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It's not Seungmin's fault, in his opinion. He just notices. And it's not like Minho's trying to hide it, either. It's not some big secret, just Minho's spotify which shows what he's listening to. And it's not like Seungmin's snooping, not really. He just happens to notice. Right now, Minho is at the gym with Changbin, toning up for their concert in a few weeks. Nothing crazy, but Minho likes to look buff on stage, even if he pretends he doesn't care, and Changbin is always at the gym anyway. Minho's spotify activity updates every few minutes with what song he's listening to, and the little movements in the corner of the screen always catches his attention. The two of them must be having a good workout because it says he's listening to Cold Blooded by Jessi, which is usually a 'I feel like a bad bitch' song and not an 'everything hurts please make it stop oh god' song. He clicks out of Spotify and puts something else on, smiling softly.
So Minho gets home and announces his presence by letting the front door thud closed loudly, shaking the walls of the bedroom closest to the front. Since Seungmin's abuts the entryway, he always gets the worst of it. Seungmin rolls out of bed and pokes his head into the hall, where Minho is still toeing off his shoes to put them neatly on the rack. The consideration for Seungmin's neat streak makes his heart squeeze.
Seungmin follows Minho down the hall to the entry of his bedroom, socked feet quiet on the wood floors. Just before opening his own door Minho turns to look at him, expectantly, and Seungmin simply goes for "I'm glad you had a good workout, Hyung."
Minho frowns. "I didn't say that."
"Am I wrong?"
Minho's frown sharpens, immediately on the defensive. "What, did you talk to Changbin? You're being weird."
"No." Seungmin smiles his sweetest smile. "You're just glowing, that's all." Minho flushes bright pink from the back of his neck to the tips of his ears. Not even the general rosy glow of his workout hides the shade of tomato-red he becomes. He opens his mouth to say something, but clearly thinks better of it, turns, and storms into his room.
Felix peers out of the kitchen.
"Seungmin," he says, "were you flirting with hyung?"
"Kinda," Seungmin replies.
Felix looks at Seungmin with narrowed eyes. "Is it going well?"
"I don't know yet," Seungmin says, but he can't help the smile that starts to steal its way across his face. "I'll keep you posted."
Over the next few weeks, Seungmin doesn't try his luck much beyond the usual banter. He's so busy with concert prep anyway he's not sure he has the mental space to dedicate to flirting with someone who could bite his head off at any moment. Not that Minho would, it's just. Deviating from their norm so close to a major event is probably less than ideal. He needs to be in the game. In the right headspace, he tells himself. But it's not like a rejection would do anything to him anyway.
Despite himself, the morning of the concert, Seungmin knocks gingerly at Minho's door. Minho jerks it open, scowling.
"What is it?"
"I brought you a coffee."
"Why?" says Minho, taking it from him but not opening his door any further.
"I just had extra," Seungmin lies, "and I thought you might want it."
"And you didn't poison it?"
"I'm starting to wish I had."
"Cut the bullshit, Kim Seungmin," he says.
"What," says Seungmin, "is it really so hard to believe I'm just being nice?"
"Yes," responds Minho flatly.
Seungmin pouts. "Play nice," he says. "I'm not even asking you to pay me back."
Minho stares at the coffee in his hand like it's a foreign object. "I still don't believe you," he says after a second. "You were being weird about my workout the other day, and now this."
"You act like you've never heard of flirting, Hyung."
Minho looks up sharply. "You call this flirting?"
Seungmin grins. "Yes."
"Well stop."
"Okay," says Seungmin. "Don't read too much into it, hyung."
It haunts him all night, all through the concert. During their ments, he leans his back on Changbin and lets himself get manhandled until his brain goes quiet. Minho gives him a sharp look, unreadable and harsh in its intensity, like he's still annoyed with Seungmin from earlier. Seungmin has no plans to pull out of Changbin's hold, since it's near to the only thing holding him down at this point. Minho be damned.
It isn't, as Seungmin may have implied, that he means NOTHING by the flirting, but, well. Minho and Seungmin aren't exactly affectionate in the standard ways. He doesn't harbor any delusions about how Minho feels about him. They're certainly close, it's not like he thinks Minho hates him, but if Minho wanted to go on a date, he'd just call Jisung or Chan or something. Not Seungmin.
Going on a date with Seungmin would wreck their divorced concept, anyway.
