rustle | exo: dare you to move (3/5)

"Five minutes later than the usual, hyung," Jongdae comments. He thrusts a cup of coffee between Minseok's hands, then says, "What happened?"

A lot of things, Minseok wants to say. He ate the best walnut cake he's had in a while, and regretted having an Americano at such a late hour. Kyungsoo dragged him out to the river to teach him how to do ballet. Kyungsoo tried to make him dance, too, urged him to mimic his victory dance that involved bobbing his head to the left, then to the right, while wearing the duck face look and with his fingers pointing to his sides. Kyungsoo looked stupid then, and Minseok probably would've looked just as awful, and it wasn't a risk he was willing to take. He hasn't worked hard to be a yoga instructor and gym trainer to the stars just to do a modified Egyptian dance out in the open, along the Han. Sure, he isn't as popular as Joonmyun is, but he's got an image to uphold.

That, and Kyungsoo is friends with Kibum. If Kibum ever found out that he did the Egyptian dance in public, Kibum would never let on.

"Thanks," is the only thing Minseok says in response. He yawns only when he's well out of Jongdae's sight. "By the way, got in touch with Kibum. He said he'll drop by after lunch and show you some of his dance moves."

Jongdae catches up and tears a pack of brown sugar over Minseok's coffee. "Did you say the post was for Zumba?"

"Yup. Made it clear."

"Your friend makes it sound like an audition for So You Think You Can Dance or something."

Minseok stops in his tracks and bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself from grinning. The other side of his face betrays him. "He turns everything into a competition."

"Ah, he is hyung's friend." Jongdae nods, slow and thoughtful. "Sehun didn't eat one of his eggs. You can have that one, if you want."

From the staff pantry, Sehun's voice booms. "I didn't give you permission to give away my eggs, hyung!"

Minseok clasps a hand on Jongdae's shoulder and gives it a light squeeze. "I'll go cook my own eggs."

The fatigue is worse than having to deal with a hangover, Minseok thinks. He didn't feel this way the first two times he went out with Kyungsoo for drinks. The primary difference, he supposes, is the fact that alcohol warms up the body faster, for a longer time. And they'd had three bottles of soju then; what's a cup of coffee each to those? Add to that the reality that Kyungsoo dragged him out to the river at midnight when the wind blows the strongest, and what do you have? Two people asking for trouble and sore muscles. Kyungsoo asking Minseok to run him through a ballet routine. Minseok asking for nothing in return, but getting Kyungsoo's warm smile as a token.

He fishes for his phone from his pocket and launches KKT. He sends a reminder to Kibum to turn up in the gym on time, and a text to Kyungsoo that says, Salonpas is good for sore muscles. Drink milk and eat hard-boiled egg for energy!

I only need coffee in my life. But thanks, hyung, comes Kyungsoo's quick reply. Minseok's prepared to slip his phone back in his pocket when another message comes in. All is well with you, I hope?

Minseok's knee-jerk response is to chuckle, but something in him claws at his chest, sends a sizzle of heat down his spine. It's the same brand of warmth he felt when Kyungsoo, drunk with the taste of victory in the form of a weird dance at one in the morning, grabbed him by the wrist and twirled him around. It's different from the press of Jongdae's arm against his, or even Joonmyun's soft smile at that split-second of respite just before he leaves a get-together with the promise of seeing his friends again in six months. It's different, because none of those make Minseok's insides turn, make his stomach lurch, or even choke down all the words threatening to spill from Minseok's lips. And different isn't something Minseok is comfortable with. Different puts him off, makes him shiver. Different scares him.

His thumb hovers the input area for a second, then he clicks the marker once to pull up the keyboard. He's tempted to type something to tease Kyungsoo, but he's in broad daylight and there's no darkness to lend him the courage that he needs. There's no alcohol to give liquid strength, no alcohol to silence the strange voices in his head telling to lean in, to hold back, to bite his tongue whenever he feels like reaching out to run his thumb along Kyungsoo's lips.

He sucks in his cheeks and fiddles with phone before texting. I'll live :D he types as a reply later, then sends it before he can even change his mind.

When his phone sounds off again – two beeps, five seconds apart – he jumps straight to reading Kibum's text and tries to keep himself from grinning at Kyungsoo's message.

☄

"So, how exactly did you two meet?"

Kibum looks at Minseok across the table, then kicks Minseok in the calf. He has half the mind the groan with Jongdae within an earshot, but Kibum is wearing a grin too big for his face and has eyes so focused that Minseok feels trapped against the wall behind him. This is Kibum's way of saying, Hey, hyung, the ball's in your court. You don't want me to come up with a weird backstory for us. A more subtle way of coaxing Minseok to take charge of the situation because Kibum doesn't know to how to move around Jongdae yet. So Minseok returns the favor, nudges Kibum's foot under the table with his own, then turns to face Jongdae.

"Art stuff. Back in college." Minseok rubs the rip of his nose instead of scrunching his face. The last time he went for the scrunch, Jongdae called him out for bluffing. He wasn't lying then and he isn't now, but it's better to be safe. "Through Joonmyun, actually. You know he is when it comes to art."

"Weird?" Jongdae asks. He casts a tentative glance at Kibum, then takes a sip of water before offering Kibum a smile. "I mean, yeah, he loves variety."

It's not as if he and Kibum had some sordid relationship in the past. It's completely wholesome, no touching, no getting frisky. He helped Kibum get rid of the paint in his hands by wiping his fingers, but that's about it. Kibum was the person who helped him know more about art, was patient enough to teach him how to look past the flourish in paintings or the intricate details in them. Heck, Kibum sat through hours upon hours of Minseok trying to figure out Van Gogh and why he painted those twelve sunflowers instead of just ten. Then helped prep him for Joonmyun's upcoming art talk on Degas' pieces. Kibum was his art teacher, a mentor, someone who helped him understand why art is art and why people create it. He strengthened the already bubbling love Minseok had for art; Joonmyun sparked the interest and kept it there, left of his chest, thumping violently against his rib cage.

"Joonmyun can be boring," Kibum comments after chewing the meat in his mouth. Jongdae looks up, then, eyes wide in – disbelief? Surprise? Something he can't quite place yet? Jongdae's mouth hangs agape and there's a slow-forming smile on Kibum's lips. It tickles Minseok's insides a little, makes him giggle. "He likes old people things and is serious about everything. But eh, he's… he provides a good balance."

Kibum casts a look at Minseok and smiles. "He's good at keeping people around," Minseok says.

Jongdae pins Minseok in place with a stare. The smile on his lips is disconcerting.

Halfway through lunch, Kibum introduces soju and Jongdae picks up the bottle without hesitation, offering to pour some for Kibum. Kibum offers pieces of information on Minseok in kind, and Jongdae makes the strangest sounds while laughing at Kibum's stories about Minseok. "Fell on his ass straight into a bucket of paint. That was when we were in… second year? Or wait– You and Joonmyun were in second year, I was a freshman. Which is unfair, don't you think? I mean–" Kibum grumbles then takes the shot Jongdae hands him before continuing. "We're the same age, Joonmyun and I. How come he's a year higher that I am in the academic world?"

"Because he doesn't forget to turn in his homework, unlike you," Minseok answers, then pinches Kibum in his side. "And you always got into trouble while he was always a good boy."

"Pssh. I was just fighting for my beliefs," Kibum argues. He turns to Jongdae with a scowl on his face and Jongdae doesn't seem to be fazed, laughter still bubbling on his lips. "The logo for the theatre club was ugly. Did I want to be associated with that? A world-class stage performer being associated with an ugly logo?"

"This is a job interview, right?" Minseok asks, alternating between looking at Jongdae, then Kibum. "If I were the boss, I'd turn him down on the spot."

Jongdae snorts. "But you aren't."

"You two are the worst." He fishes for his phone to check the time – it's one in the afternoon. His next yoga class isn't until four, but he still needs to get some things sorted out with the facility in Yeouido. He has to give Sunyoung a call, tell her he can actually make it and tell her that she should thank Kibum, he'd be open to a date or just a walk in the park. Kibum isn't hard to please. Sehun has a Zumba session at 5:30 and he's been asked to sit in in that class, just to observe and see if he'll ever find it in his heart to get back into dancing. And then after an hour of watching Sehun gyrate his hips and wiggle his ass, he'll finally be free to leave the gym, meet up with Kyungsoo at the train station. Grab a bite somewhere in Hongdae because It's been a while since I've last been to Organic. You know that place, hyung?

"I'm gonna start buying you some of those adult milk things," Jongdae says, then frowns. "Or maybe multivitamins? Have you even been drinking your meds?"

"I know why you're friends with Joonmyun now," Kibum comments.

Jongdae cocks an eyebrow. "What does that even mean?"

Kibum doesn't say anything – to Jongdae, at least, but he does cast a glance at Minseok, an eyebrow cocked, a corner of his mouth upturned. His lips say I think I know what you're up to, but his eyes are saying but just in case I don't, give more time to figure it out. I'll give you more time to figure your shit out. So Kibum buys him time, engages in a small banter with his future employer and new acquaintance as Jongdae complains that they're out of soju, that KIbum doesn't look drunk yet and that's unfair, that Kibum makes weird, nasty comments but that he's a good dancer.

"He's really good. I hate him," Jongdae says, head rested on Minseok's shoulder as they wait for the bill and for Kibum to get back from the comfort room, but Minseok knows the hate is for show. He knows Jongdae, maybe more than he should, and he knows what Jongdae means by hating someone. It's a recognition of someone's talent, that someone is better than him, an admission of defeat. Minseok knows because he taught Jongdae that, the subtle science of denial. Hating on someone's capabilities is part of the deal.

Minseok chuckles when his phone sounds off twice, notifications only five seconds from each other. Kyungsoo's name glares at him in big, chunky characters, but the sticker Kyungsoo sends him – a bear dangling from monkey bars – isn't telling him anything. He can't read Kyungsoo, not from this distance. He hates it. And he hates it even more that he keeps scouring the surface for clues, a hint, every chipped off piece paint that Kyungsoo has left behind with every move he makes. He's addicted to the hunt. This isn't like any thrill he's felt in his life.

He types a quick apology for not answering earlier and says, Kibum got the job after making Jongdae drink. You have weird friends.

Kyungsoo's reply comes too fast and hits too hard. He's crazy. But no, hyung, I don't have weird friends. Just interesting ones.

Like you.

☄

The ten-minute walk from the samgyupsal place to the gym turns into a fifteen-minute one, with Jongdae's grip tight on his shoulder. The last time he got drunk at noon with Jongdae was years ago, possibly one of those earlier days of employment. Drinking while working in an ad agency was normal; drinking with the intern probably wasn't. Still, they got the job done, and turned in their deliverables for the day ten minutes before they were due. Jongdae got full credits for that particular task and was given permission to include the graphics he'd done in his portfolio. A rare event, if you'd consider the fact that brands are very particular about any material with their name tacked to it that comes out. Too many ad agencies tried to get a hold of Jongdae, but he eventually went into media. Left three years later to find his strength again. Found himself building a small gym somewhere in Gyeonggi-do and built a good name for the gym there, before moving to Apgeujong two years later.

And here he is now – in Minseok's arms, swearing upon the winds of autumn beating down on him that he's fucking thirty-something, I shouldn't be drinking in the afternoon anymore.

"Will he be okay?" Kibum asks. His eyes are sullen, like he'll fall asleep anytime, but his cheeks are still their normal color and he isn't slurring his words yet. His tolerance has always been better than most people's. "Shit, I probably shouldn't have–"

"Made your employer drink on the day of your interview," Minseok finishes. He gives Kibum a pat on the shoulder, then says, "Can you help me with this thing?"

Kibum's reflexes are still quick – his body jerks at Jongdae's slightest movement, and laughs when Minseok grumbles about troublesome friends who don't know how to hold their alcohol. "That was me back in college," Kibum comments, then hoists Jongdae up. "Remember that time, when we were in Joonmyun's dorm? Drinking while working on our humanities homework?"

Minseok laughs a little at the memory. He can still remember the way Kibum laughed when Joonmyun emerged form the showers, cheeks pink, shampoo still in his hair. He'd helped Joonmyun rinse off the bubbles then, and Joonmyun offered to scrub his back. He declined without reason back then. Joonmyun should know the logic behind it now. "You were working on your humanities homework. We were doing more important things."

"Yeah, like rolling on the bed or something. Jerking each other off."

"Kibum."

"What?" Kibum says now, stopping at the foot of the last flight of stairs.

The elevator's out of service and the gym is at the third floor. It's an easy enough climb, so carrying something of this weight – a real, breathing human being – over his shoulder shouldn't be difficult, but he can feel every muscle in his body screaming, complaining that they can't bear this weight. Not at this point in time, with the alcohol in Minseok's system. He's never been the one to overestimate his skill, but he's never had to unload burden halfway through the hike, either. He's always managed, somehow, if the years he's spent traveling from Yeouido to Gangnam and then back is a testament to that. He's managed having a sister who's void of emotions and memories for more than a decade. He's managed to not throw up at the mere mention of dancing.

He's managed to keep himself in balance, in control. Kibum meeting Jongdae, this overlap, it throws him off a little. It makes his stomach lurch. It makes his chest constrict with a feeling so thick he wants to pound on his chest as hard as he can just to get the blockage out.

"I told you, nothing happened between us," Minseok finally says. "Joonmyun and I were never a thing. I mean–" He scoffs. "He had a girlfriend back in senior year and she was younger than him. He doesn't like boys, Kibum. He doesn't like people like me."

He means, Joonmyun doesn't like people who have crosses plaguing them day in and day out. He means, Joonmyun doesn't want any more trouble than he already has. School was enough a headache back then. The sleepy, lazy handjobs in the showers didn't mean a thing. They were just helping each other cope with stress, expectations from people, obligations. Joonmyun's parents wanted him to take up business and he went into marketing communications, instead. Minseok… His parents wanted to be alive to see him prosper, but he killed them.

"I've seen his pictures with Baekhyun, hyung. It's a familiar look."

