Ship/Member: Junhui/Minghao Major Tags: N/A Additional Tags: soulbond, set in a near-future canon where a few of svt are in service. Permission to remix: Yes
Minghao can't deny that he's been slightly antsy the way someone who's trying to quit has been sneaking in a cigarette leeched off of their labelmates or members on a smoke break. He has to bear with it--it's not entirely in his control; he's just landed in Chengdu. There's barely any wind this evening, but the winter chill still cuts across his face as they walk, to the van, biting and sharp. It spreads to his arms and fingers through his jacket. He doesn't say anything when the new manager murmurs idly beside him, "Wen-laoshi should be done filming for today." Doesn't question it.
Later when he gets back to the hotel, Jun rings up Minghao on the phone just to ask, "Do you remember what I gave Jihoon-hyung on his birthday last year?"
"No," Minghao says, not really thinking about it while he's pouring hot water into a noodles cup in his hotel room, and then, "You drew him a cat on a Post-it, stuck that onto his monitor, and then chipped in for half of Joshua's gift." He makes it sound worse than it is--the new massage chair in Jihoon's room cost a fortune.
"It's the thought," Jun says patiently, slightly tinny and distant on speaker from where Minghao's left his phone on the study from the far end of the room.
"Where is this going?" Minghao asks, wary.
It took an embarrassingly long time for Minghao to also learn that when Jun has something pressing on his mind, he could be as calm as a lake. Until bubbles rise to the surface consistently until the waves ripple out, crash against the bank.
"Nowhere," Jun answers, but there's a pause after. "I'm still trying to decide."
Minghao tries not to scoff. It's been a few weeks since he'd heard from Jun properly. Jun had been going to auditions for the past two months. Getting waitlisted for a role was good news, but getting approached by another agency for a steady guarantee of opportunities in the field was even better. The company would benefit with a subcontract, and all Jun had to do was sign on, except he hasn't. Minghao tries to be respectful of Jun's hesitancy. If you want to influence Wen Junhui, it has to be subtle. Unfortunately, influence can only get Wen Junhui so far--expose yourself to a condition and the immunity builds up over time. Jun doesn't need to listen to Minghao. "If you're trying to ask me for advice, you'd already know what I'd say," Minghao prompts.
"You're you," Jun says. "By the way, Chenle is back in Shanghai now—he asked for us to visit. Surely, you're not going to turn his dinner invitation with his parents down?"
"Wouldn't dream of it," Minghao says, pulling the curtains back to put himself into bed.
The next morning, Minghao comes out of his hot shower shivering, and furiously texts Jun to wear a jacket. Jun just replies with a WeChat sticker.
There'd been a time before, when Minghao shut himself up in his room, withdrawn, fatigued, and eager for the time to pass by quicker when he could sleep things off and recover from a sprained ankle then, bored out of his mind. Jun, who'd grimaced when Minghao winced at the pain, had also looked at him right in the eye when Minghao emerged from his room late that night and asked 'how are you and your right hand feeling?' in Mandarin while the others were still in the room. Minghao could tell exactly when Jun's body was wrung out and relaxed after a needed jerk off session too, but still.
Sometimes he wonders if this thing they shared between them would ever break. If Minghao was being honest, the thought that it might not, terrifies him more than it should.
"That's because the idea of a soulmate makes you cringe," Jun said, matter-of-fact and almost, happily. That first year together training had Minghao horrified--Jun would appear with a new pack of Salonpas, herbal vitamins, rattling an unopened cup of ramyeon in his hand other hand before Minghao would admit that he should maybe, probably see the doctor again before agreeing to show off his flips before showcase.
"You can't tell me it's normal," Minghao said, frowning.
"Is it not? It isn't new for me," Jun replied. He'd been staring at the ceiling, lying on the floor of one of the rooms in the dimness of a late autumn morning. The only other noise had been Soonyoung snoring lightly next to Jeonghan, who was scrolling on his phone. Minghao can't remember much else, or exactly how the conversation went but he'd remembered carrying it, just because. He was lonelier then, and Jun speaking was a reminder of what he'd left, not knowing when he'd come back to it. It's unfair to think of it, with Jun having shared this--something with--Mingming, albeit less faint, like a lighthouse out of order and flickering, but Minghao wondered once in passing, if he was ever a reminder to Jun, of who'd left him behind.
