Chapter Text
“So, where to for lunch, kid?” Jonghyun asks after pulling away from the curb. Minho scowls at the condescending term, fingers tightening momentarily around Taemin’s as he answers, “You’re not that much older than me, hyung.”
“Who said I was talking to you? I’d have addressed you as something more fitting, like jackass, if I were. Hey kid, where you wanna go for lunch?”
“Asshole,” Minho mutters. He looks at Taemin to see him staring at his feet, long hair falling over one shoulder in a curtain of soft, chestnut colors. Without thinking, Minho brushes a few strands of hair behind his ear, feeling slight tingles of pleasure when he touches the smooth shell of Taemin’s ear.
“Kid?”
“Forget it, we’ll just eat in the cafeteria at the studio.”
“Hey kiddo, you alive back there?”
“Stop calling him ‘kid!’” Minho gripes.
Jonghyun doesn’t sound bothered in the least as he retorts, “Yeah well how ‘bout one of you tell me his real name and I will.” Everyone falls silent at that, not that Taemin had been eager to speak anyway. The drive back doesn’t feel quite as awkward as the drive there had felt, but Minho finds himself fidgeting uncomfortably anyway, wanting to get back to the studio soon.
When Jonghyun finally pulls up into the adjoining parking garage, once again making no move to open the door for him, Minho rolls his eyes and hurries to unbuckle Taemin’s seatbelt. Taemin is still looking down, a pained, saturnine expression gracing his features. Minho lets the seatbelt slide back and only when he leans over the smaller boy to throw the door open does he finally look up.
“Thanks for the ride,” Minho says, not sounding thankful in the least.
“No problem-o jackass—and that time I was talking to you,” Jonghyun answers pointedly. Minho slams the van door closed with a sharp bang. He takes Taemin’s hand in his and leads him back into the studio building.
The halls they walk through are bright and airy, footsteps echoing on the grey linoleum. Several other performers, managers, and trainees pass them by, all recognizing Minho instantly and giving him nods or polite greetings. Minho keeps a calm look on his face the entire time, ignoring anyone who sends him a slightly longer look of questioning, staring at Taemin and asking tacitly who the boy is.
When they’re back in the elevator, Minho presses the button for the third floor, where the cafeteria is. The entire time Taemin is silent.
If Minho had to describe Taemin in one word, it would be subdued. Gone is the little boy who’d splashed water and shampoo on him last night—had it really only been last night?—and the endearing, squealing merboy who’d floundered onto the deck of his boat all those weeks ago. In his wake is this silent, perhaps slightly brooding, sullen boy instead. Minho would be lying if he said it didn’t bother him, at the very least worry him a little, but he figures maybe Taemin is just tired. Once they’re back in his apartment, Taemin will have his complete, undivided attention and have no more reason to act so downtrodden.
As they step out of the elevator, Minho still clutching Taemin’s tiny fingers in his hand, he can’t help but feel out of sorts. He’s never had to babysit someone, or had to take care of anyone like this. He’d grown up as an only child after his older brother moved out, had worked on his own in school, honed his skills alone, tried out and debuted as a solo artist. His whole life, it had only just been him, Choi Minho—no lasting relationships aside from those with his parents and brother and manager, and only a string of one night stands when he needed some physical intimacy. Suddenly being responsible for someone with the naiveté and innocence of a 10-year-old, and with the communication skills of a dog—or in this case a fish—was more than beyond his capabilities. At least, that was how it seemed.
The cafeteria is bustling with noise and chatter, the clanging of plastic trays and talking artists reaching Minho’s ears. He feels Taemin’s grip on his hand tighten, feels the tension in the little shoulders as Taemin presses himself against Minho’s side. Taemin really hates crowds and Minho, being the only one Taemin is comfortable around, has it on his shoulders to try to make him feel a little more comfortable in the busy atmosphere.
Releasing Taemin’s hand, Minho instead slings his arm around his shoulders and holds him close. The smells of all the different food has his stomach rumbling and that’s when he realizes he hasn’t eaten since the day before. Leading Taemin to one of the lines, he grabs two metal trays to get them food.
There’s an uneasy stirring in his stomach as Minho begins to put bowls of food on both trays. He really hopes Taemin likes what he’s getting—not that he knows what kind of food Taemin would like at all, though he considered the possibility Taemin just ate fish when he was in his home in the lake. Or maybe he wouldn’t—would that be considered a little cannibalistic?
He eyes the bowl of fish and noodles he just placed on Taemin’s tray, considering. Maybe he should just stick to the fried chicken? Or stay away from meat entirely?
“Taemin? Taemin-ah?” He pokes Taemin’s shoulder to get his attention. Taemin’s head spins to look at Minho and Minho briefly wonders what Taemin had been looking at before shaking his head, deciding he doesn’t really care. “Do you eat fish?” he asks.
Taemin cocks his head to the side, clearly having no idea what he’s talking about. “Fish?” he asks again, pointing to the bowl of noodles on the tray. Taemin looks down to where he’s pointing. His cheeks puff out slightly and without warning he drops his face to mere inches away from the bowl, sniffing almost audibly at the food.
“Fish?” he asks, rolling the word within his mouth. Minho nods. For a second he thinks Taemin really understands him—until he shrugs uncaringly and once more turns around.
With a sigh, Minho calls his name again, telling him to follow him as Minho gathers a few more things on their trays and heads to pay.
