simply away from home.

He looks up when he doesn't find a bedside table within reach, then looks to his side when he realizes where he is.

He remembers falling asleep halfway through a conversation with Kyungsoo last night. They'd freshened up already then, and Minseok had already given Jongdae a call and said that he might not be able to come in for his morning classes. Because you don't have any, Jongdae had reminded him, because it's a Friday, remember? Just– Get some rest, hyung, please?He'd laughed and said yes that time, then offered to take Jongdae out for lunch. He didn't do it just to end the conversation; it's phase one of his 'giving back' program, one he's started just a few hours ago, before he fell asleep on Kyungsoo's bed. He'd promised to cook for Kyungsoo, too, and it took Kyungsoo a while to relent (and give Minseok proper access to his kitchen).

"Just don't… get your hands on my espresso machine," Kyungsoo had said. He was sleepy and mostly asleep, really, but still had enough energy to repeat, "You are not getting your hands on my espresso machine."

He turns to his side and leans closer, watching the steady rise and fall of Kyungsoo's chest. Kyungsoo's eyes are shut tight, but his lips are slightly parted. He's… mouthing something, unintelligible words that might mean a lot of things, but Minseok can't seem to make them out yet. It's too early to think about it too much, so instead he reaches out and tucks the stray strands of hair that have caught on Kyungsoo's lips. Kyungsoo grumbles, then shifts in his position, but sinks right back into slumber, fitful snores filling the air. Minseok chuckles – now there'sthe pink flush on Kyungsoo's cheeks that he's long been wanting to bring out. This is Kyungsoo without any of his walls up, the same Kyungsoo who'd offered to dance with him last night and managed to convince him to do so. This is the same Kyungsoo who gave him no choice but to leave his past behind and to step into the light. This is Do Kyungsoo, unguarded, a bit too willing, giggling ever so lightly when Minseok traces the curve of his face with his fingers.

"Hmmyung?" Kyungsoo mumbles, eyes half-lidded when he looks up to meet Minseok's gaze. Minseok chuckles, gives into the urge to pinch Kyungsoo's cheek. Kyungsoo groans in response. "Why are you up? It's… too early."

"I normally get up at five. Force of habit, I guess," he replies, then withdraws his hand. Kyungsoo pushes the comforter down, wiggling out of its embrace, but sinks back into the pillows as soon as the covers are off. "Any special request for breakfast?"

"Continental," Kyungoso whispers, then worries his bottom lip. He feels around for something, then reaches for Minseok's wrist as he shakes his head. "No, don't cook. We can–" He yawns, face scrunching into this cute image of a kid being denied of a peaceful slumber. Minseok wants to take Kyungsoo in his arms and just embrace him and– "Let's just grab breakfast at Hongdae. I know a nice place."

"I already told you, I won't touch your espresso machine."

Kyungsoo laughs, but the tone gets choked somewhere. Minseok gives in yet again, this time to the urge to pinch Kyungsoo's nose. Kyungsoo's awake enough, but he probably isn't as violent as he usually is before he's had his morning coffee. He files that thought at the back of his mind, under 'interesting things'. "They make good coffee there, better than the one I can make here at home."

"They better," Minseok says, then, and pushes himself off the bed.

Kyungsoo wraps his fingers around Minseok's wrist, pulls him back down, and drapes his legs all over Minseok's own. "I'll make sure they will."

This, too, is probably caused by Kyungsoo's lack of coffee in his system, but Minseok thinks he can get used to this. It's not as if he's never been used as a bolster before, or that he's never received hugs, or that Kyungsoo hadn't held him so tight last night while they were dancing after he twirled Kyungsoo around – he's grown accustomed to touch. It this brand of warmth, the prickling kind, the kind that sends a sizzle down his abdomen and up his nape, that he needs to get used to. So he stays, doesn't move, simply sinks into the touch. If Kyungsoo ever rouses from his state of mild lethargy and pushes Minseok away, Minseok can pretend nothing happened and still sit with Kyungsoo in the same table, enjoy quality coffee.

Kyungsoo starts humming a few minutes after, now fully awake. He doesn't jerk or pull away but, instead, pulls Minseok even closer, burying his nose in Minseok's hair. If Minseok ever shivers, it's from the tickling sensation at the back of his ears caused by Kyungsoo's hot breath. It has nothing to do with the way this – a moment of spontaneity, Kyungsoo's arms around him, keeping him from going elsewhere and making him face the sunrise unfolding just outside the window – feels so right.

☄

"Oh hey, it's the prodigal hyung," Jongdae says as a greeting. Sehun waves over his shoulder, and Kibum cocks an eyebrow at him. "Had coffee yet?"

Minseok nods at Jongdae in response, then walks past him with the intent to head straight to the staff pantry. He's still full from breakfast and Kyungsoo might have made him drink more coffee than necessary. Granted, he only had two cups, but both were Long Black because Kyungsoo reiterated that, "You haven't tasted the best coffee in Organic until you taste their Long Black." So he gave in. He figured it was only a matter of time until he couldn't just let himself be conned into trying new things. He's in his late thirties and his body can only do so much at this age. He's just luckier than the most that he can still bend his back in unimaginable ways, but there's yoga to thank for that.

"I was hoping we could have a cup. Together, y'know," Jongdae says once he's caught up. He leans against the counter, just beside the coffee maker. "Or maybe share a cup. You know I never finish one and you hate me for it."

"Hate is too strong a word," Minseok replies. He takes his phone from his bag before leaving it in his locker. "More like, I think you're wasting something so good."

"If coffee was a religion, you'd probably be a preacher."

"Aren't I?" Minseok answers, grinning. He risks a glance at his phone and unlocks it when he sees a KKT notification. "Come on, I thought you knew me."

"I thought I did," Jongdae says, then. He takes the seat opposite Minseok and sits, the tips of his toes reaching Minseok's ankles under the table. The light brush tickles Minseok, but the sensation is cut short by Jongdae's piercing gaze. This look, Minseok knows well, and he also knows he's never been fond of this. This is the same eight-year-old he lived with years ago who'd throw a tantrum when he didn't get a hug or a kiss on the cheek before his parents went to work. "Well, I know you stayed at Kyungsoo's yesterday, but you didn't tell me you didn't attend the exhibit."

Minseok looks up and wishes he had bangs. He does, but Joonmyun has always said that he looks better with his bangs brushed up. Now he wears his hair that way every single day. Old habits die hard; so do memories. "I did. For a while."

"Then you left."

Minseok takes a deep breath and locks his ankles with Jongdae's own under the table. Jongdae coughs, lets out a few choked sounds. "Jongdae, Minyoung… she danced last night. And she danced really well."

"Oh," is the only thing Jongdae says in return. He sits back and sits up, eases the link of their ankles. The loss of warmth makes Minseok shiver a little, but he knows Jongdae needs a bit of space. Jongdae cried when he found out about Minyoung's condition, that all of her memories had been flushed out of her system because of the trauma and shock of the crash. He came to visit with Minseok the first few times Minseok went to Yeouido. He is family, and finding out that Minyoung can dance – it's enough to make the headlines in Jongdae's mind. "Hyung, remember when she– When she kept bugging you about creating a video for you–"

"Yeah, a dance video," Minseok replies, chuckling. He takes a deep breath. "You should've seen her. She was so beautiful then. She… she looked so alive."

Jongdae tilts his head, a small cock to the side, and reaches for Minseok's hands across the table. The pads of his fingers are cold, as with the rest of his hand, and his fingers feel a bit too stiff. He laughs to himself. It's a bit weird to be the one trying to keep Jongdae warm when Jongdae has always been a little hotter, a bit more willing to lend warmth through touch or a smile. Minseok's attempts at extending sympathy and comfort are through choice words and his constant presence, but Jongdae needs something more right now. He needs someone to hold his hand and somehow tell him, through the friction of skin on skin, that everything's okay, Minyoung didn't fall on her ass, she owned the show. Minseok needs to let Jongdae know that he's fine and maybe that performance was what he needed to wake up. He's been asleep for the longest time and here Minyoung is, telling him to move his lazy ass and get a move on. Telling him that he's too old to be moping.

So he says, "You should see her again sometime. Come with me tomorrow?" Jongdae's fingers stiffen all the more, so he tightens his hold on Jongdae's hands. "Pretty sure she'll still be able to recognize you. I mean, she called me oppa yesterday."

"She what?"

"She remembers," Minseok says, smiling. The corners of Jongdae's lips soften, tugging up into an easy smile that reaches his eyes. "And, well, I guess that… helped me forget."

Jongdae squints an eye and tilts his head all the more, until his ear is pressed to his shoulder. He's wearing a different smile now, a look of amusement that usually means he's getting back on track and easing himself out of sadness. "Joonmyun-hyung told me that you messaged him last night, said that we'll always be there for him. And I said yeah, we will. Even if he's hardly around to feed us these days."

Minseok snorts. "Well, he's always been a bit detached, even back in college."

Jongdae chuckles, but the sound comes out through his nose and catches him off-guard. "No, hyung, that was you," he answers, earnest, then flashes a peace sign. "But I think you've come around and you're catching up."

Minseok rolls his eyes, groans for effect. "It would help if you slowed down, you know? I'm old; I can't keep up sometimes!"

Jongdae moves his chair closer, the pegs of the feet scratching the floor. The shrill sound reaches Jongdae's ears, makes him wince, but it isn't enough to wipe off the grin on his lips. "You don't have to keep up, hyung. You just had to keep doing what you loved the most, you just had to keep dancing," Jongdae replies, slipping his fingers between Minseok's own between forcing Minseok's hand to stand on its side. "So I guess this is your second childhood now."

"So this is you taking a jab at my age while teaching me a lesson." Minseok laughs a little. "Very clever."

"This is why you have to listen to kids sometimes," Jongdae says, then sticks out his tongue. "Because you adults get so lost in your complicated ideas that you fail to realize that the solution to something is so simple."

But simple isn't supposed to be good all the time. Simple is easy, and nothing good ever comes out of it. Simple is like taking the shortcut to the end because oh, how convenient, there's a secret passageway there! Here's a free ticket to success! That's not how it works in real life. Life dumps all sorts of shit on you, one lump after another, so you have to be alert at all times, be prepared with a plan. You have to come up with something so foul-proof that life can't figure it out and play a prank on you with your own plan again. But there can be exceptions, Minseok supposes, because everything's a matter of choice. You can choose to take the less trodden path but enjoy it, not feel like you're being burdened. You can also take the smoother road, a shortcut to victory, and feel miserable about outsmarting everyone else. You can choose to laugh at life when it shits on you. You can choose to be happy or sad, and right now Minseok chooses to live. So he nods his head to the steady rhythm of Jongdae's laughter, to the thumping in his chest, to Kyungsoo's voice in his mind, saying, Be silly with me, then?

"So simple," he mutters under his breath, then laughs. Jongdae doesn't stop laughing, but he does keep both eyes open, watching Minseok's every movement. So Minseok reaches out and pinches Jongdae's nose because that, too, is simple, and it's the easiest, most effective way to make Jongdae stop laughing at this slow and simmering realization. It's the easiest way to distract Jongdae from snatching his phone from his hand when three notifications come in.

Hyung, just a reminder, after two Long Blacks, you probably shouldn't drink coffee anymore.
I bet you knew that, but just in case. :)
Because Kibum didn't. But you're not him. You're different.

Is that a good thing or a bad thing? Minseok asks, but he already knows the answer – it's a thing, and it doesn't matter to Kyungsoo whether it's good or bad. He's always been a bit of a risk-taker, after all, and Minseok is interested in taking risk classes under Kyungsoo's wing.

P.S. You need to work on your pirouettes. I can show you, he adds after a while, then slips his phone back in his pocket even before Jongdae can gather himself again. Two light buzzes and Minseok gives in to the urge to smile, lets the strong force pulling up at the corners of his mouth to do their work. He's not old enough for magic. He's just begun to live again.

☄

Kibum's last Zumba class for the day ends with a round of applause. The class, albeit complaining before that Kibum teaches the steps too fast, has come to enjoy the faster pace of the session, complaining this time that an hour isn't enough. "You can always sign up for two consecutive classes!" Kibum tells them, all bright eyes and a big smile, and Minseok gives the students a small smile as he slips inside the dance room. He offers Kibum a bottle of water, presses it to Kibum's cheek. Kibum seethes at the first contact but grows accustomed to it soon after, even nuzzling the bottle and humming in satisfaction.

"I haven't changed my mind, by the way. This is still the only good thing that came out of you and Kyungsoo becoming friends," Kibum says in between sips. "Not that you wouldn't have told me, eventually. Kyungsoo just… He tends to bug people to get what he wants."

Minseok squints, but gives Kibum a slow nod in response. "Never would've guessed."

Kibum laughs a little. "I mean, he just stares at me and hovers until I give in. That counts as bugging, right? Because I sure was freaked out when he did that."

Not quite, he wants to say. He enjoys the quiet calm that comes with Kyungsoo's presence, the bouts of giggles that comes with Minseok trying to crack a joke and Kyungsoo trying to come up with a response. He likes the late nights spent walking along the Han and just swaying to some unknown music, or to Kyungsoo's humming. He likes the standstill where Kyungsoo just looks at him, pensive, and worries his bottom lip in an effort to not smile too much. Kyungsoo is… acquired taste, so to speak, and he's a flavor Minseok has come to get addicted to.

He remembers last night's dance, the way they'd been so reckless out in Lake Park, miles away from Gangnam. He remembers feeling like coming home after being away for so long. It feels so right, and even if he hadn't stretched properly prior to dancing, he can't feel any pain in his limbs. He should thank years of yoga training for that, but the strain of dancing is different from the pain of yoga. Dancing alone in front of so many people feels so different from that silly dance they'd done last night in the dark, with only the street lights to see. And he feels different now, more at ease, more comfortable with himself, like he'd eased a clog in his body with the twist of his torso. And he feels so good.

"I think you have a problem," Minseok offers. He gives Kibum a pat on the back, then a sad smile. "Never too late to fix that, though. You can still try to be a bit more tolerable–"

"Thanks, hyung," Kibum says through gritted teeth. He offers Minseok a wry smile. "But really, thanks. This… kinda got me out of my rut. Preparing for that exhibit a few months back? Torture. I had to keep shitting out artworks that I didn't like."

"Didn't seem like it, though," Minseok says. He nudges Kibum in his side, not minding the way their arms slide with sweat, a bit sticky before he inches a few spaces away. "They were really great."

