Work Text:
[09:21] Hyung, wanna get breakfast together?
[09:21] Staff told me there’s a good place nearby
His phone screen came alive with Changbin’s messages, lighting up the room along with the gap in the blackout curtains. He squinted at the screen, unplugging the charger and rolling on his side.
The other bed was vacant. The blankets were left undone, still wrinkled and just thrown over from when he got up, Minho assumed. He checked the time – way later than he thought. Changbin usually never woke up this early, at least never earlier than him. He recalls mentions of how busy the hotel gym was at night, so that could be it.
Minho opened the messages, his phone brightness blinding him. They didn’t text a lot. Above those two texts you could see ones from weeks before, nothing longer than 3 messages. In his own words that was because they “never had anything too important to talk about through text”. Deep down, he wishes that wasn’t the case. Just sending pictures of his cats or something cute he found online would be nice enough.
He checked the time again. Being lost in his thoughts wasted 20 minutes of his time, but also made him accidentally ignore a new unread text notification.
[09:45] Are you alive? ㅋㅋ
Minho sent a sticker back. They met halfway in the elevator, Changbin’s curls still wet from the gym shower.
₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎
For every other tour they’ve had individual hotel rooms, but for whatever reason (budget cuts, knowing who they worked with) that wasn’t the case this time. Setting his bags down in his room, Minho ran to the bed close to the window before whoever was paired with him could claim it.
Despite Felix, Hyunjin and Seungmin’s pleas, Changbin just settled with whatever room staff told him to move to. When the door swung open and he was met with Minho’s face, he questioned his decision.
He wasn’t displeased or annoyed, he just knew it’d be awkward. They were rarely alone together. Their routines didn’t seem too different, and when in hotels, they really only used their rooms to sleep.
“Hyung.” Changbin called, watching him look up from the novel he was holding.
“Hm? Oh, Bin-ah.” The corners of Minho’s lips curved lightly, and Changbin felt the nickname stab him like a barb.
₍ᐢ･⚇･ᐢ₎
“Alright, is everyone in frame?”
One of the staff members asked, signing directions with her hands for someone to stand closer or move a bit to the side. They stood in random order, each holding the fan-made banners. Jisung couldn’t stop smiling at their little mascots dressed in Chilean attire. Changbin didn’t know whether to crouch or to stand. “Everyone ready?” the woman’s voice alerted him.
On the count of 3, Minho pulled him closer. In the picture, their positions seemed just casual enough for no one to point that out.
₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎
The hours between soundcheck and the actual concert seemed to not pass sometimes. Backstage was too loud even for Changbin’s standards. At least the snacks Felix kept sneaking to him were good.
Taking too much of the small couch’s space, he zoned out. Staring around the makeshift dressing room, he got lost looking at the curtain partitions and posters on the wall, belonging to the home team that stadium belonged to. He snapped out of it when he felt a hand on his chin.
Two fingers stroked the curve of his chin, Minho’s eyes unreadable as always. “Hyung?” Changbin called out, voice small.
“Don’t mind me.” The task was hard, but he accepted it anyway. The distant screams from the fans outside helped as white noise.
Minho’s thumb ran over the scar under his chin, probably unaware of how intimate that felt. His hand then moved upwards, between his jaw and his ear, scratching the area. Changbin just hoped his gulp wasn’t audible. Despite the busy surroundings, for a second they felt alone. His heart raced – either in anxiety or nervousness, he wasn’t sure.
It took him a second to realize Minho was petting him like a cat. Leaning his head against his small hand, Changbin tried to turn his brain off once more.
“Are they done yet?” Seungmin said with a sigh. Jeongin just shrugged and continued to scroll for overpriced baseball caps.