"He loves taking care of broken people. He's not– He said he wasn't–"

Kibum hoists Jongdae up again when Jongdae squirms and moves a little. "Never said this before because I thought you'd be able to get it, but looks like you still haven't. You know why 'nothing' happened between you two? Because you kept preventing things from happening."

There's a faint murmur of excuse me coming from behind, so Minseok steps to his left, making way for the stranger to walk past them. It draws him closer to Kibum, takes away the comfort the distance between them offers. Takes down the wall between the two of them that they have agreed to build because they respect each other's need for space, a need to distance themselves from certain issues in his life. Kibum takes a deep breath and Jondgae moves closer to him, nuzzling his shoulder.

"It's too late to do anything now, but it's not too late to do something for yourself. So c'mon, hyung, live a little. Answer the person who's been texting you the whole time we were at lunch. Tell him he's a fucking asshole for getting in the way of quality time with friends but tell him that yes, you'll go out with him later. 7 p.m.. See you."

Minseok laughs a little. "You're telling your friend that he's an asshole."

"No, hyung. I'm telling you–" He shifts in his position, holding Jongdae by the waist now and gesturing for Minseok to drop his hands to his side. "I'm telling you that it's okay. This thing, you telling me to work for a friend of yours, that's a big thing, hyung. It's big." Soft laughter escapes Kibum's lips, but smile pulling up at the corners of his mouth is still tentative, uncertain. "And I appreciate it. It's a big step for you. You've finally graduated from baby steps because Jesus, you're a big boy now!"

He'd like to be young again, if he could. Things are much easier when you're younger. "I wish I were taller."

"I wish you were happier, hyung," Kibum whispers. He gives Minseok's foot a light kick. "A happier you means a happier me. C'mon, help me out. I don't want to be in the company of miserable people."

His phone vibrates in his pocket and makes this loud beeping sound. Kibum raises both eyebrows but doesn't question Minseok, doesn't say anything, doesn't even kick him in his calf. Instead, Kibum continues the journey up, dragging Jongdae – their boss – up the stairs and to the entrance of the gym.

Minseok takes out his phone and chuckles when he sees Kyungsoo's message. Isn't Hongdae a bit too far from you, though, hyung? Are you sure it's not a bother? it says, followed by a series of cute bear stickers that Minseok could've easily thought came from someone else had Kyungsoo not mentioned once, in passing, that sometimes he resorts to stickers when he can't phrase his thoughts properly.

Visuals instead of words, a voice in Minseok's mind says. Dancing when he can't find a way to express excitement. The way Kyungsoo looked so weird yet attuned with happiness when he was dancing along the Han at midnight. The way Kyungsoo, without a hint of hesitation, grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him into his tiny dance.

Hongdae is fine :) Minseok says in reply. See you at 7:30?

7:30 is good, comes Kyungsoo's message. After a while, another text comes in and Minseok stops in his tracks, really stops walking and takes steady, even breaths to keep himself from grinning in the middle of the staircase.

Can't wait!

☄

The last thing Minseok expects after his shift at the gym is a visitor. The last time it happened, Joonmyun showed up at the doorstep of the gym with pizza on one hand an apology in the other. "Part two at home. I have soju in the fridge," Joonmyun had said then, and trudged to the staff pantry without preamble. He'd kept Jongdae around until they finished the pizza, but hadn't told Jongdae about 'part two'. It seemed at that time that all he needed was someone to eat with, but Minseok should've known better. Joonmyun grabbed him by the wrist as soon as they were inside Joonmyun's flat and Joonmyun whispered, lips grazing the underside of Minseok's jaw, "Just this once. Please. For old time's sake."

"Kibum summoned me," Kyungsoo explains now, when Minseok looks at him with furrowed eyebrows. He cranes his neck, looking around the gym, and takes small, tentative steps past the doorstep. "Said something about celebrating his 'funemployment', whatever that means."

"He loves making things up," Minseok replies. He gestures for Kyungsoo to come closer, and Kyungsoo gives him a curt nod in response. "He'll be teaching Sehun's classes for the time being. Never pegged him as the Zumba kind of guy, but–"

"You've seen him get drunk at org parties?"

Minseok snorts. Kibum does that every other day at the dorm he shares with Minseok and Joonmyun. "Yeah. A lot of times."

Kyungsoo lays a palm flat on Minseok's shoulder and gives it a gentle squeeze. "Sorry to be the bearer of bad news but you'll be seeing more of that now."

It takes a while to register the warmth pressed on his shoulder – five whole seconds, to be exact, because it's the same amount of time Kyungsoo takes to move closer and narrow the distance between them. The tips of their toes are a good six inches apart; their noses, even more, but Kyungsoo's stare makes the distance seem much closer, makes it dissipate into thin air. White light isn't so flattering on Kyungsoo – it exposes the pimples on his cheeks, the dark circles under his eyes. The way his ears burn a bright red when Minseok gulps hard and wets his lips in an effort to restore the feeling in his mouth. The rough planes of Kyungsoo's face that pronounce the sudden upward tug of his lips. The way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he says, "Think you can live with that?"

"I lived with him for two years," Minseok confesses. His nose twitches in disapproval – Kyungsoo doesn't need to know that. "I've seen worse."

"Do I want to know?"

"You probably don't." Minseok gulps again, and a traitorous cold crawls up the walls of his throat. Kyungsoo slides his hand down, the cold pads of his fingers leaving a trail along Minseok's arm. "Unless you're fond of nightmares."

"I'm a night-walker," Kyungsoo answers simply. He takes a step back, smiling. "I play with nightmares and turn them into dreams."

The spell is broken when Kibum arrives, busy with adjusting the strap of his backpack. "Remind me to buy a new one," he tells Kyungsoo. Kyungsoo walks over to where Kibum is, helping him zip up the front pocket. Kibum looks up at Minseok, then, pouting just before he mouths, sorry for third-wheeling, hyung.

"You're paying, right?" Kyungsoo asks.

"The eldest always pays," Kibum says, then turns to Minseok with a grin. "Right, hyung?"

"Never mind, I'm paying," Kyungsoo announces even before Minseok can say a thing. Minseok doesn't question him, but he does wait for the follow-up, the words set to tumble from Kyungsoo's lips with the way his mouth hangs slightly open. "I… I have a favor to ask. I mean if that's okay with you, hyung."

"Let's talk about it later," Minseok says. He offers Kyungsoo a small smile in the mean time, then looks over his shoulder to bid Jongdae goodbye.

Kibum drags them to a juk place nearby, about a few blocks east of the gym. Cheongdam isn't a part of Gangnam Minseok frequents unless Kibum invites him over, but it has the same atmosphere as Apgeujong – a mix of the old and the new, a vast calm with just the right hint of noise. Kibum navigates the streets like the back of his hand, telling them to turn a corner, walk along this side street, "Stick to the left side. It's a hidden gem." Kibum cocks his head in the direction of the entrance, and what greets them inside is a restaurant that feels a lot like those traditional Korean homes. Even the floors are heated.

"Take off your shoes," Kibum whispers, then bows to one of the ladies at the entrance. She engages Kibum in a quick chat, like meeting an acquaintance from school, and Kibum quickly turns the conversation into a more familiar one. She knows Kibum's favorites, the ones he doesn't like, and reminds him of that one time when he discovered a weird kind of juk because of an experiment he did with his food.

"Just… three of the house special, please. For me and my friends here," Kibum says, then, once they're seated. He's still laughing from when the girl had teased him about the weird juk he made. "And extra yellow radish for my tiny friend."

Minseok nudges Kibum in his side. "Remember, this hyung of yours is paying."

"Hyung, you're small. He is tiny," Kibum says in defense, cocking his head in Kyungsoo's direction.

Kyungsoo is quick to respond, but he ends up slapping Minseok on the arm instead of Kibum. He mumbles a small apology but keeps his eyes narrowed at Kibum. Minseok only leans back, freeing himself from Kibum's hold, and doesn't hold back his laughter.

The strange thing about Kibum and Kyungsoo's friendship is that it seems, feels a lot like his friendship with Joonmyun. It's not the in-your-face kind of friendship where both of them openly declare love for each other, or even just an ounce of appreciation. It's there, though, the unspoken bond. It's in every small gesture, every jerk of the body that just screams, hey, we're friends. There's no denying it. Kibum drops a memory from years back and Kyungsoo admits to remembering it by raising his eyebrows or the gentle bob of the head. Kyungsoo comments on Kibum's story, builds on it like he knows Kibum's life inside and out. And maybe he does. Kibum teases Kyungsoo more than he engages him in a real conversation, and Kyungsoo's responses are mostly laced with snark or a snide remark, but the message still cuts across. Sometimes the hard slaps on Kibum's arm turn into careful touches, a gentle slide all the way down to Kibum's wrist. And Kibum, for all of his lack of fondness for overt displays of affection, doesn't pull away.

Minseok takes a shaky breath and pops some kimchi in his mouth. The spices sting his lips. His throat burns.

Kyungsoo looks up at him with wide eyes. "Water?"

"Nah, I'm good," Minseok answers. Kyungsoo insists, hands him his own glass, and doesn't look away until Minseok has taken a sip.

Kyungsoo doesn't bring up the favor until hours after, after leaving the juk place and grabbing takeout coffee on their way to the Han. "This brings back memories," Kyungsoo whispers, sliding next to Minseok. There's something in Kyungsoo's eyes, a glimmer that blinds Minseok when Kyungsoo takes a step closer to a lamppost. The lights here are warm and Jesus, Minseok will never get to used to how light falls on Kyungsoo's face, brings out a different side of him every single time. Kyungsoo's lips are tugged up, just a small smile at the corners, and his eyes are half-mast.

Kyungsoo hasn't had his coffee yet, not tonight. Minseok can still see the playful sparkle in Kyungsoo's eyes, though, shining even brighter when Kyungsoo says, "I have a favor. A huge favor, so I'd understand if you'd say no."

The wind blows hard, sending a shiver down Minseok's spine. Kyungsoo moves closer, perhaps for warmth, and Minseok doesn't step to his side or walk away. He needs this, too – a comforting presence beside him, the rubbing of their elbows sending a jolt up his arm. His fingers numb for a second, until he feels the light brush of Kyungsoo's hand against his own. Kyungsoo is… warm, for some weird reason. His fingers are supposed to be cold from the blowing winds and his teeth are chattering, and Kyungsoo is shivering at every lash of the air. He's not supposed to be hot. The inelegant slide of their fingers between their coats isn't supposed to make Minseok feel warm.

Kyungsoo looks around for an audience before grabbing Minseok's hand and stuffing it in his pocket. Minseok stops in his tracks, turning to his side to face Kyungsoo. "What–"

"You were shivering, hyung. I can't let my subject die form the cold," Kyungsoo mumbles. Minseok can feel it now, the traitorous cold crawling up Kyungsoo's skin, Kyungsoo's fingers sliding down his palm, the pads hooking onto the webs of Minseok's fingers. The grip is tight, but it isn't uncomfortable. The light twitch of Kyungsoo's fingers tickles Minseok, make his stomach lurch in several different directions and make him choke on a sound clawing at his throat.

"Your subject?" Minseok manages to ask through chattering teeth. A corner of Kyungsoo's lips tugs up. Minseok's heart raps against his ribcage so hard he almost fears he'll have to run after it and explain to the cops.

"Ah, about that…" Kyungsoo scratches the slope of his neck with his knuckles, still clutching his coffee in his hand. "I was wondering if you want to be the subject of my next painting. I want to paint a dancer, and you seemed really happy that night, when we–"

That night. Minseok almost wheezes when the wind blows another time, this time against their faces. The winds were kinder then, and Kyungsoo wasn't making these tiny puppy noises as the cool breeze crept up their necks. They felt… warmer that time, like they weren't walking by the river at an obscene hour. Like they'd gone to the Han prepared and not in just one layer of jackets. Maybe it's because Kyungsoo was dancing with his eyes closed, blindly following every word Minseok uttered, and Minseok was running after him. Maybe it's because they were moving then unlike now, where they're just standing beside each other, fingers intertwined in Kyungsoo's coat pocket.

Kyungsoo sneezes and he scrunches his nose. His cheeks are a light shade of pink, but his ears and the tip of his nose burn a bright red. Minseok feels a surge of warmth, then, rushing up his chest, his neck, his cheeks.

"I have a video of that," Minseok whispers. Kibum's still walking, not bothering to shoot a glance at them. Minseok takes a deep breath. "Makes me laugh everytime I watch it."

Kyungsoo snorts. "I'm not a dancer, hyung. I looked awful that time–"

"Cute, actually." Minseok rubs the tip of his nose with the back of his other hand. Kyungsoo hasn't broken eye contact, not yet, and his cheeks still aren't as red as his ears are. It's strange. Kyungsoo is strange, and Minseok likes his friends weird. "You could use some practice, though. Get formal training or something. I could hook you up with–"

"Kibum dances. I just… choose not to watch him." Kyungsoo laughs a little. It sounds more like a snort than anything else, but the wind muffles it, softens the harsh tone. Kyungsoo presses his lips together before continuing. "But you– Hyung, you always move like you're dancing."

So I've been told, he wants to say. It's not the first time he's heard that comment, not in this lifetime or since he quit dancing. It's a fever he's come to live with, living in the shadows of his dancing limbs. It's not as if he can just get his arms and legs cut off, wear a different skin and be a different Kim Minseok. Dancing is part of him, the same way that fixing people is part of Joonmyun. Dancing is his second skin the way the gym makes up half of who Jongdae is. Dancing is the body and he is the shadow, the same way that art is the puppeteer that controls Kyungsoo's lips. Art fuels Kyungsoo; dance pins Minseok in place, chains his ankles. Doesn't allow him to move and run away.

"Funny, I haven't danced in years," Minseok whispers. He takes a deep breath, then tilts his head so he can see Kyungsoo better. "I don't dance anymore, Kyungsoo, I told you that before. I'm... old."

"You just need to oil those hinges," Kyungsoo teases. He runs his thumb along a one of Minseok's knuckles inside his pocket.