"I can hear a 'but' there." Kibum chugs the rest of the contents of the bottle down, coughing when he reaches the end. It isn't even that cold. "C'mon, I can hear a 'but' there. But Kyungsoo's works were better? Did they… touch you in a different way?" Kibum wiggles his eyebrows, and Minseok only frowns in reply. "Come on!"

"You could've done better, definitely," Minseok admits. He's seen too many of Kibum's works before, and if he'd compare Kibum's works to his own life, he'd say that all the paintings he'd done for this recent exhibit were like the entire time he hadn't danced. Two decades of desperately trying to shed his second skin and ending up wearing it again. And liking it. "And well, I can't compare your work to Kyungsoo's–"

He stops in his words, blinks a few times as he registers that they still have a transaction to work out. The deal is already months in the making and The Nightwalker has to get accustomed to its new home already but, somehow, Minseok doesn't mind. He doesn't mind taking a leisurely walk with the little girl in the painting who turns out to be a shadow of Kyungsoo. He doesn't mind dancing with it, either. So there isn't just one good thing that came out of this friendship, this arrangement. It's one good thing after another.

"Because we have contrasting styles," Kibum finishes. His lips are quirked up in a smile. If he ever thinks of calling Minseok out on that split-second realization, he doesn't. Instead, he keeps talking, looks at his outstretched legs and points his toes while flexing his feet. "I thought you liked more abstract-looking stuff?"

People change, Minseok wants to say, but instead he says, "There are exceptions." He thinks of they day he met Kyungsoo, how easy it was for them to fall into a conversation about the performance, thinks of how one small discussion led to little encounters after that. He thinks, what if Kyungsoo hadn't found him slumped against the wall that time when he had a few bottles of soju with Baekhyun and Yixing? What if Kyungsoo hadn't carried him all the way from Insadong to Gangnam? What if Kyungsoo went on his merry way instead of taking time to help out a stranger who eventually became a friend?

"You've changed," Kibum says. He's grinning, though. "I kinda like it."

"Get used to it," is the only thing Minseok says before reaching out to pinch Kibum in his side. Kibum groans in displeasure and attempts to kick Minseok in his calf, but he misses. Minseok runs to the exit, a newfound energy in his knees as he sets his mind on heading back to the staff pantry. Then he'd open his locker, check his messages, check his surroundings for Kibum or Sehun or Jongdae then reply to whatever message Kyungsoo has for him.

Then he'd head out and throw all plans of turning in early for the night out the window to take a walk along a long strip of land with Kyungsoo, let his limbs move to the melody of Kyungsoo's soft humming. Maybe he'll bring up the transaction somewhere along the way and they'd forget again, but there's always the opportunity to talk to Kyungsoo about it. They are the nightwalkers, creatures of the dark who enjoy the company of the autumn wind turned winter and of each other. They're walking along the Han tonight, Kyungsoo declares in his text, and Minseok knows he won't regret it at all.

☄

"We've got to stop meeting like this."

Kyungsoo snorts but moves closer, elbow brushing against Minseok's own. They're walking along Sinsadong, navigating its streets until they reach Garosu-gil. The thick crowd in the evening makes the atmosphere warmer, but that doesn't stop the winds from blowing a bit too hard. Kyungsoo shivers, coughs a little, and hugs his jacket closer to himself. Minseok can see a hint of Kyungsoo's sweater peeking from his coat. He still hasn't brought gloves with him.

"Gloves or scarf?" Minseok asks.

Kyungsoo cocks an eyebrow at him. "Hyung?"

"Choose," Minseok says. He shivers a little, but unwinds his scarf from his neck, anyway. Kyungsoo is more perceptive on normal days, but it's colder than the usual tonight. Maybe he needs another cup of coffee. His third after taking two Long Blacks in the morning. Maybe he needs alcohol. Or both. "Which do you want – my scarf or my gloves?"

Kyungsoo stops in his tracks and looks up at him, a challenge written in the way the corners of his mouth tug up. There's something there, an underlying message, but the lighting here is too faint for Minseok to make out the details of the wicked smile. He squints, just the same, tilts his head to the side and catches the small space between Kyungsoo's lips, the light parting like he's poised to laugh. Then he hears it again, the same music that played in his head the day Kyungsoo taught him his victory dance.

"Neither," Kyungsoo whispers, voice so faint he can simply be breathing. He isn't – he's chuckling now, the wide grin that was once on his lips now melting into a small smile, a smirk, a shy twist of the mouth. He inches closer, then, and looks around for an audience. He clutches at the placket of Minseok's jacket. They're so close now, so close, enough that Minseok can see the way light filters through Kyungsoo's eyelashes if he squints hard enough, or that tiny dot of red on his cheek. Minseok can feel the warmth of Kyungsoo's breath on his chin, crawling to his cheeks and down his neck. If he leans closer, they'll be nose to nose, and their lips will brush. And they'll be warm. It's cold out here and what's wrong with sharing a bit of warmth through the press of the lips?

"Both," Kyungsoo answers after a while, breaking the spell. He pulls away with an easy smile, then tugs at Minseok's scarf. "Thanks, hyung. You're the best."

Cork for Turtle is tonight's escape route. Kyungsoo's usual spot is free, and Kyungsoo drags Minseok by the wrist in an attempt to get to it before someone else does. Minseok sort of understands Kyungsoo's fondness for it – the place is warm, but not so hot that he'll end up sweating profusely halfway through his cup of coffee. If he cranes his neck, he'll get a nice view of the Han from where they are. If he keeps his eyes facing front, he'll have a pretty good view, as well.

"Stop staring, hyung. I'll return your scarf," Kyungsoo grumbles. He shivers a little, then buries his nose in the material. "Just– I need to adjust to the temperature."

Minseok chuckles. "You can have it. As long as you're buying me food and coffee, at least."

Kyungsoo cocks an eyebrow at him as if accepting a challenge, or posing a greater one. "That's all? I can get you anything in this place, just saying."

Minseok leans closer, then taps the tip of Kyungsoo's red nose thrice. "Just do it. You know what I want."

He isn't kidding – Kyungsoo should know his food and coffee preference by now. They've gone out for dinner and coffee a number of times already and at the same place that figuring out Minseok's order won't be a puzzle anymore. For late nights in Garosu-gil, Minseok prefers alcohol, but make him choose between liquor and coffee and coffee wins, hands down. It's a no-Long-Black night tonight, so Kyungsoo runs a finger through the menu, looks up at Minseok longer than he'd stared at the items earlier. "How about a con panna?" he asks, a smile on his lips, small and tentative. He darts his tongue out just a little, licks his bottom lip and ah, there it is, the warmth that temporarily left Kyungsoo's features. His lips turn a warmer shade of red and the tight corners of his mouth soften. "That'll be your… fifth espresso shot. Call?"

"You're imposing on me," Minseok teases.

"Imposing on you would be ordering the drink without consulting you," Kyungsoo retorts. "Just like you told me earlier." He winks when he ends, but for the most part it looks like he's blinking. Minseok wants to laugh, but even he has difficult properly winking at the right time or without at least two minutes of practice. So instead, he grins, teeth baring. The stretch at the corners feels a bit weird, but maybe it's because he isn't accustomed to this. Tight-lipped smiles are his staple; Kyungsoo makes him get used to changes in his life, forces him to deal with changes in his life.

If this were Joonmyun, Minseok would've gotten another Long Black because Joonmyun will never impose, never tell him to stop and reevaluate his coffee choices. Joonmyun will order something different for himself and try to show Minseok how to deal with the need to drink coffee in the evening better. Joonmyun will stay long enough to watch Minseok realize the repercussions of his actions, and by then it will be too late for Minseok to try to save himself. And then Joonmyun will be there to run a soothing hand down his back and push him down on the bed. No words will be spoken, but Joonmyun's actions will say everything that Minseok has to hear. And Minseok hears nothing but regret and you can prevent this from happening. Run away now, Minseok. Run away–

So he appreciates it, Kyungsoo's different approach, the care and concern disguised in Kyungsoo's sharp words. He checks the menu, then looks up at Kyungsoo with a smile. "Con panna sounds good."

Kyungsoo leans back after giving Minseok an affirming nod. "You won't regret it."

The thing about this friendship, this… relationship is that Minseok hasn't regretted anything yet. He might have been a bit too reckless a couple of times when dealing with Kyungsoo, when giving into Kyungsoo's warm touch and the allure of his lips, but he doesn't wish he had the power to take back those moments of surrender. He spent all his life building walls around himself and forgot that there's still a way to get inside – through the top. But Kyungsoo didn't climb the walls; instead, he knocked on the door and asked, as politely as possible, will you please fucking let me in?

Minseok takes a sip of his espresso con panna when the waitress arrives with it, then nods slowly. The flavor is rich and intense, but the cream makes the contact of espresso on skin so light and velvety. It's an entirely different coffee experience, but then Kyungsoo has been nothing but a surprise. He's a breath of fresh air after confining oneself in a cave for so long. He's the whipped cream in a cup of espresso. He's the first jerk of the body at the start of a dance beat, and the final flourish at the end of the song. He's every great hit and, Minseok thinks, he can get used to this. He can get addicted to espresso con panna the same way that he's developed a deeper love for Americano. He can get addicted to Kyungsoo; it's just a matter of taking in more of Kyungsoo in his system.

"Oh, by the way," Kyungsoo begins, breaking the silence. "Kibum mentioned that you're still looking for another dancer. I know someone who can be interested." He reaches over, running his thumb along Minseok's top lip. Minseok freezes for a while until he realizes what Kyungsoo is doing, until he seesit – Kyungsoo licking cream off his thumb, then sucking in his finger, letting it go with a dull 'pop'. "He used to be a yoga instructor before he started coaching China's synchronized swimming team."

Minseok leans back, eyebrows furrowed. "Are you sure we'll be able to afford him?"

Kyungsoo snorts. "Just feed him and he'll be okay with that. Also, bubble tea – he loves those. He'll warm up to you faster than a puppy."

"You make him sound like a dog."

"Well, now that you put it that way…" Kyungsoo's voice trails off, dissolves into air as he takes a sip of his own coffee. He's having a latte tonight, vanilla, nothing out of the ordinary. He said earlier that it's 'not an Americano kind of night' while clutching at his chest. Must be the palpitations. Minseok gets those when he has too much coffee. "He's a nice kid. Really sweet, too. I think he'll get along with Jongdae just fine."

Minseok laughs a little. "Everyone gets along with Jongdae."

"Even Kibum?"

"That's a trick question. Kibum got him drunk during the interview," Minseok replies. Kyungsoo parts his lips in a small 'o', then nods. "And he's still there. So maybe Kibum's just putting up with him because Jongdae's our boss. We'll never know."

"You can always ask," Kyungsoo says, like confrontations are so simple. They never are, or at least the confrontations Minseok had to go through were nothing like it. The ones he experienced were terribly emotional, draining. And they weren't lengthy explanations – they were short words, bouts of conversation. That time, when he asked Joonmyun if he stood a chance, Joonmyun looked at him with wide eyes and a question in the curve of his mouth. And he'd laughed at Minseok then before leaning in, then pulled away just as quickly. So maybe it was half a confrontation. Minseok had the words and Joonmyun had to keep his lips to himself.

So Minseok says, after taking a deep breath, "The painting, by the way," then worries his bottom lip. He leans back into his chair in an effort to not be pushy even if Kyungsoo's leaning closer, their knees now bumping. "I just realized, we never got to finalize the price or anything."

"Ah, that," Kyungsoo whispers. He chuckles then takes another sip of his drink. This time, foam catches on his top lip and Minseok takes a leap of faith, reaching out to return the favor Kyungsoo had done for him earlier because friends do good things for each other, right? Kyungsoo saved him from the humiliation of walking around with a cream mustache, so it's only fitting for him to do the same. It's only fitting and safe for him to press his thumb on Kyungsoo's top lip to wipe off the foam that has gathered on it instead of kissing it away.

"If you pose for my next painting, I'll waive the fee altogether and give it to you for free," Kyungsoo continues. He takes another sip, gaze still locked onto Minseok's. Is this a challenge, Minseok wants to ask, but instead he sucks on his thumb, licks off the residual foam. "You get the painting and you get to dance. I get to paint and immortalize you. It's a win-win situation."

Immortalize. "Strong word," Minseok mumbles.

"Can't find anything more suitable," Kyungsoo answers. He chuckles. "Do you need time to think?"

He does. He's just emerged from a heartache and he saw his sister, his sister who he'd been avoiding all these years, dancing. His limbs still feel numb from the cold or maybe too sore from the sudden burst of activity. He can't tell. All he knows right now is that the prospect of dancing again both excites and frightens him. It's a bad combination that makes his stomach lurch in several different directions, makes him want to fall sick. But he isn't. He feels good and he feels like he can do yoga for the next twenty-four hours, then dance for another twenty-four. And then after that, he can pose for Kyungsoo because his body will be loose and comfortable enough to pose. Then Kyungsoo will be able to come up with a better painting, something that can capture the beauty of dance and movement.

He thinks back on the time he spent putting off everything, and laughs at himself. He's just giving himself an excuse to escape, then all of his and Kyungsoo's efforts at getting him out of this rut will be put to waste. He can't let that happen. It's like locking Minyoung up in that car and wishing, just wishing, that he was inside and that they'd all just disappeared in the car crash.

"Nah, I'm good," Minseok replies. He takes a deep breath, then asks, "You sure you'll give it to me for free?"

"You're worth more than the painting, but yeah," Kyungsoo answers, then turns his attention to his food. He scores a line through the meat, careful strokes in tandem with his easy breathing. Minseok allows himself to be entranced, then, by the movement of Kyungsoo's hands, by each stroke and upward and downward motion. By the small smile on his lips as he sinks his teeth in the meat. Kyungsoo looks up at him with wide eyes and a cocked eyebrow as if asking, are you seriously going to let your coffee get cold? Or maybe he's saying, the food's really good. Are you doubting my pick? Kyungsoo is a word holding so many meanings. Minseok can spend an entire day learning them all.

"It's good," Minseok says when he takes a bite off the chicken he ordered. Kyungsoo gives him an appreciative nod, then a toothy grin when Minseok makes the tiniest sound of approval. Minseok approves of that light flush on Kyungsoo's cheeks that travels quickly to his ears, too. "Really good."

☄

Minseok isn't exactly averse to the idea of meeting new people. He's okay with it and he recognizes it as part of the inevitable, but, "Can someone else do the phone call?" he asks as he holds his phone up. He has Kyungsoo's friend's number typed on the screen and Jongdae promised to do the call earlier, but now he's miraculously busy with cleaning a spot on the floor. Minseok huffs, then, takes a deep breath and takes a break to navigate out of the dial pad and check Kyungsoo's message again. He doesn't bite :D was Kyungsoo's helpful text last night, when Minseok asked for his friend's number. He's a nice koala. Treat him nicely or you'll regret it.

