Chapter Text
It echoes in the bubble.
As someone who played outdoors for most of his life, Minho can’t help but notice the way everything feels more intense indoors. The heavy breaths, the screeching friction between the shoes and the hard surface, the occasional scrape of the racket on the floor, and the hitting. Everything feels far louder and more prominent, as if tennis is somehow aggravated when forced indoors.
The smells are also more intense but in a different way. It is far north enough that one can smell the cold, almost painfully so as he jogs around the track, watching the women’s team finish up their practice. Along with the intense cold, he can smell the distinct scent of used tennis balls – not as good as brand-new ones, but still comforting to a long-time player. There is something quite welcoming about the slightly burnt smell, with the fuzzy yellow particles flying around.
Minho had expected a difficult shift, especially after all the meets and tournaments outdoors well into October, but he couldn't have known that it would be this nerve-wracking. He knows he is quieter than usual; not that he is ever that extroverted. Thankfully, he is thankful for the numerous excuses he can use in an attempt to avoid his anxiousness: ‘it is so much colder than I am used to’, ‘I'm still recovering from midterm exam season’, ‘oh, I am just warming up, don’t worry, seriously’. His problems, however, are not limited to the nervousness about changes in pacing and strategies. There is also Han Jisung.
Freshman, loud and enthusiastic, which in itself is not that bad, all things considered; if it weren't for his belief that he and Minho are in the exact same boat: first-years at the university. Which is technically true in a way. The glaring difference, though, is that Minho is a junior who recently transferred from a university on the opposite end of the country, while Jisung is just starting. He is brand new; no expectations over his performance, or as little expectation as one can have in a competitive sport.
Perhaps it would not be too bad if Jisung were to engage with Minho in a… normal way.
Minho feels weird, thinking about calling Jisung as odd, when he is likely worse. But there is a hint of patronizing in the younger’s tone that just irks him; it is almost like Jisung refuses to see Minho for what he is in their team - the newest weapon. His constant need to emphasize that the older is just as new as he, comes across as daring, mocking, and even petulant. It is discreet too, to the point that Minho isn't even sure any of their teammates noticed.
Han Jisung is clever. He drags Minho to freshman gatherings and lectures as if Minho is not completely familiar with the ins and outs of the regulations for university sports. He explains about the campus, as if Minho is the only new face there: describing the important details mentioned during the campus tour he attended. Minho never told Jisung that he also toured before the school year started. He tells Minho where the trainer is, where to get the uniforms, and the team’s stats from previous years, all as if Minho is some clueless guy.
Worst of all was a month earlier. After the individual national tournament, Minho heard Jisung whine to Chris, the team captain, about how he could have also won the tournament if he had had a draw as easy as Minho’s. “It is simple, Channie-hyung” Minho remembers hearing, “he is already ranked, so of course his placement is automatically better than mine – he was a seed, after all. This makes his draw far easier than other people’s. Besides, I am passionate about tennis, I am sure it is more entertaining to watch me than Mr. Robot Lee.”
Minho hadn’t stayed around to hear the rest, moving away upon hearing the reprimanding tone in Chris’ voice, calling Jisung’s name. Not only was Jisung using the most tired excuse in the tennis world, but he was also diminishing all of the hard work Minho had done over the now fifteen years of competing. But Minho didn’t make a big deal out of it: he kept his mouth shut and posture straight. He knew better than to argue; it would only cause problems for the team. So, when they returned to the university for the sequence of friendly meets, Minho focused on his practice. Han Jisung could go cry in the corner.
Except that Han Jisung won’t go cry in the corner.
He is always right in front of Minho. Asking him to warm up together, challenging him to small games and bets, pushing his buttons at every chance he gets. Han Jisung is always directly in front of him as a hitting partner, or right by his side, splitting the court for rally training. And he never stops talking. After two months of knowing each other, Minho is pretty sure he has heard Han Jisung’s voice more times than he has heard his former doubles partner’s in two years of playing together.