"You're only a few years younger."

Kyungsoo shrugs. "Still younger." He stares for a while, then pulls away in one swift motion. "Still capable of running and dancing if I wanted to."

That's the problem, Minseok wants to say – Kyungsoo wants to run, to dance. Minseok doesn't. The mere thought of letting his limbs move to the beat of a song scares him, makes shivers run down his spine. The thought of losing himself to the beats makes his chest constrict and his heart feel heavy. So instead of subjecting himself to torture, he'll save himself from it. He's not in this world to make his life a living hell. He's okay with where he is now.

"You know what I want to do?" Minseok bumps his hip into Kyungsoo's. "Drink coffee. This," he says, then, holding up his cup. Kyungsoo raises both eyebrows and a small, almost indiscernible smile surfaces on Kyungsoo's lips. He reaches out to clutch at Minseok's coat. "You should drink yours, too. It'll get cold."

"Coffee doesn't lose its warmth easily if you keep the cover on. Traps the heat there–" Kyungsoo draws the opening of the lid close to his nose, taking a deep breath. "Inside. It'll take time to just get rid of something like that, hyung."

From a corner of his eye, he sees Kibum stop in his tracks. Kyungsoo keeps him pinned in place, eyes sharp and focused. Unrelenting.

"How long?"

"Can't tell." Kyungsoo takes a sip. "I just know it'll take a while."

Minseok scoffs, then removes the lid of his cup. "Well, it's been a while."

Kibum has his hands on hips when Minseok turns to face him. He's saying something, but most of his words get caught in the air, muffled by the soft howling of the winds. Kyungsoo's laughter rings loudly in his ears, though, but maybe that's because Kyungsoo is pressed close to his side, so close that he can feel Kyungsoo's hot breath – another source of warmth – on his skin.

The aftermath is a tickling, pricking sensation at the back of his ears. Minseok doesn't shiver, but he does attempt to stifle his giggle by taking a sip of his coffee. Kyungsoo stays still until Minseok resurfaces and feels his knees again. They take tiny steps forward, until Kibum calls out to them – "Ya, are your knees weak already or something?" Kyungsoo raises a fist but keeps the smile – big, bright, youthful – on his lips.

Minseok takes another step a bit too early and Kyungsoo catches on. He doesn't rush. The coffee is hot to touch, but it doesn't sting.

☄

Should've gone with you, hyung, Kyungsoo says via text. Can't sleep. Kibum's too noisy.

Minseok rolls over to lie flat on his stomach, but regrets it soon after. The juk hasn't gone down completely yet, even after the long walk and the hot coffee. He hasn't come down from the high from spending a long night with his friends, either. He's never been fond of frequent meet ups, but this new sound to fill the white noise with is a breath of fresh air. It isn't like those tiring nights out with Baekhyun, Yixing, and Lu Han, going club-hopping in ridiculous disguises and having to explain to Joonmyun after that I'm 100% sure they didn't get caught. You think they'd recognize Baekhyun in this costume? Really, Joonmyun? There's no need to be alert and to keep his defenses up.

Two laters of clothing and a scarf wrapped around his neck – that's a wall thick enough for the biting winds to not weigh down on him too much. The distance between him and Kyungsoo – Apgeujong and Cheongdam, a short enough distance if Minseok was crazy enough to walk from point A to point B – possibly not enough. it's two in the morning and the light from his phone is too bright for his eyes. And yet here he is, typing a reply while choking back a retort.

Ah, regrets, Minseok says. He worries his bottom lip, then adds, Clear your mind? Put on earphones?

He'll kill me if I don't hear the alarm. I'm supposed to wake him up tomorrow :|

Well there's a smiley, Minseok thinks. This is something new, too. Sleep in the living room. He has a comfy couch there.

Oh... You've been here before, hyung? Kyungsoo asks.

If Minseok squints hard enough, it will be easier to read the underlying how come we never got introduced before? He sees it clearly, though, in the sticker Kyungsoo sends – a bear with wide eyes and a question mark hovering its head. He superimposes Kyungsoo face onto the bear and laughs a little, but he surfaces not too long after. Silence is a language Kyungsoo speaks, and Minseok wouldn't want to be misinterpreted.

He has an answer prepared, anyway – he shares Kibum's need to compartmentalize. He doesn't like mixing his social circles. He doesn't drink coffee with chocolate so sorry, Joonmyun, but I don't like hot mocha. He's been living in his shell for most part of his life and the only time he goes outside of Gangnam is when he visits his sister in Yeouido, or catches a show with Joonmyun somewhere. He's never needed to have a life outside of Apgeujong, Yeouido, and Insadong, so he stayed inside the lines he'd drawn with his own hands. It's possible for two people with common interests to not find each other until life decides, after grumbling loud enough for those two people to hear, to make them collide.

Joonmyun is the only thing Minseok replies with. Kyungsoo's reply is equally curt – Right. Minseok stares at the screen longer than he should, waiting for a reply, but it never comes. Instead, fatigue creeps up to him, tugs at his eyelids and presses down on his shoulders.

Sing to yourself. It always helps me sleep, Minseok says, then. After a while, he adds, Rest well. Hope you won't have Kibum dreams!

Well I can't hear his mumbling from the living room. Thanks for the tip, hyung, Kyungsoo replies. A short text in small font appears at the bottom of the screen, just above the input box. It reads, Do Kyungsoo is typing a message.

Go to bed, hyung. Old people need to sleep.

Minseok scoffs, but the smile on his lips isn't fooling anyone. He certainly isn't fooling himself.

Good night, Do Kyungsoo, he types, then pauses to let his fingers hover. Feeling his hands again, he continues, Sweet dreams.

☄

"So your friend Kibum agreed to take Sehun's morning classes," Jongdae says as a greeting. The follow up is quick, with Jongdae offering a warm mug of coffee to Minseok. "He's… rather hyper after one cup."

Rather hyper isn't something Minseok hears from Jongdae often. The last time he'd used it was with Baekhyun, and even then Jongdae sounded apprehensive, like he wasn't sure if he should've gone with 'fucking noisy' instead. Jongdae isn't lying, though, because when Minseok enters the staff pantry Kibum greets him with a bright smile and an equally bright, "Good morning, hyung!"

Minseok sinks his lips into the mug and blows at the liquid. The scent of coffee doesn't quite reach his nostrils. He'll have to try harder.

"Hey," he begins. He takes a sip, then offers Kibum a smile. "You're early."

"Could've sworn boss said the same thing," Kibum mumbles but envelops Minseok in a hug, anyway. Kibum makes sure, though, to take the mug from Minseok's hands and slide the bag slung over his shoulder before pulling him close for an embrace. "You people here should be more awake at this hour. Six in the morning? People are already flocking the convenience store at this hour!"

Sehun motions to raise a hand behind Kibum, but Minseok widens his eyes at him and mouths don't say a word. "Yeah. We're lazy asses," Minseok says. "Good thing we have you around, huh?"

"Yeah. Good thing." Kibum points at Minseok, then winks. "I knew I could trust you to tell the truth."

Kibum turns on his heel, then, and takes his glass of water outside. He waves at the two, then excuses himself to take a walk around the gym. Only then does Sehun turn to Minseok with furrowed eyebrows and a question written in the way he furrows his eyebrows. "What the hell just happened?"

"Two things you have to know about Kibummie, since you'll be working closely with him." Minseok cranes his neck to check if Kibum's within an earshot, then takes a deep breath once he sees Kibum near the machines. That's a good twenty feet away or more. It helps that Kibum doesn't have the best hearing if he doesn't put his heart and mind into it. "First: he doesn't gloat about himself. He lets other people do that for him."

Sehun bites a piece off of his hard-boiled egg, a corner of his mouth twisting with every chew. "I don't know how anything can be worse than that."

"He picks up every single thing so the eye rolls?" Minseok shakes his head, slow and deliberate. "None of that, Sehun. Don't let him see you do that."

"If I fart, will he think it's because I want to scare him off?"

He puts his mug down on the table and cocks an eyebrow at Sehun. "Please don't do that."

"I'm just saying, hyung." Sehun walks over and hands Minseok one egg, still unpeeled. He's quick to get table napkins, too. One thing about Sehun that most people overlook – the fact that for all of the snark and the snide remarks, he's actually an absolute sweetheart. "Well, it's not as if he's a bad guy. Pretty sure he's okay. I mean, you keep him around."

"He's just weird sometimes," Minseok answers. Sehun snorts in response. "I mean, all of my friends are weird."

Sehun does a curtsy and pours Minseok more coffee. "Thank you, hyung. I think you're weird, too."

If, by 'weird', Sehun means 'interesting', then Minseok's glad to say Sehun isn't the only one who thinks that. Kyungsoo shares the same impression of Minseok, although Minseok isn't sure how Kyungsoo was able to form that conclusion. He won't doubt Sehun's words – he's worked with Sehun for years. He's held back Sehun's bangs when Sehun threw up after drinking too much and has seen Sehun undergo too many hair color changes that he couldn't count them with his fingers and toes anymore. And Sehun has seen him get into and out of a slump, both involving extended sessions in the yoga room. He hadn't forgotten to take breaks because spending too much time in the hot rooms were a health hazard, after all, and if he ever caught himself getting carried away, it would be because he was running through a routine in his head, imagining spreading his arms wide and hopping from one place to another.

It would be because he's dancing in his head, and only there. He'd never allow his eyes to catch sight of his reflection on the mirror moving the way he used to. He's not allowed that leisure. He has no right to enjoy that, not yet.

"On a scale of one to ten, though, who's weirder – me or Jongdae?"

Sehun frowns. "Hyung, he's our boss. We can't call him weird."

He's here, Minseok mouths to Sehun, and Sehun quickly slips out of the pantry to look for KIbum.

"Someone's in a good mood at an early hour," comes Jongdae's greeting – a real one now, instead of the casual narration he'd slipped earlier. Jongdae inches closer, his mug cradled in his hand. He slips right beside Minseok, nudging Minseok in his side with his elbow. "The past few weeks, actually. You've been…"

"Looking younger?" Minseok takes a sip of his coffee. Sehun's timing has always been good when it comes to refilling his cup – he was running close to the bottom earlier. "The shit Nature Republic says is actually true, then. I was pretty skeptical when they said their moisturizer for men is the best in the market–"

"I called your landline last night, hyung. Wanted to ask you about the parcel Joonmyun-hyung sent me." Jongdae rubs the tip of his nose. "Nobody answered."

Minseok gulps hard. His throat feels oddly dry, but he likes to drink his coffee as slowly as possible, taking his sweet time to enjoy the brown liquid. "I knew I was forgetting something."

Jongdae snorts. It's not a good snort – this one makes Jongdae sound like he doubts Minseok, and that he has every right to. It's true, though – Minseok must have forgotten something last night. He forgot he's in late thirties and that he shouldn't be hanging out along the Han with other thirty-somethings. He forgot to not eat too much juk. He forgot, more than anything else, to bring gloves. Good thing Kyungsoo was generous and let him share the warm space in his pocket.

Good thing Kyungsoo's fingers were warm; his smile, even more.

"And then there's this Kibum person all of a sudden–" Jongdae laughs this time, like he can't believe himself anymore. It makes Minseok's insides turn and lodges something at his throat. His inhale is sharp but choked. If Jongdae ever notices, he doesn't bring it up. Instead, he keeps his eyes on his feet, head titled just a little so that Minseok can catch a glimpse of his face. "I didn't even know you made friends outside your tiny circle, hyung. To think that my family actually raised you and I was actually supposed to… be your brother or something–"

"I'm sorry for not telling you everything," Minseok mumbles. He lays his mug down on the table, careful not to shake the cup too much. There's hardly anything there anymore and he can finish everything in one gulp, but he's never been good at finishing things. He eyes the dark liquid with interest and squints when he sees his reflection in it. "I'm sorry for not telling you about this Kibum person who's actually just a friend," he continues, moving closer to where Jongdae is. Jongdae cocks an eyebrow at him, and he tries hard not to cackle at the look Jongdae is giving him. The tension in his throat eases at the tickling sensation crawling up its walls. "Jesus, Jongdae, Kibum's the last person I'd think of getting together with. Besides, he's spent the past five years trying to woo Sunyoung–"

"Sunyoung. The… the girl taking care of Minyoungie?"

Minseok nods, then grins. "He doesn't really have to, though. The only thing Sunyoung's waiting for is… for Kibum to say it."

Jongdae scoffs. "Okay, now I know why you're friends."

Minseok cocks an eyebrow at Jongdae. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Jongdae shifts in his seat, then turns to his side so that he's facing Minseok. "It means," he begins, then pinches Minseok in his side. It packs enough force to make Minseok wince in pain, enough to make Minseok forget about his coffee and focus on Jongdae and nobody else. "It means that you're not slow; you just pretend to be slow. And that you'll sit in at Kibum's class later because try as you may, you can't stay away from dancing."

Minseok grumbles, lips pressed together in a tight frown. "You already planted the seed. If I turn up, it's because of you."

"And if you don't, it's because you want to prove me wrong." Jongdae chuckles. "C'mon, hyung, I need a bit of a challenge here! This can't be too easy! I need a mystery to solve!"

Then solve mine, he wants to say, but he isn't the type to willingly offer his troubles just so people could find a new thrill in their lives. His shit is his to figure out and his to fix. He shouldn't be bothering people with his troubles. There are certain things in his life that he'd like to keep to himself – what keeps him up at night, what makes him get up in the morning. What freaks him out in the dead of the night even if he's always been fond of darkness, and what scares him just as much in broad daylight. The way watching Sehun dance Zumba, with all his weird facial expressions and all, makes him miss moving the same way. The way Kyungsoo can drag him into some stupid victory dance and the way he doesn't put up a fight.

"You're crazy," Minseok mumbles, instead, and ruffles Jongdae's hair. Later, he'll tell Jongdae that he has to leave early tomorrow to make it to Minyoung's exhibit, but he'll never tell him about Kyungsoo. He'd like to keep some secrets to himself – the truth about Kyungsoo is the best-kept secret of all.