He contemplates on sending Kyungsoo a voice note of his dry laughter, but that would be really weird. So instead, he pulls up a laughing sticker, then types, Gonna give him a call. Wish me luck!

He can hear low ringing on the other end of the line. If there's anything to regret right now, it's the seconds lost to waiting for someone to pick up the phone.

Kyungsoo's friend doesn't answer the call until two more tries after, an hour before Minseok's next yoga class. "Hello? This is… This is Huang Zitao, yes," says Kyungsoo's friend and the voice sort of makes Minseok giggle. If his tone is anything to go by then Kyungsoo is right, there is nothing to fear about the guy. He should know better than to judge people so quickly, though – if he went with his gut feel all the time then he would have gotten past that veil of hope with Joonmyun before, or even dissuaded the idea of getting to know a weirdo he met at a Greek restaurant a few months back.

"Hi. This is Kim Minseok. Do Kyungsoo gave me your number," Minseok replies. Kibum looks up at the mention of Kyungsoo's name, and Sehun pinches Kibum in his side and mumbles, focus, hyung. "Yes, it's– It's about the opening here in JD Builders in Gangnam, yes. He mentioned that to you before?"

"Quite a few times," says Zitao on the other end of the line. There's a stifled giggle there, Minseok catches it just before Zitao clears his throat. "But he said Kibum-hyung already agreed to do part-time there so I didn't push through with it."

He tends to bug people to get what he wants, comes Kibum's voice in his mind. It's loud enough for him not to catch Zitao's succeeding statements. He asks Zitao to repeat what he just said, something about Kyungsoo having nothing but good things to say about the gym. "Which is funny because he's the last person I'd expect to go to a gym. But don't tell him that!" Zitao even says, mumbling something at the end that Minseok doesn't bother to decipher.

"Kibum actually managed to attract a new crowd of people who want to try Zumba, so we're looking for another instructor to help him out with the additional classes. And I heard from Kyungsoo that you used to coach the Olympic synchronized swimming team, so it would be really great if we could show you the facilities and talk to you face-to-face before we get to figuring out the paperwork.

"Kyungsoo… actually showed me pictures." A pregnant pause, then, "I mean Kibummie-hyung showed me pictures but he said those came from Kyungsoo–"

Minseok tries not to laugh. It's becoming increasingly hard to because all the image of this really great swimmer he'd constructed has come crumbling down after the mention of Kibummie-hyung. Kyungsoo's right – this guy is as cute as a koala. "I hope you liked what you saw," he says, instead. The tickling sensation crawls up his throat, makes itself comfortable there and elicits the faintest chuckle from him. "We'd love to accommodate you on your most convenient time. Just let us know your availability!"

Kibum holds his arms up and crosses them in mid air while frowning. Sehun slaps him in the ass this time and says, louder, "Focus."

On the other end of the line, Minseok can hear soft humming, then a small gasp. Maybe Zitao's busy the entire week or maybe he just realized that he hates Zumba. Minseok would, too, if he had an instructor whose focus was as good as that of a gold fish's or like Kibum's. Sehun is patient when it matters, but make him train someone who is distracted by nice ass or really great gym attire and he loses it in a snap. And while Minseok's patience is usually longer than that of Sehun's, it's really hard to tell when you're faced with a situation as tough as trying to teach a kid how to do Zumba in the most serious way possible.

"Tomorrow would be great," Zitao says after a while. He hums again, and Minseok catches the sound of nails scraping the surface of a table. It's makes him wince, but it also excites him – it means Zitao is considering taking the offer, and that he's interested. It can also mean that Kyungsoo's looking at him in the eye and whispering, if you don't take the offer, I'll make sure you regret it.

"Great! We'd be glad to show you around tomorrow! I'll book you an appointment with my boss," Minseok replies. He jots down Zitao's other contact details, then, and some other information on his work history, his favorite bands and artists, his favorite sports brand. Ten more minutes of conversation and he's positive Kyungsoo had nothing to do with Zitao developing interest for the job, much less for sharing an abridged version of his life story with Minseok. Ten more minutes, and then Jongdae's approaching him with a weird-looking beverage in a tall glass.

"Gatorade and banana shake," Jongdae says. He hands it to Minseok, pressing the cold glass to Minseok's nails, then takes a sip of his own drink as if letting Minseok know that it's safe, trust me. "Figured I could use something different in my life. That, and I was craving banana shake."

Minseok cocks an eyebrow at him, but takes the beverage anyway. Behind him, Kibum and Sehun groan in protest. "Then why the Gatorade?"

"I was supposed to grab some water." Jongdae rubs the tip of his nose. "Ended up grabbing the Gatorade, instead."

Minseok tilts his head and squints, then leans back. There's something wrong about this picture, something out of place. It's not entirely bad – Jongdae's not annoying, for the most part, and he's still alive so the concoction can't be that bad – but there's something different about it, like Jongdae got a new haircut except Minseok has to scratch the surface to see things clearer. "You alright?" he asks, then, and waves Sehun and Kibum off even before they can approach them near the counter. "You sound weird."

"Caught me," Jongdae admits. He looks around, then drops a mention about this group of people at the receiving area who's interested in availing of twelve class cards each for the evening Zumba session. Kibum and Sehun get back on their feet and hurry to the reception, and only then does Jongdae lock the door behind him. He's still dilly-dallying, still uncertain how to drop whatever bomb that's set to explode. Minseok has known Jongdae long enough to know that the light furrow of the eyebrows, the sullen look, the sad smile on his lips – these all mean that there's news pertinent to them that he wishes he didn't have to find out.

"EXO's taking a break. Baekhyun and Joonmyun-hyung got temporarily suspended for their reckless behavior." He digs deep in his pockets, fishing for his phone. He fiddles with it a little before handing it over to Minseok. "SM's saying something about impostors or the two just being really good and intimate friends. I mean, that would've been great if there weren't videos."

Minseok blows at his bangs, then scrunches his nose when hot breath tickles his skin. "Yeah, because friends totally feel each other up and grope each other backstage."

"Kibum squeezes your ass. You seem to be okay with that."

Minseok cocks an eyebrow at Jongdae. "That's not the point."

The point is that Joonmyun and Baekhyun got themselves in trouble, and that the company decided to cover it up with a lie. It's stupid; anyone can tell that whatever it was that they saw in the fan videos, that wasn't just two really good friends. There's passion in there, a different brand of connection. Minseok felt it, saw it even in the dim lighting in the video, even only through the screen on his phone. And he knows there's always been something going on between the two. It could've been a little crush gone overboard, or feelings finally getting settled. And it's a brave act, actually submitting to their desires mid-tour. Joonmyun has never been reckless, after all. There's a bit of Baekhyun in him now, a bit of that wild courage crawling underneath his skin.

Minseok takes a deep breath. It still hurts, thinking about the way Joonmyun and Baekhyun looked then, the way they fit, but what else can he do? They're miles away from him and they've finally surrendered to each other and they're happy. No amount of scolding or harsh criticism from the management or the fans can ever dissuade the fact that Joonmyun finally being honest with himself took a lot, and that Baekhyun finally having enough courage to surrender is a mean feat. And Joonmyun keeps saying in their group message, I'll be fine. Don't worry about me. It's Joonmyun's default response when he's plagued with issues, but Minseok can sense a hint of honesty there.

Joonmyun never lied to him. Joonmyun just never told him the truth. And Minseok has seen it now, with his own two eyes. It looks like a pretty little painting that was once shuffled to the far end of an exhibit instead of being showcased out in the open.

"He says he's okay and I swear to God, hyung, I believe him," Jongdae says, then, and leans back against the counter. "He sounds okay but I know he's stressed and all? And that he's more worried about Baekhyun than anything else? And maybe he wants out because now that he finally got what he want, his freedom's being taken away from him?"

Minseok reaches out, resting his hand on Jongdae's arm. "So we'll let him vent," he replies. There's a warm, bubbling sensation at the pit of his stomach, and it's slowly crawling up his system, up his throat. If it reaches his chest, he might not be able to breathe, so he tries to push it back down. "And maybe we'll lie for him if people ask. Because the moment he signed with SM, the moment Baekhyun entered that contract, as well, they knew they were signing themselves up for years of being locked up in a cell."

Minseok knows how it feels, to be cruising through life and enjoying every bit of his trip and then to be suddenly falling from grace. And he knows it hurts. He knows that Joonmyun will inevitably be afraid of getting back on both feet and extending his hand in Baekhyun's direction because people might take it the wrong way. The seed has been planted and there's no way that people won't read into every single detail of their dynamic, every move of the muscle, every exchange of smiles or eye contract or even the hitch of the breath.

"And we'll teach him how to get back up," Minseok adds after a while. "Because we're good at that, right? Getting back on our feet after getting knocked down?"

Jongdae worries his bottom lip but holds Minseok's gaze. There's a hint of a smile there, in the light upward tug of the lip, in the way the furrow of his eyebrows eases and softens into something Minseok can easily recognize. This is Jongdae's I'm placing my full trust in you so don't let me down, hyung. Don't let me down look. "You mean looking for new people to take over Sehun's job because he's stupid and he got himself injured all the more because he works too hard."

Minseok nods, slow and deliberate. "Well, yeah."

"What do you mean well, yeah?"

"I mean," Minseok begins, then bumps his hip into Jongdae's own. "You're right. And that you're just restless. And that you should start worrying about yourself more than you do others."

"Strong words," Jongdae mumbles under his breath but he moves closer, anyway. The press of their arms against each other is sticky and warm, but Minseok doesn't mind it. The Gatorade and banana slushie Jongdae made is enough to even out the temperature, keep him a bit cool inside and still have enough warmth to lend to Jongdae. And Jongdae isn't inching away, either. So they stay there, pressed side-to-side, a comfortable silence easing the knots in Minseok's stomach, his shoulders, his chest.

Later, Jongdae excuses himself to do his rounds and check on the gym members. Minseok fishes for his phone from his pocket and pulls down his notifications. Three KKT messages, all from Kyungsoo. There's no one here, nothing but the bright lights in the staff pantry to see him, so he gives into the urge to grin as he tells Kyungsoo about the phone call with Zitao.

He exists the conversation window and navigates to his thread with Joonmyun. Happy for you and Baekhyun. Stay strong! :D he types. His thumbs freeze a little halfway through, like his joints are locked and won't allow him to move, but he presses on. He presses on and hits the 'send' button, responds to Joonmyun's reply – a simple thanks :) – with a sticker, and scrolls through his recent stickers to bombard Joonmyun with some. Only when he puts his phone down does he realize that he's never been fond of using stickers – not on Facebook, and certainly not on KKT. He's never even thought of downloading any until Jongdae insisted that he have at least a few stickers that aren't the default ones when they move their text threads to KKT for practicality purposes.

And now, here he is – downloading a sticker pack that Kyungsoo linked because I made that a few months back. Earned from it, actually. The little girl is there. Downloading a sticker pack not upon Kyungsoo's recommendation, but upon his request. Downloading a sticker pack because sometimes words escape him, leave him without any coherent thought as he engages in conversation with Kyungsoo.

The main in this pack looks like you, Minseok says once he's tested out a few. His thumb hovers on a sticker – the same Kyungsoo-looking character with cheeks tinted with pink, yet ears that burn a bright red. There's a speech bubble there that says cute! and Kyungsoo will probably kill him, but hasn't Kyungsoo already? Kyungsoo shot him point blank the moment Kyungsoo asked him to teach him how to dance. And then he picked him up, revived him, twirled him around for a dance.

He taps the sticker and grins, anticipating Kyungsoo's reply.

When Minseok sees Kyungsoo's response, he closes his eyes, hangs his head low, and wishes he wore his hair long enough to cover his eyes, his cheeks, his face. Still, he risks another glance at it and, this time, he laughs. He laughs until his throat runs dry and Jongdae returns from his rounds to ask him, "Are you crazy?"

"No," he says, shaking his head. He wears a smile on his lips, bright and confident. He's not the only who thinks so, after all.

You're cuter ;) the message says. Minseok can replay that image in his head again and again until the day ends, until he has to tuck himself in bed, until he has to slip his phone beneath his pillow. But knowing Kyungsoo, he'll be kept up until the whee hours of the morning while they talk about art and music and dance, and Kyungsoo being excited about painting Minseok, and Minseok saying, don't expect much. Don't expect anything at all.

Kyungsoo is a big bunch of all things unexpected, after all. And Minseok likes it. Minseok likes every single thing about Kyungsoo.

☄

Minseok has always known that the I-told-you-so conversation was going to be hard. It's a given – Baekhyun is a star. Joonmyun's a pretty big name in the business in his own right. They were seen getting frisky backstage, during a tour. It's like sleeping on the job and snoring loudly to spite your boss. This is the price you have to pay for wanting fame and fortune, he'd tell Joonmyun if he was drunk as fuck, but he isn't. He's rarely ever completely inebriated to lose sense of what he says, anyway. There's no liquor in the house right now, just water and some fruit juice. It's eleven in the evening and he's just paused the dance video he was watching in favor of a phone call from Joonmyun.

"Do you want me to say it?" Minseok asks, nonetheless, because Joonmyun likes being given a another option, being told that there's a self-destruct button before pressing it. Joonmyun makes a small disgruntled sound that Minseok takes as a yes. "I... know you'll get through this. For now, just be a good boy."

Joonmyun snorts on the other end of the line. "The one time I don't play the part, I fuck up everything," Joonmyun says, voice dropping so close to a whisper. He's probably leaning against a wall now, head thrown back. His eyes are probably sullen and he's heaving a sigh, but he won't let Minseok hear that. Or at least he'll hope Minseok won't hear it because sometimes, Joonmyun overestimates himself, underestimates the extent to which his friends know him. Minseok has spent so many years watching over Joonmyun that he knows, just by his words and the thick blanket of silence that follows, exactly what Joonmyun is doing.

Minseok hears a light scratch, then a soft thud. Joonmyun hasn't changed – he still loves doing that dramatic sliding down the wall thing. You'd think you'd get rid of your habits from more than a decade ago, but no – these things stick with you, almost define you. Joonmyun hasn't changed so really, this is the same person Minseok fell in love with so many years ago, the same person who helped get him off three hours before their final exam. And this is the same person who'd dropped to his knees after Minseok jerked him off and fingered him 'for good luck' just before his last exam before graduation. It'll help you relax, Joonmyun had said then. Stop thinking about how you bombed that exam because you didn't. Just… Let me make you feel better.