So, when Minho finishes his warmup routine (‘just jogging is enough; stretch after, and stop with the bands’ – Han Jisung had whined almost every day since the start of the fall semester), he is not surprised to see the younger in front of him, holding out three balls at the tip of his stretched out racket. Jisung is smiling that crooked, taunting smile of his.
“C’mon, I want to hit with you today.”
“When don’t you?” Minho sighs, pocketing the fuzzy yellow balls and crossing to the other side of the net “I would be surprised if you did not want to hit with me.”
“Well, to be the best, you have to beat the best.”
Minho clears his throat before starting the rally. Short-court warmups are so ingrained in his brain, that he keeps the conversation going, reminding Jisung that they are, in fact, on the same team and beating Minho is not actually that beneficial to him. But deep down, Minho knows it is. There are nine matches in college tennis: three doubles and six singles, and the lineup is decided based on skills and results. This means that the strongest person on the team plays at the number one spot. Minho, as a transfer, expected to at best be slotted in the third placement initially to adjust to the team and their style, but his results prior were too expressive. He arrived straight at number one.
Jisung has oscillated between three and four, as far as positions go. The Fall season doesn't count for the conference, with mostly friendly meets, and individual tournaments, but he has already shown incredible improvement. Minho is happy to see his excitement and growth, but it would be far nicer if the freshman was not so… insistent on taking Minho down.
The first forty minutes go by in a flash: short court at the start, a few minutes down the line on each side, and cross court on each side. Minho can feel the difference indoors almost immediately: the lights bother him every time he goes for an overhead, and there are a lot fewer adjustments to be made (bye-bye, wind), but it feels more tiring (bye-bye, fresh air). Overall, it is not different enough to make a difference in performance. At least not so far.
What is different is how much Jisung's voice travels. And by extension, so does his exhale.
Tennis is known for the loud grunting, but in reality, it is not that bad – most people are rather quiet when playing. But inside the pressurized bubble, Minho can hear perfectly well the way Jisung exhales at times – and how he sometimes holds his breath.
“Han, let it out, it’s fine,” Minho says after stopping the rally, “Seriously, if you keep holding your breath like that, you’ll tire faster.”
Jisung nods and they resume the practice. These are the only moments when the younger has no remark to Minho’s comments. Off the court, Jisung never stops talking regardless of if it is good or not, but on the court, he is respectful and uncharacteristically serious. Minho likes these moments, when he doesn’t have to think about a smart reply to the younger’s quips. All he has to think about is the sequence of tennis: breathe in, breathe out, split step, change in direction, hit the ball, and move back towards the middle as much as he can.
The coaching staff runs some drills and target practices: Minho is secretly happy that there will be no actual play that practice. He is tired and anxious, changing the practice environment with a chill routine is far better, even if it means serving so many times in a row that it starts to get tedious.
When the drills start, the team gathers four per court, so, Chris moves closer from court four to two. The captain shares the court with one other senior and his double partner, Dan, and two sophomores Matteo and James. Sharing the other court with Minho and Jisung are the other freshman, Felix, and the final senior, Lucas. Eight is a tricky size for a college tennis team, two will definitely sit out singles, and it may be hard to accommodate everyone for doubles. Nonetheless, it is perfect for practice purposes.
Target drills are Minho’s favorite – aside from playing a real match –, there is something satisfying about going through the motions relaxed but with a goal in mind. The years of repetition and discipline make it for a fun competition between the players: whoever hits the most targets, gets to choose the team dinner place that week. Despite the fun atmosphere, there is still a lingering sense of seriousness all around, which makes Minho happy.
He is not the fun police, nor is he one of those people who is completely stoic while practicing. But he is yet to feel at home with the team. Transferring after two successful seasons is difficult, especially when the team is already close, including the freshmen who were carefully scouted over their last year playing juniors.