It wasn't something he expected to last. It was just a bit, at first. Minho would still call for him at home, sweetly, Seungminnie the way he always had. Seungmin's chest would become full up, fed and nurtured by Minho's affection. But then it was months, and years. And at some point Minho had stopped calling him sweetly, and it became Kim Seungmin. Almost a nickname in its own right. But Minho started to draw away, too, started to put distance between them. After the end of Dekira they barely went anywhere by themselves at all. So Seungmin got used to making something out of nothing. He learned how to turn scraps into a meal. Minho kisses Jisung on the cheek on camera. Pork belly. Minho holds Felix's hand on Mucore. Fried chicken with the bone in.
He tolerates Seungmin's presence. Marrow and gristle.
Minho piles Seungmin's plate with food at the BBQ after the concert ends, restaurant air tinged smoky and dark with the laughter of his members and the other patrons, the sticky-sweet smell of soju. "Eat," says Minho, and turns away to resume his conversation with Changbin. Seungmin eats.
"Thank you hyung," he mumbles, mouth full, more out of habit than anything. Minho grills more meat, puts it on Chan's plate, on Innie's, on Hyunjin's. Seungmin lets the fat of his portion melt in his mouth. He studiously does not eye the other members' plates. When Minho's back is turned, he licks the grease off his chopsticks just to taste the affection again.
Changbin catches him staring at Minho, across the table, and gives Seungmin a look. Seungmin shakes head and goes back to picking at his rice idly. Minho seems fine. Minho seems normal, laughing with Jisung and threatening Hyunjin at the appropriate intervals. Normally Seungmin would affectionately chalk it up to Minho being "bizarre-o" (Felix's words, not his). But there's something just slightly off that rattles loose around Seungmin's head. It's just not right.
So sue him, if he keeps trying. Seungmin can't help it, he keeps glancing over at Spotify where it lies open on his laptop. He's been wanting to write in his journal for thirty minutes, but no words are coming. Every time Spotify refreshes what Minho's listening to, Seungmin's eyes jump from the page to read the song titles. He's not really a nosy sort of person, he prefers to let people work out their problems in their own time, but the whole thing won't leave him. Maybe it's just how much he craves Minho's affection. Maybe he really is, as Minho said, delusional. But it's concerning–Minho may be less of a music guy than some of the other members, like 3Racha, but what he's listening to is still reflective of his mood. He's a dancer, after all, it'd be ridiculous to imply he doesn't feel music as deeply as the rest of them. His whole job is to be moved by music.
So then why–why–is Minho listening to Chan's saddest hits? The communal wallowing playlist is for, well. Wallowing. What could possibly be bothering Minho so much on one of their treasured days off? Seungmin hesitates for just a minute at the door to Minho's room, but then gives in and knocks softly.
There's the sound of rustling from within, then Minho jerks the door open a crack. "What?"
Seungmin realizes he's screwed the moment he lays eyes on Minho. He's sleep-rumpled, soft brown hair pushed up on one side and pillow lines creasing his cheek. His eyes are squinted, like the bright light of the hallway is bothering him. Seungmin opens and closes his mouth like a fish. "Are you okay?"
"What the fuck?" says Minho, already bristling. He yanks the door open wider. "Don't tell me you hit your head so hard you're having delusions. I'm not taking you to the hospital."
"No, I'm not–" he cuts himself off. "I can see your Spotify activity," he says in lieu of a real answer.
"What are you talking about?" Minho says, expression flat and neutral. Seungmin chews on his thoughts, rolls them around in his mouth like marbles, tasting the bitter tang of their sharp edges. He wants to say tell me what's wrong, and to run his hands through Minho's hair to see if he'll melt at the touch, and to make what's bothering him go away. But he's not brave enough for that. Doesn't know how to ask for that.
"Hyung, don't play dumb." He gestures inside at the laptop perched on his bed softly playing music. It's entirely unlike Minho to still be in bed at this time of day. "You're listening to Drunken Truth on repeat, which I can see. I'm asking if you're okay."
Minho makes steady, unblinking eye contact. "This is my happy playlist."
"It's literally Chan-hyung's 'Depression Playlist.' You're gonna have to try harder."
"I'm not trying anything," Minho says stubbornly. "When did you get so nosy?"
"I'm just asking if maybe, something is wrong." Seungmin says patiently, like if he's calm enough Minho will be honest. But Minho frowns harder at him.
"Nothing is wrong, Seungmin," he repeats. "Leave me alone." And he closes the door in Seungmin's face.
Seungmin's left standing in the hall, staring at a closed door. It's not particularly harsh, especially not for Minho, but he can feel the upset and desperation beginning to claw up his throat anyway. It should have been easier than this. Minho was supposed to let him in, finally, supposed to open up, and Seungmin is just. Worried. He's worried. And maybe it's not his place, but he can't help it, he wants Minho to be okay. But Minho clearly doesn't want to be fussed over. So he takes it upon himself to come up with an apology. There's a convenience store, a few blocks away, that opened recently and stocks the kind of treats that Minho prefers. He can go and come back, and maybe, if he's lucky, Minho will accept his peace offering for what it is.
