Chapter 1: true friends
Chapter Text
“What’s this asshole doing here?”
The asshole in question doesn’t appear to hear him, which is probably for the better. Then again, such harsh words would come to no one’s surprise. Especially not to people who are aware of the year-long feud between Running from Lightning and Bertha Lost Control that started off as friendly banter between two below-average college bands and turned into a full-on rivalry between two bands on the way to fame.
The last point may be a bit of an overstatement, though certain people – like Newt – remain optimistic that it will not take much longer. Just a few more gigs, just another EP. A music video that isn't self-produced. Concerts all over the nation. Shows far over the borders. And all their work will pay off.
Sometimes Minho wonders if that’s what he truly wants.
He had always dreamed of being famous when he was a kid, lying on his bed surrounded by posters of his favourite bands and listening to their tracks until late into the night. It’s the reason he begged his parents for singing lessons until they finally agreed to it, only after he promised to do the dishes every other day. (Not a small price to pay, but it was worth it in the end.)
But lately, he's been feeling increasingly like his bandmates are getting off their course. Newt has thrown himself more and more into the logistics of the band, which would be a good thing on its own if it didn't cause him to be stressed most of the time. Sometimes, Minho fears Newt might lose his love for this band under the stress he puts himself under.
Then there's Gally, who had always been the kind of person you need to get to know before you can even remotely like him. And it took Minho quite some time. Their fights and dumb arguments have never truly stopped and it’s become a part of them by now, yet they have become more frequent lately. Sometimes, Minho feels like they aren't processing forward and instead returning to their worse versions from five years ago.
And then, of course, there’s Alby.
"Are we going to let him in, or…?" Newt interrupts his train of thought, trying not to look too obviously in the direction of the guy standing in front of the dirty window to their practice room.
“Hell no,” Gally contributes immediately, not so keen on ignoring the unwanted visitor.
“What makes you think he wants to come in anyway?” Minho hadn’t even fully acknowledged the guy until Newt pointed him out. A way too familiar mess of brown hair lingers in front of the building. Seriously, Minho doesn’t know anyone with a messier haircut and the more often he has to see it, the more he resents it.
"Well, he's been lingering there for five minutes and glaring inside from time to time. I thought you should know," Newt says with a shrug, averting his attention back to Minho.
“Asshole probably just wants to spy on us," Gally grumbles and is already about to walk towards the window. Minho holds him back by stretching his arm over Gally's chest.
"I don't think he-" Minho starts, but then, the guy suddenly turns his head and their gazes meet each other in a horrible second in which the world seems to stop. Not in the grand-romantic-gesture sense. More in the oh-my-god-not-this-guy-again sense. “Ah shit, he saw us.”
"Great, then I can tell him to get his ugly ass out of here," Gally spits and frees himself from Minho's makeshift barrier to stomp towards the window.
“Please don’t rip his head off,” Newt calls after him and in this case, it’s a valid warning.
Instead of ripping off heads, Gally rips open the window, making the guy outside stumble back a few steps. “Thomas,” he grunts in the most hateful way one could say a name, “do you think you’re fucking sly?”
“Uh,” Thomas murmurs and looks over Gally’s shoulder to catch Minho’s and Newt’s gaze. They are, however, not inclined to help him. “I was….actually about to ask if I could come in?” The sheer audacity of this question leaves Gally speechless for once.
Some of their fans keep voicing that the rivalry between these two bands starts feeling more and more like actual contempt and even hatred. And, though reluctantly, in situations like these, Minho has to agree.
“Why? What do you want?” He says as he takes his place next to Gally, sticking his head through the window that is not designed to have two heads stuck through it.
Thomas’ eyes wander from one to another until they settle on Minho again, studying him with a kind of eagerness he can’t understand. Thomas seems determined yet reluctant at the same time. An uneasy feeling spreads in Minho’s gut, but he tries to ignore it.
"Can I just come in?" Thomas asks instead of answering the question, and Minho doesn't know what kind of demonic force is driving him when he steps back and nods towards the door.
“It’s open.” Immediately after the words leave his mouth, Gally’s piercing gaze lands on him.
"What happened to making decisions as a group?" He hisses and Minho is glad Thomas is already out of earshot. There isn't much he can say to Gally since he's technically correct.
“Had a feeling,” he tries to reason, but he knows it’s not doing much to convince Gally. “Let’s hear what he has to see.”
“Alright, boss.” The way Gally spits out the last words before turning away with an air of fury sends a painful sting through Minho. He doesn't know if it's annoyance or even anger. Maybe hurt. He's always been relatively immune to Gally's anger, but lately, these pangs of guilt have occurred more often.
Newt beats them to the door even before Thomas can open it. He throws his bandmates one last curious look before opening the door to a smiling Thomas. Minho hates that the guy's smiling, but he signed up for this and will now bear the consequences.
"Nice practice room," Thomas says as he steps in and lets his gaze wander around the stuffy space that's littered with equipment, candy wrappers and take-out packaging that’s been lying around for far longer than Minho likes to admit. Thomas obviously doesn’t mean it.
“What do you want?” Gally repeats, getting straight to the point before Newt even has the chance to fully close the door. Thomas glares at him shortly before turning his attention to Minho.
“I want to join the band.”
Now that leaves the room speechless. The silence stretches on for so long that the four might as well have frozen in time.
“Okay?” Newt breaths eventually, eyes wandering over to his bandmates in the search for answers he certainly won’t get from Minho.
"If you just came here to make stupid jokes, you can walk right out again," Gally scoffs, but Minho doesn't miss the hint of uncertainty in his voice. It's not easy to throw Gally off his tracks, but Thomas somehow did it.
"I'm not making jokes," Thomas reassures them, his eyes going from one to the other as if he can't keep his gaze focused for long. He's nervous; Minho can tell. Which would also mean that he’s serious about this.
“Did they finally have enough of your annoying face and throw you out?” Gally says with a grin, but Thomas’ expression turns sour immediately.
“They did throw you out,” Newt says silently, more a realisation than a question.
“Not….technically.” Thomas takes a deep breath when his eyes finally settle, finding their place on Minho as if to find out why he hasn’t said anything about it yet. “Brenda and I broke up.”
That leaves room for an even longer silence. Not even Gally dares to say anything now, which a part of Minho appreciates since he doesn't want a fistfight in his practice room. However, another part of him wishes Gally would just say something to break the silence.
“I’m…sorry,” Newt finally says, taking over his role as the compassionate one of the group.
From his peripheral vision, Minho catches Gally open his mouth before quickly closing it, apparently thinking better of whatever intrusive question he was about to throw at Thomas. Minho can't deny it; he feels a tad sorry for him. As far as he remembers, Brenda and Thomas had been together since before they even found the band. Minho had a few relationships as well, but never this long.
"And you think we're gonna let you join our band with those pity points?" Gally says then, and Minho doesn't even want to know what he wanted to say initially.
Thomas scrunches his nose and glares at Gally. Their bands have had their feud for quite some time and it's known among fans that Thomas and Gally have always been the ones stirring most of the drama. So why Thomas wants to join them, out of all the bands looking for drummers, is far beyond Minho.
“I think,” Thomas says pointedly, not breaking eye contact with Gally, “that we could both gain something from this misfortunate situation. Me losing my band and you losing your drummer and all that.”
“You didn’t exactly lose your band. They dropped you,” Gally scoffs before Minho or Newt can stop him.
"Is that so?" Thomas spits back, cocking his head to the side as if to challenge Gally to a fight. "Didn't Alby leave because you froze him out with your asshole attitude?”
And this is the moment Minho knows he needs to step in before Gally goes ballistic. "What exactly would any of us gain from this situation?" He asks, and suddenly, Thomas' attention snaps back to him. Minho almost buckles under the sharp gaze, attentive yet somehow threatening all the same. He has yet to find out what Thomas' deal is, if his story is true at all. Maybe this is just some fucked up scheme.
“You get a good drummer. I get to show Bren what she lost.” Minho might have imagined it, but something in Thomas’ voice staggers as he says his ex-girlfriend’s name. Minho wonders how fresh the breakup is. "And," Thomas adds, a hint of mischief creeping onto his face with a slow smile, "it's your chance to give them the finger. They lack a drummer as well. Just imagine the look on their faces when they see I changed sides."
Minho can feel his bandmate's eyes on him, like the devil and an angel on his shoulders. Despite hating Thomas' guts, Gally is excited to wreak some havoc. On the other side, Newt tells Minho even without words that this might be the spark to set off a storm of sheer chaos. And here he is in the middle, the silent spectator so far. It feels like the decision is on him now, and if his bandmates don't think so, Thomas certainly does. At least his eyes haven't left Minho ever since he spoke for the first time.
“Well,” Minho drawls, glancing at Gally and then Newt as if it would help him decide. They remain unhelpful. “I think none of us can deny that you are a good drummer,” he says and doesn’t miss the way Thomas straightens up at the compliment, “but you gotta admit that this is…you know…a little…” He trails off, unable to find the words to describe it.
"Impulsive," Newt adds helpfully while Gally chimes in with an enthusiastic "Fucking stupid." He sounds a little too excited about it though, which leaves Minho wondering if Gally actually supports this.
Thomas, unfazed by the disagreement, simply shrugs his shoulders. “I get it, trust me. I didn’t expect you to say yes anyway, I just wanted to make a suggestion. So do with that what you want." Another shrug. It feels a lot like the attempt to hide his insecurities under feigned apathy. Minho would know.
“We’d need some time to decide,” Minho offers when none of his bandmates speaks up, both seeming content with the temporary answer. And just like that, Thomas' shoulders straighten again as a grin spreads on his face. “That wasn’t a yes,” Minho murmurs, but Thomas seems unfazed by that.
“Well then,” he says, confidence taking over his entire body as if they already agreed, “I’ll give you some space to think.”
“Thank god,” Gally grumbles, which wins him a blown kiss from Thomas that is countered with the most enthusiastic middle finger Minho has ever seen. If they decide to give this constellation a go, he will have to get used to this.
"You have my number," Thomas chimes as he walks back to the door, eyes fixed on Minho for one last time. Their gazes linger on each other for a beat, then another, feeling too long for it to have no meaning. Minho wonders what Thomas truly hopes to get out of this and why he thinks it's Minho who will eventually help him get it.
Silence lingers over the practice room until the door closes behind Thomas and then, words break loose like a dam has broken. Minho can barely hear his thoughts over the discussion Newt and Gally immediately start as he watches Thomas walk past the window, throwing one last glance inside.
“The possibilities!” Gally yells as he throws his hands in the air with a triumphant grin and lets himself fall onto the beanbag opposite their little practice stage.
“I thought you hated him,” Newt notes suspiciously, standing before Gally with his arms crossed.
“Exactly! He can be my punching bag,” he says with a chuckle and crosses his arms behind his head. “Only verbally,” he adds with a roll of his eyes upon Newt’s terrified expression.
“You two would be insufferable,” Minho finally says and joins them in their little discussion corner. “Though he’s not entirely wrong. We know he’s good and quite honestly, I’d rather have him as our drummer at the next concert than some kid we found on Craigslist.”
Newt hums approvingly beside him, looking over at the drums that haven’t been played by anyone in over two weeks. When he speaks, his voice sounds like he’s lost in thought. “It does feel kind of….off though, doesn’t it? This revenge plot of his.”
“Hate to say it, but I can’t blame him,” Gally adds to both Newt’s and Minho’s surprise. His eyes are closed as if this doesn't affect him in the slightest. As if this couldn't decide the future of this band. "Think about it," he adds as he cracks open one eye when none of them contributes. "How bad does a breakup have to be for someone to rip apart the entire band? He wants to join us. It’s that bad and in my opinion, we should use that rage to our advantage. Angry drummers are the best ones.”
"Besides, Brenda and the others would be fucking furious if they saw him playing for us," Minho says. He can't stop the grin from spreading on his face as he imagines the tiny singer’s sheer anger. She’d be fuming like a volcano about to erupt. The image gives him more satisfaction than it probably should, but then again, this is what the relationship between their bands is like.
“I suppose,” Newt adds, regaining some of his fire, “the fans would freak out as well.”
“Oh, they’d eat it up,” Minho agrees, already imagining the moment hell is unleashed on Twitter. It would be great publicity, no doubt about that. The fanbases of Running from Lightning and Bertha Lost Control have overlapped in a Venn diagram since the beginning. Based on what Minho picks up from the few times he checks their Twitter, most of their fans stay in the overlapping part. That's Newt's field of expertise though, so he trusts his judgment more than his own.
“Okay, so,” Newt interrupts his chain of thoughts, obviously already making lists in his head. Minho has to smile at how he can practically see Newt's thoughts spinning in the way his forehead creases ever so slightly and his eyes dart from one focus point to another. "These are the pros. What are the cons?"
“He’s annoying as fuck,” Gally contributes immediately.
“He could be lying to throw us off track.”
“He’s constantly picking a fight.”
“From what I can tell, he’s stubborn.”
“He’s ugly.”
"Gally, you're not helping," Newt sighs like an overworked dad with two hyperactive children in the milk aisle. "And you two are stubborn as well; what's another one gonna do anyway."
Gally, however, isn't impressed by Newt's scolding and neither can he be stopped. "But you know, it would kinda destroy this whole rivalry thing we have going on. We're making a pact with the enemy." He underlines his last word with the wiggle of his fingertips as if talking about a spooky creature, not an annoying drummer. “We haven’t even made an official statement about Alby yet.”
Minho’s heart stops for a beat when Gally mentions the elephant in the room. They agreed on keeping their fallout under the covers for a little while, just in case. Just in case Alby would magically decide to come back after all this. They all agreed it would be good to take some time before making a statement as well, to find the right words. Minho is sure Gally and Newt silently agree that they just wanted to keep up hope for a little longer.
“It would be a lot to announce both at once, even though…” Newt sighs once again, shaking his head slightly and pouting his lips with a hint of being impressed. “Fans have actually been suspecting the whole Alby thing for over a week by now.”
"They have? How?" Gally asks, but when Newt shrugs, he loses interest and a thoughtful silence settles over the band again.
A lot of thoughts run through Minho’s head at once. His eyes wander from Gally over to Newt, both lost in their own mind. He wishes he could read their thoughts; it would make things much easier. It's a dumb idea, he knows that much. Yet still, there's this promise hidden behind all this plotting and scheming, something exciting waiting for him, calling for him to come and find out which doors might open if he takes this opportunity. Sure, all this could backfire horribly, but what's there to lose anyway? Alby is gone, they don't have a drummer anymore. And Thomas is right there, this ball of energy fuelled by anger and probably pain as well. A force that could either pull this band together again or blow it up entirely.
There may be things to lose.
And then Minho looks at Gally and Newt, takes in all their familiarities, the way Gally seems calm that is given away by his leg bouncing up and down, the way Newt has been fiddling with the guitar pick he always keeps in his pocket. He knows that he doesn’t want to lose any of this. Losing Alby was enough.
He also knows that if they keep going the way they did, they might as well destroy themselves without anyone’s assistance.
And this, Minho is entirely sure, would be a thousand times worse.
So with a heavy sigh, he steps onto the stage and walks the one step it takes to the drums. His fingertips run slowly over the cymbal, picking up a thin layer of dust. He won’t let it happen. He won’t let it collect more dust. He won’t let this band die.
“You know what?” He says then, turning around slowly to face Newt and Gally, who look up at him with a mixture of concern and hope that they all so desperately need. And Minho is ready to give it to them. “Fuck it,” he says with a grin and hope starts spreading in his veins like fire.
Chapter 2: had enough
Chapter Text
Thomas plays the drums like a fucking god.
And Minho can’t look away.
It's mesmerising, the way Thomas' hands move so fast that they almost blur like he's a cartoon character in a hurry. The way this usually hyperactive boy puts on a face of sheer concentration that somehow also reflects all the pure joy he must feel while at the drums, creating beats that run straight through Minho's veins to his heart that's pounding along with each beat.
The thin black muscle shirt Thomas is wearing is already sticking to his skin, just as strands of his hair do on his forehead. Lines and lines of tattoos run down his arms, connecting in elaborate ivy vines and random, poorly done pieces. Minho has always loved tattoos, on himself and on other people. A part of him is suddenly aching to discover all the memories connected to each of Thomas'.
Minho can't deny it; he enjoys watching Thomas play. A lot. Despite their history and although he doesn't even as much as like him, he cannot and will not deny that Thomas is attractive. And completely his type. He might not be conventionally attractive, not with his unkept hair that sticks out and curls at the ends everywhere, seemingly unfazed by gravity. Not with his legs that appear slightly too long in proportion to the rest of his body and not with the calluses on his fingers from playing the drums for most of the day, which Minho only noticed earlier when Thomas stole the last cookie from the band's snack stash.