"I get that you want the best for me," Jun says, after they'd turned off the live at their hotel.
"Of course."
"There's only the logical thing to do," Jun continues.
"Yeah. Right now," Minghao says. Earlier that year, they'd all taken a picture with Seungcheol and Jeonghan in their buzzed cuts. Minghao's point is, Jun had waited. Minghao would fault Jun for loyalty, except he can't really blame Jun either. Expose yourself to something enough, and you'll mold yourself to it.
"You missed them much much more," Jun says quietly, like he's noting the dry room temperature from the A/C.
"It's been a long winter," Minghao says.
Lately in China, he doesn't spend his weeks constantly being surrounded by a lot of cast members near his age, with a steady enough routine each day of filming. Jun bore the fruits of that whenever his eyes shone talking about his co-workers on the drama set.
Minghao returning to someone used to be a way to say 'look--I've learned a thing or two. This is how I've grown.' His mother would flatten his hair and hold him by the arm to gently shepherd him towards food laid out on a table. In Seoul, he'd let himself back into their dorm to find people, sometimes Mingyu, sliding in his socks out to the living room, and tripping over Soonyoung, hands outstretched for overpriced local snack delicacies Minghao picked up from Beijing airport, duty-free.
"What if this thing never goes away between us?" Minghao asks.
"This pickup line of yours is getting old."
"Dude."
Jun's smile fades, face turning solemn in thought. "It can't be a bad thing, to have some guarantee that you won't die alone. I'm serious," Jun adds, impossibly and wholly earnest when Minghao feels his own mouth twitch.
"That's true," Minghao says, sniffing and turning up the room temp.
"Don't turn it off so early in the morning," Jun reminds him needlessly.
"Yeah yeah." Minghao rolls over, peeling off the extra comforter tonight to compensate for Jun's warmth. It really isn't so bad; he's gotten used to it
[FILL] a gap in the teeth
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: soulbond, set in a near-future canon where a few of svt are in service.
Permission to remix: Yes
Minghao can't deny that he's been slightly antsy the way someone who's trying to quit has been sneaking in a cigarette leeched off of their labelmates or members on a smoke break. He has to bear with it--it's not entirely in his control; he's just landed in Chengdu. There's barely any wind this evening, but the winter chill still cuts across his face as they walk, to the van, biting and sharp. It spreads to his arms and fingers through his jacket. He doesn't say anything when the new manager murmurs idly beside him, "Wen-laoshi should be done filming for today." Doesn't question it.
Later when he gets back to the hotel, Jun rings up Minghao on the phone just to ask, "Do you remember what I gave Jihoon-hyung on his birthday last year?"
"No," Minghao says, not really thinking about it while he's pouring hot water into a noodles cup in his hotel room, and then, "You drew him a cat on a Post-it, stuck that onto his monitor, and then chipped in for half of Joshua's gift." He makes it sound worse than it is--the new massage chair in Jihoon's room cost a fortune.
"It's the thought," Jun says patiently, slightly tinny and distant on speaker from where Minghao's left his phone on the study from the far end of the room.
"Where is this going?" Minghao asks, wary.
It took an embarrassingly long time for Minghao to also learn that when Jun has something pressing on his mind, he could be as calm as a lake. Until bubbles rise to the surface consistently until the waves ripple out, crash against the bank.
"Nowhere," Jun answers, but there's a pause after. "I'm still trying to decide."
Minghao tries not to scoff. It's been a few weeks since he'd heard from Jun properly. Jun had been going to auditions for the past two months. Getting waitlisted for a role was good news, but getting approached by another agency for a steady guarantee of opportunities in the field was even better. The company would benefit with a subcontract, and all Jun had to do was sign on, except he hasn't. Minghao tries to be respectful of Jun's hesitancy. If you want to influence Wen Junhui, it has to be subtle. Unfortunately, influence can only get Wen Junhui so far--expose yourself to a condition and the immunity builds up over time. Jun doesn't need to listen to Minghao. "If you're trying to ask me for advice, you'd already know what I'd say," Minghao prompts.