The heat of the outside is oppressive, air thick and heavy in a way that clings to Seungmin's skin the whole walk. It's darker than it should be in the afternoon, and the atmosphere is crushing. The icy cool blast of the aircon in the convenience store is so instantly chilling that it ices him over and just makes him feel wet, instead of soothed. He's tacky with sweat and miserable as he shuffles his way through the aisles, trying to pick out snacks that will serve the purpose he intends.
Seungmin's just about to leave the store when the first clap of thunder rolls through the city. The cashier glances out the window and hurriedly shoves the bag back across the counter. Seungmin thanks him and makes a dash for it. He makes it two blocks before the next peal of lightning rips the night sky in two. The first few raindrops fall, wet and fat, onto the pavement, still warm from the day. Seungmin quickly considers his options. He could try to make it back to the dorm before the rain comes, but his bag is too full to comfortably run. He could keep walking at the pace he's at right now, but the rain will almost certainly be torrential soon and he has no jacket or umbrella. Or he could duck under the awning of one of the shops lining the street, and wait it out. Lightning crackles again, so bright Seungmin has to blink the light out of his eyes. The weather makes his decision for him, as the intermittent raindrops make way and the sky opens up. Seungmin makes a beeline across the street, tucking himself under the awning of a cafe that he used to go to with Minho, back when he was nobody. There's a bench under the covering, and he places the bag down carefully before trying to wring his shirt out. He's soaked. The rain pours, barely a meter away, mist rolling off the pavement from how hard it's pounding.
He opens Kakaotalk and shoots a message in the dorm gc.
fuckimg purby: is anyone home
fuckimg purby: im trapped at the cafe w/o an umbrella can someone pick me up pls
He puts the phone down, surveys the damage done to the grocery bag. Everything inside is intact, most of it wrapped in plastic, water droplets beading on the packaging harmlessly. Two cups of pudding inside, Minho's favorite brand, Seungmin's favorite chips, two cans of soda. Two kinds of ice cream, just in case. All the makings of a successful snack run, thwarted by a freak late summer storm. Seungmin sighs and sits down heavily on the bench. Serves him right for trying to do a nice thing.
He really is worried about Minho, though. He's been acting strange lately, behaving like something was up, avoiding conversations and listening to sad music. It's only natural for Seungmin to be worried. The Minho he knows is inscrutable, aloof, but not... gloomy. Minho has been gloomy. He's well within his right to do something nice for his hyung, and if his motives are a little selfish, then they're a little selfish.
His inner monologue is interrupted by the sound of approaching footfalls. Seungmin looks up to see Minho approaching, in sweats and sneakers that look soaked, a flat expression on his face. Of course it would be Minho that had to come pick him up. That's just his luck.
"Kim Seungmin, what are you doing out here in the rain?" Minho's sniff of disapproval is audible from here. "Now the whole house is going to smell like wet dog."
"I was in a rush and forgot an umbrella, hyung."
"How very unlike you." Minho extends his arm out so that there's enough space for the both of them under the umbrella.
Seungmin gathers the bag and stands. As he scoots under, he can't help but notice Minho's infinitesimal shift away from him, extending his arm so the umbrella covers both of them and leaves lots of space in between. As soon as Seungmin is safely under, Minho starts walking, not waiting for him. Seungmin jolts awkwardly in his attempt to catch up, but Minho is single-minded in his beeline for home.
"You didn't answer my question," Minho says after a long silence. "Why are you out here?"
"Hyung, I-"
Minho just looks at him.
Seungmin sighs. "I wanted to come get something to make you feel better. I didn't mean to get caught out, I just thought–"
"You thought what?" interjects Minho. "Why did you even think you needed to make me feel better, anyway?"
Seungmin feels the frustration start to build in his chest. "You know it was the playlist. You know I know something's wrong."
"I don't know what you're doing, Seungmin." Minho cuts him another look. "I don't know why you think you need to take care of me."
"Well I'm not doing anything." Seungmin rolls his eyes. "You have to know we worry about you. You never tell us anything, even Channie hyung. We just want to be sure you're okay."
"Do YOU worry about me, Kim Seungmin?"
"We all worry."
"That's not what I asked," says Minho, so quietly Seungmin almost misses it.
"It's not that big of a deal," insists Seungmin. "I'm just looking after you."