₍ᐢ･⚇･ᐢ₎
The truth is that they were just coworkers. If they worked any other job — a regular 9 to 6 — it would’ve been clearer, Minho thought. That wouldn’t stop him from maybe slipping a gift or a note on Changbin’s desk, a spare chocolate from one of the half-assed HR gifts. They could eat lunch together because neither of them wanted to be alone, and all their other colleagues were busy working through lunch or eating somewhere else. Once they clocked out, they’d continue their lives and not see each other until the next morning or two, if Changbin had a day off. They’d meet again inside a packed subway, facing each other with only a stranger’s backpack shielding them from colliding when the train stopped.
Instead, they sit next to each other crammed in a van’s backseat.
₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎
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Minho was in the middle of typing a new search when he felt a weight on his shoulder. Changbin leant in, snooping from behind. “Are you seriously still looking for it?” he smiled.
“I just wanna know how he did that! The second time was even more confusing!” Minho screamed directly in his ear, making him wince.
“That’s the secret of magic!” Changbin yelled back, their usual talking volume. “You’re not supposed to know how it works!”
Minho gave up before that could escalate into something (or wake up the other guests), locking his phone with a defeated sigh. “And get off me!”
(The next morning, Changbin remembers dreaming about a man in a skimpy suit pulling Leebit out of a top hat.)
₍ᐢ･⚇･ᐢ₎
He was used to it. The other members were used to it. Fans were used to it, thriving with any small interaction they got.
Inside a rented dance studio, rehearsing for whatever comeback they had next, Minho would find a way to get his hands on Changbin’s body. On stage it was even worse. Changbin wondered what was his hyung’s obsession with his stomach. He didn’t like thinking about that for too long.
One choreography in particular had them stand face to face, with Minho always taking that opportunity to tease him, making kissy faces, sometimes leaning in but never close enough. Under the light rain of the soundcheck stage, Minho tried to pull that again.
“Will you just do it already?” The crowd noises did great at drowning the bark in his tone.
₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎
In his hypnagogic state, Minho lets his mind wander.
He thinks of an ice cream shop back home, kids laughing on a spring day while Changbin watches them from his seat across from him. He’d be smiling, that upside down smile he’s seen on other faces, but never found as charming. Thinks of a late night – 2, 3 in the morning, they wouldn’t be bothered enough to check – both of them sitting on the sidewalk, watching the light polluted Seoul sky and not talking about anything in particular. They’d only walk inside when the insects got the best of them.
Maybe something more attainable, following Changbin to his studio, laying his head on his shoulder while he worked. His eyes on him while he danced. Taking him to meet his cats again, he probably misses them.
Giving up on sleep, he stares at the ceiling – then to the bed next to him, where his muse breathes softly. And he’s back with the version of himself that won’t even text first.
₍ᐢ･⚇･ᐢ₎
Seo Changbin is a rich kid who grew up in Seoul, aspiring lyricist, has been a trainee long enough to be part of a rap crew and laughs loud enough to be heard from across the building. Looks like he could still grow a few centimeters taller. Minho bets he’s never even taken a bus before. That’s all he could gather from the first few weeks they’ve been among those selected trainees.
Years of coexistence had proved some things wrong and taught some new trivia. Changbin was just as good of a cook as Minho was, not competitive in that regard. Both liked working out; years of hard work showing up as muscles Minho caught himself thinking about a little too often for his liking. But that’s where all the similarities ended and the endless list of differences began.
Being alone with Changbin made him feel like a lab rat at times. Like pushing two magnets together with hopes to break the magnetic field. Changbin had all the social skills Minho swore he didn’t need. Minho’s body would collapse like a ragdoll if he stayed up past 2 AM, while Changbin’s workday would be far from done by that time. A middle ground did exist in theory, but no matter how far they walked towards it, it never seemed to be in reach.
Step by step, something had to happen. Minho got up before the sun. The door for Jisung’s room was still open, meaning 3Racha were still in the studio (doing anything but a beat, he guessed. No sane mind could produce for that long.) Since Jisung refused all his invitations for morning runs, he knew Changbin had to accept. He’d even go easy and let him run ahead on purpose, to show that he cared. And maybe study where his thighs came from.