And yet, when Thomas finishes his solo with a literal bang and flashes Minho a grin that is too mischievous to be endearing and too soft to be threatening, like Thomas just fucking loves what he's doing, Minho can't help but feel a rush of heat run through his body like lightning. Even though he only reluctantly admits it to himself, it is not the first time it ever happened when watching Thomas play.
But it's okay, Minho tells himself. There are many people out there that spark his interest, most of them covered in tattoos as well. A suspiciously high percentage of them are drummers. He's always had a thing for drummers. Unfortunately, Newt knows about Minho’s type and the points Thomas crosses off. Minho doesn’t miss the Look Newt throws him when he walks past him to toss a small towel to Thomas, who catches it effortlessly.
“And?” He asks as he wipes his entire face and ruffles his hair with the towel, emerging with the same stupid grin.
“It’s good,” Minho says simply, knowing very well that it’s an understatement but not wanting to boost Thomas’ already way too big ego even more.
“Honestly, it’s impressive how quickly you picked all of it up,” Newt contributes to Thomas’ ego, making him beam even more. Minho feels like he’s being mocked.
“Thanks! Gotta be honest, your previous drummer did a good job with these.”
“His name is Alby," Gally grumbles from his beanbag, wearing his overhead headphones in the most passive-aggressive statement Minho has seen from him in quite some time.
"Oh, sorry, I thought you weren't listening," Thomas shoots back, immediately losing his excitement's shimmer. So Newt's prayers that Thomas and Gally would magically get along as soon as they played together weren't heard after all.
They had agreed on giving Thomas a kind of probation, to see if they'd work out together at all. It was Newt’s idea, obviously. And of course, he’s the only one who gets along with Thomas, even sharing laughs with him as if nothing of their feud with Bertha Lost Control ever happened. As if it isn’t still going on.
Despite Gally and Thomas' little hate parade, things are going reasonably well. It took Thomas less than a day to learn all of the songs they'll be performing live and he seems pretty pumped about the music aspect of it as well. Even though he used to make clear how much he hated each of their songs every time they met before, every time he felt salty on Twitter and the one time the bands accidentally met at a gas station in the middle of nowhere.
The stool Thomas’ is sitting on makes a silent squeak when he jumps off it, throwing the towel over his shoulder and grabbing the water bottle that's been standing next to his feet. With huge gulps, he empties it in one go, which Minho finds fairly impressive, if he's honest. From his bean bag, Gally watches Thomas as if his need for hydration is the most inconvenient thing that has ever happened to him.
"When we're gonna do group practice?" Thomas asks, out of breath from playing and drinking.
“You don’t need a break?” Newt’s eyes follow Thomas as he jumps off the stage and sits down, water bottle dangling loosely between his fingers.
“I’m good,” he says with a nonchalant shrug, looking up at Minho as if it’s a challenge to push him to his limits. Something in Minho wants to kick him; he surely is at a great height for it. Something about him is irritating as fuck, probably the confidence he carries around like it's his favourite accessory. As if he didn't come here, basically begging them to take him in, not verbally but definitely in the undertones of his actions. Thomas knows they need him as much as he needs them.
Without warning, Gally pushes himself out of his bean bag and takes off his headphones more forcefully than necessary. "Alright then," he announces and gets up on the stage, taking an extra-large step so that he bumps into Thomas' shoulder with his knee.
“Watch it,” Thomas hisses and a grin flashes across Gally’s face.
“Oops, sorry. Didn’t want to hurt your fragile drummer skin.”
Thomas’ mouth already opens for another comeback, but thankfully Newt steps in just in time. “How about we play our set, get used to the order?”
Gally's expression doesn't tell if he's agreeing or thinks it's the worst idea anyone has ever had, but at least it seems to grab Thomas' attention, who jumps up and throws his arms in the air. At first, Minho thinks he's about to literally throw hands at Gally, but then Thomas leans his upper body to one side and stretches his arms, grunting with contentment when something in his back pops. In the process, his shirt frees itself from where it had been tucked into Thomas’ pants, revealing the slightest glimpse of soft skin. It’s not that Minho actively wants to look at it. His gaze just slips. He’s not mad about it, though.
Thomas doesn't seem to notice, which isn't the case for Newt if his confused frown is anything to go by. It turns into a knowing grin when Minho glares at him. He decides it's probably the best for both of them if it goes by unacknowledged.
With a sigh, Minho gets up on the stage and readjusts the mic stand that somehow always shifts itself. Minho has been assuming Gally's influence in it for a while since it's usually at the wrong height when the bassist is displeased about something. One day he will catch him in the act.
“Alright,” Newt exclaims when he slips his guitar’s strap over his shoulder, “let’s start with Leftovers for Breakfast." He glances at Thomas over his shoulder, who flashes him one of his stupid toothy grins that are not entirely on the edge of cocky but not innocent either. The drummer raises his arms and sets the rhythm by banging his drumsticks together in the air before the sticks fly over the drums like a storm you can't escape.
Newt and Gally follow right along, bassline and melody join into the rhythm effortlessly. At that moment, something inside of Minho clicks back into place. He didn't realise how much he missed this until now, how much he needed to hear them play again. He's so taken aback by the emotion that he almost misses his cue, that his voice almost cracks. But he catches himself, and when the words he's already sung so many times sound over the speakers and join the mix, he feels more at peace than he has the last weeks.
His hands tighten around the mic as sheer joy floods every vein in his body. Their music might be considered to linger on the heavier end of the spectrum, but to Minho, it's comfort. It's his friends. It's home. And it's all he wants to do for as long as his body lets him. When he sings, nothing else matters. Not when he can have Newt and Gally by his side, both of them unable to hide the grins on their faces even when Gally tries his best to hide it. Not when the noise makes his heart beat faster. Not when everything feels like it used to be.
They barely even pause while going through the entire set, everyone knowing it by heart already. Minho can't deny how impressed he is by Thomas' memory and his commitment to the music. By the end of their set, all four are panting and dripping with sweat. Newt is breathing heavily beside Minho, but his grin lights up the entire room. Minho hopes Newt felt the same rush as he did.
“That was-“ Newt huffs and shakes his head laughing in lieu of a finished sentence. Minho understands exactly what he means.
“Pretty fucking good,” Thomas cheers from the back of the stage, which, Minho has to admit, also represents his feelings perfectly.
“Definitely not bad,” Gally says with his typical flair of pessimism as he shrugs the bass strap from his shoulders and puts his instrument down.
"Hey, if we keep up our energy, those concerts will be fucking amazing,” Thomas says before chucking another bottle of water with loud gulps.
It earns him a glare from Gally, who’s apparently on the hunt for every single thing that irritates him about Thomas. “If we decide you can join us. You’re still on trial.”
“Anyone want something from the store?” Newt chimes in before Thomas has the chance to retort and get into another fight with Gally. “I’m craving some apple juice.”
“You’re so weird,” Minho teases with a laugh, voice rough from almost an hour of singing. “I’ll take a vanilla coke.”
“You’re weird,” Thomas contributes, disgust written all over his face.
“Shut up, drummer boy.”
"You haven't heard the worst of it," Newt says, leaning closer to Thomas with a conspiratorial look on his face before loudly whispering the following words. "He likes to mix it with cherry coke when no one is looking for ultimate flavour.”
“Shut up, Newton!”
"That was personal," Gally cackles and barely ducks away from the empty water bottle Newt throws in his direction.
“I’ll show you what’s personal!” Newt’s laugh contradicts his actions and he jumps down from the stage before Gally can throw anything back. “So I take it you want nothing?”
Gally declines with a shrug and Thomas shakes his head when Newt looks at him questioningly. It’s something Minho has always admired about his best friend ever since they met in first grade. How he always makes sure to involve everyone in group activities, makes sure no one is left out. Even when they're sworn rivals.
He hopes Thomas fucking appreciates it.
And he hopes Newt will return soon, because he has yet to determine if he's actually able to stay in a room with the two brawlers that are Gally and Thomas for longer than ten minutes. And just on cue, the bickering starts right behind him.
“You know,” Thomas says just a second after the door falls shut behind Newt, “you guys are better than I remembered.” Alright, not so bad.
“Is that so?” Gally scoffs, not even devoting a single look towards Thomas.
“Well yeah.” Thomas shrugs nonchalantly. A little too nonchalantly. “I mean, your bass line could need some work, but otherwise-“
"What's wrong with my bass line?" This time, Gally's voice is almost a growl. It's the last straw Minho needs before stepping in.
"Leave it, Gally." The bassist's head whips around to face Minho, his expression oozing with disdain and, even worse, betrayal. Minho wants to be unaffected by it, but a sting hits his heart nonetheless.
“Yeah, leave it, Gally." Thomas' contribution is received as well as one might expect. Though Minho is glad that Gally's eyes aren't on him anymore, he'd rather take a piercing gaze than handle what's about to unleash.
“How about you stop to fucking butt in whenever we talk about band stuff?” Gally snarls, his hands balling into fists at his side.
“If you want me to be part of the band, you gotta make me part of this band stuff.”
“You’re coming really fucking close to being thrown out before you even get in.”
“Is that so?” He mocks, repeating Gally’s words from earlier in a scarily accurate Gally impersonation. “Because your band doesn’t work without a good drummer, in case you forgot. Wouldn’t surprise me though, since the only thing you care about is your mediocre bass play.”
“You fucking piece of shit-“
"Gally," Minho says warningly, resisting the urge to slap his arm across Gally's chest. They're not quite there yet.
“He’s been here one day and you’re already taking his side?”
"I'm not-" He starts, but the words get stuck in his throat when the accusation behind Gally’s words becomes clear.
Thomas' eyes linger on them attentively and the twitch at the corner of his mouth suggests that he’s holding back a smile. “It’s only natural he’d want to take the side of the person who’s not an asshole.”
Slowly, Gally’s face turns to meet Thomas’ challenging gaze, cheeks redder than Minho remembers ever seeing on his friend. “I’m gonna fucking-“
“Jesus fucking Christ, Gally!” Only barely Minho catches Gally’s wrist before he can come too close to Thomas for everyone’s comfort. Gally’s eyes fly back to him, emotions brooding across his face that Minho doesn’t want to decipher.
Gally wants to shoot back, Minho can tell by the way his brows tip together in the middle, in the way his shoulders tense up like a tiger ready to pounce. But his lips just move without any words coming out, which is a rare sight in Gally. "You're seriously on his side.“ He whispers eventually, disbelief colouring his voice in depressing shades of grey. And Minho feels it, feels how a fragile piece of trust between them is breaking, crashing loudly on the grounds of their friendship.
"You don't make it hard,” Thomas interferes and Gally tugs at Minho’s hand as if wanting to turn around and throw his fist at Thomas. Minho manages to hold his gaze though, studying him intensely and hoping it’s enough to keep things from getting worse than they already are.
"I just don't want you to throw your fists around like a damn child throwing a tantrum. You’re better than that.”
"Tell that to him instead of letting it out on your friends,” Gally spits out. He wrenches his hand free from Minho’s grip and storms off, his heavy boots pounding on the concrete floor until the door flies shut behind him so forcefully Minho’s ears hurt from the sound.
"Huh," Thomas says, not even giving Minho enough time to process what just happened, "someone got up on the wrong side of his bed. Or is he always like that?”
Anger is brooding inside Minho, higher and higher, the flame fueled by Thomas' ignorance. "Can you shut your fucking mouth for once?”
Thomas looks entirely unimpressed by Minho's outburst, which only worsens the rage inside of him. “You can’t blame me for standing up for myself.”
“I can blame you for showing up here unannounced and trying to break our band apart.”
“Woah there!” Thomas actually seems offended by that, raising his hands in defence. "You guys agreed on letting me join, you made that choice. And besides, what's a band with a leader who can't keep them together?"
Minho wants to shout back, but Thomas’ words catch him off guard. His voice sounds a lot less stable than he’d like. “I’m…not the leader.”
Thomas looks surprised. He actually seems surprised at something that Minho has never even thought to question, and it's another stab to his already battered heart. What is he missing? "You sure do act like one. Making all the decisions.”
“I’m not-“
“They look at you as if you do.” It’s not true. They never had a leader and never will. It’s why they worked so well all these years, even when things got hard. Until now. “Not denying it anymore, I see,” Thomas says after falsely interpreting Minho's silence as agreement.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Minho whispers through gritted teeth, hoping he doesn’t sound as affected as he feels.
“But it’s always been like that, hasn’t it?” Thomas continues as if Minho didn’t speak at all. "I mean, come on! Ever since I’ve known you guys, the others have looked up to you. The fans see you as the leader as well, not just because you’re the lead singer. You just have this,“ he spins his wrist as he searches for the right word. “Presence.“
Minho’s words leave him as he tries to understand what Thomas is telling him. He would love to say that he can deny every little accusation, but he's too confused, too angry still, too sad that suddenly, after years of this band, it feels like everything is falling apart.
The tornado of emotions must be visible on his face, or else Thomas wouldn't approach him like he's a frightened animal, slowly stepping closer and watching him with intent and a hint of pity Minho wishes he didn't notice. "You don't see it like that?” Thomas whispers, showing compassion for the first time since he got here. Or any positive emotion at all.
“We’re equals.” Something sounds off about these words, even in Minho’s own ears. "We always said there won't be a leader, just the band. Just us.“ His voice is beginning to break, getting too vulnerable for his own comfort. So Minho puts up his walls again, made of persistence, sarcasm, and zero-bullshit tolerance. “And it’s still like that, you don’t have the right to judge us like that.”
“Maybe you need that outside perspective.”
“What we need is a good drummer that knows when to keep his arrogant mouth shut! This might be some fucking joke to you, but to us, it's everything.” Minho might be mistaken, or it might be the light catching weirdly in the hazel of Thomas’ eyes, but there’s a short glimpse of sadness in them that vanishes as quickly as it came.
Minho takes the momentum to step closer to Thomas, finally having the high ground. "You come here begging us to take you in, only to keep acting like a piece of shit now. I don’t understand what the fuck is going on with you and Brenda, but I know for sure that this won’t work.”
Thomas’ eyes don’t leave Minho’s as he juts out his chin. It’s not enough to bring them to the same height, but he makes up for it with the low growl in his voice. "You need me more than I need you.” He leans in even closer and suddenly, Minho notices the millions of freckles scattered over the bridge of Thomas’ nose. "You know that as much as I do.” Minho’s gaze snaps back to meet Thomas’, impossibly close to keep thinking straight. It’s certainly not the right emotion to be feeling, Minho realises as his heart picks up a pounding rhythm at the thought of Thomas’ proximity.
“I hate to say it, but he might be right.” Newt’s voice in the tension-laden silence makes both of them jump. Thomas stumbles away from Minho and crashes into the cymbals, making them clatter as if they’re laughing at them.
"Since when have you been here?” Minho snaps, heart pounding from the almost-heart attack he just had. His attitude drops as soon as he notices the expression on Newt’s face. "Did something happen?"
"Did Gally leave for good?” Minho glares at Thomas while Newt’s eyes widen in even more shock at the implication.
“Don’t listen to him. What happened?”
Newt’s gaze snaps from Thomas to Minho and his shoulders relax the slightest. He holds up his phone, showing some kind of social media post Minho can't make out from a distance. "They found out,” Newt says in a grave voice that makes Minho’s veins run cold. “Some fans found out that we’re practising with ‘the enemy’” He mimes the quotation marks with his free hand and Thomas snorts beside Minho.
Minho doesn’t relate to Thomas’ light spirits. His mind is trying to catch up with everything that happened in the last hour; at this point, it feels like it’s overheating. “What? How?”
“Don’t ask me.” Newt sighs defeatedly. “Just…look at this.” In a few quick steps he’s next to Minho, arms pressing together as he shows him the screen. It’s a Tweet titled "reasons i think thomas joined RFL and broke up with brenda – a thread”.
“What the actual fuck,” Minho mutters while scrolling through the bunch of tweets, trying to figure out where the hell someone would get information like these. Only some of them make sense. One suggests that Thomas actually started a romance with one of the band members without any proof whatsoever.
On his other side, Minho feels Thomas press against his shoulder to get a look at the small screen as well. "They even figured out Alby; that's impressive." He's not wrong. The first speculation talks about how Alby hasn't had any kind of social media presence with the band in weeks and how most of their online traffic has died down. There, their fans unfortunately hit bull's eye.
