People are bizarre," Luhan mutters under his breath. It's a windy day in Seoul, and he and Minseok have taken a break from practice to grab coffees at the place on the corner. They can already see the mess of hands dropping hot lattes in favor of smartphones; the toast of tiny camera lenses raised to them in greeting. "Why is it such a big deal when we're out together?"
Minseok is more patient. "They're just excited, Luhan. That's how fans get." He slides the money for his iced Americano over the counter.
"Yes, I know," Luhan retorts, his voice pitched low. "What I meant is that when you and I are spotted wherever, it turns into this tabloid free-for-all." He screws up his mouth, and someone squeals cute in the background. "We aren't even doing anything. Skinship Level: 0." He crosses his wrists in front of his chest and taps them together for emphasis.
Minseok mimics the action, his own arms forming the shape of an X, and the cute swells in volume with the added voices behind it.
Luhan laughs. "You do realize what's going to happen when we get home. Tao is probably speed-reading fan accounts right now so he can fill us in on all the gossip later."
Minseok hums, placing his hands back on the counter.
"Like how we came strolling in here whispering--and literally, all I said you to was, 'Minseok, it's cold.' Or how we both got matching drinks like a freaking couple set. For the record," and Luhan raises an accusing finger, his iced coffee sloshing underneath its lid, "you copied me."
"Whatever," Minseok drawls good-naturedly. "You didn't even know the difference between an Americano and a cappuccino before I met you. You thought 'macchiato' was spelled with a K."
"Excuse me!" Luhan yelps, jerking his head back in disbelief. The movement parts his soft, dark bangs, which rest boyishly over his forehead since Exo is off-duty today. Minseok notices the gap, so he seals it with a casual brush of a fingertip.
The gasps are instantaneous, of course.
"Skinship Level: 1," Minseok quips, and Luhan cracks up in spite of himself, crow's feet carving deep into the corners of his eyes.
"Dude," Luhan says. "The 'couple photos' these girls are taking? They're going to come out so bad. We aren't even wearing BB cream. And you've got this weird, pokey pimple on your nose."
Minseok groans mildly in response, preoccupied now with his own drink. He maneuvers his change back into his wallet with one hand, clutching the takeout cup in the other. When the female barista stammers out the customary, "Come again," Minseok bows politely and replies, "Thank you, see you tomorrow." The girl blushes powder pink, ducking her head. Luhan notices, but Minseok has already turned his back.
They file out through the button-operated sliding door, Luhan pressing the little red knob. He places his hand on the small of Minseok's back to urge him forward when the latter doesn't exit first. Minseok bows to him in jest, and Luhan smirks. Neither of them misses the coos of oh-my-god-did-you-see-that left in their wake.
"Why do you think they care so much?" Luhan asks, the wind rifling through his hair.
"Who knows." They're walking back to the SM building now, and Minseok sounds tired. When Luhan shifts his gaze, he sees the older boy absorbed in his own sneakers.
He barely catches it when Minseok murmurs, "Maybe it's the 'opposites attract' thing."
"What do you mean?" Luhan presses. His curiosity shows in increments: first, the pursed lips, then the rounded eyes, then the craning neck.
Minseok shrugs noncommittally and sips from his straw. Luhan figures the cold has put Exo's eldest in no mood to talk. In retrospect, getting their coffee on the rocks wasn't the greatest idea.
Still, when Luhan stumbles over a stray soda can because he isn't watching the sidewalk--typical--Minseok is all chuckles. He holds out his hand.
Luhan smacks it away in an awkward high-five. "Well? What's your verdict?"
Dog-with-a-bone is the only way to describe Luhan when he gets like this, and Minseok snorts. "Well, you know, we're really close." His voice turns teasing. "But you're, like, China's prince. And I'm a mere mortal."
The shove he gets for that statement isn't very gentle. "Oh, shut up," Luhan gripes. He hooks his fingers into the back of Minseok's collar, all fondness and familiarity. "You think I didn't see that barista earlier? You're so full of shit."
Minseok grins, digging his hands into his pockets as they trudge back to work.
The first time they meet, it's in SM's Youtube-famous practice room--the one with the sky-blue walls and painted clouds.
Minseok is 20, bespectacled, spotty, and still benched after two years of training. The tireless dance routines have given him faint outlines of musculature, but he hasn't quite lost the baby fat yet. The people upstairs tell him to work on it. "No bloating," is what they say.
