8jun: bro you can't get rid of my cringe
Dec. 13th, 2021 06:58 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
liptinteda few days ago i said to myself 'hey what if i stopped writing as much and hibernate from idol rpf and from just being in any fandom for a while next year, sounds nice!!' and then over the weekend this happened. it's been so long since i wrote seventeen, and lately everything i've been trying to start in my drafts, i lose interest and grow uncommitted and/or forget i started the idea if i don't post the progress on anywhere, so this is me getting my feet wet again with their characterizations with this draft ish. over the coming weeks, i would probably have more time to flesh out something with a lot more thought and continue this 🙏🙏🙏🙏
"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, loud enough so it carries across, and wary.
Jun usually took better note, of whenever Minghao was feeling tense, when there were things he couldn't stop thinking about. There'd been a time before, when Minghao shut himself up in his room, withdrawn, fatigued, and eager for the time to pass by quicker when he could sleep things off and recover from a sprained ankle then, bored out of his mind.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. 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. Bubbles rising 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, and all Jun had to do was sign on, except he hasn't. Minghao tries to be respectful of Jun's hesitancy. He's learned as well that if you want to influence Junhui, it has to be subtle. Influence could only go so far though. "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 that 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, and Jun just replies with a WeChat sticker. 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.
//
Minghao can't deny that he's been slightly antsy the way someone who's trying to quit has been sneaking in smoke breaks. He has to bear with the feeling, because it's not entirely in his control; he's just landed in Chengdu. There's barely any wind this evening, but the cold still cuts across his face as they walk to the van. 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."
Jun confirms this when he rings up Minghao on the phone later 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, loud enough so it carries across, and wary.
Jun usually took better note, of whenever Minghao was feeling tense, when there were things he couldn't stop thinking about. 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. 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. Bubbles rising 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, and all Jun had to do was sign on, except he hasn't. Minghao tries to be respectful of Jun's hesitancy. He's learned as well that if you want to influence Junhui, it has to be subtle. Influence could only go so far though. "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 that 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, and Jun just replies with a WeChat sticker. 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.