"It's fucking weird," Minho mumbles as he reads over the words again, trying his best to ignore the person's profile picture. It shows a shot of Thomas from one of his concerts, edited so that he's surrounded by a bunch of hearts. That same Thomas that makes his heartbeat spike in the worst kind of way – caused by utter irritation.
“They’re not wrong, though,” Newt huffs, only looking at Minho instead of the screen. He has probably already read over all of this a hundred times. “Look at the number of interactions.”
As soon as Minho sees the number, he wishes he wouldn’t have followed Newt’s instructions. “Fuck,” he whispers and shoves the phone back into Newt’s hands, which earns him an annoyed huff from Thomas, who apparently wasn't done reading.
”Fuck,” he repeats, louder this time as his hand runs restlessly through his hair. His feet carry him through the room at an anxious pace as his mind tries to catch up with what this means for the band.
Nothing is confirmed yet, but people on the internet usually don't require stone-cold proof to believe what grants them entertainment. Which means they didn't act fast enough in announcing Alby's retreat. Which means that fans might accuse them of lying. That they will start speculating, which they wanted to avoid at all costs.
And then, they somehow found out about Thomas. Which has even worse consequences.
“Where’s Gally?” Newt then asks Thomas, but Minho overhears it even when Newt keeps his voice down. Gally is another factor that will be extremely hard to handle once he hears of this.
“Went out,” Minho rushes before Thomas can even open his mouth.
“We need to call him and have a meeting. If…now that…” Newt struggles for words and the frustration that’s taking over his voice makes Minho’s heart ache. Meanwhile, Thomas is surprisingly quiet.
Concerningly quiet.
When Minho catches him sitting in Gally’s bean bag, he's scrolling through his own phone with raised brows and a slight pout.
“Basically,” he says when he notices both Newt’s and Minho’s eyes on him, “they have already accepted the truth that I switched sides. Some of them are super mad, saying that it's the betrayal of the century. Some love it. Most just love the drama."
"They believe that shit?" Despite his own experiences with online fan behaviour, Minho wants to find even the smallest of straws to hold on to. Maybe this is just a huge hoax after all. A parody account or something. But the look on Newt's face is enough to make that small straw break like fragile glass.
Thomas' gaze watches both from below, going from one to another as if he wants to savour every single emotion crossing their faces. He knows what this means for them as much as they do. What Thomas truly thinks of all this commotion, Minho doesn't know. A small part inside of him voices the conspiracy that it was Thomas who made the post after all, just so he could have his way.
But he’s known Thomas for years and though he is an asshole, he’s not shady like that. Or so Minho hopes.
"So," Thomas says after a few seconds of silence, drawing out the word until Minho and Newt both look at him. "Does that mean I'm in the band?"
Chapter 3: white flag
Chapter Text
The first concert went down surprisingly well.
Minho wasn’t worried about the quality of their music, not at all. He can always trust in his friends, and he’s had many demonstrations of Thomas’ drumming skills in the past.
What he was worried about where the fans and how they would show their opinions on all the drama in person. Newt had been keeping an especially close eye on their social media accounts after the words had spread. Though most of the fans were supportive after the band made an official statement, some loners voiced their heavy opinion on the band’s lies – and it wasn’t a positive one.
However, as soon as they stepped out onto the stage of the grungy venue, the excited screams and chants of the crowd were enough to make all their worries disappear into thin air. Some were wearing merch from both bands, others were holding signs with phrases like Welcome to the better band, Thomas! or Always having your back! And of course, the usual Marry me, Newt!
It was overwhelming, to say the least. That night, Minho felt all the love and support from their fans, the ones that have been there since the beginning and those who joined later. It’s everything he loves, everything he ever wanted. What does fame matter when you can have the unconditional love of people who actually care about your music, your lyrics?
And to top off an amazing night, after talking to some fans and leaving the venue with joy filling their veins, they even got some time to bond as a band. And it was surprisingly nice, just hanging out at a bar in their new constellation, talking and laughing and drinking until the sun came up.
Granted, it would have probably gone a lot less smoothly if Gally and Thomas had talked to one another. But apparently, both of them made a silent agreement to ignore each other as much as possible, not exchanging a single word outside of necessary band-related communication.
Of course, Gally isn’t exactly happy about having to take in Thomas, but he had been mature enough to accept that, at this point, it was inevitable. And quite honestly, Minho and Newt are more than relieved that these two settled on ignorance instead of constant fighting. Newt would probably be balding already if they did the latter.
Now they’re on their way to the next town, their old van rumbling down the highway far faster than it probably should be allowed to be going. It’s not like Gally has ever cared since getting it handed down from his father. Newt is dozing off in the seat beside him after the long night out. Their concert won’t be until the other night, but they usually like to be there a day early in case there’s trouble with the venue, the equipment, the motel, the van or if their clothes get stolen from their room. All things that have happened before.
In the backseats, Minho and Thomas are each lost in their own little worlds. Thomas has headphones on, cords so tangled that they might never be straight again. He’s looking out, watching the countryside go by as his fingers drum rhythms on his knees, head gently bopping along to the beat.
And Minho, Minho is watching Thomas. He tried to keep his eyes anywhere but him for most of the ride, but at some point, he couldn't resist the urge anymore. It's dumb. Thomas is dumb. His chronically dishevelled hair is dumb. It’s dumb how he closes his eyes whenever he’s going in for a particularly wild drum solo. It’s dumb how he sometimes grins to himself for no particular reason. His entire existence is dumb. And Minho feels dumb for being drawn to it.
Hours in this trusty old van have given him more than enough time to figure out the sense behind all of this. And still, he hasn't found it. Apart from the fact that he's physically attracted to Thomas, which he has been aware of before and is not ashamed of admitting. The thing that leaves him questioning his own principles is that he can't seem to get Thomas out of his mind ever since their last fight and the proximity in it.
He pins it on all of the recent events and the stress he and his bandmates had to go through during the last weeks. Not a lot of time for romance or nights with strangers. No wonder he wants to fuck an attractive person that spends every day with him.
But it's more than that, and this is the part that's putting Minho off. Which is why he decided to take a mature step to solve it – he won't think about it. It's working as long as he doesn't have to spend hours with only his thoughts, Gally's music blaring out of the van's shitty speakers and Thomas right next to him, being dumb all around.
It’s frustrating.
He needs to do something against it.
“Hey, Newt,” he says and leans forward, tapping his best friend’s shoulder. Newt jolts away with a murmur that comes close to a curse and slowly turns his head around like a creepy doll in a horror movie.
“What?” Jesus, Minho had forgotten how unapproachable a tired Newt is. Especially after waking up. Maybe he should have taken the torture of sitting next to Thomas for three more hours over the torture of Newt’s undying wrath.
“Do you mind changing seats at the next stop?” He says, hoping he sounds innocently sweet enough to get on Newt’s good side again. “You’ll be more comfortable back here.”
Newt's eyes narrow suspiciously, then wander over to Thomas, who doesn’t notice their exchange as he is still looking out the window. Newt knows Minho better than anyone else does, so he’s not surprised that Newt might be suspecting something. He had hoped it would take him longer to figure it out though.
With a deep, agonised sigh, Newt looks at Gally, who seems unfazed by their conversation. He probably didn't even listen. "Can we stop at the next gas station? I could use a snack."
Gally grumbles something incomprehensible, but Newt smiles at him tiredly, nonetheless. “Thanks. Best driver in the world.”
At that, Gally snorts dismissively, but it’s on the kinder side of all of his non-verbal signals. Newt gives Minho A Look over his shoulder, which Minho acknowledges with a small nod. He hopes Newt knows that he’s grateful for a friend that supports him without even fully knowing what’s going on.
He feels like a cowardly child, but sitting in the front actually helps to ease his mind. And, he tells himself, Newt can sleep better as well. Thomas hadn't acknowledged the change of their seating plan much, neither had Gally. And so they drive along, down highways and into the city they will call their temporary home for the next few days until their journey continues.
At the point they arrive at the motel they rented for the night, Minho feels infinitely immature. He’s acting like a child with a crush when he’s a grown-ass man who had his fair share of lovers. A different childish part of him wants to prove to Gally and Newt that he’s in control of this. It’s a whole conflict inside of him, and by the time they get the keys to their rooms, he isn't sure that giving Gally the other one is the right decision.
“Um,” Newt starts as he watches the exchange, but Gally is quicker than him.
“You want me to stay in a room with him?” He points over his shoulder with his thumb where Thomas leans against the wall, headphones still in his ear and unaware of Minho’s bad decisions.
“It would be a bonding experience, that’s for sure,” Newt says, an uncertain smile resting on his lips.
“What? No, I’d never do that if I want you two to get back in one piece,” Minho scoffs. “Thought it would be fair if I shared with him tonight since Newt did it last time."
Newt's expression turns even more uncertain. "It's no problem. We actually get along quite nicely."
"You know what," Gally says, suppressing a yawn, "I do not give a flying fuck as long as I don't have to do it. I'll be upstairs." He pockets the keys before turning around and dragging himself past Thomas and up the stairs to the second floor of the motel. Thomas' eyes follow him for a second but are back to the ground in front of him just as quickly.
"You really think this is a good idea?" Newt asks as soon as Gally is out of earshot.
Minho shrugs. “Yeah.”
“Bullshit.”
“What? Scared we’re going to fight all night?” Minho looks at Newt. He hates that there’s a telling grin spreading on his lips.
"Yeah…or something else. Ow!" Too late, he ducks away from Minho's slap on the arm. Laughing, he shakes his head, and Minho can't be mad at him anymore. "I'm just saying that your behaviour is very strange."
“And?”
“And I want to make sure you’re not making impulsive decisions just to prove something.” Newt’s tone is more serious now. “Because that’s what you’re doing, aren’t you?” Screw having best friends for life.
"I'm not," Minho grumbles unconvincingly and turns around before Newt can make further objections. "Hey, Thomas," he yells. Despite his headphones, the drummer raises his head immediately. Minho sends a prayer that he didn’t hear the rest of their conversation.
“What’s up?” Thomas takes one earbud out and looks at Newt, making Minho feel like he’s being purposefully ignored. “Are we heading up?”
“Actually,” Minho quickly interferes, dangling the keys in mid-air, "I'll be your roommate for tonight." He can ignore Newt's exhausted huff beside him, but not the look that crosses Thomas' face. It's close to disgust.
“Alright,” he says uncertainly, sparing Minho a short glance. “Whatever. Don’t care.”
“Great,” Minho grumbles through gritted teeth, already regretting his decision but too prideful to take it back. Newt's watchful eyes follow him as he makes his way toward Thomas, who has to acknowledge him now.
“You coming?”
“Sure,” Thomas says with a shrug before putting his earphones back in. The signal couldn’t be any clearer and despite Minho’s attempt to be indifferent about how Thomas sees him, the gesture hurts. He could be at least a little grateful, despite everything. He could at least look at Minho. See him.
Minho turns to tell Newt good night, who watches the odd pair as if searching for an explanation for their strange behaviour. He doesn't object however and Minho is grateful for it, even if it means he will have to suffer through a night of being ignored. At least he'll be able to catch some sleep.
Thomas pushes past Minho as soon as the door to their shared room is unlocked and drops his rucksack next to one of the two full-sized beds that are covered by an ugly old bespread before throwing himself on it. Minho almost sighs in relief when he sees that they got separate beds. It happens to them pretty frequently that bandmates have to sleep in one bed, and usually, Minho wouldn't mind. But this whole Thomas situation calls for more than one bed for various reasons.
As Minho kicks off his shoes, he feels Thomas' gaze on him, but the drummer turns his head as soon as Minho tries to catch it. Lines of ink peak out under the collar of Thomas' shirt. Suddenly Minho's fingers itch to touch them. Wonder what it feels like to feel Thomas' pulse underneath them.
This was a horrible idea; why did no one try to stop him?
(He can practically feel Newt’s Told You So look on him.)
“I’m gonna use the shower,” Minho says as if Thomas would care. The drummer doesn’t even move, his eyes closed and his chest rising and falling softly. Either his headphones are better at noise cancellation than they look like, he's fallen asleep, or he really doesn’t want to talk to Minho. Minho can’t be bothered to find out, not before having a nice hot shower after the long drive.
The band made an agreement that they would stick to cheap motels until they had somebody else paying for them. Minho regrets it once again when he holds his hand under the running shower and it rains down on him like icicles. There isn't exactly another choice, so Minho clenches his teeth and endures it. At least the coldness has his body occupied enough so that his brain doesn't start wandering, its only mission being getting out of this shower as soon as possible.
And yet, his mood is even gloomier than it had been before when he emerges from the bathroom again. Thomas hasn’t even moved a single inch, which annoys Minho for no particular reason. He walks over to his assigned bed, but pauses before sitting down. The music from Thomas’ headphones hums silently through the room. Minho doesn’t recognise the song.
"What are you listening to?" He asks and turns around to face Thomas. It's not like he cares. He just needs Thomas to finally say something to him. He can’t spend the evening in complete silence, not like this.
At first, he thinks Thomas hasn’t heard him. But after a few beats, he turns his head and opens one of his eyes. “Music,” he murmurs and closes it again.
"Jesus," Minho scoffs, the last tiny streak of goodwill and patience draining out of him, "Why are you always such an asshole?"
“To keep annoying people off my back,” Thomas mumbles. It takes Minho an unbearable number of nerves not to rip those stupid old headphones off of him.
In one quick step, Minho is by the side of Thomas’ bed, towering over him. His body casts a shadow over Thomas’ face and as immature as it might sound, it makes Minho feel a bit more in control. "If we're so fucking annoying, then why are you even here?"
Thomas' chest rises with a deep breath, caving in again as he exhales and opens his eyes. "Thought we’ve been through this? Needing each other and all that crap?”
The reminder of their heated conversation sends a flame into Minho’s cheeks, a flame whose origin he can’t quite make out. It might be anger, it might be embarrassment as he thinks back to all the emotions that had flown through him when Thomas was so impossibly close.
"Then how about you make it easier for everyone and at least pretend you're a bearable person." The words come out harsher than intended, but at least they get Thomas to take out his headphones and sit up slowly, watching Minho with intent eyes.
Thomas crosses his legs on the bed and throws his tangled headphones behind him. No wonder they look like this. "Funny to hear this coming from the person who can't even bear to sit next to me in the car.” Minho had expected anger, rage, flames in Thomas’ eyes. But the unexpected calm of Thomas’ voice catches him off guard.
“I…I didn’t think…” Minho starts, but the words leave him. He hadn’t considered that Thomas would mind, or notice in the first place. It would explain his strange behaviour from earlier.
When nothing follows, Thomas raises his brows. “I just don’t understand why you suddenly want to share this room with me when you don’t want me near you. I actually don’t annoy Newt that much.”
"I was…" Minho tries again when Thomas suddenly moves again, jumping up from the bed and turning to stand in front of Minho. It feels a lot like the time they faced off in the practice room, but something is different this time.
“Whatever it is that you have against me,” he starts, voice lower and eyes searching Minho’s face in a strangely revealing way, “just tell me so that we can get over it. So that I can…” Finally, Thomas is the one lacking words.
“So that you can what?” Minho’s voice matches the volume of Thomas’; talking any louder would feel wrong. The world seems small, suddenly. Reduced to this room, reduced to the small space between the beds they’re standing in. Thomas possesses a kind of gravity, a kind that affects Minho more than anyone else’s. Like Thomas is a planet that has chosen his moon, ready to draw it in and crash into his surface until they both crumble into stardust.
"Get…used to it," is what Thomas says. Minho suspects that he's thinking a lot more. Maybe Thomas isn't all tough talks and passive-aggressive stares after all. Minho wants to know what's beneath all of it, if there's actually just a boy who loves playing the drums and has feelings like everyone else under there. Why wouldn't there be? How can he uncover them?
There’s this sudden yearning inside of Minho, urging him to see all the emotions Thomas can give him. He’s seen his anger and his joy. He wants to see his sadness as well, his peacefulness, his anxiety and his fear. He wants to see him laugh until he cries, see him cry until he laughs again. Needs to see him bored, ecstatic, jealous, in pleasure. Minho doesn’t know where all of this is coming from, he only knows that nothing else seems to matter when he can feel Thomas’ breath on his skin, when he can see every small speck of gold in his eyes.
He wants to tell Thomas why he changed seats in the van. He wants to tell him how he can't get his mind off him, that he thinks about him more than he would ever like to admit. But his words betray him once again, unable to get past the barrier of his lips. He likes to pride himself in his honesty and his loose mouth, but Thomas strips him from all his pride and leaves him here, scared to open his mouth in case the wrong thing comes out.
