jongin absentmindedly fiddles with chanyeol’s untamable fluff of bed hair, fingers tugging through the wild locks and scratching lightly into his scalp as a soft noise of contentment hums in the back of the elder’s throat.

it’s five in the morning, and the six of them are all piled into the cramped space of their van, hurtling through the dark, sleep filled world on their way to busan for some filming or other. jongin finds himself squeezed in the very back, arm and arm with sehun and chanyeol.

how the tallest three got stuck in the backseat is completely lost on him, their legs folded up in uncomfortable angles, knees and ankles jabbing into one another, to accommodate for the lack of space.

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—

“hey, where’d jongin go?” sehun calls as he strolls out of said boy’s room, the door swinging shut lightly behind him. he makes a beeline for the living room where he can hear the muted sound of the television buzzing, scratching the nape of his neck as he plops down on the couch into the nonexistent space between chanyeol and baekhyun.

“ow, watch it,” baekhyun nudges his elbow into sehun’s side, shoving the younger into chanyeol’s lap. “you’re hipbones hurt.”

sehun retaliates by shoving his own knobby elbow into baekhyun’s side with a vindictive grin.

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minseok isn’t quite sure how to react when he accidentally walks in on his roommates placed in a rather compromising position.

there seems to be a bit of a conflict of interests when survival instincts scream in his head for him to pivot and run, but his eyes are quite riveted to the image of luhan settled on his knees in between jongdae’s thighs. and it takes all the energy minseok possesses to even swallow the lump down his dry throat.

“hey, uh,” he stalls, fingernails digging into the brass knob that is probably the only thing keeping him standing. “am i interrupting something?”

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“ouch, fuck,” chanyeol whispers in a breathy moan as either hand desperately clings to the metal dividers of the tiny stall that jongin and he had somehow managed to shove themselves into. neither boy is exactly compact in size. so that, in and of itself, is rather quite a feat that they’ve managed to do so in the first place.

it’s another challenge, completely, trying to remain quiet so as to avoid detection.

because were they to be caught, they’d be found in a somewhat highly compromising position.

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even before jongin could stand on his own two feet, his mother had always said he had a talent with his hands.

child prodigy, she’d say.

“you’ll be a great pianist someday,” she would tell him, and anyone else who would listen. “just like your father.”

just like your father.

those are some pretty big shoes to fill.

especially if your father happens to be a world renown pianist who receives invitations from the queen of england to perform concerts at her private parties.

and has won countless awards, all proudly showcased in the room beside the front hall, covereing every inch of shelf and cabinet space from ceiling to floor.

so even at this very young age, jongin had learned the pressures of expectations, the stresses of upholding to the family name and carry on the legacy built up by his father, and his father’s father before him.

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