Archive of Our Own

The broken record of "Hyung, hyung, hyung, hyung" is easy enough to ignore.

Chan has grown up with a little sister, and little sisters are the very definition of annoying. Chan has also grown up with Minho, the voice that incessant nagging belongs to, but annoying isn't something he would call him as easily. Annoying doesn't fit Lee Minho, not quite like mischievous does, or deviously playful. 

It's why Minho doesn't just stop there, repeatedly calling him until Chan caves and gives him his attention.

Minho considers the fact that their friendship is up in the air, neither party quite sure where exactly they stand with each other, and neither party particularly ready to address it.

He is conniving. Not in a malicious, human way, or a comic book mastermind way, but in a house cat way. He wants pets, or treats, or simply to be amused, so he will swipe his pesky paws, look up with his darling eyes, and swish his tail that gives away his schemes. 

He wants Chan to stop writing, so he hooks his chin over his shoulder, brushes his lips against the shell of his ear, and moans out like he's the protagonist of an exaggerated porno, "Chris..!"

Chan can ignore him no longer. It's the zap in his brain that breaks his concentration and halts his ballpoint pen to a stop so suddenly the pages of his songbook crinkle under his harsh grip. He forgets the words that follow the unfinished line for the breath that blows against his ear in the form of a little laugh, another victory and another point over Chan. 

"I wonder, will Channie hyung listen to me now?" Minho teases, still over his shoulder.

Brought back to reality, Chan gets a whole hand on Minho's face and pushes him back. 

"Dude!" he yelps when he feels Minho's wet tongue swipe his palm, and turns around in his desk chair scandalised.

Minho isn't the least bit shameful about his actions. In fact, he smiles wide and proud, cheeks bunched up his face like two bouquets, and balances on the heels of his feet at the attention finally acquired.

"You have problems," Chan grumbles with flushed cheeks, wiping his hand on his skinny jeans.

"Not true," Minho drawls. "Mom and Dad took me to a child psychiatrist when I was little, and the doctor said there was nothing wrong with me. Only that I was exceptionally charming. Oh, and very pretty."

"Exceptionally charming? That's a pretty common descriptor for prolific serial killers, Minho." 

Chan turns around and picks up his pen. The spread of his songbook is a convoluted mess of lyrics, scribbles, and question marks alongside confusing annotations, because Chan's head works ahead of itself whilst also working overtime on what he believes to be perfect, not simply good enough.

It is frustrating to look at, so Chan exhales harshly through his nose, wobbles his lip ring between his teeth, and twirls the pen around his fingers. The attempt to focus himself isn't effective, not when Minho is behind him.

Chan sighs, feeling his presence without having to look up.

He does look up though, because Minho's presence is commanding, not asking.

"What?" he asks, wondering why he hasn't kicked his feet up on his bed and busied himself with his cell phone or a comic book Chan has laying around. 

"What about very pretty?" he says.

Chan frowns. "What?"

"I'm exceptionally charming, and very pretty. What do you think, hyung? Do you think I'm very pretty?"

Chan looks at his upside down face. He sighs, gaze darting from Minho's cat shaped eyes and the handsome strands of his hair, to the slope of his nose and the dainty petals of his lips. He doesn't have to look, really. A single glance is all one needs to determine whether Minho is pretty.

"You already know that," Chan says.

"But I want to hear it from you," Minho replies, a grin tickling at the corners of his lips. 

Chan glares at him. He is picking at low hanging fruit. 

"Yes, Minho. I think you are very pretty," he says, rolling his eyes. "Now, could you leave me alone please? Sorry, I'm kinda busy." 

He turns around, expecting Minho to have given up. Minho is full of tricks but he will not exhaust himself pulling them. He is a house cat in that sense too, lying down being one of his favourite hobbies, and putting as little effort as he can get away with being a close second. Passing by the gymnasium and seeing Minho carelessly drag the rest of his team down is certainly amusing to watch.

But waving his tail doesn't require effort. 

So, Minho steps around from behind him and leans against his desk. The arm he brings down guards his book from Chan working on his song any further.

Chan looks up at him, patience lost.

"Look, I don't mind you being here, just—"

"Let's go out," Minho interrupts, his big, brown eyes unblinking.

"Minho, I'm writing, I can't—"

Minho rolls his eyes so far back into his skull they turn white. The exasperated groan drawls deep from inside his body and tips his rolling head back until Minho is levelling Chan with a lopsided glare.

Chan huffs at him, eyebrows pinching with his frustration. His best friend is melodramatic as always, and just as entitled. When he is busy with the band, he can't just drop things because Minho is bored!

"It's the last night of the fair," Minho says, as if that justifies bothering him.

"And it's the last week before the school festival," Chan shoots back, anxiously flicking his pen between his fingers. "I need to get this song written so me and the band can practice this week, Minho, I don't have time to go out! Now will you please—!"

"All right," Minho scoffs, pushing up from the desk. "Then let's see what you've got."

Chan hadn't slept last night, down in his basement until sunrise sorting out the instrumentals.

Reaction time impaired, he doesn't register when Minho snatches his songbook from his desk and smirks down at the lines he reads. 

Chan exclaims, jumping out of his seat. "Hey!"

"Oh, we're living young, we're feeling dumb," Minho snickers, purposefully singing off key. "Don't know what we're doing, but we're gonna have some fun? Are we going to have fun or not, Channie, why are there so many question marks?"

The bed can't take both of their teenage weight and creaks loudly as Chan attempts to wrestle the songbook out of Minho's hands. Downstairs, Chan's mother is sure to start complaining about the noise, composed mostly of Minho's insane laughter. 

He swaps the book between his hands and uses their one inch height difference to his advantage.

"Minho, give that back!" Chan whines helplessly as Minho slips out of his grasp and hops off of the bed.

Chan follows him, another thud! shaking his room, but he can't catch him before he steps onto his desk. Minho looks down, smiling felinely. He knows he's won this little chase of theirs because the desk can take even less than the bed. Chan looks up at him, desperate and pleading. 

"Oh, we are young, young forever. Oh, we are young, young forever," Minho drawls, painfully expressive with his distaste. He deadpans at Chan as he tosses it back, finally, "Riveting stuff, hyung. I'm sure the seniors will be very impressed."

The songbook lands on the floor with an unceremonious splat of its fluttering pages. Minho is not good at throwing. Chan sighs, miserable, and bends down to pick it up.

"So," Minho hums, jumping down.

He stretches his neck and his arms, a quiet grunt under his breath. That would be the most physical activity he's done in a while, after all. Rocking on his heels, Minho tilts his head at him, eyes fluttering.

He asks innocently, "The fair?"

"How does that help me?!" Chan snaps, reaching forward and pinching Minho's very pretty nose.

