“Hey,” Jongin hisses. “Does this hurt?” He and Sehun stretch out their stupid long legs and repeatedly bump the bottom of Jongdae’s chair. The two idiots burst out into laughter, kicking harder on reflex. Jongdae buries his face into Kyungsoo’s neck and takes comfort in the fact that Sehun sounds a lot like a constipated donkey.
Someone who knows when to be light and when to be firm; someone to tease instead of advising or lecturing Yixing into changing his goals into something manageable (at least for one day) – someone that’s like him, but different enough in ways that count.
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