"If it makes you feel better," Minseok says now, pausing to clear his throat. "The fans are doing a great job at controlling news from spreading online."

Joonmyun laughs a little. "I love his fans sometimes. You can always depend on them to defend him. I mean the group! Of course, it's all for the group." There's a long pause, and only Joonmyun's uneven breathing breaks the standstill. Minseok wants to laugh – he's too familiar with this. He wants Joonmyun to prove him wrong for once.

Joonmyun hums, then, and asks with a chuckle, "You're a member of his fansites, hyung?"

"Well–" There was a time when Joonmyun asked him to sign up for EXO's official fanclub. It wasn't like he needed those special access things – the boys had special access to the gym and Minseok's fridge here in his flat, after all – but more sign ups means a happier management. And a happier management essentially means these little kids being less difficult to deal with and Joonmyun not having to worry about them all the time. So he didn't have a choice, really. Joonmyun had one hand on his shoulder then, and another on his hand. Come on, hyung, you're just a click away, Joonmyun had said then. One more step, and then you'll be an official member.

"Forget it. I know what you're gonna say." Joonmyun laughs again, brighter this time, a fuller sound. Minseok taps the spacebar on his laptop lightly, waiting for Joonmyun's next statement. "Do you really think they'll ever let Baekhyun off the hook?"

"They won't," is Minseok's honest reply because he knows that this is what Joonmyun needs to hear right now. He doesn't have to lead Joonmyun on, make him believe some silly future that they both know is far-fetched. "But that doesn't mean they won't let Baekhyun promote again. I mean, you said it yourself – half of EXO's fans are there for Baekhyun. Does SM want to teach Baekhyun a lesson? Yes, definitely. Do they want to lose a great manager like you and EXO's huge following? No. They'd be stupid if they even thought of that."

Joonmyun scoffs. "You make it sound so easy."

"It isn't," Minseok admits. "So just make the most out of this whole… thing. Tell Baekhyun not to strain his vocals too much. Don't fuck him in the mouth too often."

"Hyung."

Minseok feels a warm sensation creeping up his throat, spilling from the corners of his lips. He chuckles. "I'm just saying, you've… got to move on. This scandal with haunt you forever, yes, but that doesn't mean you have to build your life around it. I mean…" He throws his head back and closes his eyes, tries to recall the way he felt when he danced with Kyungsoo out in the open that night in Ilsan. It's… hard to put into words, but if he could share that emotion with Joonmyun, the relief that comes with finally getting rid of all the blockages in his system, or excess baggage and past grievances and regrets– If he could just make Joonmyun feel the same thing, then he wouldn't have to scramble for the right words anymore.

"But Baekhyun– This– This will damage his career forever," Joonmyun whispers.

"There's nothing we can do about that. The thing happened already." Minseok grips the edge of his table and pulls himself up, sits up straight. "But you can do something about the future. Learn from it. Be more careful next time." He reaches out, but all that greets him is the display on his screen, Infinite's dance practice for their latest single. A KKT notification on his screen that tells him that Kyungsoo sent him a message at the start of the call. He lets his hand drop to his side, then, and breathes out. Air passes through his nose rather noisily, and he catches Joonmyun laughing just a little on the other end of the line.

"You just have to live with it, I guess, and hope for the best. Strive for the best," Minseok continues. "I know it sounds like bullshit but that's just how life works."

"Funny," Joonmyun says, voice barely above a whisper. Minseok makes a small sound of confusion, a light hum, and Joonmyun repeats, "This is really funny."

Minseok blinks a few times, eyes fixed on his screen. The lady dancing in the video is paused halfway through a twirl, the tips of her fingers are barely touching with her arms held in front of her. He feels a bit bad for having to pause her halfway through the routine, but then he catches something – the light scrunch of her nose, the way she purses her lips, the slight furrow of her eyebrows. There's something wrong with the way she's twisting her torso and maybe it's making pain shoot up her spine, her system, shooting to every inch of her body. And that's bad. Minseok takes a deep breath and waits – for Joonmyun's succeeding statement, for the right time to hang up, for the opportunity to play the video again so he can relieve the lady dancing in his screen of her misery. He waits until he realizes Joonmyun is still searching for the right words because that's how Joonmyun has been programmed – he'll keep quiet when he hasn't found the best way to express himself, when he hasn't found his words yet. And he'll make the person he's conversing with wait.

"What's funny?" Minseok asks.

Joonmyun finally chuckles. "You are. And this… this whole thing." Joonmyun makes this weird half-scoff, half-laughing sound that makes him sound as if water's gotten through his nose. "We're talking about Baekhyun and you're telling me to move on when–"

Minseok rolls his eyes. Too bad Joonmyun can't see him. "When?"

"When you… When you're…" Joonmyun pauses again, but this time it's because he's clearing his throat like he's preparing for the statement of his lifetime. "When you've been stuck in the same place for the longest time."

Minseok hits the play button. He drags the volume lever down, though, keeps the volume low. Background music is enough to tide him through the silence of the night. He hums, then, the same music he remembers Minyoung dancing. It sounds a lot like one of the songs Minseok used to dance to back in middle school, his audition piece to be part of the dance troupe. It loosens the knots in his stomach, lifts the heavy feeling in his shoulders a little. It's enough to coax a sound up his throat, slipping from the corners of his mouth.

"Was," Minseok says in reply. "I was stuck. For a really long time. Then I thought of checking my shoes and found lots of gum stuck there. For a couple of years already."

Joonmyun snorts. "That's gross, hyung."

"I know," Minseok answers. "That's why I changed shoes. Got a pair of new dancing shoes," he goes on to say. "They… feel pretty nice."

Joonmyun hums. It's a different melody and it has… a couple of garbled words, like he really means to sing but just can't remember the right words. Minseok canhelp him, but this isn't a song he knows. This isn't a song Joonmyun is meant to share with him. This is a song Joonmyun's meant to let him hear and only just. So Joonmyun finally comes up with random syllables that sound good with the tune, but they don't mean anything. If they ever did, Joonmyun would've used the right words already.

"New shoes, huh? Don't you still need to break them in?"

Minseok thinks back on that time when he saw Minyoung coming up on stage to receive an award, thinks of Minyoung calling him 'oppa'. He thinks of finding himself in the dance Minyoung led, finding himself in the past and even more of himself in the future. He thinks of Kyungsoo's open invitation, Kyungsoo asking if he wanted to be found, Kyungsoo spotting him from a mile away but taking slow, careful steps before approaching him. He thinks of returning to Gangnam the morning after, limbs a bit sore from the impromptu dance, but his nerves set back in place.

"I should try actually dancing in them," Minseok replies. The lady in the video falls, but gets back up. "Yeah, I probably should."

Joonmyun bids him goodbye, then, thanks him for being there to listen and knock sense into him. He tells Joonmyun to give Baekhyun a big hug for him. "Just that," he reiterates. Joonmyun's response is the most beautiful peal of laughter, and a wish for Minseok to not get blisters in his new shoes.

"And hyung?" Joonmyun says just before he hangs up. "Don't forget to have fun."

Minseok pulls up his KKT window on his laptop and laughs at the many stickers he's already downloaded. Kyungsoo's sticker pack is still his favorite – still the cutest.

"I won't," Minseok replies, bright and earnest. Joonmyun has long put down the phone, but Minseok whispers, anyway. "Never have, never will."

☄

Huang Zitao, as it turns out, is another one of those Kyungsoo-like toasted marshmallows – tough on the outside, a bit burnt with experience around the edges, but a complete softie inside.

Minseok is pretty damn sure Zitao hadn't meant to gush at the interiors of the yoga room, but the glimmer in his eyes simply gave him away. "This is great. The best hot room I've ever seen," he says, voice dropping to a whisper as he marvels at the room. He runs his fingers through the walls, taking in the detail of the grains of the wood, then looks over his shoulder to beam at Minseok. "You're doing a really great job at maintaining this room. I know how tough it can be when you're dealing with wood," he says, then, and despite the placid look on his features, there's no denying the small smile tugging up at the corners of his lips.

"Well, it's home," Minseok replies, leaning against the wall. Zitao gives the place one last look, then takes a deep breath. Minseok had set the temperature to warm earlier, and it seems that Zitao enjoys this brand of heat. "I try to make the yoga experience as enjoyable as it should be. A good location always helps."

"It does. I used to– Yoga helped me work on my flexibility and breathing," Zitao says. He's at the middle of the room now, socked feet tapping on the floor. The room is meant to leave a sense of relaxation, not excitement, but Minseok can't say he minds. He hasn't met anyone who shares his enthusiasm with yoga. Baekhyun doesn't count; everybody knows he does the routine for the ass.

"Were you an athlete before?"

"I was in the swimming team, yes," Zitao affirms. He begins to make his way back to where Minseok is. From this distance, Zitao's smile is even more blinding, and he looks at least three years younger. It's the enthusiasm at work, Minseok thinks. If he'd been blessed with the same thing, maybe he'd look ten years younger than his real age, and he won't give the credit to his severe lack of height.

"I picked up swimming to treat my asthma. Then I did yoga, as well. One of the best eras of my swimming career, really, the time when I was doing both," Zitao continues after a while. "But I had to stop eventually. You know athletes – our bodies can only endure all the rigorous training up until a certain age."

"As with dancing," comes Kibum's voice from behind. Zitao's features light up and Zitao gives him a wave, a rather enthusiastic one at that. Kibum flashes two thumbs up at Zitao. "Soo bullied you to come?"

"Sort of," Zitao says, groaning. He's still wearing the same smile, though. Marshmallow, Minseok notes. Kyungsoo's friend, he adds, underlining the text twice in red marker. "You know how he is."

"I honestly can't imagine him conning you two into working here at the gym," Minseok admits.

"Well…" Kibum takes a few steps forward, locking his arms behind his back. "I wouldn't say he bullies people. He just… has this really unorthodox way of convincing us that he knows what's best for us."

Now that would be so easy to imagine – Kyungsoo nodding, slow and deliberate, as he digests information on the situation at hand, then slipping small pieces of advice on what to do. Kyungsoo urging someone to give it a shot, just take a stab at it, you won't regret anything and if you do, you can drag me into the mess. The thing is, Kyungsoo has made a mess of Minseok's life. He set Minseok off-track and off-course. Good thing there's something better here, in the off-beaten path. And now they're dancing Kyungsoo's small victory dance – out in the open now, no longer in the dark, along the Han where the winds blow the hardest.

"But sometimes, he just threatens to punch us until we give in," Kibum adds, shrugging. "Sometimes I try to put up a fight just to piss him off. The look on his face is priceless."

"Hilarious," Minseok corrects. He doesn't say really cute. He turns to Zitao, then, and says, "Ready to do your demo with Kibum?"

Zitao turns to Kibum at once, eyebrows furrowed, and asks, "My employment is in your hands?"

Kibum snorts. "Mine and Sehun's and Jongdae's. But they're too nice, so yeah – you have to please me."

Zitao frowns. "Alright," he replies. To Minseok, he says, "Will you be there, hyung? Kyungsoo… Kyungsoo says you have a very soothing presence. I think… I'll need it if Kibum's around to harp at me."

Minseok cocks both eyebrows and laughs a little, the sound slipping from his lips so unceremoniously that even he, himself, is surprised. He runs through his schedule in his mind, turns to Zitao with an easy smile before saying, "Sure. My next class isn't until two hours after, anyway. I can watch."

Zitao's reply is a big grin, bright eyes. He takes a deep breath and turns to Minseok with a determined look, promising, "I won't let you down."

Later, in the dance room, Sehun goes through his toughest selection of songs, pulls up one of his high-intensity routines that makes Kibum widen his eyes at him more than rejoice at the difficult routine they're about to do. Zitao accepts the challenge wholeheartedly, though, accepts without question, and marches in place as the opening beats come in. Sehun hasn't even started dancing yet, but already Zitao has gotten himself in the zone. Kibum's apprehension only lasts about a split-second, and then it's gone, replaced by a smug smirk tugging hard at one corner of Kibum's mouth. Sehun moves like he isn't experiencing pain, like a professional, and Kibum dances like he's simply enjoying the show and not showing off. Zitao matches their enthusiasm, and halfway through the chorus they fall into step with one another, moving to the same beat, the same rhythm, chin held high. A smile stretching so hard at the corners of their lips. Sehun ends up laughing just before they hit the bridge of the song.

Kibum looks over his shoulder and mouths at Minseok, join us?

It takes less than a second for Minseok to decide. He takes a deep breath, flexes his hands, and pushes himself off the floor. He sways to the beat before falling into the formation. Sehun casts a quick look at him, but there's no hiding that big grin on his lips – they're surrounded by mirrors here. There's no darkness to shield Minseok from everyone, no darkness to help Minseok ease into the strain of dancing, no Kyungsoo to tell him, do this silly dance with me, hyung? So maybe he's not used to dancing Zumba or maybe he hasn't stretched yet, but sometimes a beat just calls out to you, serenades you with its alluring tone. Moves you to move. So the only sensible thing to do is to let the beat consume you.

Minseok gives in without question and closes his eyes. He waits for the chorus and feels the percussion in the inside of his elbows, the back of his knees, at the back of his ears.

He dances.

☄

Winter finally settles down in earnest, bringing dry, harsh winds with it. It's unbearable for more people who don't fancy the cold weather, but there's always the option of putting on more layers of clothes to be able to navigate through the streets of Seoul. It's terribly inconvenient; still, Minseok heads to Yeouido, taking public transport instead of driving all the way from Gangnam. He'd struggled to get out of bed earlier this morning, but the promise of good coffee in the afternoon when he heads to Hongdae to meet up with Kyungsoo is enough a motivation to get him on his feet.

He takes a deep breath as he walks down the halls of Lucky. He flexes his fingers as he looks around, then takes off his gloves – Kyungsoo had to remind him through text, hyung, you're gonna die out there if you don't bring them. Christmas always arrives too soon in this place, with the staff raring to start decorating for Christmas as soon as Halloween tides over. There's a Christmas tree in the lobby now, and Christmas balls hang from the ceiling. The staircase is lined with pin lights of different colors, and garlands that are a bit of an overkill with the lights hitting the shiny surface. It feels like Christmas already, albeit too early, but the people staying in Lucky don't seem to mind. If anything, they're even enjoying it. Minseok passed a classroom just a few minutes ago and the students inside were running around and playing a game with their teacher.