"Well don't," says Minho. "Don't look after me, Kim Seungmin. From now on I won't worry you."
Seungmin presses his lips into a thin line. Minho shakes water off the umbrella. "We're here," he says, louder this time, like Seungmin doesn't know what his own apartment building looks like. They take the elevator up in silence, the sound of the water dripping from the umbrella and Seungmin's hair the only sound other than the low hum of the engine. When Seungmin opens their front door, Minho pushes past him into the apartment without another word. Seungmin barely has his shoes off when he hears the door to Minho's room close with a decisive thud. Felix pokes his head out of his bedroom seconds later.
"You guys are home?" he asks, mouth stuffed full of whatever he was eating and his eyes wide and inquisitive.
Seungmin breezes past him and throws the convenience store bag down on the counter with a sort of depressing thud. The outburst doesn't make him feel better, especially not when he discovers Felix has followed him down the hall to the kitchen. His eyes are wide as saucers.
"What was that?" Felix whisper-hisses. Seungmin doesn't even know what to say.
"It's just hyung being hyung," he finally manages with a shrug. Felix gives him a funny look and ventures over to the counter to peer into the plastic bag. Inside, Seungmin knows, are his selections, his favorite snacks, and Minho's. Lix makes the connection between the pudding in the bag and Seungmin, dripping rainwater all over the linoleum floor. His face goes soft.
"Oh, Seungmin," he says. "I'm so sorry."
"It's not his fault," says Seungmin. He sounds tired even to himself. "I pushed it when I shouldn't have."
Felix's face is wry. "Maybe," he says.
Seungmin looks at Felix pointedly. "What do you mean maybe?"
"He only brought one umbrella," Felix replies cryptically, before floating out of the kitchen the way he came.
Seungmin can't win.
Every time he enters a room, Minho leaves it. It's not like Minho ever has anywhere plausible to be–he could be half-asleep on the couch watching a drama and the moment Seungmin enters his vicinity he bails. Jeongin hasn't said shit about it. He knows to mind his own. Felix keeps sending him looks over the top of his phone, looks that are eerily reminiscent of Changbin and rub him the wrong way. He's trying not to be upset. He really is. It's just that he regrets it, feels bad about pushing Minho so hard. He never intended to cross any kind of boundary. And now he's got to fix it, and he honestly doesn't know how.
Seungmin's not foolish. He knows what the public perception of him is. His parents raised him well–he is charming, witty, polite. With his seniors he is respectful. With the members he is funny. On stage, he is talented, handsome, inspiring.
He leaves at six am for vocal coaching on a Saturday. His vocal coach says he's fastidious. On the way out the door, Minho calls him obsessed.
Minho says a lot of things. Or, he used to. It was part of their dynamic, the needling. Minho picks apart Seungmin, rejects him, turns him down, breaks his heart, and it's funny. He just says things. And coming from anyone else, it would hurt immensely. It used to rankle him, the way Minho used to make his good qualities sound bad. Obsessive instead of fastidious. Boring instead of consistent. Condescending instead of polite. Now there's no needling. Just silence. A yawning empty chasm in his stomach. Less than gristle. Less than old rice. Less than bones for him to chew. There's no flavor, no roux, no nothing. Just hunger, eating at him, gnawing away at the edges Minho used to fill.
It's late on a different Saturday in the studio when Changbin finally starts to crack it.
"You're too puppydog-eager," he says, "that's all. Minho doesn't like that. Likes the cat and mouse, your little game. It's like giving an animal pills. You gotta slip them in with a treat or they won't take it. Wrap it in a piece of meat. For Minho, the meat is the bullying. The pill is the vulnerability. When you get all heartbreakingly sincere, and start saying you want to take care of him, he doesn't know what to do with you."
Seungmin wonders which hyung he learned that heartbreaking sincerity from. Certainly not Changbin, who is devastatingly honest, patient, and transparent. He decides not to comment. "So I wait for him to come to me, then?" he wonders aloud.
Changbin tuts. "Yes, and no. Mostly no. You'll go to him when he's ready."
Seungmin has done nothing but wait. Nothing but sit around, patiently, and wait. For something to change. For Minho to change. He tried doing things. Now he's tried doing nothing. None of it works. Baffled, Seungmin blurts, "I have no clue what that means."
Changbin sighs. "Hyung's weird, Seungmin. He's playing 4D chess with himself over this. Just. When he's ready, you'll know."
Seungmin feels more lost than he did before. He nods studiously anyway. "And you can't just... ask hyung for me?" he wheedles, one more time, just to see if it works.
"YAH, Seungminnie. Do you need hyung to do everything for you?" He rolls his eyes, exasperated, fond.