It is a new development in college tennis; playing some challengers and low tour level tournaments before attempting a college career. It used to be practically impossible for a tennis player to both keep their eligibility for college tennis and play professionally, the only way was to forfeit their prize money (if any) in order to prove an “amateur” level for university. And while now it is practically a rule to have university players come in as freshmen a couple of years later than the traditional path, it clearly shows that the level of competition increased massively, especially for the first division.
So, Minho is there, kind of in a limbo between those who are eagerly starting and those who are already at home. And the Han Jisung fiasco makes him feel even less welcome there.
Even then, it is better than what he left behind.
But Minho doesn’t dwell too much on his previous two years at university. At least not much past the incredible stats and further proof that he is on the right track for his goal to win the league’s national team tournament. This might not feel too comfortable, but based on the first two months of competition, Minho allows himself to feel encouraged that he made the right choice transferring here.
Chris is a great captain; helpful, positive, and fiercely competitive, he usually plays first doubles with Dan and changes with Jisung between the third and fourth singles. Dan used to play first singles, until this season, a consistent player and phenomenal at the net. Lucas, the other senior, never plays doubles, but he is often in singles at the sixth position. Matteo and James play third doubles fixed: neither are too interested in singles play, which is fair, especially considering their mind-blowing stats in doubles – Minho believes they will leave university to play professionally together. Even then, sometimes one may be placed at number six singles to replace Lucas.
Felix, the other freshman, plays fifth place in singles and, was on trial to play doubles with Minho at the number two spot. Minho likes Felix, he is so positive that it is hard to not try and see the silver lining in all points regardless of how they end. He is funny and lovable, it is relaxing playing with him, even if still competitive. But there was something missing; their on-court chemistry was far from great and it was clear that it wasn't working. Minho couldn’t point to the exact reason why.
But this lack of chemistry made Coach Kim put Minho and Jisung together at the number two doubles for the last meet for the Fall Season, and they obliterated the other team.
There was a kind of easiness that came with their game that made Minho uncomfortable. Aside from that one conversation with Chris, Minho had never heard Jisung make an outright rude comment about him. Nevertheless, he is constantly in his business, trying to get extra time on court with him, asking him about his junior tournaments, his strategies. Poking and prodding at Minho, almost like he desperately wants to figure out how to make the older fail. Never leaving him alone, but never making things welcoming to Minho, either. While the younger never outright said “I, Han Jisung, do not like him, Lee Minho”, it was pretty obvious that there is at least a small… distaste there.
But it doesn’t matter. When playing side by side, Minho and Jisung were unstoppable, rolling through the motions with such ease, that one could think that they were partners since they started playing the game. Jisung trusted Minho’s plans, followed his signals for serving strategies, and matched the level of intensity the older player is known to have. Playing with Jisung was the most at home he had felt since transferring, and it's ironic that it came from the same person who makes him feel the most unwelcome.
So, yeah. Unfortunately, their chemistry in doubles was too great for their own good, and Minho knew that they would be paired up more often even before the match ended. Coach Kim was so pleased that he strategized the practice for the rest of October, November, December, and January in a way that allowed for the pair to get used to playing together, so as to create a more stable base for doubles playing.
Minho would worry about that later in the week when they actually had playing time. Now he is focused on destroying targets with a very specific face attached to them (in his imagination, of course).
Forehand down the line – target hit – Minho sees the yellow of the ball as one of those fairy lights, shining back at him. Backhand crosscourt – target hit – Minho hears a low laugh in place of the cone hitting the ground and he grits his teeth. Backhand approach slice – target hit – Minho feels his heartache and it is not from the physical effort, but from how he can imagine those eyes staring back at him, inexpressive. Volley crosscourt – target hit – he remembers the silence, deafening, absolute. Overhead down the line – target hit – Minho hears those words again.
It is a routine at this point, remembering that night in excruciating detail. Minho’s obsession with the words, the silence, the stupid lights, the unforgettable eyes, and the hurt is concerning even to him. There is no good in reliving that moment over and over and over again, and yet, Minho can’t help but fixate on it, unable to remember how he got to that point. If he dissects that night enough, maybe he can remember the signs, maybe he can understand better. This is what he keeps missing, so he keeps hitting every target. Controlling all he can, unwilling to make mistakes again.