Other ways of showing Thomas what is truly going on inside of him come to his mind. His body acts faster than his brain takes time to give it another thought and before he can stop himself, his fingers wrap around Thomas’ wrist.
Thomas twitches slightly at the touch, but he doesn’t jolt away. Minho takes it as a win. “What are you doing?” Thomas whispers, his lips tipping upward slightly. Minho doesn’t miss the curious twinkle in the drummer’s eyes. Definitely a win.
Minho can barely hear his words over the loud beat of his heart. "If you don't object," he says, pulling Thomas closer, "kissing you." Seeing Thomas' cheeks redden is so satisfying that Minho can't refrain from a slow grin. "Is that a yes or a no?”
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Thomas mumbles. His own grin shines through under the annoyed façade he’s trying to put on. “Kiss me already.”
Minho doesn’t second-guess him.
His hand finds the back of Thomas’ neck and pulls him closer until their lips meet, parted and eager as the tension drains away from Minho, bleeding into sheer want. Thomas’ warmth presses against him as the drummer’s hands find Minho’s hips and hold onto them as if he’s never planning on letting him go. As if he needs Minho as close just as it’s the other way around.
They break apart for a second, catching their ragged breath before Thomas pushes against Minho harder, making both of them stumble and none of them cares about it. The edge of Minho's bed presses against the back of his knees, but he manages to keep his balance by wrapping his free arm around Thomas’ middle and burying the other one in his hair, not allowing a single inch of space to be left between them.
Thomas groans into the kiss when Minho’s hand pushes harder into his hair. The curve of Thomas' back arches as he presses himself closer to Minho's hand. All of Minho's thoughts rush out of him, every single one except for Keep touching Thomas until you forget how to breathe.
"I have to say-" Minho starts between kisses, but Thomas is too eager to let him finish, pushing him back until his legs finally give out and the both of them tumble onto the bed. Minho laughs before he can hold himself back a. The betrayed look on Thomas' face isn't helping.
“Stop it,” Thomas hisses as a smile tugs on his lips; the promise of a glowing, honest smile. At this moment, touching Thomas becomes only the second priority, right after making him laugh.
“Or what?” Minho juts his chin out in a silent challenge, a bait Thomas is taking quickly.
“Or I’ll have to make you shut up,” he murmurs, eyes already wandering over Minho’s face.
“I’d like to see you try.”
Thomas' lips are on him before he even gets the chance to fully finish his sentence. But Minho has always loved a challenge. His hands find Thomas’ thighs, fingertips digging into the back of them and pulling Thomas onto his lap. A soft gasp slips over Thomas’ lips and Minho catches it hungrily, itching for his kiss as soon as they are apart.
“Fuck,” Thomas whispers before breaking a breathy laugh. “I think I get it now.”
"What?" The missing contact makes it hard for Minho to concentrate, but he tries his best to look up at Thomas, whose hovering over him with a genuine grin on his lips. It makes Minho's heart flutter. It shouldn’t make his heart flutter.
“This is why you couldn’t stand being near me. You were horny.”
“Now you shut up.”
“You were horny!”
Since talking isn't helping, Minho silences Thomas by digging his fingers deeper into the fabric of his jeans and practically smashing their lips together. It’s only working for a few seconds.
“You know, you could have just said something instead of sulking like a teenager.”
“God, you’re annoying,” Minho groans and lets his head fall back into the bedsheets. Immediately, Thomas leans down and presses his warm lips against the skin of Minho’s neck, stealing his breath.
“Finally something we have in common, then,” he murmurs. The ghost of his breath sends electricity through Minho’s body, sizzling at the tip of his fingers. The fabric under them suddenly feels like a barrier he needs to tear down, a barrier that keeps him from seeing all of Thomas’ hidden tattoos, all the stories tied to them. From getting to explore them with his fingers and his lips.
He realises then that he can make his wishes come true with just a few quick movements by taking Thomas by surprise and pushing him away, rolling them over until he's on top and has Thomas pinned down below him. Thomas complies naturally when Minho's fingers scramble to take his tank top off. Minho forgets how to breathe when his eager hands reveal lines of ink running all over Thomas' torso.
Thomas must notice because his chest moves under a soft laugh. "What? Never seen a guy covered in tattoos?"
“Plenty,” Minho says truthfully and forces his gaze to snap back to Thomas’ face. His grin is irritating, annoying. Minho needs to kiss him before it can make him feel light-headed.
And so he does. He kisses Thomas’ lips until they’re swollen red, then he moves on to Thomas’ neck so that he can hear his soft moans under the touch. He leaves a trail of kisses over his chest, following the black lines which are leading him the way.
He's ready to lose himself in Thomas. All the doubts have long melted away and there's only lust left inside Minho's veins, setting him alight. Thomas’ responses to every touch fuel his fire, make his hands wander to explore and to light the same flame inside of Thomas.
Clothes are being discharged to the floor by hands that move as if in a trance and Minho doesn't remember how they end up with Thomas on top again, he only knows that the drummer's tattoos have now become a tressure to explore later. It's fine with Minho as long as he can trace Thomas' hot skin with his lips, leave marks on the most sensitive parts.
Minho loses track of time when he’s lost himself completely in Thomas and when they eventually follow each other over the edge, he hopes that time has stopped just for them, that physics made an exception so that he never needs to come back to reality again. Thomas has collapsed on top of him and Minho hopes his weight will keep him tied to this exact moment.
Under heavy breaths, Thomas mumbles something incomprehensible against Minho’s chest, tickling his skin and making him laugh. “What?”
"I said," Thomas mumbles and lifts his head slightly to look at Minho with an exhausted, lopsided grin, "I hate you."
“Sure you do,” Minho says, chuckling when he tries to flatten Thomas’ hair in the places it’s most disturbed. It springs right back, as expected. “I hate your hair.”
“I hate your dimples.”
“Ouch?”
“They’re dumb,” Thomas mumbles and plops his head down on Minho’s chest again. “Soo stupid.” Minho feels Thomas’ smile against his skin and tries to ignore all the signals the sensation sends to his brain.
“You’re stupid." Exhaustion is dragging at Minho's entire body, pulling him deeper into the mattress. His thoughts are drifting off, unable to grasp a single concept for longer than a few seconds. It's perfect for now since thinking clearly about what just happened would only make him spiral. Minho doesn't care that the light is still on, that he's naked or that Thomas is naked as well, falling asleep on top of him. He can gladly fall asleep just like that.
“Hey, um…” Minho jolts back into consciousness. Thomas is watching him when he brings himself to open his eyes, the brightness making him groan.
“Hm?”
“Can I ask you something?”
Minho wants to snap back with something teasing, something playfully mocking, something them. But Thomas looks at him in this certain way that leaves no room for such foolery, in a way Minho has never seen on him. Not quite worried but reluctant. Thomas has never been reluctant. Minho doubts he’s ready for what’s to come, but he nods scarcely anyway.
“What…was that?”
At first, Minho thinks there’s more, but nothing follows. He tilts his head to the side gently, studying Thomas as if it would help to figure him out. “Sex?”
Thomas looks so unimpressed by the answer that Minho bites his cheek to refrain from laughing. "I mean, what kind of sex,” he huffs. “I just want to know if this was a one-time hook-up or if this will be a regular thing.”
“You’re an asshole,” Minho answers with a grin and lifts his hand to run it through the mess that is Thomas’ hair again, but the drummer leans away with a sour expression.
“I mean it.”
"I don't know how many one-night stands you had before, but you usually don't ask this kind of stuff directly after fucking.”
“So this is a one-night stand?” Minho opens his mouth to joke again, but thinks better of it. Thomas looks more serious than he has ever seen him and suddenly, the stuffy-aired room feels cold.
“I…don’t know? Does it matter right now?”
“Yeah, it does.” Thomas shifts on top of Minho, pushing himself up and therefore farther away from him. Minho must look at him funny, because with a guarded expression he adds, “Sorry that I’m trying to communicate. You know, that thing you do in any kind of relationship so that it works?”
“Didn’t seem to work so well for you, though,” Minho says with a shrug, but he regrets it as soon as Thomas’ features freeze, stilled in a hardened expression.
“Yeah, right.” It’s all Thomas says before he rolls himself off Minho and sits up at the edge of the bed, running his hand through his hair. The sudden lack of his heat hits Minho like an icy storm and he has to refrain from reaching out to hold Thomas back.
Quickly, Minho props himself up on one arm. "Sorry, I didn't-"
“Yeah, I know,” Thomas interrupts, flashing Minho a thin-lipped smile before leaning down to pick up his clothes. “Hey, you don’t snore, do you?”
“Never had any complaints.” Minho’s heart sinks at the sudden change of subject. He watches Thomas get up and rummage through his backpack, pulling out sleeping clothes before vanishing in the bathroom. The soft splatter of the sink fills the silence in the room, but it’s not enough water to drown out Minho’s thoughts that come crashing back to him in full clarity.
How did the mood change so quickly? How did Minho fuck up so easily? How could he let all of this happen in the first place? He wishes his pillow was made of something harder when he lets his head fall into it, throwing his arm over his eyes to drown out the light. He can still feel all the places where Thomas’ fingertips pressed into his flesh, can still feel the heat of his lips on him.
He doesn’t look up when Thomas returns, only hears the soft noises his bare feet make on the horrendous carpeted floor. Hears the silent rustle of sheets and the click when Thomas turns off the light. He wishes he could say something, but his tongue is tied and the silence rests heavily on his chest.
What was he thinking about sleeping with one of his bandmates? Especially the one he's supposed to dislike. He knew this was a mistake even before he asked Newt to share a room with Thomas, but now it's abundantly clear. And he will have to live with the consequences.
He will have to live with staying up with his thoughts, accompanied only by the music that is silently emerging from Thomas' headphones.
Chapter 4: bulletproof
Chapter Text
Things are going well when Thomas and Gally aren’t talking. But now Thomas is barely talking to Minho either and it’s killing him slowly on the inside. Newt is talking to all of them as if he doesn’t know what’s going on, but Minho knows him better than that. He didn’t tell him what had happened and neither does Newt ask, but Minho can imagine how it must feel to be the only one keeping this band together right now.
Newt, however, doesn’t let it show. He scolds Gally in a loving way, as he always does, keeps including Thomas in everything, keeps joking around with Minho. If it weren’t for him, this band probably would stay in silence for the entire day.
If their discrepancy is visible on the stage, the fans don’t show it. The atmosphere is fantastic, the music fills Minho’s veins, but it doesn’t carry the joy with it. The fans scream and shout their love from the top of their lungs, chant for them and support them with their special kind of love, and Minho can’t even appreciate it. He feels like a traitor.
After the concert, they don’t spend much time together. Gally and Thomas withdraw to their respective rooms as soon as they return, leaving Minho and Newt behind in the motel’s lobby. Though it can barely be called a “lobby”, it’s only a small room with an old TV that’s playing a cooking channel on mute and a surprisingly expensive-looking coffee machine. It’s tempting, but Minho couldn’t bare staying up for another night.
“I’m so glad we’re touring again,” Newt says with a happy sigh and sinks down in his chair, limbs hurting from the concert. “I always forget how much fun it is. Draining, but so rewarding.”
Minho hums approvingly and watches Newt stir the hot chocolate that the coffee machine spat out. He wonders if Thomas likes hot chocolate as well. Maybe he could bring him some as a peace offering.
“What are you thinking about?”
“Hot chocolate.”
“And what else?” Minho looks up to meet Newt’s searching gaze, worry edged on his forehead. “Thomas, I suppose?”
Minho groans and lets his head fall back, so he doesn't have to look at Newt any longer. "No. You don't even know me at all," he mumbles monotonously, which makes Newt laugh. Though when he speaks, his tone is more serious.
“Did something happen between you two? I barely saw you talk today.” His chair creaks when Newt leans forward and places a hand on Minho’s knee, squeezing gently. Something tells Minho that Newt already suspects what happened and just wants to give him space to talk about it. He doesn’t know if he wants to.
"Said something that pissed him off." Minho shrugs but on the inside, familiar guilt spreads itself like poison. Thomas didn’t seem pissed off, he seemed genuinely hurt, which is even worse.
“So…why aren’t you talking to him instead of me right now?”
“Because it’s Thomas.”
“And he’s annoying and you hate him?”
“Exactly!” Minho jolts back up with such force that it starlets Newt. “What is wrong with me?” He whispers desperately as if the movement suddenly made all the thoughts rush back to his head like blood.
“Sounds to me like you have-“
“Don’t say it.”
“-feelings for Thomas that-“
“Newt.”
“-you can’t place and it makes you feel scared,” he finishes with one brow raised suspiciously. “You know that trying to keep me from saying it only proves my point. And if you don't want to talk about it, you can just say that and I'll stop probing. I just want you to know that I'm here if you need me to listen."
“I know,” Minho grumbles, still struck by Newt’s on-point deduction and the genuineness of his words. He’s glad to have him in his life, but he doesn’t feel like talking about it would help. It would probably make things worse. “Maybe another time?”
Newt watches him for another second before nodding with a smile. Minho relaxes as Newt goes on to talk about the concert and soon, he feels lighter overall, joining in and talking about touring-life as if they're back in the old days when they were happy when even ten people showed up to their concerts.
It helps to keep his mind occupied until they part ways and he has to face Thomas again. But lucky for him, the drummer is already asleep, headphones in as always. Minho stands still in the doorway, the light from outside the only thing illuminating the shape of Thomas. Newt had kindly offered to change rooms, but neither does Minho want to explain what's going on to Gally, nor does he want to run away from this. If he wants things to proceed in any successful way, he will have to talk to Thomas. He pushes it off to tomorrow, hoping that Thomas will take his headphones off long enough to hear him.
Minho loves it when they get to access a venue earlier. When they have more time than needed to put up all of their stuff and they can simply hang out there as if it's their own practice room. And the venue is pretty nice as well, looking vintage and somehow modern at the same time. The pit in front of the stage is covered with old carpets and couches are pushed to the walls, blank light bulbs hanging above them. It's pretty hipster, but Minho likes it, nonetheless.
The bar won’t open for another three hours. Gally said he’d head back to the motel and catch up on some sleep after the long ride, Newt wanted to go explore the city some more. Minho has no idea where Thomas went, it’s not like he told him. It’s the first time since their tour started that he has some time on his own and he’s planning on using it.
Guitar propped on his knee, he set up a small writing corner for himself on one of the couches. It’s surprisingly comfortable if you think about how many people have set and danced on them before. Made out here. Maybe even more. Minho doesn’t want to think about that topic right now.
His pencil scratches silently over his trusty notepad that he carries everywhere, writing down lyrics and music notes in graphite. Minho's in his element here. Lately, he couldn't find the time to write between hours of practice and the drama with Alby and he probably should be doing something else right now as well, but as soon as he took his guitar and started scribbling down the first word, he felt at peace again.
So at peace that he doesn't notice footsteps approaching until the person before him casts a shadow over his notepad. “You writing?” Minho looks up at Thomas to say something, but the words get stuck in his throat. It’s the first time since The Night that they’re alone and actually close to each other. Talking to each other.
“Yeah?” Minho says, hating that he sounds insecure. “You know that I write some of our songs.”
“I do, I just…” Thomas shrugs a little helplessly and turns his head, facing away from Minho as if he suddenly can’t stand seeing him anymore. He’s wearing a sleeveless hoodie with the hood pulled down to his eyes. He looks lost, almost.
“I thought you’d be out with Newt,” Minho says when the silence gets too loud and he’s sure Thomas won’t continue. Another shrug from the drummer. “Thomas, what-?”
"Can we…talk?" His warm eyes land on Minho again. "Feels like we should." Minho considers him for a second, then another and a third. Then, eventually, he sighs and leans his guitar against the side of the couch, scooting over to make space for Thomas, who lowers himself carefully with his hands stuffed in the front pocket of his hoodie.
Thomas' eyes scan the room, avoiding to look at Minho until they eventually land on the notepad. “Can I look?”
"Sure," Minho says, even though everything inside of him yells at him to decline. He doesn't usually share his writing before he's 100% sure of it, but it's a chance to show Thomas that there can be trust between them. Even if it makes him fucking nervous.
Thomas takes the notepad carefully as if it could fall apart and leans back into the couch, reading the few lines with furrowed brows. Minho fears that he hates it, but then he says, “Is that a breakup song?”
“It’s a song about a breakup,” Minho corrects and earns an unimpressed glare from Thomas. At least he’s looking at him again.