Luhan, also 20, is freshly plucked from the shopping crowd at Myeongdong. The difference is vast. He is sylphlike and delicate in bone structure, almost girlish; although man's man Luhan protests at the mere mention of the word. His skin is poreless, stretched over a heart-shaped face no bigger than a man's hand. Luhan isn't really tough, but he's always acted like it to make up for his baby face.
So while Minseok is well-mannered and understated, Luhan lacks the idol finesse. He's constantly joking about cup sizes and honey thighs and pert backsides--all in fluent, curse-laden Korean. Management orders him to cut it out, at least when he's in public.
This is what he tells Minseok as an initial introduction.
In response, Minseok gives the new Chinese recruit his name and birth year.
"Yes!" Luhan crows. "We're the same age."
The instructor arrives to teach them a song's-worth of choreography. For the next three hours, the two boys fine-tune their movements in front of the wall-to-wall mirror, marking the steps and rewinding the track to ease out all the wrong angles.
Awesome, Luhan thinks to himself when they finally get it right, bodies moving in unison, sharp and smooth.
Seeing Minseok in the mirror also reminds him of how long it's been since he's eaten Chinese dumplings.
"Do you know what baozi is?" he asks the boy after practice, the two of them draining bottles of mineral water.
"No," Minseok replies, rolling the unfamiliar syllables over his tongue. "Bao--what?"
"Baozi," Luhan laughs.
"What's that?"
Luhan prods his plump cheek (rather forcefully, if anyone were to ask Minseok). "That's you from now on. You're Baozi."
Minseok gives him a blank stare. Luhan feels awkward all of a sudden, his cheerful smile flattening into an unsure line. God forbid he's said or done anything uncool.
Minseok's answer comes out of nowhere, really. "Want to play soccer? I could teach you."
It takes all of two seconds for Luhan's competitive side to flare up, hot and juvenile. He actually likes this Minseok kid, but football is his thing. "I could teach you," he huffs.
Behind his glasses, Minseok's eyes betray amusement and just the slightest hint of mockery. But he only says, "Okay," and pulls up the side of his mouth in a grin.
Luhan wasn't expecting that. Now he's the one with the blank expression. "Oh. Uh, okay. Cool," he says tentatively. "Sorry for getting defensive. I'm sure you're great on the field. Is that why your thighs are so huge? Wait, I didn't say that right--"
Minseok bursts out laughing. He thwacks Luhan on the shoulder so hard, the latter topples over from his seated position. Minseok manages to pant, "You're weird, you know that?" before falling over in a fit of giggles. The way he kicks his feet in the air gets Luhan laughing, too, the momentary tension dissolving into nothing.
That night, Minseok beats him in an impromptu match they've staged in the park with some other trainees. Luhan is completely, utterly irritated by the defeat. Still, he doesn't mind treating Minseok to a plateful of unsanctioned tteokbokki when the older boy claims it as his prize.
Two bites in, Minseok spears a piece with his own toothpick and offers it to Luhan.
That's when Luhan knows they're going to be really, really good friends.
Three years later, their rapport is exactly the same.
Everything else, however, is different.
They've debuted together as members of M, promoted with almost instant success in China, and moved back to Korea to merge permanently with K. That last occurrence has brought all 12 members to dizzying heights of fame. The headcount in Exo's fan cafes are out of this world and on a constant upswing. Their sasaeng fans increase in number--and mindboggling insanity--every day. Some girl cuts Luhan's name into her arm with the edge of a razor.
He accidentally sees the evidence on their manager's Twitter feed and doesn't sleep well for weeks.
It takes Minseok slipping in next to him at night, over the covers, just to keep him company in the silence, for Luhan to catch a few hours of precious shut-eye. In the mornings, Minseok wakes him up with a quick shake of the shoulder; the two of them tumbling out of bed and racing to the bathroom for the first piss.
Luhan always pretends that the sleepovers were his idea from the beginning, to save face. Luhan might be clingy, but he is not weak.
They are carted off to something new every day. If not a performance, photo shoot, or show taping, then the regular bouts of dance practice and vocal training that SM has stamped into their contracts. Eventually, Luhan blocks out the awful photograph by virtue of sheer exhaustion.
But some nights, when he lies awake from sucking down too much caffeine, too late in the day, he still asks Minseok to sleep next to him.
It's more of an order than a request, really.
"Shit, I can't sleep," Luhan starts on one such occasion.
His best friend is buried under warm, powder-scented bedcovers, too tired to budge.