☄

Minseok likes to think he's entitled to a few episodes of memory lapse. He knows his daily schedule like the back of his hand, but interruptions to his routine in the form of Do Kyungsoo still catch him off-guard. It's been a close to two months now and he thinks, he really thinks, he's got the timing down by this time, but short messages from Kyungsoo still jump out at him and make his breath hitch. Hyung, about the favor, it's okay if you don't want to but if you change your mind– Kyungsoo cut it off there, and it took Minseok a few good seconds to realize that there was nothing coming. If he wanted to find out the rest, he'd have to weed it out of Kyungsoo, extract water from stone.

Sehun used to do ballet. He has a class tomorrow at noon. Maybe you'd want to watch? he texts, then, and stretches his legs in front of him in the staff pantry.

Can't. Ingress tomorrow, Kyungsoo says. Right, how could he forget? He'd walked up to Jongdae earlier and told him about tomorrow's exhibit at Lucky. Jongdae gripped him tight by the arm and said, in his voice dripping of hero-worship, I'm so proud of you. He drums his fingers on the table, wincing when his nails scratch the surface. If Kibum was here, he'd probably be kicking Minseok under the table already.

He's guiding Kibummie today before he finally goes on leave, Minseok types after a while. Not that Kyungsoo needs to know, but he knows better than to leave out details. But it's a late night session, 8pm. Do you have time?

You'll regret this, he tells himself as soon as he hits 'send'. You'll regret it even more if you don't, a voice in his mind answers.

So it doesn't come as a surprise when Kyungsoo shows up at the doorstep of the gym at 7:30, a bottle of Gatorade tucked in his arms. He waves at Minseok with his free hand, then offers Kibum a wry smile when they make eye contact. He greets Minseok with a curt smile, doesn't say anything until Kibum slides between them and slings an arm over Kyungsoo's shoulder.

"I came here for him, not for you," Kyungsoo mumbles, quick and sharp. Kibum growls at him. The smile on his lips – a small upward tug at the corners – is unrelenting.

"I shouldn't have let you two meet–" Kibum bumps arms into Kyungsoo's, and Kyungsoo retaliates by gripping Kibum by the wrist. "–and let you two become friends–"

"We'd have met, anyway," Kyungsoo answers, then traps Kibum in a headlock. Minseok takes a deep, shaky breath. He can't say he doesn't agree.

Kyungsoo becomes quiet company as they shuffle to the back of the dance room. His eyes wander, though, and it takes a nudge from Minseok to snap Kyungsoo out of his trance and to throw him a look. His eyes are wide; his lips just parted in a small 'o'. "Hyung?" he says, voice barely above a whisper. Minseok rests a hand on the small of his back and guides him to a corner of the room.

Minseok leans in, and Kyungsoo tilts his head as in invitation. "We'll get a better view here," he whispers in Kyungsoo's ear, then leans back against the wall. "Unless you want to get front-row seats. I can get us tickets."

Kyungsoo cocks an eyebrow and a corner of his mouth quirks up. "Oh? Can you do that with real tickets, too?"

Minseok chuckles and pinches Kyungsoo in his side. "I can try."

The first quarter of the session is when Kyungsoo is most focused. His eyebrows furrow as soon as the music starts. The tight press of his lips against each other turns into an amused smirk when Sehun starts moving and Kibum marches in place, matching Sehun's moves. This is a new routine, Minseok notes – if he's ever heard or seen Sehun do this before, he hasn't paid enough attention. It's not as if he stays long enough to watch Sehun carry out an entire routine. His best record is ten minutes; his worst, just two.

"I was hoping to paint ballet, but I guess beggars can't be choosers," Kyungsoo whispers when the music dies down a little. Kibum doesn't catch it, doesn't lose concentration, eyes still focused on his reflection on the mirror. If he's ever lost, it's in the moment, in the heavy beats of their Zumba music. He's swaying his hips as Sehun runs the participants through the next eight counts. "Just curious: did you ever–"

"No."

Kyungsoo shrugs. "Shame. You probably would've looked good in those–"

He nudges Kyungsoo in his side, elbow pressing down on Kyungsoo's flesh harder. Kyungsoo doesn't wince, though; he's chuckling, giggling, like he's actually enjoying the pain. The light vibrations send a familiar sizzle of heat down Minseok's abdomen. "Tight suits? I wear those during yoga."

Kyungsoo shifts in his position and moves closer. Their knees bump, and Minseok seethes at the jolt of electricity that courses through his thigh. It numbs him for a moment – one, two, three seconds – and then Kyungsoo's leaning in, leaning closer. The music grows louder and Minseok isn't quite sure if it's just the beat of the dance that's getting to him or if his pulse is beating strongly in his palms, his thumbs, his neck. If there's loud thumping in his chest that is from this music – Kyungsoo's even breathing and the languid movement of his tongue swiping on his bottom lip, the steady tapping of Kyungsoo's fingers on the floor. Minseok's uneven breathing and the light chatter of his teeth.

"I keep forgetting," Kyungsoo whispers, pausing to suck in his lower lip when Minseok licks the corners of his mouth. "That you teach yoga."

Minseok tries to chuckle, but what comes out instead is a strained, choked sound. "Funny, because that's my job."

"You're more than that, though." Kyungsoo moves his fingers, makes them dance and cut the distance between the two of them, stopping only when Kyungsoo's hand is already cupping Minseok's knee. "You're… you're not just a yoga instructor."

"What am I, then?" It's a stupid question, Minseok tells himself, because he knows who he is. He's Kim Minseok, a yoga instructor who still needs to learn too many lessons in life. Someone who appreciates art and knows the technicalities of it. He's Kim Minseok, the kid who once dreamed to be a dancer until he grew up and never grew out of the accident that killed his parents. The kid who grew up too fast but never learned his lesson. Shame on you, Minseok, he tells himself.

"Who am I to you," he asks when Kyungsoo doesn't answer.

Kyungsoo's response is wide eyes, a light upward tug of the lip, and laughter bubbling at his plump red lips.

"You're an interesting person, hyung. You're my friend." Kyungsoo rubs circles on Minseok's knee and really, Minseok never knew he was ticklish here, but it's not as if he knows himself inside and out. It's a dark and creepy place, the deepest recesses of his mind, and he taps out at the first sign of falling deep into it. He knows that there's no escaping the dark fortress, so he attempts to escape even before he can go deeper. He lets Jongdae open his eyes to things about himself because Jongdae never lies. If he ever does, it's for Minseok's own good.

"And you're funny." Kyungsoo chuckles. His hot breath catches on the tip of Minseok's nose and only then does he realize how close they are, how the foot-long distance between them earlier has been narrowed to this, just a split second decision keeping them apart. He can lean in if he wants to, or he can lean back, but he doesn't know what he wants yet. He doesn't know what Kyungsoo wants or needs or what he's looking for. So he stays still even as Kyungsoo snakes his hand up, cold fingers sliding up his thigh. "Very cute and funny."

Minseok's breath hitches when Kyungsoo's thumb grazes his inner thigh. "Is this payback for calling you cute before?"

"You remembered?" Kyungsoo laughs a little. It isn't dry this time. Minseok's the only one with a dry throat betrayed by the rough clenching of its muscles and it stings, because there are things he's supposed to say but can't. They're all there, lodged at his throat, and they can crawl up its walls and spill from his tongue if he tries hard enough, but– "That was weeks ago."

"I'm not that old to forget things easily, you know," Minseok retorts. He narrows his eyes at Kyungsoo, hoping to break the spell, but Kyungsoo doesn't break away just yet.

"I don't think you ever forget things," Kyungsoo whispers. He looks around, and only then does Minseok remember that they're in public, that there are at least twenty other people around them who can see them through the reflection on the glass. That Kibum's here, and Kibum knows them both, and Kibum knows what this looks like – Minseok's bottom lip trapped between his teeth, Kyungsoo's hand stroking Minseok's thigh. That he shouldn't be thinking of finishing kissing Kyungsoo because that's not what friends do. "You just tell people that you do to save them the trouble of having to save face."

Minseok takes a leap of faith and brushes his knuckles lightly against Kyungsoo's cheek. "You're so wise, little one. Sometimes, I forget that you're much younger than me."

Kyungsoo rolls his eyes. "Three years isn't a big gap, hyung." The same way that these three inches between their lips aren't safe enough a distance. The same way that Minseok can still feel the heat of Kyungsoo's skin even with their knees no longer touching. "I know people your age who think like kids."

Minseok snorts. "Tell me about it."

"Some other time," Kyungsoo whispers. He tilts his head a little, in Kibum's direction. "Can you get us tickets to the front, hyung?"

"Don't push it," Minseok replies, too sharp and too quick. The light jut of Kyungsoo's bottom lip catches him off guard. "We have to do it as quietly as possible or else Sehun will kick us out."

The corners of Kyungsoo's mouth tug up in response, and then he's wrapping his fingers around Minseok's wrist, pulling him up. He lets Minseok lead, though, lets Minseok show him the best path to take to get to the front. They look like kids placing Marco-Polo Freeze, trying not to make any noise so that the "it" won't be able to find them. They feel like kids and shit, Minseok thinks – he likes this. He hasn't felt like this in a while, living so dangerously with the risk of having Sehun and Kibum harp at him about this encounter. He likes the way Kyungsoo's warmth seeps into his skin and tickles him, makes him shiver, summons the softest, faintest laughter from him. The loudest, most violent thumping in his chest.

"Sit," Minseok whispers, lips grazing Kyungsoo's ear just lightly when they finally sit at a corner in front. Kibum only risks a glance at them but Minseok catches that small, traitorous smile. He catches the sharp intake of breath from Kyungsoo, too, and the way the corners of his lips curl up when Sehun's dancing picks up pace and he gets this game face on. He catches, without meaning to, the pads of Kyungsoo's fingers, and doesn't pull away when Kyungsoo inches closer and shields their intertwined fingers from everyone's view.

He catches himself gasping when Kyungsoo says, with lips pressed to the back of his ear, "Best seats in the house." He doesn't have to look to his side to know that Kyungsoo is grinning. He felt it earlier, the slow-forming smile on Kyungsoo's lips against his skin.

He swallows hard and keeps his eyes on the dance, doesn't think of anything else. He keeps a hand on his chest to keep his heart in check, as well.

☄

The rule when going to exhibits is to come an hour after the opening. The catering hype would have died down by then, and those interested enough for a chat will still be there. He's discovered Kibum's affinity for weird, seemingly abstract paintings this way, after Kibum went on to elaborate on a particular painting of JJ Zamoranos after too much wine. He's seen Joonmyun establish connections and make friends this way, too. The person who designed the cover for EXO's Christmas single? That was done by a freelancer. The choreography was by someone they met at a performance art show. This person right beside Minseok, tugging at his shirt sleeve now to pull him closer – he found this guy through the same manner, too. It's just that he's never kept these random connections too close before Kyungsoo happened.

"You said we're having dinner," Minseok mumbles. "But now you're dragging me to–"

"It'll be fun," Kyungsoo whispers. The smile on his lips is bright, blinding. His lips are as red as his ears. "If it isn't, I'll just make it up to you."

It's the promise that lures Minseok in but the actual show that keeps him glued to his seat. He'd like to think of the performance as a depiction of political struggle, but he can't be too sure. There are too many elements in this one – a character that's 90% black cloth and 10% feet, and then another that looks something ripped off of Miyazaki's Spirited Away. The music takes Minseok to a different world, though, something that doesn't feel anything like the human world they live in. It's ominous. It makes the hair on his nape stand. It makes Kyungsoo's body jerk – just a tiny jerk, and then the light shuffle of his feet – and makes Kyungsoo pull at his shirt sleeve again.

"If this gets ripped, you're getting me a new one." The comment slips from Minseok's so casually that it almost startles him, makes him tear his eyes that are glued to the show unfolding in front of him away from the spectacle to look at Kyungsoo in the eye. Kyungsoo seems to get it, the trance Minseok is in, and doesn't tug again, simply moves closer until they're thigh to thigh, arm to arm. The warm press of their bodies lends a bit of comfort and sends Minseok spiraling back home. It's not a smooth trip – it feels like plummeting back to the ground because shit, the main dancer just took off his top and his fellow dancers are pouring buckets of paint all over his body and he's dancing.

"Wow," Kyungsoo mutters. Minseok almost jumps when Kyungsoo starts slipping his fingers inside the sleeves, but Kyungsoo's in too deep a trance to even notice. His eyes are fixed on the dancer, on every twist of his torso, every pop of his shoulders and sway of his hips. And he's smiling. There's a small smile at the corners of his lips and Minseok wants to punch it off his face, wants to grab Kyungsoo's cheeks and whisper to him, again and again, like a prayer – don't look at him that way, don't look at him, just look at me–

"Wow," Kyungsoo whispers this time, so soft that he could be breathing. He gulps hard and Minseok feels something lodge itself in his throat, a thick lump of something he can't swallow down. "Holy shit, he's good."

Minseok snorts. "Not bad. He has to keep his eyes open, though." The dancer runs from one end of the stage to the other and pushes himself off the floor halfway through, legs spreading wide as he leaps. It's beautiful, there's no denying it, and there's definitely nothing that could ruin the performance. This man is attuned with his craft. He's one with the music and his limbs know this beat more than his mind does. He's dancing, and he is dancing. Minseok almost shivers when the man finally opens his eyes and cuts him wide open with that vacant stare.

"He's got them open, now."

"He's good," Minseok mumbles, doesn't admit that this dancer is amazing. The dancer spreads his arms wide, makes his chest pop out, then tucks it back in. His fingers are still moving in tiny ripples and he's moving Minseok, and– "He should be careful where he steps. He might fall."

Kyungsoo exhales loud enough for Minseok to hear. "Joonmyun-hyung's right. You're anal about these things." He worries his bottom lip then turns to look at Minseok, finally, finally, finally meeting him in the eye. "If you hate it so much then why don't you do the dance, yourself?"