"It does, it does!" Minho whines, rubbing his face.

Chan walks past him. 

He tries to sit down at his desk again, wanting to rip the pages of his songbook out and start fresh, but he can't get far.

It isn't the fault of his body or a lack of sleep, rather, it's the Minho that wraps around his leg and plants himself to his bedroom floor. Chan looks down, horrified at the level of childishness Minho will lower himself to just to get what he wants. 

"Really?" Chan says, testing his grasp.

Minho squeezes around him and glares. "These are the lengths I have to go through because of you, Bang Chan."

"Just go with Jisung!"

"I don't want to go with Jisung, I want to go with you!"

"You don't even like heights! What are you going to do at the fair!"

"There's more to the fair than big rides, asshole!"

"I told you, I'm busy!"

"If you haven't written a good lyric after all this time, you aren't suddenly going to start now!"

"Jee, thanks, Minho," Chan scoffs, tugging on his leg frustratedly. Where is all this strength coming from? "You sure do know how to cheer a guy on..!"

Minho whines louder than he can shake his leg.

"You have a week left! That's enough time for you to retire for tonight, at least, and have some fun! Gosh, how could you possibly write about being young and having fun when you won't even let yourself do exactly that! Where's the heart, huh? Where's the authenticity? You're a faker, Bang Chan! How could the youth possibly connect with empty lyrics like that?!"

Chan swallows guiltily.

Band isn't just something he does on the side. Music is his life, down from the callouses on his hands from song writing to his sore fingertips from playing the guitar. The words he writes are supposed to come from his heart, making up the wires that connect to the hearts of his audience.

Chan is sure Minho is simply grasping at straws and targeting his sensitivity, but it does make him rethink his sleepless night and desperation. This isn't an assignment he wants to get over and done with. This is his passion, his life's work. Writing like this won't do.

"Come on!" Minho continues, smushing his cheek against his knee and looking up at him. "We'll never be as young as we are now!"

Chan freezes, a chord struck. It's a lurch of his heart, seen and spoken to, and the widening of his eyes, a lightbulb turned on to brighten them with inspiration. He moves fast, ripping his leg out of Minho's grasp with so much force that Minho falls flat on the floor with a yelp. It doesn't concern Chan, not as he races for his pen and scribbles the words down on a fresh page.

Minho picks his head up from the floor and snaps, "That's it! If you don't go out to the fair with me, I'm telling Auntie!"

Chan tears his gaze away from the words in his songbook and looks back at his best friend in disbelief.

"You're going to snitch on me?" he says slowly, as if to put into perspective what he's really threatening.

Minho puffs air through his nose and gets up from the floor completely. He brushes his knees off and crosses his arms, head tipped high.

"If that's what it takes," he says.

Chan can't contain his smile. He had made his mind up a few moments ago. Minho is right. There's no use sitting at his desk and waiting for it to hit him, not when he dozes off every other hour and can literally feel his bones inside of his body. He needs to refresh himself, clear his canvas and come back to his desk tomorrow. Tonight, he will find his youth in the funfair, with Minho by his side.

He just can't get over how cute Minho is.

"You wouldn't," Chan murmurs, closing his songbook on his desk and stepping closer to challenge him. He raises his eyebrows and teases, "Not when I can tell Auntie all about the magazines under your bed."

Minho is conniving, sneaky, a little vixen. But he is Chan's best friend. He knows him, underneath his games, beneath every layer of flesh, down to his very soul. He knows if Minho really wanted to go to the fair that badly, he would very well go by himself, enjoying his own company. But it isn't about the fair, not really. Minho is warm. He is kind and compassionate. He cares deeply.

His ears are bright red.

Chan laughs loudly as Minho shoves his shoulder.

"That—! I don't—! Dude, you snooped!"

"I didn't snoop," Chan argues. "I was looking for my other sock!"

Minho huffs, shaking the heat out of his face.

Chan grins, reaching out to tickle underneath his chin as he walks over to his closet. He's wearing yesterday's pyjamas, a pizza stain on his pant leg.

"Maybe you should put your porn stash away before you invite me to stay over," Chan coos.

Minho scoffs and follows behind him, "Whatever. Are you coming or not?"

Chan starts changing. He throws his sleep shirt in his laundry basket and grabs a band t shirt he had cut the sleeves off of with a pair of fabric scissors. Minho's fingers are on his back, poking his skin in demand of his attention. He pulls the shirt over his head and ruffles his bleached curls. They need retouching soon. 

"I hate to give you what you want," he says, sighing theatrically.

Minho snorts, "No, you don't."

Chan smiles, shaking his head. He kicks off his sweatpants and hops into a pair of skinny jeans. Minho cackles, pointedly watching him. He always makes fun of his skinny jeans and the process of getting them on. Chan sighs once they are snug on his hips, and shoots Minho an exasperated look as he loops a belt through the buckles.

Minho is grinning now, ears back to normal temperature.

"So you're coming?" he says, following him to his desk.

"I'm putting my eyeliner on, aren't I?"

Through his mirror, Chan catches the one apple of Minho's rising with his pride. He smirks but it is far too cute for the effect he is hoping for. Chan has to hold back a giggle as he makes work of the black eyeliner pencil, coating his waterlines, rubbing them together, and smoking his outer corners. It is a routine he has perfected over time, stealing the pencil from his sister's makeup bag enough times for her to just buy him his own.

"It is so nice always getting my way," Minho sighs, flopping down on Chan's bed.

Satisfied with his eyes, Chan turns around and walks over to the bed.

He hovers above Minho, a hand beside his head and a knee between his legs keeping him steady. Minho's legs open up to welcome him. It's a reflex, Chan tells himself, forcing the fact away, lest his brain provide him with vulgar thoughts.

"I'm so glad your pride is intact after getting on your knees to beg, Minho yah."

Minho's hair falls beautifully against his bed sheets. He mirrors the playful grin Chan looks down at him with, a wonderful peachy blush spreading across his cheeks.

"Shut up, dude," he says through an immature laugh.

Chan giggles along with him. He loves how easily they can joke around with each other. It's one of his favourite things about their friendship, how childish they can be together.

He turns his head and flutters his eyelashes. "'S my eyeliner look okay?"

"Looks stupid like the rest of you," Minho retorts, crossing his arms.

"Liar. You just hate that it gets me girls," Chan teases, pinching Minho's belly through his shirt.

Minho swats his hand away, glaring.

"If only you stayed long enough for girls to see you getting your jeans on," he scoffs, looking down at rips and tears at his knees.

"Nah. That's just for you."

Chan leans down and steals a kiss from Minho's cheek. He snickers as Minho snatches his face away a second too late and screams at the top of his lungs in protest at the show of affection.