"Minseok." Still no response. "I know you're awake. You haven't snored once and you always snore when you
People are bizarre," Luhan mutters under his breath. It's a windy day in Seoul, and he and Minseok have taken a break from practice to grab coffees at the place on the corner. They can already see the mess of hands dropping hot lattes in favor of smartphones; the toast of tiny camera lenses raised to them in greeting. "Why is it such a big deal when we're out together?"
Minseok is more patient. "They're just excited, Luhan. That's how fans get." He slides the money for his iced Americano over the counter.
"Yes, I know," Luhan retorts, his voice pitched low. "What I meant is that when you and I are spotted wherever, it turns into this tabloid free-for-all." He screws up his mouth, and someone squeals cute in the background. "We aren't even doing anything. Skinship Level: 0." He crosses his wrists in front of his chest and taps them together for emphasis.
Minseok mimics the action, his own arms forming the shape of an X, and the cute swells in volume with the added voices behind it.
Luhan laughs. "You do realize what's going to happen when we get home. Tao is probably speed-reading fan accounts right now so he can fill us in on all the gossip later."
Minseok hums, placing his hands back on the counter.
"Like how we came strolling in here whispering--and literally, all I said you to was, 'Minseok, it's cold.' Or how we both got matching drinks like a freaking couple set. For the record," and Luhan raises an accusing finger, his iced coffee sloshing underneath its lid, "you copied me."
"Whatever," Minseok drawls good-naturedly. "You didn't even know the difference between an Americano and a cappuccino before I met you. You thought 'macchiato' was spelled with a K."
"Excuse me!" Luhan yelps, jerking his head back in disbelief. The movement parts his soft, dark bangs, which rest boyishly over his forehead since Exo is off-duty today. Minseok notices the gap, so he seals it with a casual brush of a fingertip.
The gasps are instantaneous, of course.
"Skinship Level: 1," Minseok quips, and Luhan cracks up in spite of himself, crow's feet carving deep into the corners of his eyes.
"Dude," Luhan says. "The 'couple photos' these girls are taking? They're going to come out so bad. We aren't even wearing BB cream. And you've got this weird, pokey pimple on your nose."
Minseok groans mildly in response, preoccupied now with his own drink. He maneuvers his change back into his wallet with one hand, clutching the takeout cup in the other. When the female barista stammers out the customary, "Come again," Minseok bows politely and replies, "Thank you, see you tomorrow." The girl blushes powder pink, ducking her head. Luhan notices, but Minseok has already turned his back.
They file out through the button-operated sliding door, Luhan pressing the little red knob. He places his hand on the small of Minseok's back to urge him forward when the latter doesn't exit first. Minseok bows to him in jest, and Luhan smirks. Neither of them misses the coos of oh-my-god-did-you-see-that left in their wake.
"Why do you think they care so much?" Luhan asks, the wind rifling through his hair.
"Who knows." They're walking back to the SM building now, and Minseok sounds tired. When Luhan shifts his gaze, he sees the older boy absorbed in his own sneakers.
He barely catches it when Minseok murmurs, "Maybe it's the 'opposites attract' thing."
"What do you mean?" Luhan presses. His curiosity shows in increments: first, the pursed lips, then the rounded eyes, then the craning neck.
Minseok shrugs noncommittally and sips from his straw. Luhan figures the cold has put Exo's eldest in no mood to talk. In retrospect, getting their coffee on the rocks wasn't the greatest idea.
Still, when Luhan stumbles over a stray soda can because he isn't watching the sidewalk--typical--Minseok is all chuckles. He holds out his hand.
Luhan smacks it away in an awkward high-five. "Well? What's your verdict?"
Dog-with-a-bone is the only way to describe Luhan when he gets like this, and Minseok snorts. "Well, you know, we're really close." His voice turns teasing. "But you're, like, China's prince. And I'm a mere mortal."
The shove he gets for that statement isn't very gentle. "Oh, shut up," Luhan gripes. He hooks his fingers into the back of Minseok's collar, all fondness and familiarity. "You think I didn't see that barista earlier? You're so full of shit."
Minseok grins, digging his hands into his pockets as they trudge back to work.
The first time they meet, it's in SM's Youtube-famous practice room--the one with the sky-blue walls and painted clouds.
Minseok is 20, bespectacled, spotty, and still benched after two years of training. The tireless dance routines have given him faint outlines of musculature, but he hasn't quite lost the baby fat yet. The people upstairs tell him to work on it. "No bloating," is what they say.