"Oppa!" comes a familiar voice from behind. He looks over his shoulder, then, smiling when he gets a glimpse of Sunyoung. What greets him is a plethora of art materials in Sunyoung's arms, then Sunyoung's phone tucked under her chin. "Maybe you'd want to help me here?"

He makes his way to Sunyoung in big strides that slowly gain pace. "I was supposed to bring these coloring materials to the art room first, but you texted so–" Sunyoung almost gasps when one of the paint tubes at the top topples over, but Minseok goes for the save, catching it with one hand.

"So you're saying, this whole thing is my fault?" Minseok teases. He takes half of the things Sunyoung is carrying off her arms, though. Sunyoung frowns at him, grumbles, but her eyes still glimmer. She never loses her shine. "Fine, fine, I'm at fault. Now, let oppa help you get these things to the art room."

"Thanks," Sunyoung singsongs, then leans on Minseok's shoulder. "And for that, I'll deliver you good news – we already transferred her to her winter room!"

His lips fall open in a small 'o' as he nods in thought. He'd sent Sunyoung a text the week before, the weekend of the awarding ceremonies and the exhibit. Winter had started to creep up on him then, and the first thing he did upon pouring his first cup for the morning was to send Sunyoung a message, asking Minyoung to be transferred to a different room. Minyoung never was a fan of winter, even before the crash happened, and only liked it when Minseok invited her to play with the pots and pans at home or even dance for her. And they haven't done that in a while. There's nothing to keep Minyoung warm here, with the cold winds of winter hitting the walls of Lucky.

"Thanks. I forgot I sent a text," he admits as they make their way across the hall. "She hates the cold weather, you know that."

Sunyoung shakes her head. "Not when you came over frequently to play with her in the snow. I mean, that was years ago but–"

Minseok chuckles. It would probably be nice to play with Minyoung out in the open again, roll on the snow-covered field just beside the building, but they're not kids anymore. And Minyoung hates the cold now. She hates it because it numbs her fingers and knees, not because Minseok hasn't come to have a snowball fight with her for the past decade. She hates it because it limits her instead of empowering her. And Minyoung has never loved being hindered from doing what she loves the most.

"I'll just teach her how to dance," he offers, instead. Sunyoung stops in her tracks, eyes wide open as she meets Minseok in the eye. "You can tag along, if you want."

The pout on Sunyoung's lips blossoms into a slow-forming smile, one that reaches her eyes and lifts fatigue from her features. Her hair is a mess from all the work she has done for the day, and yet she still looks amazing – shining and filled with youth, like that simple statement has breathed life back into her after having to move from one room to another and clean up after the art students. "I'd really love to, oppa," she says after a while, still grinning. And then she's turning on her heel, making her way to the art room. She's walking faster now, energy renewed, and soon Minseok has to catch up with her.

He tries not to trip on his own feet in an effort to get to the room at once. He fails miserably and ends up having to clean up with Sunyoung before heading to Minyoung's new room.

The warmer side of the building isn't exactly the most quiet of places. Some of the classrooms are there, along with some activity rooms. Minyoung doesn't seem to mind, though, Minseok muses as he peers through the window and catches Minyoung doing some finger painting. He can't see what she's working on from where he is, but he does catch the big grin on her lips, the way she bobs her head as she reaches out for hand wipes and proceeds to using the brush instead of her fingers.

"You want to go inside, oppa?" Sunyoung asks, voice soft, almost pleading.

Minseok risks a glance at her and looks away as soon as he sees the sweet smile on Sunyoung's lips. "You're not giving me a choice, are you?"

"Come on, oppa. It's Christmas! It's the time for good and happy things. I'm sure she'll be happy to see you."

A complete truth, if the grin on Minyoung's lips during the awarding ceremony is anything to go by. She had the sweetest, most beautiful smile then, and damn if Minseok's heart didn't melt at the sight of it. The way she said 'oppa' was simply icing on top. And while it isn't Christmas yet, Lucky has always had a twisted timeline. Time passes here quicker than it does everywhere else, like the people here are always in a rush to find a reason to be happy and contented. A reason to thank whatever good beings there are that are helping them tide through the tough times here on Earth.

Maybe he can walk into Minyoung's room with Christmas in tow. It's a nice thought to entertain.

He grips the doorknob tight, but turns to Sunyoung before turning it. "I deserve an award for this. You're giving me an award."

She sneers. "Fine, I'm going to ask Kibummie-oppa on a date. Good enough?"

Minseok snorts. "Well, I guess he could use a push."

Sunyoung motions to retrieve her phone from her pocket and Minseok shakes his head in reaction. "I'm kidding. I'll do it. But if you do ask Kibum out, here's a tip: do it through KKT. He'll freak out when you give him a call."

Sunyoung flips her hair, then turns a bright shade of red once she realizes what she has just done. "Yeah, yeah, I get it. He has this 'tough exterior but complete marshmallow deep inside' thing going on." She grumbles but smiles a little as she ends, anyway. "Ah, your friends…"

Friends. Minseok chuckles at the mention of the world. With a deep breath, he turns the knob and swings the door forward. Minyoung looks up from what she's doing and greets him with wide, wide eyes.

It isn't the fact that they're the only ones, save for Sunyoung, in the room that makes this meeting different. It's the fact that Minyoung stands from her seat as soon as she recognizes Minseok, the fact that she grins rather toothily and makes this weird sound of amusement as she walks to where he is. "Oppa," she says, voice lilting at the second syllable, and Minseok feels his throat constrict. He's heard this voice before and even at a closer proximity, but Minyoung didn't look like this then. Her lips weren't tugged up at the corners in a smile and her eyes weren't glimmering.

She wasn't this happy, like she knows it's high-time that Minseok turned the knob and entered the room. He still can't believe that this is what he's been missing all these years, but that doesn't matter anymore, Minseok reminds himself, and flushes those thoughts out of his system. He focuses on the now, this – Minyoung tugging at the hem of his shirtsleeves, grinning up at him. She hasn't grown much, but then being small is in their genes.

"Minseok-oppa," she says this time, and the lump lodged at Minseok's throat expands, makes him choke on his words all the more. "Minseok-oppa came to visit! Minseok-oppa is here!"

"Go on, oppa," Sunyoung says a few feet away from them. Minseok risks a glance over his shoulder and chuckles at the crazy grin on Sunyoung's lips.

Taking a deep breath, Minseok takes Minyoung's outstretched hand and shakes it once, twice, thrice, until Minyoung pulls him close for a hug. It's a messy hug and Minseok ends up with his nose buried in Minyoung's paint-stained hair, but he doesn't care. The fit still feels the same, like he's still 10 and she's 8 and she's begging for him to show him some of his latest dance moves. Like nothing has changed, not even with all these years Minseok has spent behind a glass, keeping his distance from Minyoung, trying to rewrite his past, if not forget it entirely.

He tightens his hold on Minyoung, circling his arms around her waist. "Did you miss oppa?" he asks, voice barely above a whisper, and he gets a violent shake of the head from Minyoung. Minyoung hits the side of his face, but that's fine – it doesn't leave a mark, doesn't leave a dull ache just inches from his left eye. "What have you been up to while oppa was away?"

Minyoung pulls away, then, lips pursed and eyes narrowed at Minseok. She hums, bobbing her head to some rhythm Minseok can't quite make sense of at the moment, then grins up at him once she settles on what to say. "Painting and dancing! There's this… We have a new teacher, oppa. He's just as small as you and he paints really well."

Minseok snorts, tries not to cackle. Kyungsoo probably wouldn't take that lightly. He files that thought at the back of his mind and takes a step back, resting his hands on Minyoung's shoulders, instead. "Really? Better than you?"

"Ah, no," she replies. There's a smug smile on her lips but she's having difficulty keeping the act, the other corner of her lips tugging up as well and her lips falling open into a teeth-baring smile. "He's okay. I'm better. I'm the best."

Minseok laughs a little. "Now, that's my Minyoungie."

Minyoung nods in agreement and buries her face in the crook of Minseok's neck. "Minyoung is really good. Minyoung is the best!"

He takes the opportunity to look up and around the room, admiring the posters on the wall. He would've seen this in the exhibit had he stayed, but he likes this privilege, getting to see the paintings up close and without people to distract him from doing so. He scans each and every single one, squinting to get a better look at the details of each – there's a painting of the sunset directly in front of him, and there are two silhouettes east of the tree at the middle. They're silhouettes of kids and they're probably five, six-year-olds. One of them is wearing her hair long, up to her shoulder, and the other one – a girl or a boy, Minseok can't tell right now – seems to be wearing a beanie.

Minyoung stirs, then looks over her shoulder, narrowly missing bumping her face into Minseok's own. "Oppa, what are you–" She stops as she follows Minseok's gaze, then rushes to the painting to clutch it close to her chest. "Aaah, this was supposed to be for oppa's birthday!"

Laughter tickles Minseok's throat, teases a grin out of him. "But my birthday isn't until next year."

"Doesn't matter," Minyoung says, then sticks out her tongue. "Oppa has a gift for me, too, right?"

"Of course," Minseok answers, reaching out to ruffle Minyoung's hair. Minyoung meets him halfway, leaning into the touch a bit too early that Minseok almost jams his fingers into Minyoung's scalp. "For every holiday and every important day in Minyoungie's life, mhmm?"

"Promise?"

He sticks out his pinky and waits for Minyoung to lock her own onto Minseok's. He chuckles, then, unable to hold in his amusement, then leans in to plant a soft kiss on Minyoung's forehead. "Promise."

He spends the next hour listening to Minyoung take him through her art journey, tell her about this art piece, that painting. What she's been doing the whole time he was away and maintained a distance between them. He tries to catch her off-guard so he can snatch the painting of the sunset, but Minyoung seems to know what he's up to. When he leans in, she leans back, hands still gripping the edge of the canvas. When he stretches out his arms, she clutches the painting close to her chest again and rests her chin on the frame. She looks up at Minseok with bright eyes and an equally bright smile, and a challenge written in the way she quirks up her lips. It's like looking at a mirror and seeing a younger version of yourself, a less guarded one. It's like seeing your life unfold right in front of you except you're not dying, not yet.

Minseok feels a part of him explode when Minyoung sticks out her tongue at him and lays the painting face down on the table. And then he feels a familiar sizzle of warmth creep up his spine, ease the knots in his shoulders, tense them up again as Minyoung grabs his hands and pulls him close for a dance.

There is no music, no rhythm to move to, but somehow they make it work – Minyoung leading Minseok and waving their linked arms about, motioning for him to twirl and urging him to do the same for her. The room is small, a bit cramped for dancing, and Minseok has always been used to big spaces for dances like this but he supposes he can make an exception. Only for this occasion, at least, when Minyoung's soft giggles blossom into a lovely peal of laughter, when Minseok almost misses a step. Because he doesn't have a choice, doesn't he? Minyoung pulled him into this tiny dance, pulled him into this mess. Minyoung grabbed him and told him, through the warm press of her palm on the back of his hand, come on, oppa, you'll have fun! Trust me on this!

He didn't put up a fight, and he doesn't intend to anytime soon.

He pulls away after what seems like too many hours, limbs sore and chest heaving. There's a crazy grin on his lips – he can feel the stretch at the corners of his mouth, the sting of it, but it's a good burn. His cheeks feel warm, too, but he manages to summon light laughter when he sees Kyungsoo's almost unintelligible message on KKT. hyugn can u jst come over im coverd in paint sorry ill make it up to u, it says, and Minseok takes a deep breath before hitting the 'record' button, too lazy to type up a response.

"I'm bringing over some pizza. You don't have a choice," he announces, because it's only right for him to get even. It's not as if Kyungsoo gave him a choice when Kyungsoo slotted himself somewhere in Minseok's life, weasled his way into his schedule, carved a niche for himself there, left of his chest. Kyungsoo walked up to him, unannounced, and took him by surprise, mentioned something about the dancers in that art performance sucking. Kyungsoo fucking crept up to him and appeared during inopportune times and waited for that opportune moment to finally become friends with him. Somehow, that's how people always find Minseok – barging through the gates of his life without preamble, then stuttering back a few steps to ask, is this okay? I'm not trespassing, aren't I?

wow thx, is Kyungsoo's helpful reply. Silence, and then another beep – grab some beer hyung itll be a long day.

Minseok stares at his screen for a few good seconds until Minyoung grabs his attention, forcibly makes him look up and look at the finished painting of the sunset. "Oppa can't have this until Christmas, though," Minyoung says, hiding the painting behind her back as soon as Minseok has gotten a good look at it. "Oppa will have to wait."

Minseok laughs a little. He's waited two decades. What's a few more weeks? So he presses another kiss to Minyoung's forehead and says, "Oppa will wait," doesn't say, oppa's pretty impatient but okay, you can have your way.

"Oppa will wait for Minyoungie," he says one last time, then ruffles her hair. He straightens up, but doesn't let go of Minyoung's hand yet. He promises, "Oppa will be here for Minyoungie no matter what."

☄

The drive from Yeouido to Ilsan takes longer than expected. On an off-peak hour on a weekday, Minseok can get there in fifteen minutes, twenty with traffic, but with everyone in their cars, hitting the streets this weekend, it takes him twice as long to get to his destination. The initial fear of the pizza getting cold during the trip dissipates when he catches a whiff of its scent. He takes a picture of the box and the beer in the plastic bag that he'd gotten, then sends it to Kyungsoo. Kyungsoo's response is a series of characters that don't mean a thing when put together. Minseok doesn't press on, though, keeps his eyes on the road and his mind off the pizza. If Kyungsoo finds out that Minseok ate a slice during the trip, he'd… Well, he won't throw a fit, but he will give Minseok an empty look and proceed to setting aside Minseok's share.

Of course Kyungsoo would get two extra slices as payback. Then stick out his tongue and convince Minseok that handing over another slice is a good idea.

Minseok thinks he's got things figured out, three months and a turn of a season after. Kyungsoo isn't the easiest person to figure out, but once he does make it easy for people to see past the 'tough cookie' exterior, everything else is a breeze. Even breaching Kyungsoo's personal space and vice versa – knees rubbing against each other, or sticky arms pressed side-to-side – feels like having a phantom limb or wearing a second skin, this time one that keeps him warm more than traps him and leaves him gasping for air.

He just needs to make himself warm. Kyungsoo just loves feeling warm and fuzzy all over, Minseok reminds himself. He takes a left, then a right to the parking lot closest to Kyungsoo's house. It's a miracle he still remembers the route Kyungsoo had taken, the time they went here that fine evening. GPS makes staying on track easy; the playlist Kyungsoo had pulled up then, the same playlist Minseok has blaring in his speakers, makes not getting lost possible.