He cocks an eyebrow. "I didn't say I hate it–"

"You didn't have to, hyung. Knit eyebrows, that really ugly frown–" Kyungsoo chuckles. "You're painfully obvious."

Minseok parts his lips, hoping to argue, but words leave him just as soon as Kyungsoo's lips quirk up into a smirk. Kyungsoo wraps his fingers around Minseok's wrist, and only then does he remember that Kyungsoo has invaded the inside of his shirt sleeves with his tiny fingers. His thumb is cold; the rest of his fingers, not so much. It's a strange mix and Kyungsoo is strange. And Minseok's friends are supposed to be strange and weird and interesting. Minseok hasn't met anyone like Kyungsoo who can cut himself up into pieces and choose to show only this lukewarm side of him.

Or maybe Kyungsoo's all warm and he's the one who has turned cold. He can't tell, not right now, not in the cold air of autumn. Not with this show unfolding in front of him. He looks away but has some trouble committing to it, sneaking a glance before he can turn his head the other way. "You're paying for dinner. You can't say no."

"No."

"Are you testing me?"

Kyungsoo slips his hand down, warm fingers covering Minseok's own. "No," he answers, still smiling. "But I will tell you to stop being an asshole and just enjoy the show."

Scratch weird and interesting. Kyungsoo is on an entirely different league of his own. Minseok offers a wry smile in response but doesn't brush Kyungsoo off.

He stays silent for the rest of the performance, dropping a comment only when Kyungsoo mumbles something almost incoherent. He watches the main dancer's every movement, every shift of his muscle, every twist and turn and hop and skip and even the way his face contorts in accord with the song he's dancing to. He swallows hard when the dancer spins on one foot, head facing the ceiling, eyes half-mast and searching for something. He balls his hands into fists as the dancer's lips quiver.

He holds his breath when the dancer falls on his knees and curls up on the floor, too many shades of red in the midst of the smidgen of every color possible on the canvas he's on. He holds his breath and wonders what red would look like on his skin, on the pads of his fingers, tracing the narrow grooves on his thumb and leaving a mark on everything he touches.

☄

It doesn't surprise Minseok that Kyungsoo has a lot of things to say about the performance. "I loved the choreography, hated the actual output. It's like they made an excuse to use the dancers and that's it – the performance lost its meaning when the final artwork was shown," Kyungsoo grumbles when they stand from their seats. Minseok nods, agreeing wholeheartedly, and notes the hint of a smile at a corner of Kyungsoo's mouth. It's misplaced. It's not at if he's spent a lot of time studying Kyungsoo's lips.

"Oh, that's one of the dancers. He's the…" Minseok squints, leaning closer, then catches the thin red line across the dancer's cheek. "He's the main. Guy on the floor. The one who curled up and looked like he was a newborn kid without a mom."

"I thought you weren't paying attention," Kyungsoo teases. He presses closer, though, hand rested on Minseok's hip. "He looks taller up close."

"Looks taller when he isn't hunching his shoulders," Minseok adds. He tilts his head a little when the dancer looks to his left, then to his right, a light groove surfacing between his eyebrows. "Looks a lot like a lost kid, too."

Kyungsoo snorts. "Think we should help him?"

"I never pegged you as the type who'd willingly offer help," Minseok admits. Kyungsoo socks him in the gut, completely rid of all pretense, but he's smiling that big, bright, wide-eyed smile of his. He looks three years younger and Minseok feels three years too early to give in. He takes a deep breath, then holds Kyungsoo by the wrist. "C'mon. You look so unsettled. Let's help the little kid so you can talk to him about the performance."

"The dance," Kyungsoo reiterates, drawling the last few syllables. Minseok gulps hard at the last note that rings in his ears. "Planning to ask him about it?"

You never talk about dancing, Minseok wants to say. You show people how it's done. You spread your arms wide and tilt your chin up and fuel yourself with anything, anything that drives you and keeps your legs sturdy even when you're standing on tiptoe. The cheers of the people around you, the expectant faces, the big smiles and the flash of the cameras – Minseok lived on these when he was in elementary, got drunk and high on it when he was in high school. He learned to hate the flashing lights just before graduating because Mr. Kim, is it true that your family got into the crash while trying to rush to your performance? Is it true that you–

"Hyung," comes Kyungsoo's voice, steady, unwavering. Minseok resurfaces, taking a deep breath as he turns to Kyungsoo with lips pressed tightly together. "Stop doing that. I can't lose you."

"You won't lose me." You're holding onto me. You haven't let go of my hand. "Come on, let's help the kid. I'll do the intro and you take care of the rest."

Kyungsoo nods, the corners of his mouth that were once pulled down easing into an easy smile. He hiccups. "I'll… need your help," he mumbles, scratching the back of his neck. "I'm not good at this."

It doesn't show, though, when they finally take a step closer to approach the dancer. The dancer is apprehensive at first, doubt written in the way he furrows his eyebrows. But there's relief, too, in the shy twist of his mouth because he is lost. "I took too long to pee and my group went, uh, poof or something," he says, words stumbling on each other.

The dancer worries his bottom lip and Kyungsoo's eyes twitch. It's too small a movement that if Minseok so much as looked away for a second, gave in to the allure of the slow movement of Kyungsoo's lips as he introduced himself to the dancer, he'd have missed it. But he still has his eyes glued on his Kyungsoo and his mind in this conversation, looking for a way to bring himself back and get his head in the situation instead of being trapped in his own little world.

"We can show you the way out," Minseok says after a while, mustering a smile. He takes two steps forward, and then another. He catches the dancer's gaze – the way it falls on his shoulders, tracing the curve of his body, then settling on his feet. "To the exit at front, at least. The artist exit is blocked from here. It's supposed to be around that arc–"

"You… dance?" the dancer asks. He looks up at Minseok and Minseok's breath hitches. He can see himself there, smack in the middle of the kid's irises. The kid is looking down at him and smiling and– "I'm sorry, that probably sounded weird. I mean, the way you–" The dancer shakes his shoulders. "Move. Like that. It's subtle but it's there. I just know it. I can see it. I've trained for years and… yeah."

Your training has paid off, kid, Minseok wants to say. Instead, he chuckles. "Before. Years ago. When I was much younger than you." He extends a hand in the dancer's direction. "Kim Minseok. If you're… looking at being a choreographer or anything, I might be able to hook you up with some contacts."

Beside him, Kyungsoo laughs a little. The dancer stares at him with wide eyes. "I signed a contract with this show but, uh–" He chuckles. "Kim Jongin. Such a pleasure to meet you. You're… You should dance again!" Jongin takes a deep breath, the shy smile that once pulled up at the corners of his lips just a little tugging up at them all the way now. "Minseok-hyung – is it okay if I call you that?"

He laughs – short hiccups that bloom into something bigger, shriller, brighter. Minseok laughs until he can't feel his cheeks anymore. He laughs because there's nothing else to call him, really, and because this was him two decades ago. He was Kim Jongin when he was in middle school, except smaller. Pocket-sized, as Jongdae once put it. He wore the same brand of confidence, the same thirst for meeting people and establishing connections with them, dancing with them.

Don't fly too high, kid, he wants to tell Jongin. Don't fly too far. Stay close to the ground–

"He has a calling card," Kyungsoo adds. He takes out his wallet, hands Jongin the card Minseok had given him the day they saw each other in Kibum's exhibit. He takes it back halfway through, though, and pulls out a thin marker from his pocket. He crosses off one item there. It's impossible to see when Kyungsoo's shielding the card from everyone's view with his free hand, and it's a quick enough doodle that doesn't give Minseok time to crane his neck for a peek. "He's busy most weekends. He's a… pretty important person."

Minseok inches closer to Kyungsoo until they're pressed together, arm to arm, knuckles digging into each other's skin. "Casual reminder that you're not my manager."

"Casual reminder that he was waiting for you to give him your contact number." Kyungsoo turns to Jongin with a small smile and shakes his outstretched hand. "I just made things easier."

But easy doesn't always result to something good. Easy isn't memorable. Easy isn't remarkable. Easy isn't what has gotten Minseok to the peak of his dancing stint; it was what sent him crashing down all at once.

But it's the way he and Kyungsoo met – a completely unassuming conversation in a restaurant about a fucked up dance routine. Bumping into each other in a friend's exhibit. Kyungsoo asking for Minseok's help to pose for his new painting. Minseok not giving in, but not declining altogether, either.

"Oh, here's mine," Jongin says, then, when Minseok turns to him with a tight-lipped smile, then hands him his own card with two hands. Minseok accepts the card and runs a thumb along the writing on the board. Jongin excuses himself to catch up with his groupmates, and Kyungsoo rests a hand on the small of Minseok's back as Minseok studies the characters on the card.

He turns it over and laughs a little. Jongin's thumb mark in a bright shade of red glares at him, grins at him.

☄

The first thing that registers in his mind when he gets home is the comfort his bed brings; the second, that it's only eleven in the evening. It's hardly even his normal idea of 'nighttime'.

He turns over to lie on his back, a dot of light flashing on his phone. Blue means a text message or maybe an email from Joonmyun; green can mean anything. One quick glance and two beeps, and then he's picking up his phone, unlocking it, keying in a code. It's been becoming increasingly easier to move his thumbs on his screen, type up a message, send a text. He can even do it with his eyes closed now. It's a normal skill for some people, but for someone who loathes doing anything on his phone save for watching videos and blasting music while cleaning, it's a feat.

For the most part, it's the fact that his thumbs don't ache as much anymore when he has to text out in the open, with the cool autumn wind blowing against his face. It takes three days to form a habit, they say. It takes a leap of faith to even think of forming one, Minseok thinks.

Forgot to get another card from you, hyung, Kyungsoo says on KKT. No punctuations, so this could mean two things – either he still has something to say or he's already sleepy. It's only eleven in the evening; it's too early for both of them to be in their respective houses and not walking along some body of water. Can I get one from you tomorrow? At the exhibit?

Not my fault, Minseok types. He taps his thumb on the screen, the light scratch of his nail against the surface making him wince. What did you cross off by the way? I mean, why didn't you just give him the card?

The real question is why didn't you let me come around and give my number to him, instead? It's the exact statement that's been bubbling on his lips from when Kyungsoo took the tiny cardboard from his wallet and handed it to Jongin. It doesn't make sense – Kyungsoo could've nudged Minseok, could've stepped on his foot. Could have called him out out in the open and said, with a teasing grin, "Hyung, you're making him wait. It's not nice." Kyungsoo has a habit of snapping him back to reality in an instant, and getting him into a trance the next. Surely, Kyungsoo's capable of something as simple as that.

Your mobile number, Kyungsoo answers, curt and honest. Your email and landline are still there. A sticker of some white blob doing a peace sign, and then a retraction – I meant to send you the poop sticker, sorry. Minseok stares at his screen for a few good seconds, until the screen fades to black. Here, lying flat on his back, eyes reflected in the dark screen of his phone, he can see himself clearly. He can see the small smile on his lips, that small, traitorous smile that's tugging up at the corners of his mouth. And he's grinning. He's grinning at his own reflection and Jongdae's right – he's weird. He has weird friends. The friendship he has with them, even weirder.

He presses the home button of his phone and Kyungsoo's poop sticker greets him. Kyungsoo means, Well, that was a shitty answer. Come here, I'll drag you into this mess and figuratively dump shit on you. I'm doing this out of love, hyung. Minseok sends a sticker of a confused little duck. He's pretty sure it's the best sticker to capture his current state.

We're not doing a sticker war, hyung, Kyungsoo retorts, then sends a 'get ready' sticker. Minseok rolls flat on his stomach and buries his face in his pillows.

Bad decision, he tells himself when he feels the pillow case mimic the movement of his lips, the slow-forming smile, the grin.

He looks up and sends an angry bear sticker in response. If this is war, then he's already lost a limb. If this is a dance, then, Kyungsoo's right in front of him, staring at him straight in the eye, saying, "Will you take the leap, hyung? Will you take my hand?"

Dance with me?

☄

Minseok wouldn't say he's anti-social – it's just that he tries to avoid social situations as much as possible. He's fine with dealing with a huge group of people in a class, but leave him in the middle of a crowd, people he doesn't know and probably won't see again in the next two, three months, and he gets a bit of a panic attack. The air is thick and the lights are blinding and they won't stop flashing, and the photographers won't stop clicking their damned shutters and Minseok can't see through the lights anymore even if he squints.

"Careful," comes a familiar voice, then someone's pulling him to the side. The touch is comfortable enough that Minseok doesn't even think of shaking it off. He knows these fingers, the hot and cold touch. It can only be Kyungsoo. "You wouldn't want to get caught in the camera crossfire."

"Thanks," Minseok mumbles, then gives Kyungsoo a once-over. "You're… You look great."

'Great' is an understatement – Kyungsoo looks stunning. In slacks and dress shoes, his legs look a bit longer. He looks taller, more confident when he tilts his chin up and gives Minseok one of his careful, assessing stares. He's wearing a lilac polo – not a color Minseok would normally wear, but it looks good on Kyungsoo. The pink dusting on his cheeks, Kyungsoo will choke it up to poor lighting and not from the fact that there are too many people around them. His hair is gelled back and Minseok can see the sharp angles of his jaw, the column of his neck that disappears behind the collar of his polo and a nice, slim tie.

This isn't Kyungsoo playing dress up anymore. This is Do Kyungsoo, renowned painter and artist. This is Do Kyungsoo, the same man who said that the dance really sucked, it looked so half-assed the day Minseok met him in a Greek restaurant in Insadong. This is Do Kyungsoo, the same man who asked Minseok to pose for him in his next painting, asked Minseok to dance for him.

"Thanks," Kyungsoo says, voice dropping to a whisper. He looks around for an audience before slipping his hand further south, from Minseok's wrist to the back of his hand. The pads of his fingers are cold as he slips them between the webs of Minseok's own. Minseok's breath hitches. Kyungsoo just doesn't want to get lost, that's all. "You're not so bad, yourself."