Seungmin sniffs exaggeratedly. "What if I do?"
Changbin roars and lunges at him over the armrest of the chair, and Seungmin plays along and goes limp, lets Changbin wrestle with him until he deems Seungmin sufficiently punished, but the antagonistic battle doesn't fill his stomach. Seungmin bites his tongue on wishing. Another night of sleep for dinner.
So he waits. Patient. He can be patient. And Minho continues to avoid him. And although it's not like they were spending every minute of every day together before, Seungmin feels his absence acutely. Feels the space he used to fill. He can't see Minho's Spotify history anymore. He wonders if this is supposed to actually help him worry less, or if it's torture crafted specifically for him. They don't speak. Minho leaves Seungmin lunches packed away in the fridge. It tastes like ash.
On a random day, when the summer returns full force for no reason and it’s so hot every window in the dorm is open to catch the breeze, Seungmin is starfished on the floor of his bedroom to try to cool down when his computer offers him new and compelling information. There, in the sidebar.
soondoongdori98 - Now listening...
Kiss You - One Direction
He blinks, unbelieving–rolls over to get a closer look, like it’s not real. He’s nearly trembling when he sits up and places the laptop on the foot of his bed, and then sits some distance away, like it’ll bite him.
After fifteen minutes, the song still hasn’t changed. He can’t tell if it’s looping or if Minho stopped listening but either way, to be able to see his activity again… Seungmin’s not stupid. He climbs off of his bed, adjusts his hair in the mirror, and walks out of his bedroom.
The door to Minho’s room is ajar, which is so unexpected that Seungmin doesn’t know what to do with himself. He just stands dumbly in the doorway for a moment until Minho wrinkles his nose. "What do you want, Kim Seungmin?"
Seungmin just stares at him.
"Well, spit it out."
"I can see what you're listening to again."
Minho sniffs impassively. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"You've been listening to One Direction's Kiss You for 20 minutes. You don't even speak English."
"Maybe I'm expanding my horizons, Seungmin."
Seungmin stares him down. "With American pop music from the 2010s?"
Minho sighs heavily. "You're right," he concedes, tearing off his headphones, "I don't listen to this shit. It's just on–"
"–Chan's playlist, I know." The silence stretches long between them. Minho seems to size him up, daring him to speak first. Seungmin caves, because he could never deny Minho, not really. "Is this how you apologize?"
"That depends," says Minho, "do you accept?"
Seungmin feigns stupidity. "Accept what?" Minho just glares at him.
"Don't make me say it."
"Maybe I want to hear you say it."
"I'm sorry," says Minho, like he'd rather be anywhere but here, and then, "I played the song on purpose."
"What about the song?" Seungmin's grin splits his face. "You want to kiss me?"
Minho positively glowers at that, but Seungmin is already across the room, already cupping Minho's jaw in his hand, thumbing across the soft skin of Minho's cheek. They're a hair's width away, when Seungmin hesitates, eyes darting away from Minho's lips and up to his face. Minho looks down at him. His expression reveals nothing.
"What?" he says, impatient.
Seungmin chews on his lip for a moment. "Hyung, are you sure? Because I know I've been–I've been bothering you, and–"
Minho's eyes soften at that. "Stupid fucking puppy," he says, but there's no heat behind it. He closes the distance. It's soft, and sweet, and Seungmin feels something in him click into place, hunger sated, the incessant gnawing empty hole in his stomach filled the moment Minho gets his hands on Seungmin's waist and pulls him down into his lap.
Their noses bump when Minho finally pulls away, face hot to the touch from the force of the blush afflicting him. Minho exhales shakily. "I'm sorry for getting angry at you. For closing myself off. I get irrational because I don't know what to do when you look at me like that."
"Like what?" says Seungmin, although he already knows, although it's already written across his face in a language so universal he swears their members, their fans, every human being on earth can decipher it.
"Like..." Minho can't make eye contact. He tears his eyes away from him, hands fisting miserably in Seungmin's shirt. When it finally comes out, it's tiny, fragile. "Like you need me. Like you love me."
Seungmin reaches out to run his hand through Minho's hair like he's been wanting to do for days. Minho makes a tiny noise of satisfaction in the back of his throat, catlike. "It's more than that," says Seungmin. "I want you. I want you to be happy."
"And what about you?" Minho's eyes are searching him, like they're memorizing his face. "What if you aren't happy?"
"I will be," says Seungmin, pressing in close to kiss Minho again, to taste spice and salt and let it fill him. Minho is a nine-course meal, so tender and gentle under Seungmin's hands that his heart is falling off the bone. "This is all I want."