"You've been through one?" Thomas sits up and almost throws the notepad back on the small stool Minho had put it on before but thinks better of it and takes the effort to place it down gently. Minho appreciates it; this little book is almost like a diary and he's glad it's out of Thomas' hands again.
"Not like this," he says, nodding toward the notepad. It's a song about jealousy and heartbreak, but it comes mostly from imagination.
“Then why are you writing about it?” There’s no accusation in Thomas’ voice, but Minho feels like he needs to defend himself, nonetheless.
"The fans love it," he admits with a shrug, eyes glued to his own writing. "We have love songs, we have breakup songs, we have songs about hate and how much we love Newt's sister's cat, we have it all. Of course, we take inspiration from real life, but sometimes it's just fun to make up shit. It's like writing stories to me."
“Hm, maybe I should try it some time.”
Minho feels silence fall over them like a thick blanket, so he scrambles to talk again before it suffocates them. “I’m sorry about what I said the other night.” Thomas exhales slowly beside him. “It was…a fucking shit thing to say and I know this sounds cheap, but I didn’t mean it. It just slipped out because I…” Minho trails off, thinking about what Newt had said to him after the concert. It’s his time to be honest and it’s harder than he had imagined. Thomas remains still beside him.
"I think I was scared?" Minho goes on with uncertainty in his voice. "All of this was just…unexpected. I didn't know how to deal with it."
“Well, do you know now?” Thomas turns his head to look at him, hazel meeting dark chocolate brown.
"I don't think I do." His voice drops in volume as if it would help hide his insecurities. He knows it’s not, or Thomas wouldn’t look at him with sympathy.
“All I need to know is if we are on good terms and if fucking will become a thing we just do now.”
Minho can't help but snort at the directness of Thomas' words. Here he is, finding something he likes about Thomas. "Contrary to popular belief, I don't actually hate you. And if you’re willing to make this band work, so am I.” A smile finally sneaks on Thomas’ face at that and he nods in agreement. “Concerning the sex…I think we just…see what happens?” He looks at Thomas questioningly, but he just shrugs as well.
“I mean, I’ve fucked the band leader before and look how it worked out!”
Minho can’t help but laugh at that, but bites it back quickly in case Thomas takes it the wrong way. He doesn’t seem to be if his grin is anything to go by. “Lo and behold!” Thomas announces. “He’s laughing at my jokes!”
“Shut up,” Minho laughs, bumping their shoulders together. “But honestly, what do you think about it?”
He can't tell if Thomas accidentally leans against him or if he actually wants to be close to him. Minho doesn't mind though; it feels strangely good after reconciling. "I certainly enjoyed the night," Thomas admits with a grin and looks at Minho. They're so close that their noses are almost touching. It takes everything in Minho not to close the distance and kiss Thomas. “So, yeah. Let’s just see what happens,” he whispers, eyes dropping down to Minho’s lips. Electricity is jumping between them, pulling Minho in until their mouths connect in a slow, intense kiss. The weight that has been resting on Minho for the past days lifts just then, melts away under the heat of Thomas’ kiss.
And Minho is more than ready to push it further. To slip his hands under Thomas’ clothes and make him come undone right here, right on this couch in front of a stage he’ll later perform on for all of their fans. But Thomas seems to have different plans. Breaking the kiss and leaving Minho screaming internally for more, he leans back and lets his gaze wander over Minho’s face. His hand rests on Minho’s chest, moving softly with every breath he takes.
“Can I just sit with you for a while?” The softness in his voice takes Minho by surprise and he nods slowly.
“I’ll be playing the guitar though, in case that bothers you.”
“That’s alright, I’ll have my headphones in,” he says with a grin. He’s either mocking Minho’s guitar play or he’s genuinely happy to spend time with him. Though Minho doubts his old headphones will do any job at all to drown out the outside noises.
And neither are they good at keeping the music inside. Minho knew that before, but he can hear Thomas' music even when he plays the guitar right next to him. It's coming to a point where he's seriously concerned about Thomas' eardrums. He's a drummer, after all. His fingers hover over the string of his guitar as he tries to figure out if he knows the song Thomas is currently listening to, but nothing comes to mind.
After ten minutes of trying to come up with lyrics and melodies, Minho gives up and puts his guitar down again. Thomas has his head tipped back, leaning against the wall; his eyes are closed as he gently sways along to the music. Minho supposes he looks peaceful writing music. Thomas looks peaceful listening to it.
“What are you listening to?”
Thomas turns his head to look at him. “Hm?”
"I said, what are you listening to?"
“What?”
With an annoyed huff, Minho reaches out to pull one of Thomas’ earbuds out by the cord. “What are you listening to?” Instead of giving an answer, Thomas takes out the other earbud as well and puts it into the ear facing Minho, pressing the other one into Minho's hand. It feels like a peace offering on its own, fascinatingly intimate. To Minho, music has always been something personal. It's why he likes knowing what Newt and Gally are currently listening to. Hearing Thomas' music, to Minho at least, feels like he's going to catch a glimpse into his soul as well.
Minho puts the sacred earbud in and braces himself for said glimpse into Thomas’ soul, but instead of that, all he hears is loud. "Jesus fuck!" He jolts and almost rips the headphones out but thinks better of it. "How are you not partly deaf by now?"
Thomas rolls his eyes with a hidden grin and puts down the volume. “You’re the singer of a rock band, you should be used to noise.”
“Not like that." The audio quality is as horrible as expected, but at least the volume isn't threatening to burn away Minho's eardrum anymore. A bit more relaxed, he leans into the couch and inspects the experimental wall art on the wall opposite them as the music reaches his ear. Minho doesn't recognise the artist or the song, but it's surprisingly tamed for what he expected.
The song fades out after a few seconds and switches to the next one. This one truly takes Minho by surprise. "Is that…" He looks at Thomas in confusion, who just grins at him as if he knew he'd get that reaction.
“That’s my playlist.”
“Of what?”
“Everything,” Thomas says with a shrug. “I just put every song I like in there.”
“That’s…weird.”
“So?”
Minho opens his mouth to reason with Thomas, but then again, his sentiment isn’t entirely wrong. Who is he to judge other people’s music taste? Even if it’s as wild as Thomas’ hair. So he embarks on the journey and accepts that surprises may come along the way, that they tell him as much about Thomas as any other music would.
His main takeaway is that Thomas' music taste is completely unpredictable. There's a metal song followed by 8-bit music, followed by a radiant pop song and the Stranger Things soundtrack. And as Minho sits there listening to the wild mix through shitty old headphones, Thomas' arm bumping against him whenever one of them moves just slightly, he thinks about what this could say about Thomas.
Before Thomas came to join their band, they had a few real-life encounters and public bickers online. Ever since their bands started this rivalry, Minho had seen Thomas and the others as pricks who wanted a public show-off for PR. And it worked, neither of the bands can deny that. But it also kept Minho from ever considering the actual personalities of their destined rivals. He knows Brenda is the fierce leader. That Thomas is the hyperactive drummer who's always ready for a fight. That Frypan is the reasonable one of the group. And quite honestly, he doesn't know anything about Aris, so he might be the odd one out, the quiet one.
It's how the fans see them as well. And now that he thinks about it, it’s the same for his own band. People usually assign them one prominent character trait and shove it into the narrative until it fits into their desires. And Minho walked right into that trap, doing the same to the members of Bertha Lost Control. Thomas included, evidently.
He looks at the drummer again, who’s gone back to leaning his head back with closed eyes and losing himself in the music. It feels special suddenly, that Thomas is willing to share this music with Minho, even though they barely made up, despite all of their differences and their complicated history. Hundreds of questions bubble up in Minho; he wants to ask Thomas things he’s never cared about before. Like why he started drumming in the first place. Somehow, Minho can picture an 8-year-old Thomas keeping up the entire neighbourhood with his excessive drumming, with the only outlet for his hyperactive self. And somehow, this kid is also covered in tattoos, though they are temporary ones.
As on cue, Minho’s eyes start wandering over Thomas’ uncovered arms, finding their own way. He has never cared before what’s eternalised on Thomas’ skin, but the lines draw him in now, in time with the music.
“Watcha looking at?” Minho flinches when Thomas talks to him. He needs to learn that Thomas is surprisingly attentive, even when he looks like he’s about to fall asleep.
"Your tattoos," Minho says, unable to look at Thomas directly. He studies his tattoos instead, using them as the perfect excuse. "They are…pretty random."
Thomas leans back a few inches and watches Minho through squinted eyes. "Wow. First, you insult my music taste and now my tattoos!"
“I’m not insulting them. I like random tattoos. It’s cool when people just get whatever they want.”
“Now you think I’m cool? Who are you?”
Minho laughs and finally looks at Thomas. “Shut up.”
Thomas considers him suspiciously for a few more beats before huffing an amused breath and leans back to where he came from, but closer to Minho than before. Their arms are in constant contact now and Minho doesn't want to notice the heat it sends through him, but his body has other plans.
“I think every tattoo has a meaning, actually,” Thomas says as he lifts the arm further from Minho and inspects it. A smile spreads slowly on his face, a smile of familiarity as he examines a badly drawn bird on his arm. Minho can't tell for the life of it what kind of bird it is. Then again, he isn’t exactly a bird-expert.
“What’s the meaning of this?” He nods towards the bird-like thing and Thomas breaks into a laugh.
“It means that I got really drunk with Frypan and asked him to tattoo the first animal he was able to think of on my arm. Which sounds like a dumb idea, and it totally was, but I got a great memory from it.” The smile on his face dims slightly, like a light bulb flickering in an otherwise dark room. It’s a familiar pain, Minho realises then. The pain of losing a band member, a family member. Thomas probably misses Frypan as much as Minho misses Alby.
"We got one as well." Thomas looks at him, confused, but Minho is too busy rolling up the sleeve of his t-shirt to answer. He shifts in his seat until he's turned towards Thomas and lifts his arm at an ankle, exposing the tattoo on his inner bicep.
Thomas’ eyes linger on his face, unsure for a second before they drop to his arm. He blinks once, twice before he laughs softly. Minho can’t ignore the way it makes his heart jump. “A lightning bolt. Very creative.”
“Fuck off,” Minho says with a grin. It almost vanishes when Thomas reaches out and runs his fingers over the lightning bolt, examining it as if he’s never seen anything like it before.
“No, I dig it,” he mumbles. Minho doesn’t miss the melancholy hidden in his voice, in his words. He wants to ask if he misses being part of Bertha Lost Control, if he feels better since joining Running from Lightning. But it’s not the kind of conversation they have, it just isn’t.
In a lack of something to contribute, Minho lowers his arm again and presses it discreetly to his body, hoping it will make the tingling feeling Thomas’ fingers left there disappear. “Who knows,” he says then with a shrug, “maybe you will have one as well one day.”
He doesn't mean it. Of course he doesn't, that would be ridiculous. But it changes something in Thomas' posture, something that remains unspoken. Who knows if Thomas even takes it seriously. Minho certainly doesn't care. Things between them have never been serious anyway, in no regard.
With a soft sigh, Minho leans his head against the cold wall and closes his eyes. He thinks of music and tattoos and lightning bolts. He thinks of the one that is still on Alby’s skin, a reminder of their shared past. He wonders if Alby looks at it, close to his heart as well, and misses them as much as they miss him.
He thinks of a lightning bolt tattooed on Thomas’ skin.
Chapter 5: neon brother
Chapter Text
“Oh my god, look at this!”
“Keep your seatbelt on, for fuck’s sake!”
Thomas has the audacity to look at Minho like he’s denied him access to his drum set as he slowly retreats his hand from the buckle of his seatbelt.
"What do you want to show me?" Minho asks when Thomas' hand is settled back at a safe distance from anything buckle-related.
“I don’t wanna show you anymore,” he huffs and looks back at his phone, pointedly scrolling farther.
“Dude.”
“No, you don’t deserve to see a dog that’s riding a skateboard.”
“I wanna see a dog riding a skateboard.” Newt turns around to look at Thomas with an expectant smile that only grows bigger when Thomas scrolls back and turns the desired video towards him. “That’s adorable.”
“I wanna see as well,” Gally says but Newt shoves his arm gently before he can even turn his head just an inch.
“You look at the road! No one will look at funny dogs anymore when you drive this thing into oncoming traffic.”
“Can I finally see that stupid dog?” Minho groans from his seat and now, both Newt and Thomas look at him with more consternation than the situation should be granted.
“That dog isn’t stupid, it rides a skateboard. I can’t even ride a skateboard!”
“Yeah, what do you make of that, drummer boy?” Thomas somehow manages to kick Minho, even though they are sitting next to each other. Once again, Minho wonders how his legs are so damn long, always in the way of things.
“Hey, no fighting in my van," Gally barks from the driver's seat just as Minho is about to smack his empty plastic water bottle against Thomas' head, unable to hide a grin.
Newt's shoulders shake gently as he chuckles and shakes his head in the front seat before he looks out of the window again. From where he's sitting, Minho catches a soft glimpse of his smile. The entire band's mood has been going upward ever since Thomas came to talk to Minho. They almost act like a normal group of friends now; even Gally has been exchanging a few words with the drummer from time to time.
A few minutes of content silence pass in the van, until Minho whispers begrudgingly, “Can I see the dog now?”
Mischievous eyes meet him and study him for a second, but the smile that's tugging on Thomas' lips is hard to miss. The drummer's lips move, but whatever he is about to say doesn't come out. The simple implication of what he might have said sends heat through Minho’s body, which isn’t exactly supposed to happen.
“I sent it to you,” Thomas says then with a shrug and turns away again, the unused side of his headphones dangling at the front of his shirt. It doesn’t seem to bother him that Gally has his own music on, one of his headphones is always in.
Minho unlocks the phone and opens the chat with Thomas, who actually did send him the video a few minutes ago. It’s surprisingly considerate of him. And it’s a great video as well. That dog truly is talented.
When Minho taps back into the chat, he's about to lock his phone when he sees that Thomas is typing. He glances at him, but Thomas doesn't seem to notice. His fingers fly quickly over the keyboard, movements almost as fast as when he's playing the drums. Minho's eyes go back to his screen just when Thomas is done writing and the message pops up in their chat.
you can’t skateboard, can u?
Minho doubts it actually took Thomas’ quick fingers that long to write this short sentence.
Haven’t done it in a while, why?
just curious
Minho looks at Thomas, confused, but the drummer is already typing again.
do u think gally weill kill me if i ask if we cn stop at mcdonalds?
Do you think it would kill you to correct your spelling?
gotta be fast
Why?
Minho rolls his eyes at the Sonic GIF Thomas sends him.
You know you can also talk to me in person
on
no
Did you just misspell “no”??
no
Minho chuckles silently and shakes his head, his cheeks hurting from his smile. Which they shouldn’t, now that he thinks about it. Or Thomas shouldn’t, since he’s somehow the one making him smile like an idiot who’s texting his crush.
Which he isn’t.
so regarding my mcdolads question
You shouldn’t
i want a milkshake
Is dying worth getting a milksheak?
u misspelled milkshake
and yea
obviously
I can’t stand you.
didn’t seem like it last night just saying
Minho’s fingers hover over the keyboard as his mind runs at full speed to come up with a cool and sexy answer while simultaneously trying to keep his blood out of his cheeks. Another notification pops up and out of reflex, Minho clicks on it.
Are you seriously texting Thomas and smiling at yourself?
On.
I mean no.
Newt laughs under his breath and Minho wants to poke his head through the space between the seat and the headrest.
I’m just glad you two are sparing Gally and me from your flirting. Keep going!
Shut up
Quickly, Minho switches back to his chat with Thomas. He hasn’t written anything else and when Minho looks over at Thomas, he’s already looking out of the window again, one leg tugged under his chin. This boy truly doesn’t care about road safety, but the image brings a smile to Minho’s lips, nonetheless.
Suddenly, he’s 14 again, trying to impress the girl that gave him his number to work on their biology project. He’s sitting here, fingers resting slightly above the phone screen, trying to come up with something interesting to say and to keep the conversation going. Talking to Thomas seems like the most exciting thing, which the Minho from a few weeks ago would laugh at him for. Or he’d lose faith in himself entirely.
What does Thomas like? Music. So he might as well try that.
What are you listening to?
It’s hard not to stare at Thomas the entire time he’s looking out the window instead of checking his phone. Minho fights the urge to poke him in the knee so that he finally reads his text, because the more often he repeats it in his head, the stupider it sounds. Even though it’s just a simple question.