Feeling more confident, he nudges Kyungsoo in his side. "Wouldn't hurt to say, hyung, you look dashing–"

"Out of this world," Kyungsoo finishes. There's a small smile on his lips, so faint that Minseok would have probably missed it if he didn't know every quirk of Kyungsoo's mouth, the wicked contours of his body. Light still shines on this part of the hall but doesn't quite reach them, simply casts a warm glow on Kyungsoo and wow. Wow, Minseok thinks as he traces the slow, languid movement of the corners of Kyungsoo's lips, as Kyungsoo, very slowly, grins, tight-pressed lips falling open. His bottom lip is chapped and there's a line of blood there, just a short line, probably from Kyungsoo biting on it too much. There's no catch light on Kyungsoo's eyelids, no slivers of light filtering through his eyelashes, but Minseok can still appreciate the tiny details of Kyungsoo's face, the steady rhythm of Kyungsoo's thumb rubbing circles on the back of his hand.

He can hear music now, a slow beat, each four counts apart. He can feel the shift of his muscles and the way Kyungsoo tenses when he pulls away, only to rest both hands on Kyungsoo's hips. He leans in, closer, closer, closer, stopping only when he feels the heat of Kyungsoo's skin hover his own. "Lead the way."

Kyungsoo looks over his shoulder, just a light tilt of the head, then turns to look at the narrow path ahead of them. To their right, the crowd begins to thicken as the start of the ceremony draws closer. "Straight ahead," Kyungsoo whispers, then takes small steps forward – one, two, three – until they find a comfortable rhythm and find their way out of the ruckus. A few more steps and they arrive at the auditorium, bright lights greeting them yet again. This time, though, they're focused on the stage, its wooden floors. Sunyoung is acting as host, and even from this distance Minseok can make out the hint of nervousness and worry in the way her mouth hangs open in an awkward smile.

Minseok waves in her direction. Sunyoung looks up, grins, her smile finally reaching her eyes. The lights can't wash her out now.

Kyungsoo pulls him to the seat reserved for him (and beside his, Kibum's), and excuses himself. "Catch you later, hyung," he whispers, gripping Minseok by his shoulder like Minseok's planning to go somewhere and he won't let him.

Maybe he is. He can be anywhere but here now, at this very moment. In fact, he'd rather be somewhere else, but will he waste all the courage it took for him to get himself out of bed, then out of the gym just to get here? Will he waste another opportunity to act like the brother that he should be and not bail out on another awards ceremony? He's been doing the same shit for the past five, ten years; he's exhausted all excuses possible. He's tired of running away, too. It's been five years since he last saw Minyoung receive an award for being the 'most creative'. He didn't stay long enough congratulate her, though, just heard the news from Sunyoung.

If it were any other person receiving the award, it won't mean much. But everything means a lot to Minyoung. When almost everything has been taken away from you and you're given the chance to a piece of it back, you grab the opportunity. You seize every moment. And Minseok lives through the bright smile Minyoung wears whenever she goes up on stage to a receive an award, to prove everyone wrong that a person who's been traumatized by an accident can still live if she really wants to.

He shifts in his seat and looks at the unoccupied seats beside his. Kibum's name glares at him in big, bright characters. He shouldn't be left alone with all these lights focused on him.

Sunyoung introduces the staff, the management, key people who have made this event possible. The volunteer teachers are on stage, too, and there's a bit of an irony here, in the way Kyungsoo carries himself. Kyungsoo looks so small, surrounded by all these tall people, but the way he tilts his head just a little, the way he wears a tight-lipped smile, wide and bright, as he faces the people and addresses applause – he looks so tall. With a presence so big, he can drown out all other people here. He has the capacity to do so, to maneuver his way into each and everyone's lives with a curt nod, a small smile, the light brush of knuckles against knuckles, and the faintest hint of his laughter. He's capable of conquering the world like this if he wanted to.

The microphone is then handed to Kyungsoo – applause from the 'students', wide grins from everyone else – and Kyungsoo draws it close to his lips to speak. "Good evening, everyone," he begins, then clears his throat. "Thank you for sparing time for us, to be with us. All of you must have been busy, so we really appreciate your attendance and your support. These kids– These students here, you don't know how much your presence means for them. So we have to make them not only understand, but also to see it. Feel it with their own hands. Because when you lose one sense, the other four, five senses are kicked into overdrive."

Kyungso gulps hard, wets his lips as he licks them. Minseok takes a deep breath. "The art pieces you'll see later, those are manifestations of what they feel. An expression of what they can otherwise express in words. So I urge you to give each piece enough time and attention. I urge you to feel the art and not just look at it."

Experiencing, not showing. Minseok chuckles. This sounds familiar, so familiar, in fact, that he finds himself mouthing Kyungsoo's next words.

"I urge you to do art, and make it part of your everyday life." Kyungsoo pauses again, this time to search for something, someone in the crowd. It isn't so apparent with the distance between them, but Minseok has every movement of every muscle in Kyungsoo's face memorized like the back of his hand. If there was a quiz for it, he'd be a perfect ten. "No matter what form, or however you want to do it– Make art a part of you life."

Something sour and cold crawls up Minseok's throat. He wants to throw up, throw a tantrum, walk up to the stage and say, wish it was that easy. But Kyungsoo has heard the 'easy' argument before and maybe he's sick of it. Maybe he's sick and tired of it the way Minseok is of constantly having to find ways on how to avoid mentions of dancing, or seeing people move about when there's music at every corner, movement waltzing around him in a thick crowd, in the gym, everywhere he looks. It's like a ghost of the past, so unforgiving that it will neither let you breathe nor catch a break.

Minseok coughs, a hand clasped over his mouth, in an effort to temper his voice. Kyungsoo presses on with his speech, and Kibum arrives five minutes before Kyungsoo comes down from the stage.

Music comes to an abrupt rise in the background, and then there's fanfare. People clapping, signifying the start of the awarding ceremonies. Minseok claps, too, in appreciation, even if the long list of awards isn't something you'd usually proud of. Most industrious, best in attendance, most patient, most kind. Most helpful and most accommodating, then most creative. Minyoung bags that again, for the second year in a row, and then another that Minseok can't remember because he's too focused on watching Minyoung climb the stairs, walk up to the stage, a big grin on her lips as she gives the head a curt nod and she's made to wear the medal.

"Hyung," comes Kibum's low voice, faint, almost inaudible. It isn't the flashing lights that catches his attention; it's Kibum's grip on his arm, an uncomfortable squeeze. "Go. Take a picture with her. She'll–"

"Have forgotten me by now," Minseok finishes. He doesn't take off the smile, though, not yet. The stretch at the corners stings, but the pain is manageable. "It's okay, I'll just take a picture of here from here–"

He catches Sunyoung's gaze and looks away. Kibum kicks him in the back of his shoes. He makes a mental note to make Kibum suffer as soon as he's done with his brotherly duties. He pushes himself up from his seat, then, and walks down the aisle, chin held up high. He tries to avoid the curious stares, but it's difficult – when you have a hundred people murmuring about you, it's hard not to look in the direction of the source, answer a question that has been up in the air for the longest time. Didn't he appear in some show before? Isn't he that… that kid in the child version of So You Think You Can Dance?

That spin-off ended years ago, Minseok says in his mind. It would probably feel great to say, all the regret disappeared years ago. I'm better now. Been living some of the best months of my life.

He meets Minyoung at the foot of the stairs to the stage and whispers, "Hi, Minyoungie."

Minyoung… looks like she's feeling encumbered by the heavy medals around her neck. Those are big plates, he wants to say – he's never seen medal plates this big – but he also wants to ask, do you want me to help you with that? If this Minyoung is like the Minyoung he knew before, the same sister he had before the accident happened, then he's sure Minyoung will decline the offer. Minyoung will scowl, roll her eyes, look away. And then later, she'll slide up next to Minseok and ask, uh, oppa, about that offer–

"Oppa?" she asks. Her eyebrows are furrowed a little. "Op…pa."

It isn't the hesitation in Minyoung's voice that gets to him. It's the surprise, the sliver of shock, that tiny tremble of her eyebrows when she goes on to say, "Hello." It's a simple enough greeting that he can brush it off, but he doesn't. He hasn't seen Minyoung up close in years and yet she still know him, still recognizes him. She still calls him oppa, and Minseok still remembers how Minyoung would drawl the last syllable whenever she was asking for a favor, for more ice cream, more playing time with her favorite brother. He still remembers this smile, the toothy grin Minyoung wears when she can't contain her joy.

She takes a few steps forward, then links their fingers together. Minseok takes a deep, shaky breath, and he can feel his cheeks getting hotter, burning a bright red. His chest feels so heavy and he feels like he might choke anytime, but he still holds his breath. Keeps his eyes locked onto Minyoung's, even if Minyoung is worrying her bottom lip now and asking, with the furrow of her eyebrows, are you alright?

"Picture, sir?" the photographer asks, and Minseok feels a violent breath of life surge back to his lungs. There are other people to be called to the stage, other people who'll ask for this moment to be recorded in a photograph forever. He turns to the photographer with a small smile and whispers, "Please, go ahead."

He pulls Minyoung close and snakes an arm around her shoulder. Minyoung leans into the touch, and Minseok tries hard to not let the smile on his lips falter. If this is the last photo he'll take with Minyoung, it has to be good. It has to be the best that it can be.

The photographer clicks the shutter release, and a quick snap pierces Minseok's ears. He doesn't wince; instead, he keeps a big grin on his lips, easy and relaxed at the corners. Minyoung pulls away, then, and bows at Minseok before launching herself onto him in a messy hug. And then it's over – Minyoung's back in her seat, a vacant look in her eyes but a shit-eating grin on her lips. She could give Minseok a run for his money for compartmentalization. She's capable of anything she wants to be.

What catches Minseok off-guard, though, isn't how the photo comes out – the lighting's great, they both look two years younger than they should. There's barely a gap between their faces and there's even a hint of Kyungsoo's gelled up hair in the background. It's the dance performance at the start of the exhibit, the spectacle that meets them right after the ribbon-cutting.

The lights turn off as soon as the ribbon is cut. There are hushed sounds of panic in the background, and Kibum's nails digging into Minseok's blazer. It isn't cold here, not with all the people around them, but the pads of Kyungsoo's fingers are cold. Kyungsoo is hanging onto him so tight that he might still feel the grip on his wrist long after Kyungsoo has let go of him. But Kyungsoo hasn't yet, not even when the venue lights up again, sudden and bright, and they're greeted by the sight of people in black all huddled to the center of the exhibit venue. Three taps of their feet and then music comes in, a hiphop beat that Minseok remembers hearing five years ago. Or even longer than that, since he hasn't made an effort to keep up with music in a while and only hears new material when Jongdae walks up to him with a recommendation. Three taps, and then the girls at the center twirl to the sides. The men run to the other side of the formation, and another group – a mix of men and women, this time – emerge from the center. Each person is wearing a different color of the rainbow, and at the center, at the very center of the formation, is a familiar face.

"Minyoung is–"

"Dancing," Minseok finishes. He exhales. Minyoung takes two steps forward, chin held up high, a smirk on her lips. "She's… front and center. She's dancing."

A half-truth, if Minseok studies the dance closer. She's leading the dance, being the pivot of all the dance moves of the other 'colors' around her. She's the star of the show and she's in green from head to toe, and she's glowing. Yellow light is supposed to cast a warm light on people, supposed to soften the hard angles of their body, but the effect is different on Minyoung. It casts a harsh light on her skin, accentuating every pop of the shoulder and thump of her chest. Minyoung outshines everyone in this performance and her eyes glimmer with some brand of hope Minseok hasn't seen before. And Minyoung is dancing a song all too familiar that Minseok, without meaning to, finds himself humming, bobbing his head ever so slightly as the dance progresses.

"You're dancing," Kyungsoo whispers in his ear. Despite the loud beat, it isn't hard to catch. Kyungsoo's lips are pressed to the back of his ear and if he didn't catch the sound, he would've caught the movement. Minseok's good with that. "You're finally–"

He catches Minyoung's eyes and takes a deep breath. "Not me. Minyoung. She's–" He swallows hard, and he's halfway through clenching his fists when he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. "Sorry, I have to take this call."

He's not even sure if it's a call, but it's a nice escape plan. It's his only way to remove himself from this situation, distance himself from something so familiar that he feels live reliving the past. It's sick, and this feeling is sick, and having to run away is sick. He's past the halfway mark in his thirties and his sister is dancing in front of him and this is it, Minseok, if you're asking for that one sign to come back home and dance again, this is it–

"Excuse me," he mumbles as he wades through the thick crowd, one hand in his pocket and the other balled into a fist in his shirt, center of his chest. He walks as fast as he can until he passes the doors, walking past them in an attempt to look for an empty place. There's nothing here – all the corners, all the halls, every place here in Lucky has at least one person occupying it, and Minseok can't afford to be seen like this. He doesn't want to be seen like this.

He fishes his phone from his pocket, anyway, and clears his throat before answering the call. "Hello, Jongdae?"

"Hey hyung." Some static, then, "Did Joonmyun-hyung– Are you in the exhibit or something? It's okay if you are. This can wait."

He was in the exhibit and he's halfway out, but the gates of Lucky are locked. He's trapped, really, and while he can ask the guards to undo the locks and let him out, he doesn't want to leave yet. There's something he wants to return to, something he wants to find again. Minyoung has it, but she's dancing right now so he can't ask for it. If he asked for his passion and the permission to dance again, maybe she'll yield. Maybe, she'll relent. He isn't sure yet. It's been too long since they've last spent more than five minutes with each other.

"It's okay. I… I needed some air, anyway." He looks around and turns at a corner. He leans against a rough wall. Winter's just around the corner. The winds are blowing harder now, slapping him in the cheeks. "What about Joonmyun?"

Jongdae exhales loudly. Minseok tries to strain his hearing but there's no noise in the background, just Jondgae's uneven breathing. "I'll message you on KKT. If– If you need anything, hyung, just let me know, okay? I'll just be in the gym."