There is no time to enjoy his almost perfect performance. With each round of drills, the routine repeats: the mechanics of tennis engraved in his brain, the hurtful thoughts and the targets dropping one by one. Minho is not even paying attention to the impressed faces around him, he is not even aware of Coach Kim cheering him on, of Jisung eyeing him in between rounds, he is playing the mental game of tennis against himself, this is what he does the best. So, by the end of practice, Minho had the highest score.
He might let Chris decide where to go for dinner: Minho is still new in town, and much fonder of cooking than going to restaurants, when it is a gamble with his money: there is never a guarantee that the food will be good at any place he chooses. But before he can say anything, Han Jisung is all over him again.
“Dude, are you like, a machine?”
“Huh?” Minho cleverly replies, focused on the way Jisung frowns at him; his pout is prominent and makes Minho uncomfortable, especially because he never knows what Han Jisung will say.
“There is no way you can hit that many targets. Roger Federer couldn’t do that.” Jisung pauses and ponders “Well, Roger Federer could, and I guess anyone in the top 100 in the professional ranking could, but still. That was too many.”
Minho cringes internally, uncomfortable with the staring and comments. He wishes Jisung wouldn’t stand so close to him when he is investigating Minho’s tennis skills and practice performance, but the younger has no sense of personal space, nor any filters for his mouth. Trying his best to take the comment for a compliment, which Minho is not entirely sure it was, he smiles and nods his head.
“Not a machine, but yeah, I guess I did well today.” Minho tries to not sound too annoying, but he thinks he failed spectacularly, so he adds, “You did really well, too.”
“Thank you, Minho-hyung.”
Minho wishes Jisung wouldn't use honorifics with him when they were speaking in English. It is weird to be in a different country, speaking a different language, and still abiding by certain types of speech. But it is likely because Minho was one of the two Koreans in his previous team, and the other guy was too quiet and rarely spoke their mother language, so he was definitely not used to the whole honorific and hierarchical behavior anymore.
Chris is also Korean and so is Felix; but they are ethnically Korean since they both were born in Australia. Regardless, they both suck at the whole system Jisung is still employing between them. But they seem to like it, Chris is always smiley whenever Jisung mumbles in Korean or calls him hyung. But it feels wrong to Minho, somehow. Well, wrong is not the right way to put it. It felt… different. A direct contrast to the unwelcoming environment Minho finds himself in.
The team chats while stretching. Chris and Felix are still trying to convince Matteo that fairy bread is not a culinary crime, so Minho listens in silence, smiling a bit at the Italian, who is completely baffled. Sprinkles have no place on bread. That is usually what Matteo says whenever the Australians try to convince him that it is not a matter of healthy food, but comfort snacks that every child should experience at least once. Minho wants to chime in and say that at least no one is trying to argue Chicken Alfredo as a valid pasta recipe, but he doesn’t want to miss the tone and sound serious, instead of playful.
It is funny because Minho was not always like this. While always described as odd, Minho had always been confident and authentic to himself, the hesitance in opening his mouth is rather recent. Maybe that is why it is more difficult to adapt to the new team, even if the guys had been nothing but nice. Well, except for Han Jisung, who has been a lot of different things. Mostly frustrating if a word had to be used.
After finishing his last round of stretches, Minho gathers his things and walks to his dorm. He would never admit to it, but Minho was quite happy that his scholarship covered housing and dining because then his roommates were randomly assigned by the university. Of course, by randomly selected, he means that he was put with three other foreigners. Scratch that. Minho was rooming with another Korean guy and two Chinese guys. Not as random as previously thought, but at least the four of them get along well.