He pulls over at a parking spot and turns the engine off. Walking to the building, he texts Kyungsoo, and takes the food from the passenger seat.

Kyungsoo's building is a good ten-minute walk away. The building is easy to spot – it towers over most of the buildings in area, and it's the only pastel yellow building in sight. He gives the receptionist Kyungsoo's flat number, and the lady gestures for him to head to the elevator. It hadn't sunk in at first, until Minseok had to retrace his steps the morning he woke up in Kyungsoo's bed, that Kyungsoo stayed at the penthouse of the building. It makes perfect sense, though – for an artist like Kyungsoo, a beautiful view is important. Moreover, the lighting there is good and the huge glass windows allow for soft light to fill the spaces of the flat. If Kyungsoo were ever to paint outside his art room, he won't have trouble looking for proper lighting. He can plop down on the floor and lie on his stomach and get to swishing his paint brush without any regret as long as the sun was still up outside.

Minseok laughs to himself. Kyungsoo is quite a contradiction – an artist whose wild side manifests in his penchant for doing weird dances at one in the morning, yet a man who has a plan, sticks to it as much as possible, but can move his appointments around if he so wishes. Kyungsoo is interesting, to say the very least.

He takes a deep breath and rings the doorbell. Kyungsoo is the best surprise he's gotten, and the only surprise he's willing to keep.

The Kyungsoo that greets him at the door isn't one he's accustomed to seeing. Disheveled hair, a smidgen of paint on the cheek, and then another, shirt too big and too loose for him and accentuating his narrow shoulders – this is the artist at work, not the Kyungsoo he saw back in the exhibit, the man who'd made him explain his paintings after a couple of glasses of wine. His grey shirt isn't safe from paint, either – there are blots of paint here and there, but none of them reek of the usual scent that the fluid gives off.

"Sorry. I was… in the middle of setting the washes on the painting," Kyungsoo says in apology, then reaches out to relieve Minseok of the burden of having to carry the food and the drinks.

Minseok doesn't say anything in reply, only marvels at the state of disarray that Kyungsoo is in. Only when Kyungsoo is a few good feet from him does he realize that there's nothing under the large shirt Kyungsoo is wearing, that he isn't wearing any pants or shorts. Instead, pale, paint-stained legs glare at him, blind him even with the soft lighting in the flat. He takes a deep breath, then, gulps hard as he traces the length of Kyungsoo's bare legs with his gaze, eyes twitching once he reaches north, setting on the gentle dip of Kyungsoo's back.

"I can't wash my hands yet," Kyungsoo says. "Please don't judge." He works on the tight knot of the ribbon around the pizza box, then cocks his head to the side. "Hyung, you should wash the cans. Can't be too sure – might've gone through dirty hands or something."

Minseok feels his throat again, muscles relaxing, and chuckles. "You're the one to talk."

"There's a difference between paint and dirt," Kyungsoo replies through gritted teeth. When Minseok looks over his shoulder, he finds Kyungsoo with a wry smile on his lips. "And I'd do it if I could but–"

"Yeah, I get it. You can't let your hands get wet or cold after spending hours working them hard," Minseok answers. He arranges the cans of beer in the fridge, then bumps his hip into Kyungsoo's when he passes him. "Chill. I'll feed you, if you want."

Kyungsoo looks up, eyes focused, assessing. The small upward tug of the lip on the corners of his mouth is a giveaway. "Oh?"

"If you want." Minseok swats Kyungsoo's hands away and takes over scoring the pizza wheel through the spaces between the slices. "Or if you really need to. Maybe you have a secret technique when it comes to eating pizza with painted hands, I don't know."

Kyungsoo puts up a fight until halfway through his second slice. He's having difficulty tucking the rolled up pizza between his index finger and his thumb, the less-painted ones, and he gives up with a loud exhale and a grumble. "Please, hyung, I can't eat like this. This is torture," he says, pleading, and Minseok sticks out his tongue before complying. He moves to the other side of the table, pressing to Kyungsoo's side as he motions for Kyungsoo to open up, open wide, I'm not going to play airplane with you just so I can feed you properly–

Kyungsoo's lips wrap around the roll in a slow, languid manner. Once he's bitten off a generous portion, he leans back in his seat, pins Minseok with a stare. Crumbs have gathered at the corners of his lips. Minseok feels something inside him boil, a simmering heat at the pit of his stomach that's telling him to move closer, lean in, reach out to wipe off the crumbs on Kyungsoo's lips with a swift movement of the thumb and–

"Last bite," Kyungsoo says, then licks his lips as he leans forward. The corners of his mouth are turned up. The smile reaches his eyes, reaches out to grab Minseok by his shirt and make him move closer. Minseok feels his throat tighten again, feels explosions at the tips of his fingers. He wants to touch, to feel Kyungsoo's soft lips on his skin, his thumb, his cheek, the corners of his mouth and against his tongue, and Kyungsoo hasn't stopped leaning in. The half roll of the slice is greasy in Minseok's hand but damn if that still matters with Kyungsoo's pressing heat, the distance between them thinning with each passing breath.

"The pizza," Kyungsoo says, softer this time, almost like an afterthought. His gaze lingers on Minseok's mouth and Minseok nods. "Thank you."

Minseok forces his hand up, presses the pads of his fingers to Kyungsoo's mouth as he offers the remaining part of the roll. "I'll make it up to you," Kyungsoo promises between chews and licks, and Minseok only nods in response.

Beer is forgotten in favor of a few more slices and the promise of Kyungsoo bringing Minseok to the art room to show him what he's been working on the entire morning. "It's… It's a small project," Kyungsoo says, and Minseok laughs a little when he sees Kyungsoo fumbling with the hem of his shirt. He shouldn't, though, because it only exposes more his pale skin, only makes it more difficult for Minseok to look away. The lighting does nothing to make things better, only casts a soft glow on Kyungsoo and makes him look more pliant. The shy twist of Kyungsoo's mouth is just the icing on top.

"Don't touch anything," Kyungsoo warns before turning the knob. Minseok winks in response and crosses his fingers in front of Kyungsoo. "I'm serious, hyung. If you touch anything, I swear to God, I'll–"

"Wow," Minseok interrupts. He blinks a few times and looks at the materials on the table near the entrance of the room, then the huge canvas covering the floor. This isn't a small project by any means – the size of the canvas alone is enough a testament that it isn't. Minseok can make out some of the details of the sketch on the canvas, but the light washes of color blur the lines somewhat. All that's left is highlights and shadows in key places, motion lines that hint at what Kyungsoo is painting.

Minseok looks to his side, meeting Kyungsoo's gaze. "You scaled it up," he whispers, throat still tight and dry. He clears his throat, then, but it's no use – he feels as if all the wind has been knocked out of his lungs and Kyungsoo's keeping them in a bag, dangling it in front of him, teasing. "You said you were working on a small project but you scaled up that painting on your handkerchief–"

Kyungsoo looks away, then rubs the tip of his nose. "I've worked on bigger projects," he mumbles. He moves a few steps forward, and Minseok takes this as an invitation to move closer. "And besides, I've just laid down the foundation. I still– I still have to change a few things and finalize the motion line after you dance for me."

Minseok heaves a sigh. "Right. I promised I would."

Kyungsoo grins. "Then you'd be able to take The Nightwalker with you, give her a new home." Kyungsoo stretches his arms behind his back. "You'd like that, won't you?"

A half-truth, Minseok wants to say. He'd only been interested in the story of The Nightwalker at first, why she had stars on her cheeks and why she kept shielding her eyes from everyone's view. He just wanted to know the little girl in the painting better. But no – he had to discover who the painter was, had to meet him, had to spend time with him. He had to fall prey to the painter using him as a guinea pig for his upcoming project. He had to say yes to the painter's request to create a scene of dancers having fun on a canvas. He had to give in.

"Always been in it just for the painting, to be honest," he says, teasing. Kyungsoo gives him a pout, albeit a small one. The corners of his lips are struggling to keep it together, though, tugging up just a little.

Minseok walks closer to the edge of the canvas, then turns to look at Kyungsoo. "So, tell me about this painting."

Kyungsoo worries his bottom lip for a while before parting his lips to speak. No words come out, not even a sound, but he's doing this thing with his hands like he's trying to gesticulate the word he can't seem to pinpoint yet. "It's… It's a bigger version of the thing I left in your house," he says, then, and flexes his fingers. "Just… Just wait for it to be done. It's self-explanatory."

"Come on, it's the least you could do for making me feed you."

Kyungsoo snorts. "You gave me an option, hyung."

"I'm a kind and gentle soul," Minseok says. He sticks out his tongue and crouches near the canvas. "You said you… needed to see me dance?"

Minseok waits with bated breath as Kyungsoo holds his gaze and gives him a nod in response. He draws his shoulders back, then, and locks his arms behind his back in preparation. He scans the room a second time and stops midway to ask, "But where will I dance?" There's a canvas spread on the floor, and it will be hard to move along the narrow slits on either side of the canvas. It's an amateur-sounding excuse, but it's valid – hasn't danced this way in a while. He hasn't moved like the dancer that he is for the past two decades.

"Step on the paint container and dance on the canvas," Kyungsoo instructs. Minseok furrows his eyebrows at Kyungsoo, and Kyungsoo only repeats his statement in response. "I said, get some paint all over your feet and dance on the canvas."

"But you– You're working on this painting right now. You've worked on it the whole morning, up until the time I got here." Minseok means to laugh, but all that comes out is a dry, clawing sensation creeping up his throat and spilling from his lips. "Are you serious?"

"Artistic license," Kyungsoo answers, winking, then steps inside the container with red paint. His feet disappear beneath the red liquid, and Kyungsoo quickly hops onto the canvas and moves around. "Come on, hyung. Remember, The Nightwalker is at stake."

But you're the Nightwalker, Minseok wants to say. Instead, he dips one foot into the container filled with yellow paint, shivering a little at the feeling of the cool liquid slithering between his toes. "I won't let you down."

The last time he attempted something like this was back in middle school, for the performance he'd done with the entire dance troupe. The output left much to be desired, but they were the talk of the town for days, weeks, months. And at the end of the day, it wasn't so much the weird, distorted image of a child doing a battle cry that was important – it was the performance, the entire package. The way they'd laid down each stroke of paint on the canvas and what each motion, light or heavy, meant. He still remembers the adrenaline rush of doing something so different in front of a huge crowd, but the technique– It escapes his mind completely. "Focus," comes Kyungsoo's voice, soft yet commanding, and he does as he is told, lets himself be pulled to the center of the canvas.

"Dance with me," Kyungsoo says. He slides his palms up Minseok's chest, rests them there. The pulse on his hand is loud, heavy. The smile on his lips is blinding.

Minseok nods, firm and resolute. He snakes his arms around Kyungsoo's waist and whispers, "Let's do this."

Minseok points his right foot out, then tiptoes before transferring his weight onto that foot. Kyungsoo manages to follow, matching Minseok's movement step-for-step. Minseok walks to his left, eyes still fixed on Kyungsoo as if they're doing a tango, but this is anything but that. It's a free dance, void of set rules to follow. There isn't even any melody playing in Minseok's mind right now. All that there is is Kyungsoo's even breathing, the steady rise and fall of his chest against Minseok's own, his loud and thundering pulse against Minseok's shoulder.

"Paint," Kyungsoo murmurs. Minseok nods, not missing a beat, and walks back to the containers to soak their feet in color.

The next set of movements is more familiar, more natural. There's a small tune in his head now, something that sounds a lot like the song Kyungsoo was humming that night in the intersection in Gangnam. The autumn wind was blowing hard against their faces then, and it was howling, yet Kyungsoo's voice soared above the soft noise and silenced the beating winds, somehow. It happens again, this time in the confines of the room, Kyungsoo's voice that was once soft and steady gaining volume as they move across the canvas. They're drawing lazy patterns on the material now, something Minseok can't seem to make out, but Kyungsoo keeps whispering, "Keep dancing. Don't look down. Look at me and just dance." So Minseok presses on, keeps one hand on Kyungsoo's waist and another on Kyungsoo's shoulder as they waltz forward, backward, to the side, traveling from one corner of the canvas to the other in a few quick steps, leaps.

"We're running out of–"

"Mhmm," Kyungsoo hums, then slides his hands down Minseok's arms. He threads their fingers together and pulls Minseok close, and then they're walking back to the containers, washing their feet with paint.

They develop a rhythm after a while where they don't have to remind themselves that they have to coat themselves with paint anymore. Minseok lets muscle memory guide him through the routine, lets his hands guide Kyungsoo as they move across the canvas. They're pacing faster now, running on tiptoe and leaping and soaring, like there isn't the risk of slipping because of the paint, like they don't care. Kyungsoo has the silliest smile on his lips, eyes half-mast but unguarded, a smidgen of fresh red paint now on his cheeks. So Minseok returns the favor, opens up as he pulls Kyungsoo dangerously closer that the tips of their noses touch and he can feel the steady rise and fall of Kyungsoo's chest against his own.

"We're covered–" Kyungsoo chuckles, wrinkles his nose. Minseok laughs a little and presses closer, rubbing the tips of their noses together. Kyungsoo makes this disgruntled noise that sounds more like masked amusement. He twirls them around, then, until they Minseok feels his back press against the cold wall. For a moment, he's concerned that they'll be staining the walls, but Kyungsoo's eyes haven't left his lips yet, and he can feel the warmth between Kyungsoo's legs press against his own. "We're covered in paint, hyung."

"Your fault," Minseok says. Kyungsoo laughs again, this time in the crook of Minseok's neck as he buries his face in it. Minseok feels the light shift of Kyungsoo's muscles, the empty expression that once pulled his cheeks down now replaced by a strong force pulling his cheeks up, and it tickles him. It sends a weird, sinking sensation to the pit of his stomach, sends a sizzle of heat down his spine and his abdomen, and wraps itself around his heart, gripping it tight. This is all Kyungsoo fault – Minseok hadn't expected to stay in the exhibit longer than he should. He hadn't expected to find a kindred soul during that poor performance art event. He hadn't expected Kyungsoo to take his hand and force him to dance, leave him without a choice but to give in.

He hadn't expected Kyungsoo to pull him out of his rut and save him. And he hadn't expected to want to be saved.