Chan shushes him in favour of his mother but he can't keep his laughter down himself, Minho's glare so adorable he has to turn away to calm himself down. Just like that, Chan feels like he had slept for hours on the spongiest of mattresses, piled on top of each other, covered with soft linen sheets, every inhale an orchard of daisies and fresh summer air.

The lines write themselves. Chan has to hurry himself out of the house before he can grab his songbook and start inking them.

The fairground is busy with families, friends, and a lot of couples. Chan spots girls and boys with their fingers intertwined, sharing cones of cotton candy, trying their luck at stuffed toy games, and laughing in their little bubbles that only the other exist within. He glances thoughtfully at Minho who seems to have the same idea, already looking back at him.

Chan bumps into him playfully. "What is this, a date?"

Minho scoffs, dodging a little kid that isn't paying attention to where he's going. 

"If this was a date, you wouldn't be doing very well," he says, narrowing his gaze.

"What! What have I done wrong?"

"Walked past the taiyaki stand without buying me one."

Chan exclaims, despite reaching for his wallet in his back pocket and turning around, "But you asked me out! That means you should be buying me food!"

Minho follows him back to the taiyaki stand, a skip in his step. He smiles pleased as Chan hands his money to the worker and the worker begins to prepare a fresh one for him. Chan rolls his eyes but his cheeks are dimpled with a smile. He likes being the only one in their friend group that can spoil Minho. Minho is quick to pay for everyone else's food, but when it's Chan paying, he's the first to lay back and voice his demands.

Chan knows better than to buy himself one. As they walk through the fair, Minho feeds him bites of the fish cake. The chocolate is warm and gooey, and hangs on the corners of Minho's lips. Chan giggles at him, and giggles when he looks at him confused, and giggles more when he flicks his tongue out to catch the chocolate.

Chan is used to sticking out with his unnatural hair, but the fairground is full of colour so vibrant it makes him feel like he's discovered a darker shade of black with his monochrome style of clothes. The rides are ablaze with flashing lights, fantastical themes like Alice in Wonderland and Peter Pan enticing people closer. Hoopla is impossible, a group of middle schoolers blowing their money on multiple games, and hook a duck is even worse.

The claw machines are filled with soft toys waiting for new owners, and Minho is drawn to a particular one filled with different coloured cat toys.

Minho takes his wrist and drags him closer.

He looks at Chan, eyes wide, and presses his finger on the glass.

"I want one."

"Minho—"

"Look! Look at that orange one! I want that one, that one looks like Soonie!" he exclaims, looking at the Soonie looking cat behind the glass and back at Chan. "Get it for me, hyung."

The claw machines are designed to fail, just like the rest of the games at the fair, to generate close calls, frustrating determination to win, and as much money as possible.

Chan knows that. Minho must know it too! But Minho has big, brown eyes and Minho wants the cat toy that looks like his real cat who he loves very much, and Minho wants Chan to get it for him, and oh, how could Chan possibly say no?

"Loser!" the machine mocks.

Minho fixes him with a look of disapproval.

"You missed. I don't want that one, I want that one!"

Chan protests, "That was a warm up!" He cracks his knuckles and huffs. "This is the one."

It is not the one.

"Loser!"

The second one is not the one, and neither is the third.

"Loser!"

By the tenth time, Chan's pockets are significantly lighter. 

Minho joins in on the mockery, copying the machine and singing, "Loser!"

Chan swats away the fingers he pokes into his head and glares. "I'm starting to think you didn't really want that cat; you just wanted to make fun of me."

Minho giggles his evil bunny teeth. Chan huffs, reaching out to grab him. 

"Hey!" he laughs, putting his fists up to fight him back. "I did want the toy. I can't help it if you suck though!"

"It's the machine, you know it is!"

"Pft. Excuses!"

"Well then, let's see you get it then!"

"No way. I'm not the one that walks around thinking I'm the best at everything!"

Chan gasps in mock offense. 

He says, despite the wicked grin on his face that knows exactly what Minho is talking about, "I do not walk around like that!"

Minho, cat-like to the very end, escapes his hold with a light jab to his side. His cheeks are bright with his smile. Chan likes how happiness looks on him, even if it is at his expense. He will play his games if it means he smiles like that always.

"This isn't over," Chan says, turning his attention back to the Soonie toy inside the claw machine.

Minho pulls at his arm. "Dude, come on! You know that's what they want and you're still falling for it!"

"Yeah, but what kind of guy would I be if I didn't win my date the toy?"

Chan holds his grin as Minho stares at him. He blinks, hands still around his arm, until his expression shifts into his disgust and suddenly, he can't bear to touch Chan anymore. He yells the cringe out of him and shakes his head in his defiance.

"I am not one of your girls, Bang Chan!"

Chan's head is achy with his laughter. It's a good ache, better than the frustrated bangs of it against his desk just hours before. 

"Hey, you started it with your taiyaki!"

Minho shudders beside him as he murmurs, "All of a sudden it became too real. I'm just another one of your groupies you're fucking. Oh, the horror..."

"Dude! You can't say things like that! And I don't have groupies!!!"

The eleventh attempt turns into the twelfth, which soon becomes fourteen, and then sixteen.

Seventeenth is Chan's last, not by choice, not because he surrenders to the claw machine gods, admits himself too cocky, but because a swift kick and an English curse word draws towards them the attention of a nearby security guard.

And then they're running.

Well, it's more like Chan running and Minho getting dragged along.

His hand around his wrist, Chan pulls Minho through brightly coloured balloons and around wafting food stalls.

He exclaims his apologies between his maniacal giggles, slipping around people's shoulders and depending on the charm of his dimple when the older folks scowl. It's a blur of flashing lights and the buzz of fairground music. Chan feels the wind through his hair and the heat on his cheeks.

"Chan hyung!!!" Minho screams between his lack of breath. 

Chan almost falls over laughing at the look of him over his shoulder. 

"Get back here, punk!" the security guard yells from behind his burley moustache, a few paces behind them.

"Why is he still chasing us!!!" screams Minho, on the brink of passing out, apparently.

Chan's scowl splits into a grin. They made a good distance from the claw machine; the guard must be fixated on Chan's 'delinquent' appearance. 

"Come on!" he exclaims, and Minho grabs his hand and yells at the top of his lungs, locking them together.

Chan whizzes them around the Pirate Ship and past the haunted house, down a path with a bunch of games. He puts the burners on in his calves and gets them lost in the guard's sight, circling around a big crowd of people busying a costumed entertainer.

"Hyung!" Minho cries. "There!"

Minho pulls on his hand and takes the lead. To be fair to him, he starts to run for real, and pulls them both inside a photobooth. Chan yanks the curtain closed behind him and peers through the gap as adrenaline amps through his body. 