Jun is a senior in performing arts, and it is his fourth year in that specific dorm. He is weird but in the best possible way. He also cooked quite often and is always willing to teach Minho how to make the dishes if Minho is ever at the dorms when he is cooking. Minghao is a junior in literary studies, which is absolutely not what Minho expected upon meeting him; maybe something to do with law, he looks like he would be good at arguing for a living.
And then there is the other Korean guy. Seo Changbin.
The whiplash of seeing him for the first time and then talking to him is something that Minho will never get over. The guy looks absolutely intimidating, especially because of his big muscles, but Minho has yet to meet someone so soft; he giggles at everything, acts cute all the time, and has a persona (fursona?) for himself that is a mix between a bunny and a pig. Minho laughs a lot when he is with Changbin, he could easily be a comedian but the younger is a music production major and gym rat. He has been trying since their first meeting to take Minho to the gym with him.
But quite frankly, Minho doesn’t need to go to the gym any more than he already does. From daily practices six times a week to the conditioning and weightlifting for the team, there is absolutely no need for him to pull more weight and exhaust his body. Nevertheless, Changbin made Minho promise to go with him at least once during winter break when practices were not as intense. Changbin has been counting down the days since.
The four get along really well, and Minho is really happy with his living arrangements. But two months in, and he still slightly feels out of place.
Much like with the team, Minho feels tense all the time, unable to truly belong. It may seem calculating, and even paranoid to some, but there is no way of knowing when people really like you. What if it happened all over again? Minho is not ready for that kind of stress.
So, he simply keeps it to himself, talks when talked to, listens well, and interacts. But no one knows too much, they only know Minho, the tennis player. Minho, the transfer student who lost at the individual national tournament final the year before., Minho, the transfer student who won the individual national tournament just a month ago. That should suffice.
There is nothing else interesting about him.
So, he eats in silence while Jun and Minghao chatter in Mandarin on the couch, laughing every once in a while. Minho likes the cadence of their speech, it is soft and melodic, perfect for falling asleep to, but he is enjoying it as background to cook, eat, and clean up after himself. Changbin is out for his evening class, which is good, because then at least Minho doesn’t have to force himself to make small talk when he is this tired.
Minho hides in his room after taking a shower, secluding himself in the dark, empty space that he has yet to properly decorate. There are the trophies he won since moving to the US in a box in the corner, his clothes are all put away, but the only true decorations are his books for school. Nothing like his last place; with comforting blankets, posters on the walls, fairy lights, and warmth that somewhat reminded him of home. Now he is here, starting over again, only this time he is not as confident in his ability to read people. His last thought before closing his eyes that night is about how things would be a lot easier if his life was as easy as hitting a tennis ball.
🎾
His phone rings insistently.
Well. It vibrates non-stop since it has been on silent more since forever. It doesn’t matter, it wakes up Minho, who groggily stares at an unknown number. His first instinct is to reject the call, but he figured that it could be an emergency for a random person to call him at one o’clock in the morning.
“Hello?”
“Hi, this is Nurse Clara Hoffmann, calling from the University Hospital’s emergency room, I am looking for Lee Minho.”
“That’s me.” Minho is already sitting up, rubbing his eyes, and ready to get out of bed. “Is everything ok?”
“We have you as the emergency contact for Seo Changbin. He is here with us. He was in a small accident, there was a laceration on his leg, so he needs support to walk. He refused a pair of crutches. Could you come and pick him up?"
“Oh. Of course. I am on my way right now.” Minho grabs his wallet and puts on a jacket on top of his pajamas, “Is there anything I should bring? Is he alright?”
“He is fine, in a little bit of pain, but he seems to be holding out well.”
Minho thanks the nurse and leaves his dorm. There is no plausible excuse for him to be Changbin’s emergency contact; by all accounts, they met two months ago, and they don’t really know each other. However, Minho must admit that he is far fonder of the younger than he initially thought, because the wave of relief that spreads through his body once he hears that Changbin is fine, shows that he cares more he admits.