It takes almost five minutes (Minho has checked) until Thomas finally thinks of checking his phone, but the slow smile that spreads on his lips is worth every second.
my playlist
ofc
wanna join?
Minho questions him with a look and before he can answer, Thomas is already trying to unbuckle his seatbelt again. “Can you stop doing that?!”
“Chill!”
“Tommy, put your seatbelt back on!” Newt joins from the front, watching mortified what Thomas is doing.
“I might brake hard just to see you fly,” Gally chuckles and Minho isn’t entirely certain if he’s joking or not.
"My god, chill guys," Thomas huffs as he scoots over into the middle of the back seat and puts the flimsy two-point seatbelt on. It's not as bad as being unbuckled, but not exactly ideal, either.
Without another word, Thomas fiddles with the cords of his headphones before giving one earbud to Minho and putting the other into his own ear. Minho is so awe-struck by the action that he takes longer to put it in than any straight-thinking human being should. The cord is somehow even more tangled since the last time they shared Thomas’ music and Thomas has to press closely to Minho so that they don’t fall out.
This time, Minho actually recognises the song that’s playing, Thomas has shown it to him before. During the last weeks, he had played some music aloud for him in the motel rooms they shared, but the nights had usually quickly turned from hanging out together to more physical activities.
Minho catches Gally’s gaze through the rear-view mirror, but the bassist looks back to the road quickly. Then he looks over at Newt in a silent conversation Minho understands just fine. He wants to groan and voice his disdain for their plotting, but it would only attract their attention even further.
And so he closes his eyes, focusing on not leaning his head against Thomas’. It gets harder when the music lulls him in, pulling him into gentle unconsciousness. He might let his head fall into the fluffy mess of Thomas' hair or he might not; he surely doesn't notice as he drifts off into sleep.
“Breakup songs suck anyway.”
“Nobody asked you,” Gally mumbles from his corner in the motel lobby. It’s surprisingly cosy for once and the coffee tastes almost as good as a freshly brewed cup from the coffee shop.
"Okay, but listen," Thomas says as he leans forward in his armchair, cheeks coloured in an endearing pink from the few glasses of beer he had tonight. "It's been done before! Every damn band has at least one breakup song, people don't want that anymore!"
“And what do people want?” Newt is huddled in his own armchair, a cup of tea the motel’s receptionist gave him in his hands and a content smile on his lips.
“Everything has been done before,” Minho contributes with a shrug. “And almost everyone can relate to a breakup song.”
"Well, I haven’t listened to a breakup song since Bren broke up with me, because they suck.” Newt’s and Minho's eyes meet across the room. Thomas has never openly talked about his breakup, so either he's growing to trust them, or he's too drunk to notice.
Thomas isn’t the only one that’s ought to surprise them tonight. “I listened to tons of breakup songs when my high school boyfriend broke up with me,” Gally reasons. He’s actually looking at Thomas when they talk now. Minho can barely believe his eyes.
“You were in high school.”
“We have high schoolers who listen to our music. And, you know, people who actually have feelings.”
Thomas opens his mouth to counter and Minho already braces himself for the fire to surge between Gally and Thomas, but then the drummer just shuts his mouth and shrugs in agreement to that. “But we already have breakup songs. And I think our fans would love to hear something else next, something with a…with a…” He flings his arms around and almost knocks Newt’s cup out of his hands, “With a bang!”
“All of our songs have a…a bang,” Gally says and scrunches his nose, but overall he’s looking fairly content. Despite almost losing his precious cup of tea, Newt looks at Minho and raises his brows meaningfully.
Minho didn't miss it, either. The way both Thomas and Gally talked about this band as a we, Thomas included. It’s taken them almost two months, but here they are. And Minho can’t deny it’s making things easier for all of them. Sure, Gally still has his moody outbursts and Newt is still trying to play the manager of the band and Alby still hasn't come back, but at least it feels like things are finally going upward. Even if they still haven't decided what song they will release next.
But for now, Minho is more than content watching Gally and Thomas trying to figure it out. At some points, he isn’t entirely sure if the mean things they throw at each other’s heads are intended to hurt, but none of them seems to be hurt. It might be the alcohol all of them had after tonight's show, a celebration of their tenth show of this tour, but Minho will enjoy it for as long as it lasts.
He's exhausted from the show and whenever he tries to talk, his voice cracks from straining it on the stage and in the bar, so eventually, he retreats to half-dozing off in the comfortable two-seater and watching Thomas animatedly argue about whatever song-choice Gally came up with now. He should probably care more about this, but there’s enough time for that when he’s not feeling like a pile of bricks.
His eyes must have fallen shut at some point, because when the couch dips gently beside him, for a second he hopes that Thomas has come to sit next to him. But then he catches sight of Newt; the disappointment doesn’t even last for a second though.
Without a word, Newt leans his head against Minho's shoulder and chuckles softly as he shakes his head. Minho doesn't need to hear what Newt wants to say to understand it. "Don't even know who these people are," he mumbles silently with a grin. Gally and Thomas don't seem to notice.
“So,” Newt whispers in a way that promises no good, that teasing tone someone uses when they’re about to ask their friend an embarrassing question. “You two official yet?”
Newt wheezes when Minho shoves his elbow into the guitarist's side. The others glance at them shortly before continuing their discussion and Minho glowers at Newt while he tries not to laugh.
“Don’t ask that when he’s right there,” he hisses, cautious of every little turn of Thomas’ head.
“So that’s a no then, alright.” Minho’s mouth stays shut. “But you are shagging?”
“Don’t say it like that,” Minho complains, hoping that the heat rushing to his cheeks doesn’t show on the outside. He’s never been prude with things like this, especially not with Newt. But by now, Thomas is known for making most of Minho’s carefully curated tough-traits crumble. It’s starting to be annoying.
Speaking of annoying. “You’re shagging.”
“Quiet!”
“Look, you can just say that you’re not-“
“We are,” Minho hisses and doesn’t have to look to know that Newt is completely satisfied with that answer.
“Knew it.”
To his surprise, Minho doesn't regret Newt finding out. If anything, he's relieved about not having to keep it from his best friend anymore. "Since when?" Still, he watches Thomas and Gally, because they really don’t need to overhear this conversation.
Newt shrugs and presses himself closer to Minho, like the clingy personification of a cat he becomes after his third drink. “I knew something was off when you wanted to share a room with him. Felt like one of those decisions you'd make when you want to prove something to yourself." He pauses as if waiting for Minho to say something, but goes on when he stays silent.
“And then the next time, you didn’t ask for it anymore, as if trying to lie low.”
Minho snorts dismissively. “Now that’s a little far-fetched.”
“It’s true though, isn’t it?”
“…yeah.” Minho can’t be mad when Newt chuckles so contently and pleased with himself. How could he have possibly thought that Newt wouldn’t see right through him? “Please tell me Gally doesn’t know.” The bassist’s eyes fly towards them at the mention of his name but retreat just as quickly.
“Well…” Newt starts and Minho already doesn’t want to hear the rest of it. He slides down further on the couch and throws his head back with a silent groan. “He suspects it. And you two aren’t exactly low-key about it.”
“We are trying.”
“Then you’re really bad at it.”
“Ouch,” Minho mumbles and turns his head, regretting it immediately when Newt’s hair tickles his nose. “What gives us away?”
“You’re always touching,” Newt starts listing far too quickly for Minho’s taste, “like, always. And always looking at each other. Thomas lets you listen to his music and none of you thinks it would be reasonable to detangle his headphones so you don't have to basically sit in each other's lap."
“You can’t fix them,” Minho tries to help his case, but it’s not doing much. Newt has a lot more up his sleeves.
"At practice, you watch him like he's the only person in the room. I once caught you sharing your Twizzlers with him, even though you barely even share them with me when I ask. And you two always make sure to clarify that you don't actually like each other when all both of you do is smile at each other once you're in each other’s space.”
“Damn. You truly made a list.”
“It’s hard not to when I have to spend all my days around you. I bet Gally has one as well,” Newt teases and pokes Minho’s side with his finger. “I just can’t tell if it’s just the shagging-“
“Please, stop calling it shagging.”
“-or if there’s more behind it.” The implication of more existing has alarms blaring in Minho’s head, colouring his mind in flaring shades of red.
“I’m not the relationship-type.” He immediately snaps his mouth shut after the words come out a little too loud and Gally and Thomas finally look at them.
“Excuse me, we have important band-issues to discuss,” Thomas says with his stupid grin that suddenly feels like doom to Minho. Or maybe it’s not the grin itself and more the fuzzy feeling it causes in his stomach that has suddenly become too real for him to handle with Newt’s question still echoing in his mind.
Thankfully, Newt laughs it off for him. "Oh, pardon us. We will refrain from raising our voices above a level that will disturb your important discussion. Please, do continue."
“Posh Brit,” Thomas mocks and sticks out his tongue before going back to the conversation. Minho dies a little on the inside.
“I don’t think I can answer that,” Minho whispers when he’s sure there’s no unwanted attention on him anymore. Newt smiles at him but it vanishes slowly when he realises what Minho means by that.
“Don’t wanna talk about it?”
“Don’t wanna think about it.”
Newt sighs and wiggles himself back into his previous position, rubbing his cheek against Minho’s shoulder. “Tell me when you need help thinking about it,” he whispers, even more silent than before.
“Thanks,” Minho mumbles past the lump in his throat. He loves Newt endlessly and couldn’t be more grateful for his support, he did however just start a small Thomas-related crisis inside of his mind. “Can we talk about something else?”
“Sure!” Newt complies immediately and whips out his phone from the front pocket of his hoodie. A hoodie that – as he now realises – looks suspiciously like Minho’s. One day he will call him out for stealing other people’s clothing, but today is not that day.
“Watcha doing?”
“I wanted to check the line-up for that Glade’s Festival,” he says and navigates to his e-mails, searching for one specific message. “They announced that they were some new additions to the line-up and I wanted to see if we knew anybody.”
Minho hums approvingly as he looks at Newt’s phone as well. The Glade’s Festival will hold the biggest crowd they have played for yet, fans but new listeners as well. It's an opportunity none of them would ever want to miss and Minho has been excited about it ever since they got the invitation. He didn't care to check the other artists who'd be there though.
“Oh, here.” Newt taps on the desired e-mail and follows the link that leads to the colourful website of the festival. Minho squints his eyes at the bright colours. He lets the images and names fly by as Newt scrolls through the line-up, the blurring of colours almost hypnotising him until they suddenly come to a stop.
He doesn’t think much of it until Newt huffs out a silent yet significant “Bloody hell.”
“What?” Instead of telling him what’s going on, Newt simply holds the phone closer to Minho’s face. It takes him a second until the pieces click into place.
Staring back at him from the screen is Brenda, her grin almost wider than her face, surrounded by her bandmates and a new girl sitting at the drums.
Chapter 6: fire that burns
Chapter Text
The festival grounds are even bigger than Minho could have expected. Several stages wait for the musicians and hundreds of food stalls scatter between them, ready to serve a large number of music fans. There is precisely nothing else surrounding the area, but Minho knows that this only means the music will be loud. And he loves it when it’s like that.
Right now, everything is empty except for a few electricians and other festival staff who are preparing everything for the final rush that will happen tonight when the first band opens the weekend-festival. On the way here, they already spotted groups of people waiting outside, buzzing with excitement and, Minho suspects, the first few swigs of alcohol.
"Holy fucking shit," Gally mutters under his breath for about the tenth time today as he takes in the main stage they are standing in front of. Running for Lightning won’t play up there, but imagining the what if’s and the what might be’s leaves Minho dreaming as well.
Thomas doesn’t seem to share their excitement. The way the drummer has been silently standing next to them all day, hands buried in the front pocket of Minho’s hoodie (how did that happen again?) might not break Minho’s heart, but it makes him wish he could comfort him somehow.
Well, he does know how he could comfort him, but kissing him in front of Gally would most likely make things even worse.
And Minho really wants to kiss Thomas right now. It’s not even the desire to feel his lips against his own that’s urging him, it’s the need to see Thomas smile again, to hear him talk in waterfalls like he usually does. A silent, neutral Thomas simply doesn’t feel right. Minho would even prefer if he was fighting with Gally.
"Hey!" Someone shouts from behind them and Thomas twitches so violently that it startles Minho more than the actual yell.
"Oh god, it's just Newt," he mutters so quickly that Minho almost can't follow. Carefully, he examines Thomas' features. If he isn't completely mistaken, the drummer seems downright nervous. That bold, energetic boy is nervous about running into his ex-girlfriend on eight hectares of grass. And Minho suddenly feels like he needs to protect him.
"Where the fuck have you been?" Gally asks as soon as Newt catches up to them, slightly out of breath and his hair a little wild from running around.
"Just talking to management and making sure everything is going as planned,” he huffs. Gally and Minho exchange looks that don't escape Newt's attention. "Because…Alby would probably have done that?"
No one has anything to say to that, Thomas for different reasons than the others. He didn’t know Alby like they did and he doesn’t know the extent of the hole he left behind. And neither does Newt seem to want to tell him, because he claps his hands and quickly adds, "Alright, you can show me around now."
"Actually," Minho chimes in before even thinking about what should follow after. His bandmates look at him expectantly and he’s once again thankful for his talent in bullshitting. "I wanted to check some last things with the set-up. Don't like it when other people are handling our stuff. Gally, you show Newt around, Thomas can help me."
Thomas‘ brows tip in a silent question, but after a second of consideration, he just shrugs. Minho had feared backtalk, but now he’s missing it.
Newt catches on quicker and loops his arm into Gally's, already tugging him along. "C'mon, be my guide!" Gally rolls his eyes, another indicator that he probably Knows, but doesn't complain when Newt drags him along.
"Checking the set-up, my ass," Thomas mumbles as soon as the others are out of earshot and pivots to walk in the other direction.
Minho hurries after him quickly. "Are you actually that afraid of Brenda?“
"I'm not afraid."
"But you're nervous."
"I'm not. I just don’t wanna see her, can you blame me?“ He hisses, walking stubbornly forward in no particular direction. "Stop talking about stuff you have no idea about."
"Only if you stop taking your anger out on me," Minho shoots back as he tries to catch up with Thomas, who seems to be walking faster with every step. "I get that you don't want to see her, but there's no need to be an asshole about it."
That makes Thomas stop in his tracks and throw his head around, looking at Minho with a scowl. He expects angry words, but Thomas’ voice is grave when he speaks. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Because you never tell me what’s going on with you.”
“I don’t owe you that,” Thomas says defensively, taking a step back and looking around nervously as if Brenda could materialise next to him at any second. “I’m just your stand-in drummer anyway, so it’s not like it matters.”
Minho stares at Thomas and waits for him to say that he isn’t being serious, but nothing follows. “You’re…planning on leaving again?”
Now Thomas is the one to be confused, his shoulders relaxing as he softens his guarded stance. "I'm not…planning on leaving. I just…thought you guys would…I don't know, want to get rid of me after the tour."
"Why would we want that?" Minho asks in complete disbelief at what he's hearing. This is not the confident Thomas he knows. Or at least, it's not the side of him he knows and his heart aches when he realises that this is Thomas showing him his vulnerable thoughts, all the things he hides behind brick walls, just like Minho does.
The tip of Thomas’ shoe digs into the dirt as the drummer’s lips press into a thin line. Minho has the urge to step closer, to wrap his arms around Thomas and ask him what’s been on his mind the past few days after finding out about Brenda’s presence here. But he stays exactly where he is, hoping for Thomas to show him what he needs.
“I thought that was the plan all along,” he admits sheepishly, avoiding Minho’s gaze. “Even with the fans loving it, I didn’t think we’d keep it up longer than necessary.”
“Necessary?”
“Until the tour is over.”
"Thomas-" Minho starts, but the words get lost when Thomas' gaze falls on something behind Minho and his eyes suddenly widen in shock. Before Minho has even fully turned his head to see what might have caused his reaction, Thomas has already pressed himself closer to Minho as if he'd be small enough to hide behind the singer. "What-" he tries again, but then he spots the cause of Thomas' disturbance.
A few feet away, leaning against one of the many food stalls and talking to the person inside of it is Frypan, the bassist of Bertha Lost Control. His loud laugh reaches them, booming over the large open space and contagious if it weren’t for the fact that Thomas is apparently trying to avoid him at all costs.
"Pretend you didn't see him," Thomas mumbles. "Or make out with me, so he doesn't want to look at us."
“We’re not in a spy movie,” Minho murmurs back, though he’s not completely opposed to the idea. “I thought you two were good?”