Outside, the security guard jogs past the photobooth, a lost expression on his hairy face. 

Chan gives it a few seconds, one, two, three..! and finally turns to Minho, the both of them taking the chance to breathe. Chan pants, his chest heaving, and then it bubbles up and up, that fire, or light, whatever it is that Minho seems to procure inside of him, and takes the form of his uncontrollable, squeaky laughter. 

As if the security guard can catch them at any moment with a snatch of the curtain concealing them, Chan tips his head into Minho's shoulder and muffles his giggles.

Minho starts to laugh too. He's quieter, breathy little wind chimes Chan might have missed if he wasn't so close to him.

Like this, he can hear Minho's racing heartbeat too.

And Minho is warm, his body heart burning through his flannel. 

As the adrenaline slows down, the reality of the situation they're in dawns upon Chan.

Unknowingly, Minho has cramped them inside a photobooth that is so obviously designed to force proximity between people, between people that like each other, couples that are almost there but not close enough, with the false pretence of picture taking and memory making. Chan realises it, amongst other things, like the fact that their chests are touching and their hips are aligned, and that Minho looks erotic ridiculous! with his back pressed against the wall. 

Luckily, their getaway conceals the true cause of the blush that spreads across Chan's face, and Minho is far too focused on tearing Chan a new one to notice anything else.

"Do you make all of your dates run?!" he screams.

His breath hits Chan's cheek with how close they are.

"Well, I don't typically date geriatrics— Ow! "

Chan covers his nipple protectively, pouting at his hissing cat of a best friend.

"You didn't even use that word right, foreigner."

"Hey, you can't say it like that, that's derogato— Owww! "

He raises his other hand, knocking Minho in the process, and covers his other nipple. 

"Move!" Minho exclaims.

Against his better judgement, just to be childish, because provoking Minho never gets old, Chan plants his feet firmly into the ground and even steps closer to press Minho further into the wall behind him.

"Dude!" he screams, hands finding purchase against his chest and pushing. "What the hell!"

Chan laughs at how helpless he is. Even though he isn't that big, he is broad, at least, and Minho refuses to partake in physical activity so much that he has no strength at all. 

"Stop squirming," Chan teases.

"Then get your dick off of me!"

"My dick isn't on you!"

"It is! I can feel it!"

"Really? Is it that big, Minho yah?"

"You're sick!!!"

"You're the one that started pinching my nipples!"

"I didn't pinch your nipples to get you hard!"

"I'm not hard!" Chan laughs, finally stepping back enough to find that Minho is laughing too, despite his apparent screams of terror. Chan laughs so happily he has to steady himself with a hand on his stomach, his cheeks beginning to ache. 

Minho murmurs, his cheeks flushed, from running, "You're crazy."

Chan shakes his head, disgustingly fond. 

"Come here, you."

The photo booth is a lot less cramped with Minho sitting in Chan's lap.

Chan pulls him down and wraps his arms around his waist. It is an easy thing, comfortable, because Minho is often seen perched there. At lunch, when there aren't enough chairs for all of their group, Minho walks around the table and sits himself in Chan's lap like it is his designated throne. They're all close with each other, having met back in elementary, but Minho especially enjoys Chan. 

Minho shifts up his right thigh so that the camera has a good shot of them both.

"You could brush your hair once in a while," Minho retorts as soon as their faces appear on the screen.

Chan whines, "You know it gets frizzy when I brush it."

He glances at Minho through the screen and scowls.

"What's the matter?" Minho says, the corners of his lips twitching.

Chan holds his breath without even realising. Minho is just too beautiful, the way he brushes a hand through his perfect hair and the strands fall wonderfully into place, framing his royal cheekbones and complimenting the strands that peek out underneath his ears.

His neglect to getting it cut has been driving Chan crazy. Minho must know. He must know how Chan's fingers itch and his lips quiver, and that's why he doesn't get it cut, just to spite him and tease him and watch him suffer.

"It isn't fair," Chan sighs, clenching his fist.

Minho laughs and puts his hand in Chan's hair to ruffle it. He says coyly, "Sorry, Channie. You have to be born with it."

"It's not that," Chan mutters.

Minho looks back at him, his eyes shaking in understanding. "Oh."

The shutters sound. 

They get their pictures taken in a panic because Chan puts his coins in too early and Minho isn't ready, and they didn't even discuss how they were going to pose! The booth starts literally shaking from the outside again. Minho screams and Chan screams back, they laugh and smile, and Minho's cat claws come out because Chan gets handsy at his sides, forcing him into a fit of giggles for the last shutter sound.

Yanking the curtain open, Chan clumsily steps out of the booth, still laughing. Minho follows behind him with an exaggerated huff because he's smiling too and he can't control it, no matter how hard he tries.

"Jerk," he says, arms wrapped protectively around his body.

Chan grins ecstatically. "It's cute how worked up you get."

"Has the bleach reached your brain too?" he scoffs, cheeks flushing. "Pervert."

In terms of photography, their pictures aren't good at all. 

The first one is taken while they're off their guard, looking up at the screen rather than at the camera with their eyes puzzled and their mouths hanging open. They look like fools, Minho giggles under his breath, pointing at Chan's 'stupid' face.

The second is better, when Minho started screaming for them to smile and Chan screamed back, and the single moment of peace was when the shutter sounded.

It is a picture that gives no indication of the chaos that swayed the booth side to side. Chan's grin is dimpled, he winks playfully, and a peace sign accompanies his cute expression. Minho isn't as bright as he is. In the picture, he smiles small and sweet, an apple on one side teasing. Chan looks like a boy, and Minho looks like a prince. Oh, it's exhausting.

The third picture, Chan is caught red handed. 

Minho tells him they're doing silly faces, but Chan's gaze lingers a second too long and he catches Minho's chosen expression. It's his polite cat smile and his blown out eyes, and Chan is gone.

He is so far gone in the picture – moons for eyes and a disgustingly fond smile, not even looking at the camera but looking at Minho, seeing only Minho, thinking Minho, Minho, Minho – that it even sickens Chan to look at himself. The moment he had reaffirmed his awful feelings is immortalised into a photo strip, cradled in the hands of the very person he has those feelings for.

Minho laughs under his breath. It isn't convincing.

Chan swallows and laughs along too, if only to feel less like everyone in the fairground is looking at him, the idiot, head over his heels, heart in his eyes, who is bleeding profusely all over himself.

"What are you, in love with me, or something?" he teases, thumb grazing the third picture.

He's never said it out loud before.