The night is cold, but Minho is in too much of a rush to wait for a taxi. So, he runs for the whole twenty minutes, until he reaches the well-lit doors of the emergency room. The hallways are busier than Minho expected. The run to the hospital makes him feel more awake, so following the signs towards the common area is easy, what is hard is finding the bed where Changbin is. It feels like Minho wanders around for hours when he hears it: Changbin’s giggle. Following the contagious sound, Minho walks rapidly, already smiling when he spots his dorm mate.
Changbin is sitting on a bed, one leg bent and the other stretched on the bed, bandaged aroud the calf. There is a bruise on his left cheek, but he is smiling like he is in great health, which is a relief to Minho. Right next to him is a slender guy, playing with the sleeves of his shirt, saying something that very obviously amuses Changbin. The guy has a bandage close to his eyebrows but looks fine other than that. Minho approaches quickly, the sweat rolling down his forehead, and making his hair stick to his neck.
“Changbin-ah, what happened?” Minho asks, resorting back to his mother language, too overwhelmed to care about the odd stares they will definitely get.
“Oh, Minho-hyung! I told Nurse Hoffmann not to call. I am fine.” The younger replies and gestures to the guy next to him. “This is Hyunjin-ssi, also Korean.”
“Hi.” The guy says, clearly uncomfortable. “I am sorry we had to wake you, Minho-ssi. It was all my fault, really. My roommate keeps telling me to not stay out at the studio too late, but I never listen. Because frankly, he is not the easiest to listen to. So, I may have stayed out a bit too late to bike properly, and somehow, I did not see Changbin-ssi coming and we collided.”
“I told you; it wasn't your fault. I wasn't looking where I was going.”
“And where were you going?” Minho asks, confused, “It is one o’clock in the morning, were you out for a stroll?!”
“Hyung, you are not going to believe this. I won a coupon for that late night cookie store right outside campus, you know? The one with the gigantic chocolate chip cookie with marshmallows. I went there to get my free cookie.” Changbin shared, pulling a bag from behind his back. “Now, I am trying to share with Hyunjin-ssi; he was so scared, a nice treat could help his nerves, but he won’t lis-”
“Hwang Hyunjin!”
Minho jumps slightly at the voice. Not only is it far louder than anything else in the emergency room, but it is also familiar. Too familiar. Closing his eyes briefly before turning towards the voice, Minho tries not to let the tiredness show in his eyes, nor the discomfort. Down the hall, wearing a ridiculous pair of purple joggers and the biggest grey sweatshirt ever worn, is Han Jisung. His frown is different than the one Minho is used to, but still there, along with the pout; the main difference is that Jisung is rambling loudly in Korean.
“There is literally nothing in that head of yours, is there?” Jisung hisses, standing right in front of Hyunjin. “I told you not to bike at this time, but do you listen? No. It’s like you want to stress me out.”
“Jisung, do me a favor and shut up.” Hyunjin replies before glancing between Minho and Changbin, “I am sorry about him, he has no social skills.”
“And you can’t ride a damn bike, we all have flaws.”
“I swear, I’ll fight you, Han.”
“Ha! I would love to see you try, you and those twigs for… Minho-hyung?”
Jisung seems to finally notice Minho, who was trying to move away, towards the reception desk to sign Changbin’s documents so they could finally leave. He is not in the right mindset to deal with Jisung all over his personal space; Mondays are the only nights when he doesn't see the guys from the team after practice. On Tuesdays, there is tape-review of previous seasons and iconic matches for the development of new strategies. On Wednesdays they all volunteer wherever they are needed that week, the last place was the local library. Thursdays are dinner night and on Fridays, Chris always convinces them to go to karaoke or do “something fun for once”. Mondays are precious; Minho doesn't have to think about all the ways he doesn't belong with the others .
Yet, here he is. Standing in an emergency room in the middle of the night, with a purple-pant Jisung, a hurt Changbin, and a confused Hyunjin, who can’t stop looking at Minho as if he is trying to place him. The background noise of conversation confuses Minho, the mix of Korean with the constant Chinese from earlier and English; it's toomany languages, overwhelming. If Minho were younger and had not dealt with worst things, he would be crying by now. But in the great scheme of things, Han Jisung is not too bad. Yet.