"Yeah, but if I run into him, my chances of meeting Brenda are even bigger than they already are, and I-"
“Thomas? Is that you?” Frypan booms from his position, a wide smile glowing on his face.
“Deny me!” Thomas pleads, but it’s already too late. Frypan is making his way over to them in big steps, smile only growing the closer he gets. Thomas groans silently, but then he steps away from Minho and smiles as if the last days didn’t even happen.
“Fry!” Without further ado, Frypan wraps his arms around Thomas and compared to the bassist, he truly is small. Frypan laughs as he sways Thomas around gently and eventually, Thomas joins as well. Contrary to his smile from just now, this laugh sounds true and pure and it makes Minho smile as well.
It takes a few long seconds before Fry lets Thomas go again, but his hands remain resting on the drummer's shoulders as he looks him up and down happily. "How's life with the enemy?"
“Ugh, horrible,” Thomas says with a grin and looks over his shoulder at Minho. “This one especially.”
“Please take him back, he’s annoying,” Minho complains, making Fry laugh again. It’s not hard to make this man laugh, and Minho wonders how he thought this personification of a warm hug was ever a threat to their band.
“Has he learned to behave yet?” Fry ruffles Thomas’ hair and the drummer ducks away with a laugh.
“You know I never will.”
And suddenly, Minho understands. He understands why Thomas doesn’t want to see Brenda, understands what he lost when they broke up and he had to leave the band. He doesn’t even want to start imagining how he’d feel if he had to leave Running from Lightning behind, leaving Newt and Gally.
“You know, Aris had been unsure if he should text you or not.” Thomas twitches as guilt colours his features upon Fry’s words. “He didn’t want to bother you, even though I told him you’d probably be thrilled to hear from him. Then again,” Fry begins, but he trails off and shrugs his broad shoulders.
“I never replied to your text either?” Thomas finishes. This feels like a conversation Minho shouldn’t be part of, but he won’t leave until Thomas gives him his okay. Even if it means that he has to stand there, a little lost as the other two talk about stuff concerning their band. Brenda’s band, Minho reminds himself.
“I don’t blame you.” Fry shrugs again and offers Thomas a supportive smile. “And it’s good seeing you again. I think Aris would love to talk to you as well,” he says suggestively. Thomas looks at Frypan, then his eyes wander over to Minho as if he could tell him whether it’s a good or a bad idea. Personally, Minho thinks it’s horrible. Thomas still hasn’t told him what went down between him and his ex, but the sheer thought of Brenda hurting him again makes him furious.
“Brenda went out to get one of those milkshakes, you know her,” Frypan says as if reading their minds. Thomas nods slowly, lost in thoughts.
“Is the new girl there?” He asks then, brows furrowed as if he doesn’t know if he wants the answer to be yes or no. To Minho’s dismay, Fry halts for a second, looking unsure of something he’s about to say. Thomas seems to recognise the look, because he tenses up immediately. “What?”
And just like that, Fry is back to his normal self, smiling brightly at Thomas. “She’s not there either, so you should be safe with Aris and me.” A little more gravely, he adds, “We miss you.”
It’s the moment Minho knows Thomas isn’t going to say no. The drummer’s eyes wander helplessly from Fry to Minho and back again before, though hesitantly, he nods. Then the nodding gets more eager as a smile spreads on Thomas’ face, so wide that dimples appear.
Thomas looks at Minho with that same smile now and Minho’s heart makes a little jump at the sight. “That alright with you?”
“If you’re back in time,” Minho huffs. He wants to ask if he should join, but he trusts Thomas enough to invite him along if he’s needed. “Call me if you get lost,” Minho mocks, which rewards him with one of Fry’s laughs. Maybe he should try to get to know the guy better.
Minho wishes he could reach out and kiss Thomas, remind him in a whisper that he can come back as soon as Brenda is there, or call him and simply ask him for help and Minho would be there in seconds. But he won’t do it, not in front of Fry and especially not when Thomas looks happier than he has in the past days.
He watches both of them walk off, watches them immediately chatter along and catch up, both emitting a certain glow of deep friendship. Which reminds Minho that his own friends are probably waiting for him as well. He turns back to search for them, unable to get Thomas out of his mind. Once again, he wishes Thomas would have told him what made Brenda break up with him, told him about the scars it left behind. Then again, he never asked in the first place. All he can do now is hope that Thomas and Brenda won’t meet.
And he's still hoping when he finds Gally and Newt eventually, both perched in some sort of outdoor lounge with a few couches that are roofed by a colourful marquee. Fairy lights are strung all around. Minho imagines they will look beautiful once it gets dark enough, despite the number of drunk people possibly ripping them off by accident.
A grin spreads on Gally’s face when he spots Minho. “Did you finally give Thomas away to the animal shelter?”
“Yes, I got a fair price for him as well,” Minho says as he rolls his eyes. “They gave me a dog in return, she can play the drums.”
“I bet the fans would love that,” Newt reasons and scoots over on his couch so that Minho can sit next to him. “He didn’t run into Brenda, did he?” The guitarist sounds actually concerned about the possibility and even though Minho knows that Newt likes Thomas, the reaction still relieves him. Especially after hearing Thomas’ concerns.
“We met Frypan.” Newt stiffens beside him, so he quickly adds, “They just wanted to catch up. Brenda is currently not here, she’s…I don’t know. Something with a milkshake.”
Newt opens his mouth to say something, but an unimpressed snort coming from Gally interrupts him. “What?”
“Oh, nothing,” he says with a shrug. His arms are crossed in front of his chest and even though he usually slouches due to his height and long limbs, he looks even more scrambled now.
“What?” Minho repeats more pronounced, sensing that what’s coming next might not be something he will condone.
There’s a spark of challenge that lights up Gally’s eyes, further supporting Minho’s suspicion. “It’s typical for him, isn’t it? That he’s running back to his old band as soon as they show up. He probably didn’t even hesitate.”
“They are his friends. Do you expect him not to care?” Minho is grateful that Newt jumped in immediately, because he sure as hell couldn’t have mustered a calm tone. Almost three months they have spent together, more than enough time for Gally to realise that Thomas isn’t the enemy he loves to make him out to be. Minho doesn’t understand why he has to start this fight once again, but he is ready to end it.
“I expect him to stand his ground,” Gally grumbles, the muscles under his shirt flexing slightly as he reinforces his defensive posture. “Not just switch sides whenever he pleases to.”
“It’s not about-“
“I thought we were over this.” Minho barely manages to keep his voice down when the anger is gnawing in his throat. He knows he shouldn’t lash out because it will only fuel Gally’s fire, but he won’t tolerate his shit-talking about Thomas any longer.
“Over what?” Gally grunts back, leaning forward ever so slightly. Minho takes it as a challenge.
“Over treating Thomas like he’s a fucking parasite that feeds on our band. He is part of our band, the last months have made that more than clear. And if you can’t accept that we can move on like this, then you are the problem, not him.”
“So what? You’re gonna throw me out?” Anger and hurt leak from Gally’s voice. It's affecting Minho as well. His brain scrambles for something to say, because this is not what he meant. It's not what he wants Gally to think.
“You know, that’s what Thomas thinks we’re doing with him after the tour ends," he says in lack of a better reaction. "And it's probably because you keep being such an unreasonable asshole towards him."
“Thomas thinks we-?”
“He’s not any better,” Gally snarls back. “Besides, who said he can stay? Oh, right.” His voice is oozing with poison now. “I forgot you’re the one making the decision around here. My fucking bad, your Highness.”
The world around Minho blurs as anger takes over his functions, burning under his skin. “You keep saying this as if I’m a fucking tyrant. As if I’m not the one that always said that we were equal in this band.”
“You did? I sure as hell don’t see you acting like it. And now that I come to think of it,” he adds in a threateningly silent tone, “it’s probably the reason Alby left.”
"Alright, that's it!" Newt rarely raises his voice, but when he does, it works wonders on Minho and Gally's heated tempers. Not that Minho would be able to come up with anything to say in return. He stares at Gally in disbelief, old inner conflicts bubbling up like acid in his throat.
Exhaling deeply, Newt rubs his temples as he looks from one problem child to the other. Minho expects another snap to follow, feeling like he deserves it, but Newt’s voice almost cracks when he speaks. “I thought we were getting better.”
It works even better than the raised voice. Gally slumps back into the cushions, arms slacking to his sides. He actually looks guilty for once and if Minho wouldn’t feel like shit himself, he’d probably enjoy the sight.
A heavy silence lies over them, suffocating Minho. He wants to say something, tries hard to come up with the right words. He doesn't need to ask what Newt means, because he knows, and Gally does as well. He had been scared that this band would fall to shambles after Alby left, but that fear had vanished into thin air the longer Thomas had been with them. Now it's back, looming over the friends like dark clouds.
“I think I-“ Gally starts talking but snaps his mouth shut again, cheeks going slightly red. Minho knows that look, and he knows it’s not a regular occurrence. He’s trying to admit something he doesn’t want to talk about.
Newt seems to recognise it as well. “Tell us,” he says in an almost whisper and Gally nods slowly, but doesn’t look at them when he continues.
“I think I’m still mad at Alby for leaving.” Every word sounds like he needs to strain before saying it. "I know it's not fair and I know why he did it. I just… can't come to terms with it. And it's easier to find someone to blame it on than to accept that he willingly left us behind." He takes a deep breath and looks at Minho, guilt washing over his freckled features. "Anyone, really."
“So it only got better when Thomas showed up because you could let it out on him?” Minho concludes bitterly and Gally, after a beat of nothing, nods slowly.
Next to Minho, Newt has tipped back his head and is staring up at the fairy lights above him. “I can’t say I haven’t been affected by it as well. I’m not mad at him, I just…feel like I need to fill the space he left behind.”
“You don’t say,” Gally huffs. Minho glares at him, but Newt chuckles softly.
“Minho, what’s your sob-story?”
Minho snorts a defeated laugh. He thinks about what to say for a second, then realises what Alby’s absence left behind in him. Then he wonders if he actually should tell Gally and Newt about it. Then he realises that they have been honest with him as well and if they want to work things out, being honest is the first and most important step.
“I’m honestly just scared of losing you as well.” All of them are silent for a few seconds, but it doesn’t feel as heavy anymore. “And,” Minho continues, staring at his boots as he talks, “I guess I tried to keep us together by taking in a leader role. I thought that I had to make the right decisions so we could work everything out. That it all depends on me.”
Beside him, Newt nods slowly before pressing his shoulder against Minho's in silent support. Gally's leg bounces up and down while he's chewing on his lip. Minho begins to suspect that he wants to say more just as he blurts out, "I actually don't hate Thomas and it would fucking suck if he left us now.”
He says it so quickly that Minho and Newt need a moment to catch up. "That's why you got defensive when Minho said he'd gone to meet the others!" Newt says in an epiphany that doesn’t seem to be welcomed.
“You’re not my therapist,” Gally grumbles, but he doesn’t deny it either. And not denying something is basically agreeing in Gally’s language.
Minho can’t help but tease his friend as the smile slowly returns to his face. “Don’t tell me you care about him.”
“Shut up!”
“Oh my god, he cares about him,” Newt says with a chuckle and though Gally throws him a look as sharp as a dagger, he’s fighting a smile as well.
“If you tell him, I will kill you both.”
“What if I tell him you care about him and that you actually think he’s good at the drums?” Minho asks with a mocking grin. Only barely he ducks away from the pillow Gally throws at him.
“Oi!” Newt laughs and suddenly, things feel like they will be okay again. At least, it feels like the start of things being okay again.
"Can we promise us something?" The two others look at Minho, their heads tipped curiously to the side. At this moment, Minho feels a wave of adoration for these two idiots he calls his closest friends and even though his words are rather serious, he has to smile softly while speaking them.
“Let’s be honest about these things from now on. I’ll try to get rid of this urge to make decisions. Newt, you try to relax some time. Gally…you know.” Gally flips him off with a lopsided grin and Minho takes it as agreement. “I don’t care whether we play in front of millions of people or just ten. All I care about is making some good fucking music with my favourite people.”
Gally unsuccessfully tries to hide his smile under a pout while Newt throws one arm around Minho's shoulder and squeezes him tightly. "Well said," he mumbles, voice laden with a scramble of emotions Minho doesn't need to analyse to know that Newt’s chest must feel just as swollen as his own.
“So,” Gally says, drawing out the o. The grin on his face promises mischief. “I suppose Thomas counts as one of your favourite people?”
Minho squints at him in a silent threat to watch what he’s about to say. Gally reads his mind and throws up his hands to signal no offence. “I’m just saying if you care so much about him, he might as well join us for good.”
“I think we all care for that idiot at this point,” Newt says, laughing when Gally rolls his eyes. “Gally, I think you should tell him that he doesn’t have to worry about leaving.”
"I would rather jump off the stage mid-play." He pulls a disgusted face and shakes his head at the sheer thought of being nice to Thomas. "Plus, I think Minho should do it, since he's the one that's shag-"
“Don’t say shagging,” Minho blurts out before realising that the correct way to react would indeed be ‘We aren’t fucking’. Gally snickers evilly and Newt betrays his best friend by snorting as well.
“You know what, I take back everything I just said. I actually hate both of you,” Minho complains before contradicting his words and leaning his head against Newt’s. He watches as Newt takes out his phone and opens the camera app. “Are you taking a family picture now?”
“Kind of. Gally, come over here!”
“What are we doing?” Gally sounds suspicious, but he gets up anyway and positions himself behind Newt’s free side.
“We’re sending Alby a picture,” Newt says as he lifts his hand to get a better angle where all three of them are visible.
“You think he’d appreciate that?” Gally looks sceptical as he examines his reflection on the screen.
“Only if you’d smile for once!” As soon as Gally sticks out his tongue at him, Newt snaps a picture and switches apps before anyone can complain about the outcome.
“I mean from a talking-to-us perspective.”
“Well, someone’s gotta make the first step,” Newt says, but he hesitates before opening their old chat. None of them had the heart to throw Alby out of the chat, so they created a new one, the one Thomas joined as well. Minho often wonders if Alby opens the chat sometimes or if he deleted it.
“Tell him we’re playing our first festival tonight and that we’re thinking of him?” Minho says uncertainly when Newt still hesitates. Behind him, Gally makes gagging sounds and earns himself a smack on the chest from Newt.
“You only get to complain if you have better ideas.”
“Just send him three lightning bolts or something,” Gally says as he pushes himself away from the couch and walks back to his seat. Minho has to admit it’s not the worst idea the bassist has ever had and given that Newt is already searching for the fitting emoji, he’s thinking the same.
The singer bumps his shoulder into Newt when he hits send and Newt smiles at him in return.
Minho has never been this excited about a concert.
Chapter Text
They know they are slowly climbing up the famous-band-ladder based on the fact that they actually got a trailer to keep all their stuff in at on the festival grounds. Granted, it's small and barely fits all four of them, but it's better than nothing. Plus, the bright yellow sticker with their band name on the door gives them a confidence boost.
But Minho is currently experiencing another kind of boost as he rushes toward the trailer. Which would be a boost of anxiety because Thomas hasn’t been seen for almost four hours and their concert starts in 50 minutes. It’s not so much the concert part that’s stressing him out, because despite Thomas being prone to bad time management, he has never been late for anything.
What’s truly making Minho nervous is that Thomas hasn’t shown himself. Neither did he text nor call. Which says a lot about this situation because Thomas is an oversharer; at least he's become one ever since he got closer to Minho. And neither seeing him nor getting a message from Thomas for over two hours is enough reason to be worried.
As Minho takes the few metal steps up to the trailer door, he listens for any noises coming from inside. There’s nothing and he wonders if this is a waste of time after all, but he knocks and opens the door slowly anyway because at least then he can say that he tried.
His efforts are rewarded. In the back of the trailer in the booth, Thomas slouches with one leg up, the other bouncing up and down relentlessly. His eyes are focused on the phone in his hand, but they dart to Minho as soon as he steps in.
"Hey," Thomas says tonelessly. For a second, Minho fears he might go back on his phone and ignore him. But the opposite happens when Thomas pockets his phone and sits up straighter, wrapping his arms around his leg and resting his chin on his knee. "Am I late?"
“We still have 50 minutes until we need to be backstage,” Minho says as he closes the door, scanning Thomas for any signs of what might have happened. The ones he’s receiving aren’t good. There’s a kind of sadness surrounding Thomas that dims the scorching sunshine that radiates off him usually.
Instead of waiting for Thomas to answer, Minho takes the two steps it takes to get to the booth and slides in. Thomas doesn’t move away from him and Minho takes it as a sign to stay close to him. The drummer looks exhausted, not physically but emotionally. Minho tries to brush a rebellious strand of hair out of Thomas’ creased forehead but it falls right back.