Back then, when he started having those feelings, it was Changbin he confided in. They never talked about love, only about having a crush, and liking boys, because Chan only had a girlfriend before. Kids their age are always so quick to declare it, two weeks into their relationships or only having touched each other physically and not emotionally. Chan didn't want to get ahead of himself.

He learnt over time, though, that loving Minho wasn't something he needed to declare to himself. The crushes he's had before have been agonising, girls out of reach, making him feel like a try hard, but the feelings he has for Minho are steady, gentle.

He loves Minho; he always has.

He loves Minho in the cheerful good morning's, a hand on his waist that differentiates the greeting from others'. He loves Minho in the eyes that watch over him, even when they aren't directly speaking to each other. They are devastatingly soft from across the lunch table or through the classroom windows when he doesn't know he's there looking. He loves Minho in the lyrics he writes, in the teenage dream of young love he depicts in the back pages, in his name he inks out in the margins, over and over again.

Deep and meaningful love, no, devotion, had become the backdrop to all of their interactions without Chan knowing.

Chan laughs through his nose and bumps their shoulders together, murmuring, loud enough for him to hear, "Or something."

Minho doesn't react. His eyelashes don't widen with his surprise, he doesn't pull back in disgust, and his body doesn't freeze, nor does he feign disinterest. It all feels normal, as if Chan confessing to him is as mundane as hearing the school announcements on the intercom every morning. 

The fourth picture is adorable, but is overshadowed by the third. It's blurry and only half of Minho's lovely apple face is visible. Chan can hear their laughter in it, Minho jumping out of his lap mid tickle, grabbing at Chan's offending hands.

Minho splits the two strips apart and hands Chan his. 

Chan smiles at the column of memories. He will treasure them forever. 

"Don't do anything weird with it," Minho says, already turning around and walking away.

Chan slides the strip into his jean pocket and joins his side again. "Like what?"

"I don't know, jerk off to it," Minho shrugs. 

Chan shakes his head, his shoulders shaking with his silent giggles.

"You're the crazy one, you know that? How do you even come up with this stuff! I was thinking of putting it on my wall, with the others, obviously!" Chan complains as they begin to search for a new attraction. 

"With the others?" Minho says, frowning.

"Yeah? Remember? On my wall? I have loads of photo strips," Chan replies.

Minho scoffs.

Chan nudges him.

He nudges back, eyelashes fluttering.

"I just figured we were a little more special," Minho begins, looking at him pointedly. His eyes drop into something a little more cunning as he speaks, smiling wryly, "What with how you were looking at me in that picture." He sighs, all dramatic, and looks away, feigning interest in a ride. "But I guess it was nothing." He shrugs. "Since you're putting us up there with the others."

Chan stops walking. Minho carries on but turns around when he realises Chan's shoulder isn't against his anymore.

He says, all innocent, "What?"

Chan doesn't know when it started. He isn't sure if he believes in love at first sight, but he knows for a fact that there had been an energy between them, a crackle of a spark, something like a flame, the beginnings of a feeling that has been long since burning.

He couldn't have known that it was there at the time, being younger and concerned with matters more trivial than love, but he knows that it slowly grew bigger and bigger. And at first, he tried to ignore it, and then deny it, and then it was such a big feeling that he had to confront it. Minho. The more thought he gave it, the more it made sense. Minho. Minho. Of course, it's Minho.

Who else but Minho?

It's always going to be him.

Minho knows that.

Chan knows that he knows because he's never made an effort to conceal it, though he's never made an effort to draw the curtains open as far as they go and reveal it either.

It's why Minho can get so playful, say things he almost means and almost doesn't.

Almost, Chan realises then, with the fairground a sporadic mess of colour around them, and the music tuned out because his heart is beating louder.

While he keeps his claws out, Minho's ears always give him away. Standing there, feigning innocence, his ears blossom rosy. 

Us, he said.

Not 'me', as in Minho, but us, as in you and me, Chan hyung. I thought we were special?

Chan grins wildly. It feels like the wind is in his hair again. Adrenaline seems to surge through his body, like when they were running, except all it takes to get his body itching to move, perhaps, to pull Minho into his arms and kiss him passionately, is the words that sparkle in his eyes. Not quite I love you, but something arguably better.

Minho is close again. He tilts his head and coos, "Earth to hyung! Do you really like me that much that your brain short circuited?"

The world around them trickles back to Chan's reality, his heart levelling with the fairground music. 

Chan finally says, a lot more crude than he feels, "Fine. I will jerk off to them."

He laughs as he walks past Minho, whose face falls, the rosy of his ears spreading to his cheeks.

"That's not what I meant!"

"Then, what did you mean?"

"I meant—!" 

Flustered, Minho looks around the fair. 

Chan giggles. He pulls him close to him with an arm around his shoulder, crowding his face. 

"We are special, Minho yah," he whispers, lips brushing against his cheek until Minho leans away from him. "I'll put them on the cover of my songbook since I write my lyrics about us."

Minho shakes out of his grasp.

"Look! A haunted house!"

Ears red, he leaves Chan behind to contemplate his feelings.

Almost, but if Minho wants to run, Chan doesn't mind chasing after him for a while.

Minho walks towards the Walk Of Terror with a sense of purpose that unsettles Chan.

"We're not going in there," Chan says, and his frown deepens when a crying child passes them, a balled up fist rubbing across traumatised eyes. He blinks as the little boy disappears into the crowd with what looks like his two older brothers. They bribe him with candy and toys if only he stops crying before they reach their parents. Chan looks grimly at Minho who smirks wickedly at him. "Are we?"

Minho laughs. "You're kidding, right?"

The outside of the attraction is more garish than it is scary. That much, Chan can admit. The walls are covered with painted murals depicting a variety of horror themes; nuns, demons, ghosts, zombies, vampires, and Chan's least favourite, the pale skinned little girl with all her hair in front of her face.

Red paint intended to mimic blood is splattered and hand prints are smeared along the floor leading up to the entrance. Chan feels queasy looking at it, imagining an failed attempt to escape, a hand around his ankle, and getting dragged back inside.

He snaps his head back up and pleads Minho.

"There's blood on the floor," he mumbles pathetically.

Minho deadpans, "It's red paint."

"Okay, but did you see that kid? Anything could happen in there!"

"Yes, hyung," Minho scoffs, stepping forward to grab his arm and beginning to pull him forward, closer to the house. "I saw the kid crying who's more than a decade younger than you. Now, come on!"

Chan digs his heels into the ground. 

Minho groans, "You are such a scaredy cat!"

"Yes, yes I am!" he cries. "See, I have no problem admitting that, so you won't be able to goad me into going in!"

Minho's grasp around him weakens as he scowls. 

"That was so not my plan... Chicken."

Chan grins. "Right. Well. I'll be here. Waiting for you."

