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155. SVT Minghao - Confession Without Words

Tumblr : 17-imagines

Member: minghao

Genre: fluff

Word Count: 1796

Minghao isn't much of a writer. Actually, he isn't at all. He's a dancer. He thinks with his body instead of his brain, processes a song's beat and melody before the lyrics. So what was he doing sitting at a desk, pencil in hand, chewing on the inside of his lip, instead of at dance practice?

The paper before him is blank, with nothing but the date written in the corner. He shouldn't be doing this, but there's no other way to do it - being near you made his knees weak and his stomach queasy, how could he formulate sentences when his senses were in overdrive?

The door to the classroom slides open, and a concerned Junhui enter in a pair of sweats and plain t-shirt instead of his school uniform. He shuts the door behind him with a click, and walks to the distraught Minghao, too entranced in thought to realize his presence.

"You said 30 minutes - it's been 30 minutes, and the paper's still blank." Junhui heaves a heavy sigh, taking a seat at the desk beside Minghao's. "Maybe you shouldn't write her a letter."

Minghao makes a face at the other, wrinkling his nose. "Then what do I do? Whenever I'm alone with her, I can't even remember my name," he whines, slapping his cheeks audibly.

Junhui huffs and gestures to his clothing, tugging on his sweats and t-shirt. "What club are we in, Myungho?"

"Performance Club?" Minghao answers, unsure of the route Junhui's taking. He begins to put his materials away, placing them neatly into his bag as Junhui stands, walking to stand at the foot of his desk.

"Yeah, and we dance - not write. If you can't confess with words, confess with dance." Minghao stares blankly up at Junhui, mesmerized, partly because it's the smartest thing his best friend has said his entire life.

"Wow. Sometimes you are smart." Junhui rolls his eyes in return, resisting the need to put Minghao in a chokehold and shake him because hey, rude.

The door to the classroom slides open one again, and the wind is nearly knocked out of Minghao as he abruptly stands, his chair clanging into the desk behind his. Junhui smiles nervously at the intruder, and Minghao struggles to steady his heartbeat.

"Oh, I didn't think anyone would be here. I forgot my music sheets." You stride to the desk beside Minghao's, who remains frozen, unable to fathom words. Junhui clears his throat, capturing the nervous male's attention.

"Hey," Minghao manages to breathe, eliciting a sigh of relief from the tense Junhui. He wanders off towards his desk, busying himself by rummaging through papers he forgot he had.

"Hi Minghao-oppa," you look up from your desk and over at Minghao, who smiles shyly at you. His face is warm, the tips of his ears a shade darker; he prays that you don't notice. "Hey, Junhui-ssi."

It takes everything within him to not jump around and squeal like a highschool girl at the sound of you calling him 'oppa', instead squeezing the back of his chair tightly, knuckles white. His heartbeat is erratic, and if it weren't for Junhui causing a ruckus with his endless heap of papers, it would've been as audible as a drum.

"Why don't you call me 'oppa'?" Junhui feigns offense with a dejected pout, satisfied with the look of annoyance Minghao shoots him from across the room.

You sigh, not glancing up from your desk. "Should I call you 'ahjussi' instead?" Minghao stifles a laugh with his sleeve, looking away from the now-offended Junhui, who turns bright red at the retort.