“Hi, Jisung-ah.” Minho replies and sees the way Jisung straightens his back before looking at him up and down, carefully.
“Are you Lee Minho? The tennis player?” Hyunjin asks, turning fully towards Minho, who nods slowly, mouth agape. “Oh, I saw your videos from the tournament last month! You were incredible. I have never seen a person move like you.”
“Thank you, I-“
“What are you doing here?” Jisung asks, cutting the older off mid-sentence, the informal speech makes Changbin look at Minho as well, confused.
“My roommate was run over by Hyunjin-ssi.” Minho replies, pointing at the two in question. “Changbin-ah has me as his emergency contact. Which, by the way, what is up with that?”
“You are my friend, hyung! Who else am I supposed to put for my emergency contact?”
“Whoever you had last year.”
“Minghao-hyung told me that he would literally kill me if I put him down again.” Changbin shares, with a shy smile and Minho wonders if Minghao was adamant to not be his emergency contact because late night calls were common.
“I thought you didn’t have any friends.”
“Jisung!”
“Dude!”
Minho blinks confused and plays with his fingertips. So, Jisung has no filter for tennis or anything else, that is good to know. Not knowing exactly what to do, Minho opens and closes his mouth, eyes staring down at the space between Changbin and Hyunjin. This is just great; Minho is tired, there is a morning lifting session in less than six hours, and Tuesdays are his busiest day for classes, and yet he is here, not knowing how to talk to a person he interacts with every day.
“Well, I do have them. Friends.” Minho says and visibly cringes.
“You are so closed off.” Jisung states, “I swear to you two, he answers like one out of the ten things I say to him. It is like talking to a wall.”
Earlier, he was a machine; now he is a wall. Before that, he was Mr. Robot. The common denominator is Minho’s very apparent failure to behave like a normal person, so maybe Jisung is on to something. Minho is only the tennis guy; there is literally nothing else to him. Well, there was, but he was very much actively not thinking about it. Hyunjin says something, and so does Changbin, but Minho is not listening; he mumbles to himself before heading to the reception desk.
The sooner he signs Changbin’s papers, the sooner they can go home, and Minho can try and rest for a bit before starting the day all over again. He meets Nurse Hoffmann at the desk and takes the prescription medicine Changbin will take in case of pain and signs the documents before getting the insurance card and photo ID back from the nurse. He feels like a parent, but it is definitely better than looking at Han Jisung in his stupid purple joggers and trying to come up with something clever to say back to the younger. Minho calls for a taxi and goes back to the three guys, who seem more friendly than when he left.
“We are ready to go, Changbin-ah,” Minho calls out softly. “C’mon, I really want to sleep some more.”
“I’m really sorry for waking you up, hyung.” He says awkwardly, “I will make sure to not get run over by a bike again.”
“Don’t stress out.” Minho smiles, “Get better soon, Hyunjin-ssi. I will see you tomorrow, Jisung-ah.”
“Thank you, Minho-ssi.” Hyunjin bows politely.
“I’ll see you in a few hours, Minho-hyung,” Jisung says a lot softer than before, “Cute pajamas, by the way.”
Minho blushes without even looking at his pants, his ridiculous pants. More ridiculous than Jisung’s – while the purple was weirdly paired with yellow, at least it was a clean design. Minho, in his rush, ran out wearing his fuzzy pink pants, with doodles of cats playing tennis. To make matters worse, his hair is all over the place, and the padded yellow jacket makes Minho look like an insane person. Perfect ending to the perfect night.
Jisung is smiling at Minho, but it looks like a twisted smirk. It is not like the kid needed another reason to bother the older, but alas, life is not always fair. Minho nods and allows Changbin to rest on his shoulder before they walk back out into the cold night, ignoring the burning feeling of someone staring at his back.