Minseok scoffs. "I don't know what you're talking about. Just send the thing."

"Okay, okay, no need to be demanding," Jongdae grumbles. He clears his throat and coughs, maybe even sniffles. Jongdae's never been the best at dealing with the cold weather. "Thanks for picking up. Just… call if you need me."

Silence, then Minseok takes a deep breath. "I won't forget, don't worry," he says as a parting message, then ends the call.

☄

The last thing he expects to see in his messages is a picture of Joonmyun kissing Baekhyun.

The picture is grainy, for the most part, but he can make out the trace of Joonmyun's face, Baekhyun's signature smirk, the fit of their bodies. It's a backstage snap shot, possibly by a stalker stationed a few good feet away from them. A 400mm lens doesn't allow anyone to hide, and Joonmyun and Baekhyun have been caught redhanded, alright. Baekhyun has his arms wrapped around Joonmyun's waist, and Joonmyun has one hand cupping Baekhyun's cheek, the other steadying himself against the wall.

And they're kissing. This isn't an innocent brush of lips on lips. It's a slide of two mouths trying to find a better fit. In a 15-second video, Joonmyun can be seen tugging at Baekhyun's hair and pressing a kiss to the underside of his jaw. In another video, Baekhyun was cupping Joonmyun's ass. And in another KKT thread, Jongdae is telling Joonmyun, We saw the thing. We're here for you.

It takes Minseok ten seconds to feel his fingers again and navigate out of the chat window. He pulls up a private thread with Joonmyun and says, You'll get through this, okay? Just know that we're here if you need us. We'll always welcome you back with open arms.

At the back of his mind, a voice is yelling, So what now, Minseok? Wasn't Joonmyun supposed to be into girls? Are you regretting everything now, huh? Cry harder, Kim Minseok.

"Shut up," Minseok whispers. He hears a crack in his voice and fuck, it makes his stomach turn. It makes him sick.

He gets the solitude he needs until his phone starts ringing – a call from Kyungsoo this time. There are a couple of unanswered messages, both texts and on KKT, but he swipes right in an instant, presses his phone to his cheek. He stays quiet, stays still, eyes closed as he listens to Kyungsoo's even breathing on the other end of the line. "Hyung, where are you?" comes Kyungsoo's voice, a low, mellow tone that snakes up Minseok's nape with every quick intake of breath. "Hyung?"

"Outside," he replies, voice barely above a whisper. "Needed to take a call. I–"

"It's been fifteen minutes, hyung." Kyungsoo mumbles something that sounds a lot like sorry, excuse me. He must be wading through the crowd. This must be torture for him. "The call couldn't have been that long."

Minseok scoffs. It was the longest two minutes of his life. "Had to take Jongdae through the… controls for the hot room."

"He had that built. He should know–"

"Not now, Kyungsoo. Please." He takes a deep breath and opens his eyes, just a bit, and looks around. Still no one in sight. He still owns this place and his solitude hasn't been broken yet. He can keep it sacred, tell Kyungsoo to not look for him, but at the same time he wants to talk it out, ramble about the situation in the presence of someone who will listen. Kyungsoo will judge him, yes, somewhere at the back of his mind. But he'll listen. Kyungsoo's always been good at that. "I don't want to argue."

Kyungsoo hums for a while and mumbles a few more apologies, and then the noise dies down. His footsteps echo. He's probably in the hall now, on his way out. Just a little more. "Do you… Do you want me to look for you?"

"That's a weird question to ask."

"Only for someone as weird as you," Kyungsoo replies. Silence, and then, "Seriously, hyung, do you want to be found?"

It's a trick question, Minseok thinks – he's torn between the need to be with someone and the need to be alone. The need for the cold winds to numb his senses out here, and the need for someplace warm because hyung, you have to take care of yourself. You'll get sick if you stay out here– Minseok shakes his head, tries to silence Joonmyun's voice in his head, but he's still there somewhere. Joonmyun won't go away so easily.

"Yeah. Sure. I'm…" He looks around again, cranes his neck. "Turn left when you reach the exit. I'm just in the area."

"Got it," Kyungsoo answers, then ends the call.

It takes five more minutes for Kyungsoo to spot him in the open field. Minseok likes to think it's deliberate because he knows Kyungsoo shares his need to withdraw from the world sometimes. He knows that Kyungsoo, more than anyone else, would know the sound of someone's voice when they're tired or need to be left alone to their own thoughts. Kyungsoo has spaced out on him on one too many occasions, and while he wants to take offense sometimes, he can't. It's like taking offense in his own shortcomings.

White noise, that's what he needs right now. That, and the steady rhythm of Kyungsoo's footsteps as he approaches. "Not freezing?" Kyungsoo asks as a greeting, and Minseok only shakes his head in response.

"Catering's good, if you were wondering," Kyungsoo says, voice softer now that he's only a few inches away. It's dark out here, but Minseok can still see the way he quirks his lips, the push and pull between a small smile and a big frown. Kyungsoo settles for a tight press of the lips. "You should eat something. And their wine's good."

"Not hungry," Minseok whispers. He laughs a little, at himself. He sounds like some teenager, lost in love. Maybe he is. "Sorry for disappearing on you like that. I hope Kibum wasn't… worrying about me."

Kyungsoo moves closer, moves to his left to lean back against the wall. They're arm to arm now, elbow to elbow, and the most subtle of contact of their bones sends jolts up Minseok's arm. It's paralyzing. It's like Kyungsoo's saying, I gave you time to escape earlier, hyung. You leave me with no choice but to do this. But Kyungsoo inches away just a little, enough for the fabrics of their clothes to not bunch up against each other. "You know how he is. He worries about everything," Kyungsoo mumbles. He adjusts the collar of his blazer. "He wanted to look for your five minutes after you disappeared."

"And why didn't he?" Minseok asks. He shifts in his position, leaning to his left and looking to his side. "Why didn't you?"

"If you wanted to be found, you'd say so," Kyungsoo answers. He chuckles, then rubs the tip of his nose. His ears are red now, but the pink flush has avoided his cheeks again. Always compartmentalizing, always a mystery – that's Do Kyungsoo for you. "Figured you needed time to be alone, what with… all those people there."

Minseok snorts. "I'm surprised you didn't leave sooner, to be honest."

"I'm a volunteer. Call of duty."

"So if you could, if you had a choice–" Minseok takes a deep breath at the same time that the wind blows too hard. The cool sensation shoots up his nostrils, makes his vision go hazy for a moment. "Would you have gone out earlier?"

"Don't make this about me, hyung," Kyungsoo says. He sticks his tongue out, just a little, and pinches Minseok in his stomach. Kyungsoo's fingers are cold and here they are again, out in the cold, without the proper battle gear. It's as if they're doing this on purpose, acting like kids who don't care about the cool winds and getting sick and not being able to play. Or dance, Minseok reminds himself, and muses about that one time Kyungsoo danced along the Han. The memory makes him laugh without fail because really, who could forget the look of horror on Kyungsoo's face when he almost tripped?

Minseok couldn't. Wouldn't. Kyungsoo isn't so easy to forget.

Minseok takes a deep breath, then, and confesses, "I got a call from Jongdae." He fishes his phone from his pocket, then scrolls up to the pictures. "About Joonmyun."

He hands his phone to Kyungsoo and urges him to take a peek, blow up the pictures, watch the video. Maybe Minseok was just blinded by his judgment then, blinded by his feelings for Joonmyun that he turned an innocent press of cheek against cheek into a torrid kiss. Maybe he was blinded then by all those years he's spent studying the way Joonmyun and Baekhyun move, separately and around each other, that he breathed meaning into those pictures, the videos. Baekhyun's touchy as hell, and he loves asses. It only makes sense that he'd grope Joonmyun and–

"When were these taken?" Kyungsoo asks.

The screen has turned black again. Kyungsoo's fingers are cold even when his fingers brush against Minseok's own. "Just a while ago, I think? Or yesterday? I… I don't know."

Kyungsoo exhales loudly. "You didn't want to know."

"Because I don't have to," Minseok interrupts. He flexes his fingers and chuckles, but he chokes on the sound. His throat feels dry. "Doesn't matter when they kissed or made out backstage. Doesn't matter how the did it. It doesn't–" A thick lump of laughter surges up his throat, leaves his lips in increments. The light puffs of heat tickle his skin. "What's done is done. I can't– I can't do anything about it."

"You can scream. Be mad. React," Kyungsoo offers. He pushes himself off the wall, then walks a few steps forward, until they're face to face. The tips of their shoes touch. The light screech makes Minseok wince, but for the most part what makes his breath hitch is the contrast between his warm skin and Kyungsoo running a cold finger from the column of his throat down to his chest. "Sometimes you have to say it out loud, you know, instead of keeping it all in, right here." Kyungsoo taps Minseok's chest once, twice, then splays his hand on it. "Or else you'll explode."

Minseok keeps his eyes on Kyungsoo, doesn't break the eye contact. He doesn't brush Kyungsoo off, either, even if the contrast in temperatures makes him shiver. It's a good shiver, one that breathes feeling back to his limbs, his cheeks, the tip of his nose that has been frozen by the wind. He laughs a little. "I have mental explosions from time to time. This is one of them."

"Doesn't look like it, hyung. You need something bigger. More explosive." Kyungsoo taps his thumb on Minseok's chest, a steady rhythm that Minseok finds himself breathing to. "I punch things sometimes, just to let out the anger. It always helps."

Minseok reaches over, brushing his knuckles lightly against Kyungsoo's cheek. "Does that work?"

Kyungsoo rolls his eyes but envelops Minseok's fist with his small hand. "Try harder."

It's late at night and they're in a place that isn't quite like home, and Minseok is tired. He's too tired to go back inside, wear a mask, face people with a smile. He's too tired to take this incoming call from Jongdae, and to free himself from Kyungsoo's grasp. It's late at night and while he just wants to lie in bed and rest, but he doesn't want to go back to Gangnam. Gangnam holds too many memories linked to Joonmyun, but that's what happens, doesn't it, when you form a bond so strong with someone? Every little thing becomes special. Shin Ramyun transforms from being his go-to food after a late night study session into something he remembers Joonmyun needing to eat after an exhausting exam period. Banana uyuu becomes the witness to their first indirect kiss instead of simply being Kibum's favorite think to chug down after P.E. class. Tteokbokki becomes synonymous to going out on a date instead of something Jongdae craves on a daily basis. The cold wind blowing against his face becomes a reminder that Kyungsoo's here, right in front of him, warm palm pressing down on his cold knuckles.

"I'm tired," Minseok admits. He takes a deep breath hangs his head low. "I… I don't want to go home."

There's a thick blanket of silence for a while, then Kyungsoo's shuffling his feet. This isn't something Minseok sees often, but if he squints harder he'll remember that this is Kyungsoo's way of showing uncertainty, or maybe warding off mosquitoes at a late hour. "Ilsan is far from Gangnam," Kyungsoo says, voice so faint he might as well be breathing. It isn't until Kyungsoo repeats, "Ilsan's a good hour away from Gangnam," that he processes Kyungsoo's words and looks up to meet Kyungsoo in the eye.

"How will we get there?" Minseok asks.

He worries his bottom lip in anticipation of Kyungsoo's answer, and he gets light laughter in response. "You drove to Yeouido, hyung. You can do the same to get to Ilsan."

Kyungsoo loosens his grip on Minseok's fist, and only then does Minseok pull away and take a step back. He flexes his fingers, then, twists his torso in an effort to keep himself warm. He headed out in the open only wearing two layers again and you'd think he'd know better now, but he didn't. And some people make the same stupid mistakes until they decide, with a huff, that they're done making themselves feel awful, inflicting the same pain on oneself. And he's too tired to make sound, adult decisions. So he turns to Kyungsoo, takes Kyungsoo's hand and slips his car keys in Kyungsoo's hand.

"Take me there," Minseok says in request. "Please, take me someplace else."

Kyungsoo stares at the keys on his palm, eyebrows furrowed just a little. Minseok squints, trying to make sense of it, and then the struggle written on the furrow of Kyungsoo's eyebrows is gone, disappearing into thin air as he looks back up at Minseok with a small smile. "How about heaven, hyung?"

Minseok pinches Kyungsoo in his stomach. Kyungsoo's giggles ease the knots in his chest just a little. "Nice try, kid. Nice try."

☄

The drive to Ilsan takes only a little under thirty minutes. The expressway isn't as packed anymore, and Kyungsoo drives like a motherfucker. At one point, Minseok was positive Kyungsoo was trying to match the beat of the song – they were blasting Walk the Moon at a late hour – and was trying really hard to keep himself awake. Still, Minseok can't help fear for their lives and for the welfare of his car. He's never driven this fast before. It's not that his limbs won't permit him; his past won't.

Kyungsoo takes them to Lake Park, a nice recreational place that is rife with plant life and quiet. Their footsteps echo as they walk along the stretch of the arc, navigating their way to the center. The man-made lake should be far off, but the last time Minseok was here was in the morning. Places transform once darkness falls. People do, too.

Kyungsoo takes a step to his side, tugging at Minseok's sleeve. His grip isn't tight, and his fingers almost slip from material. Blazers always make it hard for Minseok to keep people around. An air of seriousness tends to drive people away, after all. But Kyungsoo only moves close, close, closer, wrapping his fingers around Minseok's wrist.

"You'll have to walk faster if you want to get there sooner, hyung," Kyungsoo says. His words get muffled somewhere along the way, when the wind blows against their faces. Kyungsoo's got his hair gelled up, so his bangs won't fall on his eyes even with the repeated whipping of the winds. Minseok sort of misses it. "Are you– Can you still walk?"

"I'm not that old," Minseok answers. He nudges Kyungsoo in his side. "And you're not that young, either."

"My knees are shaking, if that makes you feel better."

"No, it doesn't." Minseok locks his arms behind his back, closing his eyes and stretching out. It's an effective attempt at keeping himself from looking at Kyungsoo's lips. "Who's gonna drive me back to Gangnam if your knees are already weak?"