They stare at each other for a second. Chan can't help it when his gaze drops to Minho's lips, lingers there, and then drags back up to his eyes.

Minho blushes, but he doesn't break out of the calculations Chan figures he's making. He's got his scheming face on, which is one of his most adorable ones. Chan smiles, waiting for whatever manipulation route he intends on taking. He would make the cutest little wannabe supervillain.

In the end, Minho simply uses Whine. It is his signature last resort.

"Hyuuuuuuuunnng!!!"

"Minho—"

"Come oooooonnnnnn!!!"

Chan hisses, flushing when kids their age start looking their way, "You're making a scene..!"

Minho, full of his darling wit, shoots, "It's your hair doing that."

"Is this supposed to be helping your case?" Chan deadpans.

"Come on, hyung!" Minho groans in frustration and takes his hand this time. Chan looks down at them together. "Whatever happened to carpe diem?" His eyes seem to light up, realising what he has in his adorable supervillain arsenal. "Yeah. Yeah! Seize the day! It's now or never, nobody's gonna guarantee our time, that's why we gotta enjoy ourselves! That's what you said, isn't it? Isn't it, hyuuung?"

Oh, the Whine and using his lyrics against him wombo combo. How evil.

Seeing his resolve dwindle in his eyes, Minho pulls on his hand and walks them towards the haunted house.

Chan sighs, "You can't keep doing that."

He lets Minho walk him forward, heels out of the ground.

"And why can't I? You did say you write your lyrics about me!"

Chan watches their hands swing back and forth together, now intertwined, as Minho practically skips through the entrance of the haunted house. He laughs like he should be one of the scare actors that work there, and Chan can only let him take him to his impending doom. 

His heart is too big. He is fond to a fault. If Minho wants, Chan shall give.

The Walk of Terror is exactly what it sounds like. The jump scares are cheap and the masks the actors wear aren't all that scary once you see them the first time.

Chan screams at every single one of them and begins to call for his mom, which makes Minho enjoy the experience even more. He laughs in the faces of the actors at every failed attempt to scare him and finds joy in Chan's suffering. He even manages to get his hands on a mask and scare Chan himself.

In the end, Chan wobbles out of the exit happy. His soul is half detached from his body, but Minho is still laughing, and it's worth it to hear that sound.

"You're such a baby."

"I'm faint hearted," Chan sulks, squeezing his hand.

Minho squeezes back, humming thoughtfully. "Are we doing this now? Holding hands?"

Chan smiles at his shyness. 

"I suppose we are. You didn't let go."

"Because you didn't first!"

"I don't want to, so I'm not," Chan says, as a matter of fact. "You're more than welcome to though."

Minho pauses, and for a moment, Chan believes that it's all in his head, his feelings latching onto glimmers of hope, and Minho really will let go. But then he tips his chin up, that stuck up cat expression he pulls whenever he wants to playfully conceal his feelings on his face, and retorts, "I'll hold onto you so your chicken knees don't give out, hyung."

Chan huffs and bumps into him. "And I'll hold onto you so your geriatric ones don't give out either."

"I conserve my energy, there's nothing wrong with that! You're the one closer to fifty!"

"By a year, congratulations!"

"You're still older, it doesn't matter by how much. Old hyung."

"Whatever." Chan smiles thoughtfully, squeezing his hand. "I guess we're each other's canes, huh."

"Ugh. Gross, hyung." Minho raises a snarky eyebrow, squeezing him back. "Have you got a song about that too?"

Chan smirks and takes the lead, pulling Minho behind him so that he stumbles on his feet to keep up. "Yep, I do. Along with the song about your eyes, and your laugh, oh, and your lips too. So kiss me, kiss me, kiss me, and tell me that I'll see you again!"

Minho screams for him to be quiet, covering his face with his free arm.

The flirting continues around the fairground, hand in hand, shoulders together.

They pull their hands apart only to eat, feed each other, play games, and go on the rides. It is always Chan that finds his hand first, never Minho, but Minho accepts him graciously, threading their fingers together with his head pointedly turned the other way. Chan loses all the rigged games, comes close to beating one, and pulls a crowd of high school girls that recognise him when he has a go at the punching machine. 

Minho rolls his eyes when Chan grins a little too hard at their attention when the machine glows with seven hundred and something at his punch. He acts coy but Chan turns it around on him, telling him he looks cute when he's jealous and giggling when Minho babbles on about how it isn't jealousy because he doesn't get jealous.

The Big Wheel comes closer and closer into view as they walk. 

Chan sees it first.

His eyes twinkle with a mischief of his own, nurtured over the years by Minho himself.

"Can I stay over? Well, I already told Mom that I was, so it doesn't really matter what you say," Minho says idly, not realising that Chan is walking them over to the line waiting for the Ferris wheel.

"Inviting yourself over on the first date," Chan teases. "That isn't classy, Minho yah."

Minho purrs back, fluttering his eyelashes, "What can I say, hyung? That punch really impressed me."

Chan backs down quickly.

After all, Minho's eyes are magnetic, and Chan can hardly call himself a man yet.  

Minho laughs at his flustered expression, but his laughter dies down quickly when their steps slow down and he looks up to find the wheel towering over them. Chan watches his face closely, silently simpering as his eyes widen. He also can't help but swoon inside because Minho looks adorable as his pupils begin to shake and his lips part to reveal the bottoms of his bunny teeth.

His head whips around to look at him, disbelieving.

"No way," he says in a breath.

"Oh, but whatever happened to carpe diem?" Chan mocks, pulling a Minho on him.

Minho's eyes shake so sweetly Chan feels like a bit of a creep enjoying them so much.

He smiles, wanting to push him more, and points in the direction of the exit where a kid is skipping out excitedly.

"Minho yah, look there," he says sweetly. 

Minho frowns at the sight of the little kid. His lips even tremble into a pout as he sulks, "That—! That is so not the same thing!"

Chan pokes his side and taunts him, "Who's the chicken now, Minho yah?"

Minho's frown deepens.

"You're a scaredy cat now, aren't you, Minho yah?"

Minho shakes his head defiantly, his eyebrows beginning to furrow in hostility.

It's only meant to be a little bit fun.

Chan isn't serious, and he figures his smile and laughter makes that clear to Minho.

Except the line moves and Minho is the one to pull them forward.

Chan blinks and looks up at the emptied wheel. The last round of people have all stepped off and now the worker is boarding the next round on. Minho, their hands as tight as ever, leads them towards the front of the line with the same purpose he had approached the haunted house with.

"Minho—"

"Come on," Minho says, ignoring him.

"Wait! I was only joking!"

Chan forces him to stop as the couple in front of them steps onto their designated carriage.