♦ ♦ ♦
Minho comes to two conclusions as he and Taemin sit at an empty, mostly secluded table in the far corner of the cafeteria. One—he really, really sucks at this ‘taking care of a merboy’ thing and two—he is never having kids. Especially if they’re like Taemin. Minho was not born with enough patience to handle someone like Taemin again.
“Taemin-ah, stop!” he hisses, grabbing the single chopstick Taemin had been spearing his fried chicken with. Maybe Minho had been too ambitious when he’d added the chopsticks to the tray but really, he’d piled on enough finger food and soup for their meal that Taemin needn’t have bothered with them in the first place. Evidently, Taemin is too curious and adventurous for his own good.
It’s as though the sullen, subdued Taemin never existed. Taemin sits beside him with a look of quiet enrapture in his eyes, an excited gleam on his face as he pokes and prods the different foods on his tray before him. He’s already nibbled a little on everything there and is now in the midst of experimenting some more.
The noodles and fish hadn’t been a problem at all. Taemin didn’t seem to care or maybe he just didn’t realize that he was eating fish and seemed to like it well enough. The little Styrofoam bowl of kimchi had been finished off quickly and now Taemin is approaching what appears to be his most ambitious endeavor—fried chicken.
After taking the chopsticks away, Minho uses his fingers and tears strips of meat off the chicken bone, making it even easier for Taemin to eat. When his hands move back, Taemin grabs one strip and doesn’t hesitate to put it in his mouth, chewing obscenely with his mouth open and letting crumbs of chewed food fall out of his mouth. Minho cringes at the sight.
“I really need to teach you some manners,” he mutters under his breath, grabbing a napkin and leaning across the table to wipe Taemin’s mouth with. Taemin abruptly stops chewing, swallowing the bite in his mouth as he stares at Minho leaning toward him. Their gazes lock. Minho finds himself mesmerized by the freckles on Taemin’s cheeks—how had he never noticed them before?
And then Minho blinks and pulls back, embarrassed for having done that when they were in public. He points to the rest of the food and tells Taemin to finish eating, which he does with the same gusto as before, making a mess of himself and the table.
♦ ♦ ♦
A little past 1, Minho and Taemin find themselves in the recording station. Minho has been dreading this the most of the entire day, mainly because he would spend the most time in the station and because it was going to get really boring for Taemin. Taemin, with the attention span of a four year old.
“Taemin, stay right here, okay?” Minho holds Taemin’s shoulders as he pushes him down onto the couch. Taemin goes willingly enough but he yawns widely and shrugs Minho’s hands off as he arranges himself comfortably on the couch. He lies on his side with his head cradled on his arm, looking up at Minho with sleepy eyes. Minho swallows thickly. “I’ll come back soon,” he says, just as he always says.
Taemin nods, closing his eyes. “Come back soon.”
He doesn’t know what he’s doing. One minute he’s standing, staring down at the tired boy who’d wormed his way into his life. Next thing he knows, Minho is bending down, crouching on his knees. He spares a look around the tiny waiting room behind the recording room and when he feels safe no one is around to see, leans in closely and tangles his hand in Taemin’s long hair. His fingers play with the silky soft chestnut strands, huffing warm breath across Taemin’s face.
“Minho?” Taemin’s voice is nothing more than a whisper, soft and hesitant, questioning. Minho has no idea what he’s doing and yet doesn’t stop to think about his actions. So gently the touch is barely there, he brushes his lips across Taemin’s brow, smoothing away tendrils of loose hair. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he murmurs. His face is inches from Taemin’s, both staring into each other’s eyes and unable to look away. “Because I have no idea what I’m doing when I’m with you.”
“Minho—”
“Shh,” Minho interrupts. His hand slides down Taemin’s face, cupping his cheek and tenderly stroking his thumb across the high cheekbone. He lets his forehead drop down against Taemin’s and closes his eyes. It’s so rare that Minho finds moments like this, pure and calm, as if there’s not a single thing he needs to worry about. If he were honest, he would admit that he’s been feeling these things a lot more ever since Taemin swam into his life.
“Minho,” Taemin tries to say again, this time even more softly than before. Minho feels a slight tremor of embarrassment as realizes how vulnerable he is right then, right there with Taemin able to see his every emotion splay out across his face. He has no idea what Taemin is trying to say and wonders if he even cares. What can he really say anyway?
“Why are you here with me?” he asks rhetorically. His head tilts down slightly and his lips manage to brush momentarily across Taemin’s before he pulls back.
“Taemin sorry.” Minho freezes.
His eyes snap open and he finds Taemin looking at him anxiously. “Taemin sorry. Minho don’t leave Taemin,” he pleads. A swell of emotion erupts in Minho’s chest. He has to stop himself from doing something really stupid, something he knows he’ll regret later. Why does he feel like this? Why does he feel this strange, empty feeling open inside him at just the thought of leaving Taemin alone?
“I won’t leave you, Taemin.” he says, but it’s a lie. It’s a lie because someday Minho will have to leave him. Taemin is—hell, Minho has no idea what the boy is but he isn’t his, no matter what some crazy fortune teller says. Taemin doesn’t belong to him and dammit, Minho doesn’t need him as his responsibility.
With that thought in mind, Minho abruptly tears himself away. That shattered look that Minho’s seen cross Taemin’s face so many times already only briefly flits across his features again before it disappears. In its place is a look of—dare he say it—understanding. Acceptance. Like Minho accepting the inevitability of their separation. Taemin feels it too, he supposes. It’s not like anything can ever happen between them and he feels better knowing they both, to some degree, accept that.
TBC