Kyungsoo snorts. "You can always stay at my place," he says, like Minseok has just asked the most stupid question. "I live just a few blocks away. Granted, the blocks are really big, but–"

He begs to differ. Who am I to you? is still the most stupid question ever. It just doesn't seem like it because Kyungsoo has this uncanny ability of coming up with good answers to useless questions. He pushes the thought to the very back of his mind, though, and tries to acquaint himself with the idea of not being home for the night. The last time he did that was back in college, Joonmyun era, limbs tangled with Joonmyun's own and nose buried in Joonmyun's hair. In the morning, Joonmyun flinched away and told Minseok, requested that he not tell anyone. Who's stupid now? asks a voice in Minseok's mind as he recounts the tale.

I am, he answers, earnest, repentant. He looks up at Kyungsoo and asks, "Are you sure?"

"I can sleep on the couch," Kyungsoo replies. He scratches the slope of his neck, grumbles when his nail catches on the thread of his scarf. "Unless you're the type who can't sleep without a bolster."

Minseok chuckles. "Can't be picky if you're offering," he says, then walks a few steps ahead. "Unless you are the type who can't sleep without a bolster. I'm open to being hugged."

More like, I need a hug right now, but I don't. There's something thick and heavy in his chest that won't leave. Maybe Kyungsoo can melt that away with the warm press of their bodies, with his low, soothing voice so loud with Kyungsoo's lips pressed to the back of his ear. Maybe. It's worth a shot.

"My bed is warm," Kyungsoo says. He licks his lips, then holds out his hand. "Hold my hand. It's pretty easy to get lost here."

What Kyungsoo means is that the open space is too vast that it's easy to get overwhelmed. They reach an area of the park facing the fountain, but Kyungsoo says, "No, not yet. I know a better place," and locks their hands together. There's a tiny of vessel of warmth between their pressed palms, but everything else feels cold – the pads of their fingers, the tip of Minseok's nose. Kyungsoo's cheeks that are painted with a pink flush and his ears that are a bright shade of red. He files this image of Kyungsoo for another day, for when the memory of Joonmyun hits him again. Joonmyun has a habit of showing up at the doorstep of his mind unannounced. Like the human counterpart, like memory, Minseok supposes. It will take more than a conscious effort to not think of Joonmyun to ward off the memories.

"Ah, here we are," Kyungsoo announces. He drops his hand to his side and Minseok looks up, looks at their once intertwined fingers and frowns at the loss of warmth. "You can scream here, if you want. No one will arrest you. Tried it before and I'm still here, without any criminal records."

Minseok looks at Kyungsoo with furrowed eyebrows. "You're a box of surprises, have I ever told you that?"

Kyungsoo digs his hands into his pants pockets, and groans when he discovers that his pants don't have any. There's a blanket of silence for a while, but it isn't thick. It doesn't leave Minseok with a choking feeling, or heaviness on his shoulders. It's light enough that it doesn't take long until Kyungsoo breaks it, hums as the wind blows. "First time hearing that from you, hyung. Not that we talk much. You… listen more than you speak."

Fair observation, Minseok thinks. He's good with stringing words together, but somehow his voice always betrays him. So he relies on his hands, relies on the written word, instead. "It's what I'm good at."

"What you're good at is making people feel comfortable and welcome." Kyungsoo gestures at the seat near them and walks in its direction. "So talk, hyung. Don't mind my face, I always look like this. Trust me when I say that I'm not judging you."

"I know you aren't," Minseok replies. He takes a seat beside Kyungsoo, inches closer for warmth. The sides of their hands touch and Minseok presses harder on that, creating more friction. He needs this right now, and he'll take whatever Kyungsoo has to offer. "This is a very long story. I… I don't even know where to start."

Kyungsoo laughs a little. "Start where it matters most. Then just explain things as you go along. I'll… try to catch up."

Minseok looks to his side and takes a deep breath, considering Kyungsoo's offer. He's only done this once before, completely sober, with Jongdae. Now there lies the difference – he's known Jongdae for a lifetime; Kyungsoo, he's only known for a few months. Jongdae knows him inside and out that he doesn't have to clear things up, doesn't have to explain who this person is and what that person has contributed to Minseok's life. He doesn't have to break everything down for Jongdae so that Jongdae won't experience information overload in the form of Minseok's life story. He doesn't have to. All he has to do is to climb onto Jongdae's bed and whisper, "I'm sad."

Telling Kyungsoo about the situation, about this… It's like taking a trip down memory lane and sprinkling water on dead soil, rekindling old fire. It's like digging up memories so he can crush them in his hands, and relish the feeling of those memories piercing his skin. It sounds crazy, but Minseok is crazy. Kyungsoo is, too, and on top of that Kyungsoo likes crazy as well.

"Joonmyun and I had a thing before," he begins. He scoffs. Something sour tickles his throat and shit, if he doesn't get rid of this at once then he'll end up feeling sick up until the morning. "Got a little frisky sometime during junior year. It was… I don't know how to phrase it."

The last sentence leaves his lips quicker than he can think about it. Fatigue always makes him a bit more loose, a bit more relenting to the urge to just vent. It's a bad habit that he has to outgrow, but it's not as if he gets to air out his concerns often. The last time he got more than half the screen time in a conversation was when Jongdae was too drunk to even form a coherent sentence. Funny thing about it was that it was Minseok who was supposed to be drunk, not Jongdae. He was the one who'd lost a bit of hope when Joonmyun told him, hands clutched to Joonmyun's chest, that he had to focus on work, had to follow EXO around. He had to fly from one place to another because that's what managers of boybands do. He had to make sure that these kids weren't trying to get into trouble and give him more headache. He had to make sure that he'd always have Minseok to return to. As early as that time, Minseok already had doubts. He had to live his life, somehow. He had to get away from the unspoken responsibility of being around for Joonmyun all the time.

"Was it purely physical?" Kyungsoo asks now, eyebrows knit together in a furrow. There isn't much force in this and Minseok can easily reach out to smoothen the hard groove of his eyebrows, but he doesn't. He's focused on his own words, the way the question leaves Kyungsoo's mouth. The way some strands of Kyungsoo's hair get caught in the wind and muss up his gelled hair. The wind has been blowing harder than the usual for the past ten minutes so really, it's just an amount of time until the gel dissipates with the air.

If only pained healed that quickly. It requires skill. Minseok needs to work harder.

"I wouldn't… say it was purely physical? I mean…" Minseok laughs a little. "There was definitely an emotional connection. We went through a lot of things together before we started… helping each other get off, you know?" He massages his temples now, eyes closed as he pointedly avoids Kyungsoo's gaze. The wind around them gets colder and some of the leaves rustle. He laughs to himself – he never thought he'd be put in one of these telenovela situations. Things like these aren't supposed to happen in real life.

Surprise me, a voice in his mind says. Another one argues, saying, don't be silly.

"I guess the problem lies in… the two of us never getting to define things. Just doing things without thinking, like kids." Minseok scoffs. The last syllable leaves his tongue with a bitter aftertaste. "But we're supposed to be past that already. We're not supposed to– Heck, back in college, Joonmyun– He had a girlfriend. But he respected her need to… not get that intimate yet."

"So he turned to you," Kyungsoo finishes. The frown is more visible on Kyungsoo's lips now, his bottom lip jutting out with the downward pull oh his cheeks. "And you let him."

Minseok scoffs. He meets Kyungsoo in the eye again, tilting his head to his right to get a better view of Kyungsoo. From this distance, after the drive and without Kyungsoo's shields up, he can see the make-up caking under Kyungsoo's eyes, a smidgen of something darker than the shade of the BB cream he's wearing along his cheek. He reaches out, evens out the tone, and feels Kyungsoo stiffen under his touch. Kyungsoo's cheeks are warm, but they're still flesh, not pink. He's doing that thing again, where he separates a part of himself so that he won't give himself away entirely. Minseok's beginning to get this whole compartmentalization thing. He's beginning to like it.

"I needed that."

Kyungsoo's eyebrows twitch. "Needed what?"

"To be told that I made a conscious decision to fuck myself up," he answers. He shifts in his seat, then, turning to his side to face Kyungsoo. He rests one palm on Kyungsoo's knee; the other, he rests on his own thigh. He needs to keep himself in check, somehow. He can't afford to make any more mistakes. "I mean I know that, I really do, but sometimes you need to hear someone call you out on your faults, you know what I mean? Because when they start to notice–"

"That means it's that bad already. Awful." Kyungsoo slides his fingers between the pads of Minseok's own. "And things have already gotten really ugly."

Minseok takes a deep breath, then nods. "Yeah. Exactly that." He worries his bottom lip for a while, hanging his head low, and when he looks up Kyungsoo is still looking at him, watching him.

"Do you want to dance, hyung?" comes Kyungsoo's question. The statement is so sudden that Minseok almost jerks back, almost pulls away, but the cool breeze has numbed his fingers already. Kyungsoo's got his hand trapped under the weight of palm and really, he doesn't intend to escape. He's too tired to run away. "You looked really… at peace with yourself that time, while I was teaching you my victory dance."

Minseok snorts. "You looked silly then, that's the reason why I looked 'at peace with myself'." He uses air quotes for emphasis. Kyungsoo slaps his hands away, rests both of his hands atop Minseok's balled ones. His palms are warm, and Minseok likes the sizzle they send up his spine. He can get used to this. He can get drunk on this.

"Well, that, too." Kyungsoo's doing that thing with his lips where he smiles and frowns then smiles again, like he still hasn't decided how to feel just yet. It's amusing, to say the very least, the way conflict shows on Kyungsoo's features. Minseok hasn't seen anything quite like it. It's like the same beat he heard before, months ago, the day he met Kyungsoo, the same beat that was set to the cadence of Kyungsoo's voice as Kyungsoo said, without a hint of doubt, the dance sucked. It's the same beat he's found himself swaying to before, the same beat that kept him awake while they were walking those five big blocks from COEX to hit flat in Gangnam. The same beat that's plays in Kyungsoo's mind everytime he bobs his head and smiles to himself like he's dancing some really cute song in his mind.

It's the same beat that makes Minseok's heart skip a beat, now, as Kyungsoo says, "Look silly with me, then? It's the least you could do after making me drive your car to Ilsan."

It's not the same, Minseok wants to say. Looking silly with Kyungsoo entails giving up a part of him and giving into dancing again, risking reaching that peak then plummeting to the ground again. It's not the dance that he's afraid of, but the scratch on the disk, the dissonance in the music where he has to stop at the peak of his game because something's wrong. He doesn't want that to happen again. He was there once, up there, at the top, one of the best dancers Seoul has ever seen, and it took an accident to freeze his limbs forever. For a moment, he thought he'd be able to recover after Joonmyun promised him a bit of warmth, a future where he doesn't have to be alone, but Joonmyun left and now he's sucking face with Baekhyun. And he's seeking Minseok's help on the matter because I'm so stupid, hyung, I shouldn't have let my guard down. I should've known better, shouldn't have given in–

But Joonmyun's right. He did the right thing by finally admitting to himself that this is what he wants. That he wants Baekhyun and not some girl he met back in college and had an intellectual crush on. That Minseok will forever be that anchor to keep him in check, a lighthouse to guide him home. And that's it – Minseok's just a guide. He's the wind that carries Joonmyun through, the song that Joonmyun dances to. But he isn't Joonmyun's dance partner, and neither is he home.

Kyungsoo stands from his seat and extends a hand in Minseok's direction. "Dance with me, hyung?"

He stares at Kyungsoo's outstretched hand for a while. It's cold out here and he can see Kyungsoo's fingers trembling, but Kyungsoo hasn't dug his hands in his pockets yet, hasn't given up on him yet. This is Kyungsoo helping him shoot two birds with one stone, helping him get rid of his sadness and helping him to accept that dancing will always be a part of who he is. A second skin, a voice in his mind says, and this time it bears more confidence than it used to. It sounds a lot like his old self, the younger Minseok, the one who wasn't afraid to fuck up. The one who was crazy enough to take risks and reach for the starts and reach out for his dance partner's hand. And this is Kyungsoo offering to be that silly dance partner, even if he isn't the best dancer. The smile on his lips are saying, come on, hyung, it will be fun; the look in his eyes whisper, take a chance again? Take a chance on me?

"I haven't stretched yet," Minseok mumbles.

"Doesn't matter," Kyungsoo says. The smile at the corners of his mouth tug up even more.

Minseok takes a deep breath and takes a leap of faith, then reaches out to hold Kyungsoo's hand. He doesn't have to push himself off the bench, to bring himself back his feet. Kyungsoo does that for him, pulls him by the hand and pulls him up for a lazy dance. Minseok fastens his other hand on Kyungsoo's shoulder, and Kyungsoo's free hand settles on his waist. Kyungsoo hums a melody for them to dance to, just so they won't look entirely silly, and they develop an easy rhythm to move to after a while. It's so simple a melody that Minseok gets the urge to add a flourish, to make it better, but this is good, too. It's a good start, or a return. It eases him back into familiar movement, a set of actions that he's long tried to forget. So he sways, lets Kyungsoo carry him through the dance, lets himself be carried away. A second layer of beats comes in the form of the memory of Minyoung dancing, the way she led the group to an outstanding performance, the way she looked at Minseok as if saying, Do you remember this, oppa? Do you remember when we were kids, when you'd twirl me around and laugh at me everytime I stepped on your foot?

It's like she's saying, Do you still remember how to dance, oppa? Because I still do. I haven't forgotten the way you move yet, and neither should you.

Minseok slides his hand down Kyungsoo's waist, then reaches for Kyungsoo's other hand. With a grin, he pulls away when their hands are already linked together, pulls Kyungsoo back in, then twirls Kyungsoo around with one hand. Surprise isn't in the way Kyungsoo's eyes widen, or the way his fingers tremble against Minseok's skin, but that isn't important anymore. There's a new set of beats to familiarize themselves with, one that sounds a lot like Kyungsoo's laughter, bright and loud, drowning out the cool breeze with its warmth.

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