"Minho, I was fucking around!" he exclaims, letting go of his hand and taking him by his shoulders. "Come on, let's go home, okay?"

"No, I want to," Minho says, still breathless.

"What! No! No, I know you don't really want to. And that's fine! Because you don't have to!" Chan shakes his head, squeezing his shoulders as if that will make Minho listen. "I was just teasing, seriously!"

Chan looks hopelessly into his wide eyes. Minho isn't usually the type to want to prove himself. He allows people to think whatever they want about him, even if their reads on his character are so far off that it's laughable. His eyes are so full of emotion it surprises Chan. It is not sadness or shame, Chan is thankful, but the kind of look one makes before taking a big leap, a deep breath, a countdown to the reliance on blind faith.

And then he whispers, so deep and raw that Chan knows it isn't just the height he intends to face bravely, "I can't be scared forever."

Chan murmurs, eyebrows furrowing, "Minho..."

When it's their turn to board, Minho takes his hand again and walks them forward.

"Are you sure?" Chan asks.

"I'm sure!"

"Because you can back out, you know," Chan says, but Minho is already stepping inside the carriage with his support.

As the carriage shakes beneath his feet, Minho takes a sharp breath.

"Minho," Chan pleads, seeing the fear flash across his eyes.

Minho blinks it away and pats the space beside him. "Come on, hyung, ride with me."

Chan feels his heart racing in his chest on behalf of Minho, but he takes extra care to step inside so as not to jostle the carriage even more. He sits beside him and his heart aches when Minho immediately shuffles closer, sticking to his side.

"Wait! Just one second please!" Chan exclaims before the middle aged worker can secure the door shut. 

He wraps a protective arm around Minho's waist and pulls him even closer.

He says, voice as soft as velvet, "Do you really want to, Minho? It isn't too late for us to get off and just go home, you know? We can do this a different way, you know that, right?"

Minho's eyes are shaking and he feels rigid in Chan's arms, but there's an air of determination to him that Chan realises he won't be able to get through. It is so unlike him that Chan is fascinated by his resolve. That kind of look in his eyes is wonderful. Minho has never looked so beautiful before.

"One last time, dude," Chan says, grinning in awe of him. "Do you want to get off?"

Minho shakes his head, smiling nervously back.

Chan can see that he's terrified. 

"Seize the day," he huffs, his voice wobbly but his eyes electric. "I'll show you what youth means, hyung!"

Chan hadn't given it much thought, falling in love with the same person twice.

As the sun begins to fall down the sky, Minho plants that seed, blooming a flower of a hundred different feelings and possibilities. Chan intends to fill the pages of his songbook with them, beginning with the ending song for the school festival.

He is the songwriter, and Minho, beautiful, brave Minho will forever be his muse.

The wheel turns and the carriages rock lightly as they get higher and higher with every boarding group of passengers. Minho's hands find him. They lie flat against his stomach and his fingers curl into the material of his shirt. His mouth hangs parted, chest rising and falling visibly with the breath he's consciously steadying. Chan watches him, stars in his eyes.

"Hey, look at me," he says.

Minho's eyes are faraway until they catch his gaze. 

Chan smiles at him lovely. "Hi. You okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay." Minho swallows and looks around. He catches a glance of the height outside the window, and darts back to look at Chan again. "It's getting higher."

Chan brings a hand up to cup his cheek, his other arm still firm around his waist. It's the closest they've been without it being a game. Chan has certainly never held his face like this before, the way he's seen love interests do in his sister's Korean dramas. He grazes his cheek with his thumb so lovingly, so achingly careful, a sweet blush flowers underneath his touch.

"Don't look down," he says. "Just focus on me, yeah?"

Minho eyes dart again as he stutters, "Hyung. That was so—! That was so inappropriate!"

"What?" Chan giggles, blushing too. "No, I didn't mean it like that. Minho yah, you think so dirty. It's you who's the perv!"

"Don't you understand the power you have?" Minho frowns, looking behind him. "And you're so close. Ugh. That's not my fault."

Chan smiles in surprise. He had expected to Minho to deny it or turn it around on him, not for him to yield, make himself appear weaker.

"You really like me back, huh."

"What? You—!" Chan turns Minho's head for him when his gaze wonders. He gulps and refocuses his eyes. "You have to have known. I flirt with you all the time!"

Chan chuckles at Minho's understanding of flirting. 

He says, "I don't know about that. I guess I thought that it meant you were okay with it; that you'll stick around even though I have feelings for you."

"And you would've been be okay with that?" frowns Minho. "Just us staying as friends?"

"Yes. No. I mean—" Chan shrugs, not prepared to answer what Minho is asking him. He sighs and shakes his head. "I don't know. You're my best friend. I don't want to lose you."

"Hyung's not smart," Minho mutters. "Wouldn't have lost me."

"Yeah," Chan bashfully smiles. "Then how'd you find out? I know I don't hide it much, but what made you realise that it was a more than friends kinda thing?"

"Minju noticed first, actually."

"Ah, she did?"

"She's a girl. She has an eye for these things," Minho scoffs. "Her words, not mine, because I didn't believe her at first. And then I looked for it and it was right there in front of me." He squints at Chan, pressing his fingers against his belly. "You're right. You don't hide it. You have no shame at all."

Chan smiles. The picture they took is a testimony to that.

"I just want everyone to know!"

"Your fangirls haven't grasped the idea yet."

"You really do get jealous, don't you?"

"I don't! I just think it's sad, that's all, when they can quite clearly see you pathetically in love with somebody else, and yet they still think they have a chance." Minho rolls his eyes, grinning. "I mean, where's the self respect?"

"Pathetically in love with you?"

"I'm not wrong, am I?"

Chan laughs and pinches him.

He does it because that's what they do. Minho teases and Chan targets his sensitivity. He tickles and touches and gets too close, and Minho screams and puts his fists up and jumps away.

Minho jumps away, rocking the carriage they're sitting in suspended at least seventy feet in the air.

"Hyung!" Minho shrieks, and even Chan is a little scared.

He pulls Minho back into his arms and they hold each other so tightly that it hurts. Chan fairs better, struck by the initial shock, but Minho pants and his body shakes and his fingers search desperately for security in Chan's shirt that it is suffocating.

"I'm here!" Chan urges, squeezing his body. 

"Hyung," Minho whimpers, and Chan's heart breaks a little. "Hyung..!"

Chan buries a hand in Minho's long hair, the way he's always wanted to.

"I'm here, Minho. Hyung's here. I'm right here, baby."

It slips out. Chan can't think too long about it, his heart beating in time with Minho's.

He tilts his head and kisses into his hair, as far as he can reach with Minho buried into his neck.