"This is your fault," Minseok whispers, voice so soft that he can simply be breathing. Kyungsoo turns his head a little, his warm lips pressed to the underside of Minseok's jaw. The sensation sends sparks to the tips of Minseok's fingers, sets off explosions at the back of his eye lids. So he says again, "Your fault," because what else is there to do? He knows he'll give in yet again – to the press of Kyungsoo's lips on his skin, to Kyungsoo's fingers splayed on his chest. To Kyungsoo's soft humming reverberating against his skin, seeping into his system. Resistance is futile.

And he likes it. He likes this grave he's dug for himself. It's unbelievably warm and cozy and nice. Artistic license, says a voice that sounds a lot like Kyungsoo in his mind. So he grabs a brush – Kyungsoo's wrist, and brings it up, closer to his lips. He dips the brush into the paint – presses a light kiss to the back of Kyungsoo's hand. He runs the brush along the surface – presses staccato kisses on Kyungsoo's skin until he reaches the tips of Kyungsoo's fingers, stained with paint.

"No," Kyungsoo says, shaking his head. He drops his hand to his side and inches closer. "Yours."

They're at the bridge now, the part where the song peaks and percussion comes in, where the song reaches its full glory. They're supposed to be dancing and twisting and turning yet here they are, standing on the canvas with wet paint pooling at their feet. Here they are, foreheads pressed together, Kyungsoo's lips brushing against Minseok's own. Minseok waits for the that one sharp note, the misstep, the fall, but it doesn't come. Instead, Kyungsoo leans in, closes the distance between them with the light press of the lips. His mouth is warm against Minseok's own, and Kyungsoo licks at the seam of his lips, teasing his mouth open. Minseok hums a little before throwing his head back, lips falling open as Kyungsoo works his way inside with the gentle coax of the tongue. He feels his breath hitch when Kyungsoo licks the cavern of his mouth, when Kyungsoo sucks on the corners of his lips. When Kyungsoo gives his bottom lip gentle nips and he moans in response. He feels the slow-forming smile on Kyungsoo's lips as Kyungsoo sucks on his bottom lip and he wants more of it, wants to familiarize himself with that movement, the slow shift of the muscles. He wants to commit this dance to memory and do it again, and again, and again.

He snakes a hand up Kyungsoo's back and Kyungsoo seethes, shivers. The smile on his lips hasn't waned just yet, so Minseok sucks on Kyungsoo's bottom lip, licks the back of Kyungsoo's teeth, kisses him until he feels a dull ache in his jaw and his tongue and every part of him that Kyungsoo has touched. He can feel the burn in his calves, his inner thighs, his shoulders where Kyungsoo's hands are pressing down on him, but he doesn't mind. It's a good burn, one that is warm at best.

Kyungsoo's hot breath on his skin is a fever he's learning to live with, a step that was once a wrong turn but was salvaged by Kyungsoo's misbehaving hands, his wicked mouth, his playful tongue. He doesn't rush, though. There's time. If the song ever ends, they can take it from the top and dance again. The smile on Kyungsoo's mouth, lazy and dazed, tells Minseok Kyungsoo doesn't plan on stopping anytime soon.

Kyungsoo's mouth on his, the inelegant slide of their lips against each other, says the same thing, if not more.

☄

It takes half an hour for their bodies to cool down from the activity, and another ten minutes for then to get to their feet without feeling the urge to back each other against the wall. Kyungsoo, with his shaking hands, guides Minseok to the bathroom, and Minseok retracts his hand before twisting the knob because, "Is it okay if I get paint on this?" Kyungsoo's response is light laughter, and then he's threading his fingers between Minseok's own. He slots his hand there, a small press of the palm to the back of Minseok's hand, and turns the knob. Minseok swings the door forward and in they tumble, the tiles of the floor cold against their hot skin.

Kyungsoo turns on the shower, waits for a few seconds before setting the temperature to warm. "Can't be too sure," he explains. Minseok reaches out to test the waters, see if they're just the right amount of warm and not scorching hot, but Kyungsoo swats his hand away and says through gritted teeth, "I said, patience."

"Not my strongest suit," Minseok reasons. It would've been if they weren't alone in this room, without the warmth of the steam drawing them closer. It had been easier to hold back before, to wait, wait, and wait some more, but the tap has been opened now and water is freely rushing down. The paint's been spilled on the canvas and Minseok can't wait to smear it all over Kyungsoo's body. They paused halfway through their little dance and Kyungsoo's testing these waters, and he's taking his sweet time, and Minseok wants to say, you can't make me wait much longer.

"Just right," Kyungsoo whispers now, and then he's pulling Minseok under the spray. Water comes rushing down on him, making his hair stick to his face. Pearls of color leave stains on Kyungsoo's shirt and Minseok reaches out, trying to rub off the tint, but to no avail. It's stuck there, along with the blue pigment that has blotched on Kyungsoo's shirt, the yellow that pools on the dip of his collarbones. Red paint slithers down the contours of Kyungsoo's face and finally, Minseok thinks – Kyungsoo's cheeks are finally a light shade of red.

You're stuck with me. You don't have a choice, says a voice in his mind. He smears some of that red paint on Kyungsoo's cheeks more, presses a light kiss to the tip of his nose before dropping his hands to his side.

Kyungsoo makes a small sound, lips in a weird twist, like he can't decide yet if he likes his cheeks being painted this color or if he likes this setup – Minseok with his knee rubbing against Kyungsoo's inner thigh, Kyungsoo with his hands on Minseok's hips. "We can't wash up like this," Kyungsoo says, then, voice muffled by the crashing of the water down on the tiles.

"We can't," Minseok repeats. He leans back, chuckling, then slips his hands beneath Kyungsoo's shirt, soaked and stained with paint. "Not like this."

Minseok moves closer – one, two, three steps, until their knees bump. He feels a jolt shoot up his thighs, a sizzle of heat rolling down his abdomen. Only then does he remember that Kyungsoo isn't wearing pants, hasn't been wearing any bottoms since he had arrived. He takes in the sight of Kyungsoo's calves, then, the curves accentuated by paint, pale skin disappearing under so many layers of color. With a deep breath, he grabs a handful of Kyungsoo's shirt and lifts it.

Kyungsoo breathes through his nose, noisy, messy, and worries his bottom lip when Minseok's knuckles graze his skin. "You should come with a warning," he says in protest, but he doesn't push Minseok away.

Gaining confidence, Minseok grin and pins Kyungsoo with a stare. He's halfway through now, and he can see the soft grooves of Kyungsoo's abdomen. One sharp movement, and then Kyungsoo's face disappears behind the cloth. Minseok throws it to his side at the far end of the tub once he's pulled it over Kyungsoo's head all the way.

Kyungsoo takes it as his cue to do his part, fumbles with the hem of Minseok's shirt for a while. He runs his thumb along the underside of Minseok shirt and pulls it over Minseok's head in a swift motion, thumbs pulling at the collar to make it easier for Minseok to slip out of his shirt.

Minseok undoes the buckle of his belt even before Kyungsoo can start working on the waistband of his pants. Kyungsoo doesn't give him time to breathe, though, leaves kisses on his lips, his nose, his cheeks, his chin, coaxes a moan out of him with gentle nips on his bottom lip. Minseok shimmies out of his pants after a while, pushing it with his feet to his side, then presses close to Kyungsoo until he feels the slide of their thighs, the slapping of skin on skin. He runs his hand along the slope of Kyungsoo's back, then, settling on the dip of it before slipping his thumbs beneath the fabric of Kyungsoo's briefs. "Hyung–" comes Kyungsoo's sound of protest, and he finally gives in, pulls Kyungsoo's underwear down until Kyungsoo can slip out of it and push it to the side.

Kyungsoo ruts into Minseok as soon as he's free, his cock rubbing against Minseok belly. Minseok takes in a shaky breath, seethes at the sudden friction, and feels himself getting hard between his legs. Kyungsoo seems to catch on, snaking his arms around Minseok's waist and pulling him close, and Minseok lets out a gasp as he feels the slide of their cocks against each other.

"Can I?" Kyungsoo asks, then takes a small step back like he's giving Minseok a choice. Like he's saying, hyung, if you don't want this, if you just want to paint and nothing more, then–

Minseok can feel the cold press of Kyungsoo's fingers on his skin, can feel them trembling. His throat tightens, so he nods, three quick bobs of the head of the head before leaning forward to claim Kyungsoo's lips in a kiss. "Go ahead," Minseok says, nonetheless, just to make everything clear. He won't make the same mistake of expecting something to understand the curt nod, the soft smile, the light brush of their knuckles against each other. He's too old to be making the same mistakes. "Anything you want."

Kyungsoo slides his hand further south and gives Minseok's ass a gentle squeeze. "I want you," Kyungsoo says, voice so soft that he can be breathing. "Just you."

Minseok allows himself the leisure of laughing. He sucks on Kyungsoo's bottom lip, then the corners, and bites a bit too hard on Kyungsoo takes their cocks in his hand.

It isn't the most beautiful sight, seeing washes of color slither down their cocks, but Kyungsoo makes it work, tears Minseok's mind from logic and makes him focus on this moment, the slide of their dicks against each other, the friction and the warmth that comes to it. Kyungsoo starts with easy jerks, each stroke long and drawn out. Minseok repays Kyungsoo in kind, sucks marks along the slope of Kyungsoo's neck and gives his ear a light nibble. He feels the sudden shift in Kyungsoo's muscles, the way Kyungsoo's fingers tense around their warm cocks, the light squeeze that comes with it. He slides one hand down Kyungsoo's back, then, slips his thumb in the cleft of Kyungsoo's ass, and rubs slow and steady circles along Kyungsoo's rim.

"Fuck– Hyung–" Kyungsoo buries his face in the crook of Kyungsoo's neck. The loose fist he's pumping them in tightens, and Minseok feels his thighs tense, feels his knees lock and his breath hitch. His throat feels dry but he wants to cry out, to scream, chant Kyungsoo's name like a prayer to tide him through tough times. He wants to tell Kyungsoo so many things that not even the slow and gentle thrust of his finger inside Kyungsoo's ass can express. He wants Kyungsoo to know that this – this isn't a one-time thing. This doesn't end in a transaction.

When he walks away with the Nightwalker, he'll bring Kyungsoo with him. He'll give up his heart in exchange.

Kyungsoo moves faster, pumping harder with one hand and rubbing on their slits with the other. The warm press of his palm on their sensitive skin makes Minseok stop short, and he feels his abdomen coil when Kyungsoo clenches around his fingers. He presses on, though, twisting his fingers inside Kyungsoo, spreading them out as he stretches Kyungsoo thoroughly. He moves his hand to the rhythm of Kyungsoo's fist, the once slow jerks turning into erratic pumping with every movement. Kyungsoo presses down on Minseok's slit with his thumb and Minseok chokes, gasps, fingers tensing inside Kyungsoo.

"Kyung–soo– Oh my God–" Minseok cries out. He lets his face fall forward, lips pressed to the lobe of Kyungsoo's ear. Kyungsoo hisses at the contact but keeps stroking them, squeezing their balls from time to time, rubbing at the tips of their cocks sliding against each other. When Minseok feels his legs again, he adds a third finger inside, doesn't move until Kyungsoo's soft whimpers into shallow breathing.

"More–" Kyungsoo gasps against Minseok's shoulder, the beautiful sound muffled by skin. "Hyung, I can take more," he says, clearer now, even with the warm water rushing around them.

Minseok tilts his head to meet Kyungsoo's lips and drowns whatever words Kyungsoo meant to say, swallowing all of his tiny sounds, his whimpers, his choked groans.

Four fingers in now and Minseok feels Kyungsoo's weight press down on him, Kyungsoo's grip on their cocks tightening as Minseok twists his fingers inside Kyungsoo, moves in and out, developing an easy rhythm that Kyungsoo bucks his hips into. "Hyung, I'm going to–" Kyungsoo whispers, lips pressed to Minseok's skin, and Minseok reaches south, wraps his hand around Kyungsoo's own and moves Kyungsoo's loose fist up and down. He can feel the violent thumping in Kyungsoo's chest now, can feel the thundering pulse on his skin, can hear his heart beating against his rib cage as, together, they pick up pace – Kyungsoo jerking them both in fast strokes, and Minseok fucking Kyungsoo open with his hand. He can feel his stomach coiling so hard, can feel his thighs trembling, then–

"Hyung–" Kyungsoo's face falls forward and he comes, spilling all over Minseok's knuckles. His soft ah's catch on Minseok's skin, soft puffs of breath tickling Minseok. He doesn't stop pumping, though, and soon Minseok is coming, spilling his release on his belly. He lets of a low moan, coupled with soft whispers of Kyungsoo, Kyungsoo, Kyung–soo– and he feels his knees going weak. He knocks them into Kyungsoo's own and Kyungsoo only chuckles, only gives his ass a light slap but doesn't move.

Later, once they've rinsed off the paint and they're already covered in suds, Kyungsoo says, "You can take home the Nightwalker now." Minseok chuckles, places a soft kiss to the tip of Kyungsoo's nose. Kyungsoo lets out a soft whimper, but the scrunch of his face eases as Minseok wipes the stray red paint on his cheek and covers the spot with suds, instead.

"But you're the Nightwalker," Minseok says. "Does that mean I get to take you home now?"

Kyungsoo worries his bottom lip and narrows his eyes as if he's reconsidering. Minseok gives his stomach a light pinch and then Kyungsoo relents, saying, "Fine, fine, you get to take me home, as well!"

"Good," Minseok whispers as he kisses a corner of Kyungsoo's mouth. "Because I won't go home without you."

Kyungsoo doesn't say anything, simply lets his lips fall open when Minseok licks the seam of his lips. "You're home now, hyung," he says. "You're home."

☄

Minseok rouses from his slumber at around eleven in the evening. It's more of his stomach at work than anything else, but Kyungsoo's occasional shifting just beside him can also be a reason. Kyungsoo is sitting on the bed, back against the headboard, a small canvas on his thighs. He's brandishing his paint brush in the air like there's something to paint on in the empty space, and he looks less like the man Minseok had seen in Kibum's exhibit months ago, more of the man who he met in that Greek restaurant one fine evening. He looks so… at ease like this, defenses down along with the pants he still refuses to wear. His shirt only covers a portion his of his thighs and Minseok should probably have enough sense to not interrupt Kyungsoo when he's waving a paintbrush about.

So keeps his hands to himself, mumbling, "Can't sleep?" Kyungsoo looks up from what he is doing, turns to Minseok with wide eyes and his hand shaking as he holds the brush firmly with his fingers.

"You're supposed to be asleep," Kyungsoo replies. He places the brush down on his bedside table, nonetheless, and stretches out to place the canvas at a far corner of the desk. "You're not supposed to be awake."

