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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for bloodicing

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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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the entire world is still, dark, and silent save for the soothing sound of crashing waves just outside their resort room windows.

the moon is slanting in through the window, casting a pale glow around the room, but that’s not what had woken jongin up.

jongin isn’t really sure why he’s awake at two in the goddamn morning when they have a schedule to attend in a mere six hours.

he should be sleeping right now.

but he’s not.

why?

the answer lies with one park chanyeol, who is currently sitting cross-legged beside jongin, poking and prodding his side with that ever present grin on his face.

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chanyeol glances over at his alarm clock flashing 5:44 in bright red led lights and wonders why he’s lying awake at this godforsaken hour, tossing and turning and just generally unable to fall back asleep.

he has a final in less than seven hours, and he really should be resting up for it, but he just can’t seem to get his steamrollering brain under control.

giving up a good night’s sleep as a lost cause, chanyeol digs his cellphone out from between his pillow and headboard, punching in his pass code and going immediately to his contact list.

it’s a long shot, but he’s willing to try anything at this point.

chanyeol swipeswipeswipes until he finds the name he’s looking for, hitting the call button and waiting as he listens to girl’s generation’s mr mr blaring in his ear.

hm, this is new. nice choice.

the playback ringtone continues on into the bridge, before looping and playing the clip all over again. chanyeol is just about to let it go and hang up when the song suddenly stops, a scratchy cough crackling through the receiver.

“hello?” a soft voice still thick with sleep answers.

“hey, jongin? sorry, did i wake you?” chanyeol replies tentatively, rolling onto his stomach and wedging the phone between his ear and pillow.

“chanyeol?” jongin sounds confused, disoriented.

“yeah, who else would it be?”

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chanyeol stands in the middle of the kitchen covered from head to toe in cocoa powder, clumps of wet flour glued to his hair, and he’s still not really sure what hit him.

the entire kitchen looks like a war zone between oompa loompas and keebler elves, like some kind of bakery throwdown gone wrong.

and he definitely came in at the wrong time.

“what?” chanyeol frowns, completely bewildered, as he raises a hand to his cheek and wipes away a smudge of melted chocolate from his face. chanyeol stares at the bit of confectionery goodness on his fingers for a brief moment before glancing up at jongin across the room, looking equally as disheveled (maybe even more so because he’d received the brunt of the explosion), with an apologetic smile quirking his lips.

“jongin, what are you doing?”

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