He doesn't even have to ask for Thomas to speak. "I met Bren." His eyes find Minho's and stay there as he talks, as if it helps him to keep himself together. "And it…it wasn't bad? I mean, meeting Fry and Aris was great, really. And I…I miss them, a lot. A-and I feel dumb now for ignoring them all this time just because I was scared of confronting Bren, especially because she was…really nice? Happy to see me? I don't know."
“But you went to see them now,” Minho says. His fingers run slowly along the side of Thomas’ head and the drummer closes his eyes as he leans into the touch. They’re usually not this tender, but Minho finds himself enjoying it more than he probably should. “I can imagine it took you a lot to agree, but you seemed happy when you and Fry walked off.”
“I was. I still am, I just…also feel guilty.”
“Call it fate, but we’re actually in a similar situation.” That grabs Thomas’ attention and he opens his eyes in a silent question. “While you were gone, we talked about stuff from the past. About Alby and how him leaving the band affected us. It was a long overdue conversation and, in the end, we texted Alby for the first time in months.”
“Did he reply?”
Minho smiles softly and nods and the thought of Alby’s reply. Or rather replies because the four of them have been catching up none-stop since they sent the picture. “It feels good, especially since we all thought he didn’t want to hear from us.”
“Why’s that?” Thomas’ brows tip together in the middle. “Sorry, you don’t have to tell me. I remember that you said he wanted to find a different path in his life on that social media post and I always wondered if that’s the whole truth.”
“It’s okay, you’re part of this band, you should know,” Minho says as he thinks about the best way to describe it. “It’s…probably not as dramatic as we make it seem. I mean, it is for us because we miss having him around, but the fans would probably be disappointed if they found out that what we wrote is actually the truth.”
“So that’s it? No big fallout?”
“We…did fight at the end,” Minho admits reluctantly. He doesn’t like remembering how they parted, the accusations they threw at Alby's head and the ones they received in return, even if they deserved most of them. "We're not proud of it either because he didn't deserve our anger. He wants different things in his life than we do and he told us that he's been doing great currently. And he said he'll try to come to see us in concert when we're around," he adds with a smile. His heart flutters when Thomas mirrors it, but he notices the hint of sadness hidden in it.
“I’m glad it worked out for you.”
“Yeah, me as well.”
“Actually…things with Bren and me were similar. Nothing happened between us, we just…drifted apart. It hasn’t been the same for almost a year now and I think both of us just stayed together because it was what we were used to.”
Now Minho is the one to frown. “And she threw you out because of that?”
“She…didn’t exactly throw me out,” Thomas admits and closes his eyes with a sigh. “Well…she kinda did after I threatened to leave. We were both heated and we probably should have had that same talk again after things calmed down, but we’re both stubborn and I left the same night. I felt…too proud to come back after. And scared that they wouldn’t take me back, so…yeah.”
“Did you get to talk it out now?”
Thomas exhales slowly before shrugging. "We did. She said she's sorry that we parted like that, but that she's…um…" He loses his train of thought and his gaze unfocuses for a few seconds before it snaps back. “Their new drummer, she’s her girlfriend.”
“She…dates another drummer?”
“That’s what’s throwing you off?” Thomas complains, almost laughing.
“Well, she clearly has a type,” Minho reasons and Thomas shakes his head with a lopsided smile.
“You’re an asshole.” He complains with a wailing noise when Minho ruffles his hair and tries to duck away, but Minho’s hand catches the back of his neck and keeps him in place. His thumb strokes the soft skin gently and Thomas leans in closer, soothed by the touch.
"I told her that I'm happy for her," Thomas continues thoughtfully. His hand finds Minho's knee and squeezes it gently. “At the moment, I wasn’t sure if I actually meant it, but now I think I do. We had a good few years, but the longer we were together, the more I felt like this wasn’t forever. We just…clicked in all the wrong places.”
Minho nods slowly, even though he has never had a relationship last long enough to fully relate. “Do you feel like she moved on too fast?”
Thomas thinks for a few seconds before he shakes his head and runs his hand slowly up and down Minho’s thigh. “No. Bren and Teresa seem happy together and I’m at a point where I’m just happy that she is. Besides, I-“ He blinks as he seems to realise something and doesn’t continue his sentence. “Which concert is Alby coming to? I need to make sure my drumming is good enough for his standards.”
“First of all,” Minho says with one raised brow, “you are never modest about your drumming skills, you’re not shitting me. Second of all, what were you going to say?”
“The weather sure is nice today.”
“Thomas.”
“Perfect for a festival!” Minho tightens his grip on Thomas to shake him slightly and the drummer grins back at him innocently. “Don’t you think?”
“You know, Newt, Gally and I just talked about keeping you in this band, but if you keep acting like this, I might change my mind again,” Minho says with a grin and watches as Thomas freezes before he’s able to fire something back.
“You…did?” He says as he looks so adorably dumfound that Minho just wants to pull him in and kiss him.
“I’m honestly surprised you even considered to think that we wouldn’t want you here.”
"Gally isn't exactly fond of me," Thomas says defensively. Minho considers telling him Gally's deep dark secret for a second.
“He’s just a little…difficult.”
“He sure is!”
“And so are you,” Minho shoots back. “Now tell me what you wanted to say!”
Thomas whines as he lets himself fall against Minho, burying his head in the crook of the singer's neck. His lips tickled Minho's skin as they place lingering kisses on his neck. It's almost enough to make Minho forget all about it.
“Come on, drummer boy. Tell me.”
“Igonabteyou.”
“What?”
Thomas leans back slightly with an agonised sigh that isn’t granted by the situation. “I said I’m gonna bite you.”
“Is that supposed to be a threat? You know I’m into that.”
“God, you’re complicated.”
“And you’re stubborn.”
“Thanks!” Thomas falls against Minho again, but this time it’s more a hold me than a let me distract you. He rubs his cheeks against Minho’s shoulder as his hair tickles the singer’s neck. “You’re not gonna let this go, will you?”
"You know I won't," Minho mumbles with a soft chuckle. His hand wanders from Thomas' neck into his hair. It's incredibly soft, as it always is, and Minho is grateful for being the one who's allowed to touch it. Sometimes he tries to imagine Thomas with a neat haircut, but the image feels simply wrong.
He doesn’t even notice that they have fallen into silence until Thomas’ lowered voice reaches him. “I was scared of the moment Bren moved on,” he admits. “But when I saw how she is with Teresa, I wasn’t angry or sad. Because I…um, I realised that…god, this is hard,” he whines as he huddles himself closer to Minho.
"Take your time," Minho whispers. "You can tell me after the concert as well."
“No, it’s okay, I…” He takes a deep breath. “It’s just that I want you to know that I really like you,” he says in a rush, as if the words need to get out before anything can hold them back. “And I’m okay with Bren moving on because I feel like I’m doing the same, and I know how good it feels as well.”
“So, what you’re saying is-” Minho starts as his grin makes his cheeks hurt, but Thomas slaps his thigh before he can continue.
“Don’t mock me!”
“I’m not mocking you!”
"You were about to," Thomas complains and leans back, looking at Minho with a pout and a twinkle in his eyes that defies his pissed-off expression.
“So…you like me?” Thomas hmpfs approvingly. “And you like having me around?” Another hmpf. “And you don’t actually think I’m a huge asshole?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Come here,” Minho whispers then and pulls Thomas into a kiss. With Thomas, he’s used to heat and fire and sloppy kisses pushed against walls, but this one is different. Thomas melts into him like Minho is the sun himself, when he usually thinks of Thomas as such. Thomas’ hand wanders up Minho’s body until it finds hold in his shirt, urging him closer as gently as it never did before.
“For the record,” Minho manages to murmur against Thomas’ lips, “I don’t hate you as well.”
“Romantic,” Thomas mumbles. His smile pushes softly against Minho’s lips and at that moment, Minho knows he understands. He knows Thomas must feel the same rhythm in his chest and he knows that if it weren’t for the concert, Thomas would stay here with him for the rest of the day and he wouldn’t care if they’d just kiss, if they’d sleep with each other or if they just sat next to one another, enjoy the other’s company.
Though, Minho decides then, kissing is the option he is currently preferring. He hums softly into the kiss when Thomas cups his cheeks with both hands and pulls him with him as he leans back. Minho wraps one arm around Thomas’ middle because he can’t bare having even an inch of space between them.
“Ew, gross!” Someone exclaims behind them and both of them jolt up like a lightning bolt hit the ground right next to them. Thomas runs his hand through his hair quickly as if it would change anything about its overall look, while Minho glares at the intruder as if it could make him disappear into thin air.
“Don’t act like you’re the victim here,” Gally says as he dramatically shields his eyes. “I will never get this out of my head.”
“Oh, get used to it,” Newt says as he sticks his head through the door with a wide grin. “Are you two coming or what?”
“Please don’t say the word coming right now,” Gally whispers, clearly in agony, and gets slapped on the shoulder by Newt.
“We were just making out a little, you baby,” Thomas objects.
“Don’t say that either!”
“Just because you aren’t getting some,” Minho mumbles under his breath and grins at Thomas, who presses his mouth shut so he doesn’t laugh out loud.
“I heard that!” Gally barks before pivoting dramatically on his heels and pushing himself past Newt. “And if I have to play this set alone, I will do it!”
“Now that would be pretty boring, I suppose,” Newt calls after him, chuckling before he turns back to Thomas and Minho. "Don't leave me alone with him," he says and winks before departing as well.
Thomas hums silently and pushes himself against Minho. “While I do prefer staying here with you for the rest of the night, I wouldn’t want your fans to experience the worst concert of their life.”
“Our band,” Minho corrects him and bumps their foreheads together softly.
“Yeah,” Thomas whispers as if the words are slowly reaching him as well, as if he needed one last push to truly believe this. “Our fans.”
Their fans are drowning them in a wave of roars and cheers when they step on stage and Minho feels like he could jump and let himself be carried away by it. The spotlights illuminate their surroundings so that Minho has to squint to see the masses in front of them. People are holding up signs and glow sticks in all possible colours. Some people reach up high over the rest of the crowd, sitting on the shoulders of their friends to see Running from Lightning.
Minho catches Gally from the corner of his eyes and the expression on the bassist's face mirrors how Minho feels inside. He can't remember Gally ever grinning this widely, not without ill intentions. It makes him feel even more ecstatic.
He takes one last second to take in the crowd before rushing to the microphone and taking the stand with both hands, pulling it towards himself. “Are there any RFL fans out there?” He shouts and hundreds of people roar their agreement, scream their support and Minho’s heart jumps with their excitement. “Alriiight! And who’s new here?”
The rest of the people join the chants and even though Minho thought this couldn't get any more overwhelming, the joy of all those people who don't even know them and are still excited about their music takes him back even more. His cheeks already hurt from smiling so widely and his fingers itch to show these people what this band is capable of.
“Get ready for a good fucking time!” Thomas’ drumsticks bang together behind him, beating along to Minho’s heart before the music starts and everything begins feeling like the best dream he has ever had.
The music pulses through Minho as he pulls the mic closer and starts their most famous song, goosebumps running over his arms when most of the crowd joins in immediately. This is nothing like any other concert they ever had. Minho barely hears himself over the voices of their fans and he knows if he’d stop singing now, they would continue without skipping a beat. He shares their joy for this music, feels their anger during the more hateful songs, feels their sadness and pain during the emotional ones. He shares their love and feels it running through him with every beat of the drums, with every bass line and every guitar solo.
Everything inside him hurts after half of the concert, but it’s not holding him back. Tonight, he feels invincible. Tonight, nothing can stop him. Not the numbness of his ears from the music and the roar of people, not the sorrows and worries this band has been through, not his left heel that has started bleeding after the third song. The music is his armour and the fans’ love carries him forward.
Despite the exhaustion after almost 90 minutes of performing, Minho feels like all his senses are heightened when they finish their last song for tonight. All four of them huddle together at the front of the stage. Minho laughs when Gally throws his arm over his shoulder and plants a big fat smooch on his hair and he grins widely when Newt grabs his wrist and throws their hands in the air as the crowd cheers for them.
And he grins even more when Gally, out of all of them, pulls Thomas in front of him, grabs him by the shoulders and shakes him as if presenting him to the people. Minho could swear he can hear a silent “What the fuck?” and “Don’t fucking mention it.”-exchange between them before both of them break into a laugh and Minho's chest swells so much that it might explode and sprinkle confetti everywhere.
They can still hear the crowd when they stumble off the stage, bumping into each other like a bunch of excited birds talking about all the things they’ve seen. Minho doesn’t understand half of the things his friends are saying, but it doesn’t matter when he just blurts out whatever comes to his mind as well.
Admits all the commotion, Minho feels something tug on his hand and when he turns around, glowing brown eyes are looking back at him. Without a second thought, he pulls Thomas closer, grabbing his face with both hands and kissing him with all the adrenaline that is running through his veins. Thomas laughs into the kiss and wraps his arms tightly around Minho’s waist. Minho doesn’t care about people seeing and he certainly doesn’t care that Newt is cheering obnoxiously and that Gally is surprisingly joining in.
All that matters is showing Thomas how grateful he is for him by kissing him like he will never kiss anyone else again. Part of him hopes he won’t, anyway.
“Newt, you wanna kiss me as well?” Gally jokes way too loudly behind him and when Newt snorts with laughter in response, Minho can’t hold back anymore either.
“Hello, you’re ruining our moment,” he complains without any bite in his voice. He doesn’t think he will ever stop smiling and his friends don’t look like they’re planning to either.
“Well, whatever you two are planning on doing tonight,” Gally says and shudders dramatically before continuing, “I will go fucking celebrate.”
“I’ll join!” Newt chimes in and links arms with Gally, bouncing up and down on his heels like he can’t contain his excitement.
Minho looks at Thomas in a silent question and feels his cheeks heat when he finds that Thomas is only looking at him, one of those dumb smiles Minho had tried to hate so desperately on his face.
“Yeah, we’re coming, just…give us a second,” Minho says, unable to take his eyes off the drummer even when Gally makes disgusted sounds before being dragged along by Newt.
“Don’t take long,” Newt reminds them, cackling drunk on adrenaline before Minho finally has Thomas to himself.
“Uhh, what are you planning?” Thomas asks, biting the tip of his tongue as he grins wider than Minho has ever seen him do.
"Getting a few moments alone with you until Gally will annoy us for the rest of the night," Minho whispers before kissing Thomas again, this time without any spectators. This kiss is just for them, just for Thomas to feel Minho's gratitude. Thomas' lips taste salty and they are both worn out from over an hour of physical activity, but this might be the best kiss Minho ever had. Adrenaline mixes with dopamine, and Minho knows he will remember this feeling forever, the feeling of standing in this backstage area, the fans making noise that sounds far away now and Thomas so close that they might as well become one.
They only part when their exhausted bodies scream for them to finally take a break. Thomas leans his forehead against Minho's. He can feel the drummer's chest rise and sink under deep breaths against his own. “Thank you,” Thomas whispers breathlessly and even without opening his eyes, Minho knows he’s smiling.
“For what?”
“For making me part of…of this. For…learning to…like me?”
“Try again when you’re not worn out from playing the drums,” Minho laughs against Thomas’ lips and gets slapped gently on the chest.
“Fuck you.” It might be the softest Fuck you Minho has ever received. Thomas pulls him closer by the waist and moves his head so that he can rub their cheeks together gently. “I know I caused you trouble all the time-“
“You did.”
“-but I’m…I’m really glad that I joined this band.”
Minho leans back ever so slightly, just so that he can look at Thomas and see every spark in his eyes. He knows there's more behind those words. That Thomas is glad they came along after all, that he is now part of this family. Part of Minho. And even though this might be wishful thinking and even though Minho doesn't know if there will ever be more between them, he is thankful for every second he gets to spend with Thomas.
“Me too,” he whispers and kisses Thomas again, hoping that all these thoughts can be told through this kiss.
And wherever their journey will lead them, he’s more than ready for the ride.
Notes:
thank you so much for reading this fic! Onyx, i hope you liked it and it was everything you wished for. i couldn't give you stranger things unfortunately, so i hope this will do <3
for everyone wondering: "hey [redacted], what happens after the fic?"
in my mind, both bands reconcile and actually produce a song together. and i'm only telling you this because i keep thinking of this song as their collaboration. have fun imagining all of them singing it, it's honestly great.alright then, thanks again for reading and have fun guessing who i might be! <3