Luhan, also 20, is freshly plucked from the shopping crowd at Myeongdong. The difference is vast. He is sylphlike and delicate in bone structure, almost girlish; although man's man Luhan protests at the mere mention of the word. His skin is poreless, stretched over a heart-shaped face no bigger than a man's hand. Luhan isn't really tough, but he's always acted like it to make up for his baby face.
So while Minseok is well-mannered and understated, Luhan lacks the idol finesse. He's constantly joking about cup sizes and honey thighs and pert backsides--all in fluent, curse-laden Korean. Management orders him to cut it out, at least when he's in public.
This is what he tells Minseok as an initial introduction.
In response, Minseok gives the new Chinese recruit his name and birth year.
"Yes!" Luhan crows. "We're the same age."
The instructor arrives to teach them a song's-worth of choreography. For the next three hours, the two boys fine-tune their movements in front of the wall-to-wall mirror, marking the steps and rewinding the track to ease out all the wrong angles.
Awesome, Luhan thinks to himself when they finally get it right, bodies moving in unison, sharp and smooth.
Seeing Minseok in the mirror also reminds him of how long it's been since he's eaten Chinese dumplings.
"Do you know what baozi is?" he asks the boy after practice, the two of them draining bottles of mineral water.
"No," Minseok replies, rolling the unfamiliar syllables over his tongue. "Bao--what?"
"Baozi," Luhan laughs.
"What's that?"
Luhan prods his plump cheek (rather forcefully, if anyone were to ask Minseok). "That's you from now on. You're Baozi."
Minseok gives him a blank stare. Luhan feels awkward all of a sudden, his cheerful smile flattening into an unsure line. God forbid he's said or done anything uncool.
Minseok's answer comes out of nowhere, really. "Want to play soccer? I could teach you."
It takes all of two seconds for Luhan's competitive side to flare up, hot and juvenile. He actually likes this Minseok kid, but football is his thing. "I could teach you," he huffs.
Behind his glasses, Minseok's eyes betray amusement and just the slightest hint of mockery. But he only says, "Okay," and pulls up the side of his mouth in a grin.
Luhan wasn't expecting that. Now he's the one with the blank expression. "Oh. Uh, okay. Cool," he says tentatively. "Sorry for getting defensive. I'm sure you're great on the field. Is that why your thighs are so huge? Wait, I didn't say that right--"
Minseok bursts out laughing. He thwacks Luhan on the shoulder so hard, the latter topples over from his seated position. Minseok manages to pant, "You're weird, you know that?" before falling over in a fit of giggles. The way he kicks his feet in the air gets Luhan laughing, too, the momentary tension dissolving into nothing.
That night, Minseok beats him in an impromptu match they've staged in the park with some other trainees. Luhan is completely, utterly irritated by the defeat. Still, he doesn't mind treating Minseok to a plateful of unsanctioned tteokbokki when the older boy claims it as his prize.
Two bites in, Minseok spears a piece with his own toothpick and offers it to Luhan.
That's when Luhan knows they're going to be really, really good friends.
Three years later, their rapport is exactly the same.
Everything else, however, is different.
They've debuted together as members of M, promoted with almost instant success in China, and moved back to Korea to merge permanently with K. That last occurrence has brought all 12 members to dizzying heights of fame. The headcount in Exo's fan cafes are out of this world and on a constant upswing. Their sasaeng fans increase in number--and mindboggling insanity--every day. Some girl cuts Luhan's name into her arm with the edge of a razor.
He accidentally sees the evidence on their manager's Twitter feed and doesn't sleep well for weeks.
It takes Minseok slipping in next to him at night, over the covers, just to keep him company in the silence, for Luhan to catch a few hours of precious shut-eye. In the mornings, Minseok wakes him up with a quick shake of the shoulder; the two of them tumbling out of bed and racing to the bathroom for the first piss.
Luhan always pretends that the sleepovers were his idea from the beginning, to save face. Luhan might be clingy, but he is not weak.
They are carted off to something new every day. If not a performance, photo shoot, or show taping, then the regular bouts of dance practice and vocal training that SM has stamped into their contracts. Eventually, Luhan blocks out the awful photograph by virtue of sheer exhaustion.
But some nights, when he lies awake from sucking down too much caffeine, too late in the day, he still asks Minseok to sleep next to him.
It's more of an order than a request, really.
"Shit, I can't sleep," Luhan starts on one such occasion.
His best friend is buried under warm, powder-scented bedcovers, too tired to budge.
"Minseok." Still no response. "I know you're awake. You haven't snored once and you always snore when you
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