"We're okay," be breathes. "We're okay, Minho. See, we've stopped rocking. Can you feel that, Minho? We're steady. We're okay. You're okay." He coos against his ear and rubs his back, anything it takes to help him calm down. "Minho. Breathe with me, yeah? Follow hyung, okay?"

A few practised breaths in and out and Minho is lifting his head up from his neck. Chan frowns with his guilt at the look on his face, like a wounded bird. He holds him tight, the hand in his hair falling back to cup his cheek.

"Are you with me, Minho?"

The cat claws come out and snatch the wounded bird away.

"What the hell is your problem, dude?!" Minho screams, the bunches of his shirt in his hands suddenly feeling threatening.

Chan cries helplessly, "It was an accident!"

"An accident! You know how fucking scary this is for me!"

"Look, I forgot that we were even up here! I'm sorry!"

"How can you forget! My balls are back in my body, that's how shit scared I am! Oh! Oh, and now you're laughing! Well, I'm so glad you think this is so funny! We almost died, asshole!" Minho whimpers when the carriage shakes lightly, the hostility falling quickly from his face. "Stop already, you're gonna—!"

Minho pauses. 

Chan watches him turn his head and look out of the window without an ounce of fear.

It's the sunset, Chan figures, and not because he turns his head to take a look too, but because the radiant orange of it glows across Minho's features and makes him look like he's fashioned out of light. He is golden, from his skin Chan wants to mark with his kisses, and his eyes that encase two suns, burning bright, to the emotions that make him up, the courage that brought him up here and the love that he sought to prove to Chan. 

"Chan hyung, isn't it—!"

Chan is hopeless when he looks at him, his sun stroked eyelashes fluttering with his shyness.

"Beautiful..?"

Chan smiles. He can feel the warm light on his face.

"Yeah," he whispers, tucking a strand of Minho's hair behind his ear. "Beautiful."

Minho's eyes shake. He opens his mouth, perhaps to say something snarky, but it's like he can't manage it. He gulps, and says in a small voice, "Hyung."

"Yeah?"

"I meant to— I wanted— But I don't think I can— Now that we're here, it's too—" Minho takes a deep breath and looks honestly, murmuring with a helpless smile, "I'm not as brave as I thought I was."

"What is it?" Chan chuckles, leaning closer. Like this, the tips of their noses brush against each other and Minho's lips are only a breath away. "What do you want, Minho yah? Ask and hyung will give it to you."

Minho whispers, the sun glowing across his profile, "Kiss me."

Chan kisses him and a hundred songs are written with the very first press of their lips. A hundred more are made when Minho opens his mouth, an overwhelmed whimper slipping out, and another hundred when Chan pushes his tongue inside, gentle and curious. 

It's everything he imagined, lying on his black sleepless, sitting in his classroom daydreaming, and performing on the stage, tens of people listening to him school but Chan only really singing to one special boy. Kissing him now feels unbelievable, like Chan will gasp awake in the middle of the night, or his teacher will call him and he'll stumble through an answer, the ghost of Minho's kiss still lingering on his lips.

But it's real. It is real at the very top of the Ferris wheel with the sunset beside them and the rest of the world below. Minho is sweet with all the candy he ate and he is warm with light. It is the best kiss Chan has ever had, and from what he knows about his best friend, it is Minho's first.

They pull apart gasping.

Minho's hands are tight in his shirt again, overwhelmed.

He says, his eyes shaking beautifully, "I like you..! I like you, Chan hyung, so much! I don't know about love, it scares me a little, and I didn't know if it was just because I knew you liked me, and that's why— That's why I got these feelings all of a sudden. It really freaked me out, hyung, I don't know about love like you do in your songs..!"

Chan's dimples appear as he laughs fondly. It is Minho who has taught him all he knows.

"All I know is that—" He flushes, lips curling into a pout. "That I do get jealous. And I like your smile. And when you get close to me, it makes me panic. I like you, and I don't know how to express it, so I make you buy me things, and I whine until you give me what I want, and I want you to give me attention all the time. And I want you to kiss me more. Hyung. The rumours are true. You are good at kissing, and the lip ring does feel good..!"

Chan laughs and Minho giggles too, embarrassed at his loose mouth. The sun disappears behind the horizon and they slowly return to the ground.

"I like you too, Minho yah," Chan whispers between kisses. "Taking me up here just to tell me you like me, even though it really scares you? You know all about love."

"Mm. Call me that name again," Minho says, kissing him back.

"Minho yah."

"No, no. Not that one. The one before. Up in the sky."

"Oh." Chan blushes, hiding his face in Minho's. "Now that you're asking, I'm embarrassed. It just came out."

"Call me it, hyung. I liked it."

"...Baby."

"Mm!"

"You like it that much, baby?"

"Ah! Hyung! We're almost down, stop kissing me!"

Chan sighs, heart bigger than his chest has space for.

He's going to need a new songbook.

The school festival is a success.

The band performs multiple songs and the crowd roars. Jisung is amazing on the guitar, Changbin enters flow state with the charismatic drum solo of his song, and Seungmin takes the school's breath away with his beautiful voice.

For Chan, he will remember it forever. No festival or stadium will compare to it, a performance in front of a few hundred students, and Minho in the crowd, his eyes widening when he hears the chorus of Chan's song.

Chan looks at him as he sings it. 

When the second chorus comes along, Minho is singing along with him.

At the end of the school concert, Minho finds him. 

Chan cuts his conversations with the seniors short when he sees him waiting and avoids his fangirls with an apologetic smile. He dodges everyone else and makes his way to Minho, his best friend, and now, his boyfriend. He pulls him into his arms and kisses his lips, slow and passionate, in the middle of the courtyard, for everyone to see.

"Dude," Minho giggles.

"We're literally dating and you're still calling me that?" Chan snorts, kissing him again.

"Dude, parenthesis romantic," he shrugs. "You're the artist. You can do all the name calling."

"Okay, baby," Chan murmurs, giving his waist a cheeky squeeze. "How was it?"

Minho giggles, his eyes bright.

"I said that line," he says cheerfully. "We'll never be as young as we are now! I said that, and you used it!"

"Yeah," Chan says, practically swooning, enamoured by his energy. "It's thanks to you I got the song done, Minho. You're the best, you know that? I couldn't have done it without you."

Minho smiles coyly and fiddles with his tie. "Hm. Well. That line didn't come for free, hyung."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yep! I want a percentage of the earnings!"

"But I don't earn anything."

"Well, then. You'll have to pay up some other way."

"And what did you have in mind, baby?"

"Mm, a few things..!"

Behind them stand Chan's fangirls and the rest of their friends.

Kim Seungmin is rich with betting money, and the fangirls are divided.

Some of them mourn in each other's arms, and others jump around excited, rooting for the two of them all along.