"You were moving around too much," Minseok reasons. Without art materials in Kyungsoo's hands, he's as good as defenseless, so Minseok moves closer, lets his fingers dance on the expanse of flesh, then sucks tiny red marks on Kyungsoo's thigh. "How can I sleep peacefully when you're moving around too much?"

Kyungsoo groans, but the sound is cut short by a hiccup and the grumble of his stomach. He chuckles. "You in the mood for pizza, hyung?"

Half past eleven sees them with a box of pizza in bed, cans of beer on the bedside table, and a bottle of kimchi tucked between Kyungsoo's legs. It's the easiest and quickest way to salvage their cold food, but neither of them are complaining. Kyungsoo seems to be content with donning his slice of pizza with kimchi and Minseok makes himself comfortable with his ice-cold beer. It almost feels like being a student again, maybe college, except none of Minseok's academic days were as strange yet fun and carefree as this. Funny how he can easily equate those years to him being forcibly thrust into this adult world. Funny how he can equate his older, riper years to something more fresh, like taking in a violenth breath of life and not regretting a single thing about it even if he's breathing noisily through his nose.

Kyungsoo won't judge, but he will laugh at Minseok. And he likes Kyungsoo's bright laughter a lot.

Kyungsoo reaches out, motioning to grab a can, but Minseok beats him to it, takes it even before Kyungsoo can run a finger along the rim. He takes two paper towels, then, and wraps the material around the body of the can, condensation making the tissue trace its contours. "You don't want to hold something that cold after working on a painting," he says. He catches Kyungsoo's faint laughter as he hands Kyungsoo the can wrapped haphazardly in paper napkin.

Kyungsoo cocks an eyebrow at him, but the smile on his lips is soft instead of teasing. "You learn fast, hyung," Kyungsoo says. "Next thing I know, you're already planning an exhibit of your own and you're already making a name for yourself as an artist."

Minseok shrugs, stretching his arms in front of him. "Nah. I plan to focus on dancing. I mean I'll be dancing again and then doing yoga on the side. I... I can't just leave Jongdae with the kids. It'll drive him insane."

"But he's already crazy."

"Valid point," Minseok mumbles. Kyungsoo lets out light laughter in response and drinks some of his beer in one big gulp.

Minseok takes a sip of his beverage and seethes when the cool alcohol crawls down his throat. It's a weird mix of hot and cold, but he'd like to think that he's had enough experience dealing with Kyungsoo compartmentalizing all the time, showing a side of himself to Minseok and nobody else and then showing the distant, withdrawn side of him to everyone else. Months of dealing with Kyungsoo has taught him that the only way to fight the flow is to go with the current, so he takes another sip, downs a huge gulp, until he feels Kyungsoo slapping him on the thigh.

"You're not going home ass drunk, hyung," Kyungsoo warns. "I'm not letting you."

What are you gonna do, then, he wants to ask, but instead he keeps his lips pressed together, keeps his eyes fixed on Kyungsoo's own. Kyungsoo has a gaze that can pin people in place, has eyes so ablaze that Minseok feels a familiar sizzle roll down his abdomen. Kyungsoo juts out his bottom lip, then sticks out his tongue a little. Here Kyungsoo is, trying his best to display concern in the best way he knows. Yet, as always, the words escape him, dance on the tip of his tongue instead of spilling from his lips in a clumsy enunciation. And for all of Kyungsoo's use of violence – a slap on the arm, a pinch in the side – as a means of expressing affection, Kyungsoo doesn't really throw a fit in frustration. It takes too much energy and Kyungsoo prefers to save it for more important things – painting, dancing, catching dinner at a pizza place with Minseok. Keeping Minseok here, on his bed, instead of heading to where he'd parked his car earlier.

So instead, Kyungsoo huffs, growls under his breath, jabs Minseok on the arm just a little when Minseok cocks an eyebrow at him as if in a challenge. "What? Are you going to chain me to your bed or something? Regulate my alcohol intake? Oh, come on," he says, finally giving in, and Kyungsoo rolls his eyes in a knee-jerk response.

"You didn't let me go home on my own before, when we..." Kyungsoo's voice trails off, and he tears his gaze from Minseok. He takes a stray pillow in his arms, instead, and clutches it close to his chest before adding, "It's risky, hyung. Don't drive home tonight. Just stay here."

"If this is a ploy to get me in bed again then you've got to think of another way to do it," Minseok teases. "Or you can just ask."

Kyungsoo hits him again, kicking him in the ankle this time. He doesn't speak for a while, simply drums his fingers on the pillow. "Fine. Stay here. Go home tomorrow, when you don't have alcohol in your system anymore, okay?" He takes a deep breath then looks up, finally meeting Minseok's gaze again. His eyes are hooded, a barricaded door, and for a moment Minseok thinks of retracting his statement. This started as a joke and now it's turning into some heated drama fest. And Kyungsoo hates drama.

"I lost my family to some bad romance between alcohol and cars. There, I said it," Kyungsoo confesses after a while. "My hyung? Drove his car into a post while he his brain was swimming in alcohol. God, he's so stupid. My parents? Some drunk dude ran them over while he was turning a sharp curve. I mean– It's so stupid. He saw senior citizens crossing the fucking street and–" He scratches at the pillowcase with his index finger, winces when his nail catches on the zipper. It makes Minseok wince, too, makes him seethe even as he takes another sip of his beer. "And then I almost lost half of my body because some drunk guy driving a delivery truck slammed into my car. Thank God for therapy. That worked out great. Who knows what would've happened if it hadn't."

Kyungsoo rolls his eyes and lets out a loud sigh, then shakes his head. "I'm sorry. Forget it. This is stupid. I thought I wouldn't have to go through this thing again, but–"

Minseok puts the can down on the bedside table and moves closer to Kyungsoo, sliding next to him. Under the sheets, the press of their thighs is warm and sticky. It's this brand of warmth that keeps Minseok in check, the type that he can get drunk on without the promise of running into a lamppost or another car or a person on his way home. He feels goosepimples on Kyungsoo's skin, though, like the mere memory of the accident scares him shitless and Minseok thinks, there are people with experiences worse than yours, Minseok. He lost all of his family and you still have your sister – shouldn't you be happy? He shouldn't have tried to argue, should've just said yes because it makes perfect sense. Drunk people should never take a steering wheel in their hands. He should be holding Kyungsoo close, not pushing him away. He should be threading their fingers together instead of tracing patterns on Kyungsoo's skin – spirals, clouds, a heart.

"Hey, it's okay," he whispers. He nudges Kyungsoo in his side. "Let's just talk about something else. You don't have to tell me about this."

"It's not that I don't want to. It's more of…" Kyungsoo chuckles, but for the most part what comes out is bitter laughter like he finds the whole stuttering about his past experience situation funny. It isn't. It's heart-wrenching because Kyungsoo kept quiet about all his car turmoils while Minseok went on, brandishing his sad story as they danced along the Han. Kyungsoo brings him back to this moment, though, pressing down hard on the back of his hand. "I don't want to mess up the story so I'm trying to think of the best way to narrate it?"

"Ah," Minseok says. He laughs a little. "Of course. You'd want everything to be perfect."

Kyungsoo snorts. "I just don't want to blow it up again and feel bad about it anymore. It's been a decade. I'm over it. Almost, at least. But–" He looks at their intertwined hands, then turns them over. He starts tracing patterns on Minseok's palm, straight lines that meet at an intersection. Minseok giggles at the light brush of Kyungsoo's nail along his skin. "Yeah. I just don't want to feel so burdened by the whole thing again. I'm sure my family won't want that, either."

Minseok looks to his side, then offers, "You can always paint over it."

The rush of tickles stops. For a moment, Minseok's taken aback, but then Kyungsoo's shifting in his seat and pinning him with a searching gaze. "Huh?"

"You told me before," he begins, turning over their hands pressed together then splaying his fingers on his thigh. He hooks the pads of his fingers on Kyungsoo's own, then, and relishes the warmth for a moment before continuing. "You told me before that when artists screw up their paintings, they try to salvage the art by painting over the tiny mistakes. Add another light wash to make the painting look more... I don't know. Vintage? Old? Some people like it like that, yeah?"

Kyungsoo chuckles. The weird twist of his mouth says otherwise, though, like he's thinking, this is really fucked up. He could be reconsidering the situation, keeping Minseok here beside him, on his bed. He could be wondering what made him think of dragging Minseok to that canvas for a dance, even. He only makes a small, almost inaudible sound, though – of protest or disgruntlement, Minseok can't tell yet. It's a sound so faint that he fears how loud and rattling it would be if Kyungsoo parted his lips just a bit more and made the same sound.

"Art is a matter of taste," Kyungsoo says after a while. The blankets rustle. Kyungsoo is probably wiggling his toes under the sheets. Kyungsoo never did this when they were soaking their feet with paint. "And sometimes there are pieces of art that are just... beyond repair. So you have to accept that they're ugly, that they'll always be ugly. Maybe someone will… I don't know, find them nice in the future?" Kyungsoo heaves a sigh and leans back even more into his pillow, eyelids fluttering closed as he blows at his bangs. "Because if you keep trying to cover up all those flaws, you'll just end up with something worse. Uglier. Something… repulsive."

Strong words, Minseok thinks. Kyungsoo's neither smiling nor frowning, though, and that lifts the tension in his muscles a bit.

"Then choke it up to artistic license," Minseok says after a while. Kyungsoo opens one eye, and then another, and soon he's sitting back up, giving Minseok that look again. Minseok takes this as a challenge, tackles it head on when he swings his leg over and straddles Kyungsoo. Kyungsoo hasn't moved yet, hasn't uttered a word, but the look on his face spells nothing but what the actual fuck, hyung.

"Maybe you're just weird and you like your art like that," Minseok continues. "Maybe you like ugly things. Maybe you like wrecked pieces of art. You can't be alone in your weirdness, come on," Minseok says, voice lilting, and Kyungsoo juts out his bottom lip in response. Kyungsoo's shoulders are no longer stiff, no longer held up in a straight line that he looks like some high school student being lectured about arriving late in class or passing a really bad assignment. The furrow of his eyebrows has eased, too, but the corners of his mouth are still a bit tight. Chuckling, Minseok leans closer, presses both of his thumbs on the corners of Kyungsoo's lips and gives them a light press.

And then Minseok pinches Kyungsoo's cheeks and Kyungsoo threatens to bite his fingers off. "I'm heartless," Kyungsoo mumbles, then chomps his teeth. "You don't want to mess with me, hyung."

You've made a mess out of me, Minseok wants to say. You've turned me into a mess and fixed everything else. Instead, he says, "Not heartless. Just weird. So maybe you just have to look at the painting from a different angle. Flip it around or something."

"But the paint's still wet," Kyungsoo argues. "And you can't just risk having the paint smear all over the other areas where it isn't supposed to be there–"

"Artistic license," Minseok repeats, leaning much closer than before. The tips of their noses touch, and he's close enough that he catches a hint of pizza and kimchi and beer in Kyungsoo's breath. And a tinge of fatigue, too, in the tiny yawn that escapes Kyungsoo's lips. He places a soft kiss on the tip of Kyungsoo's nose, then, and pushes Kyungsoo back into his pillow. "You're tired. Get some rest. We'll have great coffee tomorrow."

"We?" Kyungsoo asks. He grabs a fistful of Minseok's shirt and pulls him close, keeps him from pulling away. "You'll stay the night?"

Minseok cocks an eyebrow at him. "Didn't you say–"

"I didn't think you'd actually do it. I mean–" Kyungsoo scrunches his nose, twists his fist into Minseok's shirt even more. Minseok scowls when Kyungsoo's knuckles dig into his skin. "Sorry."

They've just started eating and they still have at least half a can each of their beer, so instead of convincing Kyungsoo to get some rest, he rolls what's left of Kyungsoo's pizza slice and brings the roll close to Kyungsoo's lips. "Say aah," he says, grinning when Kyungsoo grimaces. He could save himself from the humiliation of being turned down by Kyungsoo if he ever thinks of not eating the slice. He could eat the pizza he'd rolled up, himself. And Kyungsoo can push him away because this kind of comfort? Kyungsoo hadn't asked for it. Kyungsoo just asked Minseok to dance with him and for him, that's all. Kyungsoo asked Minseok to act silly with him.

But Kyungsoo hasn't pushed him away yet. Kyungsoo pulls him closer, ignoring the pizza in favor of Minseok's lips. Between soft nips on Minseok's bottom lip, he whispers, "Thank you," then swallows whatever Minseok plans to say with a lick along the cavern of Minseok's mouth, the back of Minseok's teeth. For a moment, Minseok's worried that pizza, beer, and the stink of sleep in his mouth don't make a good mix, but Kyungsoo keeps kissing him. So he keeps giving, parts his lips even more, tightens his hold on the pizza because what if, what if, what if Kyungsoo suddenly comes around–

"No. Thank you," Minseok answers when Kyungsoo leans back for a moment to breathe. Kyungsoo sucks in his bottom lip, traps it between his own teeth. "Thank you for getting me out of my slump. And thanks for bringing me and my sister closer."

Kyungsoo chuckles. "That wasn't me, hyung. That was art. And you – you did a lot of the dirty work."

He thinks of watching Minyoung through the glass and the clawing pain at his chest everytime he has to leave without even saying 'goodbye' to Minyoung. He thinks of Minyoung hugging him so tight before he left this afternoon. He thinks of Kyungsoo urging him to attend the awarding ceremony and the exhibit with the gentle coax of a KKT message, thinks of Kyungsoo asking for his hand for a silly dance at one in the morning. Then he remembers taking one step forward to reach out for Kyungsoo's hand, and then another to take Minyoung in his arms, and then one more before he runs on the canvas to dance – to create art with Kyungsoo.

"You and me and art," Minseok replies. He presses his lips on Kyungsoo's again to keep Kyungsoo from retaliating, and grins when he feels the sound of protest melt against the open press of his mouth. Kyungsoo pinches him in his stomach and he yelps, but he gets back on track, sucks on Kyungsoo's top lip, and then his bottom lip. Kyungsoo drops his hand to Minseok's thigh and Minseok presses closer, kisses Kyungsoo harder. He kisses Kyungsoo again and again until his jaw aches and his lips feel so warm and swollen against Kyungsoo's own.

He stays in this dance, this crazy pirouette they're trying to perfect. Kyungsoo is a force that keeps reeling him in, a pull stronger than gravity. So he lets himself be swept away – by the music in his head, the fluid stroke of Kyungsoo's brush, the inelegant slide of their mouths. He doesn't fight it. He doesn't fight back.

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