"You're you," Jun says. "By the way, Chenle is back in Shanghai now—he asked for us to visit. Surely, you're not going to turn his dinner invitation with his parents down?"
"Wouldn't dream of it," Minghao says, pulling the curtains back to put himself into bed.
The next morning, Minghao comes out of his hot shower shivering, and furiously texts Jun to wear a jacket. Jun just replies with a WeChat sticker.
There'd been a time before, when Minghao shut himself up in his room, withdrawn, fatigued, and eager for the time to pass by quicker when he could sleep things off and recover from a sprained ankle then, bored out of his mind. Jun, who'd grimaced when Minghao winced at the pain, had also looked at him right in the eye when Minghao emerged from his room late that night and asked 'how are you and your right hand feeling?' in Mandarin while the others were still in the room. Minghao could tell exactly when Jun's body was wrung out and relaxed after a needed jerk off session too, but still.
Sometimes he wonders if this thing they shared between them would ever break. If Minghao was being honest, the thought that it might not, terrifies him more than it should.
"That's because the idea of a soulmate makes you cringe," Jun said, matter-of-fact and almost, happily. That first year together training had Minghao horrified--Jun would appear with a new pack of Salonpas, herbal vitamins, rattling an unopened cup of ramyeon in his hand other hand before Minghao would admit that he should maybe, probably see the doctor again before agreeing to show off his flips before showcase.
"You can't tell me it's normal," Minghao said, frowning.
"Is it not? It isn't new for me," Jun replied. He'd been staring at the ceiling, lying on the floor of one of the rooms in the dimness of a late autumn morning. The only other noise had been Soonyoung snoring lightly next to Jeonghan, who was scrolling on his phone. Minghao can't remember much else, or exactly how the conversation went but he'd remembered carrying it, just because. He was lonelier then, and Jun speaking was a reminder of what he'd left, not knowing when he'd come back to it. It's unfair to think of it, with Jun having shared this--something with--Mingming, albeit less faint, like a lighthouse out of order and flickering, but Minghao wondered once in passing, if he was ever a reminder to Jun, of who'd left him behind.
"I get that you want the best for me," Jun says, after they'd turned off the live at their hotel.
"Of course."
"There's only the logical thing to do," Jun continues.
"Yeah. Right now," Minghao says. Earlier that year, they'd all taken a picture with Seungcheol and Jeonghan in their buzzed cuts. Minghao's point is, Jun had waited. Minghao would fault Jun for loyalty, except he can't really blame Jun either. Expose yourself to something enough, and you'll mold yourself to it.
"You missed them much much more," Jun says quietly, like he's noting the dry room temperature from the A/C.
"It's been a long winter," Minghao says.
Lately in China, he doesn't spend his weeks constantly being surrounded by a lot of cast members near his age, with a steady enough routine each day of filming. Jun bore the fruits of that whenever his eyes shone talking about his co-workers on the drama set.
Minghao returning to someone used to be a way to say 'look--I've learned a thing or two. This is how I've grown.' His mother would flatten his hair and hold him by the arm to gently shepherd him towards food laid out on a table. In Seoul, he'd let himself back into their dorm to find people, sometimes Mingyu, sliding in his socks out to the living room, and tripping over Soonyoung, hands outstretched for overpriced local snack delicacies Minghao picked up from Beijing airport, duty-free.
"What if this thing never goes away between us?" Minghao asks.
"This pickup line of yours is getting old."
"Dude."
Jun's smile fades, face turning solemn in thought. "It can't be a bad thing, to have some guarantee that you won't die alone. I'm serious," Jun adds, impossibly and wholly earnest when Minghao feels his own mouth twitch.
"That's true," Minghao says, sniffing and turning up the room temp.
"Don't turn it off so early in the morning," Jun reminds him needlessly.
"Yeah yeah." Minghao rolls over, peeling off the extra comforter tonight to compensate for Jun's warmth. It really isn't so bad; he's gotten used to it